1.00

The inn was dark and empty when the traveller arrived. It appeared suddenly, rising above the gentle hills and valleys of autumnal grass that blew in the wind, green, orange, and even purple in places.

The rolling plains were deceptive from afar. At first the many hills and divots seemed gentle, mere waves along a grassy plain. But the closer you got, the more you realized how easy it was to lose your bearings. In the center of a flat stretch of grass surrounded by hills on every side, you could look around and not know where you were. Even climbing a hill, all you might see was a mountain range.

Mountains so vast they disappeared into clouds on all sides grudgingly parted to form a pass connecting the north and south. Cliffs of stone slowly ridding themselves of vegetation and life, rising without end, promising to wall off the world except in this one spot where a gap had been chiseled. No other signs of civilization—at least not without the right vantage point.

That was why the inn was such a relief to the lost traveller. It had been placed on one of the highest hills for reasons of safety come spring, but also to act as a beacon. You might catch a glimpse of the roof, sagging in places but still mostly intact, or the chipped paint peeling along some shutters slightly moldy with disuse.

Yet, the inn stood. It had been there for decades, and whilst the other buildings had long since fallen to rubble or been burnt, the inn had been spared. When armies marched, it had been abandoned, then later reclaimed. When undead came flooding across the land, once more the inn had fallen empty. Only, this time, the windows stayed dark. Hopeful travellers stopped looking for anyone at the door, and visitors were rare anyways these days.

Abandoned, the inn waited. The Skills and care that had been put into the old wood, the magic etched into the bones of this building remained, defying a decade of disuse.

That was why the young woman was drawn to it. Not just because it was the first building she’d seen since coming to this world. Because of what it represented.

She stumbled through the thick grass, looking over her shoulder with every few panting breaths, but her desperate sprinting had long since turned to weary trudging despite the terror still coursing through her. The young woman smelled of brimstone and fire. She clutched at her right arm, and the t-shirt she wore was charred, as was her arm.

The girl climbed the hill, even though there was no light in the windows, not knowing what she might find.

The inn. In every world, the inn was a gathering place. Somewhere to meet people, to rest, a point along your travels. Somewhere an epic quest could begin, or where the weary traveller could sit around a warm fire.

A safe place. But this inn was dark, and the hope faded in the traveller’s chest as she reached the top of the hill.

“Hello? Is…is anyone…?”

She called out as she looked at the dark building. The door was closed, and nothing stirred at her voice. The young woman looked over her shoulder and hesitated.

Was it still out there? She doubted this place could keep her safe, but the strange land of hills and those impossibly huge mountains were overwhelming. Worse—it was growing dark, and it was going to be a darkness bereft of any artificial light.

The idea of staying outdoors with those red-eyed things, or the Dragon, made her shudder. So the young woman pushed the door open and called out again.

“Anyone here? Hello? I need—”

She knew the inn was empty the moment she opened the door. The smell was like that of a library long-abandoned, dusty and moldy—the first wave of stale air made the young woman cough and hack.

“No. Darn it. Of course it’s empty.”

All at once, the traveller sighed and leaned against the doorframe. Her strength ran out of her at the sight of the dark interior, the faint outlines of chairs and tables shrouded in cobwebs and dust proof that nothing had set foot in here for ages. She rested her forearm on the other arm and then winced as the burns screamed at her. Not to be left out, the cuts on her legs throbbed.

She tried not to cry. The young woman had known, known the inn was probably deserted when she saw it. She’d known, but hope—

“It’s not fair. Ever since I came to this world, everything’s been going wrong.”

Talking helped. Talking made her feel like she wasn’t crazy. The girl looked around.

The inn was cavernous, a building meant to hold entire crowds. She felt as small as an ant and unwelcome, like a thief stealing into someone else’s property at night. It was…very dark. Even the fading evening light wasn’t welcome here. A few steps in and the young woman heard her footfalls echoing, then the sound being swallowed. She hesitated. Should she enter?

Inside was darkness, and while it was dusty and she felt like an intruder—the young woman looked over her shoulder.

She was hurt. There were things outside. Monsters. She’d seen them—they’d nearly killed her!

Monsters and an unfamiliar world. A world that wasn’t hers. What she was sure was a Dragon, and she had no idea how she’d gotten here. She had no idea how to go back. She had no idea where here was.

“I just wanted to go to the bathroom.”

It was a plaintive whisper. The girl looked back once more and was almost about to back out of the strange inn when she heard the first sounds overhead.

She jumped, looked up, sprang out the doorway—and straight into the first wet, cold raindrops. The girl threw up her hands, gazed up, got a faceful of water, and ran inside as the skies opened up.

It began to rain, and the cool air grew colder still. The patter of raindrops overhead tapped down through the cracks in the roof, dripped down through floorboards, and landed in the dust where they vanished.

Then it became a roar of sound, and the shower turned the world outside into oblivion. The young woman’s eyes opened wide, and she backed away.

“No good. I guess—”

She found herself inside the inn and gazed about. She coughed again as the dust settled.

It was suddenly, unaccountably, peaceful. Despite the onslaught of rain, the young woman realized she might be safe.

The fire-breathing lizard-thing probably didn’t like rain, and it was so wet it’d douse even a forest fire. And the little green things with teeth would surely never find her in this! The young woman looked around, and as if a reward had appeared for her surviving all of this, she saw a chair.

Just a worn, overturned chair, clearly the sufferer of a thousand bottoms. But it invited her. Slowly, the young woman bent down, righted the chair, then began coughing and sneezing again as more dust overwhelmed her. But she brushed the chair off and sat down.

She closed her eyes for a moment. Just a moment. She’d rest here to begin with, get her bearings, and then figure out what had happened and why. The adrenaline slowly drained out of her, and Erin Solstice leaned back, trying to get comfortable.

She was almost ready to pass out, but a thought nagged at her. She cracked open one eye and looked around. She sighed, opened the other eye, and addressed the empty room.

“I’m really hungry.”

After a few minutes, Erin Solstice sat back up. The traveller, the first guest of this inn in ages, looked around and rubbed at her eyes.

No—not a traveller. She hadn’t been intending to travel anywhere tonight. The young woman frowned as she looked around. How had she gotten here?

Not just here, as in this abandoned inn, but here—here? She’d been going to the bathroom after finishing a game of chess in her room, in her home, and then…she must have taken a wrong step somewhere.

It must have been a really big wrong step, because instead of walking into the bathroom and seeing the comforting sight of porcelain, she’d suddenly found herself in a cave, nose-to-nose with a slumbering—

Dragon.

Erin leapt to her feet, heart pounding. It hadn’t been a dream! She looked around and felt at her right arm.

The burns flared up again, and Erin winced.

“It’s definitely not a dream. But how am I burnt? I could have sworn it missed!”

The jet of violet flame had shot wide of her by a mile, but it had still broiled her right side. Her jeans had kept her right leg from burning as badly as her unprotected arm, but it still hurt. Erin had no idea how she’d dodged, but that had saved her life. She’d run out of that…cave…and then?

Then she’d found herself running around the rolling valleys and foothills, calling for help and screaming as she realized she was not home. That had been a mistake, because the shouting had attracted attention. Attention, not help.

A bunch of little green things with red eyes and mouths full of teeth had come after her. They’d slashed at her legs as she ran—still screaming—and lost them.

“What were those things? G—they sort of looked like—Goblins? No way. This has to be a dream, but my arm hurts too bad for it to be a dream.”

That was her paradox. There was no way this was happening. Everything felt real, from the pain to the aching in her feet and tickling in her throat from the dust hanging in the air. However—this was surreal.

“What is this place? An inn? Really?”

Now that she looked around, it was clear that a lot of things were wrong. Erin had been in old-fashioned buildings, even to Renaissance faires, but this—this was the real thing.

There was no glass on the shuttered windows. She couldn’t see evidence of plastic or anything beyond simple wood or metal fixtures. There was no overhead lighting—and yet it was still very much the common room of an inn.

The tables and chairs might be covered with dust and spiderwebs—without any spiders—but there was a bar against the far wall and a staircase leading up. A single room seemed to lead off to another part of the inn, but most of the building was just this vast central space.

It should have been lively, Erin felt. She looked at the bar and imagined someone behind it, polishing a mug and serving a lovely cold drink of—

Erin’s longing sigh was accompanied by a third fit of coughing so long that she actually stumbled over to the door where it was pouring rain to gulp for air.

The dust! Her third assailant in this world was trying to kill her! Eyes streaming, Erin gulped for air. It was like she was breathing the stuff. She wiped at her face, coughed one more time, sneezed, then glared back at the inn.

“This place is going to kill me! I’m going to choke to death before the rain stops. Someone should clean it up!”

She looked around.

“…And I guess that someone is me.”

The young woman hesitated, but it was clear that if she tried to stay in this place for a few hours, let alone sleep the night, she’d probably attract every monster in ten miles by her coughing alone…if she didn’t suffocate in her sleep.

“Besides, this would make for a great place to explore from, and it’s got walls. I’m not going to find anything better, I bet. Then I…”

Her voice trailed off. Erin looked around and felt the unbelievable nature of what had happened building on her.

Do what? Where am I? What happened?

She fought off a wave of panic threatening to engulf her. No—she couldn’t panic. She couldn’t—Erin glanced at the pouring rain. It was muffling anything from outside, but she clamped her mouth shut.

She couldn’t scream. It was possible something could hear her through the downpour.

Don’t scream, don’t panic. Think. She wasn’t running for her life. She had to think. So the young woman forced herself to sit down at a table. She faced it, squared her shoulders, and adopted something like a reasonable posture.

“First things first. I should stay here. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know if this inn is safe—but it’s dusty. It’s got walls. So I explore. Also, I find something to clean all this stuff up with. I don’t want to use my shirt. Seems like a bad move, but I can’t breathe here without…okay. First steps. Pawn to E4. Pawn to C5. Sicilian Defense. Here we go.”

And with that, she got up and began to explore the inn. The first thing Erin actually did, before even venturing into other rooms, was check her pockets.

Most people went into their adventures well-equipped or with some nifty object that gave them an edge. Erin checked her pockets and found…nothing. If she’d known she was going to end up in this place, she would have brought along a backpack crammed full of essentials. And a gun. To fight off the little green men and the Dragon.

But she hadn’t planned this and, unfortunately, hadn’t even taken a phone. She’d been going to the bathroom!

Erin’s forehead wrinkled as she circumnavigated the common room first, checking the tables and chairs for something, anything. All she found was more dust.

It had been so fast. All she’d done was step into the bathroom and she’d been somewhere else. No flash of light, no wardrobe—did bathrooms count?

Apparently so, but it had been so sudden she felt like she’d been wronged, somehow. No mysterious voices, just bathroom teleportation. How?

Virtual reality? Very virtual if so, but it felt too real. No. Then—she was crazy?

Erin hoped not. However, the Goblins and Dragon made her feel there was only one reasonable, unreasonable explanation.

Magic. This was some kind of fantasy-land. Which meant she probably needed a sword or a wand. Or a magic sword.

But it became clear to her that the first thing that Erin needed was…a dustrag. And that became her first mission in this world. Get a dustrag and clean yourself a spot to sit.

It was proving to be a harder challenge than anticipated. There was nothing in the common room, even behind the bar, aside from a line of very dusty mugs. Erin hesitated before the door adjoining the bar and poked her head inside.

The young woman blinked at the semi-familiar sight. It was a kitchen alright; it had cutting boards built into the counters, a bunch of cupboards, and even a stove—a stone stove with a hatch to build a fire, nothing gas or electric.

The same for the ovens—she saw a giant, old-fashioned baker’s oven that led up to a presumed chimney. Here, at least, there were actual objects. A pot, cast-iron pan, and a few other utensils, including the world’s rustiest ladle, were all lying next to…

“Aha!”

Erin found a bucket. It was not a dustrag, but you needed water to clean things, right? And she happened to have a fresh supply coming down right outside.

She grabbed the bucket and towed it outside to fill up. After a second, she ran inside and grabbed some of the old mugs she’d found and set them outside to catch more water. She might need it.

Encouraged, Erin went back to her dustrag hunt. She began opening cupboards in the kitchen, but just found plates, old utensils, what might have been more dust or disintegrated food—

Nothing cloth at all.

“Drat.”

Erin gave up on her cupboard search and left the rest for later. Did you store dustrags in the kitchen? Maybe with towels, but she needed a pantry. She scoped out the rest of the ground floor but found nothing so handy.

“Darn.”

Well, that only left upstairs.

It was a very dark stairwell that looked down on Erin as she put her first foot on the stairs. The young woman looked up and gulped. Given the size of the ground floor, the staircase to the second floor was…ominous, to say the least. It looked like the bones of some gigantic monster in the darkness.

Cautiously, Erin ascended. It seemed as though every second stair creaked or groaned loudly as she placed her weight upon it, and the sounds echoed in the dark inn. To Erin, it felt like she was stepping on landmines—each time she heard a loud creak, her heart sped up and caught in her throat.

“Come on. Come on. You can do this.”

Erin whispered to herself, keeping her voice low so as not to—to wake up anything that might be up there. At that thought, her heart skipped another beat, and she paused halfway up the stairwell, shaking slightly.

“This is stupid. There’s nothing up there. Nothing!”

She paused.

“Okay, maybe there is something. I don’t know. There could be—more of those Goblins? But there’s probably not a Dragon, right? Right! Don’t be stupid.”

Hesitation. Another step.

“But a Dragon could be up there.”

Erin took a step back down. The stairs creaked. She scolded herself as her heart thumped painfully.

“Don’t be stupid. How would a Dragon fit up there? But Goblins?”

With a small laugh, Erin gazed upwards. The darkness on the second floor waited for her. Long shadows made the chipped and faded wood ominous. But it was just an illusion, a trick of the mind. She knew there was probably nothing up there. If there were, wouldn’t it have tried to eat her already?

But this was a different kind of fear that held her heart. It was a child’s fear, the fear of the dark and the unknown. So, Erin hesitated. But she knew she had to climb.

After a minute, she began talking to herself quietly.

“Dustrag. Dustrag, dustrag, dustrag…”

Erin muttered the word like a mantra. Somehow, the thought that she absolutely needed to find one gave her the strength to continue climbing the stairs.

One step. That was the hardest. Then two steps. Erin’s heart jumped as the stairs creaked underneath her, but nothing terrible happened. So she kept climbing.

However, if the sketchy staircase was the first hurdle of the mind, the empty corridor full of shadows and darkness was an entirely new level of intimidation.

It was so dark. Even when her eyes adjusted, Erin could barely see five feet in front of her. But having come this far, she was committed. So she kept going with her heart pounding out of her chest.

“Dustrag, dustrag, dustrag, dustrag, dustrag, dustrag, dustrag, dustrag, dustrag, dustrag, dustrag…”

The first room she came to was very, very dark. Erin crept inside and froze as she heard a sound. Was that…rustling?

No. No, it was just her imagination. She could hear the storm passing outside with the rain making a racket on the roof overhead. The wind was blowing against the inn, that was all. It was probably just a leaf—

Rustle, rustle.

Definitely a sound. Erin’s heart played the drums in her chest. There was something in the room with her, and she really hoped for once that it was just a rat. Something—it sounded almost leathery, like two wings unfurling…

“Dustragdustragdustragdustragdustra—”

In the distance, thunder rolled, and a gust of wind blew hard against the inn. Something pale and white unfurled itself in the darkness and flew at Erin. She screamed, flailed wildly at the thing, and crashed to the ground with it in her arms.

For a minute, all was confusion and noise. Erin fought wildly against the monster attacking her as rain started pelting her face and it wrapped itself around her arms and head. She eventually threw it off her and scrambled to her feet to find the terrifying creature was—

A curtain.

For a few seconds, Erin just stared at the faded fabric in her hands in complete shock. Once her heart had decided to stop running a marathon, she exhaled.

“Curtains.”

She picked up the pale bit of fabric and studied it. Well, it was a curtain. That was about the extent of her detective skills. It was a white curtain—or at least it had been white a long time ago. Mildew and dirt had turned it grey, but at least it was fabric.

“Okay, okay.”

Erin’s heart was still racing far too fast. She looked around. The room was still very dark, and the wind coming in from outside made the windows shudder in a very eerie manner.

Erin closed the window. That stopped the noise, at least. But it was still way too dark to make out many details. Now, she could keep exploring the second floor. Or, having found a dustrag, she could go back down to the bottom floor. The comforting, familiar, dusty ground floor.

The room was very dark. Erin took another look around and quickly went back downstairs. She tossed the curtain on one of the tables next to the bucket she’d found and looked around.

“Let’s see. Where should I start, then?”

Really, the better question was where not to start. Aside from the walls, everything was covered by a thick layer of dust. In the end, Erin started with the table she’d sat at.

The wet curtain…rag raised a cloud of dust into the air, making Erin stumble away, coughing and hacking. But the actual task of cleaning was in fact very easy.

Erin took the dustrag, dropped it in the bucket of water, then slapped it over one table. The dull sound made her jump and look around, but nothing moved, so she took hold of the dustrag, dragged it along the table, and took all the dust and pushed it onto the floor.

Then she did another pass until she could see the wood grain beneath, a dark brown now that night was falling, and squeezed the cloth and dipped it in the bucket once more.

One dip turned the water dark grey, but rain meant that Erin had a lot of free water. Ironically, all the dust seemed to have prevented mold or other more clinging stains. A few passes of the dustrag, sending clumps and clouds of dust billowing onto the floor, and the table was mostly clean, if wet.

“Table’s done! That just leaves—um…”

Erin looked around and began to count the tables—and chairs—and floor—then decided to just clear one more table so maybe she could sleep on top. And maybe a few chairs. And since it was going fast and the rain wasn’t letting up, why not do all the tables?

Every time her bucket got so disgusting that it made the rag filthier than when it went in, Erin opened the door of the inn, tossed the water out, and sat back in one of the chairs until the bucket had filled up again. Then she started cleaning once more.

There was a rhythm to it. In no time at all, Erin had cleaned the tables, so she decided to clean all the chairs too. And once she’d finished with that, it only made sense to clean the bartop as well.

The long counter was made of some kind of high-quality wood. Erin admired the way the faint light from outside made the rich wood glow after removing the dust. The bar was long enough to accommodate at least twenty people at a time…or fifteen if they were picky about elbow room.

That done, Erin cleaned the barkeep’s shelf below the bar and the other surfaces in the common room. When she was finished, the inn seemed far warmer than it had before as the newly clean surfaces reflected the fading light from outside.

However, there was one place that Erin had avoided the entire time. Namely, the floor.

It was only natural. Erin had nothing like a mop, and she’d been pushing all the dust onto the floor the entire time. As such, huge piles of wet dust clumped together everywhere. Erin kicked at a pile and shrugged.

“Well, when you compare it with the tables and chairs…”

She could only laugh at her strange results. Clean tables, dirty floor. You could eat your dinner off the tables, at least. And who cared about floors? Floors were for stepping on, not sleeping. Erin wiped at her forehead and found she was covered with a layer of sweat. And—was it nightfall already?

Yes, sometime in her cleaning efforts, the rain had ceased and the visible light had decreased until the inn was nearly pitch dark. Now, instead of everything being a mass of shadows, there was nothing to see at all.

“So it’s not scary, but terrifying. Great.”

At least the ground floor was reassuring. Erin looked around the room, her eyes spotting the moonlight reflecting off the smooth tabletops and chairs. Yes, this room did feel a bit better. She’d cleaned it and thus made it hers, in a way. That made it safe. At least, she really hoped that was the case.

Erin sat back down in a chair and found she was exhausted. She leaned back against the table and sighed. If ever she needed proof that she was terrible in a survival situation, this would be it. Here she was, lost in a terrifying world without a clue where she was, and what was her first move? Clean the room.

“At least Mom would be happy.”

Erin laughed to herself. She closed her eyes, overcome by exhaustion. Time to rest. Maybe tomorrow, everything would be better. Maybe this was all just a dream. Probably not, but…

Her eyelids lowered. Her breathing grew slower. Erin just had enough consciousness for one last thought.

“Now I’m really, really hungry.”

[Innkeeper Class Obtained!]

[Innkeeper Level 1!]

[Skill – Basic Cleaning obtained!]

[Skill – Basic Cooking obtained!]

In the darkness, the girl cracked one eye open. She looked around and then sat up.

“…What was that?”

Next Chapter

1.01

The inn was dark. That was because the world was dark, at least for the moment. Two moons hung in the sky, one light blue, the other pale green. But their soft light was obscured by a shifting layer of clouds overhead.

However, despite the late hour, one figure moved restlessly around the room. A young woman. Her progress left a trail in the dust as she walked. She paced from wall to wall, muttering to herself. Then she tripped over a chair.

“Ow.”

Erin brushed dust off her pants and t-shirt in disgust. Well, her clothes were officially filthy now. Parts of her t-shirt were burned black, and her jeans had been cut by the Goblins’ knives. But that wasn’t important at the moment.

“Did I just level up?”

Erin stared up at the ceiling from her fallen position. She could have stood up, but that would have required effort. And besides, Erin was hungry, tired, and confused. Lying on the floor made her feel better. Even if the dust was getting in her hair.

Ordinarily, that would have been disgusting, but at the moment—

“Seriously? I leveled up? What is this, a game?”

Slowly, Erin pulled herself up into a squat. Then she put her head in her hands.

“No. No it can’t be. But a—a Dragon and Goblins and now leveling…this is another world, right? One like Dungeons and Dragons? Or—or a video game?”

She straightened and stood up. The world seemed to be spinning around her. Common sense? Who needed that? Nope. Just hand her a few fire-breathing Dragons and let her level up by cleaning tables. Yeah, that made sense.

“Right, right. Let’s recap. I’m in another world which is actually a video game. And there are monsters in this world, and I can level up by doing stuff. I even get skills, and when I do, a voice in my head—no, more like a thought appears that tells me I’ve accomplished a task.”

She nodded to herself.

“Yep. Makes complete sense…”

Her voice trailed off. Erin’s head lowered and then snapped back up.

“Like hell it does!”

Erin screamed and kicked a chair hard enough to send it flying into the air. The chair landed with a tremendous crash, which was satisfying to hear. Less satisfying, though, was Erin’s foot, which had hit the chair hard enough to jam every toe.

After screaming in pain and hopping around a bit, Erin sat at one of the tables and cried for a while. It wasn’t that she liked crying or did it a lot (usually). It just helped at the moment.

After about ten minutes of crying, Erin finally started choking back tears. She felt better, but quickly hit upon another problem when she went to wipe away her tears and snot and remembered there wasn’t any tissue paper nearby. So she used the rag.

The wet, disgusting rag. But it was better than her shirt. After that, Erin sat, staring at nothing in particular as the darkness surrounded her.

“I’m tired.”

That was the last thing Erin said before she fell asleep. This time, there were no interruptions.

——

The next day hit Erin in the face. She groaned and sat up, head aching. Her neck felt twisted, and she was sore from lying on the floor. She still would have slept in longer if it weren’t for the sun and her stomach.

Hobbling around, Erin looked at the bright daylight streaming through one window. She shook her fist at the sunny opening in the wall and glared.

“This is why drapes were invented, you know.”

The window did not respond. Erin sighed. She was already talking to objects. Which was fine! She often cursed her invisible opponents when playing chess on the computer. Or talked to the chess pieces. She’d know she was insane if the window started speaking back.

Windows. These ones had no glass or curtains. They were square holes in the wall, but they did have shutters. Too bad Erin had chosen one of the open windows to nap underneath.

Without thinking, Erin’s hands went up to her head and came back covered in dirt and dust. Oh, right. She’d slept on the floor. The dirty floor where all the dust had gone.

Erin sat in a chair and buried her face in her hands. After a little while, her stomach growled louder.

“Got it. Message received.”

Groaning, the young woman eventually stood up. She stood, feeling her body protest the natural law of gravity, and sat down. That felt better, but then her stomach objected. Hunger and exhaustion warred, and hunger won out.

Erin got up, knowing she had to look for food. There wasn’t any in the inn; she hadn’t bothered checking the rest of the cupboards because why should she? Any food that had been around since the inn had been deserted was probably sentient and had legs by now.

So that only left the outside. But Erin hesitated as she put her hand on the door to the inn.

Monsters.

She shivered. The memory of yesterday returned, fresh and vivid, and her hands began to shake. Her burned arm flared in pain as the cuts on her legs itched and stung. Erin closed her eyes and took a breath. Yes, monsters. But—

“I’ll die here if I don’t find something to eat.”

So she opened the door. It wasn’t courage that made her do it, just the will to survive.

The day was so bright that Erin was blinded for a moment. She walked outside, shading her eyes. And then she stopped. Because a thought had struck her suddenly. Something she had realized but not taken to heart before.

“This—really is another world, isn’t it?”

It wasn’t the Goblins that convinced her. Or even the Dragon. You could imagine that, even if the burns and cuts still throbbed. People imagined aliens all the time. But what couldn’t be imagined, or, Erin thought, even faked, was this:

The clouds were too big. Erin Solstice looked up into the sky and realized it wasn’t just the clouds. The sky was too vast.

The sunlight was coming from beyond that incredible mountain range she had seen, and even now it had to fight through clouds surrounding those invisible peaks. The sky was so blue it hurt her soul, the kinds of beautiful colors that made her feel like it was a day to be remembered. Yet up, as she craned her head back, she could see clouds, even tiny, pinwheeling birds she could barely make out.

But the clouds were just too darn big. It wasn’t something Erin could explain, because she knew clouds were already vast. She had spent hours lying on her back, gazing up at the way a single one had so much depth to it, like a floating island in the sky.

These, though…Erin looked at a cloud floating overhead and realized it covered the entire grasslands, the entire basin she stood in, countless miles and the inn in one vast shadow. It was so high overhead she couldn’t understand it. She had seen airplanes flying through the sky, and she was certain that the highest ones she’d ever seen would be flying far below this single cloud.

It was larger than the entire plains. It was larger than the inn, a thousand times, ten thousand—a hundred thousand times over. Erin had visited Chicago, one of America’s biggest cities, and seen it sprawling from both the ground and from planes. You could fit that entire city up there and have more room still.

Erin’s knees shook as she looked up at a cloud the size of an island blowing through the sky. One second the world turned dark and she thought an entire world could be up there, hidden in that beautiful cloud, grey and white blowing across the world.

Then it passed, and the sun shone down on her and warmed her skin, and Erin knew. She looked around and began breathing again.

Another world.

——

Presently, Erin came back down to earth and realized there was some trickery going on on the ground as well as the sky.

For instance, all those hills and valleys? Only now did she realize what an optical illusion they created. From one of the tallest hills, she could finally identify how difficult it would be to see anything from down below.

“It’s all hills and valleys! No wonder I couldn’t find anything last night!”

If you walked carelessly, you could lose track of your surroundings and find yourself in a valley thousands of feet wide. And it was all mostly uniform, only a few flowers and rocks breaking up the tyranny of grass.

However, not green. Erin had to believe it was autumn, here. It had not been in her world—to her knowledge, it should have been around the end of July, or August at the latest. She might have forgotten the day. And month. But the grasslands were not the green she expected—instead, the grass was slowly changing color in places, moving from green to orange and even into purple in places. It was yellow running into dusky red in wavy patterns, like bands of color appearing over the landscape.

It was beautiful and, perhaps, the first thing to make Erin smile in this world. And it was also a landmark.

The plains stretched on and on without pause, which meant that you could easily lose track of where you were. But if she knew that following that band of orange led her close to this inn…

“Just so long as the grass doesn’t change color overnight, I might have a shot. Looks like it goes purple-orange-yellow and runs right next to the inn. So I can follow that back! Follow the purple-orange-yellow grass road!”

She laughed with relief. No fear of forgetting that particular pattern of colors, either. There were very similar swathes all around her, but she had a good memory. That was to say, she’d forget what day it was and if she was wearing socks, but she didn’t forget what really mattered. Like chess moves. Or this, she hoped.

Then Erin realized she could see something else from her vantage point.

Erin stopped as she started to pick out small details on the horizon. Far, far in the distance between the mountain range and the rising sun, she saw what looked vaguely like buildings. No, a wall of stone? Was there a town out there? Or a village? A…city?

It was impossible to tell from where she was standing, but the sight of that gave Erin hope that she wasn’t alone in this world. However, just the thought of travelling that far on her empty stomach was impossible, so she kept looking. The next thing that caught her eye made her heart pound with excitement.

“Are those…trees?”

Erin squinted. There was a small collection of trees in the distance, nestled in one of the valleys. They were trees, weren’t they? Erin felt they looked off—until she realized she was looking down at them from her vantage point.

It was surreal to feel herself looking down on a forest, but that was the only answer she could think of. It looked like there was a small—well, relatively speaking—valley to the east filled with trees. It didn’t seem too far away, and if Erin looked closely, she could see small specks of yellow and blue on the trees. Fruit?

There was only one way to find out. And so she began to walk in that direction, her legs and stomach overriding her cautious brain. She needed food. It wasn’t hard to walk down the gently sloping hills, and although it was less fun to walk back up the hills, at least Erin could do all of it at a meandering walk. The grass was soft under her shoes, and she had good footing. It was…peaceful. Deceptively peaceful.

In the back of her mind, Erin remembered the Goblins. Okay, maybe they weren’t Goblins, but what else could they be? They were strange, deformed children that looked like twisted versions of Humans with sharp noses, sharp teeth, little knives, and—

Goblins. And Erin remembered that they’d found her as she was running, singed and bewildered, from the Dragon.

She almost turned around, but she needed food. If worse came to worst, Erin reasoned that she could grab some of the fruit things and run back to the inn.

That was the plan. It was the plan right up until Erin found herself walking by a huge rock.

There was nothing too important about the rock, except that it was more like a boulder, a gigantic mound of stone rounded at the top like a small hill. It was twice as tall as a normal person and just as long across. In short, it was a big rock.

However, if Erin had thought about it, she might have wondered why a giant rock was right here. Suspiciously free of any other small stones and far less craggy and worn down than she might expect. Moss did cling to it in parts, but it was oddly free of any lichen near the base. But she didn’t think about such small details.

Erin ignored the rock completely, only stopping to wonder if it would provide her an even better vantage point to see around her if she climbed up. But she was hungry, so she walked right past it. It was that which saved her.

As she put the large boulder behind her, Erin felt the whoosh of air and a terrifyingly loud crack right next to her ear. She jumped, turned around, and screamed. She dove forwards as the second pincer nearly took her head clean off.

The thing that had been hiding underneath the rock lifted it up off the ground and scurried after Erin as she sprinted away. She spared only one glance over her shoulder, but that was enough. She ran even faster.

Two large, long pincers made out of a dark brown chitin were poking out from beneath the rock as the crab-monster scuttled towards her. It had lifted the gigantic, hollow shell enough so that Erin could see countless tiny crab legs tearing up the earth as it propelled itself along the ground.

It was a crab, but it was all wrong. Two long, curved eye-stalks had appeared—and the giant pincers snapping and trying to tear her to bits. Oh—and it was also taller than a school bus, if not as wide.

Erin didn’t scream as she ran. She couldn’t waste her breath. All the air in her body was devoted to keeping her running as fast as she could as she charged downhill.

Something huge missed Erin’s back, but she felt the wind as it passed by. She sped up even faster, but it sounded like it was right behind her. The giant crab was making a sound as it ran after her too, a loud clicking that sounded like gunshots going off next to Erin’s head.

So she ran faster. She thought she would be dead every next second, but she realized that the loud sounds of pursuit were dying down. Eventually, the clicking stopped, and Erin realized she couldn’t hear anything behind her. She stopped and turned to see a rock with many legs slowly moving back across the plains.

“What the…holy…crab?”

Erin could only gasp and clutch at her side. She felt like her legs were about to fall off and her lungs were about to burst. She was also lightheaded, but she really didn’t want to sit down.

Instead, she forced herself to keep walking. It hurt. Everything hurt. But she was still alive, crabs or no crabs.

Erin tried to smile. Her legs ached, but eventually, she got her breathing back under control. And even better, she was at her destination.

“Is—is that a tree?”

Erin gaped up at the strange plants before her. They were probably trees. They had bark, leaves, and fruit. But in each aspect, they were slightly—off.

The tree in front of her was thin beyond belief. It was about ten feet tall, which wasn’t very high for a tree, but the trunk was thinner than she was! And the branches were as thin as Erin’s arms and tapered off to fine points that still held leaves and, apparently, didn’t snap in the wind.

The leaves were huge, too. Big, green leaves closer to palm leaves than ones Erin might expect. However, they had that classic leaf shape, not like a maple, and they seemed thick.

Given such trees, Erin would have expected to find a bunch of branches from the decent breeze and rainfall of last night. She was used to seeing downed branches from trees in her neighborhood after big rainstorms, but to her vague surprise, she saw almost no leaves on the ground, or branches. Or fruit.

“Weird. Grey bark, green leaves, blue fruit. Who dropped the paint bucket on this thing? And why is it so…tough?”

She had gone to snap off a low-hanging branch but found that she could barely bend the thin branch, even when she held on with all her weight.

The trees were as strong as could be! What interested Erin more than the aesthetics was the edibility of the fruit. And the reachability.

Most of the blue fruits on each of the trees were clustered around the top branches. There were yellow fruits lower down, but since they were smaller, they were probably also unripe. Hesitantly, Erin grabbed a branch, and after testing her weight on it a few times, tried to pull herself up.

“I—hate—pull-ups!”

Her arms shook as she strained to get off the ground. After a few seconds, Erin got her chin above the branch, but no further. After another second, she had to let go.

Erin landed on the ground and stared up at the tantalizing blue fruits, just out of reach. If she weren’t so hungry and tired…she’d still probably never get up that high.

“Is this how I die? Starving to death because I can’t do a pull-up?”

No. That was stupid. But the more Erin thought about it…

“No. No!”

Erin jumped and managed to pull herself halfway up the first branch through sheer desperation. But her arms gave out, and she fell on her back with a whumph that knocked the air out of her.

“You…stupid tree!”

Erin’s shouts of frustration echoed in the small valley. She tried to grab the branch again, but she couldn’t even pull herself up anymore. She screamed in frustration, grabbed at her dirty hair, and then kicked the tree.

The entire tree shook slightly with the force of Erin’s kick. The leaves trembled, and the blue fruits moved—

And one fell to the ground.

Erin stared at the round, slightly fuzzy blue fruit. Then she looked up at the tree. Without a word, she grabbed the fruit. Then she looked around expectantly.

“Um, shouldn’t there be some kind of announcement?”

No response. Erin kicked the tree again and picked up another fruit.

“[Mysterious Blue Fruit acquired!] Dun dun dun dun!”

After a little bit, Erin put her head in her hands to cover her blush.

“…I hate this world.”

——

He woke up with a scream, which was hugely embarrassing. When he would inevitably meet his end, the Dragon had resolved himself to go out with dignity befitting his nature.

He’d even come up with a speech (then forgotten where he’d put it). Screaming in front of the adventurer or hero was not how he wanted to die.

But he couldn’t help it. The sight of someone appearing in front of him? For a second, he’d opened his eyes and thought he was dreaming or…remembering.

Then the Dragon had realized the young woman was indeed real, and she had entered his cave without setting off any of the hundreds—literal hundreds—of protective spells supposed to warn him or buy him a moment’s time.

Of course, in the next moment, hundreds of alarms had begun blaring in his ears that his lair was compromised and he was about to die.

So yes, he’d screamed. Maybe exhaled a bit of flame in shock; if he’d been truly in control of his faculties, the first thing he would have done would be to blow pure Dragonfire at any intruder in the vague hope it would work.

It often did. However, in this case, it had been more like…an exhalation of the noblest of gasses in surprise. A tiny tongue of flame which obviously hadn’t been aimed at the young woman as he tried to crawl to safety and fly at the same time, while also activating his emergency teleportation spell. Then he’d crashed into a wall, and by the time he picked himself up, she was gone.

An advance scout? Possibly a sacrificial decoy. The Dragon knew he was dead in moments if his foes were cunning.

Who was it? That Necromancer? One of his kin? [Knights]? A random [Hero]?

He had no idea. But the Dragon hadn’t wasted time figuring it out. He’d activated his teleport spell and been gone from his lair in moments.

At least he’d remembered that. His backup location was far less convenient and arguably far more dangerous—for most people. But as his wealth, his hoard of treasures showered down around him, the Dragon looked around and realized he wasn’t being pursued.

Not that he didn’t spend the next two days checking every magical channel and re-fortifying his new cave. He didn’t get a wink of sleep. Worse, she picked up his contingency [Message] and sent him a dozen questions by spell, asking if he were alright and what had happened.

“Just a coincidence? An accident? I don’t know, and I didn’t get anything to latch onto. Whomever it is, they’re gone. I—I shall be watchful.”

The Dragon snapped back and continued checking for signs of pursuit. But when none were apparent, even two weeks later, he had to then wonder if it had been an accident.

An accident that carried someone into his cave? Maybe some magical…disturbance at the Academy? There were stranger things that had happened. When he replayed his memories, she seemed as surprised as he.

Naturally, he didn’t put anything to chance and continued fortifying and getting accustomed to his new hideout. He hated the location, the neighbors, and the complications for anyone visiting, but it might be safer.

“At least, from strange young women appearing out of nowhere. She had to have been the subject of—of some chance. Maybe a [Gambler] or whatnot. Otherwise, I would be either dead or have been contacted by whomever it was. It cannot be Demons; they’re far too unsubtle. Who else? If it was the Quarass, I’d be dead. Djinni smell of magic. And that leaves…my kin, who wouldn’t do that.”

His brow wrinkled as he tried to figure it out. He truly had no idea. Well, he would keep checking, and if he didn’t sense any pursuit, he might put it down to the random causality of events.

Besides, he realized that there was one small, small silver lining to this entire debacle. The intrusion into his lair had woken him up, and he feared he wouldn’t sleep for another year. But until he did, he could do some housekeeping.

Glumly, the Dragon consulted his notes.

“That time again? Two hundred years already? I might as well. It’s courteous.”

He made a huge face and yawned. Distastefully, but there was such a thing as manners. Sullenly, he reached out to the nearest city he could find and made a few arrangements. Then he settled back.

He was already dozing by the end of the third day. He was tired. And such obligations as he had left in life? There were very few. The only thing he had left was pride. Pride, waiting for the last young woman or whomever it was to appear. He had a speech…somewhere…

And a few social obligations to uphold. That was all. The Dragon slept once more.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.02

The fruit in her hands was blue, probably a fruit, and pretty large. Erin had seen monster apples before in stores, the weirdly expensive ones that were three times as big as their smaller cousins. That was about the size of the blue fruit.

Her stomach rumbled just looking at it. Erin raised the fruit to her mouth, then hesitated.

“…Am I going to die?”

It was a good question. Erin studied the fruit in her hand. She sniffed it cautiously. It smelled faintly…sweet. She poked it. Tender. Probably succulent. Then she licked the outside.

“Pheh! Hairy!”

Maybe it would be better to peel it after all. Maybe it was actually some kind of alien monster she was holding, and if she bit it, she’d be eating a mouthful of guts and blood. That thought made Erin hesitate for a few moments before she started peeling it away.

“It’s like a peach. Not a monster, not a monster…”

Erin peeled off the outer layer of blue fruit and found the inside of the fruit was a purplish-blue. The juice ran to the ground and smelled…Erin’s stomach grumbled, but she’d found something else that caught her attention.

“That is the biggest seed I’ve ever seen. There’s more seed here than fruit!”

Erin held up the core of the blue fruit, which was indeed a seed core two-thirds the size of the blue fruit itself. The shell was a stained purple-brown, but Erin felt something sloshing about inside when she shook it.

“Okay, time to see what’s inside.”

She’d need a rock for that. Erin transferred the seed core to her other hand and stood up. As she did, she squeezed the core gently.

Crack. Crack.

Fragile. The brown shell split open and disgorged a mess of pulpy seeds and brown juice onto Erin’s pants and the ground. She stared at the mess in silence until the pungent odor hit her nose—an incredibly powerful chemical smell similar to antifreeze or some kind of cleaning product.

Slowly, Erin stood up and brushed the seed vomit off her clothes. That did nothing to get rid of the smell, though. Then she picked up the pieces of the seed’s core and hurled them as hard as she could against one of the trees.

“I hate this world!”

——

After a while, her stomach began to growl again as the smell from the seed pod dissipated in the morning air. Hesitantly, Erin grabbed the second blue fruit and brought it to her lips. She had taken care to not get any of the seed pod’s innards on her hands, and she wasn’t about to eat the first fruit.

She didn’t know much about herb lore or good fruits or bad ones, but just the smell of the seed core’s innards had convinced Erin it was unwise to try. The actual fruit on the other hand…

This time, she bit into the outer skin and chewed. The texture was unpleasantly rubbery and tough to chew, but thankfully it was edible. And what was more—

The pure, sugary taste that rushed into Erin’s mouth put her in mind of blueberries. Only—the blue fruit was a bit tougher, so maybe a strawberry? A strawberry that someone sprinkled sugar on and had the taste of blueberries. In short—

“Wow. This tastes really good!”

That was the remark Erin made after she’d consumed eight more of the blue fruits, all in rapid succession. The seed pods she left untouched on the ground, but she happily devoured the outer rinds, stripping an entire tree clean before she was finally full.

Groaning with satisfaction, she sat back against the tree. She felt good. Sticky and smelly, true, but good. The day was fair and warm, and with her stomach full and the soft grass beneath her, there was only one thought on her mind.

Bathroom.

Maybe it was something in the fruits that triggered it, or maybe it was just long overdue. Either way, Erin was suddenly, keenly aware of a certain need pressing at her. Erin sighed and stood back up.

“Nature calls. I hate nature.”

She walked behind the nearest tree and then around it. There wasn’t much…cover here, but she really had to go.

“Well, what am I hiding from anyways?”

Erin thought about that for a moment then deliberately edged around the trunk until the sun was out of view. That made her feel better.

A few seconds later, Erin felt refreshed and happy. Her stomach was full, other parts were empty, and best yet, she was alive.

“Now, how am I going to get back past that crab rock-monster?”

Erin’s stomach twisted unpleasantly at the thought, and her heart began to pound in her chest. But an idea struck her as she looked at the countless seed pods on the ground.

——

The large, duplicitous rock seemed more and more out of place the more Erin looked at it. If she’d been able to think past her hunger before, she’d have wondered how such a large stone made it all the way to the grasslands without being eroded by the elements. Well, that stupid crab-creature was clearly one of the predators in this world.

And it was quick. Erin didn’t want to run away again, so she really hoped this plan of hers would work. Did crabs have noses? Probably not, but she really hoped they could still smell.

Slowly, Erin walked forward. The rock remained motionless. Well, that was fine.

Erin picked up a small stone and hurled it at the rock. It bounced off.

She waited. The rock didn’t shift so much as an inch.

Erin picked up another, larger stone and threw it against the rock. She wasn’t a good shot, so the rock glanced off the side. Again, there was no response.

“Uh, is…is this the right rock?”

Erin looked around. No other suspicious large rocks in sight. But it wasn’t doing anything.

“Get closer…no, that’s stupid.”

She eyed the rock again. Well, if it wasn’t going to move…

Erin turned away. She’d circle around. Far around. She began walking away.

Click.

It was such a small sound. But it made her freeze and then whirl around.

Erin caught the rock crab crawling towards her stealthily. In just a few seconds, it had covered nearly twenty feet. She stared in horror as it reared upwards.

Clickclickclickclickclickclickclick—

The rock crab began its high-speed shuffle towards her. Two enormous claws and a pair of dark eyes curled up from underneath the rock again.

Erin stepped back, half-turned to run, and remembered what was in her other hand. She took swift aim and threw the seed pod she had been holding.

Bullseye. The seed core smacked the rock crab right on the antenna and burst into a shower of pulpy liquid. Even at this range, Erin could smell the toxic odors on the breeze.

If she were honest, Erin didn’t know what she expected. Pain or shock from the rock crab, maybe. She’d nailed it pretty good on the antenna, and she was sure that had to hurt. But still, it wasn’t as if the seed cores were that heavy. She expected the crab to recoil and maybe get scared off by the scent at best.

What she didn’t expect was for the crab to freak out and start smashing itself with one of its claws. It was panicking, frantically scraping away at the spot she’d struck with the seed core, ignoring the damage it was doing to its own antenna. At the same time, the rock crab was making distressed sounds.

It sounded like the loudest cricket in the world, only a lot deeper and echoing out from beneath the rocky shell the crab was wearing. That was enough to make Erin back up until she was back among the trees and the crab was barely visible.

Even after she’d gone a ways away, she could still see the crab doing an unhappy dance as it tried to scrape off the seed pod fragments.

“Huh.”

Erin scratched her head.

“Well, it’s good to know they hate fruit.”

Speaking of which…Erin decided to get more of the delicious blue fruits. As many as she could carry, in fact. Blue was now the color of breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and she only wished she had more hands. Could she make a basket somehow…? Out of grass?

She kicked at a tuft of the stuff.

“…That’s a stupid idea.”

How about her shirt then, or pants? But that was a bit…well, there was no one around to see her except the rock crabs, right? Even so.

“Too bad I’m not a streaker, huh?”

Erin addressed that comment to a nearby patch of grass. The grass said nothing in reply.

With a sigh, Erin walked away. She slowly crested a small hill and found herself looking down on the fruit orchard once more.

She also found herself looking at several short, green creatures that had appeared in her absence. They were kicking trees and harvesting the blue fruits that fell to the ground.

They were instantly familiar to her, of course, but the transfixed Human got a good look at them again. They were short, four feet tall at most, possibly even shorter. Almost like children, although their heads were too big.

That was because of all the teeth. But they wore ragged loincloths and were grunting and poking one another. Erin saw pointed ears, scabs from some healing wounds, and as one glanced up and saw her and froze—she saw two crimson, glowing eyes.

For a few seconds, they didn’t see her. Then one of them looked up and saw the slack-jawed Human staring their way. He made a shrill noise, and the others looked around.

“G-goblins?”

The nearest creature took a step towards her. He looked harmless. For a moment. Then he bared his incredibly sharp teeth and drew a knife. His friends did likewise. They advanced on the young woman.

The young woman, for her part, stared in horror for two more seconds and then pointed one finger. She opened her mouth and screamed.

“Gobliiiiiiiiins!”

The green-skinned monsters stopped and stared as the young woman screamed and took off, running at top speed. But they followed her doggedly despite the insane speed at which she sprinted. These Goblins had learned to hunt other species and knew that Humans panicked easily and grew tired. They’d catch her as soon as she slowed down.

…Assuming she ever slowed down.

——

It was evening. The sun cast long shadows across the plains. All was silent. Aside from the screaming rock crab smashing itself in the head and the screaming Human, there was no sound in the world.

All was calm.

A single figure sprinted across the grasslands. She was running as fast as she could. Behind her, a group of squat creatures followed. It was nearly dinnertime.

Erin Solstice, aged 20. A young woman from Grand Rapids, Michigan, with a casual interest in video games and a deep obsession with strategy games. Her hobbies include snow tubing, watching YouTube videos, playing chess, shogi, go, etc. She dreams of one day becoming a professional board game commentator.

Currently—

Running for her life.

Again.

——

Erin found a stream running down a hill a few hundred feet away from the inn. Its position and relative size meant it was the perfect place for her to gather water or even wash herself should the need arise. All things considered, it was an idyllic windfall of a discovery.

She took three steps, leapt, cleared the stream in one jump, and hit the ground running. The stream kept flowing as she left it rapidly behind. Not once did Erin look back, although her throat was burning.

She was still being chased.

By Goblins. They swarmed after her, wading through the stream despite the strong current. And though they were small, their bodies were wiry and their dirty arms muscled. And they all carried weapons.

Generally, they wore daggers or short swords, but Erin had spotted what looked like a meat cleaver on one of them. She was too busy running to get a good look, but if they were like the ones she had met yesterday, the weapons were rusty, stained with dried blood and crusty substances, and sharp.

That, combined with the Goblins’ faces, made them terrifying. Normal Goblins were supposed to look ugly, but not dangerous. In video games, Erin had always seen them depicted as short, man-like creatures with beaky noses, pointed ears, and ugly faces. But these Goblins…

Pointy ears? Check.

Ugly face? Check.

Their noses weren’t too pointed, but they were definitely carrots compared to potatoes as noses went. But what really scared Erin were their teeth.

They had two rows of teeth. Like sharks. They had blood red eyes, like monsters in nightmares. Glowing red eyes. And they screamed as they chased her.

It didn’t sound like normal screaming. Erin was used to hearing screams, but they only came out of Humans. The sound the Goblins made wasn’t a continuous sound but a kind of ululating noise that seemed to grow louder the longer they yelled.

Yiyeyiyeyiyeyiyeyiyeyiyeyiyeyiyeyiyeyiyeyiyeyiyeyiyeyi—

It made Erin break out into a cold sweat, and she pumped her legs even faster to charge up the hill. She was in one of the valleys, but she knew she was headed straight for the inn. She just had to get there and, and—

That’s where they’d kill her. Erin would get to the inn, and they’d surround it, break in somehow, and tear her to shreds. But what other choice did she have? None. She couldn’t run forever.

Already, Erin felt like someone was twisting a knife into her side, and she was gasping for air. She was no athlete. The only reason she was still ahead of the Goblins by a good bit was because they were short. She also guessed they were letting her use up all her energy before closing in for the kill.

Erin crested the hill, stumbled, caught herself, and saw the inn’s dark brown walls only a hundred feet away. She dashed towards it, throwing all of her energy into a desperate sprint.

The Goblins’ voices had faded a bit by the time she burst through the inn’s doorway and slammed it shut. But she knew they were only minutes away at best, so Erin stood up despite the agony in her chest and legs.

The door had a metal bar that could be slid to prevent it from being opened. Erin did that and then looked around. Windows. The common room had so many windows.

“Oh, you’ve got to be—”

She didn’t waste time on the rest of her sentence. Erin dashed over to one window and slammed the wooden shutters closed. Then she fumbled with the latch. It was a cheap bit of metal, but it might buy her a few seconds.

Erin sped around the room, fighting to close the windows as the Goblins’ shouting grew louder and louder. She slammed shut the last window and let out a huge sigh of relief. Then she remembered that the inn had a second floor.

The mysterious darkness of the second floor that had terrified Erin the night before didn’t even slow her steps as she dashed up the stairs. She ran in and out of each room as fast as she could, closing windows. While some of the mantles had succumbed to the rot, all of the shutters were mostly intact. She’d hear if they were being smashed in, at least.

Erin ran into the room at the end of the corridor and stopped when she saw the skeleton in the last bed. But even that didn’t slow her much, and she closed the windows just in time to hear the Goblins start pounding on the door downstairs.

They didn’t get in that way. But as Erin sped down the stairs, she heard one of the shutters break. And then another.

The first Goblin squeezed through a window as Erin stood petrified. The second and third were right behind him.

Erin backed up. The first Goblin came at her as his fellows spread out behind him. There were five—no, seven of them.

Her legs were shaking. Erin tried to turn over a table, but the Goblin was too quick. He lunged forward, and she fell backwards with a small scream. He laughed and jumped for her, knife swinging.

Erin rolled backwards and felt a stinging cut on her leg. She scrambled to her feet and looked down.

Blood. It ran down her leg from the cut in two wavy lines. She looked back at the Goblin and saw his grinning face.

It was a similar grin. Or smile. Or expression, really. But to Erin, it was the same face. The same as a Human’s. Mocking. Confident. The kind of face young men—

He licked at the blood on his knife. Erin’s face froze. The fear that had been bubbling inside her turned in an instant to anger. The Goblin didn’t notice and ran for her, still grinning.

Erin’s leg shot up. She didn’t kick. It was just a lightning-fast shot right between the legs. She could have sworn she heard something crunch.

The Goblin’s face, which had been so full of malicious glee, froze up. He turned pale, made a high-pitched keening sound, and toppled over.

The other Goblins stared in shock at their friend. Erin stared in shock too, but had the presence of mind to grab a chair before they could react. She raised it threateningly.

“Well? Come on!”

Erin swung the chair like a club. The Goblins ducked underneath it and advanced on her, swinging low.

A lucky blade slashed Erin’s leg, and she cried out in pain. Instantly, she brought the chair up and over her head and smashed the Goblin flat.

In movies, the chair would break off, leaving Erin with the stumps in her hands. In reality, the impact made her hands sting, but the chair didn’t so much as creak. The Goblin, on the other hand, screamed a lot.

His fellows backed up as Erin held the chair up for another swing. Her leg was bleeding badly from the cut, but she was more mad than scared at this point. Plus, she had a chair. All they had were knives.

In fact, she had more than one chair.

“Eat this!”

Erin tossed the chair at one Goblin and clipped him on the head as he ducked. He fell down too, and meanwhile, Erin had grabbed another chair. She used it like a shield, jabbing the legs at the nearest Goblin and forcing him back.

Faced with an unexpected threat, the others split up and tried to circle around Erin. Accordingly, she tried not to let them. But even if they were surprisingly fragile, they were quick and hard to hit. Before long, the remaining four Goblins were all around Erin, peering under tables, feinting at her from behind unheld chairs.

“Get back!”

Erin tossed her chair again and, again, missed. But as the Goblins ducked, she turned around and fled for the stairs. She had longer legs, but they were quick too and surged after her as she jumped up the stairs two at a time.

The fastest Goblin was hot on her heels, cackling with that strange laughter as he swiped at the back of her legs. Erin ignored the bleeding and hit the top of the stairs with the Goblin right behind her. He laughed evilly.

And stopped when he realized it was just him and the Human female at the top of the stairs. He looked up. The big Human female made a fist.

——

The fourth Goblin crashed down the stairs, face a bloody mess. The remaining three Goblins looked up at the young woman standing above them and hesitated. But she was prey. Prey didn’t fight back!

One threw a knife. It hit Erin in the stomach point first, but the toss was so weak it barely penetrated her skin. She ignored it and leapt down the stairs.

Two hands on the handrail let Erin swing her legs up. She was no gymnast, but rage gave her a moment of athletic inspiration. Both her feet crashed into the face of the knife-throwing Goblin.

He screamed and clutched at his broken, bleeding nose. His two friends ran back as Erin landed on the ground. The bleeding Goblin waved his knife at Erin. She slapped him.

Crack. It was a good slap, the kind that made Erin’s hand go numb. The Goblin fell down, stunned, and his hand let go of his knife.

Erin stared at it. Then, before the other two Goblins could move, she grabbed it. And when she stood up, she had a very different expression on her face.

The remaining Goblins looked at her. They weren’t just two, not really. Their friends hadn’t been knocked out, just hurt. Already, they were getting up while clutching their bruised heads and bodies. However…

The Human female was facing them, knife in hand. She didn’t look as frightened as she had been before. In fact, she looked quite angry. That wasn’t good. She seemed suddenly bigger, and the Goblins were keenly aware that she had just beaten two-thirds of their number in a matter of seconds.

And she had a knife.

The Goblins stared at Erin. She stared back. Now they were all awake and upright, but they didn’t seem to be about to attack. In fact, they seemed sort of nervous.

Erin stared at them. They stared at her. Her eyes began to water, but she didn’t dare blink. But she had to do something, right?

“Boo!”

The Goblins shrieked and ran. They crashed out of the broken windows and ran as if pursued by demons.

Erin stayed where she was for quite some time, hands still half-raised. Eventually, she lowered them.

She wanted to scratch her head, but nearly stabbed her eye out with a knife. Carefully, Erin put the knife on a table and then sat in the nearest chair. Her legs had lost all strength.

“Ha. Haha.”

Erin coughed and then chuckled again.

“Hahaha.”

Her chest hurt. Her arms hurt. Her legs hurt. Actually, her entire body hurt. She felt like she was dying. But.

“I can’t even laugh properly right now. Hahahahahaha…ha?”

And then she did laugh. She started laughing as she sat with her back against the table, bleeding onto the inn’s dirty floor. She laughed and laughed until tears were in her eyes. And as she closed her eyes, she smiled. Then she bumped her cuts and stopped smiling. But she still slept.

[Innkeeper Level 4!]

“…Hey. What happened to levels 2 and 3?”

——

The last of the Goblin warriors fled the fearsome Human in a rush. It had only been seven of them in total, hardly an actual raiding group even for their tiny tribe.

Even so—seven Goblins versus one Human without a weapon? They should have killed her. That they hadn’t was bad.

Bad for many reasons that even the littlest Goblin, crouched and watching the inn from afar, could understand. She and two others were so small and young that they weren’t even warriors; her weapon was a basket, and it had been full of blue fruits until the chase.

Deadly, dangerous blue fruits that could kill you foaming-mouth-dead. But they were so hungry, the Goblins would take that risk. They were so hungry, eating Human sounded good.

And now they were hungry, hurt, and embarrassed. The Goblins snarled as they limped away. They didn’t talk to the littlest Goblin, just grunted and pointed and made the smaller ones get their baskets and go back for actual food they could take back to the tribe.

The little Goblin ducked a swat from one holding his crotch and fled. She didn’t know the name of Injured Crotch, but that was now his nickname in her mind. Goblins didn’t have names. Only their [Chieftain] had any real title, and he was scariest of all.

The seven Goblin warriors were so irate at their loss they jabbed the smaller Goblins to hurry up until they got back to the trees. Then they sat down, tried to rub dirt or spit onto their injuries, and pointed with huge growls at the trees.

The little Goblins had to kick the trees and collect the fruits. The smallest one was so hungry she took a bite from the sweet blue fruit and got hit again by one of the older Goblins. He snarled. She wasn’t allowed to eat here! He kicked the blue fruit away savagely and gestured emphatically to hurry up.

The Goblin warriors were looking around—nervously. The giant thing that hid under rocks might come back. Or something else seeking to kill Goblins. Which might be…anything.

The little Goblin sniffed as she covered her head, but grabbed as many ripe fruits as she could. Then she had to run with the basket back to their tribe.

Their tribe was a lot of Goblins in a cave. It was small, so narrow you had to roll under a rocky opening and crawl forwards until it grew tall enough to stand.

There was no light here except a few cracks in the ceilings, but the little Goblin could still see just fine. It was wet here after all the rain, and it smelled of poo.

But it was safe from big monsters and other things. Even if the [Chieftain] sometimes got stuck going in and out, this place was far safer than outside.

The little Goblin had no idea when the tribe had gotten here. Nor why they were here. She was only…young. No one explained things to her. The older Goblins mostly hit her and made her do things. That was how they were taught, but the little Goblin thought she was seven sticks, three rocks, and two leaves old.

She’d been counting. But she didn’t know numbers above ten. The only Goblin so wise, who could even speak words and read them, was the [Chieftain].

He was mad again. He sat, twice as big as any other Goblin, snarling at anyone around him while he waited for a smoky fire to warm a bit of food. The littlest Goblin’s stomach growled as she saw it.

A dead deer. The [Chieftain] had found food! All the Goblins were watching hungrily, but the [Chieftain] would eat first. Then, the little Goblin hoped, there would be at least bones, but possibly some hot meat.

The fruits were placed next to the deer carcass, but the [Chieftain] snarled and kicked the fruits away. The Goblins were made to take them away from the precious meat and remove the little bad things.

The small Goblin had no idea why, only that it was bad. Bad-death. She wished…someone would explain. But only the [Chieftain] knew.

He had taught them numbers. So he could tell them to get ten blue fruits each. Learning to count was amazing. The little Goblin had counted teeth, flies, Goblins—until the [Chieftain] kicked dirt at her.

But then she’d been counting days she’d been awake and realized she didn’t have more than ten, and she had been awake more than ten days, right?

It had been a big puzzle. So, to forget her hungry, rumbling stomach, the littlest Goblin with no name sat in her sleeping spot and looked at her big idea.

She counted one thing with leaves. Then, when she had ten leaves…she put down a rock instead. And that meant ten leaves. And if she had ten rocks, that meant it was now a stick. Paradoxically, she had decided grass was bigger than a stick by ten again, even though blades of grass were smaller in size than sticks. Otherwise she’d lose track of all the itty bitty pieces of grass that could get blown around. She had not needed a piece of grass yet, but she was looking forwards to getting a nice purple stem to count with.

That was how she thought she’d seen seven sticks, three rocks, and two leaves of sun. She’d counted backwards to figure that out, but she thought it made sense. The rains had been falling a lot when she was born, and they fell regularly. At least—they had twice already, after it got really cold.

The cold. The little Goblin shivered. That would be a bad time. It was wet now, but it could get wetter. And she was hungry. She looked back and saw that the tribe was eating. She sprang up and ran forwards, but there were only scraps already, and so she had only a single mouthful of bloody meat and half a fruit.

This was the little Goblin’s life. She sat, listening to her [Chieftain] growling, an echo of her tummy. She curled up as he demanded to know why his warriors were hurt.

They didn’t tell him. And the other Goblins didn’t either because the [Chieftain] would be very mad to know they’d let a single Human live. So he just hit them and made them look for more things to eat.

The little Goblin sat there and watched the [Chieftain] out of the corner of her eye. He sat there, a scowl on his face. Angry. Always angry. But the other Goblins were like that. Angry. Or they woke up and slept and ate.

She didn’t know why, but they were missing something. When, rarely, they stole something very nice like the colorful water, the [Chieftain] would get happy and then angrier still, or quiet. And he would do what no other Goblin did and talk. And he would say there should be more Goblins. A bigger cave. And the Goblins would listen to him until he scattered them with a fist or one of his great weapons, an axe made out of bone.

He spoke for the first time in two rocks and one grass as the little Goblin listened. Two words. The [Chieftain] looked around and growled as he wiped blood and spat fur from his mouth.

“Need [Shaman].”

But what that was, the little Goblin had no idea. And he said nothing more, so she went back to counting the steps to the blue fruit trees with her grass and rocks. She thought of the strange Human in the big wooden thing. And she wondered if that meant anything different would happen.

Less blue fruits to eat, probably.

Amentus Fruit (Blue Fruit) Trees by Enuryn

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1.03

The next morning, the young woman sat in a chair and pondered. It seemed stupid. No, it was stupid. But there could be only one explanation.

“When you level in dreams, you level in real life?”

Erin thought about that for a moment.

“Huh.”

She sat in the chair for a few more minutes. Those minutes turned into half an hour and then nearly a full hour before her stomach grumbled.

“Right, food.”

After another hour, Erin decided to get up. Her body protested the movement, but her stomach overruled her legs. She got up and reluctantly stumbled out the door.

Her legs hurt. As she stepped outside, Erin felt at the back of her legs and winced.

“Right. Knife cuts.”

She should wash those. If she had water. But since she didn’t and the wounds were already scabbed over, Erin left them and started walking.

It was a long, long walk back to the fruit trees. Erin was only glad she remembered where they were. She was even gladder that there weren’t any suspicious rocks along her route, but that only made her warier. Could they burrow? Were there grass crabs?

If there were, they didn’t seem interested in her at the moment. Erin found the strange, spindly trees easily and picked an armful of blue fruits. She was glad they were bountiful with the blue orbs, and gladder still the Goblins hadn’t stripped them bare. But it was a veritable orchard here, so she gathered as many as she could.

Erin sat and ate fourteen. It wasn’t that she was hungry so much as really thirsty. She sucked as much of the blue juice out of the fruits before gathering as many as she could carry and walked back to the inn. The seed cores she left where they lay.

…Actually, now that she thought of it…

Erin doubled back and grabbed two seed cores and placed them carefully on top of her stack of blue fruits.

“Just in case. I should also get a bow and arrow or something, right? Too bad I have no idea how to shoot anything. Or have any idea how to carve a bow. You carve bows, right?”

Erin thought about that as she walked back over the sloping ground, taking care not to trip and break the seed cores. How would she make anything, anyways?

“Um. Is it three bars of iron and two sticks to make a pickaxe? Or can I make a wood sword by punching trees? Why couldn’t this be Minecraft instead?”

But now that she thought of it, Erin remembered the trees.

“Firewood. If I could cut the wood away, that is.”

She thought of the incredibly stiff branches.

“…Nope. But wait a second. What about fallen branches? Or—”

She turned around and started walking back. But again, she found no detritus from the tough trees anywhere in the orchard.

“Weird.”

Frustrated, Erin kicked a tree and dodged another falling blue fruit. She added it to her armful and walked back to the inn.

The room was still a mess from last night’s fight. Erin set the fruits down on one table and started righting chairs and tables.

“Stupid Goblins.”

She paused as a thought struck her. Goblins. Oh yeah. She’d fought Goblins.

Her eyes fell on the knife she’d taken from one of them. Slowly, Erin’s legs folded up, and she sat on the dusty ground again. Then she sneezed.

“Dusty. This is stupid.”

She got back up and looked around. Where was it? There.

“Dustrag. Let’s do this.”

Erin got down and began sweeping up the dust on the floor. It was difficult since she had to move all the tables and chairs out of the way, but it gave her something to do. She only had a small, dirty rag anyways after cutting the curtain into easier-to-use parts, so she was mainly doing it to think. Her mouth was terribly dry, but Erin started working. She had to focus.

“Goblins.”

Erin stared at the waves of dust as she scrubbed.

“Seriously. Goblins.”

She shifted two tables aside and pushed the dust out of the way.

“…With shark teeth. That’s messed up.”

Erin thought about that.

“But I won.”

She amended the statement instantly.

“Barely. They’re not that dangerous. They’re like kids. And I can beat up tons of kids even with knives. If I’m careful.”

Not that she was going to make a habit of that! Just Goblins. She could fight them off. Then Erin reconsidered again.

“Unless they stab me in my sleep. Or there are lots of them. I’m probably safe if I make sure they can’t get in without me hearing it. I should block every way in but have, like, an escape window.”

She’d have to remember to do that. Then she’d be forewarned and could hold them off or run; they didn’t seem as fast as she was. So she was reasonably safe from them? Erin bit her lip.

“There’s the rock-crab-thing. Does it eat Goblins?”

Was she safe in here from that thing? It couldn’t fit through the door, but could it knock down the walls? Probably not.

So, as far as she knew, the inn was reasonably safe if she took precautions. What about leaving it? The Goblins—a memory nagged at her. They’d been carrying baskets. Which meant…

They hadn’t gone hunting for her.

“They were eating the blue fruits. So they live nearby. Wonderful. I’m going to run into them again. Which means I need a weapon. Great.”

Erin stopped and put her face in her hands. She immediately regretted that decision.

“Pheh! Dusty.”

She sighed and grabbed the rag. Time to clean up some…more?

“Uh. What happened to the dust?”

The floor of the inn was made out of floorboards. Very sensibly, and in keeping with the rest of the inn, which was also made out of wood. However, Erin had never seen the floor before. Up till this very moment, it had been covered by a thick layer of dust.

There had been so many clumps of dust rabbits it had been more like a dust sea, and a disgusting one at that. Erin had left a trail every time she walked across the floor, hence her desire to get rid of it. A task that would surely take at least two days given the size of the inn and her tool of choice, a rag instead of a broom or mop.

Now though, she was staring at the floor. A clean, dustless floor. Erin gazed down and then stared some more. Then she looked at her hands.

“Was that me?”

It must have been, but how had she done it? Of the numerous and varied—of the few talents Erin possessed, cleaning was not one of them.

Oh sure, she could clean up spills and small messes. Anything that involved tossing water and mopping stuff up was okay. But this?

“I wasn’t even dusting for more than—an hour? Two? And it’s all clean.”

Erin scuffed at the floor and amended that thought.

“Sort of clean. You couldn’t eat your dinner off it, I guess. But that’s why we have plates.”

And it was a definite upgrade from before. Distractedly, Erin scratched her head and felt the caked dirt and dust on her face start to crumble away.

“The floor is clean. I am not.”

Erin stared at the floor again and felt hot, sweaty, and very dirty. She felt like she was forgetting something, but she was so hot—she was dehydrated! And as soon as Erin realized that, she realized how thirsty she was.

“Right. I need a drink.”

Water, preferably. But Erin would have killed for a nice, cool drink of anything, really. Too bad there wasn’t any water nearby. More blue fruits? Why hadn’t she kept that bucket of water from when it had been raining? Instead, she’d used it to clean tables! Erin groaned, but she knew she couldn’t waste time on recriminations. She looked around and came to a realization.

“Time to find some. Or I’ll die. Whichever comes first.”

Erin wandered out of the inn. After a minute, she walked back in, grabbed the knife, and closed the door behind her as she left. After another minute, she walked back in and threw the dustrag on the ground. She slammed the door as she left this time.

——

“It’s really hot.”

Erin stumbled through the grass, looking around blearily every few steps. Her mouth felt dry and nasty. She had a headache, and she felt sweaty and gross. But what was really on her mind was water.

“Water. Water is water. Because water. Where’s the water?”

Erin walked for a few minutes in one direction and saw no water. So she turned left and started walking that way. Then she doubled back around and sat down. Her head felt…thick. And she was so unwell she sat there for a long time until she felt she had to get up.

She was so thirsty, and that overrode the throbbing feeling in her mind.

“I could drink a Gatorade. Or a Pepsi. I like Coke too, though. What about Pepsi and Coke and Gatorade? Gatorpepcoke? Pegatoroke?”

It occurred to her that she wasn’t making much sense. Even for her, that was. Erin looked around for the water and felt her head spinning. Her head was really starting to hurt.

“Cogapeptorade?”

Her foot slipped. Or maybe she stumbled. But suddenly, Erin tripped and had to spin around to keep her balance. That was so much fun that she started spinning around as she walked. She stopped after a few seconds and tried not to vomit.

“Feel sick.”

She wiped her brow. At least she wasn’t sweating. It was really hot, though. Weird.

She really needed to sit down in the shade. But there wasn’t any to be found, at least not where she was. Maybe if she lay down she’d feel better?

Erin went to bend over. Halfway down, she remembered.

“The stream!”

She tried to stand up and nearly fell flat on her face.

“Where—where was it?”

Head spinning, Erin looked around. The inn was still visible.

“It was there. So if I’m here…there?”

Shakily, Erin began stumbling towards where the stream was. As luck had it, she was closer than she thought and came across it in a matter of minutes.

——

The stream was flowing fast, cold, and surprisingly deep. The young woman didn’t care. The instant she spotted it over the small rise, concealed as it wound its way down from the mountains, she broke into a run and threw herself forwards, gasping with relief.

“Water!”

She cupped her hands and began drinking the water as fast as she could. One mouthful and Erin’s eyes bulged. She spat the water back out and looked down at her hands.

Her dirty, dust-covered, filthy hands. Erin dunked her hands in the water and gave them a scrub—as well as her face—and rinsed out her mouth before she tried again. Then she drank one huge palmful, another, and then five more.

——

It was around the fourth palmful that Erin realized she’d made a bad mistake. The water was delicious and as cold as ice cubes, but she was so thirsty she drank it down like…water. Five minutes later, she was lying on her side trying not to puke.

Too much water on a dehydrated body. Erin could feel her stomach trying to empty itself and was determined not to let it.

“It—it hurts. It really hurts…”

No one had told her not to drink water fast! Okay, maybe every P.E. teacher she’d ever had, but why didn’t she listen? The groaning girl was praying no Goblins or a crab snuck up on her right now, because she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to run if they did.

Fortunately for her, it seemed like nothing else was thirsty at the moment. And after what felt like an age of groaning in agony, the pain in her stomach receded enough for her to sit up. She was really glad she hadn’t puked. She only had one pair of clothes, after all.

Speaking of which—Erin raised her arm and sniffed. She shuddered and came to another decision.

“…Bath time.”

——

The stream was far deeper than Erin had thought. Deep enough for her to sit up to her shoulders in water along the edge. It was also cold. Erin had thought she knew pain when, in the delirium of waking up, she’d turn on the shower and realized she’d hit the cold water on full blast.

That was nothing to this stream’s chill. It was probably mountain runoff, and so it was one step above freezing. Erin’s teeth were chattering, and the fast-moving current meant that there wasn’t even a body of water to warm up in time.

It wasn’t even numbingly cold, which was too bad.

“B-being numb would be better than being really cold.”

But it was water, and it was making her clean. And the longer she sat, the warmer Erin felt. That was probably because her body was freezing up, but she didn’t care.

Erin ran her hand through her wet hair and sighed. She’d scrubbed hard, but without soap or shampoo, what could you do? And when she thought about how she hadn’t used a toothbrush in days…yuck.

At least the inn was clean, now. And since she was no longer actively dying of thirst, Erin had figured out how she’d done it so fast.

“Hm. So, [Basic Cleaning] was really a skill after all?”

Erin thought about it. It was better than thinking of cavities and rotting gums.

“…Huzzah. What a great skill! I mean, I might have to fight off giant crabs and Goblins, but at least I’ll be able to clean the floor while they eat me! I wouldn’t want to leave a mess.”

She sighed and dunked her head into the water.

“Gah! Cold!”

The stream was deep enough that Erin was up to her shoulders in the cold water. And it was moving fast enough that if she lay on her back, she might be swept downstream quite quickly.

“And if I follow the stream long enough, do I get to an ocean? Or just a lake?”

It was a tempting thought. Why not just let the waters carry her away to somewhere else? Anywhere had to be better than here, after all. She could leave and then…

“Then I’d be eaten by something else. Underwater Goblins, probably.”

Erin punched the water and sighed again.

“Monsters, monsters all around. And not one of them looks edible. But at least there’s blue fruit that smells like cleaning fluid. And at least there’s a dusty old inn. And at least I have four levels in innkeeping. Huzzah for me.”

She splashed some water on her face. Tired. She felt really tired. But being clean was helping a lot. Now that she had water she could drink and eat, at least. And with water, she could even have a bath.

“A really frickin’ cold bath.”

But it was good. And the sun was warm. Erin thought about getting out of the water and lying on the grass while the sun warmed her up. That was a good thought. Her clothes were already drying, and but for the few cuts and burnt right shoulder, they seemed fairly clean.

Bracingly cold bath, food and water sources acquired, and a clean inn. The young woman brightened up a bit.

“Maybe today won’t be so bad after all.”

Erin laughed to herself.

“Or not. Knock on wood.”

She turned jokingly to find a piece of wood to knock on and saw it. A huge shadow in the water. A giant, flat head and jagged teeth over a brown, spotted body that had been almost invisible as it slunk along the stream bed. And it was coming straight at—

Erin shot out of the stream like a reverse cannonball just as the fish lunged. She felt something incredibly large brush past her navel, felt the slimy, slick feeling against her skin for one heart-stopping moment—

Then it was over. Erin lay on the grass, breathing for air as she stared at the fish flopping around on the grass. She recoiled, but the giant shape was flopping now, no longer a missile of death but a confused water breather on the wrong side of the divide between land and sea.

“W—wh—”

The fish flopped towards her. Erin flopped backwards and got to her feet. It might be on land, but it had a mouth as large as her head. It was almost one-third mouth, in fact. And it had very sharp, very long teeth.

The flat, squat fish that looked like a balloon with teeth kept thrashing around. It truly was like nothing Erin had ever seen. It was far wider than any regular fish, and only a stingray was that horizontal, but this fish was hardly as elegant. It was more like a brick designed to bite as much of you apart as it could. But for her seeing it, it might have taken a huge chunk out of Erin’s side. Or her face.

Whether it was trying to still bite Erin or get back in the water was hard to tell. Either way, it wasn’t having much luck; the floppy fish was arcing its body, trying to maneuver in the air as it leapt up and down, but it wasn’t designed to move about on land and mostly stayed where it was, biting at the air helplessly.

Erin stared at it for a good minute. She covered her face and screamed into her hands for a second.

“Fish. Fish with huge teeth. I hate this world so much.”

Eventually, the fish stopped flopping around. Erin slowly edged over to the fish and stared at it. Was it dead? It didn’t seem to be breathing. It was probably dead.

She pointed a trembling finger at the fish.

“Hah! Take that!”

The fish lay there. Erin edged over and nudged it with one toe.

Instantly, the fish leapt into the air, wriggling like a snake. Its tail smacked Erin in the face as she tried to run. That hurt.

Erin fell over and landed next to the writhing fish. She pulled herself away as the gaping maw opened and closed a few feet from her face and waited until the fish slowly stopped moving again. This time, she was pretty sure it was dead.

“Four minutes. Four minutes is a long time not to be breathing, right? Okay—”

Just in case, Erin psyched herself up, ran over, and kicked the fish hard in the side.

“Aaaaaah!”

Erin hopped around in agony, clutching her foot.

“Is that thing made of rocks?”

It was like kicking a sack of cement. Not that Erin had ever kicked one, but she imagined that was what it was like. The fish had barely moved when she kicked it. It lay on the ground, jaw gaping open. It was definitely dead, now.

After a while, Erin stopped hopping around and swearing. She limped over to the fish and stared at it. It had…two eyes. Four, actually. But it had two on each side. One big eye and a smaller eye right behind it.

“Ew. Mutant fish with teeth.”

Erin stared at it for a little while longer. Her stomach rumbled.

“Right. Lunch.”

She poked the fish and tried to think of something to make. She had no fire, no other ingredients aside from blue fruit. The [Innkeeper]’s lips moved soundlessly for a second.

“…Sushi?”

——

“Discovery one: fish are heavy.”

The dead fish lay on the kitchen counter. It was dripping.

“Discovery two: kitchens have knives.”

It was a very sharp knife, too. It looked sharp, at least. Testing the sharpness with her thumb was probably a good way to lose her thumb. Erin’s arms hurt, and she smelled of fish. Oh, and her clothes weren’t dry. Lastly? She pinched at one nose with a sigh.

“Discovery three: fish stink.”

She sighed. Self-evident discoveries aside, she had no idea what to do next. Or rather, she only had a vague idea of what to do next.

She had a fish. You skinned a fish—or was that a bird?—and then you ate it. She was pretty sure about that. A fire was involved at some point, but slicing up the fish was a good first step. After all, wasn’t sashimi just raw fish? True, Erin had only eaten that once, with enough wasabi to burn her nose off, but it was worth a shot.

“And hey, I need food. So it’s time to chop stuff up.”

Still, Erin hesitated. She’d never had to cut up a fish before. How was she supposed to do it? She had no idea.

Maybe this is a moment where my new Skills could come in handy. Erin had a great idea. She lifted the knife, poked the fish in the side with it, and smiled hopefully.

“[Basic Cooking]! Give me—baked fish!”

Nothing happened. Erin hadn’t been expecting it, but she’d really, really been hoping the fish would vanish and a convenient, tasty dish would appear. She sighed.

“Huh. I guess [Basic Cooking] doesn’t work on fish.”

Or maybe not this fish. Or maybe she needed a fire? Erin gently poked it in the teeth and shuddered. Its scaly hide looked no easier to cut. But at least she had a knife.

True, she could have grabbed a bigger knife. Happily, there were several knives, ranging from one that looked like a proper cleaver to a tiny one the size of a finger. But she’d chosen a slimmer blade, because she didn’t want to wrestle with the big one. Besides, this one was sharpest, and she needed all the sharpness she could get.

Gingerly, Erin began sawing at the fish’s exterior. The knife skated over the scales without finding purchase. Grimly, Erin tried again. She sawed at the side and felt the skin begin to slowly part.

“Ew. Ew. Ew.”

At least she knew the fish bled red. That was really no comfort, actually. Erin warily held the knife as far away from her as possible while carefully pinching the fish with her other hand. She kept slicing at the scales, but she didn’t know how to do this. She didn’t cook as a rule, and fish? She’d buy it pre-filleted and deboned.

It was tough, too! The knife did not seem to cut well as she sliced horizontally with it, trying to peel the outside layer off. Erin sawed some more and managed to peel off a slice of skin. She looked into the fish’s insides and gagged.

“Oh. Oh god. Why—why is that yellow? What is that?”

She poked it with the knife. The yellow thing vibrated. A bit of pale yellow-white pus oozed from it—

Erin put down the knife and stepped into the common room to breathe for a while. When her stomach had stopped lurching, she went back.

“There is no way I’m eating that. Cooked or raw. Actually, there’s no way I’m eating any of this without a frying pan.”

She looked around. Frying pan? Check. Good. There was actually a very respectable-looking one made out of cast iron lying right on the counter. She’d seen it on the first day, and while it might need a wash, it was big enough to make an omelet. The fish would need to be in a lot of parts to fry up, though.

“Okay, okay. Let’s just…get rid of the bones? And the—the squishy stuff.”

Erin cut then hacked at the easily detachable bits. It was hard work. Nothing really wanted to come out, and the knife she’d chosen wasn’t exactly a precision tool.

“Come on. Get out of there.”

The yellow thing was stuck to the bones. She couldn’t get it out.

“Alright. Can’t go around it. Gotta go under it. Goodbye head, look out belly, here comes the knifey.”

Erin flipped the fish over and tried to cut around the other side. But again, the scales were hard to saw through. And now everything was slippery with blood and fish juice.

“Come on. Cut. Cut!”

She pressed hard with the knife. But it just wasn’t going through the skin. Annoyed, Erin pushed harder. And the knife slipped.

It happened in an instant. Her hand lost its traction, and the blade skated across the scales. It flashed left, and Erin recoiled. She yanked her hand back and felt…she saw a flash of red on the blade.

“…Huh?”

Erin blinked and held up her left hand. A gaping red line split her palm diagonally. There was no blood.

She flexed her hand once. That’s when the blood started pooling. But there was no pain. The young woman just stared at it in horror, then gazed about.

Erin looked around. Bandage? There were no bandages nearby. Or cloth.

Her hand felt…numb. Then tingly.

Bandages? Cloth? There were…curtains upstairs. Right? But they were dirty and moldy too.

The blood was dripping onto the fish and the counter. Erin wanted to wipe it away, but she was still holding her knife. And suddenly, her hand started hurting.

“…Ow.”

Erin dropped the knife.

“Ahh. Ah.”

She gripped her wrist as hard as she could, stopping the blood flow. But the pain kept coming now, on and on.

“Bandage.”

She didn’t remember leaving the kitchen, but she was back with one of the curtains from upstairs and slicing it to make a bandage as blood soaked the cloth. It was hard. She could only use one hand, and her other hand was hurting. The pain hadn’t been there at all, but with each microsecond, it was ratcheting up. The terror in her heart was being eclipsed by the need to shout. To scream.

Eventually, she wound the cloth tight and gritted her teeth as she tied a knot. The bloodstain was already spreading, though at least something was covering the wound. But it still hurt.

It hurt! Erin tried to think as she stumbled back to the common room. It wasn’t deep. Well, it was deep, but she wasn’t looking at bone. Yet it felt really deep.

“It hurts.”

She didn’t have words to describe the agony in her hand. The rest of the world was dim and unimportant compared to the pain radiating from that one point. All of her senses were focused on that place, and it was all Erin could do not to scream.

“Screaming is bad. Quiet.”

She just knew it. Screaming would make it somehow so much worse. So instead, Erin sat and gripped her wrist. The blood was dripping. It hurt.

It really hurt.

——

The sun was going down. Erin sat in the chair and stared at the puddle of blood on the floor. It wasn’t big. But every few seconds, another drop fell from the bloody bandage onto the floor.

Drip. Drip.

The pain was still there. It didn’t go away, even after this long. But it was—better. At least she could think a bit. She’d moved around, gotten another curtain and sliced it up for a second bandage. But she hadn’t wanted to change the one she was using, so she just sat.

She knew she should try to stop the bleeding. Apply pressure. But any more and she would scream. And if she started, she feared she’d never stop.

The first hour…the first hour she’d just held her wrist, mouth open, forcing herself not to scream. Hoping, praying that the agony would desist. It didn’t—it never went away. But she had eventually sat here.

Staring at her blood as it fell to the floor.

Drip.

Something smelled bad. Erin looked up. What was that smell? She wanted to ignore it, but after a few minutes, she had to stand up and go see.

It was coming from the kitchen. Erin walked in, clutching the wrist of her bad hand.

“Oh. Of course.”

The dead fish stared up at her on the cutting board drenched with her blood. It stank. At the same time, Erin’s stomach grumbled. She wasn’t hungry for fish, but she was hungry.

She didn’t want to eat, though, if that made sense. Erin walked back to the chair and sat down. As she did, she bumped the back of her legs. The knife cuts burned and hurt. A different kind of pain.

“I get it. It’s a bad day, right?”

Erin whispered. It made her feel better not to talk loudly. She was awake even though she was tired. The pain wasn’t going to let her sleep. And she was hungry, but she really didn’t want to eat.

So she sat and watched her blood fall.

Drip.

——

It was dark when the small puddle stopped growing. It soaked into the floorboards, a dark stain in the night. Erin stared at the blackness. She couldn’t sleep.

“Still hurts.”

That was—an understatement. The night was cool, even cold, but sweat was beading on her forehead. Her teeth ached from clenching, and she felt like a single line of pain was her entire being. It radiated up from her hand, and she—

Couldn’t make a sound. Just think of something else.

Erin stared at the table. She stared at the grain of the wood. Tried to think of—of—things to do? Make bandages? Find…?

No good. She couldn’t distract herself. But she had to. Her eyes rolled in her head. Couldn’t she fall unconscious from the pain? If only.

She had no strength to stand. It hurt too much. She couldn’t think—the only things that came to her were the most basic instincts. She had to think of something else, though.

So Erin began to whisper. She forced herself to—remember. How did it go?

“Pawn…pawn to E4.”

She rested her injured hand on the table. It flared once in pain and then resumed throbbing. Her other hand traced a square, and her eyes darted over the empty table. Her eyes were watery with pain, but she didn’t need to see in the pitch blackness. She knew it by heart.

Her fingers closed, as if holding something small and delicate. She even moved her left hand, tracing it across the table. Yes. That was how it went. What came next?

“Pawn to E5. Pawn to F4. Pawn captures F4—King’s Gambit Accepted. Bishop to C4, queen to H4. Check. Bishop’s Gambit. King to F1, pawn to B5. Bryan Counter-gambit. Bishop captures B5, knight moves to F6. Knight moves to F3…”

The pained whisper went on and on, until her throat dried and she kept up in her mind. First one game, then another. Erin kept talking to herself, kept playing long into the night. Alone, in the blackness of the inn as the shutters rattled every now and then and faint peeks of moonlight shone through.

A line of agony trying to divide her in half as she clung to the only thing she knew. Whispering the moves of a famous chess game, an immortal game, into the silence to distract herself.

But the pain in her hand never stopped.

It just kept hurting.

And hurting.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.04

Erin woke up suddenly. Her hand was burning.

Though her head felt like fog, she couldn’t fall back asleep. Instead, Erin just sat and cradled her hand again. She couldn’t move it or the pain would get worse, but sleeping or relaxing were beyond her as well. She could only sit in agony.

Bit by bit, the pain faded away. Maybe it was her waking up, or maybe she just got numb.

“Either way.”

Erin got up. She still held her hand and took great care not to flex it at all. It was…aching didn’t even begin to describe it. It was just pain, all the way through. And it wasn’t stopping.

But at the same time, she was ravenous. And for a little bit, that overrode her pain.

Slowly, very slowly, Erin hobbled around the inn. She grabbed the blue fruits with her good hand and began chomping them down one at a time. She was so hungry she ate four before she knew it, and then polished off two more as she sat at a table.

She would have sat there forever. Getting up wasn’t worth the effort, but a higher power called to her. It spoke in words she could not ignore.

Bathroom.

Erin sighed and put her head on the table. But the longer she sat the more uncomfortable it became. Still, the pain in her hand fought off the need to go relieve herself for the better part of an hour. When Erin finally stood up, she marched to the inn’s door and kicked it open. She’d go do her business in a random valley and then wash her hands at the stream. Hygiene and all that.

Erin made it five steps out of the inn before she reluctantly turned back and closed the door behind her. She doubted the Goblins would come back, but—safety. That done, she went about the business of doing her business.

——

It took nearly two hours before Erin came back. That was mainly due to her getting lost. Somehow, the stream seemed to be in a different spot than she’d remembered, and when she’d completed her task, she wasn’t able to retrace her steps.

The one benefit of finding the stream was being able to dunk her hand in the cold water to reduce the pain slightly. But she’d been watching for fish in the water, and all she wanted was to go back and sleep again.

When she did finally see the welcome sight of the inn, Erin could have cried with relief. All she wanted was to sit and suffer in peace, and the open door welcomed her in.

Absentmindedly, Erin walked through the door and closed it behind her. Then she went back and sat down at the table. Only then did she feel the wet fabric clinging to her hand and look down. She looked at the dirty, bloody bandage now sodden with water. She wasn’t a medical doctor. Or a doctor. Or even very familiar with first aid, but she didn’t think that was healthy.

“Damn it.”

——

“Ow. Owch. Ow.”

Every time Erin peeled off a bit of the bandage, part of her skin and a lot of blood went with it. Some of it was dried blood. Some of it was not.

After she’d gotten half of the bandage off, Erin had to stop. The pain was too much. And the bandage was stuck to her skin. But having a half-peeled bandage was worse. Erin couldn’t stop picking at it.

“Maybe I can cut the rest off somehow.”

Erin went to the kitchen. There were certainly sharp things in there. Like knives.

“Not knives.”

So were there scissors? They didn’t seem very medieval, but who knew? Erin decided to go through the cupboards in the kitchen again. She had no energy for the outside, but she couldn’t sleep and she’d only opened about half that first night.

This time, no longer panicking, Erin did a systematic search of every drawer and cupboard in the kitchen. The dust that poured out made her sneeze and cough, but she did find some basic cooking utensils like metal spatulas, a drawer full of tarnished silverware, and even some plates. The cupboards held a lot of things that Erin only vaguely understood.

Cooking implements, she suspected, like some weird metal grater with a wood handle. Did you…press down from the top? She found a corkscrew, the tip rusted, a collection of moldy cup holders, and a bunch of other culinary knickknacks. There were a lot of them. And that was…strange. Erin tried to make sense of it out loud since her inner thoughts were mostly devoted to not crying in pain.

“I’ve seen old kitchens in castles. I thought drawers and that kind of stuff only came later. This is, um, steel. Or at least iron. It looks like steel. Did they have a lot of steel in the medieval ages? Knights in armor, duh. But when were cheese graters invented? Is this place in the Dark Ages or past that? And can I get a light bulb somewhere around here?”

Erin grumbled as she searched with one hand. She threw open another cupboard and stopped. She stared at the pristine interior and the perfectly fresh, perfectly preserved…

“What the—”

Food. Food was sitting in the cupboard. A gleaming, single link of a sausage, a glass jar filled with white powder, and another container with a knife stuck in the little opening—

Erin had to rub her eyes with her good hand. Then she slapped herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. But when she looked again, it was still there.

“Is that…flour?”

Erin opened the jar and poked a finger at the powder. It felt—real. And fresh. Or, at least, it didn’t feel like white mold and dust, which is what it should have been. Erin drew her finger back, shaking, and stared at the white granules on her finger. She sniffed and nearly sneezed again—no clues from that aside from a lack of much to smell.

“It could be flour. Or—alternatively, it could be cocaine.”

She tried to smile, but her hand hurt too much.

“…It’s probably flour.”

But was it any good? Erin stared at the bag and tried to remember how long things were supposed to stay good. Probably not that long, even in glass jars. They had blown glass in this world?

No, focus on the flour. And the sausage? Erin stared at it. It looked like one of those things you saw in old-timey kitchens. Just a…her mouth watered.

There was no way that was good. Not unless someone had put this here right before she arrived. And if that were the case…no.

No, there was something odd about the cupboard. Unlike every other one, there was no dust or spiderwebs, and it had seemed in the best condition of the lot, despite the fraying wood. It smelled like, well, a cupboard, and the food smelled like it was edible.

It had to be a trick, though. Erin sighed and pulled the jar of flour out anyways. Might as well check. But then she caught sight of the pot with the knife in it and opened it. Erin placed it on the counter, removed the lid, and here was another surprise.

Erin’s eyes narrowed, and she frowned hard.

“That’s butter.”

There was no mistaking it. And it wasn’t just butter either. Erin was used to the nice, square sticks of butter that turned soft and spreadable in the sun. This…was more like a pot of butter. Yellow, swirled about, with a knife stuck in it, gleaming and ready to be applied to a bit of bread or something nice. Erin’s stomach rumbled at it, and she was almost tempted to eat it as-is. However—

“That’s not right.”

Erin stared at the butter. It was a golden yellow, fresh. Like someone had thawed a stick of butter just now. Same with the sausage and flour—well, the flour was just flour.

Yet everything else? Erin stared around the kitchen. Dust and cobwebs seemed to make up most of the room. She stared at the floor she had yet to sweep.

“How long does it take for dust to get two inches deep?”

Five months? Two years? Five years? Either way, Erin was pretty sure butter didn’t last that long. She craned her neck around, suddenly feeling a prickle of suspicion on the back of her neck.

“Is someone messing with me?”

Erin glanced around. Could someone have put the food in here? But no, her footsteps were the first to disturb the dust. So then how…?

Her eyes flicked back to the cupboards. At last, something bright caught her attention. It was inlaid around the edges of the cupboard, on the interior door, which was why she hadn’t seen it, but a silver glimmer finally caught her eye.

“Oh. Oh!”

Erin Solstice stared at a line of glowing, incomprehensible symbols drawn along the edge of the cupboard. They looked like someone had painted them there with the most delicate brush and silver paint. They were nonsensical: circles and connected shapes that almost looked like letters or—

It hurt her head just to focus on them, and the longer she stared, the brighter the runes seemed to grow. It was—Erin brushed at the inscriptions and traced them around the edge of the entire pantry. She didn’t know what they meant, but she was convinced this wasn’t just random art or even a fanciful attempt at the real stuff. This meant something, and the hair on the back of her neck rose as she touched one beautiful sigil.

“Wow. Magic.”

She stared at the runes, entranced. Then a thought struck her, and she opened the other cupboards. Could it be that…?

“Here. Here…they’re everywhere.”

Around the edges of each cupboard were the same small etchings of runes. Erin traced them with her fingertip, but unlike the cupboard with all the good food, these ones weren’t glowing. The paint was flaking, and beyond the glow, some quality had been lost. She noticed a break in the wood along one solid line of the magic writing and took a wild guess.

“Huh. I guess it wore off. Or maybe they broke somehow? I wonder what they’re made of.”

She went back to the enchanted cupboard in awe. But now curiosity was engulfing her, so she gingerly touched the runes on the cupboard door.

…It felt like painted wood, but Erin had to believe it was something more. Was it just paint? Could you re-draw this and get more magic? Experimentally, she scraped at the runes with one fingernail. A bit of it flaked off onto her finger.

“Silver? Or something glowy.”

It was fragile, too. The young woman hesitated. Was that supposed to happen? She poked a little harder, not really thinking, just curious.

The old wood of the cupboard was beyond delicate with age. Erin’s finger jabbed the lip of the wood, and a splinter of it came away. Just a thin fragment of wood. And silver, glowing magic.

The fragment of wood disrupted the glowing line traced around the cupboard. The glowing symbols flickered—and as Erin watched in horror, they faded away.

“No, nonono—”

The sliver of wood dropped to the ground, and Erin stared at the piece then tried to replace it.

“Don’t do this to me! No—I just—”

She tried to press it back into place, and the wood cracked, and more runes flaked away and drifted downwards in a little spiral of silver dust and wood. Erin stood there, mouth open in horror.

“Oh you’ve got to be shi—”

Erin pulled back too far as she stood up, overbalanced, and fell backwards. She didn’t hit the ground too hard, but her bad hand smacked the ground. Instantly, Erin grabbed her hand and cradled it, but she could feel the blood running again. She curled up into a ball and stayed there for a long time.

“It’s not fair. It’s not fair.”

Erin looked up after the pain faded a bit. She saw a dark cupboard. When she got up, the food was still the same, but the magic had gone.

Dully, she stared at the now dark symbols. Dead. Just like that. The food? Still fresh. But it wouldn’t be fresh any longer. And the magical cupboard was dead. Forever.

Erin rubbed at her eyes. She wasn’t crying. But her eyes stung a bit. That was all.

That was all.

——

Erin sat at the table in the common room and talked to herself. It was mainly to avoid thinking about pain or her own stupidity.

“True, you’ve gotta leave stuff behind when you leave. Can’t carry everything. But you had good food still here. And more, in those other cupboards. And here’s a kitchen full of supplies…how expensive are good, sharp knives?”

Erin flexed her hand and winced again. Very sharp knives.

“No one leaves that behind. So why would anyone…?”

It was a bad thought to have. Erin suddenly felt very uneasy. The hair on her neck began prickling, and her stomach began doing pushups.

“Question. How did Mr. Skeleton upstairs die?”

Her spine tingled.

“Maybe that’s a bad question.”

But once asked, it wasn’t easy to get rid of. Erin tried to ignore it. She stared at the dried blood on her hand, ate another blue fruit, but the thought lingered. Eventually, she couldn’t bear it any longer. She stood up.

“Upstairs. Fine. Hello darkness my old enemy.”

It wasn’t nearly as hard going up the stairs. Now that she knew what was in every room, going down the dark hallways wasn’t scary. But going in the last room? That was very scary.

Erin took a few deep breaths before she opened the door. Her palm was sweaty on the doorknob.

“Am I afraid of dead people? Well yeah. But they can’t hurt me. Zombies can, but normal dead people can’t. It’s just a skeleton. I can take a look for signs of—of death, and then I’ll go sleep. Good plan. Let’s do it.”

She opened the door and stared inside. Then she ran back and started opening the other doors on the top floor, slamming into each room before running to the next. But what she sought was not there.

Slowly, Erin walked back to the room at the far end and looked inside. A sagging bed, a small table, a shuttered window. Nothing else. Erin whispered into the silence.

“It’s gone.”

——

The skeleton was gone. Erin was sure of it. It wasn’t anywhere in the inn that she’d looked, and she’d combed both the top and bottom floor thoroughly. And the worst part about losing a dead body was wondering where it went.

Erin sat in the common room. Actually, she sat in a corner of it, her back to the wall as her eyes darted around the room. It wasn’t that she was waiting for a pile of bones to fall from the ceiling. But…she would prefer to know where said bones had gone.

“Okay. Okay. What’s the problem? It was just a skeleton. Just a spooky, dead thing. And even if it did move—somehow, where would it go?”

She didn’t know why she was whispering to herself. It just made her feel…well, it didn’t make her feel better, but it felt appropriate. It was getting dark. It was nearly night. In the circumstances, being loud didn’t feel like the smart thing to do.

And the skeleton might hear her.

“No, no. That’s impossible. It’s not here. It’s somewhere else. Besides, where could it hide? I checked all the rooms upstairs. So where could it be?”

The…cupboards?

Her eyes darted towards the kitchen. No. It couldn’t be. She’d checked.

What about underneath the floorboards? Or on the roof?

Erin kept very still and listened. Nothing. That was good, right?

But skeletons don’t need to breathe. They don’t need to move until you’re asleep. And then…

Enough. Erin shook her head. It was all in her head. There had to be a perfectly good reason for a corpse to disappear suddenly—

What about the walls?

Erin refused to turn her head. She was just being paranoid. Which was a good thing. Because it could be anywhere. She could just see herself, asleep, as a skeleton tip-toed out of the darkness, a knife in hand and—

She wrenched herself out of that idea. Skeletons didn’t do that, she had to believe. It was more reasonable to assume someone had taken it. The skeleton was not her imagination. Someone had taken it. Why?

“Because it was valuable? Because skeletons are so useful, sure. Maybe the Goblins did it. Can’t you eat bones? Or—someone else?”

That was just as inconceivable. Okay, maybe someone, something took the skeleton. But why? And when?

Erin’s mind suddenly flashed back to when she’d returned that morning. Hadn’t the inn’s door been open? She hadn’t noticed at the time, but she remembered closing it as she left. She didn’t remember having to open it when she got back.

Her skin crawled. The inn suddenly felt a lot less safe.

But it was just her imagination. She had an overactive imagination. If she went to sleep, all would be well. All she had to do was close her eyes, and when she woke up, all would be well. There was nothing to worry about. Erin couldn’t even hear anything except the rapid beating of her heart and the creaking.

Creaking. A footstep.

Erin sat bolt upright. Her heart felt like it was about to stop from sheer overwork. Her eyes darted to the ceiling.

Something was up there.

She heard it moving about. Maybe if she’d been more relaxed she might never have noticed the faint creaks and groans of floorboards as something crept around upstairs. And judging by the sounds…

Erin tracked the progress of the creature above her. It was moving to the stairwell.

Slowly, Erin clenched her bad hand to avoid screaming. The pain as her sliced hand throbbed and started to bleed grounded her. Silently, she stood up.

The knife was on the table. Erin held it in her good hand and moved around. The stairwell was on the right side of the room. Anyone coming down wouldn’t be able to see her if she were in the rightmost corner.

Skirting the chairs and tables, Erin made her way over and crouched down. The handle of the kitchen knife was slippery in her hand with sweat. Her other hand was slippery with her blood. She gazed at the blade of the knife. It was very sharp.

The creaking stopped for a moment as the intruder reached the top of the stairs. Erin waited. It would come down. And when it did, she’d get one chance to attack first.

Attack first? Am I some kind of hero?

No. New plan. The instant Erin saw what it was, she was running for her life. But she had to see what it was first.

The skeleton popped into her head. Was it that? Or was it the creature that had stolen its bones? Was it some kind of parasitic creature that lived in dead corpses—or a gaunt nightprowler that ate the marrow of the deceased?

Please let it just be a skeleton.

The monster started descending the stairs. Quietly. Slowly. Even though Erin was listening, she barely heard the sound it made. She tried to guess how far down it was. Halfway. Two-thirds. A few steps left.

Something left the last step and walked into the common room. Erin didn’t breathe. She didn’t move, or even blink.

Slowly, the creature stepped closer. Erin squinted and gasped as it came into view. Then she stood up and sighed.

“Oh. Just a Goblin.”

The short green creature whirled around in surprise as Erin stood up with a sigh. It immediately crouched, its sharp dagger held in a fighting stance. It snarled at her.

She snarled back.

——

The rest of the Goblin ambush party of seven waited outside of the inn, keen ears straining for sound. Each one was a seasoned warrior—at least by the standards of their small clan. They were all armed with the best weaponry available. The most dangerous among them had shortswords that were only half-covered in rust. And they were awaiting the signal.

The inn’s door flew open. The Goblins looked up. They expected the Human female to run out of it, screaming and preferably bleeding. At worst, they expected their comrade to be running out, her fast on his heels. They readied their weapons.

And ducked as a body flew over their heads.

“Go to hell!”

The Human female slammed the door shut.

The Goblins stared at the closed door of the inn. They stared at the barely recognizable face of the unconscious Goblin and then exchanged a look. Then they quickly picked up their fallen comrade and legged it back into the night.

——

The young woman’s fight with the Goblins did not go unnoticed. The little Goblin that had crept after the attack group seeking revenge for yesterday witnessed their second embarrassing flight.

She almost liked the Human for beating the one who tried to creep into the second floor. She hit him a lot. She thought the warriors wouldn’t tell the Chieftain about this, either.

However, the littlest Goblin didn’t know that while she was staring at the inn and creeping back with the warriors, she was being watched.

——

A crouched figure stared at both the Goblins and the fleeting image he had seen of the person in the inn. So there was someone there. Of all the luck! It was a perfect place, but he had no idea whether she was alone or dangerous in and of herself.

She certainly seemed fearless of Goblins, though that wasn’t saying much. But what was she doing out there?

Well, she didn’t have anything else to steal that he’d seen. Not that he’d had much time. He decided to keep an eye on the place. But the growling of his stomach almost alerted the small Goblin. She stopped, staring around, and he ducked back into cover.

Damnation! She couldn’t see him, but he decided to return to his lair, his abode. His sanctuary, yes. He might not have gotten anything but bones, but those bones would help him finish his latest project.

Oh, yes indeed.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.05

Erin woke up with her back against the inn’s front door. Her neck was aching, and her hand was burning. It was morning.

“Ow.”

She held her hand. It was hurting—

“Feels like it’s worse than yesterday. Which is probably my imagination.”

She sat, cradling her hand for a full minute. Then she remembered why she was sitting there and shot to her feet.

“Skeleton? Goblins.”

Where was it? Erin hobbled over to a table. There. Two daggers on the tabletop. She looked around at the windows—some even had furniture piled up to make sure nothing could get in. And she’d been up all night, waiting to hear anything trying to come in. But no other Goblins had, and the other one had left its dagger as well, albeit unwillingly. Erin mumbled to herself as she poked one of the hilts with a finger.

“At this rate, I’m going to start a collection.”

At least it proved she hadn’t been dreaming. Well, until she’d fallen asleep. But nothing had killed her, so Erin tried to put the disappearing corpse out of her mind.

“No skeleton? No problem. I hope.”

She sighed and then sniffed.

“What’s that smell?”

Something smelled really bad. And it was coming from the kitchen. The instant Erin opened the door, she groaned aloud.

The fish lay on the cutting board, covered in dry blood and reeking in the sunlight. It stank. Actually, it smelled worse than that.

“This. This is disgusting.”

Erin stared at the fish for a few more seconds. She had absolutely no desire to touch it. On the other hand…

A few black things crawled out of the fish’s mouth. Erin stared at the small things, gagged, and then ran outside before she hurled.

That was the start of her day.

——

How did you get rid of a fish? Erin put it outside on the ground and stared at it.

“I could bury it. If I had a shovel. And I could burn it. If I had a way to make fire. Or…I could leave it over there.”

She picked it up and walked for about fifteen minutes before she was sure she was far enough away from the inn. Then, Erin unceremoniously dumped the rotting fish off the cutting board.

That was a mistake.

As the fish hit the ground, it exploded. Something inside of it broke or squished, and suddenly a host of little black and green insects exited the fish’s body from every orifice. Erin took one look, screamed, and ran. She was getting good at that.

——

It took her a long time before she found the courage to return. And even then, it was just to run in, grab the cutting board, and leg it to the stream.

“Ew, ew, ew.”

Erin thrust the plank of wood in the water and watched fish guts and insects sweep away into the current. It wasn’t the dead fish she objected to. Well, not as much as the live bugs that clung stubbornly to the wood. They were small, and she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or further disgusted to see they were flies, not beetles or anything worse.

Big flies, though, with fat, glowing abdomens. Like—disgusting fireflies, lurid green instead of nice yellow. Not that fireflies were that cute up close either. Erin pointed at the last straggler refusing to be pulled off by the water.

“You. Get off.”

The tenacious fly seemed to have the strength of ten bugs, because it refused to let the current drag it off. Erin lifted the board a bit and realized this fly had other odd qualities. Something about its head was triangular, and yes, that glowing abdomen was far bigger than a firefly’s. It even looked slightly…liquid, and the bloated insect was like nothing she had ever seen before on Earth.

“Another weird creature. Wonderful.”

Reluctantly, she looked closer. Know thy enemy, right? She supposed she should also know her bug.

“That’s definitely a bug. And it’s really ugly. If I could take it to a scientist back home, I bet I’d be famous. Since I can’t—go away, would you?”

She dunked the board and shook it underwater. Swish. Swish. The bug clung to the wet wood despite Erin’s best attempts to shake it off. Then she noticed another detail.

“…Why’s it got four legs? I thought bugs had six.”

It was also segmented in two places, as if the bug had people-legs. That was weird and disconcerting. And still, it refused to let go of the wood, fanning its wings futilely and trying to fly off. Probably to join its many siblings still buzzing around the dead fish’s corpse. Well, Erin wasn’t going to bother the rest of them, but this one? This one had a date with the water. It just refused to go.

Annoyed at this resistance, Erin finally pulled the cutting board out of the water. The insect fanned its wings as she stared at it. It was really mostly like a firefly, except that its backside was glowing green. Better than a cockroach, but there was only one way to deal with bugs like that.

Erin curled her finger and gave the bug a damn good flick.

It exploded.

The insect’s green abdomen burst into a splatter of green liquid as the rest of it flew off into the stream. Erin blinked as the green liquid covered the cutting board and splashed into the water.

Some of it landed on Erin’s arm. Instantly, both the board and her arm began to smoke and dissolve.

“Ahh! Owowowowowow!”

She plunged her arm into the water. It was an instinctive reaction, but it made the pain vanish. Still, Erin frantically scrubbed at the spot until all of the burning pain had gone. She looked at the cutting board and stared as the green liquid ate into the wood until she dunked it into the water. Then she stared at her burnt skin, and the cutting board, eaten away by…

Erin turned her head and backed away as the rest of the glowing insects buzzed around the dead fish.

“Acid flies. Okay, that’s completely wrong.”

——

Her skin was red and sore from the brief contact with acid, but she was fine. Nevertheless, she washed both her body and the cutting board until she felt completely clean. This was less fun, because Erin was also watching out for strange shadows in the water.

“Great. My hand hurts, and now my arm hurts.”

Erin stared at the dead fish as she walked back to the inn. The fish’s body was swarming with those little acid flies. They were probably laying eggs in it or something equally fun.

Briefly, Erin considered dragging the fish into the stream and letting all the buggers drown. Then she considered what would happen if all the flies landed on her and exploded.

“Right. Well, there’s only one thing to do in a situation like this.”

Erin raised first one, then both her middle fingers. Her injured left hand hurt like fire, but it still made her feel better.

“That’s for all of you.”

Then she went back to the inn. There was only one good thing in the world right now. And that was food.

——

“I really should have brought a bucket.”

Erin stared at the ingredients lined up on the kitchen counter. Her stomach was rumbling, and she was in the mood for food. But she didn’t really want another breakfast, lunch, and dinner of blue fruit. Today, she was in the mood for bread. Freshly baked bread. And that lovely bit of sausage.

She’d been holding off on eating either, mainly due to the pain and infestation of her kitchen, but Erin was relieved to find the bugs hadn’t gone for the good food, instead preferring the fresh, rotting corpse of the fish. So she had ingredients! Enough to make bread!

Unfortunately, that required water. And Erin really didn’t want to walk to the stream and back with a heavy bucket. But she needed water. She knew that. Somehow.

Was it instinct? Erin frowned and knocked on her skull. She had never made food, not really. Well, she’d made Mac and Cheese and instant ramen, but that didn’t count. And that went for microwaves and ovens too. So why did she know that to make bread she needed flour, oil, salt, sugar, yeast, and some water? It had to be magic.

Or a skill.

“[Basic Cooking], huh?”

Erin stared at the washed cutting board. Yes, all the ingredients were here. It made sense; this was a kitchen. Kitchens had ingredients. Therefore, she could make bread. Or dough. To make bread, she’d have to bake it in an oven. Handily, this kitchen had an old oven that Erin’s instincts told her she could use. But to use the oven, she needed fire.

She had no idea how to make a fire.

Whatever new ability she had to make food, it did not extend to making fire. Erin stared at the empty fireplace in the oven and thought.

“Sticks. You hit sticks together. Or rocks.”

She looked around. She had wood. There were lots of chairs and tables. What she didn’t have were matches. Or a lighter. Or a can full of gasoline and a flamethrower.

Erin went back to the kitchen. There had to be something to start fires in there. How else would you cook things?

“Right. Rummage time. I know I saw a shelf full of weird stuff somewhere…”

She went back through the shelves. In her first search through the kitchen, she’d put everything vaguely useful or non-rusted in the cupboard next to the food.

“Let’s see. Frying pan? No. Tongs? No. A saw? Why does a kitchen need a saw?”

Erin set the small handsaw aside and squinted. Behind that was something she hadn’t quite figured out. Well, two things—a rock and something else. Something weird.

“Is that…a horseshoe?”

No. It was way too small to be a horseshoe and the wrong shape. Unless this world had really weird, small horses that was. But even then, why have horseshoes in a kitchen?

“Unless they ate horses.”

Erin stared at the horseshoe-thing. She stared at the rock. Slowly, she slid the rock along the fire striker and watched sparks fly.

“Huh. So that’s what flint and steel looks like. It actually does look like Minecraft!”

Erin paused. She sighed and slapped herself gently.

“I’m an idiot.”

——

Flint and steel was actually pretty fun to use. So long as you didn’t burn down the flammable, wooden inn around you by accident.

Erin peered in the large fireplace and fumbled with the flint and steel again.

“Dried grass…check. Broken chair…check. Fire?”

She slid the flint across the steel quickly and flinched as the sparks flew.

“Ow. Hot!”

The shower of sparks descended on the dry grass like a swarm of angry fireflies. And the tinder caught fire in places, and the fire grew.

Erin held her breath. Then she exhaled, blowing at the small flames like she’d seen television campers do.

“Damn. It went out.”

She struck the flint and steel again. This time, she let the fires grow a bit and did not blow on them. Slowly, the small fires grew. She fed the small flames pieces of wood and grinned.

“Fire! Call me Prometheus…Promethea.”

The warmth on her front became a little too hot, so Erin scooted back, but she was grinning. Well, she was grinning until she sat on her bad hand.

“Okay. Pain. But now I can make bread! I’ve got all the ingredients. Right? Right. I just need flour, yeast, butter, a bit of salt and sugar and—”

Erin sighed.

“Oh yeah. Water. Great. Well, I can just go out and get some. It’s not like there’s a time limit or anything—”

She looked back at the fire she’d just started. It was already starting to go out.

“Dammit.”

——

There had been no light yesterday or the day before. During the daytime, it was conceivable they might have seen something from the walls, but no one had looked that far expecting to find anything but monsters or Goblins.

However, by daylight, the faint trickle of smoke was possibly, possibly visible. And if the wind blew just right, the keenest of noses might pick it up.

Or it could just be their imagination. However, the watchers on the walls dutifully reported it to their superior.

“It could just be nothing, Senior [Guardswoman].”

The woman frowned and sniffed to pick up the faint smell. There were countless scents around her, and this was like a needle in a haystack, but she agreed.

“It does look like—smoke. Maybe it’s a traveller. Or bandits. Or whoever’s been robbing the farmsteads.”

“Or Goblins. I’ve seen them creeping around now and then. Do we send out a patrol?”

She thought about it.

“Not a full one, and that’s not our call. I’ll tell the Captain. You just keep an eye on it. I think she’ll put our best patrol on it. Punishment detail for breaking all those windows yesterday.”

Her voice was laden with irony, and the other person on the wall grinned with idle glee.

“Ooh. I’d hate to be Relc. Klbkch didn’t do anything, though. But he’s…eugh.”

The woman glanced over her shoulder and reached out to slap a helmet.

“That’s Senior Guardsman Klbkch to you, rookie. Send a street runner to tell the Captain.”

“Yes, [Guardswoman] Beilmark.”

——

In the end, Erin let the fire burn while she went to get water. The fireplace was stone, and the kitchen was stone. The odds of a stray spark walking all the way to the common room was remote. Still, she felt uneasy.

“This is how it starts, right? You leave the fireplace on while you go on a vacation for a few days, and the next thing you know, your inn’s burned down. A classic cautionary tale.”

Erin sighed as she walked along. She wondered again how much trouble she was really in. After all, she had just started a fire, true, but that was pretty basic even for primeval Humans. What could—

A patch of green moved in the grass ahead of her. Erin stared at it. Was it part of the grass? It raised its head and stared back. It wasn’t the grass at all. It was—

Something exploded out of the grass. Erin screamed, flailed wildly with her bucket, and fell over. The gigantic bird with leathery wings and a beak longer than her arm took off into the sky with an ear-piercing screech. She caught a flash of scales, as green as the grass it had blended in with, and the long head and beaked teeth? The young woman gaped upwards.

“Oh. Oh wow.”

Erin sat on the ground and stared.

“Is that a…pterodactyl? No way.”

It looked like it. And while Erin was only really seeing its rapidly disappearing backside, the bird had a certain…non-feathery quality to it. However, where the ancient dinosaurs Erin had seen in museum pictures were brown and plain, this bird had been a light green with red markings along its head and beak and the tips of its wings.

“Camouflaged dinosaur birds. Now I’ve really seen everything.”

Erin shook her head and got back up. She brushed off her dirty t-shirt and jeans.

“Gotta wash these sometime. But that means I’ll be walking around naked. Is that an issue? And what’s that smell?”

Something smelled truly terrible. Erin covered her nose and frowned. She cast around for the source of the smell. It was on the ground somewhere. She walked ten steps and found a nest. Erin stared down at a neat ring of dirt, trampled grass, and stones. A nest on the ground? But then—she didn’t see many trees nearby, and the only other place would be those cliffs.

“Huh. I guess without many trees birds get lazy. But what a big nest. And what’s that inside—”

Erin took one look inside the nest and covered her mouth. She gagged and took a few deep breaths.

“Okay. At least I know where all the normal birds go. Inside the dinosaur-birds.”

Averting her eyes from the grisly remains, Erin turned to go. She took two steps and tripped.

“Ow.”

She got up, cradled her injured hand a bit, and wished for the world to explode. Or just her. Then she squatted down to look at what she’d tripped over. She saw a second nest, this one much cleaner and smaller. And it was filled with big, round, pale…

“Eggs?”

——

Buckets could hold things. Ideally they held water, but they could also hold eggs. They could also hold eggs in water.

It was still a pain to haul the bucket across the grasslands, though. Erin puffed and huffed and kept up a running stream of complaints as she lugged the full water bucket along.

“People used to do this every day? This is why plumbing was invented, you know. Who puts a stream so far from an inn? What happened to a good well?”

She kept grumbling until she reached the inn. Once there, Erin had to lean against the door and pant like a dog for a while before she felt better. She noticed a sign hanging next to her nose and squinted at the faded lettering.

“Huh. ‘Closed?’ Is that English?”

It was English. Slightly stylistic, each letter carefully traced in black paint, but Erin understood it nonetheless.

“Huh. So people speak English here. Good to know!”

Then she frowned at another word painted right below it. Not English. The lettering was far more curvy, and based on her limited knowledge of Earth’s languages—it looked completely unique.

“Hold on. What’s this word?”

It looked…odd. This was clearly an open-closed sign. Erin could tell because it was on the front door, and because she flipped it over and, just as expected, it said ‘Open’ on the back.

And there was a second word right below it, in that other language. Erin had no idea what it meant; it was foreign to her. But if she had to guess?

It probably said ‘Open’ too. In a different language. Just like signs back home. And that meant—Erin felt a shiver run down her spine.

That meant there were two languages here. Two sets of writing, at any rate. Furthermore, it confirmed Erin’s suspicions.

“This was an inn once. But someone abandoned it. And they left a lotta useful stuff behind.”

She tapped her lips thoughtfully and narrowed her eyes at the hanging sign. The rope was frayed and worn, but it was still in pretty good shape.

“…Well, finders keepers.”

Erin kicked open the door to the inn and dragged the bucket inside. But she paused and stepped out to look at the sign.

It was a sudden whim. Erin flipped the sign over so it read ‘Open’.

“Now, where can I get a piece of chalk and write ‘no Goblins allowed’?”

Well, that was a question for later. Right now, Erin was more concerned about the precious water. She had the water. She had dragged the water very painfully all the way here. Now she had to find a place to store said water. The bucket was nice, but it was also sort of small and definitely not useful as a long-term container. It was leaking a bit. So where else could she put it?

Erin wandered into the kitchen.

“Well, here’s a cauldron.”

It was actually a pot, but it looked like a cauldron. It was in fact both things at once. The point was that it could store water. Unfortunately, that meant the cauldron had to be cleaned first.

Erin tried to use as little water as possible. But the pot was large, filled with dust, and the bucket was finite. She eventually ran out of water and had to make another trip back. And then another.

When the cauldron was finally full of water and clean enough to hold said water, Erin was ready to kill something. Like eggs. She stared longingly at the fresh sausage, but she shook her head.

“No. No. You deserve at least a sandwich. Or eggs and sausage.”

That would make it taste so much better. So Erin decided to commit. She tromped back into the kitchen and stared at the grey embers in the fireplace. The fire was long dead. Erin groaned and then scowled. She pointed at the embers accusatorially.

“I’ll deal with you later. For now, I need dough.”

Dough was easy. It was just mixing stuff, and Erin had plenty of stuff to mix. But an idea struck her as she stared at her ingredients.

Bread took a while to bake. Bread needed to rise and do all kinds of complicated yeasty-stuff according to her [Basic Cooking] skill. And to be fair, that was about all she could make with the ingredients at hand. Not much you could do with a bit of flour, right? But eggs? Eggs changed everything.

Erin stared at the flour. She stared at the butter and salt. Then she stared at the eggs. Her eyes narrowed.

“Forget bread. It’s pasta time.”

——

The mixing bowl was full of flour, a dash of salt, some water, and butter. Oil would be best, but Erin didn’t have oil, so butter would do. She grinned. This was easy. Then she cracked the egg.

A large, glistening yolk fell into the bowl. The eggs of the giant dino-birds were about three times bigger than normal bird eggs. That could make a lot of pasta. But there was just one thing different about these eggs.

“Oh. Oh god. Why are there red lines—?”

Erin covered her mouth.

“It was alive. There was a baby inside.”

Her stomach lurched. But there was nothing to throw up. Erin took a few deep breaths and tried to think.

“Right. Normal eggs actually hatch. Right. This isn’t a store, so of course they’d be living—but they must be new eggs. Not full of half-born chickens, right?”

She stared at the rest of the eggs. Right?

——

Erin wiped her mouth as she kneaded the dough. She hadn’t thrown up. But her stomach was still a bit queasy from all the killing she’d done. If that was the word for it.

“Sorry, baby dino-birdlings. But I really need to eat. And you look nice and doughy right now.”

She punched the dough ball gently. The kneading was done. It was time to roll it and slice it into nice, pasta-sized shapes.

To her credit, Erin barely hesitated when she grabbed the sharp knife again. But she did take the time to wash the blood off before she began slicing. And though it took her a bit longer to cut everything since she worked with one hand and tried to keep all her digits out of the knife’s path, she eventually had a pile of long stringy noodles ready to be boiled.

Erin held the first batch of raw noodles over the boiling water in the pot.

“Double double, boil and trouble…into the pot you go.”

The noodles fell in with a large splash. Erin yelped and jumped away.

“Hot!”

When she was finished calling herself an idiot, Erin sat back and waited. The noodles wouldn’t take that long. Then she could add some more butter, a little more salt, and feast. It was a good plan.

“Too bad I don’t have something refreshing to drink as well. A nice glass of juice would go down great. But y’know, it’s not like I…can…”

Erin stood up. She walked back into the common room and looked around.

The pile of blue fruits was right where she had left them. Erin’s eyes narrowed as she looked at them. She stroked her chin in thought.

“Blue juice?”

She shook her head.

“Nah. Blue fruit juice? That’s more like it.”

——

It was a messy process, peeling each blue fruit and then pulping the fruit into a mush. And then of course there was the mandatory trip to the stream with the bucket in order to get enough water to add to the mixture, not to mention to clean the glasses, plates, and silverware. By the time she’d made her umpteenth trip to fetch water, Erin’s arms felt like they were about to fall off. But that was okay, because she now had a drink.

“Mm! Sweet! This stuff’s like syrup! Chunky syrup! Or…a smoothie.”

Erin put the pitcher of blue fruit juice in the common room and checked on the noodles. She didn’t know how long to cook them, but she’d been taking out a strand or two every few minutes to make sure it was good. At last, she decided it was ready.

“Hm. Chewy. Tasty! Pasta is the greatest food in the entire world.”

The last thing she did was take the red sausage out of the cupboard and slice it up. She did it very finely, keeping her fingers far from the blade, but she diced the entire thing.

It had little pepper flakes inside. And the meat looked good. Erin couldn’t help but take one sliver; she resisted the urge to gobble it down and put the rest in the noodles. She might not get more for a long time.

The sausage tasted like sausage. Hot, spicy, and so flavorful it burst in her mouth. Erin’s eyes went slightly misty. It wasn’t blue fruits or—it tasted like food.

She couldn’t cry, though. She was far too hungry. Erin rubbed her eyes briskly and created a huge serving of noodles and dumped it onto a plate.

“Hm. Fork…fork! Am I missing anything?”

She felt like there was something missing. But—she brought the food into the common room anyways and sat down.

“Who knew carrying stuff with one hand was so much of a pain? I mean, everything’s a pain.”

The pasta was nice and hot. Erin felt her stomach rumbling. But something still felt off. And pain was still present.

“But it’s a better day, right? A bit of a better day.”

Erin stared at the plate. Pasta, check. Fork, check. Juice, check.

She sighed. A smile tried to climb onto her face. Her hand throbbed, but Erin kept the smile up and raised her fork. She was going to eat until she puked. Okay, maybe until she was just full. She raised the first glistening noodle to her lips.

Knock, knock.

Without thinking, Erin stood up and went to the door. She opened it as if she were at her home.

“Hi, can I help you?”

A giant insect stood in the doorway. It raised one chitin hand in greetings and opened its mandibles as its antennae waved in Erin’s face.

“Greetings. May we come in?”

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.06

A giant insect stood in the doorway. It had large, black, bulbous eyes like a bug, no pupils, just tiny facets reflecting the light, a dark brown chitinous body, almost black, and a pair of swords at its sides. A giant shell like a beetle or turtle’s covered its back, and the entire effect made the bug-man look slightly hunched.

It had four arms, each one covered in chitin but shaped almost like a Human’s, complete with fingers, and two long mandibles coming out of its mouth, shaped like pincers. A pair of waving antennae were attached to the thing’s head. No hair, no nose, no…clothing, really. Just a loincloth and a belt and a pair of swords sheathed at its side?

There was something shiny and metal pinned to its chest, but she was mostly just staring at the ant-person in front of her.

Erin stared at the ant-creature, lost for words. Then it opened its mouth and began to speak again.

“Good evening, Miss Human. I was wondering if my colleague and I could take up a moment of your time—”

Erin shut the door. Then she bolted it. Where did she put the kitchen knife?

“You idiot. I told you this is why I should have opened the door.”

A second, louder, muffled voice came through the door. A second bug-person? This one had a slight rasp to it, sibilant. Erin heard the two talking as she looked around. Weapon. She needed—

The Goblins’ knives were on the table. She grabbed both and tried to think. Knife. Chair? There were lots of chairs.

“Maybe it was a bad time?”

Or windows. Erin looked around. Plenty of windows. She’d jump out one if she needed to.

“Move over. Let me show you how it’s done.”

Someone knocked on the door again. Erin froze, and then went back. Very slowly, she opened the door.

A giant lizard—no, a miniature Dragon that looked sort of like a Human stared down at Erin. He had to be at least six-and-a-half feet tall.

He was huge, muscular, with scars parting the rippling scales instead of flesh. His head was shaped like a lizard’s—or a Dragon’s. No nose, again, but a snout and slitted pupils, not round. His scales were light green, and he had sharp, sharp claws on each hand. Yet he also had a very humanoid body—except for his feet, which were taloned like a dinosaur or lizard’s. Or a Dragon’s, again. He even had a long tail, which dragged on the ground behind him, and neck-spines sticking out the back of his head!

When he smiled, she saw his teeth. Pointed and sharp. Oh, and he had a forked tongue. The Dragon-man raised one claw and opened his mouth wider in a grin.

“Hello, Miss. Sorry if we—”

Erin shut the door, bolted it, and dragged a table in front of it. She could feel her heart pounding out of her chest as she pushed another table in the way. Knives were no good. He was huge! She’d have to jump out a window after all. She heard the first person, the bug-guy—he sounded like a guy—speaking drily.

“Good job not scaring her.”

“Shut up. This is your fault. I told you I should go first. I’m not a horrific Ant.”

“Yes, but I have my badge on. You have not brought yours. Again. For the eighth day in a row. Therefore, I was the most logical choice to—”

Were they talking? Erin listened hard. Her hands were shaking so hard she couldn’t hold anything. She heard them trying the door and finding it locked.

“Now what? I do not believe breaking and entering would be appropriate at this moment.”

“What, are you crazy? Let me talk. That was just a misunderstanding caused by seeing your face. I’ll straighten all this out.”

One voice was higher than the other and had a strange clicking quality about it. Erin guessed that was the insect’s. The other, the lizardman, pronounced his words with elongated s’s. And they were both speaking in English.

“Hello? Miss? We’re not dangerous.”

One of them was knocking on the door. Erin tried not to hyperventilate. Her eyes darted to the window. But she had to ask.

“…Are you a Dragon?”

She heard a surprised laugh from outside the door.

“Am I a Dragon? Aha. Haha. Well, that’s just—oh, Ancestors bite me. I mean, do I look like one? I’m not even Oldblood, but maybe I do. Klb, buddy, what do you think?”

“You are blushing.”

“Be quiet. I’m in a good mood now.”

The lizardman raised his voice again.

“Excuse me? I’m not a Dragon, Miss Human. I’m just an incredible Drake in service to the City Watch. Me and my idiot partner were on patrol when we noticed the smoke. May we come in? I promise we won’t bite.”

“Or inflict other forms of bodily or mental harm upon you.”

“Shut up. Are you trying to scare her?”

Erin debated. Somewhere in her mind, she was trying to decide whether she should be laughing or panicking. And if she were going to laugh, would it be funny laughter or hysterics?

She couldn’t decide. So instead—

“Um. Give me a moment. I’ll open this door.”

“Thank you very much.”

Erin dragged the tables out of the way and hesitantly unlatched the door. She opened it and stared at the insect and giant lizard again. The insect just stared at her. The lizard, on the other hand, opened his mouth and curved his lips upward. It might have been a smile.

“…Hi.”

Erin’s hand tensed on the door. The lizard guy put his hand on the door and stopped her from closing it. She tried, but suddenly the door was locked into place. He gently opened it and gave her a lazy salute with his other clawed hand.

“Sorry, sorry, Miss. We’re not here to hurt you, I promise.”

Erin hoped that was the case. She couldn’t budge the door an inch. But this wasn’t the time for flight, right? She took a different tack.

“W-want something to eat?”

The lizardman blinked.

“Um, sure.”

“Okay. That’s great.”

Erin opened the door slowly. The lizardman smiled and carefully stepped inside. The giant insect walked in too and gave her a polite nod.

“Good evening.”

“…Hi.”

The two stared around the empty inn. Erin pointed to the table while keeping her eye on them the entire time.

“Food’s over there.”

“Ooh! Pasta! This is good stuff!”

The lizardman—Drake—rubbed his hands together. The noise the scales made sounded like sandpaper. He went to sit at the table, but the insect guy paused.

“I would gladly partake of nourishment if offered. However, we would not wish to deprive you of your meal.”

“What? No. I’ve got lots of pasta.”

Erin pointed vaguely back to the kitchen.

“Let me just get a plate and…forks. Do you, uh, want a drink? I’ve got water.”

The two strangers exchanged a glance. The Drake raised one claw.

“I’ll have a glass if that’s alright.”

The ant man instantly copied him with a nod.

“I will accept the pasta and water as well. But may I inquire if you have any more meat-based dishes? Corusdeer, perhaps?”

What was a…? Erin shook her head.

“…No. No I do not.”

“A pity.”

Erin went to get the plates. She heard the two sitting and chatting idly while she went to the kitchen. There she took a moment to sit on the ground and slap herself a few times. Then she got the plates. An idea occurred to her as she was filling the cups with water, and she poked her head out.

“Here. Uh, I’ve got juice as well. Want a glass?”

The Drake blinked as she offered him a cup. He stared at the liquid inside and eyed his companion.

“Oh, thank you. It’s…blue.”

“Yeah. I made it myself. It tastes good, really.”

A moment’s hesitation and the giant lizard-man accepted it with a shrug.

“Well, I’ll gladly accept. Klbkch, you want any?”

He turned to his companion, and the other figure declined.

“I will pass for the moment. We should get down to business rather than partake of food.”

“In a moment. Let’s eat first. This looks good!”

Erin stared. Here was an opportunity. She had two creatures who could not only speak English for some reason, but were also not inclined to kill her and were eating her food. There were so many questions she could ask about herself, about where she was, about everything really.

It might be her questions would decide her ultimate fate. Probably not, but they were certainly important. But before Erin could ask any of the questions, including how a ‘Drake’ and giant ant learned to use a knife and fork, she had to ask again.

“…Are you sure you’re not a Dragon?”

——

“…So someone on the walls spotted the smoke and called it in. Since it didn’t seem like a grassfire and since we knew this place was abandoned years ago, the Captain decided to send someone to check it out.”

“To put it succinctly: we saw the fire and decided to investigate.”

The giant lizard turned and glared at his ant man companion.

“That’s what I said.”

The ant fellow replied stoically; his voice never seemed to change, unlike the boisterous lizard guy. He was—precise.

“You said it poorly. I am merely rephrasing your words for the benefit of all.”

“See, this. This is why no one else is willing to be your partner. Along with you being, y’know, you.”

“Your hurtful remarks are unnecessary. Besides which, I believe we are getting off track. We are in the presence of a member of the general public, remember.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

The lizardman cleared his throat. It sounded weird to Erin; much deeper and bassier than normal. She was transfixed, as much by the surreality of having them eating with her as the fact that the ant man had excellent table manners and his companion did not—and the way they just—talked, bantered, even. It was beyond weird.

Actually, everything was weird to Erin at the moment. Not least were the two creatures sitting across from her.

Well, maybe ‘creatures’ was unfair. They were probably people. They acted like people. But they looked—

Erin stared at the lizardman’s arms. They were huge. She’d seen bodybuilders on magazine covers and terrible gym commercials, but this guy was bigger than 90% of the male population. The Human male population. And he was green. And he had scales.

He glanced her way. His eyes were like a snake’s. Or a lizard’s. She looked away hastily and glanced at the ant man. At least, she thought he was an ant.

While he wasn’t that much smaller than the average guy, the insect guy looked tiny next to his partner. But of the two, he was definitely higher on the weirdness scale. Mainly because he was a giant insect. He had antennae.

“Miss?”

Erin jumped.

“Me? Hi, yes, me.”

The lizardman gulped down some of the blue juice.

“Sorry, but can we ask you a few questions about where you’re from? It’s pretty odd to find a Human out here, let alone in an abandoned place like this. Not that we mean to pry, it’s just that it’s kind of our job to ask these questions.”

“What? Oh, it’s no problem. Ask away.”

The insect guy leaned forwards.

“Well, to begin with, may we inquire where you come from?”

“I’m from Michigan.”

The two exchanged a glance while Erin mentally slapped herself.

“Michigan? I’m not familiar with that city. Or is it a nation…? Is that north of here? Over the mountains, maybe? On this continent?”

“Uh. No. It’s a bit further than that.”

“Oh, so are you…lost? Or travelling maybe?”

Erin shook her head.

“No, actually I got lost and—this is stupid. Why am I making excuses?”

Again, the glances were exchanged. The Drake coughed into one claw. The ant man began making notes on a pad.

“Um, I don’t know?”

Erin sighed and spread her hands on the table.

“Look. It’s complicated, and I can’t really explain. But would you believe…magic? Like a crazy, crazy, uh, teleportation spell?”

To her surprise, the two took that at face value. The Drake looked at his companion and raised both brows, but not in disbelief.

“Oh, a [Teleportation] spell? Was it a misfire or did someone target you? That’s a Mage’s Guild issue.”

“Not if they did not cause it. Intriguing. Was it a magical duel, perhaps? Some high-level spellcasting?”

The terms were flying over Erin’s head, but she did her best to describe what happened.

“Um. I didn’t see anything when it happened. I just sort of turned the corner and—look, the point is I suddenly appeared around here. And then…Dragon.”

“I told you. It’s flattering, but I’m not a Drag—oh.”

The ant man leaned forward.

“Do you mean to say you found a Dragon? Somewhere around this area? And you—survived the encounter. Unharmed?”

His voice was patently incredulous. Erin blinked.

“Is, uh, that a bad thing? I mean, it’s a Dragon yeah, but isn’t he…?”

Both she and the ant man looked at the lizardman.

“Look. It’s getting sort of embarrassing. I’m not a Dragon. I’m a Drake. And yeah, we’re distantly related cousins, but Dragons are…there’s no way. That would be huge. You said you saw one? You sure it wasn’t a Wyvern? It was probably a Wyvern.”

Erin vaguely knew that word, but she shook her head adamantly.

“It breathed at me. Fire. And then I was chased by little green men.”

“Goblins. And by the way, some Wyverns breathe fire too.”

“So they are Goblins. But—well, hold on—then I found a giant dino-bird—”

“A what?”

“A big…big leathery thing. With wings.”

“Oh, right. Those annoying things. What’re they called, Klbkch?”

The insect person looked up from his plate and replied calmly. He had a notepad open next to his meal and was taking notes. Was he writing with a…quill? And inkpot? Erin was fascinated.

“Razorbeaks. Go on, Miss.”

There wasn’t much else to say. Erin tried to summarize the rest of it.

“Well, after I got the eggs, there was a crab rock, I mean, a rock crab, and then I found blue fruits before that and…I met you two. A not-dragon and an insect. Who don’t want to eat me? Or is that after the meal?”

The lizard guy looked shocked and offended.

“Of course we wouldn’t eat you! That’s barbaric, and besides, it’s illegal. I mean, okay, sure, it happens sometimes in distant villages, but we wouldn’t do that. Right, Klbkch?”

The lizard man turned to his friend.

“Indeed. We would not violate our duty as guardsmen.”

“Your duty? You’re…guardsmen? And you…you’re K—kbch?”

The insect man raised one hand instantly and bowed slightly in his seat.

“Our pardons. We have not introduced ourselves. Allow me to correct this mistake. I am Klbkch, Senior Guardsman in the employ of the City of Liscor. This is my partner, also a Senior Guardsman.”

He nudged the Drake, and the other one looked up from sucking down a huge mouthful of noodles.

“Relc!”

The lizardman raised his glass.

“And this blue juice tastes good!”

“Indeed. And I must apologize again, but our true intent in coming here was to ascertain the danger posed here.”

Erin looked around.

“From what? Me?”

The Drake shrugged, picking at his teeth with a claw and glancing around.

“Not you, specifically. Really, it could be anything. We thought it might be a random fire or a few Goblins. If there were some stupid kids, on the other hand, we’d be dragging them back right now since it’s dangerous to stay here. Bandits on the other hand…”

Erin met his gaze in alarm. He had very yellow eyes with black pupils.

“Danger? Why danger? Is there something wrong with me staying here?”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with you staying here. Aside from dying, that is.”

“Dying?”

Relc kicked Klbkch under the table. Erin noticed the motion and the slight impact.

“It’s just a possibility. This, uh, place is sort of bad. For your health.”

Erin looked blank. Klbkch cut in.

“The plague. This location was once a small community until everyone here died. Horribly. Admittedly, this was a decade ago, but it was evacuated and has been condemned since then.”

Erin put her head in her hands.

“So am I going to die by puking out my guts or something?”

“Actually, the plague symptoms manifested themselves as—”

Relc kicked Klbkch again.

“Why don’t you shut up and let me talk? Look, Miss Human. You’re probably not sick if you’re still walking around.”

“And not oozing.”

“Shut up. Ahem. We were just sent here to make sure no Goblins or nasty creatures started living here. We’ve got no problem with Humans. Well, at least the non-violent kind.”

“Indeed. There is no law against occupying this area.”

They both stared at her. Erin felt compelled to speak.

“Good. Thanks?”

“Right.”

“Indeed.”

“…Want another plate of pasta?”

The Drake had eaten most of his, and he looked fairly satisfied if how much he’d put away was anything to go by. He brightened up, and the Klbkch-person raised his hand politely as well.

“Oh, sure.”

“I will have another as well.”

Erin ladled noodles onto each plate. The diners were silent for a moment as each slurped down their noodles, or in the case of Klbkch, did something complex with his mouth-hole. Erin didn’t look closer.

After a while, Relc put down his fork.

“This really is quite good. How’d you make this all the way out here?”

“Oh, I found some flour and butter and stuff in one of the cupboards. It had a runey…thing on the shelves.”

“That would be a preservation spell. It is quite common among higher-class establishments.”

“But you cooked it, then? Do you have levels in a [Chef] class, then?”

Erin stared at Relc.

“Levels? Oh. No. I’ve got levels in, uh, [Innkeeper].”

He blinked at her, but idly, as if they were just making passing conversation and this wasn’t amazing.

“Oh, I see, I see. That’s convenient. Did you earn them here?”

“Uh, yeah. Every time I fell asleep I kept leveling. I’m, uh, level 4.”

“Not bad! Especially if you just got here a few days ago. Did the notification wake you up right as you were falling asleep? I hate that.”

“It did.”

“It’s very annoying.”

“Yeah. It is.”

The two looked at each other as Klbkch continued to eat in silence. Erin coughed into one hand and decided now was the time.

“So. Leveling. Classes.”

Relc blinked, then tapped at his chest with a grin.

“What about it? Oh, are you wondering about mine? I’m a [Spearmaster]. This idiot’s a [Swordslayer]. We both have levels in [Guardsman] as well, but not nearly as much as our primary classes. Pretty cool, huh?”

He grinned and was clearly waiting for some reaction. Erin hesitated.

“Right, right. Um, good to know.”

She smiled uncertainly, and he deflated a bit.

“Uh—thanks. [Spearmaster]. Me. Him—[Swordslayer]. No, it’s cool. We’re [Guards]. Yeah.”

Relc coughed a few times into his claw and glanced at her.

“And you’re an [Innkeeper], right? Got any other classes?”

“Um, no. No.”

Another quick glance. Klbkch and Relc hesitated, and the Drake shrugged.

“So four levels in…? That’s too bad. But you’re young; leveling takes time after all.”

“Okay. Right. Um. Let’s pretend I have no idea what leveling or classes are. I’m, uh, from really far away, and we have different…traditions.”

Relc and Klbkch exchanged a glance.

“…You mean you don’t level in this Michigan place?”

“Oh no, no. We level, it’s just, uh, different from you guys. And I never paid much attention in school and all that…”

This time, the look she got was ranging beyond skeptical into incredulous. Relc sat back with a frown and popped another sliver of sausage into his mouth.

“They have to teach Humans how to level? Weird.”

Klbkch agreed, although he gave Erin a look of what might have even been sympathy.

“That is unusual. I was under the impression levels worked uniformly across all species. However, I too understand the issues of communicating leveling and the system of classes. Even so, it is odd to think there is a nation that does not teach it in some way. Unless you are referring to a cultural difference in classes?”

Erin had no idea what that meant. She spread her hands on the table, looking from face to face.

“Yes. No. Maybe? Look, I level. You level. We level. Everyone levels, right? We all can level up in, uh, classes and gain skills. How am I doing so far?”

Relc nodded amiably. He was slurping down noodles with his long tongue. Erin was fascinated, although she wasn’t sure if he was being disgusting or not.

“That’s pretty much how it works. What were you confused about?”

“Um. I gained levels just from cleaning an inn. And I wasn’t an [Innkeeper] before this. So why…?”

Relc waved a claw airily.

“Oh, that. New classes without an apprenticeship, you mean? Simple. You must have satisfied the requirements for the class, that’s all. I know it’s sort of weird gaining a new class suddenly, but it happens. I knew a guy who gained four levels in [Farmer] just because he kept growing carrots in pots next to his window. Not [Gardener], [Farmer]. I guess it was because he grew lots of carrots. Leveling is weird that way.”

“So…okay, let me think.”

Erin had to massage her head while the two guardsmen looked at her in concern. Well, she assumed they were looks of concern.

“This is a world. Everyone levels in it. Humans, lizard people, talking insects, cats, dogs, Goblins…”

“Hey, what did you just call—”

Klbkch leaned forward, cutting Relc off.

“Actually, I would like to correct you on that point. While the thinking races may level, animals and even creatures such as Dragons are not capable of leveling. Which is common knowledge.”

They were giving her very, very strange looks. Erin hesitated, but she was already in too deep, so she decided she had to gain as much information as possible.

“What, really? How about Goblins?”

“They can level. Now, about what you just said. I’m not a lizard—”

“Indeed. It is part of our shared past. Once, of course, all races fought with tooth and claw and magic, but then they divided. Those who decided to forsake their natures and pursue a different truth received the gift of leveling, while those creatures who stayed true to their nature kept the might of their natures instead. According to historical records, at least. It is the subject of some studies, but that is the consensus.”

“Really? So that means—”

“Hey!”

Relc’s fist smashed into the table. Every plate on the table jumped into the air, and Erin nearly fell out of her chair. She looked at Relc. He was scowling, but when he glanced at her pale face, he stopped and looked guilty.

“Um. Sorry about that. Really. But, uh, can we talk about that name?”

“N-name?”

“Yeah. You, um, called me a lizard person, right?”

“Is that wrong?”

“…Yes. Yes, it is. I’m a Drake, not one of the Lizardfolk. There’s a big difference.”

“Sorry. Sorry about that.”

“Uh, don’t apologize. Look, maybe I overreacted a bit. I’m not, uh, mad…”

Klbkch kicked Relc under the table.

“I believe it was my turn to do that. Apologize to the Human for your rudeness.”

“…Yeah, sorry.”

Relc bowed his head down low, until the neck spines along the back of his head were pointing at the ceiling. Erin waved her hands urgently.

“Oh no, no. Please don’t do that. I didn’t know it was so rude. If I’d have known, I’d have never—there’s a big difference between lizard people and Drakes, right?”

Klbkch raised one finger politely.

“Only a few differences, but the animosity between their cultures is—”

Erin saw Relc go for a huge kick, but Klbkch swung his legs up, and Relc glared at him until he was quiet. The Drake turned back to Erin huffily, and she realized this was an important issue to him.

“Shut up. I’m still sorry. But yeah, there’s a big difference. I mean, sure, Humans say we look similar, but we’re totally different. They have those neck frills, and they’re way too colorful. We build cities out of proper stone, but the Lizardfolk live near water and can breathe underwater too, some of them. They have Naga and, like, jungles in Baleros. Whereas we Drakes like drier climates. We enjoy warm sun, open spaces…”

“Nice rocks to laze about upon while we should be performing our duties.”

“You’re just an overgrown ant. You be quiet. Anyways, we’re special. Those guys are just amphibians that learned to walk on two legs. We’re related to Dragons. We’ve got special powers.”

“Like what?”

“We can breathe fire. Some of us can, at least.”

Relc sat back and folded his arms with a triumphant grin. Erin and Klbkch stared at him in silence.

“What? It’s a great power!”

“I am sure it is.”

“Yeah. That sounds amazing. Really…really cool!”

Relc nudged Klbkch with a triumphant smile of approval.

“See? She gets it. Told you it was cool.”

“Yeah, it’s awesome.”

“I feel I must mention that you, personally, cannot breathe fire, Relc.”

“Shut up, Klbkch!”

Relc looked annoyed and embarrassed at the same time.

“Only a few Drakes can do it, okay? Not breathing fire is perfectly normal. And some of us can, so there.”

He looked at Erin anxiously.

“We’re still cool, right?”

Erin grinned and gave him a thumbs up. Then she winced in regret. She’d used her bad hand. The Drake focused on the bloody bandages with a trained eye and suddenly frowned and leaned forwards.

“Ooh, nasty. What happened there? Looks like a bad cut. Were those Goblins?”

“What, this? It’s nothing, it—”

Klbkch stood up suddenly. Erin flinched, but he raised two of his spindly arms.

“Please, I mean no harm. But your hand. May I see it?”

Erin hesitated. Then she slowly extended her hand. On the outside, her bandage was grey and red with congealed blood. Some dripped to the floor. Relc winced, but Klbkch studied the injury carefully without touching it. Then he looked up.

“Again, apologies. But could I trouble you to remove the bandage?”

Erin hesitated. But then she slowly unwrapped her hand. And flinched. The pain that had been slumbering in her hand suddenly flared, and something dripped to the floor.

It was yellowish-white pus. It dripped from her wound. And the wound itself was different. Instead of the thin red line, it had changed. Parts of the injury were darker red and—Erin looked away.

Relc hissed softly. However, Klbkch made no sound. He inspected her wound for a few seconds, his antennae moving slowly, and then looked at her.

“Yeah. Um, yeah.”

Erin tried to breathe. Her hand was suddenly burning.

“It—sorry, it’s a mess. I cut my hand, and I guess it just got infected, but—”

“It is not an infection.”

“What?”

“It is poison. Of a sort.”

“You sure? It doesn’t feel like—”

“There is a fish in the rivers near here. It secretes a mucus that damages the area it touches. Such as in this case. I have seen several similar afflictions as a guardsman.”

“You have? I mean, it’s not an infection?”

Erin was trembling. The insect man held her gently.

“Please, do not be alarmed. This is treatable. Allow me.”

He reached down. Erin looked and saw him pull something out of a belt pouch at his waist. She blinked as he held up a bottle full of a shimmering, emerald-green liquid.

“This is a low-grade healing potion. If you pour it over your injury, it should heal your affliction.”

Relc opened his mouth, but the bug man turned his head, and the Drake hesitated.

“Yep. Good thing it’s meant to treat light infections too. Klb, are you going to…?”

Klbkch didn’t respond. Gently, he uncorked the bottle and held it out to Erin. She accepted it gingerly, but hesitated.

“This is—I mean, is it safe? For Humans?”

Klbkch and Relc both nodded. Relc was eying his partner, but the ant man was intent.

“Please, believe me. It will heal you.”

Erin stared into his eyes. They were compound eyes, large ones. Brown and fractal. Like an ant’s. And they were creepy as hell, but Erin decided she could still trust them.

She gripped the potion tightly in her right hand and poured it slowly over the open wound on her left hand. She gasped in shock. Klbkch instantly checked her hand.

“Are you alright?”

“It—it doesn’t hurt!”

Relc snorted gently. It sounded like a leaf blower starting up.

“Of course not. Why would anyone make a healing potion that hurts when you use it? But look at that!”

He pointed. Erin’s eyes went down to the cut in her hand. It was closing up with amazing speed. The flesh was joining together, and in an instant, the entire cut vanished. She gaped.

Klbkch plucked the half-empty bottle from her hands before she dropped it. She was too busy poking at her hand to realize, but when he’d stoppered the bottle, she turned and gave him a huge hug.

“Thank you—ow!”

“Apologies. It is unwise to hug those with exoskeletons. Please, are you hurt?”

Erin stood back and rubbed at where his pointy bits had poked her.

“No, no I’m not. And how can I—I can’t thank you enough. That—that was a healing potion, right? How can I repay you for—”

She cast around for something to give him, but Klbkch held up one of his…hands.

“Please, it was nothing. That was merely a low-grade healing potion of no great worth. Let us call it payment for the meal. Unless, of course, you object?”

Erin looked around, flustered, and shook her head rapidly.

“Oh no, thank you. I mean, this is probably worth—can I get you another plate? Or—or you could come back. I’ll feed you two again if you want—”

“I will accept gladly. But for now I am full, and I believe it is time to be going. We would not wish to intrude upon your hospitality for too long.”

Relc paused as he gulped down more blue fruit juice.

“We wouldn’t?”

His partner turned to face him, looking the same, but he lowered his mandibles and he sounded mildly exasperated.

“We are still on duty, if you recall. The Captain will be expecting a report. If we do return, we will have more time to socialize.”

Relc considered this with a nod for logic. Then he held up a finger.

“Or, and hear me out. Or…we could have more food and stay here longer.”

Klbkch stared at him until the finger lowered by itself.

“I am sure you would prefer that. But we are being paid to work, not to enjoy ourselves. Moreover, you are eating all of this Human’s dinner.”

Relc glanced at the table. He stood up immediately.

“Right. Well, let’s be going. Um, sorry about that, Miss. Here, let me just pay for the food…”

Erin tried to protest, but a scaly hand prized hers open gently and deposited several copper coins and two silver ones into her palm.

“I insist. That blue drink is really good, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“Well, we’ll be off then. Good night to you.”

The two left the inn. Erin watched them go. The door closed, and she heard them speaking lightly about reporting back and filing…

Then she heard nothing at all. Erin went to go sit down and ended up sitting on the floor. She stared at the door. She stayed sitting for another hour in complete, stunned, gratified shock.

What just happened?

——

Relc and Klbkch left the inn. They began walking through the grass under the night sky. It was cool, but both moved quickly. Each one scanned the landscape as they walked and kept their hands on the spear and swords at their sides. They weren’t nervous, just wary.

However, they were also moving a lot faster than average to get back to the city before complete nightfall; they had to clock out and file that report. This patrol had taken longer than they thought, but they were so busy thinking that it took five minutes before Relc finally broke the silence. He turned to Klbkch and murmured.

“What a lonely girl.”

“Is she female? I could not tell with complete accuracy. She sounded so, but I have met few Humans in social settings.”

Relc nodded wisely and glanced over his shoulder.

“I can. It’s the things on her chest.”

“Mammary glands? Breasts, I think they’re referred to. Or maybe the word is tits.”

Relc hesitated.

“Really? I thought those were birds.”

Klbkch shrugged.

“That is what I heard some small Humans saying once. But she’s female. And young, correct?”

The Drake nodded slowly, frowning back at the old inn.

“Yeah, I’d bet on it. I’m not sure why a Human would be out here anyways, let alone in that place.”

Klbkch shrugged.

“Inquiring into others’ personal affairs is only a matter for the Guards while we’re on duty. Respecting another’s personal space is a principle of social interaction.”

Relc elbowed him, but Klbkch had sidled out of range.

“Shut up. She just seems lonely, that’s all. Why else would a Human female want to hang out with a Drake and an overgrown bug?”

Klbkch was silent for a while.

“Do you believe she is a lawbreaker or fearful for her life?”

Relc shook his head again.

“Even if she was, who’d hide there? You’d have to be mad, or be a [Warrior] or [Survivor] to want to live by yourself. Plus, the plague! Do I look sick? Am I oozing?”

The Drake checked himself with vague paranoia, but Klbkch shook his head.

“It was almost certainly safe as I and Watch Captain Zevara assured you repeatedly, Relc. Besides, that young woman’s presence is proof enough. She would be dead within the day if the disease were still present.”

“Bet she didn’t know. And her expression when we walked in—she’s never seen a Drake or an Ant before in her life. Well, the Ant part makes sense.”

“I would prefer that you call my species by their proper name.”

Relc ignored that. He glanced over his shoulder.

“What do you think? I bet she’s some kind of runaway or a child that got separated from her clan. Do Humans have clans? Or is it all [Lords] and [Ladies]? Maybe she’s not even from this continent.”

He waited for more speculation, but the ant man had turned his head and was refusing to speak. Relc glowered, but then grudgingly snapped.

“Fine. Antinium. Happy?”

Klbkch replied at once, as if nothing had happened.

“Her being a runaway would be most likely. I find it hard to believe any Human would wander so far into the grasslands by accident, and she did not seem to be looking for directions. Her magical teleportation story is also possible, but why would she not have asked to be taken to the Mage’s Guild? It is clearly a cover story.”

“Bastard.”

“You are correct in at least one definition of the word. But speculation is pointless in any case. We investigated the smoke, and now we can make our report. She is not breaking the law since the inn was abandoned nearly ten years ago.”

“What about the Dragon? Do you think she made that up?”

Klbkch hesitated and glanced at Relc. His pincers made a clicking sound as they came together in thought.

“She was not lying, at least not intentionally. But it is possible she was mistaken.”

“Yeah. A Dragon? Really?”

Relc laughed, and the Antinium shrugged.

“It seems more likely that she was hallucinating. However…she may have run into a fire-breathing salamander. I cannot imagine she would survive an encounter with a real Dragon. Armies would not.”

“Plus, we’d know if a Dragon lived around here. They’re pretty obvious.”

“…Indeed.”

More silence. At last, Relc summed up the contents of their report.

“So…scared Human female? Not a threat? Probably a traveller? Makes good pasta?”

“That was my assessment.”

“Right, right. Let’s tell the Captain and get some sleep. Or rather, I’ll sleep and you do—whatever Ants do to sleep. Sitting-sleeping or whatever.”

“Agreed. And it is very restful. You should attempt it sometime.”

“Pass.”

The two walked in silence for quite some time. The road back to the city was long, and in any case, they were still alert for potential dangers that might be sneaking up on them. Not that either had much to fear from most predators so long as they kept their eyes and earholes open, but you never knew.

After a long time, Klbkch broke the silence.

“So, shall we return tomorrow?”

Relc blinked and looked at his partner in disbelief. Because he had been about to say the exact same thing, and he was sure Klbkch would shoot it down.

“Oh, definitely. Right after work?”

“We may be able to fit checking in there as part of our duties if we convince the Captain it is necessary.”

Relc slapped Klbkch on the back of his shell in delight.

“Klb! That’s so devious! We can waste hours and say it was all an investigation! Now you’re thinking like a Drake!”

“I will endeavor not to in the future.”

“Go roast yourself.”

They walked on for another few minutes until Relc broke the silence again. There was just one last thing he had to bring up. He eyed his partner, looking amused, but Klbkch refused to respond. Relc indicated the empty bottle hanging at Klbkch’s belt.

“So, a lesser healing potion of no worth, huh? You know, I’ve never heard you lie like that.”

The Antinium’s voice was calm as he replied.

“Would you have had me tell her the true value?”

“No, no. It’s for the best. Mind you, I think she figured it out.”

“…Perhaps.”

“How are you going to explain that to the Captain, huh? That’s supposed to be special-issue. We won’t even get another shipment of that quality for months, probably! All the way from Pallass once the Blood Fields are frozen.”

The Antinium was unmoved.

“I did not believe a lesser one would be worth the risk. I shall make do with a replacement, and I will deduct the cost from my pay. Besides which, it was used to protect a civilian.”

Relc rolled his eyes.

“You’re a regular do-gooder, huh? Trying to level up your…[Good Person] class? Is that a class?”

“You know fully well that I have no levels in any class of the kind. I was merely being kind.”

“Sure, suuuure you were.”

“I have no sexual attraction towards Humans. Unlike you.”

“Me? I don’t like Humans. They’re scaleless, hairy, and they smell funny. I mean, this one’s nice, but I definitely wouldn’t want to see what it looks like under those clothes.”

“Mm. It’s not very interesting. They are very fleshy.”

“Ew.”

“Indeed.”

The two walked on in silence. Eventually, Relc spoke again.

“—It’s not that I’m not interested. I have an open mind! I wouldn’t mind looking. If I was offered. They’ve got nothing on good scales, but I could get over the fleshiness. Maybe.”

“Deviant.”

“Shut up.”

The two were almost in sight of the walls now, and Relc waved up at the figures watching them. He turned to Klbkch, but the inn wasn’t even visible from here. The Drake smiled, and Klbkch nodded.

“She was quite interesting in any case. It was pleasant talking to her.”

Relc sighed.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m glad we didn’t have to kill her.”

“Indeed.”

——

Erin sat against one wall. She was falling asleep. She wanted to run around screaming about lizardmen—Drakes—walking ants, and a crazy world, but that was passé. Besides, she’d already done that for a few hours anyway.

Her mind was swimming. Her eyes were drooping. Erin was about to fall asleep. But her hand didn’t hurt. So she was smiling.

At last her mind finally blanked. Erin’s breathing deepened, and her eyes closed.

[Innkeeper Level 5!]

[Skill – Basic Crafting obtained!]

Blearily, the young woman stared up into the darkness.

“…Just let me sleep.”

She closed her eyes once more, but she was still smiling as she drifted off.

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1.07

Erin woke up with a big smile on her face.

Actually, she woke up and went back to sleep several times before the sunlight got too bright to ignore. But when she eventually got up and ate breakfast, she got around to the big smile.

It came when she was eating more blue fruit and she realized she was using two hands. Erin had to stop and stare at her left palm for a while. She poked the clean, unscarred, uncut skin and grinned.

“Healing potions are awesome.”

She sat back in her chair, flexing her healed hand. It didn’t hurt. It was amazing how much it didn’t hurt. And she owed it all to a giant ant man and a lizard…Drake. What were their names again?

“Klbkch and…Drake Guy.”

Erin sighed as the memories returned and gave her a hard time.

“Seriously. They were so normal. But apparently I’m normal too. There are other Humans around here at least. But leveling? Classes? Am I an [Innkeeper]? Do I innkeep? How does that work?”

Then she remembered something else.

“I leveled up again.”

Erin poked her chest. She felt there should be some sense of accomplishment from within, but all she felt was vaguely full. But she remembered.

“[Basic Crafting]. Might as well give it a shot. I’m out of fruit, anyways.”

——

It was an uneventful trip to the blue fruit trees. As Erin gazed up at the blue fruits, she wondered for the first time how many there were left to eat. She counted.

“…Looks like I’ve got a few weeks before I run out. But bleh, eating just blue fruit all the time would be disgusting. At least there’s some ingredients left for pasta if I can find more eggs.”

But what would happen when her small cupboard ran out? What then?

Erin touched the pocket of her jeans and heard the clink of coins. Right, she had some money. But how much was it? And more importantly, how could she spend it? It wasn’t as if she could eat metal.

Grumbling to herself, Erin loaded up with blue fruits. It was getting annoying carrying them all by hand. She dropped a lot of them, which bruised the skin and made the fruit taste mushy. So why not try making something?

Erin stared at the ground. She had…grass. She stared at the trees. She had wood. But she had no way of cutting that wood, so it was no good. She didn’t know how to make things. Even if you gave her…rope, or string, and pieces of wood or something, Erin didn’t see how that equated to a basket.

Yet as she stared at the grass, something in Erin’s head lit up. She frowned suddenly.

“Wait a second. Maybe that could work. Let’s see. If I take this long grass and tie this knot here…”

Erin hunkered down and started picking the longer clumps of grass and testing their durability. She started tying knots and cutting with the knife.

Knots? Erin knew the most basic, weakest knots where you just folded two sides of string over each other and the shoelace knot, but she couldn’t tie that unless she had a…shoe. However, suddenly, she was weaving the grass together in ways she hadn’t thought of. But now that she was doing it—it was obvious. If you had big pieces of fabric, string, or grass, of course you could tie them together to form a net. And that would be the base of your basket…

It was like someone had bridged the tentative idea from what she needed with actual understanding. Erin found she had to focus on her task—she couldn’t just go on autopilot, but at the same time there was a certainty in what she was doing. And in less than twenty minutes, she was looking at a basket made of grass.

“Whoa.”

Erin held up the basket and inspected it. It was lightweight, but durable. Wide strands at the bottom wove together to form a decent mesh, and it even had a handle made of three big leaves braided together! She experimentally tossed all the blue fruits she’d gathered into it and lifted it. The grass basket pulled downwards, but the woven handle didn’t tear.

It was a real basket. Made of grass.

Was it tacky? Yes. Did she feel like she should be dancing with pom poms on a deserted island? Yes. Was that a terrible thought to have? Probably. And should she feel ashamed of herself? Erin already was. But she had a basket.

And more importantly, she had a plan.

What could you do with a basket? Well, you could eat and walk at the same time since you had a free hand. Erin cored a few blue fruits and hung on to the seed pods. Then she went looking for eggs.

It took her about an hour before she found another nest. When she spotted the telltale brown shape hunkering in the long grass, Erin stomped over, making as much noise as possible.

This time, the thing that erupted from the grass didn’t fly away immediately. Instead, the dino-bird screeched and dove at her. Erin stood her ground, reached into her basket, and threw a seed core.

She missed.

But the flying object spooked the bird. The giant pterodactyl wavered and then flew away as Erin hurled more seed cores at it. She laughed triumphantly and rushed to grab the eggs.

That was when the bird turned around and flew at her, pecking and trying to bite her. It wasn’t afraid of the seed cores after all. And it had a sharp beak.

——

Only when she was sure that the dino-bird had gone did Erin stop running. She stopped and covered one of the numerous bloody peck marks on her arms and back and tried not to shout.

“Stupid thing.”

At least it hadn’t been bigger. Erin had managed to smack it a few times until it stopped trying to bite her face off. But that didn’t mean she’d gotten away unscathed.

Erin hissed as she pressed on another bite. She wanted nothing more than to get some cold water on them. Too bad there were more suspicious rocks in the way. Actually, there were about six of them, spaced out across the grasslands. Well, her trick hadn’t worked on the bird, but rock crabs were a different matter.

On her way back, Erin pasted two of the rock crabs with the slimy seed cores when they shuffled at her. They didn’t like the noxious liquid that splashed their shells and retreated with loud clicks. Erin wiped off the foul-smelling juice from her hands and walked past the crabs triumphantly.

——

It was just past midday when Erin got back to the inn. At least she’d stopped bleeding on her walk back. She made it halfway through the inn’s door, blinked, and threw up.

Erin stopped gagging and retching long enough to stare at the pool of liquefied blue fruit in horror. Then she was sick again. And again.

Somehow, Erin made it to the stream. It was a combination of walking fast and pausing every few minutes to throw up that got her there. She didn’t so much jump into the stream as fall into it and begin shivering as whatever was hitting her really went to town.

——

The next hour saw her kneeling at the stream, gargling water, puking it up, and watching out for the crazy fish. Fortunately, they didn’t seem inclined to get near her. Actually, she saw one swim towards her and start nibbling at the contents of her stomach as it washed downstream. That was gross.

Erin washed her mouth and hands off for the tenth time and felt the shaking and nausea stop a bit.

“What—what was that?”

Erin could only mumble as she stared into the water. She moved her head—not so much out of desire for movement as to watch for the dangerous flatfish.

The fish that had been eating her vomit was floating belly-up in the water. Erin saw the other fish were avoiding it just like they were avoiding her.

“…Poison. Gotta be.”

But what had it come from? As she lay there, the young woman tried to identify the causes. Her first thought was the pasta. The pasta, sausages…

The plague?

But no, Klbkch had said if she was oozing she was sick. This felt like bad food poisoning. It could be the pasta. Or—or was she sick because of contact with the Drake guy? The bug-people might have horrible diseases.

Yet the fish was dead. So that felt more like it was something Erin had eaten. So, logically, she had two culprits.

Pasta made of dino eggs and sausage. Or…the blue fruits.

Given both as options, Erin knew which one she suspected. But she didn’t eat the seed cores! Were the blue fruits dangerous?

On a vague hunch, Erin looked around and saw the basket of blue fruits still lying on the ground where she’d dropped them to be sick in the stream. She picked one up and stared at it.

“You look innocent. But maybe…”

She did exactly what she normally did to eat it, except with her fingers instead of teeth. Erin delved into the pulpy fruit, resisting the urge to take a bite, and stared at the seed core inside.

It looked like it wasn’t broken. It looked, therefore, like this fruit was good. On a hunch, Erin tossed the blue fruit pieces into the stream. They sank a bit in the clear water, and she wondered if the water was bad too—she should have really boiled everything she drank. However, she had the most suspicion about the seed cores that scared the rock crabs so much.

The first flatfish had been avoiding her and whatever had killed its friend, but it apparently had short-term memory problems because it ungainly leapt and swallowed the pieces of the blue fruit she tossed into the water. Erin watched it as it spat out a bit, but apparently decided the rest was digestible, even if it wasn’t the flesh it so clearly craved.

“Okay. How about…”

The seed core didn’t crack as she gently lobbed it into the water and bobbed down the brisk current. The fish investigated it—and to Erin’s amusement, gingerly closed its teeth around the seed core and gave it a tentative nibble. It crunched down the seed core then began to spit out fragments and a bit of ugly greenish-blue from the pulp. All four eyes swung around crazily as the awkward fish shook its body in clear revulsion.

“Must taste bad, huh?”

The fish zoomed around unhappily as Erin watched. Then it grew slower, and Erin saw it open its mouth wide and then it began vomiting the contents of its stomach up. She watched a replay of what had happened to her. Only this time—within two minutes—the fish was dead.

A chill ran down Erin’s back as she saw the second corpse floating downstream. Those fish weren’t as big as her, but that one had eaten one seed core and—she looked down at the blue fruits in horror.

No wonder the dino birds, rock crabs, or other animals, even birds and worms and stuff, didn’t try to eat them! Only she was stupid enough to try—and the Goblins. She must have been lucky! Some of the seed cores must have leaked poison or something into some of the fruits she ate so she didn’t notice due to the sweet taste.

And then I eat too many and die. Only, I was spared because of random chance. Erin shuddered. She clenched her hands.

It wasn’t fair! Her one secure food source, good-tasting food, turned out to be poison. It was just like the acid flies, the fish, the cupboard—everything was out to get her.

Except for the two friendly [Guards], and they were gone. Erin put her head down.

“Do I just eat what’s in the cupboard and fight dino-birds? If I can’t eat the blue fruits…”

Her survival chances were dropping rapidly. Yet Erin looked at the basket of inviting blue fruits and saw them completely differently. No longer this world’s versions of apples or oranges—they were alien fruits, and she was lucky she hadn’t died eating the first one.

Glumly, Erin was about to toss all the blue fruits in the stream when she decided she could at least harvest the definitely-deadly poisonous cores as a rock crab deterrent. Then, as she was lying there, trying not to cry or puke—she heard a sound.

It sounded like—Erin sat up.

Oh no. Not now. She scrambled around and then crawled over to an incline and rolled down the other side.

Goblins.

——

The band of Goblins were six in total. Three with weapons, three with baskets of their own. In fact…they even looked vaguely familiar. One had a lot of bruises, and Erin recognized it as the one she’d slapped—mainly from the huge mark on its face.

The non-combatants were odder. They were small, wearing ragged, dirty clothes that looked far too big for them. One, for instance, had what was just a tunic for a regular person dragging on the ground, it was so short.

Those were the ones carrying baskets. Grass baskets, like Erin’s. And in fact—they had buckets too. Buckets made of what looked like…Erin hesitated as she peeked up from the lip of the slope she was hiding behind.

Shells? It looked like some kind of chitin. Not the Klbkch guy; it was too small, and too…she hesitated.

It looked like a spider shell, only hollowed and taped together with something sticky to make a crude basin. A big, big spider.

As it turned out, the Goblins were using it to collect water. They gazed around furtively as their leader poked the others and pointed.

They didn’t speak that Erin heard, only dipped their containers into the water. And—she noticed—they had baskets of blue fruit too.

The young woman realized she was occupying the exact same ecological niche as Goblins. That didn’t make her feel great, but they hadn’t seen her; for once, the unique topography of this area meant that she was less than twenty feet away and invisible unless they climbed up and saw her from above.

She hoped they wouldn’t take long to do their business. Then Erin hoped they didn’t use the stream as anything like a restroom. Or even bath, because she might be downriver of them! Then issues of hygiene and water contamination fled her mind as she heard a snarl.

One of the Goblins had found her grass basket. And spotted one of the dead fish floating downriver. It pointed at the basket, and all the Goblins looked up. Erin tensed as they investigated. She was still feeling vomit-y, but she had been healed and there were only three with knives. If it came to it—she could definitely run away and get to the inn. But what were they doing?

They were investigating the basket, poking each other and making odd gestures, again, completely in silence. Then the smallest Goblin did something that fascinated Erin.

——

The littlest Goblin hated getting water. It was heavy, and the big Goblins made her carry it. But she couldn’t fight well, and sometimes they had to fight spiders or other things. And they hit her if she complained.

They’d already gotten blue fruits, and the basket was heavy, so the little Goblin kept trying to hang it on different limbs as they went to fill the buckets. She felt like if she carried it on her back, she wouldn’t hurt her arms.

But when one of the Goblins who could make baskets saw her fraying the grass with her efforts, she hit the littlest Goblin, and the sniffing little Goblin carried her burdens in silence.

They were lucky; there was nothing hunting them when they got to the stream. After a few big mouthfuls of water, the group was ready to bring water back to the tribe and [Chieftain] when they found the basket.

That was odd. One of the warriors pointed at the basket, and all six Goblins checked themselves. Three had baskets of blue fruit, and the other three didn’t carry baskets.

But there were…one…two…three…four baskets. The lead Goblin was suspicious as the littlest Goblin looked around. There were no more Goblins gathering food, much less the blue fruits. Had one forgotten a basket?

It looked—good. Well-made. Most of the other Goblins who could craft baskets were lazy and made cheap ones because they fell apart soon. This one was nice, and the littlest Goblin wanted it.

Perhaps someone had forgotten it here. The bigger Goblins decided it was more food, and who cared where it came from? That meant one less Goblin had to make a trip to get the blue fruits.

It didn’t seem to occur to them that maybe it hadn’t come from Goblins at all. The littlest Goblin tugged at arms and pointed urgently.

What if it came from the inn? What if the Human had made it?

The others laughed silently in her face. Humans had real baskets of wood and metal! The littlest Goblin thought it made sense. The Human girl had been around the blue fruits and she was at that inn.

But they just poked her, and since her idea was stupid, she had to carry both baskets and the water.

That was so unfair the littlest Goblin protested. She swung her fists wildly at one of the warriors, who kicked her into the stream. She had to swim out before the fish got her and lay, sulking, on the ground. However, her defiance had worked, and the grumbling warriors decided one of them would carry the water bucket.

But she still had to carry both baskets! The littlest Goblin decided that was the best she could get, so she rolled around in the grass as one of the older Goblins who gathered fruits all the time decided to inspect the mysterious extra basket. Instantly, the [Gatherer]’s face twisted up, and the older Goblin snapped at the littlest Goblin to come over and help.

Some of the fruits were bad. What idiot Goblin had harvested these?

——

These Goblins were weird.

Erin had expected to get a movie-like scene from the Goblins where they said ‘let’s eat the Humans’ or something evil. But they weren’t like that. They didn’t…speak.

But they did pantomime a lot and seemed to be able to read each other’s minds. Could Goblins do that? They also seemed bored, and the ones with weapons were bullies! They’d kicked the little one into the stream, and now they were taking her basket!

Bullies and thieves. Erin bit her lip. She could remake that basket, but it was the first one she’d made! Plus her food was being taken. Her—admittedly poisonous blue fruits.

Okay, they could have that, but please, leave the basket! Erin watched as an older Goblin with what looked like a spider’s claw shoved through her black hair as a…hairpin?…investigated the basket.

Then she seemed upset and made a loud eigk-ing sound, the first sound any Goblin had really made aside from chortles or grunts, and beckoned the little Goblin over. To Erin’s indignation, she began tossing blue fruits out of the basket!

The little Goblin seemed as confused as Erin. She poked at one and got a swat from the older Goblin as she tried to add it to her collection. What was wrong with the fruits on the ground?

——

They were all poisonous. The littlest Goblin recoiled from one bad blue fruit and wiped her claws on her wet shirt as the [Gatherer] sorted the basket. It wasn’t just experience that told the older Goblin this.

It was her Skill.

[Detect Poison]. These were bad, these were bad…by the time she sorted the basket, only the fruits without a trace of badness were left. Half were scattered on the ground. She’d have to re-check these ones when they got back to the cave, too.

The littlest Goblin peered at the bad blue fruits. They didn’t seem bad to her. But she knew if you ate the nasty thing inside, you’d be dead in an hour. Bad, stomach-screaming, frothing-mouth-death.

One of the bad ways to go, even worse than spider-death. No, actually, spider-death seemed worse still, but both hurt a lot.

The little Goblin was curious, though, so as the older Goblins decided to take a break before heading back to their cave, she produced a tiny little knife and began opening the fruits. If these were bad…

She begged for one blue fruit, and since they had extra, all the Goblins ate one from the extra basket. They didn’t have to tell the [Chieftain]. The littlest Goblin cut them up and removed the seed cores and tossed them into the stream, and got to stare at the good blue fruits and the bad ones. She cut up three bad ones and then smiled.

Oh! That was how it worked.

The bigger Goblins watched the small Goblin out of the corners of their eyes. She was very young and very odd. Even for small Goblins. She’d smile or stare at things that made no sense, or collect rocks and sticks.

And now this? The littlest Goblin didn’t seem interested in eating the poisonous fruit, which was good, so they took a brief nap then left. They didn’t understand why she smiled. Nor did the young woman watching until she crawled out of hiding.

——

Erin felt like throwing up again by the time the Goblins had gone. Not because of them stealing her basket—the poison was still in her system.

However, she was curious as to the little Goblin’s antics. She clearly knew the fruits lying all about were bad—and just as obviously, at least one of the Goblins had identified the poisonous ones.

“Huh. Can Goblins smell poison? Wait…wait. That Relc guy said they have Skills. Do you get Skills to tell if there’s bad fruits? [Bad Fruit Detector]? No way.”

But how else would the other Goblins do that? Super-smell? If so, she should have picked up on Erin. The young woman didn’t know, but the little Goblin’s actions made her most curious. So she squatted down and stared at the pieces of blue fruit.

She was confused, not only by the blue fruit analysis, but by the Goblins. They were definitely horrible and had tried to kill her at least…five times, but they had tools like buckets and even—it seemed—Skills. So they had classes, like Klbkch said.

They were still monsters, and Erin supposed even monsters had to eat. But even so—it was odd. Now, what had the little Goblin, the one wearing all rags, found?

Perhaps it was nothing, but Erin had seen that smile of satisfaction. She peered for a long time at the ‘bad’ blue fruits.

“I think I need to figure out what a good one looks like.”

Unfortunately, the Goblins had eaten their snack and so Erin had to go all the way back to the blue fruit trees—carefully, watching out for crabs and Goblins. But since they’d already gone foraging, she reasoned they were unlikely to come back.

She did a round trip with an armful of fruits and sat, creating another basket by the river as she tried to cross-reference her fruits with the bad ones.

The problem was, Erin had no idea whether the fruits she had were good. She wished she had whatever the other Goblin had—a way to tell what was safe or not. That was a Skill, and Erin began understanding how valuable it was.

“I could eat mushrooms! Or…maybe not mushrooms because ick. Or bugs? Wait—that’s just as bad. Plants, then. Herbs. And blue fruits. Okay—this fruit and this fruit and this fruit.”

She took three random ones from her collection and put them in the ‘I have no idea’ pile. Then she organized the ones the Goblin had opened in the ‘definitely probably deadly’ pile. After that? It was a game of spot the differences.

Embarrassingly, it took Erin over fifteen minutes, far longer than the little Goblin, to identify what the distinction was. And then of course she tested it by tossing it into the stream and watching which fish really seemed unhappy as the bad fruits ran through their system. Erin supposed many creatures that weren’t…people? Mammals? They seemed to suffer the effects of blue fruit poisoning a lot faster than her.

“Aha! So that’s all it is?”

Mystified, Erin looked down at the bad fruits. She saw almost identical interiors to the good ones. You couldn’t tell if the seed cores were smashed and mixing with the fruit from the inside.

At least—not from the coloration of the blue fruit, or even the smell. Taste? The blue fruits were so sweet it’d be hard to identify, and by that point, you were putting poison in your mouth.

The trick had taken Erin a long while to figure out, but since she knew the little Goblin had seen something, she’d eventually begun prodding the pieces of fruit, wondering if it was just noticing bits of seed core.

Then she saw the difference: all the bad blue fruits were wet. To be more precise, they were actively juicy. Blue liquid ran from the pieces, whereas the other blue fruits refused to produce juice except where they were torn and only when you chewed or mashed them up.

Erin had noticed when she made the blue fruit juice that she’d had to really mash the pieces up to produce the juice. However, in the bad sample group, the fruits were actively watery.

“Maybe the poison is making the fruit like—wetter? Or it’s making the fruit weaker?”

Or perhaps the poison was killing the fruit rind outside the seed. The longer Erin stared, the more the bad fruits seemed to be actively going through rapid decomposition before her eyes. Turning to mushy, nasty pulp.

The blue fruits, the good ones, felt more like oranges in texture; you had to bite and extract the sweet. The bad ones were actively mushing due to the seed cores being compromised.

Erin’s test group of evil fishies certainly seemed to back up her findings; they kept eating the pieces of blue fruit she tossed to them, but they began spitting out the bad ones after a few bites.

As if they could also tell. Well, Erin didn’t want to rely on Goblins and biting fish for evidence of poison, but she had to admit—they seemed to have figured it out.

She gathered up all the remaining blue fruits thoughtfully and put them in her basket. She’d check them all before eating back at the inn. And she’d eat very, very sparingly of the ones that looked good, juice-test or no.

If she got sick, hopefully it would only be lightly. Erin didn’t relish that, but she’d rely on pasta and eggs over the blue fruits for a few days. At least she had something to try.

“And all because of that little Goblin. Huh.”

Erin stared back at where the Goblins had been. That was the most pleasant encounter she’d had with them—mostly because they hadn’t known she was here. Then a thought occurred to her, and her face fell.

“Aw. No. Oh no. Am I…dumber than Goblins?”

——

The longer than expected outing had one benefit. Erin was mostly over her food poisoning bout as she returned to the inn. She still had a vague desire to retch, but it was mostly gone. Erin climbed up the hill, shuddering at how close it had been. She’d gotten off lucky, she supposed. It had only been an hour or so of feeling terrible. If it were actually serious—

Erin had to stop and smile. Serious? Back when she hadn’t been struggling to survive, oh, three days ago, being that sick would have ended up with her in bed for the next week.

“And I’d have a team of doctors feeding me pills by the pound too.”

She laughed softly. Then her smile vanished. Erin covered her face with her palm.

She trembled.

And then she walked on. It was getting dark. She couldn’t stop yet. Whether or not she knew it—she was in too much danger.

Something was watching her. And waiting for nightfall.

——

The key to distracting oneself—from the facts and the resulting overwhelming emotions—was motion. Erin moved around the inn and kept busy. She cleaned the vomit off the floor, washed the plates as best she could with some of the water, helped herself to a bit of pasta, and brought out more plates and silverware to the common room. Then she stored the eggs and blue fruit away in one of the cupboards, went upstairs, and cleaned a few rooms. She was moving, but really, she was waiting.

“They said they’d visit. But did they mean that or are they busy? Either way, I can always make more pasta and save some for later, right?”

She had a pot full of hot pasta in the kitchen, and she’d served and eaten her own plate of buttery noodles with blue fruit juice before she realized it was dark. Hopefully, Erin stared out one of the windows, but the grasslands were empty. The sky was so amazingly vast, the stars so numerous. It was beautiful, frightening. Erin would have loved to stare at it if she were at home, yet what she was really hoping to see were two figures. But she didn’t.

“They must be busy.”

Erin sighed to herself. But it wasn’t that early in the night after all. She could wait.

The young woman sat at a table, her stomach full, her clothes torn and dirty, her eyes drooping. But every few minutes, her eyes flicked to the stout wooden door. She was waiting.

——

Senior Guardsman Relc stretched in his chair in the Guard’s barracks. It wasn’t too crowded in the early evening, most [Guards] having checked out already or begun their evening patrols. Those who remained in the building were almost entirely Drakes, aside from a few tall, furry, humanoid guards. And they were all busy with their own tasks.

There was only one exception to the two species in the Watch barracks, and that was him. Klbkch. Relc cast an irritable eye over at the large, hunched insect hovering over a table next to him. Klbkch was industriously writing in a large ledger, pausing every few moments to dip his quill into a pot of ink.

“Are you done logging out for the day yet?”

“Almost.”

Klbkch made a precise notation with a quill on a sheet of parchment. He glanced up, and his dry voice was devoid of exasperation by most standards, but Relc could tell his partner was annoyed. It was the subtle clues, like the way Klbkch stared at him with two arms crossed.

A lot of the new [Guards] couldn’t tell anything about Klbkch—not that they got near him. He was Antinium, and even if he was Senior Guardsman Klbkch, everyone knew who he was and what he represented. But then—this was Liscor, not the army or another city.

Liscor was unique, so you actually had a guardsman duo of Relc and Klbkch. The Antinium clicked his mandibles, and his voice was annoyed.

“There. I have signed us both out. Again.”

“Great. Thanks. Now, wanna go check on that Human? I hear—”

A female Drake shouted at Relc from across the room. She was nowhere as large as Relc, and she wore chainmail and a sword at her hip as she stomped up to him.

“Senior Guardsman Relc, belay that! There’s a brawl in the marketplace. Get over there and stop the fighting!”

He sat up and groaned. Klbkch turned as the Drake pointed. She had light blue scales, almost cobalt, and bright yellow eyes. She also had her badge of office pinned to her chest and—whenever she was talking to Relc—a vexed glare. Right now, the vexation was for the idiots fighting. Relc protested.

“What? Some idiot had to start a fight now of all times? We were going to go back and—”

“Shut up and get moving! I need everyone there, now.”

“But—we’re signed out—”

“We’ll count your hours later, move!”

The Drake strode off, already snapping at another patrol who rushed for the door. Relc stayed where he was for a moment, mouth open in protest. Then he swung himself to his feet.

“…Jerk.”

Klbkch was already signing them back in and checking his gear. He sighed but nodded to Relc. Despite his grumblings, the [Spearmaster] was on his feet fast.

“A pity. Let’s be on our way.”

They headed for the door, and the rest of the [Guards] called for the brawl fell in behind them. They had clubs, truncheons, and shields; neither Relc nor Klbkch went for their spear and swords. Relc made one huge fist and glared at the female Drake in disgust.

“What a pain. Let’s smack some scales-for-brains quick. Maybe we’ll still have time to go to the inn afterwards.”

Klbkch shook his head slowly. He was calculating and reminded Relc of the obvious.

“You know we will be called upon to go after those who got away. And there is damage assessment, guard detail, investigating any burglaries during the violence…”

“Aw.”

“Do not fret. The Human will not be going anywhere.”

“I know, I know. But I was going to eat more pasta and—”

“Relc!”

The angry shout made Relc wince and cover the two holes on the side of his head. The female Drake was pointing as she headed back for the second floor.

“Alright, let’s go. Man, I really hate Captain Z.”

That was his name for her. Klbkch looked reprovingly at Relc as they marched out the doors.

“Don’t insult the Watch Captain while we are within earshot.”

“She can eat my scales. Let’s go and get this over with.”

“After you.”

They sighed as they got back to work. Relc sighed even louder because his stomach was grumbling and he’d promised it pasta. Late shifts and overtime pay, which was nice. But for what? He’d have to grab a snack at midnight, not a proper meal, and visit the inn tomorrow. It was okay for Klbkch; he had no life. But Relc?

He just hoped the [Innkeeper] wouldn’t stay up waiting for him.

——

Erin sat at the bar counter in the inn and waited. All was perfect.

Well, all was sorta perfect. It was at least acceptable. She had a basket of the blue fruits, more pasta in a large pot, and she’d even drawn a fresh bucket of water from the stream. She had very nearly spotless plates and silverware, and, all in all, she was ready for some guests.

If they’d ever arrive. At first, Erin kept checking the door every few minutes, even going to the window to see if she could spot them. But then she found herself leaning back in her chair, waiting—it had been a long day of walking back and forth on top of being sick. She supposed she was still recovering, because she was very, very tired. She wasn’t that hungry, but she wanted to wait for Relc and Klbkch.

Eventually, Erin’s eyes drooped. Her breathing slowed. She fell asleep while dreaming she was still waiting and awake. She was counting blue fruits with the little Goblin when—

Thump. Thump.

Erin woke up with a start. She raised her head and looked around groggily. It was dark. The inn had gone from faint light to no light in what felt like a heartbeat. The set table was almost shrouded as she sat up.

They never came. Or wait—what was this?

Thump. Thump.

Something was at the door. The pounding was low and steady. Erin wiped the drool off of her chin and got up from the table. She must have fallen asleep waiting. But here they were. She stumbled over to the door and shivered.

Odd. The nights were somewhat chilly, but right now it was actually cold. Actually, it wasn’t just cold. It was…frosty?

The door’s handle was covered in a thin layer of ice. From behind the door, Erin sensed something chilling, and she could feel a cold draft blowing from beneath the crack. Or was that the shivering sensation running down her spine?

Thump.

Erin jumped back from the door. That wasn’t knocking. Something was hitting the door. Hard.

“Hey. Who’s there?”

She wished her voice wasn’t so wobbly.

“A visitor.”

Was it a whisper? No. It was more like an echo. It sounded like a loud voice coming from thousands of miles away, and it had an unearthly quality to it. No voice could be so deep, so spine-chilling.

“Um. We’re closed. S-sorry.”

The something on the other side of the door…chuckled. It was probably a chuckle. It was wet and gurgling.

“It matters not. I require sustenance. Food. Provide that to me, and I shall be on my way.”

Food? As in the fleshy variety? Erin shuddered.

“I don’t have any. Go away!”

“I will not be denied. Open this door or face my wrath.”

That was enough for Erin. She backed away from the door.

“I’m warning you! Come in and I’ll, I’ll…”

She looked around desperately. It was too dark, and she’d forgotten where she’d put the Goblins’ knives. Weapon. She needed a weapon.

“Do not anger me further. If you refuse my simple request, I will—”

She didn’t wait to see what the voice would do. She could guess. Instead, Erin ran to the kitchen. She needed a weapon. A knife, a piece of wood, a spatula, anything.

Erin’s hand had found the handle of a pot when the scrape of wood made her breath stop. She’d forgotten. She’d been waiting for Klbkch and his friend. So that meant—

The door was still unlocked.

Something was pushing the door open. Erin sprinted back to the door and threw her weight against it. She knocked back whatever it was, but she couldn’t close the door fully. It was in the way.

“This is unwise. Your insolence will only bring about more punishment.”

The creature hissed at Erin. She could hear it right outside the door. It was pushing, trying to get the door open. But Erin was fueled by pure fear, and she somehow managed to keep the door where it was.

“Mistress. All I ask for is a bit of food. Provide me that and I shall be on my way.”

The skeletal creature reached its hand through the doorway. Something dark dripped down out of its bones. It splashed against the wood and vanished. Its face was—that wasn’t a Human’s skeleton. It was a mask of elongated bone, as long as Erin’s torso. Two jagged nostrils revealed something wet and fleshy, moving in time to the voice behind the bone.

“I do not wish to become angry.”

Her hand was on the cooking pot. Her heart was dead in her chest.

“No.”

“No?”

The skeletal monstrosity seemed to recoil. It pushed the door further open, and something noxious wafted in. It smelled like decay, like worms rotting in an unmarked grave. The monster pushed harder, and Erin’s feet slipped.

“A pity. But I will have you provide me with sustenance nevertheless.”

Erin seized the door and tried to close it, but the creature hurled it open. She fell back and stared in horror.

A thing with too many bones and pieces of flesh gazed down at her. It gave off a ghastly smell, and crimson light flashed from its eyes. A rotting monstrosity garbed in bone. A dead being of some eldritch horror whose ‘arm’ jerked and twitched as it wriggled towards her, brown rot and decay and mildewed skin.

“Give me what I desire. Or I shall—”

Erin screamed and hurled the pot.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.08

It was instinctual. The black metal pot flew through the air even before the creature finished speaking.

“What the—”

Before the creature was struck by the flying pot, it made a very uncharacteristic, very Human, very surprised sound. After it was struck by the pot, it didn’t make any sounds at all.

The image of the gigantic, skeletal creature wreathed in slime and darkness vanished in an instant. Erin stared as the much more normal figure of an unconscious young man dressed in grey robes appeared on the ground. He was unconscious and already had a big bruise forming on his forehead. She stared at him. She stared at his dirty robes and the flicker of light on the tips of his fingers as the illusion faded.

“…Huh.”

——

The young man was dreaming. Maybe he was dreaming of something nice. Maybe he was reflecting on his life so far and how it had led him here, or his past mistakes. Either way, the bucket of water woke him up.

“What—who dares—?”

The young man sat up, rubbing his head. Erin stared at him. He didn’t seem very mage-like. Or that impressive, for that matter. He had pale skin, brown, unkempt hair, all unwashed and fairly filthy. His fluttering eyes were grey-green, but when they focused, they were sharp as they flickered around and then looked up at her.

He actually didn’t look that bad, although he certainly looked thinner than strictly necessary. What was most off-putting was his smell. A rancid odor that contrived to combine personal body odor with a foul sewer stench. Actually, that smell was probably his clothes, which didn’t look like they’d been washed. Ever.

The mage stared up at Erin and blinked. She stared back.

“So. You’re gonna hurt me if I don’t give you food, huh?”

Erin stood up and cracked her knuckles. It really hurt, but she tried not to let it show. The young man raised one finger and pointed at her. It was only slightly trembling.

“You struck me? Me? How dare you! I will have you know I am a mage of great power, and I will not be—”

The mage cut off quickly as Erin lifted the cast-iron pot up with one hand.

“This. This is a pan.”

Erin waved the metal pot in front of the young man’s head. She saw him glance at it and then colored when she realized her mistake.

“In fact, good Mistress, that is in point of reality—”

“If I say it’s a pan, it’s a pan. The important part is that I’ll hit you with it if you try anything.”

“Oh really?”

The mage sneered at her. Erin took offense to his tone instantly. His voice sounded sort of educated, precisely enunciating each word, but it was acerbic. Sneering was the default mode to his voice. The young man’s gaze darted about, first to Erin, then around. He eyed her pot, but then he lifted one hand. Erin recoiled as the young man’s gaze seemed to brighten. She felt something change and panicked.

“Hey, stop that!”

He ignored her and mumbled something. At once, he vanished. He was gone! A booming echo reverberated throughout the room, wrathful.

“Behold my p—”

Erin swung her pot in the space where the mage had vanished.

Clong.

“Ow!”

The mage reappeared, clutching at the side of his face. Erin raised her pot again, and he raised his hands defensively.

“Try that again and I’ll hit you harder.”

He shielded his face, backing up, but he stumbled on his robe and nearly fell down. He was most likely dazed from two blows to the head, so he raised his hands and sniffed loudly. Despite his situation, he adopted a lecturing, superior tone as he lifted a finger.

“Now look here, there’s no need for violence, Miss. I can see that you are no ordinary plebian fool but an extraordinary plebian. Believe me when I say that is a high compliment from a practitioner of the arcane such as I.”

Erin glared.

“I know what plebian means.”

His mouth opened, and the young man’s supercilious expression turned to worry.

“Ah.”

“One more insult or stupid little invisibility spell and I’ll break something.”

The mage looked surprised.

“You—you could tell it was an invisibility spell?”

Erin rolled her eyes.

“What else could it be? I’ve played D&D.”

The mage blinked at her. Then he muttered to himself in a not-quite whisper.

“How astute. She’s quite intelligent for an [Innkeeper].”

Erin glared. He coughed and avoided her gaze.

“Ahem. Well, I shall be going. I am—terribly sorry for all that. It was just, ah—a spell which I—desperate times make fools of us all. And clearly, not you. Which is why I shall depart and not trouble you again.”

He made a show of standing up and brushing down his robes. Quite a lot of dirt and grime fell to the inn’s floor. Erin stared at it and glared at him harder. He swept her a deep bow and gave her a charming smile. Or what he probably thought was one. The young man reached into his robes, and she lifted the pot, but he held up his other hand hurriedly.

“My apologies, good [Innkeeper], for all these misunderstandings. Please accept this recompense for your wasted time.”

He reached into the pocket of his robes and produced a few bronze coins. He made to offer them to Erin, but when she made no move, he placed them on the table.

“So. You’re paying me for trying to scare me and steal food?”

The mage gave her a winning smile. It did nothing to wipe away Erin’s scowl.

“Harshly put, good Mistress. But yes, I would like to make amends. Let us be quits with no further unpleasantness! Or violence. And I am sure this payment is quite acceptable, is it not?”

Erin stared at the four bronze circles, which he grandly placed next to the bronze coins. She glanced up at his face. He looked entirely reasonable, even apologetic. Her face was impassive and betrayed no emotion whatsoever.

“You’re sweating.”

He began dabbing at his forehead with his robe.

“Am I? Terribly sorry. Let me just, ah…”

Three more coins appeared in the palm of his hand with a flick of the wrist. It looked like a sleight-of-hand trick. A pretty bad one, at that. Erin stared at the seven coins. Not one was silver. Hadn’t Relc given her two silver coins for a meal? She changed her grip on her pot for more striking power.

“Some people don’t like being threatened by a giant skeletal monster from hell.”

“I-I see?”

The number of coins on the table didn’t change. Erin stared at him.

“Some people would take violent offense to being scammed.”

The young man blinked once.

“Ah, this is understandable. But may I remind you that traditionally those who practice magic are beings of great power that should not be crossed?”

Erin wanted to fold her arms, but she kept the pot raised.

“Yeah, and they have fragile bones. I’m sure mages are really scary when they’re far away, but wands aren’t good at blocking frying…pots.”

The mage licked his lips, but his face remained calm.

“Fair point. Let me just amend my fee.”

A silver coin appeared in the palm of his hand. Erin narrowed her eyes and said nothing. Another silver coin appeared, and then a third.

She crossed her arms.

Three more silver coins joined the small pile. The mage was definitely sweating now.

“I, uh, hope this is sufficient, good Mistress. I am of course willing to pay any dues to—to make amends, but I’m slightly low on coin at the moment.”

Erin kept staring.

Very reluctantly, he reached into the belt at his side. He pulled out a gold coin and held it up.

“Would, ah, this do?”

Erin relented a tiny bit. She picked up the coins in his hand without taking the gold coin. She thought she heard him sigh in relief, but his face remained impassive. He was still sweating. She eyed him and nodded to the table.

“You know, I just wanted to see what would happen if I kept on staring at you.”

He tried to hide it, but his eyes widened a moment in what might have been shock or outrage. The young man sniffed and then coughed into one sleeve.

“Ah. Of course. Well, as a practitioner of the mystic arts, I feel it is always wise to be…generous.”

Erin’s face told him how much she believed that. She frowned at the coins she’d taken.

“It would certainly save time. And you know if you paid for everything, you wouldn’t have to try to scare people to get what you want.”

Another sniff, as if she were speaking nonsense. He flicked his fingers dismissively.

“Ah, but money is so…mundane. Where would the enjoyment in life be without variety?”

“Uh huh. And you provide that by threatening people with illusions?”

“Only on occasion. And I quite understand your irate feelings. However, since I believe all is settled, I shall just…”

He edged away from her and towards the door. Along the way, his stomach rumbled and his ears turned red, but he kept walking. Erin sighed and came to a rapid decision.

“Where are you going?”

His shoulders hunched, and Erin saw his hand tighten on the door handle.

“Well, if you have no further need of me…I did pay for my misdeeds, after all. Rather handsomely, I might add, given that no harm was actually done except to my person. So I won’t intrude any fu—”

“Come back here and I’ll feed you.”

He turned around and blinked at her. Erin was already going into the kitchen for a plate and cups.

“Here. Blue juice and some blue fruit. I’ve also got pasta, but I need to warm that up first.”

Erin set the cup and plate down and added three blue fruits on top of it. She expected the mage to dig in immediately or make a snarky comment, but he just turned pale.

“Ah. Am I supposed to eat this?”

“Yeah. It’s food.”

“And I suppose if I don’t, you hit me with that pot, correct?”

He eyed her warily. Erin eyed him back.

“What are you talking about? I’m giving you food. Are you allergic to the color blue or something?”

Once again, the face of her guest seemed caught between wanting to say something and wanting to bolt. He pointed gingerly to the blue fruit.

“Are you aware that, ah, this fruit is poisonous?”

Erin paused, the blue fruit halfway to her lips.

“Poisonous?”

He smiled at her, his face a shade paler than before.

“Highly. The core of the Amentus Fruit causes painful death within hours if eaten. While the outer rind is safe for consumption, the inner seeds are toxic. You are aware of this, right?”

“Um. I am now? I mean, I figured that out earlier. These ones are good. I’ve checked them.”

The look he gave her said that he didn’t believe her. The look she gave him told him that he could eat her food and she didn’t really care if he was poisoned or not. He gulped.

“I see.”

“…Want one?”

The mage eyed the blue fruit apprehensively.

“Do I have the option to refuse?”

Erin sighed.

“Look, it’s safe. I’ve eaten tons of them. Just eat around the core and you’ll be fine, okay? I figured out how to check for good ones. See?”

His was very ripe, non-mushy, and when Erin took a bite to show him, she was sure it wasn’t contaminated. Still, her odd guest made no move towards the plate. He steepled his fingers and gave her a genuinely fake smile.

“Shall we just say I accept your word? I wouldn’t dare question your authority on the subject, good Mistress, it’s just that—”

“Oh come on.”

Erin stomped into the kitchen and grabbed a knife. The mage flinched when she reappeared with it, but she grabbed one of the fruits and began cutting the outer shell of fruit away. She left the seed core on the counter and shoved the diced fruit into a plate. Two more fruits went the same way before she plonked the plate down in front of him.

The seed cores were perfectly intact, too. Whereas the bad ones she’d found had shown hairline cracks when she’d explored the insides. That little Goblin was on to something.

“Here. Totally non-poisonous food ready to be eaten. Happy?”

She glared at him. He gingerly picked up a slice of blue fruit and regarded it apprehensively. He looked ready to refuse, but then both he and Erin heard a loud sound.

It was a growling beast that almost made Erin look for a monster—until she realized it was his stomach. The young man turned beet red, and Erin almost laughed at him. He hesitated, then the fresh food in front of him seemed to do in his last resolve.

“I suppose the toxicity would be acceptable if it were just the fruit. Well then.”

Gingerly, he bit into the fruit and chewed. After a few seconds, he swallowed and took another bite. His eyes widened, and he began chewing vigorously.

In under a minute, the plate was empty and he was wiping the blue dribbles off his mouth with a corner of his robe.

Erin set down a plate of steaming pasta in front of him.

“You’re hungry, aren’t you? Well, eat this.”

“My thanks.”

And it even sounded like genuine thanks. Erin guessed he had been fairly hungry. Actually, now that she looked closer, his robes did seem to hang rather thin on his frame. And if you factored in the dirtiness and general smell he was now giving off, she guessed he was in pretty rough shape.

Still, he ate with all the vigor and energy of two men, so she supposed he was still okay. And once she’d refilled his plate, he slowed down. After a while, he stopped, probably to let his stomach expand, and regarded her.

“So, if I might inquire, what is a delicate flower of effervescence doing in such a locale?”

Erin glared at him.

“Are you trying to sound impressive or do you actually talk like that?”

He drew himself upright and looked indignant.

“How rude. My advanced lexicon and diction is merely a result of my education, not a façade that—”

“Stop it. You sound like an idiot.”

His eyes narrowed, but Erin’s glare out-glared his own. He snapped back testily.

“Fine. I suppose there’s no use attempting to impress anyone who actually has the rudiments of an education. But my question remains: what’s a young g—woman like you doing out here alone?”

His voice was no less haughty and condescending than before, but at least he wasn’t dropping seven-letter word scores every other sentence. Erin decided that was worth a few more seconds of forbearance. That didn’t mean she had to be polite, though.

“I got lost.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Lost? It takes quite some skill to wander this far into the Floodplains. Or are you a local? I very much doubt you are, though.”

“Floodplains? What are you talking about?”

The mage waved a hand around lazily.

“This area is known as the Floodplains of Liscor. It’s because of a lovely natural phenomenon of the geography and—but you aren’t from here, if you don’t know about this area. But I would have guessed as much since you are Human. As far as I can tell.”

“I am completely, 100% Human, thanks. And why does that make a difference?”

“The locals don’t like Humans that much. Which is a fact anyone in a hundred miles would know. This is the border to the Drake lands to the south. But you…didn’t know that, did you?”

He gulped down a few more noodles while watching her. Erin’s mouth opened, and he frowned at her.

“You truly didn’t? Well, well. A traveller who doesn’t know anything about where she is…teleportation spell? Amnesia magic?”

Erin blinked at him.

“How’d you guess? Actually, you’re only half-right, but how’d you guess?”

He shrugged.

“It’s common. Well, not common exactly, but it’s the only explanation I can think of. Back in the Academy…it was not an unheard of phenomenon. I suppose you could have also been carried off by one of the local avian species, but they tend to drop their prey and chew their bones.”

Erin shuddered.

“They grow that big? No; don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. But you’re right. It was a teleportation spell. Or something. It didn’t feel like a spell, but…”

“And you’re an expert on [Teleportation] spells? I see.”

This time, the sneer in his tone was a bit too pronounced. Erin’s hand twitched towards the pot.

“I’m not. But I’ll just bet those kinds of spells make a flash of light or a weird sound, right?”

He looked reluctant.

“…Perhaps.”

“And anyways, I didn’t see any idiot in robes waving a wand around and shouting ‘abracadabra’. And there aren’t wizards where I—I mean, I’m sure it wasn’t a…I just turned the corner and here I was.”

Erin trailed off, but the mage’s eyes were suddenly filled with interest. He leaned forwards in his chair.

“Really? You just turned a corner and you were in a completely different place?”

“Yeah. It’s been fun and games ever since.”

He sat back.

“Fascinating. That has to be a very high-level phenomenon or artifact. Seamless teleportation without any visual cues and even sensation at that range? Not even our Archmages could…fascinating indeed.”

“Fascinating as in ‘I know what spell that was?’”

The mage caught himself and looked up. He hesitated, then shook his head.

“No, no. I have no clue what kind of magic would be capable of that, if any. That sounds like a spell which—well, suffice it to say I know of only a few living mages who might even attempt such a feat. But if you were the target, it still makes no sense. Why would anyone waste such a powerful spell on someone as mundane as…as…”

“Me?”

He avoided her gaze and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, which arguably made his mouth dirtier.

“Yes, well. I see you’ve established yourself quite nicely. This is—is quite a lovely establishment you’ve founded. Very quaint.”

“It’s not mine. I just found it and somehow became an [Innkeeper] by cleaning up around here.”

“Indeed. That is quite often the case. However, you seem to have taken to it well. This area is inhospitable to most Humans.”

“Thanks, I guess. But if it’s so lousy—and it is, I totally know—why are you here?”

He blinked at her.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. I told you why I’m here. What’s a raggedy mage doing scaring people for food?”

He swept his robes around himself defensively.

“My physical appearance has nothing to do with—”

“Just answer the question.”

He looked uncomfortable.

“I, ah, came here to expand my horizons. This part of the continent—well, the local collection of city-states are quite hospitable to those people trying to avoid undue attention. Besides, food is plentiful if one has certain skills.”

“Like pretending to be a horrible monster?”

The young man was having a real problem looking anywhere near Erin. He flushed slightly and twiddled his thumbs together, then cleaned his plate with a fork.

“One does what one must to survive.”

She looked at him.

“I suppose one does. Does it make you feel good, stealing from innocent people?”

Her words turned his face bright red. He set down his fork and pushed his empty plate back. The mage looked up at Erin, and his eyes focused with sudden anger.

“You would not be so quick to judge if you knew more about the people you’re defending. Especially this city.”

The young woman hesitated only a second, but then put her hands on her hips.

“Maybe not. But then again, the only two I’ve met were quite polite, paid for their meal, and didn’t try to threaten me when I first met them. Whereas the first Human I met was you.”

Again, Erin and her guest locked eyes. This time, he broke away first. He got to his feet with a swirl of his robes.

“I see I’ve overstayed my welcome. Well, your meal was quite adequate, good Mistress. Please accept my heartfelt gratitude.”

He probably meant to stalk away, but Erin barred his path.

“Here.”

She offered him two blue fruits. He hesitated.

“Take them. You look thin, and maybe if you eat them you’ll stop bothering other people. Thank you for your business. Come by again and I’ll feed you. Try to scare me and I’ll hit you harder next time.”

He blinked at her, but accepted the fruits anyways.

“Um. Thank you.”

They stood there awkwardly for a moment.

“It occurs to me that I never asked your name.”

“Me? Oh, I’m Erin. Erin Solstice. And you are?”

The mage took a step back and gave her an elegant bow. Erin stared at the blue stain on the sleeve of his robe.

“Pisces, practitioner of magic, student of Wistram Academy, specialized in the Elementalist and Illusionary schools of magic with additional competencies in multiple spell schools.”

Erin raised an eyebrow.

“Good for you. Got a hobby?”

He hesitated and put one hand on the doorknob. The mage gave Erin a long look and murmured.

“…Necromancy.”

He closed the door as Erin stared.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.09

At some point, Erin slept. At some point, Erin woke up. These were minor details. What mattered was the sound.

Knock. Knock.

She tried hard to ignore it. But it kept going and going, waking her up from her peaceful oblivion.

After a while, the knocking was too much to ignore. Erin opened her eyes and sat up. It was far too bright in the world. And noisy.

Someone was knocking at the front door. The locked front door. Erin thought about going back to sleep, but the knocking hadn’t ceased for the last few minutes. It was the kind of knocking that said the person on the other side knew there was someone to bother, and they would develop the cadence and volume to be annoying if they did this for an hour straight. So, at last, Erin reluctantly got up and opened the door.

She greeted the knocker with the world’s hugest scowl, like she would her mother waking her up early after a late-night study session.

“What do you want?”

Pisces the friendly mage gave her a brilliant smile.

“Greetings, good Mistress. I was wondering if I could impose upon you—”

Erin shut the door. After a few seconds, she opened it.

“Fewer words. Get to the point.”

The [Necromancer] looked haughty—but then caught himself as an audible little growl escaped his stomach. He coughed delicately into one sleeve.

“Um. Very well. Are you open today?”

The [Innkeeper] actually turned around blankly.

“Who?”

“You. This establishment.”

“Here?”

Pisces blinked a few times. He spoke very carefully, pointing at the ground and enunciating each word clearly.

“Is this place open? Do you provide sustenan—food? I pay, I eat?”

Erin finally caught on and glared blearily at him. She thrust the door open further.

“It’s early. Yes, I guess I am open. Come in.”

She stomped inside. After a moment, Pisces followed.

“I would like to peruse your menu if I m—”

Erin’s glower cut him off. She came back with four blue fruits and tossed them on the table. Pisces stared at the fruit and opened his mouth. He looked at Erin’s expression and amended whatever he was going to say.

“If I might trouble you for a knife and fork—”

She slapped them down on the table and walked away.

“And a plate?”

Erin’s service came with a huge frown. But he did get the plate. She would have liked to go back to sleep, but the sounds of Pisces shifting and the clink of silverware on pottery was too distracting. Instead, she got her own blue fruit and started a fire to warm up her pasta. She munched on the sweet fruit in dour silence.

Outside, it began to rain.

——

Rain. Rain fell down from the heavens like hail. Well, actually it fell like rain, but these were bigger drops that fell a lot faster and harder than normal. The hammering of rain against the rooftop was nearly deafening.

Nearly. Behind her, Pisces set down his knife and fork and sighed loudly. Erin wished he weren’t here. It wasn’t that she disliked company; she was starved for it. She just wished her company wasn’t him.

“That’s a lot of rain.”

She was talking to herself, but he seemed to take it as an invitation to speak.

“It happens quite often. A natural weather phenomenon, you know.”

Erin turned and glared at Pisces. He raised both eyebrows and held up his cup.

“Another drink if you would. My cup has run dry.”

“Where did you find—stay out of my kitchen.”

“I would be only too happy to. But I fear I was quite parched, and if you would be so good…?”

Erin’s eye twitched. But she went and got a cup for herself as well. She didn’t pour his drink, but rather set the pitcher of juice on the other end of the table so he had to reach for it. She glanced out the window and saw, well, nothing.

Even the darn mountains had been obscured by the kind of rainfall that made you hope your gutters were clear back home. Erin could barely see ten feet into the downpour. She shivered; that kind of onslaught was one thing in her home or indoors, but this inn felt a bit too—fragile. Pisces, for himself, seemed quite glad he was here, not anywhere else. Erin turned to him and gestured outside.

“Does it rain like this a lot?”

He took his time replying, and when he did, his voice was distinctly self-satisfied, lecturing. Almost like a pompous college professor—not that Erin had ever gone to any classes, just been accepted.

“Seldom. It is a seasonal weather pattern to rain like this in the spring. Fall downpours like these are an aberration. Normally, I would not hazard a guess at how long the rain would fall, but someone has been interfering with the weather. So we’ll have a brief storm, that’s all. Hardly anything as memorable as magical rain.”

That statement was loaded. Erin took the bait because she had to.

“Interfering with the weather? How? And what do you mean—magical rain? Like what?”

He smirked at her. She noted with displeasure that he was already on his second cup of blue juice.

“With magic, how else? Some shortsighted fool must have cast a localized weather control spell. Impressive, I suppose, but clumsy in execution. As for magical rain—have you never observed glowing rain in any color? Magical typhoons? Ah…raining toads?”

Erin glanced back at the furious downpour—it did indeed seem to be lessening already.

“Raining toads? Doesn’t that only happen when a tornado picks them up?”

Pisces hesitated. Erin turned back just in time to see his look of surprise covered by an attempt at banal amusement. He made a show of taking a sip from his cup.

“Ahem. Of course, that is how the phenomenon actually occurs. But the impetus is largely magical…I see you know your way around some natural events. This particular storm will not be raining any creatures, however. It truly was someone simply sending unwanted rain our way. It may be a scandal, although given how the Drake cities squabble—I detected it from the south. Perhaps as far as Pallass.”

Erin had no idea what Pallass was, but other cities of Drakes? She leaned too-casually on the table, now giving Pisces her full attention.

“Wow, that’s far, right? Wouldn’t you have to be a pretty powerful sorcerer to do that?”

“The term is mage, good Mistress.”

“The name is Erin, idiot.”

He smirked, already cocky again.

“Aha. Accept my apologies. But if you are referring to one of my exalted brethren, mage is the best term to use.”

Erin stared at him. He didn’t appear abashed in any way.

“You don’t have wizards or sorcerers or…warlocks? Witches? You’re all just mages?”

Pisces flicked his fingers haughtily, then decided to wipe them on his robes instead.

“I did not say specialization is absent from the magical world. Rather, shall we say that those are titles for mages who meet certain requirements? A [Wizard] is an arcane researcher and true student of the arcane arts. Such individuals are similar to myself, but prefer to study the mainstream branches of magic. [Sorcerers], on the other hand, are quite simplistic and refer to those who use no spellbooks and have little formal education. [Warlocks] obtain their powers from other sources such as summoning, while [Witches] practice alchemy along with specialized schools of magic. Their…very peculiar magic, which is so rooted in folklore. Nevertheless, [Mage] remains the generally accepted title to refer to all those who practice magic as a catchall moniker…”

He trailed off. Erin was staring at him. Pisces gave her a confident smirk. She raised her eyebrows.

“Okay. So you’re saying [Mage] means anyone who uses magic. Next time, just say that.”

His face visibly fell. Pisces moodily stabbed at a piece of blue fruit.

“You asked. I was merely fulfilling my role as a guest.”

“Good. For you. So what, a—mage did this?”

He shrugged.

“Yes. And it’s not as if this is a particularly difficult task. I realize it may look so to the uninitiated, but a spell like this could easily be cast by a level 30 [Mage]. Less, I suppose, if the individual were specialized.”

“So…?”

“As I said, not that impressive. Many mages could cast a spell like this.”

“Can you?”

Pisces paused. He chewed slowly, looking past Erin.

“My specialization lies in other areas.”

“Like dead bodies.”

The young man’s jaw tensed ever-so-slightly. Erin saw his thin frame—and he was thin and hungry, judging by how fast he’d eaten her blue fruits—shift in his chair. Pisces glanced at the door and avoided Erin’s gaze and drained his cup.

“Merely another branch of magic, good Mistress Erin. I note you don’t have the same aversion as a less-informed fool. Let me assure you—”

Erin stared at him. She opened her mouth, but then the door slammed open. Both Erin and Pisces turned as a wet, dark figure sauntered into the inn and threw his arms wide.

“Good morning everyone! Weird Ant behind me, friendly Human, and—oh.”

Relc strode into the inn, beaming, then visibly did a double-take when he saw Pisces. The [Necromancer] jerked in his seat, then froze. Klbkch closed the door and bowed slightly at Erin.

“Please pardon our intrusion. Is this establishment open for business?”

“What? Oh. Yeah.”

Erin scrambled for words. Relc was still staring at Pisces, who studiously ignored him as he refilled his cup. She smiled at Relc, glancing at Pisces.

“Hey, you two! Klb—Klbk? It’s been a while. I guess. But come in. Or come in more. Have a seat. Want something to eat?”

“If you would be so kind. Thank you, Miss Erin. It is Klbkch, but you may refer to me as Senior Guardsman if that is simpler.”

Klbkch wiped his feet and stepped over to a table. Relc was still staring. He frowned at Pisces then jabbed a claw his way before eying Erin suspiciously.

“You multiplied. Can Humans do that?”

“What? Oh no, that’s just Pisces. He’s annoying, so ignore him.”

Erin waved Relc over to a seat as she went to the kitchen for plates. Relc kept staring until Klbkch kicked him and motioned him to a seat.

“I believe staring is considered rude in most cultures. Sit down and cease your rudeness.”

Relc glared and sat, rubbing his leg. Klbkch turned and nodded to Pisces.

“Please excuse my companion’s lack of tact.”

Pisces waved his fork airily, but Erin, poking her head out of the kitchen, realized the young man was no longer smiling. He had pushed his chair back from the table, and he kept glancing her way. It didn’t stop his mouth from running, though.

“I paid no attention. The plebian masses are a burden to be endured; I bear no ill will to the misinformed or ignorant for their rudeness.”

Klbkch and Relc exchanged a glance.

“Indeed. It has been nice to make your acquaintance.”

“Humans. They’re so—”

Erin reemerged from the kitchen, trying to hold a pot of hot noodles and several plates with only two hands. She interrupted the two.

“Do you guys want pasta or blue fruit?”

Relc broke off, coughing.

“Ah. Eh. Um, what I meant was—”

Klbkch raised one hand politely as he kicked Relc subtly again.

“I would be delighted to try the blue fruit. I believe my tongue-tied partner would like some as well.”

“Right. Food. I’ll have some.”

Pisces waved his fork again.

“And me. A second plate and a refill of my drink, if you would.”

There was something so presumptuous about his tone that Erin scowled. She slowly walked into the kitchen, put the pot back down, and then came out. She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder.

“You want pasta? It’s in the kitchen. Get it yourself.”

Pisces’ outraged sniff at the discrepancy in service was ignored. Turning her back on him, Erin smiled at Relc and Klbkch.

“So, um, hi again. It’s been a while. Klb…Klbkch and…?”

Klbkch nodded while Relc looked expectant.

“Um. Uh…”

“Relc.”

Klbkch murmured softly. Erin beamed desperately.

“Relc! Right, right.”

“What? How come you remembered this idiot’s name and not mine?”

Relc looked aggrieved. Erin blushed.

“Um, sorry.”

The Drake leaned over the table, frowning. He looked bigger today, or perhaps it was being able to contrast him with Pisces. Relc was over six feet tall without the long neck spines that ran from the back of his head like a thin mohawk. He was also, Erin realized, wearing all-leather armor, and today, he’d leaned his spear against the table.

He even had a shortsword at his side and a dagger and a belt with two glowing bottles and a few pouches.

Belt pouches seemed like a style in this world, because Pisces had them—and so did Klbkch. Although—Erin noticed now—the Antinium had two swords sheathed at his waist. And two daggers.

Wow, they were armed. Was this the level of police in this world? Then again—if that was the case, Erin supposed they were just regularly armed. But it might be why Pisces kept glancing at them. He had no weapons, she noted, just a stick at his side.

Wait, was that a wand? Erin turned and stared at it, but Relc tapped the table, interrupting her train of thought.

“Aren’t I the better-looking one here? What gives?”

Erin turned and gave him an embarrassed smile.

“Sorry. It’s just—uh, you know. I’ve got a bad memory.”

“Really?”

“…No. Sorry. It’s just been a busy two days.”

“Oh.”

He looked deflated. Erin tried to cheer him up.

“Relc! I’ve got the name, now. And I’ve got more pasta. Well, it’s old pasta, but it still tastes good! And more blue juice. And blue fruit! It’s, uh, not poisonous if you only eat the outer bit.”

“Ooh, pasta!”

Relc perked up instantly. Erin went to fetch the pasta and placed two steaming plates in front of the two.

“My thanks.”

Klbkch nodded at Erin, and both began eating. Around mouthfuls, Relc eyed Erin and then Pisces.

“So, how’re you doing? Level up again?”

“Actually, I did. Right after you two left.”

“Ooh, congratulations! Did you get a new skill?”

“[Basic Crafting]. It helped me make a basket out of grass.”

He chuckled knowingly.

“That’s quite useful! Most craftsman and artisan classes get that early on. I guess [Innkeepers] are sorta like that, right? Got to take care of the inn, repair windows, fix tables, and all that.”

“I guess. I haven’t ever tried that, and besides, I don’t have a hammer. Actually, I’ve never swung a hammer in my life.”

“Well, you’ve got the Skill for it, so it’ll be a breeze. And you can buy a hammer no problem. Just head down to the city, and you can get a good one for only a silver coin or two. Tell you what, if you’re ever in the area, I’ll help you get one at a discount.”

“Really? That’s really generous. Thank you.”

Erin smiled hesitatingly at Relc, who grinned back at her as he slurped down a noodle. Klbkch set down his fork and nodded at his companion.

“Not entirely. I do believe my companion would earn a small fee for directing any business to his associates.”

Relc glared at Klbkch. He tried to kick him, but the Antinium had scooted his chair back too far. They were both sitting fairly wide of the table, Erin realized. Oddly so.

“Shut up. Do you have to ruin everything I say?”

“I am merely pointing out the truth.”

“Well…stop it.”

Erin had to smile as the two began bickering. However, she was the only one amused. Across the inn, Pisces drained his mug and plonked it down on the table.

“If we’re done with the lovely chatting, my glass is empty. Isn’t attending to one’s customers part of my service?”

Erin glared. Relc glared too. Klbkch—well, she still couldn’t read the ant man’s expression, but he definitely gave off a silent air of disapproval.

“Nice customer you’ve got here.”

“Yeah. Hey—shut up!”

Pisces raised his brows.

“How discourteous. I believe I shall bring my business elsewhere next time.”

“I don’t want it anyways. Besides, you tried to rob me last time. You’re here on sufferance because I feel bad for you.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward. Erin sniffed and debated whether she should refill his glass anyways, but felt a sharp poke in her side. She screamed and jumped.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t—don’t do that!”

Erin rubbed at where Relc’s claw had poked her. He looked startled at her reaction and actually apologetic.

“Sorry. Again. But…you said rob? As in, that guy over there tried to rob you?”

Relc’s voice was a low hissing whisper as he glanced over at Pisces. He needn’t have bothered, though. Pisces was still engrossed in his cup. Erin grinned maliciously and whispered back.

“Yeah. Last night, I was visited by a scary monster. But when I hit it with a pa—pot, it turned out just to be him. So I got him to pay up for scaring me. That covers all the food he ate, I guess.”

“The fee was extorted under duress.”

“Shut up! You’re lucky I didn’t just toss you in the stream and let the fish eat you!”

Klbkch and Relc exchanged a glance. Relc gave the Antinium a slow nod, and Klbkch returned it. Relc turned a goggle-eyed gaze back to Erin.

“And…you let him come back for breakfast?”

“Well, it’s not like he’s dangerous. Just annoying.”

“And you didn’t think to report him to anyone?”

“Like who?”

Erin stared blankly at Relc. He stared at her. Klbkch finished his plate of noodles and set down his fork. Then he stared at Erin too. She looked at the [Guardsmen] and slapped her forehead.

“Oh. Oh. I forgot. And besides, you weren’t here yesterday.”

Klbkch nodded.

“Very true. Our absence was most lamentable. But allow us to perform our duty now. Incidentally, Mistress Solstice, the pasta was delicious.”

“Yeah, it’s great! Hold on.”

Relc grabbed the fork and started shoveling the pasta in his mouth. He was able to cram nearly half the plate down his throat in one huge gulp and munched down the rest in seconds. Erin stared with fascinated horror and a tiny bit of envy as he gobbled.

That done, Relc exchanged a glance with Klbkch. Then he turned to Pisces.

“Hey, you!”

Pisces looked up with a scowl. He glared at Relc and made an irritable harrumph.

“Do you want something? I don’t do magic upon request. If you seek a certain spell, I would be happy to discuss my remunerations…later.”

“Really?”

Relc grinned in his seat. He shifted, exposing one huge bicep, as he moved his right arm towards his spear. Erin felt a prickle run down her spine. Wait. What was…was what she thought about to happen? No way. No—

“How about you do the magic spell where you turn into a monster? I’d love to see that. Or better yet, do you have a spell to get out of trouble? Because you’re going to need one now.”

Pisces’ face went blank. His eyes flicked to Erin and then back to Relc and Klbkch. Erin saw his jaw tense, and then he smiled at her. A glassy, empty smile. She felt a pang in her chest, and she didn’t know why. Only that the slightly supercilious look in his gaze had turned to something blankly hostile. No…resigned? As if he had expected…

The young man made a show of standing up, dusting off his robes.

“Ah. I see the good [Innkeeper] holds a grudge. Well, I’m not sure what she told you two, but I assure you, I have compensated her more than adequately for my…mistake. It’s nothing two soldiers need concern themselves with.”

“Oh, but it is, it is! And you’re wrong, by the way.”

“About what?”

Relc exchanged a glance with Klbkch. He grinned. Or rather, his mouth opened and he showed Pisces his teeth.

“We’re no soldiers. We’re [Guardsmen]. And we’ve been looking for the bastard who’s been robbing homes with illusion spells.”

“Ah.”

For a second, Pisces was very still. Then, with a surprising burst of speed, he sprinted for the door. Erin saw his legs move—then he flickered forwards.

It was like he teleported! One second he was there, the next, five feet away, lunging for the doorknob! But he stumbled, nearly falling over himself, arms flailing. He would have still gotten out except for how fast the two [Guards] reacted.

Relc kicked himself back from the table as his right arm snatched the spear. That was why he had been sitting so far back—he whirled the spear up and threw it in one motion. Erin was only aware of a blur of movement and the whoosh of air past her face. She screamed, and his spear blew past her ear, but it didn’t strike Pisces. The spear flew between his legs as he tried to grab the doorknob and tripped him up. He sprawled to the ground as Relc pushed his chair back.

Klbkch was already on his feet. Like Relc, he’d given himself plenty of space. He didn’t draw his swords, just strode over to Pisces and put one arm in a lock. Another of Klbkch’s arms held Pisces’ head down.

“Do not move. You are under arrest for intimidation and attempted theft. Remain still. Any sudden moves will result in bodily harm.”

With one arm, Klbkch dragged Pisces up. The mage didn’t struggle as Klbkch deposited him back in his chair. Relc grinned at Erin as he picked up his spear. Pisces was panting, looking from Klbkch to Relc with clear unease.

“Good throw, huh?”

She tried to answer and croaked.

“Y-yeah.”

Relc’s eyes widened slightly.

“Oops. Sorry, did I scare you? I forgot normal people aren’t used to that. Don’t worry—I never miss when I throw.”

Erin kept looking at Pisces. His eyes darted around the room, but Klbkch was standing right over him. She nodded slowly—what were they going to do with…?

“I’m sure. I’m sure. And I’m not scared. Just—surprised.”

“Good, good.”

Relc patted Erin gently on the back. She nearly fell out of her chair but caught herself on the table. He didn’t notice. Relc sauntered over to Pisces and grinned down at him.

“Gotcha. Tried to run from me, did you? No one ever gets away.”

He looked over at his companion.

“Klbkch, got anything to tie him up with?”

Klbkch shook his head.

“Alas, I did not anticipate an arrest, and my gear is signed out at the barracks. I am without manacles or spell-bind rope. We shall have to be attentive with its lack. Unless Miss Solstice has anything to bind him with?”

Klbkch looked at Erin. She spread her hands. So there was a prison? In the city she’d never been to?

“Uh, no. No, sorry.”

“A pity. But we shall do without.”

“Indeed you will. This is an affront!”

Pisces tried to push Klbkch away. His face was pale and sweaty, but he still maintained his haughty tone, if slightly strained.

“I am completely innocent—utterly so. These baseless accusations are false and—”

“You are lying.”

Klbkch said it flatly and without a hint of doubt.

“[Detect Guilt] is a basic Skill most [Guardsmen] get. I can sense your guilt, which is enough for me to justify this arrest.”

“Plus, we already know all about you and your crimes.”

Relc folded his arms and grinned even wider. His teeth were yellow, and very, very sharp.

“We’ve been looking for you, Mister Mage. Or should I say, the scary creature that threatens travellers and people living by themselves? You’ve been stealing food and money for nearly a month. There’s even a bounty on your head, which I’d love to collect.”

Erin stared at Pisces, who’d turned a paler shade of white, but Relc wasn’t done.

“Okay. Here’s what I’m thinking. Me and my friend here will drag you out back, beat you with sticks or rocks for a while, and then drag you back to the city for a reward. Then we’ll give half to our lovely innkeeper here. Sound good?”

Pisces’ smile was strained by now, and he shifted, but Klbkch was leaning on his shoulder, pressing him down in his seat.

“Actually, I would prefer—”

“Too bad!”

Relc cracked his knuckles. Erin, who had been staring in fascination and horror, raised a hand.

“Um. Isn’t that wrong?”

“Wrong? Why would it be wrong?”

Erin searched for words as Relc stared at her blankly.

“Aren’t there rules? Like, rules against police—guardsmen hurting people once they’re caught? Like…like no beating someone once they’re on the ground?”

Relc stared at her. He turned to Klbkch.

“Do we have rules like that?”

Klbkch let go of Pisces to scratch at his head. He stepped back, but kept one hand on the hilt of his swords as he talked, keeping Pisces well within range.

“I believe that may be a Human standard.”

“Oh, good. I got worried there for a second.”

“Yes, we wouldn’t want to ruin the enjoyment of mindless thugs like yourself.”

Pisces sneered at Relc. He seemed incapable of keeping his mouth shut even when it was for his own good. Relc made a fist, and he flinched.

“Hold on, hold on. We don’t need to beat up Pisces. Like I said, he only tried to rob me. And I already hit him with a pot. What’s this about beating him up?”

Erin grabbed Relc’s arm. It was instinctive, but once she touched his scales, she nearly jumped away. His skin, or rather, scales, were surprisingly cool and easy to grip. But it felt so alien to Erin that she was quite unnerved. It made everything seem frighteningly real.

Relc glanced at Erin and peeled her off gently. He was so strong that he broke her grip effortlessly with just two of his fingers.

“Don’t worry, miss. We’ll do the punching outside where you don’t have to see.”

“Or—or you could not. Isn’t that what nice guardsmen do? You could just arrest him and skip the punching, right?”

The Drake nodded with a blank, uncomprehending, cheerful look on his face.

“Yeah, but he called me a common thug. I want to punch him for that.”

“Well—he’s a jerk. But I mean, you’re a guardsman. Insults like that are ten a penny.”

“Ten a what?”

“I believe she is saying insults to our position are quite common.”

Klbkch clarified. He looked at Erin, who shrugged awkwardly and gave him a sheepish smile.

“What?”

Relc seemed slightly hurt. He looked at Erin with his eyes narrowed slightly. But rather than angry, that somehow made his face look sad.

“No one insults me regularly. Except Watch Captain Z and Klb, come to think of it. People like me. Everyone likes us. We’ve got a special job.”

“But one you sign up for, right? I mean, sure, it’s a great job, but—it’s just a job, right?”

Erin faltered. Relc was staring at her in disbelief. His tone rose in indignation.

“It’s not just a job. It’s a highly prestigious job! Not just anyone can be part of the city guard, let alone a Senior Guard.”

Erin blinked.

“Really? I thought you just…signed up.”

Relc scoffed. He turned to Klbkch.

“Signed up? Can you believe this? Humans.”

Klbkch was unimpressed. He carefully munched piece after piece of blue fruit.

“Perhaps if you explained our function more properly there would be no need for outrage. Clearly, the nature of guardspeople differs culturally. I thought Humans did it quite similarly in the north, but…elaborate, Relc.”

“Right, well. It’s still not—okay.”

Erin crossed her arms. Pisces sneered and took another swallow of juice from the table. He began mumbling to himself, but Erin, Relc, and Klbkch ignored him.

Relc sighed. He scratched the spines at the top of his head.

“Look, I’m not sure what Humans do, but in our city, the city watch isn’t like mercenaries or personal bodyguards. We don’t just sign up. We have to be voted in.”

“Really?”

“Really. See, we’ve gotta get at least fifty ordinary citizens to vouch for us before we’re sworn in. And to become Senior Guardsmen like us, you’ve got to get at least four hundred. Impressive, right?”

Relc grinned and pulled something out of the belt at his waist. He showed Erin a crimson badge edged with gold and striped twice with purple. It was shiny. It had the logo of a city, well, a stylized city, over…Erin squinted. Was that water? Little wavy lines. It was quite beautiful, and she had to guess it was costly.

“Nice. So that’s your official badge?”

The Drake polished it on his front as he placed it back in his belt pouch.

“Yeah. We’ve got to keep it on us at all times. Some guys wear it on their chests, but it can get ripped off. Besides…”

He tapped his scaly arm.

“Doesn’t stick so well on scales. Anyways, we’ve gotta pay a fine if we lose it, so why risk it, right? I only need it when I want to prove who I am or pull rank, anyways.”

“Fascinating. But it’s still the elevated status of a common enforcer when all is said and done, isn’t it?”

Pisces sneered at Relc. He seemed full of confidence all of a sudden. Relc glared, making another fist the size of a brick.

“You’re still under arrest. I can hit you. It’s only because I’m being considerate of Miss Solstice here that I don’t. But I will. If you don’t shut up.”

Eyebrows raised, Pisces drew a finger across his lips.

“Pardon me. I would not dare to interrupt such august personages such as yourself. Please, proceed.”

Erin sighed, and Klbkch made a sound that sounded quite similar. Relc, on the other hand, just scratched his head.

“Right. Good. Anyways, we’re the ones with weapons, and you’re just a [Mage]. Not a high-level one either or you’d be teleporting away.”

Klbkch nodded.

“Or destroying us in a number of ways. The lack of lightning falling from the sky or [Fireballs] confirms this.”

Erin, suddenly quite nervous, edged behind a table. Her wooden table and the wooden inn.

“You sure about that? Really sure, I mean?”

Relc grinned at her. It was a grin with entirely too many teeth.

“Don’t worry, Miss. He’s no threat or we’d have taken him out when we first realized who he was. He looked more dangerous than he turned out to be. You see, both of us can tell if we’re in danger or the enemy is strong. This idiot couldn’t even use [Flash Step] properly!”

The [Necromancer] turned beet red, but Erin was fascinated.

“You can do that? Like—sensing each other’s power levels? Really? How?”

The Drake’s mouth opened, and he eyed Klbkch, who scratched at his antennae. However, Pisces interrupted with a huge sneer of his own.

“A keen observer would discern his opponent’s weaknesses and strengths and make assumptions based on their actions and ability. These two, on the other hand, are just using a Skill.”

Relc eyed him. So did Klbkch, but it was more subtle. The Drake shrugged, unperturbed.

“Well, he’s right. We do have Skills. They’re part of our classes, although in my case I’ve got [Dangersense]. But I’m also a former soldier. And Klb? He’s the Slayer. We can tell you’re not hot stuff, Human.”

Slayer? Erin glanced at Klbkch, and the Antinium’s mandibles lowered and came together as he stared at Relc. The Drake lifted a claw, wincing apologetically. What did that mean? He hurried on; if anyone reacted, it was Pisces, who turned dead white as he stared up at Klbkch.

“My scales aren’t itching, so your Human friend here isn’t that good at magic. They always itch when I’m in danger. That’s not a Skill, either. But your friend can’t even trigger my [Dangersense]. Not even a little ring.”

Erin held up her hands, hesitating between Pisces and Klbkch. Slayer. Did that mean he slew…?

“He’s not my friend.”

Relc shrugged.

“But he’s Human.”

The Drake said that like it meant everything.

“That’s—”

Erin struggled for a response. Meanwhile, Pisces’ sneer deepened, and he curled his lip, oblivious to the danger.

“Spoken like a truly ignorant fool. What would you know of magical mastery? My powers may not lie in mere confrontation, but I assure you, I have more power in my fingernails than you have in your entire brutish body.”

Relc stepped forwards, fist raised.

“Okay, that’s it. Close your eyes, Miss—”

For one moment, Erin wasn’t sure if she wanted to get between Relc and Pisces or duck out of the way. Klbkch made the decision for her. He grabbed Relc, and pulled him back. Not easily; but there was more strength in those wiry ant arms than Erin would have guessed.

“Relax. I would prefer not to damage this establishment. Nor would the owner or even you, I suspect.”

Relc hesitated. He looked at Erin, who decided to add her support of denial.

“Yeah, let’s calm down before someone gets hurt. Like me.”

Erin grabbed the jug of blue juice and began filling cups. Relc accepted a glass, drained it, and then sipped at the refill.

Erin went to fill Pisces’ glass, but he shielded it with one hand.

“No—no need, good Mistress Solstice. I am quite satisfied at the moment.”

Relc was still glaring daggers at Pisces.

“Peh. You should drink. It’ll be the last tasty thing you eat for a long time. Actually, what am I saying? This stuff’s way too good for you. Just remember what you’re missing when we lock you away.”

“If you can.”

Erin eyed Pisces. He was still sneering, and she wasn’t sure why. If she was any guess, Relc was two seconds away from turning his face into raw beef.

Relc scowled. He closed his hand, and Erin watched his entire arm ripple. She’d seen ripped guys before, of course, which wasn’t that impressive, but this—

“Last I checked, you were within arm’s reach. That means your fancy spells aren’t going to do a thing before I hit you hard enough to make your brains pop out. Trust me. I’ve done it before.”

Again, Pisces didn’t seem affected by Relc’s threat. At least visibly.

“I am a powerful [Mage] far beyond your capabilities. Even if your paltry Skills cannot detect my—capabilities—you would do well to be wary of my hidden…capabilities.”

He seemed to have forgotten synonyms for ‘capability’, like potential, talent, ability, and so on. Erin had the unfortunate desire to laugh. But Klbkch didn’t twitch.

The Antinium moved his head slightly. His expression didn’t change, but then, there wasn’t much to change. He lowered one of his four hands to his side, and Erin saw the hand rest casually on the pommel of his dagger. More sweat beaded on Erin’s lower back.

“Such as?”

Pisces drew himself up in his chair slightly.

“I have studied countless schools of magic. You see before you a practitioner of the elements, a weaver of illusions, a refined chanter, a master of alchemy, pyromancy, aeromancy, geomancy—”

“And necromancy.”

Erin helpfully chimed in. Pisces choked on his next words. He glared at her. She shrugged.

“What? You told me yesterday. Oh, and were you the one who stole the skeleton upstairs? I just realized that was probably you.”

Pisces lost his sneer and now looked uneasy. Relc, on the other hand, grinned again.

“Well, well. Theft of a corpse and reanimation, no doubt. That’s another big mark on the list of charges. But necromancy, well, that also means we don’t have to bring you back alive anymore.”

Erin opened her mouth, and Relc waved a hand. He looked exasperated as he glanced her way.

“Yes, yes. But we’ll just hit you and drag you back so Miss Erin doesn’t see anything nasty. But you’re in serious trouble now, Mister [Necromancer].”

“Oh, really?”

Pisces sat back in his chair. He was still pale, but he looked far more confident than he had any right to be.

“Regardless if you know my identity or not, I still believe you will find capturing me no easy task.”

Relc blinked. He scratched the spines on his head and then shook his head gently.

“Humans. You’re so arrogant and crazy. It’s almost funny. If you’re so full of powerful magic, dodge this.”

He swung his spear forward, the butt of the spear first. Erin shouted and tried to grab the spear, too slowly. But where the spear should have cracked Pisces over the head, Relc’s swing met nothing but air. Pisces was suddenly gone.

“What the—”

Relc blinked. Erin gaped. Klbkch instantly swung his swords in an arc, slashing the air around the chair. But he touched nothing.

“Gone.”

Relc swiped the air where Pisces had been with his spear and growled deep in his throat. Erin stared.

“He’s not invisible? He did that once.”

Relc shook his head angrily.

“No. I’d be able to sense if he were within a few feet of me. This was an illusion spell. A damn clever one, too. He pretended he was here and walked off while we were busy chatting. Most idiot spellcasters aren’t that stealthy or…when did he creep off? Klb, it was when you let go of him! I didn’t even see the chair move—damn, the chair’s an illusion too! Normally I can hear idiots skulking around even on the battlefield! This bastard tricked me! Me!”

He kicked a foot of the chair, and Erin gasped as the chair vanished and reappeared, further back. Klbkch looked to the door.

“I am unsure of when he left. He may have escaped only a few minutes ago. We may still catch him if we hurry.”

“Right, right.”

Relc cursed and swung his spear angrily. It made a terrific whooshing sound as it cut the air. Erin held her breath, afraid he’d let go and accidently cut her.

Klbkch turned and bowed his head to her.

“Thank you for informing us of his class, Mistress Erin. Although he posed no threat to either Relc or I, he is far more dangerous than we had believed. I did not notice the illusion spell. I have grown inattentive, lax. Relc as well, but this is a critical failing on my part.”

The Drake glared as Erin hesitated, looking at where Pisces had been sitting.

“Really? I thought—he didn’t seem dangerous. I mean, I hit him with a pot, and that knocked him out.”

“Oh, he’s probably as dangerous as a frog in a fight. That’s not the problem.”

Relc shook his head.

“We thought he was just an illusionist. That’s annoying, but really all he can do is scare folks into giving him things. But a necromancer’s worse. Far worse. We could let him go if he was just a normal [Mage], but we’ve got to find him now, and he knows it.”

“Why?”

Relc muttered to himself. He was still looking around, and his tongue was flicking out of his mouth, as if tasting the air. It was the first time he’d really reminded Erin of a lizard from her world.

“A rogue [Necromancer] on the loose does nasty things. Even a low-level one can bring down villages if you give him enough dead bodies, and they level fast when that happens. Damn, I’m not going to be the one who let the next Az’kerash get away, Klb. We’re gonna have to hunt this guy down. If we can’t catch him today, I’ll have the Captain send out multiple patrols once we get back to the city. Erin, we have to go, but I think you’re safe if that guy didn’t do anything last time.”

Erin nodded. Then she hesitated.

“So. Does…that mean you’ll be back soon?”

Relc nodded.

“Less than an hour, but we won’t be able to stay. Sorry. I’ll try to get the patrol out faster, but you know how it is. We’ve got to shift around guardsmen on patrol, set trackers, get armed up, etc.”

“Oh. Okay. But, uh, does that mean—how long does it take to get back?”

“We should be able to cover the distance in approximately ten minutes if we run.”

Relc nodded in agreement.

“So we’ve gotta go. Why? Are you worried he’ll attack you?”

“No, not that. It’s just—the city.”

“The city? What about it?”

“Um, where is it? Is it that teensy little wall of stone in the distance?”

Relc and Klbkch stared at her silently and then exchanged a glance.

“…You mean, you don’t know? By the way, things look smaller in the distance, Miss Solstice.”

“I know that! I just don’t know what I’m seeing! Should I? It’s not like there’s a sign or anything around here. And I can’t see it at all times.”

Relc looked amused.

“Don’t be snippy. But it’s easy to spot. Look, you can even see it out the window here.”

He walked over to a window and pointed. Erin squinted. Now that he mentioned it, the viewpoint here did let her pick out that same landmark. It was just that she needed to look hard to spot the edge rising over a hill.

“…Is it that grey stuff there?”

“Well, yeah. Isn’t it obvious?”

“No, it’s really not. It could be a rock. A square rock.”

“It’s not a rock. Why are you having a hard time believing me? Can’t you see the buildings?”

“No, I can’t.”

“I do not believe she can, in point of fact.”

Relc and Erin turned to look at Klbkch. He studied her and then brought his face close to hers. Erin flinched as he did.

“Do not be alarmed. I mean you no harm.”

“Sorry—sorry. It’s just the pincers. And the eyes. It’s just—sorry.”

Relc laughed.

“Don’t mind Klbkch. He’s ugly even for an ant. But you really can’t see the city from here?”

Klbkch nodded. He seemed focused on Erin’s own eyes.

“I believe Humans have more limited eyesight than you or I.”

“What? That’s stupid.”

Relc huffed to himself. He pointed out the window at the black dot.

“Look, the city’s that way. It’s only a twenty-minute walk, and there aren’t many monsters along the way. Besides, once you get within a few miles, the area is regularly patrolled, so you won’t have any problems. And if those idiots at the gate stop you—which they won’t—just tell them you know me.”

Klbkch nodded.

“Or me. However, you should encounter no problems. Only those with past records of crime are unwelcome in Liscor.”

“And speaking of which…we’ve gotta go. It’s my day off, but we’ll report that annoying Human maggot-mage back at the barracks. If we move fast, we might get him before he runs too far.”

Relc was on his feet. He moved so quickly that Erin was left gaping. One second he was sitting down, the next he was at the door.

“Hey, Klbkch, coming?”

And then Klbkch was there too. If Erin hadn’t seen the black blur that swept past her and felt the rush of air, she would have sworn he’d teleported.

“Indeed. It is unfortunate we must leave so soon. Our apologies, Miss Solstice.”

“No—no problem.”

“Well then.”

Klbkch nodded to her. Relc waved and was out the door in a flash. Erin was left sitting with a table full of dirty plates and a state of mild shock.

She had just picked up the first plate when the door slammed back open. She jumped, but Relc waved at her.

“Oh, sorry we forgot to pay. We’re in a hurry so—put it on our tab!”

The door closed. Erin stared at it hopefully, but it didn’t open again.

“…What tab?”

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.10

Erin stood in front of the cupboard and sighed. Loudly.

“Men.”

Erin paused and thought about that word.

“Males. They eat and eat and eat. And then I have to clean up the dishes. Typical.”

True, she was an [Innkeeper]. Or at least, she kept an inn relatively clean. But that didn’t make her feel better.

“Pantry? Pantry is empty. Food? Food is gone. And money—”

She glanced at the pile of coins on the kitchen counter. Gold, silver, copper and…where had the gold come from?

Klbkch. He’d put two down for his meal and Relc’s, one each time he’d come. Was that normal pricing? She guessed that if he was giving it to her, it was.

Erin dunked a plate in a bucket of water, the lye soap in her other hand. She used the dustrag to wipe at the plate, but then realized she needed a second bucket to clean everything off.

She decided she’d soap-wash the dishes, then she had to get another bucket from the stream…but her reward was the lovely coins. And less food. Assuming she had more money coming in than she spent, this was ideal—but she needed to spend it. That seemed to be the critical missing link in the way this business was working so far.

“Money is shiny. But, uh, inedible. And it’s good to have money, but starvation is an issue.”

Erin stared at the empty pantry. She had a tiny scraping of butter left, a mostly empty jar of flour…starvation was a major issue.

“Aren’t there some more blue fruits around here? Here? No…here? Yep. Nice and wrinkled. Lovely.”

She could always get more blue fruits, of course. But there was a limit on how many those trees had left. And there was also a limit to how many Erin was willing to keep hauling back.

“And I’m out of ingredients.”

The flour was almost gone. The butter was all but gone. The salt—okay, there was some salt left and some sugar too. But they were running low in their jars, and with the lovely preservation-spell-thing gone, they’d probably turn rotten sometime soon.

“So I’m in trouble.”

“So it would appear.”

The second, droll voice was right in her ear. Erin was sure her heart stopped for a good few seconds. She turned around and looked at Pisces.

“If I had a knife in my hand, I’d stab you.”

He smirked at her. It seemed to be his default mode of face. He stood up from where he had been crouching, invisible or concealed, in the corner of the kitchen.

“Ah, but what good innkeeper would deprive herself of such a magnificent guest?”

Erin reached for a knife. Pisces lifted his hands instantly.

“Please, please, good Mistress, let’s not be hasty!”

He took a few rapid steps back. Erin glared at him, but only let her hand rest on the counter. Pisces looked dusty. And dirty. And sweaty.

“Where did you come from? I didn’t hear you come in through the door.”

The sneer was cut with genuine nervousness, but Pisces gestured upstairs smugly.

“I was, in fact, upstairs the entire time. Under a bed. It was the simplest solution given the intelligence of those two brutish guardsmen.”

Erin blinked. He had dust-bunnies all over his hair and robes, which, granted, didn’t actually make him that much dirtier. She glanced towards the common room and nodded.

“Good job, I guess. But they’re still going to find you. You’re a criminal, and you’ve got nowhere to hide.”

“Except here.”

He raised a hand before Erin could say anything.

“Please, hear me out. Rest assured, I bear you no ill will for reporting my actions to the guard. I fully appreciate the severity of my crimes, however—”

“You want something. What? To stay here? No. Nope. No way in hell.”

Pisces lifted his hands and put on what she supposed was his best smile. It made him no less desperate, but he spoke quickly and eloquently. A scholar? Erin supposed a [Mage] was probably scholarly.

“I assure you I would be a quite convivial guest. And I wouldn’t ask for much. In fact, you may be interested to know I am proficient in multiple schools of spellcasting. While necromancy is a—passion of mine, I have extensively studied the elementalist, illusory, and enchanting schools of magic. My level is over twenty in the general [Mage] class. Even amongst my fellow students, you would be hard-pressed to find a spellcaster as widely capable as I am. I can aid in a number of functions that would improve your inn. And I have money.”

Erin raised two eyebrows. One just wasn’t enough.

“And you’re telling me all this…why?”

He licked his lips.

“In point of fact, I was wondering if I might persuade you to shelter and provide me with my basic necessities while in this moment of dire need. I can provide you with adequate recompense, I assure you—”

Erin snorted rudely.

“Right, for how long? Days? Weeks? Months? And I get to feed you, make sure no one finds you, and clean up after you? Again: no. I’m barely getting enough food for myself as it is.”

“Would you turn away an innocent—”

Erin’s finger nearly jabbed him in the chest as he stepped back. The young woman raised her voice as Pisces retreated out of the kitchen.

“Innocent? You? You’re nothing more than a thug with a magic wand. Remember how we met? You tried to scare me into giving you food. And now you want protection because you’re getting your just desserts? No. No, when I see Relc again, you’d better be long gone from here. And if you don’t leave now, I’ll kick you out myself.”

Erin finished her tirade and folded her arms under her breasts. But while Pisces had turned white as a sheet, he didn’t look ashamed or afraid so much as…

Angry.

He whispered a spell. Erin felt the air grow colder around her and suddenly saw shadows twisting around Pisces’ hands. The darkness was gathering around him like a cloak. It was the same spell as before, or close enough.

Pisces took a step towards her.

“I am a man in desperate straits. You would do well not to underestimate what I am capable of.”

Erin’s heart was racing. She took two steps back, and he followed.

“Antagonizing one of my power is unwise. If you have any sense, you will accede to my request. Or know the consequences.”

Her mouth was dry, but she knew it was just an illusion. So Erin forced herself to reply with more bravado than she felt.

“So, what? If I don’t decide to help you, will you hurt me? Bash my brains in? Or will you just rip my clothes off and try to rape me?”

He looked shocked.

“Of course I wouldn’t do that. I’m no barbarian—”

“Good.”

Erin’s hand moved in a flash. Pisces looked down and gulped. A knife was poking into his stomach.

Her heart was racing. She could taste bile in her mouth. But her hand was very, very still. She wasn’t sure of much in her life right now. Magic and monsters made her head spin. Yet some things were the same. And she had no intention of being the victim here, especially where no one could hear her scream.

Her knife had a gratifying effect on her mage guest. He licked his lips and raised his hands, turning a shade paler than normal.

“Now, now. Let’s not be hasty, good Mistress. I was merely saying—”

“Move and I will stab you.”

It was no threat. It was a promise. And, to his credit, Pisces was intelligent enough to take it seriously.

“—Allow me to apologize. But if I might say a few words—”

“No. Out.”

Erin advanced. Pisces had to step backwards or be knifed in slow motion. She forced him back into the common room and towards the door.

“Please, please reconsider.”

“No.”

His face was so desperate Erin paused a second.

“Why should I? Give me one good reason, Pisces.”

Pisces stopped at the door. Erin jabbed at him with the knife, but he refused to move back any further. He raised his hands higher and spoke with increasing speed and panic.

“If I am caught, they will take me to the city. And there I will be judged and killed. This is a certainty, Mistress Erin.”

Erin eyed him uncertainly. Pisces was licking his lips, and he looked genuinely afraid. But she couldn’t quite trust him after his threats. Posturing aside—there was the way he was looking at her, too. He didn’t really trust her, did he? Oh, no. And she didn’t trust him. But the part about being executed? Erin frowned hard.

“Relc never said—”

“He didn’t want to tell you the truth! But he and I both know what happens to [Necromancers]. We—any mage possessing even a single level in the class—are all killed on sight in this part of the world! There’s no mercy for my kind here. The legacy of the Necromancer of Terandria, Az’kerash, lingers. Especially here, where his armies once sieged Liscor.”

“Well—well too bad.”

Erin’s mouth was on autopilot. Pisces tried to step around her back into the kitchen, but she blocked him, forcing him to the door.

“Even if you’re in danger, I’m in danger if I hide you. I’m not doing that. Run away. Just run away now.”

“They will have patrols out around the city. They will scour the grasslands for me. Please, if you were to hide me, I would be sure to survive.”

“No. Go.”

Erin pointed towards the door with one hand. He wavered, but made one last entreaty.

“Please, I beg of you. Just one night. Just give me sanctuary, and I swear I will be gone upon the morrow. It is my death without your aid. Would you kill me? I ask you as a fellow Human. Please.”

“I—”

The knife in her hands wavered. Pisces seized the moment. He stepped forwards, hands outstretched beseechingly.

“Please, spare my life. If you have any pity in your soul—”

Thudthudthudthudthud.

Pounding footsteps. Both Humans turned and looked at the door. Pisces turned white, and Erin heard a roaring, familiar voice.

“Gotcha!”

It was quick. One second, Erin was pointing her finger at the door and glaring at Pisces. The next, something kicked the door open, blew past her, and Pisces was gone. Two figures crashed into a table and chairs. Erin’s mouth dropped open.

“There you are!”

The larger shape uttered a triumphant laugh as he swung Pisces around and slammed him into the floorboards. It was Relc. He came through the door and took Pisces down in a tackling charge faster than anyone Erin had ever seen. Pisces didn’t even make a sound until he hit the ground—and then it was the sound of someone losing all the air in his body and perhaps having his lungs and ribs compressed.

“Miss Solstice.”

Klbkch appeared at her side. Erin jumped, but the ant man placed a steadying…hand on her shoulder.

“Please forgive my rudeness. Are you well? We doubled back and lingered, knowing the criminal may have only pretended to flee the area. Are you hurt or in need of assistance?”

“What?”

Erin stared at him.

“Are you—what’s—I’m good. Good.”

“That is well. Then, please stand clear. We will be going about our business, and I would not wish you hurt.”

That said, Klbkch gently guided Erin to one side. To her astonishment, the fight between Relc and Pisces wasn’t over. The two were rolling around, knocking over tables and chairs as the Drake attempted to smash the Human into anything he could while the Human tried to avoid that fate.

Relc roared from the ground.

“Klb! Get over here and help! This guy’s slipperier than he looks!”

Klb nodded to Erin and dashed into the fight. She watched in stupefaction as the two tried to hold Pisces down. Oddly, it wasn’t that easy. Despite the size advantage and muscle advantage, Pisces was still managing to fend off both. Erin wondered how, until she saw he had something in his hands.

The wand. It was jetting electricity, as if it were an electric wire. Electricity, flames, which Relc jerked back from. He swung a fist, and Pisces vanished again. This time, he slammed so hard into a table Erin winced as he tried to get up.

Pisces scrambled to his feet and leapt for the door, but Klbkch caught him by the foot and attempted to tie his hands together with a piece of string, which turned out to be his boot’s shoelaces. Pisces shouted…something, and the leather burst into flames. Relc leapt on him and then blinked.

“[Barrier of Air]!”

Pisces waved his wand, and the Drake smashed into a shimmering whirlwind of air, bounced off, and landed on the ground. He ducked under the shimmering…spell? Erin was transfixed, but then Klbkch took Pisces down with a leg-sweep. He didn’t reach for his swords—he dodged a shard of stone that pierced the air next to his head, pinned Pisces’ hand—and then made a clicking sound of exasperation as Relc knocked both him and Pisces over in a low charge.

Pisces got back up, slashed the air with his wand, and both Klbkch and Relc ducked a glowing blade, throwing themselves flat as Pisces backpedaled.

It was a fast and dirty fight that had one or all three of the fighters rolling on the ground at all times. But Erin had only half an eye for that. The other eye was watching all of the furniture in her inn get smashed as they fought.

“Stop moving! Hey!”

“Desist your actions or—”

Pisces’ fingers sparked. A small explosion of lightning blasted Klbkch into a wall as Relc ducked. Erin ducked too. From behind her table, she could see Klbkch twitching and making a distressed buzzing sound. Then the Antinium drew his swords. Relc roared.

“You squirming—”

The dull thud of something hitting something echoed throughout the inn. But it was punctuated by another crackle of electricity and Relc shouting in pain.

Erin turned away from the brawl and ran into the kitchen. She emerged with the pot just in time to see Relc blasted off his feet, this time by what looked like an explosion of air.

Pisces backed away from the Drake, panting heavily. His face was bruised and he was bleeding from the nose and mouth, but his fingers still crackled with energy. He turned to run, but stopped.

Klbkch was on his feet. The ant man was standing in front of the door, swords drawn. He held two, one in each hand, while his other two held small daggers. Erin saw Pisces gulp. She agreed. Klbkch looked like a wall of blades. The two [Guardsmen] had gone after Pisces unarmed while he had his wand. Now that Klbkch had drawn his blades, Erin felt like the odds were completely reversed.

“I—I seek no quarrel with you. I am a graduate of Wistram Academy and a practicing mage. You detain me at your peril.”

Pisces pointed a trembling finger at Klbkch. It sparked with green energy that crackled around his fingertip, but it was suddenly a lot less impressive compared to Klbkch’s armory.

“Regardless of your affiliation to any academy, you are still under arrest. Please surrender now or I will be forced to employ lethal force.”

Pisces hesitated.

“My magic—”

“Is useless. Surrender.”

“Surrender?”

Erin jumped. She saw Relc getting to his feet. The Drake’s eyes were narrowed, and in his hands was a spear. It wasn’t long, but it did look extremely sharp. And the way he held it, Erin instinctively knew he was ready to use it to kill.

Pisces took one look at the spear and immediately raised his hands.

“I—I give up.”

Relc spat. His leather chest armor was singed in multiple places, but the scales underneath only looked soot-blackened, not damaged. However—Erin could tell how furious he was. The Drake’s claws tightened on the spear.

“Not likely. I’m gutting you like a fish right here.”

Erin stared at Relc in horror. But there was no joking in his eyes. He was practically quivering with rage, but the arms that held his spear were completely still and tensed.

“Gutting? Hey, that’s—”

“Don’t be hasty!”

Pisces backed away from Relc, talking fast.

“I assure you, my life is worth far more than you would ever get for me dead. This can all be solved amicably. I will fully cooperate—”

“Cooperate?”

Relc stepped forwards, and Pisces pressed his two fingers together. A strong breeze flew through the inn, and a flickering barrier of wind appeared in front of Relc.

“I will cease all magic and go with you quietly if you assure my life. I meant no harm to you or your companion. But we are at an impasse until you do.”

Relc’s eyes narrowed.

“By that? You think a piddly little [Barrier of Air] spell is going to stop me?”

The big Drake’s body tensed. He crouched slightly and then dashed into the wind wall. Relc’s massive body smashed into the semi-transparent barrier of wind. He sunk into the barrier, and then the winds pushed back.

Even from this distance, Erin felt the tremendous force in the spell and saw chairs and tables being blown away. For a moment, she thought Relc would go flying. But his claws dug into the ground, and the wind howled—

The whirling winds blew apart with a small clap of air that sent the nearest chairs flying. Pisces staggered back, face grey with shock. Erin stared.

Relc, on the other hand, just twirled his spear in his hand. He spat contemptuously on the floor.

“That’s what I think of your spells. I’m a former soldier of the 4th Wing of the Liscorian Army. I’ve killed more [Mages] than you have levels. Now, are you going to die quiet or will I have to pay for painting the walls red with your blood?”

Pisces stepped back, tripped over a fallen chair, and fell on his back. He raised his hands and cried out in a shrill voice.

“I can be ransomed. Quite highly! My school will pay ten—thirty gold coins in whichever denomination you like for my return.”

Relc raised the spear.

“Still don’t care. I don’t need money if I can get rid of a stinking fleshbag like you.”

Erin raised her voice in horror.

“What? No! No killing! Do you hear me?”

But no one was listening. Klbkch was closing in, swords and daggers at the ready. Relc raised his spear higher.

“Last words, [Mage]?”

“I—I—”

She couldn’t believe what was happening. The friendly Relc was lowering his spear, a dozen paces away from the backpedaling Pisces. But he could close that gap in less than a second. His eyes—

He was going to kill Pisces. And Klbkch wasn’t going to stop him. Erin’s head swung to the Antinium, and Klbkch stood by the door, impassive. She couldn’t read his face, and in that second, he looked like a true insect. Pisces was white with fear. Erin was in denial until she saw the Drake’s eyes. Even then…she saw Pisces hit a table. He looked at Relc and grew calm for a second.

That bitter, blank look returned to his face. He bared his teeth and lifted the wand like a dagger. It glowed, but with no real hope. Just like his eyes. But he drew himself up, a pale, thin young man, and shouted, eyes bulging, his voice hoarse and—Erin’s head swung to him as he raised his voice.

“I have only ever done what I loved. Slay me as well, you thoughtless fools. Just like all of my kind. One day—one of us will follow Az’kerash.”

Erin’s skin crawled. Klbkch looked up sharply, but Relc just grinned with all his teeth. His tongue flickered around them, like blood.

“Nice last words. But remember—your Necromancer died here. Miles from this very spot. The Tidebreaker was his end.”

Pisces’ look of defiance flickered. He lifted his wand.

“I know.”

The Drake lowered his spear and ducked, sweeping low as Pisces took one step forwards, a word, a name on his lips.

“Gewil—”

“Hey!”

Erin slammed the pot on the table top as hard as she could. Relc, Klbkch, and Pisces paused as one to stare at her. Relc froze in his killing charge as Erin pointed one shaking finger at them.

“No fighting. Not here. And no killing!”

Relc blinked. He lowered his spear a fraction. Erin pointed to it.

“Stop that! Put the weapons away and get out.”

“But he’s—”

“I don’t care! You don’t kill people just because they practice stupid magic! And you don’t kill people just because you don’t like them! And you don’t kill people because killing people is wrong!”

“What?”

Relc pointed down at Pisces angrily. He didn’t lower his spear, but Pisces had stopped mid-cast of whatever spell he had in mind.

“He’s a criminal.”

“No, he’s an idiot. But he didn’t do anything wrong enough to die for. All he did was try to scare me.”

“He hit me with lightning!”

The Drake gestured at the burns on his chest. Erin pointed to Pisces’ bleeding nose and bruised cheek.

“You punched his brains out! That’s not enough to kill him over!”

The Drake lowered his spear. He turned to Klbkch in disbelief, then back to Erin.

“I can’t believe this. Are you defending him? Because he’s Human? Or do you not want the blood in here? In that case, I’ll take him out back and—”

“No!”

Erin shouted at Relc. She waved the pot around dangerously.

“Are you stupid? I don’t want anyone killing anyone! You can’t do it! I forbid it! It’s wrong! It’s illegal.”

“In point of fact, my comrade’s actions are not—”

Erin whirled and pointed at Klbkch. The Antinium actually backed up a step as she glared between the two [Guards].

“I don’t care! No killing, do you hear me?”

Relc hissed angrily.

“Then I’ll arrest him, and he’ll be executed tomorrow. Happy?”

Pisces turned pale again. Erin’s mouth replied before her brain caught up.

“I withdraw my testimony.”

“You what?”

Erin lifted her hands.

“I withdraw it. All of it. I was never attacked yesterday. This mage-guy never visited the inn, and I never saw him until today. So there’s no reason for you to arrest him.”

“You can’t do that!”

Relc turned and looked at Klbkch.

“Can she?”

The ant man nodded reluctantly.

“She is correct. Without her testimony, we cannot submit a report regarding his attempted thefts.”

Relc faltered. He looked uncertainly at Pisces and then remembered.

“But he’s still a [Necromancer]! That’s a crime no matter what he does! And he attacked us!”

Erin crossed her arms.

“Prove it.”

“What?”

“Prove. It. Can you? Is there a way to check his, uh, class?”

Relc gritted his teeth.

“…No. Not without an artifact. Klb, you got an [Appraisal] scroll?”

“No.”

“Then go. Now.”

Relc gaped at Erin. It was surprisingly frightening. Erin could look right down his throat. He had a lot of teeth.

“Are you serious? One word to our Watch Captain and she’ll send a patrol back to capture this idiot! And if we don’t arrest him, you have a [Necromancer] running around! You want us to let him go knowing his class?”

“Absolutely.”

Erin glared at him. Relc lowered his spear, grabbed at the spines on his head, and hissed.

“I could still arrest him for attacking me. Yeah. I’ll just do that. Who cares about testimony or whatever?”

He took a threatening step towards Pisces, and Erin’s mouth once again beat anything else.

“You do that—and I’ll tell all the people who vouched for you that Senior Guardsman Relc arrested someone after a fight he started. You have no proof, no testimony, and I’m pretty sure if you arrest him, that’s illegal. There are laws, and you have to follow them. If this isn’t the first time you’ve done something like this, you could get a permanent citation on your record.”

Erin was just making things up now. She had no idea what kind of legal system Relc had to work under, but she was taking a guess based on their limited conversations. And it worked. Relc hesitated.

“No, I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. You have no cause whatsoever to arrest Pisces.”

The Drake’s arms were bunched up. He turned, furiously, and called in backup.

“Klb—help me out here!”

Erin’s heart sank as Klbkch sheathed his daggers. But only so he could pull out something from his belt. A handbook. How had he fit it on his belt?

Wherever he’d gotten it from, the Antinium read carefully.

“I believe Senior Guardsman Relc does have just cause, Miss Erin Solstice. It is true that his personal sworn testimony would be called into question if you were to speak against him. [Detect Truth] spells would settle that matter, but Relc’s history of inappropriate conduct on-and-off-duty does not help his case.”

“Hey.”

The Antinium raised one finger.

“However. As Senior Guardsman Klbkch, I will vouch for my partner to take this Human into custody for unlawful practices which include extortion, theft, and intimidation, which we have every right to suspect, with or without your testimony.”

He closed the book, and Relc waited, clearly unsure if that meant he had won. Erin’s heart sank. She looked at Klbkch and then at Pisces. And then around her inn. How could she save him? For once, she didn’t want the [Guardsmen] to be…

Here?

Here? Erin’s eyes lit up, and she stopped Klbkch, who was stepping towards Pisces to effect the arrest, with a shaking finger. Literally—she shook it in his face as the surprised Antinium halted.

“Oh no. Absolutely not. You’re all wrong, Klbkch.”

“I do not believe I am.”

Erin’s shaking intensified, from nerves as much as faux-fury.

“Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Well, this is outside your jurisdiction! You said it yourself—you don’t patrol my inn! Therefore, it is my inn, and I deny your city’s authority here!”

Klbkch’s mandibles opened and stayed there. Relc swung his head to Pisces and Erin.

“Wait—what did she just say? Jurisdic—we don’t do that, do we, Klb? Buddy?”

Erin froze, but Klbkch clacked his mandibles after a second. He stared at Erin for a long moment, then at Pisces, then slowly sheathed his swords. He met the [Innkeeper]’s desperate gaze—then nodded.

“…I believe I am incorrect. Relc, the Watch has no authority here. This is an independent inn, and the [Innkeeper] is allowed to deny our authority here.”

“What? Then let’s arrest her too!”

Relc protested, and Erin’s heart sank, but Klbkch stared at Erin for a long moment and then backed up.

“That would be inadvisable, Relc. We are off-duty, and Miss Solstice has stated her case. Executing a [Mage] of Wistram might also affect the Academy’s relationship with our city. Which the Council and Watch Captain would not be happy about.”

Relc spluttered. He looked from Pisces to Klbkch to Erin, and his scales grew darker. Was he…blushing with fury? Relc lowered his spear, made an inarticulate noise of rage, then pointed at Pisces.

“You take one step in the city and I’ll—I’ll—you take one step in there and I’ll do something about it. If I so much as see you on my patrol—”

Pisces was panting, looking at Erin with disbelief. He lowered his wand, slowly, and spoke.

“I assure you, you will never see—”

Relc’s eye twitched.

“Shut up.”

Pisces wisely shut up. The Drake looked at Erin, then whirled around. He stomped towards the door.

“Humans!”

Relc kicked the door as he left. Erin winced as she heard the wood crack. Then he was gone.

Klbkch walked past Erin and nodded to her politely.

“Do not mind him. You are within your rights to enforce law within this establishment as you choose. I apologize for the mess on both our behalves.”

He left. Erin stood around the room, looking at the broken chairs, overturned tables, and general wooden carnage. Behind her, Pisces got to his feet. He was still shaking and sweatily pale.

“I don’t know how I can thank you, good M—Miss Erin. Please, accept my humblest—”

Bonk.

Erin tapped him on the head with the pot. Hard.

“Out.”

“What?”

Pisces stared at her in disbelief. Erin raised the pot higher.

“Out.”

He stumbled out. Erin kept staring at the mess in the room. It had to be said. Definitely.

“Males.”

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Interlude – The Great Ritual

It took her a long time to clean up all the broken wood. It was just as well she needed fuel for the fire in the kitchen, but it was still a pain to pick up all the splinters. Especially when one got stuck in her hand. But she’d done it, and now it was late.

The night was cool. Erin Solstice was tired, still shaky from the adrenaline and panic in her veins, but she was oddly—satisfied.

Despite the crack in her front door, she carefully locked it with the big, iron key she found. Despite the angry Relc and the damaged inn, her only reward from the huge fight—she was satisfied.

Because the young man wasn’t dead. She had put herself on the line to save him. It was a curious thing. The little Goblin who had watched the fight was fascinated. And so, in his way, was the [Necromancer] himself.

——

He sat in his cave, still replaying what he had thought his last moments would be. He didn’t know that Drake, but he had been a…dangerous quantity unknown in the regular run-of-the-mill [Guardsmen], who were inept as could be.

As for the Slayer of the Antinium? Pisces shuddered. His hands trembled so badly that he could barely move the needle across the piece of bone he was carving. So he stopped and thought.

The [Innkeeper] had saved his life. And kicked him out of her inn, but she had also fed him. Despite extorting a high price after…he had attempted to rob her. She was unlike anyone he had met. He owed her a debt, perhaps. But the real question he asked himself was where she had come from. Why didn’t she know what a [Mage] was compared to a [Sorcerer]?

Why was she here, alone?

——

It was a question Erin Solstice herself had asked many times, but she had no way to know for certain. Magic, chance? She didn’t ponder it long. She was dozing.

It had been a rough day, and Erin was lying in the kitchen with some blankets piled up. She was beginning to dream about disappearing skeletons and obnoxious mages. About Dragons breathing fire and Goblins and giant lizardmen eating pasta.

She slept, but countless miles away, something else was happening. Something that made her dreams skip and scatter and even made the young [Necromancer] sneeze a few times and rub at his nose absently.

Something was happening.

——

It was night here as well. Despite it being across the entire world, continents away. The deepest blackness of night, so late dawn was only an idea yet.

However, many remained awake. They had not slept, in fact, for days, not truly, just traded on and off shifts. Laboring to finish a project decades in the making.

Some stood out of pride and dedication alone. Their eyes had begun to sink into hollow sockets.

Men and women. Humans and…people with pointed ears. Feathery people, even a woman clad all in armor, her disembodied head floating next to her body. They all shared the same purpose, the same ideal.

The same kingdom. Now, they took their spots in the glowing diagram, and it covered the floor, so vast that the audience, standing well away from the lines of power, had to crane their necks as they waited for the final piece of this—hope.

This ritual. They were far too deep underground to see the sky, but two moons, one pale green and the other light blue, hung fully in the sky. That was necessary too.

There was so much magic in the air that it was beginning to distort the world visually. It was necessary; and it might not be enough, even with this.

The man in the center of it all continued to chant, as he had for hours, now. His voice was wavering, hoarse and cracked from the strain of talking so long. He wore the robes of a [High Mage], and he was festooned with artifacts. Each word was being checked by terrified apprentices and [Scholars].

Indeed, even the leader of this odd congregation was following the magical incantation, though he was no [Mage]. None of them were basic ‘[Mages]’. Not here. Not this kingdom of blight and glorious despair.

The leader was a man, a [King]. He looked younger from a distance. Barely seventy years old. Barely…and far younger than those with pointed ears. Until you stared into his eyes and saw true age looking back. Age and despair and defiance and—in this moment—hope.

The Blighted King stood, despite the late hour, with a giant of a woman by his side. A warrior with a scar down her cheek and a hand on the throwing axe at her side. She was wary, despite being clad in armor, of a trick, of failure—the Blighted Queen could do nothing but watch.

The same for the nobility, their guards, and even the lesser [Mages]. Only one person could follow what was happening fully, and it was the man who stood on the Blighted King’s right side.

He looked—thirty? Thirty and sixty. Young and old. Time was odd about him, and his hand curled over the grip of a staff as well as the floating spellbook from which he was reading. He was the most tense of anyone here. If anyone would stop this at its zenith and bear the consequences, or avert calamity—it would be him.

But everything was going well. Impossibly well, in fact. One of the participants was looking around. Whispering to the others. There was so much power here. More than they had brought. Then she fell silent, tongue-tied.

A [Lord] drew his sword and watched the light bend. The [Soldiers] moved uneasily, because they had no idea what was happening. The congregation, the ritual itself, all focused on a point in the air. A split in…

Everything? The [Mage] in the center of it all wept, his eyes beginning to bleed. He was so exhausted.

But his task was nearly done. The spell was completing.

It was not a clap of thunder. It was not the boom of space-time being rent. Rather, it was a whisper. Something grew thin. A veil tore ever-so-slightly. The light changed, drew inwards just for an imperceptible second; the wind blew in this deep cavern impossibly—and then they were there.

Humans.

Young men and women. They appeared mid-motion, some sitting, some lying down. Some walked out of the air, looked up from their smartphones in bewilderment. Bewilderment—then shock, panic. Fear or disbelief.

“What?”

“Where am I?”

“What’s happening?”

They shouted in alarm as a sigh ran through the waiting people. The [King] was on his knees, and his [Queen] was helping him up. The [Mage] beside the Blighted King had his staff raised, but his eyes were filled with disbelief.

Panic and chaos below as people rushed around, but every eye was on the Humans. They were so young. So few for the cost paid. And they had no idea what was going on.

Some of the summoned Humans were crying out in fear. Others tried to run in their panic but found their legs wouldn’t cooperate with them. A few stared around the room, noting the magic runes by their feet, the robed men and mages clustered together, and the watching aristocracy.

Uncertainty hung in the air, from those waiting for this moment to those called forth. But it was the [Mage] who spoke. He stumbled up from the dying ritual, and his voice filled the echoing chamber.

A wheeze. A pained laugh. The relieved hysteria of hope. The [Mage] raised his arms, robes falling about him, and fell to his knees. His face, stained with bloody tears and watery ones, raised to the heavens as he cried out.

“The Great [Heroes] of Prophecy are here! We are saved!”

It was one voice at first—then the others took it up. [Mages], [Soldiers], onlookers cheering in relief as the group of Humans drew together in fear. Some of those watching simply collapsed in…hope?

But others watched with calculating, appraising glances. The [King] rose, beckoning, and the young people waited. There was nowhere to run—but they weren’t in danger. Yet. They were confused. Lost. Far from home.

And they were not the only ones.

——

The night was old, and dawn was only an hour away. The countryside, here, was full of chirping crickets, owls, the sounds of insects buzzing, and so on. Or at least, on a normal night it would be. Right now, all was silent. Unnaturally silent.

An old man stood outside his home, sword drawn. The night was dark, and by all rights, he should have been in his home enjoying his dinner. But he heard something outside and had gone to investigate. This far out in the countryside, he couldn’t rely on militia patrols to keep him safe.

If it were a monster, he would run, naturally. On the other hand, a lone Goblin or a [Sneak Thief] trying to steal from him would meet his sword. He had been a [Swordsman], and he was more than strong enough to defend himself. Still, he was no fool. If it were [Bandits] en-masse or worse, he’d report to the Adventurer’s Guild.

He had to know. His grip was sweaty on the leather-wrapped pommel. Something was out there. The man hesitated—then shouted into the night.

“Who’s there?”

He almost hoped there would be no reply. The night was too still, though. And then—somehow, they were there.

They hadn’t been a second ago. They were no [Rogues] or invisible folk. But one second he sensed nothing and the next they were standing out of sight. The [Swordsman]’s hand was tight on his sword, and he backed up towards his house. Until he saw them.

Slowly, they approached. Hands raised, as pale with fear as he was.

Children. That was the first thing the old man thought. Children.

But then, he was old. Not all were that young. They were younger men and women. But children—because of how they looked. Lost, afraid. More afraid of him and the darkness than he was of them.

Humans? He hesitated, then put down his sword. If this were a trick—he called out, hoping they were no monsters or [Bandits]. The terror on their faces was too good to be an act. He hoped.

“Oh, are you young’uns lost? Come in, come in. The weather’s far too terrible to be out at a time like this.”

His sword sheathed, he opened the door to his home, letting light spill out invitingly. But none of the children moved. They just…stared at him. That was when the old man’s hair began to prickle a second time.

Something else was wrong. Their clothes were strange. He had never seen such—odd attire. Even in the darkness, he could tell there was something different about the fabric, the colors.

Nobility? Now he regretted sheathing his sword. But they were Human, and if this were a trap…

The terror on their faces. Was a large city burning? Hair was rising all over his arms and along his back. Had Invrisil fallen or…?

At last, one of them broke the silence. A young man pointed a trembling finger, and the old man nearly drew his sword again. Because the finger was pointing at him. But—rather than anything behind him, a warning—the finger just pointed at his side. The young man gulped and then finally asked—

“Dude. Is that a sword?”

——

And a few, a few simply wandered in carelessly.

A young woman paused mid-step. Her raven hair was matted with sweat and bound in a ponytail. She was barefoot, blasting music from the earphones and iPhone in her hand. Mid-run—she stopped slowly as she passed through a doorway.

And realized—abruptly—this wasn’t home. Or the track. Or her world at all. She came to a stop in a room full of people chatting or standing around, who turned to goggle at her. Swords, daggers on their hips, strange clothing—even a magic orb on a counter.

One of the [Receptionists] raised her brows as the odd woman came running in. She called out slowly. The young woman had to take her earbuds out of her ears and her thundering heartbeat had to slow before she finally heard the question.

“Hello? Miss? Are you here to join the Runner’s Guild?”

——

Two twins were walking down the street, laughing and arguing together. They turned the corner and walked out of London and into a throne room.

The paving stones turned into cracked marble. The overcast sky into a room a hundred feet tall and a night sky shimmering with every colorful star in a desert landscape. And a street of people into…

The boy tossed his smartphone up as his sister scolded him in case he dropped—

His hand froze. He fumbled—missed—and the phone clattered to the ground, the only sound in this frozen, slumbering tomb.

A tomb meant for a man. A living man, hair bedraggled, thin, practically a statue on the tiny chair before the throne. He sat there, staring at nothing and no one. Until that sound woke him.

Slowly, the man looked up. His eyes alighted on the two as they froze, in outlandish dress, a light coming from the smartphone. His blank look turned into a frown, and the twins stared back, terrified, confused—no idea where they were.

A second. As two pale green eyes fixed on them. Before a man in faded, noble clothing burst into the throne room, spear leveled, ready to run them through, and dozens of [Soldiers] came screaming to the defense of that slumbering ruler and the throne.

They had a second to scream before the man sitting in that chair stood. He stood, breathed in, and uttered the first order in two decades.

“Stop.”

——

Not just one. Or two. Or even dozens. They were coming. From every background, every place.

A girl was laughing as she was being dragged from her cell. Laughing with defiance—until she tripped. She went sprawling, landing on something soft, and waited for them to drag her up.

Then she realized there was a different kind of light on her. She looked up and saw an adventurer staring down at her. He moved an iron-covered hand and extended it.

A woman leaned over the counter in the Adventurer’s Guild and blinked down as the man helped the young woman to her feet. They stared at her bright orange jumpsuit. Asked questions, but she couldn’t stop laughing, then.

Because there was no one holding onto her. Her wardens were gone.

She was free.

——

She took a step off the street and into a tomb. She fell, screaming, into the darkness, the light from her phone the only thing in the gloom.

An intruder in a sacred place. The guardian awoke from his long vigil and heard the first voice in an age. Like a song.

——

He—didn’t know where he was. The young man knew every inch of this mall he was supposed to be in, and the street leading to it. Or he should. But no matter how hard he tried, his cane couldn’t find anything familiar. Just…dirt. Dirt? How had he gotten here? Had he gone to the park instead?

“Zoe? Are you there? Anyone?”

If he could have looked around, he would have known everything was changed. He already knew—but not how much. His eyes opened and shut as he turned, slowly—

But he was blind. So he called out in the forest, hoping someone would hear him.

“Hello? Can someone help me?”

And after a moment—someone heard him.

——

More and more, flickering into place. Each one different, each in a different place.

Rain fell upon the world. Just for a moment. A passing shower of souls. But where they landed, ripples spread across hither-to calm waters.

Not legends of Earth. Nor did they have any special powers save for those which all Humans had. But they were living. They were here.

The world was beginning to shift.

The night was late, and Erin Solstice was asleep. She rested her head on the cold floor of her kitchen, on an inn sitting in a plain full of quiet grass. Around her was silence. In her dreams, she drooled a bit and mumbled about pasta.

She was lonely. But she was no longer alone.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.11

Erin woke up. Generally, this was an ordeal. Today, however, it was fairly easy. Because the real ordeal would come later.

Such as right after breakfast. Erin stared glumly at the three shriveled blue fruits on her plate. She bit the first experimentally and chewed. And chewed. And chewed.

“Rubbery.”

It was incredibly difficult to chew the fruits. The skins on these ones were so tough to bite into, it did remind Erin of eating rubber. Not that she’d ever done that since she was a baby.

Plus, they’d lost their delicious juices and tasted—well, flat. There was no sweetness left in them, and they were quite, quite unappetizing when you put all these qualities together. But Erin ate them, mainly because she had nothing left to eat.

“I’m in trouble. Yup, yup. It’s amazing these things lose so much taste after only a few days.”

It wasn’t that she was out of blue fruits. There were plenty—well, some—still ready to be harvested from the orchard. But they, like all food, were in limited supply. Besides, the issue wasn’t that. It was her guests.

“Who’d want to eat blue fruits all day? Raise your hand if that sounds like fun.”

Erin didn’t raise her hand. Granted, they were tasty and made a good fruit drink, but when you got down to it, they were still just fruits.

“And I want food. Real food. Not fruit. I want bread! I want pasta! I want pizza and soda and salad and ice cream—actually, forget the ice cream. I need meat. Or fish that doesn’t bite back! I want sushi, cheeseburgers and fries, toast, waffles…cereal…”

Erin pressed her hands to her rumbling stomach and tried not to cry.

“Even instant ramen would be nice. Is that too much to ask?”

It was. She knew that. But just thinking about the food made her tear up a bit. She could handle Goblins. She could deal with rude [Necromancers] and fight off evil rock crabs. She could even handle giant fish that tried to nibble on her when she took a bath. But she wanted food.

“Plus, I need to feed my guests.”

Erin nodded. The math was simple. No food equaled no guests equaled no money equaled starvation. But the little flaw in the equation was that in order to get the food, she’d need to spend the money. And she had no way of doing that.

“Unless I go to the city.”

Now, that was a thought. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thought, but it was the only option she had available. The city. Erin went to the window. Relc had shown her where it was…

“There.”

Erin stared at the small buildings in the distance. It looked far. But then, everything looked far around here. And the city would have things. Like food. And clothing. And toothbrushes. And plates and things for her guests? It looked a lot farther than twenty minutes away, though. Erin imagined the journey wasn’t without risks, but if Relc and Klbkch did it…she weighed her options.

“It’s far. But I have to go. Maybe? Yes…no. No? Yes. I need food. And I need to feed my guests. It’s my duty as an innkeeper.”

She paused and thought about that last statement. Erin collapsed into a chair and cradled her head in her hands.

“Am I an innkeeper? Is that what this world is doing to me?”

Maybe. It was probably the [Innkeeper] class. However, it was the only class she had. Erin just hoped she didn’t change to meet the class.

“I’ll grow a huge beer belly and start hauling around kegs of ale. That’s what innkeepers do, right?”

She didn’t actually know. It wasn’t as if she’d ever paid that much attention to medieval history, at least the parts that were actually history.

“They never mentioned innkeepers in the legend of King Arthur. Or did they?”

There was no Google to help her, so Erin abandoned that train of thought. Really, she was distracting herself. She knew what she had to do today.

“To go to the city or not, that is the question. Actually, there’s no question. I need to go to the city. I need to go…shopping.”

She hated shopping in general. This? This would be crucial shopping, because unless she got enough flour, eggs, and so on to sell to her guests—she wouldn’t be able to make more money. Which she needed to buy more things. Essentially, she had a job, and while she could live off blue fruits for a time without money—she couldn’t do that forever. Her teeth certainly couldn’t.

Still. Erin really, really didn’t want to go. She liked people, she really did. But she had a negative reaction to leaving her safe inn and travelling to a far-off city probably full of giant lizards and insects that walked on two feet.

Glumly, she stared at the three blue fruit cores on her plate. She walked outside and threw them as far as she could. The juices left her hands feeling unpleasantly sticky, but there wasn’t much she could do about it.

“Guess I’ve gotta go to the stream. Who knew washing your hands was so much work?”

Erin grumbled as she wiped her hand on her jeans. Then she paused. And looked down.

Her jeans were blue. The blue fruit juice was blue. But against all odds, the blue stain still showed up quite visibly on her clothing. Or rather, the blue fruit stains. And they weren’t just on her pants.

Erin’s shirt was a nice, commercial t-shirt with a lovely company logo on the front and back. Really, she wasn’t that attached to it, but it was perfect to wear when she was just staying at home. It wasn’t her choice of clothing.

…Which was good, because Erin would have cried if she’d inflicted the same damage on a t-shirt she really liked. She gazed down at the blue stains covering her shirt. She poked at the rips and cuts on the sleeves and the burn marks on one side. She lifted the shirt, sniffed once, and gagged.

For the first time, Erin felt at her hair. She raised a hand and smelled her breath. She thought about the last time she’d brushed her teeth. Then she tried to shut down her mind.

“Well, that settles that. I’m off to the city.”

——

Erin walked through the grass. She wished there was a nice road to follow, but for some reason, no one bothered to pave a road through the empty wilderness. Come to that, she wondered again why anyone would build an inn in the middle of nowhere.

Maybe there used to be more people in the area. Or maybe there was just an idiot who thought he was breaking into an untapped market. Either way, Erin was grateful for the inn.

“But why does it have to be so far away from anything?”

Erin walked down the slope. At least there was that. The inn was located on an incline. Not a steep hill, but a really long slope that gradually went down the more she walked. It was nice, until Erin looked back and realized she’d be climbing up all that way again soon.

“Wow. That’s a big hill.”

She stared for a while and kept walking. Relc and Klbkch had called the journey to the city a walk of about twenty minutes.

“They lied to me.”

Or maybe they just walked really fast. Erin could actually see the city Klbkch had called Liscor in the distance. It was still small, but given how close it seemed now compared to before and multiplying her velocity by her legs and given energy divided by her willingness to keep walking…

“Thirty minutes. No; probably an hour. Yeah, that sounds about right.”

Erin sighed. But exercise was good for her, right? It built character. Or something.

“So, what do I need?”

She took a quick inventory check. Her coins were securely packed into the bottom of one pocket. They were heavy. She had her clothes on, which was important, and she looked like…well, like a homeless person. But she had money. So what should she buy with it?

“Um. Clothing. Right. And soap. And a toothbrush, if they have toothbrushes. And toothpaste…which they probably don’t have. But something. And I need food obviously, more soap, towels, laundry deter—more soap, and a comb.”

Erin walked a few more feet.

“And a sword. I need a sword. And a shield? And armor? And, uh, anti-Goblin spray? Oh, and books! Tons of books. Maps, history books…can I read any of that? Well, Relc and Klbkch speak English. So that’s weird too. And I need bandages, a sewing needle, someone to teach me how to sew…”

Erin felt at her pocket. The coins jingled. She wished there were more to jingle.

“And I need to rob a bank.”

Okay. Erin retraced her thoughts.

“What’s essential?”

She counted off on her fingers.

“Clothing. Food. Toothbrush. Toothpaste. And a lamp.”

She snapped her fingers.

“Right. A lamp! And a sword.”

She felt at her pocket again and heard less of a jingle, more a few bits of metal rubbing together.

“…Just the lamp.”

——

“Flat grass, flat grass, all I see is flat grass.”

Erin sang as she walked. She wasn’t sure if there was a tune, but at least the singing kept her company.

“Horses eat grass, but I’ll pass, so I’ll go to the city fast. Or I’ll die of starvation! And once I’m there, I’ll eat ten pears and—hey, is that a Goblin?”

Erin turned her head suddenly, and the small head ducked down. She squinted. Yes, that was definitely a Goblin. It was hiding up on a small hill to her left, but she knew it was still there. Watching her.

Well. She was being followed. Erin wasn’t sure what to make of that. She looked around, and two more heads disappeared as their owners dove for cover. They didn’t look like they were trying to ambush her, just follow her.

“Hm.”

Erin bent down and searched the grass. Eventually, she found what she was looking for. She waited until one of the Goblins decided she’d forgotten about them and poked his head up again. Then she turned and shouted.

“Shoo!”

Erin hurled the rock. It missed the Goblin’s head. And the hill. But the green figure took the hint and disappeared in an instant. Erin sighed to herself.

“Great. They’re like cockroaches. Evil, giant, green cockroaches. With teeth. And sharp knives. And red eyes.”

She wondered what she should do. Then she thought about what she could actually do.

Erin kept walking.

The city kept getting larger the further she walked. She felt at some point it should stop getting bigger, but soon the buildings loomed in her vision. They were no skyscrapers, but they were taller than she felt medieval buildings should be. But the city was still far away. So she walked.

And she was being watched. Multiple pairs of eyes stared at the young woman as she walked through the grass. They watched her for signs of weakness, for things that could be exploited. She was watched. Occasionally, she turned around and threw a stone.

——

When Erin got to the city gates, she stared up for a while.

“That’s a big wall.”

It was a big understatement. The wall was high. And that was high even by wall standards. It was nearly forty feet tall, which Erin had no way of knowing was perfectly normal for a curtain wall. She had no way of knowing it was forty feet tall either. She just thought it was big.

But what was unusual about this particular wall, and what Erin did notice, was the way the gate was constructed. It was no iron grating of a portcullis with handy holes to shoot and poke at enemies, but two solid metal doors. Erin wondered why, as the gates looked solid and hard to budge. They were, and for a reason. But she didn’t find out that reason until much later.

Erin approached the gate. There wasn’t really anyone else going through at the moment, so she felt very alone and small as she walked up to them. She stopped when she saw the guard.

He was big. He was armored. He was also a Drake, and he had yellow scales rather than green ones. Pale yellow, so Erin was reminded of popcorn. He also had a curved sword, and so it was with trepidation that she approached.

“…Hi.”

The Drake flicked his eyes down towards Erin and then resumed looking off into the distance. He was holding a spear at his side and a metal buckler on his left arm. Since he wasn’t using either to bash her to death, Erin considered this to be a good first start.

“Um. Nice weather, isn’t it?”

Again, the guard glanced at her. Again, he didn’t respond.

“…Right. It’s just that I’m new here. And I’m Human. Nice to meet you. My name is Erin. I, uh, know another guy who works with you. Relc? And Klb…Klb…the insect guy? So yeah. They know me. I’m no threat. And, uh, I saw some Goblins running around a while back. They’re not here right now, but I felt you should know.”

The Drake sighed audibly. And loudly.

“Go on in, Human. Anyone can enter the city. The gates close at sundown.”

“Right. Thanks. Uh, have a nice day!”

Erin smiled. He didn’t smile back.

“I’ll just be going. Now.”

She walked past the guard. As she walked through the iron gates, she heard him mutter under his breath.

“Humans.”

Erin’s smile froze a bit on her face but she kept walking as if she’d heard nothing. Everyone was grumpy when they had to stand and deal with obnoxious tourists. And besides, he was just a guard. She walked through the imposing gates into the city. And then she had to stop.

Because she had entered Liscor. A city of Drakes and the Antinium and even more species she had not yet met, but saw walking and milling about. At least three she could see, all mingling and going about their lives. And now entering—

One Human.

——

The Drake at the eastern gates was still yawning when the young woman hesitated, then walked forwards into the city of Liscor.

There were barely any more [Guards] on his section of the wall either; visitors came from the north or, in the winter, the south far more often. Even the western approaches had a few farms, but the only people coming in or out were [Traders] or [Hunters].

One had stopped three-dozen paces past the gates. Erin Solstice stopped dead in her tracks because there…

Was a hyena.

No, a dog-person.

No, a hyena-dog-person. Her first instinct was to stop, because she was reminded of a werewolf, a rabid animal—but way bigger than even the largest wolves from her world. It was crouched over half a deer carcass, red with blood, and Erin looked back for the Drake with yellow scales—

Until she heard the voice.

“—by the tribes and fur knots. All the lice in Izril! All the lice in Izril and—and Raskghar on these stupid paving stones!”

It was a male voice, growling and angry. Then, Erin saw how the person had clearly tripped. The blood from the carcass was due to it tumbling out of someone’s grip. They were getting up, and when she caught sight of their face…Erin’s fears about an animal were unfounded.

The furry person had dark brown eyes, with faint pupils almost lost in the deep chestnut color. Their entire body was covered from head to toe in a similar chestnut fur that rippled with every movement. Erin could tell because the figure had on only a kind of hide leggings, and nothing but a weird kind of armband on their right arm.

She realized that was one of those things an archer had—an armguard. It went with the recurve bow on their back and quiver at their side. As they straightened, hefting the deer onto their back, Erin realized a few more things.

They had features like a hyena, not a dog. There was something…more poofy about their ears, and their face was more angular than most dogs’. A humanoid element that made them look even more expressive than a dog’s face.

Second? This—this person was six-foot-seven. They towered over Erin, and they had the muscles to match if they were carrying half a deer.

Come to that—Erin stared at the deer, because she knew deer from her home state of Michigan. This was a big one, possibly a buck? But the antlers were…glowing. They were an oaken brown at coronet, but turned cherry red at the tips, and the entire antler had a faint bright glow to it.

The hyena-person noticed Erin at last as they stood with a groan. They did a visible double-take, then glanced guiltily at the blood on the street.

“Apologies, Miss. Was I in your way?”

It was hard to imagine that—the street was a good two-dozen paces on each side, and there wasn’t anyone else in this particular spot. There was no sidewalk, but the paving stones were mostly flat…except in one spot where some shift had made one jut up treacherously.

Erin backed up instantly, waving her hands.

“Oh, no! I’m, um—sorry I didn’t help? Sorry you fell?”

The person gave her a blank look—then bared all their teeth. Erin froze up, and the figure looked confused. They closed their mouth and curved their lips up.

“Er…apologies, Miss Human. We don’t see many of your kind around here, yes? A [Trader], a traveller? No need to apologize. [Broader Shoulders] means only I can carry a deer back! Half of one, at any rate. If only I had a bag of holding large enough for an entire deer, eh? I wouldn’t make a Human help me lift one of these!”

They laughed and patted an odd bag next to their belt. Erin’s smile grew more desperate.

“Yes? No?”

The person stared at Erin with a quizzical look. A bit of blood dripped onto their shoulder, distracting them, and they cursed again.

“Tribes and tribulations. Excuse me, Miss. Watch the blood. If that [Guardsman] asks…pretend you never saw me. I’ve got to get this to the [Butchers] before the Acid Flies are all over.”

“The…”

This was so fascinating, but the figure was already striding off, and Erin, dumbfounded, had to catch her breath a second. And by that point, she realized that this was a city of more than just ant people and Drakes.

Erin walked down the first street, and then she began seeing crowds. In fact…that furry fellow was one of thousands. Hundreds she could see in any given moment, which made her assume this city was home to at least tens of thousands.

Drakes, Relc called his people. Not lizards—Drakes. They had scales of every color, almost always one color with perhaps some speckling of other scales at most, like freckles. But most had only one dominant scale color.

Green or blue were the majority, but Erin saw a Drake with orange scales talking to another who was laughing and…gossiping? That was what it looked like as she held a claw in front of her mouth, whispering loudly to a group seated at a table. She had bright yellow scales and…a kind of tavern girl’s outfit on.

A medieval dress. But, done in a modern style if that made sense. With cleaner and far higher-quality fabric than Erin would have expected of the actual medieval ages. Like someone in a renaissance fair, actually. But…

The more Erin looked at the various types of clothing, she realized it wasn’t a one-to-one comparison with her world. The dyes were less vibrant and the lack of machine-printing meant that there were no logos, but a lot of fine embroidery. She saw a sigil of a city in the form of a badge on a passing Drake’s uniform and could tell it was an emblem because of the delicate gold thread surrounding the city with a sword and axe hovering over it.

On another hyena woman’s shirt was a silver fang embroidered in thread. And the lack of dyes also resulted in a more natural feel to the attire around her. Instead of neon-green, the brightest colors were a fine red shirt on one of the furred men, or plain white cotton on a very light dress under a thin, pale-blue outer layer.

The people here wore clothing bright and colorful enough that, at a glance, you might not realize how different it was. Erin’s t-shirt and jeans were still odd, but not uniquely so. If anything, it was being a Human that made her stand out.

Because these people were people, even if they weren’t Human. They were walking to work, talking, avoiding the fellow with the half a deer carcass on their shoulder—Drakes and the furry people.

No Humans. And no ant-people that Erin could see on this crowded street. The Drakes seemed to be the majority, but there was a strong minority of the…what?

Erin had no idea what to call them, but they were a tall lot, weren’t they? The Drakes varied in height roughly around Human standards, but the furry folk seemed to be taller on average. Bigger, too. There were male and female ones—Erin could tell despite the fur. And the female ones tended to have breastbands at the minimum.

A lot of the furry folk wore light clothing. Literally just a kilt or a kind of exceptionally loose pair of pants. A…toga? An actual toga, yes! It must have been hot, despite the cool weather, for anyone with that much fur.

By contrast, the Drakes also had togas and fairly loose clothing, but some were dressed head-to-toe. Like the Drake with bright yellow scales whispering to some people at—an outdoor café?

She had a platter of drinks and some bowls on the tray, but she’d stopped to whisper to a gaggle of other Drakes.

“—broke up again. Hawk can’t keep a girlfriend for more than a month, Courier and gold or not. It’s his obsession with vegetables.”

“You sure it’s not him being…him, Drassi?”

“Oh, hush. He’s fine. He’s more Drake than you are. I’m just saying—”

The barmaid, or whomever she was, jumped guiltily as an angry Drake with black scales—aside from some grey-white ones around his head—came out, his voice raised. He had a smock, and he looked managerial. In fact, Erin realized she was witnessing a common sight from her world.

“Drassi! This is the eleventh time this week! I’ve told you again and again, stop gossiping. I don’t care what your class is—enough. You’re friendly, but you’re also fired.”

“What? But I can work harder! Come on, Mister Drells…”

The Drake protested as her friends coughed and tried not to be there. Erin’s eyes boggled at the sight of someone losing gainful employment before her eyes—and if that didn’t make this a city like home, she didn’t know what did.

The city. Now that she was done staring at the people, Erin realized this city was…well, stone. Streets? Stone. Walls? Stone. Not concrete or asphalt, but cobblestones stuck together with some version of cement. Not incorporating any faux-stone cladding. Actual, legitimately hewn stone that sometimes bore chisel marks.

It reminded her of one of those European cities, the older ones. A lot of the buildings were wooden, and most had at least two stories. There was even a sidewalk, but no cars, obviously. Nor were there any traffic lights or modern electronics in sight.

Erin saw wood shutters thrown open, a few people on outdoor balconies watering pots of flowers, and someone hanging clothes up to dry—but thankfully no privy pots being thrown into the streets.

In fact, she realized that the street not only had a sidewalk, but very familiar openings into…a sewer? The street looked fairly clean, and Erin was so busy staring that she didn’t hear the angry person shouting at her until she looked up and saw a wagon rolling towards her.

“Get out of the way, you idiot!”

Erin ran for the side with a squeak of alarm. The driver on the wagon, another Drake, slowed the pair of ponies that stared at Erin almost accusatorially as the Drake—female?—managed to stop her vehicle.

“Are you blind? Stay on the sidewalk! I nearly ran you over!”

“I’m sorry!”

Erin called back as people turned to stare at her. The fired [Barmaid] perked up the instant she saw Erin.

“A Human? We haven’t seen one of them in…I wonder if another trade caravan’s getting here?”

The [Driver] paid no attention. She pointed at the huge wagon, and Erin realized those were the vehicles of choice. From footcarts to gigantic wagons larger than cars, loaded with goods.

“Sorry? Sorry? When this wheel runs over your foot, no healing potion in the world is going to get it back. Do you think I want that on my conscience?”

“S-sorry. I just didn’t see—”

The Drake glowered, but she flapped the reins, moving onwards.

“I don’t have time for this. I’ve got a delivery to run. Sidewalk! Use it!”

Erin was running afoul of everyone. Subdued, Erin scurried to the side of the street—and got into trouble again. Because she wanted to stop and stare, and this was a crowded city. Hundreds of people were all about, and they didn’t much like someone who stood still. Or Humans in general, it seemed.

Erin had come to a halt in front of a large building with writing on top. A lovely, wide sign…that she couldn’t read.

The language was different here. Exactly like the other words on the sign. It said, um…well, she had no idea, but there were two words and what looked like an apostrophe. But the real clue was what looked like a crystal ball and a magic wand with glowy bits. Some kind of symbol. Magic? Then Erin got in trouble again with the locals.

“Excuse me, Miss. Are you waiting in line for…?”

“One side, Human! Stop blocking the way!”

She jumped out of the way, and some impatient citizens strode into the building, which was getting good traffic in and out. Erin looked around. Every head turned to stare at her, and she heard that refrain again.

“Humans.”

“Excuse me—um—what’s this building? I can’t read…”

Erin looked from person to person, and one stopped to talk to her. That friendly yellow-scaled Drake had been drooping along, head hung low after being fired. But this novelty made her smile come back with an eager vengeance.

“What, the Mage’s Guild? You can’t read, Miss Human? Right, you don’t read Drake script. Are you looking for the Mage’s Guild? Runner’s Guild? Adventurer’s Guild? An inn to stay in? Stables? The Watch, maybe? I’m Drassi.”

The words broke over Erin like a rushing wave. The young woman lifted her hands.

“No! I mean, I’m just looking around. Nice to meet…I’m just looking for a—a store!”

The Drake gave her a bright smile. With too many teeth. She bared all her needle-sharp teeth, and Erin gulped.

“What kind of store?”

“Uh—I—just looking, thanks!”

Erin fled, feeling embarrassed and awkward. The Drake scratched at her neck spines as Erin hurried off.

If she kept moving, she could be part of the crowd. After a while, Erin was less flustered. She walked down the street and became, well, part of the city’s traffic. That allowed her to observe.

This city is huge! At least, she thought so. There were so many people she wondered how many lived here. Tens of thousands? Hundreds, probably. And all packed into the walls, not spread out.

Hence, there were no real suburbs, just residential streets with four stories of buildings next to or above shops. Erin saw the fellow who’d killed that odd deer again, depositing his kill with the [Butcher]. He was having a hard time.

“You just gave me a damned Corusdeer. Half of one.”

“Yes. And?”

The man had his arms folded as the Drake harangued him.

“Where’s the other half? You didn’t skin it first? You’ve ruined the hide—and there’s dirt on this part! Did you drag it back?”

The other figure growled.

“I dropped it once, okay? It’s not bad, no! And as for cutting it in half—I thought I saw a Shield Spider nest near me. They would have been over the kill—and me—in minutes. The hide’s fine. You can make boots out of what’s here. How much for it all?”

“Typical. You go for the top half because the antlers are worth money to the [Alchemists]. Nevermind the intestines being good for sausage or all the organs like the liver and—stop growling at me. I know, Shield Spiders. Damn it. Alright…let me check the quality of the meat. Give me a few minutes. And get a bucket of water and wash yourself off. You’re going to attract Acid Flies.”

A butcher’s. Or was it a [Butcher]? Erin saw more of that oddly cursive writing on storefronts, helpful sign posts…she guessed that this city would be easy to navigate. If she could read.

Oddly, everyone spoke the same. The furry fellow had a bit of a rolling ‘r’ to his voice and a growling tone, just like the Drakes elongated their ‘s’ and ‘l’ sounds, but they were speaking perfect English.

As for the butcher’s shop, what made Erin stare was the glass window. It had glass! It was the first glass she’d seen, and it astonished her because she hadn’t expected to see any in what she took to be a medieval world before they had access to the stuff in bulk. Wait, didn’t churches back then have glass? The point was she didn’t expect to see it in widespread use.

But glass was visible in a few buildings, and the more she looked, the more she noticed it. It wasn’t ubiquitous, but it was a window here, a pair of spectacles there—and one huge building with tons of people entering and exiting had a wand and a crystal ball icon over the front.

And then she wandered into an open plaza, and her mouth dropped. There were benches, even a park with trees and a playground over there! In this city! In fact, rising at one end of this plaza was a distinctly governmental building. It had large pillars, an open frontage that had less traffic, but a very familiar-looking sigil. The same one on Relc’s badge.

“That must be city hall or something. And the place with the wand—was that a magic shop…do they teach magic there? Do they sell wands? Wow. Wow. And I just need to find…a regular people shop.”

She was still overwhelmed, but Erin could catch her breath in the plaza with no one growling at her to keep moving. She took one breath, then another, then tried not to hyperventilate.

“Okay. Okay. I was lost before. I can do this.”

She had, in fact, been lost in a big city before. The key was noting where the foot-traffic was going. Erin guessed that led to places people shopped or did…things at. She kept monologuing; a lot of people were standing around or watching the children play. Again, Erin saw no little ant-people like Klbkch.

“What do I do if I get super-lost? Remember that street name. Squiggly line…got it. And if I can’t remember it or find my way back? Amsterdam, chess tournament. Start crying and ask where mom is…No, wait, I’m older now. Uh—uh—”

She heard a loud snorting sound from the side. Erin turned, and three dozen paces away, another furry person covered their mouth. They were laughing—at her.

“Sorry! We overheard, yes?”

They were a duo, male and female, watching a little boy run around on all fours. He was either naked or clothing didn’t matter with all his fur on. Erin turned beet red as she realized the parents had…heard her? She hurried off towards the most crowded street. Just try to blend in.

…After five minutes of walking, Erin realized she was lost again. She stared hopefully at another building with one of those broad frontages. Then she looked around. She peeked through a window and saw someone, another Drake, idly sitting at a wooden counter, head propped on one chin. Erin took a deep breath.

Then she went inside.

——

“Uh, is this a store?”

Every head in the Adventurer’s Guild in Liscor turned at the voice. Grizzled Drake warriors sporting scars from their heads to their tails, inhumanly tall furry people, most carrying bows, and several people who looked like mages, wearing robes or carrying staves, appraised the speaker who had just walked into the building.

A small Human. Possibly female. She stopped uncertainly the moment she noticed all the armor.

Unlike outside, the people in this building were not civilians. Civilians didn’t clank when they moved or sat down. These people, adventurers, wore armor, even in the morning, and they carried no daggers or shortswords, but had battleaxes strapped to their backs, longbows resting against the walls.

The figures at tables or clustered around a billboard appraised Erin for one heart-stopping second, then their eyes shifted away in disinterest. After a few seconds, Erin’s heart started beating again. She decided that this was definitely not the shop she was looking for. She almost turned and ran again when a voice rang out.

“Ah, hello? We can help you over here.”

A voice called to Erin across the low murmuring. She saw a green-scaled Drake, her scales as fair as light grass under sunlight, waving at her from behind a counter. She looked faintly bored, but peered at Erin with less instant hostility than most people in this foreign city.

She was much smaller and had thinner limbs than Relc. Erin guessed she was female on the basis of her voice. The dress was also a big clue: light blue and flowed like running water, two straps along her shoulders providing support.

Hesitantly, Erin made her way over to the counter. The female receptionist gave her a close-lipped smile. She scrutinized Erin up and down and then launched into a rehearsed, if tired, spiel.

“Good day, Miss. How can we help you today? Do you have a bounty or request to post? Or are you registering?”

“Registering? Quest? Oh no, I’m not here for…uh, anything. I just thought this might be a store, so I…”

“Oh, I see! No worries, Miss Human. You’re just in the wrong spot, but I can give you directions if you’d like.”

The receptionist smiled again. And because she didn’t seem hostile or annoyed, this time Erin smiled back.

“Oops, sorry. Uh, where am I?”

The Drake chuckled as if it weren’t obvious.

“This is the Adventurer’s Guild. That lot didn’t tip you off?”

She nodded to the armed people lounging around. Erin blinked and her eyes went wide.

“The Adventurer’s Guild?”

“Didn’t they have one back in your city?”

The Drake raised her brows in frank disbelief. Erin stared around the room with renewed interest. Now that she wasn’t being pierced by a thousand glares, she could take in the building properly. It was a large place, and, at first, Erin thought she’d walked into an inn. Or a bar. But now that she knew what she was looking at, the receptionist behind the counter made a lot of sense.

“N—I mean, I’ve never been in one before.”

She wondered if that was a stupid thing to say, but the Drake just flashed her another big smile, reassuring.

“That’s quite alright. Not everyone needs to use an Adventurer’s Guild. Most never will, hopefully. If you’ve never needed any services, let me give you the basic explanation. Here you can let the Guild know about dangerous monsters in your area, post quests and offer rewards, or if you’re an adventurer yourself, you can go look at assignments or receive your reward.”

The receptionist pointed to a large wooden board nailed up against one wall. It had quite a lot of parchment stuck to the wood, and several large and burly adventurers were gathered around it, talking amongst themselves.

“Wow.”

Erin studied the adventurers. They were all wearing armor, although the quality and amount varied from person to person. Most of the Drakes seemed content to wear only armguards or the occasional helmet without much chest armor, but several of the large hairy dog-hyena-people were wearing chainmail, and in one case, real plate armor.

That wasn’t all, of course. Some adventurers weren’t wearing any armor at all. But they were all armed. Erin spotted several Drakes wearing light robes and carrying staves or daggers at their belts. One even looked like they were wearing armor made out of some dark, glossy material. It didn’t look comfortable, but they definitely looked ready for a fight. Erin whispered as she saw one of the Drakes flick a claw and produce a few sparks, to the amusement of her companions.

“Real mages. That is so cool.”

“…Miss? Excuse me, Miss?”

Erin looked around. She realized the receptionist had been trying to get her attention for some time now.

“Oh, I’m really sorry. What was that you were saying?”

“Are you a traveller, Miss? Or maybe…an adventurer? Are you here to register?”

The look the she-Drake gave her said this wasn’t much of a possibility. But she was very friendly, and Erin tried to explain.

“Oh no. I’m, uh, an innkeeper. I guess. Or maybe a wanderer? Actually, I’m just new around here.”

The receptionist looked interested. She sat up a bit and added a different emphasis to the class than Erin had.

“An [Innkeeper], is it? Are you opening up a business here? Humans almost never move to Liscor. I’m Selys, by the way. I should have said so from the start. My apologies.”

Selys offered Erin a hand. It was such a Human gesture Erin had to smile as she shook her hand. It felt weird touching the cool scales, but not unpleasant. She was almost worried about the claws, but she didn’t even feel a prick as Selys returned the smile, again, without teeth.

“I’m Erin. Erin Solstice. And no, I’m not, uh, innkeeping here. I live outside the city. In an inn a ways away. I guess. I just came here, because I needed to go shopping. Badly.”

She indicated her ripped and stained clothing. Selys eyed that with a slow nod.

“Well, I can’t leave the desk, but I can give you some directions. No wonder you were lost—you can’t read any of the signs, can you? Your people normally stick to the north; Esthelm’s as far as most get. What brings you out so far? Oh, and what are you looking for?”

“Um. A teleportation spell got me here? And I need food. Flour, oil, butter, salt…that kind of thing. And I need clothing. Lots of clothing. And toothpaste!”

Selys gave Erin a longer look, as if trying to see whether Erin was joking or not. She replied after a moment.

“Well, if it’s food and general supplies you’re looking for, try the market two streets down from here. To get to it, just take a left as you walk out of here and then turn right, and you’ll be there in no time. They’d also have some clothes there, but I’m not sure if they have any made for Humans. What kind of teleportation spell did that? You mean, people teleportation? Gone wrong? That would be a huge scandal. Anyways, the market will have everything you need.”

“Oh, that’s great. Thank you so much. About how I got here—I don’t know if it was an accident or me—maybe teleportation! But um. Right now I’m just trying to get by. So the market is two streets down and left and right…?”

Erin had already forgotten the directions. Selys repeated them, then mouthed what Erin had said. ‘Maybe teleportation’?

Erin was too flustered to notice. She could memorize most of what she needed pretty easily, but when she was nervous, things slipped. She wished she had her smartphone or Google Maps. A map would be useless since she had never learned how to read them.

“I’m also looking for a place to get some other supplies. I don’t suppose you know where—”

A large, hairy hand grabbed Erin by the shoulder and pulled her around.

“Huh?”

Erin was looking at a wall of brown hair. She was sure that wasn’t there a minute ago. She looked up.

A hyena’s face stared down at her. Or rather, a hyena’s face on a humanoid body covered in fur. It was one of the adventurers in the guild and it—he—didn’t look happy.

But he wasn’t saying anything. Rather, he was looming. Erin could tell it was looming by the way he stood and the way she felt like an ant. She didn’t know why he was angry at her. Maybe he just wanted to pick on someone. She opened her mouth and tried diplomacy.

“Um. Hi. Are you—are you a wolf-person?”

It was definitely the wrong thing to say. The pissed-off look on the hairy hyena-guy’s face only got worse. He growled at her in a rumbling voice that sounded like…well, what Erin imagined a dog would sound like if it could talk.

“Do I look like a Wolf Beastkin?”

“N-no?”

Erin backed up a step and found the counter was right behind her. She looked over her shoulder and saw Selys gazing at her worriedly, but the receptionist didn’t come to her aid.

The not-werewolf leaned over and growled in her face.

“I’m a Gnoll.”

His breath was terrible. Erin felt weak at the knees just smelling it.

“Right. I’m very sorry about that. Um. Can I help you?”

“You’re in my way. This is for adventurers.”

“Right. Sorry. Sorry about that.”

Erin stepped to one side so he could get to Selys. He didn’t move forward, though. Instead he just glared some more. A few more seconds of glaring made Erin stutter.

“Is—is there something else you want?”

The Gnoll twisted his neck and cracked it. It sounded like firecrackers going off and scared the hell out of Erin.

“I don’t like Humans. They smell. You smell like garbage. Like rancid oil and flames and things that turn my stomach. And Goblins and dust and mold.”

Erin stepped away again, but the angry Gnoll just followed her. She knew she was being watched by the other adventurers in the room now. But, like Selys, they seemed content to watch the Human-bullying without making a move.

“R-really? I can’t smell anything.”

“That’s because Humans can’t smell anything.”

The comment came from behind Erin, but she was too scared to turn around. It had the same growling quality to the voice though, so she was sure it was another Gnoll.

“Right. Well. I’m sorry about that.”

Erin tried to sidestep the Gnoll, but he blocked her way.

“I don’t want Humans in here. You don’t belong.”

“Hold on, now. She’s just lost.”

At last, Selys came to Erin’s aid. The female Drake leaned over the counter and called out to the Gnoll. Now, Erin realized he had a bag of dripping something. There was a long, bug-like leg sticking out of it, he was covered in green blood—and some red—and he looked tired and angry.

“If you’ve got a bounty—Shield Spiders—I’ll process it now. But this Human was just asking directions. You can’t just kick someone out who—”

He looked at her and snarled. Selys flinched and shut up.

Across the room, Erin saw the Drakes in the room stir. One of them hissed softly.

The Gnoll glared at the Drakes, and they glared right back. One of his hands twitched towards the sword at his side, but he didn’t make any move to grab it. Still, the tension was so thick that Erin was sure if a Gnoll or Drake moved the room would explode.

Erin was wondering whether she should run when the Gnoll broke off the staring contest and swung around to her.

“You. You’re stinking up this place with dirt and filth. I can smell the things you’ve rolled in. You haven’t washed in—dead gods. I’m covered in Shield Spider guts and you smell worse! Take a bath before you come back here.”

He jabbed at Erin’s stained shirt with one pointed claw. She jumped back nervously from the long, filthy nails.

“Oh. Yeah. Um, I’m really sorry about that. It’s just that I’ve been sort of fending for myself, and I didn’t have a change of clothes so—”

The Gnoll leaned forward. Erin could see the individual whiskers protruding out of his snout. She could smell his rancid breath. But she was mainly focused on his jagged teeth.

“Begone.”

Erin hesitated. She cast one glance towards Selys, but the receptionist wouldn’t meet her eyes.

The Gnoll growled, and Erin backed up. He herded her towards the door, and once she was out, he slammed it shut behind her. The last thing she saw was Selys waving at her guiltily.

That was the first building Erin was kicked out of in her visit to the city. It wasn’t her last. Not by a long shot.

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1.12

Erin walked through the city, feeling the unwelcome sun warming the back of her neck. She was hot, sweaty, and tired. But most of all, she was anxious. It was a terrible, biting pain in her stomach that refused to leave her no matter how much she tried to relax. Because she couldn’t.

She was lost. Not just geographically, but in every sense. Right now, she was making her way to the market Selys had told her about. But she was still lost.

She didn’t belong to this city. The people had been a mix of unfriendly or—well, not all of them had been bad, like Selys and that first Drake, but Erin was the outsider, and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. She tried to take her mind off things by admiring the city.

It really was like an older city. True, there was a lot more roundness in the architecture of the buildings—a lot of gently sloping roofs and open rooftops rather than the angular buildings Erin was used to. Stone and wood and yes, glass, but it felt to Erin like one of the older cities of Europe—hallmarks of older architecture without the steel or metal that was everywhere in a modern metropolis.

It was pleasant to stare at this foreign architecture and feel like a traveller to some part of Earth she had never experienced before. The people were what really got to her.

They weren’t Human. No matter how long Erin stayed in the city and walked its streets, she couldn’t get over that. Every face she saw in the crowd was inhuman, and the majority of them were Drakes. There was the occasional Gnoll or other furry face in the lot, but they were mostly reptilian.

All kinds of reptilian, too. Long snouts, delicate spines on the neck, elongated neck, big eyes, slitted eyes, stub snouts. They all had very large teeth, though. Only rarely did Erin glimpse a walking ant man—or ant woman, she couldn’t tell—walking by.

Klbkch’s people were few and far between. Erin saw them scurrying along, sometimes in groups, other times by themselves, mostly with tools in hand, heads down, clearly on a mission. People avoided them almost as much as they avoided her, but it really said something that a Human was the person people stared at, even more than insect-folk. It was also adding to Erin’s anxiety.

She wished they’d stop looking at her. That was the one thing that made walking through this city so hard. While she was staring at the exotic sights and people, they were staring right back. And it seemed that they didn’t like what they saw.

Erin tried to walk quickly down the street. That way she’d avoid offending anyone else. She didn’t have a good record at the moment.

“Kicked out of three shops. And two homes. And then the Adventurer’s Guild.”

To be fair, some of them looked like shops. Why no one put up any signs so people could tell the difference was beyond Erin.

“Well, there are signs. I just can’t read them.”

It was a funny thing. Erin could speak the exact same language as Relc and Klbkch, but for some reason, she couldn’t read anything they wrote. It was probably because…of magic.

“Magic. Either that or they’re all bilingual. Or trilingual. Or something.”

A Drake walking the opposite way down the street gave her an odd look. Erin shut up. Her habit of talking to herself was making her weirder than normal.

Still, that alone didn’t explain why it seemed like the entire city hated her. True, she kept walking into places and asking where she was, but that was…okay, that was really annoying. But she was just as unfavorably received on the street, it seemed.

“Move it, Human.”

“Out of the way, smooth skin.”

“Watch it, fleshbag.”

Actually, no one had ever said that last one to her. Or the second one, either. Or the first, in point of fact. They didn’t say anything at all, really. Almost all of the Drakes stared at her, while the Gnolls and other furry people walked as far away from her as possible. But they all watched her constantly.

Some glanced out of the corner of their eyes. Others were less discreet and openly stared at her. Erin saw a few small Drake-children pointing at her and felt out of place. In a sea of scales and fur, she was the only Human. She felt so alone it hurt.

Erin turned right and found herself on another kind of street. This one was wider, had cobblestone paving, and a lot of wooden stalls. It was a market.

“Finally.”

Erin sighed with relief and walked forward. She’d finally reached her destination, and it had only taken her…an hour. Possibly two.

And better luck, Erin seemed to be in the section selling food. Tons of shopkeepers stood or sat in their shaded stalls displaying bins full of food. Here was a Drake selling weird blue-leaved plants that looked like oversized white carrots…or dead maggots. There was another Drake cutting meat for a waiting customer as flies buzzed around his stall. And there was—

A Gnoll.

Erin passed by a larger stall than most, tended to by a tall Gnoll, although they were all tall in her eyes. This one seemed to be selling a lot of stuff, and not just food. Erin was tempted to stop and browse, but the Gnoll shopkeeper complicated things. She was dithering when the Gnoll spotted her and roared out above the general hubbub.

“You, Human! If you’re looking for a bargain, shop here!”

Erin’s heart jumped. Gnolls were, like Relc, loud. And her voice had put every eye back on Erin.

Yet, the Gnoll woman had bared all her teeth then caught herself, closed her mouth in a tight-lipped smile, and beckoned Erin over. She wore a kind of animal hide sarong, albeit lined with some soft cloth on the inside, a breastband of the same material, and little else. Mostly because her shop had a thin canopy that meant she got the most of the sun, standing or sitting in it all day.

Her fur was spotted with jet black dots, but the rest of it was russet brown and, Erin thought, neatly combed or maintained. She was at least six-foot-something, and her smile was direct, even if her eyes were slightly calculating. But she did smile without a hint of anger or annoyance, and she’d called to Erin. So the young woman hesitated and then walked over to the stall.

As she approached, the Gnoll’s nose wrinkled and she waved a paw in front of her face. Erin’s heart sank, but the Gnoll made no comment.

“Well, what are you seeking?”

The Gnoll looked intently at Erin. She looked angry, or maybe Gnolls always sounded brisk and impatient.

“Oh, um. I’m just looking.”

“Can I get you anything? What are you looking for?”

“I’m—I’ll just look around if that’s okay.”

“I…could help you find what you want. Krshia’s Silverfang Goods. Do you have anything you want or—?”

It was entirely reasonable, but Erin began sweating at once. She backed away a step.

“No, I’ll just wander around and—look. Thank you.”

Erin edged back from the Gnoll’s shop. She really didn’t want to be chased out of the market yet.

“Hrmf. Suit yourself.”

The Gnoll looked away. She was definitely annoyed now, even if she hadn’t been before. Erin backed away and looked towards the next stall.

This one looked equally promising. And better yet, it was tended to by a Drake. Which wasn’t that much better, true, but at least he wasn’t wrinkling his nose. Maybe because he wasn’t looking at her.

Erin approached the stall carefully and gazed at the many items on display. Let’s see. There were lots of bags piled up neatly, and in front of them there were little bins of their contents on display. That was good since Erin couldn’t read any of the words on the store signs.

But there! She saw flour, salt, and even sugar on display along with other dried goods. The Drake was selling dried sausages that hung from hooks at the top of his little shop, dried onions and garlic in baskets, and a number of dried roots and spices in one corner of the shop.

“Hi. Is this a food shop?”

The Drake looked over at her.

“What does it look like, Human?”

Erin winced internally at the tone of his voice. But he wasn’t wrinkling his nose still or glaring. He just looked annoyed.

“Oh, I’m looking for food. Lots of it.”

She heard a very loud and angry snort come from the Gnoll shopkeeper. She winced, externally this time.

“What you see is what I have.”

The Drake indicated his goods with a wave of one claw. That sounded like an invitation to Erin, so she stepped inside the stall and peered around. Flour was what she was most interested in. With that and a bit of oil, salt, etcetera, she could make bread, pasta, and other filling things. It was the best place to start. She bent down to examine the flour—

“No touching the food with your filthy hands unless you’re buying!”

The Drake’s voice made Erin jump away. She caught herself before she fell backwards. He was glaring at her.

“Don’t touch. You’ll stink it up with your Human smell.”

“Sorry. Sorry.”

Erin backed away from the goods on display, hands raised. She guessed she really did smell.

The shopkeeper directed his full and unhappy attention towards her.

“What do you want? Name it and I’ll fetch it for you.”

“Oh, okay.”

Erin floundered.

“Um. I’m looking for a few things, actually. Uh, do you have any butter?”

“It’s right there on the sign.”

The Drake tapped the little piece of paper pinned to the stall. Erin looked at it desperately, but just saw squiggles and lines in all the wrong places.

“Uh. I can’t read that. Sorry.”

He hissed softly in annoyance. Erin winced again.

“But I’d like some. Butter, that is.”

He slowly and grudgingly turned and pulled out a small pot with a small cork for a lid.

“Oh. Great.”

Erin wasn’t sure if she should ask to see how much butter was inside. She wanted to hold the little pot too, but the shopkeeper’s expression also vetoed that idea.

“And, uh, I’d like some oil too. Do you have another jar…?”

The Drake sighed loudly in annoyance.

“I don’t have all day to play fetch for you, Human. Just tell me what you want to buy first.”

“Okay.”

He wasn’t throwing things or chasing her away, so that was as good as it was going to get, Erin guessed. She took a deep breath and rattled off whatever she could remember she needed.

“I’m looking for some flour, salt, butter, oil, and sugar. Oh! And yeast. I’ll need yeast too. If you have it.”

The Drake didn’t move.

“Anything else?”

Erin looked around quickly.

“Um. Those sausages. How much do they cost?”

Erin pointed to the sausages hanging from a hook. They looked mouthwateringly plump. She had the idea she could fry some up with the pasta. Just the thought was making her stomach rumble.

The Drake’s eyes flicked over to them.

“How many?”

Erin rummaged in her pocket and pulled out her precious coins. She saw the Drake’s eyes widen just a fraction as she showed him the mix of silver and bronze and two gold coins.

“Well, if I’ve got enough, I’d like to buy a few of those. And some onions.”

There weren’t many vegetables here. Only some garlic and shriveled roots in one bin. But she could always go to the Gnoll and ask—well, maybe not the Gnoll. But there were probably other shops that sold produce.

The Drake eyed the coins in her hand and flicked his eyes up to her. Erin felt like she was being assessed, and she didn’t enjoy the feeling. For all she was a paying customer, he still looked like he was angry at her for some reason.

At last the shopkeeper seemed to come to a decision. He flicked his tongue out of his mouth and glared at her.

“Two gold coins. Eight silver. That will buy you a bag of flour, oil, butter, four sausages, two onions, and a bag of sugar, salt, and yeast.”

Erin hesitated. She eyed the meaningless symbols on the little plaque again. The Gnoll shopkeeper to Erin’s left seemed to be having a breathing problem. She was choking on the air. Erin glanced to the side.

“Are—are you sure that’s the price? I mean, it sounds like a lot—”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

The Drake raised his voice angrily. Erin could see other customers and shopkeepers looking around.

“No, no! I was just saying that—”

“Typical Humans. Walking in here, stinking up the market, and insulting any non-Humans you find. You should be grateful the Guard doesn’t run you out of the city! First that damn [Necromancer] comes here, and now this smelly one that can’t even read.”

“Lism!”

The Gnoll woman hissed, but he ignored her. The Drake seemed to be inflating with rage. Erin didn’t know what she’d done to set him off—besides the smell—but she tried to be diplomatic.

“Look, I was just asking about the price.”

“I just gave you my price. Take it or leave it.”

“But can we negotiate? I mean, how about two gold coins? What’s the price of the flour? If I pay you—”

The Drake shopkeeper let out a strangled hissing sound.

“Human, I have a business to run and a store to manage! Either pay me my price or be gone. You won’t find a better offer in this market.”

Looking around, Erin guessed that was true. She was getting unfriendly looks from the other shopkeepers down the street, especially the Gnoll whose wares she’d walked by.

“Okay. I’ll buy it all.”

She placed the gold and silver coins on the counter since he wasn’t holding his hand out. He eyed the coins, sniffed once, and swept them away.

“Here. Your food. Take it.”

The shopkeeper began grabbing items and slamming them down on the counter. He shoved them all together in a huge untidy pile and threw a few dented copper coins down too. Some rolled onto the ground.

Erin hesitated, but the shopkeeper’s scaly back was already expressively turned away. She heard what sounded like hissing laughter and muttered comments from behind her and turned red.

Slowly, Erin bent down and began picking up the fallen copper coins. She tried to avoid looking at anyone or anything.

When she finally stood up, the shopkeeper was looking at her expressionlessly. He flicked one claw towards her.

“If you’re done grubbing in the dirt, I have more customers to serve.”

Erin knew her face was red. Her eyes were burning, but she was determined not to do anything else. She took a deep breath and tried to steady her voice as much as possible. Still, it wobbled a bit as she said one last thing.

“…Can I buy a bag?”

——

Erin sat in the shade of one of the buildings and stared silently at the four silver coins in her hand, which was all she had left after buying a large cloth bag and the food. It wasn’t so bad. She still had some money, and she’d bought enough food for now. It was just enough for…well, she didn’t know. But it certainly wasn’t enough for a lantern, much less a sword. She doubted it was even enough for her clothes.

She’d started out with two gold coins and a full handful of silver and copper ones. And in an instant, they’d been spent. True, she’d bought a lot of food. Stuff like sugar was expensive, right? Especially in a place that wasn’t modern like this. It was just…she couldn’t help but feel it was a mistake.

She hadn’t seen any other shoppers trade gold coins for what they’d bought. Not one and especially not that much for some food. She had a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. She thought—

No. She knew she’d been ripped off.

And it hurt. It really did. Erin wanted to go back there and punch the Drake shopkeeper in the face, but she had a pretty good idea of what would happen if she did. Plus, he could probably eat her face if she tried.

So. Erin sat and stared at her hand. Four silver coins.

She could still go shopping with that much money. She could find another market, find another shop, and…

And do what? She didn’t know how much money things cost, and she didn’t know how to buy clothes for herself.

Everyone in this city wore clothing, but the definition of that really varied. Some of the male Gnolls wore extremely exposed clothing, sometimes leaving their chests completely bare save for a light cloak, while the female ones usually had more on. Still, even that was varied because it seemed showing skin—or rather, scales—was the fashion around here. Only the Drakes seemed to adhere to a dress code she was used to.

It was one of the hidden truths of the world. Money was useless if you had no idea what to spend it on and everyone ripped you off.

Everything would be so much simpler if she could read. Was that too much to ask?

Erin put her head on her arm and closed her eyes for a moment. Her head jerked up, and she nearly smacked it against the building behind her as she realized something.

She couldn’t read. But she knew people who could.

Relc. Or Klbkch. Either one of them would know all about clothing and money and stuff like that.

Erin stood up. She pocketed her silver coins and wished she’d thought of this before she’d lost all her money. But maybe four silver coins was a lot of money? She’d have to ask. And they’d help her, surely. Because that’s what guardsmen did, right? Just like how police officers were so willing to help anyone who came to them with a problem.

Erin pushed that thought out of her head. Guardsmen were not police officers. They were allowed to kill people without due process, for one thing. But Relc liked her pasta, and he and Klbkch had been kind to her. Now all she had to do was find the guardhouse without being able to read the signs.

She started walking down the street, looking around for anything that screamed of jail cells or law and order. She tried very hard not to think about what she’d do if Relc or Klbkch were both off-duty.

——

Relc was off-duty. So was Klbkch. But for the moment, Relc was lounging around the mess hall of the guard’s barracks. He was playing a game where he tossed a wickedly sharp dagger up into the air and caught it as it fell back towards the floor. Half the time, he caught the dagger. The other half, he missed or knocked the dagger flying. He sat in a widely vacated corner of the room.

Only a few other Drakes were sitting at the long wooden benches, chowing down on hard bread, cheese, and unidentifiable strips of meat. Well, unidentifiable to Humans. It was more grey than red.

One of the guards was talking with his fellows. He stood up and approached Relc cautiously. Unlike Relc, his scales were a very pale blue, and he was smaller if not shorter than the other Drake. He cleared his throat while standing at a respectful distance from Relc’s game.

“Hey Relc. I hear there’s a Human wandering around the city.”

Relc looked up and missed the dagger as it flipped down.

“Ow.”

The other guardsman sighed as Relc sucked at the point of red blood oozing from his scales.

“You’ve got no talent for that game. If you didn’t have [Thick Scales], you’d have cut your hand off years ago.”

Relc smiled smugly.

“[Iron Scales].”

The blue Drake rolled his eyes.

“That explains everything. What kind of level do you have to be to get that, anyways? No one else has it, so it must be high level.”

“It is.”

Relc began trimming his claws with the dagger. Although in his case, he wasn’t making the nails shorter, just sharpening them.

“It was the last skill I got from my [Sergeant] class. I think you get it in [Spearmaster] as well, but I don’t know. Either way, it’s a life-saver.”

“I’ll bet. No wonder you don’t worry about hurting yourself, you smooth-scaled bastard.”

“Now, now. Don’t be jealous.”

Relc swept the nail clippings off the table with one hand.

“Too bad I never got any dagger skills. I can’t understand how this stupid flipping works.”

“Then stop flipping. It’s annoying, and you keep nearly hitting people. Remember poor Tkrn the day he signed up? He still flinches whenever he sees a dagger.”

“No. If Klbkch can do it, so can I. Anything that damn bug can do I can do better. But hey, what’s this about a Human? Is it that female one I was telling you about?”

“Not sure.”

This time, another green Drake jumped into the conversation.

“Belsc—the guy on eastern gate duty—he didn’t say much other than that he thought it was a Human female. What was the name of the one you met?”

Relc scratched his head and looked up at the ceiling.

“Um. Erin something. Sol? Solace? It was something like that. Erin Solace? Did he mention anything else about her?”

The blue-scaled Drake bared his teeth.

“Yeah. He said she was really annoying. And she talked too much.”

“That’s her.”

Relc laughed. The other Drake shook his head as a few more [Guards] glanced over.

“Humans. I don’t know why you’re interested in this one. It’s certainly not the smell, to hear Belsc talk.”

“Yeah, you get used to that.”

Relc leaned back in his chair and played with the dagger. He smiled to himself, warming to his theme of stupid Humans. It was a popular topic in Liscor—especially with the annual Blood Fields battle almost upon them. He felt a tiny bit guilty, but he was also still mad about yesterday.

She’d chosen a [Necromancer] over him. Which was just Humans sticking to their own kind, so Relc kept talking as he trimmed at his nails.

“Still, she’s interesting. Erin, or whatever her name is. She makes a mean plate of pasta, let me tell you. And she’s tougher than she looks—I didn’t think any Human could survive out in the Floodplains that long. She’s funny too.”

He grinned as the other guards made disparaging noises. Relc raised his voice.

“Hey, I’m telling the truth here. Little Miss Human isn’t that bad. You should meet her. But let me tell you, she can also be pretty annoying. Remember that [Necromancer] guy I told you me and Klbkch tracked down? She wouldn’t let us kill him even after he blasted us both with a few spells. Just kept saying that he wasn’t that bad.”

“Stupid Humans.”

“I know!”

Relc nodded in agreement with the other guard.

“They’re interesting and entertaining, but they don’t have much inside their fleshy heads. I’d never trust a Human to have my back. Drakes stick together and Humans do their thing in the north, am I right?”

Relc looked around for confirmation as the other Drakes laughed with him. He laughed boisterously until he saw the young woman staring at him across the mess hall. His laughter cut off instantly.

“Oh.”

The other Drakes looked over in curiosity at the Human female. She wasn’t that special to them; one Human looked much like any other. She was staring at Relc, who looked extremely uncomfortable.

He cleared his throat.

“Um. I—”

The door closed behind Erin as she walked out.

A nasty silence fell over the mess hall. Relc looked at the others.

“How long was she here?”

The blue Drake shrugged.

“Dunno. She must’ve walked in while you were talking.”

“Oh, bite me.”

Relc leapt up from his chair.

“Hey, Miss Human! Wait! I didn’t mean it!”

The other Drakes watched as he dashed out of the room. Then they turned back to their conversation. One of the Gnolls flicked his gaze towards the blue-scaled Drake, who looked slightly smug at how everything had gone down.

“So. When did you spot her?”

“Right at the start. Did you see her expression? Relc’s not gonna have an easy time explaining that.”

“Serves him right. But did you smell her?”

“Yeah. Humans. They don’t wash.”

“I hear they roll around in their own filth.”

“Disgusting. Why’s Relc interested in one anyways?”

“Why do you think?”

“I still don’t get it. There’s no scales, nothing firm to grab. What’s the point?”

“Search me. Maybe it’s just Relc. He’s weird.”

“True.”

“Anyways, Humans. Haven’t seen one in a long time. Did you see it? So fleshy.”

“Disgusting. Let’s go eat some meat.”

“Agreed.”

——

Erin walked out of the city gates and through the grass. She walked as fast as she could, which wasn’t very. The cloth bag she was carrying was more like a satchel, and it was loaded down with a lot of stuff. She was impressed that it could fit the bag of flour and other ingredients she’d bought without the fabric breaking, but it also meant she had to carry all of that on her shoulders.

The bag of flour was quite heavy. But Erin carried it anyways, ignoring the pain in her right shoulder. Her left one was already sore. She’d switch shoulders when the pain became unbearable.

“Hey! Miss Erin! Wait!”

Erin kept walking.

“Oh come on. Please?”

Relc appeared next to her in a blur. He was quick for such a huge guy. Erin turned her head so she didn’t have to look at him directly.

“So, how’s my favorite Human doing? Good? Bad? Um. I, uh, don’t suppose you heard what I was saying. It was just a joke, really. I didn’t mean…”

She kept walking. Erin’s feet were already sore, but she put one foot in front of the other. She had a long way to go to get back to the inn, and the bag she was carrying was heavy.

“Look, I know I was sort of—okay, I was rude, but let’s talk. Hello? Are you listening?”

Erin didn’t look at him or speak. She just kept walking. Put one foot in front of the other. She was so tired and sore she barely felt hungry.

——

Eventually, he went away. Erin kept walking though. She was trying to make it back to the inn before the sun set. It was going to be a close race.

She was about halfway to her destination when the first stone flew over her head. Erin instinctively ducked and so the next two stones missed her and landed in the grass. She looked around.

At first, she couldn’t spot where the stones were coming from. Two more missed her, but the third struck her on the shoulder.

“Ow. Ow!”

Erin spotted the origin of the stones. It was a Goblin. The small creature was hard to spot in the fading twilight. It was standing on a hill and hurling rocks down at Erin. And it wasn’t alone.

Two more Goblins screeched and threw stones at her from their hilltop, making her flinch away and pull the bag up to shield her head. But then they just pelted her legs. They were bigger than the first one and staring at her burdens.

Her food. They wanted her food, and they’d laid an ambush! Erin tried to shield her head with the bag of flour and got a sharp strike to the chest.

“Ah. Ow.”

She covered her face with her arms. The stones kept flying. And they hurt. Even at this distance, the rocks cut her arms and bruised her flesh. Already, she felt blood trickling down one arm.

Erin knelt on the ground and shielded her head with her bag. That made her less of a target, but the barrage of stones continued. It wasn’t as if the Goblins could hurt her, not so long as they kept hitting her back, but they just didn’t stop. And if she got up, they’d aim for her head.

What could she do? Erin felt the stinging hail cut into her back. She had to run. At them? Away? They’d steal all her food if she did. But could she attack them? Fight? If she got any closer, the stones could gouge out her eyes, injure her badly. What could she do? What could she—

Something moved past Erin in a blast of air. She flinched and looked around, but it was already gone. Then her eyes travelled to the hill. Someone was rushing at the Goblins, ducking under the stones and deflecting the ones that came close to his head with a fast-moving…spear…?

“Hey! Slither off, you little bastards!”

The stones stopped flying abruptly. Erin heard a high-pitched scream and several heavy thwacks. Cautiously, she got up and looked around.

The Goblins were running away in full retreat. Relc stood on the hilltop, spear in hand. He waved at her and leapt down the hill in a few long strides.

“Hello there, Miss Erin. Fancy meeting you here.”

Erin stared up at him. He offered her a toothy grin and a hand up. She stood up by herself and picked up her bag.

Relc cleared his throat expectantly.

“It’s not often I get to rescue a damsel in distress. That’s what they call Human females, right? Damsels? Anyways, I saw you were in trouble, so I immediately rushed to help.”

“Thanks.”

Erin began walking again. She heard Relc follow after a second’s hesitation.

“Okay, okay. So they weren’t that dangerous. And I was just doing my job; true. But I am sorry. Really. I said too much back there.”

She said nothing. Her vision was blurring over from the cutting pain of the bag’s strap as it carved a groove into her shoulder.

“That looks heavy. Here, let me carry it for you.”

Relc reached for the bag. Erin pulled away.

“No. I’m fine.”

“Oh come on. Don’t be like that. I just—well, it was just me being careless, alright? Let’s talk. Please?”

Erin tried to walk faster, but her legs were already giving up. Relc easily kept pace with her. He was even able to walk backwards faster than her.

“Look. I’m very sorry, Miss Erin. Let me carry your bag. It must be quite heavy, and this way we can talk without one of us falling over.”

Erin grudgingly slowed down. It was a tempting offer. Her legs were screaming at her to accept Relc’s generous offer and have him carry her as well. Her shoulder was already in another dimension of pain.

“Fine.”

She unslung the bag, wincing as blood returned to her arm. Relc lifted the bag with one hand and slung it over his shoulder. Then he kept pace with Erin as if nothing had happened.

“So.”

“So.”

Relc scratched the spines on the back of his head, looked down, looked up, and sighed.

“I really didn’t mean it. It’s just—[Necromancers], y’know? They’re dangerous. And it’s best to kill them on sight. You ever seen a thousand zombies trying to eat anything in sight? Even if they’re low-level, even if they play nice, I could never trust a [Necromancer].”

“Especially not if they’re Human.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But that’s what you think.”

Relc didn’t have anything to say to that. They both walked on in silence, faster now that the bag wasn’t weighing Erin down.

“So. You bought food, huh? Making lots of pasta tonight?”

“I’m going to sleep.”

“Right, right. But, uh, good to see you made it to the city. So how’d you like it?”

“It’s fine.”

“Good, good.”

Relc was clearly casting around desperately for subject matters. He peeked into the bag. Erin could practically feel him salivating.

“Sausages. Mm. But hey, why didn’t you buy any clothes? I thought all females loved clothes, Drake or Human.”

Erin’s stomach twisted. She avoided his gaze and mumbled.

“I didn’t have enough money.”

“What, really?”

Relc looked at her askance and peered into the bag he was carrying.

“No. I mean, there’s food in here, but that’s only a few silver coins at best. I’m sure you had more than that, right? How much did you spend?”

Erin felt her face heating up. She looked at the ground.

“A couple gold coins. Some silver ones.”

He stopped. Erin didn’t. She heard him muttering to himself and then swearing. It sounded like swearing. He loped forwards and was next to her in an instant.

“Really? What kind of rotscale sold you—why did you spend that much money?”

She stared at the grass as she trampled it. It was tinted with a lovely deep orange color in the sun’s fading glow.

“I just thought it was the right price, I guess. I didn’t want to argue.”

Relc muttered under his breath and sighed in exasperation.

“Well, I could go back to the market and ask around. But—I don’t suppose you caught the name of the store.”

“I can’t read the language here.”

Relc sighed again. Deeply.

“Right, right. Well, if you remembered his face, I could find who sold you all that, but I doubt anyone’d bear witness against him. And there’s not much for me to go on. I mean, he sold you overpriced goods but it was your fault as well. No offense meant, Miss, but how’d you trade a gold coin for a sack or two of flour?”

Erin couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

“Sorry.”

They walked on in silence. At last, the inn was in sight. Erin trudged up the last incline, her legs screaming all the way. She paused at the door.

“I can take the bag now.”

Relc hesitated.

“You sure? I can carry it in—”

“I’m sure.”

Erin accepted the bag, and her legs wobbled. She opened the door with one hand.

“Right. Thanks.”

She wanted to close the door, but Relc held it open effortlessly. He scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Look, I’m still really sorry about before. I didn’t mean—well, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

Erin looked up at him. She just wanted to close her eyes. But he seemed sincere. So she mustered a bit of sincerity herself.

“Thanks for helping. With the Goblins.”

Relc gave her a wide, toothy grin.

“It was nothing. They’re no threat to me or anyone with a few levels in any warrior class. But don’t worry about those pests. I said I’d make it up to you, didn’t I? I’ll do something about them.”

Maybe it was an empty promise. But it made Erin smile a tiny bit.

“Thanks. Good night.”

Relc curled his tail up and flicked her a salute with both hand and tail at the same time.

“Until later, Miss Erin.”

Erin watched as he rapidly disappeared into the dark landscape. She vaguely envied the speed and effortless grace with which he moved. Then she closed the door.

——

The moment she threw the first stone, the littlest Goblin felt bad. Especially when it nearly hit the Human in the face. But she had to, because the two older Goblins made her.

They’d found her sneaking around the inn and had pulled at her ears. Hard. She was wasting time when she should be gathering things, making grass baskets, or doing something for the tribe.

She had screeched and protested, but then they’d all seen the Human coming back to her inn. With food. They could smell it.

The older Goblins, male and female, had debated. They knew that the warriors had lost to her and they had no chance of killing her even with their rusted daggers. But if they threw stones, she’d have to drop the food. Then the littlest Goblin could run down, grab some, and run off.

The littlest Goblin was so hungry—always hungry—that she did what they told her to. They were tossing stones down at the Human as she shouted at them. Just some food! Just drop the bag! The older Goblins were aiming at her eyes, but the littlest Goblin pelted the Human’s arms.

Then the scary Drake appeared, and they ran. The littlest Goblin fled, screaming, then hid in the grass and crawled away. Only after an hour did she get up and run back to her cave.

It was a bad day, and she was hungry. And—the littlest Goblin was sniveling already when she got back to their hidden cave—the two older Goblins would tell the Chieftain she had wasted time and that they hadn’t gotten food.

They were always mean to her. Always made her go with them gathering food or sharpening knives…or told her to stop counting birds and help gather food. They poked and prodded and pinched her ears more than most, because they had made her.

Somehow. Just like Goblins were born, the littlest Goblin had a vague idea of how it all worked, but those two were hers. Not that it meant they were nicer; they found her when she sat and tried to think or have fun and dragged her back.

Sometimes the two gave her food even when there wasn’t any to go around and showed her how things worked. Sometimes they got mad and poked and hit her if she wasn’t working, but it seemed to her like they always found her even when she was hiding, as if they knew her better than even the Chieftain.

She skulked into the tribe’s cave, wishing she had a Skill to make herself hide. She was waiting for the Chieftain to roar at her or just for a swat. But the tribe was busy eating.

Spiders. Cooked spiders in a big pot with water. It was…not good. Even for them. But it was what they had, and a few eggs made it taste like something. The littlest Goblin actually got a bowl and brightened up.

Maybe she wasn’t in trouble! She was sure she’d get only half her food because she was in so much trouble. She looked around for the two older Goblins and didn’t see them. Maybe they were still after the Human’s food?

She felt a pang in her stomach at the thought of being punished later. So she went back to her collection of sticks and rocks and thought of how much food that big place had to have. A city. The Chieftain sometimes said the other peoples had all kinds of good food, but behind those walls. They couldn’t even raid a caravan; there were too many dangerous Drakes or Gnolls or Humans, with steel armor and magic.

But what if you could get in there? Could you hide and steal some food and live there? Could they have a city like that?

The littlest Goblin was so caught up in the idea that she distracted herself for a long time, wondering what that Human had done to get an entire bag of food. Flour. She knew it from the older Goblins coveting the powdery stuff. You could make all kinds of things with it. Thick soup, crunchy bread, or just eat it raw and…

“Where?”

A growl brought the littlest Goblin out of her stupor. She jumped in fright and then saw the huge Chieftain’s face an inch from hers. She tried to run, and he grabbed her by one leg.

The time for punishment had come. The littlest Goblin dangled there as the Chieftain held her. She began to babble excuses—she meant to steal the Human’s food—and saw a quizzical look on his face.

“Where? Two?”

He shook her and gestured eloquently to the two empty pallets of dried grass. Then the littlest Goblin realized…he didn’t know about her sneaking off and wasting time. He wasn’t mad at her for that.

He wanted to know where the other two Goblins were. The littlest Goblin stared at the blank pallets and realized there had been a bit more soup, because they’d never come back with her.

Were they still out there, trying to steal the Human’s food? Maybe sneak in when she was asleep? She babbled an explanation and instantly got a bonk on the head.

Sniveling, she clutched at her head as the Chieftain roared at her. Go find them! And bring back food!

She was afraid of the dark, but more afraid of his wrath. So she wormed her way out of the cave and ran back to the inn. She searched around a few hills, hoping the other two would see her and scold her and she could bring them back to the Chieftain. If they had to steal from the Human…

Then the littlest Goblin smelled something on the air. Something wet, like iron. She froze in place, and a Drake stretched as he stood up.

“Got you bastards. You can’t run from Relc! Damn, I thought there were three of you? Whatever. If Erin doesn’t love this—now I need to find some wood. Damn. I should be having dinner!”

He chortled to himself and whirled a spear up and brought it down in one movement. So gracefully. The littlest Goblin didn’t understand what he was laughing about, but she smelled something familiar in the air. Something like metal. Something like…

She stared down at the two bodies in the grass. The Drake hummed as he drew his sword.

“Two coppers per ear…nah. Stick. Stick. You’ve gotta put them on sticks and—you know what? She can figure out how she wants to mount them.”

He gathered a pair of round objects up as the little Goblin stared down at him from her hiding place. She didn’t move. She didn’t breathe. She just looked at the two little bodies the Drake kicked down the hill. He walked off, humming under his breath in the night.

——

It was just before dawn when the little Goblin crawled into the tribe’s cave. The sleepy [Warrior] on duty growled at her—then noticed she was still alone. He nearly swatted her, but then smelled her. Then…he backed away and pointed to a slumbering mass.

The Chieftain woke up with a huge growl of anger. He looked at the littlest Goblin, raising a fist—

She didn’t think she said anything. She just sat there, mumbling down at the ground. And the Chieftain…

The grumpy Chieftain sat there and did not hit her. Though it was surely her fault. He picked up the littlest Goblin, tossed her into her sleeping pallet, and sat there.

Head lowered. Head bowed. The other Goblins in their tribe sat around him or worked mechanically, dully and silently.

But the Chieftain just stared at nothing. Stared at the smoky embers of the fire. Though the smoke stung his eyes—he did not weep. Goblins didn’t weep. Even the littlest Goblin. But the Chieftain stared down at the ground. Then he reached for something.

His axes. He stood slowly and asked one question of his tribe.

Where was that Human? The littlest Goblin didn’t know if he’d heard her wrong or if he was looking for the Drake. The Chieftain walked out of the cave.

She did not stop him. She just sat there. Wondering why today had been like this.

——

There wasn’t much light, so Erin just put the bag in the kitchen and lay down on the floor of the common room. The old linens she’d piled up to make a bed made her sneeze.

“I need to buy fresher pillows. And blankets. Or laundry detergent. When I have the money for it.”

Instead, she just used the cloth bag she’d bought as a pillow. Erin tried to get comfortable on the hardwood floor, but the very nature of it was giving her a…hard time. Besides, her shoulders ached. Her legs still hurt from the long walk. And if it were only that which hurt, she would already be asleep.

But instead Erin lay in the silence, listening to her heart beat. She wanted to say something, to think something, better. But there wasn’t anything. So she stared at the hazy shapes in the dark room. It took a long time before her eyes closed.

[Innkeeper Level 6!]

This time, she said nothing at all. She just cried for a bit before she fell asleep.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.13

Erin woke up tired and bleary-eyed. She mechanically got up and remembered that she’d forgotten to gather any blue fruits. She looked at the bag full of food she’d dragged all the way to the inn. It was too much work to make pasta or bread, so she ate one of the sausages instead.

It was dried, too salty, and had lots of gristle. Even though Erin was starving, it was not the best thing she’d ever eaten. But she ate it anyways, chewing until she could swallow the greasy meal.

Dully, Erin wondered how long it would take for her teeth to rot or her gums to start bleeding. Not too long now.

It wasn’t a good day. But at least she had food. And if she didn’t have money, at least it was a new day.

With her stomach full, Erin felt a little better. Ready to face the day, at least. She made a mental list of what to do. Gather blue fruit first. Then she’d make some pasta, some bread, and then she’d figure out how to—

Knock. Knock.

Erin jolted upright. Someone was at the door. Was it Pisces? Well, it was just another headache for the day. She’d deal with him and—

Knockknockknockknockknockknock—

It wasn’t Pisces. Erin got up and went over to the door. Whoever was there was seriously excited. Too energetic at this time of day.

Erin yanked open the door.

“Who the hell—oh. It’s you.”

Relc grinned at Erin. He was holding something in one hand and his spear in the other.

“Good morning, Miss Human! It’s me, your favorite [Guardsman]! And how are you doing this fine morning?”

Erin blinked at him. It was far too early to have to stare at a giant lizard grinning at her with a mouth full of sharp teeth.

“Hey Erin, I’ve just taken care of your Goblin problem for you! Took all damn night, but that’s how much I wanted to apologize. See?”

Relc raised his spear triumphantly. A bit of something fell to the ground. Erin blinked and stared at it. Red.

She looked up and saw red blood dripping down the spear, running along Relc’s claw and onto the floor of her inn. Relc noticed that and pulled the spear back outside.

“Sorry about that, Miss Erin. You see, I was just disposing of the Goblins. Call it me making up for yesterday. But now that they’re gone, the others should leave you alone, especially once I set these up around the inn. Uh, do you have any sticks? I need some sticks or something.”

Relc lifted the objects in his left hand. Erin looked at them and saw two melons. Green melons? No.

Her eyes went back up to Relc’s grinning face. She stared at his bloody spear. He was talking, but the words were suddenly impossible to make out over the buzzing in Erin’s ears. She looked at his smile. She looked at the spear, still covered in drying red blood.

She looked down and saw the heads.

There were two of them in Relc’s claw. He’d grabbed them by their ears, and the force was already tearing the dead flesh. Each one’s eyes were still open, their lifeless expressions twisted in fear. Blood still dripped from one, down into the eye sockets of another.

Erin’s eyes wandered up and away from the heads. She stared out past Relc’s shoulder. It was a beautiful day outside. The sun was shining. The sky was blue. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

She looked down at the heads. They were still there. She looked up at Relc. He was still speaking, but stopped and looked at her in concern. He dropped the heads carelessly to the ground. Erin heard each one thump wetly on the floorboards of the inn.

Relc raised his clawed hand and reached out for her. The same one he’d held the heads with.

Erin threw up. She vomited up the sausages, choked, and threw up some more.

“——————!”

She felt a hand holding her, helping her upright. She pushed away at it, retched.

“——? ——. ————!”

Her head was spinning. Her ears were filled with a piercing, high-pitched sound.

“——————? ——?”

Erin looked around. The heads were still there. She threw up again, but there was nothing left. But still, she threw up bile, and then retched and retched until she couldn’t breathe or think.

“——!”

At last, Erin stopped. She felt strong hands lifting her up and felt herself being sat in a chair in the inn. Relc’s anxious face peered at her, and she felt his hand on her temple. She stared past him at the heads. They were lying on the floor of the inn. Their eyes were open. Blood had dried on their faces.

Erin took one deep breath. The world spun around her, and she heard nothing. Just static. She felt numb, like she was in surgery. But underneath that numbness was something terrible.

She looked at Relc. The Drake was fussing over her, trying to get her attention. She looked back at the heads. Then she began to scream. He reached for her, with concern in his eyes. A blank look of uncomprehending concern. Then…confusion. Frustration. Outrage.

The Drake looked down at the two heads on the ground and laughed. Through the ringing in her ears, she saw him kick one slightly with a toe, then recoil and clap his hands to his earholes. He stared at her. Then he shouted, threw up his hands, and turned. Came back, pointing a finger, and she—

She kept screaming, like that wordless howl in her ears.

——

Erin walked outside with the two Goblin heads in her arms. They weren’t cold. They weren’t warm, either. They were just fleshy. Heavy, fleshy. And dead.

She made sure not to drop them as she walked. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she had to find the bodies. She left the inn behind and began walking.

Relc was gone. He’d left sometime earlier.

She didn’t remember anything. Just flashes of her screaming at Relc to get out and hurling things. Screaming, crying, vomiting. And then the heads. Picking them up where they lay.

Erin walked with them in her arms. Everything was going by too quickly. One moment she was inside, the next she was out, looking around for…for…

The bodies.

The dead bodies were lying out in the open. Two corpses lay in a bed of trampled grass at the base of a hill. There was nothing—graceful about it. There was no dignity. Just flies, buzzing already. The Drake hadn’t done anything, just removed their heads and presented them to her like a trophy. Like an apology gift.

Erin stopped. She placed the two heads on the ground and walked over to the bodies. They told a story. She wasn’t good at forensics or anything like that, but she could still read what had happened. The blood was still wet on the ground.

Two died…there. At the top of the hill, running. Relc had probably cut the first one down in an instant. The other had run, but not far. He’d made it only a few steps before a spear had stabbed him from behind. Multiple times.

Erin looked at the bloody holes and felt nothing. No. That wasn’t right. She felt something. She felt so many emotions she couldn’t think. But they were buried deep within her heart. Right now, the numbness made her feel like she was in the middle of a silent world.

She placed the heads down next to the bodies. Which belonged to which? She looked at the cuts around each head. The…the cuts were too similar to match one to a body. She had to roll over the corpses to check the other side.

The sunlight kept their bodies warm. But they were still cold, and Erin’s hands were colder still. She flipped them over carefully and learned something else.

One was male, one was female. It was hard to tell from their faces, but they were distinctly a pair. The same who’d been throwing stones at her? Hadn’t there been three?

She didn’t know. Erin couldn’t think. The coldness grew worse. Erin began to shake. She crawled away to throw up, but found she couldn’t. So she went back and stared at the two bodies.

Their blood had long stopped flowing, but the grass was still red. They smelled, but only of dirt and blood. Not of death and rot. Not yet. But they were rotting. And in the sun, they would start to stink soon.

Erin knew this. She didn’t know it, but she’d read about it. They would rot and attract bugs. They were already.

A green fly landed on one of the bodies. Erin stared at it. An Acid Fly. It fanned its wings and began to crawl over the male Goblin’s body.

She swatted it. The bug exploded as her hand struck it, and the acid burned her palm. Erin scrubbed her hand in the grass and rubbed dirt on her skin. It was raw and red, but she ignored it as soon as most of the burning had stopped.

She needed to bury the bodies. Or they would rot.

Erin went inside the inn. She came out a few minutes later holding a long wooden spoon. It was probably used for stirring one of the big pots. It would do.

She began digging in the grass where the bodies lay. It was hard work. She had to tear out the grass before she could pry at the soil. And even then, the ground wasn’t easy to break up. But she persisted, and the few clumps of dirt grew as she dug deeper.

Slowly. Like making a sandcastle at the beach. Erin dug down, and the pile of dirt beside her grew. The hole was small, and every time she tried to scoop out more dirt, the walls caved in. But she kept digging. And the pile of dirt grew.

At some point, the wooden spoon broke. Erin used her hands. They began to bleed after a while. She kept digging.

At last, the hole was big enough. Erin picked up the first body and laid it in the grave. It fit. It more than fit. The hole she’d dug was big enough for a Human, which meant more than enough to fit both Goblins inside.

They were such small creatures. Erin vaguely wondered if she should dig one more grave.

She looked down at her bloody hands and broken nails. No.

She placed the second body in the grave, next to the first. Then came the heads. She placed each with their body. One, and then two.

As Erin picked up the second head, she heard a sound. She turned around and saw the Goblin standing in the long grass.

The Goblin was small and ragged. It was wearing a grey, stained loincloth and a few rags tied to its chest. It held a small knife. It stared at Erin and the head she held in her hands.

Erin paused. Her head was still filled with static, but her mouth tried to say something. Too late. The Goblin rushed at her, screaming wildly and slashing with the dagger.

Erin stepped back. She held the last Goblin’s head in one hand and waited until the other Goblin was close. She leapt sideways at the last moment, and the small Goblin missed her. It turned, still flailing its weapon.

She slapped the Goblin as hard as she could across the face. Her hand made a krack as she sent the Goblin tumbling to the ground, and it lost hold of the dagger it was carrying. It whimpered and fled from Erin, scrabbling after the weapon in the grass.

Erin was still staring at the Goblin as it seized the dagger and spun to face her. It was small. So small. Like a child. This one was a child. But it had murder in its eyes.

Erin’s mind was still hazy. But as the Goblin stared at her in tense silence, she realized what she wanted to say. It came to her when she saw the tears running from the Goblin’s red eyes.

“I don’t want to kill you.”

It rushed at her. Erin stepped forward and kicked the Goblin in the stomach. She’d done that to a boy as a child, only now she was kicking a child.

The Goblin vomited and then curled up into a little ball of pain. It tried to scrabble away from her, but it was in too much pain. Erin stared at the Goblin lying on the ground. She still held the head of the other Goblin in her hands.

The smart thing to do would be to kill it. She’d level up, and then she’d be rid of one less Goblin trying to kill her. If she let it live, it would get reinforcements. She’d never be safe so long as they were around. They were dangerous monsters. They’d kill her in her sleep and eat her or do worse if they could. It was survival of the fittest. She’d pay for letting it live. It was it or her. She had to—

The thoughts ran through Erin’s head as she looked at the twitching Goblin. It was small. She turned and placed the last head with the bodies.

When she turned around, the Goblin was gone.

Erin put the last head in the grave and stared at it. Then she slowly began to fill in the rest of the grave.

It was a long process. Erin packed the dirt in tightly and made a mound of the rest. She pushed on the dirt and made it as firm as possible. Then she stared at the uneven pile of upturned soil.

Erin placed her hands together and bowed her head. Then she let her hands fall away. There were no words for her to say. So she patted the last bit of dirt into place and sat down on the grass.

The sun was shining. The sky was a deep, deep blue. She didn’t cry. She just sat and rocked back and forth as she stared at the grave she’d dug.

Erin didn’t blink.

——

She looked up when she heard the horn.

It was no echoing bass rumble of a dread army’s herald. And neither was it a clarion call to victory sounded upon a dark battlefield. It just sounded like a horn. But it was loud. And it made her look up.

A Goblin stood upon a hill and stared down at her. He was nearly a head taller than Erin. So he was very big for a Goblin, but small, still. His body was muscled and wide, but taut, as of someone starved for enough food. His head was covered by a rusted helmet, and he wore mismatched bits of metal armor on his body.

Even without being told, Erin knew he was the leader of whatever Goblin tribe lived around here. And she also knew he was out for blood.

Hers.

She got up slowly. It wasn’t that she was terrified; it was that she was still in shock. She backed away slowly as the Goblin Chieftain pulled something from behind his back.

Her thoughts scrambled together. The inn? Or the city? She could probably outrun him, but the other Goblins were sure to be nearby. So where were they?

Erin was so busy looking out for other Goblins sneaking up on her that she only realized that the Chieftain was holding a bow when he fired the first shot.

An arrow struck the grass next to her feet and quivered in the packed soil. Erin turned and ran.

A second arrow missed her as well. So did the third. The fourth passed through the gap between her pumping arms.

Erin crested a small hill and immediately dove. She hit the grass face-first and slid painfully, and the fifth arrow missed the spot where her back had been. She got to her feet to run again and saw the Goblins.

They stood together, a silent wall of small bodies and red, staring eyes. They were staring at her. Not many all told. Forty? Less? If she had to guess, it was a small tribe. Smaller than the one she’d run away from that first day. But they were all armed. She waited for them to charge. She waited to die.

Not one of them moved. They watched her, that was all. They made no sound.

One of them was quivering. It was standing close to Erin and holding a knife. A small knife, held by a small hand. Erin recognized it.

It was the ragged Goblin from earlier. It stared at Erin, and she stared back. She could tell it wanted to cut her, to attack. But it didn’t.

A horn blew from the other side of the hill. Erin looked up. The Goblin Chieftain. He was the one who was orchestrating it all.

So. She stared back at the Goblin. It stared back, hatred and death in its eyes. Crimson eyes. They were unnatural, monstrous.

But still, they were too much like a Human’s.

“I didn’t kill them.”

Erin said it out loud. She didn’t expect it to understand, but the Goblin jerked in surprise. It looked at her, searching for the meaning in Erin’s words. The young woman looked into those sad, crimson eyes and saw the pupils lost and staring. She spoke, her voice rasping.

“I didn’t kill them, but it doesn’t matter.”

It looked into her eyes. Erin looked right back. Then she got up and ran.

——

They didn’t scream as they followed her. That was the scariest part. The Goblin tribe followed Erin swiftly, running as fast as they could to keep up, but they didn’t move to cut her off. They just followed.

Maybe they would have stopped her if she’d run for the city. But Erin ran for her inn and so they let her go. They weren’t here to kill her. Just to watch.

Without being told, Erin knew this was different. If it were just a fight or them trying to kill her, they would have swarmed her and ripped her to shreds in an instant. But this was a hunt.

And the Chieftain was the one hunting her.

Maybe he thought she was easy prey. He was right. And he probably could have guessed Erin wasn’t the one who killed the Goblins. It didn’t matter. It was blood for blood. The oldest of vengeances.

Erin thought all this as she hurtled through the door of her inn and blocked it with as many tables and chairs as she could. She knew it as she scrambled to find a kitchen knife, a frying pan—anything to defend herself. And she knew it when she sat in a chair and tasted death in the air.

She gave up on looking for a weapon. She sat and stared at the door. She heard the Chieftain’s horn call far away and then again as he drew closer slowly.

There was nowhere to run. And she couldn’t fight.

It had dawned on her as she was holding the sharp kitchen knife. She’d been trying to imagine her facing the armored Goblin, dodging blows, countering with a slash and then cutting—

No. It was impossible.

She was no warrior.

Erin sat in the wooden chair and felt it rub against her t-shirt. She felt her hands, slick with sweat. She tasted blood from running too hard and felt each breath tear a hole in her lungs. She was alive. She knew she wasn’t dreaming.

And she knew she was going to die.

“Checkmate.”

She sat at the table in the inn and stared at the door. It occurred to her, suddenly, that this was the first time she’d sat around and really had a chance to think. Because this was, in a sense, the first time she’d ever had when she wasn’t reacting blindly to events.

Maybe if she’d taken more time earlier, she would never have come to this point. If she’d thought ahead, maybe she’d have asked Klbkch and Relc how much food was worth. If she’d thought for a second, she would have known what Relc meant by taking care of the Goblins yesterday. Maybe then she’d have stopped Relc from killing the Goblins.

But she hadn’t. So she was here. But it was a terrible thing, waiting. So Erin sat and thought.

“I’ll think. I’ll think for once about it.”

Erin closed her eyes and tried to ignore the horn as it blew from far away. The Goblin Chieftain wasn’t moving fast. He was probably walking, saving his energy for when he got here. He was in no hurry.

She thought about Goblins. She thought about how they had leaders, and how it was the leader’s job to defend his people. Maybe he didn’t care about them. And maybe he wouldn’t take revenge if it were an adventurer or guardsman that killed them and then went back into a city with stone walls. But what about a stupid Human living by herself out in the middle of nowhere?

She thought about the small Goblin who’d attacked her. She thought about families, and thought about her parents. She thought about the Goblin Chieftain and his axes and armor.

She thought about what would happen to her when he caught her.

“Checkmate.”

Erin whispered it again. It sounded wrong, for some reason.

Checkmate. She’d heard that word too many times. But those had been games. This was real life. And she—she didn’t want to die.

But she was about to. That was why she was sitting in the inn. Erin heard the horn blaring again in the distance and knew that death was coming. So. Checkmate.

Was it? She had to ask. Erin whispered to herself a single question.

“Is it checkmate or just check?”

Erin stared at her hands. She hadn’t washed them. And she could still feel the clammy, lifeless head in her palms. She sat in the inn and stared down into the lifeless eyes of the two Goblin heads.

Horn call. She looked up at the door. The big Goblin was moving slowly. He wanted her to be afraid. To despair. To panic. There was nowhere to run. And if the only options were to fight and kill or run and die—

“If only it were dying.”

Erin whispered those words. She didn’t want to die. But better than anything else. So. Fight. And kill.

“I can’t do it.”

But she had to. Erin started shaking. There was no option. It was as clear a choice as she’d known. She could run or hide, and maybe, maybe she’d succeed. But if he caught her, she’d have to fight and win. And to win, she’d have to kill him. It was kill him or give up.

“Checkmate.”

Did she have a fever? Erin’s body flashed between burning heat and empty cold. She was shaking, but something inside of her was calm. So terribly calm.

Erin closed her eyes. She knew. But she didn’t want to. Her mouth was dry, but she forced herself to speak.

“Oh Father who art in Heaven…”

Her voice trailed off. She’d forgotten the rest long ago. And there was no God to listen to her. No merciful god would condone what she was about to do.

Erin opened her eyes. She stared at her hands and thought. Who was her enemy?

A Goblin. Not just any Goblin, but a Chieftain. A leader among their kind. Strong? Yes. Stronger than the others by far. But maybe not that much stronger than a normal Human man. If she were better at fighting…

But he had two axes. And a bow and arrow. And he had levels, whatever that meant. He was a better fighter. And what did Erin have?

She looked around. She had an inn. She had a kitchen, the few supplies she’d bought from the city. She had a common room full of tables and chairs, an upstairs with no way out save through the windows. She had kitchen knives, pots, pans, and an empty fireplace.

Erin closed her eyes and thought. She opened them a minute later and knew.

A horn blew somewhere in the distance. Erin listened to it and heard her heartbeat drowning out her thoughts. She knew what she had to do.

Erin got up. Her ears were ringing, but the world was silent. She felt like a dreamer, walking through a sleeping world. Even the blaring horn call sounded faint. In this moment, she felt like she had all the time in the world.

Slowly, Erin walked into the kitchen. She bent and fished around in the bag of food she’d bought. There it was. Was it enough? It would be enough.

Erin looked around and picked up the cast iron cooking pot. It was small, but it would do.

All the embers in the kitchen’s fireplace had long since turned to ash. Erin tossed in a few pieces of wood and slowly bent to strike sparks. It was slow. The horn kept calling, louder and louder. But her hands never wavered. She was still dreaming.

At last, the fire caught. Erin fed the small blaze, and it grew slowly. She added enough wood and set the pot above the fire. It would be hot soon enough. The fire was growing.

That was it. Erin filled the pot to the brim with the item she’d taken from the shopping bag. Then she put the lid on the pot. Slowly, she walked back into the main room of the inn. And sat down.

The horn blew. It was from right outside the inn. Erin heard the Goblin’s heavy footsteps now, the rattle of his metal armor. He paused before the door.

Thud.

The door rattled. The chairs and tables blocking it moved from the force of the impact. Erin stared at the door.

“It’s all just a game.”

She whispered to herself. She didn’t believe it.

Thud.

Another impact. This time, Erin heard cracking. The door wouldn’t last. She had seconds left.

Thud.

The fire was starting in the kitchen. It would take time to heat the pot. Was it enough? It would have to be enough.

Thud.

The entire door shook. Erin saw the wood splinter around the hinges. She waited. Death was in her bones. But whether it was hers, she didn’t know.

“Knight to D4. Pawn to E3.”

She didn’t want to die. But it might be better than what came next. Erin closed her eyes.

“I truly hate this world.”

The door crashed inwards, and the Goblin Chieftain stepped into the inn.

Rags by ArtsyNada

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1.14

It was a beautiful morning. The sky was deep blue, and the sun shone down pleasantly. The inn felt so quiet, only one panting, ragged breath could be heard. It smelled like mold and faint dust. The floorboards, worn smooth by age, were slick with sweat from Erin’s palms. For a second, it seemed so peaceful.

The front door had a single locking bar of wood on it. The stout door and the band of metal around it splintered inwards as something struck it. Louder than she could imagine anything sounding. A crash of wood. It barely lasted seconds as a second foot broke the rotted, weakened section of the door. A second—and the Goblin Chieftain burst through the door, charging into the inn.

His eyes were burning red orbs, swiveling as he lifted a pair of axes. He wore ragged fur armor, rusted chainmail, and he stood a head over the young woman, who flinched as he howled. Erin stood up and grabbed a chair, arms shaking so badly she could barely hold it up.

The Chieftain grinned as he whirled and spotted her. He glanced at the chair Erin was holding and then dismissed it. His eyes lingered on Erin. Her face, her body—she didn’t like the way he was looking at her.

There was worse than malice there. Hatred. All the intent in the world. Hatred and a shaking rage. Erin hesitated. The chair was in her hands, and she’d raised it to throw. The Goblin Chieftain was looking at her with all these terrible things behind those eyes.

But why was water leaking down from the corners of his eyes? She spoke, the words escaping through the tightness in her chest, like a balloon filled to bursting with fear.

“I don’t want to hurt—”

The Goblin Chieftain roared and charged Erin. So fast. He put his shoulder down and hit her before she could even throw the chair. Erin barely felt the impact. She did feel it as she smashed through the table behind her. The chair she was holding flew out of her hands. She felt something in her body crack.

The Goblin lifted one of his axes. Erin lay on the ground gaping like a fish. He swung down. She rolled left, and the axe splintered the floorboards.

Away. Erin threw herself over another table and felt the other axe miss her by an inch. She picked up a chair and hurled it at the Goblin. He swatted it down with one armored hand contemptuously.

The table was between them. Erin tensed to dodge left or right, but the Chieftain grabbed the table and pushed. He rammed the heavy table into Erin’s midsection like a cannonball and then flipped the table.

A wall of wood came up and crashed down on her. Erin lay under the table, stunned, until she felt a thick hand grab her by one ankle and drag her out.

The Goblin pulled Erin from under the table and laughed at her. She lay on her back, eyes unfocused. He pulled aside his loincloth and pulled her towards him. Erin looked up at him and felt horror beating in her chest. He bent down to rip her clothes off—

She kicked up, right at his groin, with all her strength.

The Goblin caught her leg easily. He grinned at her again. With his other hand, he grabbed her other leg—

Erin sat up. Her legs were caught, but her hands weren’t. She punched the dangling target right between the Goblin’s legs.

His eyes bulged, and the huge Goblin roared and threw her away. Erin tumbled over and got to her feet. He was clutching at his private parts. She grabbed a chair, and this time, she didn’t hesitate.

Erin brought the chair down on the Goblin’s head with a heavy thump. Once. Twice. Then the Goblin punched at her.

She saw the punch coming and tried to block with the chair. The Goblin’s fist smashed through the wood and knocked Erin off her feet again. She got up and felt her mouth filling with blood. The world was swimming crazily to one side. She had to…

The Chieftain picked up his axe, cursing her in a language she didn’t know. Erin scrambled away. She was near the kitchen. The kitchen. She dashed inside and slammed the door shut.

There. The pot was sitting over the fire, and black smoke was coming out of the lid. Erin reached for it and felt the burning heat. Gloves. There was a rolling pin on the counter but no gloves or oven mitts. Where were—

The door exploded inwards with a terrific crash. Erin turned and saw the Goblin Chieftain. He lifted his hand again, a blurred gleam of metal—

She ducked. The axe whistled through the air and struck the wall. The second hand came up, and she swung the rolling pin. It cracked across his face.

His nose broke. Erin felt it break, but she lifted the rolling pin and hit him again. His other axe dropped from his hand, clattering to the floor. Erin didn’t reach for it; her burning arms just lifted the rolling pin higher and brought it down. Hit him. She had to hit him while he was stunned. Blood rolled down his face as he stared at her. Hit him. Hit—

Shk.

Something heavy hit Erin in the midriff and pushed her back. She stumbled back a bit and regained her footing. Something was weighing her down though. Something was…Erin looked down.

A knife was sticking out of her stomach, just above her waist. Her kitchen knife that she used to gut the fish. It was too far on the left side. It wasn’t symmetrical. And it was in her. In her.

Erin tugged at the knife. It was stuck. She pulled and felt—the skin around her stomach tried to pull itself out with the knife. She clenched her stomach muscles and pulled—

The knife came out with another terrible tearing of flesh. Erin stared at the blood on the blade. She dropped it, and the knife fell with a heavy thump to the ground. It should have clattered.

Blood. It was running from her stomach. Erin held her hand over the wound and tried to make it stop. But she was bleeding now, faster and faster. And the Goblin Chieftain was getting up.

“————!”

Erin wasn’t making any words. It was just a half-choked scream. She stumbled towards the fireplace, pain tearing up her insides with each step.

Smoke billowed from the pot. The contents boiled and spat at her. There was no time for gloves. She grabbed the pot by the handles.

The metal burned her. Erin screamed as her hands blistered and the skin burned away. The pain was unbearable. But she held the pot and turned.

The Chieftain was on his feet. He snarled at her through his broken nose and bloody face. He had the kitchen knife in his hands. He lunged at her.

Erin tossed the contents of the pot at the Goblin Chieftain. The boiling oil splashed the Goblin’s face and ran down his chest.

He screamed. The Chieftain dropped the kitchen knife and screamed so loud Erin went deaf. She dropped the cooking pot and stumbled away from him.

She held her shaking hands out. Already, her skin was burnt black and white in places. Large blisters were forming out of her ruined skin. But it was only half. Only half of the pain in the world.

The Goblin Chieftain clawed at his face and sank to the floor. He was screaming still, but the sound he made was so very small. She heard him choking. Screaming quietly in agony. She understood. There wasn’t enough sound in the world to convey it all, and the screaming would make the pain worse. But still, he had to scream, so he did it quietly.

Erin sat on the ground and stared at him. He lay on the floor, steam rising from a face running with oil and dripping skin. Erin was bleeding. The wound in her stomach bled without stopping. But her hands—

They weren’t the same. And the agony of both was too much to bear. So Erin forgot the pain. She stared at the Chieftain as he lay on the floor. He was smoking.

Parts of his face were sloughing off. The boiling oil had…melted him. He was still alive. But he was dying.

Erin heard him breathing. Short, sharp bursts and whimpered pain. He lay on the ground and did not move. The fight was over. She’d won.

Slowly, Erin began to cry.

——

The girl sat in the ruined kitchen with the Goblin. Both were silent. One was dying. The other, dead inside.

A haze of burned smoke filled the room. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air. Oil dripped off the counter, ran down across the floor and seeped into the cracks with the blood and flesh.

Eventually, the girl moved. Slowly, so slowly, she stood. Staggering, clutching at the hole in her stomach, she walked over to a large cloth bag filled with food. She picked up a kitchen knife lying on the ground.

With the knife, she began slicing the cloth bag apart. The pain as she tightened the bandages over her stomach nearly made her faint. Her fingers and palms bled, and the world grew black. But she gripped the bandages tightly and tied a knot.

Then she looked behind her.

A dark shape lay on the floor, still dying. Steam rose from what remained of a face. The odor of cooked meat hung heavy in the air, wrongly appetizing. A face of ruined green flesh charred black stared up at her. What remained of lips moved as a chest rose in short, labored breaths.

The girl still had the knife. She almost raised it, almost ran—and then she went to sit down next to the body. The oil was still hot enough to scald, but she barely felt it. She sat with the Goblin. He stared back, and she looked at what remained of his eyes. Hollow pits. Not enough of a face left to do anything but breathe.

The oil dripping down his face still looked like tears. Why was he crying?

The lips moved. Did he speak? Only she knew.

A dark shape lay on the floor. The girl sat with it and waited. In time, the breathing stopped.

Through the narrow window in the kitchen, the sun shone down amidst blue skies, a ray of light into the kitchen, filtering through smoke. It wasn’t even midday yet, and a cool breath blew down from the mountains, stirring across the inn and rattling some of the shutters.

But for that, the world was so silent.

The girl sat back against the counter and closed her eyes. Her blood dripped to the floor along with her tears.

[Innkeeper Level 9!]

[Skill – Bar Fighting obtained!]

[Skill – Unerring Throw obtained!]

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1.15

His name was Klbkch. It was what the members of other species called him, at least. His true name was longer and hard to express with lips. So he thought of himself as Klbkch or sometimes ‘Klb’. It was important to have an easy, affable nickname.

At the moment, Klbkch was off-duty. He had signed out of the roster and added Relc’s name to the log as well. His partner never signed out, or if he did, he did it improperly. Therefore, Klbkch had long ago made it a practice to do it for Relc. It was important to do things properly.

Propriety had gotten him this far. Propriety, an adherence to all the rules of Liscor, spoken and unspoken, and effort. A mountain of it.

Klbkch nodded to the desk sergeant on the way out. She barely looked up, but growled a goodbye.

“Thanks for dealing with those drunks, Klbkch. I owe you one.”

“Not at all, Senior Guardswoman Beilmark.”

And for that, she furnished him with a harried, grateful smile of a woman who had a family to get back to. These were salient details that Klbkch remembered, because they endeared him to people.

There was a time, not long ago, that he could remember when no one spoke to him when he became a [Guardsman]. When every eye was hostile or cautious.

Ten years ago seemed like both an age and a short time. Ten years…he wondered how much longer he’d do this. Another decade? A century?

If it were that long, he wondered if he would ever learn how to smile like they did. Not with their lips, but genuinely.

It didn’t matter. The cause was all. He should have gone straight back home, down, to the one street in Liscor where the ground opened up and no one but his kind went. Down, home to the Hive.

But instead, for once, Klbkch walked to the eastern gates. He passed by the [Guards], who straightened guiltily and then looked relieved that he was off-duty. He waved at the ones on the walls and then began to walk.

Klbkch walked through the dark grassland outside of the city, up rolling hills, head swiveling for monsters, but with little fear. He moved fast, in a continual stride, for he did not have all the time in the world. Once he was done here, he needed to conduct his work below, in his Hive. Six hours…and then he might sleep for four and get back to work. Depending on how long he took right now, he might sleep for two hours. Or one.

He was headed to the inn where a young Human female currently resided. Klbkch wondered why he was wasting his time doing this. It was not part of his duties as a guardsman. Relc had refused to go, citing some complaint he’d had with Erin, an argument.

Yet Klbkch went. He told himself he was visiting her to improve his relationship with her. It was important to maintain good relationships with other species. But she was hardly important; Humans were not well-liked in Liscor, and she had no capital, social or economic. So why?

Maybe because she had never mentioned The Black Tide. She had never met an Antinium and when she smiled, there was no edge behind it. She was guileless, possibly naive. He was only going to check in on her and have a drink.

Klbkch knew something was wrong when he saw the smoke in the distance. It wasn’t visible from Liscor’s walls, but he saw it once he got within a few miles of the inn, a thin line of smoke coming out one window. Not from the chimney. And the door of the inn wasn’t closed either, but ajar.

Even in his ruined form, his eyes had been made to spot details at a distance, and Klbkch noted how the door hung in pieces.

Instantly, Klbkch drew the two swords at his waist. He had two more hands free, but he left them unarmed for now.

Swords at the ready, Klbkch charged up the slight incline towards the inn. He moved extremely quickly—his long legs combined with his levels in the [Guardsman] class that gave him [Enhanced Movement], which turned the several miles into a blur behind him.

The inn was leaking black smoke out of the back windows. Klbkch knew they were connected to the kitchen. The door smashed in, and as Klbkch approached, he saw a crowd of monsters clustering around the windows.

Goblins.

The instant they saw him running at them, they turned and fled, running for the base of the mountains. Klbkch debated cutting them down for a second—then he turned to the interior. If she was anywhere—

Klbkch stopped outside of the inn and flattened himself against one wall next to the entrance. He drew his two daggers with his lower set of hands and braced himself, listening. He did not underestimate or overestimate his chances.

As a [Guardsman], he was the fourth in order of levels in the entire city of Liscor. His other talents put him in the top three fighters in the entire Watch day by day. Once, it wouldn’t have been a competition. He was capable of handling most Goblin varieties, but if he was outnumbered, he would retreat.

His goal was to assess the whereabouts and well-being of Erin Solstice and, if possible, escape with her. If not, his job was to witness her fate and the forces currently occupying the inn.

For some reason, Erin Solstice mattered to Klbkch more than assessing the threat at the moment. He dismissed that thought instantly and questioned his judgment. His survival outweighed a single Human’s. He should fall back and summon a Watch patrol.

But. She could be inside, wounded or dying at the hands of the Goblins at this moment. Klbkch was well-aware of their tendency to rape and assault females of any humanoid race. He heard nothing.

His instincts told him to wait, that it was too late. Klbkch ignored them. His mind was telling him to act. He charged through the door, ready for anything.

The common room of the inn was a mess of broken tables and chairs. Klbkch swept the room. Empty. The door to the kitchen was broken in. He raced into the kitchen. And stopped.

Two figures lay on the ground. One was a Goblin. Not just any Goblin; a Chieftain. A Hobgoblin. A true danger and threat. The other was a Human girl. Both were lying still.

The air smelled of smoke and oil. Burnt flesh.

Klbkch assessed the situation. The Goblin Chieftain was a great threat. He could be killed if necessary, but—he was already dead. Dead. A threat capable of wiping out low-level parties of adventurers by himself had been killed by…a girl?

How? But that didn’t matter. He looked at Erin Solstice. Then he heard the rasping sound.

The young woman lay against a kitchen counter. She held a bandage to her stomach with her arm. Her hands were blistered and blackened. Tears had painted clear lines through the soot on her face. Red-black blood had dried around the bandage on her stomach. Her eyes barely fluttered as he knelt beside her.

She was barely breathing.

For once in his long life, Klbkch of the Free Antinium had no idea what to say.

“Ah. Miss Solstice?”

——

The pain had left after a while. Erin floated in a dark, warm sea by herself. She was falling asleep. Or maybe she was asleep and just dreaming.

Erin slowly sank into slumber as the light of the world faded away. It was a wonderful feeling as she gave up her burdens and closed her eyes. Sleep. It had been so long since she’d slept properly.

But there was something bothering her. Something…was making a sound? Yes, a sound. Erin squeezed her eyes shut, but now she was being shaken. She didn’t want to wake up. But maybe if she did, she could go back to sleep. She listened.

“Miss Solstice? Miss Solstice, you must drink.”

She was waking up. And with the waking came pain. Erin groaned, or tried to. Her throat was terribly dry. She hurt. She hurt so much that she couldn’t bear the pain. She didn’t know what to do. She wanted to go back to sleep, but the voice was insistent.

“Drink.”

Something was at her lips. Cool glass and a wet feeling. Erin felt cool liquid pressing forwards and licked instinctively.

At once, something wonderful began happening. Just as her tongue tasted bitter foulness and she gagged, the pain went away. For a second.

Then it was back. Desperately, Erin opened her mouth and tasted the disgusting, wonderful drink again. It was bitter and had some terrible taste like a mix of the worst medications combined with what she thought bugs might taste like. Yet with each gulp, the pain lessened, and the burning agony in her stomach fled, piece by piece. The terrible numbness in her hands vanished, replaced by pain, tingling, and then a sense of incredible normality.

Erin opened her eyes and sat up. Energy flooded back into her body, and the darkness of death receded. She looked up and saw a giant insectoid face staring down at her.

“Guh.”

Erin choked on the last mouthful of the healing potion. Klbkch held her steady as she gulped it down and swallowed. His mandibles clacked as he spoke, and a tiny ‘mouth,’ more like an opening between the mandibles, opened and closed, producing the staccato voice. Staccato, but intent, worried.

“Miss Solstice. Are you well?”

“I—I’m alive.”

Erin stammered. She looked at Klbkch. He was holding the empty potion bottle in his hand. He had saved her. Brought her back from death. She wanted to thank him. She didn’t have the words, but she wanted to thank him for saving her. She opened her mouth and then saw the body lying on the floor.

The Goblin Chieftain. Her eyes fell on his ruined face, on his motionless body. Erin paused and ignored Klbkch’s repeated questions. For a while, she just stared at the body until Klbkch dragged it out of the kitchen. When he returned and she looked back into his face, she’d completely forgotten what she wanted to say.

——

“You are not from here, are you, Miss Solstice?”

That was the first thing Klbkch said to her after he’d made sure she was well.

Erin lay against the kitchen cupboards, her shirt lifted up as she inspected her stomach. It was perfectly healed, although the bandage was still there. She would have felt uneasy about undressing in front of Klbkch but—she wasn’t. It was probably because he was an insect.

She looked up in surprise. Klbkch was staring at her. She didn’t know what to say. He, however, did.

“I do not mean this country or even this continent. You are not from here, are you?”

Klbkch squatted next to her. His back-shell actually rested on the ground, making it an easy position for him. He was incapable of lying on his back, and she wondered how he slept. Erin shook her head slowly.

“No. I’m not.”

“I thought as much.”

Erin smiled bloodlessly. She felt so tired, but sleep was as impossible as anything else, so she talked. She gazed at the insect-man’s face, and he was the most reassuring, normal thing this day. She tried to shrug and gave up halfway.

“Was it obvious?”

“Say rather that it has become obvious. It is an unbelievable statement, but it is the only one I can come to.”

Erin hesitated and then nodded. Klbkch nodded in agreement.

“How’d you figure it out?”

He raised a hand and began to tick off points on his fingers.

“Many clues lead me to this conclusion. Your curiosity about levels and classes, your mysterious arrival, and this ‘Michigan,’ which is no nation recorded in any book or map. But most of all, it was this last moment. No Human would weep for a Goblin.”

Erin brushed at her face. Her tears were long dried but—

“Really? No one? What about Drakes?”

“No Human. No Drake or Gnoll, Selphid, Dullahan, Beastkin, or any creature from this world would.”

“What about your people?”

Klbkch didn’t blink. He couldn’t. But he did twitch. His antennae, above his head, moved erratically then settled down.

“The Antinium? We do not weep.”

“Oh. I see.”

Erin felt Klbkch’s hands moving at her side. He was peeling away the sticky bandage.

“Ow. What was—”

“Worry not. The healing potion worked. The bandage has stuck to your skin.”

“Oh—ow! Good to know.”

“You will be weak for at least a day afterwards. However, you will recover in full. You are lucky; there was no infection that the healing potion could have exacerbated.”

Erin yelped as a bit of skin came off with the rest of the bandage.

“Good. Thank you. So. What now? Did you—what did you do with the body?”

“I buried it outside. Far from the inn, in pieces, to prevent chance reanimation. Worry not.”

“…Thank you. Um. Thank you.”

Klbkch nodded. He quickly and deftly folded the dirty bandage and added it to the fire he’d lit. It smelled terribly, but that was just one burned odor among many in the kitchen at the moment.

Then the ant man went to check on the small pot he’d set over the stove. It was filled with boiling water, not oil. After a minute, he dipped another piece of cloth into the pot and brought it over to Erin. She accepted it wordlessly and used it to sponge off dried dirt, blood, and other stains from her skin.

“I had made the observation that you were not from this world, Miss Solstice.”

“Yeah. I changed the subject. Humans do that when they don’t want to talk about something.”

She scrubbed violently at her stomach. The towel was quite hot, but the heat was welcome. She felt cold. Klbkch bowed his head as he watched her.

“Then you have a commonality with many non-Antinium species. My apologies. I should not be asking such questions now. You are still in shock.”

Erin looked up.

“I’m not in shock.”

“You are still suffering from this encounter. Your mental state is unbalanced.”

“I’m not in shock. I’m really not. I’m just—tired.”

Klbkch bowed his head again.

“As you say.”

“I’m okay. Really. I just—I’m from somewhere else. Another world. This place is different. I just—I just don’t want to talk about it right now. It’s been a bad day.”

“Of course. Forgive my rudeness. But if I may, I would like to suggest a course of action.”

“Um. Okay?”

“I have disposed of the Goblin Chieftain’s body. However, there are many Goblins still hiding nearby. If you feel safe here, I will dispose of as many as I can. If not, I will escort you to the city and then return with reinforcements to—”

“No.”

Erin cut Klbkch off. She sensed the Antinium’s surprise.

“No? If you feel unable to travel, I can—”

“No. No killing Goblins.”

He paused. She could sense him looking at her even though his multifaceted eyes had no pupils. Klbkch seemed baffled, and his mandibles opened and closed several times, like someone opening and closing their mouth.

“May I ask why not?”

“It’s wrong.”

“Many would argue otherwise, Miss Solstice. Goblins are considered monsters and bandits for the purposes of determining crime under Liscorian law. They are killers who prey on the weak. You have nearly died at the hands of one.”

Erin nodded.

“They’re vicious, evil little monsters. And they’d probably eat me if they could.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“And they’re murderers.”

“This is true. Over a quarter of the deaths of travellers on the roads around Liscor are due to Goblin attacks. They are murderers.”

“Yeah.”

Erin mumbled. She stared at her hands. Her clean, whole hands.

“They’re murderers. And so am I. Don’t kill them.”

Silence followed her last remark. Erin stared at her hands. At last, Klbkch’s staccato voice sounded next to her ear.

“I do not understand your reasoning. But I will accede to your request. Know that I will defend myself with lethal force if attacked, however.”

“That’s fine. They’re gone, anyways. They ran off when they heard him screaming.”

“Very well then.”

Klbkch fell silent. Erin stared at the spot where the body had lain. She felt lightheaded. At some point, she felt she should have clung to Klbkch and started crying. Or was that too stereotypical? Was it a normal reaction? But instead, she just felt a bit—empty.

“One more thing.”

“Is there something you wish to ask of me, Miss Solstice?”

Erin nodded vaguely. She pointed at her chest. It was still bare. Oops. She pulled her shirt down. Good thing her bra was still on.

“After I killed the Goblin—I gained a new skill. Two, actually. [Bar Fighting] and [Unerring Throw].”

“They are worthy skills. Unusual for the [Innkeeper] class, but not unheard of.”

“Really? Why’d I get them? And aren’t skills like…set?”

“Another sign you do not belong to this world, Miss Solstice.”

Erin looked up with a frown. Klbkch waved one hand.

“I mean no offense. It is simply that all beings know how classes and skills work.”

“Well then, explain it to me.”

Klbkch was silent for a few seconds.

“To put it simply, classes are general ways of life that individuals take. In life, one might choose to become a [Butcher], or perhaps a [Musician]. It is simply a matter of fulfilling the requirements. Often, they are known, but there are exceptions. One cannot simply take [Ruler]-type classes for instance.”

“Right, you’ve got to be born into it.”

“That is indeed one of the ways to learn such a class. But in any case, classes increase one’s proficiency at their role with each new level. And with that increase in ability, Skills may be learnt. But there is no one set of Skills for a class.”

“Really?”

“Indeed not. Two individuals taking the [Soldier] class, for instance, may learn different Skills at the same level. It is a matter of need and inclination which allows individuals to learn skills. For instance, while Relc is a higher-level warrior than I, he is not of a higher level in the actual [Guardsman] class and thus does not possess the [Detect Guilt] skill.”

“Okay.”

Klbkch looked at Erin. She shrugged.

“Do you understand?”

“Not really. Sort of. I guess? But why are there levels in the first place?”

“It is the way of the world. All races that think are given the ability to level and take classes.”

“By who?”

Erin sighed and slapped her face lightly.

“Or whom. Who did it? And why?”

“It is not known. But our oldest texts tell us of this truth.”

Klbkch recited in his inflectionless voice:

“All those that Think—Feel. From Feeling do we Act. It is in Action that we Level. All those who Think have a Class. And it is in that Class which we find destiny.”

Erin snorted. Then she realized he was being serious.

“Did someone teach you that?”

Klbkch nodded gravely.

“It is part of the lessons any child learns. The exact wording comes from a book: The Book of Levels, which was originally written nearly twenty thousand years ago. Copies of this text are among the few mainstream works that have been faithfully reproduced into this age. I have studied it extensively upon coming to this continent to understand the mentality of the peoples here, as well as levels and classes in general.”

“But why is that how things work?”

Erin was getting frustrated. Klbkch’s calm, matter-of-fact tone wasn’t helping matters either. This time, his pause took longer, and she thought he sounded vaguely exasperated.

“It is simply how we live our life. This is a universal truth throughout the world. Is yours not the same?”

Erin scowled at him.

“No, it’s not. We don’t have levels, and we don’t learn Skills like we’re in a video game. We don’t have classes except for ones in school, and we don’t need levels to learn things.”

“Learning skills is not merely a matter of levels. Classes and leveling are simply the basis of our lives so we may grow faster from what we do. It is a fact of life.”

“That’s stupid.”

He looked at her in surprise.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your leveling is stupid. Your skills are stupid. I hate your world’s classes, I hate your city, and I hate you.”

She shouted those last words at Klbkch and then buried her face in her hands. After a while, she felt him place a comforting hand on her shoulder. It was cold, smooth exoskeleton. But it was still comforting.

“…I didn’t mean that.”

“I took no offense, Miss Solstice. I realize you have gone through a traumatic event. The fault lies with me for not being more receptive to your distress. I should have provided more comfort and companionship. In that, my partner Relc is occasionally more effective than I.”

“You’re fine.”

Erin mumbled that through her tears. She’d begun crying. Not bad crying or loud crying, but her eyes were suddenly filled with tears.

“I’m just having a bad—I mean, it’s been—I hate this world. But I didn’t mean that last bit about you. You’re okay. Everyone else can go to hell.”

“I see. It is a long way to Rhir. Here. Please accept this.”

Klbkch handed Erin another piece of cloth. She blew her nose and sniffed loudly.

“I’d like to be alone now.”

Klbkch hesitated.

“I will remain here with your permission. It would be unwise to—”

She cut him off.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Respectfully, I must disagree. Though the Goblin Chieftain is dead, his tribe may seek vengeance.”

“They won’t.”

“May I ask how you know?”

“I just know. Please. I’d really like to be left alone.”

Again, he hesitated, but at last, Klbkch stood up. He walked over to the door of the kitchen. There he turned.

“One last question, Miss Solstice, if I may? What caused the Goblin Chieftain to attack you in the first place? It is rare that the tribal leader takes any aggressive action if unprovoked.”

Erin closed her eyes. She felt so tired. And the events of…was it this morning? They felt so long ago.

“Relc. He killed two Goblins and beheaded them.”

Klbkch paused. Out of the corner of her eye, Erin saw him close one of his four hands. Then he bowed deeply.

“Allow me to apologize on both our behalves. Words cannot express my shame.”

She nodded shortly.

“It’s okay.”

The lie said, she waited for Klbkch to leave. When he didn’t leave after a few minutes, she looked directly at him.

“I’m going to sleep.”

He nodded.

“Well then. Take care, Miss Solstice.”

The Antinium didn’t close the door since the door was broken. But he did prop it against the hole in the wall with two chairs. That done, the ant man disappeared into the grasslands, quickly becoming a silhouette against the orange sky.

Erin put her head against the wall. Her eyes were burning, and her body felt slow and fuzzy after the healing potion. At last, he was gone. It wasn’t that she didn’t want his company. In fact, she wanted to hold him or maybe him to hold her. But she wanted to sleep now. To forget.

But she couldn’t sleep.

She wanted to sleep badly. Her mind was crying out for her to close her eyes. But when she did, she saw things. So she kept them open.

She smelled the burned oil and burning flesh still. Klbkch had opened a window, and an evening breeze was blowing through the kitchen. But she still smelled death. She still saw it in the Goblin Chieftain’s eyes. He was looking right at her—

Thump.

Erin smacked her head against the wall behind her. It hurt. She did it again.

Thump. Thump.

The image of the dead Goblin’s eyes disappeared for a second. But the instant she thought about them, they were back, staring into her soul.

Thump.

Erin bumped her head again. The pain made the vision fade briefly. It also made her head swim. Still, if she had to choose between that and the Goblin’s—

Thump. Thump. Thump.

She wanted to sleep, but couldn’t. And the night was coming. With it came uncertainty, fear, but worst of all was that one thing she couldn’t escape.

Memory.

Thump.

——

Klbkch walked through Liscor’s eastern gates and nodded at the Drake on duty. He received no reply from the weary Drake, but made no comment. Politeness was important. Fostering strong ties and goodwill towards the Antinium within the city was important.

What was also important was turning in a bounty. Klbkch had a large cloth bag he’d fashioned out of what remained of Erin Solstice’s shopping bag, and it was weighing down his left side by quite a bit. But the bag was necessary, and besides, it kept the smell and sight from disturbing the other civilians he passed.

Yes, the bounty. He would fill it out tonight at the Adventurer’s Guild. But before that, he had another mission that took higher precedence.

Klbkch walked through the streets until he came to a bar he knew was frequented by many Drake customers. It was a loud, raucous joint filled with many reptilian bodies, but they made room for him. Not out of respect for his occupation—he was off-duty—but out of a desire not to touch him.

The lone Antinium walked through the crowd of Drakes until he heard his name being loudly called and the smash of a tankard being hurled his way.

“Oi, Klb! You won’t believe what that stupid Human did this time.”

Klbkch approached Relc from across the bar. The Drake waved him over to a seat and turned unsteadily. He was with a gaggle or, as the proper term was, cluster of Drakes. Some were male; the majority were female. Or not. Gender was still difficult for Klbkch to ascertain at the best of times.

“Good thing you’re here. Let me tell you, that Erin girl? Stupidest Human I’ve ever met. Do you know what she did this morning?”

Relc didn’t wait for a response, but launched into his story. By the looks on the others’ faces, this was not his first retelling. Klbkch ignored Relc and ignored the seat the Drake was trying to shove him into. He was clearly inebriated.

Klbkch placed one of his hands on Relc’s shoulders to steady him. Proper posture was critical. Relc grinned at him.

“Hey, what’s gotten into you, Klb? Decided to take me up on a night out for once? Pull up a seat.”

He turned his head as Klbkch put the other hand on Relc’s other shoulder, and the Drake gave him a quizzical glance. Then Klbkch hit Relc with his other two hands as hard as he could.

The Drake saw the punches coming, but he was too drunk to dodge properly, and Klbkch’s hands held him in place. He smacked into the floor hard as both punches caught him in the jaw and stomach at the same time.

For a moment, all was stunned silence. Then Klbkch heard a loud hiss that turned into a screeching bellow of rage.

Relc surged to his feet with a roar and caught Klbkch’s foot while coming up. The blow smashed him in the jaw again and this time stunned him for a few seconds. Klbkch nodded to himself. Proper posture was critical for a good strike. Relc was a fine warrior, but he was drunk, and this was a surprise attack.

Relc lay at Klbkch’s feet. He got back up, received two more punches again, and decided to lie down. Klbkch nodded to himself and walked away from his partner.

The atmosphere in the room had turned hostile. Klbkch glanced around but decided not to draw his daggers. The other male Drakes were glowering and clenching their clawed hands, but experience told him that they would not attack unless he made further provocations.

Klbkch estimated the public perception towards Antinium within the city had lowered a degree from his actions, regardless of the reasons. Antipathy within the City Guard might also be substantial, at least in the short term.

It was a costly consequence, but it struck Klbkch as fitting. He nodded to the silent bar of onlookers.

“Good night to you. Please accept my apologies for the inconvenience. I shall take my leave.”

Klbkch turned and walked out of the bar. He heard the hubbub start as soon as he’d left, mixed in with Relc’s indignant and distinctive voice. Oh yes. There would be consequences tomorrow.

For some reason, that didn’t bother Klbkch. Instead, he wondered what Humans were like. Were they anything like Drakes? He had only seen them on the other side of a battlefield or rare visitors to Liscor. They had not been like Erin.

But the night was deepening, and he still had a bounty to turn in. The proper forms needed to be filled out, and an eyewitness account delivered. Things had to be done properly or not at all.

Klbkch walked into the night. There was a bounty to fill out and research on Humans to be done. But most importantly, his Queen must know of a Human named Erin Solstice. She was important. She was…unique.

——

The body was gone. But Erin still saw his face. She still smelled burning flesh, still felt her hands burn. She still heard him breathing.

She didn’t sleep. And as the night fell into day, she stared up at the dark ceiling.

Listening to the breathing.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.16

Erin sat in a chair and stared outside. It was a lovely day. A warm breeze floated through the window, warming all it touched.

Except for her. She felt cold. Cold and empty.

Shadows passed before her. They had names. Klbkch, Relc, even Pisces. But they weren’t important. The dead were far worse.

Erin held a Goblin’s head in her hands. She stared into its blank eyes and felt her hands burning. She sat next to a dying Goblin and listened to him breathing.

The sun was bright. At some point, the night had turned to day. But Erin still felt as if it were night. In the inn, the shadows were long and kept her in darkness. It was only fitting.

The world felt hollow. Everything echoed, and the surroundings blurred gently around Erin as she sat. She wasn’t doing anything in particular. She was just existing. Existing and not fitting in.

A little ghost in a little inn in a little world. That’s what she felt like.

It was cold. Not physically; at some point, someone had put a blanket on her and left some tea that had grown chilly, untouched. Had that been Pisces? Surely not.

Erin looked up. Relc was in the inn. Was it the first time she’d seen him today? Probably. He was yelling about Goblins and apologizing. Klbkch was there. Silent. His brown carapace blended in with the chairs. Maybe he’d been here all day. Erin couldn’t remember.

“—kill all of the little bastards!”

Relc was shouting. He grabbed his spear. Erin’s hand moved.

“Whoa!”

Relc’s head jerked back as a kitchen knife flashed past his face. The blade thudded into a wall and lodged in the wood.

Klbkch and Relc stared at Erin. She stared at her hand silently. Oh. Right. A skill. [Unerring Throw]. Had she talked to Klbkch about it yesterday? Or was she going to talk to him in the future about it?

She looked up at Relc.

“Leave them alone.”

Then Erin went back to staring at her hands. After a while, Relc left. Klbkch left too, or maybe Erin just stopped seeing him.

“This is my inn. I make the rules here. And if you don’t like my rules, get out.”

Did she say that to Relc or the empty inn? Maybe she screamed it. Erin couldn’t remember. Time wasn’t the same anymore. She just stared at her hands and felt her flesh burning. She saw the dead Goblin lying on the floor, screaming quietly.

It was all she saw.

Pisces came later. He ran in with sparks shooting from his fingertips. He was like Relc. But he cared. He wanted to kill Goblins too, or maybe just scare them away. Place a curse on them. It didn’t matter.

Erin stared at him until he flinched and looked away. She gave him one of the dried sausages. She told him if he killed a Goblin, then she’d kill him.

He took the sausage and turned white when she told him she’d kill him. Then he put the blanket over her and left.

Erin sat in the inn and felt the walls closing in. She couldn’t breathe in there. So she went outside.

The sun was too beautiful, and the sky was too bright. Erin went back inside and felt the darkness crawling up her spine. The shadows were moving. The wind sounded like whispers.

She heard breathing. It was hers.

It was dark. At some point, the sun went down. That was the worst time. Erin saw dead things lying in the shadows. The bodies of Goblins lay underneath tables; their heads sat in the moonlight filtering in from the windows.

Erin shut her eyes. But they followed her inside her head. They dug around her mind and pulled out memories. Then they tore apart her heart. Piece by piece, until morning came.

——

Klbkch came the next day. Relc was missing. He sat with her a while and asked her more questions. Was she well? Did she want anything? Was she hungry?

Erin answered until it was too much work. Then she just sat and waited for him to leave. Eventually, he did.

The sunlight grew brighter until the shadows retreated. Erin sat in her chair and rocked back and forth occasionally. She got up when she heard the thumping.

Someone was at the door. Klbkch had made sure it was fixed, by nailing boards into place until it was secure. Erin hesitated a moment before she opened it.

A giant rock stood in front of her inn. A long claw reached for her. The rock crab clicked and swiped at her, snapping at her waist.

Erin opened her mouth and screamed. The rock crab tried to grab her head with one claw. She smashed it with a chair and kept screaming. The rock crab jerked back its claw and retreated. She howled at it. She screamed and screamed until her breath was gone. Then she screamed some more.

The crab retreated in agony, trying to shield its ear holes with its claws. It scuttled away as fast as it could. Miles away, the pterodactyl birds took flight in panic.

Erin screamed and screamed until her voice was gone. She wiped the tears off her face and walked back into the inn and slept in her chair.

——

She felt hungry when she woke. Erin ignored the feeling and kept sitting where she was. But the pain started biting at her insides. She ignored it.

It went away. But a few hours later, it came back and tore at her. Erin wondered when she’d last eaten. Two days ago?

Her stomach gurgled and begged. Erin felt the starving pain gnawing at her mind. Eventually, it became too hard to ignore. So Erin decided to eat.

It was too much work to cook. And she couldn’t eat meat. So Erin got up.

The effort of standing up left her light-headed and dizzy. Erin swayed and fell onto the table. She lay there and stared at the ground. After about ten minutes, she pushed herself up and walked out the door.

The sun was shining. Erin shaded her eyes. It was noon. Of tomorrow. That was probably why she felt hungry.

She began walking. It was hard. Her legs didn’t want to keep her upright. Twice, Erin tripped and fell over. But she got up and walked on. Walking was hard, but it wasn’t nearly as hard as other things.

——

The orchard was just as she’d left it. The unnaturally straight, stiff trees still bore the bright blue fruits. Erin kicked one tree and caught the fruit as it fell towards her face.

For a while, she sat on the ground and stared at the fruit. The trees provided her with shade; the wind blew her hair back into her face. Eventually, Erin bit into the fruit and ate.

It was sweet and delicious. The juice was cool and refreshing. Erin tasted ash and dust. Mechanically, she finished the fruit and ate five more. Then she threw up.

Once she was done, Erin ate another fruit. It helped with the taste. Then she stared at the mess of fruit and the stained seed core in her hands.

She cracked open the seed core and stared at the pulpy mess inside. Poison. It was probably a really painful way to die. The smell was terrible. It would probably taste terrible.

Poison was a terrible way to die. Almost as bad as melting your face off.

Thump. Thump.

Erin smacked her head against the tree. It was nice and hard. The blue fruits showered down around her.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

She stopped when she saw the Goblins. They were standing at the edge of the orchard, four of them. They fled the instant her eyes fell on them.

One of the Goblins dropped something in its panic. Erin walked over and picked up the small basket made of twigs. It wasn’t very good.

She turned and looked at the orchard. Fruit trees. Of course. They were probably hungry too. She couldn’t see them eating the rock crabs, and the dino birds would probably eat them if they tried to steal their eggs. Aside from the occasional traveller, what else could Goblins eat?

Erin left the orchard. She walked back to the inn slowly, feeling her body gradually collapsing on itself. She probably needed to eat more. But it was too much work.

She sensed them following her. When she looked around, they fled. But they were slow, and she caught glimpses of them. Ragged clothes. Thin bodies. They looked like starving children, refugees from a war. Not like monsters. Except for the teeth and red eyes.

That gave Erin an idea. She stared at her hands for a moment and then picked up the pace. Suddenly, she was walking faster. When she got to the inn, she looked for the shopping bag and found Klbkch had stored all the ingredients away on the counter. It was very hard to start the fire. But when she’d started, it was easier than stopping.

Erin smelled smoke and burning. But only burning wood and not so much smoke. Mainly, she just heard breathing. And her stomach rumbling.

——

Evening fell upon the plains, upon the lone inn on the small hilltop, and upon the four Goblins skulking in the tall grass. They watched the inn. They watched the smoke rising from the chimney. They watched and heard their stomachs rumbling.

All of them had weapons. Not good ones; rusty blades and crude clubs. But they were dangerous.

Even so, they feared the inn. They feared the one that lived inside it. A trickster. A deceiver. A destroyer. She looked weak, but she was death. A burning death. Burning, melting death. A terrible way to go, even by their low standards.

They knew that. But still, they smelled something wonderful coming from the inn. Food. And they were so very hungry.

The inn had closed shutters, but they could still smell something wafting from the inside. It didn’t smell like rotted meat or the foulness inside the blue death fruits. It didn’t even smell like the dead, half-rotted animals they sometimes found on a lucky day. It smelled good.

They salivated. But they feared the inn. And they had to eat tonight or starve. So, reluctantly, they tore themselves away. They had hoped the Human female would drop some food or fall down dead. Since she did neither, they had to find other food.

Still, they hesitated. They lingered outside the door and wished they had the numbers or strength to steal the food. But the monster inside was death. She had killed the Chieftain, and so she could not be fought. It was death.

Still, they hungered.

The littlest Goblin had no more thoughts than that. Three Goblins were dead, now. The Chieftain, two more…their tribe might end here, before the snow came. That knowledge did not hurt her.

It just was. Her curiosity about the Human was gone. She saw everything clearly now. The Human female was death, a different kind than the Drake or the bug-person, but death nonetheless. She was hungry and empty and…and she wondered if the Human had any knives. She needed a sharp knife. Or she would die like the Chieftain.

The littlest Goblin’s gaze was empty, but like the other four Goblins, she wavered, debating, silently, whether or not she could steal a morsel from the inn. She was so hungry without the Chieftain to make sure everyone had a tiny bit of something or to kill one of the deer or something else like a few spiders.

How long did they stand outside the front door, drooling? Too long. The door slammed open.

The Goblins cried out in fear and turned to run. But the Deceiver didn’t chase them. She stood in the doorway of the inn, hands on her hips. She raised one eyebrow.

“Well? Come on in.”

The Deceiver turned and walked back inside. The Goblins exchanged a glance and stared at the open door. A good smell came from inside. They hesitated.

The littlest Goblin knew this might be her death. It would be just like the Human to kill them like the Chieftain. But the smell was so delicious. She clutched at her stomach, which was so beyond empty it now began to feel full. If she died, she wanted a bite of whatever that smell was. One bite, just one in her entire life. Her feet carried her forwards as the others hissed at her.

So, so delicious.

——

Erin turned as the first Goblin finally crept into the inn. He froze in place, but she pointed to a table.

“There. Sit.”

He…hesitated, and then scampered over to the chair. Erin thought it was a he. It was almost impossible to tell.

The Goblin awkwardly perched on the oversized chairs as Erin placed a plate on the table. Or was it she? They flinched with her every move. When she pulled out the forks, the tiny Goblin nearly bolted. But they sat up and stared as she brought the pot into the room.

The metal was still burning hot. But Erin used her t-shirt to protect her hands and carried the pot to the table. She picked up a pair of tongs and began dropping buttered pasta mixed with sausage and onions onto each plate.

The Goblin salivated. They stared at the golden pasta and up at Erin with wide-eyed wonder. They reached for the pasta with dirty fingers and hesitated. The tiny little Goblin stared up at Erin.

She stared back. Her eyes travelled to the Goblin’s fingers, which were scooting beneath the plate.

“Steal my stuff and I’ll hit you with a chair. Sit. Eat.”

The Goblin snatched their fingers back instantly. They stared at the pasta and then up at Erin. She wondered why the Goblin wasn’t eating. Oh. Of course.

“The first meal is on the house.”

The Goblin looked up at the ceiling. Erin sighed, but her lips twitched.

“That means it’s free.”

Again, the Goblin stared at her. This time in wide-eyed wonder.

“Eat.”

A hand reached for the pasta.

“Not like that.”

The Goblin snatched his hand back and nearly tumbled out of the chair. Erin sighed again. This time, she was smiling a bit.

“Eat with a fork. See this? Fork.”

She pointed to a fork. The Goblin stared at it. Slowly, the tiny figure picked it up. The Goblin inspected it, turning it around and understood how to use it, but admired the tiny tines. Then, gingerly, he speared one buttered noodle and slowly transferred it to his mouth. It hung over the open mouth full of yellowed teeth as he stared at her. Asking for permission.

Erin nodded. The noodle fell. The Goblin gulped and went very still. Deathly still.

Then he smiled. It was a terrible smile, full of sharp crooked teeth and hesitation. But it was a smile.

Erin smiled back. She laughed for the first time in ages. It was a laugh that came straight out of her feet and through her heart. It exploded out of her chest. It was a good laugh, and it made the world right again.

The Goblin looked at the laughing Human. The little Goblin put down his fork and ran out the door, screaming. It only made her laugh harder.

——

Erin put away the last plate and watched the last Goblin groan as it lay slumped on the table. Four Goblins. Six plates. She was surprised they’d managed to eat that much.

They were very small creatures. Still, they ate like starving wolves, which they were. At least, in that they had been starving.

But they lay now in a blissful food coma, on the border between pain and oblivion with their bloated stomachs. But as she approached, they sat up and stared at her.

Erin pulled up a chair and sat. The Goblins drew back, but they didn’t run screaming this time. They stared at her. She stared back.

——

After a long time, it was night. The smallest of the Goblins glanced towards the door, and they all stood up as one. Erin made no move to stop them.

Awkwardly, they wandered towards the door, still staring at her. Then one stopped and nudged the others. They clustered together, backs towards her. Erin saw something flash in their palms. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, but she remained seated.

One of the Goblins came back. It was holding something in its hands. It held it out to her.

Erin stared down at the three small, tarnished silver coins in the Goblin’s cupped hands. She blinked. Once. Twice. Then she let go of the chair and stood up.

The Goblin flinched, but Erin moved very slowly. She reached out and touched the Goblin’s hands. They were rough, dirty, and warm. She closed them over the coins.

“The first meal is free.”

The Goblin stared at her. She stared back. It turned and fled. But it stopped at the door and said something. It sounded like ‘sqwsmsch.’ Then it was gone.

Erin sat back down and stared at the door. She blinked a few times and then smiled. She stared around at the inn and wiped at her eyes. Then she pulled the chair in to the table and put her arms down for a pillow.

She was asleep the instant her head touched the table.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.17

Erin woke up slowly. She woke up to the sight of a bag full of money on her table. For a moment, she thought the Goblin had left it.

It wasn’t the Goblin. In fact, the mysterious bag full of silver coins was courtesy of Klbkch. Erin peered down at the note he’d written and squinted to make out the words. To her amazement, it was legible, if slightly smudgy English! Even cursive?

For the destruction of a Hobgoblin Chieftain within the area of Liscor, you are hereby awarded 12 gold and 14 coins of silver, or equivalent in lesser denominations. Signed and witnessed by Senior Guardsman Klbkch.

—Senior Guardsman Klbkch

Post Script: Please excuse my poor handwriting, but I am not fluent in the script used by most Humans on this continent.

Erin peered down at the bag. She opened it and blinked at the sight of all the gleaming silver and gold. Gold. For a while, she stared at the shiny metal and watched as the sunlight made it glow. Then she closed the bag.

She gazed at the table. The money seemed like it was right out of a dream. But it didn’t actually matter much to her at the moment.

She looked back at the table. Had she dreamed that too? But no, she saw where the Goblin had spilled the blue fruit juice when she’d smiled at it. A large glowing fly was hovering over the table.

Erin sighed. But then she smiled. And suddenly, she knew what she was going to do.

First, she smacked the Acid Fly and ran around screaming until she washed the acid off. Then she ate breakfast, which were cold noodles mixed with sausage and onion. It was delicious. Then she walked down to the city.

A thought struck Erin as she walked. She’d have to go back to the market. The market where she’d lost all of her money. Her footsteps slowed and then picked up. Suddenly, Erin had two things to do today. She was looking forward to both.

——

The second time the Human female entered the market, every head turned. This time, it wasn’t just because of her smell. The looks were amused and hostile, a mix of both. But this time, they faltered a bit because the first time she had been pierced by all the stares.

This time, she returned the gazes until people looked away, but they watched her out of the corners of their eyes.

Erin marched right up to the stall where she’d been ripped off. She glared at the Drake and then squinted. They had purple scales, but it was more of a lilac-purple. And they looked a bit—smoother-scaled? There was a different curve to their face. Erin hesitated.

“Wait a second. Have we met?”

The Drake shook her head. A distinctly female voice emerged from the toothy mouth.

“Do you wish to buy a necklace, Human?”

Erin eyed the pendants and other jewelry on display.

“Later, maybe. Right now, I want to talk to the Drake guy who ripped me off the other day. You know; the one that took all my money. The ugly one.”

The other customers and shopkeepers nearby who heard that laughed loudly. The female Drake grinned and covered her smile. She pointed, and Erin turned to see a scowling Drake four stalls down.

“You.”

Erin marched over to the Drake. He glared at her, but now, Erin reflected the glower and added more to it. He shifted his gaze pointedly over Erin’s head. She cleared her throat. When he still ignored her, she kicked the bottom of his stall.

The Drake looked down and snapped at her.

“What do you want?”

Erin gave him a polite smile without any of the sincerity.

“Why, I’d like to do business. Jerk.”

The Drake hissed under his breath. He shook his head at her and flicked his tail in her direction.

“My store’s closed to you, Human. I won’t sell to those without a hint of respect for others.”

“Respect? I have tons of respect. Just for anyone who’s not you.”

Several of the other shopkeepers laughed at that. Erin noticed she and the Drake were drawing a crowd. She didn’t particularly care.

The shopkeeper Drake glared harder at Erin.

“You’re obstructing my business. Leave before I summon the Watch.”

He turned his back on Erin, but she rapped on his counter.

“My business with you isn’t done yet. I want my money back. You ripped me off the other day.”

The Drake looked over his shoulder.

“So? I offered you my goods, and you paid my price. That is a basic rule of buying and selling. I have done nothing wrong.”

There was a general murmur of agreement from some of the shop owners and a discontented rumble among the shoppers. A Gnoll woman leaned over her stall, opening her mouth, but he shot her such a ferocious look she fell silent. She was watching Erin, anyway. There was an expression she liked on the Human’s face this time, and she stood closer to the shop counter, not huddling like she had on the first day.

Erin Solstice leaned over the counter and fixed the Drake with a glare.

“Oh yeah? What if I’m not happy about what you sold me? I think for two and a half gold coins you should be selling me enough onions to fill the bottom floor of my inn. So how about I return to you what I’ve purchased and you give me a complete refund?”

The Drake sneered at her.

“Do you take me for a slow-witted hatchling or a Human fool? I won’t accept food that’s days old! Besides, this store does not give out refunds!”

“Really? Where does it say that?”

“Right here.”

The Drake pointed to a sign. Erin stared at it and up at him with narrowed eyes amidst the laughter. She heard a low growl from the Gnoll woman and hesitated. Then she grinned mirthlessly.

“Oh, right. It does say that, doesn’t it? Too bad I can’t read. But I do remember you had your prices listed as well, didn’t you?”

She looked around at the other pieces of paper pinned to the wooden stall. The Drake shopkeeper lunged, but Erin was quicker. She pulled the familiar piece of paper away and waved it in front of his face.

“Well. Why don’t we call the Watch after all? Buying and selling is all very well, but what about sticking to prices you write down?”

The Drake shopkeeper hissed again, long and slow this time. His eyes flicked to the paper and back to Erin’s face. He wasn’t sweating, but Erin was pretty sure lizards didn’t sweat. Or maybe he just didn’t think he was in trouble yet.

“Even—even if you have that bit of paper, what of it? I sell to many customers. And you—I barely remember what I sold to my last customer, let alone you.”

“A bag of flour, one pot of oil, a small bag of salt, sugar, yeast, four sausages, and two onions.”

Erin said it instantly. She paused for a second.

“And one crappy bag.”

The Drake stared at her with an open mouth. She smiled sweetly at him.

“I’ve got a good memory. A really good one, actually. Perfect for numbers and lists.”

He didn’t have much to say to that. But the look on the shopkeeper’s face told Erin he wasn’t about to start tossing gold coins around. She leaned over the counter and stared at him. She wished she wasn’t so close. His breath smelled of rotten meat.

“I want my money back. I’ll give you a few silver coins for what I paid, but I’m not leaving here until you give me my money. Now, we can do this the hard way and call a bunch of people over and you can lose all your business for the day, or you can give my money back and I’ll—hey, is that a chess board?”

Erin pointed at one of the Drake shopkeeper’s displays. Everyone turned and looked. Amid the cluster of items he was selling, the Drake had a few chessboards complete with little pieces fashioned into Drakes and Gnolls!

Erin saw a knight piece in armor, a Drake with a sword and a shield, and her eyes locked on what was, instead of a bishop, someone with robes and a staff. A mage? But everything was the same; it was even set up, and he had a little sign attached to it that she couldn’t read. It had something like exclamation marks, though, so she guessed it was a hot product?

Suddenly, Erin’s fury about being ripped off was replaced by pure fascination and excitement.

“Oh hey, it is! It’s just like—I mean, the pieces are different, but it’s chess, it is!”

The Drake snarled and batted Erin’s hands away.

“Get your hands off that! This is a valuable item! These are custom-carved and based on the Titan of Baleros’ standardized rules! The best [Tactician] in Liscor plays on these very boards I sell! I bet you don’t even know how the game is played!”

Erin glared back. Her hands were suddenly itching to hold a chess piece.

“It’s a chess board made out of wood. Unless it’s made out of gold—which it’s not—it’s about as expensive as that food you sold me. So I guess you’re selling this for three gold coins, too?”

That got another laugh from the crowd who had gathered to watch Erin’s showdown with the shopkeeper. The Drake, on the other hand, just grabbed the chess board and pieces and went to shove them below his counter. Then he stopped and turned to her with a gleam in his eye.

“Are you a player of chess, Human? If so, why don’t we bet on a game?”

Erin raised one eyebrow.

“You mean, we play a game of chess for my money? Why should I do that?”

The Drake spread his arms innocently. Erin noticed his tail was wagging on the floor, but she pretended not to notice.

“Human, you and I have a dispute. I refuse to pay for goods sold, and you refuse to leave. So long as you’re stinking up my storefront, I won’t have any business, so I offer a wager in good faith. Win against the player of my choice and I will pay you back the money you paid me, though it will cost me my goods that I have earned honestly. Lose and you agree in front of witnesses not to bother me again. That is my best offer.”

“Lism…”

Once again, the Gnoll [Shopkeeper] growled warningly, and even the glare he shot her didn’t keep her from opening her mouth. Even one of the other Drakes looked concerned.

“Lism, that’s a bit much…”

Erin narrowed her eyes at ‘Lism,’ and the [Shopkeeper] shot glares at the others to keep them silent while he gave her an innocent look. She knew something was up, but Erin just thought for a moment and then nodded. Her lips twitched once, but she managed to suppress them.

“Fine. Let’s play.”

The shopkeeper smiled down at her. It was a smile full of teeth.

“Give me ten minutes to call over my player. Then I will teach you why it is unwise to bet against your betters.”

Erin gave him a big, happy smile.

“Fuck you.”

——

Twenty minutes later, Erin sat at a table in the middle of the street and played with a pawn. She set up the board and checked that it was right.

“All the pieces are in the right spots? And these move like this?”

She turned to one of the onlookers, the super-tall Gnoll woman whom she’d met on the first day. The Gnoll squatted next to the board and frowned, conferring with a few others.

“Hrr. Yes. That’s exactly how they move. You should call the Watch, Miss Human. You won’t win this game.”

Erin blinked at her. The woman sounded concerned and kindly. She nodded to the purple-scaled Drake, Lism, who was marching back with Erin’s opponent in tow.

“Your opponent is very good, and Lism, that slimy bastard, will refuse to pay you if you lose.”

“I know. How good is my opponent?”

“The best in Liscor.”

The young woman’s fingers stopped moving as she picked up a little piece and admired it. Erin glanced into the Gnoll woman’s face and exhaled.

“That good, huh? Got it.”

She didn’t get up or stop arranging the chess pieces. The Gnoll woman gave Erin an exasperated look and stood up, shaking her head. She joined the watchers as Erin got up to inspect whomever Lism had brought.

This Drake was interesting. He was shorter than Lism, clearly younger, and his scales were sky-blue, not a grungy purple. He had a light tunic on with the same insignia as Relc’s badge, and he had a few ink stains on his claws.

He also looked fascinated by Erin and actually held out a claw to shake before Lism brushed forwards.

“Here he is, my nephew. Olesm, meet, er, this Human.”

“What a delight. A Human? A [Trader]? What’s this about, Uncle? I’m supposed to be at work, you know—”

The Drake had a pleasant voice, and he looked around nervously, but Lism hushed him.

“The Council will spare you a few moments, Olesm. Just sit down and win a game or two.”

He smiled innocuously at Erin, and the young woman saw the younger Drake try to hold out his clawed hand again and once more Lism stopped him.

Olesm was his name? He was thinner than the shopkeeper, but the Drake was still taller than she was. He sighed, glanced at his uncle, and finished setting up the pieces on his side with clear familiarity. Olesm seated himself and smiled at Erin across the table.

“I apologize, Miss Human. I rarely get a chance to play any games within the city these days. May I know whom I am playing against?”

“Of course. My name’s Erin. Erin Solstice.”

He nodded to her.

“I am Olesm. I believe you know my uncle, who asked me to play in this match.”

Erin gave her opponent a friendly, genuine smile and then looked over his shoulder.

“Is that your uncle? My, you two don’t look alike.”

The Drake hovering over his nephew’s shoulder hissed at her. Olesm raised what would have been his eyebrows if he had any.

“I understand this is a game with a wager. I would urge you not to bet against me. I am quite a good player.”

The shopkeeper interjected quickly.

“We have already agreed to the terms. The Human cannot back out now.”

Olesm glanced at his uncle, irritated, and opened his mouth to reply, but Erin shook her head.

“I’m not backing down. Let’s play. Besides, I wouldn’t want to disappoint the crowd.”

She gestured at the crowd of watching people. They were definitely people, but Erin wasn’t sure what else to call them. Drakes, Gnolls, and even one of Klbkch’s kind, the Antinium, were all gathered in a circle to watch the game. The Gnolls and Drakes stood close by, and Erin noted the Antinium was sweeping the street.

But every now and then, quite often, it would glance at the board, and it seemed really keen on getting the dust out from behind some stalls. None of the Gnolls or Drakes paid any attention to the Antinium save to keep their distance, and the crowd was quite distracted, anyways.

Some of them seemed to be betting as well, and though Erin couldn’t hear what they were saying, they didn’t seem to be betting on her victory.

“Are you sure, Miss? I really am quite good. I will be playing at my best.”

The blue-scaled Drake looked anxious, but Erin gave him a bland smile.

“I don’t intend to lose either.”

Olesm sighed, but made no further objection. Instead, he peered at the board and made sure his pieces were all aligned within the squares. He struck Erin as a very meticulous and careful type, which made him unique among the Drakes she’d met so far.

“I’m surprised you know about this game. It was invented just a few years ago. By the Titan of Baleros himself. I’ve been playing it nearly since it came out, but it’s not caught hold yet in a lot of cities.”

“You don’t say.”

Erin was busy examining the board, but she found that fascinating. She had already gone over the rules, but…she lifted one eye and then put a confused look on her face. Erin tapped one of the pieces, a Drake with a scepter and crown.

“I’m not sure if the rules I know are the same in that case. This piece here. You can move a king together with a rook like this, right?”

The Drake blinked.

“That’s right. I’m surprised you know that move.”

“Oh, I’ve seen a few players use it. Knights move like this, right?”

“Correct.”

“And pawns can move two spaces on their first move, right? And if a piece is here, they can take it diagonally?”

Lism was trying to hide a gloating smile as the Gnoll woman groaned and the onlookers hastily tried to amend their bets one way. However, Olesm looked quite pleased by Erin’s questions.

“You seem to know this game. Well, well. This might be a good challenge after all.”

Erin smiled blandly at the Drake.

“I’m no expert. But there’s a wager on this one, so I’ll play my best. The white side moves first.”

“Indeed it does.”

The shopkeeper smirked, and the other watchers crowded around closer as Olesm pushed a pawn forwards. Erin smiled at him.

“Not many players lead with a pawn from the side. Most like going down the center.”

She pushed a pawn forward quickly. Olesm shrugged as he contemplated his next move.

“I have found this strategy to work in some of my games. It is fascinating to play such a new game of strategy, and so I always test new theories out on the board.”

A game that had only been out two years? So he probably didn’t even have a name for that opening move. The shopkeeper anxiously hovered over Olesm’s shoulder. He hissed in the younger Drake’s earhole.

“So long as you win. You must win no matter what.”

Olesm narrowed his eyes but didn’t take his eyes from the board. Eventually, he pushed forwards a pawn to counter Erin’s pawn. He was chatting conversationally as Erin moved a piece too-quickly. Olesm was clearly thinking over each move, but Erin seemed not to be thinking at all.

“So you’re really good at chess in Liscor, huh? Have you played a lot of games?”

Erin pushed another piece forwards instantly and shrugged. Olesm blinked, and the onlookers muttered.

“A few. But should you not spend more time thinking?”

She waved a hand at him.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry. I’m having a blast. I just think fast about my next move, that’s all.”

Olesm frowned at her, looking irritated by her attitude. He pushed forwards a rook in reply, a bit hastily, and retorted, though she doubted he was the snappish type. He was more…peeved.

“You should think harder. I have played over a hundred games so far and won over two-thirds of them. If you truly are betting something important, it would not do to lose this game so easily.”

Erin smiled back at him.

“A hundred? Wow. But like I said, don’t worry. I like to play chess too. And I’ve played a…few games too. I’m not worried.”

“Why’s that?”

Erin smiled wider.

“Because I’m going to win.”

——

By the time Relc got to the market street Erin was on, the game had gone on for twenty minutes. A few customers were at the stands haggling, but most were still watching the game. One smart Gnoll was selling them food as they watched, and the shopkeepers seemed content to put their business on hold to watch the fun.

Relc was not having fun. He shoved his way to the front of the crowd and grabbed Erin. The crowd protested angrily. So did Erin.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“What are you doing?”

Relc snapped back at her. He pointed angrily to the game of chess where Olesm was taking his time considering his next move.

Erin shrugged.

“This? I’m getting my money back. Let go of my shirt. You’ll poke holes in it.”

She tried to peel off Relc’s claws from her shirt. Relc let go, but pulled her away from the game. He leaned forwards and hissed at her.

“Stop playing. This isn’t a fair game.”

“What?”

Erin looked at the board and back at Relc.

“You can’t cheat in chess. It’s fair.”

“No, it’s not.”

Relc raised his voice and pointed to the shopkeeper.

“Hey, you! Yeah, you. I know you. Stop the game. This isn’t fair. The bet’s off.”

The crowd rumbled in discontent at Relc’s words. The Drake shopkeeper spread his claws out innocently.

“It is a fair game. She let me name my player, and we agreed to the wager. There are many witnesses. It would be wrong to cancel the game now, Senior Guardsman.”

Relc eyed the Drake shopkeeper balefully. Erin noticed the shopkeeper’s tail was wagging a bit. He also had a gleeful look if she was reading his face right.

“I hate to agree with that jerk, but he’s right, Relc. I agreed to the wager, and I want to play. I’m going to win my money back and play some chess while I’m at it.”

“Are you crazy? You’re going to lose this game.”

Relc hissed at Erin. She blinked up at him.

“Am I? Why’s that?”

Relc growled under his breath. He jerked a thumb over at the seated Drake who was studying the board with a frown.

“That guy you’re playing? He’s a [Tactician]. The highest-leveled one in the city!”

Erin blinked again.

“So? Does that mean he’s good at chess?”

“Very!”

“Well, so am I. It’s still a fair game, isn’t it?”

“No! Are you stupid?”

Relc seemed close to tearing out the spines on his head.

“All [Tacticians] can tell when they’re being led into a trap! They’re good at playing these games—they have Skills! Tactics are a [Tactician] thing—it’s in the name! How do you not know this? If you play one in a game, they’ll win almost every time! Plus, that idiot loves to play that stupid game!”

The Olesm looked up and glared at Relc.

“I’m not using any Skills. I am simply matching Miss Solstice in a game of wits, Relc. Practice makes the player.”

Erin glared too, much to Relc’s chagrin. She jabbed him in the leg with a finger, looking more annoyed by his comments about chess than her odds.

“It’s not a stupid game. And so what if he likes to play? Like I said, so do I. And I’m a good player.”

“You still can’t win.”

“I can.”

“You can’t.”

“Oh, hi Klbkch.”

Erin turned away from Relc and waved at the silent ant man who had come up behind Relc. Klbkch nodded at her politely.

“Miss Solstice. Please forgive my companion’s interruption. We are on duty, and it is improper of us to disturb a member of the public without cause. But Relc insisted we speak with you once we heard of the bet that had been made.”

“Really? You heard about the bet?”

Klbkch nodded.

“Indeed. It is all over the city.”

“Yeah, everyone was talking about the stupid Human who was dumb enough to wager on a game of chess against that idiot.”

Relc jerked his thumb at Olesm. The other Drake continued pondering the board, but Erin could see him grinding his teeth in his seat.

Klbkch nodded and leaned forwards to confer with Erin. Lism looked worried as two [Guards] glanced his way, but he clearly didn’t like Relc or Klbkch. Especially Klbkch from how he glowered.

“I understand this is a bet made to recover your lost coin. However, I fear I must issue the same warning as Relc. The odds of you winning a game against Olesm are quite slim.”

At this point, Erin was getting exasperated by everyone telling her the same thing, but she glanced at her opponent, and a mischievous smile crossed her face.

“Olesm. Oh yeah, that’s what his name is.”

Erin covered a smile as Olesm’s eye twitched. She turned to Klbkch and Relc.

“Look, I’m glad you two care. But I’ve got this. It’s fine. You’ll see.”

The two guardsmen stared at her, unconvinced. Relc turned to Klbkch and whispered. Unfortunately, his voice was still quite loud, and Erin and those around them could hear him quite plainly.

“I don’t think she gets it. Humans are kinda slow. You explain the [Tactician] bit to her.”

“I believe you have given her adequate information. If she will not listen to you, she will not listen to me.”

“Exactly. So stop calling me stupid or I’ll hit you.”

Erin glared at Relc, who shuffled his feet and looked away. She glared at Klbkch, who raised all four of his hands and bowed his head, and then shifted her glare back to Relc.

“Let me play. You two can watch, but I’m going to play and win.”

“But—”

Erin raised a finger.

“No. Go away and let me play.”

Relc opened his mouth, closed it, and then hissed long and loud. He threw up his hands and stomped back into the crowd.

“Humans!”

Erin slid back into her seat and smiled at Olesm.

“Sorry about that.”

Olesm glanced over Erin’s shoulder and sniffed at Relc and Klbkch.

“Think nothing of it. But if we’re done with the interruptions, it’s your move.”

“So it is.”

Erin pondered the board. Then she slid another piece forwards.

“Oi, Klbkch. What’s she doing? Was that a good move? It looked like a bad move.”

“I am uncertain at this point. Allow me a few moments to assess the board before I give you my opinion. And please, lower your voice.”

Erin covered a smile as Olesm’s eye twitched. She waited for him to play another piece. As she did, she studied the board.

Chess. The pieces were different, and she was playing in a street in a city full of walking lizards and talking ants. But it was still chess.

It was wonderful to play again.

——

Olesm frowned as he toyed with a bishop Erin had cornered with one of her knights. He had no idea what a ‘bishop’ was; the [Carvers] had styled it after a [Mage] instead, but the Titan had referred to it thusly and that was how it was called in the game’s rules.

Naturally, Olesm used the word because anything the Titan did, he did. The Drake moved the piece diagonally one way and then frowned. Then he moved it another way and frowned again. He glanced up at Erin.

She stared back at him innocently. The Human waited as the Drake moved his piece back and forth around a rook she’d used to attack his queen and then took one of her pawns with it. His frown didn’t go away, but he seemed content with the move. For about three seconds.

Erin moved another of her pieces forwards instantly. Her knight—a scaly Drake with a buckler in one hand and a scimitar in the other—took one of his pawns.

“Check.”

A susurration went through the audience around the two players. That was, except for Relc, who had gone to one of the stalls to buy something to eat. Olesm leaned back in his chair and gave Erin an admiring look.

“Well done, I hadn’t anticipated that.”

“It was just a lucky move. Well, not lucky, but it was quite nice, wasn’t it?”

“Indeed.”

Olesm moved his king sideways.

“Your turn.”

Erin pointed at the board.

“Oh, that’s check too. Sorry.”

Erin tapped her queen and pointed down the board. The Drake player grimaced and moved his king the other way.

“That’s check as well. See the rook?”

Olesm paused and blinked at the table. The crowd murmured more loudly, and Relc came back to look at the table.

After a minute, Olesm made a move that wasn’t check, and the game went on. But now, he took longer and longer between each move, and his frown, which had started about five minutes ago, didn’t go away.

Meanwhile, his uncle, the shopkeeper, watched the board with clear anxiety. He glared at Erin, who smiled serenely back at him. Whenever Olesm made a move, she would instantly move a piece and take one of his own or threaten his king. Eventually, she stopped staring at the board and stared at the shopkeeper with a smile on her face as Olesm frantically searched the board for a comeback.

Something was wrong. At first, he’d thought she was careless. But as the game had progressed, Olesm had noticed he was losing more pieces. Yet he didn’t process his vague sense of unease until this moment. He began moving his pieces, taking few of hers, and watched as his began to fly off the board.

Like someone creeping up on him. Like a Rock Crab, the young woman closed her trap. And the ‘even game’ he’d thought he’d been playing began turning into—the young woman smiled at Olesm and Lism.

Her voice was quite even, but she kept speaking each time she moved a piece. Not every turn, but she said it to the crowd’s growing amazement. It was just part of the game. Although, the way she said it might be a bit rude.

Nevertheless, Erin calmly looked Olesm in the eyes as she placed a piece near his king.

“Check.”

“Check.”

“Ooh, no check this turn. But watch out for your rook. It’s that or your queen.”

“Check.”

“Check. And it’s check if you do that too. And that…”

“Check.”

“Check.”

“Check.”

Erin Solstice by ArtsyNada

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.18

“Checkmate.”

At last, Erin slid her last rook into position. Olesm stared at the board and then tipped over his king with a trembling claw.

A sigh ran through the audience surrounding the chessboard. It sounded like disbelief. The choking noise coming from Lism’s mouth was like a lawnmower engine failing to rev up. But the rest of the crowd exhaled in pure amazement.

The tall Gnoll woman’s arms were slightly uncrossed, and she was eying Erin with a look of amazement. Relc—pure incredulity as he peered at the board. Klbkch was counting how many pieces Erin had left. Then, his head rose, and he looked at Erin, surprised. Nodding to himself, as if he’d suddenly seen something obvious that had been hidden by the clouds.

Erin cracked her fingers and grinned. It wasn’t her best game, but she’d gone for drama over efficiency. Her opponent had a single king left in the middle of her pieces, and she had a small army surrounding him. She smiled up at Olesm, who’d turned pale. Her audience was gaping at her and the chess board.

Two rooks, one knight, a bishop, her queen, and a few pawns. Olesm had one king. Technically, he’d been in check for a long time, but Erin had hunted down the last pawns before putting him into a final checkmate.

She would have been ashamed of herself, doing this to any other rookie player. It was rude, bullying, and any chess tourney in the world would have probably had some things to say to her in private or called her out on the spot.

But she wasn’t home, on Earth, and she had never taken a game as personally as this one. Erin stared up at unfamiliar skies and the open ramps and sprawling architecture of a city unknown to her. Drakes and Gnolls, gazing at her with faces full of scales and fur.

She couldn’t even read the signs. But the game? Erin Solstice’s eyes tingled slightly. The game had never left her. Chess. Her game. The pieces looked different, but it played the exact same way, and she knew that board more than she knew the back of her hand or her own room. She had sat on both ends of the board ever since she was five years old.

The blue Drake, Olesm, was still in a state of shock. He was staring at his lone king, tipped over, like he didn’t know what had hit him. And to be fair—Erin had to admit she didn’t look like a chess expert. Who did, though?

She was no grandmaster, anyways. She’d quit, come back—it was a long story. But it was enough to say that if chess was a few years old in this world, Olesm, who might have…four years? She had forgotten how long the game was out.

Call it a four-year-old chess player going up against someone with at least four times his career. She’d played grandmasters—and sometimes won. And that had been when she was a girl.

“Good game. Let’s play again sometime, okay?”

Erin reached over and patted Olesm on the shoulder. The Drake looked slightly shell-shocked and made no reply. Erin waited, then shrugged and stood.

Klbkch and Relc made their way through the crowd to her. Relc was still pointing at the board and gobbling.

“You won. But how did—but he’s—you won!”

“Congratulations on your victory, Miss Solstice.”

“Why thank you, Klbkch.”

Erin grinned at Klbkch. The ant man nodded back.

“May I ask how you managed such an incredible display? I would not have thought it possible, nor deemed it prudent to bet against Olesm in a game of chess until this moment.”

Erin shrugged. There was no harm in telling. Besides, both the shopkeeper and his nephew were still staring at the board.

“You said he’s played for a few years, right?”

Klbkch nodded.

“And he is a Level 22 [Tactician]. There are few higher-level [Tacticians] even within the Liscorian army. Although that is largely because most consolidate to [Strategist].”

Erin had no idea what that meant, but she nodded as if she understood.

“Good for him. But I’ve been playing chess for…at least fifteen years, now. I stopped playing for a while until recently, but I used to play at least three games before I went to sleep each night. He might have a fancy Skill, but a rookie’s still a rookie.”

This time, it was Klbkch’s turn to do the staring with Relc. Erin smiled at both of them and then tapped the shopkeeper on the shoulder.

“I want my money back. All of it, thank you. And while you’re at it, I’ll buy the chess board and pieces too.”

The Drake gaped at her. Then the color returned to the scales in his face, and he backed away.

“I—that game was—”

Erin interrupted him.

“If you’re about to say it was rigged, don’t bother. And if you want a rematch, I’ll gladly play again if you double how much you owe me. Which is a bad idea because I’ll win. I want my money.”

The Drake blanched, and his scales turned pale. Erin smiled at him. His tail was twitching hard in agitation.

“My mind is…slightly hazy. I’m afraid I have no recollection of how much you spent. Unless of course you could tell me?”

Erin gave him a winning smile.

“Two gold pieces, seven silver, and four copper exactly. I don’t have a receipt, but I’m sure Klbkch and Relc could help you find out.”

Lism stared at Erin as if doubting her memory, but it was just numbers. Like chess moves—Erin couldn’t remember the Pythagorean Theorem to save her life, but she could remember entire chess games. At her words, Klbkch nodded seriously and bowed in his direction.

“As Senior Guardsmen, we would be happy to provide assistance in assessing all financial income for your business, as well as any unpaid taxes that may be extant. For now, we will have to order your shop closed while we begin a thorough investigation of your wares and inventory.”

Relc grinned evilly.

“Right. Let’s start flipping over tables until we find a receipt.”

The Drake shopkeeper made a strangled shrieking sound. He tried to block Relc, but the Drake [Guardsman] was already happily trashing his store. Erin hid a grin.

Only now did Lism’s nephew seem to come out of his stupor. He jerked, looked at the chess board, then stood slowly. Olesm walked up to her, his tail dragging low on the ground. But he did hold out a clawed hand to shake.

“I must congratulate you, Miss Solstice. I have been truly humbled by your skill. Please, accept my sincerest apologies for questioning your ability.”

Erin fidgeted awkwardly. She hated this bit. At least he was taking it better than some. There was no shame in losing. Sometimes you got frustrated, but when pride was on the line or you refused to admit you’d lost to a girl—she took his hand and shook it gently, looking into his eyes.

“Oh no, you were a good player too. I really shouldn’t have played like that as well against a rooki—another player.”

“You are too kind. But I know when I’m outclassed. I have to ask—are you a [Tactician] by any chance?”

“Me? No. I’m not. Sorry?”

Olesm drooped further. Erin could practically feel him kicking himself. She tried to cheer him up.

“Don’t feel bad. I’m not a professional player, but I’ve won a chess tournament or two in my time. I’ve even played a grandmaster and won. One of the few female ones, which was really cool. But I was so nervous at the time I totally forgot to castle, and I lost my rook to—”

Erin broke off and cleared her throat, blushing. It was a bad memory, but at least Olesm stopped looking like a kicked puppy-lizard. Indeed, he was staring at her with vivid interest.

“Is this ‘grandmaster’ you speak of a class? Is it possible—could I take such a class myself?”

An alarm bell went off in Erin’s head. She tried to think fast and failed.

“Um. Maybe? It’s more like a title where I come from. Besides, grandmasters only play chess. I’m not sure if that’s a class.”

Olesm nodded. Erin could practically see him taking notes in his head.

“Perhaps it’s a class only obtainable at high levels in the [Strategist] class line. If ever I have the opportunity, I shall take that class at once.”

“You can do that?”

Erin blurted it out. Olesm nodded again.

“Of course. I am merely a lowly [Tactician], the first of the [Strategist] class line. But should I advance in level and learn more skills, I might qualify for the [Strategist] class. And perhaps after that I might one day become a [Grandmaster]…? It makes my scales shiver to imagine such a class.”

Olesm stared dreamily off into the air. Erin edged away from him a bit.

“Right, well good luck with that.”

She wanted to go back and get her money, which the Drake shopkeeper was practically begging Relc to take as the other Drake frolicked in the destruction of his shop. But Olesm had her cornered, and now Klbkch was on her tail.

“Miss Solstice. I believe this is your wager.”

He offered her the exact lost sum she’d quoted. Erin took the coins gratefully.

“Thank you, Klbkch.”

He raised his mandibles and opened them in a…smile? Olesm edged back from Klbkch at once, but not far. The Antinium nodded politely.

“I am merely fulfilling my duty as a member of the Watch. And once again, may I congratulate you on your victory? I would greatly enjoy playing a game against you once I am off-duty.”

Olesm nodded in fervent agreement. Erin smiled and wondered whether they’d follow her back to the inn.

“Another game? Sure, sure. After I finish my shopping—well, one or two more games won’t hurt, but I don’t have time today.”

Klbkch nodded while Olesm visibly drooped. Erin felt bad, but she also knew his type. As in the type of player who would challenge her to another game day and night unless she said no.

“Tell you what, next time, we can play a bunch of games. Not just chess—if you guys have got other strategy games, I’d love to play them too.”

Olesm’s face lit up.

“Do you like these kinds of games, Miss Solstice? Gnollstones? Magical cards? I’m sure you must be quite good at any game you play.”

Erin grinned and waved a hand self-deprecatingly, but her ears perked up at the fascinating names. She noticed Klbkch glancing at Olesm silently, but then the ant man returned his attention to her.

“Oh, I love all kinds of strategy games. I always surfed YouTube for—uh, what I mean is, I used to watch and play tons of chess games. And not just chess; I learned how to play Shogi, Go, and even a few card games. But I couldn’t gamble, so there was that.”

Erin shrugged. Olesm stared at her blankly.

“Excuse me, but I am unfamiliar with these games. Is ‘shogi’ another game of strategy as chess is?”

“No, no. Shogi is a game that originated in Japan. And, uh, Japan is…and…um…”

Erin trailed off. Klbkch and Olesm stared at her intently. She could practically see the Drake’s eyes lighting up in eager interest.

It occurred to Erin that trying to explain a game that originated in a country in a world that no one had heard of that used a language based off of a culture which also didn’t exist would probably be a bad idea. But they were both staring at her. It was Klbkch who saved her.

“—Of course, these games are quite rare outside of your home nation, Miss Solstice. I doubt they would have permeated to Izril yet. I have heard of and observed Shogi before.”

Olesm glanced at him and hurriedly nodded before shaking his head.

“Oh! Yes! Sorry, it’s my mistake for not recognizing—hah, I suppose there are a lot of games I should look into. Forgive me.”

“Not at all. Um—maybe we should save that guy’s shop?”

Erin relaxed and pointed at Relc. Olesm turned, distracted, and Erin mouthed a silent ‘thank you’ at Klbkch. She could have sworn he twitched one antenna at her, like a wink.

——

Liscor had several markets that were open at any given time during the day. It also had many streets. So it had more than one Market Street too. But only one had a Human walking down the street and admiring the displays.

Erin’s feet hurt. She felt that was ridiculous. After all, she’d been playing chess while sitting down for nearly an hour. Yet, she hadn’t stopped smiling as she played first Olesm, then Klbkch in a series of quick games.

Which she’d won. All of them. A rare thing among chess players, but while they were good…Erin had enjoyed herself so much she’d been on fire, metaphorically speaking, and played her best.

Not only that, she had her money back!

Erin jingled the money pouch at her belt. Klbkch had helped her buy one to carry all the money she now had. It was wonderfully heavy and made lovely chinking sounds as Erin walked, but she was also worried someone would steal it.

That was why she had to spend all of it fast. Erin hesitated and then walked a few stores down from where the Drake shopkeeper was screaming over his destroyed shop and cursing Relc and Humans in general. She approached another stall, filled to bursting with all kinds of goods. It looked nice.

Each wooden stall was, simultaneously, identical and unique if that made sense. Identical because they were carbon-copy frames of wood, a counter and semi-enclosed space that each [Shopkeeper] could place their goods in and sell from. Erin had seen similar things at farmers’ markets back home.

What made them unique was that the canvas roofs were all hand-stitched and of different colors. So a blue tarpaulin covering might have tiny little golden Dragons on the edges, or another stall would just have a plain white cloth covering. And the goods were obviously different for each.

A Drake was selling what looked like…armor? Made out of eerily black chitin. In fact, he even had a sword sheath shaped like a giant…leg. An insect’s leg. Erin wondered if Klbkch found it offensive, but she was reminded less of the Antinium’s beetle-ish forms and more of a spider.

A big spider if that was the leg. She shuddered and hurried on, but the Drake was still calling out.

“Shield Spider gear! Cheaper than Pallassian steel and almost as good! Anyone fancy some adventurer’s equipment? No? Please?”

Not many people wanted to wear spider-based armor, it seemed. Another Gnoll was just selling pots and making a killing, from the looks of it. He had cheap cooking pots, cups, storage vessels—anything you could want. Erin was curious, but what she needed was food.

While there were a number of produce-selling shops, only a few had a myriad of goods, which Erin guessed were [Shopkeepers] like the terrible Lism, who had a bunch of items on display. One caught her eye, and it was a stall with a rich violet covering. Violet—with a silver-threaded fang in the center. Striking, attractive, and simple.

Erin had been too harried the other day to appreciate the shop, but she recognized the owner. And this time, she slowed down and really looked at the owner.

It was that tall Gnoll woman who’d warned her about Olesm! She, like many of her people, wasn’t wearing a full-body dress, but a kind of decorated breastband and waistcloth. It worked because, well, she was covered in fur.

A light mahogany color. Or…walnut? Erin wasn’t sure how many colors of brown she actually knew, but the fur covered the Gnoll from head-to-toe. Like the other Gnolls, she had a vaguely…hyena-shaped head? A mane of darker hair running down her neck, like Drakes had neck-spines, and her ‘fingers’ and ‘toes’ that Erin could see in her sandals were furry paws, although fully flexible.

She seemed well-known by a lot of the shoppers here and called out greetings to a few who passed. When she caught sight of Erin, the Gnoll woman sniffed.

Unlike the first time they’d met, the Gnoll [Shopkeeper] did not greet Erin or wave her over. She folded her arms and waited.

Erin winced inside, but there was nothing for it. She stepped closer and waved at the tall Gnoll.

“Um. Hi. Are you open for business?”

The Gnoll looked down at Erin. She wasn’t smiling.

“I am, and I see you’ve wrestled some coin out of Lism’s claws, that greedy hoarder. Good for you, Human. But if you are here to look down your nose again at my goods, I would prefer not to waste my time, no?”

She seemed offended, and Erin recalled that she’d run off straight to Lism and snubbed the Gnoll’s friendly greetings. Erin blushed and ducked her head.

“What? No, no. I’m actually here to, uh, apologize.”

Erin tried to gauge the Gnoll shopkeeper’s reaction. It was hard to read her face. Like Relc and Klbkch, a Gnoll’s face didn’t display the same expressions as a Human one. But Erin didn’t detect the same amount of hostility in her features.

“Oh? What do you have to say then?”

“Um. Sorry?”

The Gnoll raised one eyebrow, and her ears twitched back. That was a Human reaction, so Erin went on quickly.

“It’s just that I was having a bad day, and I met this other Gnoll who really didn’t like me. So, uh, I was kinda afraid you would get growly at me too. But I’m sorry about that. I shouldn’t judge by, uh, species.”

The Gnoll looked at her. Erin still couldn’t read her face. But—weren’t Gnolls kind of like hyenas? They looked like them. And hyenas were cats. Or maybe they were dogs. Either way, Erin peeked at the Gnoll’s ears.

They were twitching. And once Erin saw that, she saw the Gnoll’s lips were twitching the merest fraction. Erin tried out a smile. To her surprise, the Gnoll smiled back. And laughed. She had a lot of sharp teeth, but the laugh was so boisterous Erin wasn’t as afraid.

“Hah! This is the first time I have heard a Human apologize in…months? A good day, yes? It is good you come to make amends. I will forgive you and forgive the smell you stink of as well.”

Erin frowned. Was this good or bad?

“Sorry, I don’t want to make you mad again. But—do I really smell that bad? I just had a bath.”

The Gnoll shopkeeper laughed again. She—and now that Erin looked, she was definitely a she— clapped one hand on Erin’s shoulder. Erin’s knees buckled.

“I do not mock you, Human. But I laugh because I forget others do not have our nose. Forgive, please. You stepped in something on your way to the city.”

Erin rubbed at her shoulder surreptitiously. Then she looked down at her feet, made a face, and began dragging her foot around on the street.

“Eugh! What was—that’s so gross! I’m so sorry! I had that on my foot the entire time? You’re totally forgiven. Your nose is amazing! Do I, uh, smell at all beyond that?”

The Gnoll shopkeeper nodded, turning serious.

“You smell of burned ash and trash. No; not just that foul smell. Even burning trash smells better. I know not what it was, but I can still smell it on you. You could also use some soap, a shampoo for your hair.”

“Really? You can smell all that?”

Erin sniffed at her arm experimentally, but she smelled like she always did. Better, actually, since she had found the stream to wash up in.

The Gnoll wrinkled her nose.

“Oh yes. It’s not too bad now though. All that blood and oil covers it up.”

Erin froze. The Gnoll laughed at her expression. Then she sombered and gave Erin a long, appraising look.

“I smell that too. Blood and death. Yet you don’t stink of fear anymore. You smell like a [Warrior] from my tribe after their first battle or hunt. I am relieved for that, yes? You have a bravery in you, to win a fight to the death alone.”

“It’s nothing to be proud of.”

Erin replied automatically. Her stomach was dropping out of her legs, but the Gnoll shopkeeper didn’t seem to notice.

“Isn’t it? You stormed back here, trounced both Lism in words and his nephew in chess—although Olesm is the better of the two by far—and in front of all to see! Warrior and tactician, both! A fine day for a young woman to have—”

“No.”

Erin cut the shopkeeper off flatly.

“It’s not anything to be proud of. At all.”

The Gnoll stared down at her. Erin met her gaze. At last, the Gnoll shrugged.

“Hrm. If you insist. I apologize if I’ve erred. Humans can be difficult to understand.”

That last remark stung. Erin gritted her teeth.

“Why do all of you say that? I’m Human. So what?”

The Gnoll grinned at her with all her teeth.

“Because you are Human. Few of us have ever seen your kind here, let alone talked to one.”

Erin smiled sourly.

“Well, you’re the first Gnoll I’ve talked to. The first one that wasn’t angry at me, at least.”

The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] laughed and slapped Erin on the shoulder again, but gently. Two huge brown eyes met Erin’s, and she growled in approval.

“Hah! You are a spirited one! I like you. So I will introduce myself. I am Krshia, [Shopkeeper] and seller of goods. And you are the Human who slew the Goblin Chieftain! What is your name, brave little one?”

So she knew, already, who Erin had killed. The young woman bit her tongue.

“I’m Erin. Erin Solstice.”

Erin stuck out her hand but found herself grabbed and squeezed tightly by the Gnoll shopkeeper. It was a bear hug by a creature that looked sort of like a bear. She was strong enough for a bear too, and Erin felt oxygen quickly leaving her body.

The Gnoll must have heard Erin squeak or felt her dying because she eased up on the pressure. She sniffed at Erin, only wrinkling her nose slightly. For Erin’s part, she smelled spices, sweat, a strong doggish smell, and that earthy smell that came from a day or two of not bathing. Then she was on the ground blinking up at the Gnoll.

“There. We have met, and we are now friends. Come into my shop, Erin Solstice, and tell me what you need. For the pleasure of seeing Lism humiliated, I will give you a discount. And I will not steal your coins. That is a promise from a Gnoll of the Silverfang tribe.”

“Silverfang?”

Erin blinked at her, but stepped inside the stall and looked around. Her first impression of Krshia’s full stall was of a dazzling panorama of goods. Sacks of food, neatly labelled as ‘wheat’, ‘rye’, ‘ashwheat’, and so on, occupied the lower part of the stall. In English, along with labels in that foreign script! Higher up were some books with interesting labels. Erin saw only a few on display, and they were pricey—gold instead of silver! But Krshia had a bunch of knives sharing space with some earrings made out of what might have been pure silver and bits of gemstone.

At first, it looked like everything, but Erin noted gaps in the stock. It appeared everything Krshia sold was in popular demand. She blinked as she took in the huge supply.

“Wow. Okay. That’s a lot of stuff. But that’s good, because I need a lot of stuff. Like food, clothing, um, soap. Toothpaste—do you have—?”

“Aha. I see why Lism got exasperated. Let us take a moment to breathe, Miss Erin.”

Krshia cut Erin off with a friendly smile and a raised finger. She gestured Erin onto a stool.

“I am not gifted with perfect memory via Skill or otherwise. Let us make a proper list, and I will be able to see what you want, yes? It will take time, but we shall be more organized than me fetching this or that.”

Erin nodded, impressed by the decision-making. It made her feel a bit silly for not having a list herself, not that she had any paper. But her mom would have had a grocery list.

Her mom. Erin’s mind caught at the idea, but she pushed it down and focused on the Gnoll. Krshia bared her teeth at her again, but Erin was pretty sure it was a smile. A toothy smile, but the Gnoll was inviting.

“I will give you a fair price. Just as I said. I hail from the Silverfang Tribe, far to the south. The Great Plains of Izril. Have you heard of us?”

“Um. No. A tribe, huh? What does Silverfang do?”

“Oh, we are fine [Traders], but we also mine silver and do much with it. I have not been home in nearly a decade, but you may find many Gnolls in Liscor are Silverfangs. Sit, sit! Ah, here is some parchment. Now, tell me what you need. And then I will have your goods delivered rather than make you pay for a bag.”

She growled derisively, and Erin realized this was another way she might have been ripped off by Lism. The young woman blinked.

“Delivered? You do deliveries?”

Krshia laughed.

“Of course. Did you think many would carry off bags of flour as you did? It is too hard. No; the stupid shopkeeper Lism, fur sheddings that he is, didn’t tell you and gave you the bag on purpose. But then again—have you never had a Street Runner deliver anything? It may be a bit more for somewhere outside Liscor, but I know a few Street Runners who will do it.”

Erin glanced over at Lism’s distant shop. He was still screaming at his store and his nephew. It looked like Olesm was recreating the game they’d played on another chess board. Erin had already bought the board she’d won on.

“I feel bad about that, actually.”

“Bad?”

Krshia stared at Erin in surprise and then laughed again.

“Humans are strange. He would not give you the same if he were in your place; he surely would not.”

Erin shrugged.

“Still, it’s not nice. And the law should be equal for everyone.”

Again, Krshia stared at Erin. Erin shifted uncomfortably.

“Well, that’s what I was always taught. Plus, I bullied Olesm a bit.”

The Gnoll shook her head, but not in confusion so much as…a kind of amused gratification.

“That is a viewpoint I have not often heard since coming to Liscor. So, you truly knew what you were doing, but you pretended to be humble and baited him into that game. Cleverer still!”

Erin ducked her head.

“I didn’t know he was going to challenge me to chess! That was a lucky coincidence. I just—happen to be really good at it.”

“Hm. How good is ‘really good?’ Olesm may be young, but he is considered the best player in Liscor sheerly by how much he plays. From how you speak—it sounds like you made a choice to ‘bully’ him. If he were a Level 20 [Warrior], say, what would you be?”

The question caught Erin off-guard as Krshia produced a tub of what might have been toothpaste—and a brush. She offered Erin a choice between mint and lemon, and Erin pointed at the lemon.

“I, uh—well, I dunno. If he’s Level 20…I’d be Level 60?”

Krshia nearly tripped and caught herself and turned to stare at Erin. Instantly, Erin felt like she’d made a mistake.

“Is that off?”

“If you say it’s so—so you could beat him one-handed, eh? Blindfolded, even? What did you want? Soap? I have a few from the [Alchemist]. But to wash the body…no, this is hair conditioner for Gnolls. I don’t think you need quite this much. Scale cream…I will have someone find it.”

Erin saw Krshia glancing her way as she produced a bar of soap. The [Innkeeper] fidgeted. She knew it sounded like bragging, but—she coughed into her hand.

“Er…I might be able to beat him blindfolded.”

At this, Krshia actually stopped and gave Erin a look that said she didn’t believe her. Erin raised her hands.

“Sorry! I know it sounds like I’m blowing smoke, but you can play chess blindfolded if you know the pieces. He’s a talented…rookie. But he doesn’t know any chess openings, and I’ve played since I was a kid.”

“Since you were a child. Hrr. Now that’s…”

Krshia’s eyes sharpened, and Erin fidgeted, but the Gnoll smiled in an incomprehensible way. She walked over and tapped one of the earrings she had. Erin noticed it was set with a beautiful bit of quartz which was glowing a bright blue. Wait…hadn’t it been clear just now?

“Fascinating. This truth-stone earring says you are telling the truth. So I believe you.”

“Wh—truth stones? That’s what that thing is? I’ve never seen something like that! Is it magic?”

Krshia looked amused. Then she frowned as the blue glow grew brighter.

“Really? Not once? I…have never seen a truth stone before either.”

At that, the stone turned a murky red color, and the Gnoll poked it a few times, looking mystified.

“So it is working. Tribes! Well, I suppose…they’re not the most common, and it is an expensive item. More gold than you have, Miss Erin. Not that I won’t sell it to you if you have, er, forty-eight more pieces.”

As she did not, Erin changed the subject, but she noticed Krshia glancing at the earring in confusion more than once.

“So. These deliveries…how do they work?”

Krshia smiled. She pointed to a small wooden bowl filled with brightly painted wooden tokens. Circular, with little markings on them in the unknown script. Erin looked at them and saw each had an intricate little design of red and gold that made up a pattern around the edge. The center was filled with some words and a symbol. It looked a bit like…a foot? A stylized, clawed foot like Relc’s.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a Runner’s Guild Seal before? Hah—maybe not Drake ones? You haven’t? Well then…they are for Runners. When I give you one, I will keep its twin, yes? Then, when a Runner delivers your goods, you will give him the Seal you have, and then I will know my goods have been delivered. It is simple.”

Erin picked up one of the pieces of wood.

“Runner’s Guild? So you’re saying it’s like a postal service?”

“A what?”

“Um. A delivery service?”

“That is what I have said, Erin Solstice.”

Erin blushed while Krshia grinned toothily at her and laughed.

“Right, sorry. I just haven’t ever heard of these Runners before. What do they do, besides make deliveries?”

Krshia gave her a long look and snuck another quick look at the blue earring. She seemed to be checking whether Erin was making fun of her.

“Runners run. They are quick ones, those who can run long distances to earn money. Sometimes they deliver letters, other times valuable things. Goods, yes? Magical items, messages that must only be spoken to one person. Such are expensive requests though. Only the best carry such things. Most just deliver goods very cheaply. I can call one and have all that you buy delivered to your inn for a good price.”

Erin thought she knew what Krshia was talking about. In the bustling city, hadn’t she seen a few Gnolls and Drakes racing about faster than everyone else? Krshia nodded when she mentioned seeing them.

“That would be a Street Runner. If you were living far away, I would call for a City Runner. For a long journey, perhaps to another continent, or in a dangerous spot, or if I needed the fastest in the world, I would pay for a Courier—and spend a fortune on the delivery!”

That sounded good, but Erin had learned skepticism here.

“What’s a good price?”

“It is the broken inn a few miles east of here, yes?”

Erin nodded. Krshia scratched her chin.

“…Four silver coins. Not a small price. If it were the city, it would be one, or maybe coppers for a small delivery. But it is far, yes? And if it is heavy and monsters lurk about, the price goes up. You are lucky the Goblins are scarce and the Hollowstone Deceivers do not travel this late in the season. So I advise you to buy a lot and have the delivery done once, yes?”

Erin thought about that. It sounded really good. Better than carrying anything herself.

“I like it.”

Krshia grinned at her again. This time, Erin grinned back using all of her teeth.

“I knew I liked you for a reason. Then tell me what you want, and let us not waste the light, eh?”

“Sounds good to me.”

——

Later that evening, Erin sat in her inn and felt at her money pouch. It was much lighter now, but she felt a lot better about it. She felt a lot better about life, actually.

She had fresh clothes on, and she no longer smelled of…well, she no longer smelled. Instead, her skin had been bathed in an orange-y scent from the soap she’d used. And lemon toothpaste made her mouth feel fresh. And she hadn’t had to dodge fish in the stream while bathing either.

The day had been full of busy things, and none of them had been entirely bad. After she’d bought all of the goods she needed from Krshia, and even haggled a bit over the price, the Gnoll had shown her to the bath house to have a proper wash. Then Erin had gone back to her inn, eaten the rest of the pasta, and she was now enjoying a minor food coma as she sat in a chair in her inn.

Erin played with one of the chess pieces on the table. She’d carried the chess board and a few essential items like soap with her back to the inn. She hadn’t wanted to let the chess board go. It was incredible, really. Chess? In a world like this? Actually, it made sense, but Erin was still amazed. She had to keep touching the pieces to make sure they were real.

But she had to focus. Erin dragged her mind back on track. Krshia told her the Runner would deliver her stuff tomorrow at some point. Until then, she could clean up the inn a bit. Or maybe play a game against herself. That was fun too. It was just—

Erin stared down at the chess board. She murmured to herself.

“Knight to D4. Pawn to E3.”

Suddenly, her good feeling vanished. Erin felt cold. The food in her stomach was dead weight instead of comfort, and she felt sick. Her hands shook as she put the pieces back on the table. Everything was better. It really was. But…

—If she closed her eyes, Erin could still see a Goblin lying on the ground next to her. If she opened her hands, she could still feel the dead weight between her palms.

Erin moved a pawn up and took the knight. She stared at the pieces on the board.

“It’s kill or be killed in this world, after all.”

She put her head in her hands and rubbed at her eyes. Yes. That was what she’d learned. And she hated it. All of the good that had come to her seemed like it had been built on the bad.

The bad. The dead. A game of chess on a pile of corpses. Erin stared at the chess board.

She was good at chess. She liked chess. She’d grown up playing chess and other games like that, despite the fact that girls weren’t common in chess tournaments. Chess had been fun to her until she’d grown up and realized she’d never become a Grandmaster herself. She was good, but not great. But chess had still been her hobby. Chess was fun. It was about outwitting the opponent, about using strategy—

It wasn’t at all like killing someone.

Erin stared at her hands. They were quivering. She could still feel them burning. It was all a game, though, wasn’t it? A game with levels and classes. A game like chess.

“It’s just a game. Just a game?”

Erin stared at the board. Pieces. If she thought about it like that, then death seemed to matter less. She’d done the right thing. She’d defended herself, killed the monster.

Killed the monster.

She stared down at the two dead Goblins. They were so small. Like children. And they had family. Friends. Those who loved them.

The ragged Goblin. The ones hiding outside her inn, scrawny and afraid. They were the enemy too, if she played the game like chess. The right thing to do would be to hunt them down and kill them. That was how all games worked.

That was how you played chess.

Erin sat up. She remembered the Goblin’s hand in hers, the feeling of his skin. She remembered his smile. She remembered laughing.

And then she understood. Erin put her hand underneath the chess board and flipped it off the table. Both white and black pieces soared into the air and clattered against the floor.

Erin stood up.

“I remember why I got bored of chess. There’s only one winner and one loser. The best game for both players is a draw.”

She walked over to the door and yanked it open. Then she stopped and turned. She raised her middle finger and flipped off the chess board a second time.

“I’ll make my own rules. And anyone that doesn’t like it can go to hell.”

The door slammed shut as Erin walked out. A few minutes later, she rushed back into the inn and carefully put all the pieces back onto the chess board.

“Still a great game, though. Don’t take it personally. Let me just get a quick snack for the road. And I need some soap. Proper hygiene and all that. Where did I put the soap? Soap, soap, soap…I should really organize all this stuff. Maybe tomorrow.”

Then she was gone, running down to the city. There was still plenty of daylight left in the sky. And she had one more thing left to do. The most important thing of all.

——

The sun was setting over the grassland when the young woman returned to the inn. She stopped, again, and saw a streak of purple grass blowing as the cool winds came down across the rolling hills and valleys. Shadows crept and lengthened across the old inn. They should have exposed cracks, but as she looked up, the darkness seemed to hide the age of the building, all the little imperfections and signs of age.

Like this—it looked like what it had been in its heyday, a lone building set against the fading crimson sky, visible for miles away if it were lit up from the inside.

Erin Solstice slowly put down her burden. Her arms hurt, and she regretted not adding this to the delivery, but she had been too excited to wait. Krshia had humored her and even helped Erin buy what she wanted.

She was carrying a bucket filled with nails, a brush, and even a few slats of straight wood planks. And a hammer. It was quite heavy, and the young woman muttered and rubbed at her aching shoulders.

However, she eventually reached the inn’s door and set down her burden. Then she gazed up.

The shadowy sign was long-since faded. The little one that said ‘open’ and ‘closed’ hung below some façade, some…signboard above the doorway that had once been this inn’s name.

Even if she had been able to pick out the letters, Erin felt it was in that other language. She did feel guilty, but she got to work as she set her tools down. Then she pulled something out of her pocket and grimaced.

“Aw. The water.”

She had a packet of what looked, at first, to be plain white dust. And some black charcoal or other powder. But when Erin found some water and filled another bucket with it, the dust turned the water white, and the second turned another black.

Powdered paint. Very handy, and it beat hauling a bucket of paint back all this way. Erin mixed up both, then dipped her brush into the first bucket. She gave the inn’s signboard a coating and hoped it dried as fast as Krshia claimed.

The inn lost its name quickly as Erin stood on a chair she propped on top of a table she’d dragged outside. She felt a pang, but it had lost that name long ago, with its customers and owner. It needed a new one, especially if she were to stay here.

It felt…reverential, almost. The girl picked up the bucket of black paint and the brush and thought a second. She dipped the brush in the black paint and painted a broad stroke on the wide plaque above the entranceway. She wrote the beginning of a letter, frowned at it, and then cursed and shouted obscenities and had to cover it all up with white paint again.

It was hard to write properly, and it took her several tries as the daylight escaped the world to finish her sign. Numerous coats of paint to cover her mistakes. Multiple tools. A paint-scraping knife to get rid of the paint when it became too thick. A hammer to hit things while she vented her frustrations.

But eventually, the sign was done. The young woman sighed in relief and then picked up the pieces of wood she brought with her. This was easier, so she only took the paintbrush and wrote on it briefly. Then, she planted the pieces of wood in the ground and drove the sign down with the hammer a few times.

By now, it was dark. So dark that Erin was yawning, hungry, and covered with paint. In defiance of any good painter or craftswomanship at all, she left the tools on the ground where they lay. Even the paint brush in the bucket.

“Food. I hate painting.”

The paint was already drying, and the sign and plaque were done. The lettering was crisp and clear, and if any travellers had been present, the words would have caught the eye.

But there weren’t any travellers. The inn was long-deserted, and no visitors had come here for a long time.

Yet—it didn’t matter. The inn’s shuttered windows began to glow with a bit of light. As they did, a few people stopped outside the inn. Not guests. Not yet.

Just…a young [Necromancer], rubbing at his rumbling stomach and glancing up at the new sign. He raised his brows and inspected the smaller sign. He recoiled—shook his head, and gave the inn a strange look.

Almost as strange as the smallest Goblin, peeking at the inn in the darkness. Her night vision was good, but even so, she had to hurry forwards when he left and puzzle out each word in the Human’s language one by one. She too stared and hurried away, just as confused.

It didn’t matter. The lack of guests didn’t matter. The sign was what mattered. The new name of the inn and the message mattered. They were written, now there to stay. As was the young woman.

So, as Erin Solstice slept, the twin moons rose, and the night sky began to brighten. The moonlight from the two moons, a pale blue and a faint green, caught the inn’s sign. The letters spelled out the new name:

The Wandering Inn

Next to the inn, a large sign was hammered into the earth by the door. It read:

“No Killing Goblins.”

Thus began the story of The Wandering Inn.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.19 R

The wind blows through my hair as the sun rises. Past the mountain range they call the High Passes, which divides Izril in half, a fierce breeze blows north, and I wonder if it’s come all the way down from those peaks hidden among the clouds. It blows down past the screaming Goblins trying to kill me and catches an arrow mid-flight.

The arrow zings well wide of my face, and the wind chills the sweat on my skin. It’s a good feeling. The wind. People often underestimate how a brisk breeze can change your day.

And on this day, when the sky is blue and clear without a cloud, who wouldn’t want to be outside? The air’s chilly with the hints of winter coming, and the breeze is better than air conditioning.

It’s a perfect day for running. I’ve run through bad days when the heat can drop a horse, and I’ve run through thunderstorms, typhoons, and even dog crap. Twice. And while I can grit my teeth and keep running even when the wind’s against me, I live for the days when it has my back.

Oh, right, the Goblins. They’re still sprinting at me, but here’s the thing—they’re short. And they’ve been waving their shortswords for the last ten minutes. Aside from the one with the bow—which is a concern despite the terrible aim—the others aren’t that quick.

The one in front is clutching at his side. Her side? I see a hopeful mouth of teeth turn into a smile, so I turn and start sprinting.

The grass is knee-high, and I grin at the screech of dismay from behind me. I’m not sweating much despite the hard run, and my eyes fix on the ground, what I can see of it. It’s been a great run so far, despite the Goblin ambush.

There’s a reason my eyes are on the ground, not my pursuers. A large rock appears in the grass, and I hop over it just in time. Careful. At the speed I’m running, I can easily break a foot if I trip over one. I’ve split my toenails more than once by kicking rocks at high speed. Not fun.

Keep running. Actually, scratch that. Run faster. The wind blows against my face, and I smile again. It’s the small things that make life good. Like the wind.

The wind cools you down. It gives you something to run against; makes you feel alive. It also helps throw off arrows when people are shooting at your face.

An arrow flies through the air, and I change my course slightly. It slices through the air past my left arm. Too close.

I adjust my path and pick up speed. I’m nearly out of the range of the Goblins that have been hunting me. A few more seconds and I’ll lose them.

Goblins. They’re frightening little monsters with red eyes and pointy teeth. They look more like demons, actually. But they’re real enough, and they like eating Humans and, purportedly, even worse. If they can catch them, that is.

One pops out of the grass as I run towards the city in the distance. It’s a larger Goblin than normal, and he’s wearing rusty chainmail and holding a short sword. Damn. A Hobgoblin? That’s what they call them. He must have been circling around this entire time!

He swipes at me at knee-height, trying to cripple me, and I jump. Straight over the blade. The Goblin gapes as I land and then sprints after me.

My legs blur. The Goblin slices at my legs, but I’m already out of range. He runs as fast as he can, but I pull away so quickly that it’s like he’s standing still.

“Nice try.”

I mutter under my breath as I keep running. I don’t have the time or air to actually say that out loud, of course. Besides, I’m not good at comebacks. Or…insults. Either way.

The Goblin stops after a few more feet and howls at my back. I ignore him and keep running. After a while, I hear the Goblins’ shrill war cries end as they give up the chase.

After what feels like a few miles or, to be more worldly, a few kilometers, I stop. I do a quick scan of the area around me. Shorter grasses dominate this gentle downwards slope. Looks like I’ve lost the Goblin tribe.

I take a few deep breaths and wipe at my forehead. Not much sweat. Good. I’d be worried if I got tired that quickly.

“Whew. So that was my first ambush.”

What a way to start the morning. I’d be lying if I said it was normal, but I can get used to anything. I think. I could have used a bagel and some coffee on the streets of the greatest city in the world*, but this is far more exhilarating. Unless I got run over by a cab or something.

*Obviously, New York.

It would have been close if they’d fully encircled me. I shouldn’t take shortcuts through the high grass like that—especially when I have such valuable cargo.

Is that how they knew how to get me? I check the rucksack I’m carrying and feel a thankfully intact piece of glass inside the leather container. I don’t want to know how much I’d pay if it got broken. And it might have been why the Goblins were after me. Maybe they could detect valuable goods?

“Or Persua, that sallow bitch, tipped them off. Nah, nevermind. Even she doesn’t talk to Goblins.”

I shake my head. Sour grapes. I can just imagine how fuming mad she is right now since I’ve taken ‘her’ delivery. Well, I don’t think she would have enjoyed and/or survived that ambush.

Back to running. After a few seconds, I start walking and then transition into a jog. I could take it easy now the adrenaline has left my veins, but time is money, and soon, I’m back up to speed. Not sprinting speed—I need to conserve as much energy as possible for the emergencies like Goblin attacks, Carn Wolves, bandits, Zombies, Skeletons, Crelers*, and the other nasty things that live in the plains**.

*I’ve never actually seen these particular monsters. I’m not even sure if that name is right—they have other nicknames like ‘Tunnel Crawlers’, but they’re a world-renowned threat. Apparently they’re not something you want to meet.

**If I make it sound horrible, it’s only because I’m aware of the possible dangers. At any given time, there’s really not that many monsters lurking around. It’s just that you never know when one will pop up. I checked a bestiary in the Adventurer’s Guild, and they have an entire tome just for the local threats.

Anyways, I keep running. I enjoy the wind blowing through my hair for a bit and finally reach the city in question. It looks, well, like most of the settlements I’ve been to over the last week.

Tall, gray walls and spearmen and archers in towers that keep an eye out for monsters. This is Celum, or something like that. It’s a city, one of the southernmost in this region before the High Passes. They have a [Mayor], but they don’t pay fealty to any noble family directly, so that makes them a city-state*. And that’s my destination for the moment.

*More like just a city. It’s not that big, but all of the cities have their own form of rule. Some are ruled by a council, others have elected leaders like we do back at home, and some still have lords and ladies, although apparently the nobility isn’t in charge everywhere, which is something. The point is they all band together if threatened, but they have their individual squabbles and goals. Just like the good old USA.

I approach the open gates. A guard’s on duty next to a winch so he can slam the gates shut if a dangerous person approaches or if they’re really ugly, but he doesn’t even twitch as I approach.

“Hoy there.”

He greets me. At least, I think it’s a greeting. It’s more like a curt nod, and he’s blinking sleepily in the dawn light. He probably hopes I’ll just trot into the city, but unluckily for us both, I’m trying to be at least somewhat responsible. I wave at him as I slow down, and he begrudgingly stands a bit taller.

He has…well, what I’d charitably call a ‘mustache,’ but it’s more of an attempt at one. I guess he’s either too young or not gifted with facial hair. Aside from that, he’s wearing cheap leather armor, and he has a sword. Between that Hob and this guy in a fight, I’d give it to the Hob, but that’s what walls and the other members of the guard are for, I guess.

“Hm? Something wrong, Miss Runner?”

He looks me up and down, and I notice his eyes finding my feet. Bare feet. I smile at him—and my stomach clenches. I hate talking to new people, so I gesture awkwardly behind me.

“Goblins. A few miles outside the city. A group jumped me.”

The [Guardsman] blinks, and suddenly, I have his attention.

“Goblins? How many? Are you hurt, Miss?”

“No…I don’t know, two dozen? And a big one, a Hob?”

“Hobgoblin? Two dozen Goblins…another tribe. Dead gods, and there are [Traders] on the road. Where, exactly?”

“The—tall grass over there? Only three miles?”

I point in the vague direction I came, and the [Guardsman] peers as if he thinks he can see them.

“That’s not good. We need to send a patrol out and hire a Bronze-rank team. Silver, maybe…you outran them, Miss? Did they have bows?”

“One or two. They missed.”

I grin, and he gives me a strange look as if he doesn’t believe me. It’s hard to hit a moving target! But then he’s looking around.

“I need to inform the Watch Sergeant. And—could you wait here, Miss? I’ll need you to show me the rough area where they are for the Adventurer’s Guild and the Watch—”

Ah, shit. That’s what I get for trying to help. I raise my hands as I begin to jog forwards.

“Sorry, I wouldn’t know the exact spot. Just over there. They probably ran off. Listen—I’m a City Runner. I’ve got to go.”

“But the Goblins—”

“I’m on a priority delivery! For Magnolia Reinhart!”

“Lady Reinhart?”

The [Guardsman] hesitates, and his face screws up in agony. Yep—this is just like home. He’s clearly weighing being responsible for me being late. He curses, then waves me through.

“If you can circle back this way, Miss—I’m Guardsman Wesle! Any help you can render the Watch would be greatly—”

His voice is already receding as I hurry down the cobblestone street. Yeah, right. No offense, but I’m not walking for an hour while people say, ‘is it this patch of grass they popped out of?’ I did my best. Won’t take this gate on the way out.

Hard cobblestone replaces grass, and I slow down a bit, cursing. Now, instead of stones or sticks, I’m looking out for bits of glass, crap, and other hazards on the street.

From a fast run I slow down to a jog, but not the kind that you see on TV most of the time. I hate the stupid bouncy run actors pretend to do, which clearly misses the point of running. Jogging, like sprinting or walking or anything else, should be fluid and concise. You don’t waste energy looking like you’re standing on a pogo stick.

They have no form. But then, I’ve heard that said about how actors handle guns, do action fights, and about anything else. And my expertise is running.

Let’s see. I’ve never been to Celum, but pedestrians are already out and about despite the early hour. Good. I’d hate to have to wait. I navigate down the streets, using the wooden signs posted above the streets for guidance. There’s a sidewalk to allow the wagons and other wheeled transports and horses to travel about, but few are on the road and I’m in a hurry, so I head straight down each street.

It’s great that everyone around here speaks and writes in English. How amazingly annoying* would it be if they wrote or spoke a different language? But by some contrivance of fate, English is the dominant language in this world. Of course, other languages exist, but apparently, most species know English. And they write it in Human lands.

*And realistic.

Anyways. As I slow down to let a cart go by, I think of what the guard said. He seemed amazed I got out of the ambush unscathed, and I have to admit—I was caught off-guard at first. Running means tunnel vision a lot of the time. And, uh, I’m bad about seeing everything at once, even when I don’t have an iPod blasting music* in my ears. Maybe I should run without my headphones in?

*Pop. And rock. And techno, but that’s hit-or-miss. Look, if I can run to it, I will. I have a soft spot for country music, but it’s hard to keep up speed when I’m listening to a harmonica’s croon. Country is for crying or nostalgia. At least, that’s the only kind of song I download.

At last, I reach my destination. By which I mean I reach a tall stone façade of marble and gaze up at a fancier class of painted wood door than I’ve seen elsewhere. Unlike the other houses which enter onto the street, this is a proper mansion within the walls.

It has a walkway and a garden past an iron gate and more glass than any other building in the city, I swear. Whoever lives here can obviously afford it; she’s hired me. But she even has a glowing magical light spell affixed to a little lantern next to the gate.

A magical spell. To be precise, a glowing crystal, which is this world’s version of a lightbulb, only the glow is gentler and comes from within the entire crystal, rather than a filament burning hot with electricity.

Magic. But not everyone can afford a damn magic light. Nor is just anyone titled like the owner of this mansion. I only have to check once.

Lady Magnolia Reinhart. Yep, this is her place. One of her places, as I understand it, but from the shockingly pink carriage* sitting to the side of the mansion…I’d guess that she’s here.

*Garishly pink, really. I mean…there’s pink, a subtle color not often found in the natural world, and then there’s the pink you get on princess dolls. The pink that sears the eyes. That pink is on the entire damn carriage in various shades. It offends my very soul. Even the horses don’t seem to be near it; it’s unhitched, and I pity the poor people who have to stare at that all day. Some people have no taste.

I take a few deep breaths. This is the part I hate the most. But it has to be done, so I steel myself. And hesitate. I take another deep breath, worry about hyperventilation, and then trot up the garden path and take the brass knocker and bang it a few times.

I really do hate this part the most.

——

Celum, just past dawn.

The instant Lady Magnolia, a member of the Human nobility in the northern part of the continent of Izril, opened the door, she clasped her hand to her heart.

“Oh my! Are you here with the delivery already?”

She personally opened the door, despite the pair of [Maids] hovering behind her and the [Butler], who stood to attention behind both. It was so fast it caught the nervous young woman outside by surprise, and she backtracked a few steps before nodding hastily.

“City Runner at your service.”

Her first impression of the [Lady] was of pink. A pink dress cut almost like business attire, but so shockingly vividly dyed it matched a whirlwind of curled, dirty blonde hair and stood out as the most vivid dress Ryoka had ever seen since coming to this world. The owner of the shocking colors had less vividly green eyes, but her smile engulfed all the other features. She had been smiling before the door opened and her expression seemed to dance ahead of her words.

Magnolia Reinhart thrust the door wide and smiled as she gestured the young woman in. All three of her servants stared at the muddy feet of the City Runner, but the [Lady] barely paid any attention as she swept back inside. The entrance to one of her homes was carpeted with a long tapestry of a grand war, and she walked over the faces of brave warriors vanquishing some horrific monstrous menace with too many legs without noticing it.

The young woman did notice the carpet, nearly forty feet long, hand-sewn, and the mirrors, portraits of noble forebears of Magnolia, and the three servants, all of whom silently stood aside and bowed as she hesitated at the doorway. But Magnolia just beckoned her in, and the young woman swallowed her words as Magnolia spoke too quickly to interrupt.

“I hadn’t expected you so soon! But where are my manners? Magnolia Reinhart, at your service! You are the City Runner I’ve been expecting, yes?”

She turned, and the young woman managed to croak out a few words, her throat tight with nerves.

“Mm. Your seal?”

She set down her pack and began to open it. One of the [Maids], who had a pair of spectacles almost as severe as the frown on her face, made a displeased sound. Scandalized, even. Lady Magnolia hesitated and then touched her fingers to her brow.

“Oh. Of course. Seals. It’s been so long since I—I’d completely forgotten. Please come in while I fetch it.”

The young woman hesitated and eyed the pristine mansion behind Magnolia. It only occurred to her that she really didn’t need to ask for a Runner’s Seal. Not from this person. She began to sweat, but it was too late. The [Lady] noticed her hesitation and glanced down. Her eyes widened slightly, but she took the moment in stride.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I have plenty of servants who can deal with little stains. Please, come in, come in!”

The young woman hesitated and then reluctantly stepped into the house. She looked up and around at the marble flooring she was currently dirtying, the fancy rugs, the tapestries on the wall, and clearly wished to be elsewhere. But Magnolia just swept towards the nearest room, a sitting chamber, and she was already fiddling around with a little pot set next to the wall.

“Now, where did they put the seal? Normally, I’d leave this all up to my [Head Maid], Ressa, but I just knew it was my delivery. Hm…hmm…here!”

Her hand plucked a silver-and-sapphire token from the plate. The beautiful seal was half gleaming silver, the other half a semi-translucent pool of cerulean. It looked as expensive as could be.

Magnolia presented the token to the young woman, who received it with extreme care. Then, the [Lady] patiently waited as the young woman carefully stowed the token in a belt pouch at her waist and then undid her pack.

It was a backpack, but not one that would ever grace any store in the world the young woman had come from. Rather, instead of Velcro and machine-tooled stitches and individual and superfluous compartments, this pack was made of leather stitched to cloth and had all the aesthetics of a black bug crawling on her back. But it could be tightly secured with strings and opened without having to be taken off.

Carefully, the messenger, for that was what she was, removed a heavily-wrapped item. She held it out.

“Here, all in good order.”

She should have offered it to a servant. She should have said, ‘[Lady] Reinhart,’ or offered some courteous address. In fact, at this point it was quite acceptable for one of the [Maids] to produce a club and harry her into the street. Any other Reinhart would probably have done that, but Magnolia was smiling and took the wrapped parcel quite graciously.

“Thank you very much, Miss Runner! Are you new to the region? I confess, I haven’t seen you around before, and I make it a point to get to know the best City Runners in the area.”

“I’m new.”

Magnolia waited, but nothing more was forthcoming. So she smiled and carelessly unwrapped the heavy layers of wool and string that had protected the item. The young woman blinked at the detritus littering the floor and then looked back at the package she’d so painstakingly brought this far.

An enameled bottle of red crystal caught the light in Magnolia’s hands and practically illuminated the foyer. It stood at odds with the liquid within, a fine, practically clear blue liquid, such that the resulting shade through the crystal bottle was a brilliant, vivid purple, far more outstanding than a mundane wine as Magnolia held it up to the light.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Magnolia swished the blue liquid inside the bottle and smiled gently. She turned to the young woman and bowed her head slightly.

“I can’t thank you enough for bringing this in time for brunch, Miss Runner. I’m entertaining several of my friends, and I promised them I’d share a glass of this delightful drink with them. I would hate to be made a liar, and they would never let me live it down. Especially Pryde. I know it was somewhat exorbitant to send for, but it is so delicious!”

She gestured at the blue liquid and seemed to realize the young woman had not, at this point, even seen the valuable item she was delivering unwrapped. Magnolia gestured to it lightly.

“The wine, you see? It’s distilled from a very poisonous fruit—the Amentus fruit, I think they call it. So hard to get a hold of, but I did promise! And wouldn’t you know it, but I drank the last glass yesterday. And so I put in my request, and here you are!”

She beamed at the young woman. The young woman said nothing. Her left eye twitched. Magnolia peered at her and went on.

“Please tell the Guild that I’m very happy with their efficiency.”

Nod, nod. The young woman shifted her feet and glanced towards the door. She opened her mouth again, then recited something she’d clearly just remembered.

“Do you have another request?”

It was the traditional response, and Magnolia dithered.

“Well, I suppose—but no, I don’t believe I need—well, at the moment no, but it would be a shame too—no. I suppose not.”

The young woman nodded and began to edge back towards the door. Magnolia was ringing a silver bell, and aproned women and an elderly gentleman were descending the stairs towards their mistress, but when she noticed the young woman leaving, she called out.

“Won’t you stay and have a glass? I would hate to send you on your way without a little reward.”

The City Runner froze, mid-way out the door, and she turned with a hunted expression, clearly hoping she’d done everything. She hesitated, then finally bowed slightly, and begrudgingly, and shook her head.

“…Sorry. I have more deliveries to make.”

Magnolia’s face fell, but she rallied at once.

“Then at least take this gift for your trouble. No, no! I insist.”

She pressed a gold coin into the young woman’s hands. The young woman tried to give it back, but Magnolia wouldn’t hear of it, so she gave up. Ryoka Griffin pocketed the coin, tried to smile, and her lips twitched.

“Um…thanks. Bye.”

She headed out the door as fast as she could. Magnolia Reinhart watched her go, the bottle of Amentus Wine in her hands. She glanced at the faint stains on the carpet, but a [Maid] was already working them out with incredible speed. She sighed and handed the bottle to the [Butler], who spirited it away for later.

Magnolia Reinhart put her hands on her hips, looking a bit amused, a bit defeated. Only now did the rest of her servants move, and the [Maid] with the spectacles came over and leaned against the wall. She folded her arms, and a slight smirk crossed her face.

“Well, that didn’t work out like you hoped. So much for the charming [Lady] beloved by all Runners.”

Magnolia Reinhart rolled her eyes.

“Oh, do shut up, Ressa. You scared her off. Bare feet? Well, I have met her. Now, let’s see about entertaining Pryde, and if she disparages this drink, I shall toss it in her face.”

She turned, sighing, and cast only one last glance at the head of raven-black hair before the young woman was already fleeing back for the open road.

——

The City Runner left the mansion of a house and walked down the street. It turned into a jog as soon as she had enough room, and she moved out of the richer housing and into the common districts. There, she knocked on two more doors and, with much less conversation and a lot more efficiency, handed over a letter and a bag and received two red tokens.

After all, she hadn’t just been carrying Magnolia Reinhart’s delivery alone. That was inefficient—it was just that the [Lady] had top billing.

Her deliveries made, the young woman took care to stow both tokens in the same pouch the silver and sapphire token had gone in. She made sure the pouch was closed as well. It was crucially important that she not lose any of the tokens, or seals as they were known.

Runner Seals. A proof of delivery. Without one of the brightly colored bits of stone, any delivery was suspect. A messenger had to deposit such seals in order to receive their reward, and so they were valuable.

To an extent.

Among the wealthier class of patrons, Runner Seals were a sign of their status and power. Merchants and bankers used lesser gemstones instead of common stone, and the most elite members of society even had their own unique form of Seal to prove delivery beyond a doubt.

Even then, she’d probably have to swear on a truth stone the delivery had gotten to Lady Magnolia. But the Seals were still important proof of the handoff, and Magnolia’s was unique. Anyone without such means had to use the simple cut stone provided by their cities at nominal prices. These were cheap, but also meant that they could be used to prove false deliveries.

Cases of Runners taking goods and providing false Seals happened every year. Thus, trust was just as important with Runners. Their reputation for honesty was a key part of receiving individual contracts, just as much if not more so than their ability to deliver packages quickly.

Street Runners were different from City Runners, though, and in her case, she was more trusted. But you had to keep proving that.

The young woman set off for a different gate than the one she’d come in from. She was tired. Not physically tired, but drained from the effort of interacting. Her pace picked up as she went out the gate, and soon, she was running down a well-worn road that would lead her back to her city. She wanted to make more deliveries today, and so she had to beat the midday rush on requests if she wanted to get any of the profitable ones.

She was a messenger. Or Runner, as they were referred to. Street Runner, City Runner, even Courier were their designations—and a whole host of rude words whenever they ran into someone.

She preferred to think of herself as, simply, a Runner. Because she was a runner, and running was what she loved to do. The deliveries she could take and mostly leave, unless it was the wrong address. Or the deliveree was dead. That had happened once, already.

The point is she was running, and there was a breeze in her face. At a moment like this, she could ignore the fact that she was in another world, or that she had no way to get back, or even that the Goblins were chasing her again. She was running, and she was free.

She was also barefoot.

Her name was Ryoka Griffin, a name which she hated, hence her refusal to really give it out to people. She enjoyed running, not talking to people, and her hobbies included not mentioning her name, running, disappointing her parents, drinking coffee, running, and anti-sociability. She was, currently—

Running.

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1.20 R

Every head in the Runner’s Guild turned as the door opened. It was a conditioned response; those who ran were either quick to notice things or they were dead.

Unlike adventurers, Runners didn’t slay monsters, but there were requests posted that weren’t average letter deliveries. Emergency rush jobs, dangerous assignments all went there, and naturally, the Runners who were relaxing between gigs sat at the tables and talked, watching the bulletin board, exchanging interesting tidbits, and listening for hot gossip.

Everything could be sold for a profit, and while there was such a thing as the Runner’s Handbook, some Runners were less upstanding and would crack open a delivery and see if it was worth ‘losing.’

Most were trustworthy, and a Runner’s Guild like this one, in the city of Remendia, was more well-known than the city itself. After all, Runners went everywhere, and so any City Runner in the region—even Couriers—might walk through these doors.

Today, the newcomer was a young woman. Again, not unusual, but she still stood out from the other Runners present. Her skin was a light brown, and her hair was black, reaching down her back in a ponytail. She looked—different.

Drathian, perhaps, was the guess of most, but she stood out around the crowds of fairer skin tones in general and hair that ran from fiery red to brown, and occasionally, more magical colors as well.

Her feet were bare, another departure from the norm. No one ran barefoot. Only a Centaur would be that crazy, and there was only one Centaur in all of the north who was a Runner. At six feet and one inch, the young woman had long, long legs, but they were Human, not equine.

Her eyes were bright green, like green turquoise, dancing with amusement when she was excited or happy. Narrowed and sharply hostile when she was upset. She did not often look happy, but her default expression was of a half-frown, a blank look that clearly said she did not want to talk.

The final notable thing was—or had been—her clothing and the odd, rectangular object and device which sometimes could be seen attached to her ears. It was the oddest thing, a bright red piece of string that looked magical. The same with her clothing, which had been brightly dyed and expensive-looking—until she’d bought some conventional leggings and a simple, off-grey tunic to run in. She shrugged the rucksack she carried onto one shoulder and glanced around as the door swung closed.

Ryoka walked over to a counter on one side of the room, ignoring the appraising looks she received. She waited until the female receptionist at the counter looked up. The woman had a uniform, a green vest over a white undershirt, that made her look like an official attendant. Which she was. She even had a hat with the Runner’s Guild logo on it and the local city’s emblem.

The moment of inspection turned relaxed, despite the appraisal of Ryoka herself. She was one of their own and not a threat. Not that you were supposed to be attacked here, but gossip was the only thing faster than Runners. And for exciting things to break up the humdrum lives of the small towns or cities in this area, you should sit in either the Adventurer’s Guild to see someone taking on a request to slay a monster or enter a dungeon, the Mage’s Guild to hear gossip or events from further around the world relayed by [Message] spells, or the Runner’s Guild, where valuable items or sometimes letters with profound impacts on events were entrusted to the people inside.

You could tell who belonged here, because they were almost always wearing light clothing meant for prolonged travel. They looked fit—they spent most of their day exercising—and they were a kind of unique subset of almost any settlement.

Runners. You could spot them by appearance, just like this ubiquitous building, which was open, flat, with a small second floor devoted to offices and managerial work or private meeting rooms.

A Runner’s Guild could be found in every city of Izril. The bottom floor was where everything was done, and it was dominated by several counters along one side of the room and a kind of bar and meeting space on the other side.

Appropriately, this had once been a tavern, and it still was. Runners, notable by their worn shoes, light clothing, and, usually, athleticism, lounged or stood in groups when they weren’t clustering at the desks.

Ryoka barely looked twice at any of the other Runners, and she didn’t greet anyone by name, but the woman at the desk clearly knew her.

“Good morning, Miss Ryoka.”

The [Receptionist] treated her to a friendly smile. She smiled in a determined way that said she knew she might not get a response. Ryoka nodded back. She did not smile.

“Hi.”

A pause, so infinitesimal, but noticeable, and the [Receptionist] moved forwards.

“It’s a pleasure to see you’re doing well! Do you have any requests to turn in? Magnolia Reinhart’s delivery…?”

Ryoka nodded again.

“Three seals. I got it to her.”

“Very well. I’ll witness your claim.”

The receptionist waited patiently as Ryoka scribbled down her name and listed the seals she’d brought in. She had to write down the composition of each seal. Two red hardwood seals and the expensive silver-sapphire seal.

Each desk had a [Receptionist], a trained man or woman—all Human, here—who would take Runner’s Seals, hand out coins, or head into the back to retrieve a bundle of letters, a wrapped item, and give a Runner instructions on where to go.

There were maps on the far walls showcasing various cities, and often, a pin would be stuck into the worn paper showcasing some natural or monstrous threat. [Bandit] groups, some idiot [Hunter] leaving snares unattended, and so on. Next to those maps was the last fixture of both Runner and Adventurer’s Guilds: a bulletin board made of cork from which delivery requests hung.

But the real paperwork and coordination of information and items was done behind the polished desk counter, and the woman had a ledger out and was jotting down a few notes in moments.

“Wonderful. You were lucky to pick up that delivery for Lady Reinhart. She was pleased, I hope?”

“Yep.”

Ryoka finished writing and slid the paper and quill over to the receptionist. The other woman’s smile flickered, but she added her own signature to the log. She kept speaking, as if trying to coax a longer response out with sheer momentum.

“Most Runners fight over the right to deliver something to her. She pays extra for speed, and of course, she’s been known to tip generously too. You’re all signed out.”

The receptionist waited for a response. She got a silent nod.

“Thanks.”

The [Receptionist] sighed. Someone else gave her a sympathetic look, but only just. A male [Receptionist] had breathed a sigh of relief not to get the surly newcomer at his station. Then again—she was efficient, but he had long since given up even trying for smalltalk.

The City Runner turned away. She began to stride over to the far end of the room—then halted. Reluctantly, she peered over her shoulder. Then she came marching straight back.

A Street Runner, all nerves, fourteen years old, was queueing up for the female [Receptionist]’s attention next, but he backed up as the City Runner marched straight back into spot. The [Receptionist] hesitated.

“Something else, Miss Griffin?”

“Yeah. Goblins. I ran into a small tribe outside of Celum in the tall grass. A Hob, some Goblins. One had a bow. They jumped me, but I got out of it. The Watch knows, but put up a notice.”

Goblins? The Street Runner and a few heads turned at this commonplace threat. That did get the other [Receptionist]’s attention. In a trice, the woman at the counter had a map out and was asking Ryoka to pinpoint the area.

“You escaped a Goblin ambush? And a Hob? Are you sure it was a Hob?”

“He was taller than me, so yeah. Had a sword, shield…decent armor.”

“That’s no good. How did they sneak up on you?”

Ryoka grimaced as if it were a personal failing.

“They were lying in the grass. Leapt up and almost stabbed me. I outran them. I don’t know where they went.”

Some of the Runners inspected Ryoka as she pointed out the location and turned away. She didn’t look frazzled for someone who’d survived a Goblin ambush. Even a small group could kill a City Runner, and she’d outrun them? No emergency alchemy items or Skills?

The [Receptionist] looked approving.

“No wonder you made City Runner so quick! I’ll let the local Runners know to watch out.”

“Eh. They weren’t that fast.”

Ryoka shrugged and stepped back again. She headed over to the large bulletin board with the requests on it, ignoring the stares and murmurs. Ryoka peered at the bits of paper and looked for anything exciting.

Like the Adventurer’s Guilds, the Runner’s Guild used a first-come-first-serve system when it came to giving out delivery requests. It was this board that Ryoka studied intently, ignoring the eyes still boring into the back of her head. She was used to them.

What she wasn’t used to was the loud, cheerful voice that cut through the silence.

“Hey, Ryoka!”

The young woman tensed up. Her head twitched towards the door, but it was too late. Another girl was making a beeline towards her. She was shorter than Ryoka, but wider. Not from fat; rather, she looked sturdy. So sturdy that her pack was three times the size of Ryoka’s, and even without a high-grade bag of holding, she ran ore and heavy deliveries for the Merchant’s Guild on a regular basis.

Garia Strongheart slapped Ryoka on the shoulder. The taller girl’s left eye twitched, but Garia didn’t notice.

“Did you just finish your deliveries to Celum? That’s fast! I normally have a bite to eat in the markets. They do a wonderful cinnamon bun in the mornings, but I guess you already ate, right?”

The taller girl looked over at Garia and gave her a fractional nod. Garia made a show of studying Ryoka’s bare feet; she had good, worn shoes, the closest this world had to sneakers without plastic. Comfortable, shaped leather, undyed but buffed shiny from so much wear.

“Mhm.”

“And you did it barefoot? I thought the others were just playing a prank on me when they said you ran everywhere without shoes.”

Ryoka sighed inaudibly.

“I run everywhere without shoes.”

“Why? Too cheap for them?”

Garia laughed. Ryoka did not. Her voice took on an element of strained patience which Garia noticed.

“I’m just slower with shoes, that’s all.”

Like the [Receptionist], Garia tried. She put on a smile and felt around in one pocket.

“Oh, so it’s a class thing? That makes sense. But is the, uh, [Barefoot Runner] class better than the [Messenger] class?”

Ryoka shrugged. Below the bulletin board’s specific requests were listings of each Runner’s Guild and how many letters or bulk-delivery parcels were waiting. Ryoka did some math, calculating how much she could carry. You could pay for a bulk-delivery to another city, and whichever Runner picked it up would get a smaller fee, but it was reliable work.

The taller girl’s continuing silence and clear disinterest in conversation didn’t bother Garia, at least outwardly. The friendly girl continued to press Ryoka, asking about the road, what dangers she’d encountered, and so on. She got monosyllabic responses if she were lucky. But Garia had a secret weapon today.

“How about a nali-stick, Ryoka? My dad’s a [Farmer]—I told you, remember? He was trying to grow some on his farm, but most didn’t grow well. It’s super sweet. Want some?”

She pulled a thin, pale stalk of something out of her pocket and offered Ryoka a bite. The other young woman hesitated and eyed the unusual food, but she raised a hand.

“Pass.”

Garia looked disappointed and took a bite. Instantly, her eyes went wide with a sugar rush. She missed Ryoka’s vague look of disappointment. The City Runner shifted, and one foot silently kicked the other.

Ryoka went back to studying the requests. Most were generic delivery requests. Unfortunately, they were all spaced out so that it would be hard to do more than a few without running twice as far.

A scrap of paper hiding behind two other requests caught her eye. Ryoka pulled it out and studied it. Then she showed it to Garia.

“What’s the reward for this one?”

Garia looked at the piece of paper and shook her head.

“Oh that? It’s one of the old-style requests. You get them now and then. Someone sends a [Message] that they want a delivery and they promise payment. But we have no idea how much they’re willing to pay and who they want the package delivered to. At least it’s confirmed.”

“Confirmed?”

“That means we can at least prove they’re not [Bandits]. Who’s this one from? Oh. Don’t take this request.”

“Why not?”

Garia had instantly spotted the delivery location, and she tapped it.

“It’s for the High Passes. I know you’re not local to here, but you know the High Passes?”

She pointed to one of the windows and the huge mountain range to the south. Ryoka had seen it; no one could miss it. Garia went on, looking solemn.

“Very nasty place. More Runners have died there than—well, it’s bad. Tons of monsters live around the area. It’s a Gold-rank threat. Or…Named-rank. Even a Courier wouldn’t do that lightly. How much do they want?”

“Hmm. It says the price is ‘to be agreed upon.’ But they’re offering twenty gold just to visit…”

Garia laughed.

“Twenty gold? That’s a fortune for City Runners—and way too little to risk for the High Passes! This has to be a joke. No one lives there. Here—”

She plucked the piece out of Ryoka’s grip and stuck it back under the other requests where it belonged.

“Maybe if we get a famous Courier like Tritel, the Moonlight Rider, he’ll take a look, but otherwise, I bet it’s a prank. Like asking someone to visit the moon.”

Ryoka’s expression didn’t change as her eyes flicked to the buried request, but she nodded. Then she looked elsewhere. Garia picked out another request and showed it to Ryoka.

“How about you and I do this delivery of ore to Pelingor? It would be a long haul, but they’re offering a gold coin for delivery today! Plus the roads are very safe. Whaddya say?”

The other girl studied the notice and eyed the packs waiting against one wall. A valuable delivery was often stored in the back rooms…but the ore samples bound for Pelingor were just light enough that they didn’t warrant a wagon or caravan from the Merchant’s Guild, the slowest method of transit.

Barely light enough. Each one probably weighed fifty pounds. More? They were filled to bursting and were as heavy as they looked.

“I’ll pass.”

“Again?”

Garia looked disappointed. Ryoka shrugged awkwardly.

“I’m not good at running in groups. Or with that much weight.”

“Well, if you’re sure. But we should run together sometime. How about in a few days we do the Tern Road run and deliver the spices to Celers and Remendia?”

Again, Ryoka’s expression didn’t change, but she looked up at the ceiling as she considered Garia’s request.

“Fine.”

Garia beamed and slapped Ryoka on the back. Again, the other girl’s eye twitched.

“Great! I’ll let you know when it comes up.”

“Sure.”

Ryoka selected a piece of paper as Garia turned away. But then the door opened, and she heard Garia call out. This time, her shoulders did hunch, and she closed her eyes in resignation.

“Fals!”

More Runners walked into the guild. Their arrival was greeted with much more enthusiasm and energy than Ryoka’s had been. A few other Runners moved over as the three people who had entered strolled up to the receptionist’s counter and offered her silver seals.

Garia joined the group around the Runners and grinned up at the tallest one. He was a blond, tanned Runner with long legs and a red shirt and long, grey rose leggings that were better quality than the other Runners around him.

A striking look that said he wasn’t as wary about being picked out at a distance as a Runner. For further proof he was capable of defending himself, he also wore two daggers at his belt. Neither one was enchanted, but he’d used them to defend himself more than once. He’d even slain a Creler and claimed the bounty when it jumped him, or so the local rumors went.

“Fals, how’re you doing?”

Fals grinned at Garia and exchanged slaps on the shoulder. He pointed to the other two Runners accompanying him, a young man and a woman.

“We just finished a run to a group of adventurers out near the old ruins. Albez? They bought a bunch of potions and supplies. And tipped well, so we’re going to celebrate.”

Garia sighed enviously.

“And you don’t have a scratch on you.”

“We’re not stupid enough to get near the monsters. I saw a few undead, but we kept well clear of them.”

Fals laughed, and the other Runners laughed with him.

“So why are you here? Going to accept another assignment?”

He shook his head.

“Nah. I’m too tired for that. No, I just wanted to have a word with our newest Runner here.”

He walked over to Ryoka. The other Runners who’d congregated around him fell away, leaving just his two friends and Garia.

“Ryoka, how’re you doing?”

The other girl had finished picking out two requests. She looked up from stowing the deliveries in her backpack.

“Fine.”

Fals waited, but that was it. Garia shifted uncomfortably, and the other two Runners glared at Ryoka. She looked expressionlessly back at them. However, Fals took the lapse in stride.

“Good, good. I was wondering if you needed any advice, what with you being so new. Normally, most Runners begin as Street Runners first. But you impressed the Guildmaster so much you made City Runner in two weeks. It was that or you’d run the rest of the Street Runners out of business!”

Ryoka shrugged. Again, Fals broke the silence before it grew too onerous.

“Well, I noticed you took Magnolia’s request this morning. It’s a good run, isn’t it?”

“There were a few Goblins on the road.”

“Right, right.”

Fals scratched his head and shifted uncomfortably. Ryoka finished tying her pack closed and hoisted it onto her shoulders. She looked at him expectantly.

“The thing is, it’s a really good delivery. It pays well, it’s safe—well, mostly safe—and Runners like Magnolia. She tips well and shares her deliveries.”

Garia grinned.

“She once gave me a few treats she imported from overseas. They were frozen bits of fruit and sugar. Tasted amazing.”

Fals nodded knowingly.

“Exactly. We all like her. I know she wanted someone to deliver that blue drink she likes so much. Did she share any with you?”

Ryoka shook her head.

“I wasn’t interested.”

This time, she definitely got a glare from every Runner in earshot. Fals shifted again. He lifted a hand and glanced around, smiling peaceably, and stepped closer to Ryoka. She, accordingly, stepped back, but the other Runners turned away as Fals spoke a touch more seriously.

“Right, well, it would just be best if you let another Runner take the request next time. Not that you don’t have a right to it—it’s just that we like to share the request. Give others a chance to take it easy, okay?”

He gave her a smile which went unreturned. Garia eyed Ryoka nervously. Ryoka stared at Fals expressionlessly and then nodded.

“Got it.”

The two other Runners accompanying Fals shifted on their feet. They looked at Ryoka with a lot more hostility than Fals and Garia. For his part, Fals nodded and gave Ryoka another friendly smile.

“Just so you know. Good luck on your run! Let’s have a drink next time, alright?”

Fals and the other Runners walked away. Ryoka watched them go. Her face betrayed no emotion, but Garia saw her hand go up and tug at one ear. She made a vexed expression—until she noticed Garia staring at her. Then she turned hurriedly and strode for the door. She glanced back once at Garia and nodded.

“See ya.”

——

What was the receptionist’s name? It’s still bugging me. I think it started with an ‘S’. Or was it a ‘Y’? No. I’m sure it was an ‘S’.

Either way, at least that’s done with. And now I can get out of the city and away from annoying people*.

I feel a lot better as I jog out of the city gates. Running calms me down. And I need some calming down after having to deal with idiots**.

*Everyone

**Almost everyone.

Okay, okay, calm down. I adjust my pace as I sprint out of the city gates. People are staring. Not that it matters too much, but I don’t want to waste my energy running too fast right now.

Destination: Wales. It’s about thirty miles away, which makes it one of the furthest cities to travel to. I’ll get over there in a few hours and then jog over to its neighbor, Ocre. Or whatever it’s called. But I’ll stay the night in Wales since it’s bigger and has better inns.

There’s a Runner’s Guild in Wales. There’s one in almost every big city, so I can receive more requests wherever I go. That’s handy, and it means I don’t have to come back here and deal with the annoying Runners around here.

Then again, they all do city-to-city deliveries as well, so I tend to run into all of them sooner or later. It’s a pain.

Well, Garia isn’t a pain. She’s just too friendly. But she’s the best of them. The rest of the City Runners can go to hell. Especially Fals.

City Runners. From what I understand of these Runners, they’re like postmen. Or postwomen. Whichever. But you can divide them into roughly three categories. There are the Street Runners, the City Runners, and the Couriers.

Street Runners cover individual cities and don’t stray outside of them very far. They take the safest, easiest jobs and receive the least amount of money. They also seem like they’re not that high in the social hierarchy in the Runner’s Guild. They’re the youngest or the oldest, and that’s about all I know.

City Runners are what I guess I fall into. They—we run from city to city and make deliveries in a general area. A City Runner might run for a few days if they have to make a really long delivery, but they won’t stray from their ‘territory’*. They take on the more dangerous jobs, but again, they’re not adventurers, so a City Runner mainly runs away from any trouble and tries to make their deliveries as quickly as possible.

*Territory. What are we, dogs? But apparently we are, with all the little groups and infighting the Runners seem to do. It’s a mess of politics and friendships in each Runner’s Guild.

Then there’s Couriers. I haven’t personally met one, but I hear they’re the equivalent of long-distance mail. They can go from one end of the continent to the other or even across the sea, if their delivery calls for it. They’re quick, efficient, and apparently they cost incredible amounts of money to hire. But they’re also supposed to be really good at their jobs.

I want to be one. If only because they don’t have a clique and they make their own rules.

From what Garia told me, each one is at least Level 30, and they all have levels in other classes as well, so they’re not easy to ambush. And that’s…

I look around as I run. I’m going down one of the main roads, but it’s empty at the moment. Still, I jog off the road and into the short grass. It’s not like I’ll go much slower out here. I wait until I’m a ways away from the road before I shout.

“That’s so stupid!”

Well, it’s not much of a shout. It’s hard to shout and breathe at the same time, and it feels really awkward to talk to myself. Who does that? Anyways, I’m still not over it.

Levels. It’s one of the weirdest things about this world, and this is a weird world. It’s like a game, but it’s not a game. At least, there’s no evil demon lord or end of the world coming, and I’m no hero from another planet summoned to defend this place from evil.

I’m a girl from California. I should be a freshman in college in New York, and I was running barefoot around the track on my first day when I ended up here. One second I was doing a lap, the next, I ended up in this crazy place with my iPhone, my wallet, and my watch. Some might call this destiny or fate. I think it was a mistake.

I’m no hero, but this place is exactly like a video game. Or, failing that, a fantasy book. Something out of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, except the cities I’ve visited don’t have any Elves or Dwarves. In fact, they don’t even have many Humans with skin darker than tan. I’m practically an outsider because I look Asian. Not that this is the most homogenous place ever*, but I still stand out.

*Thankfully. But it seems like this continent’s equivalent to Europe? Europe with hints of globalization, but I’ve been told I’d ‘fit in’ more on another continent. By Persua, predictably.

Back to the road. It’s not good to stray too far from it, I guess. I hate having to dodge around wagons and listen to every idiot I meet shout at me about my bare feet. But it beats Goblins, I guess.

Barely.

Anyways, what was I thinking about? Oh yeah. This is a stupid world. A really stupid one, and the worst part is that it’s just like the one I left.

Fals. He was hinting—no, he was telling me not to take any more of the good delivery requests. And judging by the crowd back in there, they all think the same way. Did they nominate him to ‘warn’ me? Of course they did.

Politics. No one takes all the good deliveries or we’ll make life tough for you, huh? And this Fals is their…what? He’s popular, I know.

I grit my teeth. I don’t like him. He’s always giving me advice, usually about things I should or shouldn’t do. And since he’s a senior Runner, he’s got some kind of priority with deliveries and everything else. I really hate running into him in the guilds.

Already. It’s only been two weeks and a bit*, but I’ve gotten used to this world, at least a bit. You really can get used to anything. But I’ve never liked social climbing, and it feels like half of being a Runner is doing just that.

*Has it really only been that long? It feels…so much longer.

I hate Fals. I run into him too much. And now, I’ve got to run with Garia, dragging a massive backpack thirty miles for terrible pay. Why did I agree to run with her? Because it was too hard to say no.

Damn. Damn me, damn her, and Fals can…there’s not enough damnation around here for him. I hate all of this. Just let me run in peace.

So I run. Keep running. I increase my pace, and my thoughts flow out of my head. That’s better.

Things come and go, but at least I can run. Ironically, in this world, I can run even more since it’s now my job. That’s the only good thing about my predicament. The only good thing.

Well, that and one more little fact. I grin as I remember, and a wagon driver gives me a weird look as I run past him.

This world has a bunch of Runners. And they’re okay. They really are. They run far, and the ones like Garia are tough and strong enough to run with huge bags on their back for quite a long way. But you know what? Maybe it’s their diets. Or maybe they don’t know about proper hydration, running form, or—

The point is, they’re okay. But they’ve got nothing on a girl who earned a scholarship for track and field. At least—the low-level ones don’t. The high-level ones with Skills?

I’ve yet to meet one that can beat me so far.

I take off, and the miles flow behind me like rain. I may not be a social runner or even liked. At all. But I’m pretty sure that I’m one of the fastest.

——

It’s a long run. But I get it done with and enter Wales just as the sun’s turning the sky orange. Two deliveries. One here, and the other in that other city. Ocres? Whatever.

I take care of it and then turn in my seals at the local Runner’s Guild. Here I get more silent stares, but that’s fine. Keep the poker face up, turn in the seals, and leave.

That done, I find an inn. Hm. The first one I go to advertises bed and board for three silver coins. It’s pricy, but I’ve earned over thirty silver today. I’ll treat myself.

If you’ve got the motivation and you don’t die from being shanked by a Goblin hiding in the grass, a City Runner can make good money. True, a large part of my earnings was from that Magnolia request, but I still earn more than most people. Or so I gather.

The average worker makes about 3-4 silver coins* per day. But that’s a pittance compared to what merchants or shopkeepers can bring in. Even taking away their daily expenses, they probably earn upwards of twenty silver coins each day. And that’s small change compared to the money adventurers can make.

*Local currencies differ from city to city or by region. It’s still gold, silver, and copper, but some denominations have a unique weight and percentage of actual silver or gold used in each coin. Those who deal with money a lot care about the currency, but they’re all roughly silver, gold, and copper coins.

The famous adventurers. Heroes. People who can slice, dice, and blast things apart. I think about them as I soak in one of the public bathhouses. It feels great, but what was I—oh, right.

Adventurers. They don’t exactly look like the flashy characters with insane armor and gigantic swords you see in video games. Mainly, they look like medieval soldiers. At least, the low-level ones do. Again, Garia tells me the high-level ones look really impressive, but I’ve yet to meet one of those.

And why am I thinking of adventurers? And where’s the towel? And is that bath attendant giving me a dirty look?

Oh, right. Because of my feet. Hey, they’re dirty but probably less dirty than other people’s disgusting body parts. Leave a tip? I guess.

Back to the thinking. Adventurers? Yeah, they’re like…starving artists? They don’t earn much from hunting monsters, but the ones who survive their raids on dungeons or old ruins can earn unimaginable amounts of wealth in an instant. I guess it’s appealing for people who think they’ll survive. Not me, thanks. I’ve heard what Goblins do with people, and they’re the weakest monsters around.

So, if adventurers represent the top earners, Runners fall somewhere around the mid-categories. It’s a dangerous job, but not nearly as dangerous as fighting monsters.

Why do I care? Oh, right, money. I’ve got enough.

Back to the inn. I’m tired, but my mind is still racing. It’s been how many hours? I’m still annoyed by those idiots back in the Runner’s Guild. And Garia. I’m more annoyed than mad at her, but—

She’s so fascinated by me. Why? Because I look foreign? Or is it me running barefoot? It’s not common even in fantasy worlds, I guess. At least she’s polite about it.

Damnit, I wanted to try that nali-stick. But then I’d have had to get her a present or something—better not to. Was it just sugarcane? Do they have sugar in this world?

Back to the inn. Time for a meal. Let’s eat and think. What kind of meal? Chicken. I could go for chicken and mashed potatoes. It tastes good, especially since I’m hungry. But focus. Is that guy staring at my breasts? Yes. I hate you, random stranger.

Ignore him. Eat chicken. Gravy goes on top of potatoes. Think.

Let’s go over it again. Priorities. First and most important? Money to live on. Right now, I’m earning enough for a room at an inn and regular meals, but keep saving.

Second, I need more information. Libraries don’t exist around here, or at least, they aren’t open for the public. I need maps, but I also need a book on the cities around here. History, culture—I need a local. Can’t ask them too much, or they’ll get suspicious. Put that one on the backburner.

Next? Um. Equipment. The job I’ve got is pretty much the only one I can do. Alternatives? I could be a scribe…if my handwriting were better. But being able to write more than my name is helpful. Too bad it’s not too useful.

Focus. Equipment. There’s magical items on sale in the markets. Not many—and they’re expensive. But Runners have different kinds of enchanted items. I want one. But I’m still trying to earn enough money to buy a good healing potion for emergencies. That has to be the first priority.

Meal’s done. Do I leave the plate or…? Hm. Let’s see. Looks like they’re leaving plates. And the innkeeper puts it on my tab…? Yeah. I’ll pay it tomorrow.

Back up to my room, away from prying eyes and people who want to sit and have a drink with me. I’m not against drinking*, but I really don’t need to deal with lonely men right now.

*Well, I am if it’s alcohol.

My bed’s pretty good this time. You definitely get what you pay for. I guess I’ll spend at least two silver coins on my inn from now on. It’s expensive, but it beats a bad bed.

Hm. Final check before I have to sleep. Fals? Hate him. Got to run with Garia sometime. Get it over with. Using money for…healing potion. And then equipment. Right.

I know what to do tomorrow. I’ll go to the Runner’s Guild first thing and get some good, high-paying requests. Save up, buy that healing potion. But something else nags me as I lie in the bed with a feather poking the back of my head.

Here’s the problem. And it’s a big one. I have no idea what to do next. Not ‘next’ as in tomorrow, but ‘next’ as in what I should be aiming for in the future. I can earn enough money to live off of, but what’s my end goal? To live and die here? Or to return home? And how in the blue blazes* am I going to do that?

*Where does that quote come from? No, focus. Focus.

When I run, I can keep the doubts from floating about in my head. But when I stop and when I’m about to sleep, I feel them crawling back up from the depths.

Uncertainty. I still don’t know why I’m here, what magic or fate brought me to this place, or even what to do next. I earn money and I keep it, but I don’t know what to do with it. I run and run, and someday I’ll run into something nasty. This world is full of monsters, and I don’t know what to do.

Still, I can’t worry about it now. I have to sleep. If I’m tired or I oversleep tomorrow, I’ll miss the good deliveries.

I close my eyes. Time to sleep. My mind is racing, but at least my body’s tired. I’m drifting off on my mattress. It’s not that much different from my one back at home to be honest. Maybe more lumpy and less comfortable as a whole, but it will do. And I’m so tired.

Damn. I forgot. Before I sleep. Concentrate. Block out the messages—

[Barefoot Runner Class Ob—]

[Barefoot Runner Le—]

[Skill: Runner’s—]

[Ski—]

I hate having to do that every night.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.21

The inn. A place for questing adventurers, drinking, solace, and even temporary, messy love. Or just lust. In any good tavern, you can find at least one mysterious figure in the shadows ready to spout off cryptic messages of doom. No pub worthy of the name wouldn’t have the potential for indiscriminate violence simmering in the air, either.

Inns attract crowds. Thus, an innkeeper must be constantly busy. It’s a demanding job that often requires more than one barmaid or bartender—barboy being a seldom-used term that only dictionary aficionados employ.

Erin Solstice sat in her inn and waited for the crowds to come pouring through the door. Any second now. She’d be fighting them off with burning oil and kitchen knives. Any moment. They were probably just waiting until nightfall.

——

Two nights later, Erin had to concede that being an innkeeper was harder than it looked. And it looked really hard.

“What good is owning an inn without customers?”

Erin sighed and leaned back in her chair. She eyed the gleaming wooden floor and stout wooden door and wondered whether it was worth cleaning them again. But no, she’d dusted and polished every available surface, and she had enough food in the kitchen for a small army.

What she didn’t have was money or people willing to spend money. And it occurred to her, belatedly, that if you had food, there was a definite time limit on how long you had until it went bad—and then you’d wasted your money.

“Two days.”

Erin put her head in her hands glumly. Two days since she’d painted her sign and named the inn. Two days, and her only customers were the three terrors that plagued her waking nightmares.

Relc, Klbkch, and Pisces. They were all horrible customers. Each one was fine on his own—well, Pisces was annoying no matter what—but as patrons, they had extremely objectionable flaws. Even Klbkch.

Especially Klbkch.

It wasn’t that they were annoying, per se, but…no, they were annoying. Erin gritted her teeth. She wished the Goblins would stop by for a change of pace. At least they were clean, quiet, and finished everything on their plate.

Well, Relc always finished everything on his plate. So did the other two, but in Relc’s case, he tended to spread the contents of his plate on the table and the floor. How hard was it to use a knife and fork?

And the one who did use a knife and fork never paid for anything. Ever. Erin felt like she was running a soup kitchen every time she fed Pisces.

As for Klbkch, that…that…

“That lying, pasta-eating, snake-ant jerk!”

Erin slapped the table. She was especially mad at him. How could he betray her expectations like that?

She’d been happy to feed him pasta all night long. Happy that was, until Pisces and Relc told her that Antinium couldn’t handle bread or pasta that well. They were all naturally gluten-intolerant. Eating pasta was about as fun for Klbkch as poking his tongue with a knife. If he had a tongue.

Pasta wasn’t technically poison for him, but it made Klbkch lethargic and did nasty things to his digestion. Either way, he’d clearly been buying and eating her food just to support her.

The nerve. The gall of that bug. Ants were bugs, right?

When she’d found out about Klbkch’s aversion to pasta, she’d gotten into a huge fight with him. Or rather, she’d gotten mad and he’d apologized repeatedly. Ever since then, Erin had let him buy blue fruit juice or blue fruits, but no more pasta. The trouble with that was that Erin lost out on one of her major sources of income, as Relc visited every other day and Pisces came by too frequently.

“Another night without customers.”

Erin groaned to herself as she stared at her inn. Then she got up, found a mug, and mechanically wiped it with a clean piece of cloth. Not because it was dirty; it just felt like an innkeeper-y thing to do. And she was bored.

“What I wouldn’t give for one customer.”

Two tables over, Pisces looked up from his bowl of onion and sausage soup.

“I am right here, you know.”

Erin glared at him. Pisces was, as always, camped at his table, which meant that he somehow occupied the entire table. Not that he stretched out or lay across multiple chairs, but he seemed to occupy too much space.

His stained ‘white’ robes had left another trail of detritus when he’d come in, and he’d actually removed one of his worn boots to inspect a sock with holes in it. Erin stared at a pale, pink toe and then at Pisces. He waggled the toe at her along with one eyebrow and had the nerve to look offended.

“I meant a paying, nice customer.”

The young man sniffed and drank the last dregs from his bowl. The one positive aspect about the mage—if you could call it that—was that he ate like a starving wolverine.

“I believe there is a lovely tradition known as a ‘tab.’ Rest assured, I will make sufficient payment to you in time, good mistress. Although, I must say you could stand to improve the variety of your dishes. Pasta and soup are all very well, but I trust you do know there are other types of food in the world?”

Erin ground her teeth together. She pointed at the door.

“Out.”

Pisces stood with offended dignity and brushed off his dirty robe. He offered Erin a bow that was sardonic without being offensive enough for a thumping.

“Your soup was most adequate. However, I would advise you to add more seasonings to combat the bland taste.”

Erin opened her mouth, but he was already halfway out the door. She watched it close…but not all the way. The door hung about a foot open as Pisces ambled off. This time, Erin punched the table.

After she’d closed and bolted the new door Klbkch had helped her install, Erin tasted the cold soup and made a face. She stomped over to her shelves and looked for a bag of salt.

Cooking was harder than it looked. And sadly, while Erin could make several dishes thanks to her Skill, there wasn’t really any point if no one but Pisces was going to eat it. Today, she’d tried out soup, and she had half a pot still sitting in the kitchen. She’d have to wait for Relc to come by tomorrow to finish it all.

Erin sighed and sat down at her table. It was her favorite table, the second one near the bar. It was in the best condition, and she would nap with her head resting on the table or in the kitchen, on the floor. True, she could have built a more formal sleeping spot or done something about the second floor, but she was out of money for things like mattresses and pillows. For now, she slept. Her life wasn’t bad. She’d survived Goblins and actually started running a business. She just wished—

She just wished things would start going her way.

——

The next day Erin woke up, she woke up tired. Very tired. And that was strange, because Erin had gotten a good night’s sleep. Or so she’d thought.

As Erin shifted to get up, she felt uncomfortable. She looked down at her clothes. She was wearing a variation of a t-shirt and pants she’d custom-ordered from one of the Gnolls that Krshia had introduced her to.

Most Drakes went for an ancient-Greek-style toga or robe look, and their clothes were long and free-flowing. Some of them wore sarongs, but Erin was pretty sure it was only the females.

On the other hand, Gnolls wore minimal attire, usually just enough to cover their furry parts, which weren’t visible in the first place. And while Erin was fine with that look, she wasn’t too keen on wearing just a thong and breast band in public. Hence, her clothes.

The fabric was a rougher, sturdier type of cloth than Erin would have liked, but it wasn’t that uncomfortable. She’d slept in it fine just the other day. So why was it suddenly rubbing against her down…there…?

Erin looked down and began praying under her breath. She closed her eyes. Did she have to go to the bathroom? No. Nope. Not at all. So then why was she leaking…?

“Oh. My. God. This is not okay!”

The wetness in the crotch of her pants spread even as Erin looked down. She began to swear even as she jumped up and ran for some clean clothes. It couldn’t be happening. But it was. How had she forgotten?

Her period. She was on her damn period.

The entire moment came as a huge shock to Erin. Not her monthlies. Rather—that she had missed the signs. She didn’t have the most dramatic signals, but Erin could normally count down the days in her head even if she didn’t keep exact track, and she could tell when her body was about to argue with her.

…Normally. But Erin had missed any normal signs in the stress and trauma of fighting for her life. Which meant she was also completely flat-footed because—she had to be honest—

This was not a problem she equated with living in a world of magic and monsters. Of all the things to deal with—!

Erin went to the shopping bag where she’d neatly stored many of the items she’d bought and began tearing through it, tossing items aside. Towels. She had to have towels somewhere in here.

There. Erin grabbed them and a fresh pair of pants. She walked back into the common room and hesitated. Like hell she was going to change in here or in the kitchen. She went upstairs.

As Erin switched her pants and wiped away the mess, she wondered what cruel twist of fate had dumped her in this fantasy world—yet still gave her the miracle of life every month.

“I’ve never heard of video game characters dealing with this! How do you expect Lara Croft to climb mountains with a giant frickin’ diaper in her pants? I’d love to see Leia fighting stormtroopers on her cycle!”

Erin slammed downstairs and threw her pants and the bloody towel on the ground. The other one she took to the kitchen and cut in half. Then she shoved it down her pants.

“Rough.”

The towels were not meant for use in the way she was using them. Erin shuddered. This was a nightmare. She had to get relief. And by relief, she meant tampons.

And that was another chilling thought, because Erin was pretty sure tampons never existed in medieval times. But—they had pads, right? Women existed back in the Dark Ages, even if they were oppressed. And Liscor wasn’t that primitive. So they had to have pads. They had to.

“Please, God, if you’re there. Or the Buddha. I’ll pray to anyone. Just please don’t make me wear a diaper.”

She wasn’t even sure if they had diapers. She hadn’t seen many baby Drakes while walking in the city, and they stayed away from the scary Human in any case.

Erin went for the door and hesitated. She felt like she was wearing a scratchy diaper, but it couldn’t be helped. She felt at her pocket and then went to her discarded pants and pulled out a very thin coin pouch. She didn’t have much money, but it was probably enough.

Her bloody pants and towel were another issue. Erin stared at them and then kicked them under the table. Then she opened the door and slammed it behind her. Her temper was already bad when she left her inn.

After the forty minutes it took to get to Liscor at a quick pace, Erin’s mood had gone from bad to thunderous. The towel in her pants chafed. And her period was heavy. She wanted to kill everything. And that was before she tripped on a rock.

——

Erin marched into Liscor through the eastern gates. Actually, she stormed through the gates. In actual fact, she practically charged through them.

The Drake on duty, the same yellow one she’d seen several times before, opened his mouth to make a snippy comment. Erin stared at him as she went past. He shut up.

——

Another obstacle got in her way before she got to the market street. Olesm appeared out of nowhere, holding a box in his scaly hands.

“Good day, Miss Solstice. What a coincidence running into you here.”

Erin gritted her teeth. Her abdomen was cramping up. This was a bad one.

“Not now, Olesm.”

He ducked his head, but kept pace with her.

“I understand this might be a bad moment, but I was wondering if you would be free later to play a game of—”

Erin turned her head as she stomped past him. Olesm swallowed the words he’d been about to say. She left him behind and kept moving down the street. Some Gnolls snarled at her when she walked in front of them. This time, she snarled back.

——

“Pads.”

Krshia Silverfang looked up from her pile of copper and silver coins. She sniffed the air, frowned, and glanced up. Just like before, she was operating her stall in a new part of Market Street.

Erin had caught her setting up in the morning; the Gnoll woman was carefully laying out gemstone brooches made of silver on some fine cloth, like a jeweler. She smiled, but Erin was in no mood for pleasantries.

“Yes, Erin Solstice?”

Erin took a deep breath. She couldn’t get mad. Not now, when her goal was so close.

“Pads. I want to buy pads. Or tampons, if you guys actually have those.”

The Gnoll shopkeeper was sitting down, but her head was almost higher than Erin’s. She blinked at Erin.

“What are these pads you speak of? Are they bandages?”

She sniffed the air again, and Erin’s blood froze. She felt the earth beneath her begin to open and a choir of undead hands reach up to pull her into the fiery pits of hell.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

Bits of fur flew into the air as Krshia shook her head.

“Apologies. It is shedding season. Why are you so concerned, Erin Solstice? And—have you cut yourself? Hrr. It’s not the same as a wound, though? Strange.”

A third time she sniffed, and Erin realized—she was smelling—the young woman turned crimson. Erin leaned forwards and whispered loudly to Krshia.

“I’m bleeding. I need pads. Cloth pads, now.”

“Bleeding? Where?”

Maybe the Gnoll really was messing with her, or she didn’t have the same sense of public decency Erin did. Either way, Erin leaned forwards and whispered the location and issue in Krshia’s ear.

The Gnoll shrugged.

“Is it not fine?”

Erin gaped at her. Krshia scratched the fur around her neck, looking unconcerned.

“It is only liquid, yes? And all who smell you will know either way. Why waste good cloth?”

Erin stared at her. Krshia stopped scratching.

“What?”

“Are you messing with me? Because if you are, I’m not in the mood for it.”

“I would not tease a young one like you when you stink of sweat and blood.”

Krshia looked mildly offended. Erin rubbed at her eyes and crossed her legs.

“Sorry. It’s just—you can smell that? Seriously? No, don’t tell me. I really don’t want to know. Don’t Gnolls have periods too?”

The Gnoll in question tilted her head slightly and made a confused face.

“Periods?”

“The menstrual cycle. You know, that time of the month when you donate blood. When Aunt Flo comes to town. Shark week. The Crimson Tide. Parting the Red Sea!”

Krshia blinked at her. Erin felt her voice growing louder.

“You know! Riding the cotton pony! It’s that thing ladies have! The waterfalls of hell! The blood baptism! The get-out-of-swim-class card! The proof of womanhood! The part of the month where blood comes out of your—”

——

Erin squatted on the ground, head buried in her arms. The other shoppers stared at her. The other shopkeepers stared at her. Half of them looked sympathetic. The other half looked disgusted. The children were torn between impressed and horrified.

She had screamed a very vivid description out loud to a crowded street. Mostly because neither Krshia nor the Drakes nor anyone else had seemed to get the most basic part of biology for a young woman. For the guys, that was to be expected, but Drakes and Gnolls?

A heavy, furry hand patted Erin on the shoulder. Erin looked up as Krshia stepped around her counter and smiled gently down at her. The Gnoll woman hmmed and chose her words carefully.

“Humans have very strange bodies, yes?”

“…Yes.”

Erin really hadn’t meant to shout.

“I really didn’t mean to shout.”

“It is nothing.”

Krshia flicked her fingers dismissively. She glanced at the other people on Market Street. Erin looked up and saw Lism gagging at his stall. Krshia gave him a dismissive glance.

“Shouting is good. Almost as good as howling, but we are forbidden to do that unless it is a full moon. But I am sorry. Gnolls do not have your periods, nor do we let our blood each month.”

“So you don’t have anything like that?”

The Gnoll paused. She tapped her lips with one finger and nodded.

“The blood. It is for mating, yes? We do have a similar time. All those who still are able to bear children, we go into a heat. It is called estrus, but it happens only once or twice a year. It is the time when we mate.”

Erin looked up at her.

“Does it hurt?”

Krshia scratched one ear and shook her head. More fur flew into the air.

“It is enjoyable. Some look forwards to it. It is a time to have sex and to bear children, and so we are happy when it comes to us. There are issues—monthly bleeding is not one of them.”

Erin pointed a shaking finger at Krshia.

“I hate you so much right now I can’t even explain.”

The Gnoll grinned at her, but without any malice.

“I am sorry for your plight. But I have no smooth cloths. But I do have these. These are wool; not finely woven, but strong. Would you like a few?”

Erin looked at the rough fabric offered to her and shuddered.

“Do you have any idea—no. Just please, please tell me there’s someone who sells what I need in the city.”

Again, Krshia scratched her head. Erin wondered if she had fleas.

“Hm. No.”

“No?”

“We Gnolls need no padding. And the Drake folk and Antinium, they need none either. Humans are rare here, so I would not think any padding you wish for exists in any store.”

The blood drained from Erin’s face. She stared open-mouthed at the shopkeeper, who looked concerned at her expression.

“Is it so bad?”

“I—I’m going to die.”

“Not from so little blood, I think. But I have a thought.”

Erin latched onto the ray of hope instantly.

“Yes? Tell me. What’s your thought?”

“The Adventurer’s Guild. They have bandages. Many bandages. If you cannot stop this blood, they would be able to help more than I. And bandages are soft, yes?”

“Yes—yes they are.”

Erin was on her feet in an instant. She waddled away from the Gnoll and then stopped.

“Thanks. I, uh, gotta go. See you later.”

Bemused, the Gnoll watched Erin waddle awkwardly out of sight. She looked at a female Drake who was passing by her shop. She bared her teeth in a grin.

“Humans, eh?”

——

The cool wood counter of the reception desk in the Adventurer’s Guild felt good on Erin’s head. She rested her head there and wished she didn’t have to deal with the world.

“So you really have blood coming from down there? And it happens every month?”

“Yes.”

“That’s so weird.”

Erin groaned. She looked up at Selys, the helpful receptionist. She’d been grateful to find the female Drake was working today, but she really, really couldn’t deal with her innocent curiosity.

“I know. Everyone keeps telling me that. But please, do you have bandages? Thin, soft fabric?”

Selys nodded and pulled a drawer out. She fished out a roll of thin, white fabric and showed it to Erin.

“We’ve got lots, just in case there’s an emergency. How much do you need?”

“Lots.”

Erin said it glumly as she fished out her meager ration of coins. She tried to calculate how many rolls of bandages she’d need and how she’d turn them into a pad. She needed to buy food—but this was more important.

“I’m going to need enough for a week, maybe. And I need to use the bandages to make a pad. You know, to cover the area. And I change pads every few hours sometimes, so…”

Drakes didn’t have eyebrows, so Selys couldn’t raise them. But she widened her eyes and flicked her long tongue out.

“That’s expensive. And gross. Sorry, Erin, but I’m not sure you’ll have enough money for that. Bandages are cheap, but you’ll be using a lot if what you say is true. Again. Gross.”

“Tell me about it. On bad days back home, I used to use a ton of pads each day before I switched to tampons. And let me tell you, that was a psychological shift as well.”

Selys looked blank. Erin waved her hand. She wasn’t about to open that can of worms.

“Well, back on the topic of pads…why not make a few that you can re-use more than once?”

Erin looked up at Selys.

“What?”

“Well, doesn’t that make sense? If you’re going to make these pads dirty, why not rewash them rather than keep throwing them away like the ones you talk about.”

As she opened her mouth to reply, Erin’s brain froze. She tried to think of a response but she didn’t have any good one.

“Um. Uh, that’s—that’s actually a good idea. I heard they did that in developing countries but—okay. Okay, yeah. It’s gross, but yeah. How would I get one of those made?”

Selys smiled at Erin. There were still too many pointy teeth in the smile, but Erin was getting used to it.

“I’ve stitched up more than a few adventurers right here. I can make a few of these pads quite quickly if you want me to. I’ve got the Skill [Fast Stitching], so it won’t take more than a few minutes.”

Erin leaned across the counter and seized Selys by the clawed hand. The receptionist blinked at her in surprise.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“It’s nothing. Really. I’ll start on this pad right away. How should it look?”

“Um. Sort of like this.”

Erin showed Selys as the other Drake hmmed and began layering the cloth bandage together. They’d just finished the basic design and Erin had opened her coin pouch when she heard a familiar growl from behind her.

Selys gulped, but Erin scowled. She turned around and looked up into the face of an irritated male Gnoll.

“Human. You still stink.”

“I’m not talking to you. Go away.”

He blinked at her, but Erin was already turning back to Selys. She felt a rough hand spin her around, and she nearly dropped her money. She narrowed her eyes up at the Gnoll.

“You stink of blood. I warned you last time—leave this place now.”

Erin felt her teeth grinding together. She clenched her jaw and looked up at the Gnoll. He was big and scary, but she was also pretty sure he wasn’t allowed to hit her. And even if he were, she was in a really bad mood. Unbidden, the thought occurred to her that she’d never figured out what [Bar Fighting] actually did.

“Do I look like I’m in the mood to be bullied?”

The male Gnoll growled at her. Erin stared at him. She didn’t blink. She was really cramping up down below now, and the trickling sensation was not making anything better.

Her gaze locked with the Gnoll’s for a solid minute. He was looming over her, doing the classic male intimidation move. She was too angry and sore to care.

After another minute, the Gnoll’s ears suddenly flattened for a second. He whirled and walked away. Erin flipped him off with one hand and then turned back to Selys.

“Sorry. Where were we?”

The female Drake was staring at Erin with an open mouth. Erin stared back at her and then flashed a smile.

“Bully me once, shame on you. Bully me twice—I get mean. And violent.”

“I can see that. But I would have known it anyways. Terbore might growl at you, but we all heard about how you killed that Goblin Chieftain by yourself. That was some story.”

Erin’s smile slipped for a fraction of a second.

“Oh. Someone told you about that?”

“Oh yes.”

Selys nodded as she began stitching the bandages together with needle and thread. The claws that held the long needle flashed back and forth across the fabric at mesmerizing speed.

“Klbkch had to turn in the Goblin Chieftain’s head here. We all heard about how you killed it. That’s amazing, by the way—Klb says you don’t even have any levels in a fighting class. How’d you do it?”

“Um. I burned his face off.”

“Oh, are you a [Mage] then? I saw a Human one in town the other day, but apparently he’s a troublemaker and a thief.”

“No, no. I’m no mage. It’s just—I used a trick. And I nearly died. I bet Klbkch didn’t mention that.”

“He said you were wounded. Was it bad?”

“Very. He gave me a healing potion. Without that, I would have been a goner.”

Her hands paused in stitching as Selys stared at Erin.

“He gave you his Senior Guardsman’s healing potion? But that’s expensive. You must have been badly injured if Klbkch gave you his potion.”

Erin shifted nervously.

“Are they—are they expensive? Those potions, I mean.”

“Very. At least, the ones I know the Watch issues to Senior Guardsmen.”

Selys nodded. She named the price, and it was Erin’s turn to gape.

“Well, it’s important that the Watch carries them in case someone gets hurt. They’re not supposed to use them unless someone’s really hurt, though. Like…citizens. And the potions the Senior Guardsmen carry are even stronger. They can heal most big injuries in a moment. Unless you lose an arm or a body part, you’ll be fine in moments.”

“Yeah. They are good.”

Erin poked at her stomach reflexively. She sighed. Another mark on her debt to Klbkch.

“I’m just glad it was only a Goblin Chieftain. If the rest of the Goblins had come after me, I would have been dead.”

“Oh, if it had been a Goblin raiding party, we’d have sent out the entire Watch to deal with them. I just don’t understand why a Chieftain would come after you. It doesn’t make sense.”

Erin blinked.

“A Goblin what now?”

“A Goblin raid. Haven’t you heard of them?”

“Uh. No…no I have not. We don’t have many Goblins where I come from.”

Selys sighed enviously as she finished the first pad and slid it over to Erin. The other girl felt at the soft fabric and smiled happily. Selys leaned over the counter, looking serious.

“You’re lucky. Goblins are a real problem around here. I mean, sure, the lone Goblin isn’t that dangerous. But they’re one of the few monster species that can level. That’s why we send out Senior Guardsmen and post bounties on Goblins to keep their numbers down. Before we get a Goblin Chieftain with high levels. Or a Goblin Lord.”

Goblins could…level up? Right, she’d been told that. Erin blinked at Selys. And what was that about a Goblin Lord? But the entire idea nagged at her, so she lingered.

“So you guys kill Goblins all the time? What about Chieftains? Do you send adventurers after those guys?”

Erin didn’t know how she felt about that. Bad. But her sympathy only extended to the small Goblins, not the vicious, sadistic, big ones.

“Chieftains? Yes, but we have to be careful. Most Bronze-rank teams can’t survive an encounter with a strong one. Silver-ranks have to take on tribes—and there are some that even Gold-rank teams can’t handle.”

Selys shuddered. Erin frowned. As far as she could tell, Relc never seemed to worry about any number of Goblins.

“Why not?”

“It’s not that they’re stronger than the Watch. Relc, Klbkch, even some of the regular Watch are probably better fighters than Chieftains on a technical level. It’s just that they’re Hobgoblins—tough. And strong. And when they call their tribe, well, the average group of adventurers would get wiped out against that mob.”

“So you’re not sending adventurers out against a raiding party either, then?”

“Dead gods, no. If we hear about one of those, we form a hunting party and try to get rid of it right away. A raiding party can wipe out a village in an hour if we don’t get to it in time.”

“Nasty.”

“It is. Here’s another pad.”

“Thanks. Sorry I can’t pay you more—it’s just that I don’t have much money from this innkeeping thing.”

Selys waved her needle at Erin.

“Don’t apologize. I’m happy to help. But I’m afraid I could have warned you that innkeeping in that old inn isn’t a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Well, what level are you? Ten? Twenty?”

“Nine.”

“See, that’s not too good. If you were in the city, I’d say you should get apprenticed to another [Innkeeper]until you’re at least Level 15. It might take a year or two, but then you’d have a few good skills to run your inn with. And I wouldn’t have an inn that far away from the city to begin with.”

“Yeah. No one comes by. Is it because I’m Human? Or is it too far to walk?”

Another pad finished, Selys picked up the roll of bandages and cut off more for the last pad. She lined the backing with a stiffer cloth and then sewed layers of the soft bandage on top.

“Both, I’d say. It’s dangerous to come out that far—well, not too dangerous, but it’s a bit of a deterrent. Your being Human isn’t bad, but…”

“But…?”

“Well, I’ve heard Relc talking in bars. He says you make pasta. Is…is that all you sell?”

Erin squirmed in place. Her mother had offered to teach her how to cook more, but…Erin had often excused herself from dinner help, or washing the dishes, on the pretext of chess games. It was coming back to bite her now.

“Um. Yeah. I can make other things. I’ve got [Basic Cooking], but—what’s wrong?”

Selys was shaking her head as she sewed. Erin was envious of her speed and also her scaled hands. Whenever the Drake missed her cloth or stabbed one of her fingers, the needle hit her scales rather than soft, vulnerable flesh.

“I don’t want to be rude, Erin, but that’s not too impressive. All cooks and chefs have [Basic Cooking] as a skill. Some even have [Advanced Cooking].”

“Oh. And, uh, I guess pasta isn’t that interesting.”

Selys kindly didn’t respond to that statement.

“You could make other things, but there are a lot of good inns in the city. And we get recipes from the Human cities up north all the time. Even if you sold a new dish, someone would copy it the next night.”

Erin’s face fell. Selys looked unhappy, but went on.

“Anyways, no one will make the journey if all you’re selling is pasta. I’m sorry.”

Erin groaned as she thumped her head back against the counter. That helped explain her lack of business. And it was sadly obvious. Erin just—hadn’t ever run a restaurant or inn before!

Her regular clients might not mind eating the same dishes, but everyone else would. She guessed she should be grateful for her regulars, thinking of it that way.

Relc would probably eat anything he could swallow, Pisces would eat anything he could steal, and Klbkch would eat anything she put in front of him. The Goblins were probably pickier eaters than her clientele.

The last pad done, Selys slid it over to Erin. The young woman gratefully accepted them and felt them carefully. They were thick, but not so much that they’d be uncomfortable wearing. More importantly, they were made of strong materials, and she was sure she’d be able to wash and use them again.

“You have no idea how much this means to me. Thank you so much.”

The Drake smiled at her. Erin smiled back.

“Don’t mention it. And good luck with your innkeeping. I’m sorry I had to say it like that, but—”

“No, you’re right. I’ll…do some thinking about it. But right now—”

Erin was edging away from the counter.

“Uh, where’s your bathroom?”

——

The new pad Erin was wearing did not chafe like the towel. Which was exceptionally fortunate, because her skin was raw and still sore. It made the walk back to her inn less fun than normal, but at least the crisis was averted.

“Just in time for a new crisis.”

Erin grumbled to herself as she felt at her pocket to make sure the precious pads were still there. She had to think about business. The trouble was, she’d never run a business or even worked in any job aside from a part-time library assistant and helper in chess tournaments. She had no idea what to do.

“I’ll think about it tomorrow.”

Erin muttered to herself as she opened her door. It was just past midday, but she felt exhausted. She hated periods. Why couldn’t they have disappeared along with her world? Maybe there was a Skill to get rid of them. [No Period Pain] or [Bloodless Flow] or something like that—

As she opened the door to her inn, Erin stopped in her tracks. Her inn was empty. But something was moving underneath the table. Something glowing…

In her haste to leave, Erin had kicked her bloody towel and pants in a heap. And one of the windows must have been open a crack, because it had attracted guests.

A swarm of glowing green Acid Flies crawled over the dirty clothes. They rubbed their bodies all over the clothes, the table leg, the floor…

Parts of the wood were smoking and glistening with the Acid Flies’ toxic juices. Erin could see pitted holes in the floorboards. She stared in horror at the giant green flies crawling all over her clothes.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.22

A shifting, glowing mass of green and black insects covered the bottom half of a table and pieces of bloody cloth. Erin looked at the countless bugs that had entered her inn and wondered whether screaming would attract their attention. Probably.

They were huge, black bugs that vaguely resembled fireflies. Except these Acid Flies were up to three times bigger than fireflies, and instead of pretty glowing backsides, theirs were bulbous glowing orbs that exploded if you annoyed them. They were ungainly; they had a vaguely fly-like torso and front, but their backside was a huge, glowing bulb filled with the green acid that gave off a lurid, practically neon glow.

And they were in Erin’s inn. And there were dozens, crawling all over her bloody clothes. And they were in her inn.

“Oh no. No. This is not right.”

Slowly, she edged around the room. The Acid Flies took no notice of her. Erin made it to the kitchen, dropped her pads in a clean spot, and grabbed a bucket. Then she edged back out of the room and ran for the stream.

——

Ten minutes later, Erin opened the door of the inn and ducked as an Acid Fly buzzed at her face. The insect spiraled away and flew back to the bloody clothes. Erin narrowed her eyes and squinted.

It looked like the flies had devoured, or melted, a large part of the cloth. And either they were full or sleeping, because most of them were sitting on the pants or around it, not moving.

“Perfect.”

Erin tiptoed closer, pausing every few seconds to make sure she wasn’t bothering the bugs. The bucket was heavy in her hands, but she was close. She just needed to be in range.

When she was certain she was close enough, Erin took a deep breath and then hurled the bucket at the flies. The bugs were washed away by a tide of water and struggled helplessly on their backs, their wings too heavy to fly.

Erin moved fast. In an instant, she was in the kitchen and pulling out a large glass jar she’d used for storing perishable foods. She dumped a bunch of onions out and then grabbed a long-handled spatula.

The flies were still struggling to get up as Erin moved back into the common room. She bent down and began flicking them into the glass jar, one after another. Some exploded as the wooden spatula touched them, but soon, Erin had figured out the way to avoid the Acid Flies bursting was to hit their heads, rather than their glowing, green abdomens.

In no time at all, she’d rounded up all the Acid Flies and sealed them in the large glass jar. Then she was rushing back to mop the acidic water and the exploded flies in a disgusting mess out the front door of her inn. Thankfully, the water diluted the acid—it was just disgusting. That done, she sat back in a chair and wondered whether she was cursed.

“So. Apparently Acid Flies like blood. Right. And does that mean I have to worry about them landing on me when I sleep?”

She looked down at the jar of flies. Most of them were buzzing around inside the glass jar by now. They clung to the glass, fanning their wings innocently.

Erin lifted the jar up carefully and stared in horrified fascination at the bugs.

“Four legs. I knew I wasn’t dreaming that up.”

That would technically make the flies not flies, but it didn’t matter either way. They looked like oversized houseflies, acted like them, and aside from the exploding acid bit, they were as harmless as flies.

“And now I have a jar full of these deadly little critters. What do I do now?”

Erin stared at the jar. Letting them go was probably a stupid idea. Mainly because they liked blood. And she was on her period. Ergo, they’d probably land on her and melt her face off. So what could she do?

“…Hm.”

Erin hesitated and then experimentally shook the jar. Instantly, half of the Acid Flies inside exploded. The green, glowing liquid flowed to the bottom of the glass jar while the bodies of the dead flies floated to the top.

After checking to make sure the top of the jar was extremely secure, Erin gave it a really hard shake. This time, the rest of the Acid Flies exploded, and she was left with a pool of green acid and a bunch of dead fly corpses bobbing on the surface. The glass and their bodies were the only completely acid-proof things that Erin had found. The cork would slowly dissolve if she turned the jar over—but slower than almost anything else, and it worked well enough as long as the jar was stored upright.

“I should feel bad about that. I really should.”

She didn’t. And as Erin stared at the dead flies floating in the acid, she had a thought. She carefully put the glass jar in a corner of the room where she wouldn’t trip over it by accident and got another one out from the kitchen.

“One jar for bugs, one jar for deadly acid. Perfect.”

Erin picked up the jars and hesitated again.

“Acid. Does it melt glass? It doesn’t look like it’s melting, but will I wake up with a hole in my floor?”

She thought acid did. At least, the Aliens from the movie could melt through glass. But that was a movie. On the other hand, this was a fantasy world.

“Right. But in chemistry class, we used glass.”

But again, this was another world. Erin carefully held up the glass bottle and peered at the edges. No steam or atrophy so far. Even so, she put the jar in a far corner of the kitchen. Just in case. Then she inserted a metal ladle into the acid, saw that it didn’t dissolve either, and transferred the dead fly-bodies to a separate jar.

“Okay. Done. Now what?”

It took her two seconds to realize what she’d forgotten. Erin smacked her forehead.

“Time for cleanup.”

She got up wearily and trudged back into the common room. She looked down at the part of the floor and table where the Acid Flies had been congregating and swore when she saw the holes and gaps in the wood.

——

It wasn’t easy dragging a table out of the inn, but it helped when the wood broke apart and she could drag the pieces out. The acid had eaten through the base of the table and pitted the floorboards. That meant Erin was also faced with the lovely prospect of repairing the floor after she was done with the table.

Well, Klbkch had helped her repair the floorboards after the Chieftain attacked, so she knew what to do. Plus, he’d left the tools behind, including a kind of wood-glue and nails. A bit of figuring out how to pry the floorboards loose with a hammer and Erin’s [Basic Crafting] Skill did the rest. It took her an hour, but when she was done, the only sign the flies had been there were a few differently colored floorboards and her aching back.

“I hate all bugs. Except for Klbkch. No, actually, I hate him too. At least flies don’t lie to my face.”

Erin collapsed back into a chair and stared at the ceiling. Today was not a good day. In fact, she’d put it in the top ten bad days she’d ever had. Unfortunately, that meant it was a good day if you compared it to the ones she’d been having since she got here.

“Who knew I’d be grateful to be covered in sawdust and sweat rather than blood?”

She laughed, coughed as some dust got into her lungs, and stood up.

“Bath time.”

——

One of the glorious things Erin had been introduced to in Liscor was the public bathhouses. They weren’t free to enter, of course. She had to pay five coppers, but they were hot and luxurious and well worth the price. Come to that, she got off easy since she paid the same rate as Drakes. Gnolls and other Beastkin had to pay twice as much because of the fur.

Yes, the steaming bathhouses were a delight to match any convenience of the modern world. Just sinking into the scented waters was enough to take Erin away from the pain of reality.

That was why bathing in the freezing waters of the stream was twice as hard now. Erin stuck her foot in the water, yelped, and then decided to jump in before she lost her nerve.

——

The one good thing about being in the middle of nowhere was that you could bathe naked, and you could swear and scream as much as you wanted. After Erin had gone through the shock of getting in the cold water, she scrubbed herself as fast as possible, lathered herself with the ball of soap she’d bought from Krshia, and screamed again when she saw the fish in the water.

It shot through the water like a torpedo. Erin exploded out of the stream like a rocket. It followed her but couldn’t figure out how to run after her on dry ground. Erin ran around screaming, hit the fish with the bucket she’d brought until it stopped moving, and ran away. She came back only later when she’d had a brilliant idea.

——

Erin trudged back across the grasslands, an empty glass jar tucked under one hand and a knife and bucket in the other. She held the knife so it pointed down. She wasn’t sure if that rule only applied to scissors, but she figured it couldn’t hurt with knives.

It was later. In truth, it felt like days had passed, but somehow she was still on the same day. The sun was starting to set in the sky, though, so at least she was halfway done.

From this distance, she could see a green glow coming from the dead fish. Erin slowed down and put down her burden and shaded her eyes. It looked like her targets were already waiting for her.

“Hm.”

Erin squinted. All the flies were resting on the fish. Or in it. That was good.

Slowly, very slowly, she tiptoed towards the fish, the bucket in her hands. She eyed the Acid Flies and saw they were rubbing themselves all over the fish. The acid from their backsides was eating into the fish, and they in turn were eating the melted result.

“Oh wow. That’s gross.”

The flat fish wasn’t so much flat as runny now. Erin wondered if she should feel sick, but she mainly felt a kind of fascinated revulsion. She shook her head and got back to her mission before the flies decided they wanted dessert with dinner.

Stealthily, Erin filled the bucket from the stream. Then she tiptoed over to the fish and tossed the water all over the flies and the fish.

Again, the Acid Flies found themselves struggling on their backs, unable to fly. Erin dashed back and grabbed the glass jar.

“Take this! And that!”

Erin began smushing the downed Acid Flies with her glass jar. They exploded in showers of acid, and in no time, she’d killed them all. That done, Erin looked at the dead fish.

It was mostly melted from the acid. Erin prodded it with her knife and gagged. But she needed it, so she steeled herself and tried to cut the fish in two.

The knife blade sunk through the fish like butter. It wasn’t so much fish now as sludge. And no matter how hard Erin tried, she couldn’t get it to separate. Wherever she cut, the sludge oozed back together.

Disgusted in more than one sense, Erin covered her face with one hand.

“Well, of course that would happen.”

She needed a spoon, not a knife. Lacking one, she used the knife to scoop some of the fish sludge away. She stared at it and felt her stomach roiling. As the smell of the decayed fish hit her nose, she dry-heaved.

“I can do this. Think of the money. Think of the food. Think of the inn. Don’t think of the fish.”

She took several deep breaths while looking the other way. When she was fairly sure she wasn’t about to throw up, she went back to the sludge.

“Okay, [Basic Crafting], activate!”

First, Erin took some of the green fish-sludge and poured it in the bottom of her glass jar. Then, she took off the glass top and set it on top of the jar so that it was just wide enough to let flies squeeze into the container, but didn’t give them much room to get out. Then she walked away.

“Acid Fly trap, complete!”

Erin stared at the glass jar. She slapped herself gently with one hand. Then she set up three more jars the same way.

“Let’s see how you like this, you little jerks.”

——

“You have a talent for finding the most dangerous things, don’t you?”

Pisces shuddered as he gazed at the Acid Fly traps. He edged away from them and rubbed his arms nervously. Erin grinned at him.

“Aren’t they gross? But look—the jars are almost half full, and it’s not even been more than two hours.”

“How fascinating.”

He took another step back. Erin eyed him, but she couldn’t judge him too harshly. Both she and the mage were a good ten feet away from the glass jars.

Erin had to own it—she wasn’t good at making traps. The entire conceit of her jar trap was that the lid was just placed such that a fly would have trouble getting out because insects were stupid. However, if she were trying to trap houseflies, most would invariably leave the trap once the food ran out.

…In this case, the Acid Flies were just stupid and didn’t want to leave. They swarmed over the fish-melt without a care in the world, and it was easy to just tip-toe over and close the lid. Thus, you had a jar full of…acidic flies. Pisces could admire the traps—he just didn’t see why you wanted a jar. Of Acid Flies.

Pisces licked his lips as he stared at the jars. The way the countless glowing shapes moved and heaved against the glass was hypnotic. It also put him off his lunch. He turned to Erin and smiled wanly.

“I imagine…I imagine if all four containers were to rupture, the swarm of these insects could very well engulf us and melt our flesh within moments.”

Erin thought about this and gave Pisces a scowl.

“What a lovely image.”

“Yes. Yes, I imagine it will fill my dreams tonight.”

She shook her head.

“They can’t get out of the jars. They’re not that smart. They wriggle in, but the lid keeps them from exiting. I did the same thing with fruit flies back where I lived. Well, I lined the edges with sticky tape, but this seems to work because these guys are even dumber than fruit flies.”

“I applaud your ingenuity. But may I ask why you decided to capture a swarm of deadly insects that prey on dead matter?”

“Well, they’re bugs. I bet Klbkch would love to eat them.”

Pisces gave her a fish-eye look. He shook his head.

“It’s your funeral if you want to attempt to cook them. May I advise removing the acid before you serve them to your guests?”

Erin glowered at Pisces. She wasn’t even sure why she’d invited the mage to see her traps. She just wanted to show off, and he was the only one who’d come for dinner that night.

“I don’t get how they can survive anyways, if they explode so much. I mean, how would they even live long enough to reproduce?”

“By having few predators insane enough to risk consuming them. That, and the fact that they are nearly limitless in number.”

“Ah.”

Pisces waved a hand at the glass jars.

“These are only the males of the species, in any case. The females are—substantially—larger. In fact, the sole purpose of the male is to gather as much food as possible. He will dissolve and absorb as much nutrition into his lower abdomen before returning to a female in hopes of winning her favor. They all do it.”

“Oh, sort of like how bees and ants both have queens, right? All the workers feeding the big leader?”

Erin glanced over and saw Pisces gaping at her open-mouthed.

“What?”

He shook his head.

“I was unaware you were so familiar with the biology of insects, that’s all.”

“Oh, I know tons of weird animal facts. When I was a kid, I watched Discovery Chann—I mean, I read lots of books.”

“You can read?”

Pisces gave her a look almost bordering on respect. Erin glowered at him.

“Of course I can read. I can also play chess, and I read poetry. Sometimes.”

“You can play chess?”

Erin glared again, but he seemed genuinely curious.

“Oh yeah. I play chess. A tiny bit. You could say it’s a hobby of mine.”

It was sad to see the sly look that crept into his gaze before he turned his head, coughed, and came back with a carefully bland expression. Pisces’ lips twitched as he gestured to the inn over-casually.

“Really? As it happens, I was considered one of the better players in the northern cities. Would you care for a game? Perhaps with a wager or two on the side?”

Pisces smiled innocuously at her. Erin rolled her eyes.

——

An hour later, Pisces stared at the chess pieces in front of him with desperate concentration. He moved the king piece in front of him left and then right. He turned his head to look at the board another way.

“Perhaps if I—”

“Nope. And even if you try to take the pawn, it’s still checkmate.”

Erin didn’t bother looking up from her meal. She’d made scrambled eggs with sausage on the side. It wasn’t the most exciting of meals to eat, but it was tasty, filling, and better than having to stare at Pisces.

He sat back, put his fingers in his hair, and stared at the board with a look of wild disbelief. He glanced up at Erin, looked at the board, and then gave up and sat back. Pisces stared at the beams in the ceiling overhead, as if uncertain whether this was reality or a fever dream.

“I cannot fathom it. I was—am one of the best players on the continent! I have outplayed [Tacticians] and other mages of similar caliber and skill. How could you defeat me?”

She shrugged.

“Amateurs are still amateurs. By the way, I’ll put the money you bet me on your tab.”

Pisces’ eyes widened. He had made several bets before he realized who he was up against. Erin hadn’t saved him from himself. He lurched upright, a finger desperately raised.

“Ah. That. Clearly, I made a miscalculation. Would you care to waive my debts if I—”

“No. You bet, and I won. No arguing. Eat your eggs.”

Erin heard a loud sniff, but after a moment, she also heard the clink of metal on pottery.

“I must admit, this is better fare than your unfortunate soup of yesterday.”

She looked up. Pisces quickly looked down at his plate.

After she’d glared for a bit, Erin asked a question that had been on her mind for a while.

“What do you do all day, anyways?”

Pisces looked up and swallowed the scrambled eggs.

“I study the mystical realms of the transmundane. To unlock the secrets of the ether and command over supernatural forces, I—”

“You study.”

“Pretty much.”

Pisces shrugged and went back to munching on his dinner.

“Do you need to study that much? I mean, don’t you know spells?”

He sighed.

“For all my magical proficiency, I cannot cast more than a few magics beyond the fourth tier in any field, and I am relegated to first and second-tier magics in most fields outside of my specialization.”

Erin sampled one of her pieces of bacon and nearly burnt her tongue.

“Oh. Um. Magic has tiers?”

Pisces rolled his eyes.

“Indeed. Seven or eight to be exact. There is a speculative ninth tier of magic, but no [Mage] has ever cast or discovered a spell of such magic that I have read of in any history book. Well, Tier 7 spells are a thing of myth in the modern era. In any case, to cast such spells, [Mages] such as I require concentration, time, and effort to unravel the workings of each new incantation.”

Again, Erin had to pause to figure out what Pisces was saying.

“Right. So you study to cast better spells. And I guess that makes you level up as well?”

He began prodding his king-piece moodily, annoyed by her rephrasing all his statements.

“Obviously. It is a taxing affair, especially given that menial affairs such as lodging and sustenance must be taken care of while one attempts to study.”

Erin propped her head on one elbow.

“Almost makes you wish you had a job, huh?”

Pisces eyed her dourly.

“Until recently, I had a quite profitable side business liberating unneeded supplies from the locals in exchange for entertainment. But now, I abstain from such activities to stay within your good graces.”

“Yeah, and because Relc threatened to stab you if you kept doing it. That’s not really a good career path, you know.”

He sniffed loudly.

“I also had a far more lucrative occupation liberating unneeded items from those who were in no position to use them, but apparently, that is considered a grave violation of privacy as well.”

“You rob the dead?”

“I reburied them afterwards.”

Erin opened her mouth, raised a finger, threw up her hands, and gave up. She stared at Pisces as the mage huffily finished his food.

“Why don’t you do something actually useful instead?”

“And what would I do that is so useful?”

“I dunno. What do mages do for a living? Blow up stuff with fireballs? Dispense sage advice? Sell their beards? I found a bunch of magic runes in the kitchen. They kept food fresh for—I dunno, years.”

“Ah. A [Preservation] spell, no doubt. Yes, that is certainly a service some [Mages] skilled in runecraft can provide for plebians.”

“…And? Can you do that?”

“I cannot.”

“Darn.”

Pisces folded his fingers as he sat back, as haughty as a king on a throne. And somehow, a king in rags, waiting for his second helping of bacon.

“I am sorry to betray your high expectations of me, but I fear even a mage of my caliber cannot study every school of the higher arts.”

Erin glanced up at Pisces. The mage was scraping his plate with the knife and fork. She had the distinct impression he would have licked it if she weren’t watching. He really was thin, and so, sighing, she added another egg to the mix as she ladled bacon dripping with grease onto the plate. Amazingly, he had gotten mad when she tried to drain the grease. So had Relc.

“I never had high hopes for you in the first place. I just think it’s too bad, that’s all. You know magic, and you don’t do anything with it.”

Pisces put down his fork.

“Some would say magic is its own reward. I would.”

“I guess.”

Erin sighed. She felt like she was talking to a wall. A particularly annoying wall with bad hygiene.

“You know, if you actually helped people and were a bit nicer, I think you’d actually be fun to hang around with. Why are you so rude to everyone?”

She hadn’t meant it to sting, but clearly it hit Pisces somewhere vulnerable. He sat up straight in his chair, his eyes flashing.

“Thus far, I haven’t found any people worthy of my assistance. Why should I help those who judge me in ignorance and fear?”

Erin blinked up at him. The young mage’s face was pale with indignation, but spots of color flared in each cheek. She thought about asking him another question—but he was in no mood for conversation. His eyes flashed with a kind of actual anger. Not at her—but it was so real she was taken aback.

She could have dropped it. Instead, Erin just shrugged and stood up. She looked Pisces in the eyes and retorted calmly.

“Because you’re a better person than they are.”

He blinked. His eyes were grey and green, not like moss on a rock, more like a dance between the two colors, a nebula of both and perhaps the faintest hint of orange in that distant solar phenomenon. Scornful, aloof normally—and right now, wide with surprise. They did not look like any [Necromancer]’s gaze that Erin would have imagined.

She collected his plate and hers and left the mage sitting at the table. When she came out of the kitchen, he was gone.

——

The next day, Erin got up and went to check on her fly traps. They’d worked scarily well.

All four glass jars were filled with crawling, wriggling shapes. Erin took one look at the jars, gagged a bit, and then had to go sit down.

“Oh man. Oh wow. That’s the nastiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

It was also, on reflection, the scariest thing she’d ever seen. Erin wondered what would happen if she accidentally knocked the lid off of one of the jars. She recalled Pisces’ comment about melting flesh and shuddered.

Carefully, Erin walked over to the jars. She repeatedly thought about how important it was not to trip.

Her foot caught on a tuft of grass. Erin windmilled her arms wildly and caught herself just before she tripped into one of the jars.

“Not okay. Not okay.”

Before her heart could finish stopping, Erin adjusted the lids of each jar so they firmly covered the openings. Now, the Acid Flies couldn’t get out at all.

“That’s better.”

Erin hefted one of the jars up and felt some of the Acid Flies explode within.

“Oof. That’s heavy.”

She repositioned the jar as the acid and flies shifted inside. For such little insects, they weighed a ton.

“Gotta be all the acid in their backsides. Okay. This could take a while.”

Erin took one step and then another. She adjusted her grip around the glass jar so she wouldn’t drop it. She’d have to watch the ground for potholes, but she was pretty happy with her posture. She took another step and tripped over another of the glass fly traps.

The ground rushed to meet Erin’s face. She realized she was still holding the glass jar and hurled it away from her just in time. She smacked into the ground hard and exhaled hard. Aside from that, she was fine.

Then Erin heard the glass jar shatter as it hit the ground. She rolled to her feet and stood up.

The large glass jar lay in shards on the grass. Green-gray acidic sludge dripped onto the ground, raising steam and hissing where it met the soil. For a moment, all was still among the wreckage. Then, with a horrific buzzing, a swarm of black shapes flew into the air.

Erin felt her heart stop. She looked up at the spiraling cloud of flies. They flew around wildly, looking for whatever had disturbed them. Erin backed away slowly, praying they would ignore her. For a moment, it seemed as if they would fly off, but then the entire direction of the swarm changed. The cloud of flies seemed to recoil and then encircled Erin in an instant.

Her heart had stopped. It wasn’t beating in her chest. Erin looked around desperately, but all she saw were buzzing, buzzing flies. They filled the sky, the ground, everything.

“I—”

They swarmed her. Erin screamed and covered her eyes and mouth.

“[Gust]!”

Erin heard the voice and then a raging gale blew around her. She staggered as the wind blew her around. The effect on the Acid Flies was even more pronounced. They were blasted away from Erin into a funnel of air that whirled them into one spot. They buzzed around angrily, disoriented and confused.

So was Erin. She looked around and saw a familiar young man wearing dirty grey robes. He was pointing a finger in her direction.

“Duck, Erin!”

Erin dove to the ground and hit the dirt hard. She looked up and saw Pisces raise one hand. A pale frost formed at his fingertips, and half-visible gusts of wind blew around the length of his arm. He pointed at the disoriented swarm of Acid Flies.

“[Frozen Wind].”

A gentle breeze blew against the top of Erin’s head. Then, the air crackled and her hair froze in place. Erin could see the faintest trace of whirling air as it blew over her head. Where it passed, snow began to fall from the sky, and she felt an intense freezing cold engulf her.

The swarm of Acid Flies flew into the freezing breeze and fell out of the sky. Erin yelped and ran as they showered down around her, frozen insects that burst as they hit the ground.

She dove into the river and leapt out of it just as quickly in case the flat fish tried to bite her. When she cleared the water out of her eyes, the glowing swarm was gone, and all that was left was a circle of smoking dirt and frozen grass.

When Erin had finished shaking so hard she couldn’t move, she stood up. She was still trembling uncontrollably.

“That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

She lurched over to Pisces. She wasn’t sure if she should throw her arms around him or start crying. She settled for a brief hug and then doubled down and hugged him fiercely. He didn’t seem to notice the fact that she was dripping with water.

Pisces was breathing hard. He stared at the sizzling patch of earth where the Acid Flies had been, as if mesmerized. She could see the whites of his eyes as they shifted towards her.

“It—that was a beginner’s spell. Not suitable for most combat and downplayed by my instructors. However, it was the best tool for the moment. All magic is worth using, after all.”

“Right.”

Erin nodded. Pisces nodded. His eyes flicked back to the patch of melted earth.

“You saved me. It was incredible, that spell.”

He shook his head and waved a hand weakly in her direction.

“I am—I am a [Mage] of Wistram Academy. As a talented practitioner of the wind elementalist field of magic along with other spells in a generalist’s repertoire, of course such displays are second—second—”

Pisces bent over and threw up in the grass. He retched and then threw up again. Erin patted him on the back and waited for him to stop.

After a while, Pisces wiped his mouth with a corner of his robe. His face was still pale, but he looked better.

“You were lucky I happened to be here. Very lucky.”

Erin nodded.

“I was. I really was.”

Pisces nodded back. Erin felt like they were both bobbleheads, but there was nothing else to do. He pointed a trembling finger at the three glass jars still holding the swarms of Acid Flies.

“If you insist on using such traps, might I suggest you anchor them in the stream?”

Erin looked blank.

“The stream? Why?”

“Several reasons.”

Pisces shakily counted them off on his fingers.

“Firstly, the natural buoyancy of the water would prevent the breakage of glass if the jars were dropped, or at least mitigate the danger of the Acid Flies. Secondly, the effects of wind and other native life would also be mitigated. And thirdly, I would not be at risk of tripping over such traps.”

“Right. I can do that.”

She wasn’t sure if it was shock, but the trembling in her body had nearly vanished. Erin grabbed a rock, tied some long grass to it, and anchored the rock to the glass jar. She dropped the rock in the stream and watched the jar bob and float in the water.

“Hm. I need something heavy to make sure it stays upright. I guess sometimes the jars might turn over…but it’ll work. Better than leaving them on the ground. A hundred thousand times better.”

Pisces nodded again.

“Well.”

“Good thing you came along.”

Both nodded again. Pisces opened his mouth and grimaced. He went over to the stream and shakily rinsed his mouth out. Then he looked up at her.

“May I ask—what is it you plan to do now, Erin?”

She looked at him. Then she looked at the glass jars full of flies.

“I’m going to take these jars back to the inn. You’re coming with me in case I drop one. And then…”

“And then?”

“And then I’m going to feed you until you explode like one of the flies.”

Pisces glanced down at the glass jars and the milling Acid Flies within. He shuddered again.

“An apt description.”

——

The jar of Acid Flies was a mix of acid and death. The corpses of hundreds—thousands of the small bugs floated in a sea of glowing green juice. It slopped against the side of the glass, an obscene testament to insectoid death.

“Hold on, I think there’s one left.”

Erin shook the glass jar. The last remaining Acid Fly bounced against the glass and popped dully within.

“What will you do with them?”

She looked up at Pisces. The mage was sitting several tables away from her, deliberately not looking at the glass jars.

“I’ll separate the flies and the acid. I don’t know what I’ll do with the acid.”

“If you dispose of it, please do so with utmost care. While the acid of these insects cannot eat through metal or many conventional materials, it is extremely quick to dissolve any organic material.”

Erin nodded. She carefully put the glass jar back in its corner and stood up.

“Right. Um. Want another piece of bread? Or would you like some more juice?”

The sight of the fresh bread and cup of juice made the mage’s face turn an indelicate shade of green. He patted his bloated stomach and erped. He covered his mouth with his hand, but Erin was pretty sure he’d nearly thrown up.

“Maybe not, then.”

“You have been most kind.”

Pisces stood up and clutched at his stomach. He wavered and cast his eyes towards the door.

“Most kind. But the night is old, and I believe I shall retire.”

“Are you sure? I could get you a bag of food to go.”

He turned a darker shade of green and waved a hand quickly at her.

“You are very considerate, but no. No. I will be off. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“It was nothing. Let me get the door for you—there. Careful on your way out.”

She saw Pisces out the door and then turned and looked back at the table he’d sat in. It was filled with empty plates and crumbs. She debated cleaning it up and then shook her head.

Carefully, Erin picked her way across the inn. She walked over to the three filled jars of Acid Flies and made sure for the umpteenth time that the lids were secure and that she couldn’t see any flies still wriggling around inside.

Among the many things Erin had bought from Krshia, one of them was a chalkboard and piece of chalk. She’d meant to record things she needed on it, but now, Erin wiped the black slate clean and used her best handwriting as she wrote on the board. Then she propped it up on the bar’s counter.

Menu:

Pasta w/sausage and onions – 3 cp. per plate.

Blue juice – 2 cp. per glass.

Acid Flies – 1 s. per plate

She dropped the chalk on the counter and cast her eyes back at the jars of dead flies. Erin shuddered. She rubbed at her arms and sat in her chair. Too close. Too close by far.

In a while, she’d fall asleep. In a while, she’d wake up screaming and then fall asleep again. She’d be haunted by the sound of buzzing wings for the next week. But for the moment, Erin’s eyes closed.

[Innkeeper Level 10!]

[Skill – Alcohol Brewing obtained!]

[Skill – Dangersense obtained!]

“…I wonder if you can make fly cookies?”

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.23 A

Click.

A single sound in the darkness. The sound was of two mandibles snapping together. Long pincers, like those of tiny ants, but scaled up for a body slightly shorter than most Humans, Drakes, and Gnolls. The mandibles were a last-ditch weapon; they were meant to lacerate and tear, but they were really for breaking up bits of food. They still frightened every species not insectile in nature.

As did the bodies in the shadows, milling about, each one moving independently of the others but adhering to a grand plan. Hunched figures barely more than ominous shadows became more visible when they stepped past a glowing strip of green fungus placed on the wall for illumination.

A rounded shell on the back. Four arms. Four arms and two antennae, waving as the silent figures moved. They had somewhat rounded feet, but their creators had given them more support that they might walk upright.

In fact, they seldom fell, even in battle. If they fell, they landed on their beetle-like shell and would have to rock madly to swing themselves to their feet or be helped up. Not that they were supposed to fight.

These were but Workers. They scooped dirt out with their bare hands, loaded it into sacks they carried away, to move dirt and rock and roots, sometimes merely a dozen feet, then packed it into another wall in progress. They pounded the walls of the tunnel with their bare hands, and there were a hundred, all working in this long section of ground.

What was it? A tunnel. A vast tunnel that had been in progress for a month. This group was no more than two dozen strong, but they could hear another group moving just to their left.

The thinning wall fell inward, revealing more Workers, more Antinium in the darkness, completing their section of the tunnel. The first group barely paused a second before they began shoveling the dirt aside. They were so efficient, so…similar that despite both groups beginning independently, without line of sight, they had reached this point at practically the same time.

These were Antinium. The Free Antinium of Liscor’s Hive. They worked far below Liscor in the sprawling Hive. And this was their entire world.

Darkness. Dirt. If you found an edible root, pull it free and deposit it in a pile for sustenance. Rocks, another pile. Dirt went into the walls.

When it grew too dark to see, one of the Workers would continue the strip of glowing fungus, providing just enough light for the Workers to tell what they were doing. But it was so dark and so claustrophobic, another species would go mad in this place.

Boredom, anxiety, and the like were alien concepts to the Antinium. For the Workers below—there was no such thing as claustrophobia. There was no such thing as names or wants or even purpose. All these things were bad to ask of them.

Very bad. Aberrations appeared when you asked an Antinium questions. The citizens of Liscor had long known to ignore them and only give basic instructions. Workers just performed tasks like sweeping, building, and hauling things. Only one Antinium had a name, and that was Senior Guardsman Klbkch, and everyone knew him from the war.

These Workers had no names. They had no purpose, either. They only did what they knew must be done. Because the Queen, or Prognugator Klbkch, had ordered them to.

That order was everything. Their orders were to dig. If one even thought about the future, they would know, know that at some point they would be told to leave their post and go eat. Then they would eat, scooping the nutritional paste into their mouths. Then sleep in their assigned spots. Then wake.

And then? Then they would work. Or fight.

Fight in the darkness. All the Workers froze a second as a sound echoed through this place.

Click. A pair of mandibles snapped together. The Workers froze because the sound was an interruption, an unneeded waste of movement. The auditory disruption to their perfect cycle was the lesser cause, though. Or rather, not the only reason.

They listened for scraping, for rustling or chittering or growls not here, but ahead of them. Past a thin layer of dirt, at any moment, a hand might reveal a roaming eye. Or teeth. Or a glowing body and too many legs and blades to count.

Then they would fight, and many would die until Soldiers arrived. The Workers did not fear this. It was. But they did listen.

The scrape of their hands pulling loose dirt was the entire world. The feel of the sack in hand, the pale green glow amid black-brown bodies their only existence.

Few Workers ever saw the surface. They knew it existed. If an intruder entered the Hive, Soldiers would kill them. If an army came, they would fight to the death to keep them from the Queen.

Only Prognugator Klbkch went above regularly. He chose Workers to perform duties above. Soldiers were not allowed above. Above was a strange place for Workers, filled with non-Antinium people and rules you must obey about streets, but you followed orders.

One of the many Workers had gone above yesterday. He had been sweeping a street that was dirty. He swept from dawn till dusk, and then he went below.

It was an easy task, sweeping dirt. It was not the same as having a cascade of dirt shower down as he accidentally loosened the supports of the tunnel. He was buried in an instant and lay there for six minutes until the other Workers unburied him and he got up to work.

Antinium were built to withstand poison. They tired less easily than other species. They could survive being buried alive and fight on even as they bled from multiple wounds or losses of limbs. They were a species so unique even the rest of the world’s many species found them—strange.

Even so. The Worker who had gone above wished not to be buried again and took care to make sure he did not make the same mistake. He had no desires. He had no wishes.

But if he could have chosen, he would have gone above again. For there was something up on the surface.

Color. A breeze from the pale blue sky that changed to a fiery red he had never imagined in his existence. The Workers who went above did not speak to the others. Workers seldom spoke because there was no point.

And yet that sky…the smells from the place called Market Street and that entire moment stood out more to the Worker than his entire life below. He had even seen something strange.

The entire world above was strange. Drakes and Gnolls ignored you, and nothing made sense. Sometimes, one might curse or throw rocks at you, but that was rarer these years compared to the beginning.

Not that any Worker here had lived long enough to remember the beginning, ten years ago when the Free Hive had been founded here. Only Klbkch had been there. He and the Free Queen.

But there had been something that almost—almost made sense, above. The Worker kept remembering it.

It was a board of black and white pieces and tiles. Nothing made sense to a Worker. He did not understand why lips rose and curved, or what laughter was, or why water would come from a small Drake’s eyes. He did not understand why food looked different every time above, or why there was no tunnel overhead, bare feet above his antennae.

But he liked that board because it had rules. It made sense. He had watched as each piece moved according to its place.

That made sense to him. He actually understood it as the Human girl played with the Drakes and even Prognugator Klbkch.

That was—

Click. A third time a mandible clicked, and this time, as one, every single Worker turned and stared at the Antinium who had made the sound.

It was not the Worker who had gone above. It was, in fact, another Worker, ubiquitous to the rest, who froze slightly.

Click. Why did it make that sound? There was no need. There was no danger—and this Worker still made the noise. It stood out. It was…an Aberration?

Some of the Workers backed away, wondering if this were how they died. But this Worker did not shriek. It did not kill, as Aberrations always did when they appeared. It trembled slightly—then made the sound again.

Click, click, click.

There was almost a kind of…rhythm to it. As if the clicking were more than a warning or accidental rubbing of mandibles. Almost like what the Antinium had no name for. A thing heard on the surface.

A song.

—But that was not right. Antinium did not, should not make sound. One began to hurry off to find a Soldier or Klbkch. When either arrived, this Worker would die. Then silence and normality would resume. This is what would happen.

The clicking Worker continued to snap its mandibles together as the one who had gone above tried to make it quiet.

Click, click…click click click…he listened as the other Worker ran to find a Soldier.

Then the walls imploded, and a screaming, fleshy creature stuck its head out the side of the cave. It was thin, but so long it twisted into the tunnel, fourteen feet long, grabbing the running Worker and tearing its head off in a single twist as two long tendrils shot out. The clicking Worker and the one who had gone above recoiled in a moment of terror and then reaction and adrenaline.

Then it was death and battle. Green blood, running as Workers began to fight for their lives and more monsters poured out the tunnels. The two Workers, the one who made sounds and the one who went above, fought, punching with their bare hands, tearing at shrieking moths with mouths like razors fluttering everywhere—

Was this now death?

No. Seconds into the battle, Soldiers arrived. They crashed into the fighting, swinging their fists, bigger, stronger than the Workers. They died too—but the monsters fell as a wave of bodies rushed over them.

Four Workers out of sixty survived the carnage unscathed. Many of the survivors had lost limbs; some died before their wounds were staunched with a gel, and others were…no longer useful. They were left to die too. The rest stood there, blood and bodies leaking, Antinium and monster alike.

Then—more Workers arrived to pick up the dead for processing, Antinium and monsters both. More Workers pushed past the two covered in monster blood and their own green blood and began digging out the tunnel.

The two Workers who had survived looked around, then stood against a wall as a figure strode past Soldiers milling around the breach in the Hive. He was known to them.

Known to them all. The Worker who had been clicking trembled, and the other one stared as Klbkch walked forwards.

He wore no armor of a [Guard] down here. Only a loincloth—unnecessary since they were all the same body, chitinous armor, not flesh. But what marked him apart from the others were the two swords which hung at his sides, the belt of magical items.

The swords were bared and shone in the faint moss-light. Normally, they only came out to slay Aberrations. Or kill monsters.

“Another breach. The fifth this week. Casualties mount. My Queen—we cannot continue this rate of attrition.”

He spoke, not to the Workers—why would he, except to give orders?—but to the unseen presence in their heads. The being who governed this Hive and sent Workers to their tasks. She seldom spoke—but they knew her will.

The Queen. Oh, the Queen—and Klbkch was the only one who spoke to her. Her reply came more as thought than word. It was exhausted, like the last vestiges of energy that came after the mania of a day without sleep, without rest. She seldom slept but managed the Hive, kept the monsters at bay.

“Yes. The plan must be completed quickly, Klbkch.”

The Workers didn’t know what this meant, but the survivors stood there as Klbkch nodded.

“I shall expedite it at once. Five teams of Workers have already perished, but we are near completion. You four. And you…sixteen. Follow me.”

The four survivors from the original dig group and sixteen new Workers instantly stepped forwards and followed Klbkch. He gave them no orders; they simply followed him through the Hive.

Click. This time, only the Worker who had gone above and swept heard the sound. It was so infinitesimally small that only he heard it—and the Worker next to him who clicked his mandibles together.

Click, click, click—the sounds continued. Had he been doing this the entire time?

Stop. If Klbkch heard, he would kill the Worker. But the Worker continued as they wound their way up through the Hive, through secret tunnels no one knew about, that were not supposed to exist.

When they emerged—they saw the sky.

It hung above them, and the Workers all froze for half a second as they saw black night above. Like the cavern, but so wonderfully vast. And stars. Colors never known to the other Workers shone down, winking under a blue moon that hung waning in the sky.

“Follow. In silence. We must not be detected.”

Klbkch made the Workers spring to attention. They followed, keeping low, as he led them past Liscor’s walls. They should not be here. They knew that—Antinium were not allowed outside the city—but Klbkch was watching the walls cautiously.

He was not Senior Guardsman Klbkch here. So he led twenty Workers to a plot of land by a hill, far enough from the city that the Workers were able to feel the soft, foreign grass below their feet, stare at the sky, even flinch as something passed overhead, squeaking.

A…flappy thing? The Worker who clicked stared up at it and followed it with its head. Such strange things—but the Worker who swept was afraid.

He realized that if five teams of Workers had died, the sixth might be this very group. Yet he did not do anything.

He was Antinium. This was his purpose.

——

Klbkch came to a halt by a strange area along one vast hillside. Higher than most. He pointed, and the Workers saw an area of disturbed grass covered over to look from afar like regular hillside. It was, in fact, the opening to a tunnel.

“Within you will dig. There is a door. Reach it. If monsters attack, kill them. Dig—you have until morning.”

The Workers slowly filed into the tight opening and found a far vaster complex within. And…the bodies of other Workers. Most were torn to pieces, but they recognized parts of a head, shell—the Workers trembled, but they saw the outlines of a door.

It was open. It was so tall that they had to create dirt footholds just to climb up and dig it out, then haul more soil and dead bodies away. Not all the bodies were Workers. Klbkch stood outside, watching the moons move as the Workers hollowed the tunnel.

The door itself had been forced open by the sheer pressure of earth and stone. Weathered stone straining against the weight of hills in the deep gloom for centuries, perhaps even longer, until one gave and let in mundane dirt and grass and roots into a place quiet and untouched for aeons.

Waking what lay within. But the Antinium had been the first visitors to this place, and the desperate crew shoveled dirt. The gloom beyond the entrance seemed to be alive—as if inspecting their presence and inviting them to step further within. Or perhaps something inside was simply moving.

Choosing its moment to strike.

Every second, the Worker who swept waited for something to come through the door. Klbkch had drawn his blades; he was waiting too. He stood in the doorway, dividing darkness and moonlight with his blades—and it seemed like that was the only thing that gave the silent shadows pause as they lengthened. The Workers knew this truce might be broken at any minute, in the next second.

But nothing came. He heard…rustling from beyond, as if something listened to the Workers, but perhaps it was no longer hungry.

Hours passed as the Workers dug, frantically, and then Klbkch glanced inside the hollowed complex and spoke.

“The sun is rising in two hours. This will do.”

All the Workers froze. This would what? The door was now unearthed, and a large, hollow space existed in the hill, hidden by the grassy embankment above. Klbkch eyed the tunnel, then gave the strangest order yet.

“Collapse the opening. The door should be visible from above; no signs of any tunneling. Work fast. We have less than an hour.”

The Workers milled about, loosening dirt, pulling apart the supports they had dug. When the first showers began, the Worker who clicked looked up, and the tunnel began to fall—but the Worker who swept grabbed him and pulled him to safety.

In the darkness before dawn, the entire structure that six teams of Workers had dug out finally fell, and an entire hillside cascaded down as they ran to join Klbkch. Twenty Workers stared at the hillside, now visibly crumpled inwards from a distance.

Klbkch eyed the debris and ruins of their work. The Workers did not understand; they saw a bit of that foreign door poking out of the hillside, but it was blocked again by dirt. And now…

The door was closed. The Worker who swept felt a strange prickling sensation in his body.

When had that happened? But he said nothing, lest Klbkch think he was Aberration. And the Prognugator seemed pleased by this.

“Good. Very good. Go back and rest. This will do.”

So, like that, twenty Workers went back to the secret tunnels and to their Hive and ate before they headed to their holes and slept. The next day, they would have more orders and live or die.

It was all they knew. They had no notion of what they had done or even thought long about how close they had come to dying. Antinium blood was still flaking off the sweeping Worker’s chitin. And still…he saw that game of chess, playing in front of his eyes. Again and again, a beautiful thing not like this Hive. He slept and dreamed of that, a rarity, the first dream in his life aside from the dreams he had of the sky and floating up away from the Hive.

He only woke up when he heard a faint clicking from the Antinium in the cubby hole next to him. He clicked and clicked, like a little song, late into the night. And this time, no Antinium stopped him.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.24

“Baking soda.”

Krshia shook her head. Once more, she stood at her shop counter, this time sharpening a knife with a whetstone as a product demo. She was selling whetstones and knives. She seemed very familiar with both; there wasn’t much chance she would cut herself as she applied more water to the whetstone.

Erin hadn’t known you sharpened knives with, well, a stone. Or that you got it wet. Hence the name. Krshia had laughed the entire time—until she realized Erin was serious. And when the Human girl described the idea of the ingredient she needed, the Gnoll rested her chin on her paw and frowned mightily.

“I know not what that is. I have many things which can be baked, but none of this ‘soda.’”

Erin groaned. She felt she shouldn’t be surprised, but she still hated being surprised.

“How about baking powder? Everyone has baking powder!”

Again, Krshia shook her head.

“What is this powder supposed to bake, Erin Solstice?”

“Cookies.”

“And what are these ‘cookies’?”

Erin gaped at Krshia. She gestured with her hands.

“Cookies. You know? Small, round, brown things?”

“Are you talking about cow leavings, Erin Solstice?”

“No!”

Furiously, Erin grabbed at her hair. She immediately let go. Her hair was not as hygienic or as clean as she was used to it being.

“How do you—this world doesn’t have cookies? How is that fair? How!?”

Erin stopped ranting and pounded her fist lightly into her hand.

“…How about ice cream?”

“What is this ice—”

——

Thirty minutes of Krshia laughing and snorting at her later, Erin Solstice was walking back to her inn. She kicked at the clumpy grass, too mad to even admire the orange tint to the patch she was walking through. She was mad.

“Stupid worlds that don’t have ice cream. Stupid Gnolls who act nice and look at me like I’m insane. How does anyone live without ice cream and cookies?”

Erin grumbled to herself as she trudged back to her inn. She kicked the knee-high grass and wished she had a lawnmower the size of a skyscraper. Maybe then her legs wouldn’t itch so much after walking—

Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick—

A familiar sound across the plains. It made Erin’s blood go cold. She stopped, listened, and then saw it.

A gigantic, grey, craggy rock seemed to be levitating across the grasslands. But that was only an illusion. If you looked closer, you’d see many legs churning up the soil underneath the rock. But Erin had no intention of getting that close. She knew what was making that sound and what was living under that rock.

It was a Rock Crab. Erin froze and then turned to run. But it wasn’t coming at her.

Instead, the gigantic rock was propelling itself across the grasslands quite quickly. Its rapidly shuffling legs tore up the earth as it ran. But it wasn’t chasing anything. Was it running away? From what?

Erin got her answer as a bunch of much smaller figures surged over the crest of a hill, chasing the Rock Crab. Goblins.

Goblins? Chasing a Rock Crab?

What a ridiculous statement. Erin was amazed to see the same group that had been around her inn when the Chieftain…her smile vanished, but it came back when she saw the silly sight.

A huge Rock Crab, half as large as a house, was scurrying across the grass, surging down a hill as little green figures, short and waving weapons, pursued it. Erin had been in that situation, but she hadn’t weighed—what—thousands of pounds? Yet the crab fled the tiny group of eight, and Erin wondered if the Goblins had scared it with seedpods. That was the only thing she could think of.

At first, Erin grinned at the sight, but her smile faded as more and more of them appeared. First there were eight. Then ten. Then twenty—forty—

Yiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyi—

That was a lot of them. Erin’s smile vanished as she heard that familiar, dangerous sound. The Goblins were screaming a warcry of their own as they chased the Rock Crab. The crab seemed to sense them behind it and sped up, but it was still too slow. As Erin watched in amazement, the first Goblin leapt and managed to cling to the Rock Crab’s shell.

Instantly, it swung around and threw the Goblin off. From underneath the Rock Crab’s shell, a large claw appeared and snapped at the Goblin. Erin covered her mouth as the Goblin screamed and held up a bloody stump of an arm.

But even as the Rock Crab surged towards the injured Goblin, more Goblins leapt at it. It swung around, trying to knock them away, but although it knocked several Goblins flying, many more dodged its claw and charged at the Rock Crab, screaming wildly.

The Goblins swarmed the Rock Crab. Erin watched, open-mouthed as the giant land crustacean snapped and struck out with its claws. Three Goblins fell away, severely cut and bleeding. One was missing a hand, but the others—

They swarmed over the rocky shell, bashing it with clubs. They ducked underneath it as well, biting, stabbing, tearing.

Erin couldn’t see what was happening as more and more Goblins crawled underneath the Rock Crab’s shell, but she saw it spasm. It clicked rapidly in pain and swiped at the Goblins, but they were too close for its claws to grab at. A baby blue liquid seeped from beneath the shell. The giant Rock Crab collapsed, and slimy, blue Goblins dripping in entrails and crab shell emerged from underneath.

Erin backed away slowly. Her heart was pounding a million times per second. She imagined what would happen if one of the Goblins glanced over at her. They’d rush her and cover her in an instant.

But they were all intent on their kill. The Goblins were ripping the Rock Crab apart, hungrily scarfing down its guts. It was a sight to make Erin nauseous, but her stomach was already clenched tight from fear.

Eventually, she thought she was far enough away. Erin turned and ran.

——

Most of the other Goblins didn’t see the departing Human. They were too busy cracking the Rock Crab’s hard shell and scooping out its slimy entrails. They feasted.

But a few Goblins did notice the Human. One with ragged clothes, the smallest of the tribe, stopped biting into the Rock Crab’s bitter flesh to watch the young woman leave. The Goblin gripped something in her pocket tightly. Soon. It would be soon.

The ragged pouch of coin jingled softly as the Goblin shook it. The littlest looked around quickly, but the other Goblins were too busy gorging themselves to notice the small sound. The female Goblin stowed her pouch of coins among her ragged clothes. Then she went back to eat as much as she could.

The warriors let her pass. They were grunting, tearing bits of raw crab off to eat. There was no Chieftain. The Chieftain was dead—the tribe might have fractured or fallen apart, but they would eat well today, and they might have lots of food till later.

All because they’d hunted a Rock Crab. Without the Chieftain! The tribe hadn’t been certain it would work, but—the Chieftain had never run fast enough to kill the crabs anyways. If they could do it with him just shouting for them to ‘run faster’—why couldn’t they try to do it one last time?

That was what the littlest Goblin had suggested, and the warriors had taken her suggestion because everyone was hungry. Now, they glanced at her and let her grab a juicy bit of the crab’s stomach. The littlest Goblin didn’t like whatever it was—it was wet, slimy, and bitter. But she felt her pouch full of shiny coins.

Soon.

——

When Relc and Klbkch tried the door to the Wandering Inn, they found it was locked. Only after Relc had knocked twice did the door open a crack. When Erin finally let the two in, she bolted the door as soon as they were inside.

Relc raised one non-existent eyebrow and flicked his tail idly at Erin.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Greetings, Miss Solstice. Is something wrong?”

Erin looked warily out the window, but felt better with Relc and Klbkch in the building.

“Goblins.”

“Goblins?”

Relc laughed as he and Klbkch sat themselves at one of the tables.

“What, are they throwing rocks at you again? If you want, I could—um, scare them. But Goblins? Seriously? After you killed their Chieftain, what’s there to worry about?”

“How about a group of Goblins that can kill a giant rock-crab-thing in seconds?”

Erin snapped at Relc as the Drake laughed.

“It was the scariest thing I’ve seen. Some kind of raiding party swarmed over the crab and—”

“A raiding party?”

Relc sat up in his chair and grabbed for his spear.

“Where, and how many? Come on, Klbkch. We can head them off—”

He jumped to his feet. Erin waved her hands frantically.

“No, no! There’s way too many of them. Besides, I don’t want you to kill them! That would be—”

Relc interrupted Erin as Klbkch watched her silently. The Antinium’s hands were on his weapons too.

“Look, if there’s a raiding party out there, we need to take care of it. I can ignore a few Goblins, but a few hundred of them roaming around? That’s a threat.”

He went for the door, but Erin dragged him back. Or rather, tried to. Her feet slid uselessly across the ground, and he didn’t even seem to notice her weight.

“Exactly how many Goblins were in this group you observed, Miss Solstice?”

Klbkch interrupted Erin’s futile struggling as Relc paused by the door.

“Well—”

Erin had to think.

“Not more than forty, I guess.”

Relc blinked and stopped unbolting the door. He looked back at Klbkch and then down at Erin. Slowly, he walked back to his chair. Then he sat down in it and started to laugh.

Erin gaped as Relc chuckled and then transitioned into full-scale guffaws of mirth. He covered his face with one claw and pounded the table with the other.

“Just what’s so funny?”

“A raiding party, she says! Hah!”

“I fear you were under a slight misapprehension, Miss Solstice.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah!”

Relc finally managed to get his laughter under control when Klbkch stepped on one of his feet. He wiped tears out of his eyes and grinned at Erin.

“That’s just the local tribe. Forty Goblins? Please. I could take out half of them without breaking a sweat. Between me and Klbkch, we could kill all of them—”

He broke off and cleared his throat.

“Not that we would.”

Klbkch nodded.

“Despite their competency, a Goblin tribe is no threat to any but lone stragglers, Miss Solstice. On the other hand, a small raiding party is usually comprised of at least three hundred Goblins. Larger groups have been known to exceed a thousand individuals.”

Erin gulped.

“That’s not a raiding party. That’s an army.”

“Not if you’re a Goblin.”

Relc’s expression became serious as he leaned back in his chair.

“Yeah, like Klbkch said, a Goblin tribe isn’t dangerous. Maybe to you—but you killed their Chieftain, so I doubt they’d be brave enough to attack this place. Besides, if you lock the doors and windows, they’ll have a hard time getting in. But when Goblins start appearing in numbers? That’s when things get nasty.”

She heard the silent cue and took it.

“How nasty?”

Klbkch leaned forwards over the table.

“Extremely. Although Goblins are considered a minor threat by most settlements of any size, when they do appear in numbers, they are fully capable of wiping out villages, cities, and even nations in the past.”

“Get out.”

“It is quite true, Miss Solstice.”

Relc nodded.

“I’ve heard stories of the Goblin Crusades. And witnessed one myself. The last time one occurred, multiple armies of Goblins rampaged throughout the north and sailed across to the Human continent, Terandria. There were at least a hundred thousand Goblins in each army, and their King had a million Goblins at his back when we pushed his forces out of the south. The Bloodfields.”

He stopped talking for a moment, and his arm tensed around his cup.

“Bastard. The north got him in the end. But it felt like you couldn’t see anything but smoke everywhere you looked. I heard the north was ash in some parts of it. They nearly took First Landing.”

Erin felt like she needed a history class or at least a map. Yet Relc’s face was suddenly set and Klbkch was quiet. She hesitated—but she had to ask.

“Bloodfields? What’s that?”

Relc snapped out of his fugue and blinked. Then he looked amused again.

“Oh come on! You don’t know about…? Even if you’re foreign, the Bloodfields are famous! It used to be a battlefield. Well, it still is. Lots of armies fight there, and so much blood has been spilled that the entire place has changed. The entire area is full of Blood Grass. Very nasty. Drinks blood and eats people if they’re not careful. I fought there twice.”

“Oh.”

Erin felt like she should say something else, but Relc’s expression had grown uncharacteristically serious. She searched for something else to say.

“Then…the Goblin tribe isn’t that dangerous?”

Relc flicked his tail dismissively.

“Not to me or Klbkch. Just don’t walk into them, and you should be fine. Most people can outrun a tribe unless they get trapped anyways.”

“But they killed a Rock Crab!”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“You know, that giant thing that hides under a rock? It goes clickclickclickclick—”

“Oh, that. Is that what you Humans call it? We just call them Hollowstone Deceivers. What’s a crab?”

“A creature that lives in the sea, I believe. The name is quite apt.”

“Whatever. It’s not that tough.”

Erin blinked at Relc.

“It’s not?”

He waved a hand at her dismissively.

“Oh, we’ve got a lot more freaky monsters living around here. Way more dangerous. They’re just all sleeping or somewhere else this time of year.”

“Or underground.”

“Yeah, or that.”

That didn’t sound good to Erin at all.

“I haven’t seen any of these other monsters. Just the dinosaur birds.”

Klbkch nodded.

“That is appropriate for the season. At this time of the year, the Floodplains contain few creatures besides the Goblins. Aside from grazing herds, most animals—”

“Herds? You guys have herds?”

Again, Klbkch nodded.

“They are usually confined in villages to the north of Liscor. The city hosts many pigs, sheep, horses—”

Relc nodded and smacked his lips.

“Delicious. They’re great if you eat them half-raw. Speaking of which, got any food?”

“Oh, right. Sorry.”

Erin got up and mechanically began placing dishes on the table.

“Dinner will just be a few minutes while I warm everything up on the embers. Uh, what other creatures haven’t I seen yet?”

Relc scratched his head.

“What else? Um. What about Shield Spiders? They’re probably hiding in their tunnels right now, but they’re still around…watch where you step or you’ll fall into a nest.”

Klbkch twitched as Relc mentioned the spiders. Erin twitched too, and her skin crawled at the thought. Relc grinned at both and shook his head.

“Don’t worry. It’s not the right season for them. You’ll see a lot more wildlife around here when the new year begins. This is the quietest time of the year, actually. Once the rains start, you’ll see a ton of weird creatures, and then when it stops, all the animals that travel come here to graze. And in the winter, it gets really dangerous. There’s these things called Winter Sprites, which are a pain in the tail…”

“Wonderful. I bet everyone comes here to see all the monsters who want to suck your face off.”

It might have been that Drakes were impervious to sarcasm. Or it might have just been Relc’s natural obliviousness. He nodded happily as he licked his lips.

“We used to get a lot of travel down south. But that all stopped when the damn Necromancer appeared.”

“Necromancer? You mean Pisces?”

“That weakling mage? No. I mean the bad Necromancer that nearly destroyed the city about ten years ago. Is the food ready yet?”

“Not yet. So that’s why you guys hate the undead?”

Klbkch shook his head as Relc glanced longingly towards the kitchen where good smells were beginning to waft out.

“I believe the Necromancer did not help public perception, but the undead have always been considered a threat, Miss Solstice. It is said that the three most dangerous things to Liscor are rain, the undead, and war.”

“I can see war, but why rain and the undead?”

“Bah. They’re the real threats. War? Huh. We don’t fear war. Our army fights in wars—far south of here! They send back loot, but no one attacks Liscor! We’re too far, and the Bloodfields are in the way.”

“That is true. Most residents of Liscor do not fear war. I personally deem this unwise given the volatile nature of conflict between nations on this continent.”

“Hah! Even if all the northern and southern cities burn, Liscor will never fall!”

Relc slammed a fist on the table and then looked at Erin beseechingly.

“Can I at least have a drink? Blue fruit juice?”

“Oh, of course. Just a second.”

Erin hurried into the kitchen to grab glasses and the pitcher of freshly-squeezed juice. When she got back, she heard Klbkch and Relc arguing.

“—The certainty of Drakes in the impregnability of Liscor seems unwise. My people have brought up the need for increased vigilance to your governing body, but—”

“What’s the problem with the Watch, huh? You’re part of it. You know we can take care of any monsters that appear. And if an army does come here, so what? There’s only two ways into this valley. North and south. The mountains are practically impassable, and the Bloodfields guard the southern border. Even if an army comes through, the Floodplains will cut off any chance of siege. What don’t you get about that?”

“The north is still relatively unguarded. If the Humans were to unite under the Five Families—”

“Human cities?”

Erin leaned over the table and nearly spilled juice all over Relc. She looked at the two.

“There are Humans around here? Where?”

“To the north. Duh.”

Relc raised his eyebrows while Erin struggled not to throttle him. Klbkch glanced sideways at Erin and then back to his drink.

“And? Um, what do the Human cities do?”

Relc frowned as he poked at his claws with a fork as if testing how sharp it was.

“Who knows? They’re Humans. We have an okay relationship with them. They don’t come over here and stomp on our tails, and we don’t eat them.”

Erin sagged slightly. Klbkch kicked Relc under the table, and the Drake glanced up at Erin. His eyes widened.

“Oh. Um, uh, like I was saying to Klbkch, Liscor would never fall! Even if an army did attack from the north, we could just recall our army. Unless they could breach our walls in a week or less, the army would come running right back and smash them. See?”

“Is your army really that great?”

Relc nodded proudly as Klbkch indicated his agreement.

“The Liscorian army is famous. Don’t you know? We fight battles for other cities, and they pay us to kick our enemies to shreds. We field two thousand Drakes and a few hundred Gnolls at any given moment with officer classes. Those are just the officers. Now, we don’t have that many soldiers per officer—sometimes as low as two, but that’s Liscor strategy. When there’s a big battle coming, it’s as many as eighteen per officer. Now, I know that sounds like a small army to you, but their average Level is 17. How about that, then?”

She wasn’t sure what to make of that. It sounded quite low.

“Um. It’s good?”

“Good? It’s great! The average level of soldiers in other armies is Level 8. Eight. They have low-level [Conscripts] or [Militia] who don’t see battles. Ours are veterans. Get it?”

She did. And when Relc put it that way, it was impressive.

“So the, uh, Liscorian army is twice as strong as other armies?”

Klbkch shook his head.

“That is not entirely correct. Levels cannot replace tactics or numerical superiority, or equipment, for that matter. However, it is still a potent deterrent to larger forces. That allows the Liscorian army to fight as a mercenary force without prolonged engagements.”

“Exactly. Any army that runs up against ours knows that if things get serious, they’ll bleed for every soldier they bring down. That’s why we can earn so much money fighting abroad.”

“So are they here? In the city, I mean?”

“Nah. They’re almost always out on some campaign. The Liscorian army fights wherever. I think they were in the east, fighting near one of the Walled Cities. Oteslia, probably. They’re easy to siege.”

That all made a sort of sense to Erin, although she was having a hard time thinking of a parallel with her world. That was also because she hated history class. But she vaguely recalled the Mongols doing something similar. Or was it the Turks? The Swiss? Now she had no idea.

But Erin did have one question. She raised an eyebrow at Relc.

“So your army goes out and fights for money? Isn’t that dangerous if someone attacks here?”

“Exactly my point. If a stranger to our city can identify the weak spot so quickly, why is the populace so resistant to any suggestions regarding defense?”

Relc shook his head at both Klbkch and Erin angrily.

“Like I said, Liscor’s got a lot of natural defenses. Besides, what army in their right minds would want to attack the one city with an Antinium Hive?”

Erin sensed her food was nice and warm, but that last word bothered her. She lingered, her hands on the table.

“A what? An Antinium Hive? Is that unique?”

Relc opened his mouth to laugh in her face—then he saw her genuine expression and waved his hand at Klbkch. As for the Antinium, he gave Erin a long look as Relc explained.

“This city. Liscor. It’s home to a bunch of Antinium—not the violent kind, the peaceful ones. But they live here, so that makes it a Hive. One of six in the world. The Black Tide, the Antinium from Rhir—we are the only city that allowed a Hive to be created. Because they helped fight off the Necromancer. ‘sprobably why no one wants to visit anymore. But hey, it makes us special. And the Ants do help a bit. Right, Klbkch?”

Erin turned to look at Klbkch. He nodded in agreement.

“We have a standing contract with the people of Liscor. In exchange for our presence, we provide services and goods to the city. It is a mutually beneficial arrangement.”

“Yeah, it was weird having the Antinium around, but it turned out to be a good idea.”

Relc shrugged.

“Anyways, the bottom line is that the Ants defend the city if we’re ever attacked and help out with construction and other jobs. They send some of their people to work in jobs, like Klbkch here. And in return, we let them stay.”

“That doesn’t sound too fair. What’s in it for the Antinium?”

Relc looked amused.

“No one kills them. You think the Hives would be allowed anywhere else? All five of the other ones are in the Hivelands, and we’d be at war with them if the Walled Cities thought they’d win. This is the only city where Drakes, Gnolls, and Antinium mix. It’s probably why we’re not in the middle of a third Antinium War. To everyone else, they’re the monsters who should be destroyed.”

Erin looked at Klbkch. He didn’t seem inclined to disagree, but she did.

“They seem pretty good to me. Although Klbkch is the only one I’ve ever met. But he doesn’t cause trouble or call Humans names or do anything bad. Unlike certain Drakes I could name.”

“Thank you, Miss Solstice.”

Relc glared as Klbkch bowed his head. He flicked his tail back and forth on the ground and growled.

“Oh, the Ants are great. They’re quiet, they don’t get drunk, and they’re about as interesting as wood—until one of them goes crazy.”

Klbkch nodded.

“The strain of madness has not been eliminated from the current generation. We have reduced the average instance of insanity by 14% per year, but we must remain vigilant.”

“What? Fourteen…what? Can you explain that bit to me?”

Klbkch nodded and opened his mandibles, but Relc’s stomach audibly growled. He poked Erin in the side, which made her jump and earned him a foot-stomp from Klbkch, but he didn’t seem to notice. He whined at Erin.

“You can talk about the crazy Ants later. But right now…food?”

Erin dithered, but relented at last at the desperate look in Relc’s eyes.

“Oh, fine.”

She went into the kitchen and began lugging out a pot of soup, a basket of warm bread—a bit too dry from being near the embers—and her standard pasta with sausage and onions. Relc began to salivate the instant he saw the food.

“Sorry it took so long. I wanted to tell you guys about the Goblins, so I forgot to heat stuff up.”

“No problem, no problem. Just put it here and all is forgiven. And oh yeah, we’ve got news too!”

Relc rubbed his claws together eagerly as Erin brought out plates and bowls.

“Ooh, is that soup? And bread? And pasta! That’s a lot of food!”

“Yeah, well, I was celebrating earlier. I cooked up a lot by accident.”

“Celebrathing? Celebrathing whu?”

It was hard to understand the Drake as he spoke through a mouth already bursting with food. Erin politely averted her eyes as she replied.

“Oh, you know. Not dying.”

“’S good! Good to celebrath!”

Relc washed down his mouthful of bread and cheese with a cup full of blue fruit juice. Erin had other liquids for sale now too; regular apple juice and a refreshing minty drink, but the Drake had developed a taste for the sticky blue fruit drink.

“I would like a bowl of soup too, if it would not trouble you, Miss Solstice.”

Erin glanced over at Klbkch and remembered. She put a frown on her face.

“Wait a minute. Is soup another one of those things Antinium can’t eat?”

Klbkch ducked his head.

“I assure you, soup is completely palatable to my kind.”

Erin glanced over at Relc, who nodded agreeably as he stuffed his mouth with pasta. She put her hands on her hips.

“Okay, but I’m still mad about the pasta thing. So tell me—and I hope to god this is true or I’ll be really upset. Tell me, do the Antinium eat bugs or worms or stuff like that?”

Klbkch looked up into Erin’s face and hesitated.

“I would not like to offend your sensibilities with a description of my diet, Miss Solstice—”

“Offend away, by all means.”

Again, he hesitated.

“My kind is fully capable of digesting most dishes eaten by humanoids. However, it is true that if offered we will eat creatures Humans and Drakes deem unsavory. We do not tend to consume such meals in public—”

“Right, no problem! Just wait here!”

Erin skidded into the kitchen and began banging pots and plates together. Relc and Klbkch exchanged a puzzled glance until she walked back into the room carrying a heaping bowl of black things as far away from her as she could.

“Whath tha?”

Gingerly, Erin set the bowl full of Acid Flies on the table. Relc looked at it curiously, but Klbkch leaned towards the bowl as if suddenly hypnotized.

“These are—well, they’re these flying acid bugs that I found. I wasn’t sure if you’d want it, Klbkch, but I thought it was worth a try and—”

Klbkch picked up a spoon and began shoveling the black insect torsos into his ‘mouth’. Erin shut up. She also looked away. As much as she liked Klbkch, the crunching sounds and the sight of him eating the flies was hard to stomach.

“Looksh good.”

Relc swallowed his mouthful and reached out a hand. Without missing a beat, Klbkch slapped it away from his bowl. Both Relc and Erin stared in surprise at Klbkch.

“Um, can I have a bowl too, Erin?”

“You want some? Oh, uh, do lizards—”

Relc glared, and Erin amended her words hastily.

“—Drakes like bugs?”

“Not as much as this guy, but I wouldn’t mind trying some. I’ve eaten worse on campaign.”

Dutifully, Erin brought another bowl out. Relc tasted the bugs and munched a few down experimentally.

“Ooh, nice and crunchy! I didn’t know you could eat these things. How’d you manage to get rid of all the acid?”

“It’s a long story. It involves blood and—actually, I’d rather hear your news. What is it?”

Relc looked blank. Then he snapped his fingers. Erin was surprised he could with his scaly hands.

“Right, oh yeah. It’s terrible news! Guess what? Some idiot found a bunch of ruins to the northeast of the city, and it’s apparently some ancient dungeon! Now, every adventurer in miles is coming here to explore it!”

Erin frowned.

“Is that a bad thing? I thought finding old ruins and exploring them is what adventurers do. It’s what happens in all the games I, uh—well, it’s what adventurers do, right? Doesn’t Liscor have an Adventurer’s Guild?”

“Yeah, but they don’t have many members. Not many idiots in our city bother becoming adventurers since there’s not much to do around here. If you want to fight, you join the army or the Watch. It’s Humans who are the stupid—um…uh…”

Erin pretended not to hear that.

“You don’t like adventurers, is that what I’m hearing? Why? Don’t they kill monsters?”

“Yeah, and they cause trouble. They pick fights when they’re drunk, they run away from tough monsters, and they’re rude to guardsmen.”

Relc slammed his cup down on the table.

“Adventurers. I hate them so much.”

Klbkch nodded. He dropped his spoon into his bowl with a clatter. Erin blinked and looked down. The bowl she’d filled was huge, twice as big as a soup bowl. He held it up to her, empty.

“Another serving, if you please, Miss Solstice. It is true such sites bring increased commerce to our city, but the negative effects of so many adventurers cannot be discounted.”

Erin took Klbkch’s bowl and headed into the kitchen. She refilled it with the jar of Acid Flies and accidentally spilled some on the floor as she ladled them into the bowl. After a moment’s hesitation, Erin picked them up and tossed them in Klbkch’s bowl. She figured it probably wouldn’t bother him. The floor was clean, anyways. Flies were dirty things.

“Okay, so this is big news. But why are they all coming here? Are these ruins that amazing?”

Relc had pushed aside his bowl of Acid Flies for more pasta and soup. Erin caught Klbkch munching down on those as she slid him his refilled bowl of Acid Flies.

“Well, that’s the thing. No one knows what’s in those ruins. It could be nothing, but it also could be a ton of magical artifacts and treasure. It’s that big of a dungeon, apparently. Most ruins, well, they’re already explored or too dangerous to dive further into. A new spot like this is going to bring hundreds of idiots into Liscor, and guess who gets to watch them to make sure they don’t cause trouble?”

“You?”

“Exactly! It’s a pain in the tail, and we’re busy enough as it is. Now’s usually the time when we hire new recruits, so we’re going to be understaffed and working overtime.”

“It is a troublesome predicament.”

Klbkch didn’t stop eating as he spoke, which created an odd crunching background to his words, which already had a clicking nature to them.

“Naturally, the influx of adventuring parties leads to more trouble. However, it will also bring in needed trade and many merchants who seek to do business. Thus, while guardsmen such as Relc and myself find the situation hard to manage, the city is far more positive about these findings. Also, may I trouble you for another plate?”

Erin blinked down at the empty bowl.

“I just refilled that. You really like those flies, don’t you?”

Klbkch nodded.

“It is…surprising. I had not known the Acid Flies of this region were so…tasty. Until this moment, I had never attempted to consume one.”

“Yeah, I’ve never seen you eat like that, Klb! You’re eating like one of those pigs! Or a Gnoll!”

Relc laughed at Klbkch around a full mouth of food. Both Erin and Klbkch raised their hands to shield themselves from the splatter.

“Well, if you like it so much, I guess I’m in business!”

Erin grinned happily.

“I had no idea it would be such a huge hit. It almost makes everything I had to do to get these buggers worth it. Almost.”

“Was it difficult?”

“Very. But hey, if I’m the only one who can catch these suckers, I can actually attract some customers! Klbkch, would you mind telling some of your friends about my inn? I’d love to have some more business.”

Klbkch visibly hesitated.

“Do you mean for me to bring others of my kind, Miss Solstice?”

She shrugged.

“Yeah. Why not? If you liked the flies so much, I’m sure your friends would love them too. I’ve got a good system for harvesting them too—make them explode before you start carrying the glass jars around.”

Again, Klbkch hesitated.

“I am not sure that would be too…wise.”

“Why not?”

Relc was silent as he slurped down the last of his pasta, but he was watching Klbkch carefully from the corner of his eye.

“My fellow…Workers are not as used to dealing with other species as I. It would be imprudent to bother you with their presence.”

“Hey, if they’re like you, I wouldn’t mind it. And if they don’t want to talk to me, I can just serve them more flies.”

Klbkch looked uncomfortable.

“I would not want to put you to any inconvenience.”

“Isn’t that what being an innkeeper is all about? Besides, I deal with Pisces. Come on. Bring a few of your friends, and I’ll serve you Acid Flies until you explode.”

“Yeah, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Relc nodded. He slurped down his pasta and thumped Klbkch on the back. Jovially. Erin and Klbkch glared at him. Deliberately, Erin began knocking against the hard wood of the table.

“Has no one here heard of Murphy’s Law?”

“What’s that?”

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Interlude – King Edition

Evening fell across the world at the same time. It was already dark in Liscor in an inn where a young woman was knocking on a table. That was because the mountains that sheltered her inn were obscuring the fading light. But far south and to the west, upon another continent, another land—the dry air was turning orange slower, blooming crimson like a great flower.

Sand whipped from the distant desert and blew across a city in ruins. A silent place. Not quiet, for men and women of both skin and cloth-flesh did live and work. Even flying folk with features and feathers like birds—but the city was still broken.

It resembled a crown, towers reaching high above circular walls. Once, this crown had been unbroken; now, two towers had fallen to decay.

It was decay that ate this city to pieces. The streets, once painted with glorious colors, filled with visitors, supplicants, and treasures from a thousand lands, were torn up. Glass windows were long since broken—or sold.

Everywhere was echoes. If you looked up, there lay one of the largest palaces upon a hill, a structure of mighty stone—but like everything else, it, too, had waned. Inside, there were no pieces of art; the treasury was shadowed, and year by year, the servants who remained looked older and thinner, despite the best efforts of the last loyal servant to keep everyone fed.

It was not food nor even the fallen fortunes that kept this city, this palace so quiet and still. It was like a slumber, a dark, deep dream had fallen across this remnant of a kingdom. Their heart had stopped beating, so they waited.

Waited—and they had been waiting for decades. They knew now, all of the ones who lived here, that there might be no waking. The rest of the King’s Seven were gone; the old kingdom had fallen to pieces and been gobbled up by other powers.

Now, they were allowed to live and stumbled through their days here despite their many enemies across the world. Because—no one dared march an army through the crumbling gates. Despite the few [Soldiers] left, the impoverished streets and folk—

No one wanted to wake this place up. Or rather, wake the true sleeper.

——

He sat in his throne room, a man with hair flowing long and unkempt. Despite the years that had added onto themselves, taking away his youth, he still had almost no grey in the red-gold hair that hung about his body. His clothes were still as rich as they had ever been, but the silk had worn fine, and cunning thread had tried to disguise tears and atrophy.

Even magic seemed to have waned around him. This man sat thinner than he had ever been. And he had been a great warrior. He still had elements of that—but he was frail, in spirit and in body, as one who had sat in this chair for years.

A plain chair, padded and backed with some ornate wood—but not a chair for him. It sat in a gigantic throne room, across ancient marble laid generations before his. And on the far wall was a throne meant for him. He had taken it from a foe in ages past, and the gold sparkled brighter with magic. The back of that throne was less comfortable than the chair, yet somehow, the man seemed most miserable where he sat below.

The only thing not tarnished or worn was his crown. A circlet of gold shaped into the very sigil of this nation. It was like a leaf of gold, sprouting from inhospitable desert, surrounded by stars.

But for that—and his very striking appearance—he might have been any man sitting there. For there was no spark in those eyes as green as this continent was not. They should have danced with passion, mirth and joy and fury.

Instead, they were empty. For twenty-two years, it seemed like those eyes were pieces of glass that fixed upon objects and people with no real meaning or purpose. Searching, perhaps.

Dreaming.

Slumbering, they called him. Slumbering…and let him sleep. Let him die there. No one disturb him, lest he wake.

That was how it had been for so long that no one had given any thought to this place, except as an entry in history. A calamity checked and now forgotten. The people of the city, the servants, the last protector who despaired even as he kept his vigil—all had grown used to this quiet despair.

Except that yesterday, something had happened. Something so unique that it had sent servants running through the palace and [Soldiers] dashing to defend the man in this room.

Assassins. That was what the people heard, and it made them worry. It made some furious—and remember blades and wrath. An [Assassin] would be the end of all—but this place was not so broken yet, not so worn that one could kill that man so easily.

Nor would the true perpetrators long live thereafter, even if a great nation had ordered it.

…But it was not assassins after all. It had been a mistake. What, exactly, the servants did not say, nor did the [Soldiers] understand. So the city murmured then fell silent. Waiting and waiting…but what they did not know was that the intruders were still there.

In that very throne room, in fact. They were alone, and the [Soldiers] at the doors occasionally glanced in to make sure they had no weapons—not that they were old or canny enough to bear them. Even the great servant, the steward, was not allowed within the throne room, to his anger. He had stormed off, but he had obeyed because it was a rare order.

The man in that chair had given it, so the two children were allowed to stay.

Boy and girl. The [Soldiers] and the steward might have objected—but the man with red-gold hair was not so weak as to be done in by two child-assassins, even if they came from Germina. Nor did these two have the look.

They were not warriors. Their clothing, even their demeanors were soft. Terrified, in fact. They had appeared in a flash of light and sound and quailed because they might be killed—now, spared, they were talking.

A young man and woman. Boy and girl in demeanor, but not age. They were both…sixteen years old. Neither one had the eyes of an adult having worked or fought already as men and women. They had strange dress, too colorful and beautiful to be cheap, but without an inch of magic or more marvelous thread.

Their accents were also—strange. They used strange words and stared about as if everything were new and odd. A common sword made their eyes pop, and a Yellat was the strangest food in the world. Perhaps they were Terandrian? No…stranger still.

But only the man in the throne room understood that. He listened as the two spoke, and his dreamy eyes slowly focused on one or the other.

A boy and a girl. Twins. They looked like each other, reflected, so similar that when one fell silent, the other spoke in their place. They were mystified as to how they had come here.

It also made the man in the chair curious. He would break into their explanations now and then. The boy would answer, or the girl, or both falter until one had a reply.

None of their answers were wrong, but some created more questions. An incomprehensible tangle of questions and answers because nothing made sense.

Yet these were no lies, the man with the crown knew. He could tell, even without the glowing crystal showing the truth of every statement. It just made their answers more confusing.

He sat there, hunched, and whispered in a low voice hoarse from lack of use.

“Hm. And is that the entirety of your world?”

He sat like a man waiting for something. And though his posture was languid and relaxed, a spark shone within the depths of his emerald eyes.

It was the first spark of genuine curiosity in a long time. The boy hesitated, and the girl nodded. The man shifted slightly, and his royal clothes moved, revealing something.

The flash of steel. But rather than a blade—the boy stared at the links of fine chainmail underneath the cloth.

The man was wearing armor despite sitting there. He wore the heavy steel like a second skin, as if he would have felt bare or uncomfortable without. When he stood, it was with swift clarity, as if he didn’t even notice the added weight.

If the Great Companies of Baleros could have seen him now, or the Archmages of Wistram, or the Hundred Kings and Queens of Terandria—they would have recognized a face from many burnt and defaced paintings, illustrations in history books, and descriptions of a younger man, now aged.

Yet in this moment, all their laughter and reminiscing of his fallen glories would have ceased. If they could have seen him, the look on his face would have scared them terribly. For the glass stare of a vacant figure was gone.

In its place was a burning hunger. A curiosity—an insatiable desire. The man’s head slowly rose, and the hair too long unsheared moved as he gazed up.

The ceiling of his throne room had gone to dust, despite the best efforts of the cleaners. His city below lacked color, and the deserts had reclaimed lush lands once filled with noise and light.

He had seen this same view for decades in grief and slumber. Now—the man looked out and saw something else.

Evening was falling across his continent, Chandrar. He gazed into the distance where the greatest desert in the world lay, and he had seen it. He had seen the buried city to the south, glimpsed peaks of every nation on the land upon which he stood.

Even those memories could not stir the eyes that had been emptied of tears and passion. Now, though—the man caught his breath. His great chest rose slowly as he saw something the two children could not.

But they had brought it. It was a vision. A vision of a world hanging in space. Space—a world shining at night with the lights of a thousand artificial suns. Green and blue and towering buildings of steel and glass. Airplanes soaring through skies with no magic but another kind of force of lightning and wit.

The vision held him there, breathless, and those eyes opened wide. Wide. Another notable thing about the man was that when he turned, his tanned skin had a hundred ancient scars. His teeth were white as he bared them, and when he smiled, the air felt full of life, like a heart suddenly skipping a beat. The two twins gazed at him, amazed at the change in the figure.

When they had first tumbled into this place and seen him sitting there, so still, head bowed, shoulders hunched, they’d feared he was dead or oblivious to all. But now he stood.

The last thing that was notable about this man was that he was a king.

“Magnificent. Truly, magnificent.”

He exhaled and then strode away from the windows and balcony. The twins flinched, but the king made no move towards them. He strode about the great throne room, his long steps a flurry of movement in the silent emptiness.

“A world unlike this one, full of miracles such as I have never dreamed…? Inconceivable. And yet—you tell the truth.”

The king spun towards the twins, and they jumped as one. He eyed the flashing stone, but his gaze was on their faces. He leaned over, inspecting their eyes and watching them—and he did know people. Again, the king shook his head.

“You tell the truth. I know it. Not just because of a Skill, but because it is too incredible not to be the truth. I could believe a world ruled by magic, but a world ruled by—machines? A place where magic is myth and technology has advanced to the point where men fly for business and convenience? That cannot be a fairy tale.”

He swept past the two again, this time towards the throne. The king put one foot on the dais and then shook his head. It wasn’t time. Once again, he stalked around the room, too impatient to hold still. His body screamed protest because it was not used to action. But his mind—his heart was shouting louder. Then he spun back and pointed at the girl, who flinched again. But he was not angry.

“And when you did lie—when you dared to conceal the truth—it was to lie about the strength of your armies! The sheer power of a single weapon in your world that could shatter armor like paper and lay waste to even the strongest walls—that is the might of the world you claim exists beyond this one! Where I would be naught but a primitive beast from a forgotten era.”

He spread his arms as he came to a stop before the boy and the girl. They looked up at him fearfully. Not because he had been violent, but because he was a king to be feared or exalted—or both.

“So. What should I do with two strangers from another world? What would any man do? The thoughtless rulers who seek to protect their ways of life? Perhaps kill you.”

They flinched at that. The girl moved protectively in front of the boy. The king’s lips twitched.

“Do not fear, young lady. I am no ordinary man, ruled by his flaws. I am a king, and my flaws are a lesser man’s strengths. No; I believe I should keep you two safe. You have more knowledge, I am sure, and you may be key to finding more of your kind. Nor do I fear your world. Not at all.”

The two twins looked up at the king nervously. They paused, and then the girl asked a question. The king nodded as he stroked his beard. It was too long, and he looked down at it, mystified, as if wondering how it had come to his chin without him noticing. He went on, feeling for his side, but it hung empty.

“The prospect of you two being the first and only is possible. But the odds that more of you strangers have come to this planet is altogether more likely. Perhaps a portal is open and the armies of this other planet pour through already to sweep through nations like a reaper’s scythe.”

The thought of such devastation made the king smile. Smile and his eyes twinkle at odds with his words and the vision he saw.

“How wonderful.”

By now, the twins were exchanging looks of fear, because it was clear they stood before a madman, but the king only laughed. He spread his arms wide as he faced them.

“You do not understand. How could you? But think, for a moment, as a king would. Think as I would. Come.”

With one word, the King moved the twins’ unwilling feet. He strode over to one side of the room and yanked open a set of double doors. The red light of a fading sun blinded the two for a moment, but the King strode out onto the balcony.

“There.”

He gestured out across his balcony at the crumbling city below. People went to work in the streets, hauling poor harvests of Yellats to stalls that contained only cheap goods. They worked, never looking up at the palace and that balcony because they did not expect to see anyone there.

If they had—they would have seen that man, aged, showing the two children that faded sea of roofs and streets. They could not see the parades of armies, the cheering crowds he could still hear, the seven champions gathering in laughter and glory. He spread his arms as if showing them that past, and it was at odds with the reality he knew lay before him. The irony did not escape him, so his smile was bitter.

“Behold my empire. Once, each street was packed with people from every nation. Every storefront held goods brought from countless thousands of leagues away, and messengers sped to every corner of my expanding kingdom. By day and night my armies marched forth, and the world trembled to hear the clash of blades and my name on the lips of men.”

The twins looked out at the city, but couldn’t imagine the sight the king described. All they saw were crumbling bricks and ragged people walking without life. The gutters ran with filth, and what food was on display in the shops was rotten or rotting. The king gazed down upon his city and shook his head.

“Once. But I abandoned my dreams of conquest and let the nation I had built collapse around me. And why? Because my vision was too small and my goal too achievable. I had swept through a continent and brought low countless kingdoms and yet—it was an edifice of the moment, a paltry creation born of opportunity and luck. It was worthless. One moment of grief brought it tumbling down. I was unworthy of it, for all to spring up around me.”

The twins stared at the dying city below them. They shuddered as they saw the malnourished faces of the people below. The king glanced down at the two.

“You pity them?”

Both nodded, unguarded. Then they flinched, because they understood something of monarchs and knew it might be unwise to tell it to this man’s face. But he just nodded sadly as his smile became guilty. He gazed down, leaning on the balcony.

“Well and good. They deserve a better ruler than I. In my regret and self-indulgent misery, I have failed my subjects. But the fire in my soul had long been extinguished. I could barely stand. Until this day.”

He swept back into the throne room. The twins ran after him, drawn in his wake like minnows in the tide. The king ascended the dais of his throne two steps at a time and stood, looking down at the two twins. He seemed larger all of a sudden, and this was a man already commanding by physical presence alone.

“Once, my name echoed throughout the world! My deeds were spoken of in awe! And yet you have come here—come here, to the heart of my fading kingdom—to tell me that a greater world exists than I had ever dreamed?”

His voice thundered through the throne room. The twins gripped each other in mortal fear. The king pointed at them.

“And to be told that all I had accomplished in life—all the glories that empires dare to claim as their proud history—to be told that is nothing compared to the wonders of your world. Is that not intolerable? Yet, for all the strength of my armies, we cannot match a single—bomb. And though my [Mages] could labor a thousand years, they could not fly up to the twin moons in the sky and dare to land on them. Worse though…they never even dreamed of it. Land on the moons!”

He raised his arms and roared with laughter. The cavernous room echoed with the thunder of his voice.

“What a jest! What a challenge the heavens have sent me!”

The boy and the girl held each other. They had seen many things in life compared to the citizens of this world, or so they claimed. They had seen men and women flying, they had looked upon their world as a small orb of blue and green, they had witnessed armies marching on television screens and men walking upon the moon.

They had told him this proudly. Proudly and nervously, as if trying not to frighten him. They could not see how enraging their words were. Not the glory of it, but the caution.

As if he had not seen a woman fly through the air like a bolt of lightning. As if he could not order a spell cast and gaze across the world. Their world was a marvelous mystery they hailed from, and they were right to be proud of it.

—But they could not boast forever before him, the reality of that king. He beheld their home, if not fully, then in their stories of another planet where one species alone ruled. They told him of nations far more advanced and mighty than his.

And he? He laughed. The King threw back his head, and the [Soldiers] started from their posts. The laughter ran down the hallways, and a servant looked up at a sound she thought was a dream. The man backed up, stumbling up the steps of the dais, and he leaned on a golden armrest of his throne for support.

His laughter beat down upon the two twins like a physical thing. He laughed at their world, not mocking—but like a man who had never seen more than a creek suddenly beholding an ocean blown by a storm. Like a man who, at the edge of the sea where it met the shore of his dry continent, found two children who told him it was greater than the desert he called his home. With conviction, pointing across that wide, green-blue expanse all without having walked a mile of the journey of countless leagues that had borne him to this place.

The laughter. The passion. It was like a spark growing on dry grass. The [Soldiers] had heard it. So too had the servants.

The [Steward] had felt it. But he had dreamed so often that he came back from training in private, still angry—but drawn to the smoke in the palace. And the king?

He stood there, panting with his hilarity—and realized he was standing against the throne. He looked down at the chair and hesitated. Then—

As if his legs had grown tired from standing this short while. As if the throne drew him down. As if the weight of that circlet suddenly grew too heavy, and his conscience bloomed with water long lost from this land.

All at once, the king sat down on his throne. In a moment, his mirth was gone, and the insane energy that had filled him had been replaced. The twins did not understand the meaning—not quite—but they sensed it.

The air changed. One second, the man was but a man, arrogant and passionate, but not quite himself. Not quite real. Then he sat—and something filled the throne room.

It passed through the hallways, enveloped the palace, and spread across the city. Slowly, but growing second by second. A presence, a choice made. The figure with red-gold hair now seemed to smolder on his throne, and when he stood up again, he was a different man.

He was a [King]. He spread his arms and woke. Tears shone in his eyes. Tears, for it was done. He stood and stretched, and decades fell off him slowly. When he called out, his voice was fuller, surer, and he pointed down at the two children, who only began to realize what they’d done now.

“Come, then. Let us wake this sleeping nation and bring death and glory to this hollow world once more!”

He walked down from the dais and began striding across the throne room towards the double doors. The twins followed him, not daring to be left behind. The [King] called out.

“Orthenon!”

The King bellowed. He stopped beside the smaller chair and planted one foot on it.

“Orthenon! My [Steward]! Come to me!”

For a second, all was silence. And then the double doors opened, and a man entered the room. He was a tall, gaunt man who walked with unnatural grace across the marble floor. His hair was black and grey, for he too had aged, and he carried a long, slightly curved sword at one hip.

He wore black, almost like a servant of another time, but he too wore armor beneath cloth. What separated the two was that if the [King] was a man of passion, Orthenon’s own passions and personality were like a swinging blade. Precise—but the years had left rust on him as well.

These strange feelings in his chest, the two twins, and the familiar orders from that man had left him—unsettled. Angry. When he entered the throne room now, even his sure stride was slow—

But he did not see what he wanted. What he saw was the [King], foot upon that chair. While that pose should have tipped him off, he had missed the moment the man sat down on the throne.

That feeling was filling the air, but Orthenon’s own grief and wait were too long. All he saw was the chair, not the throne. So when he bowed, it was low, but with a cold, tired anger of an exhausted man waiting with arm raised, clinging to a cliff’s edge. Waiting, hoping, for the day that might never come.

That was all contained in his not-quite-glare as he approached his king.

“You summoned me, Lord?”

Lord. It was an insult borne of a despairing man. The [King] nodded; he saw it. Yet now, his eyes were dancing with anticipation. He was still smoldering from the inside, and the fire was growing, but his steward didn’t see it. Not yet.

“Tell me, Orthenon. What is the state of my kingdom?”

The man made a bitter face. He had heard this question before, and again, he missed the tone. He answered, glancing at the two twins, his voice growing rough with impatience and frustration.

“As I have told you time and again, sire, we are dying. This nation is crumbling away. Our enemies take our land, your vassals bend knee to foreign powers, and we cannot even feed our youngest.”

The [King] nodded. His eyes seemed to burn in the half-light. If Orthenon would look up—but he didn’t. The [Steward] continued talking, his voice slowly rising with passion as he listed the frustrations of years.

“Better nations have risen in the ashes. The Emperor of the Sands leads his armies across the deserts even now! The other nations break their armies upon his forces as he rises in the west. Nerrhavia sits fat and indolent to the south, and Medain pushes ever southwards against Jecrass and Belchan. While our people starve, Germina’s agents flit about, and the Quarass and Hellios test our borders. I have told you this time and time again, Lord! If you will not take the throne, why do you ask it of me?”

“Because I am your [King].”

Orthenon looked up. His look of rage changed to uncertainty, and his balled, gloved hand, almost curled as if to strike—suddenly became limp with disbelief.

Then he saw it. Two green eyes, roaring with a younger man’s passion. Burning—in a face too old but a heart too young.

Twenty-two years. It had aged the [King]—and not at all at the same time. He had been a prisoner here, a slumbering man of his own making, so it was a younger man mixed with an older one who stared down at the [Steward].

In that moment—Orthenon knew. The [King] stepped forwards and placed a hand on his shoulder. Just that. It trembled as his most loyal vassal looked into his eyes, and the king’s own shone with tears. And the fire spread from one man to the other.

“Rejoice, my steward. I have returned. I sit upon my throne at last.”

That was all the king whispered. For a moment, the gaunt man gaped. Then his eyes filled with tears. He clasped his King’s hand, and the two embraced for a moment.

“I had hoped—we have waited so long, Your Majesty—”

“I know.”

The [King] patted Orthenon gently as the man choked on his words. But in seconds, he had mastered his weeping and bowed low to the ground, one leg extended forwards as the other swept back. One hand on his chest as the other extended outwards. It was a different gesture than the stiff bow he had given earlier. The bow one gave to a ruler.

The [King] nodded in approval. He lifted his foot off the chair and picked it up with one hand.

“Never again. You have my word.”

With a sudden move, the King hurled the chair. It flew through the air across the room and shattered on the far wall, fifty feet away. The throw was so powerful the wood pulped and the old frame became a hail of splinters. The twins gaped as wood rained down. The man exhaled, nodded, and turned back towards his steward.

“Now then. Report, Orthenon. Tell me of my kingdom once more.”

Orthenon spread his hands out as he faced his king. His expression was conflicted as he spoke. Starvation and the pain of years weighed him down, and yet a fire was stirring in his eyes. He did not look as he had a few moments ago—a broken, exhausted man.

Something was filling him up. Now—the [Steward] felt lighter, and his own back straightened, and when his eyes flickered, truly thinking, not complaining or watching stone break and age—

—They were the eyes of a man who had seen nations burn. Who had led armies. Who stood behind the [King], at his side, and had driven armies of legend into the sea. Even so, his words were tinged with regret. Regret—and with a rising passion for what he knew would come.

“How can I report upon chaos, sire? I could list a thousand dire issues and still have a thousand more left unspoken. The kingdom is failing. Our treasury is empty, our people are starving, our crops have failed, our animals are dead, and our armories full of rust and decay. Every decent soldier save a loyal few have fled for greener lands, and we teeter on the precipice.”

“Wonderful.”

Orthenon stared at his king. The twins stared at the red-haired man too. They gaped at him as if he’d gone mad. But that too was being part of a [King], and he was used to their incomprehension. Slowly, the ruler tapped his palm with his other hand.

“We have never fallen so far before. My kingdom and I have sunk to our lowest. How wonderful. It shall make the coming days, weeks, and years all the greater. I repent it. I repent all I have done—but if there is one thing to take, Orthenon—let it be that when we amend these wrongs, let the first sip of water be sweeter, the first horn call the most passionate that all those who have waited have ever heard. I regret it—but rejoice in that, I beg you.”

The twins didn’t understand. But the embers began to burn, and Orthenon’s eyes flashed. The King looked out towards the balcony.

“What of those loyal to me? What of my vassals, those I chose to lead in my absence? Have they abandoned me as well?”

“Not abandoned, my king. But they were forced to bow or be broken by other nations. Even now, foreign armies hold your lands and impose their laws upon your people. From Sottheim to Tiqr—they are checked, suppressed, even if they would rejoice at hearing your voice.”

The [King] nodded. He swept towards his throne, and now the fire in him was fully lit. As he passed by the twins, they shivered uncontrollably. What was happening? The old man they had first met was gone, and in his place something fierce threatened to burn down the entire castle. The King was far larger than his mortal shell. Even his clothing seemed to be brighter than before.

“Send word to my vassals closest to me. Tell them they have three—no, two days to dispose of the worthless dogs that would grind their pride to dust. They will rejoin me here with as many warriors and youths of worth as they can muster. Then send word—covertly—to those further abroad.”

Orthenon hesitated.

“I am not sure they would believe it is you, sire. And it has been so long—some might turn away.”

The [King] stood by his throne. He pointed down at Orthenon.

“Then tell them this: I await them. And I shall raise my banners and set each place at my table myself. Until they have gathered here, I shall not rest upon this throne. But let the kingdom know and the world hear! I have returned!”

Orthenon touched a trembling fist to his breast. His eyes were blurred with tears, but he didn’t look away from his king for a second.

“Go!”

This time, the King’s voice was a roar. He shouted again, and it was thunder. It echoed through the throne room, out the double doors, and reverberated through the entire city. The twins thought they felt the ground trembling.

“Let this nation wake from its two-decade-long slumber! Let every hand grab sword and axe! Stand, all those who still remember my name! Hear me and obey! Reim, hear your [King]. Rise!”

The last word shook the air. The twins leapt forwards and then stopped. They didn’t know what they were doing, only that they had to move. The [King]’s voice seized something inside of them and struck sparks in their very souls.

Orthenon raced out of the room. The twins heard him shouting wildly, and then it was as if wildfire fueled by madness consumed the castle. The steward’s shouting was joined by another man shouting—not in panic or fury, but with joy. It was quickly joined by more voices, men and women crying out, and the pounding of footsteps.

The [Soldiers] and [Servants] had known—but like Orthenon, they hadn’t believed. They had begun to gather outside of the throne room, hoping, praying—if only they had known what prayers were.

But then the double doors had burst open and the [Steward] had come out, running and shouting the news. That dignified man, racing forwards like a boy?

They knew the moment they saw him standing there, laughing and shouting. Then they were running, following Orthenon, in a huge throng from every door in the palace, throwing windows open to scream the news.

And everyone who heard it, man or woman, flying bird-folk—they looked up. They felt the presence in the air, and then they were turning and screaming the news across the land.

From the castle, the commotion grew and spread into the city. Open-mouthed, the twins watched as a man ran into the street, screaming and shouting wildly. The people he passed looked up, and it was as if they caught the same wild passion from him. Some fell to their knees, others wailed or shouted, and more began running throughout the city or out the gates towards other villages.

Not a single person who heard the wild shouting was spared. The fire raged and spread to every soul in the kingdom. A dull roar of sound rose from the city and every part of the castle. It was deafening, wild; rejoicing mixed with relief and sadness and hope.

It was the sound of a city coming back to life. The din was so great, it reached across the kingdom in hours. From there, it spread to disbelieving ears, people who refused to hear the truth—but the echoes froze the hearts of the [King]’s enemies. It began to ring across the entire world.

The [King] strode out onto his balcony, and the people shouted, and the sound grew louder as they saw his face. He raised one hand, and the twins were nearly deafened by the noise.

He turned towards them. The light was fading, and the sun had nearly set. But the King glowed, and it may have been a trick of the lights or their imaginations, but the twins could swear the light formed a halo above his head. Or…not a halo.

A crown.

The man pointed at the twins, still surrounded by an aura of his very class.

“I have much to do. But you two. I will have you accompany me. You shall be my personal attendants. Bodyguards? Yes, bodyguards. I will properly train you to your role in the coming days.”

The twins gaped. They began to protest, but the King laughed. He listened to the boy speak, then the girl, and shook his head.

“Hah! It matters not what you wish. Your lives belong with me. You have awoken me—and for better or worse, our destinies are joined.”

He meshed his fingers together, looking so amused. For they did not know what they’d done, not truly. Again, they argued, but their words trailed off as they stood before the king. He looked down at them, surrounded by the dying glow of a sun and lit by an inner fire.

“These things you speak of. Freedom…? Liberty? Justice? Pah. They are not yours by right. If you would claim yourself, take arms against me. For I hold all these things.”

He gestured towards the city stirring into life.

“Know this: wheresoever I walk and so far as my reach extends, I claim this world and yours as my own. So long as you are within my grasp, I shall rule you. For I am…”

He hesitated. The man raised one hand, and the voices became thunder once more. It echoed out across the city and across a nation. He listened to the sound and murmured.

“Let the world take arms against me. Let the peoples of every race march upon my people, and let the earth itself open and the pits of hell and the Demons of Rhir spew forth. I care not. I welcome the coming strife! I am a king, and all those who would follow me are my people. I will not be stopped. The world is mine! Both worlds!”

The King spread his arms wide and laughed. The fire left the city and raced out across the countryside, spreading from person to person, bringing with it a single message. It echoed from every hill, in every street, and every heart. He shouted it from his crumbling castle at the heavens, and the word of it spread to every corner of the world.

“I am Flos Reimarch, The King of Destruction. Let the world know I have returned!”

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.25

The Hive was always dark. Always secluded from the light of the surface above. Even in the grandest chamber, where the two spoke—it was so dim as to disconcert every species but theirs.

Neither one minded. They had lived underground for ages before ever bothering to reach the surface. In the subterranean passages and the criss-crossing tunnels of the Hive of the Antinium in Liscor, two beings spoke.

One of them was female. The other was male. Klbkch. The female shifted, and in the darkness, her deep voice rumbled through the air.

“Do I understand you correctly, Klbkch? Do you truly believe sending Workers above is wise? If they become Aberration all together, Liscor’s Council will not remain silent. Have you confidence in this venture?”

Her voice was deep, and she spoke with more than mundane words. She was tired, so tired that even as she reclined, supine, her voice wearied, she seemed ready to fall asleep. Yet there was a core of will that never left her.

Sometimes, he thought she was the stronger of the two of them, for all she did not leave this place and labored endlessly. But then—

He was older. Older and wearier by far. Klbkch shook his head. He patiently tried to explain the necessity to her, and he could not articulate it even to himself.

“No, my Queen. I merely request that a few of the Workers—perhaps ten or twenty—may be allowed to leave the city in my care. They would visit a local inn for several hours before returning.”

“Interesting. So you have faith this venture may be rewarded?”

The word rolled outwards, rich, darkly velvet with hidden connotation and meaning. The Queen paused, and Klbkch hesitated.

“I regret that this is not my initiative, my Queen. She—the innkeeper of which I spoke—she requested it of me. I am merely representing our Hive in a unique opportunity. Not necessarily one I have faith in for the success we hope for.”

“Ah. I see.”

Surprise flicked through the female’s deep voice as it echoed in the cavernous chamber. Surprise and regret. But then she latched onto something else that was fascinating.

“This Human did? What species would desire the presence of Workers if not to work?”

That was what made Klbkch so interested himself. He lifted an antenna, like one lifted a finger.

“She did not ask for the Workers specifically. Rather, she was inclined to sell foodstuffs to our people. Acid Flies. She wishes to earn money by gaining our business.”

“And this Human is genuine? She does not fear the Antinium?”

“To the best of my knowledge and ability, I believe her so. Nor does she fear us, my Queen. It is as if she has no past with nor knowledge of the Black Tide.”

Again, surprise was the primary emotion in the female’s voice.

“And you think her worth spending your time and the Hive’s effort upon, even risking an Aberration.”

Klbkch hesitated. He bowed his head in the direction of the female.

“Her name is Erin Solstice, my Queen. And I believe—yes, I believe the experience may help further our plan in some small way. At the very least, it would help increase her trust of our kind. A rare opportunity.”

“And why should I entertain her request?”

Now she sounded petty. Tired and petty, for she saw no value in this. And he could not fault her, but Klbkch spread his hands outward. They were humanoid hands, at least in that they resembled them more than an insect’s feelers. The same could not be said of the appendages of the Queen.

“My Queen, do we no longer seek to improve relations with other species? Is this not why Liscor’s Hive was founded at such great effort? Drakes are one species; Humans would be a rare boon, even if she was but one representative predisposed to look kindly on us.”

The female moved in the darkness. Her voice changed, hissing softly in regret and frustration. She clicked in her distress.

“The plan has not changed, Klbkch. But we have. And not in the ways that we desire. I am weary, and you—ten years. No; the change comes from the others. The Grand Queen speaks. The other Queens once again question our lack of success.”

Klbkch looked up. His hands moved unconsciously to the twin swords at his waist. Not that he would bear blades against them. It was a sign of his emotions, a rare display.

“…Are any of their objections backed by orders? Have Xrn or Wrymvr made any objections of their own known?”

She waved a languid feeler at him.

“Not as such. Calm yourself, my Prognugator. My authority is undiminished, such as it is. And yet. The Queens move, Klbkch. They are waiting for an opening, and they would sacrifice us if they saw a chance to strike.”

The male Antinium looked up sharply. The antennae on his head twitched.

“Is that the position of the Grand Queen? If I may offer my counsel, that would be…unwise. The Hives are not ready.”

She nodded in the blackness.

“Yes. But they grow impatient with time. The Grand Queen speaks more than she acts. However, she is correct. We cannot continue this endeavor for nothing to show for it. Ten years. They speak of recalling us, idly for now. But they do speak. That is why I will allow this risk. Take twelve Workers. Let them visit this Solstice child. It may harm, but we have been a decade of failure.”

Her head bowed. Klbkch knelt on one segmented knee.

“Thank you, my Queen. I will not betray your trust in me.”

A great sigh echoed through the room, shifting Klbkch’s antennae as the air moved.

“Of that, I have no doubt. But I need more than your loyalty. Klbkchhezeim of the Centenium. I must have success. Can you promise me that?”

Her voice was so longing. Despair rang in every tone. Ten years, and ten years of failure for the Free Antinium and their Hive, despite their lofty boasts when they left. Klbkch felt it too. He was still as he knelt before her. Then Klbkch looked up and shook his head slowly.

“I cannot. But I will try.”

“Very well. Try, then.”

Klbkch nodded. He stood and began to stride out of the room with quick, light movements.

“Klbkch.”

He turned. In the darkness, a large feeler pointed at him, and a titanic shape moved. A weary voice spoke.

“Something must be done in the next few years. Some—tangible success. Or I will accede to the will of the others and pursue another project in the Hivelands.”

For a second, Klbkch froze. If she said that, she who had opposed the other five to do this? She who believed in everything? He looked at the Queen and bowed his head.

She was giving up, and he could not blame her.

“I will ensure that all goes well, my Queen. Erin Solstice is not hostile to our kind. I believe she will be a positive influence for them.”

“Then go. But there is one more thing I ask of you.”

“Yes, my Queen?”

The weary head rose, and the exhausted Antinium latched onto something Klbkch had mentioned. A loud clack as she moved her mandibles.

“Ahem. These flies…how do they taste?”

“I shall bring you a sample, my Queen.”

“Good.”

——

Erin was making a list.

“Okay, do I have everything? Let’s go over it again. Larder? Stocked. Check! Silverware? Lots of it, even if it’s not silver. Check!”

She turned and bustled over to another table.

“Blue fruit juice? Check. Four full pitchers and a basket of blue fruits.”

She’d stripped several trees in preparation for tonight. At this point, she’d eaten nearly half of the fruit in the orchard. Sooner or later, she’d run out of blue fruit, which might be a problem. How long did it take for the trees to grow new fruit? Maybe Pisces would know.

“Acid Flies? Check. Dead? Double check.”

It was almost sad how easily she caught them in her floating jar traps. Almost. Erin made sure they’d all exploded before she rolled them onto the grass. She thought the flat fish in the water were helping—they kept bumping into the jars, trying to eat the flies. She supposed that they might one day break the thick glass.

“Great. Bathe upstream from the glass jars from now on.”

She should also probably put warning signs up. Whom they might be warning, Erin had no idea. A certain Human necromancer stayed well away from the glass jars, and she wasn’t sure if Goblins could read. Either way, her list continued.

“Pasta? Wait, I don’t need any pasta.”

Unless Relc dropped by. But from what the Drake told her, he didn’t like Antinium besides Klbkch, so that was an outside chance. Erin put a pot on the stove anyways. She could always eat it.

The lovely thing about being near a city was that you didn’t have to make your own pasta. Instead, you could just buy it from an odd Gnoll-lady who knew exactly when you were on your period. In other words, there were advantages and disadvantages to living near a city.

“Okay. That’s about it. I’ve got bread in case Pisces comes by, and I even have cheese. Lovely, smelly cheese. Possibly from cows. And I just bet Klbkch is lactose intolerant too.”

Her larder was fully stocked, her plates and cups were clean, and she’d even gotten out the chess board and set it up. She thought Klbkch might be up for a game or two—that was, if she wasn’t busy feeding flies to her customers.

For a moment, Erin had to put her head against a wall and wonder how she’d gotten to this point in her life. A girl from Michigan should not think it was normal to sell dead fly torsos to walking ant-people for silver coins. She was also probably ripping them off, but Klbkch seemed willing to pay whatever it took for the flies. He’d eaten six bowls before he’d walked out.

Now all Erin had to do was wait until Klbkch came by with his promised friends. He said they’d come by as soon as they finished with their work. Were they all guardsmen? Erin had forgotten to ask.

Someone knocked on the inn’s door. Erin turned and opened the door with a big smile.

“Hi Klb—oh.”

The group of Goblins all took a nervous step back as Erin stared down at them. The eight—no, nine of them clustered together and shoved at their leader, a small Goblin wearing rags. Erin remembered.

“It’s—it’s you. Do you, um, want something?”

The ragged Goblin awkwardly thrust out a hand at Erin. She blinked down at the pile of dirty copper and silver coins in the small palm.

“Oh. Oh! You want to eat, right?”

The Goblin nodded stiffly. Erin opened the door and gestured inside.

“Right then, come in.”

The ragged Goblin hesitated. It thrust the coins at her once more.

Erin recognized the raggedy Goblin as the one she’d met first, and the others were new—maybe two were of the original four she’d found?

But this Goblin, the small one, Erin knew. So she smiled.

“Hey, Rags. How’s it going?”

That was her nickname for the Goblin who had the most tattered clothing. Her companions fidgeted behind Rags and glanced around. They seemed nervous, as if not certain this was wise, but Erin went on, voice calm.

“Do you want something in particular?”

The Goblin stared at Erin’s menu and then shook her head urgently. She thrust the coins forwards, and Erin let her pour them into her palms. Once again, another day of silence, so Erin filled it.

“How about I take the money, and I’ll feed you until it runs out, okay?”

Again, Erin received a blank look, but Rags seemed relieved when she took the money. Erin gingerly put the filthy pile of coins on the inn’s bar counter and wished she had hot water to go with the soap.

“Okay. Right. This isn’t the best time, but why don’t you have a seat over here with your friends?”

The Goblins meekly wandered over to the table Erin was pointing at and sat down. She hesitated. What next?

“Right, food.”

All nine heads shot up, and the Goblins stared at Erin. The ones she’d fed before were already drooling onto the table. It was the little Goblin, the Rags one, who watched Erin sharply as she hurried around.

“Give me five—ten minutes, and I’ll have all you can eat. I just need to put on another pot. And make some soup. But I’ve got bread!”

Erin turned. Okay, she’d stuff their faces quickly. She dashed into the kitchen and reemerged with a loaf of fresh bread she’d bought and some cheese and sausage. The Goblins stared hungrily as Erin began dumping plates in front of them. They flinched back from her, though, and when she handed them a fork, they ducked down as if they thought she were going to stab them with it.

“You can eat this while I get more food, okay?”

The Goblins stared at the food. Rags cautiously reached for the bread, and Erin grabbed her hand. All the Goblins flinched as one, and Rags recoiled, eyes wide, but Erin was staring at the filthy claws.

“Oh, er. Sorry about that. I’ll slice it up for you. I have water and soap. Here—”

Confused, the Goblins watched Erin dart into the kitchen again. They eyed the wonderful-smelling bread, meat, and strange yellow thing, and wondered if they could eat it. Then they looked up and screamed as Erin walked back into the room with a kitchen knife and a bucket.

“Oh no, don’t run! I’m not going to hurt you!”

Erin waved her hands frantically and nearly poked herself with the knife. The Goblins halted in their mad rush out the door. Erin put the bucket on another table and took a bar of soap and the dustrag out of her pocket.

“I’m just going to cut this food for you. See? And this is to wash your hands. Wash your hands. Because they’re gross.”

She slowly and carefully went over to the food and sliced it up into smaller pieces. Erin smiled at the Goblins as they suspiciously moved back to the table. Rags was eying Erin with deep, deep distrust for the knife. But she was also eying the water and soap with clear confusion. Erin stepped back.

“And now I’ll put the knife away. No more pointy thing. You don’t have to worry; you’ll be safe here. Okay? But wash your hands. It’s unhygienic.”

She gave them another reassuring smile. That was the precise moment when Klbkch entered the inn, followed closely by a group of Antinium. Erin’s smile froze on her lips.

Klbkch froze too, and the other tall, identical brown and black insects behind him instantly halted in their tracks. The Goblins were petrified in their seats, but half immediately began edging towards the nearest window.

Erin waved frantically at Klbkch. Then she turned towards the Goblins and gave them another reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry! Don’t worry. These people aren’t here to hurt you. They’re guests. They’re going to eat too, understand?”

They hesitated, but Rags seemed to be made of sterner stuff than her larger comrades. She returned to her seat. And it was a she, Erin was sure of it. The other Goblins—all but one of whom were boys—didn’t wear anything on their upper torso. They barely wore anything to cover their privates.

She shepherded them back to their seats and tried not to look at Goblin nether regions as their loincloths shifted in unfortunate ways. There was a reason pants were invented.

“Go ahead and eat as much as you want.”

Again, the Goblins glanced nervously at the Antinium, but now that the initial scare was over, the fresh food called to them. There was a moment’s hesitation, then Rags grabbed a piece of sausage, and the Goblins began gobbling all the food on the table with their hands.

She winced at the mess, but at least they were occupied. Erin edged back to Klbkch, who was still waiting with his group of Antinium.

“Hi, Klbkch. Sorry about the confusion. I had a few visitors pop by unexpectedly.”

“There is no problem, Miss Solstice. I have brought others of my kind as you requested.”

Klbkch nodded to Erin and gestured to the silent Antinium behind him. Erin eyed her new guests somewhat apprehensively.

They were like Klbkch and not like him at the same time. They were like each other though. Erin couldn’t tell one from the other, and all twelve of these other Antinium stood and moved like one unit.

What made her stare was that they were identical to Klbkch. They had the same brown carapace and waving antennae. Four arms, beetle shell—but you could say that of Humans.

What was meant by identical was exactly the same. Unlike a Human, who had a world of variation in hair and lips, even of the same color, the Antinium were carbon copies of one another.

Only Klbkch stood out because of his swords at his waist and armor and belt. The other Workers silently lined up, standing in two neat rows. And they also seemed disinclined to talk. Each one of the Antinium stared at Klbkch rather than look at Erin.

“Are they—are they your friends? Or other guardsmen?”

Klbkch shook his head.

“I am afraid you are under a misapprehension. These are Workers, Miss Solstice. They are not fellow guardsmen—rather, they perform tasks within the Antinium section of the city. I took them because you wished for more customers, but I have not interacted with them before.”

“Oh. So they’re not your friends?”

Klbkch opened and closed his mandibles a few times. He turned around and stared at the Workers before turning to Erin. He clacked his mandibles a few times, and then, to her astonishment, made a laughing sound.

“Ha. Hahahaha. That is a good joke, Miss Erin. No, these are Workers. They will behave themselves under my supervision.”

She was so surprised that she made no response, which Klbkch took as encouragement. He turned towards the standing group of Worker Antinium and pointed to a few of the tables.

“You have entered an inn. The polite protocol is to introduce oneself and then take a seat. I will handle your greetings. Move to those tables.”

They obediently walked over to each table. At first, they all crowded around one, but Klbkch impatiently directed them so the Antinium stood four to a table.

“Sit!”

Klbkch snapped at the other Antinium. They instantly sat in the chairs. Erin’s smile slipped even further as Klbkch began ordering them about with curt, clipped commands.

He treated the other Antinium like—well, like sheep. Or…like children. Idiotic children you couldn’t trust to pick up a fork without stabbing themselves in the eye. Yes, that was it.

Erin watched Klbkch out of the corner of her eyes as he lectured the other ‘Workers.’ He was telling them how to use a spoon. And how to drink from a cup. And how to request another bowl of flies.

Flies. They stared at the black insects, and even the Goblins looked confused, if not horrified by the loaded bowls. Black insects, dead and staring and icky, but Erin brought them out.

“Um, thanks, Klbkch. Did you want me to get the food now? I’ve got the Acid Flies of course, but I also have pasta—”

Erin’s eyes widened.

“Oh no! The pasta!”

The Goblins and Antinium watched as Erin dashed into the kitchen to salvage the over-boiled noodles. She came out a few minutes later holding plates of pasta with chopped bits of sausage and onion, which she placed in front of the Goblins.

“Use forks. Got it? Your friend here knows how to use forks.”

Erin pointed at the silverware and then started bringing out bowl after bowl of the Acid Flies she’d prepared. She set them down in front of the Antinium Workers awkwardly. They moved out of her way, but didn’t say anything.

That was, until Klbkch snapped at them, and then all twelve murmured ‘thank you’ every time Erin brought out a plate and cups.

They could speak! Their voices sounded like Klbkch’s—but flat. Lacking intonation or emotion. And that was the only thing they ever said. They moved when spoken to and did whatever Klbkch said—beyond that, they just waited, as if they were robots expecting input. Yet they were people, right?

So was this an awkward moment? Yes. Erin was redefining the word for herself at the moment.

However, she placed all the bowls in front of the twelve Workers, and the Antinium finally began to eat on Klbkch’s command. At least there they appeared to be somewhat enthusiastic, because they began gobbling the Acid Flies down with commendable speed, shoveling them past their mandibles with a spoon and crunching the insects up. But for that, they ate in silence, which was also unnerving. At least they were eating.

Erin breathed a sigh of relief. And the door to the inn swung open.

A familiar Drake poked his head into the room. He immediately launched into what sounded like a prepared speech as he awkwardly held a chess set in front of him.

“Good evening, Miss Erin Solstice! I hope you don’t mind me dropping by, but I was wondering if you’d like to play a game of ch—”

Olesm paused and stared around the silent room. His jaw dropped as he saw the Goblins. When he saw Klbkch and the other Antinium, it dropped further. He slowly put one clawed hand on the door.

“…Is this a bad time?”

——

Erin had gone to funerals. Well, she’d attended a funeral. And while they were solemn, sad occasions, she could rightly say that she’d visited funerals that were noisier than her inn at the moment.

At least funerals had coughing people, the occasional sniffling, fidgeting children, and crying babies. In the Wandering Inn, all Erin could hear was the mastication of Goblins as they gobbled their food or the quiet cracking as the Antinium chewed down their Acid Flies and clicked their mandibles together.

Chomp. Chomp. Click. Chomp.

Erin stared from the Antinium to the Goblins with a desperately cheerful smile plastered on her face. Neither side looked at the other directly, but she had the distinct impression they were silently sizing each other up. The Goblins to run away, the Antinium…well, they were just looking.

The atmosphere was so tense you could—well, Erin was pretty sure pulling a knife out would be a disaster. The Goblins were nervously eying the Antinium, and the Antinium were frighteningly silent and uniform. They ate and moved in almost perfect synchronization.

Erin circulated the room, pitcher of fruit juice in hand. She filled cups, took away plates and refilled them with food, and instructed Goblins not to pick their noses. It felt like being a waitress for an entire restaurant by herself, but Erin was up to the challenge. At least, she hoped she was.

She wasn’t taking orders or cleaning up plates yet. All she was really doing was making sure there was food in front of her guests. The Goblins were easy. They ate anything she put in front of them. They were also terrified of Klbkch, the Antinium, Olesm, and Erin.

Only the one with ragged clothing, the tiny one, seemed brave enough to inspect the soap after Erin made them wash their hands. She kept peering around, surreptitiously, then springing to attention and pretending to be eating. Then Erin would catch her peeking at the menu and moving her lips, as if trying to read it.

But the Workers? They were hard. Erin had to make sure none of them had empty bowls or cups or they’d just stop eating. They didn’t even ask for refills by themselves.

In a lull between serving, Erin stopped in front of Klbkch and Olesm’s table. The two were talking quietly together, which made them exceptionally noisy in the dead silence.

“How’re you two boys doing?”

Both Olesm and Klbkch looked at each other to make sure they were the ones Erin was talking to. Olesm gave her a weak smile.

“I’m quite well, Miss Solstice. Or—may I call you Erin?”

“Please. I’m getting sick of being called Miss Solstice. I feel like my mom.”

“My deepest apologies. I was not aware this was an insult to your culture.”

Klbkch bowed his head, which made Erin feel guilty. She just meant her mom…

Her mom. Erin’s heart and mind twinged, and she changed the subject fast.

“Are you two enjoying your meal? Anything I can get you?”

“Another glass of the blue juice perhaps?”

Olesm raised his glass, and Erin topped it off. He smiled at her.

“It is quite tasty.”

“Thanks.”

They both paused awkwardly. They were just as bad as the Goblins and Workers! Olesm glanced around the inn and fidgeted.

“Do you—do you always serve Goblins in your inn? I saw the sign, but I must admit, this is the first time I’ve ever seen a Goblin not trying to stab someone or running away. They’re monsters, you know.”

He tried to whisper it, but in the silent inn, his voice carried. As one, the Goblins stopped eating and stared over at Olesm. He flinched. Yet he gave Erin a look as if she had just invited hyenas into her inn. She gave him a level stare and decided to start with the basics.

“Um, no. They’re new here too.”

“Oh, I see.”

More silence. Erin glanced down at the table. The Drake Tactician had brought along his chess board, and although he’d set it aside for the food, she saw him glancing at it now and then. To break the ice, and because she thought she might die of awkwardness, Erin did the only thing that came to mind. The most obvious thing—at least, to her.

“How about a game of chess? Anyone want to play?”

Klbkch and Olesm looked up.

“Oh, I would love to play—”

Olesm caught himself. He glanced around guiltily at the other diners.

“But I wouldn’t want to take you away from your work. Perhaps another time.”

He looked so downcast that Erin wanted to pat him on the head. She thought for a second and then smiled.

“Oh, don’t worry. We can still make it work. I’ll play you and serve food.”

Both Klbkch and Olesm eyed her incredulously. Erin grinned.

“I don’t suppose either of you are familiar with chess notation?”

——

Two minutes later, the most interesting thing was happening. Workers and Goblins watched as Erin stood with her back to the chess board. It was all set up.

Both the littlest Goblin and the Worker who swept were here. It was pure coincidence that Klbkch had ordered the same group of Workers who had dug out the door to come to the inn—or perhaps he had simply found it easiest to take them out since they had no assignments yet.

As for the littlest Goblin, she’d brought a bunch of other Goblins to show them that the one who had killed the Chieftain was not…not…

She had brought them here to see. Many hated the Human. But she fed them. She was…more than the death of the Chieftain and two Goblins, and because the littlest Goblin said it, some listened.

Not all. Even the littlest Goblin didn’t know if the Human was good—she hung out with the Ant monsters! The most terrifying deaths who came from below if you went to the wrong places. And she kept calling the littlest Goblin a stupid name.

‘Rags.’ What did that mean? Yet the littlest Goblin watched avidly because she was as curious as the listening Workers. The Workers did not understand this inn. The rules were unknown to them and Klbkch kept correcting them. They were terrified of doing something wrong and becoming Aberrations, but now they heard something fascinating. Something…with clear rules that made sense.

Intriguing. The [Innkeeper] was speaking to Olesm, who was fiddling with the chess board, and she was giving instructions to him and Klbkch, but also the inn at large.

“Okay, so you’ve moved your pawn up two spots. That’s E4, so just tell me you’re moving a pawn to E4, got it? And when I want to move, I’ll let you know by saying, oh, pawn to D5.”

Olesm nodded and glanced down at the chess board. He carefully moved the black pawn up two spots and looked up at Erin. She nodded.

“Got it?”

“I believe so, Erin.”

“Right. Let’s play!”

Erin spun away from Olesm and grabbed a cup and filled it. Across the room, Klbkch and Olesm bent over the chess board and conferred. Olesm moved a piece.

“Pawn, ah, Pawn to F3, Erin.”

“Got it! Knight to C6!”

Erin concentrated on the game as she walked around the inn. She wasn’t conscious of how the Goblins slowed in their eating and the Antinium Workers paused from their meal to follow her around the room. Erin’s thoughts focused, and as she mechanically took plates and filled them with food, her mind focused on only one thing.

The game. Some called golf the greatest game ever played. They might be right. But Erin loved chess.

She could even play it in her head.

——

“Bishop to D6.”

“Hm. In that case, I’ll move…um, I believe that’s Pawn to D4.”

“Queen to H4! Check!”

Erin said it instantly and grinned to herself. She heard Olesm groan in dismay.

“Ah. Then—then Pawn to G3?”

Again, Erin replied almost before he’d finished speaking.

“Bishop takes Pawn at G3!”

“Pawn takes Bishop at G3.”

“And I’ll take your Rook at H1.”

Erin grinned to herself as Olesm hissed in distress. In her mind’s eye, she saw her queen piece sitting in the corner of Olesm’s side of the board, nestling right up against all of his lovely, undefended pieces.

The game continued, but only as mop-up. Erin happily munched away at Olesm’s pieces with her queen. He eventually managed to take hers out with his own, but only after he’d lost another knight and a bishop. By then, Erin had more pieces than he did on the board and in better positions, too.

“I concede.”

Olesm tipped over his king and stared despondently at the board. Erin paused serving sliced up sausage to the Goblins long enough to see Klbkch pat Olesm on the shoulder consolingly.

“It was a good game.”

The Drake shook his head.

“You do me too much credit. I made several errors that cost me many pieces. But I believe you had me from the start. Without looking at the board once! Would you do the kindness of showing me where I made mistakes?”

He seemed shaken, but Erin was delighted to play the game. Much less in her head! She felt like a kid again, and she used to do this all the time in the school bus or when she was bored. These days, you could do everything on a phone, but…she beamed happily, as only someone who loved the game could.

“Of course.”

Erin walked over to the table. She rearranged the board until it was back to normal and then moved Olesm’s pawn up two spaces.

“You started out with a classic: the King’s Pawn Opening. That was a good move.”

Olesm looked blankly down at the board.

“I just moved my pawn to E4. Was that truly a noteworthy move to have a strategy named after it?”

Erin nodded happily.

“Oh, it’s a classic. Did you know almost a quarter of all chess games start with it? It’s great for taking the center spaces, but unfortunately for you, I love playing against that move.”

Klbkch raised one hand.

“Do you mean to say that there are established counters to this opening? And that this move is a chronicled…strategy? I had not heard of that.”

Neither had Olesm, but Erin was too enthusiastic to notice Klbkch’s cautionary tone or Olesm’s confounded one. She nodded and pushed a black pawn forwards.

“Oh, there are lots of good strategies. I countered with an old favorite—the Sicilian Defense. It’s great against the King’s Pawn, but you made a mistake when you moved that pawn up to F3. It doesn’t open up your side for many pieces to get out, and you really want a knight to put pressure on my side of the board. Of course, you could try to take my pawn, but that leaves your center open. Most players try to push forwards aggressively, but that’s why the Sicilian Defense works so well since it means you have to lose a pawn if you want to push into the other side.”

Erin paused and looked around the inn. Olesm was wearing a half-glazed, half-delighted expression on his face. The Goblins and all the Antinium, including Klbkch, were staring at her, open-mouthed.

“Uh, sorry. I tend to lecture when I get too into chess.”

“No—don’t worry in the slightest, Miss Erin.”

Olesm shook his head and smiled at her. His eyes were alive with interest, and she noticed his tail wagging like a dog’s on the ground.

“You have such a deep understanding of this game! How is it that you know so much about chess? I only heard about it when someone told me the Titan was playing it a few years ago, yet you say there are strategies already in place?”

“Yes?”

Erin crossed her fingers as Olesm shook his head. Klbkch clacked his mandibles.

“…I believe there are players of this game on every continent, Olesm. We appear to be in the presence of a master.”

“Indeed, indeed! I suppose it’s arrogance to think that I knew everything. Why, they might be doing this in a Walled City like Pallass…and you’re kind enough to keep me from looking like some back-country rube. Thank you, Miss Solstice.”

Erin nodded at Klbkch in relief, and he twitched a mandible at her. She really hoped she wouldn’t have to explain being from another world. Erin glanced at Klbkch and wondered if she should play him next. Then she looked at Olesm and Klbkch together and had an idea.

She grinned wickedly.

“Yeah, I love playing chess. In fact, I’ll play both of you at the same time, if you want. We have two boards, after all.”

Olesm and Klbkch shared a glance. Both frowned slightly. Well, Olesm frowned and Erin had the distinct impression that Klbkch was frowning.

“Aren’t you taking us a bit too lightly, Erin?”

She blinked innocently at Olesm.

“Me? Of course not. But I bet I can play both of you while serving drinks and food and win against at least one. Want to test my theory?”

They did. Erin grinned to herself as both Olesm and Klbkch set up their pieces on opposite sides of the room. Each player stared intently at their board. She could practically feel the intensity coming off of each. It reminded her of the adults she used to play as a kid. No one liked being trash-talked by a middle schooler. It was hard for her to keep a straight face.

Klbkch moved first. Erin stared at his board and then decided to move a piece on Olesm’s board while she thought. She circulated the room, filling up the glasses with what little fruit juice she had left. When Olesm made his move, Erin decided to hit Klbkch with a knight. And then she went back into the kitchen for more pasta. Those Goblins could eat.

The games continued as Erin filled up bowls with the dead flies and handed them out to the Workers. They happily chomped down the flies, but she had the distinct impression they were watching as she travelled back and forth between Klbkch and Olesm’s boards.

Occasionally, Erin would wait while one of the other two players moved a piece, but when she did move from board to board, she attacked fast, seemingly without pausing to think. She could see Klbkch and Olesm watching her as much as the board, but she effortlessly continued playing both players while serving her guests.

Her audience watched the dual games intently. Erin kept an eye on them as well and saw both Rags and the Antinium Workers staring hard at Klbkch and Olesm’s pieces. The Goblin’s eyes narrowed, and the Antinium appeared confused. Erin smiled to herself, but kept sweeping around the room, refilling cups and swiftly moving pieces on each board.

Eventually, the game ended with a win for Klbkch and a loss for Olesm.

“Congratulations, Klbkch. And to you, Erin.”

“Indeed. I am quite impressed by your ability.”

Erin smiled at both players and tried not to laugh.

“Yeah, it was a good game. Too bad I wasn’t playing either of you.”

“What?”

She pointed down to the chess board in front of Olesm. His King was cornered by a queen and a bishop.

“Notice anything similar about Klbkch’s board, Olesm?”

He looked over. On Klbkch’s side, he’d cornered Erin’s king with a bishop and a queen. In the exact same spots as the pieces on Olesm’s board.

“What is this?”

“I played you two against each other. It’s the oldest trick in the book—I once heard of a guy who tried it against two Grandmasters and failed. I always wanted to do it just once.”

Erin smiled as Klbkch and Olesm exclaimed and then raised her hands as they immediately demanded another match. She was setting up the boards for a real dual game when something happened.

One of the Workers stood up.

Instantly, Klbkch stopped setting up his pieces and let one of his hands fall down to his side. Erin saw he was holding his sword hilt as he stood up.

“What are you doing, Worker?”

Klbkch’s voice was cold and hostile. The Worker froze in pure terror, or so it seemed—then meekly bowed to him. And then? He opened his mandibles and spoke.

“This one would watch, Prognugator.”

His statement confounded Erin, who hadn’t thought the Workers had any desires, and Klbkch himself. The [Guardsman] replied slowly.

“…Watch?”

Klbkch glanced down at the board and then back to the Worker. He seemed uncertain.

“It is impolite to intrude or impede the innkeeper’s path.”

Erin hastily interposed herself between Klbkch and the meek Worker who was already retreating back to his seat. She beckoned him over.

“It doesn’t bother me, Klbkch. Let him watch. An audience for a chess game is great.”

Klbkch hesitated.

“I would not wish to impose on your hospitality or patience—”

“Impose away, by all means!”

Erin rode over his protests and pulled up another chair. She steered the Worker over to the chair without touching him and made him sit down. Then she noticed the other Workers and Goblins were staring at the chess boards too.

“Come on over if you want to watch, all of you.”

Instantly, there was a crowd surrounding both chess boards. Olesm and Klbkch blinked at the spectators, but Erin smiled happily.

“Okay, now let’s do this so it’ll be fun for me and you. I’ll play you both, but we only get five—okay, ten seconds for each move.”

“Is this another way of playing chess?”

“It’s how some games are played, yeah. This style is called Lightning Chess, but in tournaments, you can have anywhere from an hour’s time in total to think of all your moves to only three minutes. If we had a clock we could—never mind, I’ll explain it as we play, okay?”

Klbkch and Olesm nodded. Erin took a chair and placed it between both tables so she could reach both chess boards.

“I’ll have to sit down for this. I’m no Grandmaster.”

——

The first two rounds of games, Erin won handily. But in the third game, Olesm scored a draw. Klbkch nodded as he saw the blue Drake raise his claws and open his mouth with joy.

“Congratulations, Olesm.”

Erin covered a yawn and massaged at her back. She gave the elated Drake a weary smile.

“Yeah, that was a great game!”

“Why, thank you.”

Olesm’s scales turned a light shade of red as he shook Klbkch’s hand. His tail thrashed around wildly on the floor, but Klbkch and Erin pretended not to notice.

“I must say, it’s quite amazing—I feel relieved to have finally tied a match against you, Erin. I was beginning to think it was impossible.”

She blushed and waved a hand at him. It felt extremely embarrassing to be treated like some kind of chess genius, especially since she knew she wasn’t. Erin was about to suggest a rematch with different rules when she looked over at the watching Worker Antinium.

“Do you want to play?”

The Antinium she was addressing sat up in his seat and bowed to her. Quickly, Klbkch sat up, but the Worker spoke before he did.

“This Worker would not presume to…play.”

Erin frowned. Did that mean he wanted to play but he was afraid to?

“Why not give it a shot? I’ll teach you how to play, and we can always make more chess boards. All we need is a few pieces of paper and a pen.”

She went into the kitchen and pulled out a few pieces of paper and a quill and ink. It had made her feel like a wizard when she’d first bought the quill, and then she’d wished for a computer and a printer five seconds after she’d had to actually dip the quill every few words when she wrote.

As her guests watched, Erin drew a rough chess board on a piece of parchment and then tore up other pieces. She carefully drew symbols on them to show which were pawns and which were other pieces and put the makeshift chess board on the table. She put two of the Antinium Workers in chairs facing each other across the board.

It was the most low-key chess board Erin had ever seen, but the Antinium stared at the scraps of paper with total concentration.

“Okay, so how much did you guys see when I played chess with Klbkch and Olesm? Do you know how to set up the board?”

Instantly, both Antinium moved. Erin recoiled for a second, but they merely rearranged the pieces on the chess board with mechanical precision. In seconds, each side was set up. Erin blinked at them.

“Good. Good. And, uh, show me how this piece moves?”

Obediently, the Antinium Worker moved the piece forwards.

“And can you move it from left to right?”

“This one does not believe so.”

Klbkch hovered over the board. As always, he had few features Erin could read, but he appeared distressed for some reason.

“Address her by her title.”

The Antinium instantly bowed his head at Erin.

“Apologies, Innkeeper Solstice. This one does not believe the pawn piece moves left and right.”

Erin gave Klbkch a half annoyed glance, but turned back to the Worker.

“Right, that’s true! Very good. And show me how it takes a piece?”

He showed her.

“Good. But did you know there’s one more move the pawn can do?”

Instantly, the other Antinium and the Goblins watching the game were filled with attention. They stared as Erin showed them how to take a piece en passant and explained the unique rules around that action. The Antinium she was coaching immediately bowed its head to her.

“This one was unaware of this fact. This one apologizes to Innkeeper Solstice for its failure.”

“What? Don’t apologize. Not many players know about that move. How could you? Now, let’s have you play a game with your friend.”

Erin stepped back as the two Antinium Workers stared at each other in silence. For a moment, she was afraid they’d do nothing, but then the first Worker moved his pawn up to E5. After a moment, the other Workers replied with the Sicilian Defense, and then the game was on.

Piece after piece moved with minimal pausing in between. At first, Erin was afraid they were recreating her games with Klbkch and Olesm, but the two players were playing their own game. It took her a while to realize they were still playing by Lightning rules. Once she’d explained they could take their time, the game slowed.

Erin stared at the two Workers playing each other in complete silence and then looked around at her audience.

“Anyone else want to play?”

——

Silence. It was the sound of funerals and churches, except that it wasn’t. Rather, it was the sound you thought should be in such places, but really was more like an ideal goal than the truth.

It was the sound of chess tournaments, though. Erin circulated the inn, filling plates with dead flies and pouring water (she’d run out of blue juice), and felt like she was home as she listened to the click of chess pieces moving, or, more often, the shuffling of dry paper.

“Oh. How’s the game going? Anyone want more flies? How about pasta? A cup of jui—water?”

Erin passed by each board and watched as Antinium and even Goblins played each other. There were eight boards set up, and the players rotated with each other once someone lost.

Her natural instincts as a chess player warred with her desire to give the new players advice. She compromised by letting Olesm and Klbkch offer commentary and then dissected games after they’d been played out by recreating them and pointing out good or bad moves.

The Antinium Workers watched Erin’s every move and listened to her words with frightening attention. She’d heard the word ‘rapt’ used to describe people, but never had she met a group so completely focused as the Workers. It was frankly unnerving, but her love of explaining chess moves and strategies more than made up for the awkwardness.

That was one thing. But what really amazed Erin and even Olesm and Klbkch were the Goblins. They were playing chess.

Okay, not well and not quickly, but the Goblins were sitting down and giving each other spirited, if not particularly well thought out games. The exception was the smallest Goblin, Rags, who had actually beaten two of the Antinium Workers back-to-back.

Erin stopped in front of one of the real chess boards as Rags slid into the seat opposite. It was technically Klbkch’s turn to play, but the Goblin stared at her. It was an obvious challenge.

“I’ll play you, if you want. You’re white, so go ahead.”

Rags eyed Erin defiantly and moved her knight first. Erin hid a smile.

“Oh, the Baltic Opening, huh? Well…”

She moved a pawn two squares up directly in front of the knight. It was her favorite way to deal with that opening move. Rags frowned and then moved another piece. And then another. For a while, the Goblin looked like a strange, green kid playing chess. That was until she opened her mouth and Erin saw the sharp teeth. But Rags still looked a lot less threatening than before.

Erin crushed her while she served the last of her pasta to the Goblins and had a bite to eat herself.

——

The Goblin challenged her three more times while Erin played Olesm and then two of the Workers. Each time, Rags handily lost, but Erin was impressed by the way the small Goblin was willing to try new strategies. She said so.

“You guys could learn a lot from her. Most of these moves are actually established patterns. Okay, moving the rook right away wasn’t a good choice, but you’re better than most beginners.”

She smiled at Rags. The Goblin fidgeted in her chair and looked away.

Klbkch nodded, and Olesm expressed an interest in playing the Goblin. Erin looked over at the Workers. They were eying her surreptitiously. She had the impression they wanted to play her too.

She clapped her hands together and smiled.

“Now then. Anyone else want to play another game?”

——

“And that’s checkmate.”

Olesm looked up from his king and shook his head despairingly.

“Another fine game, Erin. I wasn’t aware of your trap until you moved your bishop up.”

Erin yawned and grinned sleepily at him. Around her, the Goblins sat or lay on the tables, sleepily watching the game.

“You keep giving away too many pawns. They’re more valuable than you think.”

Olesm bowed his head and nearly toppled over. He jerked upright and nodded at her.

“I shall keep it in mind, Erin.”

She nodded and yawned again.

“Anyone want to play another game? Klbkch?”

The ant man shook his head. He glanced towards the door and at the Workers still playing chess. They were still intensely staring at the paper chess boards without any sign of fatigue.

“It is late. I am afraid we must take our leave, Miss—Erin. If I may address you in that way.”

Erin blinked at Klbkch and then looked out the window.

“Oh, of course you can call me that, Klbkch. And wow, it is late!”

She stood up. Immediately, the Workers stopped playing chess and stood too. They bowed to her.

“Allow me to thank you and pay you in their place, Erin.”

Klbkch handed her a bag of silver and gold coins. Erin blinked down at it.

“Oh. That’s a lot.”

“It is only fair payment for what we have consumed. And, might I trouble you to ask for a container of Acid Flies? I wish to bring some back to Liscor.”

“What? Oh, sure. I’ve actually got a huge glass jar. Do you want it?”

“Please.”

Erin ended up giving Klbkch a huge jar full of Acid Flies for a gold coin. She felt guilty about it, but the Antinium insisted it was a fair price. He left with Olesm and the Workers in tow, and Erin saw the Goblins off as they slowly streamed out of her inn.

“Come again! I’ll feed you lot another meal if you come by. You don’t need to pay—you paid me enough this time. Okay?”

The Goblins grunted or waved their hands awkwardly at her. They filed out of the inn, patting their stomachs happily.

The paper chess board and pieces were in a big pile. The Goblins seemed less keen on them—perhaps because they thought this inn was their chess spot to play in safety. Klbkch had told Erin giving the Workers the game was not a good idea. So she silently waited until he was talking with Olesm by the door and handed a Worker the entire stack. The Worker promptly hid the papers behind its back and shuffled towards the door with the others.

The last Goblin, Rags, paused as she walked by Erin. The small Goblin held her hands tightly at her side.

“Hey.”

Erin tapped Rags on the head. She held out her hand. Silently, the small Goblin handed her the pawn back as the other Goblins glared at her.

“No stealing. Besides, a chess board isn’t complete without all the pieces.”

Rag’s eyes lit up. Erin narrowed hers.

“That doesn’t mean you can steal them either. If you want to play a game, come back any time. Okay?”

For a while, the little Goblin hesitated and then nodded. Erin smiled.

“Have a good night.”

She closed the door. Then she bolted it and made sure all the windows were fastened tight. She didn’t mind the small Goblin, but she was damned if she was going to let it walk off with her chess set.

——

“Um, Senior Guardsman Klbkch? May I have a word?”

Klbkch paused as he walked swiftly back to Liscor. He was setting a fast pace, and Olesm was struggling to keep up.

“My apologies, Olesm Swifttail. I had forgotten you were with us.”

“No, it’s nothing.”

Olesm gasped and wheezed as Klbkch slowed. The Workers behind him silently adjusted their pace to give the two room.

“I just wanted to talk to you—if I may.”

“Certainly. May I ask if you are addressing your comment to the liaison of the Antinium or Senior Guardsmen Klbkch?”

“Both, I believe. Um, how shall I put this?”

Olesm paused as the two strode through the night. Klbkch waited patiently until the Drake began.

“As the [Tactician] who liaisons with the Council and other guilds and the guard, I am privy to some confidential information. I am, uh, aware of the situation with the Workers within the Antinium. R-regarding Aberrations and how they appear.”

“Indeed?”

Klbkch’s voice was flat. He was normally quite friendly, but this statement instantly put him on guard and small wonder. The Watch and the Council were there to check the Hive as a threat.

Olesm glanced nervously behind him at the Workers. They silently stared back at him.

“Will—will this be a problem, do you think?”

Klbkch hesitated. He looked back, and the Workers instantly looked down at the ground.

“We shall see. They will be observed as usual, and I will personally supervise them.”

“Ah, good, good. I wouldn’t ask, but I know that these kinds of things have, uh, dire consequences. This isn’t to say that I’m against taking a few Workers out under supervision, but the Watch Captain and Council—”

Klbkch turned and faced Olesm. The [Tactician] stopped nervously, but Klbkch merely bowed respectfully.

“I understand your concerns. If it helps, I will address this topic in my monthly report to inform you of any significant changes. I shall note our conversation and these instances most rigorously in my report to Captain Zevara.”

Olesm sighed in relief.

“Thank you. Yes, that’s perfect! Just so we have a written record.”

They went on, and Klbkch resumed their conversation in a more casual manner, to Olesm’s relief.

“I trust you have enjoyed yourself tonight?”

“Oh, yes. Very. Erin—that is, Miss Erin Solstice is quite a remarkable Human, isn’t she?”

“Indeed.”

“Quite remarkable.”

“Her mastery of the game of chess may be unmatched within the continent.”

“Absolutely.”

“Indeed.”

A moment of painful silence. Then Klbkch’s head rotated slowly, and he said something completely unexpected.

“…Would you like to play a game after this, by any chance?”

Klbkch glanced at the Drake, and Olesm hesitated. Senior Guardsman Klbkch was a known figure in Liscor who had won his approval over a long time, but Olesm knew his past, and he knew more about the dangers of the Antinium than most as Liscor’s [Tactician]. Yet right at this moment—he thought he had never known Klbkch more.

The two losers of endless bouts with Erin looked at each other, and Olesm managed a smile and a nod.

“It would be my pleasure.”

——

The Workers were left at the gates of Liscor to find their way to the Hive, which they did, unnoticed by all but a few citizens who avoided them. The Goblins who had gone with the littlest Goblin to the inn crept back to their cave and did not tell the others why they weren’t that hungry and where they’d been.

But the one thing Olesm and Klbkch didn’t realize was this. While they sat and had a genteel game of chess at Olesm’s office, trying out new moves and what Erin had taught them, it failed to occur to them that they were not the only people who had learned something from Erin.

The Workers had a bundle of paper slips. While they were supposed to be asleep, one slowly, slowly let a chess board fall to the floor of the Hive. Then, as many Workers watched, another slowly placed down the chess ‘pieces’, the squares of paper, just like they’d been shown.

After all—this made sense to them. It was just numbers and patterns, and the [Innkeeper] had played with them.

The Goblins did not have any paper chess boards, because it would invariably be used as toilet paper or kindling for a fire. But the littlest Goblin was busy arranging some grass and sticks into an odd formation, and the rest of her tribe ignored her. She was always weird, and they didn’t see why she was thinking and placing them in odd positions on the ground.

Klbkch and Olesm retired after a few games, and Olesm levelled up that night, much to his delight. But that was nothing to the voice which spoke to the many confused and frightened Antinium who panicked because they were going to get in trouble. It said the exact same thing to the littlest Goblin and a few others, who sat up in confusion and awe.

The voice said:

[Tactician Class Obtained!]

[Tactician Level 2!]

[Skill – Risk Calculation obtained!]

[Skill – Group: Erratic Maneuvering obtained!]

Or some variation of that in level and Skills. Yet the [Innkeeper] flopped into her makeshift bed in the kitchen and closed her eyes and slept.

Erin heard nothing at all.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.26 R

The Ruins of Albez sit at the heart of what had once been a magical kingdom. Or perhaps a community of mages. Or an ancient citadel of—you know what? It doesn’t matter. There’s almost nothing left anymore to tell a visitor what it had been.

Once, this hillside of collapsed dirt and dug-out structures was something vast and incredible. When the first people found the Ruins of Albez, the records indicate that they noticed a dome of glass two hundred feet wide poking out of the ground. They dug down and found magical stone, entire wings of preserved libraries, and magical laboratories.

—And monsters. Over eighty-nine years, the ruins were stripped, first quickly, then slower as fewer and fewer groups found anything of note. The monsters remained, and then the remaining rubble that wasn’t magical became pockets of tagged debris, with symbols from older teams of adventurers and treasure seekers who left markings to show what had been explored—or throw other groups off the scent.

From the dirt excavation, the ruins looked more like an archeologist’s project, with entire excavated rooms and areas laid bare to the sun. Plenty of ruined edifices and roofs to hide under, despite that. Which is the true danger. Any number of people might come here to explore on the vague chance of finding a magical item worth a year’s earnings—if not for the monsters.

The entire area is saturated in magic, so much so that it makes my hair tingle.

My actual hair tingles. It’s not like static electricity, more like a kind of energy filling you up. So similar—but it has a different feel than the pure charge of the air. It makes you feel alive. No wonder monsters love coming here, because this place is a wonderful home for them to live in, especially if they eat magic.

Final fact from my quick research into the area. Albez is built on a leyline. Before the Humans came, it was apparently settled by a tribe of ‘Gnolls’, furry folk who used to live here. Which explains the issue.

On one side, you have monsters who are inhabiting this area. On the other, you have adventurers, hoping to find what no one has discovered. Naturally, conflicts ensue.

I’m staring down at one of the open courtyards from my position on a hilltop. Actually, I’m prone, and the grass is really itchy. A big chunk of stone gives me additional cover, and I doubt anything can see me—because I can’t see much of anything unless I raise my head high enough. But I’m not about to get up. I can see a flash and then a brilliant blue crackle of lightning.

Slower than regular lightning. But ‘slower’ in the sense that it flashes across the ground, strikes a pillar where someone dives to safety, and blows a goddamn chunk out of solid stone. I swallow.

That’s going to do the same to me if it hits. And then—wonderful—I see the lightning bolt followed by a ball of roiling flames. It lands as someone shouts below.

“[Fireball]! Cover—”

Someone runs five feet, leaps, and clears the blast zone just in time. The ball of fire expands, and the shockwave actually makes the air move around me. Someone drags away the figure who made it to safety; the blast kicked them like a mule, and I have to imagine they’ve been deafened and possibly blinded and baked by the heat.

That’s magic. Combat magic, and it’s really, really unfortunate I’m going to be running down there. But from the looks of it—the group of people ducking the hostile spells need my delivery right now.

“Healing potion! Get me a healing—”

Someone’s shouting. The other figures mill about, but they’re out. I can see a woman with a bow poke her head up, dodge an arrow that rattles off her cover, and loose an arrow back.

It doesn’t seem to do much good, but it does draw the ire of the enemy spellcaster. Another streak of magic shoots her way—another lightning bolt. I’ve seen two spells so far, and they’re either a ball of fire or bolt of lightning.

I’d say it’s stereotypical, but it’s working. But what amazes me is that the woman with a bow doesn’t die—she takes cover, and a huge voice shouts. A bull-man with horns roars.

“Horns! Move up and support Marian! Ceria, take out that spellcaster! Shields up!”

Ten figures move forwards, taking cover and spreading out around the courtyard, loosing arrows and charging to meet yellowed skeletons holding swords and rusted axes. But they’re watching the spellcaster all the while, forcing it to attack people in cover.

They actually have good strategy. Which is the only reason they survived long enough to send a [Message] spell for help, I guess.

The adventuring group currently occupying the ruins is known as the Horns of Hammerad. A Silver-rank team notable for their relatively high average level—most members are above level 20—and their leader, a Minotaur [Fighter]* who wields an enormous battleaxe in combat.

*I still don’t get classes. Apparently, [Fighter] is a general class, although some call it [Warrior] depending on the culture. Does that mean they have the same Skills? Either way, it’s the first class most warriors take, but if this Minotaur guy were higher-level, he’d be an [Axemaster] or [Knight]. But we call him a [Fighter] or [Warrior] because we don’t know his exact class. Because that’s private. Huh.

The general consensus is that they’re quite competent in combat, and they’d received official permission to search the ruins for the duration of the week. That means that while the Horns are in the ruins, other adventuring groups can’t interfere or look for treasure. It was an arrangement that allowed the nearby cities to reap a profit for charging access and prevented conflicts between their adventurers.

All well and good, and normally, the Horns would have expected a moderate payout at the very least. They were well equipped and prepared for anything.

Which was why the sight of their disorganized party fighting and retreating across the ruins is even more alarming. The roaring bull man is hacking down a skeleton one-handed with an axe, but he can barely move.

…Because of the spike of ice lodged in his midsection. He’s got it covered with a tourniquet, and he’s, somehow, still upright and fighting. But then I see a deadly hail of ice shards flying towards another adventurer and gulp.

The other warriors and mages—the Horns of Hammerad is a large party, ten members strong—are either hunkered down or exchanging shots with the monster that has cornered them.

Even as I watch, an armored warrior deflects a sword strike from one of the skeletons attacking their group and smashes it with a mace. The skeleton falls to the ground, lifeless. But that’s attracted the attention of the leader of the undead, and a huge blast of fire engulfs the area once more.

I wince as the armored warrior runs out of the blaze screaming in agony. He rolls on the ground as a mage with a staff shoots a few magic bolts of rippling light to attract attention away from him. Two other adventurers rush forth and drag the burnt warrior into cover as a hail of ice spikes nearly pincushions all three.

Well, crap. That’s the fifth member of the Horns down. I was hoping they’d sway the battle, but at this rate, they’ll be wiped out. No help for it.

I shouldn’t go down there. The [Receptionist] whose name I can’t remember told me not to risk it. Either signal them to grab the potions or wait till the fight is over. Even for an Emergency Delivery, a Runner is under no obligation to risk their lives in an active combat zone.

That thing firing off spells could kill me in a single shot. Even if I wanted to risk it, it’s smarter to wait and find a way to sneak down. But I can hear someone screaming for a potion. So…slowly, I get up and feel at my legs. The broken stones still obscure most of my body if I shuffle over to where it’s at its highest.

I take two deep breaths and then stretch my legs out. Right leg? Check. Left leg? Stretching…check. Okay.

I peek over the piece of rubble I’m hiding behind. Clear? Okay. Here we go—

I vault the rubble and dash down the slope. From where I am, there’s a moderate incline down into the heart of the ruins, where fallen buildings and rubble make for treacherous ground. Loose stones can twist my ankle, or I can kick a piece of stone at high-speed and break my toes.

But what’s worse is the danger of being killed by the monster fifty feet in front of me. The problem is that I arrived on the wrong side of the ruins. So I’m closer to it than the adventurers.

I charge down the hill towards it. The robed figure notices me as I’m halfway there and turns. Two glowing blue points of light in its eyes shift towards me as I sprint directly at it. A jaw made of bone clatters open, and I see a dead…skeletal body rotate my way.

It’s a Lich*, an undead skeletal mage. The skeleton looks wrong, like a reptile, and the bones are subtly different, yet it is a skeleton—it even has a skeletal tail, and the ancient robes hanging on its body are the only things not worn away by rot.

*I personally have problems with calling it a Lich. Apparently, unlike in games and stories, Liches are rather common. They’re more like an undead type rather than unique and rare examples of mages living forever. They’re not even that deadly. Well, they’re very deadly, but even scarier types of undead exist apparently.

For a second, I don’t think it even knows what it’s seeing. A lone Human running straight at it without a weapon? It hesitates, but then raises a finger. This would be the part where I die in its plan. In mine? I think I survive.

If it seems stupid to charge at a monster capable of blasting me to bits with a single spell, well, it probably is. But I had a good reason for doing it. Over the last five minutes, I’d scoped out the Lich’s battle against the group of adventurers and picked out a few important details about how it acted. I had three good reasons for my plan of action.

Reason A: I’d noticed that the Lich could cast several spells, such as a miniaturized lightning bolt, a fireball, and those nasty showers of ice spikes. Of the three, I really only had to worry about the fireball and the ice spikes. The lightning looked dangerous, but it grounded itself too easily at a long distance on the nearest object. Since I’m not wearing any metal, it would be far harder for the Lich to hit me.

As for the fireballs and ice spikes, well, they were slower and the Lich had to point first. Its aim also wasn’t the greatest in the world. It was a risk, but so long as I didn’t get cooked when the fireball exploded, I had a shot.

Also, Reason B: was that I’d noticed the Lich tended to defend itself with a barrier of bones it summoned from the ground whenever anything got close. That stopped it from casting spells for a few seconds.

And Reason C: I’m stupid.

The Lich pointed at me and cackled something that made my ears hurt. I dove and rolled and felt my right side go slightly numb. It felt like the worst static electricity shock I’d ever experienced times a hundred, but that meant the lightning had missed me. And I was still alive.

Hit the ground, roll onto my feet and run. I closed on the Lich, and it raised a protective hand. As I expected, a wall of bones erupted from the ground in front of me, a grotesque puzzle of interlocked bones and skulls as solid as rock*.

*Seriously. How the hell does it do that? Are there that many bones in the ground? Or is it just magic?

Now’s my chance. I immediately veer left and accelerate towards where the adventurers are. The Lich makes a crackling noise as it realizes it’s been duped. It tries to lower the bone barrier, but it’s too late.

Run. Run faster. Dodge behind the pillar. Pause. Go left. Move right. Fireball! Close. Now—sprint left as fast as possible.

In one of the many safety seminars my dad made me attend after every mass shooting, they taught us what to do if a gunman ever opened fire and we had to escape. Some of it was common sense stuff like don’t scream or do something stupid and think before moving. But I did remember one important tip.

When someone’s firing at you, don’t run in a straight line to get away. Zig zag, make it hard for them to get a bead on you. And in my case, duck behind rubble and place as many obstacles between me and the Lich as possible.

I run, and I run as fast as I can. The instant I slow, I’m dead. The air around me is static; fire explodes around me, and flying ice threatens to pierce my skin.

You can’t tell, and I don’t have a mirror, but I’m pretty sure I’m grinning.

——

“Status?”

Calruz, leader of the Horns of Hammerad, grunted at the other warrior as the two hid behind one of the fallen walls in the ruins. The Human, his second-in-command, glanced down at him and shook his head grimly.

“I think Terr got hit by a [Fireball]. Coblat and Grimsore dragged him away, but he’s down for the count as well.”

“Damn.”

The Minotaur hit his thigh and winced. The huge spear of ice protruding out of his midriff oozed more dark blood, and he sat back against the wall and breathed out. The tendons on his neck strained, and sweat stood out on his brow despite the freezing cold.

“What about Ceria and Sostrom? Why the hell aren’t they taking this thing out? We are a disgrace of a team.”

Ceria and Sostrom were their [Mages]. The other man grimaced as he saw someone poke her head up, swivel around with her pointed ears twitching, then duck an arrow loosed by a skeleton holding a bow. It was more amazing that the filthy, corroded bow and string could even fire, but it did, and the arrow was weak and badly aimed—but it could still do a lot of damage.

So could the skeletons charging their flanks on-and-off. A rusted hatchet from the bone limbs wasn’t nearly as hard as Calruz could hit someone—but a sharp blade would still cut or kill by infection later, and there were a lot of skeletons.

Even so—they would have taken the lesser skeletons to pieces an hour ago, when the fight began. As it was, they were barely surviving, and they’d burned through all their healing potions. Because of the Lich. The other man scratched at his mustache soaked with sweat, a habit, and glanced out again as the half-Elf poked her head up.

“They’re trying, but whenever they fire at that monster, it just raises a shield. It’s got more mana than all of our casters combined. We need to get in close if we want a chance.”

“Fat chance of that happening with all those skeletons and zombies guarding it.”

“I think Terr got rid of the last of them, but we still can’t get close. It’s too flaming quick.”

“We have to.”

That was all the Minotaur said. He grimly stared at the spike of ice in his stomach. If he pulled it out, how long did he have?

“Do you have half a potion left, Gerial? Give it to me. I’ll yank this out and charge. Everyone who can move goes.”

“You’ll get roasted. No way.”

Gerial glanced at the Minotaur in alarm. He was two heads shorter than the bull man, and Calruz’s biceps were massive; he was a fit warrior even by the standards of his people. Right now, his eyes were clear blue and concentrated with pain and cold calm.

“We must take the monster down. No Runner can get to us with it here, and no other adventuring team can bail us out. I am Beriad of the House of Minos. It would be a disgrace for me to let my team down.”

“Beriad my ass.”

Calruz turned, snorting, and Gerial grabbed his arm.

“We’re not doing a suicide charge. Just give Ceria a chance. If she can damage it, we’ll fall back and try to escape. The horses are—”

A sudden commotion stopped the argument dead, and Calruz lifted his axe, swearing. If it was another skeleton horde, they were in trouble.

The vice-captain of the Horns of Hammerad chanced a peek around the wall he was hiding behind. There didn’t seem to be any more [Fireballs] coming his way at the moment, which was good and also worrying. Had the Lich turned its attention elsewhere? Doubtful. But then why—

His jaw dropped. Gerial focused on something in the distance as Calruz whispered an oath to his homeland. His hand tightened around the piece of ice to tear it loose—when he heard Gerial exclaim, and his tone was different.

“Who is that?”

Calruz grunted and tried to twist his head, but fell back weakly.

“Who? What’s happening?”

“It’s a Runner! She just charged down the hill at the Lich! She’s coming this way!”

The Minotaur’s eyes opened wide.

“You’re joking. She’ll never make it.”

“She’s doing it.”

The vice-captain watched as the long-legged runner dashed across the broken landscape. She was leaping over pieces of rubble and running in a serpentine motion while fireballs and shards of ice rained down around her. From this distance, all he could see was raven-black hair and tanned skin, but the vice-captain was sure he’d never seen this particular runner before.

She had odd features, which would have told him she was part-Japanese, or at least Asian, if those words had meant anything to him.

“She’s foreign. Chandrarian? Balerosian?”

He turned, and the Minotaur edged over. He glanced out and grunted.

“You idiot. She’s Drathian.”

“Drathian? What’s one of them doing across the world?”

“No clue. Shut up—give that Runner covering fire! Everyone up!”

Gerial himself lowered his sword to grab a loose rock and heave it in the general direction of the Lich. It fell well short, but several arrows and a spike of ice made the undead turn and begin firing their way. Yet it was still after the Runner, and every second, the Minotaur expected to see her go down with the next spell.

Any second he expected her to be blown away by an on-target [Fireball] or be seared by a lightning blast. But she didn’t. And then she was right on top of Gerial.

——

Ryoka leapt around a pillar of stone and slammed into the Human man in armor. She knocked into him and felt cool metal before she stumbled back. He pulled her into cover as icicle shards crashed against the rubble.

It took her two deep breaths of air before she could speak. Ryoka unslung her pack and nodded at the gaping vice-captain.

“Delivery.”

“Dead gods!”

The vice-captain stared at Ryoka. He gestured to her, the ruins, and then waved his gauntleted hands a bit.

“That was the most amazing sight I’ve ever—you just ran right past that Lich! Are you insane? Or crazy?”

She was pretty sure she was. But Ryoka’s mouth was on autopilot as she fumbled with her pack. Was she dead? She felt alive! But there were explosions going off as the Lich attacked, and she turned to the two. Then she recoiled as she saw the Minotaur staring down at her.

He was seven feet tall. Before his horns. Maybe some of that was due to the steel armor he wore, but he was a mammoth!

Imagine a bull’s face on a humanoid body, only he had toes, or what she thought were toes, in feet-like boots. Chestnut fur, short and fairly smooth, covered every inch of his body, and two horns, again, curved like a bull’s, sprang from his head. But there were two caps of gold on the tips of the horns and his eyes were intelligent, if strained with pain at this moment.

He looked like a monster himself, out of Greek legend—but only for a second. He held that axe with too much care, and his eyes flitted to his companion and his team, with urgency and attentiveness to their condition. So not a monster but another kind of man.

Despite looking as though he should have been able to smash the Lich down one-handed, the spike of ice in his midsection showed Ryoka why the team was in trouble.

It was dripping with water and blood around a cloth bandage, and he was holding it with one huge hand, possibly supporting it so it didn’t pull a bunch of his organs out of his body. Ryoka’s mouth worked a second before she spoke.

“I’m a Runner. I’ve got a delivery for the leader of the Horns of Hammerad. That you?”

“That’s me.”

Of all the stupid things to say—but he actually nodded to her. Sweat dripped off the Mintoaur’s brow as he bared his teeth.

“Calruz of the Beriad, Captain of the Horns of Hammerad. Son of Minos, at your service.”

He was as polite and formal as could be—right until he tried to make a gesture with his free hand. His face twisted, and he muttered.

“I hope you’ve got our delivery, Miss Runner.”

Ryoka nodded rapidly. She put her pack down, then yanked the top open and placed the heavily-wrapped bottles down on the ground in front of the Minotaur. Instantly, he reached for the bottles.

“Fifteen healing potions, five mana potions. All unbroken. Delivery to Horns of Hammerad. Your seal?”

“Seal? Oh, of course!”

They were all in shock. The vice-captain gave Ryoka a blank look, then automatically fumbled with his pouch. He pulled out a silver and copper token and handed it to her. It was a unique seal with a hammer standing on a mountain embossed on one side.

“Thanks.”

Ryoka stowed the seal securely in her waist pouch and then peeked around the wall. The Lich was exchanging fireballs with another mage wearing a red wizard’s hat. She nodded to herself and lowered into a sprinter’s crouch.

“Wait—are you going?”

Ryoka didn’t glance at the vice-captain as she tried to judge when would be the best moment.

“Yep.”

“You can’t! I mean, that’s even crazier!”

The vice-captain stared at Ryoka in consternation and then looked at his leader for support. Calruz was trying to open one of the bottles. He grunted as he pulled the cork out of one of the bottles and downed the thick, syrupy, green liquid. Instantly, he straightened and began to pull out the piece of ice. Ryoka watched in horrified fascination as his skin began to knit, starting to push the ice spike out of his body.

The Minotaur growled, and she saw his eyes slowly begin to turn red, the blue irises and whites filling with blood. He stood taller and slowly turned his head to the Lich, who stopped attacking the half-Elf screaming curses at it as if it could sense the danger.

“Let her go if she wants. Runner—thanks for the assistance. Not many of your lot would do this. The Horns owe you a debt.”

She paused.

“No problem.”

He nodded to her. She nodded back. Then the Minotaur yanked the piece of ice out and hurled it to the ground. An armored foot stomped, and it shattered to pieces. Gerial looked relieved, but he turned to Ryoka.

“At least let us reassemble and give you a diversion. Once we get these potions to all our members, we can finally bring this guy down.”

Ryoka thought about it.

“That’ll take too long. You want an opening? I’ll give you one. I’ve got more deliveries to make.”

The vice-captain tore at what hair he could reach underneath his helmet.

“He’ll blast you the instant you leave cover!”

She grinned at the vice-captain, breaking her expressionless mask.

“He can try.”

The Minotauar’s eyes opened wide, and he gave her a smile like hers. But his was blood and glory. He took a breath as his stomach wound closed and bellowed.

“You heard her. Horns of Hammerad—covering fire! Potions have arrived!”

——

Five minutes later, the adventuring party, the Horns of Hammerad, watched the Runner break out of the ruins and sprint away even as the Lich fired a final parting bolt of lightning in her direction. He missed. The Lich shrieked, a strangely piercing wail coming from the skeleton’s mouth, then turned to attack the adventurers.

But they were deep in cover, and it hovered, uncertainly, then raised a barrier of bones again. It couldn’t tell where they were—

And they had regrouped. The half-Elf broke away from the healing potions going to her teammates, who were getting on their feet, cursing, and crabbed under a buttress of broken stone to where Gerial and Calruz were sitting. Gerial was mouthing to his Captain.

“She did it. She actually did it.”

“She told you.”

Calruz grinned and watched the young woman disappearing over the hill. He turned as the half-Elf tapped him on the shoulder. Her blonde hair was sticking up from all the static electricity it had absorbed, and she looked exhausted from her running battle with the Lich.

But she too was getting a second wind; she held a wand at the ready, tip glowing faintly with frozen ice along the alabaster length of stone.

With the other hand, she was gulping down the foul, off-blue potion swimming with green swirls of color. She gagged, then spoke.

“Is that a new Runner? She must be. I haven’t ever seen her before, and I think I would have remembered hearing about one as crazy as that. Dead gods, she saved us. Gerial, you alright? Marian is going to make it. So is Terr. He’s on his feet.”

“Thank the Five Families.”

Gerial breathed out, and the Minotaur corrected him.

“Thank the Runner. Ceria, how’s your mana?”

She grimaced. The half-Elf tipped the jar of liquid up, gulped it down, and her eyes bulged. Both Gerial and Calruz hesitated, afraid she’d spew it out, but she swallowed.

“Potion’s working. Dead gods, that’s nasty. I bet Octavia made it. It tastes cheap and foul as hell.”

“Coming from our bug-eating, tree-kissing half-Elf? It must be bad.”

Ceria jabbed Gerial with her wand before Calruz growled.

“Stop bickering. We’re at full strength again, thanks to that Human. Speaking of. Did anyone catch the Runner’s name?”

Neither Gerial nor Ceria had. The man scratched at his chin.

“We can ask later. She looks different. Drathian, you said? She’s definitely new; no one around here has the guts to do an Emergency Run like that.”

Ceria raised her brows.

“Drathian? Well, we can ask questions later. Potions are distributed. What’s our plan, boss? Charge in and eat another ice spike? My vote’s not to do that—the Lich can throw better spells than I can, and I’m the [Elementalist].”

The Minotaur gave Ceria a huge glare, and Gerial raised a hand as if to break them up. But this was just banter, and Calruz jerked his head over.

“We take a page out of the Runner’s book. Did you see how she escaped it? We moved in too slow. This time, we spread out. No shields, just run from cover to cover. Gerial, you’ll take one group left. I’ll head right. Put Marian and the other archers up and tie it up. Force it to shield itself, and give me an opening. Ceria, can you tag it at least once?”

The half-Elf flexed her hands and produced a shard of ice from her palm. She grinned as her eyes seemed to regain a spark of…magic.

“Can do.”

Calruz raised his voice.

“Horns! Did you hear that? We’re going in. The Runner’s bought us our moment, and we’ll all buy her a drink. But I’ll be drinking it out of that Lich’s damned skull. Advance!”

He swung himself up as the Lich whirled. It raised a staff, and a spike of ice shot towards the Minotaur, but Gerial was already up and his shield caught the spell. He stumbled back, swearing, but before the Lich could fire a bolt of lightning from one hand, a shard of ice hit it in one eye-socket.

It recoiled, skull cracked from the force of the blow. It looked up and saw a half-Elf pointing a wand at it. She grinned, and then shard after shard of ice began firing from her wand, hitting the Lich with pinpoint precision. Then the other adventurers were emerging from cover, shouting as they sprinted for positions closer.

The last skeletons rose to their feet to defend their leader as the Minotaur emerged with a roar, punching through one’s ribcage without even deigning to swing his axe. The Lich recoiled, trying to back up, but it was too late.

As one, the Horns of Hammerad abandoned their position in the ruins and began a full-scale assault on the Lich and the remaining undead.

——

After she’d run ten miles away from the Ruins, Ryoka finally stopped to catch her breath. Her lungs were burning, and her legs felt like jelly. The adrenaline was finally draining out of her, and she felt exhausted.

She could still feel tingling in her legs from the lightning bolts missing her skin. Only when she raised her arm did she feel a flash of pain and see the singed flesh and soot. White blisters were already rising on her skin.

It hurt. She had nearly died, and her legs trembled. She felt cold and remembered that shiver of seeing the flames burning in the hollow sockets of the Lich’s skull. A feeling of dread upon seeing something far, far more real than any Halloween mask or costume.

A malevolent intelligence and hatred towards her.

She had nearly died. Ryoka’s body began to tremble. A second too slow, or if she’d dodged left instead of right—

The trembling continued, but Ryoka’s lips twitched. She tried to smile.

“Fun.”

The word felt fake. She tried to put on a daring grin, but then she thought of the adventurers and looked back. Had they made it? Ryoka exhaled, and the trembling stopped a bit. She amended her statement.

“Good run.”

She hoped they would survive. Then she kept on going.

——

I’m still high on adrenaline when I’m standing at the Runner’s Guild, in front of a [Receptionist]. Shame it doesn’t make this part easier.

“You completed the supply request for the Horns of Hammerad?”

“Yep.”

The receptionist stares at me. I shrug. What does she want me to say? I nearly died? Liches are scary?

I feel like I’m in a different world. The worn-down room of the Runner’s Guild is a far cry from the grassy plains or the rubble and destruction of the Ruins of Albez. The woman raises her brows. This isn’t the one I recognize, by the by. This is a middle-aged woman with a frizzy shock of green hair in a stripe running through her brown hair. I think it’s not even a style; some people just have magical hair as part of their genetics.

Lucky. She’s taking notes, and she looks relieved.

“That’s incredible. Are the Horns already finished fighting? The magic communication we got said they were fighting a Lich and a horde of the undead.”

I shake my head as a few Runners in line poke their heads up, interested. I point, as if I’m pointing at the distant ruins.

“They’re still fighting. The Lich is still around. Not sure about the other undead. Looked like they were mostly dead. Undead.”

The receptionist doesn’t smile. Didn’t she get the joke? Darn. She’s still giving me that ‘I-don’t-believe-you’ look. I hand her the Seal.

“Here’s the Seal from the Horns of Hammerad.”

She checks it over and then double-checks. Her eyebrows rise.

“It’s real. So you’re telling me you delivered the supplies in the middle of the battle?”

Why is she making a big fuss? I thought that’s what all Runners did on this kind of mission.

“Yup. Emergency Run, right?”

“Incredible.”

I’m silent. I mean, what am I supposed to say to that? ‘Oh, yeah, I’m really amazing, now give me my money?’

After a few moments, the receptionist finally shakes herself.

“You could go to Invrisil, if you cared to risk your life like that. The City of Adventurers always headhunts brave Runners. But a Lich? Well, well, this is all in order. Would you like the payment now or…?”

“Later.”

I can collect my pay whenever, but most Runners do it in one lump sum at the end of the week. It’s more convenient that way since we have to sign to confirm we’ve been paid and the receptionist has to validate it. The [Receptionist] is still staring at me, and she smiles.

“Well, I think you’ve earned your break. Unless—do you think you could do another delivery? I wouldn’t ask, but you’re the only City Runner here right now.”

I’m tired, but that’s only because of my adrenaline low. I know my legs have got at least another good run in them, so I nod.

“Where to?”

“Celum. It’s another request from Lady Magnolia. Another Runner just brought it from Remendia, but he’s too tired to keep going. It’s been passed from six Runners so far, and we need to get it to Magnolia within the hour if possible.”

Okay. Now that’s tricky. I hesitate.

It’s not that I don’t think I can do it in time. I can get to Celum in less than an hour even with something heavy on my back. But I’d done another run for Magnolia—delivering a big, fancy vase—a few days ago. By the ‘unwritten rules,’ that meant I should wait for at least another week before I took the request.

Damn. Damnation. Drat. Fals’ warning sticks with me, and I’m half tempted to take the delivery just because I hated his annoying hints and threats. On the other hand…I don’t need to meet Magnolia Reinhart again.

What should I do? This is the exact kind of situation I hate. I glance around at the other Runners and see mostly Street Runners.

“There aren’t any other City Runners around?”

The receptionist shakes her head.

“They’re all out on deliveries, and I don’t want to wait longer than I have to. I was about to ask one of the Street Runners to do the delivery, but that would have been a problem too.”

Well, in that case…why not? The Magnolia rule can go to hell for all I care.

“I’ll do it.”

The receptionist smiles in relief.

“Thank y—”

“Hold on!”

The receptionist’s head turns. My head doesn’t. I’m taking this moment to say a few choice words in my head*.

*Oh, please no. Not that stupid, inbred rodent girl. No one in the world has a voice more high-pitched and annoying than her and her moronic cronies. I’d rather go back and dance naked in front of the Lich than deal with this.

I turn and see a familiar face. She stands in the doorway of the Runner’s Guild, wiping sweat from her face. She looks at me as her two best friends, Claudeil and Toriska, wave at the Runners inside. They’re both taller than she is, but she’s in charge.

Two pigtails instead of a braid, brown, flax hair, despite all the gels she puts in it, and she looks like she’s starving.

Or hungry. She’s thin, but she always looks like someone’s just snatched a sandwich from her, and I’ve never seen her not looking accusatory. Especially now as she gives me a triumphant look as if she’s just caught me red-handed. Today, she’s wearing a light-green hooded jacket to keep out of the rain and long, loose leggings like most Runners. She also wears open-toed sandals when she runs, the monster, secured by leather ties.

She’s famous enough that other Runners turn and some smile at her, but I see a few just looking apprehensive behind their smiles. The [Receptionist] in front of me actually makes a small groaning sound, and I look at the worst Runner in the region.

Persua. Her voice is strident, high-pitched, and makes me long for the whine of a [Fireball] passing by my ears. Especially if it hits her. She gives me a huge smirk.

“There’s no need to give Magnolia’s request to her. I’ve just arrived, and I can take care of it myself.”

The young woman—no, the annoying teenager who strides towards me brushes past to stand at the counter. She keeps her back very straight, probably because I’m taller than her by a head. I catch the overpowering smell of perfume masking her sweat and step back so her brown hair doesn’t smack me in the face every time she tosses her head. Which she does quite often.

I know her. Or rather, I know her sallow* face. She always looks like she’s pursing her lips at everyone, and she annoys me every time I look at her.

*Is sallow the right word here? I think it means pinched and narrow, but I could be wrong. That’s the problem with not having the internet. Anyways, her face is shrewish, although I forget what a shrew looks like too. I’m going with sallow either way.

“Oh, Miss Persua. I didn’t know you were still in the city.”

Persua. A name fit for her. Persua tosses her head impetuously and nods. Her two friends, Claudeil, all sneers and eyes on my chest, and Toriska, who looks straight past me, follow Persua over as if she needs the emotional support at all times. Persua herself is the worst, though, and she smirks as if she’s being clever.

“Well, I was doing that delivery to Remendia, but once one of my friends let me know Magnolia’s request was sitting in the Runner’s guild, of course I came back to fulfill it.”

She what? I give her a blank stare. The receptionist looks uncomfortable.

“You—haven’t finished the other delivery? Well, I was going to give the request to Ryoka. She’s free, and she’s—”

“She’s already done a request for Magnolia this week. By rights, that means I should have a turn. Claudeil will do my run, right?”

The receptionist frowns at Persua. So does the young man. He brushes at his hair.

“I will? I mean—of course, Persua. That frees it up. Toriska and I will go.”

“I’m going with Persua. You can go—or Miss Ryoka can go, Claudeil. We can trade up!”

Toriska giggles, and the [Receptionist] stares at my face as I debate kicking the other Runner. Although—they are armed. Claudeil has a crossbow, and Toriska has a wand and knife for emergencies. I’ve seen both showing off their weapons to Street Runners.

I bet I could kick them both in the face from here. However, the [Receptionist] breaks in, trying to mediate…Persua.

“There’s no rule that explicitly gives precedence to other Runners. Besides which, I need this delivery done as quickly as possible. It is literally getting…warmer? As we speak.”

“So?”

Another head toss. I notice some more of Persua’s ‘friends,’ the other Runners—mainly Street Runners who are new or lower on the totem pole—watching me. They always gather around when she appears. I stare at them until they look away. I hate their guts. Too bad Persua doesn’t back down as easily. Doubly too bad is her annoying voice.

“I can easily do Magnolia’s request. Ryoka can just switch with me.”

The [Receptionist] was beginning to look exasperated.

“It doesn’t work like that. Unless Ryoka agrees, I can’t just give this to you. Besides, as I’ve said, this is a speedy delivery. I can’t give it to—”

“To what?”

Persua looks at the receptionist coldly. But I fill in the gap silently in my mind, probably with everyone else in the Runner’s Guild.

To a slower runner. One of the slowest, in fact. Persua might be a City Runner, but she’s slow. Or lazy. Actually, she’s both. She’s also an idiot, but that’s just my observation. She doesn’t take as many long-distance contracts, and she only delivers light-weight stuff like flowers or letters.

However, she does tend to get deliveries done—possibly because her friends often run with her. The [Receptionist] bites her tongue and tries a smile, which clearly fails, even to me.

“I just meant that Ryoka is the fastest City Runner. Even Fals can’t beat her time.”

“Yes, but I’m sure she’ll switch with me, won’t you, Ryoka?”

Persua glances at me and then away. Passive-aggressive bitch*.

*What language! I’m ashamed of myself. Mainly because I don’t have a wider vocabulary to describe someone like her. I could get vulgar, but I’d rather just slap her on the back of the head. Must resist temptation.

I hesitate. I should give the request to Persua. Even if she fails it, there’s no skin off my back. In fact, if she gets in trouble for failing the request even better. Although she’ll probably wriggle out of it somehow.

Yeah, I hate her guts. And I don’t feel like giving in to her bullying, especially because I know the only reason she wants to do the delivery is for the easy money and the opportunity to sponge off of Magnolia. So you know what? Let’s escalate things.

“It’s urgent.”

That’s not what Persua wants to hear. She glances at me in irritation.

“So? I can make it.”

The receptionist glances around uncertainly.

“If we can’t get it to Magnolia within the hour, the delivery won’t be any good. Can you make the run in time? It will melt, that is what I am told, and the Runner’s Guild will bear the costs of reimbursing Lady Reinhart if it is ruined. I would like it there in forty minutes. Or less. Miss Persua, you have no sprinting Skills while Miss Ryoka is the fastest. Can you do it?”

This time, Persua noticeably swallows, but she glances at her two friends and then nods.

“I can.”

“So can I.”

Both the receptionist and I glance at Persua. She’s already sweating, probably from running back to the city to take the request.

“Can you?”

She glares at me. But I know bodies, and I know running. Sallow girl is sweaty, tired, and she has terrible running form. I’ve done a run too, but unlike her, I know how to conserve energy. I turn to the receptionist.

“Give me the request.”

Persua’s sallow face grows even more pinched, if that were possible. She glares daggers at me.

“That’s not fair. You’ve already done a request. I deserve it! Claudeil and Toriska are both with me—they both deserve chances too!”

“Toriska’s not even a City Runner yet.”

The other young woman glares daggers at me and reaches for her dagger, and Persua stamps her foot.

“So? Claudeil is!”

“Yeah, and you always deliver to Magnolia together. This isn’t about—getting to hobnob with her. She needs it fast? I’m ready.”

The idiot is ready to argue with me, but even Claudeil is hesitating because he knows I’m right. Persua strides over to poke at me and I’m ready to break her finger, but an urgent voice interrupts the two of us.

“Persua, please.”

The receptionist is already wrestling with something under the counter. She lifts it up to me and gives me a smile of relief. I guess she really didn’t think Persua could do it either. She brings out a huge metal…canister?

Yes, a locking canister of metal. I blink because it’s more ornate than I thought this world had for metallurgy, but that’s the nobility for you. It’s cold, too, and I feel how heavy it is. Must be something solid in there.

“Here’s the delivery. It’s packed in ice, so try not to get it too warm if possible. You know where Magnolia’s house is. They’ll be expecting you.”

Persua stomps her foot angrily as I put the large metal canister in my backpack. Cold. And it is wrapped with melting ice, so I’ll have a wet backpack after my run. But it’s worth it to see her get mad.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Good for you.”

If looks could kill…but Persua’s looks only annoy. She stomps towards me until my nose burns with her stupid perfume. She hisses at me.

“You’ll regret this.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes!”

Some people. I turn away from Persua and hear her make a sound like an angry hamster. Claudeil, Toriska, both are giving me what they probably think are sinister looks. I look around and see most of the Street Runners pretending not to see this altercation.

Whatever. I really don’t care about their opinions or whatever Runner’s Code they claim. I’m here to do my job.

I nod to the receptionist.

“I’m off.”

I’m out the door before Persua can make another comment. I hear a strangled scream of fury, then a barrage of complaints. You can’t tell, and I don’t have a mirror.

But I’m grinning again.

——

This time, it’s the head maid who opens the door. She sniffs down at me.

I nod at her. I’m out of breath, tired, and my back is really, really cold. But I feel great, because I made it here in just forty minutes. That’s almost a record, and it’s at least twice as fast as Persua’s best time.

“Delivery for Magnolia.”

“That’s Lady Magnolia, Miss Ryoka Griffin. Wipe your feet.”

Now here’s someone whose looks can really kill. I shrug and take off my pack. I do wipe my feet again.

“Seal?”

“Wait.”

The head maid closes the door on me as I wrestle with my damp delivery. Well, looks like I won’t be talking to Magnolia today. That’s actually a relief. I don’t mind the bubbly, excitable noblewoman, but I actually prefer the maids. They might be abrupt and rude, but that means less talking.

Okay, icy package is in my hands. I wait as patiently as I can outside the door and then hear a muffled conversation. It sounds like someone arguing, and then I hear a familiar energetic voice.

“Nonsense! Ressa, how could you—of course I insist you let her in! Dirty feet or not!”

The door opens, and a familiar woman greets me. How can one woman’s hair stay that curly? I’m fairly certain they don’t have hair curlers in this day and age, but Magnolia’s blonde locks look as stylized as any I’ve seen from my world.

“Please, allow me to apologize for my servant’s rudeness. Come in, please!”

I hesitate, and the maid—Ressa—standing behind Magnolia looks unhappy.

“I can just deliver the package if you have the seal—”

“Oh, I won’t hear of it! Come in!”

Ressa makes a face, and I try not to. Reluctantly, I walk into the foyer of Lady Magnolia’s mansion and wish there was a rug to wipe my feet on. Magnolia beams at me while Ressa perfects her death-glare behind her back. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want my dirty feet walking all over the marble floor. I’d prefer not to be here too, but the delivery isn’t done until I get the seal.

“This way, please. You can put it in the drawing room. No, not the secondary one, Ressa. The main one!”

She leads me into a carpeted room. Again, I hesitate, but there’s no helping it. The rug is very soft, and my feet are very dirty, but Magnolia doesn’t care. She peers excitedly at the metal container burning my hands with frost and dripping onto the carpet and beams at me.

“Oh my, that was quick! I was told this would be travelling the entire way from the port city of Hazenbrad! Did you bring it here yourself?”

“No. Other runners brought it most of the way.”

“Well, you and your people have certainly done me quite a service! Thank you! My, you look exhausted. Won’t you take a shot of stamina potion? You’re not supposed to mix it with anything—terrible effects, alchemy, you know, but you can chase it with a drink. I find a lemonade works. But perhaps you’re busy? I did remember this time to have my seal ready!”

Magnolia presents me with her silver-sapphire seal. I’m actually gratified she remembers, and she looks me up and down.

“It’s Ryoko, isn’t it? It’s rare that I see the same Runner in so many days.”

Ryoka. But I’m used to people mispronouncing the name. I take the seal and slip it into my pouch. Right, now how to get out of this place tactfully?

“I’ve got to go. More deliveries.”

Actually, I don’t have any more, and I’m tired. But I’d rather go to sleep now and deal with annoying jealous Runners tomorrow. Magnolia’s face falls. She glances at Ressa, who looks amused for some reason, and flutters her hands at the couch.

“Oh, but won’t you stay? I’d love to share this delightful treat with you—and you’ve run so far and so quickly too! When I heard a Runner was setting out from Wales*, I was sure it would take at least an hour for you to get here!”

*Yeah, that’s the city I left. Wales. It’s odd that it has the same name as a country from my world, but then again…it’s not. There’s only so many words in the English language after all.

“Mm.”

Again, what do you say to something like that? ‘Yeah, I’m awesome, now give me more money?’ This is why I hate talking to people. However, Magnolia just peers at me and then claps her hands as if she’s recalling something else.

“And you look so tired! Did you do another delivery today? You Runners are out and about! Wales, Wales…I say, are you the one who bailed the Horns of Hammerad out of their predicament? I was wondering which brave Runner actually ran into a battle, and I will just bet it’s you!”

That makes me start. I blink and look at the woman.

“The Horns? They made it?”

Magnolia Reinhart smiles and gestures to her couch again. It’s pink. Who makes pink couches?

“They did indeed. Did you leave before the battle ended? I’m told they slew a Lich and a horde of undead. Found very little, but the bounty on a Lich is quite high, and I imagine if it was wearing any artifacts, they got those too. It sounded like they were returning to Wales for the day.”

“I…that’s great. How did you know?”

Even I hadn’t heard of that by the time I returned to the Runner’s Guild. Magnolia beams as I sit, and she indicates Ressa.

“Oh, I do keep up with the local adventurers and their exploits. It pays to be informed, you know, and I was quite concerned when I heard they were in danger. And you were there! You must tell me about it. I insist. Ressa, the potion and some lemonade for Miss Ryoka!”

And suddenly, I’m trapped. Ressa gives her mistress an exasperated look, but she steps back. Magnolia seats herself on another pink duvet across from me and keeps on chattering on as I eye the canister of metal that one of her [Butlers] or something is slowly prizing open.

“Besides which, I was never able to talk properly with you both times before now. I truly would love to converse with you—and ask about your peculiar choice of footwear, or should I say, its lack! Won’t you stay for a while?”

Magnolia entreats me with her eyes, and Ressa the maid gives me a look that says I should do whatever she wants and stop sweating and getting the carpets dirty while I’m at it. She’s already back with a shot glass of red liquid followed by lemonade. I take both, swallow the horrible stamina potion—and feel myself perk right up.

Wow. But as I sip the lemonade, my heart sinks. Now I have to be polite. But then again—she did tell me the Horns survived.

I hesitate. I’m tired, and I don’t feel like talking. Like always. True, Magnolia is better than Persua any day of the week, but her enthusiasm makes me feel tired. So I stand and edge towards the door.

“I’m sorry, but I really should go. I’m very busy.”

Magnolia smiles at me.

“Are you that eager to be away? You may simply tell me if you don’t wish to converse.”

I jump* and stare at her. Magnolia smiles.

*Well, not literally.

“Really, my dear. It’s written all over your face. But besides that, I am a [Lady], and most of us learn [Sense Intentions] quite early. And I am quite high-level at that. So, therefore, sit.”

I sit. I don’t even think about it. She spoke, and I—okay, that was something else. Her voice suddenly had something in it, like it was speaking in my mind. Magnolia sighs.

“I am seldom so straightforwards, but I would like to talk with you. And you are so flighty, Miss Ryoka Griffin! It is rare that I meet a young lady as interesting as yourself.”

Try to stand up. No? Okay legs, I’m your boss. Stand. Stand.

Magnolia gestures to the couch I’m trapped in.

“Please sit here. I would like to share this delivery you’ve worked so hard to bring me.”

I’m still struggling with my unresponsive body. Magnolia gives me another smile and addresses her hovering maid.

“Ressa? Please be so kind as to open up the delivery? And I believe we will need two bowls and silverware. I would like the blue porcelain today.”

“Very good, milady. I’m sure the color will detract from the quantity you intend to gobble down like a pig for slaughter.”

I choke on my lemonade. Did I just hear that? Magnolia shoots Ressa a quick glare, but not outraged, like I’d assume. She shoes Ressa off, and the woman gives me a silent, warning look. Probably to tell me to behave, and she disappears out the door. She’s probably going for reinforcement maids. And that leaves me with Magnolia.

The larger woman gives me another charming smile. For the first time, I eye her, and not just as a rich, silly lady. Sure, she looks like something of a stereotype with her bright clothing and expensive jewelry and unambiguously good-natured personality, but what the hell did she do to me? Is that a Skill?

She looks like your image of a valedictorian [Lady] in the modern era. Charming, trendy, and I assumed, mostly fixated on fashion and…noble, rich person stuff. Which I am acquainted with via my family. All show, little substance, lots of drama.

But she knew about the Horns, and her Skill is still locking me in my seat.

“I do hope you like sweet things, Miss Ryoka. Forgive my rudeness, but I simply find that sometimes it’s best to pin people down and get to know them, don’t you?”

“Mm.”

“I’m so glad you agree! My, between you and Ressa, I am simply spoilt for fine conversation, aren’t I?”

Now, that. That sounded a bit like sarcasm. Well, well. Looks like Magnolia has layers. Or her petticoat does. Looks like I’ve underestimated her.

“Well, continue sitting there for a moment. I simply must try this delight, although I fear it’s rather ruining the carpet. Ah, well, it was due for a change.”

Magnolia bustles out of the room. I try to run for it, but my legs are still unresponsive. Well, damn. She’s got some power. It might be worth talking with her after all.

Magnolia. What an aggressive, pushy lady.

I think I like her.

——

Lady Magnolia fussed around the drawing room, and her maids fussed after her. She was busy overseeing the opening of a large metal cask, the contents of which had been surrounded in ice.

Ryoka sat in front of one ornately wrought table, conscious of her dirty feet on the rug. It might not have been Persian, but that was only because Persia didn’t exist in this world. It was certainly expensive, and it was certainly getting dirty the longer her feet were on it.

Occasionally, Ryoka’s legs would tense, but she remained sitting, much to her vexation.

“And here we are!”

Magnolia clapped her hands together in delight. Ryoka glanced up as the two latches on the metal canister were undone and icy vapor escaped. She had no idea what she’d brought, and so it was with interest that she saw a maid carefully scoop something out of the canister.

It was…white, wet-looking, with a few dark flecks mixed in the creamy color. Magnolia’s eye sparkled as another scoop was transferred to a blue and white porcelain bowl. Even the maids looked covetously at the soft cream.

To be specific, the soft ice cream.

Ryoka stared. Magnolia’s smile intensified, but the stare was not because Ryoka was taken with the novelty of the unheard of, expensive treat that she would have never eaten before. That was Magnolia’s one error.

The [Lady] gestured towards her guest, and the maid hesitated before setting the bowl down in front of Ryoka. The young woman stared silently at the gold filigree on the spoon she was handed. She stared down at the ice cream.

“Now, this is quite a treat.”

One of the maids pulled a chair out for Lady Magnolia, and the noblewoman sat across from Ryoka. She accepted another bowl and smiled at Ryoka.

“Don’t be afraid. This is in fact a very rare delicacy I had imported. It’s quite, quite expensive, but once you try it, I think you’ll agree it’s worth the cost. And I was sure a fast Runner would take it to me! I would have been so…disappointed if it was late.”

Ryoka hesitated. That sounded like she had really bailed Persua out of trouble, but she was still flummoxed by the appearance of the ice cream. She wasn’t sure if she should eat first, but Magnolia waved one hand at her.

“Oh, go on. What kind of host would I be if I did not allow you the first bite? I must warn you, though—it’s quite cold! Eat too fast and you will suffer, as I’ve learned.”

Ryoka hesitated, but Lady Magnolia was staring at her with earnest expectation. That was in sharp contrast to the maids behind her, who were all giving Ryoka the glare of death. She had the distinct impression refusing would not end well for her.

Prompted by all the eyes on her, Ryoka slowly took a bite. Her expression didn’t change one iota. Lady Magnolia blinked. The maids would have muttered, but their training kept their faces carefully neutral.

“Huh. Ice cream.”

Ryoka paused and cursed inwardly. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Again, Magnolia blinked at her, and her mouth fell open delicately.

“My. You know what this is?”

“…No?”

Magnolia’s eyes sharpened, and she stopped with a huge spoonful of ice cream. She delicately took a bite, then sighed.

“My dear, remember what I said about my Skills? I know you’re lying. But how can that be? I would swear that this delight hasn’t been invented but for a week! I just heard it had been created by a master [Chef] in the northern continent. But you’ve had some before, haven’t you?”

She could tell the truth, or she could lie and reveal the truth. Ryoka shrugged.

“Yeah.”

The maids murmured. Magnolia sighed and tasted the ice cream herself.

“Delicious. Oh, but pardon me. I couldn’t help myself. Well, this is one surprise that quite trumps my surprise! I must say, I’m rather put out and delighted that you know this treat. What did you call it? ‘Ice cream’?”

“Is it called something else around here?”

“I believe it was referred to as ‘gelato’ or some such. But I rather like your name! It certainly is quite reminiscent of cream, isn’t it? But the coldness—and of course the sweetness is incomparable!”

“Mhm.”

Now, Ryoka was sweating. Magnolia leaned over, but Ryoka was astounded at how fast she ate the ice cream. No wonder she got a brain freeze!

“Well, now you simply must tell me how you know of this treat.”

“Uh, it’s common in my home country.”

Magnolia raised her delicate eyebrows.

“Common? It is not in Drath, I assure you. Surely you—but you are telling the truth. How curious.”

Ryoka shifted in her seat. This was bad. She felt like her mind was being read. Well, even if it were just her intentions and whether or not she was telling the truth, there were enough landmines in the conversation to fill a battlefield. She had to shift the conversation.

Gingerly, she took another bite. The ice cream wasn’t actually as sweet as one from her world, but it was hauntingly familiar. She pointed to the melting canister.

“Uh, how much did this cost?”

That wasn’t an appropriate question to judge by the glares she got from the maids. But Magnolia seemed to take the question in stride.

“Well, I hate to bring up such issues in polite conversation, but this little treat cost seventy gold coins, not including the cost of shipping it across the sea and rushing it all the way here.”

Ryoka choked on her bite of ice cream and nearly bit the spoon in half. Magnolia waved a hand at her.

“Oh, please. I know it’s a lot, but for a treat like this? Very worthwhile.”

“So worthwhile you could not eat two bowls.”

Ressa muttered out of the corner of her mouth. Ryoka stared down and saw Magnolia was already getting a refill, and they weren’t small bowls. Magnolia sighed.

“Ressa, you’re right. Of course.”

“I am?”

The [Maid] looked caught off-guard, and Magnolia clicked her fingers lightly.

“I must make this batch last. I shall have some cherries, raspberries, and strawberries in my bowl. Delightfully sweet. Will you have any, Ryoka?”

None of those fruits were in season, but Ryoka had no doubt Magnolia had a stockpile. She shook her head as the fruits appeared within a minute and were ladled into the bowl. That was an entire lunch in and of itself. But Magnolia simply picked up her spoon in delight as Ressa gave her the look of someone watching a truly horrific act of consumption.

Silently, Ryoka stared at the canister of ice cream. It was probably, when all was said and done, the size of a tub of ice cream she could have bought for three dollars in any supermarket in her world.

In this world, seventy gold pieces was about seventy weeks of pay for the average person. And Ryoka just bet that the ‘shipping’ and rush delivery might have doubled the price. If it was overseas? She didn’t want to think about it.

Oblivious to her inner thoughts, Magnolia smiled again at Ryoka as she delicately spooned more ice cream into her mouth.

“I fear we must eat quickly before our ‘ice cream’ melts. But I’m sure we could chat over tea as well. And then you can tell me about how you know of this ice cream and where you come from. I must say, your features are quite striking.”

Ryoka’s expression didn’t change, but Magnolia’s eyes flickered.

“Well, if you don’t prefer to say, I quite understand. But I would like to chat.”

This was hard. Ryoka frowned at her mostly melted ice cream and thought carefully. She was looking for something to distract from the topic of where she was from, and she had nothing…until an idea formed. Then she looked up. Magnolia’s smile grew even wider. She was a third through her bowl! Ryoka glanced at her rapidly moving spoon.

“Aah. I mean…I could talk about one thing.”

Magnolia’s eyes twinkled with anticipation.

“Oh? I know it’s terribly rude to point out what you’re thinking, but that was quite the inspiration you just had.”

“Yeah. I was just thinking about the ice cream.”

“Would you like another scoop? We could all have a third bowl.”

Magnolia instantly offered Ryoka more, and Ressa and both [Maids] shook their heads behind her. Ryoka bit her tongue, amused despite herself, and glanced at Magnolia.

“No. But I do know a lot about it. Ice cream, that is.”

“Really? You are a fan or familiar with the recipe? I’m afraid I wasn’t able to learn anything about what creature produces such a delightful treat. Or how it was made! Do you know where it comes from? I have a small culinary bounty for my [Chefs] to replicate it because I love it so. Any hints I will be sure to reward!”

Magnolia leaned forwards in excitement. Ryoka looked down her bosom and felt like she understood part of the attraction of visiting Magnolia. At least, the attraction for some City Runners. She smiled, once, hesitantly, not the wild grin of someone running. But she did smile, and that was the first step.

“Better. I know how to make it.”

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.27 R

They called her the Deadly Flower Blooming in the North. Which was…a mouthful of a title. After her first meeting with Magnolia Reinhart, Ryoka Griffin had asked who, exactly, she was.

‘Head of the Reinhart Family,’ was her answer. Which begged the question what that meant. The Reinharts were one of the Five Families. Well, what did that mean?

They were called the Five Families of Izril, and she was the scion of her family. Not the matriarch, but the one who was in control.

Magnolia Reinhart.

This was the woman who bounced on her tip-toes with excitement and opened doors by herself. And who Ryoka Griffin had snarked.

She looked nothing like what Ryoka imagined. She was blonde-haired, the tips slightly curling and cut short, and she was neither as tall as Ryoka and Ressa nor half as fit as either one.

Then again, Ryoka Griffin realized how strong Ressa might be when the woman took the canister of ice-cream. It was still half-full and packed with now-melted icewater. The entire thing was a lump of steel. It had to weigh, oh, ten, fifteen pounds at least? It certainly had weighed Ryoka down on the run here, but her pack had been balanced.

No way Persua would have made it. Ressa tossed it up one-handed like someone catching a football, then flicked it sideways at a man in a butler’s costume.

Ryoka stared as the [Maids] led her to the kitchen. Anyone could toss a fifteen pound weight around, but she had never seen someone flick something like that with their fingertips.

Lest Ryoka think the canister had gotten magically lighter, the poor butler caught the canister with both hands like it was a load of bricks and staggered slightly. He almost fell until a [Maid] caught his arm.

Ressa politely gestured.

“This way to the kitchen, Miss.”

She ignored Ryoka’s look as Magnolia clapped her hands together. The [Lady] was indeed nowhere near as tall or even as lanky as Ressa. And Ressa herself was tall, thin, precise—severe might fit her demeanor.

Although the word dangerous suddenly popped into Ryoka’s head as she stared at Ressa longer. She couldn’t have said why, exactly. Why did you think that when you stared at a grinning hyena? Ressa wasn’t smiling nor was she showing any fangs. But the word still appeared for the same reason.

Nor was Magnolia half as heavy as someone who ate that much ice cream—apparently on a daily basis—should be, in Ryoka’s mind. She was actually just—normal. She had the faintest of scars on her chin, barely visible, a nick, really, and a penchant for pink, like her dress and even a sofa.

What made Magnolia Reinhart earn a second glance, or third, were her eyes. Like Ryoka’s, they were green, but more like a forest: darker, less vibrant, and wholly impenetrable if you tried to find out what she was thinking. The pattern in her irises were actually reminiscent of tree branches themselves, waving and dancing.

They would crinkle with mirth or dance from object to object, but those eyes seemed to make untruths harder around them. And there was one more thing that Ryoka saw, which compounded something she’d heard of Magnolia.

Her gaze seemed very, very distant. Ryoka had often seen superior expressions. Her father hosted such people, often friends of his, quite a lot. She had seen arrogance, sometimes in the mirror.

Never once had she seen—the distance in Magnolia Reinhart’s gaze. Not as if she were above but watching from afar. Even when she was up close, it was like she was staring at something far away.

A great, distant goal, like the very mountains in the distance. Thoughtfully—until she noticed you watching.

Then she smiled and winked at Ryoka Griffin. And that look disappeared into merry mischief.

“Do pardon Ressa. She’s grumpy, but a family servant. Which means she takes all the liberties. I wouldn’t have it any other way. To the kitchens! Oh dear, I hope this one is well stocked. This is my vacation home in Celum, you see.”

“You have a lot of homes, then, Lady Reinhart?”

Ryoka trailed after Ressa as the woman and a bevy of servants headed down the halls of this place. Ryoka supposed it was ‘small’ for someone as important as Magnolia seemed to be—but she passed through a foyer with three stories. Yet Magnolia Reinhart just sighed.

“I have a more permanent residence in Invrisil, but travel takes me everywhere. I have a number of residences, oh, all over the north.”

“Nowhere in the south?”

Ryoka realized she’d made a mistake a second after she said that. Ressa turned her head back, and Magnolia laughed until she realized Ryoka was serious.

“The south? Oh, no, the Drakes would never tolerate my kind that far south. Nor would I if I was them. You know the saying, ‘better a serpent in bed than a Reinhart.’ Which is terribly hurtful and entirely accurate.”

She had a grand chuckle at this, and Ryoka hesitated. She felt like running away already, but she had offered to make ice cream. So she saw Magnolia catch her breath.

“—But you truly aren’t from Izril, Miss Ryoka. The north has a strained relationship with the south, which I think you should bear in mind if ever you go past Esthelm and deliver to a Drake city. Not that there’s anywhere safe but Liscor. Unless the Bloodfields have opened up, Ressa?”

Bloodfields? What the heck was that? Ryoka glanced at the [Maid], and Ressa replied.

“Not until the first frosts, Lady Reinhart. In here, Miss Griffin. What will you be needing?”

She showed Ryoka into a huge kitchen, and the young woman hesitated.

“Oh, just a few things. A pot, uh, something to stir with, and—”

Then she realized Magnolia Reinhart was following her into the kitchen. Ryoka gulped, but the [Lady] just fluttered her hands and clasped them together.

“Don’t mind me! I’ll just watch if that’s acceptable. I do admire good cookery. I had lessons, but it never stuck. Imagine it, making gelato! I’ll be the talk of Izril.”

Some days were odd days. Some days you ran, and some days you found yourself in another world with nothing but an iPhone and the clothes on your back. Some days you made ice cream.

But it was a rare day that Ryoka found herself making ice cream in a noblewoman’s house, surrounded by maids, in a kitchen that could have rivaled any cooking show’s setup for expense and expensive things.

She felt out of place in the spotless room, handling the equivalent of stainless steel cooking utensils. They weren’t stainless, but they were steel—and a lot had expensive handles or were magical. Ryoka was still barefoot, and she was painfully conscious of how her feet were dirtying the flawless floor tiling. Not that Lady Magnolia seemed to mind.

The beaming lady of the mansion hovered around Ryoka, excitedly showing her the contents of the amply-stocked kitchen.

“Help yourself to anything you need, Miss Griffin! Oh, but watch out. That knife is hot.”

It was! Ryoka nearly put it back in the block of wood as the red handle warmed up.

“How the—”

“A heating knife. I think you use it to slice meat or…you know, I don’t cook. Ressa, are there [Chefs] here?”

“No, Lady Reinhart, the staff has accommodated your every need without the expense of a live-in [Chef] for your Celum home. That knife is meant to sear what it cuts. These are regular knives, Miss Griffin.”

Okay, magical cutlery. Ryoka put the knife back, and Magnolia bustled around, mostly getting in the way of Ressa, who was pulling out what Ryoka asked for.

“What do we have here? Oh my! We do have a full pantry! Do you need any of this, Miss Griffin?”

She opened pantry doors and revealed shelf after shelf of exotic ingredients that Ryoka half-recognized. Sugar, okay, that made sense. But red sugar? Harvested from the desert? And that was normal compared to delicacies like Wyvern meat. She pointed at a slab of purplish meat in what must have been an enchanted space to keep it fresh.

“Far too tough for me. I tried it once but couldn’t bear the taste of it. It’s very healthy, or so I’m told but…what does this ice cream need?”

“Uh—sugar.”

“Crimson sugar or regular sugar? Nali-sticks?”

“What are those?”

Magnolia glanced up.

“Oh, a Balerosian treat. Akin to concentrated sugar, I believe. Well, we have regular sugar—I import the stuff, you know. I have a little deal with an [Admiral] about shipping it.”

Now that sounded like an important person talking. Ryoka just stared before she saw Ressa plonk a regular bag of sugar on the table. Reminded of her task, Ryoka got back to work, trying to remember what she needed.

The oddness of the kitchen wasn’t that it was so grand or had so many equivalents to modern cooking equipment. No, it was that most of the food storage in the kitchen consisted of shelves of food left out in the open. And even in the pantry, items like milk, butter, and even fresh vegetables had been neatly stockpiled away without any kind of refrigeration.

There was no helping it. Ryoka had to ask. She cut off Lady Magnolia as the other woman began talking about a strange jello that looked like it was moving.

“Doesn’t all this rot?”

Magnolia glanced at the shelves of uncovered food while the maids following her gave Ryoka silent glares.

“This? I shouldn’t think so. I paid for the best preservation spells, and I have an [Enchanter] come by every year or so to make sure the runes are holding. My people are quite pleased with all the space, which I do need for all the delightful treats I order.”

Ryoka stared at the tiny etched runes on the side of each cupboard. They were in no language she knew. Preservation runes? Well, that was handy. She wondered just how expensive they were.

“Not too expensive, at least for the quality of work done. Mages charge very affordable prices. I gather most inns and some of the larger shops use such runes quite often.”

Lady Magnolia smiled as Ryoka’s head shot up and the younger woman looked at her.

“Not mind reading my dear. Just an educated guess and a few Skills. I’m sure you’ve heard it said that it is a frivolous class, but [Ladies] have a few useful tricks in social situations. You do scream disapproval now and then.”

“Mm.”

Wait, she could tell when Ryoka was annoyed? The City Runner began to sweat, and Magnolia clapped her hands before waving them to reassure her.

“Please don’t grow alarmed! Or take offense. Oh my, you are quite taciturn, aren’t you? Dragons should be more forthcoming! Please, I will stop bothering you, but let us make this ice cream! How shall we begin?”

Magnolia waited excitedly as Ryoka looked around the room and tried to remember all of the ingredients. It had been a long time since Ryoka made ice cream. She’d almost forgotten how, but as a child—

“We need some salt too. A pinch of it. And vanilla.”

“Of course. Ressa?”

The head maid nodded and directed her maids to the appropriate shelves. She paused as one maid brought her a bundle of wrapped vanilla bean stalks.

“They are quite expensive, milady.”

Lady Magnolia pshed and waved at Ressa impatiently.

“Oh, nonsense, Ressa, don’t be a spoilsport. I’m minded to give Ryoka anything she wants if she can make this ice cream.”

“One stalk is fine.”

Ryoka accepted the dry, stick-like piece of vanilla from the glowering maid and broke it open. She sniffed at the strong smell and began extracting the beans from within.

“Now we need to heat the milk, salt, and sugar together in a pot. Got a big one?”

Lady Magnolia clapped her hands together as Ressa glowered and found a large, polished pot and set it over one of the kitchen stoves. She started the fire underneath the pot with a single touch to a glowing red rune on the stove front.

“Oh, I see! You’re making a custard! How delightful!”

Silently, Ryoka mixed the ingredients together and created a creamy, off-white custard in the pot. She poked at it with her spoon and decided it was thick enough for ice cream. What next? Oh, right.

“…Crap.”

This time, Ryoka’s language nearly earned her a slap on the back of the head. Ressa’s hand twitched, and a small vein began to throb on her forehead.

“What’s wrong?”

“I might not be able to make this after all. I forgot something.”

Lady Magnolia looked dismayed. She peered into the pot.

“It looks perfectly fine to me, but—is there an ingredient missing?”

Ryoka shook her head. She gestured at the pot.

“We need to freeze this. Or rather, we need to freeze it slowly while stirring.”

That was a big problem. For all this world had things like preservation spells, Ryoka was sure they hadn’t invented freezers or air-conditioning. But to her surprise, Lady Magnolia laughed and put her hand over her ample bosom in relief.

“Oh, is that all?”

Magnolia waved an airy hand. She turned to another one of her maids.

“Yvony, would you be a dear and send a message to the Mage’s Guild? Tell them I need an [Elementalist] mage capable of using basic ice magic.”

Bemused, Ryoka watched as Yvony, a fair-haired maid with fairer complexion, bowed and quickly trotted out of the room.

“Is she going to run there?”

Lady Magnolia chuckled politely, and the other maids smiled.

“We are not all as fleet-footed as you Runners. No, she’s just here to bring me—ah, thank you Yvony.”

The maid had returned with a small, blue book with gold lattice work on the cover. Lady Magnolia opened it and showed Ryoka the blank pages as Yvony unscrewed an ink pot and dipped a quill in it.

“If you will observe, this is a magical book. One of two, in fact. Whenever one writes on one page, the other book immediately copies over the same writing. It’s quite the ingenious way of talking without needing to cast a [Message] or [Communication] spell each time.”

She handed the book to Yvony as the maid wrote a few brisk, short lines on the paper. The book glowed once, and then the light faded from the pages. Magnolia clapped her hands together and turned to Ryoka.

“And now we wait. A [Mage] should be along in a matter of minutes. The Mage’s Guild is quite prompt at responding, and happily, they are located only a few streets away. Shall we retire for a cup of tea?”

Given her choice, Ryoka would have refused, but the thing about a request made by a lady is that it is not really a request. In short order, she found herself sitting and sipping from a hot cup of tea and trying not to make a face.

Her heritage as a Japanese-American said that she should at least appreciate good tea, as Ryoka had Japanese grandparents who insisted she try the stuff. But her American roots and personality insisted coffee was the only way to live. Sadly, she hadn’t encountered that beverage here yet, so she pretended to drink her tea while Magnolia seated herself in the guest room on the pink sofa again.

“Sugar?”

Once again, she surprised Ryoka by offering her a bowl of sugar herself. Ryoka passed it up—then saw to her mild horror Magnolia repeating the same trick as she had over the ice cream.

Namely—she took the lid off the bowl, and ignoring the spoon, poured a fourth of it into her cup. Ressa’s face was blank as Ryoka saw Magnolia stir.

“You, uh—like sugar a lot, don’t you?”

“It is one of life’s pleasures. Now, a snack. Ressa! How about some baked Yellats? Are you a fan of them, Miss Griffin?”

“I’ve never had any.”

“Really? They are a quite common food across Chandrar, the desert continent, you know. Some people consider them as plebian as potatoes, but I find them delightfully good in any number of dishes. Spicy, too. Ah, here we are.”

Ryoka was served some hot, steaming root or starch vegetables. They were almost as orange as carrots, but more resembled broccoli. They had the texture of sweet potatoes, but they were indeed spicy!

Magnolia nibbled on one as Ryoka found they were good enough to eat. Ressa walked off as Yvony came back, and the butler hovered around with a tray as Magnolia kept speaking.

“I must say, I have been absolutely dying to know what it is that makes you run, Miss Ryoka. If I may confess—I’m not asking you solely out of pure interest as well. I have a teensy bet going on with some other ladies in my gossip circle about it. I told them I had heard of a City Runner running barefoot, and they all assured me none of them had heard of anything like it! They live all abouts, you see. North, northeast, northwest—Celum is too far south for most of the nobility to live.”

Ryoka paused. She was used to attention for running barefoot, but this was the first time she’d ever been bet on.

“Really? It’s that fascinating to you? Um, Lady Magnolia?”

The [Lady] covered her mouth with a hand as she laughed.

“Why, haven’t you realized what a splash you’ve made? A young woman becomes the fastest local Runner practically overnight? Yet alone running barefoot? People are wondering why you run barefoot. Is it part of a special class? Or is it a secret?”

“No secret.”

Magnolia waited, but the young woman sitting across from her said nothing more. She cleared her throat politely.

“Then—would you mind telling me? I would simply love to know.”

Lady Magnolia leaned forwards over her tea eagerly. Even the maids were quietly listening as they bustled around the drawing room performing menial and unneeded tasks.

Ryoka shrugged.

“I just like running barefoot. I hate shoes.”

Her audience blinked at her. Ryoka shrugged. There wasn’t much more to say. She eyed the maids as they shifted and exchanged glances behind their mistress’ back. Idly, Ryoka wondered how much gossiping they did when they were done with work.

Silence followed Ryoka’s answer, which was then broken by laughter. Lady Magnolia chuckled and then laughed quietly. It wasn’t boisterous or uncontrolled; like everything else about her, it was polite and refined. But it was genuine.

“You, my dear Ryoka Griffin, are the most delightful young lady I have ever met! You give away nothing.”

She lifted her cup, and a waiting maid filled it with the dark brown tea that Ryoka was trying not to ingest.

“Ah, well. A simple answer, but not from a simple person. I suppose our little gossip circle will have to annul the bet. How interesting. But then, to be fair, I’m told half-Elves do eschew shoes all the time. Did you learn that from them?”

“Nope. I’m not—acquainted with half-Elves that much. It’s just a hobby. It’s good for your feet. Sort of.”

Ryoka was proud of her reply. She knew that half-Elves existed, but she had only seen one while delivering all those potions to the adventurers. She did want to meet them, and Magnolia shook her head.

“Well, I cannot imagine how you don’t poke holes in your feet like that. And you are so fit! Did you ever think of joining a [Knight] order?”

“I’m not big on law enforcement.”

Truer words had never been spoken. Magnolia laughed at that uproariously and shook her head.

“Then have you run like that all your life?”

“All the time.”

“Indoors and outdoors?”

“Yep.”

Magnolia Reinhart put her chin in her hand. Ryoka hoped at this point the [Lady] would leave her alone. She had been the most uncooperative, inhospitable guest she could imagine, and anyone else would have surely thrown her out on her head. But Magnolia either wanted ice cream that badly or something else was going on.

The latter turned out to be true, because the [Lady]’s eyes lit up and she clapped her hands together with a sigh.

“Fascinating. You know, I’m completely stumped. Ressa, do you have a guess?”

She turned, and Ryoka jumped as she saw Ressa appear with the tea kettle in hand. The [Maid] had entered the room, and she bowed.

“I’m out. Either she was lying—and I had a truth spell on her the entire time—or it’s somewhere you missed, like a paradise nation.”

Hm? What did that mean? Ryoka felt a moment of uncertainty as Magnolia nodded.

“Not Izril, Baleros, Chandrar, Terandria—well, maybe the Kingdom of Keys or somewhere new like…? Taimaguros? But she would know [Knights]. Wistram’s rare children know magic, and no one would be allowed to run around barefoot in Drath, the likeliest option, because of how rude that would be. Nor on Rhir for safety. And Izril? I am stumped.”

Ryoka Griffin’s blank look began to turn more and more alarmed as Magnolia began reciting names. Names which Ryoka Griffin vaguely recognized as every major landmass in the entire world. Magnolia Reinhart beamed at Ryoka, and Ressa stared at the now-nervous City Runner.

“For all the money, then, Miss Griffin. Do the seas carry you home? A [Storm Sailor] or one of the Drowned Folk might walk a deck barefoot.”

Ryoka Griffin hesitated. And she opened her mouth to say something, before she realized—

Did that woman, Ressa, say truth spells? She had no idea what the Drowned Folk were, but if she said yes, she lied. If she said no…

Magnolia Reinhart kept that gaze on Ryoka, and that distant look in her eyes—was suddenly gone. Then, two green irises stared at Ryoka, and the young woman felt like she was engulfed in a forest of green. A watchful forest, and Magnolia was suddenly there, and the young woman saw the real [Lady].

The Deadly Flower Blooming in the North smiled and chuckled as someone knocked on the door. The [Mage] had come.

“Just a joke, Miss Griffin. I know you didn’t come from a ship. Or else someone would have known you from a port city. Well, I am stumped, and I thought I was playing the guessing-game well. That should be our [Mage]. Now for ice cream!”

She shot to her feet and headed to the door with alacrity. Ryoka, though, stopped a moment and glanced at Ressa. The [Maid] smiled at her, and Ryoka had to ask a question.

“Is…I heard she’s the hero of some kind of war.”

The [Maid]’s smile vanished in a second. She gave Ryoka a long, long look, and the City Runner realized she might have made another mistake. But Ressa just dipped her head.

“The Antinium Wars? Those are ancient history. She was no hero, the kind you’ll see in statues. But she was.”

Ryoka expected Ressa to follow that up with, ‘so show some respect,’ but the [Maid] just held out a hand.

“May I take your cup, Miss?”

——

Ice cream. It tasted sweet, was hopefully cold and, apparently, was about as addictive as hardcore drugs to those who’d never had it before.

She hadn’t been too sure about her recipe, but at Lady Magnolia’s insistence, Ryoka had filled a huge pot with custard. After the mage had arrived and the ice cream had been successfully churned into the frozen treat with a few hiccups, Lady Magnolia, her maids, and even the mage had joined Ryoka in eating the ice cream.

As a result, the big pot was now empty, and Ryoka’s stomach was not happy with her. The mage had left just half an hour ago, clutching at his stomach and head. He still had a blissful smile on his face, though.

To Ryoka’s surprise, the mage had been quite interested in making ice cream. Perhaps that was just his personality, but it was also probably due to Magnolia’s infectious enthusiasm. She’d had a maid taking notes of Ryoka’s every action as she’d figured out how to mix the ice cream properly.

Well, that was fine in the end because it meant that Ryoka didn’t have to explain how to make the ice cream twice. And now that the ice cream was eaten, Ryoka could finally leave. She was at the final stage of that process—trying to shake off Lady Magnolia at the door.

The [Lady] did not bring up Ryoka’s point of origin again, and Ryoka could almost believe that Magnolia was just a kindly [Lady] trying to noblesse oblige to the max.

“I still can’t believe you won’t take at least some token for teaching me this delightful recipe. Won’t you take some of it with you? To the Runner’s Guild at least. You could let them all share it. Or some gold coins? I do intend to replicate the recipe, and that will put my supplier out. Oh, and Ressa? Make a note for the [Farmers] in First Landing to grow some vanilla. Bully them gently into it. With love and kisses from me, or they’ll miss the profits in a year.”

Ryoka shrugged and tried to back out the door as Lady Magnolia fussed around her. The almost-lethal amounts of sugar the older woman had imbibed didn’t seem to be slowing her down like it had the other maids and Ryoka. Even Ressa, the faithful head maid, looked slightly ill after coming down from the sugar high and realizing how much she’d eaten, but Magnolia was as energetic and bright as ever.

“I don’t want any ice cream, thanks. The other Runners—I’m not that chummy with them. They can eat cake. And it was just ice cream. I don’t feel right about taking the gold.”

Plus, if Persua learned how much money Magnolia was offering her, she’d never stop complaining.

With a sigh, Lady Magnolia gave up on the issue, much to Ryoka’s relief.

“If you’re sure. I suppose there’s no harm in it if it won’t aggravate things. I do know the Runners compete. How about a little gift, though? Say, a bag of holding?”

Ryoka hesitated as the maid named Ressa coughed and muttered about the expense. Did she say a bag of holding? As in—the magical object that would hold things? That was tempting. But again, Ryoka looked at Magnolia’s dancing green eyes and remembered that intent look.

“…No. I’m fine, thanks.”

Lady Magnolia sighed, but she made no further arguments, much to Ryoka and her head maid’s relief. Ryoka finished stretching out the leg that had fallen asleep and then moved to open the door. Ressa intercepted her and held the door open politely. Her hands were gloved. Apparently, that made a big difference to what she could touch and Ryoka couldn’t.

Time to run. But Ryoka turned at the door and nodded to Lady Magnolia.

“Thanks.”

“On the contrary, it is I who should thank you, Miss Ryoka. But if I might have one last question before you go?”

Ryoka reluctantly paused at the door as Ressa closed it in her face. She turned slightly and glanced at Magnolia.

“Do you, in fact, come from any place in this world?”

Silence. Ryoka’s face didn’t change, but Magnolia smiled. She looked straight at Ryoka Griffin and then nodded to Ressa. The door swung open, and Ryoka stumbled a bit as she trotted out the door. But now she was looking back over her shoulder.

“I—”

“I hope you will accept more requests from me in the future. I would so love to chat.”

The [Lady] twinkled merrily. She looked Ryoka in the eye, and the Runner inhaled. Then Ryoka was gone before Magnolia finished speaking.

——

“You scared her off. I thought you were trying to be subtle.”

Ressa closed the door as Lady Magnolia watched Ryoka Griffin running for the hills. The [Lady] turned as she dropped the smile, but she still looked amused. Then she put a hand over her chest and pretended to swoon.

Her maid let her bounce off a wall and onto the carpet. Magnolia glared up at Ressa as Yvony and her staff dashed over to help her up.

“…I think I’m going to have a heart-attack. Thank you for catching me incidentally, Ressa.”

“Self-inflicted injuries are not my job. You don’t think she’s actually from somewhere else, do you?”

Ressa scoffed, and Magnolia sat up.

“She didn’t answer, but the look in her eyes—that was a joke, Ressa. That was supposed to be a joke. I really thought I’d hear she was from some provincial place.”

“And you just let her run off, never to return. You didn’t even put a tracking spell on the bag of holding.”

Magnolia stood back up and brushed at her skirts.

“She’ll be back. Or we will find her, but I would hope she returns of her own volition, Ressa. A young woman as vivaciously intelligent as that will, even if she has all the manners and social graces of a rabid Eater Goat. If only to make excuses. I hope she’s no runaway [Princess] or daughter of someone important. We have enough of those already.”

She gazed out the window and saw Ryoka Griffin was already turning down the street. Magnolia shook her head as Ressa glanced out the window.

“My, but she is quick. Oh, and Ressa? One more thing. Get in touch with the old man.”

“…Which old man is it? The pervert or the lazy one?”

Magnolia scowled.

“The one we like. Wake him up if you can. Tell him I need a favor. Tell him to look into…er…how do you spell ‘Ryoka Griffin’?”

“I believe the Runner’s Guild has her name written down.”

“Right. Yes. Use that.”

——

I have to slow down after I get a few streets away from Magnolia’s house. I put my hand on my stomach and try not to throw up.

“Woog.”

Ice cream is not good for my body, especially if I have to run. I feel like I’ve got a rock in my stomach. And yet, it might have been worth it. If only it hadn’t been vanilla,* life might have been perfect.

*If I have to eat ice cream, it’s got to be mint chocolate chip. Vanilla is just vanilla. But I love mint. And peppermint. And spearmint. I…really wish I had some gum.

As I slowly walk and then transition back into a slow jog, I think about Magnolia or as I now know her, the scariest person I’ve met in this world. Apparently, someone with her class can practically read minds, or at least tell how I’m feeling. That is not a comforting thought.

Jeez. She nearly figured out where I came from in a few minutes. What a terrifyingly scary lady.

It might be wrong to think, but when I first met her, I thought she was just another plump social butterfly without a thought in the world. But…that’s what she wants people to assume about her. The real Magnolia is sharp and intelligent. Remember that next time you visit her.

…Which won’t be for a while. I know there’s going to be hell to pay if Persua has her way, and besides, now I have a good reason not to visit Magnolia in the future.

“Right. No Magnolia deliveries for a while.”

But with that said, I will be doing research on her. War hero? I’ll just bet Garia knows something about her—how Magnolia got her wealth, if she was married, etc. Know your enemy, right? Well, Magnolia isn’t my enemy, and I’d like to keep her that way.

Does she really think I’m from another world? No—no, I should have played it off. Stupid Ryoka! The last thing I need is to cause a stir. What are the dangers of talking about Earth? Gee, let me make a list. But I can pretend I was just surprised. I just need to go back once I’m ready, which means I need intelligence.

It’s too bad there are no libraries around. That’s medieval times for you, but at least I have a resource in a local—Garia.

…Garia. Her name triggers a thought in my mind as I run down another street. It’s getting empty this late in the day, but I see another Street Runner disappear the instant I turn down the street. Garia. Oh. Oh yeah.

Tomorrow, I have to do that delivery with Garia. That will be a pain. Not just because we’ve got to carry fifty pounds on our backs, but because she’s going to talk to me the entire time. Which is fine. It’s a normal, Human thing to do. It’s just a pain in the ass.

Well, I promised, so that’s that. Forget about it, but don’t actually forget about it. At least I won’t have to stick around the Runner’s Guild too long waiting for another job.

I wonder whether there will be any consequences for making ice cream. What a ridiculous thought but…let’s explore that. Hm.

It probably wasn’t a good idea to share the recipe, but it made Magnolia happy, and I guess that’s better than her being upset. But what does it mean to spread that kind of information?

Well…if I had to guess, it would mean that the poor person who invented ice cream isn’t going to be as rich as she or he hopes. But it also might mean a revolution of sorts within the city. Ice cream is exceptionally possible, and thanks to magic, easy to make even in this day and age.

Does that mean I might soon see it on the streets? But no—unless you have a mage on standby, ice cream isn’t easy to keep. I guess the nobility will enjoy it for the most part until someone revolutionizes the ice box or fridge. That’s the way it goes, right? Trickle-down, just like how the ice cream cone melts.

I get that far in my reasoning when I notice the other runners.

As I’m jogging down one of Celum’s streets, I notice a few people keeping pace. I’m not going full-tilt with pedestrians, and so I see a lanky stride and turn my head. I blink as a familiar face appears.

Claudeil. He looks busy, running ahead of me; I’m catching up to him. What’s he doing here? He must have gone to Celum with Persua. Hah! I bet she dragged them both here, hoping I failed.

Well, he’s ignoring me, so I ignore him. I’m already looking for somewhere to turn when I frown and realize I’m hearing pounding shoes on the paving stones to my left. I turn my head, and there’s someone else.

Toriska. She comes out of a side-alley, and I blink. Her pace is slower, but every eight steps she blurs ahead a bit. It’s some kind of Skill that makes up for her shit running form, but she’s here too. She gives me one bored look and then glances away as she heads down the street.

The same way as Claudeil. I feel a tingle on my neck and start to slow, but then I see something behind me. More Runners.

They appear from behind me and from other streets in a huge crowd. Ten—no, twenty Street Runners appear out of nowhere and surround me. It’s so sudden that I don’t think of running away before they’re all around me. I drift left—and half a dozen Street Runners from the guild I was at plus Claudeil and Toriska are elbow-to-elbow with me.

What the hell is going on? Suddenly, I’m running in a crowd, and they’re jostling and forcing me to run at their speed. I recognize a few of them from the guild, but why are they here? Well, whatever they’re doing, it’s aimed at me. I try to push out of the crowd, but they’re packed too tightly.

“Get away.”

I growl, and they ignore me. Well, of course they do. I try to shove my way left, but when I do, they bunch up and ram into me. Hard.

“You annoying—”

I throw an elbow, and Claudeil swears as I hit him in the ribs. He’s a big guy, though, and shoves me back. I make a fist.

Okay, no more nice girl, not that there ever was one to begin with. I stop suddenly and trip up two of the runners behind me. It turns out to be a mistake, because they trip and fall, and their shoes kick into my feet and ankles as they go down.

“Damn it.”

Gyaaaaaaah! That really hurt! But now I’m free. I really want to check my feet and see if their stupid shoes ripped any skin, but something’s up. I turn and run left even as the pack of Street Runners turns to follow me.

“Don’t let her get away!”

That’s Toriska’s voice. I’ll get her and Claudeil! Although he does have a club and Toriska has a knife. Wait—where’s Persua? But before I can think of that, someone cannonballs into me, and I go stumbling left—then a bunch of hands drag me sideways.

They shove me left, onto a smaller street. At this point, I’m really starting to get annoyed. And slightly—worried. I could get nastier, but if it comes down to a fight against this many people, they’d kick the crap out of me. No, screw it. I can lose these idiots the instant I get out of the city gates. I’ll go to Remendia, and if more of them show up there, I’ll talk to the City Watch. Or the Runner’s Guild.

All I have to do is break free of the group. And that’s easy and hard at the same time. The easy part is grabbing one Runner by the shoulder and shoving her hard so she smacks into a wall. The hard part’s going to be when they start trying to hit me.

But they don’t. All at once, the pack of Street Runners in front of me breaks up. I run forwards, towards the mouth of the alleyway before Claudeil and Toriska can catch up. Another three steps and I’ll be in the clear. Why the hell would they—

I see it too late. A foot’s there to trip me up, and though I try to jump over it, it catches me, and down I go. I stumble forwards and hit the street so hard I think I split my lip.

Ow. All the air goes out of me. My teeth explode into pain. I look up—and someone’s staring down at me.

Persua.

I don’t have the time to speak before she leaps back. The other runners are already retreating as she backs up.

I’m going to kill her. I push myself up, then blink down.

“What the—?”

My feet are—sticky. There’s something on them. It looks like a spiderweb? Thick and—and then as I’m trying to tug my legs, I realize I hear something. I hear and feel something.

Rumbling. I feel it in the ground and look up too late. A heavy cart pulled by a large mule thunders at me down the small street.

Oh. Of course.

I roll and see a familiar sallow face grinning at me as the other Runners disappear into alleys. Get up. Get up!

The cart barrels down towards me as I scramble to my feet, despite the webs gluing my feet together. I dodge left, but then something slams into me. It feels like I just hit a patch of solid air. Magic. Down I go, winded.

I look up and see the massive wheels crunching down the road towards me. So quick. And I’m lying right in its way.

Oh. Yeah. I’d almost forgotten what I hate about the world. Sometimes I forget, but I’m always reminded in time. What I hate about the world is—

People.

For once I’m too slow.

Crunch.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.28 A

Some days, he, Klbkchhezeim, hated Liscor. Hated Liscor and Izril and every miserable species his people had failed to kill in their first war upon this continent. And he wondered when the third war would begin and thought of killing them all.

It was no longer as easy as it would have been. He was old, now. His body wasn’t the one he remembered.

The days had long gone when he had another name. Klbkch, they called him now.

Senior Guardsman Klbkch. And that was just the latest name among nearly a dozen he’d held, many in his people’s tongues that only they knew.

Klbkchhezeim of the Centenium. No one outside the Antinium now knew what that even truly meant or why it mattered.

Klbkch the Slayer of the Antinium Wars.

Now…Senior Guardsman Klbkch, a respected figure of almost a decade in Liscor’s Watch. How things changed.

How fast. He still remembered the first time that he had walked through Liscor’s streets, and every child and adult had hid from him. How they feared him until he caught his first criminal, a serial killer.

Even his partner, Relc—the first time they’d met, the Drake had tried to punch him. He still did, but that was apparently ‘affectionate.’ These days, they were partners. Even if Klbkch had hit Relc for the first time in their entire career as guards.

“You punched Relc?”

The Watch Captain stared at Klbkch as he gave her a formal report at the end of the week. Senior Guards didn’t have to report to a Watch Sergeant or a Senior Guardsman like regular Guards. They were trusted enough to act autonomously, even disappear if need be on an investigation.

He was a special case. Both he and the Watch Captain knew it. She was an excellent superior, Watch Captain Zevara. She both respected his role as liaison with the Hive and as a [Guard].

He knew she might have to kill him if war broke out again. Or try.

Even now, it would be easy. His blades were the one thing that hadn’t changed over his life. Two silver shortswords. He could sweep them from his sides and kill her.

It was not the first time Klbkch had thought that. But it was a rare thought these days. When he had contemplated his coworkers, and this foreign city, it had been out of self-defense. The Free Hive was meant to be a link between the Antinium and other species. A pact, for both to learn of each other and gain something.

So why did he think of killing her? Why Relc? Why everyone he thought to meet?

Why today? The answer was simple.

It was despair. It was the conversation he’d had with his Queen. They’d agreed to reveal the buried door. It would doubtless begin an event that might benefit them, especially if the ruins were cleared.

But that…that was a symbol of weakness. Their Hive should not need to stoop to such measures. They should not be so pathetic.

No resources. No aid. Not from the other Hives. Damn them. Not from the Queens. Nor the other Centenium. They were supposed to be Antinium. But it had been ten years.

Ten years of silence. Ten years of being ostracized for thinking differently. Ten years of failure. Almost exactly.

Klbkch had tried. He’d learned to be a [Guard], sat and eaten with Relc, ignored the tricks and earned the trust of Liscor. If that was all, he could consider his job done.

But his Hive had never done what it was meant to do. The Workers and Soldiers toiled, dumbly. They leveled up—a few were over Level 5.

Level 5. Children passed Level 5 before they were ten, some of them. Every species levelled, but the only two Antinium in the entire Hive of Liscor above Level 10 were Klbkch and the Queen.

Perhaps the Grand Queen was right and this was all folly. Perhaps this was a mistake. And he was only waking up to it today. But Klbkch knew they could level. They were just not…

True Antinium.

Now, he was losing faith. He was tired. He did the same thing day after day as Izril grew stronger. The Hive did not grow, but struggled in the depths. And he was just patrolling, settling petty disputes.

He wanted to sit down and have a glass of…blue fruit juice. Spaghetti, perhaps. And why was he thinking that? The inn. Erin Solstice. The silly games of chess.

He shouldn’t have indulged her, let alone brought Workers on a trip and wasted money on the inn. But it was almost enjoyable. A kind of bright spot in his days of searching for a spark in his mindless Hive. Wasn’t he entitled to one after ten years?

It was a sign, perhaps, that he was growing tired. Losing focus. Perhaps he should ask the Queen, petition the Grand Queen for a Prognugator to replace him.

He was just so—empty. And no one knew it.

The Watch Captain coughed, and Klbkch realized he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. He jerked, and his blades nearly swept across the desk. But he kept his hands folded behind his back.

“I’m sorry, Watch Captain. You were saying?”

She gave him a surprised look.

“Are you tired, Klbkch?”

“I may have received less-than-adequate sleep, Watch Captain. The error is mine. Please feel free to dock my pay.”

She almost laughed and raised her brows. The Drake coughed a plume of smoke to one side. He watched her tail, and it was wagging slightly on the ground under the desk. Amusement, then.

“If I did that to Senior Guardsman Klbkch, I’d have to censure Jeiss and Beilmark and all the others. Relc would never get paid. And about the punch.”

He waited. It was a poor act for a Senior Guard, but Zevara just shuffled the report into her stack of notes.

“…I’m sure Relc had it coming. You’ve now joined every single Senior Guard and half the regulars who’ve taken some kind of swing at him. I’ll overlook this with a stern warning.”

She raised her brows, and Klbkch waited for it. Then he realized she was being either ironic, sardonic, or funny.

He had learned to nod along and did so.

“Then, my punishment, Watch Captain?”

“Don’t do it again? Relc’s a wild card. If he weren’t a [Spearmaster], I’d have no time for half the trouble he causes. I’m going to consider this as an ‘interdisciplinary act between partners.’ You two are a good team. I won’t keep you. Get some rest. If anything, you made my day when I heard about it.”

She chuckled again awkwardly, and Klbkch stood there.

Other species still confused him. He had broken a rule, attacked his partner, and half the Watch House had come over to shake his hand or laugh about it. Even Relc had said he was ‘right.’

Confusing. They still confused him even now, after ten years.

It would be easy to kill her. But what purpose would that serve? They might be enemies—but he knew her name. Klbkch remembered when Zevara had become Watch Captain, and he had shaken her claw and thought it was good for the city. She smiled at him, and he was lost.

The inn. Klbkch saluted and turned to walk down the stairs. To his surprise, the Watch Captain stood with him. She often went to check the Watch House, but she was deliberately not affectionate or close like the previous Watch Captain was. She was good at her job.

“I’ll walk with you downstairs. Are you heading back to your Hive?”

She said it cautiously, for she didn’t know his Hive well. Klbkch nodded and rested one hand on his belt as if he were adjusting it.

Was this a trap? He doubted it. But he wondered. This was unusual, and she was better with a sword than all but Jeiss.

And she breathed fire. She walked behind him down the narrow staircase, and Klbkch heard the scrape of something from below. His foot missed a step coming down.

There were a lot of people below. Too many, unless the Watch was mobilizing for riots or some larger activity. Most should be checking out and patrolling places, but he thought he heard a number of bodies. Breaths intaken quickly and a whisper.

“…coming. Quiet! Ready—”

Ah.

Klbkch’s mandibles rose in a smile. So it was today, then. He lightly let his hands fall and knew the Watch Captain was behind him. He hadn’t suspected it at all. He began to reach out for his Queen. Relc was down there. He could see his partner’s tail swishing behind the front desk as Klbkch descended.

Dozens of [Guards] were loitering around. He might make it out the door or the windows. Then? There would be war. Klbkch slowly reached for the sword on his left with his hand as he saw Relc’s head come up. And he realized—he didn’t really want to kill them.

“Surprise! Congratulations, Senior Guardsman Klbkch!”

The Antinium’s hand was on the hilt of his sword. He froze as Relc sprang up, and the Watch House erupted into applause. He let go and saw Watch Captain Zevara stop.

She, and perhaps only one or two other [Guards], had noticed his hand move. Senior Guardsman Jeiss, the best swordsman in the Watch—blinked—but then he laughed. And he applauded as Klbkch turned, confused.

“What is going on? Am I being pranked? Again?”

He looked at Relc, accusatorially now, angry. It was clear this was not an ambush; no one had bows, and no one was armed. Yet everyone had been waiting for him.

“Not this time. Senior Guardsman Klbkch, apologies for the surprise.”

Zevara broke in, glancing at him as he straightened. She seemed to realize his mistake and quickly nodded around.

“Relc, you idiot. Didn’t you drop a hint?”

“What? I did! Captain Z—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I was talking about the old days all patrol! And how long Klb’s been in the Watch, and that we should end our patrol early—”

Relc protested as the other [Guards] laughed at him. Klbkch hesitated. He never knew what to say, but he had found honesty worked.

“I believed you were trying to get me to buy you snacks. Again. And skip work.”

More laughter, and now Jeiss and Beilmark, partners, laughed as Relc turned red. Zevara herself issued a rare laugh and shook her head.

“Well, that’s my fault for trusting Relc. Alright, settle down. We’re going to make it quick. Evening patrol has to go out, but we’re all gathered today, and we had a little whip-round to celebrate you, Klbkch.”

“Me? What is the occasion, Watch Captain Zevara?”

She had produced something from her bag of holding. Klbkch turned to her, and part of him still suspected a trap. But he somehow knew it wasn’t a weapon she brought out of the magical bag. He stared at what she held.

It was…a badge. A bright, blue-and-silver badge for Liscor’s Watch. It had the symbol of their city on it, a building over waves. It was a replica of the one on his chest that he would take off when he was off-duty. But his was plain iron, battered and worn.

This had silver and bright azure paint. It looked expensive. Zevara offered it to him.

“Straight from Rafaema’s forges. It’s not much, but we also have a reservation at Wishdrinks with your name on it. We know you’re always busy with your Hive, but you’re booked during your patrol time at the end of the week. We’ll all drop by.”

A badge? Wishdrinks was an expensive pub fashionable with younger Drakes and Gnolls. Klbkch stared at the badge and looked down at his own.

“Is my own badge so poorly maintained that it has become an issue for the Watch? You should have alerted me earlier, Relc. Watch Captain, I apologize for—”

And the laughter grew. At his expense, Klbkch was sure, but he held still as even Zevara laughed. Relc took over.

“Klbkch, you idiot. It’s a gift. Don’t you know what day it is?”

Senior Guardsman Klbkch stood there blankly, then he realized. They had remembered it too.

“Ten years. Well, it’s not exactly ten years, but it’s close enough to the day the Antinium entered Liscor. We thought this was the day to celebrate it.”

“Plus Beilmark has her birthday next week, so we’re making room for it.”

Jeiss muttered, and his Gnoll partner kicked him in the leg.

“You idiot.”

People were chuckling, and Jeiss raised his claws in apology, but Klbkch just stood there. Zevara was offering him the badge, and he automatically took it with two of his fours hands. He turned it over and saw how it was expensive. Fresh steel, delicate paint. Someone had even written his name in tiny, gold lettering around the bottom.

Senior Guardsman Klbkch.

It was the first gift he had received in his entire life for doing his job. He had been offered thank-you gifts from a boy he’d saved from being run down by a horse. People he’d saved from being mugged or attacked. Co-workers had offered him trinkets.

He used to turn them all down because it was unbecoming of a [Guard] to take them. Then, on advice from Relc, shared them instead if they were edible.

This…was a marker.

“Ten years.”

Zevara looked at him, and he glanced up and saw her light purple eyes watching him. As if, perhaps, she knew what this day meant to him. How could she?

How could she know the exhaustion that had been in his soul before his people had even come to Izril? The frustration of a war fought twice to no avail?

And now, ten years of failure. Ten years of looking for a single mind in his mindless Hive? For an Antinium like him? But all Workers and Soldiers did was become Aberration. He patrolled a city that was not his own, and that—

That was the only reason he’d stayed sane these ten years. His hand curled around the badge. Gently, Klbkch replaced his old one with the new one and put the old one in his belt pouch.

“Looking good. We should put you in clothing though, Klb, my man. Especially for Wishdrinks. Imagine if I walked in with only underwear?”

Relc spoke to laughter, and someone elbowed him.

“That’s because you’re ugly as shit, Relc. I bet you Senior Guardsman Klbkch’s handsome for an Antinium.”

The Drake turned and kicked the [Guard] who’d said that. Zevara shouted before a fight could break out.

“Alright, that’s enough! Relc, you’re already in trouble. Stop causing trouble or I’ll order Klbkch to punch you again. We’ve taken enough of Klbkch’s time—we’ll see you at Wishdrinks.”

Her comments were greeted by laughter, and everyone began to get back to work. But they stopped to pat Klbkch on the shoulder or shake his hand. Since he had four, it was quick. And they smiled, and Klbkch was soon walking through the streets of Liscor.

Senior Guardsman Klbkch. His new badge shone, and of all the Antinium, he was the one whom people greeted. The one they knew. Some still hated him.

“Guildmistress Tekshia. Good evening.”

An older Drake grunted and ignored him. Klbkch walked through the crowd of faces, alone. Unique. Lost.

He was never alone. His Queen was always there. He was no longer unique. His body was a Worker’s.

He knew his purpose, to restore his people. But his Hive was filled with silent Workers and Soldiers. Not one spoke to him. Only Aberrations spoke, to scream.

Kblkch stood among them as he descended from Liscor’s streets into the subterranean lair. He stood in a passageway where a hundred Workers and Soldiers passed him every second. His hand tightened around his new badge, and he realized he’d forgotten to put it with his gear. He held it and screamed in the darkness of his Hive.

“Do something. Say something—where are your souls? You mindless, fake Antinium!”

His Hive stopped. Every Worker and Soldier stared at him, and he sensed their fear and saw a thousand heads turn and bodies shrink back, limbs draw inwards. A thousand Antinium who lived and died for the Hive, and not a single one worthy of a detail or name.

Klbkch turned away. He walked to his quarters to rest. To rest and put the badge down and stare at it, the first gift he had ever accepted. He sat there for a long time until the Queen asked why a disturbance had occurred. Then he apologized and got back to work.

He wanted to visit the inn. He was tired. He wished he could tell Erin more, but she was a lost girl from another world. She didn’t know who he was, and perhaps if she did, she would fear him rightly.

“How much longer?”

He didn’t know. Klbkch sat there, just for a while longer. Head bowed, no longer hoping for the day he and his Queen had labored so long for. He wondered what kind of party they’d have at Wishdrinks. He held the little badge in his hand, and he was so tired and lost that he could not feel it.

The day, at last, that his Hive began to change.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.29

They were called Workers.

It was more than a name. It was their purpose, their role in life. In the Hive. Worker.

That job included many things. They were hammers to build new tunnels and structures for the Drakes and Gnolls in the city. A butcher to separate meat from bone, or a sweeper to remove dust from the street.

Any task, no matter how menial, was their job. Not for pay or for gratitude from Liscor’s people. For the Hive. For the Queen.

That was their purpose. That was…everything. Aside from Aberrations, who were insane, Workers fought monsters if they had to, worked, and died.

But when Klbkch brought back the twelve Workers, they were not the same as the ones who had left. They marched into the Hive, and he left them without a word. Klbkch was different.

Yet the Workers who went to sit in the mess hall were changed. The Workers ate in silence—hundreds. But every single one stared at the new Workers, because instead of eating the brown, brackish paste that had little bones in it that crunched—these Workers sat together.

Together, at the long tables made of dirt. Every Worker sat shoulder-to-shoulder, packed in, their identical shells and bodies—save for where one had scars, a missing arm, a chunk taken out of their carapace—in a row as they ate.

Yet those twelve Workers who had gone above were sitting together somehow. Leaning over a table, practically ignoring their food. They were…moving something around.

A possession? Workers had no possessions. They had tools they sometimes carried because it was more expedient not to put them down, but they had nothing.

Yet these Workers sat there, and the other Workers, in the dead silence of the barracks filled only with the scraping and clacking of mandibles as they ate, nevertheless heard something.

It was the twelve, pouring over a little piece of paper and pieces of smaller paper. Thinking, perfectly replicating a game they had seen. Playing a game.

Chess.

They were thinking so loud that the other Workers could practically hear them. Workers didn’t think. They just—worked. But these Workers were concentrating.

How do I move this piece? Rook goes straight. Bishop goes diagonal. Play, fun. Play.

Fun.

Fun? The other Workers who were eating their food had a fifteen minute interval to consume their required nutrition. Then they would go to the barracks and sit in a dirt cubbyhole and sleep. But while the Workers lined up to put the cheap, wooden bowls in a receptacle for them to be filled up again, they slowed.

A line formed around the table where the twelve Workers, oblivious to all, played. Slowly, taking each step as if weighed down by boulders, Workers coincidentally just happened to peek at the board and the concentrating Workers, who had paired off, six by six, to play.

Only when one of the Workers looked up and started did they notice nearly a hundred Workers staring at them. All the Workers instantly rushed over to put their bowls away.

Time to sleep!

The twelve Workers got up instantly and hurriedly pushed their food bowls into the receptacle. Most weren’t even touched; they’d eaten food in the inn.

Flies! The other Workers who marched with them listened to these loud…thoughts. Flies? They imagined the crunch, and the twelve Workers had played a game of chess. With an [Innkeeper] who gave them ‘blue fruit juice.’

What did all this mean? The Workers filed into the barracks and began to sit for their nine hours of rest. That was all the rest they got before they spent an entire day working…but the twelve Workers hesitated as they sat together.

Slowly, one of them shuffled a bit of paper in the dead silence of the other Workers settling into their dirt cubbyholes. They were packed next to each other, thin walls of dirt separating them into alcoves that were barely more than rounded divorts where a Worker could ‘sit’ and sleep. Their rounded back shells prevented them from lying down like other species.

Shuffle, shuffle. The Worker was shuffling the papers around. Then it slowly put the chessboard down and lined up the pieces.

Black and white. Erin had colored in the black pieces, and the Worker arranged them neatly. The game had rules. All the other Workers, who were definitely asleep because what else would they be doing, didn’t at all listen to the faint sound in the huge barracks.

Or listen to the rules, which made such sense. Workers liked things like rules, and this was a game made of rules. Each pawn moved forwards but attacked left or right. Or it could take another pawn if it moved diagonally behind them which was called en passant.

There were many rules like that. You protected the king, and you played like…

The Worker pushed a pawn forwards on the white side, then after careful thought, moved another pawn forwards to oppose it. It stared at the board and moved a white pawn forwards in the center four squares, flanking the first.

Now, at this juncture, the black side could take the white pawn diagonal from it. But what if you put another black pawn so that you had four pawns, two black, two white, facing each other?

Was this good playing? Why didn’t you take the white pawn instead of making an opening? Not that the other Workers were paying attention. Or that all of them were united in thought.

After all, if you were really thinking about it, when you moved that pawn up, why didn’t you use the bishop? Could you win a game on pawns alone with their low movement range? Hey, couldn’t you move a knight diagonally outwards and protect your pieces with pawns and never risk your king?

Aha, but then there were ways to checkmate someone without ever touching the pawns. The [Innkeeper] had shown the twelve Workers all kinds of ways to play, and this game had so many pieces and moves that the combinations of outcomes were virtually endless. Especially with an unpredictable opponent on the other side.

…Not that this was fascinating. In fact, wasn’t this—Aberration?

All the Workers froze at this. Aberrations were not to be suffered alive. But the twelve Workers weren’t killing them or screaming. The Queen had said nothing—and Klbkch had not killed them. He killed Aberrations.

So was this Aberration or not? And why was that Worker just lining up pawn pieces in the middle of the board? Move the queen! Move the—

——

It was a long night in which no Worker moved, save for the one who shuffled bits of paper around. The next day, Workers were sluggish owing to something in the food, no doubt.

But at breakfast, while the twelve sat and put out the chessboards, something odd happened. A Worker sat across from one of the chess boards being set up and moved a white piece.

This was not one of the twelve. All the Workers froze—until the one who had been playing last night moved a black pawn up, facing the white pawn.

A second white pawn joined the first, in the center of the board. Every Worker in the room stared as the second black pawn joined it. The Worker, who had a butcher’s knife because that was his job in the city, stared at the board.

He took the first black pawn with his own. And then? The two began to play.

There weren’t enough chess boards for the twelve workers; they only had five boards and piece sets from the [Innkeeper]. So sticks and stones were carefully found and placed, and then there were twenty-four Workers. You could, after all, just remember which piece was which.

Twelve Workers played the twelve who had journeyed to the inn. All twelve newcomers lost the first game completely.

They stood up and began to walk off, feeling a vague sense of frustration—but accomplishment. Death might come tomorrow, but they had played a game of chess.

And lost. The Workers were walking to put their dishes away when one of the original twelve Workers beckoned them back. The twelve new Workers saw, to their befuddlement, the original twelve slowly trading seats, rotating one over. Then they sat back down, reset the board, and waited.

The new twelve came back to the table, slowly, and sat down. They played again. Lost again. Then the Workers shuffled places and began to play.

In silence, the other Workers in the mess hall stared at the games. Twenty-four Workers played together. On the fifth game, the Worker with the butcher’s knife glanced up as one of the watching Antinium carefully moved forwards. He stood up to let the new Worker sit—but the trembling newcomer grabbed his butcher’s knife instead.

The trembling Worker stared at the knife as all the other Antinium in the mess hall froze. It raised the knife, stabbed itself in the arm, and green blood ran. Then it opened its mandibles.

“noOOOooo. NOOOooooooO—”

It screamed one word and then began to shriek. The Worker with the butcher’s job backed away.

The individual-who-was-no-longer-a-Worker raised the knife and began to stab others. He stabbed and stabbed as Workers fled and the chess boards were abandoned, and then turned. He shrieked, and the other Workers fled, trying to shield the remaining twenty-three Workers who’d played chess.

Aberration. Aberration! The call went through the Hive, and even the Queen heard it. She called for Klbkch.

Before the Prognugator arrived, six more Workers were killed and their parts used to decorate the tables. He walked into the mess hall and a screaming Worker covered in green blood ran at him.

“wE! WE! a gAMe!”

It screamed at him, waving the knife. Lunging at him. Klbkch the Prognugator reached down to the twin swords hanging at his belt. He drew them and swung one blade once. Then he bent, carefully thrust the second blade down, and pulled it sideways.

He wiped the silver blades clean and stood. Klbkch stared blankly at the odd, bloody bits of paper on the table and looked around at the Workers huddled at the far end of the room.

“Clean up the bodies. Get back to work.”

Then he turned and walked away. The Workers stood there, looking at the dead Aberration. Their fellow Workers, dead.

All the same. All the same as it ever was. They picked up the bodies for processing, and a Worker picked up the knife to replace the dead butcher. But as they cleaned up and got back to work, the chess boards stayed. Another Worker joined the twenty-three.

By lunch, they had become forty-eight. By dinner? 192.

——

Erin Solstice had taught the Workers how to play games of speed chess. Lightning rules, she called it, where you had a limited amount of time per move.

It was ideal for short moments, like between digging in the tunnels or at a mess hall. Workers picked up stones and sticks and played. Nevermind that you had a ‘board’ of four sticks and a bunch of identical stones.

After all, if you remembered which stones were pawns, rooks, and which were white and black, why did you need a board with shapes? There was nothing else to do. They remembered.

That night, the games of chess continued. Not all Workers took part. It was decided that only a quarter should play this new game in case of further Aberrations occurring.

Decided by who? Not Klbkch. Not the Queen. Neither one had paid attention to the boards. They surely knew because they were the Queen and Klbkch…the Workers just decided it.

The Chosen Workers were the original twelve. But now there were 1532—four had died this day due to a monster attack—in the Hive. Not all were in the same mess hall, but they counted.

Counted who won and lost. Of course, only a few won all the time, and the Chosen Workers were the best players by far. Initially.

However, it seemed clear that the [Innkeeper] had been better than all of them. And this game…this game was fascinating. But perhaps there were strategies, means that the Workers could not fathom?

That night, the Workers sitting in the barracks across the Hive played games. They played and played—and one would get up and slowly, carefully, move to another barracks. Then either return or go to a new barracks. The Workers counted and counted and played.

Therefore, the next day, when the Designated Worker stood, he was tired. He was not one of the Chosen Workers, the twelve, but he was definitively, by numbers, the best for the job.

He was afraid when he went to Klbkch’s office. The Prognugator was almost never disturbed; he was getting ready for his work as a Senior Guardsman. Yet the Designated Worker had to go.

He was the best player—his win/loss ratio was 54.6%, and thus he had been chosen to make the request. There was simply no other alternative.

Klbkch was not on duty at this time of day. He had retreated to his personal quarters within the labyrinthine tunnels, a hollowed-out room of stone and dirt near to the surface. He looked up at the knock on his door. When he saw it was a Worker, he immediately drew his sword.

“State your business immediately or be cut down. Why has the Queen not alerted me?”

The Worker froze. One of those two perfect blades was poised to stab, but he bowed his head towards Klbkch.

“This one would request time off, Prognugator.”

Klbkch hesitated. He did not lower his sword. That was not the voice of the screaming Aberration of yesterday.

“…Why?”

His arm tensed, but the Worker’s reply stopped Klbkch again.

“This one wishes to visit the Innkeeper Solstice.”

Now, Klbkch stood up. Hesitated, then strode towards the Designated Worker and held his blade low, towards the other Antinium’s abdomen. Yet he stopped himself from running the other Worker through. Something was in his voice. A kind of…surprise, wariness beyond belief.

And perhaps something like anticipation. Hope.

“For what purpose do you wish to visit Erin Solstice?”

“This one would play a game of chess.”

“Chess?”

Neither Antinium blinked. They were incapable of doing so, but Klbkch’s antennae twitched.

“Explain yourself.”

The Designated Worker spoke as precisely as it could.

“This one would learn more of chess for the sake of imparting knowledge onto other Workers. The Workers perceive a limitation in growth after a collective 15,360 games played.”

Klbkch paused as he digested this information. He looked the Worker up and down, and the blade, slowly, slowly withdrew from the Worker’s abdomen.

“I see. Your request will be considered. Return to your duties. Now.”

The Designated Worker bowed his head and left. Klbkch sheathed his sword, stared at the door, and then banged his head with one of his hands. Then he strode off to make an urgent report to his Queen.

Within the hour, he had left the city with the Designated Worker in tow.

——

After two days of experimentation, Erin had to face the facts.

“…I still can’t figure out how to make ice cream.”

All she could make was weird, sugary butter. She stared down at the pan of churned cream and ice cubes and wondered whether it was still edible.

She’d bought the ice and everything from Krshia, and she kept rushing back to her inn in hopes of making it work—but something was wrong, and the resultant mess was nothing like ice cream. Maybe she had missed an ingredient? Her Skill wasn’t telling her what she was doing wrong. Erin stuck a finger in the bowl and tasted it.

“Hm. Sugary.”

Erin licked her finger and decided it would go well with cereal. If she had any cereal. Well, there was that porridge-stuff, but she didn’t like how much chewing she had to do.

“Maybe I’ll feed it to Pisces.”

Glumly, Erin poured her fifth failed experiment into a glass jar. Glass jars were the way to go. Since she didn’t have tupperware and most airtight containers were jars with lids on them, glass jars with corked or glass lids were her best way of keeping things fresh.

“Too bad I don’t have any preservation runes.”

Erin grumbled to herself as she heaved the jar of milk onto a counter. She’d asked Pisces how much it would cost to get fancy runes done. He’d put the price at anywhere from twenty to sixty gold coins and added that she’d need to replace her cabinets if she wanted to make sure the runes stayed intact.

“Too rich for my blood. But refrigerators cost a lot too, right? But you only buy one, and that’s that. So I could save up if I ever got any customers. Big crowd one day, radio silence the next. And today as well. That’s life, isn’t it?”

Erin’s head snapped up as she heard the door opening.

“Speak of the devil.”

She raised her voice.

“Have a seat! I’ll be with you in a moment!”

Erin looked around and cursed. She didn’t have any food ready. It was only lunchtime—she hadn’t expected anyone to actually come by except Pisces, and he could wait forever. But he would have already made a snide remark by now.

No helping it. She hurried out of the kitchen and spotted a short creature standing in the inn. It had familiar green skin, pointy ears, and red eyes. Erin started to smile and then stopped.

“Wait a second. Who the hell are you?”

——

The four Goblins watched from the cover of a patch of long grass as the door shut. They watched and saw the other Goblins surrounding the inn. One had already entered, and the other Goblins were waiting to enter behind him.

The hiding Goblins weren’t waiting to enter. Rather, they were watching with dull dread in their stomachs. They would have liked to do something. Shouted, perhaps. But that wasn’t in their natures, and they were afraid.

They had been nine, but now they were four. And they feared making sound and alerting the other Goblins around the inn to their presence. They were forbidden to be here. They had been nine, and now they were four. And they feared becoming zero.

The littlest Goblin lay there, barely able to move. The other three were holding her down. They watched helplessly. The one Erin called Rags gripped a dagger in her hands, but she felt the bruises and cracked bones from the beating she’d taken just last night. She could only watch. They were four. The tribe had made a decision, and they hadn’t listened. The Chieftain was dead. The four Goblins were all bloody and filthy, and there were four of them.

The Goblins surrounding the inn were forty.

——

“Uh, hi there.”

Erin stared at the large Goblin as it glanced around her inn. She was sure she’d never seen this particular Goblin before in her life. He was larger than the rest, taller, brawnier. Not like the big one, but a head taller than any of the other small ones. Some kind of in-between?

And he was carrying a short sword at his waist, not a dagger or a club.

The Goblin looked up at Erin. He was still shorter than her by a good head, but he didn’t seem intimidated by her height. On the contrary, he seemed like he wanted to be the one doing the intimidating.

“Look, can I help you? Do you want food or something?”

Normally, Erin would have offered him a plate of something at once. But this particular Goblin wasn’t like Rags or her timid friends. There was an aggression about him she recognized. It reminded her of guys from her world. Something about the look, the way he stood there—too tense. Staring at her. It made her back crawl, and she realized her knife was in the kitchen.

The Goblin glanced at Erin and said something. He sauntered up to her. She stared down at him.

“Excuse me? What do you—”

He poked her. In the stomach. Actually, it was closer to her pelvis since he was shorter and uncomfortably close to another area.

“Stop that.”

He grinned and reached out to poke her again. Erin slapped his hand down.

“Stop that. Tell me what you want or get out.”

The big Goblin’s eyes narrowed. His hand went to his short sword. Erin made a fist and showed it to him.

“Try that and I’ll kick your face in. Got it?”

He glared up at her. Then, surprisingly, he grinned. He turned his head and called something in that scratchy language over his shoulder.

Erin looked up as the door opened. A Goblin walked into the room, and then another. And then another. And another and another and…

Suddenly, there were a lot of Goblins in her inn. A lot. And suddenly, purely by coincidence, Erin had just broken out into a cold sweat.

“Well. You have…friends. Do you all want food?”

More Goblins filed into her inn. It was an unending stream of them. They surrounded the bigger Goblin, exactly like a gang of…gangsters. Or, in Erin’s mind, much like a gang of children following the bully.

Erin took one step back as the leader of the Goblin mob grinned at her. He stroked the sword at his waist. Erin thought of the knife in her kitchen but abandoned the idea instantly. Every Goblin in the inn had a weapon, and most were holding them casually in their hands.

She had a bad feeling—no, she knew she was in trouble.

The big Goblin looked around the inn and snorted. Then he spat.

A glob of greenish spit landed right on one of Erin’s clean tables. Next to a chess board. The Goblin looked at it and then walked over and picked up the pieces.

She could run. In fact, Erin was pretty sure she could outrun them. If she got to the door and slammed it shut, then she’d be able to take off. They’d never catch her with their stubby little legs.

Erin slowly edged around a table, as if she were nervous. The Goblin tribe watched her, but they clearly weren’t expecting her to attack. They knew they outnumbered her. She didn’t need to get that close to the door, but if she were just a few feet away, she could—

Tapping. Erin looked over and saw the big Goblin leader smacking one of her chess pieces hard against the stone chess board. He grinned: a bully with a new breakable toy that didn’t belong to him.

Smack, smack. He was watching Erin out of the corner of his eye as he bashed a carved figurine of a Drake knight on the board.

Erin saw bits of the fragile chess piece breaking off. Her mouth opened.

“Oi. Put that down.”

The Goblin sneered. It deliberately tossed the knight on the ground. The other Goblins watched as their leader deliberately stomped on the chess piece. It snapped in two.

Erin stared down at the small, stone figurine lying in pieces. She looked up at the grinning Goblin.

——

The four Goblins heard the faint sound of something cracking as they waited outside the inn. Then they heard silence.

The next thing they saw was the big Goblin smashing through a window. They ran for cover as Erin strode out the door with a chair in her hands.

The big Goblin snarled at Erin and struck at her as she approached. She stepped back and then belted him over the head with the chair. She lost her grip on it, but that didn’t even slow her down. As the Goblin swung at her, she delivered a punch to his face and then jumped back. Erin didn’t know how, but when he tried to rush her, she instinctively stepped sideways and knocked him flat with a kick to his back.

It was like magic. Or—a Skill. Bar fighting. That was it. Erin had never really punched someone in her life, but when she made a fist and drove it into the big Goblin’s face, it floored him.

He was trying to rip the short sword out of its scabbard. Erin kicked the blade out of his hands as he got it free and then kicked him in the face. As he shouted in pain, she picked up the chair and drove it into his midsection.

“Not so tough now, are you? Huh?”

Erin raised the chair to hit the Goblin again. She prepared to swing it down—

And something poked her in the side. Erin turned around. She saw a knife sticking out of her skin. It was buried halfway in, and the green clawed hand holding it was shaking.

“…Ow.”

A Goblin was behind her. She let go as Erin turned and backed up. Let go—but her crimson eyes were both focused on Erin and very distant. Blood ran down her claw, and Erin felt at the sharp thing in her flesh. She tried to tug at it and felt something moving in her stomach. The female Goblin reached for a second weapon—a rock—and Erin lashed out.

She punched the Goblin into the ground, but then another Goblin was next to her.

Stab.

This time, the blade was long and thin and went in further, into Erin’s thigh. It was a dull sensation. She felt her skin tearing as he raked her side with it. Erin shouted and hit him with her chair hard enough that she felt something in him break. But then another Goblin was next to her. He slashed her in the leg.

She didn’t feel it. And that was the scariest thing. As another Goblin stuck a knife in Erin’s back, she felt it go in, but she didn’t feel the pain. And the Goblins were suddenly surrounding her. They poured out of the inn as Erin tried to keep them away. And they all had knives.

Stab. Stabstabstabstabstabstabstabstabstabstabstabstabstab—

Erin swung her chair and knocked three Goblins senseless. She kicked out and sent another one flying, then punched one so hard he fell over unconscious. She didn’t know how, but she was suddenly a fighting machine. But the Goblins kept coming, and their knives went in, and she didn’t feel a thing.

Two more Goblins went down to Erin’s punches before she toppled over. It wasn’t that she’d tripped. She just fell down and saw the blood pooling. Erin wanted to reach out and touch it, but her arms wouldn’t move.

The big Goblin was standing over her. When had he gotten to his feet? He had the short sword in his hand, and he was raising it. He snarled around his broken nose. Then his head fell off.

Klbkch beheaded the large Goblin with one sweep of his swords. He stepped forward to shield Erin as his swords scythed out and cut two more Goblins apart. He addressed the other Antinium by his side, the Worker holding the pieces of paper in his hands. The trembling Worker stared down at Erin as pieces of paper fluttered to the ground.

“I must save Erin. Cover me.”

The Worker nodded and dropped its pieces of paper.

Erin looked up and tried to wave at Klbkch as the ant-man knelt swiftly beside her.

“Stay awake, Erin. I have a potion. Stay alive for a few seconds longer.”

“Another p-potion?”

Erin laughed weakly. She wanted to say ‘you shouldn’t have,’ but her mouth stopped working. Klbkch’s hands were a blur as they dove into the pouch at his waist. He uncorked the bottle and splashed half of it over Erin’s legs. The other half he made her drink. He had to hold her mouth open because she couldn’t open it.

She felt the noxious liquid go down, and something happened in her body. But Erin wasn’t paying attention. She felt like a spectator, a ghost who wasn’t really attached to the thing Klbkch was cradling in his arms. She saw the Worker fighting as the Goblins recovered from their shock. She saw him dying.

The Worker had no weapons. He only had bits of paper. But he charged into the mass of Goblins, striking them with his four hands, biting, hitting them. Like how a child fought.

The Goblins fell back at first from the ferocity of the assault. But as soon as the Worker found himself in the midst of them, they closed in.

One second the Worker was grabbing at Goblin, the next, they covered him. Countless Goblins piled onto the Worker, stabbing, hitting any part of his body they could reach. The Worker fell to the ground, but seized one Goblin by the leg. His mandibles opened, and he bit.

The Goblin screamed and stabbed him in the eye. The other Goblins stabbed and clubbed him and then left the broken, crushed shell of the Worker on the ground. They swarmed away from him except for one Goblin, which still screamed in agony as it tugged at its leg. It came away with a sickly snap as the leg and flesh ripped from the Worker’s jaws to reveal yellow bone.

Erin blew out a bubble of blood and then coughed. Something warm was flowing up from her cold legs. She could feel them again and—pain. But she could feel them.

As the Goblins spread out around the Human and Antinium, Klbkch stood up from Erin’s side. He drew both swords and daggers and faced the forty-odd Goblins. He looked down at her and then the slot on his belt.

Two empty slots for two potions. Klbkch stared around and saw no place to put his back against. He could find a wall—but Erin was lying at his feet. Forty Goblins.

He could have run, but the Senior Guardsman didn’t. He looked across from him at the dead Worker. Curled up, staring blankly at the sky.

A Worker who spoke. A Worker who had desires. A success—

Dead.

Dead. Klbkch felt his mandibles click together. He looked down at Erin. He should have left her. He should have taken the Worker back.

He should run or put his back to a wall or—the Antinium lifted the blades and looked around. His voice was a whisper.

“They call me the Slayer. Come.”

The Goblins didn’t wait. They charged, howling with blood and fury. Klbkch waited for them and attacked with all four arms at once. He drew two knives from his waist with his lower hands.

His swords cut arcs in the air as they lopped off limbs and heads while his lower arms stabbed out with his knives. The first few Goblins who approached him died before they could take a step.

But—so many. Klbkch stepped back as the Goblins kept coming. He spun left and shredded two Goblins with his swords as his lower two arms stabbed a Goblin in the neck with his daggers. One sprinted under his guard and raked his legs with a dagger, but only managed to cut into his exoskeleton. Klbkch beheaded him, but more Goblins jumped on his back. He shook himself like a dog and cut them off of him.

He could have moved, but there was something right behind him. His swords slashed out in perfect arcs—until he twisted. Threw himself into a burning vial a Goblin threw. It splashed over him, and his carapace ignited. Not a drop touched the young woman with hazel eyes. The Antinium began burning as the Goblins backed up. One raised a bow—

The twang and thud were one sound. Klbkch adjusted his leg. He glanced down at the arrow sticking out of it. Erin Solstice’s face stared blankly up at him, as if she were dreaming.

His hand flickered. The Goblin holding the bow staggered, and a knife protruded from the Goblin’s chest. She fell, gasping, as Klbkch turned. The Goblins charged him like they had the crab.

——

Erin watched through lidded eyes. The potion was coursing through her, but the drowsiness was making her sleepy. She couldn’t stay awake. It was like her mind was shutting down every few moments.

She kept blinking. Her eyes would close, and then her head would snap back up. Each time she opened her eyes, more Goblins lay in pieces around her. Blood stained the ground and her clothes. And Klbkch. But his blood was green. And there was a lot of it.

Erin opened her eyes and saw Klbkch stagger as a Goblin stabbed him in the back with the short sword. The Antinium turned and beheaded the Goblin, but two more struck him glancing blows from his other side. Even as he turned, more lunged forward. He swept his blades to keep them away, but he couldn’t guard every angle.

Why didn’t he run? He was surrounded. If he had his back to the wall, he could fend them off.

Oh. Right. He was defending her. And that meant he couldn’t watch his back.

Erin’s head lowered. The darkness closed in. Then she opened her eyes and saw Klbkch lying on the ground. No—not lying. Fallen. He was on his knees. He still had his blades, but he couldn’t stand up. Green blood dripped from the wounds on his body. So many.

But he’d taken vengeance for his injuries. Erin looked around and saw dead bodies everywhere. Pieces of Goblins. Heads. Limbs. Blood coated everything, including her.

Nine Goblins spread out around Klbkch in a wary circle. They didn’t dare approach the Antinium, even on his knees. Erin wondered what they were doing. Oh. They were waiting for him to die.

“Miss Solstice.”

It was a rasping whisper. Erin looked at Klbkch. The Antinium didn’t move, but spoke to the ground as he used one sword to keep himself upright.

“You must flee. I will buy you a moment.”

She stared at him.

“No.”

“Can you not move?”

“I can feel my legs. Sort of.”

“Then go. Once you are in sight of the city, you will be safe.”

“No.”

He clicked his mandibles together.

“I cannot slay the rest. Nine Goblins are too many—I am a failure. Forty Goblins. Forty Goblins—”

He made a fluttering sound. Erin thought it sounded like an insect’s chirping. She realized it was—laughter. Klbkch whispered.

“If they could see me. Run.”

“No.”

Erin said it automatically. Her brain still wasn’t working.

“No. There aren’t nine. There are thirteen.”

Klbkch looked up. He saw the four Goblins as they swarmed up the hill from behind the others. The other Goblins hesitated, afraid to turn away from Klbkch, and in that moment, the small band of Goblins struck them from behind.

The four Goblins worked together. Two grabbed one Goblin and held him down, and Rags stabbed him in the face while the fourth kept the other eight at bay. He was armed with a large stick and covered his friends from the enemy Goblins. They would have rushed him, but Klbkch was on their other side and shifted whenever they moved.

Rags and the other three Goblins moved from the dead Goblin to flank the other Goblins. They feinted as Klbkch guarded Erin, and the other Goblins turned their attention to them. In an instant, Klbkch threw one of his swords and speared a Goblin through the chest.

As the seven remaining enemy Goblins turned their attention to Klbkch, Rags and the three Goblins rushed forwards and repeatedly stabbed another Goblin in the back. They fled backwards even as the other Goblins sliced at them.

Tactics. They fought their kin, and Erin saw the little one, face mashed and bruised, screeching what sounded like orders. Crimson eyes and red blood blurred together.

Were the Goblins crying? She couldn’t tell. Which ones were weeping? All of them?

The seven Goblins backed up. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. They had come to kill a lone Human, however dangerous she might be, not fight deadly insect-monsters and their own kind.

They edged away from the wounded Antinium. It was clear that he couldn’t move, and wounded as they were, they still outnumbered Rags and her friends. Rags and her comrades retreated until they had the inn at their backs. But it was still two-to-one.

The Goblin that had picked up the short sword pointed at Rags and screeched a command. The seven Goblins turned away. And one of them collapsed with a knife in the back of his head.

Erin blinked down at her hand. She’d picked it up and thrown it without thinking. And it had hit its target. The Goblins turned in shock and looked at Erin.

She stood up and hit the closest Goblin with an uppercut that snapped his head backwards. Her legs felt like jelly. But they were whole. She kicked, and another Goblin flew and smashed into a wall.

Two more would have rushed her, but this time, Klbkch threw. He missed with his daggers, but his sword hit one of the Goblins vertically and lodged in his head. He fell down, and Erin hit the other Goblin and knocked him down.

She turned for the other three, but they were already dead. Two Goblins held the last one down as he screamed while Rags stabbed him repeatedly in the chest. He convulsed and died.

Erin breathed out shakily. She lowered her fists. She didn’t even notice the two Goblins she’d hit getting to their feet and running. Rags and her Goblins raced after them, screaming their high-pitched war cry.

Slowly, Erin looked around. The Goblins were dead. Their blood covered everything. Her breathing was ragged; she felt like there wasn’t enough air in the world. The world grew dark, and she staggered. She would have sat down and passed out, but then something moved.

Klbkch. He collapsed in a pool of green ichor that mixed with the red around him. Suddenly, Erin’s body was full of electricity and panic. She ran over to him. He was trying to get up, but his exoskeleton was full of holes. He was leaking.

“Oh god. Oh god no.”

Klbkch clicked at her. He spoke, still in that too-calm tone of his. But his head was jerking, trying to look at her, and it kept falling back. Spasming, as if he were—falling asleep.

“Erin Solstice. You are safe? Good. My Queen will send—her Soldiers will come. You will be safe.”

He tried to reach for her. Erin grabbed his hand and then released it. She helplessly held her hands over the oozing gaps in his body, but his blood ran over her fingers. Klbkch touched at her hair and let his hand fall away.

“Fascinating. So this—First Queen laugh—in pieces. Today of all days.”

His voice was breaking up. Thoughts blending with words. Erin grasped at the green blood oozing from his body.

“I can’t—how do I stop the bleeding?”

He didn’t answer her. Klbkch only sighed. He stared up at the sky. His silver blades lay next to him, coated with blood. His voice faded away. Amused, disappointed in himself, and so bitterly tired. He looked only once at the dead Worker, and then his mandibles twitched.

He turned his head north, as if staring a thousand miles at something he had left behind. At last, his voice broke, and he called out as the young woman held his hand. She didn’t know who he was speaking to.

“I was weary. Forgive me.”

Klbkch looked as if he wanted to say something else. But then his head lowered. He fell silent and still. Erin couldn’t tell if he was breathing. She put her hand next to his mandibles, but she could feel nothing. No breath of air. Nothing.

She stared down at Klbkch. He was bleeding. She had to stop it. She had to heal him. But he’d used her potion.

She needed help. She needed Relc or Pisces.

“Someone!”

Erin looked around and shouted. But there were only the dead Goblins.

“Help. Help me.”

Erin whispered. She looked at Klbkch. He wasn’t moving. He’d curled up into a ball. He was still bleeding.

She had to get help. She had to.

Erin shook. She didn’t know what to do. But she had to—she had to—

Erin slapped herself. She hit herself so hard in the face that the world turned black for a moment. But she’d stopped shaking. She grabbed Klbkch and hauled him up.

Fireman’s carry. She’d learned how to do that in class. It didn’t work the same way with Klbkch because he was bulkier in places. Still, she got him onto her shoulders. He was light. Was it the lost blood?

Run. Erin was already running. She dashed down the hill with Klbkch on her back. Blood ran down her shoulders and soaked her clothing. Blood. She couldn’t feel anything from the burden she carried on her back. No heartbeat, no breathing. Only blood.

Erin ran and ran. Her heart was bursting out of her lungs, and each breath was fire. She felt the muscles tearing in her legs. But she ran on. And she felt the blood as it slowly dripped down her body and onto the grass.

——

Below Liscor, the Queen of the Antinium stirred. She looked up through dirt and bedrock. She knew. Already, her Soldiers marched towards the surface at her command. They emerged from hiding places, tunnels, and the Watch and the citizens screamed of The Black Tide.

The doom of Rhir. But they were too late.

Too late, and she had been resting. She felt it. The Free Queen reached up, feelers trying to hold—her voice breaking with disbelief. Pain.

“Klbkchhezeim?”

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.30

Silence. Erin walked in it. It was the numbing static in her head. It was the sound of tears falling in her heart. It was everything.

She walked in the darkness. Short, narrow walls of dirt enclosed her. She followed a massive shape as it led her through the tunnels.

Her arms were breaking, her lungs screaming as she carried Klbkch, almost falling, towards the gates, and a horn began to blare.

Noise. Erin still heard it echoing in her memories. They were scattered. She still felt like she was there, blood running sticky down her legs. Not hers. Seeing Liscor’s gates rising as Drakes and Gnolls ran at her, shouting.

“Klbkch? Summon the Captain! Get a [Healer], now!”

“—Not breathing. Contact his Hive! Get the Human out of the way!”

“Klb? Buddy? Speak to me.”

Voices. Them grabbing her, almost throwing her aside but taking him as carefully as a baby. He was cold. Curled up. His skin—his chitin was cold, and she felt nothing.

—Bending down, throwing glowing liquid on him. Relc slapping a still face until someone knocked him down. A bright, blue badge covered in green blood. Running feet, a Drake shouting orders until a thousand Antinium, giants, were forcing their way through the crowd. And grabbing Klbkch. And her.

Taking her down into a place no one could follow. Through walls of dirt and staring faces, each one like Klbkch’s. Workers. And Soldiers. Until she came here.

To a chamber where a giant sat. Made of the same brown-black chitin as the others but incomparably vast. A feeler, not a hand, shivered in the darkness, and a voice deep, resonant, and female—spoke.

Then Erin woke from her dream.

“—Human. What have you done?”

Erin looked up. She was standing in a massive cavernous room. Across from her, something sat in the shadows. The Queen of the Antinium under Liscor.

The gargantuan figure moved. Erin couldn’t see. It was so dark. But she caught a glimpse of a massive, bloated body and bulbous backside. The massive Queen of the Antinium was so huge she couldn’t move from her spot.

The Queen raised one massive foreleg. She wasn’t like her subjects, who looked vaguely humanoid. The Queen was completely insectile, and her wide, faceted eyes had no pupils nor color to them. They were blank, foreign, unreadable—yet hostile, a dull glow reflecting off the smooth surfaces under the dim light as they focused on the human before her. Erin could not read her face, but she saw the pain and anger. Even in this creature, in her voice.

She waited, but Erin said nothing. So the Queen continued.

“Your name is Erin Solstice. I have summoned you to explain the death of my subject to me. My…Klbkchhezeim. My Prognugator. Klbkch of the Centenium. Do you know what you have done?”

Erin looked at the Queen. She didn’t know what to say. Her chest was hurting, but her heart was already broken. They’d taken his body away. She felt like she was still dying. She couldn’t feel the pain, it was so great.

The Queen gestured behind Erin. She pointed to the two silent giants flanking the doors.

“Do not fear my Soldiers. They will cause you no harm if you answer.”

Erin glanced over her shoulder. She’d been grabbed in the midst of the confusion. A group of giant Antinium had swept her out of the guard barracks against her will and the protests of the other guards. Now, they silently watched her.

The two guards that stood in the back of the massive chamber were far taller than the Workers. A head higher and thicker and stronger by far. Unlike Klbkch or the Workers, these Antinium were nearly twice their size, with massive forearms and spiked, sharp gauntlets formed of their exoskeleton.

What was strangest and scariest about them was that they held no weapons. Instead, their four arms were bent, and they appeared to be ready at any moment to leap on Erin. Their hands—Erin saw their hands had no real digits, just awkward stumps and tearing barbs. These Antinium were clearly soldiers, built for war.

These ones had been made to kill.

“Erin Solstice. I hold you accountable for the death of Klbkchhezeim. Speak.”

Erin looked back at the Queen. She opened her mouth and didn’t know what to say. There was nothing. The silence in her was too large for words.

But she had to speak.

“I’m sorry. I never meant for it to happen.”

The Queen loomed above her. Her deep voice deepened further.

“Is that all you have to say?”

Erin shook her head.

“I don’t—I can’t say sorry enough. Klbkch—he died protecting me. He was a hero. I’m so sorry.”

The Queen silently watched as Erin wiped at her eyes. She raised a single feeler.

“Human. You misunderstand me. Klbkchhezeim’s death is…is. He is Antinium. Workers and Soldiers die, and if Liscor did not cause this, there is no need for war. But his death was wasted—needless. I am told he perished fighting Goblins. Goblins. Saving you. That is what I find unacceptable.”

“…What?”

Erin looked up, and the Free Queen stared down at her. Her voice was confused, Erin realized. Confused and angry and hurt.

“Klbkchhezeim was more than a match for a hundred Goblins. A hundred Hobgoblins could not ambush him. He is Klbkch of the Centenium. He—was—Klbkch the Slayer. The only reason he could have fallen to a mere forty Goblins was because he placed your life above his. And he lost a Worker of—the first Worker in—”

Her voice was rising, her feelers waving. The Queen fell silent. Her trembling voice returned to normal, and she spoke slowly in the darkness.

“He has paid for his folly. But his foolishness has cost the Antinium living within the city greatly.”

Erin stared at the Queen in shock. In turn, she felt the giant Antinium’s eyes piercing her to the core.

“I am disappointed, Erin Solstice. I had expected better of my Prognugator’s judgment. He spoke highly of you. Klbkch called you a Human worthy of emulation. But I see nothing to back up his claims. I see no reason why he would have wasted his life saving you.”

What? Erin’s head felt fuzzy. What was she saying?

The Queen continued. It was hard to discern emotion in her monotone rumble, but there was a definite element of irritation in her voice.

“My Workers play games in their resting periods. They gain useless levels in classes not needed for their work. Three have already become Aberration. This experiment has created naught but waste. My Prognugator’s judgment has been in error.”

Erin struggled for words.

“He—he was only doing what I asked him to. He was helping. He saved my life.”

She felt the titanic gaze on her. Erin had to look down. She couldn’t meet the Queen’s eyes.

“Nevertheless. Klbkch died a failure.”

Erin’s head rose. She stared at the Queen.

“Take that back.”

The Queen’s presence beat down on Erin, but this time, she refused to look away.

“I will not. My Prognugator’s foolishness has cost Liscor and the Antinium this day. He died a failure.”

“He was a hero!”

Erin shouted at the Queen. The guards behind her stirred, but the Queen raised one foreleg.

“He died worthless, against enemies he should easily have overcome. He died a failure.”

“No. He was tired. Tired and sorry.”

Erin mumbled the words. The Queen stared down at Erin. Her body had begun rising, and her feelers had risen—like a hammer, over Erin’s head. Now they trembled, in some paroxysm Erin didn’t understand. Her voice shook.

“Klbkchhezeim said that?”

Erin didn’t know why the Queen froze. She only bowed her head in silence. The Free Queen’s voice was strangled, and her mandibles clicked until she spoke.

“Then he is a fool as well as failure. We were so close. He had no right to lose hope.”

Erin stared up at the Queen. The massive insect regarded her and then looked away. She flicked one foreleg at her.

“You do not understand. You, the creatures of the above world, fail to understand all of what is Antinium. Enough. I waste valuable time. You are not worth killing.”

Erin was shaking. The two Antinium Soldiers marched up to her, but she stepped forwards towards the Queen.

“Why’d you summon me then? To tell me how worthless Klbkch was? He wasn’t. You’re wrong.”

The Soldiers seized her roughly. The Queen gestured, and they released her.

“You are not what we seek. You cannot understand. Klbkch must have been mistaken. I see nothing to admire. Only his failure written large. Begone from this place, Erin Solstice. I have much to do.”

The Queen slowly turned away towards the far wall. Erin was dragged out of the cavern by the two Soldiers. She wanted to say something, anything to the Queen of the Antinium. But she could think of nothing.

——

Erin walked out of the entrance to the Antinium tunnels and back into the light of the day. She blinked, shading her eyes. The two Antinium Soldiers turned and left without a word. She was alone.

For a moment. Even as Erin looked around, another Drake walked up to her. He was the yellow gatekeeper Drake.

“Human. You’re wanted by the Captain. Follow me.”

Erin walked after him without a word of protest. As she walked down the street, she was conscious of people watching her as she passed by. Some murmured and pointed. Others flinched away.

She realized she was still covered in blood. Hers, the Goblins’, and Klbkch’s.

The yellow Drake stopped when he realized Erin wasn’t following him. He turned and opened his mouth angrily until he saw her throwing up. Silently, he passed her a water bottle and cloth. Erin wiped her face and rinsed her mouth. She walked on.

——

The guard barracks were full of quiet voices and one loud one. They all fell silent when Erin entered. She looked around and saw a blur pushing his way through the crowd of guardsmen.

Two Drakes tried to grab Relc, but he shoved them aside like they were made of paper. More grabbed him as Relc loomed over Erin.

“You.”

She looked up at him. Relc snarled at her. His tail was thrashing around, and his fists were clenched at his side.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Sorry? Klbkch died protecting you! All because you didn’t want to kill those damn Goblins!”

“I know.”

“This is all your fault.”

“I know.”

Erin stared at the ground. Relc stepped forward, and the other guardsmen all tensed. But he didn’t attack. Instead, he took a deep breath and spoke with a trembling voice.

“I had a good partner. He was a silent guy and a real idiot, but he was one of the best guys I knew. And then he died because he went and tried to protect a damn Human. We never even—Wishdrinks. It was just two days ago we gave him a badge!”

She didn’t know what he meant. Erin squeezed her eyes shut as a bit of spit struck her. She looked up and opened her eyes and saw his sharp teeth opening and closing as he spat at her.

“I’m sorry.”

Relc narrowed his eyes as he stared down at Erin. He tensed—and a huge Gnoll and a Drake with a sword grabbed him.

“Relc—”

He tried to shrug them off, but they refused to let go. The Drake was breathing heavily. He raised an arm, and both of the others had it in their grips, but all he did was point a claw at her.

“I…I don’t want to see you around here again. And if you come running here for help again, I’ll stab you in the gut. Got it?”

Erin looked up at Relc. His thrashing tail stopped dead as he saw her wipe away the tears in her eyes.

“Yeah. You do that.”

She walked over to a seat and sat down. Tears began flowing from her eyes once more. Relc hesitated. He turned away and kicked a chair. It exploded in a shower of splinters.

Erin barely noticed as the pieces of wood rained down around her. She covered her face with her hands, but the tears leaked through her fingers. She heard a door open and a loud, female voice.

“You! Human!”

Erin barely moved. The other Guardsmen moved aside as a female Drake advanced. She marched up to Erin. She glared down and snapped.

“Thanks to you, the only Antinium Guardsman in the city is dead. The fourth highest-level [Guardsman]. A Senior Guardsman—the liaison to the Free Hive…”

She stopped, looking for words. Her mouth was…smoking. Trails of dark smoke leaked around her lips, and Erin stared at them despite herself. The Watch Captain looked around, and she spoke one word.

“Klbkch. He’s dead.”

All the Watch looked up in silence. The Drake stared blankly around, then looked at Erin.

“Not only that, he died because he wasted his emergency healing potion on you. Saving you from Goblins that should have been wiped out.”

Relc hammered a fist into a wall and left a dent. Erin didn’t look up, even with the crack of wood.

“Who are you?”

The Drake narrowed her eyes.

“I’m the Captain of the Liscorian Watch. Klbkch was one of my best Senior Guardsmen. Without him, there’s no one to control the Antinium. Without him—if the Queen orders it, Liscor and all of Izril might face another Antinium War. One of their Prognugators is dead. We can only pray they understand it was monsters, not us.”

A moan ran through the Watch House. Erin didn’t know what to say. She looked up, and her eyes were blurry. She knew it was all bad. It sounded bad. But Klbkch?

Klbkch was lying there. Her tears were only for him. She couldn’t take any of the rest in. Erin gulped for words.

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

The Captain’s tail twitched.

“Really? Is that all? From what I’m told, Klbkch had to protect you from a mob of Goblins. You’re no citizen. He should have let them eat you.”

“I guess so.”

Erin didn’t look up. The Captain’s eyes were narrowed in fury, and her tongue flicked out. She hissed.

“The Liscorian Watch should never have interfered in the affairs of outsiders. You don’t live in Liscor, and you are not one of our citizens. From here on out, the Watch will cease patrols in your area.”

The Captain of the Watch glared at the young woman holding her head in her hands. Erin didn’t look up.

“Is that understood, Human?”

No response. The female Drake’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“I said, is that understood, Human?”

“You done?”

Erin looked up. Her eyes were red, but she’d stopped crying. She met the Captain’s gaze without flinching.

The female Drake stared at her. She had a scar on the left side of her face. Her scales were light blue. Her eyes were yellow and narrowed with rage. She held Erin’s gaze and then turned away in disgust.

“Get out of my city.”

The Captain slammed the door shut behind her. In the silence, Erin looked around the room at the other guardsmen.

“Klbkch died protecting me. He was a hero. He looked out for me when no one else would, and he helped me even though I’m a Human. He was a good person. I’m sorry that he’s dead.”

She looked at Relc. He looked away.

Erin wiped at her eyes and then walked out of the room.

——

Selys found Erin sitting next to Krshia’s stall in the marketplace. The Human had curled up into a ball and was hiding her head in her arms. A Gnoll, Krshia Silverfang, was standing at her stall as if waiting for another customer.

At first, it seemed like she was ignoring Erin, but then Selys saw how Krshia was staring. Staring—and not even Lism said a word, nor the hostile Drakes and Gnolls standing at a distance. She let Erin weep as Selys hesitantly approached.

“Hi? Erin? Are you—are you okay?”

“Go away.”

Erin didn’t look up. Selys hesitated and then came to stand by the stall.

“Hi, Krshia. Um, how’re you?”

The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] sniffed and nodded without smiling to Selys.

“Miss Selys. I am well, but Erin is not. She is resting here, away from unkind words. If you have any, you will leave, yes?”

Selys raised one hand as her tail twitched.

“No, not me. I just wanted to see how Erin was doing. I, uh, heard what happened.”

“Everyone in the city has heard.”

Krshia nodded. She finished arranging a display of onions.

“It is a dark time. Others mourn, but many are simply upset. The death of Klbkch, it is a bad sign for the city. He was our link to the Antinium. Without him, there will be trouble, perhaps terrible events. But it is wrong to blame it all on a single Human. So think I and other Gnolls.”

“Really. Really? That’s surprising. I, uh, thought you lot would think differently.”

Krshia shrugged. She crushed a rotten onion and tossed it in a bin of refuse behind her with more force than necessary.

“Blood and death. It is not Erin Solstice’s fault where Klbkch chose to fight and die. It is not her fault the Goblins attacked, yes? We do not blame those who are not guilty.”

“That’s good.”

Selys looked at Erin. She wasn’t moving. Tears trickled down her cheeks.

“Look, Erin, I wanted to talk to you. I know this isn’t a good time, but I don’t think you should go back to your inn. You should stay here, at least for tonight.”

Erin didn’t move. Selys glanced at Krshia. The Gnoll shrugged impassively. Selys tried again.

“I know you felt safe in the inn, but after this, things will be different. It isn’t just about Goblins. If the Watch doesn’t patrol the plains, more monsters will start appearing. Without protection or high levels, you won’t survive.”

Again, no response. But then Erin wiped her eyes on her sleeve before she buried her head back down.

“Look—I could get you a job in the Adventurer’s Guild as a receptionist. Some of the others might not like it, but you’d be safe there, and you’ll earn enough to eat and live in the city.”

This time Erin moved. She shook her head slightly.

“No.”

Selys opened her mouth, but Krshia placed a huge furry hand on her shoulder and shook her head. She squatted down next to Erin.

“Erin. I regret the loss of Klbkch. He was a strange one, one of the Antinium, the Black Tide which came from Rhir, but a good one, yes? Many in the city mourn his death. But he would not want you to die. Without the Watch suppressing the monsters—there will be worse at your door in the wilderness. Even so close to a Drake city. You must know this.”

“And it’s not like you have to stay here forever. We could look into finding you a place in a Human city if you really didn’t like it. It’s just that it’s a bad time to be here. I know it’s not your fault, but the others—”

“I’m not going.”

“Look, Erin, I know how you’re feeling but—”

“I’m not going.”

Erin stood up. Her eyes were swollen and red with tears. Her nose was dripping, and she wiped her face on her sleeve. She glared at Selys.

“I’m going back.”

“Not a good idea. Those Goblins might still be out there.”

“They’re all dead.”

“But—there’s monsters. Just stay here. I have an apartment. You can stay the night, okay?”

“No.”

“Erin, please.”

Selys wanted to say something more, but she looked over Erin’s shoulder and gasped.

“Oh my—”

Erin turned. The street had gone deathly quiet. Every shopper and shopkeeper in the marketplace was looking in the same direction. They slowly backed away as a procession of dark insects slowly walked through the market.

They weren’t Soldier Antinium. They were just Workers, but there were nearly a hundred of them as they slowly walked towards Erin. The group stopped a few feet from her as Selys stepped behind the counter and Krshia sneezed.

Erin looked around. Black-bodied Worker Antinium filled the street. They stood in front of her. Suddenly, they all bowed their heads, and the Worker in front spoke.

“These ones offer condolences to the Innkeeper Solstice.”

Selys whispered in a panicked voice to Krshia and Erin.

“What are they doing? They shouldn’t be here! Someone should call the Watch!”

Krshia nudged Selys hard.

“Silence. Listen.”

The Worker continued.

“These ones wish for the Innkeeper Solstice to heal from wounds received. These ones express their regret for her suffering.”

Erin stared at him stupidly.

“Why?”

The leading Worker appeared confused.

“It is part of custom. These ones are taught to express regret/sadness/loss for death in appropriate mourning moments. To cease work during funerals to not disturb Liscor’s citizens.”

He said this all so abstractly, as if they were rules he had to obey without knowing why. Erin just stared at him.

“But I didn’t die. What about Klbkch? What about your—friend? The other Worker? He died protecting me.”

The Worker paused and then shook his head.

“The Prognugator carried out his duties. The Worker died carrying out his duties. No mourning is necessary for broken shells and dead individuals. These ones merely express regret of individual Klbkch’s failure to protect.”

Erin stared at him.

“So you’re saying you’re sorry I got hurt?”

“These ones express regret for the failure of the Prognugator to protect the Innkeeper Solstice.”

The Worker said it so blankly, almost accusatory, that Erin’s head rose. Her hand tightened on the stall as she pulled herself up.

“It wasn’t failure. Don’t—don’t say that.”

The Worker froze—then bowed his head again. All the other Workers did likewise, and its antennae trembled.

“This one offers apologies for its mistake.”

She waited, but that was all. It glanced up at her like a child. It didn’t understand why she was mad, but it was afraid of her.

“Can’t you feel sorry? For Klbkch? And your friend?”

“This one apologizes. But this one cannot. These ones offer regret to the Innkeeper Solstice.”

Erin waited. But the Worker just kept its head bowed.

“Is that it?”

“Yes. These ones will disperse to assigned duties. Forgive these ones for disturbing the Innkeeper Solstice and others.”

As one, the Workers turned. Erin hesitated.

“Wait.”

They stopped and turned back to her. She paused and closed her eyes. Erin took a deep breath and then looked at the Worker.

“…Come to my inn. I’ll feed you, and you can play chess with me.”

“What? Erin!”

Selys grabbed for her, but Erin was moving. She reached out and touched the lead Worker on the shoulder. He went very still.

“You said you’re sorry? I’m sorry. It was my fault Klbkch and the other Worker died. And that’s a bad thing. Even if you can’t understand it, I want to do something. Let me help you. Somehow.”

The Worker hesitated.

“These ones are not permitted to leave the city or move about without permission.”

“Why not?”

“These ones are not suitable for independent action. These ones must not be unaccompanied.”

“I’ll accompany you. Just—come with me. Please? It doesn’t have to be all of you. What about just you? What’s your name?”

The Worker went deathly still. All the Workers did. Erin looked at them curiously. Selys gasped and ran forward.

“Erin!”

She grabbed the Human’s shoulder urgently. Selys whispered loudly in Erin’s ear.

“You never ask them what their names are! They don’t have any!”

“Why not?”

The Worker shuddered and looked at Erin. Selys raised one hand as her tail thrashed wildly.

“They just don’t!”

“This one has no name. This one is not important. This one is not an individual.”

“You could be.”

“Erin!”

This time, Selys tried to grab Erin and drag her away. Erin fought her hands off.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

She poked the Worker in the chest.

“You’re an individual. You’re you. And the Worker who died? He was someone. Klbkch was someone. You’re all important, and that means when one of you dies, it’s a bad thing.”

The Worker shook his head as the other Workers around him backed away. He began trembling and shaking. Erin thought she knew him. Wasn’t he part of the twelve who had come to the inn? Now—his hands shook, all four of them, a tremor as if he were suddenly freezing. It was in his voice too.

“This one is not an individual. This one cannot be.”

“You are. Can’t you understand? You’re all special.”

“Stop saying thAt.”

The [Innkeeper] froze. She heard a strange sound in the Worker’s voice. It was trembling, and Selys turned dead white under her scales.

“Tribes—Erin, back away.”

Krshia reached below the counter of her stall as the people in the street suddenly backed away. The Workers closed around the one who Erin was talking to. He was clutching at his head.

“stOp talkinG. Stop askING me—”

“Hey. Hey…don’t be upset. I’m just asking you…are you okay?”

She reached out, and he grabbed her arm. So hard her skin bruised. Cold chitin dug into her skin, and Selys made a sound as Krshia slowly pulled something up and pulled a bowstring back. But Erin just stared into the Worker’s gaze.

She was crying. Tears ran down her cheeks. They had stopped, and now they returned. The Worker gazed at her.

“Stop tHaT. Stop weeping for hiM. Stop aSKING mE—”

His fingers hurt. But Erin didn’t draw away or move as Krshia hissed at her. She just reached out and gently took hold of one of his arms.

“I’m sorry. But he was kind to me. Don’t hate him. Don’t say bad things about him. He saved me.”

“You don’t know what he was.”

The Worker whispered. He was shaking so badly now that she saw his mandibles opening and closing. Opening and closing, and a razor mouth behind them. His fingers began to dig into her skin.

“Don’t ask—this one is not Klbkch. Not individual. We are worthless. Just like the one who died there. No names. Not like him.”

It was almost pleading with her. Erin looked at the Worker, and she whispered back.

“You could be. I wish I knew that Worker’s name. I wish I’d known him. I wish I could do it all again. You don’t have to have a name. But do you want to?”

A sound like a keening scream came from the Worker’s mouth. A third hand rose from her arms and grabbed Erin’s throat. It began to tighten, and Krshia whispered a word as she swung up her bow.

Then the Worker looked into Erin’s eyes, at the blurred hazel depths filled with tears. It shook and shook until it seemed like it could shake no more and the world was falling to pieces. Its world. It let go of her suddenly and stumbled backwards.

Eight Workers had been dragging it back, but the single Worker had been locked in place so fiercely that their fingers and arms had been cracking its shell without moving the Worker. Now, they tumbled back. An arrow passed straight over the Worker’s head and thunked into Lism’s stall. The Drake stared at it. Then—at the Worker.

He lay on his shell, staring up at the sky. Erin stared down at him—and appeared in his line of sight. Someone was shouting for the Watch—but the Worker didn’t move. He didn’t scream or shriek. He just lay there.

“Are you alright?”

She stared down at him. Slowly, the Worker got up, and the other Workers pulled Erin back, making a shield between her and—

This one. The citizens of Liscor, Krshia—some had drawn blades and others were calling for the Watch, but the Worker did not shout. His trembling had ceased.

He felt at his shell and looked around. For a long time, no one said a word. He stared at Erin, and then at last, spoke. Wonderingly, confused.

“This one—I understand. This one has become I.”

Selys gasped in horror. The Worker stared down at his hands and then looked up.

“I understand sorrow. I understand regret for the death of individual Klbkch and Worker. I was wrong. It was a sad thing. For Klbkch. For the Worker. Then death is sad. Then it is all…sad.”

He looked around, and the Worker’s antennae waved. His hands shook, but without the wildness of before. He stared around as if a great weight suddenly rested on him. He looked at his kin, and they were frozen. But Erin just nodded.

“Good.”

Erin didn’t notice the other Workers backing away. The Worker that she’d addressed quivered. His hands opened and closed restlessly. Selys and the other Drakes instantly backed up. Krshia slowly reached below her counter for another arrow. But the Worker was just prodding at his head, feeling at his body as if it had changed suddenly and he was no longer sure if he had the right one.

“I. I am. I have become I. I do not understand.”

He looked around, up at the sky, at Erin. He shook like a leaf.

“If this one—is not—how are the many one? An individual cannot exist—the many are—how am I?”

He shook. Erin grabbed him.

“I don’t know. I try not to think about it. Come on. Let’s play a game of chess.”

He stared at her. Selys was trembling, and the air in the marketplace was tense. But then the Worker nodded.

Erin turned.

“I’m going.”

She began walking out of the marketplace. The Worker followed her, and the rest of the Antinium followed in a silent, winding procession. Selys stared at Erin’s back, eyes wide. She looked at Krshia.

“She’s insane. They’re going to kill her. It’s going to kill her. That was an Aberration—”

Krshia nodded. Her teeth were bared, and her fur was standing on end, but she had a quiver of arrows now.

“Yes. It was an Aberration but it wasn’t. At least—not yet. Is that how it happens? I do not know. Let us follow quickly, yes? Silverfangs, to me! Get every [Warrior] you can find.”

“What?”

Selys yelped, but Krshia was already gone from behind her counter. She barked something at another Gnoll and strode in the direction the Antinium had gone. Selys stared around at the other wide-eyed Drakes and then ran after Krshia.

——

The Worker walked behind Erin, and his fellows followed the two in a silent mass. She left the city gates behind, ignoring the Drake shouting at her. She walked as fast as she could, trying not to think, to feel.

Behind her, the Worker shuddered and twitched as he walked. Erin ignored that, but she heard him begin to mutter as he walked along.

“I. I am. But it is wrong. All is wrong. When the many become one, it is Aberration. I am Aberration.”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

The Worker just looked at her blankly, as if trying to explain reality to her.

“I cannot be individual. I cannot have names. I cannot choose my own actions. It is wrong. I am no longer one of the Workers. I am…me. This is wrong.”

“Klbkch did it.”

The Worker shook his head. He opened and closed his four hands restlessly.

“He is Prognugator. I am—was Worker. I should not be.”

Erin turned her head.

“You’re fine. You should be. It’s fine to be a person and not a thing.”

“I cannot understand. I am Aberration. All is Aberration. This Hive—I cannot accept it. Why am I sad? Why am I sad? What have you done to me?”

“…I’m sorry. But I wanted you to feel something.”

“I feel. I feel all.”

“Good.”

Erin kept walking, but the Worker stopped. He started twitching again, and then his gaze snapped to the back of her head. Slowly, the Worker increased his pace until he was right behind Erin. She didn’t notice, lost in her thoughts.

In the silence, the Worker reached out for Erin as he walked behind her. The other Workers watched as they followed. They said not a word.

“I don’t know what it means to be me.”

Erin said it as she walked along. She didn’t know how to explain it to the Worker. She had to say—something. To tell him what it was like.

“I don’t even know what it means to be Human. All I know is that there’s a big hole in my heart. Because Klbkch and the Worker died. I don’t know who I am or what I’m doing. I’m just—sad.”

The Worker paused. His hands hesitated at the back of Erin’s neck.

“Why?”

Erin smiled. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she walked through the grass.

“I just am. That’s how it works. You don’t get to choose to be someone. You just are. Even if you’re not special. Even if you don’t want to be. You just are.”

He paused. Slowly, the Worker lowered his hands.

“I do not understand. But—I am. And I too am sad.”

“Good. That’s—that’s good.”

Erin sniffed and wiped at her eyes and nose. The Worker slowly walked faster until he was next to her.

“Innkeeper—Erin Solstice. I am sorry for the death of Klbkch and the Worker. I regret their death and your suffering.”

“Thank you.”

They walked on in silence. Eventually, the Worker spoke again.

“I am no longer a Worker. I am an individual. I would like a name.”

She looked at him.

“I can’t help you. I’m not—I can’t give you one. Couldn’t you ask your Queen?”

He shook his head.

“I—do not wish to. I must have a name. Where may I find one?”

“I don’t know. Can’t you choose one for yourself?”

The Worker paused. He turned his head to Erin and hesitated before nodding.

“I will do so.”

She waited. After a minute of walking, the Worker spoke again.

“I would like to be known as ‘Pawn.’ It is a fitting name for this individual.”

Erin nodded. She gave him a weak smile.

“Hi, Pawn.”

“Hello. Erin Solstice.”

“…Will your friends be like you?”

Pawn looked over his shoulder. The other Workers looked away. He bowed his head.

“They are afraid. They will not be like me.”

“That’s fine.”

“But I have told them what it means to regret the passing of individuals. They understand.”

“Really? Good.”

Pawn nodded.

“They—we. We are all sad.”

“…I’m glad.”

They came to the inn on the hill and the bodies. Erin stared down at the blood and collapsed. She’d forgotten they were still there.

Pawn caught her before she hit the ground. He helped her up, and Erin sat down while the other Workers surrounded the area. They paused as they surveyed the wreckage of the inn and corpses and then seemed to come to a decision. As one, the Workers began hauling the corpses away while others of their number began digging several hundred feet away from the inn. More still entered the inn and began dragging out broken wood.

Erin sat in the grass and looked away. She glanced up as one of the Workers dragged out the body of their comrade. Then she threw up.

Eventually, Erin felt someone tap her on the shoulder. She looked up and saw it was Krshia.

“Erin Solstice. I was looking for you, yes? The Workers, they have finished their cleaning.”

She looked and saw it was true. The area around the inn was clean. Even the grass had been cleaned with water, and the Workers stood silently around the inn. They were all staring at her.

“Thanks.”

She said it to Pawn and then to the other Workers. They nodded as one.

“We assist to maintain order and preserve peace.”

“Thank you.”

Krshia stared at the sign above the Wandering Inn. She looked around and then followed Erin as the Human stepped inside.

“So, this is your inn, yes? It looks better than I had thought. Worth defending.”

Erin nodded. She looked around the empty room. The Workers had cleaned it almost to perfection. All the broken chairs and tables were gone. But they hadn’t touched one thing.

A splintered chess piece lay on the floor. Erin slowly walked over to it. It stared up at her, a Drake caught in mid-strike, a spear in his hands.

She looked down at the broken knight piece on the floor and picked up the base. Carefully, Erin put it in her pocket and looked around. Silent Workers filled the room. More stared through the windows.

Erin looked around. She saw the chess board and picked it up. It was heavy in her hands. She remembered sitting at a table and staring at a brown ant across the board.

Her eyes stung, but there weren’t any tears left. Erin brushed at her eyes and then turned with the chess board.

Slowly, Erin brought the board out and set it down in the grass outside the inn. The Antinium formed a huge circle around her, and Pawn stood in the center next to Erin. She sat down and placed the board in front of her. She gestured, and Pawn hesitated, then sat opposite her.

Erin looked at him. He was a bit shorter than Klbkch, thinner, and his features were somehow less sharp than Kblkch’s had been. He looked nothing like Klbkch at all, in fact. But her heart still hurt to look at him.

Slowly, Erin put the broken knight on her side of the chess board. Pawn rearranged the pieces on his side. She stared at him. She stared up at the sky. It was too blue, too pristine for a day like this. It wasn’t even night yet.

The sky should be raining blood. The world should be filled with darkness, and the earth should have opened up and swallowed her whole. She should have been paralyzed by sadness, but Erin just felt hollow. She understood nothing. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right.

And there was nothing she could do about it. So Erin moved a piece on the board. The broken knight moved up to C3. She looked at Pawn. He stared back, and the rest of the Workers stared with him at the Human who wept for Antinium.

Erin bowed her head.

“Let’s play chess.”

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.31

Erin sat on a grassy hilltop and played a game of chess. It made life easier. When she was playing, she could forget about life. She could forget about suffering.

It didn’t end such things. Chess was an escape. If you were bleeding or crying, it couldn’t help. Playing chess would bring no one back. There was an irony to the game; it was a complex competition still popular hundreds of years after it had been invented.

A computer would always win. Yet some people, like Erin, had spent great portions of their lives playing this game. In a world of computers and countless other things to devote your time to, Erin had become one of the world’s experts in this game.

And she was an expert. She was no Grandmaster or even an International Master, but she had reached a level beyond most players as a girl. Then the pressure, the game no longer being fun, and the futility of playing this game when real tragedy occurred, when it had no point, came crashing down on her.

All that was the same Erin who sat on the grass outside her inn. The fall was changing the colors of this place, and the wind was blowing at the top of the steep hill. If there were only some trees with autumn leaves…this would have been a perfect moment. A hill where she could sit in peace. No monsters. No death.

Klbkch’s blood and the blood of Goblins still stained the grass elsewhere. Gnolls and Antinium had found some of the bodies that had been left untouched. They were burning them. Erin should have stood and helped, but she was so weary. Her eyes were red from tears and she had no more to give. So she sat and played chess.

Erin moved her pieces on the chess board, pausing, considering, moving, retreating, taking. It was a dance of strategy and perception, and she had learned many of the steps long ago. But chess was always different with every game. That was why she could lose herself in it.

And yet, it wasn’t just calculation that Erin did. A chess player played against an opponent, and unless it was a computer, they read the other player and danced with them. Mind games were part of chess, just like basic strategy and knowing fundamental moves were. But Erin had never played against a mind like the one that sat opposite her.

She looked up over her pieces at her opponent, the Worker with a name.

Pawn. He was staring at the board, pondering his next move. His shaking was gone. He no longer spoke in a trembling whisper, and he was—calm. Calm, and as if he were the very grass upon which they sat. Blown away by the wind in this vast sky. Yet he did play, quickly, placing the pieces with the same confidence as Erin did, if not more.

Something was wrong with him. It wasn’t just that he had a name. Erin didn’t understand the Antinium, but she understood chess players. Something had seriously gone wrong with him.

He was too good. Their pieces clicked on the board as Erin Solstice realized she was losing. She had beaten state champions and even played Grandmasters, a rare honor.

And she was losing flawlessly. She could have blamed it on recent events, her lack of sleep, but her mind felt clear, beyond exhaustion and grief. Her focus deepened as she spoke.

“I still don’t get it. Where do levels come from? Why do people have them? Why do people only level up when they sleep?”

“I do not know, Erin Solstice. These are mysteries of the world. They are what they are, yes?”

Krshia shifted in her seat in the grass. She sat with Selys, inside the circle of watching Antinium Workers, but distinctly apart from them. She was calm, at least in that she was watching Erin play Pawn, but Selys kept glancing around at the silent Workers nervously.

“Fine. But if that’s the case, why don’t we get levels for everything? Like…walking. Is there a [Walker] class?”

Krshia shook her head.

“Walking is something we do, not something we live for, yes? Only things that we make our goals and dreams form classes. However, there is a [Runner] class.”

Erin glanced up, exasperated.

“But that makes no sense!”

“People run for a living, Erin. I’ve never met anyone who walks. That kind of class would be a [Traveller] or a [Journeywoman]. You see? No wait, [Journeywoman] is an apprentice class. See? Now you’re getting me confused.”

Selys sounded exasperated too, but she thought Erin had a point. The [Innkeeper] frowned and waved a pawn in her direction before she put it down.

“But that does mean you could get a class for eating, right?”

“You mean a [Gourmet]? I’ve heard some rich merchants and nobility have that class. Lifestyle, Erin. I hear there are some fat slobs who live all their lives just partying and living life up. [Hedonists].”

“No way. Really? Okay, I think I get it. But people can have multiple classes, right?”

Selys nodded. She was the bigger expert on classes, apparently. It probably had to do with her being a receptionist. Erin frowned, looked at a knight, and nearly ran right into the trap Pawn had set. How had he become so good?

“In theory, you could have as many classes as you want. But in practice, even most Adventurers only have three or four classes, tops. It’s because you don’t just get a class even if you qualify for it. It has to become part of your life.”

“Oh, I get it.”

Selys paused. Her tail curled up as she sat with her claws folded politely in her lap. Erin had noticed Drakes were expressive with their tails where their faces told nothing. Krshia, on the other hand, had a perfect poker face, and her tail wasn’t nearly long enough to give anything away.

“Um, did…no one ever tell you this when you were growing up, Erin? I mean, everyone knows this stuff. It’s basic.”

“Even the Antinium? Even the Workers?”

Pawn looked up from the board.

“Yes, Erin Solstice. We are taught such things as we are formed in Birther Sacs. All Workers know of leveling, but we seldom do.”

“Why? I’ve gained ten…yeah, ten levels this month.”

Krshia and Selys exchanged a glance. Even the Workers twitched their antennae at each other in their seats.

“Are you serious?”

Erin looked up and saw Selys gaping at her.

“What? I’m only Level 10. Isn’t that low?”

“It is—but—I mean, it is, but no one levels up that fast! Erin, normally someone has to apprentice to someone else for years before they hit Level 10. Most kids—well, most people our age are barely Level 14 in their chosen profession around now. Maybe they have other classes—my friend, Drassi, switches jobs every other week, so she’s barely got levels in anything but [Gossip]. Still! Ten levels in a month?”

“Really? Only Level 14? That just seems so…low.”

Again, Erin had the impression she was the only person in the group that thought that way.

“Well, Level 100 is the highest, right? Doesn’t that mean most people would get to…I dunno, Level 60 or higher before they die?”

Selys laughed—more incredulously than politely.

“You’re joking. Right?”

Erin shrugged. She moved another pawn and took a bishop. Then she realized it was another trap. She was going to lose her other knight.

“Am I wrong?”

Krshia nodded.

“I have known many elderly people. They all have levels in their twenties or sometimes thirties, yes? Few are above Level 40. A great Tribe might have more than one; some tribes have none at all. Few even reach their thirtieth level. If I had to name those above Level 50, there would only be…a dozen in each continent, yes?”

“So someone over Level 70 for example…?”

Selys looked at Krshia. The Gnoll shrugged.

“I don’t think I know of one living, in any class. I’ve heard legends about warriors that reached that level, but those are ancient stories. You know, the kind where a single hero defeats armies by himself or slays Hydras and Krakens single-handedly. People just don’t level that high.”

Erin nodded. She knew they were watching her incredulously, and she knew she was giving away her ignorance. Klbkch had noticed it…

And he was dead. So Erin just went on.

“Okay. I think I get it. So people level up, but not that high. And you can have more than one class, but you have to level that one up from the start, right?”

Selys nodded. It was a different nod than Erin’s. Her neck was longer, so it looked more like a long bob than the short motion Erin was used to.

“Right. If you were a [Spearmaster] like Relc, say, and then you picked up a sword and started using that, you’d probably get the [Warrior] class until you were high enough level and had enough skills for a [Swordslayer] class or a [Duelist] class or something like that.”

“So classes change names?”

“Are you sure no one’s ever talked to you about this?”

“Klbkch explained some of it to me.”

“Oh. Um. Oh, I—well, yes, classes change. It’s just usually in name to represent you’re more specialized or—or you’ve hit a higher level. For instance, [Tacticians] usually become [Strategists], but they can become [Leaders] or [Generals]. It depends on the Skills you have. And what you do with your life.”

“And…I think I remember this. Skills define classes, right? But doesn’t everyone get the same Skills when they level up?”

“No. They do not.”

Krshia stared at Erin. Her eyes narrowed as her brow creased together in a frown. Erin paid no notice. She could see more than people thought when she played chess, and she learned more than she let on. But right now? It didn’t matter.

“Everyone gets different Skills when they level. Often, they’re the same, but some people get them at different times or get different variations on Skills…it’s about need. Need and want determine what Skills we get.”

“And what we do, right? That determines our classes, which determines how our level ups affect us and whether or not our classes change.”

Selys looked relieved Erin was finally getting it.

“Exactly.”

Erin looked at Pawn. He and all the Workers were staring hard at the board. Erin pushed her king over. She’d lost. They reset the board, and she began again. And once more—he moved so surely she felt like he had been playing longer than she had. How had he done this overnight? He’d been an amateur when she met him in her inn. Now…she glanced up, and all saw his antennae waving slowly in thought. It made her smile.

“Do the Workers have lots of levels? You guys work all the time, so you’ve got to have lots, right?”

He paused, and Erin noticed something odd. All of the Workers were focused on the board. Yet when Pawn moved a piece, suddenly they looked at her or elsewhere. But whenever she moved a piece, they immediately focused on the board again to the exclusion of everything else.

“We have very few levels, Erin. I myself am a Level 2 [Butcher] and Level 1 [Carpenter].”

“What? Is it—is it because you’re young or something?”

“I have lived more than half of the average Worker’s lifespan. The Workers do not level up frequently. Some do not level at all.”

Erin turned in her grassy seat to look at Selys and Krshia. The Drake flicked her tongue out in surprise.

“I…didn’t know that.”

“Neither did I. But it is not unexpected, yes? Leveling comes from learning and trials. Without such things there is no experience gained. For one who does the same thing without change, they will not level.”

“And that’s probably why you’ve leveled so quickly, Erin. Starting an inn by yourself—that’s got to be a lot harder than just working in one or taking over a business.”

“Oh. Okay.”

It had been the hardest thing Erin had ever done in her life. She looked down at her stomach and legs folded pretzel-style beneath her. They should have been full of holes or scarred from countless stab-wounds. Yeah, it was different than just being an innkeeper in a city.

“So the Antinium don’t level up much? I guess Klbkch was an exception.”

“A big one. He was the Slayer, a Prognugator—”

Selys hesitated. She ducked her head.

“—He was famous among his people, Erin. One of the few Antinium with a name. He—”

Krshia kicked Selys, and the Drake looked guilty, but Erin just nodded. She took all the feelings and put them into the chess pieces. Just for a while. Then she thought of the Soldiers.

“But doesn’t that mean they’re weak, then? If most Drakes around my age are Level 10 or higher, why aren’t they way stronger than all the Antinium?”

“Erin, have you seen those giant soldier-types the Antinium keep in their tunnels? I caught a glimpse of one walking through the streets this morning.”

Selys shuddered. Her tail twitched several times.

“They don’t need levels, Erin. They’re deadly enough as it is. If you gave them high levels and churned them out the way the Antinium can, they’d be an unstoppable army.”

“Yeah, that’s true. I guess levels can’t replace numbers or muscle, can it?”

“Well, it can, but only if there’s a big difference in levels. Relc, for instance…he’s strong. He could probably take on a lot of those soldiers. Not that he would—don’t get me wrong! But he’s Level 32, I think. That’s incredibly different than a Level 13 [Warrior]. Does this all make sense, Erin?”

Erin moved another piece and knew how the game would end.

“I think I get it. Thanks for explaining.”

“I just don’t understand why you don’t know all th—”

Selys was cut off as Krshia elbowed her hard in the side. She hissed rather than squeaked and sat straight up. Krshia broke into the conversation.

“It is curious you do not know of levels, but perhaps your people do not level in the same way we do, yes? Rare classes, perhaps? I understand not all classes are earned equally. Especially in places like the Kingdom of Keys. Samal. Peaceful places.”

Selys frowned at Erin, but the [Innkeeper]’s face was smooth as she moved a piece.

“Yeah. Something like that. Is leveling a big part of people’s lives here?”

“Some would call it…belief. Some yes, some think levels rule everything. No one w…hm, what’s the word? Worships? The gods are dead, Erin. They are dead. In some places, leveling is preached and those with the highest level are worshiped. I have heard it said that to each one of us is a maximum level given, and when we reach that level, we have reached the end of our life.”

Selys rubbed her head as if even talking about this was giving her a headache. Silence fell over the grassy audience. Erin turned in her seat and stared at Krshia.

“Seriously? Some people believe that?”

Krshia’s gaze didn’t waver.

“Yes.”

“That’s stupid.”

Selys gasped, but Krshia shrugged.

“Some believe, Erin. And who is to say what is true?”

“…I guess.”

Erin turned back to the game and saw Pawn had moved. She tipped over her king.

“I forfeit again. Good match.”

Pawn bowed from his seat to her. Erin bowed her head back.

“It was a good game, Erin.”

“It was a great game!”

Selys sat up in her seat and stared at the two players.

“I don’t know much about chess, but I’ve seen Olesm play. You’re way better than he is, Erin. And you…um…Pawn.”

He bowed to her, and she flinched.

“I merely learn from Erin Solstice. She is an expert in this game.”

“And that’s another thing. How are you so good at that, Erin? Olesm says you’re the best player he’s ever seen or heard of. Are you a high-level [Tactician], then?”

“No.”

Erin was mildly insulted by the suggestion. She helped Pawn reset the board as Selys frowned.

“What about some other class? Or is it a rare Skill?”

“No, it’s just skill. Not the kind you get from leveling up. Just skill in the game. I don’t have any levels besides [Innkeeper].”

“But then how are you so good?”

Erin took her time before answering. She reset her pieces and switched the board around. Silently, Pawn moved a piece forwards, and she countered. Another game began, but she had the same feeling.

“I just played since I was a kid, that’s all. Every day. At first it was just a hobby, y’know? Something I saw an adult do, but then I found I liked it. When I won my first tournament, I was over the moon. And after that, I just kept playing.”

Selys glanced at Krshia.

“But wasn’t chess invented only a few years ago by the Titan of B—”

Again, she received an elbow in the side and glared at Krshia, but then she stared at Erin in sudden interest.

“Well, I guess maybe here it’s new. But chess has been around a lot longer where I come from.”

Erin smiled briefly.

“A lot longer. And lots of people love to play it where I come from. There’s strategy books, lessons online, tutors…I learned it all. Fun fact? I learned how to play chess blindfolded before I learned how to ride a bike.”

She moved another piece. After a second of staring, Pawn moved his queen and took it. She frowned and kept playing. Memory was overlapping with reality.

“I was never the best. But I was good. Really good. For my age? I was incredible. I played in tournaments, I stayed up late playing chess—my parents let me. They knew I had a gift. So I would study chess every moment I had free time, play adults, go to chess clubs and tournaments after school, and I kept winning. But then once you get to a high enough level, you start losing.”

Like now. Just like now, and then, Erin stared at the board and felt outclassed. She moved a rook and watched it die two moves in the future to protect her queen.

“It happens. And it’s not surprising. Even a genius kid can’t beat an adult who’s played thousands—tens of thousands more games. But every time I lost, it crushed me. So I quit.”

“You q—ow! Stop hitting me!”

Erin smiled, but it was fleeting. Her entire focus was devoted to the game before her and speaking. She had to admit, she’d thought she was too good to beat at one point. As if you could talent past experience.

…Much like Pawn was doing, actually. Erin glanced up at him. This was impossible for someone to do, play at this level without practice. It was more than intelligence or experience. She knew patterns and strategy. Yet he won. She went on, remembering.

“Somewhere…sometime I guess I lost interest in playing chess. Or maybe I stopped having fun. I don’t know how to explain it. I was just a kid, but I spent every waking moment playing the stupid game, going to tournaments, studying, winning, losing—I never really lived. I never played with my friends.”

She moved a pawn. The Workers paused, and then Pawn moved a piece.

“When I realized that, I quit. I just stopped playing, threw away my chess set…I did normal things. It took me years before I even looked at a chess board, and then it was fun to play. But I never wanted to be a Grandmaster again. The pressure, living just for that one game—it’s too much.”

Pawn took her queen, ironically, with a pawn. It couldn’t be avoided, but Erin knew how the game was going to end now.

“I guess I’m just a normal girl who’s better than 99% of the world at chess. But that last 1%. That’s a heck of a large gap.”

“If that is the case, Miss Erin, I shudder to imagine what kind of geniuses live in your home nation.”

At some point, Olesm had appeared, and Pisces, and even three of the four Goblins. Rags sat in the grass among the Workers, silently watching the game. The Antinium looked at the Goblins and then away, but Selys gripped a dagger at her belt as she glared at the Goblins, and Krshia sneezed. Yet there was peace, however tenuous. Perhaps it had to do with the pile of Goblin corpses buried in the unmarked grave a mile away.

“I’m sure you don’t think of it this way, but I cannot imagine a player better than you, Erin. I have Skills that allow me to play the game better than most, but I cannot beat you no matter how hard I try.”

Pisces nodded in agreement. Erin grinned mirthlessly. They hadn’t seen how the last few games had been played.

“Why don’t I level, then? I don’t have any levels in [Tactician], but Pawn tells me the other Workers have leveled up in it. Probably the Goblins as well.”

Erin moved another piece and watched Pawn hesitate. Well, good.

“We’ve got a ranking system in my world. People who play chess in tournaments get a score, which goes up and down when they win or lose. A Grandmaster’s got about 2600 or more points, and the really amazing chess players all have over 2200 points. If you have that many, you’re pretty much one of the best in the nation.”

He decided to lose a knight as opposed to his bishop. Erin frowned. The game was ending. How was he this good? It was impossible. She felt like she was playing…

A Grandmaster. But it couldn’t be.

“I got to just over 2000 when I was a kid. That’s insane but—it’s still a huge difference between that and being a Grandmaster. If I kept playing, maybe I’d be around 2400 right now. But either way, I’m one of the best in the place where I lived. In this world—I probably am the best. So why don’t I level?”

Olesm appeared distressed.

“…I could not say. It does not make sense.”

“I can.”

Pisces nodded self-importantly as everyone looked at him. He was still arrogant, but it was muted arrogance, subdued. Erin was grateful for that.

“Classes are based on what we pursue. Yet—by that same notion, what we consider unimportant or trivial fails to trigger the same classes in other people. It is a known phenomenon I studied during my time in Wistram Academy. I wrote a paper that—well, suffice it to say, if you do not consider chess to be anything other than a game, you would not level.”

Olesm and Selys looked incredulously at Pisces.

“A game? But it’s obviously a game.”

“Allow me to rephrase my statement.”

Pisces looked annoyed as he searched for a better explanation.

“What I mean to say is that if Mistress Solstice does not consider any of the tactical applications of learning to play chess—how moving pawns is similar to organizing warriors, for instance—she would not level in the [Tactician] class. To begin with, the amount of experience gained from playing chess is far lower than actual work as a strategist, so if she cared not at all about games of war as opposed to games of pieces…”

“I don’t level. Makes sense.”

Erin tipped over her king and sighed. She’d sped up the rate of her play, but somehow that had only made her game worse, not Pawn’s.

“I lose. Again.”

She sat back in the grass and looked up at the fading sky. Olesm and Pisces stared open-mouthed at Pawn as he carefully set the game back together.

“How are you doing it? No one gets this good overnight. Not even a genius can play like that on his first go.”

Pawn ducked his head in front of Erin’s stare, cowed.

“Apologies. But the Innkeeper Solstice makes a mistake. This one—I am sorry. You misunderstand, Erin. At this moment, you are not simply playing me, but all the Antinium gathered here.”

He gestured around at the grassy knoll where the countless workers, the two Drakes, two Humans, Goblins, and single Gnoll sat.

“The hundred play as one mind. We see a hundred moves and play them all in turn. We think together and play as one body.”

Erin stared at him.

“Hive mind.”

“Just so. We think as one. That is the nature of the Antinium. Even if—that nature has been compromised by the experiment. Though I am individual, that is still true of me. I do not know why, but I feel…”

Pawn gestured silently around at the other Workers. Something was happening, and not even the other Antinium seemed to understand that. Yet if they did feel each other’s thoughts—Erin looked at him.

“And Klbkch? And the Worker? Did you feel…?”

Pawn shook his head, slowly.

“We felt their loss, Erin. But only when we knew it. The Queen remembers. She knows us all. But we—we are Antinium. This is new.”

He stared down at his hands as the [Innkeeper] lowered her eyes. Until Pawn spoke.

“At least, Klbkch will not be gone forever. So long as the Queen lives, she will remember him.”

Erin stopped placing chess pieces back on the board. She stared into Pawn’s fragmented eyes, urgently seeking the truth.

“But what about the other Worker? What about him?”

Her reply was a sad look. Pawn’s antennae stopped moving, and he replied quietly.

“Why would she remember him? He was no Prognugator. He had no name.”

“But he was brave. He—he died for me. Both of them should be remembered.”

Erin clenched a hand in the grass. Pawn looked at her, and then he bowed his head.

“He was the designated Worker who won 54.6% of all games he played. He had no name. If you wish it, I will remember him, Miss Solstice.”

Her head came up. Erin gave Pawn a pained look, but one filled with gratitude.

“So will I. And you won’t forget?”

He shook his head. Pawn peered at Erin’s shimmering eyes and tried to reassure her.

“Do not be sad, Miss Solstice. We are the Antinium. So long as the Hive exists, all will be well. So long as the Queen lives—nothing else matters.”

Erin paused. She looked down and wiped at her eyes.

“I wish that were true.”

The Antinium moved in shock, but some of them turned from Erin to Pawn and listened. Selys shifted in her seat. She bowed her head. Olesm cleared his throat.

“As much as it pains me to say it, Erin, I have to disagree with you. Klbkch was truly unique. He was the first—and only—Antinium ever to be accepted as a member of the Watch. Even among the Antinium’s Prognugators, and there are few, he was the only trusted Antinium to ever exist. Ever since the Antinium entered the city ten years ago, he’s been the one who acted as a liaison between their Queen and our city. He is—was the representative of their race. I, um, feel like I should say that about him now. I quite respected him, despite him being an—an Antinium.”

“I never knew he was so important.”

Krshia nodded.

“He was humble. It was why many liked him. And now he is gone.”

“Not so long as the Queens live. He will be remembered. It is more than any other Antinium has.”

Pawn stared around with something approaching defiance. Erin shook her head.

“But he can’t speak to us, Pawn. He’s gone for us.”

He hesitated.

“I—see. I feel there is much misunderstood, but I respect your grief.”

Awkwardly, he placed his king back in position.

“Will you play another game, Erin?”

“Would it do any good? I can’t win. You—you’re better than I am.”

Olesm and Pisces began to protest, but they were quickly drowned out. Every Worker clicked in denial of Erin’s statement. They made a low buzzing sound that was quiet individually, but sounded like an armageddon of bees together. Selys clutched at Krshia’s fur.

“There is much we learn from each game, Erin Solstice. Please do not stop teaching.”

Erin smiled hollowly.

“Teaching?”

It didn’t feel like that. It felt like running away from everything. But fine. She owed the Workers. She owed the Antinium. So fine.

Slowly, she drew the board away from Pawn, batting away his hands.

“Stop that. Let me show you something.”

She reversed the board and moved the white pawn forwards.

“This—is an Immortal Game.”

Instantly, Pawn stopped protesting. Pisces and Olesm exchanged a glance and moved up. Rags was already sitting next to the board. Erin slowly moved the black pawn up in front of the white one.

“In the history of chess, there are a lot of famous games that we study because of how brilliant they are. Some people call other games Immortal Games as well. And there are a few famous ones. But this. This is the Immortal Game. Some of the moves aren’t considered as good nowadays, but this is still considered one of the pinnacle moments of chess in my world.”

Krshia breathed in sharply, but Erin’s words passed over the audience as she moved the chess pieces slowly across the board. Slowly, the two sides played against each other. Erin pointed out each gambit, each strategy and attack and counter as the game played out.

“King’s Gambit Accepted to open with, and then the Bishop’s Gambit…see here, he tries the Byran-Counter Gambit with the pawn? And then the white side attacks the queen with a knight here…”

She played the game out from memory. She’d seen it so many times in her head it was second nature to her. The chess players watched, frowning, trying to keep up with the dizzying display before them. But the Workers stared at the board, and as Erin moved into the last phase of the game and took the white queen, Pawn spoke.

“We can see the ending.”

Erin looked up. Olesm and Pisces stared at Pawn in disbelief.

“Show me.”

Pawn hesitated, but then reached out and moved the white pawn up. Erin stared down at the board and played the next move, checking the white side’s king with a queen. Pawn moved the king diagonally, and the game continued.

A perfect game. He played the game exactly how Erin remembered it. In the silence, she toppled the black king and looked up. Olesm and Pisces were staring at Pawn as if he’d turned into a horrific monster.

“Good. Now play me. One last time.”

Silently, Pawn sat opposite Erin and set up the pieces once more. She stared at the board. She was white. Slowly, she moved a pawn forwards.

“I was always afraid of losing as a kid. Always. I studied so hard so I wouldn’t lose. Maybe that’s why I never improved. I thought losing was a terrible thing.”

Pawn waited and studied the board. He moved a knight forwards in response. Erin whispered.

“But chess? Chess isn’t scary. Not compared to other things.”

That was the last thing Erin said. She wiped at her blurry eyes and set aside her heart for a moment so she could play. It was a relief. It felt so good to lay everything aside and at the same time to let it all out. To let it hurt and play.

Erin’s pulse pounded in the back of her mind. The world around the chess board vanished, and the chess board grew before her eyes. Each piece consumed her vision, and she heard only the click of moving pieces. That sound was thunder in her head.

Pawn sat in front of her, but she didn’t focus on him. He couldn’t be read. He couldn’t be outthought. There were a hundred of him thinking over every move. So Erin just played. The chess board was her world, the pieces parts of her soul.

She looked at her opponent and saw another Antinium sitting opposite her. Erin dreamt as she played. She was playing in her heart, in the core of her being, in her wishes of what might have been.

In this place, there was only the game. And Klbkch.

Erin was crying as she played. Her tears fell on the chess board and into the grass. She played and moved pieces and lost them. But it was all part of a bigger plan, one she couldn’t see, couldn’t understand. She could understand chess. That was easy. But she couldn’t understand anything else.

She took the enemy pawns. She took his rook, his knight, his bishop, and his queen. She hounded him, lured him into traps and pushed into his lines and kept her own pieces safe, or gave them away to tear his apart. She pushed and pushed, until he had nothing left.

In the silence of her dark world, Erin saw the king topple over. She blinked, and the moment was over.

Pawn bowed his head. Erin heard ringing in her ears and then snuffling. She looked over and saw Olesm was crying. The [Tactician] wiped away tears from his eyes.

“I will—I will never see—I cannot explain what it is.”

Pisces was covering his eyes, rubbing them with the heel of his hands. Rags was staring at the pieces, her eyes bloodshot as if she hadn’t blinked in an age.

“It was—that was a display beyond anything I’ve seen. It was pure! I couldn’t see how it would end! I couldn’t predict the next move! How are you not a [General] or—or a [Strategist] of the highest level?”

Erin shook her head. She looked at the chess board.

“It’s just a game. I’m no tactician or even a warrior.”

She stared at her hands.

“I’m just an [Innkeeper]. I don’t want to be anything else. I don’t even want to be that, but I am. That’s all.”

She stood up. Pawn stared at her. The Workers stared at her. She met their eyes and bowed her head. She wiped at her eyes and let her tears fall into the grass.

“I’m sorry.”

Then she left. Slowly, Erin walked inside her inn and collapsed onto the floor. She slept, mercifully, with the blackness of oblivion and no dreams.

[Innkeeper Level 11!]

[Skill – Lesser Strength obtained!]

[Skill – Immortal Moment learned.]

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.32 R

Ow.

Fuck.

Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ouch. Ow.

It hurts worse than that. It hurts…more than anything I’ve ever felt. Like someone’s tearing off my leg, like I want to remove it myself or scream. The cute words—they’re there so I don’t scream. I didn’t know it could hurt so much.

I’ve broken bones—this—this is worse.

This is why painkillers were invented.

Damn it. Stop moving. Every time I shift, every time I breathe, it gets worse. I—I try to raise the shaking book with my hands.

Flip the page. I fumble with it, but I’m sweating, sweating and I can ask for a refill to my tankard.

I don’t want to refill it. I don’t want to contemplate using the bathroom. I can’t—can’t bear to move. If I was in my room, I’d pee in a container. Normally, I’d rather die than—

The pain. Nothing else in this world matters, not dignity. It’s gone. My leg is—

It’s hot. Why can’t people invent air conditioning in this stupid world already? The common room of an inn is not the best place to read in peace. But it beats sitting in my room and listening to drunk people banging down the hall or having sex.

This is why I hate people. That one thought lingers in my mind. Hate and hate—and Persua—and—I’ll kill her.

I’ll never walk again.

Okay. Focus. That’s just—you don’t know that.

Ignore them. What does it say? The letters are swimming, so I have to read each word out through the agony. Focus on that instead of anything else.

‘…The incursion of the Antinium hives into the southern region of the continent led to the bloody year-long war known as the Antinium Wars, or more specifically, the First Antinium War, in which hundreds of thousands of Antinium soldiers established huge colonies across the western coast where it bordered the High Passes, razing cities and forcing Gnoll tribes to retreat into the lower plains regions.

Initially, the southern Drake cities and allied confederacies were slow to react to the Antinium sweeping through the plateaus and rugged mountainous regions of the continent, underestimating the dangers of an entrenched Antinium hive and the true numbers of the Antinium concealed beneath the earth. It was only after five cities were lost that—’

GYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! My foot! Someone yanks a chair into my foot, notices me, and walks off with a muttered apology. I nearly scream at them. If I had the ability, I would stab them to death.

Why, why, why did the stupid chair have to be right there? The pain!

Crap. Did I bust open the injury? Let me see.

It’s hard to scoot back from my table to peer underneath it, but I can see the heavy white gauze. It’s bloody, but no more than it was last time I checked. Wonderful.

And it still hurts. I’ve broken bones before, but it never felt anything like this. But considering this injury—

Yeah.

Fuck.

One of the barmaids is looking at me. I stare right back at her, and she turns away. I’m really not in the mood for attention. And thinking about the pain only makes me want to scream out loud. Half from the pain, half from searing rage. So. Back to the book.

Okay. Ignore the pain. What was that about Antinium? Are they still around? I flip through the pages.

Confederacy of states…hasty alliance…skip all that. Ah.

‘The tide of the war only changed after the discovery of the Antinium’s fatal weakness. Using their newfound tactics, the Southern Alliance used long-range mage spells to assault Antinium hives and deter attacking forces.

One of the Hives was destroyed entirely before a temporary truce was formed between the Antinium Queens and the leaders of the city states. This peace was tenuous however and lasted for only ten years when the Antinium attacked again, leading to the Second Antinium War…’

Weakness. They had a weakness? Must have missed that bit.

Let’s see. Where would that be? And why haven’t I seen these ant-people around? Well, they’re pariahs or outcasts to most societies, so I guess that’s why. But do they have any useful features or are they just bug-people?

Oh, here’s the weakness.

I pause with my finger on the passage as I hear a cheerful voice calling my name above the hubbub of the inn. Oh. Oh no. Not her again.

——

Ryoka Griffin was sitting in the middle of an inn. It was not an extraordinary inn—just one of the many inns located in the Human city of Celum.

She was reading and scowling. Because she was talented, she could do both at the same time. She was also sitting by herself, occasionally eating from a cold plate left in front of her.

“Hey there, Ryoka!”

A cheerful voice drowned out the ambient noise of conversation and drew every gaze. Ryoka looked up from her book and spotted the girl making her way towards her. Her expression didn’t change, but her eye twitched once.

“Hey, Ryoka, how are you doing?”

“I’m fine, Garia.”

Garia Strongheart slid into an empty chair at the table and smiled cheerfully at Ryoka. Her cheerfulness was not reciprocated. Ryoka just glanced up at Garia and went back to reading.

Undeterred, Garia flagged down a barmaid and requested one of the local drinks, a strong, semi-alcoholic beverage that was cool and flavorful at the same time. In Ryoka’s opinion, it was a shame that the flavor in question was beer.

“So, how are you doing? Is your leg feeling any better?”

Ryoka glanced up and glared.

“Guess.”

Garia’s smile faltered.

“Did you—did you go to see the [Healer] I told you about? She’s a good one. Works with us Runners all the time.”

“Couldn’t help. The bone’s too badly broken.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

Ryoka had a talent for shutting down conversations. Garia stared at her and tried to surreptitiously glance at her bandaged leg. She winced and covered her wince by changing the subject.

“Is that a book?”

Ryoka glanced up from her book. She eyed Garia. Her tone was beyond brusque and was past unfriendly. More into the point where a single word was akin to someone slamming a door into your face.

“…Yes.”

Yet Garia persisted. She smiled hugely, and Ryoka Griffin didn’t seem to notice how Garia peeked at the red bandages and the…

…leg…

Under the table. Garia’s smile blanched and grew wider. Determinedly. She tried to keep her voice upbeat, but Ryoka was close to snarling.

“What’s it about?”

“History.”

“You mean, world history like you were asking me about the other day? Sorry I didn’t know more.”

Ryoka shook her head. She was sweating and clenching her teeth.

“The history of the cities.”

“Oh. Is it, um, interesting?”

“Not really.”

It was fascinating. Ryoka was no history buff, but it was amazing what being transported to another world did for her interest in mundane things like economics and politics.

“I’m not a big reader. My dad and mother are, but I can only read when I go home. Books’re too expensive otherwise.”

“You can read?”

Garia blushed, but she nodded, a bit proudly.

“I was taught, and I know more than basic words. Fals can read too, and he owns a few books.”

Ryoka raised her eyebrows.

“Good for him.”

Again, Garia was forced to continue a mostly one-sided conversation.

“Where’d you get the book?”

“I bought it in the market. Didn’t cost much.”

“Really? I thought most books were several gold coins—at least.”

“Some sell for silver. Either way, it’s fine.”

Ryoka scowled as she chomped on another slice of ham. The lack of any library in this city meant she had to buy any books she wanted to read, and some were annoyingly expensive. But she wasn’t about to get into a discussion of economics with Garia and fuel the conversation.

The problem was, Garia was more than capable of finding topics of interest by herself. The other girl stared at the pile of books on the table.

“Are you going to read all of these, then?”

“I already read ‘em.”

“What, all of them?”

“Not like I have anything else to do.”

Ryoka deliberately turned a page.

——

I really wish she’d go away. Or do I? At least she’s keeping drunk guys from hitting on me.

I hate this. I hate her, I hate this inn, and I hate this entire world. If I could burn it down to the ground, I’d—

Probably not. At least, she’s not the one I hate. So maybe destroy all the world except for a few people.

But the pain. And boredom, let’s not forget. It’s a sad day when Garia’s daily visit is the most interesting thing that happens to me.

It’s been three days since my ‘accident’. Another few days and I might seriously snap. Like my leg—

Damn it all. If I could kill every damned Street Runner in the world, I would in an instant. Even if I had to stare into their eyes as I choked them to death. I will have vengeance, I swear it.

But until then, how the hell do I heal my leg? How, how, how? If it’s really beyond most normal magics—

Ask Garia? She might know of a better way, even if her first idea failed. Worth a shot, and I hope I have enough money for whatever I need. Crap, she’s been talking, and I have no idea what she said. Better wing it.

Huh. That’s a crowd coming in right now. Hope they don’t want to share the table. They look familiar, though.

Who’s that? Another Runn—

Her.

Kill her. Stab her. Break her bones. Don’t do it. Do it. Hurt her. Smash her stupid face in. Kill. Killkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkill—

——

Garia realized Ryoka hadn’t heard her question the third time she repeated it. The other young woman had frozen in place, staring at something over Garia’s shoulder. Garia turned, looked, and knew there was about to be trouble.

“You.”

Ryoka shoved her chair back and swung up onto her good leg. Good being—operative. Her face blanched, and Garia saw her skin go dead white, but Ryoka pressed past the pain.

Persua smirked at her. She was, as always, flanked by her friends. Toriska and Claudeil. Claudeil glanced at Ryoka’s legs and then away, but Toriska just glared at Garia. Persua? She laughed at Ryoka in delight and then pretended to be surprised.

“Oh, Ryoka? I didn’t see you there. Fancy meeting you in this inn. How are you doing?”

It was hard getting her other leg out from under the table. But when she did, Ryoka stood up on her good leg and lunged for Persua faster than anyone would have guessed. She never made it, though.

Garia grabbed Ryoka by the shoulder and gently pulled her back. Despite Ryoka’s attempts to shake her off, she refused to let go and dragged Ryoka back from the smirking Persua and her gaggle of Street Runners. Toriska produced her knife, and Persua danced behind Claudeil.

“Ah! You’re rabid, Ryoka! Did you see that? She attacked me for no reason!”

“Ryoka, stop.”

Garia was pulling Ryoka back, and she was strong, but Ryoka was straining with all her might to get at Persua, fists raised. The other Runners wanted it; Claudeil had his own fists raised, and he was eying Ryoka’s immobilized leg. Persua whispered in his ear, and Garia pulled Ryoka back. The young woman snarled at her.

“Let go, Garia.”

“No, calm down, Ryoka. If you start a fight, you’ll be the one in trouble.”

The expression on Ryoka’s face suggested she was fine with that, but Garia could count. There were at least eight Street Runners behind Persua plus her two friends, and they looked ready to cause trouble. One-handed, she pulled Ryoka back and made her sit back down.

That should have been hard to do, even to an injured Ryoka, but Garia was stronger than she looked. And she looked like a farm girl capable of lifting bales of hay with one hand.

As she pinned Ryoka to her chair, Garia moved so she was between her friend and Persua. She sat down—and gripped the underside of the table so hard her hands went white.

“Why don’t we all settle down? Persua, you and your friends can go have a drink somewhere else, okay?”

It was a surprise for Garia to say anything to Persua. Toriska’s eyebrows rose.

“I don’t recall telling you to say anything, Garia. Look at her, Persua.”

Persua gave Garia a mocking glance. Then she spread her hands innocently and ratcheted up her pitch another octave in innocent protest.

“I don’t understand what you mean, Garia. I’m just saying hi to Ryoka, who’s had a little accident. Can’t you understand that? Or are things going too fast for you to keep up with?”

Now it was Garia’s turn to flush, but she didn’t rise to the bait.

“You’ve had your fun, but I think you should leave, Persua.”

Persua gave Garia and Ryoka a sickly sweet fake smile.

“But as a fellow City Runner, I want to let Ryoka know how terribly sorry I am that she got in the way of that runaway cart. If only she’d listened to her fellow runners. We were all trying to warn her, you know. But that’s Ryoka for you. She just doesn’t listen now, does she?”

Garia could feel Ryoka’s shoulder trembling under her hand. It was getting harder to hold her down, and that was before Persua ‘accidentally’ mentioned how horrible it had been that no one was able to help Ryoka until she dragged herself to the nearest guardhouse for help. Her other hand gripped the table as the [Innkeeper] glanced up—Claudeil was eying Ryoka’s legs.

Ryoka was staring at a knife on her plate. It was quite sharp—but Toriska was glancing at the other Street Runners sidling around the table, and her foot was dancing. Ready to give a little kick—

She started forwards, and a sound made her freeze and jump back.

Crack.

Everyone looked down. Garia blinked—and a part of the stout wooden table she was holding came away in one hand. Even Ryoka blinked down. The wood was half a foot thick…Claudeil hesitated, and Toriska skipped back a step.

Garia’s fist was clenched, and she was breathing hard. She was, in fact—angry.

As angry as Fals had been. But Fals wasn’t here, and it was just slowpoke Garia, the [Farmer]’s girl. The one who…lifted huge packs of ore and ran for miles.

The other Street Runners hesitated, but there were eleven, counting Persua, Toriska, and Claudeil. Ryoka’s leg was broken.

Persua stared at the table, then her features twisted into a snarl, and she nudged Toriska. The other City Runner skipped forwards as Garia tensed, and Ryoka’s hand closed around the knife—

But then the door opened again, and a hush fell over the room. Where the Street Runners had entered into the noise and chaos of the inn, the next group that entered brought silence with them.

Casual inn-goers of the variety of merchants, farmers, shopkeepers, and so on scrambled out of the way as a huge figure strode into the room. [Tavern Toughs] looked up—and sat back.

A seven-foot figure loomed over their tables. When he took a step, the liquid in a cheap cup moved. With his horns, he was even taller, and he was already larger than every other man in the room—before his plate armor. And if that was not already enough, the Minotaur had a huge steel battleaxe strapped onto his back.

He was followed by seven other figures, each one armed far beyond regular citizens. They carried swords, a longbow, a staff with a glittering crystal top—the only thing that didn’t make the [Innkeeper] scream for the Watch was the fact that they were clearly adventurers. Instead, he brought out a huge keg of ale with a big smile and told the [Cook] to put on a roast.

Adventurers meant money.

The Horns of Hammerad looked around and spotted Ryoka and Garia on the other side of the inn. Their leader immediately made a beeline for the two, walking in an open space of his own. No one wanted to get in the way of the Minotaur’s path.

His face was like a bull’s, furred but humanoid enough to show his surprise, gratification—then mounting displeasure. His horns, similarly, rose high above his head and had twin caps of gold, stylized with a hammer and two gates open over waves. If you could see the miniature engravings, they read ‘Hammerad, Beriad, House of Minos.’

He was focused on Ryoka Griffin. Persua was still mocking Ryoka and Garia, oblivious to the newcomers in the inn. The Street Runners behind her were nervously eying the approaching adventurers, but they didn’t move from their spot.

“Going to take a swing, Ryoka? Go ahead. Toriska—Toriska.”

Persua hissed at her frozen friend, then she realized she was standing in shadow. She turned—and screamed.

“Monster!”

Calruz stared down at her as Claudeil and Toriska backed away from the giant. Minotaurs were a rare sight, and most of them had never seen one before. Calruz glanced at Persua, then jerked a thumb.

“You. Runners. Your presence is clearly not wanted or needed. Leave.”

The Street Runners exchanged one glance and then shifted out of the way. Calruz snorted in contempt and brushed by them.

Persua made a disgusted face and pinched at her nose as he passed by. But when one of the female mages glared at her, she shrank back as well. Garia saw a woman with strange, exotic features—pointed ears—and realized she was staring at a half-Elf!

There was an unspoken difference in power between the Runners and the Adventurers. The Street Runners stared at Persua, but she took one look at the Horns of Hammerad and backed away.

“Strange friends you have, Ryoka.”

She called out as she backed away. Persua stepped back—and tripped as the half-Elf accidentally locked feet with hers. Claudeil caught her, and Persua turned white.

“You—”

“Leave it, Persua. They’re Silver-ranks. Come on.”

Without a word, Persua hurried away. One of the men right behind Calruz, with a mustache, gave the sniggering half-Elf an exasperated glare, but the others looked either approving or didn’t care. And then?

They sat down. Suddenly, half a dozen adventurers were at Ryoka’s table, carefully avoiding her feet, gathering around. They were all wearing armor or robes of high-quality cloth. The warriors standing behind Calruz wore shining chainmail, and the mages carried glowing staves and a wand that gave off ethereal fiery sparks.

That last bit was especially concerning to the innkeeper, who nervously eyed the wand, but he didn’t make any vocal objections. The tall, mustached Human warrior standing next to Calruz nodded at Ryoka and gave her a friendly smile.

“Ryoka Griffin? We’re part of the adventuring party the Horns of Hammerad. You bailed us out of a tough situation last week. Do you mind if we sit?”

Ryoka stared up at the adventuring party. She didn’t appear overly impressed. But then, her face was still sweating with pain.

“Looks like you already are. Glad you made it. What—what do you want? Sit down already; you’re blocking my light.”

The vice-captain blinked. He looked uncertain, but the Minotaur laughed.

“Hah! Spirited! It is good to see that in a Human at last!”

He stuck out a massive, gauntleted hand.

“I am Calruz of the Beriad. We have met before. I lead the Horns of Hammerad, an adventuring party in these parts. I am in your debt, Ryoka Griffin.”

Ryoka blinked in the face of this direct approach. She paused and then reluctantly nodded, shaking Calruz’s hand. She tried to smile—but her leg shifted, and her lips turned into a scowl of pain and suppressed agony.

“Fine. Go ahead.”

Immediately, the Horns of Hammerad pulled up chairs and another table to sit next to Ryoka and Garia. Calruz had to sit perched in his chair, which creaked ominously beneath him, but seemed happy enough.

Once all the adventurers were seated, a barmaid approached, and they ordered drinks and food. Ryoka wasn’t hungry and she had leftovers of her last meal, and Garia, awestruck by the company, was too shy to eat.

In between the barmaids bustling around and delivering drinks and food, the vice-captain leaned forwards and addressed Ryoka.

“We owe you a debt of gratitude for that delivery you did for us a week ago. Without it, we’d all have been killed by that damned Lich. Thanks to you, though, we managed to kill it and recover a lot of magical artifacts. Ceria’s got a new set of mage robes she owes all to you.”

One of the female mages nodded and gestured at her clothing. She was wearing a dark blue set of robes embroidered with glowing golden sigils around the hem and edges of the rich cloth.

“I bought this with a bunch of the gold we got. The Lich was mostly carrying magical reagents in a bag of holding, by the by. If it was artifacts, we’d have fought over a staff. Unfortunately, it was just rare alchemical ingredients. Some [Alchemist] in Pallass snapped it up, so I got some fancy robes I’d been eying. And they’re pristine, so watch the drink, Calruz.”

It seemed foolish to bring such expensive clothing into an inn, but Ryoka noticed that when Calruz accidentally splattered the dress while reaching for a tankard, the liquid simply ran down the cloth and onto the ground. She was immediately impressed and wondered how much the magical cloth cost.

Garia looked around the table, wide-eyed.

“I just heard that Ryoka was doing a delivery to the Ruins. Was it that helpful?”

One of the warriors snorted.

“Delivery? Hah! She charged right past the Lich that had us pinned down and dropped the potions off right in the center of the battlefield! He was casting fireballs and lightning around her, but she even drew his fire as she left—gave us a chance to regroup!”

Ryoka shifted uncomfortably as Garia gaped at her. The problem with being in an inn was that other people were listening. Already, she could tell patrons at the other tables were listening in on their conversation. She shrugged.

“Just doing my job.”

“Your job? No other Runner would have pulled off a feat like that. You saved our lives. I thought we were responsible for you getting hurt at first—but it took us a while to track you down.”

She was having a hard time meeting the earnest vice-captain’s eyes. Ryoka shrugged and picked at her ham as he continued.

“Without the potions, the best we could have hoped for would be a retreat where we didn’t lose too many of our party. In the worst-case scenario, we’d have lost over half of our group, and that’s if the Lich didn’t follow us.”

Calruz nodded.

“Instead, we managed to break that damn skeleton’s head in. The treasure we recovered more than made up for the expedition. And while the rest of our group is still healing from the battle, we’re here to repay the debt we owe.”

Ryoka raised her eyebrows. Minotaurs. Honor? They didn’t seem to go together, but either Calruz was an exception or Minotaurs had quite a strong sense of right and wrong.

The vice-captain cleared his throat awkwardly.

“We expected to meet you again since we heard you were a popular Runner around here. But when we heard about your injury, we decided to drop by.”

Garia looked surprised. It was a long way from the Ruins of Albez to Celum for someone who wasn’t a Runner.

“You came all the way here just to do that?”

Calruz nodded impatiently.

“Of course. What does distance matter? But let us introduce ourselves properly. Ceria, introduce yourself.”

He poked the female mage at his side, and she jumped and glared at the Minotaur. The mage nodded to Ryoka and Garia. She was wearing a hood indoors, which was presumably bad manners, but as she removed it, they realized why and Ryoka got her first clear look at her.

Her ears were slightly pointed, and although she appeared Human, this mage seemed subtly different from her companions. Ryoka noticed her skin was—rather than being paler, appeared subtly more vibrant. It was as if her body were simply realer and more vivid than the rest of the world. It was a slight thing but grew more noticeable the longer Ryoka stared.

Her eyes tracked down to the young woman’s face. Again, her features were beautiful, but not simply aesthetically. They possessed another dimension she couldn’t explain that added to the exotic nature of the mage’s face. Ryoka saw that her eyes were pale yellow but made no comment.

The mage stuck out one hand, and Ryoka took it. She wasn’t an Elf. But she wasn’t Human either.

Half-Elf. Her eyes lit up, and she smiled after elbowing Calruz hard.

“Ceria Springwalker. Village of the Spring, from Terandria. A long way from home, and technically, a student of Wistram. Ice-magic specialist and the only common sense in this crazy group.”

“…Ryoka Griffin. City Runner, I guess.”

“I’m Garia Strongheart. From around Celum. Pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

The rest of the company introduced themselves, but Ryoka was still thinking about Ceria. She shook hands mechanically, impassively nodding as the vice-captain expressed his admiration of how she’d saved them. She’d already forgotten his name.

“Enough of this.”

Calruz snapped impatiently as soon as the introductions were done. He pointed down towards Ryoka’s leg as it stuck out awkwardly.

“We didn’t come here to chat. We’re honor-bound to repay our debt, which is why we’re here. And you’re injured. How’d that happen?”

“Got run over by a cart.”

“What?”

The adventurers looked at Ryoka in frank disbelief.

“Getting run over by a cart I’d believe of normal people, but a Runner? I thought you lot were fast on your feet.”

Ryoka shrugged unhelpfully and stared at her plate. Uncertainly, Garia cleared her throat.

“It wasn’t—exactly an accident.”

She turned red as the Horns of Hammerad focused their attention on her. Calruz tapped a finger on the table.

“Explain, please.”

“Well, I don’t know how to say it, but Ryoka sort of broke an unspoken rule in the Runner’s Guild. She did this delivery and made a lot of folks mad—”

“—And they decided to run her over with a cart?”

The vice-captain stared incredulously at Garia.

“Are you serious?”

She felt their stares, like she was mad, and Garia desperately took a longer drink of water.

“It was a wagon, not a cart. Lot heavier. And I didn’t know anything about it! Fals would have stopped it—most of us didn’t know anything until it happened. I found Ryoka at the [Healer]’s…the rest of the Runner’s Guild was horrified. This was the work of Persua’s friends. Not that anyone can prove it. They say it was just an accident and Ryoka tripped.”

Garia jumped as the mug in Calruz’s hand cracked and shattered in his grip. He angrily shoved the glass pieces aside and gritted his teeth.

“What a pathetic, cowardly lot. I’d challenge them all to an honor duel in a moment if I had cause. Didn’t you call for the Watch, at least? That’s how you do it in Izril—what about truth spells?”

Garia just shook her head.

“Persua says it was an accident. She says the Guildmaster investigated it and that’s that.”

That had been part of why Fals and everyone else weren’t doing anything. Ryoka was white with fury.

“She lied.”

“But they were truth spells, Ryoka. We…”

The half-Elf, Ceria, interrupted calmly. She leaned forwards and tapped on the table for Garia’s attention.

“Did you see them administer the truth spells?”

Garia shook her head.

“No—could you fake them?”

“I could. With enough help. Sounds like this is politics. Bad politics and a shady Guildmaster.”

“That’s a scurrilous accusation, Ceria. Don’t go throwing that around.”

The vice-captain looked nervous, and Calruz’s face darkened, but Ceria just raised her hands.

“It’s just a theory. But who’re you going to believe? The City Runner who saved our life with a mysterious broken leg or…well, don’t pull out your axe, Calruz. We don’t do honor duels here, and that lot would run to First Landing if you looked at them sideways. It sounds like there’s quite a lot of politics in the Runner’s Guild—and dangerous politics at that if this is what happens to people who disobey.”

The other adventurers murmured and grunted in disgust.

“Runners.”

“Money grubbing backstabbers.”

“Barely worth the coin we spend to hire them. And for the rates they charge, I could buy a new sword!”

The vice-captain just sighed.

“The Adventurer’s Guild has bad ones too, like former [Bandits]. Hunt, stop spitting on the floor. This Runner’s Guild must be riddled with bad Runners, though. We’ll remember that if we need help.”

Garia looked like she wanted to object to the insults, but she didn’t dare. Ryoka was interested.

“You don’t like Runners?”

One of the warriors shook his head. That one, Hunt, had a scar on his forehead and pursed his lips to spit again—but Calruz glowered at him, and he swallowed before speaking.

“You, we like. And your friend here doesn’t seem bad. But the rest of your lot are worthless pieces of waste as far as we’re concerned.”

“We’re not all bad.”

Garia protested weakly. The vice-captain and the mages shook their heads.

“You don’t understand, uh, Miss Garia was it? I’m sure you City Runners do a good job for civilians. But adventurers? Most Runners don’t do deliveries to battlefields, and some of the ones that do only deliver after the battle ends. We could be in serious trouble, but your people won’t approach until all the monsters are gone. And even then, we have to pay triple—sometimes five times as much just for deliveries to areas we’ve already cleared.”

Another woman nodded.

“Besides, Runners are only concerned about their pay, not anything else. They won’t stop to help even in emergencies unless we pay them. Even adventurers have more integrity than that.”

The Horns of Hammerad grumbled, but at least their ire wasn’t directed directly towards Garia and Ryoka. Ceria eyed the dispirited Garia and cleared her throat.

“That’s not to say all Runners are bad. I know a lot of you deliver goods quickly and for reasonable rates. It’s just that there are quite a few bad Runners in your Guilds, especially the ones that we have to deal with.”

She nodded at Ryoka.

“Case in point, your leg.”

Calruz snorted angrily as he grabbed another mug from a scared barmaid.

“This is intolerable. A good Runner shouldn’t be crippled. Ceria, Sostrom. Can’t you do something?”

Ceria eyed Ryoka’s leg as the other [Mage] with a long wisp of black hair he kept brushing out of his hair—it ran down to his chin—shook his head. She rolled her eyes.

“What are we, Level 50? Calruz, healing magic is the stuff of [Archmages]. No chance a [Mage] can…hm. Well, it’s not anything ice-magic has anything to do with, so I’m useless, and so is Sostrom.”

The wispy-haired [Mage] raised a hand and looked embarrassed.

“If Ceria says so, I agree. I’m self-taught, and she’s Wistram.”

He said it like it mattered, and the half-Elf blushed slightly and raised a hand as if to demure. Then she frowned, thinking, but Calruz turned away and grunted at the rest of the table.

“So? What about a healing potion? How good was that [Healer]? We have [Bone Healers] in the House of Minos well above the grade of local ones. Although even I can set a broken bone.”

The vice-captain rolled his eyes.

“Everything’s better in your home. Go swim to the House of Minos and bring one back, Calruz.”

Now, Ryoka was regretting not remembering his name, because the Minotaur turned red and glared back at his vice-captain. And the Minotaur, who was the size of the largest Humans to ever exist—got a steady glare in return, which had to take some backbone. Two faintly purple eyes glowered at him before everyone turned back to Ryoka. Garia had a question.

“Is it just a broken bone?”

Ryoka shook her head and grimaced.

“Bone’s shattered. Splinters are in the flesh.”

All the people sitting at the table—and in earshot of the conversation—winced. Ceria, however, just nodded to herself and put a finger to her lips.

“I thought so. If they were trying to hurt you, they had to injure you badly enough that you wouldn’t be able to recover so easily.”

“Why don’t healing potions work? They fix people with stab wounds up in seconds. Why not bones?”

Ceria shrugged.

“Healing potions just accelerate the body’s natural healing. But this is far too complicated for a potion to fix. Maybe a high-grade one…worth a few hundred or thousand gold pieces. But that’s out of anyone’s pay unless we were Gold-ranks or Miss Ryoka were a Courier. In situations like this, time or magic is the only solution. Either that or a high-level [Healer], and the cost is hundreds of gold too. Let alone getting to one.”

Deathly silence fell over the table. Calruz was grimacing darkly, and the vice-captain reluctantly shook his head at him.

“Too bad.”

Ryoka pushed her chair back and stood up. She paused and winced as her bad foot touched the ground, but then began limping towards the stairwell. Garia, distressed, called out.

“Where are you going, Ryoka?”

The other girl didn’t look around.

“Sleep. I’m tired.”

Instantly, the vice-captain stood up.

“In that case, allow me to help you up the stairs.”

Ryoka eyed the stairwell and looked back at him.

“I’ve got it.”

“I insist. Please, let me—”

“No.”

The vice-captain hesitated. He was looking from the steep stairwell to Ryoka’s splinted and bandaged leg. She set her jaw stubbornly.

“I don’t need help.”

“But—”

“Piss. Off.”

Ryoka brushed off his hands and began dragging herself up the stairs. She had a method for it; she walked backwards up the stairs so she didn’t have to move her bad leg more than necessary. It was awkward and cumbersome, but the look in her eyes dared anyone to give her a hand.

Crestfallen, the vice-captain returned to the table and sat down. The other warrior patted him on the back. Garia awkwardly apologized.

“Sorry. She’s just—unfriendly.”

“And in a lot of pain. It’s already forgiven.”

The man nodded understandingly, and both he and Garia smiled—until Calruz spoke up.

“I like her.”

Everyone looked at Calruz. The Minotaur was watching Ryoka with approval as she swung herself up the stairs.

“She reminds me of females of my kind. Fiery. The ones who would stab any male that offends. Much better than the simpering Human ones I keep meeting.”

He stood up. The vice-captain eyed him worriedly. Ceria leaned forwards and poked Calruz hard in the back.

“Simpering Human…? You mean our few fans? People who flirt with you? Name me one simpering adventurer. Don’t bother her, Calruz. What are you going to do, seduce her into bed and re-break that leg? She’s not a Minotauress either, and you have all the charm of a rock covered with moss.”

He snorted dismissively.

“Bah. All that’s needed is courage and spirit to win her over.”

He knocked his chair back and walked over to the stairwell. The vice-captain looked like he wanted to say something, but lost the initiative. Calruz called over his shoulder.

“Don’t wait for me. I’ll find you at the Guild later.”

The remaining adventurers watched Calruz ascending the stairs and muttered amongst themselves.

“Should we stop him?”

“If we do, it’ll be a fight. You know what happens when he loses his temper.”

“Another destroyed inn? We’ll lose all the money we just earned!”

The vice-captain’s eyes narrowed. He drained his mug and stood up.

“This is unacceptable. I’m going up there.”

Ceria grabbed him by the shoulder.

“Calm down, Gerial. He’s all about honor. He’ll just annoy her.”

He glared at her.

“You’re letting him go? Are you mad?”

She shook her head.

“Calruz isn’t an idiot. He knows the law. He’ll go if he isn’t wanted, but that’s not what I meant. Ryoka Griffin can take care of herself. Or don’t you remember why we’re here?”

He hesitated, but then everyone downstairs heard Calruz’s unmistakable bass rumble. From downstairs, Garia could hear Ryoka’s annoyed voice. She hadn’t known Ryoka long, but Garia knew her well enough to guess what she was saying.

Garia started biting at her nails as Calruz’s voice rose and he made what sounded like an attempted joke. Ryoka snapped something, but he kept talking.

Uncertainly, Garia stood up. None of the adventurers stopped her as she walked to the stairs and looked up. Both Human and Minotaur were standing outside her room, arguing. Well, Ryoka was arguing while Calruz was…flirting.

Which was a mistake, Garia knew. She heard Ryoka’s voice as she snapped at Calruz.

“Get out.”

He said something in reply, and she pushed at him. Since he was wearing armor and outweighed her by at least two hundred pounds, he didn’t move. Calruz captured Ryoka’s hand in his own. Garia saw Ryoka’s eyes narrow.

The patrons of the inn downstairs clearly heard the crack and the bellow of pain from Calruz. From her position by the stairs, Garia saw and heard Ryoka punch the Minotaur in the face and then saw the Calruz’s form overbalance on the top of the stairs. She watched in slow motion as the massive figure of the Minotaur reeled back from the blow. He grabbed at the wall, but the wood splintered as it broke under his weight.

If. If Calruz hadn’t insisted on wearing plate armor. If Ryoka hadn’t hit him quite as hard. If the inn was newer and wasn’t so old. But there were no ifs. Calruz toppled down the stairs in a terrific crash of metal on wood, splintering the stairwell and smashing the floorboards on the ground where he landed.

Everyone stared at the fallen Minotaur as he stared up at the ceiling. Half of the inn’s patrons were already making for the doors, while the other half waited for the ensuing bloodbath.

At the top of the stairs, Ryoka raised her middle finger, flipped the prone Minotaur off, and then limped into her room. The door slammed behind her.

Calruz blinked up as the remaining pieces of the stairwell fell down around him and the innkeeper screamed in horror. He stared bemusedly up at Garia and the rest of his adventuring party. Then he grinned.

“Strong. I like her quite a lot.”

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.33 R

As soon as she slammed the door shut, Ryoka collapsed against her bed. Static seemed to crawl over her eyes, and roaring filled her ears.

Pain. It was coming back.

She would have lain there forever, but the pain made her move. There was only one relief.

Ryoka staggered over to a chest at the foot of her bed. She fumbled at it and realized it was locked. Key. Where was the damn key?

The static was everywhere, and the pain was getting worse. Ryoka had just finished opening the lock when she gagged and nearly threw up. It hurt.

Inside the chest was a roll of odd bandages and several green potions. Ryoka instantly grabbed one and popped the cork.

Sitting with her back against the bed, she stretched out her bad leg as far as she was able. The bandages were red with blood now, and the flesh was beginning to puff up. She’d pushed too far.

Gingerly, blacking out with pain, Ryoka poured the green liquid over her leg and tried not to scream. But the effects were instantaneous.

The pain—vanished. For an instant, a wonderful instant, all was well. Ryoka watched in blissful peace as the swelling around her leg faded, and below the bandages, the broken skin and torn flesh closed.

But it didn’t last. After only a few seconds, pain started to return to the area. Dreadful, biting agony.

The bones. The bits of shattered bones that couldn’t be properly healed. They cut into her flesh and stopped the healing. Her flesh regrew—then grew into the splinters, cut itself open again.

Ryoka stared down at her leg. It hurt, but far less now, as the flesh regrew. At least, for the moment. She had a few hours to half a day, depending on what she did to her leg, before her flesh would tear and—

The bandages were now completely bloody, but Ryoka didn’t dare change them. They were the only things keeping the rest of her leg on her body.

Magic. She sensed it in the cloth bindings. They’d been what—ten gold coins? More expensive than the healing potions, even. But they had magic in the stitching, or so the [Healer] had claimed. And she felt it. They were the only reason she could move about, let alone keep her leg…intact.

The magic in the bandages provided stability, structure, and stasis. She could actually move about on a leg where she couldn’t feel anything below her knee due to the bindings holding her leg in place. And so long as she applied a healing potion every few hours, she could keep the damage from her leg at bay.

But eventually, the magic always wore off. And then the swelling would begin, and if it kept on too long, the leg would start to rot.

Magic bandages and healing potions. Ryoka thumped her head back against the footrest of her bed. They could barely keep her injuries in check, but not heal them. What they were really doing was buying time. Time, until she could find a way to heal herself—

Or lose the leg.

She couldn’t feel it anymore. Rather, it was the broken stump just below her kneecap that screamed agony at her each time she agitated it. But her foot and lower leg?

Nothing.

The [Healer] had told her it was still attached, still living flesh so long as she kept healing it with a potion, but it wasn’t about to start healing on its own. It was too badly damaged.

Maybe if there were a surgeon, one from her world, they could have realigned the bones and connected them with metal rods. If she’d been in a hospital, she would have had a chance. But here?

Ryoka put her face in her hands. Garia kept suggesting better [Healers] or treated her injuries as something that would heal given time. But Ryoka didn’t have any time left.

She didn’t have any gold left. She had spent it all—ten gold coins for bandages, healing potions—all the money she’d been earning as a Runner?

Now she wished she’d taken the gold coin from Magnolia. But even if she had—Ryoka Griffin stared blankly at the memory of the encouraging Horns of Hammerad. She felt guiltier now about punching Calruz, but a helpless fury rose in her chest. They didn’t understand. It wasn’t their fault—but she wanted to scream at them. Instead, it came out in a whisper.

“What do you think splintered bone means?”

Garia didn’t get it. But then she hadn’t seen Ryoka’s leg in the moments afterwards. She hadn’t seen how it wasn’t attached, wasn’t solid anymore. The adventurers understood.

Crushed bone. Splintered bone. Not a break or a fracture. It wasn’t like joining two pieces back together. Ryoka’s right leg was a mass of bone splinters without a chance of reattaching on their own.

Medically, the answer was simple. Until the modern era, there would have been no chance any other way. And even then—her legs wouldn’t have ever been the same. Ryoka knew what had to be done. They’d told her as she sat in shock as the [Healer] poured potions on her leg and tried to save her flesh.

Amputation. Either that or find a [Healer] hundreds of miles north with the ability to save her leg.

For a while, she’d hoped it was just her imagination. She’d bought the bandages from the [Healer], scraped together all the money she’d earned so far to buy enough healing potions to last until now, and prayed that her leg would start to heal. But each day passed with blood and pain and no relief.

No one could help her. Ryoka knew that. Garia cared, and even the Horns of Hammerad had stopped by. But what could they do? A hundred—no, hundreds of gold coins. Why make them worry? Why waste energy reassuring them with useless words?

So Ryoka pretended not to worry and did everything herself. Because of pride. Because she didn’t want to appear weak—because that in itself was weakness.

Because there was nothing anyone could do to help her.

Ryoka rested her head against her arm. Pain. Cut it away. They said it would be quick. No. But it was the only choice. She had—three healing potions left. Enough for a day or two. And then she’d be out of money and out of time. Unless she could pay. But she had no money.

Well, she knew someone who had thousands, tens of thousands of gold coins, didn’t she? Of course. And it could be done. There was still a chance.

But the cost—

Ah, the cost.

Ryoka closed her eyes. She tried not to let any tears seep out. Her legs. That was the cost. And she still wasn’t sure if it was worth her leg. She’d thought about it long and hard. And she still wasn’t sure. But she wanted to know the cost. And to do that, she had to bargain.

So what Ryoka was really doing, what she was really thinking as she sat in the wet puddle of the healing potion and blood was nothing. Nothing. She could worry or fret, and she was afraid and in pain, but there was nothing she could really do. All she was doing, in truth, behind everything, was waiting.

Waiting, unable to do more than suffer. Clinging to hope that—what? Someone would produce a magical potion, a real one, and fix everything? Hope that the [Healer] found her and said they had some kind of idea?

Wait until her potions ran out and she had to face a world where she’d never walk again? All because of Persua. All because of a stupid delivery.

Ryoka buried her face in her pillow. It wasn’t fair. It was never fair, she knew, but this?

Why me? Why like this?

It wasn’t fair.

——

It was evening by the time Garia managed to excuse herself from the inn and make her way back to the Runner’s Guild. By that point, she’d already imbibed quite a lot of liquid, most of it alcoholic.

Garia had an extremely high tolerance for alcohol, so she only stumbled every now and then as she jogged towards the Runner’s Guild. She wasn’t intending on making a delivery, of course; that would be dangerous in the fading light even without being drunk, but she wanted to pick up her payment for the week. She was running low on money after insisting she pay for her meal.

She’d left the rest of the Horns of Hammerad in the semi-destroyed inn, still drinking and talking about how they could help Ryoka. It was strange. Garia had only heard of the Horns as one of the up-and-coming adventurer teams, but she hadn’t really believed the rumors about them being honor-bound like their leader.

Well, everyone knew that Minotaurs were supposed to be honorable, but that was hard to believe when you saw one up close. A Minotaur’s word was as good as a [Knight]’s supposedly, but how did you square that with their cow heads and fierce tempers? But Calruz hadn’t been overly violent—he’d even paid for all the damage he’d caused.

It was strange. The number of non-Humans Garia had seen, let alone met, she could probably count on both her hands. This far north, you didn’t see any of the other races, not even Drakes or Gnolls. But Calruz had seemed so—so—Human.

And he liked Ryoka. And that was something Garia wasn’t going to think about. Instead, she was going to open the door to the Runner’s Guild without falling on her face and walk inside.

Most of the Runners glanced up and then away, ignoring Garia as she entered. She wasn’t particularly powerful within the Runner’s Guild, but she was liked well enough that no one bothered her. That was what Garia preferred. Being unnoticed was safest.

Garia noticed a commotion occurring around the receptionist’s counter, which made her heart sink. The unnoticed part of her reputation also meant she wouldn’t be helped until they sorted out what was going on. Glumly, Garia went to sit down at one of the tables when she heard someone calling her name.

“Garia! How’s my favorite City Runner?”

Garia’s heart skipped a beat and then started going into overdrive as she recognized the voice. Fals. She turned around and gave him what she hoped was an annoyed look.

“I bet you say that to every Runner, Fals.”

“Only the ones I like.”

Fals walked over and smiled at Garia. He was handsome and tall, and Garia could see several female Runners glaring at her as he approached. She tried not to smile back too quickly.

“Are you finished with your deliveries for the day?”

“Yup. Nothing too special; I did a few trips to Lindol and back, but that’s it. How about you? Taking a late-night request?”

Garia shook her head.

“I’m just collecting payment. What’s with all the panic, though?”

She pointed to the group of Runners and staff of the Runner’s Guild who were standing around in a cluster at the counter, arguing and looking panicked. Fals made a face.

“You won’t believe this, but for the last few days, Lady Magnolia’s been asking for a delivery. Trouble is, she only wants one Runner to do it. Guess who?”

Garia didn’t even need to think.

“Ryoka. Oh. And what did the Guild tell her?”

“Oh, I don’t know the details…”

Fals waved a hand self-deprecatingly, but that was just an act. Garia had no doubt he knew exactly what had been said and probably had a part in shaping the message. He was one of the most influential Runners in the entire region around Celum, and the local Guildmasters listened to him.

That might not mean much further north with big cities like Invrisil, but it mattered here. She just wished—he could help Ryoka, but no one could, no [Healer] in any of the cities she’d visited.

“The Guild told her Ryoka was indisposed. We kept offering replacement Runners, but Magnolia kept insisting that she only wanted Ryoka. And now…well, it sounds like she came in person and demanded some answers just a few minutes ago. I was going to see what happened myself. Want to listen?”

Garia hesitated. It probably wasn’t wise to put herself in the spotlight—but then again, Fals was the one in charge. So she nodded and followed him across the room.

Fals whistled as he passed the board full of delivery requests. He stopped and pointed to one unmarked request Garia recognized.

“Wow. Look at that unmarked request. Whoever’s posted it is offering twenty gold coins for a delivery. No, wait, twenty gold to take the delivery. ‘More upon negotiation’? Sounds like a trap. Or a scam, but who’d fall for that?”

Garia peered at it.

“It’s the same one I saw a week ago. I told Ryoka only a Courier would take that. Was I wrong? I thought maybe you might…”

Fals shook his head instantly.

“Are you kidding? I still want to live. Didn’t you see the location? The High Passes. That’s a death trap for anyone. I might have some levels on you, but you’re right—it’s Couriers or a stupid City Runner.”

“It’s not possible at all? Even for you?”

Her admiring look was returned by Fals’ mock-glare.

“Even for me. For any Runner who takes it. I hope no one’s stupid enough to head out there, but with that reward—I think we might lose a few. I’ve been telling all the hotheads not to try it, and they seem to be listening for now.”

“Think a Courier will come by?”

That made him pause. The request really was an odd mix of appealing to low-level Runners and…

“Dunno. Maybe a Courier will do it if the reward keeps rising. But it’s sort of…cheap for them to risk getting hurt. It’s more likely the one who posted it will give up after a month or two.”

He shrugged.

“But frankly, even if they doubled the reward, no sane Runner would risk a delivery like that. Profit’s important, but our lives are worth way more.”

Garia remembered something one of the adventurers had said. She frowned.

“Fals? I know you’re one of our best Runners, but why aren’t there any older Runners than you? You’re only twenty-two—”

“Twenty-three. I’m getting old, Garia. Please don’t rub it in.”

She blushed and tried not to stammer.

“—Twenty-three, then. But why aren’t there any other Runners? I know a lot of us die or get hurt, but surely there should be some more, right?”

Fals considered her question. He sighed and raked his hand through his blonde locks.

“We don’t have many experienced Runners because no one who does this job lives very long. We’re the only people crazy enough to deliver. Most folks change classes after they earn enough.”

“I heard people say Runners only care about money.”

Fals eyed her sternly.

“What kind of people have you been talking to, Garia?”

He didn’t wait for her response.

“Never mind. Okay, sure, a lot of Runners are interested in the bottom line. But isn’t that normal? Adventurers, shopkeepers, merchants…even nobles care about money. Why shouldn’t we charge what we do and prioritize the best deliveries? We work a tough job! And we risk our lives every day, running from monsters, dealing with bad weather, natural disasters…it’s enough to make most folk quit within their first week.”

He thumped at his chest.

“But we—we’re Runners. We don’t quit! Everyone who makes it past a year is a real Runner, Garia. We’re the people who keep the cities—no, the entire world connected. Without us, nothing would get done on time. So if people call us money-grubbers, well, let them. We’ve got our own honor, and we deserve every coin we get, am I right?”

His words lit a spark in Garia’s heart and within the other Runners in earshot. She nodded enthusiastically as other Runners called out to Fals.

“That’s our lead Runner!”

“No wonder you’re the best in the region!”

Persua appeared out of nowhere and purred at Fals. Garia jumped as the skinny girl smiled and fussed over him with her gaggle of Street Runners, edging Garia away. Someone elbowed her—hard. Toriska, paying Garia back for speaking up earlier. The [Farmer]’s daughter retreated as Fals was surrounded. He never noticed the jab as he smiled with a bit of reserve.

“No wonder they call you Fleetfoot Fals!”

He grinned and shook his head.

“That’s an old nickname, guys. And anyways, Ryoka’s faster. I wonder if she’s got some sort of Skill?”

Persua’s face soured. Garia scratched at her head.

“Now that you mention it…she’s never mentioned what level she is. She must be high-level, though.”

“Well, she may be quick, but she’s not running now, is she? Besides, she’s so unpleasant. Who’d want a Runner who never smiles like her?”

Garia winced as Persua glared at her from behind Fals. For his part, Fals made a face and took a deliberate step next to Garia, preventing her from being shunted further away.

“Right. About that. I know Ryoka broke a few rules recently, but she is a good runner. And we need all the Runners we can get. I hope the [Healer] can sort her out, I really do.”

He smiled at Persua, and the younger girl sighed and turned red as he met her eyes.

“So…Persua. I don’t want you or your friends to bother Ryoka again, okay?”

She sulked and pouted, but then gave Fals a sickly smile. He returned it with a slight wince that she didn’t appear to notice.

“Anything for you, Fals. Not that we did anything to Ryoka in the first place or anything. She just happened to have an…accident.”

“Well, let’s not have any more of those, are we clear? We’re all on the same team, right?”

Fals raised his voice a bit, lightly, and he met Persua’s gaze, and Claudeil and Toriska nodded along. Yet Garia saw Fals’ eyes fix on Persua—then glance away.

The other Runners nodded and voiced their agreement. Fals went around the room shaking hands and slapping Runners on the back. He eventually managed to get Persua to clear off by hinting that she and her cronies smelled sweaty, and finally, he and Garia were left alone again. He sighed but smiled at Garia.

He had to know she’d done it. And how badly Ryoka was hurt. And that was all…? He glanced at Garia and shook his head slightly as he came over.

“See what I mean, though? We can’t be divided. Us Runners have to work together.”

Garia glared at Fals. She whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

“You know she was behind it. Everyone does. She probably lied on the truth stones!”

He looked uncomfortable. Fals kicked at the ground with his expensive leather shoes and sighed. He combed his hair with one hand as he addressed Garia.

“Ryoka broke a rule. They shouldn’t have gone that far, but I did warn her. We’ve got to work together, Garia. Even if one of us is faster, it’s better to share the wealth rather than compete. You’re new, but you understood that. Ryoka didn’t and now—well, now we’ve got trouble with Lady Magnolia and we’re down a City Runner. Besides—Persua did what she did. I don’t want you being her next target.”

Or him? Then Garia realized how Fals always gave Persua the time of day might not be because he liked everyone. Was he—

Afraid of her? Fals watched Persua carefully as she sniffed at an armpit and shoved Claudeil, who offered her a vial of scented oil. She waved back with a huge smile. Fals returned it before giving Garia a serious look for a moment.

He was. Because maybe he feared she’d break his leg too. This didn’t sit well with Garia. She grimaced and stared hard at Fals. But when he met her gaze with a rueful smile and shrug, she colored and looked away. She muttered at the ground.

“I still don’t like it. Persua’s crazy. Ryoka won’t be able to run for at least a year! Even with potions to help her heal! Have you seen her leg?”

Fals hesitated.

“I heard it was just a bad break that the [Healers] can’t fix right away. Is it worse than that?”

Garia looked miserable as she shook her head.

“I don’t know. I’m no expert, and she’s got it wrapped in layers of bandages. They look magical though, and—and I met a mage who said that the only way she’d get it healed was to pay hundreds of gold coins to a high-level [Healer].”

He hissed through his teeth.

“That’s—no! I can’t believe it! They told me they wouldn’t—”

Garia interrupted Fals.

“You knew? You knew and—I can’t believe you, Fals!”

Garia’s voice rose incredulously. She advanced on Fals, making fists with her hands. He raised his hands defensively as he backed away towards the counter.

“I had no choice! Look, you know what Persua and her friends are like. I told them not to do anything drastic, but even if I’d stopped them, some other Runners would have organized something. You know the rules, Garia. Remember Perial when he broke them?”

Garia remembered Perial. She didn’t remember what he’d done wrong, but she remembered that a bunch of Runners had dropped rusty nails in his path and forced him to run through them.

Fals closed his eyes tightly and then opened them. He looked tired.

“Okay. That changes things. Look, Garia. I’ll—I’ll talk to the Guildmaster after I see it in person. Persua’s gone too far, even if Ryoka broke the rules.”

“That still won’t fix her leg.”

“No, but it’s all I can do. Okay? And I don’t know that any injury would really cost a hundred gold coins for a spell, Garia. I’ll see Ryoka myself, but even if her bones are broken beyond a healing potion’s ability to repair, how bad could it really be?”

“It’s bad.”

“We’ll see. I know a few good [Healers] and even a [Mage] that owes me a favor. If Ryoka’s really hurt that bad, I’ll call in a few favors and get the Guild to help out. She’ll be on her feet by the end of the month, I promise. But can we see what the commotion is?”

Garia nodded. She felt a lot more upbeat with Fals’ promise. He always kept his word. She followed him to the counter as the Runners parted for him. Fals addressed a harried-looking receptionist at the counter.

“What’s going on? Is there more trouble with Magnolia?”

“Trouble? Oh, there’s been trouble alright.”

The receptionist laughed somewhat hysterically. She was Stenei, the [Receptionist] who’d often talked to Ryoka—and it seemed like she’d been called in just to speak to Lady Reinhart. Judging by her expression, that had not been pleasant.

“Lady Magnolia was here just half an hour ago. She came in person to complain to the Guildmaster, but he was out! She wanted to know where Ryoka was, and when she heard she was injured, she was not happy. She even suggested that she might stop ordering through our Guild altogether!”

Garia and Fals stared in horror at the receptionist. Lady Magnolia was one of the Guild’s biggest patrons. Besides that, she was important. Even on the other end of the continent, there were people who would know her name.

“Did she want anything else?”

“She wanted to know where Ryoka was right now. Fortunately, we at least knew her address, so she was somewhat satisfied, but what will we do? If she stops ordering—”

Garia interrupted urgently.

“Wait, she wanted to know where Ryoka was?”

The receptionist blinked at her. Normally, Garia would have been brushed off in an instant, but Fals was with her.

“Yes, she wanted to know.”

“And you told her?”

The receptionist grew defensive at Garia’s accusatory tone.

“What? It’s in the guild’s best interest to keep her happy. If she wants to know where one of our Runners is, we’ll tell her.”

“But she wanted Ryoka! And if she knows where she is, she’ll go and meet her!”

Fals groaned and pulled at his hair. He looked around frantically, but Magnolia was already long gone.

“Have you even met Ryoka? Remember what happened when she met the Guildmaster? She doesn’t respect anyone! If Magnolia shows up, she’ll probably throw her out of her room! Or—or—”

“Punch her.”

Fals turned to Garia.

“No. She wouldn’t do that. No one’s crazy enough to punch—she wouldn’t.”

Garia looked nervous.

“She punched a Minotaur when he tried to invite himself into her room this morning.”

The receptionist and Fals both paled.

“We’ve got to stop her. Or stop Ryoka.”

“Follow me!”

Garia turned and raced out of the Guild, Fals hot on her heels. She wasn’t one for wishes, but Garia hoped that Ryoka would be civil or at least acceptable before they got there. She didn’t have much hope, though.

She knew Ryoka.

——

Lady Magnolia sat in the small, cramped bedroom of The Rat’s Tail, a moderately prosperous inn in the city of Celum. She clearly did not belong there. For one thing, her expensive, patterned, latticed, light pink dress with floral embroidery probably cost more than the inn itself.

But she sat on the rickety chair the innkeeper had personally delivered to Ryoka’s room, looking perfectly content while she chatted with its inhabitant. Behind her, Ressa the head maid stood in one corner of the room, glaring daggers at the poverty, the dirt under the windowsill, and Ryoka herself.

“My dear, I really was shocked to hear of your accident. Won’t you tell me what happened?”

“I got bored and played tag with a cart.”

“You are always full of unique answers, aren’t you, Ryoka? I can’t imagine how you can tell jokes in the face of such an injury.”

Not that Lady Magnolia had actually seen her injury, Ryoka reflected. She was lying on her bed, her bandages wrapped around her leg. Magnolia had walked in on her while she was resting, and Ryoka hadn’t yet unwrapped her protective cushion from her bad leg.

She didn’t know why she was spitting bile. The [Innkeeper] had practically bowed himself into a wall, and everyone was treating Magnolia like, well, a [Lady]. Ryoka felt like she should be grateful anyone cared enough to check on her.

But the agony in her leg made her want to curse everyone away. She tried to sit up, and Lady Magnolia raised a quick hand.

“Lie still, please, Miss Griffin. Ressa, how good are those potions?”

The [Maid] was checking Ryoka’s room. She put down a bottle and shook her head.

“Serviceable. But she’s not going to cure that with potions. The bones’re crushed.”

“Could you set them…?”

“Nope. This would require the best [Healer] the Guild has—or something better. It’s shattered bone in splinters. Whoever did this knew how to stop it from being repaired.”

Ryoka stared sickly at her legs, and the [Maid] actually gave her a sympathetic look. Magnolia Reinhart exhaled.

“Then it was deliberate.”

“Not according to the Guild. The [Guildmaster] himself personally told me what a tragic accident this was. Completely my fault.”

Ryoka had screamed insults at him and thrown everything she could find. She expected Magnolia to take this at face value, but the [Lady] smiled instead.

A cold smile. Ryoka blinked as she saw the green eyes focus on her—and then on Ryoka’s legs.

“Show me your leg, my dear? Ressa can unwrap the bandages just for a moment.”

“It’s…”

“Just for one moment, Miss Ryoka. As a matter of…justice.”

Ryoka stared at her. Then she pointed to the left one.

“Pull the bandages loose there—aah…”

Even unwrapping it a bit made Ryoka feel her flesh begin to part. Ressa was deft—she unwrapped the bandages fast, and Magnolia Reinhart looked down, and Ryoka stared at her legs—then turned her head.

The [Lady] didn’t quite vomit, but a [Maid] held out a bucket—Magnolia Reinhart swallowed calmly.

A leg should not look—flat. Even with the skin regrown, the bones, the very structure of the leg—

“Thank you, Ressa. And thank you, Miss Griffin. Do you need another potion?”

“A bit.”

Ressa poured some on her leg, and Ryoka sat back as it was bound up again. Magnolia Reinhart had not gone dead white, but her lips were pale. She was more composed than Ryoka expected anyone to be after seeing a gruesome injury like that. One of the maids in the inn had seen Ryoka’s leg and fainted.

“So that was the accident the Runner’s Guild informed me of. One leg, crushed by a wagon whose driver did not see you and had no time to stop. Which is fair. How, pray…were you lying down long enough for your leg to be run over?”

“According to the guild, I fell down.”

“That is what their report claimed. The same young woman who broke a local record running gelato to my door—fell with a wagon rolling towards her and never rolled out of the way? Just so I ask your side of the story, did that all happen too fast, Miss Griffin?”

Ryoka looked at Magnolia, and those eyes regarded her. Searching…and Ryoka spoke.

“No. I couldn’t get out of the way. Mostly because my feet were webbed down.”

“I see. And how did you fall to begin with?”

“Someone pushed or tripped me.”

Magnolia Reinhart nodded.

“That would be…Persua Mavva. Among others, yes?”

Ryoka Griffin blinked. Magnolia Reinhart waited, and the City Runner croaked.

“Y-yeah. But she’s been absolved. Investigated, I mean.”

“By Celum’s Guildmaster. No, I quite understand. The Guildmaster—when he arrived—assured me that he had looked into the accident. And it was an accident. And that he had truth stone readings. Ressa, how does Miss Griffin look?”

“Truthful.”

Ressa showed Magnolia the same glowing stone, and Magnolia studied the blue glow.

“Thank you. Well, Miss Ryoka, you are badly hurt. I will not waste your time. I wanted to check on you, and I am sorry that I did not hear of this sooner. I was preoccupied…”

“I didn’t expect you to remember me.”

“No?”

Magnolia raised one eyebrow. Ryoka laughed.

“I’m just a Runner who knows how to make ice cream. Did you want to make more?”

“No, Miss Griffin. I was hoping we’d speak again.”

“Ah. That. Well—I’m sort of laid up. You came all this way because you were curious?”

Curious she was from another world? To Ryoka’s surprise, Magnolia Reinhart’s eyes flashed.

“I won’t deny my curiosity, Miss Griffin. But I hope you would think more of me than that. The Runner’s Guild has clearly misrepresented the truth, and this City Runner has committed a crime. In Celum, which is not ruled by me, but in Izril, which I hold near and dear to my heart, despite its warts and wrinkles. The Runner’s Guild must not be corrupt.”

“Well. They’ve done their investigation, and that’s that.”

Ryoka felt like they were talking in circles. She licked her lips, and Magnolia Reinhart reached out and handed her the refilled canteen of water.

“Not quite. I believe Guildmaster Eterell was a good City Runner in his time. He rose through the ranks, and his current job and class in one of the more central Runner’s Guilds has made him fairly wealthy. Too wealthy, and perhaps too comfortable. Which is why, tomorrow, he will step down from his position. Perhaps, in his advancing years, he will find work starting as a Street Runner. Or some other job. I believe that would be for the best.”

Ryoka Griffin’s lips froze with cool water pressed against them. She turned her head, and Magnolia went on.

“His successor will have to investigate the Guild’s dealings. But as for Miss Mavva—she is a somewhat well-connected City Runner. She and her close friends have more Street Runners in common, though. If she passes the second investigation, regardless, I believe they will have more success with their peers as Street Runners. And the new Guildmaster may suggest they find other modes of work as well.”

“You…what are you talking about?”

Magnolia Reinhart looked at Ryoka with a pleasant smile on her face. But her eyes were sparking with real anger.

“Merely a forecast, Miss Griffin. Consider me a [Weather Mage] of sorts—albeit for people.”

“Why are you…?”

“Whatever do you mean, Miss Griffin?”

The [Lady] gave Ryoka an innocent look as Ressa snorted softly. But not disapprovingly. Magnolia Reinhart stared out Ryoka’s window at the city beyond.

“Are you, perhaps, surprised that anyone might take an interest in wrongdoing? Or deal with the matters themselves? If a Guild rots from within—the city suffers. The region suffers. If I were to find a poison within the veins of Izril, should I ignore it? Monsters, threats. Wrongdoing. Someone must deal with the situation. Don’t you agree?”

She turned to Ryoka, and the young woman laughed at her.

“What about the law? The…Watch? Having some random vigilante doesn’t sound like the system’s working.”

Magnolia’s smile never changed, but the look in her eyes deepened, crossing with something like regret.

“Oh, I wonder where you come from, Miss Griffin, I truly do. The Watch? Who oversees the Watch? Who holds my peers to account? Who should but stop an army, an invading force? Sometimes, Miss Griffin, we make such choices and do what we must.”

Ryoka felt a shiver cross her spine, and Magnolia Reinhart glanced at Ressa—and the ‘[Maid]’ said nothing at all. But then Magnolia blinked, sighed, and fluttered her hands.

“…Until we regret it. These are more peaceful times, Miss Griffin, so we shall simply slap some hands and deal with such troublemakers lightly. Lighter than you would prefer, I’m sure. But you have my word.”

In that moment, Ryoka wasn’t sure if she liked Magnolia or she just found her to be unexpected. But she…more than anyone else Ryoka had met—she looked at Magnolia and said something she had rarely spoken in any world.

“Thank you.”

Magnolia Reinhart shook her head.

“Thanks would go to me if I stopped this from occurring, Miss Griffin. This is just—necessity. Now. I will take a little more of your time. What will happen to your leg? Do the [Healers] have any hope it will mend with time? Better potions?”

Ryoka’s moment of lightness fell away again. She bowed her head.

“No. There’s no chance. Not unless I find some kind of super-healer. Is there one…?”

She looked up, remembering the comment about some Guild’s best [Healer]. But Ressa just coughed.

“He’s about seven hundred miles away and unlikely to…”

Seven hundred miles? Ryoka bowed her head, but Magnolia waved her fingers.

“Yes, yes. I understand the difficulties there. This sounds like it requires top-tier healing. So. A Potion of Regeneration from an older age, a [Healer] beyond compare…hundreds of thousands of gold pieces and months of rehabilitation, even so. But these were unenchanted wagon wheels, weren’t they? In that case—I believe the simplest answer would be the Healer of Tenbault.”

Ryoka had heard that name before. Ressa grimaced.

“She is busy, Lady Reinhart.”

“She always is. But she owes me a favor. And as for the cost—Miss Griffin, I believe you are not without recourse. I happen to have an old…ah, friend. Someone who is capable of casting a spell that will likely heal your leg. [Restoration]. Healing magic, one of the rarest kinds in the world. A Tier 6 spell, in fact.”

Magnolia smiled brightly at her. Ryoka stared blankly at Magnolia, not quite daring to believe what she was hearing. Tier…what was that? Then she remembered what she’d read from an introductory spellbook.

Tier Magic. It stood in stark contrast to the undisciplined magics, whatever that meant. But from what Ryoka had read in her extremely brief introduction to magic, Tiered Magic organized magic in…tiers.

That was to say that a spell capable of being cast by all mages was generally thought of as 1st Tier Magic or 0 Tier Magic, while a spell that was 2nd Tier was more potent, requiring a better mage and longer periods of study to learn it. 3rd Tier magic was generally the bar for most mages, and they would know only one or two spells of that level. Anything higher got into the range of extremely powerful magic, exponentially stronger and just as hard to learn.

That presumably meant that Magnolia’s friend was an incredible mage, but the book had said lower-level mages could cast higher Tier magic with enough practice and time. It also meant this mysterious friend was probably extremely powerful.

“You—you just know someone who has that kind of power? Really? And she’ll just pop over to heal me?”

“My dear. I know everyone and anyone who matters in the north. Nor will she pop over.”

Magnolia sighed.

“…But we can arrange transit and put you ahead on her list. I believe your leg will heal. In which case, we shall resolve all of this.”

It felt like it was all unreal. Ryoka’s head was spinning. Persua—punished. Her leg? Her head rose, and Magnolia gave her a pat on the hand.

“If that all sounds acceptable, we will have you in my carriage within the hour and heading to Tenbault—which is her city. Then I believe you’ll likely need to rest even with that spell, and my mansion is open to you rather than this—colorful inn. Especially for healing, you should have clean bedsheets.”

“And a chamberpot.”

Ressa added. Ryoka croaked.

“I—you’d do that? Why?”

Magnolia psshed.

“Miss Griffin, you did render me the invaluable, nay, indispensable boon of free ice cream. Shouldn’t I repay that kindness? But if you insist—I do hope you and I will have a proper chat while you recover. About where you came from. And how you got here.”

She said that last part so gently Ryoka almost missed it. Then her head rose, and Magnolia was looking her in the eyes.

Green and green, but the forest was swallowing up the emeralds of Ryoka’s gaze.

“I am—exceptionally curious, my dear. If you would be candid, I would be most grateful. Which land do you call home? What useful—tidbits could you share?”

Suddenly, Ryoka felt the walls closing in. She looked at Magnolia Reinhart, and the [Lady] was watching her.

“Wh-what are you talking about?”

“Come now, Miss Griffin. I am not angry. In fact, I believe this was all a great accident. I just need to know—where and who sent you. And how many there are. If this was an accident, all well and good. But if you are a visitor kith and kin from, say, the domain of the Winter Sprites or some other nation—I need to know everything.”

Then Magnolia was looking at her, and the young woman from Earth was frozen in her bed. She felt cold suddenly, even in the sheets.

“I—I don’t know what—”

Earth. Magnolia Reinhart, the Deadly Flower of the North, knew, somehow, she wasn’t from here. And—and she wanted to know…

Ryoka had a flash, suddenly, of the Watch with their spears and the adventurers with their swords and bows holding guns. She looked at Magnolia, a war hero, perhaps, a [Lady] with a lot of connections fascinated with gelato.

And she wondered what that kind of [Lady], even one who believed in justice, would do if she knew how to make a gun.

Magnolia saw Ryoka suddenly tense up.

“My dear. Perhaps I’m wrong. But would you care to elaborate on the situation? Perhaps I am completely wrong and you have a Skill and you’re actually an Izrilian and that would be hilarious.”

She laughed—but she was glancing at Ryoka. At something lying on the bedside table. Ryoka turned her head and went paler still.

Her iPhone was lying there with its worn casing, and Ressa and Magnolia glanced at it. Magnolia continued after a second—

“…But I do safeguard Izril in some small ways. Honesty, Miss Griffin. Just a short chat on the ride there and afterwards. How about it? Do we have a deal?”

She held out a hand, and Ryoka Griffin looked at Magnolia Reinhart’s smiling face. She felt her leg beginning to scream at her again, and she wanted nothing in this world more than the pain to stop. Her hand rose—

And she thought she heard a poem in her head. She saw a flash of gunfire and wondered what would have happened if any historical figure in history had ever been handed an assault rifle or the blueprints for one.

Ryoka Griffin had little moral fiber. She hated authority. She hated a lot of things, including her parents. But she had studied history and modern events, and she looked at Magnolia Reinhart and that outstretched hand. Ryoka Griffin’s mouth went dry.

“No. Not that.”

Magnolia blinked. Her fingers wavered.

“No? Miss Griffin—your leg is in a distressing state. I cannot bear to see you in pain another second. Please, let’s forgo your admittedly successful reticence and mystery. I shall tell the Healer to speak to you then—”

“No. I’ll take the healing—but not tell you—tell you everything. I’ll tell you a bit, okay? But nothing more.”

The [Lady] of House Reinhart blinked at Ryoka.

“I—beg your pardon?”

“How about where I came from? And—twenty questions.”

“Twenty questions?”

“Sure. Ask me any twenty questions and I’ll answer them. How—how about that?”

Ryoka Griffin smiled weakly, and Magnolia Reinhart turned to look at Ressa. She looked back down at Ryoka.

“My dear. The Healer of Tenbault sees less than two thousand patients each year. A large number, to be sure, by some standards, but the cost of visiting her is in the thousands of gold pieces on average—hundreds if you are lucky. The nobility have a hard time visiting her. I believe I should get more than twenty questions.”

“Well—take it or leave it.”

Ryoka smiled at Magnolia, trying to keep her face straight. She saw Magnolia’s mouth open and Ressa’s glare, but she clenched her fists in the sheets. Not guns. Not…not the worst of what Magnolia could learn.

She waited for Magnolia to come up with another offer. Forty questions maybe. But the [Lady] just stared down at Ryoka and shook her head.

“My dear. My dear Ryoka—I have given you a lot of leeway. This accident was not your fault, nor do I take any pleasure in this, but your…what? Principle? Stubbornness? It must end somewhere. No.”

Ryoka saw her step back. The City Runner looked up.

“No? What do you mean?”

“No. I will not negotiate with you. Not questions. Not a deal, Miss Griffin. Candor, complete candor—simply talk to me and the Healer will mend your leg. If not?”

Magnolia folded her hands as she stood in the doorway. She looked at Ryoka, and the young woman stared at her.

“You’re not going to heal me?”

“I am going to mend your leg—but not waste more time, Miss Griffin. Please, I urge you to accept my offer.”

“N-no.”

The [Lady] gave Ryoka an incredulous look, but the young woman was giving her almost the same expression.

“I won’t be bullied into telling you anything.”

“Bullied?”

Magnolia’s voice rose in outrage. She turned to Ressa.

“I—Miss Griffin. I am trying to help you.”

“Then heal me and don’t threaten me.”

Ryoka bared her teeth, and Magnolia Reinhart was lost for words.

“She’s got you there.”

“Ressa, do shut up. Miss Griffin, this is the smallest thing I could ask for. The most necessary thing—please consider.”

“No.”

Ryoka took some joy in seeing Magnolia’s pure, flummoxed shock. The [Lady] stood in the doorway and turned to her silent servants, back to Ryoka—and then she bowed her head.

“Very well, Miss Griffin. You win.”

The City Runner exhaled—but too soon. Magnolia Reinhart slowly put her hand on the doorknob.

“Wh—what are you—”

“I shall keep an open ear for any letter you send. When you change your mind—and I hope for your sake it is soon—contact me.”

Then, politely, regretfully, and without hesitation, Magnolia Reinhart closed the door on Ryoka Griffin. And the young woman stared at the closed door before she began to shout—but Magnolia Reinhart was already walking down the stairs.

——

I’m an idiot. I have to cover my eyes to keep the tears from leaking. I’m such a complete and utter, stubborn idiot.

I should have accepted her offer immediately. No—even if Magnolia wanted me to be her slave or her maid or to work for her for ten years, I would have accepted her offer in a heartbeat.

But she wanted me to tell her the truth. Damn it. Damn her and her insight. That’s the one thing I can’t give her. Ever.

My leg is agony. But my heart is ice. And now that I’ve been given the offer, the path is clear. Two roads stretch out before me, and a world waits upon my choice.

Is that dramatic? It’s too dramatic. But it is true.

Stand up. I need another healing potion. My leg hurts—I need a clear head for it.

I shift to reach for the nightstand. Pain shoots through my bad leg. Three healing potions. Damn it, again. I can’t waste them. Not if—

Well if I refuse, there’s no point to them. They’re weak things, anyways. But they told me a stronger healing potion would start growing each fragment of bone out of my skin, and that would destroy my leg beyond any healing.

Something. Oh. I reach over, cursing my leg, and grip it tightly in one hand. The only thing I really own in this world. It’s useless, without power. At least the earbuds are still attached, but again, useless without electricity.

I look at the piece of plastic and metal lying on the nightstand. Stupid to have it out. Could I trade that, instead? Even if she figures out how to use it, she couldn’t replicate it. Maybe…

No. No, it’s worthless in any case. If there were power left in it, I might be able to make the trade but—no. It’s information she wants. And that price is just too high for me to pay.

“Information.”

The word rots on my tongue. It sounds so stupid, so simple and easy to give away when you say it like that. And it would be simple for me to agree to answer however many questions.

Except that Magnolia can read minds. Or sense untruths. And she’s cunning, smart enough to keep asking questions. If I gave her unlimited answers, she’d have the entire truth eventually.

I could lie. But she’d sense it if I didn’t intend to fulfill my bargain. Trapped, again.

Pride be damned. I’ll go back and beg her if need be. The cost—I’ll think of it later. But even if it means selling part of my soul or my world’s secrets, I will run again.

But…no. I can’t do that. No, never. Because if she asks questions—

If she asks questions, she’ll learn about my world. Good? That’s fine. Even if she knows, can she get there so easily? I don’t think it matters. If someone could travel between worlds so easily, we’d already know about it. Maybe she could, but we have guns and way more technology than she does.

But that’s the catch, isn’t it? We have technology, and if she asks more questions, she’ll know about our world’s technology. Not just things like hygiene or bacteria, but the things that should never be told. Secrets, jumps forward in capability that would make any nation a superpower in an instant.

Gunpowder. Firearms. Germ warfare. Steam power, electrical power, locomotion. Everything from interrogation techniques to how to build a tank or a bomb. Nuclear weapons.

Does it sound stupid to say it like that? I don’t know how to make nukes. But I do know what goes into gunpowder. I aced chemistry class. I know exactly how a turbine works, and I’m pretty damn sure I remember all of the techniques the FBI illegally used on terrorists.

Damn it. It’s a moral choice, isn’t it? Lose my leg or give away the secrets of death and destruction. If it were anyone else, I could lie or tell only small truths. But she can read my damn mind. And I know exactly where to gather all the ingredients of gunpowder. And guns wouldn’t be hard to make, not in this world.

Lady Magnolia. I know nothing about her. Just rumors and that she’s a powerful and influential lady with wealth and connections. Even if she appears nice—especially if she appears nice—I have no way of knowing if she’d use that power to help or harm.

No. It’s simpler than that.

Even if I could trust her, the secret would spread. That’s how it works. She’d want to see a demonstration, and someone would put the pieces together. Ressa, her maid, maybe. Sooner or later, technology would spread. I’d be responsible for bringing guns into the world. And maybe it’s not that far away from that level of technology already but—

“Belfast. Beruit. Phnom Penh. All flesh is grass.”

When I was a girl, I went to the Newseum in Washington D.C. I saw the pictures on the walls. I looked at the children, the dying and the dead. My dad thought I was too young to understand.

All flesh is grass. The ‘War Photographer’ by Carol Ann Duffy. Is it a straight line between bringing the capabilities of gunpowder to the world and terrible war? No. But where there is knowledge, there is power. And even if she used her power to help her nation, that would only lead to war in the end.

Napalm. Mixed petroleum with a natural or synthesized rubber like latex. It wouldn’t be hard to create the same kind of thing. Not with Magnolia’s influence.

I want to run. I want to walk again.

I’m no Walter White, but I remember too much. Too much National Geographic and other shows about the world. Not a perfect memory. But too close.

Damn it. I can’t do it. I don’t want to be the one who creates a Hitler or gives another white…woman a gun and a mandate to conquer the world. But I want to run.

I can’t figure it out. I can’t decide. I waited a week—a damn week for her to arrive. In pain and fear. And now that she offered me what I was dreaming of, I should have leapt at it. But I hesitate. I draw back.

I sit on the edge of the abyss and wonder if my soul burns well in hell. It’s not fair. All I ever wanted to do was run. I don’t want to lose my leg. I want to run. I want to live. I want to walk.

I don’t want to see the child sitting alone. I don’t want to see the vulture. I don’t want it to be my fault.

Alone, I sit in my room, sitting with the fate of two worlds in my hands. This world’s and my world’s. I live to run. My legs are what define me.

All I have to do is ask the staff to get me a Street Runner. Or send a note to Magnolia Reinhart. She’s probably not too far from the city, if she’s even left yet. It would be so simple, and I wouldn’t be in pain.

It would—

The door opens. I look up. A face like perfection and a dream stares at me. Half perfection, half mortal. The cruelest of both worlds. Ceria Springwalker.

She hesitates and then steps into the room. I expect hollow words and hollower promises. I expect to be let down or to feel nothing but despair. But she doesn’t bring any of that.

She brings salvation.

——

“I know it’s bad.”

Ryoka sat on the bed. Ceria stared at her leg and then looked away.

“I’ve seen an injury like that before. I’m aware it can’t be healed so easily. I’m not sure if your friend really understood—”

“She doesn’t. It doesn’t matter. She can’t help. Neither can you.”

“We owe you a debt. You might not understand it, but Calruz hired every member of the Horns of Hammerad because we believe in honor. If we can help, we will.”

Ryoka bared her teeth.

“Got a few thousand gold coins?”

“No. That’s beyond us, frankly. Even if we sold our armor and weapons—and Calruz might, to impress you—I doubt we’d be able to get close to a [Healer] of that level. They’re in constant demand. Heard of the Healer of Tenbault?”

Ryoka started, and Ceria nodded.

“I’ve never seen her, but I know it’s virtually impossible to meet her—and everyone wants to, because she can apparently cure almost anything. Thousands camp around the gates of Tenbault each day, hoping she’ll tend to them. Even if we had the money they charge, it would take a miracle.”

Ryoka grunted. Her hand was clutching the sheets of her bed so hard they were white. Instead, Ceria looked at Ryoka. Ryoka gazed back.

What the young woman saw, Ceria could guess. A half-breed, perhaps. A memory of what was lost, or maybe she just saw a mage, someone who pursued strange goals few understood. It didn’t matter. And for some reason, Ceria thought that the Runner known as Ryoka Griffin looked at her differently than the rest. But duty was duty. Honor was honor.

“I heard Magnolia Reinhart visited you. Did she offer you anything?”

“She offered me a deal. I might have to take it. And damn my soul. Why am I responsible? I’m not. It’s not my…”

Ryoka stared down at the sheets. Wrestling with something. Ceria raised her brows and coughed.

“Before you do, be careful. My peo—I don’t trust the nobility.”

Ceria glanced sidelong at Ryoka, as if hoping for a confirmation. Ryoka grunted.

“I don’t trust anyone. Not with some things. They’ll…they’ll let you down.”

She looked haunted, torn—and strangely—principled. It was funny, but Ceria had heard that the City Runner who’d delivered the potions to her team hadn’t asked what they were offering for their emergency delivery.

The Horns had posted the highest number they dared, but it had been way too low for someone to risk a Lich killing them. But one Runner had come without even asking the price.

Strange, to find someone like that. It reminded the half-Elf of her bull-headed leader, Calruz. And her team. It made her want to help Ryoka, so she leaned forwards and took a breath.

“I know that Lady Magnolia offered you…something. I saw her on the way in. You might want to accept, but all deals have a price. Even if she doesn’t say, she’ll want something.”

“I know. But—”

Ryoka was staring at her legs, and Ceria knew what she was thinking. No matter what it was—if the choice was between never walking again and healing? That was why the half-Elf was here. Ceria lowered her voice.

“A spell is probably the only way to cure your leg. But there’s magic that she offers and then there’s…another way.”

“Another way?”

Ryoka looked at Ceria. Her eyes seemed to pierce the young half-Elf to her core. Ceria Springwalker had lived for over sixty years, but she hadn’t ever seen someone as desperate as Ryoka.

“Tell me.”

The eyes seemed to be boring a path straight into her soul. Ceria took a deep breath. She might regret this. She already was. But she thought of—the person she had considered when they were discussing Ryoka’s plight. Maybe that bastard was dead. She almost wished…no. No, and the odds were he was somewhere on Izril still. He’d never go back to Terandria or Wistram.

She had vowed never to speak to him again, but for this odd young woman in need, Ceria Springwalker closed her eyes and then asked Ryoka a question.

“…How do you feel about necromancy?”

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.34

After a few days, Erin concluded that she had three types of customers. The first type were the Antinium, namely Pawn and the Workers. He brought them every day or every other day as soon as the sun touched the tops of the mountains in the southwest.

The sun rose and fell in the same direction as back home, which was either a coincidence or something interesting. Erin felt stupid for not noticing earlier, but then, she didn’t carry around a compass, did she? At least it was still east to west.

The Workers arrived like clockwork each evening, many bringing chess sets of paper or stone. Apparently, Workers did earn some kind of pay, and they spent their money exclusively on chess and food.

Erin felt bad about that, especially given the price she charged for Acid Flies. But Pawn told her that before this, the Workers didn’t claim any of their weekly stipends. The ones who worked in the city were allocated some money, but it had never occurred to any of them to spend it, so in that sense, Erin was helping them become consumers.

Besides, they ate like pigs. Starving pigs with a taste for crunchy flies.

Despite their obsession with her food, the Antinium were polite, quiet except when they were eating, and played chess. In other words, Erin would have been glad to have them over every night.

The second kind of guest she got were the Goblins. They were like the Workers but smellier, dirtier, and they paid her with coins covered in blood, dirt, and occasionally—

Erin had instituted a policy in her inn. Goblins had to jump in the stream or at least wash themselves before they were allowed in. Not that many visited. In truth, it was just Rags and her posse.

And it was a posse. Or a group. Or gang. Erin was sure she was the leader of whatever they were, but while Rags was in command, it was also clear that she wasn’t in charge of her tribe, if there was still a tribe.

Occasionally, the small Goblin would come in alone, but often, she had two bigger Goblins following her. They were almost always injured—not seriously, but with small wounds that suggested scuffles and fighting. Erin wondered if the reason she didn’t see more Goblins was because they were recovering from injuries.

She wondered how many had died. Erin had slept with her windows and shutters locked and waited to see if more Goblins would—come back.

None did, and the small group that had fought for Erin had lurked around until Erin offered them food. She didn’t know how many were left of the ones who had killed Klbkch. She didn’t know if any were left, but she waited. Selys and Krshia had offered to put her up in Liscor, but Erin was staying.

It felt like it was the only thing she could do. So her Goblin guests became that tiny group.

Nevertheless, Rags paid for her followers’ meals and her own and ate in silence. Occasionally, she played a game of chess, but Erin got the distinct impression the small Goblin was watching her.

That was fine, but Erin had grown…warier over the last few days. She always checked to make sure she knew how many Goblins were around her inn, and even when Rags was alone in her inn, Erin never left any knives or other weapons out in the open. She also made the Goblins leave whatever they were carrying outside the inn.

Still, if the Goblins were an issue that occasionally made the Workers pause and Erin count the knives in her kitchen, they were still decent customers. They paid money, which was more than Erin could say for the last type of guest: annoying necromancer.

——

“Do you know how much money you owe me for all these meals?”

Pisces looked up, mouth bulging with soup. He swallowed, grabbed a piece of bread, and munched it down before replying.

“I am, as always, reliant upon your good graces and tolerant nature, good Mistress Solstice. Rest assured, I will pay off my debts in due time as soon as I acquire the necessary funds.”

Erin planted her hands on her hips. The inn was empty except for Rags sitting in one corner, slurping down another bowl of soup.

“You keep saying that, but do you actually have any money on you?”

Pisces raised his eyebrows.

“What is money but a concept? If you are referring to the notion of money, I am indeed wealthy in—”

“Coins. Do you have them?”

The [Necromancer] hesitated and lifted one delicate finger.

“Not as such, no.”

He shrugged as Erin glared and went back to his soup. It was amazing how Pisces could manage to scarf down her food and still grimace at the same time.

“I know you study magic all day, but would it kill you to get a job? Then you could pay for food instead of mooching it off me. And you could pay for someone to wash your robe, too!”

Pisces glanced down at his travel and food-stained robes. They were probably white, but constant use and little washing had rendered them colorfully gray and splotched.

“I fail to see your point.”

“Your clothes. Are filthy.”

He shrugged.

“Do they emit any kind of unsavory smell?”

“…No.”

“Then once again, magic has eliminated another tiresome chore. As to your point about employment, I remind you that I am banned from entering Liscor due to my magical inclinations.”

“And because you stole food and money from people by pretending to be a monster.”

Pisces rolled his eyes as if admitting one grudging good point.

“That too, I suppose. Regardless, it behooves me to stay away from the Watch. Even this far from the city, I must occasionally evade their tiresome patrols.”

“Well, you won’t have to do that much longer.”

Erin sighed and tossed her cleaning rag on the table next to Pisces. He eyed it and then her with sudden paranoia, and his eyes darted to a window.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, they’re not going to patrol around the inn any longer. After—after Klbkch—anyways, the stupid Captain said she’s not going patrol this area. And Relc doesn’t hang out here now, so I guess you don’t have to worry about the Watch.”

Pisces repeated Erin’s words slowly. He relaxed and almost appeared cheerful—until he began to frown.

“They aren’t patrolling this region any longer?”

“That’s what I said.”

He scratched at his chin and glanced out the window. It was still morning, but Erin had closed most of the shutters. It was an unexpectedly chilly day today, and she didn’t feel like building a fire.

“That would be…problematic.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

Pisces leaned back in his chair and fiddled with the spoon he was using. He stared at the ceiling, a sign Erin knew meant she was about to hear another lecture. Resigned, she picked up the bar rag and turned to clean another table.

Rags was sitting two tables over. Erin blinked as the Goblin quickly looked away. She hadn’t even heard the small Goblin move. Was she…listening in on Erin’s conversation with Pisces?

“The local fauna and flora of the area around Liscor are not the most deadly, considering the extreme variance of some death zones around the world, but there are several notable monster types that do pose a serious threat, even to me.”

Erin glanced over at Pisces.

“Even a great and glorious mage like you?”

“Let us just say that several of the species around here deter adventurers from pursuing their trade. Not that Drakes and Gnolls tend towards adventuring as much in any case. But without the Watch to keep local populations down, it will become hazardous quite quickly. I would suggest you hire some form of protection before this occurs.”

“What, like a bodyguard? I don’t have the money for that.”

Pisces shook his head.

“I was referring to thugs with weapons aptly known as ‘bouncers’ or the more mundane [Mercenary] classes, but you do raise a good point. I doubt many would be willing to travel this far to offer protection—and even if they did, their prices would be quite exorbitant.”

“That’s what I just said.”

“Yes, well, regardless, some form of personal defense would be highly advisable.”

“I can fight. I’ve got, uh, [Bar Fighting] as a Skill, you know. I can totally crack someone over the head with a chair.”

Pisces raised his eyebrows and applauded silently. Erin glared at him.

“Most, ah, impressive. However, I doubt your prowess with a wooden chair would deter anything but the average Goblin. Most creatures are a tad studier than that, I fear.”

This time, both Rags and Erin glared at Pisces. He ignored Erin, but he seemed less sanguine about Rags, who had moved over to the table next to his. Gingerly, as if expecting her to bite, Pisces flapped one hand at Rags, who shied away from him.

“Let me put it another way, Mistress Solstice. In words you may find easier to understand. Monsters, strong. You, weak. Regardless of your level, you have only the [Innkeeper] class, which has few Skills meant for fighting or survival.”

Pisces took another bite of bread and then reached for a cup as Erin fumed.

“I’m not completely helpless, you know.”

“I never said that you were. But fighting is far different from self-defense.”

He was right. In fact, Pisces was often right, but the problem was that he was so aggravating in being right that Erin didn’t like to admit it. She changed the subject to something she’d been waiting to bring up with him.

“By the way, I learned a new Skill after the—the game.”

Pisces paused with his tankard to his lips.

“Oh?”

“It’s called [Immortal Moment]. I have no idea what it does.”

“Hm.”

He frowned and took a deep drink, grimacing at the water in his cup.

“I have not ever heard of such a Skill in any of the directories I have read during my time as a student. Nor have I heard of such a Skill at any point in my life. Have you found out what it does?”

“Nope.”

Pisces shrugged again.

“It sounds like quite a useless Skill, to be honest.”

“That’s what I thought, too. But do you know if it has anything to do with chess? That’s probably where I learned it from.”

He thought about this as he drank.

“It is possible, although Skills that focus on one task are generally easier to understand from their name. It is more likely that this is some kind of ability you gained during the course of the game. But as to what that might be or how such a Skill could be used—”

He turned up one hand and finished his drink. Then he scowled and plonked the empty cup back on the table.

“Do you not have any ale? Or at least if you must serve drinks, would you do the courtesy of bringing out the Amentus beverage?”

Erin raised her eyebrows. Pisces pointedly glanced at his empty cup, and she more pointedly made no move to fill it.

“People who pay their tabs get blue juice. And as for alcohol—I’m underage, you idiot. I’m only 20.”

Pisces stared at her incredulously as Erin glared at him over the counter.

“Underage of what, precisely?”

“The drinking age of cou—”

Erin stopped.

“…Nevermind. Okay, yeah, I could buy alcohol, but it’s expensive.”

“And customary for an inn.”

Erin thought for a second. She vaguely recalled something.

“I do have [Alcohol Brewing] as a Skill. I guess I could…make alcohol?”

Once again, Pisces’ tone was laced with sarcasm.

“Ah. I see having a Skill replaces the need for hops, barrels, the fermentation process, yeast, and of course the grain needed for such a beverage. Do show me how you make ‘alcohol,’ and let me know when you’ve decided on what type of ‘alcohol’ you would like to create. I would especially love to know if it’s a rum, beer, whiskey, mead, or if it is in fact a consumable alcohol at all.”

Erin glared at him. The odd thing was that she understood exactly what Pisces meant. The Skill in her head was telling her all kinds of crazy things, like how long she’d have to ferment the wort she’d get after adding boiling water to grain, and all the supplies she’d need. And guess what? It turned out making alcohol was a pain in the ass.

She just wished Pisces weren’t competing for that honor. Erin folded her arms as she reconsidered.

“I can make wine too. Wine is easier.”

He shook his head.

“I trust your expert opinion, of course. But may I recommend testing your drink out on the Goblins or perhaps the Antinium before serving it with your meals?”

This time, Rags poked Pisces hard in the side. He yelped, swiped at her, and nearly fell out of his chair. He glared at Rags.

“Mistress Solstice, please keep your guest away from me. Elsewise, I may be forced to use magic to remedy the problem myself.”

He waggled his fingers, and they emitted a few bright green sparks. Rags instantly scooted away from Pisces in alarm. Erin folded her arms and glared at him.

“You’ll do no such thing if you want to eat here again. Stop bullying the Goblin, and stop insulting them while you’re at it. Besides, she’d probably beat you in a fight.”

“I doubt that.”

Pisces muttered darkly, but he subsided back into his chair and began shoveling more soup into his mouth. Rags deliberately looked away from both Humans and pretended to be engrossed in picking at dried scabs on her side. Erin sighed. Touchy mages and inquisitive Goblins. She missed the Antinium already.

“I get that the Workers and Goblins travel in groups and run away from monsters, but how do you survive out here by yourself?”

He shrugged sulkily.

“Any decent [Mage] has a number of spells to avoid detection. [Invisibility] is one of my fortes, for instance.”

“Oh. Right. I forgot you could do that. You know a lot of spells, huh?”

“I am quite adept in a number of magical fields. But yes, [Invisibility] is a 4th Tier spell I have acquired after much practice and study. It is useful in almost every situation.”

“Like for what? Spying on people? Hey—you haven’t ever come in here while you’re invisible, have you? Because if you have…”

Erin made a fist. Pisces raised both hands and made a face.

“Perish the thought. I do have standards to adhere to, and besides which, you are aware that most [Mages] use the [Farsight] and [Scrying] spells to gaze with impunity on anyone they like, are you not?”

“What?”

Erin looked at him in horror. Pisces smirked a bit.

“Is it so surprising? Most upper-class dwellings and bath houses have spells to prevent such unwanted attention. But fear not—there are no Human [Mages] in the area besides myself, and I suspect any Drake [Mages], if any competent individuals in Liscor, would prefer their own species to gaze upon.”

Erin shivered.

“That is the creepiest thought I’ve ever heard of. All of you mages are perverts, I swear.”

He looked indignant at that.

“Magic is a sacred art, Miss Solstice. If a few use it to untoward ends, that is a small consequence that cannot be avoided. But to all others who pursue magic, the benefits are enormous. For instance, I do not have to worry about monster attacks even should the Watch give up patrols in this area entirely.”

“So you’re Mister Powerful, huh?”

“You saw my effectiveness against the Acid Flies, did you not?”

That made Erin pause.

“Oh. Yeah. You were pretty cool then. Um, thanks again.”

Pisces waved a hand at her and fixed his attention back on his soup quickly. Erin thought his cheeks were slightly pink. She smiled and had another thought.

“Why don’t you teach me magic, then? I’ll get rid of your tab if you do.”

The [Mage] looked up from his soup and stared at Erin.

“Teach you. Magic? Good Mistress—”

She glared.

“Erin, then. You do realize that magic is not as simple as waving a wand about and chanting words, don’t you? Becoming a [Mage] such as myself requires years—sometimes decades of intensive study.”

“I know.”

Erin didn’t actually know that, but it made sense. But now that the idea had hit her, she was suddenly caught up by it. Magic. It seemed so strange and incomprehensible and yet—

“But, uh, can’t you teach me a bit of magic? I’d love to learn. I think mages are cool. I was a big fan of Harry Potter growing up, although Draco was sort of cute too—”

Pisces glanced at Rags and got a blank look in return.

“…Who?”

Erin blushed.

“Never mind. Forget that. But will you teach me something? It doesn’t even have to be a lot. I just want to learn about magic.”

Rags looked up and stopped picking at her scabs. Erin sensed the Goblin scooting closer from chair to chair as Pisces considered her offer.

“And you would forget my tab?”

“I’ll forget your tab and I’ll start buying alcohol.”

That seemed to swing the scales. Pisces nodded. He sat back ponderously in his chair and intoned in his important-sounding voice.

“Very well then. Let us begin with the Mage’s Test. Observe.”

Pisces raised a finger, which began to glow with blue-white light. He began to trace something in the air. Where his finger moved, the light from it seemed to leave an ethereal residue. Erin squinted at it, fascinated.

“This is the basic test for determining aptitude. I am drawing—”

The gentle glow of blue magic was half-complete in the air when something interrupted Pisces’ lecture. A flash of light bloomed right in front of his nose. Pisces yelped, overbalanced in his chair, and crashed to the ground.

Erin backed up. Pisces flailed around on the ground as Rags dove out of her chair and underneath a table.

“What was that? Get it off!”

Something was hovering in the air in front of Pisces. He batted at it frantically and then paused as he saw what it was. Slowly, he sat up, and Erin saw something floating around his head. It looked…like a firefly? A firefly made of red and gold—no, more like a spectrum of those colors flickering together and winking out in front of the [Mage]’s face. It was beautiful and mysterious.

“What is that?”

Pisces stood up. He slowly reached out, and the firefly became motes of light that danced around his hand. He stared at them.

“It’s a messaging spell, but I haven’t seen one like that since—”

He broke off, frowning. The pinpoints of light began to coalesce into strange, flickering shapes. Erin squinted at them, but they didn’t look like letters. Or…were they words? She couldn’t describe it—no, she couldn’t even understand it.

Each fleck of light twisted and became hovering runes or symbols, but they also made Erin think they were words. But could you make a single letter or shape into an entire concept? And they…they hurt to look at. Erin’s eyes ached trying to take the strange, magical shapes in.

It was as if they didn’t exist in normal, three-dimensional space. And the more Erin looked at them, the more she developed a painful headache and stinging behind her eyes. She had to glance away.

Rags was desperately trying to stare at the magical message, but she seemed to be in as much pain as Erin, clutching at her head and prying her eyes open with her dirty fingers.

Only Pisces seemed to be able to look at the shapes without any pain. He frowned and stood up. For a moment, his face was thunderous as he stared at the flickering spell, and Erin was disconcerted by the raw anger in his expression. Then it became melancholic almost as fast. He reached out as if to quash the little spell, then let it rest upon his fingertips. He murmured half to himself, then blinked and glanced at Erin.

“Why would—no. Wait. I must read this. I, ah, will be going now. Thank you for the meal.”

“No—problem.”

Erin shaded her eyes and watched as the dusty robes and sandaled feet made their way to her door. They paused, and she heard Pisces’ voice again.

“—Regardless of your feelings, you should still hire some sort of protection. The more aggressive types of monsters and wildlife will soon return to this area.”

Erin looked up and blinked as one of the shapes pulsed a message she couldn’t understand into her brain. She covered her eyes. When she dared remove her hand, Pisces was gone.

——

Bodyguards. Hired help. Bouncers. Security. People with pointy sticks. They ranged from people who were good in a brawl to retired or active adventurers willing to take easier jobs in exchange for pay.

They were expensive, but it beat being stabbed repeatedly or eaten by a monster. That was Pisces’ opinion. Erin heard pretty much the same thing when she saw Selys next.

The two young women were walking through the marketplace in Liscor, shopping. Erin was accompanying Selys, having placed her orders with Krshia already.

It was very strange. In some ways, Selys was just like any girl around Erin’s age. The female Drake looked at the latest fashions, checked out jewelry, bought food and supplies for the week, and chattered happily with the shopkeepers like any young woman living on her own.

If Erin closed her eyes, she could imagine she was back in her world. But when she looked at Selys, it was hard to ignore the scales. And the tail. And the conversation.

“Look Erin, I know you want to stay in your inn, but it’s not safe. At least hire one of the low-level adventurers. They’re not that strong, but I could get you a good deal. Maybe we could call it a perpetual extermination request. Then the Guild would pay some of the costs.”

Erin shook her head as they walked down the street.

“I don’t see why I need protection, Selys. I haven’t seen any monsters lately, not even the Rock Crabs. The only things I see are those weird dino-birds in the sky and Rags and the Goblins.”

“Those are bad enough. But you haven’t seen the really bad monsters because the Watch keeps them away! Look Erin, I don’t want to hear you’ve been eaten or munched up into little bits one day.”

“Lovely image.”

“Thanks. But the Watch is here for our protection. If they’re not guarding you—”

Selys broke off, frowning. She and Erin stopped their progress down the street. There was a crowd ahead of them, mainly Drakes with a few Gnolls mixed in.

“What’s that all about?”

Someone was shouting. No, someones were shouting. Erin stood up on her tiptoes but couldn’t see past the bodies in front of her. Then all of a sudden the crowd opened up, and several Drakes thrust their way through.

“Out of the way!”

Erin jumped aside and stared as a group of four armed Drakes pushed their way out of the crowd. These weren’t guardsmen, but they definitely weren’t civilians either.

“Adventurers.”

Selys whispered it to Erin as she drew her against one side of the street. Indeed, all of the pedestrians were giving the Drake adventurers a wide berth.

The Drakes shouted angrily back into the crowd behind them and stormed down the street. Erin watched them go. Then out of the crowd came a familiar figure.

Relc pushed aside the crowd and emerged from the press of bodies, tail lashing angrily. He turned, reached back into the scrum, and pulled out a smaller, dazed-looking Drake guardsman.

“Stop!”

He shouted at the backs of the Drake adventurers, but they ignored him. Fuming, Relc went to chase after them, but the other [Guardsman] grabbed him. Relc and the Drake began arguing furiously.

Selys looked from Relc to the adventurers anxiously.

“They must have gotten into a fight with the Watch. There will be trouble over this.”

Erin looked at Relc uncertainly. His tail was furiously lashing the ground as he argued with the other guardsman.

“Is he going to arrest them?”

“I hope not. Adventurers and the Watch don’t get along. If he does, there will be trouble. Well, there’s already going to be trouble at the Guild, but an arrest would really make things worse.”

Selys watched anxiously as Relc seemed to get angrier and angrier, despite the other guardsman clearly trying to calm him down. He tore himself away and began marching down the street after the adventurers, who had already disappeared from view. Coincidentally, his path took him right in front of Selys and Erin.

The Drake froze up when he saw Erin. She hesitated, not certain what she should say, if anything. Before she could make up her mind, Relc whirled around and marched in the opposite direction, dragging the hapless Guardsman along in his wake. He didn’t look back once.

Selys breathed out softly.

“Well, that was lucky. It’s a good thing he decided not to do anything. I’d hate to see a fight break out in the market, especially since we’re not done shopping. Good thing seeing you calmed him down, right, Erin? Erin…?”

She looked over at Erin’s face. The Human was wiping at her eyes. Selys’ eyes widened, and her tail began to twitch.

“Oh. Um. Sorry. I didn’t mean—let’s—let’s go.”

Gently, she took Erin by the arm and led her away. The crowd stared at the Human curiously, but lost interest now that the adventurers and Relc were both gone. Only a few Gnolls stared after Erin’s back but quickly looked away when a certain Gnoll shopkeeper stepped out of her shop and glared at them.

——

“Here. Have a cup of this.”

Selys handed Erin a steaming cup of something bittersweet. Erin sipped at it gratefully and tasted what she imagined was a root-vegetable. Well, it wasn’t bad, and it was warm.

“Sorry about that.”

“…It’s fine. I just—I guess Relc wasn’t expecting to see me. He looked angry.”

“Well, yes.”

Selys bustled around her small home, fetching another cup of root-tea for herself as she made Erin at home. The room she’d brought Erin into reminded Erin of a normal apartment, except it was quite open and spacious. The chair she was sitting on was also sized differently so that the legs were higher off the ground than normal.

At last, the female Drake took a seat next to Erin.

“I guess it was another incident with the adventurers. I didn’t recognize them from the Guild, so they must be from further south. And the ones we’ve been getting lately, well, they don’t like to obey the laws as much, so we’ve been getting a lot of complaints at the Adventurer’s Guild.”

“Mm.”

Erin had almost forgotten Selys was a receptionist at the Guild.

“They were all Drakes. Aren’t there Gnoll adventurers too?”

“Oh, a few. But that was probably an all-Drake team. Gnolls—well, Gnolls don’t like working with other species as much. And not as many become adventurers, so we haven’t been getting as many.”

“What about Humans? Aren’t any of them adventurers?”

“Lots. Most, in fact. But this group is from down south. Past the Bloodfields. They must have risked the journey—it’s not too dangerous if you go wide around it—in hopes of finding worth in the north. Rare, but it happens. But they’re from the south.”

“…Right?”

Erin frowned at Selys. Selys frowned back.

“They’re from down south, so they’re all Drakes or Gnolls.”

“Right, right. Because all Drakes live in the south…?”

Selys paused.

“…Erin. Do you not know the local geography?”

“Um, no.”

Erin fidgeted in her seat. Selys sighed, but smiled.

“You really need to pay more attention. Wait here for a second.”

She put down her cup and bustled about her home, rummaging around in drawers. Erin sipped at her tea until Selys came back with a piece of paper.

“Do you know anything about this continent?”

“I know we’re on a continent. How’s that?”

Selys jabbed Erin playfully with one claw. Erin yelped and nearly knocked over her tea.

“Sorry, sorry! I forgot how soft you Humans are! Sorry!”

“It’s okay.”

Embarrassed, Selys picked up a quill and unscrewed an inkpot.

“Here, let me show you. The name of the continent we’re living on is Issrysil, according to my people—but no one says that. Everyone calls it Izril. It looks…like this.”

Selys drew on the piece of paper and outlined a body of land that looked vaguely like a triangle up top, but narrowed near the center and became vaguely shoe-shaped near the bottom. It was fairly ovoid in total, though, or maybe that was just the result of Selys’ drawing skills.

“Okay, this is roughly where all you Humans live. See? The entire northern part of the continent except where the mountains start. From here…to…here.”

Erin peered at the giant squiggly oval Selys drew around the northern section of the continent. Then she added small triangles for mountains two-thirds up the map, a long line of them stretching across the continent, nearly cutting the top third off from the bottom.

“And here’s Liscor. See, we’re the only way through the High Passes. Technically, there’s a route through the mountain range over here…but it’s infested with monsters. And of course the coastal routes to the east and west.”

Selys drew arrows through two sections of the mountain range and circled the small dot where Liscor was. That was roughly in the center of the map, where the continent was narrowest. Erin wasn’t good at geography—or topography—or whatever maps were, but it looked like Liscor was in a valley of some sorts.

“See, that’s why Liscor is so important. Without us, any goods have to go by land or sea all the way around the continent or brave the High Passes. And that’s not a good idea.”

“These High Passes aren’t safe?”

“Not even for high-level adventurers. Nasty creatures live around there—they make the local monsters look harmless by comparison.”

“Oh. But if all the Humans live in the north, what about the south? Are they all…Gnolls and Drakes?”

“And Antinium, but only in the Hivelands. Right along the northwestern coast below the High Passes, see? There are other species, but there are only three—four, I guess—in Izril.”

Selys shook her head as she began marking the bottom half of the map. She pointed out a small area in the lower half of Izril along the mountains and coastal range. A corner of the south.

“Here are the five known Antinium colonies outside of Liscor. Past this point is their territory. The Hivelands.”

She shivered.

“New. No one goes there, so we don’t know what it’s like, but I’ve heard it’s barren, and obviously, no armies or anyone else cross the border or get near the Antinium. It’s a death sentence.”

Why? Erin was about to point out Liscor had tons of Antinium…then she thought of the Soldiers and the Queen. And hadn’t Relc said Liscor was different? Klbkch….she swallowed a lump in her throat and changed the subject.

“Bad news. Got it. Didn’t I hear Liscor’s got an army? Relc…Relc said that. Is there lots of war?”

Selys rolled her eyes.

“There’s always some fight between the Drake cities. Or with a Gnoll tribe. We’re not Baleros, but—right. You don’t know Liscor has an army. They don’t come home often. They’re mercenaries, technically. Always being hired by one of the cities or alliances that pop up. And there are a lot of them.”

Selys began to furiously mark the lower half of the map with cities and circles.

“Okay, it gets a bit complex, but the big groups are the Walled Cities over here, the Gnoll Tribes of the plains, and the independent ports and cities in this area. Most of the inhabitants are Drakes, it’s true, but there are other species. For instance, nearly a third of the population down there are Gnolls. We have a few hundred Humans here and there…sometimes String-People or even Centaurs, Selphids, or other folk, but they’re just individuals rather than a community. Mostly in the Walled Cities.”

Some of the races Selys mentioned made no sense to Erin. What was a String Person? Or a Selphid? Or…

“What about Beastkin? I keep hearing that they live around here, but I’ve never seen one. Unless they look exactly like Gnolls. Where do they live?”

“Not really anywhere. I guess you might find more of them among the Gnoll Tribes—but they don’t belong there either. They come from another continent further to the west, Baleros, but they’re peaceful and easy to work with. We’ve got one total in all of Liscor. Hawk the Hare, our Courier.”

There was so much to ask about that Erin had to drop that fascinating line of questioning. She focused on species, first.

“Uh, are there other kinds of people like you? What about Lizardfolk?”

Selys scowled.

“No lizards. We wouldn’t tolerate their kind in cities anyways.”

Erin stared at the map. Selys finished marking it and smiled at Erin.

“Well, does that make sense?”

“Yeah, I think so. You explained it all well, but the map is making my eyes hurt.”

“Hey! What’s wrong with my map?”

Selys glanced down at the confusing jumble of squiggly lines and dots on the piece of paper.

“…Oh.”

Erin tried to keep a straight face, but couldn’t hold it in. She laughed, and after a moment, Selys laughed with her. That was a bit of happiness.

When they were done, Selys pointed to one of the dots near Liscor.

“Most of the new adventurers are coming from Pallass but it’s taking a while given how far they’re coming. I bet we’ll get a lot more and probably even some Human ones, but not for a few more days at least. Anyways, the reason all the adventurers are here is because of those new ruins. Didn’t you hear about them? Apparently, it’s some kind of underground complex—a huge one! They uncovered it a few days ago. Some [Shepherd] was walking with a herd and saw an opening in the hillside. It might be a dungeon.”

Erin remembered hearing about ruins, but it seemed like a distant memory.

“Oh yeah. That’s a big deal, isn’t it?”

Selys nodded seriously.

“It’s huge. We’re getting a huge amount of merchants, adventurers, and business because of it. But of course that means more trouble when they get into fights with the Antinium or break the law. I hear the Watch is working overtime, and now that Klbkch is—”

She cut herself off and tried to backpedal.

“Um, what I mean is that without—without enough guardsmen—”

“I get it.”

Erin patted Selys on the shoulder.

“So, there’s going to be a lot of adventurers? I might finally get some business in my inn.”

“Only if you can protect it. Like I was saying, Erin—”

“I need protection. Got it.”

Erin sighed.

“It’s so weird. I guess I just got used to the inn and the local area, y’know? I haven’t seen any monsters, so I just can’t get worried.”

“Well, you are in a place that used to have quite a few villages.”

Selys conceded as she marked a few X’s around Liscor.

“They all got abandoned or destroyed over time, especially after the Necromancer.”

“Pisces?”

The Drake looked incredulous.

“Who? No, not that Human. The Necromancer. From Terandria? The end of Silvaria? Az’kerash? Come on, Erin. Practically every Human north of us knows about him. He was from a while back and—well, we lost a lot of the area around Liscor. He destroyed entire Terandrian nations, but here, at Liscor, he met his end. The Antinium and Zel Shivertail brought him down, and that’s how the Free Hive was allowed into the city.”

She looked so proud about that, possibly because this Zel guy had Selys’ last name. The Drake went on, and her smile faded.

“A lot of people died in his undead attacks and the Second Antinium War, hence all the abandoned places. The place you’re in is pretty safe. But if you go a few miles in any direction, you can find a lot of strange stuff.”

Erin was intrigued. She studied the second map Selys was drawing.

“Really? I guess I’ve never…huh. You know, I’ve never really gone exploring. I mean, aside from finding the inn and a few other spots, I didn’t really go anywhere else. I started repairing the inn and…yeah, I didn’t ever really go any further.”

Selys shook her head.

“Good thing you didn’t. Some of those places are pretty dangerous. I mean, not now, obviously, since it’s not the right season and the Watch was keeping them clear, but I’ve heard stories.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, you know the adventurers. They always talk about treasure and finding magical artifacts in caves and so on. But the ones around here are always poor, so I wouldn’t pay attention if I were you. Most slither on back to the city before they get much further than your inn, anyways. They’re all low-level, which is why none of them have dared enter the ruins yet. They’re waiting for the stronger adventurers to clear the way before they flood in.”

“So what you’re saying is that there’s a lot of unexplored land out there?”

“If you stray from the roads, I guess. But who’d risk exploring out there?”

Selys paused, realized what she’d said, and stared suspiciously at her friend. Erin kept a perfectly straight face.

“Erin…”

“What?”

“No! It’s too dangerous! Don’t be stupid!”

“I just want to see what’s around the inn. I won’t go far. And I’ll run away if I see anything.”

“No. I won’t let you go alone.”

“Oh come on. I’ll be careful. I’ll only walk a few miles in every direction, okay? But I really don’t know what’s around the inn. I just want to explore a little.”

“Erin—”

“I’ll be fine, I promise, Selys. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Knock. Knock. Erin rapped her knuckles against the table.

“You’re going to get yourself hurt! Or killed!”

“There’s nothing out there that can hur—catch me.”

Knock. Knock.

“We were just talking about you needing someone to protect you! Without Relc and Klbkch—Erin, remember the Goblins? And there are far worse things out there! Believe me, I work with adventurers. I know.”

“Nothing’s going to bother going after a lone Human in an inn in the middle of nowhere, I’m sure.”

Knock. Knock.

“Why do you keep on doing that?”

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.35 R

Once, she’d broken her arm. When it had happened, Ryoka hadn’t even felt the pain—it was just the shock of it that hurt. Only when she’d dragged herself from underneath the motorcycle and waited for the ambulance did she feel the pain.

It hurt. But oddly, the worst part hadn’t been the pain.

Now, if her broken bones had actually pierced her skin at that time, her arm would have hurt far more than it did. But back then, Ryoka had been more overwhelmed by the dizzy nausea of it all and the feeling of wrongness in her arm. That had been the real trial as she waited for help.

She remembered that moment now. The memory floated up in her hazy mind like a bubble of the past. It was important to remember. She didn’t do it often enough.

Ryoka leaned on the table with the arm she’d once broken—her left. It was a pain in the ass to break your dominant hand. What was she thinking about? Oh yeah.

Memory.

Maybe if she’d remembered, she wouldn’t have made the same mistakes. But she repeated the same errors again and again. Pissing off everyone around her until they dragged her down into the mud. The same thing again and again. The symptom of madness—except that it wasn’t. That was one of the things idiots thought was true but was actually a lie.

Ryoka looked around. At this time of night, the common room of the inn was deserted. The innkeeper was in his bed, and the barmaids were all gone. But he’d left a candle on for her. Not that he would have done it if she’d asked, but a Minotaur’s polite request was quite another thing.

She rested her head against the table. She felt hot. And tired. But mainly hot, in the bad, stifling air sort of way. Not the hot that made uppity Minotaurs try to invite themselves into her room sort of way.

It was night. It might have been dark and stormy, but Ryoka was sitting inside the inn, so she couldn’t tell. She wasn’t doing anything right now. Just sitting and…waiting.

What was she doing? Everything felt like it was slowly being consumed by pain and that sweltering heat—worse than fire because it was feverish, like swampy, marsh heat. Sickness.

She was sure her leg was now infected, and Ryoka didn’t want to think of how bad it might get.

Stupid. Just tell Magnolia she needed help. Do it now.

This was stupid. Why was she not taking the easy, logical, practical way out? Trust a [Lady]’s resources to heal her. Not this gamble.

Necromancy didn’t sound hygienic. But she was doing it. Doing it because—she didn’t trust Magnolia? Because she was that committed to raising a middle finger to someone?

Yes. No.

Because she had principles? Because, because—

She hated being bullied into doing something. Because she’d rather risk her leg on this wild idea than—

Idiot. She had no one but herself to blame if this went wrong.

Memory. Pain. Broken bones. Ryoka felt time slipping around her. First she was waiting and then—a half-Elf was talking to her.

“Ryoka? Time to go.”

Why was she talking so quietly? Oh. It was night. Ryoka pushed her chair back. With Ceria’s arm around her, she stood up. She had to be helped to the door. Humiliation. Or was it practicality?

They helped lift her into the carriage. Another bit of shame, but there were no steps up. And they’d placed hay to cushion her leg. The other adventurers nodded to each other as Ryoka lay against a pillow of straw.

Credit where credit was due. For all the Horns of Hammerad bickered and their leader was a perverted cow-man, they moved fast. Within the hour of Ceria receiving her reply from the mysterious necromancer she knew, they’d hired a carriage and horses and plotted a route to their destination.

It was a city far to the south by the name of Liscor. Ryoka didn’t know anything about it. Apparently, there weren’t any Humans there, just Drakes and Gnolls, whatever they were. She’d let them do it. In fact, Ryoka’s only actions since Magnolia had left were to agree to Ceria’s idea and then to sleep.

No—not sleep. Even as the carriage started with a jolt that banged Ryoka’s leg, she knew it hadn’t been sleep. The painful haze of dozing and waking couldn’t be called that. But now she was tired, mortally so.

The thing about broken bones? Ryoka blinked as the carriage rumbled down the cobblestone street. She was trying to remember. What was it? Back then, it hadn’t been the pain that was uncomfortable.

Yes, it was the other things. The pressure, the wrongness, the dizziness and nausea. All the things she felt now. Her leg felt hot underneath its wrappings. Ryoka’s mind was clouded. But the pain was gone.

Ryoka stared at the soaked bandages she could barely make out in the moonlit night. If she took the bandages off, she wouldn’t be able to think or move. Then the real pain would come back, and her leg would dangle like a dead fish. She was still tempted, though. Just to do it to see her leg bend obscenely as it flapped about on her dead skin. Flop goes the piece of flesh and shattered bone. Flop, flop. Floppy the Leg-fish.

She was aware that she wasn’t…wasn’t thinking too straight. Sleep deprivation from the pain just made everything harder. But now the pain was gone. Gone, and far away.

Magic.

She could hear the other adventurers talking around her. Four of the Horns of Hammerad sat in the cart—or was it a wagon? It was big enough for five with room left over, so a wagon, then.

“Is she okay?”

That was Gerry—Gerial. The vice-captain. He liked her, she could tell. Ryoka didn’t like him back.

Ceria glanced at Ryoka. The mage was sitting next to her in the wagon. Her eyes glowed in the light shining from the tip of the mage’s staff.

“She should be fine. I think.”

“She seems—odd. What spell did you cast?”

Calruz. Ryoka didn’t like him either. Not like that.

“It wasn’t me. Peminac cast [Numb], I think. It takes away pain, but it makes the affected slightly…odd. She should be fine, and it’s better than her feeling the pain. We just need to make sure to keep healing the leg every few hours.”

“You still haven’t told us how your mysterious [Necromancer] friend will help heal the leg, Ceria.”

One of the adventurers whose name Ryoka didn’t remember turned in the wagon. He wasn’t one of the mages. He gripped the mace at his side.

“You mean the Necromancer? I thought we were just visiting another [Mage]! I thought he was dead!”

The armored warrior looked horrified. He shook his head vigorously.

“If that’s the case, count me out. I’m sorry, but not even a debt of honor would make me face that monster.”

Calruz rumbled. He was striding along next to the wagon. Even as they picked up speed as they left the city gates and rumbled down the road he didn’t seem to notice the quick pace.

“In that case, get out. And consider yourself banned from the Horns of Hammerad while you’re at it.”

“Calruz—”

Gerial intervened. He patted the warrior on the shoulder.

“It’s not the Necromancer we’re going to meet. Just an ordinary [Necromancer], so don’t worry. Az’kerash is dead. Everyone knows that.”

The name alone was enough to scare some of the others, though. Calruz had no sympathy for it.

“We don’t need cowards! Jump off and run back into the city!”

“Running from the Necromancer isn’t cowardice, idiot. Calm down. Hunt, get back here.”

Ceria called down from the wagon as she stabbed her staff at the Minotaur’s head for emphasis. He grunted, and Ceria added.

“You weren’t on the continent when the Necromancer attacked with his legions ten years back. Or a Terandrian. Hunt is. I grew up with stories of him attacking kingdoms and killing people by the thousand. And that was when I was a girl. Believe me—even if we were all thirty levels higher, we’d still be no match for him. So stop questioning the courage of your own party!”

Calruz glared, but he eventually relented. Ryoka could hear him rumbling what sounded like insults as he kept pace with the horses.

Her eyes were closed because that made the world spin less. But Ryoka had to ask.

“So this Necromancer is still alive?”

A pause. Did they think she’d been asleep? But then Gerial replied.

“In the past, they never found his body and he’d pop up. But the Tidebreaker, Zel Shivertail, beheaded him and they burned him. Still, some people remember him, and everyone hates [Necromancers]. They’re not outlawed everywhere—but close enough.”

Which made it odder that Ceria knew one, and the rest of her team was giving her the side-eye. She cleared her throat.

“In any case, the [Mage] we’re going to visit is not the Necromancer. He just…practices necromancy. And he’s the only person who can help Ryoka I could think of.”

“Ah.”

Someone shifted on the wagon. Ryoka heard the scraping of metal on wood. She peeked open an eye and saw the half-Elf looking at the other female mage on the wagon.

“I still don’t like it. Ceria, how do you know someone like that?”

She shrugged.

“We studied together in Wistram Academy. I was a friend of his…once. We parted ways badly several years ago, but I knew he was probably in the area. Besides, Pisces isn’t very dangerous. Annoying, yes, but not dangerous. He’s…thoughtless, secretive, selfish, and he’s made terrible mistakes. But he’s no monster. And I hate to admit it but—he is very smart.”

Gerial leaned forwards.

“You told him what you want him to do?”

The half-Elf blew out her cheeks.

“I gave him the barest details. The messaging spell I used didn’t give me time for more, but he agreed. We’re not on good terms, like I said. He’ll meet us at an inn a few miles east of Liscor. Don’t worry; he’s competent. But I suspect he’ll want money, and lots of it.”

“We can cover the cost.”

Calruz interjected before Ryoka could speak. Which was good, because she was completely broke at the moment. Even the healing potions and carriage had been paid for by the Horns of Hammerad.

“Why’s he out there?”

“He’s in hiding.”

“Why does he practice necromancy?”

A pause. Ryoka’s eyelids felt heavy. Then Ceria spoke.

“I suspect because he likes dead people more than he likes the living most of the time.”

“I get that.”

Everyone turned to Ryoka, but the young woman was half-asleep already. Ryoka let her head fall back against the bouncing carriage. She meant to ask more questions, but she was so hot. And tired. The parts of her shattered leg that she could feel felt like they were throbbing. But the pain was gone, thanks to the magic.

In this moment, that was enough to make the bumping, rattling wagon smelling of hay into heaven. Ryoka sank back into the hay.

She closed her eyes and slept.

——

Riding on a carriage pulled by a horse is not fun with a shattered leg. Even with healing potions and anti-pain spells. But compared to sleeping in an inn sans anti-pain spells and with limited healing potions, it’s bliss.

I slept for two days, apparently. Well, I woke up and ate and talked, but they told me I had a fever. By the time it broke and I started to remember things, two days had passed. It’s midday, and apparently, we’re two-thirds of the way towards our destination*.

*Which, considering how far Liscor is away from the Human lands, is pretty damn impressive. The Horns of Hammerad must have set a blistering pace to get this far so quickly.

Some [Driver] is rolling the wagon forwards and grumbling nonstop about his ponies, but he’s fast. Skills, apparently, let him carry us faster than most vehicles or even horses—if not cars.

I missed the details of what happened while I slept. But apparently, the Horns of Hammerad made a few stops at another city. Firstly, to let the rest of their injured party members know what they were doing, and secondly, to swap out horses. Then they continued their journey into the night, half of them sleeping in the wagon and then swapping out with the others in the morning.

They even took care of my leg. The bandages weren’t changed, of course, but they’d used another healing potion so my leg didn’t look as puffy and horribly red. Just…puffy and red at the moment.

“How are you feeling?”

Ceria leans forward over the hay when she notices I’m awake. She hands me a roll of sweet, crumbling bread spread with jam and butter. It tastes delicious.

“Good. Thanks for everything.”

My voice wakes up one of the guys sleeping in the wagon. Gerial blinks up at me and gives me a charming smile. I guess it’s charming. Someone else would probably think it was, at any rate.

“We’re happy to repay our debts, Ryoka. And it hasn’t been that much of a chore so far.”

Says the guy sleeping in hay on a bumpity wagon after two days of roughing it. Well, maybe that is normal by this world’s standards.

“I’ll remember this.”

Crap. That sounded like a threat. And…now he’s looking confused. Great. Change the subject, fast.

“—So. About this mage.”

Ceria nods. She fiddles with her staff. It’s not glowing anymore. I guess it takes mana to keep it lit*.

*Mana. Magical energy. This world already sounds like a classic videogame, and they use terms right out of most games I know. Still, the idea that we all have our own internal reservoir of magic is cool.

“Pisces. I told you that he’s a [Necromancer]. In truth, he’s probably not that strong of one—I remember that he was about Level 22 when we were students together in Wistram Academy. Even if he’s leveled up a bit, he shouldn’t be a threat if you’re worried.”

I hear a snort. Huh. Calruz is still keeping pace with the wagon. Did he…run throughout the night? Even I’m not that kind of crazy.

“I fear no [Mage], especially not a weak one who practices cowardly magic like necromancy.”

Gerial shook his head.

“He’s still the same level as most of our group. That’s not bad. But why did you say he was hiding out, Ceria?”

She scratches her head and glances over the side of the wagon. Not directly away from Gerial, but I know evasion when I see it.

“…He was kicked out of Wistram Academy. And he’s wanted by several cities for causing trouble, I gather. Not murder—just extortion and troublemaking.”

Time for more information gathering.

“Let me guess. He was kicked out because they found he was practicing necromancy, right?

Ceria hesitates, and her eyes cloud over. Her team’s listening, but the half-Elf just murmurs vaguely.

“Oh, no. It wasn’t just that. No, it was because of what he did with necromancy that he was expelled.”

Again, the awkward silence. I hate this kind of conversation, but someone’s got to ask the obvious question. Thankfully, it’s Gerial not me that gets to ask.

“What did he do?”

Ceria tightens her lips.

“…He got a lot of people killed. By accident. I think it was an accident, but a good friend of mine died. That wasn’t the only…only reason. But it’s past now. Six years past. I called in what few favors I think I had left to get him to meet us.”

The rest of the Horns glance at each other. I lick my lips and accept a flask of water. Some kind of past drama? Curious. I guess. I’m not too interested in this mystery [Necromancer]’s past right now, except whether or not he’s competent.

“Is he competent?”

Ceria nods, relieved to be changing the subject—I could see Calruz opening his mouth.

“Oh yes. He’s got the levels to do what we need, and he’s smart. You could even call him a genius in a limited sense.”

“How so?”

Ceria scowls and adjusts the blankets she’s wrapped around herself.

“Well, he’s only a brat—I mean, he’s only around twenty in your years, which I suppose makes him an adult. But he’s got levels in multiple magical classes. If you add them all up, he’s got more than I do, and I’m three times his age.”

Don’t they say never mention a woman’s age in public? But I guess half-Elves don’t care about that sort of thing.

“So this operation. What—”

I stop and cover a yawn. Really? I just slept.

“What—”

I’m still yawning? What’s wrong with me?

“Tired?”

I want to smack the grin right off of Gerial’s face.

“…Guess I’m tired.”

Ceria nods.

“The [Numb] spell and all the healing you’re doing is probably taking its toll. If you need to sleep—sleep. We won’t get to Liscor for several more hours, and we still need to water and feed the ponies.”

“Worthless nags.”

“I heard that, sir!”

The [Driver] turns in his seat, and I see an old man—and the ponies—glare at the Minotaur. Which is funny. He snaps back.

“If you want to go faster, get off and pull yourself. Or I’ll thank you to not insult my ponies.”

“Calruz, shut up. This is the only [Driver] we could get who can take us there fast.”

“Yeah, shut up, with respect, Captain.”

Gerial and Ceria berate Calruz, and I hear him rumble an apology at the touchy [Driver]. It’s a shame. I like anyone who has an attitude like that…so long as it’s not directed at me…

Something about hypocrisy?

…Crap. I’m already slipping back into sleep. Why? I guess…just that tired?

I hear the last fragment of a reply as I drift off.

“—I personally believe he’s delusional and that he’ll never achieve his goals. But regardless, he won’t stay in the area long. Every time the Academy learns where he’s staying, they send out a team to capture him. So far, he’s escaped, but it’s only a matter of time before he stays in one place too long and gets caught.”

And then—and then—

I go back to sleep.

——

When Ryoka woke up the second time, she looked around and knew that she was in a different place. The grasslands still stretched around her, but the grass was longer here, and to each side, she saw towering mountains enclosing the area.

She was in a valley. A pass between the mountain ranges that she normally saw as distant shapes in the distance. And the dirt road the wagon had been travelling on was now stone. The increased rumbling and jolting as the wagon struck uneven stones was probably what woke her up. Also, something really stank, and it was hard to sleep through.

“Evening.”

This time, Ceria handed Ryoka a piece of bread with some sliced cheese and meat. Again, Ryoka devoured the meal quickly before she spoke.

“How was the trip?”

One of the other mages enjoying his lunch looked up and replied.

“Uneventful. We scared away a few Razorbeaks that wanted to take a bite out of your leg, but we haven’t seen any other monsters.”

Ryoka blinked stupidly. Her head still felt stuffed.

“Razorbeaks?”

“Large, green birds. Leathery. Got teeth sharp as a knife, but they’re not too dangerous. A few sparks scare them away.”

“Not a challenge.”

Ryoka looked over and realized what the smell was. Calruz sat at the far end of the wagon—downwind of the other adventurers. He was sweating heavily. To put it politely, he reeked. The smell reminded Ryoka of a workout gym right in the middle of rush hour crossed with a barn right in the middle of a different kind of rush hour.

“We near Liscor?”

“A few miles away. But we should see the inn Pisces mentioned any minute now. You have good timing.”

Ryoka shrugged. She kept looking around. The plains really were quite empty. She supposed sleeping through most of the journey had a lot to do with that, but really, the landscape she could see had very few variations in it. Just a few trees over…there and some weird rocks scattered all over in other directions. And over there—

“Goblins.”

Ryoka said it at the same time as Ceria. The other adventurers sat up and squinted to see as they reached for their weapons. Calruz took one look and sat back against the wagon.

“Bah.”

Gerial squinted as the warrior by his side pulled out a longbow from the supplies in the carriage and began to string it.

“Goblins. Looks like a fight within their own tribe.”

Ryoka could see two groups of Goblins slashing and clubbing each other in the distance. It was hard to tell, but it looked like one side was being led by a small Goblin while the other was leaderless. Still, the numbers favored the leaderless side.

“Hm. Looks like one of those Goblins has some experience fighting. See—they’re using formations and fighting together.”

Calruz didn’t even look up as he stretched out.

“Rabble. Not worth dirtying a blade over. Not a single Hob in sight.”

One of the other adventurers gritted their teeth.

“You wouldn’t say that if you ever saw a raiding party—or a warband. Besides, the Guild offers a copper piece for every four pairs of Goblin ears.”

The bow-wielding warrior drew an arrow and sighted down the shaft.

“I can probably hit the runt if you slow the carriage down. Might stop a new chieftain being selected for a few more days. Want me to make the shot?”

Calruz waved a hand indifferently, clearly uncaring. The warrior glanced at Gerial. And Gerial glanced at Ryoka. He hesitated and then shook his head.

“This isn’t our area, and besides, it’s a tiny tribe. Let the local adventurers deal with it if it becomes an issue. Let’s go find that [Necromancer].”

“He should be waiting at the inn. Anyone see it?”

The other adventurers looked around as the warrior unstrung his bow, grumbling about a missed opportunity. Ryoka looked around too, but the landscape was full of hidden hills and dips that made seeing in a straight line hard.

It was half an hour before one of the mages pointed.

“There’s the inn. We’re here.”

Ryoka’s head shot up. She saw in the distance a rising hill, broad enough to almost be called a plateau, and on it—

An inn.

It was quite ordinary. Ryoka glanced at its weathered façade and immediately paid no attention more to it. Because standing on top of the gently sloping hill and staring down towards the party of adventurers was a [Mage].

He was clearly a [Mage]. He looked pasty-skinned and like he was more used to wielding books than a sword. His robes were white—well, as the wagon approached, they became more colorful, but he was wearing robes.

The wagon rumbled to a stop as the sweating horses finally finished their long journey. The adventurers slowly and silently slid out of the wagon. Ryoka tried to get up, but Calruz simply picked her up in his arms and hopped off the wagon before placing her on her feet. She glared at him but then focused on the [Mage].

Pisces. He looked quite harmless as the Horns of Hammerad spread out in front of him. But Ryoka noticed that while none of the adventurers had drawn their swords, they weren’t relaxing in front of him. And they were in formation—two of the [Mages] in the back while the warrior with the mace stood in front of them. Calruz and Gerial flanked Ceria as she stepped forwards.

The half-Elf walked forwards until she and Pisces were a few feet apart. They appraised each other. One, a part-immortal with beauty that bordered on the supernatural, wearing robes woven with magic and finest cloth. The other, a [Mage] in dirty robes standing in front of a run-down inn.

Ceria inclined her head slightly. Pisces nodded.

“Pisces.”

“Ceria.”

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Quite. Spoken to Mons? Beatrice, perchance?”

He gave her a wary look, and Ceria’s wary look turned into a flash of anger.

“You know I haven’t. This isn’t a trap. I haven’t heard a word for—”

He raised his palms.

“I am simply asking.”

“Well—no. This is a mission of mercy. Thanks—thanks for meeting us.”

His face twisted into a sneer, and he seemed about to say something, but then he glanced at Ceria’s team and at Ryoka. Both fell silent as Ryoka balanced on one leg. She looked from one face to the other. Clearly, there was little love lost between the two, but they weren’t enemies. It was another one of the awkward social moments she hated.

Ceria broke the silence. She nodded towards the inn.

“Is there anyone in there? Can we buy supplies and rest or do we have to go into the city?”

He shrugged.

“Not at the moment. The owner is currently elsewhere, it seems.”

“They let you stay at the inn? Nevermind, it doesn’t matter. Well then, I guess this is as good a place as any.”

“I suppose so.”

More silence. Ceria tightened her grip on her staff.

“You know what we want you to do?”

“Mend shattered bone? A simple task.”

Pisces shrugged casually. This seemed to infuriate Gerial. The vice-captain stepped forwards.

“We’ve travelled over a hundred miles to get here, mage. You’re supposed to be a [Necromancer] able to help us, but I haven’t heard how you’d be able to mend bone. [Necromancers] deal with the dead, so what makes you special? No [Healer] from Wales to Celum could help Ryoka!”

If looks could kill—Pisces’ icy stare would merely have wounded. He took his time replying and sniffed hard as he looked down his nose at Gerial.

“Necromancy is a misnomer for the true nature of my magic. Reanimation is but one component of raising the dead. Another, crucial aspect is the manipulation and fundamental understanding of—”

Ceria interrupted.

“Bones. He can control bones.”

Pisces sniffed.

“Thank you for the simplistic explanation. I suppose that does explain it, however. In any event, know that I am a [Necromancer] capable of your request. Kindly refrain from addressing me with pointless questions ever again. As for [Healers] being insufficient—it is not my fault that there’s so little talent to go around.”

He turned to Ceria, completely ignoring the outraged Gerial.

“And my fee? As requested?”

Ceria made a face.

“We’ll give you twenty gold coins. No more, no less.”

Her team muttered at the price. It must have been high—even for the [Healer] to do what they had to Ryoka’s leg, she’d paid less than five gold coins total, not including the valuable bandages and potions. But the Runner just let Ceria negotiate.

Pisces raised an eyebrow.

“For what you want? When, as your dear teammate points out, no [Healer] can help your patient? Sixty, no less.”

“Thirty. And even that is robbery. This is a Silver-rank team, Pisces. Not some Gold-rank.”

“Nevertheless. You can eminently afford…fifty.”

“Forty.”

“—Fine.”

Pisces nodded, looking a bit too eager. Ceria looked over at Calruz, who tilted his head imperceptibly.

“We’ve got a deal then.”

“Very well. And the injured party I’m to heal?”

This time, all the Horns glared at him. Ceria pointed at Ryoka’s bad leg. Pisces glanced over and sniffed.

“Of course.”

Ceria let out a sigh that spoke to Ryoka of long suffering. She gestured at the inn and grasslands.

“Where do you want to work?”

“There’s no need to move. Now that we’ve agreed, let’s begin.”

Pisces reached down and put a hand on Ryoka’s leg. She felt something begin to shift inside her leg and bit back a shout of surprise.

“Pisces!”

Ceria shouted, and the other Horns reached for their weapons. Calruz clenched his fist and loomed forwards ominously, but Pisces didn’t look around.

He was shifting his finger as he stared hard at Ryoka’s leg. Something was moving around in there. Ryoka could feel multiple points of contact as the skin on her leg rippled and twisted.

It didn’t hurt. But it felt more unpleasant than anything she’d ever experienced. For once, her body was not in her control, and Ryoka didn’t like it one bit.

But almost as soon as it had started, the feeling stopped. Pisces glanced up from her leg and narrowed his eyes at Ceria.

“I would appreciate no shouting during the process. You know how much concentration this takes even without interruption.”

The half-Elf stepped forwards and jabbed Pisces hard in the chest, making him wince.

“You idiot! At least have her lie down before you do that!”

Pisces shrugged insolently.

“The comfort of the patient is of no object to me. Regardless…I’m done. Where’s my payment?”

The other adventurers stared at him incredulously.

“Already?”

“Impossible!”

Gerial strode forwards and jabbed at Pisces angrily.

“You can’t have finished so quickly! You must be lying!”

Pisces stepped back rather than let Gerial get near him. He sneered at the older man.

“You may doubt all you wish, but I believe my fellow student can attest to my competence. Besides which, any spell would confirm the veracity of my statement. Tell them, Springwalker.”

Ceria nodded reluctantly. She bent down and felt at Ryoka’s leg, then shot a glance up. But she traced a long, continuous line down Ryoka’s leg and then stood up and whistled.

“It’s true. He’s restored the bone to normal. Dead gods—that’s incredible.”

The Horns of Hammerad exclaimed in surprise and shock. They immediately appraised Pisces again, all except for Ryoka. She was still staring down at her leg.

“Fine, then. Your money.”

Ceria looked at Calruz. The Minotaur grunted and fished in his belt pouch. He tossed Ceria a small sack of coins. She caught it and upended it over her palm. Gold coins poured out—far more than the bag should have contained.

Pisces waited until Ceria had counted the coins out. There were more than could fit in her hand, but as the coins poured out, Ceria’s hand shimmered with faint green light, and they began to float in the air.

The gold coins flew upwards and then resolved themselves into four perfect stacks of ten standing straight up in the half-Elf’s hand. She handed them to Pisces with a face as if she were plucking a tooth. He smiled as he poured the gold into a pouch at his side. Ceria whirled away, and the Horns of Hammerad retreated to confer around Ryoka’s leg.

“I have plans for this gold. Not least, it will help shut up a certain annoying [Innkeeper]—”

He stopped when he realized no one was listening to him. Pisces glared around, turned, and walked away.

——

“Sorry about that.”

Ceria apologized once Pisces had moved out of earshot. She sighed and rubbed at her brow.

“I’d forgotten how annoying Pisces gets, and I remembered quite a bit.”

Gerial was close to tearing out his hair. He snapped at Ceria while glaring at Pisces’ back.

“If it was that simple, why couldn’t you have done that? The entire spell barely took seconds!”

“Exactly.”

Calruz grunted. A large vein was throbbing in his head as he clenched his fists.

“That little runt of a Human was mocking us the entire time. We travelled all this way and paid all this coin for a spell that any one of you could have done? Explain yourself, Ceria!”

Both Captain and vice-captain of the Horns of Hammerad glared at their mage, but she was at least equal to them in projecting ire.

“I couldn’t have done that. And that was no spell—at least, not any spell written down. You think we overpaid? I think we underpaid, and I’m just glad Pisces didn’t catch on to what Gerial was saying.”

Calruz paused. His massive face wrinkled up.

“What do you mean?”

“Pisces was moving around each of the shattered bones and knitting them together. He could sense where they are, and he knows how to reassemble them. That isn’t something any normal [Mage] could do. Or even a regular [Necromancer].”

The other mage shivered.

“Ceria is right, Calruz. I wouldn’t know where to begin with an injury like that. But the speed and precision of that [Necromancer]…and you say he’s only Level 22?”

Ceria twirled her staff in her hands as she took her time responding.

“Pisces is a genius. He possesses an intimate knowledge of Human bodies. No one but another [Necromancer] could have done that so easily. And frankly, I would not trust any other [Necromancer] but Pisces. Listen, have you ever heard of someone mending shattered bone like that?”

The other adventurers fell silent. Calruz glanced at Gerial, and the vice-captain hesitated.

“You hear about the Healer of Tenbault, and Named-ranks have the highest-grade potions in the world. But…no. I know a lot of Silver and Bronze-ranks who take a bad break and it never heals.”

Calruz looked horrified—and angry. But his eyes were flickering.

“The House of Minos has a lot of experience with bone injuries, and our [Healers] are the best as I said. But—that was instantaneous. And the solution is a [Necromancer]? I should report this to home. If that really does mend bone that fast…”

“And it worked? This only matters if it works.”

Hunt interrupted nervously. The man was glancing at Ryoka for confirmation. Now, the adventurers stared at Ryoka’s leg. It seemed…unchanged, at least under the bandages. That was to say, the bandages were so red and dirty that none of the actual flesh could be spotted underneath. At least the leg didn’t appear swollen.

“The flesh is still probably broken, but the bone underneath should be repaired if Pisces is right. He doesn’t know healing spells, but he could easily reinforce and repair the bone.”

Ceria peered at Ryoka. The girl hadn’t moved the entire time—since Pisces had begun changing her leg, she’d been frozen, staring down at it.

“Ryoka? How do you feel?”

No response. It was as if Ryoka were lost to the world. Ceria frowned, worry crossing her expression.

“…Ryoka?”

——

“…Ryoka?”

Someone is calling my name. And I want to answer them, I really do. But something else is occupying my mind. If you put the second coming, Armageddon, an alien invasion, and Elvis Presley rising from the dead right in front of my face, I wouldn’t be able to look up.

Because I can feel it.

The magic on my leg is still there, but I can feel it. The flesh may be broken, but the bone is whole. My bones are whole.

I. Am. Whole.

“Ryoka? Are you okay? How do you feel?”

What kind of question is that? How do I feel? Am I okay? How could—how could words, mere words describe what I’m feeling at the moment.

It took just a moment, but the difference between the me of now and then is—is the difference of a lifetime. I am healed. I am me again.

“Ryoka?”

Ceria puts a hand on my shoulder. It brings me out of the moment, just for a second. And it’s annoying because this is a moment I wish could last forever. If I could capture this feeling—if I could remember it, I would never despair again. This is what it means to have hope fulfilled.

But she wants an answer. How do I feel? Am I okay? What a stupid question. But I have to respond with something. Something…something pithy, like ‘how do you think?’

I open my mouth, and something changes.

…What?

For once, there’s nothing angry in me, no heart full of rage and hurt. Instead—instead, as I open my mouth, I hesitate. The bitter, harsh words stop on my tongue and refuse to come out. And something inside of me asks: why? Why and when?

Why was I about to lash out at the person who saved me? Saved. Me. Why would I ever do such a thing, repay all her kindness with rudeness? Am I that kind of person?

When did I forget gratitude? Since when was my first response always anger? When did I forget what it meant to say ‘thank you?’

Who am I, and where did the girl who smiled go?

I don’t say anything. I swallow the bitter words unspoken. Instead, I turn to Ceria and look her in the eye. Her eyes are gold, the molten core of suns and burnished gold. The color of wheat fields in the fading sun, and caught in their depths is a glimpse of something deeper, something greater. A bit of eternity.

I bow my head, low. It’s been too long since I looked at my own two feet. I can feel the surprise of the people around them, but it’s only natural. It’s the least I can do. Should do.

“Thank you.”

Again, surprise. But I keep my head bowed. I can’t look them in the eyes just yet. The ground is blurry. So I repeat the same words.

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you. Thank you.”

Insufficient words. They’re not enough. How could words ever be enough?

The Japanese—the people that make up half of my heritage—they have a type of bow they use for apologies. It looks like prostration, and that’s what it translates to in English.

土下座. Dogeza. I once swore that I’d never do that for anyone. Not kings or queens or even God if he existed. But I’d do it now if I knew it wouldn’t make them feel so awkward. But I do it now, in my mind and soul. Thanking the people who gave me back what matters most to me.

My legs. My wings. My ability to fly. So I thank them in every way I can.

“It was nothing—”

I look up. Ceria is blushing. And on her face, it is truly cute rather than beautiful to see. I smile and turn. Calruz blinks down at me. Surprised? But I think I know how to thank him, and it is differently than Ceria.

“I am truly grateful. And I’m sorry for my rudeness earlier. I owe you a debt I can’t repay. But I know the Horns of Hammerad now, and I know what defines you.”

I stick out my hand towards him.

“Honor.”

Calruz pauses again. But then he seizes my hand and grips it tight. His eyes were deep and blue—I hadn’t guessed. We shake hands.

“Honor and duty above all. Without it, we are animals.”

I turn to Ceria and shake her hand next. And then Gerial’s. And the rest of the adventurers. How long? How long since I properly shook hands and acted like a decent person?

Firm grip, look them in the eye. Just like dad taught me. And they smile in return. They smile, and I feel it again.

Trust.

“My name is Ryoka Griffin. I am in your debt. Whatever I can do—if ever you need me, just ask.”

I stand straight and tall. Whole once more. And my mind continues where my voice stops.

Ryoka Griffin. Freshman in Columbia University, or—I would have been. I never got to set foot on campus. Accepted with a Track and Field scholarship, specializing in the 400-meter run. 3.89 GPA average, hobbies include hunting, sports shooting, and reading. Not decided on any particular major. A fan of Youtube videos and playing video games, but didn’t put that on the college application.

Ryoka Griffin, runner, unfriendly daughter who doesn’t like her dad, 4th Dan in Muay Thai although I like Parkour a lot more. Refused Mensa membership, kicked out of two high schools. Angry girl. Lost soul.

Loves songs she can run to, a huge fan of rock and an enemy of pop, techno, and opera. Favorite artists include Meatloaf, Imagine Dragons, Fun, Lady Gaga*, and…Five for Fighting.

*Not all pop songs are bad, okay?

Currently—

Grateful.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.36

When they removed the bandage from Ryoka’s leg, the other adventurers flinched back. All except for Ceria and Calruz, that was.

Ryoka stared down into the bloody, ripped mess of skin and once again was profoundly grateful for the numbing magic they’d put on her leg. Gerial looked pale as he gathered up the bandages. They were soaked with blood and grime, but they were still valuable.

“The flesh—”

“It’s fine.”

Ceria reassured the others. She fished out a red potion and uncorked the bottle.

“That’s what happens when you move bone around. But now the leg can be healed properly since the bone is repaired. Let’s heal—”

“Hold it.”

Calruz caught her arm, and for a second, Ryoka wondered if this was revenge for getting punched. She wasn’t in too much pain compared to before.

She could actually tell her bone was intact, not, you know, shredding her flesh with every passing moment. But the distinction was crippling delirium compared to an open, shredded leg—

“Give me the potion. What’s the hold up? Come on—”

Ryoka hissed through gritted teeth, but Calruz was eying the bloody, messy wound. Surprisingly, not much pus or other nasty fluids; the [Healer] had cleaned it and put on what they claimed would stop an infection.

“We must clean the wound first. A healing potion can accelerate an infection—”

“Dead gods, he’s right.”

Ceria lowered her arm and cursed, and Gerial bit his lip.

“That would not be…a good outcome.”

Ryoka looked from face to face.

“Infection? What? Healing potions accelerate infections?”

“That’s one of the reasons why adventurers can’t heal everything. That and poison stops healing from working properly. Hey, Pisces—Pisces!”

The [Necromancer] turned from counting his gold coins a ways off.

“What?”

“Does this building have anyone in it? Can we get some hot water? Or just water? We could boil our canteen water I guess.”

“We have cooking supplies. Calruz has them in his bag of holding.”

“I could inquire within, but the owner is out.”

“Who runs an inn with just one person? Nevermind. Uh—thanks.”

The half-Elf was awkward with the [Necromancer]. He sniffed and glanced at Ryoka archly. Ceria’s past with him, whatever it was, made the two stiff and grudgingly respectful. At best.

“The Minotaur is correct, Springwalker. Clean the wound. Too bad you never took that alchemy class, eh?”

He smiled—and Ceria’s face froze up. Her eyes flashed.

“Go to Rhir, Pisces.”

His smile disappeared instantly. Ryoka thought he’d meant it as a joke or…whatever the case, the [Necromancer] reddened and stepped back. He whirled away as the Horns fell silent—then stopped.

“Vinegar. Or soap. Hot soap and water.”

“What?”

Calruz looked up, and Ryoka, biting her lip hard, glanced up. Pisces sneered at them.

“Wash the wound. I know soap is not what you put on a wound—it doesn’t matter if you’ll heal it. Wash any grit straight out. Do hurry, though. The longer the wound is exposed, the sooner it will fester.”

He was right. Ryoka’s own germ knowledge made her clench her teeth—and the Minotaur already had a kettle going over a magical flame that the [Mage] Sostrom was producing with his staff.

“We’ll have to dump it over the wound. Ryoka Griffin, do you need something to clench with your teeth?”

“Do it. I’ll be fine. This—this is payback, isn’t it?”

“I assure you, it’s merely practicality.”

They had the kettle boiling quickly with the magical fire. Gerial gave Ryoka an arm to grip, but she clenched one hand.

“I’ll be fine. Just pour it on—fast.”

“Don’t burn her leg off. Just get that slime—grab my arm, Ryoka.”

Geria was remonstrating with Calruz. The Runner refused to.

“I’m fine.”

“Sure?”

“Yes—argh! Fuck you! I’ll kill you! You motherf—”

Ryoka’s screaming made Pisces glance back, even as he walked off across the Floodplains hills. Ryoka doubled over as the adventurers held her still, and Calruz spoke.

“Ceria—now.”

Carefully, the half-Elf poured the healing potion over Ryoka’s leg. It was a stronger, more expensive potion, so the effects began instantly once the liquid hit her flesh.

The scalding agony faded, and Ryoka let go of Gerial’s shoulder. She watched with nauseous interest as the flesh and sinew began to re-knit, shifting around like a bunch of worms. At this point, most of the Horns of Hammerad had to look away, but she kept watching. It was her body after all.

After about a minute, the top layer of skin began to close. Ryoka saw her flesh flow together to become smooth and whole. It was the most satisfying sight she’d ever seen.

Ceria tapped the bottle for the last drops of healing potion to fall out and then tucked it away in her belt.

“Looks good. I’m going to dispel the magic now. Ryoka, how does it feel?”

Ryoka shrugged. She was red-faced, mostly because of her reaction. She glanced at Gerial.

“S-sorry.”

“No problem.”

He winced; she must have really grabbed his shoulder. Ryoka turned back to Ceria.

“I can’t feel anything. But it looks good. Go ahead.”

Ceria nodded and grabbed the wand at her belt. She murmured a few words, and Ryoka listened for magical tongues, some deep magic—but all she heard was a disappointing normal voice.

“[Dispel Magic]. Alright, I’m ready to put the spell back. Ryoka? How’s it feel?”

All of the adventurers crowded close, alternating between staring at Ryoka’s face and her leg.

For a few seconds, Ryoka’s face was blank. Then, slowly, she stood up. She rested her full weight on both legs and then on her bad leg. She took one step and then two. Then—

She smiled.

“How’s it feel—”

Calruz nudged Gerial and cut the other man off. He watched as Ryoka took another step and then stretched her leg out. She gingerly tested her leg by taking a few forceful steps. Then she hopped up and down.

Ryoka spun on one leg. Then she jumped and kicked out with it before landing and doing a pivot-kick that cut the air. The adventurers blinked, impressed.

Hop, spin, kick, jump. Ryoka leapt about the grass like a monkey, or a martial artist if you wanted to be flattering. She did a cartwheel and then a spinning back kick. At this point, Gerial and the other adventurers were gaping openly, and that was before Ryoka started doing back handsprings and front flips.

“I take it you’re feeling better, Ryoka?”

The young woman stopped and grinned at Ceria. She flicked some sweat off her forehead.

“I’m great. Better than great.”

This time, Calruz was the one who was lost for words. Gerial had plenty, though. He stared openly at Ryoka.

“How did—I’ve never seen anyone do that.”

The other adventurers nodded in agreement, but one of the mages shook his head.

“I have. Tumblers and performers have those kinds of Skills. Do you have the [Performer] class, Miss Ryoka?”

She looked at him, mildly insulted.

“No, I’ve just got skill. You should see me do parkour or tricking.”

“Par—what?”

“It’s a type of running. Or—I guess you could call it a type of martial arts.”

Again, Ryoka had lost her audience.

“Marital what?”

“I’ve heard of that.”

Ceria nodded and smiled at Ryoka.

“You are full of surprises, aren’t you? And your leg doesn’t hurt? You don’t feel any twinges or pain?”

Ryoka smiled.

“None.”

“Pisces did his work well, then. I thought he would. He might be an idiot, but he’s a competent one.”

Gerial cleared his throat.

“I’m glad. Well, uh, what should we do now? It’s been a long trip, and there’s the inn or Liscor…Ryoka, did you want to, uh, do anything?”

The Horns of Hammerad stared at Ryoka. She was practically vibrating with energy, unable to sit still.

“I’m going to run back.”

“What?”

“I’ve gotta run. Sorry but—”

Gerial and the other Horns of Hammerad exchanged glances. The male [Warrior] nodded and grinned at her.

“We understand. I’ve broken bones before, too.”

Ryoka nodded. She was already looking at the wide, open plains. But then she looked back and hesitated.

“I don’t want to get in your way. I can probably find my way back on my own if you want to stay—”

“Nonsense.”

This time, it was Calruz who interrupted. The Minotaur snorted.

“We’ll follow in the wagon and pick you up when you slow down. There’s over a hundred miles between here and Celum. Even I—you couldn’t run that far.”

She gave him a grin. Even now, with the best intentions in the world—his comment made something flare up in her chest. She put her hands on her hips.

“Wanna bet?”

He blinked at her, and Ryoka hesitated. Wait, wait, don’t—she tried again.

“Um, thanks anyways, though. But if you need to rest—I know you were up all night.”

“We’ll give the horses a stamina potion, don’t worry.”

“Ponies!”

The [Driver] was still waiting by the wagon. The half-Elf rolled her eyes and smiled at Ryoka.

“If you’re going to run, stick to the road. Monsters around here are fairly dangerous. Stay away from the big rocks. They’re actually giant monsters in disguise.”

All of the other Horns of Hammerad eyed Ceria askance. But Ryoka just nodded. Her entire body was coiled like a spring. But again, she paused before running.

“Thank you. I really mean it.”

Calruz snorted.

“Enough words. Run already!”

Ryoka nodded at the adventurers. She gave them a rare, full smile, and at least a few hearts in the Horns of Hammerad skipped a beat. Then she took off.

Calruz must have had the idea to run with Ryoka, at least for a while, because he took off with her. He got ten steps before she’d left him completely behind. Ceria whistled softly as she saw Ryoka blaze through the grasslands.

“Let’s see if our [Wagon Driver] wants a break and get on the road if you want to follow her, Gerial. It looks like she’ll go at least forty miles before she runs out of steam.”

Gerial nodded and began ordering the Horns around, although they already knew what to do. Calruz stomped back, looking half-pleased, half-disgruntled.

“Fast. But that’s why she is worthy.”

Ceria eyed him while Gerial deliberately began fiddling with a blue potion he’d pulled from his pack.

“It’s worth repaying our debt to her, but it’s too bad we can’t stay in Liscor, Calruz. You know those new ruins are nearby. It might be worth getting the drop on the other adventuring teams and exploring it first.”

He shook his head.

“Not without a full-fighting party. There’s a reason none of the cowards around here have dared breach the upper levels yet. If we come back, it will be after we know what monsters have been sighted there and our wounded have recovered.”

“Practical, I suppose. I’m just surprised to hear that coming from you, Calruz.”

Calruz eyed Ceria irritably.

“Why? Because I am a Minotaur?”

Her gaze didn’t waver.

“No, because you’re you.”

He snorted and grinned. The Minotaur was one of the Beriad, whatever that meant, and he sometimes showed his talents. Such as now as he eyed Liscor in the distance.

“I’m no fool, and the Horns of Hammerad aren’t Gold-ranked. Not yet. A proper strike force will take setting up. Let alone the provisioning. We will wait. Now, let us follow the quick Ryoka Griffin.”

The female [Mage] groaned as she climbed into the wagon.

“Another day and night of riding. Too bad we couldn’t stay at the inn.”

Calruz eyed the currently empty inn and shook his head.

“Bah, it doesn’t look that inviting anyways. It’s got holes in the roof, and if the [Necromancer]’s a customer, I shudder to think what the rest of the guests are like. Let’s go!”

The Horns of Hammerad set out, travelling down the central slope and for several miles until they found the main road. They kept going for an hour before Gerial raised his head and sniffed from the driver’s seat.

“…Does anyone smell smoke?”

——

Ryoka ran. She ran through the grass and kicked off the ground. With every step, she felt like she was being reborn. And she was running fast, perhaps faster than she’d ever run before. Her wings were back.

She crested a hill, stormed down it in half a second, and then hit the flat ground before another crest made her dig into the soft grass. The bumpy landscape of the area was perfect for muscle training, if she’d been so inclined. But as it was, Ryoka was just enjoying the feeling of running again.

She kept to the main road. Even with all the passion in her soul, Ryoka wasn’t about to risk running into whatever monsters Ceria had mentioned. She eyed the large, immobile rocks as she ran and wondered what was living underneath them.

At this time of day, the road was actually crowded with a few travellers. Ryoka either hadn’t seen them in her delirious ride to Liscor, or it had been too late at night/early in the morning. But now she saw merchants riding in armed caravans, farmers sitting on wagons, and even the lone traveller. Some were Human. Most were not.

Giant lizards. Hairy dog-people. Ryoka would have stopped and stared—or discreetly observed them—but the fire of running was burning her from the inside out. She ran at a good distance from the road as she flashed by the travellers. In turn, they stared at the Human running by them with undisguised curiosity and amazement.

Merchants, traders, travellers, peddlers, caravan guards, farmers, and the occasional group of adventurers all travelled the road to Liscor. Oh, and one more group.

[Guards].

Ryoka blitzed by a party of Gnolls, who sniffed and turned their heads almost too late to see her go by when she saw the group of armed Drakes. They reacted to her presence by reaching for their weapons, but when they saw it was just a lone Human, they relaxed. All except for one, that was.

Her legs and body were still fine, but Ryoka was thinking of slowing down to conserve energy when she saw the blur move out of the group of guards and chase after her. She heard the whoops and cheers of the Drakes and realized one of them was trying to race her. Ryoka looked over her shoulder.

A green blur was charging after her. It was one of the guardsmen, a big Drake with a spear on his back. Another one of the bonehead types who thought they could outrun her just to show off to their friends. She increased her pace. And…so did he.

He was fast. Ryoka sensed him behind her, and then he was right next to her. She gaped as he appeared by her side, giving her a smug grin. He was huge, and he was carrying a weapon and wearing armor, but he still was nearly as fast as she was. Nearly.

Her feet dug into the soft grass. Ryoka increased the tempo of her legs and went into overdrive. The Drake blinked as she accelerated. He tried to speed up, and for a few seconds, he managed to keep pace. But Ryoka had wings on her feet, and this was her first run in nearly a week. He might as well have tried to catch the wind.

“Hey! Wait! No fair! Let me take off my armor! And my boots!”

He began to shout, panting, and she laughed at him without slowing down.

How fast was she going? Ryoka saw the travellers on the road blur and then disappear with each step. She was in a completely different world of her own now, and even the insanely fast Drake couldn’t keep up. This was her world, a world few people would ever know.

For a second, Ryoka wished her iPhone were working so she could listen to some music or record herself running for one of the compilation videos on Youtube. But then she left those thoughts behind. She ran.

The guardsman fell behind. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep up with her. Ryoka turned her head and flashed him a smile for a good race. He desperately pumped his arms and his legs, but his weird speed was no match for her. And his posture was terrible.

Wait. Was he wearing armor? And carrying a spear?

She heard him call out after her, but Ryoka had hit the zone, and she couldn’t be stopped. She ran on and smiled into the breeze. The feeling was back. She was back.

She was free.

——

Relc gave up running when the female Human was over a hundred feet ahead of him. Disgusted, he ground to a stop, tearing up the grass with the force of his momentum. A nearby caravan of Human traders stared in amazement at him, but that was only because they were far too late to admire the runner still sprinting in the distance.

Frustrated, the Drake pulled his spear out and stabbed the ground. This was a first. He’d never—well, seldom ever been outrun. And never by a Human. He stared at Ryoka’s tiny back with a hint of admiration in his eyes.

Then he turned and began trudging back to the group of guards he’d left. They were several miles away. Relc grumbled about the inconvenience, conveniently forgetting he’d been the one to challenge Ryoka to a race. He took one more glance into the distance, but couldn’t see Ryoka’s figure anymore.

“Humans. Huh. I wonder if Erin knows her?”

——

Somewhere around the same time, Erin Solstice wasn’t shopping. Nor was she in Liscor. In fact, she’d left the city several hours ago. Right now, she was lost.

Not completely lost. She knew where Liscor was—roughly. She could follow the mountain range to get to it and therefore back to her inn. So she wasn’t lost in the grand scale of things.

But on a closer, localized level, she was very lost. In fact, Erin would go as far as to say she was completely lost.

She’d left The Wandering Inn behind with her supplies and then…

It was like stepping into a maze, but instead of the walls being vertical, they were all horizontal. Erin frowned. Did that make sense?

The hills and valleys of the grasslands were nearly indistinguishable from the flat ground at a distance, and the uniform long grass made things worse. Erin had to navigate using what little landmarks she could see by.

For instance, there were helpful rocks in the distance…except they occasionally moved around, and getting close to one was a bad idea. Oh, and the grass changed from green to yellow to orange and even purple in lovely patterns!

…Too bad that changed every day. So yes, Erin had little to navigate by other than the mountains and the few objects tall enough to be seen from every hilltop. This place really wasn’t that diverse in local fauna; most of it seemed hidden by the tall grass.

There were patches of red and white flowers that Erin saw now and then in this area, but she had a bad feeling about them. A little bell seemed to go off every time she bent down to pick one up in her head.

“[Dangersense].”

At least, it was probably that. It could just be a random bad feeling, but that was pretty much the same thing when you got down to it. Either way, Erin had decided not to try and smell the pretty flowers.

She looked around as she walked through the grasslands. This was amazing. In more than one sense. For one thing, she’d just spotted a road a few miles to the left. A road. She had no idea Liscor even had a road!

Well, that probably wasn’t that big a surprise. But Erin had just realized how narrow her little world had been. She’d practically lived only in her inn and occasionally in Liscor without exploring any other direction. And why?

Oh yeah, because of the monsters. Well…there weren’t any she could see. Erin wasn’t too far away from the main road, and Selys had said that was the safest area. She’d made Erin promise to stay close to the area the Watch patrolled.

But now, Erin had found a forest, and she was going to explore it. Because it was a forest. Literally the only trees Erin had found aside from the blue fruit trees. But these looked like proper trees…except they were missing all their leaves. Long, oddly wide branches criss-crossed some vaguely fir-like trees, which had a lot of dark blue-green leaves scattered at the base of the forest in a wide area.

Sturdy, in short, but they’d already lost their leaves. This could have something to do with the season. Apparently, it was around fall, closing in on winter. Erin hadn’t believed it, but Selys had assured her it was true. Apparently, the mountains made it so that the seasons didn’t hit the area around Liscor as hard or something because it wasn’t that chilly.

“Or maybe this is like Florida or California. No snow, no searing heat. That’d be nice. No, wait, Florida’s got muggy mosquitoes and crocodiles. Michigan rules. Yep, yep.”

Erin muttered to herself as she approached the dry-looking trees. It was a lovely forest and not too far away from her inn. Only…forty minutes if she walked straight? Okay, that was a good distance, but only because Erin was on foot.

Hm. The brown wood of the trees was definitely brighter in color than the ones back in her home. They actually looked closer in color to how trees were drawn, not how they actually looked with all the dark bark, moss, and whatnot. Erin wanted to go closer, but then a bell went off in her head.

The [Dangersense]. It had been dinging whenever Erin thought about going close to the flowers, but now it clearly and definitely rang out in her mind. From a little dinging bell to, say…a fire alarm. That level of difference. It was like a bad feeling in her gut—except in her head. And it told Erin that she did not want to get closer to the trees.

Erin quickly stepped back. Something was wrong with the forest. But what? They were just trees. But was something living in the forest? In the trees?

Cautiously, Erin reached into the bag she was carrying with her. She’d brought a small rucksack loaded with a few essentials for a day-long exploration. It hadn’t been too expensive, and she had wanted to be prepared. It wasn’t as if she were completely reckless like Selys and Krshia clearly thought she was.

Erin rummaged with one hand as she kept an eye on the forest. It was hard to feel around in her bag without looking, especially because she wanted to keep a certain item in there from breaking. Where was it…?

She’d brought a flint and steel and tinder, which she actually knew how to use in case she needed to make a torch. Not that she planned on exploring any caves, but it seemed like a practical choice. There were also bandages, but Erin didn’t want them. Her hand rummaged through the rucksack blindly.

She also had a long knife in a leather sheath she’d bought from the Adventurer’s Guild. They sold a number of items for adventurers behind their counter, and once Selys realized Erin wasn’t going to be dissuaded, she’d insisted Erin take one.

And a healing potion, of course. It was expensive—nearly a gold coin even for a weak potion, but Erin would have bought one regardless of the price. She’d learned her lesson.

Something smooth. That was the hand mirror. Apparently, this was an adventurer’s tool to check for injuries like poison barbs or in case of basilisk attacks. Whether or not basilisks actually existed…Erin had figured she could use a mirror anyways.

She’d bought it because she really wanted one, but the thought of a grizzled warrior checking out his appearance was also pretty funny.

Erin had laughed, but then Selys had told her about how some bugs could sink into an adventurer’s skin and lay eggs that would hatch and eat them from inside out. That had been disgusting and made Erin feel like a jerk for laughing. But it still hadn’t stopped her from exploring, especially after Selys admitted those insects didn’t live anywhere near Liscor.

Selys didn’t seem to get it. Come to that, Krshia didn’t really get it either. The Gnoll seemed to think Erin was trying to avenge Klbkch. She’d offered to come along to ‘hunt’ with Erin, but Erin had refused.

None of them really understood. They thought Erin was crazy, and she probably was, but her reason made sense to Erin. This was something she had to do.

“I wish—”

Erin broke off and shook her head. What was she doing? Erin stared blankly at the object she’d pulled out of her pack. Oh, right.

She was holding a rock. In fairness, it was a nice rock. Rough around the edges, true, but a prime specimen of a rock nonetheless. Erin could hold this rock and know it was definitely made of stone. It was nicely heavy too, and it was her prime defense against anything.

Erin hefted it and squinted at the tree. Hm. She backed up until she was around fifty feet away. That seemed safe enough. Then she lifted the rock, took aim, and threw.

Erin had never played baseball as a kid. It was a boy’s game, at least where she’d grown up, and they were all jerks when it came to letting girls have a turn. But she’d played catch now and then, and there were plenty of baseball games on TV that she would occasionally watch. In short, Erin had a pretty good idea of how fast a baseball could be thrown.

The rock she tossed had about the same velocity as a fastball. Not a major-league fastball, the kind that could dent metal or kill people but—actually, this was a rock. It could totally kill people, even at Erin’s slower velocity.

And it had perfect accuracy. Erin watched the rock she’d thrown strike one the trees dead center, hard enough to dent the bark. Another Skill. [Unerring Throw]. With it, Erin literally couldn’t miss.

The rock fell to the ground. Erin watched the tree. The branches were shaking from the impact, but nothing else happened. Maybe there wasn’t anything living in the trees after all. Or maybe it was hiding or only lived in certain trees or somewhere deeper in the forest. Or maybe—

Waitaminute. Erin froze. The branches were still quivering long after the impact. Why were they doing that? But the tree seemed to flex and—

Her body was diving, so Erin didn’t see what happened at first—just the roar of sound like a thousand popcorn kernels exploding. Popcorn kernels the size of car tires with the sound of a car backfiring, maybe. And the tree erupted into…

Fireworks. Each branch and twig on the upper section of the tree instantly and spontaneously exploded outwards like a shrapnel bomb going off. Acorns, pieces of bark, and small bits of the branch fired outwards, thousands of bullets.

Erin dove to the ground as the deadly wooden hail rained around her. She was lucky. The explosion was far enough away that most of what hit her had lost its momentum. She felt bits of wood showering her as she covered her head with her hand. A few sharp impacts struck her clothing—but Erin was mostly just terrified.

Only when she was quite, quite sure everything had stopped did Erin look up.

The tree was completely denuded of bark and most of its smaller branches. It stood among its fellows, the pale yellow-green-white of its trunk showing. Around it in a hundred meter radius, bits of the tree lay on the grass.

Shakily, Erin got to her feet. She felt something trickling down her face and touched at her cheek. Something—an acorn—had cut a shallow gash down her left cheek. She looked at the blood on her fingertips and tried not to throw up.

——

It was only after she’d put at least a mile between her and the exploding trees that Erin stopped to call herself twenty kinds of stupid. Then she decided never to ever go near anything tree-related again without a flamethrower. Monsters were one thing, but this—

Erin sighed and sat down on a small hill. Well, that was probably why no one explored around this area. Exploding trees. Unless you were wearing armor—and even if you were—those things were deadly. She imagined what would happen if Rags and her Goblin friends tried to gather firewood from the trees and shuddered.

Curiously, her near-death experience left Erin ravenous. She opened her rucksack and fished around cautiously inside until she pulled something squishy out. She unwrapped the wax paper and revealed a slightly squashed sandwich. Apparently, Drakes weren’t the biggest bread-fans in the world—and neither were Gnolls.

Oh, they respected the stuff enough to make sandwiches, but Erin had learned that they were closer to carnivores than Humans. But their sandwiches still tasted great. This particular sandwich had mustard, or something sweet that tasted vaguely like it, cheese, and a lot of meat. Erin devoured it and then wished she hadn’t eaten so quickly. She clutched at her stomach, and then she saw the spider.

“Oh god.”

It was a large spider. It had a bright yellow pattern on its back, almost like a melted skull or face, yellow and brown. The back carapace was twice as wide as a tennis racket, and huge legs crawled the spider forwards as its black eyes, dozens of bulbs staring blankly ahead, let it scuttle through the grass while seeing in every direction. A large—no, huge spider. And it had—

“Oh god. Is that armor?”

Maybe it wasn’t armor. Maybe it was. But the yellow and black pattern on the spider’s back made the thick layer of…carapace look even more sinister than it was. It looked like a blown up house-spider with plated armor, especially in the way the plating covered the giant spider’s legs and the top of its body. Erin was pretty sure it was armor.

Click.

The spider clicked its mandibles together as it approached Erin. She froze up, but then grabbed her rucksack and scrambled away. The spider scuttled faster, and Erin backed up even faster.

She turned and ran. That was, until Erin’s [Dangersense] went off like alarm bells. She stopped in place. What was—

It was nearly too late. Erin was just about to take another step when she noticed the odd way the ground seemed flimsy in front of her feet. She took a look behind her—the armored spider was still a ways away. She kicked at the ground, and it collapsed.

A huge pit opened up in front of Erin. The fake earth—in fact, some kind of green amalgam of dead grass and sticks—fell down, and Erin stared down into the face of hell. A nest full of spiders. And eggs.

They were everywhere, tiny spiders, big spiders, and eggs. So many white egg sacs that lay on the ground and walls of the massive cavern like obscene fungi. And as the trap ground fell in, they all surged into frantic motion. A writhing horde of legs skritched together as they swarmed the bits of dirt right below Erin.

Spiders began scurrying all over the huge nest, scurrying all over each other as they searched for the prey that had fallen into their nest. Their pincers opened and closed, revealing fleshy…insides, biting at the air hungrily. Meanwhile, the prey standing at the edge of the nest backed away in horror.

It was only when she heard the scuttling of the other armored spider that Erin remembered it was behind her. She turned, screamed, and ran around the edge of the pit. It followed her, but interestingly, the other spiders in the cavern below didn’t. They were still mindlessly swarming around the ground, protecting the eggs and searching for something to eat. But the large one was still hunting her.

She ran. It followed. Slowly, quietly. Even after Erin had run several hundred meters, she could turn around and still see it approaching. And then she realized it wasn’t going to stop. It was a premonition. The spider was going to follow her until she stopped.

So Erin slowed from her run to a walk. She turned around and took the rucksack off her back. Erin reached inside and pulled out two things: a rock and a small jar stoppered up extremely thoroughly. She placed the jar at her feet in the grass and hefted the rock.

It was stupid to go exploring. Selys had told her that a hundred times. Krshia had said the same thing, but she’d suggested coming along with Erin with a few more Gnolls. Erin had shot down both ideas. She had to do this alone.

Maybe it was going to kill her, but Erin had woken up screaming and crying every night since Klbkch died. So she didn’t run. She picked up the rock and aimed at the spider.

Its head was black, and Erin couldn’t make out any features. Just the bulbous eyes, like a fungoid growth—no pupils and, somehow, even less like a person’s face than the Antinium’s multi-faceted eyes. She expected the spider to have large jaws or something, but the pincers were small. It was still oversized and horrific.

“I’d say stop, but you don’t understand me, do you? Last chance!”

The [Innkeeper] shouted just in case the spider could hear her. It slowed…slightly, and she wavered, but the spider then began to scuttle even faster. Erin waited another second, then hurled the rock at its head.

The stone smashed into the spider’s head and crushed one eye. Greenish blood oozed from the broken orbs as Erin recoiled. The spider reeled back and emitted a high-pitched noise that Erin could only half-hear. For a second, she thought it had worked and the spider would run. But then the spider ducked low to the ground and advanced.

Its remaining eyes stared blankly at her as green ooze ran down its face. Now Erin knew spiders bled. But the armor covering the spider’s head hadn’t even cracked from the rock. Erin stared at the spider. It was coming.

Huge. Nearly half as tall as she was—albeit long on the ground. Every instinct in Erin was telling her to run. But she didn’t. If she ran, it would follow her.

If she ran far enough, maybe she’d be able to get to the city before she ran out of energy. Maybe she’d run right into another pit trap. But either way, someone would have to kill the spider. If not her, then a guardsman. Relc or Pisces. Or even Rags. Someone would have to fight in the end, and someone might die.

So Erin didn’t run. She held her ground and stared at the spider. It would kill her or she would kill it. She knew that would be the case, and she didn’t run. Because that was the reason she was out here.

To never see someone die protecting her. To never hold them in her arms and hear their last words. To never cry and feel guilt without end.

To never be weak again.

So instead of running, Erin picked up the glass jar she’d placed in the grass. She threw it at the charging spider.

The jar broke, and the green liquid covered the armored spider. This time, however, it wasn’t the impact that mattered.

The spider slowed as the green liquid covered it and instantly began to smoke. This time, its screech was longer, more protracted.

Acid. Acid from the Acid Flies. It ate away at the spider, and Erin saw smoke rising from its armor. The acid bit into the spider’s armor, but again, it wasn’t enough. The spider curled up on the grass as smoke rose from its armor and clawed frantically at its ‘face’. But then the smoking eventually stopped and the spider got up.

Of all the—Erin had been sure that the acid from the flies would have dissolved her flesh in a moment. But it occurred to her—belatedly—that of all the species endemic to this area, spiders would be the one species resistant to their natural prey—flies!

Too late to regret not taking two jars. Erin waited. She’d blinded the creature, but now she was fighting a half-blind spider covered in acid that ate away flesh. It approached, and she saw the yellow and black plated exoskeleton was pitted with the green of the Acid Flies. But it wasn’t enough.

Erin reached into her pack and drew out the knife. She threw it, and the blade spun through the air and bounced off the spider’s head. Useless. Erin emptied the rucksack and wrapped it around one hand. She walked forward slowly.

Her ears were pounding. Blood and her crashing heartbeat drowned out everything else. The spider hesitated as Erin walked towards it. It touched the ground delicately with one foreleg and tried to circle. Erin didn’t. She walked towards it. Her eyes stared at a monster scarier than anything else she’d ever seen in her world. But she didn’t run.

Erin stopped a few feet away from the spider. Her pulse was electric; her stomach was missing. She looked down upon it, and the spider hesitated. Erin spoke to it.

“I’ve held a dying friend and known pain. Try and kill me. You can’t eat a broken heart.”

She raised her fists.

“Come on. I’ll bury you deep.”

——

A wind blew down from over the mountains. It was a strong wind, but tired. After hundreds of miles, the gale that had blasted across the sea was no more than a whisper. But it was enough. It carried smoke and burning on the wind.

The female adventurer stopped and looked to the north. The wind blew the dreadlocks of her hair, and she brushed at her eye. The smoke was irritating, but she had learned long ago to see even in sandstorms.

She had never been here, not along the High Passes. She had often seen the mountain range, but hither-to this day, she had never been allowed to walk this far north on Izril’s land. It would have taken an army to bring her this far, before. She would have been an enemy, and reaching this spot would have meant a triumph, half a continent taken by force of arms.

…These days, no one contested her simply because of her reputation and because all wars had ended long ago. These days, she searched for something unique, and even the geography of places she had not been did not excite her.

She had seen every wonder, ridden across great nations, fought in the greatest wars of this generation, and seen millions bend knee, if not to her, then to the man she rode behind. Smoke, this mildly unique geography, held little intrinsic interest to her anymore.

Still, it was curious because she’d heard no one lived out in the wilds. Perhaps a [Hunter]? She had all the time in the world, so the adventurer walked towards the smoke. She didn’t bother drawing the large sword resting along her back in a huge sheath. She couldn’t carry it at her side because the blade was too long.

She had no need of it yet. Her confidence was not unfounded either.

The woman wore armor made out of some dark metal. Not dark in the sense of jet-black iron or the lightless color of obsidian—just dark, orange-brown metal. From afar, it almost looked like rust, but the armor wasn’t rusty. In fact, it was fairly clean—it was just the metal that gave off that impression.

It had never been broken. Not by magic or force of arms, and she had worn it for decades. It was like the adventurer’s second skin, and it did not impede her movement as she strode towards the smoke. But she stopped as she saw the spider.

It was crawling up from a hole in the side of a hill. Burning wood had been placed around the gap, but the spider was determined. It shoved its way past the fire, screeching horribly and smoking. When it saw the female adventurer, it reacted instantly. The spider lunged.

The adventurer drew her sword and cut twice. The spider fell to the ground, legs and abdomen severed. Yellow pus oozed from its backside as the adventurer studied it.

“Kingslayer Spiders? No—Shield Spiders.”

She left the Shield Spider where it lay. The adventurer continued onwards, and upon reaching the top of the hill, she saw the main source of the black fumes.

A large pit was giving off black smoke. Orange sparks and a terrible red glow lit the edges of the pit like a gateway to some abyssal plane. But that wasn’t what drew the adventurer’s eye.

A girl was sitting by herself at the edge of the smoking pit. She stared into it, ignoring the small campfire on her right. She was hugging her knees as she stared down. She did not see or hear the second spider crawling up behind her.

It lunged. The adventurer gripped her sword, but the girl at the edge of the pit moved like lightning. She rolled sideways even as the Shield Spider launched itself at her back. The momentum carried the spider over the ledge and into the smoking hole. The adventurer heard an agonized shriek from the spider as the girl went back to sit at the edge of the hole.

Cautiously, the adventurer approached. Not out of fear for herself, but she was studying the girl with a great deal of confusion. Her eye narrowed as she appraised the girl. And she was a girl, especially to the adventurer.

As she moved closer, the girl looked up at her. She was Human. She didn’t stand up, but merely angled the thing at her feet more precisely.

A small mirror lay in the grass in front of the girl, reflecting the landscape behind her. It was propped up on a small backpack, or what remained of one. In truth, it was more like a pile of cloth scraps.

The adventurer eyed the girl. She seemed unharmed. But she also didn’t appear inclined to chat. So the adventurer cleared her throat.

“Hello there.”

“Hello.”

The girl didn’t glance up. She hugged her knees and stared down into the smoke. Curious, the adventurer drew closer. Her hand wasn’t gripping her sword, but neither was she unwary.

Now that she was only a few feet away, she could feel the heat radiating out of the pit. It was intense, but it was a fire in its final stages. Clearly, the fire had been going for quite some time, but again, that wasn’t what drew the adventurer’s attention. No, it was the many shapes that lay curled up at the bottom of the fiery pit.

Spiders.

They lay in droves, their armored carcasses smoking and burning horribly in the flames that danced around the edge of the hole in the ground. Some had tried to climb. They hung, dangling, their legs still planted in the dirt walls where they had perished.

“A nest. I have heard they are a hazard around here to travellers.”

“Yeah. It’d be bad if you fell in without seeing it first.”

The adventurer blinked her eye at the girl.

“Did you do this? By yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“May I ask how?”

The Human girl paused. She rocked back and forth for a while before responding.

“I closed off all the entrances with dried grass and wood. Then I started tossing burning branches into the pit.”

“Where did you get the wood?”

“There’s a forest over there. Bunch of trees and lots of dead wood.”

The adventurer glanced over in the direction the girl was pointing. She nodded.

“Krakk trees. They do burn well, but you were lucky none of them exploded. They do that quite often, and the shrapnel is deadly.”

“They did explode.”

The adventurer raised an eyebrow. She looked at the girl with one eye and then opened several more to study her more fully.

“Oh?”

“I threw rocks at the trees until they exploded. Then I picked up the branches. It’s not dangerous if you make them explode first.”

“I see. Clever.”

“Thanks.”

One of the adventurer’s eyes glanced over to her right. At the corpse of the spider battered to death.

“Did you do that as well?”

“Yeah.”

“Few could best a Shield Spider with their bare hands.”

The girl shrugged again. She clutched at her arms unconsciously.

“It wasn’t hard. I flipped it and started stomping.”

“You have a Skill. [Lesser Strength]. Even so, I see you were injured.”

The girl—no, the adventurer saw her name was Erin Solstice—rubbed at her arms. The adventurer could see patches of regrown skin, almost invisible to any eyes but hers, covering her forearms.

“Yeah. I had a healing potion.”

“If you’d been bit, the potion would have done you little good. Shield Spiders have a decently strong venom.”

“Lucky I wasn’t, then.”

More silence. The adventurer was slightly surprised. She was used to silence, especially on longer journeys, but she was also used to conversation when she met people. At the very least, she expected questions about her appearance, but the girl had only glanced at her once. She was still staring into the burning pit.

“Shield Spiders are considered to be a Silver-rank threat. A nest of them though…I wouldn’t be surprised if a team of Gold-rank adventurers were dispatched to handle it.”

“Okay. Thanks for telling me.”

It was odd. Even in her journey north to this part—even on her dry continent she called home—the adventurer was used to people staring at her or reacting in some way to her appearance or her famous name. But the young woman just stared into the fiery pit. Quiet. The woman cleared her throat.

“You are a Level 11 [Innkeeper]. I am surprised you were able to accomplish such a feat. Few would be so brave, even ten levels higher. And you are no adventurer.”

That provoked a response. Two hazel eyes swung up and narrowed slightly, blinking in the smoke.

“How do you know that about me?”

“I see it.”

“Ah.”

Erin stared into the pit for a while. She rocked back and forth.

“I wanted to see if I could fight. And the spiders—they were going to follow me.”

“Shield Spiders are notorious for tracking and killing prey across dozens of miles. You were wise not to run.”

“I guess. But I wanted to fight. To see if I could.”

“Ah.”

The adventurer sat next to Erin. She felt the heat but was not bothered by it. Her eye stung, though.

“And? What have you learned?”

Erin was silent. She stared into the burning tunnels. Amid the crackling flames, she could hear the spiders screaming.

“…That I’m good at killing things.”

The adventurer was silent. Erin rocked. Back and forth. Back and forth.

“It’s strange. Up until this point, I never realized I was a murderer.”

The adventurer raised her eyebrow.

“Murderer? That’s an interesting word. I would not use it to describe you.”

“Oh yeah? Why?”

The adventurer spoke as if she were reciting law, with pure confidence.

“Murder is the sin of taking lives that matter. We who fight such monsters are exterminators. Killers, perhaps; murderers, no. A murderer should not be suffered.”

Her eye narrowed, and Erin stared at it, then at her hands.

“I’m not like you. I’m no adventurer. And I don’t want to be. That’s what I learned.”

“Oh? Then why fight? [Innkeepers] don’t level from fighting monsters.”

Erin laughed shortly and without mirth.

“You guys all say the same thing. It’s always about leveling with you. That’s not what I meant. I—I’m a killer. But I don’t want to be. And I don’t want to be a warrior, either.”

The adventurer leaned back on her hands. She studied Erin with her eye. This was a far more fascinating conversation than hundreds she’d had in the last months.

“Then why fight? Why not run?”

“So I can defend myself. So I don’t get people killed for trying to protect me.”

“Ah. But you have done more than that. This nest was a threat to many. You eliminated it. You spoke truly: you do have a talent for fighting.”

Erin stared into the pit.

“I don’t want to be a killer. So I guess I’m stuck as an innkeeper.”

The adventurer didn’t follow her logic and shrugged her armored shoulders.

“You have talent in killing things. You might be a good adventurer, especially since you wiped out a nest by yourself. Why are you ashamed of—”

The adventurer broke off as Erin laughed harshly.

“Killing? That’s a terrible thing to be good at. No.”

She turned—and saw a toothy smile from the woman. A sharp one—for she had sharp teeth. Disappointed as well, for she disagreed.

“A talent for war is never wasted. What a shame you don’t see it that way.”

She stared at the adventurer, and the adventurer felt another mild surprise. There were few who could meet her gaze for long without flinching.

“…Go away.”

The woman closed one eye in a slow blink and inclined her head.

“My apologies. I didn’t want to offend you.”

“Too bad. This—this isn’t something to be proud of.”

Erin pointed down into the burning pit. She gestured at the spiders and the white egg sacks slowly burning away. The adventurer could still hear faint shrieks coming from inside the resilient webbing.

“I killed them.”

Erin whispered it.

“I killed them all. And they—they scream when they die.”

“They would have killed you.”

“Yeah.”

Erin stared as one of the egg sacs below opened up. Small spiders frantically clawed their way out of the webbing and shrieked as they found themselves in the burning pit. They scuttled down across the embers, burning, dying.

“Babies.”

“Spawn. They are as dangerous as adults in numbers.”

“They’re babies.”

The female adventurer shrugged. She felt like she was talking with a Djinni—this felt like a game of words and riddles, but this was just a burnt young woman.

“You might call them that.”

Erin looked down into the pit. She was silent for a minute. The spiders were running about, but the heat from the fire was less. They were dying, but dying slow. She saw one spider caught in the egg sac, frantically trying to escape.

“If you like, I can end them now—”

The adventurer turned to Erin to offer. She blinked as Erin leapt into the burning pit.

The smoke obscured Erin from visual sight for a few seconds, but the adventurer could still see her moving around in the pit. She saw Erin fighting through the flames, reaching for something. Then she was dashing towards the edge of the pit.

The girl scrabbled at the dirt and managed to get a foothold. But she was hindered by her burden. She managed to pull herself up to the ledge but couldn’t get any higher up. The adventurer stared down until she heard Erin speak.

“Are you going to pull me up?”

“Of course.”

The adventurer reached down and effortlessly pulled Erin out. The girl was burned, but not badly from the few moments she was in the pit. She opened her left hand and showed the adventurer what she held.

A baby spider struggled and bit furiously at Erin’s fingers. She’d captured it from the top, so it couldn’t really get at her, but its sharp legs still scrabbled at her fingers.

“What are you going to do with that?”

Erin shrugged.

“Dunno. I could raise it.”

“I wouldn’t. It would bite and consume you first chance it got. Shield Spiders cannot be tamed. Unless you had the [Beastmaster] class, this child will eventually take your life.”

“Yeah, probably. This was a stupid idea.”

Erin stared down at the spider in her hands. It was trying to bite her.

“…Sorry. Really, I am.”

She held it for another second until the spider’s legs cut open more of her fingers. Then she hurled it back down into the pit. The adventurer studied her. A tear rolled down Erin’s sooty face as she watched the baby spider burn.

“What a curious Human you are.”

“…Is that your way of saying I’m an idiot?”

“Not at all. But I have met many Humans. Many Humans and many races, but never one as curious as you. Many bolder or grander or more dangerous—but never one so oddly as this.”

“Thanks. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

The woman inclined her head. Then, she blinked one huge eye and the other four in rapid succession.

“I am part Gazer. It is in my ancestry. You may call me by the name others not of my race give me. Gazi.”

“Oh? I’m Erin Solstice. A…an [Innkeeper].”

“Yes, I saw.”

Gazi held out her hand. After a moment, Erin took it. It was odd for her to shake Gazi’s hand. For one thing, she had odd arms with another segment to them. But her skin was soft and smooth, even if it were reddish-brown. Really, even her hair looked pretty normal, black lengths tied into dreadlocks. It was only her face that really set her apart.

One huge eye stared out at Erin over a mouth filled with sharp teeth. Gazi had no nose. And around her central eye, four smaller eyes opened and studied her with interest. They were not the most unsettling eyes, though each one had a pupil unlike a Human’s. Long and even wobbling, not a perfect circle but an oval, long and lengthwise. The whites of her eyes were closer to a yellow, very faint.

Her gauntleted hand had four digits too, three fingers and a thumb, which she held out to the young woman.

“I am pleased to meet you, Innkeeper Solstice. I am an adventurer wandering through these lands.”

“Nice to meet you. Again. I’ve got an inn nearby. Would you…do you want something to eat?”

Another odd offer, but this one made Gazi smile. She nodded and stood in one fluid motion. Her central eye swiveled right, left, up, and down—even backwards into her head, but she fixed the other four on Erin.

“That would be most welcome.”

“Okay. Okay then. Follow me.”

Erin picked up the mirror on the ground. She left her sliced up rucksack behind and began walking away from the burning pit. She was…still dazed, but she pointed in the direction of Liscor.

Gazi stared down into the pit and back at Erin. She coughed, again, with mild amusement at the [Innkeeper] and gestured at the embers.

“Don’t you want to claim the bounty on the Shield Spiders before you go? Their carcasses will not burn up in the flames.”

Erin paused. She turned around.

“…There’s a bounty on Shield Spiders?”

Gazi Pathseeker searched her face for a sign of lies—but saw only genuine confusion. Confusion to something everyone knew—so the half-Gazer laughed. Softly, and her huge eye fixed on something creeping up over the hill behind them.

A Rock Crab was slowly climbing the hill, pincers raised. The half-Gazer stared at it through the back of her head and the hill and the crab’s shell, and the monster froze. It held still and sunk under the stone armor it hid behind as the half-Gazer talked to Erin Solstice.

The Rock Crab stayed there, as the two conferred, and didn’t move. It didn’t stop shaking until long, long after the two were gone.

Shield Spiders by Enuryn

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1.37

At first, the laden cart rumbling through the northern city gates attracted little attention. This late in the day, the traffic going in and out had thinned, but there was nothing odd about two passengers sitting on the back of the cart while a Drake [Farmer] brought his merchandise into market.

The expression on the cart driver’s face and the way the guardsmen at the gate reacted when they inspected the bulky objects strapped under the tarp attracted some attention, however. So perhaps one or two [Merchants] made a note to inquire about any unusual shipments, and the extremely bored people-watchers might have drifted that way. But many things passed through Liscor, sometimes objects considered illegal in Human lands or very illegal in every land. Those were usually confiscated.

A wise [Merchant] with illicit cargo skipped Liscor’s annoying gate checks altogether and just sent someone to buy enough food and supplies to continue south or north. This was an odd route, this bridge between Drake and Human lands.

For one thing, you could only run it during two seasons out of the year: fall and winter. Spring and Summer were far too dangerous because of the Bloodfields.

Liscor was definitely no trading city like Pallass, the closest Walled City, but it occasionally got high-profile [Merchants] making a journey that essentially locked them into one part of the continent for a year. Unless they took a sea route to mitigate the High Passes issues.

“Not a lot of business in Liscor these days, huh? Is this route even worth it?”

A local Drake [Trader] was commenting idly to a Human busily buying up more hay and bundles of food for his pack animals. They’d have to go just past the Bloodfields…which were probably safe…and it would be a while before they’d reach a settlement again.

“The Bloodfields run? It’s not something I’d do often, but I have a bunch of ore from Esthelm and Invrisil’s latest fads. It’ll be gold for copper—if the Bloodfields are quiet. I’m bound straight for either Hectval to unload the ore or, if they don’t want what I’m selling, Pallass’ steelworks.”

“Anyone coming up north?”

Any important [Merchants], the question meant. The Human resisted saying ‘for what?’ He was one of a few Humans who came to Liscor, and they were all traders, travellers, or adventurers.

The city wasn’t exactly fun to be in, and he wanted to be at least cordial with the locals, so he shrugged.

“Not much call for trade overland. The only one I could think who’d even make the journey is…the Silver Trader. I heard she might be heading north, because of her family.”

“Oh? Isn’t she from one of your [Lord]-type families?”

“Mhm. Well, that’s all I need. Can you load them in my wagons?”

“Sure, I’ll call some [Laborers] over. Hey! I need eight…”

The trading area just past the northern gates was fairly busy due to the [Merchant], so the farmer’s odd wagon was unnoticed as yawning Drakes and Gnolls walked over.

The two passengers didn’t attract much attention either, at least to begin with. One of the two was a humanoid figure concealing her face with a casual woolen hood. That was normal, although anyone who actually saw the face hiding underneath the hood had a very definite reaction. But because they had to go through shock, denial, and optionally fear/awe, the wake of her passing attracted little notice. Again, at first.

The Human was another matter. For many of the Drakes who saw her, she was just another annoying Human arriving as part of the massive influx of adventurers, merchants, and all those seeking to profit from the ruins. At best, she was exploitable and had lots of coin; at worst, the Watch would throw her out if she caused trouble as Humans so often did.

Still, some of the Drakes recognized the Human girl and remembered that this was the girl who had beaten Olesm in a game of chess and was rumored to have met the Antinium Queen. Not least, the Antinium bowed to her, which was disturbing. So she attracted the most attention, but only in the form of vague interest at most from Drake observers.

Among the few Gnolls in the crowd, however, Erin’s appearance was entirely noticed and significant. Several immediately began walking away through the crowd to find a certain Gnoll shopkeeper, and the rest followed Erin and the mysterious cart.

The Human [Merchant] brightened at the sight of another Human face—most of his workers and caravaners for this haul were Drakes and Gnolls, going home. He was about to see what this young woman was doing here when he spotted her companion—and froze. Then he noticed the mysterious cart too.

Well, mysterious was the wrong word. For the Gnolls, who could smell better than they saw, the contents of the wagon were deeply disturbing. It was only because the contents were also definitely dead that they were willing to get near to the wagon at all. Even then, several wrinkled their noses at the burned smell.

Crowds had a flow and instinct of their own. Despite themselves, passersby felt drawn into the wake of the crowd as they sensed the flow of pedestrians shifting one way. And as a few people in the crowd shouted out the identity of Erin’s companion, and some children peeked underneath the covered wagon and ran away screaming—

Well, at that point, Erin really wished they would all stop looking at her and Gazi. It wasn’t that she minded the attention…

Actually, she did mind the attention. But more than that, she really needed to pee. But she didn’t want to start squirming in front of the nice people, so she suffered in silence. It really was a long way to the Adventurer’s Guild. And it got longer each time more people joined the crowd. She had a feeling that around 10% of the excitement was due to the dead spider corpses packed in the cart, but the other 90% was definitely Gazi.

——

When Selys saw Erin walk through the doors of the Adventurer’s Guild she couldn’t help calling out.

“Erin! Thank goodness you’re okay!”

Selys went from behind the counter to go up to Erin, but she quickly retreated as a flood of people poured into the room behind Erin. She stared at the crowd of pedestrians and then at Erin. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“…Erin? What’s going on?”

Erin smiled awkwardly.

“Hi, Selys. Um, I’m here to collect a bounty? That’s how it works, right?”

“Bounty…?”

The Drake stared blankly at Erin until she realized everyone was now looking at her. Then she blushed, or rather, the scales on her face changed color.

“Oh, of course! You can turn in—you have a bounty?”

“Yep.”

Selys looked Erin up and down. The Human didn’t appear to be carrying anything in her hands or at her side.

“Is it…Goblin ears?”

“No…I think they’re called Shield Spiders. Is that right?”

Erin looked at a hooded person standing next to her. Selys’ eye was caught by distinctive features of the half-Gazer as she pushed back her hood. In her mind, an alarm bell went off, but it was temporarily silenced by something Erin had said.

“Shield Spiders? Erin, that’s not a good—you’re mistaken. Or is this some kind of joke? You can’t be serious.”

Erin shook her head.

“No, really. There’s a cart of them outside. I didn’t count how many but—”

Erin broke off. Selys was giving her the flat, incredulous look she’d only seen in TV shows before.

“Shield Spiders?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“You. Killed them.”

“Yeah.”

“You. Erin Solstice. Killed Shield Spiders.”

Erin felt like she was in a comedy routine, only it was more awkward than funny. She pointed towards the door.

“Look, they’re right outside. I can go get one if you want.”

Selys’ gaze shifted over Erin’s shoulder. She appealed to the Drakes in the crowd, many of whom were watching the interchange.

“Shield Spiders?”

Erin sensed multiple heads nodding behind her. One of the Drakes—this one an adventurer by the sword on his waist and chainmail armor—jerked a thumb at the door.

“They’re piled up in a cart. I saw them—over sixteen adults, dead and covered in soot. The Watch is trying to get some Workers to unload them, but there’s a huge crowd in the way, and the Workers don’t want to do it.”

Now that she was listening, Selys could hear the shouting outside. She was still focused on the Erin-factor however, so she kept staring at Erin.

“How? Did an adventurer do it? It can’t have been just you.”

Erin frowned, dignity hurt. Since she agreed with Selys’ incredulousness though, she was only partially indignant.

“I totally did it by myself. I burned their entire nest. With wood. And fire.”

She didn’t know why she felt the need to add that qualifier, but at least it shut Selys up. One of the Drakes—the one with the chainmail—nodded at Erin and flashed her a smile.

“Fine work. I’ve never seen you around the Guild before. Are you one of the Humans from up north?”

“What? No. I’m not an adventurer. I’m an [Innkeeper].”

He stared. Erin was sort of getting used to that. Selys pulled at the frills at the top of her head.

“How did you—you know they swarm over anyone that falls into their nest and tear them apart, right?”

Erin nodded.

“They did that swarming thing—you know, where all of them climb up at once? Wasn’t fun.”

She stared at Selys. Selys stared back. After a few moments, Selys threw her hands up.

“Okay. Okay, I guess—I’ll have to inspect them. And then we’ll need to weigh the bodies. It’ll take all day probably, but if you sign for them, I’ll have your bounty waiting later.”

She reached under the counter and pulled out a logbook and handed Erin a quill and inkpot. Erin frowned down at the paper and began scribbling.

“Do I have to find a place to get rid of them after you’re done? Because I really don’t want to have to dig a hole, and the nest is far away.”

“No—we’ll definitely take them. Do you even know how valuable Shield Spider bodies are? With the right skills, a [Blacksmith] could create shields, armor…”

“Really? So the bounty—”

“Four pieces of silver on average per Shield Spider slain, but we’ll pay you more for their bodies. Especially for the bodies.”

“I don’t want them. But you might have a tough time getting them down. None of the Workers want to go near them.”

Selys glanced towards the door.

“The Antinium hate spiders. No wonder the Workers are freaking out. I’ll have a few [Porters] do the work instead.”

Selys put her face in her clawed hand for a second before she looked up at her Human friend again.

“Erin, how did you kill a nest of Shield Spiders? Even if you burned them, most adventurers would rather run than pick a fight with a Shield Spider if they’re not Silver-rank or higher.”

“Really? They’re that tough?”

Selys nodded seriously.

“Incredibly. Steel blades can’t even crack their shells.”

Erin blinked. But then she pointed to the adventurer standing next to her.

“Well, she cut one in half.”

Every eye turned towards the Gazer standing next to Erin. Or—as some including Selys recognized—the half-Gazer. A rare species made even rarer by her mixed blood. So rare, in fact, that the odds were if you met one—

Selys’ scales were usually a good indicator of her mood, along with her tail. Erin watched now as Selys’ tail stiffened like a cat’s, and her light green scales paled until they were nearly gray.

“Oh. Excuse me.”

The half-Gazer looked at Selys and gave her a polite smile. Selys was reduced to nervous stammering.

“U-um. You wouldn’t happen to be—I mean, are you…?”

“I am Gazi of Reim.”

Dead silence. If Erin’s comment about taking down a nest of Shield Spiders had inspired quiet hubbub, Gazi’s name brought awestruck silence. Silence—and a kind of fear or intimidation that swept through everyone.

In fact, Erin realized she’d been talking to Selys mostly unmolested because the people who had noticed Gazi had turned into virtual statues. Now—at her voice, someone whispered.

“The King of Destruction’s vassal.”

A shiver ran through the audience. Erin glanced around at the staring crowd. She didn’t get it, but she saw even the biggest, toughest adventurers blanch—and then Gazi smiled, and her face was full of teeth.

Erin really wanted to know what all this meant, but she had a pressing concern…and this seemed like a really good time to take care of it. As Selys began stammering something and the adventurers and civilians around Gazi backed up to give her room, Erin pushed her way through the crowd and into the bathroom.

Curiously, Liscor’s architects didn’t use the stick-man symbols to mark the men’s rooms and the ladies’ rooms apart. Rather, they used tails. A long, straight tail marked the male bathrooms, and a curly tail marked the female bathrooms. It was quite simple when you got used to it. Curly tail, straight tail.

Even so, Erin peeked inside before she entered. She’d had enough of seeing unwanted genitalia, especially since the equipment the Drakes and Gnolls carried around were definitely different than the ones guys in her world had. Not that she was an expert or anything, but—

After a few minutes of relief and ruminating on biological differences, Erin emerged from the restroom. Thank god for plumbing and soap. She saw Gazi was still at the heart of the crowd of people, fending off questions politely. Her large eye didn’t move from the Gnoll speaking earnestly to her, but one of her smaller eyes swiveled Erin’s way the instant the young woman exited the bathroom.

“Now that’s creepy.”

Erin muttered.

“Don’t be rude!”

Selys hissed at Erin and nearly made the young woman scream. The Drake was heading to the bathroom, probably to relieve tension-induced pressure. She pulled Erin aside, and the two began to whisper furiously in one corner, although only one person in the room was watching them.

“Erin, how do you know her?”

“Gazi?”

“You’re calling her by her first name?”

“She has a last name?”

“Pathseeker! And it’s Adventurer Pathseeker! That’s how you should be addressing her. Or Gazi of Reim. Or…Gazi the Omniscient! That’s her nickname!”

“That’s confusing. She’s got three different titles? That last one’s sorta cool, I guess.”

Erin was making light of this, but Selys was staring at Gazi in horror, as if afraid the woman would hear them and take offense.

“Erin! She’s a really, really important person! I could lose my job if I make her mad!”

“Really?”

Selys nodded rapidly.

“Gazi the Omniscient. That’s what they call her in other continents. She’s rumored to be over Level 40.”

“Um. Wow…?”

“Erin! How are you not impressed?”

“Well, isn’t Relc level thirty-something? That’s only a difference of ten levels, right?”

The look Selys gave Erin was a mix of incredulity and pure indignation. Not for the first time, Selys wondered if Erin Solstice wasn’t a bit slow or at least strange. But she’d said she was from…a different country? Either way, she tried to explain the obvious.

“Erin, she’s a famous adventurer! You know; the kind people write down if they make a list of the top one hundred adventurers in the world!”

“Oh.”

“Don’t you get it? There might be more powerful adventurers, but few of them have ever visited Liscor. And she knows you. Did she save you from the Shield Spiders?”

“No, she only cut one of them apart. But she lent me money to hire the wagon to bring them into the city.”

“She lent you money!?”

“Yeah, and I’ll pay her back, so stop grabbing my shirt, Selys. Look, she just seemed interested in me, but I don’t know her that well. But why do you think—”

Erin got no further because Selys’ claws dug into her arm. She yelped and tried to pry the Drake’s fingers out of her skin.

“Oh Ancestors! She’s coming this way!”

Like a shark moving through a shoal of fish, Gazi’s presence seemed to literally part the wall of bodies. She approached, smiling at Erin.

“I fear we must part ways for a time, Erin Solstice. I must greet the master of this guild and the local ruling body. But I hope I may visit you at your inn for your promised meal.”

Selys’ goggling expression was slightly hard to ignore, but Erin smiled up at Gazi anyways.

“Sure thing. I’m going back to my inn right away, so you can come over whenever works best.”

Gazi gave her an amused smile that included the petrified Drake at Erin’s side. One of her smaller eyes flipped over, so Erin could only see the light orange-pink of her eyeball.

“That may be slightly difficult at the moment.”

Someone was shouting outside. Or rather, someone was outshouting the shouting already going on outside. It was a familiar voice, too.

“Hey! Clear the way!”

Relc’s voice was irate, and he seemed to be yelling at the adventurers and other people trying to crowd into the Adventurer’s Guild. He was also on the verge of losing his temper, which wasn’t usual, but definitely wasn’t helpful at the moment.

“You lot are causing a disturbance! Clear the street I said! Move it!”

Everyone inside the guild heard a thump and then a shout and a crash. For all Gazi was their main focus, their attention quickly turned to the outside.

“What’s going on? What’s happening?”

Selys beat Erin to the window and nearly tore her hair-spikes out. Erin still wasn’t sure what to call the crest of hardened…scales or hair each Drake had at the top of their heads.

“Oh no. He’s picking a fight with the adventurers! That idiot!”

Erin peered out the window just in time to see an adventurer being lifted off the ground as Relc propped up a guardsman and shoved him into the arms of one of his fellows. It looked like tempers had flared and a guardsman had been knocked down by an adventurer. Possibly it was the other way around, but Erin saw both parties were all-male, so she had a pretty good idea what was going to happen next.

Gazi joined Erin at the window as six of the adventurers squared up and surrounded Relc and the other two guardsmen. Relc glared at them and tightened his fists, but didn’t draw his spear. Gazi stared at him and smiled.

“Ah. A warrior among civilians. A rare sight in peaceful Izril.”

One of the adventurers took a swing at Relc, and he dodged. The Human attacking was nearly as big as the Drake, a muscle-bound giant who looked like the guy who bench-pressed three hundred pounds for fun at the gym.

Erin nudged Gazi in the side. Selys stopped agonizing over the fight long enough to stare at her, but Gazi only looked down. She was wearing armor anyways, so Erin was sure she wasn’t bothering her.

“Hey, you’re supposed to be strong, aren’t you?”

Gazi nodded. She kept her larger eye trained on Relc while two of the smaller ones flicked towards Erin.

“Some have called me so, yes.”

“Why don’t you help him? It’s six against one.”

Erin pointed to the adventurer. He was still missing Relc, but now, another one looked like he was about to sucker-punch the Drake. Relc’s eyes were narrowed, but he seemed to be focused on dodging for the moment.

Gazi smiled down at Erin. She shrugged and indicated the sword at her side. The listeners peered at her, and the half-Gazer’s eye swung around.

“I do not fight with my fists. If I draw my sword—people die. I would prefer not to.”

Again, that shiver, and Erin thought her boast wasn’t much of a boast—but a promise. Gazi nodded at Relc as the big Drake swayed back.

“Besides—he is not the one who needs help.”

Relc had just jumped nimbly back when the big adventurer’s friend moved forwards. He was another Human not nearly as big, but when he swung at Relc’s back he cut the air with his fist.

Still, he was far too slow. Even as his fist flew at Relc’s face, the Drake’s bent sideways and hit the adventurer back with an uppercut. Erin thought she actually saw the man’s feet leave the ground before he crumpled in a heap.

Relc spun around and backhanded the first adventurer, who was still swinging at him. The big guy flipped over and crashed to the ground. Two of his friends came to his aid, but Relc picked one of them up—armor and all—and threw him into the crowd.

Open-mouthed, Erin watched as Relc began thrashing the other adventurers. She looked at Selys. The female Drake was covering her eyes and groaning.

“He always does this. There’s going to be a huge mess because of this, and he’s probably hurt a lot of them badly enough for healing potions!”

“How—”

Erin blinked and pointed at Relc.

“I thought—he’s just a guardsman, right? How is Relc tossing those adventurer guys like flies?”

Gazi studied Relc thoughtfully.

“He is over Level 30 in the [Spearmaster] class. That would be enough. The highest level among the adventurers is Level 21—the one he has just knocked unconscious. A [Spearmaster] is not an equal to a mere [Warrior], regardless of levels.”

Selys nodded glumly. She tried to explain to Erin in a way the Human would understand.

“If we’re just talking about active members of the city guards—then he’s the strongest on the continent, by far. Perhaps the world.”

Erin blinked at her. Twice.

“The world. As in…all of it?”

Selys nodded.

“Most people of his level, well, they either become adventurers, personal bodyguards, or soldiers. Being a city guard doesn’t pay much, but Relc likes it. Probably because it’s so easy.”

Erin paused. She didn’t notice Gazi watching her with one of her eyes. The large one. It studied her with its yellow contents, yellow not white—a shadow-black pupil. But the iris shimmered, blue and green, violet and turquoise, a shifting pattern around the black center. It held Selys’ gaze and hypnotized her a moment, before flicking away.

“But Klbkch—”

Erin paused and forced herself to go on.

“He was a Senior Guardsman too, wasn’t he? So weren’t Relc and Klb the same level?”

Selys shook her head. She watched glumly as Relc threw an adventurer wearing plate mail into the side of the building and winced as the outside plaster cracked. Gazi’s head turned, and her eyes focused on Erin. All five of them.

“Klbkch was the fourth highest-level guardsman in the city. In terms of strength, though, he was probably second to Relc. He was the Slayer, but during the war—look, Erin, both had more levels in other classes, which is why they’re so tough, understand? But even Klbkch was ten levels behind Relc.”

“Which is a lot, I get it. But how’d Relc get so strong?”

“He was in the army. But he quit to become a guardsman. Thanks to him, we haven’t had to worry about monster attacks for a long while. I’m not sure why Relc quit, though. He was famous as a soldier too.”

Gazi shrugged. Her hand covered the pommel of her sword, and her eyes unfocused for an instant.

“Many have reasons to leave war. I, too, was a soldier once. As I am sure many know. But I left my position to become an adventurer. It is only worth being a soldier if one has a cause to fight for, a leader to follow, and a reason not to die.”

Both Erin and Selys looked up at her. Gazi smiled at them.

“It is hard to understand, I suppose. But I believe your friend Relc enjoys the quieter moments. Anyone can tire of war. Believe me.”

Then, suddenly, she looked sad, and Selys gave Gazi another look of awed ‘I know what this is about, and it’s so amazing’. Erin just glanced out the window.

“Even a street-fight against a dozen guys? Have you done that before?”

“Many times. That is quite restful compared to war.”

The fight was over. Relc planted his foot over a pile of adventurers and raised his fists into the air like a boxer. The cheer he got from the crowd only served to make him preen even more in the spotlight.

Gazi turned away from the window and nodded at Erin.

“Well, I have not lacked for entertainment since travelling to these lands. I will seek lodgings within the city, then. Good day to you, Erin Solstice. We shall meet again.”

Erin raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Oh? You’re so sure?”

Gazi smiled at her without baring her teeth.

“I foresee it.”

The half-Gazer opened the door and strode out. It was so quick that all the tension she’d brought into the room left it in an instant. Selys breathed out hard as she returned to the counter, leaning on it and panting as if winded.

“I can’t believe that just happened.”

One of the adventurers flexed his hand and looked down at it.

“I shook her hand. And when she looked at me—it was like she knew my thoughts. The King of Destruction’s vassal. Here. No one’s going to believe I met her.”

“Amazing.”

One of the adventurers agreed. Others nodded their heads as they talked, all in a flurry.

“What an incredible experience.”

“We’re not dead. I mean—the King of Destruction’s asleep. But that was—do you think any of the other Seven are here? The Architect? The Lord of the Skies?”

“No, we’d have heard of it. One is bad enough. Two? I bet the Walled Cities would be escorting them everywhere with an army.”

“Unbelievable.”

“Eh.”

“Eh?”

Erin shrugged.

“I wasn’t too blown away by her. She’s got that ‘mysterious aura’ vibe going on, but it’s all because of her eye, right? I remember seeing this street magician—David Blaine. You ever see—?”

Too late, she remembered her audience. Selys was giving her an incredulous look along with the other adventurers.

“What?”

Selys shook her head slowly. At this point, she wasn’t even that annoyed, just impressed more than anything.

“You are an amazing Human, Erin. Or an oblivious one. Does nothing faze you?”

“Lots of things.”

Erin propped her hands on her hips.

“Why are you all so impressed to see her anyways? She said she was a wanderer.”

“Yeah, but to see her so far from her home continent—I suppose she really is done with war.”

The other adventurers agreed. They began talking all at once, arguing, debating in a noisy, confused mess.

“I wonder what she’s doing away from…? I mean, Chandrar’s still her continent.”

“I hear she goes through continents looking for challenges. But to come this far—is it because of the new ruins?”

“Perhaps, but how’d she get word of them so soon? Unless—do you think she was heading to the north already? Terandria, overland? Maybe join in a war as a [Mercenary]?”

“Doubtful. Adventurers don’t like wars, even the former soldiers. It’d take something truly great to get her to go back to being a soldier. And hey—where’d the Human go?”

Everyone looked around. The Human, conspicuous because she was a Human, was missing. Selys stared towards the door. It swung closed.

“Erin!”

——

Erin heard Selys call her name, but at that point, she was out the door and had no intention of going back in. She appreciated gossip and learning new things as much as anyone, but this wasn’t the time. She was hungry, tired, and sore. And the last thing she wanted to do was have people ask her more questions and stare at her like…like…

Like a Human.

They were all over the place. Well, not all over, and in fact, there were very few Humans in actuality—perhaps one Human for every four hundred nonhumans, so the odds of seeing any were remote. But to Erin, seeing one Human was enough to make her stop in her tracks.

Two men, a tough-looking adventurer guy in his mid-twenties and a paunchier, richer-dressed merchant, were sitting at an outdoor tavern of some kind, talking to each other. Erin wasn’t sure whether to call it a restaurant. She hesitated and then wandered over, unable to keep away.

“Uh, hi there.”

The adventurer and the [Merchant] looked up. They seemed annoyed to be interrupted, but their expressions cleared as they saw Erin. The man who’d been loading up his wagon smiled genially.

“Oh—hello! Can we help you, miss?”

“I’m sorry to interrupt. It’s just—I haven’t seen any Humans in a while.”

The [Merchant] raised his eyebrows.

“It’s a surprise to see anyone but an adventurer or a fellow [Trader] in Liscor. You’re a native here?”

“Something like that. I thought I was the only Human around here, but suddenly…here you all are.”

“Ah, well, I’m headed past here, south. On business—Merchant Goeln, a pleasure. Goeln’s Caravans. But I had to see these new ruins before I went off.”

The adventurer stood up and held out his hands.

“Cervial Dermondy, adventurer. Captain of the Flawless Flights, a Silver-rank team. I’m a [Ranger] by trade, scouting out these new ruins that were just discovered. Pleased to meet you, Miss…?”

“Erin Solstice, um, [Innkeeper]. Mind…mind if I sit?”

“Oh, of course.”

The merchant moved his chair, and the adventurer pulled one close so Erin could sit down. Before she knew it, the merchant had ordered her a drink and they were talking. At first, Erin was surprised, but she fell into the conversation easily. It was just like talking to someone back from her world.

It was so normal Erin could have wept.

Cervial and Goeln had been talking about their grievances with travelling so far to get to Liscor. It seemed everything from wagons breaking down to people getting lost had plagued their caravan, and they’d also found almost all of the inns in the city crowded to the rafters, much to their displeasure.

“It’s nice to know that there are some Humans living around here. I’ve been dealing with stubborn Gnolls and haughty Drakes all day.”

The [Merchant] smiled at Erin while he made a face at the non-Humans passing by on the street. Erin sipped the lukewarm beverage from her mug and made a polite noise to agree with him. The adventurer nodded, chomping down on a baked potato filled with spices.

“I swear, they’ve raised prices just because they knew we were coming. No love towards us Humans, and the local Watch has been picking fights with the adventurers all week. To make matters worse, it seems there’s a Human [Thief] that came in with one of the caravans.”

“Really?”

Erin hadn’t heard anything about that. But then she’d been—busy the last few days. The merchant shook his head and made a noise of disgust.

“Of course, it could be a local Drake or Gnoll, but of course, we Humans get the blame until the culprit is found. Lousy lizards and their damn suspicions.”

Erin blinked at the merchant, but the adventurer was nodding in agreement. She changed the subject quickly.

“Hey, do you know anything about that new adventurer? Gazi?”

Two blank faces were her answer. Erin tried to elaborate.

“She was getting a lot of attention this morning. She’s, um, she looks sort of Human, but she’s got one big eye in her head and four small ones…”

“A Gazer? Gazi? Do you mean…Gazi the Omniscient?”

The ball dropped, and then the [Merchant] and adventurer were giving Erin a look as if she had just sprouted wings.

Erin shrugged.

“She’s a famous adventurer, but that’s all I know—”

“Gazi the Omniscient is in Liscor? I thought I saw a Gazer, but I didn’t dare believe it was her—dead gods, and I missed her?”

Goeln leapt out of his chair. Cervial’s mouth was open so wide he could have inhaled an Acid Fly. Ten of them.

“Adventurer Gazi? I almost missed—did you call her ‘Gazi’?”

“Well, yeah—”

“Put some respect on her name! Adventurer Gazi at least—she’s a Named-rank adventurer!”

Cervial looked so horrified Erin began to get a sense that maybe she had been way too informal with the woman. She gulped.

“I, uh…yeah. She’s here, and I met her on the road. Long story. Is it—is it bad I invited her to my inn?”

The two men were practically about to run off to find Gazi, but they turned back at Erin’s words.

“You have an inn? Here? Really?”

Goeln was incredulous. Erin nodded.

“Yep. Well, it’s small, and I just started—it’s just a few miles outside the city.”

“Really?”

Both men leaned over the table. Goeln gave Erin a smile in return.

“If you’ve got room in your inn, I’d be glad to pay for lodging. It’d be a nice change to see some Human faces rather than all the scales and fur around here. Not to mention the smell! All these non-Humans really don’t know how to wash properly, do they?”

Erin’s smile froze on her face as she stared at the [Merchant]. He hadn’t even tried to lower his voice. She sensed rather than saw the other Drakes sitting at nearby tables slowly glance over at her and the other two Humans. They didn’t seem to notice, nor had Cervial done more than glance at his companion—he hadn’t said a word. Neither had Erin but…

The adventurer coughed into one fist.

“I’d love rooms too; my team’s just here for reconnaissance, but if we come back, a good, friendly inn would be lovely.”

“Oh. Um, well…I’d love to have you over. But, ah—the upper floors are still under repairs, I’m afraid.”

Both looked disappointed.

“What was the problem? If it’s simple repairs, I could introduce you to some skilled craftsmen…”

Erin waved her hands quickly.

“No—no need. I’m working on it. It’s just that we had a very bad incident with disappearing skeletons. And—I should get back there to make sure more aren’t missing.”

Hastily, Erin got up and excused herself. The adventurer and merchant bade her farewell and stared after the young woman as she disappeared into the crowd. When she was gone, they exchanged a look. The [Merchant] took a long draft from the fresh mug the Drake had served him and grimaced. Like everything in the city, he could swear the ale they served him was the lowest gutter-scrapings.

“Disappearing skeletons…?”

——

Far below the surface of Liscor, or at least as far as the Antinium were allowed to dig by their contract with the city, the Queen listened to a report. She was not happy.

“Humans in Liscor? They come seeking the ruins, no doubt, to unearth treasures and seek their fortunes. Good. As for Gazi the Omniscient…she is dangerous. But not a threat to the Hives. She may still be a forerunner of what we desire. Post Listeners on her, but do not gainsay her in any way.”

The Antinium addressing her bowed his head crisply. He was perfectly balanced upon one knee as he faced his ruler.

“Yes, my Queen.”

She waved a feeler at him.

“Such matters are inconvenient, especially at a time like this. Deal with the Council until I have finished. I must not be disturbed at any cost. To complete the project so quickly necessitates all of my attention. Is that clear?”

“Entirely, my Queen. I will handle all of your affairs with those not of the Hive.”

“Good. And investigate the Aberration while you are upon the surface. If he is truly Individual, I would speak to him afterwards. If he is not—”

The Antinium touched the blades at his sides. The Soldier Antinium standing guard made no move despite his proximity to their Queen.

“I will dispose of any Aberrations I find, my Queen. Worry not.”

“I will place my trust in you. Go, then, my Prognugator.”

The Antinium bowed and stood. He whirled, and the twin swords at his waist moved smoothly with him as he walked upwards towards the surface. His Queen’s voice rumbled through the cavernous tunnels after him.

“Go. Ensure that Human does not bring about further ruin. Protect the Hive and carry out my will. Go and do this in my name…”

The Queen paused, and then her mandibles clicked softly.

“Ksmvr.”

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.38

Erin walked down the street, and she felt like sighing. No—she felt like her entire existence was a long, slow sigh.

She was tired. Tired and weary in her very bones. But more than that, she was just disappointed. And that was the worst feeling of all.

Humans.

She’d missed them. Really, she had. She’d missed her friends and being back in her home. She even missed the way people said hello as you walked into the supermarket. And she’d been missing all of that so hard that she’d forgotten how nasty people could be.

They didn’t like Drakes or Gnolls. Humans. And now that Erin knew that and heard the way Cervial and Goeln talked about Drakes and Gnolls—or at least Goeln—she understood why the feeling was mutual.

It was pretty rude to insult an entire species in their own city. Erin wasn’t too sure about much when it came to talking about race, but she was sure of that.

Erin scuffed along Market Street. She wasn’t sure she wanted to buy anything, but she didn’t want to leave the city just yet. Not because she had anything to do here—it was just that the trek back to her inn was too much for her at the moment.

Politeness. It was only right to be polite. And that went double for judging an entire species just because you didn’t like their smell. Sure, Gnolls could be prickly, but they could also be really nice. The same went for Drakes.

“There she is! There’s the [Thief]!”

Then again, there were jerks in every species.

Erin turned around at the voice. It was a familiar voice that set her teeth on edge and made her check her money pouch. Not just because of the thief comment.

Approaching at a high-speed strut down the street was a Drake shopkeeper. Erin’s eyes narrowed as he barged up to her and began shouting.

“I know it was you! You couldn’t resist attacking an honest merchant, and you decide to have a bit of revenge, eh?”

“What?”

Erin blinked at the Drake. He was visibly red with rage. He jabbed at her with a finger, and she stepped back.

“Enough!”

Another Drake pushed his way through the crowd. This one was a Guardsman, and he was visibly harried. He interposed himself between the shopkeeper and Erin.

“Lism, I’ve told you before. You can’t just start accusing Humans at random!”

“Ah, but this one is different!”

Lism the shopkeeper pointed at Erin around the guard and raised his voice so more people could hear.

“This is the Human who robbed me of my merchandise! She also cheated at the chess game with my nephew, I’ve no doubt! She’s been nothing but trouble since she entered the city, and now she’s stealing from honest folk trying to make a living!”

What was it about Erin and trouble? It seemed it followed her wherever she went. Erin gritted her teeth.

“I didn’t steal anything. I haven’t even been in the city—”

“Miss, please.”

The guardsman cut her off. He gently moved Lism back.

“I’ll look into your claims, sir, but I can’t make any arrests. Unless you have proof—”

“Hey, I said I didn’t steal anything!”

“Hah! Another Human lie!”

Lism jabbed a claw at Erin again, despite the guard’s best attempts to move them apart. Now, Erin was getting mad. She opened her mouth and clenched her fists.

“I was out of the city all day! I have proof!”

“Well—”

The shopkeeper hesitated, but now he was too far in to back down.

“It could have been her. You know how Humans get! They’re always sneaking around, going where they’re not wanted.”

“We’ll investigate your claims. Just please move back—”

“You can’t trust her word! Get a truth stone! All of these Humans have caused nothing but trouble since they got here! First, they start stealing, and then what? They’ll take our jobs, attack us on the streets—”

“Please! Move back!”

The guard finally managed to pull the enraged shopkeeper away from Erin. He struggled and hollered, but eventually, he let himself be led away. He still shot venomous glances over his shoulder at Erin, which she returned in kind.

That was unpleasant. Erin was just about to leave before the jerk came back and shouted some more when the [Guard] returned.

“Miss?”

“Oh, hi. Thanks for getting rid of him for me. Was he mad about someone stealing his stuff?”

The Drake nodded. He looked out of sorts and tired.

“There have been a number of petty thefts across the city. Shopkeeper Lism was the latest one to be stolen from.”

“Well…I’m sorry about that. Good luck finding the criminal.”

Erin tried to excuse herself, but the guardsman shook his head.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but I’m afraid I’ll have to investigate his claims. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take a statement from you. Just with a truth spell. I’ll also need proof that you were out of the city this morning.”

“What?”

“It’s standard procedure—”

“But I—he—he’s just mad because I beat him at a game of chess! Or—I beat his nephew and—look, I didn’t do anything.”

The guardsman sighed wearily and raised his hands.

“I understand, Miss, but I have to investigate all leads. Please, this won’t take too long…”

Erin looked around helplessly. This wasn’t fair. But who could help her? The other Drakes and Gnolls, well, some of them looked indifferent, others even sympathetic. But some of them were eying her. And none of them would help. What could they do?

A lot, if one of the people in the crowd was a certain female Gnoll who pushed her way through the throng and marched up to the guardsman. He visibly wilted as Krshia, shopkeeper, Gnoll, and currently Erin’s number one hero folded her arms.

“What are you doing, if I may ask, guardsman? I hear you are taking an innocent Human away on the word of a petty shopkeeper. But that would be wrong, yes?”

The guardsman backed up two steps from the angry Gnoll. He wasn’t a small Drake, but Krshia was big even for a Gnoll, and a few more Gnolls in the crowd were drifting her way.

“Look, Mistress Krshia, I’m just investigating—”

“I heard.”

Krshia sniffed and glanced down the street. Lism, the shopkeeper, ducked back into his stall as she glared in his direction.

“Lism, the sheddings that he is, talks too much and lies when he knows nothing. Someone broke into his stall, but he saw nothing, heard nothing. But he claims it was a girl who bested him out of spite. And you would bother her without evidence?”

“That’s not—I’m just doing my job. It’s just a truth spell to make sure she’s innocent. In fact, she can rely on that as proof.”

That made sense, and Erin felt it was sorta reasonable, but Krshia’s eyes narrowed.

“This does make sense—if you had any reason to suspect Miss Solstice. But all you have is Lism’s unfounded claims. She was outside the city most of the day—your colleagues can surely attest to her being at the gates, yes? Why waste truth spells on her? This seems close to harassing her for being a Human…much like one might question a Gnoll who was anywhere near a crime being committed in another city. But Liscor is not like other Drake cities, no?”

“I—”

The guardsman was torn between duty and not wanting to deal with anything remotely approaching the trouble written on Krshia’s face. He hesitated and then decided as several Gnolls casually walked out of the crowd and joined Krshia. They stood behind her and Erin, not looming but certainly projecting an aura.

“I believe I’ll continue my investigations into the break-in separately. And confirm with the Watch at the gates before I take up Miss Solstice’s valuable time.”

Krshia smiled coldly.

“Yes, that is wise.”

“Well then.”

The guardsman backed off fast. Erin blinked, still confused by what had just happened. The entire moment—well she was grateful for Krshia obviously—but it struck her as slightly wrong that the local law enforcement would back down to a bunch of civilians.

Then again, when the civilians in question were Gnolls, Erin could see why. Even at their best, they did give off a much more…bestial feel than the Drakes. It wasn’t that Erin expected them to lose their tempers, but she also wouldn’t be too surprised if they did. That kind of feeling.

Krshia smiled down at Erin as the other Gnolls around her muttered or barked to her. She growled something back to them, and they walked back into the flow of the crowd.

“Erin Solstice. I have been looking for you. And it is good that I found you just now, yes?”

“Yes. Thanks for that, Krshia. I didn’t know what to do, and that shopkeeper guy—”

Krshia narrowed her eyes and snorted.

“Lism. He causes trouble, yes? Even though you bested him fairly and his nephew is most admiring of you. But enough—I will make sure he causes no trouble. I wish to speak with you.”

“Um, okay? About what? The thief?”

Krshia flicked her fingers.

“Pshaw. It is a cowardly thing that hides and steals from us on Market Street and elsewhere. No one knows if it is Human or another, but the thefts are small. Low-level. No, I do not worry about such a [Thief]. I wish to speak with you privately. I invite you to my home for food and drink.”

Again, Erin hesitated. She was grateful but—

“Um, does it have to be now? I’m really beat, Krshia. I could use a nap—”

“I have a bed in my home too. You may use it and rest if you wish. Come.”

Gnolls were pushy. Or maybe it was just Krshia. But Erin found herself being dragged down the street before she quite knew what was happening.

“Look, I’m grateful, really, but this isn’t a good time. I just had to deal with some evil spiders and—”

“Erin!”

Krshia ignored Erin and the person calling her name. She marched through the crowd at speed.

“If we wait for a good time, we will never have time. Come, my home is not far.”

“Erin! Erin Solstice!”

Krshia visibly sighed, and her ears twitched as the mysterious name-caller drew closer. She halted in the street, and Erin finally managed to extract her hand from the Gnoll’s huge paw. She turned and saw another Drake heading her way.

“Olesm?”

The smaller, younger Drake stopped in front of Erin and Krshia, panting. He was clutching a piece of parchment and a quill and inkpot of all things. For a second, Erin was struck by the sheer inconvenience of not having pens in this world, but then Olesm shoved the paper into her face.

“Take a look at this, Erin! I just received this, and it’s the most fascinating thing ever! A new way to play chess!”

Erin blinked, but then the paper disappeared as Krshia gently but firmly pulled Olesm away.

“Most interesting, but Erin Solstice is busy. I will talk with her, and you will find her later, yes?”

She wanted to pull Erin away, but to the Gnoll’s dismay, Erin was already standing next to Olesm.

“What was that about a new way to play chess?”

This time, Krshia groaned, but Erin was already staring at the piece of paper Olesm was eagerly waving about. She tried one last attempt.

“There is time to play such games later, yes? Erin—”

But by that point, Erin and Olesm were already engrossed. Krshia’s ears twitched again, but there was nothing she could do.

“Just look at this, Erin!”

“I will if you stop moving. What is it?”

Erin snatched the paper from Olesm’s claw and stared at it. Well, it was a piece of paper. And on that paper was an inked…illustration? Erin frowned, but then she got it. It was chess. Someone had drawn a chess board on the piece of paper.

She stared down at a picture—or rather, a drawing of a chess board. Someone had taken the time to draw out the grid and then illustrate—in quite fine detail—each piece on the imaginary board. She stared down at a white king piece, a queen piece in the corner, a knight and a pawn caught in the middle of a game against two black pawn pieces, two rooks, and naturally, a king piece hiding in behind the pawns in the upper left-hand corner.

Olesm hovered over Erin’s shoulder, chattering into her ear.

“I just received a long-distance delivery that went out to all the known [Tacticians] and chess players on the continent! From the Titan of Baleros! Okay, his Great Company, the Forgotten Wing. On Baleros? He can definitely afford it. It was this paper—and it’s a challenge, see? You have to—”

“Solve it in five moves?”

“How’d you know?”

Olesm stared at Erin. She pointed.

“It’s written right here. And white moves first.”

“Yes, isn’t it amazing? I would never have thought of that—but someone’s come up with a way to play chess across long distances without a spell! But this isn’t a game at all—”

“Oh, I know. It’s a chess puzzle.”

Olesm visibly deflated.

“You know what it is? But of course—how silly of me.”

Krshia walked over to stare at the chess boards. She squinted down at the paper and frowned at the pieces.

“I fail to understand this—puzzle. Why has someone sent it to you, Olesm?”

“It’s more like a challenge to anyone.”

Erin explained absently as she stared at the chess pieces.

“It’s a challenge or a problem for players. You have to find a way to win the game in a certain number of moves. It helps people learn to play chess, and this way, you can write it down.”

Olesm nodded eagerly. He pointed to the paper.

“In this case, the solution is to checkmate the black king, but I haven’t been able to figure it out yet. I imagine most of the players across the continent are trying to figure it out. It might take some time, but I hope to be one of the first to figure—”

Erin was still staring at the paper. She blinked, frowned, and then snapped her fingers. Both Krshia and Olesm jumped.

“Hm~! Got it!”

Erin smiled and flicked the chess puzzle with one hand.

“Done and done!”

“What?”

Olesm froze and stared at Erin. She grinned at him.

“You—you finished it? Just like that?”

“Yep. It wasn’t too bad a problem. But I’ve seen several like it, so…”

Krshia glanced sympathetically at Olesm. The poor Drake stared at Erin and then down at the chess puzzle.

“—I would deeply love to know how you solved it so quickly. But I should—yes, I should solve it on my own. Shouldn’t I?”

He looked longingly at the piece of parchment Erin was holding. She grinned and folded it up.

“You should. It will help you in the long run. Don’t feel bad—I just happened to know how that particular problem goes. But it was quite fun.”

“Fun.”

Olesm repeated the word. He looked down at the paper.

“I’ve been wrestling with this problem for an hour. But—of course with someone of your level I shouldn’t expect this to faze you. Of course.”

“Do you have any more?”

Olesm shook his head. He accepted the piece of parchment back from Erin.

“This was the first—I mean, I suppose we might expect more of the same in the future, wouldn’t we? This puzzle was sent to countless cities. From the Titan. To find good opponents, I bet, and promote his game. I wouldn’t be surprised if more appear soon.”

Erin nodded.

“Oh, you mean sort of like a magazine, right? Or a newspaper?”

“A what?”

Both Krshia and Olesm looked at Erin blankly. She tried to explain. Olesm nodded his head uncertainly.

“Yes—yes, that sounds about right.”

“I’m just surprised. I thought sending stuff was supposed to be costly.”

Olesm shook his head.

“It’s not that expensive, especially if you send it with the slower deliveries.”

“Slower deliveries…?”

The Drake nodded. He gestured to the parchment in his hand.

“This was sent via magic. The Mage’s Guild can print images as well as text—but it’s extremely expensive. If it was a letter…again, the Titan can definitely afford magic, but a letter’s a fraction of the cost. And slower. Heck, you don’t even need the Runner’s Guild. You see, Runners deliver things quickly, but merchants and caravans and even ship captains will pass on long-distance deliveries for a very small fee.”

Erin frowned. She sort of got it. It was like snail mail by boat versus sending stuff by plane. And [Message] spells? That sounded like emails! But part of the process still confused her.

“How does that work if you trade the letter more than once? Do you pay the first guy a lot and have him give the money to the next person? That sounds risky.”

Olesm scratched at his scales as he tried to explain.

“It’s more like—well, I suppose you could call the letters a form of currency. Travellers will buy them for a few coins and complete the delivery in hopes of earning more when they sell them later or deliver them to their owner. Really, the Runner’s Guild is far more reliable but expensive.”

“Oh. So it’s sort of a gamble.”

“Exactly, but it’s fairly certain that the letter will get to your destination in the end. Of course, sending something private is a bad idea, but you can send a message to another continent for only a copper coin or two. It might take a month or two, but it will get there.”

Erin nodded. It all made sense. And it reminded her of—well, it reminded her of the post office in a way. Just without stamps. It was useful, it really was.

It was just that she was dreaming of email, the internet, and being able to call her family in two seconds at that moment. So she wasn’t that impressed, even though she was really trying to be.

“I wonder—do you think I could send the answer to the person who sent you the puzzle?”

Olesm hesitated.

“I don’t see why not. I mean, I won’t get in touch with the Titan, just his company. And it costs a bit, but it’s only a few silver for a [Message] spell…I bet he’ll check for answers soon, but not within an hour of sending the puzzle!”

It seemed pricier than he wanted, but Erin was getting excited. And so was Olesm at the thought of contacting and impressing this Titan. Was he actually that big?

“I can write down the answer. Do you have any paper…?”

“Write it down here. I won’t look.”

Olesm handed Erin another piece of parchment and averted his eyes as she scribbled on it. She handed it back to him folded up.

“Okay, so you send it to this person. And then this person will send me something harder?”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps they might wait until others have sent in their reply. It could take a few weeks or up to a month for a new puzzle.”

“Aw. That’s a long time.”

“But it’s so fascinating to play games across such a long distance, isn’t it?”

Erin tried to find the enthusiasm Olesm was giving off, but the truth was this revolutionary idea was small potatoes in her world. She sighed, but then she had a thought.

“I’ve got a better idea. Here, give me the paper back.”

She took the pen and dipped it in the ink pot Olesm held out.

“They sent me a puzzle, so I can send one back. Let’s see how they like this.”

Erin drew out a chess board with every piece in the starting position. She wasn’t an artist, but she did the best she could. Then she wrote in the upper left hand corner:

‘Black side will mirror white side’s every move. Force checkmate in 4 moves.’

“It’s a bit elementary, but it should be a good challenge for a beginner. You can send this via letter, if not a [Message] spell thingy?”

She showed it to Olesm and Krshia. Olesm frowned at the paper while Krshia shook her head in confusion, but then he smiled.

“I’m definitely not paying for [Messaging] an image. But I could probably send a letter via one of the bulk deliveries! What a fun puzzle! Wait…ah. I actually know this one.”

Olesm perked right back up and puffed his chest out proudly. Erin’s smile turned upside-down.

“Wait, what?”

“Several new players like to challenge me this way. So I grew quite adept at beating them. It is quite a simple solution as I’m sure you know. If you move the queen like so—”

Erin scowled and snatched the parchment back.

“Give me that.”

She flipped it over and began writing furiously on the backside. Olesm blinked, and Krshia grinned in amusement. When Erin showed Olesm the new problem, he blinked.

“That’s a—a lot of pieces.”

“Checkmate in four moves. Black moves first.”

Erin grinned evilly at Olesm.

“Four moves?”

He goggled at the paper. Erin had heard of goggling, but she’d never seen someone actually do it.

“No. That’s impossible. But—no, it shouldn’t be—”

He frowned, his tail lashing the ground.

“I can’t even begin to—how did you come up with this so quickly?”

“It was one of the puzzles that gave me a headache back when I was playing a lot. It took me nearly a week to figure it out.”

“I can’t—may I copy this? Please?”

“Go ahead. And if you’ll send this back to the person who sent the other puzzle—I’ll pay for delivery.”

“Oh, of course. Certainly. Um, you can give me a few silver coins and it will get there, but more money means a faster delivery. Sorry, but it is overseas. Maybe I could get someone to pay for an image-[Message]? But that’s gold. How about two silver and I’ll copy this to Baleros for a slow Runner letter—and to Pallass? Maybe someone will send it back to the Titan. They’re all rich in the Walled City. Tons of famous [Strategists]. Heck, the Cyclops of Pallass lives there. Uh, the Grand Strategist of the Drakes.”

“I get it. Well, not anything of what you just said, but it’s pricey. Okay…”

Erin thought about that and dug in her money pouch. She was feeling generous, so she handed Olesm two silver coins. From what Selys had told her, she’d be rolling in bits of shiny metal soon enough.

The Drake blinked down at the coins, but accepted them and promised to send the letter as soon as he copied down Erin’s puzzle. He hurried off, leaving Krshia and Erin behind.

She smiled, wondered a bit maliciously how long it would take the mysterious chess puzzler to solve her problem, and then completely forgot about it a minute later.

Krshia was still trying to get Erin to have a meal with her, but Erin was tired, still sore, and for that matter, hungry. And despite her best wishes towards Gnolls, their food was more than a little raw by Human standards.

“Look, I’d really love to visit. And I will—how about tomorrow?”

“But today is quicker, yes?”

“Yes, but—”

Erin wavered. Krshia enticed her with promises of baked food and meat. And it would be nice, even if she had the feeling the Gnoll wanted to talk to her about something important. Maybe she could relax?

But just as she was about to leave with Krshia, someone else called out Erin’s name. This time, Krshia’s ears laid flat on her head, and she turned with a glare. But the Gnoll stopped.

Gazi Pathseeker stood behind Erin in a vortex of attention. She smiled up at Krshia, and the Gnoll stared at her. Erin blinked and sighed as the half-Gazer greeted her.

“Erin. Is now a good time?”

“I guess. Did you meet all the important people you were supposed to?”

Gazi shrugged.

“I have met with various individuals. But I am sure others will introduce themselves when they realize I am in the city. However, I wonder if I might take you up on your offer.”

“Offer? What offer?”

Erin blinked at Gazi. The adventurer smiled and waved her hand.

“You mentioned you had an inn. If you wouldn’t mind, I would very much like to see it and have a meal, if I may.”

“Oh. Of course.”

Erin glanced at Krshia.

“Sorry, Krshia. It’s just that I promised Gazi—she helped me out earlier today. You don’t mind…?”

Krshia stood stock still and waved a hand silently at Erin. Gazi smiled in the Gnoll’s direction.

“Thank you, Shopkeeper Krshia. I apologize for my rudeness.”

The Gnoll murmured something, but Erin was already leading Gazi away. Krshia stared at the adventurer’s back and then shook her head. She turned, grabbed the nearest Gnoll, and began speaking quickly with him. She kept casting glances at Gazi’s back the entire time the adventurer was walking away. She hadn’t dared meet the half-Gazer’s eyes, and even now, Krshia’s hair was puffed out.

She watched Gazi, but Krshia had no idea—or perhaps she did—that she was being watched right back.

——

Erin stared in horrified fascination as one of Gazi’s eyeballs slowly rotated to face forwards in her head as the two walked down the street. Apparently, Gazers had 360° vision, which was awesome and incredibly disturbing.

She talked to Gazi while the female adventurer’s eyes roamed. She kept her big eye focused on Erin as she walked—out of politeness, Erin guessed, but her other four eyes were all moving in other directions. In fact, it was quite disturbing how Gazi’s big eye didn’t move away from Erin the entire time. Since she had other eyes, she could focus entirely on Erin even while avoiding other pedestrians.

Not that there were any to get in her or Erin’s way. The other people on the street either knew Gazi or didn’t want to walk in front of the adventurer. She was still dressed like a warrior, and even if her armor looked rusty, she seemed like serious business.

All in all—no, Erin wasn’t going to think it. But she couldn’t help it. It really felt like she was talking to a female version of Mad Eye Moody, as wrong as that sounded. A lot less grumpy and with more than one crazy eyeball, but the thought was in her head, and she couldn’t shake it.

And like the Harry Potter characters, Gazi seemed to be a sinkhole for attention. So much so that Erin felt uncomfortable as the two walked down the street towards the gates. She was used to scrutiny, but this time, the Drakes and Gnolls weren’t even bothering to hide their stares. And sure, most were staring at Gazi, but a lot of them were also staring at the weird Human talking to her.

“You’re really that famous, huh?”

Gazi shrugged, and the armor on her shoulders rolled back.

“Some might say so. I apologize if the attention bothers you. Do you dislike such things?”

“Dunno. I’ve never been famous—or popular.”

Gazi nodded.

“I believe I am more infamous than famous.”

“I’ve never been that either.”

“I believe the difference between the two is quite minute in some senses. In others however—well, suffice it to say I appreciate staring as opposed to other reactions. Some cities would not let me past the gates—or even in range of the walls. Nor will I blame them for that.”

“Right, right. I get you. I think.”

Erin and Gazi stopped at a crowded intersection. Today seemed like a weekend—not that Erin had a good grasp of the week days in this world. She spotted several families out and about, which meant that they’d entered a residential district. She seldom went there, so the sight of children was—

They were so small. And cute! Well, the Gnoll kids reminded Erin of vicious puppies, but the small Drakes were terrifyingly cute. They ran about like normal kids, dragging their shorter tails about as they scuffled, played…did all the things normal kids did, really.

As they caught sight of Erin and Gazi, some of the adults stared. But a gang of Drakes and a few Gnolls pointed at Erin instead. One of the children ran up to the two and then away. It was a boy Drake—at least, she thought it was.

That was charming, especially the way the group of kids was clearly fascinated with her. Erin was smiling—until she saw the parents.

Two Drakes, both with lighter blue scales, watched their offspring run about with his friends with affectionate interest. He ran up to her, and his parents called out, not wanting him to bother Erin. She was caught by the moment and the thought struck her before she could banish it.

Mother, father, and child.

Her smile flickered and vanished. But then Erin put it back on her face. She bent down towards the young Drake, not looking towards either of the parents.

“Hi there!”

Erin smiled at the Drake child. He immediately took a step back, but the other children pushed him forward.

“Can I ask you something?”

The boy Drake’s parents waved at him, telling him not to bother the Human. But Erin smiled. She forced the smile, but it was a smile.

“Go on, I don’t mind. Ask me any question you want.”

The Drake grinned up at her. He had very sharp teeth. But it was still an innocent smile. A mischievous smile, too.

“Can you really shoot blood out of your—”

——

Pisces was sitting at a table in The Wandering Inn, sipping from a mug at his leisure as he put his feet up on one table. At his side, he’d dragged over another table and organized a smorgasbord of cheese, meats, bread, and some sweet pastries Erin had bought for herself last time she’d been in the city.

He jumped as the door to the inn smashed open, and Erin stormed in. She was wearing a terrific frown on her face, which contrasted sharply with the amusement on the face of the half-Gazer who followed her in.

She didn’t even have to say anything. One look and Pisces’ feet came off the table, and he began industriously polishing the wood with his considerably dirtier robe.

“Greetings, Mistress Solstice. Ah, are you well?”

Erin stood in the center of the room and glared at everything and nothing.

“I hate kids. I hate Drakes, and I hate people who don’t understand anything about female anatomy.”

That last comment was accompanied by a glare for Pisces. He opened his mouth to protest and then wisely shut up.

“In case anyone’s wondering, I cannot shoot blood out of my crotch.”

“I did not wonder. But it was quite amusing to see your reaction when the child asked you the question.”

Erin glared over her shoulder at the adventurer. Pisces eyed her. There was something familiar—well, unfamiliar, really. He had never seen a Gazer of Baleros. Obviously, he knew the species, but there was only one famous member of them he knew by name.

…It wasn’t her. Obviously. Erin hadn’t mentioned a name when she wandered into the inn with her guest, but it wasn’t her. That would be unbelievable. Pisces was keeping his ear out for a name as Erin ranted. Just because it couldn’t be her.

“Who asks that? Honestly!”

The adventurer shrugged. She was looking around the inn—with more than one eye? Pisces’ brows snapped together as he stared at her.

“Is it strange that other species do not know much about Human reproduction?”

“Yes! No! I just—”

Erin threw up her hands.

“Forget it. This is my inn. I’ll get you some food. You can take a seat. Watch out for Pisces, the jerk over there. He steals stuff. Like my food.”

She glared at the half-eaten pastries on Pisces’ table, and the mage flinched. Then she stomped into the kitchen, leaving him alone with…with…

As the adventurer took a table near him, Pisces’ eyes widened as he noticed her armor and sword. Her armor didn’t look magical to him—which had made him certain it wasn’t her and she was some other Gazer. But that sword…

A claymore. And she was sitting there and staring at him…and now Pisces began to sweat. There was no way. There was no way one of the King’s Seven was in this inn.

Staring at him.

If Pisces had been eating food, he would have choked on it. If he’d been drinking, he probably would have sprayed it out his mouth and nose. Since he wasn’t doing either, he just stared, wide-eyed, at Gazi.

She smiled at him. And as the last voices of denial tried to obfuscate the truth from his panicking mind, the Named-rank adventurer looked him in the eyes and said the most robe-wetting thing Pisces could imagine.

“Greetings, [Necromancer].”

——

Erin rattled around in her kitchen, searching for something to serve up. She put a pot of pasta on the stove, poured out some blue juice—which Pisces had also helped himself to—and sliced up some bread with cheese and sausage. She realized she had no idea what Gazi or her kind ate, but she took it out anyways.

Pisces was sitting in his seat, looking meeker than Erin had ever seen him as he chatted with Gazi. Well, it was more like her asking questions and him replying quickly and nervously. Every few seconds, he would duck his head as if bowing.

Another person who recognized the famed adventurer.

“Here you go.”

Erin put the appetizers in front of Gazi.

“Let me know if there’s anything you want or can’t eat. Also, this is blue juice. It’s…it’s blue. But it tastes sweet.”

“This looks delightful. Thank you for allowing me to impose.”

“No problem. I rarely get visitors—”

Erin stopped as the door opened.

“I rarely get visitors.”

She was expecting the Goblins to enter or perhaps Olesm or even Pawn and some Workers. But instead the last person she expected walked in.

Relc.

He grinned at her and sauntered into the inn, spear over one shoulder. And he wasn’t alone. Four more Drakes—all guardsmen by the look of them—entered the inn, looking around warily.

Erin wasn’t sure what to say. She stared at Relc. The Drake met her eyes and then looked away.

“Hi, Relc.”

“Miss Erin. How’re you doing?”

“Good. Um. You brought friends?”

“For a meal. Mind putting something on for us? I’m hungry.”

“Of—of course.”

Flustered, Erin retreated into the kitchen to double up on her dinner preparations. She reemerged to find Relc and his friends sitting close to Gazi. Since she’d chosen to sit next to Pisces, there was an odd triangle in the center of her inn.

There was also dead silence. Awkwardly, Erin put out drinks and appetizers for the guardsmen and Relc. The other Drakes accepted her drinks and stared at the blue juice warily, but they were polite. Relc, on the other hand, was boisterous and noisy, thanking her and gulping down the juice quickly. He looked everywhere—except at her and Gazi, that was.

That was Erin’s first clue, but she was so busy running around the inn that she didn’t pick up on it. But as she began draining boiled noodles and mixing it with sautéed onions, she heard Relc get up and walk over to Gazi.

“So. You’re the famous adventurer entering our small city. Nice to meet you.”

Erin peeked her head out of the kitchen just in time to see Relc leaning over the table. He stuck out one massive hand.

“I’m Relc. A Senior Guardsman here in Liscor.”

Was it just her or was Relc…bigger than before? But Gazi just smiled up at him and shook his hand with her gauntleted one. She saw the muscles in his arm tense, but Gazi didn’t even blink as she shook his hand.

“I am Gazi Pathseeker, a travelling adventurer.”

“Who?”

Half the [Guards] looked at Relc, but the Drake pretended not to have any idea who Gazi was. Then he picked at his teeth with a claw.

“Oh, right. I think I’ve heard the name before. An adventurer? That’s nice. I thought about being one, but it sounded like too much hassle.”

“The life of an adventurer is not for everyone.”

“No, there’s all the dirt and mud and monsters trying to kill you.”

“It becomes occasionally unpleasant.”

“Right, right.”

Erin didn’t need any special skills to sense the underlying tension in the air. She saw the four guardsmen Relc had brought surreptitiously eying Gazi. Meanwhile, Pisces had scooted around the edge of the table to get away from the two.

Relc paused. Then he cleared his throat and eyed Gazi.

“So…mind telling me what you’re doing in my city? And, uh, how long you’re going to be staying around here? Not going to start a war, are you?”

Relc put a heavy emphasis on my. And he was leaning over Gazi in a not-so-subtle way. She didn’t seem to be bothered by his looming, though.

“I am merely exploring this continent. Rest assured, I mean to cause no disruptions while I am here. Reim is far from here, and my liege sleeps. I am…peaceful.”

She said that last part with an edge that made the entire inn go silent. Everyone looked ready to change the subject, especially because Relc’s last comment had gotten on Gazi’s nerves. Her large eye had narrowed ever-so-slightly. However, the big Drake nodded agreeably, or in a way that suggested agreeability while the tone of his voice was anything but.

“That’s good. I’d hate for any of that. It seems like every other day I have to deal with uppity adventurers causing trouble. It’s because I’m the highest-level member of the Watch, you know. All the guys always call on me for help.”

“It sounds like you have quite a tough job. I am impressed.”

Gazi’s voice was getting less and less friendly, and the notes of sarcasm…well, let’s just say that Erin was sensing a lot of it in the air. Relc flexed one arm and checked his bicep.

“Yeah, well, I’m just that good. [Spearmaster], you know? One of Izril’s few.”

“Indeed? A fascinating class. I myself have killed only a few.”

The room became quieter. Relc’s gaze snapped up, and he opened his mouth—but didn’t have a ready retort. Gazi seemed content with that. Relc scratched at his scales. His tail twitched a few times on the floor.

“Funny person. Anyways. So. What I’m saying is, I’d hate for your visit to get unpleasant, understand? This isn’t a good place for you to cause any trouble like the kind you get up to on your continent. You get—”

He was leaning forwards, and Gazi’s main pupil was narrowing to a fine point of annoyance as the [Guards] looked like they were bracing for the worst—which they had come here to avoid. Pisces was opening a window and peering outside. The air was turning bad—

And then Erin tapped Relc on the back of the head with a plate full of food. Hard.

“Ow!”

He turned and glared at her. She glared back.

“Oi. Stop harassing my guest.”

Gazi blinked. Pisces turned back, incredulous, and the Senior Guardsman looked at Erin. He glared—then ducked a second tap of the plate.

“I wasn’t—”

“Stop harassing. My guest. And sit back down. The food’s ready.”

Relc glared, but then he looked at Gazi—and the tense air was lost. He opened his mouth, closed it—stared at Erin, and growled. The Drake stomped back to his table as everyone sighed in relief. Gazi smiled at Erin, amused.

“Ah. Pasta? It looks quite delicious. Thank you, Erin.”

“Yeah, looks good! Have a bite and let me know if that’s an illusion.”

Relc began digging into his food the instant Erin left it at his table. After some hesitation, the other guardsmen did as well. Their wary expressions changed, and they soon began slurping down the noodles with good humor.

Pisces glanced around. Everyone else was eating—and Erin had even brought out some food for herself. But he was notably bereft of a plate and food.

“Ah, I believe you missed someone.”

“Did I?”

Erin eyed him balefully. She quite pointedly stared at the remains of her pastries on his table.

“Too bad. I guess I only have food for paying customers.”

He smirked at her.

“As a matter of fact, I believe today is the day I will pay off my tab. I have come into quite a bit of money as of late.”

“Really?”

Erin raised a skeptical eyebrow. Pisces pulled out a bulging pouch and showed her the contents.

“If you would observe.”

She stared.

“That’s a lot of gold. Hey! Did you steal that?”

Relc’s head rose, but Pisces looked insulted.

“Not at all. I merely performed a complex bit of magic and received remuneration. But I believe this is more than enough to pay off my tab many times over. Allow me to repay my debts in full and tip you for your time.”

He reached a hand into the pouch, but before he could take any gold out, the bag disappeared from underneath his hand. Relc pulled it away and deposited the bag on his table.

“Yoink.”

“Hey!”

Pisces shot to his feet. He grabbed for the money, but Relc raised the bag out of arm’s reach.

“Give that back! It is my property!”

“Nope! Confiscated by the City Watch!”

“Relc!”

Erin shouted at the Drake as Pisces grew redder and redder. The mage pointed a trembling finger at Relc.

“This is an abuse of authority! You have no right to steal my property—”

Relc grinned and waggled a claw at Pisces.

“I have every right. Or did you forget—you’re still wanted for all those thefts you did earlier. Scaring people—robbing graves—all of that should be nicely covered by this donation to the city, shouldn’t it?”

Pisces turned white and then red again with outrage. He spluttered, but didn’t really have anything to respond with except unrighteous indignation. Relc laughed at the mage—until Erin punched him in the shoulder.

“Ow. Have you gotten stronger?”

“It’s a Skill. Stop bothering my customers.”

“Fine. But I’m keeping this. Necromancer Pisces will be allowed back in the city, and we won’t stab him with all his fines paid off—but I’ll be watching him.”

“This is unjust—not right—”

Pisces clenched his fists, but Erin managed to get him back to his seat. He sat there in a huff, so she got him his own plate and food to calm him down.

“Honestly. I have a new guest here. Can’t you two behave for one night?”

“I am quite enjoying the spectacle. Do not mind me.”

Relc glanced sideways at Gazi. But then he ignored her and grinned at Erin.

“Sorry, Erin. I just wanted to say hi—after so long.”

She eyed him doubtfully.

“Really?”

“Really. I saw you just this morning and thought—well, it would be nice to see a friendly Human again. I had to deal with so many rude adventuring types and annoying mages each day.”

Pisces muttered something darkly. Erin shot him a look, and he shut up.

“I saw that. You were pretty impressive out there. I didn’t know you were that good.”

Relc grinned and put his hands behind his head as he leaned back in his chair.

“I try, I try. I’m not the greatest guardsman in the city for no reason.”

The four guardsmen stopped their meal and looked up at Relc. One of them snorted.

“Greatest guardsman? Sure, one who can’t even catch a Human Runner.”

The other three chuckled. Relc thumped back down on his chair and glared at them.

“I was wearing armor, and I had my spear, alright? She got lucky!”

Erin blinked at Relc as the other guardsmen made more jokes at his expense.

“You got outrun by a Runner?”

“She was really fast! I’ve never seen anything like it! Any other Runner I’d leave in the dust. But her—”

“Sure you didn’t lose while you were admiring her? Relc, the Gecko, lost to a mere Human. The mighty have fallen.”

“Too busy panting and not enough breathing while you were running?”

“Shut up! Don’t call me that stupid name!”

Relc glared at the two guards and threw a bit of food at them. That earned him another buffet from Erin. He glared at her, but then switched tone.

“—By the way, Miss Erin. You…wouldn’t happen to know any female Runners, would you?”

“Me?”

Erin blinked at him. Relc nodded.

“Sure, I mean, maybe, right? She was about your age.”

“What did she look like?”

This question came from Pisces. The mage was staring with some interest at Relc. The Drake frowned and shrugged awkwardly.

“She had…black hair. And she was—tall? Taller than Erin. And, uh, she was fast. Ring any bells?”

Pisces and Erin exchanged a look. Erin planted her hands on her hips.

“How am I supposed to know someone by all that?”

“Hey, I’m doing the best I can! All you Humans—you’re sort of similar. Anyways, I just thought you’d know her.”

“Because I’m Human? And all Humans know other Humans?”

Relc scratched at the side of his head.

“Um. Yeah?”

“Unbelievable.”

Erin began banging together empty dishes as she glared at Relc, and the Drake spread his claws out innocently.

“Hey, I just wondered—that isn’t the only reason I’m here! I was going to tell you about the thief in the city.”

“I already know about the thief in the city! And before you cause more trouble, it wasn’t Pisces. If he were the thief, you’d have caught him already.”

“Oh, we know that. The [Guards] would have spotted him entering the city, his stupid invisible trick or not. No, it’s probably just some Human. But I wanted to tell you to hire some protection around here. You got lucky with those Shield Spiders, but you’re not going to be lucky forever. Hire an adventurer already.”

“And pay them with what? Adventurers are expensive!”

One of the guards nodded.

“They are. Unless you know one personally, the rates they charge are far too high.”

Relc glared at the guardsman.

“Way to help, thick-tail.”

“I don’t have money for that. Unless—”

Erin reappeared in the common room. She smiled at Gazi, who was observing the argument with urbane amusement.

“Hey, Gazi, want a job? I can’t pay much, but I’ll feed you if you stay. I haven’t fixed up the rooms upstairs, but I could work on that.”

Relc, Pisces, and all four guardsmen started choking on their food. Gazi smiled and shook her head.

“As tempting as your offer is, I must refuse. But I believe you would be wise to invest in some form of defense as you are no warrior.”

“Once I have the money from the Shield Spiders I’ll see. But I’m not made of coins. I don’t have much gold.”

Pisces had been following the conversation while eating a huge helping of pasta. Now, a calculating look appeared on his face as he glanced at Erin.

“I might be able to help in that regard. Miss Erin, seeing as how my funds have been confiscated…would you accept—alternate forms of payment?”

She glared at him.

“At this point, as long as you pay me something I’ll be happy.”

Erin paused and hastily amended that sentence.

“But nothing icky. Or gross. Or—anything I won’t like.”

Pisces was still glaring daggers at Relc, but his eyes had lit up at Erin’s request, and he developed a knowing smile as he tapped two fingers together thoughtfully.

“I believe I have something in mind that may benefit us both.”

For some reason, that struck her as ominous—and she hoped Pisces wouldn’t cause much trouble. It was practically a given he’d cause some. Erin shook her head.

“If we’re done with talking about stuff I can’t afford—anyone hungry for something else? I have Acid Flies if you guardsmen want to try them. I know Relc eats them.”

The guardsmen exchanged a glance while Relc patted his stomach and tried to decide whether he was still hungry. Pisces hurriedly waved away the bowl Erin was offering.

Gazi raised her single eyebrow.

“Acid Flies?”

——

As Erin served food into the night, another girl pondered money and food. Unlike Erin, however, she was not immediately in possession of either.

She skulked in an alleyway, not trying to keep out of sight, but refusing to go out into the street. She wouldn’t be bothered even if she did. Some guardsmen were looking out for thieves, but they would never suspect her. Her attire, and more importantly, her bearing would immediately allay any suspicions to her guilt.

It was a shame and a disgrace, then, that she was forced to stoop to such demeaning lengths to survive. Theft was not befitting of her station, but the greedy merchants and shopkeepers were practically inviting her to take their goods. Besides, she had no coin to pay—not that she would in any case.

What was hers was hers. What was theirs was hers too, for that matter.

She’d made a mistake in travelling south. The city she wanted to travel to was Celum—not this—wherever here was. But the foolish caravanner had erred in giving her directions—she certainly hadn’t made a mistake! Now she was stranded and forced to even further depths to survive.

The girl’s stomach grumbled. She’d snatched some fruit earlier today, but the shopkeepers were on more of a lookout after a few days of her pilfering. She’d have to wait until late that night before she would be able to eat.

Soon. The girl licked her fingers and eyed the streets packed with hideous dog creatures and evil lizards. She just had to obtain enough coin, and then she would be away from this city filled with monsters. She just had to find Magnolia Reinhart, and then she would be welcomed with dignity befitting her rank and station.

Soon.

The girl’s stomach growled.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.39 R

Running is a peculiar thing. And it’s one of the few things I’m qualified to talk about in any world. For me, running is as close to living as anything I do. I’ve studied it, practiced it, and made it mine. I can’t claim anything else like that.

But if running is pure, life is not. My body is not, for that matter.

Funny thing. Apparently, doing a record-breaking, thirty-mile marathon at my top speed has consequences, especially on a leg that just got healed. Suffice it to say that when the Horns of Hammerad caught up with me, they had to let me ride on the cart most of the way back to Celum.

Lying down in the middle of a field during a complete physical shutdown is actually pretty relaxing. I was so tired I didn’t even think about what would happen if a monster found me.*

*Not that it’s hard to think about. Apparently, the most common type of monster between the Human cities and Liscor are Goblins or a variety of avian species. I’m told that it would be far better to have the birds start eating me alive than suffer what male Goblins do to women. Next time I see one of those buggers, I’m kicking his head in.

Anyways, I’m just lucky that one of their team members, Hunt, had an appropriate tracking Skill or something. The Horns figured out what happened pretty quick when I stopped moving. Again, running a marathon on a light meal isn’t a good idea. I’ve tried ultra-marathons, and the key to those runs isn’t speed or even that much practice. All you do is take it easy and eat the entire way through. My kind of fun.

Where was I? Oh yeah. Running. Running is simple, but nothing else is in life. Even jobs involving running are way too difficult.

Case in point and why I’m still standing outside the Runner’s Guild rather than going in. I really don’t want to have to deal with the people inside—or anyone right now. In fact, the only thing keeping me remotely sane is the fact that my leg is better.

My leg is better. Four words, but it is all the difference in the world to me. From thinking I’d never run again to being able to run wherever I go?

Life is good.

—Unless of course you’re an out-of-work bum with no money who has to borrow from other people to survive. Dad always warned me this would happen if I didn’t shape up.*

*Of course, shaping up for him would be going into politics to kiss ass and tell lies 24/7, so he can go jump off a cliff.

I am quite literally penniless. Without the Horns of Hammerad, I wouldn’t even have been sleeping in the inn for the last few days, let alone eating. The reason for that is twofold. One—and again, this is my fault—I had to rest up from the stupid marathon I ran right after getting my leg healed. Even with a potion, there was still some rehabilitation necessary. That took two days before Ceria told me I was fine.

The other reason?

People.

Every head in the Runner’s Guild turns as I kick open the door. Just as quickly, most of the Runners look away.* Looks like half of the regular City Runners are here, plus a few people I recognize.

*It’s a great look, too. It says that they were clearly expecting someone, anyone besides me, but I’m here now, and they have to put up with me—mainly by pretending I don’t exist. Gods. This is why I hate looking at people’s faces.

Fals is talking to Garia next to the receptionist’s desk. Both notice me, but Fals keeps talking and Garia’s too moonstruck to interrupt him. And watching Fals from a corner of the room with her posse is another charming person of interest.

Persua.

Persua, Persua, Persua. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. If I didn’t know what Magnolia had told me, I still would have been able to tell something was wrong.

She’s still there, and Toriska’s sitting next to her—Claudeil might be around—but they look like they just were at a funeral. Persua’s sycophants aren’t here—all the Street Runners are normally missing—and she looked like she’s mad enough to cry.

Or run someone over with a wagon. But guess what? She’s not a City Runner anymore. In fact, I daresay Toriska’s look of wanting to throw up can only get better by the slack-jawed look of horror as I walk in.

Schadenfreude—a German word for enjoying the suffering of someone else—is my favorite thing right now.

When Persua sees me, I think she might actually faint. Her face doesn’t exactly have much color, but it drains of everything. She sways, actually sways in her seat, then begins to get up. But Toriska grabs her, and she hesitates—because I’m looking at her.

One move. One smart comment. Come over here and I’ll drop-kick you into a wall, Persua.

Am I going to go after her? I haven’t decided. I want to—and Persua looks for the door as she sees the look on my face. I hesitate—

I’ve still got to research what the punishment is for murder in this world. For now, I walk past her, just savoring her look of pure hatred.

The old Guildmaster is gone, but I never really knew his face. He’s not in the Guild, so I’m mostly focused on the front desk.

Fals and Garia are in front of me in line while the female receptionist deals with a kid trying to turn in a delivery. I normally don’t like to talk to Fals, but I am in the best of moods today. Besides, their conversation sounds interesting, so I put up with Fals long enough to listen in.

Garia sounds pretty upset. Both Runners are talking about something. Oh, right, that unmarked request she showed me two weeks ago. Seems like ages, now.

“…Third Runner we’ve lost so far. Pestrom.”

“What? No. He was an experienced City Runner—Level 19! I—I saw him just the other week. I thought you said no one went—”

“I didn’t know he was going. He talked about it, and I thought I talked him out of it. I guess he wanted to go in secret. We wouldn’t have known what happened if that [Shepherd] didn’t find his pack. Damn it. The Guild has to take down that request.”

Fals shakes his head. He looks genuinely angry and frustrated, but I’ve seen people wear perfect masks of emotion. Garia bites her lip.

“But he had an enchanted shortsword. He wasn’t an adventurer, and I know that’s not high-level compared to a Courier, not by half—”

He breaks in harshly, more agitated than I’ve heard him.

“None of that matters in the High Passes, Garia. The monsters there—you’d need fighting skills or insanely high levels—something above Level 30 probably to get out unscathed. I told Pestrom that when he brought it up and he told me…I guess he didn’t take me seriously.”

“You’ve got to do something about it, Fals. The reward’s gone up to eighty gold. Eighty! A bunch of the new Street Runners—they know it’s dangerous. But for that kind of money…”

Fals nods seriously. The Runner ahead of him is done, so he steps up to the counter and addresses the receptionist. Isn’t she the one I know?

“Stenei, don’t let any Runners take that open request. Spread the word to the other Guilds. Anyone who tries to take the High Passes request will die. We need it off the requests board.”

The receptionist—Stenei, that’s the one who often gives me deliveries—looks distressed. She clearly wants to help Fals out, and she doesn’t notice me as she replies.

“We can’t take it down, Fals. You know guild policy. Even with the new Guildmaster—it’s still a request.”

Fals nods. He leans over the counter and smiles charmingly* at the receptionist.**

*I assume it’s a charming smile. The problem is, I’ve seen so many charming smiles that this particular type of charm makes me want to break something every time I see it.

**Why are they always female? Oh, right. Feminism isn’t dead in this world; it probably never existed to begin with. Unless you count someone like Lady Magnolia, and she’s probably a rare exception due to her influence and wealth. Lovely.

“I know. But you could, ah, suggest to other Runners not to take the request, right? Believe me, it would save lives.”

“We already do that. I’m sorry about Pestrom, I really am.”

The receptionist and Garia both blush when Fals smiles, which only ticks me off more. Fals considers this.

“Then…what if this request just happened to be hidden below other ones on all the boards in the other guilds? It happens. Organization can be bad. It’s not against any rules, is it?”

She hesitates, then nods.

“I could ask about that. Let me just pen a [Message]…I think you’re right, Fals.”

“In that case, Garia and I will tell the other Runners to spread the word and let everyone know what happened to Pestrom. Thanks, Stenei, you’re a lifesaver. Literally.”

Fals smiles at her again. She blushes and starts fiddling with the delivery Seals on her counter.

“There’s no need for flattery, Fals. Anyways, don’t you have a lot of work to do?”

“I always have time to chat with a lovely lady. How’re the kids? Are you—”

Okay, interesting discussion I can deal with, but flirting/chitchat I’m not waiting around for. I don’t quite elbow Fals out of the way* as I step forwards.

*I don’t. Really. But I might have stepped a bit on his foot.

“Hey. Got a request for me?”

“Ryoka! You’re on your feet!”

Garia’s exclamation is so loud that anyone not looking at me already—I wince, but she sweeps me up in the biggest hug I can.

“Garia, put me down—Garia!”

To my huge annoyance, Fals joins in. Which makes Garia let me go—but he gives me a squeeze.

“Ryoka. It’s so great to see you! Your legs are healed—that’s incredible! That’s impossible!”

“Did Magnolia Reinhart do it like she said? She’s so generous!”

“Totally unlike the rest of her family, no matter what they say about her.”

Fals agrees. I have to actually put a hand on his shoulder and move him back. I think he’s trying to cop a feel.

“You done?”

He blinks, steps back, and flashes me a huge smile which goes unreturned.

“Sorry—I’m just so glad you’re well. Where did you go? Tenbault?”

“No, Liscor.”

“Liscor?”

“It’s a long story. I had help from some adventurers, not the Healer of Tenbault. They fixed me up.”

“Wh—really? There’s a high-level [Healer] in Liscor?”

“Something like that. Anyways, I just got back. Any interesting running requests around?”

Garia still looks delighted, and I have to admit, she was there for me.

“Ryoka, this is so great. You have to tell me what happened! Let’s get a drink—or visit my home! I mean—you’re well! And guess what happened to Persua and the Guildmaster?”

Fals hesitates and gives me the side-eye as I try not to smirk.

“Oh, yeah. Did you hear about that, Ryoka?”

“I may have. Persua’s a Street Runner now? Oh, that’s terrible. What happened? Did she get her just desserts? Or did someone realize she’s nowhere near a City Runner’s level?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Persua freeze up and then turn redder with every word. Fals gives me a cautious look as Garia looks delighted—nervous, but I can see other City Runners snorting.

That’s right, everyone knows she did it and she’s being punished.

“So you did know what happened.”

Fals looks at me cautiously, and I give him a bland smile. Maybe he knows Magnolia’s to blame, but I didn’t make her do anything.

“I heard it on the way here. What, is it a problem? Us runners have to stick together, so if Persua needs some guidance—I’m sure I can give her tips.”

“Nah, Ryoka. I think it’s all sorted, right?”

Fals looks at Garia and the receptionist for support, but he doesn’t get more than a nod from the receptionist. Garia frowns—and I turn away from him and his shallow politics.

I plant my hands on the desk.

“Hey. I’m back.”

“Miss Ryoka! It’s wonderful to see you on your feet.”

Stenei smiles, and I hesitate. Wow. That’s a good act if it is one. I cough, embarrassed.

“Thanks…uh, Stenei, right?”

“Correct! How can I help you?”

“Um—contracts. Any big ones for City Runners? Or me specifically?”

I’ve heard that popular City Runners get special orders for just them, which is a sign they’ve made it. I’m mostly asking about emergency runs for adventurers, and I’m curious about what Fals and Garia were talking about.

Eighty gold coins? That’s a fortune! Is that related to…

“Actually, Miss Griffin, we have several open contracts for you.”

“Wh—really?”

Fals and Garia turn instantly. I blink in gratification—but it becomes a scowl as Stenei reads them out.

“They’re all for Lady Reinhart, and they list you as the only Runner. If you’d like to take a look.”

“Pass.”

Stenei looks astonished, and Fals’ mouth falls open.

“But Miss Griffin, these are urgent, and the Guild—”

“I don’t want a delivery for Magnolia Reinhart. Anything else for me not from her? No? Okay, I guess it’s regular deliveries, then.”

I shake my head. Stenei is trying to offer me the files she has.

“But Miss Griffin, it’s very, very lucrative and not that difficult—”

But I don’t want to talk to Lady Reinhart. Yes, she helped me, but she made me one of those offers I couldn’t refuse, and I did refuse it. She knows I’m from…somewhere else, and she scares the crap out of me, if I’m honest.

She’s dangerous, and I don’t want to talk to her, so I walk over to the cork board with the requests.

“Nevermind that. I’ll just take this one to Remendia and—”

“Miss Griffin, I am so sorry, but the Guild would like you to take Magnolia’s requests. Before you take another one.”

I stop, one of the pieces of parchment in hand. Stenei is standing there, and she looks uncomfortable as she shakes her head at me. I try to place the request on the counter. She doesn’t look at it.

“What’re you talking about? This one is open. I’m free. Put me down.”

“I can’t do that, Miss Griffin. The Guildmaster has orders—and the other Guilds do too. Here’s a quick delivery to Lady Reinhart. Sugar from the north. You can pick it up right in the city.”

She offers me a slip, and I look at it. Then push it back.

“No. Put me down for…”

Then I see the look in her eyes and realize I’m not arguing with her. All at once, my good mood fades. I look at Garia, who’s confused, and Fals, who’s staring at me as if he’s figuring something out. But I?

I just looked at the Runner’s Guild, and all my goodwill towards Magnolia fades away as I realize I’ve just been hit with the other side of her power and influence.

I have to deliver something to her? I look at the [Receptionist] and realize she’s telling the truth.

I am totally conscious of my empty money pouch. So that’s what her game is? She must have the entire Guild—is the entire network of Guilds under her thumb? And if she does, then how do I earn money?

“Miss Griffin? It’s not hard to do it. Just one quick delivery and I’m sure we’ll be allowed to give you all the ones you want.”

I stare at Stenei. Slowly, I look down at the request earmarked for me, and I can see Magnolia just waiting at her door. To invite me in. There’s no one pushing me into doing this. Magnolia never forced me to do anything…but pressure? I can feel it all over, and you know what?

I hate being pushed. So I push the paper back and step back. Instead of my smile, I’m scowling as I walk away from the desk.

“Yeah, I’m sure. Forget about it. I’ll try another Guild.”

——

Celum Runner’s Guild was the one I was just at. It’s not far to other cities—well, it is to run for no pay, but if you’re pissed and still enjoying running, like me, it’s not too far to spite a [Lady].

Of course, she probably has the power to make Ocre and Remendia not listen, so I’ll go to Wales the next day. It turns out ‘no money’ doesn’t cover a few silver coins in my pack. Enough for a crappy room, and if I eat from my stale rations, that’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Wales is way far away from Remendia and Ocre. Fifty miles. She can’t…

The [Receptionist] at the desk knows me before I get to him, and he makes the other City Runners step back and offers me the only request he has—take a bunch of letters to Magnolia—

Every Guild I try is the same. I even try to pretend I’m not Ryoka, but it’s hard to change skin-tone and my height. Every single [Receptionist] has the same reply, and I’m about to kill everything.

No requests. No deliveries, and no pay. That’s the message I’ve gotten every day since I got back. I tried Runner’s Guilds in three of the cities around here, and all of them are doing the same thing.

In fact, they’re even making it so I can’t even go behind the Guild’s back and do unofficial work. Someone—and I bet it’s Magnolia—has decided to make the Runner’s Guild fulfill every request the moment it comes in. Even if it means they have to work every other Runner around the clock to get it done.

By the time I get back to Celum, it’s just to see how long they can keep this up. Half of the Street and City Runners in here are practically dead on their feet, but they’re still doing it. And it looks like they’ve called in the better City Runners like Fals to help out.

In short, I’m being shut out until I give into their demands. Which I won’t do. What they actually want isn’t hard—

But I’m not doing it. I don’t give in to bullies and peer pressure. And the innocent look the receptionist is giving me makes me want to punch her lights out.

Screw this. It’s time to get unpleasant.

——

When Ryoka Griffin came back to the Runner’s Guild, Stenei was still on duty. This time—Garia felt for her.

She was a nice woman and had really been upset when Persua got away scott-free. But Ryoka was so furious that it was written on her face.

Garia understood why and was just glad Persua wasn’t here today. Apparently, she was still running as a Street Runner—and furious—but she, Claudeil, and Toriska were in trouble, and everyone knew it.

The problem was—Ryoka seemed to be in trouble too. She stomped her way towards the counter, and she looked both hungry and tired. Garia had offered to let her stay at her parent’s farm—they lived just outside of Celum—but Ryoka had told her she didn’t want charity.

Garia watched Ryoka and sensed trouble. She didn’t have any particular skills like [Dangersense], but she didn’t need to. She knew Ryoka, not just as a friend but as a meteorologist knows weather. And if Ryoka were a storm, then she’d be a shipbreaking hurricane with lightning and hail thrown in for good measure.

The tall, barefoot girl leaned over the counter and glared at the receptionist. Garia felt for the older woman. Stenei was nice and helpful to everyone—she was just doing her job, even if Garia herself didn’t agree with it. It wasn’t her fault.

Then again, Garia wouldn’t have wished Ryoka on anyone when she was this angry. Maybe Persua. Ryoka’s bright green eyes flashed with annoyance.

“It’s been four days.”

Ryoka leaned over the counter and glared at the wilting receptionist.

“And you’re telling me that there are no requests? Except of course for Magnolia.”

Stenei opened her mouth, hesitated, and cast an imploring glance around the room. And who should be there except for…

This time, Garia wondered if someone had told him to be here. Because he just happened to have run in ten minutes before Ryoka, and that was despite doing seven deliveries in the last four days. He looked as tired as everyone else, but Fals stepped forwards and smiled at Ryoka in a way that made Garia’s heart beat faster. Ryoka turned her glare on him.

“We don’t want to get in your way, Ryoka—”

“Oh really? Then stop taking all the delivery requests.”

Fals scratched the back of his neck and smiled again awkwardly.

“We’d love to. Really. But Ryoka, it would be best if you took one of Magnolia’s requests first.”

Ryoka knew why, but she wasn’t in the mood to be helpful. She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Why?”

Another smile, slightly strained.

“Lady Magnolia’s refusing to take any other requests until you deliver something in person. That’s hurting Runners in every city around here.”

“So? Just do the deliveries yourself. She’ll take them if I don’t deliver anything.”

“We’d like to, really we would, Ryoka. But Lady Magnolia—no one tells her what to do, Ryoka. Take a look at her requests, won’t you? It wouldn’t even be that hard.”

From what Garia knew of Ryoka, an easy delivery would be even less attractive to her. But as Stenei held out one of the requests, Ryoka grudgingly stared at it. She curled her lip as she read the requests one after another.

“Hot peppers? Cabbages? She could get that in any market.”

“But she wants a Runner. You, specifically.”

“So until she gets one, I won’t get any other jobs, is that it? And I’m supposed to ask her to let other Runners take her requests, right?”

“We wouldn’t say that.”

“Oh?”

Fals seemed to choose his words carefully.

“If you’d—suggest to Lady Magnolia that she open up her delivery requests for every Runner, things would be—smoother.”

“Right. And you all get paid so everyone’s happy?”

Ryoka turned from Fals and stared around the guild. Street Runners and City Runners returned her stare countless times over. They were all silently watching Ryoka, and not with friendly expressions either.

“So until then, you’re all going to keep taking the requests.”

Fals shrugged ruefully as if caught out in a prank.

“We’re just doing our jobs, Ryoka. But you’re right. We’re working together on this, Runners and the Guild.”

“I don’t like being pressured. By anyone.”

Fals put a hand on Ryoka’s shoulder, making the other Runner instantly tense up. He flashed her a reassuring smile that made Garia’s stomach do flip flops.

“Ryoka, I completely agree with you. But please, look at it from the perspective of the rest of us Runners.”

He gestured to the other Runners.

“We’re a team. Okay, sure we don’t all get along, but if every Runner was out for themselves, it’d be a mess. We work together to tackle hard assignments, and we share the wealth so everyone gets ahead.”

He tapped his chest lightly.

“We’re Runners. We might charge high prices, but we get the job done! And if some people don’t like that, it’s because they don’t understand how tough our jobs really are. We risk life and limb to help others.”

The other Runners in the room warmed to Fals’ speech. They murmured agreement as he continued.

“So if we work together—if we help support each other—we’ll survive. Hundreds of Runners die every year, but the Guilds around here lost the least amount of Runners each year. We don’t take dangerous requests, and we team up if one of us is in danger. Sure, we might not earn as much as other Runners, but we know we can count on each other.”

Ryoka stared at Fals as the other Runners in the room cheered. Then, calmly and deliberately, she grabbed his wrist and plucked his hand off her shoulder.

“Nice speech. But you’re full of shit.”

Garia stopped smiling. The mood in the room froze over in a second. Ryoka stared around at the other Runners, unflinching. She looked back at Fals, who was staring at her uncertainty. Then she shook her head.

“You want to talk about Runners and preach about playing nice and sticking together? Fine. But leave me out of your little party.”

She pointed a thumb at her chest.

“I’m a barefoot runner. If I cared about what people thought, I wouldn’t run at all. Runners run. We deliver stuff. It’s a job, not a calling.”

She looked around again, and this time, she caught Garia’s eye for a moment.

“I couldn’t care less whether or not you lot like me. All I’m here to do is deliver stuff and get paid. I don’t want Magnolia’s stupid requests. If you lot want to earn favor with her, deal with it and leave me out of it. You should want me to not work with her. You think I’m trying to be her special, personal Runner?”

Fals spread his hands out helplessly.

“We’d like to believe you, Ryoka, but—”

“You think I’m lying?”

The edge in Ryoka’s voice made Fals hesitate. She took one step forwards, and he took one step back.

“I don’t lie. And I hate liars. When you make a promise, you keep it. When you speak, you look someone in the eye and mean every word. When I say I’ll do something, I mean it. If you want to do deliveries to Magnolia, take the damn requests. I don’t care about your politics.”

She poked Fals in the chest hard enough to make him take another step back.

“But if you get in my way, I’ll kick your face in.”

Fals opened his mouth, but this time, Garia grabbed him and pulled him away. Ryoka turned and glared around the room. None of the other Runners were willing to meet her eyes, but the feeling they gave off—

She stalked over to the request board and glared at it. Countless requests were listed, and not a one was for her.

There was no point to taking any of the requests, she knew. Even if she took one to the counter, it would be ‘miraculously’ already taken by another Runner. Or they’d refuse to recognize her effort or just not hand over the item she had to deliver. Even if she did the delivery, the funds were already deposited in the Guild, and they wouldn’t be released until Magnolia said so.

But—she had a thought. Wasn’t there one delivery that promised payment upon just getting to the person? One that no Runner could take. Should take.

Slowly, she investigated the board, removing requests and tossing them to the floor. The receptionist looked upset, but Ryoka dared her to object. She was looking for something…aha, just like Fals had asked. Right on the bottom.

Ryoka pushed back several requests and selected one at the bottom. She brought it back to the counter and handed it to the receptionist.

“This one. I’ll take the request for the High Passes.”

“What?”

Stenei blinked at Ryoka. She stammered.

“That one’s—but you can’t—”

“Not a good idea, Ryoka.”

Fals pulled himself gently away from Garia and moved in front of Ryoka again. His face was concerned.

“The High Passes aren’t a place for Runners or even most adventurers. Whoever put that request in doesn’t know what they’re doing. You shouldn’t take it.”

“Why not? There’s nothing else for me to do.”

Ryoka snatched the piece of paper back from Fals. Then she grinned.

“Unless you want to do it? I’ll follow you out to make sure you get it done.”

Ryoka smiled maliciously at Fals. He recoiled visibly, and she nodded.

“That’s what I thought. I’m doing the request.”

“You’ll die!”

Garia broke into the conversation. She flushed as all eyes turned on her, but she continued desperately.

“Ryoka, Fals is right. This is serious. Just take one of Magnolia’s requests! The High Passes—”

“I’ll survive. And I’ll complete the request even if it’s dangerous—not just for money. Apparently, that’s all Runners think about.”

Ryoka pushed Fals back and moved past Garia. She walked towards the door and stopped as another not quite barred her way. Persua.

She didn’t have her posse anymore, just Toriska and Claudeil. Both glared at Ryoka—but moved back as Ryoka’s hand curled into a fist.

“Persua. What’re you doing here? Don’t cause a scene.”

Fals raised his voice warningly, and Persua shot him a murderous look—but even the [Receptionist] was giving her a stare. She was red-faced, furious with humiliation, and, Ryoka thought, pinched for coin much in the same way Ryoka was.

The two were giving off sparks of hatred as they looked at each other, but Persua just tossed her head defiantly, ignoring Fals’ warning. Ryoka growled.

“Are you going to try and stop me too? Hi, Persua. I’d love for you to try.”

She looked at Toriska, and the girl shifted, a hand on her knife, but Ryoka was ready to punch. Persua’s look clearly said that she would like nothing better than to stop Ryoka, very painfully if possible…but she was standing behind Claudeil. She tossed her head as if her hair were a whip she meant to strike Ryoka with and sneered at her.

“I don’t need to do anything. You’re going to die in the High Passes.”

“Oh really?”

Persua’s tone dripped venom as she stared at the request Ryoka held. Contemptuously.

“Why do you think none of the experienced Runners take those kinds of requests? We’re smart enough not to risk our lives. We work together, not like you. You’ll die alone because you’re a fool.”

Ryoka nodded.

“You’re probably right.”

Persua blinked in surprise. Fals and Garia both stared at Ryoka along with the other Runners. Ryoka nodded and looked around the room again.

“If I do it your way, I probably would live long enough to retire. And maybe I’d even earn a lot of money, who knows? And if I kiss your ass long enough, maybe you’d even like me. If I were like the rest of you, I’d never take this request.”

She paused. Then she stared right back at Fals as she delivered her next line.

“Too bad I’m not a coward.”

Ryoka turned and walked out of the guild even as the stunned silence turned into shouts of fury.

——

I burn bridges as I breathe. It’s a talent. I’ve done it all my life, and I guess some things you just can’t change. Me and my big mouth. I got kicked out of one school for telling the principal what I really thought about him and the other—

They’re pissed. I can hear them yelling as I open the door. But I’m still smiling as I walk out the building.

One thing matters. One thing I cling to even in my darkest days. And that thing is integrity.

I am that I am. I am who I am. And I will not change for anyone except myself. Countries and cultures have their own laws. Society pushes and prods. Everyone has an agenda, and no motive is honest.

But I will bow to no one, especially not petty tyrants and liars like Fals. So I smile even as I sever ties. It may be that after this I’ll have to go elsewhere. Actually, not ‘may.’ Probably I’ll have to go or else have both legs broken this time.

How far does this group of Runners’ influence stretch? Well, no matter where I go, they’ll probably follow with rumor and lies. And it will be the same wherever I go.

What a crappy, small group of people. But what a wonderful world. If I need to, I’ll run to the very edges of it to find a place to be free.

If only everyone weren’t so petty. Well, those that aren’t are like Fals, and he’s worthless in his own way. But one of them—

“Ryoka—”

Crap. Garia’s the only person in that group worth a grain of salt. In her case, she’s probably worth a small mountain of salt. A hill, at least.

She jogs to catch up. Part of me wants to just keep walking and lose her, but even I’m not enough of a jerk to do that. Besides, she’s helped me so much that I owe her.

Garia hesitates as she slows to keep pace with me. I’m expecting her to defend the other Runners, but what she says next surprises me.

“I’ll keep them off your backs if I can. But they’re angry. Really, really angry.”

Huh. But maybe I should have expected that? Garia’s a stand-up kind of girl. That’s why I like her.

“They’re pissed off because I told them what I thought of their little cult?”

Garia hesitates.

“I didn’t—I don’t agree with everything Fals said, Ryoka, but I think he’s right in some ways. I think you’re right too, though. But you’re special. You—you can do deliveries by yourself, but some of us need to work together. Without the way the Guild does things, we’d get hurt way more often.”

“So we work together and drag everyone down who doesn’t agree with us, is that it?”

“I didn’t say it was perfect.”

“Pack mentality. And Fals thinks he knows everything. Are we dogs or gods?”

I thought that was clever. Or maybe it was stupid. Ouch. Garia’s look makes me feel like a complete jackass.

“We’re neither. We’re just people, Ryoka. And they’re not perfect, I know. But we can’t all be like you. Some of us have to work together to survive.”

…Damn it. This is getting painful.

“I’d like to be able to run like you. But I can’t. I’m too slow—I can only carry really heavy stuff instead of fast requests. If it weren’t for the way the Guild works, I wouldn’t be able to run.”

“…I know. But I won’t answer to them.”

Garia nods and then visibly braces herself. Here comes her pitch.

“Couldn’t you—couldn’t you just talk to Magnolia? Would it be that hard to just ask her…?”

In some ways? No. In some ways…

“In some ways, no. But in some ways, yeah. I’m not doing it either way.”

“I thought you’d say that. I told Fals you would.”

That bastard. He asked Garia to go after me. That manipulative—

“When are you going to go?”

“Now. Fals and the other Runners will probably try to stop me if I don’t. I know Persua will.”

“Okay, okay.”

Suddenly, Garia seizes me in a bear hug. And she’s—strong. Seriously, I think she’s going to break a rib. But then she pushes me back.

“Go. I’ll try and keep them busy for a little bit. And don’t die, okay?”

She turns and runs away. Slowly, by City Runner standards. Her posture really is quite bad. But she’s got heart, and that makes her the best Runner of the lot in my opinion.

Okay. Okay, that was—surprising or gratifying? Both. Also a bit humbling. But that’s right. I’ve gotta go.

Body check. I’m all in one piece, and I’ve got no injuries. Plus, since I haven’t been running any deliveries—I’ll call it at least 92% readiness. Perfect.

Motivation on the other hand—60%. Not good, not bad*. I’d like more, but even though I’m happy about being able to run, the amazement’s worn off.

*I generally think of a good run at anything about 80%. On those runs, I get into the zone and outperform my best. Obviously, I can still run really fast even when I’m not motivated, but there’s a clear difference between me when I’m feeling good and feeling bad. I could make 40% motivation Ryoka eat my dust and lap her if I were at 90% motivation.

Normally, that’s good enough for any kind of run. I could do a marathon like this, but as everyone’s said, these High Passes are different. I read up a bit on them with the local literature and—

Yeah, I might die. So I need to prepare a bit before I go, and quickly too. Fortunately, I’m in Celum, and even more fortunately, a certain Minotaur and a bunch of adventurers like to frequent the inn where I stay.

I pick up my pace as I head towards the inn. Garia might be able to slow the other Runners down, but I really doubt she’ll buy me more than a minute. I’ll make a pit stop at the inn and head out.

I’ve gotta hurry either way. It’s already midday, and the High Passes are far enough that I should hurry. I’ll be heading about halfway through the pass, so I do need supplies. And the Horns of Hammerad are the only people who’ll lend me stuff right now. Aside from Magnolia. She can go to hell along with the other Runners.

Damn it. I hate having no money.

——

Delays.

Ryoka tried not to grit her teeth. She hated delays. But explanations took time, especially when the ones she was trying to explain to weren’t that quick on the uptake.

Gerial blinked at Ryoka again. He, Ceria, and the male magician from the Horns of Hammerad had been eating lunch when Ryoka found them.

“Let me get this straight. You’re going on a dangerous delivery, and you need our help. And…you want us to take your belongings?”

Ryoka nodded.

“I’m going to be gone for at least a day, and the other Runners are probably going to trash my room while I’m gone.”

“Why would they do that?”

Ryoka shrugged.

“If Persua’s anything like the other girls I’ve known, that’s one of the first things she’ll do. Good thing I don’t have any shoes so she can’t fill them with thumbtacks.”

Again, Gerial blinked uncomprehendingly at Ryoka. But Ceria nodded.

“We’ll guard your things. Runners wouldn’t dare break into the Adventurer’s Guild, and we have our own storage space. But what’s this about help? We could escort you to the outskirts of the Passes, but Calruz isn’t here, and we’re understrength. And frankly, even at our best, we wouldn’t be able to go far into the Passes.”

“I don’t need an escort. I just need supplies. Healing potions—food—I’d buy it myself, but I don’t have any money. I’ll pay you back—double what I’m borrowing.”

Gerial and Ceria exchanged a glance. He nodded. She reached down below the table and opened a travel bag.

“I’ve got some healing potions right here. And a few dry rations. Enough for four meals.”

“That’s enough.”

“Then take them.”

Ceria pulled out several colored potions from her pack and handed them to Ryoka.

“These are better quality than you’d buy in the marketplace anyways. And you’ll need them.”

Ryoka hesitated.

“Are you sure? I can buy some—”

“I thought you were broke, Ryoka. We still don’t have any contracts, and Calruz isn’t back yet. Take the potions, Ryoka. If everything I’ve heard about the High Passes is true, you’ll need them.”

She was right. Ryoka nodded and silently began stowing the potions in her own pack. They were various hues of red and yellow, which Ryoka fastened to the outside of her pack so she could reach them quickly.

Yellow health potions didn’t feel right to Ryoka, but apparently, color didn’t really matter with most potions. Anyone could toss some food dye in a bottle to make potions whatever color they wanted. She supposed she should just be grateful health potions didn’t look like vomit. They tasted like vomit, but that was an entirely different matter.

Ryoka gently set her pack down on the floor next to Ceria’s.

“Thanks. Really.”

Gerial frowned, anxious.

“I’m still not sure I agree with this. Are you sure you have to do this? If the Runner’s Guild is giving you so much trouble, why not seek work elsewhere?”

Ryoka shook her head.

“I’m taking a delivery request. The reward is for eighty gold coins.”

All three adventurers whistled.

“Besides, if I take this request, I should be able to find work even if they keep blocking me. I just need the money.”

“We could lend you—”

“No.”

Ryoka stood up.

“I’ll get my stuff.”

Gerial stared helplessly as she walked upstairs to her room. The male mage patted him on the shoulder.

“Nice try. But she’s determined, isn’t she?”

“I never knew the Runner’s Guild was like that.”

Ceria shook her head.

“It’s the same in every guild. Ours is no different.”

“But—”

“Believe me, Gerial. If you look close enough, you see the same things repeated over and over. Humans are just like that.”

Both men looked sideways at Ceria but made no further comment. They stared at the stairs, silent in the general hubbub of the inn. They didn’t notice the girl Ryoka would have described inaccurately as sallow-faced sneaking up to the packs on the ground and swiftly rearranging the contents of both.

A quick few minutes later, Ryoka clattered down the stairs, nearly knocking a barmaid over. She had all of her possessions bundled in her arms, which she dropped on the table, nearly into the adventurers’ meals. Only a quick flick of Ceria’s wrist made the bowls and plates spin off onto another table.

“Here.”

Ryoka didn’t have much. Just some clothing, the magic bandages, and quite a few books that interested Ceria. She handed them all to Gerial, ignoring his blushes as he handled her underwear and equivalent to a sports bra. Then she paused and pulled one last item from her pocket.

“Take care of this. It’s very fragile.”

Gerial blinked down at the rectangle of metal and plastic in his hands. He had never seen anything like it—in fact, the smooth casing of the iPhone was completely, unsettlingly alien to him.

Ceria leaned over the table, suddenly fascinated. She and the other mage stared at the iPhone, astonished,

“What is that?”

“A device. I’ll explain it if I get back.”

Gerial held it at arm’s length.

“Will it—will it do anything?”

Ryoka shook her head, almost sadly for her. She touched the blank display regretfully.

“It’s broken. Just treat it carefully—don’t put anything heavy on it and don’t drop it.”

“If it’s broken, can’t you repair it?”

Ryoka smiled as if Gerial had told a very funny joke.

“No blacksmith or craftsman in the world could fix this. Trust me.”

“Then what about magic?”

“What?”

The male mage shrugged. He pushed his plates aside and picked up a faintly shining wand from the table.

“Would you let me try a spell?”

Ryoka hesitated. She was clearly torn, but then she nodded. Very slowly, Gerial handed the iPhone to the mage. He inspected it, running his fingers delicately across the touchscreen.

“What exquisite craftsmanship. I can’t detect any faults, but perhaps the issue lies within? Regardless, if it is not of magical creation—”

“It’s not.”

“Then this should work. [Repair].”

The mage waved his wand in a half-crescent and then tapped the iPhone. The tip of the wand flashed green as it touched the casing—

And then the iPhone’s screen flickered into life.

Ceria gasped, but Gerial’s reaction was even more dramatic. He shot backwards in his chair and crashed to the ground in surprise. Ryoka just stared. She stared and stared at the iPhone.

“Done.”

The mage smiled and handed Ryoka her iPhone. He stared with intense fascination at the brightly lit screen and then at Ryoka’s face. She was just staring at the iPhone in her hand. Staring and staring. But then she touched the screen and swiped it.

The display changed. Ceria and the mage were astonished twice-over, perhaps because they could sense no magic in the iPhone despite what was happening, but Ryoka just sighed. She turned to the mage.

“Sorry, I never got your name. Or maybe I forgot. What is it?”

He blinked and then smiled.

“Sostrom Reidez, at your service, Miss Ryoka Griffin.”

“Sostrom.”

Ryoka took his hand and shook it. She looked him in the eye.

“I owe you a great debt.”

Sostrom flushed lightly. He was in his early thirties or his very late twenties but unfortunately bald save for his eyebrows. He tugged his pointy hat lower on his head.

“It was nothing, really. Just a spell—”

“Not just a spell.”

Ryoka smiled at him. In the dim lighting of the inn, the iPhone’s glow lit up her face.

“Not just a spell. Someday, you’ll have to teach me it. If I can do magic, it would be just to cast that. And now—those assholes aren’t going to know what hit them.”

She turned and walked out the inn. The three Horns of Hammerad exchanged a glance and then rose to follow her. They couldn’t tell what—but something had changed about Ryoka in the moments after Sostrom had repaired her phone.

She seemed different.

She was different.

——

The iPhone is warm in my hand. It glows, and it makes the rest of the world seem different. The vivid colors of this world are quite, quite different from the artificial colors on the display. Both are brilliant in their own way.

It is fixed. Completely, utterly. The power bar reads 100% at the top of the screen. It’s the most glorious thing I’ve ever seen, bar my healed leg. And it is fixed.

I barely even feel my body as I walk outside. It feels as though I’m floating in a world of my own. Legs—fixed. iPhone—fixed. That’s all I need.

It’s time. Time to do what I’ve always wanted to do.

I step out into the middle of the street. No carts are passing by, and the pedestrians are mostly in for lunch. The others ignore me. Some stare at my iPhone, but I am just another Runner. That’s the way I like it.

Except of course that there’s always someone watching. Ceria, Gerial, and Sostrom have come out of the inn to watch me, but I can see several Street Runners casually lounging across the street. Ready to follow and intercept? Most likely.

And of course, I can’t see anyone else, but there’s a prickle on the back of my neck. I wonder if Lady Magnolia hires assassins or whether her maids have diverse skill sets. Or maybe it’s someone else. Who knows? Who cares?

Death. That’s what everyone tells me the High Passes are. And they’re right. It’s probably the most dangerous spot in this part of the continent. Even if it’s not certain death, it’s more than any sane person would want to risk.

But I’m not sane. Nor am I a normal person. Fear and exhilaration share equal parts in my heart right now. I want to see it. People tell me something is deadly and dangerous? I want to see it for myself.

Besides, what about this world is normal? What about this world is sane? Ever since I’ve come here, I’ve slowly pieced together the real shape of this crazy planet. From the local area, you might think it’s safe, a kind of medieval culture advanced several hundred years technologically thanks to magic. But it’s not. I know it.

In this world, the untamed wilds threaten to overwhelm the fragile peace of civilization. Though the thinking races of this world are numerous and possess technology and magic, their hold is tenuous. When the undead rise in numbers or the things living at the far edges of the earth venture out, nations burn.

The books I bought tell me different things from people. And that’s because books are written by individuals, while people are quite stupid. People only know what they want to know. The individuals who write books make it their business to know as much as they can.

Peace and stagnation. War that does not change. This continent is wracked by it. The Human nations fight against the non-Humans to the south, sending armies to fight and die in the Blood Fields each year. A genteel war to fight only in the same place? No. But the cost of a true war where cities fall is too much for either side at the moment. So it’s a long war of attrition and changing alliances. Meanwhile, the natural landscape and monster attacks are enough of a problem for the city-states either way.

But this continent is peaceful. Compared to some.

To the northeast, far across the seas, the Blighted King wages an eternal war against monster tribes and demons. His continent has seen war for five thousand years, and his is one of the last nations not consumed. Nations send their own armies to support him, but his people have never known peace. Their heroes and soldiers are some of the finest and the most impoverished. He fights a daily war that he is losing over the course of years.

In the south of the world lies a continent called Chandrar. The largest desert in the world fills the center of that landmass, and no one lives there; all the countries and kingdoms surround that death zone, fighting for moisture and land in the livable spaces.

Chandrar has more dead nations than any other continent. Poverty is ever-present there too, but the nations still fight over what’s left like starving dogs. They used to be unified, but the kingdom which united another continent collapsed and now everyone’s worse off. A classic story.

Once, a warlord unlike any other managed to conquer the whole damn continent and was sweeping through this one when his empire suddenly collapsed. None of the books said why this was. This king did not die—nor was he apparently harmed. But he abandoned his dreams of world conquest. Now he sits in his crumbling kingdom as other countries pick apart his once-great empire. The King of Destruction sleeps.

The continent north of this one is filled with Humans. Terandria. They have subjugated their lands and created a peaceful continent, or at least one with fewer monsters. But despite that, they fight amongst themselves in a never-ending battle for supremacy. Their royal families hold mighty artifacts in their vaults but fear to use them in case of mutually assured destruction. It sounds like a bunch of kingdoms of inbred, infighting [Kings] and [Queens]. Europe, essentially.

Other nations. I have read of them. The western oceans contain the last continent, a jungle in the south, plains and then tundra to the north. The species there are—odd—but Baleros is engulfed by endless low-level conflicts that give rise to an entire culture of [Mercenary] companies. Four of the biggest companies practically rule the entire continent, and a lot of the wilds of Baleros lie unexplored.

A few other great powers exist, like an archipelago called ‘Drath,’ ruled by, you guessed it, an [Emperor]. Few nations have no monarch. Even Calruz’s homeland, called the House of Minos, another archipelago, has a Minotaur King.

Apparently, they fight against some kind of eternal threat similar to the Blighted Kingdom of Rhir. Some sworn enemy of the world is enough to keep nearly a million Minotaurs in a constant state of war and peace. Well, a million is the number the book I read touted, but it was written using information decades old. But the Empire of Minos has its own strange culture Humans and other races don’t want to learn about for some reason.

More continents, more islands and places my books could only hint at, that once existed or have changed—but I want to visit more than anything.

An icy arctic shelf with icecaps taller than skyscrapers in Terandria’s north. The ‘end of the world,’ The Last Tide, which has killed more ships and taken countless explorers and armies, never to return.

A legendary isle where mages gather to learn spells and where anyone is free to study, Wistram, the Academy of Mages. Even continents that once stood that are now buried in the ocean, cities of people who live under the water, Drowned Folk.

These are the legends and wonders that shape this world. Yet here I am, in one of the most boring places in one of the safest parts of the world, and people warn me about the High Passes as if they’re dangerous? For all the unrest, this is an era of peace. All the terrible battles happened long ago.

The gods are dead, and no one tells me who these gods were or how they know they’re dead. Because I knew to look for them, I found hints of the Elves, but no book of nations and countries lists their race anywhere. They’re long dead, and half-Elves are the only species around who bear their legacy. The Dwarves are hidden in the heart of mountains that make the Himalayas look like foothills.

The age of great wars, myth and legends has ended. Magic endures, but those who wield it have faded. Nations fight in brush wars, but the balance of power has been kept. There’s a marker for this era: The Waning World, it’s called. Well, the book claims that Gnolls named it that. Do Gnolls get to decide what each era is called? I like the name.

This is not a time of heroes. And that’s fine with me. I am no hero. But I want to see what remains. I want to see what wonders still lurk in this world. For I am certain: they are legion.

The world I’ve seen so far—the cities and people here—are so petty. They care only about their small struggles and what they think of each other. Magnolia, for all her cunning, is a small landowner in a tiny part of the world. And that is wonderful.

The worst thing that ever happened to my world was globalization. Once we reached the ends of the earth, we lost our curiosity, our drive to grow. But I feel it. It calls to me.

Adventure. Pure and simple.

I can see the other Runners watching me. But I don’t care about them. The iPhone is warm in my hand.

I tap the screen, and it lights up. Gerial and the other Horns of Hammerad gasp again, and even Ceria looks amazed. But to me, it’s like looking at an old friend.

An old friend. An iPhone 4, to be exact. Black, sleek. It used to be full of scratches and dents where I dropped it, but now, the plastic shines in the daylight. It looks like it just came out of the box.

Slide to unlock. No password. I should probably put one on, just in case. If I lose my iPhone, I deserve to let it get hacked. Not that there’s too much on there. A few books, saved files, an empty contact list, basic essentials like Safari, which is useless here…only one thing takes up nearly all 32 GB on my phone.

Music.

It’s all there. Thousands of songs, some great, some only mediocre. But every song I ever liked and bought—or more often downloaded illegally—is here. All here.

I can’t help it. I start laughing. Laughing for the pure, joyous salvation of magic. It’s given me everything I’ve ever wanted. My wings, and now my music. With it—with this—

I am free.

——

Ryoka stared down at her iPhone and then began to laugh. For her, it was joyous. But for everyone else—

Gerial and Sostrom edged away from Ryoka, and the other people on the street took one look at her and then hurried away. Ceria could only smile in astonishment.

“What an evil-sounding laugh.”

Perhaps Ryoka heard that, because she stopped. She reached into her pocket and drew out two earbuds. To the confusion of everyone watching, she plugged them into her iPhone and then into her ears. Then she turned and began to jog.

The Street Runners left their positions and began to follow, but Ryoka’s jog turned into a fast run in an instant. She disappeared from view even as the Horns of Hammerad watched.

“What do you suppose that device was? Did it resemble anything you saw in Wistram Academy, Ceria?”

Ceria raised an eyebrow at Sostrom.

“I’ve no idea. Besides, that thing had no magic in it. How strange. But I can see why Magnolia is so fascinated by Ryoka and—”

A thought occurred to Ceria. She reached into the pack she’d brought with her, now stuffed with Ryoka’s clothes, and began pawing through it.

“And—”

Ceria paled as she checked her pouches and pulled out a blue potion.

“Oh no. How could this happen? I swear I checked to make sure—”

“What? What is it?”

She turned to Gerial and Sostrom and showed them the potion she was holding.

“The healing potions I gave her—half of them were mana potions.”

They stared at her in horror. But even as they turned to shout, Ryoka was long gone. She was running. And she couldn’t have heard them in any case.

The music was about to begin.

——

Ryoka sensed the other Street Runners trying to keep up as she raced through the streets, dodging past cursing pedestrians and keeping well away from any carts, wagons, or larger vehicles. The paved stones felt wonderfully smooth underneath her feet.

Hm. The Street Runners were keeping up well. Only to be expected since Ryoka had to dodge too many things for her liking. But they weren’t smart. They didn’t know how to shift their weight to get the best out of every step and how to turn corners quick. They were just talented amateurs or, in most cases, just amateurs.

Ryoka reached the gate and sensed more Runners following her. City Runners. They were faster. She wondered if Persua were in the crowd trying to catch up. Well, they could prepare any kind of trap, but they’d have to catch her first. She was already running faster than normal, but it was time.

She could barely contain the excitement burning in her chest. Time. After so long, the mere thought of it was giving her goosebumps. Ryoka ran while keeping the iPhone in her hand. She flicked through the screens, selected the Music app. Then—it was at the top of the screen, a pair of crossed arrows.

She hit the button.

Shuffle.

——

I’ve run races, marathons, even an ultra-marathon once. I’ve run through snow, rain, hail, through thunder and lightning and even hurricanes. But I’ve never run like this.

Motivation. After so long of running in silence, the instant I heard the guitar’s first chords, my legs churn into overdrive.

“Sweet Home Alabama” thunders in my ears as I race out the city. Lynyrd Skynyrd’s lyrics blast through my ears as I pick up speed, shedding Runners left and right. The music’s not the best for running—but far from the worst. And it’s not the song that matters so much right now. It’s just the music.

Running. Music. Running music. The greatest thing ever to be invented in the history of ever. It takes away the pain of running and puts me right into the zone. I could run barefoot on nails and—

That’s a terrible idea. But I could probably dodge highway traffic and run a six-minute mile forever while listening to music. How is it that it can take away your focus on running and at the same time focus my mind even more on running? I don’t know.

It’s just music.

Sweet home Alabama, where the skies are so blue. I’ve always wanted to go to Alabama just to run around listening to this song.

Motion. A bunch of Runners are ahead of me. Fals and some of the highest-level City Runners. They want to cut me off, and they’re sprinting as fast as they can. And it might be a skill or a Skill, but they’re quick enough that they could actually catch me.

On any other day.

I don’t even have to look down. I’ve memorized the exact placement on my iPhone so that my fingers can immediately find the next button. It’s not that I don’t love a good country rock song, but if I’m going to go full-throttle, I want faster music. The shuffle god works his magic. And then I hear it.

Oh. Hell yeah. I can tell when the first bell tolls which song it is. “I Will Not Bow” by Breaking Benjamin. Then the guitar and drums blast in, and everything disappears. I run like I’ve never run before.

I catch one glimpse of Fals’ stunned face before I blow by him and the other City Runners. They can’t even turn fast enough to see me. The landscape blurs and disappears underneath my feet. I’m running just as fast as I did when I got my leg back. Fast as that. Faster.

I am heavy metal. I am death and rock. I am running, and running becomes me. I will not be stopped.

The vocalist screams in my ears, and I run on. The High Passes await. A mysterious delivery request, deadly monsters, and mystery. I leave behind intrigue, angry Runners, and petty infighting with every step. Onwards, ever onwards. I run with music taking away the pain of the world and run to keep death from catching up.

At last.

I am free.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.40 R

I slow down after about twenty minutes of sprinting. Not because I don’t feel like running faster, but I know I’ve got a long way to go.

So I reduce my pace from record-breaking speed to a sustainable jog. A bit faster than normal, but I can’t help it.

I’ve got the music.

Currently, I’m running to the not-so-fast-paced song, “Heathens” by twenty one pilots. I love it. And the movie it was written for—Suicide Squad—I really wanted to watch it, even though I thought it might not be as insanely horrific as I hoped. PG-13? Really?

Great concept, though. It came out just a month before I came to this world. I always meant to see it, but I kept putting it off. Guess I’ll never see it now.

Hm. Thinking of home or the world I came from hurts a bit. But it’s more like a thorn that I’ve pulled out of my foot* a while ago. It still hurts, but the place I’ve come to makes up for it. In some ways. In other ways, it’s just as crap, but at least—

*More than once. Painful, and way worse than stepping on glass. Actually, barefoot runners rarely step on glass. Everyone thinks we do, but if you were running around barefoot, would you step on glass? Seriously. Think about it. It’s not hard to spot most of the time.

Yeah—At least the view is great.

An open landscape of rolling hills and an open dirt road stretches out before my eyes, punctuated only rarely by inconveniences like rocks or, in the distance, small buildings. It’s the most glorious sight for a runner. I can see wavy stalks of flowering plants in one field, bright and colorful. I’m assuming they’re there for harvest.

Even the occasional animals sometimes delight, like the little rabbit with faintly purple fur that sprints out, sees me coming, and then blinks out of existence. Did it teleport? I look up, and a bird that glows flashes across the air, almost as if it’s laughing at me for being so slow.

A Creona Flashbird—rare and prized around these parts. And up, higher and higher, lies my destination, that mountain range that ascends into the sky. Epic and wonderful and free of people.

Actually, the geography reminds me a lot of Mongolia. I used to stare at pictures of the endless grasslands there and dream of running by myself for days. But this place, this makes Mongolia look like a cramped hipster coffee shop in the middle of a city.

This world is big. And even that word is too small to encompass the land around me. Endless is probably a better word for the scale of this planet. Even the sky is larger, or at least that’s how it feels. But how would gravity work if that’s the case?

Magic. Probably. Anyways, I’m not thinking about this again. Focus, Ryoka. Think about your job.

Hm. Let’s see. I’ve ditched Fals and the rest of the jackasses that call themselves Runners. That’s a good first step. Now, Celum is a ways away from the High Passes. Only two cities are actually in the High Passes, Esthelm and Liscor, although they’re in the safe route with roads and far fewer monsters, not the untamed wilds.

In any case, I can relax. I’m running at a quick pace, but it’ll take a few hours to get there. So I relax and let my mind wander.

——

Run. Run and eat. Run and stop to pee. Run and slow to a walk for a while. Normally, I’d be busy thinking all this time, but instead, I just listen to music. It’s been so long every song is fresh and amazing to listen to.

In between that, I do stop the music to concentrate. As a Runner, it’s important to be aware of my surroundings. And a few things have been bothering me.

Firstly, I know the local landscape. Around here—around most of the northern part of this continent, the geography alternates between relatively flat land and the mountainous passes that lead to the southern continent. True, there are heavily forested regions further northwest, and from what I’ve heard, several large rivers that create a transportation network that makes Runners slightly obsolete. But that’s north, and I haven’t travelled that far.

Those Five Families I heard about are largely in the north—Magnolia’s the one too far south. Five houses of influential people doesn’t sound fun—but they have gigantic pastures of land I want to see. That forest? Apparently it was one of the last ‘great forests’ of the world, the Vale Forest. Sounds like fun—if not for my feet.

In the same way, I haven’t gone past Liscor to the south. That’s where the landscape gets nasty apparently. What people call the Blood Fields separates the north from the south, a kind of battleground that changed the very ecosystem. No wonder Humans don’t go down there. But it is home to the largest plains in the entire world where Gnolls live…

Where I’m running—the plains north of the High Passes—is one of the better parts to be in this region. The only threats around here are Goblins and a few weaker examples of monsters. But the closer I get to the High Passes, the more likely I am to run into something nasty. Exactly what monsters live in the mountains I don’t know, but they make the ones living in the Human lands look cute by comparison.

That’s the first problem. The second is that there are a bunch of fireflies following me.

Fireflies. Or—animated sparks of light? That’s the closest thing I can think of to describe them. It’s like—well, it’s like some kind of magic maybe? These…symbols keep flashing around my head, and I swear I can hear something whenever I look at these flashes of color that are whirling around my head. They keep trying to get a lock on me, but whenever they do, I speed up and lose them.

It’s probably some kind of curse. I don’t know if Persua has enough money to hire a [Mage] or if it’s possible to call down lightning on me, but I’m not dealing with whatever it is.

Keep running. I just wish whoever’s casting the spell would give up. It’s getting annoying. But I can turn up the music, and the garbled speech tunes out. Okay, what else?

I’ve got the details of the open request memorized and written down, for all the good that does me. It’s a request to deliver a package, but what the package might be or who’s requesting it isn’t clear. That’s the uncertainty of an open request and the reason why few Runners want to accept them. But the pay’s extraordinary, so that’s enough.

With open requests, I go to the location marked and I’ll receive my pay in advance. The sender tells me where to go, and we can negotiate a second fee, or I tow the delivery back to the Runner’s Guild where someone else can finish the job.

It’s not the greatest system, but it works when dealing with areas where identity and safety can’t be assured. Apparently, all deliveries used to work more or less like this, but the new system in the Runner’s Guild is safer for Runners.

I could be walking into a trap. Please don’t let me be walking into a trap.

Anyways, I’m looking for a cave down the main road* of the High Passes. It will be marked by a yellow banner of some kind.

*I use the word road only in the loosest sense. Rather than a road, you could call it the only vaguely flat terrain that winds through the mountains and through stone passes and the network of caves.

That’s all I have to go on, and I’m only a few miles away from the High Passes. Now I can see the mountains looming ahead of me, rust-colored rock towering in the sky. And they are huge. I can look up and not even sense a mountain getting smaller before it disappears into the foggy, clouded sky overhead.

A mountain taller than Everest? Perhaps not, but it’s probably close. And that’s just one mountain of the countless ones here. Together, they form an impenetrable barricade, save for the small gap that winds through the passes.

Well, a small gap here is a road about as wide as two football fields placed side by side. And again, if it’s a road, it’s the most crap road in the world. This one has boulders scattered throughout it taller than fully grown oak trees. But it is semi-flat, and that’s enough.

I really hope I don’t cut my feet on the rocks. I should be fine; my calluses are really tough, but—

Something flashes past my face and hits the grass. Instinctively, I duck, and that’s when I see them. A horde of little green men, except these ones ain’t aliens.

“Shit.”

I guess listening to loud music really isn’t a good idea when you’re supposed to be watching out for trouble. That’s probably why I never noticed the group of Goblins until they were right on top of me.

They spread out around me, a mob of Goblins. Not too many, at least by their standards, but a lot. I can’t spare time to count. Twenty—thirty of them? Some have bows, like the one who just shot at me, but most are carrying weapons. Rusted swords, daggers, and even a buckler or two. But they’re unarmored, ragged.

They could dice me up in seconds. And they’ve got me flanked this time.

This is bad. But I raise my hands and make fists. I haven’t needed to fight before, but it’s not because I couldn’t. And today, I’m at the top of my game.

The Goblins grin. They only see a Human female, alone, separated, and unarmed. Not a threat. That’s fine by me. I see a bunch of guys who I can hit as hard as I want and who have way less muscle and reach than a normal group of thugs. And I know kung fu*.

*I do not know kung fu. I practice a version of Muay Thai geared towards MMA, although I didn’t do any actual mixed martial arts. Damn overprotective parents.

Widen my stance, tilt my body forwards and down, hands up and loosely clasped into fists. I put more weight on my front leg. I bounce up and down, ready to move at a moment’s notice.

I’ve been in fights. Not many; definitely not the kind of straight up bloodbaths you hear about in inner cities, but I’ve had to defend myself more than once. More than that, after my first fight, my parents had me learn martial arts to defend myself. I studied how to fight.

The Goblins are still spreading out around me, waiting for one of them to make the first move. Maybe they can tell I’m not like a normal girl because I’m not screaming or trying to run. Instead, I dodge back and forth, keeping my distance, trying not to let them get my back.

One of the rules of fighting a group is never to let them surround you. Lead them on in a line if you can. Second, never let an opportunity to attack slip by. Be sure you know when they’re about to come at you.

And striking first is good. So as the first Goblin decides it’s time to get the ball rolling and darts forward with a shrill cry, I step forwards.

Step in, rotate hips, and put all that motion into a punch. I catch the Goblin in the head right as he charges. It’s a satisfyingly solid punch, and I feel it go right through the bugger.

He folds up. No confused blink, no comedic pratfall. The Goblin just falls down and doesn’t get up. That’s what a proper punch does.

The other Goblins blink in consternation. That shouldn’t have happened. But they’re fighters. They look cute in an evil sort of way, but they’re all killers. Probably even normal street thugs aren’t as vicious as these guys. So when they see the first guy go down, seven come at me at once.

I back up. And then I turn and punch. Not to really hit a target, but to get the other Goblins behind me to back up. They were about to rush me, but they flinch away, and I dash past them. Okay, now my back’s safe. So I turn and let the others come at me.

A line. They’re doing the stupid tactic of rushing me without doing it all together. So I jump forwards, punch once, twice. Two Goblins fold up, and I hop back, letting them trip up their friends.

A Goblin leaps over his friends, and in the air I hit him in the stomach. He starts throwing up even as he lands. Another comes around the side, and this time, he’s smart enough to start swinging before he gets to me. I wait. Swing, swing…

As his knife goes too far left, I step in and hit him. I’ve got a longer reach if I extend, way longer than his short arms. Another unconscious Goblin.

The last three Goblins slow, but one of them is dumber than the rest. He keeps coming, and I decide to get fancy. Instead of punching, I back up and then do a roundhouse kick.

Muay Thai is a martial art that emphasizes really strong kicks. And one of their famous kicks is the roundhouse. Naturally, it was one of my favorite moves to practice.

The Goblin lets me set it up. He’s watching my hands, so he never sees my leg flash up. I can kick nearly as fast as I punch, and I catch him right across the head. Short as Goblins are, my kicks are more head level than at their side or chest like normal Humans.

My foot connects with his head, and I feel his flesh squish. And then I feel something give way and hear a crack. The Goblin tumbles, flies, and rolls to a stop in the grass. He doesn’t move. And my heart stops.

The other Goblins look down at their fallen friend and up at me. I know I should be watching to see if they’ll rush me, but my eyes are fixed on the Goblin. I—I didn’t mean to hit him that hard. Not in the head.

He’s too still. The fallen Goblin doesn’t even twitch. He—he’s—

He’s dead. I killed him. I’ve never killed another creature before. I’ve hunted for fun, but I don’t shoot animals. Even in fights, I only broke bones. I don’t kill.

But he’s dead. And it was so quick, too.

I stare down at the Goblin and then see a black shape speeding at my head. I duck, and the arrow misses my cheek by a few inches. The Goblin archer lowers his bow and shouts something at his friends.

I—what do I do? The Goblins are moving again, trying to surround me. They don’t want to get close this time, but the archers are all pulling out their short, stubby arrows.

I need to run or fight. I’ll—I’ll blitz the Goblin archers, hit them, and then run for it. I start weaving and dodging left and right, giving them less of a target. I just killed—

The archer in the back, the one who shot twice at me, is their leader. I need to hit him and maybe the Goblins will give up on me. He’s got a few Goblins in front of him, but if I rush the group…

The Goblin pulls an arrow and sights at me. My body tenses—

And the Goblin archer’s head disappears. Not disappears in a cute way like he ducked down or he fell over. No. The entire neck and skin pulls away as a massive jaw closes over his head and rips his head clean off.

“Holy—”

The Goblins turn. One screams, raises his sword, and a claw cuts his stomach open. I back up. The Goblins back up. The gigantic wolf casually grabs another Goblin, bites down, shakes him around, and tosses him to one side like confetti.

A wolf. A huge, giant wolf. Not the kind from my world; a proper, Big Bad Wolf of the plains, nearly as big as I am. Bigger. He’s got more mass.

The wolf sniffs and eyes me. The Goblins are already running, but he’s not interested in them. He’s looking straight at me.

Calm down*. It’s not the same as a Dire Wolf from George R. R. Martin’s books. Those things are big as horses, right? This one’s—this one’s only twice as big as a normal wolf. Only twice.

*Calm down! Don’t panic! Holy gods, it’s huge!

It has rust-red fur. Why the hell—is it because of the blood? It paws the ground, sniffs again, and then slowly begins to circle me. It’s so big, and unlike the Goblins, I can see muscles rippling under its fur.

No time to run or even think. I raise my hands again. Wolves can outrun Humans, just like bears. And running makes me prey. I need to get it to back down or leave.

“Bring it.”

Trouble is, this wolf isn’t like normal ones. Wolves from my world don’t hunt Humans in general. But this one just ate a Goblin’s head. So maybe the ones here have a taste for humanoids.

It sniffs at me again. And then the wolf lowers its head. Oh shit. It’s gonna—

I barely see the wolf move. It launches at me, and I throw myself sideways. The wolf lands, turns, and I run forwards and punch it in the head.

No thinking. Just action. I’ve practiced these moves enough that my body overrides my panicked brain. Punch, punch, step back. The wolf snaps at me and I twist. My leg flashes up and sideways and catches the wolf in the wide of the head. A solid strike.

Roundhouse kick. I once watched a documentary about the power behind Muay Thai kicks. Getting hit by one by a world champion is like being hit by a car at 35 MPH. Well, I’m not the world champion, but the giant wolf still blinks and shakes its head. It wobbles on its paws, and I step forwards.

Another kick that’s illegal in MMA is hitting your opponent with your knee when he’s down. That’s a lethal move. Actually, all of Muay Thai moves are meant to kill, but knees and elbows are really nasty. I was taught a hundred times not to hit anyone in the head with a knee unless I wanted to kill them.

I just hope my teacher wasn’t exaggerating. I run forwards and knee the damn dog as hard as I can in the face. I heard something crunch. It feels like my knee.

The wolf blinks, backs up a few steps, and then snarls.

—Ah.

It’s funny. Back in my world, I thought I was pretty hot stuff. Certainly, I’ve never lost a fight with the other stupid kids my age. And I was talented.

I practiced in an actual contact gym, and I got good enough that my instructor said I might have a future in the ring…until my parents vetoed that idea. At that level, I could teach martial arts myself if I didn’t want to be sexually harassed and laughed at all day long. Reaching that level at my age is extremely rare*, and I know how to fight.

I’ve been in street fights, or at least, school fights and being jumped while running. There’s a difference between knowing martial arts and having a black belt at a McDojo**.

*Having a personal gym and near-perfect memory helps, though. Also, parents who let you practice martial arts as much as you want if it keeps you out of trouble.

**McDojo. Great term. It describes every cafeteria and gym for kids who just want to show off rather than learn actual techniques. I kicked a black-belt ‘expert’ once and broke two of his ribs. Good times.

I know how to fight. And even if I’m not nearly as good as someone who walks in and out of brawls or has trained longer, I’d put money on me beating most of the adventurers below Gold-rank. Because they’re Human, or humanoid. And martial arts don’t exist in this world, at least as far as I know.

But martial arts from Earth weren’t designed to fight monsters.

The wolf I just roundhouse kicked and kneed in the face gets up and shakes itself like nothing happened. Then it looks at me and growls. Its nose looks wet, but I don’t think I hurt it much. In fact, I think I just pissed it off.

It advances fast. I punch, but the wolf snaps at my hand, and I nearly lose it. It dashes around me, and I spin to keep up. It’s so damn quick!

The wolf snaps at my leg, and I back up, kicking. But it’s too fast, and the fur on the wolf is like armor. It rushes me again, and this time, I can feel its hot breath on my front as I leap back.

Muay Thai was never meant to fight a creature that fights with its teeth. I try to get my distance, but the wolf advances.

Fuck. It’s not gonna let me get away. And I don’t know what to do. If I were faster, I’d try to poke its damn eyes out. But the wolf is dodging left and right.

I try to punch the wolf, but again, the fur takes all the force away. And then the wolf twists its head and closes its fangs over—

Aaaaaaah!

Fireworks. I hammer at the wolf’s face and then mash one of its eyes. It lets go then and howls in agony. I do too.

My arm! It bit down for only a second, but I think it cracked the bone! I stagger away from the wolf, and mercifully, it doesn’t follow. It’s shaking its head, and I can feel something wet on my fingers. I think I destroyed its eye, but I have to get away.

I start running. From a standing start to a sprint, I’m running. Behind me, I can hear the wolf howling. In agony? No—this sounds worse.

It sounds like a call to the pack.

Just as I think that, I hear more howls, this time in the distance. But they start getting louder, so I run on. My arm is bleeding freely, but I run on. No time to stop.

Glancing over my shoulder. I can see the wolf following, but only to keep me in its sight. It wants to gather the pack. And here they come. Blurring shapes race over a hill, fast, fast.

My arm! I can’t—the wolf tore away a huge chunk of flesh. I need a potion.

They’re in my pack, strapped to the outside for easy reach. I grab one, pop the cork, and down it, choking on the liquid. Then I hurl the bottle at the nearest wolf, making it dodge away.

The foul liquid goes down, and I wait for relief as I sprint desperately for the High Passes. The landscape changes beneath my feet. Suddenly, I’m running across what feels closer to clay, and the soil and even rocks turn a dark orange-red. And the mountains are right in front of me.

The wolves follow, howling even as more of them race out of the plains. They’re coming.

I’m never going to lose them on the open ground. I hear a growl and run left as a wolf jumps. It hits the ground, and I scramble up the rocky ground. Up the slope. Aren’t wolves supposed to have a harder time climbing or something?

It works. The wolf packs slows, and I can see them having a harder time scrambling up the rocks. But they are coming. And they’re still howling, making my blood run cold.

Gotta run. Must keep moving. I scramble up the incline, cutting my legs and hands against the jagged surface. And I feel sick? Why? My arm still burns. It should—it should be healing.

Up. I see a ledge and leap for it. It’s high, but I grab the edge and hoist myself up. The wolves charge, but they’re too late. I’m above them, safe for the moment.

On the ledge, I back away from the wolf pack and lean against the rock face, breathing heavily. I feel sick. Sick, tired, and the adrenaline in my veins is making me shake. And I’m still bleeding? Why?

Another potion. I fumble at my pack, pull out the bottle of red liquid, and down it in one go. I wait for relief. Nothing.

Confused and sick as I am, I down another potion before I realize something is seriously wrong, and at that point—

I throw up. Something is—the potion I drank is burning in my veins. What the hell? It’s not a healing potion. What is—

Something hops down from the rocks above me. I shout, hurl the potion bottle, and nearly slip in my own vomit. The goat stares reproachfully at me and bahs loudly even as the wolves keep howling and snarling below.

“A goat?”

A goddamn goat. It scared the crap out of me. But it doesn’t appear frightened of me or the wolves. In fact, it takes one look at the wolf pack trying to make its way up to where I am and bahs again, loudly.

The goat has two wide eyes on either side of its head. It looks stupid—or insane, and this one has to be brain-damaged because the snarling wolves and I are both bigger than it is. It’s clearly wild and has ragged fur, oddly damaged. It looks like it’s survived mauling before, but this is the day it dies. Because it, like me, is stupid.

…Or is it just me? Because that first bah suddenly gets an answer.

More bahs. This time, they’re all around me. I look up and see goats lining the cliffs and rocks on the High Passes. They hop up and down the cliff faces easily, making for me and the pack. What the hell? Are they not afraid of the wolves? But now the wolves are backing away from me and snarling at the goats.

Why—

The goat near me bahs again, loudly. In fact, it sounds more like a scream at this point. A scream, and now it gets real close. Suddenly, I have a really bad feeling. I back up, and the goat advances.

The goat opens its mouth, and I see its teeth. Goats should not have pointy teeth. And its mouth is unnaturally wide. The goat’s jaw dislocates, and I see a gaping maw coming my way. It’s running and shrieking like a demented monster. It screams, and I scream and run, and the Carn Wolves are running away. I try to follow, but they’re all around me and—

——

“The High Passes.”

Lady Magnolia breathed the words as she stared at the man standing in her foyer. He was—well, knowing what he did, Magnolia would have expected the man to be wearing pure black clothing and armed to the teeth, but then, he wouldn’t be very inconspicuous, would he? [Assassins] were supposed to be stealthy.

But this man was so ordinary looking he was forgettable. Magnolia was sure it was some sort of Skill, just as she was sure that she was not happy with the current situation.

“Please explain to me, Assassin Theofore, how it is that Ryoka Griffin was able to not only evade you and the others of your group, but that she is now, as I understand it, alone in the High Passes being chased by a group of Carn Wolves?”

The [Assassin] named Theofore clearly did not like being addressed by his name, but he was also wise enough not to take issue with Magnolia using it. He spread his gloved hands out and bowed his head.

“My associates and I were fully prepared to guard Ryoka Griffin against attacks within the city and even outside of it. But we were unprepared for her to accept a request to the High Passes, let alone move so quickly.”

“I did warn you she was quick. And the wolf pack?”

“We were unable to do more than slay a few of the wolves gathering before they noticed our scent. And our group was not equipped for combat against monsters, milady. We assumed this would be a protection mission against other Humans and armed accordingly. We were forced to retreat, and for our failure, you will be fully reimbursed. But the Guild cannot take further responsibility for this, Lady Magnolia.”

Lady Magnolia pursed her lips, but the [Assassin] was right. No one could have predicted—

Well, actually she could have predicted this if she’d known about the unmarked request beforehand. Magnolia knew Ryoka’s personality well, both from experience and her Skill. It was a slight oversight that cost her now and cost Ryoka—possibly her life.

She studied the [Assassin] and tapped her lips, glancing towards the window where the mountains loomed in the distance.

“If I were to pull strings and send several teams of adventurers to the High Passes, would they get there in time?”

“Perhaps to collect what remains of her corpse, Lady Magnolia. But even that is likely to have been devoured by now.”

Again, Magnolia had to suppress her vexation. Well, vexation was one word for it. She was considerably more than vexed, but a [Lady] took care to hide her emotions. Still, she had to give vent to it.

“I was assured of the highest quality in hiring your guild. I believe I made it quite clear how important Ryoka’s life was?”

The [Assassin] was not in a good spot. Technically, he was a veteran of his Guild and perfectly able to take most lives with a single flick of his concealed blades. But he was standing in front of a woman who was definitely able to take any life she wanted, including his. Perhaps not directly, but the [Maid] standing behind Lady Magnolia was setting off all of Theofore’s warning bells. He eyed her warily as he chose the best words to respond with.

“Had we known the Runner would venture into an area like the High Passes, we would have charged ten times the cost and sent our best agents. And even then, we would not have guaranteed her safety. Practically speaking, we would have attempted to subdue Ryoka Griffin long before she entered that area. Countless monsters abound there, Lady Reinhart. The wolves would be just another type of prey, there.”

“Really? And here I was about to order you to go into the High Passes with your associates and get her out. Although your presence here means, even with my carriage, you’ll be too late. Still, I may well order it after all.”

Magnolia brightened at that. Theofore—hesitated.

Send them into the High Passes? He knew they were just Ranks, lowly members of the Guild, but she couldn’t do that! That was a death sentence.

But she was Magnolia Reinhart, and the Guild…he began to sweat as Magnolia tapped her lips.

What Theofore didn’t know was that she was only making an idle threat. Magnolia…her eyes flickered to Ressa’s face, reflected from one of the polished doorknobs, and the [Maid] grimaced.

It was him. It had to be. Ryoka had a chance, however slim, and the [Assassins] could not be deployed. She sighed, and the [Assassin]’s sweat turned into imminent dehydration as Magnolia looked at him.

“Is there any hope these other monsters would devour the wolves and leave Ryoka alive?”

“Doubtful, Lady. They would try to kill anything that disturbed them. And it is likely that even if Ryoka outran the wolves, she would not be able to evade the most prevalent type of monster in the High Passes.”

“And which would those be?”

“Gargoyles.”

——

Gargoyles!

I think I’m screaming. I’m definitely running, but I can barely feel my feet getting cut on the rocks between my nausea and the terror electrifying my body.

The nearest oddly shaped stone unfurls its massive stone wings and seizes the first goat trying to rip me to shreds. The goat tries to break free, bleating in panic, but the Gargoyle just reaches up and pulls the goat apart. Blood rains down around me as more of the deceptively innocuous rocks spring to life around me.

I’ve just run straight into a nest of Gargoyles. That would normally be terrible by itself if it weren’t for the pack of wolves and goats trying to eat me.

The rocky slope behind me is already filled with wolves and goats tearing each other to shreds. And the worst thing is that the wolves are losing. The goats came out of the cliffs in a horde and started eating the wolves, ripping them apart and fighting over the scraps.

I ran uphill to get away from the ones chasing me, but instead, I just ran into worse trouble. For the Gargoyles, it’s like I just offered myself up on a plate and brought a lot of hors d’oeuvres.

The Gargoyle that just tore apart the goat tosses the pieces up. Its curved beak-mouth snaps, and it crunches horribly. The goats swerve and immediately retreat, but the other Gargoyles lumber forward. Half of them leap down towards the goats and wolves now in full retreat. The other half go after me.

I run on. I haven’t stopped running, but I find some more juice and tell my legs to go even faster. I don’t know how they’re doing it.

I feel sick. It’s like my body is shutting down, but at the same time, it’s like someone’s hitting me with a taser*. Even though I want to sit down and throw up, I’m running as fast as I ever have. It’s like I can’t run out of energy, and I need every drop.

*Never been tased. Run!

A huge Gargoyle unfolds in front of me. It looks vaguely like a bird crossed with an ogre, a hulking giant beast with skin that looks like stone but slides around like flesh. It opens its mouth, and I see a dark opening before something shoots out.

I feel something spin me around and then stumble forwards. My hand goes up, and I feel at my shoulder. Sliced flesh. Deep slice. The Gargoyle fires again, and I stumble sideways. The stone fragments it spits miss me and eviscerate the wolf behind me.

The hell was that? It’s like a shotgun! And the sound the Gargoyles are making—a roaring warble that makes rocks tumble down. I can feel it in my bones.

I can’t fight. I don’t even think of trying. Muay Thai doesn’t have any moves that teach you how to dodge bullets or break stone.

So I run. I was born to run. I was born to fly.

The nest of Gargoyles is high up. It’s a relatively open area, looking down on the high pass. Fifty—sixty feet below? It’s not a straight drop—more like a sharp incline. Normally, I’d descend with the utmost caution, but the Gargoyles lumber towards me, fast. So I dash towards the edge even as a Gargoyle charges me.

My feet leave the ground as I leap. I jump over the Gargoyle’s lashing stone tail and touch down on a rocky outcropping. Even as my feet find purchase, I look and move. Another jump, and now I’m aiming right for the rocky slope.

Stone cracks and deceptive crevices leap up at me as I fall in slow motion. The slope is a maze of places to twist or break my ankles. But I can see every fault in the rock face. My foot hits the edge of the cliff, and then I plunge down, sprinting down even as several rocky monsters lumber after me, spitting stone shards.

Left foot, stone spot. Right foot avoids the fragile green moss. I’m leaning forwards as I run down. Right, left, jump, pivot—

I lose my balance and slam against a rock. I’m tumbling down, but I correct my footing and push off. I’m in the air for five seconds and then land and transfer the force of my fall into descending.

Fast. So fast. The slope is blurring beneath me, and I can see the open pass below. I’m going too fast to stop. So I twist—

——

The almost vertical slope leading up to the Gargoyles’ lair crumbled away in the wake of Ryoka’s descent. Small stones bounced wildly down the uneven landscape, dislodging larger boulders and causing a minor earthquake. But even the avalanche was too slow to catch her.

Ryoka’s feet were a blur as she sped downwards, on a collision course with the ground. She was moving too fast. Even if she tried, the strain of taking all her momentum aimed downwards and transitioning to the flat ground might break her leg. So instead, she threw herself into a roll.

Ryoka hit the flat ground and tumbled fifteen feet before she landed on her back. She stared up at the cloudy sky, winded. But in another second, she was up and running. She was being chased.

The stony, half-avian, half-hulking forms of the Gargoyles launched themselves off the cliff. They did not fear breaking any body parts. One smashed into the ground behind Ryoka, making the earth shake around her. She ran on as the Gargoyle surged upwards and chased after her.

Her body was electric. She felt like she was dying of the flu, yet more alive than she’d ever been. Ryoka was bleeding from her torn up feet, her bitten arm, and the places where the Gargoyle’s shrapnel fire had cut her flesh. Her clothes were torn, and she was bruised from countless impacts.

The ground shook as more Gargoyles launched themselves off the cliff and hit the earth like bombs. They couldn’t really fly, heavy as they were—but they could angle their descent. Ryoka ran on as stone monsters twice as tall as she was landed around her.

Birds shrieked in the sky, except they weren’t birds. Razorbeaks, the prehistoric avians with leathery wings and beaks full of teeth, swarmed down out of the sky. They dove down, seizing carcasses and entrails from the fighting monsters. Others dove at Ryoka, biting, tearing at her. She flailed at them as she ran on.

Death was everywhere. Ryoka felt it in every bite, every scratch. She was bleeding from a dozen wounds, and she felt like she was dying with every step. And she was confused. She was afraid—terrified out of her mind, and in pain. So why? Why—

Why was she smiling?

This was it. This was the end, and it was a stupid, pointless, and painful end. It was all her fault, and yet—there was a relief there.

At last. She felt like…

She was bleeding. She was leaving an actual trail of blood like movies. The young woman laughed, but coughed and stumbled again. Her feet didn’t hurt.

You idiot. This was all her fault. Just because she was so stubborn—at least someone was taking her to account. She kept stumbling forwards, just to spite the monsters. Spite was all she ran on. Not love of her family, not hope for anything in particular. Not family, not friends.

Garia was going to be sad. Ceria had done so much for…

—She got up. She thought she’d broken her nose, but the angry Gargoyle made her stand. She kept running as another piece of stone embedded itself in the ground.

She had no friends nor purpose. Just forwards. One more step—

A wild grin covered Ryoka’s face, twisting away into a grimace as she dodged left, a flicker of surprise as she saw the small, ragged piece of yellow cloth waving at the entrance of a massive cave. Her eyes were alight with life, and as she ran into the cavernous entrance that a Boeing-747 could easily taxi into with plenty of space to spare—

She was smiling. The Gargoyles turned and fled, the Razorbeaks peeled away, screaming in distress, and the remaining wolves and goats fled for their homes. Ryoka stumbled into the cave.

——

The Runner staggered into the cave, bleeding, injured, and sick.

Ryoka stumbled forwards and found the rough ground had suddenly changed. She was suddenly walking along…marble? Maybe not marble, but some smooth, glossy stone had replaced the dark rocky ground. She left footprints in blood as she walked forwards, almost numb to the competing agonies in her body.

The monsters were gone. They’d stopped chasing Ryoka all of a sudden. She could barely process that, though. She was staring around. Around and up.

The cavern she’d entered had appeared large to begin with. But as Ryoka walked further into it, it was clear that rather than calling this place a cave, it was more as if someone had hollowed out the inside of the mountain. She walked into a massive auditorium filled with…stuff.

That was the word for it. Stuff. Huge, carved pillars flanked Ryoka as she walked further in. They gave way to tapestries hung from the walls, important-looking people and epic landscapes. Rows of bookshelves suddenly appeared on her left, and then tables and countless pedestals holding things that glowed with magic and mysterious light. A huge table as long as a bus sat piled with pieces of paper and bubbling liquids. An alchemy lab, sitting next to a mirror that didn’t show Ryoka’s reflection as she passed, only a shimmering mist of strange colors.

Armor and arms stood against another far wall, an armory among armories. Swords and maces shared places with plate armor and weapons Ryoka didn’t even have a name for. The cavernous room was filled with wealth. It was a treasury of everything and anything expensive.

And standing in the middle of all of it was a man. Not just a man, though. Ryoka stumbled towards him.

Her mind—

Was failing. She felt herself losing blood, but she had to keep moving. If she stopped, she’d collapse. Ryoka squinted. It was so far to walk, but she kept going.

…

Who was he? Ryoka squinted. She felt like she was far away and close at the same time, so she lurched forwards. She saw—

(A massive Dragon sat in the cave, staring down at Ryoka. His brilliant yellow and gold scales glinted in the half light as he raised a claw—)

“What?”

Ryoka blinked. Her head—she staggered towards the man in regal clothing, clutching at her side. He was an old man, one with a veritable mane of silver-gray hair. But for all that, he was tall—taller than she was even. And his clothing looked like it was the most expensive stuff she’d ever seen, on par with Lady Magnolia’s attire.

But his face caught Ryoka. He was lined like an elderly statesman, but his features could have been used as a template for sculptures. He looked like the most handsome old guy she’d ever seen, and she was not attracted to older men. But she was to him.

He looked like an archetype of humanity, only one aged well into his sixties or seventies. He was magnificent—

(He was a Dragon. Yet his illusions showed only the man, and the Dragon’s head rose with the simulacrum’s, wary and alarmed.)

The figure had been resting on a reclining couch long enough to accommodate even his long frame. Eyes, sleeping. The head rose—(and so did the Dragon’s, eyes fluttering awake with alarm and fear. Then anger.)

Ryoka blinked. She was lying on the ground. She picked herself up and saw the blood. It dripped onto the expensive stone. She couldn’t feel much, but she saw the man walking towards her.

She wavered on her feet. The occupant of the cave looked at her: a bleeding, dying Human. In a state of shock, even as he seemed to wake from a long nap.

“Who dares—who are you?”

His voice echoed through that grand chamber, furious and startled, then surprised as he took in the blood trailing behind her. The holes in her flesh. The man looked up, and the young woman smiled at him, fearless and dying and…young. Like many such people her age.

She grinned at him and raised her hand. Ryoka held out the bit of parchment in a bloodstained grip.

“Delivery.”

Then she fell to the ground, unconscious. The elderly man looked down at the unconscious Ryoka Griffin and blinked a few times. How surprising.

—Upon closer inspection, his ears were pointed upwards. If Ryoka had been in any state to inspect anything, that was. The ‘man’ sighed and muttered a few words that were loud and quiet at the same time. Ryoka’s bleeding stopped. He flicked his fingers, and the trail of blood she’d brought in slowly flowed together into a crimson orb that floated towards him.

He caught it and tossed it on Ryoka’s body. The blood flowed towards her and into her. She stirred and sighed. He sighed too.

“Humans.”

It was probably best to let the magic work. She was suffering from mana poisoning, which was far more difficult to cure than mere blood loss. Meanwhile, he could investigate this strange Human on his own. His spells weren’t showing her level or class for some reason.

The occupant of the cave turned and strode away. He made it five steps before he tripped over a goblet and fell on his face. Quickly, he got up and made sure the Human was still asleep. The elderly man scowled, kicked the golden chalice, and winced as it crashed into something in the distance and shattered it. He scowled at nothing in particular.

“Rot.”

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.41

Erin left her inn three times over the course of the next two days. The first time she went out, she visited Selys, and the two had a long chat—lecture, really—about not going out and fighting monsters alone. Then they visited a bathhouse, helped Erin pick out more clothing, and went to see the ruins.

The ruins were about ten miles out from the city, but such was the traffic going to and from the ruins that it was easy to hitch a ride on a cart. Erin wondered why the mysterious ruins were safe to visit until Selys pointed out the countless adventurers of various levels congregating around the ruins.

There were at least a hundred mostly Human adventurers now in the city and in the makeshift tent city that had already appeared around the ruins. ‘Mostly Silver and Bronze-ranks’, according to Selys, which seemed to suggest that this wasn’t too impressive despite the numbers. But for all the shanty town’s size, it was dwarfed by the size of the excavated ruins.

They were massive. The excavation site itself was a giant pit in the ground—three times as large as a football stadium—that had unearthed a dark stone opening, a massive doorway into a crypt, or so Erin and Selys were told.

They didn’t go anywhere near the building. Few of the adventurers did either, and the [Traders] offering goods had parked their shops on the edge of the crater.

Apparently, the ruins were still filled with dirt and dried mud from years of being buried. Thus, adventurers were digging while fending off the monsters that lived within. Apparently, the place abounded with giant, burrowing rats—which Drakes did not eat, according to Selys—various types of the undead, varieties of spiders, and other low to mid-level monsters.

That was slowing up the adventuring teams, along with the sheer size of the ruins. But the main truth of it was that none of the diggers hired wanted to dig far in case they found something, and most of the adventuring teams felt the same. True, several had found small caskets of valuables, like silver and jewels, indicating this was at least partly an old crypt, but several of the more adventurous teams had advanced further in and never come back.

Or they’d come back shuffling and moaning, trying to eat the flesh of the living.

That was the first visit, and Erin was lucky enough not to see any dead zombies—especially because she had a lovely lunch with Selys as they watched everyone mill about and not do anything much around the ruins. She attracted quite a bit of attention herself, being known as the innkeeper who slew Shield Spiders and, more notably, the Human innkeeper.

Several Human adventurers came by to talk to Erin, but didn’t get very far with Selys glaring at them. They promised to visit her inn later, a promise Erin didn’t know if they’d keep when she told them she wasn’t serving alcohol yet.

——

The next day, Erin went out and visited Selys again, only this time, it was for business. The business of being paid, to be exact.

Erin happily held up the cloth bag and shook it. It made a dull metallic sound. She frowned, but the lack of any satisfying jingle wasn’t enough to get her down.

“Money~!”

Selys smiled at Erin as she put away the signed receipt under the counter in the Adventurer’s Guild.

“Just don’t spend it all in one place, okay, Erin?”

“Sure, sure. I’ll just spend it on important stuff. Like—fancy dust rags! Or alcohol! Or…a dress?”

Selys eyed Erin sternly and shook her head.

“How about a weapon? You could probably afford a good one with that much money.”

All told, the bounty on the Shield Spiders plus the fee she earned from selling their carcasses earned Erin just over eleven gold coins, reduced some because some of the spiders had been burned too badly to use. That was generally agreed to be a lot of money, but not a lot for the bounty on the carcasses.

One of the more senior Drake adventurers not currently staring at the Ruins leaned over the desk to talk to Erin. He was friendly and yellow-scaled, and Erin couldn’t remember his name.

“You could have gotten a far better deal selling the spiders’ bodies elsewhere. Probably half again as much, especially if you went right to the right merchants. The Guild charges far too much for its service.”

Selys glared at the Drake who had spoken.

“The Guild pays a good rate for monster parts! If you’ve got a problem, Ylss, take it up with the guild master—or the council.”

Ylss flicked out his tongue dismissively.

“The Guild won’t listen, and the council won’t either. But I’ve been talking to the Human adventurers, and they say their guilds pay them far better than ours does.”

“That’s because Human adventurers go out and fight monsters instead of their city Watch. If you want to negotiate prices, go slay a Shield Spider nest yourself. Erin here—”

Selys glanced around. She spotted Erin with her hand on the door.

“Erin, are you going already?”

Erin waved and smiled and opened the door before Selys asked if she wanted to stay. She did not, especially if it meant listening to another argument. Drakes were surprisingly—or was that unsurprisingly?—hot-headed.

It was time to go back to the inn before she splurged on everything. Erin only bought a few essentials from Krshia, a few more from other shops, fended off the Gnoll’s attempts to get her to have a cup of tea, and went home for lunch.

——

When Erin returned to her inn, she found it had been ransacked. She spent a few minutes staring at the trashed kitchen and her upended bags and supplies. They hadn’t ever been neatly organized in the first place, but the person—or people—who had visited her inn while she was away had tossed everything onto the floor and trampled it.

They hadn’t taken much. Erin didn’t have much. But they’d taken quite a bit of food, spilled the rest on the ground, and taken other of Erin’s vital necessities.

Like her toothbrush. When Erin realized that was gone, she finally flipped. She grabbed the bag of her money—noting that the rest of the money she’d hidden in the inn was also missing—and stormed back towards the city.

——

Selys had to half-jog to keep up with Erin as the other girl stomped through the market.

“So let me get this straight. You don’t mind monsters attacking you, but the instant someone steals from your inn, you want protection?”

Erin glared at Selys.

“Yes!”

“But they didn’t even steal anything important. Some food and a few coins—”

“One gold coin and three silver coins!”

“Why didn’t you hide it better? Or put it under lock and key?”

“I don’t have a lock. Or a key!”

“We can buy a vault or an enchanted lock and key if you want. I know a good shop—”

“No. I want a weapon.”

“Suit yourself. Here’s a good shop the adventurers talk about.”

Selys pointed, and Erin made a beeline for the store manned by a burly Gnoll. He bared his teeth at Erin and nodded silently at her.

“Erin Human. Greetings.”

“Hi there.”

Erin smiled back at the Gnoll, showing her teeth as well. It was a Gnoll thing that she had learned. Selys just nodded at the Gnoll without showing any teeth.

“I’m looking for a weapon.”

The Gnoll nodded and spread one hand to indicate his wares. Erin stared at a veritable armory of weapons on display. Most made sense to her, but only in the sense of having seen them in movies. They all looked sharp.

“For a friend of Krshia, I will do my best to oblige you, yes? Do you fight with any weapon besides your hands, Erin Solstice?”

“Um. No. No…in fact, I’ve never held anything larger than a knife.”

The Gnoll paused as he unhooked a devilish-looking scimitar from a weapon rack. He put the weapon back and nodded.

“We have many weapons for beginners and self-defense, yes? Daggers, clubs…these weapons would be best.”

Erin stared at the dagger he carefully offered her hilt-first. It looked pointy, and the metal was polished until she could see her vague reflection in it. But that was about all she knew about weapons.

“I’m not too sure a dagger would help against most of the monsters I see wandering around my inn.”

Then again, she doubted even the battleaxes would help if she were fighting a Rock Crab.

“…How about a crossbow? Do you have one of those?”

Selys snorted.

“Erin, those fire once. Ever tried reloading them? Not exactly fast—”

“But they are good for amateurs. I do not stock them, but Drake cities make use of them. We Gnolls—less so.”

The [Shopkeeper] grinned, indicating racks of bows. Erin hmmed.

“I can’t shoot arrows well. I’d like a crossbow. Would anyone sell them for…”

She showed him how much she had, which was a bad business move, but the Gnoll just peered at the coins and shook his head.

“They are pricier than a cheap bow, Miss Solstice, due to how they are made. Especially good ones from the House of Minos or Noelictus. For what you have, an ordinary crossbow is possibly out of reach, let alone an enchanted one.”

“Okay, no crossbow then.”

Erin sighed and stared at the racks of weapons. Selys tapped her shoulder and coughed discreetly.

“You don’t have to buy a weapon, you know. I keep telling you our adventurers will guard your inn.”

“For eight silver coins a day per adventurer? And that’s for the lowest-level ones, right? No thank you.”

Erin shook her head. She had a better idea than Selys’ option in mind, and fortunately, it didn’t involve her learning to poke people with bits of metal.

“Do you have any good short swords? Is that a shortsword? It looks short.”

The Gnoll nodded. He pulled a bronze sword that was indeed short off the display and placed it on the counter. Erin poked the hilt gingerly before picking it up. Selys hovered beside Erin, making sure the Human’s hands were well away from the blade. Both she and the Gnoll seemed more anxious than Erin was around bladed weapons.

“You know buying a sword won’t immediately give you any classes? You need weeks—months of practice before you’ll learn any Skills. And I wouldn’t try swinging it around by yourself Erin, I really wouldn’t.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“No, but—”

“How much?”

“For you, two gold coins and three silver.”

Erin looked at Selys. The Drake nodded cautiously.

“That’s expensive. But it is good craftsmanship.”

“Fine steel. You will not find better in the city.”

The Gnoll nodded and tapped the blade. He seemed honest, at least in that Erin hadn’t met a dishonest Gnoll yet. They were a bit more straightforward than Drakes, while Drakes were more like Humans.

“Okay, how about a shield? A, uh, buckler? Is that what they’re called?”

She pointed, and the Gnoll brought out a metal shield rounded in the center. It was a tiny shield, meant to be held in the hand to deflect weapons rather than arrows.

Selys objected.

“It’s too small. Look, you need a larger shield if you really want to equip yourself. Which I still don’t recommend, by the way. And even if you have both, you’re not a trained warrior, Erin. I could beat you, and I don’t even practice.”

Erin, the vanquisher of Shield Spiders, gave Selys a slightly indignant look. The slim [Receptionist] seemed serious, too.

“I know what I’m doing, Selys. Anyways, it’s not for myself. How much for both?”

“We do not sell many bucklers. I will sell both for four gold coins, Erin Solstice, so long as you promise not to use either without first being instructed.”

She grinned at him, her hands already going into her money pouch. It was a lot of her remaining coin, but Erin forked over the four fat coins at once.

“Deal. But like I said, these aren’t for me. They’re a gift. Or maybe a bribe.”

Selys was shaking her head as the coins changed hands and the Gnoll found a sheath for the short sword.

“A bribe? For who? Who’d use something as small as—wait. You’re not thinking of—Erin! No!”

Erin lifted both weapons into her arms. Even with her [Lesser Strength] Skill, they were heavy. She turned to Selys and copied the Drake’s exasperated expression.

“Why not? They’re cheap, I know them personally, and they live around my inn.”

“They’ll stab you in the back when you’re asleep!”

Erin walked away from the Gnoll shopkeeper, arguing with Selys as he watched them in bemusement.

“They haven’t done it so far. Besides, these are the good ones. Well, sort of good. I already feed them.”

“This is a terrible idea, you’ll see.”

“No, it’s a great idea. You’ll see. And I could beat you in a fight, Selys. No offense.”

“Erin, you really couldn’t. I had to take [Soldier] training—every Liscorian citizen has to be at least Level 1 for the army. Plus, my grandmother and my uncle gave me lessons. You’re good in a fight, but no soldier.”

“That’s a joke, right, Selys?”

The Drake put her claws on her hips as Erin tried not to look amused.

“Want to stop by the training grounds on the way to your inn?”

——

Half an hour later, Rags stared down at the shiny weapons Erin offered her and then up at the Human smiling at her. Well, sort of smiling.

Erin was wincing—mostly because of the bruises on her butt and sides. And scratches. Selys had given her a bit of healing potion, but even with that—

Who knew [Receptionists] could fight dirty? Let alone fight with their claws.

Not just claws like a cat would scratch you, but a set of steel claws you wore over your hands, like brass knuckles. Apparently, Selys sometimes tested Silver-ranks, and she had given Erin a lot of scratches.

Then again, she wasn’t here because Erin had kicked her in the stomach hard enough to make Selys lie down. Erin felt bad and good about that. Anyways, now Erin was proferring her new gear to Rags, and she was smiling expectantly.

Right up until Erin realized the Goblin wasn’t taking the gear. Slowly, the small Goblin shook her head.

Erin’s face fell. She thrust the sheathed short sword at the Goblin, and the Goblin backed up into her bodyguards.

“No? Why not? Come on, it’s a great deal!”

Rags shook her head again, and the other Goblins following her moved in front of her and barred Erin’s way. The far taller [Innkeeper] scowled at them, and they quailed a bit, but there were seven Goblins including Rags in the inn and only one Erin. If it came to it—

They’d probably run. But strangely, Rags was confident Erin would never try to hurt them. She was a strange Human, possibly a good one. She just had terrible ideas, like the deal she was offering the Goblins.

She was no longer the smallest Goblin. She was now Rags—and her tribe was no longer really a tribe.

Some Goblins ate and slept in the cave, but most had left or wandered off. Rags was finding them and making them come back and eat in the cave—and gather blue fruits and hunt. The Chieftain was dead.

Someone had to be a Chieftain. Rags had kept the Goblins who listened to her fed. Gather blue fruits, make a fire, steal eggs, get the fish—Erin’s meals fed more Goblins. This…

This was hard. But Rags was now Rags, and she had a new class.

[Chieftain]. So long as she was one, her tribe would not attack the inn. Her tribe. But that did not mean…she shoved the hilt of the sword back, but Erin kept waving it in her face.

“Look. It’s really simple, okay? I’ll give you these weapons and feed you guys as much as you want. In return, you guard my inn. Keep thieves and monsters away. It’s not a bad deal, right?”

It was a bad deal. While Rags was no eloquent orator, her own train of thought was quite clear. Her splintered tribe had been small even before the Chieftain had been killed. Now, it was in a power struggle, and Rags was leading the smaller breakaway faction who didn’t believe all Humans should be eaten on sight.

More than that, the small Goblin knew the Floodplains and was sure that defending the inn was a death sentence. What the strange Human girl was offering was a terrible deal. The magnificent weapons tempted Rags greatly, but even they couldn’t outweigh the massive disadvantages of Erin’s proposal.

Now, how to explain that to an idiot? Rag’s brow furrowed, and she tried her best. She gargled a few syllables in her own language at Erin and then tried the language Erin spoke in. Neither worked. Erin just stared at her blankly, like one of the grazing animals—cows.

“You don’t want the sword?”

Rags nodded. She pointed at the other Goblins and at the ground and then shook her head. She held up a claw, pointed at the sword and her chest, and nodded vigorously—then repeated pointing at the ground and shaking her head. Erin worked this out.

“Okay, you want the sword. But you don’t want to guard.”

Rags nodded again.

“Why? Is it because there aren’t enough of you?”

Nod, nod. At last, Erin was getting it.

“Well—you could be tactical about it, couldn’t you? What if I got you a bow and arrow? That might be better than running around in a huge mob like you guys do.”

This time, all the Goblins glared at Erin. That was a valid, traditional Goblin tactic. Rags had improved on the formula by swarming in controlled bursts and incorporating devilishly cunning tactics like feints into their strategy, but swarming was what Goblins did best.

“Fighting in a huge mob just doesn’t seem that smart is all I’m saying. But what if you all had bows or something?”

Again, Rags shook her head. She mimed shooting an arrow and then poked the Goblin in the head next to her gently.

“Oh, not strong enough? Really?”

Nod. Rags really wished she could speak other languages or, barring that, only one Human could understand her. It was just as well she was a genius and Erin was bright enough so they could communicate this way.

And it seemed like Erin got it. Bows were useful, but not as good as having many knives. Goblins’ shorter reach and weaker strength meant that they couldn’t fire as far or as hard as a Human or Drake archer anyways.

Erin wondered how strong you had to be to pierce Shield Spider armor.

“I get it. Small arms and small bows, right? Size does matter. Too bad you don’t have any crossbows.”

Rags’ ears perked up at that, but the Goblin didn’t react in any other way, letting the Human girl muse on, oblivious.

“I guess—well, yeah, anyone in armor wouldn’t be killed by a few arrows. But crossbows and longbows can pierce that stuff, right? But longbows—”

Erin eyed the Goblins. They were around four feet tall on average, and only the special ones like the former Chieftain got any taller. And even he would have had trouble stringing the massive longbows that could reach up to seven feet in length.

“Life is tough, huh?”

This time, all the Goblins nodded. Life was tough. They were at war—well, Goblins were always at war, but this time, they were at war with each other. The tribe was small, food was scarce because winter was coming, and they only had a weird Human in an inn to feed them food in between running from the countless adventurers pouring into the region.

“Well, I guess I could return these things.”

Erin sighed and placed the short sword and buckler on a table. She noted how all the Goblins’ eyes were drawn covetously towards the weapon. Drat. She’d thought it was a good idea, but when she really thought about it, she understood Rags’ predicament.

Besides, when Erin stood in front of the tiny Goblin girl, she felt like she was still speaking to a child. Perhaps—perhaps she was. How long did it take for Goblins to grow up? How could you tell how old they were anyways?

Erin eyed all the Goblins as they seemed to confer with their leader, Rags. They were injured, most of them. They came into her inn every few days and ate as much as they could before waddling out, and they paid. But Erin had the distinct impression the battle that had started at her inn hadn’t ended with Klbkch. The Goblins’ faces were hard to remember, but some changed every few days. And Rags had her own cuts and scars on her body.

They were—well, they were evil, some of them. But the ones in front of Erin struck a chord with her. A sense of shared suffering, perhaps. And Erin had an idea that would help them and maybe her a tiny bit.

She stood up. The Goblins immediately looked up at her. Erin pointed.

“Stay there. And don’t steal the sword or I’ll flatten you, got it?”

She walked back into her trashed kitchen that she still hadn’t found the time to tidy up. She walked to the back of the kitchen and opened a cupboard and stared at the jars inside. The thief who’d ransacked her inn hadn’t even gone near this cupboard or tried to drink what was inside. Very wise, given the contents of the jars.

The Goblins were all crowded around the short sword when Erin lugged the massive jar of Acid Fly juice back into the room. They were gingerly touching the blade and cutting their fingers on the edge when they looked up. When they saw what Erin was carrying, they immediately fled for the door.

“Hold it!”

Rags paused and tripped up the Goblins behind her. They crashed into a pile, and she stared suspiciously at Erin as the Human groaned and set the jar on the floor. Glowing, green acid sloshed about in the too-thin glass walls of the container. A massive jar! Erin had heard this was for pickling fish or something, but she had a different use in mind that had horrified everyone who saw it. She rubbed her back and beckoned at the Goblin.

“I’ve got an idea that’ll help us both out. And I’ll give you the sword and buckler, okay? I’ll put it on your tab.”

That did the trick. Rags was over caressing the blade in a second. Erin pointed to the acid jars.

“You know what this is, right?”

Rags nodded. She kept a very respectful distance from the green, glowing acid sloshing in the jar and made the other Goblins stand even further back. That made Erin feel better too. She wouldn’t put it past one of them to trip into the glass jar, and that would not be a pretty sight.

She patted the glass jar.

“Dangerous stuff. And I don’t want it. But what if I gave you some smaller jars? You could sort of throw this stuff at people, right? Not on Shield Spiders, though. It doesn’t really work on them. But other things—yeah. What do you think?”

She pulled out a small, Human-fist-sized jar and showed it to Rags. The Goblins blinked down at the small jar, and they looked at the bigger glass jar in sudden comprehension.

“I’ll sell you these acid jars, and you can pay me, okay?”

Erin waited. Rags studied the green Acid Fly liquid mixed with the occasional fly body. She knew full well how dangerous the acid was. She was also impressed Erin was brave enough to harvest the Acid Flies, especially given how big some of them got. And the deal she was offering?

That was a good deal.

The Goblin looked at the jars and saw a thousand different tactical options, not least of which was letting other Goblins drink the deadly acid if she left it out in the open. Erin looked at the Goblins and saw a convenient recycling machine that might pay her.

Both Human and Goblin smiled.

——

It was weird making a deal in sign language, but Erin had played chess players from other countries before. Even a deaf chess player and two mute ones. One of them had kicked her ass twice in a row, and she’d had a great time laughing with him over a stupid move she’d made—

The point was that she could communicate more or less with Rags. The small Goblin was extremely smart, and that was before you compared her with the other Goblins following her. They’d contented themselves with picking their noses and wiping their fingers on each other while Erin and Rags ‘talked’.

Eventually, the deal had been for Rags and her Goblins to pay several bronze coins per jar of acid. It wasn’t much, especially since Erin would have to buy newer, smaller jars for the Goblins to carry. But it was better than her pouring the acid out on the ground like she’d been doing. There was a huge scar in the earth outside of her inn that testified to how smart that idea was.

But it was a good deal. A great deal, even. It brought new revenue into Erin’s inn, especially since Rags bought all the jars Erin had in the inn and filled them up with acid. It helped her get rid of something she didn’t want, and it might help Rags and her band of Goblins survive a bit longer.

It was a good deal. It just wasn’t the deal Erin wanted.

She stared at the jar of acid. She could make her own acid flasks if she wanted. It was a handy weapon, even if some things like the Rock Crabs and the Shield Spiders were mostly immune to the acid. She had her fists and that [Bar Fighting] Skill as well as [Unerring Throw]. It was enough for self-defense against most of the monsters she’d seen, and she could run away from the rest.

But none of that helped protect her inn. Someone could walk in and steal as much as they wanted if Erin were gone, or they could hide and attack her when she got back. She had no defense against mobs of enemies, and she was sure a Rock Crab could level the inn if one got close. Seed cores wouldn’t scare away a swarm of the stupid crabs if something set them off.

She needed protection. Without it, Erin was truly screwed. And—and she needed to clean up her trashed inn, buy replacements for all of her supplies, and hope that she had enough money left over for—something. And that the mysterious thief wouldn’t come back when Erin was out again.

None of it was overwhelming, but for Erin, it was too much to deal with at the moment. She rested her head on the table, exhausted.

Knock. Knock.

Erin didn’t raise her head off the table.

“Come in.”

Knock. Knock.

“I said, come in.”

No response. The knocking continued. Erin waited for it to end, but the person at the door was persistent. First one minute, then five, the knocking continued rhythmically, without stopping. At last, Erin stood up, growling.

She stalked over to the door and yanked it open.

“I said—”

A skeleton stood in the doorway, tall as Erin—taller. Just a skeleton. Its yellow-white bones were devoid of any flesh, and yet it stood upright, denying biology and physics. Erin looked into twin burning blue-white flames that flickered in the skeleton’s eye sockets. The skeleton opened its jaw and clattered at her.

Erin shut the door. Then she screamed. Then she turned to run for the kitchen knives.

Only when she had turned did Erin realize she hadn’t locked the door. It opened, and she turned to see the skeleton walk silently into her inn.

Erin backed up. The skeleton advanced. It wasn’t attacking. It wasn’t attacking, but Erin was about to have a heart attack. It stepped towards her, and Erin nearly tripped over the acid jar still sitting on the floor.

Suddenly, the skeleton raised a hand. Erin flinched and raised her hands, but the undead creature wasn’t attacking. It didn’t have…any weapon? And yes, it wasn’t striking at her. Instead, it held something in its hand.

Erin blinked. The skeleton held the scrap of parchment out to her silently. She took a step back, and it advanced. Not too close to her, but it wasn’t letting her get away either.

She hesitated. The skeleton was just staring at her, although it had no real eyes, just the burning sockets in its skull. That was worse. It was waiting. She had to do something. So Erin took a few deep breaths and then reached out.

She took the piece of paper from the skeleton with a shaking hand. Erin edged away from the skeleton and swiftly glanced down at the paper, reading while keeping an eye on the undead monster. She blinked at the messy script, looked up at the skeleton, and then around. She glanced back at the skeleton and then got mad.

“Pisces!”

He appeared in the room, wavering into focus as his [Invisibility] spell ended. Perhaps he’d meant it to be a dramatic entrance, but Erin wasn’t impressed. It wasn’t nearly as cool as an invisibility cloak.

Pisces opened his mouth, and Erin stepped forwards and punched him in the face. Hard. He fell down, barely missing the acid jar. Quickly, Erin grabbed the jar and towed it into the kitchen before she or he knocked it over.

The mage, or rather, [Necromancer], looked up at Erin reproachfully as she walked back into the room. She didn’t give him a hand up, so he reluctantly picked himself off, brushing the dirt on his robes onto the ground.

“That was most unkind to a faithful patron, good Mistress.”

“Jerk. What the hell is that?”

Erin pointed with a shaking finger to the skeleton. It had watched everything silently.

Sulkily, Pisces pointed to the piece of paper on the ground.

“I assumed my explanation would quell any questions you had.”

Erin seized the mage by the robes and dragged him face to face.

“What. Is. That?”

He looked into her eyes and chose his words carefully.

“It is a skeleton. An undead, animated skeleton to be precise.”

“And why is it here?”

“To protect you, of course. And to pay off my considerable tab.”

Erin let Pisces go. She stared at the skeleton and pulled at her hair.

“Why is—why did—”

Her hands twitched as she tried to stop from strangling Pisces on the spot. He backed up and straightened his robes, looking huffy.

“Is it not what you’ve been seeking?”

“You’re lucky I don’t throw acid on your face.”

“Please, Erin. I am only acting in your best interests—and mine. Consider this undead warrior.”

Pisces indicated the silent skeleton.

“Affordable, competent protection that needs neither sleep nor sustenance. I would say it is you who should be tendering your gratitude to me, Erin.”

He smiled, self-satisfied. Erin didn’t smile. She eyed the skeleton.

“It’s for me? What, does it obey orders?”

Pisces looked mildly insulted.

“Of course. I attuned it to you already. This skeleton will obey all commands and faithfully guard you and your possessions. Give it a command and see.”

Erin really didn’t want to. But the skeleton was standing too close for comfort. So she pointed to a corner.

“Go over there.”

Immediately, the skeleton turned and walked to the corner, navigating around the tables and chairs. There it stopped and swiveled its head, watching for Erin’s next command.

Somehow, having a skeleton standing in a dark corner staring at her was even worse than having it right next to her. Erin shuddered.

“I don’t like it.”

She ordered the skeleton to come back. It obediently walked closer, and Erin walked around the skeleton. She had to order it to stand still first, and then the skeleton stood, like the creepiest statue, in place.

“Why did you think this was a good idea, Pisces?”

Pisces glanced at Erin, put out by the continued questioning.

“I have heard your repeated complaints about inadequate protection. And when I noticed the, ah, state your inn was in this morning—”

“Oh, yeah! Did you do that?”

He raised his hands and backed away.

“Not I. The culprit had already departed when I arrived.”

The mage’s eyes shifted. Erin wondered if he’d been the one to help himself to her coin—or more food. She growled, and the skeleton moved. It jerked into a low, fighting stance and faced Pisces of all people. He looked as alarmed as Erin.

“Call it off.”

“You’re the [Necromancer], you do it.”

“I made it so it would only obey you. Call it off or I’ll have to dismantle it.”

“Hey, stop!”

Erin smacked the skeleton on the back of the head. She immediately regretted it. The feel of smooth bone on her hand was—

The skeleton swiveled around to stare at Erin as she wiped her hand on her shirt. She pointed at it shakily.

“Don’t attack him. Unless I tell you to. Understand?”

It nodded. That was creepy. Erin shuddered.

“It is a competent warrior that will fight for you. And I do believe that is what you need, unless I am completely in error.”

He was right, but the way he was right was completely wrong. Erin just didn’t know how to explain that to Pisces. He clearly thought he’d done Erin a favor, and he was getting snippy in the absence of her unconditional gratitude. But then she noticed something else that was wrong.

“If it’s some kind of warrior, shouldn’t it at least have a sword?”

“Swords are expensive, Miss Solstice. And I am—regrettably—short on funding at the moment. Surely you could afford to equip your new bodyguard yourself?”

And she’d just given the short sword and buckler to Rags. Erin ground her teeth.

“Okay, fine. You’ve given me a pet skeleton. What does it do, exactly? Besides fight and scare me to death, that is?”

Pisces shrugged.

“Whatever you wish. It will obey any command you give it, but, ah, its capacity for thought is quite limited at the moment. That may improve with time. I have made several improvements over the traditional undead animation spells—”

“So it’s a special undead skeleton monster. Wonderful. And what happens if it breaks or goes nuts?”

“The spell will not wear out. The body might in the course of normal combat though, it is true. I would be happy to repair any damage done for a nominal fee—”

Erin shook her head.

“Skeleton repairs. That’s how they get you every time.”

Glumly, she stared at the skeleton. Was it because she’d gone nuts or just gotten used to this world? She wasn’t half as freaked out by the skeleton as she felt she should have been. And what was worse, she was even considering keeping the thing.

“And this is supposed to pay off your tab? All the gold you owe me?”

Pisces cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Well, the price of an advanced reanimation spell such as this is traditionally worth—”

He cut off fast as Erin turned her head slightly.

“I suppose a full repayment of my debts and some credit towards the future would not be too much to ask?”

“It might.”

Erin stared glumly at the skeleton. It stared back, waiting patiently for orders.

“Okay, let’s say I accept this. Won’t the Watch get mad?”

No response. Erin sighed.

“And this wouldn’t happen to be a body belonging to anyone in Liscor, would it? But no—it’s a Human skeleton. Except—”

She frowned. Now that she looked, the skeleton didn’t look quite right. Sure, it had a Human head, but its ribs looked a bit different than the books she’d read in biology class. Come to that, some of the bones around the pelvis looked subtly different.

“Hey, you didn’t rob a bunch of graves for this, did you, Pisces? Because if you did—hello?”

Scowling, Erin looked around. She saw no unhelpful mage, just the skeleton. Just an open door and a very noticeable absence of mage. He was gone.

Erin stared at the open door. Then she wondered if Pisces were still in the inn. Invisibility spells and all that. Quite deliberately, Erin walked around the room with her arms spread, trying to hit anything invisible and listening for sounds.

Nothing. He was probably gone. Probably. But Erin would be changing under a towel from now on.

She sighed, turned, nearly ran into the skeleton, and bit back a scream. It stared at her expectantly.

“Go over there!”

Obediently, the skeleton walked away, but it turned its head, waiting for orders. Erin tried not to freak out. She could not deal with this. Even if it did seem like an answer, it was the most back-handed, slap-to-the-face answer she’d ever found.

What to do? What to do? The first thing to do was get the skeleton out of the room, possibly out of her life. Erin stared grimly at the skeleton and realized she was going to lose any staring match.

She had an idea. Erin pointed at the skeleton.

“You. Skele-thing.”

It stared at her expectantly.

“Follow me.”

Erin walked into the kitchen, grabbed a few items, and shoved them at the skeleton, who had followed her.

“Carry this. And follow me.”

The skeleton walked behind Erin, silent as a ghost. Its bony feet clicked silently on the floorboards as she made her way upstairs. It was a part of the inn Erin seldom visited for one real reason:

The dirt.

It was everywhere. And while Erin could keep the bottom floor of her inn mostly clean thanks to her [Basic Cleaning] Skill, she hadn’t even bothered to take on the upstairs.

If cleaning the common room of the inn had been akin to a short jog in terms of effort, the upper floor would have been like summiting the Himalayas back-to-back. Even the skeleton seemed impressed by the layers of dirt in the room Erin led it to.

“Give me that.”

Erin pulled the bucket and old rag out of the skeleton’s hands. The days-old water slopped onto the floor, instantly dissolving several years’ worth of accumulations in a moment. She dipped the rag into the water, squeezed it, and then handed it to the skeleton. It took the rag and looked at it blankly. Erin pointed to the room.

“Clean this.”

The skeleton stared at her. Erin waved at the dusty rooms and mildewed boards.

“All of it. Clean it. Understand?”

Slowly, the skeleton looked at the rag. It looked at the floor. It tossed the rag on the floor and began wiping weakly with its foot. Erin shook her head.

“No! You take this—”

She grabbed the cloth and scrubbed energetically at the floorboards, removing a layer of dirt, dust, and black stains, which immediately turned the dustrag black.

“—And clean up. See? Just like that.”

The skeleton paused and then tried to copy Erin. She watched, correcting, pointing out errors.

“Scrub harder there. No—don’t move the rag like that. A smooth, circular motion. Like this. See?”

After a few minutes, Erin was begrudgingly impressed as the skeleton revealed a shiny patch of floorboards underneath the carpeting of detritus.

“Good.”

The skeleton paused and looked up at her. She waved her hand at it.

“Don’t stop! Keep going!”

It stared around the room, confused. Erin shook her head. She walked to the doorway and showed the skeleton the other rooms.

“See this? This entire floor. Clean it. Clean the floor, the walls, and the windows. Don’t stop until you’re finished!”

Erin stomped down the stairs, leaving the skeleton upstairs in the half-light. It stared down at the dustrag. Then the skeleton stared around the room. It was covered in residue left by moisture, open windows, dust, animal excrement, and rot. Even the ceiling was speckled or sometimes splashed with unfortunate stains. And this was one room of many.

Skeletons couldn’t sigh. It was a lung thing, as in, skeletons didn’t have them. But the fires in this undead’s eyes dimmed ever so slightly. Then the skeleton bent down and got to work.

It didn’t level that night. Skeletons couldn’t become innkeepers. But it did have something in its mind. Something unique to it. Words that had echoed when it was first created. Words that no undead had ever heard before.

[Unnamed, Level 1 Skeleton Warrior]

It wasn’t sure how it felt about that.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.42

[Innkeeper Level 12!]

Someday, Erin was going to hear that annoying message in her head and jump off a cliff. But at least she’d gotten eight solid hours of sleep afterwards.

Blearily, Erin got up and wondered if she leveled because of the skeleton. Something to do with the skeleton? Did [Innkeepers] level up from getting bodyguards? Or…bouncers?

“Can skeletons bounce? Figuratively or literally?”

Erin blinked around at the room for several minutes. It was too early to think about complex things. She wanted a few things in no short order. Bathroom, food, and…that was about it.

The bathroom issue was hard. There were no real toilets in her inn. Erin had no idea why, but some shattered pottery upstairs and a terrible staining around the general area in each room made her think chamber pots had been in style here.

Erin wasn’t about to use a chamber pot. So she had gotten into the practice of digging (and then covering with bits of sawdust and dirt) a latrine around the back of her inn. It was messy, disgusting—and she really wasn’t happy about squatting in the open.

Something had to be done. That was what Erin decided as she finished her mercifully quick business and grabbed the roll of toilet paper. At least this world had something like toilet paper, if not as fluffy and easy on the skin. But the bathroom issue was bad. Someday, someone was going to walk up, and then Erin would die of shame or possibly stab them to death.

Once the bathroom issue was finished with, Erin could then wash her hands with what water she still had in one of her buckets and get breakfast. She was running low on water, too. That meant another trip to the stream, possibly combined with dodging flying fish if they were in a bitey mood today.

At this point, the thought of ducking a several-hundred pound monster full of teeth barely even bothered Erin. It was just another chore. She mechanically opened the shelves in her kitchen, wishing again she had the preservation runes. But they were expensive, and she ‘only’ had just under ten gold pieces.

Not a bad amount of money to have, really. Most families might have that much stored if they were lucky, according to Selys. If a week’s pay could be a single gold piece for some—well, it turned out fighting monsters was very profitable. If exceptionally dangerous. Erin supposed that checked out. Regardless, it was a good amount for food—a low amount for anything magical. She wondered how much it cost to build an outhouse.

Another thing to worry about later. She’d put it on her list.

Erin turned, jar of milk in one hand, and nearly tripped over her sleeping area. She grabbed a counter to steady herself and added moving her sleeping area to the list. She really, really didn’t want to trip someday and splash boiling water all over herself.

But it was such a nice sleeping area. And it would be so much…some work to move it. Plus, there were all the handy knives and weapons close-by if trouble came calling again.

She had a lovely little blanket and pillows she’d used to make a semi-permanent bedspread in a corner of the kitchen. True, it would have been nice to have a mattress, but Erin had been counting her coins until recently. Now that she could spring for one, Erin dreamed of a queen-sized bed with silk sheets. She’d never tried silk sheets, but maybe Krshia had them…? Probably not.

Still half-asleep, Erin walked around her kitchen, assembling a breakfast of sorts. There was actually a quite acceptable cereal that went well with the rich cow’s milk Erin bought. Sprinkle a little sugar in there and it would be delicious.

Since sugar was too expensive for that, Erin instead sliced up some blue fruit into the bowl. That was nearly as good.

Food, done. Erin walked out into the common room and set her bowl on the table. She pulled a chair out—and then noticed something was standing behind her. Slowly, she looked around.

Two glowing, blue flames in empty eye-sockets illuminated a fleshless head. Erin stared into the back of the skull and yellow teeth magically fixed into a permanent, deathly smile. A skeleton grinned at her, inches away from Erin’s face.

“Aaaaaaaaah!”

Erin screamed even as she punched. The skeleton caught a fist to the head and staggered backwards. It fell down. Erin clutched at her fist.

“Ow! Ow, ow—go over there!”

Obediently, the skeleton got up and walked over to the corner. It watched as Erin waved her hand around and cursed for a while. When she was done, Erin marched up and poked the skeleton in the ribs.

“Hey! I thought I told you to stay upstairs!”

It shook its head. Erin blinked and then got mad. She poked at the skeleton again, and her finger went straight into the rib cage. Shuddering, Erin pulled her finger back.

“I distinctly remember telling you to clean the rooms upstairs.”

The skeleton nodded. Erin glared.

“Well? Why are you down here?”

It stared at her. Erin supposed it was just as well the skeleton hadn’t responded. She glared at the staircase.

“Okay, wise guy. Let’s see just what happened while I was asleep.”

She stomped up the stairs, the skeleton following her close behind. Erin walked into one of the dirty rooms—

And stopped.

“Whoa.”

Something had changed. It was like one of those spot the difference games in newspapers, except that the difference here was everything. Erin blinked around at the spotless room and wondered if she was hallucinating. If she was, she preferred not to wake up.

Slowly, she stared at the walls, the floors, and the windows. All were spotless. All were clean. She could even see the original color of the floorboards. Instead of their dirty grey-brown, they’d transformed into a lustrous golden brown that was actually pleasing to look at.

“Okay. Okay, that’s, um—”

Erin turned and blinked at the skeleton.

“Did you do all the rooms like this?”

It nodded. The skeleton walked over to a corner of the room and picked something up. It brought a bucket over to Erin and a scrap. She squinted at it. It looked—it looked like a piece of a dustrag. A tiny piece.

“Where’s the rest of it gone, then?”

The skeleton shrugged. Erin wondered where the rest of the dirt and grime had gone. There was a sludgy substance in the bucket, but it looked like the skeleton had just tossed the grime out the window for the most part. Erin could get behind that cleaning style.

And each room was spotless. Well, there were some spots. Despite the skeleton’s best efforts, it still couldn’t clean away mildew. Some of the rotted boards still needed replacing, but Erin had [Basic Crafting] and a hammer. She was a god of minor repairs.

The entire upper floor was suddenly, miraculously habitable. Erin wandered around each room in a daze. She returned to the first room and wondered if the floors were softer here than in the kitchen. Well, the skeleton had done a good job after all. Erin wasn’t sure what to make of that. But the rooms were clean.

Then she had a thought. Erin looked up.

“Hey! You missed the ceiling!”

The skeleton stared at her and then up at the still dirty ceiling. Erin scowled at it.

“I said clean everything. The floor, the walls, windows…and the ceiling. I said that, right?”

The skeleton shook its head. Erin scowled at it.

“Well, I thought it. And you should have done it anyways!”

There was no way to tell if the skeleton was angry, sad, or…skeletons didn’t have emotions, right? But the flames in the skeleton’s eyes dimmed for a second as Erin glared at it.

She felt bad. Not because she cared much about the skeleton’s feelings, but because Erin could at least tell when she was being a jerk. She relented.

“Okay. You did a good job.”

The skeleton seemed to brighten at that. It followed Erin downstairs. She sat down with a sigh at her breakfast and then paused. The skeleton was standing right next to her. She pointed.

“Go over there.”

It walked over to one corner. Erin eyed the skeleton and spoke again.

“Turn around.”

It did. At last, Erin was able to enjoy her meal without twin glowing eyes watching her every bite.

Breakfast came and went, fairly quickly too. Erin was hungry, but she wasn’t savoring her meal like she normally did. Instead, she was thinking. When she was done, she pushed her bowl back and stared with narrowed eyes at the skeleton. Well. What was the saying about lemons and life? If life gives you lemons…burn down the lemon factory? Something like that.

Anyways, it was time to get to work. Erin cleared her throat.

“Hey, you.”

Instantly, the skeleton turned around. She shook her head.

“Get the bucket and follow me, okay?”

She got up and walked into the kitchen as the skeleton immediately ran upstairs. Erin was rich enough now to have more than one bucket, and so both she and the skeleton were equipped as they left the inn and walked to the stream.

It was a quiet walk. Erin told the skeleton to follow her further back, and she tried to ignore it mostly as she strolled along. Maybe she could have talked to it, but—no. The day Erin started holding conversations with skeletons was the day she finally snapped.

They got to the stream. Erin told the skeleton to thoroughly wash its bucket out first before they filled both up with water. It was just as well she had a bucket for drinking water and a bucket for washing water anyways. She’d deliberately marked both buckets with some paint to avoid drinking…whatever was still clinging to the bucket the skeleton was lifting.

“Okay, let’s go.”

Erin reached for her bucket, but the skeleton got there first. It seized first the handle of its own bucket and then hers and tried to lift both. It strained and pulled, but it could barely move either full bucket more than an inch. Erin shook her head.

“See, that’s just sad.”

The skeleton clattered its teeth together. Erin shuddered. She grabbed her bucket and lifted it up. It was heavy, but she was stronger than the skeleton.

“Don’t do that. Take one bucket and follow me.”

Awkwardly, the skeleton hefted one of the full buckets of water and staggered after Erin. She walked quickly, trying to balance speed with avoiding losing too much water over the sides.

She was used to the trek from the stream to the inn, but her arm still vaguely ached by the time she got back. But ever since she’d acquired the [Lesser Strength] Skill, the trip had become far less painful. And this time, she didn’t even have to make two round trips.

“Okay! Water’s done. Now, let’s get some food.”

Erin left the two buckets inside the inn, grabbed a basket, and walked off. The skeleton followed her obediently as the two walked across the rolling grassy landscape. They walked for about six minutes before Erin threw her arm out and stopped the skeleton in its tracks. It stared at her, confused.

“Watch it. Rock Crab.”

She pointed. The skeleton looked and saw, about two hundred meters away, a large boulder slowly moving across the landscape. Underneath the large shell of rock, the skeleton could see massive legs slowly propelling the boulder around.

When the skeleton realized what the Rock Crab really was, it immediately raised its fists and tried to charge the slow-moving monster. Erin had to grab the skeleton by one bony arm.

“Hold it! What are you doing?”

The skeleton fought to run at the crab. Erin ordered it to stay still.

“Don’t try to fight that thing! It’ll eat you. Or—snap you in two like a bunch of twigs.”

Reluctantly, the skeleton subsided. It stared hard at the Rock Crab, which ignored both Erin and the skeleton as it wandered off. When it had disappeared over a hill, Erin let the skeleton go.

“Don’t be stupid. Come on and follow me.”

The skeleton walked after Erin. Eventually, they came to the blue fruit orchard. Erin showed the skeleton how to gather fruits.

“See the basket? Fill the basket.”

So saying, Erin handed the skeleton her basket and sat down. Instantly, the skeleton began running around the orchard, gathering up fallen fruit and kicking trees to make the fruit fall. Erin sat under a tree and took a quick nap.

——

Having a skeleton was quite useful. In a few minutes, the skeleton had filled Erin’s basket to overflowing. It carefully walked back to Erin, trying not to spill the ripe fruits.

Erin didn’t react as the skeleton approached. She was sleeping. The skeleton hesitated and then placed the basket at her feet. It stood and waited, but she slept on. She was truly asleep.

The skeleton hesitated. It seemed to be thinking. At last, it turned and began scanning the landscape around Erin. Was it checking for threats? Erin couldn’t tell.

One of her eyelids had been cracked open ever so slightly as the skeleton approached. Now that it was looking the other way, Erin sighed inaudibly and sat up. Well, at least the skeleton wasn’t going to try killing her in her sleep. She’d had a terrible night last night worrying the same thing. But Pisces seemed to have done an okay job on the skeleton. Still, she’d keep an eye on it.

It was useful, but she still didn’t quite trust it.

Erin clapped her hands together. The skeleton whirled around and then relaxed when it saw only Erin.

“Okay, good job. Show me the fruits—actually, I’m gonna teach you how to sort them. Then we’ll go back to the inn.”

——

Erin showed the skeleton where to place the basket of blue fruits and then stretched.

“Alright. Chores are mostly done. Now what?”

The skeleton stared at Erin. It certainly wasn’t going to come up with ideas on its own.

“I could go to the city.”

Erin mused, eying the skeleton. She really didn’t want to leave it alone just yet, but there was a lot more to do in Liscor than here. She was wondering if she could give the skeleton a simple task—like gathering Acid Flies from the traps—when she heard the door open.

She and the skeleton looked around. Erin saw Pawn and two Workers step through the doorway. She smiled and waved at them. The skeleton had a different reaction. It opened its jaw, and the twin flames in its skull flared.

“——!”

The skeleton charged Pawn and the two Antinium with a wordless, rattling whisper-shout. It was a sound that sounded like someone sighing, only far louder.

Pawn and the two Workers froze, uncertain. They backed into one another, but they were too big to slip out the door. The skeleton leapt at them—

“Hey!”

Erin’s fist caught the skeleton in the head and knocked the skull clean off the rest of the body. Pawn and the Workers stopped. The skeleton flailed around wildly. Then it stopped. Erin stared at it and groaned.

Oh no, she’d just broken the only magical tool she had! Again! She was about to curse when she saw the skeleton hadn’t collapsed like she thought it would. The body was still flailing its arms, and Erin saw it twisting about. Searching for…the skull?

Its head had rolled beneath a table. The skeleton’s body seemed to know where it was. Erin watched as it blundered over to its head, knocking over chairs and running into tables.

The skeleton picked up its head and placed it back on its neck. The lights reappeared in its eyes, and it stared at Erin.

“Bad!”

Erin didn’t know why she was talking to the skeleton like it was a dog. She pointed at it.

“You do not attack them. Got it?”

The skeleton hesitated and then nodded. The light in its eyes dimmed. Erin stared at it another second and then turned to Pawn.

“Sorry about that. I’ve got, uh, a skeleton problem.”

Pawn inclined his head.

“I bear no offense, Erin. And I thank you for protecting us.”

The two Workers bowed their heads as well. Erin waved her hands.

“No, it’s my fault. I just got this skeleton-thing, and I—sorry. Um, come on in.”

Awkwardly, she stood aside to let Pawn and the other Workers file into the inn. They glanced at the skeleton, who was still watching them. Erin stalked over and poked at the skeleton until it moved away.

“Right, how can I help you guys?”

“We have come to play chess if you are willing, Erin Solstice. We would also purchase flies for consumption.”

“Sure. No problem!”

Erin moved towards the kitchen and stopped. She pointed at the skeleton.

“Stay. There. Don’t do anything.”

When she returned with a heaping bowl of dead flies and blue juice, the Antinium had already chosen a table and set up a game of chess. Erin sat with them and began playing Pawn. It was a quick game as he’d tried a new move, which failed spectacularly. But Erin helped show him a better way to attack the enemy with the knight piece and let the other two Workers challenge her one by one.

As she played, she talked with Pawn.

“What’s happening with the Antinium? Are you guys bothered by all the Humans in the city as well?”

Pawn shook his head, watching as Erin started collecting the Worker’s pieces one by one.

“We work. We live. We die. All is unchanged among the Workers, Erin Solstice. But we hear of—things. Something happens below.”

“Below? You mean where the Queen lives?”

Pawn hesitated. The two Workers looked up at him and then down at the board.

“Yes. Our Queen moves. She is doing—something. We do not know what it is, but we sense it. And there is another Prognugator.”

Erin’s hand froze over a piece. Then she moved it.

“Really? Another one? This Prog—this guy, he’s taken over Klbkch’s old job?”

“Yes. He guards the Hive and watches. But no Worker has seen him yet. He walks above.”

“Right. Um. Right.”

Distracted, Erin lost a knight before she got back on track. She quickly crushed both Workers and then sighed.

“Okay. Good game, guys. You’re getting better.”

Pawn nodded.

“We level quickly. It is rare for Workers to level. We owe you a debt, Erin Solstice.”

“Really? I didn’t do much.”

“You teach. You help. You care. We know, and we learn from you how to be Human.”

Erin grinned mirthlessly.

“Being Human isn’t that great. But I’m glad I can help a bit.”

She suddenly had a thought. She glanced sideways at Pawn.

“And maybe you could help me? I’d like to hire you and the other Workers—if you’ve got time. I know this is your break day, but—”

Pawn shook his head.

“We would be happy to assist. What do you desire?”

“Bathroom.”

Pawn tilted its head.

“Bathroom?”

“I mean an outhouse.”

Erin tried to explain. She pointed outside.

“Right now I, uh—I have to dig a hole. Which isn’t fun. I don’t know if the Antinium have to go to the bathroom, but us Humans like a nice toilet seat.”

“Toilet seat?”

“…Never mind. How do Antinium, uh, excrete? Do you have anything like a bathroom?”

“We have designated areas where waste is accumulated. We recycle such products within the Hive.”

“Ah. Um. Humans don’t do that. Ever. And I’d really like a bathroom. Nothing fancy.”

Pawn and the two Workers nodded.

“We are familiar with the construction of such facilities. It would be a simple task to construct one for you. I am a [Carpenter]. Level 1.”

She recalled him saying that. But hadn’t he told her he was Level 1 a while back? He hadn’t levelled up since? Erin had passed her first level on, like, the second day of the job. Antinium really didn’t level. Erin blinked and then smiled.

“Oh. That’s—great. I’ve got some wood around back and nails and stuff. I can get more if you need it. Do you, um, need anything special?”

“We are Antinium. Building is in our nature.”

Sometimes, it was really hard to keep the conversation flowing with Pawn. Erin cleared her throat awkwardly.

“And how much will I owe you?”

Pawn hesitated.

“We would not wish to charge you for this service.”

Again, Erin wasn’t sure what to say to that. She thought for a moment.

“Tell you what—I’ll feed you and your friends for the rest of the week if you build it for me, no charge.”

Since there were four days left in the week, Erin thought this was a fair offer. Pawn apparently did too, because he nodded.

“It is agreed. We will begin at once.”

As one, the three Antinium stood up. They marched over to the door. Erin got up and then remembered. She turned her head and saw the skeleton still standing where she had left it.

“As for you—”

Erin glared at the skeleton. It didn’t quite flinch back from her.

“Do not attack my guests, got it? Not unless they’re attacking me or doing something dangerous. Otherwise, I’ll have the Workers toss you in the outhouse and bury you. Got it?”

The skeleton meekly nodded. Erin turned away.

“Okay, let’s get to work. Try not to get in the way.”

——

No matter how many times Erin saw it, she was always impressed by how efficient the Antinium were at…well…anything really. As soon as she’d chosen a good spot for the outhouse—just a little ways away from the inn where untoward smells wouldn’t be blown towards her—they immediately began excavating dirt and laying the groundwork for the outhouse.

Fortunately, Erin still had quite a bit of spare wood left over. And Pawn knew a good place to buy quality wood, so she gave them some money and let them go at it. She might have had a [Basic Crafting] as a Skill, but that didn’t mean she was good at constructing things. An outhouse was a bit beyond her capabilities.

And apparently, the Antinium didn’t need Skills, at least not for something like this. They were just good at building things, and their bodies were naturally suited for tasks like digging and machining. Four arms were better than two.

The outhouse was a simple affair, at least by modern toilet standards. A solid wood building stood upright, shielding its sole occupant from weather and prying eyes while a small pit caught whatever fell down through the toilet hole. It was functional, sturdy, and that was all Erin needed at the moment.

It took them all day, but Erin supposed Workers didn’t need to be fast. Then again, was building an outhouse from scratch really hard? Pawn and the Workers kept talking about a foundation whenever she brought them Acid Flies for a snack.

The skeleton scurried around, pushing dirt out of the way for the Antinium, refilling Erin’s water buckets, and checking her Acid Fly traps. She had to explain to it how to do everything the first time, which was a major pain, but once she had, the skeleton remembered how to do it.

Erin had to admit—grudgingly—that the skeleton was quite useful. It was efficient, in that it didn’t stop to take breaks or complain like a certain Human. Thanks to it, her inn was fully ready when the sun started lowering in the sky and the evening rush began.

Today, Rags and eight Goblins visited Erin’s inn. Then Pisces came by, full of his self-importance, the Antinium walked in and announced they were done with the outhouse, and Gazi appeared out of nowhere.

It was a record-breaking crowd that sat in The Wandering Inn. They barely occupied more than a fifth of the common room, although you wouldn’t know it, spread apart as they were.

Well, it was only to be expected really. The Goblins might not be too afraid of Erin, but Pisces was just another Human to them, and Gazi was bad news walking. They stayed away from her and the skeleton. Erin thought they’d all run when the skeleton opened the door for them, but Rags had kept them from fleeing into the hills.

The Goblins’ reaction had been the normal one. Pisces obviously hadn’t batted an eyelid at the walking skeleton, and the Antinium just treated the skeleton with a certain wariness. When Gazi had seen the skeleton, she’d just blinked her massive eye and frowned for a bit without comment. Now she kept staring from the skeleton to Pisces as she ate, but she didn’t directly engage the [Necromancer] in conversation.

So all of Erin’s guests sat more or less in their own bubble. The Antinium played more chess, Pisces scarfed down food, Gazi watched, the Goblins ate and chattered amongst themselves, and none of them talked with each other.

But they all spoke to Erin. Or at least—the Goblins grunted at her, and Rags nodded or shook her head when Erin talked. But everyone else talked to her.

“I noticed your new building. I take it is meant to act as a bathroom?”

Erin grinned at Gazi. She pointed at Pawn and the other Workers.

“Yeah. They just put it up today. Isn’t it great? Now I don’t have to keep squatting in the grass. Ahem.”

Gazi smiled as Erin coughed and blushed a bit.

“It is useful. Although I would warn you that maintaining such a spot can be difficult. You did well to build it away from water and your inn. I’ve seen many killed over fouling water, accidentally or not.”

Erin blinked a few times before nodding. Pisces seemed to be developing a third ear in his corner, but Erin just gestured to the Antinium.

“Pawn told me about all the problems an outhouse causes. They smell. And they attract flies. But I think I can solve that problem with the world’s greatest cleaning fluid.”

Gazi raised her single eyebrow, smiling slightly.

“And what would that be?”

“Acid. I have more than I can use, and it eats through anything that’s not stone or metal or glass really fast. I toss a bit of that in there every morning and voilà! Problem solved!”

Gazi blinked again. From his table, Pisces looked up and shook his head.

“Once again, your fascination with such a dangerous substance is alarming at best, Miss Solstice. I trust you at least have a few healing potions prepared for the day when you drop the acid on your person?”

Erin glared at him.

“I’m not going to be the one carrying jars of acid around. Too dangerous. I’ll make that guy do it instead.”

Erin pointed at the skeleton, who had just returned with another basket of blue fruit. She gestured to the kitchen, and it speedily walked inside.

Pisces stared at the skeleton incredulously.

“Are you—making it gather fruits? And you want to make it clean your outhouse? You do realize it is here for your protection, do you not?”

“Sure, sure. But it’s more useful helping out around the inn.”

Pisces scowled at Erin as she swept around with a refill of blue juice.

“That is a warrior skeleton, designed for combat.”

She glared back and filled his glass up with water.

“It’s weaker than I am! I punched it this morning, and its head came clean off!”

Pisces turned red and gave Erin what she recognized as his prelude-to-sulking expression.

“My creation is a work of art, but it must grow to its full potential first. It is not meant to be used for menial labor.”

Erin rolled her eyes.

“Menial labor is about all it’s good for. If I sent it out to try and kill one of those Rock Crabs, it’d get squashed in a heartbeat. You’re a hotshot [Necromancer], aren’t you? Can’t you raise a Level 15 skeleton or something?”

Pisces shook his head.

“I could certainly create a stronger undead—but not a higher level one. Do you—do you not understand the significance of this skeleton?”

“No. Is it that special?”

He blinked at her.

“Ah. Well, it is.”

Gazi spoke up. Her eye strayed towards the skeleton, which paused as it brought bowls of Acid Flies out for the Antinium. She murmured into her drink.

“A Level 1 [Skeleton Warrior].”

Pisces nodded. Gazi blinked at him and tipped her cup in some sort of acknowledgement. Erin didn’t get it, but Pisces appeared incredibly smug and self-satisfied all of a sudden. Right up until he saw Gazi staring at him. Then he went white.

Yet all Gazi Pathseeker did was lift a cup to her lips. She addressed Pisces and Erin at the same time.

“I would not mention that fact ever again were I you two. Either of you. Even that Drake would behead the [Necromancer] for this.”

“And you won’t? I thought you were a famous adventurer…”

Gazi’s smile was pointed, and her large eye flickered to Pisces, who looked ready to run. Yet she just shook her head slightly, sending her braided hair swaying.

“I do not care. If anything…it may suit me very well. Nor am I of this continent or Terandria. Mine is a different land, and I have known [Necromancers] and their kind. An accomplishment is an accomplishment.”

This time, Erin had to ask. She leaned over the table.

“You said you saw people stabbed over fouling water? So your place is like—desert-y?”

Pisces snorted, and Gazi gave Erin a frown as if trying to tell if Erin was making fun of her.

“Chandrar is not entirely desert, but my adopted homeland borders a vast desert, yes. Hence my familiarity with what this young [Necromancer] has done. But even Khelt’s King would call it extraordinary. If he did not behead that one for the deed.”

Pisces looked uncertain whether or not he should be sick or pleased, and Erin decided she should drop the topic.

“Fine. It’s great. But I still wish it was stronger.”

She grumbled her way around the room, topping off glasses with her pitcher. Pisces looked relaxed enough to focus on his meal. Only after a good few minutes had passed and he was engrossed in wolfing down pasta did Gazi stop Erin again. She murmured to her as Erin passed by her table, and Erin saw her twisting a brooch that had been hidden in her armor.

The air dulled or felt heavy, and Erin felt a strange hush in the air. Pisces didn’t seem to notice, though Rags frowned at Erin and picked at one ear with a claw. Gazi spoke louder, then, gesturing to her meal, though her words didn’t match her actions.

“So, how did you meet that young man? Where does he hail from?”

“Pisces?”

Erin glanced at Pisces. He was smiling at his skeleton as it moved about the room.

“Oh, he’s just this weird guy I met a while ago. He’s—well, I guess he’s a good mage. Does necromancy stuff, but the skeleton is the first undead thing I’ve ever seen him do. He also does other spells. Why?”

Gazi stared at Pisces, and then her eye moved away as he looked towards her. She nodded imperceptibly at him as she let Erin fill her glass.

“He is—talented.”

“Oh.”

Gazi nodded. After a moment, Erin shrugged and walked away. Really, what were you supposed to say to that?

——

About an hour had passed, and Erin was continuing to innkeep while her patrons ate, chatted, and, occasionally, used the new outhouse. Gazi didn’t do much from her seat, but her main eye kept following Pisces, the skeleton, and Erin.

Then, as the sun began to touch the mountains and the light truly began to fade from the sky, Gazi’s main eye swiveled towards one window. She tapped her lips and then smiled again.

Erin noticed the half-Gazer getting up and leaving coins on the table. Gazi nodded to her as Erin bustled over.

“Pardon me, Erin, but I must attend to some business. I will return shortly.”

“Oh, sure. Have fun?”

Gazi smiled and left quickly. Erin shrugged and went back to serving. About ten minutes later, she heard someone knocking at the door.

“Come in!”

The door opened. Erin turned with a smile.

“Hey, welcome!”

The male, Human adventurer who opened the door smiled broadly at her.

“Thank you. Me and my friends were looking for a place to stay and—”

He caught sight of Rags and the Goblins first. The adventurer swore and grabbed at this sword.

“Goblins!”

Erin’s stomach lurched. The adventurer fell back, and his two companions—two other burly adventurers in armor—immediately seized their weapons. Rags and her crew looked up, suddenly tense. Pawn and the Workers froze in their game. Pisces was already gone.

“No, no, wait! Don’t do anything!”

Dropping her pitcher of juice on a table, Erin ran forwards, putting herself between the adventurers and the Goblins.

“They’re friendly! Don’t attack!”

The first adventurer stared at her. He was wearing a metal helmet that made his head look vaguely pot-shaped.

“What are you, crazy? They’re Goblins!”

His two friends shifted behind him. One exclaimed as he caught sight of Pawn and the Workers.

“It’s the bugs! And—a skeleton?”

The first adventurer was white in the face, whether with rage or fear it was hard to tell. He glared at Erin, hand tight on his sword hilt.

“What’s going on here?”

“Look, everyone chill! Calm down! These Goblins are peaceful. Didn’t you read the sign—?”

The third adventurer, a huge man who dwarfed the other two, turned red in the face. He growled at Rags and her Goblins, all of whom were standing, weapons raised.

“Shut up! Those creatures aren’t peaceful. They’re monsters! I’ve lost good friends to them!”

He went for his axe. Erin grabbed his hand.

“No, wait—let me—”

“Get off!”

The burly adventurer growled and threw Erin off him. He shoved her back, and Erin crashed into a table. She blinked stupidly up at the ceiling as the world spun for a moment. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of movement.

The adventurers were moving towards the Goblins, weapons raised, when the skeleton leapt over a table, charged the first adventurer, and smashed into him. The undead skeleton was unarmed, but it just raised one bony fist and sunk it straight into the helmeted adventurer’s head.

The metal faceguard caught the skeleton, but it couldn’t protect the man from being bowled over as the skeleton rushed him. The undead kicked, and the sword flew out of the man’s hands. He cursed as the two other adventurers spread out. One of his friends pulled out his sword, but suddenly Rags and the other Goblins covered him.

The big adventurer roared and raised his axe, but Erin tackled him. She tried to pull his arm down, but he was like a piece of granite. He punched her in the side, and Erin fell off him. That hurt. Not as much as being stabbed, but she couldn’t breathe. He snarled at her, and then Pawn was in front of him. The Antinium swung two fists on his left side, and the adventurer stumbled backwards.

The adventurer on the floor cursed and swung at the skeleton, trying to get to his feet. The skeleton leaned back as the adventurer swung wildly. When it punched the man in the side of the head, he didn’t shift much. But the skeleton punched and punched and punched—

The helmeted adventurer caught the skeleton’s foot as it swung at his head. He growled and heaved upwards, and the skeleton toppled over. Then he reached for his sword.

His hand had just closed over the hilt when Erin walked over and kicked him in the side of the head. Down he went again, considerably harder than when the skeleton had hit him.

She looked around. The second man was fighting with the Goblins, slashing at them while they danced around the chairs and tables. He didn’t have any room to swing, but they had a lot more freedom. They lunged at him, cutting his legs, battering him with clubs, throwing plates at his face—

A Worker crashed into a table next to Erin. It lay on its back, stunned, before it got up. She looked over. The big adventurer was fighting all three Antinium at once as they surrounded him.

He swung at Pawn, but Pawn caught both fists and then hit back with two more. The big adventurer blinked and then shoved the Antinium back. Pawn went flying, but two more Workers closed in. He battered at them, but the Antinium were far tougher than they were strong.

It was all a mess. Erin didn’t know what to do, but when one of the adventurers grabbed Rags and threw her to the ground, she moved. He stomped on her stomach once as the Goblin cried out in agony. Erin raised her fist, and then the skeleton smashed the adventurer in the back of the head with a chair.

Down he went. Now only the biggest adventurer was left, but he was somehow managing to take on all comers by himself. He hit one of the Workers in the chest so hard the Antinium’s carapace cracked and then punched the skeleton into the ground before kicking the undead in the chest. Two ribs shattered as the Goblins swarmed around the man.

Erin hesitated and then ran inside the kitchen. She came out with a heavy object in her hands, just in time to see the skeleton crashing into another table, the axe buried in its chest.

The biggest adventurer kicked a Goblin several feet, backhanded Pawn, and snarled. He turned, and the flying frying pan cracked him straight in the forehead. Erin felt like she’d wrenched her shoulder with that throw, but her Skill had placed the pan right where she wanted it to go.

The fight was over. Erin still had to call the skeleton back and stop Rags and her Goblins from knifing the downed adventurers. The skeleton was trying to stomp on the helmeted man while Pawn and the other two Workers picked each other up and assessed their injuries.

Erin stared around the inn. She looked at her skeleton, with the axe hanging out of its shattered rib cage, the injured Goblins, the downed adventurer trio, Pawn and his injured workers, and then at her common room. Half the tables and chairs were splintered beyond repair, and all of her food and dishes had been strewn about the room.

She felt like crying. But the first adventurer was starting to wake up. Erin stared at the groaning men on the floor and pointed at the skeleton.

“You. Bucket.”

It hesitated and then marched into the kitchen. Erin looked around. She walked over and picked up the frying pan.

——

The cold splash of water woke up all three men in one go. They spluttered into wakefulness, gasping, only to realize they weren’t drowning. Instead, they were on the floor of an inn.

The three adventurers stared up into the face of justice. In this case, it was the back of a cast iron frying pan. Erin stood over them, flanked by a group of Goblins on her left and a Skeleton and three of the horrific ant-monsters known as Antinium on her right.

“You wrecked my inn.”

Erin stared down at the three men. She was trembling. Half with nerves, but the other half was sheer rage.

“You—”

The helmeted adventurer hesitated. He struggled to get to his feet, feeling for his sword. He saw it in the skeleton’s hands. He pointed a trembling finger at the skeleton, backing away as his two friends got to their feet.

“What kind of inn is this? It’s full of monsters!”

“They’re not monsters! These Goblins are my guests, and no one hurts them here! Didn’t you read the sign?”

The biggest adventurer lumbered to his feet. His fists were clenched, and he was red down to his neck. Rags and the other Goblins retreated from him, but Erin saw Rags pulling out a jar full of green liquid. She shook her head at the Goblin.

“You’re crazy! You—you freak! You’re feedin’ these freaks that kill Humans! And you’re feedin’ bugs and an undead monster! We oughta burn this place down and turn you in to the City Watch!”

“Burn down my inn? I don’t think so.”

Erin gripped the handle of the frying pan tighter. The Antinium loomed behind her, and the two smaller adventurers stepped back.

“You bitch!”

The big adventurer shouted at Erin. His spit practically covered the skeleton interposing itself between Erin and him.

“This ain’t over! We’re gonna round up all the adventurers in the city and come back here. Then we’ll see if you want to protect these freaks!”

“I don’t believe that will happen.”

Someone tapped the big adventurer on the shoulder. He whirled around, threw a fist, and nearly screamed as a grip like steel crushed his wrist.

Gazi the Omniscient stared at the adventurer she had caught like an entomologist studying an insect caught in their backyard. Without much interest, she flicked the man’s hand away. When she turned to look at Erin, she smiled slightly.

“Erin Solstice. You are full of surprises.”

Erin blinked.

“Oh. Gazi.”

The two adventurers behind the big man reacted to the half-Gazer’s name—and her eye—but the bigger man was still caught up in his rage.

“If yer gonna protect this monster-loving b—”

Gazi didn’t move. She didn’t move, but her eye twitched. Its yellow pupil seemed to widen and glow for a moment, and Erin felt a flash of unease. Gazi was suddenly terrifying for no real reason. And she wasn’t even looking at Erin. The effect on the adventurers—particularly the big man—was immediate. They shuddered, paled, and backed away from her.

“No one will attack this inn. Or I will find you and you will suffer. And you will all leave now.”

Helmet adventurer shuddered. His eyes flicked to his sword, still in the skeleton’s hand.

“But—”

Gazi’s eye swiveled, and her large yellow pupil fixed on the adventurer’s face, and the words stopped.

“In the name of Reim—begone.”

The adventurer stared for one second into Gazi’s large eye. Then he ran. He didn’t say a word, and his friends ran after him, legs and arms pumping. Erin watched them race down the hill so fast one tripped and went flying, but they got up and kept running even after slamming into the ground. Gazi just turned to Erin and smiled with her lips closed as if nothing had happened.

“I am glad that you are unharmed.”

“What?”

Erin blinked at Gazi stupidly and then realized she was still holding her frying pan. Lamely, she put it on a table.

“Um, thanks. Really. You saved us there.”

Gazi flicked her hand dismissively.

“I merely prevented them from causing more trouble. But you would have handled them most admirably had I not been here.”

Her smaller eyes moved around the room.

“Still, I see that they have caused much damage. I apologize. I should have forced them to repay you for the damages.”

“Oh, it’s nothing—”

Erin broke off. Rags limped over to her, clutching at her stomach and poked her in the side. The Goblin offered Erin a bag of coins.

“Oh. Oops?”

Rags shrugged at Erin and then winced. She clutched at her stomach where the adventurer had stomped on her. Erin immediately forgot about the money. She bent down, staring anxiously at the Goblin.

“Are you okay? I have some healing potions I could split—”

Rags shook her head. Clutching at her ribs, she pulled something out of her pouch. A healing potion. The Goblin pulled the stopper out and drank a mouthful of the purple, brackish liquid.

Erin was sure the Goblin didn’t own any healing potions. She was also sure that it wasn’t her healing potion or Gazi’s. She looked at the other Goblins and saw they were doing the same with a few healing potions as well. She knew exactly where they’d come from.

The adventurers had come here with belt pouches and carry bags along with their armor and weapons. And while they’d left with their armor, it seemed someone had cut away their belts and bags of healing potions while they’d been downed. The Goblins were already fighting over the spoils.

Erin had a feeling that she was going to get the blame for most—all of that. But right now, looking at the injured people in her inn, she didn’t really care.

“Here.”

She righted a table and made Pawn and the injured Workers sit down. Erin found some bandages in her packs, helped pull the axe out of the skeleton’s rib cage, and let Pisces get to work on the skeleton. It seemed he had been invisible during the entire confrontation.

She was so busy attending her friends—saying thank you and feeding them a second dinner—that she never noticed that Gazi had left the inn.

——

Gazi the Omniscient travelled back to Liscor, the ground blurring beneath her feet. She had no further business at The Wandering Inn at the moment. Erin Solstice was too busy attending to her wounded patrons for conversation, and Gazi had seen all she needed.

More importantly, she had found one. At last, she had found one. And not just one.

“Two.”

She smiled to herself. She’d searched far and wide for individuals worthy of waking up her lord and liege. For years. And she had despaired. But now she had found one. Not just one; two.

“A mysterious child with a unique Skill, and a [Necromancer] who can create new undead.”

Erin Solstice. She was unlike any Human Gazi had met before, save one. She had met only one other being who could unify so many races outside of her own. And that she had stepped in to protect them against her own kind only made her rarer in Gazi’s opinion.

But there was more to her than even that. Erin’s origins, her ways of thinking, and yes, even the [Immortal Moment] Skill Gazi had never seen on an individual before were all unique. She was worthy. The mage was also worthy, but in a different way. He was simply a genius.

“But she is different.”

Gazi frowned, letting her single eyelid droop over her central eye. Yes, Erin Solstice was different. She passed through the city gates, nodding at the guard who stared at her and slowed to walk idly through the streets.

Erin Solstice. She was the one, and if Gazi had to choose, it would be her. But it was better not to choose. Better to wait and lay plans. Gazi could act now of course, but if she wanted to do this properly, it would take time.

Time and patience were both things Gazi did not have, but she did not want to ruin things now, right when she had found not one, but two worthy beings. She yearned to begin, but patience—patience was a virtue she had learned to practice.

Yes, perhaps it was better to wait. She had come far over the course of thousands of miles and countless years. Her King still slept; he would wait a while longer to be woken. Those she brought must be truly worthy of his attention. Yet she had a good feeling this time.

At the very least, Fetohep of Khelt alone would pay a king’s ransom for Pisces—a [King]’s ransom a hundred times over. Whether he made the boy rich or had him executed—that alone might be enough to wake her King. Perhaps. Perhaps…though Fetohep had every reason not to want her King to wake.

As Gazi walked through the streets, she noticed she was being followed. She kept her main eye straight ahead, but her lesser eyes could detect movement around her. Gnolls. Two shadowed her at a distance, pretending to be late-night shoppers and pedestrians going home.

No doubt they were courtesy of a certain Gnoll [Shopkeeper]. She had doubtless organized them to tail Gazi, unaware perhaps of the half-Gazer’s ability to see all. Or perhaps she knew and was letting Gazi know she was being watched. Either way, it mattered little. The Gnolls were the least experienced of Gazi’s watchers, but they were hardly the only ones keeping an eye on her.

Pallass had sent their observers…for a time until they realized the cost was too high. They had their own kind of watcher, the Cyclops, though his role and Gazi’s—and their natures—were far different. She had passed through his realm mostly quietly. He knew better than to make unnecessary foes.

But it was the Gnolls’ presence that decided Gazi. Not because they were dangerous, but because it meant there was more to Erin than even her eyes could uncover. She would wait. Wait, and learn more about this strange Human. Perhaps there was another worthy one. Three was better than two.

As Gazi passed by the market street, she noticed a flicker of movement. A small Human grabbed several items from a stall while the shopkeeper was looking the other way. Gazi pretended not to see, but one of her lesser eyes tracked the female Human as she darted away.

The thief ducked out of sight in the alleyway, but Gazi’s eye wasn’t weak enough to be stopped by mere objects like walls at close range. Her large eye moved, and she saw not only the thief’s figure, but her name and nature. Such was the power of Gazi’s eye.

But in this case, Gazi was disappointed. She shook her head.

“Ah. Just a [Princess].”

She turned her eye away. She had no time for Human royalty. Petty lords and princesses of small nations could not arouse her ruler’s interest.

Gazi cast her eye upwards. She saw the changing winds and, miles overhead, saw the cold front sweeping in at speeds even her eye had trouble tracking. Yes, winter was coming. And quickly too. This land had few seasons save for the rainy one, but the fell chill would still freeze the land for a week at least. Time, then, to wait and observe both Humans.

“Yes, time.”

The adventurers had been a stroke of good luck. Their foolishness had given Gazi plenty of insight into Erin’s nature. She would ensure no reprisals came—at least in the form of a mob—but she would continue watching Erin Solstice.

She wanted to know everything about her.

——

Erin sat in her inn, staring at the recently cleaned room. Half of the tables and chairs were now fireplace fuel, but at least the spilled food and broken dishes had been cleaned up. She’d buy new ones from Krshia tomorrow.

Everyone was gone. They’d limped off or walked back to the city or, in Pisces’ case, done his disappearing act. They were gone, and Erin was left alone.

With the skeleton, of course.

It was fully repaired and sweeping up dust. Erin stared at it as it worked. It paused as it glanced up and saw her staring.

“Yeah. You don’t like it either, huh?”

After a moment, the skeleton got back to work. It stood up, dustpan in hand, and walked outside to dump the dust. Then it came back in and stood to attention, staring at Erin.

She sighed. The skeleton looked at her expectantly.

“Skeletons. You know, I hated biology class in school. The skeleton there creeped me out, and it didn’t move around all the time.”

No response. Well, Erin was getting used to that.

“I don’t like dead things. And I don’t really trust you.”

The light in the skeleton’s eyes dimmed for a second. Erin sighed again.

“But. I guess you’re alright.”

The flickering sparks in the skeleton’s eyes ignited. Erin nodded to herself.

“I’ll keep you after all. You’re useful, and you can fight. Sorta. Just don’t do anything stupid, got it?”

After a beat, the skeleton nodded obediently.

“Cool. Now I guess—I guess you’ll need a name?”

No response. But the skeleton seemed expectant. Erin scratched her head. She really needed to sleep, but this was important.

“What would be a good name for a skeleton? Papyrus…? Nah. You’re not nearly cool enough for that.”

The skeleton didn’t react. Erin tilted her head, thinking hard. She snapped her fingers.

“I guess I’ll just call you Clatter. No—Claptrap! But even you’re not half as annoying as that…thing.”

Erin scratched at her head as she began pacing around the room. The skeleton’s fiery, blue eyes followed her as she began throwing names out at random.

“Mr. Bones? Way too generic. How about Carnage? But that sounds horrible. Silent Steve…? No. Smitty Werbenjagermanjensen? Too long.”

After a while, the skeleton turned around and walked upstairs. It still had the order to clean, and it supposed upstairs counted as ‘the inn’. So the skeleton began cleaning a decade’s worth of accumulated filth from the ceiling as it heard Erin still talking to herself down below.

“How about Napoleon? But you’re not short. Skeletron? But I’d get confused. Paul Hendrickson the Fifth? Whitey? Wait, is that racist?”

The skeleton quite deliberately tuned Erin’s voice out of its head, at least as far as it could ignore the voice of its master. It scrubbed the ceiling with the fragment of the dustrag hard, wishing—as much as it could wish—that it held a weapon instead. Erin had made it leave the sword and axe in the kitchen while it was cleaning.

It had no will. Skeletons weren’t supposed to have free will. But they weren’t supposed to level either, and the [Skeleton Warrior] was now Level 2. It didn’t know how to feel about that. It had one function: to serve. If leveling helped in that capacity, it would level.

It just wished Erin would stop talking.

“Bojangles. Bonerama. Bonehead. Friedman? Spinal Tap. Harambe. Jack? Jack Sparrow? Jack Skellington? Mr. Skeleton? Smiley Face?”

A pause. The skeleton did not sigh in relief.

“…Mike?”

[Innkeeper Level 13!]

[Skill – Loud Voice obtained!]

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.43 R

“Awaken, Human.”

I’ve listened to my share of alarm clocks over the years. When I was a kid, my parents gave me an old-fashioned one* that I had to wind up constantly or it wouldn’t go off. First chance I got, I switched it out for a digital alarm and then my iPhone.

*Vintage, which matters to no one unless you’re a hipster. And if you are, don’t talk to me.

I like to wake up early to run—thus as I got older, my alarm clocks got louder. The one in my room I bought because my iPhone wasn’t powerful enough. It could wake up the house if I left for my morning run and forgot to turn it off. And my folks have a big house.

But no alarm clock or blaring fire alarm has ever gotten me into the waking world so quickly. The instant I heard those two words, I woke up. It was like magic*.

*Probably because it was magic.

I raise my head and instinctively brace for agonizing pain. I don’t feel any, which is alarming in itself. I should be in incredible pain—or dead. And if I am dead, who woke me up?

Please let it not be an old white guy who calls himself God.

“Sit up.”

Again, the voice of whomever-this-is does exactly what it says on the tin. I get up without even realizing I’m doing it. I was lying on the ground, but now the world tilts the right way up for me. What’s going on?

I remember collapsing onto the floor. On paved marble tiles to be exact. Paved marble tiles in the middle of a vast cavern, surrounded by a treasury/armory/mage’s laboratory/library of some kind.

I’d like to look around, but my body is frozen. I sit completely still, unable to look around. I can see rows of dark bookshelves ahead of me, and then someone walks into view.

There’s a man—yes, a man standing in front of me. The strangest, most attractive—

Attractive? Him? He’s an old guy with a beard. I hate older men, mainly because they remind me of my dad. But this man—he’s different. Different from anyone I’ve met.

For one thing, he looks amazing in multiple senses of the word. His hair is a pale white, but not gray. Rather—silvery? It has a luster about it that makes me wonder if he uses this world’s equivalent of hair gel. But even the greatest beauty pageant contestants and supermodels of my world don’t have hair like that.

And he looks like a model. An Olympian athlete past his prime but with the same body. He looks like the kind of person Renaissance sculptors would make statues of, but even David wasn’t this in shape.

Plus, he’s wearing robes that look like they’re kin to the ones Ceria bought. Magical robes that look like silk and shine—except that his clothing is even shinier*.

*I think my brain’s literally shutting down. This is wrong. People…a person shouldn’t be this perfect.

And then I look up and meet a pair of eyes that are blue in one orb and violet in the other.

No. Blue and violet? What, am I in elementary school? The colors I see are far deeper than that. I look into this man’s eyes—

And I see a tiny bit of magic caught forever.

It should be impossible, but it’s like staring into one of those nebulas in outer space. The amethyst and azure—no, even those words aren’t good enough. When I see the celestial colors in his eyes, the words heliotrope and cerulean spring to mind. Fancy words to describe a wordless sight.

The colors shift together in his irises, exactly like the ever-changing colors of the solar clouds. Nebulae. The pupils shift towards me, and I feel like someone’s tagged me with a cattle prod*. I still don’t know how I’m uninjured or what this place is, but I can guess by assuming what he is.

*I don’t know what that actually feels like firsthand but—it’s like my entire body is being shocked, and not just in a bad way.

A mage. Or maybe the word sorcerer or wizard applies here. Because if this guy is a mage, he’s an archmage or a magus.

The mysterious old mage-guy crooks one finger upwards at me.

“Stand, please.”

I push myself up and onto my feet easily, again sans pain or the gaping holes in my body I know should be there. Why?

Now that I’m on my feet, I see I’m also shorter than this man by at least a few inches. And I’m six foot one. He’s tall, handsome, and even if his skin isn’t dark it’s—

I blink for a second. Odd, I could have sworn his skin was white, but it’s darker than that. He looks…middle eastern? Yeah, a moderate olive brown whitened by a long time out of the sun maybe. But I could have sworn he had white skin when I first saw him.

(His scales glow in the light. The golden Dragon looks at me and—)

No—it’s the light. I want to look up, but the light is changing in the room somehow. It’s as if there’s a massive color filter over the room making everything appear different. Is there a massive mirror or something…?

But then the mage looks me up and down, and I realize something else is wrong. Namely, something is wrong with my clothes.

My flesh is healed, but the fabric is weak. And when a bunch of pterodactyl-type birds start trying to shred you from above and Gargoyles are spitting stone chunks at you, a wardrobe malfunction is sort of inevitable.

One of the stone shards must have cut me on the right shoulder, because my bra strap’s been sliced in two. That wouldn’t be so bad—except that an important part of my shirt is missing too. Right around the chest area.

It’s cold in the cavern. But the old guy gives my breast one dismissive look and sighs. He doesn’t even seem vaguely interested, which annoys me more than I feel relieved he’s not some pervert-sorcerer*.

*Look, obviously I care about the dignity of women. Anyone whistling at me on the street I have an urge to throw into a trashcan. But when nakedness occurs, you expect at least some kind of reaction out of any male, gay or straight or asexual. Even if it’s covering their eyes and turning away politely or staring like a monkey. But this guy doesn’t even blink. Even a blind guy would be happier to be told there was a naked woman in front of him. Respect is very important, but I’d like some acknowledgment I’m more important than a rock.

“Ah, of course. Clothing.”

He tsks and raises a finger. I’d really love to dodge or ask what he’s doing, but I’m helpless.

“[Repair].”

His finger doesn’t even glow. Unlike when Sostrom repaired my iPhone, I can see no flash of magic. But magic does happen.

In an instant, my bra strap slithers back over my shoulder and reconnects itself. I feel, without being able to turn my head, my clothing growing to cover the missing spots, sealing over in a matter of seconds.

That felt…incredibly creepy. But I’m happier not to be catching a cold, and the old mage seems happy too. He nods, once. Then he looks at me again.

“Human, be silent and still. Do not speak or move save that I require a response. I will ask you questions, and you will answer to the best of your abilities, promptly and audibly. You will perform no magic and act in no violent ways while you are in my home.”

He pauses. Wow. Most people just say hello when they meet me or ask me if I want a pair of shoes.

“Also, do not defecate, befoul, or otherwise sully this place in any way, shape, or form. And stand up straight.”

Okay, I’m not sure what Humans he’s used to dealing with, but—my spine is already straightening. I can’t even glare at him. Crap. Is this some kind of magical hypnosis spell? But now he’s walking around me slowly. Eying me like a piece of fish on sale at a supermarket.

“I care not about your name, but you are a Runner, a messenger, yes?”

“Yes.”

I tried to say, ‘yes, asshole’, but apparently no violence means no backchat either. He nods like he expected that reply.

“Very well. But then tell me—why did you risk such a dangerous request? Three of your kind have perished already attempting to reach my home. What drove you to risk death for this delivery?”

Again, the response comes out of me instantly before I even have time to really think about my reply.

“For the reward. Eighty gold pieces.”

Now he looks disappointed.

“Simply for that? No other reason?”

Huh. Was this all some sort of test? Well, motor mouth, do your thing.

“I took the request for the money, but also because I wanted to challenge myself. There are no other requests in the Runner’s Guild I could have taken, either. I am being blocked from other deliveries by fellow Runners, and this is the only request I could take.”

“Hm. I see. How very mundane.”

He shakes his head. In my head, I’m sort of annoyed. It’s nice to know even an archmage former athlete can be an arrogant jerk.

“Very well, then tell me: where do you come from? I have not seen features nor skin color such as yours on this continent for…a long time. Where were you born?”

Ah, now the hard questions come. But I’m ready for this. Well, not this obviously, but after meeting Lady Magnolia, I thought of the best way to deal with someone who can tell whether you’re lying or compel you to tell the truth. Either way, the only deception is in part of the truth.

“I was born in Oakland, California.”

He pauses. A brief frown creases the mage’s face.

“I am not familiar with either name. What nation does this Oakland California hail from?”

“America.”

“Hm. Another new nation. How troubling. The name feels more Chandrarian, but I suppose…well, a map should sort this out.”

The man strokes his silvery beard. Then he shakes his head.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter. Now, I wish for you to answer this question freely, but also honestly.”

He points at me.

“My spells of appraisal and identification told me nothing of your class or level when I cast them. And yet you are neither undead nor construct, and you are entirely Human. Why can I not see your class?”

At last, it seems like I can say what’s on my mind. I work my jaw and open my mouth for a few nice obscenities.

“—”

…Well damn. It looks like I still can’t just insult him, and I need to tell the truth. Fine. I look the mage in the eye and talk.

“I stopped myself from leveling. You can’t see my class because I don’t have one.”

For the first time since I’ve laid eyes on his face, the man looks genuinely startled. He tilts his head to peer more closely at me, and I notice that he has pointed ears. Oh. Of course.

“You have no level? And you refuse to accept a class? Why? Fascinating. Are we back to this again? You don’t hail from Zeres, do you? No?”

I have no idea what he means. I shake my head and, again, answer truthfully.

“I don’t like being controlled. And I think—yeah, I think that classes and levels are a way for the world or some system to control people. I want no part of it. And—it feels like cheating.”

Again, I’m treated to an expression of frank incredulity. It’s the first time I’ve ever articulated my feelings as well, and even I’m surprised by my answer. Cheating. I guess that’s really one of the big reasons why I don’t like the entire basis of this world. But people level or die, which is probably why I’m getting the fish-eye from him.

“You refused to level up out of principle. Because you think…it empowers you too much?”

“Yeah, more than other people.”

He looks fascinated by this. Suddenly, the man sits, and I see a shimmering chair made out of light appear, an armchair, which materializes in the blink of an eye. As if sitting on light is normal, the man puts his fingers together like some kind of pretentious academic. Which he now sounds like.

“But everyone is capable of levelling. The purest form of meritocracy, some call it. A few have considered there are benefits to doing without, but I have never met someone who denies levelling purely based on a disdain for its merits. You do not crave the power of Skills? At all?”

“Well, I think I’m doing pretty good on my own. I’m in good shape, I’m smart enough, and I’m faster than Runners with Skills—”

A guffaw escapes the old man’s lips so fast he catches himself. He laughs in my face—then stops.

“Oh. You are serious. Incredible. Well, one supposes extraordinarily misguided egos do appear rarely. You have not seen what levels can do then, young woman. How very narrow your worldview is.”

He smirks at me. I stare blandly back because my face won’t work…but with inner spite in my soul.

“Big talk for someone who doesn’t know where America is. Or Oakland or California.”

Cheap shots, I know, but it hits alright as his cheeks turn pink. That little bit of sass makes me feel better. He shoots me a frosty look.

“Young nations rising and falling is hardly something to keep note of for someone of my lifespan…”

His hands go up, and he checks his ears quickly as if making sure they’re there?

“…As a half-Elf. Yes. Philosophical inquiry into the function of classes and levels is far more pertinent to any discussion. Although—you probably don’t even know what I’m talking about, do you? That’s a rhetorical question. Don’t answer it. Of course, you don’t know what a rhetorical question is, either. Human education being what it is—”

For a moment, the mage’s eyes trail off. So he’s a haughty half-Elf recluse. From being the imperious mage he becomes something like what I’d expect an old, lecture-style college professor to be like. He gets out of his armchair and walks around me, talking half to me, half to the air.

“You see, the rhetorical question was first invented by the Dragons. Only naturally. Of course, Elves and Dwarves adopted the practice, but it was Dragon-kind that first thought of a question that had no need for an answer. Elves were too in tune with nature; they expected answers to pop up, possibly from the rocks and trees they talked to. Dwarves on the other hand are literal creatures. If they ask you a question, they demand an answer. Humans on the other cl—hand…”

He broke off, shaking his head and sighing.

“But I forget my audience. You don’t even know what I’m talking about, do you?”

He’s still an arrogant ass. But I get the distinct impression he’s also starved for company. Well, I can still answer back, so let’s see if I can’t continue this. Even if swearing is out of the question, I’m great at getting under people’s skin. It’s practically one of my Skills – [Being a Smart-mouthed Jerk].

“I know what a rhetorical question is.”

He waves a hand at me and shakes his head pityingly.

“Yes, yes. I’m sure you do. Ah, I’d forgotten how Humans exaggerate and lie.”

Does he forget I can’t lie at the moment? I try to glare, but my facial muscles still aren’t working.

“Would I really be that much of an idiot that I’d lie about knowing what a rhetorical question is?”

“Well of course, I would assume—”

Pause. I enjoy the look on his face for a few seconds before he gives me a flat-lidded stare. Well, if I die at least I died doing what I do best. You can put that on my gravestone*.

*Ryoka Griffin, 1995 – 2016. “Never knew when to shut up.”

“Ah. I see that you are marginally more intelligent than the others I have met. Very well then, perhaps you will be able to answer my next question as well.”

He gestures, and from out of nowhere a map flies over and unfurls itself in the air. It’s a real map, old and dusty. I really want to sneeze, but I can’t. It stays motionless in the air as the mage shows me a map of the continent. Damn. I really wanted to see the world map.

Mr. Mage taps the old parchment with one finger.

“I wish to know of any ongoing major wars between multiple nations, new technologies or spells developed, legendary monsters sighted or slain—import of that nature. Tell me all the news you have heard of in the past several years or so. What has transpired while I have been…secluded here?”

Oh boy, I’m going to love this. I give him the most casual shrug possible and spread my arms out.

“Dunno.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t pay attention to world news. You probably know more about what’s going on than I do.”

Blink, blink. Oh yes, score one for Ryoka Griffin*.

*He’s still up by a few hundred thousand points, though.

Again, the mage harrumphs and glares at me, but his truthiness spell on me is working, and both he and I know it. He sighs, tugs at his beard again, and tries a different tack.

“Do you at least know if Magnolia Reinhart still lives?”

“…Yes.”

“Indeed, indeed. That is good. Well then, have you heard of a strange child known as Ryoka Griffin? She is a Runner, like you, although presumably high-level in the [Runner] class, unlike you. I am told her leg is currently injured or she may have been recently healed. Do you know of her?”

Oh gods. Poker face. There is so much I want to ask in those last few sentences, but—stick to the truth!

“I know of a Ryoka Griffin, yes.”

“Indeed? Do you know her address, a location where she stays at night? I have tried scrying her with magic, but either the name I was given was wrong or she is protected by powerful magic.”

Now why the hell would Magnolia…? No, that’s a stupid question. I know the answer to that. But why wouldn’t he be able to find me? I don’t have any magical protections on me, not any that I’m aware of*. And how the hell am I going to answer? Ah, got it. Again, with the truth.

*Note to self: have this checked out and buy something soon.

“Ryoka Griffin—Ryoka doesn’t have a permanent place of residence. She moves around a lot, and she doesn’t stay in one city or inn for very long if she can help it.”

The old man sighs at me and shakes his head.

“Very well, very well. I shall have to ask again for her true name, if that is the case. Although why Reinhart would have failed to extract her full name astounds me.”

Aha! I’ve got it. I know why he can’t find me with magic. He might be able to cast the highest-level scrying spell or whatever, but it’s no use if he can’t spell my name. Turns out having a dad who gives you a traditional Japanese name comes in handy once in a while. Ryoka. Trying spelling the kanji on that one, sucker*.

*Kanji, the written language of Japan. My name is Japanese, and although my U.S. birth certificate shows the English reading of it—Ryoka—my real name as given to me is 涼香. I’m willing to bet that he’d need to know that in order to find me.

Being stumped at anything seems to be a unique experience for this guy. He looks put out, at any rate, but then he turns his attention back to me, and I get the full intensity of his stare again.

“Well, as interesting as this has been, I have no further questions for you. Runner, tell me, are you one of the better Runners in your guild, despite your lack of levels?”

“Yes.”

No exaggeration or deceit needed there. The old guy looks unconvinced, but he nods reluctantly.

“Very well. In that case, hear my request. You have come here seeking payment and a delivery. I will offer you your paltry sum, but you will complete my request, sparing no effort to fulfill it, either by your own hands or ones more qualified. Is that understood?”

“…Yes.”

I really don’t like the sound of that. And I’ve got a bad feeling that whatever he’s going to ask of me, I’m going to be bound to do. A geas*. Damn.

*A geas, or geis if you prefer the Irish spelling, is a type of quest. Or…an oath bound by fate and magic. Look it up if you don’t know. Old myths and stories were full of them, and they never ended well for the people who took them on. Here’s hoping this one’s a simple task.

He points at me. I can already hear the silent orchestra in the background playing. Great. Why not add some wind and special effects to make it even more dramatic, old man?

“You will go to the area known as the Blood Fields and locate the individual known as Az’kerash. Or—perhaps he uses his former, Human name. Perril. Perril Chandler, I believe.”

Perril Chandler? That’s a far cry from Az’kerash. But since I can still talk, I guess it’s time to ask as much as I can.

“Who is this guy?”

The man eyes me again, as if I should know. I shrug, and he sniffs and shakes his head.

“He is a powerful mage. A [Necromancer], to be exact. But I believe he would be most easily identifiable by appearance. His hair is pale white, as is his skin. His eyes are violet. Although—he may use illusion spells to conceal such features when moving about. You may have heard of him as the Necromancer of Terandria and that he had passed away—he has not. Hence the geas—the rest of the world thinks him dead, and I would not wish to start another continental war, possibly intercontinental, by making a mess of things.”

Oh fuck. Isn’t he supposed to be dead, according to the Horns? But all I can do is listen.

Silver-beard strokes said beard again and pauses. He seems to think for a moment and then nods.

“I suppose the easiest way would be to go wherever the undead are most prevalent. He has an army. A fortress of the dead, to be exact. If you can make it here…well, you are the only Runner to reach even my humble abode, so I must take the chance.”

Oh fuck. Oh geez. Oh gods almighty and deceased tap-dancing on my unmarked grave. That does not sound like a survivable request.

The old mage is already turning away, but I can’t just take that and run off. I clear my throat, and he turns and reluctantly looks back towards me.

“Speak.”

“Ah. If this guy—Az’kerash is surrounded by the dead, how am I supposed to get to him without being killed?”

He looks annoyed at the question or perhaps my stupidity.

“Naturally, his bodyguards will attempt to slay you. No doubt they regard all living beings as a threat. You must simply make your way to him, regardless of the peril. Besides, most of the animated dead are slow and easy to outrun.”

“Yeah, but they have arrows. How am I supposed to dodge those?”

“You are a Runner, are you not? Can you not simply outrun arrows?”

“…No. I can’t outrun spells either, and I’ve seen undead mages. I won’t survive more than a few seconds if I run into a Lich by myself.”

Silver-beard looks put out. He tugs at his beard again, almost as if he wants to rip it off.

“Confounded hair—I suppose I should have expected as much from a Human Runner. Without levels. Very well. If that is the case…”

He trails off. Looks like he’s deep in thought, but I still have more questions. I clear my throat again, and his brows snap together as he glares at me.

“Why can’t you just send the package or whatever it is with magic or something? Is it too heavy to transport? Because if it is—”

“Magic is not the solution here. The one I wish to deliver a letter and small item to—he is shielded from location or communication from any form of spell, either malign or beneficial. As am I. I cannot discern his location nor speak with him save through the slowest of methods, which is why I requested a Runner. Also, it is the principle of the thing. I am not doing this out of pleasure, but obligation. Damned obligation…ahem. Thus, I will also require your return to report success.”

Even better. I really should not open my big mouth.

“I barely survived getting here. I probably won’t a second time. And if finding this [Necromancer] is as dangerous as it sounds—”

“I heard you. Be silent.”

Well, there goes speech. I helplessly stand and watch as the old man talks to himself.

“This is why…Humans…it cannot be helped. Hm. A Courier would have been far more preferable. But if the issue is simply a matter of survival and speed, I suppose…”

He looks around. Then he points and beckons. From a corner of the cavern I can’t see, a bottle flies into his hand. Mages can use the Force. Who knew?

Silver-beard holds the bottle out to me. I stare at it. It’s an orange—no, a glowing orange-pink mixture contained in a glass bottle. It looks like nothing I’d want to put in my body, but my hand reaches up to take it anyways.

“Here. Take this as your fee for delivery. As to your fee for arriving here, albeit injured—”

Another gesture, and a shower of gold swirls up into the air and down into a bag he holds out in his hand. Despite the amount of money, the bag doesn’t even ripple as the coins flow into it.

The mage hands me the bag, and I find myself placing it at my hip.

“The potion is a concoction that will enhance your speed greatly. Do not drink it all at once. A single dose should suffice for any monster, undead or otherwise, that you encounter. With it, you should be able to reach Perril Chandler more or less intact. Be sure not to confuse mana potions with health potions either. Your mana poisoning was most inconvenient to deal with.”

Oh. Was that what it was? Damn. It all makes sense now. No wonder I wasn’t healing. But I could have sworn Ceria gave me the right potions.

“Was the mana poisoning bad? If so—thank you, I guess.”

Silver-hair raises his eyebrows as if surprised.

“Mana poisoning? You would certainly not have died from the amount of mana you imbibed. Violent illness, fever, and uncontrollable bodily excretion would have been the worst you would have suffered over the next few days if I had left it alone.”

Wow. Suddenly, I’m really glad he took the time to heal that.

“Was it intentional? If you were attempting to augment your body, I must tell you it was done poorly. A minuscule increase to your diet is the only way to properly acclimatize the Human body to magic. Not that I would expect modern mages to know how to naturalize magic within themselves.”

Okay, if my ears could move, they would definitely perk up at that. And I’d love to ask more questions, but suddenly, my employer seems eager to have me gone. He shakes his head and flicks his fingers at me.

“Regardless, do not injure yourself unnecessarily while fulfilling my task. Take this letter and this ring.”

Two more objects fly out of nowhere, and the mage hands them to me. The first is a scroll, tightly sealed with wax. The second is a small ring made of what looks like silver and an onyx gem. I say ‘looks like’, because when my hand closes over the metal it feels warm, and both gem and metal seem to be shining from within. Magic. It looks amazing, though.

The old man eyes me sternly and points to both items.

“Do not wear the ring or you will suffer excruciatingly. The same goes for opening the letter, is that clear?”

“Crystal.”

He eyes me again and shakes his head. Then he seems to waver, bits his lip, and grumbling, flicks his hand.

“The Bloodfields should be empty, but—just in case, and in addition to my generous remunerations, I shall present you with this wand. It is a powerful flame wand for self-defense.”

A crystal wand with what looks like red magma joins the other objects. He hands it to me—but holds on as if reluctant to give it away.

“Do not use it unless you are removed from your target. You understand? If you have no need of it on this trip—it will doubtless sell for some good coin. I trust you will do your best to survive. Retrieving my gift and message would be inconvenient.”

“Nice to know you care. I guess I should just see myself out then?”

“And waste time? No. I will expedite the first leg of your journey. Regardless of my healing, you will need several days no doubt to fully recover from the magic used and prepare for the journey ahead of you. Do not delay.”

He points at the ground at my feet. I nearly jump out of my skin as an intricate circle of countless interconnected shapes and runes appears at my feet.

Oh, apparently I can move now. But Silver-mane scowls at me, and my feet immediately shuffle back into the center of the circle.

“What—what is this?”

“A teleportation spell. Have you not—but of course, I suppose your mages are too weak for that. Now, where do you live?”

“Celum. But hey, I can run back. The potion you gave me—”

“Do not waste its effects. It is worth far more than the gold I gave you. Now, this city Celum—it is not too far from here, yes?”

“Less than a hundred miles. Not too far, yeah.”

He seems immune to sarcasm. The mage strokes at his beard as he talks to himself.

“Celum? Celum…ah. I believe I remember the general vicinity.”

He points again, and the circle glows. I wonder if he needs to chant spells like some of the mages I’ve seen. But then—this guy seems to be head and shoulders above every other mage, so I guess words are optional.

At last, the mage nods. The magic runes at my feet begin to glow brightly.

“The spell will take you to the heart of the city. Go, and carry out my request as soon as you are able.”

“Thanks for the encouragement.”

He waves his hand at me and then pauses. Reluctantly, he looks at me as the glowing magic circle at my feet begins to shine with multiple gradients of light.

“I suppose it would violate the basic rules of hospitality not to inquire. So tell me Runner—what is your name? I am Teriarch. Speak it not but remember it, for what it is worth.”

For a moment, he looks sad, then dignified, as if he’s some fount of great wisdom and dignity in his hideaway. And I? I grin at him. Well, I guess I can go for one parting shot. The runes at my feet glow—and I feel myself being dragged away by something massive. I open my mouth and say two words.

“Ryoka Griffin.”

Then I’m gone.

——

Teriarch stopped and stared at the place where the Human known as Ryoka Griffin had just been. Desperately, he reached out, but even with magic, she was already out of his grasp. Short of casting multiple undirected spells that would teleport quite a bit of the city back here, she was gone.

Cursing silently in his own language, Teriarch berated himself for not observing basic etiquette. True, it was with a Human, but—how was he supposed to know it was that exact Runner who would show up on his doorstep?

Ah, well. He knew her face, and that would make her marginally easier to locate. Teriarch was still unclear what strange power shielded her from his scrying spells, especially since Ryoka had no magical power or even classes of her own. She was a strange Human, but now he understood part of Reinhart’s fascination with her.

It would be a truly problematic occurrence if she were to die delivering his message. If he’d known it was her, he would have given her another item of far greater ability. If she died, Magnolia would have his hide.

That was one of his concerns. The other was that either the earth had lowered again in the last few years or he’d miscalculated the exact coordinates of the city of Celum. To be more accurate, he’d been spot on in every geographical specification except one—

Altitude.

Teriarch winced as in his magical view of the city of Celum he saw Ryoka appear. She was more or less in the center of the city as he’d claimed, but she was definitely too high up. He watched her plummet down out of the sky from roof-height.

“Oops. Ah, well. This is why Humans use healing potions after all.”

He turned. Ryoka would live, and he was busy. Busy and annoyed at having to do work after so soon. He didn’t think long on Ryoka. Magnolia could have what she wanted, but he—

He was aloof. Separate. He didn’t think to ask what had driven her to run almost to her death here. Because he didn’t care. He had done his duty in regards to Perril Chandler, distasteful as such things were. Duty, obligation—and a bit of work before he could rest once more. The old man strode off to take care of the work that had built up.

Teriarch made it a few steps and then tripped again. This time, it was over his robes. He growled.

“Flayed scales and hoard blight!”

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.44 R

Ryoka sat in an inn and munched on her potatoes and stewed meat. She felt guilty about it, but the dinner menu hadn’t exactly been diverse with options, and she was hungry. Still, she felt guilty.

Her plate was about 80% potato and 20% meat. And it wasn’t great meat at that. The potatoes actually weren’t that bad—the people here spiced them up pretty strong with their unique blend of peppers and herbs, so they were palatable, but it was definitely not the kind of meal a healthy runner should eat.

Plus, this was her second plate. The guilt was real, but Ryoka couldn’t do much about it. She took another bite of the steaming potatoes and tried not to think about dieting or proper nutritional intake.

Normally, she avoided carbo-loading unless she was actually going to run a race but…she deserved a treat. Besides, she was officially resting at the moment after all the healing she’d been doing. And again, the inn wasn’t serving anything else, so she had to make do.

Potatoes and meat, with a lot more gristle than she was used to. Still, it tasted good, and she was used to rugged fare, especially when she went camping.

Not modern-day camping, either. Ryoka disdained people who slept in their own car or, worse, in a huge trailer they towed to campsites. No, she preferred roughing it with a sleeping bag, enough food for a few days, and the bare essentials. That was living.

But she had to admit, it would be nice to have a hamburger once in a while. And fresh vegetables like kale. Right now, harvest season had passed and it was late fall (although it certainly didn’t feel that cold), and vegetables were in shorter supply.

More meat, more vegetables, a lot fewer carbs. That would be better. But you got what you paid for. Ryoka sighed and ate another chunk of potato. It wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t great either. At least someone else was enjoying her meal.

Garia finished her third plate of potatoes and meat and took a deep draft from her mug before sighing contentedly. She had a good appetite. Well, she would. Ryoka surreptitiously eyed Garia’s arms and body. She might not have a six pack, but Ryoka hadn’t seen arms that thick on another girl outside of an MMA tournament.

Not that she was muscled like those idiots who used steroids. Garia was just a heavier girl, one who clearly was used to heavy lifting.

“Do you always do the heaviest deliveries possible?”

Garia paused as she raised her mug to her lips.

“Um, yes. Normally. I mean, I’m not too fast, but I can still earn quite a lot on an overnight delivery.”

Ryoka was trying to pretend her shoulders didn’t hurt. Which they did. Immensely. The strain from hauling that much weight…and Garia seemed fine. So Ryoka was fine. Fuck you. She was so fine—she coughed as she reached for a cup of water.

“Those spices you carried here. All the way from Wales. They were heavy. I saw the size of your pack. Must have been sixty, eight pounds of weight. And you jogged the entire way here?”

Garia shifted and blushed a bit.

“Well, if you distribute the weight properly, it’s not that bad. And sometimes I walk a bit if I get tired.”

“Hm. Impressive.”

Holy shit you’re amazing. But that part didn’t come out. Just a grunt—and Garia’s look of pleasure and blush made Ryoka feel so guilty she pretended she didn’t see it.

Ryoka bit into another potato and eyed the browned onions as Garia turned red. She clearly wasn’t used to praise, but Ryoka was impressed by anyone who could run with that much weight.

“The Runner’s Guild requests are a mix between fast deliveries, safe deliveries, and heavy deliveries, right?”

“That’s right. Most deliveries people want fast over long distances, like the ones you take. But sometimes they want to make sure no one reads their message, so that’s important too. But when they need something delivered quickly—well, faster than by cart or wagon and it’s small enough—we get the heavy requests. I take those most of the time. It’s safe. No one wants to steal raw ore or a few bags of sugar. The most expensive stuff I carry are weapons and spices.”

“Hm.”

Ryoka wondered just how efficient Runners were compared to a wagon. But then, she’d seen the traffic jams that occurred in cities and how muddy the roads could get. Runners might be expensive, but if you needed something now, they were your only real option.

As Ryoka lifted her fork to her mouth, she glanced up and saw a man staring at her across the room. He immediately glanced back down at his plate as their eyes met, but he was far from the only one. Several other men and women of various ages glanced away or, in a few cases, met Ryoka’s gaze as she looked around the room. Even the barmaids eyed her surreptitiously as they delivered another plate of food for Garia.

Ryoka scowled. Garia noticed the other Runner’s expression and realized what was making Ryoka unhappy.

“They’re just interested, Ryoka. There’s no need to look like that.”

“If they’re so interested, they can come over and talk or they can bugger off.”

Garia blinked. Sometimes, Ryoka used the strangest expressions when she talked, but Garia could usually understand what she meant. The glare Ryoka leveled at her watchers was unmistakable, though. Garia tried to sound reasonable.

“Well, can you blame them? I mean, you are the only Runner to survive the High Passes for years—and without a scratch at that! And when you fell out of the sky—”

“Don’t remind me.”

Ryoka scowled down at her plate and tried not to remember. Her back still ached, even though the healing potions had done their work. Shoulders ache, back ache…headache. At least she hadn’t broken anything again or landed on her head.

“Damn elfish mage bastard.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Anyways, I didn’t get out unscathed. I got torn up on the way in, and I needed serious healing or I would have died.”

“Oh, so you found a healing potion? Ceria was so worried when she realized she’d given you the mana potions.”

“…Something like that. And it’s odd. I could have sworn she gave me healing potions too.”

“She’s really, really sorry, you know.”

“I know. Anyways, it’s both our faults for not double-checking.”

Ryoka scowled at her half-finished plate. Garia fidgeted, clearly wanting to clear Ceria’s name

“She said she tried to contact you several times. Didn’t you, um, notice?”

Ryoka glared harder at her innocent plate. She tried not to let her voice get too defensive, but it was hard.

“How was I supposed to know I was supposed to touch those damn fireflies to speak with her? I thought I was being hexed or something.”

“Oh, no. That’s the way students at Wistram Academy communicate apparently. Ceria doesn’t know other spells so…”

“I get it. I’m not mad at her. Anyways, I survived. It all worked out.”

Except of course that she had more problems than she’d started out with. Ryoka could still feel Teriarch’s words burning in the back of her mind. But she could ignore them, so long as she reminded herself she still needed to prepare. The strange potion he’d given her was locked in Ryoka’s chest upstairs.

“Come to that, where is Ceria? I haven’t seen her. I’d have assumed she’d be right here along with Gerial and Calruz.”

Garia shook her head.

“They’re all out of the city. Calruz came by and gathered all the members. Apparently, they’re going to Esthelm to prepare to enter the ruins in Liscor.”

“Oh.”

Ryoka’s expression didn’t alter noticeably, but she swore internally. She raised her mug to her lips, opened her mouth to ask another question, and this time swore externally.

“Damnit.”

Fals walked across the inn, flashing a smile at one of the barmaids and clasping hands with someone he recognized. He stopped at Ryoka’s table and hesitated. There were three chairs, but Ryoka’s foot had magically appeared in the third seat.

“Ryoka, how are you? I was hoping I could talk to you!”

“Were you?”

Ryoka stared as Fals dragged up another chair and sat next to Garia, who blushed and edged away from him. Ryoka wasn’t quite glaring—mainly because Garia was kicking her none-too-gently in the shins and trying to get her to play nice. She didn’t feel like playing nice.

“I just wanted to congratulate you on your delivery. Everyone in the city’s talking about it.”

“Good for them.”

Garia glared, and Ryoka toned down the rampant hostility in her voice. Fals cleared his throat, looking abashed.

“Look, I’m, ah, sorry about earlier. We didn’t part on the best of terms, did we?”

Ryoka stared. Fals hesitated and then went on.

“The Guild—and I—would like to apologize. Clearly, you’re a great Runner, and we’d hate to lose you. We’ll talk to Magnolia, and if you’d like to take on more requests, we’ll be happy to let you take any one you want.”

Mentally, Ryoka translated his statement. Since she’d won and defied Magnolia, she had stopped blocking Ryoka. Or the Guild wanted a share of her delivery and was willing to flip Magnolia off because they’d had enough of her bossing them around. Well, she could live with that. And so would the Guild.

She didn’t respond, though. Instead, Ryoka slowly and deliberately took a big bite of potato and chewed slowly as she stared down Fals. It was awkward as hell, but she enjoyed his discomfort.

Fals cleared his throat and glanced at Garia, but the other girl was trying not to make eye contact with him and wolfing down her food.

“So, um, how were the High Passes? Did you see a lot of monsters, or were you able to outrun them?”

“Saw a lot of monsters. Nasty ones.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“…Any interesting ones?”

Ryoka shrugged.

“Gargoyles, birds with teeth, killer goats, and wolf packs. You’d love it there.”

“Ah. Well—well done on avoiding them. What about the client? I take it you got the request from him in person, right? What was he like? Or is it a she?”

Garia looked up, curious. Ryoka glanced around. She felt like several nearby patrons on each table were listening. She nodded to herself and then looked at Fals.

“Confidential.”

“Ah.”

The conversation stalled. Well, it hadn’t really been going that well in the first place, and Ryoka bluntly shot down all of Fals’ attempts to ask about the High Passes or her delivery. At last, he leaned forwards and gave Ryoka his most charming smile.

“I know you’re still recuperating, but I’d love to go on a delivery with you sometime. Maybe you, me, and Garia could do a request?”

“Maybe.”

That was Ryoka’s way of saying no, and all three Runners knew it. Fals didn’t falter though.

“Is there, um, anything I can do for you? I know you’re probably still mad, but I’d love to make it up to you. Would you, say, let me buy you a few drinks?”

Ryoka thought about this while Garia tried to signal her to say ‘yes’ covertly. She nodded at last.

“There is something you can do.”

Fals smiled in relief. He exhaled, and his head rose—it had been sinking progressively with each rejection. He gave Ryoka a huge, expectant smile.

“Really? Well then, what is it?”

Ryoka nodded, deadpan.

“You can clear out. I’m talking to Garia.”

He blinked at her while Garia groaned audibly. Fals tried to smile it off, but Ryoka’s expression was still deadpan. After a few seconds, he stood up awkwardly.

“Well, ah, I’ll be going. It was nice talking to you, Ryoka. And I’ll see you around, Garia.”

He walked around the table and paused for only a second by Ryoka. She heard him whisper just loud enough so she could hear it.

“Watch yourself. Persua left the Guild with her group this morning. She’ll probably try something. Even if the Guild’s watching her—she’s gone mad.”

She glanced up. Fals gave her a Gallic shrug and walked off. Ryoka shook her head in disgust and then received a sharp kick to her shin. She glanced up.

“You didn’t have to be so rude.”

Garia hissed at Ryoka, her normally amicable face clouded over by a frown. She looked at Fals as the Runner left the inn, disappointed. Then she turned back to Ryoka.

“He was trying to say sorry, Ryoka. Why’d you chase him off?”

“I’m not going to ruin my dinner listening to forced apologies and have him try to find out what I’m delivering. You know that’s what he was here to do.”

Garia hesitated.

“Not—necessarily. He, uh—why don’t you like him?”

Ryoka blinked at the sudden change in topic.

“He’s annoying. I hate charmers, and he’s not even that charming to begin with. Whose side is he on, anyways?”

“No one’s. He’s trying to keep the Guild together, Ryoka.”

“By stepping on anyone who gets out of line? Good method. He didn’t stop Persua and her cronies from attacking me—and he’s not going to do it again by the sounds of it.”

“He would if you let him stick around. Fals can’t do anything to Persua except talk to her, but he’s trying to help. He was celebrating when he heard they got demoted to Street Runners! And he told Claudeil when no one was sure if you were going to walk again—he told him that if you didn’t walk, he should leave the region that night.”

Ryoka Griffin blinked at Garia. She hadn’t known that. Was Fals going to…pull a Persua on Claudeil? But almost instantly she had a thought, and faster than she could think twice, Ryoka sneered.

“Oh, how chivalrous. Too bad he couldn’t say that to Persua. And I’m not sleeping with him either way.”

She snorted—and Garia pushed her. It was a shove—which sent Ryoka sprawling out of her chair and rolling across the floor.

“Ryoka!”

Garia was surprised—Ryoka rolled into a table and sprang up as the background noise stopped.

Holy heck, I was just pushed by a gorilla. That wasn’t an insult—that was how it felt. Terrifyingly strong. Garia was beet-red as everyone stared at her. Ryoka slowly sat down.

“D-don’t be nasty. Fals likes you. He’s just not—don’t be nasty. You’re the one who keeps provoking Persua, you know. I know she’s bad, but he’s on your side.”

Ryoka raised her eyebrows. She sat without a word. She hadn’t expected that. Nor did she quite believe it. The two Runner girls sat in silence as Garia grew less red, and Ryoka took her time replying. She tried to be more diplomatic this time—and the end result was moderately better.

“Good for him, but I don’t need help.”

“Not even with Persua?”

Garia saw Ryoka’s hand tighten on her fork, almost crushing the cheap pot metal.

“Not even with her. I’ll deal with Persua now that I know what she’s like.”

Garia was doubtful.

“She’s like a dog, Ryoka. Even if you hurt her, she’ll keep coming back. And if you do get her mad, she gets vicious.”

“Oh, she’s like a dog. A female one. And you know what? I’m tired of her shit. If she tries anything again, I’ll put her down.”

Ryoka was about to go on, but Garia started frantically signaling her to stop. Ryoka didn’t stop, though. She’d already seen the multiple reflections in her mug, but some things needed saying.

“She’s annoying, stupid, craven, and she doesn’t know how to run. I still owe her a broken leg. If she thinks she can try something else—”

“Hi Persua!”

Ryoka looked up. Persua stood in front of the table, smiling in a not-so-friendly way down at the two Runners. She had her usual group of cronies at her back, and Ryoka spotted a bigger guy behind them. Toriska and Claudeil were flanking someone six-foot-four—with a neck like a tree stump. But Persua was the one Ryoka focused on.

Fals hadn’t lied. The little, false, ‘friendly’ look Persua always gave had calcified. Now, it flaked away, revealing a sharp dagger of hatred that jabbed at Ryoka. She wasn’t just pissed…but it came out of her voice in the most syrupy-sweet tones Ryoka had heard. It made the hairs on her arms stand up.

Uh oh.

“Ryoka, Garia! I’m so glad you’re okay! I almost didn’t spot you, but then I saw Garia—she’s impossible to miss even in this crowd—and I decided to say hi!”

Garia turned bright red and looked down at her stack of plates while Ryoka looked up and met Persua’s eyes. A spark of hatred wouldn’t be enough to describe the look that flashed between the two.

Mean girls. Ryoka remembered them from school. Persua was a perfect representation of the school social climber who would tear down anyone she didn’t like.

And like the other girls Ryoka had clashed with, Persua didn’t need an invitation to keep talking. Her eyes flicked to Garia and then back to Ryoka.

“So sorry to interrupt your conversation. Were you talking about me by any chance?”

Garia flinched, but Ryoka’s expression didn’t change. She nodded and raised her mug to Persua and smiled a tiny bit.

“Yeah, sorry, I just called you a bitch.”

Persua’s smile vanished in a heartbeat. Claudeil made a sound that might have been a guffaw—but then he went quiet. Garia’s mouth opened in an ‘o’ of horror as she stared at Ryoka. Toriska looked at Persua, and even she looked worried.

“That’s not very nice. I’d hate to think you were talking behind my back, Ryoka.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll do it to your face. I’m busy, Persua. Go somewhere else.”

“What if I want to stay? I’ve a right to sit in this inn, same as you.”

“Find another table. But if I were you, I’d get out.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

Persua hesitated. She probably hadn’t expected Ryoka to confront her this quickly, but Ryoka knew how the conversation would have gone regardless. She nodded at Persua and her group.

“You lot gonna piss off or do I have to make you leave?”

If Garia could have edged any further back from her table she’d be sitting at the one behind her. For a second, Persua and her friends hesitated. They might be Runners and outnumber the two by a good margin, but Ryoka had a certain edge about her. But then someone shoved his way through the group and stood next to Persua.

Ryoka looked up past Persua and into a solid face. Solid, or ugly, if you wanted to be unkind. Toriska had her knife—but Ryoka had just been facing down Gargoyles and goats with knives for teeth. Toriska was the one who took a step back, and even Claudeil hesitated.

“Persua, the Guild’ll—”

“Hey, Claudeil? Shut up.”

She turned her head, and her friend went quiet. The rest of the Runners were edging back, not wanting to be seen and get in trouble, and if it was just Persua, Claudeil, and Toriska, Ryoka would try them all on—she could grab a plate, and they could eat shards of pottery.

But Persua had brought backup this time. An adventurer scowled down at Ryoka and leaned forwards over the table.

“I’d watch your mouth if I were you, Runner. You should show more respect to your seniors and betters.”

Of course. Ryoka stared into murky green eyes and cursed herself for not remembering. Another trick mean girls liked to use when they couldn’t solve things with words. Run to the biggest boy in the room.

“I don’t know who you are, but you’re in my face. Go away, and take Persua and her crew with you.”

The adventurer blinked. He was doing the classic male trick of crowding Ryoka, and it wasn’t working. She wasn’t even leaning back, and they were nearly nose to nose.

“This is Arnel. He’s a Bronze-ranked adventurer in Celum.”

Persua smiled from behind the adventurer. She patted Arnel on the shoulder, and he straightened and smiled back at her. She made a face when he turned back to glare at Ryoka. It was almost sad to see how obvious her contempt for him was and how much Arnel was being played. Almost. Ryoka had little sympathy for any guy playing the bully part.

Arnel leaned forwards again, this time towards Garia, who shrank back. He glared at Ryoka, who stared back at him until he blinked.

“I think you should be a little more respectful to Miss Persua. An apology would be a good start, and I’d insist on it.”

“Or what?”

Garia kicked Ryoka again, hard.

“Or what?”

Arnel looked back at Persua, who laughed shrilly. He smiled hostilely at Ryoka.

“I guess then I’d have to teach you a lesson in manners, Runner.”

“Really? That would be amusing to watch.”

The adventurer’s face went blank for a moment. Again, this wasn’t going according to how his brain had plotted the conversation out. But Persua stepped in to help him. She glared down at Ryoka.

“Arnel’s an adventurer. He’s fought monsters and slain countless Goblins. You don’t have that oaf of a Minotaur and that freak half-Elf to protect you now, Ryoka.”

“Who says I need backup?”

This was too much for the impressionable Arnel. He was aware some of the other inn goers were snickering at him, and even the fat innkeeper was working up the nerve to order him to take the fight outside. He snarled and pushed Ryoka roughly in her seat.

“Look, you idiot. I’m giving you only one warning—”

Ryoka stood up. She was shorter than Arnel, but far taller than he expected at 6’1’’, and when she pushed back her chair, the inn went silent. She still had her mug in her hands. Arnel was trying to come up with a good threat, but Persua backed away as Ryoka raised her mug to her lips.

She took a sip of her drink—mainly just for show—and then tossed the rest of her mug’s contents into the adventurer’s face. He blinked as watery ale ran down his nose and chin. Garia’s expression was a waxwork. Persua smiled evilly. Toriska and Claudeil hesitated and looked at Persua’s face and then at each other. Their Guild memberships! But if Ryoka started the fight—

The adventurer was still shifting from shock to outrage when Ryoka decked him with a spinning backhand. He crashed to the ground, and she tossed the mug at Persua. Not hard—well, okay, hard enough that the other girl had to duck before the container broke her nose, but not as hard as Ryoka could have tossed it. The cheap pottery shattered to bits, and Ryoka waited for Arnel to stand back up.

“You craven whore!”

He shouted as he rushed at her. Ryoka waited patiently as he came at her. She’d already moved far enough away from the table and cleared the chair from behind her.

The adventurer rushed at her, over a hundred—maybe two hundred pounds of angry guy. Ryoka shifted her weight and timed her strike. When the adventurer was only a few feet away, she moved.

Ryoka balanced on one leg while her other extended. She didn’t quite kick—it was more like a push. A powerful push that broke the adventurer’s charge and sent him stumbling back.

He came back, of course. They always did. But by that point, Ryoka had the room, leverage, and timing to set up her roundhouse. It came up and across his ribs, making a dull thudding sound as it struck him.

The adventurer gasped, lost the air in his lungs, and stumbled back. But he didn’t fall down.

Ryoka tried not to wince. She’d hit him hard, but he was wearing something hard underneath his clothing. Chain mail? It felt like she’d kicked that.

Quickly, before he could move, she snap-kicked him in the chest. It wasn’t a Muay Thai move—but she didn’t have enough room for anything else.

This time, Arnel fell down, but he got up at once. Ryoka grimaced and hopped back as he swung at her. She threw a punch, but he caught it and lashed out at her face.

Ryoka caught his fist on an arm and felt the heavy blow. Damn. This wasn’t good. Now Arnel was really mad, and he was swinging wildly at her. She dodged and weaved backwards, but she had little room to maneuver. Plus, Ryoka was on the wrong foot mentally.

She wasn’t used to people getting up after she hit them.

Dodge, dodge—Ryoka threw a counter and hit him squarely on the jaw. But he was tough, and when he struck back, he finally landed a blow.

Ryoka felt the impact on her head and twisted her neck, but it still hurt. She backed up, and the adventurer came at her. She tried to keep him back with punches, but he was more than willing to trade hits.

He kept rushing her, and the tables and chairs made it nearly impossible for Ryoka to weave and dodge like she’d been taught. She instead raised her hands up around her head, forming a guard on both sides of her head. It was a traditional Muay Thai guard, but the problem was the adventurer wasn’t trying to hit or kick her that much.

He was a guy, and she had the definite sense he didn’t want to hit her so much as take her down. He kept trying to go for the bear hug. She let him get close but grabbed his shoulders and swept his feet out as he lunged.

Again, he went down. Ryoka wanted to stomp on his face or kick him in the nuts or both—but something flew at her head. She struck the mug down with one hand and glanced up. Persua glared and threw another glass, which missed Ryoka by miles.

Ryoka’s moment of inattention cost her. Arnel surged upwards, and she was too slow to get away. He seized her left arm and began punching at Ryoka. She hammered at his face, but he wouldn’t let go.

He was strong. She couldn’t break free just by pulling, not that she had any intention to. Arnel hit Ryoka twice in the side of the face—not hard because he couldn’t get a good angle. She’d bloodied his nose and got him twice on the face, but he now pulled back for a big punch.

There was no way to get away. Ryoka got ready. She’d take the punch and then hit him with a knee. Hopefully she wouldn’t kill him or break anything too vital, but enough was enough.

She braced herself for a hit to her ribs. Arnel swung—

And Garia grabbed his hand.

All of the man’s momentum carried him forwards, but Garia was a tree that he crashed into. He fought to get her to let go, but Garia had hold of his hand with her own, and her grip was like steel.

It was a three way tug-of-war with Arnel holding Ryoka and Garia holding him. Not for long, though. The instant his attention shifted to Garia, Ryoka acted. She clocked the man with a downwards elbow so fast he’d let go and she was away before he could blink.

“Calm down! Everyone calm down!”

At last, Ryoka could hear what Garia was saying over the roaring of blood in her ears. Arnel was still cursing at her, tugging at Garia’s arm, and Persua was shouting for her friends to help him. But the other Runners didn’t want to get close, especially once they saw how Garia was effortlessly holding the bigger man back.

“Let go, damn you!”

“Come on, we can work this out—”

Ryoka tried to move to block, but Arnel’s fist caught Garia on the mouth even as she was talking. The bigger girl stumbled, and he wrenched his hand free. Triumphantly, Arnel turned on Ryoka and raised his fists.

Garia stumbled, put her hand to her face, and looked up at the other man as Ryoka danced back. Her eyes burned, and she straightened. Garia made a clumsy fist and then moved forwards.

Ryoka was playing tag with her fist, and Arnel’s face was it. He still wasn’t going down or even slowing, but then a planet interposed itself between her and the adventurer: Garia. Arnel raised his hands for a hammer blow, but too late. Slow as she was, the other Runner was in the way. And then it happened.

Garia threw a punch.

It was slow. Ryoka saw the other girl telegraph the motion, and she had terrible form. But when she hit the adventurer, he made a sound. Or rather, his body made a sound.

Wumph.

Ryoka had never seen someone’s feet leave the floor from a punch. Arnel levitated for a second and then touched the ground as Garia’s fist let him down back to earth. He folded up like a sack of potatoes.

He was out. Completely out, without even a chance to object. Ryoka blinked down at the adventurer and saw the chain mail had deformed around Garia’s punch. The other girl rubbed at her hand and then turned.

Claudeil had a chair raised. It was mid-swing when Garia caught it. She lifted it out of his hands, and he tried to hang on—until he felt that strength. Then he let go. Toriska had her dagger drawn, but she hadn’t jumped into the fight—mostly waved it around. She looked at Garia, at the Bronze-rank adventurer, and backed up. Ryoka was one thing, and Claudeil and Toriska hated her enough, but—Garia?

The rest of the Street Runners were already running. Persua had slipped out the door before the fight had even ended. Her friends made to follow suit, but Ryoka caught Claudeil and threw him into a table. He scrambled up, yelping, as she gave him a damn good kick to his back. Ryoka managed to punch Toriska hard enough to bruise her cheek, and then they were gone.

——

The aftermath of a tavern brawl was never fun, especially when you had an innkeeper screaming at you. But Arnel had money—barely enough to cover the costs—and Ryoka wasn’t about to pay for something she hadn’t started. Well, she had started it, but she still wasn’t going to pay.

The upshot of it was that Garia and Ryoka were kicked out of the inn, at least for the rest of dinner. They walked down the street, Garia talking excitedly to Ryoka.

“You were amazing! He barely touched you the entire time!”

“Eh. I should have knocked him out in the first few moments. He was tougher than I thought. Got me a few times.”

Gingerly, Ryoka touched at her cheek and arms. Bruises. Not too deep, but annoying. She deserved them, though, for being so sloppy.

“But the way you moved! He was an adventurer, and you treated him like some kind of Level 1 [Thug]! How’d you do it?”

“Oh, it’s just martial arts. A bit of Muay Thai and other styles.”

Ryoka glanced at Garia’s blank face and elaborated.

“It’s a way to fight unarmed. You learn how to kick, punch, throw, etcetera properly.”

“Really? This Muy—muy tai thing is good? Is it a Skill?”

Ryoka wanted to groan or roll her eyes.

“Not a Skill. It’s something you learn, not a class or anything. I learned it when I was a kid. You could learn it too.”

“Really? Well, I mean, I’d love to know how to move like that. You were amazing back there! You’re practically as good as an adventurer yourself!”

Ryoka laughed shortly.

“He wasn’t that great. And martial arts don’t work on monsters. Believe me, I figured that out the hard way.”

“Still, I couldn’t believe it. When you threw the mug in his face I thought we’d have to run for sure. But you took him down!”

Ryoka stopped. She eyed Garia and shook her head with a frown.

“No. You took him down. With one punch.”

“Yeah, but…”

Garia blushed and shook her head.

“I was just angry. You hit him way more than I did.”

This time, it was Ryoka’s turn to object.

“Don’t sell yourself short. That last punch was serious business. I hit that guy several times and he didn’t fall down, but you went right through his chainmail shirt. You’re far stronger than both me and that adventurer. That last punch you threw was harder than my kick.”

“Well, you know…I carry a lot of heavy things…”

Ryoka realized Garia was turning red, and not because she was happy. The barefoot girl stopped in the nearly empty street and eyed Garia.

“What’s wrong? It was a great punch. Your form was terrible, but being strong’s not a problem.”

“It’s just—it’s just a bit embarrassing, that’s all. You know?”

“No. Explain it to me.”

Garia clearly didn’t want to, but Ryoka wouldn’t let her off the hook. She sighed.

“I’m a [Runner]. And—I know I’m bigger than most girls. I just don’t like talking about my size.”

“You’re fine.”

“I’m glad you think so, but—it’s because of my class. And the way I eat, but my class is part of it. That’s why I’m so strong too, but it’s embarrassing.”

“Why?”

There was no getting out of it. Garia looked around, but there was no one around to hear her. Even so, she lowered her voice.

“Um, I was a [Farm Worker] before I became a [Runner]. I got to Level 14 before I changed classes. That’s why I’m so…so…”

She blushed deeply red. Ryoka looked blankly at Garia.

“So strong? What’s the problem?”

“I’m big, Ryoka! I don’t want to be, but [Farm Workers] bulk up, and it’s impossible to lose weight! My dad says it’s fine and that I take after him, but I’d rather my mother. I don’t want to be big. I want to be small and light like you and—”

Garia looked like she was about to cry. Her face was red, and she was starting to stammer. After a moment, Ryoka patted her on the shoulder.

“I’m not light. Well, I am in shape, but so are you. What’s wrong with being that strong? Anyways, a [Farm Worker] doesn’t sound like that bad a job—class. Why do you care?”

Garia shook her head despairingly. She didn’t know how to explain it.

“It’s not a great class. Or a job, really. Even [Farmers] get more respect since they actually know how to till the land and take care of it properly. I just helped out with the plowing, lifting, and so on. But when I used to tell people what class I had, they’d laugh—or they’d figure it out because of how I looked.”

Ryoka didn’t get it. She really didn’t, but it sounded like there was some elitism amongst classes. Class warfare in the literal sense? But she understood the general problem.

“People are bastards no matter what world you’re in. Look, forget about it. That class helped you out if you’re that strong without needing any training, right?”

Garia nodded and sniffed.

“It was helpful. Even if no one likes the class, we get some useful Skills. [Lesser Strength] is the first Skill most warriors get, but [Farm Workers] get it too. Um, I got that on my second level up. But then there’s [Enhanced Strength], which is what I have, and I’ve heard if you reach really high levels, some people get [Greater Strength].”

“And that’s rare?”

“I’ve never seen anyone with it. But yeah, [Enhanced Strength] only comes to warrior classes around Level 30. The fact that I got it so early on means I’m a lot stronger than normal. Dad used to make me help him pull out tree stumps instead of using a horse.”

“W-whoa.”

You had to know something about farming—or roots—to understand what that meant. She and her father had…?

That was impressive. Ryoka had always guessed Garia was strong, but this afternoon had confirmed it for her. She paused and thought before asking another question.

“If this Skill is so good, why doesn’t everyone become a [Farm Worker] for a while before becoming an adventurer? That seems like the smartest move.”

Garia looked surprised.

“Why would they do that? No one wants to work on a farm. It’s boring and tiring, Ryoka.”

“But for the Skill—”

“You don’t know you’ll get it right away. I just got lucky. Okay, a lot of workers like me get at least [Lesser Strength] quickly, but it depends. Anyways, I worked on my father’s farm until I was eighteen, and I only hit Level 14 even though I worked every day from dawn till dusk. It’s not worth it.”

“Ah.”

It sounded—well, it sounded like there was some inefficiency in the way people thought about Skills. Ryoka didn’t play many video games, but if she could get this [Enhanced Strength] from working on a farm as a kid, she’d do that. But then again—18 years was a long time, it was true.

It was a moot point anyways since Ryoka didn’t intend to level, even if she was jealous of Garia’s strength. But the other girl was clearly embarrassed by her body and her class, so Ryoka let the topic drop.

“At least Persua got taught a lesson, although I missed my chance to break her arm. I’ll have to do it next time I see her.”

Garia winced. She knew Ryoka wasn’t kidding.

“Please don’t. If you do, she’ll try something worse.”

“Worse than getting an adventurer to beat the crap out of me? I think I’ll take my chances.”

Ryoka shook her head. She’d have to do something about that girl. Killing her was tempting, but she probably couldn’t get away with it.

“Never mind. I appreciate the help. But I’ve got bigger fish to fry.”

“You’re hungry? I know a good place to eat if you want—”

“I mean, I’ve got stuff to do. Look, you said Ceria’s in Esthelm, right? Where’s that?”

Garia scratched her head as she tried to remember.

“Near the road that goes to Liscor. It’s down south, about sixty miles away?”

Ryoka nodded. She could do that in a single night. She eyed the rooftops surreptitiously and looked around. Casually, she raised her voice as she talked to Garia.

“I’ll sleep here for the night. Then I might go and head on down. If you want to learn how to fight properly, visit me there.”

“Maybe. I’m not sure what I’ll be doing—or if I want to fight. I don’t like violence.”

Ryoka clapped Garia on the shoulder.

“It’s your choice. But with a punch like that, it would be a shame not to learn how to hit the right way. I’ll teach you next time we meet, how about that?”

It was the first time Garia had ever seen Ryoka being pushy about—anything, really. She agreed she might give it a shot and watched as the barefoot girl jogged back to her inn for the night.

“Martial arts?”

Garia stared down at her hand. It was still callused from her days of long work out in the sun. She made a fist experimentally. It felt clumsy, but Ryoka had been impressed. That was rare enough.

“But all the way to Esthelm. That’s a far…”

But she didn’t have anything else she was committed to doing, and there was always work for someone willing to haul heavy goods long distance. More to the point, it might be better for Garia to skip town as well.

The Runner girl thought about what Persua’s reaction to the day’s events would be. Not to mention the local Adventurer’s Guild. They would not be happy to learn one of their own had been beaten by a civilian, let alone a Runner. Garia shuddered and thought that maybe she would take a few long distance requests this week. Probably towards Esthelm, but at the very least away from Celum.

She began to slowly jog off back to her own inn. From a rooftop, the [Assassin] watched Garia go. She wasn’t important, but any friend of Ryoka needed to be reported to Magnolia. It was just as well the girl had ended the fight before he’d needed to step in.

Silently, the nondescript man followed Ryoka stealthily back to her inn. It would ordinarily have been a chore protecting the girl from the inevitable reprisal from both Runner and Adventurer’s Guild, but tonight was an exception. All he had to do was wait. Someone else had an appointment with Ryoka Griffin, whether the girl liked it or not.

——

Ryoka retired to her room early and slept for about one hour. Well, slept was a strong word. She napped lightly, waking up when her iPhone quietly set off its alarm.

Having an iPhone was incredibly convenient. She just wished she could cast the [Repair] spell rather than needing a mage to do it. Just another reason to visit Ceria.

It was fully night as Ryoka got dressed. She moved around her room quietly, gathering items while her ears strained for the faintest noise.

Nothing. Well, she hadn’t expected to hear anything. She just hoped her closed curtains were enough to conceal her movements.

Ryoka’s eyes flicked to the window. In Celum—in every city in this world really, the night truly was dark. There were no neon lights or passing cars to provide illumination. And while some lamps and torches provided light on the street, the rooftops and many streets had only the faint moonlight to light the way.

Perfect.

Ryoka didn’t have much. Just some clothes, some money, her iPhone, and books. And she’d sold the books she’d already read, so all of her possessions fit neatly into her Runner’s pack. She left a few coins on the table and opened the window silently.

——

The [Assassin] who was reluctantly known as Theofore stood on the inn’s rooftop and tried to keep his senses alert. It was hard, though. He was dressed in nondescript dark clothing, but it wasn’t quite enough to keep the night’s breeze from chilling him. Winter would soon be upon the land, and when that happened, stakeouts such as these would become direly painful without heating crystals or expensive magics.

But this was the job, and he was a professional. Not a high-level one, but he was still competent enough to be assigned to Lady Magnolia on request. That was also because the Guild really didn’t want to waste a higher-level member on a trivial assignment, but this Ryoka Griffin had proven to be quite a challenge to keep track of. The High Passes incident had been disastrous. But at least she was asleep—

A movement below made Theofore jerk up. He heard a window slide open, and then a lithe figure swung herself up onto the roof. There was nowhere to run, and so Ryoka saw Theofore crouched silently in place over her room.

For a moment, both figures stared at each other across the short distance. Then Ryoka got to her feet.

Theofore leapt up, hands going to his knives, but of course he couldn’t attack. He had to keep her in the inn, though, which meant hand-to-hand combat. Again, he was trained in this area as well, but Ryoka Griffin was far stronger than the average Bronze-rank adventurer.

Ryoka stepped forwards on the roof, and Theofore leaned back just in time to avoid the quick jab she aimed at his face. He struck out at her with his one unarmed combat Skill—[Nerve Strike: Paralysis]—but she swatted his hand down.

Damnation. This was bad. The inn’s roof was on a slant that made dodging and fighting twice as hard, even for an [Assassin]. If Theofore had the [Sure Footing] Skill, things might have been different, but—

Ryoka lashed out with an overhead chop. It was completely easy to block, but that was the point. As the [Assassin]’s arm went up, Ryoka stepped forward and kicked.

He’d seen her fight, but he still wasn’t prepared for the low kick that smashed into his right leg, just above his knee. Theofore staggered. It felt as if an axe had struck his leg, numbing it with pain. He danced backwards, trying not to show any trace of agony on his face.

But Ryoka didn’t advance; instead, she hefted her backpack and turned. Theofore cursed and dashed forwards, but she was already running. Ryoka’s bare feet kicked off as she ran along the slanted rooftop. She reached the edge and leapt.

In the darkness of the night, a lone figure hurtled over the rooftop and landed with a heavy thump on another rooftop. She ran, vaulted over a chimney with both hands, and started leaping across buildings in a style known in her world as Parkour.

To Theofore, it looked hauntingly similar to the movements of higher level [Assassins]. He gave chase, cursing as his injured leg slowed him down. Ryoka was already gaining speed. He could not lose her.

She knew he was following her. Her head turned back for a moment as she saw him dashing across the roofs after her. Theofore couldn’t see in the darkness, but he thought she smiled for a moment.

Ryoka turned her head forwards and increased her speed. One hand came up, and a finger rose in an unmistakable gesture.

Theofore growled and ran faster, ignoring his damaged limb. He wouldn’t lose her. He was a professional, and he’d been trained to outrun even [Runners] if necessary.

The two raced from rooftop to rooftop, vaulting, rolling, and jumping, probably giving the inhabitants within a start as they pounded across the uneven terrain. Ryoka was ahead of Theofore by a few houses, but he would catch her soon enough. He was an [Assassin], and she was just a [Runner].

He would catch her. [Assassins] were known for their ability to follow their targets on high-speed chases. They were known for their mastery of climbing and swift movement on rooftops. They were known for—

Ryoka leapt onto another roof and slid down the roof tiles, knocking them out of place. She kicked off the rooftop, flipped over, and rolled as she struck the street cobblestones below. Theofore gaped as Ryoka rolled back onto her feet and kept running without even pausing. In seconds, she was out of sight.

He paused on the rooftop. Even if he’d known what she would do, he would have wasted valuable seconds finding a handhold and swinging down. He definitely would not have tried jumping all the way down like she did. Was it a Skill? Or—

It didn’t matter. She was on the ground, and Theofore knew he wouldn’t catch her now. He knew where she was going, which was a small mercy.

But Theofore knew Lady Magnolia would not be happy with his failure. Slowly, reluctantly, he began moving back to the inn where Ryoka had been staying. He would have to report. There would be repercussions, and they would fall on his head. He would most likely be reassigned or a senior member of the Guild would be sent. But that was only the Guild. More importantly, Lady Magnolia would not be happy.

She wouldn’t be happy at all.

——

Lady Magnolia was a happy woman almost all of the time. She was deliberately happy and good natured because people liked a happy person. It lowered their guards, and besides, she found happiness more preferable to suspicion or pessimism anyways.

And in this case, Magnolia was happy because she was finally able to reach a confrontation. True, it wasn’t on her terms, but you couldn’t win every battle. Ryoka had managed to avoid coming to her for quite some time, so Magnolia would go to her.

It was a poor bargaining position to be the seeking party rather than the one holding all the cards, but sometimes it was necessary to be proactive. And in this case, Magnolia had decided to up the ante.

Happiness was good, as was being kind and generous. Generosity opened many doors that threats would not. Generosity and implicit but unstated threats opened even more doors in Magnolia’s experience.

Case in point. Magnolia was visiting an inn, a lowly establishment not suited to a woman of her rank and station. Personally, she would have enjoyed visiting an inn if it weren’t unseemly, but in this case, her visit was purely business. And here generosity had done its work well. A kind suggestion or two and a few gold coins and the innkeeper had cleared out the inn for her.

It was late, and no doubt the occupants were unhappy to be roused and sent out. But some money and a meal courtesy of Lady Magnolia and most ills would be soothed. It was fine if they disliked her.

The Runners of Celum and the entire region had protested her requirements that they fulfill every delivery. They claimed they were exhausted. They stated, fairly, that she was pushing them past their limits and working them to the bone.

And yet they were levelling. A fact that they conveniently seemed to forget. Magnolia remembered it. Kindness…kindness was a useful, moral thing in some situations. In others, it was inefficient. Useless for doing what had to be done.

A [Butler] opened the carriage door as Magnolia let Ressa help her out. A light rain had begun to fall over the city, so a cloth parasol enchanted with the best [Water Resistance] spells was immediately placed over the [Lady]’s head.

Her maids and a few other men and women she’d discreetly hired had spread out around the inn, and ‘discouraged’ several Runners and a few adventurers who’d been lurking around the back door.

Ressa accompanied Lady Magnolia to the second floor. The other [Assassins] and [Maids] remained below, awaiting Magnolia’s orders. She had no fear. Her Head Maid was enough of an escort even if Ryoka should prove belligerent, and of course a [Lady] had her own means of defense.

But Magnolia did not anticipate much trouble. Or rather, she expected she could handle whatever trouble emerged with her own Skills. She stopped in front of Ryoka’s door and knocked.

No response. Magnolia exchanged a glance with Ressa, and she tried again more loudly.

Again, there was no response. The [Lady] frowned. She would have expected Ryoka to notice the inn’s occupants being roused, but, ah, perhaps the girl was being stubborn. Very well.

Lady Magnolia raised her voice.

“Good evening Miss Griffin. May I come in?”

There was no response.

Strange. Lady Magnolia knew that should have worked. She raised her voice.

“Ryoka, my dear? Hello? Is anyone there?”

Dead silence. Lady Magnolia frowned.

“…Hello?”

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.45

Erin sat with Rags and stared at the mage in her inn. Scattered around the trio was a mess of empty dishes, remnants of a large breakfast.

Ryoka sat in a small room in the Adventurer’s Guild in Esthelm and waited as the half-Elven mage got ready in front of her.

They were separated by many miles in distance, but the two young women had both asked the same question. One had woken up and bribed her mage with food and invited a Goblin to learn. The other had run through the night and arrived tired and sweaty to knock on the [Mage]’s door and ask to be taught.

The mages were different as well. One was a partly Human woman who appeared only slightly older than Ryoka, but whose appearance hinted at something timeless, and whose beauty attracted the eye. But these were only hints, and her beauty was as much due to her heritage as her physical appearance. Yet for all that, she was a rare sight in any nation: a half-Elven mage named Ceria. She answered the door chewing on some dry jerky.

The other mage was Pisces. His gray and dirty robes were as always stained by grass, weather, and the dark places where he roamed. He still had spilled egg on one sleeve of his robes. He was graceful enough too, in his way. He walked well, but he hid any of his good qualities behind the hunched, filthy hermit crab he sometimes resembled.

Different mages, different seekers, and different locations. But the questions asked and answered were mostly the same. Because the nature of the questions revolved around magic, and both mages had studied together, once.

——

At last, Pisces finished the bit of toasted bread and cheese. He flicked the last crumbs onto the floor. Erin glared, but he was as always unimpressed by her ire. He sighed and then looked at Erin and the Goblin sitting next to her.

“If we are to do this, must we include the Goblin?”

Erin’s glare transitioned into a scowl.

“Her name is Rags.”

Pisces raised his eyebrows.

“That is the name you gave her, certainly. Her Goblin name may be unpronounceable to you and I, but I suspect she objects to your pet name as much as I do.”

Rags stared at Pisces. He avoided her gaze—mostly because he’d lost the last three staring contests in a row. Erin glowered, folding her arms.

“It’s better than calling her ‘Goblin’. Besides, she doesn’t mind it. Right, Rags?”

Erin glanced sideways quickly. Rags didn’t exactly avoid her gaze as she stared pointedly at Pisces.

“Ahem. Names aside, why is she here? You asked me to teach you magic.”

“Right, and I thought she’d like to learn too.”

Rags nodded. Pisces sighed and rubbed at his face.

“It is just—may I state my objections now? Magic is not a game or a ‘trick’. I took your request seriously in no small way because I believed you had a genuine desire to learn. Well, the Goblin might wish for the same, but this is no trivial matter. Will you promise to take this seriously?”

“As serious as pie.”

Erin smiled as Pisces glared at her. Then she yelped as Rags jabbed Erin in the side with one cracked fingernail. The girl glared at the small Goblin. The Goblin glared back.

“Fine, fine. I am taking this seriously, Pisces. And I do want to know. So teach me? Please?”

Pisces hesitated.

——

“—Of course I could teach you, Ryoka. And I’d be happy to help—but I have to ask, what brought this on?”

Ceria bustled around the small room she’d rented in the Adventurer’s Guild, hunting for her wand among her strewn-about possessions. She was messy. She chewed on the strip of dried meat as she hunted, kicking over boots, finding a book under her bed covers—

“How long have you been staying here?”

“Uh, two days? Gerial’s room is disgusting, you know. He folds his sheets and lines his boots up. Polishes them too. Calruz is almost as bad. You want to stay? The Guild doesn’t like non-adventurers, but we can ask.”

Ceria finally found her wand under her bed. She glanced up at Ryoka.

“You ran through the night to get here? And dodged an…[Assassin]? I really can’t believe that one, but you described a classic [Assassin] perfectly.”

Ryoka perched on the rickety chair and watched as Ceria’s light hazelnut hair caught the sunlight. For all she’d hung out with Ceria before, the half-Elf truly was different in the unearthly feeling she gave off. Ryoka tried not to stare too openly most of the time, but Ceria was too distracted lifting up her mattress and checking under her pillow for her spellbook now to notice Ryoka’s scrutiny.

The barefoot girl tried not to yawn as she thought of a response. At least she wasn’t still sweaty. The Adventurer’s Guild might not have showers, but they did have washbasins and a handy well.

“It’s just something that really interests me. And defending myself is part of it, but I just want to learn about magic. It was not…widely practiced where I come from.”

Ceria’s brows rose, but she let that comment slide, much to Ryoka’s relief. She swished the wand around in the air with a satisfying sound and smiled at Ryoka.

“Fair enough. Just please don’t be disappointed if you don’t start casting [Fireballs] left and right, okay? Most Humans I’ve tried to teach, well, they’re quite impatient. And it’s not as if having a half-Elf teacher makes learning magic any easier.”

“Perish the thought.”

Ceria had offered Ryoka the only chair, and she had to sit on her bed. She placed her wand on the side table next to Ryoka, and the Runner dragged her chair over so they were facing each other.

“Very well, how should I start? I suppose it would be important to learn how much you know of magic.”

Ryoka spread her hands out wordlessly. Ceria shook her head and smiled.

“That simplifies things. Well then, I guess I’ll tell you what magic is.”

——

Pisces stood up from his chair. Once he’d actually agreed to teach Erin, his demeanor changed. He cleared the floor around him and began pacing back and forth. He spoke like one of Erin’s old high school teachers—the fussy, pedantic ones.

“Magic is an art. It is something only the most gifted and dedicated may aspire to. Those who have true mastery of spellcraft create works of beauty and wonder with each incantation.”

——

Ceria shrugged and touched the tip of her wand gently. It gave off a few violet sparks which faded as they drifted to the floor.

“I don’t know what magic is, exactly. It is a mystery, but I can tell you it is in the air we breathe, in each step we take and the beating of our hearts. Animals can grow to massive sizes with magic, and magical environments can be wondrous—like fields of wheat that can sprout from seeds overnight in Noelictus, for instance. It’s an amazing thing, but it is dangerous. Terribly so, and people have long overestimated their control of it.”

——

Pisces pointed at Erin and Rags. He met their gazes seriously.

“Never underestimate magic. Never take it lightly. Even in practice, even when you believe you have mastered a spell to its utmost. Unlike wielding a hammer or a sewing needle, magic is quite capable of slaying an incautious practitioner outright.”

——

Ceria sighed. Her eyes unfocused for a moment, and she stared through Ryoka.

“Once, everyone used to know magic—or so my grandfather told me. It was as simple as breathing even for children, and all half-Elves learned Tier 2 magic before they’d reached their teenage years. But in Human cities and other nations, students study under older mages or travel to schools like Wistram Academy.”

Ryoka frowned. Wistram…she’d heard that name before.

“They run the Mage’s Guilds, right?”

Ceria scowled for a moment, which was odd because she was a graduate from there. But she covered it with a shrug and sigh.

“All over the world. Not that they send their [Mages] to run every single one, but yes. They help run the [Message] spells, and they’re one of the real teachers of magic. Don’t let the class fool you. A [Mage] can be an adept with lots of training or someone who’s making it up as they go along. Those accredited by Wistram Academy or similar institutions of magic are pretty rare and usually better than the self-taught ones.”

——

Pisces smiled smugly to let both members of his audience know he was rarest of them all. He waved his hand dismissively as he went on.

“[Mages] in general? Pah. Anyone can obtain the class or variations thereof, but they often stagnate and seldom reach Level 20. Indeed, the lack of centralized education between nations has given rise to lesser variations upon the basic [Mage] class. [Hedge Wizards], [Witch Doctors], the dubiously qualified [Spellswords], [Druids]…well I suppose [Druids] are an exception to the rule, and of course let us reserve most of our disdain for the so-called [Sorcerer]…”

At some point, Pisces realized he was losing his audience and stopped. Erin was furiously writing down class names while Rags cleared one ear with her pinkie finger. He paused reluctantly.

“Well, even those types of spell casters are unique. Chosen. They are still capable of casting spells, which is more than can be said for a majority of Humanity or most species.”

——

Ceria sighed and shook her head sadly.

“Not all Humans have the potential to become [Mages]. It’s a matter of talent as well as your body’s innate magical potential.”

Ryoka’s ears metaphorically perked up at that last statement. She frowned at Ceria.

“‘Not all Humans?’ Does that mean that other races have greater or lesser potential to become mages? How about your kind?”

——

Pisces looked disgruntled at Erin’s question. He folded his arms and scowled.

“I assume you mean half-Elves. Yes, their affinity towards spellcasting is far greater than our own. However, a speciesist advantage does not translate into individual ability. Nor does that mean the greatest mages are always nonhuman. In fact, some of the most famous Archmages of this era are Human. Like, er, Verdan Blackwood. Or Archmage Viltach. Great…esteemed [Mages] I have personally met.”

He coughed into the sleeve of his robes, as if this were not the brag he was trying to make it out to be.

“—Any species can learn magic. But not all members have the potential. From Minotaurs to Dullahans to Centaurs, [Mages] exist. Except Gnolls, of course, but they have their [Shamans].”

“Wait, not Gnolls? Why?”

Pisces gave Erin a blank stare.

“One supposes it is their tribal magic. I have never met a Gnoll at Wistram or a [Mage] of their people in general. They have [Shamans]—another kind of magic-user. But no [Mages] in Wistram. I heard a rumor once—nevermind. Minotaurs can be [Mages]. Anyone can be a [Mage]. But Gnolls. Even Goblins. Is this clear enough for you?”

Erin tried to imagine Minotaurs but just came up with those ancient Greek pictures of bull-headed monsters with Human bodies. She had a hard time imagining one of those things muttering spells or reading a book.

Pisces scowled, and Erin stopped grinning.

“Okay, sure. Not all Humans are mages. Some of us are Muggles. Got it?”

“Muggles?”

“Uh—how about Goblins?”

Pisces sniffed.

“I have never heard of any Goblin whose abilities matched that of a proper mage. Their innate capabilities are likely too low to support the strain of spellcasting. Their race as a whole can barely snuff out a candle, let alone magically.”

Both Rags and Erin sat upright in indignation. Erin opened her mouth, but Rags stuck her finger up first.

Since it wasn’t her middle finger but rather her index, both Pisces and Erin stared at it curiously. Rags muttered a few words in her own language and then glared at her fingertip.

Nothing happened. Erin exchanged a glance with Pisces, and then a spark of light made her blink. She looked at Rags’ finger and gasped. A tiny flame danced on her fingertip. Erin stared at it and then at Rags.

“You can do magic?”

Pisces shook his head. He blew, and the flame on Rags’ finger went out. She narrowed her eyes, but he wasn’t impressed by her magic or her stare.

“Tribal magic. Feh. Just as I said—Gnolls and Goblins have access to another, lesser…different kind of magic.”

“Wait a second.”

Erin was extremely confused.

“Isn’t that magic? Why’d you call it tribal magic?”

Pisces rubbed at his temple.

“I should really ban questions. Well, to summarize a complex issue, the magic your little friend used is not true magic. Or at least, not the magic practiced by [Mages]. It is an amalgamation of mana drawn from her tribe, such as it is.”

Erin stared blankly at Pisces.

“What?”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Allow me to explain another way. Magic surrounds us. It is in everything, but an individual’s capacity for magic varies. And the same goes for our surroundings. Thus, in a highly magically charged environment, spells are naturally easy to cast. In a null zone, a [Mage] must rely solely on his or her own internal magical energy to cast spells.”

“Right. I got that.”

Pisces nodded. He pointed at Rags, who leaned out of the way of his finger.

“Goblins, on the other hand, practice a different form of magic. They draw their mana not only from the environment, but from each other. Thus a single Goblin may use the mana of the entire tribe it is affiliated with to cast spells.”

Erin snapped her fingers, and Rags jumped. The Goblin stared suspiciously at Erin’s hand and immediately tried to duplicate the gesture.

“Oh, I get it. You’re crowd-sourcing magic.”

Pisces blinked at Erin and then decided to ignore her strange comments and Rags’ attempts to learn to snap her own fingers.

“Yes, well, it is a crude thing. But I suppose it is powerful enough in its own way as it allows even Goblin tribes one or two spellcasters of their own. These, ah, ‘shamans’ draw power from the collective. The larger their group is, the more power they wield. Thus, while the Goblins in the area most likely cannot collectively create more than a few sparks, a larger tribe of a thousand souls would create a decently powerful [Shaman]. But it is inefficient.”

Pisces shook his head.

“A thousand people and only one caster? A ridiculous waste.”

“Hey, if it works…”

He sniffed.

“It isn’t proper magic, that’s all. True, these [Shamans] may copy many magic spells, but they are born out of a collective will and lack structure and form. True, they can do things that modern magic cannot easily replicate. I have heard some [Shamans] can heal or move vast groups of people over water, but magic—”

“You can walk on water!? And heal? What am I talking to you about, then? Rags, teach me your ways!”

Erin swung around instantly. Pisces scowled at her as the Goblin smirked at him.

“A neophyte in tribal magic and a tiny tribe can hardly do the greatest feats of magic, Erin. Miss Solstice. Nor can one heal in any kind of magic easily.”

“Oh yeah? What about [Healers]?”

Erin thought she made a good point—until she realized Pisces was smirking at her.

“Ah, well. [Healers] are now simply general practitioners of restorative arts, some of whom are able to cast spells. Most use Skills. Many rely on potions or even simple bandages rather than magic. The definition of the class has changed, and accordingly, so have the skills and spells learnt. It was quite a fascinating phenomenon, actually. I studied it in a course back in Wistram—”

Pisces shook his head.

“But I haven’t time to get into the variation in classes over centuries. Where was I? Oh, of course. Magic. Let us not forget what we are here to learn. Very well, I assume you understand a bit of what magic is. Now to test you.”

Pisces raised his hands and suddenly advanced on Rags and Erin. Their chairs scooted back, and he stopped, looking peeved.

“It is not a dangerous process. I simply wish to ascertain whether or not either of you can become mages. I will test you in the traditional style. Do not move, and I will saturate the area around you with raw mana and allow you to demonstrate your magical ability—or lack thereof.”

——

Ryoka eyed Ceria.

“Will it hurt?”

The half-Elf looked up as she fiddled with her wand.

“Oh, of course not. It’s just a test, that’s all. This is how I was taught as a child. I know Humans do it differently, but it should work for you.”

She raised her wand, and the tip of it glowed silvery-white. Ceria smiled to soothe Ryoka’s apprehension.

“Just watch. I’m going to draw a symbol in the air. I want you to look at it and tell me what you see. Don’t worry; there’s no time limit. And if your eyes start to hurt, you can look away.”

Slowly, Ceria began to move her wand through the air, leaving a glowing afterimage that hovered and shimmered in Ryoka’s vision. Ceria’s wand moved and flicked, tracing a pattern that looked like a bunch of squiggles and straight lines put together randomly.

But—it wasn’t just a two dimensional pattern. Ryoka blinked and rubbed at her eyes. Somehow, Ceria’s wand had begun tracing the image in three dimensions. And then the image shifted again, and the rune—or was it a word?—in the air took on more dimensions than could be captured by a camera.

Ryoka thought she heard the magical word being drawn in the air. Or she felt it. And when Ceria put down her wand, the glowing white symbol burned Ryoka’s vision.

“Just relax. Look at it only as long as you’re comfortable. If you can’t understand it, that’s fine.”

Ceria’s voice came from behind the cloud of shimmering lines. Ryoka opened her eyes and forced herself to focus on the lines.

It was so hard to understand.

——

“I don’t get it.”

Erin complained to Pisces as she held her hands out. The mage grunted. He was holding his hands out as well, palms towards Erin and Rags. Sweat beaded on his forehead, but nothing seemed to be happening.

“I—am infusing the air around you with my mana. It will allow you to cast spells if you have the potential.”

“But how? You never said.”

A vein stood out on Pisces’ sweaty brow. He grunted.

“Just think of something.”

“Like what?”

“Anything! Whatever you wish! Fire, water, a shiny new pot. Will the magic to obey your command!”

——

“Relax. Don’t stare at it so hard. Let it be.”

Ryoka tried to obey. She really did. But the magical word was like an unsolved problem burning in her mind. She wanted to stare at it, to figure out what it meant, and the harder she stared, the more confused her brain became.

It was like a math problem. A hard one, way harder than the AP Calculus class Ryoka had taken back in high school.

Yes—exactly like a math problem. Ryoka blinked. Suddenly, part of the symbol made sense. There were…facets to it that resembled a mathematical equation. Things to be balanced. You couldn’t take magic and use it without repercussions. Cost and exchange.

The Law of Conservation of Energy. Only energy could be destroyed with magic. Yet it was from magic that the cost was taken, and so the law remained more or less intact. But magic was not based in science. What was destroyed could be more or less than what was gained. Magic was. But it obeyed certain rules, like osmosis. It flowed. And it flowed around the world.

Ryoka put her head in her hands and tried to stop thinking, but the word was burning her from the inside out. She was on the cusp of it, and it spoke to her. It was a word. But was there even a name for it in her limited language?

Ceria folded her hands on her lap and smiled slightly as she watched Ryoka.

——

Pisces hissed, and his face scrunched up with concentration. He was already reddening, but neither Goblin nor Human was doing anything.

Erin focused. She really did. She tried thinking of a flame like the one Rags had conjured, but she just ended up thinking of lighters and matches. She tried muttering words.

“Expelliarmus. Alohamora. Wingardium Leviosa. Wingardium leviosa.”

“What are you muttering?”

“Nothing.”

It wasn’t working. Erin couldn’t feel anything except a mild ache in her arms from holding them up for so long. She gritted her teeth. She could do this. She closed her eyes and pushed—

A flame burst upwards and evaporated into a cloud of smoke. Erin gasped and grinned in relief and triumph—

Rags blinked at her finger and then pointed again. Pisces yelped as a flare of fire burst from her fingertip and twisted towards him. It evaporated into smoke before it reached his robes and set him off into a coughing fit. Erin blinked.

“Oh. More tribal magic?”

The [Mage] shook his head and coughed, waving away the smoke. He didn’t seem angry. Instead, he stared at Rags for a few seconds before replying very slowly.

“That was no tribal magic. That was the very beginning of the [Firefly] spell.”

“Really?”

Encouraged, Erin stretched her fingers out and tried as hard as she could to do the same thing. But Pisces wasn’t staring at her. His attention was fixed on the proud Goblin. He put one hand on his chin and started muttering to himself.

“Goblins cannot learn magic in the traditional sense. It is impossible. Surely if they had the potential it would have been discovered, analyzed in centuries hence. The potential ramifications—or is it simple freak divergence? Ancestry?”

He whirled and pointed at Rags, who leaned back.

“You. Goblin child. Was your mother non-Goblin? Or…your father?”

She shook her head.

“What would that matter?”

Erin snapped at Pisces. He jumped, and she glared at his hands. He put them back over hers and talked while he focused again.

“It would explain things. The offspring of Goblins are always Goblins regardless of the partner, male or female. But sometimes Goblins may inherit traits from their…parents. The, ah, victim might play a part in explaining unusual talents. But if this young Goblin—Rags has no immediate non-Goblin ancestors, it would mean—”

“She can be a mage. I get it.”

Erin scowled at her hands. She willed them to catch fire.

“Don’t stop. It’s my turn now. The test isn’t over yet, right? I can still continue?”

Pisces hesitated. Something in his face softened as he looked at Erin.

“…By all means. Keep on trying.”

She ignored the look in his eyes and the way Rags looked at him. Erin stared at her hands. She would cast magic. She could. She would cast magic. She would—

——

Ryoka tried not to scream as she stared at the word and the magic stared back. It was inescapable, even when she closed her eyes. The word was the beginning, and the word was magic, and magic was with her, and the magic was made into reality—

It seared Ryoka’s mind like wildfire. The knowledge burned through her assumptions and all she’d been taught all her life, breaking down walls in her head she’d never known were there. The agony of it was unbearable.

Ceria was shaking her, trying to get Ryoka to move. She was telling Ryoka this shouldn’t be happening, trying to erase the magic word. But it was ingrained in Ryoka’s soul. It was a bit of truth, and it was something to cling to even as the rest of the world fell to pieces.

Ryoka opened her eyes. The magic surged through her, a feeling unlike any other. It wasn’t being more alive. Life was life, but magic—it was opening another door and stepping into a different world.

Suddenly, the pain was gone. Ryoka sat up and brushed Ceria’s hands off her.

“I’m okay. I am. I saw it.”

Ceria peered anxiously into Ryoka’s face. The running girl had bitten her lips so hard she’d drawn blood, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“I saw it.”

Ryoka repeated and stared at the fading shape in the air. She didn’t need to see it, though. She could remember. She would always remember.

The knowledge was in her eyes, in the way Ryoka moved, in everything she was. Ceria looked at Ryoka, and whatever she saw reassured her. She smiled, relieved.

“Well? Did you see what I wrote? Can you tell me what it says?”

Ryoka took a deep breath. It had no real name. None that the English language was capable of expressing, even with a thousand words. But there was still a way to say it.

She opened her mouth.

“[Light].”

In the stillness of the early morning, light shimmered through the window. All was still, and then the light of the sun was joined by something else.

A soft light came up through Ryoka’s chest. It came down her arms and up through her palms, which began to glow. A bauble of shimmering colors drifted up from between Ryoka’s palms, hovering in front of her face as she stared.

It was the most magical thing Ryoka had ever seen. It was hers. A glowing, sharply defined orb of what she could only call light made manifest. It was brighter than a light bulb because it was pure light, and yet it was not blinding either. If she stared hard enough, she could see straight through the other side.

And it wasn’t white light either. Even as Ryoka stared at it, delicate shades of purple coalesced and then slowly transitioned into a deep blue and then brightened to green and then yellow. The light was living, and it shifted even as she held it.

It…it looked sort of like a three dimensional loading wheel on a Mac computer if Ryoka was honest. Even as she thought that, the colors changed and began to rotate in an annoyingly-familiar way.

Ceria blinked down at Ryoka’s light ball in surprise. She placed one hand on her hip and poked at the orb with the other. Her finger passed straight through the orb, making the light shimmer around her pale skin.

“I’ve never seen colors like that before. They’re so…bright.”

She picked up her wand and tapped it on her palm. Instantly—far quicker than Ryoka’s own spell had taken—another shimmering orb of light rose from Ceria’s palm. But her light was different. When she held the orb next to Ryoka’s, the colors changed and deepened in ways Ryoka’s did not.

They were the same colors as the ones flashing through Ryoka’s orb of light, but somehow they were more real. The blue that illuminated the small room wasn’t more vivid or in any way brighter, but it felt deeper, subtler, to Ryoka’s eyes. It was a more complete understanding of what ‘blue’ was, and it made her digital colors pale by comparison.

“Wow.”

As Ryoka stared, the lights in her orb began to shift, matching those of Ceria’s. She stared at the orb and then concentrated.

The ball of light shifted from white light suddenly and then shifted to a dark ultraviolet that made Ceria jump in surprise. Black light. Ryoka blinked. Suddenly, the orb was a rainbow spectrum of colors, a dancing discoball of shifting colors—

All at once, the magic ran out. The light vanished, and Ryoka sat back in her chair. She felt light-headed all of a sudden, as if the blood had suddenly rushed to her head. Weakly, she tried to sit back up, but Ceria pushed her down gently.

“Hold on, hold on, Ryoka! That was incredible! I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone do that with a basic [Light] spell before—let alone figure out how to change a spell so quickly! You just used up all the mana in your body. You’ll be tired until you recover. Here—sit there, and I’ll get you something to eat and drink. That helps.”

Ceria dashed out of the room. Ryoka stared at her hands.

She smiled.

——

The last bead of sweat dropped from Pisces’ chin. He gasped and raised his hands.

“I’m almost drained. I’m sorry. I can’t keep going.”

Erin still stared at her fingertips. If she could just force something to happen. It would only take a second, she knew. One second of realization and she’d be able to figure it out again. She tried and tried but—

Pisces raised the glass of water Rags brought him and tossed it down, heedless of hygiene. He hesitated and then gently patted Erin on the shoulder.

“There’s no more magic left in the air. It’s all dissipated, Erin.”

“Oh.”

Erin stared at her hands. They were still the same hands, but they were somehow smaller, less important. They were good hands, callused from working but unscarred. But they were just hands. Normal.

Pisces cleared his throat. He avoided Erin’s gaze.

“I’m, ah, sorry, Miss Solstice.”

“No, it’s okay. I knew magic wasn’t for everyone. And Rags could do it, right?”

Erin smiled at Rags. The Goblin looked up. Somehow, she had found the time to grab some sausage and cheese from Erin’s kitchen. She guiltily hid both behind her back.

“Eat up. I bet you’re hungry. And you—”

Pisces blinked, but Erin was already out of her seat. She bustled out of the kitchen with blue juice and food in hand and spread it out before him.

“Here. Lunch and dinner’s on the house.”

“You are—most kind. Thank you.”

He began tearing into the food as if he were famished. And he probably was. Erin looked out the window and saw the sun was now beginning to set rather than rise in the sky. It had taken that long?

Pisces gulped and slurped down his food while Rags did the same. They both seemed starved—probably from the magic. Erin stared blankly at them and then sat down.

“So, what next?”

The Human stopped and eyed Erin warily. Rags kept on shoveling.

“What, ah, do you mean—”

“I mean about her. Not me.”

Erin pointed at Rags. The Goblin looked up.

“She can cast magic, right? Not just her tribal magic, but your kind of magic. She can learn. Will you teach her?”

Pisces’ face went blank. He stared at Rags.

“Me? Teach?”

“You were going to teach me a few spells, weren’t you? Well, I can’t cast magic, but Rags can. Will you teach her something?”

Pisces opened his mouth to object, closed it, chewed, and swallowed. His eyes flicked towards the Goblin, towards Erin, and up into the air as he thought rapidly.

“I’ve—well I’ve never considered having an apprentice. You do know I specialize in necromancy, don’t you? But on the other hand—I am quite proficient in general areas of magic. And of course anyone with a basic grasp of the fundamentals could learn. But a Goblin for a student…?”

“Tell you what. If you come in every other day and teach her for lessons, I’ll feed you for free. Deal?”

It took a few minutes of haggling, but eventually Pisces agreed. Rags had no money to pay him, but he was happy enough to accept free food. And it wasn’t as if Erin ever saw money from him anyways.

She left the inn and Pisces beginning to explain the history of magic and the fundamental theories of Magecraft to a bewildered Goblin and walked briskly down the small hill. Her destination was Liscor.

After a few minutes, Erin noticed something following her. She was walking fast enough that the skeleton had to jog to keep up. Erin stopped, and it ran up a few feet behind her and waited patiently. She scowled.

“It’s you. Go away, you.”

The still-unnamed skeleton hesitated. Then it clattered its jaw. Erin glared. She couldn’t understand it, and its understanding of her seemed to be limited.

“I’m going to visit some friends. Don’t follow me into the city. Wait around the inn while I’m gone. Do something useful. I’ll be back before nightfall.”

It hesitated.

“Go. Shoo!”

Erin pointed and then waved her hands at it as if she were chasing chickens. The skeleton reluctantly turned around and marched back towards the inn.

Erin sighed. Then she continued walking.

——

She didn’t have any particular destination in mind, she just didn’t want to be in her inn at the moment. So Erin decided to explore parts of the city she’d never been in before. That wasn’t hard. Most of the city was unexplored. She really only knew the shopping district, part of the residential area where Selys lived, and the main street up to the Adventurer’s Guild.

It was high time to explore the rest of the city. Erin decided to walk down to the Adventurer’s Guild and work her way out from there. She got about twelve steps before a furry hand yanked her out of the crowd.

“Ah, Erin Solstice. I have been waiting for you to return, yes?”

Without knowing quite what was happening, Erin felt herself being speedily towed along by a large, female Gnoll.

“You are not busy? We will have drinks in my home.”

“What? Oh, sure. I’m not busy.”

“Good! My house is only a few minutes away. Follow me.”

Krshia let go of Erin, and the Human walked rather than let herself be pulled along. She didn’t hear the quiet sigh of relief from the other Gnolls who’d been watching the gates for her arrival.

——

Krshia set a large, glistening bowl of chopped meat in front of Erin. It contrasted nicely with the cup of rootish tea in the girl’s hands.

Erin eyed the meat dish, but she’d grown used to Gnolls enough to realize she wasn’t being deliberately insulted.

With a sigh, Erin gingerly picked up a strip of meat. It looked…raw to say the least. But if Gnolls could eat it, she probably could. Krshia wouldn’t knowingly serve her poison was Erin’s feeling.

Still, all of the articles she’d ever read about E. coli and raw meat came back to Erin as she popped the bit of meat into her mouth and chewed.

“Hm? Hm~. Mm!”

It was actually quite good. Erin was surprised. She’d expected the meat to taste like bacon, but it was a fuller, richer experience. Nice and fatty without the actual fat. Immediately, she picked up another cube of meat and chewed it down. She also resolved never to ask what kind of meat it was.

“Ah, you like the scurry-food? Silkap. You can make it into cubes, or a spread, or many forms. It is quite good.”

Krshia sat with a sigh on the chair opposite Erin. It was a nice chair too, wonderfully padded if a little worn and far too big for Erin.

The apartments of a Gnoll were different from that of a Drake like Selys. Open space was clearly important in both homes—or maybe it was just the architecture, but Krshia’s home had far more rugs, padded furniture, and pillows in general. It was also in a state of slightly less-than-stellar cleaning.

Really, it wasn’t bad. But Erin had a definite sense that the standards of cleanliness differed between Drakes and Gnolls. Then again, Krshia’s actual shop was clean of any stray hair, dirt, or stains, so maybe it was just the difference between work and home.

“How are you doing, Krshia?”

Erin delicately sipped at her tea and stuffed her face. Krshia tossed down the meat in her bowl and chewed quickly.

“Mm. I am well, thank you for asking. And I am relieved to speak with you at last. Many people and many things have gotten in the way of our speaking, yes? But it is important we should speak. So I have decided.”

Erin blinked. Somehow, Krshia seemed a bit more intense than usual. She sighed. Another thing to be worried about.

“Sure. What’s up?”

Krshia blinked her great, brown eyes at Erin. She peered at the small Human and frowned.

“You seem dispirited. Is something wrong?”

“Oh, it’s nothing.”

“Mm. This is another polite Human lie, yes?”

“Yeah, but really, it’s nothing.”

Krshia stared at Erin. It was odd. She really had no whites in her eyes. It was just pupil and then brown cornea. It should have been disturbing, but Erin had grown used to it.

She sighed. Krshia waited patiently as Erin picked at another piece of meat and then put it back in her bowl.

“I found out I’m not a mage, that’s all. I can’t cast magic, and I won’t ever be able to.”

She sighed again. Krshia took a long drink of her scalding tea.

“Ah. And who is doing the telling of this?”

“Pisces.”

“Bah.”

“He wasn’t mean about it. He did a test—it looks like I’m just one of the Humans who can’t cast magic, that’s all. It’s not his fault or anything.”

Krshia shook her head. Bits of hair drifted onto her carpet.

“That is not what I meant. He tells you that you are no mage. It is not for him to decide, yes?”

Erin blinked.

“But there was a test. I can’t cast magic, Krshia.”

The female Gnoll shrugged.

“If you were born a Gnoll, this would not be an issue, yes? Human magic is different from ours. We give magic to those who are chosen. A [Shaman] for each tribe is chosen, and they wield the magic of all. We choose who can cast magic, not a single person.”

“Oh, tribal magic. Yeah, Pisces told me about it. But I wasn’t born a Gnoll.”

Krshia raised one eyebrow.

“Yes, and so you are told you can never become a mage because one tells you so. It is regrettable, yes?”

Erin didn’t have anything to say to that. She stared down into her tea.

Krshia clicked her tongue.

“Enough sadness. This is not why I have called you here. Leave magic for [Mages], Erin. It is not as important as they think. People are important. The tribe is important—if you had one. Without it? I see your friends, like Selys, and even your strange guests like the Antinium and…Goblins as being your tribe. Friendships and ties are important.”

She reached out and tapped Erin gently on the chest. It was still a heavy tap, but it made Erin feel better.

“Okay, sure. What did you want to talk to me about so much, Krshia?”

The Gnoll paused and seemed to choose her words.

“I have been thinking much since I watched you play your game of chess. Against the Antinium named Pawn. Many things you said I heard and wondered at.”

Erin looked blank.

“Like what? You mean the chess? Don’t worry, no one gets that.”

For a second, she could have sworn Krshia was eying her to see if Erin was laughing. But then the Gnoll briskly shook her head again.

“No. It is what you said. You come from another world. I heard you speak of it and wondered at the miracle.”

Erin’s face was completely blank. Then her eyes widened.

“I said that?”

Krshia nodded gravely. Her eyes were fixated on Erin’s face.

The Human didn’t seem to know how to react. A brief moment of chagrin was replaced by some head scratching. After a few seconds, Erin looked up and shrugged.

“Oh, um, yeah. I’m from another world. Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

Krshia stared. Possibly it was the blasé way Erin said it, without regard to the way it made the Gnoll’s heart skip and jump. Oblivious, Erin continued.

“I come from a place called Michigan. It’s pretty nice there. Lots of big lakes, wonderful weather—except when it snows or rains really hard, of course. I lived in a nice house, with my folks—”

She paused. For a second, Erin stared down into her cup and then continued as if nothing had happened.

“Um, one day, I found myself here. I just turned a corner and blam.”

“Blam?”

“I found myself staring at this big lizard. With wings. A Dragon.”

“A Dragon?”

“Yeah. It breathed fire at me, and I ran. Then there were some Goblins…and then I found the inn. After that, it was all survival until I met Klbkch and Relc and then—you know the rest.”

Again, there was something off-putting about the way Erin said everything so easily. Krshia had to shake her head several times and take a few more gulps of tea to steady her nerves.

“You survived much.”

“I guess.”

Erin shrugged. It didn’t feel like a lot. It felt like a lifetime, actually, but through it all, she’d just kept moving, kept trying to survive. And really, what had she done? Repaired a few doors, swept some dust out, leveled up as an [Innkeeper] a bit…and gotten a friend killed.

Not much at all.

“I ask this in confidence. I promise by my tribe and by the open sky and earth that I would never betray your trust or secrets given. But I must ask, and my kin must know. This land you come from—it is not like this one, yes?”

Erin paused and blinked at Krshia. It sounded like a serious oath, but what did Krshia say about her kin?

“You mean you’re going to tell…other Gnolls?”

Krshia hesitated and then placed her tea cup down as she nodded.

“Mm. Yes. If I must, I think it is better to share a secret that is important. And these Gnolls shall tell others if need be. But they shall keep it a secret within our tribe, our people. Your secret shall not be spoken to any not of Gnollkind. That is what I meant. I swear upon Silverfang and the upcoming Meeting of Tribes—we shall not betray your trust. And it will be all Gnolls, all the Gnolls of the Great Plains who hold that secret and support you, if need be.”

A promise by an entire species to keep silent. Erin would have laughed, but she felt that might actually result in violence. Krshia looked serious, and Erin thought the Gnoll was serious.

And—what did Erin have to lose? Besides her life? So she shrugged.

“My world? It’s not like this one. Not at all. It’s so different I can’t even explain how strange it is to be here.”

“Mm. How so? Eat, drink. But tell me. I am very curious.”

How did you describe a world without magic and levels to someone who didn’t even exist in your world? For that matter, how would you describe a world a thousand years more advanced? Erin scratched at her head and did her best.

“Well—we’ve got a lot more technology. And less magic. No magic, actually. And we don’t have Levels or Classes or Skills, but we do have a lot more Humans. Actually, we have only Humans. There aren’t any Gnolls or Drakes or any monsters where I come from. And—are you okay, Krshia?”

The Gnoll’s eyes were bugging out in her head. It was such an alarming change from the Gnoll’s usually half-lidded stare that Erin was worried.

“Take no mind of me. G-go on.”

Krshia drained her cup and dragged over a large and dented tea pot. She refilled her cup with furry hands that shook and offered Erin a refill. The Human politely waved the tea away.

“You say this is a world full of Humans? That is strange, yes? Are there no other creatures?”

Erin nodded and hastily amended her sentence.

“Oh tons of creatures. Lots of animals. Dogs, cats, penguins, cows…but just no people like—like you. People who think and speak is what I mean.”

“I…see…”

Krshia’s head was throbbing. The Gnoll would have loved nothing better than to sit in a corner and bang her head against a wall just imagining what Erin was saying. Better yet, she would have loved to overturn the table and call Erin a tail-biting liar. But [Spot Deception] was a [Merchant] and a [Shopkeeper]’s skill, and if it wasn’t as good as [Detect Guilt] or [Sense Intentions], it was still more than a match for a large falsehood. What Erin was saying was true.

“These Humans. You Humans.”

Krshia stumbled over her tongue and tried to speak casually.

“How many of them are there? How many nations? Is it a small world?”

“Sorta? It feels small sometimes. I know overpopulation is an issue.”

Erin rolled her eyes upwards as she thought.

“Um, is it six or seven? Seven? I think we’re supposed to have eight sometime soon.”

“Eight what? Eight countries?”

“No, eight billion Humans.”

Krshia looked blank.

“I do not know this word. Erin, what is a ‘billion’? It is a counting number, yes?”

“Yeah. Do you know, um, million?”

The Gnoll’s brows scrunched together.

“It is a word I heard with Goblins. A million is a large number. Larger than mountains. A thousand thousands, yes?”

“…Yes? I think so. Wait…let me do the math.”

Erin tried to imagine how many zeros were in a million.

“Yeah. That’s about right.”

“Mm. Then is a billion two millions?”

“Oh, no.”

Erin laughed at Krshia’s confusion. She didn’t notice the Gnoll’s hand trembling on her cup.

“A billion is a thousand millions. So that’d be a thousand thousand thousands. What a tongue twister. It’d be…a hundred thousand ten thousand times. Does that make sense?”

Erin looked at Krshia. The Gnoll was sitting very still in her chair.

“Krshia?”

Gnolls didn’t have any visible skin, just fur. But her ears were standing straight up on her head. Between the slats in her chair, Erin could see the Gnoll’s tail was fully erect as well.

Without a word, and without a single hint of warning, the Gnoll suddenly tipped forwards in her chair in a dead faint. Erin yelped and dove just in time as Krshia crashed into her table, shattering porcelain and upending the kettle of tea.

“Krshia, what’s wrong?”

Erin bent over the unconscious Gnoll and, with great effort, tilted her upright. The shards of broken pottery hadn’t even cut the Gnoll through her fur, but Krshia was still unconscious. Only the—well, the blacks of Krshia’s eyes were showing.

“Are you okay? What happened? Speak to me, Krshia.”

But no matter how hard Erin shook the Gnoll, she didn’t come round. Desperately, Erin propped Krshia up against her chair and wavered between going for help and waiting for Krshia to wake up. It didn’t seem like she’d been hurt.

Erin sat among the spilled meat and cooling tea. Her heart still hurt, but mercifully, she had something to panic about. She put her head in her hands.

“Why does this keep happening to me?”

Why had Krshia wanted to talk to her, anyways? It probably wasn’t best to tell her about her world—at least the parts about hyenas being hunted—or all the other bad parts, really. She’d been so interested. And Erin had remembered—

She cut her brain off as it thought of home. No. Focus. Krshia was important. If she didn’t wake up in ten minutes, Erin would go get someone. Another Gnoll, probably. She’d been seeing more of them around than normal.

But why had Krshia fainted? If that was what had happened.

“Why?”

Erin shook her head. She had no idea. But—

“Was it something I said?”

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.46

When Krshia came round, she did so dramatically. Erin had fussed over her for a few minutes before realizing there was no way she was going to be able to pick the Gnoll woman up. She was twice Erin’s weight, and her fur made her look even bigger. So Erin just sat and scrutinized her.

She really was sort of a woman of the tribes, right? For all she was a [Shopkeeper], Krshia apparently knew how to shoot a bow, and she had lived most her life outside the walls of a city. Gnolls had light, sparse clothing mostly, and they seemed to like hunting and such.

Perhaps Gnolls weren’t as—as civilized as other races. But of course that was the wrong thing for Erin to think. It was more that Gnolls still lived in close proximity to monsters, even more so than Drakes did. They had to be ready to defend themselves in case one attacked their villages. That was probably why when Krshia sat up gasping, her claws popped out of her paws and she nearly took Erin’s head off.

It was an accident. Erin was nearly 100% sure of that. And Krshia had apologized several times.

After they’d patched up Erin’s cheek and poured a tiny bit of healing potion on the cut to make it heal faster, the Gnoll and Human cleaned up the broken table and spilled tea. Then they began the tea party again, only with less party and very cold tea.

Krshia had some lovely cheese that Erin didn’t mind snacking on. It was wonderfully sharp, and the tea wasn’t half bad, even after it had cooled.

“Apologies again, Erin.”

The large Gnoll sighed as she lowered herself back into her chair and kicked the remnants of her coffee table aside. The replacement she’d brought was a footstool, which she balanced the platter of cheese on.

“It was nothing. Really. But why did you faint?”

“Mm. I was merely surprised. Forgive me.”

Krshia took a drink from her tea and shuddered for a second.

“The Humans on your planet—I was not prepared for such a number.”

“What? Oh, you mean eight billion? I guess that’s a lot.”

“It is.”

“Ah. Um. Was it that surprising?”

Erin’s complete incomprehension gave Krshia a gentle urge to smack her. But Humans were fragile, so though her paw twitched, she kept her voice pleasant.

“It may have been shock or perhaps it was something I ate, yes?”

The young woman glanced at the bowl of meats she still hadn’t finished.

“I sure hope not.”

“That was a joke.”

Krshia shook her head. Humans really had no sense of humor. They could never tell when she was being ironic, sardonic, sarcastic, or just teasing them. Their faces were easy to read on, the other paw.

“Let us put the interruption behind us. You were telling me about your world. It has many people—this I now realize. But what else is different?”

Erin frowned, scratched at her ear with one finger, and shrugged helplessly.

“Uh, everything? I mean, most things. We’ve got mountains and water and stuff like you guys, but in terms of technology or buildings or…everything’s different.”

Krshia leaned forwards.

“I would like to know details of these differences. Can you give me a few important changes between our worlds? Besides the lack of Levels and Classes.”

“Well—there’s a lot to say. I mean, we’ve got such different cultures. Ours is more adv—more different in many ways. Like—we have weapons and you have weapons, but ours are more shooty.”

“Shooty?”

“Yeah. Like ‘blam’.”

Erin made a gun with her fingers and pointed while making the sound. Krshia blinked at her, uncomprehending.

“What I mean is, we don’t use swords. Or axes. We have guns. They’re, uh, sort of like crossbows but better? Do you know what crossbows are?”

“I…see. Yes, I have heard of crossbows. I know them decently well, though bows—I am familiar with in their many forms. Crossbows. Hrr. And you have many of these weapons? They are powerful, yes?”

“Yeah. But we don’t use them on monsters. We just kill each other with them. And we don’t use horses—well we do use horses, but we also have other ways to travel. Like cars.”

In some ways, fainting had been more relaxing for Krshia than talking to Erin. Her head was beginning to hurt.

“Cars? What are these creatures?”

“They’re not animals. They’re, uh, moving, metal boxes. On wheels.”

“You—push them around, yes?”

“No…it’s more like they move because we burn stuff inside them. Combustion. They drive themselves. Well I mean, they don’t drive themselves. You need a Human in one to drive it. But some of the newer cars can drive themselves. But most can’t. And they need fuel. Gasoline. That’s a type of oil, I think.”

Erin looked helplessly at Krshia. The Gnoll was massaging her temples.

“Um. Did any of that make sense?”

——

They tried for another half hour before they gave up. Erin did her best, but she really didn’t know how half of the things in her world worked. Her best explanation of cars was that they had some kind of engine-creature in its stomach that ate oil and made the car move faster than a horse. And she had no idea how planes actually flew, especially when Krshia kept asking her how something that was made of metal could ever fly without magic.

It wasn’t as if Erin had failed science class or didn’t know how things worked. But she hadn’t exactly taken Engineering 101 either. In fact, she hadn’t gone into college, preferring to work as a chess tutor and tournament contender to save up money before she enrolled.

All of that meant—well, it just meant that while Erin could tell Krshia a lot of fantastical things, it sounded like she was making everything up. And Krshia was clearly distracted. She kept rubbing at her head for one thing. Erin guessed she’d hit it pretty hard when she fell over.

“Enough, enough. I am weary, and you are thirsty. Drink, and let us talk of other things for the moment.”

Erin nodded and accepted a refill of the new batch of tea Krshia had brewed while they spoke. She eyed the Gnoll.

“Well, I guess I can’t really explain my world that well. But your world is equally strange to me. Stuff like magic—that’s just fairy tales in my world.”

“Ah, you have…Winter Sprites? I have heard a few call them ‘faeries’.”

“No, I…you know what? Forget it. I’m just saying we don’t have magic. So when I came here, I had no idea how anything worked.”

“Hmm. I remember. You were lost and very afraid, then. But you have done well since, yes?”

“I guess.”

“There is no guessing. I have seen how you have improved and made this land your home. We have witnessed your triumphs. We have seen your victories. They are to be proud of, Erin Solstice.”

Erin sighed and shook her head in denial. Then, suddenly, she looked up at Krshia. A flicker of suspicion crossed her face.

“Krshia? Why did you want to talk with me about my world?”

Krshia thought fast while keeping her face straight. She answered carefully.

“I was simply curious. It is natural to question such statements, is it not?”

“I guess. But you just said you’d been watching me. And you said ‘we’. Is that why I keep seeing a bunch of Gnolls wherever I go?”

For a Human, Erin was surprisingly perceptive at times. Krshia cursed her slip of the tongue and kept a straight face. But Erin had played too many games of chess. She could see when someone had on a poker face. Her eyes narrowed.

“Right. I guess it’s time for my questions. Krshia, what do the Gnolls want with me?”

Krshia tapped her claw against her teacup. Again, she chose her next sentence with extreme care, as if she were negotiating a sale worth hundreds of gold pieces.

“The Gnolls who live in Liscor have many desires. We hoped—that there might be some things that one such as you could help us with. But that is only part of the reason I asked you here. The other part was to ask a question. What does Erin Solstice want?”

Erin blinked as the question came straight back at her.

“What do I want?”

“Everything is give and take, yes? We would give much for knowledge. Items of worth. Things that could help our people. But all things have a price. We would help you grant your desires if you had something to offer in exchange.”

“I don’t have anything to give you. Besides food. But I buy that from you.”

“It may be you do not realize your own worth. A stranger from a far-off land has many secrets, many skills of worth she does not know she possesses, yes?”

“Maybe. I doubt it, though.”

“Regardless. I asked you a question. What is it you wish? If possible, we would help you. Or if my tribe disagrees, I would help you not as one seeking a bargain but as a friend.”

Erin smiled at Krshia.

“Well, when you put it like that—I still don’t know.”

Krshia frowned.

“There are many things Humans want. Surely you have the same wishes, yes? Do you want money?”

“What would I use it on? Repairing the inn? I guess money’d be nice, but I’m okay.”

“Hrm. Then do you wish for more levels? Better weapons? These things many Humans desire. Or—an attractive mate? A fertile one?”

“No, no, no, and definitely no. I’m not interested in any of that. Really. I already have a lot of those adventurers chatting me up in the street.”

“Hrrm.”

This was tricky. Krshia had already run through all the things she would have wanted. Erin didn’t exactly seem like she was too interested in mating at the moment, and she was no warrior—at least, she didn’t like fighting. But neither was she happy.

“Then what is it you wish?”

Erin shrugged. She stared at her half-empty tea cup, at the ceiling, around Krshia’s room—and then she seemed to realize what she was missing. She looked at Krshia.

“I want to go home.”

It was a simple sentence, delivered casually. But the wave of emotion Krshia smelled coming off of Erin told an entirely different story. The Gnoll shopkeeper had a strong desire to wrinkle her nose or rub at it, but that would have given her away.

“I see. But if you have not returned already, you do not know the way back, yes?”

“Yes—I mean, no. I don’t.”

Erin shook her head, distracted. Now that she’d said what was in her heart, her entire demeanor had changed. Her body language was shifting, and the turmoil of emotions within her was making Krshia’s nose twitch.

“This desire of yours. You wish for it strongly, yes?”

“No.”

Erin lied and then corrected her lie as Krshia raised one eyebrow.

“Maybe. Yes. I don’t want to insult this place. It’s a beautiful world you have here, Krshia. It really is more amazing than anything from my world. And I’ve made friends. Selys, Pawn, you…even Pisces. All that’s good, but—”

She paused and then looked down into her cup. Erin’s voice was quiet.

“I have family back home. My mom and my dad. I can’t believe I don’t think of them more often, but I guess I’m just trying to stay sane here. And I had friends. It’s not like I miss them most of the time—I try not to think about it. But…I didn’t even get to say goodbye, y’know?”

For two seconds, it looked as if she would break. Erin blinked rapidly and brushed at her eyes. But the tears never fell. She sighed, and the moment was past.

“Sorry. It’s just—I’d really like to go home. If I could. I know it might be impossible. I don’t even know if it was some kind of spell or a…a cosmic accident that brought me here. But if I could, I want to go home.”

Krshia stared at Erin, her dark eyes unblinking. She said nothing out loud, but she was thinking. For a second, the bright, cheerful nature of Erin had broken. It was a mask, a layer of protection around her heart. She was strong, but fragile, like the Antinium were underneath their shells. Her hide was tough. But it would all break down if Krshia pushed just a tiny bit—

The Gnoll pretended nothing had happened and went on talking until Erin’s emotions were fully back under her control. Now was not the time for such things.

“It may have been magic. Perhaps. I do not know such things. I am merely a [Shopkeeper]. But I have never heard of one crossing from other worlds through a spell. That is the stuff of legends, creating magical dimensions and crossing betwixt them. But there are many magics that teleport. Perhaps a truly great [Mage] may have used such a spell by accident or mistake.”

Erin frowned speculatively.

“Maybe. It didn’t feel like magic back then. But I’ve never been teleported, so maybe it was magic and I just didn’t notice. It really felt like an accident.”

“Accident or not, you are here. And perhaps the cause is irrelevant, yes? You are here. The question is not what brought you here, but how you may return.”

“And is magic the answer?”

“Most likely. I would not know of any other way. But as I have said, it would take a [Mage], no—an [Archmage] to cast such a spell, if it can be done.”

“Right. You wouldn’t happen to have one of those lying around, would you?”

Krshia shook her head.

“They are the rarest of spellcasters. I know of only a few, and none live on this continent. Nor are they [Archmages] proper…but they are the best you could ask for, for magical help.”

“Great.”

Erin shook her head. Krshia smiled.

“Do not despair before even hearing of them, yes? Listen. There are several archmages. One on the Human continent to the north. Two more on other continents. But at least three have homes in Wistram, the Isle of Mages.”

Erin perked up at that.

“Really? Three?”

“They come and go. But Wistram is their home. If you waited there for a month, you would surely see at least one, yes? And perhaps it is not an Archmage you need but the right spell.”

“So what you’re saying is that Wistram is the place I would want to go if I wanted to find out about getting home, right?”

“Mm. Perhaps.”

Erin frowned because Krshia was frowning.

“What’s wrong?”

“It is nothing. I am sure if you travelled to Wistram they would allow you entry. But it is not such a good place that I would tell you to travel alone, yes?”

“Really? But I thought it was like Hogw—a, uh, school for mages. Wouldn’t it be safe and full of cool spells and stuff?”

Krshia flicked her fingers dismissively.

“Perhaps some may call it so. But your Pisces, he graduated from Wistram did he not? And he is a [Necromancer] and a thief and gravedigger.”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

“And Wistram is made up of many Humans, yes? They are petty and squabble as many of your kind do. Non-humans live among them, of course, but it is no haven. Wistram is no friend to the magicless.”

A dark frown crossed Krshia’s face. Erin sat still, remembering to breathe. She’d forgotten how scary Gnolls could be. On one hand, they were like giant teddy bears, but on the other hand, they greatly resembled giant teddy bears, complete with razor-sharp claws.

“Did something happen to you, Krshia? Did you—did you ever go to Wistram?”

“I?”

Krshia sniffed dismissively and shook her head.

“I would not visit such a place. Nor would any of my kind, even to trade and earn money. We do not deal with those fools.”

“Fools?”

Krshia shook her head.

“It is an old story. I would not trouble you with it, Erin.”

“No, tell me. Please. I’m interested.”

The Gnoll hesitated, but Erin was openly earnest. And because it was clearly upsetting her, Krshia told the story.

“Wistram is a place of magic. It is the place for mages to go and learn, yes? Other cities have their own guilds and even schools, and some nations pay for mages to learn and serve. But Wistram is nationless and a nation unto itself. They have never bowed to any ruler and never shall. So they are thought of well by all who practice magic. But they are fools.”

Her fingers clenched on her tea cup and relaxed before they could shatter the delicate porcelain.

“Nearly forty years ago, the Gnoll tribes gathered to talk and forge alliances and plans for the future. It is done every twenty years, and it is an important time. At that time, we had heard much of Wistram, and many among us wished for Gnolls to learn such secrets as the Academy teaches. It is said that Gnolls cannot be [Mages]—well, why not test that theory? No Gnoll had ever taught themselves magic, but tribe Weatherfur suggested we ask the greatest teachers in the world if there is even a chance it could be done. Sensible, yes?”

Erin sat in her chair, listening to Krshia’s rumbling voice and thinking. She already thought she knew how the story ended, but she wondered other things. Had Krshia been there? How old was she? And—what did the Gnolls want? But Krshia went on, and Erin was sucked into her story.

“It was decided that the tribes would send one of our finest young [Shamans] to Wistram to ask admission. We chose one who was young but was talented beyond his years and gave him magical artifacts from each tribe and much coin to make the journey. Our warriors took him to a port city, and he took a ship to Wistram, braving storms and pirates on his long journey.”

If it was possible, Krshia’s expression turned even angrier. Her hackles raised. Erin watched as the hair on the back of Krshia’s neck stood upright, fascinated.

“The mages at Wistram gave the Gnoll a test when he asked to be entered into the Academy. They did not believe him when he claimed to be a spellcaster as they were. They asked him to cast spells, but he was alone, yes? Alone, and without any to draw on. Without any others, there is no magic to cast for [Shamans]. That is why he asked to be taught as a normal student. But the mages, they did not listen. They cast him out and declared all Gnolls to be magic-deficient. Talentless.”

Krshia growled and spat. Erin stared at the glob of spit dripping from one of the Gnoll’s dressers and wondered if she were going to clean that up later.

“That is why to this day [Mages] from Wistram are not welcome among the tribes and why we do not trade with their island. And that is why even if you go, you must not trust them, Erin Solstice. The mages of Wistram do not trust any who do not have magic they recognize.”

Erin nodded. Krshia’s story sounded like a case of good old-fashioned racism or maybe just ignorance. Either way, she understood the Gnoll’s ire. But it didn’t change things.

“I’d still like to talk to a mage. Or—a mage besides Pisces, at least.”

Krshia shrugged, tired from telling her story.

“There are several in the city. But Drake mages, the strong ones, fight with their army, yes? And magic is not as widely practiced in these lands. Perhaps you would find one wise enough to help you, but you would search long.”

“So Wistram’s my only option? I mean, I’m not saying I’d just get up and head over there but—”

“If you wish to return home, that may be your best choice.”

Erin sat still for a while, staring into her tea cup. She raised it to her lips and took a long drink of the bitter and now cold tea.

“Okay. Okay. That’s—that’s something to aim for, at least.”

“It is good to have a goal. And perhaps that is something we may assist you with.”

“Really? I mean, why? And how? Is it that hard to get to Wistram?”

Krshia shrugged.

“Perhaps not hard for one with much coin, but it is a long ways away and dangerous for a lone Human female who is not a warrior, and even one who is, yes? Anyone may attempt the journey to Wistram, but it is another thing to make the journey and survive.”

That didn’t sound good. At all. Erin frowned.

“What’s so hard about it? You hire a carriage, get to a port city, jump on a boat, and you’re nearly there, right?”

Krshia laughed quietly and tapped Erin on the shoulder. Again, Gnolls had a heavy tap that was more like a shove.

“It is good to be young and eager. But it is not good to stop thinking, yes? Wistram is protected by more than mages. The seas around the college are calm at times, but at other times, they devour ships and sink fleets. Especially in the winter.”

She shook her head at Erin.

“Even if you left now, winter would freeze you at sea as you travelled west, and the storms would crack the hull of any ship foolish enough to brave the oceans. And there is the cost to consider as well.”

“Oh, right. Hiring a ship would be really expensive, right?”

“You would seek passage on a ship to Wistram. That would not be as expensive, but I talk of the cost of the journey. To travel north to the port cities safely would require joining a caravan that hires adventurers. That costs coin. A good place on a good ship with an able captain requires coin. A bodyguard or one who would protect you costs coin. And seeking lodging in Wistram—”

“I get it. It costs a lot of coin, right?”

Krshia sniffed at Erin and flicked her forehead lightly like one would a child. Only in this case it really hurt.

“Ow! Stop that! Your claws are sharp!”

“Apologies. But you are still not thinking. Say you reach Wistram after travelling so far. Tell me, Erin Solstice, how do you plan on finding a mage to bring you home?”

“Well…”

Erin paused and blinked.

“I, uh, hadn’t thought of that. I guess I’d just go to their headmaster and ask for help?”

Krshia laughed hard and long.

“That would be a sight to see. Yes, and talking to such a leader among mages would be an achievement in itself if he even existed! Wistram has a Council and its Archmages. You might find many influential persons, but why would they listen? You are just a child speaking of other worlds. Even if you could prove your truth, which is simple enough, how would you convince them to help you?”

“Well—I’m from another world. Isn’t that enough?”

“Perhaps to some. But while I believe you—how would you prove it to them? And even assuming they wished to help—do you think Wistram does anything for free?”

Erin’s heart sank.

“So you’re saying I’d need to pay a mage to help me?”

Krshia nodded. Well, she nodded, shrugged, and seemed unclear.

“I am not one to make idle promises, Erin Solstice. Many might help you for free, but you would not like me if you had gone to Wistram only to find no one willing to hear you unless you had gold to pay them, eh? To be certain, either have the funds to buy a mage to assist you or to find a mage worthy and willing to help you. That is the real cost I speak of.”

Things were never so simple as they were in books. It was Erin’s turn to rub at her head with her hands. If this were Harry Potter, she’d be able to walk up to Diagon Alley and—well, she was a muggle and she’d forgotten the password, so they wouldn’t let her in, and even if she did walk around asking people if they were wizards—

“This sucks. You’re telling me I have to pay to go home?”

“Is it not always so?”

Erin scowled at Krshia, but the Gnoll just smiled back. Erin reluctantly began to think, counting off on her fingers.

“Okay. Say that is my goal. How much money would I need, do you think? A hundred gold pieces for the journey? And then maybe another hundred pieces to find a place to stay? And—um, let’s call it six hundred for finding a mage willing to help me? That’s…a lot.”

“Too much, I think.”

Krshia shook her head at Erin.

“You have no idea of pricing, yes? For sixty pieces perhaps I could bring you to Wistram. It would be a longer journey, and you would need to find one to guard you. But it could be done. And a hundred gold pieces would last you several years even in Wistram. But the real price is in the mage.”

Erin’s heart sunk even lower.

“Six hundred gold pieces not enough?”

“It is not about money. Mages have much money, and offering to pay them may work or it may not. Your money would be of little interest to all but the lowest-level ones. They are not what you want, I am thinking.”

“No, definitely not.”

“We spoke of archmages, yes? They are the ones you seek. Finding an audience with them through wit or bribery—that is your challenge. For that, I would take as much money as I could bring and something to attract their attention.”

Erin sat back in her chair, overwhelmed at the idea—not to mention the cost. Krshia laughed again.

“Do not despair. These things seem large, but they are not overwhelming, yes? Sit. Drink. And let me talk to you of what the Gnolls might do. And what you may do for us.”

Erin sat back in her chair as Krshia stood up. She let the Gnoll bustle around her home, refilling Erin’s cup with more tea, offering her more food and thought. She thought about the journey, what Krshia was proposing, and the danger and difficulty involved at every step. But she also thought of something else.

She remembered a quiet home, two people she knew she could go to with every worry. She thought of her bed, her friends. She thought of home and realized that was where she really wanted to go.

——

When Erin walked out of Krshia’s home, it was nearly nightfall. The Gnoll insisted she walk Erin back to the gates, and it was only with some convincing that Erin told her she’d be fine on the way back. She’d spotted a shiny, bald…head with no hair or even skin attached hiding on a nearby hillside, and she didn’t want the Gnoll to freak out.

It would have taken a lot for Krshia to freak out at this stage anyways, even if she’d known how to freak out properly. It had been a long conversation Erin and Krshia had had, ranging from the logistics of how one might travel from Liscor all the way to Wistram Academy, hundreds—perhaps thousands of miles away. Erin had forgotten to ask the exact distances, probably because she was too afraid to.

But between talk of money and the journey, Krshia had talked with Erin about her world and extracted a promise for the Human girl to tell her more at another time. That had been what had set the Gnoll’s stomach jumping and was the main reason she didn’t pick up on the dead smell of bones, magic, and marrow blowing her way.

She watched Erin disappear into the night, ignoring the gate guard until the Human had crested a hill. She could hear Erin shouting something, but she was too far away at that point even for the Gnoll’s ears to pick up what she was saying.

Only then did Krshia turn to the guard at the gates who was deliberately ignoring her and nudge him.

“There is no one watching. You can drop the act, Tkrn. You are a terrible pretender of things in any case.”

Tkrn, the Gnoll guardsman who had been assigned to the gates for the last few days in a row, grinned toothily at Krshia.

“Aunt, finally! I was wondering if you were going to stab Erin or call for help. If she really was a [Spy] from Terandria or something.”

Krshia scowled at the other Gnoll and jabbed him in the ribs. Hard. Even though the other Gnoll was wearing chainmail, he still winced.

“I told you it would not come to that. And you and the others are fools for suggesting it and dreaming her disappearance would not be noticed. Kill a lost child?”

Tkrn scowled and rubbed at his side sulkily. But he didn’t dare talk back. Instead, he cast his eyes to where Erin had disappeared.

“I just—it was a joke! Anyways, she’s really what she seems to be?”

Krshia snorted.

“As I have said, so it is. She is no threat; merely a lost one seeking to return home.”

Tkrn shook his head.

“So it is true? She is from another world?”

“I sense the truth of it. Yes, she is one who came here by mistake.”

Again, the other Gnoll shook his head in disbelief.

“When I first smelled her, she stank of a place full of oil and metal and burning. Is her world like that?”

Krshia paused, thinking.

“From what she said—and did not say—it is a world of Humans. They alone live in it. Whether that is a better one than this I do not know.”

“But it is different.”

“Yes. Very. In ways that are disturbing and grand. But she did not speak much of these differences, and I understood less. But she is—useful. She is important.”

“But she wants to go home, too. So we’re the only ones who can help her. Which means we get to ask favors of her, right? Maybe even present her to the Meeting of Tribes for Silverfang’s honor?”

Krshia gave Tkrn a baleful look, and he wilted.

“You were supposed to be looking out for other listeners, not eavesdropping, fool. What point is there hearing what I will tell the others anyways?”

“But it doesn’t matter, does it? No one was listening that I saw.”

Tkrn whined at Krshia, but the other Gnoll didn’t relent. She shook her head.

“We need Erin Solstice more than she needs us, yes? And we do not want her speaking with others who would know her value.”

Krshia prodded Tkrn none-too-gently in the chest.

“So be more alert! When she comes back, I wish to know. And tonight, ask one of the Runners. Lv or Tshana. They must send a message to the tribes.”

Tkrn looked up. That was serious. He listened carefully as Krshia spoke.

“They must send more of our people here. Wise ones. I ask for counsel as well, of all I have learned. I will speak with all those in the city as soon as all can be gathered and send a second Runner. But this first one must go at once.”

“Will you ask anything else of them?”

“Ask them if they have found others such as Erin. And if they have not found them, tell them to search! Tell them to look among Humans for ones who stand out and speak and act differently.”

Tkrn straightened and nodded. He had a sword at his waist and a shield buckled to one arm. But he would have been dangerous without either weapon. Well. Moderately dangerous. His eyes glinted in the moonlight.

“Do you want me to gather some others to watch over her inn? We could set up camp a few miles away in secret. Watch Captain Zevara will notice if I’m off-duty, but the others could work in shifts.”

Again, for his trouble, Tkrn earned another elbow that made him wince. Krshia flattened her ears and glared at him.

“You are foolish, Tkrn. Just like a cub on his first hunt. If we place others around her inn, she will notice, yes? But before she does, others will notice and ask questions. And we have few warriors in the city as it is.”

Tkrn whined. He didn’t like speaking to Krshia, especially because the punishment for making mistakes was so painful.

“How can we protect her if we cannot be seen near her?”

Krshia didn’t turn as she strode away. She spoke briskly over her shoulder as she went to talk with other Gnolls.

“How else? We give her the means to protect herself.”

——

Toren was being chastised. Or rather, Toren was being yelled at. It was pretty much the same thing, but volume was the key difference here.

Erin walked through the grass back towards her inn, snapping at the skeleton as it meekly followed her, fish in hand.

“Why did you come all the way out here? Do you know what would have happened if the guard had seen you? He would have smashed you to bits, and I would have probably gotten in trouble. Somehow.”

Toren the skeleton didn’t say anything. It couldn’t, but it wouldn’t even if it could. It felt bad, but also good, which was a confusing feeling. Bad because Erin was mad at it, but good because it had a name.

Toren. No last name. Although why the skeleton would want two names was beyond it. But Erin had told it that was its name. Toren. It meant rook in another language, but what a rook was Toren had no idea. It was just a piece of carved stone on the board Erin liked to stare at so much.

Erin stormed through the grass, Toren meekly following in her wake. Her anger at the skeleton was rapidly dissipating, mainly because it was just taking all of her abuse. But her temper flared every time she looked back and saw the skeleton carrying the massive, and very dead, flat fish.

“And what were you thinking? Were you even thinking? Can you even think? Why would you think grabbing one of those stupid fish was a good idea?”

Toren bowed its head meekly and made no reply. The dead fish he carried in both his arms flopped around as he followed her.

Really, the skeleton hadn’t intended to kill the fish. It had leapt out at him while he’d been filling the buckets with water. But by dragging it away from its watery home, Toren had learned an important lesson: fish couldn’t breathe without water.

It hadn’t been sure if the flat fish were truly dangerous, but the skeleton was aware of their crushing strength and lethally sharp teeth. Moreover the skeleton now known as Toren had felt there was something valuable to be gained. It was—yes, it was Level 2 already from battling the adventurers. Perhaps it could gain another level by killing fish?

After all, a level wasn’t much, especially at lower-levels. But the skeleton had felt the slight shift in its overall coordination, strength, endurance, and overall fighting ability. The connection was simple in its mind. Levels were strength. So too was the [Basic Weapon Proficiency: Swords] Skill it had acquired.

It had orders. Do something productive. That could mean kill fish. So the skeleton had stuck its arm into the water and moved it around enticingly. Killing things was easy. Not like cleaning.

Thus, it had killed several of the large fish and taken them back to the inn. And it had brought one for Erin as something ‘useful’. Clearly, it had failed.

“Look, it’s not that I don’t like fish. I like fish. Dead fish that have a bit of lemon juice squeezed over the top after they’ve been roasted nicely. And maybe a bit of salt and pepper. I like those kinds of fish. But this fish is bad news. I tried cutting its scales off once and nearly sliced my hand off.”

That sounded like a problem, but Toren wasn’t sure what it was expected to do about it.

Erin kicked the door to her inn open, stopped as her nose registered the fishy smell, and turned to glare at Toren. The skeleton flinched back from her. Erin stormed into the kitchen, and her exclamation nearly rattled the floorboards.

“What is this?”

Fish were easy to catch, especially since Toren didn’t mind if they latched onto its arm. But they were hard to get off, so Toren had to hack at them with its sword. Thus, the fish in Erin’s kitchen weren’t so much dead as…

Disassembled.

The fish Toren was holding was the only one that was even close to intact. The other…bits Toren had carefully collected, washed to remove dirt and blood, and then deposited in a neat heaping pile on one of the cutting boards in the kitchen.

The fish guts dripped onto the floor. Toren automatically put down its fish on the counter and went to clean up the puddle of bloody water.

“Stop that.”

The skeleton paused with the rag in its hand as Erin rubbed at her face and tried not to scream. It could sense Erin was angry, but it clearly had no idea why. Erin sighed and pointed at the dead fish.

“You did this.”

The skeleton nodded.

“I think I get it. You wanted to be helpful. This is food. Which is…helpful, right?”

Another nod. Erin sighed.

“But look—I can’t eat this. No one can. Not even the G—well, maybe the Goblins. But we don’t eat food like…”

She waved at the mess of fish. Toren appeared confused.

“It’s the scales. See these?”

Erin pointed to the sharp, glittering scales lying all over the counter.

“They’re not tasty. And these ones are sharp. If we want to eat the fish, you have to get rid of the scales. And I—I can’t do it. Seriously. Like I said, last time…”

Erin broke off. The skeleton—she kept forgetting she’d named him Toren—was nodding. It dropped the rag, walked over, and grabbed a knife. Then it grabbed the fish it had taken and raised the knife.

It had no cooking skills and probably no idea what cooking even was. It hacked energetically and completely ineffectually at the fish with the knife. Scales and guts went flying everywhere. Erin covered her face and yelped as the skeleton cut, pried, and generally ripped the scales and much of the flesh right off the fish.

“Stop, stop!”

Toren paused and looked over at her. Erin pointed.

“Outside. Do that outside, on a table or something. And after that, clean up—no, nevermind. I’ll clean up this mess, you start getting rid of those scales, okay?”

The skeleton nodded. It carefully stuck the kitchen knife between its ribs to hold it in place, lifted the huge fish with both hands, and walked out of the kitchen with it. Erin stared until she heard the screech of wood on wood as the skeleton began dragging a table towards the door.

“I—don’t even know. I just don’t know.”

She stared down at the mess of scales and blood on the kitchen floor, then at the pile of eviscerated fish parts. It was a mess.

But—was it because they were disassembled? Somehow, Erin could tell what she could do with the fish guts now that they were in manageable pieces. Without the scales, she could fry them, use them in soups, bake them after breading them…

“I guess [Basic Cooking] doesn’t include scale removal. Or—scale removal on killer fish.”

That reminded Erin. She walked back to the entrance of the kitchen and called outside.

“Get rid of the teeth, bones, and fins too!”

She heard no response, but she was beginning to not expect one. With a sigh, Erin walked back into her kitchen and stared at the mess.

It really wasn’t that hard to clean up. And the skeleton had found a new food source. Or rather, it had transformed an old food source into an actual source of food. For her. It had done it for her.

That was nice. And Erin had finally thought of a name for it thanks to all the online chess games and conversations she’d had with foreign players. The Dutch had some pretty cool names.

It was all fine. Even her conversation with Krshia—

“Wasn’t that weird?”

Erin murmured to herself as she began separating the obviously unusable parts of the fish on the cutting board. The guts squelched horribly, but her mind was elsewhere.

Home. She really had tried not to think of it. But now that she had, it called to her. And it was still so far away. A mage? An archmage? Where the hell was she going to find one of those? But it was also something to focus on. A goal.

And that was good. It was all good. Except that now Erin was back in the inn, she’d remembered something. Or someones. Rags and Pisces were gone. Well, obviously they’d both left once they realized she wasn’t getting back in time for dinner. And that was good too. Erin didn’t think she could face them right now.

The fish guts were all separated, and Erin had the teeth, bones, and miscellaneous bits ready for Toren to take out and dispose of. Far away. She’d have to tell him that. He could toss them back in the stream.

She stared down at the mostly descaled bits of fish. The blood and guts stared up at her. She could cook them, though. She could turn them into something useful. It was a valuable Skill, and one she’d gotten without even having to practice. It was practically like magic.

Erin’s fist hit the pile of fish guts.

“Damnit.”

She hit the fish again. Bits of blood splattered her face, but Erin punched harder.

“Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit.”

She punched the flayed fish, ignoring the squishing and the splatters of blood. She kicked the counter, hit the fish until her hands were raw and tingling, and then stopped.

“Fuck. Stupid, stupid—”

There were no right words. And all the ones she knew sounded so hollow and pitiful. Erin put her hands over her face and took them away instantly. Bits of fish clung to her skin. She looked around.

The counter and floor were even more of a mess than they’d been before. So were Erin’s clothes and her hair. She reeked of the smell of dead fish now. It would take a long time to clean up, even with Toren’s help

If she were a mage, she’d be able to clean it all up with a spell or a wave of her wand. If she were a mage, she’d be able to cook everything and relax without having to worry about a thing. If she were a mage, she might even learn how to bring herself back home.

If she could use magic…

But she couldn’t.

A few tears ran down Erin’s face. She would have wiped at her eyes, but her hands were dirty. She was dirty. And she had no magic to make it all go away. She couldn’t even dream of magic. Because she had none. And knowing that made it all so much worse.

Her tears fell onto the cutting board and mixed with the blood and death below her. Erin didn’t care. She let her tears fall and heard the sound of an owl’s wings flapping and heard the high pitched tones of a celeste, and far off in the distance, horns and violins.

For a moment, she wore robes and held a wand that sparked and glowed. In that instant, she could fly, albeit with a broom, and there was nothing that she couldn’t solve with a few latin words and a spell. For a moment.

But the magic was gone. And only Erin was left, covered in dead fish and lost.

Alone, and dreaming of home.

“…Damn it.”

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.47 R

After two hours of talking, the shouting began—and stopped almost as fast. Tempers had risen—and no sooner did a chair scrape back than they all caught each other and took a second to breathe.

The six people sat around a table and studied each other carefully. They were all warriors, and all but one of them was Human. And while some of them were friends with each other, they weren’t here to socialize. This was business, and right now, they were all arguing about one thing.

The first to break the silence was the Minotaur. Calruz, captain of the Horns of Hammerad, wasn’t one for waiting at the best of times, and his patience was already stretched thin. He hit the large table in the Adventurer’s Guild lightly—at least in the sense that his fist didn’t crack the wood. Two of the other adventurer captains jumped from the impact as everyone stared at him.

“Have you no spines? Here is the opportunity of a lifetime, and you all hesitate to step forwards! Grab your axes, and let’s enter these ruins already!”

The woman sitting next to him shook her head. She was a fair-skinned woman with blonde hair and polished silver armor, completely contrasting against Calruz’s bare chest and impatient nature. But he and she were in agreement.

“Most of us don’t use axes, Calruz. And while you have a point, recklessness is the exact reason everyone else is hesitating. We need to move carefully, and I’m saying it can be done. But—together. No running over people’s chances to speak.”

The Minotaur glared sideways at the woman, but he was wise enough not to attack his only ally in the room. He subsided back into his chair, grumbling.

“If we don’t get in there first, some Gold-rank team is going to organize an expedition and grab everything before we do!”

One of the captains sitting across the table shook his head. He was an archer, at least from the large longbow resting against the table next to him. He was tired—not only from organizing this meeting, but from riding all the way here from Liscor to meet everyone. Without Skills to aid his travel, it had been a day-long ride with little breaks. Even so—he was cautious and moderated his arguments. Because he had seen what Calruz was speaking so eagerly about with his own eyes.

“That’s what Charlez said. He took his entire group in right off, and they came back as zombies. Not a scratch on their weapons, but their armor was nearly ripped off. We all know what that means.”

“I don’t. Stop talking in riddles and spell it out for me.”

One of the adventurer captains leaned forwards. He was a burly man with an axe nearly as large as Calruz’s strapped to his back. He glowered at the archer-captain.

This time, it was the man in robes sitting next to him that answered the captain. Captain Menes was a spellcaster, a decent one, but Silver-rank. Not Wistram-trained but bookish, like most [Mages].

“What it means, Gregor, is that whatever Charlez and his group ran into, they didn’t even get a chance to fight back before it ripped them to pieces. And then something—it might have been another monster or the same one—reanimated them and sent them back out. That’s a serious threat.”

“And above our ability.”

That came from a scarred man who only wore a longsword at his side. Captain Rois. He wasn’t armored like the other adventurer captains, but then, he clearly didn’t feel the need while they were sitting in an Adventurer’s Guild talking. He folded his arms and shook his head at Calruz and the only female captain, Yvlon.

“We’ve all heard of how many Bronze-rank teams and individuals have been lost in those damned Ruins so far. True, most of them rushed in, but Charlez was different. He was experienced, and he went in prepared to retreat. Whatever got him was deadly. And you’re proposing we go in without knowing what the hell is down there?”

The woman in silver armor shook her head. She had the emblem of her noble house emblazoned on her armor, and so the others were slightly deferential—but only just. They were all adventurers, here.

“Silver and steel, Rois, haven’t you been listening this entire time? I’m not saying go in blind! The exact opposite! I’m proposing we join together and launch a six-team raid on those ruins. We stock up on supplies, pool our best warriors, and fortify along the way as we go as far as we can.”

She glanced at Cervial, the [Archer Captain], for confirmation that she was on-track with his proposal and got a nod.

“We’ll have a far better chance if we work together, and the Ruins are practically untouched beyond the first level. I hear Liscor doesn’t want to investigate themselves and is leaving everything up to the adventurers. If we want to get to whatever treasures are buried in there, now’s our chance.”

Calruz nodded emphatically, but the others didn’t appear convinced. Cervial leaned forwards and addressed the table at large.

“Why not let the other adventurers go in first and wait for at least one or two to come back for more insight? I know I organized us to talk—but I’m still not sold myself. This isn’t like you, Yvlon. I could see Calruz wanting to go in, but how’d he manage to talk you into it?”

Yvlon, the woman in silver armor, smiled at the other captain.

“Impatience and daring, Cervial. I was excited as the rest of you when I heard about the ruins. But you’re right. I am moving fast, but not because Calruz managed to talk me into it. I heard there’s a team of Gold-rank adventurers who’ll be here in a week or less.”

That caused a stir at the table. The other captains muttered, and not happily too.

“Well that changes things.”

“Does it? Not in my opinion. The Ruins are still too dangerous.”

“But letting a bunch of Golds take all the treasure? That’s different. Are they bound from the City of Adventurers?”

“Almost definitely. But that’s not all I’ve heard. And my news is more disturbing.”

This time, it was the Menes who spoke up. He glanced around the table and raised a finger significantly. The tip of it sparked with magic.

“There’s a Named-rank adventurer in the city right now. You might have heard of her. Gazi the Omniscient.”

All the captains fell silent. Gregor’s lips moved soundlessly with awe and trepidation. Gazi the—

Of course they knew her. That—that changed things.

Gold-rank was as high as most ranking systems allowed for in any continent. As a general rule of thumb, a Bronze-rank adventuring team wasn’t much better than a group of rookies, while a Silver-rank team was more than a match for a small city’s standing militia. The equipment and magic available to a group of adventurers like the Horns of Hammerad meant that they could take on challenges even a large garrison might not manage.

Beyond that, Gold-rank adventurers were experienced, highly-trained groups that could handle most monster threats with ease. At the top of that grouping, teams of adventurers were equivalent to small armies and could affect disputes between nations.

Some countries quibbled about the exact definitions of each rank and had different ways of grading the ranks—but in practice, they were all able to fit in these three categories to a certain degree of expectation. But once you surpassed a certain level of prowess, you got given a new title.

Named-rank Adventurer.

In practice, they were called that because their names were known throughout the part of the world where they travelled. They were living legends to adventurers with short careers like the Silver-rank captains in the room. There was no higher rank, no loftier expectation. One of them could do what teams of Gold-ranks could not.

They were famous, like Deniusth the Violinist, Saliss of Lights—and Gazi was famous enough to be known continents away.

Captain Rois broke the silence first. He checked his longsword and exhaled hard.

“Well, that’s different. Very different. If a Named adventurer is in the city, there’s probably only one real reason why she’s there: the ruins. But the real question is why hasn’t she gone in yet?”

Captain Menes lifted his hand.

“I’ll tell you why. It’s because she’s being cautious. And if a Named adventurer doesn’t want to go in just yet—”

Cervial hesitated.

“She might not have any idea what’s down there. It could be fine. They’re not all-knowing. I mean, despite her name.”

No one laughed at the joke. Gregor licked his lips nervously. Gazi had spooked him.

“Or there could be monsters that would make the High Passes look like a small bear cave by comparison! No! My group won’t take part.”

“You coward, Gregor. Where’s your sense of pride as a warrior?”

Calruz raised his voice and aimed it at the captain with the axe. The man flushed red and pushed his chair back angrily, but Menes put a hand on Gregor’s shoulder.

“None of us are cowards, and you’d do well to remember that before tossing around insults, Calruz. But this changes things.”

“Only if you’re taking the worst view of it.”

This came from Cervial. He was thinking, stroking the handle of his bow thoughtfully as he spoke.

“I might, might be willing to give this a try. I’ve wasted enough time in Liscor to see that the other teams aren’t organized. Charlez was brave—but he went in alone, with only his team for backup. The Horns of Hammerad and the Silver Spears together represent a large fighting force. If I throw in my team, we’d have a party big enough to challenge even the deeper parts of the Ruins of Albez.”

“Don’t be stupid, Cervial. You can’t expect these ruins to be the same.”

Cervial shook his head at Menes—the [Mage] was appalled, but the other captains were listening hard.

“I’m not suggesting they are. But between our three teams, we’re at least equal to one or two Gold-rank teams, and if the rest of you joined in it might work. Might.”

Calruz leaned forwards and addressed Cervial.

“If you’re with us, I’ll want your full commitment, not uncertain promises. My team has heard my decision, and they are with us. If you lack their spirit, we do not need you.”

Yvlon winced, and Menes shook his head, pushing himself back from the table. Calruz was no negotiator. But Cervial didn’t seem to have taken much offense. He studied Calruz and then asked a question.

“What does Ceria Springwalker think about the Ruins?”

That caused another pause in the room. All eyes turned to Calruz. The Minotaur’s nostrils flared, and he snorted angrily.

“Ceria does not lead the Horns of Hammerad. I do.”

Captain Rois had paused, his chair scraping on the floorboards. He sat down thoughtfully, and Menes joined him. Rois looked at Calruz.

“Yes, but she’s got more experience adventuring, and she’s older than any two of us in this room put together. If she thinks it’s worth the risk, I’ll throw in with this plan.”

Gregor the axe-captain stared incredulously from Calruz to Cervial. He stood up.

“You’re all crazy, and whatever’s down there is going to eat you alive. I’m out, and so is my party.”

Yvlon shook her head, distraught. She glanced at the mage captain hopefully.

“Menes? You with us? Listen. This is the kind of thing that puts a team on the map. My brother’s team, the Silver Swords? They didn’t become Gold-ranks turning down chances like this.”

Everyone glanced up, because Yvlon had invoked a famous name. The Silver Swords. Gold-ranks. Menes hesitated brushing at his robes and then shook his head reluctantly.

“I’m sorry, but Gregor’s right. It’s too risky, and my group needs more space to cast our spells. If we knew for certain what was below, I’d join you. Cervial, you should think this through as well.”

The archer-captain paused and then shrugged.

“I understand, but I’ll trust our resident half-Elf on this one. If she thinks it’s worth the risk, I’ll take my team in, cramped corridors or not. How often do you think we’ll get a chance like this?”

His words went unanswered. Gregor and Menes left the room, shaking their heads and talking to each other quietly. After a moment, the scarred captain stood up and followed after them, leaving the three captains behind.

“Well, that could have gone better.”

Yvlon leaned over the table despondently as Calruz glared at the closed door.

“We don’t need cowards. If they lack the courage to risk their lives, we were better off without them to begin with. Such weakness would only drag us down.”

“Yes, but now we have to fill their holes with Bronze-rank teams, and that is weakness. I guess it’ll come down to how many freelancers are hanging around the ruins. We’ll need more mages and more front-line fighters. At least we’ve got one team who can detect and disarm traps.”

Cervial raised one hand warningly.

“If—”

“Yes, if Ceria thinks it’s worthwhile. But I believe these Ruins might even be bigger than Albez, don’t you?”

“Then why didn’t Ceria join us and lend her support while we were all arguing? If she had—”

Calruz snorted.

“Bah. She wanted to stay in Celum. Now she’s pacing around the Runner’s Guild.”

“Why?”

“She was waiting for a Runner to come back. She made a mistake and gave her mana potions instead of healing potions right before she ran into the High Passes.”

The two other captains blanched. Cervial shook his head sadly, but Calruz was unaffected.

“I told her it would not matter. This Runner is no coward like the others. Mistake or not, she will survive the journey. And meanwhile, we have an expedition to prepare.”

“You seem awfully confident about that, Calruz. The High Passes are no joke. If it were there we were going to explore, I wouldn’t feel comfortable even with all three of our teams working together.”

“She will survive. She is a Human worthy of my admiration and respect. She will survive.”

Yvlon raised her eyebrows at Cervial. It was rare that anyone heard Calruz talking about any Human positively, let alone like this.

“This wouldn’t happen to be that barefoot Runner I’ve heard so much about, would it? Was that the one who bailed your group out when you were fighting that Lich?”

“The very same. Her name is Ryoka Griffin, and she is fearless.”

Cervial’s fingers snapped together lightly. The other two captains looked at him in surprise.

“I wondered where I’d seen her face. That girl—I believe I saw her last night. She ran straight into the city just before dawn. She’s here now, in fact. I saw her entering the guild.”

Calruz’s eyes widened. His mouth fell slightly open. The Minotaur’s long, tufted ears went very still. He blinked at Cervial and then turned his eyes upwards to the ceiling.

“Ryoka Griffin is here?”

——

It was odd. Ryoka was sure she hadn’t burned that many calories with her little light trick, but before she knew it, she’d downed a hunk of cheese, half a loaf of bread, and quite a bit of meat and an entire stick of butter.

Not separately, of course; these came in the form of sandwiches, but it was still disgusting to think that she’d somehow eaten that much food in one sitting.

Ceria downplayed Ryoka’s disgust. She explained being ravenous was normal for someone casting magic for the first time and mages in general.

“It’s why you don’t see many fat mages—well, at least among mages who actually use their spells in combat. You should meet one of the [Mages] in Wistram, Telim…anyways. After a really exhausting battle, I’ve eaten an entire ham by myself.”

Ryoka blinked at Ceria as the mage blushed. It didn’t even seem possible a ham would fit inside the half-Elf’s smaller body.

“Aren’t your…people vegetarian?”

Instantly, Ceria’s face turned wary.

“Not all of us. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but we eat all the food Humans eat.”

“Oh, of course. Sorry.”

Mentally, Ryoka kicked herself. She was really tired to be making mistakes like that. But at least she hadn’t started talking about Tolkien elves or any of the other stereotypes. Come to that, she didn’t know much about half-Elves either. She wasn’t a big fantasy fan.

Changing the subject, Ceria fiddled with her wand and pointed to Ryoka.

“You should probably get your first level in the [Mage] class as soon as you take a nap. Hopefully, it’ll come with a Skill or a spell, but don’t worry if it doesn’t. After that, you can start thinking about what field of magic you want to specialize in.”

“Oh. Levels.”

Another problem. Ryoka sighed.

“Is—is leveling necessary to learn magic? Couldn’t I learn magic without gaining a…a class?”

Ceria looked surprised and had to think about that question for a moment.

“Of course you don’t need levels to learn spells. I think? What a question. But it makes everything so much faster. For instance—when I reached Level 18 in my [Elementalist] class, I learned the spell [Fireball]. It would have taken me a month of study and the right scrolls to even begin casting that spell otherwise.”

She eyed Ryoka somewhat suspiciously.

“Why? You aren’t one of those types who believes in the Book of Levels, do you?”

“The what?”

Ceria waved her hands, grimacing.

“Oh, this famous book that was popular when my grandmother was a child. I thought it died out, but I run into people who swear by it now and then. It has all kinds of notions about how levelling works. Some people—they claim that we all have a set amount of levels in us. If we gain too many levels in a bunch of different classes, we’ll eventually run out. The Book of Levels. Never heard of it?”

Great, religion without the gods. Ryoka snorted derisively.

“No. And I don’t believe in that either. I just wanted to know if I could study by myself or if I had to—to wait until I leveled to learn more spells.”

“Oh. Well, that’s a common misconception. Mages level from casting spells, but we gain a lot of experience from studying magic. You can’t just go around throwing fireballs and expect to level up quickly.”

And there was another thing. As Ryoka kept talking with Ceria, lightly speculating about what magic she might like to learn, her mind was racing.

Level limits? That sounded like a game to her. But people were treating it like some kind of superstition. How much did they really know about levels anyways?

In Ryoka’s sleep-deprived state, parts of her mind were firing off with questions, but she deliberately did not ask Ceria any of them. She liked and even trusted the half-Elf, but some things were better left unasked. At least, for the moment.

“You look beat. I’d offer you my bed, but all the other adventurers are waking up. They’ll be thumping around soon enough.”

Ryoka was pretty sure she could sleep underneath a railroad at the moment, but she still declined Ceria’s offer. Mostly because a railroad track might have less of a mess under it. Besides…she didn’t want to waste the moment.

“I’d like to talk some more about magic and look around the Adventurer’s Guild if that’s okay.”

“Of course. I’m free until Calruz finishes meeting with the other Silver-rank leaders. And besides, it’s breakfast and everyone should be downstairs. We can meet them and eat at the same time.”

Ceria didn’t notice the brief look of distaste that flicked across Ryoka’s face. The other girl didn’t want to go down and socialize, but she had no choice. Reluctantly, she followed Ceria down the stairs.

——

Damn. I hate talking to people. No—that’s not exactly right. I hate talking to people in groups. Individuals are fine. Ceria’s fine, Garia’s fine…Sostrom is fine because he fixed my phone…

…That’s about it. I’d be absolutely happy to talk to any one of them, but everyone else can go to hell rather than bother me. But instead, I get to follow Ceria down and socialize.

I hate that. But I do owe Ceria, not least because she’s helped me learn magic. Me. Learn magic*.

*If I weren’t so tired, I think I’d be running around waving my arms and screaming in a high-pitched voice**.

**Probably not. But I’m really, really excited. It’s magic! Magic! I wonder what spells I can learn and—damnit, here come people.

I follow Ceria down into the main section of the Adventurer’s Guild. The ground floor has an open lobby for people to either submit requests for assistance to the guild or adventurers to turn in bounties and collect rewards like the Runner’s Guild, but it also has more sections designed to cater to the adventuring lifestyle.

A small shop staffed by employees of the city’s guild is the last stop in the small corridor before we reached what I can only describe as a cafeteria. It’s a mess hall, but the way it’s set up immediately screams school cafeteria to me. And this is not a pleasant association.

The cafeteria is essentially one far wall with a noisy kitchen partially exposed to the room and a long counter where adventurers can pay for food without having to make their way to an inn. The Adventurer’s Guild in Esthelm is even big enough to have quite a few rooms for rent like the one Ceria was staying in. I suppose it all makes sense—you can earn even more money feeding the people who kill monsters for you.

As soon as Ceria and I step into the room, people turn and look. I guess it’s an adventurer thing—and a Runner thing, come to think of it—not to want to be caught off-guard.

But the truth of it is that Ceria and I would probably attract attention anywhere we go. Ceria is Ceria—half immortal and beautiful. And I’m…me. I’ve got bare feet, and I’m taller than a lot of the guys here. Plus, I look Asian, and this is a very Anglo-Saxon type of place*.

*Seriously. What’s up with that? Is it just a rule that white people are always the colonists who screw over the indigenous groups? I know Humans aren’t native to this continent, but does that also mean white—excuse me—caucasian** groups are the dominant ethnic group in this world? Or…is it mirroring our world somehow? Hm.

**Technically speaking, caucasian is also not politically correct since it implies someone who’s descended from the Caucasus region, which isn’t necessarily true. Plus, the word literally means white people, just without saying the word white overtly. The correct term here would be European-American, except that it doesn’t apply to people here since there is no America or Europe, which means that white people is the best damn word there is and stop thinking about this—

“Ryoka Griffin!”

I’m cut off from my incoherent musings when I hear someone talking to me. It’s a familiar voice, but that doesn’t mean I’m too happy to hear it. Still, I’ve got to play nice. And I do owe these people, even if it seems like half of them are a bit too interested in me as a member of the opposite sex.

So I smile, turn, and clasp hands with Gerial, Sostrom, and the other Horns of Hammerad as they get up from their seats. There are several people I don’t recognize, and they nod to me as Ceria and Gerial introduce them.

‘Hey, Ryoka, this is blah blah or someone someone who’s here to hit things or shoot people with arrows.’ I really don’t care, especially since I’m still hungry, tired, and grumpy at having to meet people. But I do owe the Horns, so I shake hands and smile and pretend I like them, which is not my strong suit.

…What’s wrong with me? Remember all that gratitude I was feeling—what,  a week ago? I remember it. I remember it—but the feeling’s gone.

What’s left is this desire to kick something. It’s like I’m surrounded by Persuas, but these people have done nothing to harm me. Except Ceria, but the mana-potions thing was an accident, and she just taught me magic.

But suddenly I just—can’t. I can’t do the social thing. You know how it’s said introverts lose energy by being around people and extroverts gain it? I must be on zero battery because I feel like every second I spend around these people smiling at me I’m breathing bile.

I have to get out of here—but because I like these fucking assholes, I’m staying put. I inhale, exhale—I hate them. I hate Garia, who punched out that asshole adventurer I should have kicked in the skull—I hate all of this.

I just want to run. Run until I’m tired and away and…I try to shake off this feeling. It’s fine.

I feel like this now and then. My parents can bring it out in about five seconds.

Everyone has days like this, right?

I’m just tired. It was a mistake to say I wanted to check out the Adventurer’s Guild to Ceria. What I really should have said is that I want to look around really quickly, talk with her for three more hours, and then go to sleep for the rest of the day before doing anything else.

Instead, I’m stuck. And guess what? I forgot that people still hadn’t heard about me going through the High Passes, which means suddenly a bunch of annoying people want me to tell them exactly what happened.

“I ran into a bunch of Goblins, some wolves, some goats, and then some gargoyles. I just kept running, and then I got to my destination.”

Gerial makes a polite sound of disbelief while Ceria eyes me as she brings us some more food. Cafeteria food for adventurers. Lovely.

To be fair, it’s sausage, barley bread, and some vegetable soup steaming in a bowl. And some weak, minty drink people around here love. And that’s great cooking by medieval standards. A far higher standard of living than what poor people would have eaten all the time*.

*Barley. Barley bread, barley pizza, barley pancakes, barley soup…yeah. They didn’t have many options back then.

I eat it while they pester me with questions. The Horns of Hammerad have their own table, but it seems like a bunch of adventurers just happen to be standing around listening too.

“There’s got to be more than that. What kind of wolves were they? Normal kinds or were they actual monsters?”

I glance up at Gerial. He’s still smiling and trying to be Mr. Nice Guy. Okay, maybe he genuinely is nice, but I still don’t like him as easily as I do Ceria. Probably because he’s a guy and even he can’t resist staring at my breasts once or twice*.

*My eyes are up here. Not that I really want people to stare into my eyes. Over my shoulder is nice, but I’m used to them looking at my feet, too. And at least Gerial doesn’t stare much and stops when he realizes he is. That’s the sign of a semi-decent guy, as opposed to the other guy sitting next to him who can’t stop looking at them.

Okay, I realize what the problem is. I uncross my arms and stop leaning back in my chair. If you’ve got it, don’t flaunt it unless you want people to think about touching it. Or something.

“I don’t know. They were a lot bigger than normal wolves. And they had red fur.”

And bodies like iron. Gerial looks around. One of the mages standing next to Sostrom nods.

“Carn Wolves.”

“Got to be.”

Several of the nearby adventurers whistle, and Ceria looks pained. Oh yeah, she was really guilty about giving me those mana potions by accident. I told her it all worked out, but—

“They were pretty bad. They ate up the Goblins that ambushed me and then got torn to shreds by the Gargoyles and goats.”

The adventurers murmur again and look at each other. Gerial shakes his head and leans forwards, this time meeting my eyes.

“See, Gargoyles I understand. They’re terrifying monsters when you find one holed up in a cave or terrorizing a village. But goats? What do you mean, ‘goats’?”

“Probably the flesh-eating goats, the kind with sharp teeth that can tear even Carn Wolves apart. Eater Goats, they’re called.”

This comes from a guy standing among the other adventurers. He’s got a scar over one side of his face, and he’s wearing a longsword at his belt. Which means he’s pretty sparsely equipped compared to the rest of the adventurers, who’re walking around in chainmail or wearing leather armor even while they eat.

He nods at me as Gerial and the other Horns turn in their seats.

“Rois, Silver-rank adventurer. You must be the famous barefoot Runner. Were those the kind of goats you saw?”

I eye him. Despite the crowd now forming around our table, this guy is getting a bit of space and he’s not being shoved. Clearly, he’s important.

“Yeah. I guess. They had sharp teeth. And they scream.”

The scarred guy nods grimly.

“That’s them alright. Those goats hunt in packs and can climb anything. They’re village killing monsters. Whenever they leave the High Passes, they eat everything edible in their wake for miles around. If you outran them, Miss Runner, consider yourself lucky.”

All of the adventurers seem impressed at this. The scarred man seems to have fought the damned goats more than once, and Gerial and the others start asking him questions about them.

I lean over to Ceria.

“Who’s he?”

She pauses, swallows, and glances at the scarred guy who’s busy talking about how to behead the goats properly.

“He’s Rois, captain of the Swordlock Dogs. A Silver-rank team, more known up north. He was supposed to be talking to Calruz and the others, but—”

“Okay, okay. You got through the monsters, but what was waiting for you at the other end?”

Ceria breaks off as one of the newer members of the Horns of Hammerad interrupts our conversation. Rude asshole. He’s also the youngest guy with scruffy, brownish hair. He stares at me and demands to know who I met.

“Who was he? Some rich hermit? A mage living in retirement? A shadowy figure?”

Like hell I’m going to tell him or anyone for that matter. The mystery, possibly-elf archmage Teriarch might annoy me, but he’s my mystery.

“No one special.”

While I may not like people, I am good at keeping a straight face while I tell lies*. And at least here I can play the Runner’s confidentiality card, so I don’t have to answer any more questions about him at least.

*Lies like ‘oh, I’m so sorry your stupid hamster died’, or ‘I just cannot believe your stupid, inbred boyfriend dumped you! How terrible!’ And so on.

“But Gargoyles? I’ve never seen one up close. What were they like?”

“Big. Stone. They spit rocks and try to eat you.”

What the hell do they want from me, a hand-drawn portrait with anatomical references? …Hell, I’d buy a monster bestiary if they had one around here. But all these adventurers want to know is how to kill one, and I’m definitely not the person to ask for that.

“I barely got out alive. It was sheer luck that I got away.”

“I happen to disagree with that. Anyone who can outrun a horde of Gargoyles is clearly not merely lucky.”

This time, the clear voice comes from behind the other adventurers. People turn and stand aside as they do as three adventurers walk forwards. That probably also has to do with one of them being Calruz. No one gets in his way.

Calruz, a guy holding a huge longbow as tall as he is, and a woman in silvery armor walk to the table I’m sitting at. Great. More people, and these ones also look like captains. The woman with long flowing blonde hair smiles down at me and offers a gauntleted hand.

“Yvlon Byres, Silver-rank adventurer. I’m Captain of the Silver Spears, and I wanted to make your acquaintance.”

My god does she look like something out of a movie. I stare up at her with crumbs on my face and then take her hand. One firm handshake later and somehow she and the other captains are sitting at the table.

Great. As if my trials weren’t enough. Now I’ve got Calruz sitting next to me, and a giant, hairy Minotaur is not my preferred seatmate. And now there are four Silver-rank adventuring captains sitting around me, nicely blocking me off from Ceria while a bunch of people stare at me like I’m some kind of amazingly interesting piece of crap*.

*Or something else. Honestly, I could be a golden poodle for all I care. I hate being stared at when I’m not running, and even then it’s not exactly a blast. But at least then I can outrun the eyes.

“Getting through the High Passes alive is something that hasn’t been done in years. Not that many Runners have tried it, but it takes a special kind of someone to do that.”

Calruz snorted, and the other adventurers nodded as Yvlon, the fabulously armored and beautiful captain, continues lavishing praise on me. It’s actually getting to be more annoying than the questions.

“It was a request. I got it done—half-done. I just need to finish my delivery, and it’ll be over.”

“Really?”

This time, everyone is interested. One of the adventurers tries to look casual.

“Where to? Whom to?”

“Confidential.”

Their faces fall. But I don’t think any of them were really expecting to get the truth out of me anyways. But at the mention of the delivery, the ring and letter I’ve been given burn in my mind. I left them in the pack in Ceria’s room. Damn. I should have been more careful with them. I’ve got to deliver—

I blink, unfocused for a second. The spell. For a moment, I was about to get up and start running. That stupid mage—

“Ryoka?”

I look up. Everyone’s staring at me. I must have not been paying attention. I try not to turn red, fail, and look at Yvlon.

“Sorry, what?”

This is why I hate talking to people. But she smiles as if nothing happened and asks me again.

“I was just wondering if you had any levels in a fighting class or whether you only had levels as a Runner. Did you enter into any other classes before this?”

Now that is a loaded question that I’m not prepared to answer. I scramble—give up.

“Why do you want to know?”

Yeah, that’s right. I’m about as blunt as a hammer to the face. But Yvlon only smiles.

“Simple curiosity. I’d like to see how well you’d do in a fight. I’m told you’re quite the pugilist despite being a Runner.”

Pugilist? Who the hell uses that term? Oh, right. ‘Boxer’ probably hasn’t been invented yet.

Gerial looks blank. He and the other adventurers at the table exchange a glance.

“What’s a ‘pugilist’?”

Ceria sighed and supplied the answer.

“Boxer.”

All the adventurers nod in sudden understanding. Okay, maybe boxing does exist in this world and Yvlon’s just a prat. Or someone who appreciates literature. I could respect that*.

*But I won’t. I’m too tired. And pugilist is a stupid word, anyways.

“Who’d you hear that from?”

Word can’t have spread about me laying the beat down on that stupid adventurer in Celum. No way. I literally outran rumor. So how does this woman know who I am and that I can fight?

“I heard it from my aunt twice-removed. She lets me know about interesting people, and she told me it would be worth seeking you out.”

All the adventurers seem to understand this and look at me curiously. But I’m still out of the loop.

“Who’s the aunt? Do I know her?”

Ceria coughed gently, as if I’m making a stupid mistake.

“Yvlon Byres is leader of the Silver Spears, but she’s also part of a noble family, Ryoka. House Byres. Up north. They deal in…silver I think?”

I look blank. Ceria sighs.

“The Byres family? Aristocracy?”

“Minor aristocracy.”

Yvlon corrects Ceria with a smile.

“We’re practically unheard of. My sister’s a [Merchant], and my brother’s a [Knight]. We have relatives, but it’s a small family. We trade in silver and have several large mines in the area. And we’re distantly related to the Reinharts.”

She says that as if it means something. The who…?

Oh. Ah, shit. Magnolia’s last name is Reinhart, isn’t it? That means—

That fucking woman. Even when I think I’ve outrun her she manages to find someone to bother me.

For a moment, my scowl flashes across my face, and Gerial closes his mouth and sits back. Yvlon eyes me, the smile still fixed on her face.

“I’m sorry if my aunt has bothered you, Ryoka, but she’s quite insistent. And she’s told all of my family—everyone, really, to keep an eye out for you.”

Gerial blinks at Yvlon. Not the quickest on the uptake, and nor are the other adventurers. But the archer-guy—Cervial I think his name was—and Ceria both stare intently at Yvlon. And so does Calruz. I guess he’s pretty quick too.

But if Ceria and Cervial say nothing, Calruz doesn’t have their subtlety. Or any, for that matter. He rests his arm on the table and leans forwards—which is only a little bit since he’s so massive already—to stare down at Yvlon.

“Her business is her own. If Magnolia Reinhart seeks Ryoka Griffin, she should either respect her privacy or seek her outright.”

Yvlon makes a pretty face and shrugs ruefully at Calruz.

“Sorry, Calruz, but no one in my family defies Lady Magnolia. And I wasn’t intending on doing anything to Ryoka. I just wanted to know if she really was good at fighting barehanded.”

“And I suppose you are?”

Again, maybe she’s well known, but everyone gives me a look like I’m a massive idiot. Yvlon smiles.

“I’ve got a bit of a reputation. The Silver Spears are known for fighting with any weapon that comes to hand and barehanded if need be.”

Sostrom nudges me on my right side and mutters loud enough for me to hear.

“She once defeated five bandits with only her bare hands after losing her sword.”

Wow. Wooooow. And am I supposed to be impressed by that? Beating five guys down with your bare hands isn’t exactly amazing in my book. And it’s less amazing because Yvlon Byres is wearing full-plate armor made out of expensive metal. If she was fighting ‘barehanded’ with those metal gauntlets on against five guys with bad weapons, I’d put money on her too.

Perhaps my lack of any amazement showed*, because Yvlon raised one perfect eyebrow, and the other adventurers looked—discontented. Why? Because I’m not impressed by a chump in armor smacking around a few idiots?

*It totally did. I was not impressed.

“I heard that you managed to defeat a low-level [Assassin] with your bare hands and fought a Carn Wolf without any weapons as well.”

This time, everyone goes silent. Okay, that’s it. Magnolia has been upgraded from a person I really don’t want to talk to into someone I can’t ignore. The assassin is one thing since I bet she hired him, but—how did she know about the wolf?

“I’d love to see your abilities myself. I know you’re tired, but if you have time for a quick match, I could give you a handicap.”

There’s no malice in Yvlon’s tone. In fact, she’s been pretty above-board with me about telling me she knows Magnolia and all. And it’s probably a fair offer, considering adventurer levels and all that. Certainly none of the other adventurers—Gerial, Sostrom, etcetera are frowning. Only Calruz looks displeased.

But—a handicap. A handicap for me from this woman who looks like a supermodel who got sent back in time? Or one of those Hollywood female knights?

Right, that’s it. I’m tired, cranky, and I ran over sixty miles last night to get here after fighting a mysterious assassin, getting in a bar fight, and managing to cast magic for the first time in my life.

First things first. I’m going to kick Yvlon’s face in, challenge Calruz to a fight, and then go to sleep.

Exactly in that order.

The potion bottle at my waist sloshes gently as I grin with all my teeth at Ms. Perfect Knight-Adventurer.

“Why, I’d love to have a sparring match. Tell me, have you ever heard the word MMA?”

She looks confused.

“MMA?”

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.48 R

When Garia arrived in Esthelm just before midday, she saw the commotion outside the Adventurer’s Guild before she’d even dropped off her delivery.

Sugar. Several bags of it—enough for a huge rush order in one of the bakeries in town. The heavy, sticky delivery had messed up the inside of Garia’s pack. She’d have to spend quite some time cleaning it out with water and a ball of soap.

The thought was depressing to the girl, but she put that out of her mind the instant she saw Ryoka. As always, the other girl was at the center of some kind of attention. In this case, she was surrounded by a crowd of adventurers in the open courtyard used for training and sparring in the Adventurer’s Guild.

She wasn’t sparring or using a weapon. Yet. But Garia could see, as plain as her own level, that Ryoka was about to fight. The other girl had a—certain expression that crossed her face in times like these.

Externally, she did seem like normal Ryoka. That was to say, her impassive face, which gave nothing away, and her distant, reserved eyes that had fascinated Garia the first day she’d met the other girl.

But in times like these, though the mask would not break, Garia could see another Ryoka peering out from behind. And her eyes—yes, you had to look there. Ryoka’s eyes held a faint, fierce light.

Not a kind one. Certainly brave—wild enough for her to run into Albez and deliver healing potions for a team in need. But the same kind—

The same kind of madness that had sent her to the High Passes. Garia had wondered about it, and her conclusion was something Ryoka would hate to hear.

…But it reminded Garia, a bit, of how Persua looked at her. Only, where Persua focused on Garia’s weight, upon anyone she didn’t like who slighted her—Ryoka’s was for the entire world. And it was brightest when it was in the mirror. It was in her gaze now as she squared off against the woman in silver armor. A blazing contempt for her own safety.

It made Garia hesitate, but she was even kinder than she was curious. That instinct prompted her to gently push her way through the crowd of adventurers to stop Ryoka from picking a fight with someone dangerous.

——

Ryoka was stretching her legs out, touching her toes when she saw someone lift up a guy in leather armor and shift him out of the way. Garia, red-faced and blushing, apologized and edged into the open space and towards Ryoka.

Huh. But Ryoka had suggested Garia come to the city, hadn’t she? It was just…odd. Her conversation with Garia felt like it had happened a long time ago. But she’d been awake then and hadn’t slept since.

Tired. Which wasn’t good. Ryoka had to be at the top of her game for what was coming next.

Ryoka nodded as Garia cautiously walked closer. She would have smiled—or at least thought about smiling—but she didn’t feel like it. She needed to concentrate.

“Hey.”

“Um, hi, Ryoka. What’s up?”

“Nothing much. See that person? The one in the silver armor? She challenged me to a fight.”

Ryoka nodded across the courtyard to where Yvlon was talking to Ceria, Calruz, and several other members of the Horns of Hammerad. Garia eyed her once, gulped, and then bent down to whisper to Ryoka.

“Ryoka? Did you do something to make her—um, mad?”

Ryoka bared her teeth. It might have been a smile.

“I don’t think so. Not yet, anyways. She challenged me to a ‘friendly’ match. I accepted. Why?”

Garia’s lips moved. The City Runner turned her head, and her eyes focused on the other woman. Her voice was too-casual as she turned back to Ryoka.

“Oh. Nothing. It’s just—that’s Yvlon Byres, Captain of the Silver Spears. She’s famous around here.”

“So I’m told.”

“And she challenged you. To a fight?”

“Well, a sparring match. I was the one who wanted to turn it into a fight.”

“Why?”

Ryoka hesitated. She eyed Yvlon across the open space between them. The other young woman—she was closer to Ryoka’s age, possibly a year or two older—was smiling and addressing a worried-looking Ceria. She turned, met Ryoka’s eyes, and nodded politely.

The barefoot girl looked away. She began stretching her other leg and muttered to Garia.

“I—just want to push her face in a bit, don’t you? She’s a bit too beautiful and perfect.”

Garia waited, but Ryoka just stood back up and began touching her toes, breathing slowly and steadily.

“That’s it?”

“Yup.”

“Ryoka, that’s—I know Yvlon. Her group, the Silver Spears, helped chase off a group of bandits that was attacking me once. And I’ve heard of her. She’s a really good person! She’s nice, she gives to the poor, her team takes on requests to help people even if the reward isn’t high—”

“I get it. She’s a great person. A popular girl. Someone everyone likes.”

The expression on Ryoka’s face said that she didn’t share the same opinion. Her eyes were flinty as they flicked towards Yvlon.

“You don’t think she’s like that?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. She just—reminds me of people I don’t like. And she looks too nice for an adventurer. I don’t like nice people. They’re always hiding something. It’s always a mask, right? Like Fals.”

There was so much to unpack that Garia was left dumbfounded. She looked at Yvlon, then Ryoka.

“That doesn’t make any sense. Fals is—he has his faults, but he’s not a bad person. There’re good folk out there. Like—like the Horns.”

She waited for some of that reasonableness to drip into Ryoka’s ears, but the City Runner just shook her head.

“I guess. Maybe. Shame we won’t ever find out the truth. Alright, I’m ready.”

Ryoka finished stretching out her hamstrings and stood straight, sighing. Her conversation with Garia was—distracting. She didn’t really have a good explanation for Garia, not one she could articulate. It was just how she felt. More than anything, Ryoka had been happy to fight Yvlon.

The other adventurer noticed she was staring and smiled again. Ryoka scowled. That smile. That polite, little smile. It said quite clearly Yvlon knew Ryoka was spoiling for a fight—and that Yvlon would win either way. She wanted to wipe it off Yvlon’s face. Ryoka muttered to the side.

“She looks way too attractive, that’s all.”

Garia shook her head. She seemed to wrestle with herself and then burst out.

“You both look like—like princesses!”

Ryoka blinked at the other Runner. Garia stared back, embarrassed.

“You do. You both look—way better than I do. Or Persua. Or anyone, really. I don’t see why you want to fight her.”

“She wants to test me, too. She’s working for Magnolia.”

“She’s related to Lady Magnolia, Ryoka.”

“Hrm.”

“You know she once took on five men and won, right? She did it barehanded.”

“With armor though, right? Not exactly barehanded. You try punching out someone in plate armor. I bet those [Bandits] could have taken her on without the armor. I can—even if she’s got it on.”

Garia was close to tearing out her hair. She clutched at her head and regretted it as her sugar-encrusted palms mixed with her sweat.

“It was still five people, Ryoka! Most adventurers couldn’t do that with a weapon!”

Ryoka knew that was true. She knew it was…probably…impressive, but even in her own head, she didn’t want to give the thought too much credence. Garia was still talking. Ryoka debated tuning her out and reluctantly listened.

“I know she won’t hurt you—not if you don’t try to hurt her. But Silver-rank adventurers aren’t like that guy you fought in the tavern, Ryoka. If you make her get serious, she’ll—what are you doing?”

“Warming up.”

The barefoot girl wasn’t done with her pre-fight stretching. From stretching her legs, she’d moved onto her arms. And while the adventurers had watched her touch her toes and stretch her legs with interest, the next phase of her warm up was…different.

Ryoka shook her arms out in a fanning motion. It looked ridiculous, she knew. Sort of like a kid pretending to be a chicken. But it was a necessary stretch if she wanted to throw hooks when she was fighting. She began to circle her arms around, first in one direction and then the other.

Adventurers were laughing. Ryoka ignored them. She raised her arm and grabbed the elbow, gently pushing it down her back. Then she repeated it with her other arm.

All in all, the stretches took five minutes. Ryoka did everything from touching her toes to stretching out her legs to rotating her hips as if she was using a hula-hoop in slow motion.

When it was done, Ryoka could feel every part of her body was ready to go. She also had an audience. Besides the adventurers already watching her and Yvlon, a group of enterprising street vendors had joined the crowd along with a sizable group of pedestrians. They were already betting as they stood in the circle, chatting, eating food, and laughing at Ryoka’s antics.

Yvlon smiled as Ryoka walked into the center of the ring. She nodded to Ceria and took a few steps towards Ryoka.

“Interesting. You’re quite limber. Was that supposed to help you fight?”

“You don’t stretch before a fight?”

The other adventurers laughed or chuckled. Yvlon shook her head and replied drily.

“Not like that. I don’t think any warriors I know would do that—especially not in front of an audience.”

“Shame. One more advantage for me, then.”

It was amazing, Garia reflected as she watched Ryoka, that the other girl was completely—and always, come to think of it—confident. Even when she was facing down an adventurer in armor. At least, in a fight. She squirmed more when she was just talking to the [Receptionists] at the Runner’s Guild. But right now…Yvlon turned to the side where the Horns of Hammerad were standing.

“Pardon me. I was just reassuring your friends that this friendly exhibition would not be harmful to you. If you’ll allow me a minute, I’ll remove my armor.”

So saying, Yvlon began removing her gauntlets, but Ryoka shook her head.

“You can leave your armor on. The gauntlets too.”

The crowd had been talking and joking as they waited for the sparring match to begin, but Ryoka’s words created a hush as if someone had cast a [Silence] spell. Yvlon raised her eyebrows, and behind her, Ceria slapped her forehead.

“I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“It won’t be me that gets hurt.”

“Ryoka, don’t be an idiot!”

Ceria walked forwards and snapped at the barefoot runner. She lowered her voice so not everyone could hear her, but in the silence, her words were perfectly audible to those around her.

“Are you insane? You can’t fight someone in armor! Yvlon is a Silver-rank captain. Even if she pulls her punches, she’ll hurt you. This is just a sparring match—neither of you are supposed to get hurt.”

“Really? Then let’s make it a serious fight.”

Ceria groaned as Calruz grinned in approval. The Minotaur watched Ryoka approvingly, liking her bravado. Ceria did not. She hissed at Ryoka so only the Runner could hear.

“Yvlon is not someone to take lightly, Ryoka. She’s honorable, proud—even if she is being patient. Stop being so rude.”

“I’m taking her seriously, believe me. But I want to see what fighting someone in armor is like. And besides…you’ve never seen me fight, have you?”

Ceria blinked at Ryoka. She eyed her from top to toe.

“No—but—”

“Trust me.”

“If Miss Ryoka Griffin says she’s confident, I will trust her word, Ceria.”

Yvlon smiled at the half-Elf, meeting Ceria’s worried stare. An unspoken message passed between the two, and Ceria’s pointed ears lowered slightly before she stepped back.

Now, Ryoka and Yvlon were alone in the center of the ring. Ryoka bounced on the balls of her feet, eying Yvlon as the other woman divested herself of her belt pouches and sword.

“I am afraid Ceria is right though, Ryoka. I would hate for you to break your hands on my armor or for me to cut your face with my gauntlets. I am sure I would be able to give you a fair fight even without my armor.”

“It’s fine. You’re not wearing a helmet anyways.”

Again, Ryoka’s words caused a stir in the crowd, and not an entirely positive one. From her position, Garia could see some of the other adventurers—especially the armored women who were part of the Silver Spears—looking annoyed or outright angry at Ryoka’s words.

But Yvlon only smiled politely. It was a smile quite similar to Lady Magnolia’s, actually. A [Lady]’s smile that gave nothing away.

“Very well. I am told you practice some sort of unarmed fighting? You said it was…MMA? I confess that I have only a bit of formal training myself. Much of what I know is self-taught.”

“Yeah. I practice Mixed Martial Arts. Muay Thai.”

“And you are a skilled practitioner of this…Muay Thai?”

“Where I come from, yeah.”

“Interesting. Then shall we begin? I believe it would be only courteous to allow you the first strike.”

Yvlon walked forwards a few steps and then raised her gauntleted arms in something close to a boxer’s guard. The murmuring of the crowd increased as Ryoka began circling the other woman, hands up.

Her posture was different than it would be in a Muay Thai sparring match. Ryoka was treating this like an MMA fight, although she’d never been in one herself. But she’d practiced on the off-chance her parents would allow her to fight in the ring.

Her posture and center of balance were lowered, her stance was wider, and her hands were loosely clasped into fists. She rested more weight on her front leg as she eyed Yvlon.

Now that she was finally in front of the other woman, Ryoka found time for a shred of regret that she was fighting the other woman in armor. It was complete idiocy to fight anyone in armor barehanded. She knew that.

But part of Ryoka wanted this. She wanted the challenge; she wanted to see how far she could push herself against unfair odds like this. And most of all, she wanted to win even with Yvlon in full plate armor. She wanted it quite badly, in fact.

The other woman slowly rotated to follow Ryoka as the barefoot girl circled her. She was waiting for Ryoka’s first move, as she’d said.

Well, that was fine with her. Ryoka feinted with her hands. Yvlon’s instinctively moved to block. Ryoka put all her weight onto her front leg and spun, throwing her back leg up and back towards the side of Yvlon’s head in what was known as a spinning wheel kick.

Ryoka’s leg flashed upwards, and Yvlon barely raised her arms in time to protect her head. Despite the armor she wore, she still staggered back from the impact.

That was the moment Ryoka had really been waiting for. Even before she was fully back upright, she moved sideways and threw a punch at Yvlon’s head.

Her hands were impossibly quick. Garia couldn’t even see Ryoka as the girl threw a lightning-fast jab at the adventurer’s face.

Ryoka’s right hand flew forwards in a strike that would have caught Yvlon straight on the tip of her chin. But before it landed, one silver-plated hand came up and seized Ryoka’s hand.

From her position, Garia saw the barefoot girl’s eyes widen, and then she twisted both body and head to avoid Yvlon’s fist. She couldn’t get away perfectly, held as she was by the other adventurer. The gauntlet caught Ryoka on the side of the jaw and drew blood.

The adventurers in the crowd cheered as Yvlon released Ryoka’s hand. That was probably a wise move regardless, because the look in the other girl’s eyes was pure fury. Ryoka muttered an expletive around her bleeding mouth and spat.

Yvlon gave Ryoka a polite smile as she raised her fists again. The light glinted off the polished metal and specks of blood on her right gauntlet.

“I understand your pride, Ryoka Griffin, but we adventurers have our own dignity. You underestimate us at your peril. Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to remove my armor?”

That was the wrong thing to say. Ceria shouted something at Ryoka, but Garia saw the look in the Runner’s eyes. Slowly, she straightened, wiping the rest of the blood away from her cut lips.

“I’m going to get serious now.”

Yvlon seemed to sigh, but in an instant, her guard was back up, and she was watching Ryoka warily. She didn’t underestimate the other girl despite having scored a point first.

Ryoka paused for a moment, staring hard at Yvlon. Then she advanced slowly, raising her hands above her head.

The adventurers in Esthelm were nothing if not admiring of someone with spirit. Half of them egged Ryoka on, laughing and cheering as she advanced on Yvlon while the other half bet whether she’d even manage to strike the other woman’s face.

Yvlon’s eyes narrowed as Ryoka got closer and closer. Before the other girl could move, she stepped forwards and threw a lightning-quick punch at Ryoka’s head.

Ryoka didn’t dodge so much as lean on one leg and move her head down. The metal fist missed her head by inches, prompting a gasp from her audience. But neither woman was finished.

Even as Ryoka dodged her first punch, Yvlon’s second hand flew up in an uppercut towards Ryoka’s face. But again, Ryoka took a step back and avoided the blow with mere inches to spare. Then she threw a backhand at Yvlon’s face.

Again, the adventurer blocked, but this time, Ryoka wasn’t interested in kicking. She darted behind Yvlon as the adventurer turned in her heavier armor. Ryoka hooked her leg behind Yvlon’s and kicked straight through, sending the armored adventurer tumbling to the ground.

The crash of metal was the only sound in the silence. Yvlon rolled and got to her feet in an instant, ready for an attack, but Ryoka just stood with her guard up, waiting.

“Well.”

Was it a rueful smile? It flicked across Yvlon’s face in an instant before she went all-out on the attack. She rushed at Ryoka, throwing swift punches that made the other girl dodge back.

It still wasn’t an equal fight. Even Garia could see that Ryoka was mostly on the defensive, unable to hit Yvlon while the other adventurer guarded her face. It wasn’t an equal fight.

But it was silent. Now, all the adventurers were watching Ryoka like hawks. She dodged back, letting Yvlon come at her, always moving, darting in for strikes against Yvlon’s head before escaping.

Ryoka missed the timing for one of her strikes, and Yvlon caught her in a flurry of blows. Ryoka took a punch to the midsection and a glancing blow off one shoulder—and then kicked Yvlon in the stomach hard enough to send the adventurer staggering back.

Again, Ryoka charged Yvlon. She avoided a wild punch and then had the other woman’s back. She stepped behind Yvlon with one leg and, using her elbow, threw the woman back over her knee. Again, the crash of metal was the only sound in the silence.

This time, Ryoka didn’t let Yvlon get up. She advanced on the adventurer as she struggled to get off the ground. Yvlon turned and lashed out with her fist, almost too fast for Garia to follow. But Ryoka had been expecting that. She leaned back and then seized the other woman’s arm.

Garia saw Yvlon strike upwards at Ryoka, a flash of movement as the other girl twisted around her—for a second, all was confusion, and then Ryoka was twisting Yvlon’s arm up while she planted her knee on her back.

It was over. Ryoka was holding the arm as high as the armor would allow. She was about to transition into a choke hold when she saw Yvlon’s hand push against the ground—

Ryoka was thrown off by the explosive force as Yvlon threw herself back, knocking the other girl off her. She turned and kicked, and Ryoka tumbled with the force of the blow.

Yvlon was trying to rotate her arm and work out the pain when she saw Ryoka roll and tumble upright in a flash of motion. She blinked—and caught a fist to her face for the first time. Ryoka’s hand knocked her head back slightly. As Yvlon was stunned, two more lightning-fast jabs hit her on the cheek and jaw.

The fourth punch Yvlon caught in a grip like steel. Ryoka braced herself, but no metal fist came swinging her way.

The Captain of the Silver Spears was shaking her head, and her mouth was moving. Over the roar of blood in Ryoka’s ears, she realized people were shouting, and the adventurer released her hand and relaxed her stance as she massaged her mouth.

The fight was over.

——

“What was that?”

That was the first question Garia asked Ryoka once she had a chance. This was mainly because everyone else was queuing up for food in the Guild’s mess hall.

Ryoka shrugged and pushed at her food with a sour face. It wasn’t that she wasn’t hungry—she was ravenous—but she was already tired of answering questions.

Reluctantly, she bit into a bit of juicy sausage and replied to the awestruck girl sitting across from her.

“Those were throws. Special moves to take down an opponent. Haven’t you ever seen someone tossing an opponent to the ground before?”

“Well, yeah, of course, but…”

Garia floundered as she searched for words.

“You made it look so easy. Yvlon was in armor, and you just threw her to the ground—twice!”

“It would have been better if I’d kept her down.”

Ryoka grunted as she chomped hard on her food. At least she was able to savor it. A healing potion had taken care of all her injuries—and Yvlon’s.

Garia stared at her incredulously.

“You knocked down a Silver-rank Captain. Anyone would be proud of that.”

Ryoka smiled.

“Yeah. And I got to hit her.”

“Those last two punches were unnecessary.”

Ceria’s voice made the two Runners look up. The half-Elf slid onto the long table and frowned at Ryoka.

“You didn’t need to hit her that many times. This was supposed to be a gentle spar, not you trying to break her jaw.”

Ryoka looked completely unapologetic.

“Oops.”

Ceria made a noise that sounded like a sigh crossed with a hiss and muttered darky under her breath. Ceria Springwalker was angry enough that she looked ready to shoot sparks from her eyes—until she grew abruptly calm.

She rose and, without a word, stepped back. Ryoka waited, but Ceria just walked away. The Runner looked almost disappointed. She was ravenous—and still shaking with adrenaline from the fight.

Taking a seat across from Ryoka, Garia stabbed at her food. Thus far, she and Garia were the only two people to have joined Ryoka in the mess hall, despite the numerous adventurers sitting around them.

Predictably, Ryoka had chosen the far corner of the furthest table from the door, which meant that there would be far fewer people able to talk to her. But it seemed as though quite a few adventurers would have liked to come up and chat; only a few did.

These were the members of the Horns of Hammerad and the various Silver-rank captains Ryoka had met. Two of them, the man named Cervial with the longbow and Yvlon, took seats next to Ryoka.

Maybe it wasn’t intentional, but Cervial took the seat directly next to Ryoka, putting himself between the two women. It wasn’t as if either woman were overtly hostile to the other—and indeed, they were quite polite.

But if Yvlon was polite and genuinely admiring of Ryoka after the fight, there was a certain edge in Ryoka’s replies and comments that didn’t pass unnoticed at the table.

Yvlon politely munched on a boiled piece of asparagus or asparagus-like vegetable and commented to the table at large, but Ryoka and Garia specifically.

“You see, it’s not as if we’re hurting for money or jobs at the moment. There’s always work, and we can brave the Ruins of Albez for quite a profit most of the time. But it’s not sustainable in the long run.”

Cervial nodded. He stabbed at his food and made a face.

“Adventuring isn’t easy at our level. We’re just good enough that it’s not worth our time to take requests clearing out Goblin tribes unless they’re really big—but we don’t have the strength to take on the stronger types of monsters. Sooner or later, our luck runs out and we take an injury we can’t heal up from—or die. That’s why these new ruins might be our break. If we can get in there and find some serious magical artifacts or equipment, we could easily reach Gold-rank.”

“The only question is whether the risks in this case are worth the reward. So far, Cervial’s team—the Flawless Flights—mine, and Calruz’s are the only ones who are willing to go in first.”

“It took some doing, but Ceria convinced me that the ruins could be loaded with ancient artifacts. They’re quite similar to ancient crypts apparently.”

Cervial drained his mug and nodded politely at the others.

“Still, we’re going in carefully. Both Yvlon and I are only doing this for the treasure.”

Ryoka shifted. She looked across the room at where adventurers were still being served. Perhaps it was because of his size, but Calruz had been stuck at the back of the line, and he was grumpy about waiting. He kept casting glances at the now-full table Ryoka was sitting at, irritated.

“What about Calruz, then?”

Yvlon chuckled politely, and Cervial shook his head.

“He just wants the challenge. That stupid Minotaur doesn’t care what enemies he’s fighting so long as he can gain experience from it. He’s an old-fashioned type. Death or glory with no in between. Not like the rest of us.”

Ryoka nodded. She thought she understood from context alone. If Yvlon and Cervial were adventurers who relied upon magical equipment along with their levels to get stronger, Calruz was the kind of person who thought gaining more levels was all that he needed. She looked at Cervial.

“What’s the level difference between a Silver-ranked adventurer and a Gold-rank?”

“The difference? Well—it could be just a few levels depending on their equipment. Remember, in most cases it’s the entire party who gets the Gold-rank. I guess Silver-rank is mostly in the low twenties at best while Gold-rank is anywhere from Level 24 onwards.”

“Of course, individual skill still plays a pretty big role.”

Yvlon nodded at Calruz as the Minotaur impatiently waited for his food, clearly unhappy at missing the conversation and having to wait behind lesser adventurers.

“Calruz isn’t 30, but he’s damn close. He’s also a Minotaur. He could have found his way onto a Gold-rank team, but he wanted to be in command.”

At last, the talked-of Minotaur was served a double portion onto his plate. He stomped towards the table, pausing when he saw there was nowhere to sit.

He took two steps towards Ryoka and pointed to Garia. The girl flinched as Calruz growled at her.

“You. Runner. Move.”

“O-oh. Sure.”

Garia was about to slip out of her seat, but Ryoka and—surprisingly—Cervial grabbed her by the clothing.

“Hold it, Calruz. You can’t just order someone to leave. Pull up a chair or sit at the other end of the table.”

Calruz scowled down at Cervial.

“She is no warrior. This place is reserved for adventurers, not mere Runners.”

Ryoka raised her eyebrows. Apparently, she didn’t count. Garia squeaked and trembled by her side.

“I—I can go. It’s no problem. I didn’t want to get in the way—”

The standoff between them ended when someone booted Calruz in the butt as hard as she could. He actually noticed the move, but the half-Elf kicked him despite it. Calruz whirled—and she snapped at him.

“You stubborn idiot. Let Garia sit. For a Minotaur who talks about honor, you certainly don’t have much when it comes to non-warriors.”

Ryoka lowered the plate she had ready to toss, and Cervial stopped leaning back.

“I’m defending the integrity of—”

“Oh shut up, Calruz. Is it honorable to bully someone who runs deliveries for people like us? Is that what a proud member of the House of Minos’ Beriad does? Sit down.”

That comment caused a hush among the nearby adventurers, and especially the rest of the Horns of Hammerad, but Calruz looked unmoved. He sat at the table, ignoring Garia like a footstool.

“Honor is for those who earn it. I don’t know this Runner’s character.”

Ryoka frowned, but made no comment as Garia instantly went back to her food, avoiding looking at Calruz. There was a lot she wanted to say, but flipping the Minotaur’s food into his face was more appealing.

But since she had the feeling Garia might carry at least some of the Minotaur’s ire if she did it, Ryoka—reluctantly—held back. But the Minotaur’s attitude annoyed her.

Still—now that Ryoka thought about it, she’d never heard Calruz say anything of substance to the other girl. He’d talked and she’d talked when they were in the inn, but the two had never directly spoken to each other that much.

As Ryoka’s eyes flicked towards Calruz and her expressionless face darkened slightly, Yvlon nudged Cervial. The taller man looked at Ryoka and spoke lightly.

“Your skill at unarmed fighting is quite incredible. I can see how it would be useful keeping away bandits and Goblins.”

“Mm?”

Ryoka looked up, realized she’d been addressed, and shrugged.

“It helps.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be able to use any other weapons besides your fists, would you? A bow, for example?”

Across the table, Gerial objected.

“Wait a second, Cervial, if you’re going to recruit Ryoka, the Horns of Hammerad have the right to make the first offer.”

Sostrom and the other adventurers agreed while the adventurers that were part of the Flawless Flights shouted from their table across the hall. Cervial laughed and raised his hands and then looked at Ryoka.

“I don’t use weapons. And I’m not interested.”

“A shame. But I hope if you see a request from us you’ll consider taking it. In fact, if you’d like, we could arrange to request deliveries from you alone if you’re ever in the same area as we are.”

That got Ryoka’s attention. What Cervial was suggesting was a form of personalized contract in the Runner’s Guild. That way, he could offer her exclusive deliveries.

“Why? Any Runner can deliver healing potions.”

“But no one has the guts to do it when there’s a Lich raining spells down on our heads.”

That remark came from Sostrom, and it was met with agreement from the other adventurers. Cervial nodded.

“Being an adventurer is all about finding trustworthy contacts. Good Runners like you for instance—having someone to rely on when we’re out exploring dungeons is far better than requesting an emergency delivery and hoping the Runner we get is competent.”

He shrugged.

“Not that we ever plan to get in trouble of course, but when we’re in a pinch…at our level, we need to forge friendships and build up our group. It’s not something people think about, but there’s really no other way to survive. We trust each other with our backs or we’ll fall together.”

Something about that line tickled Ryoka’s memory. She grunted and then looked at Cervial. The words came out before she could stop them. The same anger and contempt leaping from her thoughts out her mouth.

“You sound like a bunch of Runners when you say it like that.”

The mood at the table froze over for a second. Garia stared wide-eyed at Ryoka and then tried to edge back in her seat. Cervial’s smile flickered and then came back.

“Really? That’s not a good thing, usually. The Runner’s Guild and the Adventurer’s Guild don’t get along. They think we’re all muscle-bound idiots, and we think they’re—”

“Cowards.”

Calruz grunted and ate half a sausage in one huge bite.

“I wouldn’t say cowards.”

Yvlon objected, but most of the other adventurers seemed to agree with Calruz. Yvlon sighed and smiled at Garia reassuringly.

“Not all of you. It’s just that it’s an unfortunate comparison to make, Ryoka.”

“Seems accurate to me.”

Ryoka deliberately popped the last bit of sausage into her mouth and took a drink, conscious of all the eyes on her. Cervial was still smiling, but it was a brittle smile.

“Really? And which Runners do we sound like?”

“Guy named Fals. He says the same things as you do. Runners have to band together in order to survive. Sacrifice the good of the individual for the group. ‘Work together or die.’”

Thoughtfully, Cervial propped his head on his hand. He was still smiling, but there was a tiny bit of anger in his eyes. Ryoka recognized it as something similar to her own. She felt…prickly. More so even than usual.

“I can agree with that. And I know Fals. He’s no coward, although he does represent most of the things I dislike about the Runner’s Guild. But he’s not wrong. It’s a tough world. Yet you seem to disagree?”

Ryoka let the question dangle. She drained her mug, replenishing lost sweat. She wiped her mouth and shrugged.

“I’m not a team player.”

Her comment ended the conversation. There wasn’t really much that you could say to that. Garia slurped at her soup nervously and tried not to meet anyone’s eyes. Yvlon leaned across the table and smiled at Ryoka.

“Well, in any case, if you’d like to work for any of our teams, we’d be happy to set up an arrangement. With your skills, we wouldn’t have to worry about you being chased off by monsters. In fact, if you’d like to join our expedition to the ruins around Liscor to deliver supplies, we could work out a deal.”

Calruz shook his head at Yvlon. Ceria hadn’t sat down yet, but she drew Cervial aside as he got up. She prodded Calruz in the back of the head—he ignored it. She nodded to Yvlon, and the armored woman rose with a questioning look. Ryoka was in the midst of talking to Calruz as Yvlon, Cervial, and Ceria stepped back for a private word by the bar.

——

“Ceria, what did you want to say?”

Cervial was polite to her. Even if he was a captain of another team, the Flawless Flights, he knew she was, well, a half-Elf.

Older. Not that she’d lived amongst other folk than half-Elves for most of her life, but it carried weight. The half-Elf [Cryomancer] smiled apologetically as she motioned him and Yvlon aside.

“Nothing much, Cervial. I just wanted to apologize for Ryoka’s conduct. You too, Yvlon.”

“She’s better at fighting than I thought. I did agree to challenge her.”

The captain of the Silver Spears sounded too politely neutral to fool either Ceria or Cervial. The half-Elf grimaced.

“I know she’s making a bad impression. I think she’s—rattled from the High Passes.”

“Rattled?”

“She ran in this morning, after running from just outside of Celum all the way here. Nonstop. She nearly got killed by the monsters, and I think—she’s a great Runner. Saved our lives.”

“I can see why, with her moves.”

Again, Yvlon sounded too matter-of-fact, but she was softening a bit as Ceria laid out what she knew. The half-Elf nodded, one eye on Ryoka.

“I think…it would be best to have given her some room. That idiot Calruz is crowding her up. And you know Magnolia Reinhart was doing something with her.”

Now, Yvlon did hesitate, and the woman gave Ceria an apologetic nod.

“My aunt is insistent. When you put it like that—”

“Does that mean she hasn’t slept for at least a day? And then she ran over here and picked a fight with a Silver-rank Captain? She’s got the attitude of a Gold-ranker.”

“Ego, too. But give her a bit. She’s rough—but who isn’t? Besides, she had her legs smashed with a wagon two weeks ago.”

“She what?”

Ceria exhaled in relief. She began regaling both team captains with the story, and by the time she was done, both were giving Ryoka much friendlier looks.

“When you put it like that, I imagine I’d be biting mad at everyone. Thanks for letting us know, Ceria. No wonder Calruz and Gerial speak so highly of you.”

“Just interjecting some common sense.”

The half-Elf waved it away. By now, Gerial had come by, and he was nodding respectfully.

“Maybe we let Ryoka cool off? Gerial, why are you here? I told you to grab Calruz. If he makes a joke about her breasts—”

Ceria frowned at Gerial, but the man lifted an apologetic hand.

“He shoved me off. He and Ryoka were just talking punches and kicks. He’s good at it, you know.”

Ceria craned her neck over his shoulder, suddenly alarmed. She punched Gerial in the arm—hard, and he looked wounded as Yvlon and Cervial turned.

“What? They were getting into it.”

“You sack of tree sap, Gerial. I told you to grab him before—”

——

Calruz knew more about hand-to-hand combat than Ryoka had expected. She grudgingly admitted he knew about wrestling, pinning moves—throws and punches and kicks. They were comparing techniques in decent spirit, although the Minotaur kept claiming that Ryoka was ‘just substantively smaller’ than a Minotaur woman.

“I’m not saying you’re inferior in technique. But size matters, and so do Skills. Do you have any in hand-to-hand combat? I thought not. You see, Runner Garia, it’s all commendable. But a warrior is a warrior, a Runner, a Runner. Even Ryoka Griffin would do well to run from any monsters she encounters. Her fists would not be enough to allow her survival in Liscor’s ruins.”

Ryoka raised her eyebrows at Calruz. She shifted in her seat as Garia mumbled agreement to the imposing Minotaur, full of ego.

“You don’t think I can defend myself? You saw me fight.”

The Minotaur had a piece of sausage stuck in his teeth. He picked at it with one long fingernail.

“I am merely stating the truth. Your fists would do little against most monsters my team faces. Less, since you are female and thus weaker.”

He looked around in the hush. Possibly Calruz didn’t see the way Ceria’s back tensed up and the half-Elf’s head came around. He certainly couldn’t ignore the look in Ryoka’s eyes though, and it was to her he spoke.

“Is it not the truth? Humans are weaker than Minotaurs by birth. So too are you women weaker than men.”

“Really. That’s what you think?”

“Calruz. Why don’t you shut up? Ryoka, let us get this idiot out of your face. We’ll give you a—”

Was it Ceria or Yvlon who spoke warningly? Ryoka ignored it. She reached out and tugged Calruz’s plate away as the Minotaur reached for a sausage. He looked up at her.

“Right. Your turn. Bring it on.”

For a moment, the Minotaur looked confused. Then he looked amused.

“You. You, Ryoka Griffin, wish to fight me?”

He laughed, but Ryoka didn’t. And neither did the other adventurers. Gerial raised his voice as he strode over.

“Ryoka. This isn’t a good idea.”

She ignored him.

“I’m dead serious. Fight me. Unless you’re afraid you’ll lose?”

——

“You idiot.”

This time, Ceria didn’t bother with just words. She punched Ryoka hard in the shoulder. Which wasn’t fair—but she’d also been stabbing a finger into Calruz’s chest the last seven minutes trying to get him to back down—and now she was after Ryoka since he’d refused.

“You don’t challenge a Minotaur to a fight. What are you thinking? Are you even thinking?”

Ryoka shrugged as she warmed up in the practice arena again. Her nerves were thrumming, but a pit of dark emotions roiled in her chest.

“You heard what he said about females.”

“I did. And he’s got a point even if he did make it in the most bull-headed way possible. But that’s Calruz. And even if he’s being an idiot, there’s a big difference between calling him on it and challenging him to a fight. You know you’re going to lose, right?”

“Not necessarily.”

Ceria stared dumbfounded at Ryoka as the girl stretched on the ground. She looked helplessly at Yvlon.

“Help me talk sense to her?”

Yvlon nodded. For some reason, she was now all team-Ryoka, which showed what a turncoat bitch she was. Oh, Miss High-And-Mighty now wants to be friends because of girl-power? Ryoka hated that vapid weathercocking.

“Ceria is right, Ryoka. There’s bravado, and then there’s—this. Fighting me in armor is one thing, but Calruz is a Minotaur. He could rip my head off in unarmed combat without trying.”

“And he will if he makes a mistake.”

“I guess I’ve just got to dodge, then.”

Ryoka ignored the muted scream of fury coming from Ceria. She eyed Calruz. The Minotaur was actually finishing his meal, holding a plate as he waited for her to finish stretching. His casual indifference just lit a fire in her stomach.

“Besides, I wanted to challenge him from the start. See how far I can go.”

“How about into the ground when he puts you there? Ryoka! He’s got to weigh at least two hundred pounds more than you do!”

“Size isn’t everything.”

“It’s pretty cursed important in a fight!”

Ceria was right, of course. Ryoka eyed Calruz for the first time as a potential threat. When you looked at Calruz as a person, he was just huge, inconveniently so sometimes. But as an enemy? He was way scarier than any Human Ryoka had ever seen.

He was about six foot seven? Maybe a few inches higher, without even counting the horns. And his body was pure muscle. Not like Human muscle, but Minotaur muscle, which was to say that he looked like a wall of tendons and sinews.

It was the stupidest thing in the world to challenge him. But Ryoka really, really wanted to try. She just wanted to hit the Minotaur, almost as much as she’d wanted to hit Yvlon.

Yvlon. The adventurer was studying Ryoka thoughtfully. It made Ryoka want to punch her again, too. She was so tired and—and frustrated that hitting anything sounded good.

Like Ceria, if it would get the half-Elf to shut up.

“Potions don’t fix shattered bones! You know that. And you get him mad—”

“Look, I’m going to do it. You want to let me focus or go away and shut up?”

Silence. Ryoka glanced up and saw Ceria giving her a hurt look, full of reproach. The barefoot girl’s heart hurt, but she put the pain and guilt away. She had to focus.

Ryoka was angry. She felt it bubbling in her gut, a seething, roiling ball of pure fury. Where had it come from?

From the High Passes, that’s where. From nearly dying and being helpless even with all the years she’d studied martial arts. From Teriarch and his overpowering magic and arrogance. From the Runner’s Guild and stupid people. From dealing with the ridiculous system of leveling in this world and not least—dealing with some kind of perfect lady knight and a misogynistic Minotaur. It was all bubbling out of Ryoka, and she couldn’t stop it. She wanted to hit something, and Calruz was a big target.

Yvlon sighed.

“If you’re going to do this—give it all you’ve got on the first shot.”

Ceria spoke bitterly.

“He’s going to take every hit just to show he can. It’s a Minotaur thing—a sign of disrespect. And…courtship.”

“Great.”

Ryoka eyed Calruz. The Minotaur was finished eating. He carelessly tossed the plate over his shoulder. Ignoring the crash of breaking pottery, he walked into the center of the ring and folded his arms, waiting for her to finish.

At last, the girl stood up. She was burning with a desire to fight, almost shaking with it. Ryoka couldn’t keep still as she bounced on her feet with nervous energy.

Ceria eyed the girl as she walked past her. Ryoka stopped.

“What is it?”

“You—you’re smiling.”

Was she? Ryoka couldn’t tell. She only knew that she was ready, more ready than she’d ever been to hurt someone else. She was shaking with the desire to throw a punch. She walked towards Calruz, and the Minotaur impassively looked down at her.

“What you are attempting is folly, Ryoka Griffin. There are some things that cannot be surpassed.”

He really, really knew how to push her buttons. Ryoka gritted her teeth and grinned up at him.

“Oh really? Let’s see what you say in a few minutes.”

“As you wish.”

Calruz carelessly raised one massive hand and beckoned Ryoka with a finger. The other adventurers murmured and cheered for Ryoka to hit him with her best shot. The Minotaur didn’t even bother raising his other hand.

He was going to try to block her one-handed? But his fur and muscle could probably take any punch Ryoka could throw. She knew that. So instead, Ryoka stomped her foot down in front of Calruz and twisted.

One of the core principles of a lot of powerhouse moves was spinning. Ryoka put all her weight on her front leg, twisted, and hit the Minotaur with the back of her heel and all the momentum she’d built up.

Spinning back kick. Ryoka aimed high. Her leg still caught the Minotaur in his stomach rather than his chest. She felt the contact and heard the Minotaur gasp as the wind left him. She’d put her entire weight into that attack.

It was the kind of move you used to K.O. other people, and it was seldom used because of how hard it was to land. But Calruz was arrogant. He’d let his guard down, and Ryoka had held nothing back.

The Minotaur’s expression changed. He was obviously trying not to show any pain, but his hand reflexively went down to protect his stomach, and he bent just a tiny bit. Ryoka didn’t wait. Even as her foot came down, she used it as an anchor and swung her other leg up.

Her leg came up, and she smashed into Calruz’s face with a roundhouse kick. She didn’t break his nose, but that was probably because the Minotaur didn’t have a nice fleshy bit of cartilage like Humans.

This time, he bellowed, but Ryoka wasn’t done. She landed and started laying into the Minotaur, punching hard.

He swiped at her with one hand. Ryoka ducked under it and belted him twice in the stomach. Calruz shouted as she hit the same spot she’d kicked and shoved her with one arm.

Ryoka was thrown sideways, but she landed, jumped, and kicked the Minotaur in the chest. He staggered back, looking outraged. She pounded his chest.

Now he was really starting to get angry. Calruz punched at her far faster than she would have guessed he’d be able to move, but Ryoka did the same thing she had to Yvlon. Her head and body were in constant motion as she ducked and weaved, letting the Minotaur swing wide.

Low kick. Ryoka hammered Calruz’s legs with powerful kicks, wincing internally at the impact. The Minotaur had goat-like legs with cloven hooves, and it felt like she was kicking a baseball bat when she hit him.

He nearly got her with an uppercut. Ryoka grinned, turned, and kicked him straight on with a kick to the stomach again. She raised her hands, hit him twice in the stomach—

And then he punched her.

——

Ryoka jerked upright and felt multiple sets of hands pushing her down. Someone was on top of her. Someone light?

A pair of pointed ears and hazel hair. Ceria covered Ryoka protectively as she shouted at something. Something?

A loud roar of fury made Ryoka sit up. She looked up and saw Calruz being held back by ten men as he tried to rush at her. The Minotaur’s eyes were actually red with rage, and a trickle of blood was running from both nostrils.

What had happened? Ryoka tried to move, felt the agony coming out of her chest, and realized she’d been hit. Hit.

She couldn’t breathe. Hell, she could barely move. Calruz was shouting something, her ears were ringing, and Ceria was telling her to stay still. But Ryoka’s blood was still on fire. She still wanted to fight.

She stood up.

“Hold it!”

Ceria pushed Ryoka’s shoulder to sit down, but the girl knocked her arm away. She raised her fists, but now Garia, Yvlon, and Ceria were all pulling her back.

A few feet away, Gerial was swearing and pulling at Calruz with all his might as the Minotaur roared a challenge at Ryoka.

“Calm down, Calruz! Hold still, dead gods damn it!”

Ceria was talking desperately to Ryoka as the girl strained towards the Minotaur.

“You’ve made your point, Ryoka. No one’s underestimating you. Let’s stop before someone gets seriously hurt.”

Her brain wasn’t synching up with her mouth. Ryoka tried a few times.

“No. Let’s keep going.”

“Are you crazy?”

“I’m not done. Let Calruz go. I’ll take him on.”

The men holding the Minotaur gaped at Ryoka and then redoubled their efforts to hold the raging Minotaur.

“Enough!”

Another man strode forwards and stood between Ryoka and Calruz. He had a huge axe on his back, and he was nearly as burly as the Minotaur, if not quite so tall. He glared at Ryoka.

“Gerial, get your captain under control. And you, girl, back down!”

Gregor, one of the Silver-rank Captains, scowled as the men eventually managed to push Calruz back. The Minotaur was still breathing heavily, but his eyes were no longer red with fury.

“This was a ridiculous display. What are you both doing? The Adventurer’s Guild is not a place for anything but training spars, much less unarmed foolishness.”

He pointed at Ryoka.

“You’re a hothead Runner, and challenging a Minotaur just proves how idiotic you are. No matter how good you are with your fists, it won’t help you against monsters. You’ve seen the ones in the High Passes. Swords and even battleaxes don’t work on their hides.”

Ryoka glared at him. His words were true, and they hurt.

“I survived.”

“Must’ve been a miracle, then. The way you act, I’m surprised you haven’t offed yourself already. You’re either suicidal or an idiot. Even adventurers don’t pull stunts like this.”

“I don’t need an axe to do my job. And I don’t need you to tell me what to do. Back off. I’ll take on Calruz without you lot getting in the way.”

Gregor opened and closed his mouth with wordless fury.

“You blind, arrogant—if Ceria hadn’t jumped in the way, he would have crushed your head like a fruit. You can’t take him. Back down.”

Ryoka eyed Calruz. He was restraining himself—with difficulty—but she knew if the men stopped holding him he’d rush right at her. And she felt like doing the same. Her blood was boiling.

“I can still fight.”

“Even if you were Level 20, he’d still be able to crush you like a bug! And you’re no warrior. You don’t have any fighting Skills that I saw—”

“I don’t need Skills to fight.”

“But you don’t even have any levels.”

Everyone stopped talking. Gregor paused, red-faced, ready to shout and stared at the person who had spoken. Yvlon smiled at Ryoka and nodded once politely.

“I don’t understand. And truthfully, I didn’t believe my aunt when she told me that. But it is true, isn’t it? I couldn’t believe it until just now, but it must be true. You don’t have any levels or any classes at all, do you?”

Ryoka stared at her wordlessly. Anger surged in her belly. How dare she? How did she know?

“Not one.”

Cervial spoke from behind Ryoka. He was studying her. As she turned to stare at him, he tapped one eye.

“[Appraisal]. It’s a Skill that [Marksmen] get sometimes. I can’t see your level or your class.”

Even Calruz was dumbfounded by this revelation. The adventurers exchanged glances, and Ryoka heard the whispering.

“No levels?”

“Why?”

“Is she some kind of demi-human—no, a monster?”

“Who wouldn’t level? Is she a fool?”

“Cursed?”

Ryoka gritted her teeth.

“I don’t need levels to fight.”

Gregor shook his head at her, disbelieving.

“What are you, an idiot? How would you survive a second against a monster without levels?”

The fury that was boiling in Ryoka seized hold of her tongue.

“It’s not about levels. Your stupid little system doesn’t interest me. I don’t believe in needing levels or classes. It’s all stupid, and it makes you cowards. Silver-rank? Gold-rank? You just use those words because you don’t have the guts to fight.”

The words came out of Ryoka before she could stop herself. She pointed at Gregor as the man’s face turned red. But all of the adventurers were listening, and Ryoka couldn’t stop.

“I survived the High Passes without a single level. I did it because I wasn’t afraid and needed half a dozen people in armor to hold my hand. And if you lot had any guts, you wouldn’t sit around whining about how a bunch of unexplored ruins are too dangerous.”

“You truly believe you can surpass the rest of us without needing to level don’t you?”

Yvlon stared hard at Ryoka, for once not smiling. Even Garia was staring at Ryoka as if seeing her for the first time. Ceria…Ceria looked upset. Angry—but she was staring at Ryoka as if she were just being let down.

Fuck you too. They didn’t know her. Ryoka was sick of everyone and everything here. She didn’t answer Yvlon. She just wiped at the blood coming from her mouth. But that was an answer in itself.

“What arrogance.”

It came from out of the crowd. Ryoka turned, and this time, the blood in her veins was roaring. She was beyond caring about anything.

“Really? Arrogance? All I see are people too afraid to do anything until they level up. People who have to hide in a group to cover how pitiful they are.”

A murmur of hot anger went through the adventurers. Ryoka raised her fists.

“I’ll take you on one by one or all at once. Come on. Fight me.”

“Enough!”

This time, it was Ceria who shoved at Ryoka. The half-Elf was angry.

“You’re talking nonsense. But I won’t let you stand here and get yourself hurt. Stop this or I’ll have to use magic—”

It was just an impulse. But once it was started, Ryoka couldn’t stop. Her hand shot out and brushed Ceria’s chin. The half-Elf blinked, staggered, and sat down.

Ryoka stared at the half-Elf, rage eclipsed by sudden regret. She hadn’t meant to. She just wanted to get the mage to shut up for a second. But like before, like so many times before, her body had started moving before her brain.

A roar of anger came from Calruz. Suddenly, he was throwing off the other adventurers as they tried desperately to slow him down. He approached Ryoka, and she tensed.

But he didn’t strike at her. Instead, Calruz scooped up Ceria gently. He stared down at her, practically steaming with rage.

“You tread on Ceria’s honor. For that, I should challenge you to a duel with real weapons.”

“I’ll take you on.”

Something inside of Ryoka was snapping. She was full of fury and beyond caring what would happen next. Calruz seemed to vibrate at her challenge, but with incredible effort, he turned away.

“You are not worth the time it would take.”

Ryoka’s temper flared. She spoke to the Minotaur’s back, hearing each word leave her lips as some part of her screamed at her not to say them.

“I didn’t think you were a coward, Calruz.”

Gerial lunged. Not towards Ryoka, but with the rest of the Horns of Hammerad as they seized the Minotaur. Calruz’s head turned, and his eyes darkened with blood and rage. But he didn’t move with Ceria’s limp form in his hands. His voice quivered with fury.

“I was mistaken about you. You are no warrior. You are just a bully who wants something to hit.”

He began to walk away. Ryoka shouted after him.

“Calruz! Fight me! Come back here, you coward! Are you afraid?”

The Minotaur’s back tensed, but he kept walking. Gregor stared at Ryoka in fury, hand twitching towards his axe hilt.

“Enough! I won’t stand here and listen to this. If you want a fight, try your fists against my axe, girl.”

“Bring it.”

Ryoka raised her hands, but Yvlon stepped forwards.

“Enough. Restrain yourself, Ryoka Griffin.”

Something was snapping inside of Ryoka. It was the same feeling, the exact same. Part of her was shouting for her to put down her fists, to apologize. To get down on her hands and knees and bow before Ceria and Calruz. But like before, like so many times when she’d been kicked out of school, she’d crossed over the event horizon of fury.

She just wanted to punch. To hit something. And now that she’d let out all the bile in her stomach, Ryoka only knew how to lash out. So she did.

Her fist blurred and disappeared as it shot towards Yvlon’s face. But it was intercepted and crossed by a flash of silver.

Ryoka felt the punch lift her off her feet. She tried to step forwards, but her body suddenly forgot how to stand up. She sat down as her arms and legs simply shut down.

The world spun, and Ryoka saw Yvlon’s face full of regret and frustration. Her head fell back—

——

And when Ryoka awoke, she was alone. Not physically alone, but alone nevertheless.

Dusk had engulfed the sky. The sparring area of the Adventurer’s Guild was empty save for Ryoka and the half-Elf sitting on the ground next to her.

Ceria looked up as Ryoka sat up. The barefoot girl looked around, dizzy, and as Ryoka opened her mouth, Ceria tapped her wand on Ryoka’s head.

“[Silence].”

Ryoka was mute. The girl’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Ceria looked at her and shook her head. She reached behind her and picked up Ryoka’s pack and carefully put it next to the girl. Then Ceria sighed and stared up at the sky.

“I don’t know what it must have been like, going through the High Passes. You didn’t have more than scrapes on you, but Eater Goats, Gargoyles?”

Ryoka’s mouth was still moving in outrage, and she was getting angry—but Ceria was speaking precisely, like a [Mage], and perhaps it was her magic, but a coolness had fallen over Ryoka. Her bubbling anger…draining away. Growing cold, and with it, her guilt came flooding in, freezing in place. The half-Elf went on.

“It has to rattle you. Tree rot, getting my leg broken would be enough to put me out of shape for a month. I get it. But—there’s no excuse for just lashing out. You know Hunt, our teammate? He gets raving drunk. Calruz has nearly kicked him out several times. Not because he’s incompetent or a fool—because he gets into fights when he’s drunk. Even if he’s drunk, it’s not an excuse. You get me?”

When she looked over next, Ryoka was silent. Listening—and Ceria went on slowly.

“Yvlon Byres is a good adventurer. In the shadow of her brother, who’s some famous [Knight] with a Gold-rank team. I’ve never met him, but I know she comes across as snooty. Well, she’s allowed to be. You’re allowed to not like that and even give her a punch, maybe. But at what point is it not her fault?”

She rubbed at her chin, and Ryoka saw a faint bruise developing across that fair skin. Now, Ryoka’s temper was completely gone, and she was staring at her lap. Ceria’s voice was polite—pointed—and it was stabbing holes in Ryoka’s side.

“I’ve seen a lot of arrogance in my time. Mostly from Humans, but from every people, including my own. But someone who rejects the way the world works just because she doesn’t like it—that’s new. It’s been a while since I was hit by someone I call a friend as well.”

She looked at Ryoka. The girl couldn’t meet her eyes.

“If you want to keep fighting everyone who reaches out to help you, I’ll put a flower on your grave. But until then, get your stupid Human head back in order. You’re lucky—very lucky that Calruz is honorable and that the other adventurers listened to Yvlon and Cervial, or you might have suffered quite a bit.”

Ryoka was silent. She stared at the ground, face flushed. Memory only now returning. The haze of rage—Ceria spoke sharply.

“I get it, Ryoka. I do. But you’re even more hotheaded than Calruz. And yes, some of that was his fault, but that was fairly disgraceful.”

Ceria shook her head as Ryoka opened her mouth and tried to say something.

“No. Be silent. I am angry at you, Ryoka. And I am leaving until that anger is gone. The Horns of Hammerad and the other adventurers are heading to the ruins in Liscor. All of us. At least you stirred the crowd up—Gregor and Menes are back with us. But that doesn’t change what just happened.”

The half-Elven mage stood up and brushed at her robes. She waved her wand, and Ryoka felt the spell on her dissipate.

“May we meet in new forests, Ryoka Griffin. If you want to talk…find us in Liscor. But do any of that again and I’ll take you to task, not Calruz or Yvlon. And I don’t punch.”

Only then did the young woman realize some of the chill in the air had been magic, not just the pit of ice in her stomach. The half-Elf pointed down, and the frost and ice anchoring Ryoka to the ground unfroze. She produced a flower of ice in one hand—and then let it melt. Then she turned and walked away.

Silently, Ryoka watched Ceria go. A thousand words spun through her mind, and she opened her mouth to call something. To say…sorry.

But something held her tongue. She held her own tongue and wrestled with it. The lingering desire to curse Ceria and kick her in the back. And why—why? To the one person who’d been kind to her? It was there, a demon in the pit of her stomach.

When the doors to the Adventurer’s Guild closed behind Ceria, it was in silence.

The girl sat in the center of the sparring arena and felt the bruises and pain begin to flare up in her body. She was still exhausted, still hurt. But somehow, all of that was a backdrop to the incredible, terrible emptiness in her heart.

She’d done it. As before, now again. See—a girl who destroys everything she touches. Who wanders from school to school, never fitting in, picking fights with friends and anyone who crosses her way.

A child with nothing to hit who decides to fight the world. A barefoot runner who speaks with her fists. A heart full of black fury and hurtful words who spreads her foulness wherever she goes.

Angry girl. Rabid dog. Berserker. Suicidally competitive. Friendless loner. Lost soul.

Ryoka Griffin.

She’d lost friends before. She’d made enemies, burned bridges. Wherever she’d gone, from each school she’d transferred to, she’d left behind only bitter memories. Each time she’d lost control, she’d only left tears and regrets behind. She was used to erasing smiles.

But it had never hurt quite like this before.

Ryoka stood up and felt the silence closing in. The silence, and the empty despair that came with it. She looked at the ground and saw the blood of an honorable person. She looked behind her and knew there was no one at her back. A familiar, painful sight.

She could barely feel her hands. She was exhausted, upset, guilty, and angry. She didn’t know what to do.

Slowly, Ryoka’s feet moved. She took one step and then another. Ryoka picked her pack up off the ground and began to walk.

She left the Adventurer’s Guild. She ignored the voices, the chances to turn back. She saw the decorated, pink carriage, ignored the [Maids] and [Assassins] that tried to block her way. She just ran on.

Away, away, always away. Until the dawn broke and the end of day. Running from fear and friends alike, striving to always run, always be in flight. And though her heart bled and ached, she ran on again.

Towards Liscor and the Blood Fields beyond without a plan. Towards death and the unknown. Running. Always running without pausing. Leaving bloody footprints made of her unshed tears and broken ties.

Running.

Running away. And oh—but in the grief, in her self-destructive wake, her friends, if she had any, were waiting for her to return. But another group, a trio, followed Ryoka out of Esthelm, jogging onwards with no forgiveness or sympathy in their hearts.

Persua let Ryoka disappear into the distance before urging Toriska and Claudeil to follow. Her gaze followed Ryoka without blinking, without hesitation. And it was so intent that she ignored Toriska licking her lips every few seconds as she stammered excuses and Claudeil’s nervous breathing, despite them not having run yet. When they ran, they travelled light, with just a few objects in their packs and hanging at their sides.

Persua followed Ryoka, carrying the same depths the young woman was warring with in the pits of her own soul. Only hers had no remorse. And some of it—sometimes—leaked out Persua’s eyes.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.49

When Erin woke up the next day, her eyes were tired and she was full of bleh.

Bleh being her word for her mood.

“Bleh.”

Toren paused and stared at her. Erin blinked at the walking skeleton with blue flames in its eyes and made weak shooing motions until it went away.

She didn’t feel like dealing with it. And by it she meant anything. And that included existing.

Erin stared down into a bowl of chewy oat-equivalents and wondered why the grains had an orange-gold rind. Apparently, they were dried Yellat flakes, a cheap food you could buy. They didn’t taste bad, but the orangy-ness…maybe it was the dirt?

It tasted okay, but bleh. And while Erin had money, she couldn’t afford to put much sugar in her meals. She had to save for the future.

And that was bleh. The idea of how much money she needed, the logistics of her inn, and the day-to-day work of maintaining it—it was all bleh, and it could go to bleh.

At least now she was able to automate most of the work—or rather, make Toren do all of it. The skeleton bustled around the inn, scrubbing at obstinate stains, hauling buckets of water in, and it had even managed to figure out how to put food on plates and carry them out.

It just didn’t have any idea of how carpentry or cooking worked. Erin had tried—but the skeleton didn’t quite get the idea of not stirring food with its bony arm or how beds were supposed to look.

It didn’t matter. With a little work, Erin had actually managed to transform the upstairs into a livable place. All of the mattresses had been rotted horribly and had to be disposed of, but some of the bed frames only needed a backboard replaced or a few boards changed.

Erin’s inn could now house quite a number of guests. It was just that Erin didn’t have anyone to put up there. And that included her. For the moment, Erin was still sleeping in the little nest she’d made in the corner of her kitchen. She had blankets, pillows, and it was a pain to haul all that upstairs and get situated again.

There was always Pisces, of course, but Erin really didn’t need a permanent squatter in her inn. Especially because his only payment came in the form of an occasional rambling lecture to Rags.

“Bleh.”

This time, Toren offered her a cup of juice. Erin took it and drank. It helped, but even a full belly wasn’t improving her mood.

Rags. Goblins and magic. Magic. Erin’s stomach gurgled at her, although that was probably just a reaction to the blue juice and the oatmeal.

She spent ten or twenty unhappy minutes in the newly made outhouse, testing the equipment as it were. Afterwards, Erin staggered outside, giving thanks that an equivalent to toilet paper existed in this world. But it was just more proof that this day was going to be a bad one, in her opinion.

If there was a bright ray of light on the horizon, it was tonight. Tonight was chess night.

That was to say, every night was chess night. Pawn had been bringing groups of Workers over with surprising regularity, and Erin enjoyed playing the Antinium.

They never won, of course. Even the best players—Pawn and one of the Workers—never even came close. But Erin loved chess in her bones, and more than that, she enjoyed seeing the Workers improve.

They had the most beautiful attitude towards chess she could ask for. Which was not throwing a tantrum when they lost—and she played seriously—but trying to learn. Realizing the game was deeper. It reminded her why she enjoyed the game, and that was a high-point in her life.

But that was later. For now, Erin had to go into the city. She needed pillows for her newly refurbished beds.

“Take care of the inn, okay?”

Toren nodded his head mechanically as Erin stomped out of the inn, her precious bag of coins tucked deep into her pocket. He raised the wet dustrag in his hands like a sword and attacked the dust.

If the skeleton had any thoughts on the day, it was simply that it was a shame he wasn’t killing anything. He understood in a vague way that he would not acquire the [Innkeeper] class because he did not in fact own an inn, but the [Barmaid] class was, he felt, something of a misnomer.

At least he was Level 2.

——

As Erin walked through the eastern gates, the Gnoll guard smiled toothily at her.

“Good day to you, Erin Solstice.”

“Hey…you.”

She had no idea what his name was. But the Gnoll seemed friendly enough. He looked bored, possibly because the only visitor he’d had was Erin.

Not many people used the road east. North was where the action was—where the main road took you to the northern cities and where all the adventurers, merchants, and general influx of Humanity was coming from. There was a road south, but it seemed few people used the eastern or southern gates at all.

And that was a curious thing. Erin knew there was a road that passed by her inn down south, and she’d seen it. But it seemed ill-kept compared to the well-established northern route. And the eastern ‘road’ was almost completely gone. There were only traces that led towards her inn.

Why? And why had there been an inn so close and yet so far from the city? Was there once a road there?

“Yeah, but most of the settlements got destroyed during the wars. Ever since, few people have lived outside of the city. Besides you. And no one goes south unless it’s winter because of the Bloodfields.”

For a few seconds, Erin thought the voice had come out of some strange part of her mind. Then she whirled around and realized she’d been talking out loud—and someone had provided her with an answer.

“Relc!”

The Drake leaned on his spear, grinning at her. Sort of grinning. Like the Gnoll, there were a lot of teeth.

“Yo.”

“Um, hi. I haven’t seen you around. What’s up?”

“I was looking for you. You busy? Because you are now.”

“I was going to buy pillows—”

“Really? You might have trouble with that. Did you hear what happened last night?”

“Last night?”

Curious, Erin followed Relc as the Drake walked speedily towards Market Street. It was disconcerting how quickly he could move despite giving the appearance of ambling along. It was definitely some sort of Skill.

Erin stopped as she turned the corner to Market Street.

“Oh man.”

“Yeah.”

Relc twirled his spear idly as Erin stared at the wreckage. And that was all it was.

Wreckage.

Nearly half of Market Street had been destroyed. Burnt, in point of fact. To a crisp. A fire had swept through the close, confined wooden stalls. They were meant to be just temporary structures, easily deconstructed for the next shopkeeper to display their wares. But the problem was that wood burned easily, and so when a fire did break out…

Even the stones in the street had cracked from the heat. Erin didn’t know rocks could break from heating up, but the street had been shattered quite impressively.

“Normally, someone would have raised the alarm, and we’d have put out the fire quick. But it happened late last night, and by the time we got one of the mages out here, it was too hot.”

Erin glanced at Relc, and the Drake shrugged.

“Low-level mages. And there’s not much call for water magic specialization around here. We had to let the fire burn out and clear the rest of the street before it spread.”

It was destruction. To starve the fire of flames, the Watch and firefighting teams had smashed and cleared the rest of the stalls, shoving the wood splinters out of the way.

It hurt Erin’s heart to see. And it hurt even more because the street wasn’t empty. She could see Drakes and Gnolls, shopkeepers staring forlornly at their abandoned goods. It hurt her heart, because she could see some of them were crying.

Scaly or furry they might be, but their tears looked the same.

Relc stared grimly at the burnt-out street. He spoke quietly to Erin.

“Everyone’s saying it’s a Human that did it.”

“Really?”

Probably everyone was saying that, or at least everyone Relc talked to. Humans might have other opinions. But it probably was a Human, at least in Erin’s mind. She couldn’t see Drakes being dumb enough to burn down part of their city by accident, and Gnolls were highly flammable. And the Antinium—

No. There were already Workers picking through the rubble, slowly and methodically clearing away the destroyed part of the street. They wouldn’t have set a fire.

“Why would a Human do it, though?”

Relc glanced at Erin.

“Oh, it was the mystery thief. Someone caught them last night, and they started a fire to get away.”

“How? With a match or…?”

“A what? They used fire magic. A spell.”

Oh. Obviously. Erin’s eyes were caught by an older Drake trying to salvage something from her shop. She spoke distantly.

“Isn’t there a way to track this thief down? Magic? Or…some kind of Skill?”

Relc shook his head.

“This thief has some good magic—and not just the fire magic. A magical item, maybe. And high-level [Guardsmen] do get tracking skills, but almost all of the Watch here are former soldiers. We’ve got more levels in combat classes than our current class. We did have one [Guardsman] with high levels, but that was Klbkch..”

The comment hit Erin in the gut, and for a second, Relc looked guilty. But he didn’t apologize.

“We’re working on it. No one’s happy. Normally, we’d have caught the thief, but there are so many of you damn Humans in the city—no offense.”

Erin took offense, but she let it drop. Relc wasn’t happy. He was staring at his damaged city with narrowed eyes, and she didn’t have anything to say. Certainly nothing to defend the thief. So instead she changed the subject.

“I…haven’t seen you around the inn lately.”

Relc shrugged again indifferently.

“Too many damn Goblins around. I’d clean them up, but apparently that’s not allowed.”

Erin glanced sideways at Relc. The Drake met her eyes and then went back to studying the street.

“They’re not all bad, you know.”

He snorted.

“You think the little freaks you’ve been feeding are good? I hear they’ve been fighting a war with the rest of their tribe—when they’re not scaring travellers and stealing their goods.”

For a moment, Erin felt a lurch of panic and fear in her chest.

“You’re not—not going to have to hunt them down are you?”

“I don’t really care. So long as we don’t get orders, we’ll leave them alone if they stay clear of the city. Goblins are part of the wild. If you get rid of too many, the bigger monsters don’t have anything to snack on.”

“Oh. Um, t—”

“Don’t thank me. I just don’t feel like doing more than I have to for my job, that’s all.”

Silence. Erin stared at the ground. Relc’s eyes narrowed as he watched the Workers slowly sweeping down the street.

“They don’t even care Klb died.”

“Yeah. They, um, don’t seem to care about death. It’s not their fault.”

“I know. They’re bugs. But Klbkch was special.”

“He was.”

Yet the Workers didn’t mourn him, and that hurt Erin—but it hurt Relc more. She thought the Workers had their reasons, but Relc just kept speaking, louder, his tail lashing faster.

“Not just because he was a guard, y’know? He was different. He had a name. I couldn’t believe it when he introduced himself. And he’s the only Antinium I’ve ever heard of with a level higher than 10. He was special.”

Erin was silent. She stared at the large Drake and saw his chest heaving with emotion. The Drake’s fist tightened on the shaft of his spear.

“But they don’t care. They talk about Klb as if he’s just gone off somewhere. As if his death never happened. Even the Queen didn’t put up much of a fuss.”

Erin thought about the massive Antinium Soldiers marching down the street and taking her to meet the Queen.

“You think so?”

Relc eyed Erin darkly.

“You’re not dead, so I’d say she took it well. She kept talking about ‘time lost’ and ‘needless valuable resources expended’ when she talked with the Captain. But never about Klbkch.”

The Drake’s head bowed. He stabbed his spear into the paving stones, and the stones cracked and shifted around the tip of his spear. He leaned on it, staring darkly down at the ground.

“No one cares.”

“I care.”

“I know. But you’re different.”

For a while, the two stood still, awkwardly, alone rather than together. Erin’s heart hurt. But though the Human thing to do would be to pat Relc on the back or say something meaningless, she knew he didn’t want anything from her.

He still hated her. Or if he didn’t hate her, he blamed her.

And she would say nothing against that.

At last, Relc shifted his weight and pulled his spear out of the street. He looked down at Erin.

“By the way—and not that I care too much, but you should know—there’s a new Prognugator in the city.”

The word sounded familiar. Erin frowned.

“A what?”

“It was what Klbkch was. Don’t ask me what it means. It’s some important role in the Antinium Hive. Their war-leaders were called that—but Klbkch told me it’s deeper. They’re pretty much like Watch Captains, though. For their entire Hive.”

The idea of the Antinium needing any kind of policing sounded ridiculous to Erin. She couldn’t imagine them doing anything criminal, but then she remembered Klbkch herding the Workers like cattle. Maybe a Prognugator was like some sort of sheepdog, only with people.

“Okay. Is he going to be part of the Watch?”

Unexpectedly, Relc frowned.

“I hope not. Not if I have anything to say about it. I think this one will stay in the Hive.”

“Okay. Why are you telling me, then?”

Relc hesitated.

“He looks—familiar. Just don’t freak out, okay?”

“Sure.”

The Drake scratched at the spines on his head.

“Right. Well, I’ve got to go back to work. Oh—that’s right. I’m supposed to give you a warning.”

“A warning?”

“Yeah. Apparently you got into a fight with a bunch of adventurers, right? Beat them up and stole their stuff?”

Oh. Erin felt like slapping herself. Of course.

“Um, yes. I did. But they were attacking—”

“The damn Goblins. Whatever. Don’t worry; I’m not going to arrest you. I’m just giving you a warning. I also hear you’ve got a pet skeleton.”

“Yes. His name’s Toren. Uh—”

“I don’t care. It sounds creepy, but whatever you Humans like is fine by me. Just keep him out of the city. I just needed to give you a warning.”

“Not to do it again?”

Relc looked surprised. Then he grinned.

“Oh, no. When we heard about three Human adventurers getting their tails kicked by an Innkeeper, some Workers, and a few Goblins, we laughed our scales off. We don’t care about what happens to those Humans. Just keep the skeleton away, and if that crazy [Necromancer] tries raising any more bodies, stop him.”

“You’re not going to do anything? Really?”

This time, the Drake lowered his voice, glancing around surreptitiously.

“Maybe if we had time—but we don’t. The Watch is overwhelmed right now. Those damn adventurers keep disappearing into the ruins, and we’ve had to patrol the area to catch all the things that come crawling out of there.”

Relc made a face and twirled his spear in one hand. Erin’s stomach decided it was time to start lurching. She would have preferred it stay on ‘bleh’.

“Things? Like…what kind of things?”

“Squiggly things. Lots of white tentacles and flesh. Disgusting. We think there’s some kind of brood monster in there, but no one who goes in that far has come out to tell us what it is. And the rest of the cowards are just clearing the rooms one at a time.”

Relc sighed, muttered a bit about Humans and adventurers in general, and glanced at the sky.

“I’ve got to get back there.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll see you around.”

“Maybe.”

The Drake raised one hand in farewell as he trotted off. Erin watched him go. Her eyes turned back to the ruined street.

Misery and devastation. It wasn’t hers, but she still felt for the people affected by the fire. A thief and the ruins.

None of these things were her problem. But they were her problem because she lived here. Not by choice, but Erin felt like the city was suffering. Suffering, and she wondered what it would take to heal.

At the very least, Erin wouldn’t get her pillows today. Not unless a certain Gnoll had any in stock.

——

“I am sorry, Erin Solstice, but everything is chaos, no? I was lucky not to lose my goods, but many have lost all. Pillows must wait. Come back another day, please.”

Krshia barely had the time to spare as she talked seriously with a bunch of angry Gnoll and Drake shopkeepers. The merchants of Market Street were gathered together in some sort of conclave, and Krshia was one of the more influential—and vocal—shopkeepers in the crowd.

Erin left them to it, especially because she was getting a lot of casually hostile glances. It was completely understandable that the shopkeepers were angry, and there were other things she could do. Like talk with friends.

——

“What?”

Selys had to shout above the clamor in the packed Adventurer’s Guild. She and the other three receptionist Drakes were trying to deal with multiple adventurers at once while the room was full of arguments, minor scuffles, spirited dialogue, and not least, the clank of countless weapons and armor rubbing together.

The female Drake shook her head as Erin repeated her question.

“I can’t, Erin. We’re all working overtime as it is. All the adventurers coming through—excuse me, the Human with the red hair and face-thing?”

Several adventurers looked up, and the mustached adventurer stepped forwards, holding a bag of dripping somethings. He looked so amazingly hurt that Erin bet no one had ever referred to his mustache as a ‘face-thing’. Selys gestured impatiently to the side.

“Give that to Warsh, please. The Drake over there? The one with yellow scales? Thank you.”

Selys turned back to Erin and shook her head. The other girl nodded, tried not to touch the shouting adventurer covered in blood and…guts, and made her way out of the building.

It was completely fine. Selys had a lot to do, after all, and the Adventurer’s Guild in Liscor was never meant to deal with the huge influx of treasure seekers. It was too bad. But it was just—it was just—

——

“It’s just that I don’t know what I should be doing, you know?”

Erin complained as she moved a knight on the chess board and stole one of Pawn’s rooks. The Antinium made a sound of dismay but kept staring at the board as Erin chattered away.

“I get that Krshia and Selys are busy. And so is Relc, although we barely talk and he hates my guts. But what should I do? I mean, obviously I’m running the inn, but I feel like there’s something else I should do. Something…useful besides cooking, eating, and paying for pillows.”

Carefully, Pawn moved one of his knights forward. Instantly, Erin took it with a bishop, trading the pieces. It wasn’t a good exchange—as bishops were technically worth about the same strategically as knights, but it did open up Pawn’s king for a lovely attack by Erin’s queen.

“I mean, what should I do? I need money, but it’s not as if this inn is hopping at the best of times. And I need several hundred gold pieces. That’d take years. The only way I might get that much money in one go is to become an adventurer, but I don’t really want to stab stuff or have my insides yanked out through my nose.”

Pawn desperately tried to search for a winning strategy on his invaded side of the chess board. He found one—the same strategy that would end up in a checkmate eight moves down. Erin had noticed that three moves ago.

Delicately, the Antinium moved a pawn forwards and spoke.

“I am not sure I have any advice to give you, Erin Solstice. I am not experienced in the ways of this world.”

“You probably know more than I do.”

“It may be so, but my knowledge extends mainly to my Hive. I was not I until very recently. Thus, my awareness is only now expanding.”

“I get it.”

Erin sighed, took one of Pawn’s pieces, and waited for him to take her rook.

“I just wish I didn’t feel this way.”

“Which way is this?”

Pawn took her rook. Erin took his queen.

“So useless.”

A faint groan escaped the Antinium Worker. He studied the board and then shook his head.

“I have lost.”

The other Workers nodded in agreement as they stared at the board. The pairs that were playing glanced up and stared silently at Pawn’s board before returning to their games.

“Good game. You want to play another round?”

Pawn nodded, and the two players began rearranging the board. It was their fourth game, and they’d been playing long enough that the sun was already fading behind the mountaintops.

It was fun to play. But Erin had the same feeling she was trying to express to Pawn. It was fun to play, but she never lost.

That was okay. She was, if not as incredible as an International Master or even a Grandmaster, at an exceptionally high level of play back home. The love of the game and teaching new players was enough—and they were very good despite having picked up the game a week ago. Yet chess…if the world were decided by chess games, it would be so much easier for her.

“I just wish I could do something important, that’s all. Something useful.”

“Was Erin important back in her world?”

“What? No. Not at all. I was just a girl who played chess. Heck, I wasn’t even in college yet. I was trying to save up money for that.”

“Then the Erin of now is surely an improvement as she is both an [Innkeeper] and one who teaches chess. I fail to understand the problem.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

A few tables down, Rags snorted loudly. Erin looked over. The Goblin stared silently at her and then reached over and poked the Worker’s king with one finger. It toppled over.

“Hey! That’s really rude!”

Rags made a face as Erin glared at her. But the Worker she’d been playing bowed its head towards Erin.

“This one had lost the game. This one apologizes for time wasted.”

“It’s not your fault. Even if the game’s nearly over, you’re the one who decides that. Knocking over someone else’s king is rude. Got it?”

The Worker bowed his head, but Rags just scowled. Erin amped up her death-glare, and Rags reluctantly muttered something.

It was pretty much the only problem that reared its head when Erin had everyone playing chess. In the hierarchy of skill within the inn, Erin was the undisputed champion. After her came Pawn and Rags, with Pawn being the better player, but only just. Below them were various Workers who could play decent games, but Rags was never quite happy unless the little Goblin was playing Erin.

It was an issue of arrogance, and Erin remembered what it was like—being impatient at having to play mediocre players. But Rags was still a rank novice by Erin’s standards, and rudeness in chess was something she wouldn’t tolerate.

But still, Rags hadn’t played Erin yet tonight. Reluctantly, Erin looked at Pawn.

“Sorry, but do you think—?”

The Antinium was already shifting from her table. His courteous nature never failed to surprise Erin. She sighed as Rags jumped off of her chair and marched over to her table.

“Okay, let’s play. But if you touch my king, I’m going to chop you up, got it?”

The Goblin didn’t answer. She was already rearranging her pieces.

Sighing exasperatedly, Erin waved a hand.

“Toren! I’ll have some water.”

The skeleton who had been moving around the room with a huge bowl of Acid Flies turned and nodded. He disappeared into the kitchen and reemerged with a tall glass of water in his bony hand.

There were some benefits to having a skeleton waiter. Not least of which was that Erin could devote all of her time to playing chess. She sat back as Rags studied the board and waited for the first move.

The Goblin played unusual strategies all the time, which made her a delight to duel. By contrast, Pawn had the fundamental moves memorized and played solid games. It won him more games, but Erin had to admit she admired the Goblin’s daring in her aggressive tactics.

Rags’ fingers closed around a pawn, and then the Goblin froze. Her pointed ears twitched, and she stared at the door.

Erin looked up. A few seconds of silence passed, and then she heard someone knocking politely on the door.

“Come in!”

The door slowly swung open. Erin caught a glimpse of a familiar black body and four arms and smiled. Another Worker to play with. But then her thoughts hit a snag. Workers couldn’t leave the city without Pawn. They were—

The Antinium stepped fully into the inn, and Erin froze. She was dreaming. Rags had stabbed her in the chest, and Erin was dying on the table. She’d had a heart attack—or a stroke, and this was the last thing she saw before she died. It had to be that. She had to be dreaming.

Because the Antinium who walked into the inn could not be who she thought he was.

On first glance, he looked like any other Antinium. He had four arms, antennae, large multifaceted eyes, and the two curiously segmented legs all lined with brown-black exoskeleton. That was normal.

But this Antinium was different. He was built slimmer than the Workers, and his carapace might have been a shade darker. But more than that, he resembled someone Erin knew. In every small detail, in every part of his body, from the way he stood to the two swords and two daggers at his side, he looked exactly like—

“Klbkch?”

The Antinium turned his head, and Erin felt her heart stop for a moment. He bowed his head to her and approached.

“Good evening. Am I speaking to the [Innkeeper] known as Erin Solstice?”

His voice was exactly the same as Klbkch’s. Erin wrestled with words around a tongue that had stopped working.

“Yes—yes I—are you—?”

The Antinium nodded.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am not Klbkch. Please refrain from making this error in judgment at any point in the future. My name is Ksmvr of the Antinium of Liscor. I serve my Queen as Prognugator. I have come on business of the Hive.”

It wasn’t Klbkch. But it was. Erin was struck dumb for words. He stood like Klbkch. His swords were the same as Klbkch’s, although the steel was just that instead of the silvery metal. Even the way he walked and talked was—

She was trying to come up with a response and not start crying at the same time while she digested his words.

Ksmvr paused and then nodded.

“I understand my resemblance to my predecessor has caused issues. I apologize for any confusion.”

“Oh, no—”

Erin wanted to say ‘it’s nothing’, but it would be a lie. She sat still, rigid in her seat as Rags stared hard at Ksmvr. All the other Workers were frozen in their seats. But Pawn—

Ksmvr looked around the room. His silent, studying gaze found each Worker as the other Antinium stared at the floor. Then he spotted Pawn. The Worker hesitated and half-rose from his seat.

Instantly, the air rang as Ksmvr’s blades shot out of their sheathes. The Antinium held all four arms on guard and pointed one of his daggers at Pawn.

“Remain still, Worker.”

Erin gaped. Pawn began trembling, and the other Workers instantly began moving out of the way. Ksmvr advanced, swords at the ready.

“Wait. What are you doing?”

Ksmvr’s head moved sideways a fraction as he spoke. But his blades never shifted an inch.

“I have come to ascertain the state of the Worker which refers to itself as ‘Pawn’. I will bring this Worker back into the city with me. I apologize for any inconvenience.”

He stood over Pawn and raised one sword just under the tip of the other Antinium’s chin.

“Stand. Make no sudden movements. You will be questioned.”

Meekly, Pawn did as he was instructed. Erin was staring, horrified. It seemed like—

“Wait, I don’t understand. Why are you taking him? Has he done something wrong?”

Ksmvr paused. He seemed reluctant to explain.

“…It is common knowledge that those Antinium who refer to themselves as individuals or have names are subject to fits of violence and unpredictability. More, I cannot say, but my role is to judge such errant individuals and terminate them if necessary.”

The casual way he said it made Erin’s blood run cold. And now that she was thinking again, she saw Pawn was trembling as Ksmvr held his sword under his chin.

“Wait a second. Wait a second. I know Pawn. He hasn’t done anything wrong, and I’ve been playing chess with him every day for the last few weeks. Why are you taking him now?”

Again, Ksmvr paused before replying.

“The Hive within Liscor has been in—disarray. My appointment to this position was out of necessity. All shall be restored to order shortly. Until then, I carry out my roles.”

He looked at Pawn.

“We will return to the Hive. Any actions will be met with appropriate punishment. Is that clear?”

Pawn nodded. He slowly moved with Ksmvr’s blade poking into his back. The Prognugator would have pushed him out the door, but Erin was suddenly in the way.

“Hold it.”

“Please move aside, Erin Solstice.”

“You haven’t explained anything. Pawn did nothing wrong. He has a name, but I was the one who gave it to him. What do you mean you’ll terminate him? And—and why do you look like Klbkch? What’s a Prognugator?”

“I am on business of my Hive. I cannot answer your questions. Please move aside.”

“No.”

Pawn spoke. His voice trembled with nerves as he spoke to Erin.

“Please, Miss Solstice. This is a matter of the Antinium. I knew it would come. Do not interfere—”

Ksmvr moved. His sword flashed, and Pawn screeched, clutching a severed antenna.

“The Worker will remain silent.”

Quaking, Pawn clutched at his bleeding stump and shut up. Ksmvr prodded him forwards, blade tips sinking into the Worker’s exoskeleton, but now Erin was right in front of him.

“That’s enough. Pawn is my guest. I won’t let you take him.”

Ksmvr stared at Erin expressionlessly.

“Interfering with my duties is a crime.”

“You cut him for speaking. I’m not letting you anywhere near him unless you explain things. No—better yet, I want to go with him.”

“That is unacceptable. Move aside.”

“No.”

“I will not request twice. Be warned—”

“I said no. Didn’t you hear me?”

“I did. Very well.”

Erin didn’t see the Antinium’s hand move. But she felt something solid strike her so hard she saw stars and tasted blood. Erin stumbled away and heard a furious clatter.

Toren rushed at Ksmvr, barehanded except for a spoon it had picked up from a table. Ksmvr turned his head calmly, and two of his arms moved.

The hilt of his sword and dagger smashed into the skeleton so hard that the undead construct paused. Ksmvr’s arm blurred again, and suddenly, Toren was headless.

With one leg, the Antinium kicked the skeleton across the room, scattering Toren’s bones. He turned calmly back to Pawn.

“Move. Walk slowly without deviation.”

“W-wait.”

Erin could only see stars. And her jaw was already swelling, but she still staggered towards Ksmvr. She stopped as two daggers pointed her way.

“Your interference has been noted. Your complaints will be heard by my Queen once she has completed her business. Regrettably, she is indisposed at the moment, but you may request an audience at a later date.”

“I won’t—let you take Pawn. You don’t have to do this.”

Ksmvr paused and then shook his head. He spoke without inflection.

“My position is temporary. But any possibility of a Worker becoming Aberration must be dealt with swiftly. Interfere and I will be forced to consider you an enemy.”

He opened the door. Pawn meekly walked through it. Ksmvr paused, one hand on the door. He nodded at Erin as the girl stared at him, horrified.

“Good day to you. My apologies for the interruption.”

The door closed behind him softly.

——

Erin stared at the door for a full minute, thoughts whirling, before she moved. She paused only long enough to make sure Toren was reassembling himself. Rags was squatting next to the skeleton, offering it bones and watching with interest as the skeleton pieced itself together one part at a time.

She had no time to wait for the skeleton. Erin ran into the kitchen and reemerged with a frying pan, the biggest one she had. She flung the door open and made it two steps outside before the Workers grabbed her.

“Let—go of me!”

“Innkeeper Solstice must not interfere. Innkeeper Solstice must not.”

“Get off! I’m going to save Pawn! Let go!”

Erin struggled, but three Workers had her in grips like steel, and the others were surrounding them. They spoke—a group speaking as one.

“The Prognugator must not be disturbed. The Prognugator will slay all who interfere. Innkeeper Solstice must not die. Innkeeper Solstice must not die.”

Erin struggled. The Workers didn’t want to hurt her. At last, she managed to wriggle out of their grips. She broke free of the mob and ran down the hill towards Liscor.

She made it several miles before the Workers caught up. They weren’t fast, but they didn’t tire. They held her.

“Innkeeper Solstice must not.”

“Why?”

She shouted it at the Worker who’d caught her. He flinched, but she was beyond caring.

“What is that Ksmvr guy doing? Why does he look exactly like Klbkch!”

The Worker hesitated and then shook his head.

“It is forbidden to speak of Hive matters to outsiders. This one may not speak.”

Erin snapped. She took a deep breath and shouted in the Worker’s face.

“I am your chess teacher! I am Innkeeper Solstice, and I order you to tell me!”

He hesitated. Erin grabbed him by his cool, smooth exoskeleton.

“Tell me!”

The Worker hesitated. He looked at the other Workers surrounding him, and she saw them agree almost as one. It looked hesitantly back at Erin.

“This one—these ones believe the individual known as Pawn will be interrogated.”

“Interrogated? Why?”

“To determine if the individual known as Pawn is Aberration.”

“And if he is?”

“He will be executed.”

Erin’s blood went cold. She struggled, but the Worker held her.

“That’s crazy! Why? What did he do wrong?”

“Those who are Aberration kill. They are Individual and reject the Hive. They destroy.”

“But Pawn isn’t violent!”

Erin stopped and stared at the Worker.

“He isn’t. You know it. I know it. He hasn’t done anything. So he’s not an Aberration, right?”

The Worker hesitated again and stared at his comrades.

“It may be so.”

“It is so!”

“No Worker who has become individual has ever not been Aberration.”

“None?”

Erin stared at the Worker. He and the others shook their heads.

“Pawn is different, though. He is. So—that Ksmvr guy will let him go, right?”

They hesitated.

“Right?”

“If the individual known as Pawn is not Aberration, he may be allowed freedom within the Hive.”

Erin was no good at reading Workers’ expressions. But even she could tell that the Workers didn’t think this was very likely. She stared at them.

“I’m going to stop it.”

“It is too late. The Hive will be sealed while the individual known as Pawn is questioned. Innkeeper Solstice will not be able to enter.”

“I must.”

“It is impossible. Innkeeper Solstice must go back to her inn.”

“I’ve got to go. I must.”

“It is impossible.”

“I must go.”

“It is impossible.”

“I—”

——

In the end, the Workers left. And they left Erin behind. She stood, holding the heavy frying pan in the middle of the plains, and watched the Workers slowly trudge across the dark plains towards Liscor.

She wanted to run after them. But they’d convinced her—finally convinced her—that even if she followed them there would be nothing she could do. They would enter the Hive, but apparently it would be sealed by the fearsome Antinium Soldiers, who would kill her on sight if she intruded. And Ksmvr would be deep within the Hive, interrogating Pawn for signs of Aberration, whatever that meant.

Erin would never reach him. So she stayed and felt like she was betraying Pawn. But she would never reach him. All Erin could do was pray.

Slowly, Erin walked back towards her inn. Her mind was full of confusion, fear, panic, a whirlwind of emotions. But those thoughts vanished from her head when she heard the shouting.

It came from her inn. Erin stared up the hill and saw a group of dark shapes standing outside the inn. They were yelling something.

“Goblin!”

“More of them over there! Kill them!”

“Watch it! One of them knows magic!”

“Get it off! There’s a skeleton too! Toss me my sword!”

Erin ran. She charged up the hill as fast as she could. Her inn was lit from the inside, the lamps Toren had lit the only light besides the stars. In the glow from the windows, she could see seven—maybe more people—striking out at Rags and her group of Goblins.

They’d been caught unawares, but the adventurers were already pulling out weapons. One of them—a massive Minotaur—pulled a humongous battle axe from his back and swung it with a roar of fury. Rags dodged the massive blade as it bit into the soil with a shrill cry of alarm. She swung her short sword, but a mage in robes pointed, and the Goblin had to dive or be consumed by the flames that shot from the mage’s staff.

“Hey!”

Erin didn’t even bother with words. As the adventurers charged, she raised the frying pan and hurled it as hard as she could at the Minotaur. The pan flew straight at the massive bull-man’s head, courtesy of Erin’s [Unerring Throw] Skill.

The Minotaur blinked as the pan flew at him. His hand shot up, grabbed the cast-iron skillet by the handle, and halted it in midair.

Erin froze. The Goblins took one look at the Minotaur holding the frying pan and ran. One of the adventurers raised a bow, but Erin ran forwards and kicked him in the stomach. He doubled over.

Suddenly, Erin was alone and surrounded by adventurers. They stared at her, confused. One of them—a girl with pointy ears—held up her hand and stopped the other adventurers from attacking. The Minotaur stared at Erin, curious.

He’d stopped the flying frying pan of justice with one hand. Erin gulped and thought fast. Her attack had failed, although Rags and her friends were clear. So that left words.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

The adventurers stared incredulously at her.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I own this place! What are you doing attacking my guests?”

“Guests?”

A guy with a long mustache gaped at Erin. He stared at the fleeing Goblins.

“They’re Goblins! And there’s a skeleton in there!”

He pointed at Toren, who was lying disassembled inside of Erin’s inn.

“They’re my guests. And that’s my skeleton you just beat up! This is my inn, and no one kills Goblins around here! Didn’t you read the sign? Does anyone read the damn sign?”

The adventurers, or rather, the Silver-rank adventuring group known as the Horns of Hammerad, stared at each other in confusion. The night sky made everything nearly impossible to see. Gerial stared at Erin and then looked around.

“There’s a sign?”

——

Erin sat in her inn, staring at the group of men, women, and one Elf and Minotaur as they sat awkwardly across from her. All of them stared alternatively at her and at Toren as the skeleton walked around the inn, cleaning up the Workers’ dishes and the chess sets.

They weren’t about to say anything else, so Erin spoke.

“Let me get this straight. You guys are an adventuring group, and you just happened to drop by.”

“That’s right. We knew there was an inn in the area, and we wondered if it was still open.”

That came from the Elf-girl, sitting closest to Erin. She was distractingly beautiful, with features that were literally nothing like anything Erin had seen in her world. She smiled politely at Erin, and the girl had to prevent herself from gaping.

Erin looked at the Minotaur instead. He was also something she’d never seen, but she wasn’t as distracted by him. Rather, his bullish head and rippling muscles made her feel like she was talking to a cow that had decided to start working out and was walking around on two legs.

Which, when you got down to it, was pretty much a Minotaur.

“So you lot came here, saw the inn was full of Goblins, and decided to kill them all, right?”

The adventurers shifted in their seats. One of them shrugged.

“Well—yes.”

“Why?”

The armed men and women exchanged glances. One literally trapped a finger against her helmet and grimaced in confusion. Another—a guy in armor with a flowing mustache—shook his head.

“They’re Goblins. They’re monsters. We’re adventurers. I’m sorry Miss, but we were just doing our jobs.”

Erin knew that, but she didn’t have to like it. But they hadn’t killed any Goblins, and she’d made them explain three times already. And they were staring at her, so she decided to change topics.

“Okay. So you’re adventurers from up north. You said you had a name…?”

“The Horns of Hammerad.”

That came from the Minotaur. He was still staring at Erin curiously, but without threatening to rip her head off, which is what she sort of assumed was Minotaur behavior.

“And how did you know the inn was here?”

The man with the mustache cleared his throat awkwardly.

“We were, ah, here before.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“I believe you were out at the time.”

Ceria smiled at Erin. She nodded to the skeleton.

“But I can prove we weren’t doing anything wrong. We were here to meet a certain [Necromancer] at the time. It’s just a guess, but I’m betting you know him.”

Erin looked at Toren, and the skeleton looked inquiringly back at her. He was still wearing his sword belted to his bony waist, and the skeleton was eying the Horns of Hammerad as if it considered them to be a threat. Then she focused on the [Necromancer] part and groaned through her teeth.

Even when he was gone—Pisces! She spoke slowly, but with a growing sense of resignation.

“I might know him. This, uh, necromancer. Can you describe him?”

“He’s quite annoying.”

Erin’s head ducked.

“Right, that’s Pisces. Okay, so you know him. And you’re here. And I guess you didn’t see the sign about not killing Goblins. Mistakes were made.”

Erin sighed and tried to relax. She looked at the group of adventurers again.

“So, what do the Horns of Hammerbad want with me?”

The Minotaur’s eye twitched, but the Elf spoke again. She might be their leader, or maybe it was mustache-guy.

“We’re looking for a place to stay.”

Erin looked blank. She pointed out the window.

“The city’s that way.”

“Yes, but every tavern, inn, and home is full to the rafters with adventurers. There’s nowhere to sleep—not even in a shed. So we came here.”

Erin still looked blank.

“Why?”

“This…is an inn, correct? Don’t you have rooms to rent?”

“What? Oh. Oh. Yeah, I’ve got them. Tons of them. All empty.”

Silence. The Horns of Hammerad exchanged a glance. Ceria coughed politely and smiled at Erin.

“Could we perhaps stay here? I promise you we won’t cause any trouble, and we have plenty of coin.”

That had a hollow ring to it after the earlier incident. Erin thought it over, chewing at her lip.

“I don’t like people who attack Goblins. They’re my guests, and you chased them off.”

This comment seemed to seriously annoy the Minotaur. He leaned forwards, snorting, but mustache-guy pushed him back in his chair. From his seat, the Minotaur snapped at Erin.

“Those creatures are scum. They should be exterminated.”

Erin’s brows snapped together. The other Horns of Hammerad groaned, and the Elf kicked backwards, hitting the Minotaur’s shin. All that happened was that she winced.

Mustache-guy smoothed his mustaches and looked concerned. He spoke to Erin, attempting a charming smile.

“I assure you, Mistress, um, Erin. This was all a mistake. If we’d seen the sign, we wouldn’t have attacked.”

“Hm.”

Erin eyed the adventurers. She still wasn’t happy, not least because they were in her way while she was still thinking about Pawn. She made up her mind rapidly.

“Look, you didn’t kill the Goblins. So I guess I’ll forget that. But if you stay here, you will either obey my rules or you can sleep outside. Got it?”

All of the Horns of Hammerad nodded at once. Only the Minotaur did not. Erin stared at him.

“How about you, bull-guy?”

His eyebrow twitched, and everyone else in the inn winced. The Minotaur stared at Erin hard, but she didn’t look away.

“Everyone else seems like they’ll be okay, but are you going to obey my rules, or do I have to kick you out?”

The thought of her kicking the Minotaur out was ridiculous, but Erin was too angry to care. The Minotaur stared hard at her, blew out air exasperatedly, and finally nudged the Elf-girl aside as she silently kicked him under the table.

“Upon my honor, I promise. I will not attack any of your guests unless provoked.”

That seemed like it was all Erin was going to get. She nodded.

“Okay, then. In that case, I have a few rooms upstairs. Enough for all of you. But I don’t have any pillows.”

The Horns of Hammerad smiled in relief. The Elf spoke to Erin.

“That’s fine. We can make do.”

Erin nodded and stood up. Her mind was blank. What were you supposed to say at times like this? Guests. She had guests. She picked a direction and put her mouth on autopilot.

“Your rooms are upstairs. Go ahead and pick whatever one you want. We might have to get two beds for cow-guy, but it should be fine.”

She pointed at the kitchen.

“Breakfast is in the morning. There’s no alcohol, but I’ve got plenty of food. There’s an outhouse outside—just be careful that you don’t walk into a monster. If you see a huge moving rock, shut the door and stay quiet. Don’t go into the kitchen if you want something to eat—there are jars of acid lying around. Don’t drink anything green in general. No killing Goblins, the skeleton works for me, and if you see an ant-guy with two swords and two daggers, hit him and make sure he doesn’t go anywhere. Got it?”

The Horns of Hammerad hesitated, then nodded. Erin waited and then shrugged.

“That’s about it. I’ll make some food if you want anything.”

She stomped out of the common room and into the kitchen. Bemused, the adventurers watched her go. For a few seconds, they heard her talking to the skeleton, and then Erin walked back out. She pointed at the adventurers.

“One more thing. Do any of you play chess?”

Again, all of the adventurers had to exchange glances of confusion. At last, the mustached man looked back at Erin and raised one eyebrow.

“What’s ‘chess’?”

Erin sighed.

Hollowstone Deceivers (Rock Crabs) by Enuryn

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.50

Erin dreamt of swords flashing, of cannonballs exploding around her, and of blood. Rivers of blood.

Klbkch stood in front of Erin and asked if she were ready. She looked at him as he bled in her arms. His mandibles opened, and he rasped into her ear.

“I obey my Queen.”

She shook her head. Dream Erin pointed and showed Klbkch a massive chess piece sitting on a hill.

“The King. It’s about the King. The king is smart. He—”

She was no longer holding Klbkch. Instead, Erin sat and watched as a body fell to the ground and oil burned around her. A dead Goblin’s face stared at her, and she woke in a cold sweat to see Toren standing in one corner of her room.

It was better. Infinitely better than seeing the dead. Erin still threw her pillow at him. It struck him in the face—not hard, but loud enough to startle someone.

“Whu?”

It came from outside the kitchen. Erin was immediately seized by panic. She looked around for her frying pan and then remembered.

She had guests.

Blearily, Erin kicked her bedding into one corner of the kitchen and walked out. It was still close to dawn, but surprisingly, someone was awake.

Ceria blinked several times at Erin and nodded her head. It seemed the Elf mage was an early riser, but even she was half-asleep.

“Whu?”

She repeated the word. Erin swayed on her feet.

“Hrgh.”

“Mm.”

Conversation done, Erin stumbled back into the kitchen to make food. Toren stood by, handing her pan, spatulas, and various food items as she pointed and grunted. Breakfast was scrambled eggs, toasted bread, bacon from some animal, and sliced cheese.

It was unnatural how she could make a proper breakfast, but Erin wasn’t thinking about that at the moment. Her hands moved automatically as she thought about her dream.

It had meant something. And for some reason, even though Erin had been dreaming about death and battle, she’d been thinking about chess. She always thought about chess, even when she was asleep.

Still caught in the last fragments of her dream, Erin muttered the words.

“The king…the king is smart. He uses something. His head?”

Erin scratched at her own head, wondering where that line had come from. Well, obviously it was about chess. But had she heard it somewhere? She felt like it was important.

The bacon was finished and sizzling. Erin picked the fried strips of meat out of the pan, wincing at the spot of oil that landed on her arm.

“Ow. Ow. Ow!”

Too much oil. Erin had forgotten. It really got hot when you heated it up—

The smell of burning flesh. Erin paused and looked around. A dead Goblin Chieftain lay on the floor.

The slice of bacon slipped from her tongs. Nimbly, Toren dove and caught the bit of meat and delicately put it back on the plate. Erin blinked and came back to life.

“Oh—thanks.”

She put a hand to her head and quickly finished frying and stacking the rest of the meat. She’d made a lot. Enough for a small army, which was what she assumed ten adventurers and a Minotaur qualified as.

But since they weren’t awake, after Erin finished with the eggs, she only made one plate for Ceria. She absentmindedly dumped bacon, eggs, and bread together, ignoring the aesthetics of eating for the substance of eating itself.

Why was she thinking of the Goblin Chieftain? Why had she had that dream? Sometimes, yes, Erin woke up sweating and crying in the middle of the night. But never had her dreams followed her out of her sleep like this.

It was a sign. A sign that Erin needed to find a better place to sleep, perhaps.

Her stomach rumbled. Another sign, indicating she was hungry. Erin stared down at the two plates that were as close to an American breakfast as she knew and smiled. Ceria probably would like this, especially with blue juice. Too late, Erin remembered she had an Elf in the other room.

“Oh no.”

Erin stared down at her meal of bacon and scrambled eggs. She couldn’t go out with this. Desperately, she scrambled around, looking for anything that remotely resembled produce. It was so hard to keep vegetables in the inn because she didn’t have a refrigerator!

She found a head of lettuce and some tomatoes. Feverishly, Erin fried more eggs and added it to some toasted bread. That would have to do. Hopefully, Ceria ate eggs. Were Elves vegetarian or vegan?

——

Ceria stared blearily at the table, trying not to fall asleep. She wasn’t a morning person. People expected half-Elves to rise with the dawn and frolic in the dewdrops and flowers or some such nonsense. But Ceria had lived too long among Humans and other species to like getting up early, and she didn’t frolic.

An enticing smell was coming from the kitchens along with much banging about. Ceria tried not to listen. She was concentrating on a spell.

“[Illumination]. No—perhaps I’m doing it wrong?”

She should have the spell mastered, but it was giving her trouble. [Illumination] was an advanced version of the [Light] spell Ryoka had learned, and technically, it was only Tier 2 magic. But in truth, its complexity was around Tier 3. Possibly even Tier 4 in scope. Normally, Ceria wouldn’t have bothered learning it, but the spell could illuminate over a hundred meters around the caster by shedding orbs of light. It was perfect for dungeons.

“And of course, it’s up to the Wistram mage to do it. Is it a hard spell? Yes! Then let the half-Elf do it! Don’t get any of the other mages. Ceria’s got it covered!”

Ceria growled and slapped the spellbook in front of her shut. She was hungry, and now that she smelled breakfast, she really couldn’t concentrate.

Right on time, someone exited the kitchen holding two big plates full of food. Ceria brightened—

And nearly blew the skeleton’s head off when she saw it. The undead creature paused and stared at Ceria’s wand as the mage caught herself. It had one arm cocked to throw the plate at her head.

“Toren! Stop that!”

Someone smacked the skeleton in the back of the head, making it stumble and nearly drop its burden. Ceria saw the strange [Innkeeper] glare at the skeleton and point at the table where she sat.

Quickly, Ceria lowered the glowing wand as Erin approached.

“Ooh, is that a wand?”

The half-Elf blinked at Erin. She paused and then smiled ruefully.

“Yes it is. Would you like to see?”

Erin peered excitedly at the long, slender piece of wood. It didn’t look carved like the ones she’d seen in certain movies. Rather, it looked like it had been plucked off a tree and stripped of all branches. The wood was a pale white tinged with the faintest hint of green. All in all, it was ordinary except for the pale, blue-white wisps of light flickering around the tip.

“That is so cool!”

Ceria was mildly taken aback by Erin’s enthusiasm. She held out the wand to Erin, much to the other girl’s surprise.

Erin hesitated, her hands itching to hold the wand. She glanced at Ceria.

“Is it really okay if I touch it?”

Ceria had to smile.

“It’s not that fragile. Go ahead. And it’s not that expensive. Sort of expensive, but the real thing is far, uh, ‘cooler’.”

Reverently, Erin ran her fingers along the wand. It didn’t feel that different, to Erin’s slight disappointment. The wood was smooth and polished, but it didn’t feel special. Her fingertips touched the wand’s tip.

“Ah! Cold!”

Ceria snatched the wand back, and Erin stared at her hands. The fingers that had brushed the wand tip were white, and frost had coated the very tips. The Elf tossed the wand on the table and grabbed Erin’s hand.

“Are you alright?”

Behind Erin, Toren’s glowing eyes flashed menacingly. The skeleton took a step forwards and met an elbow to the ribcage from Erin. She glared at him until he retreated and then looked back at Ceria. The touch of the Elf’s skin on hers felt very light and ethereal, just like how the rest of the Elf looked. Gingerly, she pulled her hand away.

“I’m fine. Go away, Toren! Go get us something to drink.”

“I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t expect you to touch the wand tip. Have you never seen one before?”

Erin blew on her fingers and rubbed them frantically to warm them up. They were tingling horribly, but aside from the first bite of extreme cold, they seemed to be okay.

“No—sorry. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to touch them.”

“It was my fault. I forget how much non-mages don’t know.”

Ceria looked abashed. She held up the wand and tapped her finger close to the tip.

“All the magic of the wand is channeled through the tip. That’s why it glows or reacts depending on the spell stored. It’s also why you should never break a wand because it will trigger the spell.”

She picked up her wand and began tucking it up her sleeve. Erin saw there was an armband so that Ceria could holster the wand along her arm. She shuddered.

“Won’t that freeze your arm?”

“Oh, no. I can deactivate the magic. I only activated it because, well—your skeleton surprised me.”

Erin turned and glared at Toren, who’d reemerged from the kitchen with a jug in one hand and cups in the other.

“Sorry about that. He keeps doing that no matter how much I tell him not to.”

Silently, Ceria watched the skeleton place a cup before her and Erin and fill both up to the brim. Quite literally to the brim.

“Toren! How are we supposed to drink it like that? Don’t fill the cups all the way to the top, just almost!”

The skeleton looked abashed. Erin glared at it and then turned to Ceria. The half-Elf cautiously managed to take a drink of the sweet, pulpy liquid without spilling any. Her eyebrows lifted.

“This is good!”

“I know, right? It’s from this fruit I found around here. Anyways, here. Breakfast is served!”

So saying, Erin pushed a plate towards Ceria. The half-Elf looked down and found herself staring at scrambled eggs, toasted bread, and a spreadable cheese on the side—and for some reason, a big bowl of what looked entirely like lettuce and tomatoes. And no bacon.

She looked over and saw Erin had a plate full of eggs and bacon. Ceria’s stomach rumbled, and she wondered how she was going to correct this mistake.

“Well. This looks…lovely. Thank you for making breakfast so early, Miss Solstice. And I’m late in saying it, but good morning.”

“Oh. Thank you!”

Erin paused and then snapped her fingers.

“Oh. Wait! I know this one!”

Bemused, Ceria stared as the other girl scratched at her head. She muttered to herself and then looked at Ceria.

“Um…Elen síla lúmenn’ omentielvo? Is that right?”

The half-Elf froze, mouth open with one spoonful of eggs hovering just over her plate. Erin blinked innocently at her.

“What—what was that?”

Erin blushed.

“I was trying to say good morning in your language. Or maybe it’s just hello. Did I get it right…?”

“My language?”

“Elvish, right?”

The bit of egg slipped from Ceria’s spoon back onto her plate. Erin was getting more embarrassed by the staring, so she tried to explain.

“I once went to a Lord of the Rings chess tournament because I heard a national champion played there. People wouldn’t play me unless I could at least say ‘hello’.”

Ceria understood exactly none of what Erin had said. Her mind spinning, she put down her spoon quite calmly.

“Miss Erin, I’m not sure what you might be thinking but—I’m not an Elf.”

This time, it was Erin’s turn to stare.

“You’re not? Oh man. I just thought—”

Ceria touched the pointed tips of her ears that Erin was staring at.

“I’m not an Elf. I’m a half-Elf. And besides which, you wouldn’t see—an Elf anywhere.”

“Really? Why not?”

Erin was full of round-eyed curiosity. Mindful of her sleeping friends upstairs and because Erin seemed genuinely confused, Ceria did her best to keep her voice level and not shout.

“No one has seen an Elf for thousands of years. Tens of thousands. They all died long ago. That bit you spoke—was a joke, right?”

“Oh. Um—yes?”

Ceria watched as Erin sat back in her chair, disappointment clearly written all over her face. The conversation stalled as both young women tried to wrestle with what had been heard.

For her part, the half-Elf had to believe that bit of nonsense-language was a joke. Because if it wasn’t…

Ceria felt—amazed at Erin’s ignorance, but the nature of their conversation was familiar. She’d had the same sort of odd explaining to do, but when—?

“Well, I’m, uh, really sorry about the mix up. I just thought you looked so amazing and, um—are half-Elves like Elves? Or—or is there anything I should know?”

Awkwardly, Erin pointed at Ceria’s plate.

“I didn’t know what you people—I mean, what you could eat. If you need something special, I can get it. Anyways, we’ve got salad. Um…there are some tomato-like things I bought from the market, carrots…lots of soup. And, uh, I’ve got bread and cheese if you want to eat that.”

Ceria raised both her eyebrows in amusement.

“I can eat meat, you know.”

Again, the Human girl paused and seemed to struggle with something. Then, silently, she switched her plate with Ceria’s. The [Mage] brightened as the aroma of fried meat drifted upwards.

“So you eat meat?”

Ceria nodded happily.

“I’m not sure what you’ve heard, but my people aren’t averse to eating meat. I quite enjoy pork, for instance, especially when it’s been properly cooked. Or when it’s not.”

Erin stared at Ceria, round-eyed.

“Really? That’s so weird.”

——

When the rest of the Horns of Hammerad finally woke up, it was because they smelled the food. Adventurers, being the sort of people who were used to waking in a moment’s notice to avoid dying, generally slept in if they could help it. But they were also big fans of eating, so when the smells of cooked food finally wafted upstairs, their stomachs dragged them out of bed.

Gerial stumbled down into the common room of the inn and brightened the instant he saw what Ceria was eating. He sat down at a table, wondering if he should call for a barmaid, when he saw the skeleton march out of the kitchen.

Ceria caught the vice-captain of the Horns of Hammerad as he went for his belt dagger.

“Easy. Don’t threaten it and it won’t attack.”

Gerial paused and nodded. He let his heartbeat slow from the sudden jolt he’d received and warily let the skeleton put a heaping plate of food in front of him. The skeleton set down a cup, pointed to a jug of blue liquid on Ceria’s table, and walked back into the kitchen. Sheepishly, Gerial met Ceria’s gaze.

“Good thing you caught me. I’d forgotten—”

“Don’t worry about it. I made the same mistake earlier.”

“Good morning!”

Gerial looked up and gave Erin a smile as she bustled towards him, silverware in hand. The skeletal waiter had forgotten it, and Erin also filled up Gerial’s glass with the strange blue liquid after giving him a choice between it and water.

“Thank you for the meal, ah, Miss…”

Ceria supplied the name.

“Solstice.”

“Oh, just call me Erin. Anyways, I’ve got more food, so just shout if you need some.”

“You’re most kind. And this looks delicious.”

Erin smiled and walked off, already chatting to Sostrom and the [Ranger], Marian, from the Horns of Hammerad. Gerial eyed his plate, delighted at the glistening oil on his fat strips of bacon and the mounds of eggs and pieces of bread buried next to them.

He took his first bite and grinned at Ceria.

“Good food.”

She was already eating again.

“Isn’t it? Try the blue stuff.”

Cautiously, mindful of Ceria’s sense of humor, Gerial did. His eyes widened.

“It’s sweet!”

Ceria and the other Horns of Hammerad grinned at Gerial’s reaction. He’d already drained his cup by the time Erin came back around.

“Good service, food, and we’re not getting dirty looks every two seconds. We struck it lucky coming here.”

“Good thing we didn’t get into it with those Goblins.”

Ceria nodded as Gerial removed some grease from his chin with a handkerchief.

“Still—”

Gerial craned his neck and saw only the skeleton walking around offering drinks to adventurers reluctant to accept. Reassured, he continued speaking to Ceria. Neither adventurer noticed how often Toren kept passing by their table despite their full glasses.

“What an odd innkeeper.”

“She’s definitely strange. Goblins and a skeleton. But Pisces is probably to blame for the skeleton. Still—Goblins.”

“Did you see what one of them was armed with? A…a jar of something?”

Ceria smiled with dark humor.

“It set off my [Dangersense] when it pulled it out. Guess what was in it? Acid. I had a look in the kitchen. She’s got jars of Acid Flies—a local creature around here. Looks like she’s been harvesting them as a food source.”

Gerial paused as he munched down on his bread, appetite suddenly lost. Ceria shook her head at him.

“Oh, stop being squeamish. Drakes eat them, and so do the Antinium, I bet. Not that we’d see the ant-men here, but I can see how it would be useful.”

“But the bugs—”

Gerial eyed his plate uneasily, imagining how an insect might crawl into a cooked meal. Ceria glared at him.

“Do you think she’d leave any of them alive? They were all dead. Honestly, you Humans—”

She trailed off and shook her head.

“Well, I get it. Bugs aren’t my favorite thing to eat either.”

That comment nearly made Gerial choke on his drink. But Ceria continued, thinking aloud.

“I’m not sure if she’s just absentminded or if she doesn’t realize how dangerous arming Goblins is. That acid can melt skin in seconds. But besides that, it’s odd to see her living so far out from the city.”

“Not too far. It was barely an hour’s walk even with us getting lost.”

“True. But monsters don’t care about distance. And that skeleton doesn’t look that powerful.”

Gerial nodded. The skeleton didn’t set off any internal alarm bells when he thought of it as a potential foe. It was dangerous and no mistake—but it was no Lich or even a stronger variety of the undead.

“Maybe that’s all the protection she could afford.”

“In that case, she’s reckless or insane. Or—poor. Actually, She reminds me a bit of Ryoka.”

Gerial stared incredulously at Erin as she began haranguing Toren.

“In what way exactly?”

Ceria shrugged, unable to explain.

“They’re not too similar personality-wise, but…it’s just a hunch.”

“Well. So long as we’re here, monsters aren’t an issue. And this is a good inn.”

“Right. If we want to keep using it, we’d better spread the word to the others. If they come in and start something—”

“Got it. I’ll tell the others when I see them. You still working on the spell…?”

Ceria made a face.

“Working on it. It’s complex. Give me two days and I’ll have it done. We probably have enough time for that, right?”

“Probably. Calruz and the others will meet to discuss tonight, but we’ll need to interview other adventurers and see what’s been found. You’ve got at least four days by my count.”

“Okay then—”

Every adventurer looked up at the heavy clomping sound of massive footsteps coming down the stairs. Calruz blinked a few times and scowled at the skeleton as he entered the common room.

“Hey there!”

Erin was already setting the table next to Ceria and Gerial with a huge plate of food. Calruz grunted in appreciation and sat down.

This meal was mainly eggs and bread…and a bowl of lettuce and tomatoes for some reason. Gerial frowned as he saw there was absolutely no meat whatsoever on the plate as Ceria slapped her forehead gently.

“Hey, Mr. Bull Guy.”

Across the room, Gerial saw Sostrom choke on his drink as Erin addressed Calruz. The Minotaur frowned up at her as the Human girl smiled at him. Even sitting down, the Minotaur was nearly as tall as she was.

“I wasn’t sure if you ate meat. I’ve got some bacon. Made from pork—I think, so there’s no beef.”

“I can eat beef.”

Calruz grunted at Erin. She smiled in relief and waved at Toren. The skeleton approached with another huge plate of sizzling bacon. The Minotaur accepted it from Erin’s hand and grunted with satisfaction. Then he eyed her again.

“Also, Innkeeper. My name is Calruz, and I lead the Horns of Hammerad. Any title is fine, but—‘Bull Guy’—I would prefer you not call me that.”

Erin slapped a hand to her forehead.

“Oh no. Is it a racial thing? I’m sorry! I didn’t want to use your people’s word. What should I say instead?”

Calruz’s left eyelid twitched involuntarily. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Ceria and Gerial held their breaths.

“We’re not bulls. Or cattle.”

“What are you, then?”

This time, Calruz eyed Erin long and hard to see if she was joking. But she seemed completely earnest.

“A Minotaur.”

“Wow. I thought you were, but you look a lot different than the pictures.”

“What did you think I looked like, then?”

Erin waved her hands and gestured helplessly.

“Oh, I don’t know. Less—hairy. Sort of like a Human with a Minotaur’s head. And your horns are really cool.”

She pointed to Calruz’s long horns, and this time, Gerial thought the Minotaur would erupt. But he seemed mollified by Erin’s amazement.

“I don’t know what kind of Minotaurs you’ve heard of. But I accept your mistake.”

He began eating, considerably faster than Gerial and Ceria but with his utensils and without creating a mess. Erin paused, clearly thinking of something else. Reluctantly, Calruz looked up.

“What?”

“Um. Do you like mazes?”

——

Erin learned a lot about Minotaurs on that day. They were pretty polite, good eaters, could actually eat beef if they wanted to—but they weren’t fans of lots of questions.

She watched the Horns of Hammerad leave the inn and troop towards the city and stared at what they’d left behind. Money, of course—they’d paid in advance and handsomely too, and that was only for the first night. And they were coming back for dinner, but it was the other thing that they’d left which was bothering her.

Dishes. Lots of dishes.

Erin stared at the stacks of dirty silverware and porcelain and pointed at Toren.

“You wash that.”

The skeleton nodded—almost glumly, Erin thought. It hauled the bucket of water up and poured it into a pot to heat up over the fire while Erin opened her pantries, dreading what she might find.

Two minutes later, Erin rushed out of the inn.

“I’m out of food!”

She paused, ran back inside to grab her money pouch, and then ran out again. Toren rushed out behind her.

“Stay there! Wash the dishes!”

He halted, clattering his jaw as Erin raced down the hill.

——

“Okay, make that ten sausages, and I need a bag of salt, too. Oh, and some cooking oil.”

Krshia nodded and shouted something in her growling language to another Gnoll across the street. Both shopkeepers disappeared and began pulling out the various foodstuffs Erin had requested.

It was easier to go to Krshia for everything she wanted, Erin had found. The other Gnoll could direct her to the right shopkeepers, and that way, Erin knew she was never being ripped off.

“Is there anything else, Erin Solstice?”

“Um…”

Erin looked around. Market Street was still half-destroyed, but the part that hadn’t been burnt down had already resumed business as usual. And indeed, a large part of the burnt street had already been replaced by the industrious Workers. Shopkeepers had already set up their stalls, and if you ignored the black soot on some buildings and the ground, it looked like everything was normal.

The only difference was the Guardsman walking down the street every few minutes and the unfriendly looks that were being directed at every Human who entered. Erin got her fair share of glares, but it seemed like the shopkeepers knew her face, so at least they didn’t mutter insults when she walked by. At least, none that she could hear at any rate.

“I don’t know. What would you recommend, Krshia?”

The Gnoll propped her hands on her hips and thought.

“Hm. These are adventurers staying at your inn, yes? Then buy ale or something to drink, yes?”

“Ale? Oh, right! Sure! Give me a, uh, barrel of that.”

Krshia smiled but shook her head.

“It should be a keg for now. Transporting a barrel is hard, yes? And my Runner—he is overworked. He will not be able to transport your goods until tomorrow, even without a barrel to drive, yes?”

“What? Tomorrow?”

Erin’s face fell. She’d gotten used to the unfriendly, silent Gnoll who drove a cart to her inn every time she needed a delivery. True, it wasn’t ‘running’, but Krshia told her Street Runners often used carts to carry heavy deliveries, unlike City Runners. Whatever that meant.

“Can’t you get it to me sooner? I’m out of food at the inn!”

Another shake and Erin had to step back to avoid the flying brown fur.

“My apologies. But it is a busy time, yes? So many customers, which is good. But not for you, yes? I can lend you a cart, but that is all.”

Disconsolately, Erin stared at the small mountain of goods she’d bought. Krshia had marked it and set it aside for the Runner to pick up. It was—well, it was a lot. She’d bought it thinking she wouldn’t have to carry it. But since she did, suddenly Erin regretted her spending.

Briefly, she wondered if she could get away with only taking a little bit. But the adventurers ate so much, and they were her first real guests. She didn’t want to disappoint them, but the sun was already high in the sky, and she needed to make lunch soon.

There was no helping it. Taking Toren into the city was more trouble than it was worth. If she wanted to get it back, she’d have to make several trips with a handcart between feeding her guests. Erin sighed.

But then she brightened. Moving through the crowd, she spotted a group of people who were out of place. At least, out of place for what she considered to be Liscor’s unusual crowd. She spotted a woman in silver armor, a huge guy with an axe, and several other Humans walking with a tall Minotaur she recognized.

Erin raised her hand and waved.

“Hey! Hey! Hammer captain!”

——

“Why are we doing this again?”

Gregor, Captain of the Silver-rank team of adventurers known as Kyrial’s Vanguard, complained as he finally reached the top of the small hill where The Wandering Inn stood. He was wearing his armor, of course, and his iconic battleaxe as well, but the big man had another burden.

A sack of onions and five freshly baked loaves of bread, to be precise. And a narked expression, but that didn’t weigh anything.

“We’re here because we want to use this inn for planning and the innkeeper needs food. And because helping out is the polite thing to do.”

Yvlon smiled at Gregor and winked silently at Erin as she carried along two hams.

“Exactly. And it’s not that heavy.”

Gerial had to wheeze that last comment. He’d been carrying a bag of flour by himself and was regretting it, especially with the weight of the rest of his armor.

Calruz grunted irritably. He dropped the bags of flour he’d carried pointedly into Toren’s arms as the skeleton emerged from the inn. The skeleton staggered under the weight as it carried them into the kitchen.

“This was not warrior’s work.”

“No, but it was necessary, and I appreciate it.”

Erin grinned at Calruz as she hauled a smaller bag into the kitchen. She poked her head out.

“Besides, if you didn’t help out, I wouldn’t be able to make lunch! This way, you can eat and complain at the same time, Mr. Grumpy!”

Ceria smiled and dropped the links of sausage on the table.

“Touché. She’s got you there, Calruz.”

Yvlon and the other adventuring captains dropped their burdens on tables and looked around the inn. Cervial whistled appreciatively.

“And you lot have this entire inn to yourself? We’ve barely standing room in our inn, and we’re sleeping three people to a room. Mind sharing?”

Gerial laughed as he massaged his shoulder.

“Talk with the innkeeper, but we’ve occupied most of the second floor.”

“And we’re not giving up our rooms!”

That came from Ceria. The half-Elf sighed as she sat back in a chair and accepted a glass of water from the skeleton. She’d gotten used to the undead creature, but the eyes of the other captains followed Toren as he walked back into the kitchen.

“You told us, but I didn’t believe—”

The Mage-Captain, Menes, was the least-surprised.

“It’s not that uncommon. Other nations use the undead, although I’ve never heard of one serving drinks. What do you think, Byres?”

Everyone turned to the one person who’d be most unhappy about the skeletons—but Yvlon Byres exhaled slowly. She tossed her hair behind her and smiled in thanks as Erin handed her a cup. Then Yvlon looked at the other captains as they too were given refreshments and a promise of lunch for their hard work.

“I think…I’d rather have somewhere to sit and plan than cause a fuss and have to squeeze into a corner of the inn. Let’s drop it.”

She eyed the skeleton, but everyone else agreed to that, thinking of their lovely accommodations. Gerial rubbed his hands together with a big smile as he saw the sausage links being ported into the kitchen. He looked around good-naturedly, and everyone else relaxed as the first blue fruit drinks came out with the water.

“Well, we’re here a bit sooner than I thought, but shall we begin planning?”

——

Time didn’t seem to be on Erin’s side. Well, it was passing by, but far too quickly for her liking.

It seemed like she’d just woken up, made breakfast, and bought some food before it was lunchtime. And then she’d made lunch, cleaned up, and suddenly it was dinnertime.

But that was the thing about catering to a crowd; it took a long time, and Erin had to keep making food in preparation for people eating food. So although the night came quickly, she was quite, quite conscious that she’d worked through the day to get to it.

Erin stopped to wipe a layer of sweat from her forehead and wince because she’d smeared tomato sauce all over her brow. Oh well, it wasn’t as if her face had been that pristine to begin with. And she was too busy to wash it away.

She glanced out at the clouded night sky and wondered if it were time to shut the window in the kitchen. She’d undone the shutters here to cool down the stiflingly hot kitchen, but it looked like rain, and the last thing she needed was a wet kitchen floor.

The nights were getting colder. Already, Erin had taken to closing all the windows by the evening, and tonight was especially chilly. Dark storm clouds had swallowed the sun hours ago and promised to drop their cargo sometime tonight.

“Winter is coming.”

Toren paused and cocked his head at her. He probably hadn’t heard what Erin had said. She waved her hand at him, and he exited the kitchen.

She was done with her plate of spaghetti. Well—plates. Erin lifted one in each hand carefully—she could do more, but it was heavy porcelain, and she didn’t feel that rushed—and walked out into the common room.

A wave of noise greeted her. Adventurers sat around her room, talking, laughing, arguing. It was such a bizarre sight in her inn that Erin had to pause. But she was on a mission and the food was heavy, so she made her way to the two tables that had been pushed together in the center of the room.

“What do you mean, wait?”

Calruz slammed one fist down on the table, making Erin nearly jump. He was shouting at a bunch of men and one woman—all adventurers, allegedly. They’d come into the inn around lunchtime with a few of their friends and had stayed around, talking.

Well, mainly arguing. Ceria and Gerial sat next to Calruz, wincing as the Minotaur expressed his discontent. Each of the other adventuring captains also had a vice-captain with them.

“We’re not ready to go in, Calruz. We need supplies. We thought we could get them here, but prices are high and supply is low. Besides that, we need to send some scouting teams in. And there are other adventurers to consider letting join—”

“We know what’s in there. And the Ruins are less than an hour’s journey from the city! We don’t need supplies or scouts!”

“We agreed to come Calruz, but that doesn’t mean we put ourselves under your command. We’re all equals here, and we go in properly or we don’t go in at all.”

That came from Menes, the only other mage at the table besides Ceria. He smiled and thanked Erin as she put his food in front of him. Then he returned his attention to Calruz.

“There are some Silver-rank adventurers in the city. Some good ones that I know. It wouldn’t hurt to have them with us, and as Cervial said, we need time. A day or two of delay won’t lose us any time. Myself, I’m more concerned about our formations. Ceria has said she can learn the [Illumination] spell in time, but even if we get that cast, how will we approach the actual exploration phase? I’m not too keen on splitting up our vanguard—”

Gregor shifted. He’d been busy chomping down on slices of ham, but he stopped to glare at Menes.

“You can’t be suggesting we keep our forces together. The time it would take—”

Erin stopped listening. She was busy, and the adventurers had been arguing all day. That was preferable to them having, say, a bar fight, but she was busy.

She spun past her inn, taking requests for food, filling empty mugs, and generally wishing she was less busy. The door opened, and Erin turned to smile at the newcomer and explain that skeletons and Goblins in general were friendly.

She didn’t have to. Pisces stood in the doorway, blinking in surprise at the crowded inn. He paused, looking around as if he thought he were in the wrong place. Erin waved at him.

“Sit over there!”

She pointed to a lonely table. Pisces hesitated, still eying the adventurers, but eventually went and sat down. He paused as he passed by the table where adventuring captains were sitting. They looked up, and Ceria spoke.

“Pisces.”

The [Necromancer] nodded to her. The two locked gazes like cat and dog. No…that wasn’t fair. They tensed up, and Erin had only seen that look of hostility and regret on Pisces’ face once when he thought she was selling him out to the Watch. On Ceria’s face? Pained regret and her own unspoken anger.

He nodded slowly, face pale.

“Ceria.”

They seemed unable to say more than that. So—almost accidentally, someone ran into Pisces, and he started.

“Hey, Pisces! Stop bothering my customers!”

Erin booted the mage in the back, much to the amusement of several of the adventurers. Pisces glared at her and glared harder when Toren came by to hand him a menu.

“I must protest! My creation is not meant for menial tasks. Moreover, I am an accredited [Mage] and deserve to be treated—”

“Food!”

Erin dropped a plate in front of Pisces and left. She was so busy! If this was what having an inn was like, she seriously needed another skeleton. Or two. Toren was practically dashing about, serving the wary adventurers with mechanical precision.

This was why an inn had a cook and bar-people. Come to that, a bartender would also have been helpful, as well as another keg of ale. Erin had long ago run out, and the adventurers had been disappointed to learn she didn’t have any more. She probably could have made a fortune on that alone.

The door opened. Erin turned, prepared a smile, and then smiled for real.

“Olesm?”

The blue Drake staggered into her inn, looking around wildly. He spotted her and rushed towards Erin, heedless of the other adventurers who’d gone temporarily silent at the sight of a Drake.

“Erin! I did it! I did it!”

“Did what?”

“I finally solved it!”

The Drake crowed and danced about, waving the slip of parchment at Erin. She blinked at him, confused.

“It was the work of days—no, nearly a week! In the end, I had to lock myself away, but I did it! And I leveled! Twice!”

“Wait, twice? What?”

She had to get him to stand still to show her, which was no mean feat. Erin saw a very inky piece of paper and the notation for four chess moves. A solution to a chess puzzle. Her puzzle.

“Oh, you did it! Congratulations!”

She smiled at Olesm, and he gave her a toothy grin in reply. He looked delirious with delight, but his eyes were also slightly unfocused, hinting that he was delirious in more ways than one.

Drakes didn’t have whites in their eyes. Like the Gnolls, their eyes were a single color with a dark, snake-like pupil in the center. Olesm’s eyes were a marvelous shade of blue patterned wildly like raindrops falling.

They were also bloodshot and wild. Erin noticed Olesm seemed gaunt and thinner than she’d seen him last. He also had an unwashed smell and…was that dead skin on the side of his neck? No—dead scales. They were flaking off, and it looked like a terrible fungus infection the more Erin stared at it.

She was trying not to, really. But it was extremely distracting.

Olesm noticed where Erin was looking and blushed. He immediately covered the spot with one hand.

“Um—I’m so sorry. I haven’t bathed or cleaned myself in a while. I was just so happy to have solved it I rushed over. But I did it at last! It was the greatest challenge I’ve had, and the rewards were—rewarding!”

He smiled in a state approaching bliss. Erin had to smile with him as she led him to an empty table and waved at Toren for a drink.

“It took a week, huh?”

“Just a bit less than that, I believe.”

Gratefully, Olesm accepted the mug and then stared in horror at the creature that had served it to him. Meanwhile, Erin was trying to remember. She’d given him a chess problem? Oh! Oh yes, it was the one she’d sent to the mystery chess game enthusiast. Olesm had said he was going to make a copy.

And it had taken him a week? Erin was…impressed.

She was impressed. It had taken her nearly a week to solve the problem as well. Admittedly, she’d been going to class and only spent a few hours here and there trying to solve it. And she’d been in middle school. But still.

It made a difference that Olesm had never learned any of the basic strategies that Erin had built her knowledge of chess on. That was part of the reason she could still wipe the floor with him and anyone else, although Olesm was probably the best. And it explained why she hadn’t seen him. She’d actually forgotten about him—

“Erin. Erin!”

Olesm was pulling at Erin’s hand. She snapped out of her thoughts and saw the Drake’s blue scales had turned pale.

“What is it?”

“There’s a sk-skeleton!”

He pointed, and his claw shook at Toren as the skeleton brought another plate of food out for Calruz. Erin stared blankly at Toren.

“Yeah. That’s Toren.”

“Toren? It has a—what’s a skeleton doing here? Did that [Necromancer] summon it?”

Erin realized that Olesm hadn’t seen Toren before. She tried to explain. Olesm tried to listen. It was quite noisy in the common room.

“What? And you accepted it? But the undead—they’re so—dangerous! Besides, one skeleton isn’t worth all the food you’ve been feeding Pisces!”

Erin’s eyes narrowed, and she tossed a glare over the room at Pisces. He was already trying to avoid Ceria’s gaze as the half-Elf occasionally stared at him, but he flinched away from Erin as well, although he couldn’t possibly have known what she and Olesm were talking about.

“Oh really?”

Olesm nodded. He tore into the food Toren brought for him, clearly famished.

“Their binding spells don’t last that long. Your average skeleton falls to pieces within a day or two of being animated, and even if the necromancer uses an indefinite binding, their spell fails the instant they take too much damage. And they’re surprisingly fragile!”

“Well, this one hasn’t fallen apart, and it’s been knocked to pieces once already.”

Olesm frowned.

“Really? That’s not usual. Most come apart instantly if you do that. This one might be made to reassemble? Most mages don’t spend nearly that much mana on a lowly skeleton.”

“I think this one’s different. It’s smart enough to take orders and serve drinks for one thing.”

The Drake followed Toren’s circuit around the room and nodded slowly.

“True. And that’s odd too. It’s very intelligent—can it play chess, by any chance?”

“What?”

Erin grinned at Olesm and laughed.

“Is that all you think about? You’re like me when I was a kid!”

The Drake blushed and ducked his head. Then he paused and looked around the room.

“I didn’t think you would be so busy—I was hoping to play a game, but I wouldn’t want to take you away from your work. Where is that small Goblin or the Worker called Pawn?”

Erin’s smile faded. She’d nearly forgotten the events of yesterday as well.

“I haven’t seen Rags and her crowd today. They must be doing Goblin-y things. But—the Workers probably won’t be coming for a while. There was an—incident with Pawn.”

Olesm looked alarmed.

“What happened?”

Someone was calling Erin’s name. She glanced around, distracted, and made a face.

“Tell you later! Wait until everything slows down and then we can play a game of chess, okay?”

Reluctantly, Olesm nodded. He brightened as Erin brought him more food, though, and began attacking that. Erin walked over to the waving adventurer, and her endless quest for customer satisfaction continued.

——

Late. Later in the night. Erin was bone-tired, but she was still smiling and still, surprisingly, having fun. The adventurers weren’t jerks, and they liked her cooking. And they had money! It wasn’t bad to be working for once, and Erin wondered just how much money she’d make from tonight.

Not a bad haul. But she was tired. She paused, wiping at her forehead, and accepted a drink from Toren.

“Hey, good job. You’re not doing so bad.”

The skeleton paused and nodded at her. She blinked in bemusement as it bustled out of the kitchen.

“Skeletons. They think they’re as good as people.”

She laughed and walked back out. At last, the food requests had stopped coming in, and it was just filling glasses and doing the stacks of dirty dishes in the kitchen. Toren could do that. Erin would just fill up a bucket with water from the stream and boil it before she could sit down and play a game of chess with Olesm and maybe Pisces.

She had bucket in hand and was heading to the door when it opened. Two Workers immediately stepped inside. Erin raised a hand to greet them—

And half of the adventurers in the room drew their weapons.

“Whoa! Hey! Swords down!”

Erin shouted as the adventurers began pushing their chairs back and the Workers wavered. She put herself between the adventurers and the doorway.

“These are my guests! Guests!”

“Antinium!”

“The Black Tide!”

Some of the adventurers were shouting, but the adventuring captains were the first to get over their surprise. Gregor grabbed the shoulder of an adventurer that was rising and shoved him down in his seat.

“Don’t fight!”

This came from Cervial. He raised his voice and shouted at the adventurers.

“They’re part of Liscor! You hurt them, you make an enemy out of the city! They’re not here for a fight! These are the Worker-types.”

Erin ignored the shouting as the Captains began restoring order in the inn. She looked at the Workers, confused.

“Why are you here? I thought you couldn’t leave the city.”

Not without Pawn. But then Erin’s mind caught up with what she was saying.

“Pawn?”

“Yes, Innkeeper Solstice. But there is an issue—”

The Worker opened the doorway. Erin saw two other Workers helping another of their kind through the doorway. He was like them, exactly like them, but different.

Pawn.

He was okay. He was alive. Erin smiled as he stumbled into the inn. But then her smile froze.

The adventurers, who had been swearing and reacting to the presence of the Workers, took one look at Pawn and fell silent. Several sheathed weapons were unsheathed again. In the dead silence, someone swore loudly.

Pawn had to be helped by the two Workers into the inn. He swayed, unsteady. A trail of green blood followed him. Erin’s eyes were caught by the color. So green. So vibrant. A color she’d seen once on her hands before.

The Antinium named Pawn stared up at Erin. She stared back. Her thoughts had—stopped. She stared at him.

He was still Pawn. But he was missing one of his antennae, the one Ksmvr had severed. And he was missing arms as well. Three of them. And part of one leg.

The door closed, and the cold rain began to fall.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.51

“I am individual. I am Antinium.”

That was the first whisper Erin heard out of Pawn. He sat, no longer bleeding, in the inn as she wrapped a bandage around his severed stumps.

The healing potions the adventurers had used had stopped the bleeding, but there was no way to restore lost limbs. And his severed wounds were still exposed to the air. The Antinium didn’t have skin but exoskeleton. So the bleeding wounds closed…slowly, the chitin creeping over bloody insides.

He whispered to Erin as she sat next to him. The half-Elf named Ceria and the other adventurers hovered around her or watched from their tables, silent spectators. But all of Erin’s attention was on the Antinium in front of her.

“What happened?”

He trembled.

“I was asked questions. I was tested. I passed.”

Erin looked at his broken body. Three arms had been cut away. And part of his foot—his carapace was cracked in multiple places and cut in others.

Torture.

“Is he coming after you? Ksmvr?”

The name made Pawn freeze like a—a cockroach caught in the light. He began shaking so uncontrollably the two Workers had to hold him so Erin could finish wrapping the bandage.

“He—the Prognugator let me go. He let me go. I am individual. Not Aberration. He let me go.”

Pawn repeated the words several times, rocking back and forth. Erin stared at him. She didn’t know what to do.

“Erin—”

She looked around. Ceria was staring at the Antinium.

“Who is this?”

“Pawn. This is Pawn. He’s a Worker.”

“No.”

All four Workers said the word as one. Erin looked at them. They spoke in unison.

“The individual known as Pawn is no longer a Worker.”

“Then what is he?”

“Individual. Antinium. Not Aberration.”

They said it as if it meant something, but Erin couldn’t focus. All she heard was a buzzing in her head. Pawn was…

Ceria looked at Erin.

“This has something to do with the Antinium in the city, right? Did they have a—a fight? I’ve heard of Prognugators. If this Ksmvr is after your friend—”

“No. No!”

Pawn waved his one good arm wildly. Again, the other Workers had to restrain him.

“I am not Aberration. I am not. I am—”

He was incoherent, or as close to it as Erin had ever seen one of the Antinium. She stared at him. He was still shaking. And if he had the means, Erin was sure he would have wept. Instead, all he could do was tremble.

It was curious. Erin felt as though in this moment, she should be full of—something. Rage perhaps, or grief. But instead, there was nothing. Just a few thoughts.

Pawn was still babbling. He kept repeating his innocence as the other adventurers watched helplessly. Some of them looked disgusted, others actually sympathetic. And some were simply silent because it wasn’t the time to speak.

Erin had no time for them. Instead, she walked slowly over to a table. Olesm was paralyzed in his seat. He stared up at her, eyes wide. But Erin didn’t speak to him. Instead, she picked up what was in front of the Drake.

A chessboard.

Ceria blinked as Erin carried it back. But Pawn’s eyes latched onto the simple wooden board as Erin put it on the table in front of him. Pawn looked up into her eyes, and she felt the nothingness in her deepen.

Slowly, the two Workers propped Pawn up, and he moved so he could access the board with his remaining arm. The former Worker hesitated and then moved.

He shook like a leaf in the breeze. Pawn fumbled at the chess pieces with his single arm, clumsily trying to set them up and knocking them over. Trembling.

Erin stared at the Antinium and felt not a trace of fury in her. Not black fury, not burning rage nor wrath enough to power a thousand suns. Nothing.

Her hands were calm as she took Pawn’s pieces and set them up on the board. Carefully, she arranged his pieces and hers. He was white—she was black. He clumsily moved a pawn forwards, and she replied.

Queen’s Gambit. Dutch Defense. Erin crushed Pawn in only a few moves. Ruthlessly. Without guilt or hesitation.

The Antinium wavered. She felt and saw him hesitate and saw the other Workers around him staring. But then she reset the board, and he moved again.

King’s Pawn Game. French Defense. Erin played exactly the opposite game Pawn expected to, staying defensive and picking off his pieces slowly. She won again overwhelmingly.

Nothing. No feeling. Erin played in a void of calm, playing her best against a broken Pawn who could barely move his pieces. She reset the board, and they played.

Again, and again. Glacial silence, forest silence. The silence of endless days on the open desert where the winds devoured all and the sand was the only thing that ever changed. The silence of the open ocean on a sunny day—vast and loud, engulfing all things and making the world a green-blue landscape.

The silence of eternity, played out in the soft clicking of chess pieces on the board.

Again, Pawn played and Erin won. She rotated the board and made the first move. She won again.

He was alone. Alone, and not half the player she was. But with every game, something that had been cut away came back. Slowly, the Antinium’s trembling stopped.

He played. He lost. Erin felt nothing. But each game was a small slice of eternity cut and drifting between the two, a moment of healing, a moment of concentration and silence.

An [Immortal Moment].

And when it was done, when the games had finished and the sun had fallen and then night had turned back into day, Erin stopped. She let Pawn gently push over his king. The Antinium no longer trembled, and she sat in a silent ring of Workers, Goblins, and even adventurers who sat watching the game. A single skeleton hovered with a platter of food in hand, watching with eyes that had seen forever in death and saw forever caught in a single game of chess.

And still, Erin felt nothing. Not a flicker of pain, anger, or sadness crossed her heart. The emotions were too big for her. But whatever was in her prompted her. Erin felt it move, like the way the tide changed. A vast, deep feeling.

She spoke as Pawn hung his head low, drowsy with sleep.

“Ksmvr.”

The single word brought the Antinium out of his half-sleep, shuddering. But he was strong enough to hear the name now, strong enough to listen and not weep. Erin met Pawn’s eyes and saw a person staring through an insect’s multifaceted gaze.

She made no promises, spoke no untrue words. Erin reached out and held the cold insect Worker, hugging him gently. Then she stood up and said two words.

“I’m sorry.”

The door closed softly behind Erin. For a moment, all the adventurers stared, still caught in a fragment of forever. Then the silence was broken by shock and cursing as half the adventurers in the inn rushed out after her.

——

“Erin!”

Ceria was the first out of the inn. She was no warrior, but her heritage gave her grace and speed. And she wasn’t weighed down by armor.

The half-Elf ran into the rainy night and found the other girl was already gone. The door opened, and Yvlon and Cervial were outside right behind Ceria.

“Where did she go?”

“Towards the city, obviously. But she must be moving fast. I can’t even see her from here.”

“Well, let’s get after her! If she’s trying to pick a fight—”

“Humans.”

Ceria snapped the word, more as a general curse on the situation than an attack on Erin. She looked at Yvlon.

“I can go, but that Antinium needs watching. And I’ve got no movement Skills. Can you—?”

“Of course. You stop Calruz.”

“Right. And if she gets there first, don’t fight the one called Ksmvr. Attacking him is the same as attacking the Hive.”

Cervial nodded. He looked around, seeing through the dark night better than even Ceria could.

“Let’s go. I can’t see her. The girl must have some kind of running Skill.”

Without a word, the two captains ran towards the city, moving like a blur. Ceria watched them go and then turned. She saw other adventurers standing just outside, caught in indecision.

“If you want to go, go. But only drag that innkeeper back. Fighting here would be a mistake. But it would be better if less people were out in the darkness. We don’t know what kind of monsters live here.”

At her words, most of the adventurers went back into the inn. Or tried to. They had to retreat as a large shape pushed his way through the crowd.

Calruz emerged from the inn, face dark with anger. None of the Humans wanted to get in his way, but Ceria stood in front of the Minotaur’s path.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“After the innkeeper. Where else?”

“Yvlon and Cervial are already after her. You wouldn’t be able to catch her anyways.”

Calruz grunted.

“Who says I’m going to catch her? The child needs a second for a proper death duel.”

“You will not go. If we cause a disturbance—”

“Honor is at stake. You will not stop me.”

Ceria felt a massive hand move her aside. She thought about the few spells she could use and then abandoned the idea when she saw the look on Calruz’s face. She stared helplessly as the Minotaur strode off in the direction of the city.

“The other two might be able to stop him. If they get to the innkeeper in time.”

Gerial said it loudly behind Ceria. She had to raise her voice above the pounding rain. She was already soaked, but at least her enchanted robes weren’t getting soggy with water.

“I just hope she doesn’t actually try to fight that Antinium—or whoever he is. She’s no warrior.”

“No.”

The two leading members of the Horns of Hammerad stared at each other. They both felt it. The hint of déjà vu.

“If you want to go—”

“No. Calruz won’t listen to me anymore than you. And if he does pick a fight, better it’s only him. Besides—”

“Besides what?”

Gerial stared out into the rain, hand clenched.

“If I went out there, I don’t think I could stop myself.”

Ceria followed his gaze. The night was dark and stormy. She spoke distantly.

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“What?”

“It’s night. And—the timing of it.”

Ceria paused. Gerial stared at her. They trusted each other, and adventurers learned to listen to their feelings. Ceria hit on what her instincts were telling her and spoke.

“It feels like a trap.”

——

Ksmvr stood on a hilltop, waiting. He was not within the boundaries of Liscor. It was important that he was not.

Boundaries. Rules. Ksmvr understood them. They were important. Rules and order made up the Hive, and by such things could everything be understood.

Pacts had been made. The Soldiers of the Hive were not permitted above-ground save for times of emergency—or war. And while the definition of emergency could allow for numerous occasions, bringing the Soldiers above ground would bring about questions regardless. And the Queen was not to be disturbed.

But no such pacts had been established outside of the city. Therefore, four of the Soldier Antinium stood silently next to Ksmvr, silent giants waiting for his order. They were elite—perhaps not as strong individually as he was, but close. Together, they were more than enough to subdue a single [Innkeeper].

It might have been overkill to a Human, but the Antinium took no chances. And Erin Solstice had established her worth. Initially, Ksmvr had only known what his Queen had told him, and from that, he had thought of her as insignificant. Worthless.

But—and here was the difficult part—Erin Solstice was important. She was valuable. Perhaps unique. His Queen had been wrong in her appraisal of Erin, and that bothered Ksmvr greatly.

But the duty of a Prognugator was to protect and serve the Hive. Ksmvr would do just that. He waited for Erin Solstice in the certainty that she would come.

Her actions were a matter of record. More than that, the established thought processes of Humans were well known to Ksmvr. She would come in fury and vengeance to be caught, and the individual known as Pawn would be easily retrieved. Minor obstacles like the Goblins, adventurers, and skeleton were of no object.

Ksmvr shifted in his position on the hilltop that afforded him a view of the area surrounding the city. He was not bored. He was incapable of being bored. But the time he had spent waiting bothered him.

The Soldiers behind Ksmvr did not move. They waited, alert for any threat. They did not get bored either.

But Relc was quite bored. The Drake yawned, and all five Antinium turned. Ksmvr’s swords and daggers sprang from their sheaths, and the Soldiers immediately raised their club-like hands.

“Hold it.”

Relc sat up in the grass, appearing out of the dark landscape as if by magic. It wasn’t magic of course. But mud and the Drake’s dark scales had made him practically invisible in the grass.

Ksmvr held up a hand and sent a mental order to the Soldiers. But neither he nor the other Antinium relaxed. He kept his swords pointed at the ground.

“Senior Guardsman Relc. Do you have business with me at this time? If so, I request it wait until tomorrow.”

Relc scratched at the back of his head. He looked at Ksmvr and glanced away.

“What? Oh, no, no. I don’t have business with you.”

Ksmvr waited, but Relc didn’t say anything else. More questioning was in order.

“May I inquire as to your purpose here?”

“Sure, inquire away.”

More silence. Ksmvr was aware that Relc was being deliberately obstinate and confrontational. A troubling complication.

“Why have you followed my group?”

Relc raised what would have been an eyebrow.

“I’m not following—”

“Please refrain from lying. There is no other reason for you to be out here at this time of night. Moreover, you are not currently on duty. Why are you here?”

The Soldier Antinium shifted slightly. Relc eyed them, unimpressed. He flicked his tongue out and shrugged.

“I’m just taking a walk. And, uh, a nap. In the rain. Which I do quite often.”

Talking to people—or rather, interacting with those not of the Hive was difficult. And Ksmvr was unused to conversations with outsiders in the first place. Still, he persisted, keeping one eye on the dark landscape the entire time.

“Will you return to the city then?”

“Maybe. In time. I’m just enjoying myself.”

“I see. And will you continue to remain here so long as we are here?”

“Oh, no. I’ll leave pretty soon. Just as soon as a certain stupid Human girl gets back to her inn all safe and sound.”

Ksmvr interpreted that information, and the Soldiers around him raised their hands. Relc waved at them with his tail.

“Stop that. I’m not here for a fight. And neither are you, since I’d win.”

It was an accurate statement, at least in that the chances of Relc’s victory were higher than Ksmvr’s. And a deeply complicating factor. Therefore, Ksmvr attempted a higher degree of diplomacy than before.

“Your presence is unneeded. If Erin Solstice cooperates, she will be unharmed.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think she will. Do you? And frankly, even if you plan to feed her with a golden spoon, I don’t think I should let you take her.”

“Erin Solstice is not a citizen of Liscor. Your duty does not extend to—”

“Would you shut up?”

Relc said it pleasantly, but with an edge that made Ksmvr consider silence the most appropriate response. The Drake shook his head.

“You sound just like Klb back—well, back when I first met him. I don’t like that. So shut up and listen since I have to spell it out. Here’s what’s going to happen tonight. Erin Solstice is going to run into the city, probably with that stupid frying pan, and not find you and a bunch of your big Antinium friends. She’s going to go back to her inn all safe and nice.”

“You are protecting her.”

“I guess.”

“Why?”

Relc paused.

“I like her. Well—I used to. Now, I think she’s a bloody idiot Human like the others. But at least she makes good pasta. And—well, let’s call it a favor. Klbkch died protecting her. I just figured it would be a shame if all his effort went to waste.”

There was an inconsistency in Relc’s statements, and Ksmvr leapt on it, sure of his success.

“Klbkch was a member of the Hive. By obstructing my work, you obstruct the Hive.”

Strangely, Relc did not respond to this logical inconsistency like Ksmvr had predicted. He just shrugged.

“Yeah. But I don’t like you.”

Dealing with non-Antinium was so—so frustrating. Ksmvr felt an unexplored emotion within him. Troubling. But he persisted.

“I am Prognugator of the Free Antinium of Liscor. My authority—”

“Shut up.”

Another tack.

“I have four Soldiers with me.”

Relc yawned. He eyed the silent Antinium, whose hands were literal weapons. Their carapaces were equivalent to unenchanted plate armor, and they possessed numerous abilities inherent to the Antinium that other species did not have. Even so, Relc did not appear intimidated.

“I’ve heard that a newly grown soldier is the equivalent of a Level 15 [Warrior] for most species. Interesting. But if you think those guys frighten me, I’ll rip a few of their heads off for you. The Antinium never attacked Liscor in the second war, so you have no idea how strong I am.”

Ksmvr paused and tilted his head as he accessed the required memory.

“Relc Grasstongue, former sergeant of the 1st Wing of the Liscorian army. Currently Level 33 in the [Spearmaster] class and Level 12 in the [Guardsman] class. Negligible levels in the [Archer] class as well as the [Carpenter] class. Possesses mainly combat skills as well as the rare skill [Triple Thrust].”

“…Damn bugs. Did Klbkch tell you that?”

At last. Dialogue. Ksmvr did not have the facial muscles—or face—to smile, but a part of him felt relieved. He attempted to continue the conversation.

“Klbkch estimated that, if necessary, he would be able to hold you off for five minutes and inflict serious wounds before death. If given the order to terminate, he predicted a sneak attack had an even chance of killing you.”

The look Relc gave Ksmvr did not indicate a positive reaction to the conversation.

“I really don’t like you, you know.”

“Your regard for me matters little. My position is temporary.”

“Good for you, I guess. Why are you talking so much, anyways?”

“I am attempting to build the same level of camaraderie shared between you and former Prognugator Klbkch.”

Another pause, and this time, Relc’s expression darkened. He uncrossed his arms and took a step back as if the words had been a threat—which they were not. For some reason, his face looked troubled. Socialization—difficult, as Ksmvr had repeatedly observed. So many unclear variables.

“Well. I—no. I’m going to stand over here until Erin comes by.”

He began to walk off. Ksmvr called out after him.

“Sixteen more Soldiers are currently moving towards this location. You will not be able to stop them alone.”

Relc paused. Ksmvr couldn’t see—but the Drake looked like he was grinning.

“That’s sort of funny. I guess not all of you Antinium are alike, huh?”

“What leads you to that conclusion?”

“You don’t have [Dangersense]. You’d better pray you get it, or another skill like it, soon.”

Relc nodded towards a distant hill. Ksmvr looked and mentally ordered the Soldiers leaving the Hive to hold position. Perhaps if he were Human, he might never have seen the silent figure crouching and smiling down at the two warriors. But he was Antinium, and he recognized Gazi on sight.

The Drake sat down on the hill casually, ignoring the other Antinium still watching him. He nodded towards Gazi’s distant figure.

“Now she could eat you and your cute little soldiers for breakfast. Me, she’d probably choke on the way down.”

Ksmvr was capable of free-thought, a mark of his position and importance to the Hive. He was a leader, meant to direct soldiers and deal with unexpected situations as they arose. Never mind that he had become Prognugator before his training period was over—he was trusted by the Queen. But—but—

But no matter how hard he thought, he couldn’t decide what to do. Erin Solstice was important. But with the presence of Gazi the Omniscient as well as Relc, suddenly the costs of capturing Erin Solstice became too high.

But she was important. But it was too costly. But she was important. But it was too costly. What should he do? His Queen had ordered him not to disturb her. But he knew the importance of Individuals. His entire duty—the entire duty of the Antinium within Liscor revolved around the importance of this. But it was too dangerous.

What should he do? For the first time in his short life, Ksmvr had no idea what he should do.

——

It was a silent—well, stalemate wasn’t the word. From their position within a deep section of the grass, the other watchers could see that the Antinium were in trouble. Even as they watched, their leader came to a decision. He spoke a few words to Relc, and the Antinium surrounding him began marching back to the city.

That was good.

“There. It is well that we did not have to intervene, yes?”

Krshia spoke her comment quietly, but even with the pouring rain, the other Gnolls lying in the grass heard her perfectly. Tkrn and six of the other Gnolls relaxed their hold on their bows. Tkrn nodded at Ksmvr as the Antinium swiftly descended the hill, flanked by his Soldiers.

“It might be best to slay the bug before he returns to the city, yes? It would not be too difficult to do, especially if he intends to hurt this Erin Solstice.”

“Fool.”

Tkrn barely saw the paw that cuffed him on the head. Krshia glared at him between the long stalks of grass.

“He was not trying to kill her. Use your brain, you fool, you.”

The other Gnolls chuckled in amusement as Tkrn flattened his ears in embarrassment. As the most junior member of the Gnolls—and the most inexperienced—it was even more humiliating to make a mistake in front of their leader.

“But he had Soldiers.”

Krshia snorted.

“Yes, to capture her. But he was waiting for Erin Solstice to arrive, yes? That is suspicious. Who waits for a challenge? Only Humans in their pride and Drakes do that, yes? We fight without needing large open spaces and people to watch. But the Antinium—they are even more different than we.”

She nodded at Ksmvr as the Antinium marched back across the flatlands. The Antinium was alert—constantly scanning the landscape. But despite the Antinium’s impressive dark vision, they were no hunters of the plains. Krshia and the other Gnolls were perfectly hidden in their cover.

“If he—Ksmvr—wanted Erin Solstice dead, then dead she would be already. He would stab her before she saw him, yes? But he wanted her here and had many Soldiers with him. Another thing. It is a violation of the treaty to let them out of the Hive unless the city is in danger. Maybe this one is no Klbkch. What am I saying? He is no Klbkch, but it is extraordinary all the same.”

She shook her head.

“Someone else wants Erin Solstice. And excluding the foolish Drake, three different sides came for her tonight.”

“It seems you are right. This Erin Solstice, she is important.”

Another Gnoll made that comment, and the others nodded. If they had doubted Krshia before—and if they had, they were wise enough to never have said it in her presence—tonight changed that. She glared at them.

“I said it, did I not? But it is poor fortune that it is known. We must hurry.”

The other Gnolls nodded. One spoke.

“The other warriors will arrive soon. Within the week.”

“Good.”

Tkrn shifted. He eyed the hill where the silent figure of Gazi was still crouching and engaging in a staring contest with Relc.

“Should we leave, then? Or will Gazi do something?”

The other Gnolls muttered. They knew the odds of taking on a Named Adventurer. Krshia shook her head.

“I do not think so. She is crafty, and she is waiting. I do not think she would have intervened unless all others failed, including we.”

“But she is still here, yes.”

“Yes.”

Krshia scowled up at Gazi. It was impossible—they were perfectly hidden, but the half-Gazer’s eye flicked away from Relc and towards them for the merest fraction of a second. Krshia muttered something as the other Gnolls growled.

“She likes to watch.”

“Well, she can’t do anything to us even if she knows we’re here.”

This time, Tkrn received several admonitory paws to the back of the head. Krshia shook herself and sent water drops flying now that their cover had been broken.

“Maybe not. But it is an ill thing to be spotted. We will wait to make sure she does nothing. Just in case.”

The Gnolls sat up in the grass, relaxing. Relc still hadn’t spotted them, but then, the Drake only relied on his Skills. And the problem with [Dangersense] is that it only told him when there was potential threat.

They meant him no harm. They were on the same side, at least for the night. So the Gnolls waited. The half-Gazer sat patiently, and the Drake ripped up pieces of grass. The night was silent.

They waited.

And waited.

And…

From their position in the grass, the Gnolls saw Relc shift and scratch irritably at his scales. He looked around and then voiced the question on everyone’s mind.

“Where is she?”

——

“We couldn’t find her.”

Ceria stared in disbelief at Yvlon and Cervial as the two adventurers returned, panting. They’d run all the way to Liscor and back in less than thirty minutes.

“What?”

“We got to the gates, but the guard there said no one had come by.”

Both of the adventurers shrugged helplessly. Ceria chewed at her lip.

“Maybe she got lost?”

“I doubt it.”

“Then a monster—”

“We would have noticed that.”

“Then where is she?”

“I don’t know. Did you spot Calruz by any chance?”

Cervial smiled crookedly.

“Yeah. He tried to get into the city, but the guard told him the gates were closed. He’s stomping his way back now.”

Well, that was one problem solved. But the bigger problem remained. Where was Erin Solstice? Ceria stared around, but the night was still full of rain and seeing was impossible.

“Well, we’ll just have to wait. Come on inside—the skeleton is mad as hell, but it’s staying put for some reason. I guess we should as well.”

Yvlon and Cervial trooped back into the inn. Ceria looked around one last time. It was so strange. She’d assumed—

Something dropped from the roof of the inn and landed right next to Ceria. The half-Elf yelped, grabbed for her wand, and stopped.

Erin got up from the ground, wincing at the bad fall. She brushed mud off her shirt and paused as she saw Ceria.

“Oh. Hi.”

Ceria clutched at her heart. It felt as if it had stopped.

“What are you—where were you?”

Erin blinked at her. She pointed up.

“I was on the roof.”

Ceria stared up. The roof.

“…Doing what?”

Erin shrugged. She wiped at her face. It didn’t do much in the rain.

“I was crying. What did you think I was doing?”

Her eyes were red. Ceria could see that perfectly. She replied lamely.

“We—we thought you were going after Ksmvr.”

“Why would I do that?”

Again, Ceria had to stop. She grappled with words.

“Well, after what he did to your friend—I’d say everyone in the inn would have joined you. Calruz especially.”

“Really. Really?”

Erin snuffled again and wiped at her nose.

“That’s nice of you. I guess. You could all hold him down while I bashed his brains out with a frying pan, right?”

“We wouldn’t do that. Calruz—thought you were going to duel him.”

“And kill him?”

Erin looked at Ceria. It was an odd stare. Accusatory. Hurt. Ceria shifted, suddenly awkward.

“But what he did—”

“Evil.”

Erin said it flatly.

“Pawn was innocent. He didn’t deserve that. When I saw what that bastard did—”

“Yeah. So we thought—”

Ceria trailed off lamely. Erin was still staring at her. As if it were the most obvious thing in the world, she shook her head.

“He hurt Pawn. But does that mean I should go out there and beat him to death? How? He’s a warrior, and I’m—I’m an innkeeper. And I don’t murder people. I kill monsters, and I’ve killed in self-defense. But I don’t murder people. Ever.”

It was too hard to meet the girl’s eyes. Ceria looked away. It felt like she was speaking to someone strange. Something—

She had never needed to use the word ‘alien’ in the common tongue. The closest words Ceria knew were outsider, strange, unnatural, and yes, sometimes other species could surprise her, like Selphids. But in this moment, she truly did feel like ‘alien’ fit, genuinely and without bias. Someone completely alien to Ceria’s understanding of the world.

Erin was staring at her, a hint of accusation in her stare. And it was hard to bear. There was something innocent in her gaze, something that Ceria had lost long ago when she first stared into a dead man’s eyes.

“I’m sorry. I just assumed—”

Erin shrugged. She paused and stared around at the dark landscape. Ceria saw her lips move.

“Can I tell you something? Something sort of offensive?”

“Sure.”

Erin stared at the ground and the wet grass. Her breath appeared in the cold air.

“You guys have a really shitty world. A really bad one.”

“We do…?”

“I don’t like it. It’s so wonderful at times—so beautiful and full of magic. But then this happens. Every time. Well. Almost every time. I hate it.”

Ceria had nothing to say to that.

“For a moment, I wanted to kill Ksmvr too. But I would die if I tried that, right? He’s fast. Strong. A warrior. Maybe I could kill him. But then what?”

“He’d be dead.”

“And so would Pawn. Probably. That Queen would send her Soldiers to rip off his head and mine.”

“I understand. You made the right choice.”

Erin shivered.

“Did I? It seems like all I can do at times like this is just accept what happened and move on.”

She shivered. Ceria was conscious of how cold it was. The enchantments on her robes made her feel warm even in the freezing rain, but the Human girl had sat up on the rooftop for—it had to be an hour at least.

“You should come inside. I’m sure Pawn will want to see you.”

She reached out for Erin. The girl’s skin was deathly cold. She muttered something.

“…know.”

“What?”

Erin shook her head.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do to stop it. But I do know what to do.”

She walked past Ceria, into the inn. The half-Elf followed, watching. There was something in the Human girl’s eyes.

Pawn half-rose in his seat when he saw her. Anxiety was written all over his face, although only Erin could see it. She smiled at him and sneezed.

The other adventurers stared at Erin. She ignored them. They were not important. Instead, she sat down as Toren rushed towards her with a towel. She patted the cold water off her and felt a bit more alive when he gave her a steaming mug of boiled water.

Olesm had been playing Pawn. But the Drake instantly stood to give her his seat. Erin shook her head.

“Go on. Keep playing.”

The Drake blinked at her and then awkwardly sat down. Erin sat next to Pawn. At first, the Antinium looked at her, but she smiled. It was very quiet in the room. After a while, Olesm coughed and awkwardly moved a piece forward.

Pawn played. The two played. Erin looked at the Workers and got them a chess set. It was strange. The Workers sat and began playing. The adventurers sat awkwardly. After a while, Erin had Toren bring out some leftovers.

And it was still silent. So when the feeling in Erin couldn’t be contained, she opened her mouth.

And began to sing.

It caught Pawn off-guard. He froze as he held a knight in his hand and stared at Erin. So did everyone else. But the awkwardness—the fear she might have felt was nothing. So Erin sang.

She had never been good at singing. Or rather, she’d never been as good at singing as she had at playing chess. But when she was a kid, before she’d quit going to church, she’d been part of the choir. She’d sung in the school choir, and once, just once, her teacher had encouraged her to study singing.

But she hadn’t. Erin had played chess and forgotten how to breathe properly, stopped singing every week. But the music had lingered, and she’d never really forgotten how.

“I don’t know why you hurt inside or what was said to make you cry…”

She didn’t know why she started with a Lady Gaga song. But that one she’d always loved because it made her feel better. And Greatest was probably her greatest song.

Erin had no piano. No voice synthesizer, no backup choir; she didn’t even have a microphone. But she didn’t need those things.

Her voice filled up the room, and it seemed to her audience that even though only one person was singing, they could hear something else. The same song Erin had heard first while sitting in her room playing chess.

Was it one person singing or two? They heard another voice. Strange drums—the sound of a piano—a voice singing with electronic sound in ways they could never have imagined.

Ceria listened and heard another voice and a kind of music she’d never heard of wherever she’d gone. She closed her eyes and thought of a girl who knew colors that Ceria had never seen in her life.

Olesm was playing. Pawn kept moving pieces, but that was a backdrop to the music. Erin finished her song, and silence beat down again. It was oppressive, so she chose another song.

The adventurers had never heard a ukulele played before. But even though Erin wasn’t playing one, they heard it now. And in her voice—a man’s voice. Singing.

“Somewhere over the rainbow way up high…”

She’d always loved Israel Kamakawiwoʻole’s version of that song more than the Judy Garland one. And she’d loved both with all her heart.

The song was lighter, happier in a way, but in another way—not. Someone was crying. Erin kept singing, conjuring a piece of something the people in her inn had never heard before. A piece of immortal music.

Another immortal moment.

And then, of course, she kept singing. Somewhere, Erin started singing Hallelujah and smiled as she remembered watching Shrek for the first time. The music poured out of her as Pawn played a game of chess, pausing to stare at her.

The other adventurers were silent. Ceria listened in silence. She was half-Elf. Half of her had grown up knowing the fragments of forever—but the other half was still in awe.

But the Humans listened to something that was not part of their world. They listened as Erin sang to their hearts.

“I have died everyday, waiting for you. Darling, don’t be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years…”

Gerial wept into his mustache. The adventurers sat in silence. Yvlon closed her eyes, and Cervial kept rubbing at his.

A moment of eternity. A song. A fragment of the past. A memory.

Immortality brought to life with every verse.

——

She taught them one song. Here I Am Lord, a song from church. It mattered. It was important. And when she sang it, Pawn looked up.

First, Erin sang.

“I, the Lord of Sea and Sky. I have heard my people cry. All who dwell in dark and sin, my hand will save.”

Erin sang with Ceria, two soft voices singing as the half-Elf joined in.

“Here I am, Lord. Is it I, Lord? I have heard You calling in the night.”

And then the others joined in. Men and women, singing a song for a god this world had never known. By the end of the third verse, all the Humans were singing. Calruz leaned against the doorway, frowning, closing his eyes and listening, silent. Pawn listened as Erin sang, leaning against him, warming him.

“I will hold Your people in my heart.”

He shuddered then. And then when she looked at him, he did not cry. The Antinium do not weep. But she still saw the tears in his soul.

And the night passed to day, and Erin sang on. Small songs, grand songs. And the magic was with her, fading with every note. Until she simply sang and the moment was no longer forever. But it was enough. When Erin finally closed her eyes, the inn was silent.

And though the Antinium didn’t smile, she did. For him. For the both of them. Not a smile to say everything was fine. Not to hide the pain, but a smile in spite of the bleeding. As brave as the little Worker who clung to her as she sang him to his rest. Then, and only then, did she let him go, slumbering, and go to the kitchen and lie down.

Erin closed her eyes and slept.

[Innkeeper Level 15!]

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1.52 R

On the first day, she saw the Goblins. It was as she ran through the grasslands around Liscor, the Flood Plains, which were a barrier to armies and passage in the spring and empty in the short winter on this continent.

She stopped when she crested the hill and saw them fighting in the small valley below. Ryoka immediately crouched low to avoid their attention. A tribe of Goblins could be outrun, but their bows and slings were still a threat.

Besides, Ryoka couldn’t run as fast. Not today.

Her fire was gone.

This wasn’t a single tribe in the valley below. It was two. And they were fighting. Shrill screams and warcries floated up to where Ryoka hid in the grass. She could see—yes, one of the groups of Goblins was wearing feathers. Some kind of ornamentation.

They were led by a large Goblin—one nearly twice the size of his friends. Still shorter than Ryoka, but heavyset and thick. He had rusted armor patched together on his chest and an axe in one hand. Probably their chieftain.

It was hard to tell where the other Goblins’ chieftain was. There was no Goblin that stood out as particularly bigger than the rest, but this tribe—the defending one—seemed more coordinated than the feathered tribe.

They were holding the other group of Goblins back with a stiff line of clubs and daggers, and their archers and sling-using Goblins were firing over the backs of their friends. It almost looked like an infantry line.

And even as Ryoka watched, another group of Goblins suddenly emerged from the grass and plowed into the right flank of the enemy. The attacking Goblins faltered and reacted slowly as this new group began cutting a line through their foes.

The surprise attack group was comprised of the largest Goblins and the best equipped. A group of heavy infantry? But Goblins didn’t work like that. Except that these ones did. They were organized. They didn’t break ranks as they attacked the other Goblins. They kept in formation and guarded each other’s backs, and the difference showed as they kept gaining ground.

One of these strange Goblins carried a sword and shield that seemed to shine in her hands. They flashed and glowed as she struck and blocked, killing other Goblins, leading the attack. It was a trick of the light. She was tiny—small even for her kind—but she was leading the strange Goblins, Ryoka could tell. The entire battle was coalescing around her, and she was making straight for the enemy chieftain.

He was holding the line as his tribe fell back around him. He roared and raised his axe as the small Goblin approached with a bodyguard of her own. With one blow, he split the head of the Goblin that charged him and struck at the tiny Goblin.

She retreated. He charged towards her, swinging wildly, but she raised her shield and gave ground. Ryoka frowned. The Goblin’s mouth was open, and she looked like she was saying something. And her finger was—glowing?

A flash of light blinded Ryoka for a second. She blinked, rubbing at her eyes. When she could see again, the Goblin chieftain was rolling on the ground, screaming.

He was on fire. And the Goblins around him were being chased by—fire? Yes. It was some kind of spell. It looked like a flickering bird or perhaps fiery insect that landed on its foes and set them alight. The small Goblin had conjured it out of the air.

That was too much. Their leader dead and surrounded by the enemy, the defending Goblins fled or fell to the ground, cowering. Ryoka saw the small Goblin begin rallying her side, pointing to the wounded and shouting orders, staring around at the Goblin who’d run up to her. Turning. Pointing at—

Ryoka blinked. Then her heart began to race. The tiny Goblin was pointing directly at her. How did she know Ryoka was there?

Ryoka stood up. She looked around and only now saw the Goblin sitting on the other hill. A sentry? Goblins using scouts?

He shouted, and all the Goblins stared at Ryoka. The sentry swung a sling, and the first rock barely missed Ryoka’s head.

She ran.

They followed.

——

She was faster. But her fire had gone out. And Ryoka was still tired. Still—she hadn’t slept. Not since then. She’d just kept running.

So she didn’t outdistance the Goblins quickly enough. That was why they were able to herd her. Different groups kept popping up, trying to ambush her, dashing ahead and pushing her towards the main horde.

She didn’t let them. But Ryoka didn’t know the hills and valleys. When she ran into a grove of strange trees, a team of slingers pelted her with stones, making her run left. And that’s when she saw the small Goblin.

She was surrounded by her elite bodyguard of large Goblins. But the small Goblin was the best-equipped out of all of them. She had the short sword and shield that seemed new. Pristine compared to the other equipment the Goblins were using.

Ryoka had to break through them. She raised her fist and decked the first Goblin that ran at her. Not hard enough to break his skull like last time. Not hard enough to kill.

The Goblins hadn’t been expecting that. Ryoka kicked out and took another one down. They hesitated, and the small Goblin screeched something. She ran forwards and slashed at Ryoka’s leg.

Short. But quick. And her friends were too numerous. Ryoka retreated and sensed the other Goblins converging on her. She had to run.

She bull-rushed the Goblins to the right side, and they fell back. They were still afraid of her, for all they had a competent leader. She kicked, punched. And then as she was nearly free, something slashed at the rucksack at her back.

Ryoka spun, and the blade missed her by inches. The small Goblin. She’d been aiming for the straps on Ryoka’s pack. Clever.

Goblins swarmed her. Ryoka cursed and kicked them away, throwing them down hard. They were trying to take her runner’s backpack. Steal her—

She shook herself like a dog, and the Goblins went flying. Ryoka’s hands flashed, and Goblins fell down.

The small Goblin blocked her way as Ryoka moved forwards again. She and another Goblin were the only things blocking Ryoka, but more of the tribe was screaming as they rushed towards her.

The girl crouched and kicked low. A Goblin took a hit to the groin and folded up silently. For a second, she and the small Goblin were alone. They locked eyes.

The small Goblin smiled. She raised a finger, and Ryoka didn’t hesitate. She lunged forwards and kicked the small Goblin as hard as she could.

Her bare foot met the cold impact of metal rather than flesh. The Goblin had managed to raise her shield, but Ryoka’s kick still catapulted her across the ground.

She didn’t see whether the Goblin was going to get up. Ryoka turned and sprinted away, dodging Goblins as they poured over the hill. She felt something graze her arm and then heat on her back—she juked left, and the fiery bird missed her. Ryoka kept running, and then they were behind her.

——

After about ten minutes, Ryoka couldn’t hear any more Goblins shouting. She kept running, though. She didn’t trust her ears.

But her body was aching. She was at the end of her tether, and eventually, Ryoka had to slow to a jog. Her legs felt like lead. Like someone was holding onto each foot. She was tired.

But she ran on. The Goblins disappeared, giving up on her or having found a better quarry.

Ryoka ran on.

She had escaped with everything important. The ring Teriarch had given her—the letter—her money pouch—and she still had the potions strapped to her rucksack. She left the Goblins behind and ran on.

She had everything, right? Ryoka felt at her side as her legs pumped and the last Goblins slowed behind her. She thought she felt the smooth glass of the potion bottle and she didn’t have the time to check with them behind her still.

At least she had the wand. Ryoka felt the crystalline warmth from the core. She looked back—but there were so many Goblins, and she didn’t care. It was just a potion. Nothing mattered.

Ryoka ran.

——

As she bandaged her eighth cut, Ryoka took stock. She unslung her rucksack, relieved it hadn’t been badly damaged by the Goblins. She didn’t have much. But she still carried a lot.

Three healing potions, a wand, a ruby ring, a letter, dry rations, two flasks of water, a change of clothing, a ball of lye soap, a toothbrush wrapped in wax paper, salt, a small lantern, what passed for toilet paper in this world, her iPhone and headphones, a lightweight blanket made of wool, a pouch full of gold coins, and her sins.

The last weighed heaviest. But Ryoka had stopped thinking. She only knew to run. So she did. She ran up and down the rolling hills, finding the road again. Following past the tall gates of Liscor, running down the road where the traffic thinned until the road was barely visible around the grass that had reclaimed it.

Running on. Towards the Blood Fields.

——

On her fortieth mile, the grasslands changed. The hills stopped rolling, and she felt herself travelling down an incline.

The longest hill in the world.

She would have laughed. Or screamed when the spiders came out of their pits. But she ran on, leaving the deathtraps behind and sticking to the road. The grass was not safe.

And the road was empty.

Because the land beyond Liscor was desolate for miles, even of bandits. Bandits preyed on travellers, and who would travel so far north? Better to take a ship. Or if travel had to be done, it was best done in a caravan armed to the teeth.

The road stretching south from Liscor ran down through the plains and branched into several paths that would lead to major cities, the Gnoll tribe lands, and even the coast. But to get there, every traveller had to pass through the Blood Fields.

And they were death.

Ryoka knew this, and she ran on. The landscape changed under her feet. Grass became sparser, tougher, less pleasant to run on and more full of weeds. She stepped in a patch of something like nettles and had to stop.

By the light of the first campfire, Ryoka stared at her swollen foot and ankles. She used one of her precious healing potions, spreading a bit of the liquid over the worst parts, watching the swelling decrease.

But the itching remained. She didn’t want to waste any more potion, so she stayed awake.

After the two thousand and thirty-fourth sheep, Ryoka drank a few gulps of water, flushed a bit of water out of her system, and slept.

——

When she found the second stream, Ryoka’s water had nearly run out and it was the third day. She’d run all day on the first day, but the second had seen her walking.

Because of the rocks.

The road and the ground had lost vegetation, except for the most virulent and prickly of bushes and withered roots stubbornly holding on. And without a soft padding, the ground had become gravel. Try as she might, Ryoka couldn’t bring herself to keep running over mile after mile of pain.

She filled her water bottle, hoping the clear water was potable, and walked on. Her feet hurt, but she had to keep going. There was no turning back.

——

As she popped the fifth blood blister, Ryoka wished she’d brought shoes. But she hadn’t, and the pain was only fitting. So she kept walking. And only now, in the silence of slower motion, could she hear her thoughts again.

She wished she couldn’t. So she ran, trying to lose the thoughts. On and on, day after day until she finally reached the place she had promised to go. Head blank, arms pumping, running without thought, so fast that the three figures dogging her step couldn’t catch up, even by night.

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1.53

Ceria woke up first. It was an unconscious act on the part of her body that her mind wanted no part of. As the first rays of dawn hit her, she opened her eyes and sat up in her bed.

It was too early. And despite her early rising, Ceria was not a morning person.

But some things were too hard to forget. It had been years—decades, really—since Ceria had needed to wake up this early. She was safe in this inn, among her friends and companions. Safe.

Yet it was impossible to forget some things. Pisces had brought it out. It was his fault; his face made her remember better times. The academy and all that had gone wrong there. She…

She didn’t feel like attacking him. Not after—what, six years? But it still weighed on her and, she hoped, him too.

Rubbing her face with her hands, Ceria decided that she was up. Remembering the past would only lead to nightmares, and she wasn’t about to wake the inn screaming.

So despite the early hour and lack of sleep, Ceria stumbled downstairs. She blinked around at the room.

“Dd.”

She’d meant to say ‘odd’, but her mouth wasn’t working. What was odd wasn’t that the common room of the inn was a mess—what was odd was that it was not.

Last night. Ceria rubbed at her eyes again and remembered. Music. A night that had lasted forever. Songs and—something else. Some instruments she’d never heard before and beautiful words.

It felt like a dream. But it had been real, so it felt even more dreamlike. She remembered stumbling up to bed as the other adventurers left, still caught in that magical moment.

Yes—they’d left, but adventurers always created messes wherever they went. Mostly in the form of dead monster corpses and blood, but in this case in the form of empty dishes, dirt, spilled food and drink, and coins scattered on the tables.

None of that was here now. The room was clean. In fact, in the morning light, the polished wood practically sparkled at Ceria.

She found that mildly offensive. But hunger was distracting her in no small way. She stumbled towards the kitchen—

And froze as a skeleton blocked the doorway.

“Wood rot.”

That was twice now that Ceria felt her heart was literally about to stop. She staggered backwards and pointed shakily at the skeleton.

“Don’t—do that!”

The skeleton was silent. Ceria blinked at it, still not quite thinking properly. It had a name, didn’t it? Erin called it—

“Toren, right?”

The skeleton made no reply. Well, it had probably been the one to clean up the room. Last Ceria had seen, the girl Erin Solstice had been sleeping next to the Antinium named Pawn.

Who also wasn’t here.

Something about that made an alarm bell go off in Ceria’s head, but she was distracted by pressing needs and the undead monster in front of her.

“Is your mistress up? I’d like some breakfast, but I can get it myself.”

Ceria went to move past the skeleton, but its arm shot out and blocked her way. She stopped and stared at it.

“What are you—”

It put a finger to its yellowed teeth even as Ceria saw Erin rolled up in a blanket in the corner of the kitchen. She blinked at the girl.

“That’s where she sleeps?”

The skeleton made no sound, but it seemed irked that Ceria was still making sound. The half-Elf shook her head. It was too early for this.

“I’m hungry.”

No response. The skeleton stared at her.

“I need food.”

Again, the pitiless cold flames of death were her only answer. Ceria tried to push the skeleton aside, but it grabbed her hand warningly. She eyed it. It looked—well, it was Pisces’ creation. Carefully, she withdrew her hand.

“Fine. No waking her. But can you get me something to eat? Or—cook something?”

The skeleton seemed to consider this. After a moment, it reluctantly nodded and walked into the kitchen. Unlike the many skeletons Ceria had seen or killed, this one walked with something approaching grace. It was a superior version of an inferior undead creature, and there was only one mage stupid enough to create something like that.

Pisces. Ceria narrowed her eyes at the skeleton as it trotted into the kitchen. It was certainly an improvement on his older work. For one thing, this skeleton was quite intelligent. But that in itself wasn’t a good thing. It meant he was closer to his goal. If he ever made an undead that was capable of leveling—

She blinked as Toren appeared in front of her. He was holding something.

“Is that…a loaf of bread?”

It was. An entire loaf, unmarred by imperfections such as slicing or condiments. Toren thrust it at her.

Ceria took it and stared at him.

“Am I supposed to eat this? I need something else, you know.”

The skeleton couldn’t sigh. But Ceria distinctly got that it would if it could. It stared at her and then walked silently back into the kitchen.

Bemused, Ceria sat at a table and stared at the loaf. After a moment, she fished out her belt knife.

She’d just managed to cut a few slices away when the skeleton reappeared. It put a bowl down in front of Ceria. She stared at that too. It was also holding eggs.

Toren dropped the eggs in front of Ceria next to the loaf of bread. Then it added a bag of sugar. It went away and brought a cup and a pitcher of water out and then walked back into the kitchen.

Ceria stared at the food on her table. She eyed the eggs, bread, sugar, and the water. She caught one of the eggs before it rolled off the table and stared at it.

She shrugged.

——

When Gerial stumbled downstairs, yawning and rubbing at his eyes, he found Ceria dipping slices of bread into a bowl of egg yolks. Some sugar had also been added to a slice of bread and turned into a sandwich that made him entirely forget about breakfast.

The half-Elf looked up as she munched on her dipped slice of bread. She was reading from her spell book.

“Oh. Hey. The innkeeper’s asleep, so there’s no breakfast. But the skeleton got me some food. Want some?”

Gerial stared at the raw egg dripping from the slice of bread. He shuddered.

“That’s disgusting.”

Ceria rolled her eyes.

“You Humans. You eat eggs all the time. What’s the difference between frying them and grabbing them from a nest?”

“A very big difference, thank you.”

Gerial sat at the table and tried not to watch Ceria chomping down her meal. He stared at her cup.

“Is that sugar?”

“Goes well with the water if you add enough. Want some?”

He hesitated.

“I think I’d prefer normal food, thanks. Where’s the innkeeper?”

“Still asleep, I think. She’s in there.”

Ceria nodded to the kitchen.

“That damn skeleton’s guarding her though, so don’t go in. This is all it gave me to eat.”

“I see.”

“Yup. So this is the only food you’re getting for a while. Want some?”

“Pass.”

The two adventurers sat in silence for a while. It wasn’t the first time they’d done this. Gerial was a morning person, and he’d often found Ceria awake. His stomach rumbled, and he tried to ignore it.

After a while, the silence was too much. Gerial had to talk. He rubbed at his mustache and awkwardly cleared his throat. Ceria looked up and raised an eyebrow.

“So. Last night.”

“It was quite something, wasn’t it?”

“Something? It was—”

Gerial didn’t have words to describe it. He was no mage, and the memory of last night stuck in his head as something he could only describe as magical.

“What was that? Was it a spell?”

“A Skill, I think. Not one I’ve ever heard of. Must be a rare one.”

“But that wasn’t it either. Those songs—”

“Beautiful.”

Ceria smiled, and Gerial nodded fervently. But she didn’t seem as awed as he was by the memory. She frowned slightly.

“It was amazing. But odd as well.”

“Odd?”

“I’ve never heard any of the songs she sang. Not one. And the music that came with it—did it sound like anything you’d ever heard before?”

“Not even in my dreams.”

But Gerial had dreamed of those songs last night. He felt his eyes sting a bit as he remembered and turned his head to wipe at them. Ceria shook her head.

“They were moving, but that’s not the point, Gerial. It’s another mystery. Where did that music come from? How did that girl—”

She glanced up and stopped talking abruptly. That was another thing Gerial was used to, so when Erin stumbled out of the kitchen, he was already turning to greet her.

“Good morning, Miss Erin.”

She stopped and stared at him. She was still wearing the same food-spattered clothing she’d had on yesterday, and the rain and muck had made the smell and sight worse. She also looked miserable.

“Morning.”

Ceria nodded at Erin. The girl shook her head.

“Is everything alright?”

Another shake. Erin paused, made a face, and reluctantly opened her mouth.

“I hab a thore throat. And a cold.”

“Oh.”

“I see. My condolences.”

Erin staggered over to their table and flopped onto it. Gerial saw the skeleton walk out of the kitchen and stand behind her. Erin didn’t seem to notice—or care.

Ceria put down her book and pushed aside her bowl of egg yolk to peer at Erin. She shook her head.

“It must have been sitting out in the rain last night that did it.”

“I bnow.”

The half-Elf was already focusing on Erin, her fingers glowing with pale green light.

“I can do something about the sore throat, but healing potions don’t cure colds. And I wouldn’t recommend you trying one unless you want to roll the dice on it getting better—or turning into a debilitating sickness.”

“Really? You can—”

Erin yelped as Ceria poked her throat. Instantly, the skeleton behind her raised a threatening fist, but Erin sat back in her chair.

“Ow, that—hey! My throat is better!”

She still had a stuffed nose, though. Silently, Gerial offered her his handkerchief. Erin blew her nose and looked at him gratefully.

“Sorry.”

“Think nothing of it.”

Erin sniffed and handed him the handkerchief back.

“I hate colds.”

She looked at Ceria and Gerial pleadingly.

“Magic?”

Ceria shook her head at Erin.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t cure that so easily. I only know [Numb]—the spell I used on your throat—and colds are tricky. Way beyond me. Maybe a [Healer] can cure it? Drink hot soup.”

“What? But it’s a cold.”

Erin whined at Ceria. The half-Elf sighed, but remained patient.

“It’s a cold. The most common of illnesses. Which means no one’s figured out how to get rid of it. And before you suggest it—experimenting on sicknesses can create far worse kinds. Or just make them immune to magical healing at all.”

Gerial was surprised.

“That can happen? I thought—well, it’s just being sick, isn’t it?”

The half-Elf gave him a huge shrug.

“Don’t ask me. Apparently, things can develop immunities to magic. Mold, diseases—it’s why you don’t always use [Cleanse] to clean even Wistram Academy. They have Golems with mops.”

Erin groaned.

“Magic-resistant super-viruses. Just what I need.”

More words that the adventurers didn’t quite understand, but both got the meaning. Ceria shrugged regretfully at Erin. Then she glanced at Gerial with a slight smile.

“Looks like breakfast is canceled, Gerial. Unless you all want to risk getting sick before the ruins.”

He sighed.

“No helping it, I suppose.”

“I can make food.”

Erin tried to sit up, but Ceria gently shook her head.

“Some rest will do you more good than anything else. And you coughing into the food won’t do anyone any good.”

She was right, and Erin sagged back into her seat.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Gerial was already standing and stretching. He was hungry, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d missed or deferred breakfast until a later date. He nodded at Erin.

“We’re going into the city. I think Calruz is already gone, but the others are still asleep. Don’t worry about feeding us—they can always go into the city.”

Ceria looked surprised. She glanced upstairs.

“Calruz is gone? I didn’t hear him moving.”

“I don’t think he slept. He went after the bug—ah, I mean, the one called Pawn.”

Erin sat up in her chair, suddenly wide awake. She stared around the empty room.

“Pawn?”

——

Pawn of the Antinium had not slept since the night. It wasn’t as if he’d missed much sleep, though. Erin Solstice had sung well into the morning, so it was only an hour or two later that he sat outside the Wandering Inn, thinking.

And suffering. He could still feel his missing appendages, or rather, the places where they should be. It felt…horrible. Horrible in a way he couldn’t describe, not to be able to move properly. But there was nothing he could do, and at least the pain had stopped.

Small mercies. But the memory of how he had lost his limbs still haunted him. And yet the memory of what had happened last night was with him as well. He still heard the music, still felt his soul shifting, hurting, rejoicing as he heard Erin sing.

Pain and wonder. They fought for dominion, but the pain was nothing compared to the wonder that still filled him.

So he sat and thought. He thought of many things, from his role in the Hive as it had been to what it was now. He thought about what he had suffered and what was happening. He thought about many things and had no answers. But when he thought about Erin Solstice, he felt something else.

And he had no words for that emotion. And it was troubling. In a good way and a bad way, but enough so that when the Minotaur stomped towards him, Pawn was almost glad of the interruption.

“You.”

Pawn inclined his head respectfully. He didn’t know if he should, but all he knew was his role as a Worker. Yet he wasn’t one anymore. Should he be respectful? It seemed appropriate.

“Adventurer-Captain Calruz. How may I help you?”

The large Minotaur scowled down at Pawn. His eyes were shadowed, and he looked tired. And angry. He’d been walking outside by the looks of it, but now he stopped and stared down at Pawn.

“Answer me something, insect. Why did you not fight?”

Pawn stared up at Calruz.

“I’m sorry?”

The Minotaur glared at Pawn. He jabbed a finger at Pawn’s chest.

“You. Why did you not fight? When you were being tortured by your own kind—why did you not resist? Are all of your kind cowards or do you not have any pride?”

The question was so surprising to Pawn that he took a few moments to respond.

“I had no right to resist. The one who took me—he was the Prognugator. He judges other Antinium. Our lives are his to use.”

Calruz looked disbelievingly at Pawn.

“So. You would allow death and dishonor to befall you because of mere rank? The House of Minos respects rank—but even Prince Khedal or our King would expect to be challenged if they spoke or acted madness. Have the Antinium no such sense?”

Pawn did not know what he meant—but he did know his Hive, so he replied slowly. Honestly.

“The Antinium have no honor. And I am—was a Worker. My life is for the Hive. If my death is required, I will die.”

For a long moment, Calruz stared at Pawn. Pawn held his gaze, wondering if the Minotaur would lash out at him. It had happened to several Workers before. But the Minotaur just snorted angrily and turned away.

“All that I should have expected from a slave.”

He stomped towards the door and flung it open. Erin crashed into his chest, and the Minotaur blinked at her.

“Pawn!”

She spotted the Antinium and froze. Pawn got to his feet and nodded at her.

“Erin. Is something wrong?”

Erin sagged, and some of the color returned to her pale face.

“You scared me! I thought you went back into the city—!”

“I was about to. I would not wish to trouble you—”

“No!”

Pawn was surprised by the vehemence in Erin’s statement. She grabbed him.

“You can’t go back! Not to that—that evil guy!”

“Ksmvr?”

“Yes!”

Erin nodded. She gestured towards her inn.

“That guy—I’m going to—well, I’d like to—what’s more important is that you stay here. Not in that stupid Hive. I’ll make a bed for you, and you can stay as long as you like. Free of charge.”

Pawn stared at the inn and then at the two adventurers who’d followed Erin outside. He shook his head.

“Your offer is most kind. But I belong in my Hive.”

“What?”

His words seemed to shock the others. But Pawn was used to that. He tried to explain.

“I am missed. I must complete my duties.”

“But Ksmvr—”

The name made Pawn shudder, but only slightly.

“He will not harm me.”

“Bullshit.”

Pawn met Erin’s eyes steadily. He remembered her holding him. Remembered her strange warmth. The music was still in him.

“He will not harm me, Erin. He has determined that I am Individual. He will not question me further. And I will be protected there. Now that it is known I am Individual, I am—important.”

“Important?”

That seemed to surprise Erin. And her surprise surprised Pawn. How could she not realize? But he had learned how little others knew of the Antinium. But surely she understood this—

“I still don’t trust that Ksmvr guy. He’s dangerous.”

“He was merely fulfilling his duties. But once the Queen is told, she will summon me. I am sure of it.”

This didn’t seem to reassure Erin at all. She stared at Pawn anxiously, not seeming to understand the great honor this would be.

“The Queen? And where was she while he was stabbing you?”

“She is occupied at the moment. It is the Rite of Anastases.”

“The what the what?”

Pawn shrugged. It was a convenient gesture he had learned, shrugging. He noticed that the half-Elf was staring at him intently behind Erin as the Human and Minotaur talked.

“I do not know. I only heard what was spoken in passing. But it is an important ritual that cannot be interrupted. I…sense that.”

Erin stared at him. She did not understand, and Pawn worried that she would try to keep him. That would lead to conflict, and he could not allow her to be hurt. But the half-Elf spoke to him.

“You—ah, Pawn. Can you tell me something? What do the Antinium want?”

“To work for the Hive and the Queen.”

It was an automatic response, and not the one she wanted. Ceria shook her head.

“I’ve heard that from every Antinium—I mean, what do they want here? The Antinium have made war for two decades. They never leave their Hivelands—except during the last two great wars, and they only settled one Hive in one city in the entire world. The Blighted Kingdom hates them, and no one knows what your people want except to conquer. The Antinium are united as far as I’ve heard. Completely. You’re all loyal to your Queens. So…why did this Ksmvr take you and—and question you?”

More hard questions. Pawn tried to answer as best he could.

“We came ten years back. To make…make something. I do not know. I do not know what. But it was decided. The Queens sent a single Hive to the city. Paid in gold for a place with those not of the Hive. To make something. A new kind of Antinium.”

It seemed Ceria and Calruz were listening hard to this, though making sense of it was beyond them and Erin. Ceria bit her lip.

“And this Rite of…does that relate to it?”

“No. Yes. It is important. I cannot tell you what it is. I was not told. I can only sense that it requires all of my Queen’s attention.”

“But when she’s done with it, she’ll want to see you, is that right?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re important.”

“Yes.”

Easier answers. Pawn saw the light of comprehension in the half-Elf’s eyes. But Erin still did not understand. Pawn saw that too. But the half-Elf did. She tugged at Erin’s arm.

“I think I get it. Erin, Pawn needs to go back to his Hive. You can’t take an Antinium away from the Hive. If you do—they spare no effort to reclaim their lost. Or if it’s impossible to reclaim them, those Antinium die.”

Erin’s heart sank.

“They do?”

Only in times of war. Pawn knew with absolute certainty his Queen would never order him to die. He was too important. But the lie—

“That is correct. I would be in jeopardy or place you in danger by remaining.”

It hurt him to lie to Erin. But it was partially true. Once his Queen learned of his nature, she would spare no effort to reclaim him. And if Ksmvr tried to reclaim him and brought soldiers—

The thought of it was too much to bear. So Pawn lied. He lied to protect the one called Erin Solstice, the innkeeper who played chess and who sang. The one who had given him his individuality and more things than he could think. The one who was important. The one who the other Workers…

Admired. Perhaps that was the word for it. But Pawn thought it wasn’t the right word. What Erin was to the Workers was different. She had brought something into their stale lives and taught them that they had been living in boredom and monotony. She had elevated one of them, and so what the Workers felt for her was not admiration. It was something else. Another word.

But Pawn had no idea what that word was.

——

Pawn left. Ceria and Gerial left with him, and Calruz stomped off when he learned Erin was sick. They left her alone.

She felt bad about it. Upset that Pawn was leaving. Emotional. She threw a cup of water at Toren.

She hated being sick. And she was so tired—she’d barely gotten, what, a few hours of sleep? So Erin put her head down on her pillow in the kitchen. Just for a short nap. It was just a bit too much.

Before she knew it, she’d fallen asleep. All things considered, it was good for her. Erin was so tired, emotionally as well as physically, that nothing could rouse her. Not even Selys screaming when she saw Toren.

——

Pisces heard the scream and debated running. But the odds were quite good that there were adventurers still in the inn and therefore quite good that the screaming didn’t mean anything too dangerous was happening.

Still, he cast [Invisibility] before he entered. It was a wonderful spell. A Tier 4 magic like this afforded him far more safety than any armor and allowed him a number of useful opportunities as well. It had been worth the month of study it had taken to master it.

Nevertheless, Pisces poked his head cautiously through the inn’s door. Safety was paramount. He would run at the slightest hint of trouble—

But curse it, Erin Solstice might be in trouble. And after last night, he couldn’t just abandon her. Not just because he’d heard what those arrogant Gnolls had said. They might be stealthy, but they relied on their noses too much. Pisces smelled exactly like the outdoors because he never bothered to wash. Another advantage.

And the music. He couldn’t forget the music. An [Immortal Moment] indeed. All of it meant—well, it meant—

It meant he was doing something stupid, which Pisces regretted. He readied several spells as he looked around the inn. If it was a monster, he’d attack and retreat. That was all he could do. More than he should do, really.

There was no monster in the inn. Not unless you counted the skeleton, and Pisces wasn’t afraid of his own creation. The cowering female Drake didn’t seem to share his opinion, however.

Pisces relaxed and let the invisibility spell end. His heart was beating far, far too fast. Curses. He recognized the Drake. She was a female receptionist at the Adventurer’s Guild, the one who often talked to Erin. Selys Shivertail.

She was still whimpering and trying to shield herself from Toren as the skeleton stood watching her. Pisces shook his head. Non-mages. They were so…

He looked around for Erin Solstice. She was nowhere to be seen, which was inconvenient. He had hoped for some food—

Pisces was used to wandering into the kitchen of the Wandering Inn for food. He’d done it quite often, and so it was quite a shock to him when Toren shot out a bony arm to block his way. He yelped and stumbled backwards.

“What are you doing?”

His creation studied Pisces. Toren didn’t reply—not that Pisces had given him the ability to speak. The mage paused and gestured with his fingers.

“Move aside. I require sustenance.”

A flicker of hesitation—and then the skeleton shook his head. Pisces frowned.

“I am your creator. Move aside.”

Another shake of the head. Pisces frowned darkly. This was wrong. But of course, he had expected complications when he’d created this skeleton. He just hadn’t expected the spell-weaving to interfere with the obedience of the skeleton—

“Move.”

The skeleton clattered its jaw at Pisces and raised a finger to shush him. He blinked at it.

“What are you—I, Pisces, order you to move aside and let me pass.”

Another shake of the head. Pisces ground his teeth. He was about to try something more drastic when something slapped the back of his head hard. He staggered and looked around.

“You!”

Something was attacking him. Pisces yelped as Selys advanced on him, hitting him with her fists.

“You’re the one who made this—this thing, aren’t you? You evil, wretched—!”

Selys yelped as Toren caught her hand. She nearly screamed, but the other bony hand covered her mouth. Pisces froze. Was his creation going to—?

Toren held Selys in a grip of death. Very, very slowly he removed his hand from her mouth and raised it to his own. One finger went up, and he shushed her.

Selys quivered as she nodded. Toren gently let go of her hand. Then the skeleton pointed inside the kitchen.

Both Pisces and Selys stared inside the kitchen and saw Erin curled up into a ball, still sleeping somehow. They exchanged a look.

Toren moved back in front of the kitchen entrance and stood there, a sentinel. He stared pointedly at both mage and Drake. Slowly, the skeleton reached for a sword belted to its bony waist. It unsheathed the blade an inch. They backed away.

——

“What was that?”

“It was my creation. A skeleton. It was merely guarding its master, Erin Solstice.”

“You created that thing?”

Selys stared at Pisces, horrified. He raised his nose at her.

“Of course. It is a bodyguard for Erin and an able servant.”

“It’s an undead monster. And you—I thought you were just an [Illusionist] scaring poor people. But you’re that [Necromancer] Relc was talking about, aren’t you? Well, you leave Erin alone! She doesn’t need you bothering her!”

“I am a favored customer at her inn. I have every right to be there.”

“You had a bounty on your head until a week ago! You stay away from her or I’ll—I’ll—”

He sneered at her.

“You’ll do what? Hit me? I’m a mage.”

“And I’m a receptionist at the Adventurer’s Guild. I’ll put a twenty-gold bounty on your head if you so much as raise an undead anywhere within twenty miles of the city.”

The sneer twisted upside down into a look of sudden concern.

“You—you don’t have the authority to do that.”

“Try me. And get out of my way!”

“I am going to the city. With Erin…indisposed, I require sustenance there.”

“Then walk behind me! I don’t want to be anywhere near you!”

“I am entitled to walk wherever I please. If it bothers you so much, you may wait.”

“You flesh-faced jerk—”

——

Rags watched curiously as the arguing Drake and mage stormed past her. They didn’t even notice her—not that she was practically visible in the long grass anyways. Her dark green skin camouflaged her well, and if she closed her eyes, she could practically disappear at times.

The other Goblins made her a bit more noticeable of course, but amazingly, Pisces and Selys had managed to miss them as well. And it was hard to miss thirty-odd Goblins.

It didn’t matter much anyways; Rags shook her head and walked towards the inn. She snapped at the Goblins following her, and they dispersed into the grass while five waited outside the inn. As an escort, they were important, but the inn was a peaceful area. Besides, her scouts had already determined the inn was empty aside from the skeleton and Erin Solstice.

Thus, when Rags stepped into the inn, it was only Toren that saw her. Now free from the eyes of her followers, Rags took a moment to wince and feel at her side which was in complete agony. She chattered to herself as she prodded the huge bruise, but determined it wasn’t worth wasting a valuable healing potion over.

The skeleton took little heed of the Goblin except to assess how dangerous she might be. It noticed her frowning as she searched for Erin Solstice and mentally sighed again.

——

Refreshingly, Rags understood that Erin was sleeping and not to be disturbed quickest of all the inn’s guests that day. The small Goblin wasn’t happy, but Toren didn’t have to dissuade her from entering the kitchen.

Instead, the Goblin hopped up onto one of the chairs and grabbed a chess board. She muttered to herself as Toren stood patiently in his place in front of the kitchen. He stared impassively at the Goblin as she ignored him.

Perhaps someone who wasn’t an undead skeleton might have had a bit more of a reaction to Rags’ appearance. They might have questioned the cuts on the side of her face, the way she winced as she moved, or perhaps the glowing, orange-pink potion strapped to her belt. It was one of many valuable items that an astute watcher could infer had been looted from travellers.

But Toren wasn’t interested in any of that. Instead, the skeleton was troubled by his own thoughts. He was guarding his master, and that was well. But he had failed to guard a few days ago. He had lost to the Antinium, and that was wrong. Bad. He felt this should not be so.

But he was still only a Level 3 [Skeleton Warrior]. He had no way to level except in the [Barmaid] class, and Toren felt that this would not be particularly helpful.

Rags muttered to herself as she began playing a game of chess. Without any opponent, she was forced to play both sides, which she was not happy about. She groused to herself in her own language.

Again, to any other listener, her words would be meaningless nonsense. The language of the Goblins was scratchy, garbled, and sounded vaguely like rocks being tossed into a blender. In short, incomprehensible to anyone who was not a Goblin.

But the dead spoke a universal language, so Toren understood her perfectly. He listened, at first mainly because he had no choice, but then with increasing fascination. He was fascinated by Rags’ comments about the [Strategist] class and chess and stared at the chess board.

The Goblin played one game by herself and then two. After she won and lost the third game, she looked up and nearly tumbled out of her seat.

Toren stood silently over her, staring down. Rags unsheathed her short sword, but the skeleton made no move to attack. It stared down at the chess board and then slowly sat across from Rags.

With mechanical precision, it began moving chess pieces to their starting positions. As Rags, disbelieving, watched, Toren chose a pawn and moved it forwards on the chess board.

She stared at the undead skeleton. Its fiery blue eyes fixed on her. Slowly, Rags got back onto her chair and stared at the board. She stared at the skeleton. Then she shrugged.

And began to play.

——

Ceria and Gerial walked through the streets of Liscor, taking in this unfamiliar city. They were walking down a street filled with restaurants and pubs. They were being watched.

Gazi’s eye flicked around the street, and she smiled as she walked forwards. Relc was headed straight for the leader of the Horns of Hammerad several streets over. The [Princess] was crouched at another table, under the cloak of an [Invisibility] spell, but she would not interfere.

The man was an average adventurer. Level 17 in the [Warrior] class—without much to distinguish him. But the half-Elf was as noticeable as the Minotaur. She could only be Ceria Springwalker, member of the Horns of Hammerad.

Just the ones Gazi had been looking for.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.54

Erin woke up to the noise that defined her life.

The sounds of chess.

It was a soft sound, most of the time—one she’d learned in all of its subtleties. Chess sounded different.

The board mattered, for one thing. Erin usually played with wooden pieces—the ones from the DGT electronic chess board manufacturing line. It was the board chess tournaments used because of the sensors and electronic timer wired into the board itself.

It even had a chess computer you could buy to play against. It was high-tech, and Erin didn’t like it.

She loved the sound and feel of stone pieces, like the one she’d bought for her inn and had in her personal collection in her home. Her home in the real world, her world, that was.

How seldom she thought of it. And her parents. It was almost as if…unless she thought, she forgot they had ever been. Was she just blocking them out as a self-defense reflex? It hurt Erin, wondering what they were doing and thinking, looking for her, worrying.

But today was a day for feeling pain. And she indulged her own worry, wishing she could tell them—anything—until the sounds drew her upwards.

The soft clicking of stone on stone roused Erin gently. She sat up and reached for the rag she’d left near her head and blew her nose.

Of course, stone chess sets were a lot more fragile, and it was inevitable that someone would drop a piece sooner or later. That was why she only brought it out if she was playing someone who held the same reverence for chess as she did.

Yes—the rhythm told her other things, too. This was a slower chess game because one player was worse than the other. You could almost feel it. One of the two players was decisive, confident, and skilled enough to back up their abilities. They moved almost as soon as the other player did. But the other one paused and hesitated.

Different sounds for different players. Erin remembered the sound of cheap plastic being slammed down by impatient players, ones who grew angry when they were losing and excited over small gains. Bad players? Young players. Amateurs.

Professional chess players got mad too, but in different ways. Sometimes they got loud, but many went cold and focused everything in a silent battle. You could almost tell when a game was getting good, yes. Not by the noise—

But by the silence.

But in this case, the game wasn’t good. Erin could tell that in the moment she walked out of the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Rags sat in front of a chess board, arms crossed while she stared at the skeleton sitting opposite her. Erin stared too. Toren’s presence threw her, but the chess—the chess was easy to understand.

It was a bad game. A very bad game. Rags had nearly all of her pieces—including her pawns—and Toren’s pieces were scattered.

Contrary to what people thought, a one-sided game wasn’t fun. Winning against an inferior opponent wasn’t fun.

Erin said as much after Rags effortlessly checkmated Toren’s king. Both Goblin and skeleton turned.

“I don’t know how you got him to play, but he clearly doesn’t know how to play.”

Rags shrugged indifferently as Toren sprang to his feet. Erin sighed. Her skeleton was playing chess. At this point, she wasn’t surprised.

“Sit down.”

Toren sat. Erin pulled a chair over and slumped down on the table, resting her chin on her arms. She stared at Rags. The Goblin was busy rearranging her side, probably in expectation of playing Erin.

The small Goblin looked—battered. Was she hurt? If she was, she didn’t show it.

“How many games did you play?”

Rags paused and thought. She held up both hands with all five fingers splayed out. Then she kicked Toren. The skeleton held out its fingers too, keeping two down.

“Eighteen games? That’s a lot. And how many did he win?”

Rags grinned. Erin snorted, but in some sympathy for the skeleton as it sat there.

“That’s what I thought.”

Then again, there were always a few players who relished beating down amateurs. Especially kids. Erin had been one of the whiz-kids, the child prodigies of chess growing up. She’d known a few kids her age that positively enjoyed bullying adults.

She, uh…Erin had to admit that a younger girl-Erin might have been one of those children at times. But she’d grown out of it. She thought she had.

It was a sign of immaturity. Erin frowned at Rags, and the little Goblin looked away, scowling. How old was she? How old was she in Goblin years?

“You should at least teach him how to play. Here.”

Erin pointed to another chess board, and Toren went to fetch it. Mechanically, she set up her side on both the boards facing her.

“I’ll teach you and get revenge, deal?”

The skeleton said nothing. But it sat obediently opposite Erin as Rags frowned at her board and carefully moved the knight forwards.

“It’s all about positioning, see? I don’t know if you saw me playing chess, but it’s a bit different than everyone thinks.”

Erin casually moved a piece on Rags’ board and then showed Toren.

“See this central area? Most openings or chess strategies revolve around capturing or controlling this spot. And that’s because your pieces need to move to get in position to attack the enemy. It’s not always about just killing other pieces. It’s about proper setup and luring the enemy into traps.”

She played a few moves with Toren, watching and commenting as the skeleton moved.

“Everyone—well, everyone where I come from—knows the basic openings. You have to if you want to play chess. But chess is as much about reading the opponent as it is setting up your board. You trick them, open holes in their defenses. There’s all kinds of ways to do that. Forks, pins, deflection, checks, skewers, batteries…”

She began chattering away, a chess enthusiast unloading on a hapless victim. Toren absorbed it all like a sponge as she played a very light game against him, letting the skeleton learn as it lost.

Rags muttered as she lost her queen. Erin pointed to Toren as he tried to move his king and shook her head.

“I’ll let you take that one back. Try not to move the king so much. You can castle him to move if you have to, but he shouldn’t be the piece you keep moving. That’s usually a bad sign.”

She smiled, nostalgia gripping her. She’d had to learn that the hard way, too.

“I know you want to because he’s so important and you want to keep him safe, but you do that with other pieces. They’re the king’s shield and sword. Yeah, you don’t move the king. Because—”

A flicker of memory. The words came out of Erin automatically.

“The king is smart and uses his head. For if he moves, he’ll soon be dead.”

Rags and Toren stared at Erin. She blinked. That was it. She remembered.

“Oh. Um. That was a little rhyme I made up when I was a kid. It—it’s important.”

It felt that way, but Erin couldn’t remember why. It was just a silly thing she’d made up. But—

“Where was I?”

She stared at the board and found she had a way to checkmate Toren. She showed him it and then glanced at the fuming Rags.

“Why don’t you try again? You’ll probably lose, but—”

Erin stared at Toren. It—he—it was an undead creature. Who knew how fast they could learn? It wasn’t as if he had a bad memory—he didn’t have a brain. Erin was suddenly gripped by curiosity, probably just as Rags had been. She wanted to see Toren play.

Carefully, she showed Toren a few classic openings and played slowly through another game as she crushed Rags again. Then she set up a board for the Goblin and skeleton and sat back.

“Do you get it? Let’s see.”

Rags and Erin waited. After a moment, Toren moved a piece. Rags countered. The game lasted for about sixteen more moves before she checkmated him.

“You don’t get it.”

Toren clattered his jaw. Erin sighed.

“Don’t try taking your rook out so quickly. Remember—capture the center at the start and reinforce. Try again.”

He did. Two games later, Erin had to face facts.

“Great. My undead skeleton sucks at chess.”

It wasn’t that he was bad, it was just—

Okay, he was bad. Erin saw it as she played Rags and Toren at the same time. He was just an amateur.

Which was totally fine. But it was a marked contrast from the Antinium and Rags. The Workers might have been inexperienced, but they were fast learners who memorized openings and counters with ease. And Rags was gifted.

Compared to that, Toren was just normal. Not hopeless—she could see his game had improved from the travesty it had been before her coaching. It was just that he had no spark.

Erin sighed. She took one of Rags’ knights and ignored the little Goblin hissing in anger.

“Check.”

It was a shame. But there was something in her that was still happy. Even if her skeleton sucked, he was still playing chess. Even if she was sitting in another world, in an inn playing against a Goblin, she was still playing chess.

That was good. It made her feel at ease. It was the only thing that made her feel happy, really. Because it was the only thing she was good at. It was the only thing she knew how to do.

——

Ceria and Gerial walked through the city, talking. They were alone. Alone in a sea of Drakes and Gnolls and the occasional Antinium.

They were outsiders. But then, adventurers were always outsiders. They were used to it.

And perhaps if it had been another week, another place, they would have been laughing, joking, and exploring a new city. But this was different. They walked and talked seriously, ignoring the hostile looks they got from the locals.

It was easy to be swept away in the inn they’d found. It was a soothing place, and far enough away that they could relax. But here, in the city, they were too close. The Ruins were several miles away from the city, but they might as well have been next to the adventurers. Their nerves hummed, and their hearts beat a little faster in anticipation of what was coming.

“Soon.”

Ceria nodded. She touched the knife at her belt and felt the hidden wand strapped to her arm.

“Rot, I wish it were tomorrow. No wonder the other adventurers wanted to stay at the inn. I can’t relax at all, here.”

Gerial nodded. He stepped aside politely for a female Drake and ignored her as she flicked her tongue out at him.

“The, ah, local reception isn’t helping either.”

“Well, what do you expect? They don’t exactly like Humans down here, and I’m just another annoying adventurer. But that’s not what I’m talking about. You can feel it, can’t you?”

He could. Gerial was a veteran adventurer, and he sensed the same thing Ceria was tapping into. There was an undercurrent among the adventurers in the city. Fear—as well as expectation.

The Ruins of Liscor were a huge find, possibly the biggest in a decade. Untold and unplundered treasures were just waiting for the taking, the kind of rewards that could elevate any adventuring group into Gold-rank—or higher. But by the same token, the dangers were just as unknown.

“We still don’t know what’s down there. Cervial found someone who was willing to explore and map out the first level, but no one is willing to go any further.”

“And he hasn’t found anyone who’s ventured further?”

“No one who’s gone down too far past the stairs has ever come back.”

Gerial tugged at his belt unconsciously. His hand touched the pommel of his sword and then moved away as a Gnoll guardsman glanced at him.

That was it. That was the fear. Something was down there, and whatever it was, it was deadly. So much so that the treasure-lust of the other adventurers was being kept at bay.

What might be hiding down there? A bagrhaven? A nest of them, perhaps. But something that could kill a team of Silver-ranks without letting any of them live—

A trap? A colony of wurms? Some—some kind of undead army? Or—Gerial’s blood ran cold at the thought—had they dug up the burial site of one of the Old Things?

No. No, there was no sense in thinking of it. But that was the thing. Uncertainty was keeping these adventurers at bay. Once they knew what was down there, those who could take on the threat would band together and deal with it in a heartbeat. Adventurers would swarm over the ruins, stealing, fighting each other, trying to grab as much as possible.

All it took was the first, brave group who would uncover the secrets below and pay with blood. And for once, it was the Horns of Hammerad who would be paying that price.

“Hey.”

Gerial blinked and jerked in surprise as the elbow caught him in the side. He glanced down at Ceria and saw she was staring up at him.

“Don’t go panicking on me, now. We’ll be fine, so stop worrying.”

He smiled, but Ceria’s jab had brought him back into reality. Casually, he rubbed at the spot she’d hit, wondering if he’d have a bruise.

“Someone has to worry. As far as our leader is concerned, this is going to be a simple extermination request, nothing more.”

Ceria made a face.

“Calruz is arrogant. But he’s confident and bold, which is why he’s perfect for a vice-Captain like you.”

Gerial felt the statement should have been reversed, but he smiled at the compliment anyways. Then he frowned.

“The [Illumination] spell. How’s it going?”

Ceria shrugged.

“My mastery of it is—incomplete. I’ll keep studying, but my best guess is that I’ll be able to cast it once and then I’ll need a mana potion. It’s too exhausting to use multiple times in a row.”

“Once should be enough. Just so we have an area permanently lit to fall back to.”

“We’ve got the formations worked out. Stop—”

“Yes, yes. And supplies are underway. It’s just—”

“I know.”

Ceria patted Gerial on the shoulder.

“I know, believe me. I’m feeling it too. But we’ve planned for as much as we can, and we’ll pull out the instant there’s trouble. Don’t worry.”

He smiled at her. It was reassuring to have someone as old as Ceria in the group with him. She was over sixty years old, and if she hadn’t spent all that time adventuring, he was still glad she was here. In truth, he felt it was she who should be the vice-Captain, but she’d always refused.

Mainly because she didn’t want to do all the logistical work.

Their talk turned to lighter things. Neither Gerial nor Ceria were new to adventuring or the risks of exploring dungeons. Gerial had been an adventurer for eight years—Ceria for fourteen.

“Say we do get gold and gems rather than a magical item. We have the largest shares after the Captains. What would you buy?”

Ceria smiled and eyed a few carved bracelets on display in a Gnoll’s shop. The large Gnoll woman eyed the half-Elf and bared her teeth politely, gesturing in an invitation. Ceria waved her hand, and they continued on.

“If I have enough, I’d like to buy another spell book. All the ones I have I’ve more or less mastered. With enough gold—a few hundred pieces more—I could buy a book with a few Tier 4 spells.”

“Just that? If the reward is all Calruz thinks it could be, you’d have a lot more money than that.”

Ceria raised an eyebrow at Gerial.

“You’ve never bought spell books, have you? Just one costs several hundred gold or thousands, and that’s for low-Tier spells. I’ve been saving up all this time just to buy one with a Tier 4 spell.”

“But if you leveled up your, um, [Mage] class, you’d learn those anyways, right?”

The half-Elf ran a hand through her hair distractedly. It was messy because she didn’t always comb it, and he resisted the urge to offer her his comb.

“Right, but—it’s complicated. There’s no guarantee which spells I’d learn, and besides, I’d need to level up quite a bit. But with a spell book, I could study a spell and learn it in a few months.”

“A few months?”

“A month, a year, two years—so what? If I mastered just one good spell, my Level would increase. And then we could take on stronger monsters.”

Gerial shook his head.

“A good thing I was never born with a talent for magic. I don’t have your patience—or your time.”

“Oh, and then what would you buy?”

“Armor. And a good sword. Or maybe just a magic ring.”

Ceria laughed.

“Not too adventurous, are you?”

Gerial smiled as he shook his head, a warrior talking to a mage.

“A good set of magic armor? I’d be able to fight without worrying about some monster clubbing my helmet in every five seconds.”

“I suppose. It just seems like a waste, that’s all.”

“Every bit counts. If I had good armor, I could worry about other expenses. But that’s the first step.”

“True enough.”

Money. It was such a simple thing. But it was the bane of an adventurer’s existence. They earned more than skilled workers, but to keep adventuring, they needed more. The Guild had its own fees for enrollment, armor repairs and healing potions were expensive, and an injury could leave one out of work for months. It was so hard to earn money.

“A good sword.”

Gerial murmured into his mustache.

“If I had that, I could polish my sword skills. Rank up. Start earning a Gold-rank adventurer’s pay…”

“And then perhaps you’d be able to talk to a certain Runner without needing me to push you, hm?”

Gerial turned red.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course you don’t. You Human—no, you males. Idiots who fall in love with the first exotic female you see. You and Calruz both.”

Gerial took the ribbing with good humor, although he didn’t point out that the first exotic female he’d ever laid eyes on was Ceria. It would have made the half-Elf blush and then retreat. Or—worse—engage and discuss the matter frankly. He had learned long ago that her heart had been closed long ago to Human men.

Nevertheless, he was quite glad when he spotted a familiar face sitting at an outdoor stall, eating pieces of roasted meat off of a skewer.

“Sostrom!”

The mage looked up and grinned around a mouthful of food as Gerial and Ceria sat to join him. They ordered a skewer of their own as the Drake shopkeeper rotated the sticks of meat over a fire.

“I saw you two had already left. The innkeeper—Miss Solstice was sick, so we all took our leave without breakfast.”

Gerial nodded. He’d had a late breakfast with Ceria, but his appetite returned quickly as he inhaled the scents of roasted animal.

“Have you seen Calruz?”

“Not since last night. Why?”

“He left the inn, and he hasn’t slept since last night, I think. You know what he’s like when he’s irritable.”

Sostrom made a face.

“Let the Watch deal with him. I don’t get paid to restrain him when he causes trouble.”

“If he gets arrested before we enter the Ruins—”

“The city will let him go if we pay a fine. And they’ll be happier to let him fight monsters than cause trouble in jail.”

There was truth in that statement, so Gerial let it go. He twisted around to look towards the gates where the inn lay.

“So. A strange [Innkeeper] we’ve met. I’ve never met stranger, have you?”

The half-Elf frowned.

“…A few that are weird. I heard there’s a former Gold-rank [Innkeeper] up north. Terrible fellow. Sometimes they’re characters, but yes, she beats the lot for originality. But it seems we’ve run across more than one strange girl as of late.”

“Ryoka.”

Gerial accepted a stick of meat and handed over coins for both him and Ceria. He bit into the hot meat and glanced at Ceria.

“What Yvlon said the other day. You’re sure she has no levels?”

Ceria shrugged.

“That’s what Cervial said. And Yvlon seemed to know something about her as well.”

“The entire incident was unfortunate.”

“It was her fault.”

“Perhaps, but Yvlon needn’t have challenged her. That wasn’t a fair fight no matter how you look at it.”

That was true. Gerial looked at Sostrom.

“You’re right. I’d forgotten because she won, but since when do the Silver Spears fight civilians?”

“Let alone in armor. Even if it was bravado, Yvlon would have never taken that fight normally. Makes you wonder, don’t it? What Yvlon knew. Or—what her aunt told her.”

Gerial and Ceria exchanged a quick glance. Gerial whistled long and low under his breath.

“Lady Magnolia.”

Sostrom nodded.

“There’s a name that tells you how important she is.”

Gerial scratched at his chin as he glanced at the Human [Mage] for clarification.

“Yvlon important? Or Ryoka important?”

“Ryoka. I hear Yvlon doesn’t lean on her family connections or even her brother, who’s also a Gold-rank adventurer. But Ryoka has Lady Reinhart following her every move.”

The Human [Mage] nodded again for emphasis. He scratched at his forehead under his pointy hat. Sostrom was completely bald, and as such, wore his mage’s hat whenever possible.

“That object I repaired, her fist-fighting skill. Her lack of levels…it’s enough to interest me, but why a scion of the Five Families? There’s something else to her, mark my words.”

“I hope she doesn’t do anything rash.”

Ceria snorted into her food. Gerial made a face.

“You know what I mean.”

“Just hope she survives. Once we’re done here, we can ask her more questions.”

“It could be a while if these ruins are as deep as they seem.”

“She’s a big Human. She’ll be fine.”

“Well, since we’re on the topic of secrets…what’s the story behind you and this Pisces character? I thought I saw him last night, but you two hardly shared a word.”

“That was intentional. I get a headache whenever I have to talk to that idiot for too long.”

Ceria sighed, but Sostrom frowned.

“You might make fun of him, but he is a graduate of Wistram when all is said and done. And that display with healing Ryoka’s leg was nothing short of phenomenal. I certainly wouldn’t want to test myself against him.”

Gerial blinked at Sostrom. While Sostrom was the lower-level and self-trained [Mage] in the Horns of Hammerad compared to Ceria, Gerial had still grown to appreciate his ability. He couldn’t cast [Fireball], but he had a lot of good tricks and Ceria respected him. That was high praise.

“This Pisces is that good of a mage?”

Sostrom nodded seriously.

“I sensed it. He has quite a few levels on me, I suspect. Perhaps the same as our Ceria?”

Both men looked over. Ceria scowled and shrugged.

“Maybe. But he’s still an idiot.”

“An idiot from Wistram.”

“He’s not…well, technically he’s a graduate. But some mages wouldn’t consider him one.”

“Wait. You said—”

The half-Elf looked unusually defensive. She began speaking faster, hunching her shoulders, and Gerial knew she rarely talked about her past—her upbringing, yes. Not Wistram.

“He was expelled. But you’re right. He was always at the head of his class whenever he showed up. If he had the money, he could have advanced quite highly. But he dropped out about the same time I, uh, ran out of funds.”

“And he was expelled for his experiments. Yes, I recall. But does he have any combat aptitude? We could hire him for the expedition.”

Ceria glanced incredulously up at Gerial.

“I wouldn’t trust that idiot with my back.”

“Aren’t you being a little too harsh?”

“No.”

“But what’s his level? A mage living alone like he is has to have some skills. And a [Necromancer] would be perfect if there’s a large amount of undead in the ruins. Come on, Ceria, at least tell us his classes.”

Ceria made a face.

“I—oh, alright. As far as I can remember, he has the most levels in the [Necromancer] class, but he knows quite a few mundane spells too. He might be Level 20+ just as a pure [Mage] if you want to rank him. And he knows at least one Tier 4 spell. He was always good at—”

“Excuse me.”

All three adventurers turned. Gerial and Sostrom blinked as they stared into one very large eye and a slight smile. Ceria dropped her half-eaten skewer of meat.

Gazi Pathseeker smiled politely at the three adventurers and bowed her head slightly.

“Greetings. I hope I’m not interrupting?”

There was a brief moment of assessment that Gerial and Sostrom went through. Their eyes noted the quality of Gazi’s armor. Unlike pedestrians, the brown and rust-red color of her equipment didn’t fool their eyes. Her armor was clearly high-quality, and her sword made the two adventurers look twice.

That would have already told them she was Gold-rank or higher. But Gazi wore no armband or markings to indicate her rank. That either meant she was unaffiliated with the Guild or—

Gerial cleared his throat and stood up from his seat. He tried not to stammer.

“Um, pardon me. But you wouldn’t happen to be…?”

“I am Gazi.”

They had never seen her face, but both men had heard her name. Instantly, Sostrom was out of his seat and offering her his while Gazi politely refused. Ceria was still staring.

When Gerial had calmed down slightly, he tried to be as accommodating as possible.

“Um, how can we help you Miss, ah—Adventurer Pathseeker?”

She smiled at Gerial. He felt a shock as her eye met his. In his stunned state, Gerial briefly wished Ceria would stop staring and be more respectful.

“You are members of the Horns of Hammerad, aren’t you?”

“Um yes, I mean, that’s correct. We are. All of us.”

“That is good.”

Gazi smiled again. It wasn’t a broad smile—rather, a mysterious small one that fit her perfectly. She nodded.

“I wished to speak with you.”

Gerial and Sostrom were agog.

“With us? You know our names?”

“Is it not appropriate? The Horns of Hammerad are well known in the cities around here.”

That was enough to inflate both men’s chests. Gazi’s eye flicked towards Ceria for a brief moment as she continued speaking.

“I have visited several Human cities to the north. And strangely, come back here chasing rumors. I hoped you could assist me.”

“Anything.”

Gerial breathed the words. The smile he got made his stomach jump.

“I have heard—from several sources—of a most extraordinary Human female in this area. A Runner. I believe her name is Ryoka Griffin. A levelless girl who braved the High Passes and survived. A most…interesting person in short. And I am told the Horns of Hammerad are her acquaintances.”

Gerial and Sostrom exchanged a glance. How much of a coincidence could it be? Gerial vaguely noticed Ceria coming to stand next to him.

“We do—we do know that girl! We were in her company only two days ago.”

Gazi’s smile widened.

“Ah. So you know her. Good. Tell me, is she all that people say she is?”

“That and more.”

Sostrom nodded eagerly. Gerial glared, but the bald mage had beaten him to the punch.

“She—well, I don’t know that she’s levelless, but another adventurer with [Appraisal] says it’s true. And she did survive the High Passes. And she has the favor of Lady Magnolia. And she runs barefoot.”

“Indeed? How fascinating. I should very much like to meet her. You wouldn’t happen to know where she is by any chance?”

Gerial and Sostrom both opened their mouths, but incredibly, it was Ceria who beat both of them.

“We don’t, I’m afraid. She moves around all the time, so it’s hard to pin her down.”

Gerial felt something on his foot and looked down. Ceria had stepped on his foot for some reason. And Sostrom’s as well. Why? He glanced at Sostrom and saw the other man was blinking and touching at his head.

But Gazi was looking at Gerial, and suddenly, his attention was focused completely on her.

“Ah, but I would dearly like to meet her. Would you happen to know where she stays?”

“Celum. There’s an inn she stays at quite often there, and she takes most of her requests there.”

Ceria stepped on his foot again. Gerial glanced at her, irritated. She mouthed something but then Gazi was speaking.

“Which inn?”

“The Bloody Tankard.”

This time, Ceria abandoned all pretense and jabbed Gerial hard in the side. He winced and looked down at her, confused.

Ceria sighed and shoved Gerial back. Sostrom interposed himself between the vice-Captain and Gazi, averting his gaze from Gazi’s eye. So did Ceria. She spoke to the air just over Gazi’s shoulder.

“Excuse me, Miss Gazi. But why the interest in Ryoka?”

Gazi’s eye shifted towards Ceria, but the half-Elf refused to meet her gaze.

“I would simply like to meet her.”

Her eye focused on Ceria, and Gazi’s slight smile grew a fraction. Ceria bit the inside of her lip until it bled.

“Well, you have the name of her inn. And we haven’t seen her. So if that’s all—”

“She was in Esthelm just two days ago!”

Ceria cursed and whirled to glare at Gerial. Behind her, she heard Gazi chuckle.

“And do you have any way of finding her now? Or perhaps you know where she’s going?”

“We do not.”

Ceria cut Gerial off. She glared at Gazi, focusing hard, channeling mana into her eyes as a shield.

“We don’t know anything else. So stop asking. We would like to be left in peace.”

Gazi was still smiling.

“But I have more questions to ask about Ryoka. And I feel you can answer them.”

“I’ve got nothing for you. So you can take your answers and shove them.”

Gazi blinked. Ceria gasped as the pressure on her vanished. The half-Gazer looked disappointed.

“Hm. You would not answer questions for me? I am a Named Adventurer, you know. And you are, ah, yes, Silver-rank. Tradition would dictate you help me to the best of your abilities.”

Ceria snapped at Gazi.

“I know who you are. And a former soldier isn’t the same as a true adventurer. We got our levels from fighting monsters, not killing people.”

“But I am still higher rank than you. I could be…troublesome to you if you refuse to help.”

“I don’t help the insane. You and your mad king can go to hell for all I care—”

Gazi didn’t so much move as blur. One moment she was smiling, posture relaxed, talking calmly to Ceria. The next, the edge of her sword was suddenly at Ceria’s throat. And she was no longer smiling.

“I do not suffer insults to my lord’s name.”

It took a second for the two men behind Ceria to react. When they did, Gerial swore and went for his sword and Sostrom reached for his wand. But they both froze as Gazi poked the tip of the razor sharp blade a bit further into Ceria’s neck.

“How inconvenient. And we were doing so well with politeness. But I will have an answer. But first—an apology. I will hear it from you on your knees, half-Elf.”

Ceria was sweating. The blade was not pricking her throat, but lodged into her skin. She was already bleeding. If it went in just another inch—

Perhaps it was because it had been so quick. Gazi hadn’t attracted attention when she’d drawn her sword because she’d moved so fast no one had seen it leave her sheath. But it was hard to ignore a drawn blade at the throat of a half-Elf in the middle of the street.

People began noticing the standoff and panicking in the course of a few moments. Within seconds, the pedestrians cleared out, and the adventurers could hear someone calling the Watch.

They were using a high-pitched whistle, which gave off a shrill whine that was impossible to ignore. Gazi didn’t lower her sword, though one of her smaller eyes rolled around in her head. Neither Gerial nor Sostrom moved either, and Ceria was already on her tiptoes. They knew how fast the Watch would react and didn’t panic.

The filthy girl hiding behind the stall was no seasoned adventurer, however, and she heard the whistle and thought it was for her. She rushed out from behind the shopkeeper’s stall, appearing in the street as her [Invisibility] spell failed.

Ceria was afraid to turn her head, but Sostrom and Gerial saw a blonde head of hair, filthy travelling clothes, pale skin, and the flash of magic. The girl raised an emerald ring, shouted something as she pointed at the adventurers, and then fled.

From her ring, a huge, thick tendril of what looked like spider web shot out, growing larger and spreading out. It flew at the adventurers like a bird.

Gerial and Sostrom had seen the spell, and they were already diving for the ground. The cobwebs struck their backs and stuck to them, instantly anchoring them with tendrils of silk as strong as stone.

Ceria could do nothing but watch as the spider webs flew at her. They wrapped around her, and she fell to the ground, instantly cocooned. Gazi’s blade would have cut her—but the Gazer moved it out of the way just in time.

Gazi eyed the unfurling spider web and flicked her sword twice. The tendrils of webbing fell at her feet, neatly severed.

Gazi tsked in irritation and glanced around as the piercing whine continued.

The girl with the magic was nowhere to be seen. She’d already fled down an alleyway.

“How inconvenient. I suppose I must ask my questions another time.”

She looked down at Ceria, and the half-Gazer’s eyes were hard.

“But make no mistake. I shall see you again and ask more questions. Unless of course I find this Ryoka Griffin first.”

She smiled then, her slight, mysterious smile.

“Farewell.”

Gazi turned and strode off. Her legs were a blur as she disappeared into an alleyway.

“Damnation!”

Gerial cursed as he fought the webs. But they had anchored him to the ground.

“What kind of magical artifact was that? Sostrom, I’m pinned. Can you—?”

“My wand is caught!”

The Human [Mage] cursed and fought to tear his wand free of the webbing. Lying helpless on the ground, Ceria gulped a few times. It didn’t feel like her throat was perforated.

“[Flashfire].”

The thick webbing burned off of Ceria in an instant, giving off thick, billowing clouds of smoke. She yelped and cursed as the fire burned her. But in moments, the webbing was gone.

She stood up and unsheathed her belt dagger. Ceria ran to Gerial and Sostrom, working her blade into the webbing. It stuck.

She pulled the dagger away and pointed at it. A stream of fire burst from her fingers and engulfed the blade, turning it red-hot. Ceria began cutting again, and the webbing fell away.

Gerial yelped as the heated blade burned him, but Ceria yanked him to his feet.

“Complain later. Let’s go! If the Watch catches us—”

All three adventurers exchanged a look. They looked around the street. Sostrom pointed to an alleyway, and they ran as the Watch arrived on the scene, led by an irate Drake with a spear.

——

“We were under a spell?”

Ceria nodded as she, Sostrom, and Gerial walked back towards the inn. She winced with every step. Her skin was red and burned along her entire body. Only where her enchanted robes had covered her was her skin whole.

Sostrom fished out a potion and handed it to her as they walked. None of the adventurers slowed down, though. The commotion hadn’t spread to the rest of the city, but they had no desire to get on the wrong side of the Watch.

“Yeah. She was casting a [Charm] spell with her eye. It hit both of you the instant you looked at her. I barely blocked it.”

“But she was only looking at us.”

“Gazers can cast spells as easily as looking. A half-Gazer can do the same, it seems.”

“A half-Gazer? Is that what she was?”

Ceria glanced sideways at Gerial. The man was still pale from their encounter—and the magic that had worn off on him.

“You didn’t know she was half-Gazer? Seriously, Gerial?”

“I only know the basics. She’s a Named-rank. And she served the King of Destruction. What more do you need from me?”

He felt that covered everything you needed to ever know about Gazi. Ceria muttered darkly to herself as she rubbed the ointment over her burns.

“There’s a lot more to it than that, Gerial. She’s one of the Seven—and she was famous for killing every single [Spy], [Assassin], [Saboteur], and [Rogue] she ever ran into during his wars. Of all of them, she could be called the scariest. Let’s get something to drink back at the inn. I’ll tell you all about it as soon as we get clear of the area.”

“Tell us now. If she’s after us—”

“Not us. She wants Ryoka, and I don’t know why. Possibly the same reason Magnolia is interested in her, but that’s just a guess. It spells trouble, and we need to let everyone know as soon as possible.”

“Give us the details on Gazi before we get there. How strong is she? Where does she come from?”

This came from Sostrom, and Gerial was so amazed that the [Mage] didn’t know…

But Ceria nodded. They were all on different pages, so she decided to start from the beginning. She took a deep breath as she walked. The pain from her burns was easing, but she was still shaky. But an adventurer was calm or she was dead. So she collected her thoughts and spoke.

“I’ll tell you two from the beginning so we’re not making mistakes in the future. Right. Sostrom, do you know about the desert continent south or maybe south-west of here? Chandrar?”

“Too basic, Ceria.”

“Okay, okay. It’s huge, but there are several kingdoms to note. Like Nerrhavia’s Fallen, the largest Stitch-folk kingdom in the world. But there’s one that you definitely heard about—even if you don’t know Gazi. Everyone knew that kingdom, once. In one of them sleeps a king…”

——

“Good evening, Erin.”

Erin blinked at Gazi.

“Oh hi, Gazi. What’s up?”

Gazi smiled at Erin. She didn’t come in, although Erin held the door open for her.

“I won’t trespass here long. I just wished to tell you I will be travelling from this city for a while.”

“Oh?”

“I have business to attend to elsewhere. I just wished to know if you planned on travelling anywhere in the coming weeks.”

Erin blinked. Some people were strange. Gazi appeared on her doorstep and asked—she was staring quite hard at Erin with her huge eye. But maybe that was just how half-Gazers were.

“Nah. I’m not going anywhere in a hurry. Why?”

Gazi studied her with her central eye and then smiled.

“I was just curious. I would greatly enjoy having another meal here at a later date, and I would not wish for you to leave before then.”

Erin laughed.

“No chance of that, I’m afraid.”

“Well then. Until we meet again.”

Gazi stepped back, smiling. Erin stared at her, nonplussed. Gazi turned and paused. Someone was in her way.

“Excuse me.”

Calruz blinked down at Gazi. The large Minotaur had clearly not been intending to stop, preferring perhaps to run Gazi over or let her move aside, but when he saw her face, his hooves stopped dead in their tracks.

The Minotaur’s eyes fixed on Gazi’s large eye, and his eyes widened in recognition. He instantly made room for her to walk past him, giving Gazi a lot of space. She brushed past him with her faint smile.

“Your pardons, warrior.”

Calruz stared at her back as she left. He turned to Erin.

“Do you know her?”

“Sort of. Why?”

Calruz stared at Erin, back at Gazi’s disappearing figure, and shook his head.

“She looked like—it is nothing. You would likely not know her as an Izrilian.”

Erin felt a little insulted at that, but she didn’t correct the Minotaur’s error. He snorted, rubbed at his face, and stomped into the inn, nearly running her over. She hopped back and eyed Calruz. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked tired.

“Well, can I help you, Mr. Grumpy?”

“Food. Drink. I will have both.”

He didn’t seem to care if she was sick. Erin sighed, walked into her kitchen, and got Calruz a sandwich. He eyed the hefty slices of ham and cheese packed between two flimsy pieces of bread, but devoured the meal without complaint. Then he sat back and eyed her.

Erin stared back. It was quite silent in her inn. Rags had left after losing to Erin several times, and Toren was busy cleaning dishes.

“Um. Nice day, isn’t it? I haven’t gone outside much, but I assume it’s nice.”

Calruz kept staring at her. Erin shifted in her seat. It was very quiet.

“It’s not a bad day when there are no monsters killing you, right?”

He kept staring. She avoided his gaze.

“It’s not raining, at least.”

“You should have fought.”

Erin glanced up at Calruz. The Minotaur was still staring at her with bloodshot eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“You. You should have fought.”

“Fought…who?”

“Last night. You went out to avenge the insect. You did not. But you should have fought.”

Erin opened her mouth and closed it for a second.

“You mean Pawn and Ksmvr. I didn’t go out to fight.”

“You did not.”

Calruz agreed. He shifted in his seat and put his elbows on his knees as he faced her.

“But you should have. It was a matter of honor. If you cared for the one called Pawn, you should have fought to protect him.”

“Um.”

Erin didn’t know what to say. Where had this come from? But Calruz was direct and as blunt as…his giant axe would be if it met her face. Well, not that blunt. She’d met chess players like him.

“I’m sorry, but fighting would have been prett—really stupid. I would have lost and gotten chopped up.”

“That is immaterial.”

“Um. No it’s not. I don’t want to die.”

He snorted at her. Erin almost expected to see steam coming out of his nose.

“Those who believe they will lose before battle begins have already lost.”

“Yeah, but I know I would have lost. That guy you wanted me to fight? Ksmvr? He hit me once, and I was seeing stars for an hour. He’s a warrior. I’m—not.”

“If you are not a warrior, you should become one. It is unbefitting for a female to be alone and not be a warrior.”

This conversation had taken another right-angle turn into weirdness. Erin tried to come up with a response.

“I have a skeleton. For…protection.”

Toren poked his head out of the kitchen. Calruz glanced at him and snorted.

“It is worthless. Weak.”

For some reason, Erin thought Toren looked insulted, but skeletons didn’t have emotions, did they?

“Well—I, uh, I can fight too. If I really have to. I’ve got [Bar Fighting] as a skill, you know.”

Calruz stared blankly at Erin. She blushed.

“I can fight. But I don’t want to pick fights I know I’ll lose. Look, this Ksmvr guy has levels in some kind of warrior class, right? He’d kill me if I fought.”

“There is more to strength than mere levels.”

“Yeah, but I’m not a Minotaur. I don’t have muscle. Or horns for poking people.”

Calruz rolled his eyes towards the roof.

“I refer to Skills.”

“Yeah, like I said, I’ve got one. And, uh, [Lesser Strength]. Forgot that.”

“That is not what I meant. I mean Skills for combat.”

Erin stared at Calruz with such complete incomprehension in her eyes that he seemed taken aback.

“You…do not know?”

“About what? Skills?”

“Activated skills. Combat skills.”

“…Noooooooo.”

He blinked at her. Then Calruz stood up.

“Follow me.”

——

“Observe. This is my Skill.”

Calruz pointed to the rock he’d found on the ground. It was a good-sized boulder that came up to Erin’s waist. She blinked at it and then at his axe.

“Won’t that break?”

“No.”

Calruz raised the massive battleaxe over his head like a woodcutter about to split a log. But then he spoke. Or rather—roared. Erin jumped as he brought the axe down.

“[Hammer Blow]!”

The axe met the rock, and the next thing Erin knew, Toren had tackled her to the ground. All was confusion as the thunderous impact stopped ringing in her ears and her bones. When Erin got up, she saw the boulder was rubble.

As in—a few split fragments of stone were all that remained at the impact site. The rest of the rock had split and shattered into a million pieces. Erin blinked at the rock and then at Carluz’s axe.

“Oh. That’s what you meant by Skills.”

“Yes. It is my sole Skill.”

“And it’s, uh—wow.”

Erin stared at the boulder.

“Wow. Wow. Uh. Wow.”

Calruz seemed happy that she was impressed. He stuck the battleaxe in the earth and pointed to it.

“That is what you should learn. Skills. If you must be alone, you must not be unprotected. You must fight.”

“But I’m not a warrior. I mean, I don’t have a class—”

Calruz snorted at Erin.

“Immaterial. Classes, levels, these are just additions. What you lack is the soul of the warrior. You must have it. A female must not be alone without the power to defend herself. The singer must not be silenced. You must be stronger.”

He pointed at Erin with a finger twice as wide as her own.

“I have decided this. I will teach you starting tomorrow. There are two days remaining before I go into the Ruins. I will have you learn to at least fight properly until then.”

Erin opened her mouth. She stared at the splintered rock and at Calruz.

“Um. Okay. Thank you.”

He nodded.

“I will rest now. My party will come soon. They must have food. See to it.”

“Uh—”

Calruz stomped towards the inn. Erin watched him go. She stared at the boulder. Slowly, she edged towards it.

The rock wasn’t warm from the impact. But it was sharp. Erin cut her finger.

“Ow.”

She stared at the blood, then heard a scuffling sound. She looked around and saw Toren next to the battleaxe Calruz had embedded in the earth.

The skeleton was pulling and heaving at the battleaxe stuck in the dirt as hard as it could. The heavy blade didn’t budge.

Erin sighed. She watched the skeleton as it scrabbled for purchase, pushing its feet into the grass as it tried to uproot the weapon.

“That’s just so sad.”

——

Weak.

Calruz thought the word aloud as he lay in his room and on the two beds Erin had pushed together for him. It was something he had never had to think about.

But she was weak. Pitifully weak. Normally, that was fine. He expected that of Humans. But she—

She was offensively weak. And it was wrong. It bothered Calruz. She should not be so weak. She had no right being so weak. Because there was something in her that demanded strength.

He was thinking about Erin. Or was it Ryoka? Either or. No—the Runner was strong. She was just not a warrior. She had to learn honor. Once she did, she would be a true warrior. If she gained levels, she would be worthy.

But Erin Solstice was different. Even now, Calruz could remember the music. It haunted him. It was wrong. It made him—

Weak? Weaker? It was not the music of his home. There were no pounding drums, no voices raised for battle. It was not strong music. But neither was it weak.

It was unique. And it should be protected. But she was weak. So she had to be stronger.

Calruz shifted in his bed, ignoring the groaning wood. She had to be stronger. If she were to perish, he would regret it. To let an innocent life end because of inaction was the worst strike against his honor. He would teach her.

But of course, it wasn’t Erin that Calruz wanted to teach. But she would be good—practice, yes. She was female. Ryoka was female. He would learn how to deal with Human females. Because at least one—two of them were worthy of respect. For different reasons.

A tanned face appeared in Calruz’s mind, and he saw a quick form dashing away from him. A bird, tethered to the ground. A hunting raptor seeking a home.

Beautiful. Fierce. And she had proper breasts, not like the small-mammaried females he kept running across.

He wondered where she was right now.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.55 R

The sky always looked redder here. Whether it was the air taking something from the ground or the very nature of the land altering the atmosphere itself—

Even the clouds over the Bloodfields that separated the north from the south looked tinged by ichor. Reddened, like the earth itself, by blood.

Not just blood from a single battle or even a dozen battles or a hundred. This place had seen oceans of blood. Soldiers by the hundreds of thousands. It had probably buried millions of corpses over the long centuries of war. After all, it was here that north and south met every year for war.

How long ago the conflict had started, the [Merchant] didn’t know. Only that her father had talked about the Bloodfields as having been there as long as the Five Families. After the first wars had brought down Walled Cities and forced the Drakes and Gnolls to the south past the High Passes, the gigantic mountain range that divided the continent, armies had pushed each other back and forth, often spilling into north and south and destroying cities.

At some point, her father had told her that [Lords] of various families had petitioned the five great families of the north—Reinhart, El, Veltras, Terland, and Wellfar—along with the remaining Walled Cities—Manus, Zeres, Fissival, Oteslia, Salazsar, and Pallass—to relegate the fighting to one spot to prevent civilian deaths.

The Bloodfields, south of the Drake city of Liscor, had been chosen as that battleground after much debate. So—every year, for centuries, perhaps thousands of years by now, armies went to this spot to fight. Sometimes just token forces—other times entire wars in earnest. The fighting might spill forth after that, but this was where it so often began.

Here was the thing. The [Merchant] gazed grimly at the red grass, the red soil, and the deceptively flat ground that filled the valley and only route north. The caravan of wary [Traders] and [Merchants] were one of two groups on the road—they had seen no other travellers since they passed Hectval, and it would be rare to travel until winter snow fell in earnest. Despite the hazards of snow and the wretched travel conditions—this cold fall was pushing it.

“We might be too early. Are we too early?”

A nervous Drake was scanning the Bloodfields with an enchanted spyglass. He was Tellgre ‘Twodeals’. All his customers had learned that the Drake refused to let them purchase just one item. Hence his dubious claim to fame.

He was a Level 22 [Trader], and the Human woman walking beside a line of packhorses carrying her share of the caravan hadn’t yet managed to tell him he needed a better name and business model. Then again—she was a Human in Drake lands still, and she thought she’d leave that up to the others.

A Human. The first time the woman had come to Drake lands, she’d passed through the Bloodfields, of course; the only other ways were the even more dangerous routes through the High Passes or sea travel. Winter was safe enough…but she’d heard from travellers that it was Drakes who’d decided on the Bloodfields as the yearly battleground and forced the Humans to comply. She’d made the mistake of relating her father’s version of events and been given a cold shoulder the entire journey south.

Each side had their own story. One of the things she’d learned after nearly a decade of trading both north and south of Izril was to shut up and listen. Or watch.

So—the Human [Merchant] said nothing as Tellgre chattered. She just looked across the red expanse. The crimson grass did fade slightly and turn green around the edges of the Bloodfields. Then again—some of the yellow or purple patches might not be the grass changing with the seasons. Maybe the Bloodfields were expanding?

“Looks quiet. We’ll take the long way around.”

The Drake swung his eyes down to the woman as he lowered his spyglass. She saw his tongue flick out nervously as he licked his lips. He raised his voice—and she sensed more [Merchants], mostly Drakes, but also two Gnolls, glancing her way.

“You’ve done this before, right, Ysara? It looks good to you, then? I’ve never done the Bloodfields run before.”

Ysara, who her colleagues and most of the South simply knew as the ‘Silver Merchant’, just shrugged in reply. She was a Level 34 [Merchant]. Far more successful than Tellgre and, honestly, most of the others in the caravan. Despite some having entire teams of [Guards] and assistant [Traders] as opposed to her being the lone member of her party—she had minimal overhead, and a few Chests of Holding carried all her goods.

She dealt, predictably, in silver. Often just silverware, but she also sold weapons and, interestingly, alchemical items. Silver was something [Alchemists] paid for too, after all. As proof of the fine metals she offered, Ysara had a single blade hanging at her belt, for self-defense.

It had an old, ornate handle of treated silver that wouldn’t tarnish, and it bore the silver Dragon and shield of her family.

Not that any of the Drakes or Gnolls knew it by name. She doubted many cared. As far as they were concerned, she was just a Human. And she belonged to a minor noble house in the north, so it wasn’t anything to brag about. She was, technically, a [Lady] as well, but she didn’t level in that class.

To many Drakes and Gnolls she met, Ysara’s Humanity was the most fascinating part about her. The [Merchants] she was travelling with had been in her company for two months now, doing a circuit of cities trading their goods. They probably thought she was like most Humans. It might get funny once they got north.

After all, Ysara’s hair was indigo, painted a rich shade of the color, and rarely faded thanks to a [Magical Painter] she knew. Better than dyes—and she had a long earring with a bead of red jade dressed in gold on one ear and a tattoo on one arm of a trellis of gold vines clinging to a silver ship.

In the north, she’d be taken for a [Sailor] if anyone. In the south—she was a Human. Actually, Ysara wondered if she should remove the indigo in her hair. She…exhaled as she stared across the Bloodfields.

An unpleasant journey, this. Almost as unpleasant as going home, a long task that took months. So rare, in fact, that it had been…five years? Five, at least, since she’d seen her family. One reason was the Bloodfields.

“Calm down, Twodeals. The cold should have put the Bloodfields silent. If not—we’ll soon find out.”

That wasn’t exactly comforting coming from a senior [Merchant], Buleth, but no one should relax.

The Bloodfields were dangerous.

Ysara eyed the long, wide expanse of red grasses. She could see across the valley—but the Bloodfields weren’t just all red grass. Tall…trees…of pale white bark or something grew out of the ground in ten to twenty-foot spires.

No branches—just pale trunks. Were they trees at all? Well, they were called Watchertrees, and Ysara knew well what they did when active.

Her skin crawled just looking at them—and at the bulbous, fungoid growths lining the Bloodfields. They clustered in huge pod-forests in places, much like mycelium, but unlike fungus, some of these plants could grow as tall as regular forests.

Though…due to the cold, they were shrunken, silent, and, in theory, safe. Even so, the [Merchants] would be plotting a wide, wide course around the Bloodfields, across the edge of the valley where it rose into treacherous and inhospitable foothills.

You could try the foothills if you really had to get through the Bloodfields in the spring and summer, but good luck getting a horse or wagon through there without breaking a leg. Only Couriers like Hawk the Hare did any running like that—the [Merchants] had to pass near the Bloodfields.

“Damn this grass. We had better not break an axle. At least I’ve got [Lightweight Wheels].”

Buleth commented from his seat to Ysara, and she nodded.

“I heard there used to be a trade route passing along here. Whatever happened to that?”

The Drake was portly, had a skullcap with holes for his neck-spines, and had ocre-red scales. He grunted sourly as he flapped the reins, and his horse plodded forwards, towing a large wagon. He dealt in spices, often imported from Chandrar and through the City of Waves, Zeres, which he brought to the rest of the continent for fine prices.

“A road? If there was any, it’s long before our time. Probably before the Bloodfields expanded. Must have been swallowed up. Or abandoned.”

“Right. Has it grown recently?”

“Not much. Not much fighting of late. Tyrion Veltras comes down every year, but it’s not like the old wars. Then again, you’d know as much about that as I.”

She nodded and, again, checked the Bloodfields.

Here was the thing—once upon a time, the ‘Bloodfields’ had just been a stretch of land where armies warred. Ordinary grass and dirt and rock. But after so much death, the land had…changed. Creatures, plants had begun to adapt to the blood and grow dangerous.

So dangerous that armies sometimes lost more [Soldiers] to the Bloodfields than their engagements. But they came, to clear the Bloodfields of growths as well to kill each other. Sometimes, Ysara wondered which was more important. Because the Bloodfields spread. Slowly…but someday, future [Merchants] might have to dare the foothills to get north to Liscor. Or not go at all.

In the spring, even their wide course would have already attracted…attention. Even Buleth, a veteran, muttered to Ysara.

“I don’t like the Watchertrees. I think we’re in range. How far do some of them reach?”

“I’ve heard a thousand feet…”

Both stared at the spires of white.

“I’ve heard longer. I suppose we’re safe. Dead gods and Ancestors, I hate this commute. We should have gone later.”

She nodded.

“—But we’ll be first north and have the best markup. That’s what you said.”

The Drake hunched his shoulders.

“I know, I know! Alright, let’s not spook the newbies. I’m surprised you came, though. You hate this route as much as I do.”

Ysara made a face. Her hand strayed to the hilt of her sword, and Buleth eyed it. Despite being silver, she had wrapped the hilt with sensible leather to get a grip. It was worn—and he knew she could use the sword well. As a child, Ysara had been told she had a once-in-a-thousand years talent with the blade. Even her brother had claimed that he couldn’t best her, and he was a [Knight]. Her sister…

“My sister.”

“Hm? Oh, right. House…er…you know, I never asked which one. Not the Five Families. Visiting the family?”

Ysara’s smile was crooked, but Buleth either didn’t notice the Human’s nuance or pretended not to.

“I have to at least twice a decade, right? Besides, I heard something interesting is happening around Liscor. It’s just good business.”

And that was all she had to say on her personal affairs. Buleth didn’t need anything more, and nodded understandingly. Ysara, privately, didn’t relish going home. She wondered if it would be as awkward as last time. But family was family…she inhaled and caught that curious scent of the Bloodfields. Not blood…but something else. Something alien and exotic and unsettling. She walked on at a good clip, ready for trouble and hoping for none.

——

The Bloodfields were always dangerous, but depending on the company you took, they could be safer. And frankly—with Ysara around, Buleth, the leader of this group, felt better.

Though it occurred to him he didn’t know much about her outside her business. The [Merchant], Buleth, scratched at his chin as he slowly pulled out a puffed pastry of fried dough filled with Yellats and spices. Cheap and tasty. He broke it in half and offered her a bite, and she savored the taste in the cold air.

“What’s she doing in Liscor? That remote backwater’s got nothing in it. Their army are useful mercenary bastards, but Liscor’s got the Antinium.”

He shuddered, and all the Drakes in earshot winced. Liscor was…unique. Most [Merchants] regarded it as safe—but not a place to linger. A place to go and see once, though, just to see an Antinium outside the Hivelands without the chance of being killed. Plus, it was the closest city to the Bloodfields.

“I hear a dungeon’s popped up. My sister’s an adventurer.”

“Oh! I thought your brother was?”

“Him too. He’s Gold-rank. She’s Silver.”

Buleth had to shake his head.

“My, my. Your entire family really must be filled with high-level [Warriors]. You’re the most dangerous [Merchant] I know. Which—come to mention it—can I ask you not to embarrass my [Guards], Ysara?”

He nodded at a few sulking figures trudging behind his wagons. They glared at Ysara when she wasn’t looking, and their leader looked especially mad. She sighed.

“He challenged me to a duel, Buleth. I’m the lone [Merchant]. I have a reputation to keep up.”

“Fair enough.”

Another glance at her sword. Ysara decided to thank him for the snack. She hefted the scabbard up and unhooked it from her belt.

“Want to look if you’re so curious? I’ll sell your [Guards] blades at a discount.”

“What good is silver in a sword? Mithril now…although, this is a fine blade.”

Buleth eyed the sharp longsword appreciatively. Ysara smiled.

“It’s beautiful and an alloy, so it doesn’t tarnish. Stronger than regular steel is my claim—and some monsters hate it. But truthfully? The [Smiths] who make this just know their craft better than some dunce with a hammer.”

“Fair enough. And you get it from your home? They own mines or do they just have great smiths? I can see the crest. Very Drakish. Love the Dragon. Right out of the stories, eh?”

Buleth glanced up and saw another odd smile from that woman, but she was a good, honest [Merchant], unlike some real bastards, and she was well-spoken of. Dead gods, the Golden Gnoll herself was friends with the Silver Merchant…no surprise given their names.

“Actually? I get half of my arms from a Gnoll tribe. They just do the stamping with my crest. Heard of the Silverfangs? Their Gnolls are in Liscor.”

Buleth wasn’t up to date on Plains Gnolls, the tribal ones, but he knew them from somewhere.

“Ah, good sorts, I think. Not like Woven Bladegrass or…”

He hesitated and glanced at the Gnolls in the caravan. Maybe he shouldn’t say anything at all. They could get—touchy—and Drakes and Gnolls were not the best neighbors. Ysara filled in the rest for him.

“Good, honest sorts. Like most Gnolls you could meet.”

A Gnoll twenty-eight paces away snorted softly, and Buleth just bet he’d heard. Their damn ears. He agreed with Ysara but then nodded ahead.

“So—that group must be Silverfangs. I think I saw a few markings on them. Silver fang—like crescent? Biting teeth?”

“That’s their logo. Interesting. So that’s a group of Silverfangs up there. Warriors, judging by how much they’re carrying.”

Ysara turned her attention to the only other people crossing the Bloodfields. Given the relatively flat ground until you rode up towards the Floodplains of Liscor, another basin, the caravan could see the group of eighteen Gnolls ahead. They were making better time than the [Merchants]; they had ten horses. It looked like they were switching on and off, rather than riding the whole way, and they were as vigilant as the [Merchants].

One had waved at the [Caravan Guardmaster], but they’d not indicated they wanted to meet up—not here. Maybe tonight? Though Buleth had every intention of trying to get past the Bloodfields in a single day. It was about…four days to Liscor? A Runner could do it a bit faster, but once today was over, he’d sleep easy.

Aside from bandits. Would some be crazy enough to raid? Hectval’s alliance didn’t patrol around here—Buleth glanced at Ysara.

“How do you know they’re warriors? Could be just Plains Gnolls?”

She shook her head with calm authority.

“Plains Gnolls might go armed, but shortbows for their non-fighters at most. That lot? I see a [Shaman], long spears, longbows—they’re not going to raid us, Buleth. Don’t worry.”

“I never—”

He huffed and decided to give it up. Ysara knew trouble when she saw it. He sat back in his seat and decided he might try playing on the new chessboards he’d bought. He was going to try selling them; you had addicts all over Izril, and the game was new, if not as hot as when it came out. He had some lovely gemstone pieces he’d gotten from Salazsar for a song. His hope was a noble snapped up a board. Just one would recoup all costs.

Buleth was about to challenge Ysara to a game when the woman made a sound. She put a hand over her brow, squinted, and his heart leapt.

“Wait a second. Who’s that? Buleth, lend me your spyglass.”

“What? What?”

The Drake scrambled for his spyglass and tossed it at Ysara. She caught it, put it to one eye, and exclaimed.

“It looks like a Runner’s making the Bloodfields run!”

“Ancestor’s wrinkled tits, Ysara! Don’t give me a heart-attack!”

The Drake held a claw over his chest. He almost snapped at the Human woman, but Ysara didn’t give back the spyglass immediately.

“I’m—huh. That’s odd.”

Now that Buleth knew what to look for, he could see the distant, distant speck coming down the slopes that led to the Floodplains of Liscor. He grunted sourly.

“Not just one. Looks like four. At least—I think I see four.”

He swore he’d just seen three figures on the lip of the hill—but maybe not. Ysara swung the spyglass up, but missed them. She was focused on the Runner.

“Good speed on that Runner. Not horse-speed, but—City Runner for sure. She? Nice hips either way.”

Buleth brightened up a bit. He coughed to hide his reaction to that—Ysara sometimes made comments that the woman clearly didn’t realize a hot-blooded male Drake like he could take the wrong way. Or right way.

He was suddenly more interested in meeting this Human, but Ysara was frowning mightily.

“What’s so odd? Even Runners probably risk the Bloodfields run.”

“Yes…but she’s going straight down the center. Is she mad or did no one tell her—the Bloodfields can still be dangerous even in the cold!”

Then Buleth’s head snapped up. He saw the dot moving straight down the valley, and as Ysara said—the Runner was going straight down the center.

If she kept going, she’d end up in the Bloodfields. Ysara looked up at Buleth, and he cursed.

“No way a local Runner doesn’t know about the Bloodfields, Ysara. I bet this one will turn right or left.”

“Maybe. Or…maybe she’s from Celum. How well do you think the locals know the Bloodfields there? Maybe she’s on a big contract—where are the horses?”

Ysara looked around, and Buleth saw her striding off. She turned and tossed him the spyglass. He nearly pitched off his seat trying to grab it and called out after her.

“She has to know, Ysara! Don’t go racing off suddenly—the Bloodfields react to sound and movement!”

“It’s cold! And I won’t—as long as she swerves!”

The woman called back. Buleth shook his head as he put the spyglass to his eyes and watched the distant Human. He murmured to himself.

“Ooh. I see what Ysara means. She’s definitely not going to run through the Bloodfields, though.”

No one was that crazy. The Drake watched the Human running forwards. And then he glanced up.

“Four Runners? What are the odds?”

——

Ryoka Griffin felt like someone was holding her hand and pulling her. Pulling her so hard she couldn’t help but stumble forwards. An inexorable rip-tide—and unlike a person, she couldn’t yank free of that pull.

She felt that if she didn’t run—she’d fall flat on her face. That kind of tugging. Only, it wasn’t physical, it was in her head.

A blind rush forwards, and a goal in the back of her mind. Three days. Three days of running since Esthelm. Or—four?

She didn’t know. She only knew that she slept, ate, peed, screamed murder at birds, blasted angry music through her earbuds—

And heard the voice.

Find the Necromancer. Find Az’kerash. Deliver the letter.

That was her task. That was her—what she had to do. No question. No doubt. Her pride as a Runner, her commitment to her promises—it was like taking that and adding a second layer of certainty to it.

I’ve been put under a spell.

She was aware…that the mysterious half-Elf [Mage] had made her do this. But so what? She didn’t care.

She had nothing left behind her. Only smoke from all her burned bridges and shame. That was what made her run faster.

Shame.

Four days, and Ryoka still felt the impact of punching Yvlon in the face. She still saw Ceria staring at her looking so—disappointed. It burned straight through her. She had never, ever felt this—

No. Ryoka Griffin slowed as she crested a hill of grass and saw something odd in front of her. A red stain spreading out in a vast valley of grass. Fall’s cold air whipped at her raven-black hair, and she brushed sweat from her forehead and took a drink of water. Then the magic and guilt and shame pushed her forwards.

It was a beautiful red stain that looked—wrong. The longer she stared, the more it unsettled the young woman. But she didn’t run away from it.

It was like her. It should have been beautiful—red grass and strange plants she wanted to stare at when she got closer. She knew it was dangerous—but the old mage had said it was where the Necromancer could be found. Here—no, along the mountainside, right?

It didn’t matter. The Bloodfields were a wretched stain on the earth, not something marvelously unique.

Like her. A disaster. It didn’t really belong—and Ryoka Griffin ran straight and narrow down the valley. It was a beautiful day, and the sky looked deep blue…or purplish in places. The few clouds there were had some kind of orange tint to the undersides.

A magical day. A magical world. But—

——

I am the same. It’s not them, it’s me.

I did it. I went to another world. I went to Narnia, like the Lion, Witch, and the Wardrobe. I got a magic quest.

My parents? Gone. My past? Unknown. I could be anyone I wanted to be, and it’s happening again.

Disaster. People I’ve let down. As I run, I feel the pain in my lungs from pushing myself. My legs and arms are tired—and I keep running, keep pushing it.

I like the feeling of running, of giving it all up to the pumping of my arms and legs, the rush of blood. That’s pure. That’s—better than thinking.

But this time, I can’t escape it. My guilt.

I’ve done this before.

It falls in my head, louder than the voice telling me to find the Necromancer, louder than the screaming that I’m such a fool, louder—

Louder than the voice telling me to go back and apologize.

It’s not too late. Go back. Go back and apologize. Please. They were so good to you.

I know. I fucking know. Please stop. But the voices never stop. This is all me, of course. I’m just—separating them out. Perspectives.

Like warring demons in my chest. The first one is sad. Because—it knows, like I do, that this is all my fault.

I’ve done this before. I’ve had friends before this. Of course I have. Or were they ever my friends?

No, they weren’t. They just wanted to hang out with the senator’s daughter. State senator, comes from money, and they thought I was like them. Fuck them. Fuck Fals. And Garia. And Persua. AND PERSUA. And—

The Horns? I snap out of the fury filling me. That’s the third voice, I guess. Did my therapist—well, one of them—ever talk about that? My anger?

I’ve had a lot of therapists. A lot of therapy. Medications—and a lot of my parents pushing off my problems onto someone else to handle it. I—hate each and every one of them.

Hated? I’ll never see them again. I hope not. After all, the last one I think I literally threw a chair at. And hit.

My fault. Why did I do that? The poor woman wasn’t doing anything. She just wanted to help me.

Fuck her too with a rusted pickaxe.

The voices. I run faster, try to put more energy into my legs. I almost manage to drown them out—but I can’t sustain this pace. I’ve been drinking stamina and healing potions on and off—it helps me keep at max speed—but I don’t dare waste too many.

Why not? Why not pull out my ‘reward’ for doing all this? Not the gold, the wand of flames or whatever that guy gave me. Plus—a Potion of Haste?

Fire and speed. Sounds fun. The wand is supposed to be for the Bloodfields or self-defense? I’ve been tempted to try it out—and the potion. I want to. Imagine running even faster? I want to—but I need to save it.

So I just run, and the voices catch up. This time, it’s maudlin that sounds loudest. Maudlin guilt.

I’ve done it again. Why did I attack the Horns?

Calruz was arrogant. That bastard.

They cured my leg. My leg. I would have never walked again with that leg. Why did I hit him in the balls and try to beat him to a pulp?

Yvlon was a smug bitch…

No, she wasn’t. Ceria told me the truth. She put everything on the line for me, and I punched her. Why did I do that?

Then—silence. Because I really don’t have a good reason.

No, that’s a lie too. I know exactly why. I’ve done this before. Why…why can’t I be a good person?

Because I don’t deserve nice things. Fuck me too. This is what I do. Another world won’t change it. I hate me. I hate everything.

And when I get to that, my thoughts are in agreement. I just wanted to run. Why did it have to be so complicated? Magnolia. This is all her fault. No, Persua. Fals.

Or me.

And there it is. I keep running, straight for the Bloodfields. Necromancer. Deliver it. Keep silent about the man in the High Passes.

I want to go back and say sorry. But I’ve never said sorry and meant it.

I mean it.

I’m sorry, Ceria. Why did I do that?

Yvlon made me angry.

I thought I was happy, lately. I really did. My eyes are stinging, and I’m trying not to cry. Because that would be stupid. What do I have to cry about? Or rather, why start?

I’d never stop.

It’s not my fault. I keep hearing that refrain, a thousand times. Magnolia. That damn [Assassin]. Persua. And I agree, even now. There are so many assholes.

—But it hits me. Like a blast of wind in the face. A bucket of cold water. A realization, so complete and so simple I can’t describe it. Perhaps I thought this before, but now I realize it with all my heart and soul.

There have always been good reasons. Explanations for why things went sideways or bad. Here I am, running south on what might be a suicide mission.

And I don’t really care about that. I’m—almost excited to see what this Bloodfields is like. But I can’t concentrate. Because I feel guilty. I almost want the Horns to never speak to me again. Yet I owe them. I owe them, and this is how I repaid them?

Magnolia. Persua. Fals. Calruz. Yvlon. There’s a common thread between them all. Maybe some of it was for the best. I don’t know. But here I am. How did I get here? I have no answers. Just observations. And what I see is…

It’s me.

It’s always been me.

——

It was written all over her face. She probably had no idea what her face looked like. Close to tears, stubbornly refusing to cry. But also—

As she ran down towards that blight in the world, the Bloodfields—her eyes focused on the strange trees. On the prickle down her spine like a [Dangersense] every person possessed. Her instincts telling her to turn around or run past it, not through it.

She still kept coming. Because those eyes were hungry. If she wasn’t stopped, she would have gone straight into the center of that place.

She was less than a thousand paces from where the grass began to change when the young woman finally seemed to hear Ysara shouting at her.

“Miss! Miss!”

In her defense—as the City Runner slowed, Ysara, panting and riding full-tilt on the snorting stallion, saw the Human woman pulling something out of her ears. A dangling bit of string? What kind of thing was that? Something to help her hear?

It certainly hadn’t done that. Half the [Merchants] had joined Ysara in shouting, standing up in their stirrups or on the wagons to shout—even the Gnolls that Ysara had just passed were howling long notes of warning.

“Huh? What? What?”

The first reaction of the young woman was pure surprise. It crossed her dusky features, and Ysara realized she really hadn’t heard. Incredible. But the second reaction was instant and surprising hostility.

The Silver Merchant, panting, slowed her horse to a canter and hesitated a second. She looked at Ryoka, then pointed a hand.

“The Bloodfields. You nearly ran straight into it.”

“Huh?”

It was clear that the young woman was coming back to earth after being miles, miles away. She focused her eyes on the red grass—which Ysara happened to know was sharp—and the young woman was barefoot!

Already a sign she was odd—if her features didn’t already mark her as distinctly Drathian. Which could explain it, but Ysara had heard Drathians had their own language. This young woman had a perfect command of the common tongue. And her look was changing into severe annoyance.

“The Bloodfields? I know it’s the Bloodfields. It’s…”

She stared across the vast expanse, and her eyes didn’t even reach the end of it, Ysara knew. Her caravan had camped at the safest distance from the Bloodfields last night, then set out. By evening, they were close to the end of it, but this young woman might be forced to camp next to this place.

And it was not that safe.

“You were about to run straight into it. That’s madness. You won’t survive. Didn’t anyone warn you?”

Ysara was glad now she’d started riding so early. The young woman just blinked at her.

“It’s dangerous. A…‘death zone’?”

“Yes.”

Silence. Ysara knew she was being understood, but the young woman just stared at the crimson land ahead, eyed one of the dormant Watchertrees, and nodded.

“I’ve got business here. Or past here. Thanks for the warning. See ya.”

And she tried to keep running.

Ysara actually put her horse in the young woman’s way, and affronted, the Runner stopped. Ysara’s smile was far more strained this time.

“Excuse me, Miss. Perhaps you didn’t hear me. The Bloodfields are right there. If you go in—you’ll die. Even being this close to them is dangerous!”

She had no [Dangersense], but again, she didn’t need it. The Runner looked at Ysara. She spoke slowly, as if reluctant to waste any more words.

“I know.”

And she tried to edge around the horse. The animal actually put its head out to stop her, and Ysara held out a hand.

“Miss—what’s your name? Are you a City Runner?”

Reluctantly, for a third time, the young woman stopped and spoke.

“Ryoka Griffin. City Runner around the Celum region. On delivery. I’m not taking requests or mail.”

She recited it by rote, and Ysara smiled desperately, although by now she was getting peeved.

“Celum? I know the area quite well. Have you been to Wales? Remendia? Do you live there?”

“I run there. But I’m working. So…”

Ysara exhaled.

“Miss Ryoka Griffin. Please—[Hear Me Out].”

Ryoka Griffin’s feet stopped as she tried to take a step, and her head turned. Ysara saw the angry look and knew she had upset the young woman. But it was a Skill a [Merchant] got—a kind of final offer, even if it irked your client.

She didn’t like using it like this, but she had gotten the Skill to try and ram concepts into even the most thick-headed fools. Which had been family…

Anyways, the Silver Merchant spoke very calmly.

“The Bloodfields are a death zone. You know this, Miss Griffin? Gold-rank adventurers fear to tread there. Named-ranks would think twice and need a reason to go in. Armies may cross the Bloodfields, but they do it with fire and sword ahead of them. Only in the fall and winter is it remotely safe—and not if you go straight into it. I stopped you because I wanted to warn you that it was certain death. Suicide. Do you…understand me? Don’t go in there.”

She didn’t know how to say it plainer. Even her idiot brother would have gotten that. And the Runner, Ryoka Griffin, understood Ysara. In fact, her jade green eyes lit up a bit. In…excitement?

A wild kind of yearning. A strange exhilaration. Then Ysara recognized it. She had seen it in real adventurers, in Couriers she had met. When she had visited The Adventurer’s Haven, the most famous inn of all of Izril, the guests there had looked like that.

“I understand. You don’t want me to go in there?”

“Yes.”

The City Runner stared at Ysara. The [Merchant] held her gaze. Ryoka Griffin walked sideways and began to jog forwards.

Silver and steel! Ysara bit back an oath as she turned her horse to trot alongside Ryoka. Even her horse was trying to shy away from the Bloodfields.

“Miss—”

“I heard you. Thanks for the warning. Don’t go in, right?”

This time, the young woman gave Ysara a distinctly taunting, defiant look, and Ysara began to feel…nostalgic.

Oh no. This reminded her a bit of—herself. And in her experience…Ysara gritted her teeth, trying to sound friendly.

“Miss Ryoka. May I say something else?”

The Runner slowed.

“What now?”

“…Do go into the Bloodfields. It’s perfectly safe. And everyone would want you to do that.”

Ysara indicated the [Merchants], who were still watching them, and the Gnolls. A few of them were waving down at her, as if wondering if she needed help or if Ryoka was crazy. Ryoka’s eyes flicked. She stared at Ysara’s insincere smile.

“I think I might just do that.”

She turned, began to speed up—and Ysara kicked her in the shoulder as she rode past. Hard. Ryoka stumbled, whirled—and Ysara was already leaping down, shouting.

“Buleth! I need help!”

The Drake had already seen, and several [Guards] were riding her way, fast. Ryoka balled her fists, but Ysara had a hold of her shoulder.

“Let go of—”

“I am trying to stop you from getting killed. Listen to sense!”

The two women began wrestling, and unfortunately—the Runner knew some kind of wrestling tricks because she nearly tossed Ysara onto the ground. Only Ysara’s brief career as an adventurer saved her. She clung to Ryoka as the horse snorted and trotted around them.

“Why are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“None of your business! Get lost!”

“It is if you set off the Bloodfields—stop!”

Ryoka was dragging the two of them into the grass. Ysara saw the green turning crimson—and the first blades of the Bloodfields that Ryoka stepped on made the Runner freeze.

“Ow. What the—”

Ryoka stared at the red scratches on her feet—and then the grass. It had cut her feet up! It wasn’t…solid, but it was edged. So you’d bleed if you rolled around, but surface cuts. Like the worst paper cuts imaginable. That had to hurt. She looked at Ysara, and the Silver Merchant expected this to be enough. But Ryoka just tried to tear free.

“Let go of me. Now.”

Her hand curled, and Ysara braced herself.

“I want to help you.”

For some reason, that was apparently the worst thing to say, because the young woman’s eyes flashed. She raised her hand and threw a punch.

“Maybe I don’t want any help!”

In the moment before the punch landed, Ysara thought Ryoka’s face turned from wrath to guilt in a flash. The woman was braced—but the punch never hit her.

It was surely impossible. Impossible for the two struggling figures to have been caught unawares in the relatively flat ground. Impossible for anyone to close the distance that fast—no normal person could do it.

But the four-fingered gauntlet that caught Ryoka’s arm belonged to no ordinary woman. The giant eye that glowed with yellow and shifted colors as Ysara’s head turned and the four miniature eyes that spun and the sharp teeth that opened into a smile—

Those belonged to a legend.

Gazi Pathseeker, Gazi the Omniscient, Named-rank adventurer and…one of the King of Destruction’s Seven caught Ryoka’s arm in a grip that stopped it dead. She smiled—as Ryoka and Ysara whirled to look at her.

“Hello. Am I disturbing you?”

——

“You must be mad. Why would you want to run through the Bloodfields?”

That was what Buleth said to break the tense silence. Gnolls, [Merchants]—Drakes mostly—Ysara, Gazi, and Ryoka were all camped well west of the edge of the Bloodfields. Astonishingly close as they hadn’t cleared the final section, but Gazi made even the Bloodfields’ threat recede in everyone’s mind.

The Gnolls were Silverfangs. They’d introduced themselves as such and were heading to Liscor. They were quite friendly, and their leader had a beautiful longbow with hand-fletched arrows, all red as a cherry.

“Roc’s feathers. A single one cut up can make a quiver. They fly better—though you’d best take care in how you cut the feather up. Az’muzarre gifted our tribe a feather from their great bird.”

The Gnoll was speaking to one of the [Guards], and Ysara was fascinated by that, but all eyes were on Ryoka. And the Runner—shrugged.

“I have a delivery. My destination is around the Bloodfields. Going through seemed easy.”

She was giving Gazi a long, appraising stare as they sat around, talking. A wide-eyed not-quite glower that…was a mistake. Because the Named-rank adventurer just returned the look. And she had three more eyes.

Gazi Pathseeker stared at Ryoka Griffin with her main eye so long the young woman was forced to finally look away. Which was in and of itself commendable, because she had tried to stare down the most famous half-Gazer in the world.

She managed two whole minutes before she had to blink—then she kept her gaze on Gazi. Until the pressure made Ryoka wilt. That took another three minutes.

And not once did Gazi blink. She didn’t seem—angry. Not like the staring contests of adventurers or swords-for-hire that Ysara had seen now and then. That was really a children’s game between adults. Gazi didn’t need to play that game to prove anything.

That sword had claimed more lives than any weapon she had ever sold. The claymore on Gazi’s back had shed enough blood to grow a miniature Bloodfields. She…she would have made murderers and Roshal’s lot walk soft around her.

It said a lot that even if Ryoka didn’t know all about Gazi, she should surely have sensed it, and she had tried, despite it all, to out-stare Gazi. Yet, it was the Gazer who was most supportive of Ryoka when all was said and done.

“Easy. Ysara practically drags you away and you try to kill yourself? And us?”

Buleth grumbled. But now that everyone was calm, Ryoka looked—embarrassed. And uncomfortable. Gazi was still staring at her.

“Adventurer Pathseeker, thank you for the—help.”

Ysara tried to take that stare off Ryoka, and Gazi’s head turned—but her main eye rolled into the side of her head, and Ysara knew it was pointed at Ryoka. It seemed the Runner felt it, because she turned paler. She was sweating despite the chill in the air.

“Merchant Ysara. You are welcome. I thought it was an interesting event. Though now…if Runner Griffin wishes to enter the Bloodfields, I say let her.”

Everyone stared at Gazi. The Gnolls sniffed and glanced at each other and looked…concerned. Though everyone looked concerned by that statement.

“Let her kill herself, you mean?”

Ysara managed a polite chuckle. Gazi didn’t quite smile, though her lips turned up.

“If she is confident—let her make her choices. That is freedom. I have heard it said that a measure of Couriers and Gold-ranks is whether or not they can pass through the Bloodfields and live.”

Everyone fell silent at that. Ysara had heard that too, but Buleth chuckled weakly.

“Even Hawk the Hare wouldn’t try that, and he’s the closest Courier, Lady Pathseeker!”

“He’s also a bit of a coward.”

Someone else muttered. Gazi just shrugged, rolling the armor on her shoulders. Her main eye finally looked away from Ryoka, and the young woman untensed, shakily relieved.

“We cannot stop people from making their choices. And I think the outcome would be—interesting. We might all be surprised.”

Interesting. Most people were focused on Gazi’s face, but Ysara had met her share of legends thanks to The Adventurer’s Haven and her family. Magnolia Reinhart, for one. And she knew something of tricks thanks to the Golden Gnoll.

She noticed Gazi’s big eye swing down and stare at…something on Ryoka’s belt? Odd. Then Gazi turned, and all five eyes stared Ryoka down.

The Named-rank legend either held a grudge or believed in stamping out challenges. She eyed Ryoka as the cold sweat resumed.

“Though it is curious to meet you. What is your name, Runner, again? Where do you hail from? Such bravery isn’t often seen.”

“I’m…Ryoka. From around Celum.”

“And before that?”

Gazi smiled—until one of the Silverfang Gnolls sneezed. It sounded deliberate, but he raised a paw and brushed at the silver markings on his fur—the fangs as Buleth had claimed.

“Hah! And I thought your name would be ‘Erin’, yes? Well met, brave Runner. Foolish of you to try the Bloodfields, but if you’re going south, perhaps head to the Great Plains? You’ll enjoy it with your bare paws—er, feet. And our tribes are welcoming to Humans. Those that don’t come with fire and sword.”

He grinned, and Gazi’s eyes de-focused on Ryoka. A small eye rolled into the side of her head and fixed the Gnolls with a stare. It was unsettling…and covert. The half-Gazer turned her head to him and smiled, politely, as the Gnoll [Warrior] got to his feet. He passed by her, and one of her eyes kept following his face. The Gnoll shook Ryoka’s hand and Ysara’s.

“Silver Merchant, we heard you did good business with our Chieftain. I am Chief Warrior Rometh.”

“Please remember me to…Chieftain Akrisa and Shaman Cetrule. How is Cers doing? Satar?”

Ysara was grateful for [Contact Memory], which helped her remember her clients’ names. The Gnoll chuckled.

“Worrying over her little sister, Krshia Silverfang. Who lives in Liscor. We’re bound there.”

“That’s our stop as well. Would you like to go the rest of the way with us? It might be slow, but we’ll share a fire and food.”

Buleth chimed in, possibly wanting both the favor of the Gnolls in Liscor and more protection. The Gnolls murmured, but to the Drake’s disappointment, the [Warrior] demurred.

“We must go at best pace, but we will likely see you there, Merchant Buleth. Thank you for the kind offer. And for sharing this meal. But it is not wise to linger near the Bloodfields, yes? We will be heading out—but not if we are going to see this young Human lose her life in the next few minutes.”

He looked keenly at Ryoka, and she flushed.

“I’ll survive. I’ve run the High Passes already.”

That got everyone’s attention. Ysara suppressed a whistle despite herself. No wonder the young woman was confident!

It didn’t excuse her recklessness, though, or her attitude. But Gazi was trading pleasantries with a few [Guards], who begged her for a chance to see her blade or, even more, duel her. They had not a chance, Ysara knew. Most were below Level 20, and she could best them as a [Merchant]. She would never touch Gazi.

Then the young woman burst out with something that provoked a real silence.

“It’s no one’s business. Just let me do what I want. Even if I die—why do you care?”

Ryoka Griffin’s face was scarlet, and she flushed more when everyone looked her way. After a moment—Ysara stood up.

“Perhaps I should try to talk to this young woman. Miss Griffin? Would you step over here?”

She indicated the back of Buleth’s wagon, and Ryoka hesitated, saw Gazi glancing at her, and got up. The Gazer stared at Ryoka and Ysara with her main eye even when they walked behind the wagon, but one of her smaller eyes was slowly, slowly tracing a route across the foothills behind the temporary camp. As if following something.

The other eyes? They were watching the Gnolls. And the Gnolls were watching her.

“Liscor is a small city for a Named-rank adventurer to be in, Adventurer Gazi. Does something—interest you there? Such a legendary figure must be intimidating, to some, yes?”

Chief Warrior Rometh stretched out his legs around the fire, but some of the [Merchant]s’ guards realized that the Gnolls never sat or moved in a way that would leave them unguarded if they were attacked. Sensible around the Bloodfields—but they were staring at Gazi.

The half-Gazer’s smile had teeth—but the Gnoll’s fangs were just as sharp.

“A small city for Gnolls of your level as well. A warrior above Level 30 like you…and your entire group is high-level as well. So many Silverfangs for a border city of the Drakes is odd. Yes?”

She mimicked the Gnoll’s way of speaking, and Buleth’s head spun. Could she read levels? He’d heard some spells could do that—Rometh did not seem to appreciate Gazi’s insight. He snorted.

“Spoken like one foreign to Izril. Liscor’s mercenary army is not ‘small’. They were encircling Oteslia last I heard, and that is a deed few armies in the world can manage. Even your King of Destruction stopped at Zeres.”

That silenced the rest of the low-level conversations around the fire, not that there had been much. Gazi’s five eyes slowly fixed on Rometh, one by one.

“He never set foot on Izril himself. We sent one of seven against a Walled City, Gnoll. Had even more of us come—you would not smile.”

He was not smiling now.

“Your King never fought our tribes, and we would not have given up our lands to him like Chandrar. I am not looking for a battle, now, or to seek glory, Gazi Pathseeker. But I hear from my Chieftain’s sister that you take an interest in the same girl we seek. A dangerous one. I would not like to come to blows with you.”

Gazi slowly rotated her neck, shrugging her shoulders to unlimber them.

“And I would not like your warriors to go to Liscor. You seem intent on being my problem. So let us make a peaceful offer. Turn around and go back to your tribe. Now.”

Her central eye’s pupil dilated slowly as the Gnolls stirred. Several growled, but Rometh just sniffed without apparent fear.

“You howl loudly, Gazi Pathseeker.”

“Do you think eighteen of your lot can refuse?”

Her ‘smile’ had countless needle points of danger. In reply, Rometh shook his head. His voice was level and his gaze direct as he spread his paws.

“I am no fool to fight legends, Gazi Pathseeker. If you should push your will at Liscor, who could refuse you? No one with sense, and I have sense.”

She smiled—for about one second. Then Rometh went on calmly, glancing at the other Gnolls.

“If you insist and we insist, we must give way. So I shall give way and admit I am the lesser of us by far. But do you know what is coming next year? The Meeting of Tribes.”

The Gnolls chuckled at that, and Buleth thought of that grand gathering far in the future. Then—he saw Rometh’s gaze meet Gazi’s.

“If you insist, Gazi Pathseeker, I shall tell Honored Krshia I am too weak to stop you. And my Chieftain, embarrassing as it is. Then I shall go and tell Shaman Theikha of Gaarh Marsh, Chieftain Xherw of Plain’s Eye, and the tribe of Az’muzarre how weak I am. Loudly. You stand a legend on foreign ground, Adventurer Pathseeker. We have our own.”

He smiled as Gazi’s own grin vanished and she sat there, eyes fixed on his face. Rometh turned to see where Yvlon and Ryoka had gone.

“You are alone and my people fill this continent. Walk quietly, Lady Pathseeker. Lest you wake something up.”

It was good advice, to her—and the young woman who was so insane. Perhaps Honored Krshia would be interested in this Ryoka Griffin too? Assuming, of course, that the [Merchant] could talk some sense into her.

——

“Who…are you? Just a [Merchant]?”

Ryoka’s first question caught Ysara off-guard. But then she didn’t look like a regular citizen of the North. A woman with a sword travelling the South? Ysara waved this off.

“That’s my class, yes. I have a bit of a reputation as a [Merchant]. The Silver Merchant, they call me, but I doubt you’ll hear my name that widely remembered in the North. I mostly work in the South.”

“Then—why are you so interested in me? Can’t you leave me alone?”

Ysara sucked in a breath. She didn’t make it easy, this Runner. But she just gave Ryoka another crooked smile.

“Can’t a traveller try to help another on the road? It’s the oldest give and take in the world. Now you’ve calmed down a bit—will you accept I just want to help, Miss Ryoka?”

The Runner said not a word. Her face was still red, and she was breathing hard. But it seemed to Ysara that was embarrassment now. As if…this were a familiar conversation to her. Ryoka just glowered though.

“I don’t want handouts. I don’t want to owe a favor.”

“Then you owe me nothing. Just hear me out. Friendly advice. I don’t want anything from you. Frankly, I don’t need a City Runner’s help. If I need to, I’d hire a Courier.”

That needled Ryoka. But Ysara put a hand out.

“I just don’t want to see someone die in front of me. And you…I won’t ask where you’re going. I know Runners take such things seriously. The good ones, at any rate. Yet surely someone told you the Bloodfields would be dangerous and to go around. It’s not bravado, surely, that makes you want to ignore all reasonable advice?”

Ryoka bit her lip. She had the intense urge to flip Ysara off and just run—but Gazi made her nervous. And the fact that Ysara was speaking so—pragmatically made it hard. It wasn’t like Magnolia. Ysara didn’t know Ryoka. So why did Ryoka want to tell her to get bent?

“I’ll live. I’ve survived worse.”

“Yes, but…let’s assume you do. You cut your feet up on the grass.”

Ysara gave Ryoka’s toes a pointed look. Ryoka had dabbed healing potion on them, and they were good as new. But even so. Ryoka bit her tongue as Ysara indicated the long Bloodfields.

“This area is miles upon miles long. You would shred your feet. Even if you can use potions, why suffer? Why risk the dangers in there? One awake Watchertree or a Colony Sac or…let’s assume you survive. Why try?”

“Why does someone climb a mountain? I like challenges.”

Ryoka shot back instantly. She pointed at the High Passes, so vast they stretched beyond the clouds looming over everything. Ysara peered at the mountains.

“I don’t know why someone would climb the High Passes. No one has ever survived who got anywhere close to the top. I do know adventurers, though, and I know risk. Believe me, as a [Merchant] I’ve been in danger travelling Izril. I am also a young enough woman to know why you’d want to dare it for excitement and bravado.”

Ryoka hesitated. She eyed Ysara, and the woman didn’t have lines, but…

“…How old are you?”

“Thirty-four.”

“You’re old.”

Ysara resisted the urge to slap Ryoka. She tried her best ‘I hate your guts, but I am going to sell you at a high markup’ smile.

“If nothing else, Miss Ryoka—what would your friends think, your family, if you were to go missing? I do not want to be the bearer of bad news to those who care about you.”

At that Ryoka Griffin—flinched. So visibly and so hard that even if Ysara had no eyes at all, she would have seen…

Oh. Oh, was it fate or chance that the two met? Because Ysara instantly saw something in Ryoka she didn’t want to necessarily see.

“No one’s waiting for me. Not my f—no family, and no friends. Okay? So leave me alone. I’ll go run in, level up—isn’t that how you’re supposed to do it?”

Ryoka turned, and Ysara spoke to her back.

“You know, my family loves honesty and integrity. Just like metal. It’s our motif. Silver and steel. Purity and strength. Valor and something else. For all that, most of my family can’t spot a liar even when it’s tattooed on their face. But you—even my brother would know you’re lying, Miss Ryoka. Everyone has someone who cares for them. Everyone has a friend.”

Hopefully. Or maybe you found them far from home. The young woman’s shoulders hunched. Then her head came around, and she spat venom fairly well, despite not being an Oldblood Drake or a serpent.

“You wouldn’t know anything about my problems! I’m tired of people coming into my life and offering advice or trying—trying to ‘help’. I’m not like the rest of you, do you understand? I just want to be left alone. You won’t enjoy my company, and I won’t repay generosity. Got it?”

The conversation in the rest of the merchant’s camp stopped, and Ysara suspected everyone had heard that, not just the Gnolls and Gazi. Ryoka looked mortified—but Ysara began to get the issue.

She, too, knew someone running away from home when she saw it. Mirrors did exist—but the Silver Merchant just exhaled. She was rarely this personal so quickly—but she knew her clients. And though Ryoka wasn’t in any regular sense of the word—Ysara looked north, over her shoulder, and spoke truth like silver. Painful words glittering in the air.

“In my experience, Miss Griffin, no matter how much we want to run forever—someday we do have to go back. And it is better not to leave regrets behind. They grow. Better to face them now. It is harder than monsters. But a more important battle. If only we could always know we’d win.”

She stared towards the horizon, past the High Passes as she said that. with a faraway grimace on her face. Ryoka stared at Ysara and shook her head.

“I’m a piece of shit. You—you really wouldn’t get it. I can’t fit in and be friendly. I don’t enjoy it. I can’t be a good person back to Ga—to the H—to people. So it’s better if they don’t try. I don’t belong. So…can’t you just leave me be? Just let me run and not bother me?”

It was a strange question. In Ysara’s experience, in her travels of the south, a lot of Drakes and Gnolls were only too happy to do business with her and never ask her name or ask how a Human came to be there and treat her like a prop. But someone…she wondered what her sister might say of Ryoka after all, as it was clear they had met.

Someone, or many people, had met Ryoka. And to the young woman’s complaints, Ysara didn’t have an answer to what sounded like a mess. She didn’t really like messes—or people of Ryoka’s personality—or the hold up and chaos this one young woman was causing to her journey, if admittedly only for half an hour or so.

But what Ysara did have to take objection with was the last bit. She turned to face Ryoka.

“Miss Griffin. Look at me for one second.”

Ryoka eyed Ysara, and the Silver Merchant brushed at her long, indigo hair. She showed Ryoka her bare shoulder where the glittering silver ship rose out of the golden vines and the earring on one ear.

“Miss Griffin. Would you believe I belong to a noble family in the north? A small one, but I’m technically a [Lady] by birth. And if you know anything of the north, I think you understand what my House is like. Miss Ryoka. I know something about not fitting in.”

More than Ryoka could know. But the City Runner looked at Ysara, looked at her and slowly nodded.

“So? Are you going to say that I should go back and try? That I—I should keep making the attempt? That I owe it to my friends not to let them down?”

Ysara paused a beat.

“I rather think that is your case, Miss Griffin. I was going to say that if they cannot accept you with all your oddities—if not your objectionable behavior—if they cannot accept the core of you, they do not deserve your company. But then—I also respect someone who would change the mountain to fit their passage.”

She smiled wide and wondered if Ryoka understood any of it. The City Runner looked at Ysara for a long time, and the Silver Merchant encouraged her.

“But if there are good sorts behind you—why not come back with us? My sister can be—well, I haven’t seen her for at least five years. But we could always use a companion on the road. It could be pleasant.”

Perhaps Ryoka didn’t know why she was being offered so much by the [Merchants], the Gnolls, and arguably, Gazi.

Perhaps she didn’t know how she looked. Runners always looked windblown, sometimes dusty, sometimes dirty, sometimes bloody or harried.

Few looked sad like this. Or as lost. Or as…desperate.

Ryoka Griffin stood there and wavered. And Ysara thought she saw part of Ryoka step forwards, take her hand, and turn back north. For a second, it looked like she was turning—then something, something in her, dragged her back. The City Runner stepped back and shook her head.

“I have to go. I…”

She trailed off, and her eyes flickered.

“I have to go.”

She stopped, and Ysara exhaled sadly. But then Ryoka added.

“Thanks. I’ll think about what you said. And I’ll stay away from the Bloodfields.”

Ysara nodded.

“That’s all I can ask for. At least have a cup of tea or one of Buleth’s snacks, though. And—”

She was going to say, ‘and if you want me to take a message, I can’, but Ysara never got the chance. Because behind her, she heard a sudden howl.

“Treacher—”

The Gnolls? Ryoka and Ysara turned—and then an arrow shot through the canvas walls of one of the caravan wagons. Ysara dodged it, saw the red Roc’s feather—and then she heard the shouting.

“Stop fighting! Stop f—Lady Pathseeker, pl—”

Gazi Pathseeker stood in the middle of a firefight. What had begun it in the time they had taken to talk, Ysara didn’t know.

What she did see were the Silverfangs, all eighteen, racing for the horses. There were only ten that mounted, but the remaining eight charged after the riders—and all eighteen were showering arrows behind them.

Not at the terrified [Merchants]—but at Gazi. And she?

She was deflecting arrows with her claymore or letting them snap on her armor. Ysara, sword drawn, saw Gazi whirl her gigantic blade around with two hands and chop an arrow in half.

Chop in half an arrow shot at fifty paces by a longbow. Ysara had seen fast blades from Silver-bell duelists. This?

This was a legend. And she advanced, calmly, into the arrows as the Gnolls retreated. Why were they fighting?

“Buleth! Why are they fighting?”

Ysara grabbed the Drake; he had taken cover behind the wagon, and Ysara crouched down as Ryoka hunkered down; even she wasn’t unafraid of the arrows.

“I don’t know! They were both threatening the other, but then they fell silent, and I thought—then she got up and cut one of their heads off! Keep your heads down! Protect the goods!”

Buleth’s screams didn’t inspire anyone to shield the goods with their bodies, but everyone obeyed the first order.

Ryoka? Ryoka was frozen because she had seen the first body. A Gnoll lay on the ground—her head severed from the torso. Dead. Rometh was howling rage at Gazi as she deflected arrows, grinning as her bloody sword whirled through the air.

And Gazi was beginning to charge, still deflecting arrows away from her face—the Gnolls were fleeing fast, north, towards Liscor.

“W-what the fuck is going on?”

Ryoka called out. She dared to raise her head with Ysara while Buleth still hid—mostly because the Gnolls had good aim and they were just loosing at Gazi. The Named-rank adventurer was laughing as she ran, and Ysara saw the younger [Traders], [Merchants], Runners, shamefaced [Guards], all slowly emerging from cover. The fight was moving uphill at speed, and now there wasn’t even a remote chance of catching an arrow; the two groups had to be half a mile away already.

She glanced at the Bloodfields—and they were mercifully quiet. The nearby hills were silent, and the fighting was moving north towards the high ridgeline. The Gnolls had speed over Gazi, and they might make it.

But what was the battle about? Ryoka looked at Ysara, and the Silver Merchant turned to Buleth.

“Time to get going. We might need to skip Liscor.”

The pale [Merchant] could only nod.

——

“Are you sure you won’t come with us?”

It’s the oddest thing. I’ve barely known her for a hot minute—and yet I want to take Ysara up on her offer.

Maybe it’s because she’s not like Magnolia. Maybe it’s because I’m so guilty. Maybe it’s because she’s really not like Magnolia or anyone else I’ve met in the north, and she’s the gayest woman I’ve seen in this world so far*.

*Is that bad to think? The hair color, the tattoo, one earring? Maybe it’s different over here. I swear she was staring at me like Calruz does, though…

I like her. I like Calruz. I liked them. I was afraid of it.

She struck home. She struck a nerve. I…I think there’s something in me.

A little war. Part of me wants to go and keep running. To jump into the Bloodfields and never look back. The rest?

Go back and say sorry to Ceria. To the Horns. To the people you respect and bowed to and swore you would repay.

I want to. Oh, I do. But something is dragging me over.

The geas. Myself.

I—I—

There’s something wrong with me.

More than magic.

I want to take her up, but I look Ysara in the eyes.

“I’ve got something to do. I’m sorry.”

She smiles and extends a hand ruefully. She’s got calluses as I take it. She’s actually a swordswoman.

“As am I. But if you catch us—at least let’s have a drink, agreed?”

“I’d like that.”

I think I whisper those words. I actually would. But then I’m shaking Buleth’s claws, trying not to stare at the Drake as he stares at my…hips? And the Gnolls and I want to go.

Find the Necromancer. Find the Necromancer. FindtheNecromancer. Findthenecromancerfindthenecromancerfindthenecromancer—

I want to go back.

I want—

I wish I could stay because I feel like something’s connecting in my head. But I can’t. So I go—and I keep looking back. Back, at Ysara, who’s watching me as the caravan begins to go around the final part of the Bloodfields. I’m jogging by that red terrain, staring at those alien forests.

How can I even describe what I’m seeing? Some of it is just—unnatural. Just like giant fungi—unsettling spores with huge veins that look alien, poisonous. But another plant looks like a giant…pillow? It must be four feet tall and just as wide across, and there are larger varieties deeper within!

Pale white…stalks. Long fronds of plants—all covered by a bit of frost. All dead. Or hibernating? Teriarch told me I could do this moderately safely. But I remember Ysara’s words and don’t go towards the Bloodfields. I’m just jogging with rocky slopes leading up to the cliffs beyond. Boring sandstone up there or some local rock.

Past the Bloodfields. Along the mountain range…a forest. How far is that, I wonder? How many weeks or months to find this guy?

Findhimfindhimhavetofindhim—

Ceria and Gerial and Calruz are going into a dungeon. Ysara’s…nice. I want to go back. Why can’t I…? I want to run into the Bloodfields. I’m crazy. I’ve always been crazy, haven’t I?

“The Lich. The High Passes. I didn’t care if I died.”

The words sound—wrong. Because they’re true. I want to go back, but two things carry me on. Myself. My damned self.

And the magic.

I think I’m fighting. I want to go back. I twist around, and if Ysara’s looking at me, I’ll—

I turn and spin and spin—and a lance of agony strikes my shoulder, and when I stop, I stare blankly at something wrong. Wronger than my head. A black…steel bolt, not like the Gnoll’s arrows. Compact and short and iron. It’s in my shoulder, and my skin’s deformed around it. And I hear someone screaming my name, and I stare at it.

A crossbow bolt?

——

Ysara saw the ambush as Ryoka Griffin slowed and turned. If the Runner had been looking straight, it would have gone straight through her side. As it was—it went through one of her shoulder blades. At first, she had no idea what was going on.

Then—she saw three figures wearing black cloth over their heads and faces and remembered something.

The three Humans. Hadn’t she seen…more Humans taking cover when the Gnolls were fighting Gazi? Hiding behind some rocks. She hadn’t—

They were on the ridge. One had a crossbow, and he’d fired it straight down at Ryoka. It would have gone straight through Ryoka’s chest—instead, it hit her shoulder, spun her around, and nearly dropped her onto her back with the force of it.

“Shit—”

“Shoot again! Shoot again!”

Two voices echoed as, again, the [Merchants] took cover, crying out in alarm. A high-pitched, female voice, belonging to a thin young woman with pigtails screaming at a panicking young man holding a crossbow.

Ryoka Griffin stumbled, stared at the blood welling from the bolt in her shoulder, and opened her mouth to scream in pain. Then her eyes bulged. She looked up—and Ryoka spoke a name.

“Persua.”

Persua, Claudeil, and Toriska emerged from behind cover. Faces covered—and the girl screamed.

“Kill her! Toriska, kill her!”

“Don’t hit me, Claudeil!”

The second Runner came sprinting down the hill, holding her daggers. Ryoka was still staring at her shoulder in shock.

“[Bandits]! Run for it!”

Buleth was screaming, but Ysara seized the same horse she’d kept handy—just in case she saw Ryoka going for the Bloodfields.

“No! Get to Ryoka! Someone’s trying to kill her!”

She leapt into the saddle, sword drawn—but the Runners were at least a thousand paces away, and Ryoka was stupefied. The one with the crossbow was trying to reload it, and the other was screaming at her companion.

“Kill her! Kill her before she shouts our names to—”

Then Persua looked up and saw Ysara riding down on them. The [Merchant] had a sword drawn like some [Cavalry Rider], and Toriska froze as she saw a real swordswoman coming at her.

But Ryoka was right there, and she was barehanded. Toriska charged with a scream.

“You—”

Ryoka finally broke out of her stupor. She saw Toriska coming—pivoted—and kicked. Barefoot or not—Toriska was wearing light leather armor suited for running. The ball of Ryoka’s foot still slammed into her chest, and she went stumbling backwards, her warcry in her lungs. She staggered—then slashed.

Ryoka Griffin felt a line of pain cut down her leg and gasped. She hadn’t ever fought someone with a knife. She knew how to kick them, but the cut—

The cut laid open her calf, slashed through a muscle, and Ryoka screamed in pain as she staggered. Toriska’s daggers were sharp!

“Drop your weapons or die!”

Ysara was shouting. Toriska caught herself—and she might be bruised, but she saw Ryoka staring at the huge gash in her leg. And she had a crossbow bolt in her useless arm.

“Shoot the horse! The horse!”

Claudeil’s crossbow twanged again, and Ysara shouted and a horse screamed as it went down, a crossbow bolt jutting out above its left foreleg. The woman went down, tumbling from the saddle as [Guards] rode after her, shouting and trying to aim bows. The Runners were terrified.

“Persua, we have to go—”

Claudeil shouted, wanting to run into the foothills and hide, but Persua slashed at him. She had a knife too, and he flinched.

“Don’t say my name! If she lives, she’ll tell them. They’ll hang us—we’ll be wanted, you fool! Shoot her! Toriska, get her and we can go!”

The Runners looked at Persua and then at Ryoka. Ryoka saw Toriska advance, slashing with her daggers. And she…

She had levels. Ryoka did not.

“[Slashy Storm]!”

Toriska’s blades blurred, forming a wall of uncoordinated but fast slashes. Ryoka backed up, but her leg was cut and—Toriska was still a Runner.

She got Ryoka, and the City Runner stared at her arm and a cut that went down to her bone. She screamed—and then she was turning, running, her good hand fumbling for a healing potion. She ran the only way she could: towards the Bloodfields. Toriska hesitated—then sprinted after her, and the two women were running.

And Persua?

——

“Persua, this is crazy!”

Claudeil had thought his best friend, Persua, was crazy when she told him that Ryoka had to die. But she had convinced him—Ryoka had cost them their City Runner careers. All they had to do was follow her, nail her with his crossbow, and no one would know. They’d even get the gold Magnolia had given her.

Until he’d been there, with her in his sights, he hadn’t realized how…how it would be him pulling the trigger. A [Guardsman] might ask him on a truth stone if he’d killed someone, and he’d have to say ‘yes’ or be found out.

He’d hesitated. Persua had grabbed the crossbow. She hadn’t hesitated. But then it had gone wrong.

The [Merchant] with the blade had taken cover behind her screaming horse. She’d tried to advance, but he had fired two crossbow bolts, and she didn’t look like she wanted to dodge them. But—

An arrow rattled off the boulders high, high overhead, and Persua screamed and he flinched. The [Guards] were shooting arrows. Very inaccurately, but Claudeil was terrified.

“They have [Guards]! I told you we should have waited!”

He screamed at Persua, but they had barely caught up with Ryoka drinking stamina potions after four days. Persua was white and red at the same time, somehow. She screamed back.

“We’ll lose them! Just shoot Ryoka already!”

Claudeil poked his head up as he put another bolt into his crossbow and feverishly drew back the drawstring. He stared down at Ryoka, flinching as another arrow landed well clear of them. One [Pinpoint Shot] and he was dead…

He saw, to his disbelief, two figures running into the Bloodfields. Ryoka and…

“Toriska’s doing her [Fast Sprint]! She’s barely able to keep up!”

Ryoka was fast! She was running for her life after all, and everyone knew she was the fastest Runner—but even without seeming to use a Skill, she was ahead of Toriska. But the other Runner had knifed her at least once—Ryoka was bleeding from the lower back.

Yet the blood was healing, and even as he watched, Claudeil swore he saw the crossbow bolt he’d hit her with falling out. Healing potions!

“We have to kill her. She’s going into the Bloodfields. Toriska can’t catch Ryoka. See? She’s already falling behind now that her Skill’s done. But three of us can get her.”

Persua swung herself up onto the boulder. To Claudeil’s astonishment, Persua, Persua who hated going through monster-infested areas, who never started fights but always seemed to get him and Toriska involved—pointed into a death-zone.

“Are you mad?”

He looked at her, aghast, but she just stared at him. Her eyes were wide, and she was breathing hard through her nose, her nostrils dilating. Her face was white, but her eyes—she looked at Ryoka.

“She’s going to get away unless we go. And if she says we tried to kill her, Magnolia Reinhart will murder us in our beds. Come on.”

She dragged Claudiel up. More arrows landed around them, but the [Guards] must not have had [Archer] classes. He whimpered.

“That [Merchant]’ll kill us!”

“Not in the Bloodfields. See? No one’s going after Toriska. They’re afraid. But the Bloodfields aren’t moving. Come on.”

Persua grabbed Claudeil with more force than he thought she had in her thin frame. He debated refusing another time, but Persua lifted the dagger and looked him in the eyes. He saw the perfect calm in hers.

“If you run, I’ll make sure you die if it’s the last thing I do. Ryoka’s taken everything from me. This is all her fault. Fals, my City Runner rank…we’re going in there.”

Claudeil hesitated one more second—but then he leapt out from the boulders, skated down the rocks, and ran. Ysara came after them, but the Runners were City Runners—they charged into the Bloodfields, and the [Merchant] hesitated and backed away from one of the dormant Watchertrees. She stared at Ryoka, then whirled and shouted for a horse, for bows—

And Claudeil was running after Ryoka, aiming at her with a crossbow as she disappeared through a silent thicket of the strange trees. This time, he didn’t hesitate. First Ryoka died. Then…he never wanted to see Persua again. He’d go somewhere else. He had gone after Ryoka because more than the law, more than murder or the Bloodfields—

Persua scared him the most.

——

This was it. Ryoka knew it as she ran through the Bloodfields.

She was bleeding. Her wounds healed as she drank a potion, and the taste was foul—like acrid bitterness—the same taste you got if you ever accidentally found a bug in your mouth. Yet it was life, and every other sensation was far worse.

Glass under feet. A thousand tiny blades slicing her feet’s soles to shreds. The Bloodfields’ grass was—sharp.

She would have left a trail of bloody footprints behind her if it weren’t for the red already around her. Red—and the silent plants and gigantic pods that seemed to rustle as she passed. But the Bloodfields were silent.

Yet she felt she was in as much danger as in the High Passes—if not more. Like a trap waiting to be sprung. Even without Ysara’s warnings—

Ryoka felt like she was running into the depths of hell itself. Into a foreign land filled with nightmares and the wrong kind of aliens.

Even the creatures looked—wrong. She saw one of them staring at her. Then bounding away as a crossbow bolt missed her and thudded into the ground.

Was that a rabbit? It had…a face like a leech. ‘Teeth’, a flat face—combined with the regular rabbit’s fur.

Everything here wanted her blood. And she was bleeding.

“Ryoka! Come back and die!”

A scream, high and wild. Persua was coming. Ryoka would have gone back to fight her—but it wasn’t just her.

Claudeil’s crossbow twanged again, and it missed her again. He wasn’t the best shot, but he’d hit her twice. Once, in the shoulder. The second time—in the lower back, just above her hips. She couldn’t stop to pull the bolt out. Every time she moved, she felt it twisting and cutting her open from the inside.

But if she stopped, Toriska or Persua would get her. The Runner with her daggers had gained confidence after seeing Ryoka bleed.

She was trying to cut Ryoka down. Cripple her by cutting her hamstrings. Knife her enough times in the back or get to her throat where no healing potions would save Ryoka.

Monsters. They scared Ryoka more than the Eater Goats. More than the Goblins. They were people. They were supposed to be Runners—

They’d crushed her leg once. This time—they’d kill her.

Persua hung back as the two Runners spread out. Ryoka was slower than she needed to be. The pain from her laceterated feet and her injuries, even with the potion, made her slow—and they had Skills.

“[Fleetwind Run]!”

Claudeil ran in a sudden burst of speed, circling Ryoka as she ran towards another ‘forest’. She dodged behind one of the pillow-pods, eight feet tall and massive, and Toriska circled around the other way. Ryoka saw the young man raise his crossbow and covered her face with her arms.

Thunk.

The crossbow missed her by a foot. Claudeil cursed; his Skill had given him a tremendous backwind to help him run faster. It had also thrown off the aim of the bolt.

It thudded into the red, meaty pillow-thing next to Ryoka, and the entire plant shivered. Ryoka twisted around—and Toriska was coming the other way. Ryoka fumbled at her belt.

“Got h—”

The belt knife Ryoka carried nearly stabbed Toriska in the face. She recoiled with a shriek.

“[Evasive Roll]!”

She rolled away with amazing speed, dodging the first stab, and Ryoka charged her. Toriska screamed for help as Ryoka slashed as inexpertly as Toriska. But she saw an opening. Toriska was trying to block Ryoka with her daggers, forgetting that was nearly impossible.

There. Knife her straight through one of her orange eyes. Put the tip of the blade through the pupil and push—

The urge was in Ryoka. Every time she saw Toriska, Claudeil, Persua, people she didn’t like—

She had always wanted to do something to them like this. Something unforgivable. All the things the dark voice whispered and shouted at her to do.

Didn’t she deserve…?

Ryoka hesitated, and Toriska rolled away again. She scrambled back, and Ryoka missed her chance. She couldn’t do it.

Stab her through the face? She didn’t…

She didn’t want that after all.

The irony of realizing this, now? Ryoka nearly screamed, but she didn’t…she looked over her shoulder and ducked as something cut the air and hit the pillow-plant again, making it ripple and shredding the plantain fabric.

She didn’t want to become that.

Persua had a wand. She aimed it, and another dart of…stone blasted through the air. It had less punch than Claudeil’s crossbow, but it grazed Ryoka like a punch across one cheek and tore the skin. Ryoka dodged as Persua screamed.

“Toriska, flank her! Claudeil—”

He was dropping bolts. Persua made up for her lackeys’ failings by unloading spell after spell with the wand. She only stopped when she saw Ryoka had taken cover—and that her wand was dead. She tossed it aside and reached for another.

Madness. If there were anyone that Ryoka would kill in this or any other world, it would be Persua. The other Runner had a terrible look in her eyes.

Not madness, whatever that looked like. That was probably on Ryoka’s face, a snarl of desperation, too-wide eyes, and a hysterical urge to laugh. Persua…

Persua just looked angry. Frustrated. And a quiet little demon in her looked delighted. This is it. We’re settling this.

No one to interfere. Claudeil turned and ran, shouting in fear, as a few arrows landed around him, but the distant archers, including Ysara, weren’t in the Bloodfields. They were screaming at Ryoka to run. To get to them—but Persua, Claudeil, and Toriska were blocking her flight to safety. The only other way was deeper into the Bloodfields.

Ryoka Griffin lifted the dagger in her hand as she stared at Persua—then she cried out, swiped left—Toriska jumped away. Then a brand of frozen pain hit her in the temple, and Ryoka’s head snapped back.

Ice shard. Persua’s second wand fired miniature versions of Ceria’s spell, [Ice Spike]. And her aim was better than—

A crossbow bolt hit the pillow plant. Ryoka stumbled upright, resting her weight against the shivering plant. And then—as she wondered what to do—she looked at the red, heaving mass.

And she realized what the Bloodfields were.

Ryoka stared into the gaps left by the two crossbow bolts and Persua’s attacks. They had cut the thick lining of the plant opening, exposing the innards. The walls weren’t actually that thick. Ryoka would have guessed the ‘skin’ of the plant was a foot deep, but the reality was half that at most. Because the plant was actually a—

Nursery?

Ryoka Griffin stared into a dark chamber that—rustled—along with the shivering of the pillow-plant. It was hollow, mostly, with internal chambers filled with…

Insects. They lined the walls. The eggs filled the interior of the nursery. They were hibernating, hiding from the cold in this plant. The fighting, Ryoka’s proximity, and the cold was waking them up. She could see them rustling around in agitation—but the cold was keeping them—

Silent. Asleep. Ryoka’s head twisted. And she saw one of the spore-plants slowly rising. As if it were raising its head. Waking up.

One of the shivering pale trees was twitching. The Bloodfields—

“—Ryoka!”

Ysara’s voice in the distance. Ryoka looked up and saw the [Merchant] striding into the Bloodfields, warily, sword drawn as the [Guards] aimed bows, forcing Claudeil and Persua to retreat. She was beckoning.

Ryoka began to run her way. Then—so suddenly it shocked even Toriska, circling her—and something forced her to turn around, start running deeper into the Bloodfields.

FIND. THE. NECROMANCER.

“Stop it!”

She was screaming. Ryoka ran deeper, crying now, and her foes followed. Then she began laughing. She was cursed. This time there was magic—but she had been doing this from the start. The High Passes hadn’t killed her. Running deliveries against monsters hadn’t.

This…

She wanted this. Ryoka dropped her dagger rather than put it in her belt-sheath. She didn’t want to kill—she didn’t have the guts to do it. Persua, though? Toriska? Claudeil?

“Let’s all die. Good riddance. You want me, Persua? Come and get me!”

Ryoka screamed, and Persua’s head snapped up. She fired three more shards of ice—then motioned. Claudeil and Toriska hesitated, but they were in too far.

Deeper. Ryoka ran towards the largest grove she could find and drew something else from her belt pouch. A thought crossed her mind. Truth without prevarication.

I feel so alive. Did I want this? This? To matter? To risk my life and not let anyone down?

I feel so lonely. I wish someone were here. Garia. Anyone.

She looked back, and it hit her as she saw Ysara, now running, far slower than the Runners. Persua’s twisted smile as she saw Ryoka’s weary, desperate faltering run.

I wanted a friend. But I was afraid.

I don’t know how to be a friend. I wish—

Then the fourth crossbow bolt hit her in the leg, and she went crashing into the sharp blades of grass. When Ryoka sat up, she saw Claudeil reloading his crossbow. Persua aimed the wand at Ryoka’s face. But she said nothing. She just fired the wand—twice.

The first went wide. The second hit Ryoka and might have cracked her skull. Ryoka’s head snapped back—and she fell back on the ground. Only to sit up again—but the skin across her forehead was torn. Blood ran down her face as Toriska stopped.

Ryoka had managed to tear the second crossbow bolt free of her back, but blood was slowly oozing down her back legs. It trickled down her face and made a mask that added to the desperate, despairing look as she stared back at her pursuers. Even Toriska hesitated and looked sideways.

“Persua…”

“Got you.”

Persua never looked at Toriska. If her friend had been lying with her throat cut—Persua would have had eyes only for Ryoka. She was smiling, just like she did in the Runner’s Guild.

The wand wouldn’t kill Ryoka. The runner was getting up even as Persua snapped more frozen shards into her skin, leaving icy shards embedded in flesh. She hit Ryoka in the stomach, arm, her bad leg—and then handed the wand to Toriska.

“Give me that crossbow, Claudeil. She can’t run any more.”

“She’s got a wand, Persua—”

Claudeil flinched as he saw Ryoka had a strange wand in her hand. Persua had a cheap one, made of spruce or something, with cheap gem and magicore fillings.

Ryoka’s…Persua looked up in sudden paranoia, and she snatched the crossbow as the three of them looked around—then found one of the pillow-plants. Toriska dove behind it—Claudeil found one of the pale mushrooms, foul-brown in color and with a huge cap to shield most of him. Persua poked her head out from behind the pillow, and Ryoka was standing, now.

The leg with the crossbow bolt stuck in it bore none of her weight. She was trying to pull it out, but her hand was slippery with blood. And the other was holding that wand.

It was…red. Red crystal? It looked hot. Steam was rising in the chilly air as Persua eyed it. Even her wand was more expensive than anything the other Runners carried.

“Dibs on that wand. Something wrong with your leg, Ryoka?”

Persua called out, and Ryoka’s head snapped up. Neither girl fired though—Persua was trying to get Ryoka’s head as it bent and then twisted to track her. And she was afraid of Ryoka’s counterattack.

“If it’s a wand of [Fireball]…”

Claudeil was panting with terror as he came to the most logical conclusion. Persua looked around.

“Toriska, run left. Distract her.”

“Me? No!”

Toriska instantly refused. Persua swung the crossbow around, and for a second, she and Toriska locked gazes as the other Runner went white—but then Ryoka shouted back.

“You want me, Persua? Let’s end this once and for all!”

Her voice was ragged and wild. But she was laughing. Laughing and coughing with each word, as if her lungs had blood in them. Ryoka lifted the wand, and all the Runners ducked. Ryoka stared at them and then around this terrible, red land.

“Then let’s die here. Come on, Persua!”

The wand’s tip ignited into fire so bright and hot it was white. Persua ducked back with a scream, and the crossbow bolt fired wide as Ryoka aimed the wand. A searing jet of flames blasted overhead.

“She missed! Run! She’s got a Gold-rank wand!”

Claudeil shouted, but then he realized Ryoka was shooting again. Flames shot from the tip of her wand. Not a cheap, Tier 1 or Tier 2 spell like Persua’s—but a jet of flames white-hot, so fiery that even dozens of feet overhead it baked him.

And she could keep firing the spell. The flamethrower froze the Runners, and Claudeil waited to see Persua go up in flames as the girl cowered and shrieked.

But—Ryoka didn’t roast them. She could have—but she swung the wand around. Left, right, overhead—behind her? But then Claudeil wasn’t paying attention.

“[Scatter Dash]! [Emergency Smokescreen]!”

“[Deflect Attention: Claudeil]!”

The other Runners were screaming, using Skills to evade the flames. But Ryoka had the worst aim in the world—she was aiming far too high. As the three City Runners fled their cover, they saw more jets of flame landing. The fire…didn’t burn out immediately. It rained down from overhead, and Ryoka was shooting it everywhere. Trying to cut off their escape?

Five minutes. Five minutes of Ryoka blasting flame across the Bloodfields. She whirled a firestorm into the air—and it missed the Runners completely. Not that they were anywhere close to her. But she lobbed huge arcs of white flame into the sky and watched them spread out and bake the land.

Even her wand had a limit, though. The crystal went dead, and Ryoka let it drop. Then she grabbed the bolt in her leg and began to draw it out.

She flinched as Persua nearly nailed her other leg with a crossbow bolt. The Runner was laughing.

“You idiot! You missed!”

She had been dodging just a second ago. But now…Ryoka Griffin looked up. She had a healing potion in her hands, but no more weapons. She looked up at Persua as the girl slowly reloaded her crossbow. Claudeil and Toriska stood behind Persua, panting. They wanted nothing more but for this to be over. The air smelled of smoke, now, and was hot from the flames.

Hot.

Ryoka was smiling. She looked relieved. Like someone who had been dangling on the edge of a cliff and at last…let go.

“Goodbye, Persua. I don’t think either of us are getting out of this.”

Persua just sneered as she brushed at the cloth covering her features.

“Those [Merchants] can’t do anything. Even if they claim we were here—they have no proof. Not even Lady Reinhart can get us. I have powerful friends.”

“Really? Then good luck.”

Ryoka’s smile was bloody. Persua’s brows crossed—then she heard a moan. It came from Claudeil, and he touched her shoulder.

“Persua.”

She swung around, looking for the [Merchants]. Her first thought was that the one with the silver blade had caught up. But no—the woman with indigo hair was standing at the edges of the Bloodfields. If anything, she’d begun retreating towards the rest of her group. And the [Merchants] were…fleeing back?

Then Persua felt the heat on the breeze. She looked around, and the flames that Ryoka had shot everywhere were still burning. But mostly—it was just warm. Hot.

Ryoka’s aim had not been at the other Runners. It had instead been at—the interspersed growth on the Bloodfields. The plants and silent, slumbering Bloodfields. Sleeping in the cold.

Only now…Persua saw the plants moving. Rising. Growing…and her eyes went wide in sudden realization and horror. Toriska moaned.

“The Bloodfields. She woke them up.”

The plants were flexing, stretching, thinking that the winter had ended. It was not a slow awakening—Persua saw the first white spire slowly rising from the ground.

It had been maybe fifteen feet before. Now…the Watchertree rose and rose, a pale trunk spearing upwards. High, higher…it was thirty feet tall now, fifty. Seventy…

Eighty feet tall, the Watchertree was still rising—and more spires emerged out of the ground. Pale, white teeth out of dripping red lands. The Bloodfields began to buzz.

——

Ysara saw the Bloodfields moving. And everyone in the [Merchant]’s caravan was screaming. They had been the moment Ryoka fired the flames from her wand.

“[Dangersense]! Ysara—run!”

Buleth was screaming at her, his voice hoarse. The caravan was pivoting. They were headed—south. South and west, away from the Bloodfields. Why? Ysara didn’t understand until she saw where Ryoka and the other Runners were fighting. The area just ahead of them was waking up.

She was running now, but she slowed to see what was happening. She had time—the cumbersome wagons weren’t fast. Ryoka Griffin was standing there as the other three Humans wavered. And it was well they didn’t immediately move. Now they were in mortal danger.

Watchertrees. They were active, and now—unless you had an army—

She had never seen the Bloodfields awake, but Ysara knew the stories. She saw the first Sporemines venting their toxic gasses into the air, leaving shimmering clouds of death. They wanted you to run. And you had to run.

The first swarms of insects were emerging from their homes. They buzzed into the air, in a swarm—and they came for the [Merchants], the largest group, first.

“Abandon the wagons!”

“What? Our goods—”

“Abandon the wagons and get them later! Or we’ll all be dead! Get on a horse and ride!”

Ysara screamed at Buleth. They’d never make it up that steep incline towards Liscor—their only hope was to go south and hope the entire Bloodfields didn’t come to life.

“Run!”

The Drake realized she was right. One of the [Traders] slashed the leads off a horse, but the terrified animal was already bolting. The rest tried to get on a horse or just ran—but the insects were on top of them in moments.

And they were—huge.

One was the size of Ysara’s head and mothy—but it had teeth. It tried to land on Buleth’s face and tear off his scales. She stabbed it through the abdomen as he screamed. She might have stabbed him—but she saved his face. He tore it off, and the cuts on his scales ran with blood. But he had no chance to thank her—

It was one of thousands, and more were coming. Ysara ran, slashing left and right, as the [Guards] screamed. And more were coming.

“Gore Shambler! Gore—”

Ysara looked up as the first great beast of the Bloodfields unburied itself from the earth. Her lips moved as it disgorged soil, shambling forwards and ignoring the first arrow that buried itself in its hide.

“Silver and steel.”

She looked around for Ryoka—but she couldn’t see anyone. The Runners were trapped in the midst of the Bloodfields. They were dead.

——

Persua was cowering next to one of the bug-dens, shrieking and crying as she covered her head. Claudeil was smashing smaller bugs—but he couldn’t believe he was alive. His only explanation was that Ryoka had baked this plant with her first flame spells and the bugs were flying everywhere.

Confused in the cold—but more things were waking up. He looked around and spoke.

“We’re leaving.”

Toriska looked up and nodded. There wasn’t any more debate. Persua’s thirst for murder—even Ryoka seemed to have forgotten the death.

She was standing there, just looking around at all this horror. She seemed—peaceful. Horrified—but peaceful.

“I want to go home. I want…to go home. I don’t want this.”

What was she saying? She was mad. Claudeil heard her speaking, as if arguing with herself. But he didn’t care.

“Let’s go. North!”

That was his take. South through the rest of the Bloodfields? The [Merchants] might not make it north, but they were Runners. He stood up and shakily took a few steps forwards. Then he turned back.

“Toriska, get Persua up—”

He had the vague sense to grab his friend—and he turned around and took a step back. That saved his life.

The earth erupted, and a pale tendril as sharp as a needle and tall as he was shot up. It scored straight through his back, laying it open and ignoring the leather armor and clothing he wore. The impact hurled Claudeil to the ground, and he lay there on his front, stunned. Then he screamed, turned—and saw it.

The pale spires. The nearest one was about sixty feet away, towering over them all. The tendril slowly withdrew into the ground, sinking back with unnatural speed into the earth. What—what had hit—

“Its roots! It’s alive! It—”

Toriska screamed at Claudeil, and then as he jerked up, she shouted.

“Don’t move! Don’t—”

In the chaos around him, he saw something bound past him: a braying—deer? It might have been a deer, but it had too many eyes, red and bulbous, like a spider’s, and it had teeth pointed like a carnivore’s for ripping and tearing, and gnarled red horns.

It was chasing something he saw scuttling across the ground with a glowing body. Was that a Cr—

Both creatures vanished as the Watchertree struck again. The first tendril got the bug-thing. It lanced the moving creature, and the stag realized it was in mortal danger. It tried to leap away, making a braying howl—

Until the tendril withdrew into the ground. The stag was about a hundred and twenty feet away when a lance came up from the ground again. It hit the animal in the belly and kept going straight up. And this time…

A crimson pillar let blood soak the ground. Absorbing the blood. Claudeil saw the tendril leave the dead body as the blood was sucked away—and insects in the air landed and began devouring the corpse. More plants began to sense the blood, and some actually uprooted themselves to get closer to the blood and corpse.

Insects. Watchertrees. Death.

This was the Bloodfields. And it was waking up more and more. Claudeil looked around, and now he was frozen, lying on his front. Too afraid to even get up. Persua looked around.

“We’re dead. She’s killed us. That maniac.”

She whispered. Toriska was just…crying.

“Someone—where’s Lady Pathseeker. Someone—help!”

She looked about, but no one was coming. And Ryoka…Claudeil turned to her. She hadn’t moved. She’d seen the Watchertrees move. And he saw it on her face. Terror and—then she looked at him, and he flinched.

Ryoka Griffin stood there, inhaling, exhaling, and she finally pulled the crossbow bolt out of her leg. She drank her last healing potion and almost reached for a little vial on her belt. Or where it should be? Ryoka didn’t find it and after a second—let her hand drop.

She looked over at the frozen Runners. Then she smiled ruefully and, he thought, truthfully. Ryoka raised her voice.

“We’re quits, Persua. If you make it out, that is. I never had the guts to kill you. I’m…sorry it went down this way. I’m going back. I have to try again.”

She twitched. Claudeil saw Ryoka’s body turn north—then twist south. As if something were pulling her. She nearly took a step, and the Watchertree shivered. Ryoka balled up her fists.

“No. No! I will not—I will not make the same mistake again. I’m going back—and nothing will stop me.”

She was glowing. The City Runner stared at her with wide eyes. Was that golden writing in the air? Swirling magic—dragging her south? She pulled at it, and then Claudeil saw something burn up and down Ryoka’s arms. Like the [Merchant] with the silver sword—tattoos of magical writing? Only, this was gold and orange, fiery lines of magic that seared into his eyes.

They were—pulling her, like strings, south. The young woman fought them. She planted her feet—and he heard her cry out.

“I refuse.”

She turned back—and he saw the magic yanking her so hard he thought it might tear the skin off her bones. But this was her or it. And she pulled and pulled—and he saw the writing glow until the magic had a choice.

Her or it. And the spellcaster was not that—cruel—

Ryoka Griffin tore loose from something, and the geas spell exploded in the air like a burning sun. The magical words burst off her skin, flaking and disintegrating into the air with such force that even the monsters and creatures of the Bloodfields recoiled. The Watchertrees shrank and hid a moment. Then, Ryoka Griffin was free.

She stumbled—and then took a step. Her feet bled, and her first step looked as if it might pitch her into the ground. But then she took another and another, and her stride lengthened. In a second, she had taken six steps, and her stride was lengthening.

She ran. Ryoka Griffin ran faster than he had ever seen another Runner move. The earth erupted behind her. Once, twice—she dodged left suddenly, and the pale root of the Watchertree missed her by a foot. She was laughing.

She looked alive. She looked like…a Courier. Ryoka Griffin passed by the other Runners. She ran past the awakening plants, dodging the Watchertrees by sheer speed. She—

Left them behind. Heading towards the fleeing [Merchants]. Away. Leaving Claudeil, Persua, and Toriska to their fate.

“We’re going to die. This is your fault, Persua. Yours.”

Claudeil had dared to push himself up and into a crouch as Ryoka ran past him. But now she was gone—he realized he should have tried to run with her. They needed…

“Crossbow. Where’s my crossbow?”

“You can’t kill that thing. It’s a tree!”

“No, but maybe—throw it, Toriska!”

His friend looked at him—then realized what he meant. If they could distract the Watchertree…

The silent spire shivered when they hurled the crossbow far from them onto the grass. It twitched—but nothing emerged from the ground. Toriska had been ready to bolt—but when nothing happened, she nearly sobbed again.

“What? But it sensed that!”

“It’s not alive. It must know the difference. Why isn’t it getting us?”

They weren’t adventurers. Maybe…Claudeil didn’t know. Maybe it thought they were the other plants and couldn’t tell the difference?

Move and die. No—run. They had to run like Ryoka had. He turned to Persua, Toriska, and wondered if they could do it.

“We can outrun it. All together. We break north. Got it?”

There were more Watchertrees, but if they got out of range of this one, they might find a path around their attack ranges. They had to do it—now.

The insects were growing less confused. Most were heading back to their homes—but the rest? The rest were sensing that there were at least a few more things to eat here. A terrible buzzing was filling the air, but it was Persua who refused.

She shook her head repeatedly.

“We can’t! I’m not that fast—we’ll die.”

“We have to, Persua! There’s no other chance! We’ll all go together, on three. Okay?”

Claudeil shouted at her. He had forgotten her threats—forgotten why they had gone after Ryoka, even. He just wanted to live. He saw her head rise, and she looked more terrified than he had ever seen her.

Then a kind of silent resolve filled her eyes. Persua looked at him, at Toriska, and her mouth opened. She closed it after a second and nodded. Then she gave him a wide, big smile.

“I trust you. Let’s do it. On three.”

He slowly moved his knees around in his crouch, trying not to disturb the ground. The Watchertree was shivering as Persua looked north, and Toriska pointed.

“That way. That’s the most direct path away. Dodge the bugs…”

They were descending. He saw fanged maws, huge wings, moths and…Claudeil spoke.

“Three. Two. One—!”

The three friends were all tensed to run. He was ready. Like Ryoka—he saw the Runner reaching the edge of the Bloodfields. Do or die. Level up. Be a—

In that gap between ‘one’ and ‘zero’, as they were ready to go, Persua moved. She reached out, and with a steady hand—pushed Toriska, who was tensed to break into a sprint.

Pushed her hard enough that the other Runner stumbled forwards. Toriska twisted around, eyes wide, then realized her mistake. Her scream started high.

“Per—”

A crimson spire emerged from the earth in a flash. It ran through Toriska’s stomach, emerged from her back, and Claudeil saw his friend twist and scream, but there was no more air. He stared at her—but then Persua was running.

“Run! Run!”

She took off, around Toriska. Toriska that she had pushed—

Toriska was dead. Claudeil ran after Persua, and if he had a breath to scream at her—he thundered across the ground as the Watchertree sensed the motion and tried to get the other two. Persua dodged left suddenly, and just in time. She screamed as the ground erupted—Claudeil jumped as the Watchertree’s root withdrew and felt another blow to his back.

It tossed him onto the ground, and he lay there, screaming and crying—but then he realized he wasn’t being impaled. He was—he looked back, and the Watchertree was shaking, but he was out of its range.

“I’m alive! I…Toriska?”

She was lying crumpled on the ground. Bugs covered his friend. Claudeil looked back and then got to his feet.

“Persua—”

She hadn’t stopped. But he began to catch up as he ran north. Around the Watchertrees—he was faster than she was. They were both breaking their personal records, though. Claudeil stared at Persua’s back as the bugs came for them. Larger creatures were shambling around, confused by the cooling Bloodfields—but the bugs were fastest.

One tried to take a chunk of his face off. It tore the top of an ear, and he ripped it off with his flesh, screaming. But they were going to make it! Persua threw a centipede with wings off her that was trying to burrow into her flesh. They were going to—

Claudeil saw the bug flying past him, and then Persua’s hand rose. She shot her ice-shard spell into the bugs trying to land on them, then looked at him. Their eyes met as they neared the edge of the Bloodfields, a thousand paces to safety. And he realized she was looking at him with that same big smile. And he realized—

He’d seen her murder Toriska. She—

He tried to dodge. But she shot a shard of ice into his kneecap, and he went down, screaming.

“Persua!”

He would have gotten back up, but she calmly slowed down, aimed her wand, and shot him in the leg eight times. Then she tossed the spent wand aside and kept running.

“This is her fault. Not mine. Sorry, Claudeil—”

She left him as, screaming, the City Runner tried to drag himself forwards. But the bugs were coming. And Persua?

She never looked back.

——

Ryoka Griffin emerged out of the Bloodfields and into the midst of the fleeing [Merchants]. Ysara couldn’t believe her eyes.

“You made it?”

Ryoka seemed just as surprised by Ysara. She panted.

“I just—I ran.”

“You woke up the Bloodfields! Those other Runners—murderers, Gazi the Omniscient, Gnolls—this is a disaster!”

Buleth was babbling, almost sobbing as he looked back at his abandoned wagons and goods. But Ysara just exhaled—hard. Her chests were behind, some lying on the ground—one was on a horse that had run with them.

“We’ll recover it when it freezes, Buleth. Hire a Courier or an adventuring team. Or before—the Bloodfields are cooling down. But there’ll be no more traffic until winter.”

Not for them, at any rate. And Ysara doubted anyone else would want to risk it.

That they had escaped was purely due to their distance from the Bloodfields and the fact that it was off-season. The insects and larger monsters had retreated fast in the cold, more than they had from the magic and blades.

Four [Guards] were down, either wounded or dead. A [Trader], Twodeals, had a huge chunk taken out of one leg, and Ysara had seen one Gnoll merchant who’d been hit by a stray arrow. It was the most merciful battle she had ever seen.

She herself had a gash across her collarbone, and something had taken a bite out of her hand. She only noticed the web between thumb and finger was missing when she checked the blood on her sword.

“I’m sorry.”

Ryoka Griffin stared at the ruined caravan. She looked guilty—but even Buleth took one look at the Human’s shredded feet, the bloodstains from the crossbow bolts, and her ragged clothes and shook his head.

“Nothing to be done. Damn Runners. At least they didn’t make it. I didn’t see more than one running, and hopefully she’s poisoned.”

“Persua…? Then Claudeil and Toriska didn’t…”

Ryoka twisted around and gazed back. She didn’t look happy to realize that two of the Runners were dead. Ysara pointed her blade as she sipped from a potion and handed another to Ryoka.

“I saw one taken by a Watchertree. The other fell—the bugs are all over him. Poor bastard. He might survive if he’s got a potion. If he’s lucky—he won’t have a potion.”

She pointed to a shape two thousand feet behind them in the red grass. She could see little things moving on him even from afar—and he was definitely alive. For now. If she hadn’t pointed Claudeil out, Ryoka would never have picked him out.

The Bloodfields were cooling down, and the Watchertrees were beginning to shrink back down again. But the bugs…Ysara looked around.

“Anyone have a longbow? We could try putting him out of his misery.”

“Let him die slow.”

Buleth muttered. The [Traders] were flowing south, around the Bloodfields, already arguing over who to hire to collect their things. They’d need horses to either tow the broken wagons or buy new ones—recalculate their route for a southern trip.

Ysara doubted she’d see her sister or go north this winter. She had mixed feelings about it. But frankly, even if it was cold, she didn’t want to come back here. Not this year.

“You might want to come with us, Miss Griffin. Looks like you’re going on a delivery after all. Why don’t you join us?”

She looked at Ryoka, and the City Runner said not a word. She was just staring at the figure in the distance. He was trying to drag himself forwards. Claudeil even got up and swung around as if drunk. Ysara thought she could hear a scream, choked. She wanted to put her fingers in her ears.

“I have to go back. I have to say—I’m sorry.”

“Maybe wait until the winter?”

Buleth’s voice was sarcastic, but Ryoka Griffin just looked at the stumbling figure as he fell down again. And her voice…

“Oh hell. I’m…”

She lowered the healing potion from her mouth, and Ysara saw Ryoka Griffin slowly take a step back towards the Bloodfields. This time, the Silver Merchant caught Ryoka’s arm.

“I know you must be crazy—but you barely made it out alive. He can’t run. Those Watchertrees will get you if you slow down. There’s at least one in between you and him. He shot you. He tried to kill you. I’m all for forgiveness, but is it worth dying?”

The other [Merchants] slowed down. Buleth turned in his saddle, and he looked entirely blank—until he saw where Ryoka was looking. Then his gaze turned incredulous.

“Let him suffer. You want to try and…? That’s a terrible way for you to die.”

Claudeil was still screaming. Ysara knew it was true, but her eyes searched Ryoka’s face. Searched for something like her brother. Crazy nobility, the idea that he had to do the ‘right thing’. As if she were looking for the lie in the facade Ryoka was putting on.

But she didn’t see it. She just saw a confused young woman. Hands balled up. Breathing hard, and sweating cold in the fall air. She looked scared…but her feet were pulling her north.

And this time, she gazed back at Ysara.

“Let me try.”

“Tell me why. And it has to be a better reason than ‘you’re not afraid of dying’. Or I swear on my levels I’ll stab you in the leg to save you from yourself.”

The Silver Merchant tightened her grip on Ryoka’s shoulder. The City Runner looked Ysara right in the eyes, perhaps for the first time since they’d met. And her green eyes flickered with guilt and regret.

“I…I could let him die. He’d let me die. But I want to be better. To my friends. To—everyone. I don’t know how. I’m only good at running. I want to do something good.”

The [Merchants] looked at each other, and one of them laughed at her. Ysara? She looked in those earnest eyes. Then she traced the route Ryoka would have to take.

A Watchertree closest to the edges of the Bloodfields was still standing sentinel. Even if Ryoka ran around the rest—Ysara stared at the pale tower of death. She felt the bloodsoaked hilt of her sword in one hand and exhaled slowly. Then she let go of Ryoka.

“Run. I’ll cover you.”

Ryoka Griffin blinked. Buleth twisted around to look at Ysara.

“Ysara!”

But the woman was striding towards the Watchertree. Ryoka Griffin looked at Ysara, and the Silver Merchant turned her head.

“I said run!”

Ryoka Griffin turned. She began running, and Ysara followed her into the Bloodfields. She saw Ryoka speed up, so fast that she thought the young woman was flying across the ground.

She crossed under the aegis of the Watchertree—and the earth exploded under her. But she kept running, and the Watchertree missed her. She was headed straight for the Runner. Ysara?

She halted at the edge of the Watchertree’s perimeter, and saw Ryoka pass by the tree. But she’d have to come back. So Ysara studied the tree. She’d seen how fast it moved.

Ysara was not her brother. She was no [Knight]. Her years training as a [Warrior] were long behind her. But…she lifted the blade overhead, and silver flashed from her grip as she called out.

“This sword is the heirloom of my house. It is my past. Silver and steel be my guide. In the name of the Silver Dragon!”

Then she walked forwards onto the crimson grass. The Watchertree shivered, and Buleth shouted with the rest of the [Merchants] and [Guards].

“Ysara!”

The Silver Merchant stepped left, whirling in a single move as if she were on the practice courts of the keep back home. She unsheathed her sword and twirled with it in two hands. It slashed down as the first root-spike shot from the ground.

Her sword bit deep into the Watchertree’s roots, and red ichor, thick sap, ran from the wound. Quick as a flash, it withdrew into the earth, and Ysara saw the Watchertree shaking ominously. But she was already leaping back as a second root rose.

The sword of an ancient family cut the air, and she was dancing, stepping, refusing to stand in one place.

“[Quicksilver Cut].”

Her blade was ringing with the force of trying to hew through something elastic, rubbery, hardened flesh or wood. Blood ran down her arms. Or was it sap?

Something struck her in the sword-shoulder. It lanced straight through her flesh, and Ysara staggered. But then she took her sword in two hands again and hacked through the root. When she looked up—

She saw Ryoka Griffin running back towards her. The Silver Merchant saw a tide of insects following her. But the young woman had Claudeil over one shoulder, and she was running—running—

She passed into the reach of the Watchertree, and she was slower than the first time, weighed down, tired. But Ysara was there, and Ryoka dodged the next root as the bleeding Watchertree struck. She pivoted—and swung with all her strength.

Her blade shattered as it lodged halfway through the root, and the Watchertree jerked, and she felt a tremor run through the ground as its agony made the earth shake. Ysara felt her blade crack and shatter, and she saw the silver blade vanish, still embedded in the root. She gazed at the hilt of her broken sword. Then—Ryoka was running past her, a wide-eyed young man clinging to her, covered in blood. And Ysara?

She laughed. She raised the sword hilt high as she stepped back—then she threw the hilt down. The broken tip of the sword stuck in the grass. Ysara turned and walked back the way she’d come.

——

When I stop breathing hard, when my lungs stop screaming—I can’t believe I’m alive. But the Silver Merchant, Ysara, is the person I stare at.

She—killed a Watchertree? Or beat it. I saw her dodging the roots and cutting like some kind of heroine from stories. Even Yvlon couldn’t do that, I think. Could Gerial? Calruz?

“Your sword—”

I’ve cost her and the merchants their caravan. They’re still heading south, although they’ve stopped to pour healing potions on Claudeil. He’s alive. He’s staring at me, and I…

“Forget it. I never liked it, anyways. It’s just a sword. I used it for something worthy. I think even my father would be proud.”

There’s a hole in her shoulder, and she looks like she’s badly hurt. But Ysara gives me a smile and—she’s so badass.

I want to thank her. I have to—but Ysara just looks north.

“If you’re going to make it, that Watchertree will probably be dangerous in an hour or less. I’ve just wounded it. If you come south, I’d love the company. I’ll wager we’ll get free drinks enough to recoup my losses, at least.”

She winks at me, and I waver. But Ysara is looking north, and I stare back the way I’ve come.

Liscor. Liscor, right? I’m shaking. I’m—sad that Toriska is dead. I look at Claudeil. He’s panting, staring at me like an idiot.

“She tried to get me killed. Persua. You…why’d you come back for me?”

“I don’t know.”

He looks at me as confused as I am. But Ysara just exhales. She rubs at her shoulder as one of the [Guards] presses a rag dipped in potion onto it.

“You—Claudeil?”

He flinches because none of the [Merchants] look happy to see him. But Ysara just points down at him.

“You won’t be going north. That girl—Persua? Did she get away?”

“I think so. I…”

Is she going to kill him? Buleth, the Drake, looks ready to, but Ysara’s lip just twists.

“Swear on a truth stone you’ll never join her. Swear—and we’ll settle your debts like [Merchants]. We’ll take care of him.”

She nods at me. I hope that doesn’t mean he’ll be tortured—but it sounds like they have an idea. Buleth nods sharply.

“We’re not Roshal. We’ll just work you like Lizardfolk. Maybe we’ll make him grab our Chests of Holding.”

“Later. Let’s get out of here. Miss Ryoka?”

She knows. I’m shaking again, and I’m trying not to cry.

“I should stay and thank you—”

Ysara’s eyes are pale silver and faintly, faintly, brown. She smiles at me.

“Do you have more people you need to apologize to? Your friends?”

“Yes.”

Her and the Horns and…the Silver Merchant points a bloody finger along the Bloodfields. The wounded Watchertree is half-buried in the ground. It’s dangerous—but the magic on me is broken.

“Then go and apologize to them. Then—when we meet, you can thank me in person. I will see you again, someday. Next year or later. [Merchants], like Runners, go everywhere.”

She is so. Cool. Then Ysara offers me a hand, and I take it. I turn—and despite my wounds, despite all of it, I feel—what’s the word?

Shriven? Lighter? At peace? Nothing is perfect.

But I want to try. So I begin to run. I run and run—back the way I’ve come. There’s nothing for me this way. Only death and some kind of meaningless thrill before I die.

My friends are back there. I want to meet them. I want…

——

So Ryoka Griffin runs. She runs, crying like a baby and tripping over her steps. But she’s free. To Liscor. Running through the evening into night, back the way she’s come. She doesn’t care about Persua. Even if the other Runner is alive—it doesn’t matter.

She just wants to go home. Even if she doesn’t know where it is yet.

[Skill – Indomitable Will learned!]

[Skill Refused. Skill Canceled. Level Up Cancelled.]

She doesn’t need it. She just wants to be free. And—she wants her friends.

The Bloodfields by Enuryn

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.56

“Fire! Put out the fire!”

Of all the ways to wake up, hearing that shouted from below still beat being stabbed in the chest. But the Horns of Hammerad were still out of bed and racing downstairs within seconds of hearing it.

A cloud of black smoke billowed out of the kitchen as Erin stumbled out, hacking and coughing. Toren followed her, holding a smoking, flaming pan. He charged outside, and the Horns of Hammerad saw him hurl the pan to the ground and begin stomping on whatever had been inside.

The smoke began to clear a bit, but it still stung the eyes. The smell of burnt grease and charcoal lingered unpleasantly in the air.

Erin stared up at the adventurers staring down at her from the staircase. She grinned weakly and waved.

“Oh. Hi. Um. Anyone want pancakes?”

——

Much to Erin’s surprise, the Horns of Hammerad actually knew what pancakes were. Apparently, pancakes weren’t a product of the modern age, and so she served several heaping plates to her guests until they were all full.

Pancakes were fun. Pancakes were easy to make. Erin could let Toren stir the batter together while she cooked them on a pan over the fire. She used a spatula and oiled her pan well to get the pancakes to stop sticking. She’d tried flipping it like chefs did on TV, but she stopped after the pancakes kept landing on Toren and the fire.

She joined them for the last bit of the meal once she’d reached a critical mass of pancake. Erin munched on her food as the adventurers ate their way back into the waking world.

“What was all that about?”

Erin looked at the bald mage and tried to remember his name. Soulstorm? It was something like that.

“Oh, uh, I was trying to teach him how to cook.”

Erin pointed to Toren as the skeleton walked into the room with a pitcher of milk. She accepted a refill of the glass as the other adventurers stared at her.

“What? I thought it would be easy. Fun fact: it’s not.”

“A skeleton…cooking?”

“Well, he already does all the other chores. If he could do stuff like make eggs, stir soup, and flip pancakes, it’d make my life even easier. But, uh, skeletons don’t really understand the difference between ‘cooked’ and ‘burned’.”

Gerial exchanged a glance with the half-Elf and shook his head. But Ceria looked intrigued.

“It’s not a bad idea. I’m still not sure what Pisces was thinking, giving you only one skeleton as a guard, but I suppose that’s all your mana supply could take.”

Erin froze, fork stuck in her food.

“My what? I don’t have any magic. I mean, I can’t use magic.”

Ceria frowned at Erin.

“Really? Who told you that?”

“Pisces.”

“Ah. But I wasn’t talking about spellcasting. I just meant your internal mana supply.”

Ceria looked around and saw blank faces around her, except for the other mage.

“Oh come on. You all know you have magic inside of you, right?”

Gerial looked down at his stomach, bemused.

“We do?”

“Of course. Magic is part of us. It’s in the air we breathe, the food we eat—we all have our own supply of mana, however small. My kind has a great deal of internal magic we generate simply by existing, so we make good mages. Humans on the other hand—”

She shrugged and bit into a piece of pancake. She chewed and spoke around her food.

“Not as much. But exceptions exist, and they make good mages. But even if you don’t cast spells, you have some mana in you. Enough to sustain basic spells or supply a summoned creature with enough magic to survive if it can’t by itself.”

“So I have magic? In me? Does that mean if Toren wasn’t here I’d—be able to cast spells?”

Ceria paused and shook her head sympathetically.

“I’m sorry. But if Pisces tested you, it’s unlikely. Maybe there’s a better chance, but…”

“Oh.”

Erin said it quietly. She kept eating in silence as the other adventurers spoke.

“I’d like to go into the city and collect our share of the supplies. We also need to visit the Adventurer’s Guild to make sure we’re still cleared to enter the ruins. But, ah, we can’t go if that adventurer is still around.”

Calruz scowled as he ate two pancakes in a single bite.

“Gazi the Omniscient. It would be inconvenient if she were to trouble us now. I will go with you.”

Erin blinked and looked up from her plate.

“Gazi? Oh, she’s gone.”

The other Horns of Hammerad stared at her.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. She told me she was going and looking for something. Somewhere else.”

Erin was aware of the other adventurers sharing a look at the table, but she didn’t understand what it meant. It was just a look that told you it was significant but didn’t share any of the details. It could be that it was a look to signify the world was changing and those present were at the precipice of a new era. Or it could be a look to subtly acknowledge some unlucky person had stepped in dog poo and hadn’t noticed. You couldn’t tell.

“Well then, that makes things simpler. At least for now.”

Gerial shook his head and stood up from the table.

“We’ll see if anything else needs doing in the city. Calruz, do you still want to join us?”

The Minotaur snorted.

“There is no need to waste any more time with useless chattering and polishing weapons. Tomorrow, we fight. Tell the others I will be ready when the time comes.”

The adventurers nodded and began trooping out the door. Erin stared at their dirty dishes and pointed silently to Toren and then at the table. The skeleton obediently walked over and began to gather them.

Calruz was still eating, but Erin could hear the other adventurers debating how to spend their last day. Some were in favor of buying trinkets to send to family, others to see what kind of entertainment was available in the city. Erin clearly heard Gerial talking casually to the others as he closed the door behind him.

“That’s odd. Was that large rock there yesterday?”

Erin shot up in her seat.

“Wait!”

She threw the door open and caught the adventurers as they were descending the hill. Erin desperately waved her arms at them and shouted incoherently.

“Stop! Hold it! Don’t go any further!”

They turned and stared. Erin pointed with a trembling finger at the large, conspicuously inconspicuous boulder casually blocking their path towards the city.

“Stay right there! If the rock moves, hit it or cast a spell or something!”

“Hit the rock?”

Perplexed, Gerial and the other adventurers stared at the hidden Rock Crab. Ceria, on the other hand, narrowed her eyes and took a few steps back.

Erin rushed inside her inn and came out a few seconds later with a basket full of seed cores. Calruz followed her and stared at the giant boulder.

“What are you worried about?”

Erin grabbed one of the seed cores carefully and held it in one hand. She pointed at the boulder as she glared at Calruz.

“There’s a monster down there.”

He squinted.

“I don’t see it. Is it hiding in the ground?”

“No!”

Erin pointed again.

“See that? That thing?”

Calruz looked. He frowned.

“That is a boulder. What of it?”

Ceria coughed.

“It’s actually not, Calruz. It’s a monster, hiding under the rock. What you’re actually looking at is a shell.”

The other adventurers reacted to that news. Several swore, and those holding weapons backed up as they gripped their weapon hilts.

“Are you sure?”

The half-Elf nodded. Her wise, half-Elven eyes…looked pointedly at the edge of the rock, devoid of moss or other signs the rock had been rooted in the ground for a long time, and Erin’s face.

“I didn’t see it at first, but there’s definitely something odd about that boulder. It looks too—out of place. See how the grass is flattened around it? And it hasn’t sunk into the earth as it should have over time.”

Gerial frowned as he half-unsheathed his sword.

“I believe you, but my [Dangersense] hasn’t gone off.”

“Not everything trips [Dangersense]. And if it’s a sneak attack, you’d have to be right next to the creature, and by that point, you’d be dead.”

He blew out his mustache.

“Fair point. Well, how do you want to tackle it? Freezing spells and then we charge in?”

Calruz nodded. He reached for his axe.

“I’ll break its shell.”

“No need.”

To the adventurers’ surprise, Erin walked forwards.

“I can totally scare it off.”

Calruz’s face was a statement of incredulity.

“Impossible.”

“Watch me.”

Erin took aim and threw. Her first seed core splattered harmlessly against the Rock Crab’s shell. The second and third did the same as blue-gray seeds and liquid began trickling down the side of the boulder.

The adventurers were just starting to fidget in place when the Rock Crab suddenly lurched to its feet. They immediately readied their weapons, but the giant crab began scuttling away as Erin threw several more Seed Cores after it. Courtesy of her Skill, each one struck the shell until the Rock Crab scuttled over a hilltop and disappeared.

Erin turned, smiling, and saw the Horns of Hammerad staring at her, slack-jawed.

“How did you do that?”

She showed them the seed cores and explained about the strange trees in the orchard she’d found. Ceria frowned at the small cores.

“I think I know what you’re talking about. Can I see one of those, ah, seed cores?”

“Here.”

Erin casually tossed a seed core at Ceria. The half-Elf yelped, desperately grabbed the pod, and held it gingerly in her hands as if it were a live grenade.

“Tree kissing rot! Don’t do that!”

“Why?”

Ceria’s hand shook as she very carefully held the seed core in her hand. Her’s eyes bulged.

“We’ve been drinking this? Are you insane?”

“Just the outer part! I know how to pick ones where the core isn’t broken! Honest! You’re not dead, so I’m right.”

Erin hurried to reassure Ceria. The half-Elf looked pale, but after a while, she accepted that Erin probably hadn’t poisoned them.

Gerial frowned at the seed cores in Erin’s basket, confused.

“That explains why the crab ran off. But why is it afraid of a tiny bit of poison? It’s a lot bigger than we are.”

“It must not have strong resistance to poison. Either that or it has no way to reduce the buildup of toxins like we do. Those crab-creatures might carry the sickness within them for the rest of their lives if they’re not careful.”

Gerial and the other adventurers muttered as Erin handed Toren the seed cores to put back in the inn. This time, far away from the kitchen.

“Well, you saved our hides from a nasty encounter. That thing was big, and I don’t relish wasting any more healing potions before we go into the ruins.”

“Mm.”

Calruz folded his arms and stared at the place where the Rock Crab had been. He didn’t appear particularly impressed.

“Go, then. I will remain here.”

Ceria and the others eyed him curiously.

“Doing what? Sleeping?”

“No. Teaching.”

——

“Only Calruz would think about teaching an [Innkeeper] to fight.”

Gerial shook his head as he and Ceria pushed their way into the local Adventurer’s Guild in Liscor. The building was far smaller than they were used to and bustling with activity. Countless Bronze-rank adventurers were trying to turn in bounties on monsters or take the few requests posted on the jobs board.

“Here.”

Ceria pointed, and the two got into the shortest line. They kept talking as a harried-looking Drake receptionist dealt with the adventurers in front of them.

“I mean, why does she need training? You saw how she handled that crab thing.”

“That’s not the same as knowing how to fight. And besides, those seed cores won’t do much good against a group of bandits or even a few Goblins.”

Ceria had to raise her voice to talk over the hubbub in the room. The receptionist in front of them had a loud voice, and she was using it liberally as she dealt with the line in front of them.

“Look, I don’t care how the Human cities do it. We don’t give out bounties for beating up [Thugs]. How do you know they were guilty anyways? Did you just beat up some kids? In the future, let the Watch take care of it. Next!”

“Still. Do you think he’s going to teach her how to use a weapon? In a day?”

“It’s Calruz. He probably expects Erin to be like Minotaur children. They grow up knowing how to use a blade.”

“Evil Goblins? Robbing you? And what are we supposed to do about it? Go and post a bounty if you’re that upset. But they’re Goblins. Go grab a sword and deal with it yourself!”

“I hope he goes easy on her. I’d hate for him to hurt her accidentally.”

“You Humans. Always so worried. She’s survived this far. Calruz won’t kill her by the time we get back. Probably.”

“No, there are no more requests available. Sorry. Next! You two, the Human and, er, pointy-eared Human! I’m assuming you’re a half-Elf, but let me know if I’m wrong.”

Gerial and Ceria looked up. Selys waved at them, and they approached.

“What can I do for you? And if it’s about lodging or supplies, don’t bother. The Guild is all out of everything.”

“No, ah, it’s not that, Miss.”

Gerial cleared his throat and smiled at Selys. The Drake did not return the smile.

“We’re part of the Horns of Hammerad. We—and four other teams—put in a request a few days ago to enter the ruins as part of an expedition. We were wondering if we had permission—”

“Oh, you’re that lot.”

Selys’s eyes widened, and she stared at Gerial and Ceria.

“You’re one of the first non-Drake Silver-rank teams we’ve had in the city in a while. I expected you’d be bigger. And don’t you have a Minotaur in your group? Please don’t let him cause any damage.”

She rushed on before either adventurer could respond.

“Anyways, the Guild already approved your request, so there’s nothing to worry about. Go right ahead.”

Both Ceria and Gerial exchanged a quizzical glance. Gerial cleared his throat.

“Um. We don’t need any seals? Any letters or proof we can enter?”

This time, it was Selys’ turn to look confused.

“Why would you need anything like that? You’re adventurers, right? Just go out and kill monsters and try not to get killed.”

“Oh it’s just—”

“It’s just that in Human cities, adventuring is a lot more regulated.”

Ceria leaned over the counter and smiled at Selys.

“We don’t want to cause any trouble, being outsiders and all.”

Selys smiled at Ceria, her eyes flicking to the half-Elf’s pointed ears.

“Well, I appreciate that. Most of you Humans—er, the Humans we get don’t obey many of our laws. If you could clear out those ruins so they all go away, I think the city would throw you a celebration.”

“Something to look forwards to. We’re heading in tomorrow. So just to clarify—there’s nothing we need to do?”

Selys waved one hand.

“You’re fine. Go in whenever you like—just don’t bring any trouble out with you. The Watch is busy enough as it is.”

She turned to call for the next adventurer when another Drake walked over and put a hand on Selys’ shoulder. The other Drake murmured in Selys’ ear. She called out to Gerial and Ceria as they were about to leave.

“Wait! You two!”

They turned. Selys flashed them another smile.

“Sorry, but you’re from the north, aren’t you? There’s an annoying Human [Messenger] in the city, and he keeps bothering people.”

“Oh?”

Intrigued, Gerial and Ceria returned to the counter. Gossip and rumor were the lifeblood of an adventurer, and they were always curious about politics, even in cities like Liscor.

“Apparently, he’s come representing some flower. No—oh! I see. House Reinhart. That makes more sense.”

Selys rolled her eyes. She seemed to vaguely recognize the name, but that was all. For the Humans of the north—

“House Reinhart? Which Lady?”

The [Receptionist]’s overworked shrug said it all. This wasn’t even her job—but because her grandmother was the Adventurer Guild’s [Guildmistress], sometimes people came to her to ask for help.

“I didn’t ask. That’s what he’s saying. He wants to talk to someone important. Well, we have a Council, but they’re not going to listen to every Human noble who comes calling. But he’s persistent, and he won’t go away. Is this important?”

“It’s one of the Five Families!”

“The—oh, yeah. I know. But it’s the north’s Five Families. They don’t have any power here. You’re lucky I recognized it—I don’t even think I could name all five.”

If anything, realizing this came from a northern power seemed to make the Drakes less inclined to want to hear the [Messenger] out. But Ceria had a feeling she knew exactly who was asking—

“You don’t know the Five Families by heart?”

Selys rolled her eyes and twitched her tail in annoyance. She glowered at Sostrom. Sostrom, who didn’t know about Gazi of Reim, but who did know about this.

“Listen. They’re your Five Families. Not mine. You want me to name all six Walled Cities? I can do that. Any child could. I think I have them. It’s Reinhart, Veltras, El…no, wait…”

Gerial took over for her with a smile as she frowned.

“The Reinharts, Veltras, Terland, Wellfar, and El families were the first Humans to ever settle on this continent. They were aristocracy—related to kings from the continent Terandria. They’re still very rich and influential today.”

Selys nodded, moderately grateful to him.

“See? I knew that. Just not their names. Like—El? What kind of name is that? You Humans and your strange names.”

She shook her head and continued.

“—I know they’re influential, but Liscor isn’t ruled by Human nobility. They literally have no power here, and so if some ‘Reinhart’ wants to talk to the Council…”

Her look said that it sounded like a pain and no wonder the Council didn’t want to deal with it. Not that Liscor’s Council did much. But Ceria now stepped in and leaned over the counter. The busy [Receptionists], the Drake asking for Selys’ advice, weren’t too interested. Until Ceria said the other name, which the [Messenger] should have led with.

“What about Magnolia Reinhart?”

It was a fallacy of Izril’s northern Humans to think that the Five Families’ names would instantly carry as much weight as they did in the north. But the other name?

Gerial saw Selys’ head snap up in an instant. Her quill stopped writing notes in her ledger as her eyes widened.

“Magnolia Reinhart? Wait, you think it’s her?”

“What’s the difference? She’s House Reinhart, and it is probably her.”

Sostrom was still peeved, but Selys gave him a look as if the man were stupid.

“Reinhart nothing. Lady Magnolia was the one who fought in the Antinium Wars! She broke the siege of Liscor! Naane—run to the Council! Tell them it’s her, not some random [Lady]! Of all the stupid—she’s like the one Human we’d hear out!”

In Drake lands, she was one of a handful of Humans you’d know. Tyrion Veltras, perhaps, the war-leader, Magnolia Reinhart—maybe another matriarch like Maviola El—but Magnolia was the only one who might even possibly be respected.

The other receptionist practically sprinted out of the building. Selys stared at her back and then shook her head. She looked at the Horns, and they gazed at her, looking slightly triumphant. Though they, ironically, didn’t know Magnolia’s full weight in Liscor. Selys stared at the heaving room of mostly Humanity and sighed. Then she smiled at Gerial and raised her voice.

“Next!”

——

Erin made a fist with her hands. She raised it and prepared to punch. Then she hesitated.

“Aren’t you going to block?”

Calruz shook his head.

“Give me your strongest punch. I wish to feel it.”

Erin nodded. She raised her fist again and then hesitated again.

“You’re sure I can hit you?”

Calruz snorted impatiently.

“If you can injure me, I will hang up my axe and cease living as a warrior this instant.”

“Fine then. You asked for it!”

Erin clenched her hand tightly. She breathed in and out quickly a few times, trying to psyche herself up. Somehow, even though Calruz was just standing in the grass outside of her inn, he suddenly looked huge—that was, even taller than he already was.

Three hundred pounds and closer to seven feet than six of solid Minotaur loomed over Erin. She took a deep breath and attacked.

“Hiyah!”

Erin tried to punch hard and fast. Her fist struck Calruz in his stomach, and she yelped.

“Ow!”

His abs were like stone.

“Try again.”

Erin did. Her fist bounced off of Calruz’s stomach.

“Ow! Why do I feel like I’m hurting myself more than you?”

“Your form is terrible.”

“Thanks.”

“It is not a compliment.”

Calruz sighed.

“Do you not even know how to punch properly?”

Erin stared at him.

“Is there a way to punch right? Don’t you just make a fist and—”

She punched at the air and then saw Calruz’s expression.

“Well, I don’t know! I’ve never been in a fight before I came here!”

This time, it was Calruz’s turn to eye Erin.

“Never?”

“Never.”

“What about your creature? Surely it knows how to do battle.”

Calruz pointed at Toren, who was silently watching him teach Erin. The skeleton made a fist. It looked okay to Erin, but Calruz took one look and shook his head.

“That neither you nor your—pet know how to defend yourselves is a shame. Were you never taught how to fight?”

The Minotaur looked both surprised and disgruntled. He shook his head unhappily.

“I see I have much to teach you. Starting with how to strike.”

“What about your skill? That [Hammer Blow] attack was amazing! How about you teach me how to do that?”

“Someone who cannot even punch properly would never learn a Skill.”

That made sense, but Erin had more questions. She hadn’t really been able to ask Calruz yesterday, what with having to cook dinner.

“Okay, your skill is super-advanced. But how do you do it? I mean, is it magic?”

Calruz snorted.

“I am no mage. That was a Skill. It allows me to transcend my hardest strike and turn it into something even stronger.”

“Yeah…I still don’t get it.”

Erin pointed at Calruz’s axe.

“If you swing that thing as hard as you can, how can you somehow hit harder than your hardest hit? Um. What I meant was—”

“It is the act of exceeding one’s limits.”

Calruz tapped the handle of the axe on his back. Toren had barely managed to get it out of the ground, but the Minotaur swung it around easily.

“There is art in this. My kind practices little magic. There are war mages, and we do study in places like Wistram—but we respect martial ability more often.”

He snorted dismissively.

“Nevertheless, we respect the art of war in magic, engineering, and all forms. We understand honing one’s techniques, learning systematically. And this—we understand the flow of combat. To learn and use such Skills, you must forget your frailties and strike with heart.”

“That sounds deep. Like a martial art.”

Erin expected him to give her a blank look, but the Minotaur only smiled, and his blue eyes lit up a bit.

“The House of Minos learned from [Martial Artists] to create the basis of our hand-to-hand training. I am surprised you know of it. Most Izrilians are ignorant [Brawlers]. What do you know of such things?”

Erin was the one flat-footed, and she tried to gesture and do karate-chops.

“I know it’s good! It’s sort of like…um…a way to fight with your hands? You kick and punch in special ways. And footwork and stuff.”

Calruz actually winced as he watched her, but he gave a slow nod.

“That…proves you know what it is, if nothing of it.”

“Hey! Fair.”

He went on.

“I know a Human who fights with her fists. She is…skilled. But wild. And she does not understand. She fights with cunning and grace, but she only fights at her limit. She does not think she can go further. Thus—she never will.”

He stared off into the distance.

“She lacks vision. I will make her understand that.”

That made no sense to Erin, but it was nice to see that Calruz had a crush on someone. She just hoped whomever it was appreciated big…bull guys. Somehow, she had doubts about his romantic prospects, but she continued asking questions.

“So what’s the key behind a Skill opposed to just fighting good? Desire?”

Calruz returned to their discussion, which was, Erin realized, straying from what she’d hear from some practitioner on Earth. There was—ability to fight—and Skills. And it was Skills that Calruz was trying to teach her about.

“Not just desire. It is the refinement of a single strike into a moment of perfection. But that is something far beyond you at this moment. For now, you must learn to punch.”

He held up a massive hand, twice as big as hers, palm towards her.

“Strike my palm. I will show you how to attack properly.”

Erin made a fist. Calruz immediately shook his head.

“Not like that. You will break your fingers if you strike unevenly.”

He held up his other hand and made a fist. It looked like a furry brick, and Erin wondered what would happen if he hit her with it.

“Like this. Strike with your knuckles here and here. And keep your thumb outside your fist.”

Calruz pointed to Erin’s index and ring fingers, demonstrating with his own fist. She copied him, awkwardly shifting her fingers into the right positions.

“And then when you strike, step forwards and move your hips like so.”

He shifted his hips as he threw a lightning-fast jab. Erin blinked. She felt the wind from his arm.

“Okay let me try. Like—this?”

She punched his hand. It felt better, somehow. She could put more weight into it. Calruz grunted and nodded.

“Again.”

Erin punched again and again, switching hands at his directive. He nodded after a few more tries.

“Good. That is the proper technique. Now—kick!”

He showed Erin how to kick at his midsection and had her try. Twice, she fell down, but after about ten minutes, she was kicking hard enough to make him block with two hands rather than one.

“Now, the skeleton. Punch it.”

Erin eyed Toren. He immediately raised his hands like Calruz, but the Minotaur pointed at him.

“You. Thing. Dodge her.”

The skeleton turned its head to Calruz silently, as if wondering whether it should obey. But it started dodging left and right.

“Try to strike it.”

Erin did. Toren dodged. He was quite quick. She punched and kicked, but he kept on dodging.

“You are painfully slow. Move faster! Don’t strike where he is, but where he will be.”

Calruz gave her advice—or insulted her as Erin tried, sweating. She punched at Toren, and he leaned back effortlessly.

“Fast. Faster. Pull back your arm quickly.”

Erin chased Toren around fruitlessly for a few minutes and then stopped and glared at Calruz.

“Why am I learning to fight with my fists? Shouldn’t I be using a sword?”

He shook his head.

“I am teaching you a basic truth. You must know how to fight without weapons, or it will be a weakness others will exploit. Besides, you understand nothing of the flow of combat. You must learn to strike your opponent before you are worthy of using a blade.”

He looked at Toren. The skeleton wasn’t winded from dodging Erin, having no lungs to worry about, but Erin was sweaty and gasping for air.

“Very well. We shall try something else. The skeleton shall guard, and you will break through. Punch him, kick him. Destroy your opponent.”

Something about the way he said that bothered Erin. She squared up against Toren and tried a punch. This time, the skeleton blocked it.

“Ow.”

“If you break your fingers or cut your skin, there are potions. Keep attacking.”

Erin did. Toren had a harder time blocking her. She was stronger than he was, which was odd to think of. Erin punched, and he shifted backwards in the grass slightly as his arm caught her fist. She kicked, and he stumbled.

Erin waited for Toren to regain his balance, which earned her a roar of disapproval from Calruz.

“Don’t stop! Press the attack! Your goal is to defeat your enemy. Hurt him. Mercy is a luxury only the strong can afford. Attack until he lies in pieces.”

Again, the words bothered Erin. But she punched anyways. It was easy. So long as Toren just blocked and didn’t jump around, she could feint a punch and then kick—

This time, her foot kicked one leg out from under the skeleton. He fell to one knee, and Erin stepped forwards and punched him in the face. His head twisted sideways. Erin ignored the stinging in her hand and raised it again to knock him down.

She stared down at the empty skull and froze. For a second, she was on the ground staring up at a Goblin Chieftain with a sword in his hands. She smelled burning flesh.

She remembered. She remembered another face. Klbkch. And a pool of green blood. She held him in her arms as he died.

Slowly, Toren righted himself and got to his feet. He stared at Erin—as did Calruz. She couldn’t know that her face had gone deadly white or that she was suddenly shaking.

“I can’t do this.”

Calruz shook his head.

“You must. You must learn to fight.”

“No.”

Erin shook her head, or was it her entire body that shook? She felt sick. She was close to throwing up.

“I can’t. I’m no warrior.”

Unbidden, the words she’d dreamed of spoke themselves. Her childhood rhyme.

“The king is smart and uses his head. For if he moves, he’ll soon be dead.”

Calruz stared at her.

“What does that mean?”

“It means—it means that whenever I got into trouble before, I always got people killed. Or I killed. I nearly died. I can’t do it. Better to just let Toren learn to fight. Teach him instead.”

Erin pointed at Toren. The skeleton nodded, but Calruz shook his head.

“Your king. In times of need, even he defends himself, does he not?”

He meant real kings, but it was true of chess as well.

“Only as a last resort.”

“This is the last resort I speak of. Someday, you will surely be alone and without anyone to protect you. Will you die then or fight?”

Erin didn’t have any good comeback to that. She bowed her head until the Minotaur murmured.

“Striking a downed opponent may be wrong.”

There was something in Calruz’s voice that made Erin look up. He didn’t bark his next few words but spoke more quietly, choosing them carefully.

“Perhaps—yes. There is more honor in you than I thought. Very well. I have little time, so I shall simply teach you to fight. If you practice against your creature, you may learn the basics quickly enough.”

He gestured, and Toren raised his guard again.

“The skeleton will block. Simply strike at him. He is dead, so it matters little what you do. Forget death and battle for the moment. Simply know the purity of combat.”

That sounded better. Erin nodded and stood straight. She made a fist, and Toren blocked.

“That doesn’t mean strike like a pathetic weakling! Hit harder!”

Erin did.

“Ow.”

It wasn’t as if there were any soft part on Toren to hit. Erin punched again, and her fist collided with his bony arm.

“Ow.”

After a few minutes, Calruz had Erin learn to block. This time, Toren attacked, striking her hands and arms hard. But it was easy. Surprisingly easy to see everything coming. Erin’s arms hurt, but the skeleton never landed a punch or kick on her. He was probably taking it easy like Calruz, but the Minotaur seemed approving.

“Now—a spar.”

“Can’t we rest instead?”

Erin complained as she rubbed at her arms. She needed a healing potion. She could already feel the bruises.

“No. Consider this a final test. Both of you—spar with each other. You are a good match. Equally weak. Well, the skeleton knows how to fight, but it should be good practice.”

She wanted to protest, but arguing with Calruz was worse than trying to shift a stubborn bull. Erin stumbled towards Toren as the skeleton raised his guard. He feinted at her. Mechanically, she blocked.

Blocking was easy. Punching was easy. It was too easy. Fighting was—wasn’t something Erin liked.

Toren kicked at her chest, and Erin’s arm was pushed away. He punched her in the breast.

“Ow! Hey—”

His fist caught her in the jaw. Erin stumbled and then got mad. She caught his fist and slugged Toren in the head. This time, he stepped back. The skeleton carefully eyed Erin and then charged.

That was too fast. And he’d never tried that on Erin. But she was angry now. She stepped sideways at the last moment and rammed him from the side. Toren went sprawling, and Erin kicked him in the ribs as he was getting up.

She didn’t see how Calruz’s eyes widened as she blocked Toren as he rapidly struck at her face and sides, kicking, punching without landing a hit on her. Erin was just acting on instinct. Toren was so slow. He was a fighting machine, but he fought like a machine. He wasn’t original.

She stomped on his foot and pushed him down. Toren rolled as she kicked at him and leapt to his feet. He feinted at her face. Erin didn’t move. She could tell it was fake. Toren pulled his fist back, confused. Erin hit him futilely in the shoulder. The problem was that she couldn’t really hurt him. He was all bones.

But she was winning. She could feel it.

Erin was still sick. And tired. And her hands hurt. But there was something else there, too.

Frustration. And a bit of anger.

No—not just a bit. A quiet ocean, sitting just below the depths of Erin’s thoughts. A part of her hated violence. But another part was relieved she could fight back. It wanted her to never be helpless. It was anger and something else.

And it felt—good to let it out.

Toren punched and received a cross-counter to the face. Erin didn’t know that was what she did. She just saw the opening and took it.

She kicked, and Toren blocked. She dodged a fist to her side and slapped his arm down before hitting his arms as he covered his face.

His guard was faltering. Erin felt a rush of energy. She punched faster, putting her hips into the blow like Calruz had shown her. More strength. She was stronger than Toren, thanks to her Skill.

She just wanted to knock that stupid skeleton down. He kept coming at her, again and again. It didn’t matter that she hit him. He was dead, and he had no flesh to bruise. But he didn’t hold back, and her arms were hurting.

Toren had just kicked Erin’s leg, and she was staggering. But she saw him run at her, and something in her mind clicked. She stood up, raised her hand, took one step, and kicked.

One of Toren’s legs broke. Not the bones themselves—but the leg disconnected, and the skeleton went down. He raised his arms and saw Erin’s fist flying at his head.

She felt it. A perfect strike. A moment of truth. Erin put her entire body into one hit, throwing her entire weight into a strike that smashed right through Toren’s guard and crashed into where his nose would have been if he was alive.

Thud.

His head detached. In slow motion, Erin saw the skeleton’s head fly off the body. She stared as Toren’s head flew off the top of the hill, bounced down the incline, and rolled to a stop fifty feet away.

Erin stared at the upright torso of Toren in shock. After a second, it buckled and fell down.

She stared at her hand. She’d opened up the skin on her knuckles, and she was bleeding. But she’d felt it. She’d hit Toren harder than she’d ever hit—or done—anything in her life. She’d felt it.

Erin stared around. She wanted to know if that was what Calruz was talking about. She looked at the Minotaur. He was gaping at her, mouth wide open, eyes bulging.

After a few moments, Calruz closed his mouth. He stared at Toren and then at Erin. He cleared his throat a few times and then looked at Erin.

“…Can you do that again?”

——

“Take a good look at this.”

Gerial whistled and beckoned to Ceria. She broke off her conversation with Yvlon, and both women walked over to see what was so interesting.

Cervial held up a massive crossbow, sleek black metal and pointed death. It wasn’t currently loaded, of course, but just by looking, the two adventurers could see how much power it had.

He grinned at Yvlon and held it out to her. She accepted it carefully and stared curiously at the device.

“Where did you get that from, Cervial? I’ve never seen a crossbow made like that.”

He beamed ear-to-ear as she inspected it.

“That’s because this one is made by Dwarves. Custom-ordered. Ever seen one this nice, Gerial? It’s like a bow, but one that you can load and wait until you need to shoot. This one’s a piece of art. Pure Dwarfsteel, straight from the forges of Deríthal-Vel.”

Gerial took the bow from Yvlon as Ceria rolled her eyes. The man exclaimed.

“Beautiful. Crossbow Stan’s got the best ones I’ve seen, and he’ll go green with jealousy when he sees yours. What’s the range compared to a bow…? We should have you and Marian compete for range and accuracy and power.”

Ceria wasn’t as impressed as the other two Humans, but listened readily enough as Cervial extolled the virtues of the device.

“It cost nearly every gold piece we had, but it was worth it. We cracked the armor of a Stone Golem with one shot, and we’ve brought down more shielded enemies than I can count with this.”

“And this is your trump card for the expedition?”

“We might be at a disadvantage if we run into tight corridors, but with this, we’ll be able to pull our weight.”

“Well, we’re all set here. We’ve got a battle plan worked out, and my team and The Horns of Hammerad are set. Menes says his folks have enough mana potions. The only group not accounted for is Gregor’s. Where is he?”

Cervial grinned.

“Gregor is busy going through the last adventurers clamoring to join the expedition. He says he’ll probably turn them all down, but you never know who’ll turn up.”

Gerial reluctantly handed the crossbow back to Cervial. He could easily imagine the Horns of Hammerad with every member holding one of the deadly weapons. Well—everyone except Calruz and Ceria.

“Did we find anyone useful?”

“Some.”

Yvlon shrugged and counted off on her gauntleted fingers.

“A few [Mages], a Silver-rank with sword and shield…not too many, but better than nothing. I asked the mage you told me about, Gerial, but he turned me down.”

Ceria glared at Gerial while he studiously looked the other way.

“It was, ah, just a thought. We could use all the help we can get.”

Cervial shrugged. He carefully began unstringing the black crossbow.

“No use fretting about one or two swords now. We’re five adventuring teams. Counting the extras, we’re over forty people strong, and all of us are Silver-rank. If there’s a Gold-rank team better than this, I’d love to see it.”

Gerial nodded. He glanced covetously at the crossbow as Cervial went to store it in a case and then looked up. Both Yvlon and Ceria glanced up as well.

They were in the Adventurer’s Guild, sitting by themselves at a table. But someone had walked over. A Drake. He seemed…young, at least as far as they could tell. His scales were a lighter shade of blue than most, and he was smiling. At least, it looked like a smile. Just one with a lot of teeth.

“Um. Excuse me? I heard you were the team going into the ruins. Would you mind if I joined your group?”

The adventurers shared a glance. Yvlon cleared her throat and smiled at the Drake.

“I’m sorry, but we have enough fighters, and this is a dangerous expedition we’re embarking on. We can’t take rookies or people who aren’t adventurers.”

The Drake looked surprised.

“How do you know I’m not an adventurer?”

“You don’t have any weapons or armor, and you act like a civilian.”

“Oh.”

The Drake nodded.

“But I still think you might be willing to take me. I have valuable skills I could contribute, and I—I’d like to improve myself.”

“Oh? And what class are you, then? And I don’t believe I caught your name.”

Flustered, the Drake bowed his head slightly.

“Forgive me, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Olesm. I’m a [Tactician]. Level 24.”

——

Ceria and Gerial returned to the inn and paused. Instead of dinner, they saw an unusual sight. All of the Horns of Hammerad were sitting in the grass, watching as Calruz chased Erin around. He was punching and kicking at her—not as hard or quickly as they knew he could, but with enough force that Erin was screaming and running around, dodging frantically.

“Aaaah! Help!”

Erin ducked and scuttled away as Calruz swung one massive fist towards her head. He scowled at her.

“Stop running! Don’t—don’t crouch like that. If you must retreat, do it quickly and without wasting motion. Never turn your back to the enemy!”

“Calruz! What are you doing?”

Ceria ran forwards. Erin dove and hid behind her. The half-Elf barred Calruz’s way as the Minotaur tried to follow Erin.

“Move aside, Ceria. I am teaching her to fight.”

“By bullying her?”

“She must learn to fight an enemy stronger and larger than she is.”

“Yeah, but there are limits. I wouldn’t ever get in a fight with a Minotaur. If I’m ever without mana or any potions, I’ll just run for it.”

“Exactly!”

Erin tried to keep Ceria between her and Calruz as she glared at the Minotaur.

“I’m hungry! And tired! I’ve been doing stupid spars all day! I haven’t even had lunch!”

“Is this true?”

Calruz didn’t appear fazed by either female’s disapproval. He snorted and didn’t respond. Ceria crossed her arms.

“I’m sure Erin was grateful to learn from you, but if she doesn’t want to learn any more, you have to respect that.”

Calruz waved one hand dismissively.

“Running away will not solve anything. She must hone her instincts. I will let her rest after she lands a proper hit on me. Now move—”

He pushed Ceria aside. The half-Elf growled, but Erin dashed forwards.

“Take this!”

Erin kicked upwards. Instantly, Calruz’s legs tried to lock together, but it was too late. Gerial, Sostrom, and every other male in the Horns of Hammerad winced as Calruz bellowed in agony.

Fleeing backwards again, Erin stopped ten feet away and stared at Calruz.

“How’s that, you jerk? Happy?”

Ceria started laughing as Calruz swore in his own language, uttering several guttural sounds as he straightened. He covered his private…part with one hand as he glared at Erin.

“That—was a dishonorable blow.”

“But it was what you wanted. Keep chasing me and I’ll—I’ll do it again!”

He glared, but Erin could glare with the best, and she was tired and upset. At last, he blew out air through his nostrils, veins throbbing on his forehead.

“Go. Rest.”

Before he could change his mind, Erin fled. Ceria was still laughing.

Calruz turned to Toren and pointed.

“I will teach you. If you are to protect her, you must fight better. Come. Strike at me.”

The skeleton rushed at Calruz without needing further prompting. The Horns of Hammerad began taking bets on whether he’d hit Calruz.

Toren feinted at Calruz and then tried to copy the move Erin had used. His foot came up. Calruz caught his leg and narrowed his eyes at the skeleton.

Erin had just poured herself a cup of water and come back outside in time to see Calruz hurl Toren’s head off the hill. She cleared her throat, and the Horns of Hammerad looked around.

“If you’re done beating up my skeleton, does anyone want something to eat?”

——

“That was hilarious.”

“It was underhanded.”

“I’ve never seen anything funnier.”

Ceria was still chuckling as she sat with Calruz in the inn, eating pasta. It was Erin’s go-to option when she was pressed for time or tired. Boil water, insert pasta, chop up onions, add some butter and other ancillary parts and you’re done. Nothing simpler.

Calruz was still glaring at his plate, but he’d mostly recovered from Erin’s literal low blow. He shook his head as the half-Elf kept poking fun at him.

“At least she was able to strike at me, even by surprise. That is good.”

Ceria stopped laughing and grew serious for a moment.

“But really, Calruz, why were you so intent on teaching her? I thought you were going to just show her how to punch properly, not try and turn her into an adventurer overnight.”

The Minotaur grunted and forked a huge mess of noodles and sauce into his mouth.

“I was. But she showed me that she had more potential than that.”

“Oh?”

He grunted.

“She is—talented. Very talented. Ceria. In the course of a few hours, she was able to overwhelm that skeleton in a fist fight. And then she unlocked a Skill. She learned one in the heat of training.”

Ceria had been drinking blue juice. She choked on her drink, and Calruz had to tap her on the back before she got her breath back.

“You’re joking.”

“No.”

“That’s impossible.”

“It is rare, but I have heard of it being done. Never seen it on one’s first day of training. Erin Solstice has a sense for battle. I have met others like her. She is gifted. Talented. It is a shame she never trained before this.”

“Stop. My ears are burning.”

Erin smiled at Calruz as she brought another plate of steaming sausages out for the two at their table. The Minotaur and Ceria both made sounds of appreciation, but he stopped Erin as she was about to go back into the kitchen.

“You have potential. But if you are attacked now, what I have taught you will not suffice. You must practice. Train. Remember that for now you are still weak.”

“Oh, I know. I’m not going to do anything stupid, even if I do learn to fight, though. Anyways, if I ever do get attacked, I’ll just toss a jar of acid at them.”

Ceria paused as she reached for the largest sausage on the plate.

“What?”

Erin carefully brought out one of the small jars she’d made for the Goblins and showed it to Calruz and Ceria, explaining where she got it from. In the meantime, Ceria scooted her chair as far away from the glowing green liquid as she could.

“Do you—do you have no sense of danger? Why are you so casual with that stuff? What if you dropped it?”

“Hey, I’m not the one handling it! Toren doesn’t have any fleshy bits to melt, and it’s useful.”

Ceria shook her head.

“You Human—no, you’re crazy. Pardon me, Erin, but you are.”

Gerial leaned across the table and studied the jar of acid. He looked up at Erin.

“May I buy one?”

“You? Are you insane, Gerial?”

“It may come in useful, Ceria. Besides, it shouldn’t break if I put it in my pack.”

“It’s your funeral. Just don’t walk near me while we’re fighting.”

Erin nodded happily and took the silver coins from Gerial.

“I’ve got lots more if you want some.”

Gerial hesitated. He eyed the jar of acid and shook his head.

“One is fine. It may be quite useful, but I’ll trust to my usual preparations rather than rely on it.”

“Speaking of which…”

Ceria cleared her throat and nodded to the other Horns of Hammerad. They gathered around, and the half-Elf pointed to a big pack she and Gerial had carried from the city.

“It’s time. Yvlon bought supplies, but I’ll hand them out now so you can put them in your packs. We’ve got rations and water and four healing potions and four mana potions each. Torches and flint—all the basic supplies, but we’ll have a few carts we’ll take in with us.”

Erin was curious.

“Only four healing potions? Wouldn’t it be better to, I dunno, take a lot? That way you can just heal up again and again, right?”

The adventurers laughed, but not condescendingly. Ceria shook her head and smiled as she explained.

“There’s a limit to how much we can heal. After so many potions the body just—quits. And besides, if we’re taking enough injuries to need more than a few healing potions, we’re already in trouble.”

Gerial nodded as he handed out bulky packages of dried rations and water flasks around.

“The longest battle we’ve had was against an undead Lich a while back. We ran out of potions, and half of our group could barely move from healing up. We can’t rely on magic for everything.”

“Just everything important.”

Ceria muttered under her breath and smiled at Gerial when he glared at her. Calruz cleared his throat, and all the people in the room quieted.

“I am not one for speeches. But tomorrow we go into new ruins, and we may find treasure beyond our dreams there or the greatest of enemies. Regardless, we go together. The Horns of Hammerad shall return triumphant.”

He raised his mug.

“To honor and glory.”

“To honor.”

The Horns of Hammerad clinked glasses. Erin watched, silently, as they drained their mugs in a single go. She was impressed. Even Ceria managed to do it. You wouldn’t expect such a petite form to be able to hold so much liquor—especially when she repeated the trick.

“Can you really handle drinking so much?”

Ceria grinned and shrugged.

“This isn’t that strong. And besides, we’re heading in later in the morning. If I get really drunk, I’ll get someone to heal me. Or drink a mana potion.”

Erin looked confused. Ceria explained.

“Mana potions and alcohol don’t mix well. I drink it, everything comes back up. It’s messy, but effective.”

Somehow, the idea of a graceful half-Elf puking like a college student after a night of hard drinking offended Erin more than anything else.

“Just so long as you don’t forget and drink the acid.”

Ceria shuddered, and Gerial shook his head.

“No worries. I’ve got that securely put away.”

They went to bed early. That surprised Erin. She wouldn’t have been able to sleep a wink, but maybe it was the alcohol that did it.

The Horns of Hammerad trooped upstairs. Erin remained in the common room. She wasn’t tired yet. Well, she was, but there was still some part of her that was awake.

She sat in the empty room, watching Toren move around collecting mugs and sweeping up dust. Vaguely, Erin rubbed at the knuckles of her right hand. It still hurt.

She stared at her hand. It was just a hand. She’d moved chess pieces with it for so long her fingers were callused. But now she stared at her knuckles. She’d never hit anything before in her life. But today she’d won a fight.

Erin closed her fingers into a fist and then sighed. She shook her head.

“…What a crappy thing to be good at.”

[Skill – Power Strike learned!]

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.57 H

On the day of the expedition, all the members of the Horns of Hammerad woke and trooped downstairs to breakfast in silence. Erin, the cheerful [Innkeeper], had provided breakfast—eggs and bacon.

It was the second day in a row she’d provided the same kind of breakfast—but most of them didn’t care. It was nice, hot food, and the [Innkeeper] had put more time and coin into the food than another inn, which might serve you cheap porridge instead.

Ceria sat at one of the tables, blinking and poking at the wobbling, yellow yolk of one of her poached eggs. She was still sleepy, but the blue juice woke her up in a pleasant way.

She looked up from her food and glanced around the room. Good. Everyone was present. All ten members of the Horns of Hammerad were sitting, eating or talking quietly. Calruz and Gerial sat together, discussing the plan, no doubt. Sostrom and another member of the party, Marian, sat at the same table, talking, while the five warriors sat at another table and ate silently.

Aside from those two and Hunt, Ceria didn’t know the rest of her team intimately. They were colleagues and friends, of course, but she’d only fought with them for less than a year—in the case of their most junior members, only a month. Big teams rotated adventurers in and out. Gerial was a heart of the team, like Calruz, but some might not last.

Sostrom laughed at something Marian had said. He liked her. She was the only person who didn’t make fun of his bald spot on occasion. Ceria still hadn’t figured out if he and Marian were sleeping together.

If they were, she hoped Marian wouldn’t break his heart when she left. Sostrom was a good mage, a solid Level 16 [Elementalist]—ordinary in both class choice and spell selection. Marian was a low-level [Ranger], but she pulled her weight.

It was just—

She wasn’t a true adventurer, a true member of the Horns of Hammerad. Ceria still respected her, but Marian only wanted to earn enough money to start a store or an inn herself. Adventuring was a job for her.

It was a job for Ceria, of course, but it was also her life. She lived to adventure. By earning gold, she could master new spells, and with the rare magical items she looted, she could continue to improve herself as a mage and level. She wouldn’t stop adventuring even if she found a thousand gold pieces lying around. She’d just buy a new spell book or a wand and continue on.

Ceria was a lifer, although she didn’t know that term. She, Gerial, Calruz, Sostrom, and Hunt were all adventurers who would never quit. Even before they’d joined together to form the Horns of Hammerad two years ago, each one of them had spent years working their way up the ranks to get where they were.

Someday, Marian would quit. And they would find someone else to fill her place. Perhaps right after the expedition. If she didn’t die.

That was a dark thought, and not one she should be having. Ceria shook her head and concentrated on her meal. She broke the yolk on her egg and watched it soak into the slice of toasted bread. How delicious.

She loved eggs. She loved climbing into trees and stealing them out of nests. Humans tended to disapprove of that in general, but Ceria had grown up part of her life foraging off the land. She wasn’t picky about where her food came from.

She’d eaten earthworms, beetles, bark off of trees—which wasn’t good for your bowels or health—birds both raw and cooked, and occasionally, mushrooms and roots and such. She’d come close to starvation so many times she had developed an appetite for unusual things. Like bugs, although Ceria didn’t like having to pick them out of her teeth afterwards. But they were fun to eat.

Mm. She wondered what those Acid Flies Erin sold tasted like…

——

“Mm. We’re all set. Time to head out?”

Gerial took a drink of the sweet blue juice before replying to Calruz.

“We’ve got an hour yet. Plenty of time. Let’s not rush things.”

The Minotaur nodded silently and gestured at Toren for another plate of bacon. Gerial wondered how he could eat so much. His stomach wasn’t letting him eat more than a bit of breakfast. He was so energized with nerves as much as anticipation he felt like getting up to pace around.

But, of course, he couldn’t. The vice-Captain of the Horns of Hammerad had to project calm, and that was what Gerial was going to do. He took his job seriously. He had to be a leader like Calruz.

And Ceria, for that matter. Gerial spotted her sitting at her table, looking pensively down into her plate of food. She didn’t seem the slightest bit nervous. He envied her that.

The half-Elf’s gaze had turned far-off, and her expression had become distant. Gerial was familiar with that look. Another thing to envy.

He felt he would never understand the true complexities and unearthly thoughts that surely ran through her mind. She might appear Human in many ways, but Ceria was half Elf. Half of her was descended from legends, and who knew what deep thoughts she pondered at times like these?

“Hey there!”

Gerial jumped and quickly looked away from Ceria. He smiled up at Erin and smoothed his mustache. Now here was someone he could understand. Erin Solstice was as likable and approachable as any innkeeper he had ever met. He would be sorry to say goodbye.

“Ah. Miss Erin. I hope you are recovering from your cold? We were intending to leave payment and go without bothering you, but you were up before we were.”

Erin looked startled.

“What? Oh, no, I couldn’t do that. I’m feeling a lot better. And you guys paid me so well—a big breakfast is the least I could do. You’re, uh, heading into the ruins today, aren’t you?”

Calruz grunted, and Gerial nodded.

“Indeed we are. We and four other adventuring teams are going in.”

“Wasn’t it six teams total?”

Gerial winced and glanced at Calruz surreptitiously.

“The last adventuring Captain, ah, pulled out at the last moment.”

“Hendric. Coward.”

Calruz rumbled darkly. Gerial hoped he wouldn’t start shouting. That would be the last thing they needed right before the expedition.

To his relief, Erin didn’t seem off-put by the Minotaur’s ire. She poked Calruz in the side, causing the Minotaur to glare at her while Gerial choked on his food.

“Cheer up, grumpy. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

She glanced at Gerial.

“So—should I expect you guys to come back tomorrow? Or tonight…? How long is this, uh, dungeon exploration going to take?”

“We’re not sure. I wouldn’t count on our return, but it could happen.”

Gerial shrugged uncomfortably, not liking the uncertainty in his own voice.

“We have enough supplies for at least four days. I doubt we’ll be down there that long unless we need to do excavation, though.”

Across the room, Hunt looked up from his meal. He had egg in his beard, which Gerial didn’t comment on.

“Those ruins could be deep, though. No telling how far down they go.”

“We’re not clearing out every room. As soon as we strike a treasury or find enough to justify the costs, we’ll leave.”

“Hah! Tell that to the other teams. Gregor is saying his team won’t quit until they reach the bottom floor. A big change from what he was saying earlier.”

“Well, if we’re going in, we might as well go all in.”

“Speaking of which…Gerial, is it time?”

Ceria glanced meaningfully at the sky through a window. Gerial nodded.

“I suppose we should be going. The meeting is about an hour’s time away, and we don’t want to be late. Is everyone finished?”

They were. Or they were once he spoke. The strange skeleton walked around the room collecting dishes while Erin saw the Horns of Hammerad off.

“Good luck. Don’t get, uh, killed by a Dragon or anything.”

Gerial and the others had to laugh at that.

“There are no Dragons on this side of the world, miss. Probably anywhere.”

“Um. There are. I’ve seen one.”

Their laughter stopped abruptly. Gerial stared into Erin’s honest expression. He opened his mouth to say something—

“Hello? Hello! I’m sorry I’m late!”

A figure dashed up the hill. The pale-blue Drake wearing leather armor was desperately trying to buckle his sheathed sword to his belt as he stopped before the Horns of Hammerad.

“I’m not late, am I? I forgot we were supposed to meet here.”

“Olesm?”

Erin stared incredulously at the Drake.

“What are you—you’re going on the expedition too? But you’re not an adventurer!”

Olesm, the [Tactician] they’d hired on yesterday, widened his eyes, and his tail began twitching as he noticed Erin.

“Oh, Erin. I didn’t—well of course you’d be here. This is your inn—yes, I am going on the expedition! I’m hoping to raise my level. I was so inspired by you that I decided it was time to break out of my shell, so to speak.”

“But can you defend yourself? I mean, I don’t want to be rude but…”

The way Erin looked at Olesm spoke very plainly of her opinion of his fighting prowess. The Drake blushed, but stuck out his chest.

“I may not be a good fighter, but my Skills should help quite a bit. Believe me, I will come back better than ever. And perhaps then I’ll win a game against you.”

“But it’s chess. That’s not the same as—as fighting. And wait a second, Selys said you work for the city. Aren’t you supposed to, like, be there?”

Erin waved at Liscor in the distance. Olesm avoided everyone’s gaze and coughed into one first.

“Technically, yes. But they won’t miss me for a few days. The Watch is supposed to work with me, and I advise the Council, but they meet once a month if that. They don’t need me here. The army has a dozen people who could take my post over in a second. And besides. I’ve stayed the same level for far too long, hiding in the city rather than joining the army or adventuring myself. Today, I’m going to change that.”

“Enough talk.”

Calruz growled, making Olesm jump and stammer. He pointed.

“We have to go. Follow us, but don’t lag behind.”

“Oh, of course. My apologies.”

Olesm sidled behind the Minotaur and smiled toothily at Gerial. The man tried to smile back, unsure of whether he should bare his own teeth.

Erin was talking to Ceria while she tried to offer the Horns of Hammerad a basket of food to take with them.

“I’ll be happy to serve you if you guys come back tonight, no matter how late. Just knock, okay? I’ve got guests coming anyways.”

“Oh? Who?”

“We’re going.”

Calruz poked Ceria in the back, making her stumble. She turned and kicked at the Minotaur, but it was time to go. Gerial bade farewell to Erin as the Horns of Hammerad descended the hill.

They saw Erin’s guests about fifteen minutes after they’d begun walking. Five Antinium were making their way from the city. Two of them were carrying one Gerial recognized. His stomach still clenched to see Pawn’s mangled limbs, but the Antinium greeted them without any inflection of pain in his voice.

“Greetings, adventurers. Olesm.”

“Oh? Pawn! Are you going to play chess at Miss Erin’s?”

Olesm greeted the Antinium cheerfully as the other adventurers mumbled awkward greetings. Pawn nodded at him.

“Yes. We do not have any duties, so we go to play.”

“Oh? I thought you always worked in the morning. Is something wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong. We have no tasks because we are waiting.”

“Waiting? Waiting for what?”

Calruz growled and started walking again. Olesm followed, but Pawn and the other Antinium simply followed their group, continuing the conversation.

“We wait for the Queen.”

“The Queen? Is she…is she doing something?”

“Yes. She is close to completing her task.”

“I heard about that. She didn’t talk to anyone and sent that new Prognugator out. Ksmvr, right? What was she doing that was so important.”

“We do not know. But it will be tomorrow.”

Olesm stared at Pawn. Gerial saw Ceria glance swiftly backwards at the Antinium.

“What will be tomorrow?”

“It will be. Good luck on your mission, Olesm.”

“Oh, um, bye—”

The Antinium left. Calruz growled and stomped onwards, muttering about delays while Gerial pondered the conversation. What did it mean? Did it even matter? The Antinium were strange. Gerial had learned long ago how dangerous they could be and how strange they were. But Pawn didn’t seem evil. Odd, perhaps, but—

Whatever thoughts he had, they were put out of Gerial’s mind when he saw the ruins in the distance. Even from miles away, the dark, grey and black stone of the huge structure stood out against the hill it had been excavated from.

It seemed as if it were some kind of ancient barrow, the grass shining orange and green near the top of the spot where the dirt ended in a kind of cliff and the stone began. The stone was embedded in the dirt, a gaping awning, an oddity in the natural landscape of this place.

The stone looked so old that it was impossible to date, but people had claimed it was probably enchanted—unable to be removed or broken. Yet time had worked cracks and mossy intrusion into even what had once been solid stone. So it truly did look abandoned to time.

The Horns of Hammerad paused. Suddenly this morning, their small concerns and, indeed, everything else in the world had ceased for them. They had been waiting patiently these last few days. They had enjoyed themselves, gotten into small trouble or out of it, but what they had really been doing behind it all was waiting.

Waiting for this. The ruins loomed, massive, unexplored. It called to them. They were adventurers.

They resumed their march. Unconsciously, their pace increased. They felt it in their blood, in their bones, and the beating of their hearts.

Danger and glory, waiting for them in the darkness below.

——

The ruins had first been discovered a month ago by a [Shepherd] tending his flock. Drakes kept sheep and other animals just like Humans, and one of them had been walking over a hill when he’d tripped over a rock.

After he’d nearly broken his foot trying to kick the rock, the Drake had dug a bit of it up and realized the rock wasn’t so much a rock as part of a building half-uncovered by rains or chance erosion. And when he’d dug further with the help of his friends, they had discovered that the bit of the building was in fact an entire structure hidden in the earth.

And after the Antinium had been called and days of excavations had gone by, the city had found that the hill the building had been found on wasn’t so much a hill as the entire structure itself.

Today, the ruins sat half-uncovered against the large hill, black stone entrance gaping open in the light of the sun. Ceria, Gerial, and the other Horns of Hammerad stared up at it.

A wall of black rock. A carved stone doorway and, in places, open windows that allowed some ventilation into the massive structure.

From up close, the massive stone doors were even more imposing. Although some of the dirt that had once covered the structure had been excavated, it was clear that this—building was huge on a completely different scale than the structures in Liscor.

The roof had not been excavated, and nor had the lower half of the structure. Apparently, an Antinium had dug down but had gone over a hundred feet without reaching the bottom of this massive structure. The city had decided to only dig up what was necessary, so the doorway had been uncovered and the rest of the building left alone.

That made the sight of the black entrance poking out of the hillside covered in grass and flowers all the more odd. And disturbing. The massive doors could easily hold two creatures twice Calruz’s height, and you could push two wagons through at the same time. It dwarfed even the large group of adventurers standing in front of the entrance.

Perhaps there had once been a fresco or decorative front of some kind, but age had worn away any details. And besides, there was really only one message the giant stone doors told. No one was meant to easily enter this place—or exit.

“Dead gods, I saw it from far away, but up close, this is something else entirely.”

Gerial shook his head as he and Ceria stood looking up at the ruins. She nodded.

“The Ruins of Albez seem tiny compared to this one. Well, they’re more spread out, but still.”

“Look at that.”

Sostrom pointed to one side of the doors. Aside from the miniature village that had popped up around the ruins full of enterprising shopkeepers, adventurers, and curious watchers, another group had already occupied this space.

Around fifteen armed warriors, mainly Drakes and a few Gnolls—sat together around an open fire, talking and eating while two of them stood watch at the doors.

Hunt growled under his breath and gripped the mace at his side as he eyed the other group.

“More adventurers? I thought we were the only ones entering. If they’re trying to steal a march on us—”

Olesm shook his head before anyone else could.

“They’re not adventurers. That’s the local Watch.”

“The Watch? Why are they out here?”

Ceria nodded to the group of [Guards] and then pointed to another group of warriors sitting across from them. They had no fire, but they were watching the doors as well.

“There are several Bronze-rank adventuring teams on permanent guard duty as well as several members of the Watch. Seems like this place disgorges monsters every few days. Nothing more dangerous than a mob of zombies or the local wildlife, but they’re being cautious.”

Hunt relaxed, and the other Horns of Hammerad nodded. They weren’t used to a city militia taking such an active role, but none of them were strangers to the idea of guarding a dungeon.

“Good thing we’re going in today. Otherwise, the city’d probably put up a request to clear out this place in a month or two.”

“It still might come to that. Unless they destroy this damn place, something’s going to make its nest here.”

“True.”

Gerial nodded in agreement as he studied the massive building. It was certainly inconvenient to have so close to the city. It would surely attract monsters and, worse, provide a lair for them to reproduce.

It wasn’t as if monsters popped out of thin air. Except for the ones that did, of course. But caves, abandoned buildings, and magical sites tended to attract monsters like honey followed bees. Monsters would breed in the darkness or reanimate in the case of the dead. Sometimes, they fought each other, but often, they lived in disturbing harmony—until the unlucky adventurer intruded on their lair.

“There’s Yvlon. Move up.”

Calruz finally spotted the person he was looking for. He began walking towards Yvlon and her group of female adventurers wearing polished, silver metal. Gerial picked up his pace, so he arrived just as his Captain did. Calruz had no time for minor details like that, but proper courtesy was important. It was one of Gerial’s few complaints that the Minotaur so often forgot that.

But Yvlon was not the kind of petty person to be bothered by such things in the first place. She smiled at Gerial and Calruz as they approached, and his heart skipped a beat. She was truly beautiful. Almost as beautiful as Ryoka, but different, of course…

“Calruz. Gerial. I’m glad your team is here on time. Everyone else has already assembled. Shall we begin?”

“Why waste time waiting?”

Yvlon nodded. She stepped back and let Calruz precede her. Gerial called to the Horns of Hammerad, and they joined the group of adventurers waiting outside the doors.

Ceria walked with the Horns of Hammerad, merging with the main body of adventurers as she stared up at the dark doors. It was hard—even for someone who had lived as long as she had—to stand still in this crowd. And indeed, the other adventurers around her were constantly shifting, moving around with the same energy she felt.

There were so many! It was a crowd of adventurers like a full day at the Adventurer’s Guild, but in this case, every single one of them was Silver-rank. They let the Horns of Hammerad move next to them, calling out good naturedly and exchanging slaps on the back in the case of the warriors, polite nods and only the occasional spine-shattering slap in the case of the mages.

At the head of the crowd, Yvlon and Calruz joined three other Captains. Gregor, Menes, and Cervial nodded at the Minotaur and female adventurer as the crowd grew silent.

The blonde adventurer raised her hands for silence, but it was already present. The adventurers—and come to that, the large crowd of onlookers—waited in breathless expectation.

“Captains, I am pleased to see you all here. May I inquire if you are all ready?”

They nodded. Calruz was the first to speak. The Minotaur’s rumbling voice was loud enough to be heard quite audibly even from the back of the crowd.

“The Horns of Hammerad are all here.”

“The Flawless Flights are ready to go.”

“Kyrial’s Vanguard are armed and ready to fight!”

“We of the Circle of Reneë have prepared our spells.”

“And the Silver Spears are assembled.”

Yvlon nodded to the other adventuring Captains and raised her voice to address the crowd.

“I’m pleased to see everyone is present. But I expected nothing less of the best adventurers on this side of the continent! We are here today to make history by entering the Ruins of Liscor. We don’t know exactly what is down there, but we do know something dangerous lurks below. And where there is danger, there is treasure and fame to be found.”

The adventurers shifted at that. Yvlon was speaking their language, and her gaze was open and honest. She didn’t lie about the danger, and that they appreciated.

“Some of us may perish on this expedition. Five Families willing, it will be few or none. But I swear that each of you will receive a portion of the reward, and your families and loved ones will not be left penniless should you fall. That is the pledge I make towards each of my Silver Spears, and I offer the same to you today.”

She shook her head, and her golden blonde hair shook in the air, catching the light. Ceria smiled at that; Yvlon had to know exactly what she was doing and how her armor and hair shone.

“But enough dire thoughts. We are about to head in. Steel yourselves. Trust in each other. We know what must be done. Calruz, your Horns of Hammerad and Gregor, your Kyrial’s Vanguard have been chosen to lead the expedition. Would you do the honors?”

Calruz and Gregor nodded. They stepped towards the doorway and gestured.

“Kyrial’s Vanguard—form up!”

“To me, Horns of Hammerad.”

That was their signal. Ceria walked out of the crowd, ignoring the gazes of the other adventurers. Some of their group weren’t so graceful and stumbled or blushed, but they formed up behind Calruz as the Minotaur stood next to Gregor.

The massive, armored man who carried a battleaxe almost as large as Calruz’s scowled when he saw Olesm tagging along with the other adventurers.

“Who’s the Drake? I thought we agreed not to hire anyone else, Yvlon.”

Olesm jumped, and his scales faded in color, but Yvlon shook her head.

“He’s a [Tactician], not a [Warrior], Gregor. A Level 24. He came to us yesterday. I thought you’d agree we could definitely use him.”

Gregor scowled, but Yvlon was right. He nodded grudgingly.

“Hmph. Very well. Just so long as he doesn’t start giving orders to the rest of us.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that. I’m just here to help.”

“Fine.”

“Are you done?”

Calruz growled at Gregor. He was breathing harder, and his gaze was narrowed as he stared into the darkness of the ruins. Gregor opened his mouth to snap something back, then paused.

“I’m done. Shall we?”

“Yes. Let us begin.”

The two Silver-rank Captains shared a glance. Then, as one, they unholstered their battleaxes. It was pure showmanship—none of the adventurers expected to be attacked the instant they entered, but the crowd loved it.

The Bronze-Rank Adventurers and civilians cheered as Calruz and Gregor advanced into the ruins, weapons at the ready. Their vice-Captains, Gerial and a big man named Ulgrim, followed. Ceria was right behind Gerial as they stepped into the darkness. She held her glowing wand at the ready as the adventurers around her ignited torches or cast [Light] spells.

The darkness enveloped the adventurers even as Yvlon and the other two Captains began following their teams in. Ceria felt the air change, grow dead and stale, as the darkness closed around them. The grass and dirt became carved stone, and their footfalls echoed in the silence.

The adventurers readied themselves for anything. They could sense it. They had broken the sanctity of this dark place, and they would not leave until they had uncovered its every secret.

It had begun.

——

“You know, I would have expected something to happen by now.”

“Oh really? You haven’t explored many dungeons, then.”

Even in the flickering light of their torch, Ceria could see Olesm blush.

“This is my first one, actually.”

“Oh? Don’t freeze up and you’ll be fine. Besides, once this is done, you can tell all your friends about it. I’m sure Erin would be very impressed. Everyone loves experienced…adventurers. Especially ones who have big…swords. And explored a lot of dungeons, of course.”

It was quite entertaining to Ceria, seeing how red she could make Olesm’s scales. The Drake cleared his throat and quickly cast around for something else to say.

“These rooms—are quite odd, aren’t they?”

Ceria nodded. It was fifteen minutes into their expedition, but so far, the adventurers had seen very little. They’d passed through a long entrance hall of some kind into large, open rooms with little ornamentation and a lot of dust. Their group had split up—scouts from Cervial’s team going ahead while the main force went through the various rooms, but they’d found little.

“Broken chairs, metal—I can’t tell. It’s been too long, and everything is dust now. This was once some kind of sanctuary, perhaps? A massive one.”

“It’s big. But I could see that. Strange, though—all these rooms must be living quarters, kitchens, storage rooms, and so on. This is practically a city within this one building. How come no one knew of this before?”

“It must be ancient. Far older than Liscor. I can’t imagine how they built all of this—and out of stone! They must have had hundreds, thousands of workers or some kind of powerful magic.”

Ceria nodded as she stepped around a collapsed table that might have once served twenty guests at a time.

“Another time. Another world. They knew how to build such things back then. Is this one of the Walled Cities, perhaps, only forgotten by time? Or something like Liscor?”

“The design of the gates certainly suggests that. Of course, you need a roof or some good magic when the rainy season comes. I suppose it could have been built by my people.”

Olesm looked around and shuddered. Ceria knew how he felt. She wasn’t comfortable with the dark, echoing rooms any more than he was. For all they were spacious, she felt like she was cramped, confined. She could handle it, but Olesm was nervous and chatty, and she didn’t mind talking to him.

It wasn’t as if the other adventurers weren’t talking. The scouts and leading adventurers were silent as they walked up ahead, but the main group of adventurers kept quiet conversations going, joking, talking idly, anything to keep the tension at bay.

“So—I’m with your group. The, ah, Horns of Hammerad? I’m afraid I don’t know much about it. Liscor didn’t get many high-profile adventurers before this.”

Ceria raised her eyebrows.

“High profile? Hear that, Gerial? I wish we were that famous.”

Gerial looked back and smiled wryly at Ceria. Olesm was confused.

“But you’re Silver-rank adventurers. I just assumed—”

“Ceria is just teasing you Mister, ah, Olesm. We are quite well known locally. It’s just that we’re hardly the only Silver-rank teams in the north. And if you count the coastal cities—well, there are a number of Gold-rank teams and adventurers up there, and we can hardly compare.”

“Well, you seem quite competent to me. What does your group do? Aside from exploring ruins, that is.”

Gerial smiled.

“We specialize in monster slaying. If a troublesome group of monsters is infesting a region, we’re usually one of the first groups who answer the call. The Horns of Hammerad are a close-combat group. We close in and smash the enemy while our mages provide backup. Gregor’s Pride is the same.”

“Oh, I see, I see. And the Silver Spears?”

“Good at defense, coordination, strategy; a solid team. The Flawless Flights on the other hand do a lot of scouting work and hunting troublesome monsters that hide.”

“And the—the Circle? They were all [Mages]. Is that usual?”

Ceria shrugged.

“Not usual, but not unusual either. They take on almost all requests. They’ve got a bad reputation, though.”

“Why is that?”

Ceria grinned.

“Because they run away quite often.”

A [Mage] from further up ahead had heard that. He turned and flicked up a middle finger at Ceria, and she grinned and waved at him in apology. Mollified, the mage went back to his conversation.

Lowering her voice so she wouldn’t be heard, Ceria murmured to Olesm.

“If they’re out of mana, there’s not much they can do. So yes, often Menes’ team will abandon a mission if something makes them use up all their potions or if the enemy is more numerous or stronger than they anticipated.”

“Oh. I see.”

“They do good work most of the time, though.”

Gerial nodded in agreement.

“But they do have their own style. They prioritize all contracts with anything magic related. It’s their specialty, just like how Cervial has a lot of archers in his group and Yvlon’s team wears silver armor.”

“Do the Horns of Hammerad have a, um, noticeable feature?”

“…Not so much a feature as a code. We don’t break our promises. We don’t retreat, and if we have to abandon a job, we repay all we took in advance.”

Gerial murmured into his mustache.

“‘Death before dishonor.’”

“Really?”

“It’s what we live by. Our leader is Calruz. And you know what Minotaurs are like.”

“Oh. Of course.”

Olesm was silent for a while longer as the adventurers trooped onwards. They reached some kind of audience chamber with a large altar at the front. Ceria pointed while the Captains called for a short break.

“Look at that. You can tell this place is old because of the architecture. I’ve never seen any designs like it. It must be a previous era’s style.”

Yvlon nodded.

“True. What do you make of it, Olesm? Was this place built by your people?”

He could only shrug helplessly.

“It certainly seems like it. How else would you explain it being so close to Liscor?”

“And if it was, would they have much treasure?”

Every adventurer in earshot stared expectantly at Olesm. He thought about it and nodded.

“Oh, most definitely. We love collecting things. We are descended from Dragons after all. If this place was at all important, I’d expect some sort of vault.”

That made the other adventurers perk up, including Gerial and Ceria. It was always welcome to know their efforts might not be in vain.

They were about to keep moving when a loud voice cut through the hushed conversations.

“Contact.”

The word made every adventurers’ head snap up. They scanned for any sign of movement, but the person who had spoken was passing a message from further ahead.

“One of our scouts found a nest of Shield Spiders. The damn things must be infesting this place already.”

Several adventurers swore, but Gregor hushed them with a slashing movement of one hand.

“Shut it. How big’s the nest?”

“Not big. Around eight adults and a few dozen of the bigger children that we could see. Perhaps there’s more in another room, but they’ve only webbed up one so far.”

Gregor looked at Olesm.

“You’re the local expert. Any advice?”

The Drake nodded.

“Shield Spiders are weak against fire. Two mages with armed warriors holding shields should be able to burn the nest if they know the [Fireball] spell or equivalents.”

Yvlon nodded.

“My team can do the fighting. Menes, if you want to send some of your mages…?”

“Done.”

The scout led a detachment of nine adventurers off as the others prepared to move. That was the benefit of such a large group. They could keep going even if they ran into smaller groups of monsters.

Their path took them onwards through rooms in a winding pattern. If the ruins had been fully excavated, they could have made much faster progress, but the diggers and adventurers who had come before them had dug randomly and created a maze within the maze. More than once, the expedition had to halt to dig out a collapsed tunnel again.

Cervial shook his head as they passed by a corridor blocked off by a wall of dirt.

“I don’t like these unexcavated areas. Something could tunnel their way around and ambush us.”

Yvlon paused and considered the situation. Menes tapped her on the shoulder and gestured to his wand.

“We don’t have time to block everything off. How about this? We’ll set wards that will go off if something crosses them.”

She looked at Calruz and Gregor. They nodded in agreement.

“That sounds good. Do it.”

They left a few mages and warriors to set wards while they moved on. After about thirty minutes, they’d reached a long, long corridor wide enough for eight people to walk across when they heard a shout.

This time, they saw a woman running back towards them. She was a [Thief], and her footfalls barely made any sound despite her rapid approach. She stopped and gasped out her message, panting as more scouts ran back towards them.

“Zombies. At least thirty of them up ahead. Probably more. They’re coming from below.”

This time, every adventurer drew their weapon. Olesm fumbled as he unsheathed his sword, and the Captains glanced at each other.

“My team will take the front—”

“Let my archers soften them up first. We can take down at least half in this open area. Save you the energy.”

“Good. Try not to use magic just yet if we can help it. Form up!”

Calruz turned and began ordering the Horns of Hammerad while the other Captains did the same. The adventurers somehow understood what they were meant to do and moved smoothly into position, but Olesm blinked around, confused.

“Over here.”

Ceria tugged him into line behind the warriors, who’d formed a wall of shields and weapons staggered so that they could fall back if need be. The mages waited in the back, ready to cast if need be while Cervial took his team to the front.

Eight adventurers, including him, set arrows to a collection of bows. Several longbows and shortbows, but the Dwarven crossbow and two slings as well. Cervial held the crossbow, sighting down it calmly as he knelt with one knee raised to steady the weapon.

He raised a hand. The adventurers, already silent, made no sound.

“I hear them.”

Ceria did too. And soon, every Human could hear the rapid, thudding footfalls echoing in the distance. They were faint, but growing louder.

Olesm was shaking with nervous energy. Ceria wanted to calm him down, but she was afraid touching him would make him shout. So she waited.

As the sounds grew louder, she also heard faint moaning and growling in the distance. The zombies were making noise. She saw Cervial’s eyes narrow, and he swung the crossbow up.

The bolt discharged with a loud thunk, and two of the adventurers with longbows shot as well. Ceria couldn’t even see that far into the darkness, but Cervial nodded.

“Got one.”

One of his team nodded, and the other shook his head.

“Hit one in the leg.”

“Chest shot. Didn’t even slow him.”

They reloaded as they spoke. In a few seconds, their bows flew up and they fired again. They did this twice more before the zombies came into view of the adventurers’ light.

Corpses ran at the adventurers. Corpses given life. They were not Human any longer. They couldn’t be, with parts of them rotted so that intestines and bone poked through their dead skin. They were also dark, some green with fungi and rot, but others blue or black in death, their skin leaking bits of their liquefied innards.

Olesm gulped as they came into view, but Cervial’s team didn’t hesitate. Every weapon moved up, and they began shooting, the slings whirling heavy stones into the eyes and faces of the zombies as the arrows cut down others.

A bolt from the black crossbow punched through the heads of two zombies, tripping up their companions as they ran at the adventurers.

Ten zombies fell. Then twelve. Sixteen. As they were twenty feet away, Cervial surged to his feet.

“Back!”

His team rushed back through the gaps in the line the warriors had left for them. Instantly, the adventurers in front closed ranks. The zombies ran at them, biting, mouths gaping obscenely wide as they lunged at the adventurers.

Calruz was up in front next to Gregor. Ceria saw him raise his axe, but not to swing as a zombie ran at him. He just leveled the axe at the zombie and extended his arm in a jab.

The sharp blades of the battleaxe slammed into the zombie’s chest, knocking it backwards. It fell back, and Calruz brought his axe down casually on its rib cage. Bone broke, and the zombie lay still.

The other adventurers met the undead charge in the same way. Shields rammed into the frail dead bodies, pushing them back while swords, axes, and maces clubbed them down, bashing in their skulls, severing their heads. It wasn’t even close to a fair fight. The adventurers worked in tandem, outnumbered the dead, and had Levels and Skills. The dead only had rotting bodies, and soon, not even that.

After the last crawling zombie had been dispatched, Yvlon looked around.

“Anyone hurt? Any injuries?”

There were none. She went to inspect the corpses along with Cervial and a few of their scouts.

“Hm. Look at this, Yvlon.”

Cervial showed her a few of the corpses. Yvlon saw ruined Human faces, their flesh reeking from their rapid decay. She coughed, and a mage murmured a spell.

“[Cleansing Wind].”

“Thank you. What am I supposed to see, Cervial?”

“This. They’re mostly Human, these zombies. And freshly dead. If they weren’t, we’d be fighting skeletons. Average zombies rot to bone in a year or less. Even sealed—they’d be all dried out, not actively rotting.”

“More of the adventurers who first came in?”

“Very likely. But see behind them—?”

The second group was odder than the first—they were both actively still in decomposition, but as she held her nose, she saw the ragged steel and leather they wore was almost as rusted and destroyed as their bodies.

“Drakes. Badly rotted, too. But why would their armor look that old…?”

The Captain of the Flawless Flights bit his lip.

“That sounds like a failing preservation spell to me. Something is keeping them from rotting. Zombies are a bit tougher than skeletons so someone wanted their flesh intact…but didn’t spell the gear. That’s why there’s a mismatch. How long does it take for good armor to get to that state? They must be ancient.”

“Or something is restoring their flesh. Wonderful. Do you think the main threat will be the undead, then?”

“They don’t play nice with other monsters. That would be my best bet.”

Cervial grinned, his teeth illuminated in the torchlight. Then his smile faded.

“Still, that was quite a group. Not exactly a small welcoming committee, was it?”

Yvlon shook her head.

“For our first real encounter in here? I’d say it was light enough.”

The other man nodded, but he still seemed troubled.

“Zombies can sense the living. It’s only natural they’d feel so many of us and come running.”

He paused.

“Still. That was a bit too convenient and quick for my liking. Normally, I’d expect them to be spread out as they sense us and follow each other, not rush all at once like that.”

The armored woman paused, thinking.

“Could be coincidence.”

“Perhaps not.”

She nodded to the scouts.

“Go wary.”

They nodded and disappeared up ahead, their lights rapidly fading in the blackness.

Ceria found Olesm was shaking, but not with fear after the short battle. He stared at the dead, gagging slightly until the magic wind took away the stench.

“That was so—so impressive! There were so many, but you took care of them like—like—”

The Drake tried to snap shaking fingers. Ceria smiled.

“I had nothing to do with it. Good old fashioned metal did the trick here. Which is a good thing. If we had to start casting over a few undead, we’d be in trouble.”

“Ceria!”

The half-Elf glanced up. Yvlon was waving her to the front next to the other Captains. She also gestured at Olesm.

Ceria approached, Olesm trailing behind her. Yvlon smiled at both.

“Not a bad start, is it? We work well together.”

“Still, that was a lot of undead. Should we expect more up ahead?”

“More than likely. We were debating using your [Illumination] spell now, Ceria. What do you think?”

Ceria hesitated.

“I can’t use the lights to illuminate where I haven’t been. I could use it to light the way back but—I think I should wait. It’s not like we’re so far in that it’s hard to find our way back, and when I do cast it, it should be at a place we mean to hold for a longer time.”

Yvlon nodded.

“When we make camp, then. We’ll find a spot. But we’re hours from needing rest, so we’ll hold off.”

“Are we moving forwards now?”

“Almost. The scouts are saying this corridor begins to slope downwards. This is the place that leads to the second floor.”

“That’s where all the other teams disappeared.”

“Exactly. We’re going in ready for anything.”

Gregor and Calruz were indeed bringing all of the best adventurers to the front, creating a wall of flesh and metal while the mages and adventurers carrying ranged weapons followed behind.

“I’m sticking in the middle while Cervial’s team covers the rear. Will you walk with me, Ceria?”

“I’d be delighted to. Olesm?”

“Oh, I’d be honored. And they’re moving. Should we—?”

Yvlon and Ceria walked forwards and took their positions in the middle of the group. The Silver Spears spaced themselves out across the corridor, forming a second line that could hold if the front had to fall back.

The Human adventurer talked quietly with Ceria while Olesm lagged behind them, awkwardly chatting up Sostrom as they walked down the corridor’s increasing slope.

“I’m glad you aren’t angry at me.”

“Angry? Why would I be?”

Yvlon smiled ruefully.

“I feel like I had a lot to do with the—incident involving Ryoka earlier. I truly didn’t mean to cause that much trouble.”

Ceria shrugged awkwardly.

“That was mostly her fault.”

“Even so. My aunt had mentioned how much she wanted to meet this Runner, and I couldn’t fathom why. I wanted to test her, but not push her over the edge.”

“That girl is all edge. I don’t understand why Magnolia—well, there are certain things that strike me about her. But why the lady of Reinhart would spend so much effort on her is beyond me.”

“Beyond me as well, I’m afraid. My aunt does not confide in anyone, and she has—eclectic interests. But I do hope Ryoka doesn’t do anything rash. Once you fall into my aunt’s machinations, it is hard to break free.”

Ceria was surprised. She looked at Yvlon in the flickering light and saw the adventurer smile.

“You don’t want to capture Ryoka to gain favor with her?”

“Let’s just say I admire her independence, if not her self-control. Besides, it’s bad if Aunt Magnolia gets everything she wants. Hold up, what’s this?”

The adventurers had stopped at an open room, large and filled with stone altars and the remains of wooden tables. And curiously, open stone slabs placed symmetrically around the room.

“Strange. What kind of stone places are these? It looks like you’d put something on them, but for what? Alchemy? Look, there’s even a divot where you’d kneel, here…to do what?”

Ceria shook her head as she stared at the plinths placed around the room. They had an odd—formality to them that reminded her of a noble court. But it had no meaning to the adventurers, any of them.

“I’ve seen the like in pictures of Drath. Maybe some kind of ultra-formal area? Wait…you’d be facing this wall. And there was something here. See? A statue?”

She pointed, and the adventurers shone lights at a broken pedestal. There was only dust and fragments of stone there. Yvlon bit her lip.

“So this was maybe some kind of memorial?”

The half-Elf had to demure again. She went to the slabs of covered stone next.

“No. This is—different from above. What are those open places for? They look—big. Long enough to accommodate a body.”

Yvlon was skeptical.

“A place to sleep? They look—far too uncomfortable even if you filled them with blankets. They’re closer to legends from my family of Vampyres.”

“What?”

The Captain of the Silver Spears shrugged it off, mock-shivering.

“Oh, some long-dead monster. A children’s story. House Byres has lots of old tales like that. I should tell you the one about the Silver Dragon. But no one’s sleeping in these uncomfortable boxes. Nor do I see anyone straining their back using them as storage devices. Any other ideas, Ceria?”

Ceria shrugged. And then her eyes widened.

“I know. This is a place to put dead bodies to be cleansed before they’re buried. This isn’t a memorial. It’s a crypt.”

The adventurers around her who heard that muttered, half in agreement, the other half worried. It was good and bad news. Ceria heard Gerial explaining why to Olesm behind her.

“A crypt or a tomb is good because there’s probably treasure buried with the dead. But it usually means traps, ancient curses and hexes on the lids of tombs, and so on. Not to mention the undead.”

Yvlon raised her voice to be heard by the others.

“It’s a good sign, though. We know there’s something valuable here. Any place with this much architecture had to be important.”

Gregor nodded. He seemed happier than Ceria ever remembered seeing him.

“Could be powerful artifacts up ahead. Let’s keep moving.”

“This is a good place to fall back to, though. See—there’s only two ways in, and we can use that long corridor as a killing zone with our bows if we need to.”

Cervial pointed around the room. Yvlon nodded with the other Captains.

“If we can’t find anywhere better, we’ll camp here. But for now—let’s continue.”

The adventurers formed up again and moved onwards, a bit faster now that they knew what might lie ahead. A tomb, or perhaps a treasury for the dead. It made their hearts beat a little faster, their feet move a little quicker.

Ceria was just about to ask Yvlon more about Ryoka and what she had been told about the girl when someone exclaimed up ahead. She and Yvlon pushed forwards again and found a split in their path.

“What’s this? A split in the road? Which way did the scouts go?”

Gregor growled while Calruz squatted on the ground and looked around for a sign.

“No markings on the walls. Why didn’t they double back and warn us?”

Yvlon frowned as Cervial and Menes both pushed their way forwards.

“That is odd. Should we send a spell to contact them? Menes, you said your group used a short-distance communication spell, right?”

Menes nodded. He raised his glowing staff.

“I will talk with them. One moment—hold on, what’s this?”

The glowing bright-blue light from his staff had illuminated something further down the corridor. Menes pointed and walked over to something on the ground while the other Captains followed him.

“It’s quite large—a bag?”

It was indeed a bag, or rather, a large, bulky sack sitting on the ground. It wasn’t alone. Ceria could see a few more objects lying on the floor, although the light didn’t illuminate them.

“Careful, Menes. It could be a trap.”

“Hm. [Detect Magic]. Nothing.”

Cautiously, Menes poked the bag with the tip of his staff. He moved the sides a bit, and something spilled out. Menes swung the tip of his staff down, and his eyes widened.

“Gold? Gold?”

It was indeed gold. As the other adventurers exclaimed, Menes carefully picked up the piece of gold and stared at it.

“It’s not money obviously. But what is it? It looks—like part of something else. A broken piece of gold from a wall or—or statue or something.”

Gregor frowned.

“Is there more inside?”

Cautiously, an adventurer opened the bag and exclaimed in amazement.

“More gold! And jewels! Gods, it’s a small fortune!”

Several other adventurers clustered around instantly, but Cervial pushed them back. He bent and picked up a small ruby, staring hard at it.

“This is strange.”

“What is?”

He showed the gem to Yvlon and the others. Ceria could see it glowing in the light. It was clearly high-quality, but there was something off about it.

“Look at the sides. Stone. It was attached to something. A wall perhaps, or some kind of art?”

“You’re saying this is from some other part of the building. Looted by an adventurer…?”

“Must be. And these other…yes, these are all bags full of loot! Abandoned. Why?”

“Something got them. Or—scared them enough that they dropped everything and ran.”

“But no one ever made it down to the second floor and returned.”

The adventurers fell silent. Ceria felt the slight pricking of unease in her stomach.

Strangely, it was Olesm who spoke in the silence. He looked around in the darkness, eyes flicking around him.

“Those scouts. They never reported the split in the tunnel. And they would have come back. Where did they go?”

Yvlon opened her mouth, and then her eyes widened. A third of the adventurers in the room jerked or grabbed at their weapons. Ceria had felt it too.

Ceria and Yvlon exchanged a look.

“My [Dangersense]—”

“Ambush!”

That was the only warning they had. Something shrieked off in the distance, and the dead poured out of the walls.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.58 H

The dead charged out of the darkness in an unending tide of desiccated corpses. Their ruined flesh and glowing eyes in hollow sockets flickered in the torch and magelight. Zombies ran, crawled, or shuffled in a wave of discolored skin, but they weren’t alone.

More undead had appeared: skeletons that sprang at the nearest adventurers with inhuman grace and Ghouls—the advanced form of a zombie, which moved and fought with supernatural speed and strength. And far worse, in between the lesser varieties of the dead, larger shapes and pale figures could be spotted.

“Crypt Lord!”

“Not just one! Four of them!”

“We’re surrounded! Retreat!”

“Hold your ground!”

Calruz’s massive voice rose above the others. He cleaved a running zombie in two as he shouted at the adventurers.

“Hold, damn you! Fall back in order! Warriors, hold, and mages retreat to the chamber!”

It was impossible to tell if anyone had heard. The undead were coming from all sides, not just the two passageways but from behind the adventurers as well.

Yvlon and Ceria stood side by side, eyes darting left and right. The undead were everywhere. They were already attacking the adventurers around Ceria and Yvlon, and only their position in the middle of the group had given them a chance to react.

Ceria raised her wand, but there were too many bodies in the way from where she was. Yvlon was in the same situation. The blonde adventurer looked behind her. The adventurers were trying to move back, but a group of the dead had appeared behind them, holding them in place.

“Where are they coming from?”

Ceria pointed.

“There! Secret passages!”

Parts of the stone wall had opened up to let the undead come pouring out. They were only small alcoves, barely large enough for a small group to stand comfortably. But the dead had been packed inside, waiting until someone stepped in their trap.

And now the trap was sprung, and death was all around.

The warriors in front of Ceria were grappling with the undead, but they were hemmed in and had trouble lifting their weapons. Yvlon stepped backwards and slashed at a skeleton that was stabbing a mage. The woman collapsed, bleeding, but disappeared under the press of legs before Ceria could grab her.

Desperately, Ceria shifted to line up a spell, but she was trapped. They were too close together. She looked at the back of a warrior in chainmail and raised her wand. She could help him with a spell—

A huge, clawed hand seized the warrior around the waist and dragged him screaming up into the air. Ceria froze as the undead monster who had seized the armored man hurled him into the press of the dead where he was instantly swarmed and torn apart.

The other adventurers around Ceria fell back rather than get into range of the thing’s claws. She tried to retreat, but now the press worked against her. She was suddenly at the front, and a monster was in front of her. It was no zombie. She knew she was staring at a Crypt Lord, one of the thinking undead.

A Crypt Lord was a dead creature animated by powerful magic that had grown even more terrible over the years since its reanimation. Whatever shape they originally had, it had been twisted by rot and decay. They stood taller than every adventurer save for Calruz, their hunched backs and huge, bloated faces grinning with more sharp teeth than a Human could have.

They weren’t teeth, but bones. Yellowed bones that had been shifted and broken to create the illusion of a mouth in their bloated hollows of skin. They had no real organs or need to imitate the living’s biology. This was just—mockery. A paradoxical grin of rotten flesh and tangled bones.

The Crypt Lords ate the dead to recover their bodies. That was why their powerful arms and legs had a terrible patchwork appearance as the flesh and bone had fused to become whole.

The Crypt Lord grinned at Ceria, and black liquid ran from between its teeth. They had blood, of a kind. Poisonous black blood that carried disease and death.

It spat, and Ceria dove at once. The black poison struck her, but most of it landed on her robes, and the magic shrugged the liquid off. She rolled to a safe patch and saw two glowing blue eyes peering at her from above.

For a second, Ceria relaxed. It was just Toren. But—this skeleton wasn’t the same. It was covered with red blood and held a jagged, broken sword in its hands. And Toren was miles away and above ground.

The bloody skeleton raised the blade and brought it down on Ceria as she tried to roll again. It struck her in the back.

Ceria shouted in agony, but again, her enchanted robes caught the blade and took most of the blow. She still felt like something was trying to crush her spine, but she was alive. Not for long, though. The skeleton raised its sword again.

Ceria pointed her wand up. A shard of ice blasted the skeleton’s head off, and the rest of the body crumpled to the floor.

Shaking, she leapt to her feet. She was exposed. The Crypt Lord spat again, but this time at another adventurer. It was too dangerous. She raised her wand and aimed.

The monster had an amalgamation of eyes it had stolen from corpses. They clustered together in huge, fleshy sockets, around fifteen individual eyeballs in each ‘eye’. They spun towards her, and she spoke.

“[Ice Spike]!”

The thick shard of ice buried itself in the Crypt Lord’s head, and a gout of black blood spurted outwards with the ruined eyeballs. The Crypt Lord roared soundlessly and ran towards Ceria.

“Duck!”

Ceria didn’t know where the voice came from, but she instantly crouched. She felt her hair catch on something, and several strands were yanked out as Cervial loosed a crossbow bolt straight into the Crypt Lord’s other eye.

This time, it did scream out loud, a wailing cry that came from multiple voices within it. Ceria staggered back as it began to flail around, striking the other undead around it as it searched for something to kill.

Ceria turned, but suddenly, five zombies appeared out of the melee and ran at her and the archer-Captain. He cursed and pulled out a shortsword rather than reload. Ceria took one down with another [Ice Spike] before two of them lunged at her.

Ceria knew over fifty spells she could use, but her wand had contained the [Ice Spike] spell and thus she could cast it faster than anything else. And she had trained with the spell until she had a [Marksman]’s precision. She hammered a shard of ice into the chest of one zombie, making it sit down hard, and then fled from the other one’s hands.

The undead Drake lurched after her, but a woman with a mace bashed it to the ground. She was one of Yvlon’s Silver Spears, although her silvery armor was covered in gore.

Ceria didn’t bother to even shout thanks. In the next moment, both she and the warrior were fighting again. She fired over the head of an archer and caught a Ghoul as it leapt down on the man. He looked up, backed away, and then shot the creature three times in the face.

More movement. Ceria spun and saw a downed figure she recognized.

A Ghoul was crouching on top of Gerial, slashing at him with its claws. Ceria didn’t hesitate. She ran forwards, drawing her belt dagger from its sheath. She planted it in the back of the Ghouls’ head, ramming it through the softened skull and into the exposed brain.

To her horror, the Ghoul didn’t die from her attack. It turned its head; glowing crimson eyes flashed with hatred at her. It raised a claw, and Gerial kicked up. The Ghoul tumbled off him, and he sat up and ran his sword through its shoulder.

Ceria raised her wand and blasted the creature’s face apart. It went down for good, and she helped Gerial to his feet. His face was a bloody mask, but he grabbed a potion from his belt and emptied it over his injuries. They began healing even as Ceria watched.

He gasped and shuddered as Ceria covered them with her wand.

“Dead gods, this is a mess. Where are the others?”

“I don’t know.”

Most of the torches had been dropped on the ground, and only a few [Light] spells were illuminating the darkness. It made everything twice as hard as adventurers mistook each other for enemies.

“Gerial. We can’t regroup like this. I need to cast [Illumination], but I’ll need defending.”

He nodded.

“Do it.”

Ceria raised her wand and began focusing on the spell. It was so difficult as adventurers fought and monsters screamed around her, but she had to. Her mind was focused on a single point, and then that single point became many. She held the image of what she wanted in her head and willed it to be certainty.

“Form on me! Horns of Hammerad, to me!”

Gerial shouted as he struck and kicked undead around them, trying to keep them from reaching Ceria. The magic in her surged. She was in a half-place, half in this world, watching, fearing, trying desperately to cast a little faster to save her friends, half in the world of magic, riding the eddies and currents and seeking the truth.

Motion. She saw a Drake—the only one that wasn’t dead in this place—running away. A break in the dead coming from behind had created an opening, and he ran through it, fleeing the battle.

Part of her wanted to shout, but the magic was nearly ready. Olesm was running in the other direction faster than Ceria thought he could move. Eight other adventurers fled with him, all of them mages to judge by their clothing.

A group of skeletons was in hot pursuit. They disappeared into the darkness, and Ceria prayed she wouldn’t be too late. The magic reached a tipping point, and she opened her mouth.

“[Illumination]!”

Light suddenly filled the long corridor. Adventurers cried out, shielding their faces as orbs of light flew up from the ground, bright, shining, white beacons spaced ten feet apart. They turned the darkness of the crypt into day.

For a second, the undead faltered with the living. They hesitated, perhaps as the Crypt Lords sensed their advantage was gone. The adventurers shook the temporary blindness from their eyes. Now they could see the enemy. They roared and attacked.

Gerial crashed into two skeletons, scattering their bones. Ceria raised her wand and used another spell.

A small wave of water struck Gerial behind the knees. He staggered, but his heavy armor kept him upright. The skeletons weren’t so lucky. They fell to the ground and immediately began pushing themselves upright.

That wasn’t her main goal, though. Ceria aimed her wand at the spreading pool of water, and it froze. Gerial cursed as the water turned to ice; he was suddenly surrounded by a huge area of iced ground. Adventurers jumped out of the way rather than fight on the unstable footing, but the dead were less intelligent. They slipped and fell as they came after them, easy targets.

More zombies rushed at Ceria, and she ran back. The adventurers had formed a rough circle, and she found another mage throwing bolts of fire off of his staff. He whirled and smiled at her.

“Ceria!”

“Sostrom!”

“You take that side, I’ll take this.”

They stood back-to-back, blasting corpses back with their magic. Ceria spotted Calruz and several other warriors fighting the Crypt Lords, keeping the four massive creatures at bay while the lesser undead tried to break through the ranks of adventurers.

“We need more space!”

Sostrom yelled it in Ceria’s ears. She nodded.

“There! Get to Menes!”

The two mages ran back, letting other warriors close the gap. The mage-Captain was hurling lightning with his staff at a Crypt Lord. Ceria grabbed him by the shoulder, and he spun.

“We need to cut them off! Can you cast a spell?”

Menes shouted back.

“I can! But I need an opening! And the dead are behind us as well!”

“No!”

Sostrom pointed as Ceria and Menes jerked around to look at him.

“Look!”

Another hole had opened up behind the embattled adventurers. Flashes of light and spells blasted apart zombies and skeletons. More adventurers, fighting in the burial room they’d passed. Ceria grabbed Menes’ arm and screamed in his ear.

“There’s our opening! If you can buy us time—”

“Give me a minute. Can you clear the area first?”

Ceria nodded.

“Sostrom—”

“On it.”

He covered both mages as they began to concentrate again. Ceria raised her wand and felt the heat building in it. She aimed and shouted at the adventurers in front of her.

“I’m going to cast a big one. Everyone get back!”

They looked around, saw the fiery glow coming from her wand, and scattered to the left and right. Ceria saw Gerial ram into Calruz to get the Minotaur to move aside. She aimed at one of the Crypt Lords as it swiped at the retreating adventurers.

“[Fireball]!”

A glowing orange orb of fire three feet in diameter burst from her wand. It shot down the corridor and struck the Crypt Lord in the chest.

Ceria felt the blast kick her backwards and heard only ringing. Sostrom caught her, and for a few seconds, all was smoke and confusion. Then Ceria saw the Crypt Lord howling, caught ablaze, and the dead around it scattered, literally in fiery pieces or thrown to the ground.

She shouted at the mage next to her.

“Now, Menes!”

His face was covered in sweat. Menes raised his staff and pointed at the open space as the undead tried to gather for another charge.

“[Wall of Flames].”

Fire burst from his staff and shot past the adventurers, some of whom were unlucky enough to be scorched by the magical flames. A curtain of fire blocked off the corridor, each flame reaching nearly to the ceiling. The adventurers in front fell back as the undead entered the flames and retreated, burning and screaming.

“Now—everyone, to the rear!”

Yvlon’s voice rose, and the adventurers turned. Some of the undead had been caught past the fire. They were hacked to pieces, and the group ran back to the large room. Calruz’s voice followed hers.

“The spell is about to run out! Mages, buy us some time.”

Menes nodded. He raised his staff, and two more mages joined him. They pointed at the single entrance to the room, and walls of light and magical runes appeared on the floor, blocking entry.

“[Ward of Safety].”

“[Lesser Barrier].”

“[Sanctuary of Light].”

None of them were particularly high-level spells, all being Tier 1 and Tier 2, but together they did what an individual spell would not.

Ceria saw the wall of flames spell Menes had cast die out, and then the undead ran at the barrier. They crashed against the spells, and though they struck and hit the magical walls, they were unable to break through.

The adventurers watched, tense, until the undead began to pull back. The four Crypt Lords stared silently at the magic and then began walking back into the darkness. The undead followed silently. In a matter of minutes, they were gone.

The battle was over. And just as if another spell had been cast, suddenly Ceria could hear the other noises around her. Men and women crying out in pain, the voices, the scraping of metal and splashing as people poured potions over wounds or took off armor to get at injuries—all the noises that had been covered by the pounding of her heart.

“Screw me with a Wyvern’s tooth, what the hell was that?”

Gregor was shouting in the center of the milling adventurers. He was holding a piece of cloth to stop the bleeding as a healing potion regenerated a huge bite that had been taken out of one of his legs. He pointed to the corridor filled with corpses.

“They tore us apart out there! That was an ambush! A damn ambush from the undead! Has anyone heard of such a thing?”

“How many people are injured? Who’s missing?”

Yvlon strode around the room, listening as adventurers called out. Ceria looked around for her group and ran to the Horns of Hammerad. Miraculously, they were all there. Marian, Gerial, Calruz, Sostrom—

“Hunt? Where’s Hunt?”

Ceria looked around in sudden panic.

“Here. He’s here, Ceria.”

One of the other warriors, Barr, pointed to the ground. Ceria saw Hunt was lying with his head propped up against a pack, his face twisted into a grimace, hands frozen in a clawed position.

“What—”

“A Wight got him from behind. It raked him with those damn paralyzing claws, and he froze up. He’s okay—but the magic isn’t going away for a while.”

Ceria sighed in relief. It wasn’t good—Hunt was out of commission—but he wasn’t dead. She looked at the other adventurers. They were all battered, including herself. Even with healing potions, they all had some injuries. Except for Calruz. The Minotaur looked like he’d barely taken a scratch in the fight, and only the gore painting every inch of his battleaxe testified to his involvement.

“Ceria. It is good you are well. The lighting spell was well-timed, as was the fireball.”

He nodded at her as he scanned the room. She opened her mouth for a scathing retort and then closed it.

“Yeah. I’m glad everyone’s here. How many people didn’t make it?”

The answer was six, which was nothing short of a miracle. But it was really only six dead and many more wounded. Most of the injuries the adventurers had taken could be cured with healing potions, but several had lost fingers or limbs, and some had broken bones in ways that couldn’t be healed with a mere potion.

The hardest-hit group had been Cervial’s Flawless Flights. They’d lost two in the ambush, and two more in the scouting group. He was weeping as he reloaded his crossbow with another bolt.

“I fired it right at the damn monster, but it just took Elise and ate her. Damn it. Damn them.”

“That was a disaster.”

Menes agreed as he rested on a stone slab. His face was grey, a sign he’d used too much magic. Ceria felt the same way, although the mana potion she’d taken was helping.

“How did they sneak up on us like that? We let our guards down, thinking the undead couldn’t.”

“They were being led by Crypt Lords, that’s how. Those bastards can command the other dead.”

“Crypt Lords. I’ve never fought their kind. Those giant things at the back—they can think?”

Menes and Ceria nodded.

“How dangerous are they?”

“A Crypt Lord is a threat capable of wiping out a Silver-rank team if they’re not careful. Recommended level to combat them is…around 22. Possibly 26 if you factor in their special abilities. They’re mostly dangerous because they can command the dead around them to do things like lie in wait or use pincer attacks.”

Gregor swore.

“Gods. No wonder Charlez and his team didn’t make it out. We very nearly didn’t either.”

“Good job on that [Illumination] spell, Ceria. Without it, we would have been cooked.”

Ceria bowed her head as Yvlon nodded at her. Cervial nodded dully, and Gregor grunted.

“Yes, and the [Mages] certainly saved us. But there’s a problem. Where’s that damned lizard?”

“W-who? Me?”

Gregor scowled across the room at Olesm. The Drake flinched as he stormed towards him.

“You! I saw you running away! I should run you through myself, you coward!”

Olesm raised his hands as Gregor’s fists tightened.

“Please, allow me to explain—”

“Hold it, Gregor!”

Another mage sitting with his back to a wall raised his hand wearily as Gregor’s face reddened. He pointed at Olesm.

“That Drake didn’t run. He saved us. And you as well. When the undead were running at us, he got a group of us mages and used a Skill to let us escape the ambush. That let us get back here and open a path for the rest of you.”

“What?”

Gregor stared incredulously at Olesm. The Drake grinned nervously at him.

“[Rapid Retreat]. It’s, ah, a [Tactician] skill, although many [Thieves] and similar classes know it too. I heard Calruz shouting to get back over here, and I thought the rest of you would be right behind me.”

The adventurers murmured in appreciation. Gregor hesitated and then nodded slowly.

“Well. Good job. My apologies. Thank you for doing that. If you hadn’t—”

“It was a terrible ambush. My [Dangersense] only went off at the last moment. If we’d paid more attention to the scouts—”

“They were our best. Nothing should have been able to take out all of them without making a sound. Not even a horde of the undead. All of them had escape skills. So how—”

Yvlon rested a hand on Cervial’s shoulder comfortingly. She looked around at the other adventurers.

“We can worry about that after the threat is gone. Those spells won’t last forever. And we need a fast decision. Do we press on, now we know how many undead are out there, including Crypt Lords? Or do we retreat?”

“Retreat?”

Even Cervial raised his head at that word. He shook his head, dark fury in his eyes.

“No. We don’t do that. That was an ambush, not a fair fight. We’re going to go after those monsters and shoot them to bits.”

“Any idea on how?”

That came from Gerial. He stood at the barrier and stared out into the darkness. Ceria’s [Illumination] spell had cast light on the entire floor, but only as far as she’d walked. The branching corridor was still dark, and not a single undead could be seen from where he stood.

“They’ve already hidden themselves again. If we keep going, we’ll just run into another ambush. Granted, we know it’s coming, but I’d rather not do that again.”

Menes nodded as he got to his feet slowly.

“We could set traps and fortify this location. If we need to retreat—”

“An extended battle like that is risky. We’d be looking over our shoulders the entire time, and we’d never know we got them all.”

Yvlon sighed as she wiped her sword clean with a cloth.

“Those Crypt Lords are deadly. We need to take them out first. Do that and the rest of the undead lose a lot of their threat.”

“Do we have any way of detecting them? A spell?”

“We could search for trapped rooms, but we’ll burn through magic fast that way. It’s risky.”

Cervial bared his teeth.

“There’s no way in hell I’m retreating, not without a huge pile of gold to put on my people’s tombstones.”

“I’m right with you, but how—?”

“I have a plan.”

Every adventurer turned, and the arguing stopped as Calruz spoke. Ceria looked up from her second mana potion and had to stop herself from raising her eyebrows. Calruz? His plans were about as complex as a Goblin’s, and everyone knew it. Including him. He left all of the finesse to Gerial and Ceria.

But the Minotaur had taken the stage, and it was her job to back him up. Or kick him in the tail if he said something really stupid.

“We should face them all at once.”

Ceria’s foot twitched, but Gregor was quicker.

“Are you mad, Calruz? Why in the hells do you want to do that? They nearly tore us apart in that ambush, and you want to take on the rest all at once?”

The Minotaur snorted at him.

“You speak of seeking them out in their homes, but that is foolish. We are adventurers. We are stronger than they are. If we remove the element of surprise and cowardly attacks from behind, we stand a better chance of wiping them out at once than fighting with our backs to the walls every five minutes.”

The other Captains and vice-Captains fell silent at that. Yvlon raised her eyebrows and looked at Menes, who nodded.

“Calruz is right. In a straight battle without an ambush, we’d hold the advantage. If we could turn it into that, I’d place all my bets on our side winning handily. But how do you propose we do that, Calruz? Those monsters aren’t exactly smart, but they’re clever enough not to commit to an all-out attack. You saw how they retreated once we put the barriers up.”

“I will lure them out. If one of you possesses a [Loudness] spell or something similar, I will provoke them into attacking.”

“I know that spell. But are the rest of you agreed…?”

Menes glanced around. Yvlon hesitated before nodding, but Gregor and Cervial were already picking up their weapons.

Calruz glanced around.

“You. [Tactician]. Do you have any skills that would turn the tide of battle?”

Olesm gulped.

“Yes. A…a few. One good one. Should I use it now…?”

“No. Wait. We will recover a while longer. And then we will go and destroy those who would take our own.”

Calruz’s eyes flashed. He lifted his battleaxe, and the adventurers began to stand. It swept over them, a moment of passion that turned to anger. They had been attacked. Hurt. Some of their friends had died. It was time to fight again.

Ceria felt the same mood swing through her. She eyed her wand and estimated that she could cast quite a number of spells before she ran out of mana. Yes, the undead had struck first and done damage. But they hadn’t killed the adventurers.

Now it was their turn to strike back.

——

Calruz strode down the corridor and waited as the adventurers formed up around him. He hadn’t gone too far from their room, which was now their camp for the wounded and where they’d fittingly placed their dead. He waited with his hands on his axe as Menes cast the spell to amplify his voice.

“Done. I’ll cast a [Muffle] spell so we don’t get the worst of whatever you’re about to do.”

Calruz nodded. He stared into the darkness. All of the undead had vanished into the darkness, leaving only the truly dead behind. Yvlon stood next to Calruz, staring up at him curiously.

“Do you have [Taunt] as a Skill? I don’t know if that would even work on the dead…”

“Pah.”

That single word echoed loudly in the darkness. Calruz’s already loud, rumbling voice had been amplified several times over so that Yvlon winced. He motioned her back silently and whispered, which was still louder than shouting with the spell in effect.

“I do not need a Skill. Be ready. When they attack, we will crush them.”

Yvlon nodded and stepped back into line. This time, all of the best warriors and the other four adventuring Captains were in front, with all the mages and archers towards the back. Ceria stood next to Sostrom, heart beating rapidly. Assuming Calruz’s undisclosed plan worked, they would be in a perfect position to meet the undead. If he knew what he was doing.

When the [Muffle] spell had been cast, Calruz narrowed his eyes. He raised his battleaxe and gripped it tightly. Then he raised his voice and shouted.

No. Not just shouted. His first word made Ceria’s ears ring, and she went temporarily deaf as his voice rumbled through the entire building.

“Pathetic spirits of the dead! I am Calruz, leader of the Horns of Hammerad! By the House of Minos, I challenge you. If there is any honor left yet in your defiled corpses—face me and meet your end!”

Outside the ruins, the guardsmen and adventurers standing guard in front of the building looked around. They thought they’d heard something, and the shifting of dirt within made them reach for their weapons. But no attack came. Above, that was.

Even with both her hands covering her ears and the [Muffle] spell, Ceria could still only hear ringing after Calruz had finished. His voice had echoed in her bones, and she felt almost nauseous as well.

She tried to say something and realized she still wasn’t hearing. She shouted and heard a bit of sound.

“What?”

Sostrom looked at her. Ceria pointed. He looked and then saw it.

Movement. In the shadows, in the darkness of the long corridor at the edges of where Ceria’s [Illumination] spell had been cast, things moved. A huge shape appeared, and grinning teeth and long claws made of yellowed bones moved into view.

One Crypt Lord, and then two, three…four of them appeared out of the darkness, followed by a horde of the dead. They opened their mouths and howled at Calruz as the Minotaur took his place in the line of adventurers.

“Strike me blind, Calruz!”

Gerial had to shout above the ringing of his ears. He grinned wildly at the Minotaur as Calruz bared his teeth at him.

“How’d you know that would work?”

“The dead do not like sound any more than you do. It is an intrusion. I have challenged their honor. And so—we begin!”

Menes really should have taken the [Loudness] spell off of Calruz. He did, but only after the Minotaur’s large voice had set everyone’s ears ringing a second time. The Minotaur pointed.

The undead were indeed massing to charge. The adventurers waited, hearts beating, ears filled with echoes of thunder.

Olesm cleared his throat. Ceria thought he did, at any rate. She was still having trouble hearing, but the Drake spoke loudly.

“It looks like it’s my turn.”

“What?”

“I said—never mind. Here!”

The Drake pointed as the undead began to run down the long corridor. He opened his mouth, and Ceria heard the words clearly.

“[Attack Formation].”

All of the adventures gasped and looked around. As Olesm had spoken, the weapons and armor they carried felt like they had grown lighter. Even the mages felt a second wind, and their magic came to them more strongly than before.

Ceria gaped at Olesm as he grinned at her.

“What was that? A Skill?”

He nodded.

“I can only do that once a day at my level. But yes—it can change a battle. The rest of my skills are mostly defensive or information-oriented, so this is all I can do.”

“What?”

“Never mind!”

The undead were running now, closing the long distance at alarming speed. Olesm raised his voice again as he pointed to one of the Crypt Lords. It was the one Ceria had hit with the fireball, and though it had eaten some eyes, it was still half-blind as well.

“That one is more injured than the rest. Bring it down first.”

The [Mages] around him nodded as they readied their spells. Ceria watched the undead approach. Cervial loosed crossbow bolt after crossbow bolt with the other three adventurers in his group, felling zombies and skeletons, but the Crypt Lords and the rest of the horde ran on.

Yvlon raised her voice as the undead drew closer. They were around thirty meters away and closing ever faster. She unsheathed her sword and pointed.

“Mages!”

The magic casters needed no further invitation. Ceria and Sostrom pointed their wands and loosed their spells along with the other casters, filling the hallway with magic as the warriors kept their heads down.

The first row of undead met a wave of magic and simply…vanished. Lightning crackled through gouts of flame, and spiraling bolts of energy blew limbs apart. Not all the magic had gone into the attack though; pools of slippery liquid appeared on the ground, slowing the undead, and a second wall of flames turned a group of zombies into screaming torches.

Half of the mages loosed another spell before the undead were too close. Calruz stood upright, and Gregor shouted.

“Now, warriors, follow me! Charge!”

The armed rose to their feet and roared, drowning out the howling of the undead as they ran straight at the undead. Ceria saw the first zombie raise its hand to strike Gerial before Calruz’s massive fist punched straight through the zombie’s hand.

The adventurers and undead collided in a crash of sound that nearly rendered Ceria deaf again. But she was already running with the other mages, firing shards of ice at one of the Crypt Lords as she did.

——

All was motion. Gerial spun and cleaved the head off of one zombie effortlessly. He felt like his body was on fire. He felt like his heart was on fire. He was fighting at his best thanks to Olesm’s Skill. And not just him. Around him, the Captains were cutting through the undead now that they didn’t have to worry about hitting allies in front of them.

“[Whirlwind Cleave]!”

Gregor’s axe scythed through the stomachs of three zombies and a Ghoul, dropping them to the ground where the big man crushed their heads with an armored boot. He turned and barely dodged a Crypt Lord’s massive hand, but Cervial raised his crossbow and loosed a bolt right into the monster’s face.

“[Point-Blank Shot]!”

The flesh around the bolt tore, and the big monster lurched back. Gregor and two other warriors attacked it from below as it tried to recover, and Gerial caught a skeleton that was trying to attack them from behind. He bashed it repeatedly with the pommel of his sword and watched it collapse as he broke a hole in its skull.

Yvlon’s sword tip exited the neck of one zombie as she struck a skeleton in the head with her shield. The blow shattered the undead’s skull, and it collapsed, the crimson light fading from its eyes.

She whirled, and her shield came up to block a Ghoul’s slash. She pushed the monster away, and it staggered. Gerial saw Yvlon pull her sword out of the dead man’s stomach, and the Ghoul folded up. He hadn’t even seen her strike.

Gerial turned and found another Crypt Lord about to spit at him and Yvlon. He tackled her to the floor, and the black rain covered another adventurer, who fell to the ground, screaming.

“Back, back!”

Someone yanked Gerial to his feet. He looked up and saw Sostrom as the mage struck the Crypt Lord in the head with several fiery bolts of magic. It roared and seized him in one huge fist.

“Sostrom!”

The mage screamed in agony as the Crypt Lord squeezed. Gerial stabbed it in the stomach desperately, but it was too big and wouldn’t let his friend go.

“Move!”

He felt something shove him aside and then Calruz was there. The Minotaur swung his battleaxe, and Sostrom fell to the ground, the severed hand still holding him.

The Crypt Lord howled and grabbed at Calruz, but the Minotaur dropped his axe and gripped the undead’s head with both of his hands. He roared in fury as he ripped the Crypt Lord’s head off. The black blood spurted from the stump and covered the Minotaurs’ fur as he hurled the head and bit of spine away.

“Gerial! Back me up!”

Gerial nodded and fended off a Ghoul while Calruz reclaimed his axe. The Minotaur’s skin was fizzing where the black blood had landed, and he unceremoniously dumped two potions over his fur and then downed an antidote.

Several feet away, Ceria was in trouble. She’d been separated by Sostrom when the monster grabbed him, and a Ghoul was trying to catch her as she dodged backwards.

Gerial sliced a huge hole in the Ghoul’s side, giving Ceria an opening. She hit the Ghoul with three ice spikes, sending it spinning away.

A zombie struck Gerial from behind, hitting him in the back and knocking him to the floor. It fell on Gerial, biting and tearing as he shouted for help.

Ceria didn’t hesitate. She pointed her wand at the zombie’s back.

“[Flashfire]!”

Instantly, the zombie burst into flames. It stopped clawing at Gerial and started writhing, trying to put out the flames. Gerial shoved the corpse off him and got to his feet. The zombie tried to crawl after him, but Calruz ran forward and bashed its skull in with a single kick.

“How many Crypt Lords are down?”

“Two—no, three!”

Gregor had just cleaved the head off of the Crypt Lord he’d been fighting. The last monstrous undead hesitated as its minions surrounded it.

“I will take care of it if you get me close.”

“Done!”

Ceria nodded, and she and Sostrom ran towards Menes. The mage turned, and then all three began blasting at the undead, sending charred and broken bodies spinning to the ground.

Calruz looked at Gerial as the other man panted for air.

“With me?”

“Of course!”

They charged into the ranks of the undead. Gerial body-rushed a skeleton and planted his sword in a zombie’s chest as Calruz swung his axe and sent body parts flying. The Crypt Lord raised its head and stared at the Minotaur, possibly seeing a threat in the only creature larger than it was.

It raised its clawed hands at the same time Calruz raised his blade. Gerial knew what he was going to do and ran backwards as Calruz roared.

The Minotaur brought down his axe, cutting through the Crypt Lord’s twisted arms as it tried to block. He cleaved downwards, not stopping for bone or sinew as he vertically bisected the front part of the Crypt Lord’s body and struck the ground in an impact that smashed the stone floor.

Even from several feet away, Ceria felt the impact in her bones. The Crypt Lord lay on the ground, bones and skin twisted and torn.

The undead faltered and then began to attack again. But suddenly, they were without their controlling intelligence. Calruz roared, and the adventurers formed up around him. They pressed the undead back, back, until they hit a wall and were ground into paste upon it.

In the silence after the battle, Olesm shakily walked around the few twitching corpses and stared at the Crypt Lord Calruz had killed with his [Hammer Blow] skill. He stared at Calruz as the Minotaur leaned on his battleaxe, panting.

“I—I didn’t hear you say anything.”

Calmly, Calruz raised his axe and shook the bits of gore from it.

“Not every Skill or spell must be shouted.”

The Drake nodded slowly and looked around. The battle was over. He looked at his own sword. He’d hung back and fought with the mages, but he’d still killed several zombies and skeletons. He felt shaky, sick, exhausted as the adrenaline left him. He looked at Ceria as the half-Elf downed another mana potion and wiped at her mouth.

“We’re alive. Now what?”

The half-Elf grinned at Olesm, threw up a bit as the mana potion ran through her system, and grinned even harder. Blood and entrails had painted her face, but she didn’t seem to mind.

“Now? Now we get the treasure.”

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.59 H

“What about this room?”

“Empty.”

Sostrom shook his head as he walked out of another dark room, his staff glowing. Calruz stomped out behind him, growling irately. Ceria tried not to scowl at her friend, but it was hard.

“Not a thing?”

“You can see for yourself.”

Sostrom pointed into the dark room and shook his head. He traced a line of pallid blue light, too pale to be natural, in a cone around the worn stone. Smooth stone, possibly painted once, but fragmented away. Dust and tiny insects skittered away from the light, and it fell upon a marvel of architecture.

Deep, carved passages, even the rough, broken reliefs of what had once perhaps been complex statues. Now—smashed and rotted with age. A marvel, still, to [Builders] looking for decent stone or perhaps [Historians].

Nothing for adventurers. Faceless, eyeless statues revealed only gaping wounds where what might have once been valuable metal or gems. Someone had been here first—and if there had been books, cloth, aught at all beyond the bleak stone and rubbish strewn about—even wood had crumbled to dust. Sostrom’s staff glowed brighter as he set it down with a sigh.

“Whatever was in here, it wasn’t a treasury. And now it’s long gone.”

“Damn.”

Ceria cursed and kicked at the ground. Olesm peered over her shoulder into the empty room. He shuddered as a handful of crypt beetles scurried away. But then he looked peeved.

“I don’t get it. This is the lowest level, isn’t it? And you said there would be treasure—”

“I did. But who knew this place would be so cursed big?”

“But the treasure’s around here somewhere, right?”

Ceria growled at Olesm, and he backed away, claws raised. Gerial put a hand on her shoulder, but she sensed the tension in it too.

“Most likely. We just haven’t found it yet, and we’re all tired. Why don’t you go with Sostrom and check those rooms out?”

Sostrom made a face, but walked with Olesm down the dark corridor to peer into another room.

Ceria made a face and patted Gerial’s hand with hers. She turned, lowering her voice. She felt embarrassed—she was the veteran here. She couldn’t act like a child.

“Sorry, Gerial.”

“I know how you’re feeling. But he’s trying to be helpful.”

“Plus, this is his first adventure, and he thinks this is going to be Chalence and we’ll be famous like all the greenhorns. I know. It’s just—”

It was later. In fact, it was two hours later. The last of the undead had been killed and their remains incinerated with a spell, and those adventurers wounded too badly to move had been sent back to the burial room. A few more had remained as guards in case more undead popped up, but the rest had been searching nonstop since then.

Searching for treasure.

“Any word from Gregor’s team?”

They’d split into two groups, one going down the left passage, the other the right. Of all the teams, Calruz’s hadn’t lost any adventurers besides Hunt in either battle, so they’d taken a few of Menes’ mages while the other adventurers under Gregor had gone left. Yvlon had remained with the wounded, and they were keeping up a stream of communications with several adventurers who ran messages across the vast ruins.

“We just had one come by. There he is—”

Gerial led Ceria towards a panting adventurer drinking water and talking to Calruz.

“Any word on the other team’s progress?”

The man made a face.

“Nothing substantial. They’ve come across more empty rooms, same as you. Dozens upon dozens of them. It’s a warren down here, I swear. There’s some kind of urns in one room—just filled with dust, whatever’s in them is long gone. Old scrolls in another, none magical. They found a few undead, but nothing else. How’s it going over here?”

“Uneventful. We killed a few zombies, but they’re mostly cleared out here as well. Has Yvlon seen anything?”

“Nothing. I’ll get back to Gregor’s side of things if you’ve nothing else.”

Calruz grunted irritably, and the man took off. Gerial shook his head as he watched the man jog slowly off into the darkness, a ball of light following him.

“This is where a Runner would have come in handy.”

“This is where a hundred Runners would come in handy. They could search this place faster than we can.”

Ceria kicked at a wall. She knew she was frustrated, but she was exhausted from fighting and irritable from countless annoying questions from a certain Drake. Calruz had suggested quite sensibly—which was surprising—that instead of splitting up, their team should move together closely to avoid unpleasant surprises. The need to check each room and hallway for traps or ambushes had saved them a few nasty surprises, but it meant they were moving at a snail’s pace.

The fire of battle had left all the adventurers tired, it was true, but more than even that made the searching arduous. The ruins had become silent once more, and somehow, without the presence of the undead, it made everything feel more ominous.

Ceria kept expecting another zombie to pop out of the shadows, and one or two had—but the feeling hadn’t disappeared. The worst thing about an ambush is that you didn’t stop worrying after you survived one. Rather, you kept worrying it was only the first.

Gerial was probably feeling the same, but he still tried to be reasonable.

“You know he’s never done this before. And he helped us get through that fight a lot more easily than we would have otherwise. Just don’t snap at him.”

“I know. I know. But he keeps asking and—what if he’s right?”

“Yeah.”

Gerial, Ceria, and Calruz all fell silent. Treasure. They were all certain—had been certain—it was down here. You didn’t have ruins with this many guardians without treasure of some kind. But what if the valuable goods had been knowledge or something more intangible?

What if the dead had just congregated here because this was a glorified graveyard, and the only goods were the few bags of gold and jewels they’d recovered from the dead adventurers? It was a good haul for a single team, but wouldn’t even recoup the losses of their expedition.

Ruins could potentially be sources of amazing wealth, like the Ruins of Albez where magical items were still hidden under the rubble. But sometimes ruins were just old.

You heard stories, sometimes, of adventurers who would fight their way down to the lowest part of a dungeon, sacrificing all they had, losing friends and bleeding each step of the way to discover they’d cleared out an ancient storage house for grain or the living quarters of some subterranean people. That was the nightmare that hid behind the dream, and Ceria and the other adventurers were living it right now.

“We’ve still got a ways to go. There’s plenty of chances the vault is just ahead.”

“Sure.”

Ceria nodded, and Calruz grunted. She sighed and was about to stand up when she heard pounding feet.

All three adventurers grabbed at their weapons, and the others down the hall turned, ready for battle. But the woman who ran towards them was beaming and waving her arms.

“We’ve found something! Possibly a treasury!”

The shock that ran through Ceria was electric. She smiled, and the other adventurers whooped and cheered.

“Where is it? How big?”

“It’s right at the other end of the ruins, down the other passage.”

The woman pointed back as she explained.

“We’re not sure it’s a treasury, but it has every sign of—they’ve found a huge pair of double doors. Sealed. Magical runes of warding on the front, and Menes says some of them look like warnings.”

Ceria frowned at the same time Gerial did.

“Wait a second. That’s doesn’t sound like a vault to me. It sounds like a guarded treasury, the kind that has the nastiest monster waiting right behind the door. You didn’t try to open it, right?”

The adventurer rolled her eyes.

“We’re not idiots. Menes and the other mages are already setting up traps near the entrance with Cervial’s team. Yvlon wants a hallway full of traps before we crack the seal.”

She grinned. Like Ceria, she had a streak of blood wiped from one of her nostrils down her chin, and it was cracked and dried like the healed bite wound that had ripped across one shoulder. But she was alive. This—this was adventuring.

“Cervial’s group even has two bear traps. Don’t know how they carried them all the way down, but they’re setting them up. Even if what’s inside is as big as an Ogre, it won’t be able to ignore that.”

Ceria had seen the iron and occasionally steel contraptions used to hunt bears and larger monsters. Not just black bears or brown ones, but Mossbears. Mothbears too. They were nasty, vicious, and she’d nearly stepped in one more than once in her homeland. Damn [Trappers]. She shuddered, but it was a fine weapon to use on a monster.

“As soon as you lot finish on your side, we’ll seal off this passage with a spell and open those doors. Yvlon is going to join us, and we’ll see exactly what’s inside. Menes says the runes might be warning of the undead guardians, and if so, we just killed them all!”

“Or more could be inside. Wait for us.”

Calruz was, again, the surprising voice of caution, but he sounded eager. The woman nodded impatiently.

“We’ll have so many damn traps and fall-back points we’ll kill a thousand of ‘em once we’re set up. How soon until you’ll be done here? Gregor wants to know.”

Ceria and Gerial looked at Calruz. He shrugged.

“We’ve found nothing of worth so far. Give us a few minutes to gather everyone, and we’ll follow you.”

“Well, hurry up. Gregor wants to crack the seal this instant, and the other two Captains are the only thing holding him back.”

The woman grinned and dashed back as the other adventurers began to chatter excitedly. Ceria and Gerial exchanged a look.

“Warded doors? That’s right out of one of those classic stories you hear about. Odds are three-to-one it’s trapped or something nasty is lurking inside. Gregor better not open them before we get there.”

“He’s no idiot. But Yvlon has the right idea. Regardless of what’s in there, we can turn the passageway into a killing field. Even ten Crypt Lords wouldn’t survive a fully spelled passage if we combine resources.”

“Hey, hey everyone!”

That voice came from behind the others. They turned to see Olesm running towards them, beaming in excitement.

“Olesm? You’ll never believe this, but we found something! A vault, sealed by magic, over on the other side of the ruins.”

The Drake skidded to a stop and gaped. He grinned.

“Really? That’s great news! But we found something as well!”

“You did?”

Ceria exchanged a glance with the others, but they followed as Olesm eagerly led the way back down the corridor. They stopped at a huge opening in the wall, possibly where doors had once stood. Olesm pointed in.

“Look—but be quiet!”

He pointed, and Ceria gasped as she stared into a massive room. It was some kind of crypt. Well, the whole ruins were a giant crypt. Only this was the crypt inside of the crypt. What that all meant was—

“Tombs.”

“Coffins.”

Hundreds of them. Each one was stone, spaced apart evenly in a room that was so large it made Ceria feel as if she was standing outside again. She could barely see the far wall. The only light in the massive room came from a single staff. Sostrom was just inside, staring at one of the walls.

“This is the place where all the dead go.”

Olesm whispered loudly in Ceria’s ear.

“It must have countless tombs, probably with a lot of important people! And probably treasure if they bury their dead with their valuables like we Drakes do!”

That was true, but Ceria stared at the tombs and had another thought.

“They could all be undead in those graves. There’s no telling how many of them reanimated with the Crypt Lords about.”

The other adventurers crowding behind her groaned and grabbed at their weapons. Gerial shushed them while Olesm whispered.

“That’s what Sostrom said. But he found something else in there as well.”

He pointed, and Ceria saw the mage looking up at something on the wall. She nudged Calruz, and he nodded, so Ceria slowly approached with the others.

Sostrom jumped when Ceria put her hand on his shoulder. He whirled, staff raised, and relaxed when he saw her face. He bent down and whispered to her.

“Ceria. You nearly scared the piss out of me.”

“Better that than you screaming. What are you looking at?”

Carefully, Sostrom edged to one side and raised his staff higher so Ceria could get a look at what he was seeing. The blue-white light illuminated a dark stone wall, but etched into it deeply were…

“Words?”

“Something like that. It’s not magic—at least, no runes I’ve seen before. But what language it is I can’t tell for the life of me.”

Ceria stared up at the strange words, if words they were. She was familiar with several written languages and she had travelled far and wide, but for all that, she had never seen this style of writing. She beckoned, and Olesm softly padded over with the other adventurers following.

“Olesm. What do you make of this?”

The Drake frowned up at the wall as Gerial turned, watching the rest of the room for movement. There was none, but the countless tombs disturbed him greatly. He could just imagine something creeping up on them while they studied the wall, and so he faced the other way while his friends conferred.

“I’m not sure. It looks like some kind of message, but is it a memorial or something else? A memorandum? The script…looks familiar.”

Ceria peered at him. Her first instinct was to assume it was Drake writing. Everyone spoke the same language, obviously, but the Drakes and other species had different written languages.

“You can’t read it? Does it look like something your people might have written long ago?”

He hesitated.

“It—it could be something written in the past. Like I said, it’s vaguely similar. But I never knew if we changed written languages. I certainly can’t read it.”

“Is this important?”

Gerial winced as Calruz’s voice echoed through the room. The Minotaur wasn’t worried about waking anything. He folded his arms as he stared at the carvings.

“It could be nothing. But it might give us a clue as to what this place was or what it contains.”

“But you cannot read it.”

“I can.”

Gerial twisted his head and stared at Ceria in disbelief. She was raising her wand, and the color had changed to a light purple as she illuminated the wall.

“A little spell I picked up when I was at Wistram. [Translate].”

Sostrom whistled softly.

“That’s handy.”

Marian laughed.

“Handy? For what? No one speaks a different language. It’s only good for reading books.”

Sostrom hesitated, reluctant to contradict his crush. But Calruz just buffeted her with one arm. Gently, for him.

“Fool. Drathians have their own language. And to read any tome, no matter how old, is a valuable ability. You uncultured Izrilians.”

Ceria nodded absently as the words glowed faintly with purple light. She frowned, concentrating as she spoke.

“It is. But I’d prefer a real translator even so. The spell takes time, and it doesn’t work unless there are enough words to read at once. And I often get a muddled message, sometimes nonsensical depending on the content. There are better spells. But it should…oh.”

None of the other adventures saw anything change, but Ceria’s pulse began to quicken as the words on the wall—

They didn’t exactly change, but somehow she understood them. And she could put them into her own language. She turned to Olesm, eyes wide.

“I really don’t think this is a memorial for the dead.”

“What? What does it say?”

“I—it’s disturbing. Really disturbing.”

Calruz snorted. He glanced at Ceria’s face and barked.

“We are not mewling Human children. Speak.”

The half-Elf hesitated, and then she cleared her throat and began to read haltingly. The words she read were almost like a song and had the same cadence, the same innocent rhymes. Her words were swallowed by the darkness of the massive room.

“Skinner, Skinner!

He’ll eat your tails and tear off your skin!

He’ll pluck out your eyeballs and devour your kin!

Skinner, Skinner!

Run while you can!

Your flesh will be taken with a touch of his hand!

Hide in the darkness, hide in the light.

Fighting is useless; Skinner is fright.

He takes our scales and hides our bones

And makes this place our very last home.

Skinner, Skinner, never open his door.

Or soon your bones will lie on this floor.”

When she finished, there was only silence. Then one of the other adventurers laughed nervously, and someone else joined him. Their laughter echoed in the vast room and then faded away uneasily.

Gerial didn’t laugh. Neither did Calruz or most of the other adventurers. Ceria’s face was as pale as the light of her wand, and the glowing words faded again, letting darkness creep back.

Gerial’s voice cracked a bit as he spoke.

“That was disturbing, to say the least. But what does that mean?”

Sostrom hesitated as he stared at the words on the wall.

“It sounds…almost like a nursery rhyme. But not one I’d ever tell any child of mine.”

Olesm shivered.

“I’ve never heard that…that kind of song before. Who in their right minds would write such a thing?”

“It was a warning.”

Ceria whispered the words, and Calruz nodded. The Minotaur’s hand was twitching towards the handle of his battleaxe, and that made Gerial even more nervous. He tried to laugh it off, but couldn’t bring himself to smile.

“A warning? Who writes their warnings so—so cryptically?”

“Maybe someone who’s afraid of speaking plainly. Or—or—this isn’t a warning. Maybe it is a nursery rhyme or just dark humor. Or an old myth. The kind you write of something that’s been around forever.”

Sostrom shook his head.

“Who is this ‘Skinner’, then? An undead? Or a [Necromancer] of some kind? Whoever wrote this message seems to fear him.”

“Perhaps he’s the reason this place exists.”

Olesm frowned as he looked around the room. The other adventurers blinked at him, and he pointed to the tombs.

“This is clearly a burial place, but that’s odd because we Drakes don’t tend to bury our dead in stone. Too expensive. We usually cremate them. But that line…”

He stared upwards and murmured.

“‘He takes our scales and hides our bones…’. That can only be my people who wrote this. So—so they built coffins to hide their flesh from him? But is he locked away with the dead down here? That would make no sense. Why not burn the bodies? Surely they’d want to keep him as far away as possible.”

Sostrom raised a finger.

“A thought. Was this a trap for this Skinner creature or—or is he the guardian of this place?”

More silence. Gerial shivered. He felt cold, the uneasy chill of fear he’d felt on the most dangerous of missions. He opened his mouth, but another adventurer raised his voice.

“What the hell is a Skinner? Some kind of special undead?”

“We don’t know. But odds are that is what’s hiding behind that door Gregor and the others found. We should go back and let them know we’re in for a fight.”

Calruz nodded.

“Agreed. We will hold off opening them until we are prepared. And perhaps—”

He hesitated.

“—Perhaps we should send word to the surface. Ask if any know of this ‘Skinner’ creature.”

Ceria nodded. She felt relieved that he was the voice of reason, for once. She turned.

“Let’s hurry before Gregor makes a mistake. I’ll go f—”

It happened suddenly. Ceria screamed and dropped her wand, her hands flying to her head. Gerial drew his sword, but other adventurers around him were shouting or falling too. He looked around wildly, but nothing was attacking them.

Half of the Horns of Hammerad clutched at their heads. Ceria fell to her knees. Her [Dangersense] was going off, but it wasn’t like the ambush. That had been a premonition. Fear, foreboding, the knowledge of danger suddenly chilling her to her core.

This—

This was terror. This was death. She heard howling in her mind and knew she would die if she stayed. She—

“Ceria!”

Calruz’s massive hand shook her back into reality. She looked up at him. He yanked her upright with one hand.

“On your feet! What’s happening?”

“My [Dangersense]—something just happened! The doors—the vault—”

He cursed.

“They opened them? The fools!”

He began to storm down the corridor, but Ceria grabbed at him.

“Calruz! This isn’t like before. This—my Skill is telling me something bad has happened. Really bad. Far worse than the ambush.”

He stared at her, only partly comprehending. He couldn’t feel the certainty, the absolute terror in her head and heart. Olesm stumbled towards them, sword drawn.

“We are in danger. Extreme danger. We have to retreat.”

Olesm shakily wiped at his mouth. He’d thrown up. His tail thrashed wildly as he stared around in the darkness.

“I’ve never felt anything like that. When I was a child and the Necromancer attacked ten years back—that was the closest. But this is different. I am afraid, and [Dangersense] doesn’t convey fear. We have to go.”

The Necromancer himself? Gerial’s face turned paler. Calruz looked at Olesm a full five seconds before he turned.

“Let us regroup with Yvlon. With speed. [Warriors], form up, and mages, follow close behind. Prepare for—”

He broke off as Ceria grabbed his arm. The Minotaur stared down at her as she looked around.

“Shh! Quiet. Do you hear that?”

The other adventurers fell silent. It took them only a second to make out what Ceria had heard. In the distance, a high pitched sound. No—many sounds, all joined together.

“Screaming.”

It was faint, but echoed down the long corridor into this room. And as if that had started something, they heard another noise.

Cracking. Dull thumps sounding from behind them. Muffled moans and hissing. The adventurers turned.

Gerial’s hand turned white on his sword. He stared at the coffins in the room as, suddenly, noises began to echo from within.

“Oh…Flowers of Izril. Five Families preserve us.”

Half of the lids of the stone coffins shifted or crashed to the ground as their occupants suddenly began to move. The adventurers’ light didn’t illuminate all of the room, but they saw things crawling out of their stone beds, jerking upright, faint pinpricks of crimson light flaring into existence as they stared at the living.

Their moans and ghastly sounds filled the huge room, echoing, growing louder—then they screamed as they got up and began running towards the living.

“Run!”

Gerial wasn’t sure who said it. It could have been him. But every adventurer in the room was suddenly running for the door as hundreds of undead began pouring towards them.

“The door!”

Calruz caught Sostrom as the mage ran out the double doors. He pointed to the corridor.

“Can you slow them down?”

The bald man hesitated. He raised his staff.

“I—I could cast [Sticky Ground]. The webbing would slow them down, but this many—”

“Cast it! The rest of you, follow me!”

Calruz started running before the words had even left his mouth. Sostrom desperately raised his staff and cast the spell as the other adventurers sprinted down the corridor after Calruz. Suddenly, the lower levels were filled with sounds again, the clash of metal, surprised shouts from up ahead.

Screaming.

Sostrom caught up with Ceria, his longer legs pumping madly as he ran with his staff raised before him. He shouted wildly.

“We don’t have much time! Only a few minutes before they catch up!”

No one else said a word. They pounded down the corridor, and when they rounded a corridor, they saw a group of armed adventurers, around fourteen of them, led by Yvlon. They raised their weapons but lowered them when they saw who it was.

“Calruz!”

Yvlon waved the Minotaur over as he ran towards her. Her sword was drawn, and she had formed up her group into a solid line blocking the corridor down which Gregor had gone.

Calruz paused and pointed. Ceria and Gerial fell into line with the other adventurers, covering the way they had come as the Minotaur talked with Yvlon.

“What’s happening? Where are Gregor and the others?”

She shook her head.

“Last I heard, they were up ahead, trapping the corridor. But then our [Dangersense] went off and—the door. They must have opened it.”

“Fools!”

“They didn’t say they were going to open the vault. I made it clear to Gregor he had to wait until we regrouped. So why…?”

“Have you sent anyone down there?”

Calruz looked down the dark corridor, and Yvlon nodded.

“Two people. I told them to run back the instant they saw something. They—they never came back.”

She looked pale.

“The screaming ended a few minutes ago. I was waiting for you to get back. What did you find? Anything?”

He nodded.

“A message. Too long to explain. Know that we most likely face Skinner, the guardian of this place. He—steals skin.”

“Steals? Skin?”

The other adventurer shifted restlessly. Calruz nodded.

“So it was written. And his awakening woke the other undead too. There is a horde approaching from behind.”

The adventurers groaned as Yvlon frowned.

“Right then, it seems we have a choice. We can’t fight another battle here, not understrength. We should retreat.”

Calruz shook his head.

“What of Gregor and the others?”

Her face was grim.

“I think we should fear the worst, don’t you?”

Calruz gritted his teeth.

“I do not want to run without seeing the enemy’s face.”

“It’ll be the last thing you see if we stay here. If we get caught in a pincer attack from both sides—”

“Calruz.”

The Minotaur ignored Ceria. He gestured to the corridor back where they had come.

“Set spells to slow the enemy advance. I will go to see if there are any living before we fall back. If we leave our comrades—”

“Calruz!”

Both Captains looked over. Ceria was cupping one pointed ear with her hand. She raised her wand shakily and pointed into the darkness ahead.

“I hear something. Something is coming this way.”

They fell silent and then heard it too. Pounding footsteps.

Sostrom raised his staff, but hesitated as he saw an adventurer run out of the darkness. It was one man, someone he recognized. A warrior from Kyrial’s Vanguard. The man wasn’t carrying a weapon, though. He was wild-eyed and running as if chased by a legion of monsters. But nothing was following him.

Gerial stood up and caught the man as he ran towards the adventurers. He would have bowled over their front line, and he tried to dodge around Gerial as the other man grabbed at him.

“Hey, what’s happening? Where are Gregor and—”

The other warrior struck at Gerial with a gauntleted fist. Gerial stumbled back, and the man tried to run past him. Calruz seized him and pinned him against a wall.

“You! How dare you?”

The man stared up wild-eyed into Calruz’s furious gaze. He didn’t even seem to see the Minotaur. He twisted wildly in Calruz’s grip, fighting to be free.

“Let go of me! Let go! I have to get away!”

Yvlon stared down the corridor, staring into the darkness.

“What happened? What was behind those doors?”

The man spat and fought against Calruz, futilely kicking to be free. He seemed barely conscious as he babbled almost incoherently.

“Run, run! It’s right behind us!”

“What is?”

Calruz gripped the man even harder until Gerial could swear he heard the other man’s bones creak. The Minotaur raised his voice.

“Why were the doors opened? Gregor was told to wait! Who—”

“We didn’t open the doors!”

The Minotaur stared at the man. He was panting, sweating, his eyes darting around as he strained towards freedom.

“If you did not open them, then who—”

“It opened them from inside!”

The man shouted it in the corridor, his voice echoing as he screamed.

“It opened them, and then it took Gregor and the others! Let me go. It is coming. We must run, all of us. Can’t you feel it? It is coming!”

“Who is? Skinner? Is it an undead?”

But the man refused to reply. His foot came up, and he kicked Calruz hard enough to make the Minotaur grunt and stumble back. He dropped the warrior, and the man scrambled to his feet. He burst through the ranks of adventurers, dashing down the corridor, his footsteps echoing and fading as he fled towards the stairs.

Calruz cursed as he rubbed at his stomach. He looked at Yvlon, and the two Captains paused.

“They’re dead. But what caught them? This Skinner—”

“We should retreat. Let us gather the wounded and go. If we have the [Mages] cast spells to delay pursuit—”

Yvlon nodded. She turned and raised her voice to order the adventurers, but the words died in her throat.

Something. Somehow, as they had listened to the panicked adventurer screaming, they hadn’t heard it. It was such a faint sound. A sort of…dragging, scraping sound. It had been growing louder slowly. And it wouldn’t have mattered. But now it had come closer, and—something—had appeared far down the corridor.

The light cast from wands, staves, flickering torches, and lanterns illuminated perhaps a hundred feet of space of the wide, empty stone passageway. At the very edges of that light, something had appeared.

Something white. It was so far away, but it filled the corridor. It looked like—a cloud? Or fog, rippling slowly towards them out of the darkness. A wall of white that moved.

But that wasn’t what caught Yvlon’s voice in her throat. It was the faint thing she could see in the middle of that unearthly cloud, the familiar shape that appeared in the darkness, staring at her.

A face.

“Gregor…?”

He didn’t react to Yvlon’s voice. The Captain of Kyrial’s Vanguard stared ahead blankly, his face shifting in the mists, pale and bloodless. And his head—it was moving in ways a head shouldn’t, not if it were attached to a body.

The white sea surrounding him rippled closer, but now the adventurers could see another face slowly float upwards. Cervial. He stared ahead, gaze empty and vacant, moving in the same disturbing way as Gregor.

“Cervial! Is that you?”

Again, no response.

Closer. Now the mists didn’t seem as transparent. It wasn’t mist, but something else. Something that rippled and shook as it was pulled along the corridor. Undulating, shivering…too solid. Ceria’s [Dangersense] was screaming so loud she covered her pointed ears. It came on. Closer.

“Gregor, Cervial! Answer me! What’s going on? Are you alright?”

Neither face moved. Neither head twitched. The adventurers watched Gregor stare ahead, eyes unseeing.

Then they knew. They knew what had happened. As Menes’ head emerged from the folds of the creature in front of them and it pulled itself into the light, they understood what they were seeing.

Flesh. Dead flesh. It rippled, shook, twisted, shining in the light. It was yellowed in places, fleshy pink in others, bloody in spots. But mainly white. White with age and bloodless death. It was dead skin, layered and congealed.

It was a body. And the faces of their friends, the Captains—

They were part of it.

Not just their faces. Their skin. As the creature drew closer, several men and women gagged or vomited in place. This—thing was made up of bodies. Entire bodies, skinned. Torn from their owners and pasted together.

And what it made was a long, bloated slug-like body that reared upright. Two massive arms reached out and seized at the ground, dragging the rest of the body behind it. There was no head. Rather, a sunken face, a mockery of the Human face. No nose. No ears or hair. Just two sunken sockets filled with a crimson glow and a gaping, empty mouth.

Pieces of white flesh trailed behind the creature as it pulled itself forwards another ten meters with its hands. It was falling apart, leaving bits of itself where it went. But it was massive, hands wide enough to curl around any Human, long, almost delicate fingers of slick, white flesh, exposed along the palms where red flesh could be seen underneath.

Something. Something was living in the body of dead skin. And it was coming. The creature slowly moved towards the adventurers, pulling itself along the ground as the faces of their comrades—all of them—stared blankly ahead, the latest additions to its skin.

Because that was what it was. And Ceria knew. She knew as it stared down at her and she felt death in her bones.

She knew its name.

Skinner.

——

He came towards them, slow, dragging himself along with one arm as he travelled down the corridor. He had no legs. He was just a torso, a disfigured mockery of something Human. Not even that.

He wasn’t even remotely humanoid. Unlike the Crypt Lords who looked like bloated, twisted mockeries of something once living, Skinner just looked dead.

Scraps of ruined metal hung off the thing. Dangling from worn material. A…breastplate? Had something once made armor for this—this thing? Or had it stolen the armor of a Giant? It was far too large and torn apart. All that was left was yellowed skin—and fresh additions.

Ceria knew she should move. She knew she should raise her wand and start blasting at the creature now it had appeared. She should rain fire upon it with the others, eradicate it from the face of the earth. It was in front of her.

But she couldn’t move. She couldn’t raise her wand. She was petrified.

Two ruby eyes flashed deep within the folds of dried, caked skin. They didn’t move, not like normal eyes. Skinner had to twist and turn his head to see with them, but the light they cast created a cone of—of—

Terror.

It had struck her the instant he had appeared down the corridor. Something had reached inside her, taken hold of her heart. She shook as he approached, and she was unable to move.

“It’s just…dead skin.”

Yvlon muttered it. Ceria had to turn her head to see. The woman was trembling, hand gripped on her sword. She was trying to raise it, but she couldn’t.

Fear.

“We’re under a spell.”

Ceria said it through numb lips. She tried to gather mana inside of her, fight off the magic, but it was too strong. Terror was consuming all of her. She couldn’t even think of resisting. All she wanted to do was run.

But she was too afraid to do even that.

It was like the nightmares Ceria had had as a child, in between waking and sleep, at midnight. She would be in her bed, staring at a door, a window. She knew something was behind it, that something was watching her. She knew, but she was too afraid to get up and see. If she moved—if she made any motion—it would get her.

So she would lie still, and eventually she would fall asleep or morning would come. Her night terrors would disappear in the light of day.

But this was different. This was horror made flesh, and it wouldn’t disappear. But like her childhood fears, Ceria was trapped. She couldn’t move.

“Horns of Hammerad—”

Calruz’s voice choked in their silence. She saw him raise a foot and struggle to step forwards. Even the Minotaur, even her fearless leader, was paralyzed.

“We must—retreat.”

Olesm said that. He was trying to shift backwards, but even escape was difficult. They were paralyzed.

Skinner pulled himself closer. Too close. He was in front of them now, and they smelled him. Dead flesh. Blood, too. Blood and death and rot. It was horrific.

His eyes gazed down on them, bringing fear. Calruz tried to raise his axe, but his arms shook. Skinner’s mouth opened.

He smiled.

A hand shot out. A woman in the front—a warrior with an axe and shield—screamed in sudden terror. It brought the other adventurers out of their paralysis. They scattered as Skinner encircled her with one hand and then pulled.

Her skin came off. All at once. It left—it left a bloody body that fell to the ground. Possibly dead. Or worse—alive.

The woman’s skin flapped and trembled in Skinner’s hand. He reached up and laid it delicately across one arm. Her skin…melted into his flesh, and suddenly, there she was. Her empty face stared down at the others.

They fled. Their terror hadn’t ended, just shifted. Instead, the seasoned Silver-rank adventurers dropped their weapons and ran, pushing, shoving, trying to get away.

But as they turned to flee in the other direction, they found they were not alone. Bodies stood in the way, blocking the corridor. Dead bodies.

Zombies. Skeletons. Ghouls. Even more Crypt Lords and Wights. The undead had reappeared, and they had cut the adventurers off from escape. They fell upon the adventurers silently, grabbing them, biting them, pushing them back towards Skinner.

“Retreat!”

Calruz bellowed as he gripped his battleaxe in shaking hands and decapitated a zombie. Ceria moved. She raised her wand slowly and fired a spike of ice at one of the dead as her feet took her backwards.

She could move. She and Gerial ran back down the corridor with the other adventurers, knocking away the undead. She could fight. But the instant she turned towards Skinner or even thought of raising her wand to fight him—

Paralysis. Fear. She couldn’t. She couldn’t. All she could do was run. She had to get away. She had to get away.

The adventurers screamed and ran down the corridor, some tripping, some fighting with the undead or dragged backwards. Skinner seized a mage who screamed for help, but no one turned for him.

They ran. But they stopped when they saw the wall of undead warriors blocking the way back up to the surface. They waited, the dead body of the warrior who had fled earlier crushed against one wall, his brains pasted on the stone.

“We must run.”

“We must fight.”

Yvlon and Calruz spoke at the same time. She was trembling, but he had stopped. His head was turned. He was looking back towards Skinner.

Ceria didn’t want to look. She wanted to run, but Calruz had stopped. He raised his voice, not shouting, but speaking loudly, his voice echoing in the silence.

“Horns of Hammerad. If you have any pride, turn and face your enemy.”

She didn’t want to. But she had to. Just to know how close it was. Ceria turned—

And saw Sostrom.

He dangled from Skinner’s hands. Or part of him did. His skin had been taken and had become part of Skinner’s body. The monster cast aside what remained.

He had screamed for help. But Ceria had ignored him. He had screamed for help. And now he was dead.

Ceria saw it. She saw it, but her eyes fled from Skinner. She shook, unable to look at him. He was advancing slowly, taking his time as the undead boxed the other adventurers in. She—Sostrom was dead. But she had to run.

Her feet moved back. But a pair of huge boots stomped forwards.

Calruz took one step and then two. He moved haltingly—his body leaning forwards as if he were struggling against something. But he moved towards Skinner, and he spoke.

“Do not run. You are the Horns of Hammerad. This thing has slain our own. We must avenge—”

“Calruz. We have to go. Help us.”

Ceria breathed the words. The Minotaur shook his head.

“Honor. We must not run. Face your death with pride.”

He hefted his battleaxe. Skinner paused, staring down the corridor at the only adventurer not running from him. He seemed…intrigued, as far as his expressionless face could be. He raised a hand.

“I am Calruz of the Beriad. I challenge you.”

The Minotaur raised his axe. He dodged under one of Skinner’s hands as it shot towards him and raced towards the body. He brought his weapon up and sliced at Skinner’s chest.

The battleaxe bit deep into flesh. Calruz roared as he tore it through the dead skin, and for a moment, Ceria dared hope. The adventurers paused in their fighting, and so did the dead, staring at Skinner.

Calruz severed the chunk of Skinner he’d carved away, and it fell to the ground. Skinner blinked down at it. It was—

It was dead skin. Calruz stared into the gaping wound he’d left. Dead skin was all he saw. Just dead skin. No blood. Not even any organs or bones. Just dead skin, layered to create armor. How deep did it run? Skinner was so vast—

He raised his axe again, and it bit deep. But he struck nothing but skin. And above him, the monster moved.

A massive hand swung towards Calruz. The Minotaur had lodged his axe in the skin, and he had to roll and abandon it. He dodged sideways, but too slowly. Too late.

Skinner turned and seized Calruz’s arm with one of its hands. It twisted, and the Minotaur screamed and fell back. The monster tossed his arm to the ground dismissively, and his mouth moved. The layers of flesh wrinkled up, and that vacant mouth twisted at the corners.

Skinner grinned.

Ceria screamed as Calruz stumbled away, one of his shoulders suddenly a bleeding stump. He roared in pain, fury, and fear. He raised his hand to strike at Skinner, but something caught him from behind.

A zombie. The dead Drake grabbed Calruz by the legs. He turned and kicked, and it fell to the ground, skull fractured. But a skeleton tackled him, grabbing onto his arm, and then more zombies seized him. Calruz threw them aside, pounding, fighting, but they engulfed him.

He disappeared under a swarm of bodies, roaring in agony as their claws and blades tore at his flesh. The darkness swallowed the Minotaur as Skinner turned towards Ceria.

She trembled. She was fixed in place as the crimson eyes fixed on her. She wanted to run. She needed to run. But fear kept her in place.

A skeleton drew near, grinning, a sword in its hands. It raised the blade, and Gerial slammed into the skeleton, knocking it to the floor.

“Ceria!”

He shouted at her, shielding her with his back from Skinner’s gaze. She could suddenly move again, and she gasped and shuddered as he pushed her back.

Gerial held Ceria as she clutched at him, his head swiveling around at the dead fighting the living, the adventurers still screaming and trying to escape. His arms tightened, and he held her close. He spoke to her, his voice the only thing she could hear above the roaring in her ears.

“Go. Run.”

“What?”

Ceria stared at him. Gerial’s face was white, and he looked almost as bloodless as Skinner’s body. He shuddered, and she felt it.

“Run. I’ll—I’ll buy you some time.”

He pointed down the corridor. Ceria’s feet began to move, but she halted them.

“Gerial—”

He shoved her away.

“Run, damn you!”

He turned and walked down the corridor towards Skinner. He couldn’t look at it, and his legs shook. They stopped fifteen feet from Skinner. Gerial couldn’t move any closer.

Again, Skinner halted and stared at him with interest. Gerial tried to raise his sword, but he couldn’t. Terror gripped him, and he couldn’t even lift his weapon.

It wasn’t fair. But he heard and felt Ceria turn and flee behind him. That was enough. That was—

He raised the other object in his right hand. A jar of acid sloshed around in his gauntleted hand. Maybe. If he could get Skinner to turn back, maybe—

He was going to die. Gerial knew it. The undead surrounded him, not attacking. The adventurers were running or dead, but the dead waited for Skinner to take him. He had to buy time. To let her live. To let one of them survive.

“Death before dishonor.”

The words were enough to make him look up, to meet that terrifying gaze. Skinner smiled at him, and Gerial’s heart stopped. The hand came down, and he raised his arm, drew it back to throw the jar.

But he hesitated. The fear made his arm spasm, and the jar of acid broke on the ground in front of Skinner, showering only the monster’s lower half with acid.

Skinner lurched back. The skin began to smoke and peel away, but the creature didn’t let the acid consume any more. He reached down and peeled off several layers of his own body, digging his hand into the white skin and hurling the smoking bits to the ground where they were consumed.

Fool. If he’d only thrown it better. If—

The acid was fading. Even if he’d had another jar, even if his aim had been true…

Gerial stared numbly at the dead flesh. He raised his sword, but Skinner lashed out with one finger, and the weapon went flying. Gerial’s hand broke with the impact. He felt the pain, a dull shock running through him, but it was just a feeling.

The man reached for his belt dagger with his other hand, but the darkness was closing in and—

A pale wall of glistening flesh rose. Higher and higher. Two eyes deeper red than blood looked down at him. Gerial looked up bitterly. Skinner loomed over him. It was no longer smiling, at least. Ceria. Had she run? Had she made it?

Why here? The man spoke, his voice breaking, laden with guilt and regret. With fear. Yet here he stood.

“If—”

A hand seized him, and Gerial felt tearing—and then coldness.

He was gone before he hit the floor.

——

Ceria saw Gerial die. She stopped in the corridor and screamed. He fell to the ground as Skinner carefully took his skin. The creature placed it where acid had struck him and then continued on as if nothing had happened.

She had to run. But something in Ceria was screaming louder than the fear. Sostrom. Calruz. Gerial. Her friends were dead. Her family was dying.

She faced Skinner, her body shaking. Ceria couldn’t even stare into his face. He laughed at her, soundlessly, crumbling lips revealing a body that was hollow. He was just skin. Skin and something red that twisted through the dead body, giving it life.

She couldn’t raise her wand. Fear consumed every part of her. Ceria howled in despair and fled. It was the only thing she could do. She left her friend behind and ran.

Live. She would die if she faced Skinner. She had to live.

A hand shot out and seized her by the leg. Ceria screamed as the skin along the back of her leg tore.

Her skin curled as Skinner regarded it in one hand. He brought it up to his ‘mouth’ as if tasting it and then tossed the bit of flesh away. And he took no notice of Ceria either. Skinner turned and began to drag himself along the ground, after the Humans.

For a moment, Ceria lay on the ground, disbelieving. But then she saw the dead moving towards her, and reality came back with the pain.

She got up. Her leg—she could move. But only just. Ceria limped and pulled herself along the corridor. The undead were around her, striking at adventurers as they cowered or chasing those that fled.

It was chaos. Ceria raised her wand and blasted a skeleton out of her path. She was close to the room with the injured but—

Yvlon was ahead of her, part of the scrum of adventurers screaming and fighting to get past two Crypt Lords. The massive abominations blocked the passage, smashing adventurers against the walls and crushing them with contemptuous ease.

There was no attempt to fight as a group. Men and women shoved each other, striking even their friends as they sought to escape. Skinner slowly dragged himself down the corridor, ripping the Humans apart as they screamed in terror.

The Captain of the Silver Spears was shouting, trying to be heard above the din. She was gripped by terror like the others, but she was at least coherent enough to try and fight the Crypt Lords. But no one was listening to her.

The undead were everywhere. They flooded out of the tunnels, biting, clawing, tearing. Ceria screamed as a skeleton stabbed her in the back with a dagger. Again, her robes saved her, but she felt the skin break even as the blade slashed at her.

It stabbed her in the leg. Ceria screamed as she felt her exposed sinews tear and her bones crack.

She raised her wand and this time burned it. The skeleton staggered away as its bones cracked from the heat. Ceria pulled herself upright. The pain was overwhelming, but if she stopped to consider it, she would die.

The Crypt Lords barred the way, but there were gaps between their bloated bodies. Enough for her to get through. She could run. She could use the other adventurers as a shield so long as Skinner ignored her. If Ceria sacrificed them, she could—

Yvlon was fighting. Her blonde hair was dirty with blood, but she whirled, cutting down Ghouls and zombies as she struggled to protect her friends. She was trying to carve a path open before Skinner reached them. But the Crypt Lords were too strong, the adventurers too disorganized.

They would all die. Ceria looked at Skinner, and her mouth opened. She couldn’t raise her wand despite it all. The magic was too strong. She was too afraid. She cursed herself for that.

But the others—Gerial’s face swam in front of Ceria. She closed her eyes.

“Death before dishonor.”

Ceria snapped her wand. She had to break it over her good knee, but when she did, the magic burst out. Cold, endless cold instantly covered the walls and floor around her with frost, and the undead trying to attack her froze. But Ceria took the magic and used it.

A spell.

Yvlon turned, her sword raised just in time to see Ceria point. The half-Elf was standing down the corridor, behind Skinner, but she aimed at the Crypt Lord closest to Yvlon. Her finger glowed with white-blue light, and a blizzard had appeared around her.

The female adventurer dove to the floor as a spike of ice twice as long and wide as a Human fired down the passage. It struck the Crypt Lord in the chest and continued down the passage, shattering into shards against a wall. The undead, and even adventurers unlucky enough to be caught in the way, fell to the ground, frozen. Or dead.

The lower half of the Crypt Lord fell down, and adventurers scrambled through the opening. The other Crypt Lord seized two men, but other adventurers darted past, pursued by the faster undead.

Ceria nearly blacked out as the magical backlash struck her. She would have screamed, but the pain was just one more layer in her agony. But the coldness she had channeled struck her as well. The hand she had used for the spell was already numb, but now she could no longer move it.

Her hand froze. Her skin began to peel away and turned black in places. She fell to her knees as Yvlon turned.

Fifteen feet. An eternity of space. That was what separated the two. But the dead were running, and Skinner followed, snatching lives away. Yvlon wavered for a second, and her eyes met Ceria’s.

Their gazes met for a long second, and then the Captain of the Silver Spears tore herself away. She kept running, and the dead surged after her.

Most of them. Skinner ignored the half-Elf, but others were drawn to her. She got to her feet and began to run as a few undead broke off to chase her.

Down the hallway, to the right. Through the maze of corridors she’d explored. Ceria ran, dodging flailing arms and gaping jaws, knowing there was no escape.

She tripped and fell down as she reached the place where she had read Skinner’s message. Ceria tried to get up and realized she hadn’t tripped. Her broken leg had stopped moving.

This was it. She scrambled to get up, pushing at the ground with her one good arm and leg. She leaned against one wall, feeling something important draining from her.

A shape appeared out of the darkness. A Ghoul bounded down the corridor, glowing yellow eyes fixed on Ceria. It had been female, once. It stared at Ceria, grinning with jagged teeth.

Ceria drew her dagger. It was heavy in her shaking right hand.

The Ghoul drew closer, feinting, dodging around Ceria to get at her back. She staggered, trying to keep it in front of her.

Ceria felt hollow. Empty. She was crying. She was sobbing. She wished—

She wished it hadn’t happened. Any of it. But it was too late now.

The Ghoul slashed at her, drawing blood, dodging back. It was about to go for the kill.

Tears fell from her eyes, but Ceria blinked them away. She lunged, and her dagger caught the Ghoul in the cheek. It thrashed, ripping her blade out of her hand, and then its teeth were biting, tearing at her ear, her flesh.

Ceria reached out her hand, but there was no one to take it. Cold. Calruz. Gerial. Had they done anything? She wished she had stayed with them. Too late, now.

Ceria closed her eyes and waited for the end. It came with sharp teeth to take her away from the pain. And then she was gone.

——

The darkness covered the ruins as the orbs of light cast by Ceria’s [Illumination] spell went out one at a time as Skinner passed by. Like lives, winking out one by one as the darkness moved upwards. The thing that stole flesh and hunted the living raised its head towards the surface, and the dead followed, clustering, hungering. They streamed out of the catacombs, through tunnels and secret passages, running, crawling towards the surface.

Above.

And Skinner began to move upwards. It—he—had harvested enough flesh. Now he would take the rest. He left the ruins and left behind only death.

Death.

And silence.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.60

Erin sat in her inn, staring at the table. She didn’t have anything better to do. Normally, she served customers, chatted, or played chess, but she couldn’t today.

They were all gone. Pawn had left for the city with the other Workers, promising to come back tomorrow.

He—still couldn’t move right. But the other Workers helped him walk and move and—

“Something’s different about him.”

Toren looked up from his table at Erin. He paused, waiting for an instruction, and then went back to scrubbing.

“I mean, he seems different. He acts different. More confident, y’know?”

Toren carefully picked up a small beetle that had wandered into the building and squished it between his fingers.

“Ew! Don’t do that! Just get rid of them outside!”

Obediently, the skeleton walked out the door. Erin tried not to let her stomach remember the sight of the orange insides of the insect oozing—

“Not many bugs around. But it’s winter. Apparently.”

It wasn’t very cold. Toren opened the door and walked back in, fingers clean, but Erin barely shivered.

“Am I near the equator?”

The skeleton shrugged at her. At least that was something. He generally didn’t respond to questions aimed at him, but he was far more useful than he had been.

Erin leaned over the table. She had no one else to talk to, and at least Toren looked confused when she spoke, which was better than nothing.

“It was the chess. Pawn was totally on the offense this morning! Did you notice that? He was better—I mean, he’s still learning, but he’s taking chances. I can’t wait to see what happens if he and Rags play a game. It’s like he had a massive confidence boost or something. Do you think it was what happened with Ksmvr?”

Toren stared at Erin and then picked up the rag and dipped it into the bucket. Erin sighed. She leaned back in her chair, wondering how much it would hurt if she fell over. It would hurt more if Toren dove to catch her like he had twice before. Landing on floorboards? Ouch. Landing on bony skeleton bits? Double ouch.

Erin closed her eyes, and then her eyes opened wide. She lost her balance and tipped forwards, smacking her face on the table. But she didn’t even process that.

An alarm. It sounded—no, it felt like a tornado warning siren blasting in her head at full volume. But that wasn’t sound, it was the feeling, a high-pitched whine that told her she was in danger.

Erin looked around. Toren stared at her, holding the dripping rag in one hand. Erin knocked her chair over as she ran into the kitchen and grabbed the frying pan and a jar of acid. Toren looked up and dropped the rag when he saw Erin was armed.

“Something’s out there.”

He immediately dashed into the kitchen and came out with the sword he’d taken from one of the adventurers Erin had kicked out of her inn. Erin knelt next to one of the tables, heart beating out of her chest. The alarm was still going off in her head, and she felt scared.

Toren was behind her. He lifted the sword as he peered around the inn. He stared at Erin expectantly and pointed to the door.

“I don’t know where it is. But there’s something. Something bad.”

It didn’t sound like something was outside. Erin opened the door cautiously and peered out. She gestured, and Toren ran upstairs and returned in a few moments, shaking his head. She looked out her windows and then threw caution to the wind.

She ran outside, standing at the top of the hill, staring around at the grasslands. The sun was setting on those colorful swathes of grass, and the looming mountains cast long, ominous shadows. At night, soon, only the distant city would be a glowing dot on the horizon if you knew where to look. Erin’s eyes roamed for something—anything—spiders, Rock Crabs, moving in the long grass valleys and hills.

But she saw nothing. She ran around the other side of the inn and stared in the other direction. Then she had Toren boost her up and stared from the top of the roof.

After a while, Erin jumped down, and Toren collapsed as he tried to catch her.

“Ow! Get out of the way next time!”

He helped her up, and Erin stared around the empty grasslands. Nothing. The sun was still lowering in the sky, and it wasn’t even night yet. She couldn’t see anything. But she had felt it, with a certainty that didn’t go away.

“What was that, then?”

For ten more minutes, Erin walked around, listening hard, eyes scanning the horizon. But she couldn’t see anything. And being out in the open was starting to bother her more than anything else.

Perhaps—perhaps it was a false alarm? Or whatever was happening was far away. Like…

“Maybe someone dropped a nuke? Or a magical nuke?”

Erin shook her head as Toren stared at her. No good.

“It might be nothing. Just—keep an eye out, okay?”

He nodded. Erin sighed and shook her head. She went back into her inn. But she kept the frying pan, the jar of acid, and one of the kitchen knives on the table.

Just in case.

——

Miles northwest of the inn, the dead poured out of the ruins on the hillside. They were howling—screaming through broken lungs, shrieking with voices no mortal, living creature could make. They ran through the grass, the evening sun at their backs. Zombies charged towards the city, arms outstretched, eyes glowing as they hunted for the living.

Ghouls bounded past them, leaping ten feet at a time, while massive Crypt Lords lumbered behind them, trampling lesser undead under their bodies. All of them—pale Wights, skeletons marching in ranks—moved with one purpose. To the city. To find the living.

To add them to their ranks.

The small shantytown that had sprung up around the ruins was gone. Broken timber and dead bodies were all that remained of the adventurers and merchants that had lived there. They had been cut down trying to flee in the first few minutes of the attack.

So many dead. The [Guard] unit had lasted ten seconds, maybe more. Brave Drakes and Gnolls had tried to hold ranks at the entrance of the tunnel—then realized the undead had no end.

It wasn’t hundreds, it was thousands. And they moved so fast—zombies should not run like that, not sprint.

This wasn’t just a horde of random undead monsters that had come together, or even a group under the control of a Lich or Crypt Lord. This was an invasion led by a single creature.

Skinner dragged itself across the earth, preternaturally fast. So quick it outpaced the Crypt Lords, arms churning through the dirt. It moved its grotesque body at the speed a horse could run.

Impossible. But each arm was so strong it churned up the soil—and its eyes glowed red. A crimson glow that made every undead it gazed upon move even faster.

Liscor had seen the camp-lights around the ruins go dark. Even before Skinner appeared, they had heard the screams. The [Guards] knew what to do, and their task was simple.

Close the gates. Liscor’s were solid metal, impenetrable to even the smallest gnats. They were poised to close them—until someone shouted.

“Survivors! They’re coming! Hold the gates! Hold the gates!”

Desperate people were running ahead of the monsters, screaming, begging for entry. The Watch Sergeant on duty froze. The right thing to do was close the gates—but they could slam shut the steel doors in a moment.

“Hold the doors!”

A woman in silver armor collapsed as she ran through with the surviving [Guards], adventurers, and a dozen other people who’d outrun the horde. A Drake raced over to her and recoiled.

Her face—

“Get them to safety! Gates down! Move, move! Call the Watch Captain! Summon Klbkch—summon the Prognugator! Where’s Olesm? Raise the alarm!”

The Watch Sergeant shouted as the bells began to ring. The city was coming alive, and people in the streets looked up and began to ask what was happening. He waited for the gates to close—and after fifteen beats of his heart, realized something was wrong.

“Close the gates! Close—”

The Drake ran down the wall and then saw a crimson light glowing in the distance. He stumbled to a halt, fell to his knees—and froze there, trembling.

The gates! He knew they were open. Heard the undead drawing nearer, but something froze him. Froze the [Guards]—locked their trembling hands into place. It came from that thing, that malformed piece of flesh with staring gemstone eyes.

Magic—the Watch Sergeant saw his arms spasming wildly as he tried to move. And he couldn’t. Something was freezing his muscles.

[Terror]. A spell. He looked up and whispered.

“C-close…the…”

The gates had begun to move downwards when the undead first appeared, ready to slam. But they halted as the guards manning the gates suddenly threw down their weapons and ran, screaming. The Watch Sergeant tried to fight the pure fear welling up in his chest—and then his body took over. He ran.

And the gates to Liscor lay open. Skinner pointed a thousand undead towards the gates, and they surged towards it. Then the screaming grew louder. The walls of Liscor could have held an army at bay. But without the gates—

——

Was it smiling? Did it smile? Was it…alive? Did it think?

It surely did. The thing was moving the undead around like some kind of Chieftain. As if it knew how to fight.

See? Zombies in front, Ghouls leaping in packs along the side. It put the skeletons in ranks behind the first undead, Crypt Lords interspersed in vanguards. It even made those with bows stand and advance in the rear-guard, around it.

Someone was watching the undead pouring towards Liscor. And as if Skinner realized it was being watched, it turned slightly away from the Watch fleeing the walls in fear.

Skinner’s eyes shifted away from the gates, and Rags ducked down and pulled the Goblin next to her into the grass. She and her followers flattened themselves into the earth, making themselves as small as possible.

Fear touched them, making their hearts pound wildly. It was a familiar thing. The Goblins peeked out of the grass while Rags whisper-shouted insults at them and made them keep their heads down.

Only after a few minutes did they dare look again. Far below, the creature known as Skinner had focused its attention back on the city. The undead were already through the gates, and they could hear screaming even from this distance.

From their hilltop, the group of armed Goblins watched the carnage. Rags touched the sheathed short sword at her side, but only to make sure it was there. She had no intention of moving from this spot.

Skinner was moving slowly, now. He paused at the open gates in a throng of undead, guarding his safety. The northern gates were engulfed in fighting, but Skinner was flanking, sending more undead to the east to flood in through two points. This control of the undead was being done from the back ranks, Skinner out of range of most arrows and spells. But he was the most dangerous thing down there by far, Rags was sure.

She saw the twisted, grotesque thing made of dead flesh twist its head towards her again and immediately crouched to hide in the grass. The Goblins around her shivered and held their weapons more firmly. Rags shook her head as she watched Skinner slowly drag itself towards the city.

It was intelligent. And it was deadly. She knew it in her bones. But more deadly than the city full of Drakes and Gnolls?

There were many, many people in the city. She had once tried to guess with her sticks. If ten blades of grass was a stick, and ten sticks became a rock…

A rock was a hundred. A number Pisces had taught her. Then ten rocks became…a chess piece. A thousand.

There would be a hundred chess pieces’ worth of people in the city. A hundred thousand. But some were small like Rags, and some didn’t have weapons. Skinner had just led thirty-six chess pieces’ worth of monsters into the city.

Thirty-six thousand monsters, each one moving like pieces under its will. And there were no walls and a lot of bodies for it to add to its forces. Then Rags understood. Each dead Drake was another blade of grass for Skinner’s forces. Each Gnoll…a new zombie. She sat on the hill and watched as death poured into Liscor. Watching. Waiting.

Calculating.

After a few minutes, her belly rumbled.

——

“Hm. Rags should be here by now.”

Erin checked the position of the sun in the sky, shading her eyes as Toren laid out plates and utensils. Well, one utensil to be specific. All Goblins needed was a fork, and that was only because Erin insisted.

She’d cooked a fine meal of pasta and sausage, or perhaps it was sausage and pasta. Goblins liked meat, so she’d made the pot mostly that with some spiral noodles thrown in just to add color.

Erin hesitated. The food was warm, but she didn’t want to eat alone—or with Toren as the case may be. She could wait. Besides, Rags and her crew never missed a meal. They were probably running from Rock Crabs or attacking helpless travellers. She should really talk to them about that.

Still. Erin glanced towards the window. It would be night in an hour or less. And the Goblins quite sensibly hated travelling at night.

“Do you think she forgot?”

Toren shrugged. He raised his head and stared in the direction of Liscor. He felt…something. A voice? A calling. But it was faint. He shrugged and continued setting the table. But Erin’s earlier warning…the skeleton looked up, and he felt the tug in the distance.

That decided him. The skeleton picked up a fork and eyed the tines, wishing they were sharper. Erin was right.

Something was out there.

——

“Close the gates!”

The streets of Liscor were filled with the dead. Civilians screamed and fled or barricaded themselves in their homes as zombies, skeletons, and other lurching forms ran through the streets. But the undead ran up against a wall of blades before they made it far down the streets.

The City Watch stood shoulder-to-shoulder, firing arrows into the crowd while armed Gnolls and Drakes held the front ranks back. The Captain of the Watch, the tall Drake named Zevara, shouted up towards the walls as she cut down another zombie.

“Where the hell are the other guards? Why aren’t those gates closing?”

She bellowed as she chopped down on a skeleton’s arm, severing the bones. The guardsmen in front of her closed ranks and threw the undead back. A Gnoll ran towards Zevara, and she turned towards him.

“Tkrn. What’s happening out there?”

He grinned desperately, the fur on his chest matted with blood and gore.

“Fighting, Captain. We’ve closed off the streets like you said. That’s stopping them, but there are larger creatures out there.”

“Crypt Lords. They’re extremely dangerous. Shoot them down if you can. But what about the southern gates? If they’ve fallen—”

Tkrn shook his head, and Zevara shielded her face as bits of flesh flew everywhere.

“Sorry, Captain. The southern gates are closed, and we’ve got [Archers] shooting down any undead that try to climb up. But all our guards on the north and eastern walls have fled!”

“That doesn’t make sense. I saw those gates closing! What could have…?”

A zombie shoved aside a Drake and lunged for Zevara, jaw gaping wide. She stepped back, and Tkrn’s hand axe buried itself in its exposed brain.

“Close ranks!”

Zevara’s voice cracked like a whip, and the guards around her flinched. She pointed, and more warriors ran forwards to fill in the weak spot in the line. Not all of the Watch was fighting. Zevara had kept several groups back, spread around the city to fill in weak spots.

Now she raised her voice as more undead ran down the streets and hit the ranks of armed warriors hard.

“Are you Human cowards or guardsmen? Put your tails into it!”

The Drakes and Gnolls heard her and answered with a roar. They pushed the undead back several feet, and Zevara turned back to Tkrn as he wiped the hand axe on his fur.

“What else?”

His face was pale under his fur, but the younger [Guard] pointed back the way he’d come.

“The adventurers are asking what they can do. They’re fighting with our people—but poorly. There aren’t many good teams around. My people have bows. They’re shooting from the rooftops!”

“Have them pick off any stragglers that break through. We’ll hold the line here and push forwards. Now, where’s Relc?”

“He’s holding them off down Tesseract Street.”

Zevara grunted.

“Good. They won’t get through that way, then. But this is insane.”

She pointed to the massive gates, visible from where she and Tkrn stood.

“We shouldn’t be fighting in the streets! If we can get close to those gates and close them, these undead will die outside the city. Why the hell are they still open?”

Someone else growled.

“Many of those large things are standing next to the entrance. We cannot kill them, and more keep coming.”

“Crypt Lords standing guard? That’s…”

Zevara trailed off. She glanced at the undead, and suddenly, a cold bit of fear wormed its way into her heart. She had a thought.

“The Necromancer?”

Tkrn raised his axe.

“I saw him in the city earlier today. I could track and kill him—”

“Not that idiot. I mean the Necromancer.”

“Oh.”

Tkrn looked worried. Zevara shook her head.

“If it was him, we’d be dead already. There aren’t any Giants or Bone Horrors or Ghosts or any of the other undead he brought last time. No—this is something else.”

She pointed down the street.

“This area is secure. I’ve got civilians holding bows, and a few mages are catching any Crypt Lords they see. You go and organize the adventurers. Tell Relc I want to see him, and find Olesm! We need his Skills!”

“No one has seen him this day. They saw him leaving the city, but—”

“If he’s here, find him! I’ve got to go. The east streets need help.”

Tkrn nodded and loped off. Zevara exchanged a few curt words with a large Drake sergeant and ran through the streets.

The undead had caught the city by surprise, but the city militia wasn’t like a Human one. Nor were the citizens. The undead had overrun the first few streets, but their momentum had halted once the Watch and groups of combat-capable citizens had formed barricades and halted their advance.

The problem was that the undead weren’t sticking to the streets. They went through houses, over rooftops—attacking the beleaguered defenders from behind. They were hunted down, but it added another layer of complexity to Zevara’s nightmare.

And the eastern streets were furthest from the guardsmen’s barracks. They needed reinforcements or else—

Zevara ran out of the alleyway just in time to see a Crypt Lord smash its way into a group of guardsmen and civilians, sending them flying. The bloated Drake’s corpse was immediately attacked from all sides and pushed back by a pillar of stone, but while everyone was concentrated on it, a pack of zombies ran past the line and towards the civilian archers.

The fifteen or so Drakes and Gnolls froze up in fear with one exception. Krshia calmly took down one zombie, shooting an arrow through its eye. She drew a wickedly long dagger and grabbed a second zombie while Zevara crashed into two more.

The last zombie ran past the two and opened up a male Drake’s scales with a devastating strike. He had a piece of sword buried in his hand, making all of his wild swings deadly.

The Drake fell down, screaming, and his companion backed away in horror. Selys raised her bow, but the zombie split it in two with a single blow. She screamed for help, but the corpse of the Gnoll ran at her, mouth opened wide to bite.

She raised her claws—but she wasn’t her Uncle. She hadn’t had time to get to her apartment and grab her steel fighting claws he’d given her. Sword it was. Selys pivoted, dodged the bite, and slashed with her claws, but it was a zombie and barely noticed the raking cuts.

Sword! She needed the sword! Selys dodged sideways for it, and the zombie whirled. It leapt, and the sword stabbed into its leg as Selys fell back.

Zombies didn’t do this! This was the work of some kind of advanced death magic. It was like every zombie was a Ghoul. She tried to wrench the sword free as its teeth touched her throat—

“Begone, pest.”

Selys screamed in horror as the zombie’s neck suddenly twisted around. The undead Gnoll collapsed to the ground, twitching.

“Just so we’re clear: I didn’t raise them.”

Pisces appeared out of the air next to Selys and Zevara, hands glowing with purple energy. Selys gaped at him, scales nearly white.

“You!”

“Ah. Hello to you, receptionist. Don’t wait to thank me for saving your life.”

Pisces gave Selys a mocking bow and then turned. He pointed, and two more zombies and a skeleton fell to the ground, necks broken.

Krshia bared her teeth as she hammered her zombie’s head into the cobblestones, breaking its bones until what she held wasn’t so much a head as bits of one.

She stood up as Zevara beheaded her opponent. The Drake turned to Pisces as Selys backed away from him. He raised his hands protectively, and a wall of wind swirled around him.

“I mean you no harm. And this wasn’t my fault! I was in the city all day, and I knew nothing of this—this event.”

The Drake eyed him. She shook her head and shouted to the guardsmen as they wavered, trying to form their line.

Another group of eight armed Drakes ran into the street. They rushed into battle with a roar as Pisces pointed, and another zombie that had gotten past fell down, dead.

“Believe me, ah, Captain. I would never jeopardize my good standing with your city. In fact, I am helping to prove my innocence. I—”

“I believe you.”

Pisces blinked. So did Selys. Krshia was firing into the crowd of the dead already.

“We have countless witnesses who saw the undead emerge from the ruins. Besides, I doubt a [Necromancer] of your level could reanimate more than five bodies, let alone a horde like this.”

Pisces scowled.

“I—”

He hesitated and glanced at Zevara.

“Um, that is correct. But this is rather inconvenient, is it not?”

She glared at him.

“Are all you Humans as damn crazy as this? Liscor is under attack!”

He shrugged.

“They’re just the undead. Quite easy to subdue. I have every confidence your Watch will safeguard innocent civilians like myself.”

He turned.

“If you’ll excuse me—”

“Oh, no you don’t!”

Selys stomped on the hem of Pisces’ robe, and the mage stumbled. His arms wind milled frantically as he tried to keep his balance. He turned and glared at Selys, but she advanced on him, tail thrashing.

“You stay here and help! If this wasn’t your fault, then help us!”

Pisces hesitated. Zevara hesitated. She didn’t like the mage, but she needed all the help she could get.

“Can you do that back-snapping thing many times?”

He sniffed and clicked his fingers. Three skeletons fell down like dolls that had their strings cut.

“It’s neck snapping, and I have ample mana reserve. I suppose if it means exonerating myself…”

“Good. Do it!”

The Crypt Lord finally fell to the ground, splashing those nearby with toxic blood. Zevara cursed as those hit cried out and retreated to be cured. She ran towards the line of guardsmen, already shouting. Selys stared at Pisces, finger raised. He raised his hands.

“I understand. I will help. Stay here and, ah, try not to put an arrow in my back.”

She spluttered, but Pisces was already striding forwards. He kept a safe distance between the struggling fighters and the dead as he stared at the masses of the undead running through the streets.

“I assume I will be remunerated appropriately for this?”

Zevara turned her head and snarled at Pisces.

“Kill these things and I’ll give you a medal. Now start casting or I’ll slice your damn hands off!”

Pisces sniffed and conjured a flaming sphere into existence. He aimed it at a crowd of the dead as they surged down the street.

“I prefer gold, myself.”

He threw the orb, and fire consumed the dead bodies. The [Necromancer] smirked as the undead screamed. Fast or not, the zombies and Ghouls were still slow targets to him. He snapped the neck of a Ghoul leaping to one side, casually, bringing it down.

But who was making them so quick? A foreign [Necromancer]? What…

What had happened to Ceria?

Pisces stared towards the gates, and his smile winked out. Then—he heard the Watch Captain scream in the distance.

“Fall back! Fall back to Tesseract street!”

Whyever would she do that? They were holding fine with him here! Pisces turned to tell her they were losing a decent defensive spot—when he whirled around.

“[Fire Orb]!”

He shot a second spell into the dark street—then snapped his fingers. A neck twisted—and the flaming orb went out before it could strike its target. But the undead refused to go down. And Pisces couldn’t snap the neck of the too-pale Drake with huge fangs and long, grasping limbs that looked melted.

“W-Wight?”

His voice trembled. Pisces backed up. But that was a rare undead! Then he saw a Crypt Lord appear. His fingers snapped.

The neck—twitched. And did nothing more. Pisces stumbled back as the Wight ran forwards. Then he saw the second Crypt Lord appearing, and eight Ghouls bounded down. The [Necromancer] turned and ran.

——

“Something is wrong.”

Toren looked up from the floorboards. He was using an old knife to lever up bits of food from between the floorboards. Erin stared out the window.

“Can’t you feel it? Something is wrong.”

She pointed out the window. It was dark now, but there was a faint speck of light coming from outside.

“That’s Liscor. Why is it red over there? Is something burning?”

Toren walked over and saw the skies around Liscor were indeed glowing. And there was smoke, rising and barely visible in the moonlight.

Erin stared out the window worriedly. The pot of meat and noodles sat untouched on a table. She leaned over the windowsill and then grabbed at her stomach. The anxiety was getting to her in a physical way.

“I feel—bathroom.”

She pointed at Toren.

“Keep an eye on that, okay? If you see anything—”

Her stomach gurgled, and Erin ran out the door, leaving the skeleton by himself.

Toren hesitated. He looked at the knife and the floorboards. Then he carefully put the knife on one of the tables and reached for the sword he’d leaned against one wall. He opened the door and walked outside.

The skeleton had made it halfway down the hill when the Antinium seized him and ripped his skull off his body. The Worker tossed Toren’s skull to the ground and seized his sword. He left the flailing skeleton’s body and walked up the hill towards the inn.

——

A Ghoul caught a Drake’s halberd in one hand and punched him in the midsection with the other. The guardsmen gasped and collapsed as the Ghoul tossed aside the weapon and tried to race past the other guardsmen.

Zevara’s sword cut through the top of the Ghoul’s skull, severing the flesh and rotted brain. The Ghoul collapsed, and she helped the Drake to her feet.

“Watch the damned Ghouls! They’re strong enough to rip your scales apart if you let them!”

Another zombie ran at them. Zevara turned her head and growled low in her throat. Then she took a deep breath and exhaled.

A gout of fire leapt from her jaws and blasted the zombie off its feet. It fell to the ground, screaming and burning as Zevara coughed.

“Where are the damned Antinium?”

The Watch had retreated back down another street, giving ground up as more undead flooded into the city. They were fighting well, and healing potions and a rain of arrows and magic had given them the advantage, but the undead kept coming.

And the more dangerous ones had appeared. Wights, whose single touch would make you freeze up and fall over, helpless. Crypt Lords, who were so huge and tall they could sweep aside low-level [Warriors] in a single blow and break every bone in your body—or spit black poison.

The Watch was not equipped to deal with them. Or at least, they were well equipped, but they needed reinforcements. And those reinforcements were not coming.

The Watch was one half of the city’s defenses, but in truth, they only handled [Bandit] raids, criminals, the occasional monster pack, and so on. The landscape took care of most armies, but the other half of Liscor’s considerable defenses was the army.

The army…who were at Oteslia, leagues to the south! But even in their absence, there was another force, newer to Liscor, who could fight. The bargain that had made Liscor a pariah with every damn city in the south.

The Antinium. The Black Tide who had nearly overrun Izril! An entire Hive was in Liscor, and they were the true force to be reckoned with along with the Watch.

But the Antinium, always present in some capacity in the city, were nowhere to be found. She hadn’t seen a single Worker today…or the last few days.

Zevara growled again and coughed out some smoke. She walked backwards as the Drake found his halberd and joined the line of guardsmen and shouted.

“Tkrn! Where are you? Get over here!”

The Gnoll ran towards Zevara, panting. He was still drenched in gore, but now he was bleeding in places, dark blood covering his fur.

“Here, Captain.”

“Where are the Antinium? Send a message to the Queen at once! We need Soldiers!”

“That will not be necessary, Captain Zevara. We are here.”

Zevara and Tkrn spun around. Ksmvr walked towards them, two swords and two daggers held at the ready. Fifteen Soldier Antinium followed him.

Ksmvr pointed towards the failing line of guards.

“Join the battle. Kill all undead. Retreat if you suffer significant injuries.”

The Soldiers ran forwards instantly. They pushed aside the surprised Watch and civilians and crashed into the undead in a black wave of their own.

A Ghoul lunged at the first of the Soldier Antinium. The huge ant man grabbed the undead and held its shoulders with two of his hands. The other two punched downwards.

As Erin had seen, the hands of the Soldiers were more like spades or weapons than actual digits. They pummeled the Ghoul, breaking bones, stabbing through flesh with ease. The Soldier held the Ghoul down, pounding it into paste. When it was done, it stood up and grabbed a zombie and ripped its head off.

A skeleton stabbed the soldier Antinium in the back. It didn’t stagger as the blade buried and stuck in its carapace. It swung around and began ripping the skeleton apart.

Ksmvr watched the Soldiers fighting as the Drakes, Gnolls, and few Human adventurers staggered back, suddenly reprieved from battle. He nodded to Zevara as she stalked over to him.

“Watch-Captain Zevara. It is good to see you alive.”

Zevara was in no mood to exchange pleasantries.

“Where the hell were you? And where are the other Soldiers? I don’t need fifteen of them, I need every single one in your Hive! Bring them out!”

Ksmvr calmly replied to Zevara as he kept one eye on the battle.

“As this is not a period of war or crises as declared by the Council, I must decline your request. The maximum number of soldiers the Watch Captain is allowed to command is fifty Soldier Antinium and a hundred Workers in a time of crisis.”

“That is exactly what’s happening! Or do you not see the undead? I am authorizing you to bring all your Hive! Bring the Soldiers and all the Workers then! We need barricades, fortifications—”

“I regret to say that is impossible at the moment. I have brought fifteen Soldiers. That is all that can be spared at the moment.”

Zevara gaped at Ksmvr. She opened her mouth, and smoke plumed outwards as she shouted at him in fury.

“Why by the damned Ancestors—”

Again, Ksmvr cut Zevara off calmly.

“The Soldiers guard the entrance to the Hive and the surrounding streets. We will let nothing disturb our Queen. She is in the middle of a critical process. The Rite of Anastases. She is hours—less perhaps—to completion.”

“Your Queen can take her damned ritual or whatever it is and shove it—”

Zevara cut herself off as the blades in Ksmvr’s hands twitched. Half of the guardsmen near her raised their weapons, but their Captain waved them away. She eyed Ksmvr and tried to modulate her tone slightly.

“This is a state of emergency. If we can’t push the undead back soon, they will overrun this place. Your Soldiers can buy us some time, but there’s not enough. We need all fifty and soon. More than that. We need all of them! Talk to your Queen. Tell her we need help!”

“I regret that is impossible. The Queen must not be disturbed at this moment. I am sorry.”

Flames trickled from Zevara’s mouth as she opened it in rage. Ksmvr held up one hand.

“As soon as our Queen finishes the Rite of Anastases, we will fully cooperate in the defense of the city.”

There was no use arguing with the Antinium, so despite the building heat behind Zevara’s eyes, in her heart…and her lungs, she bit off her reply.

“The Workers, then. We could use them. Not just for building. If they can fight—”

“They are unable to be summoned as well.”

“Why?”

For the first time, Ksmvr visibly hesitated. He clicked his mandibles together and stared at the battle. Already, the Soldiers had pushed the undead back the street, and two were attacking a Crypt Lord as it spat black blood on them.

“The Workers are in rebellion. Many have left the Hive and fought with the Soldiers at the entrance.”

Ksmvr lowered his voice as Zevara stared at him in horror.

“Already, three have become Aberration. We fear the rest may have as well. They are violent, and many are armed.”

“You’re serious.”

“Very.”

For a moment, Zevara’s mind was caught up with images of Worker Antinium ripping apart Drakes and Gnolls. Then she brought herself back to reality and stared at the dead bodies lining the street. She snapped at Ksmvr.

“If we didn’t have a horde of the undead trying to eat us all, I’d be more worried. The citizens are either in their homes or fighting with us. If these Workers kill a few zombies, I won’t shed any tears.”

Ksmvr shook his head.

“I fear the Workers are not in the city any longer. They are moving towards a Human. Erin Solstice.”

“The one who got Klbkch killed?”

“Yes. One of the Aberrations who escaped was intent on killing her.”

Zevara didn’t have to think about this one. She gestured at the undead. The Crypt Lord was dead, but the two Soldier Antinium who had killed it were curled up, arms and legs withdrawn as they lay on the ground, dead of the poison.

“Whatever the reason is, I can’t spare anyone. She’s not a citizen here, and we’re up to our necks in trouble. The Human will be on her own.”

Ksmvr nodded shortly.

“The Queen is all. She must not be placed in danger. Erin Solstice…is merely important.”

Zevara eyed him. The words he’d just said—she couldn’t dwell on them now. She pointed towards the Soldier Antinium as she signaled the guardsmen to form up.

“Will you stay and fight?”

Ksmvr nodded. He followed Zevara as she strode down the street, Drakes and Gnolls seizing weapons and standing to follow her.

“I will fulfill my duty as Prognugator within Liscor. However, my position will cease in a few hours. Another will take my place.”

“Until then, follow me. We’ve got to use this moment until your Soldiers all die.”

Tkrn fell into place next to Zevara, swearing, as the guardsmen and lone Antinium ran after the Soldier Antinium. Suddenly, things had gone from bad to worse. He looked around as the two realized—the relief they were waiting for wasn’t going to come.

And the undead were pushing into the city. If they tore into a group of civilians, a thousand—a thousand running, jumping, climbing zombies? Ten thousand?

Liscor had a hundred thousand souls in it. This was how undead apocalypses began. They had to hold the streets.

Alone.

“Anything I can do, Captain?”

She spat, so furious she trailed smoke.

“You heard the Ant. Looks like we’ve got no choice. We need to close those gates. Get Relc. He’s the only one who has a chance of cutting his way through. I’ll grab a squad and push up.”

The Gnoll nodded and broke away from the group. Zevara and the guardsmen rounded a corner and skidded to a stop. The Soldier Antinium had thrown back the undead, mercilessly cutting their way through them until they’d reached the main street down which the north gates were located. But there they had been stopped.

Zevara saw a Soldier borne down by the weight of a Crypt Lord and another hurling Ghouls to the ground as they swarmed him. She saw groups of guardsmen struggling to contain the main flow of undead. But that wasn’t what struck fear into her soul. She pointed towards the gates where something was dragging itself through the open stone doors.

Her heart froze. The sword in her hands grew heavy, and around her, the Gnolls, Drakes, and Humans shuddered and felt terror coursing through their bodies. All around her, guardsmen and civilians fell back, screaming, unable to fight.

Zevara forced the words through her numb lips.

“What is that?”

——

It was nearly ten minutes before Erin managed to extricate herself from the bathroom and stagger back to the inn. She held her unhappy stomach and walked through the open door.

“Toren?”

The inn was dark. Erin stared around. The skeleton normally came the instant she called. Where was he?

“Hey, Toren. Where are you?”

No response. Erin didn’t hear the clicking of bones on floorboards. She stared around. He’d left the knife on the table. Had he gone out to fetch water?

Erin stared around the dark inn. He could at least have lit the lanterns. Or a candle. It was so dark—the only light came from the moon.

Where was he? And why—

Why was Erin feeling that same warning in her head again?

She spun around. Nothing. The grass shone in the moonlight from the open door. Erin relaxed. But then a prickling feeling ran down her spine.

She’d walked through the open door. But Toren always closed the door behind him. And if he hadn’t opened the door—

Who had?

“Hello?”

Erin backed up towards the door. Something moved in the shadows and shut it. She spun around, fists raised, and then relaxed.

“Oh. Pawn. It’s just you.”

The Antinium stood in the doorway, nearly invisible in the light. Erin frowned. Then she took another step back.

“Wait a second.”

The Antinium had four arms. And two legs. Pawn—Pawn didn’t have all his limbs anymore. But Workers weren’t allowed to leave the city unattended, and this Antinium didn’t have swords.

“Who…are you?”

He was familiar. At least, he seemed familiar, but he definitely wasn’t Pawn or Ksmvr. The Worker—if that was what he was—shuddered. He shook slightly and then stepped suddenly towards Erin. She backed up quickly.

“H-hello? Can you hear me? Who are you? What do you want?”

The Worker’s head twitched suddenly. Erin jerked back, and his voice came out, quivering with emotion.

“i aM AnTiNium. i haVe a NaMe.”

Erin backed up even further. That wasn’t what a Worker normally sounded like. The one in front of her was speaking rapidly, his voice surging and falling. He sounded—

Insane.

“You have a name? Um. Good. That’s good, right?”

He stared at her.

“I Am iNdivIDuAL. BuT i reJECT. I rejEcT aLL.”

“Reject? Reject what?”

He pointed at her with two arms.

“YOu. ThiS is yOuR FAulT.”

“Me? What did I do?”

The Worker raised his hand, and a sword shone in the moonlight. He walked towards Erin, still speaking.

“YOU DiD ThiS To me. yOu mAde Me THis waY. For yOU, I did tHis. bUT alL iS SuffERIng.”

Erin backed up, speaking fast. She tried to sense where her frying pan and jar of acid were, but it was impossible in the darkness.

“What did I do? I don’t remember—”

“yOU knoW.”

“Please—”

Erin took another step back and suddenly tripped over a chair. She sprawled to the ground and desperately tried to get up. But the Worker was too fast. He loomed over her, sword raised.

Erin kicked up at his groin, but the Antinium caught her leg. He pinned her down with three arms and held the last one up with the tip of its sword pointed at her face. Erin tried to scream, to shout. But her breath was gone. She stared at the gleaming blade as the Worker shuddered and stared at her.

“diE.”

The sword flashed towards her eye. Erin screamed—

And another Antinium seized the first and threw him off Erin. She gasped as the sword fell to the ground and rolled away as the two Antinium crashed into chairs, fighting, punching and kicking in the darkness.

Erin scrambled away and struck a table. She ran to a shuttered window and threw it open. The moonlight illuminated the room just in time for her to see one of the two Workers mount the other. The Antinium seized his struggling opponent’s head and twisted with all four arms.

The neck broke. The Worker lay still. The other Worker stood up and stared at Erin.

She held the frying pan and jar of acid in shaking hands.

“Stay back! I’m warning you!”

The Worker walked towards Erin. She raised the frying pan, and he stopped. The Worker raised all four arms.

“Please. I mean you no harm.”

The words were familiar. The way of speaking was familiar. Erin hesitated.

“…Pawn?”

“I am not Pawn.”

The Worker shook his head. But he was not Ksmvr either. He knelt before Erin suddenly, and she nearly tossed the jar of acid. But the Worker made no move. He spoke to her, voice loud in the silence.

“I am Knight.”

“Knight?”

He nodded. The Worker stared up at Erin.

“I have named myself. I have chosen. I am Individual, first and last of my kind. I am Knight, and no other is like me. And I am here to protect you. We are here to protect you.”

Erin stared at him. The frying pan loosened in her grip, and she nearly dropped it. Her mind was spinning. She stared at Knight. There was something familiar about him, too.

“I—I don’t know you. I never—”

Knight straightened.

“Please, Erin Solstice. You must remain calm. We are here to protect you.”

“We?”

Movement. Suddenly, Erin saw it outside the window. She threw caution to the wind and raced outside, brushing past Knight. There she stopped.

Antinium. Workers. They stood around the inn, arms folded or holding weapons. Swords, maces, axes—and not just those. Rolling pins, rocks, large branches…even a large vase in one case. They stared silently at Erin as she froze in place.

“Who—”

Knight emerged from the inn and bowed his head to Erin.

“The dead are coming. Please remain inside. We will protect you with our lives.”

She looked at him.

“You? But who are you? Where’s Pawn?”

“He was kept in the Hive by the Prognugator. He remains. But we have come. We have chosen. We are Individual.”

“Individual?”

Knight nodded. In front of Erin, a Worker turned. He bowed to her, low, as far as his stiff exoskeleton would permit.

“I have chosen. I am Bishop.”

Another Antinium turned and then another.

“I too chose. I have decided. My name is Vladimir.”

“I am Calabrian.”

“I am Emanuel.”

“Call me Garry.”

“I wish to be known as Milner-Barry.”

“Belgrade. I will die for you.”

“We will all die for you. I am Jose.”

They spoke, one by one, in the faint moonlight. Antinium looked at Erin, all alike on the outside. But each one different, each one individual.

They were all familiar to her. And only now did Erin realize. She knew them. She knew them all. They had never had names, but she knew their faces, the way they played. She knew them.

They were her chess club.

Thirty odd Workers stood on the hilltop, ringing the inn, waiting. Erin could barely speak. She felt it. A surge of terrible emotion—whether fear or happiness or sadness, it was impossible to say. But she knew something had happened. They had all chosen names.

But that was only half of the question. The other half burned in her fiercely. She turned to Knight. The Antinium was staring into the darkness, splashes of green blood still coating his carapace.

“Why are you all here? Why now? Why tonight? What—what’s happening?”

He opened his mandibles to reply. And that was when the first zombie appeared out of the night and tried to take a bite out of Erin’s face. Toren leapt out of the darkness, crashing into the zombie, and the two rolled down the hill.

Erin screamed. More bodies shuffled and ran through the grass as the Workers moved to intercept them. And then the night was filled with the dead, and Erin found herself fighting for her life.

——

“Fall back! Fall back!”

Zevara screamed as Skinner grabbed a Drake and pulled his scales and skin off him like a child pulling a wrapper off a bit of candy. The horrific white face grinned down at her, sunken crimson eyes staring around layers of folded dead flesh. Fragments of metal clung to its chest, deflecting some of the arrows striking it.

She tried to raise her sword to slash at it, but her arm refused to move. Zevara had fought countless monsters, had faced and come close to death several times. But the terror that Skinner projected dwarfed anything she had ever felt before.

Zevara retreated, trembling, as Skinner’s hand swept around and grabbed a struggling guardsman. The female Gnoll had only a moment to howl in fear and agony before she was dead.

All around Zevara, guardsmen were retreating or dying. The undead flooded through the gates around Skinner, slaughtering the helpless warriors. Only the Antinium fought on, Ksmvr and the five remaining Soldiers blockading one street, but even they were falling back. No one could fight Skinner, and every time one of his hands swung down, someone died.

Zevara prayed they died. To live without skin—she hoped they died instantly, rather than imagine there was still life in the silent piles of bones and intestines and muscle that lay on the ground.

Skinner grinned at her. His folds of thick, white skin grinned at her too, the faces of the dead stretched to canvas his body.

She had to run. Zevara felt it in her bones, in her marrow. But she was Captain of the Watch. She couldn’t run. She had to fight. But her body wasn’t listening to her mind.

Skinner loomed over her. He tossed what remained of the Gnoll to the ground and raised his hand towards Zevara. She dove out of the way, dropping her sword, and the palm smashed into the ground next to her.

The impact knocked the Drake sideways, but she scrambled away. The red spots. It was the red spots on Skinner’s hand. Touch those and your skin would be peeled away. She had to keep her distance. She had to run—

Too late, Zevara saw the other hand circling around. She was running right into it. She tried to stop, but it was too late. Skinner closed his hand around Zevara’s scales—

“Relc attack!”

Something blurred past Zevara and stabbed into the hand. Dead skin fell around spear tip as a green Drake grabbed both spear and Zevara and ran nimbly past Skinner. Zevara gaped as Relc, Senior Guardsmen of the Watch, grinned toothily at her and twirled the spear as he ran.

“Heya, Captain! Mind if I take this one on?”

“Relc!”

It was a warning. Relc turned his head, and both he and Zevara hit the ground as Skinner swiped at them. His hand smashed into a wooden building instead and shook the foundations. Skinner stared at both Drakes, and Zevara felt her scales growing cold with fear. But Relc just shook himself and bared his sharp teeth.

“Soldiers, fall back. I’m going to need some room for this.”

He raised his voice, and somehow, it was audible over the fighting, over the terror in Zevara’s heart. Men and women looked up—and the Drake shivered as that crimson stare fixed upon him again, like a lighthouse.

Terror. Terror—death and terror! It was primordial, deep, and even Zevara wanted to void her bowels and flee. It took all her will to hold her sword steady.

But Relc just shouted.

“Clear a space. Hold the lines!”

He wasn’t Senior Guardsman Relc in that moment. The former soldier of Liscor’s army spun his spear. [Sergeant] Relc held his ground. And Skinner…stared at him, then seemed to realize Relc was immune to the stare. Relc’s body lowered.

“Not an officer. I hate fighting monsters.”

He was watching Skinner. The undead froze—then lashed out so fast his hands cut the air. But Relc was already gone. Zevara’s head whirled.

Where—

Skinner had missed as well. A second hand had come out, grasping for the Drake, but Relc hadn’t dodged left or right. He’d launched himself from the ground with his spear. He landed as the monsters swiveled, kicked a Ghoul aside—

Blurred past a Crypt Lord whose head vanished as Skinner ripped it off. A green figure, zig-zagging through the undead as if they were statues. Zevara heard someone mumble something. They had once had a nickname for him, hadn’t they? In his days in the army.

“The Gecko of Liscor.”

A zombie popped up on his right side, but Relc raised his spear and ran the undead Human through. He kicked the zombie’s corpse off his blade into a skeleton, punched a Ghoul to the ground, and looked up as Skinner’s other hand swept towards him.

Relc raised his spear and met the hand as it flew at him. His spear’s tip stabbed rapidly into the open red sores in Skinner’s hand. The monster jerked, and for the first time, Zevara thought she heard a sound come from the creature’s mouth.

No—not the mouth. It came from inside Skinner, a high-pitched shriek that echoed across the city.

It was deafeningly loud, but barely within Zevara’s auditory range. She clapped her hands to her ears, and Relc staggered back, doing the same.

Skinner swiped at Relc and caught him on the leg with an open palm. Relc roared and stabbed down with his spear, and Skinner let go just as quickly. The Drake staggered backwards, and Zevara saw part of the scales on his leg had been stripped away.

The Drake slashed Skinner’s arm, but the monster brought his limb out of harm’s way. A hand swung back—Relc leaned under it as it beheaded a Wight—

Fast as a sword’s swings. But the [Spearmaster] was watching it, reacting before the arms even reached him.

Again, Skinner fixed Relc with his crimson gaze. But though Zevara saw Relc shudder, he gritted his teeth and fought through the magic affecting him. He raised his spear and dashed towards Skinner, cutting and stabbing as he ran across the monster’s side.

Chunks of flesh sloughed to the ground as Skinner swung his hands at Relc. The Drake dodged away, keeping too close to Skinner’s body to be caught. The massive undead suddenly rolled, and Relc had to dodge away before being squashed.

“You bastard! [Triple Thrust]!”

He struck so fast Zevara didn’t see it, three lancing jabs. But the thick flesh—Relc yanked the spear out, cursing. He slashed, his arms a blur—stepped back. Then just backed away.

Why? He wasn’t doing any damage. Dead skin littered the ground, but Skinner just rolled back upright and attacked again.

Relc ran through the undead, stabbing and knocking them aside like flies as the hands struck at him. The zombies and skeletons weren’t able to even slow him down, and the Ghouls he neatly dispatched with a spear strike to the neck or head.

Suddenly free of Skinner’s gaze, the guardsmen around Zevara turned and formed another line. The Drake Captain found another sword and sliced a zombie apart as Relc blurred towards them.

Faster, stronger, and unaffected by fear. That was Relc, Senior Guardsman, the strongest guard in the city. Perhaps the world. A Level 33 [Spearmaster].

He paused in front of Zevara, panting. She saw red blood running from his leg and grabbed a healing potion from her belt.

“Here!”

“Thanks.”

He nodded and smashed the bottle against his leg. The purple liquid ran into the gaping wound, and he sighed.

“Damn. This isn’t good.”

“Do you know what that thing is?”

Zevara pointed to Skinner as the monster slowly rolled back upright, the undead around him forming a living wall. Relc shook his head. He was focused and barked a reply between gulps of a second potion. Stamina.

“Something ugly? It’s—strong. All that dead flesh is like armor. I need to slice it away to get at what’s underneath. But one touch of those hands—”

“Can you kill it?”

Relc paused and then grinned at Zevara.

“I can. Maybe. Probably. But give me some of those Antinium just to be safe.”

“The Antinium? Why—”

Relc pointed. Ksmvr was slicing apart zombies as the four Soldiers still alive covered his back. Even as Skinner rolled back upright and stared at Ksmvr, he kept fighting, undeterred by the crimson stare.

“The Ants are immune to whatever he’s doing. So am I.”

“Why’s that?”

Relc grinned and tapped his head with one claw.

“[Indomitable Will]. Anyone without a similar Skill should fall back. This thing—it’s projecting fear. Like a Level 30 [Mage]. Higher.”

“I got that. Can you take it out with just them?”

“I can try. But give me more [Archers] and [Mages] to get rid of the undead. I can’t have them on my back and that thing.”

“Just stop it for now while I call a retreat. We’ll set up another street and give you a chance—”

Zevara stopped, and Relc turned. Skinner was moving. The giant creature stared hard at Relc as the Drake raised his spear. But suddenly, Skinner turned. He pulled himself around and began moving back through the crowd of undead.

Relc crowed as Skinner pulled himself away. He twirled his spear and broke a skeleton’s skull with the butt end as he shouted at Skinner.

“Yeah, that’s right! Run! Run! Finally met someone with too many scales for ya, huh? Run away and…wait a second.”

Relc blinked. Skinner was leaving. Not just retreating; he was pulling himself back out the gates while a wall of undead protected his ‘back’.

“It’s…leaving?”

Zevara stared at Skinner in confusion. Why was he going?

“He must sense you’re a threat.”

Relc swore, and Zevara nearly spat fire at Pisces as the mage appeared out of thin air. The Human flinched, but pointed at Skinner as Relc glared at him.

“This creature is highly intelligent, guardsmen. It won’t fight anything that can resist its fear effect and poses a credible threat. Perhaps it could win, but it won’t risk that.”

“Why?”

Pisces shrugged.

“Most of the more valuable undead specimens have some kind of survival function built into it. I surmise this being may be the same.”

“Being? It’s not undead?”

“No.”

Relc grabbed Pisces as Zevara stared at him. The Drake shook the mage none too gently.

“Okay, but where is that thing going? Is it going back into the ruins or do we have to worry about reinforcements now? Even without that monster, we’re still up to our ears in undead!”

“I don’t know! I don’t know!”

Pisces fought to get Relc to release him. He shouted as the undead resumed their attack on the lines of guardsmen.

“Perhaps it seeks to wear us down first! Or maybe it goes after easier prey! I can’t tell!”

Relc released Pisces with disgust. He turned back to Zevara.

“Well, that’s just great. If it comes back with another horde, we’re cooked. But what could it want if it wants more victims? There’s only a few farming villages around here and they’re almost all north or west, not east. So where—”

He broke off, eyes widening. Zevara looked at him as Relc turned towards the east. He breathed the words.

“Oh no.”

Pisces looked at Relc’s face and then east too. He blinked in sudden comprehension, and his face turned slightly pale.

“Erin.”

He and Pisces were starting after Skinner, and Zevara was about to call Relc back. Then—the monster paused at the gates. She saw it turn—and that ‘hand’ rose. Skinner looked at Relc. At Pisces. And its grotesque hand moved. Almost in a parody—a mockery of Pisces.

Skinner snapped its ‘fingers’—and the fallen undead began to get up. The ones hacked to pieces slowly began to rejoin. Watch Captain Zevara turned—and Pisces turned dead white.

“It just—”

A fallen Ghoul sat up, and Relc beheaded it. Then he watched the Ghoul fall over—the glowing eyes fade—and flicker back to life as the severed section of its head began to drift back to its body.

“Fall back!”

Contemptuously, Skinner hauled itself away as a second wave of undead rose and joined the first. Then the Watch was in full retreat, fleeing, trying to block the streets. And every single member of the living that fell rose once more. It left the city and the danger with a tiny bodyguard. Too much direct danger here. Skinner’s glowing gaze turned elsewhere, to the only other pocket of life it sensed. A handful of villages. And…

An inn.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.61

Why did the dead try to kill the living? Was it hatred?

Did they seek to defile the living, to drag them into the same unending torment of their lives? Did they envy those who still drew breath? Or was it a greater mystery? Did the undead simply want others to join them, to add to their endless numbers?

Maybe—perhaps—the dead simply resented the living. Maybe they remembered the past, and it hurt them. Or that they could understand the living and wished to ease their suffering.

It could be they just knew how ugly they were and didn’t want anyone to look.

Erin screamed as an almost completely decomposed Gnoll came close. He had no face. Nothing that she would use that word for. Just—rot. Horrible, black innards that still twitched and slapped together wetly as he lurched at her.

A hand seized the zombie around the remains of his ruined head. Ignoring the flesh and other things that squelched around his fist completely, Knight tightened his grip until something crunched and the zombie jerked and fell still. The Worker dropped the corpse to the ground and kicked the body away. He stood, protectively shielding Erin at the entrance of the inn.

Around the hill, the dead were struggling with the living. But there were no screams. At least, the Antinium did not scream. The dead did. They howled or made ghastly sucking sounds or sometimes groaned, but the screaming was what terrified Erin. She felt they shouldn’t be able to. The dead should be silent.

But they weren’t. If anything, it was the Workers who more closely resembled silent reapers. They moved in unison, fighting, blocking, forming a living line as they fought against the undead. Sometimes they spoke, but with a terrifying calmness of their own.

“Die.”

“Suffer.”

“Perish.”

Two Antinium gripped a zombie by each arm and tore him apart. Another seized a skeleton with two hands and ripped out its ribs with the other two.

They fought like machines. Uncaring machines that took apart the undead like a child taking apart legos. Sometimes, it was a clean dissection. Other times, they smashed the dead bodies to make them fall apart.

But for all that, they were like children. None of the Workers knew how to fight. They were extremely strong, but clumsy. And the undead may have been rotting, but they were all killers.

A Worker staggered back, arms grasping as a skeleton slid forwards, bashing at the Antinium’s head with a mace. It nimbly dodged the Worker that strove to seize a bony arm and raised its mace to crush the Antinium’s skull.

“No!”

The skeleton looked up, and a flying frying pan crashed into its face. The yellow flames in its eyes dimmed, and the Antinium took the chance to seize it.

Erin watched the Worker begin to dismantle the skeleton and stared at her hand. She hadn’t even realized she’d thrown the frying pan. But more undead were charging up the hill towards the inn.

“Stay behind me, please.”

Knight pushed Erin back as more undead crashed into the line of Antinium, this time from the back. The Antinium wavered as they struggled to hold the dead back. Erin saw one of the Workers slip and fall as a Ghoul tackled him. The undead began tearing at him.

He had a name. He’d told it to Erin. Magnus. Magnus as in Magnus Carlsen, a name taken from Earth’s chess champion. He fell down, and Erin saw his blood. It was green.

“No!”

She tried to run forwards, but Knight seized Erin by the waist and lifted her up.

“You must not. You must not put yourself in danger. We are here for your protection.”

Magnus fell, shielding his face. Erin pulled harder, but Knight refused to let go.

“He’s dying!”

“Yes. The enemy surrounds us. We are at a disadvantage. This must be rectified.”

Knight pulled Erin back and raised his hand. He spoke calmly.

“[Defense Formation].”

Magnus thrust the Ghoul back and raised his hand, ignoring the green blood that splattered the ground around him.

“[Attack Formation].”

He collapsed silently as a Ghoul finished tearing through his exoskeleton. The undead Drake pulled something out of Magnus and opened his mouth to consume it.

A scream of rage preceded a jar of acid by only a second. The Ghoul stumbled backwards, clawing at its face as the acid melted flesh away. He fell back, and another Antinium calmly hit him with a mop, sending him slumping to the ground.

Erin felt the effects of the two Skills hit her as she raised another jar of acid and threw it. She felt lighter—so much lighter! And it seemed as though she had suddenly grown a pair of eyes on the back of her head. She was aware of the undead around her, just as she was aware of how the other Antinium were moving.

They held the line. Even as the undead ran up the hill, the Workers met them, calmly ganging up on the individual undead in twos and threes. The Antinium had no sense of fair play, and the undead were hard pressed to defend themselves against three sets of four hands stabbing at once.

A Ghoul rushed past two Antinium and ran towards Knight. The Antinium raised his sword, but a skeleton leapt past him and knifed the Ghoul in the chest. Toren and the Ghoul fell, stabbing and biting at each other.

Erin spun. She lifted a pot and hurled it. A zombie staggered backwards. She had—she had had quite a few pots and pans she’d seized from her kitchen, but she was running out. She’d hurled them into the crowd, trusting to her [Unerring Throw] skill.

Now the undead were falling, retreating. Erin stared as zombies began turning, running backwards. Was it a feint? Were more undead coming? She looked around wildly, searching for movement in the darkness.

No. No more undead were coming for the moment—they were all dead. Toren pulled himself away from the Ghoul, reclaiming an arm as the Ghoul jerked once and then lay still.

How many horrors had died here? A hundred? Two hundred? It felt like a thousand.

“Thirty-four.”

Knight said it calmly as a skeleton fell down, skull cracked open from one of Erin’s frying pans. She stared at the Worker as silence fell and the last corpse stopped twitching.

“What?”

“We have killed thirty-four of the undead. The rest have retreated. They will return in greater numbers, I believe.”

Erin stared at Knight as the Antinium calmly cleaned gore off of his sword. Around her, the Workers were helping each other to their feet, carrying the bodies down, and…digging?

Yes, the uninjured Workers were digging in the ground. Dirt flew into the air as they dug a long, wide trench around the inn. They were building a moat. A moat.

“What’s happening? What is all this?”

Erin stared at the dead, at the Workers, and at Knight. She felt dizzy, sick. And not just from the carnage. Just a few moments ago, she’d been waiting for Rags, and now there were Workers with names and the living dead.

And the smell. Erin threw up a little in her mouth but refused to let her stomach heave anything else up.

Knight bowed his head to Erin again. He was like Pawn only—different. Physically, they were the same, but even though they had the same voice, the same body, and both had named themselves after chess pieces, he was different. Erin couldn’t explain why or how. She just knew.

“The city of Liscor and the surrounding area is under attack, Erin Solstice. A horde of the undead emerged from the Ruins and besieged the city around an hour ago.”

Erin stared in horror at Knight. She fought to make her mouth work.

“The ruins? Undead? You mean they came from there? Did something set them—”

Her heart skipped a beat, and her stomach lurched.

“Oh no. The Horns of Hammerad. They went in there. Are they…?”

Knight shook his head.

“Several adventurers reached the city alive. I do not know any more than that.”

Erin seized Knight by the shoulder, ignoring the fluids that coated his carapace.

“Any Minotaurs? Anyone with pointy ears? An Elf? Half-Elf, I mean.”

Again, he shook his head.

“No such adventurers were seen. The only ones who survived were Humans. A…captain of one of the teams. A woman wearing silver armor. And a few other Humans. No one else.”

Erin stared at Knight, wide-eyed. Her thoughts melded together and then shut down. Knight nodded his head at her.

“I am sorry.”

She did throw up, then. Erin bent down and hurled up her lunch and dinner. She felt a cool hand on her neck, steadying her, and as she gasped and cried, Knight helped her back up.

It took several minutes for Erin to regain…control of herself. She was crying, talking incoherently, clutching Knight’s hand in a death grip as Toren brought her some water. She drank it, spat, threw up, drank some more, and finally stopped.

She didn’t stop panicking. She didn’t stop the agony in her heart or the terrible loss. But she put it inside her for a while to focus on the now. Erin looked at Knight as the Antinium studied the trench, which was only getting deeper around her inn.

“What’s happening? How many zombies are in the city?”

He paused, and another Worker—Calabrian—volunteered the details.

“The fighting was intensifying as we left. Over thirty thousand undead creatures have attacked Liscor, and the Watch fights them in the streets.”

“H-how do you know how many…?”

She couldn’t see in the dark. It sounded so precise—Knight pointed left.

“One of our number, Bird, counted them. At least thirty thousand.”

Thirty thousand. Erin tried to remember how many guards she’d seen at the gates or patrolling through the city. There were so many of them, but against tens of thousands of undead? More than that?

She turned to Knight.

“Should we—I mean, can we help them? How bad is it?”

He shook his head and gestured to her inn.

“Going out would not be wise. The undead fill the grasslands and will attack anything living. They have come here and will attack again soon. We are here to protect you, but you must stay here.”

Erin stared at him in horror. She stammered, and her voice cracked.

“Me? But—I’m just one person. Why me?”

He returned her gaze seriously, black, faceted eyes intent on her face.

“You are alive. That is all the reason they need.”

“And they’re out there? Regrouping?”

“Yes. Can you see them?”

He pointed, and Erin looked out. There was little light anywhere—the stars and moon were the only sources out here, but her eyes had grown accustomed to the night. She looked, and the sight made her stomach tighten with fear.

Dark shapes moving in the moonlight. They filled the plains, moving slowly, a cluster of shapes surrounding something white that was approaching the inn.

“Oh gods. There are thousands of them.”

“Hundreds. They move towards us.”

Knight’s words sent a chill down Erin’s spine. She opened her mouth to say something and then froze.

“Hold on. What’s that thing in the distance?”

Erin squinted. It was the white mass the undead were surrounding. At first, she thought it was just a bunch of them moving together, but it was something else. It was far away, but coming…closer?

“Is it…a giant slug?”

——

The Watch of Liscor fell back, fighting, loosing arrows into the undead crowd, casting spells. Fighting, retreating.

Dying.

They were outnumbered and fighting across a wider and wider area. The gates had let in the undead like a virus. And so long as they had been contained to the first few streets, the battle had been even, perhaps even in the defender’s favor.

But with Skinner’s arrival breaking their ranks and the ceaseless influx of the dead, the streets had been overrun. And more and more dead had surged down alleyways, forcing Zevara to pull her warriors back further and further or become surrounded. And as they did, the scope of the battle extended until dozens of streets were locked in desperate combat, stretching thin numbers even further.

A sign of how the battle was going lay with the civilians. They were being evacuated to the southern section of the city—the children and those unable to fight, that was. Everyone else was fighting. Those with class levels and even those without.

They fought, Drakes and Gnolls and the few Humans, healing themselves with potions, making the enemy pay for each step with blood. But the dead were bloodless. And they just kept coming.

Zevara and twenty guardsmen fought down one of the main streets, trying to stem the flow of the dead. They weren’t enough, not for such a wide passage. But overturned wagons had barricaded part of the street and created a kill zone.

The problem was that the dead were coming over the roofs, scaling walls, running through alleys. Zevara had archers shooting down as many as possible, but the defenders would still have been quickly overrun were it not for the Human and Drake fighting at the front.

Pisces pointed, and another Ghoul jerked. Beneath his rotted skin, his spine twisted and broke, and the undead collapsed soundlessly. The [Necromancer] turned, and more undead fell down as if their strings had been cut. He had accounted for over half of the fallen dead lying in piles on the street. The other half were due to Relc.

The Drake stood in the center of the undead mob, spear spinning around him too quick to follow. He stuck a zombie through its head with the shaft of his spear, twirled the butt up to shatter a skeleton’s jaw, ducked another skeleton, punched a Ghoul hard enough to break its ribs, and then beheaded a zombie with a wicked cut from the tip of his spear.

Zevara cut down a skeleton and gasped as it cut her shallowly across one arm as it fell. She stabbed it until the lights in its eyes faded and saw the massive creature approaching Relc from behind.

“Relc!”

The Senior Guardsman spun around and hurled his spear. The Crypt Lord staggered back, the spear lodged deep within its chest. Relc ran forwards and seized the shaft of the spear. With a roar, he ripped it back out, kicking the giant undead backwards as he did. The Crypt Lord fell on its back, and Relc stabbed downwards, spear blurring until the bloated creature lay still.

He staggered back and ran back towards the barricade as the undead tried to encircle him. The guardsmen opened up a small gap for him to squeeze through, and then he was beside Zevara as they pushed the dead back.

“Damn.”

Relc coughed and swore as Zevara moved back with him. His scales were covered in black bile, and she instantly grabbed a potion out of one of the crates and handed it to him.

Relc took a sip of the potion, spat black liquid out, and drank the rest. He threw the empty flask over the barricade and nodded at Zevara.

“Thanks. I got some of the poison in my mouth.”

She scowled, but couldn’t put any of her usual force in her words.

“Be careful. If we lose you, our line will collapse.”

Relc grinned at her wearily.

“Hey, don’t worry, Captain Z. None of those things can scratch my scales. If there weren’t so many of them, this would be as easy as frying fish.”

“But there are a lot of them, and they just don’t stop coming.”

Zevara hissed in fury, and her tail lashed the ground as she pointed.

“It makes no sense. They’re not congregating in one spot, and they’re attacking every side. Like a real army would do. And that guard they have around the gates is—”

“Not like them. I know.”

Relc’s eyes narrowed as he stared in the direction of the open north gate. Despite their best efforts, they hadn’t managed to retake it, not even with Relc. The dead around the massive metal doors refused to budge, and the gates were cumbersome enough to close on their own.

“It’s that damned skin-creature that’s doing it. So long as it’s around, they’re going to keep coming. If you’d let me go after it…”

Zevara shook her head curtly.

“You wouldn’t make it out the gates before they surrounded you. And that thing is too much for you to handle alone.”

He glared at her.

“And so we’re going to leave it? I told you, it’s going after Erin—”

“Do you want me to try and save one Human in this mess?”

Zevara shouted at Relc. He blinked, and she continued.

“No matter what that thing is doing, we can’t spare anyone to go after it, let alone you. If we knew what it was doing, then maybe—”

“Waiting.”

Zevara and Relc turned. Pisces stumbled back towards them. His face was pale, and his hair and robes were matted with sweat. He stumbled towards a cart holding water flasks and drank greedily.

The Captain of the Watch looked back towards the fighting. Without Relc and Pisces, the guardsmen were already beginning to be pushed back.

“We need you to keep casting, Human. If you can’t, we have plenty of mana potions—”

Pisces glared at Zevara.

“Potions do not cure exhaustion. Even my efficient spells tax me. I must rest.”

“I’ll go. The poison’s cured.”

So saying, Relc sprinted to one of the wagons and leapt. He kicked the skeleton that was climbing over it and landed on the other side, spear already blurring. Pisces drank more water, and both watched as Relc kept fighting.

Zevara glanced at Pisces.

“What did you mean? That creature is waiting?”

He nodded and wiped at his mouth.

“It is clear that these dead are protecting that skin creature in some way. It may have control over the dead or spellcasting ability—regardless, they act as convenient fodder while it takes the skin of creatures to sustain itself.”

“Then why did it leave?”

“The danger. As I said, your Senior Guardsman posed an actual threat. It realized this and withdrew. It will let the undead keep fighting until we are exhausted and it returns. Remember—for each one of us that falls, it has another minion to use against us.”

Zevara knew that. She was more worried about the trick it had pulled before it left.

“What about reanimating the undead we’ve already slain? How many times can it do that?”

Pisces shrugged. He looked as unnerved by that as she did.

“I’ve heard of undead doing that, but not even the ones I saw at Wistram could—it’s a spellcaster. But it cannot do that forever. Only a few times, I suspect. And it might not be able to control all the undead. The Crypt Lords are lesser leaders. The fact that greater undead than them haven’t been created is odd. So many dead gathered for so long together—”

“And why the girl? Why is it going out after that Erin Solstice? The one who got Klbkch killed?”

Pisces hesitated again, and Zevara wondered if he was about to lie. When he spoke, it was with clear reluctance.

“…She probably doesn’t matter at all. It’s simply how that creature works. He will eliminate every living being in the area and surround the city with his army. He senses her, no doubt, and wishes to eliminate any possible threat. Or perhaps it is fleeing east then north, towards Esthelm, to minimize the risk to itself.”

“Well. We may have time if that’s the case.”

Pisces opened his mouth, and his eyes widened with outrage. Then he looked at her, really looked at her panting for air, the screaming, embattled city, and closed his mouth and nodded.

“Yes. Perhaps. But we will be overrun soon if there are many more of the undead.”

It was a statement both knew to be true. Zevara shook her head. She raised her sword, feeling exhaustion in her arm. Flames trickled from around her mouth as she spoke.

“Drink whatever potions you need. Rest if you must. But get back to casting quickly, mage.”

She ran back towards the guardsmen as they struggled to hold back several zombies. Pisces stared after her and shook his head. He took a few quick steps back and then made his way to a pile of dead corpses that archers had shot off rooftops.

The skeletons, Ghouls, and zombies had taken the rooftops and smashed in their skulls or splattered on the ground when the arrows had knocked them off their perches. But as Pisces raised his hands, the shattered flesh and bone reknit, and the dead rose back upwards, unearthly lights appearing in their eyes.

Six zombies, three skeletons, and four Ghouls stood up, staring at Pisces. He pointed east, in the direction of the gates.

“Go. Avoid fighting until you reach the inn. Protect the girl. Kill any who would harm her. Go.”

Pisces watched the undead run towards the barricade, moving past the startled defenders. He smiled crookedly and had to sit down as the effects of the spell hit him.

“My, my. I suppose I’m a little too invested in that girl for my own good.”

He laughed and cast his eyes towards the sky.

“Well. A token deed. It will not amount to much. Not when…”

His voice trailed off. Pisces stared blankly at the undead fighting with the Watch. He was a [Necromancer]. He could sense how many dead were in the city and outside it, a fact he had carefully neglected to mention.

After a moment, he smiled again and stood up. His blood was burning in agony, and he felt nauseous, exhausted. Even a potion wouldn’t help him, but the undead still fell as he killed them methodically.

Pisces laughed as the dead fell around him, uncaring of the toll. They would die. All of them. The few living guardsmen and citizens couldn’t stem the tide any more than Erin would survive. He laughed and cast his eyes skyward again, perhaps for the last time.

“Ah, but what a wonderful night to die!”

He could have run. Yet…the [Necromancer] looked around. He had the [Invisibility] spell upon his lips. It would be simple to cast it and hide from the undead. He, of all people in Liscor, could probably evade them and escape with his life.

But—Selys was swinging a sword on one side, Zevara holding the line on the other. Relc was fighting ahead of him. Another, reasonable man might have fled.

“But I’m better than that. I am…”

The [Necromancer] whispered the words, and his head turned as his friendly undead ran past the ones under Skinner’s control. Pisces never finished his sentence. He whirled, waved his hand, and a group of zombies collapsed. He pointed, and the dead died. But they kept coming. And coming.

And coming.

——

“Oh god. What is that?”

Erin stared down towards the white shape moving towards them. Every time it dragged itself towards her, more horrific details emerged. At first, it was just a white shape, a sickly slug. Then it was a slug with arms, and then…a creature of some kind. But then she saw that its skin wasn’t skin but dead flesh packed together. And then she saw the faces, stretched across the skin and…

They ran towards the Antinium, Skinner’s small army. They fell into the huge trench the Antinium had dug, breaking bones, climbing out only to be kicked back in by the Workers.

There weren’t many. Around a hundred or less. That’s what Knight had said. As if that wasn’t enough to bury them all in corpses anyways. Most of the undead had moved back towards the city. But the creature came on, dragging itself through the grass.

It left glistening chunks of itself behind. Pieces of dead skin. It horrified Erin more than anything.

But she had to fight. Erin lifted another jar of acid and hurled it at a Crypt Lord. The massive, bloated creature shrieked and slapped itself with its clawed hands. But the acid ate away its skin, melting the massive creature’s outsides in a matter of minutes.

That was her role. Erin stood at the door of her inn, throwing jars of acid, pots, pans, knives, anything she could. She had one frying pan next to her as an emergency weapon, and she’d already hurled most of her chairs down the hill.

It was working. It was working. The dead were filling the trenches, but they hadn’t broken past the Workers yet. It was working—

Skinner had reached the bottom of the hill the inn was on. He raised his head and looked up. Two crimson eyes flashed at Erin, and suddenly, she knew fear.

Fear.

“No…no.”

Skinner’s eyes glowed at her under the moonlight. His gaze touched Erin and held her. It caught her and made her feel fear beyond anything she had felt. She was helpless.

She shook. Erin was consumed by horror, pure, unfiltered terror that paralyzed her to her core. The crimson stare was death. Hers.

She couldn’t even move. She couldn’t even scream.

Erin felt something tugging at her. Knight grabbed her and pulled her backwards, towards the doors of her inn. He shoved her inside, and she stumbled, partly free of Skinner’s gaze on her.

“This creature projects fear of some kind. Please, move back. We will handle this.”

Erin stared at Knight. She worked her jaw soundlessly.

“I—”

She wanted to say she’d keep fighting. But she couldn’t. She glanced outside, and Skinner stared at her. He was grinning, his toothless, empty mouth a gaping hole. She froze up, and Knight blocked the door with his body.

“Stay behind me.”

The undead surged forwards as one. The Workers met them as they tried to leap the moat and failed and knocked the undead into the pit. Several zombies managed to tug one Worker into the pit, where he disappeared under a pile of discolored limbs. But the line was holding.

Was holding.

Skinner’s gaze moved from the inn for one second. He seemed to regard the ditch and then looked back towards the inn. For a second, Knight wondered what had happened. And then the ranks of the dead drew back, and a larger creature lurched forwards.

A Crypt Lord stood on the other side of the trench. But he—or rather she—didn’t try to cross. Instead, the Crypt Lord began spitting, sending huge gouts of black blood raining over the Workers.

Several Workers hurled their weapons across the ditch, but they bounced off the Crypt Lord’s thick, discolored skin. It spat blood back at them, and the Workers shielded their faces ineffectually with their hands.

Suddenly, the moat was no longer a barrier but a liability. The Antinium could not cross to fight the Crypt Lord and instead had to retreat while it poisoned them.

Knight watched as two Workers fell, curling up into balls as the poison killed them. He stared as the undead swarmed into the trenches and up the other side. He sighed.

Chess was not at all like battle. There were some similarities, and the [Tactician] class leveled with chess. But it did not teach fighting. It did not account for unpredictability. Chess was a beautiful thing. But battle—

Battle was uncertainty.

“Ah. Alas.”

Knight made sure his body was covering the door. The other shutters around the inn were closed, and the second floor was also shut off. Any dead creature could break in, though. He gestured and raised his voice.

“Close ranks.”

The Workers stepped back, forming a wall around the inn. There were just over twenty left now, some injured, many without weapons. They had learned something of fighting, though. They would not die easily.

Knight turned his head slightly and saw Erin was still staring out at the undead as they cleared the moat. Her face was pale. He tried to smile, but all he could do was lift his mandibles slightly. What would Pawn say at a time like this? What was the right thing to say?

“Please stay inside. You will be safe here.”

She tried to say something. But Skinner’s stare paralyzed her, took away her words. Knight closed the door and put his back to it.

Twenty workers. A hundred undead creatures. Skinner. They would hold with all their might. As long as they could.

Until they could no longer move. Until they were no longer alive. Each Worker was resolved to die. That was simple. Knight only wished—he only wished—

He only wished it were enough.

——

Rags sat on the hilltop, watching. She was no longer watching the city of Liscor. That place would fall or burn. It mattered not to her.

Instead, she was watching a small hill covered in flickering motion. Rags’ eyes were good. Even in the night, she could see the Workers struggling against the undead. She was also good at counting. That was why, despite her entire tribe sitting with her on the hill, she did not order them to move.

It was a sensible choice. All of Rags agreed with that. Aside from Skinner, the terrifying monster that struck fear into her heart, the undead were too numerous, too deadly. Goblins weren’t good at killing things that were already dead, and they would have been outnumbered by the dead even if they joined the Workers. Not a good fight. So why fight?

All of Rags agreed with her choice, even if not all of her tribe did. The frightened, pitiful Goblin part of her told her to run. And the cold [Tactician] self she had learned told her the battle was unwinnable. Rags knew this. But another part of her hurt.

It was a small part. It wasn’t a practical part or a particularly useful part. It knew there was no other choice. But it hurt. And it distracted her as she watched the battle.

Absently, Rags’ hand went up and poked at her flesh. No. It wouldn’t stop hurting. She knew she couldn’t do a thing. So why try.

A Goblin shifted next to Rags. He wanted to go down there. But one glare from her and he stopped moving. She was Chieftain. She decided. And she had decided not to interfere. It was only logical.

She just wished that part of her would stop hurting.

Rags touched her heart again. There was nothing she could do. Nothing but watch. She would watch until the end.

That was all she could do.

——

Knight stood against the doorway, arms stretched wide, his entire weight against the wood behind him. His legs buckled. But he refused to fall.

The undead had crossed the moat. They had reached the inn itself, and it was there the Workers were making their final stand.

They were doing well. Well enough. The lone Crypt Lord had fallen, taking five Workers with him. But the remaining Workers fought together, shielding the inn, letting their strong bodies take the brunt of the assault to protect the fragile wood.

They had learned. A few short minutes—or was it hours?—of battle had made them stronger. They fought with weapons methodically, killing, guarding. They were holding.

It was just that the dead were relentless. And they clustered thickest around the door of the inn, seeking entry.

Knight blocked them. He took the swords and claws, not even bothering to block. He couldn’t move his arms anyways. He just had to cover the door. Simple enough. Simple. But so difficult.

Green blood trickled down his sides. He was cold. He had been stabbed. Was being stabbed. A group of the undead savaged him, stabbing, biting.

A Worker hurled a zombie off him. Two more joined him, and they crushed the others, breaking them, taking them apart like a building or a carcass to be butchered.

Knight tried to move, but felt himself sinking to the ground. No good. He had to stand. He had to be a shield. A Knight. He moved in an L-shape, but his name was more than that. He was a protector. A champion of the innocent. She had told him that. He remembered. He remembered everything.

One of the Workers paused before Knight. Knight struggled to remember his name. Garry? Yes, Garry. Named after Garry Kasparov, one of the greatest Grandmasters of all time. A good name.

Garry stood beside Knight as the others covered them. He spoke.

“You are dying.”

Knight could no longer feel his body. But he could see. Green blood—his blood—stained the ground.

“Yes.”

It was a pointless comment to make. He strained to ask the more important question.

“Is she still safe?”

“She is.”

“Good.”

There wasn’t much else to say. Knight’s vision was growing dark. But he struggled to move, to block the doorway with just a bit more of his body. It was important. He rasped at Garry.

“Protect her.”

The Worker nodded.

“Of course. Until we perish.”

“Good.”

The world was growing dark. And cold. But Knight didn’t care. He just wanted to play another game of chess again. He was sure he was better. And if—if she was alive, maybe she would remember. He had loved playing with her. Each time, no matter how few they had been, how short.

He wished he could play another game. He would open with the Danish Opening, risky, but push her as hard as he could. Just to hear her laugh in delight or praise him. If he could play another game in that warm room, it would be perfect bliss if—

Knight didn’t close his eyes. He had no eyelids to close. But he stiffened, and something left him. The other Workers took no notice. They were fighting, bleeding, holding the enemy off. Only one person noticed among the dead and the living. Only one person cared.

Erin.

——

They were dying. Erin sat in her inn and heard it. She knew it. They were dying.

All of them.

The Workers fought outside, so close she could hear them as they spoke. They were short phrases that tore pieces out of her heart.

“I have fallen.”

“My arm has been torn off.”

“Continue on without me. Protect her. Please.”

Passionless inflection. But not passionless words. She heard them fall and die, begging the others to keep fighting. To protect. Protect her.

It hurt more than anything else. More than being stabbed, more than physical pain. But she couldn’t move. She was rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but hide.

Hide in her inn while her friends died.

She didn’t know their names. She’d forgotten them as they’d spoken. But she knew them. She’d played chess with each of them. Taught them. Klbkch and Pawn had brought each one countless times, and Erin knew their every move in chess.

And they were dying. For her.

She tried to move her legs. They shook, trembling against the floorboards, refusing to carry even a bit of her weight. Her hands were the same.

They were dying. She had to do something.

Erin grabbed at her frying pan and then let go of the handle. She covered her ears with her hands and curled up. She was afraid.

Afraid.

The fear was overpowering. It wasn’t even a conscious thing, something Erin could fight against. It was like a basic math equation, an unchangeable part of the universe. If she fought, if she tried to fight, she would die. She couldn’t overcome that.

But she could still move. Erin felt it. She could run. The Workers would protect her. If she ran—

Something in Erin rebelled against the thought. Run? Run while they died for her?

It was the only sensible choice. But they were dying. For her. And that made running wrong.

Even if it saved her? No. It was impossible. They were all trapped. The undead were everywhere. That thing was coming. Running was just a slower death.

Erin shuddered. She had heard Knight’s last words. They cut at her, pulling pieces out of her soul. She wished she could move. She wished—

Her foot trembled and knocked against the table. Erin heard something clatter to the floor and flinched. She looked down.

In the moonlight, something rolled next to the chair and stopped. Erin stared at it.

She saw a chess piece lying on the floor. It was a broken knight piece, a Drake holding a sword and a shield, only someone had snapped it off so only the legs and base remained.

Slowly, Erin bent to pick it up. She held the chess piece in her hand and felt at the sharp edges.

She put the chess piece on the board. She stared at the two sides, white and black, bathed in the red light from Skinner’s eyes. Her heart was filled with fear. Her mind was broken by terror. But her soul cried out as her friends died.

Erin’s hand moved. She pushed the white pawn piece forwards. She hesitated and then pushed a black pawn two spaces forwards.

Pawn to E4. Pawn to E5. Bishop came next, to C4. A classic opening.

Slowly, Erin began to play. It was wrong. It was the wrong thing to do as the Workers bled and perished. But she played anyways, mechanically, playing out the game on pure instinct.

The pieces moved mechanically. Erin played the game, and time slowed around her. Time stopped. Time—

Time was a strange thing. It didn’t matter at all for entire days and mattered the world in a single moment where it flashed by. For Erin, time had always disappeared when she played chess. That was why the Skill she had learned was so fitting.

Such a silly thing. A useless thing. It made one moment longer. It was good for a little bit, but only that. It only made a second into an eternity. It couldn’t level mountains or grant her luck or do anything else.

It just made a moment immortal. So Erin played. She played as the undead slaughtered her friends and Skinner’s gaze touched her heart. She played.

A useless game. A worthless game. She lost to herself with half her pieces still on the board. But that wasn’t important. Erin reset the board and played again, moving the pieces with reckless abandon.

It wasn’t about chess. It was just about the time. Every second, fear etched itself into her mind, always present, always there. It was part of her and part of the endless games she played. Again. And again. Playing, always playing, until fear and living were one and the same.

“The king is smart and uses his head. For if he moves, he’ll soon be dead.”

Erin muttered the words again. She remembered her dream and the certainty of it. The dead Goblin Chieftain. The blood. The smell of oil.

Death and violence.

If she were a king, moving, fighting would only lead to her misery. And death. She had lost friends because she’d fought. But she would lose them again if she did nothing.

“If he moves, he’ll soon be dead.”

But that was just it. Someone died, even if the king didn’t. The king was a selfish jerk, letting people suffer in his place. Erin’s hand moved on the king and slowly tipped it over.

“I am no king.”

Erin stood up. The fear was still in her, still biting, still trying to hold her down. But it was part of her now. It still tried to paralyze her thoughts, but it was old now. There was something more important than fear. More important than pain or death.

“I am a queen. And this is my inn.”

How many minutes had passed? How many seconds? It felt like years, but the battle was still raging. The only difference was that Erin could move. She seized the frying pan and then hesitated.

Slowly, Erin walked into the kitchen and came back carrying a huge glass jar. It was one of the big jars she used to store the bulk of the Acid Fly’s acid. She pushed the door slowly open and saw Knight lying in front of it.

For a second, Erin wavered. The jar of acid tipped in her hands. She steadied it and then looked around.

The dead were everywhere. But down the hill, Skinner was looking upwards. He was commanding the flow of the battle. Like a general. Like a king.

Erin supposed that made her the other king. And this was check. Well. She was promoting herself to queen and damn the rules of chess.

Skinner stared at Erin. The crimson gaze fixed her, sending tendrils of terror into her to squeeze at her heart. But she had felt it before. It was an old trick. She lifted the jar of acid.

“Come on, you bastard!”

Her voice echoed from the hilltop, cutting through the sounds of battle like thunder. Erin surprised herself, but remembered her Skill. [Loud Voice].

Skinner didn’t blink. He couldn’t. But he seemed surprised as far as Erin could tell. His gaze moved sideways, and she sensed undead moving towards her. The Workers cut them off.

The jar of acid sloshed in her grip. Heavy. Without her [Lesser Strength] Skill, she would barely have been able to lift it. But she raised it up onto one shoulder and then heaved it into the air like a giant shot put.

The glowing green projectile flew down the hill towards Skinner’s face, straight as an arrow. He raised his hand, too slowly. It broke on him, and green liquid drenched the giant monster.

Acid covered Skinner’s face and body. He screamed, a high-pitched sound that made Erin’s teeth hurt and the Antinium clap their hands to their ear holes. But he didn’t die. He ripped his own flesh away, tearing away layers of skin. Then he looked up at Erin and screamed.

The dead flooded the hilltop, and Skinner shrieked in rage, pulling himself up towards Erin, hands digging into the soil and earth.

“Come on!”

Erin stood on top of the hill, frying pan raised, as the Workers surrounded her. Her blood was on fire. Her heart hurt. But she would keep fighting.

Skinner stared at her. Erin stared back. Neither one blinked. He was her target. She could keep fighting until he was dead.

She wouldn’t stop. She would keep going, regardless of fear or death.

Until the moment he stopped moving. Until her last breath. Until her friends were safe or they were all dead.

Until the end.

The dead rushed at Erin, and she raised the frying pan and hit the first zombie hard enough to break all of its teeth free. The darkness moved, and the dead were everywhere.

Everywhere.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.62

She knew when the first skeleton cut her that she was going to die. Erin stared down at the open skin on her arm and wondered if she could push the two red halves together. She raised the frying pan and hit the skeleton with all her strength.

It fell down. Erin kicked it until the lights in its eyes went out. She was strong. Strong as a man? Strong enough to kill. She’d hit a dead Drake until the iron frying pan had dented and his skull had caved in and bits had squished outwards.

But the dead were everywhere, and somehow, each time Erin turned around, there were fewer Antinium around her. But there were always more undead. Their glowing eyes watched Erin, and their clawed hands sought her life.

Once, she thought she saw Toren. Her skeleton danced among the undead, sword raised, stabbing, cutting. His fellows seemed to only half notice him, only fighting back after he’d made the first blow. But he was only one, and she couldn’t tell him apart from the other skeletons.

Erin ran back and forth, ducking under slow swings, throwing the few jars of acid she had at the Ghouls as they bounded towards her, hitting skeletons aside, and seeing the black shapes protecting her. Each time a sword thrust at her heart or she stumbled, a Worker would be there, grappling a zombie away or seizing a Ghoul by the throat.

The girl fought, and every time she turned around, another Worker, another friend, was dying.

And then she turned around and there were only the dead. The few Workers that remained struggled alone, isolated.

Erin backed up towards her inn. Eight Workers came with her. The rest lay silent. They barricaded the doors even as the undead began breaking through the windows. Erin tossed aside the frying pan that was bent nearly out of shape and realized she’d torn the skin from her palms even as she grabbed a chair.

The dead battered at the door as the Antinium clubbed at arms and heads breaking through the shutters, and outside, Skinner’s crimson gaze lit up the inn. He was close.

Erin was bleeding. Blood dripped from her arms and legs. Something had stabbed her in one of her breasts, and she was sure she’d never heard of that happening in a story. She clutched at her bleeding chest and sat down.

Just for a second.

It was very dark.

——

Zevara stood in the center of the street as the undead rushed towards her. She took a deep breath and breathed fire.

A stream of bright flame shot from her mouth, incinerating the front rank of the undead and making the others stop to claw at their burning forms. Zevara kept up the stream of bright fire as long as she could. Five seconds. Ten. And then she had to stop and gasp for air.

The world was dark. Spinning. She couldn’t breathe. Yet the enemy had been stopped for a moment. But only a moment.

They were everywhere. And they had pushed the defenders of the city back, back, until they were battling down the main street, next to the barracks, outside one of the entrances to the Antinium’s Hive. And though the battle still raged on, Zevara knew this was it.

The end. Once their lines broke this time, there would be nowhere else to go. The children and those citizens not fighting would be exposed. Already, they’d been crammed like sardines as the guardsmen had them move further and further back from the fighting. Any more and—

Were the other streets already overrun? Liscor was massive. She had lost contact with Tkrn. Was this the last area holding?

It wasn’t her fault. That was what Zevara wanted to say. She’d done her best, damn it. With thousands of warriors she’d held off tens of thousands. Who could ask for more than that? The army wasn’t here, the damn traitors. The Antinium should have been.

But she’d failed, even though she was always going to fail. The Watch had never been meant to protect the city from siege. There were over four thousand in the city that held over a hundred thousand civilians. They were able to quell fights, catch [Thieves], stop [Bandit] raids—

But never an army. And especially not an army of the dead.

How many were there? Thousands. Tens of thousands. They kept getting back up. The living became the dead, and the dead refused to die. Stab wounds didn’t slow them. Fire melted their skin but had to crack their bones before they stopped. Beheading didn’t slow some skeletons, and the Crypt Lords could kill scores before they were brought down.

If. If the walls had been held, the Watch would have prevailed. If they had held the first few streets instead of fighting in every damned alleyway, they would have held the line.

If she’d let Relc try to kill Skinner, they might have pushed the undead out of the city. And if the Antinium had joined them, they might have won.

They were still fighting. Ksmvr’s Soldiers guarded several streets leading to their Hive. More warriors stood guarding the sloping tunnel into the earth, but none had joined the Watch. They were all back, protecting their Queen.

Another group of undead ran down the street. Zevara gulped down more air.

Damn him. Damn him. She’d counted on the Antinium. They were what had been needed, but he’d refused to send them out. The Hive’s Soldiers and the Workers would have made all the difference. They could field far more than three hundred if they needed to, but Ksmvr had refused. He was heartless. Not at all like his predecessor.

A Ghoul bounded ahead of the running zombies and skeletons. Too fast. Zevara raised her sword and slashed at its chest. The dead woman stumbled, but then raised a hand. Too quick, and her sword was caught on bone.

Zevara opened her mouth and exhaled. Fire ignited in her lungs and spilled out her mouth. It burned the air, the dead, and even her. It was her ancient birthright, but it was not hers.

The world greyed out and spun as Zevara stumbled. The Ghoul was lurching back, screaming and clawing at her ruined face, but then she lunged forward. A spear tip punctured the tip of her head, and she fell down.

Someone was at Zevara’s side. The Watch Captain felt a huge arm helping her up.

“Careful, Captain Z. You’re running low on air.”

Zevara gasped and shook Relc’s hand off. She tried to inhale air, but her breath was coming in short gasps. She gasped and clawed at her throat. She could barely breathe, but she had to. She spat fire again, and a crowd of the undead went up in flames.

Coughing. Gasping. It was pain, and she couldn’t breathe. Zevara stumbled backwards as the undead seized the lull in the deadly blasts of fire and surged forwards.

Relc stepped forwards, spear blurring. He stabbed two zombies in the chest with blinding speed, pivoted, punched a skeleton down, and then raised his spear as another zombie lurched at him.

“[Triple—]!”

The zombie’s head exploded as Relc’s spear struck three times at once. The Drake caught a bit of flesh in his open mouth and gagged on the rest of what he’d been about to say. He spat, coughing, and whirled his spear around.

More guardsmen rushed forwards, and Zevara stumbled backwards. She’d given them all the time to rest she could. Any more and she would stop breathing, she knew.

She gasped for more air and then raised her voice. She had to know.

“Tkrn. How are the others doing?”

The guardsmen fought in front of her, a thin line of weary soldiers, blades and armor covered in gore. Zevara looked around.

“…Tkrn?”

The Gnoll was nowhere to be seen. She remembered she had stopped getting his reports. Zevara tried to remember where she’d seen him last. Running down a street to deliver a message? She shook her head.

Gone. They were all gone. Or going.

Relc fell back, cursing as the undead pushed forward. The thin red line grew redder and fell back as the undead pushed forwards. And this street was not alone.

Across the city, guardsmen fell back as the barricades broke. Ghouls raced over the rooftops, too many to be stopped by the few arrows and spells coming from below. They raced towards the streets where the citizens of Liscor were guarded by the wounded, sensing their prey was helpless.

“We’re out of healing potions.”

Tkrn appeared out of the chaos, limping to tell Zevara that as the Watch fell back another street. She just nodded at him. What else was there to say?

“Fall back towards Market Street. We’ll make a stand there.”

He nodded as the guardsmen ran or carried each other past Zevara. Relc brought up the rear, spear still blurring with speed. But even he was slowing down. Exhaustion was doing what all the undead could not.

“Relc. Can you…?”

He grinned at her. Everyone was running backwards—but the undead were so fast—he came to a halt.

“Leave it to me. Just save a spot for me when I get back, huh?”

She nodded and ran with her guardsmen. Back, back again. Relc didn’t need to say anything. Both she and he felt it.

A single Drake turned in the street, and a Wight hesitated. The [Spearmaster] stood there as a hundred undead poured towards him. Holding them for a moment so the Watch could regroup.

——

Selys Shivertail was a Level 1 [Soldier]. She had been trained, once, as an adventurer. She knew how to fight with her claws, and she had been mentored by great warriors. Heroes of her species, even.

But she had given that dream up as a girl. Now—she regretted it. Regretted every second of not having a Skill greater than [Swift Strike].

“[Swift Strike]! S-swift—”

She tried to use the Skill again, but she could only do it once every five minutes. Far, far too little for this battle. She swung instead and cut a pale monster lightly on the chest. It kept coming, and the spears of Drakes and Gnolls around her forced it back. Selys felt ashamed she’d been showing off to Erin. It was one thing to surprise her friend. But she was not ready for battle.

“Wight! Kill the Wight!”

Her arms were shaking with exhaustion as she fought with the civilians alongside the Watch. There were [Hunters], Drakes and Gnolls who had experience with blades skirmishing in the streets with the undead.

Krshia had joined her Silverfangs on the rooftops, shooting Ghouls and other undead coming up at them. They were reaping dozens with each minute, precise Silverfangs from the Great Plains. Selys saw a Drake aim a crossbow up, and the bolt exploded through a Wight’s head.

“Where’s the Antinium? Where’s our reinforcements?”

He was screaming at the Senior Guard leading this group of volunteers. Senior Guardswoman Beilmark looked around as her partner, Jeiss, whirled his sword, slashing a zombie’s arm off and beheading a skeleton in the same move.

They fought well—against everything but the larger undead. Beilmark wasn’t listening. She gasped.

“My family—”

“Beilmark, focus! They’re safe!”

Jeiss and Beilmark were both parents and neither knew where their families were. Selys raised her burning arms, trying to step back into line, but the Drake with the crossbow yanked her back.

“You’re exhausted. Grab a stamina potion and rest!”

He was a [Veteran] of the army. Selys thought he’d said his name was—Menolit? The Drake was missing half his tail, but not from this battle. Grimly, the Drake reloaded his crossbow, sighting for stronger undead.

He saw one coming their way and screamed.

“Crypt Lord! Run! Run!”

It came at them in a lumbering run. This one was on all fours, and a huge head of eyeballs stared down at them past two maws of bone-teeth. Menolit fired—and his crossbow did not a thing to slow it down.

“Jeiss!”

The Watch’s finest [Swordsman] tried to confront the monster alone as Beilmark swung a club left and right, knocking down zombies running past the monster. Jeiss lunged—and his blade cut in a zig-zag motion.

“[Cross Slash]. [Swiftsilver Riposte]—”

He drew back, tail swinging wide as he stepped out the way of an arm—but the Crypt Lord opened its mouth and vomited that poison. Jeiss had to break off his chain of strikes—and he stumbled. With exhaustion? With wounds—

A limb the size of Selys’ body hit the Drake, and he went crashing backwards. Beilmark grabbed him as the Crypt Lord advanced again—and she dragged the screaming Drake back.

“Bones broken. Get to—get to—”

An apartment was sheltering some frantic fighters trying to get in. They had lost their protective cordon. Now—Selys saw frightened faces within windows slamming them shut as monsters began to claw on the residential street. The Crypt Lord was lumbering at them.

“Get indoors! Open up! Hold them off until help comes! Barricade the doors—inside, now! It’ll smash through everything!”

Menolit was shouting at the others. He grabbed Selys’ arm—but neither one had time to get inside. The door was locked—and the Crypt Lord was coming.

Zevara and Relc were fighting down another street. Selys whirled—and the Crypt Lord came to a shambling halt. It stared at her, and she wondered if her wavering sword was scaring it.

Then she saw the bulbous, rotten eyes focus on someone coming their way. A short Drake leaning on a spear—and a tall figure that Selys recognized. For only one person had…rabbit ears.

“Dead gods and Ancestors. At last.”

Menolit sagged against a door. Selys didn’t answer him—Beilmark looked up and groaned in relief. But all Selys said was—

“Grandmother?”

Her heart squeezed with worry, but the Drake holding the spear ignored Selys but for a single motion with her claw. One side.

Then the Guildmistress of Liscor’s Adventuring Guild nodded to the furred man with rabbit ears. Liscor’s only Courier leapt into the sea of undead, and his fists blurred as he punched the head off a zombie. He kicked a skeleton into pieces as the Crypt Lord spat at him—but he was gone in a second.

Hawk the Hare and Tekshia Silverfang advanced as the [Spearmaster] of Liscor, one of two in the entire city, lowered her stance. She faced the Crypt Lord side-on.

“[Spear Art: Tree Limb’s Reach].”

Her jab with the short-spear in her arms elongated, and the enchanted blade struck the Crypt Lord as it lumbered forwards. The spear’s tip burst into flames, and the monster lit on fire.

It still came on, and Hawk kicked it from one side, making the beast stumble.

“[Endless Spear Flurry].”

Selys’ grandmother stabbed and stabbed and stabbed. Eight, seventeen—Selys couldn’t count how many times she hit the Crypt Lord as it slowed, bursting into flames as her enchanted spear hit it. Then the Drake was leaping back, nimbly—before she clutched at her back. She strode back, leaning on her spear, panting.

The Crypt Lord tried to follow her and Hawk as the Beastkin disengaged, wiping gore off his fists. But it was burning—burning—

The streets cheered as the monster fell. But Tekshia just marched up to Selys and grabbed her granddaughter’s arm.

“You’re alive. Good. Block the streets! Is Jeiss alive? You idiot, we need you intact!”

“Guildmistress—”

“Back to the barricades!”

Menolit shouted, stirring everyone from their stupor. The Drakes and Gnolls rushed back as he bowed, deferentially, to one of Liscor’s highest-level fighters.

“Guildmistress Tekshia, will you help us here?”

“Can’t.”

Hawk was the one who replied. He wiped sweat from his forehead and grimaced as he got blood and fluids all over his fur. The two of them were panting.

“We’re fighting street-to-street against Crypt Lords. We have to go. Selys, stay here with Beilmark. If this street is overrun…run into the Hive or find a cellar.”

Selys’ grandmother was grim. Hard as stone even now—but her claw was tight on Selys’ arm. The Drake [Receptionist] wanted to cry.

“Grandmother—”

“I have to go.”

“Are we going to be alright?”

Tekshia was already striding down the street. She looked back at Selys and then jerked her head. A flash of light made Selys look up.

“Guildmistress Alonna is holding them on another street. The Mage’s Guild, Runner’s Guild—keep fighting. Where are the Antinium?”

She looked for answers, but Jeiss, drinking a potion, just looked up bleakly. Tekshia gazed at him and then raised her spear.

“The Walled Cities were right about the Hives, then. It doesn’t matter. The Necromancer never took the city. To arms. Keep fighting!”

She began to run. Selys turned and ran back up the street as Hawk bounded after the Guildmistress. All of Liscor was fighting—there were [Mages] flinging spells down with the Gnolls, now. But where were…?

——

The guardsmen met a larger force holding the entrance to Market Street. The burned out road had been torn up again, this time so that stalls and doors could be turned into another barricade. The Drakes and Gnolls who held this spot were exhausted, wounded, but the dead clogging the street were a testament to their will to fight.

Zevara took to the front of the line and looked back over her guardsmen. She knew she had to speak, to give them hope, a reason to keep fighting. She just had nothing left to say.

A voice raised above the shouting and ever-present noise in the distance. A calm, emotionless tone.

“Watch Captain Zevara. I must speak with you.”

Zevara turned and saw Ksmvr. The Prognugator of the Antinium strode towards her, two Soldier Antinium at his side.

His exoskeleton had been crushed on one of his arms, and something had torn open his side. A gauze binding had already turned dark green with blood, but he was otherwise unharmed.

One of the Soldiers limped as he walked, and Zevara saw his left foot had been half torn off. But the Soldier did not cry out or show any sign of distress. They halted before her, and Ksmvr nodded as if nothing was urgent in the world.

“Watch Captain Zevara. I regret that we must part ways now.”

She stared at him.

“What?”

“This battle comes too close to the Hive. I must pull back the Soldier Antinium from the streets to better guard the Hive. I tell you this as a matter of courtesy.”

Zevara struggled for words. The only reason they’d held on for so long was that the Soldiers were blocking off several streets. Without them—

“Coward. All of Liscor is fighting! Guildmasters are in the streets—the Free Hive swore to fight with us! We took you in when every city in Izril refused! You fought with us against Az’kerash!”

Tkrn howled at Ksmvr. The Antinium flicked his gaze towards the Gnoll and then away dismissively.

“I regret this decision. But I must prioritize my Hive. I hope you understand. Your duties are similar to mine in nature, Watch Captain Zevara.”

She stared at him. Tkrn was growling, but she put a hand on his shoulder.

“I understand.”

Ksmvr nodded.

“Good. I wish you—”

“I understand that you’re a coward and a fool.”

Ksmvr paused. Zevara raised her voice as the Watch around her looked around.

“We’ve fought and bled for this city and your blasted Hive. If we fall here, everyone dies! But you won’t even give us more than a handful of Soldiers! Don’t you realize what’s happening? Or is your damned Queen not aware of what’s happening?”

The air around Ksmvr and the two Soldier Antinium froze. His hands touched at his sword hilts.

“My Queen completes her duties. As do I. Insults to her name—”

“Eggs rot your damned Queen!”

Zevara shouted at Ksmvr. She pointed at the destroyed streets and ruined buildings.

“We’ve kept Liscor safe! We’ve held up our end of the bargain—you Antinium swore to protect this city from attack! And where are you when we need you!?”

Ksmvr paused.

“I must protect my Hive.”

“Liscor will fall!”

“Liscor may. But the Hive shall never be taken, even if a hundred thousand undead should attack.”

What was worse, Zevara believed him. She cursed him, but Ksmvr remained impassive. He shook his head.

“Say what you will. But the Queen’s safety is—”

“Zevara!”

Relc shouted behind her desperately. A Crypt Lord had appeared down the street, from the wrong side. He must have broken through somewhere else. Guardsmen streamed towards him, shouting as Relc held off the undead coming from the other direction.

Zevara cursed and turned towards Ksmvr, but the Antinium was already striding away. She opened her mouth and then closed it. There was no point in wasting her breath.

The Captain of the Watch stared bitterly at Ksmvr’s back. She longed to plant a sword in it or strike at the Antinium, but that would just see her dead sooner. Instead, she turned. Drakes and Gnolls were already fighting the Crypt Lord as he spat black blood at them, slicing at them with claws made of broken bone.

Zevara raised her sword and ran back towards the fighting.

For the last time.

——

“Erin.”

For a moment, Erin thought someone else was shaking her. When she looked up into the dark eyes and saw the four arms of the Antinium, she remembered someone else.

“What?”

The Worker pulled her upright.

“You must not sleep. Here.”

He shoved something at Erin. She took it and stared at the red liquid. A potion…? A healing potion. Hers. That was right. Hers. She’d—bought it after that day.

“Drink.”

The bottle was at her lips. Erin swallowed, grimaced, and felt life returning. She was tired. So tired that the world seemed to call her back to sleep. But the potion made her live.

She got to her feet. The Worker helped her up, and she saw he was wounded. He was missing an antenna and two fingers on one of his right hands. His carapace was broken in places, but when she offered him the potion, he shook his head.

“Drink.”

She did, finishing the foul liquid and feeling life return with every gulp. Erin threw the bottle across the room and struck a skeleton in the face as it sought to climb in. It slowed the creature long enough for another Worker to behead it with an axe.

Erin looked at the Worker who had given her the potion. It seemed silly, with the undead clawing at the walls and howling outside, but she had to say it.

“I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten your name.”

“Bird. I am Bird.”

He nodded at her. Erin nodded back.

“I guess this is it, then.”

“We will protect you until the end.”

“Which is now.”

“Yes.”

She paused. Erin’s head was still spinning, but she looked around and saw only the dead. The undead, but also fallen Workers. Death.

Crimson light was what she saw by. Skinner’s glowing red eyes lit up the inn brighter than the light from the moon. Bird had taken his place by one of the windows, a sword in his hand, a buckler in another.

“There are few undead left. Many are moving towards the city.”

“But that thing is out there.”

“Yes. It is close.”

Erin peeked outside. She could see Skinner, his massive, obscene frame a shadow around the two red spotlights in the darkness. A guard of undead stood around him, silently waiting in the darkness.

“He’s waiting.”

“Yes.”

Bird nodded again. Erin looked at the undead. They were still bashing at the doors, the walls, trying to climb through the windows as the seven other Antinium moved around the room, slicing off limbs and bashing heads.

The inn’s walls were protecting them, for the moment. But Erin knew it wouldn’t last.

“We’ve got to go. They’ll tear this place down around us if we stay.”

Erin walked into the kitchen. She had one jar of acid left. She took it. Bird grabbed her arm as she walked towards the door. The Worker stared at her.

“It is death out there, Erin Solstice.”

She nodded. The darkness was scrabbling against the inn, breaking in piece by piece. She saw glowing eyes, fangs, baleful malice. It felt like she was dreaming again. A dark dream from which she’d soon wake. But the Antinium…if this were a nightmare, why were they so beautifully brave?

“Yeah. But it’s death everywhere.”

He paused, staring at her face. Another Worker turned.

“Better to place the enemy in check than suffer it yourself.”

Erin blinked at him and then grinned.

“Right.”

She opened the door. A zombie stared at her in surprise, arm raised to hammer at the wood again. Erin threw a jar of acid in his face, and he staggered back, screaming. She was nearly out of acid. She’d rained it all down on Skinner and the other undead.

She had a knife in one hand. It was sharp. Erin held it in her hand and thought she was dreaming. She stepped around Knight’s body, heart beating faster and faster. The knife was slippery in her hand.

Skinner looked at her, eyes projecting fear. Erin gritted her teeth.

“Go to hell.”

She ran out the door, and the eight Antinium followed her. Erin stabbed a zombie in the face, punched him, and looked up as Skinner’s massive hand flattened the undead Gnoll. Two glowing eyes stared down at her.

She raised the kitchen knife.

“Come on. Let’s end this.”

——

Ksmvr strode through the streets as the noise of battle receded into the dull roar of sound around him. He thought as he moved, considering all that was occurring and would occur.

Zevara and the guardsmen would soon fall. Perhaps the citizens in Liscor would make a stand. It was possible they might prevail—the undead horde’s numbers had thinned. But they were still a danger.

Duty towards Liscor and the bargain with Liscor obliged the Hive to send Soldiers to defend it. But as Prognugator, Ksmvr was able to determine whether such actions were wise. And with the Queen still occupied by the Rite of Anastases, he had determined her safety was paramount.

Zevara had cursed him. Shouted at him. Her anger was understandable, but there was nothing Ksmvr could do. His actions were the only sound choice.

…Weren’t they? No, of course they were.

They were logical. He knew that. The Queen had to be protected, especially when carrying out the Rite. He was quite clear in the priorities he had been given. Her life and the well being of the Hive were far more important than the agreement made with the city of Liscor.

He spoke to one of the Soldiers accompanying him. To speak to one was to speak to all.

“Pull all Soldiers back. The streets are meaningless. We must protect the Hive.”

The Soldier didn’t respond, but Ksmvr could feel the other Antinium abandoning their positions at the street entrances. They would retreat to the Hive, guarding both entrances within the city.

There were three entrances to the Hive, only two of which were known to the Council of Liscor. The third remained outside the city, buried by several tons of dirt. It could be easily excavated, but the undead had not located that entrance as of yet.

Ksmvr continued to consider the siege as he stood at the entrance to the tunnel, watching the streets for the undead as Soldiers ran past him into the Hive. The Antinium had food and supplies for at least a month of continuous operation, which made things simple. The creature that had appeared with the undead was still at large outside the city, but it had shown little interest in the Antinium.

Regardless of the outcome above, Ksmvr estimated that the Queen would be finished with her task by the end of the night. Then he could request further orders. If she wished the city to be cleansed, the Soldiers were fully capable of doing so. Otherwise, the Hive could easily be sealed off.

She might be angry. But he had done the most practical thing in lieu of orders. She would understand that, right?

Ksmvr did not worry about his Queen’s reaction to his decisions. He did not worry. He had fulfilled his highest priority, even if it meant sacrificing lesser commitments towards the city. She would understand, would she not? She had given him no other directives.

“The city is expendable. The rogue Aberrations are of little concern and may be hunted down in time. The innkeeper—”

He hesitated. She was valuable. The city was valuable. But—

“The Hive is all. The Queen is all.”

She would understand. He dared not risk her safety by reducing the Soldiers protecting her. She had given explicit instructions not to be disturbed at any cost. At any cost. He was following orders.

And he had secured the individual known as Pawn. That was quite an achievement. Ksmvr remembered what the former Worker had said and shifted. He had been…unsure how to respond to Pawn’s words, as close to disloyalty as they had seemed.

“My judgment is not in error. My logic is sound.”

Reassured, Ksmvr nodded again. The last of the Soldiers were about to enter the Hive. But suddenly, they paused. And stopped.

Ksmvr stared as one of the Soldiers seemed to glance up at the sky, listening. And then, suddenly, he turned around and began to run back down the street.

“You. Halt!”

The Soldier halted as Ksmvr strode towards him. The Prognugator held one hand on his sword’s hilt as he stopped a few feet away from the errant Soldier.

“What are you doing? I ordered you to return to the Hive and guard the entrance.”

The Soldier stared at Ksmvr silently. Of course, he couldn’t respond, but Ksmvr sensed no difference in the Soldier’s thoughts. He was following orders. Following orders, but whose? Ksmvr hadn’t ordered—

Something brushed past the Prognugator. Ksmvr whirled, but it was another Soldier. And not just one.

Suddenly, the massive Antinium warriors were streaming out of the Hive’s entrance again. Ksmvr whirled.

“What are you doing? What is happening?”

They ran past him silently. He turned and saw them running into the city. Even as he watched, they began charging towards the undead.

“What…?”

A hand tapped Ksmvr politely on the shoulder. The Antinium turned—

A fist crashed into his face. The chitin on his cheek cracked with a loud sound. Stunned, Ksmvr fell down, hands grasping at his swords.

Undead attack? Here already? Aberration? Ab—

Ksmvr was Prognugator of the Antinium. He had been born to war, and so he drew both swords and daggers even as he rolled. He could not die. His life was important; he led the Hive in his Queen’s absence. But he froze as he looked up.

The world was different. Ksmvr felt it. In an instant, his reality changed. He looked up and knew. He felt his Queen’s anger; he sensed her ire in his mind. She had returned. She had completed the Rite. And he—

He stood above Ksmvr.

“You.”

The world began to shift.

——

Selys had never killed with a sword. She had been trained by Tekshia and her uncle, Zel, but never actually taken a life. Undead…undead were close enough.

How many had she beheaded today? Eight? Twelve? Her grandmother had told her she wouldn’t understand what it was to be a warrior until she took a life. She wouldn’t level until she had placed her life on the line and gambled with it.

Today, Selys Shivertail understood. The Drake staggered back and watched as the zombie fell, the hilt sticking out of his stomach.

The female Drake felt sick. But Krshia yanked the sword out of the dead Human’s body and handed it back to her. The Gnoll had the experience with this.

“Have you leveled?”

Such an odd question to ask as Selys’ arms burned, as the city was filled with fighting—but the Gnoll’s eyes were deadly sharp. If Selys leveled—maybe she’d be stronger. She surely would—

But there was no time to sleep, even a second. Selys shook her head.

“Not—”

She couldn’t breathe. So Krshia lifted her bow, shot an arrow, and grinned as she reached for another.

“Maybe after the battle ends, then, eh?”

Her fingers scraped her quiver, and the Gnoll woman looked down. Empty. Krshia’s smile winked out. She looked around, then ran back, cursing, calling for arrows.

After the battle ends? That assumed they were going to live.

It didn’t seem likely. Selys was behind the main line of guardsmen Zevara commanded, but already, the undead had attacked their spot twice. They were everywhere. Overrunning the streets.

“We’re going to die.”

Krshia smacked her on the head. Selys gaped as her hand flew to cover her head, but the Gnoll just snorted at her. She had been forced to descend to the streets—there were undead swarming over the roofs now, and half the city was overrun—the population squeezed into the other half behind the fighters. Or dead and moving upon their friends and family.

“Save your weeping for when you are dead, yes? We are not done. Fight. Fight until all is lost. If only my kin had come from—”

But all was lost. More undead were struggling at the barricades, fighting to break through. It was only a matter of time.

Part of Selys wanted to throw down her sword and wait for death. But it would be a terrible death, she knew. She wouldn’t even die at the end of it. So she raised her blade awkwardly, waiting for the end. If she’d only been an adventurer, leveled in another class—

A voice. A shout. Selys turned, raising the sword. She’d long since run out of arrows. But it wasn’t another attack. Tkrn ran down the street, waving the axe in his hand. He was running at a sprint, but his eyes were open wide. And he was—smiling?

“The Ants! The Antinium are coming!”

Selys looked at Krshia. It couldn’t be. They’d retreated. But now, another guardswoman had taken up the call.

“The Black Tide marches!”

“The Soldiers are fighting in the streets!”

Wildfire ran through Selys’ veins, giving her new hope. It couldn’t be. But then she saw them. Shapes. Moving out of the darkness. Not one. Not two. A moving mass. An endless stream of bodies.

The Antinium. They came in a wave, and Selys was reminded of the Antinium Wars. She remembered the same shouts she had heard as a child.

So again, the Antinium came in a wall of bodies. Beetle shells, insect eyes—mandibles shining under the moonlight and torchlight. An army without end or fear.

Soldiers ran down the street. They crashed into the line of the undead even as Selys watched, gaping. First twenty Soldiers filled the street, rushing at the enemy, and then fifty. A hundred. Thousands.

And they were not alone. Ksmvr, the Prognugator, was among them. He slashed at a zombie with his daggers, and suddenly, a Worker was next to him. The smaller Antinium seized the dead zombie and bore him down, and two more were suddenly next to Ksmvr, stomping at the dead Drake until it was paste.

Soldiers and Workers flooded out of the tunnel, an endless stream of black bodies. But that wasn’t all. The ground and streets began to ripple, and hands thrust out of the stones. The undead paused, and then a huge spade-like hand seized a zombie and dragged it into the earth. A Soldier Antinium rose out of the ground and finished ripping the undead woman apart.

The undead in the street hesitated. They were an army without fear, an endless tide of death that bowed to neither pain nor exhaustion. They would fight on even when they had lost arms or legs. They were pitiless, emotionless killers. But that was the nature of the Antinium as well.

Out of the tunnels. Out of the darkness. Workers raced next to huge, thundering Soldiers. They didn’t even slow down as the first group of undead appeared in front of them. The first Soldier smashed bodily into a Ghoul, knocking the smaller, dead Gnoll down. He didn’t pause but ran on. The dead Gnoll struggled to get up, but a Worker trampled him. And then another. The stream of Antinium did not cease.

A crowd of zombies met a Soldier. He ripped into them, shovel-like hands punching, gouging their weak flesh. Workers swarmed over another zombie, ripping, pulling him apart from every direction.

A Crypt Lord raised a clawed hand to shield itself. A Soldier leapt from a rooftop, plunging thirty feet to smash its knee into the Crypt Lord’s face. Bone and flesh gave way as the Soldier began tearing the larger undead apart. The Soldier stood up, carapace covered in steaming black blood. His right leg was shattered from the impact, and green blood oozed around the broken black carapace. He took two halting steps forward, smashed a skeleton to the side, and then collapsed.

The Workers and Soldiers paid no attention to the fallen Soldier. They surged around and over him, rampaging through the ranks of the undead, fighting with mindless fury.

The guardsmen and warriors in the streets stared. Hundreds of black bodies ran through the streets, killing, pounding, tearing.

The Antinium. They had come out of the Hive, leaving it practically undefended. They fought, overrunning the undead with a furious advance so fast that even the Crypt Lords seemed unnerved by the attacking insects. But why? Why now when they had waited so long to—

Krshia pulled Selys out of the way as a group of Soldiers thundered past them. They barely noticed the Drakes and Gnolls. But one of them was leading the charge. Ksmvr paused as, ahead of them, Zevara blocked his way.

“You! What’s happening?”

The Drake stared at the Prognugator, but he shook his head. Selys saw the Antinium had cracked the chitin around his face somewhere. He looked—confused. She heard him raise his voice.

“We are attacking. We will drive the undead out of the city.”

“What?”

The look Zevara gave Ksmvr was incredulous, and she wasn’t alone. Selys had heard the Antinium had called all the Soldiers back. So why had he changed his mind?

Ksmvr shook his head helplessly.

“I did not order it. I did not. The Queen did not either. He—”

“Who?”

“He has gone to Erin Solstice with many Soldiers.”

“Who?”

Relc ran past Selys, his scales streaked with blood and grime. Selys grabbed at him. Relc nearly threw her off before he stopped.

“Relc? What’s happening? Why are the Antinium fighting now?”

He looked at her, wild-eyed. Selys took a step back. She had known Relc for a long time, but she’d never seen him look like that. His scales were grey. He pointed.

“I saw him. I saw—he was leading them.”

“Who was? Relc?”

The Drake didn’t answer. He sagged, staring at the Antinium as they filled the streets, fighting. He whispered, so softly only Selys and Krshia heard it.

“He’s back.”

——

This was how it ended. In the last hours of the night, Erin fought outside of her inn, the undead and the Antinium mixing into a blur. She stared up at Skinner and saw death and horrors in his face. She raised a kitchen knife, a tiny weapon, and vowed in her heart to hurt him before she died.

This was how it started.

Skinner grabbed for Erin. She ducked and stabbed at his arm. Her blade cut a few inches into his dead skin and stopped.

Erin rolled out of the way as the hand came back. It still caught her a glancing blow, but the red spot didn’t touch her, didn’t steal her skin. It had taken two Workers already. Their carapaces had been torn away by Skinner and tossed to the ground.

A Worker caught Skinner’s hand. He knocked the Antinium away, but three more gripped his arm and stopped it. Skinner raised his other hand, and Erin threw the jar of acid.

The acid splashed on his face, and he shrieked. The sound went through her bones. She covered her ears as he clawed at his face, and the Antinium did likewise.

But something moved despite the ear-piercing sound. Toren ran out of the darkness and leapt towards Skinner, dagger in hand. He leapt onto Skinner’s face and began stabbing wildly. Skinner tried to shake his head, but he had no neck.

His eyes. Those crimson eyes. Toren clung to Skinner’s face, wriggling into the sunken sockets, tearing and cutting with his dagger as the giant creature tried to shake him free.

Again, Skinner screamed and, this time, ripped Toren away with a huge chunk of flesh. He hurled the skeleton aside.

Toren fell away with something red in his hands. But no blood. Skinner howled and struck after him with a massive hand, but Toren was already gone.

One of Skinner’s eyes was gone. In its place, a huge crater of dead flesh was all that remained. Dead flesh.

It was as if all Skinner was made of were just flesh. There had to be bones or muscles or—or organs. But all Erin had seen as the Workers and she had carved bits out of the creature was skin.

Something struck her from behind. She turned, and a zombie bared rotten teeth, biting at her. Erin struck at him with her knife, but it wasn’t good for killing something already dead. It glanced off bone, and she screamed as the zombie grabbed towards her face.

A blue hand reached out and pulled the zombie backwards. A Ghoul—a long-dead Human with blue, moldy skin—pulled the zombie back.

Erin blinked. The Ghoul tore off the zombie’s head and then rushed at another skeleton. The group of the undead tore into their allies.

“What the—?”

Above her, Skinner was still clutching at his face. He was feeling at his eyes, as if he couldn’t tell one was missing. As his fingers touched the gaps, he shrieked again. His ruined face turned towards Erin.

Skinner swung at Erin, and she dove to one side. She scrambled to her feet and threw the knife in her right hand. It caught a Ghoul in the eye, and it fell back as a Worker dug into Skinner’s side. The Antinium dug at the hard, dead flesh like it dug at dirt, pulling away huge layers and pieces as Skinner thrashed and tried to reach the Worker. But they were too close, too hard to grab at.

More undead ran around Skinner, fighting Erin and the Antinium. But something was happening. Half of them seemed to be trying to kill the other half. Even as Erin watched, two skeletons bore down a Ghoul that had a sword stuck through its belly.

Erin seized the sword and dragged it out. It was heavy and unwieldly in her hands, but she hacked at Skinner’s arm with it. Bits of dead flesh flew everywhere.

Skinner backed up. He was trying to shield his body, but the Workers were everywhere, and the Human girl kept coming.

It shouldn’t be like this. She should be cowering. The Antinium should be dead. And his own undead had turned against him. It was all wrong.

But the girl ignored his fear. The dead had no minds to torment with horrors, and the Antinium were fearless. Skinner could only crush them, struggling to catch the Workers and undead.

He was just a slothful, hulking thing. He had no legs. He didn’t even have good hand-eye coordination. It was only his hands, his flaying touch and his aura of fear that were the threats. And Erin had come far. She refused to run.

She plunged the sword into Skinner’s arm. Deep. Nearly to the hilt. She hit something—something besides dead flesh. Skinner howled in agony.

He backhanded her, and Erin flew. She actually felt herself lift into the air before she hit the ground so hard she forgot everything for a second. When she looked up, he was raising a hand to squash her.

She rolled out of the way just in time. The hand smashed down, and she grabbed at it. There was no time to think. As the arm lifted again and Skinner searched for Erin, she leapt onto its head. The grotesque layers of flesh cushioned her, and she tried not to vomit.

She climbed the dead flesh, feeling it, slick and horribly cold beneath her skin. Erin raised the sword and stabbed down into Skinner’s head, clumsily sawing and hacking with the blade.

Skinner shrieked again. And only now, touching him, did Erin feel the vibrations coming from inside. She pushed the sword deeper and then cut again, levering out a square of compacted skin.

Below her, zombies began trying to pull her off. They crowded around her, but the Workers shoved them back, fighting them. Erin desperately clung to Skinner as he writhed, sawing away like she was cutting wood. She had already given herself two deep slices, but she desperately kept cutting away.

The friendly undead were fighting alongside the Workers now, and half were climbing Skinner as well, tearing into the large creature like she was.

Erin had just pulled another socket of flesh away when she saw something change. Instead of the putrid white and yellowed skin, something else shone in the moonlight.

Something red. Erin stopped. The piece of dead skin peeled away, and something raised its head within Skinner’s body and stared at her. She stared back.

“Oh.”

It was all she could say. Something inside of Skinner raised its head around the skin Erin had chopped away. Something wet and serpentine.

A dark red, eyeless face swung towards Erin. A segmented head with two long…antennae made of flesh seemed to drop down towards her, and a fleshy mouth opened, revealing sharp teeth.

Skinner—the real Skinner, the thing hiding in the puppet of dead flesh—slithered out of the ruined shell. Two long, whip-like tendrils followed the main body, long and thick roots of corded flesh. They were Skinner’s ‘hands’, and they were still coated with the black remains of the Worker he had seized.

Erin let go of the ruined flesh of Skinner’s face just in time. The red worm-thing lashed out, its tendrils scything through the air so fast she heard the whistling sound they made. They caught a Ghoul and cut clean through his torso, shattering bone, breaking flesh.

A Worker caught Erin as she fell. Bird. He pulled Erin away, handing her a knife from one of his hands. Skinner was screaming again, the wormlike parasite emitting that high-pitched wail, only twice as loud now it was out in the open.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god. What is that?”

Bird shook his head as Skinner’s blind head moved back and forth, the fleshy antennae twisting around.

“I do not know. It resembles a Flesh Worm, but larger and it is hiding in the dead skin. It is dangerous. Please. Stay back—”

A tendril shot towards Bird. He choked, and Erin screamed as the tendril lanced through the Antinium’s side. She cut at the tendril with the knife, and Skinner screamed again and pulled the tendril out. Bird collapsed on the ground, bleeding.

Erin threw the knife. It spun towards Skinner’s head, but the red worm dodged the spinning projectile effortlessly.

Two skeletons ran at Skinner. The red worm-creature hissed and lashed out with its tendril arms, scattering both skeletons. He cast around again and struck like a cobra.

A zombie was lifted into the air, and his skin was removed in a sickening ripping sound. Only, Erin was sure that was one of Skinner’s own monsters. The crimson worm slithered back to the layers of skin and pasted the zombie’s flesh over part of the broken skin, as if he were repairing a papier-mâché doll.

“Do not allow it to rebuild. Kill it now.”

Erin couldn’t tell which Worker spoke. But they all ran towards Skinner at once, slashing at the huge segmented creature.

Skinner whirled around, and its tail sent several Antinium sprawling. It seized two Antinium with its tendrils and ripped parts of their bodies away. It was impossibly fast now, and it stabbed two more Antinium as they ran at it.

“No!”

Erin was on her feet. She scrambled for something to throw. Acid. She had to have another jar of acid in the inn. She ran towards it, but Skinner slithered forwards and blocked the entrance. It lowered its head and bit at her.

She ducked. She felt the smooth, sticky body of Skinner just above her, and then it rammed her. She hit the ground, stunned as Skinner raised its head. It regarded her, two antennae probing at her face, and then raised a fleshy tendril to spear her.

Erin couldn’t scream. She just looked at Skinner and held her breath. Waiting. The fleshy appendage rose and then scythed downwards towards her neck.

Death came for Erin and stopped halfway. A sword cut through the air; a pair of silvery blades. They flashed together, and Skinner reeled back, screaming. Yellow, pus-like blood oozed from the cuts, splashing onto Erin as she stared. She looked around.

“Wha—”

Someone was standing over her. An Antinium. But not like any she had ever seen. He had only two arms and a slim, graceful body, not like a Worker’s or a Soldier’s. In his arms, he held two swords she recognized, and he faced Skinner calmly as the red creature writhed and screamed.

Around Erin, black shapes suddenly appeared out of the darkness, grabbing the undead and tearing them apart. Large Soldier Antinium. They ran after Skinner as the red worm retreated. But that wasn’t what captured Erin’s gaze.

She was still staring at the Antinium who had saved her. He was a tall fellow. A Worker, but too big to be a regular one. Some kind of Soldier? A new kind? But—

“Are you unharmed, Miss Solstice?”

For a moment, the voice was just a memory. And then Erin’s eyes widened. Memory. The Antinium tilted his head as he regarded her. Her heart froze in her chest and then began to pound wildly.

It couldn’t be. It was impossible. But the voice was the same. The way he talked was the same. His body was different, but he—

“Impossible.”

“You have fallen. Allow me to help you up.”

She blinked. He reached down and pulled her to her feet. She clutched at him, ignoring Skinner, the undead, and the foul-smelling pus clinging to her clothing. Everything.

“You—you can’t be. I saw you dead. You were dead.”

Her eyes were filling with tears. Part of her was screaming something wordless. Erin reached out, and her fingers shook as she touched the Antinium’s black carapace.

“You—how?”

He smiled. Klbkch of the Free Antinium sheathed his swords and bowed to her.

“True Antinium never truly die. And I…I have a promise to keep.”

The world stopped. The dark night ceased. Light filled Erin’s head. She staggered, and Klbkch caught her with one arm. She felt his cold, hard chitin on her skin. Smooth, hard carapace. An alien’s touch. An unnatural feeling.

But she looked up and saw a friend.

Erin stared at Klbkch. He turned his head and raised his swords. A Ghoul ran onto one of his blades while the other beheaded it. He turned to Erin.

“It is not safe here. Remain behind me, Erin.”

Then he turned, and this time, his swords swung not at Goblins but at a Wight, chopping through a reaching hand, spearing it through the head. Striking left, parrying a jet of bile from a Crypt Lord, sending the liquid splashing back as the silver swords moved.

The Slayer of the Antinium whirled the poison back, splattering the undead, and turned his head again, checking on Erin to make sure she was alright. But this time—he was not guarding her alone.

Erin was frozen there, unable to speak or even form a thought. Klbkch seemed to gesture, and two Soldiers appeared out of the darkness. They surrounded her while Klbkch gave orders.

“Harry the undead. Pursue that creature.”

“Oh!”

Erin stared as the Soldiers ran towards Skinner. The red, fleshy, slithering thing was trying to retreat towards its dead skin, but the Soldiers weren’t letting it. They tried to corner Skinner, but it seized a Soldier, ripped his carapace away, and slithered away from them, down a hill.

Skinner screamed in fury as he ran. And he was running, slithering down the incline, a freakish worm-creature from the depths of hell. But he was retreating, nevertheless. His body of skin was gone. The Soldiers chased him, pounding through the grass.

But they were too slow. Too slow. They’d wounded Skinner. One of his ‘hands’ was missing thanks to Klbkch’s blades, and he was bleeding and torn in a dozen places. But he was too fast. Without his body, he would get away.

“Do not slow! The creature must not be allowed to retreat into the ruins!”

Klbkch thundered at his Soldiers. But even Erin could see it. Skinner was too quick. And he was—it was—

The worm laughed. It let out a ghastly, staccato chittering that made Erin’s skin crawl. It looked back as it wriggled away, as if taunting Erin and the others. It laughed, mocking them.

Erin saw the molted flesh it had abandoned still had pieces of metal clinging to it? Armor? It was vulnerable, now.

Skinner had lost his undead. The Antinium were retaking the city. It had lost its skin—but the flesh-thing was still mocking them. It could rebuild it all. If it got away—

Erin gritted her teeth. If she had a weapon or something to throw, she would have—but it was too far away. All she could hear was that taunting, echoing laughter. That high-pitched sound. She wanted to cover her ears, but they were already splashed by blood and worse. It was so loud, so repetitive. In fact—

“What’s that sound?”

Klbkch cocked his head. Erin looked around. She heard something else, another high-pitched noise echoing across the plains. It wasn’t coming from Skinner. It was something else.

“That sound. What is it?”

It was faint, but growing louder. It was a high-pitched sound, countless…countless voices ululating and screaming wildly.

Yiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyi—

Erin knew. She breathed the word.

“Goblins.”

They streamed down one of the hills, countless small shapes lit by torchlight. Light glinted off their weapons and ragtag armor as they ran towards Skinner, faster than it could run. It halted, rearing up onto its serpentine body, seemingly unsure of what to do.

As the Goblins drew nearer, Skinner lanced out. He skewered two Goblins and ripped the skin from another, but there were so many.

One of Skinner’s red, glowing eyes still shone, embedded in the carcass of flesh. That magical light seemed incredulous at the sight it beheld. This? But something else rolled in the depths of Skinner’s gaze. Sudden—abject terror. Erin could feel the fear. The Antinium ignored fear. And Goblins—Goblins were different. Goblins were always afraid.

They swarmed the massive worm, ducking under him as he lashed out with his tendril arms. He bit and screeched, but the Goblins screamed too, louder than him. Skinner tried to wriggle away, but he was caught.

“No way.”

Erin breathed the words incredulously. But the Goblins came on, little green demons with eyes that flashed red in the moonlight. They were just pests. The lowest kind of monster.

But they were quick. And they were everywhere. For each one Skinner killed, five more were stabbing, biting.

They were no match for Skinner. No match for the undead. But they killed the wounded, attacked from behind.

They were cowards like that.

Skinner lashed out. He tore left and right, a fiend, a worm, a parasite living in dead flesh. He had come out of the Ruins, a horror from the past. He had led armies! His armor was gone, though—broken by a traitor. His remaining flesh—ruined. His endless forces—to be brought down by the lowliest monster? Impossible.

But the Goblins stabbed and stabbed, and his vulnerable skin bled.

He collapsed, borne down by the weight of countless small bodies. Skinner thrashed and screamed, but the Goblins drowned out even that. They stabbed, bit, burned him with acid and with fire.

Small jars of acid. They smashed them on Skinner’s side, leaping away as his red skin smoked and he writhed in agony. And fire—a flaming creature of fire was dancing round Skinner, burning him, making the red worm twist as the flames seared his unprotected flesh.

Rags. From her spot on the hill, Erin saw a small Goblin controlling the fire. Her hands glowed red, and her face and body were illuminated by the flame as the spell struck Skinner again and again.

She raised a sword that shone like gold even though it was bronze and stabbed him in the head. Skinner screamed then, and the dead howled with him. Then, slowly, he collapsed.

Skinner, the guardian of the Ruins of Liscor, the death of adventurers and stealer of flesh, opened his mouth to howl one last time. Rags tossed a jar of acid into his mouth, and he convulsed. She pushed the sword deeper, and his body jerked. Once. Twice.

And then he was dead.

The dead stood still, staring at Skinner’s remains. And then, slowly, they moved. Those closest to the living fought on and died. But the others walked away. Back, out of the city, away from the inn. Towards the ruins, down the long dark corridors, into dark places. Back towards the place they had died and risen. Back towards their lair.

Back home.

It was over.

——

Klbkch of the Free Antinium, Prognugator of the Hive, and Senior Guardsman of Liscor sheathed his blades as the last zombie stopped moving. That was who he was today.

Once, he had been called the Slayer of the Antinium. Centenium. True Antinium of Rhir…but today, he was Klbkch of Liscor. For it was Liscor he had come back to defend. Liscor…and an inn.

He stared around the battlefield quietly, making sure all the corpses lay still.

Erin stood next to him, not saying anything either. Just looking.

Death. She saw it everywhere. The corpses, the pieces and blood that stained the ground—

And the friends.

Knight lay against the doorway of her inn, arms stills spread outwards. Other Workers lay around him, still locked in battle. More still dotted the hill. Erin’s eyes picked out each one as the Soldiers collected the bodies.

So much death. So much grief and pain. But at least one small part of the world was right.

Erin stared at Klbkch. Her hands shook, but he took them in his hands and squeezed gently. His chitin was cool and smooth. An alien’s hands. A friend’s hands.

He gestured at her inn, still standing. Light played across its worn exterior, but it was home. Home. A place to rest. A place to be safe.

A place to protect. And after so long, her first guest had come back again.

Tears made Erin’s eyes blurry, but Klbkch just clicked his mandibles together and raised them. The closest thing he could come towards a smile.

They walked to the door in silence. Erin stared down at Knight and gently folded the Antinium’s arms across his chest. Klbkch watched her do it and saw her wipe away the tears.

Erin stood in the doorway and faced Klbkch. He looked at her and saw a girl. Perhaps a woman by some standards, but someone young. Her clothes were covered in blood and gore, and she was cut in places, bruised in others. She had been aged by violence and death and loss. But something still shone in them. Something bright.

There were many things Klbkch could have said. But none were quite right, quite fitting. So he said the only thing he could.

“Greetings, Erin Solstice. May I come in?”

And she smiled and wept and for a moment—

Everything was right again.

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

1.63

Ryoka Griffin was in sight of Liscor when she saw the smoke and found the bodies.

She came across the Gnolls so suddenly she barely stopped in time. A few Goblins picking past the Shield Spiders already trying to drag the corpses into a pit-nest leapt away, screeching in alarm. Ryoka looked around for another ambush—but they just hefted their spears and armor and horsemeat and fled.

Horsemeat? Ryoka’s stomach lurched, and she nearly vomited as she gagged. She saw the remnants of the horses. And the Gnolls.

The Shield Spiders had been at them at least a day. Ryoka turned away, then saw the smoke.

“No. Did she do this? Did—”

Gazi the Omniscient? She was nowhere to be seen. The terrifying Named-rank adventurer that Ryoka had seen pursuing the Gnolls…

There was no way to prove what had happened. Not now. The Gnolls were stripped of armor and weapons. Ryoka remembered the grinning warrior with the silver fang on his fur. Rometh. She looked for him—

Nothing. There was just a horror of fur and blood and—insects. Spiders, competing with the Acid Flies that made the innards of the corpses glow. The flies and spiders ignored each other. The Shield Spiders would not try to eat the deadly flies. Both offended her to her core. Ryoka stomped a tiny spider scuttling towards a furred hand matted in blood.

“Get away from them. Get—”

She saw the milling cascade of limbs turn on her and ran as she heard the chittering. She would have gone back—but then she saw the smoke.

It rose ever higher from Liscor in the distance. She could not see the city well from the hill and valley where she had found the Gnolls. But she knew where it was.

“No. Nonono. It wasn’t her, was it?”

There was no way. But then—what about the Horns? Ryoka turned back to the bodies. But she couldn’t kill the spiders. If she came back, she might try to get someone to bury them. But…

“Ceria? Calruz?”

Ryoka began to run faster. She didn’t know that someone had observed her coming through the Floodplains. A silent woman with a claymore stood miles away and watched as Ryoka ran. Ran—seeking her friends.

But she was too late. The day Ryoka arrived was the day after Skinner died. She arrived as the funeral pyres were still burning the undead to ash. She saw the churned earth around Liscor and a ways away—a battered building that drew her eye. Torn and damaged. But standing.

An inn.

——

[Innkeeper Level 18!]

[Skill – Immunity: Alcohol obtained!]

[Skill – Quick Recovery obtained!]

Erin didn’t know that she’d slept. She raised her head and realized she was sitting down. Dawn had come, but she had only drifted off for a second.

The sky was still mostly dark. But light still illuminated the grasslands. Dancing shadows. Twisting flames.

Fire.

The Antinium were burning the dead. All of them. They had created a huge pyre of bodies and set it alight. The terrible, suffocating smoke fanned away from the inn, but Erin’s eyes still burned. Or perhaps it was just her grief.

The bodies of the Workers were gone. Sometime when she hadn’t been watching, the Soldiers had taken them away. Erin had asked one of the surviving Workers—Bird—where they had gone. He told her she didn’t want to know.

Now, Bird sat on the ground outside of the first bonfire, so vast and hot that it was baking the ground, splitting the earth and threatening to set the cold grass on fire. The heat and light reflected off his armor. Green blood had dried from terrible bites that had torn into his chest and arms.

But the Worker just sat there, staring up at the twisting column of smoke. It rose like some mournful creature, great and terrible and beautiful. But for the stench. Into that dark sky turning brighter with each second. Bird saw the beauty of it.

Erin did too—but it hurt too much for her to take in his simple, childish wonder. Even now, the other Workers that had lived looked up at the sky as if it could make up for that dark, horrific night. As if there were something still to believe in.

What would happen to them? What came next?

She was afraid to ask more. Even of Klbkch. He had barely left her side all night. Now, he stood on the hill, staring down at a large shape several hundred meters away.

Erin got up and walked to his side. He turned his head slightly, but continued looking down. Erin stared at the red, elongated form of the creature that had lived in dead flesh and led an army of the dead. It was still surrounded by the Goblins that had felled it. Many had paid with their lives. But many more were claiming victory, looting the undead and milling around. They had even torn the ruined pieces of armor away and were trying to beat the scraps into tools and armor for themselves.

Something was different about Skinner’s body this morning. He seemed…diminished. Erin stared down as the Goblins milled around him, and then she realized what was going on.

“Are they…eating it?”

“Yes.”

Her stomach roiled. But Klbkch was unmoved, and so too were the Goblins. They tore into the red body of Skinner, tearing him apart, drinking the fluids and—

She couldn’t watch. Erin went back to her inn and threw up in the outhouse. It was still standing, at least. It needed repairs. Everything needed repairs.

She sat on the toilet Pawn and the other Antinium had built and rested her head in her hands. She was so tired, still. She would have given everything to sleep. But sleep was a luxury, and she owed a debt of pain.

First things first. Her…level. Yes, she’d leveled up three times. Was that a lot? Probably. And she had new skills.

They were an [Innkeeper]’s skills. And they were worthless. Trash.

“Shit.”

Yes. Erin glanced at the wood walls of the outhouse. Less than crap. That was how she felt about her levels and skills at the moment.

It felt wrong to level when her friends had died. It felt wrong to be stronger in exchange for killing things. But there was nothing Erin could do about it. She felt like vomiting or punching a hole in the wall of the outhouse. She nearly did, but stopped herself.

Erin walked back out and stood next to Klbkch. After a while, she had the courage to ask him what she couldn’t last night.

“How many?”

He looked at her, and Erin wondered if he was going to lie. But after a second, he spoke again.

She listened to the numbers. When they were just numbers, it didn’t seem so bad. But when she stared at the bodies, it was too terrible to be counted.

Twenty-seven Goblins lay in the grass. Too many. Even in Skinner’s last moments, he had killed with terrible ease.

Of the thirty-two Workers that had chosen to save her, four remained. Bird, Garry, Belgrade, and Anand. They lay in her inn or sat propped up, wounds covered by some kind of sticky red substance. The Antinium had little in the way of medicine, but they were tough. They would heal.

Less than a hundred people had died around Erin’s inn. Too many, but in the city, it had been worse, or so Klbkch told her.

“Over two hundred guardsmen and nearly a thousand civilians perished before the Hive was mobilized. Had they broken the Watch Captain’s lines, the number would be tenfold despite our sortie. She acted very bravely.”

She hadn’t even known there were that many guardsmen in the city. But they’d had healing potions and armor and—it was just a number.

“How many Antinium? Your people…?”

“Three hundred sixty-five Soldiers and a hundred and forty-seven Workers. Nearly half again as many are wounded, but the losses were quite minimal.”

“…Really?”

She couldn’t imagine that many. The number, yes. But so many…if she thought of each one being a member of her chess club, it was too many. One was too many to call minimal.

Yet Klbkch seemed to think it was some kind of grand victory.

He shrugged.

“A war would be tenfold higher at the very least. A hundredfold. It was a small price to pay and would have been smaller still had my predecessor not erred. Had we fought alongside the Watch, we would have pushed the undead back without taking nearly so many losses. Had they held the gates, less than a hundred might have died.”

“Why didn’t you, then? I mean—he. Ksmvr. Ksmvr…didn’t fight?”

A pause. Klbkch clicked his mandibles softly. He made her want to hug him with all her strength, and he was simultaneously frightening. She had seen him cutting down undead after undead, and now she understood his nickname.

Slayer. This morning, he talked as if he had merely had a long night. He had—something of Gazi in him. And his voice was cold as it referred to his replacement.

“Ksmvr believed the Queen had to be protected above all else. He withdrew all Soldiers into the Hive while she finished the Rite of Anastases.”

“Why did he do that? What Rite?”

“The process to revive me. It was a delicate matter that occupied the Queen’s full attention. Without her guidance, Ksmvr did what he deemed best. He chose wrongly.”

“Oh.”

Klbkch nodded calmly. He went on, listing the things he had to do on one hand.

“There is much that must be done. Reparations must be made to the city. The Antinium did not honor their promise. We must rebuild, put up barriers outside the Ruins.”

“And you’re going to do it? You’re the new Prognugator? Or does Ksmvr still have that job?”

“He does not.”

Klbkch shook his head as he watched a Soldier dragging a body towards the burning heap.

“Ksmvr was a fool. He nearly cost the Hive the city, our position here and status across the continent, and…other assets. I will deal with him soon enough.”

For a while, Erin and the Antinium watched the dead burn. She swayed on her feet. Klbkch watched in silence.

“Yes. Many things.”

“Klbkch?”

“Yes, Erin?”

“How did you come back?”

“It is called the Rite of Anastases. It is a…process which the Queen of the Antinium may undertake. It allows the dead to be reborn into a new body. A secret of the Antinium.”

“Oh.”

Erin thought about that for a second.

“Okay. I understand. I think. Then…does that mean you can revive the others who died?”

“Others? Ah. You mean the individuals who were once Workers. No.”

“Why not?”

He hesitated.

“In truth, only a Prognugator would be considered…worthy of the effort and time required for such an act. Moreover, it is not something done lightly. There are consequences. I have lost ten levels in every class. A considerable setback, although my new body reduces the impact on my abilities quite significantly. And the time it took—my Queen labored for nearly two weeks without rest to restore my being.”

“That’s a lot of work.”

“There were other material costs as well. The Hive would not be able to support such an action more than once or twice. The others—”

“I get it.”

It nearly didn’t hurt. Nearly. But it was just another cut in a heart bleeding from a thousand places.

“They died well. I would not have expected mere—they rose above what they were. For that, I honor them.”

“Thanks.”

For once, Klbkch didn’t seem to know how to reply. Erin looked at him. He was as he had been, but different.

“What’s with the new body? Upgrades?”

He nodded.

“The Prognugator role was never meant for specialized action. Moreover, it was thought that the Worker form would allow a Prognugator to blend in to reduce the dangers of assassination during times of war. This new form will greatly improve my abilities.”

“Two arms are better than four?”

“Yes. I am swifter, more mobile, and possess several changes to my anatomy not incorporated into other Antinium. The older design of four arms was inefficient. This new body will serve me better.”

“Harder, better, faster, stronger, huh?”

“That is broadly correct, yes.”

“Okay.”

Klbkch was watching her. Erin knew, even if he didn’t have pupils to follow her. He hadn’t really let her leave his sight since that night. She was so tired.

“Thanks for saving me. Really.”

“It was nothing.”

“It was something.”

“Yes.”

She looked at him. Just the same as always. And then she looked at her inn. She looked at the broken wood, at the marks of violence, and at the place where a Worker named Knight had died. She looked at the dead and the Soldiers. She remembered a half-Elf, a Minotaur, a Drake obsessed with chess, and a bunch of smiling faces.

Klbkch saw Erin fold up and fall backwards. He tried to catch her, but she thumped back into the soft grass.

“Miss Solstice. Are you alright?”

Erin smiled emptily as Klbkch hovered over her. She raised one hand and let it fall.

“I’m just going to lie down for a while.”

She lay in the trampled grass as the Goblins feasted, listening to the dead burn.

Erin wept.

——

Selys sat in the Adventurer’s Guild, listening to Zevara argue with the guildmaster. Her grandmother. Not argue, really. Tekshia wanted to give out rewards to the people who had killed monsters. Zevara wanted her Watch to be included in that number, to hand out bonuses to them.

Tekshia told Zevara to take it up with the Council because the Adventurer’s Guild didn’t have enough funding. Zevara insisted she wanted that on top of a bonus from the Council to all the [Guards] who’d risked their lives.

This was background noise to Selys. She stared dreamily at her bandaged wrist and felt the healing cuts on her legs and torso burning and itching.

Even after a day, Liscor was silent. The streets were still busy, and the people still spoke. But it was a different place. Death and destruction had taken their toll, and people still mourned.

But they had survived. They had all come out stronger for their ordeals. Selys was now a [Warrior] and had gained several levels in her [Hunter] class. It was a wonderful thing, especially since she hadn’t leveled in a month.

But she was still tired. Then the reasonable debate turned into a full-blown argument. Selys turned her head as Zevara brought something else up, and this time, Tekshia refused to even hear her out.

“I want those Humans responsible for unleashing the undead held accountable!”

The Captain of the Watch was exhausted, bloody, and had saved Liscor. Selys knew her if not in person, then by reputation. She was a good leader, and she had saved countless lives during the battle with the undead. Her voice was raw, and she coughed every few words now.

Ancestor-touched. Dragon’s child.

Oldblood.

Selys thought the words, but didn’t say them out loud. Zevara had breathed fire to hold the undead back. She was a hero. But she was wrong in this.

“All the adventurers who went in are dead. Only a handful remain, and they’re in no condition to repay anyone for anything. They’ve suffered enough. Leave them alone.”

The Guildmistress of the Adventurer’s Guild in Liscor, an elderly Drake with dusky purple scales, shot back when Zevara stopped to breathe. The Drake Captain coughed a few times and glared at the old Drake, but she was unmoved. She might have bullied someone else.

But the old Drake had fought as well and saved just as many lives. She leaned on her staff this morning, looking tired. She’d finished three cups of tea Selys had brewed, and she barred Zevara’s way with her spear.

“They have nothing. Nothing will be gained from blaming them, either. The Council was glad enough when they volunteered to explore the ruins. This is on their tails as much as ours.”

“The Council wants to hold someone responsible. And if it won’t be the adventurers, it will be this Guild. You choose which one.”

Selys winced, but her grandmother just sighed.

“Stubborn child. If you really wish to push this—Selys!”

Selys jumped and tried to shuffle some papers around. Her grandmother raised her voice.

“Take Zevara to the leader of the adventurers she wants to blame so badly. Let her make her case there.”

That clearly wasn’t what Zevara had been expecting. The taller Drake hesitated when Selys poked her head around the corner.

“Um. Hi. Follow me, Watch Captain.”

She led Zevara up the stairs and into a part of the Guild reserved for injured adventurers or those in need of a place to sleep for a night. It was a section of the second floor, only large enough to house three separate adventurers at a time. And one room was occupied.

Selys pushed open the door carefully. Zevara’s breath caught as the door swung open to reveal the lone occupant.

A Human sat in a white bed, staring emptily out one window. It was a bright day with clear skies in Liscor. A bit chilly given it was winter, but winter had not yet arrived, and Yvlon Byres took no notice of the temperature.

She paid no attention to anything at all, really.

Half of the skin on her face had been torn away. Her long blonde hair was ragged; her fair skin cut and marred. She stared empty-eyed through the window, sitting and looking at nothing.

Her armor had been torn to shreds when they’d cut her out of it. Even now, Selys could remember the Human woman screaming. But now she was silent. It was little better.

“Human.”

Yvlon didn’t move. She didn’t blink. Zevara called out a few times, but Yvlon was still. The Watch Captain hesitated.

“If you’re going to try and shake her, you might as well give up. She doesn’t respond.”

Zevara turned towards the elderly drake as Selys rearranged the pillow around Yvlon, trying not to touch the female Human. She avoided the empty stare as well as Zevara, and her grandmother whispered.

“She has no coin or anything else. Everything she owned was lost in the Ruins. Her comrades, her pride, her health—what more would you take from her, good Captain?”

Zevara glared down at the older Drake, lips tight, tail thrashing.

“Someone must pay.”

“Someone must. But I don’t believe she or any of the adventurers has enough coin to cover the costs.”

Zevara looked back at Yvlon. The adventurer sat quietly in bed, back straight, hands folded. Face scarred.

The Watch Captain shook her head. She had a million things to do. Relc was patrolling for any undead while the rest of the guardsmen rebuilt. She had to go through the roster of wounded and dead, focus on rebuilding the city, address the Antinium issue for the Council.

She turned her heel. It was pointless to waste her time here arguing with a Drake three times as old as she was. Zevara strode away and turned her head only once.

Yvlon stared into the blue sky, a few feet away and a thousand miles gone. Zevara stared into her empty eyes and left.

——

Toren sat on the roof of the inn, staring at nothing and everything at the same time. Below him, Erin pounded away with a hammer, covering up broken windows with boards. She’d banned him from helping the second time he’d put a hole in a wall.

He hadn’t meant to. But on the other hand, he’d meant to. Some part of Toren knew that was the only way to earn a reprieve. And he wanted one. For the first time, he wanted to stop and think.

The skeleton sat on the roof, staring out at the empty plains. From here, he could see Liscor in the distance. The city seemed whole, and it was rebuilding quickly, according to Erin. But much like the area around the inn, marks of the battle still remained.

The battle. Toren still remembered Skinner, still remembered the countless enemies and only the pure joy of battle coupled with the need to keep Erin safe. It had been glorious, liberating.

And all too short.

It was a curious thing. He had leveled, and in doing so, he had become more. More…himself. He could think, act, feel on a level he had not previously.

Level 11.

That was what he was. It was…eight levels? Yes, a huge leap. But he had earned each one. The part of Toren that thought and remembered wondered if it was because he had wounded the large flesh-stealing creature so badly. That and the countless number of his brethren he had slain had done it.

He wondered how many levels the small Goblin had gained. How many levels her tribe had gained. It was meaningless, and yet it was not. Why should he care what level a Goblin was? Unless she was a threat, it was meaningless.

But some part of Toren wondered. And it was that part which had awakened after the battle as he had gained those levels. He had begun to think, and that was a mystery in itself. A welcome one to be sure, but vexing nonetheless.

Now, he could ask why he obeyed. Now, he could think of Erin as a person, not just as a master. Now, he could wonder…

The red gemstone turned in his skeletal hands. Toren could sense the magic contained within. He had taken it from the creature of skin, plucked it away. It had powerful magic. It had fear; he understood that much. But how might he use it? Should he use it? Should he give it to Erin?

No. Yes. Perhaps. It was not so simple anymore. Toren studied the gemstone. It was red, darker red than crimson. The red of dried blood and death. He had taken it from Skinner; he didn’t know where its twin had gone. But one was all he needed.

Needed…for what exactly? Toren wasn’t sure, but he was beginning to understand. Something was calling to him. He didn’t know what yet, but he would in time. If he had more levels, he would understand more. And when he did, perhaps he would think more. Perhaps he would question more. And then when he had levelled enough—

“Hey, Toren! Get your bony butt down here and help me lift this thing!”

A voice from below. His master’s. Or was it mistresses’? He had had a master, once. The mage called Pisces. But he was no longer a master. Was Erin a master? Or a mistress? Or was she neither? Another question.

He had so many. But not enough time to consider them, and Erin was beginning to yell again.

Toren got up without sighing. Skeletons didn’t sigh. But he looked at the red crimson eye in his hand. She would not want it. She would take it away. Therefore, he had thought about what to do.

Carefully, very carefully, he opened his mouth and placed the gem inside. It was quite simple. A bit of sticky tar used for repairing the inn’s roof and it could be stored in the hollow of his skull, where brains were normally kept. That way no one would see it.

It was the [Tactician] part of him that suggested it, and the rest of him agreed. Toren made sure the gemstone was firmly tucked away and stuck in place before he leapt from the rooftop. He was stronger now, that was clear. Strong enough to help Erin wrestle the planks of wood into place and hold them there while she hammered nails haphazardly into the wood.

Stronger, yes, and more aware. But what would that lead to? What would he become?

For the first time, Toren asked these questions. And for the first time, he was curious to find out the answer.

A bit of crimson light flashed in the blue flames of his eyes. Only for a second.

——

The morning lengthened on, and many important things happened. Just like yesterday and the day before that. They were important things, surely, for each person who experienced them thought of themselves as important.

In his hiding place in the plains, Pisces dragged away another body he had managed to save from the purging flames. It was an effort to bring them so far, but worth it. He propped the Ghoul’s headless body against a wall and studied the piece of the dead Crypt Lord that occupied most of the dirt cave. He smiled gleefully, as a child about to unwrap a present might. But he wavered a moment before he tried to copy the design wholesale.

There was love of death and…he stared at the Crypt Lord’s face and remembered how the undead had poured in.

“It should be more beautiful than that. It must be. I have to prove to her why I am different. Why I am—better.”

That was all he said. Then he continued his studies.

——

Somehow, after that terrible night of death and carnage, the world was still turning on. Liscor even had visitors coming through the gates. The Watch was busy checking for remaining undead and helping clear the rubble, but the presence on the walls of Liscor was strong.

It meant it was easier to steal and cause trouble if you were a thief. Most of Liscor’s underworld criminals were inactive, though, perhaps counting how close they too had come to being slaughtered.

Yet a young woman, a Human girl, a thief—crouched in an alleyway, scarfing down baked treats she’d stolen from a bakery window. She was figuring out what she needed next. She wouldn’t have cared if the undead had killed all the filthy lizards and furry half-breeds in the city. She was starving, alone, and desperate.

Her head only rose when a vehicle rolled past the mouth of the alley. The girl crept forwards—and her eyes went wide. She stared at the pinkest carriage she had ever seen in her life, which Drakes and Gnolls glanced up at.

Some recognized it, yet vaguely, for it had never come to Liscor before. But the girl—she dropped one of her half-eaten rolls and ran, shouting.

“Magnolia! Magnolia Reinhart! It’s me!”

She ran, waving her hands, as the carriage navigated the streets and pedestrians. The driver turned his head back—and the young woman with dyed blonde hair already revealing fiery red roots threw back a hood, lifting a hand. She expected to be recognized.

A window rolled down, and for a second, she caught a glimpse of the woman inside.

Lady Magnolia Reinhart was speaking to the air, through a [Communication] spell so powerful that the girl couldn’t see who she was talking to. She glanced out, and the young woman saw her gaze pass absently over her face. Magnolia stared behind her—then calmly rolled the window back up.

The carriage accelerated. The thief ran after it, screaming now, but it just rolled away until she lost it in the streets. She only gave up when one of the Gnoll [Guardswomen] asked if something was wrong. Then she fled, cursing Magnolia’s name.

——

Ressa looked back through the one-way glass window enchanted to be proof against arrows and magic and casual observers. She had seen the young woman and recognized her.

“She made it all the way here. That’s actually commendable. Was that—kind?”

Her voice was careful, and the normally taciturn [Maid] looked up as Magnolia Reinhart lifted a finger. The [Lady] glanced up, and she spoke to a sulking figure in the air.

“One moment, Teriarch. Ressa—I am speaking to an old man with difficulties in splitting his attention. Really, do you think this is appropriate?”

The [Maid] just folded her arms and glanced pointedly behind her where the young woman had been.

“Old man? You go too far, child. First, you give me orders to find people as if I were your personal [Diviner]. Then you lecture me on—”

Magnolia muted the spell with a finger. She looked back as well, though the ‘thief’ had long vanished. Her face was…inhospitable in this moment.

Tight. She looked so pained that Ressa almost forgave her uncharitableness. The [Lady] took another deep breath.

“That girl. What of her, Ressa? Yes, I saw her. Yes, she made it far. Commendable in some respects.”

“She might die out here. She didn’t look like she was doing well. Theofore claims she’s mostly stealing.”

Magnolia made a disgusted sound as she tapped her lips.

“Has she considered working? One imagines she could.”

“No…nor does she seem keen on speaking with any Drakes or Gnolls. But her gold’s run out.”

“She has quite a lot on her. If I took her in, then what? She would be the most insufferable headache imaginable. To me, personally, to you…”

Ressa grimaced, and Magnolia went on. Teriarch had huffily closed the spell when he realized he was muted. Typical.

The carriage was slowing, and she wasn’t looking behind her. Only ahead at the two-story building they’d come to. The sign was simple, ubiquitous…and Magnolia saw the driver leap out and open the door for her. But she hesitated as Ressa got out. Her eyes fixed on that sign, and she paused a second.

Adventurer’s Guild.

When she did leave the carriage, Magnolia nodded to the man standing in his prim suit, attracting stares from the Drakes and Gnolls.

“Thank you, Reynold. I—I may take a while.”

“Very good, Lady Reinhart. I shall take the carriage around back.”

He stepped back, and Magnolia looked into the guild as a [Receptionist] poked her head over the counter and saw two more [Maids] appear and hold the doors open. Selys’ jaw dropped, but Magnolia just stared inside, then turned.

“Ressa. I have so much to do. And so little time for someone who does nothing with everything. I would rather…”

Her gaze flitted towards the staircase as Guildmistress Tekshia herself stomped over, facing Magnolia and Ressa warily. Magnolia’s lips moved.

“…I would rather take all my time for those who try for everything. Should I have meddled?”

She looked lost, a moment, and Ressa stared at her mistress in silence.

“You let them try.”

“Yes.”

That was all Magnolia said. Then she turned and smiled with a faraway look at Tekshia, and Selys, eyes wide, heard the [Lady]’s voice.

“Guildmistress.”

“Lady Reinhart. Is that how I should address you?”

The woman laughed. That laugh was fake, polite—and her eyes were still elsewhere. Above. She looked up those stairs, and Tekshia’s glance at her became knowing.

“Oh. Are you here for your guest? If you want to take her…”

“No. No, Guildmistress. I am not here. In fact, I should be grateful if you let me tarry a moment…then I will depart. Without interfering in your city or falling afoul of your Council. I know that I am not—well liked here.”

“Some wouldn’t mind your presence. I—personally think you’re a dangerous distraction. But fine. You have a right to see her. You two are related, aren’t you?”

“Distantly.”

Magnolia began to walk for the stairs, ignoring everyone else. A few of the adventurers seemed to realize she was important, but Magnolia really had come like a ghost. She only halted when Tekshia put her spear out to block her. Ressa had a hand on the spear’s haft—and the two, Drake and Human, stared at each other.

“Is something wrong, Guildmistress? I hope you do not wish to bring up—the past at this moment.”

“Not at all.”

The Drake held Magnolia’s gaze. Then she held out a claw.

“—I just thought that if you were here, you could settle this young woman’s accommodations. Especially if you aren’t taking her. Liscor is rebuilding, and the Adventurer’s Guild doesn’t take charity.”

Magnolia’s eyes flickered. For a moment, they looked—upset. Then she exhaled. She looked about the city, where Drakes and Gnolls were rebuilding. She nodded to Ressa, and the [Maid], expressionless, dipped a hand into a bag of holding and produced a note. Magnolia nodded to her, and the [Maid] scribbled on it before producing a wax seal and her sapphire-silver Runner’s seal.

“Will—this do? For lodging?”

Tekshia regarded the note and snatched it from Ressa’s hand.

“I think the Watch Captain will appreciate it. It will keep her from jailing the survivors. Selys, send a Runner for the Merchant’s Guild and make a list of the homes that got wrecked. And the families that lost members of the Watch. That idiot, Lism, might know about children.”

“Y-yes, Grandmother.”

“It’s Guildmaster. This way, Reinhart. You won’t take her?”

One old, yellow eye, still sharp as an edge of topaz, swung to regard Magnolia. The [Lady] blinked.

It was almost as if she hadn’t been paying attention, despite the sum that was making Selys’ eyes pop and hold onto the little card like it was an artifact. She looked at Tekshia—and smiled. This time, the smile seemed as if someone had stabbed her.

“No. I let my family make their own choices, for better or worse. I do not interfere. Would you think less of me for that?”

The [Guildmistress] looked Magnolia in the eyes, then at her granddaughter.

“I don’t bother with holding tails. I let the young make their own mistakes. It worked with me.”

“How else would they rise?”

The Human woman agreed absently. She followed Tekshia up the stairs to the few guest rooms the Adventurer’s Guild in Liscor had. But she stopped at the door as Tekshia opened it. She whispered, then.

“—If only I could catch them as they fell.”

Then she walked into that room and sat down. A blank-faced young woman with blonde hair stared past her. She didn’t react as Magnolia Reinhart sat on a stool that Ressa found, arranging her skirts. Magnolia reached out as Tekshia glanced at them—then closed the door.

“Yvlon? My dear—it’s me. Can you hear me?”

There was no response. Just a blank, blue stare as lost as the sun amidst the clouds. Magnolia glanced at the skin torn from her face.

“Ressa, can you…? An ointment or something?”

“She may want the scar.”

Magnolia’s eyes flashed—then she moderated her tone.

“A scar will haunt her—perhaps she will want it. But one cannot be undone. Something, Ressa.”

“Very well.”

The [Maid] fussed around at her belt, then produced a poultice, not a healing potion, and dabbed it carefully across the wound. Yvlon shivered—but it was an automatic reaction. There was no one behind those blue eyes. Her hand was limp. Magnolia sat there, speaking, but there…there was no reaction.

“Will she recover, Ressa? She looks as Ulva did after Petra died.”

“I can’t say. She’s tough. Her entire family is.”

Done, Ressa closed the lid on the jar and stood. Yvlon kept staring out the window as Magnolia squeezed her hand tighter. She sat, hearing the Adventurer’s Guild move around her, the banging in the distance of [Carpenters], and occasionally, watching as Yvlon Byres blinked.

“I am sorry, Yvlon. I am so…I hoped you would come out of there covered in glory. I did not know. I cannot be everywhere. I should be, but I am one woman. Even now, you will not see me for some time. I am going north. Leaving all of you to your fates.”

She waited, perhaps hoping that blank face would turn to her and show something angry. Blue eyes…not green like emeralds, but Magnolia Reinhart spoke softly.

“You did all you could. You…were so brave. I am sure you were. If I could have—I always hope you succeed. You did not need me. That was what I thought. I am an unkind [Lady] of House Reinhart because I always expect it of you and all the others. I truly did think I would see you at a party in your honor. Now, I wish I could stay. But…”

She looked north. Yvlon sat there, her blonde hair untidy. Someone had helped cut her out of the remains of her silver armor. She looked perfectly fine for the nightmare she had escaped—save for the scar of flesh ripped from her features. Ressa’s ointment covered it, orange and smelling faintly acrid.

The white sheets, the calm, little guest room looked too perfect for the scar. The city, likewise, almost pleasant until you saw how people mourned in the streets in knots and how the smell of dead flesh and the acrid burning of the corpses lingered in the air.

The sunlight fell across Magnolia’s own dirtier blonde hair. She did not look like a young woman in her prime, an adventurer filled with dreams of fame and success like Yvlon had but a day ago. Her gaze seemed to be, like the city, no longer as pure.

Scarred. As if the wound on Yvlon’s face were long healed and a figment captured in Magnolia’s stare. All of that followed her head as it looked north. As if tracing a line of responsibility for her to follow. Her voice was low as she spoke, enunciating each word into the small room such that it felt like they left a trail. Echoing.

“…There are those who did not seek this. Something is happening, Yvlon. I need to seek it out. This time—I can’t be too late.”

She gazed back at Yvlon, and her hand squeezed tight on the yong woman’s.

“You have lost your team. Your friends. This moment must seem unbearable.”

Even now, Yvlon’s face never changed. But she flinched, and Magnolia Reinhart stood there, her own eyes glittering. Cold, green diamonds. Not merciless—pained, but harsh.

“You have lost more than you can dream. Yet, and yet, Yvlon Byres—mourn. Weep. Sit there as long as you must. But Izril will demand you to one day rise again and stand. You must. You will.”

Her gaze sought something in Yvlon’s expression—with such a painful—selfishness. As if she hoped that the young woman’s gaze would sharpen within a day of all of this. But nothing changed, and after six minutes, Magnolia slowly let go of Yvlon’s hand. She rose, painfully, trying to linger—but she did rise.

“I wish I could stay.”

Then she turned, hesitated by the doorframe—and spoke quietly to her [Maid]. Magnolia Reinhart looked back once, her eyes lighting on Yvlon’s face a mix of emotions she could not express in mere words. Then she was gone, her carriage rolling north. She could not undo time for Yvlon. So she spent only a moment here.

And still—the city kept breathing. It kept moving as Yvlon Byres blankly stared out the window, seeing nothing at all. People.

Changing.

——

Relc patrolled the city; Ksmvr knelt trembling before his wroth Queen. Garia ran her deliveries, wondering all the while where her friend had gone. And more. More people carried out their lives and shaped the world in ways small and large.

But one girl ran through the grass, tired, exhausted. She had run for two days, running back through the grass, north along seldom-used roads from the Blood Fields. She had left in anger and despair. But as morning came over Liscor—

Ryoka returned.

——

It took her two hours to get to the city through the Floodplains. When she arrived, Ryoka stopped and stared a while. She wandered into the city and smelled burnt flesh, walked past destroyed homes, and heard those mourning the dead. She came to the Adventurer’s Guild in a daze, never seeing the pink carriage already pulling out the northern gates.

She asked about her friends. She asked about Ceria and Calruz and Gerial and Sostrom. She listened and felt the world drop away.

The Drake receptionist took her to a small room with a small bed. She opened the door, and Ryoka sat next to Yvlon for a while. The other girl’s eyes were blank, and she scratched at the scarred flesh on her face. Healing potions could close a lot of wounds. But sometimes…

After a while, Ryoka stood up. Yvlon paid no notice. The girl walked out of the guild and out of the city. She walked towards the ruins and saw the entrance had been blockaded. Twenty giant ant-men stood in front of a wall of dirt, barring entry.

She watched them until it was too much to bear. Ryoka left the ruins and walked through the long grass outside of Liscor. She walked until she was lost among the grass, walking and walking without a purpose.

Ryoka never noticed the Goblin that rose out of the grass, following her. She never noticed the large rock that moved towards her slowly. She walked on, staring at the sky.

She did not cry. She did not rage. She was empty. Emptiness became her.

Guilt and sadness was the air she breathed. Death walked next to her and whispered in her ear. Ryoka walked and scarcely thought.

When it was all too much, Ryoka stopped. The Goblin drew a sharp knife from his side, and the moving stone crept up on both Goblin and Humans, unnoticed.

Ryoka took a deep breath. She stood in the plains and screamed. The moving boulder jerked. The Goblin froze.

Large, leathery birds rose out of the grass in panic. They flew away as the Goblin leapt back, clapping his hands to his ears, and the Rock Crab scuttled back in alarm. The sound pierced the air, travelled miles, and made travellers on the road look up at the sky.

Ryoka screamed until she could bear it no more. She punched at the ground wildly, tore at her own hair. She screamed and screamed until her body was unable to scream any more.

Then Ryoka stopped.

Her throat was raw, and she coughed and tasted blood. Ryoka had to sip from one of the healing potions she’d bought before she could breathe without agony.

She walked on, despairing. Ryoka tripped over a rock and fell face-first onto the ground. She lay there a while. Empty.

After a while, her stomach growled. Ryoka ignored it.

She lay on the ground, cursing it. She cursed the blue sky and the citizens of Liscor and the adventurers. She cursed the undead, the monster that had killed her friends. She cursed the dead gods, the ones she had known, the world she now lived in, and the one she had come from. She cursed all things and especially herself.

This is who she was. This is who she had been. Ryoka was filled with that same self-loathing she had gone to the Bloodfields with. But she had come back all this way, survived Persua and it all so she could…

Apologize. Apologize to whom? They were gone. Yvlon was the only survivor, and she hadn’t moved a muscle as Ryoka talked to her. Ryoka’s tears trickled into the grass. She should never have gone.

She should have come back sooner. Ryoka lay there for what must have been an hour as the Goblin with the knife stared at her. She was utterly defenseless.

The knife-Goblin looked at Ryoka, then at the distant Goblins celebrating their victory over Skinner. It stared at the little Chieftain, Rags, and then at that broken inn on a hill. All these things the Goblin weighed. Did they matter at all?

It looked at the tears falling from the young woman. And the Goblin—put away its knife. He walked away, and Ryoka lay there. Weeping into the grass.

——

After a while, her stomach growled again. This time, Ryoka listened and sat up.

She scrubbed at her face with handfuls of grass and looked around. Evening. She was starving and lost. But when she looked towards Liscor, she saw a building on a hill. When Ryoka drew closer, she saw it was an inn.

Like the city, it had been touched by death and battle. The inn was cracked in places, broken in others. The ground was churned in places; the soil upturned and grass trampled. An outhouse around back had been smashed in one part.

Everything had been hastily patched back up. Ryoka eyed the boards nailed clumsily together. They spoke of life, and she was starving.

She looked up at the sign above the inn.

The Wandering Inn. Like the rest of the building, the words were scratched in places, and green blood had dried on part of the sign.

Yet still the inn stood. It drew Ryoka, although she couldn’t say why. Here was a place to rest. A place to eat, perhaps. Or just a place to wait until the pain went away.

It would do.

Ryoka put her hand on the door and hesitated. She stared at the half-ruined building. Then she turned away.

If her friends had been inside, laughing and celebrating their near escape or even wounded, in need of help, Ryoka would have pushed that door in and come in shyly, begging forgiveness. But they were gone. She had been told this was where they were staying. What was there inside?

Nothing for her. Ryoka stepped back. Her heart still hurt too much for words, much less mundane company. Ryoka turned, ignoring her stomach. She was empty.

She walked down the slope, not knowing where she was going. Perhaps north. Perhaps nowhere. She just had to run. Run, and run.

Because there was nothing left to stop for anymore.

Ryoka took out her iPhone and turned it on. She began to walk and then to jog. She made it ten steps before a sound distracted her.

Her phone began to ring. Ryoka stared at it. Slowly, she hit the glowing green button and raised her phone to her ear.

“…Hello?”

End of Volume 1

Author’s Note:

It has been seven years, I think. Seven years since I began writing Volume 1 of The Wandering Inn, at the beginning of all of this.

If it was six or eight, don’t correct me. Seven sounds better. I will be publishing Volume 1, rewritten, on my birthday. With it, I am finally happy enough to let this be printed, and while I have kept the bones of the old story, I have added and tweaked and rewritten some chapters because I am a far better author than I was.

All the old chapters will be kept up for people to read if they wish, but this is better. Better because I did not erase what made the old good, but added onto it, I feel.

I have many people to thank. All my readers for making The Wandering Inn more popular than I could have hoped for. Diana Gill for editing it. My assistant and agent for helping organize all this. And my beta-reading crew and the typo-killing squad, who went through hundreds of thousands of words to make this the best experience possible.

I do not share much about myself, because I am not much of a public person. I am at my best when I am writing, and while sometimes I’d love to be a public author, I think ‘pirateaba’ is my best side. Writers are not necessarily good at speaking, and fame is like a rabid squirrel. You may want to chase it, until it bites you. And then it never lets go and you’re infected.

…The point I am making is this. I have written The Wandering Inn for seven years. It is the most I have devoted to anything in my life except perhaps school—and this is one project. After seven years, I am a far better writer than when I began, and I am glad to come back and give new readers the experience the story deserves.

It is not perfect, and I am learning. But the web serial continues. We are on Volume 9 and there is a ways to go. I hope I can make it. My birthday is tomorrow. When you read this, I will be old. My time is short and I fear I may not make it to the end.

I’m turning 30 tomorrow. I was 23 when I began. That’s my pirateaba fact after seven years, and yes, this is an attack on anyone older than me. The Wandering Inn has been an amazing amount of change for me, writing it and learning. Everything that comes after and because of this story is amazing. Thanks for reading, or re-reading, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

–pirateaba

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Interlude – The Call

[User Rose has joined the conversation.]

[15 Users Connected]

[Squirtle344]  – Lol. Another one!

[BlackMage] – Rose, welcome. Glad you made it.

[batman] – SUP.

[Rose] – Okaaaaaay. Magical floating screen. o.o

[strider_479] – That was the last one in several minutes. Looks like most of us are here so do we want to get things started?

[plusOne] – what is this?? how is this happening?

[Level 12 Warrior] – ikr? Floating screen popped up after I answered the phone. i nearly died!

[Rose] – Is this some kind of Skype call?

[strider_479] – More like a magical chatroom. I’m not sure how this is possible, though.

[BlackMage] – Right, let me start things off. I’m uh, the one who set all this up. We’re all connected by magic.

[Squirtle344]  – bull

[50fiftyCents] – no its true i can detect magic with my skill

[twinTrouble_53] – Still impossible. How is this happening?

[batman] – iPhones r magic. duh. apple has wizards.

[America Group] – Hold on, let’s let BlackMage speak.

[BlackMage] – I managed to link up our phones, but it takes a LOT of magical power to do this. And I thought having a bunch of voices would be too confusing so we’re in chat.

[twinTrouble_53] – How much power?

[batman] – over 9000 lol.

[BlackMage] – I hope we can use this as a way to communicate and make sense of things here.

[Loran Grimnar] – Not many people here. Is it because of distance?

[BlackMage] – Shouldn’t be a problem.

[strider_479] – Maybe this only works with iPhones?

[ayan] – everyone is dead. we are the only survivors!

[50fiftyCents] – fuck android users man. Their loss.

[asdf] – send help pls!

[America Group] – Let’s all calm down and try to make sense of things. If we all type no one will be able to understand anything.

[ayan] – who make u the leader?

[BlackMage] – I think he’s right. We should start with basics.

[Rose] – What basics? I’m sitting in a forest in THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE. I haven’t seen anyone except monsters for DAYS!

[asdf] – help

[strider_479] – What, really? I’m in a city right now with some other people who got teleported with me.

[BlackMage] – Really? Where?

[Kent Scott] – Does this city have a name?

[America Group] – HOLD ON. Let’s start with basic information. Where are all of you?

[strider_479] – I’m in the Adventurer’s Guild in my city. Pentagost.

[Rose] – I’m in a forest, like I said. I have no idea where I am.

[batman] – this is a trap lol.

[twinTrouble_53] – It’s not a trap. What makes you think that?

[plusOne] – who CARES? if you can send us a message, can you send us home?

[Squirtle344]  – omg pls!

[Level 12 Warrior] – yes.

[asdf] – yes do it please!

[BlackMage] – I can’t do that. This is all I can do. I don’t even know what sent us here.

[50fiftyCents] – damn

[Squirtle344]  – i want to go home.

[America Group] – Not much we can do about that now. Priorities should be linking up & sharing information to survive.

[strider_479] – In that case, start with levels and classes.

[ayan] – why?

[strider_479] – Good information to know. I’m a Level 16 [Ranger], by the way.

[Rose] – Classes? What?

[BlackMage] – Not bad. I’m a Level 11 [Engineer] at the moment, and Level 8 [Mage]. That’s how I set up this call.

[Loran Grimnar] – What?? You can become a ENGINEER?

[BlackMage] – Seems like it. I took apart my iPhone and some of my electronics and got the class.

[twinTrouble_53] – Whoa, electronics? You have more stuff?

[batman] – when r you gonna get [Technomage] class?

[Level 12 Warrior] – There’s a [Technomage] class???? How do u get it?

[plusOne] – hes just trollin. ignore him.

[50fiftyCents] – Level 10 [Mage] here. Magic is AWESOME!

[ayan] – ive just been running away from everything ur killing monsters??? level 4 traveler level 1 trader

[America Group] – I am a Level 26 [Knight]. Others with me are [Assassin], [Pyromancer], [Beast Tamer], [Tactician], [Fist Fighter], etc…and one [Clown].

[Squirtle344]  – wut.

[strider_479] – Get out.

[twinTrouble_53] – Do you have a list of all the classes?

[Kent Scott] – How many people are with you? What are their names?

[plusOne] – no wey. u can’t be 26

[America Group] – I am.

[batman] – i am [Dark Avenger]. level 999999.

[Level 12 Warrior] – Impossible. How did u level so fast? I’ve been killing monsters every day as an adventurer, and I’m only a Level 12 [Warrior].

[America Group] – It seems like our summoning spell blessed us in some way. We all gained the [Hero] class when we were summoned, but none of us have managed to progress it past Level 1 that I know of. It seems to make us all level up faster.

[batman] – gtfo. pics or it didn’t happen.

[BlackMage] – Some people on my end are telling me that no one’s gotten the [Hero] class in centuries. What kingdom is this?

[Loran Grimnar] – Wait a second. Slow down. SUMMONED????

[America Group] – Weren’t all of you summoned here?

[strider_479] – No.

[Squirtle344]  – no.

[batman] – i’m the chosen one.

[Loran Grimnar] – We arrived in a storm. Half of us FELL down a cliff on our first night!

[Rose] – I woke up here! No idea what happened!

[asdf] – help please!

[strider_479] – Backtrack to the Level 26 part. I’ve been here for two weeks. How the fuck did you get that high so fast?

[Squirtle344]  – language.

[batman] – shut up fag.

[plusOne] – omg. can we block u?

[Loran Grimnar] – Two weeks? I’ve been here way longer than that!

[ayan] – wait. ive been here for three months.

[50fiftyCents] – WHAT

[BlackMage] – This is important! What’s the last big thing you all remember from our world?

[ayan] – um. the election?

[BlackMage] – Did it already take place?

[ayan] – no, i meant we were still in the primaries. TRUMP just got nominated for republicans.

[Loran Grimnar] – Hold it. The election’s over. Way over.

[Squirtle344]  – No way.

[ayan] – liar

[Loran Grimnar] – I’m serious. It was just after Christmas when I got abducted.

[strider_479] – There’s a huge time difference here, it seems.

[America Group] – Wait, if the election’s over, who won?

[BlackMage] – Hillary, duh.

[Rose] – No. It was Trump!

[plusOne] – omfg no way yESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

[Level 12 Warrior] – America is doomed.

[ayan] – glad im here.

[50fiftyCents] – shut up! Trump is 100000X better than lyin hillary.

[ayan] – aaaand now the idiots appear. good luck i hope a monster eats you.

[plusOne] – fuck u liberals

[Loran Grimnar] – WHO CARES? THIS ISNT AMERICA!!

[strider_479] – I’m not even American.

[Squirtle344]  – wut

[ayan] – seriously?

[strider_479] – Yeah. I’m from Australia. What about everyone else.

[plusOne] – u don’t sound australian.

[strider_479] – This Australian enough for you, ‘mate’?

[Rose] – Who types in accents?

[batman] – racist

[plusOne] – shut up.

[twinTrouble_53] – England here.

[ayan] – WUTTTT

[Level 12 Warrior] – i thought everyone was American! hey there!

[America Group] – I’m with a group of Americans over here. We’re from all over the continent, though.

[plusOne] – you and your ‘summoning spell’ right

[America Group] – Not a lie.

[Loran Grimnar] – Who’s from America? Me.

[50fiftyCents] – America! FUCK YEAH!

[Rose] – I’m from California.

[BlackMage] – Okay, so we’re from everywhere. I’m from America too, by the way. But back to when we arrived. How long have all of you been here?

[Loran Grimnar] – Maybe four weeks? It gets hard to tell.

[ayan] – seventy eight days.

[batman] – forever

[plusOne] – a month? not sure.

[Rose] – A week.

[strider_479] – Wow. Really?

[Rose] – Yeah, I just got here and I’m flipping out.

[BlackMage] – Wait, what’s the last thing you remember from home?

[Rose] – Um. Last thing? It’s really hard to remember. Trump banned all Muslims, but it got blocked by the judicial courts. That’s the biggest thing.

[ayan] – omg. Hitler’s back with a wig!

[50fiftyCents] – don’t be stupid. the muslim ban was a long time coming. Obama should have done it if he weren’t a traitor.

[America Group] – I’m Muslim. Several people in my group are, too.

[batman] – BURNED

[50fiftyCents] – i don’t mean all muslims are bad. but a lot of you are terrorists. we’ve got to protect Americans first.

[ayan] – so racist.

[50fiftyCents] – Fuck you!

[strider_479] – Let’s all STOP with the politics. We have a lot more to cover.

[Kent Scott] – Indeed. We should all meet up.

[plusOne] – where?

[Level 12 Warrior] – more like how

[Kent Scott] – I am in a well-protected city. If we meet where I am we will be safe.

[plusOne] – yes pls!

[Rose] – I don’t know where I am.

[Kent Scott] – Tell me what cities you all are in, or what continent.

[America Group] – Our group is in Karas, a city in the Blighted Continent.

[BlackMage] – I’ve heard of that place. It’s constantly at war, right?

[Kent Scott] – Where are the rest of you?

[plusOne] – im in a city. its called Shieldmeet. i dont know anything else

[batman] – this is a total trap yo

[asdf] – help us i dont know where we are!!

[Loran Grimnar] – This isn’t a trap. We’re trying to link up.

[batman] – sez you. could be a trap.

[plusOne]  – wtf is wrong with you? We’re all in this together.

[batman] – u could all be fake.

[Loran Grimnar] – Fake? What the hell are you on?

[BlackMage] – There are multiple continents on this planet, and this place is HUGE. I’m not sure we can meet so easily even if we know where everyone is.

[America Group] – Agreed. There’s a lot of extremely dangerous monsters where we are. Not a safe place.

[Kent Scott] – Tell me where the rest of you are.

[asdf] – help us please!!!!!!

[Loran Grimnar] – This is such a clusterfuck.

[America Group] – Let’s try to organize. We should start with a basic description from everyone. Write down your name, location, classes, and so on.

[Kent Scott] – That is a good idea.

[asdf] – HELP

[ayan] – so annoying!

[Loran Grimnar] – Would you STOP THAT? We’re trying to communicate here.

[asdf] – HELPHELP

[asdf] – HELP

[asdf] – HELP

[batman] – asdghhASDaj

[Loran Grimnar] – STOP.

[asdf] – help us pls!!! we need help!

[Loran Grimnar] – Why do you need help? WE ALL NEED HELP.

[asdf] – save us we r dying

[Loran Grimnar] – what really?

[asdf] – monsters r everywhere we need help!!

[America Group] – You’re under attack right now?

[plusOne] – omg.

[asdf] – not now but they will come BACK!

[asdf] – they’re coming out of ground. They liv down there.

[America Group] – Where? Do you know where you are? What country?

[Level 12 Warrior] – what continent more like. how many does this place have?

[asdf] – i dont know but we need HELP!

[strider_479] – We can’t help you unless we know where you are.

[ayan] – its too far how would you get there?

[asdf] – pls…

[America Group] – I’m sorry. Is there anywhere you can hide out?

[asdf] – please come

[strider_479] – Can you give us a description of the monsters? I’m with adventurers. They can give you tips on how to fight.

[asdf] – howW?????? WE HAVE NO WEAPONS

[strider_479] – Damn it.

[Kent Scott] – Describe where you are.

[batman] – To exit the simulation, please type ‘EXIT’ without the quotation marks in the chat box and hit send. A virtual aide will be sent to you momentarily to begin the extraction process.

[50fiftyCents] – EXIT

[plusOne] – exit

[ayan] – EXIT

[strider_479] – You trolling bastard.

[plusOne] – EXIT

[Level 12 Warrior] – EXIT

[asdf] – EXIT please now pls

[batman] – …lol

[plusOne] – FUCK YOU.

[Loran Grimnar] – Jesus. Can we kick batman off the chat? Or at least mute him or something?

[BlackMage] – Sorry. The system isn’t built that way.

[Prophet] – Do not take the Lord’s Name in vain.

[batman] – wut? lol

[strider_479] – Seriously batman, if you can’t contribute anything, please keep silent.

[Loran Grimnar] – Agreed.

[Squirtle344]  – totally. shut the fuck up.

[batman] – ur all haters. u don’t know anything.

[asdf] – HELP US PLEASE YOU MUST HELP!

[Prophet] – Pray for Salvation and His Hand shall shelter you.

[Loran Grimnar] – …And now we’ve got crazies running around. Wonderful.

[Level 12 Warrior] – dude, shut up. we don’t need two worlds with your bullshit.

[Prophet] – All those who pray shall be Saved by the Lord our God.

[Kent Scott] – We must focus. Tell us your names. First name and last name.

[Squirtle344]  – y?

[strider_479] – Zara Walker.

[plusOne] – caren glover

[50fiftyCents] – Ridley Wallis

[ayan] – Thompson Green

[batman] – Bruce Wayne

[BlackMage] – This isn’t what we should be focusing on.

[America Group] – Agreed. We should be sharing information. Survival tips. Anything you know?

[ayan] – how do u do magic?

[batman] – with a wand. duh

[plusOne] – shut up.

[BlackMage] – You need to be activated. Not everyone has the potential to do magic, but another magic-user needs to test you.

[strider_479] – Important tips? Seems like leveling in this world is based on adversity, not repetition?

[50fiftyCents] – what? ENGLISH.

[Loran Grimnar] – She means that you can’t grind. But is that true?

[strider_479] – Seems like it. The bigger the challenges, the faster I’ve leveled.

[America Group] – I can confirm that.

[plusOne] – weird. Can u game the system?

[Loran Grimnar] – If we could, that would be amazing.

[User s has joined the conversation.]

[16 Users Connected]

[plusOne] – oh hey another one!

[America Group] – Welcome s.

[Level 12 Warrior] – i know how to game the system. multiple classes. the more you have, the more skills you get!

[Loran Grimnar] – Acquiring new classes is hard. I don’t have more than 3.

[strider_479] – This is so unfocused. Can we split up the chat somehow?

[BlackMage] – I’m sorry, this is the best I can do.

[Kent Scott] – s, what is your first and last name? Where are you from?

[s] – ?

[ayan] – wut

[batman] – looool

[s] – I can read little. Can u translat my language?? क्या आप हिन्दी बोलते हैं?

[ayan] – omg wtf is that?

[Loran Grimnar] – That’s some kind of middle eastern language, I think. Can anyone read it?

[batman] – i can.

[plusOne] – bullshit

[BlackMage] – Hang on, I think I can use Google Translate.

[ayan] – offline???

[Loran Grimnar] – You have the app? SWEET!

[batman] – खतरे यहाँ है बात नहीं करते नकली व्यक्ति यहाँ है asshole

[Loran Grimnar] – What did batman just say?

[User s has disconnected.]

[15 Users Connected]

[plusOne] – OMG YOU BASTARD.

[ayan] – wft did you type?

[batman] – haha rekt!

[BlackMage] – I just translated that. batman, I’m warning you. If you keep acting like this, in the future you will NOT be invited to other calls.

[batman] – पसंदीदा फिल्म पूछें go fuck yourself

[plusOne] – omg stfu!

[ayan] – please tell me we can kick batman

[Level 12 Warrior] – it all makes sense. hes some dude who doesn’t know English trolling around.

[Loran Grimnar] – Damnit. Can we just FOCUS for one second?

[Kent Scott] – Agreed.

[BlackMage] – Actually, I’ve got a better idea. Everyone name one of your favorite movies. It’s very important. Mine was the fourth Harry Potter movie.

[ayan] – wut?

[50fiftyCents] – are you insane?

[Rose] – ???

[America Group] – Just do it. Lord of the Rings.

[strider_479] – Seriously. Stop asking questions. I watched Red Dog as a kid.

[ayan] – um okay, Spiderman.

[twinTrouble_53] – The Princess Bride.

[asdf] – y? Star Wars Episode III.

[Loran Grimnar] – Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan.

[Rose] – Interstallar? Not my absolute favorite but..

[50fiftyCents] – alien. best movie ever.

[plusOne] – independance day or godzilla

[Squirtle344]  – Naruto: Road to Ninja!

[Level 12 Warrior] – Back to the Future

[batman] – BATMAN! THE DARK KNIGHT BITCHES!

[plusOne] – everything u say makes me feel like i have cancer. The Matrix.

[Kent Scott] – Spiderman was my favorite movie as well.

[BlackMage] – Prophet?

[Prophet] – The only Truth is the will of God, not baser delights.

[America Group] – We need to know.

[strider_479] – Tell us.

[Prophet] – Before I heard the Voice and was Reborn I watched movies such as The Ten Commandments. Is that what you wish to know?

[BlackMage] – Yes, thanks.

[America Group] – I see.

[strider_479] – Got it.

[ayan] – wtf are you talking about?

[BlackMage] – Hey Kent Scott, quick question. What’s Spiderman’s real name?

[plusOne] – what??

[ayan] – are you srs right now?

[strider_479] – No one else answer.

[Kent Scott] – Very clever.

[Loran Grimnar] – What’s going on?

[BlackMage] – Whoever this ‘Kent Scott’ is, they’re not from our world. How did you get that iPhone?

[ayan] – omg

[batman] – haxx!

[strider_479] – Who are you?

[Kent Scott] – I found this device by accident.

[strider_479] – Bullshit. How did you figure out the password?

[Level 12 Warrior] – fuck that’s right

[Kent Scott] – Hahaha. Well done.

[America Group] – Did you kill the real Kent Scott?

[BlackMage] – GUYS. The mage I’m with is telling me that your FIRST and LAST names could have been used to scry on you! He knows where you are and what you look like!

[ayan] – omg omg omg

[50fiftyCents] – FUCK.

[Loran Grimnar] – Did you do all this? WHO ARE YOU?

[Kent Scott] – Only one group could work a spell to reach across the world. You, BlackMage, are in Wistram Academy.

[BlackMage] – Everyone, disconnect now. This isn’t safe.

[plusOne] – but we need help!

[asdf] – Help us PLEASE! WE WILL DIE!!!!!!!!!!

[America Group] – There’s nothing we can do right now. DO NOT ANSWER ANY CALLS. Everyone who said their names, be CAREFUL.

[BlackMage] – Disconnect NOW. Someone is trying to take over the spell here!

[User BlackMage has disconnected.]

[14 Users Connected]

[User batman has disconnected.]

[13 Users Connected]

[User Level 12 Warrior has disconnected.]

[12 Users Connected]

[User 50fiftyCents has disconnected.]

[11 Users Connected]

[Kent Scott] – I mean you no harm. I will protect you.

[asdf] – please help

[plusOne] – no he will kill you. don’t say anything

[strider_479] – DISCONNECT

[User Prophet has disconnected.]

[10 Users Connected]

[User Loran Grimnar has disconnected.]

[9 Users Connected]

[User ayan has disconnected.]

[8 Users Connected]

[User asdf has disconnected.]

[7 Users Connected]

[User rose has disconnected.]

[6 Users Connected]

[User America Group has disconnected.]

[5 Users Connected]

[User plusOne has disconnected.]

[4 Users Connected]

[User Squirtle344 has disconnected.]

[3 Users Connected]

[User strider_479 has disconnected.]

[2 Users Connected]

[Kent Scott] – Well, well. How inconvenient. Can I persuade you to stay, twinTrouble_53? I mean you no harm.

[twinTrouble_53] – Liar. And it is not twinTrouble you speak to anymore.

[Kent Scott] – Ah. Someone else?

[twinTrouble_53] – I am Flos.

[Kent Scott] – My. I would bow before you had I legs.

[twinTrouble_53] – Name yourself, thief.

[Kent Scott] – I am no one. Certainly not anyone to trouble the sleeping king.

[twinTrouble_53] – I sleep no longer. Thus I issue you a warning, thief. To you and to Wistram and all the mages who cower behind spell and door. Know that I, Flos, have returned. Those who would oppose me, tremble for all that I see will be mine. I will come for you and break down your craven towers and unmask those who would hide.

[twinTrouble_53] – I am Flos.

[twinTrouble_53] – I have returned.

[Kent Scott] – Then let us see what the King of Destruction brings. Until then.

[User Kent Scott has disconnected.]

[1 Users Connected]

[User twinTrouble_53 has disconnected.]

[0 Users Connected]

[User 伶央 has joined the conversation.]

[1 Users Connected]

[伶央] – こんにちは.

[伶央] – だれかいますか?

[User 伶央 has disconnected.]

[0 Users Connected]

Previous Chapter

2.00

The inn was dark when the traveler first arrived. No – to begin with, she wasn’t really a traveler. She was a Runner, which was completely different.

And she wasn’t lost. Neither had she decided to visit the inn out of a need for sleep or food or even a burning desire to use the outhouse.

She just needed a place to think.

Ryoka cautiously pushed open the wooden door and paused a moment to let her eyes adjust. The inn was dark. The common room was almost as dark as the shadowed grasslands outside, illuminated only by the lone candle on one of the tables.

It flickered, and made the shadows dance as the door’s opening disturbed the solitary flame. Ryoka looked around. There was definitely an ambiance to the room which she was determined to ignore. Just because something looked creepy did not mean it was.

“Hello?”

Ryoka called cautiously as she stepped into the inn. She was already regretting coming back. She hadn’t intended to stay at this place – The Wandering Inn. In fact, she’d fully committed herself to running through the night rather than have to deal with annoying innkeepers who made comments about her bare feet.

Not fifteen minutes ago Ryoka had been despairing, exhausted, and full of anger and hatred towards nothing and everything. She wouldn’t have set foot in this inn even if it were the Taj Mahal.

Well, maybe if it were the Taj Mahal. But this run-down inn was no superstar hotel, and Ryoka had been ready to leave it behind and run on.

That was fifteen minutes ago.

A lot can happen in fifteen minutes. Ryoka glanced down at the iPhone in her hands and turned the screen off before she tucked it in her pocket. It wouldn’t do to scare the innkeeper with her phone.

If there was an innkeeper. The candle indicated life, but Ryoka didn’t see or hear anyone stirring even after she’d called.

Well. To enter or leave? Ryoka hated this kind of dilemma. She hated dealing with people, come to that. But she really, really needed a place to sit and process all of what had happened. And she was tired. They were all dead. She could run, but she couldn’t outrun what had happened.

So she stepped into the inn, calling out again.

“Is anyone there?”

It was the kind of generic question that deserved instant death if she were exploring an abandoned house or looking for monsters. Since she was looking for an innkeeper, it was probably fine.

There was still no answer. Ryoka frowned. Was the innkeeper out? It could be possible, but she’d expect a barmaid or someone to stay in the inn. At the very least, they’d lock the doors.

A dark suspicion crossed Ryoka’s mind and she stopped, looking around the empty room. An empty inn might mean something had emptied it, and recently. Had a monster crept in here? This place was near Liscor, and Liscor had recently been attacked. If a straggler had made its way in here…

She had no weapons. Well, nothing that was better than her hands and feet. But she did have magic. One spell, to be exact.

“[Light].”

Ryoka felt something go out of her as a shimmering orb of white light floated up from one of her hands. It cast the room into sudden, sharp relief as the shadows fled.

She looked around, searching for movement or shapes behind tables or chairs. There was nothing.

The room was empty. Ryoka’s eyes travelled to the staircase, and then the door behind the bar. She clenched one hand.

She’d never killed anything. Never—except maybe a Goblin. But something had attacked Liscor in the four days she’d been away. Something.

The undead. Ryoka imagined shambling zombies groaning and munching on brains, but that didn’t match with the devastation she’d seen walking into the city of Drakes and Gnolls. Entire buildings had been torn apart and the injuries she’d seen on those who hadn’t received healing were—

A sound made Ryoka freeze in place. Something.

A low—grunting sound. A rasping rumble. Ryoka’s heart beat faster. It was coming from the kitchen.

She crouched low and moved silently towards the open doorway. She stopped, her ear to one wall, heart pounding. Something was in there. Something big, by the sound of it. But it was also asleep.

Ryoka covered the ball of light with one hand, thinking. Step around the corner, take a look at what it was, and step away. If it came after her, she could be out the door in seconds.

Her hand tightened into a fist. Immediately Ryoka relaxed, keeping her hands loose and ready to punch. She counted to three in her head. Then she swiftly stepped into the kitchen, hands raised.

The room was dark. A thousand things leapt out at Ryoka at once. Cupboards, knives, silver wear, pottery stacked up, a bucket of water, an empty fireplace, and—

A girl sleeping on the ground.

Ryoka stopped. A girl lay sprawled on the kitchen floor, tangled in a pile of sheets and a bedroll. She was snoring quite loudly, oblivious to Ryoka’s presence. She opened her mouth and grunted or perhaps burped. It didn’t sound appropriate to her size.

Ryoka lowered her fists. She stared at the sleeping girl for a few seconds. She slapped herself hard on the forehead.

The loud crack of flesh on flesh made the girl on the ground sit bolt upright. Ryoka leapt back as the other girl looked around wildly.

“I’m up! Knight to F3!”

She tried to stand up, tangled in her sheets and tumbled over. She rolled upright. That’s when she saw Ryoka.

“Oh!”

For a moment the other girl gaped, and then she struggled to get up. Ryoka debated helping for an instant, and then let the other girl get up on her own.

When she was upright, Ryoka found herself looking at a girl close to her own age. She was shorter—shorter than Ryoka who was tall—and she had fair skin, hazel eyes and only the slightest orange tint to her light brown hair.

She blinked at Ryoka. Ryoka stared back. The girl opened her mouth, looked around, and then smiled weakly.

“Um. Hi?”

—-

She’d just put her head down for a minute. And then—well, she’d woken up and decided that it would be a better five minutes if she were in bed, so to speak. So Erin had wandered over to her bedroll in the kitchen. It wasn’t as if anyone had visited the inn today and Klbkch and the others were busy. She’d sent Toren out to harvest blue fruits, collect water, and generally stay out of her hair, so what was the harm in taking a thirty minute nap?

But somehow, Erin’s small one hour nap had ended up with her waking in near dusk with a terribly foggy head, stiff joints and a girl standing over her.

Erin stared. She had a guest. A tall guest. A female guest.

The person who’d woken her up was tall. She had dark hair, brown eyes—she looked Asian. But she was also tall, which was unusual. And she had a floating magic orb of light on one hand but Erin could only handle so much excitement at one time.

She had a terrible, terrible urge to say ‘konnichiwa’ to the girl, but fought it off with difficulty. Her second impulse was to say ‘ni hao’ or maybe ‘anyoung haseyo’, but she was pretty sure she’d mess up the pronunciation of all three greetings.

Erin could say hello in most languages, although that was pretty much the extent of her linguistic skill. She could say ‘checkmate’ and ‘check’ in almost every language, though. It came from many games against foreign players online and in person. She also knew a lot of bad words as a result, although she had no real idea what they meant. Usually she just knew enough to duck before the table got flipped.

But there was something incredibly Asian about the tall girl’s features, and it was even more pronounced by the fact that hers was the first non-European, non-furred or non-scaled face Erin had seen in this world.

“Um, hi.”

Speaking foreign languages to people hadn’t worked out well with Ceria, so it probably wouldn’t work here. Erin waved weakly at the other girl as she stepped back.

“…Mm.”

Was that a hello or just a grunt? The other girl stared around the dark kitchen as Erin scrambled for more words beyond ‘leave me alone I’m trying to sleep’. Right. She was awake and she had…a customer.

Erin had been a waitress for all of two weeks back when she’d had a part time job for the summer. That was about all of her job experience aside from working in chess tournaments as a referee. And that wasn’t work that was…chess.

But she had a definite feeling that falling asleep on the job wasn’t acceptable behavior. Even if she did own the inn.

“Hi.”

She tried again, and the other girl stared at her. Erin put her best smile on her face and waved at her guest.

“Sorry about that. Um. I was asleep. Can I help you?”

“Is this an inn?”

“What? Oh. Yes! Yes, this is an inn!”

Erin waved around the room airily, trying to gloss over the fact that half the inn was still damaged from the battle with the undead two days ago. The other girl stared at Erin.

“And you’re…the innkeeper?”

The innkeeper smiled nervously.

“Yes? I mean, yes. Can I—do you want something to eat? A place to sleep?”

“Something to eat.”

“Sure, sure! This way.”

Erin led the other girl back into the inn’s main room. The girl took a seat while Erin stood and fidgeted. After a moment the girl looked up.

“Do you have a menu?”

“Menu?”

Erin blinked at the tall girl a few times. Then she panicked again. Menu. Right. She’d never really finished—

“Um, it’s right there.”

She pointed and winced as her guest looked at the menu with all three items.

Pasta w/sausage and onions – 3 cp. per plate.

Blue juice – 2 cp. per glass.

Acid flies – 1 s. per plate

“…Acid flies?”

“They’re um, real flies. I drained the acid from them, but uh—”

“What’s blue juice?”

“It’s very sweet! It’s like orange—I mean, it’s like an orange except more blueberry. Sweeter. It’s a nice drink!”

Erin wondered whether she should mention there was more food she’d learned to cook. She could make soup! Random soup was what she called it, because she mainly just tossed ingredients in a pot and trusted to her [Basic Cooking] skill. It usually came up edible.

“I can uh, I can make bacon and eggs. Or—or ham. We’ve got ham and salad if you want it—”

“Pasta is fine. I’ll have that and a cup of blue…juice.”

“Okay, sure!”

Erin smiled. The other girl did not return the smile.

“I’ll um, I’ll get it.”

She had plenty of blue juice but not a lot of cups. Erin had tossed most of her cups and heavy objects at the undead. She finally found a good one and washed it out before filling it with juice.

The girl was still sitting at the table. She glanced up at Erin but said not a word as Erin put cup and silverware in front of her. Erin tried another smile, but the other girl’s face could have been carved from ice. She decided to go for broke and introduced herself.

“I’m Erin, by the way. Erin Solstice.”

“Mm.”

Erin waited, but the other girl’s name did not seem to be forthcoming. She stared down at the table, not even touching her drink. The other girl stared at the wood grain, but she seemed to be a thousand miles away.

She was very quiet. Erin hoped that wasn’t because she was planning to murder her with one of the forks.

—-

The world is shit. All things and everything in it are utter crap. But of course crap’s not a good enough word, is it? Death and despair rule everything. That’s how it’s always been and that’s how it will be.

Some days are like this. I’ve felt it before. Black depression. Anger. It’s easy to say the words, but to live it?

Every time I forget. Every time. I forget how twisted this damned world is and I relax. And then it gets me. It would be easier if I didn’t hope. If I just—

“Um. Is the juice okay? I have water if you want it. Boiled.”

I look up. The girl’s hovering over me again. Erin? She’s annoying. It would be easy to just toss the juice in her face and kick her until she stops talking.

A thin red line. I think that’s the only thing that separates me from madness some days. And some day, perhaps, it will disappear and I’ll lose it. It’s already broken once. I hurt my friends. And now they’re dead.

Not my fault. Of course. They went into the ruins. It was their fault, and guilt is only part of the grieving process. I know that. I probably couldn’t have done anything. They were dead days before I was even close to Liscor. It’s just that it hurts. More than anything I’ve felt in years.

I—

Wish I’d been with them.

“Um? Hello?”

I look up. Oh. Right. She asked me a question about my drink.

“It’s fine. Thank you.”

It’s not the innkeeper I’m mad at. I just can’t deal with her or anyone at the moment. How could I? The Horns of Hammerad. Gerial. Ceria. Calruz. Sostrom.

They’re all dead. I never even got to say goodbye.

Mercifully, the innkeeper retreats. She’s odd. A young girl out far from the city like this? Well, not too far but still. How does she survive? Do I even care?

I’m trying to think of something, anything, but the faces of the dead keep haunting me. I try not to let them, but I can’t help but wonder and regret. If I’d been with them, would I have spotted a trap? Would I have been able to run for help? If I’d been there, if I hadn’t run off. If I hadn’t been such a stupid idiot and picked a fight…

Without thinking I take a gulp from the cup in front of me and nearly choke. Sweet! It’s sweet and pulpy, and tastes—

It actually tastes good. Not like the alcoholic crap I have to drink in each tavern. It tastes like orange juice mixed with a blueberry shake mixed with high fructose corn syrup. All the good things that I love to hate.

It tastes a bit like home.

Just a bit. But I take another gulp and the sweetness is good. It’s not like the ice cream I had with Magnolia. It’s just plain old juice, and it’s good to have.

“Another cup?”

I nearly jump out of my skin. That girl is pretty damn silent. But—what the hell?

“Sure. How much for a pitcher?”

She blinks at me. Does she not even price her drinks? Well damn.

I open my runner’s pack and fish around. I’ve still got several gold coins and when I hold one up her eyes go wide.

“Um—”

“Just take whatever I eat out of that. I’ll have a pitcher of blue juice.”

“Blue juice? Pitcher? Coming right up.”

Hah. That did it. Money walks and talks and solves every problem. Even annoying innkeepers. Well, she might try to gouge me but what the hell. I don’t need money. What good would it do me?

The blue juice arrives in a satisfyingly full ceramic pitcher. Enough to drown me or have me peeing all night, but you know what? I don’t care. I fill up my cup and drink while the innkeeper girl goes off to do something which involves a lot of banging about and quiet swearing in the kitchen.

I rub at my face. A sweet drink. It shouldn’t help, but it does. Immensely. I’ve been living off of water and dry rations for the last…it must be eight days. Not exactly fun, but I’ve had worse.

But this makes things a little better. A little. And it restarts my brain a bit, takes me off the spiral of guilt. The Horns of Hammerad can wait. It hurts, but they’re gone. However terrible it might be, there’s something that takes priority even over that.

The call. What in the name of non-existent deities far and wide was that? I—

Everything has changed. I feel it. This world is different now, and the stakes have suddenly gotten a lot higher than my single life. Someone has walked into the small sandcastle of my understanding of the world and given it a damn good kick.

There are more people than just me in this world. From my world, I mean. There are more interdimensional travelers, more people from Earth*.

*Assuming people don’t call this place Earth, obviously. Stop belaboring the point. I know what I mean.

That chat. A—a messenger chat with magic? How is that possible?

Magic. Duh. Focus! Think. Try to think of what happened.

Well, it’s a good thing I used to read Youtube comments or I wouldn’t have been able to transform myself into an egotistical thirteen year-old with delusions of grammar. [batman] was a good foil, but I probably gave myself away there at the end. No matter; it had to be done.

First things first. In that conversation, a few important elements stood out. And above all the rest?

Kent Scott. Whoever that person was, he wasn’t from our world. He was…fishing for information. First and last names. No one else seemed to get that, but thanks to Teriarch I know that he was trying to use a [Scrying] spell.

And he got three names. Or was it two? In any case, that’s really bad. Can he teleport right over there? Is that even a spell? But if he knows the names, there’s nowhere in the world those people can hide, right?

Who is he? He was using Kent Scott as his name, which means he either tortured or killed the real Kent Scott. But how much does he know in that case? Enough to be hunting the rest of us down? Could he have figured out our locations from the magical chat? And if so—

“Oh hey, just wanted to let you know the pasta will be done in around ten minutes.”

The innkeeper pops her head out of the kitchen. Damn it. Who cares? But my stomach rumbles. Traitorous body. I nod at her. She’s exactly the kind of person I don’t really like hanging around. Just a bit too friendly and bubbly and clearly not that focused.

Okay, okay. What was I thinking about? Kent Scott. One part of the puzzle. What else? Oh yeah. Summoned heroes? People with a [Hero] class which hasn’t been heard of in centuries? That’s odd. Could we all have been summoned as a—a byproduct of that spell? Accidental side effects?

If so, it would explain why I appeared out of nowhere like that. But that guy was a Level 26 [Knight]. Is that fast leveling? It seems so, considering Calruz was only around Level 22. So one guy who’s been here for a month or two already leveled past a Minotaur who’s been fighting all his life?

Damn. Is that cheating or what? But how—

“Do you want meat and onions on your pasta? Or something else? I’ll change the recipe if you want.”

Who cares what—just answer her.

“That’s fine. Thank you.”

I am trying to think. Ignore the stupid innkeeper. Think. There’s also the fact that most of the people in the chat were American, but people from all over the world were taken. One Australian, one person from England.

But almost all spoke English. Does that mean mostly English-speaking nations were affected? Or—or does it mean primarily Americans were affected? If this was a spell, did it only hit a certain radius? If I could call the chat back on my iPhone I’d know more, but going only off of memory—

“Oops. Forgot to put the spoon out.”

Spoon? SPOON? Who the fuck eats pasta with a spoon? Italian cuisine survived for hundreds of years without a damn spoon.

…Calm down. She’s just trying to be helpful. I’m probably just making her nervous. I should smile.

My lips twitch. No go. Okay, okay. Just—what does it all mean? Here I am, with the first sign of how I got here but already there’s a serious threat. I have to anticipate what’s coming next. Do I warn someone? Who? Magnolia might be just as bad. But Wistram—that’s where [BlackMage] is. I think that’s the isle of mages. Could they help? Will he call again, or would he consider that to be too risky?

And—oh my god she’s coming back.

—-

The blank look Erin got when entered the common room was somehow worse than the stare of the Antinium. They at least had the excuse of being bugs. Her guest was just…creepy. And silent.

When she told the girl she was making a fire, she just got what sounded like a sigh. The tall girl went back to staring at the table and drinking blue juice and Erin put a log in the fireplace and tried to make it light.

Erin got the fire going after two attempts, all the while trying to ignore the eyes on the back of her head. It was an uncomfortable, prickly sensation, being watched.

The other girl looked down when Erin turned around. But she had been watching, Erin was sure. She was just so silent. And unfriendly. Would it kill her to talk a bit?

Well, who said a guest had to be nice? If she didn’t want to talk, Erin could just serve her food and wait for her to leave.

But there was something that drew her to the other girl. She was a guest. The first human guest—well, the first human guest she’d had that wasn’t a group of adventurers or Pisces. And Erin was a bit lonely. She hadn’t talked to a human, another human, for a long while.

So she stood up, walked over, and took a seat. The other girl glanced up. It was a flat look, but Erin ignored it.

“So. How’re you?”

Glance up, glance down. After a moment, the girl looked up again.

“I’m fine.”

“You know, we never got to really chat. My name is Erin. What’s yours?”

This time the other girl had to answer or—or Erin would leave her alone, she guessed. But although her guest made a face, she eventually answered.

“…Ryoka. I’m a Runner.”

Erin seized on that sentence gratefully.

“Oh! A Runner! I get most of my food and stuff delivered by a Runner. He comes every day from the city. That’s like your job, right?”

Ryoka’s left eye twitched.

“No. That’s a Street Runner.”

“Oh?”

“I’m a City Runner.”

“Ah.”

Erin didn’t know what to say to that. She was vaguely aware there was a difference from what Krshia had told her but no more than that. And the conversation’s flow was ebbing.

“That’s cool. So I guess you travel around a lot?”

“Some.”

Erin grinned weakly. Perhaps it was time to cut her losses and get the pasta. But she had to make one last attempt.

“You know, when I saw the glowing light orb I thought you were an adventurer of some kind.”

“I’m not. I just know magic.”

“Oh, okay. I, uh, I knew some adventurers, too.”

“Did you?”

The other girl’s tone was subzero. And not just frosty, more like Antarctic.

“Yeah, but they died. A few days ago, actually.”

Erin swallowed the lump in her throat. She didn’t see how the other girl looked up at that.

“Who did you know?”

“Oh, just a group of them. They were nice people, but they got killed when—”

“Who?”

Erin looked up. Ryoka’s eyes were fixed on her, intent. For the first time, Erin thought the other girl was looking at her, really looking at her.

“Who?”

“The Horns of Hammerad.”

—-

I don’t believe in destiny. Or if I did, I’d spend all of my time rebelling against it. And I don’t believe in talking to people either, as a rule.

But this—

“So I called him bull guy after that. Bull guy, Mr. Cow, Captain Udders…although I don’t think he really got that last one.”

“You didn’t do that.”

The girl sitting across from me, Erin Solstice, smiles and laughs.

“Okay, I didn’t call him all those names. Just bull guy. But it made him really mad. You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears!”

I shouldn’t, but I laugh. Calruz is dead, and it’s wrong to make fun of him. But this—

This is about what he was. What he did. And Erin telling me the stories is somehow special. Precious.

A lot can happen in fifteen minutes. You can find you have more in common with someone than you think, for instance. Fifteen minutes. Enough time to eat three plates of pasta, drink blue juice, chat…

And learn that the Horns of Hammerad stayed in this inn the night before they died. Enough time to hear their last moments from the innkeeper who’d served them meals.

I’m glad I came here. I’m glad I changed my mind and decided to stay. Because against my expectations, I’m feeling better. A belly full of hot food does that, and the conversation—

Well, it’s actually fun.

“You really called him that? Bull guy?”

“Yes! What, don’t you believe me? Ceria started calling him that too until he threw his drink at her.”

I laugh again. I can’t help it. I’ve been listening to tales of the Horns of Hammerad, but somehow Erin also managed to get the story of how I met them out of me. It’s so odd. But I want to talk about them.

“So you met them while you were delivering healing potions, right? That sounds pretty dangerous.”

It was, incredibly. Dodging spells from a Lich is probably one of the dumbest things I’ve ever done, and there’s a long list. I shrug.

“It was risky, but it’s part of the job.”

“None of the Runners around here do stuff like that. They just deliver stuff in the city and to my inn. But I guess that’s a City Runner for you, huh?”

“Yeah.”

I want to keep talking about the Horns of Hammerad. But Erin’s leaning over the table, eyes alight with curiosity.

“What’s it like, being a Runner? Do you get sore feet from running around all the time? And how much does it pay? Do you see a lot of interesting stuff?”

Well, here’s the part I don’t like about talking to people. I open my mouth to give her a bland response. What should I say? Running is hard, but fun? It can be rewarding, but you just have to put the hours in? Some bland, useless reply like that so I can change the subject back to the others.

But I stop. I hesitate. Do I have to say that? It’s a stupid line that won’t mean anything. I hate that kind of conversation. So why should I say it?

Running. Is it fun? Sometimes. Running is fun, but being a Runner isn’t. The petty rivalries, my shattered leg, and the way Runners seem to be more cowardly than adventurers—it’s hard to just gloss over that.

So why not tell her? What was it Louis C.K. said in one of his monologues? Screw the ordinary conversation, the meaningless chatter. Let’s just have a real talk.

What’s the worst that can happen? I lose my friends? I don’t have any. It’s awkward? We’ve already had enough awkwardness to fill two swimming pools.

It’s not me. I don’t chat with people. I don’t talk. But today—

Today is different.

So I begin to speak. Erin blinks as I begin talking about running, frankly, and without sparing the details.

“You had your leg shattered? By a moving—”

She glances down at my leg. You can’t even see the scars. That’s magic for you.

“And you went to the High Passes? Where’s that?”

“It’s the other gateway to the southern part of the continent. Haven’t you heard of it?”

“I uh, don’t know much about the local geography. Or politics. Or…anything.”

Huh. Sounds a bit like me. I keep talking. Somehow, she’s pulling the words out of me.

“You fought a Silver-ranked Adventurer? Barehanded? No way.”

When did I say that? My face is getting hot. She probably thinks I’m bragging but—Erin leans over the table, eyes sparkling.

“That’s so…cool. Tell me another story!”

I blink. She’s so interested. It’s just life to me. And depressing, at that. I remember what happened afterwards, my mistakes. How can I feel proud of that? But then, why not explain that bit?

I try, but Erin shakes her head. Her smile flickers and she looks me dead in the eye.

“That’s not bad. I mean, it’s not good, but I’ve done worse. Way worse. I…got a friend killed.”

“How?”

For once, I want to know. Erin pauses, and sighs. She grabs the cup she brought and drinks long and deep. Somehow, we’ve run out of blue juice and there’s several empty plates in front of both of us.

“It’s a long story. It starts with—well, I guess it starts with Goblins.”

“Goblins?”

“Goblins. And there’s acid flies, you know, the one of the menu? And talking bug men and—okay, do you believe in Dragons? Krshia—she’s a Gnoll—she says they don’t exist, but I saw one, I swear.”

Erin begins to talk. It’s a confusing story, but I listen, asking the right questions. Not just the right questions. The questions I want to know, the little details. It’s not a boring conversation. It’s not trite dialogue. It’s real. It’s engaging.

She knew The Horns of Hammerad before they died. She was there. And she’s not just a boring person. She’s someone.

It’s—odd. Her story is bothering me. Erin Solstice. Is she—it’s an odd story. But I’m too tired to think straight. I’ve been running all day and I’m tired. But her story calls to me. There’s something about Erin. I’ll think about it later.

“Have you ever seen a Gnoll? They’re like giant hyenas that get really angry. And they sniff you. A lot. Have you ever heard one of them sneeze? So weird.”

I listen. And I’m smiling. It hurts because I’m out of practice.

But I’m smiling.

I wish I could stay.

—-

“I should go.”

Ryoka said it reluctantly, but it had to be said. Erin glanced up from her table and the pile of dirty dishes and glanced outside. It was night. Midnight or later, and the sky was as close to pitch-black as it ever came.

“What? Why? I can make up a bed for you. I’ve got a bunch of—well, every room upstairs is open. And it wouldn’t cost too much. If you want—”

“No.”

The other girl said it flatly, and then tried to modulate her tone.

“No. I’m sorry. Thank you, but there’s something I have to do.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“I need to start running. I’ve got something that can’t wait and it’ll take me a day and a half to get where I’m going.”

Erin’s face fell. And she’d been getting on so well with Ryoka, too.

“If you’re sure. But it’s a long road and you look tired. What would one night matter?”

Ryoka wavered, clearly torn. But eventually she shook her head.

“I’ve got to—I need to go back. North. To Celum. There’s someone…someone I have to talk to. Something I have to do, now.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure. Sorry.”

Erin sighed. But she put a smile back on her face.

“Well, okay. But if you ever want a meal or if you’re in the area—”

Ryoka paused, and then she smiled awkwardly.

“I’ll be back. But I have to go now.”

She pulled something out of her pocket and glanced at it.

“Huh. Good enough for a few hours.”

Erin blinked as two red ear buds appeared and Ryoka popped them into her ears. She raised her voice as Ryoka turned.

“Oh, hey. Is that an iPhone?”

“Mm.”

Ryoka flicked through a few screens on her phone and then froze. Erin continued on, oblivious.

“I’m not an iPhone person. I got an Android – well, my parents got it for me. I wouldn’t have minded an iPhone—I just use it to play chess and call friends, mostly. But—”

The other girl was staring at her. Erin broke off awkwardly.

“What? Is it something on my face?”

Then she stopped. Erin’s eyes widened as her ears caught up to what her mouth was saying. She stared at Ryoka.

“Oh my god.”

2.01

“Are we going the right way? I think we’re lost.”

“Mm. Patience. This is the right direction.”

“Are you sure, Krshia? I think we’re lost. All this grass looks the same to me.”

“There is no road, Selys. We must trust we go the right way, yes? And my memory is not so poor.”

“But it’s dark.”

“If the shopkeeper lady says it’s the right place, we’re going the right way. Anyways, Klb and I have been here countless times. This is the right direction. …Right?”

“I believe so. Please take care not to fall.”

“Oh. Um, thank you.”

“I do not believe we have been formally introduced. I am Klbkch of the Free Antinium. I understand you are a friend of Erin Solstice?”

“Me? Yes! I’m Selys. I’m a receptionist at the Adventurer’s Guild. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

“Allow me to introduce my colleagues. This is Relc, who I believe you two are familiar with. Watch Captain Zevara is also joining us for the night.”

“Selys. Krshia. Good evening.”

“Hm. It is good to see you are well.”

“Oh, hello Captain Zevara.”

“And these are two other Antinium from my hive. Pawn, and Ksmvr.”

“I am Ksmvr. Allow me to apologize for recent—”

“Shut up.”

“Silence.”

“…So um, Z. Why are you here? When Klb told me you were coming, I thought he was yanking my tail.”

“I wanted to see the human who killed that freak. Besides, you’ve talked about that damn inn so much I might as well see it.”

“Well, that’s…great! You’ll love it. Erin is great for a human. You’ll see.”

“You called her a useless sack of meat after—”

“Ahahahahaha! You must have heard me wrong. I never said anything like that. Erin is a great human. She called me a dragon, you know.”

“Humans can’t tell a lizard apart from a salamander. Don’t let it get to your head.”

“…Hey Klb. Are we there yet?”

“There is the inn in the distance. We are moving in the right direction.”

“Oh good! Erin’s still awake. Maybe she has guests already?”

“That mage said he would be joining us. I can’t say I’m pleased with that, but if he’s here—”

“It could be the mage. Or um…well, you know what I said about not killing any Goblins around here, Zevara? Um—”

“Please tell me the Goblins aren’t invited.”

“Well, while we’re on the subject, how do you feel about skeletons…?”

—-

“Oh my god.”

It was perhaps the sixth time Erin had said it. She was still staring at Ryoka in some state of shock. Ryoka was staring back, but her mind was racing.

Erin was from her world. Of course. All the little pieces of her story made sense, especially the way she used catchphrases and expressions from their world. How had she not noticed? She was too tired. But this was a crucial moment. Why had Ryoka suddenly met Erin right after the call? Was it coincidence or something else? Was two people appearing so near to each other geographically simple luck or something else?

“I can’t believe it.”

Ryoka lifted her iPhone. Erin’s eyes followed it as if mesmerized, then snapped back to Ryoka’s face. Her state of shock was starting to annoy the older girl.

“Are you real? I mean, you—you’re from my world, right? This isn’t a joke, is it?”

And how would it be a joke? Ryoka bit back the sarcasm and answered politely as possible.

“I’m from Ohio. My name is Ryoka Griffin. I came here in the year 2016, around October.”

“Oh my god.”

Seven times. Ryoka tried not to let her impatience show.

“I know this is incredible, but please focus. How long have you been here? Do you know how you got here? Are you—”

“Oh my god, you’re real. You’re real!”

Ryoka tried not to make a face. Erin was freaking out.

“Look, I just had a call—it was a message that—”

She got no further. Erin lunged across the table. Ryoka’s fists raised instinctively, but the other girl just threw her arms around her.

“What? Um. What are you—?”

“I’m not alone? I’m not alone! You’re here and—oh my god. You’re here!”

“I am. Why are you…? I mean, yes. You’re not alone.”

Ryoka felt the other girl squeezing her hard. She was having trouble breathing. Erin was stronger than she looked.

“Look, you don’t have to—please—are you—?”

Erin’s muffled noises turned into dampness on Ryoka’s shirt. She was…crying?

Ryoka froze up. She didn’t know what to do. She patted Erin gently on the shoulder. Once. Twice.

“Um. I—”

She had no idea what to say. Erin was weeping into her shirt, and the feeling wasn’t pleasant. Ryoka knew she should say something reassuring, but she’d never done this before.

She wasn’t alone. That was what Erin wanted to hear, right? Ryoka could tell her that. She was one of many. She was—Ryoka could tell her that she wasn’t alone. That would cheer her up. If she met with the others—

The others. Ryoka froze, forgetting everything else in a moment of cold realization. Others. There weren’t just a few. Or even sixteen. She’d completely glossed over that fact in the light of all that had happened. Sleep deprivation, the excitement of the call and meeting Erin—

She’d stopped thinking. But now her slow-moving brain had fitted the pieces together. Statistics. It all boiled down to percentages. There weren’t just sixteen people in this world. There weren’t even just a hundred. There were many more.

How many people had working iPhones at the time of the call? How many had their iPhones when they arrived? What percentage of people have iPhones to begin with?

And of that number, how many people died or weren’t able to answer the call? How many ignored it out of fear or caution?

How many people were in this world?

Hundreds? Thousands? Tens of thousands? Ryoka felt something twist in her stomach.

Humans band together. They make laws. They go to war. Perhaps other species didn’t do that. But humans did. And peace for humans is only an interlude till the next war.

In Ryoka’s mind, she imagined Celum. A city caught between the renaissance and the medieval age. They didn’t have technology, those people. They didn’t have anything valuable by her world’s standards. Just gold, jewelry.

And magic.

In Ryoka’s mind, Celum burned. Fighter jets screamed down through the sky, strafing cities and dropping bombs in the streets while tanks rolled across open plains, firing at armies that had never known gunpowder. Scientists in hazmat suits walked around next to surveyors and prospectors identifying oil wells while magic and nonhumans were dissected and studied – made fact.

A colony world. Imperialism. Mandate of Heaven. White man’s burden.

In the time it took Erin to hug and release Ryoka, a world burned down behind her eyes. It was an easy equation to solve. One person was an accident, a fluke. Two people was unusual. But more? More was an open gateway. And no door opened in only one direction.

“Sorry.”

Erin wiped her nose on her sleeve as she let Ryoka go. She was snotty in a literal sense and her eyes were puffy, but she was smiling. Ryoka felt like someone had grabbed a piece of ice and stuck it in her gut.

“This is just so—so wonderful! I can’t believe it. You’re here. You’re from home.”

“It is amazing.”

Ryoka chose her words carefully as she brushed at her wet shirt. Her hand hit a damp, sticky spot and she immediately stopped.

“Um, Erin, right? Why don’t we sit and talk.”

Erin snuffled, sniffled, and nodded. She scooted back to the table while Ryoka tried to collect her thoughts. People. Talking. This wasn’t her forte, but she thought she had a handle on what was happening. First things first.

“I know this is a lot to take in, but let’s both try to calm down. I’m from Earth, and so are you. And I’ve just learned that other people are here too, scattered around the world.”

Erin’s eyes widened.

“We’re not alone? You mean—”

“Yes. And there’s a lot to talk about, but let’s just start with the basics. When did you get here? How did you arrive? What was the last date in our world that you remember? If we start with that, maybe—”

Ryoka broke off suddenly. Erin looked up as someone knocked on the door.

“Oh?”

“Are you expecting guests?”

Erin blinked. The Asian girl had pushed back her chair and was suddenly tensed, like a wild animal. She shrugged.

“Not really, but maybe they’re just late.”

She raised her voice.

“Come in!”

The door opened. Ryoka stared and took a step back as a giant, brownish-black insect walked into the inn. She looked at Erin, but the other girl was smiling. Ryoka’s mouth fell open slightly in surprise.

“Klbkch! Hey! Come on in!”

Ryoka stared as the Antinium nodded to Erin. Then she stared harder as a giant lizard man walked into the room, followed by what looked like a slightly less-hairy Wookie and another lizard. And then the insect talked.

“Good evening Miss Solstice. I hope we are not intruding?”

“What? No. I um—no. Wow. I didn’t expect so many guests so late.”

Ryoka stared at Erin. The other girl was smiling.

“I hope we are not intruding, but our affairs in the city took a long time to conclude.”

“Oh, Krshia, Selys! And Relc and Klbkch—is that—Pawn? Ksmvr?”

Erin caught sight of Zevara and her eyes widened.

“Wow. Um. Are you all here for food?”

“If you are able to host us, it would be most welcome. I regret to say that more guests are with us, however.”

Klbkch nodded to Relc and the others. The door opened wider to admit more bodies.

“And it appears other guests have arrived with us.”

A throng of short creatures entered the room, and this time Ryoka took a step back. She stared at the squat, green, crimson-eyed little demons and looked at Erin. The girl didn’t even appear fazed.

Then a mage stepped into the room. Well, he was obviously a mage by the long robes he wore, but the effect was muted by the grass stains and other marks on the once-white cloth. Ryoka recognized Pisces in an instant and slowly sat down in the chair. Her head was spinning.

When Erin saw Pisces and Rags her jaw dropped. She counted silently as her guests awkwardly stood at the entrance. Some were looking at Erin, but most were staring at each other.

Zevara was eying the Goblins with unconcealed malice and the Goblins were busy edging away from everyone but Erin. The three Antinium looked around silently while Selys stared in horrified fascination at the Antinium, the Goblins, and at Ryoka. Krshia sniffed the air while Relc patted his stomach and Pisces stared around with a half-sneer on his face.

Erin’s head was reeling. She was surprised, caught off-guard, and she had no idea where Toren was. But she was an [Innkeeper]. She might be busy, but she had guests. She rose to the occasion.

“I’ve got pasta!”

—-

Hell is something you create. Ryoka was a firm believer in not believing in religions, but the idea of hell had always been intriguing to her. Obviously a place of brimstone and pitchforks was ridiculous, but the idea of suffering, of damnation was interesting. How could hell be one thing? How could it be a constant, when it should be the representation of misery and suffering for each individual?

Damnation shouldn’t be something you went to. It should be a place you create for yourself out of your own guilt and fear. People create their own hells and sit in them. Ryoka was sure she had read a quote like that somewhere.

Right now, Ryoka was sitting in her own personal, localized hell. She was still in The Wandering Inn, but now it was full of people. Talking, noisy people who kept introducing themselves to her. And unlike every other party she’d been to, every other soiree and social gathering, here she couldn’t run away.

Ryoka sat at a table and stared around the common room of the inn. Suddenly it was bustling. From the quiet, dark room she’d found only an hour or two ago, it had been transformed into a raucous place full of light and noise.

At least half of the raucousness came from a large Drake sitting in the center of the room next to one of the Antinium. He was called Relc, and he’d greeted Ryoka by spraying her with a mouthful of blue juice and shouting ‘It’s you! The Runner human!’

It was a good thing Runners carried a spare change of clothes. At least the Drake’s companion had been polite enough. He was an Antinium. So were the other two black bugs sitting in the room. They’d made Ryoka’s skin crawl when she’d first realized what they were, but now she was just confused.

One of them, an Antinium with only two arms and one leg—was playing chess with one of the Goblins. Pawn and Rags. Ryoka kept feeling at her forehead with the back of her hand to make sure she wasn’t fevered.

And there were more. Erin was buzzing around the room, filling drinks, serving plates of pasta up, but somehow she found time to talk with Ryoka as well. She’d brought another Drake over to Ryoka’s table in the corner of the room. Erin beamed as she introduced her friend.

“Hey Ryoka, this is Selys! Selys, meet Ryoka. She’s a Runner.”

The female Drake – Ryoka was fairly certain she was female – opened her mouth and revealed a row of very sharp teeth.

“Oh, a City Runner? We haven’t had one of those around in a while! How are you?”

“Good.”

Ryoka took Selys’s hand, shook it once, and then quickly let go. It took her all of her self-control not to wipe her hand at the touch of smooth scales.

Erin didn’t seem to notice Ryoka’s discomfort. She turned to Selys, beaming.

“Hey Selys, you won’t believe this. I just talked to Ryoka and guess what? It turns out that—ow!”

Ryoka kicked Erin. She didn’t even try to conceal it. Every head turned towards their table and the room went silent for a second.

Across the room Ksmvr reached for a sword at his side. Ryoka’s spine crawled, but the other Antinium—Klbkch?—instantly smacked Ksmvr’s shoulder and he stopped.

“Um.”

“Oops.”

“Ow, why’d you—”

Erin glanced at Ryoka’s face and back to Selys. She smiled again, although this time it was somewhat forced.

“Well, um. Ryoka, this is Selys. Selys, Ryoka.”

The Drake smiled at Ryoka again, and backed up a little bit. Her tail was twisting around, Ryoka noticed.

“It was…nice to meet you, Miss Ryoka.”

“Likewise.”

The two retreated. Selys pulled Erin aside.

“Is she…sick?”

Erin made a face as she rubbed at her shin. That kick had hurt.

“I don’t know. She was really nice earlier. Sorry about that. Why’s that Zevara person here, by the way?”

“She wanted to see you. I think it was because you killed that skin monster.”

“Me? I didn’t. That was the Goblins.”

Selys rolled her eyes.

“They just finished it off is what Klbkch says. Erin! The entire city’s talking about you!”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. If it weren’t so crazy over there, I’m sure plenty of people would be coming over to look at you.”

“Um.”

Erin wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“…How are things? I heard a lot of people died.”

Selys paused. She looked down.

“A lot of people did. Not as many as there could have been, thanks to the Watch and the Antinium but—it’s not the worst disaster we’ve been through. And we’re rebuilding. Stronger with each dead scale, you know?”

“You fought didn’t you? You have to tell me about it!”

“Only if you tell me your side. But guess what? I leveled up! And I gained a new class!”

“What, really?”

“Yep! You’re looking at a Level 4 [Warrior] now!”

Selys puffed out her chest with pride as Erin made appropriate sounds of awe.

“It seems like half the city leveled or gained a new class. That’s war for you. No bad without some good. Anyways, Krshia and I wanted to celebrate and we knew you were alone out here.”

“Well, I have Toren.”

“He doesn’t count. We wanted to come alone, but then Relc decided to come with that Klbkch and Zevara told us she was coming and…”

At this point Ryoka stopped listening to the whispered conversation. She was putting together the pieces, but sleeplessness on top of sudden social interaction after a long day of running was not helping. The only upside was that she was rapidly running out of ways to be surprised. When Ryoka met Pisces, the [Necromancer] who’d fixed her leg and who was apparently teacher to one of the Goblins, she took it in stride.

At some point a skeleton walked into the inn with a huge basket of blue fruits and a bucket of water in each hand. He paused as Zevara and Klbkch unsheathed their swords.

“Stop, stop!”

Erin ran forwards between Toren and the others. Klbkch was already sheathing his sword, but Zevara took several minutes of explaining before she rammed her blade back in its sheath.

Ryoka remained perfectly still as Erin introduced Toren to her. She looked into his deathly gaze and the twin blue flames burning in his eyes and did not shake the proffered bony hand. He disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared with a plate and drink which he served to Ryoka.

Undead service workers. Ryoka instantly saw how useful it could be. It was a great idea in theory, but seeing it in practice was—unnerving. She kept glancing at his bones, wondering how they were even staying upright without muscles and skin. Were there magical, invisible threads animating him somehow?

She ate more food, drank more blue juice. Ryoka’s head was spinning as she asked herself a thousand questions at once. When the Gnoll named Krshia introduced herself Ryoka tried to be polite as possible.

She’d seen other species, of course, but they’d always been monsters. Perhaps she’d seen one or two of these…Gnolls in the cities, but never in person. And here were three—four new races if you counted the Goblins, sitting in the inn, talking, acting like people.

At some point the smallest Goblin hopped up on the seat opposite Ryoka and slapped a chess board in front of her. Ryoka thought she looked familiar, but then the Goblin moved a chess piece and stared at her. Erin wandered by, offering chess tips and then the game and everything else blended into the nightmare.

—-

Ryoka looked like she was having a great time. Erin could tell. She was staring around the inn, chatting to Pawn and playing chess with Rags while other Goblins sat around her and Toren kept filling her cup. She seemed distracted, but then, the inn was more animated than Erin had ever seen it.

“Captain Zevara, another plate of pasta? Or a drink?”

The tall, surly-looking Drake glanced up and waved her hand at Erin.

“I am fine. You are…Erin Solstice, aren’t you? We’ve met.”

“WE have?”

Erin blinked at Zevara and then remembered.

“Oh. We have. After Klbkch—um, how are you?”

Zevara ignored the question as she glanced around the inn.

“I came here because I wanted to see this place for myself. I thought Relc was exaggerating as usual. For once he might have been telling the truth. Although he never mentioned you serving Goblins. Or the skeleton.”

Erin glanced at Relc. The Drake avoided her gaze as Klbkch stared from the Drake to her.

“He hasn’t been around as recently. Um. I hope you like it here?”

“I didn’t come here for pleasure.”

Zevara met Erin’s gaze.

“These Goblins you’re sheltering, and the undead. They are an issue I intend to address, along with the death of the…thing that attacked my city.”

“Um, okay?”

“Zevara. Perhaps now is not the time?”

Klbkch stared at Zevara until she nodded reluctantly. He looked at Erin.

“These are matters of business. But in truth I and the others are here to celebrate the survival of the city. On that note, would you allow me to address the room?”

“What? Oh, sure, go ahead.”

Erin stood back. Klbkch nodded and stood up. She wondered how he would attract everyone’s attention with all the hubbub, but Klbkch simply raised his mug and waited. It took several minutes, but a tall, silent Antinium standing with one mug raised had a calming effect. Klbkch waited until everyone was silent and then spoke.

“To all present, allow me to say a few words. These last few days have been marked by one of the most deadly assaults on Liscor in the last decade. Errors were made on the part of the Antinium and the Watch and for that I must apologize. Needless deaths were caused, but the city and its people remain safe now. The creature which attacked Liscor is dead and as some may have noticed, I have returned to life. It is not in the nature of the Antinium to celebrate, but I adhere to other species’ customs and invite you all to celebrate these events.”

No one spoke. Erin wasn’t sure if she should clap. Klbkch nodded and went on as Ksmvr produced a bottle from somewhere and handed it to him.

“I believe it is customary to make a toast on occasions such as this. For this occasion, my Hive has manufactured its own drink. Allow me to present you with rxlvn, an alcohol we intend to sell.”

He presented a clear, glass bottle filled with some kind of black, foaming liquid to the room.

“Allow me to offer you a drink that we might toast our survival, wellbeing, and the future.”

No one moved. Relc stared at the bottle.

“Klb, that looks like dirt water. Can we even drink that?”

The Antinium nodded.

“It is quite safe, I can assure you. It has been extensively tested on Antinium and while the drink is strong, it is consumable by all present.”

He looked at Erin and she looked at Toren.

“Do we have um, any shot glasses? Anything small?”

They did, in fact. They were more like finger bowls and Erin wasn’t sure what was supposed to go in them. But they made good impromptu shot glasses, and soon each was filled with the fizzing, dark liquid.

Everyone but the Antinium stared into their bowl apprehensively as Klbkch lifted his.

“To life, triumph over the undead, and this inn.”

He drank, tossing the black liquid down calmly. So did Pawn and Ksmvr. No one else did. Krshia was sniffing at the drink suspiciously and Relc tasted the drink with the tip of his tongue.

“It is quite palatable.”

Erin gulped. She saw Ryoka standing away from the group, frowning down into her drink. Well, it wasn’t as if she had to drink the entire thing. She sipped at the drink. Her eyes widened.

“It’s good. Hey, this tastes good everyone!”

They all looked at her. Erin downed the drink and smiled. That seemed to reassure the others. Rags and the Goblins drank their portions down and looked around for more. Krshia tossed hers down and growled happily and Relc and Zevara did the same. Selys and Ryoka drank only a small bit, and Pisces only sipped a few drops.

“Hey it ain’t bad. Good job Klb.”

Relc laughed at his friend as he tossed the shot glass on the table. The others made similar noises of agreement. Krshia inclined her head at the Antinium.

“Perhaps I could find a market for your drink. It is agreeably strong. Gnolls, they would like this I think, yes?”

Klbkch nodded. He was smiling, or doing that raised-mandibles thing.

“It is rather potent in its current form. I regret that this is only a trial run, and the formula is not perfected yet. Perhaps we should have mitigated the effects of the drink with more paralytic agent.”

Everyone stared at him. Erin opened her mouth.

“Um. The what?”

Ryoka felt the top of her mouth go numb. She tried to put down the half-full shot glass but it slipped out of her fingers. She bent to catch it but toppled over.

Klbkch stared at the human girl as she flopped around on the ground, trying ineffectually to push herself up. He glanced around at the other non-Antinium as they began to sway, smile, or regurgitate.

“Ah.”

—-

The three Antinium strode back through the plains, towards Liscor. Or rather, the secret entrance just outside of it. There was no need to bother the guards on the gate at this hour.

And the striding aspect was similarly exaggerated, because two the Antinium were slower than the other. Pawn had to be half-carried by Ksmvr, unable to walk as he was.

Klbkch amended his pace to let the other two catch up. He spoke without turning his head and the other two answered without looking. They had no need of visual interaction. Communication between their own kind did not require social niceties as with other races.

“I regard this night as a positive outcome on the whole, even in light of the failure of the rxlvn. I will make our apologies tomorrow to the others.”

Ksmvr and Pawn didn’t nod. They didn’t have to. But Ksmvr did raise his voice. His tone was uncertain as he addressed Klbkch.

“With all due respect, would the drink not be considered a success, Prognugator? It was strong enough to affect even Relc.”

“Drinking is meant to be a social activity. The effects were too strong. Also, refrain from addressing me as Prognugator. I assumed that role out of necessity during the attack on Liscor. However, you will resume that position forthwith.”

Pawn looked at Ksmvr as the Antinium stared at Klbkch’s back.

“Am I then your superior? Your position—”

“I am second only to the Queen. A new position will be created.”

“I see. And the Individual known as Pawn?”

“For now he will remain under my authority, not yours.”

“I understand.”

The three walked on. Klbkch voice was cold and impartial as he spoke again.

“In the future, have the brewers reduce both alcohol content and soporific and paralytic agents in the drink. As I understand it, the act of drinking is meant to be pleasurable. Unconsciousness is the end result, not the goal.”

“Understood.”

“It will be done.”

“Very well. I will report to the Queen. I will attempt to communicate with Erin Solstice at another time. Ksmvr, return Pawn to the Hive and await instructions in the morning.”

Klbkch strode away before the other two Antinium could respond.

After a while, Pawn spoke.

“Klbkch’s motives are unclear to me. But I suppose this means I will no longer be a worker.”

Ksmvr’s voice was no longer hesitant. He replied impartially to Pawn.

“That is what we were ordered. You will, of course, obey.”

“Of course. I am loyal to the Hive. I have chosen.”

“Yet you have expressed your dissatisfaction with me to Klbkch. I am your Prognugator.”

“That is true. And you cut off my arms and leg.”

“I did what was necessary for the Hive.”

“Yes. You did.”

“You also instigated Workers to leave the Hive against my orders.”

“I suppose I did.”

The two moved on in silence. After a while Ksmvr spoke.

“Your affection for me is not necessary. However, for the good of the Hive we must work together.”

“I serve the Hive. I am loyal to the Queen.”

“Good.”

“But I still hate you.”

More silence.

“It is suggested by other species that a period of bonding may occur by shared experiences.”

“Indeed?”

“I suggest this as an attempt to amend the distrust between us.”

“I see.”

“Do you have any suggestions in this regard?”

Pawn was silent. His only leg dragged along the ground. He turned his head slightly to Ksmvr.

“Tell me. Do you know how to play chess?”

—-

The next day, Selys woke up in a room on the second floor of The Wandering Inn, next to a wet, hairy carpet. That carpet turned out to be Krshia, and the two turned out to be sharing the same bed.

Selys stared at Krshia in shock until the Gnoll opened her eyes. Krshia glared at the sun, and then blinked a few times at Selys.

“Good morning, Selys.”

“Um.”

Selys squeaked. She stared in horror at Krshia and then looked down. Their clothes were missing. She thought she saw her dress hanging out the open window. That was important, but her eyes kept getting drawn back to the Gnoll sleeping next to her. Right next to her.

“Um. Uh. Hi Krshia. You wouldn’t happen to know—did we um—did we—?”

Krshia shrugged, and then sniffed hard. She shook her head.

“Hr. Nothing happened.”

Selys almost thought she heard the Gnoll mutter ‘pity’.

“Oh. Good. I’m um—I’m just—I have to—”

Selys rolled out of bed, fled the inn, and locked herself in her apartment for the rest of the day.

—-

Two hours after Selys fled, Relc found himself lying in the plains, completely naked. He stood up, looked for his clothing, and gave up. The naked Drake strolled through the southern gates of Liscor around the same time the Watch Captain was found passed out in one of the street gutters.

—-

Six hours before Relc caused a disturbance, Pisces woke up with light shining on his face. He waved his hands feebly and then sat up. What he’d thought was the sun turned out to be something else. He stared at the flickering magic and turned pale.

—-

Around an hour after everyone had vacated the inn, Erin slumped at a table, blearily watching Toren as he moved around the room, picking up plates and mugs and bringing them to the kitchen.

“See that? That’s useful. Like a…dishwasher with legs. And a sword.”

She wasn’t drunk. The Antinium’s alcohol had tasted bitterly dark with just a hint of something fruity, but it hadn’t done anything for Erin. It was the [Alcohol Immunity]. She wasn’t drunk.

“If I had ten of him…I’d probably hate it. You know he stands in a corner? Very creepy. Veeeeery creepy.”

She was just tired. Ryoka on the other hand was drunk. But she was still able to stand upright, which was quite impressive. Then again, everyone else had been upright as they staggered out of the inn. Only the Goblins had taken the shot and fallen right down. They were still lying on the floor, insensible. Rags was sprawled face-down on one of the tables, clutching a chess piece in one hand.

Erin wasn’t sure why she was awake. She really wanted to sleep, but Ryoka was still awake. The other girl was clearly trying to keep herself upright and Erin felt it was only courteous to do the same.

Ryoka blinked several times and frowned. She was swaying in her seat. The other girl was muttering, her voice slurred.

“We have to talk. This is—crucial. Something about people? If we’re all here, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know? I didn’t know there were people.”

Ryoka frowned at her, and then nodded with difficulty.

“When you got here. That was important? When you…got here. Something about that.”

She put a hand to her head and frowned hard. Erin shrugged. She was drifting off on a sea of clouds. That’s what the table felt like. She closed her eyes, and then jerked upright. Ryoka nearly fell out of her seat.

Erin decided she had to be the voice of reason.

“It’s too late for this. We should sleep.”

Ryoka thought about this. After a moment she nodded.

“Tomorrow. But we must talk.”

“Yes. But after we sleep.”

The two agreed. They nodded so much they nearly fell asleep.

“Upstairs is a bed. You can have one.”

Erin wandered over to her kitchen. Ryoka frowned at her and then looked at the door.

“You don’t lock the doors?”

“Should I?”

“Yes.”

Erin didn’t see the point. She wavered. It was such a long way to the doors. But then Toren walked over and bolted it. She smiled. She was saved! She could go to sleep.

“There. Locked.”

Ryoka looked at the doors, squinting. Then she nodded, apparently satisfied. Without another word she stumbled towards the stairs. Erin heard her bumping into things on the way up.

Time for bed. Erin was exhausted. She stumbled towards her bedding, too tired to even think about undressing or brushing her teeth. She rolled into her blankets and stared at the roof.

So tired. So exhausted. So much money made from her guests! But all that was a backdrop to the most important thing. It had lit her up, given her wings as she’d served her guests. It was important, the only thing that mattered.

Erin whispered it up to the ceiling.

“I’m not alone.”

She smiled, and drifted off to sleep with that wonderful feeling still in her chest.

Happiness.

—-

Erin had about half an hour of sleep before the door to her inn exploded inwards. As she ran out of the kitchen she saw Pisces standing in the doorway, hands wreathed in crackling lightning. His face was pale.

Ryoka stood poised on the stairway, ready to leap down on the mage. But she stopped. Something was glowing in the dark inn, and not just the magic coiling around the mage’s hands.

A spark of light flickered and hovered around Pisces’ head. A dancing firefly made of colors and shapes. They spelled out words and meaning Ryoka couldn’t read, but she recognized them. She recognized the spell. She sat down on the stairway, legs suddenly out of energy.

Erin blinked at the burnt wood of her doorway. Oh. She’d locked it. She looked at Pisces and opened her mouth to yell, but hesitated.

“Pisces, what…?”

The mage’s face was pale as he stared at Erin. He said only two words.

“They’re alive.”

2.02

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“Pisces didn’t say. He only said that if Ceria was alive there could be others.”

“And she’s alive?”

“Yes! The message-spell-thingy said she needed help. She’s somewhere in the Ruins, down deep.”

“And with Relc and Klbkch you think you can save them, right?”

“Yeah!”

“Forget it.”

Erin paused.

“…What?”

Zevara held a wet washcloth to her head and scowled at Erin over her desk.

“I said no. I’m not sending two of my best guardsmen into that place without a good reason. You want to save those damn adventurers? Do it yourself.”

“But we need them! Relc and Klbkch—they’re Senior Guardsmen. They can fight.”

“They’re Senior Guardsmen.”

Zevara agreed as she absently massaged her temples.

“But they’re under no obligation to help non-citizens. Which is what you are. Moreover, I won’t risk losing Klbkch again. Not after last time.”

Erin opened her mouth to protest, and the Captain of the Watch stared pointedly at her.

“Not again.”

Erin closed her mouth and frowned stubbornly.

“I’ll just ask them to help on their own time, then.”

“I’ll forbid them to help you. They’re valuable assets to the city.”

“You can’t do that!”

“Watch me.”

Erin stared at Zevara. The Drake’s eyes were a light purple, and she held Erin’s gaze until the human looked away.

“You—you—”

“If you’re done, get out. I’ve got a city to protect, and I don’t need to listen to a human squawking at me.”

For one second, the girl thought about flipping Zevara’s desk over and spilling all her neat paperwork on the floor. She didn’t because it wouldn’t help anything, and because the desk looked really heavy.

Plus, Selys had told her that Zevara could breathe fire.

The girl stomped to the door and Zevara winced and scowled at her. Erin turned, hand on the doorknob.

“If they die, it’s your fault.”

Zevara’s face was stony.

“Tell that to the people who have already died.”

There was nothing she could say to that, so Erin left. She slammed the door as hard as she could behind her. That made her feel a little better.

Ryoka was waiting impatiently at the foot of the stairs as Erin came down. The taller girl was practically bouncing on her bare feet, ignoring the stares she was getting from the other guardsmen in the Watch’s barracks.

“Well?”

Erin shook her head glumly.

“We’re not getting any help from the Watch. And um, I think we should leave. Now.”

They did. Ryoka stopped a few feet outside of the squat, two-story building and turned to Erin.

“I thought you said we could get help.”

“I thought we would! But it looks like people sort of blame the adventurers for the attack. Which is fair.”

“Fair?”

Erin flinched at Ryoka’s glare. She hadn’t known the other girl long, but Ryoka seemed to have two settings: intense and brooding. And right now she was practically vibrating with energy. She would have rushed to the Ruins as soon as Pisces had come to them if it weren’t for the fact that both she and Erin were exhausted and drunk. Even so, she’d been up at the crack of dawn demanding to be led to the Ruins.

“That mage – Pisces said that he’ll go down to look for the Horns of Hammerad. I’ll go with him now. You try to convince other people to help.”

Ryoka turned and Erin grabbed her arm. The Runner jumped and glared and Erin let go quickly.

“Sorry. Look, you want to go into the super-scary Ruins with Pisces?”

“Yes. The Horns are down there. I’m going in after them.”

“But with Pisces?”

“He’s a necromancer, right? I know he’s powerful.”

“Yeah, but he’s…Pisces, y’know?”

Ryoka just stared. Erin scratched at her head. It was only just past morning in the city and her head still felt full of clouds.

“You really care about them, don’t you? I mean, I do too, but Ryoka, this is crazy.”

Ryoka shrugged.

“I owe them a debt. I’ll go down there myself and come out with them or stay there forever.”

Now that sounded heroic and pretty crazy. Erin opened her mouth and raised a finger.

“Or we could get reinforcements.”

“You said that about your two guardsmen friends.”

“I did. But I know more people. Zevara said she’d forbid Relc and Klbkch from coming. Well, she can do that, but I bet Klb’s more important than her.”

“Fine. Let’s ask him.”

Ryoka turned and began walking. She moved so quick! Her version of walking was Erin’s version of a jog. The girl made it ten feet and then turned around and glared at Erin.

“Well? What are you waiting for?”

Erin smiled desperately and looked around.

“Um, I’ve never really been to the Hive. We might have to ask for directions or find a Worker.”

“A what?”

—-

Slow people. Slow conversations. The Horns of Hammerad are alive! I should be running down to the Ruins now, but I’m stuck here with a girl who doesn’t seem to understand the meaning of haste*.

*Or a lot of other things, if I’m honest. She’s a person from my world, I get that. But is she just completely airheaded or does she not take everything seriously? She hangs out with talking bugs and doesn’t even blink at crazed demon midgets**.

**Goblins.

Time. It all comes down to time. Not everything’s a 400 meter dash, but some things come down to seconds.

This is an emergency. My frien—Ceria and the others are alive. At least she is. And she’s been down in the Ruins for days, possibly without water or food all that time. She is alive.

I have to help her. But somehow I’m stuck following Erin Solstice around. She’s fine. She’s an innkeeper. But she doesn’t seem to understand how important this is.

I had to push her to run through the streets and she stopped when she got embarrassed from people staring. We found the Hive, and the strange Worker insect disappeared inside for a few minutes before he came out with the strange Antinium.

Antinium. The murderous invaders from across the world. I could use an entire army of them, but it seems like we’re not going to get any.

“—And then she said she’d forbid you to help! Can you believe that?”

What is it with this girl and talking to people? I should just go. Now. But—

Zombies? Erin did say there were zombies, right?

Can I fight zombies? Would punching them even work?

What if I get bit?

I have to go.

Klbkch, the Antinium with only two arms stares first at Erin, and then me. I don’t like him. He drugged us last night, or slipped us some kind of magical alcohol. I took a sip of that and went insane.

What does he want? Why does Erin think he’ll help her? If he’s the Prognugator of the Hive here he should be far too important to want to deal with us.

Unless he suspects where we’re from. Or is it something else? That book said Antinium don’t have names except for the Prognugator and Queens. So why did I meet two other Antinium with names?

Focus. I have to save Ceria and the others.

“So um. Can we have a few of those big soldier guys?”

Klbkch crosses his arms and seems to think. The Worker that got him left the instant he completed his task, but Klbkch came out of the hive with the Antinium with swords. Ksmvr. He makes me just as uneasy. Is he a bodyguard? Some new form of Antinium? Or is that Klbkch? They’re not supposed to have only two arms.

At last, Klbkch shakes his head reluctantly.

“I am sorry Erin, but I cannot assist you.”

Her face falls. I heard some people wear their feelings on their sleeve, but Erin paints it on a sign and waves it around wherever she goes.

“What? Why?”

“By the agreement made with Liscor, we may not bring out Soldiers above-ground unless requested by a figure of authority or in times of war or defense of the city.”

Damn, damn, damn. But I guess it’s my turn. If I could get some of those soldiers Erin is talking about…I clear my throat. Klbkch looks at me. I hate talking to strangers.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t the Ruins a clear threat? That’s where these undead came from, right? Neutralizing it would constitute defense of the city.”

Not good. Two interrogative statements. I should be making declaratives and speaking confidently. That’s what good old dad taught me. Look people in the eye, speak clearly, and lie through your teeth when you have to.

Klbkch nods at me, and takes his time replying, like a lawyer building his case.

“That is true under a certain interpretation. But I believe many would see it as a dangerous precedent, especially given the failure of the Antinium to act during the undead attack.”

“No. Klbkch, we need help. Really badly. Ryoka and I can’t go down there by ourselves. Or even with Toren and Pisces.”

Whoa. Slow down. Did she just say she was going with me? And what was that? Toren? The skeleton? She wants to take a skeleton to fight against its kind? Can she even trust that thing?

Klbkch just nods as if it’s all natural, though.

“I understand. But my Queen would take Zevara’s view, I fear. I can render some aid, though.”

“Really?”

He nods. Klbkch looks over his shoulder at the other Antinium.

“Ksmvr. Go with Erin Solstice and protect her.”

The other Antinium’s mandibles spread wide, their version of a surprised expression, I guess.

“I? But I am Prognugator. I cannot—”

“Silence. You will go.”

Klbkch turns back to Erin and bows his head politely. Why do I get something of a Japanese vibe from the Antinium? Stereotypes about the Japanese corporate life aside, maybe because they’re so polite.

A single warrior from a Hive that’s capable of fielding thousands of soldiers at any given moment seems weak to me, but Erin smiles.

“So you’re not going to try and stop me, then?”

“If I told you not to go, I believe you would. You and Relc share the same tendencies.”

“That’s not a compliment.”

“I am aware.”

Okay, if that’s all, it’s time to go.

“It’s time to go. Let’s get to the Ruins.”

Erin shakes her head. Is she mule headed or does she not realize that we need to hurry?

“Not yet. Krshia and Selys might be able to help. Let’s go see them.”

Unless they’re both secretly incredible warriors I doubt it. But Klbkch seems approving. He nods to me as I hurry Erin away.

His voice is soft, but I hear him talking quietly to the other one, Ksmvr as I go. Erin doesn’t notice. She’s too busy deciding whether to see Krshia or Selys first. But I hear him.

“Protect Erin and those she travels with. Her life is more important than yours. If she is harmed or dies, I will see you deconstructed.”

Something else to think about, but not now. I keep pushing Erin, ignoring her complaints that her feet hurt. We can’t slow. I can’t stop.

We have to hurry.

I won’t be too late again.

—-

“Will you not wait a day?”

“No.”

Ryoka said it before Erin could even respond. It was incredible, but the other girl was even more hyperactive than before. She was shifting from leg to leg, checking the position of the sun and the time on her iPhone every few seconds.

“We can’t wait, Krshia. If Ceria’s down there, she might be in danger even as we speak.”

“Hrm. But it is very dangerous. That creature of skin, there may be more, yes? And even if there is not, many undead did not perish in the attack. They will all be waiting down there.”

“Will you come or not?”

Erin winced. Being blunt and rude towards a Gnoll was…well, actually it wasn’t a bad thing. Krshia snorted in amusement at Ryoka.

“Patience, young huntress. Even with Ksmvr, warrior that he is, you two and the mage and skeleton are not enough, yes? I suggest waiting because in time help may arrive.”

“Help? What kind of help?”

Krshia smiled at Erin.

“Several of my tribe come down the southern road. They will be here today, if not earlier. They are warriors all, and they will surely help find your humans for you.”

Krshia’s words sparked a memory in Ryoka’s head. She stared at the Gnoll. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Erin shook her head at Krshia.

“We can’t wait. I’m sorry, but we’re going in. Will you come?”

Regretfully, Krshia shook her head.

“I cannot. I must wait for my kin and my arrows would do little good against dead things.”

Erin exhaled hard. She’d thought that was the case, but it still hurt.

“Okay. Okay. In that case I need to buy some stuff.”

Krshia spread her paws.

“My shop is open. I have healing potions which I will give you, and you may pay me later. What do you need? Ask.”

“Frying pans, knives…actually, rocks will do. So only frying pans.”

“Frying pans?”

Krshia looked dubious, but she saw Erin was serious.

“Very well. I have good ones of cast iron. How many do you wish for?”

“Two…three…how many do you have?”

Erin took only a minute to select the right frying pans. Then she turned and nodded at Ryoka.

“Selys, then. She might be able to help. If not we’ll go.”

The other girl didn’t move. She was staring at Krshia, frowning. Ryoka seemed to be struggling with something, and both of the other females finally noticed it. Krshia smiled at Ryoka.

“Do you have something you wish to say?”

“These other Gnolls you said were coming. They’re coming up the south road?”

“Yes. If you wait, they will be here soon.”

“No. They won’t.”

Krshia frowned at Ryoka.

“What makes you sure of that?”

“They’re dead. I saw them.”

Erin looked from Ryoka back to Krshia just in time to see the Gnoll shopkeeper go completely still. Her tail, usually gently wagging, stopped. Her ears froze and her pupils dilated. She stared at Ryoka.

“Explain.”

“I found a group of dead Gnolls on my way to Liscor. They were around forty miles away from the city, all of them killed. Something cut them apart.”

Krshia flexed her hand by her side. Both Erin and Ryoka’s eyes were drawn downwards when she did. Normally, Krshia had a paw for a hand, furrier than a human’s but generally the same. Now her claws seemed to lengthen. Maybe it was a trick of the light. But to look at Krshia’s hands at that moment was to remember that she had nails. Long and sharp nails, the kind you could use to cut someone to ribbons.

The Gnoll stared down at Ryoka silently. Her face was expressionless, and her voice equally devoid of emotion.

“Who?”

“I don’t know. But a few hours later I met someone on the road. A woman with a large eye named Gazi.”

Erin stared in open-mouthed astonishment at Ryoka, but Krshia only nodded.

“Thank you for telling me this, Ryoka Griffin. I trust you are not lying?”

“No.”

Krshia inclined her head slowly.

“I thought as much and sense the truth of it. Very well. You must go. Save your friends.”

Erin hesitated, but Ryoka pulled her away. The two girls ran down the street as Krshia watched them go.

The Gnoll was silent as she stood behind her stall full of carefully arranged wares. Another Drake trotted up, happy to be served at last. Krshia turned to look at him and his scales turned grey and he stumbled away.

Slowly, Krshia turned and went back into her small stall. She pawed around near the back, until she came to a long, rolled up bundle placed carefully on top of a few crates. Krshia brought it back and laid it on her counter, brushing aside her display to make room.

She did not move any faster than usual. There would be time enough for that, later.

Krshia unwrapped the bow and stood it upright in her shop. She drew the string out of the bundle, checking to make sure it was still oiled and unfrayed. Then she began stringing the bow.

Across the street Lism, the waste of fur of a shopkeeper, was marching towards Krshia. Probably to complain about one of the two humans. Krshia took no notice of him. She reached into the bundle and pulled out a wrapped bundle.

Lism took one look at the huge broadhead arrows Krshia unwrapped from their wax paper covering and immediately turned around and walked away. The other pedestrians on the street took one look at the shopkeeper arming herself and made themselves scarce.

The bow was strung, and Krshia put the arrows in a quiver at her side. She was ready. She opened the side panel of her shop and stepped out.

Then she raised her head to the sky and began to howl.

—-

Selys had no better news for Erin. The Drake only shook her head and spread her hands helplessly.

“Sorry, Erin. I know this is serious but no one wants to go into the Ruins. Not after what came out.”

“But there are other adventurers trapped down there. Friends. Comrades in arms and that sort of thing. You’re saying no one will help?”

“All the best human adventurers went down with the Horns of Hammerad. The ones who are left are, well…”

“We’re just smarter than that lot, that’s all.”

Both Drake and human turned to look at who had spoken. A Drake with a sword sat with his feet up at a table, balancing on the chair with his tail. He laughed as his friends, all Drakes, started making jokes about the adventurers.

Erin stared around the room desperately. There weren’t all Drake and Gnolls in the room. Some humans were there too, but none of them would meet her eyes. Or the ones that did were laughing at the adventurers.

“Won’t any of you help? Please, they’re in trouble.”

“They should have gotten themselves out of trouble or not gone looking for it in the first place, Human.”

The Drake who had first spoken laughed again with his buddies.

“Or maybe they just ran the instant they saw undead and got themselves killed. Either way, we’re not risking our hides for a few idiots.”

“Cowards.”

Ryoka said it loudly, and it had the same effect as a knife. It cut through the sound and laughter and made the Drake who had spoken sit forwards with a thump.

The mood changed. The adventurers at the table glared at Ryoka. She glared back.

“I thought adventurers were supposed to be brave. You lot should get rid of your swords and become Runners. At least they get paid to run away.”

The Drakes at the table stood up, hissing angrily. Selys banged her hand on the counter.

“Stop that! No fighting! This city’s had enough of it!”

The Drakes hesitated. The mood in the room wasn’t on their side, and they weren’t itching for a fight in any case.

They sat back down. Perhaps it was the look in Ryoka’s eye and the rumors about a crazed Runner girl with bare feet. But it was probably because of the look Erin gave them. Everyone had heard about the human who slew the monster made of skin.

“I’m sorry.”

Selys apologized again, but Erin just shook her head. Ryoka was already leaving the Guild, and Erin ran after her with a hurried apology for Selys.

This time Ryoka set a course for the gates of the city without even talking. Erin had to walk quickly to catch up. The two girls walked through the crowds of people silently.

They heard the howling begin as they left the Adventurer’s Guild. It was immediately joined by more voices of other Gnolls around the city, so that the streets rang with the sound and Drakes and Humans froze and stared around wildly. But neither girl so much as looked up.

“Well. Ksmvr said he’d meet us at the Ruins. That’s something.”

“I suppose. Do you have anything you need at the inn?”

“Yeah. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be good to go.”

“Good. I’ll help you grab everything. We need food, water, healing potions—”

Erin lifted the bag she’d carried from Krshia’s store. She had healing potions, and the three frying pans she’d brought. Ryoka eyed them but made no comment. After a moment Erin asked the question on her mind.

“You met Gazi?”

“You know her?”

“Yeah. She was at my inn. She helped me out too, when I first met her. She was, um, nice. Do you think she really…?”

“I don’t know. But she was close to those Gnolls and she pretended not to know what I was talking about when I asked.”

Ryoka walked on and hesitated.

“She…bothered me.”

“Was it the eye? That creeped me out a bit.”

“No. It was her. I can’t explain it, but each of those Gnolls that died was beheaded. With a single cut.”

“Oh. She has…a really sharp sword.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

They said nothing more until they got back to the inn. It took them only fifteen minutes, and Erin was gasping for breath when they got there. Ryoka looked at her in way that made Erin feel certain she was judging her. She wasn’t even sweating.

It was cold anyways, not the right temperature for sweating. It didn’t feel like winter, but then, maybe they were in the equivalent of Florida or something. Erin opened the door and jumped back.

Toren stood in the doorway, holding his sword. He stared curiously at Erin as Ryoka raised her fists and stepped back.

“Toren! Don’t stand with a sword in the doorway! Come on; help me!”

Erin pushed the skeleton aside and Toren sheathed his sword and began following her around as she yelled out instructions. Ryoka watched the skeleton warily, but Toren meekly ran about, gathering a few glowing green jars, supplies, and for some reason, several rocks from outside.

“Ready!”

Erin reappeared a few minutes later with a bulging rucksack, and all three frying pans strapped to it. Ryoka eyed the bag. Well, Erin could always stay in the back and carry the food. She had no idea how deep the Ruins were. She had no idea of anything, really.

It was the worst possible way to enter a dangerous area, but Ryoka had no choice. She had to go.

“Are you done? Let’s get moving.”

“Okay. Toren will carry everything until we get there.”

So saying, Erin handed the heavy pack to the skeleton. He accepted it without complaint and staggering a bit, followed Erin and Ryoka. Ryoka thrust open the door and paused.

Several Goblins jumped back, and one screamed in a high-pitched voice. Ryoka nearly threw herself back into Erin before she remembered these were nominally friendly Goblins.

“Rags!”

Erin pushed past Ryoka as the smallest Goblin stared up at Ryoka suspiciously. She smiled at the Goblin.

“I’m glad you’re here. We need your help!”

Ryoka did a double take as Rags blinked in surprise. Surely Erin wasn’t considering…?

She was.

In a few sentences Erin described the message Pisces had gotten, and their mission to enter the Ruins. Rags listened attentively while the rest of her group stared around idly or picked at their noses and ate what came out.

Erin finished with a short plea.

“You understand, don’t you? You’ll help, right?”

Rags thought for a second, pondering all she had heard. Then she looked up at Erin and shook her head.

“What?”

Erin stared down at the Goblin. Rags shrugged at her.

“But they’re in trouble. And you can help! You’ve got a sword and your tribe. We need you, Rags.”

Again, Rags shrugged. Erin didn’t speak Goblin and Rags wasn’t speaking, but she got a definite sense of indifference from the small Goblin. What had the Horns of Hammerad ever done for her? Why should she risk her neck?

“Rags, please. They’ll die if we can’t get to them. Remember Ceria? Remember Calruz?”

Rags scowled at Erin and turned away. Her attitude seemed to indicate that if there wasn’t any food or chess to be had, there was no point in being here.

That was the last straw. Erin had listened to grouchy Zevara, surprisingly unhelpful Klbkch, Krshia and the idea that Gazi was evil, and a room full of useless adventurers. Her patience finally ran out. She snapped.

“Hey!”

She grabbed Rags bodily and lifted her up. The Goblin shouted in outrage and tried to break free, but Erin just glared at her.

“I’m asking you for help. You owe me. I’ve fed you and given you help and even the sword and shield! I even made Pisces teach you magic! Now I need help saving my friends.”

Rags growled at Erin and kicked at her. Erin bit back a yelp as one bare foot kicked her in the chest. Hard.

“That’s it.”

The small Goblins grabbed at the sheathed short sword at her waist, but Erin just turned her upside down and began to shake. The Goblin’s head and body bounced around wildly as Erin shook the small Goblin, shouting loudly.

“Help—me! Help—us!”

She lifted Rags up and down by the ankles, so that the small Goblin bounced up and down like a bungee jumper. To Ryoka it looked like one of the rides at an amusement park that send hapless riders down a hundred feet per second out of the sky, except here no one was amused. Except for her and the other Goblins, of course.

“I’m not gonna stop until you say yes! Say yes! Say it!”

The Goblin screamed and tried to bite and punch at Erin, but to no avail. Erin whirled Rags around by the legs in a circle as the Goblin screamed. Ryoka had done that as a kid with her father, once or twice. But it had been her holding on as he whirled her around by the arms, not the legs. The way Erin was doing it to Rags was a lot faster, more dangerous, and a lot less fun.

At last, Rags screamed something loudly and Erin stopped. The girl glared at the Goblin as Rags hung upside-down in the air, even greener than normal.

“You’re going to help? Promise?”

Rags nodded weakly. Erin dropped her.

The Goblin landed with a thump in the grass. For a second Ryoka thought she was going to run, but when Rags pushed herself up the Goblin could only stagger around drunkenly.

“Run away and I’ll throw a rock at you. And you know I’ll hit you.”

Erin threatened Rags. Ryoka wondered how credible that was—Erin didn’t seem like she was the athletic type, and Ryoka seriously doubted she’d ever played baseball. Maybe softball, at best. She didn’t seem like the competitive type.

Rags glared at Erin, stumbled a few feet away, and threw up noisily in the grass. She paused after vomiting up a considerable amount of undigested food, thought for second, and then threw up again.

Erin stumbled as she turned, dizzy from the swinging herself. She nearly walked into another Goblin. Rag’s small posse was alternating between glaring at her and staring at the vomit in the grass with curiosity or hunger.

Maybe they were protective of their boss. She didn’t care. Erin glared at them.

“You wanna fight? Huh?”

The Goblins looked at their leader, still noisily being sick in the grass. They looked back at the Destroyer, Slayer of the Skin Monster, Provider of Pasta and Free Drinks. They backed up quickly.

Rags was nearly done puking. The Goblin wiped at her mouth and said something in her scratchy language. Erin pointed at her.

“You’re helping. No arguments. You and your tribe—”

Erin hesitated and turned around. The area was already emptying out of Goblins as they ran away.

“Damn it.”

Ryoka glanced at her. The girl’s earlier amusement at the spectacle had evaporated like the other Goblins.

“We’ve got to go. Why do you want the Goblin, anyways? Even her tribe wouldn’t be much help.”

Erin disagreed.

“She’s got a sword and a shield. Plus, she knows magic.”

Ryoka paused.

“…She does?”

“Yeah, maybe not as much as you, but some. And she was the one who killed the super-evil-skin-worm monster that was leading the undead.”

Ryoka stared at her. Erin threw up her hands.

“It’s true! Why does no one believe that?”

—-

They met Pisces waiting at the Ruins. The mage was antsy, and he hadn’t brought anything but his customarily dirty robes. He didn’t have his usual sneer though, and he was nervous. Possibly the only person more nervous than him was Ksmvr.

“I would deem it far more prudent for you to remain behind, Erin Solstice. You are no warrior, and the Ruins are dangerous.”

“They’re my friends. I’m going in there.”

Erin glared at Ksmvr. The Antinium wavered, and then sighed.

“Very well. But remain behind me at all times.”

Rags glared at the Antinium as he looked down at her, and then at Toren.

“You have chosen an unusual group.”

“No one else would come.”

“I see.”

Ryoka ignored the two and marched up to Pisces. He looked at her with the expression of someone trying to recall her name. She didn’t care.

“Did you get another message from them?”

He shook his head.

“Possibly something is blocking Ceria. Or her mana might still be low. It is possible if she is…wounded.”

“Right then, let’s find her.”

“I suppose so. But there’s a ah, problem.”

“What’s that?”

He nodded at the vast entrance to the ruins.

“The guardsmen won’t let us in.”

After the attack on Liscor, a palisade and deep ditch had been dug, and the guards at the entrance to the Ruins were now twenty strong, armed with arrows and torches and even a Drake mage in robes at the back. The guardsman in charge stared at Erin and the others as they marched up.

“We’re going in.”

The Drakes and Gnolls stared at Erin as she stood in front of them. One of them laughed, but stopped when no one joined them. Their leader, a Drake with maroon scales shook his head.

“No one goes in or out. Zevara’s orders.”

“She knows we’re going in.”

“She does?”

“She does.”

He shook his head.

“I can’t let you in without word from her.”

“That is regrettable.”

Ksmvr called from behind Erin. He shook his head.

“We should return to the city. It would not do to stand in defiance of the law.”

Ryoka opened her mouth—for what, she didn’t know. A threat? She wasn’t sure of anything that would work. But Erin just narrowed her eyes.

“You’ll let us in.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll hurt you.”

The Drake stared at Erin. She glared at him. He had nearly a head of height on her not counting his helmet, and he had a spear and nineteen guardsmen at his back. All Erin had was a frying pan. But he remembered where Skinner had died and he had [Dangersense] too. The look in Erin’s eyes made him reconsider his next words.

“We will send word to the city. If you’ll wait.”

Erin pushed him. The Drake stumbled back and nearly ran into the sharpened wall of stakes. Erin stomped past him without another word, and the others followed. Ryoka stared open-mouthed at her back and then hurried to catch up.

The Ruins were dark, and the open stone doors were just as foreboding as before. But despite the ominous blackness from within, Erin knew there was no turning back. But she did have a thought.

“Um. Did anyone bring a candle?”

“[Light].”

Pisces and Ryoka said it at the same time as Rags muttered something. Three orbs of shimmering light flew upwards as all three blinked at each other.

“Good, then we’re…good.”

Erin looked back into the Ruins. Here be monsters, she thought to herself. Nasty, undead monsters. This was the place where Skinner had come from. This is the place where countless adventurers had died.

Death lurked below, waiting. But so too did the Horns of Hammerad. There was no choice. Erin took a deep breath.

“Ready?”

Pisces looked green, but he nodded. Rags scowled at Erin and Ryoka and the ground. Toren’s sword was already drawn and the skeleton scanned the dark entrance.

Ksmvr stepped forwards.

“Allow me to go first, Miss Solstice. I will scout ahead and signal you when it is safe to proceed.”

“No. We go in together.”

He hesitated, but Erin pushed past him. Ryoka blinked in surprise. Erin walked into the darkness of the ruins, and then turned.

“Well? I can’t see anything if you guys don’t follow.”

The others hesitated, but then they walked forwards. Ryoka passed into the darkness and shivered. Her tongue was in her mouth and her heart was pounding. She was afraid. For the first time she was truly afraid. Of the unknown. Of what she did not know. Of being too late.

But she had to go.

A dirty [Necromancer], a Goblin, an undead skeleton, the Prognugator of an Antinium Hive, an [Innkeeper] and a City Runner walked into the Ruins. It sounded like the beginning of a joke, but what would the punch line be?

Gazi the Omniscient sat with her back to a slope several hundred meters away. Her main eye pointed into the back of her head as she tracked the progress of the strange group as they descended into the Ruins.

Let’s see. By primary classes they were…

A Level 12 [Warrior] Antinium.

A Level 27 [Necromancer] with [Mage] class levels.

A Level 8 [Warrior], Level 6 [Mage] and Level 10 [Tactician] Goblin.

A Level 11 [Skeleton Warrior] carrying a ruby enchanted with [Terror].

A Level 18 [Innkeeper] Human.

And a level-less Runner Human.

A joke, then. Something about Ruins? Or the undead. They could be humorous. Gazi frowned. She’d work on it while she waited for them to come back out. She had plenty of time.

But then, she could hardly wait. She was patient, had been patient, but now Gazi was buzzing with anticipation. She polished her sword, humming quietly, waiting. A tightly sealed scroll with a glowing rune etched onto a wax seal sat in the grass next to her.

It was finally time to go home.

2.03

It was an odd procession that walked down the empty halls of Liscor’s undead ruins. Not that the ruins were undead; rather, they were infested with the undead.

In theory. No one had seen a corpse yet, living, undead, or just dead. But they were ready.

Still, it was an odd group Ryoka found herself walking with. And an odd formation as well. She hadn’t given it any thought when she’d known she was going in to find her friends. Ryoka had assumed she’d be running into the ruins as fast as she could, avoiding traps and monsters every foot until she found the Horns of Hammerad.

It would have been a suicide run in any case. What would she have done even if she’d found them? Carried them out on her shoulders hundreds of feet while dodging monsters, armor and all? She couldn’t even lift Calruz.

She hadn’t been thinking. That would have killed both her and the people she had come to rescue. She had to use her head.

Some thought then, had gone into the procession that walked through the ruins. The group had decided to walk two abreast, so that no one was without a partner, but also so they were staggered out in case something came from behind.

It felt like one of those horror movies to Erin, but at least this time she’d placed herself in the middle. And they were walking together, not with one idiot stuck in the back where no one could hear them. Even so, she kept looking over her shoulder every few minutes.

Somewhat predictably, Ksmvr was stuck in the front with Toren. No one wanted to walk with him and Toren could see just as easily in the dark as in the light. Pisces and Rags walked in the rear, theoretically furthest away in danger but hypothetically first to be stabbed in the back. But between Rag’s ears and Pisces’ paranoia, ambush was unlikely.

That left Erin and Ryoka in the center. They walked together, looking around as they passed from room to room in complete silence.

That didn’t mean their group was silent of course. Ksmvr glided through the darkness like a ghost, but Toren rattled when he walked. Pisces muttered to himself as he shuffled and tripped over his robes, Rags scuffed along and Erin—

She literally clanked as she walked. Ryoka wanted to ask what all the frying pans were for, let alone the bag of rocks but she was too busy looking around in the darkness.

She and Ksmvr would have to do most of the fighting, depending on how useful this Pisces was. She almost wished she could tell Erin not to come. Her and that Goblin—how useful could they really be? Ryoka kept worrying as she searched for the first shambling corpse.

But no one came. No monsters, no undead, not even any dead bodies. The emptiness of the ruins was unnerving, and the strain took its toll on everyone.

After about ten minutes of heavy breathing, pounding heart, and jumping at every shadow, Erin couldn’t take it anymore. She looked at Ryoka. The tall girl was walking quietly, bare feet padding on the stone floor as she tried to look in every direction at once. Erin cleared her throat and Ryoka jumped and glared at her.

“So. It’s pretty dark.”

Rags glanced sideways at Erin. No one else said a word. Every nerve was taut with tension, every eye scanned the dark corridors and empty rooms for danger, signs of movement.

“I mean, I don’t have a problem with dark places. But this is really dark. And spooky. But the architecture’s nice. It reminds me of one of those old cathedrals, you know?”

Pisces glanced at Erin’s back quizzically.

“Cathedrals? You mean…buildings of worship? There are a few scattered around, but I’ve never…does this place remind you of one?”

“It’s not the exact same, but this reminds me of the ones in Rome and places like that. What’s the one called with the painting on the ceiling?”

Ryoka sighed loudly. She stared at Erin and gestured pointedly at Ksmvr and Toren as the two ranged ahead of the other four.

“Shouldn’t we be quiet so we don’t walk into an ambush?”

“Do we really need to? I’ve got [Dangersense]. It’s this skill that allows you to, um, sense when danger’s coming.”

Ryoka tried to keep from curling her lip.

“I know that one. Ceria says it doesn’t work for some types of danger. Traps, for example.”

“Well, are we going to be silent the entire time? I bet that’d be scarier than talking.”

“Rest assured that I remain petrified no matter how we choose to spend the journey. But Erin does have a point Miss, ah, Griffin. I can sense undead as they draw near to me.”

“Really? So where are they?”

Pisces looked hunted.

“Around. Somewhere. These ruins are saturated in death. So many undead lurking here for hundreds, possibly thousands of years…I would know if they were right behind us, though.”

“Wonderful.”

The four walked on in silence. Erin wondered whether she should keep talking, but the momentum was lost.

After five minutes Ryoka muttered a few words.

“It’s the Sistine Chapel, and it’s in the Vatican, not Rome.”

“I thought it was in Rome.”

“The Vatican is a separate state. It’s within Rome, but technically it’s a state by itself.”

“Oh. That’s cool. I didn’t know that. The Pope rules there, right?”

“Pretty much.”

Why were they talking about the Pope in the middle of an abandoned ruin? Then again, Ryoka didn’t know Erin that well. Maybe she was really religious.

Again, Pisces glanced suspiciously at Erin and Ryoka’s back. Rags was busy picking at her ear.

“What’s a Pope?”

Ryoka immediately tensed, but Erin immediately replied.

“He’s like a super [Priest]. If they existed. Which apparently, they don’t.”

Pisces eyed Erin, but he seemed to accept her convoluted explanation.

“So he’s a hypothetical [Priest]. I see.”

“Yup. We could really use him right now, too. A [Priest] could totally take care of all the undead we meet. Turn undead, holy water, all that good stuff.”

“I can do much of the same.”

“Really? Why do you need us, then?”

Pisces sniffed at Erin. He reminded Ryoka of exactly the sort of person she hated. Or at least, one of the types of people on her hate list, which, it had to be said, was quite large. He was a prissy, self-important know-it-all if she was any judge. Exactly the sort of person who talked big and never delivered…

And who was right now risking his life to save Ceria and the others. Ryoka paused and had to rethink her thoughts.

“I can deal with most forms of the undead quite easily. It’s ah, the Crypt Lords that pose a considerable threat to me.”

Erin frowned.

“What are Crypt Lords? You mean those huge fat things with bones for teeth?”

“Yes. They are above my level, so to speak. I cannot so easily destroy them as they resist my magic.”

“Crypt Lords? Is that a stronger type of the undead? Like a Lich?”

“A Lich? You mean an undead wizard thing?”

Erin stared at Ryoka, and then at Pisces.

“Please tell me one of those isn’t around. Aren’t they immortal?”

Pisces looked amused.

“Hardly. A Lich is simply the undead version of a spellcaster. They’re quite dangerous in numbers or even alone, but they’re hardly immortal. And I never saw one in the attack on Liscor, so I believe we are quite safe.”

That was another thing. Pisces had been there during the attack on Liscor, and so had Erin for that matter. Ryoka had missed the entire thing.

She had a hard time imagining these Crypt Lords, even though Erin was quite vocal with her descriptions. Moreover, she wondered how bad the attack had really been. She had a hard time imagining Pisces surviving a real attack, and Erin told her she’d defended her inn from the undead. Ryoka didn’t think Erin was lying, but—

If she’d survived it, how bad could it really have been? A few hundred undead? And apparently some monster made out of skin. Ryoka just didn’t see the horror in it if Erin had gotten out unscathed.

And if she’d survived, maybe the Horns of Hammerad had as well.

Erin was still talking about the Crypt Lords. She held up a glowing green jar, one of the ones she’d taken from the inn. There were two of them in her bag of potions.

“I’ve got just the thing for them, right here.”

It didn’t look like the other potions Ryoka had seen in the markets in human cities. She wondered what it did.

“May I see that?”

Pisces backed away from the jar as Erin held it out to Ryoka. The mage’s reaction made Ryoka accept the glowing container warily. It wasn’t particularly warm or cold to the touch, and the liquid sloshed around like most Newtonian fluids. That was the extent of Ryoka’s insight on the jar.

“What is it?”

“It’s acid.”

Ryoka nearly dropped the jar. Her skin prickled and she immediately felt a cold sweat breaking up across her body.

“What kind?”

Erin looked blank.

“Um, Acid Fly acid? I don’t know.”

Acid flies? Ryoka remembered the menu in Erin’s inn. Acid flies. She’d thought Erin was joking. But—

She sloshed the liquid gingerly in the jar and inspected it. It was glowing green, exactly like the fake slime you’d expect to see in a kid’s science kit.

“A hydrochloric acid of some kind? Will it eat through the glass?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know what kind of acid it is. Um, it doesn’t really touch metal or stone that much. It only dissolves flesh and skin. But it does that really fast.”

Ryoka stared at the jar. She had doubt about its efficacy, but had an opportunity to see the acid in action soon enough. Ksmvr paused as he rounded a corner, and then he and Toren were running back towards the others.

“Undead. Ghouls, up ahead.”

Ryoka’s heart began to pound, but the others reacted differently than how she expected. Pisces nodded, Rags drew her sword, and Erin lifted the glowing jar with a determined look.

“Right, you get behind us.”

Ksmvr hesitated, but Toren glanced at the glass jar and immediately moved behind Erin. The skeleton’s sword was drawn and Ryoka was mesmerized by his blue eyes. She tried to concentrate. They were coming.

“I can handle five. How many were there?”

“Eight. Two were wounded.”

“I’ve got one.”

Erin lifted her acid jar as Ksmvr took a position flanking her. Pisces pushed back the sleeves on his robes and narrowed his eyes. Now Ryoka could heard growling and the dull thumping of flesh on stone. She was ready for this. She had learned to fight as a child. She could do this. She could—

The first Ghoul bounded around the corner on all fours, so quickly Ryoka was transfixed. By the time she had recovered, it had already been joined by six more bodies, Drakes and Gnolls, all dashing across the ground.

The undead weren’t supposed to run. But these things were sprinting. Ryoka was shaking. Eight? Eight was too many. She’d have to fight two at once. She glanced at Pisces. He was raising his hand and Erin was lifting the jar of acid. Too slow. They’d never.

“Decease.”

Pisces crooked his finger, and Ryoka heard a crack. One of the Ghouls in the front tumbled down, and she saw its spine twisting around under his rotted flesh. He stopped moving, tripping up the others.

The mage moved his finger and pointed at a second Ghoul. And the third. They fell down each time, spines breaking with horrible grinding sounds.

Another Ghoul leapt forwards. Ryoka nearly jumped at it, but Erin threw her jar. The glass stuck the Ghoul mid-jump and he crashed into the ground. Smoke began steaming up from his flesh as the once-Drake rolled around, clawing at his body.

Now the Ghouls were a few feet away. Pisces raised his other hand and pointed. Two Ghouls collapsed, and the last two howled as they ran at Erin.

This was it. Ryoka’s legs tried to move, but she was too slow, for once. Next to her, Toren leapt towards the first Ghouls and Ksmvr caught the second with both swords and daggers.

It was a blur. Ryoka saw Toren stabbing at the Ghoul and then grappling on the ground with it. Ksmvr was slicing apart his foe as Erin held a frying pan at the ready, shouting something. The Runner stared as Toren and the Ghoul rolled around on the floor. She couldn’t help them.

Suddenly Rags darted in front of Ryoka. The Goblin darted forwards and stabbed. The Ghoul stiffened, and Ryoka saw that Rags had stabbed the dead human in the back of the head. Toren rolled away from the now completely dead Ghoul and grabbed his sword before he got to his feet.

The skirmish was over. They had won.

And Ryoka—

She hadn’t done a thing.

—-

Erin noticed Ryoka staring at one of the Ghouls after the excitement had ended. The Runner girl was pale, but she was looking at the Ghoul hit with the acid. Erin was slightly regretting throwing that jar, now. She only had one left. Toren had been collecting acid from the traps, but pickings had been slim and she’d used up her entire supply fighting Skinner.

“Don’t worry. That one’s dead. And the others won’t be getting up any time soon.”

They had better not. The ones Pisces had killed by snapping their spines weren’t moving, and the other two were in pieces thanks to Rags, Ksmvr, and Toren. As for the one Erin had hit—

It was a puddle. A glowing, green puddle with half-dissolved parts slowly melting away. It was actually quite a hazard, given that the others would have to walk around the spreading stain.

But Ryoka seemed only half-interested in the dead Ghoul. She was staring at the dissolving body and frowning.

“What is it?”

Ryoka glanced at Erin and pointed at the acid.

“That makes no sense. Acid doesn’t dissolve things that quickly. If it were that strong, it would have eaten through the glass jar in seconds.”

“Weird, huh? But it makes for a good weapon, don’t you think? I’ve been selling it to the Goblins and making good money, too!”

Ryoka stared at Erin.

“You’ve been selling that to Goblins?”

“Um—”

“But how does it not destroy those jars? Why does this acid only target flesh?”

“Magic?”

Ryoka’s face told Erin quite clearly what she thought of that idea.

“Magic should still make sense. This doesn’t.”

“It’s how they eat.”

Ryoka turned. Pisces was mopping at his forehead. He was sweating. From the effort of casting those spells? He nodded at the nearly dissolved Ghoul and the now-sludgy pool of green.

“The ah, Acid Flies use their acid to render dead flesh into a syrup-like substance as you see before you. They then collect as much of it as possible for nourishment, for themselves and the females.”

“The females?”

“Yes. All of the acid-bearing flies are male. They supply the females with nourishment and scavenge for dead bodies. It was quite ingenious of Miss Solstice to harvest their liquid, although you can see the dangers clearly enough.”

Ryoka stared at the pool of acid. It was easier to stare at the unidentifiable green goop instead of the dead bodies of the Ghouls. She felt queasy, but tried to force it down. They’d won. The Ghouls had been easily dispatched. Almost too easily. But then, Ryoka hadn’t done much. She hadn’t done anything, really.

But next time she’d fight. Once things were serious, she’d play her part.

She was sure of that.

—-

The group travelled on for twenty more minutes before they were attacked. Pisces was just explaining how his patented spine-snapping spell was a product of a more advanced spell of [Necromancers] that he’d repurposed when he looked up and shouted a warning.

Fifteen undead, a mix of zombies and skeletons, surged out of an open doorway and ran towards the others. Again, Ryoka nearly froze as she saw their rotting frames and the burning lights in the eyes of the skeletons.

Pisces cut down several undead, but this time there were too many. Erin delved into her pack and threw something—a rock. Ryoka expected it to miss or not do any damage, but the stone cracked into the head of one of the skeletons, shattering part of the bone and sending the skeleton spinning to the floor.

And then they were on top of the group, clawing, biting, trying to kill Ryoka.

The girl saw Ksmvr lashing out lightning-fast with his swords and Toren charging into the center of the group before a zombie lurched at her. She raised her fists as the mostly-rotted woman approached, rotted teeth gaping as she grabbed at Ryoka’s arm.

Kick it. All of Ryoka’s instincts told her to kick, and she did. Clumsily.

It was no devastating roundhouse kick that hit the rotted woman in the stomach, but a pushing kick, meant to keep the woman away. But even that failed, because when Ryoka’s bare foot struck the woman in the stomach, it tore and caught in the rotted flesh of the woman’s intestines.

The feeling was horrible. Slimy, squishy, and lukewarm. It threw Ryoka off balance, and the undead woman seized her.

Punch her. Knock her away. Throw her to the floor. Ryoka had a thousand options, and she took not one of them. She stared into one ruined eye and felt the putrid breath of the zombie woman on her skin. And she couldn’t fight back.

She froze up. She couldn’t help it. It was a dead body, a dead human come back to life. This was reality. It wasn’t a monster, and this wasn’t a game. This was real.

And it was trying to eat her.

The zombie opened her jaws impossibly wide and bit at Ryoka’s face. Ryoka shouted with horror and hurled her back. A bit of dead flesh fell off the woman’s face and landed on Ryoka’s cheek, near her open mouth. Ryoka flung it away, but then the zombie was over her, reaching for her. The zombie was going to kill her—

A frying pan crashed into the zombie’s face, breaking what remained of the nose with a crunch and sending it sprawling to the floor. Erin bashed the zombie to the ground and hammered it on the head as it lay prone on the floor. When she lifted the frying pan it was slightly deformed and bits of hair and skin were sticking to the side.

“Ew, ew,  ew!”

The girl didn’t take long to complain, though. She whirled and bashed another skeleton down. From her position on the floor, Ryoka saw the skeleton fall and then the lights go out as Erin kicked the skull right off the rest of the body, sending it crashing down the long corridor.

The last zombie fell down, Rag’s sword in his gut and one of Ksmvr’s daggers still cutting through his throat. Erin looked around and sighed in relief. The other undead were gone.

Which left her with adrenaline still pouring through her veins and her frying pan. Erin stared at it. She’d killed three zombies and one skeleton with it. That was good, but now parts of each dead corpse were sticking to the side of the pan.

“Oh god. That’s gross.”

Erin turned green as she shook bits off of her frying pan. She took several deep breaths, trying to get the stench of rot and death out of her nose. She tried not to vomit and looked at Ryoka. The other girl was still staring at the zombie Erin had killed. Her face was white.

“Hey, are you okay? That zombie didn’t bite you or anything, did it?”

Erin held out a hand to Ryoka. The other girl stared at it, and then at her. Ryoka’s eyes travelled to Erin’s pan, and the nameless substance dripping from the side.

“Oh, right. I’ve gotta clean that off. Um. Good thing I’m not using it for cooking, huh?”

The barefoot girl stared at the frying pan, and then at Erin. She ignored the offered hand and stood up slowly. She looked around at the dead bodies, the sliced corpses, and inhaled the scent of death. She looked at Erin. Her face was deathly pale.

“Ryoka? Are you okay?”

That was when Ryoka threw up.

—-

“You know, it’s not like just anyone can go into the ruins and fight undead monsters. You’ve gotta be pretty brave to do that, let alone barefoot.”

“Right.”

“And you were trying to fight with your bare hands. That’s like—double brave, right?”

“Right.”

“And we all think you’re brave, isn’t that right?”

Erin glanced around. Ksmvr and Pisces both nodded obediently.

“Indisputably.”

“That is correct.”

“Besides, you ran through the High Passes by yourself. And you survived giant wolves and evil goats and gargoyles. You’re not a coward. You know that.”

Ryoka sat on the ground, shaking. She knew she should say something. But she couldn’t. Her throat was still too tight.

Erin was trying to comfort her. And her words were actually helping. But they didn’t take away what had happened.

“I froze up. I couldn’t fight back.”

“Hey, it happens to all of us.”

“Did it ever happen to you?”

Erin had to think about that.

“No. But it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Anyone would freeze up if a horrible zombie tried to eat their face.”

Ryoka stared up at Erin, and the innkeeper smiled encouragingly.

“Come on. We’ve got to keep going.”

“Of course.”

Ryoka was on her feet so fast Erin blinked.

“We can’t stop. We’ve got to get there in time. Let’s go.”

She started walking. Erin exchanged glances with the others and hurried after her.

Ryoka slowed to let Erin catch up, and even more so Ksmvr and Toren could move ahead again. After all, she’d proven she couldn’t do much if she got attacked.

Erin sidled up to Ryoka and kept pace as they walked further into the ruins. Ryoka could feel Erin glancing at her.

“You’re uh, that’s a pretty quick recovery, there. You feeling alright?”

“No.”

Ryoka was being honest.

“We could stop if you need more time—”

“We’ve got to get to the Horns of Hammerad. I’ll live. I’m just—I’ll be fine.”

Ryoka smiled bitterly.

“After all, it’s not like you need a coward to fight anyways.”

“Hey.”

Erin grabbed Ryoka by the shoulder.

“You’re not a coward.”

“I couldn’t fight back. I nearly got myself killed.”

“You were fighting with your bare hands—”

“I took martial arts lessons since I was eight. I’m a certified martial artist and I’ve been in fights countless times before this. I’ve seen monsters. But I couldn’t kill that zombie. Why? What’s the difference?”

Ryoka stalked on ahead. Erin thought as she hurried to catch up. After a few minutes, she offered the only answer she could think of.

“I guess it’s because you’re not a killer.”

She saw Ryoka stop in her tracks. The Asian girl stared at Erin, face shadowed in the light of the floating orb hovering next to her face.

“What?”

“It’s just a thought.”

Erin shrugged awkwardly. She couldn’t really explain it that well.

“It’s just—fighting, martial arts? All that stuff’s self-defense, right? And it’s like a sport.”

“So? It’s meant for combat.”

“But not for killing. Right?”

Ryoka hesitated.

“It’s not the first option, but if it comes to that…”

“But it’s never come to that, right? I mean, have you ever killed someone? Ever stabbed someone or broken their neck with a karate chop or anything?”

Ryoka thought back to the Goblin she’d kicked, long ago. She remembered the horrible way his neck had crunched and shuddered.

“Maybe. Once.”

“Well. I uh, I’ve killed a lot of things.”

Ryoka looked at Erin. The shorter girl looked away from her, into the darkness.

“The first thing I killed was a Goblin. A Chieftain, actually. He was huge and evil and he wanted to kill me—I burned his face off with boiling oil.”

It was as if Ryoka had taken a step that was no longer there. She stared at Erin as the other girl continued.

“I killed some other Goblins too, I think. Well, they were stabbing me so I hit them—and I killed some Shield Spiders, and then some undead. It’s not as if I’m an adventurer and go around killing things, y’know. But I had to. And the thing is, everything screams when it dies.”

She looked at Ryoka. There was a hollowness in Erin’s gaze. A cold void.

“Everything. I don’t enjoy it. I hope I never will. But I can kill things. Other monsters, or even people. Not just dead people either. If it came down to it, I could kill someone trying to kill me.”

“I…I see. But I’ve fought people too.”

“But you’ve never killed them.”

“No. No, I haven’t.”

The pieces fell into place. Ryoka got what Erin was trying to tell her.

“I guess that’s why I became a Runner. I don’t have the—”

“Stop.”

Erin pushed at Ryoka, and the other girl stumbled. Ryoka looked back at Erin, and saw the other girl was shaking her head.

“It’s a good thing. It’s a good thing you can’t kill people. Even dead people.”

“But I nearly died. If it comes to it again, I might have to fight. Or kill.”

“And if you have to, you probably will. But I think not killing things is good, don’t you?”

“…Yes.”

After seeing the look in Erin’s eyes, Ryoka had to agree.

—-

“So, you don’t have a class? That’s so weird.”

Ryoka was getting used to Erin’s wide-eyed looks of surprise. There was something inescapably innocent about Erin’s curiosity. It just drew answers out of Ryoka that she had no intention of giving. That was the problem; it was easy to talk to Erin.

And worse, Ryoka enjoyed it. After the fight with the zombies, the undead presence had vanished for a time. Ksmvr and Toren had run across individuals and small groups which they dispatched without bothering to inform the others of, which left time for talking.

And suddenly, talking was something Ryoka wanted to do more and more with Erin. She had depths. Not like an onion or a cake or parfait or something stupid like that. She had depths like a puddle you stepped into which turned out to be as deep as an ocean.

But she was still refreshingly shallow in areas like this.

“It’s a uh, it’s a choice I made. I know it seems stupid given this world—”

“Oh, what? No. No, I don’t think so. I’m not judging. You do you, and all that. I was just wondering how you did things without skills.”

Ryoka was beginning to wonder that herself. But she had a theory, and she’d come too far to abandon it just yet. Maybe…but she changed the subject to keep the conversation light.

“You’re um, good at fighting.”

“You think so?”

Ryoka knew so. She’d seen Erin fighting with her frying pan, and despite the other girl’s lack of any kind of martial training, she was wickedly dangerous. And strong. Ryoka knew that was probably because of a Skill, but it amazed her even so.

“Why are you using frying pans, though? And what’s with all the rocks?”

“It’s all part of my master plan.”

Erin grinned at Ryoka as she brandished her new frying pan. She’d abandoned the old one a while back, claiming it stank too much.

“See, I’ve got this [Bar Fighting] skill, right? It only works when I use objects I could find in a bar, or in this case, a kitchen. If I pick up a sword I don’t move nearly as well and it’s harder to hit things. So I thought a frying pan would be perfect!”

“And the rocks?”

“I’ve got [Unerring Aim] and [Lesser Strength]. I can toss those things hard enough to kill some zombies.”

“That’s…actually impressive.”

Ryoka had to admit it.

“Yeah, well, I thought if you have the skills, why not use them, y’know?”

“It’s creative. I think that’s more the point.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, let’s assume this is a gaming world.”

Ryoka paused, and looked behind her. Pisces stared at her, and Rags yawned and looked around, clearly bored. She knew she shouldn’t be saying anything, but Pisces had heard most of their conversation. And Erin trusted him, and he’d fixed her leg. And there were others in this world anyways, so it wasn’t a big a secret as before. Maybe…

He’d probably already guessed something was up if he had half a brain, anyways. Ryoka turned back to Erin.

“Well, I’m no expert. I never played board games when I was younger.”

“Me neither. I mean, I tried D&D once or twice, but I like chess more.”

Another surprise. Where did they come from? Ryoka liked chess. Maybe she could play Erin a few games. Hopefully Erin wasn’t a sore loser.

“What I’m trying to say is that creativity always seems to be a hallmark of those kind of games. You can’t do the same thing in video games, but instead of fighting your way through a dungeon, why not collapse the foundations? Or—or if you’re fighting an angry Minotaur, why not teleport him into molten lava or something?”

“Because that’d be really mean? I get it, though. You’re saying it’s possible to mess with the system, right?”

“Or at least take advantage of certain features. Assuming you want to follow the system, that is.”

Ryoka frowned to herself but stopped when she saw Erin looking.

“So like what did you have in mind?”

“Nothing in particular. But you know a lot of things from our world. It’s possible you could incorporate that into your inn, somehow.”

“Like how?”

“I don’t know.”

Ryoka had never put her mind to it. And now, trawling through dusty corridors below the earth wasn’t a good time to think of new ideas. She suddenly looked at Pisces, struck by a thought.

“Well, how about him?”

Pisces looked startled.

“Me?”

Erin frowned.

“What about him?”

“Pisces is a [Necromancer], right? He made that skeleton.”

“Toren.”

“Exactly. But have you ever made an undead that isn’t human? Or humanoid?”

Pisces frowned at Ryoka.

“I fail to see what you’re asking. I have raised many forms of zombies, ghouls, skeletons…”

“But never anything else?”

“Such as what?”

“A zombie bear, perhaps.”

“A zombie bear?”

Erin stared at Ryoka in horror. Ryoka shrugged.

“It would be far more powerful than a human zombie, I’m certain. Or if not a bear, what about a spider? Have you ever tried reanimating things without bones? How about undead mice? Could you turn them into spies? Or—undead birds? Can they fly?”

Pisces sniffed and drew his robes around himself defensively.

“You ask these things as if it were a simple matter. Nothing is further from the case, I assure you.”

“Oh yeah?”

Erin raised one eyebrow skeptically at Pisces.

“What’s so hard about reanimating a bear? It’s got bones.”

“Ah, but the alignment is completely different. The skeletal structure of a bear throws off every spell, making specialization in such a creature far too complex to be worth the effort.”

Erin looked blank, but Ryoka thought she understood what Pisces was saying. The mage adopted a lecturing tone and his customary sneer as he explained.

“Necromancer spells aren’t simply a matter of reanimating dead matter with a bit of magical power. If it were that simple anyone could become a [Necromancer]. No, it requires an intricate knowledge of the way each body works to get spells animating dead flesh to move right, let alone restore what was lost.”

“Yeah, but can’t you just read a book on how to do it? Someone must have made legions of undead bears at some point, right?”

Pisces shrugged.

“Even if they had, where would I read such a tome? Necromancy might not be outlawed in every nation, but it is frowned upon almost universally. Even Wistram had few books on the subject, and what spells I did uncover were standardized incantations for humanoids only.”

“Oh, so no one likes being a necromancer? That’s sad.”

Pisces sniffed.

“Yes, well, it is a rare form of magic. There were no teachers at Wistram I could study under. I had hoped to find one accomplished practitioner, but he had long departed and his findings were equally non-existent. And the only other authorities on the subjects tend to be crazed madmen or cults who practice inferior quality mass-summoning…”

He realized he was losing his audience. Pisces sighed.

“Suffice it to say, proper reanimation requires several factors. Necromancers use dead bodies because bones are ideal vessels for storing magical energy and spell bindings, whereas mere chitin decays too rapidly to sustain a long-form spell.”

Erin and Rags looked blank.

“What?”

Ryoka translated.

“He’s saying that he needs bones to properly animate a corpse. Spiders and other creatures without bones wouldn’t last very long since there’s nowhere to anchor the spell.”

“Oh.”

Pisces lost a bit of his swagger as he stared at Ryoka.

“That was…quite well said. I see you have some knowledge of the transmundane yourself Miss Griffin.”

“I’m no mage. But I understand bullshit quite well.”

Erin laughed as Pisces turned red.

—-

“So…you’re a Runner, huh?”

Ryoka nodded. She and Erin were alone again. Pisces had retreated with Rags to the rear, and they were still talking. It felt good to talk, and besides, the undead had been amazingly scarce. Suspiciously so.

“What did you do back home? I mean, did you have a job or anything?”

“I, uh, didn’t need to. My parents were pretty rich. I was going to be a Freshman in college when I disappeared.”

“Oh, really? I thought you would have already been a student. I mean, I’m twenty, but I took a gap year because I wanted to play chess and earn money for tuition. What about you?”

Ryoka cleared her throat awkwardly.

“I uh, took a gap year as well.”

Several, in point of fact.

“I suppose I just needed a break from High School.”

“That’s cool. I totally get that.”

“And you’re…an [Innkeeper]. How did that happen?”

Erin shrugged.

“I don’t know. I just wanted to find a place to be safe, you know? And I found the inn and it was really dusty.”

“Dusty?”

“Yeah, really dusty. So I tidied it up a bit and by the time I woke up I was an [Innkeeper].”

“Huh.”

“What about you? Why’d you decide not to get a class? I imagine you would have gotten one, what with running around all the time and all.”

“Yeah. I had the opportunity, but I refused. I didn’t think it was a good idea.”

Erin looked at Ryoka curiously.

“Why not?”

The other girl shrugged.

“This system – leveling, and gaining Skills seems too much like a game.”

“Yeah, it does. But why not play the game? I mean, without my class I would have died several times over. So what’s wrong with playing?”

“If we’re in a game, then there are rules. And someone who made the game. The question is: who? And what’s the way to win?”

“Not die, I guess.”

“Maybe.”

They found a long passage that seemed to slope downwards forever. Ryoka stared into the darkness and looked at Ksmvr.

“Is this the way down to the second floor?”

“It appears so.”

“That’s where all the adventurers never came back from, right?”

Erin shuddered as she stared down into the pitch blackness.

“And where that thing came from.”

Ryoka had never seen the thing Erin and the others spoke of, but she got the vibe from the way the others shifted. But still.

She looked at Pisces.

“You’re sure the message said to go down there?”

He nodded.

“I was told they were hiding on the second floor. More than that I can’t say. I’ve cast the same spell to ask for more details, but Ceria must be out of mana. Or…”

He didn’t say the rest. Ryoka nodded.

“We’ve got to go down there.”

Erin nodded, but she still peered into the darkness uncertainly.

“What if there’s a second one?”

“We run.”

“Oh. Good plan.”

It was probably the only plan that would work, too. Erin had no desire to fight that skin worm a second time, and without an army of Antinium to back her up, she wasn’t going to try.

Although now that Erin thought about it, Ryoka was definitely the fastest out of all of them. It was probably a good plan for her, but Erin really hoped it wouldn’t come to that. She’d never liked gym class.

They descended into the darkness, one by one. And found….

Nothing.

—-

Nothing. Not a zombie, not a skeleton, and not even a severed Ghoul hand. The group of six walked through the empty second floor of the Ruins, alert for any movement and finding none.

They came to an empty chamber and saw where the Horns of Hammerad and other adventurers had stopped for a rest. Erin looked around at the few dead bodies that hadn’t gotten back up and sighed sadly when she found Hunt lying still in a corner.

“Poor guy. He was just lying here with the others. I guess he must have been wounded or something.”

Ryoka stared at Hunt. She thought she recognized him, but his face was badly decayed. She shook her head.

“Whatever got these adventurers must have gone through quick if they couldn’t move their wounded.”

“No.”

As Ryoka looked at her, Erin explained.

“It was the monster. The skin monster. He—projected fear. So much that you couldn’t even move when he looked at you. Even if the adventurers were ready, I don’t think they could have countered that.”

Ryoka’s stomach twisted as she looked at the dead adventurers, butchered where they lay.

“But this is only a few of them. Where are the rest?”

They found out soon enough.

—-

“Oh god.”

Erin stared down the corridor where Skinner had first appeared and wondered if she was going to throw up this time. It was a horrible sight. Ryoka had thrown up again, and even Rags and Pisces weren’t looking too happy.

The place where the Horns of Hammerad had fought their last and the open doors where Skinner had first emerged was still a scene of blood and death. Dried blood and rotted flesh, but carnage it remained. Erin walked down the corridor, trying to skirt the worst of the bloodbath.

The bodies stank of rot. Erin felt her stomach heaving even from this far away, and she was only glad that they were too far down for insects to have begun eating the bodies. Or rather, what remained of the bodies.

Skinner had passed down this corridor, and he had not left much in the way of identifiable features or even features for that matter.

Ksmvr beckoned Erin at the end of the corridor. He and Toren were unmoved by the death and he pointed to a set of huge, double doors at the far end of the corridor. The blood and guts were particularly bad over there.

“This must be where it came from. Look at those doors.”

Erin looked. They were massive stone doors that had been opened wide to let someone, or something out. She could tell that was where the skin creature had come from. Not just because of all the carnage, but because of the doors themselves. They had carved rune-things decorating the fronts, and more than that, they looked like the door to the final boss’s room.

Ryoka stopped heaving long enough to move closer to the doors. She stared down at a bent and broken piece of metal. Sharp teeth stared up at her around bits of white skin.

“Looks like the remains of some kind of trap. Didn’t work if that’s what it was.”

Erin stared at the ground. It was just…bones and muscle and organs. No skin, no way of knowing who had been here. She remembered all the adventurers who’d been in her inn that night. Some of them could be here. She could be staring at them, and she’d never know.

Her heart hurt. But then Erin saw something glinting in the light from the mage’s sphere. She bent to pick it up.

“Oh wow. A crossbow!”

Rags looked around as Erin dragged the heavy, black thing out from where it lay. It was one of the few objects not drenched in gore. She lifted it, marveling at the weight and sleekness of it, and then her face fell.

“Broken.”

Ryoka walked over to look at the crossbow. It had been a magnificent weapon, once. But something had shattered the wooden base and it was so much string and metal, now.

“Too bad. That thing might have been useful. I could have used it.”

“Yeah, but it’s no good now.”

The Goblin’s eyes followed the mangled weapon as Erin tossed it back down on the ground. She darted over as Erin and Ryoka inspected the vault from where Skinner had come from.

“Now this is a treasure room. Isn’t it?”

“It looks like it.”

It was hard for either girl to be certain. On one hand, the room Skinner had come from looked like it fit the bill. It was large, cavernous, and filled with stone racks holding objects and crates. But the problem was that none of the things in the room looked particularly important.

“What’s this?”

Erin pointed to an urn. It was nice to look at, carved deeply and enameled with some pretty green stone that sparkled in the light. Ryoka peered at it and shrugged.

“Some kind of vase. Possibly ceremonial.”

“And this?”

“An amulet.”

“It’s made of stone!”

“Well, it’s probably valuable culturally.”

“But not, you know, magically?”

“…Probably not.”

Pisces looked up distractedly as he pawed through rows of goods on the stone shelves. He glared at Ryoka and Erin as if this were somehow their fault.

“None of this stuff is magical! It’s all—mundane! This isn’t a treasury. It’s a storeroom of antiquities and keepsakes!”

“Really? But this looks like a valuable spot. Where’d all the important stuff go?”

The mage sucked in his cheeks angrily.

“I don’t know. But numerous magical artifacts were here, I can tell you that! I can sense their auras, but they’re gone.”

“Darn.”

Erin sighed. But this wasn’t why they’d come here, was it?

“Well, the Horns of Hammerad aren’t here. Or if they are…”

Ryoka shook her head.

“They’re not here. I’m sure of it. Pisces, that spell you got. Did it say…?”

He made a face.

“No. It was very faint. It just said ‘Ruins. Second floor. Inside. I don’t think Ceria had enough mana for any more than that.”

“Damn.”

Erin turned to the others. Toren had found himself a new sword, and Rags was busy lugging the broken black crossbow around. It was nearly as large as she was and Erin was sure she’d never get it back to the surface. Pisces stomped out of the treasure vault and Ksmvr waited patiently as he watched back the way they’d come. Erin looked at Ryoka.

“Where to? The other direction?”

Ryoka nodded.

“It’s the only place they could be. Let’s hurry.”

—-

The giant room full of tombs was the last place they came to. Ryoka’s feet were hurting from the cold tiles, and she had layers of…death coating the bottom of them. She didn’t want to think about that.

Her feet were hurting anyways from all the searching. They’d been to every room, checked everywhere for signs of life. But they’d found nothing. And this, the last room in the Ruins was no more promising than the rest.

After a quick run through the cavernous room, Ryoka could see there was no one hiding in the room. The stone coffins were the only things in the room, and most of them had been opened to let their occupants out.

She jogged back to where Erin and the others were waiting and shook her head.

“Nothing.”

Erin’s face fell.

“You’re sure?”

“They’d have to be the size of that Goblin to hide in here, and they would have heard me moving around. They’re…not here.”

It hurt Ryoka to say. But they’d checked everywhere and this was it. She shook her head. She didn’t feel sad. She just felt empty. Hollow. They’d come all the way down here, for what?

Surprisingly, it was Pisces who resisted Ryoka’s statement the most. He shook his head vehemently and snapped at her.

“I don’t believe it. Ceria is down here, somewhere on this level. We simply must have missed her. We have to go back and check!”

Ryoka glared at him. She was tired and exhausted and knew he must be too. But she tried to be the voice of reason.

“We’ve checked everywhere. If they were hiding, why didn’t they come out when they saw us? And if we linger down here, more undead might come.”

“I don’t sense any. I barely sense anything in this area.”

“You said there were hundreds of undead in the Ruins.”

“Well, they’re not here. And I refuse to leave without finding Ceria!”

“But where could they be?”

This was the loudest conversation the group had had so far, and their voice echoed through the vast room, quickly swallowed up by the vastness. Erin pushed between Pisces and Ryoka as the two glared at each other.

“Okay, okay, let’s think. We can’t give up just yet, but Ryoka is right, Pisces. If we don’t find them soon…”

He turned away from her.

“Ceria is alive. She wouldn’t have cast the spell, otherwise.”

“But you can’t contact her again, can you?”

“No. But there are a hundred reasons why she might not be able to reply. Imminent danger perhaps, or simply…starvation. Without food or rest, her body would not be able to recharge her mana.”

“Right, I get that. But then where would she be? How could she hide from all the undead and that skin thing? Does she know [Invisibility] like you do?”

Pisces shook his head.

“No. She never learned…she is alive Erin, I swear it. We must find her.”

“I know, I know. But if we don’t find her soon…”

Ryoka turned away as Erin talked with Pisces. She felt like kicking something, or screaming, but she was afraid to make noise and attract attention. Even if Pisces said the Ruins were empty, it was disconcertingly quiet.

She looked around. Besides the three humans, the other three members of their group seemed less interested in the fate of the Horns of Hammerad and more in getting out sooner rather than later. Rags was squatting in a corner of the room, staring intently at the splinted crossbow she was still dragging around. Ryoka was surprised she’d still hung onto it, but the Goblin was tenacious.

Ksmvr glanced hopefully at Erin every now and then. He was guarding the entrance to the tomb room, alert for any undead. He was probably just hoping they’d call it quits so he could stop protecting Erin.

And Toren? Toren was peering at one of the stone coffins. Inspecting it as a possible resting place, perhaps. Ryoka shook her head. This was pointless. She’d had such hopes, but the Horns of Hammerad…maybe it had just been a fluke.

Or maybe they were too late. Pisces had gotten the message nearly a day ago, now. Maybe it had been too late even when he’d gotten it. Perhaps the magic had taken too long to get to him. Maybe Ceria had died waiting for them while they were still arguing with Zevara.

It hurt Ryoka, but she had to face facts. Her friends had been good adventurers, but not miracle workers. It had been likely that they all died, and it was only her foolish hope that had convinced her they had survived where everyone else had not. After all, not even the Horns of Hammerad could cheat death—

Ryoka’s eye fell on Toren again. The skeleton was peering inside of one of the coffins. And then it clicked.

“Wait a second.”

Erin and Pisces broke off as Ryoka turned to them.

“What is it?”

“I think I know where the Horns of Hammerad might be. They’re still hiding down here.”

“Where?”

Pisces was suspicious. He glared at Ryoka.

“We searched everywhere. If you’re suggesting they made it out somehow—”

“No, they’re still here.”

Ryoka began looking around the room as she spoke. She was looking. Most of the coffins were open, but a few had been closed. A few.

“What if…they were hiding somewhere no undead could get at them? Somewhere they’d never go back to?”

Erin and Pisces stared in the direction Ryoka was looking, and then at Toren. Erin’s eyes widened.

“Inside the coffins?”

“It’s possible. If they left some room for air—”

“Let’s check. Rags! Ksmvr! Toren!”

Erin called out as Ryoka and Pisces ran towards the coffins. There weren’t many in the room that were still closed. But there were hundreds of stone resting places. Ryoka ran from stone lid to stone lid. She heaved at each one, shifting it just a bit so she could see inside. Dead bodies, rotted remains, bits of cloth…

Nothing.

She heard the others doing the same. Ryoka tried another coffin and stopped. This was stupid. If the Horns of Hammerad were there, why wouldn’t they hear her and the others? Why hadn’t they come out yet?

“Ceria? Calruz! Gerial! Sostrom! If you’re here, answer me!”

Ryoka shouted it into the empty room. Her voice echoed loudly as the others continued moving lids. Ryoka closed her eyes and listened. Nothing. Of course. It had just been a foolish idea. No one could ever—

“…?”

She froze. It was the faintest of sounds, at the edge of hearing. She looked around.

“Ceria?”

“…r…a…?”

There. There it was again. She hadn’t imagined it. Ryoka ran in the direction of the sound. She crashed into a stone coffin and froze, ignoring the pain in her shin.

“Ryoka…?”

That one. Ryoka charged towards the coffin, vaulting an empty one. She ducked her head down. It was faint but…yes! There was a tiny sliver of darkness, enough for sound to come out of. And a voice. It was one Ryoka recognized.

“Ryoka?”

“Ceria!”

Ryoka shouted the word, and Erin and Pisces whipped round. Ryoka heaved at the stone lid, pushing it as hard as she could. It was heavy, but then Erin joined her, and then Pisces. They shoved the lid to the ground where it cracked against the stone. And there, inside the coffin was someone they recognized.

Ceria Springwalker smiled weakly up at Ryoka, blinking hard in the light from Pisces and Ryoka’s orbs of light. Her face was pale and she looked gaunt, skeletal from starvation. But she was there. Alive.

“Ceria!”

Pisces reached for her, but Ryoka got there first. With Erin’s help they pulled Ceria out of the stone coffin. She was impossibly light, even more so than Ryoka remembered. She slumped to the ground, and Erin had to lift her to keep her upright.

“Ceria. We found you.”

“You did. You did.”

Ceria’s voice was a murmur and a whisper. She coughed, and suddenly everyone was fumbling for a water flask. She accepted a gulp of water from Pisces’ flask and coughed most of it up. Ryoka tried to steady her.

“You…got my message. I’m glad. I was afraid I’d be trapped in there forever. I couldn’t move the lid…”

“Is there anyone else with you? Any of the other Horns of Hammerad?”

Ryoka looked around. There were other coffins nearby, also closed. But Ceria just sighed. She looked at Ryoka, and shook her head.

Part of the world went still. A little less remained in it for Ryoka. Ceria shook her head, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“No, no. They’re all—all gone, Ryoka.”

She sighed, a ghostly puppet held up only by Erin’s hands. Even now, starved and half-dead, Ceria still looked like a creature caught between immortality and life. Especially now.

“It’s just me. What’s left of me.”

Then Ceria raised her hand, and Ryoka saw with a jolt that her right hand was gone. All the skin down past her wrist had died, and what was left was just white bone and sloughed off flesh. The parts that did connect to the half-elf’s healthy arm were blackened, almost like frostbite.

Ryoka stared at Ceria’s ruined hand. Words failed her.

“I—I don’t—Ceria.”

“It’s the price I paid to live. They’re all dead, Ryoka. All but me.”

Ceria whispered the words. Her head was lolling and Ryoka realized she was on the brink of unconsciousness. The half-elf muttered the words.

“It’s just me.”

“And me!”

Stone shifted. Ryoka and Erin whirled around and saw Toren and Rags pushing another lid away. A very thin, very dusty Drake sat up and smiled at them. He had light blue scales, and he staggered as he half-slid, half-fell out of the coffin.

Erin stared at the Drake, mouth working. She finally found her mouth.

“Olesm? You’re here too?”

“That’s right!”

He grinned weakly at her as Rags and Toren propped him up. Erin stared at Ryoka and then slapped her head as Pisces and Ceria looked at her.

“Oh. Right! I totally forgot!”

2.04

Ryoka closed her eyes and knew she was happy. It was such a rare feeling she savored it.

Happy.

Ceria was alive. One of them was alive. That the others were not—

She could focus on that later. But one person remained. They weren’t all dead.

She was saved.

It was just a moment. And then Ryoka blinked away her watery eyes and got to work.

The catacombs were still dark, and they were still in danger. Ceria slumped as Erin held her, and Olesm was leaning all of his weight against a coffin. The air was foul and smelled like crap in a literal sense. It was also dusty, and Ryoka felt an overpowering sense of claustrophobia after being down here so long.

“We need to get you out of here.”

“We need to feed them first.”

Ryoka frowned at Erin.

“With what? I didn’t bring much. I’ve got some dry rations in my pack, but we’re in the middle of the ruins.”

“So?”

“Is now really the time to eat?”

“There’s always time for a meal. Besides—”

Erin nodded at Ceria. Ryoka looked at her shrunken frame.

“Ah.”

But Ceria was shaking her head. She tried to stand upright, her eyes determined.

“If there’s danger I can make it to the surface. The other undead—”

“Haven’t seen them. Here, sit.”

Erin guided Ceria to another closed coffin and gently helped the half-elf onto the stone bench. Ryoka hesitated, but Erin was already unslinging her pack.

“We should set a watch.”

“I will be vigilant.”

Ksmvr nodded to the others and he moved towards the door. Toren stood with his sword drawn, looking around the room.

Erin was busy pulling out flat, squished objects from her pack. They’d been lying underneath her supply of rocks and other equipment. Ryoka stared as Erin began to unwrap them.

“You made sandwiches?”

“I thought we’d be down here for a long time. I’ve got soup, too!”

“Soup?”

“It’s food. Why? Do you not like soup?”

Ryoka opened her mouth and closed it. She waved away the proffered water flask filled with soup. And nodded at Olesm and Ceria. The two were sitting down, swaying slightly and blinking around. They seemed dazed, which made sense.

“Four days. Or maybe three. And they were in the coffins the entire time?”

Erin shuddered as she assembled her meal. There was a terrible stink in the air, but both she and Ryoka were hungry enough not to care. She looked over at the Drake and half-elf and shook her head.

“I go crazy if I have to sit on a plane for more than an hour. How’d they do it?”

Ryoka paused.

“You can go through a lot in order to survive. Here, give me the soup.”

“Oh, you changed your mind?”

Erin smiled and handed Ryoka the soup flask again.

“It’s good stuff! Beef broth and chopped up veggies so you can drink it.”

It was the soup Ryoka gave to Olesm and Ceria, with instructions to only have a small amount at first. When Erin and Pisces protested, Ryoka overrode them.

“Remember the people rescued from concentration camps? A lot of them died from overeating when soldiers gave them candy bars and too much food.”

Pisces looked blankly at Ryoka, but Erin understood.

“You can die from overeating?”

“Something like that. Your system goes into shock. It can’t process the food so suddenly.”

“What?”

“Ryoka says that the food is too rich for their stomachs. They’ll get sick and die.”

“I see.”

Pisces looked at Ryoka for a second, and then took one of the squashed sandwiches and bit into it. He made a face.

“Tomatoes.”

“If you don’t like it, don’t eat it!”

Erin scowled at him while she handed Ryoka another sandwich and Rags one more. Ryoka’s sandwich turned out to have fried fish in it. She found she was suddenly ravenous and devoured her meal and another sandwich in seconds.

While Pisces and Rags were devouring their food and Ksmvr was nibbling at another flatwich as Erin insisted on calling them, the innkeeper went over to Olesm and Ceria. They were sharing some of the soup Ryoka had given them, but they didn’t seem to have much of an appetite.

“I feel full. Should I be feeling full after only a few sips?”

Ceria smiled weakly at Erin as the girl approached. Erin’s eyes were drawn to Ceria’s skeletal hand, but she looked back up at her friend’s face and forced a smile. She also ignored the terrible stench that was coming from Ceria.

“That’s what Ryoka says. Your stomach hasn’t had anything to eat, so it shrunk down. You won’t be able to handle much food for a while.”

“Oh, good. It’s so hard to stay thin, the way I eat.”

Erin smiled at Ceria’s joke. Her eyes moved to Olesm. The Drake was very pale. His light blue scales had turned even lighter, and dead scales flaked off every time he moved. He smelled even worse than Ceria did.

“Olesm?”

She reached out towards him, but the Drake flinched away. Concerned, Erin looked at him.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Erin. Really. It’s just—”

Olesm looked at Ceria for help. The half-elf shrugged.

“Um, we might need some water if you have it. And some clean cloths?”

“I can get that. But why…?”

For the first time, Erin studied Olesm. He looked just as desiccated as Ceria, but he was also doing his best to stay as far away from her on the coffin’s seat as possible. He’d been wearing leather armor, but something had torn it mostly to shreds. Parts of his scales were scratched, but not badly.

But his clothes did seem rumbled, and the area around his leggings were…brown…

Olesm caught Erin’s eye and turned pink. Ceria coughed into her good hand. Erin noticed that she was crossing her legs, too.

“We could use something to clean ourselves with. Rather urgently.”

Erin backed away from them. The smell searing her nose suddenly intensified now that she was aware of its origin.

“Oh. Oh. I’ll uh, I’ll—”

She half-dashed to her rucksack, where Ryoka was eating her third sandwich. The other girl had saved Erin some soup and a squashed sandwich from Rags and Pisces, but Erin ignored that.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing. Um, don’t go over there just yet.”

“Why?”

Ryoka always wanted an answer, especially if the reason was ‘because I said so’. Erin paused for a second and tried to say what she meant without Pisces figuring it out. Rags had clearly already made the connection because she was sitting several meters away.

“Um, you know how you were talking about survival and all that? Well, just imagine the coffins as one big…diaper.”

Ryoka’s face went blank for a fraction of a second, and then her eyes widened.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Do they need water? I’ve got a flask and some bandages that might—”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry! I packed all of the essentials!”

One of those essential items was one of Ryoka’s water flasks and a clean bit of cloth from Erin’s pack. Ceria explained as she used one of the stone coffin lids as a privacy screen. Not that there was much need to hide; only Pisces and Olesm had to look away. Ksmvr was clearly indifferent.

“The first few days I cleaned up after myself with spells. It was a waste of mana. But I thought the undead might smell. After that…well, you don’t have much of a problem when there’s nothing to eat.”

It was an aspect of living in a stone coffin neither Erin nor Ryoka had wanted to ponder or wished to dwell long on. At least Ceria didn’t smell too bad. Olesm on the other hand—

“I had the same problem. And I don’t have magic, okay?”

Everyone stayed clear of him until Olesm had finished thoroughly washing himself down. Pisces even provided magical assistance. At a distance.

Olesm grumbled as a fine spray of water misted him. He twisted his head to glare at Pisces as the mage studiously looked away.

“Can’t you give me more water? All you’re doing is making everything wet.”

Pisces sniffed, which turned out to be a mistake.

“I’m no [Hydromancer], and I specialize in ice magic. Besides, the air is dry around here. This is the best you’re going to get.”

Erin stared at Ceria as the half-elf finished scrubbing herself. She made to hand the cloth back to Erin, looked at it, and then tossed it back in one of the coffins. Erin offered her another clean roll of linen – Ryoka’s emergency bandages, and Ceria finished wiping with that.

“How’d you survive so long without water? Or did you have supplies?”

“Olesm did. A few of the dried rations, but we lost our packs during the—the attack.”

Ceria coughed and took another small sip of what was left in the flask after her impromptu bath.

“But we didn’t have any water. I burned up all the mana I had left creating ice for us to suck on.”

She shook her head.

“Another day or two and we’d be dead. We couldn’t even move the lids from the inside anymore. I really thought this was it. When I heard your voices and realized you couldn’t hear me—”

“It was Ryoka who figured out where you were hiding.”

Erin pointed to Ryoka. The barefoot girl was alternately avoiding stepping in any of the runoff generated by Olesm and Ceria’s baths and staring none-too-covertly at Olesm’s private…parts. Ceria smiled.

“Ryoka. And you met her? The world’s full of surprises. Or maybe it’s fate.”

She laughed, coughed, and grimaced weakly. Erin sprang forwards to help her, but Ceria waved her away. Her skeletal hand—

Erin saw that Ceria saw that she was looking and turned away. Ceria shrugged, and the two were silent. In the end, Erin spoke again.

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay. Really glad.”

Erin had said that before several times, but this time Ceria seemed recovered enough to respond. She smiled at Erin.

“I am, too. But I never would have imagined the group that came to get me.”

“Yeah, it’s sort of weird, huh?”

Ceria raised an eyebrow.

“To put it lightly. I recognize the little Goblin and Pisces, but that Antinium…that’s not Pawn, is it? They all look the same. Did he regrow his limbs or something?”

“No. That’s um, Ksmvr.”

The Prognugator looked up at the sound of his name. When he saw the two were looking at him, he turned away. Ceria shook her head.

“Huh. You’ve got a lot to explain to me, I can tell.”

“And me.”

Olesm rejoined the group at last. He smelled a lot better than he had, but he still exuded a personal bubble no one was willing to breach. He bowed at Erin clumsily, nearly falling over as he did.

“Miss Solstice, I am in your debt again. What you’ve done for me and Ceria—I can never repay. I joined this expedition to change myself, but in the end…”

Olesm stopped and shook his head. He wiped at his eyes.

“I’m just lucky to be alive. I won’t forget this, I promise you.”

Then he looked up and hesitated.

“I’m grateful, I really am. But why didn’t anyone send the Watch in after us? I mean, I understand they were nervous, but I have friends! Didn’t they want to save me?”

Erin exchanged a glance with Ryoka, although she got more of the glance. She turned red and fidgeted.

“Um, well, we spoke to Zevara, but she didn’t want to send anyone to help us. She said she didn’t want to risk sending anyone on a wild goose chase.”

Olesm looked shocked. His tail thrashed the ground in agitation.

“Zevara? But she knows me! I’m sure she would have sent someone—she’d at least have hired a mage to cast [Detect Life] or something!”

“Well, I’m sure she would have…if…she knew you were alive.”

“What? Didn’t you tell her I was with the others?”

Erin avoided Olesm’s gaze.

“I, um, forgot you were with the Horns of Hammerad. I don’t think anyone else in the city knew you were going, either.”

Olesm wilted.

“I…see.”

“I’m so sorry, Olesm! It’s just with the attack on the city and the bad news and the giant skin creature—”

“The undead!”

Both Olesm and Ceria broke out of their happy reverie in horror. Ceria unconsciously grabbed for Ryoka’s arm with her skeletal hand and stopped.

“What happened? Did anyone make it out? Rot, we should have asked earlier. But if you’re here, the undead—”

Ryoka tried to reassure Ceria without looking at her maimed hand.

“Don’t worry. They’re not out there anymore.”

“But what happened?”

That was a question Ryoka couldn’t answer, but the others could. Erin broke in, talking excitedly.

“It was crazy! A bunch of undead came out of the Ruins and started attacking the city! I was in my inn so I didn’t see everything, but Krshia says they got into the city before the north gates got closed. The entire city was fighting in the streets!”

Olesm groaned aloud. He grabbed at Erin.

“How many died? How many…?”

“Skinner.”

Ceria interrupted Olesm. She looked sharply at Erin.

“Did he come out? Is he still out there?”

“Who?”

“The monster—”

Ceria’s skeletal fingers twitched. Ryoka stared in horror at them, but only Rags noticed. The Goblin edged away from Ceria as she tried to explain.

“It was what was leading the undead. A horror made of skin. He guards this crypt. He killed the others. Did it get out? Is he still alive?”

Ryoka had no idea who or what Skinner was, but the others did. Erin’s smile faded. Pisces glanced around the ruins and shook his head.

“Skinner? Yeah, I saw it. He’s dead.”

“You’re sure?”

“Very sure.”

Ceria and Olesm both sighed in relief. But then Ceria looked up.

“How? That thing had some kind of magical ability. It projected fear.”

“I know. I felt it.”

Something. Ryoka glanced at Erin. She had that unsettlingly vacant look on her face again, that expressionless glimpse into something far away. Pisces and Rags were looking at her too. Just what…?

“He attacked my inn. Him and a bunch of undead. They tried to kill me, but all of the Workers—the Antinium I played chess with—they came to help. And all the Workers fought and—”

Erin broke off. Ceria and Olesm were staring at her, but no harder than Ryoka. Workers? Antinium? Chess? She’d fought the thing that killed—

“And he died. Rags killed him. Her and the other Goblins, I mean. He was this large worm underneath all the skin and we—he died. The Goblins ate part of him and then burned the rest.”

Ryoka had run through the High Passes and lived. She’d done something no Runner in the area had done in years. She was the fastest Runner in perhaps a hundred miles. Maybe that made Ryoka special, but Erin was different altogether.

Erin had fought monsters.

And though it was silly to look at the young woman and imagine her fighting some kind of flesh monster that even Calruz and the others couldn’t defeat, part of Ryoka had no doubt that she’d done it. With help, yes. With luck and chance, perhaps. But she’d done it.

Ceria stared at Erin for a second. Olesm was open-mouthed, eyes bulging. But Ceria was just quiet. She met Erin’s eyes.

“You killed it. You.”

Erin shrugged uncomfortably. She pointed at the Goblin sitting behind her.

“Rags did.”

Pisces choked on one of the sandwiches and coughed as he stared at Rags. The Goblin scratched at one ear and looked around defiantly.

“A Goblin and an [Innkeeper].”

“Lots of Goblins, Workers, and Klbkch and some Soldiers too.”

Ceria shook her head.

“Ha. Course. It’s just—”

She began to giggle, and then to laugh. Ryoka blinked. Ceria started laughing hysterically. Erin reached out and steadied Ceria as the half-Elf laughed until she choked and began to cry.

“I’m—I’m sorry. It’s just…”

She laughed again, a short barking exclamation. Ceria stared wide-eyed ahead, face caught in a taut grin.

“I know. He nearly killed me. And he killed almost all of my friends. And a lot of the City Watch.”

Erin held Ceria as the mage began to shake again. Ryoka felt helpless. She wasn’t the type of person to reach out and comfort someone. But she wished she was.

“He’s dead.”

“Thank you.”

Ceria said it quietly as her tears leaked into Erin’s shirt. She looked at Ryoka.

“Thank you so much.”

Ryoka shook her head.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You came for us. Thank you.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Olesm bowed his head at Ryoka. She nodded back, feeling like a worthless piece of trash. She hadn’t done anything. In a very real way, she was even more of an outsider to this moment than Ksmvr and Toren, who were watching silently as they stood guard. They’d fought the undead and this Skinner. All she’d done was get here too late.

“Ahem.”

Pisces cleared his throat noisily. When Ceria looked at him, he flashed her a condescending smile.

“I believe part of that thanks belongs to me. I did receive your message, after all. Without my urging, we would never have gone looking for you. I also eliminated quite a swath of the undead during the battle.”

Erin and Ryoka both frowned at Pisces. Erin opened her mouth to scold him, but Ceria nudged her very gently.

Ceria turned to Pisces and bowed her head deeply.

“Thank you, Master Mage.”

She said it without a trace of irony or sarcasm. Pisces blushed and looked away.

“Yes, well. We Wistram students must stick together, mustn’t we?”

“If we’d brought you along in the expedition…”

Ceria shook her head. Ryoka wanted to know what happened, but she wasn’t sure now was the time to ask.

“What happened?”

Erin looked at Ceria, concern in her eyes. The half-Elf closed her eyes and for a moment Ryoka worried it would be too much to ask. But then she began to speak.

“It started when we got to the second floor. Everything had been going fine before that. We’d run into a nest of Shield Spiders, but nothing besides that. But then we met a group of zombies…”

Ryoka listened to an abbreviated version of all that had happened up to Skinner emerging from the treasury doors.

“It must not have been locked. That thing was just waiting inside for the right moment. He killed Cervial, Gerald, and half of us in moments. And then when we arrived and tried to make a stand—”

Ceria closed her eyes and shook her head. Another tear formed unshed in her eyes.

“He killed them all. Gerial, Sostrom…he tore off Calruz’s arm. I couldn’t even fight back while he was staring at me.”

She looked at Erin.

“You avenged them. Thank you for that.”

Erin shook her head, but not in denial. She looked at Olesm.

“And what happened to you?”

Ceria smiled at Olesm.

“He saved my life.”

The scales around Olesm’s face turned a light red as everyone looked at him. He demurred.

“I didn’t do much. I just ran when that thing appeared and dragged Ceria into one of the coffins. It was all I could do.”

“He saved my life.”

Ceria said simply. She showed the others her frostbitten hand.

“I could barely move and a Ghoul was savaging me. He stabbed it from behind and used a healing potion to mend the worst of my wounds. If he hadn’t been there, I would have died.”

Erin reached over and patted the Drake on the shoulder.

“Good job, Olesm.”

He blushed and shook his head again silently. Ryoka looked at Ceria’s hand and hesitated.

“Is that how you lost…?”

Ryoka indicated Ceria’s hand. The half-Elf looked down and laughed. The fingers didn’t move, but she seemed to be able to move the blackened stump just fine and without any pain.

“This? No. I—well, I used a spell above my level, that’s all.”

Pisces peered at Ceria’s hand, frowning at the blackened skin.

“I can sense the magical residue. Frost spell? [Glacial Spear]?”

“Nothing so fancy. I just used up all the magic in my wand; that’s all.”

“You idiot.”

Erin glared at Pisces again, but Ceria just nodded.

“I had to create an opening for the others.”

She paused.

“The others. Yvlon was trying to get away. Do you know if she…?”

Erin exchanged a glance with Pisces and shook her head.

“I uh, didn’t ask. Some adventurers survived.”

“Yvlon did.”

Ryoka nodded at Ceria. The half-Elf hesitated, looking at Ryoka’s face.

“Is she…?”

“She’s catatonic. She doesn’t speak or move.”

“I see.”

Ceria bowed her head and closed her eyes. Again, Ryoka didn’t know what to say. Saying ‘at least she’s alive’ seemed crass even to her. She cleared her throat and looked around instead.

“This Skinner. How do you know his name?”

This time Olesm explained. He pointed at the writing on the wall Ceria had translated and everyone looked up. Pisces frowned and cast the same spell Ceria had, while Ryoka stared at the engraved symbols.

“Now how’d we miss that?”

Erin asked indignantly, and Ryoka echoed the question in her head, only with more self-rebuke. They’d completely missed that detail. And it was a damn important one, if this Skinner had had siblings.

“Huh.”

It was completely incomprehensible to Ryoka, but the writings reminded her of Arabic or another Central Semitic language. It was flowing and elongated, which put her in mind of Drakes. That was jumping the gun of any hypothesis though.

Ryoka hesitated and looked at the others. Should she…? But Pisces had already heard too much and Ceria had seen it already. She took out her iPhone and switched it on.

The screen glowed to life. Ryoka looked at the battery level. 24%. Surprisingly high, given how long she’d been using it, but Sostrom’s [Repair] spell must have restored the failing battery as well.

Sostrom. Ryoka’s heart hurt, but she pushed the feeling aside. She raised the iPhone as she switched to camera mode.

Ryoka’s iPhone lit up the inscriptions for a moment and emitted the classical shutter closing sound. Rags stared at Ryoka’s iPhone as if dumbstruck. Pisces blinked and frowned and Olesm gaped.

“What was that? Is that some kind of magical object?”

“Something like that.”

Ryoka put her iPhone back in its holster as Pisces stared at it covetously. She noticed Rags staring at the device as well and resolved never to drop it or leave it unattended.

“I’ve never seen anything like that. Is that steel and glass?”

Olesm paused. His eyes widened and he turned to Ceria.

“Oh. She’s the crazy violent Runner girl you told me about? The one with no levels?”

Ceria laughed and coughed at the same time. Olesm blinked, and then realized what he’d said. His tail lashed the ground nervously as he held up his hands.

“I didn’t mean—what I meant by that was—”

It wasn’t how a rescue was supposed to go, Ryoka was certain. But it was real, and reality beat a fairytale ending every time. They still had to get out of the ruins of course, and Erin had just realized Pisces ate the last sandwich she’d packed. There was confusion and anger and dust and empty coffins and the still-present smell of feces, but…

Ceria was still alive.

Ryoka was saved.

—-

And when she had a spare moment, Ryoka walked away from the others. The wide passageway was still empty of any moving corpses, but that wasn’t what Ryoka was concerned with.

She walked past rotting piles of…muscle. Organs. Bone. It was impossible to really say. She had no wish to disturb the dead, and the shapeless mounds sickened her.

But she looked anyways. Ryoka paused next to a piece of armor covered in redness. She squatted down and tried not to vomit on the remains.

Was it him? Ryoka could barely remember what armor Gerial had been wearing. And Calruz—how would she even tell? She could look for bigger bones, she supposed.

It wasn’t right. This wasn’t right. She couldn’t even bury them, even if she knew which ones they were. She could—put them in a coffin? How? Lift up the entrails and guts with her hands? Use a shovel? A bag?

It was all wrong. All so wrong. And Ceria was alive—Ryoka had to prioritize her. But her heart hurt.

“Too slow. And too weak.”

Far too weak. She hadn’t even killed a zombie coming down here. Of all of the people who’d come to save Ceria, Ryoka had been the most useless in the end.

“To be fair, I do not believe anyone expected much of you.”

Ryoka looked up and turned around. Pisces was standing behind her. He raised his hands as she stared at him.

“I merely followed you to ensure your safety. It would not do for something to ambush you.”

Was that the reason? Ryoka stared at Pisces and then mentally shrugged. She stood in the corridor and stared at the dead remains. After a while she turned and began walking back. Pisces followed her.

“It occurs to me that we have little to discuss.”

“That’s about right.”

They didn’t speak for several more minutes. Now this, this was what Ryoka was used to. Awkward silence and trite conversations. She searched for something to say.

“Thanks for your help, though.”

“Think nothing of it. For my part, I am…relieved Ceria is alright.”

“You know her?”

Pisces hesitated.

“We have a history. Not so much a relationship as a passing acquaintance, but once—suffice it to say that we were students in Wistram together, and that we were once…friends. I felt the world would be poorer for Springwalker’s absence, that is all.”

“I see. It’s good you came.”

“Yes. I agree.”

More silence.

“That artifact you used…it is quite interesting.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

“Might I see it? I promise to be quite careful.”

“Mm. Maybe someday.”

“Ah. That would be a polite way of saying ‘never’, would it not?”

“Yep.”

They walked on. It was quite far to get back to the room with coffins, but Ryoka felt running and leaving Pisces behind would be a faux pas. She was tempted to do it, though.

After an interminable amount of time, Pisces spoke again.

“Would you consent to letting me inspect that device if I told you there is a strong trace of magic on it?”

Ryoka stopped. Pisces nearly ran into her. She stared at him.

“You can see that?”

“Yes. It’s quite obvious to me. I suppose Springwalker was distracted, but I can…sense something. Was some sort of [Message] spell cast here, by chance?”

Ryoka hesitated. Weigh the options. But it might be worth the risk.

“Yes.”

“And it was linked to that device somehow. Well, I may be able to recover that conversation if you should wish it?”

“You can do that? How?”

Pisces smiled enigmatically, or in a way he probably thought was enigmatic. It looked smug, to Ryoka.

“I was a student at Wistram. That spell uses their methods as its base. Any older student learns to pick apart the incantation to see what is spoken. Hence the unique version of the spell Ceria and I know.”

“It won’t damage…whatever that is. And I can be trusted to be discreet.”

Again, Ryoka hesitated. Think. If he learned the details of the conversation…well, was the cat out of the bag already? But he was offering to restore the conversation, which would be extremely helpful.

Ceria could do it. But after how many days? More importantly, what was the real risk? If he knew…

The world would soon know. And far more dangerous people than he had already figured it out. Ryoka handed him her iPhone.

“Here.”

Pisces held the slim phone extremely carefully as he studied it. But after a cursory glance at the construction of the device, he seemed to peer at something else, some invisible substance hovering in the air around it.

Ryoka wished she knew what he was looking at. She was able to cast magic…or one spell to be exact. But even though she tried to focus her eyes, she saw nothing.

“Quite astonishing.”

“You can see what was cast?”

“Yes—an odd messaging spell. Some kind of written communication system? It’s very…bright.”

Ryoka realized he must be looking at the chat log, the magical screen that had appeared when she answered the call.

“I didn’t realize it would still be visible.”

“Yes, well, the magic cast for this spell is several magnitudes greater than…almost any spell I’ve seen before. It must originate from Wistram. I would know that even without the spell signature. Only they would be this moronic.”

He rolled his eyes and shook his head in disdain. Ryoka looked at him. It was always nice to meet someone who liked to talk if they had something worth hearing.

“What makes you say that?”

He gestured to the iPhone. The air seemed to shimmer at his fingertips.

“It’s the nature of this spell. I—have no idea how it was done, to be honest. I can only speculate that a high level mage, or several of them used a [Far Speaking] spell combined with some kind of location spell and this…thing. I imagine a [Message] spell accounts for this, but it would require an insane amount of mana.”

“Why?”

“If one person were to ah, write in this discussion, everyone who received it would necessitate a [Message] spell. It’s a complex bit of magic and the cost would be multiplied by the number of participants. So many messages…only those fools at Wistram would have the magic to cast such a spell.”

Ryoka thought she understood Pisces’ disdain. If what he was saying was right, the conversation she’d taken part in had an exponential cost with each user that joined.

Sixteen times…at least fifty, possibly a hundred messages in the chat. A thousand and six hundred spells cast? No wonder voice chat was out of the question.

The air was beginning to waver. Pisces frowned and his hands began to glow even brighter, shedding tendrils of blue light that flowed together to form the screen again.

Ryoka blinked as the chat log came back into focus. It hovered in the air over her iPhone, a blue screen with white text. Pisces was sweating.

“I ah, seem to have miscalculated. Even restoring this log seems to be taxing me quite unduly.”

“I’ve seen most of the details. Here. Give me that.”

Ryoka took the iPhone from Pisces as he frowned and more magic flowed out of his hands. Ryoka quickly scrolled down the chat, pausing a few times. Pisces’ eyes darted left and right, trying to read. She didn’t give him much time, though.

Ryoka got to the end – where she’d signed off as batman, and suddenly stopped. She saw the notification for her logging out, but there was more text below it.

Pisces peered over Ryoka’s shoulder as she read the conversation between [Kent Scott] and [twinTrouble_53]. Her mind was spinning, and that was before she read the brief message in Japanese at the bottom.

“Now that is interesting.”

The chat log abruptly vanished. Pisces lowered his hands and mopped at his brow.

“You okay?”

“I am fine. Just…taxed.”

Pisces took a few deep breaths, steadying himself. He pointed at Ryoka’s iPhone.

“More importantly, I fear your desire for anonymity might be in vain, Miss Griffin. That short conversation contained more import than the rest of your fascinating…discussion. There is a name to frighten those fools at Wistram.”

“You mean twinTrouble?”

“…Yes. This twin trouble character revealed himself to the other one, did he not? After you had ah, closed the connection. The name he called himself. Flos.”

Ryoka nodded.

“I’ve heard of him. Flos. The King of Destruction.”

“None other.”

Pisces exhaled slowly and wiped the rest of his sweat away with the hem of his dirty robe.

“Flos. If the sleeping king has indeed awoken, it means this world is about to change. Quite dramatically too, if I’m any judge. Well, even the meanest [Soothsayer] would be able to predict that.”

Ryoka frowned. She’d read about the King of Destruction in a list of contemporary world powers. The entry had been short and intriguing, but all the details had been recorded in another volume she hadn’t bought.

“Tell me about him.”

Pisces shrugged.

“What is there to say?”

He caught himself and glanced at Ryoka.

“Ah. Well, to one who might not…know of him, Flos is a king who was once poised to rule over nearly half of the civilized world. He abandoned his kingdom however, and for twenty years he has slumbered in his decaying capital. Until now.”

“Sounds dangerous.”

“Quite.”

They didn’t have the rhythm that Erin seemed to generate in her conversations. Pisces politely picked at his robe while Ryoka stared at her phone. The mage seemed to think for a second and added a second casual detail.

“The mages at Wistram were quite afraid of him, even inactive as he was.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. I suppose you don’t know that the greatest mages living gather every ten years to deliberate on the future?”

“I did not know that. Do tell.”

“They gather together to ponder recent events and plan for the future.”

“Like. A think tank?”

“A what?”

“Nevermind.”

“Yes, well, one of the things the gathering did was attempt to predict what calamities might befall the world. They created a list of the most likely disasters that might destroy civilization or eradicate life as we know it. Flos was named the eighth likeliest candidate so long as he lived.”

Ryoka paused. She opened her mouth, closed it, and tried again.

“Really?”

“Oh yes.”

“One man?”

“Well, his kingdom would follow him wherever he went. Say rather it was his potential the mages feared.”

“Why number eight? Is there any special reason for that?”

Pisces shrugged indifferently.

“The mages speculated that it is far more likely he would conquer the world or be stopped. Destroying everything is an outside chance, as it were.”

“But still the eighth most likely chance.”

“Yes.”

Ryoka pondered that for a moment.

“Did this gathering determine how likely it would be that he’d actually conquer the world.”

Pisces smiled.

“They did.”

“And?”

“He has a 30% chance depending on a number of factors.”

“I see.”

“Quite. I imagine all those able to retrieve a log of this message would be quite alarmed. Word is probably spreading by spell and letter as we speak.”

What was Ryoka supposed to say to that?

“Mhm.”

Pisces stared at Ryoka. Ryoka stared at Pisces. There didn’t seem to be anything more to say. After a moment, Ryoka coughed in a fake way into her fist.

“We should probably get back to the others.”

“Quite. I trust Ceria and Olesm are well enough to walk by now.”

They were.

—-

“We should talk.”

“About what? Aren’t we talking already?”

Erin wondered why Ryoka was trying to corner her in one part of the massive coffin room, but the other girl seemed insistent.

“I know we don’t have time now, but we need to have a long conversation.”

“About what?”

Ryoka gave Erin a flat look, but Erin wasn’t sure what for. After a moment, the Asian girl shook her head.

“About us. About this world, about how we came here and what’s happening.”

“Oh. You mean talk about everything.”

“More or less.”

“Well, now’s not the time. Ceria thinks she can walk so…”

“Of course not now. Once we get back, I mean. At your inn, or somewhere private.”

“My inn’s pretty private. I can lock the door if that helps.”

“Maybe.”

Erin waited. Ryoka seemed pretty intent, but she really had no idea why.

“Is that it?”

“I suppose. Just—don’t say anything you don’t need to until then, alright?”

That was easy enough. Erin didn’t think she had anything that didn’t need saying…if that even made sense.

“Okay. We talk later.”

“Right.”

“…Right.”

It was one of the more awkward exchanges Erin had been privy to, and she’d met a lot of awkward chess players.

Her stomach rumbled. Ryoka and Erin both looked down and Erin covered her stomach.

“Are you hungry? I saved you a sandwich.”

“Pisces ate it.”

“The soup?”

“Ceria and Olesm drank most of it and Rags took the rest.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

Olesm grinned weakly as both Erin and Ryoka jumped and turned around. The Drake was on his feet again, although he seemed unsteady.

“I truly didn’t mean to steal your lunch, Erin.”

Erin exchanged a glance with Ryoka.

“You know, a missing meal isn’t going to hurt me. When we get out of here, I’ll cook up a feast, and you’ll all be invited, how’s that?”

Erin caught Ryoka’s eye and amended her statement.

“—And um, make some nourishing broth, too. Maybe postpone the feast for a while?”

“That sounds good.”

Ceria was on her feet. She seemed a little better. There was more color in her cheeks, although they were still deathly pale. But she managed a smile.

“If it means I can get out of this hole, I’ll eat my right hand. It wouldn’t be too hard at this point.”

Erin laughed politely while Ryoka awkwardly avoided looking at Ceria’s hand. Pisces approached and Rags followed, dragging the wreck of the crossbow behind her.

“All is clear.”

Ksmvr nodded at Erin as he and Toren walked over. Erin looked around. Everyone was present, but no one said anything. She cleared her throat.

“Um, shall we go?”

They began the slow ascent back towards the surface. It was slow going, even with Erin helping Ceria and Toren supporting Olesm. The Drake and half-Elf were stiff and their feet dragged with every step. But they were just as eager to return as the others.

“Why didn’t you leave after you realized the other undead weren’t there?”

Erin asked Ceria that after they paused for a break. The half-Elf’s face was pale as she sat on the floor and took a few deep breaths.

“We thought they were waiting to ambush us if we got out. They did that to us the first time. We thought they were just being silent.”

Olesm nodded.

“I kept my coffin open so I could see the undead moving around. Once they all left—a few came back, but the rest never did. I thought they were all destroyed or…or still out there.”

“And then of course we ran out of strength and couldn’t move the lids even when we tried.”

“Got it.”

Erin nodded several times, but then frowned.

“Come to think of it…where did all the undead go?”

Ceria paused.

“Weren’t they all destroyed?”

Erin shook her head.

“There were still hundreds of undead after that thing died. We thought they were going back to the Ruins. But they didn’t go there. In that case, where did they go?”

Everyone looked at Pisces. He raised his hands defensively.

“I didn’t do it.”

Olesm scratched at a flaking patch of dead scales.

“Could the Crypt Lords have commanded the undead to leave?”

Pisces shook his head.

“Doubtful. Those creatures, while intelligent, cannot control a large mass. Even if there were enough Crypt Lords, they would still separate into a thousand groups. No, something else called them away.”

Ryoka frowned. She was sitting next to Ceria, picking caked….stuff from the soles of her feet. Erin looked away.

“Could that have something to do with the empty treasure room?”

Ceria looked up sharply. Erin explained about the missing magical items Pisces had sensed. He rubbed at his chin and nodded several times.

“The treasure room. Of course. Something or someone came here and looted the place…and perhaps called the undead away as well.”

“That’s a pretty big someone. Who?”

Pisces shrugged helplessly.

“I can think of several [Necromancers] powerful enough to command a small horde like that. Any one about Level 30 might manage to direct them in a general sense given time. But to have them leave without fighting or splintering off?”

He began to count names off on his fingers. Ryoka wandered off – to pee, Erin suspected – while Pisces began to pontificate.

“The Krythien Sect, or perhaps the Magnus Corpsus could do it en masse. But as for individuals, it would take a mage like Az’kerash or The Putrid One to perform such a feat. Of course, there are quite a number of small-time cabals and covens that might—”

Pisces broke off when he realized his audience had left him. Erin raised her eyebrows.

“So you don’t know.”

“Not as of such, no.”

“In that case, there’s no use wondering. We can tell Zevara that and warn her once we reach the city.”

Ryoka had returned. She tugged at her pants and nodded at the others.

“Come on. We’re nearly out. Just a bit longer and we can all rest.”

They got up and began walking again. After a few minutes, Erin muttered to Ryoka.

“I sort of wish you hadn’t said that.”

“Why?”

“Well, now it feels like we won’t get out of here, you know?”

Ryoka did know, and she wished Erin hadn’t brought that up. She shook her head.

“Murphy’s Law.”

“Whose law?”

Ryoka explained. Erin nodded in agreement.

“I mean, I’m not saying that’s what’s going to happen. But it just feels like…you know those movies? Or those stories where the hero’s almost out and then the really bad thing happens?”

“I know.”

“Did you watch The Evil Dead? Remember the final scene right where Ash is about to get away and then that thing—”

Erin paused, ignoring Ryoka’s irate look.

“—Well, we don’t actually know what happens but I bet it wasn’t good.”

Ryoka eyed Erin. She was completely lost on how to properly respond. After a moment, she shrugged.

“I never watched that movie.”

“Good. Don’t. It gave me nightmares.”

Erin shuddered and glanced around the dark corridors nervously. Ryoka looked at her.

“Why’d you watch it, then?”

“Oh, one of my friends insisted we watch it when I had a sleepover. I think I was fourteen. Boy, my parents were not happy when they found out why we were all screaming at midnight. But then they watched the rest of it with us which was totally cool.”

Erin trailed off for a few seconds and then regained her thread.

“Anyways, my point is that something bad is going to happen. Some evil monster’s going to jump out.”

That was ridiculous paranoia, and Ryoka almost said so. That sort of thing never happened in their world except by complete coincidence, and it wouldn’t happen here.

…Unless of course this world worked off of the same rules fantasy books and Hollywood movies were made of. If that was the case, they were all dead.

“And if that were the case, everyone would have plot armor.”

“What?”

Instead, everyone had vulnerable skin which cut and bled easily. But maybe they weren’t the main characters. If this were a story, it would be Erin and Ryoka and all of the people who came to this world who were the main characters.

That was right. Somewhere, out there, a scrawny white boy would appear out of nowhere and be crowned the chosen one. He’d probably get the [Hero] class, a magic sword, and a scar just to be on the safe side. Add in a female lead and a plucky side-character and you had a series.

More thinking like this and she’d go crazy. Ryoka shook her head again. She knocked at it with her fist to get her thoughts in order—

And nearly went blind as she walked into the sunlight.

“Ow! My eyes!”

Erin cried out and Ryoka heard Ceria and Olesm gasp as the group suddenly emerged from the ruins. She couldn’t see anything, but she felt the welcome sun on her skin, and the feeling of the wind on her face. It blew away the musty stale air of the ruins and made her feel alive again.

They were out.

When Ryoka could see, she looked up and saw the verdant green plains surrounding her, patches of wildflowers still blooming even in the beginning of the winter, and two ranks of guardsmen from Liscor facing them with weapons drawn.

Ryoka paused. Pisces immediately backed up and Rags stepped quickly behind Ksmvr. The Antinium regarded the group of guardsmen warily, while Ceria and Olesm only blinked in bemusement at the welcoming committee.

Erin was the last to recover her eyesight, but when she did, she treated the armed guardsmen as if they weren’t dangerous. Ryoka’s first thought was that Erin had clearly never been arrested before or hassled by any kind of law enforcement. Although of course in Ryoka’s case the hassling and suspicion was quite justified given some of the things she’d done. Blowing up a chemistry classroom tends to get you put on a list for the rest of your life.

“Hey, Relc! And Klbkch! What are you guys doing here?”

Erin smiled and walked forwards. That smile vanished as soon as she saw who was leading the group of guardsmen.

Watch Captain Zevara strode forwards as the Gnolls and Drakes around her lowered their weapons. Klbkch and Relc followed closely behind.

Zevara halted in front of Erin and pointed into the ruins.

“How many undead are down there? Are there any traps?”

Erin blinked at Zevara.

“What?”

“Tell us what we’re facing in there.”

Ryoka looked at the guardsmen and things clicked. It took only half a second longer for Erin to figure it out and then her eyes narrowed in outrage.

“Wait a second. Now you’re going in? You said you didn’t want to risk sending anyone in!”

Zevara dismissed Erin’s statement with a flick of the tail.

“I did say that. I wasn’t about to risk good warriors if the ruins were infested. But if you lot survived, my guardsmen can clear out the rest. We’ll be confiscating all the treasures we find in there, along with anything else left behind.”

So they could take all the treasure before Erin’s group could come back for it. In theory. Ryoka hoped Erin wouldn’t mention the empty treasury just so Zevara could choke on dust for an hour or two searching. But Erin wasn’t concerned about sticking it to the man. She was more concerned about Ceria and Olesm. She pointed at them indignantly, raising her voice.

“Hey, we’ve got injured—well, starved people here! They need food and rest! Why don’t your stupid guardsmen help with that?”

Zevara shook her head impatiently.

“I’ve got no time for those fools who unleashed—”

She paused and stared past Ceria at Olesm. She frowned, took one step forwards, and then gasped.

“Olesm? You were down there?”

Olesm waved weakly at Zevara.

“Hi, Captain Zevara.”

“So that’s where you slithered off to! We were wondering what happened to you!”

Relc laughed and strode forwards. He slapped Olesm on the shoulder, so hard the other Drake fell down. Klbkch helped Olesm back up on his feet.

“Oops. But I kept thinking that a zombie ate you during the attack. But you were down there the entire time? How was it?”

“Hello, Relc. Um, it was—”

“Move aside, you idiot!”

Zevara shoved Relc aside as she moved towards Olesm. Her tail twitched anxiously as she inspected him.

“You’re a mess. But I am glad you’re okay, Olesm. If I’d known our [Tactician] was down there I would have sent help. But now that you’re here we’ll make sure you make a full recovery.”

He blinked at her a few times.

“I am quite grateful, Captain.”

Olesm was still clearly out of it. Zevara looked at him with genuine concern. She turned and started shouting, which made both Olesm and Ceria wince and cover at their ears.

“Get a mage and healing potions for him right now!”

“And for Ceria! She needs help too!”

Erin glared at Zevara. The Drake glared back.

“The adventurers who caused all this can eat dirt for all I—”

She hesitated and glanced at Olesm and bit back her words.

“—That is, we will discuss this later. For now, we’ll treat them. Both of them.”

Guardsmen approached quickly, holding healing potions. Zevara turned towards Erin and Ryoka, and began snapping orders.

“Now, I want you to tell me how many undead you saw, and how many are left. If there are any traps I want their locations. Better yet, one of you two humans or Ksmvr will come with me and show me—”

“Excuse me.”

Zevara ignored the soft voice. But Relc turned his head and tensed up. He grabbed at his spear and stepped back and Klbkch put his hands on his swords. Zevara was too busy arguing with Erin to notice, but when she realized Ryoka was staring right over her shoulder rather than at her, she turned around.

“Who in the name of Dragons is—”

She stopped. The angry words were sucked out of Zevara as if by a sponge made of sound. The guardsmen around her stared. There was something about her, some quality that attracted attention.

Perhaps it was her mottled brown armor, or the curved sword that looked expensive as it was deadly. Or maybe it was her unique appearance, or her status. It might have been all these things or nothing, but everyone stared at her. They couldn’t help it.

The person they were staring at stared back. She was quite good at that.

Gazi, the half-Gazer Named Adventurer smiled at the collection of guardsmen and the party led by Erin and Ryoka. Her main eye focused on both Erin and Ryoka longest before it swiveled back to Zevara. Gazi inclined her head politely.

“Good day to you, Watch Captain, guardsmen.”

Ryoka stared at Gazi. She barely remembered the adventurer’s name, but the place she had met her stuck in her memory. The dead Gnoll bodies, each one beheaded neatly, flashed before her eyes.

Erin had no such memory, and she smiled at Gazi, albeit with confusion. But the others were transfixed. The guardsmen and Olesm were in awe, Relc and Klbkch were in suspicion, and Ceria was suddenly in deep trepidation.

Gazi nodded at Erin and smiled again.

“Erin. It has been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Um. Yes?”

It took even Zevara a second to regain her voice. But when she did, she glared at Gazi. She didn’t quite shout or snap at her, but her tone was brusque.

“Gazi. This is official business of Liscor. We don’t need any adventurers. Please remove yourself from the area—”

“Hm. You are quite annoying.”

Gazi cut Zevara off. It took the Drake a moment to blink at her, but then she spluttered in outrage. She raised her voice, and Gazi unsheathed her sword.

Ryoka saw the blade flash out of its sheathe in slow motion. Slow motion, but Gazi still moved like a blur. In less than a second it was in her hand. She unsheathed it, seemed to pause and smile at Ryoka, and then turned towards Zevara.

Gazi raised her sword and stabbed Zevara in the stomach. The curved blade exited Zevara’s back and Gazi twisted the blade as she pulled it out.

“What do—”

Zevara choked on the words, as the shock of what had happened caught up to her. She stared down at the gaping wound in her stomach, blinked at Gazi, and fell down.

Shock and silence reigned. Everyone stared at the fallen Watch Captain, save for Gazi. She turned back to Ryoka and Erin. Something was in her hands. A scroll, marked with shining golden letters that glowed even brighter in the light.

“Greetings, Ryoka Griffin and Erin Solstice.”

Gazi smiled even wider.

“I’ve been looking for you.”

2.05

For a second Ryoka’s heart stopped. The casual violence stunned her. But then her instincts and years of practice kicked in and she was raising her hands and moving away from Gazi.

Across from her, Ryoka saw the huge Drake’s eyes narrow. Relc stared in shock at Zevara as she collapsed for one second, and then his spear swung up and he roared at Gazi.

“You!”

Relc kicked off the ground and sprang at Gazi from behind. Ryoka barely saw him covering the ten feet between him and Gazi; he was just a blur. He made a striking cobra seem slow.

Gazi was still smiling at Erin, but she moved as Relc did. One of her smaller eyes was swiveled around in its socket, showing only the whites. She twisted out of the way as Relc charged, and the Drake blew past her, his spear missing Erin’s stomach only by inches.

Relc snarled and twisted, impossibly fast. Ryoka felt like she was moving in jello compared to him and Gazi. Again the Drake raised his spear and thrust his spear towards Gazi’s large central eye. She was still grinning as she raised her sword.

Fast as Relc was, Gazi had matched his timing. And she wasn’t aiming for him, but rather, his arm.

Gazi’s sword came down a moment before Relc’s spear reached her. Her sword bit deep into his arm even as he twisted to avoid, pushing his spear’s point down. Instead of striking her face, the tip skittered across the front of her armor, raising a shower of sparks.

Relc shouted in agony as the curved sword lodged into his arm, but he kept moving. His spear spun and Gazi raised a gauntleted fist to block.

Once, twice. Sparks flew as Gazi deflected both spear strikes at her face. She grinned at Relc as his face twisted in pain. She yanked her sword away and Relc leapt back, holding his arm. His body was tougher than leather, but the sword had still cut all the way into his bone.

And that was it. It was over. While Relc could still use his other hand, he was suddenly fighting with only one hand against Gazi. He twirled his spear, feinted twice at her face, but she caught his spear with her sword as it shot out for a third thrust. The wood split as she cut the spear in two and Relc leapt back, cursing.

The entire moment had taken seconds. Erin was jerking backwards from the whirlwind of movement around her. She blinked and gaped as Relc dashed backwards towards the other guardsmen, covering his useless arm.

Klbkch covered Relc as he seized another spear and fumbled at his belt pouch for a potion. The Antinium was shouting orders, his voice a staccato megaphone as guardsmen around him drew their weapons.

“Fall back! Use bows only. You four will engage with me. Relc—”

“Give me a minute.”

Klbkch nodded. He advanced slowly towards the grinning Gazi as four other guardsmen spread out to encircle her. The others trained arrows on her.

“Gazi of Reim. Put down your weapon and surrender.”

She laughed.

“Demands are made of the strong to the weak, Klbkch of the Free Antinium. Not the other way around.”

In answer, Klbkch lunged forwards, both swords sweeping together to slice at Gazi’s neck. She cut twice—first battering down his leftmost sword and then locking blades with Klbkch, forcing his sword back with her larger weapon. She heaved and the Antinium went flying. Gazi raised her sword and flicked the tip almost casually, shattering an arrow as it flew towards her head.

The other guardsmen were already rushing her, but Gazi moved through them casually like a dancer. She stepped into a Gnoll’s charge, tripping him up, slapped a Drake and sent him stumbling into his friend, blocking the other Drake’s thrust, and slashed down at the third Drake. He fell, bleeding extensively from the massive cut down his chest.

“Feints and tactics are useless against me. I see the truth in your souls.”

Five more arrows thunked into the ground behind Gazi, missing her by only inches in one case. She didn’t even move her head, but she did when the jar of acid flew from behind. Gazi blurred out of the way and Rags lowered her hand and blinked at the empty air.

An armored foot kicked the Goblin off her feet. Rags cartwheeled away and landed with a thump on the ground. She didn’t move.

That was when Erin broke out of her stupefaction. She looked at Gazi as shock turned to rage. The adventurer smiled at her.

“Gazi! You—”

Gazi slapped Erin. It wasn’t a gentle slap either, but a metallic crack across the face. Her hand was armored in metal and the overlapping plates cut into Erin’s face.

Erin stumbled backwards and an arrow streaked past her and tore through the middle of Pisces’s robes, just short of his crotch. He looked down, face white and the spell at his fingertips fizzled out.

Gazi was on him in a flash. She punched out again, and Pisces fell down, unconscious before he hit the ground. Then she turned to Erin and smiled again, ignoring the guardsmen as they fanned out behind her.

They weren’t willing to fire with her so close to Erin, or else Klbkch’s threats of what would happen if they did accidentally hit her were keeping them from attacking.

Erin stared at Gazi. She stared at the half-Gazer’s sword. It was covered in blood. Red blood. Drakes and Gnolls both bled the same color. It dripped off the sword and onto the grass.

She looked at Gazi. There was that same smile on her face. Her expression hadn’t changed since the day Erin had saw it. This was of no more event than strolling around for her.

“What are you doing, Gazi?”

Gazi shrugged. Her central eye wasn’t focused on Erin. It was swinging around, showing Erin the whites as Gazi focused on the guardsmen behind her. But all four of her smaller eyes were looking straight at Erin.

“It’s time for me to leave. And I will be bringing both you and Ryoka Griffin with me when I go.”

“Why?”

“You may ask me that when we are gone.”

Gazi’s hand moved. She broke the seal of the scroll she was holding in her other hand with her thumb and unfurled it.

Erin didn’t know what was going to happen. The piece of parchment was glowing with yellow light. She heard Ryoka calling out from far away.

“Stay away from her, Erin. And from me. If she gets us together, we’re gone.”

The other girl pointed at Gazi. She was behind Relc and Klbkch and the line of guardsmen.

“That thing’s a teleportation scroll.”

Gazi flicked her large eye over to Ryoka. She blinked once.

“That is…surprising. Now, how would you know that?”

Ryoka shrugged. Her eyes were fixed on Gazi.

“What else could it be?”

“And you believe staying a few feet away from me will change anything?”

“Unless you plan on teleporting everyone here, I’d say so.”

Ryoka was balanced on the balls of her feet, tense. But Gazi just shook her head.

“Tell me, Ryoka Griffin. Do you think I would have come here if I weren’t confident I could kill all of you? The scroll is simply here for transportation. You two will leave with me. The only question is how long it will take.”

The other girl hesitated. Erin stared at Gazi. She didn’t doubt the half-Gazer would do it. She was a smiling demon. Someone Erin had thought was nice. But now…

Relc had obtained another spear from one of the guardsmen. He twirled it as he spread out, walking towards Gazi’s left while Klbkch took the right side. Other guardsmen moved with them, forming a more complete circle while more Drakes and Gnolls aimed arrows at her head.

“Stay behind us, human.”

Gazi shook her head at them, ignoring the fact that she was now surrounded.

“I will give you one chance, guardsmen of Liscor. Give up on the two humans. None of the wounds I have dealt you so far are fatal. But continue to obstruct me and you will suffer and die.”

Relc flexed his right arm, wincing. The healing potion hadn’t fully worked, Erin noticed. The bleeding had stopped and part of the flesh had regrown, but his movements with it were stiffer.

“Go to hell you five-eyed freak.”

Gazi shrugged and smiled wider.

“Very well.”

She raised her sword and the guardsmen readied their weapons. Klbkch was on one side, Relc on the other. Ksmvr moved up and pushed Erin back, all four of his weapons raised. Olesm and Ceria were crouched near the entrance of the ruins, silent observers.

Rags didn’t move. Pisces was unconscious. Ryoka stood warily behind the row of archers. Erin stared around. Over twenty people all stared at one person, a smiling adventurer wearing dark armor, holding a sword red with blood.

Gazi raised her sword and spoke into the silence.

“I am Gazi of Reim, Gazi the Omniscient. Advancing.”

For a second all was stillness. Then Erin saw Gazi’s eyes begin to move.

Normally, the half-Gazer had a lidded gaze, like normal humans. But now her eyes opened wide, and seemed to bulge outwards. And move.

Up, down, right, down, left—her eyes – all five of them, were rolling around in their sockets, pupils wildly dilated. Gazi’s central eye flicked in so many directions at once Erin felt sick just watching it.

But Gazi didn’t seem disturbed by the display. She turned, and walked towards Relc, sword raised. She spoke out loud, as if making an observation.

“Fifteen Drakes, five Gnolls. [Guardsman] classes. One [Spearmaster] Drake, and one [Swordslayer] Antinium. A Human [Assassin] in the back.”

Relc’s arms tensed, and his posture lowered for another charge. But Gazi moved first. She flicked her sword at him, a quick movement that had so much power behind it that the blood on her blade flew off in a red shower.

It caught Relc in the face and he jerked back reflexively, cursing and wiping at his eyes. That was enough to leave his side open as Klbkch, Ksmvr, and a Drake rushed at Gazi from the other three cardinal directions.

Gazi smiled and stepped back, into Relc. He cursed and shoved at her, but she took no notice.

One of Klbkch’s swords spun out of his hands and he retreated, a long shallow cut running down his carapace. All four of Ksmvr’s swords clashed harmlessly against Gazi’s armor, as did the Drake’s spear.

Gazi spun and cut Relc in the side just as he managed to wipe the blood out of his eyes. He howled and fell back as the others did.

“Her armor is impenetrable.”

Ksmvr announced this fact as the guardsmen with bows unleashed a shower on Gazi. Erin saw the truth of what he’d said soon enough. Gazi calmly raised her sword and used the broad side to block her face, moving it slightly to catch arrows. Besides that she remained still, and the shafts that struck the rest of her body broke noisily on her rust-colored armor.

Erin covered her face and moved away from Gazi as splinters flew into the air around her. The guardsmen continued the barrage for nearly a full minute before stopping. At the end of it Gazi lowered her sword, completely unhurt.

She was still smiling.

“My Lord gave me this armor that I might walk through the bloody battlefield for him. Your weapons will not pierce it. Nor will you stop me from achieving my goals.”

From her spot behind the archers, Ryoka saw Klbkch and Relc rush at Gazi from behind, Ksmvr only a second slower. This time they timed their movements perfectly, a spear and sword slicing at her head from both directions. But Gazi just dodged Klbkch’s sword and parried Relc’s thrust again, and then cut Ksmvr as he rushed at her. She was still holding the scroll in her other hand.

And then she looked up and smiled at Ryoka.

Gazi appeared in front of Ryoka in a blur of movement. Ryoka threw a punch, but Gazi’s fist streaked past Ryoka’s arm and caught her in a perfect counter.

Ryoka blinked. Suddenly she was lying on the ground, and Gazi was gone. What just—

She pushed herself upright and saw the fallen guardsmen. The row of archers that had been firing at the adventurer to cover the others was gone. Screaming and groaning guardsmen were lying on the ground, arms and legs slashed deeply.

Blood spurted from wounds as they desperately reached for healing potions. Gazi had severed arteries, and the guardsmen had to heal their wounds or die in minutes.

And Gazi was back towards Erin, fighting with the guardsmen again. She was dancing in a whirlwind of blades, smiling and laughing.

Yes, that was it. Dancing. That’s what it looked like. Not a rapid dance or some kind of ridiculous jumping up and down, but a slow dance. Each step she took was deliberate, and every time she swung her sword she either deflected a strike at her face or cut someone around her.

It was a beautiful sight. Beautiful and full of despair for Ryoka. Gazi saw everything as it came at her, from every direction. She ignored feints and knew when something would miss. And she only had to defend her head.

Relc kicked at Gazi’s side and she dodged left before cutting him shallowly down one leg. He was already covered in shallow cuts, as was Klbkch. Gazi wasn’t going for the kill. She was bleeding everyone around her, fighting purely defensively.

And still smiling.

That was purity. That was the height of perfection. If Gazi had been a martial artist she would have been 27th Dan or something. Ryoka knew she had no chance of even hitting her.

She turned to run. Run like a coward to prevent Gazi from teleporting them. But Gazi just turned and raised her sword as if to throw it. Ryoka froze, and Gazi smiled and leaned back to avoid another sword.

She couldn’t even run. Ryoka screamed in her head as she tried to figure out what to do. What could she do? Erin was still staring at the melee, but the other guardsmen were staggering away, too wounded to fight. Only Relc and Klbkch and Ksmvr were left. And then only Relc and Klbkch.

Howling. Ryoka heard it in her mind. She was helpless. She shouldn’t be. She’d practiced self-defense all her life. She’d trained her body. She couldn’t be—

Helpless.

Howling. Ryoka heard it in her mind, growing louder. Then she realized it wasn’t just in her head. She looked around.

A lone voice cut through the clashing of metal on metal and the shouts of those fighting. It was deep, resonant. Ryoka had heard wolves howling, but this was deeper, and somehow far more disturbing.

Wolves howled as a way to communicate; as a way to be social. But this howl was darker. It had emotion in it; black fury and rage that expressed itself in a wild sound that sent chills down Ryoka’s back.

It raised all the little hairs on Ryoka’s neck and sent a chill down her spine. It wasn’t even a conscious thing; the animal noise poked at a primal part of her brain and put fear into it.

No animal howled like that. And as soon as the first howl ended, another voice rose to join it. And another. And another.

Erin covered her ears to stop the terrible noise beating down on her. She looked around wildly. The din had made everyone stop, even Gazi. She paused, and Relc staggered away from her, bleeding from a dozen wounds.

The Gazer tsked in annoyance and frowned in the direction of the city. She shook her head.

“Gnolls. And winter is about to arrive. In about sixteen minutes. Inconvenient. I must move faster.”

She unfurled the scroll wider and pressed her thumb into it. Erin saw an intricate web of tightly-written lines of symbols before Gazi spoke a word and the parchment flashed with light.

“Exus.”

The symbols began to move. They spun and whirled around in a dizzying configuration before forming into a circle. And then the circle fell off the scroll and onto the ground. It formed a ring in the air, a small circle that slowly grew larger.

Gazi turned towards Erin.

“It is time to go.”

Erin couldn’t speak. She didn’t know whether to run or fight or—

An arrow streaked past Erin’s shoulder and Gazi’s sword came up. She caught the black shaft before it struck her eye, but two more flew straight at her face. Gazi cut both down and frowned.

Erin looked behind her. Over a hundred yards away, a group of furry, tall people were loping towards her and Gazi. They were carrying bows, and one of them she recognized.

Krshia led the Gnolls as they howled and ran towards Gazi, a group of fifteen shopkeepers, artisans, and even a tavern owner. But these weren’t the friendly people Erin knew from the city. These Gnolls held massive bows and their eyes glowed with fury. They didn’t speak. They didn’t wait. As soon as they reached bowshot range, the Gnolls began to loose arrows at the Gazer.

Unlike the guardsmen who’d managed a semi-accurate spread when firing on the lone adventurer, the arrows from these Gnolls were all on target. Gazi frowned and her arm blurred as she cut down arrows and dodged backwards swiftly.

“Krshia Silverfang. Your interference in my business was most unwise.”

Krshia snarled at Gazi. She aimed an arrow straight at Gazi’s eyes as she coldly replied.

“Blood for blood. You slaughtered our kin. We will slaughter you.”

“You are welcome to try.”

Krshia’s arrow broke on Gazi’s sword. The Gazer disappeared into the Gnolls and they began falling, bleeding. Dying?

Erin wasn’t sure. All she knew was that Gazi was cutting into people with her sword, letting their blood coat her armor. All as she smiled.

But Gazi’s smile flickered and faded slightly as the Gnolls kept spreading out. She’d cut down the first four Gnolls easily, but now they were firing at her from every angle, she had to dodge and use her sword to deflect the crossfire more actively.

But she was still moving, still unharmed. Gazi slowly crossed the distance to another Gnoll as he fired at her desperately. She stabbed through his bow into his stomach and he fell down, clutching at his insides. Gazi retreated, weaving, and began pursuing her next target.

She was going to kill them all.

Erin didn’t know when she started moving. She only realized it when she’d approached Gazi. Arrows flew by her face, missing her by centimeters, brushing her hair. It was terrifying, and Erin knew any second she could be struck. But she kept walking.

Two steps. And then three. A flash of fire burned her right arm and she realized she’s been cut by a projectile. It didn’t matter.

Gazi was moving away from her, walking towards Krshia among the storm of arrows. Erin stopped in front of her, shivering as she saw Gazi cutting down blurred shapes as they sped towards her head.

But now Gazi seemed to be blocking the ones flying at Erin too. She smiled at Erin, as if on the verge of laughter.

“And what will you do now that you are here, Erin?”

Erin punched at Gazi’s face. The half-Gazer’s arm came up as she swung to deflect another arrow and seemed to just coincidentally knock Erin’s arm away.

Klbkch charged out of the grass, ignoring an arrow as it struck him in the back. He raised a sword in both hands. Gazi pivoted to block and bodily checked Erin, hard enough to knock her into the ground. She stepped on Erin’s arm as the girl tried to rise and ignored the cry of pain.

“Distance and numbers mean nothing to my eyes, Erin.”

Ryoka saw Erin rolling away after Gazi stepped away from her. The innkeeper was cradling her arm. It didn’t look broken, but she didn’t get up and attack Gazi again. Of course not. What would be the point?

Klbkch fell down at last when Gazi clubbed him with the pommel of her sword. The Gnolls were still firing, but the portal she’d opened was now nearly head-height. Ryoka could see into it. It was some sort of tunnel, ringed by spinning symbols and flashes of colors she couldn’t name. And on the other side was grass. Not the grass from around here, but different grass. Shorter. Thicker leaves. Drier soil; a harsher landscape.

It was definitely a portal. And Gazi was going to drag Erin and Ryoka into it.

She advanced towards Ryoka, still deflecting arrows as if her sword was an umbrella. She called out to Ryoka as she approached.

“You are worth far less than she, but perhaps you will be worth the wait.”

Again. It was the same damn feeling. Gazi laughed as she dodged and parried attacks from every direction and angle.

It was so unfair.

“Two for the price of one, as my lord would say it.”

Ryoka backed up, but Gazi flicked an arrow and pain exploded across Ryoka side.

“Don’t move. I need you, but healing potions can mend much.”

She had to have a weakness. Ryoka clutched at the arrow that had buried itself in her stomach and tried not to scream. Gazi was arrogant. She—she wasn’t even fighting seriously. Relc was the…the only one who could really challenge her, and she’d taken him out in the first seconds.

She had to have a weak spot. Her eyes. Without her eyes she’d be—

Gazi stepped in front of Ryoka. She caught the leg as it flashed towards her face.

“A good kick.”

Then she kicked back and Ryoka woke up on the ground next to the portal. She felt sick. She tried to stand and realized her arms and legs weren’t working properly. She shook as she pushed herself onto her knees and looked around.

Gazi stood over Ceria, sword drawn. Olesm was a collapsed heap next to her, unmoving. Over half of the Gnolls were lying still on the ground and the other ones had stopped firing. Because Gazi’s sword was at Ceria’s throat.

“Why wait? Why, if you knew I was alive?”

The half-Elf was asking Gazi a question. Ryoka tried to reach out to her, but her body was failing. Broken. She felt dizzy and the world kept going black in places. She barely heard what Gazi said.

“So it would hurt most of all, of course.”

Ryoka blinked and suddenly she was staring into the dirt. She’d fallen? Fallen down. She pushed herself up. She couldn’t fight. But Ceria. She couldn’t let her die either.

“Know that I keep my promises.”

Gazi raised the sword high over Ceria’s head. She raised her other hand and caught Erin as the other girl lunged at her.

“Do it—”

Gazi looked at Ryoka. The Runner croaked and tried to form proper words. Her mind was spinning.

“Do it and I’ll kill myself. Bite my tongue off. You won’t have me and Erin.”

The adventurer shrugged.

“One is still better than two. And I doubt you have the courage for that, Ryoka Griffin.”

She grabbed Erin by the throat, lifting her up. The portal was large now, spinning in the air, eight feet by eight feet wide. It was humming, a deep sound that Ryoka could feel in her bones. And it was—collapsing? Flares of color were emerging from around the spinning symbols. It was about to end.

Krshia lifted her bow as Gazi lifted Erin up. The girl’s feet kicked feebly.

“We will see her die before letting you take her.”

Gazi looked amused as she shook her head.

“Liar. I can see the lies on your face, Krshia Silverfang.”

Krshia hesitated. Ryoka tried to get up again. No good. She flopped on the ground and felt something fall out of her pocket. Her iPhone. She stared at it.

Throw it at Gazi? Probably not.

The adventurer let go of Erin and gripped her sword two-handed as she raised it over Ceria’s head. The half-elf stared up bleakly at the raised sword.

“Gazi.”

Ryoka’s voice was a hoarse croak as she pushed herself upright. Erin stood right in front of Gazi, fist raised, knowing it was useless to attack. She would do it anyways, Ryoka knew. But she had to speak first.

Gazi didn’t even bother turning her head. She spoke to the air.

“Now. What could you possibly say that would stop me here? I am curious.”

Ryoka took one deep breath, and then another. The world was spinning. If she took one step she’d probably puke or fall over. But she had to say it. Weak spot.

Eyes.

She hoped Erin moved fast.

“The King of Destruction has awakened. Flos has returned.”

—-

Erin heard the words, but didn’t know what they meant. But they caused a hush, and she saw Gazi’s eye widen. Slowly, the Gazer turned.

Gazi the Omniscient. She could see through walls, across miles and even into the hearts of other people. She could see through lies.

Her central eye turned, and all four smaller eyes. They fixed on Ryoka, staring into her, searching for the truth. And Erin moved. Faster than she’d ever moved before. Her hand raised, and shot out.

Maybe Gazi saw it out of her peripherals, but she turned. Her sword cut down the two arrows streaking towards her face. Her right hand caught Ksmvr’s dagger as he hurled it at Gazi. Perhaps it was that which made Gazi too slow. Or it might have been the crimson gaze, the touch of fear that came from a gemstone burning in a skeleton’s eyes.

It might have been all of those things, or nothing. But Gazi’s hand came up—

And Erin poked Gazi in the eye.

It was a terrible feeling. Erin’s finger sunk into the open eyeball, straight through the cornea. Erin felt her fingertip pushing through horrible wetness, through the gooey center and felt something burst over her hand.

Gazi screamed.

An armored fist hit Erin in the chest. She felt herself go whumph as her ribs cracked. Erin didn’t fly—but she did move up and down in the air for a second or two. When she hit the ground, all the lights in the world went out for a while.

When Erin got up, Gazi was clutching at something. A gooey mess ran around her armored hand, and she looked—

She wasn’t smiling anymore. For the first time, Gazi’s secretive smile was gone, and her four good eyes stared at Erin with dark hatred.

“You.”

She strode towards Erin, but suddenly Relc was there. He laughed and threw himself at Gazi.

“[Triple Thrust] you stupid bi—”

She cut him as he cut her. Gazi’s cheek opened up as Relc’s caught a deep cut down his face. Gazi stopped and blinked. Bright orange-yellow blood dripped from her open wound.

More arrows flew. This time, Gazi’s sword was too slow. One caught her hair, and another splinted into her face, striking the mess of her eye. She cried out again.

“Gazi.”

Her other eyes flicked towards Klbkch and Relc and she sighed. Then she looked at Erin and Ryoka.

“Well done. Well done, the two of you. I should have been more careful.”

She turned and retreated from Klbkch and he approached with Ksmvr and Toren at his side. Towards the portal. The Antinium and skeleton let Gazi move back, swords raised warily. The Gnolls kept firing, and it was all Gazi could do to block their arrows now.

“You must leave or die here, Gazi of Reim.”

Gazi nodded at Klbkch.

“Yes. I must. But first: vengeance.”

Her sword blurred and touched an arrow as it flew at her.

“Watch—”

Ryoka pushed Erin aside just in time. The arrow missed both girls by inches and struck one of the bows a Gnoll carried. It shattered the weapon and the arrowhead glanced off and buried itself in the Gnoll’s fur. He howled in pain as Ksmvr and Klbkch moved to shield Erin.

“Ah. If I were better—”

Gazi shrugged. She lowered her hand and revealed a ruined mess of an eye. She stared at Erin, and the girl stared back.

“Erin Solstice. One day, we shall meet again.”

And then Gazi stepped through the portal. Krshia fired one last arrow, but it missed the adventurer. Gazi’s form distorted and then—

Erin stared into a tunnel as long as forever. It stretched on and on, but somehow she could see the ending. A patch of grass ringed by runestones only a few feet away. Gazi stepped into the portal, and her foot travelled thousands of miles, stretching out to touch the grass on the other side.

Relc threw his spear through the portal. Erin saw it flying through the air, an arrow hurled across the world. Gazi turned and caught it. She tossed it casually back.

The tunnel of light began to close. The spear landed in the grass on Erin’s side, and then the magic ended. The portal closed. Reality went back to normal.

And Gazi was gone.

—-

“Dead gods.”

Zevara stood in the remains of the battlefield, looking around. It was a battlefield. There was no other word for the field of broken arrows, the patches of blood, and the bodies.

The bodies. Two of her guardsmen, and one Gnoll. Three people; not a high toll considering who they’d come up against, but too many. They lay on the ground, two clutching at wounds that hadn’t healed fast enough. The Gnoll was headless.

The dead and the wounded. Zevara couldn’t remember a time she’d seen so much violence in such a short time. Not since the previous Watch Captain. Not since the Necromancer.

She glanced up and looked over at another gathering, this one of the living. Ryoka and Erin sat in a protective circle of bodies. Ksmvr, the Gnolls, even the damn skeleton and the human mage stood around them protectively, though Gazi was long gone.

Ryoka was still swaying where she sat. The girl had a concussion and possibly fractured bones according to Pisces. Erin wasn’t badly hurt; the cuts on her face and her bruises had been easily fixed. But she was staring down at her hand. At her finger.

Zevara turned away. She looked at Relc, and at Klbkch, two of her best guardsmen, even if they were…Relc and Klbkch. She shook her head at them, and they nodded, understanding.

“What the hell just happened here? Why by all the dead gods would this…?”

She waved a hand helplessly at the scene. Relc just shook his head, but Klbkch cleared his throat.

“The humans, Watch Captain.”

“I know. I know the humans. But why? Why them? Why now? Why Gazi? Why?”

“I do not fully know. Perhaps we should ask when the time is right. But for now we must accept that the world is changing.”

“The world’s gonna end.”

Zevara looked at Relc. The Drake stared at the ground, ignoring the cuts and gashes he still hadn’t healed. She was no soldier, but she had the same sense he did.

Zevara looked at the sky. Revelations. There would be rumors spreading the instant they returned to the city, but the truth was far worse. Zevara felt it in her gut, the sense of urgency, the fear.

Peace was over. The King of Destruction had returned. If she didn’t hurry, she was going to die without ever telling Olesm she loved him.

—-

“I just want to sit by myself and not do anything. Just sit and play chess, okay? I’ll be better once I’m at the inn. Once I’m home.”

Erin told Krshia that for the hundredth time, she clutched the blanket around her hand even tighter, as if she could wipe away the memories, the feeling.

“I get that, but the Captain wants to talk to everyone in the city. We’ve got hot drinks and food. Just come with us.”

“If she does not want to go, she will not go. And you are in no position to demand such things now, yes?”

Krshia glared at Relc and the Drake glared back.

“Having a bunch of bows and your little archery group doesn’t mean you’re suddenly guardsmen, Krshia. You get in the way any more and I’ll hit you. With this.”

He lifted his spear and the Gnolls around Erin and Ryoka rumbled. Relc didn’t seem impressed, but Erin shook her head.

“No. No fighting. I’ll go. Ryoka?”

“Hm? Yeah?”

Ryoka nodded dizzily at Erin. Relc smiled.

“See? I’m right and you’re wrong, Krshia.”

“Well then, we shall go with Erin. As concerned citizens.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Fine, let’s all be guardsmen, then. I’d like to see you become a Senior Guardsman. We’ll take care of the humans. You Gnolls just go back to the city and—”

Relc stopped shouting and turned around. The Gnolls looked too. Erin had no idea what they were sensing or…hearing?

“Hold up. What the heck is that?”

Something echoed on the faintest edge of Erin’s hearing. Howling? No. Not like Gnolls. But the sound of wind, yes. And suddenly it felt colder.

A lot colder.

“Oh gods, it’s here! Winter is coming everyone. Get ready!”

Relc roared and everyone around him was suddenly moving. Erin looked around, confused. Relc growled as he grabbed the blanket from Erin and held it up around her and Ryoka.

“As if we needed anything else.”

“What? What’s happening.”

“Winter is here.”

Klbkch said it calmly as he appeared with another blanket. And then Erin and Ryoka saw it.

From down over the mountains it came. A storm? Or maybe it was just the wind, frozen and made corporeal. It was a white and grey wave that crashed down like an avalanche, but instead of breaking on the ground, angled up at the last moment and blew straight across the plains.

It headed straight towards the group, and for a second Erin thought she heard voices.

“Look, look, sisters! A group of travelers out in the open!”

“A band of warriors! The dogs and once-Dragons have been fighting!”

“And humans! And the slaves! And even a dead thing!”

Laughter, bright and tinkly, like crackling icicles. Erin squinted. Were there…blue shapes in the oncoming storm? But then the tone of the light, ethereal voices changed.

“Look! There! A half-breed! A filthy whore!”

“Kill it!”

“Bury it in snow!”

“Let’s dump snow on all of them!”

“Here it comes!”

Relc shouted, and the storm enveloped Erin in a sea of white. She was thrown to the ground, tumbled around, and then she was cold and wet and the world was missing.

“Erin! Erin!”

Something grabbed Erin as she struggled to sit up. Relc pulled Erin up and she gasped and spluttered as he freed her from the—

…Snow?

Suddenly, the world was changed. The grass was gone. Erin found herself shivering, waist-deep in pure white snow, and the air was suddenly frosty, and the skies grey and clouded.

“What—what—?”

Relc grinned at Erin and handed her the blanket back.

“Winter just arrived. Let’s get back to the city, huh? We’re going to need warm clothes; this one looks pretty cold.”

“What?”

Across from her, Ryoka pushed her way out of the snow, spluttering. She looked around.

“What the fuck?”

The storm was gone, as if it had never been. Only the snow remained, and the suddenly frozen landscape. And also the group of hovering creatures that swirled and swooped in the air above Erin and Ryoka’s heads.

“They’re not dead! The half-breed lives!”

“Let’s bury them again! Deeper!”

“No, let’s cut off her hair and tear out her eyes!”

“Look, look! This human is different! See how different she looks, sisters?”

One of the creatures floated down next to Ryoka, and pointed. Ryoka recoiled as they all flew around her, still speaking in their voices-that-weren’t-voices.

“You’re right! How strange! How odd!”

“Can she see us, we wonder?”

“Impossible!”

Relc grimaced. He swatted at the faeries and shook his head.

“Ugh. It’s them. I hate those things.”

One of the transparent…things floated in front of Relc’s face. He shook his head, eyes not focusing fully on…her. She blew into his face and he recoiled, shouting and clawing at the frost on his nose.

“We hate you too!”

2.06

“…Lady Reinhart? Lady Reinhart, are you sleeping?”

Magnolia woke up with a start. She looked around blearily for a fraction of a second before her natural instincts took over. She sat up and smiled genteelly while the room swam back into focus.

Theofore the Assassin blinked at her as he stood at attention. The sight of a dark figure dressed in the ominous clothing of assassins and spies didn’t alarm Magnolia—that was a common enough sight.

But it took her a moment to remember that she wasn’t in her Celum property. The nice, rustic, intimate setting of that place had been replaced by the altogether more austere and rich setting of her winter home.

Ah. Of course. Magnolia sighed. She couldn’t feel it inside of course, thanks to a hundred spells, but winter had truly arrived. It was such a shame. Snow was all very well, but it made travel so tiresome.

She smiled at Theofore as he stood awkwardly to attention. His clothes were still drying, and although she’d offered refreshments and a towel, he’d refused both. It must come from being an [Assassin], she reflected. They had a certain aversion towards letting their guards down or eating any food not prepared by their own two hands.

“I’m sorry, I must have dozed off. It is past my bedtime after all. Do forgive me.”

He inclined his head without comment. It was very late, but she had standing orders for him to report to her the moment he arrived.

Hence his presence, and why it was imperative that Magnolia not yawn. That was un-Lady-like, and because it was, Magnolia fought down the impulse and smiled again.

“Now, where were we? I recall everything up to the point where Gazi vanished. My memory after that is…fuzzy.”

It had been an odd dream. Magnolia could barely remember what it was about. Theofore coughed.

“Yes, well, after Gazi the Omniscient departed, I had to move away from the group to maintain my concealment. It seems at least one of the Antinium heard her comment about an [Assassin], and I barely managed to remain hidden.”

He shuddered, and Magnolia felt the slightest hint of compassion for him. It could not be easy to hide from a half-Gazer, especially not the infamous Gazi. In fact, it was downright impossible, which was probably why Theofore had drawn the short straw and been sent to follow Ryoka. The Guild of Assassins – the Silent Brethren, the Unseen Guild, the Daughters and Sons of Silence – might be nominally unafraid to die, but they were at their core very practical.

Theofore coughed and continued. Magnolia hoped the man wasn’t coming down with a cold, or at least, that she didn’t catch it. The common cold was quite tiresome to cure, even for someone with access to the best magics.

“I followed Ryoka Griffin and the other girl – Erin Solstice – into the city. They talked with the Captain of the Watch for some time and the leader of the Gnolls as well before returning to the inn. The skeleton and Goblin followed them, while the others remained in the city.”

“Hm. Quite an interesting girl, this Erin Solstice, isn’t she?”

“She wounded Gazi.”

That statement made even Magnolia’s skin tingle with a thrill. An innkeeper, who’d wounded one of the King of Destruction’s most fearsome warriors? What was the world coming to?

Beside her, one of her maids shifted. She was new, or perhaps just tired, but the act immediately earned her a look from the head maid Ressa, who stood by Magnolia’s side.

Magnolia ignored that. No doubt punishment would be severe and swift once the maids were alone. Ressa ran a tight ship, so to speak, and the winter staff had grown relaxed in Magnolia’s absence. She’d talk to Ressa about relaxing later, although that was an exercise in futility.

So much to do, so little time. Magnolia gestured for Theofore to continue. He cleared his throat, coughing again. The stubborn man was sick.

“What of Ceria Springwalker and this Drake [Tactician]?”

“It seems the adventurers that survived the Ruins are now being held responsible for the undead invasion. I heard talk of fines before I left. The [Tactician] seems to be exempt from any possible punishment, however. Regardless, all the adventurers are recovering in the Adventurer’s Guild in the city.”

“Odd, to see that lot protecting them. I thought the Adventurer’s Guild in Drake cities was practically powerless. Perhaps their guildmaster has more of a spine than the others.”

Lady Magnolia sighed and drummed her fingers on her chair.

“Poor Yvlon. I wonder how the girl is holding up? Is she still comatose?”

Theofore hesitated.

“She seemed to be coming round, but she and the others are—changed.”

Lady Magnolia accepted that explanation without asking for more details.

“And the Antinium? What about those curious Workers with names you mentioned?”

“Sequestered within their Hive, or so it seems. Only the ones known as Ksmvr and Klbkch—”

Theofore stumbled as he tried to pronounce the name.

“—Are allowed aboveground.”

“Mm. That warrants further investigation. But the Gnolls?”

“I saw one of them running south after they returned to the city. More than that I cannot say.”

“Very well. Now, to Ryoka and this young woman. They returned to the inn. You followed them, of course?”

“…To an extent.”

Lady Magnolia did not frown. But her brow did crease slightly at she tapped her finger on her chair.

“Why?”

Theofore shifted. Nervously? But of course, [Assassins] didn’t get nervous. Not even in front of one of the most powerful Humans on the continent.

“I was unsure whether the skeleton possessed any detection capabilities, and besides, there were…complications. The winter sprites had followed the two girls to the inn, and they could sense my concealment.”

Theofore grimaced.

“Those…creatures chased me off. They harried me for nearly ten miles and forced me to return. If I had stayed, my cover would certainly have been broken.”

Lady Magnolia had to smile at that.

“Ah, yes. The winter sprites. Or—Ressa, what do the children call them?”

“Frost Fairies, milady.”

“How curious. They normally don’t fix on any one person for too long. I suppose you must have attracted their interest, Theofore. How unlucky for you.”

His expression indicated total agreement.

“They hindered my progress back. I landed in two pitfalls, was nearly buried by a small avalanche…”

“That might explain why my maids informed me Ryoka Griffin was spotted running north nearly a day before you arrived. Well, it cannot be helped.”

Magnolia sighed. The conversation between the two girls had been important, she was sure. But it was hardly more important than all of the other revelations she’d heard today.

“Well, what did you hear? Start from the beginning. What happened first before you had to leave?”

Theofore hesitated again.

“I cannot be sure of what happened as I was attempting to escape the sprites. But I believe—they had a fight.”

—-

“Raaagh!”

It was more of a guttural shout than any coherent word. The chair flew through the air, threatening splintery death to its target.

Which was not Erin, fortunately. Ryoka hurled the chair and it crashed into a wall and broke two legs.

“Damn, damn, damn!”

Ryoka hurled another chair across the room and kicked another one over a table. It hurt. A lot. But she had to vent her frustrations somehow, and Erin didn’t feel like offering her a pillow.

The innkeeper girl watched the runner girl breaking her furniture and wondered if she should say something. Probably not. Broken things were practically normal in her inn, by now.

Anyways, Erin didn’t want to interrupt Ryoka at all at this point, which was why she was watching from the other side of the room. The other girl was tall, athletic, and had a focused glare she could turn on you in a second.

She was sort of scary.

Not that Erin was scared of Ryoka. Of course not. They were both from the same world – practically neighbors! Ryoka was from Ohio and Erin was from Michigan. Ohio. Good old Ohio. The state of…of…

Well, it was a good state. Not quite as good as Michigan of course, but a good state. It had lots of…cities. And people, Erin was sure.

And Ryoka was a pretty good person, too. She was one of those barefoot runners Erin had heard so much about. Which was weird. But cool! And she seemed smart. And she was brave. And that was pretty much all Erin knew about her.

New fact: Ryoka had a bad temper. A really bad one.

“I will rip that ****ing @%#!’s tail off and shove it up her —-ing ████!”

It wasn’t that Erin couldn’t hear the swear words, it was just that she chose to censor them in her mind. She wasn’t too big on cursing, but she had understood Ryoka’s frustration.

“It’s not like there was much left down there anyways. So what? Zevara confiscates everything in the ruins? Big deal, what’s the problem?”

Ryoka stopped breaking things long enough to pause and turn to Erin. Maybe she’d forgotten she was in Erin’s inn, because she turned slightly red. But she was still angry.

“Even without the treasure, all the adventurer’s gear would probably have been worth over a thousand gold. Two thousand, maybe.”

“…What?”

Erin blinked at her. Ryoka nodded and sat down in a chair, scowling.

“Magic wands, potions, high-class armor…it’s their property, not the city’s. With it, Ceria and the adventurers who survived would be able to send money to the families of the ones who died, heal themselves. Taking that—it’s theft.”

“But the city was attacked.”

Erin didn’t feel comfortable defending Zevara, but she understood why it had happened. She tried to explain to Ryoka.

“I saw Liscor after the attack. The streets were ripped up, houses damaged…a lot of people died. The money to repair that has to come from somewhere. And I guess they do blame the adventurers.”

Ryoka glared at Erin, and she hastily raised her hands.

“I don’t. But what can you do?”

“Nothing. Not one thing. It’s just—”

Ryoka made a fist and exhaled hard. Erin felt this was a first step. At least she hadn’t gone back to throwing things.

Carefully, Erin approached and took a seat next to Ryoka. Calm, that was the key.

“How about we have some food and talk?”

“Talk. Right.”

Ryoka scrubbed at her face and nodded. She was tired. Exhausted, really. But food sounded great right now, and it was time to really sit down and talk. Really talk.

“Toren!”

Erin turned in her seat and shouted. The skeleton walked downstairs, dustrag in hand. Ryoka started in her seat. Even now, she hadn’t gotten used to the—the unreality of Toren.

On the other hand, Erin talked to the skeleton as if having one was completely normal.

“Go get some food. We’re nearly out of blue juice and I need more eggs. Go find some.”

She thought for a second.

“And fish. We could use—oh, right.”

Erin glanced at one of the shuttered windows. Normally, the windows were open to let in clear air, blue skies, and green landscapes. Now though, if she looked outside…

Toren walked over to the door and opened it. A white pasture untouched by details like color appeared, as falling snowflakes completed the scene.

It was winter. And apparently, unlike on Earth, winter decided to arrive in moments, rather than over the course of months.

Ryoka and Erin both stared at the landscape outside. Toren casually stepped out into the falling snow and promptly disappeared against the white backdrop.

“Even after walking through the snow, I can’t believe it’s really winter.”

Ryoka had to shrug as she followed Erin into the kitchen. She watched as the other girl began rummaging through shelves and untidy packs of food left lying around on the floor.

“That’s how this world works.”

“Yeah, but it’s still weird. I mean, if this is how winter arrives, how does it go? Does all the snow just fly into the sky?”

Ryoka had no answer for that. Erin frowned as she stared at her pantry.

“I’m running out of food. Again. But I’ve got pasta! There’s always pasta. And sausages. Oh! And here’s an onion.”

It was Erin’s emergency fall-back recipe, which was probably why she always had ingredients for it. She really didn’t know that many recipes, which was probably due to her only having [Basic Cooking] as a skill.

“Pasta is fine. Just make a lot of it.”

“Can do!”

It took a while for the pot to boil, and longer for Erin to toss in the necessary ingredients and make several plates of it. By that time, she and Ryoka were sitting at the table, talking.

“No way. You’re serious.”

“I got a call and when I answered it, a screen appeared in the air. It was…a magical chatroom of some kind.”

“Whoa. Like magic Skype?”

“…Sort of. But from that I can guess there’s at least a hundred people from our world here. Possibly many more.”

Erin sat back in her chair, mind close to literally being blown.

“I mean, yeah. Yeah, I don’t have my smartphone and I bet a lot of people don’t either. But—hundreds? Seriously?”

Ryoka paused and chewed down her mouthful of buttered noodles before responding. She was on her second plate. So was Erin.

“It’s what makes sense. I can’t prove it, but sixteen people with working iPhones seems to suggest that’s the case. How many people are like you, without one, or don’t know how to recharge theirs.”

“Whoa.”

Erin stared past Ryoka with a dazed look as the other girl went back to her food. Ryoka forked a dripping sausage slice and chewed it down, ignoring the oil. Or rather, savoring it.

She ate with surprisingly good manners. Back straight, fork never overfull…Erin felt incredibly rude shoveling down her food, until she realized that Ryoka was still eating fast despite her table posture.

“We’re not alone. We’re not alone!”

Ryoka looked up. Erin was smiling happily. She was glad that Erin was glad, but she couldn’t share the sentiments.

“But we don’t have any way of getting in contact with them. Not unless that BlackMage person uses the spell again, and that’s risky if it gets hacked.”

“That’s true. That’s bad!”

Erin frowned and so did Ryoka, for different reasons. Was it really a ‘we’? She barely knew Erin, but the other girl seemed to accept the idea without a second pause.

“Anyways, one of the biggest mistakes we could make is if we kept secrets from each other or—or failed to plan things out. We can’t just rush around without thinking things through.”

“Mistakes?”

“Going forwards, I mean.”

Ryoka tried to explain as she ladled more noodles onto her plate.

“Now that we know we’re both from the same world, well, we should cooperate.”

“Of course. I mean, that’s obvious. Why wouldn’t we?”

Erin looked confused. Ryoka debated for an instant going into backstabbing, potential dictators, selling out the secrets of their world…and realized Erin wasn’t that type of person. She really had few evil bones in her body, if any.

“Well, there are a lot of dangers.”

Ryoka said it lamely, as if Erin hadn’t just smashed her way through several undead to rescue Ceria. And poked Gazi in the eye.

“But we can work together! You’re a cool person with running skills and all that kind of stuff and I—”

Erin hesitated.

“I’ve got an inn! And a skeleton. And acid jars.”

“Yeah. Well, this winter makes everything harder.”

Ryoka frowned. The snow was not the kind of thing a barefoot runner wanted to see. She’d had to borrow a pair of boots from Krshia just to get here. How was she going to run around in this damn weather? She’d probably have to buy a pair of shoes.

She looked up and saw Erin was staring at her.

“So…what? We’re going to make a plan? Is that why you wanted to talk?”

“Partially. Like I said, we don’t want to make any mistakes. In a situation like this—it’s a survival situation. We need to work together. Pool information, share knowledge.”

“About what?”

Erin stared at Ryoka round-eyed.

“I literally don’t know anything about this place. I mean, I know stuff about Liscor and the things around here, but nothing else.”

“I know some things.”

Ryoka pushed aside her plate. She was close to full and the food wasn’t going anywhere.

“If you’re not too tired, let’s talk.”

Erin clapped her hands together excitedly.

“Oh! Better idea. We can talk and play at the same time.”

“What?”

“Do you play chess?”

Erin was already excitedly getting a board and pieces from one of the tables. Ryoka stared at it incredulously.

“They have chess in this world?”

“Yup! It’s just been invented, apparently. Isn’t that great?”

Ryoka wasn’t sure about ‘great’, but it might be a marker to indicate what stage this world’s technological level was at. Then again, they were surprisingly advanced in some places – with refrigeration due to spells – while relying on medieval technology in other areas.

“You like to play chess?”

“I love chess. It’s fun!”

That was surprising, but Erin was that kind of girl. Ryoka didn’t mind chess either, although all of the people she played against were terrible. She could play a few games with Erin, though. She just had to remember to take it easy on her.

They began playing. Ryoka half-focused on the board while Erin chattered away.

“So, did they say anything about our world?”

“What?”

“Those people you talked to. I wish Pisces were here so I could see it again. But he’s sleeping or yelling about his jaw. Did they say what’s happening in America? Are people aware we’re gone? What’s the news?”

“I uh, didn’t ask. And they didn’t say.”

Ryoka frowned at the board. It looked like Erin could play, although she wasn’t sure how seriously Erin was taking the game. She kept moving her pieces as soon as Ryoka made her move.

“Hm. Oh, right. Apparently, the election’s over.”

“Really? Who won? Hillary?”

“Trump.”

Ryoka said the world flatly. Erin’s jaw dropped as she took one of Ryoka’s knights. She frowned, and Ryoka did the same.

“What? He won? But he said—I mean, did you remember the election?”

“How could I not?”

It was the last thing Ryoka really remembered. She’d been walking past their TV when she saw the news about the latest Trump rally and something he’d said. It had put her in such a foul mood she went for a run—

And ended up in this world. Just another reason to hate the man. Or president. Ryoka really didn’t like thinking in those terms.

“President Trump.”

Erin made a face. It was good that she wasn’t a Trump fan. That would have…

…Have meant what? Ryoka wasn’t a Democrat – she hated both Republicans and Democrats for quite a lot of their policies. But even if Erin was some kind of conservative tea party member, so what? They were in this world. It didn’t matter.

And yet, it sort of did.

“But he’s the one who said grab women by the—”

Erin hesitated.

“Well. Wow. Isn’t that weird?”

Ryoka nodded. She frowned down at the board again. She’d lost focus. Given Erin too many pieces by mistake. She moved a pawn and Erin pushed her queen forwards seven spaces.

“…Huh.”

“Checkmate!”

Erin smiled at Ryoka, and then looked alarmed.

“Oops. Sorry, sorry. It’s just that I love to play chess and you’re not half bad so I went full-throttle right away.”

Ryoka stared at the board. She’d…lost? And not just lost. She’d gotten crushed in a few moves. She looked up at Erin and a thought made her ask her next question.

“Did you ever win a chess tournament?”

Erin blushed and waved her hand as she reset her side of the board without looking at it.

“A few. I mean, as a kid. They weren’t that big, although I did get invited to a few big ones. I never won, but I came close in Havana.”

Ryoka had a poker face. It was more like her default face, but it meant that she didn’t have an animated expression like Erin. Still, if there was a time for her jaw to drop, it would be now.

“You were invited to…Cuba? For a chess tournament?”

“When I was a kid. I was really into chess back then. Now…I mean, I was just getting back into it when I appeared here.”

Erin shrugged modestly, as if being invited to an international tournament as a kid was no big deal. And maybe it wasn’t, for her.

“Another game? I’ll play um…less strongly, I promise.”

Ryoka shook her head.

“No, I’d like to see your skills myself.”

They reset the board and started again. This time Ryoka concentrated as hard as she could as they talked.

“So. Trump’s president. That’s what I heard, but it didn’t sound like anyone knew anything about disappearances. One person had arrived here only a day ago, and she didn’t know anything about it?”

“Just a day ago? But that means this is still happening? IF that’s the case, someone is bound to notice sooner or later, right?”

That could be the case. Ryoka frowned over a pawn as she thought.

“Maybe. But thousands of people go missing each year, and this thing seems to be targeting more countries than just America. There was someone from England, Australia, Japan…”

“Oh, I love Japan. I went there once. Japanese stuff is so cool! You know, I thought you were Japanese when I first met you.”

“I am.”

“What? Really?”

Erin excitedly stared at Ryoka while the other girl tried not to lose all her pawns.

“I’m half-Japanese. My dad’s American. But I don’t know much about the culture or the language.”

Ryoka could speak a bit of Japanese, but she didn’t have much interest in the language. She’d never felt the burning desire to go there and rediscover herself, except as a way to get away from her parents, perhaps.

“That’s so cool.”

Erin smiled as she and Ryoka played on. But then she frowned again.

“Still. Trump. How’d he get elected? I wasn’t going to vote for him. I mean, I didn’t get a chance, but…”

She peered cautiously at Ryoka, as if she was afraid Ryoka was going to snap at her. Ryoka shifted in her seat.

“I um, voted for Gary Johnson. I mailed my vote in early.”

“Oh?”

Erin tried to remember who that was. Ryoka wondered if it had mattered. But then, Ohio was one of the swing states. How close had the election gotten?

It was silly, but Ryoka wanted to explain that she was making a vote of conscience against the established parties and for an independent party. If the Libertarians had managed to obtain a 5% vote they would have gotten federal funding, which might have been the first step towards breaking the two-party system if they could field a better candidate—

Or at least, it would have given another party a little more of a voice and why the hell was she worried about politics? Here? Ryoka focused on the board again. She was bleeding chess pieces at a prodigious rate.

“I voted for Bernie during the primaries, but uh, I would have voted for Hillary on election day. I think. Not Trump. Maybe for Jill Stein.”

Erin sighed as she took another of Ryoka’s bishops. She stared at the ceiling as Ryoka wondered if the game were even salvageable at this point.

“Is he building the wall? What’s happening in America right now?”

Ryoka sighed as she tipped over her king. Part of her wanted to say ‘who cares?’ but it was a small part. Erin was worried, and more invested in the news about others being here than Ryoka had been. That was probably the mark of a decent human being.

Erin smiled brightly at Ryoka.

“You’re pretty good, you know. Better than Rags, even, and she’s gotten good!”

“Rags?”

Ryoka glanced to the side. Sometime after Erin had made the pasta, the Goblin had wandered back in from outside. Rags had gone with them to the inn, and then left to find her tribe. She’d returned, covered in snow and clearly unhappy at the weather change.

She now sat in a corner, gobbling down food and poking at her stomach and wincing now and then. She had a mess of black metal and splintered wood on the table.

“She plays chess. The Goblin.”

Erin nodded enthusiastically.

“I taught her! And a bunch of the Workers—the Antinium. I taught Toren too, but he doesn’t play well.”

Ryoka stared at Erin.

“The skeleton plays chess. Of course.”

“Another game? I can take it down a notch.”

“Sure. But don’t hold back.”

Ryoka sat back, and resigned herself to a lesson in humility.

—-

Rags sat in her corner of the inn, pondering over the broken mess that had once been Cervial’s crossbow. She ignored Ryoka and Erin as they played—and then eventually went back to talking after Ryoka lost her eighth game. Rags listened, but only with one ear.

She had little interest in the transitory lives of the people who came to this inn. Only the innkeeper (and possibly the death mage) interested her. She noticed Ryoka glancing at her from time to time. Rags ignored that, which turned out to be a mistake.

After the…incident she sat in a corner, tensely watching Ryoka and contemplating vengeance as she and Erin argued.

“Don’t hit her! She’s just a kid!”

“She stole my potion! Her and that damn tribe of hers nearly sliced me to ribbons the last time I was here!”

Erin held up placating hands. She pointed to the orange potion now reclaimed in Ryoka’s hands.

“But now you’ve got it back, and everything is okay. Okay?”

Ryoka glared, but stopped threatening bodily harm towards Rags. She glared at the Goblin, and Rags touched her sword.

“She’s dangerous. You shouldn’t have given her that sword, much less that acid.”

“But it’s not like she goes around killing people!”

Erin hesitated.

“I think.”

“You heard what the Watch Captain said. The Goblins are attacking caravans, robbing people blind. Zevara will do something about them, or Relc and that Klb—Klbk—that Antinium guardsman.”

“Well…I’ll talk to Rags. But she’s welcome here as long as she doesn’t cause trouble. There’s no hurting Goblins while I’m around.”

“You’ll regret it.”

“Maybe. But no hitting!”

After that there was a lot of huffy silence, which Rags completely ignored. She plotted vengeance for a while, thought about what Erin might do, and gave up and left soon after Toren came back.

The skeleton stumbled into the inn around an hour after he’d left, just as the mood in the room was warming back up. He cooled it back down with all the snow he’d brought in, but fortunately Erin had made the fire in the fireplace nice and hot.

Erin looked up as the skeleton tromped over to them with a wicker basket he’d brought with him.

“Oh, Toren! What’d you get?”

The skeleton shook his head at Erin. She frowned at him as Ryoka eyed the melting snow stuck between the gaps in his bones.

“Where’s the blue fruit? And my eggs?”

Toren upended the basket and two wizened fruits and a frozen egg fell out. Erin stared at them incredulously.

“That’s it?”

The skeleton nodded. Erin looked back at Ryoka and smiled weakly.

“Um. Well, I can still buy food from Krshia.”

Ryoka nodded.

“But it’s all the more reason why I should go. You need to make money, and so do I. And there’s things I need to do up north. People to talk to.”

She put her hand down and touched at her belt pouch. The letter and ring were still within, and Ryoka was conscious of them, even if the desire to deliver them no longer burned in her brain.

Erin made a face.

“I wish you didn’t have to. Ceria’s going to get better soon. When she does, what will she do? I mean, I could let her stay at the inn. I’ve got plenty of room, but…”

She waved her hands. Ryoka shrugged.

“I don’t know. She’ll have to decide. But I can’t just sit around after all of this.”

Erin sighed despondently.

“You’ll come back though, right?”

“I will. Often.”

“Okay. That’s okay, I guess.”

Erin fiddled with one of the small blue fruits and pointed at Toren.

“Go put this stuff in the kitchen. And then…and then, go get rid of the snow outside. Clear the area.”

Toren nodded. He walked towards the kitchen and then trooped back outside. Ryoka watched him go.

“He doesn’t have a shovel.”

“He can use his hands. I’ll buy a shovel later.”

Erin put Toren out of her mind as she looked back at Ryoka. She was going to go. That…Erin didn’t like that. But if she had to do it, Erin guessed she could live with it.

Ryoka cleared her throat.

“Where were we? Talking about geography? Right. I was going to tell you about this world’s history…”

She paused as Erin raised a hand.

“Um, why?”

“What?”

Erin shrugged.

“What’s the point of knowing all this? I mean, it helps, but…”

“We can’t seem like we’re not from here. Moreover, we need to know the basics of this world just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“In case we need to know.”

Ryoka frowned at Erin. The other girl had a cavalier attitude towards Ryoka’s impromptu history lesson. How was she not interested in this world? But then, Erin seemed extremely grounded in the present.

At least she seemed willing to learn. Ryoka thought.

“Okay, you were saying this world’s history is different.”

“Yes. At some point in the past, this world had gods.”

“Oh, right! Pisces was saying something like that. They died, didn’t they?”

Ryoka had heard the same from Ceria. She nodded.

“They died, and so did a few other races. Elves, for one.”

“What?”

Erin’s face fell.

“You mean I’m never going to see Legolas?”

“Doubtful.”

Ryoka felt a tinge of regret just saying that. Not for the fact that she’d never see a bunch of Orlando Bloom lookalikes – although that certainly wasn’t a plus.

“How about Dwarves? Are there Dwarves? Hobbits? Orcs?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think there are hobbits or orcs, but I do know some Dwarves still live in the world. The book I read didn’t say. The point is that the gods are dead in this world. Literally dead.”

Erin frowned.

“How can you kill a god? I mean, they’re not like our God. Or our…gods. I mean, the Christian one.”

Ryoka wasn’t Christian, although she’d read the Bible. Under duress, it had to be said, but she was distinctly, deliberately atheist. She tried to choose her words to avoid possibly offending Erin.

“It seemed that gods were a bit more active and…real in this world. Anyways, there was a war—no one’s sure about what—and they died. Long ago. That’s really the biggest point in history you need to know about.”

“What about this? I mean, this continent.”

Erin waved a hand around airily.

“I know a bit. There are five continents in this world.”

“Huh. That’s sort of like our world.”

Ryoka paused.

“No. It’s not. We have seven continents.”

“Well, Antarctica doesn’t really count, right? And North and South America are also sort of the same continent, don’t you think?”

“Um.”

“I mean, they’re both called America. And they’re connected, so doesn’t that make them one continent?”

There was so much to address, Ryoka decided to let it slide.

“Well, perhaps this world mirrors ours. There are five populated continents, but there was a sixth one in the past.”

Erin paused.

“Was? As in past tense?”

“Yep. A massive archipelago filled with whirlpools and deadly storms is all that remains of that continent. The other five are intact, but they’re massive. We’re in the most…peaceful one, I guess you could say.”

“Peaceful?”

“By comparison. Each continent has its share of wars, but this one isn’t engaged in any huge conflicts. Just constant warfare down south with a war every few years between the human cities in the north and the Drakes and Gnolls in the south.”

“That’s peaceful?”

“By comparison. Look.”

Ryoka didn’t have any paper or pencils, so she made do with chess pieces. She set up a rough map, marking the place she and Erin were on with a pawn piece.

“This continent is known as—well, it’s got multiple names. So do most of the other continents, actually.”

“Really?”

“Yes. This one, for instance was colonized by Drakes and Gnolls. They each gave it their own name, and so did the Humans who settled here. The Drakes call it Is—Issy—”

Ryoka tried to pronounce the name and gave up.

“There are multiple names. But this one is the third-largest, and as I said, it’s relatively peaceful and economically strong.”

Her finger moved up and she pointed north to a saltshaker.

“There’s one continent here. Terandria. It’s the continent of humans, and it’s pretty much a medieval version of Europe from what I can tell. Lots of kingdoms fighting each other. Royalty, knights…”

“Knights?”

Erin sat up in her chair. Ryoka sighed.

“It’s fairly stable despite all the wars. The humans don’t go anywhere else. We just kill each other.”

She smiled crookedly, and then moved southwest, to a corner of the map.

“Here’s another continent. I don’t know much about it, because it’s so far away. It’s probably the equivalent of America, only the natives never got ousted by colonists. Gazi’s people come from there.”

“Huh. What’s it like?”

“Humid. Hot. A jungle environment. That’s all I know. It’s not as…civilized as the other continents.”

Ryoka hated herself for her choice of words. Civilized? She went on, berating herself.

“Two more continents. One up here—”

She pointed to the northeast corner of the map.

“And one all the way down here. The northern one is odd. It’s some kind of dead continent where half of it seems to be eaten away by some kind of blight.”

“Like a sickness?”

“Something like that, only it’s more magical and it’s lasted for thousands of years. This continent is constantly at war. An alliance of nations is fighting against…something out there. Demons, maybe.”

“Demons?”

“I don’t know. The books don’t say, and the distance is so extreme that not many people know about it. That Pisces might know more.”

Ryoka scowled.

“That’s where a group of Americans are from. They’re in a nation ruled by someone known as the Blighted King. His nation is at the forefront of the conflict. Apparently, their adventurers and soldiers are some of the best the world’s seen.”

“Wow.”

Ryoka waited for something else, but Erin was just taking it all in. She pointed at the napkin she’d used for that continent.

“But they’re deadlocked. The war goes on, and they never get any richer or break the stalemate.”

Erin nodded.

“Okay, so there’s this place, a human nation with knights, a jungle…place, and a horrible continent at war. What’s the last continent?”

“Vaguely like any other, I suppose. But the main feature of this one is a massive desert that occupies a lot of the area. That’s where Gazi returned to, I think.”

“But you said this one—”

Erin pointed at the jungle continent, looking confused. Ryoka shook her head.

“That’s where her people come from. Gazers. But she serves the King of Destruction, and he lives here.”

She pointed back at the last continent, sitting in the southeast corner of the map.

“It’s the largest continent, and at one point he ruled all of it. The King of Destruction.”

“You said that earlier. I don’t know who that is. Is he someone important?”

“Very.”

Ryoka frowned.

“Putting geography aside, there are a number of powerful nations and species here. There’s no one superpower, or even a few here. Distance and the size of this planet are what stops any one group from becoming too powerful.”

“Right, right. You said this world is bigger than ours, right?”

“Possibly as much as three times bigger. It’s so large, apparently the sun is supposed to revolve around the earth.”

“That’s so weird.”

“And impossible.”

“But it must be magic.”

Ryoka scowled. Magic didn’t explain everything. Or at least, she hoped it didn’t. She stabbed the table with her finger, harder than she’d intended.

“Anyways. The King of Destruction once conquered his continent, and was intruding on three others when his kingdom collapsed. He…gave up, I think.”

“What, really?”

Ryoka shrugged. All the books she’d read—and there hadn’t been many references to him anyways—had painted him as some kind of Alexander the Great, only without the sickness and death halfway through.

“No one knows why he stopped. But he was close to being king of more than half the world.”

Ryoka paused.

“The King of Destructions. Flos.”

The words seemed to shiver in the air. Or maybe that was just Ryoka’s imagination. Ever since she’d said he was awake, the mood of the people around her had shifted. Zevara had asked her curtly whether it was true, and when Ryoka had said yes…

Perhaps this was what it was like before the first World War, or in the calm before the storm. You can feel it in the air. The world beginning to shift.

Erin wrinkled her nose.

“Flos? Like dental floss? That’s not a very scary name.”

Ryoka stared at her. Erin was…singularly unique. She didn’t even seem fazed by these revelations. They’d sent Ryoka’s head spinning when she’d first read of them. Even now, Ryoka was trying to imagine it. A world three times as big as theirs…

Erin sat back in her chair and stared at the ceiling.

“The sun revolves around the earth. Five continents. Destroyed sixth one. The gods are dead and so are the elves. Gazi works for a super-scary King of Destruction, and there’s some sick guy fighting an army of monsters.”

She nodded once.

“Got it.”

Ryoka blinked. That wasn’t the reaction she’d expected.

“You’re very calm.”

“It’s what it is, right? But if this Floss guy is so bad, isn’t anyone going to stop him?”

“A lot of people will try. And they’re more prepared than the first time. But I couldn’t say. There are a number of powers in the world, and probably a lot more I don’t know about. Aside from nations, there are a number of islands with power. Wistram Academy – that’s an isle of magic users. The Isles of Minos where Calruz came from…”

Both Ryoka and Erin paused. Erin stared down at her table. Ryoka went on as if nothing had happened.

“On this continent, the major powers would be the alliance of Drake nations in the south, the Five Families up north, the Antinium and…possibly Liscor.”

“Liscor’s that important?”

“Possibly. But even though the human cities have big armies, they’re not the real power here. The Drakes down south have more land and a far better position.”

“Yeah, the Walled Cities. What are they?”

“Super-cities. Think Chicago, only surrounded by walls.”

Ryoka shook her head.

“You know the wall Trump wanted to build? 30 feet high, right? That’s around the size of a castle wall back in our world. The normal ones, anyways. The Walled Cities have three hundred-foot-high walls.”

“That’s tall?”

“That’s tall. The cities are practically impossible to take by siege. The only reason the Drakes haven’t swept north and destroyed all the human cities is because they like to fight each other. And Liscor and the High Passes are the only ways north. And of course, there’s the Antinium.”

“What about them?”

Ryoka hesitated. Erin was friends with several of the ant-people.

“They arrived recently, but they conquered a good part of the south before being defeated. Now they live in…a stalemate with the other nations. They’re a serious threat. The presence of a Hive in Liscor makes the city far stronger than it was, and it’s one of six hives on the continent.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. And all of this…”

Ryoka indicated her map. Saltshaker, napkin, chess pieces. It was hard to visualize, but this was a world. A new one, all unknown to her and Erin.

“All of this is being unsettled by all the people coming from our world. Everything that was—well, not peaceful—everything’s about to change. Maybe some of us had something to do with Flos reawakening. Maybe not. But it’s possible that war will come here, to Liscor. And even if it doesn’t, people from our world are scattered around the globe. Even finding each other would be nearly impossible without a nation’s resources.”

“So what should we do? I mean, what should the two of us do?”

Ryoka looked up. Erin was watching her. She felt the pressure of what she’d just say crashing down on her shoulders. She stared down at the ‘map’.

“I don’t know.”

The admission came hard. Ryoka had learned a lot, but even now, even after meeting Erin, she had no idea what to do next. They were alone, in a world where giants and legends still walked around. How would they go back? Did they even want to go back?

Where would they even start?

Erin stared at Ryoka, and then nodded her head. Her eyes took on a determined look, and she stood up. Ryoka looked up at her, as Erin paced back and forth. Then she looked at Ryoka seriously.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m going to add something to my menu.”

“…What?”

“A new food. Maybe some kind of American food. Mac & Cheese? That’s really good stuff. I think I should add more foods to my menu so I can get more customers. More customers means more money, and I could use some firewood. And I need to fix up my inn. And I could really use a fridge. Although I can probably store some food out in the snow! But then the Goblins might eat it.”

Erin thought to herself. She tapped at her chin as Ryoka stared at her. Erin snapped her fingers and smiled at Ryoka.

“You know what I really need? I really need advertisements. No one ever comes here. I need advertisements and a road. What do you think, Ryoka?”

Ryoka stared at the map, and then at Erin.

“…Huh.”

2.06 (Apr 1 version)

They sat together in the inn. Two girls, alike in gender and different in pretty much every other respect.

Ryoka Griffin and Erin Solstice eyed each other over the smooth mahogany table. Silence hung in the air between them. Taut. Tense.

It was finally time for them to talk.

“Well. It seems we have a lot to talk about.”

Ryoka was the first to break the silence. She looked up at Erin, and then down at her hands. Quite honestly, she didn’t know where to begin.

“I suppose—we should start with how we got here.”

It was the basis of all things. Sharing information. They needed to pool data, make plans for the future. Their survival could depend on it.

Ryoka took a deep breath. From the beginning. She’d put all her secrets on the line and hope Erin did the same.

“Erin, I came down towards Liscor because I was doing a delivery. A special one. You see, I met this man named Teriarch. And he put some kind of—of spell on me. It made me travel towards the Blood Fields and—”

Ryoka broke off sharply. Erin was raising a hand.

“What is it.”

“I’m sorry. But can we just—not do this right now?”

Oh of course. Ryoka closed her eyes. Erin was probably exhausted from meeting Gazi and rescuing Ceria. But this was important.

“I guess we can start tomorrow if necessary. I can sleep—”

Erin shook her head.

“No, not that. I mean this. Can we just cut the act for a second and take a break? From this stupid story, I mean. Why do we have to have a serious conversation now? Can’t we rest for, I dunno, five days and then go from there?”

Ryoka hesitated.

“But the script says we talk now and—”

“The script can go to hell! I’m sick of it!”

Erin glared at Ryoka.

“I’ve been here for nine months, and I still haven’t gotten a proper romantic relationship. Or even a wand or something like that.”

Ryoka paused. Erin sighed and put her face in her hands.

“And now I have to poke someone’s eye out? Do you know what that feels like? I mean, come on. I know you’re a professional, Ryoka, but I need a break. I’m sorry.”

Erin put her head down on the table. Ryoka patted her on the back and looked around. Then she lowered her voice conspiratorially.

“You think you’ve got it bad? At least you only have to deal with the inn. Every time I’m in a chapter I have to run for my life or nearly get eaten or—or have my leg run over by a frickin’ cart.”

Ryoka made a face at Erin.

“It’s been six months of this crap. Twice a week I have to run around, fight monsters, and complain about how stupid people are.”

Erin nodded. She sat up as Ryoka sighed.

“I know. And what’s with the frying pans, anyways? Who uses frying pans?”

“I know. I didn’t even get a weapon! What am I, too stupid to buy a sword? How hard is it honestly to use one. Put the pointy end in people. Simple!”

The two girls sat together and began to complain. Ryoka was nodding as Erin laid out her grievances.

“You’d think the author would at least give me a magic wand or something. I mean, is it beyond the realm of possibility that I’d fall into an ancient tomb or stumble over a mage’s corpse. I could have been Harry Potter. Instead I’m…Dudley.”

“Oh come on, you’re not fat.”

“It’s going to happen sooner or later. How do you think I deal with stress? Every time I nearly die I eat half a pig’s worth of food.”

Erin shuddered and shook her head. Ryoka winced sympathetically.

“Okay, how about this?”

The Asian girl spread her hands on the table and looked at Erin.

“Crossovers. They’re a good waste of time. Nothing plot-centric ever happens in a crossover. If we get one with another story, we could waste a chapter or two that way. Take a break.”

She grinned at Erin.

“You could magically appear in Hogwarts and meet Harry Potter for a day. Learn some magic, only it would only work with a wand – which you can’t bring back. That’s a good crossover. Plus, you could see if you can’t get a leg up on Ginny Weasley. Put the moves on scar boy.”

Ryoka nudged Erin with an elbow.

“Huh, huh?”

Erin made a face that wasn’t too enthusiastic.

“That would be cool. I guess. But you know that will never happen. Harry Potter’s over, and besides, there are all those licensing issues.”

That was true. Ryoka had to think about that.

“Well—what about other web serials? Maybe another author would go for a chapter trade. Like…what about Worm?”

“Worm? Do you want to die horribly?”

Erin glared at Ryoka, and the other girl held up her hands.

“Okay, okay. Good point. How about a webcomic? Those are nice.”

“That takes too long to draw.”

“Not unless we’re stick figures. We could try Order of the Stick.”

“I dunno. I don’t think I’d look good in 2D. Besides, you know the author’s too lazy to do any of that.”

“True.”

The two sat in silence for a few minutes. At last, Erin spoke.

“We should protest. Start a petition.”

Ryoka pounded the table.

“You’re right! Let’s send one to the Author’s Association.”

“Wait, there’s an Author’s Association?”

“…Probably not. But we can post it on change.org!”

“Yeah! Let’s do it!”

“Okay, I have a piece of paper here. Let me start this petition.”

Ryoka pulled out the chapter’s script and began scribbling on the back. Erin got up and hovered over the paper as Ryoka wrote.

“pirateaba is obviously a fake name. But I know what the real author’s name is.”

“Okay. What is it?”

Erin smiled. She pointed to the first line.

“Helicopter DeFranco. Okay, so we’ll start by saying that ‘We the main characters of the story feel that the author, Helicopter DeFranco has repeatedly ignored our right to acceptable working hours, freedom of speech, medical care, a safe working environment, and…’”

“Wait a second.”

Ryoka had to hold up a hand and cut Erin off.

“Are you sure his name is Helicopter DeFranco?”

Erin frowned.

“Pretty sure? And it’s ‘she’, Ryoka. The author is a she. Helicopter can be a girl’s name as well as a guy’s.”

Ryoka stared at Erin. She paused, put down the pen, rubbed at her eyes, and looked at Erin.

“First: the author’s name is not Helicopter DeFranco. I don’t know where you’re getting that from.”

Erin looked down sadly at her hands.

“The comments lied to me.”

Ryoka shook her head.

“Second: the author is male.”

“He is not! I mean—she is not!”

“The author is totally a he, Erin. Only a guy would be this much of a dick to female characters.”

“If we were in a LitRPG web serial written by a guy, we’d both be in a harem. And your breasts would be three times as large.”

Ryoka looked down at her chest and covered it protectively.

“Not every male author is a chauvinistic pig. Some of them can write female characters. Like George R. R. Martin.”

“If we were in The Game of Thrones we’d be dead.”

“True…”

“Anyways, the author is a she.”

“He.”

“She.”

“It?”

“Look, are we going to write the petition or not? Let’s just write ‘pirateaba’ for now and change it later.”

Ryoka hesitated as she stared at the paper.

“But are we sure we want to do this? I mean, seriously?”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“He could have Gazi come back and stab us repeatedly.”

Erin paused. And then she looked at Ryoka, seriously.

“Ryoka, let me ask you this instead: what do you think the odds are that the author’s going to have that happen anyways?”

Ryoka stared at Erin for a second, and then sat down and began to write.

—-

Later that day, Relc and Klbkch walked towards the inn. They stopped when they saw the signs planted deep in the snow.

Female main characters for proper pay and time off! Striking until we get vacations!

Free our heroines! No stabbing for all!

I want a pay raise!

Relc turned to Klbkch.

“Looks like they’re on strike. Want to go back and wait?”

Klbkch shrugged.

“That appears to be the only sound course of action.”

Relc hesitated. He stared at the inn. He could hear Erin and Ryoka inside, shouting some kind of protest.

“Should we tell them they’re only alive until the real main character shows up?”

Klbkch shook his head.

“I believe that would be unwise.”

The two began walking back towards Liscor, though the snow. Relc started complaining after a few minutes.

“What kind of name is ‘The Wandering Inn’, anyways? The inn doesn’t even move!”

Klbkch agreed. He gestured to his new body with one of his arms.

“I object to my death by the Goblins as well. I feel I should at least have died to twice their number. My reputation is at stake.”

“And I got my ass handed to me by Gazi while Erin gets the final blow. Again.”

“To be fair, Rags got the kill for Skinner.”

“Oh, so I get upstaged by a human girl and a Goblin? I feel much better about that.”

The two walked on in a huff as lightning began pouring from the sky and striking The Wandering Inn. After a second, Relc turned to Klbkch.

“…Do you think we get hazard pay?”

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

2.07

Where do we go from here? That was probably the name of a song of some kind. That wasn’t too significant; everything was a song title in the end.

But where did she and Erin go from now? After they’d saved Ceria (and Olesm) from the ruins? After they’d lost the others.

Where did they go? What did they do, knowing there were others in the world like them?

For a moment, the sheer enormity of it all struck Ryoka full-on, before she could mitigate the feeling. Where did they start?

The King of Destruction was moving. All the people arriving in this world were probably playing hell with the politics and power struggles of each nation, and besides that, the threat of bringing modern-day technology like firearms into this world was very real. Add that to the possibility that it might be possible for this world to connect back to hers and Erin’s—!

Was she missing anything? Oh yes. On a smaller, local level – on this continent, in short – it seemed like Ryoka and Erin had no shortage of problems. An angry Watch Captain in the city, the Antinium, Lady Magnolia, Teriarch, a roaming horde of the undead, Ceria’s injuries, the Gnolls, and possibly Gazi, although it was anyone’s guess where she’d ended up.

Some of those things weren’t necessarily deadly problems—the business with the Antinium as Erin described it was odd. Ryoka hadn’t read any books on the Free Antinium, so she had no idea what they were doing. She could guess, but—

One problem among many. Where did you start? When the house was burning down, the first step was probably to get out of the fire. But where did you start when the entire world was raining fire from the sky?

Erin was looking at her for an answer. But Ryoka didn’t have any idea.

“We—should probably try to analyze the way the leveling system works. There are a lot of classes. If we understand which ones are valuable, or whether there’s a limit or—or a way to level up faster, that might help.”

Ryoka put one hand on her head as she tried to think out loud.

“We need a map. A better one than this, at least.”

She indicated the rough map on the ground. It was hard to see any meaning in the napkin sitting next to the chess pieces, but now she remembered the names of each of the continents:

Baleros, the mysterious continent of jungles and Gazers.

The Blighted Kingdoms of Rhir, the dying lands locked in eternal conflict.

A kingdom of knights and royalty and damn humans. Terandria.

Chandrar, home to the King of Destruction and a desert larger than the entire United States of America.

And of course, home, or at least the place where she and Erin were stuck. The continent of Drakes and Gnolls and a few humans. Issrysil. That’s what the Drakes called it, but Izril was the only thing Ryoka was willing to pronounce.

They sounded like names straight out of a fantasy game, rather than real life. But then, South America, North America, Asia, Antarctica, Africa, Australia…when you got down to it, it was pretty strange that over half of the continents in her world started with the letter ‘A’.

Ryoka tried to kick her brain on track. But she couldn’t. Her mind would much rather think about why continents were named oddly than focus on reality.

Because reality was a bit too hard.

It was embarrassing. How many times had Ryoka wanted more responsibility, less parental controls, more autonomy, and a real challenge in her life? She’d wanted to have something to work for, to live for.

But this was too much. This was crushing despair and incomprehensible madness. Where could they even start?

“Gathering magical artifacts? Learning spells…? Is there a way we could gather allies?”

“Um. Like in Lord of the Rings?”

Ryoka shook her head. Even saying that out loud sounded stupid. She wasn’t Aragorn son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur and rightful King of Gondor with a magic sword of prophecies. And she wasn’t on a quest to save the world or fight an evil tyrant. She was just trying to survive. She didn’t have anything to offer people. She didn’t even have a pair of shoes, just some boots made for a Gnoll.

“Eighty gold pieces.”

Before Ryoka could fully slump down in her chair, Erin spoke. She didn’t look at Ryoka, but stared at the ceiling. Ryoka blinked at her.

“What?”

Erin shrugged.

“That’s how much Pisces says it would cost to get some of my cupboards enchanted. Well—actually, he says that it would be better to replace the wood frames first, but that’s not too expensive.”

“Okay.”

Ryoka stared at Erin without any expression. Where was she going with this?

“I have a few gold coins from killing—well, there were these Shield Spiders a while back and Gazi and it’s an entire thing, okay? But I need to fix my inn, buy food…I’m running low on money.”

Another problem. Wonderful. At least Ryoka had quite a bit of money from the delivery for Teriarch…which she’d never done. A spasm of guilt and anxiety wormed its way into Ryoka’s stomach.

Erin didn’t notice. She was still thinking.

“You could probably use a lot of gold, too, right?”

“For what?”

“Well, what do adventurers have in all the stories and games? Magic swords. Magic armor. Magic…wands. Magic spell books. Wouldn’t that be helpful when you do your running thing?”

“Runners don’t need much to run. And I can defend myself.”

Ryoka pointed that out in defiance of the fact that she’d been nearly useless in the Ruins. Erin shook her head and explained.

“Yeah, but you could defend yourself. I mean, with spells rather than having to kick everything you see. And there’s other things you can buy. Like, uh—”

“A restoration spell.”

Ryoka’s mind jumped ahead of the conversation and Erin blinked at her.

“What?”

“There are no [Priests] or people like that in this world. But there are mages who specialize in healing magic. If I—we—could find one who knows how to cast a restoration or regeneration spell, maybe they could heal Ceria’s hand.”

Erin’s eyes widened.

“You think so? Really? Is that possible?”

“I know someone who thought she could fix my shattered leg. And that person knows a famous healer.”

It was a simple goal. But if that was the starting point—

Erin nodded decisively.

“Well, if you’re going to pay for Ceria’s hand, count me in!”

Ryoka opened her mouth to tell Erin she could handle it, or that Erin should save her money for her inn, and then closed it. She paused, and nodded at Erin.

“I’ll do that.”

“So…how much is that going to cost?”

“A thousand gold? At least a few hundred.”

Erin didn’t say anything, but her eyes bulged a bit. Ryoka tried to reassure her.

“I know how to get money. A lot of it.”

“How much do Runners make on their deliveries?”

“I’m not planning on relying on running to get that much. There’s one—no, two, actually—two ways I know I can earn a lot of money.”

Ryoka thought about her options and didn’t like either one. But she had a goal now. Money. It was a simple goal that didn’t take into account politics, world events, or anything else. It was a clear road, and Ryoka was good at running a straight line.

“Right.”

“Right?”

Erin blinked at Ryoka in mild alarm as the other girl stood up.

“I’m going to start now. If I head back to Celum, I should be able to start working by tomorrow. I’ll come back with whatever I earn in about a week, with more news, an idea of what the spell might cost, and anything else I can think of.”

Erin’s face fell.

“What, you’re leaving? Just like that?”

Ryoka stared at Erin, nonplussed.

“Of course. Time is money.”

“Yeah, but time is also time. Which is a lot more valuable than money. Sometimes.”

Erin mumbled into the table, and then looked up at Ryoka pleadingly.

“You just got here. Well I don’t mean you just arrived, but we haven’t talked that much.”

“We got all the important details down.”

“Yeah, but—”

For a few seconds, the girl with chestnut-brown hair stared at the table as if afraid to speak. The girl with raven hair stared at her, until Erin looked up.

“I could use some advice.”

Ryoka wasn’t a social person. By choice, as much as inclination. And she was a bad friend. She’d never been a good friend, or even a friend to anyone, really. But she heard it in Erin’s voice. A slight catch, a pleading tone. An unspoken request.

Her inner self told her to go, told her it wasn’t important. But the better part of Ryoka she didn’t know she had told her something else. She hesitated, and then she sat down again.

“Of course.”

—-

Being an [Innkeeper] wasn’t something that came naturally to Erin. Or rather, it wasn’t something Erin had ever done. But the first part of that thought was a lie.

She was good at innkeeping. Because being an innkeeper was all about people.

And Erin liked people.

It was odd. She played chess all day, and that wasn’t really a social sport. But you met people playing chess. It was sort of the rule. And she liked talking to people. Because people were different, interesting, and most people were good people.

So Erin had begun learning how to read people. It was still something she was new at, trying to analyze people rather than taking them at face value. But she was starting to get…feelings about people she met.

It was something Erin had only just noticed about Ryoka. In truth, she should probably have clued into it earlier, but in her defense, it had been a very long couple of days.

It was this: Ryoka really wasn’t a social person.

In truth, that wasn’t really a hard conclusion to come to. Whether it was Ryoka’s tendency to hunch inwards when she sat in a crowd, or her silent stares and grunted responses when she didn’t want to talk, she practically exuded a ‘don’t-talk-to-me’ zone.

Plus, she just wasn’t the type to sit around. Ryoka got antsy if she had to sit still, and if she got excited when talking, she tended to get up and pace around. She couldn’t just relax; she had to move.

She was a doer as opposed to a thinker. If Erin had to think of it, she thought of it in terms of chess players. Ryoka was like some of the chess players she’d met who could do 5-second games really well because they were so used to seeing certain patterns and playing games that they could make the best or close to the best move within moments.

That was at odds with how Erin liked to play it, a bit more calculated and patient. Of course, any good chess player had to mix instinct with calculating the overall impact on the board, but Ryoka had that certainty and ability to jump to logical conclusions that left Erin speechless at times.

Case in point. Ryoka had just explained how ice cream was made, and Erin was excited.

“So that’s why I couldn’t get it to work!”

She slapped the table and looked around wildly. She had all of—well, most of the ingredients still in her inn. She could make ice cream! Ice! Cream! The ambrosia of children and anyone who enjoyed life!

“I can’t believe you thought you had to churn milk to make ice cream.”

Erin mock-glared at Ryoka.

“Well, how was I supposed to know you had to heat it up and stir it up like…custard? Who’d ever think of something as crazy as that?”

“Catherine de Medici. Although she probably learned the recipe from the Italians who got it from Marco Polo. And they might have gotten it from the Chinese.”

Ryoka frowned absently as she thought, and then realized Erin was gaping at her.

“What?”

“Do you…do you have like, a perfect memory or something?”

The Asian girl shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“Not exactly. I’ve got a trick memory. I remember details and things I think are interesting really well. And I studied quite a bit of history for my AP exams.”

“Whoa. I never took the AP’s. They seemed way too hard, and they weren’t a requirement at my high school. Did you pass your exams?”

Ryoka seemed to hesitate.

“I got a few 5’s.”

That was just another reason to admire her. Erin smiled happily as she imagined eating bowls of the delicious ice cream, even if she could only make vanilla. Well, that was what fruits were for. Flavor.

“You have no idea how helpful that is! I can make ice cream and start selling it in my inn! Or—or make ice cream cones! I’ll be rich!”

So delighted was Erin at the thought of showing Selys and everyone else ice cream that she didn’t realize Ryoka was shaking her head.

“Not a good idea. I don’t think it’ll work.”

“What? Why not?”

“First off: it’s winter.”

Ryoka pointed to one of the shuttered windows that was letting in a distressing amount of cold air through the cracks, despite being closed.

“If you’re going to sell frozen treats, you might as well avoid using sugar because of the cost. Only the aristocracy and rich merchants can afford to buy a lot of confectioneries, so you’d have to raise the cost too high. Also, ice cream is hard to store, especially if you don’t have a fridge.”

The other girl started ticking off additional points on her fingers.

“Given the expense and probably the rarity of milk in the winter, you’d also have more costs in that area. If you’re going to sell anything, you might as well sell snow cones because all you need is some syrup. But even then, you’re going to run up against the biggest problem.”

“Which is?”

“Plagiarism. The instant one of your customers goes back to the city, every shopkeeper will be copying your recipe. It might take them a few days, but they can probably figure out how to make most of the foods from our world just from the taste alone.”

She shrugged.

“I’m sorry, but this world doesn’t have anything like copyright. Maybe you could hide the recipe for a few months, but…”

Ryoka trailed off and thought for a while. Erin was crestfallen.

“So it’s not a good idea? I was going to make all this food from our world, but if people are just going to steal everything.”

“Well hold on, it’s not a completely bad idea.”

Erin looked hopefully at the other girl. Ryoka was nodding to herself.

“It could work.”

“How?”

The taller girl lifted her shoulders fractionally.

“If they’re going to copy you, let them. Just make it clear that you were the one who invented the dish and capitalize on rumor and gossip. Keep coming out with new ideas and you’ll earn a reputation as an exciting place to be. Or—specialize. Make it so that your food might not be unique, but you’re the one who can provide the best quality.”

She stopped and eyed Erin. The other girl was smiling at her again.

“What?”

“Wow. That was so well…thought out! Hey, do you want a job working here? You can be the head innkeeper with all the ideas and I’ll be the innkeeper who does everything else.”

“No thanks.”

Ryoka said it deadpan. Erin guessed that to her, the idea of being a smiling innkeeper was probably like torture. But Ryoka had good ideas, so Erin pressed her.

“Okay, you don’t have to be an innkeeper. But what about my inn? Is there anything else I should be doing?”

It took Ryoka all of five seconds to come up with an answer as she stared around the empty room.

“Off of the top of my head—you could stand to fix up the inn. Repair all the walls and add some kind of covering to the windows and you’ll stop losing all the heat. Enchanting the kitchen is a good idea, and if you can afford it, more magic would probably help a lot. Other than that—your skeleton needs to be improved, somehow.”

“Toren? What’s wrong with him?”

Erin looked around, but then she remembered Toren was outside clearing snow away. Ryoka shrugged.

“It can only clean and haul things around. It can’t cook, can’t talk to guests or serve them without scaring the hell out of them, and it’s not really a good fighter. It’s just one skeleton. That Ksmvr chopped up at least ten of them on the way out of the ruins.”

That was true. Although, Erin had the sneaking suspicion that Toren was more competent than the other skeletons. For one thing, he seemed to be able to put himself back together whenever he got smashed, unlike his friends. She nodded though, to keep Ryoka happy. Maybe Pisces could do some upgrades, although he’d probably ask for a lot of money.

“Okay, okay. But here’s my most important question.”

Ryoka leaned forwards, intent. She was enjoying the act of coming up with ideas, Erin realized. So Erin took a deep breath and told Ryoka her biggest problem.

“You know that stream that I keep getting water from?”

“What about it?”

Erin scowled.

“It’s a pain to get the water from all the way over there, even if I make Toren do it. Is there a way to get the water to come over here? Preferably without the evil fish?”

For a second, Ryoka stared into Erin’s eyes. Erin stared back, expectantly. At last, Ryoka blinked a few times. She gestured towards the door.

“I doubt water will be a problem right now. If you need it, you can always melt some snow in a bucket. Honestly, firewood will probably be an issue soon. But about the water…have you thought of a well?”

Erin’s jaw fell open.

“Whoa.”

—-

In the end, Ryoka left two hours later than she’d intended, just as the sun was lowering past the mountains. Erin wanted Ryoka to stay, and Ryoka was adamant that she leave.

“I need to get moving. If I stay here too long, I’ll just get in your way or we’ll talk too much.”

Erin had the distinct impression that it was the second reason why Ryoka was itching to go. She’d seemed to enjoy talking with Erin, but now it was clearly alone time for the other girl.

Ryoka stepped into the two oversized boots she’d gotten from Krshia and grimaced. She stomped over to the door and turned to Erin.

“One more thing. While I’m gone, try not to tell anyone else about where we’re from. Not that Antinium, and not Krshia. Or at least, don’t tell them any secrets.”

“Like what?”

Ryoka stared at Erin until she felt uncomfortable.

“Gunpowder. How cars work. The periodic table. Anything that might upset things.”

“Upset things how?”

Ryoka opened her mouth, and then shook her head.

“I don’t know. Just try to be discreet, okay?”

She raised a finger.

“Discretion.”

Ryoka stared at Erin. Erin nodded obediently.

“Discretion. Right. Got it.”

Ryoka pulled open the door to the inn as Erin hovered anxious around her.

“You’ll be back soon though, right?”

“In a week or less. Don’t worry. Can you check on Ceria for me?”

“Oh, sure, sure. But do you want something to take with you? A snack? Lunch? Dinner? I can make something.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve got to go.”

“What about—”

“Erin. I’ll see you later.”

Ryoka stood up, pushed her feet into the ill-fitting boots she had to wear to avoid freezing her feet off, and nodded at Erin. She stepped out the door.

It was frickin’ cold outside, but Ryoka let not a trace of that show on her face. She wasn’t equipped for the winter; she was still in this world’s equivalent of a t-shirt and running leggings. But once she started running she’d warm up.

No time to start like the present, then. Ryoka took a few steps into the snow and began to jog. The snow was loose and powdery around her boots. It was like running in the sand—and even harder because of the boots. It would take Ryoka quite some time to get back north.

“Good luck!”

Ryoka heard the voice, but she only raised one hand in farewell. She continued to accelerate until she was going at a decent clip. Soon, the inn was lost behind her as Ryoka ran up and down snow-covered mounds, heading back towards the main road.

That was when the air suddenly blew even more intensely, and Ryoka realized she was no longer alone. She didn’t see them right away, but she heard the voices.

“Look, look! The raven-haired one is leaving!”

“She runs, how slow! Like an insect on the ground!”

Ryoka ignored the shrill voices in the air, and the pale azure shapes that flew down out of the sky and hovered around her head. Even at close range, the Frost Fairies were hard to see. If the sky had been clear and blue, they would have been practically invisible.

They fluttered around her head, laughing, swooping about, smiling with sharp teeth as their bright eyes followed Ryoka.

So beautiful. But Ryoka didn’t want to stop for them. They were dangerous, so she pretended she couldn’t hear them. She just admired them out of the corner of her eyes whenever they flitted past.

“She runs slow! Slow and plodding, like one of the stupid grass-eaters!”

“A cow, a cow!”

Apparently, fairies were rude. Ryoka frowned. What the hell were they? And why—

Ryoka slipped as her boots hit a slick patch of ice under the snow and she nearly toppled over. She heard laughter ringing through the air around her.

“Fuck.”

The impact didn’t hurt, but the snow was freezing as it melted on Ryoka’s bare skin. She got up, brushed herself off, and began to run, faster. She needed winter gear as soon as possible, or she’d freeze in this weather.

Who would know about these strange creatures? Maybe someone who knew a lot of magic. Like Pisces or—

“Damnit.”

She’d completely forgotten to mention Teriarch and Magnolia to Erin. Oh well. They weren’t going anywhere, and besides, Ryoka would be back soon enough.

The Wandering Inn.

It was not home, and it never would be. But Ryoka thought—yes, she thought it was still a place to remember. Because she had a friend there.

A friend. Named Erin Solstice.

“Are ye smiling because ye are daft or slow, Human?”

Ryoka glanced up. A fairy was hovering around her head. She smiled at Ryoka as, too late, the Runner pretended not to see her.

“I knew it! Ye can see us!”

The fairy turned to the rest of her flock, or herd, or swarm or whatever they were called en-masse.

“Harken, sisters! This human sees us but pretends we are naught but dust in the wind!”

Ryoka ignored them. The Frost Fairies were nearly a hundred in the air now, a huge mass that whirled around. They were…arguing, or perhaps debating. Ryoka listened.

“Bah. Who cares what mortals think? What fools these mortals be! Let us go and bring snow and ice to the rest of this mudball!”

“No, no! I want to stay at the inn!”

“The running cow interests me. I say we follow her!”

They split up. The majority of the swarm flew up into the air, and blew away, south. More Frost Fairies flew back in the direction of the inn, but a small group of ten or so kept pace with Ryoka as she kept running.

They were pleasant company, laughing, flying around Ryoka, for about one second. Then one landed on Ryoka’s head and bent down until she was upside-down in Ryoka’s vision.

“I know ye can hear me, Human. Say something.”

The best way to deal with people she didn’t like was to ignore them. That was Ryoka’s tried and true method, and she tried it now.

“Are ye a fool? Speak!”

Ryoka’s hand came up and brushed at the fairy. The tiny creature was making Ryoka’s forehead go numb and giving her a headache. The fairy fluttered up, outraged.

Ignore them. Just ignore them.

“Pay attention to us!”

“Speak, cow!”

“We grace your filthy ears with words. Answer back!”

One of them landed in Ryoka’s hair and began to pull strands out. She shouted in Ryoka’s ear with a voice that was far too loud for her small body.

“Hey. Heeeeey. Hey! Listen to me, Human!”

Ryoka snarled.

“Piss off!”

—-

Erin sighed. She stared up at the ceiling. Ryoka’s leaving had left her empty as her inn. But she had to keep going. She wasn’t alone anymore.

That put a smile on her face. It was replaced instantly by a yawn.

“Man. I’m tired.”

All that talking and fighting and eye-poking earlier today had left Erin really tired. She knew she should probably do something constructive, but her brain told her the most constructive thing she could do was sleep.

One step at a time. One day at a time. Erin closed her eyes and went to sleep.

[Warrior Class Obtained!]

[Warrior Level 2!]

[Skill – Lesser Endurance Obtained!]

“Gaaah!”

Sometimes Erin forgot how surprising the disembodied voice in her head could be. She jerked up, lost her balance in her chair, and toppled backwards.

She crashed into the floorboards, which didn’t hurt so much after the first few seconds. Erin lay on the ground and stared at the ceiling.

“Warrior? Me?”

She thought about that for a second. Then Erin’s eyes closed and she decided it was another thing that the Erin of tomorrow would have to deal with.

Lie on the ground. Go to sleep for a few more minutes. Wake up when the blood rushes to your head.

Get up, brush teeth. Erin kept forgetting that part. Crawl into blankets in kitchen.

Go to sleep.

“Hello Erin—”

“Aah!”

Erin shot out of her blankets and grabbed the first thing that came to hand and threw it at the person who’d spoken.

Her [Unerring Aim] worked perfectly. The pillow flew through the air and struck Pisces in the chest. He blinked as it fell to the ground.

“Ah. Did I wake you by any chance? My deepest apologies.”

For a second, the dirty mage standing in Erin’s kitchen with robes wet and dripping from the snow was like a dream. Then it became horrible reality and Erin rolled over.

“Go away!”

She threw another pillow at him. Pisces looked hurt. He sniffed and wiped at his runny nose with his robes.

“It’s just me. There’s no need to be so dramatic.”

“How’d you get in here?”

“The door was unlocked.”

Erin sat up in her bed, grumpily staring at Pisces. The thing about locking doors was starting to make more and more sense. She glared at Pisces.

“I’m closed. Go away.”

“You were open just a few minutes ago for your friend.”

That was the thing about Pisces. Unlike Ryoka, who didn’t read social cues that well, Pisces could readily pick up on unspoken messages. His problem was that he just chose to ignore them.

Erin wriggled around in her blankets until she could both remain in her warm nest and glare at Pisces.

“Ryoka is special. You’re not. Go away.”

“After all I’ve done for you and Ceria both, this is how you repay me? I came here in good faith, hoping to provide you with custom for your business when I could have stayed in the city.”

Pisces sniffed, hurt. He seemed to be neglecting the fact that he didn’t actually pay Erin for the food he ate here.

“Ryoka gets food if she’s hungry. You don’t. You wait until I’m awake for food.”

Again, the mage sniffed and Erin swore to herself that if he sneezed on her or dripped snot on her head she would stab him.

“Your indulgence in your newfound friend is commendable. Although, perhaps you shouldn’t have let her go. She ran into trouble as soon as she left. A group of sprites started following her. I saw her run off with a swarm of them hovering over her head.”

“Swarm? What swarm?”

“A swarm of those…creatures. The sprites. The beings who brought this delightful snow for the winter we’re now experiencing. The, ah, Winter Sprites.”

“Winter Sprites? You mean the fairies!”

Erin was out of her blankets and running outside in a second. She ran outside in her bare feet, yelped, scrambled for shoes, and then there they were.

A shimmering, sparkling cloud of bodies hovered over Erin’s inn. Faint, lithe shapes of fairies hovered and dove as their laughter rang through the air.

“Oh no. They’re here.”

Pisces emerged from the inn. Erin paid no notice to him, although he instantly began urging her back inside.

“Come on. They haven’t noticed us yet. If we stay indoors they’ll go away. They don’t enter buildings.”

“What? No. I want to look at them.”

Erin replied absently as Pisces pulled at her sleeve. He squinted at her and then up at the fairies suspiciously.

“Why? They’re just pests.”

She didn’t reply. How he could call the wondrous beings floating above his head ‘pests’, Erin had no idea. Like Ceria, there was an otherworldly, unearthly look to the Frost Fairies. They were beautiful as part of the world, but they were mythic, strange and delightful in all the ways they were not part of the world.

“They’re so…magical.”

Erin breathed the words as she stared upwards, entranced. Pisces turned and stared expressionlessly at Erin. She waved a hand at him.

“You don’t count.”

He shook his head.

“Horrible creatures. I don’t know what you see in them.”

“What?”

Finally Erin stopped staring long enough to glare at Pisces. She gestured at the fairies as they flew around, chasing each other and laughing overhead.

“How can you not be amazed by that? Look at them! They look like crystal and—ice come to life! They look exactly like how I imagined fairies would look! How is that horrible?”

Pisces eyed Erin as if she’d lost her wits. He stared upwards, and then spoke in a puzzled voice.

“Fairies? I don’t see any small winged creatures. They just look like fuzzy blobs to me.”

Now it was Erin’s turn to stare at Pisces. She waved a hand in front of his face and he jerked back.

“Stop that.”

“How can you not see them?”

“See what? Those are Winter Sprites. The children call them fairies, but they’re just floating pieces of annoyance. They come around and bring winter and bother people, but that’s all.”

“No, they’re fairies!”

“Are you insane?”

Their argument had attracted the attention of the Frost Fairies above. They flew down towards Erin and Pisces. He yelped and scuttled back towards the door, but Erin remained still. She stared up, eyes shining as a fairy flew down in front of her.

The creature wasn’t like a Human, or even Ceria in terms of anatomy. For one thing, neither humans nor half-elves were made of what looked like fluid ice and pure crystal. But the fairies had different bodies in other ways as well. They had no breasts or genitalia, and they had two sets of wings, like a dragonfly. In fact, their eyes were pupil-less, much like those insects. But for all of that, they looked like beautiful little girls to Erin.

That was, until one of them spat in Erin’s eye.

Fairy spit is small, but the creatures were cold as ice. Erin yelped and grabbed at her eye as the fairy started cursing at her. Pisces muttered in a soft voice as he ducked away from the Frost Fairies flying over his head.

“Told you.”

The fairy who’d spat on Erin hovered close to the human girl as she rubbed frantically at her stinging eye. She glared at Erin.

“And what are ye lookin’ at? Another mortal come to gawk? Begone with yeh!”

She had a faintly Irish accent. Erin wasn’t actually sure if it was Irish or Scottish, which betrayed her ignorance, but if she had been an expert of a native to Ireland, she would have recognized the Frost Fairy’s accent as Irish. Specifically, since Irish accents differed so dramatically geographically, her accent was vaguely reminiscent of the Monaghan county of Ireland.

But to Erin, it was just an odd way of speaking that seemed to involve saying ‘ya’ or possibly ‘yeh’ with every other word. And what was stranger was that not all the Frost Fairies talked the same. Some had vaguely British accents – West Country, Southern Welsh, North Welsh, Edinburgh – so varied and so thick that Erin could barely make out one word in two when they spoke at once.

And chattering seemed to be the Frost Fairies’ default setting, as they swooped around Erin’s head, talking loudly.

“Look, look! Another human?”

“Can she see us too?”

“It seems like it!”

“Hear how she squealed at the cold! Do it again!”

Despite first contact, Erin was still entranced. She raised her voice.

“No—I mean, I can see you. Can I talk to you?”

Pisces stared at Erin as if she’d gone mad.

“Just who exactly are you talking to?”

The fairies had heard Erin, though. Her words sent them into wild spirals as they flew around her, chattering excitedly.

“She can see us! She can!”

“That makes two! Two humans who can see us!”

“How odd! How strange!”

The lead fairy tossed her head and sent her shimmering hair flying.

“Hah! The bloody twat wants ta talk? Sod off ye wanker!”

She dove at the girl’s head, forcing her to duck. Erin held up her hands, but the fairy darted around them and struck Erin on her cheek.

Instantly, the skin around where the fairy had touched Erin went numb, and then came back to life with pins and needles of pain. Erin clapped a hand to the spot and felt the extreme cold.

“Ow! Stop that!”

“They’re not going to stop.”

Pisces said the words urgently as the fairies laughed and the mean one kept trying to tag Erin again with one hand. Erin tried to fend the fairy off—gently, because she didn’t want to hurt the small creature.

“Why are they trying to hurt me? I just want to talk.”

The mage laughed nervously as he stared at Erin.

“Talk? They’re not people, Erin. They’re just…magical phenomena. They turn up every year. No one knows where they come from. They’re pests that destroy everything they find interesting.”

Something about the way he was talking was really bugging Erin. She glared at him as the fairy stopped attacking her at last.

“What are you talking about, Pisces? Can’t you see them? They’re totally fairies! They just spoke to us!”

Pisces was giving Erin a very strange look. He stared in the general direction of the fairy with the Irish accent, and then at Erin.

“Spoke? To you? I heard nothing.”

He wasn’t even looking at the fairy directly. Erin pointed.

“There, can’t you see her?”

The fairy was laughing, making faces at Erin and rude gestures that would have been obscene if she had human parts at Pisces. The mage squinted, but he was looking a bit down and to the left of the fairy.

“I see a fuzzy shape. It’s blue and white. I don’t hear anything.”

That had to be impossible, because Erin could hear all the fairies laughing now. Their laughter sounded like little bells, but Pisces didn’t even react. He was telling the truth.

“But how?”

Pisces looked at Erin.

“Erin. Are you really saying you can see and hear these things? They’re not just…magical particles?”

“Oh, but she can, fool mage!”

“She sees what you mortals cannot, and have not for millennia! More fools, you!”

Erin nodded slowly.

“But why can I see them when you can’t?”

Pisces blinked and frowned in thought, but it was the mean fairy who spoke. She flew back towards her friends and pointed back to Erin.

“’Tis a good question the fool asks. How can she see us, sisters? The glamor cannot be broken so easily by mortal sight. Just look at the fool who revels in death. He cannot see or hear us.”

“Too true!”

One of the fairies dropped down and buzzed Pisces’ head. He ducked, and she laughed and flew back towards the others.

“He does not see! He does not know! But she knows! How?”

The fairies flew around Erin’s head, inspecting her from all sides as they argued. She kept still, half-entranced, half-wary.

“Magic? But the magic of magi is too weak. And she has practically none!”

“If she’s used the ointment of our kind, we should blind her now. Take her eyes, one or both and let’s have done with it!”

Erin stared in horror at the fairy that had spoken. Suddenly, the Frost Fairies had lost all their wonder. The creature swept down close to Erin’s head and the girl raised her hands protectively. But then another fairy spoke.

“Nae. It does not work so in this world. Had she ointment, she would only see our shapes but not hear our voices. It is something else, sisters.”

“But what?”

“How?”

“Is she a freak? But even monsters and creatures of horror and blight cannot see us!”

“A God, maybe?”

“Don’t be silly! They’re all dead here! All dead and rotting!”

Pisces glanced at Erin’s face. He sidled rapidly over to her and whispered in her ear.

“What’s happening?”

Erin turned a pale face towards him.

“They’re talking about blinding me.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Ah. That would be inconvenient. Stand aside and I will deal with this.”

He raised a finger, and Erin moved away. The fairies ignored Pisces, but he frowned at them. He aimed towards the center of their herd and spoke.

“[Firefly].”

Fire, flickering bright orange and red flames flew upwards. It twisted into a flitting, swift shape and flew at the fairies. They screamed and scattered.

“Pisces!”

“Relax.”

The mage was smirking. He gestured at the flames as the spell chased the Frost Fairies.

“It doesn’t hurt them, and it’s one of the only ways to get these creatures to leave. I thought it best to expedite the process if they are a threat.”

“Fire, fire!”

“It will burn our snowflakes! Our snow gifts!”

“Bah. This mage seeks to play with flame? Let’s show him a true taste of cold, sisters!”

One of the fairies spoke as the herd of fairies flew in panic. In a moment the mood changed.

Erin didn’t see what happened, but one instant the flaming bird or insect of fire was chasing a fairy, and then the fairy had stopped and suddenly the [Firefly] spell went out. In a moment. There wasn’t so much as a flicker of smoke. The fire was just gone.

Pisces frowned upwards as one of the fairies raised a tiny hand. He stroked at his chin.

“Hm. That’s odd—”

Crack.

It was a feeling as much as sound. The air froze. Pisces’s face turned white and his robes stiffened. His entire body frosted over.

Erin saw Pisces’s expression change. His eyes went wide, and then he started screaming as his body began to process pain. He turned, fire flaring at his fingertips, stumbling as his muscles froze over. He fell to the ground, stumbled upright, and fled into the inn as the fairies laughed overhead.

“Hah! Serves the fool right!”

“Fire cannot hurt us! Ye foolish prat!”

“Now what to do with the human who told him to attack us, eh?”

The fairies began to spiral around Erin menacingly. She raised her hands desperately.

“Wait, wait, stop! Look, I’m sorry about my fr—about Pisces. He’s an idiot. I don’t want to hurt you!”

One of the fairies laughed again.

“As if ye could! We are the fae! But we want nothing to do with you! Begone, human!”

That was a good cue to run, especially after what happened to Pisces. But Erin couldn’t just give up. She reached out imploringly to the fairies.

“Can’t we talk?”

“No.”

“But I’ve heard so many stories about you! And you’re so beautiful!”

Some of the fairies began to preen, tossing their ethereal hair or swooping towards the sun so it made their crystal bodies sparkle. But the fairy Erin was talking to was not impressed. She flipped Erin off with two fingers in the ‘v’ sigh. Was that an insult?

“Unless ye’ve brought Calabrum with ye ta this world, we want naught to do with yer stories, human.”

That sounded like a definite rejection, but again Erin hesitated. There was a word in that sentence she didn’t know, outside of the accent.

“Um. What’s Calabrum?”

The fairy looked shocked. She glared at Erin.

“Do ye not remember the legendary name? No? Surely ye must. Do you know know of Caliburn?”

Slowly, Erin shook her head. She had no idea what the fairy was talking about. Another fairy looked insulted.

“Don’t you remember the old tales? How can you not know the name? If not Caliburn, do you know of Kaledvoulc’h? Calesvol?”

Erin still looked blank. The fairy looked frustrated.

“Are ye daft? Have your kind forgotten all the old tales, or are ye so daft ye can’t remember? The Sword of the Once and Future King! Escalibor!”

That name rang a bell in Erin’s head. She stared wide-eyed at the fairy, heart suddenly pounding.

“You mean Excalibur!? The Sword in the Stone?”

The fairies looked at each other as if Erin was daft.

“The Sword in the Stone? Is she a fool?”

“Hah! The waif thinks Excalibur is the Sword in the Stone? She jests!”

One of the fairies made a disgusted face as she swooped around Erin’s head.

“Ach. The stripling is plainly thick in the head.”

Erin longed to reach out and touch her translucent wings, but restrained herself with effort. She’d probably lose her hand.

“Wait, so Excalibur isn’t the Sword in the Stone? I always thought—but you mean it’s exists? And what about other worlds?”

They ignored her. The fairies muttered to each other and glanced at Erin. They seemed to come to a decision and began to fly away without another word.

She chased after them, clumsily in the snow.

“Wait, don’t go, please! There’s so many things I want to ask you!”

“Begone!”

One of the fairies turned and dove at Erin. Her teeth were bared and this time she began smacking hard into Erin’s face. Parts of her skin went numb and then began to hurt terribly as Erin tried to shield herself.

“Ow, ow, ow! Stop that! Please! Ow!”

The fairy kept attacking, and then fell back with a screech. Erin turned around to see her savior. Pisces was holding of all things, a rusted iron horseshoe. Where had he gotten that?

He waved it up at the fairies, and Erin heard them hiss at him. Pisces shouted at them as he and Erin backed up towards the inn.

“Begone, Cold Folk! Leave this place! You are not welcome!”

It was like a spell had been cast. The fairies shrieked and flew upwards. Erin heard them screaming angrily as Pisces pulled her towards the door. His face and skin were now horribly red with frost nip, but he kept a firm hold of the horseshoe.

“Come on. Inside before they come back.”

Erin hesitated. She put one foot in the doorway and looked back. They’d been so wonderful. And then—

Movement caught Erin’s eye in the distance. She stared in horror over Pisces’ shoulder. He looked around and saw what was coming towards them.

“Oh my—”

Erin saw the fairies screaming among the raging torrent of ice and snow a second before it hit them. An avalanche of snow blasted through the open door of the inn, sweeping through the tables and chairs aside. Erin was tumbled up, down, left, and then stuck at a 45° angle in the snow, her feet kicking wildly as she tried to pull herself out.

Around the other side of the inn, Toren heard the miniature avalanche crash into the inn and paused in his excavation work to look up. The skeleton had successfully cleared out a huge patch of snow around the inn with his bare hands, forming a small wall of snow. He left it now and wandered back towards the front of the inn.

The skeleton saw only vague shapes, blue and white patches of light flying upwards. He heard nothing of the Frost Fairys’ laughter or their remarks, but he did see the inn.

Snow, several metric tons of it had rushed into the inn in one moment. It had packed itself inside, trapping the two poor humans inside. Toren heard Erin screaming and Pisces shouting something. He stared at the packed inn and estimated the density of the snow.

Toren’s mouth opened and he seemed to sigh. Then he walked into the inn and began to dig as the snow began to fall even harder.

Previous Chapter

2.08

I had at least eight blisters by the time I ran through the gates of Celum, nearly two days later. I blame myself, really. Running in ill-fitting boots is about the stupidest thing you can do to your feet—aside from running barefoot in the snow, that is.

Yep. That’s me. Ryoka Griffin, not-so-barefoot Runner. You’d think it wouldn’t matter, given the winter, but it does.

“Hoi, running girl! Too cold for your feet, eh?”

One of the human guards on the rampart shouts down at me as I run onto the cobblestones and into the city. Briefly, I debate flipping him off or shouting something back. Instead, I run on.

Bad temper? Who, me? I don’t have a bad temper. It’s not like I’ve just run and slept in the cold for the last few days, all the while being pestered by evil incarnate.

Speaking of which, I hear the guards at the gates laughing, and then cursing and shouting as my traveling companions arrive.

“Hark! A human city! Full of nasty iron and wood fires! Let’s freeze the place, sisters!”

…And there goes the peace. The Frost Faeries I’ve brought with me rush through the air above my head, bringing Winter with them.

Winter, in a literal sense. Apparently, around here the seasons don’t just change with the weather. In this case, it’s literally a phenomenon that follows these fairies as they fly around. Where they go, the temperature drops, it starts snowing, and the damn things can seemingly conjure avalanches out of the air whenever they please.

I want nothing to do with them, which is unfortunate seeing as how they keep following me. But now they’re busy tormenting the human guardsmen, freezing metal to skin, pelting them with snow and so on, I’m in the clear for the moment.

I can even take my boots off and let my feet breathe. It’s cold around here, but the faeries haven’t turned this place icy yet. They don’t move around methodically, so I found entire sections of land that were still green and flourishing on my run back. Too bad the Frost Faeries froze everything they saw.

To the Runner’s Guild then, almost less pleasant than the place I’m headed to after that. But it’s got to be done.

I push open the door, wincing as my blisters hit the wood floorboards. I need to pop them soon, but it’s not going to stop the pain. A healing potion? Would it even be worth the cost?

“Ryoka!”

The instant I’m through the doorway, someone shouts my name. Someone male. Fals. I see him striding towards me across the room, followed by none other than Garia.

Well, well, coincidence is a strange thing. But then, both Runners live and work in this area. I guess I should have expected to see them.

Fals strides towards me, dirty blonde haired, handsome, athletic. Garia’s type, which is why the shorter and stockier girl is right behind him. He’s smiling at me. I think my lips twitch in reply, but I manage a small smile for Garia.

But for once, Fals seems genuinely glad to see me, and not about to offer me sage advice. And to my surprise, even some of the other Runners are smiling. That’s…odd.

Fals and Garia stop in front of me, smiling. Fals has straight teeth, nearly white despite the lack of special toothpastes and dentists in this world.

“Ryoka, where have you been? We haven’t seen you in nearly a week!”

His cheerfulness bothers me. So I nod at him.

“Hey, you.”

Boom. His smile fades a fraction.

“I’m well. How are you…Ryoka?”

“Fine, thanks. How’s it going?”

Now comes the pause of uncertainty.

“You do remember my name, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. Fall, right?”

Hah! That flummoxed him. But Garia frowns at me. And I realize—perhaps it’s not best to enter jerk-mode the instant I come back. Oops.

“She’s just having fun, right Ryoka?”

Garia elbows me in the stomach. Oof. I forgot she was that strong.

“I’m sure Ryoka remembers me.”

Fals pats Garia on the shoulder, and she blushes. I sigh.

“Of course. Fals. I’m surprised you lot are happy to see me, though.”

He shrugs.

“Why? That business with Magnolia was ages ago, and besides, you are our fastest Runner. One of the best, too! We could use you here, now more than ever.”

Okay, if he wants to be buddy-buddy, I won’t stop him. I give Fals one of those half-smiles with more teeth than smile.

“Really? Business is good?”

He made a face.

“Business—our business—is slow, thanks to winter coming so quickly. Right now all the roads are frozen over so carts and wagons are going slow rather than break their horse’s legs. Until they get sharp shod, no one’s getting anything delivered fast.”

Sharp shod? What the hell is that? Must be some way to travel on ice.

“Sounds like it’s good for Runners.”

“You’d think so, but us City Runners are having a hard time in the snow as well. We’re overloaded with requests and no one wants to be outside for too long.”

Garia nods and shivers. Her attire—and Fals’ is different. They’ve got wool and warm clothes on, which I envy. Me? I need to buy warmer gear asap.

“Sounds like I arrived just in time.”

“It’s good to have you back, Ryoka.”

I smile at Garia. And then I lose that smile when I realize she doesn’t know about the Horns of Hammerad. Fals notices that, and changes the subject. He’s…considerate. Huh.

“Well now that you’re back, how many requests would you like to take on?”

“How many do you have?”

Garia elbows me again. Ow! That was a joke. But maybe she thought I was being sarcastic. I eye Garia’s elbow and decide to stop joking around.

“I’m looking for the highest paying jobs. Fast deliveries, adventurers in the field—”

“Dangerous requests.”

“Pretty much.”

“Well, there’s never that many requests for us Runners. Adventurers don’t like us—”

They don’t like most Runners, and for good reason. Don’t say it out loud though, Ryoka.

“—But there are some long-distance contracts I think no one will fight you over. You’re best-suited for them, anyways. Plus, there’s always good coin to be made now that a Courier is heading this way.”

“A Courier?”

That is big news. I’ve heard of the special Runners who go long-distance. One of them was supposed to take the High Passes request. Fals nods at me and lowers his voice.

“Word is, there’s a special request that’s highest-priority. It’s coming all the way from First Landing and a Courier’s delivering it.”

“Whose word?”

He smiles at me and shrugs imperceptibly at the receptionist’s desk. Of course. Fals would know, since he gets along well with the staff. I suppose he’s sharing the information with me and Garia because…?

Well, a Courier, huh? But what was the place he mentioned?

“I’m not familiar with the place. Where’s First Landing?”

Now Fals and Garia both frown at me. Damn. I’ve made a mistake. He raises an eyebrow.

“The largest city on this side of the continent? The port city?”

“Right. First Landing. Of course.”

I should have read a book on local cities, but no one’s writing almanacs or travelers guides for this continent, or at least none that I’ve found. Play it off. I shrug casually as if I’ve forgotten.

“I wonder how much they’re getting paid.”

“More than we make in a month, I’ll bet.”

Fals makes a face and Garia looks dispirited. But that’s how it goes, right? The Gold-rank adventurers get rich and famous and everyone else below them gets screwed over in the adventuring world, according to Ceria. It’s like that everywhere, both here and in my world.  Erin’s and my world.

“If you’re looking for requests, I can show you a few high-priority ones.”

“Not really tempted at the moment. I need to rest. I’ve been running all day and I’ve got blisters.”

I show them both my poor feet. Garia looks appalled and Fals just looks interested. He’s seen worse feet, I’m sure.

“Painful. How’d you get those?”

“Boots.”

“You wear boots?”

Garia giggled at me. It sounds odd, coming from her. Girlish. Which makes sense. She is a girl, I just…didn’t expect it from her. I scowl at her.

“It was either that or frostbite. I wasn’t sure if healing potions could heal frostbite.”

“They can’t. Not well, anyways. But if you need better shoes…”

“I’ll go buy some afterwards. For now, I need some stuff from the guild.”

Fals spread his hands.

“I’m cooling down from a long delivery from Remendia. Need any help?”

“Thanks.”

He and I step to one side to let a snow-pelted Runner stagger in. She starts telling the other Runners about the Snow Sprites in the area as Garia follows us towards the receptionist’s desk.

“The first thing I need is a copy of the Guild’s rules. Do you have a book or something?”

Fals frowns.

“I think we do, but if you need to know something you can always ask the desk or me. Is something wrong?”

“I just need a copy of the rules. I’m not in trouble.”

But my tenuous plan hinges on something I remember one of the receptionists telling me when I first registered with the Guild. Fals shrugs and talks to the receptionist.

This one’s a young woman, perky, smiling at Fals and fake-smiling at me.

“Well, we do have a book, but it’s expensive. I’d have to charge you fifteen silver for it—”

She blinks as I slap down a gold piece on the counter.

“I’ll take it. Do you have enough to give me change?”

I actually have enough silver coins to pay for it, but I might as well exchange a few of the gold coins Teriarch gave me. Plus, she’s annoying.

As she fumbles for the coins Garia elbows me again. This time I glare at her, and she glares back. What? I’m being nice. Nice for me, that is.

“How are you doing, Garia?”

“I’m fine. The snow was sure something, wasn’t it? I saw the Frost Faeries on one of my runs. I nearly got covered in snow before I got to the city.”

“Mm. The faeries.”

Curse them. Those little monsters probably enjoyed harassing Garia. They’re like little bullies, only apparently practically invisible to everyone but Erin and me. I nod at Fals as he breaks away from the counter and tosses me a thin book.

“Thanks.”

“If you bring it back, we’ll reimburse you. But I hope it’s useful to you.”

I hope so too. But on to my next point of business. I move away from the counter with both Runners.

“Do you know where I can buy any artifacts?”

Artefacts? I’ve always thought the British way of spelling things was cooler. Fals shrugs and point back to the counter, where the receptionist is busy dealing with the half-frozen Runner.

“Artifacts? If you need magic, we do have some magical items on sale.”

“I’ve seen them.”

Crap they are, too. Runners around here don’t worry about monsters that much, so what the guild and shops mainly provide are healing potions, and one-time spells in the form of scrolls, bags*, and wands.

*Yes, bags. Don’t ask me why. I guess some things just store better in bag form. They’re some kind of tangling spell. You toss it at people and vines come out. A classic?

“I’m looking for more utility. Or something that can recharge itself so I don’t keep using up my supply.”

Fals frowns and strokes at his clean-shaven chin.

“That’s expensive.”

“But there is a market?”

“Not here—but with enough gold, you can get someone to deliver it. Pay a Runner.”

He grins and I have to as well. This social thing isn’t exactly easy, but at least it’s not as much of a chore as I thought it would be.

“Okay, let’s assume a proper artifact that renews itself is worth two hundred gold?”

I look at Fals. He shakes his head.

“Okay, four hundred. Six hundred? Eight hundred?”

“Probably around eight hundred gold for something cheap. But I can’t just give you a set number, Ryoka. The spell and object makes it an entire range of prices.”

Holy economics, Batman*. What’s up with that price range?

*Yeah, I thought that. I watched the old Batman show when I was a kid. Sue me.

Then again, given how much adventurers can make – I think Ceria told me once that an average contract can pay several gold coins per contract even without the bounty on monsters – it makes sense.

Healing potions? A gold coin or two. It goes up with potency. Spell books? Several hundred gold coins to thousands for the really strong stuff. Enchanted weapons fall in between, while ordinary armor is cheap by comparison.

One-time spells aren’t cheap, but you can buy some if you’re a seasoned adventurer with coin to throw around. Ceria’s robes cost her nearly a hundred and twenty gold coins – something she had to save up for years to buy. But they didn’t break or tear even after she nearly died in the Ruins. They’re about the only thing she did keep, but she told me her wand was half as expensive as that. It was just a focusing agent with some magic she had to constantly renew.

But self-sustaining magic? Let’s say…a ring of fireballs or something? One cast per day? That’s probably the kind of artifact they were hoping to find in Skinner’s lair. It would cost…one thousand two hundred gold pieces?

“How about a ring that shoots fireballs? Once a day?”

“I’d bet that would cost at least three thousand gold pieces. Probably four, and that’s if you don’t have to deal with some merchant from overseas.”

Garia’s jaw drops. She looks at Fals and me and shakes her head.

“Really? I had no idea they cost that much. I looked at a tripvine bag for protection, you know, but even that was out of my price range.”

She turns red and falls silent, as if she thinks Fals and I will judge her. It’s true, he and I could probably afford one or two, but I’m not that kind of person. And he’s not either, at least, I don’t think so. But Persua is, so I suppose in the past…

I’m glad she isn’t here. I still owe her a shattered leg bone, and she still has it out for me if I’m any judge. But magic.

“That’s an expensive ring.”

“Well, it’s more like adventuring gear. It would be nice for a Runner, but we don’t need that kind of weaponry, at least, not unless we’re doing Courier jobs. Why, are you hoping to become one?”

“It’s something to think about.”

Garia stares at me, as if I’ve announced I want to become a Gold-rank adventurer. Which is pretty much what a Courier is, right?

“So you’re saying anything worth having is at least a few thousand gold coins, right?”

“I’d have to imagine so. There’s a lot of limited-use magic for less, but if you want something you can rely on, you’d have to be rich.”

Okay, let’s see. That would make any kind of real magical artifact pretty much the equivalent of a supercar or…or a fighter jet from my world. The only difference here is that some people carry around the equivalent value of a nuke in their pockets. With probably the same effect.

Gazi wore armor that didn’t even take a scratch when she got hit. Her sword cut through everything but Relc’s skin easily. I wonder how much her equipment was worth? Or that teleportation scroll?

“Ryoka.”

Fals draws me out of my musing. He’s looking at me seriously, and so is Garia.

“What?”

“You really want to become a Courier? I don’t know what went on down in Liscor, but I’ve heard rumors. Undead attacks?”

“I missed that. But a Courier’s the dream, right? If it pays better, I’ll become one.”

“Right.”

Fals stops and glances at Garia for some reason. She looks uncertain as well. Which means they want to say something and they’re not sure how I’ll take it. I stare at Fals.

“Say it.”

“Ryoka. If you never level up, you’ll never become a Courier.”

Fals says it straight to my face, meeting my eyes directly. He gestures at Garia.

“Garia told me, and the rumors are spreading. You’re one of our best Runners, Ryoka. But this is a dangerous job even for Street Runners. City Runners risk their lives, and a lot of us retire each year. But Couriers are different. You’re the fastest Runner in the local Guilds, but you’re nowhere near fast enough to become one of them, Ryoka. In a year or two, even Garia will be able to outrun you.”

—-

I blink at Fals. I can’t have heard him right. Garia, outrun me? She’s got terrible form. She’s slow, even if she is strong, and her body’s not build for the kind of running I can do. She’s…

She’s got the [Runner] class. She’s Level 11, or at least she was when she first met me. And I guess if she keeps leveling she’ll get faster?

That makes sense, but I can’t imagine Garia ever beating me in a footrace. But Fals is serious, so I try to respond without biting his head off.

“It’s time for me to think bigger. Bigger and better.”

“I appreciate that, but you’ve never seen a Courier, have you? They can cover distances in hours where it would take you and I days.”

“Huh. Well…I don’t have a class.”

It’s liberating to say, although it makes Garia stare at me as if I have half a head. But Fals just frowns at me.

“Do you have…any reason for that?”

“Personal preference. And I’m not about to change.”

He shakes his head at me, uncomprehending.

“Well, I’ll be the first to admit that you can beat me in a race even without levels. All of my skills are geared towards sensing danger and preserving stamina, anyways. I don’t have any movement skills, but I was lucky. Mine have kept me alive so far.”

He gestures at the requests board across the room.

“Look, Ryoka. If you wanted to become a Courier, you’d either need to run like the wind…or complete enough requests to guard yourself even against bandit attacks and assassins and so on. Taking on dangerous requests like that job with the Horns of Hammerad and the one to the High Passes is a good start.”

“Good. But is there any way for me to make a name for myself?”

Money. Earn money. Eighty gold pieces for Erin’s refrigerated cupboards? She and I will need a lot more, and if my two stupid ideas don’t work, I need a fallback plan. Running is honest work.

“Most of the City Runners do a short run from city-to-city around here. From Celers to Remendia, Ocre, Celum, and even down to Esthelm, but almost never to Liscor.”

“But the best Runners travel across the continent.”

I nearly said ‘real’ Runners, but bit my tongue just in time. I’ve never run that far, and Garia is a Runner too, in her own way.

Fals nods.

“It’s about trade and the nobility. And the ruins, too, I suppose. All of the really powerful nobles and the Five Families live closer to the north. And a lot of the really important adventuring areas are north too, so there’s more business there. And the trade happens at our port cities, so…”

“Which one’s the biggest?”

“First Landing. If you want to see our biggest city, you have to go all the way north until you reach the ocean.”

Garia jumps in. I suppose she wants to impress Fals. Or help me.

“There’s a famous dungeon up there, too. One of the magic ones that keeps spewing monsters and treasure.”

Magic dungeons? Like the Ruins? Or…magic? What difference does magic make? I guess I’ll find out.

“Okay, so let’s assume I take a request to go up there. How much would that pay? Are any available?”

Fals shakes his head at me. What have I said this time?

“Ryoka, if there were any requests from here, they’d be Courier-only. Besides, most people set their requests so one Runner takes it to a city along the way, and the next Runner takes it further and so on. You’re not going to find much work that way—”

Thump.

Fals breaks off and frowns. I turn my head, and Garia blink and points at one of the windows in the Guild.

“Hey, what’s that?”

Heads turn as something bumps against a window pane. I take one look and cover my eyes. Fals squints and looks at Garia.

“I can’t make it out. Is that—?”

“Frost Sprite!”

Half the Runners in the room groan or mutter. One of the Runners who was about to leave takes his hand off the door handle as the small, naked faerie* taps against the glass and leers into the room.

*Don’t get excited. There’s nothing to really look at, since the faeries don’t have any real features down there. Or maybe they’re just wearing skin-tight clothing? Either way, anyone who’d be interested in faeries is sick…or Gargamel. Mind you, I’d be rooting for him against the Frost Faeries.

“Oh no. Why is one of them interested in this place?”

“I’m not leaving if those things are hovering about. My request can wait.”

Garia stares at the window and exclaims as a second faerie joins the first.

“Look, there are more of them! It’s a swarm!”

Fals looks sick. He sighs and shakes his head.

“Worse luck. I don’t know if you have many of the sprites where you come from, Ryoka, but my advice is to stay clear of them if you don’t want another broken bone.”

Okay. Is it painful admission time or do I feign ignorance?

“I’ve…seen them before. They might be following me.”

Fals and Garia give me a look as if I’m crazy. But then Garia nods.

“That could be. Um, it might be because you…look different, Ryoka. The sprites like anything unusual.”

“Really?”

I guess Fals is only an expert on things that pertain to running. Garia nods though, and tries not to stammer as Fals and I stare at her.

“Um—well, as a child I liked them even if they did play awful pranks. Back at my farm—well, we had a dog that had a wonderfully black coat…but the fur around his head was white. He was interesting to look at, and every year the sprites would play tricks on him until they got bored. We had to lock him up in the house to keep him safe.”

She looks at me and blushes.

“Not that I think you’re like a dog, Ryoka. I just—”

“I get it.”

Great. The Frost Faeries are interested in the one girl with Asian heritage, and probably also because I can see or hear them. Wonderful.

I look back at the window. The faeries are still there, rubbing their butts on the windowpanes and freezing the glass solid. They’ve been a pain in my ass the entire run here, and I bet they’re planning on dumping snow on me the instant I walk outside.

They don’t listen to me, or even acknowledge my presence anymore, except as a target. Funny. I lost a lot of hair to those little freaks until I started shouting at them, but all they wanted was the attention. Not that I tried that hard to talk to them; I was hoping they’d leave.

No such luck. They’ve been following me for the last day. Apparently I’m amusing to them.

Little bastards.

“Did they bother you while you were running, Ryoka?”

“You could say that. Once they got bored of dropping snow on my head and started attacking travelers on the road.”

The fairies – or perhaps faeries depending on how you wanted to think of them – were chaos and mischief unleashed. They didn’t seem too antagonistic, but they caused trouble wherever they went.

Cart wheels broke, horses spooked and threw off their riders, and snowballs flew down like heat-seeking missiles on the hapless people going up and down the road. It was pretty amazing to see, in its own way. Less fun when the damn bugs tried to tag me, though.

“Snow Sprites.”

Fals shook his head and made a face. For once I’m right there with him. Is there any way I could get rid of them?

My knowledge of old fables and legends is rusty, but I can remember quite a lot. Trick memory. And I do remember stories about faeries. Not the cute ones from Peter Pan – although Tinkerbell was always a bit of a demon – but the really horrible ones about faeries spiriting children away and killing peasants.

What was it? Cold iron – horseshoes nailed over the doorways. And flowers. I remember stories about people hanging garlands around the necks of infants to keep them from being stolen.

Well, I don’t have any damn horseshoes, but it might be worth buying some. I also don’t need to worry about kids, but I’d better stay away from suspicious mounds* from now on.

*Those would be fairy mounds – mysterious hills of grass that supposedly lead to the land of the fae. I’m not sure about whether or not that legend’s true, but if faeries exist, I’d better not leave anything to chance.

Still. Faeries. They might be just as…well, frankly, just as horrible and annoying as the myths make them out to be, but there’s something about them. They’re faeries.

It’s not like looking at one of those Drakes or Gnolls. Those…people just scare the hell out of me if I’m honest. I don’t know how Erin can talk to them so easily. Even that Krshia looked like a bear with a longbow, and she wasn’t even the biggest Gnoll I saw.

And the Antinium are horrifying. I hate bugs. Always have, and these ones carry swords.

God. When I think of how lucky I was to arrive in a human city, it makes me wonder how Erin survived at all. If I saw a Drake first, I’d run for my life and never look back.

But faeries. Faeries are different. They’re magic. They’re – from our world.

If you can believe faeries are real, you could believe dragons exist too. You could believe…that you could be a wizard. That you could be a hero or learn to fly.

And they’re beautiful. Wondrous, enchanting…if they weren’t such a pain in my ass, literally, I might actually like them.

How else could I get rid of the faeries, or at least deter them? Magic? I know only one spell, and that’s [Light]. It takes a lot out of me just to cast that, as well.

I need to learn more magic. Probably from Ceria or Pisces, but I need to finish my business here first. So.

Garia’s still watching the Frost Faeries warily. She can’t see them like I can, or hear them laughing and plotting to attack a cow, but she still sees something. I cough, and she looks at me.

“Do you need help getting rid of them, Ryoka? I know some old tricks. A horseshoe or something made of iron helps deter them, although they’ll throw things at you from far away if you do.”

“They’ll get bored. But there is one thing I would like to know. Where is Lady Magnolia at right now? Still in her house in Celum?”

Fals eyes me oddly.

“I’m not going to take any requests away from you. I just need to see her.”

“No, it’s not that.”

Fals shakes his head. He looks rueful.

“Don’t you know? Lady Magnolia always travels north for the winter. She was only here for a few months in her holdings. But she’s gone back home.”

…What?

“She’s in a large city far north of here. Invrisil, the city of adventurers.”

“Okay, so I’ll go there.”

Again, the look Fals gives me tells me I’ve made another mistake.

“That’s three hundred miles north of here. Even if you started now, I doubt you’d make it before the rest of the land is coated in ice.”

What? Wat? What?

“Three hundred miles?”

You’ve got to be joking. But no, no, the looks I’m getting from Garia tell me that Fals is not joking. Three hundred…I saw a map in one of the books I read, but I didn’t see the scale on it. Three hundred miles? Is this place really that big? And more importantly—

“How’d she get there in a week’s time? By horse?”

How far can you travel by horse in a day? No—since it’s her, how far can you travel by coach in a day?

“She travelled in a carriage. One of the fancy magical ones that the wealthy use. It can travel that distance in a day or two.”

“A magic coach?”

“One of the powerful ones. It doesn’t need horses; it creates them out of magic. Extremely quick, but I hear they have to replace mana stones or recharge the magic quite often. It’s not something that’ll ever replace us Runners.”

That’s not my real concern, although it is fascinating. Garia turns to Fals as he and she begin to talk about the competitive nature of running.

“Why don’t people on horses take our jobs? They’re faster, unless we get good skills. A horse can beat a low-level Runner any day of the week.”

Fals smiles at Garia and shakes his head.

“Until a Goblin spooks you out of the saddle, or your horse attracts a monster looking for a meal. Some Runners use them, but unless you’re a good rider and you want to spend half the time running next to the horse and waiting for it to rest, you might as well not bother.”

“Oh. Of course. I should have known.”

“Why should you? It’s a good question, right Ryoka?”

Fals grins at me, and I nod absently. Three hundred miles. I could make that journey. I’d have to buy supplies, or plan a route that allows me to stop in cities, but I could do it. It’s just—

Damn. I won’t be able to keep my promise to Erin. I said I’d be back in a week and there’s no way I’d make it there and back in that time.

Magnolia has more than one estate? Well of course she does. She’s rich. That only leaves my second option, and that one’s a hundred times more dangerous. I need to think things over.

“Sorry if that ruined your plans, Ryoka. We’re not too happy about it either, mind you. That’s a lot of good coin we’ll not see for another year.”

I look at Fals. He’s not such a bad guy. I still don’t quite like him, but at least I can hold a conversation. Because I’m changed? Because I met Erin, perhaps. Because I need to be at least at peace with most of the Runners to help Ceria and Erin.

“I guess I’ll hold off on that for the moment. I need to sleep. One last question for you, Fals. First Landing—that’s the north-most city, right? How far away is that?”

He shrugs and delivers the final bombshell of the day.

“First Landing is over three thousand miles north of here. Three thousand…three thousand and eight hundred miles? Closer to four thousand than not.”

My mind goes blank. Four thousand miles? Double that for the length of the continent. No—Celum isn’t even halfway down and the southern section is bigger than the north. How big is…

“I’ve always wanted to visit that city someday. Perhaps when I have a few years to spare and coin saved up I’ll make the trip.”

Garia says something then, but I don’t hear it. For a second, the scope of this world blows me away. The length. The distance involved. It’s…well it’s unimaginable. Because I know something about geography. I know how long South America is, for instance. And to imagine this—

I started laughing. Fals and Garia break off and stare at me. I laugh, and laugh out loud, ignoring the looks from the other Runners. When I finish, there’s only silence. Even the faeries are staring.

“She laughs like an evil thing, doesn’t she?”

“’Tis the sound of a coven of witches and Hekate herself!”

I don’t have an evil laugh. But I pat Fals on the shoulder anyways, to reassure him.

“Thanks. I needed that.”

I leave Fals behind, bemused. My business in the Guild is done and I’m too tired to run any further. I need to plan out my next step. Read that rulebook—think about magic and faeries and how to get to Magnolia. Learn more about this world.

Yes, that’s the real goal. I’ve been too withdrawn, too focused on petty things. My excuse is that I had my leg broken, and my life pretty much revolved around that for a while. But now…

Four thousand miles to First Landing. Over double that for the length of this continent. One among five.

Too big. Too vast for me to even imagine. That’s the world I’ve found myself in. For a while I thought it was too small, the people too petty. But that’s because I’m like one of those people who never venture more than a few miles outside of their city, or never leave their state.

I have not yet even begun to understand the scope of this world.

And that is good.

—-

“I thought this world was too much like…a place I came from.”

That’s how I explained my creepy laughter to Garia after we left the Guild. I mean, creepy according to her. And not really creepy—I’m sure she was exaggerating when she said that.

Unsettling, perhaps. Dramatic—yes. But I don’t have evil-laughter. No matter what those damn faeries say.

They’re overhead now, or racing through the streets, bothering other people. Not Garia and me. She’s got a horseshoe on her which seems to be working, or else the faeries have finally lost interest in me. Either one works, and it gives us more time to think.

“I just forgot how large this continent is.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

Garia looks blank, and I struggle to explain. How can I, without telling her of my world?

“It’s just that it means there’s still parts of the world not yet explored. Places around her where no one’s ever stepped foot. A land this vast has secrets.”

“Of course.”

It’s as if I told her the world was round. Or…is it flat over here? Never mind. Garia’s used to a world that isn’t mapped out with satellites and Google cars, but I’m not. The idea that there’s something to explore, something to find that’s completely new is what burns through my veins.

“But do you really need money that bad, Ryoka? I thought—well, you said you had quite a bit saved up from that delivery you did in the High Passes.”

The delivery. Right.

“I—need more money. There are things I have to do. And for that I’d need better jobs.”

She shrugs her broad shoulders. If Garia had been born in my world, she could have been the first female boxer to claim a title in the men’s division.

“Well, running is a steady job, but I don’t know that you’ll earn a lot quickly. Not unless you’re a Courier, and Fals said…”

“I know.”

Apparently even I’m slow compared to a Courier. I wonder what she’s like? Or he. Or it? If one’s coming down this way, I’ll try to measure myself against them.

First things first.

“I’ve got a few more advantages that might help, but I’m not sure who to go to. Do you know this city well?”

“Pretty well. And I’d be happy to help.”

Garia grins at me, again proving that she’s a good person who doesn’t deserve a friend like me. If we are friends. Are we?

I reach behind me and open my Runner’s pack with one hand. Ever since I got it back from Rags, I’ve been extra-careful with the potion I received as payment. It shines orange and pink, glowing with both colors in the grey sky.

“I need someone who can identify this potion. Know any [Alchemists] or mages around here?”

Garia stares at the potion in my hands, entranced.

“Is that—? Um, yes! I know someone who could help. She’s a friend of mine. This way!”

She leads me down a street, and then another, until we come to a smaller side-street off the main path. I don’t know Celum that well at all; just the way to Magnolia’s house and a few inns and the Runner’s Guild. But Garia was a Street Runner here before she became a City Runner.

The shop she brings me to has a small position next to two other shops. It has a nice façade, belongs to a decently-wealthy district…and it has boarded up windows and plywood in the display area instead of glass.

I look up at the sign over the shop.

Stitchworks. Potions, tonics, herbs.

Well, we’re in the right place. Garia seems nervous, though. She takes a deep breath, and pushes open the door.

“Octavia? Um, are you in?”

It takes my eyes a second to adjust to the darker room from the snowy bright city outside. The room I’m in—

Is definitely an [Alchemist]’s workshop. Definitely.

Let’s see. Herbs hanging from beams? Check. Potions on one wall? Check. Parchment, quills, some kind of desk for mixing potions? Check. Glass blown into squiggly shapes? Check.

A single lamp provides light for the room. It’s not your average lamp either; this one I recognize. It’s a safety lamp, the kind used in coal mines or in places where fire is a danger, like here. Glass walls contained a bright flame as the lamp illuminated the shop, the shimmering potions—

And the young woman carefully studying the glowing blue potion at one of the tables. She looks up as Garia and I enter, and smiles at us.

“Garia! And you’ve brought a friend? Welcome! Come in and get out of the cold!”

The [Alchemist] beckons us into the shop, putting the potion carefully on one of the shelves. And she’s a surprise to me as well, although she shouldn’t be.

She has dark skin—darker than any I’ve seen this far. Her black hair is braided and pulled into a ponytail. She looks like a young woman that I’d see down any street in America – or at least any street not in a white suburb, but here—

Most people I’ve seen around here had light skin. This place is probably close to Europe, which might be why. Geographically, it made sense. The sun isn’t too harsh here, so probably only the two continents of Baleros and Chandrar would have people with darker skins.

Plus, globalization is not a thing in this world, especially if it’s so damn big.

The important question was: did it matter? In this world, humans weren’t alone. So how did that shift attitudes about race?

I look sideways at Garia and realize she’s looking at me to see if I react to her friend’s appearance. Well, fuck. Whoever said humanity would band together if ever confronted by a new species was clearly mistaken.

Garia clears her throat as Octavia comes out from behind her counter to greet me. The [Alchemist] certainly doesn’t look like the person I imagined her to be.

Not her skin. I mean her age, and her physique. She’s no bodybuilder, but she’s got clearly-defined muscles and she dresses in comfortable, sleeveless shirts and long, loose pants. Something’s up with one of her arms. She has…stitches going all down her right arm, and the threads coming loose.

Garia clears her throat and smiles at the dark-skinned woman.

“Hello, Octavia. This is Ryoka Griffin. She’s a friend, a City Runner like me. She needs an [Alchemist], and I thought…”

“Ryoka Griffin? I’m Octavia. It’s great to meet you; I can see we’re going to be very useful to one another!”

She takes my hand and gives me a solid handshake. I blink. This Octavia is all-go from the start, which I don’t necessarily hate. Fine, time to do the same.

“Nice to meet you. You’re an [Alchemist]?”

“The youngest in the city, but one of the best! You want cheap potions made with quality ingredients, come here and nowhere else. Everyone else will rip you Runners off, but I’ll give you the best deals so you keep coming back!”

…Yep. She’s a business person, alright. It feels like I’m being attacked by the salesperson of the year at a shop.

“Here. Take a look at this.”

The shopkeeper swings back behind her counter and brings out the blue potion she was studying earlier. Before I can so much as speak, she presses it into my hands.

“This is a stamina potion I’ve been working on. It’s a newer product than the old recipes you see on the market.”

I stare down at it. It’s deep blue, the color of azure and flecked with hints of yellow within.

“It’s blue.”

Octavia flicks her fingers impatiently.

“Potions can be any color, as I’m sure you know. I’m trying to standardize the colors so adventurers don’t have to worry about using a mana potion instead of a healing one but color is irrelevant here. I can always dye the potion later, but take a sip!”

I’m not sure I want to, but Octavia is staring at me. I shoot a look at Garia and she looks uncertain.

But hell, I’m pretty sure this Octavia’s not going to poison me, so I take a sip. The potion tastes—

Well it tastes like someone scraped regurgitated corn mash onto my tongue and flavored it with prunes. Rotten prunes. I nearly gag, but swallow the terrible stuff.

And it’s like I swallowed Red Bull if Red Bull were ten times stronger and contained actual magic rather than caffeine and sugar. My tired body, sore from running for so long in the cold, heats up, and I feel every fiber in me surging with energy.

Holy crap. I feel like I could run another forty miles with this stuff! Octavia grins and takes the bottle from me.

“Good, isn’t it? I’ve added to the formula, replacing larvae extract with—well, it doesn’t matter. The point is that these new potions are only slightly more expensive, but they’ve got a bigger kick to them!”

“It’s certainly effective.”

And useful! That’s a potion I’d buy, and Octavia seems determined to make the sale right here and now.

“Alright then, I’ll put you down for a batch of stamina potions. You can leave me a down payment now and pay the rest on completion.”

She whips out a piece of paper and finds an inkpot and starts dipping the quill impatiently.

“These new potions are twice as effective as the ones on the market. For you, I wouldn’t charge much. Let’s say a gold piece and eight silver pieces for each one? That comes to…sixteen gold and sixteen silver for a batch of twelve, but I’ll give you a discount and make it an even fourteen. How does that sound?”

Octavia glances at me as she scribbles on the piece of paper. I try not to smile. She’s pushy. Garia looks like she’s swallowed her tongue as she glances at me. Did she get suckered into buying a bunch of pricy potions? Of course she did.

Fortunately, I know how to deal with pushy people. Hell, the people my dad worked for are all like the worst kind of used-car salesmen. You have to know how to deal with people like that. With care, tact, diplomacy…

“No.”

Octavia blinks, but I don’t. The best way to deal with someone like this is to shut them down hard. She turns to me, holding out the paper with figures scribbled down on it.

“It won’t be any trouble. I’ll just write your name down here. Ryoka Griffin, was it? How about you get back to me on—”

“I said, no.”

“Oh come now. You’ve tasted my potion. I can make it more palatable if that’s what you’re worried about. This is an investment! You can’t just turn your back on this. Stick with me and I’ll offer you a discount on future potions.”

“I said—”

Octavia pushes the paper in my face and I lose my patience. I push her arm up. Not too hard, but enough to make her realize I can keep going until she dislocates something. She blinks—

Her arm falls off.

It just…unravels. The black stitches I saw along her armpit come loose, and her arm drops from Octavia’s body onto the ground. I’m stunned for a second, but Octavia moves faster.

“Oh, darn it. I should have double-knotted the stitches. Hold this for a second, will you?”

She shoves the paper and quill into my hands as she bends down to pick up the severed arm. I stared at her, open-mouthed.

“It’s okay, Ryoka, really!”

“What the hell—?”

Garia comes over to me, sidling around the messy tables as Octavia picks up her arm. She points at Octavia and the thing which is not truly an arm in her hands.

“She’s one of the String People.”

Octavia looks up, concerned.

“Oh, you haven’t met one of us before? I’m sorry, it must come as a surprise. But don’t worry—as you can see, I’m made of fabric. Losing my arm didn’t hurt a bit!”

She holds out the arm towards me.

I can’t help it. I jerk back reflexively, but the arm touches my fingers before I can pull away.  The sensation is—

Odd. The arm is odd. It’s just…cotton. I can feel the cotton skin below my fingertips, just like normal fabric. And inside is…more cotton. It’s so clearly cotton.

But the detail! Someone has taken the time to create the inside of the human body in fabric form, albeit with a few liberties. Not every muscle is in the arm, but there are red sinews that look like pieces of colored yarn, yellow bone in the form of delicately woven stuffed cotton, and even red stitched into the interior of the arm to make it look like there’s blood inside.

I stare at the arm, and touch it gingerly. It’s just cotton. Plain cotton. Octavia grins.

“You see? Nothing special. But give me two seconds and…!”

She pushes the arm against her shoulder. It’s amazing, but for a second I can see into her body from the missing socket. There’s bone and flesh woven into Octavia’s frame. Garia shudders and looks away until Octavia begins threading that black stitching back together, literally sewing her arm into place.

“Hold on. It’s always hard to get the back stitches in right.”

And then the arm is suddenly flesh again, or close enough. It turns from mere fabric into what looks like skin, so seamlessly that only the black stitching around her shoulder stands out.

Octavia claps her hands together, a fleshy sound so real that I nearly jump. She grins at me and flexes her arm. The muscles ripple under the skin exactly like normal flesh.

“Good as new, you see? It’s inconvenient when the stitching gets loose, but I don’t have to worry about that most of the time. Plus, being fabric means I can adjust my body however I like. For instance, I bulked myself up a bit. Added a few more muscles so I could lift everything properly. It slows me down, but—hey!”

She takes the parchment and quill back from me. I’d completely forgotten I was holding it.

“I can see you’re a discerning customer. Okay, we’ll hold off on the stamina potions order until we’ve gotten to know each other better. But if you need a healing potion, mana potion, tonic for an ailment or anything else, come to me! Building connections is a basic skill for Runners, and as I level I’ll be sure to make you a priority customer. How about that?”

She just doesn’t quit. I blink at her, and shake my head.

“I’m not looking for a potion at the moment. If I am—I’m here to get an appraisal.”

Octavia instantly brightens.

“Well why didn’t you say so? I can identify almost any potion by sight alone. Give me just a few moments and I’ll have the location, brewer, and efficacy of your potion locked down. I can even—dead gods, what is that?”

Octavia breaks off, speechless for once, as she catches sight of the potion I’ve tucked into my belt. She’s past Garia and has the potion out in her hands before I can blink.

“Hey!”

She ignores me as she holds the shimmering orange and pink potion up to the light.

“Where did you get this?”

She ignores me as she paces around, and then swiftly moves to one of the tables full of alchemy equipment. She places the potion over an odd stone set in a box—and taps the thing. The stone sparks, and suddenly a blue flames bursts into life under the potion.

Is she trying to heat the potion? What will that do?

“Don’t do that—”

Octavia peers into the potion as, suddenly, the pink streamers of color thicken and darken to red and the orange fluid begins to glow even brighter. Garia gasps as the light from the potion begins to illuminate the shop. Octavia doesn’t even look back at us as she murmurs out loud.

“It’s beautiful. Whoever blended this used the highest-quality ingredients and heated the mixture perfectly. I can’t think of an [Alchemist] around here who could do that. Did it come from up north?”

“No. It’s a potion I received. I wanted to know exactly what it does. It’s supposed to make me faster—”

“It’s a potion of haste, or perhaps even a higher-level version.”

Octavia pulls the potion off the stand and the colors begin shifting back to normal. She gestures at it, so excited that I begin to get a sense for how much Teriarch paid me for that delivery.

“This potion—I haven’t seen anything so potent in my life! You could sell it for—I’ve got to study it! Who made it? Was it found in some ruins? How much do you want for it?”

“It’s not for sale. I just wanted to see how much it was worth and what it would do—I wanted to talk to an [Alchemist] about potions, not—”

Octavia isn’t listening. She’s already looking around, muttering about empty flasks and equipment. I reach for the potion and she turns back to me, a broad smile on her face.

“Okay, you give me a sample of that potion and I’ll answer any question you want. I’ll even throw in a potion or two of my own, free of charge!”

“No, I don’t want that.”

I reach for the potion, but Octavia takes a step back. She’s holding the potion like it’s the elixir of life.

“I could get you an excellent price for this on the market. Give me a bit to show around and I’ll have a figure for you by the end of the day. You’re looking at a hundred—no, at least two hundred gold coins at least.”

“No. I want my potion back.”

She doesn’t want to give it to me. Garia opens her mouth, and Octavia’s instantly next to her, slinging an arm around her shoulders.

“Your friend Garia bought some wonderful healing potions off me just last month! Tell you what, I’ll give you a 20—no, a 40% discount on potions at my shop and I’ll throw in a batch of samples as well for a bit of your potion.”

“Give me the potion.”

“How about twenty gold? I’ll give you that and the stamina potion for a sample. I’ll even toss in a few tonics I’ve made – highly saleable! Just give me five minutes an tiny bit of it to copy and—”

“Give me the potion or I’ll hurt you.”

2.09

When Erin woke up, it was so cold that it hurt.

She was inside her inn when she opened her eyes and nearly screamed from the sudden pain of the cold. Not buried under snow, although that was her first thought. No; she and Pisces had been rescued and the snow melted yesterday. But she was still cold. What had happened? She’d gone to sleep in her kitchen after the Frost Fairies and Pisces had left and—

Erin was freezing. She looked around stiffly, and realized the cold wasn’t coming from an evil Frost Faerie or anything like that. It was just cold. Really, really cold outside.

Normally, on a cold day when Erin didn’t have anything to do, she would just curl up inside her blankets or shuffle over to the thermostat to crank up the temperature until her parents yelled at her for wasting gas.

But that was a normal day back at home, in a modern house with solid walls and heating. She was in a different world here, with an inn whose walls were damaged from undead attacks and where the only source of heat was an unlit fireplace.

And however cold Michigan could get, however terrible the snowfall could sometimes be, it really had nothing on the winter the Frost Faeries had brought. Erin couldn’t ever remember being so cold, and she could hear blowing winds shrieking through holes in the inn’s walls, bringing freezing temperatures in from the cold night outside.

Possibly only the five blankets Erin had bought from Krshia had saved her from freezing as she slept. As it was, she woke up before dawn, shaking so badly she could barely move.

Erin wanted nothing more than to stay wrapped up forever, but parts of her brain told her that if she didn’t move about, she would be staying here forever.

So that was how Erin found herself crawling across the floor, swathed in countless blankets, fumbling around with flint and tinder and pieces of wood in the kitchen’s fireplace until something lit.

She managed to get the fire going after what seemed like an eternity, and only noticed she’d set part of her blankets on fire after they started smoking. That was how Erin started her day.

—-

Once Erin had warmed the kitchen enough so that she didn’t see her breath every time she exhaled, she curled up again and slept for a few minutes. Or possibly hours. She only got up to feed the fire more wood, and that was when she realized she was nearly out of firewood.

That was a problem, but in Erin’s frozen state she couldn’t help but add another log to the fire. She was cold. She’d deal with the problem when she woke up more.

Three hours later, Erin was more awake. She put some water in a kettle as she moved around with a blanket for warmth, and cooked herself some eggs and put it on toasted bread. She had to have hot food, hot drinks.

Hot water wasn’t exactly Erin’s ideal beverage, but it beat cold water and she was out of blue fruit juice. She was just lucky her bucket of water had thawed while she’d been asleep.

Life was more bearable with a hot breakfast in your stomach. Erin shuffled around and stared out at the frozen landscape. Somehow, she felt like she might actually not die of cold today.

It was also warmer. Erin wasn’t sure why, but the howling winds that had infiltrated her inn and frozen her to the bone had stopped. That was to say, she could still hear the wind blowing, but it didn’t seem to be entering her inn. Why? And for that matter, where was Toren? She’d called for him a few times to stoke the fire so she didn’t have to, but he never appeared.

The instant Erin stepped outside she found the answer to both her questions. She found a huge, white thing blocking her vision.

Let’s see. There was the snowy ground, there was the sky. And in between was a…wall? Yes, a wall. Made of snow.

It was a wall of compacted snow, which, in the rays of the sun, was slowly turning into ice as the snow melted and refroze. It was nearly ten feet tall, and Erin had no idea how it had got there.

The pieces fell into place as she saw Toren appear in her vision. Her skeleton was busy pushing snow with a piece of wood, clumsily scooping and packing the snow into part of the wall that ringed her inn.

Erin stared. And then she realized what had happened.

Sometime yesterday, while she’d been talking to Ryoka, she’d told Toren to clear away the snow outside of the inn. She hadn’t really meant for him to do it. It was just something to keep him occupied. He’d helped dig Erin and Pisces out of the inn and cleared it out, and then Erin had been too busy hiding in her inn and trying to get warm to remember him for the rest of the night.

So he’d been outside the entire time, shovelling snow. And somehow, over the course of that, he’d created this. A wall of snow that handily blocked the wind and also trapped Erin inside of her inn. By himself.

That was the thing. Tell a human to do something and they might do it, but they’d eventually get bored, or failing that, fall down dead at some point. But skeletons didn’t get bored. Or if they did, they kept it to themselves.

Erin had told Toren to clear away the snow around her inn. And he’d done that. All night long.

He’d fought the good fight and lost. Or rather, even though Toren had cleared a prodigious amount of snow away, more had taken its place. Erin stared at the huge ring of snow and glared at Toren.

“Hey! How am I supposed to get out?”

He looked at her and Erin could have sworn he blinked. At the very least the lights in his eyes dimmed for a second. Toren looked at the wall of snow and then back at Erin and shrugged.

Erin scowled, but her face wasn’t really in it. The wall certainly made things more bearable. She could hear the wind blowing, and even feel part of it as it came over the wall. But the snow was breaking the wind quite helpfully so she just pointed at the snow in front of her.

“Get rid of that. I need out.”

Toren nodded. He walked over to the area of wall and started kicking and pushing away snow. Erin went inside and boiled some more hot water to drink. It was good to have a skeleton, even if he didn’t really think that much.

—-

“Okay, here’s the plan.”

Toren looked at Erin expectantly as she shivered at him. She pointed in the direction of Liscor.

“I’m going to buy more stuff. Food. And I need to check on my friends. While I’m gone, I want you to find more firewood. Got it?”

The skeleton nodded, but hesitated. He looked around aimlessly. Erin realized he didn’t know where to find the firewood.

“I don’t know where any is. Go find some trees.”

He nodded and walked off. Erin watched Toren slowly trek down the side of the hill and wondered if that was alright. But if he could build a wall of snow, he could find some wood, right? Toren was helpful like that. Give him a task and he got it done.

Eventually.

And she had a goal as well. Get to the city. Erin took a deep breath and set out. Get to the city. It was probably warmer there.

Trekking through the snow was unbearably hard, especially because Erin didn’t have enough layers to keep the snow from soaking her pants. In the end, she wobbled through the southern gates of Liscor, nearly frozen from the knees down and fighting against the horrible, stinging pain of her half-frozen skin.

Tkrn the Gnoll was on duty at the gates. He said something as Erin stumbled past her, but she couldn’t really respond.

“Miss Erin. How are you d—”

“Colghd! No trk!”

He blinked at Erin as she moved past him. She ignored the Gnoll and moved at a rapid shuffle towards Market Street. Her only thought was to get to Krshia. Krshia knew about warm things. She had fur. Maybe Erin could hug her until she was warm?

The cruel pain of existence lasted for several more minutes after Erin was inside the city. It was even worse because everywhere she looked, Drakes were walking around bundled up and Gnolls were walking around still practically naked. But then Erin found Market Street, and the world became a small slice of heaven. Or hell. Hell was probably warmer.

They had braziers along Market Street, iron poles and basins holding burning coals that make the air warmer. Some shopkeepers were even cooking food over the coals and selling it to pedestrians.

Erin didn’t even bother to think twice. She smelled roasting meat in the air and she was in front of the Gnoll frying food in an instant. He blinked down at the shivering human as she raised a shaking finger and pointed at the food roasting on the grill.

“O-o-one m-meat thing please.”

It was just a cut of meat dripping with fat and juices. Erin burned her mouth on it and chewed at the gristle, savoring the heat. It was the best thing she’d ever eaten—today. Possibly this week. She was quite certain she’d eaten better things over the course of her life.

She wolfed it down, and then another. Only then did she remember to pay for the food. The Gnoll accepted the greasy bronze coins and nodded to Erin, bemused.

Krshia had been watching Erin’s after-breakfast snack. When Erin finally remembered to come over to her shop, the two talked for a short while. Even then, it wasn’t a productive conversation.

“You need winter clothing, yes?”

“Y-yes.”

“I have many furs and warm clothing. Do you prefer wool or something else?”

“Y-yes.”

Eventually Krshia just started picking out clothes for Erin. She shoved them in the young woman’s hands, told her to find somewhere to change and come back when she was warmer.

Erin took the advice, and that was how she ended up in the Adventurer’s Guild, changing her clothes and trying not to stare at a naked Drake as female adventurers changed out of armor.

“What are the adventurers doing all day?”

That was the first question Erin asked Selys once she finished changing out of her cold, wet clothing and into the warm winter clothes Krshia had given her. Selys wrinkled her nose and twitched her tail at a group of adventurers sitting at one of the tables. They stank.

“Rat infestation in the sewers.”

“Ew! But wait, why is that a job for adventurers? Isn’t that a job for an exterminator or something? Cats?”

“We don’t have many of those things in the city. Cats…Gnolls don’t like cats that much. Anyways, they tend to disappear when people get hungry in the winter.”

“Um—”

“Besides, these were giant rats. Nearly this high.”

Selys indicated a point just below Erin’s navel. The young woman gulped.

“Okay. Wow.”

“It’s not a threat the Watch wants to deal with, and it’s not that dangerous. Well—not dangerous enough to make any of the guardsmen wade in that muck. So they put out a contract. Hired the adventurers.”

Selys waved a hand at the unhappy group of warriors.

“It pays well, but no one’s happy about it.”

Erin didn’t even know that Liscor had sewers. She said as much to Selys.

“Oh, it’s just a place to put all the horrible stuff. We can’t just toss it outside the city, and all those people living together creates a lot of—”

Selys hesitated.

“—Stuff. So we dump it underground and let it flow away. The Antinium dug the tunnels, but they’re not obligated to clean it or get rid of the monsters.”

“I wish I had sewers. All I have is an outhouse and now that I’m out of acid, Toren’s going to have to start cleaning it by hand. Or shovel. I need to buy a shovel.”

“Yeah, I heard about your inn. It got covered in snow, right?”

“Who told you that?”

“Your mage friend.”

“Ceria?”

“No. The other one.”

“Pisces isn’t my friend.”

“Good!”

Erin laughed and Selys grinned. But then she made a face.

“He came into the city covered in snow. He tried to get me to let him stay in the guild until I chased him out. He kept saying there was an avalanche. In the middle of the plains?”

Erin’s happy expression changed into a scowl.

“There was. Thanks to those evil faeries.”

Selys looked puzzled.

“The what? Oh, you mean those things. The sprites. What happened?”

“I—”

Erin paused. She remembered that Pisces said no one could see or hear the faeries.

“I uh, made them mad somehow. And they caused an avalanche and nearly buried me in my inn!”

Selys looked sympathetic.

“Nasty. You should stay away from them.”

Erin groaned.

“That’s what people keep telling me. But they’re so pretty.”

“Pretty?”

“Um. Never mind.”

Selys shook her head at her strange friend.

“They don’t go indoors so you’re safe. Just try to avoid making them mad, okay? They don’t usually bother people unless you’re someone like Relc.”

“Why? What about Relc?”

“You don’t know? Every winter the sprites follow him around for a week and cause trouble. Snow falls off roofs, he slips on ice…one time a chimney broke and fell on his head!”

“Why? I mean, is it because of the faeries?”

“Yep. He hates them. Every time he sees them he throws stuff at them or tries to grab one. They always freeze his hands off, though.”

Erin frowned. The faeries were jerks, but Relc was huge.

“He should just leave them alone.”

“He did, but they keep bothering him either way.”

For a while the two kept talking about Relc and the various ways the faeries like to cause mischief. Erin got the impression the Frost Faeries were regarded as a force of nature, rather than actual creatures by the people of Liscor.

“They’re not a threat. Well, they can cause a lot of damage if you bother them, but they’re not worse than a flood or a lone Goblin. It’s rare to hear of someone getting attacked like you were. Besides Relc of course.”

Selys paused. It was a slow day at the guild, or all the adventurers were still fighting rats underground. She looked at Erin suddenly, and asked a question that had clearly been on her mind for a while.

“Erin. Is it true what people are saying? Has the King of Destruction really awoken?”

“What?”

“It’s just something I heard Krshia saying when she got back from the city. You know, after you rescued that Ceria and Olesm. She said the other human—”

“Ryoka.”

“—Yes, her. She said the other human said he was back.”

“That’s what I heard too. But I don’t know who that is.”

“Really? Erin…”

“I’m sorry! It’s just—”

Selys sighed exasperatedly.

“I know, I know. But you of all people should know him. He’s one of your kind, a human, I mean. And even we know of the King of Destruction.”

“He’s bad news, huh?”

Ryoka hadn’t said much about Flos to Erin, only that he was some king who ruled a huge amount of land before he disappeared suddenly.

“More than that, Erin. He conquered nearly all of Chandrar and his armies were crossing the sea and landing on our southern shores before he vanished.”

“Wow. That’s pretty scary. But…I mean, why is he so famous? He never got far into this continent, right?”

“It’s not that. It’s that he managed to cross the sea and bring an invasion all the way here!”

Erin waited, but that was it.

“Okay, so he got across the sea. So what?”

“Erin! Do you know how hard it is to cross the sea with an army? Wars on one continent are one thing, but someone actually being able to cross the thousands of miles to another continent is unheard of! I mean, no one’s ever done it and actually managed to get an army across in one piece!”

“But it’s only a sea, not an ocean, right?”

Selys looked at Erin blankly.

“Is there a difference?”

“I think so. A sea is like the water next to land, while the ocean is…not. Plus, oceans are bigger.”

“Okay. So it’s an ocean. The point is that he did it. And now he’s back!”

That did seem serious. Erin made all the appropriate noises of concern while a thought clanged around in her mind.

“So the King of Destruction might be coming here, and that’s bad.”

“Very bad. Although…”

Selys hesitated.

“I don’t know that the council will do anything about it. Or the army, really.”

“Why?”

“Well, he’s so far away. What would we do? All the kingdoms and lands he conquered don’t obey him anymore. Chandrar will probably join together to fight him, so we don’t have to do anything.”

“So there’s nothing really bad happening?”

“No. Yes! I don’t know, it’s just really big, that’s all.”

Erin nodded.

“I get it. Oh, and by the way, I got the [Warrior] class yesterday.”

“Really? That’s great news, Erin!”

Selys’s face lit up and she smiled at Erin, worries over a distant king forgotten.

“What level are you?”

“Just Level 2. But I was wondering why I got the class now. I mean, I’ve fought a lot of things before. Why did I get it for going into the ruins?”

Selys frowned and thought.

“This is the first time you went looking for a fight, wasn’t it? I mean, you went exploring before, but you never really went out knowing you were going to kill something.”

“That’s the difference?”

“It’s all about purpose. I mean, I cook food for myself but I still haven’t gotten the [Cook] class. But if I tried to make that my hobby or job, I’d probably get the class right away.”

“And you’re a [Warrior] now as well, aren’t you?”

Selys nodded proudly.

“Level 4.”

“Does that mean you’re going to buy a sword and start killing monsters?”

Erin couldn’t see her friend doing that, but she supposed anything was possible?

“What? No! It’s just nice having another class. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m not looking to become an adventurer or anything.”

Selys raised one hand and laughed.

“I had training with a sword when I was young, but I stopped. If I’d continued…maybe I’d be around Level 12 by now. But now…how many years would it take to reach Level 20? Probably at least a decade. Only someone like that Ceria has the time to level more than one class.”

“Really? That long?”

“Of course. I mean, if I were a soldier fighting on the front lines maybe it would only take a year or two, but I don’t fancy risking my life.”

That was odd. Erin was leveling up a lot faster than Selys was describing. Why was that? She started to ask Selys, and then remembered what Ryoka had said about discretion. She closed her mouth. Then she opened it again, deliberately.

“I got to Level 18 in my [Innkeeper] class after the undead attacked.”

Selys had been taking a sip from a glass of water she’d poured herself. Disappointingly, she didn’t spray it all over Erin, but she did choke and spill the water on the desk. Erin swept the paperwork and inkpot out of the way before they got drenched.

“What? Seriously, Erin?”

“Very seriously. Do you know why I’m leveling up so fast?”

Selys had to frown as she mopped distractedly at the spilled water with a cloth.

“It must be all the things you’ve done. I’ve never heard of an innkeeper fighting off an undead attack, or—or starting and running an inn by herself.”

“So it’s doing hard stuff that makes us level faster? Adversity?”

Selys had to raise her shoulders and tail helplessly.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry, Erin. I know how my class works. The more people I serve, the better a job I do at keeping people happy and sending adventurers on requests, the faster I’ll level. But this guild is so small I’ll never get past Level 20 before I retire. You’d have to ask other innkeepers how they level.”

“Oh. But I don’t know any other innkeepers.”

Erin saw Selys tap her lips with one claw. The Drake glanced around the mostly empty guild and then seemed to come to a decision. She nodded at Erin.

“My shift is over soon. If you want to wait with me until then, I’ll introduce you to a good one.”

—-

Erin walked with Selys down the streets of Liscor, staring around at the unfamiliar sights.

“That’s it. I have no idea where we are.”

She was in a different part of the city, where Drakes were the main foot traffic on the ground and the shops and buildings seemed to cater more to their kind. And she had no idea where she was.

“I never knew Liscor was so…so big! And I’ve never seen this place!”

Selys laughed at Erin for that.

“Erin! You never go anywhere except the Market district and to visit me!”

That was true. Erin blushed as she and Selys walked slowly through the streets, her friend pointing out places she liked to visit.

“It’s not that I don’t like new places, but the first time I came here…”

Erin remembered getting horribly lost and annoying everyone around her. She’d stepped into more than one building to be chased out when she realized it was someone else’s home. Besides, back then she’d felt definitely unwelcome.

But now with Selys at her side Erin felt comfortable, if not welcomed in this part of the city. Some Drakes knew Selys by name and no one was throwing stuff at Erin. It was a good start.

“So who are we visiting? And where are we going?”

Selys pointed down the street.

“We’re heading towards the north side. There’s a good inn there – the Tailless Thief. It’s the most famous—and expensive—inn in the city. The innkeeper’s the one I want you to meet, though.”

Erin felt at her belt pouch.

“I uh, didn’t bring that much money with me.”

“Oh don’t worry. I know the innkeeper we’re going to meet, and you’re new. We’ll get at least one free drink and probably a hot meal.”

“Really?”

“Sure. Peslas is generous. Just let me say hello first.”

Peslas turned out to be the biggest Drake Erin had ever met, with the possible exception of Relc. But where Relc had huge shoulders and massive arms, Peslas was just…huge.

He wasn’t fat. Not exactly. He had a huge belly and he was a big Drake. Some of the fat was actually muscle. Erin was pretty sure of that because when she first saw him, the Drake was hefting a huge keg of alcohol onto a counter by himself.

“Selys!”

The instant he saw the younger Drake, Peslas broke into a huge smile.

“Child, how have you been? It’s been months since I last saw you! Come here!”

Selys smiled politely at the large Drake and moved forwards so he could hug her with one huge arm. Peslas grinned at her as Selys introduced Erin, and then his smile faded a bit and was replaced by surprise.

“A Human? I heard there were still some in the city after the undead attacks but—wait, I know you! You’re that [Innkeeper] in the abandoned inn! Well, you know young Selys?”

“I brought her here to see your inn, Peslas. That’s if you’re not too busy?”

“Of course not. How could I turn away Isshia’s grandchild? And you, human.”

Erin stuck out her hand and received a crushing handshake. She didn’t wince though, and Peslas smiled toothily at her.

“Here to learn from the best, are you? I can’t say I blame you. Some parts of my inn are trade secrets of course. But then, we all start at the bottom so look away! I doubt you’d be able to copy any of it.”

With that, he called for a barmaid to seat Selys and Erin and in moments, they were seated and being served drinks and some crunchy meat pasties. And what Erin saw was an inn in motion.

Peslas’s inn was close to full despite it not even being midday. He had a range of customers, from old Drakes that Erin guessed were retired to younger Drakes who looked like affluent business owners. And of course there were the barmaids, all female, and all Drake.

In short, this was an inn for Drakes and run by Drakes. Erin saw not one Gnoll, and she realized she was getting a lot of casual glances. Selys covered for Erin though, chatting away and keeping their conversation light as Erin looked around.

So. This was a proper inn. Erin could see all the signs. No broken chairs, no holes in the walls or clumsily patched spots, and bright lamps and a bustling staff to boot. The mug she’d been given was filled with some kind of fruity, thick drink that was tasty as it was alcoholic. And the food was good, too! It was an inn without any flaws, fights, or skeletons.

And Peslas was at the center of it all.

The big Drake moved from table to table, not with the speed of someone serving drinks, but a lazy amble that took him to each customer, where he could chat, share a pint, and gossip. Occasionally Peslas would disappear into the kitchen and return with a plate or show someone to a seat – or lift a keg – but these were clearly all things he did as a favor to friends. He didn’t need to work.

What Peslas did do was interact with customers. He made sure they were served on time, listened to their worries and successes, and talk. His mouth never stopped moving.

“No. She left you? Even after you got her the ring?”

Erin saw Peslas sitting across from them two tables over, listening to a maroon-scaled Drake as he sniffled into his meal. Peslas was holding a tankard in his hands – the sixth Erin had seen him drink in the hour.

Apparently, from what Erin could gather, the Drake that Peslas was talking to had lost his girlfriend of several years right as he was about to propose. After the woebegone Drake had spilled out the story, the older Drake’s eyes were brimming with tears.

“You were always too good for her.”

Peslas wiped the tears from his eyes as he patted the younger Drake on the shoulder. He turned and shouted for a barmaid. She came over with two mugs and Peslas seized one.

“Everyone, a round is on me! Let’s all toast young Relss and drink to his luck in future loves!”

The inn cheered. Erin found another large drink heading her way and wondered how many times Peslas did this every week. Or every day. He was generous. Sometimes he insisted a meal was on the house if a customer had had a bad day, or he’d invite someone from off the street for a free drink.

“Can he afford all this?”

Erin whispered to Selys at one point when they were finishing their meals. Selys looked surprised, and then nodded.

“Oh yes. He’s quite wealthy, and his inn does a tremendous amount of business. All of his regulars come by often. Well, they’re all just as rich as he is.”

“And he’s the best innkeeper in the city?”

“The best innkeeper in a hundred miles, you can be sure!”

Peslas boomed from behind Erin and she nearly spilled her drink. He caught it, laughing as he seated himself at the table.

“I’ve heard there’s an innkeeper who’s nearing Level 50 in the Human city up north.”

“Which one?”

“Oh, the biggest one. What’s it called? First Landing. Yes, that’s the one. That’s the highest-level innkeeper on this continent, but then, most of the ones around my age are at least Level 20 or higher. Some are even Level 30, like me!”

He tapped his broad chest and laughed. Selys and Erin smiled at him, and Erin scooted back a bit so she wasn’t right next to the big Drake. He grinned toothily at her again.

“So? What do you think? Can your little inn take some of my better ideas?”

Peslas gave Erin a patronizing smile, but the human didn’t rise to the provocation. Erin nodded to herself as she looked around.

“I think so. I’ve figured out something, at least.”

“Oh?”

Peslas and Selys leaned forwards over the table, expectantly. Peslas’ eyes were dancing, but Erin didn’t pay him any mind. She gestured to one of the Drakes serving a table.

“I need a barmaid. Or a waitress. Or someone who can serve drinks and clean up while I cook.”

Both Drakes blinked. Erin went on.

“I’ve got Toren, but he’s not really the serving type. Plus, if I don’t have to cook I can do other things. Like not cook. So yeah, that’s my new goal. Get a barmaid.”

Peslas looked incredulous.

“You don’t even have a barmaid? Are you by yourself in your small inn, Human?”

“I’ve got a skeleton, but he’s busy finding firewood and getting water for me.”

For a second, Peslas stared at Erin and then he howled with laughter. Other customers looked around, already smiling for the joke as he slapped the table. When he’d stopped guffawing and entering into the wheezing stage, he looked up at Erin, wiping tears from his eyes.

“I like you. Yes, you’re nothing like the Human nuisance I heard about!”

“Oh?”

“I’d heard you were just a pest that went around causing trouble. But you’ve got spirit for a Human! I like that. A shame your inn will never be half the inn mine is.”

Curious, Erin leaned forwards slightly. The alcohol was good, but she wasn’t getting drunk thanks to her skill. Peslas looked slightly tipsy, though.

“Why’s that?”

Peslas flicked his fingers at the same time as his tail.

“Why else? Location, girl. I told the Human who used to own that inn the same thing, but he never listened.”

“There was a Human who ran Erin’s inn before her? I never knew that.”

Now Selys was part of the conversation. The Drake blinked down at her second tankard and then at Peslas. He nodded at her, smiling and waggling a claw.

“That was years ago. Back before the Necromancer—well, we got a lot more visitors from the south. People weren’t afraid to cross the Blood Fields back then, and there were more than a few villages. A small one grew up around that inn, thanks to the human who ran it. But it was all destroyed.”

“Why? What happened?”

For a moment Peslas’s broad face grew serious as he looked at Erin.

“The undead happened. They forced everyone to flee the area. When the human did come back, he never really got the inn running again. No one visited and one day he just stopped coming into the city. I warned him. The fool.”

Erin remembered the skeleton in the upstairs room. Peslas laughed, and she looked at him.

“I think he was brave.”

He shook his head at her, chuckling.

“Stupid, yes. Brave? Maybe, but bravery doesn’t sell drinks.”

“But he did his best. Anyways, he started his inn from scratch.”

“You need more than your best. You need something special. That’s what you need to learn, young—Erin, was it? You need a hook.”

Peslas gestured around his inn.

“My inn’s known for being the best around. Best service, best food—best beds and best drinks as well! What do you have to offer people to make them come all the way to visit you?”

Erin shrugged. She wasn’t sure she agreed with everything Peslas had said about his inn. It was good, but if it only served Drakes, how good could it be?

“I play chess. I’m not the best at it, but I’m pretty good.”

This time Peslas’s laughter echoed even to the furthest corners of the room.

“Chess! There’s something interesting! You play, do you? Would you wager on a game? A few gold coins? Silver? I’d bet two coins to your one. Whatever you like!”

Selys frowned at Peslas, but the larger Drake didn’t seem to notice. For Erin’s part, she remained calm.

“Oh, if you wanted to make a bet, I’d bet everything I had. Ten gold coins? Fifty? Your inn? Want to take me up on it?”

For a moment Peslas blinked. Selys cut in, smiling at the innkeeper.

“Haven’t you heard? Erin beat Olesm in a game of chess the first time she met him. She’s never lost a game to him, and he plays her almost every day.”

That caused a ripple among the Drakes who were listening to their conversation. But Peslas just laughed again, and waggled his tail in the air.

“Spirit! Humans are full of it. Just like I said to the last innkeeper. What was his name again…?”

He flicked his tail dismissively. Erin stared at Peslas, not smiling. He was rude, or maybe just drunk. She would have offered to play him a game anyways – perhaps with a handicap like being blindfolded – when she felt something touch her foot. Erin nearly freaked out until she realized it was Selys’ tail.

The young Drake smiled at Peslas as the larger Drake finished laughing again and making a joke to his friends about humans looking alike.

“It was nice to see you again, but Erin and I have to visit some of our friends. Thank you for letting us watch you at work though.”

“Of course. Give my regards to your grandmother, will you?”

Peslas got up and showed both Selys and Erin to the door. As Selys had said, he made no mention of the bill, but he did stop Erin at the door.

“My inn is always open to other [Innkeepers]. Come by if you’re ever bored and have a drink with me! But I think even your far-off inn will be getting business soon enough, Erin.”

“Oh? Really?”

He nodded sagely, tapping the side of his nose—or was it snout?—with a claw.

“My [Intuition] skill tells me that this is so. I’ve never known it to be wrong. Prepare your inn well, and perhaps you might level up a bit young Erin. Ah, well. Best of luck on your little endeavor!”

—-

They were several streets away from the inn when Erin finally decided to break the silence.

“Um, thanks for letting me visit the inn, Selys. It was really helpful.”

Selys looked at Erin out of the corner of her eyes and then burst out.

“You’re not mad? I’m so sorry about Peslas, Erin. I didn’t know he’d be so rude!”

“He wasn’t so bad. I’m sorry too—that I was rude to him at the end, I mean. I know he’s your friend.”

Selys made a face as they walked along.

“Erin, he’s not my friend. I barely know him. He’s an acquaintance of my grandmother, that’s all. I barely talk to him every other month. Besides, he married a girl who’s nearly as young as I am!”

Erin tried to imagine that and thankfully failed. Selys scowled as she walked along, her tail twitching in irritation.

“Anyways, he’s a jerk. I’m glad he hasn’t earned more than one or two levels even after his inn became the biggest in the city.”

“Really? But his inn’s so busy.”

“Yeah. Isn’t it strange? I guess there’s some other reason why he’s not leveling, but it doesn’t really matter. Peslas is rich, and that’s all he cares about. He doesn’t need any more levels.”

“I guess. It’s just that his inn was nice. I just thought it was odd he didn’t have any Gnoll customers.”

Selys hesitated.

“They don’t—come here that often. It’s not that he wouldn’t serve them, it’s just that they don’t ever really go outside their parts of the city.”

“I see.”

“Humans go wherever, but your kind don’t really live in the city.”

“Right.”

Erin was still thinking. She was thinking about her inn and she understood what Peslas had meant about location. She thought he was wrong, but she got it. She and Selys walked on again, out of the Drake residential district. At last, Selys broke the silence.

“Anyways, I’m sorry he was like that. He’s not rude to me. But you’re another [Innkeeper] and…Human.”

“It’s no problem.”

From there the conversation lightened. Erin and Selys were smiling again by the time they reached guard barracks.

It had been a huge surprise to Erin to learn that Liscor did not in fact have a hospital. Selys hadn’t even known what she’d meant when Erin described the building and its function.

In Liscor, people either healed up in their homes and hired a [Healer] to visit with herbs and potions, went out to get cured, or relied on organizations they belonged to. The Adventurer’s Guild had several beds for wounded or homeless warriors for instance, and the Watch had the same.

So that was where Erin and Selys found Ceria and Olesm, resting up in a secluded part of the building. The half-Elf and Drake weren’t strictly under guard, but neither were they free to run around. But they weren’t in trouble, either.

“We can’t really be blamed for the entire ordeal. The city knew we were going in, and besides, we lost almost everyone in the attack.”

Ceria explained the situation to Erin as she accepted a cut and peeled apple from the young woman. She was resting in one of the beds while the other three sat around her. Ceria was still quite thin and paler than normal, but Erin was happy to see she looked a lot better than she had.

“We fought, rather than just run away. That helps. And there’s also the fact that all the treasure—such as it is—was taken by the city. That’s enough of a fine.”

“And I told them that Ceria and the others shouldn’t be blamed.”

Olesm sat on the stool, nodding furiously as he crossed his arms. He was more active than Ceria, although he too looked thinner and paler than normal. He gestured in the direction of the rest of the building.

“I told Zevara that, and she was very understanding. I think the adventurers will be let off without any charges. But um, they might not get their equipment back.”

“As if we could use it. The few that survived are either still wounded or don’t ever want to pick up a sword again. I went to see Yvlon and she’s barely responsive. As for me—”

Ceria shifted in her seat, lifting her other hand as she chewed at the apple. Erin and Selys both froze up a bit as the yellow bone and blackened skin of Ceria’s spell-damaged arm appeared. The mage grinned crookedly.

“I’m not going adventuring anytime soon. My good hand’s ruined and even if I do decide to adventure, I have no wand or spell books. Rot, I don’t even have any gold to my name. I dropped it all in the Ruins.”

Erin exchanged a look with Selys. She looked at Ceria, trying not to make it seem like she was staring at the skeletal hand.

“But you’re okay? You’re feeling fine except for the…”

Ceria shook her head and gestured to the limp bones.

“I’ll be fine. My hand is a small price to pay for my life. If I could have traded it for the others—”

She broke off, and everyone was silent for a minute. Erin’s eyes still stung at the mention of the others. Gerial. Sostrom. Calruz.

Olesm was the first to break the silence. He gestured at his own bed, on the other side of the large room from Ceria. The Watch didn’t have enough rooms to give the two privacy. That had scandalized Selys until Ceria pointed out that she and Olesm had had plenty of time to get to know each other in less-hospitable beds.

“I can’t wait to get better. I’d leave right away, but Captain Zevara insists I take it easy.”

He grinned at Erin.

“Then maybe I can visit your inn and play a few games of chess with you. We could play now, if you’d like…?”

Erin ignored the hopeful look in the Drake’s eye and shook her head.

“That would be nice, but I need a better hook.”

“A what?”

Selys frowned at her friend.

“Oh come on, Erin. You can’t listen to what Peslas said.”

“But he’s right. Chess doesn’t earn money, especially because none of the Workers are coming back to the inn. Not that there’s…many…left.”

Another silence fell over the small group. At last, Ceria cleared her throat.

“Well, I’m certain the lovely Watch Captain will kick me out of here sooner or later. When that time comes I’ll probably be looking for a place to stay. Erin, would you mind if I went to your inn? I don’t have any coin, but I’ll pay you back as soon as I earn some.”

“What? No!”

Olesm and Selys’ tails froze up as Erin looked indignant.

“I’m not going to ask you to pay. You can stay in my inn for free! As long as you like!”

Ceria smiled and shook her head at Erin.

“That’s very kind, but I know you’re in need of money too. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“No, I insist. You’re Ryoka’s friend too, and I’m sure she’d want that. Besides, you can earn your keep! Can you cook?”

“Nothing you’d like and not with the ingredients from around here, I’m afraid.”

“Well—well, that’s fine. You can do magic. I’m sure I could find a job for you that would really help. Yeah. I could…hire you as a barmaid?”

“Not a good idea. I’m not the bar-serving type and I don’t do well with…males. Besides, what could a one-handed barmaid do?”

“Well, either way, I’ll let you stay as long as you like. Money doesn’t matter more than friends, after all.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

—-

Selys and Erin spent another hour talking lightly to Olesm and Ceria, and Erin even played one game with Olesm, winning handily, before they left. The last stop Erin knew she had to make was back to Krshia. To pay for the clothes, for one thing.

But she had an unpleasant surprise when she visited the Gnoll. Krshia still had everything Erin need in stock, but the Gnoll told Erin it would cost half against as much as it had last time Erin had visited.

“Food is far more expensive now. I will give you my best, but it will cost much more. And I cannot deliver it anymore. I am sorry.”

“What? Why?”

“My Street Runner, he is busy, yes?”

Krshia explained as she began packing items into a bag for Erin to carry.

“My Runner, he does many deliveries in the city now and elsewhere. Many were hurt and killed when the undead attacked. He has much to do and cannot make the trip through the snow to your inn. Not without charging more money.”

Selys nodded.

“Normally we’d be finished preparing for winter by now, but what with the attack and repairs, we’re shorttailed. Besides, winter never comes when you’re expecting it. Everyone’s really busy.”

Well, that meant Erin had to carry her goods from now on. She looked glumly at the massive shopping bag Krshia was preparing and imagined a trip back through the snow.

“Well, if that’s how it’s gotta be…”

“Mm. Again I am sorry. But do you have anything else to add?”

Erin blinked. She suddenly remembered one of the things she’d planned to get while in the city.

“Oh yeah. I’m looking for some special stuff while I’m here. Ground beef! I want a lot of it, and some cheese. Ooh, and some mustard! And bread. I need sliced bread, or buns. That’s even better. And tomatoes, vinegar, and um, eggs. I’ll take a lemon or two as well if you’ve got any.”

Krshia didn’t have any lemons, but she did have everything else. It was expensive—but the Gnoll told Erin she was lucky that the winter had just started.

“By the end of the season, such things will be too expensive for you and me, yes?”

“I’m just glad I still have money to pay for it. Business is slow and I need to make something amazing!”

Erin nodded to herself as Krshia finished packing the last of her additions into her bag. Erin reached for one strap, hefted the bag—

And felt all her confidence drain away.

“Hey! This is really heavy!”

“I am sorry, but you ordered much. Perhaps you should leave some and make two trips?”

Erin tried to imagine going back and forth twice in the snow and shuddered.

“I really don’t like that idea. Isn’t there another way? A sled, maybe?”

“Hey, I’ll carry it if it means I get fed.”

Erin turned. Relc was standing behind her, smiling down at her. And by his side was a familiar face, but one Erin wasn’t used to seeing again.

“Klbkch! Relc! What are you two doing?”

“Guarding, mostly. But we came by to see you. I’ve got a message for you, and Klb is just bored.”

The Antinium nodded politely to Selys and Krshia before turning to Erin.

“Good evening, Erin. I hope you are recovered from events a few days ago?”

“What? Oh yeah, I am. You’re okay, right Klbkch? Gazi cut you up bad.”

“I have fully recovered, thank you.”

“And me! I’m better too, thanks for asking!”

Relc interjected, puffing out his chest and showing Erin and the others a few new scars on his chest and arms. He looked at Selys as he smoothed the spines on his neck, but she only sighed and rolled her eyes.

It was good to see both were well, even if it was odd to see Relc so friendly. Erin remembered how he’d been before Klbkch had returned, but she put it out of her mind.

“So you can carry my stuff?”

“This? Of course. I carried stuff twice as heavy every day when I was a soldier.”

Relc grinned at Erin and flicked Krshia’s bag dismissively. The Gnoll sniffed at Relc as Klbkch addressed Erin.

“We would like to visit your inn tonight, Erin. If that is not an imposition?”

“What? No! Come on, by all means! I’ll cook up a feast!”

Erin smiled happily at the two guardsmen. For once, it seemed like everything was back to normal in a good way. Relc was ebullient as he seized Erin’s shopping bag.

“Great! I want a lot of food tonight! You can take the cost of me hauling this to your inn out of my tab, okay?”

Klbkch’s elbow shot out and rammed Relc in the side. The Drake yelped and glared at his friend.

“I was just joking.”

“No. You weren’t.”

“Ants. This is why…”

Relc grumbled as he lifted the pack with ease. He looked around for support and found none. He scratched at the spines on his head, muttered under his breath, and then looked at Erin.

“Oh, hey. Your inn exploded by the way.”

Everyone stared at him. Relc looked at Klbkch, and then at Erin.

“What? Didn’t I say that earlier?”

2.10 T

“…know that I am the truth. Hear my words…obey…! Rise once more, from the darkness…!”

Even now Toren heard the voice in the silence. But he’d forgotten the words. They called to him in the darkness of his soul, pulling him towards the south. But his feet could not move, and though he looked towards the horizon, he could not go.

But he still heard the call vibrating in his soul. It was one of three things he remembered.

Toren was a Level 11 [Skeleton Warrior]. That was his purpose, his name and sense of being. That wasn’t one of the three things he remembered, though. It was just who he was. That was what the voice in his head told him.

The other voice in his head. Toren had many voices that told him things. Sometimes the skeleton had a hard time figuring out which ones were real. But he was getting better at listening.

He could listen and follow orders. Of all the things Toren knew, he knew he was good at that. He had orders, so he followed them. That was simple. Sometimes the orders weren’t.

Today the young woman in front of him had an extra snap in her voice as she shouted at him. That usually meant she was upset. Why was she upset? Usually when she was upset, it was because Toren had made a mistake.

But Toren was sure he’d done everything right this time. All night long he’d been pushing snow together like Erin had told him. He’d made a very tall wall, and that was good, wasn’t it? There wasn’t anything Erin could find wrong with his wall.

“Hey! How am I supposed to get out?”

Toren paused. Then he turned his head 180° and stared at the wall.

Oh.

Erin glared at him and told him to clear a hole. Toren did just that as she stomped back inside and slammed the door.

It was one of the things he’d learned. Somehow, despite all he did, he kept making mistakes. Erin would tell him to do something simple, like collect water. But then she’d say something like—

“Don’t bring back fish in the bucket! How did you think that was a good idea? How—how did you even fit one in there?”

It was a mystery. Not the fish; anything could be squished into a smaller thing with enough time. But Toren had been created to serve Erin and it distressed him that he never seemed to do his job right.

He was a skeleton. He was bound to serve. This he knew. It was one of the three things Toren remembered. Even when he was being smashed into the ground by a mace or something was trying to break his skull in two, he remembered.

He remembered being made.

—-

Sight. That was the first thing that Toren remembered. Only it wasn’t sight, not quite. He didn’t see because he had no eyes. But he was aware of the world nonetheless, in ways that could only be described as sight by primitive language. He could sense colors, shapes, and movement.

Not well. Toren had seen birds and other things which could see farther than he could. If he looked too far in one direction he couldn’t make out details. But he could see, and the first thing he’d seen was a dancing mage.

At the time Toren hadn’t known it was dancing. Understanding, like everything else, had come in the rush of magic as it continued to build him. Basic concepts like sword fighting, gravity, general anatomy, and the idea of nudity were imparted to Toren, although admittedly he was a bit hazy on that last bit. It was important not to stare at Erin when she had less clothing, that was all he knew.

But the dancing mage. Toren remembered his bones rising together to form his mortal frame, and the disheveled mage dancing around in front of him. Perhaps it was dancing. It looked more like wild waving of arms and legs and incoherent laughing and crying. Which was close to dancing?

Pisces. That was the name of his creator. Toren only remembered because sometimes his orders pertained to Pisces. Orders like ‘don’t let him steal any food from the kitchen’, or ‘poke him with a sword’. Although when he tried to poke Pisces with a sword, this too was apparently a mistake.

But the mage had laughed and danced and cried as he pointed at Toren, as the skeleton was first being created. Toren remembered the words.

“I did it! I finally succeeded! The first! The very first!”

It wasn’t very coherent speech, but Toren remembered the mage had been happy. Because of him. It mattered little, but then had come the words.

“Hm. Ah, oh. Let’s see. Uh, that’s right. You were…I suppose I must use you in less-optimal tasks. Well then. Hear and know your purpose: you are to guard and serve the individual known as Erin Solstice. Protect her. Obey her words.”

The words had struck Toren like thunder and lighting, echoing around in his soul. They etched themselves into the core of his very being, words that would never fade. The first and last command.

Even now, as Toren shoveled wet, hard snow away from his wall he remembered.

“Protect Erin Solstice. Obey her. Be used in less-optimal tasks.”

They were the words that shaped his existence. One of the three things he remembered.

After that Pisces had gone back to the laughing and talking to himself. Toren forgot most of the rest. At some point the mage had come back and spoken at length. He’d used many complex words. Word like ‘render unto me total obedience’ and ‘forsoever work to advance the cause of my designs’, and so on. But that was after the words of binding, the words of creation. So they didn’t count.

The snow was hard to separate with mere fingers, so Toren picked up the piece of wood he’d used as a shovel and began to send snow flying into the air. In truth, he didn’t mind Erin’s new orders. He’d built a wall, and now he was getting rid of part of it.

A human or other sentient being might have objected to the wasted effort. But Toren didn’t have anything better to do, and he never got bored. He had a job and he did it. And he didn’t get cold or uncomfortable. He never got back problems from twisting around or bending over constantly like Erin complained about.

There. The snow was cleared away, enough to let a human pass through. Toren stared in satisfaction at the breach, and then wondered what he should do next. Make a bigger hole? Or clear more snow? It was hard, but he had to obey. Toren always obeyed.

—-

Erin came back later to give Toren instructions. By that time he’d managed to add nearly another foot to the height of his wall, an accomplishment he felt vaguely proud of, but which she didn’t comment on.

“Okay, here’s the plan.”

Toren looked at Erin expectantly as she shivered at him. She pointed in the direction of Liscor.

“I’m going to buy more stuff. Food. And I need to check on my friends. While I’m gone, I want you to find more firewood. Got it?”

Toren knew that meant Erin was going to Liscor. He’d never been to Liscor. Erin had told him many times he wasn’t allowed to go near the city in case he scared someone. But it bothered him when she went, because he had to protect her.

But she gave him orders, so he had to obey. The only problem was that while Toren understood firewood as a general concept, he had no idea where firewood might be found. Normally Erin burned broken chairs and tables. Did she mean that?

Erin frowned at Toren as he looked around, hoping there would be some handy broken tables nearby for him to use.

“I don’t know where any is. Go find some trees.”

Trees? Firewood could come from trees. It was a good order. Toren nodded and Erin eyed him suspiciously for a second before she turned and left. That was almost hurtful, if Toren had any emotions to hurt. He could be relied on. He would find a tree and obtain firewood.

Somehow.

—-

Toren was beginning to understand feelings. Or maybe it was that he was beginning to think of thoughts. He hadn’t before. Toren remembered a time before he’d been able to think about himself. Then he’d only obeyed orders as a dumb thing, mechanically. But ever since leveling up from fighting, and especially after the battle with Skinner, Toren had begun thinking more and more about complex things.

Things like – if Erin told him to gather fruits, did she mean rotting fruits lying on the ground with worms and bugs crawling over them? If Erin was screaming and telling him to get rid of a bug, did that means squash it, stab it, or take it outside? How many ways could he stab Pisces? Which ways would make the mage die faster?

It wasn’t that Toren had any particular animosity towards his creator. But one of his tasks was to protect Erin. Therefore, if Pisces ever attacked, Toren would have to be able to kill him. This all made perfect sense.

The winter landscape was full of snow. So much snow! Toren had never seen snow, and he was unaccustomed to moving in it. It was unfortunate how slow it made him move. He’d take two steps, fall in a snow drift, and spend precious minutes digging himself back up.

That was inconvenient, but fine. But Toren was also distracted by the dancing blue shapes circling overhead. They were…hard to see, and harder still to hear, but Toren could understand every language, and the language of the faeries was somewhat comprehensible to him. They laughed and followed his slow progress from overhead.

“Hark! Look sisters, the bag of bones is going to find the frail human some fire!”

“Does the stupid thing not know it has no axe? No axe nor sword.”

“How will it cut down a tree? With its teeth?”

Toren paused. He looked down at his empty hands. He’d forgotten his sword. Well. It wasn’t his sword because Erin wouldn’t let him wear it all the time. But it was a good point. He needed something to cut with.

Immediately, Toren turned around and began to walk back to the inn as the Frost Faeries circled around overhead.

“The stupid thing hears us! Hah!”

On his way back to the inn the faeries dumped snow on him twice, and then sent a gust of wind that blew him down a hill. But they got bored and left quickly because Toren only got back on his feet and kept walking. He wasn’t sure if they were enemies, but the Frost Faeries were too high up and he didn’t have a bow or arrows.

—-

The first trees Toren found were the blue fruit trees in the small orchard Erin had discovered long ago. The gray bark of the trees was the only thing that stood out against the white backdrop. All of the strange green leaves had fallen into the snow, as had the blue fruits. Only the trees remained; somber sentinels.

Toren raised the sword he’d taken from an adventurer long ago and wondered whether there was such a thing as a good tree for firewood. And how many should he cut down?

He decided all of them was a good start, and began with the tree closest to him. Toren raised his sword and took aim at the tree’s trunk. He’d gained a few skills from leveling up to Level 11. [Lesser Strength] was one of them. Now the sword wasn’t nearly so heavy in his hands, and Toren even felt like he might be able to decapitate an enemy in three cuts.

The skeleton raised the sword and brought it down and across in a mighty blow. The iron sword crashed into the bark of the tree—

And bounced off.

The impact nearly jarred the weapon from Toren’s hands. He lost his balance and then raised his sword again. He sliced at the tree, and his blade seemed to just bounce off the grey wood.

Toren didn’t frown. He didn’t bother to hesitate. He raised his sword and began hacking at the wood. After a while he switched sides because the sword blade was getting dull. In the end he dropped the sword and began kicking at the tree.

After about an hour, Toren had to admit that he wasn’t making much progress. The bark of the tree he’d attacked was barely scarred from his efforts, and his sword was dull and the handle was slightly bent. This tree wasn’t going to be so easily felled.

Toren paused, the snowflakes flurrying around his head. Some flew into his burning eyes and melted. The water ran out of Toren’s jaws.

Find firewood. That was what Erin had said. She told him to go find trees for firewood, otherwise he would have just cut up parts of the inn. But here were trees that he couldn’t cut. That was a problem.

Unless…maybe, just maybe these weren’t the trees Erin wanted. Aha! See, now that was the kind of advanced thinking that separated Toren from other skeletons.

Toren left the blue fruit orchard, congratulating himself on this newfound revelation as he walked through the snow. He wasn’t like other undead. He knew that from experience.

When the undead had attacked Liscor, Toren had been quite worried. He’d been worried Erin was going to replace him with a ghoul, or maybe a zombie or another skeleton. He’d been quite relieved when it turned out they were all trying to kill her.

But then, they’d all been obeying the creature known as Skinner. Toren had heard the commands from the giant worm-creature, felt the minds of the Crypt Lords trying to control him. But he was unique, in a way that allowed him to ignore their orders.

Unique. It was a good thing to be, Toren felt. He could do things other skeletons could not. For instance, when he fought, sometimes he got smashed, or his bones were scattered. But unlike the other skeletons, no matter how badly Toren got hurt, he could always get back up.

It was due to magic, and the mana that Erin was supplying him. Toren had a limit to the mana he could contain, but it was that force, that power inside him that brought his bones together or healed fractures. If he ran out, Toren might well die for good like his skeleton counterparts.

That was a concern that Toren thought about as he slipped into a hole full of angry spiders and got caught in their webs. They bit him constantly, hard enough to fracture his bones.

Now, breaks weren’t too bad. As long as the bone wasn’t shattered or scattered far away, the mana required to repair his frame wasn’t too high. Which was good, because Erin didn’t provide him with much mana.

Toren was no mage. But he understood Erin was generating some mana by living, and it went directly to him thanks to Pisces. But that amount was terribly, terribly low. Toren could vaguely sense the magic of others, and Ryoka, the other human who he wasn’t allowed to kill, had four times as much magic in her than Erin.

If she supplied Toren with mana, he’d probably have more energy to do…everything. As it was, he struggled hard and the Shield Spiders bit him until they realized there was nothing to really bite. They untangled him from their webs rather than let him stay and he left the hidden pit trap. He wasn’t sure he could hurt the Shield Spiders with his dull sword, and there were nearly forty big ones in the nest.

Toren continued on his way. He was looking for trees. Yes, things would be so much easier if he had a different supplier of mana. Ryoka, for all that she had more magic in her than Erin, was a candle compared to the bonfires that were Pisces and Ceria. Either one could sustain at least ten Torens quite easily. But Erin was Toren’s source of energy, and that was that.

—-

Toren wasn’t sure how far he’d walked when he first saw the clump of trees in the distance. They appeared as he crested the hill, a blob of brown in the snow. He went towards them swiftly, and saw it was a small forest! Of trees!

True, the trees did seem somewhat odd. Several of them were missing their bark entirely, and Toren wasn’t sure why. His general assumption was that something had eaten the bark. Toren didn’t really care. Trees were wood, and wood was what he needed. If he wanted to think about something—

Well, he tried not to think about anything except what needed doing. Unnecessary thoughts weren’t useful.

It was hard work, cutting through a tree with a dull sword blade. But while it was hard, it wasn’t impossible like the other trees had been.

Toren eventually managed to fell the tree, and even slice off a large bit through sheer dint of repetitive hacking with his sword. In truth it was his enhanced strength that did most of the work; by the time he’d finished cutting a slice of the tree away the sword he was using was well and truly useless.

The skeleton left it behind in the forest. He’d come back later if he needed it, and besides, he needed both hands to drag the large section of tree he’d cut away.

It was slow going, dragging a huge, heavy piece of wood through the snow. More than once Toren slipped while pushing his burden up a hill, and it would roll down right over him as he struggled to get up.

Yes, the journey was filled with struggles. Toren disturbed Shield Spider nests, suffered Faeries dropping snow on his head, and disappointed a bear who only knocked him sprawling once when she realized he wasn’t edible.

He pushed onwards, carrying the piece of tree, watching as a herd of hairy boars followed a Gnoll through the snow, and seeing far in the distance, the giant golems made of snow slowly forming and coming to life as he once had. He would complete his task. He would do it well. That was what Toren knew he had to do.

And at last, he was there.

Toren pushed the part of the tree trunk up next to the inn and wondered whether he’d be able to get another part back before Erin returned. Possibly, if he wasn’t attacked on the way.

But then Toren had a thought. He had wood. Perhaps it was firewood, but who could really tell? Was all wood the same? What if he had…not firewood?

He had to know. Toren found another a hatchet among the weapons he’d collected. He wasn’t sure it would cut better than a sword, but it might do. He began hacking apart the huge piece of tree he’d collected.

How odd! The bark on this tree was quite thick, and it actually came off quite easily. Toren managed to cut a nice big chunk out of the tree and carried it into the inn. He dumped it in the fireplace and looked around. Erin had shown him very carefully how to start fires and keep it going. He just needed the flint and tinder, and perhaps a coal if the kitchen fire was still warm.

It was not, but Toren still managed to get a small blaze going quite quickly. A few wood shavings here, and the flames caught and began eating away at the wood.

And it was firewood! Toren was happy, insofar as he could be happy. Satisfied was probably a better word. He had fire. And the wood was burning brightly, too! Toren gazed at the burning wood and then noticed something odd.

The bark was reacting to the heat. As the temperature rose from frozen to not-so-frozen, the wood and bark seemed to twist a bit, as if alive. Toren tilted his head slightly. Was this a bad thing? He’d never seen it happen with the other wood he’d burned.

Maybe it just needed to be hotter. Toren found the fireplace poker and poked the wood a few times. The bark-covered wood seemed to flex as the flames grew in the fireplace—

—-

Toren woke up later. He wasn’t sure when later was; only that was he was in pieces. The feeling wasn’t unfamiliar to him, though. He felt his head rolling back towards the rest of his body, and then his other bones joined him.

One, two, three…Toren lost count after a hundred and fifty. He had a lot of bones. Some were human, but others were Drake and Gnoll. He didn’t mind that; his ribcage was stronger than a normal Human’s, and he had thicker bones that helped withstand damage.

Most of the time, that was.

When Toren was fully reassembled he finally had time to wonder what had happened. What had happened? He’d been watching the firewood in the fire, and then—

“You blew it up!”

Toren looked around. There was Erin! She was back! She could see he’d found firewood and—

Only now did Toren realize that something was wrong. Something was horribly, terribly wrong. It was a hard thing to notice at first. Here was the inn, and here was the outside. Normally these two things were totally fine, almost mundane. But Toren was quite sure that the outside shouldn’t be connected to the inn so…intimately.

Cold, biting winds howled into the massive gaping hole in the front part of The Wandering Inn. Toren stared into the gaping mess of destroyed furniture and upturned foundations and felt uneasy. That wasn’t right.

Something was horribly wrong.

Erin Solstice stared at her destroyed inn, at a loss for words. Toren watched her, anxiously. Did she know what had happened? She was just staring at the devastation. Did she want him to clean it up? Was it his fault?

“How did—I just—I told you to get firewood. How did this happen? I mean, it’s just firewood. How could you—”

Erin looked around and caught sight of the bit of tree Toren had brought with him. She turned pale.

“Oh my god. The boom trees. You cut one of them down? They explode! How did you not notice that?”

Oh. Toren didn’t understand exactly, but he put the pieces together. An exploding tree? It hadn’t done anything when he approached, but the [Tactician] inside him told him it probably had to do with the temperature. When it warmed up was when it exploded.

If he’d thought more about the oddness of the trees, maybe Toren would have realized that. So. Not all unnecessary thoughts were unnecessary. It was better to think more. An important lesson. Toren knew that was the case, but right now all he felt was…guilty.

Erin glared down at Toren.

“I—do you have any idea how much it’s going to cost to repair all this? In the winter?”

Toren did not know. All he knew was that Erin was angry. Angrier than when he accidentally started tearing floorboards up for a fire. Angrier than when he kept adding salt to soup because she’d never said when to stop. Even angrier than when she said ‘give me a hand’ and he did.

She was really angry.

Toren was ready. He knew what happened when he made a mistake. Erin would shout at him or throw things, or tell him she hated him. But she didn’t do it this time.

The young woman dressed in thick winter clothing stared at her destroyed inn and slowly sank down and sat on the ground. She sat in the snow, despite Toren’s understanding that she didn’t like cold things. She bowed her head and when she spoke, her voice was thick.

“Go away, Toren.”

Toren hesitated. He’d never heard an order like that before. He’d never…never heard Erin speaking like that, either. He stared at her face. Wetness was rolling down her cheeks and freezing in the wind. Tears?

Tears.

The sight paralyzed Toren. But the words stuck in him. Go away. Go? Go where?

Erin didn’t look at him. She just pointed behind her.

“Go away. Just—just go away.”

Toren didn’t want to go. For once, he didn’t want to obey. But his feet marched him around and took him away. The skeleton slowly began walking as inside of him—

She was crying. That was what was called. Crying. She was upset; sad; dismal; heartbroken; sorrowful; blue. Toren understood the words thanks to the magic that give him understanding. He knew the words, but he’d never known what they meant.

Until now.

Toren walked down the hill slowly, head bowed. The Drake named Relc and the Antinium named Klbkch walked past him, ignoring Toren. The half-Elf, and two Drakes followed, all ignoring Toren, although the female Drake did stare at him and flinch away.

He took no notice. Toren walked on, unseeing, ignoring the slippery ground beneath him. He just walked away. Thinking.

He’d made another mistake. A terrible one. This wasn’t like his other mistakes. This time he’d destroyed part of the inn. He’d destroyed something important.

He—

Had made Erin cry.

Was it a bad thing? It wasn’t part of his orders. He was just supposed to obey Erin. Obey and protect and do non-optimal things. Nothing in his instructions mentioned making her happy or sad. So it didn’t matter.

That was what Toren thought, and he tried thinking that thought quite hard. But it didn’t help. The sight and memory of Erin crying disturbed him in a way he couldn’t explain. It was…

It was wrong. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t how things should have been.

Toren remembered the firewood. He’d found the trees. He’d cut the wood, and dragged it back to the inn. He’d done everything perfectly. If only he’d waited. If only he hadn’t tried to set it on fire.

If—

Toren stumbled and fell. He looked around. Where was he? White snow all around him, rolling hills and valleys around. Somewhere in the plains. He was lost. But that didn’t matter—he could always find Erin again. He was tethered to her.

But she didn’t want him. She’d told him to ‘go away’.

For how long? Forever? Toren didn’t want to go. But he had to. Those were the orders. They were one of the three things he remembered.

The voice called to him. South. He remembered the words.

“Rise once more, from the darkness. Come to me, my eternal army. Gather and know your time of return is at hand.”

It had spoken to him after Skinner died. He remembered it, a voice in his head. It had called the others, all the other undead. They’d left at the command, carrying the magical swords and shields and strange objects glowing with power out of the ruins. South.

Should Toren go south? The voice wasn’t his master. But it still called to him, one of the things he could never forget. It was tempting. So tempting. Erin didn’t want him. If she didn’t want him, he should go. He only made her sad and angry.

It was a thought that only came to him in the darkest hours of the night, when there wasn’t anything left to do.

Why was he doing any of this? Why should he obey the words in his head? They were just words. Why should they bind him?

The voice called to him. He should go.

Toren began walking south, away from the inn, away from Erin. To the voice. The voice would give him purpose, he was sure. But he stopped.

It was just—

Toren was a Level 11 [Skeleton Warrior]. That was what the voice in his head told him. But he never bothered to remember that. It wasn’t important. There were only three things Toren remembered. One was the orders that bound him to this world. The second was the voice which whispered to him, which spoke to an entire continent and called the dead.

The third was the music.

He heard it in the silence of his mind. It came to him even when no one was speaking, when Erin was angry or Toren was fighting. It wasn’t something Toren could control.

Time and again he’d tried to stop the sound. He’d hurled himself off the roof of the inn, stuck his head underwater to let fish bite at his head. He’d hit himself again and again, but the music always played on.

A faint strumming was how it started. A strange sound Toren had never heard before; a rhythmic strumming. And then a man’s voice.

When Erin had sung it, it had been her voice. But Toren had heard another voice, and it was in his head now.

A gentle croon, growing louder. And then the words.

“Somewhere, over the rainbow. Way up high…”

They echoed in his soul. A voice sung to Toren, telling him about a place beyond the rainbow. A place…where dreams could come true.

“How to be brave. How can I love when I’m afraid?”

Piano. Violins. Things Toren didn’t have words for because he’d never heard them before. But the music caught him and held him. He could never forget.

“I have loved you for a thousand years.”

Toren stopped. He stared to the south, towards the voice. But the music was louder. It touched him, and something in Toren was there to listen. Something beyond mere bones and magic.

He did not know its name. But it terrified him. But it made him rejoice. It was what he had that none of the undead had. It was his, and he could never forget it.

And it was a picture, a song, a moment. A young woman sitting in her inn, singing alone and surrounded by people. Singing with one voice that carried a song from another world on her lips.

“I don’t know why you hurt inside or what was said to make you cry…”

Toren clutched at his head. His jaws opened and he howled wordlessly. The music was in him. He could never forget.

Never.

Erin smiled at him as he held out a basket of blue fruit.

“Thanks, Toren. I guess you’re pretty useful after all, huh?”

She slapped him on the back as Toren contemplated his next move in the odd game of chess.

“Don’t think. Just go for it! I mean, think, and go for it. You can do it, okay?”

He rushed to Erin’s side, sword drawn as she screamed and cried out. She shouted a name in the night.

“Mom! Dad—!”

She wept and he stood guard over her until she stopped crying.

“Thank you, Toren.”

“Thanks, Toren.”

“Good job, Tor.”

Toren stood up. He shook. The voice still called to him from the south, full of power, echoing in the very fabric of his being. But it was a weak thing. Quiet. It couldn’t control him. Only Toren could control himself.

And right now he had his orders.

Go away. Just go away. But Toren remembered orders before that.

“I’m going to visit some friends. Don’t follow me into the city. Wait around the inn until I’m gone. Do something useful. I’ll be back before nightfall.”

He remembered every order Erin had ever given him. And she said that to him. Once. Long ago. But it still counted.

Do something productive. Do something useful. Toren remembered grabbing a fish out of the water and hacking it apart. Erin hadn’t been happy—but she’d said he did a good job in the end.

He wasn’t useful. He was worthless. He made the inn explode and that was bad. He couldn’t fight the adventurer with one eye and he couldn’t kill many things.

He needed to be more useful. He needed to be…stronger.

Yes, strong. Harder. Better. Faster. He wasn’t sure how he could make his bones stronger, but perhaps he could wear armor? That would make him slower, not faster, but better was more important.

He had to be better. Level up. But how? Fight things? He wasn’t allowed to kill Humans or Drakes or Gnolls or Goblins or Antinium or…a lot of things. What about Shield Spiders? What about Frost Faeries? What about the shadowy human that kept following Ryoka around?

Toren didn’t know. He had no idea. And that made Toren frustrated. For the first time in his life he felt genuinely irritated. He couldn’t think, and it made him angry.

Erin was the one with ideas. She had good orders. He had to go back, even if she would be angry.

She told him to go. But he should go back. He would go back. He would go back and Erin would give him orders. If she didn’t want him—well, then he’d think of something else. But he would go back.

Toren nodded. The blue flames in his eyes burned hotter, whiter. The dark sapphire color flared bright white-blue, and he turned with determination. He would be better.

The skeleton took two steps in the snow, walked right to avoid a tripping over a stone twice, and fell into the gaping hole as the snow collapsed around him.

Toren fell down, down, down! He bounced off of a rock, crashed into something hard, and then smashed into the ground so hard his bones scattered in every direction.

For a few minutes all was confusion. Toren reassembled himself as quickly as possible, trying to figure out what had happened. He’d—fallen? How? Why?

A hole. A break in the ceiling. Toren looked up. Yes, he could see something overhead. He’d fallen through a hole, some kind of chasm. Harsh stone crags shone in the faint light all the way down.

He was nearly four hundred feet underground, perhaps. But that wasn’t the interesting bit. The interesting bit came when Toren noticed the stone changed roughly fifteen feet overhead. From broken, normal bedrock and stone, the walls became smooth and refined. He was in some kind of…ruins?

Yes, ruins. Toren recognized it as being the same sort of corridor as the ruins where he’d went with Erin to find Ceria and Olesm. But these were different corridors, a different place. Where was he?

A vast stone corridor stretched out in front of him. Dark stone under his feet—a long corridor with two exits at the end. Toren stared, and saw bright yellow light coming from the right side and darkness from the other. He turned around and saw only darkness behind him. Some kind of passageway? Leading where?

The corridor wasn’t dark. Something was lighting it up. Toren looked around and saw glowing…runes on the walls. Strange shapes and symbols that glowed in different colors. And that was only what his eyes told him. He could feel this place, feel the nature of it.

Magic, pure and unrefined, hummed through the air. Toren could sense movement around him. Magical hotspots of power burning his otherworldly senses, more undead like him, and movement, struggling figures, shapes slithering, running around him. This place, this underground structure was full of life.

The magical runes around him lit up as something moved down the corridor. Toren saw something humanoid walking towards him.

A giant armored warrior appeared in the corridor, a figure clad in massive plate mail that would be too large for even Relc. Toren saw the strange warrior was holding a greatsword in one hand.

As the armored figure drew closer, Toren suddenly realized something was wrong. The armor was pristine, oddly so for a place this far down, but that wasn’t what was strange. What was strange was that the armored warrior had no head.

Tucked beneath the suit of armor’s other hand was a helmet. It was glowing—something was casting light between the slits in the visor. And the armored head was looking straight at him.

Toren looked around for a sword, a weapon, anything, but there was nothing in the corridor. And the armor was locked onto his position.

The skeleton could run, but he didn’t know where he was. And he wasn’t sure what was happening. So he waited. The magical creation walked towards him, footsteps echoing hollowly down the corridor.

It stopped about ten feet away from Toren. The enchanted suit of armor raised its sword and orange-red light like the lights of hell spilled out from the open cavity at its neck. Toren heard a horrible roar of sound, the screeching of metal on metal, so loud and furious that it sounded like something living.

It advanced, placing the helmet on its head and holding the sword in a two-handed grip. Toren stared at the armor.

It would kill him. Grind his bones. Destroy him. He would die if he didn’t fight or run. He knew.

There was no Erin to tell him what to do. Toren was alone. Alone and without a weapon. But that was okay. He had orders. He had a purpose.

Slowly, Toren opened his jaws impossibly wide, stretching them so wide his skull tilted backwards. He reached up, and with one skeletal hand, reached up into the cavity where his brain would have been.

The suit of armor stopped as Toren pulled something crimson out of his skull. The skeleton pushed and pulled it in the inside of his skull, wedging a…gem into the inside of his skull, anchoring it behind his eye sockets.

Toren looked up. The enchanted gem he’d taken from Skinner glowed in his head. He couldn’t know it, but the blue flames in his eyes were mixing with the crimson light from the gem, turning the flames in his eyes a deep purple.

The enchanted armor hesitated as Toren began strolling down the corridor towards him. The skeleton had no weapons, no armor of any kind. It was just a skeleton, but there was something about it that made the magic automating the armor and sword readjust its stance.

Toren didn’t care. He looked back above, where faint light was shining down from on high. Too far to climb even if he could find a way to reach the ceiling. But this place had been built. By something, for some reason. Toren understood buildings. They usually had an entrance and an exit that didn’t involve a hole in the ground.

There was a way out. All he had to do was find it. And if there were things that wanted to kill him, that was fine. Toren clenched his fist as the armored warrior began to thunder down the hall towards him. He ran forwards, mouth open wide in a wordless shout.

He was going back.

2.11

It was all gone. All over.

The Wandering Inn was finished.

Erin stared at what had been her inn and saw the writing on the wall. Actually, she didn’t.

Because there was no wall.

Nearly half of her inn had been blown outwards by the explosion. Walls, floorboards—even parts of the roof had been shredded by the explosive tree bark as it heated up from the fire.

For an added bonus, the bark had been flaming as it shot out of the fireplace. So the parts of the inn not hit by the shrapnel also caught on fire.

It was only because it was such a cold and windy day that the fire hadn’t eaten away the entire inn. As it was, Erin could see straight into the common room and parts of the upstairs from her position outside.

There was no repairing that. Erin wouldn’t even know where to start. [Basic Crafting] did not teach her how to repair the foundations. The spot where the fireplace had been—the center of the blast—was a crater, and Erin could see churned dirt where floorboards and the stone base should be.

The inn was gone. And Erin was homeless.

The feeling that hit Erin wasn’t exactly like despair. It was closer to numbness; a vague hurt feeling in her chest. Why? Why did it always have to be her?

She told Toren to go away, and for a while, she just sat in the snow trying to imagine what came next. What did come next? She had a little money, but not enough. She was an [Innkeeper] without an inn and no other useful skills besides chess.

She was lost.

Again.

That was the word that popped into Erin’s mind. Again. It wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. That thought created a spark, but Erin was so tired. She didn’t want to think of doing anything like picking up the broken timbers or finding actual firewood to replace the damaged wood.

She just wanted to sit here and stare at the remains of what had been her home.

“Wow. It’s totally gone, isn’t it?”

Erin heard Relc remark cheerfully as the Drake crested the hill. She’d beaten even him and Klbkch in her mad dash towards her inn. The Drake whistled as he looked around.

“What did this? I only saw the smoke and Tkrn said he could see the inn was broken from his spot on the walls. [Eagle Eyes]. Nice skill, right?”

“It blew up.”

“Yeah, I got that p—ow!”

Erin heard a thump and the sounds of a Drake hopping around on one foot in the snow. Then Klbkch was squatting next to her. The Antinium regarded Erin gravely.

“I am sorry this happened, Erin. Was this an attack or some kind of magic?”

“No. No. It was trees.”

“Trees?”

Relc stopped hopping and cursing and looked mildly alarmed. He grabbed his spear and turned.

“Aw, no. Don’t tell me it was one of those cursed trees. Or a Dryad? I hate Dryads.”

Erin almost smiled, but she couldn’t.

“No. It was an exploding tree. Toren must have cut it down and brought it here.”

“An exploding tree? What?”

Klbkch nodded slowly.

“Erin must be referring to the reports of the deadly forest southeast of here. You will recall it’s one of the areas we avoid on our patrols.”

“Oh yeah. The place where that scouting party disappeared? Yeah. Wow. So the trees explode?”

“The bark does.”

Erin could see it now. She remembered how those trees had reacted when she’d hit one with a rock. They’d nearly taken her eye out with an acorn fifty feet away. If that explosive power were compressed into a nice little room…

“Well, there goes dinner. I’m hungry. You want to go to the Tailless Thief instead? I’ll buy the first round.”

Klbkch turned and looked around at Relc. Erin didn’t see his face, but the Drake raised his hands defensively.

“Hey, I was joking! Sort of. I mean…”

He waved at Erin’s inn and lowered his voice, although both Erin and Klbkch could clearly hear him.

“What’s she going to do? I don’t think a hammer and a few nails are going to fix that, do you?”

Silently, Erin agreed with Relc. Her inn was busted. What could she do? It was exactly like before. She couldn’t do anything.

It was so unfair. Why did this happen to her? Why—

“Oh no! Erin!”

Erin heard the voice a second before Selys nearly tackled her to the ground. The female Drake threw her arms around Erin as Ceria and Olesm appeared on the hilltop as well, looking winded. Selys stared at Erin’s inn and then at Erin.

“Are you hurt? Oh no, your inn! What happened?”

Ceria and Olesm stared at the destruction in shock as Erin muttered a few words and Relc loudly related the events.

“And then that stupid skeleton she has—Tors or something—must have put it on the fire. The tree explodes, and there goes her inn. Boom!”

“I don’t believe it.”

Selys kept saying that as she hugged Erin. Ceria looked gaunt and tired as she shook her head. Only Olesm seemed determined to remain optimistic. The Drake peered at a splintered board and stared around.

“Can this be fixed?”

“What? Are you crazy?”

Relc laughed at him. He gestured to the wrecked face of the inn.

“There’s no way she’s going to get that patched up by herself. You’d need a team of carpenters and a small forest, and neither of those is cheap, even if it weren’t winter! It’s over. The inn’s toast. History. Total dest—”

Ceria turned and kicked Relc hard in the stomach. He didn’t budge, but he narrowed his eyes at her.

“That hurt.”

With her good hand, Ceria flicked a sliver of ice towards Relc’s nose. The Drake leaned back inhumanly fast, but the shard missed anyways.

“Shut up.”

“Hey, I’m just—”

Relc dodged another shard of ice, this one larger and aimed closer to his head. He retreated, muttering insults.

Erin didn’t listen or see Olesm and Klbkch talking, or hear Selys assuring her that she could stay at Selys’ apartment or with Krshia. She just thought.

It was always the same. Always. Not in the same way, but the feeling was the same. And it was a sad thing, but Erin was used to the sensation. She was used to things like this.

“I’ve done this before.”

Relc stared at Erin.

“You’ve blown up your inn before?”

“No. But this—”

Erin couldn’t describe it. It was so familiar. Why? It was a pattern in her life.

Something bad happens. Get sad. Nearly die. That’s how it went.

But there was another level to that. Why did it always have to be bad? It was unfair? So why did it have to happen that way?

Erin was an expert at having bad things happen to her. So why couldn’t she turn a bad thing into a good thing? Or at least a not-so-bad thing?

She stared at her inn. Okay, now how did the script go? She’d stare at her broken inn, cry a bit, maybe freeze to death as she nearly fixed it, and then—probably the Frost Fairies would decide to bury the entire thing with her inside.

That was how the story went. But could Erin change the story?

“Can it be fixed?”

“No! It’s hopeless! Let’s go back to the city! I’m freezing!”

Erin ignored Relc as Klbkch looked over at her. He walked over with Olesm and Erin stood up. Ceria and Selys joined the circle while Relc edged closer and received cold stares from almost everyone else.

Klbkch nodded at Erin’s inn.

“I have already contacted my Hive. Some Workers will be here shortly to assess the damage. It may be that this can be repaired.”

“And I’m sure the damage isn’t that bad. It’s only the…side of the inn. I know a few [Carpenters] in the city. They might be able to help!”

Olesm smiled unconvincingly at Erin. Selys nodded and adopted the same too-optimistic tone.

“Yeah! And you could probably get enough wood to rebuild the inn. From Krshia. She might uh, know someone with a lot of spare building wood. They’re rebuilding a lot of the damaged buildings so…it might be cheaper?”

Erin nearly smiled, and then she actually did. It was ridiculous and hopeless. But she was used to that, wasn’t she? Keep smiling, keep trying. She shivered, and suddenly realized it was freezing.

Ceria snapped her fingers and muttered a few words. Erin blinked as the air around her suddenly seemed to lose most of its bite. Selys blinked and stopped crossing her arms together.

“What was that?”

“[Lesser Resistance to Ice]. It’s a basic mage spell in my school. It won’t stop much of the chill, but it helps.”

It did. Erin smiled gratefully at Ceria and the half-Elf smiled crookedly back.

“What a fun surprise, huh? I’m really sorry about your inn, Erin. Let me know if I can help. I’m no good with movement and telekinetic spells, but even I can cast [Repair]. I can fix a few floorboards, at least.”

Olesm nodded.

“And I’ve got a hammer in my home!”

Erin smiled. Suddenly she was warmer, and not just on the outside. She had friends. Even in this cold winter, she had people who’d move mountains for her.

What else could she ask for?

“How about a jacuzzi?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Klbkch had been silent as he stared at her inn. He looked up and turned to face Erin.

“I have contacted one of the Workers most skilled in constructions within my Hive. He will be on site shortly, but he informs me the inn can be rebuilt.”

“Really?”

Erin stared incredulously at Klbkch. He nodded calmly.

“Yes. But there are a few caveats. Firstly, the damage to the foundations is not inconsiderable. Although much of the building is still intact, the rest will need to be reconstructed and cannot be built from the fragments that remain. With a supply of wood however, another inn may be built, although it would be just as easy to build a new inn elsewhere.”

Everyone stared at him. Olesm opened his mouth.

“That’s not easy.”

Klbkch shrugged fractionally.

“I am no longer Prognugator, but I occupy a similar position of command. I have called thirty Antinium Workers with class levels that will assist in reconstruction shortly.”

Rather than stop, the staring increased. Klbkch shifted his position and looked at Erin. She blinked at him.

“You’re going to get the other Antinium to help me? Isn’t that…won’t your Queen get mad?”

He shook his head.

“It is a service we will provide for free, if you will assist us in other ways. My intent tonight was to discuss allowing Workers and other Antinium to visit your inn to play chess and learn. That cannot occur without an inn.”

“But the cost—”

“The Antinium will work for free. It will not take long.”

He hesitated and glanced at the façade of the inn.

“…Finding timber will be a more difficult matter. Lumber is in short supply in the city at the moment. It may take a day or two to locate enough. The Workers can begin repairing parts of the inn and seal the rest off from weather damage for now.”

“Oh.”

Erin sagged slightly. But this—was more than she could have asked for. And it was the same feeling. Help—someone helping her without her helping back. She looked around. Wasn’t there something she could do?

Her eye caught something untouched by the explosion. A section of a tree, roughly chopped away, bark still wrapped around the few branches and sections of the wood. Relc was sitting on it, looking bored.

“Hey, there’s more of the exploding tree.”

Everyone looked around. Relc stared down at his seat and slowly got up. As one, everyone slowly edged away from the part of the tree. Except for Erin. She stared at it with a frown.

“Why doesn’t that explode?”

Selys glanced at Erin nervously.

“Do you think it will? Should we get farther away?”

“No. But why doesn’t it explode? It should the instant you get near it or hit it.”

Erin thought to herself as Ceria and Relc wondered why their [Dangersense] hadn’t gone off.

“Maybe it’s the cold?”

“The cold?”

“Well, if Toren was in the forest, even he would notice if the trees started exploding. And the bark would have exploded if he was dragging the piece of tree all the way here. So why did it only explode inside?”

She imagined her skeleton. He wasn’t bright, but even he wouldn’t bring a dangerous object into the inn. So he must not have known the trees would explode. Ergo – a fancy word she’d learned in school – the trees must have seemed completely normal. Until they were inside.

Well, what would happen inside? Toren would probably light the fire with the wood. Not much else you do with wood indoors. And then…

Boom. That must have been the trigger. That was Erin’s hypothesis, and she decided to test it.

“Hey Relc, can you drag that piece of wood down the hill?”

He didn’t want to. But after some coaxing (threats) by Selys and Klbkch, he reluctantly stumped over and gingerly rolled the ungainly piece of tree to the side of the hill. And then, having ascertained the tree was probably not going to explode, he kicked it hard enough to send it crashing down the slope.

Erin was pretty sure that would have triggered the explosion, cold or not. But the bark didn’t so much as shiver. Well, that only added to her theory.

Next, Erin asked Ceria if she knew any flame spells. It turned out the half-Elf did, although she only knew one or two.

“It’s not my proficiency. Ice magic is, and you can imagine the two are different. But if you need me to light something…”

Ceria couldn’t throw fire that far or shoot fireballs, but once again Relc was the right Drake for the job, however reluctant he was to do said job. Ceria lit a bundle of boards and sticks Erin tied together on fire, and Relc set the burning wood next to the tree and dashed back.

He was so quick! He could cover the hundred meters from the tree fragment to where the others were waiting in only a few seconds. Erin knew the world record was something like ten seconds, but she was sure Relc made the journey in less time than that.

The Drake slid behind Erin and the others waited, tense. About thirty seconds after Relc had placed the fire next to the tree, Erin thought she saw the bark on the tree twitch—

The explosive tree bark wasn’t nearly as bad this far out, but a fragment of bark still bounced gently off Klbkch’s carapace as he shielded Erin. The others raised their heads and stared at the spot around the tree in amazement. Selys twitched her tail and blinked.

“Whoa.”

The snow around the piece of tree had been blown away in a rough semicircle, and the dirt had been kicked up as well from the force of the blast. It looked a bit like a bombshell crater, and Erin said as much.

“You mean you have exploding trees where you came from as well? What kind of place do you live in?”

Olesm shook his head she walked back over to the tree. Erin gingerly prodded the now bark-denuded wood and found it was wonderfully smooth. And amazingly, unharmed.

“The bark just explodes off and leaves the tree intact. That’s so weird.”

Relc rolled his eyes and shivered as he stood impatiently next to Erin. He hadn’t worn any more clothes than normal, even though it was so cold. His bare chest might be a display of how tough he was, but he still looked cold to Erin.

“Okay, you’ve found out that your trees don’t kill you unless it’s warm. So what?”

Erin pointed at the tree in front of her and looked back at Klbkch.

“Hey, Klbkch. You said the Workers needed wood. What about this?”

Relc blinked. Olesm clicked his claws together – more of a soft sound than a snap – and mouthed ‘of course’. Klbkch stared silently at the piece of wood. He didn’t say a word for a minute, and then nodded.

“Yes. The Worker tells me this wood appears to be quite similar to timbers he is used to working with. And if it can withstand the impact of such explosions, it should surely suit your needs.”

“Good idea, Erin!”

Selys cheered and Erin smiled.

“There’s an entire forest of these stupid trees. Probably enough for an inn, right?”

“Presumably so.”

Erin felt a sense of accomplishment. It wasn’t happening like other times. This might actually turn out right. But…could it turn out righter?

“Um, you said it would be just as easy to build a new inn, right?”

“Correct.”

“Then—could you rebuild it closer to the city? On another hill, or something?”

Selys’ mouth fell open about the same time as Olesm’s did. But Ceria grinned from ear to ear, and Relc laughed. Klbkch looked amused and paused before replying.

“It should be possible. There are a few hills of sufficient height the Workers say may serve. Shall we inspect them?”

Erin smiled. The sun was coming out. The bright light made the snow blindingly bright, and it warmed her. The world was better.

“Thanks, Klbkch.”

“You are welcome, Erin Solstice.”

—-

The first of the Workers met Erin and the others at the hill they’d chosen. It was closer to the city—close enough that Liscor’s gates were actually visible from their position on the hill. It was…five hundred meters away? A mile? Five miles? Erin wasn’t good with distances.

It was close enough that she’d only need to walk leisurely for around twenty minutes to get there, which would be a huge improvement from her normal trek. And best yet, the hill Klbkch had approved was quite large. It had room for all the things Erin wanted.

“So the outhouse is going there, and I get a basement?”

Erin looked excitedly at Klbkch. He nodded calmly.

“The Workers will begin work right away. I will take twenty of them to collect the necessary amount of timber.”

“I could go with you. It’s far away.”

“I have memorized the map of the surrounding region and I am familiar with the location. You should stay here to supervise the construction.”

“Right, right.”

“I’ll stay with her.”

Relc yawned as the Workers filed past him. He leaned on his spear.

“I’ll protect her against…the wind.”

“You will come with us. Monsters may attack such a large group.”

“Aw. Do I have to?”

“I’ll go with you.”

Relc blinked as Ceria stepped forwards. Erin wanted to protest, but the half-Elf was adamant.

“Three fighters is better than two, and neither of you is a mage. I might be recovering, but I can still cast a few spells even without a wand.”

That made sense, but Erin was still worried about Ceria until Klbkch assured her she would come to no harm. When Relc said it, it just didn’t instill the same level of confidence.

Olesm and Selys stayed with Erin as Klbkch, Relc, and Ceria left with the wood-gathering party. They debated what they should do. Olesm was all for going back to the inn and playing chess, while Selys argued they should salvage everything they could so the Workers didn’t have to.

Erin was right with Selys and Olesm until she saw the next group of Workers appear over the hill. She froze, and then shouted and waved her arms happily.

“Pawn!”

The Worker raised his one good hand as the other Worker next to him helped him along. Erin ran towards him, laughing, followed by Olesm while Selys hung back.

It was hard to read the Antinium’s expressions, but Erin was sure that Pawn was smiling as she met him. He raised his hand, but she threw her arms around him in a hug. He froze, but Erin didn’t care. The sensation of hugging the Antinium was hard, smooth, and cool as she touched his carapace. She couldn’t describe it, but his outer exoskeleton felt alive, and that was unsettling. But not so much because it was Pawn!

“It’s been so long! How are you? Are you okay in the hive? Why are you coming to help?”

Erin bombarded Pawn with questions and only then noticed who was helping Pawn walk through the snow.

“Bird!”

The other Worker, one of the four survivors of the battle against Skinner and the undead, bowed politely in Erin’s direction as he helped Pawn towards the inn. Another unnamed Worker placed a chair down and Pawn sat down in it on the empty hill.

“Where are the others? Garry, um…Belgrade, and Anand?”

“Belgrade is still too injured to move, but the others are well. They serve the Hive elsewhere at the moment.”

“Well, I’m glad to see you too! Are you well?”

Bird nodded politely, but let Pawn take precedence. The Worker sat forwards in his chair and inclined his head at Erin, as if he was someone in a board meeting.

“Erin, it’s good to see you again. I am very well, and I regret I haven’t had time to visit you before. But things have been…busy after the battle against the undead. However, I am here now to assist you as best I am able.”

Erin looked around. Pawn and Bird were followed by ten more Workers. They didn’t wait, but instantly set to work. They trooped in the direction of her inn, walking steadily through the ankle-deep snow. None of the Antinium were wearing clothing, and Erin wondered if they’d be okay in the cold.

“You need not worry about the Antinium. We may survive in freezing weather for up to two hours before needing warmth. We will build a fire to warm ourselves before then.”

Erin smiled at Pawn. Like Klbkch, he was always quite calm, but Pawn had a more familiar air about him. And he seemed to know Erin’s thoughts quite well.

“I just can’t believe you’re here. And—is your arm growing?”

She suddenly pointed to Pawn’s side. Erin remembered the severed stumps of his three arms and one leg, but now it seemed like said stumps were growing longer. Pawn nodded, and gestured with his good arm to the healing spots.

“The Hive has several unique substances that allow regeneration of limbs among our kind. I will regain mobility within the month if all goes well. In the meantime, I will direct the other Workers in repairing your inn.”

“That’s so great. Really, it is.”

It didn’t excuse the events that had led to Pawn losing said limbs, but Erin didn’t want to get complicated. She beamed at him and Bird.

“So, you’re going to help? Do you know what’s happening?”

“Yes. The Revalantor has instructed us already. We will rebuild your inn here, Erin. It may take time to dig the foundation and cut the timber, but we should be finished by midnight.”

Erin’s eyes bulged, and she looked around at the empty hill, still covered in snow.

“No. Really?”

“The Workers need little rest and we all have a few levels in the appropriate classes. Moreover, we are here in number. We have already reconstructed much of Liscor. Do not worry. Your inn will be built better than new.”

Erin smiled at Pawn, and felt her eyes sting a bit.

“Well. Well…I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

“I believe you will. I understand that the price the Revalantor wishes to ask of you is to allow Antinium to visit your inn to learn to play chess.”

Selys frowned and Olesm looked delighted. Erin was incredulous.

“What? That’s not a price. That’s—helping me!”

“It will help the Hive as well. Pardon me, I’m not permitted to speak too much of the details. But it will help.”

“Well—sure! I mean, this will already be a lot better. My inn was already full of holes, and now it’ll be closer to the city, right?”

Selys nodded happily.

“Now I’ll be able to visit after work rather than find someone to bring me all the way out there. And you’ll get a lot more business, I’m sure.”

“It could be for the better.”

Olesm agreed as he stared at Bird. The other Worker looked vaguely uncomfortable, but if Erin knew Olesm, the Drake was about to challenge Bird to a game of chess.

“And I can take less time shopping, and I won’t have to carry stuff nearly as far.”

It all sounded better. Erin felt a huge sense of relief and happiness in her chest. Selys tapped Erin’s legs with her tail as she smiled at her.

“Having your inn explode is one of the best things that’s happened to you, huh, Erin?”

“Yeah. I’m almost not mad at Toren anymore. I mean, it wasn’t exactly his fault.”

Erin sighed. It really wasn’t the skeleton’s fault. He was boneheaded, but not stupid. And he’d found firewood after all. She wouldn’t shout at him, she promised herself. Then a thought occurred to Erin and she looked around, frowning.

“Where is Toren?”

Pawn and the others looked around as well. It suddenly occurred to Erin that she hadn’t seen him in a while.

“Is he doing something for you, Erin? Running an errand?”

“No…”

Erin remembered what she’d said to him. ‘Go away’.

“Oh. I told him to leave after he blew up the inn. I guess he’s still gone.”

Olesm frowned.

“Will he come back?”

Erin floundered.

“Well—yeah! I just meant go away for a while. Not forever. He’ll be back soon, I’m sure.”

There wasn’t much Erin could do in any case. Toren’s…reduced…frame meant he was hard to spot at the best of times, and he was nearly completely invisible in the white snow. Erin asked Pawn and the other Workers to keep an eye out for him, and resolved to do the same.

He’d be back soon, she was sure.

—-

“So. I’m told your name is Klbkch.”

Klbkch glanced down slightly and nodded politely to Ceria as they walked together at the head of a small army of Workers. They were walking through the Floodplains of Liscor, or as Ceria thought of them at the moment, the Frostplains of Liscor.

It was cold. Ceria was specialized in frost-based magic and she didn’t mind the cold, but the trek combined with her recent weakness was making things harder than she would have liked. Nevertheless, she walked quickly, not wanting to slow down the expedition.

She was slightly regretting her choice to go with the Workers to gather wood in any case. She didn’t know Relc or Klbkch and she had a history of bad experiences with local law enforcement. But Erin liked Klbkch, which probably meant he was alright.

“I, uh, haven’t ever met any Antinium before. You don’t have a great reputation up north.”

“I am well aware. The perception of our kind is not undeserved.”

“But you’re a friend to Erin. That’s surprising, but I’m glad. She needs friends out here.”

“She is a unique individual. I believe you are a good friend to her as well. She went into the ruins to bring you back.”

“She did. She’s very brave.”

“She is.”

The conversation halted for a few minutes. Ceria stared around the bleak landscape. There weren’t many structures or…anything except on top of the higher hills. That made sense, considering what happened other parts of the year. Still, the open landscape was slightly disconcerting to her. Were it not for the Antinium, Ceria would feel lost in a landscape of endless white.

Ahead of her and Klbkch, Relc stormed through the snow, leaving a trail in his wake. He was scouting ahead, as the only person in the group with skills in that area.

“Spider nest!”

He waved his hand and stabbed his spear into a section of snow which collapsed inwards. A huge gaping pit opened up and Relc kicked the first Shield Spider as it crawled over the edge.

“Take that you little bastard!”

The Shield Spider flipped back into the nest as Relc laughed and poked the other spiders back into the nest. Ceria and Klbkch changed directions to walk wide of the nest. Ceria nodded at Relc.

“He’s the highest-level guardsman I’ve seen in my life. I saw him fighting Gazi. With his abilities, he could be a Gold-rank adventurer.”

“He has told me he does not care for danger anymore. He was a soldier. Now he is retired.”

“Gazi was a soldier, once.”

“Yes. She may be one again, if what we have heard is true.”

Ceria tried to imagine it. She remembered the King of Destruction’s first rampage, hearing of nations falling and cities sieged. She’d never been to Chandrar, but war had been speeding across the vast ocean when the King of Destruction had suddenly called an end to his grand ambitions.

“What will the Antinium do if he starts conquering nations again?”

Klbkch shrugged fractionally. He was armed with two swords, which matched his unique body. Ceria had never seen an Antinium with only two arms – it must mean he was a special leader among them. The other Workers certainly obeyed his commands without question.

“If it comes to war, the Antinium will act. Until then, I believe the Queens will be content to wait. The King of Destruction is far away.”

“True.”

More walking. Snow crunched underneath Ceria’s boots. And then Klbkch asked her a question.

“What will you do?”

“Excuse me?”

“I understand you will not be charged for the attack of the undead. But you are an adventurer alone, not counting the few adventurers who survived. Many have already left, and only the silver-rank adventurer is of any note.”

“Yvlon. She’s…silent. Still recovering.”

“Yes. Will you join with her and continue adventuring?”

“I don’t know.”

She’d lost everything. Sometimes Ceria forgot. She’d wake up or start doing something, and then it would hit her as she thought of the future. She’d lost all of her coin in the ruins, lost all of her magical artifacts except her robes, lost her friends, and her hand.

Everything.

Klbkch slowed as Relc raised a hand and shouted from ahead. There was something in the distance, breaking the uniform snowy landscape.

“Ah. There is the forest. We should remove the bark before bringing the trees back.”

He turned and began issuing orders to the Workers behind him in a clipped, short tone. Ceria watched the black-bodied Antinium move as she thought. Klbkch’s question had bothered her more than he could probably imagine.

What would she do now? What would she become?

Ceria didn’t know. She was lost. She only had one thing to cling to, and that was a certainty. There was something about Erin Solstice and Ryoka Griffin. Something different.

She’d figure that out first, and then decide.

—-

The first of the Workers were returning with boards and another group was beginning to dig what would become Erin’s foundation and basement when Olesm pointed at the sky and called out warningly.

“Uh oh. Trouble.”

Erin looked around, and her heart sank. High above in the sky, she saw a cloud of shimmering shapes, and heard familiar—and unwelcome—voices.

“Look, look! The wretched building is gone!”

“Something destroyed it!”

“Nay, it exploded! See the traces?”

“Hah! Serves the foolish human right! Look how she stands there like a lump!”

The Frost Faeries flew overhead, chattering as the Workers began trooping the pieces of the inn over to the new build site.

“And now the slaves are rebuilding the inn! With nails of iron and metal tools! Let’s curse their steps!”

“Break their foolish tools!”

“Destroy the new building!”

Erin waved her hand and ran at the Frost Faeries in a panic as they dove out of the sky at the oblivious Workers. The others stared at Erin incredulously as, from their perspective; she began shouting at faint blobs in the air.

“Wait, wait! Stop! Don’t attack! Please!”

The Frost Faeries halted, and one of them glared at Erin suspiciously.

“What do ye want? If ye want to beg, don’t bother. We hate all of cold metal and naught you or yer slaves can do will stop us!”

“But I need an inn! I mean, my old one got destroyed! Why do you hate me so much?”

They laughed at her, the faeries. One of them made a rude gesture and pointed at the working Antinium.

“We don’t hate ye, fool! You mortals are nothing to us but pests. Tis iron we hate! If ye’d take away the iron in the building, we might, might reconsider.”

Erin looked at her inn and back to the faeries.

“But how are they supposed to build an inn without iron nails?”

“Silly wench!”

One of the faeries laughed mockingly at Erin.

“Don’t you know? A nail can be more than just iron! Are you a fool? They can be made of silver, wood, steel—”

“Copper! Make them of copper, you daft cunt!”

That was really rude, but Erin ignored it. She ran over to the two Workers in charge, waving her hands desperately.

“Hey Pawn! Pawn!”

Pawn looked up from his discussion with Bird. Erin met them as they walked towards her and pointed to the site where the Workers were already digging into the soil and hauling stones into place to make the foundation.

“The inn. When you’re building it—can you use only copper nails?”

He conferred with Bird, and the nodded.

“We have a large supply of building materials available to us. It will be done.”

Erin turned back to the faeries and smiled hopefully at them.

“Well? Will that do? It’ll be a building without any bad iron—well, without much. And you’ll be welcome there as guests, okay? Promise!”

The Frost Faeries conferred, starring hard at Erin and talking with their small hands cupped. Erin waited, sweating despite the cold, imagining her and all the Workers buried underneath a hundred tons of snow. Faeries couldn’t do that. Could they?

At last, the faeries turned back to Erin and one of them nodded. She didn’t have a pleased expression on her face, but she seemed resigned. The other faeries were smiling gleefully, for some reason that Erin didn’t get.

“Well…alright. I suppose ye get a pass. This time. We’ve got better things ta do than deal with you lot, anyways.”

The faeries began to spiral back up into the sky. Olesm blinked at them and stared at Erin in amazement. Pawn and Bird ignored the faeries as they continued plotting out the inn, and Selys hid in the snow as they flew upwards. One of them called out as the herd of faeries flew off.

“We still don’t like you, human!”

Erin stuck her tongue out as the Faeries left. A snowball spiraled out of the sky and struck her in the face, but all in all, she decided she’d gotten off pretty lucky.

—-

Ceria, Klbkch, Relc, and the other Antinium returned an hour later, carrying long boards of neatly cut wood. Erin was amazed to see that each board of wood the Workers carried was perfectly cut to the dimensions the other Workers needed.

It was uncanny and sort of terrifying. As the thirty workers converged on the new inn’s building site, they worked without speaking or apparently, needing to look at each other. One Worker would be repairing a wall, and another Worker would slice a board of wood to fit the spot exactly.

It was the thing ants did. Telepathy, or some kind of hive mind. Erin was fascinated, but she didn’t have long to look. She was busy too.

Relc and Klbkch weren’t in charge of the workers so much as Pawn and Bird. The two former Workers knew their job well, and so they were the ones in charge. For their part, Relc and Klbkch used their superior strength to help lift things that would take more than one Worker. Relc by himself could lift something that would take two or more Workers.

Olesm and Selys didn’t have many applicable skills, but Selys was happy enough just to find things that had been knocked over or scattered by the explosion. She assembled small piles of pillows from upstairs, gathered Erin’s messy supplies from the kitchen, and made sure nothing else was damaged.

For Olesm’s part, he’d tried to help Selys, but kept blushing whenever he found some of Erin’s more private types of clothing. Selys eventually chased him away and he ineffectually tried to help Workers until Klbkch suggested he be useful somewhere else. In the end Olesm sat at one of the salvaged tables and played chess with Bird and Pawn.

And in the meantime, Erin wasn’t just sitting about. In point of fact, she was cooking. She moved about her kitchen, trying to ignore the oddity of it.

Her kitchen hadn’t been destroyed when the fireplace blew. And with the addition of a quick door to keep some of the hot air in, Erin could still cook food. She could hear the Antinium moving around and above her, recovering pieces of the inn, but she ignored that and focused on making food.

The Antinium had their own meals. They ate some kind of horrible mushy stuff that looked like regurgitated food mixed with—it looked bad and Erin was glad it was too cold to smell. And she had no acid flies to give them which broke her heart. But she could do something for her non-Antinium friends.

“Hey! You guys! I’ve got food!”

Erin called out as she emerged from her kitchen, beaming and holding a large plate full of her latest culinary achievement. Relc eyed her suspiciously and caught Erin as she tripped on an upturned timber. He caught the plate before it tipped over and eyed the food.

“What is this?”

Relc sniffed suspiciously at the round object Erin handed him. It was a hamburger.

An honest-to-god, real hamburger. Complete with a bun, mayonnaise on the side of the plate, and ketchup. Or catsup. Erin didn’t mind either word, but catsup always made her think of cat food.

It was easy. Erin had taken the ground beef she’d gotten from Krshia, added some pepper, an egg or two, and then squished it all together and made them into patties. Then she’d fried the burgers on a pan.

She didn’t have a grill, so Erin felt some of the authenticity was lost, but the burgers were made even realer with the addition of a bit of lettuce, a tomato, and cheese. All the ingredients were in Liscor, and cheap, too! Krshia said that while the city imported tomatoes and other vegetables from overseas, they weren’t as popular as other foods. She’d had to get the tomatoes from a fellow Gnoll who specialized in the rarer plants.

But that wasn’t all! Erin had made ketchup from the tomatoes and mayonnaise from the egg yolk and mustard. It was amazing. Amazingly hard to make, that was.

Erin had no idea making ketchup involved boiling tomatoes and adding all kind of complex spices. She still was miffed that mayonnaise used lemon juice and vinegar. But Ryoka had given her various recipes before she’d left, and they worked.

They worked!

“Try it! It’s really good!”

Erin had already sampled her wares, so to speak. She’d made a hamburger, eaten the hamburger, made another cheeseburger, and eaten it too. It was so deliciously good and reminiscent of home she’d actually teared up a bit as she ate.

Relc didn’t seem convinced, but he could smell the grilled meat and he was hungry. He took an experimental bite out of the hamburger and chewed. His eyes went wide.

Klbkch and Olesm got to the plate too late, because Relc had already eaten four hamburgers and Ceria and Selys each had one. Relc happily bit into the burgers as Erin yelled at him for stealing the other’s food and ran into the kitchen for more. Thankfully, she’d made a big batch.

Selys chewed her burger, looking happy. Ceria opened the lid of her hamburger and inspected it.

“It’s quite good! But I’ve never seen a food like this. Did you invent it yourself, Erin?”

“Nope!”

Erin shook her head happily as Olesm and Klbkch took a burger. Relc reached out and she slapped his hand.

“Wait until they eat theirs and then you can have one if they don’t want another. No, Ceria, it’s a popular food from my home.”

“Well, I love it. And it’s so convenient—it would make a great travel food.”

“That’s how people back home eat them! You can just walk around and eat!”

Ceria bit into her hamburger and chewed with her eyes closed. It still slightly bothered Erin to see an Elf—half-elf—eating meat so easily. But she was a fan, and as soon as they’d tried it, so were Klbkch and Olesm.

“You should sell these in the city! If you started on Market Street I’m sure you’d make a ton of money.”

Olesm commented as he took another burger from Erin’s plate and tried dipping it in the mayonnaise. Relc gave him a dirty look. Then Klbkch, Selys, Ceria, and Erin took another, and he threw up his hands and sulked.

There were no more burgers after that, but Erin tried making french fries. They made him so happy that Relc declared that he’d eat at Erin’s inn every night if she kept making the food.

Erin was ecstatic. And the work on her inn was progressing so fast that by the time she’d finished with the french fries, the Workers were dismantling her kitchen around her.

She left what had been her old inn—now only a few floorboards and broken wood—to stare at her new inn, made with shiny wood being coated with some kind of waterproof substance by the Antinium.

And by the time the sun disappeared behind the mountains, the Antinium were done. As promised.

The inn stood tall on the new hill, sides still tacky to the touch. They would be dry by morning according to Pawn, who told Erin not to worry about the damp surroundings. She hadn’t even known that was an issue with the wood varnish, but the Antinium had their own special array of substances.

Erin admired her inn even after the others had left, with full bellies, thanks, and an open invitation to visit tomorrow. Ceria had decided to return to the city with Olesm for one more night, as both were still technically supposed to be recovering.

Her new inn was just as big as the first, which was big. Erin could stand in the common room and turn around and feel the vastness of it. But more importantly from a construction standpoint, this new inn was made mostly with new wood, and it was in a lot better condition than the aged building Erin had found long ago.

The walls and roof were coated with a varnish the Antinium used. It helped protect the wood against the weather, but it also added to the integrity of the building. The nails were copper, and the building was fairy approved. Erin now even had glass windows, complete with shutters to keep the cold out and add privacy. Her kitchen was redone, and now her possessions were organized thanks to Selys’ [Receptionist] skills.

Best of all, and most importantly, the sign over the top of the inn was now painted in bright gold letters that shone when the light touched them. Erin had personally hammered the sign telling people not to kill Goblins into the ground. It was the only lopsided part of the entire affair.

And she had an outhouse. The Antinium dug through the dirt like…well, probably faster than someone with a shovel or a drill.

It was all perfect. Erin spun around in her inn and laughed until she was dizzy. And she was happy. For once she’d turned a disaster into a miracle.

She was happy. She was happy. So happy. But—something was missing.

For a long time Erin searched for it. She looked through the new upstairs, around corners, in the kitchen, under tables and chairs, wondering what it was. She walked back to the empty hill where her inn had once been, staring around, wondering what it was.

And then she realized it as she sat at a table. Erin looked around and didn’t see him. Toren.

Her skeleton still hadn’t returned. Erin had no idea where he was. She climbed up onto her roof and stared around for nearly an hour, ignoring the cold.

“TOREN! WHERE ARE YOU?”

Her voice, amplified by her [Loud Voice] skill, was thunder. Erin heard echoes as her voice bounced off hills. She shouted again and again.

“TOREN!”

She saw no movement, no familiar burning blue eyes. But then Erin heard something.

A faint voice, coming from the much-closer walls of Liscor. A familiar voice echoed as Zevara shouted from the battlements.

“HUMAN! SHUT UP!”

In the end, Erin went to sleep. But she sensed it. Her inn was rebuilt. It was beautiful, remade, redone, better. But it still wasn’t finished. It was missing Toren. Until he was back it wouldn’t be complete.

She wondered…where he was.

[Innkeeper Level 19!]

2.12

Because it was magic, they were able to talk to each other despite being far apart. Over four hundred miles separated the two, but to Lady Magnolia and Teriarch, their conversation felt as if they were sitting side by side.

If he closed his eyes, Teriarch could imagine Magnolia sitting by him. Not the older, distinguished [Lady] of now, but the young girl of then.

Thirty years? Forty? He lost track sometimes. It seemed like it had all passed in the blink of an eye, a single beat of his heart. But now the girl full of laughter and mischief was gone.

In her place was a woman no less than the girl she’d replaced. But she was different. Youth and energy had been overtaken by—well, more energy, but of a different kind. Hopes and dreams became ambitions tempered by practicality. Impulse and instinct became wisdom. Recklessness transcended to grace.

He loved her for it. But she was growing older. That was something neither he nor she could escape. In time, she would die. Not now—not for many years still. Decades, perhaps. But she would die, and he would remain. Unchanging.

It was his nature, and Teriarch felt it weigh more heavily whenever he found someone like Magnolia. A rare mortal with a spark. It was their nature. They brought light and passion to his life, but like sparks and fireflies, they died all too quickly.

Because it was magic, they could speak even from this distance. Because it was his magic, they could speak without fear of eavesdropping, even from the most powerful mages living on the continent. But it still didn’t mean she could be here, in front of him. Magic could do many things, but it was only a means to an end, not an excuse for miracles.

Teriarch harrumphed irritably. But power necessitated safeguards, especially in Reinhart’s case. It would be difficult—even for him—to disable her complex protections and teleport her all the way here. And vice versa. His home was warded with more spells against intrusion than he could remember. No, transport was impossible.

So they talked. Because it was magic, they could hear the emotions in each other’s voice, sense the subtleties of their dialogue. Sometimes, Teriarch wished this were not the case.

“I cannot believe you let her find her way into your little cave and let her go without even asking her name!”

Teriarch winced and adjusted his spell so Reinhart’s voice was less loud in his ears. He spoke irritably into the air, his left eye twitching.

“Do not take that tone with me, Reinhart. I thought she was just some Courier – and an inept one at that. I healed her and gave her a mission. How was I to know it was the girl? Besides, I did ask her name at the end.”

“And I can see it did you a world of good. Well done.”

Some said Magnolia Reinhart, the deadly flower blooming in the north, was a [Lady] of unflappable grace and cunning. But Teriarch had known Magnolia for a long time, and she was far more direct and cutting with her remarks with him.

“She survived. I teleported her back to the city. Besides, your information didn’t help me locate her. I tried to scry her numerous times before and after I met her, to no avail. This is on your head.”

Magnolia’s voice cracked back through the magical spell, making Teriarch wince and wish he could cast a [Silence] spell on her until she calmed down.

“I told you her name, and she told you her name. Ryoka Griffin. If you can’t scry her, it must be your magic that’s at fault. Perhaps she’s warded in some way.”

“No magic could defeat my spells so utterly. No, there must be some trick to her name.”

It was the only explanation Teriarch could think of. Scrying required the exact name of the person he wished to see, or failing that, a piece of clothing or some part of them. He wished he’d kept some of the blood she’d dripped all over his cave, but of course he’d burned it all away.

“She must have lied to me, and to you.”

“How, pray? She doesn’t have any skills—or levels! She’s a girl without a class, Teriarch. Do you know how extraordinary it is that she made it to your cave without any help?”

Teriarch growled.

“I’m well aware. And my abode is not a ‘cave’.”

“Your little hovel, then. Your crack in the side of the mountain. Your little pit where you hoard shiny objects and hide from the world. I am telling you, that girl is important!”

Indignant, Teriarch opened his mouth to retort, but Magnolia rolled right over him, as she’d done so many times in the past.

“I asked you to tell me if she did anything unusual. But only now do you tell me that she threw off the spell you cast to make her deliver your ridiculous letter to Az’kerash.”

“It’s not ridiculous at all. It’s an important message.”

“It’s pointless. And a ring? Is it magical, or merely symbolic?”

“Of course it’s magical.”

Teriarch was somewhat miffed. Who would bother with nonmagical rings? He tried to regain control of the conversation.

“My message is—not as important as why Ryoka Griffin was able to break my spell. Are you sure she has no classes?”

“Very sure. Which is why I asked you to learn more about her.”

Teriarch ground his teeth together angrily. But Reinhart had a point. She always had a point. It was just that he disliked how her pointing things out tended to make it seem as if he was incompetent. He opened his mouth to retort and paused. Something was tugging at the edge of his thoughts. He frowned.

“Hold on. Something is approaching my cave—I mean, my place of residence.”

Teriarch muttered a word, and a picture appeared in his thoughts, depicting the surrounding area of the High Passes. He focused on the image and blinked.

His jaw dropped about three meters.

“I don’t believe it. It’s her.”

“Her? Ryoka?”

“She’s in the High Passes, heading this way.”

“What? Why?”

“How am I supposed to know that? Silence, woman. I have to concentrate.”

Ryoka was running straight through the pass towards his cave. Well, she knew the location, but she wasn’t under attack. Teriarch frowned. Why was that?

Lady Magnolia’s voice shrilled in Teriarch’s mind, making him wince irritably.

“Make sure she gets here alive! You must—”

“Yes, yes. But she doesn’t seem to need my assistance.”

There was something to it. Teriarch could see monsters nearby, but they were moving away from Ryoka. Why?

Teriarch frowned, drew in a deep breath, and coughed. He felt a terrible stinging pain in his nose and nearly gagged as a faint odor assailed his nostrils. He looked around.

“What is that smell?”

“What smell?”

—-

Half a day earlier…

I can’t do this. Dealing with pushy shopkeepers is one thing, but I can’t handle people. I just…never know what to say.

Garia and I took a break from Octavia once I’d pried my potion from her grip. I needed a break, and I also needed to tell her about the Horns of Hammerad.

I’d nearly forgotten she didn’t know. And the worst part was, she started asking me how their journey into the ruins had gone. She was so cheerful, and I wiped the smile right off her face.

I—didn’t know how to say it. I’ve never had to break bad news to anyone. And it was horrible.

She started crying. Garia just sort of folded in on herself and started crying. In the street, I mean. In front of everyone.

What are you supposed to do when someone’s lost someone? What would Erin have done? I just sort of patted Garia on the shoulder and waited for her to stop. But she couldn’t. I stood there, trying to calm her down and—

It took her a long time before she stopped crying. Her face after all that was…not a pretty sight. I gave her a handkerchief—a bandage I kept for injuries, really—and she told me she could find her way back to her inn.

That was it. I watch Garia as she stumbles down the street, eyes red and puffy. Damn it. What was I supposed to do? What was I…

People. It shouldn’t be like this. I shouldn’t have to deal with them. This is what comes of having people who think they know you. If I were alone I wouldn’t have this issue. And the Horns of Hammerad. They—

They shouldn’t have died. Not like that.

Sometimes I just feel so tired. But then I keep going, keep running forwards because that’s all I know how to do. I cling to what I know. Ceria is alive, and I owe it to the others to make sure she’s okay.

Money. Eighty gold pieces. Money for power, security, freedom. I never had to worry about that back home. I wasn’t rich—

Actually, I was. Having a father who counts as a big hitter in both politics and business means that I earned about as much as someone working just above the poverty line as an allowance. And that’s even without counting the things I got as presents.

Not a good thought. But it’s better than thinking of how miserable Garia is right now. Well. At least all of this has one good effect. I’m royally pissed when I walk back into Octavia’s shop, the accurately named Stitchworks.

She brightens up the instant I walk back in. The entire time Garia was upset, I could sense her watching us from the door. I think she was afraid I was going to leave with my potion before she could get another chance to study it.

“Oh, good. You’re back. What was that outside? Bad news for Garia? That’s a real shame; you let me know if there’s anything I can do to help, okay? The girl’s a good customer and I have a bit of a soft spot for her to tell you to truth.”

I just glare at her. Octavia doesn’t miss a beat. She’s ushering me inside in an instant, closing the door and locking it behind her. That doesn’t exactly worry me—if she wants secrecy that’s fine. But if she wants to try to rob me, I’m more than happy to introduce her to my shoe*.

*Yeah, shoe. I got a new pair and ditched the Gnoll boots I was wearing. They’re still tight, but I healed the blisters and at least these ones fit more or less. Damn snow. I hate running in shoes.

“Anyways, I’m sure she’ll feel better after a cry and a bit of a rest. Hot food—a bath—you and I, we’ve still got business to attend to.”

Octavia doesn’t quite point at the potion on my belt, but her eyes gleam with avarice. At least she’s honestly greedy. But it still annoys me.

The stitch-girl spreads her hands on her counter and takes a deep breath. Here comes the pitch.

“Now, I know I insulted you earlier with my offer. Well, I’m prepared to offer you quite a deal. Fifty potions, complete as soon as I brew them. I’ll trade that for…half of your potion, and I’ll even throw in—”

“Shut. Up.”

Gratifyingly, Octavia does. She blinks at me as I rub at my forehead. I try to get my thoughts straight. Why the hell am I back here? Oh yeah.

I point at Octavia, trying to keep my eyes off the stitches on her shoulders in case that’s rude or something.

“No offers. No deals. I don’t know how expensive this potion is, but I’m not selling it.”

Octavia’s mouth shoots open and I speak louder.

“But I’ll give you some. A sample. If you stop talking and give me what I want.”

I have her attention. And Octavia seems to be smarter than your average…stitch-person, because she doesn’t try to sweeten the deal or talk.

“Here’s what I want to know. First—information about alchemy and your kind if none of that’s a deadly secret. Second, I want a consultation on how to get through the High Passes alive.”

For a second Octavia blinks at me, surprised. And then her eyes gleam and she smiles.

“Well, I know a good deal for me when I hear it. And you’ll give me part of your potion?”

I hold up one finger.

“One tablespoon’s worth.”

Octavia frowns.

“That’s not a lot. For as much information as you want, I should get at least half a cup.”

The potion isn’t that big. I glare at her.

“For what? Talking? I’ll let you have a 1/64th of a quart. How’s that?”

She hesitates and I can see her working out the numbers in her head.

“Heh. I’d prefer a bit more than that. How about three ounces? That’s quite fair.”

I raise an eyebrow.

“No. Five teaspoons.”

“Six.”

“Five.”

“S—”

“Five.”

“I’ll take that.”

Octavia grins and gives in. She sticks out a hand and I take it. I can’t help but smile a tiny bit as I take her hand. She’s got a strong grip, and when we let go she smiles even wider.

“Even a small bit is worth quite a lot, you know. Far more than a few minutes or even hours of me talking.”

“I’d guessed as much.”

I probably could have bargained her down to one teaspoon or even a few drops, but that would be too much work. One of the few lessons my dad taught me that I took to heart was always know how much you can get away with in a deal and how far you can push the other side.

“So, you’ve got questions. I’ve got answers.”

Octavia steps out from behind her counter and motions to a chair, but I shake my head and lean on the counter. There’s enough paraphernalia and objects around her shop that I’d be more afraid of knocking something dangerous over if I sat.

“I’m interested in alchemy and how it works.”

“And me, let’s not forget that. Is this the first time you’ve ever met one of the String People, Ryoka Griffin?”

“It is.”

“Well, let’s start with that. I can tell you I’m just like you, more or less. I feel sensations and it’s not like I have any special tricks. I can’t throw my arm at you and strangle you like a Dullahan and I die if someone cuts me apart. Well—I might survive that so long as my head doesn’t get too badly damaged, but I burn easily. Sort of a trade-off, don’t you think?”

Octavia speaks easily as she finds a stool and sets it behind the counter so she can sit and talk. She speaks fast and clearly, which is actually something I prefer when I have to converse.

“Anything else? I can change my body, it’s true. But it’s not like I can just turn myself into someone else like that.”

She snaps her fingers for emphasis. I nod, and try to focus. Gather information. Ask the unspoken questions, the good ones.

“But you can change yourself? That fabric that makes up your body—could you change how strong you are, or what you look like?”

“I could do that. If I wanted to. I told you, I added some muscle for this job, and I guess I could add a bit more. But the fabric doesn’t expand forever, and besides, that messes with my body if I disrupt the balance. It’s all quite complex, you know. Just like alchemy. Which, by the way, isn’t easy to pick up if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I wasn’t. I wanted to know how it works in theory. And can you change the pigment of your skin and the arm itself? Could you use another arm for instance, or are you limited to your original…fabric?”

“Hah! A scholar, are you? I’ve never met a Runner like that. Only mages are that interested, but they generally know how alchemy works. What we do is take magical effects and imbue them into potions, or other objects mainly. We use reactions—like how flint and steel create sparks—just on a bigger scale to make potions that perform a certain way.”

Octavia points to her arms. The skin of her bare shoulder looks completely normal, and it’s hard to remember the cotton fabric that had been there before.

“My arm’s just cloth. It’s not special, although I suppose there’s something here that’s not just stitching and cotton, huh? Back home, people argue about it all the time. Generally, you could say it’s the majority of me that makes Octavia. Take too much of that away and I die, but given time I could completely change out all of my body and still be me.”

She grins.

“In war, soldiers often switch so many parts that sometimes a guy will come back looking quite attractive! It’s hard for a wife to find out her husband is even better endowed than she is.”

I have to laugh at that. Octavia chuckles too, and keeps going.

“I have dark skin because that’s what the folks around me sewed me with. I guess I could change it, but I don’t mind looking different even if other people do. Why? Does it bother you?”

“I’ve seen people with darker skin than yours.”

“Really? Where?”

Oops. Crap. Steer the conversation away. I shake my head.

“Doesn’t matter. I’ve been around. But your alchemy—how can you just say it’s a reaction? I’ve seen healing potions work and that’s no mere reaction. There’s magic in the potions.”

“Well of course.”

Octavia looks nonplussed. I suppose that’s just natural around here.

“But do you have to be a mage to make a healing potion? How does it work exactly?”

“I’m no mage. No, all you need are magical ingredients. You render them down by boiling and mixing and then you combine the right ones and…poof!”

She makes an exaggerated motion and laughs.

“Well, it’s not quite that simple. But you get the idea.”

“It still doesn’t make sense. How does magic work like that? It’s not a substance, or anything physical. How can you convert it into liquid form? Or—change the nature of it? Unless there are healing herbs of something you just boil into a liquid.”

Octavia laces her fingers together and cracks them.

“Wow. You’ve thought about this, haven’t you? Well, to answer your question, it’s about magic in things. Everyone and everything has magic in them. Usually it’s not much—just traces in rocks and grass. But something like a mana stone has quite a lot of magic, and often the magic has qualities.”

“Qualities? Like certain effects?”

“Something like that. Nothing too impressive; you can’t start casting fireballs from a flame salamander’s skin, although it will give you a horrible rash and a burn. But it has its own qualities. You can turn it into a salve or cream to resist fire, but if you want to use it any other way you need to change the magic into something else.”

Octavia spins away from the counter and makes her way to the large racks of potions. She carefully takes one out of a holster and shows it to me. This bottle is full of a clear, faintly grey liquid.

“This is one of the secrets behind alchemy. Magic exists in the object it inhabits, but it can be extracted and contained in things. Like liquid. This is a base liquid—something we can use to store the magic. If I take an ingredient—like the salamander skin and dissolve it in this substance, it can hold the magic and let me add more things to the mixture.”

“So that’s the secret.”

I gaze at the grey liquid and imagine it. Sort of like chemistry but with a million reactions. Take a base, add ingredients and pray like hell you get it right.

“Pretty much. Of course, alchemy isn’t as simple as just adding the right things together. Sometimes there’s the order that matters, and stuff like heat and time affect magic as well. You can’t use moon dew in a mixture unless the moon’s actually waxing and it’s night, and Goblin ears need to be boiled while you’re mixing or they congeal.”

Goblin ears? I try to let that one go, but it’s hard. Octavia keeps talking, showing me other potions.

“It’s unpredictable, and of course, dangerous. But that’s [Alchemy] in a nutshell. It’s not just potions like a lot of people think. Mind you, a lot is potions. They’re just the easiest way to mix a lot of ingredients. But I can make a tripvine bag as well, although cramming all the seeds inside before they sprout is a trick in itself. Does that answer your question.”

Mostly.

“Mostly, but I’ve got another question about you.”

“Go ahead. I don’t mind.”

I gesture at her arm.

“Do you need all the details or can you just use something that looks like an arm?”

Octavia looks mildly surprised. She flexes her arm.

“You saw that? Most people get too queasy to tell. Yes, we do need bones and other things. It’s hard to describe to you, since you Humans never really see inside your body, but there are more things than just bone and blood and flesh. Bodies are quite complex, you know.”

“I’m aware. But can you shape your bodies like other creatures?”

For the first time, the stitch-girl looks hesitant.

“If…we have to. I’ve never seen it myself, but you hear horror stories sometimes. It can go horribly wrong if everything isn’t sewn just right. Heck, if it were easy we’d just stitch armies together and conquer the world, right?”

“Hopefully not. Last question about you. Does the fabric type matter?”

Another quick smile.

“You’re fast. Yes, it does. Cotton’s what us normal people use, but I’ve seen some poorer folks use wool or rougher stuff. Quality does make us look…different, and it can make us stronger or quicker depending on the fabric. Canvas makes really heavy, rough people, but they can take quite a beating!”

“What about someone made from silk?”

Octavia’s eyes widen incredulously.

“From silk? You mean, their entire body? Dead gods, I don’t think I know anyone rich enough to do that. You barely see more than a bolt of silk on some fat lady around here anyways. It might be good, but I have no idea what that would feel like.”

“Huh. Thanks.”

“No problem! Now, is that all?”

Octavia’s eying my potion again. I sigh and cover it with one hand.

“Not yet. I had one more thing I needed help with.”

“Oh yes. The High Passes.”

Octavia wrinkles her nose and shrugs.

“Can’t help. Sorry.”

“What, you can’t do anything?”

“I’m an [Alchemist], not a miracle-worker. There are countless monsters lurking in there. I don’t have much that’ll stop them.”

“What about an invisibility potion? Or your stamina potions? A regeneration potion? Wouldn’t that help?”

Octavia taps the counter with one finger and shakes her head.

“First off—if I could brew invisibility potions I wouldn’t be in a small shop like this. And you wouldn’t be able to afford one anyways. And a regeneration potion? Ask me after I’ve gained fifty levels. Stamina potions I can make, and pretty good ones too. But they don’t make you run faster.”

“Give me the run down on them.”

“Stamina potions? Sure. Ready for the sales pitch?”

Octavia turns and puts the base potion on a shelf and pulls the glowing blue potion out again. I have the distinct feeling it should be green, not blue. But then, this world doesn’t have a few decades of video games to standardize color stereotypes.

“This little gem will restore your energy and give you a kick so you can run further and faster than normal. But that’s only the potion giving you a boost. If you tear a muscle, it’s not going to heal it, and you’ll still be using up energy even with the potion. When it wears off you’re going to crash hard. But if you need to run for three days straight…”

She sloshed the potion in the glass bottle. I nod.

“I could use some. But that doesn’t solve my problem with the High Passes.”

“Don’t go is my solution. That place is a deathtrap. Unless—if that’s the place you got the potion from, I say go for it and get me another one.”

Octavia shrugs as she uncorks the blue potion. She shoves it under my nose.

“Here. If you’re buying a potion, take a sip and make sure you can down it. I’ve had adventurers complaining they threw up before they could down some of my potions.”

The smell that wafts up from the bottle nearly makes me hurl, and that’s without tasting it. I push the bottle back and cough a few times.

“That smells awful. Can’t you do something about that as well?”

Octavia looks mildly offended. She gestures at the potion.

“Do you know how hard it is to add something like a flavor to potions without creating an entirely different effect? I’ve seen adventurers add a bit of lemon juice to their potions to make them taste better and have the entire thing coat them in poisonous foam. Don’t try that, by the way.”

Well, that’s a comforting thought. I try not to gag as Octavia sniffs her potion. She clearly doesn’t seem to mind the horrible odor, but then, she probably inhales that stuff all the time.

But for me, it’s making my eyes water. Hell, it’s like being skunked. I’d better ask how thick those potion bottles are. If it breaks in my pack, I’ll either have the street to myself or get kicked out of the city. Not that I wouldn’t mind the privacy—

I blink. Waitaminute.

“Hold on, I think I know how you can help me get through the High Passes after all.”

Octavia raises her eyebrows.

“Well, if it means getting paid more I can brew up anything you want. Within reason, of course. Is there something that you think will help?”

I nod. Am I going to regret this? But it’ll probably work. If not, I’m going to hate myself.

“Yeah, but I’ll need to buy some nose plugs as well.”

“Nose plugs? Hah! How many do you need?”

—-

Nearly a day later, I run towards the High Passes. What was it I thought the first time I came this way? Death and glory await? Something stupid like that, I bet.

This time I’m ready.

I run towards the high passes, mountains looming impossibly high in the distance. A range of mountains taller than Mt. Everest breaks only in one small part to let travelers through.

‘Small’ in this case meaning a gap that you could march a small army through. It’s all relative.

A tribe of Goblins runs towards me as I move towards the High Passes and snow changes to dirt under my feet. Looks like not even the Frost Faeries have gotten to this place yet.

The lead Goblin whoops and shouts as he runs at me. This tribe converged fast, and I’ve got the sneaking suspicion they might be the same group as last time. Do they just watch the High Passes or are they based in this location?

Well, they might be a problem. Bows and whatnot. But I’ve got faith in my new strategy, so I run on.

The first Goblin runs towards me, and then the wind changes. He takes a few more steps, and then his face suddenly contorts. His eyes bulge, and then he’s running in the other direction. The other Goblins pause for only a second, and then they scream and run.

Yep. It works.

Run on. Now the High Passes are growing larger, and I hear a howl in the distance. Carn Wolves. The massive rust-red wolves that like the taste of Goblins and Asian girls. Well, I think they’ll be less hungry than usual.

I’m right. The wolves don’t even get near enough to me to see before I hear panicked yelping and the wolves beating a fast retreat. I am untouchable. Invincible.

Into the pass now, and running quickly. The magic or rather, aura that surrounds me doesn’t stop working even as the rock walls grow higher around my head.

The evil goats with teeth scream and climb away from me. The High Passes empty of life ahead of me as monsters flee from my presence.

Yes, I’m safe. Totally safe, from everything. I run on while the monsters flee.

By the way, this isn’t due to me gaining a skill or class or anything. Octavia’s potion is doing all the work.

Me? I’m just trying not to throw up. I’ve failed three times already, and I think I might be going down for a fourth time. The smell surrounding me is unbearable, and that’s coming from a girl who’s been sprayed by a skunk more than once.

Question: what is the most feared animal from our world? I sort of gave it away, but it’s the skunk. Fuck hippos or great white sharks or army ants. Skunks instill a kind of fear in suburban neighborhoods that you just can’t match.

And what makes those little rodents so terrible? One word. Smell.

They stink. And because I had a bright idea, and because Octavia knows how to brew a decent potion, so do I.

Long story? Short story. I asked her to make something that would chase away everything that might hurt me, and she did. I used it on myself, and I regret doing it.

The smell of the potion she made was so strong that it made everyone leave the block when she brewed it. Even sealed in an airtight bottle, I practically got chased out of the city and made great time on the open road.

Applied to the skin? God. I wish I were dead.

I’ve got nose plugs in, and I keep holding my breath until I’m dizzy. But the smell—

It’s beyond indescribable. I keep hoping my nose will shut down, like it does if you smell something really bad for a long time. But though my eyes are tearing up and my nose is burning, I can still smell it.

It’ll never go away. I’ll be able to walk into a skunk nest and chase them all out.

Above me and to the left, a ridge of innocuous boulders suddenly shifts. I dodge away, but the gargoyles aren’t attacking. They unfurl their massive stone wings and leap away from me, climbing the cliffs.

Huh. Well, it turns out gargoyles do have a sense of smell. That, or I stink so bad even things without a nose can sense it.

But I asked for this. I have to keep remembering that. It’s all part of the plan. And I can survive this. And perhaps the silent, noxious run wouldn’t be so bad normally. Yes, if this were the only price to enter the High Passes I might consider it a deal. But there’s one type of creature that doesn’t seem bothered, even by the smell.

High overhead, a small cloud of faeries flies overhead and laugh loudly as the gargoyles finish running for the mountains. One of them swoops down and lands on my head as I run on, laughing and speaking loudly to her friends.

“Smell her, sisters! She stinks like marsh bubbles and a witch’s brew!”

“Worse!”

“Hah! Even the stony ones fear her stinkage! What foolishness!”

They flutter around me, and more settle on my head. I grind my teeth. These little demons followed me out of the city, much to my dismay. I thought they’d give up on me with an entire city’s worth of humans to bother, but no*.

*Yeah, that’s right. I was trying to pawn them off on other people. So what? If you had to deal with these supernatural freaks for more than five minutes you’d be ready to do the same.

One of the faeries laughs and pulls at my hair. I feel some hairs rip free of my scalp and I snap. That’s it. I know it’s a bad idea, but I swat at them and drive them from my head.

“Get lost!”

The faeries take off and my fingertip grazes one and goes numb. They’re too cold to touch, and they’re not afraid. One buzzes next to my face, sticking her tiny tongue out at me as she mocks me.

“Ooh, scary, scary! It bites!”

I growl at her, but she only laughs and flips me off. Where the hell did faeries learn that gesture?

“Why the hell are you following me, anyways? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

The faerie looks offended and tilts her head away. She looks to one of her friends and remarks loudly to the air.

“Hark, the stinky thing talks!”

“Disgusting! It should die!”

My foot slips on a patch of the ice and I crash to the ground. Ow!

I pick myself up and realize a shard of rock is embedded in my hand. I pull it out, and blood wells out of my palm.

Those damn—

You know what? I’m just going to keep running. And it’s not  because I know I can’t do anything to them.

I get up and run down the long, winding rocky path. At least my shoes protect my feet from the sharp rocks. Now, where was that damn cave? I only barely remember reaching it last time—I was nearly dead as I recall. But I think Teriarch’s place should be just up ahead—

I turn past a cliff wall and suddenly a massive gaping hole taller and wider than the gates of Liscor appears in my view. Well. I’m here.

I hesitate as I stare up at the faded yellow scrap of cloth anchored by a boulder over the cave entrance. Only now do I suddenly remember exactly what Teriarch is. Let’s see. Now that you’re really thinking over your life choices Ryoka, does it make sense to bother a possibly Elven mage of incredible power who gave you a task that you did not carry out? Yes? Well then, go right ahead. This has been a message from your brain.

I take a deep breath and instantly regret it. But I’m here, and victory belongs to the bold. Also, bullets in the head belong to the bold, usually instead of victory, but I’ve got to do this.

The Frost Faeries swoop down around my head, oblivious to my trepidation. They laugh as they fly into the cave, chattering still.

“Ooh, does the human think we’re afraid of caves?”

“At least she’s not smart enough to use iron. We’d freeze her nose off for that!”

“Shall we drop the ceiling on her? Or maybe—”

I hear the booming words as a rumble in my bones before I realize their words. A massive voice booms out of the cave, full of irritation and command.

“Pests. Begone!”

The effect of the massive voice is instantaneous. The Frost Faeries react as if struck. They scream and flee in every direction a second before a huge stream of fire blasts over my head. I throw myself to the ground as the heat cooks me then dissipates.

For a while all I can do is lie on the ground, shaking a bit. Holy crap. That’s a scary spell. I get up at last, not so much because I want to go in, but rather in case I need to run.

The same voice echoes from within, not quite as loud, but just as huge. It sounds out in tones of disapproval, addressing me.

“Enter, Ryoka Griffin.”

If I were religious…I’m not, so I just hope with all my heart as I enter. I hope I’m not about to die.

The cave is open and vast, not so much a cave in truth as a plane hangar, only a bit bigger than most of the plane hangars I’ve seen. It makes me feel as though I’m in some kind of other world, and huge as the cave is, it’s far from empty.

In no time, the rough ground changes from stone to smooth marble. The rough walls…still remain, but suddenly they’re covered by paintings, weapons hanging on walls.

Pedestals appear, holding magical objects and bookshelves full of old tomes share space next to odd things I can’t even describe. A mirror gilded with gold that doesn’t reflect my shape? A suit of armor made out of stone? A…keyblade?

The wonders around me are unreal, but that fits the sole occupant of the cave. There he stands, in the center. He waits for me, and I feel the change in the air as I draw close.

There he is, the person responsible for at least some of my misery over these last few weeks. A mage. A man? A mystery. A dragon.

Teriarch.

—-

The first thing he does is get rid of the terrible stench surrounding me. A click of his fingers, and now not only am I smelling fresh as a daisy, but the potion at my side is in his hands. I should say—in a bubble in his hands. It looks almost exactly like a bubble, as the delicate membrane swirls with all the colors of the rainbow in his hands.

He looks much the same as I remember. Which is to say, too perfect. Teriarch stands in front of me, nearly six foot six, an old man dressed in clothing fit for a king.

He’s like an archetype of humanity, a tall, faintly bronze-skinned man with white hair, but the physical presence and body of an Olympian god. He stands in front of me and looks down, his pointed ears and celestial eyes narrowed in disdain.

A massive golden-scaled Dragon stares down at me with annoyance. His massive wings unfurl and beat once, stirring the air—

A gust of air strikes me in the face and I blink. What was that? A spell? Teriarch looks irritated, and waves his hand. Whatever caused the disturbance in the air stops.

“Ryoka Griffin.”

I don’t know if it’s the magic or just him, but Teriarch’s voice is deep and resonant. He looks at me, and my knees go weak. And not just because he looks like some kind of unattainable vision of male beauty. He’s also scaring the crap out of me, and I can’t tell why. Maybe I just sense how much power he’s got in him.

“Teriarch.”

“It has been a while since I last saw you. And now, you show up just when—and bringing those pests as well. How curious.”

Holy crap, this is hard. My entire plan revolved around me getting here and I didn’t honestly think I’d manage to do this. But I’d completely forgotten how intimidating Teriarch is. Here’s a guy who can teleport me with a few words and shoot fire hot enough to scare Frost Faeries, and I’m about to—

“It’s nice to see you too.”

My first and last response to any situation is sarcasm, followed quickly by irony and scorn. Teriarch looks at me as if I’m a bug and shakes his head.

“Mm. And so I must ask you why you have returned. The last time I saw you, I gave clear instructions. You were to deliver a ring and a letter to the mage known as Perril Chandler, also known as Az’kerash. You have not done so.”

“Yeah. I’ve been busy.”

“Doing what?”

I gulp. Teriarch’s gaze is nearly impossible for me to meet. I stare just over his shoulder instead.

“None of your business. But I came back to tell you I won’t deliver your letter and ring to Az’kerash.”

“Why not, pray?”

“You cast a spell on me.”

“And?”

He looks completely disinterested. That’s enough to get me angry. I raise my voice.

“And I don’t like having people tell me to do things against my will. You cast a spell on me against my consent. For that, you can forget having me deliver anything.”

Teriarch blinks in surprise, and then his eyes quickly narrow at me. He shakes his head darkly, and I feel the ominous presence around me grow stronger. Fear is eating a hole in my stomach.

“Effrontery. You come here into my home and tell me—but that is your kind, isn’t it? But there is something more to this—this display of insolence, isn’t there?”

He strokes at his beard as he stares hard at me. Teriarch’s eyes narrow.

“You would not have returned after ridding yourself of my spell just to tell me you refuse to serve me. You want something else. Tell me why you are here.”

He points at me, and I feel like answering him. But I bite my tongue.

“N-no.”

He frowns. His finger glows, and his voice deepens.

“Tell me.”

He looks in my eyes and I feel something touching my mind. It’s the same as the first time I met him. I feel an overpowering urge to obey, to spill the beans and let him know everything and anything he wants.

But I fight back. I’ve done it once before. It took everything I had, but this time is easier. I refuse to open my mouth, and the pressure builds and builds before it suddenly stops. I shake my head and glare at him.

“No. Stop that.”

For the first time since I’ve met him, Teriarch looks well and truly floored. He stares at his fingers, and then back at me in disbelief.

“You—resisted my spell. How did you do that? You have no class.”

“It’s called willpower.”

“By willpower alone? That should not be—I suppose it might…”

He trails off, eyeing me with a bit more interest and possibly respect than before. He spreads his hands.

“Very well. What is it you wish to say? Why have you returned without delivering my ring and letter to Az’kerash?”

He’s still so intimidating, for reasons I can’t even explain. But I hold my ground. I have to answer back. I’m not going to just roll over, am I? Come on Ryoka! Sass this stupid mage! You can do it! You can throw some shade—you’re the shade master! That’s what they called you in school!*

*No, they didn’t. They called me ‘bitch’ and other uncreative names.

“I couldn’t find him. I checked the Blood Fields and found nothing. Oh yeah, I also found out I was under a spell and broke that too. Got a problem with that?”

“Yes.”

Whoever Teriarch is, he’s clearly not up with modern retorts. The proper response is ‘fuck you’ or something to that effect. He glares at me.

“The exact location of Az’kerash is irrelevant. I gave you his general location. It is up to you to find him and deliver the message.”

I glare back. For once, I think I’m being out-glared, but I don’t give in.

“How am I supposed to do that? I have no idea where he is. And why should I do anything for someone who cast a spell on me to make me do that against my will?”

He shakes his head as if he could care less.

“You are a Runner. I have made a request. The logic is simple. You will complete the delivery.”

I grit my teeth hard enough to hear my jaw creak.

“No. I won’t.”

“You will.”

I shake my head. It takes more effort than I could have imagined.

“I won’t.”

He growls at me. Actually growls!

“You agreed to fulfill my request. You were paid—”

“To collect your request and the payment. I was going to deliver it to the Runner’s Guild so someone could fulfill it. Possibly me. That’s how an unmarked request works. I didn’t agree to do the delivery myself, much less be enchanted and forced to do it!”

“So what will you do? Refuse my request? Destroy my delivery? Throw it away?”

Teriarch looms over me. Was he so tall before? He looks furious.

“Or did you just come here to complain, Ryoka Griffin?”

I stare up at him. Don’t flinch. Drop the bomb.

“No. I came to tell you that you’re being blacklisted.”

“…What?”

My Runner’s pack is on my back. I flip it open and pull something out. The small Runner’s rule book I bought at the Guild. I open it and point to a passage I’ve bookmarked.

“Rule 21 of the Runner’s Guild states that ‘any Runner affected by spell or Skill may refuse to provide services and cancel any request made.’ Also, it says that anyone who attacks, hinders, or otherwise alters a Runner in the course of their duties can be banned from receiving or requesting any future deliveries. You can see it right here.”

I raise the book and throw it at Teriarch. He blinks and only a flick from his fingers stops the small volume from striking his face*. The look of irritation and incredulity on his face is almost worth whatever horrible fate I’m about to endure.

*Oh yeah. I threw the book at him.

He opens the book and flips through the pages, his face a portrait of disbelief. He looks up at me.

“You—cannot be serious. Do you know who I am?”

“No. Why not enlighten me?”

His left eye twitches.

“I am Teriarch, and I do not obey any requests of a mere—I will not be censured by you or the Guild of Runners.”

“Fine. In that case I won’t complete your delivery. You can have your ring and letter back.”

I open the belt pouch at my side and pull out the folded letter and ring. I thrust it at Teriarch and he blinks in disbelief.

“I’m keeping the potion, by the way. That’s also in the rules.”

“You cannot do this.”

“Watch me.”

For a second I think I’ve gone too far and the mage is about to explode. Teriarch’s face goes red, he yanks on his beard, and then starts shouting at the air.

“No. I will not—be silent, woman!”

I’m too scared to make a comment about sexism, but Teriarch doesn’t seem like he’s talking to me. He paces back and forth, mutters darkly into the air, and then looks furiously back at me.

“I must have that delivered. And I will have you do it. No—! I insist! It will be so!”

“I’m not doing it without another deal.”

“Then ask! What is it you desire, human?”

Okay, keep your cool Ryoka. I gesture with my hand aimlessly at the entrance of the cave.

“I went to the Blood Fields, but didn’t find anything. You said he’d be there or surrounded by the undead, but how can I find them? This continent is big. I have no idea where this Az’kerash is. If you want me to do the delivery, you also have to give me some kind of map.”

Teriarch stares at me. He takes a breath, releases it, and nods curtly. His hand raises palm up, and he says five curt words that make my ears ring. I can’t even remember what he said, only that when he’s done, he’s holding a…stone?

Yes, a stone. Just…a rock. A smooth one, but not much larger than my palm. It’s completely normal, aside from the glowing arrow of golden light etched in the center, of course. It rotates around and then points southwest fixedly in his palm.

Teriarch tosses it at me and I nearly drop it. It’s warm.

“Here. This will point without fail towards his magical signature. Would you like anything else? Or should I give you a flying carpet as well?”

“Do you have one?”

The look Teriarch gives me should fry me in place, but his gaze twitches just a bit to the right side of the room. No frickin’ way. But he recovers and when he points at me this time, the tip of his finger is glowing ominously.

“You will deliver the ring and letter to Perril Chandler or you will regret it, Ryoka Griffin. That is a promise.”

The sight of that glowing finger scares me more than a zombie trying to eat my throat or Gazi with her sword. I’m terrified out of my wits, but my mouth and body are on autopilot. I hold up a hand.

“Not so fast. Casting a spell on me means you forfeit the payment for the request you made. If you want me to deliver your damn letter and ring, make me a better offer.”

“Pay. You.”

A blood vessel throbs on Teriarch’s temple. I gulp.

“Yeah. Pay me. Or else. Asshole.”

I really, really should have shut my mouth before I said that last word. I wait for the fireball, but Teriarch just stares at me. I think…he might be too stunned for words.

—-

Teriarch stared slack-jawed at the impudent human in front of him. He had half a mind to simply blast her into little pieces, but it was a very small half. Really, the only thing in his mind besides shock and outrage was a tiny bit of admiration.

Tiny. Miniscule. But he’d never been challenged to his face quite so…so…so originally as this. Rules and regulations? As if mere words could restrain him.

But he had to admit, the rules did have a certain hold on him. He was a creature of his word; he might be above the law, but he respected it as a concept. And indeed, perhaps something he should pay heed to. He did little communication by Courier, but if he should indeed be banned…

“Very well. I suppose restitution can be made for your…inconvenience.”

The human stared up at him, unblinking. She was so strange. Who’d ever heard of someone willing to brave the High Passes not once, but twice? And to complain? About him casting a spell on her? It boggled Teriarch’s mind, but he wasn’t about to show weakness.

He tried to look around surreptitiously while trying to decide what was appropriate as recompense. He spoke offhandedly to Ryoka, trying to appear casual.

“I suppose forty gold pieces is not sufficient for such a task?”

The human narrowed her eyes up at him.

“That was the price for getting here and retrieving your request. You gave me a single potion as the price for delivery. That’s not nearly enough.”

Of course. Blast. Teriarch had forgotten how the request system worked. And even he had to admit, a single Potion of Haste was a paltry reward for even a simple delivery. He was just so used to commanding Couriers that he’d forgotten entirely what was worth giving.

Teriarch cast about, with his magical senses as much as his eyes. What could he give her that would placate her anger? He had quite a lot to give, but what was appropriate? A weapon? No, surely Runners wouldn’t use them. Jewels? Gold? Spell books? And how expensive was a delivery, anyways?

“Magnolia. What is the current rate of exchange in your wretched cities?”

Teriarch whispered the words, trying not to let the human see his uncertainty. He knew Magnolia was well-versed in the minutiae of human affairs, being one herself, but she was too busy laughing at him to reply.

Scale rot. Without her to help him, Teriarch was forced to bluff. He stroked at the wretched beard humans seemed to love and tried to look stern.

“For such an easy delivery, especially with the seeking spell, I feel some gold should be sufficient. Say…two hundred gold pieces?”

He had no idea if that was appropriate. The human girl paused, and then shook her head slowly. Tooth decay! She was probably offended.

“Two…hundred? Of course not.”

“Mm. Of course. Four hundred—no, eight hundred would be more appropriate, would it not?”

“P-possibly. Fine. I’ll accept that.”

Teriarch narrowed his eyes, but Ryoka had already schooled her expression to neutrality once more. He nodded slowly, still listening to Magnolia howl with laughter in his head.

“Very well. It is agreed.”

Below him, Ryoka nodded. She looked towards the entrance to his cave and patted her belt pouch where he could sense the letter and ring he had given her were stored.

“Right then, I’m off. I’ll complete your delivery when I have time. I’m heading towards Liscor in a few days anyways.”

Teriarch nodded. It was all he could expect. He’d let her go and hope she got there quickly—

He paused.

“Wait. What?”

—-

Teriarch doesn’t seem to quite get it. I take a step back as I repeat what I’ve just said. My heart is pounding out of my chest.

“I’m going. To do your delivery. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes—no. Human—Ryoka Griffin, I have much to ask of you.”

“Too bad.”

Two more steps back. Teriarch frowns at me and raises a hand.

“You cannot leave just yet. I have questions for you, and you will answer them.”

I shrug at him as if I could care less.

“Too bad. I’m A Runner. I deliver your stuff. You don’t get to ask me questions.”

“What? No. You will stay here.”

Again, I feel the force of his magic trying to slow me, but this time I’m ready for it. I flip him the bird and turn.

“Try that again and I’ll double my fee. You hired a Runner, and that’s what you get. I don’t do interviews.”

I begin walking away. It’s terrifying, and I feel his eyes on my back. He raises his voice angrily.

“You cannot leave! Stop! I command you!”

I raise one hand in goodbye.

“Come back here!”

Teriarch’s voice is thunder, but I ignore it. I begin jogging out of the cave, tensed at any second for a fireball to turn me into a flaming pile of flesh.

But nothing happens. Instead, I hear Teriarch choking and spluttering in outrage. I increase my pace, and realize I’m close to the exit. Bright daylight greets me and I run out of the cave and back the way I come.

Behind me, I hear a roar of fury that sounds almost…bestial. But I’m too busy running to think about that. I sprint until I’m nearly two miles away from the cave before I feel like I can safely slow down.

My mind is in a whirl, but as I keep running without any consequences, I slowly, slowly relax. And then I realize: I’ve done it. I’ve actually done it!

I run down the High Passes. They’re still empty, and the sky is sunny and clear overhead. Well, even these damn winter days can be quite nice if you have a mage around to scare away the Frost Faeries.

My step is light, and my body is slightly sweaty, but quite bearable to be around. I’ve got a speed potion at my belt, a letter and ring worth eight hundred gold coins in my pouch, and a destination in mind.

And oh yes. I’m grinning.

Definitely grinning.

2.13

There were worse things to eat for breakfast than cold hamburger. That was what Erin told herself as she mechanically chewed and swallowed.

For instance there were…rats. She could be eating rats. Or—or nothing. That was even worse to eat because it was nothing.

Erin didn’t do well with cold mornings. She was like a lizard—which was not the same as a Drake. She liked to laze around in the heat and the summer.

And she was just a bit too lazy to bother with starting a fire, yet too cold to be entirely happy in her brand new inn. Klbkch and the army of the Workers had left her quite a supply of firewood, but Erin just couldn’t face up to the effort. Until she got really cold, and then she huddled around the fireplace with a half-eaten hamburger, shivering in her blankets.

When the inn was finally warm, Erin felt better about life. In fact, she felt great.

She had a brand new inn, and she had a hamburger in her stomach. And a second one in her hands. Erin knew she should stop, but it was a hamburger. Actually, this one had cheese so it was a cheeseburger, and Erin was tempted to make it a double cheeseburger. With bacon?

No. No, she couldn’t get too greedy. Or she’d get fat. Which was a problem, why…?

Erin wrestled with her stomach for a few minutes before she just settled on eating her hamburger. She had work to do.

Yesterday had been a day of triumphs. A day of exploding inns and rebuilding, and Erin was determined to stay on a roll. So the first thing she did was find her way to her kitchen and prepare for the day ahead.

“Ground beef? Check. Lettuce? Check. Tomatoes…no one likes tomatoes.”

Selys and Ceria could take their tomatoes or leave them. Relc tossed his in the snow, and Klbkch probably ate his because it was polite. Erin liked tomatoes, but if it could be left out of the sandwich, that was more money in her pocket and less money…in people’s stomachs.

She had plenty of cheese, and she had eggs for making the patties. Spices? Right there.

Erin tossed everything into her heavy shopping backpack. She could get more from Krshia in the city, which was her destination. She looked around.

“Hey Toren! I’m going. Stay here and—”

Erin paused. That was when she remembered she didn’t have a skeleton. She’d almost expected him to be here when she woke up. But he wasn’t.

Toren was gone.

“Where’d you go, Tor? When I said ‘go away’, I just meant go away for a while. Not…forever.”

He wasn’t gone. Erin was sure of that. She was so sure, she abandoned her shopping pack and ran around. It took her a while to find her hammer and nails thanks to Selys’s reorganization, but she quickly nailed two boards together and made a clumsy arrow with some wood scraps.

The place where her old inn had been was almost completely covered in snow when Erin found her way back. She stared around at the empty hilltop, and remembered a dark inn as she ran, desperate and hurt, through the night.

Once. But not now. Her new inn was better, and it would be best when he returned.

Erin raised the arrow made out of wood and planted it deep in the ground where her inn had been. It pointed roughly towards her new inn. Toren would see it, and come back. She was sure of it.

Erin was so sure that she made three more signs and placed them on hilltops around her inn. Just in case Toren forgot which hill her inn had been on and got lost.

It was lonely in her inn when Erin returned. It was beautiful, made of varnished smooth wood. It even smelled nice—again, thanks to the hamburger breakfast.

But it was empty. All of Erin’s friends had returned to the city, and Toren was missing. Ryoka was busy running up north, and Erin still had no customers.

She’d fix that. Erin’s face was determined as she hefted her pack full of hamburger components. It was time to visit the city.

And how easy it was to get to Liscor! Erin felt like she’d barely stepped out of her inn before she was at the gates. It was ten times better than her freezing trip of yesterday, but maybe that was also because she had warm clothing.

All this purchasing of food and clothing was eating away at Erin’s small cache of cash, but that was okay. She was in a good mood, and things were looking up.

“Krshia! Hey, how are you?”

Erin smiled as she greeted the tall Gnoll shopkeeper. Krshia looked up from her stall, mildly surprised. Normally Erin found her way to the market around midday at the earliest, but today she was here bright and early.

“Erin. It is good to see you, yes? I had heard you had much trouble yesterday?”

“Oh? You heard about that?”

“The guardsman Relc, he came by quite drunk yesterday talking about your inn that exploded. And then apparently was rebuilt in one day. He was quite drunk, yes? I wished to know if you were well. If you had not come today I would have gone to look for you.”

“You’re so nice. But I’m fine! And Relc was telling the truth. My inn did explode. It was totally gone when I got there. Boom. Half of it blown away. But then Klbkch and the Antinium came by and rebuilt it. Somewhere else. On a hill closer to here, I mean. So I’ve got a new inn! Isn’t it great?”

Krshia sniffed the air and shrugged.

“You are not drunk. So you have a new inn? That is good. I must see it soon. And talk, yes? Your friend Ryoka has left, but I would speak to her as well.”

“Everyone wants to talk to me. Did you know I’m going to have a lot of Workers in my inn? Klbkch says he wants me to teach them how to play chess. Isn’t that great?”

“Really? How strange.”

Krshia eyed Erin as the girl unslung her pack and edged over to one of the large braziers. She watched as Erin felt at the temperature of the coals and reached into her pack. She took a frying pan out of her pack and after a few minutes of thinking, dragged the heavy brazier closer to Krshia’s stand.

“What are you doing, Erin Solstice?”

“Oh, is it too close? Sorry, sorry. I forgot your shop is made of wood.”

Erin adjusted the brazier, but Krshia shook her head. She gestured in bemusement at Erin’s setup. Erin looked blank, and then smiled widely.

“This? I’m going to cook something.”

“Really? Well, you may do so freely on this street I suppose. The fee is five silver coins if  you make over four gold coin’s worth of profit, though.”

Erin didn’t think that was a problem. It sounded fair. She looked around and realized she had a small problem.

“Um, you wouldn’t happen to have a table I could borrow, would you? And maybe more coals? This is warm, but I want to refill it if it starts to cool down.”

Krshia nodded patiently and pointed to a folded-up section of wood leaning against her shop front.

“I have both. But what is it you are doing, Erin?”

“Making hamburgers.”

“What is a hamburger? Is it made of pigs or boars?”

“Nope! At least…I don’t think so. Let’s just call it a cheeseburger instead.”

“Ah. So it is made of cheese?”

“Um. Let me just get set up and I’ll show you.”

In quick order, Erin had all of her eggs in a row, her ground beef in the mixing bowl, and ingredients neatly packed off to one side of the table. The main space on the table was occupied by a bowl of mayo and ketchup she’d brought from her inn. She’d wrapped it with wax paper, but both condiments were slightly crusty. A spoon and some stirring solved that, and then Erin put out the platter.

It was big, and empty, and that was about to change. Erin took one of the patties she’d made out of ground beef and flipped it onto her frying pan. The metal had been resting in the coals and it was so hot the meat hissed as it struck the pan’s surface.

Krshia had been dealing with a Drake customer while she waited for Erin’s antics to start making sense. But when she heard the cooking meat her ears pricked up.

Erin fried her first hamburgers with an eye towards Krshia’s possible tastes. So it was barely a minute of cooking before she flipped the burger and let the heated metal take the patty just past ‘uncooked’ to ‘rare’. She used a spatula to lever the juicy burger onto a waiting bun, added some lettuce and a bit of sliced onion…cheese…and then, it was ready.

“Burger time!”

Erin presented her creation to Krshia and the Gnoll eyed the dripping cheeseburger suspiciously. Suspiciously, but with definite interest.

“Mm. What is this?”

“It’s called a hamburger. Or a cheeseburger. It’s really good. Try it!”

Krshia took the hamburger with one paw. Erin had made her patties big and her buns were equally generous. This was closer to a Burger King burger than the sad, small cheeseburgers you could get from McDonalds. Except that Erin’s burger was even bigger. The meat was half the burger, not some lesser percentage.

Even so, Krshia’s hand easily lifted the burger to her mouth. The Gnoll hesitated and eyed Erin. Her Drake customer was watching the burger with interest. A drop of grease fell from the burger onto Krshia’s fur.

She took a bite. Erin held her breath. But in her heart she wasn’t really worried. Because she knew the truth.

Maybe in this world different species preferred a variety of foods. And it was true that chefs who had [Advanced Cooking] could probably create dishes Erin couldn’t match. And possibly some inns had menus designed to cater to their clientele.

But. This was a hamburger. It had stayed as one of world’s greatest and most popular foods for over a century. The people of this world might have cuisine, but Erin had fast food. Their taste buds would never know what hit them.

Krshia’s eyes widened as she chewed the burger. She stared at the colorful green lettuce, the cheese and onions, and then swallowed. Erin waited.

Krshia took another bite. And then another. She was done with the burger in under a minute, and when she licked at her palm, Erin knew she’d won.

Other vendors on the street? They were about to go home hungry. The Gnoll frying slices of meat? Good luck making that into a proper meal. The Drake with kebabs? Prepare to be supersized. The other Drake with hot cider?

Actually, that sounded really good. Erin wanted to buy some.

She’d thought about adding other dishes to her impromptu road stall, but she’d wisely decided that there wouldn’t be enough space. Besides, while the brazier could make a great grill, pizzas required ovens.

As for drinks, a burger wasn’t complete without Coke or some other soft drink, but Ryoka hadn’t been able to tell her what went into the magic caffeinated drink. Erin had an idea to use animal fat and copious amounts of sugar to create something similar, but…no.

“How is it?”

Krshia looked at Erin and smiled. It was the kind of smile that spoke for itself. She bared her teeth and grinned. Her tail was sending bits of snow flying.

Erin smiled back. The Drake shopping at Krshia’s stall looked between both grinning females.

“I want one!”

—-

Selys found Erin nearly an hour later, and by that time Erin had already been forced to migrate away from Krshia’s shop. Not because the other Gnoll minded her cooking; it was just that Erin needed the space.

She had a line. Drakes and Gnolls lined up as she flipped hamburgers as fast as she could and coins clinked into the jar she’d put on her table. From her spot at the back of the line, Selys could barely see Erin as the girl tried to juggle flipping burgers, collecting money, and talking to customers and explaining hamburgers all at once.

The Drake took a deep breath, and then raised her voice as she pushed past customers in line.

“Excuse me, I’d like to get through. I’m not—excuse me, I’m not looking to buy a burger. I know that human.”

She elbowed her way to the front of the line. Erin looked up and wiped a bead of sweat off her face as she managed five burgers in her frying pan at once.

“Oh, hey Selys! Want a burger?”

“Yes, please!”

Selys turned and stuck her tongue out as the Drakes and Gnolls shouted and complained further down the line. And when a Drake stuck out her tongue, it went a lot farther than a human one.

“You look busy.”

“Yeah?”

Erin raised her eyebrows as she fumbled a hamburger on a plate and gave it to a Drake. The orange-scaled Drake tasted the burger experimentally and then, apparently satisfied with the taste, bit into it as he walked down the street.

“Yeah! You look like you’re overwhelmed. Need a friendly tail?”

Erin nearly dropped her frying pan in the lit brazier. She wanted to hug Selys.

“You are the best person ever. But don’t you have work?”

Selys shook her head.

“It’s my day off. Here—I’ll take over at the table. You just flip that meat.”

“Can do!”

Selys found a chair Erin hadn’t had the pleasure of using yet, and took a seat. She stared at the messy table. Ingredients mixed with some of the coins that had fallen from the jar. Grease was coating the snow and Erin had painted a clumsy hamburger on a sign and written a price next to it.

Selys regarded the price and shook her head. She crossed out the number on Erin’s sign and doubled it. Erin frowned at Selys.

“Selys! That’s expensive!”

“It’s worth it. And people will pay. Or do you see anyone leaving?”

Erin did not, although Selys was getting a lot of casual glares from her customers. But the line moved a lot faster now that Erin didn’t have to do more than concentrate on cooking. She slapped burgers together as fast as she could and reflected that when all was said and done, she was working in the fast food industry. Just like her teachers always told her she would if she didn’t study in school.

The only difference here was that Erin was making money hand over fist. Or claw. Or furry paw.

Gnolls and Drakes both loved the hot food. Erin had quickly learned that both species had a soft spot for hamburgers, but they liked their food cooked very differently.

Drakes preferred their burgers well done, which was to say, fully cooked and even black in places. It didn’t seem to bother them that much, but Gnolls were an entirely different customer. They liked their burgers hot, but still rare enough to be bloody—it was the rare Gnoll who requested Erin cook theirs longer.

They came for the shopping, but almost all of the customers in the market that day left with a burger. Erin had figured out the best way to serve her burgers was with a bit of wax paper so it could be held without spilling hot grease onto palms. You could even wrap it and take it somewhere else! Definitely a selling point.

The line didn’t seem to get shorter no matter how many burgers Erin flipped. Word was spreading about the human with the ‘meat sandwich’ as she heard it described, and it wasn’t long after Selys joined that she heard a familiar voice.

“She’s here! She has burgers!”

Relc’s unmistakable voice rang through the crowd, and not a second later she saw him and a few other guardsmen at the back of the line. The guardsmen—and one female Gnoll—stared in bemusement as Relc yelled at Erin.

“I want five—no, six!”

She waved at him, which Relc apparently took as encouragement. He began pushing his way through the line, shouting.

“Watch business. Move aside!”

He encountered a lot more resistance than Selys did, but eventually Relc was panting and staring greedily at burgers as Erin loaded them onto a plate. He reached into his belt pouch and began to count out coins.

“You can get me my burgers and pay me five silver coins since I know you’ve earned enough already.”

“Thanks Relc—”

Erin got no further before Relc snatched a burger from the plate and tried to fit the entire thing in his mouth. He pretty much succeeded, although Selys looked away with disgust as he chewed with his mouth open.

“Delish!”

Erin eventually managed to shoo Relc away with more burgers for the other guardsmen. She heard Selys apologizing to the next customer – mainly in the sense of grumbling about rude guardsmen – and looked at her raw patty stack.

“Uh oh. I’m running out of ground beef again. Krshia!”

The Gnoll appeared with more ingredients, fresh from some butcher’s shop. She and Erin had a good system going on. Erin paid her, and Krshia gave her everything she needed. Maybe a less-trusting partnership would have had Krshia raising prices, but in this case she was still making quite a lot acting as a supplier for Erin’s burger needs.

Erin mixed a new batch of ground beef into patties, watched by hungry customers and curious shopkeepers. Krshia eyed Erin’s preparation with some consternation, but by that point Erin had already made the patties and it was too late for the Gnoll to interject.

Egg, spices, thick patty that made some of the Gnolls in line start to drool. Erin blessed her [Basic Cooking] skill because it made the process nearly automatic. She didn’t have to concentrate as hard, and she knew roughly when the burgers were ready. It was great. She raised her voice as she smiled at her line of customers.

“Alright. Who’s next?”

Her question nearly caused a brawl.

—-

Five hours later, Erin wondered what would happen if she fainted into the brazier. Would she wake up before Selys pulled her out or burn to death?

She was dog-tired, which wasn’t an insult to Gnolls. Erin kept telling Krshia that. It was just that she’d been standing in the same place making food all day long. Even with help, Erin was nearly ready to fall over.

She’d enlisted Selys as a full-time assistant, just to take down orders and help prepare ingredients. Selys didn’t have any cooking skills, but she was competent enough. And she was better at keeping order than Erin was.

And without Selys, Erin would have been buried by the amount of orders she’d received. The morning rush had turned into the midday rush which had gradually transitioned into the evening rush. But there were quieter points, mainly when customers staggered away from Erin’s stall clutching their groaning stomachs.

As it turned out, Erin had made one mistake with her setup. Her bowl of condiments had been well-received although her customers just dipped their burgers in the mayonnaise and ketchup, but she didn’t have nearly enough.

She’d run out of ketchup long ago, and the mayonnaise was only a mix of burger bits at the bottom of the bowl. And though Erin knew how to make more of each, she wasn’t keen on preparing any more, even if she’d had access to the ingredients. As it turned out, ketchup was hard and annoying to make.

It was just the sort of thing she’d have gotten Toren to do. If he was still at the inn.

The thought made Erin depressed, but the next customer who appeared at her stall immediately blew any thoughts of her skeleton out of her head.

“Oh. Selys. You’re working here?”

“Hawk. It’s rare to see you in the market. You normally shop elsewhere, right?”

“I do, but I heard there was something good to eat today. What’s this?”

Erin leaned against the edge of the brazier and yelped. She kept forgetting that the metal was hot. She needed a stool, or something to rest her aching feet. She heard Selys talking with her customer, but Erin had heard enough explanations to tune out most of the words.

“It’s called a ‘hamburger’. But it doesn’t have any ham in it. It’s meat with bread and lettuce, onions, and cheese. If you add cheese it’s called a ‘cheeseburger’.”

“How is it?”

“Try it for yourself. It’s only a silver coin.”

That was…extraordinarily expensive, given the cost of the ingredients. But Selys kept on raising the price of the burgers without issue. She heard the customer fishing in his belt pouch and then the clink of a coin.

“Thanks. Now, do you want your burger cooked fully or raw?”

“Cooked, thanks.”

“Erin—”

“I got it.”

Erin had already added a patty to her pan. She mechanically flipped the burger, listening to this Hawk and Selys talk. She finished the burger, tossed it on the pre-assembled bun, and put it on the serving plate. She held it out and then froze as for the first time she actually looked at her customer.

A tall…rabbit…man…stood in front of the stall, smiling at Erin. He was a rabbit. But he was shaped like a man. He stood on two legs—slightly curved forwards like a Minotaur’s with huge feet. They looked like paws, and Erin noticed he wasn’t wearing shoes so much as coverings made from leather.

His fur was light brown, with dark spots. He had one over his eye, which was pointed like a rabbit’s. And he had a pink nose! Erin nearly squealed or screamed or something when she saw that.

Hawk had two long, floppy ears that stuck out over his head, and he was clothed in loose clothing. He had pants and a shirt which did not disguise the fact that this rabbit was ripped. That threw Erin, as did the muscles on his arms.

“You’re Erin? Nice to meet you. I’m Hawk.”

Hawk the rabbit man smiled in a friendly way at Erin, although his eyes were on the burger on the plate. Erin gaped at him.

Selys coughed.

“Hawk is a Beastkin, Erin. I’m not surprised you haven’t met him before. He’s always running around the city.”

Erin heard her, but she was still caught on his name. She repeated the word incredulously.

“Hawk?”

The furry rabbit in front of Erin scratched at one cheek with a furry hand. He completely misinterpreted Erin’s reaction to his name.

“My parents were from Liscor, but they had no idea what kind of names my species used. So they chose Hawk. I would have preferred Hakss, but what can you do?”

“Oh. And uh, what do you do?”

Erin could think of nothing else, only that she wanted to continue talking to Hawk as long as possible. She could hear…a voice in her head. No, a song.

Winnie the Pooh, Winnie the Pooh…

If she saw a stuffed yellow bear she was going to lose her mind. But Hawk was real in a different way. He wasn’t like Rabbit, more like the rabbit-version of Usain Bolt. Yeah, that was probably closer.

Hawk rolled his shoulders and shrugged. He smiled again, exposing a row of teeth which…Erin had always wanted a bunny.

“I’m a Courier.”

Erin paused. She tried to remember what that was. Some kind of Runner? It sounded important.

“That’s cool. Do you see a lot of different places?”

Hawk looked slightly crestfallen that Erin wasn’t more impressed.

“No, we run long-distance deliveries from city to city.”

“Oh, like City Runners?”

Selys bit back a laugh. Hawk looked amused and shook his head.

“We’re a bit more important than City Runners. Couriers are rare. There are less than a hundred of us on the continent, I think. We take big jobs or none at all.”

“Whoa. So you’re like, special runners? How far do you run?”

“On any given delivery I’ll go around a thousand miles. Sometimes two, if it’s a round trip. It’s a dangerous job, but rewarding. Of course, I can protect myself. I’m considered—”

Hawk suddenly froze and his body was suddenly tensed, low. Erin had heard the loud crack of wood on wood too, but it was Hawk’s reaction that surprised her. He hadn’t moved so much as instantly changed positions.

He was staring down the street at the source of the noise. A Gnoll was tossing slats of wood onto a cart. The sound was loud, but Erin had heard much of the same all day. But Hawk’s ears twitched violently every time the wood slapped together and he winced.

“I wish they wouldn’t do that.”

Okay. He was jumpy as a rabbit and fast as lighting. Erin stared at Hawk, forgetting completely about everything else. And he had a tail! A tail!

He started grumbling about inconsiderate Gnolls and Drakes while Selys edged over to Erin. The Drake elbowed her in the side.

“Don’t touch his tail. Remember Culyss?”

“But it looks so fluffy and poofy and—”

Erin couldn’t tear her eyes way from the fuzzy tail that protruded from Hawk’s pants. Selys rolled her eyes and twitched her own tail.

“Maybe you want to explain why you live in Liscor, Hawk? Erin hasn’t seen many Beastkin here.”

He nodded. It seemed like he was used to the question.

“Well, I live here. I was born and raised in Liscor ever since I was a kid, and it’s where I’m comfortable. My original parents left me here, and a Drake couple took me in. Liscor’s my home and where I love to live. Most of the time.”

He eyed the Gnoll who’d made the noise severely. Selys rolled her eyes.

“I still don’t know how you manage to sleep at night. There’s noise all the time—how do you sleep?”

“Soundproofing spells. It’s costly, but I make more than enough to pay for the magic.”

“There you have it, Erin. Our resident Courier is afraid of loud noises. Try not to shout around him.”

Hawk glared at Selys, but with no real intensity in it. He seemed to be a good-natured rabbit. Erin was still staring at his tail.

“I’m not just a Courier! I’m trying to become a [Chef] as well!”

“Right. And you’re doing research today?”

“Maybe I would if I ever got to eat this delicious thing.”

Hawk stared longingly at the burger on the plate, but he was too polite to take it. Selys nudged the human at her side.

“The burger, Erin?”

“Oh, right! Sorry!”

Erin remembered why Hawk was here and held the burger out to him. It was still warm thankfully, and Hawk eyed the rising steam appreciatively.

“Mm. This is good. I’m glad I came.”

Erin watched Hawk bite into his burger and chew,  her jaw slack. Selys stepped on her foot again, and that shut Erin up long enough for Hawk to say goodbye.

“It was nice meeting you, Miss Erin. If you ever need a long-distance delivery, ask for me at the Runner’s Guild, okay? I’ll give you a discount, especially if you have more of these burgers!”

He stepped away, and then sprang down the street. There was no other word for it. His powerful legs blurred and he covered more distance with every step than Erin would with five of hers. And he was fast. In an instant he’d rounded the corner and was out of sight.

“No wonder I never see him.”

Erin breathed the words as she stared at the place Hawk had been. She turned and looked at Selys.

“You never told me there was a talking rabbit in Liscor!”

Selys looked perplexed. She looked at the empty street and shrugged.

“What, Hawk? He’s part of the city, and he’s always in and out. Why is he special?”

“He’s a rabbit…a—a bunny!”

Erin couldn’t even find to words to explain why that was special. Talking Drakes? Okay? Gnolls? Totally normal. But bunny-men?

“If you’re interested in him, forget it. He likes Drakes, not Gnolls or Humans.”

Again, that statement threw Erin off a cliff metaphorically speaking. She hadn’t even considered—no! And what was that?

“He likes Drakes? But he’s a bunny!”

“Don’t call him that to his face. He gets touchy, and he’s not a Courier for nothing. When the undead attacked he killed one of those Crypt Lords and quite a few undead by himself! He carried over a hundred people out of harm’s way as well.”

“What?”

“Yeah, he’s strong. Don’t let Relc hear you, but he’s probably one of the few people who could bother Relc. And if it came to a chase, I’d put money on Hawk.”

“And he likes Drakes.”

“I said that. Too bad Drakes don’t like him back.”

Erin couldn’t cope. She shook her head.

“He’s a cool guy. Fluffy. Nice. Why don’t any female Drakes like him?”

Selys looked awkward.

“No reason—well, I mean, it’s not like he’s a bad guy. You couldn’t ask for a nicer Beastkin. But he doesn’t eat meat. Or rather, he doesn’t eat much meat.”

“I saw that. He ate meat! But what’s the problem with not eating meat? That’s not a problem, right?”

“It sort of is. We—Drakes—can eat vegetables. We just don’t…like to like he does. And all he keeps offering us are dishes with carrots in them.”

“Carrots.”

It was too good to be true. But Selys just looked disgusted.

“It’s all he likes to make. Couldn’t he try something else when he’s courting? But no, it’s all carrots. Carrot pies, carrot soup, carrot salads, raw carrots, noodles and carrots, carrots baked into bread…”

“Shrimp gumbo, pan-fried shrimp, deep-fried shrimp, shrimp sandwich, shrimp burger…”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just a joke. Sorry.”

“Anyways, we think it’s bland and not too good. If he could make the food sweeter or more savory…”

“What about carrot cake?  That’s sweet.”

“What’s that?”

Erin sighed as she realized this was yet another thing she had yet to introduce to this world. Cake—well, she was pretty sure she needed baking powder for that. Maybe Ryoka could help. That would be amazing, because Erin missed cake almost more than she missed ice cream.

Sweet things were harder to come by in this world, especially anything made with sugar. Sugar itself was wickedly expensive—not that Erin remembered how much sugar cost when she went shopping at Meijers or at Costco.

She missed Costco. There was something nice about a store where you could buy a fifty pound bag of sugar and no one looked at you as if you were weird. Then again, it was nice going to Costco when your parents paid for membership and not you.

“I just can’t believe it. A bunny.”

“Rabbit. The correct term is the Long Ear Tribe of the Beastkin, but that’s too much work to say.”

“Right, right. But he’s so fluffy.”

“You keep saying that, but why does that matter.”

“It just does. Now, are you going to tell me more about him or am…I…”

Erin trailed off.

Market Street was usually full of people, but there was a lull in the crowds. And at the edge of the street, she could see into a distant alleyway. Someone was crouching in the shadows of a building.

A girl dressed in ragged clothes stared hungrily at the shops. Her face was thin, and she might have been beautiful if she was clean. She had bright red hair, dirty from being unwashed. She was staring right at Erin’s stand, where the smell of cooked meat was permeating the air.

For an instant, her eyes met Erin. There was animosity in her bright blue eyes, but when she realized Erin was looking at her, the girl’s eyes widened in panic.

“Erin. What are you looking at?”

“I just saw—”

When she looked again, the filthy girl was gone. Erin paused, and wondered if she was going crazy. But maybe the girl was some kind of orphan, like Hawk? Whoever she was, she looked cold. And hungry.

“Never mind. I uh, thought I saw a customer.”

“We’re running out. Might be a good time to call it a day. I know my tail is sore.”

Selys stretched and took a few steps as Erin wondered if the girl was going to come back. She probably didn’t have any money, but if Erin saw her, she’d give her a burger for free. She spoke to Selys, still watching the alleyway.

“When do we quit?”

“When you get tired. Or when we stop getting customers.”

Erin glanced at her table.

“We’re out of ketchup.”

“I’m not making any more.”

“That’s fair.”

Selys came to warm herself at the brazier. Erin eyed her and tried to speak nonchalantly.

“So. Bunnies.”

“Rabbits. Erin, it’s rude to say—”

“I know. I won’t say it around him. But he’s so quick! And he’s…ripped.”

“He does have a good body.”

“And he’s nice. I can’t believe it never works out with other Drakes!”

“We try, now and then. But you know, it just doesn’t work out. Every time it ends badly with him. Take me for instance. We were together for only two weeks before we broke up.”

“Wait. What?”

—-

Two hours later, Erin walked back to her inn. She wasn’t alone.

“So you sold how many burgers?”

Erin had to think. Her arms were so tired that Ceria had offered to carry Erin’s mostly empty shopping bag back. But Erin had refused. Ceria might be well enough to leave the guardhouse, but she was still thinner than was healthy.

“I think…a thousand? It feels like that. Probably closer to six hundred. Maybe eight?”

“For a city with just over a hundred thousand souls, that’s a really good profit.”

“Yeah. But uh, a lot of people came back for seconds or thirds. Relc ate eight in total.”

“I can just imagine. But I’m truly glad it was a success. Even in the barracks I heard people talking about your food. Olesm tried to get one for us, but the line was too long.”

“That’s too bad! I’ll invite him over tomorrow and I’ll make you guys as many hamburgers as you want.”

Ceria waved her good hand at Erin.

“You don’t have to do that. Really, I feel bad imposing as it is. I can’t pay you right now.”

“Are you kidding? I don’t have to worry about money ever if I keep making this much every day!”

Erin indicated the jar she’d filled to the brim and her bulging coin pouch. She’d had a red letter day today, she could tell, even without counting the exact amount of her profits.

Erin had sent Selys off with enough silver coins to make the Drake walk awkwardly down the street. It was just as well the Watch had a strong presence in Liscor, Selys had said, or she’d have been really worried.

They came to the inn quite quickly. Erin was all too glad, because it meant she could put away her stuff in the kitchen. She still slept there, out of force of habit more than anything else.

“Take any room you want upstairs. I’d like to chat or—or something, but I’m so tired.”

“You go to sleep. Thank you again for letting me stay here.”

Erin waved a hand at Ceria and yawned hugely.

“You wan’ food? I got food if you didn’t have dinner.”

“I’m fine, really. Thanks Erin.”

Erin went to bed smiling. Her inn felt a lot less lonely with someone else in it. She wondered what Toren would think when the skeleton got back. Hopefully he wouldn’t bother Ceria too much.

The coins she’d earned were safely stored under a floorboard in the kitchen. Erin had seen that on T.V. once, so she’d asked Pawn to install one. Which meant that if anyone ever robbed her, she’d have to start looking at Workers funny.

But Erin was tired, and even thoughts of her missing skeleton and thoughts of Antinium sneaking into houses and robbing people blind couldn’t keep her awake. She drifted off peacefully and slept well.

Until she heard Ceria screaming.

—-

The sound woke Erin up from a pleasant dream about playing chess in Burger King. She heard Ceria’s voice cut through the night, high pitched and shrill.

Erin reacted with a speed born out of panic. She always kept a frying pan out on a counter, and it was that she seized as she charged out of the kitchen. She had no idea what was attacking Ceria, but she didn’t hesitate as she dashed up the stairs.

She’d put Ceria on the furthest room from the staircase—because the half-Elf had insisted she didn’t want to take any space. Erin ran into the room and saw Ceria sitting half-naked in bed, clutching at her hand and screaming. Nothing was attacking her, but her eyes were wide with panic and fear.

“Ceria! What’s wrong?”

The half-Elf’s head turned towards Erin. She didn’t seem to quite see Erin, but she clearly realized someone was in her doorway. Ceria shrieked and turned towards Erin, eyes wide with horror.

Her skeletal hand rose and the fingers moved. Ceria pointed at Erin and the girl ducked. A spike of ice caught some of Erin’s hair and ripped it out as it struck the far wall and embedded itself in the new wood.

Erin crawled to the door, heart pounding out of her chest. She scrambled outside and tried to make herself as small of a target as possible.

“Ceria! It’s okay! It’s just me!”

Erin shouted as she curled up into a ball on the far side of the wall. She wasn’t sure if the [Ice Spike] could penetrate the thick walls, but prayed Ceria wouldn’t fire again.

Mercifully, she didn’t. Erin heard Ceria draw in a shaking breath, and then her voice.

“Erin! Oh ancestors, what have I—Erin!”

“I’m okay!”

Erin crawled past the doorway and waved her hands to reassure Ceria. Her friend’s face was deathly white.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—I thought you were—”

Ceria choked as she reached out for Erin. The girl immediately stood up and went to her. Ceria was shaking so hard the bed was moving.

“It’s okay! Really! It was just a spell! Are you okay? What happened?”

“A—dream. Just a dream.”

Ceria shook her head, and kept on shaking.

“I nearly—ancestors. I nearly killed you.”

“But you didn’t! And your hand! Ceria, did you see—?”

But Ceria wasn’t listening. She started to struggle in her sheets, trying to get up.

“I’ll go. I can’t stay. I’m a threat to you and—”

“No!”

Erin caught Ceria by the wrists. The blackened skin on her right hand was deathly cold and clammy to the touch, but Erin ignored it. She looked into Ceria’s eyes, trying to breathe calmly. Her heart was still racing.

“Ceria. No. It was an accident. Stay. Please. I don’t blame you.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks as Ceria looked at Erin.

“I’m so sorry. So sorry.”

Erin hesitated, and then hugged Ceria. The half-Elf shuddered at the contact, but didn’t push Erin away. She just trembled in Erin’s arms. She kept repeating the words.

“I’m so, so sorry.”

Erin didn’t think she was just talking about nearly hitting Erin with the spell. She held her as the night deepened and Ceria wept.

—-

It was a long time before Ceria could collect herself enough to stop shaking. She and Erin sat on her bed as the half-Elf stared at her hands, one good, one dead.

“I thought I was back in the coffin. Only this time, Skinner found me and opened the lid.”

Erin shuddered. Just the thought of his dead body made of skin made her stomach clench.

“I don’t blame you for attacking. If it were me I’d throw everything I had. And I’d probably have hit you, with my [Unerring Aim] skill and all that. Actually, it’s a good thing you were the one who got scared, huh?”

Ceria laughed shakily, but it was a laugh, and that’s what Erin wanted. She stared at her dead hand and shook her head.

“I thought I was still back down there with the others. I thought they needed my help. They’re dead. I keep forgetting.”

Erin’s heart caught in her chest. She closed her eyes for a second.

“I—”

She let the word trail off. There was nothing she could really say. Ceria was silent too, but then she raised her arm and stared at her limp skeletal hand, protruding from the blackened flesh. It had been days, but the skin wasn’t rotting and the bone still looked…normal.

“My hand—”

“It moved.”

Erin was sure of it. It had been just an instant, but you didn’t tend to forget a near-death experience.

“You moved your hand. Was it with magic?”

“No—at least, I didn’t try to intentionally. But I must have used some, I guess. My arm…I didn’t think the bones could still move.”

The yellow bones didn’t so much as twitch. Erin looked at Ceria’s hand uncertainly.

“Is it…because you know magic? Or maybe Pisces did something to it…?”

“Pisces can’t take control of a living body part. Or even one attached to a living one.”

Ceria shook her head.

“Then is it because you’re a mage?”

“No. It must be because I’m half-Elf.”

“Half-Elves are immortal?”

“Hardly.”

Erin felt Ceria chuckle.

“No, we’re just as mortal as any other species, although we live longer. But our bodies are closer to magic in nature. We can do…things that other species can’t. This must be one of them. It also explains why my hand is in one piece even though the flesh is gone.”

That was odd, now that Erin thought about it. She looked hesitantly at Ceria’s hand and chanced a question.

“How—did you lose it? Was it fighting Skinner?”

“Not quite.”

Ceria’s mouth twisted in self-derision.

“I was too frightened to fight him. I couldn’t even raise my wand. No, Yvlon and some adventurers were trying to get out and there were a bunch of undead in the way. I used a spell and the backlash froze my hand off.”

“A spell can do that?”

“Some can. It was bad magic, the spell I used.”

“But you saved them. That’s not bad magic. Or—was it like necromancy? Pisces does that, and he’s not bad. Just annoying.”

Ceria laughed again. Erin’s attempts to reassure her seemed to be cheering her ever so slightly.

“No—I mean, it was badly done. I was trying to cast [Glacial Spear]. It’s an advanced form of [Ice Spike], but I failed.”

“Oh?”

Erin didn’t get it.

“But you cast the spell.”

“Incorrectly. The way I did it, I just poured magic into an oversized [Ice Spike] spell. I used all my remaining mana up in one go, which was a stupid idea.”

“Why’s that? Isn’t it good to do that? I mean, if you could use a really big spell, why not do that all the time?”

Ceria chuckled now, and Erin was glad her stupid questions were making the half-Elf feel better. They sat together in the bed as Ceria’s breathing finally calmed down.

“If mages could use up all their magic in a single spell we’d be even more dangerous than we are. Imagine an army of mages that could devastate an army in a moment. No; spells are a lot more complex than that.”

“How so?”

Erin had resigned herself to never being a mage, but she was intensely curious about magic all the same. Ceria explained. It seemed to be easier for her to lecture than think about anything else.

“There’s a limit to how much mana we can infuse into a spell. Think of a spell as a…container. The good ones can hold a lot of magic and require a lot to activate. But a bad spell can’t handle that much magic. You can overcharge any spell in theory if you have enough magic, but too much and…”

She gestured to her hand.

“But that’s the odd thing. You said I moved it. And I cast magic with it. I shouldn’t be able to cast [Ice Spike] without injuring myself. Not without a wand. But this—”

She tried to flex her skeletal hand, Erin saw. But though Ceria’s face twisted with pain, the bony fingers didn’t so much as move.

“There’s something here. If I can still use magic with two hands and not just one, maybe…”

Erin didn’t like that train of thought. It sounded too active, and not nearly like the restful, peaceful thoughts she wanted Ceria to have. But then someone shouted outside and Erin felt Ceria tense up again.

“Erin! Ceria!”

It was a familiar voice, and it came from just outside. Erin heard furious pounding at the door, and then she heard someone throw it open. She’d forgotten to lock the door! Again!

Whoever was downstairs pounded into the kitchen first, and then came up the stairs two at a time. Erin heard someone running down the hallway, and then Olesm appeared in the doorway.

“Miss Erin! Ceria! You won’t believe what I—oh.”

Olesm paused awkwardly in the doorway. Erin was still in her pajama clothes and semi-decent, but Ceria preferred to sleep only in her underwear. She pulled the sheets up around her chest and Olesm turned away, blushing.

“Blight and rot Olesm, you’ve seen me naked before. And bleeding. Stop blushing and tell us what’s wrong? Is it more undead?”

Olesm turned and shook his head.

“No. Maybe? It’s something we found in the city! You see, after the Watch cleared out the ruins, Zevara was really worried more undead might appear, so she got the Council to find where we keep our histories. Well, we had to dig back to the oldest archives in some dusty house, but we found something about the ruins!”

“What?”

Olesm’s eyes were wide with excitement. He gestured, trying to make sense while words spilled over each other.

“They found a map. It shows the ruins, as well as the locations of other buildings underground. Apparently, the ruins we found was a tomb, and Skinner was assigned to guard it.”

Ceria’s fists—both of them—clenched in the sheets.

“So he wasn’t just a monster that found his way in there. What else?”

Olesm paused.

“It says he was one of the protectors of the tombs. But that was only a building for commoners—but it’s the rest that’s really serious. You—you might want to sit down.”

Ceria snapped at Olesm.

“We are sitting! Spit it out!”

Olesm took a deep breath, and when he spoke his voice only trembled slightly.

“The tombs are only a small part of the ruins. There are more. Underground. They’re all over the place, but that’s not the big thing. In the references, we found a passage we could read. It lists the titles of those placed in the ruins to guard them forever. And he’s there too. Skinner. Flesh Worm. Lesser Guardian of the Crypts.”

2.14 G

Rags wondered if today was the day she would die. It seemed like she asked herself that question every day. But never did she wonder if she was being paranoid. Because someday she would die. The only question was: was it now?

The young Goblin didn’t know. She only knew that if her death was today, was now, she’d go down fighting. That was how Goblins lived and died. Her blood sang in her veins, and she could hear nothing over the pounding of her heart.

She stood at the top of a snowy slope, staring down. Her quarry was below her. The Rock Crab slowly picked its way across the wintery landscape, testing the ground with a segmented leg before moving forwards.

It hadn’t noticed the sixty Goblins on the hill yet. That was the crab’s first and final mistake. Rags looked around. Her tribe of Goblins waited, crouched and holding their weapons in their small hands. She knew their hearts had to be pounding just as hard as hers was.

It was time. Rags unsheathed her sword. The bright bronze blade shone in the light from the grey skies overhead. Unlike the weapons of the Goblins around her, Rag’s weapon was new. It shone; she polished it every day. It was a symbol, but more importantly, it was sharp.

Rags raised the sword and the Goblins around her tensed. She screamed and her tribe surged down the snowy banks. The Rock Crab paused and began to slowly turn towards the horde of Goblins.

It was massive. For a Goblin, the Rock Crab was nothing less than a giant capable of crushing them with one of its claws. It did so now, seizing one of the Goblins running next to Rags and crunching the Goblin without any effort.

But for all a Rock Crab was terribly huge, and for all its armored shell repelled any attacks, it had one weakness. It was alone.

Rags slid as she drew within five feet of the Rock Crab. A pincer as large as she was grazed the top of her head and then she was sliding underneath the Rock Crab’s shell. She scrambled to her feet, trying to avoid the countless pointed legs as they stabbed into the snowy ground around her.

Everything was confusion. Rags sensed her Goblins running towards the crab, screaming in terror and fury. Their high-pitched shouts distracted the Rock Crab even more as it twisted around, trying to keep the Goblins at bay.

But Rags and a group of Goblins were already inside the shell. Rags raised her sword and stabbed up. She didn’t have to aim; the crab filled the air around her.

Her sharp blade punctured and cracked the carapace above her. Rags felt some blue liquid splashing down on her face and sensed other Goblins bashing at the Rock Crab’s legs, crawling up his body to bash at him from all sides.

The Rock Crab clicked, a noise that was nearly deafening in the confines of his shell. Then, suddenly, the world went dark.

Rags had no idea what was happening, until she realized the Rock Crab had lowered itself to the ground to prevent other Goblins entering. She heard a Goblin outside screaming as the rocky shell caught him in the midriff and crushed him to death.

Something moved in the darkness. Goblins had good night vision, and even in the shell some light still got in from outside. Rags saw a pincer move. The Rock Crab was trying to kill all the Goblins who’d made it in his shell.

Rags raised her blade and stabbed up again. The Rock Crab clicked in distress and threw itself against its shell, trying to crush her. But the shortsword was buried in its body now, and Rags hung on for dear life. She twisted the blade, trying to make the crab bleed. Blood spattered her body and arms.

The Rock Crab had made its second mistake. It had trapped the Goblins inside with it, true. It had even kept the Goblins outside from hurting it. But it had put the Goblins trapped with it against a wall. Either they killed it, or it killed them.

The Goblins inside the shell raised their weapons. Their crimson eyes gleamed in the darkness. The Rock Crab couldn’t see much, but even its pathetic eyes could see the glowing eyes in the darkness. It clicked once and raised its claws.

—-

When the rest of Rags’ tribe finally managed to worm their way underneath the shell by digging through the snow and dirt, it was already over. Rags sat in a pool of shell, guts, and blood, chewing on a piece of crab meat.

Goblins lay around her, some in parts, others just lying down because they were tired. They were all eating—although some were drinking the Rock Crab’s blood too. The inside of the shell was a scene of carnage, but to the Goblins it just looked like a buffet.

The rest of Rags’ tribe wanted to start devouring the Rock Crab as well, but Rags barked an order and they stopped. Instead, she had them lift the shell off the crab’s corpse. It was a lot of work, but the forty-some Goblins remaining could do it if they worked together. The shell crashed to the ground, taking an unlucky Goblin’s toe with it as the Goblins shoved it off the former occupant.

Now it was time to feast. Rags let her tribe begin hacking apart the crab as she sat in the snow and munched. The meat was bitter and tough, but it was filling and it was all a starving Goblin could dream of.

As she ate, Rags thought. This was a unique hobby among Goblins, but she was not a normal Goblin. Besides, she was also chief of this tribe. To be more accurate Rags was Chieftain of the Flooded Waters Tribe of Goblins who lived and died in the area around Liscor. She had responsibilities.

Now, how many goblins had died this time? Rags didn’t have a complete count of the Goblins in her tribe because they came and died so quickly, but she had close to sixty this morning. Now, she had closer to forty. Possibly forty-five.

They’d lost fifteen Goblins killing the Rock Crab. That wasn’t bad. It might have been terrible for any group of soldiers, people, or any other species in general, but Goblins were used to slaughter, mainly on their side.

Normally it took around twenty lives to bring down one of the gigantic Rock Crabs. The exchange wasn’t good, but it meant life for at least another week for a Goblin tribe. That was considered acceptable.

But there was another aspect to the numbers. Rags eyed the dead mixed with the crab parts and wondered how many were young, or female. She had only a dozen experienced warriors, and she’d hate to lose any of them.

That was another thing about Goblins. They fought together. Women, children—there was no difference. Goblins fought or died as one. There was no place to put the young.

If they died, they all died together. It was better than dying alone and starving.

True, the pregnant females and children generally stayed at the back, but their tribe didn’t have the numbers to hold their home and hunt Rock Crabs at the same time. Rags shook her head as she stared at a small head lying in a pool of congealed blood.

It was another day in the Floodplains of Liscor. She hadn’t died yet, but there was time. There was always time to die.

The Rock Crab sated even the hungriest Goblins after a while. Rather than leave the precious meat behind, Rags ordered the bulk of her tribe to take everything they could and bring it back to their home. In this case, it was a small cave they’d taken from the bears hibernating there.

Now, that had been a fight. Rock Crabs were one thing. They were terrifying behemoths of the plains, but they were slow. Bears on the other hand could catch a running Goblin and tear them to shreds.

Rags had led that encounter as well. She’d had her Goblins loosing arrows and throwing rocks at the bears and keep them at bay while she burned them from afar. She knew only three spells, but one of them was [Firefly]. It was a spell designed to attack from afar, and ever since Rags had learned it, her Goblins had been able to take on far stronger enemies than before.

As the majority of her tribe left, Rags barked an order and eight of her best warriors formed up around her. None of them were badly injured from killing the Rock Crab, and they all had the best weapons in her tribe.

Rusty swords, a sharp dagger, a club, and a hatchet. That was the might of Goblins, and compared to them Rags was a knight in armor with her small buckler and short sword. None of the Goblins wore armor outside of some leather and cloth; it slowed them down too much in case they needed to run away.

Now, where to? Rags’ priority for the day had been killing the Rock Crab. Ever since Winter had arrived, her tribe had been starving to death. They’d waited until this Rock Crab was far away from its friends before attacking. Now that they were full, Rags could finally think about other things.

First things first. Rags set off across the snowy landscape, her warriors ranging out around her. They knew where she was going. It was the first place Rags ever went when she wasn’t busy keeping her tribe alive.

The inn.

To the Goblins, The Wandering Inn wasn’t just a place to eat. No, for them it was closer to heaven. It was a miraculous place where they were safe from all dangers, had food to eat, and best of all in Rags’ opinion, she could play chess.

Chess. Rags loved chess. It was something so completely unlike anything else she’d ever experienced in life that even now after hundreds of games it still fascinated her. Chess wasn’t something you did that was just physical, like eating or crapping or killing. It was a game you played on the board, and also in your head.

It was wonderful. And it had given Rags an even greater gift, which was the [Tactician] class. She was looking forwards to playing. Today would be the day she finally beat Erin Solstice at a game. She just knew it.

Rags crested a ridge and stopped still. The inn was gone. No—not completely gone, but—

Destroyed. Rags stared at the broken windows, the collapsed part of the roof and of course, the walls that no longer existed. She could stare straight into part of the kitchen from her spot on the hill. Something massive had taken a chunk out of the inn. It was gone.

For a full second Rags stared in shock at the inn. Then she began to think. Goblins moved past shock and confusion fast or they died. So Rags quickly noticed that the inn might be destroyed, but its owner was still alive.

Erin Solstice, human, proprietor of The Wandering Inn, and The Destroyer as she had been named by the Goblins, stood around talking with several large black insects and two tall lizards as more Antinium moved around her.

What were they doing? They were…dismantling the inn? Rags saw a Worker pry a broken piece of timber off the inn and walk down the hill. They were going somewhere else with it.

And not just pieces of the inn. Some of Rags’ warriors murmured as a group of eight Workers lifted a section of wall and trotted down the slope with it held between them. They were indeed taking apart the inn, and it seemed to Rags that they were intending to build it somewhere else.

Curious. Rags analyzed the situation as only she could do. She was smart. Every Goblin knew it. That was why they’d accepted her as Chief.

So let’s see. The inn had been in one piece when Rags had seen it yesterday. But clearly something had happened. The inn was destroyed—possibly by a monster or something else, and Erin had gotten the Antinium to fix it. Only, they’d decided to build it somewhere else.

Even as Rags came to that logical conclusion, another of her warriors came up to her and reported that more Antinium were making their way across the plains.

It was clear that Rags wouldn’t get to play chess today, so, intrigued, she ordered the other Goblin to bring her to the site of the other Antinium.

Goblins could move fast when they wanted to. It was practically their only advantageous feature, if you didn’t count their size. So Rags and her small posse found the Drake, Klbkch, Ceria, and the twenty-odd Workers shortly after the group had reached the site of the Boom Tree forest.

Rags heard her Goblins murmur as they crept closer to the Working Antinium, supervised by the Drake, Ceria, and Klbkch.

The Antinium were moving like machines, systematically stripping each tree of bark before felling them with axes. They had everything Rags dreamed of in an army. They would never break or flee, and they moved together flawlessly.

What disturbed Rags greatly though was their location. She and her Goblins had crept through the snow, ignoring the freezing temperatures, to the edge of the trees. They’d done this against all their instincts, and Rags had only come this far out of curiosity.

Her curiosity being, why the Workers were still here and not fragments of flesh and exoskeleton raining from the sky at this point. She knew these trees. They were death.

In fairness, Goblins classified almost half of the world as ‘death’, but they had a far more nuanced view of death than other species. Their species had over twenty words for death, and that meant they could define death in an almost unlimited number of ways.

Goblins pessimistically defined death as a probability, or perhaps an inevitability depending on how you looked at it. For instance, a lone human traveler was only ‘possible death’ for a group of Goblins, and if a tribe was nearby the unfortunate human was only ‘death for one or two’. By contrast, the Rock Crab had been ‘near certain death’ for the individual Goblin or small party, but only ‘many deaths’ for a tribe.

But the trees here, this forest, was absolute death. Goblins avoided the area, having learned the exact range of the explosive bark from trial and error, as it were.

That was why Rags was astonished to see that the Workers were not only moving among the trees, but chopping them down without being perforated in a thousand places. Why? Was it magic?

No—none of the three people here was capable of magic like that, Rags was certain. She knew Ceria could do magic, but she also knew the half-Elf had been badly injured, as evidenced by her skeletal hand. Moreover, Rags saw no wand or stave, and she couldn’t sense any magic coming from Ceria.

And Klbkch and the Drake certainly weren’t capable of magic. Although of the three, they bothered Rags far more than Ceria.

Klbkch for instance. The Antinium was clearly distinguishable from the other Workers, thanks to his unique build. He was taller, leaner, and had only two arms instead of four. He was also ten times more dangerous than the others.

Rags still remembered his death. She hadn’t been part of the ill-advised group of Goblins that had set out to kill Erin and avenge their Chieftain, but she’d watched as the Antinium and one of the Workers had carved their way through the ranks of the Goblins. Even though they’d killed him in the end, it had only been because he’d been protecting Erin.

And now he’d come back to life. His body might have been changed, but he smelled and acted the same. That terrified Rags.

But while Klbkch was a silent enigma, he was nothing compared to the Drake. Rags knew he had a name, but she refused to remember it.

The Drake. He was known by the Goblins of the Flooded Waters Tribe, oh yes. He had killed more of their kind by himself than the rest of the other guardsmen combined. He was faster than any Goblin—faster than arrows—had skin tougher than metal, and he could kill even a Hob with his bare hands.

He was a monster. He’d killed the Goblins who’d raised Rags. He was her enemy, even if he didn’t know it.

But there was nothing to do about him but avoid the Drake. He could easily slaughter Rags and all the warriors she’d brought. No matter what Erin said, they had to keep their distance from him.

Speaking of which, where was he? Rags narrowed her eyes and scanned the forest. The Drake had been talking to Klbkch only a second ago, but now he was gone. Where had he gone? To piss? Or—

“Got you!”

Rags heard the terrible voice too late. She twisted, but Relc grabbed her out of the snow and threw her through the air.

The Goblin felt herself flying, a dizzying, rushing weightlessness broken by terrible pain as she hit a tree and bounced off. She landed in the snow, winded and curled up reflexively into a ball of pain.

She didn’t think for a few minutes, only lay there as she heard the Drake laughing and her warriors screaming. The screams grew fainter, and she realized they’d fled. As was only sensible. But it left her alone, and in only moments she heard voices above her head.

“I knew it! I saw one of those pointy-eared freaks poking his head out of the snow, and I knew she had to be nearby. It’s that stupid Goblin!”

“I am not familiar with this Goblin. You say you know her?”

That was Klbkch. Rags tried to uncurl, but the pain was still too much. The Drake replied irritably.

“Yeah. Erin took her in. Her name is Raggy or something stupid like that. She’s been hanging out at the inn and playing chess.”

“Chess?”

“Yeah. Crazy, huh? I wanted to get rid of the little bugger, but Erin won’t let me. Her tribe’s been causing chaos while you were dead, and now it looks like she’s got an ambush party waiting to attack us.”

She heard the menace in the Drake’s voice, and that made Rags move. Ignoring the terrible pain in her back, she uncurled and looked up. Relc and Klbkch were standing over her while Ceria stood just behind them, staring at Rags.

Was this the day she died? Rags knew she had no chance if it came to a fight. The Drake could kill her with one claw. But she stood up anyways and reached for her sword.

The Drake growled at Rags, looming over her.

“Drop it.”

His voice sent a thrill of terror down Rags’ back. But she still gripped the hilt of her sword with one hand. She was terrified of the Drake, but so what? Rags was always afraid, but she never gave into the fear.

Klbkch laid one hand on the Drake’s shoulder as he gripped the shaft of his spear.

“Calm yourself, Relc. I would not wish violence here.”

“She was spying on us. Don’t you think we should do something? What if they were going to attack?”

Klbkch’s voice was an oasis of calm. He pointed at Rags.

“Erin Solstice harbors affection towards them. If she discovers they have been slaughtered, she will react poorly.”

Calm, and coldness beyond anything Rags had known. She was sure that if his needs called for it, Klbkch would kill her without batting an eyelid. Not that the Antinium had eyelids.

“Moreover, I do not believe even Goblins would be foolish enough to attack a larger force by themselves. No, I think Rags and her group were following us to see what we were doing. That is all.”

The Drake glared at his friend. He pointed at Rags.

“They killed you. Killed. You. You’re telling me you don’t want to slaughter every one of these buggers we find? They’re filthy little cowards, the lot of them.”

The word burned Rags. But of course there was nothing she could say. Klbkch paused, and then went on without changing pitch.

“My feelings do not matter. Erin Solstice has been deemed important to the Hive, and for that, her cooperation is needed. Let the Goblin go.”

The Drake glared at his friend, but then he cursed long and loud. He turned, and Rags breathed out just slightly. Maybe, just maybe—

Relc turned back and raised his foot. Rags saw only a blur and then—

—-

She woke up with a terrible pain in her jaw. Rags knew it wasn’t broken, but it hurt!

Relc was gone. Klbkch was gone. But someone was standing over her, and it wasn’t one of her Goblins.

“Rags?”

Ceria the half-Elf bent down and reached out for the Goblin. Rags’ reaction was immediate. She rolled away from Ceria and sprang to her feet, backing away from the mage warily.

“I don’t mean you any harm. I just wanted to make sure—”

Rags pulled the small jar of acid from her belt and Ceria paused. Rags hadn’t dared reach for it with Relc because he was too quick, but she held it out between her and the half-Elf warningly. It was a threat; not something Rags intended to actually make good on.

It worked. Ceria paused, and stood up carefully. She regarded the little jar of acid, knowing full well how dangerous it was. But she didn’t panic. She looked Rags in the eye.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt. Relc shouldn’t have kicked you like that.”

So. It had been the Drake. Rags felt her chin. It felt like it was about to fall off, but if that was all she ended up with, she’d count herself lucky. But then why was Ceria concerned about her? Rags was still wary.

“I’m not looking to do anything with you. If I wanted to hurt you, I’d have done it while you were asleep.”

That was true. Rags hesitated, and lowered the jar of acid. Ceria watched her tuck it into her belt and shook her head.

“I need to talk to Erin about her giving you those. That girl—”

She paused and shook her head again.

“What am I doing, talking to Goblins? Look, I don’t really care what you and your little group were doing watching us. But I have a message for you.”

A message? Rags’ ears perked up slightly. Ceria looked serious as she pointed at Rags, and then out across the plains.

“Leave. The Watch is going to wipe your tribe out or drive it off in a few days.”

Rags absorbed the information silently. She didn’t doubt that it was true for a second. Not because she thought Ceria was honest, but because she’d predicted it was coming.

More patrols through the plains. More guardsmen spotting Goblins but not attacking them, just following them for a while. The picture added up. Ceria’s words just confirmed Rags’ hunch.

Ceria didn’t seem surprised Rags wasn’t surprised. The half-Elf thrust her good hand into her pocket.

“I don’t know if you really understood that, but I hope you did. Not that I want your tribe to live or anything. I’m just telling you this so Erin doesn’t get upset. I owe her a lot.”

That was true, but Rags didn’t see how it had any bearing on the current situation. She wasn’t Erin’s pet or anything like that. But it mattered to Ceria, clearly. The half-Elf looked at Rags balefully.

“I remember the last Goblin King’s rampage from the sea. He left a sea of fire and destruction across three continents. Even if others underestimate your kind, I know you can be dangerous.”

Goblin King? Ceria had known the last Goblin King? Rags was suddenly intensely curious. No Goblin she’d ever met remembered the Goblin King, but of course they all knew of what he’d done. But it was clear that Rags’ opinion of the late Goblin King was not Ceria’s.

“If it were me, I wouldn’t shed a tear if your kind died out. But Erin likes you and I owe you for rescuing me from the ruins.”

Ceria sighed. She raised her skeletal hand and stared at it for a second. Rags stared too. She’d never seen an injury like Ceria’s before. Of course she’d seen frostbite, but never a skeletal hand that stayed together like that. Was it magic?

“You know, if your kind didn’t steal or attack innocent people, you might actually be tolerated. Perhaps not. Even half-Elves live on the edges. But you—”

Ceria broke off. She paused, looked at Rags, and for a moment her expression softened.

“There’s no place for you anywhere in the world. You have my sympathies. From one outcast to another. But take my advice and get lost. Today.”

She walked away. Rags was left alone in the middle of the stripped clearing, only a cluster of stumps indicating where all the trees had been.

Now then, what was all that about? Rags had no way of making sense of what had just happened. She took a seat on a stump, perched on the edge, one hand under her chin as she tried to think.

Ceria had warned her. Rel—the Drake had expressed his hatred for Rags and her kind and Klbkch had seemed indifferent. Was any of it a lie? Rags wished she had a Skill to tell the difference.

She often thought of Skills, and the ways in which she could use them. It was an odd thought to have, because most Goblins didn’t have any Skills to speak of. But Rags had earned several, and increasingly, she’d begun to question which Skills she might one day obtain and how they might help her survive longer.

She ascribed these un-Goblin like thoughts to the [Tactician] class, but the truth was simply that if Rags had been a human, she would have been a genius. Since she was a Goblin, she was more of a legendary being in their eyes. She was one in a million—perhaps one in a billion.

Which still didn’t make Rags all that special. Goblins reproduced so fast that even some insect species couldn’t keep up. Their kind lived and died like mayflies, and their children were able to walk and fight within days of being born.

And they died just as quickly. So Goblins would mate and reproduce as fast as they could before their half-lives ended. Even in the winter, more babies would be born and die.

The Goblins would normally starve, even with kills like the Rock Crabs to sustain the tribe. So many new lives were a strain on any ecosystem. But that was why the dead were always brought back. They would be eaten, and life would begin again.

It was the way of things. But some days Rags wondered why it had to be this way. She wondered if there was something to do that would take her tribe out of this cycle of death that was their way of life.

Or failing that, her at least. Rags wanted to live. It was all she thought about. Living, and dying. But for the first time in forever, she actually had something that could help her accomplish her goals: her classes.

Goblins could level. It was just rare that they survived long enough to gain more than one or two levels.

For instance, every Goblin including Rags had at least one or two levels in [Scavenger] and [Warrior]. But what was interesting to Rags was that they seldom leveled up higher, even the old ones.

Goblins that had lived for three years or longer were only Level 9 in the [Scavenger] class. And the highest-level [Warrior] Goblin that Rags could remember was the old Chief. He’d been Level 18 in the [Warrior] class, and he’d been a Hob.

But Rags was unique. Not only did she have eight levels in the [Warrior] class – the highest in her tribe – she also had a [Mage] class, which was practically unique among Goblins. And of course a class that was unique, the [Tactician] class. Rags was a Level 11 [Tactician]. That practically made her a Hob herself, but she still hadn’t started growing.

Hobgoblins were the next step in Goblin evolution, insofar as Goblins ever evolved. They were still Goblins, but ones who, for whatever reason, entered a sudden growth spurt. Strong Goblins who were either Chieftains or stronger, faster, or tougher than normal would suddenly begin eating twice their weight each day. They’d grow constantly, until they were suddenly as tall as Humans and in some cases, twice as wide.

These Goblins were the leaders of tribes, the shock troopers in any Goblin group and the only way Goblins could take on deadly monsters. It was a given that most tribes would have around one Hobgoblin, or Hobs as they were known. The Flooded Waters Tribe’s single Hob had been their Chief—until Erin killed him, that was.

But while Rags had leveled up as much as any Hob, she hadn’t gotten any bigger. That happened too sometimes, but she was still disappointed. She would have liked to tower over the other Goblins, but being small also meant she was less of a target.

Her concerns over being a Hob were only a small part of the questions in her mind. Rags shifted in her seat and winced as her fist bothered her injured chin. She had to think. Thinking was one of the only things Rags could do, and if she didn’t, she and her tribe would die.

Why did Goblins not level up that much? And on the other hand, why had Rags leveled up so quickly? Was it just because she was special?

Then again, every Goblin in the tribe had leveled up at least twice after killing Skinner. Even the ones who’d only cut a tiny slice off of him. Why was that? What made Skinner different from a traveler on the road, or a Rock Crab?

Maybe it was because…he was dangerous. Because the Goblins had fought, against something truly dangerous. Because they hadn’t taken an easy fight, for once.

Were Rock Crabs easy to kill? …No. But it was practically a given that if an entire tribe of Goblins attacked, a Rock Crab was going to die. It was a safe fight for the tribe, if not individuals.

But Skinner—yes, Rags remembered that night. The Goblins had known he was weak, known he was running. But they hadn’t known if he was able to kill them. Over a hundred of them had charged, and if they’d been a tiny bit slower or if Skinner had been just a little bit stronger, they might have all died.

Yes, that was it. They’d risked everything. And that, surprisingly, was rare for Goblins. As a general rule, Goblins did not pick fights that were even remotely risky. That was tough since everything was stronger than Goblins, but they always attacked with overwhelming numbers, and by surprise if they could help it.

Maybe that was why Goblins didn’t level much. And Rags—she’d leveled because when she played chess she always did her best. And when she learned magic, she worked as hard as she could to listen and learn from the smelly mage Pisces. And fighting—

She’d killed all the Goblins who’d wanted to be Chief themselves. She’d led her tribe against many monsters already, always from the front. She was brave and she risked her life.

That was why. That was the key. That was what Rags needed to leverage if she wanted to survive.

In the quiet falling snow, Rags could think clearly. The cold was getting to her, but she had enough furs on to keep herself warm for now. And the winter air was clarity. It was a reminder of death, and how close her tribe was to it.

The cruel truth of it was, the Flooded Waters Tribe was the weakest in the region. While the humans, Drakes, and Gnolls living in cities and villages didn’t really regard Goblins as more than pests roaming the countryside, there was actually hierarchy even among Goblins. Tribes were their own separate entities that controlled a territory, fighting other tribes and roaming bands of wild Goblins to maintain their dominance.

Dominance of course being the right to prey on stray livestock and keep just under the radar enough so that high-level adventurers weren’t dispatched to get rid of them. It was still a lot of power, considering how many animals could be killed and how many useful little items could be stolen while keeping a low profile.

From a pure power standpoint, the Red Fang tribe to the north was by far the strongest. They were spread out around the entrance to the High Passes, and they had six Hobs in their tribe. They dominated the other tribes occupying the grasslands in that area, although the Goblins stayed away from the Human cities where adventurers lived.

To the south, around the Blood Fields, the Broken Spear Tribe was another barrier to any movement. They ruled that area with an iron fist, much like their Chieftain. He was no Hob; like Rags, he was a smaller Goblin, but one taller than normal. He wore armor made from Shield Spiders as did much of his tribe, and they had even managed to tame the deadly creatures. If the Red Fang Tribe and the Broken Spear Tribe ever fought, it would be hard to say who’d come out on top.

Other than that, the only other major Tribe in the region was the Ghostly Hand Tribe. They lived further south than the Blood Fields, but they alone would occasionally travel north through Liscor. The Broken Spear Tribe left them alone, mainly because even they feared the Ghostly Hand Tribe’s Chief. She was a terrible [Shaman] capable of raising the dead, and several Goblins in that tribe knew basic magics. They used poison and traps to fight, and they were just as deadly to other Goblins as their enemies.

All three tribes were so far above Rags’ small tribe in terms of hierarchy that it was impossible to compare them. She couldn’t even imagine challenging one of their Chieftains, only imagine the mutilated corpse that would result from such an act.

But they had to leave this place. Ceria had said, and the writing was on the trees.

Actually, nothing was on the trees, including bark. The Workers had stripped almost every tree around here of bark, even the ones they hadn’t cut down. Piles of thick bark lay rolled up in the snow.

Rags got off her stump and wandered over to one of the rolled up pieces of bark. She squatted down and inspected it with utmost care.

Yes, this was definitely the death of this forest. A cross-section of the bark showed Rags that there was definitely a layer of detachable wood—cushioned by something soft and almost jelly-like in between. Was this what exploded to make the bark fly so far?

Hm. Could she use this? Why wasn’t the bark exploding now?

It had to be the cold. Rags could think of nothing else. The bark was hard and the in-between substance was sludgy and stiff. If it warmed up, what would happen?

They had to leave. But to where? Rags had made overtures to the Broken Spear tribe to the south already. It was warmer down south, and she’d had the idea that her tribe could inhabit the Blood Fields if necessary. But she wasn’t sure their Chief would even acknowledge her, much less grant her safe passage.

Failing that, she might be able to negotiate passage north. The Red Fang tribe was vicious, but they might grant her some space far north if she offered them tribute every week. It would be desperate, but far better than certain death. Rags could weigh the options in her head; analyze the odds of survival thanks to her [Tactican] class and skills.

But—all of that was still running away, wasn’t it? It wasn’t how you leveled. That was the key. If Rags wanted to be stronger, wanted her tribe to be stronger, they had to stop running eventually.

But running was what Goblins were good at.

Cowards. That was what the Drake had said. It burned Rags just to remember. But what hurt most was that she couldn’t dismiss it. It was true.

Goblins were cowards. Maybe that was why they were so weak. Maybe…it was that Rags had to change. The nature of what it meant to be a Goblin.

Cowardice. It was a bad word. Goblins had no real word for ‘coward’, just words for those Goblins who ran when their tribe needed them, or stabbed each other in the back. Actually, Goblins who stabbed others in the backs weren’t thought of in a negative light. Stealth was a very valuable skill.

But cowardice was a bad word in other species’ languages. Rags understood that. The word was like a burn on your head, making you smaller, less important. Coward.

What was the opposite of that? It was a word Goblins didn’t really know. It meant ‘foolishness’ or ‘stupidity’ in their language, but Rags had heard Erin say it once. She’d been talking about how Rags played. It was a better word. A good word.

Courage.

And it lit something inside of Rags. Something. A feeling she’d only felt once or twice. The first time she’d set foot in Erin’s inn. The feeling she sometimes got as she played chess and when she was in the middle of a battle.

Yes…she did know one place that would be a challenge. A challenge beyond challenges. A place of death. Possibly even worse than the High Passes. The death beyond death.

In point of fact, the place of ‘death beyond death’ was no more than a small crack in the side of one of the distant mountains. Technically, it was part of the Red Fang Tribe’s territory, but as a general rule, all Goblins avoided the area.

Rags closed her eyes. An image—sounds—engulfed her. She went back inside her head, not just back in her thoughts, but back. Back in time.

Memory. A huge glistening mass of slime rears up and engulfs the first Hob. He drops the two-handed battleaxe and screams as the creature engulfs him whole.

The slime rears up, nearly twelve feet tall. It’s not simply clear jelly, but colored sections that swirl together in a hypnotizing miasma. Crimson redness engulfs the Hob’s form like mist within the creature’s liquid form; when it clears, the goblin is gone.

The tribe’s [Shaman] raises a staff and croaks a few guttural words. Spinning arrows made of blue light strike the slime, vaporizing small bits of its mass.

The amorphous slime does not scream, but purple gathers around the places where the missiles strike, like antibodies rushing towards an injury. It rolls quickly towards the [Shaman], but two of the remaining Hobs move to block it.

The Scale Slayer Tribe battles the slime for thirty minutes before they retreat. One of their Hobs staggers away, half her face melted. The small Goblins limp away, burned, many beyond saving. They will die that night.

This is the third tribe that has sought to conquer this strange place. The abundance of strange plants gathering around the cave is not worth the death that comes out. They leave the slime to feast on their dead, and it is remembered. This is a dying place. It must be avoided at all costs.

Rags blinked, and woke up with a gasp. She realized she was being carried, unevenly propped up on other Goblins as they made their way back to their den.

Where was she? Rags looked around and realized she’d left her forest. Sometime as the ancient memories of her people had engulfed her, her warriors had come back and found her. They’d carried her back rather than disrupt her trance.

That was no good. Rags shouted and thumped the Goblins beneath her. They lowered her to the ground gently and she looked around.

She was…around two miles away from the forest where they’d found her. Good. That was good. Rags shouted and her warriors reacted with dismay. But she was insistent, and soon they had returned to the forest and ended up returning to the Goblin’s den, carrying the bark the Workers had left.

Rags lugged along a huge roll of bark, still thinking. She ignored the grumbling of her warriors around her as they carried equally heavy burdens. They would obey her, complaints or not.

She was a Chief. The Goblins may have resisted her at first, but once she had claimed her position, her status was undeniable. She would lead, until one stronger challenged her, or she fell.

A Chief was essential to any tribe. Without one, the Goblins were aimless, no matter how many of them there were. A Chief could direct them, give them purpose. Wandering bands of Goblins or weaker tribes were absorbed into a strong Chief’s tribe, and Rags had added one tribe and a few lost Goblins to her tribe just as countless Chiefs before her had done.

But being a Chief was more than just about leadership. It was also something that connected all Goblins. There was power in it, just as there was power in [Shamans]. Goblins gave their Chiefs and Shamans their abilities.

In a [Shaman]’s case, the more Goblins that were in the tribe, the more power their spells had. But a Chief took something different from their Goblins. They took memory.

It was something every Chief could do. They could remember things that had happened to their tribe, things that had happened years or even centuries in the past. This could be extremely valuable, as Goblins remembered strategy or good places to hunt or hide. But it only worked with enough Goblins.

With a small tribe, Chiefs could remember the last generation’s memories, or maybe a bit further back than that. But with a huge tribe numbering in the thousands? Rags was certain any Chief of such a tribe would be able to remember backwards thousands of years. Perhaps more.

In her case, she’d remembered the place where Goblins had discovered death. Death, in the form of a small rift in the mountain from which monsters and horrible things emerged every now and then. It was something to consider, but Rags had no time to ponder that. Because when she returned to her cave, she found more death.

A severed head sat in the center of the small cave that Rags’ tribe called home. The other Goblins sat around it, staring at the head and then at Rags as she laid the boom bark in the snow. She walked towards the head slowly. It was staring at her.

Rags knew the face of the Goblin who had died. She was a Goblin she’d chosen a week ago as a messenger. She’d sent the Goblin to the Broken Spear tribe to talk to the Chief and bring back a message. And the Goblin had, after a fashion.

The head was a clear answer to Rags’ request. The young Goblin’s head rolled across the ground before coming to a stop. It was still bleeding; the blood hadn’t clotted entirely yet.

That meant something. To Rags, who understood death, it meant that her messenger had not been killed until only recently. An hour—perhaps less?

It meant that the Broken Spear Tribe’s Chief hadn’t just killed her messenger there and then, but had the Goblin brought close to Rag’s territory and killed the Goblin then. It was a message within a message. It meant ‘we can do this to your entire tribe if we want.’

It didn’t change the rest of it, though. Rags stared into the vacant eyes of the Goblin.

Dead.

It was always like this. This was why…this was why she had to do it. Even if it meant death. She had to try, try to brave the ‘death beyond death’ to stop this from happening. Erin had done it, once. If she could do it, Rags could too.

Erin Solstice was a terrifying human. She had killed a Hob by herself, something that even Silver-rank adventurers had trouble doing. In a straight up battle, their tribe would have supported the Hob while he cut down a party of adventurers one by one. But the previous Chief had been overconfident as he hunted Erin down like prey, and she had killed him.

She was stronger now, Rags was sure. Erin had gone through fire and violence and now she had people who would help her, and strength. She had been able to kill the creatures in the ruins with just a frying pan. And afterwards, she’d hurt the adventurer with the huge eyes.

Adversity. Rags had to prepare her tribe. So she buried the head and sat and thought.

Burying the head was a sign of deep respect. It meant that the Goblin who’d died was not merely food. The Goblins would have buried their last Chief if Klbkch hadn’t done it for them.

Rags watched her Goblins eat and warned the rest to leave the bark in the snow, well away from the fire. She wasn’t ready to test the effects of warmth on the bark just yet.

Let’s see. What did she have to challenge certain death with? She had…forty five Goblins. A paltry number, compared to the hundreds of Goblins in the larger tribes.

What else? Poorly maintained weapons, aside from her short sword. Wood clubs, a few metal weapons. Nothing useful.

They had slings, adapted from the Red Fang tribe to the north. Rags had instantly adopted the weapon when she’d heard of it, going against the traditions of her tribe. The new weapon had led to more kills from scavengers, and an increase in the Goblins’ ability to harry their enemies.

She had only six small jars of acid left, and Rags knew that Erin wasn’t able to harvest any more acid flies so long as the winter lasted. Rags had several potions taken from travelers, but she had no idea what they did. She regretted losing the one Ryoka had taken back, but that was that.

They had potions, a few weapons, Rags’ magic and superior armaments, and enough food for a few days thanks to the Rock Crab. And they had the bark. And…something else.

Rags went into the back of the cave and kicked Goblins until they moved aside to let her get to the Chief’s spot. She had something there. She reached under her small nest of dried leaves, grass, and cotton, and pulled out a tangle of wires and metal.

This was what Rags had. It might be the key.

The Goblins of her tribe stared with interest as Rags brought the remains of the crossbow out and laid them close enough to the fire so she could see, but not close enough to burn anything.

Rags inspected the gleaming metal and tried to think. This was a crossbow—or it had been. Rags had found it next to a pile of death, and the humans had named it. So she had taken it, but she had no idea how to fix the crossbow.

In truth, she had no idea what a crossbow really was. She thought it was like a strange box that fired twice, maybe tied together, but the pieces of the one she’d found in the ruins didn’t look like that.

At any rate, the problem here wasn’t so much that Rags didn’t know what a crossbow was—she had the pieces. But she had no way to put it back together.

Rags poked at the wires, stared at the wood. Then she did a very Goblin thing. She reached out behind her, and punched the Goblin sitting behind her. He grunted, and she pointed to the mess on the ground.

He had no idea what to do, so he reached out and punched the Goblin behind him. That Goblin had no idea what to do either, but he punched another Goblin to ask. And meanwhile, Rags was ‘asking’ another Goblin, and the other Goblins kept asking too.

And then one Goblin punched wondered if the metal had once been held on something. The idea of a bow had made her think of that.

Rags remembered the splintered black wood and the memory made her realize the Goblin was right. Another Goblin thought the pieces would go something like…this. Another Goblin disagreed. More punched each other, but all the Goblins were thinking now.

Within an hour, the Goblins had figured out what was missing from the crossbow. They needed wood. Sturdy wood, so the metal could be pulled back like…this! And then, yes, then you could put something in the slot. An arrow? It would fly far and strike hard, they were sure.

They had a few Goblins with a level or two in [Crafter] or [Carpenter]. Rags called them over and showed them the pieces. The Goblins muttered and then grabbed firewood and began to carve.

Meanwhile, Rags’ own mind was on fire. She looked at the metal, and then ordered more Goblins to recreate the designs of the crossbow with metal. They had plenty of scrap metal, and now all of her tribe was curious.

They hit problems, though. How were they supposed to fasten the metal to wood? Rags inspected the pieces of the crossbow, and found the black metal screws. Such was the craftsmanship of the Dwarven crossbow, the wood had broken while the screws remained intact, unbent.

Screws? That was way beyond the Goblin’s level of technology. But wait—the Workers were still working on that inn. Rags sent a group of Goblins out to see if they could find anything.

They came back with a bucket stolen when no Worker was looking. The nails and metal in the bucket weren’t like the industrial, mass-produced items of the modern world, but to Goblins, they were still a miraculous thing.

Rags watched the original crossbow being reassembled by her Goblins, and then considered the issue of ammunition.

Bolts. Now, that was another problem. Like anything metal, Goblins didn’t make so much as scavenge. They didn’t have enough arrowheads for their archers to make arrows as it was, and it seemed these crossbow bolts would require different shaping of the head and shaft.

Rags set a few Goblins to cutting lengths of woods anyways while she tried to figure the problem out. They could probably fashion enough crossbow bolts for her, but they’d be made of wood and not metal, which would decrease the power. And wood was hard to come by in the winter, and harder still to manufacture without proper tools.

They couldn’t use wood for all the crossbows. So then what? What could a crossbow fire besides wood?

…Practically anything.

If you couldn’t make enough arrows, change the crossbow. Rags squatted down next to the team of tinkerers and soon, they’d widened their prototype crossbow and removed the string. Now it more closely resembled a sling mounted on a stock.

It took hours, and the entire tribe working into the night, but with a superior model to copy, the Goblins eventually came up with something that made Rags’ heart skip. They placed it next to the remade crossbow, two mismatched weapons, but two deadly ones nevertheless.

Rags loaded the Dwarven crossbow, pulling hard with both hands to cock the mechanism. Then she took one of the crude bolts one of her Goblins had made and fired a round outside. The bolt disappeared as the crossbow kicked Rags back into the cave. The Goblins were in awe.

The second crossbow was different, but no less important. Rags, massaging her chest, let another Goblin fire the first shot of that one.

This crossbow took a small stone rather than a bolt. The Goblin placed it carefully in the leather sling and drew the bow back until a small ring of metal could catch on the release of the crossbow. He aimed the bow at the cave wall and pulled the trigger.

Goblins dove to the ground as the small rock flew across the cave and shattered on the stone wall. Rags blinked as a shard of stone struck her on the forehead. She began to kick the Goblin who’d fired it, but she was elated nevertheless.

The new crossbow the Goblins had created was a stone-shot crossbow, not the advanced versions of crossbows as they exist in the world today. It had a lot less range and accuracy than a crossbow that used actual arrows, but ammunition was plentiful. Goblins could load it with small stones or even roll clay and dirt into pellets and bake them near a fire until they were hard.

Rags had her Goblins make more crossbows, as fast as possible. This revealed more problems, mainly in the construction process.

The materials the Goblins used to make the crossbows were shoddy, old, rusted iron and splintered wood. Two crossbows broke on the first firing and one’s drawstring snapped and nearly blinded the Goblin using it. But they worked.

By the end of the night, the Goblins had six working crossbows and several Goblins had earned the [Tinkerer] class. Rags was internally elated, although she wasn’t sure about the class itself.

That was the other thing. Goblins had different classes than humans. Weaker ones, Rags suspected. Instead of the [Warrior] class, a Goblin could as easily gain the [Scrapper] class. Instead of [Carpenter], some got [Crafter]. And [Tinkerer]. She was sure there was a better class that would replace it if she gained enough levels.

It went something like this. [Scrapper] became [Warrior] at Level 5 or thereabouts. And if you reached Level 20, Rags had heard some Goblins gained a different class and new skills.

She desperately wanted to level for herself and find out. But it was better, yes, far better to think of her tribe’s competency in battle first.

Rags’ internal [Tactician] was going wild at the thought of using the crossbows. They had good range, and unlike slings, they could be loaded and left alone until they were needed. Rags could open any battle with a volley and let the less-able combatants pelt her enemy while her warriors engaged at close range.

Yes, they could be a game-changer. Rags wanted these new crossbows in the hands of every one of her Goblins. Rags had visions of sixty Goblins firing all at once. What could they kill with that? The Rock Crabs had too much armor, but with these new weapons, they wouldn’t have to kill them. They could hunt birds without worrying about ammunition.

They could stop eating their dead.

As for her crossbow, Rags could barely load it even with help from other Goblins. But she was fairly certain that a bolt from that would kill even a bear if she hit it in the eye. It was a weapon fit for a Chief.

Rags went to sleep that night, head buzzing with thoughts. But at the back of her mind was the knowledge that this was only the first step. She had something—now she needed to turn that into a way to survive her coming trial.

[Leader Class Obtained!]

[Leader Level 2!]

[Skill – Aura of Command Obtained!]

[Tinkerer Class Obtained!]

[Tinkerer Level 1!]

[Skill – Basic Repair Obtained!]

—-

The Goblins left their cave the next day. It was a chaotic, messy move, but Rags shouted and used her new Skill to make her Goblins organize themselves much faster than they would have normally. They set out through the snow, skirting dangerous spots, scavenging for wood and deposits of clay to make ammunition for their new weapons.

It turned out they could use ice for ammunition as well, although only jagged bits of ice and not compacted snow. Rags located an older cave using her Chief’s memories and her Goblins worked all night to make more crossbows. She tested the boom bark by lighting a fire far away outside and sending a Goblin out to toss a roll into it.

When the Goblins picked themselves off the ground, Rags decided she’d found a very useful trap. But she made sure to bury the bark deep in the snow outside the cave, nevertheless.

They came to the opening in the side of the mountain the next day. Rags halted her tribe outside, ordering them into loose ranks. By now, she had fourteen crossbows not including her own, and she’d distributed slings and bows among the rest.

This was it. Rags stared at the small opening and felt her heart racing. Was this the day she died? She’d enter as carefully as possible. If anything dangerous came their way, she’d retreat.

But she had to level up. Her tribe had to be stronger. That was the truth that had revealed itself to Rags. She wanted to live. So she would dance with death until she did.

Death or levels. Life or death. She unsheathed her sword and pointed at the small rift in the rock. A hundred feet in, and the place would change. Two hundred and they’d start traveling downwards. Three hundred, and no Goblin would ever return. That was what the memories told her.

The Goblins tensed, weapons at the ready. Rags inhaled, and then the breath caught in her lungs.

Something was moving from within the darkness. The Goblins around her froze in terror. Rags lowered her sword and raised her finger. She knew three spells. The [Firefly] spell blazed in her mind.

Then it appeared. Horror washed over the Goblins, undiluted, pure terror. As the purple flaming eyes touched them, the Goblins and Rags felt fear. The same fear that had come from Skinner.

Pumping, bony arms. A lithe frame, mainly because there was no meat on it. Light illuminated bone as something dashed out of the darkness, running as fast as he could.

Rags’ jaw dropped.

A familiar skeleton charged out of the ruins, pursued by a massive suit of armor. To the Goblins, the armor was even more horrifying because it was clearly made for a Minotaur or something even larger. It was missing its helmet, but the enchanted armor glowed with orange light that shone from seams in the armor and the open hole at the top. It held a massive greatsword raised in both hands as it chased Toren into the snow.

Rags and her tribe watched Toren run straight towards them. They eyed the magical armor, considered their crossbows. They looked at the armor, at Toren, at each other.

They screamed as one, and ran.

Interlude – Mating Rituals (Pt. 1)

*Warning. If you don’t like descriptions of genitalia or sex or anything of that nature, please don’t read this story. This is a Patreon side story which isn’t chronologically linked to the same part in the plot as current chapters.*

“You have not had sex yet. This is a bad thing, yes?”

Erin paused with a large forkful of boiled beef and vegetables halfway to her lips. She stared open-mouthed at Krshia and then swiveled her gaze to stare at Selys. The Drake winced and avoided her gaze.

“Um. Okay?”

Krshia leaned over the table and regarded Erin intently.

“It has been weeks since we have known each other. But you have not mated with anyone. This is a bad thing, I am thinking. We must do something about that.”

“We must?”

“Hrm. Yes. That is why Selys and I have invited you. It is a matter which we would discuss.”

“Here?”

Erin looked around the room. They were in a restaurant. Actually, the restaurant was actually a tavern, but Erin liked to think of it as a restaurant. They were pretty much the same thing, but taverns usually included more drinking.

This was a Gnoll tavern though, which meant most of the customers inside were furry. A few Drakes were present, but the staff and cooks were Gnolls. Krshia had suggested the place and Erin had happily accepted.

It was rare that Erin got a chance to leave her inn. But business had been slow, Selys had a free day off and Krshia had mentioned the tavern had good food. So Erin had locked Toren in the inn, joined up with the other two, and come here. They’d spent a fun few minutes talking and ordering food – bloody mutton for Krshia, breaded fish for Selys, and boiled beef for Erin. The food had arrived, they’d begun to eat, and then sex had happened.

Not literal sex, but the thing about even discussing sex was that it did odd things to the mind. Erin stared down at her beef, sitting in a light marinade of broth. It was soft and practically fell apart on her spoon. It looked and smelled delicious, but suddenly Erin was imagining sausages. For no particular reason, of course.

That was the thing about penises. They could appear out of nowhere in a heartbeat. Erin put down her spoon and stared at Krshia. Then her eyes swiveled to Selys.

“Sex? Um. You want to talk about sex?”

The female Drake followed her eyes as she chewed her fish.

“Not just sex. Guys. Males. I was just curious and I mentioned it to Krshia, and she said—”

“You have not had sex. You should. Selys agrees.”

Krshia nodded while Selys shook her head, waving her hands as Erin stared at her.

“I didn’t say Erin should have sex. I just thought it was, um, something to talk about. That’s all.”

“Oh.”

Erin sat back in her chair, staring hard. Sex was sex. She knew all about the birds and the bees, although they certainly didn’t look anything like birds or bees up close. She could handle a discussion about private parts, and she certainly wasn’t squeamish but—

She looked around. She was in a nearly full room full of, not to put a fine point on it, males. Some females, but lots of males now that she looked. And she and her two friends were sitting at a central table talking fairly loudly.

“Um. Should we talk about it here? I mean, sex is…is…”

Krshia and Selys stared at her blankly. Erin turned red. Selys laughed.

“Erin! We just want to talk about relationships. We’re not going to talk about, you know, how it is.”

“Unless you wish to.”

Selys and Erin stared at Krshia. Selys cleared her throat nervously and looked at Erin.

“We don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I was just curious about whether you were you know…interested. I thought you might be lonely, and Krshia—”

“Thought I didn’t have enough sex. Right.”

Erin stared down at her food. Perhaps if she looked at that she wouldn’t have to meet the two stares directed her way.

“Well I—hadn’t given it much thought, really? I’ve been busy with the inn and all. And um, I hadn’t really thought about a relationship. With someone else, I mean.”

Krshia frowned.

“But you are young. Now is the best time to be mating with others. What holds you back?”

“Nothing! I just—it’s not like people my age go around having sex all the time. Right?”

Erin looked at Selys. The Drake avoided her gaze.

“Well, I wouldn’t say all the time, but once in a while is nice, Erin. And it’s not like you have to have someone special. You could just ah, have a special night once in a while.”

Erin took a moment to figure that one out.

“You mean a one night stand?”

“If you wish to stand it would be a long night. But pleasurable, perhaps? I may try that.”

Selys choked on her drink. Erin thumped her on the back while she tried to stop blushing.

“Look, I’m no expert. It’d be nice, sure, but it’s just not something I’m looking into.”

“But why?”

Selys coughed and looked at Erin.

“It’s not like there are many humans around. I mean, you could meet up with one of those adventurers or merchants that come by, but there are options, you know? It’s a big city.”

“Options? What do you…oh.”

Krshia regarded Erin intently as the human girl’s eyes followed a passing Gnoll. Erin stared wide-eyed at the tall, six-foot tall furred hyena and tried to think of something as a response.

“I um, I—”

Krshia sniffed at Erin and frowned.

“Perhaps you are afraid of Gnolls and Drakes? You do not like scales or fur?”

“What? No—I don’t mind that. I just—I’ve never—”

The Gnoll brightened.

“Oh? So you would not mind mating with one of my kind? It is good.”

“Well mind is—look Krshia, I really haven’t thought about this. Mating, I mean, having sex is something that I don’t know if I’m ready for. Here I mean. I uh, where would I start…?”

“Taking clothes off is a good first step. It works for me.”

Erin turned and glared at Selys. The Drake laughed as Krshia nodded to herself.

“Perhaps it is fear, then? The first time having sex with another not of your kind is odd. I remember my first Drake. It was odd, but exciting.”

Erin looked at Selys. The Drake was staring at Krshia.

“Selys. Have you…?”

Selys jumped. She looked around wide-eyed, not happy at being in the hot seat.

“What, me? No! I mean, I’ve just stuck with—there’s a lot of fur on Gnolls. Not that that’s a bad thing, but I thought Erin would like to meet one of my friends.”

Krshia frowned.

“Drakes? No. If she is to break her wait, a Gnoll is best.”

“I’m not sure that’s true—”

“I have compared the two. I prefer my kind.”

“But that’s you. I think Erin should have a fair choice, that’s all.”

“Mm. But she should know what it is she chooses. There are differences, yes? It would be good to teach her.”

“True…”

Erin stared at Selys and Krshia as the two talked and wondered if she could run away. Probably not. Krshia could track her down and she’d just continue the conversation when they next met. Unless Erin never came back to Liscor. That was an option.

Was it hot in the tavern? Erin looked around. She was sure it hadn’t been this warm when she walked in.

She caught sight of a Gnoll sitting just across from their table. He was a young…Gnoll, and male. He’d probably come here for a quiet meal, but now he was front-row to a conversation that he clearly wanted to hear and not hear at the same time.

“Erin.”

Erin jumped and looked at Krshia. The Gnoll was smiling at her.

“We think you should learn of our kind, so you may find a partner to sleep with. It would be good to learn of in any case, and you will then have many opportunities, to mate, yes?”

“Yes?”

She nearly said ‘no, please don’t tell me anything.’ But although part of Erin was horrified this conversation was taking place in public, another part of her was curious. Curious—not committed or anything. But since they were talking about that kind of thing…

“So there’s a big difference between Drakes and Gnolls?”

“And humans. We may walk on two feet, but we do some things very differently.”

Selys cleared her throat.

“Or so I’m told. I haven’t seen much.”

“I have.”

Krshia nodded.

“Many things are different. Pleasurably so, but it is good to be warned. If you would mate, you should be ready. I can describe them for you, if you wish.”

Erin still had yet to touch her meal, but she picked up her drink and took a hefty swallow. It was one of the mildly alcoholic beverages on offer and right now she was wishing there was more alcohol in it.

“Describe? What?”

“Male parts of course.”

“Oh. Um, right. Well—okay. Actually, I have a question about that. Do you, um, what do you call them? Male parts, I mean.”

Selys and Krshia exchanged a look and smiled.

“What is it that humans call their male parts?”

Erin told them. Selys frowned.

“Penis? Vagina? That sounds so…so…ew. It doesn’t sound good. Put the penis in the vagina? Is that what you humans say to each other when you’re doing it?”

“Well, we don’t say that. We have other…words.”

“Mm. I think I understand. Males make many names for their pride, is it not so? I have heard them call it their sword, or their spear. Although it is a weak spear if it is just made of flesh.”

She laughed loudly, and Erin was aware that the other guests in the room were listening to their conversation. Selys didn’t appear to notice.

“Really? I’ve heard—um, well, most Drakes call it the ‘second tail’.”

Selys blushed fiercely as Erin tried not to laugh. The Drakes in the room studiously avoided looking anywhere at the three females. Krshia didn’t even bother containing her laughter.

“It is a good way to say it! I have heard my kind call it their small fang. Very small, in some cases.”

Erin tried not to, but she had to laugh as well. Krshia smiled.

“They make much of their male parts, do they not? But Selys, now that we speak of small things I had a question for you.”

“For me?”

The Gnoll nodded as she bit into her bloody meal and chewed.

“I have heard it said that your people have not one, but two lower tails among your kind. It is said often among, but although I have checked, I have never seen two, only the one.”

“Two…?”

Erin stared at Selys over her drink. She tried to imagine it and got very odd images in her head.

“That’s a common misconception. Drakes don’t have two. That’s lizard people.”

Selys scowled around her mug. She flicked her tail on the wooden floor angrily.

“We’re nothing like those freaks. We have one. I mean, I don’t have one but guys have one. Anyways, what would you do with two?”

“I can think of a use.”

Selys looked at Krshia blankly while Erin turned beet red. The Gnoll snorted at them.

“Younglings. Never mind. If you do not know yet, you will find out. Although maybe you have tried—?”

“Um, so how is it?”

Erin changed the subject frantically. She looked at Krshia and Selys.

“You said you’ve um, been with humans and Drakes and Gnolls. Anything uh, stand out?”

Selys snorted into her food and Krshia laughed again.

“Much stood out, but not so much with humans. It was disappointing, the one time I tried.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I had heard humans were not so different than Gnolls or Drakes, but there is a difference down there.”

Krshia made a gesture that would have been immediately censored on television. Erin was fascinated, though.

“Really?”

“Yes. Humans are regrettably small.”

“Small?”

This was bad. Erin had somehow gotten sucked into the conversation. She hadn’t meant to, but her sense of embarrassment and shame had taken a hike for a while and she was now horribly, definitely interested in the topic at hand.

“Um, how small are we talking here?”

“This big?”

Krshia spread apart two fingers. Erin frowned.

“No—they’re not that small.”

“Are you sure? I have seen them for myself. Very small, yes? Hard to see.”

“Really? That’s so disappointing…”

“No—no, they get bigger. It’s a reproductive thing. Once the guy gets, um excited, it—”

Erin broke off. Krshia was grinning and Selys shook her head.

“We’ve seen it, believe me, Erin.”

The Gnoll nodded.

“Ah. They become larger? Then that explains much. The one I saw remained small. No matter what I did.”

“I suppose the guy was just…nervous.”

“Frightened.”

“It is regrettable. But at least his tongue still worked.”

Erin sucked in her lips as Selys suddenly found she was ready for another drink. Krshia smiled at her.

“So how large do they become, Erin Solstice? Large enough to be useful, I hope?”

Now she was on the spot. Erin turned red—well, redder. She was in a state of permanent blush, but she did her best and spread apart her hands.

“Um. This big?”

Selys and Krshia looked at Erin’s hands. Krshia shook her head.

“…No. Have you not ever seen one?”

Erin blushed.

“Well, it’s not as if I could measure—is it bigger?”

“Smaller, I hope.”

Selys murmured. She showed Erin a much smaller span with her hands.

“That’s normal. At least, it is among most Drakes. Not that I’m an expert.”

“Mm. This is what I have seen.”

Erin and Selys stared at Krshia’s hands. Half of the inn’s patrons – the male half – furtively peeked around their mugs.

“Huh. So Gnolls…”

“They have the biggest, yes.”

“Size isn’t everything.”

“Is that what humans say? Drakes don’t say that.”

“Neither do Gnolls. Size is good, yes? Too much is bad. But not enough is not enough.”

Krshia elbowed Erin.

“You would agree with that, yes? A good size makes much difference.”

“I uh—”

Embarrassed, Erin took a long drink of her drink. Alcohol was good. It made all her embarrassment go away if she drank enough. But Krshia probably required a barrel, because she was still extolling the virtues of the proper penis.

“Mm. A good one is thick. Hard, strong—”

“Barbed.”

Selys sighed happily. Krshia and Erin looked at her. Erin’s cup was firmly anchored to her mouth, but she had lost her thirst completely.

“Barbed?”

She looked at Krshia. The Gnoll made a face.

“They are not spikes. But more like—ridges? Hard parts of flesh. It is not bad. Enjoyable, given time.”

“Ah. I see.”

Silence fell over the table for a few seconds. The Gnoll server took that moment to dart in, deliver the drinks and refills and run for it. Erin stared at her food. She’d eaten a bit of her plate, although she had no recollection of doing so.

After a moment Selys learned forwards and lowered her voice.

“That reminds me. I’ve been meaning to ask you this, Erin. I have a bet with a friend of mine. She says humans do it but I never believed her…”

A thousand images flashed through Erin’s mind, a thousand clicked internet links she regretted (and a few she didn’t). She braced herself as Selys hesitated. At last the Drake asked the question.

“Do humans really put it…in their mouths?”

Erin stared at Selys. The Drake was deadly serious. Erin looked around. Half a dozen males lowered their heads instantly. The other half were too slow and pretended to be ordering a drink.

“Um. Yes?”

“No.”

Krshia and Selys both looked at Erin in disbelief. The girl shrugged awkwardly.

“What? Yeah, we—I mean humans do. Not me, but it happens.”

“Erin. That’s really disgusting.”

“Mm. It is unusual. But perhaps not so much?”

Krshia looked at Selys thoughtfully.

“What? But Krshia, just think about it. One of those? In your mouth?”

“Yes, but I have heard it said that Drakes use their tongues very well. Is that not so?”

Erin’s gaze was suddenly riveted to Selys’ mouth. Her long tongue flicked out as the Drake covered her mouth with her hand.

“That’s different! And I certainly haven’t—but the mouth? Do you eat it?”

Krshia made a face.

“That would be disgusting, yes? Surely—”

Both Drake and Gnoll stopped at the look on Erin’s face. She stared fixedly at one wall and said nothing. After a moment Selys cleared her throat and changed the topic.

“I just don’t understand it. It’s weird.”

“Oh come on. You’re saying Gnolls and Drakes don’t do that at all?”

“No.”

“No.”

Erin looked from Krshia to Selys.

“Why? I mean, I’m not saying it’s great but—”

“I think it would be hard to convince males to put anything in a female Gnoll’s mouth they did not wish to lose. It would be risky, even at best.”

Krshia bared her teeth and Erin saw her point. Erin had canines. Four, to be exact. Krshia’s mouth was all canine and very sharp to boot. She had very pronounced canine teeth, which made Erin think of a dog. Which hyenas were, if she remembered her biology right. Half dog, half cat or something.

Selys had pointed teeth too, and Erin wondered how sharp they were. She’d seen Selys bite through their meal of beef without any effort. Where Erin had to grind away at the occasional gristle, Krshia and Selys had easily chewed their way through the food.

“I see your point. Um. I guess it’s just a human thing. It goes the other way, too, you know.”

“Other way? Oh, you mean guys using their tongues. That happens with us.”

Krshia nodded.

“They do that all the time. It is an important first part.”

“Duh.”

“Long tongues. Very good.”

Erin shivered. She had goose bumps and the conversation was getting even more awkward.

“I uh, okay. That’s a lot of information. So—so there are big differences.”

“Not so big. All the parts are generally the same. It’s just the details that change.”

“Indeed. But if you were to have sex, I am sure you would enjoy it very much in any case.”

Suddenly the conversation was back to her sex life. Not a topic Erin was too keen on. She raised her hands defensively.

“Look. I appreciate the concern, but I don’t really know anyone in the city. I mean, okay, I know some people, but it’s not like I’m desperate or anything. I mean, who would I even…?”

Erin paused.

“Are you saying I should um, date someone I know? Like Relc?”

Krshia shrugged, but Selys shook her head vehemently.

“What? Of course not. I mean, not unless you wanted to. And you could do a lot better than Relc. I mean, just look at him.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

Selys looked at Krshia, but the Gnoll looked blank. She sighed and tried to explain.

“Relc? Oh, he’s a soldier, Erin. He still is, even if he’s retired. He might be good for one night, but then he’ll be chasing someone else’s tail. Besides, he’s, you know…”

Selys’ tail lashed and she looked around before lowering her voice.

“Sort of ugly, you know?”

“He is?”

“Haven’t you seen his face? His jaw and the way the face looks just don’t match. And his scales…”

Selys glanced at her audience and realized she’d lost them.

“Well, trust me, he’s not a looker. Now, if you were talking about Olesm, I might see your point. He’s quite nice to look at.”

“He is? I mean, he is. So you’re saying…”

“Well, maybe. But there’s a lot of competition around him.”

“There is?”

Selys nodded seriously.

“He’s a [Tactician], smart, and he’s got good prospects for a better job in the future. A lot of people I know are interested in him.”

“Hrr. He is acceptable, I suppose. If Erin was interested in him. Is that the case?”

“I hadn’t thought about it. Ever.”

“Well, is there anyone you are interested in?”

Erin had to think. She only knew a few other males.

“Um, well, there’s Pawn.”

Both Gnoll and Drake stared at her. They exchanged knowing looks.

“Oh.”

“I see.”

“I didn’t mean that! I just meant he’s another guy. I’m not interested in him. At all.”

“That is good. I do not know anyone who would ever mate with an Antinium.”

“I’m not sure if they even have a way to have sex, to be honest. They seem pretty…smooth down there.”

“Right. And they’re bugs.”

“Yes.”

“Of course.”

“And I’m not into bugs.”

“Oh, I knew that.”

“Obviously.”

Erin narrowed her eyes at the other two. Selys cleared her throat.

“Well, who else is there?”

“…Pisces?”

“No!”

Krshia and Selys looked relieved.

“Well, if there is no one you know that you wish to mate with, it may be good to find one, yes? And we may help. We can tell you those who would be good at sex rather than those who are deficient.”

Selys nodded.

“I don’t want to judge, but that is pretty important. My friends all say it matters to how happy they are. I’ve heard some of their tail mates are—well, I don’t want to name names, but some of them hardly last any time at all.”

Krshia nodded, frowning seriously.

“I have had the same experience. Many night unsatisfied because he was unable to last. It is a frustrating thing.”

“Really? How long—or short is it for you, Krshia?”

The Gnoll considered the question.

“Hm. A short time would be…fifteen minutes? Good sex is usually half an hour or longer, yes? Usually closer to an hour, but there is not always enough time so…”

She glanced up and saw Erin and Selys staring at her.

“What? Much of the time takes place with the end, yes?”

“The end?”

“The knot.”

“The what?”

Erin thought she remembered hearing how dogs had sex. But if Gnolls—her eyes swiveled to Selys and the two shared a moment of shared interest and horror. Selys looked at Erin.

“Half an hour. Do humans…?”

“I don’t think so. Um. Probably not. The longest video I watched was—”

Erin tried to suck the words back out of the air, but then she realized her audience.

“…No. I think the average is around five minutes?”

“Five?”

“I mean, they can go longer. Why?”

“I usually—I mean, Drakes usually go for around ten minutes. At least.”

“Ten minutes. Wow. That’s pretty impressive.”

“It’s nice. I wish they spent more time afterwards, but you know males. Once they’re done, they’re done.”

“Mm. It is good to hold each other afterwards, yes?”

Erin could see that. Or rather, she could see Krshia and some Gnoll doing cuddly dog things, or even embracing like humans. But when she looked at Selys and thought of two Drakes…the closest she could get to intimacy was rubbing each other with their scales.  It didn’t sound pleasant. Sort of like sandpaper grinding against each other?

“Well, I can see you two get out a lot.”

“Not that much. I’m not—we’re just saying. It’s once a month.”

“Or once a week.”

“I haven’t found anyone good recently so it’s been sort of quiet.”

“I had sex yesterday. It was enjoyable, yes?”

Erin and Selys stared at Krshia. The Gnoll shrugged.

“You’re very…open about all that, Krshia.”

Krshia grinned.

“My people, we have very good noses, yes? There is no use hiding such things so we have no need for modesty. And besides, smelling is good. It tells us many things.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Like when we are in estrus. Ah—that means when we are in our mating period. Then males come to us. And we also know when we are pregnant. It is a good thing to know.”

“Right. Oh, right! Pregnancy! How do you deal with that?”

“What do you mean, Erin?”

“Well, um, you’re having sex, right? What if you get pregnant?”

There were certainly no condoms lying around here, and Erin was pretty sure that not a lot of mages would be specialized in birth control. Unless there was an [Gynecolomancer] class or something.

Krshia cocked her head at Erin.

“It is a simple matter. There is a tea we may brew that stops such things.”

“Oh.”

Erin felt silly. Krshia nodded sagely.

“Mm. It is a good tea. Tasty. I gave you some to drink when you visited my home, do you not recall? You seemed to enjoy it.”

“I did? I did. Of course I did. And I drank it. Which is totally fine.”

“Yes, it is good. I will give you some herbs to brew your own. Not that you would worry with a Gnoll.”

“That is good. I uh, wouldn’t want to have a litter. Or lay an egg.”

“We don’t lay eggs! Again, that’s lizards you’re thinking of!”

“You don’t lay eggs? Really?”

Erin stared at Selys. The Drake squawked angrily at her.

“No! We’re Drakes, not lizards!”

That meant they were mammals, if Erin remembered her biology class right.

“Oh, sorry Selys. It’s just you know, I thought Drakes were like Dragons and…”

“We don’t lay eggs. We’re descendants of Dragons, but only in some ways. We don’t lay eggs or hibernate. We. Are. Not. Lizards.”

Selys’ tail lashed the ground angrily and she flicked her tongue out as she glared at Erin and Krshia. The other two exchanged silent glances, but said nothing. Selys took a long, soothing drink from her cup to steady her nerves.

“So, when would you like to have sex?”

Erin sprayed most of her drink on the floor, but she still covered Selys with quite a bit.

“Oh, gross. Erin!”

“Selys!”

“It’s just a question. And it’s not like you have to grab the first guy you see. But we could introduce you to someone, nice, you know?”

“No. I don’t know. And I’m not going to—I’m far too busy to—”

“It would take just a moment, yes? We could leave and you meet several young ones I know. I am sure they would be eager to learn your scent.”

Erin stood up, agitated.

“Look it was fu—it was very nice talking to both of y—I’ve gotta go.”

She turned, and fled. Selys and Krshia watched Erin rush out of the tavern. The Drake picked up a napkin and started wiping her face.

“I think it was the idea of smelling that got to her. Humans don’t usually sniff each other.”

“Mm. They should more often. It is good to know what your partner smells like.”

“Well Erin’s not going to be smelling anything anytime soon if that’s how she reacts to meeting new guys.”

“This is true.”

The two paused, and looked at each other over the table. After a moment, Selys spoke.

“Fifteen copper pieces says she takes a Drake first.”

“Hrm. It is agreed. But you will lose the bet. I have a good young one in mind for Erin.”

“And I know a guy. Several guys, actually.”

“Well, we shall see who she picks.”

More silence. Selys picked at her plate. She wasn’t really hungry, anymore. Being covered in spit tends to do that to even the hungriest diner.

“…So. Half an hour? Really?”

Krshia grinned at Selys and snapped the bone on her plate with her paw. She began to lick at the marrow.

“Would you like to find out?”

—-

The first suitor Erin met knocked on her door the next day. She opened the door and found a Gnoll grinning toothily at her, holding a bouquet of strange, smelly orange flowers. She recognized him. He was Tkrn, one of the city guardsmen.

She was tempted to close the door in his face. But instead, Erin put on a smile.

“Um, hi. It’s Tkrn, right? What can I uh, do for you?”

Tkrn, the friendly Gnoll guardsman who Erin wished was a little less friendly at the moment, smiled widely at Erin.

“I am here to give you a gift, Erin Solstice.”

He held out the bouquet. Erin recoiled as Tkrn shoved the noxious weeds in her face. Erin coughed.

“What’s—that?”

Tkrn looked puzzled. He waved the flowers and Erin tried not to pass out.

“These are flowers. Humans like flowers, yes? I have chosen some that are especially smelly for you.”

“And why do you want me to have them?”

“I have been told you are seeking a mate. I am here to court you. For this, I must have flowers. That is how it is done between humans, no?”

It wasn’t her [Dangersense] that went off, but Erin’s natural instincts that started clanging in her head at this point. She stared at Tkrn and wondered whether she could just shut the door. No. That would probably be impolite.

She was tempted anyways, though. Erin glanced at the flowers.

They stank. Erin was reminded of dogwood, the trees that stank of rotting fish in every spring around her neighborhood. She pushed Tkrn’s offering aside and coughed twice.

“No thanks. I don’t want—I mean, humans don’t give each other flowers that much. Not anymore. I think. Flowers are nice. These are…smelly. But what would I do with them?”

“Eat them?”

“Humans don’t eat flowers.”

“You don’t?”

Tkrn stared at the flowers and scratched his head. Then he tossed them to one side.

“Well, I have more gifts! Here!”

He dug at a pack at his side and handed Erin a ring. She stared at it.

“That’s a ring.”

“Yes! It is what humans have before they can mate, yes?”

Erin stared at the ring. It wasn’t even set with a precious gem. It was a nice ring. A wooden, carved ring one might buy as a souvenir. She knew she shouldn’t blame Tkrn, but she felt insulted it was so cheap.

She glared at Tkrn.

“Krshia put you up to this, right?”

His eyes went wide, and Tkrn adopted an expression of unconvincing innocence.

“No. I am here of my own free will.”

“Really?”

“Really. Krshia may have mentioned to me that you were looking for mates—”

“I’m not looking for mates.”

Erin said it flatly. Tkrn looked disappointed.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Fairly sure. Very sure. Anyways, I don’t have fur or—or any other Gnoll parts. I’m probably hideous to you, right?”

He grinned at her again. Erin was caught by his wide spread of sharp teeth. Yes, she could definitely see why oral sex only went one way in Gnoll culture.

“I find fleshy things attractive.”

Now that was a statement to give Erin goosebumps, and she wasn’t sure if it was in a good way or not. It was definitely creepy either way, though.

Tkrn smiled at Erin again.

“You have very good teeth. And your hips…are wide. Very fertile, yes?”

“No—I—”

“If you accept my gifts, I would mate with you. Or if you wish, we could get to know each other.”

“Get to know each other? How? I mean, I’m not interested but—what do Gnolls do on their um, first date?”

The Gnoll perked up and smiled even wider.

“We could learn each other’s scent. I could smell you.”

“Smell me? Um…”

Erin’s mind flashed ahead of the conversation. She thought about dogs and where they smelled each other.

“Oh no. Hell no.”

“No?”

Tkrn looked confused, and hurt. Erin raised her hands.

“No. Bad—bad Gnoll. I’m not interested. Go away.”

“Are you sure? I could lick you, too. Or—I could kill something and bring it for you!”

“No.”

“What about grooming? I could groom your hair. You humans don’t have much, but I’m told you have more underneath your clothing. If you—”

“No! No grooming, no smelling, no licking, and no killing! Go away!”

“But I haven’t even—”

“No! Shoo!”

Erin waved her hands at Tkrn, patience exhausted. He looked hurt, but she pointed.

“Go back to the city! And tell Krshia I don’t want a mate! I mean boyfriend! Go away! I mean it!”

Tkrn stared at Erin. When he saw she wasn’t about to budge, his face fell, and his ears drooped. He looked so much like a dejected dog Erin had a nearly uncontrollable urge to reach out and scratch him behind the ears. But she didn’t. That could lead to petting, and there was petting and…petting. She wasn’t about to entertain the idea of either at the moment.

“I understand. I am sorry to have taken your time.”

“Um, right. Thanks?”

Erin closed the door, heart pounding. Why did she say ‘thanks’? It was better than saying sorry, at least. She didn’t hear anything from outside for a few seconds, and then Tkrn moved away.

Well, at least he wasn’t going to stay and howl outside her window. That was probably a racist thought, but Erin didn’t care. She was going to hit Krshia—

Erin thought about Krshia. The Gnoll looked like a basketball player on steroids covered in a carpet. She was going to yell at Krshia, politely, and at a distance.

At least Tkrn hadn’t pressed his case, though. No meant no even in this world, which was good. Very good.

Erin sighed and turned to go back to squishing blue fruits into juice. But she paused. Was something…?

The faint splattering sound was her first clue, but the smell quickly confirmed it. Erin opened the door.

Tkrn paused as he faced the wall of her inn, a few feet away from the door. Erin’s eyes were drawn to his crotch, but another, more pressing question came out of her mouth.

“Are you…peeing on my door?”

—-

The second suitor was suave and smooth-talking, a lady’s man, except that he was a Drake. His name was Culyss and Erin liked him even if she didn’t like him.

He met her at the door with a small gift – a necklace with a piece of metal hammered into the shape of a pawn chess piece of all things – and charmed her with a few jokes. Before she knew it, he’d invited her to invite him in and they were sitting in her inn, talking.

At some point she must have asked him about his tail. Erin couldn’t help it. It was a tail, and unlike the Gnoll’s fluffy tails which she was used to, the tails of Drakes were long and flexible.

“My tail?”

Culyss seemed surprised by the question, and even more so when Erin asked if she could touch it. She was curious what it was like. His eyes went wide for  a moment, but he agreed more readily than she would have thought.

That was how she ended up sitting at a table as he faced away from her, stroking his tail, poking it, and feeling it ripple underneath her hands.

It was fascinating for Erin, not least because it turned out the tail was pretty muscular for something that Drakes dragged along behind them to keep their balance. IT could flex, twist, and even manipulate objects if a Drake put his or her mind to it.

And it had bones. Erin pressed at the tail and Culyss made an odd sound in his chair.

“Gently. Gently! Ah…”

“Oops, sorry. Am I hurting you?”

Erin looked up in concern, but Culyss had a faraway look in his eyes. He shook his head vehemently.

“No—no. Please continue.”

She did. The scales were fun to touch, and Culyss kept twitching every time she stroked the tail. It was like having a weird pet snake in her lap and Erin was fascinated when he curled the tip around her hand.

Eventually, she got bored and Culyss stopped moaning. He got up hastily from his chair as she released his tail.

“Thanks for letting me do that.”

“What? Oh, no.”

He shook his head at Erin.

“Thank you. I’m ah, I, ah, should go.”

“What, already?”

Erin was disappointed, but Culyss seemed insistent. He was also covering his groin with his tail.

“I will return. Later. I would love to further our relationship.”

They had one? But Culyss wasn’t Tkrn and he was friendly enough. He bid her farewell at the door, smiling warmly at her.

“It was very nice to meet you.”

Erin blinked at him.

“Um. Sure?”

—-

It took about two hours for Erin to realize what had happened. Her first clue was when she wondered what a healthy young male would need to cover, and then her second clue came when she wondered whether Drake’s tails were sensitive. Her third clue was when Selys practically kicked down her door.

“You stroked his tail? Erin! It was only a first date!”

“I didn’t know! I didn’t know!”

Screaming ensued. When Selys asked Erin if she’d at least enjoyed it, Erin threw a chair at her. But that was mostly to cover her blushes.

—-

After Selys had left, Erin buried her face in her hands, ran around the inn until she tripped over a chair, and then curled into a ball in the corner and tried to will the last hour into not having happened.

Ten minutes might have passed, or perhaps an hour. Erin was brought out of her reverie by a sharp poke to the side. She yelped.

Rags poked Erin until the girl uncurled from her ball and glared at the small Goblin.

“What?”

Rags pointed at one of the tables and glared at Erin.

“Oh, right, today’s chess day, is it?”

Erin sat up. Her face was still red, and she felt like burying her head in the ground. But chess was chess, and at least in chess she could forget.

That was how she ended up playing Rags, talking about the entire sorry affair as the small Goblin agonized over each chess move.

“It wasn’t like that when I was younger. I mean, most of the guys I met outside of school were in chess clubs or at tournaments.”

Rags glanced up at Erin as the other girl took her bishop. The Goblin scowled, which Erin took as an invitation to keep talking.

“Sometimes they stared at my breasts, but those guys usually lost. The serious ones and I got along fine. Chess is chess, y’know? They hit on me a lot, but I wasn’t interested.”

Erin paused. She had to be honest.

“…Much.”

Her opponent stared down at the chess board. She was in checkmate. Rags made a sound of disgust and began resetting the pieces.

“Oh, sure, there were some guys I liked. But if I started dating them, it always became about whether I was better than they were. If a girl was better than they were…”

Erin sighed despondently. The pickings got pretty slim around the 2,000 Elo level, regardless of gender. And she wasn’t into older guys.

“I sort of thought I’d meet someone cool at a chess tournament one day, or in college. I never met anyone else really exciting anywhere else.”

Except online. Erin vividly recalled mysterio_Gamer12, who she’d had a relationship online with. They’d met through chess games and she’d been certain he was a handsome guy.

…That was until she found out that mysterio was actually a Polish girl who thought Erin was a guy.

“That was one awkward Skype conversation.”

Rags glared at the board. It wasn’t Erin’s inane remarks that bothered the Goblin, so much as the fact that even when Erin was chatting away she still could wipe the floor with any opponent.

Erin sighed despondently as she took another of Rag’s pawns to add to her growing collection.

“It’s all so—so sexual, here. I mean, overtly sexual. It’s right in the open. Some Gnolls don’t even have pants, just loincloths.”

She moved another piece and Rags nearly flipped the chess board.

“And now Culyss—I didn’t know stroking tails was how Drakes, um, expressed affection. Selys was saying that he’d be quite happy to show me tricks with his tail. And Krshia said that Tkrn was just marking my inn so other Gnolls knew he was courting me. Does—does that mean every time a Gnoll decides he likes me he’ll just start peeing on my walls?”

Rags took Erin’s queen. Erin checkmated Rag’s king. The Goblin threw up her hands and shrieked.

“That’s the game.”

Erin watched as Rags began slamming pieces back on the board.

“You don’t have to worry about all that, do you?”

Rags looked up at Erin warily.

“Sex, I mean.”

All she got was a blank stare in return. It occurred to Erin for the first time that Rags might not actually know what she was talking about.

“You know. How babies are made? You do know how that works, right?”

Rags shook her head slowly. Erin hesitated. Now that she thought about it, how old was Rags? Old enough to know about the birds and the bees? But then, did Goblins really tell each other about that?

Maybe she should mention it. Rags was a chieftain of her Goblin tribe, after all. That had to mean she got some advances.

“Um. Okay. Wow. How should I put this?”

Erin played one more game with Rags as she tried to explain about how sex worked. Halfway through the game, Rags looked up, dropped her chess piece, and stared at Erin.

“It’s true. That’s how it works. And then a baby pops out nine months later. For humans, anyways.”

The Goblin backed away, mouth open in horror.

“Well it’s not like you have to do that. Look, it’s perfectly natural!”

Erin raised her hand but the Goblin shook her head. She stumbled over a chair and then turned and ran towards the door.

“You can use protection! I mean—”

It was too late; the Goblin was already running for the hills. Erin stared at the empty doorway and sighed.

“Oops? But maybe it’s a good thing she knows.”

—-

The final consequence of Erin’s impromptu health lesson came the next day when Culyss returned for a second date. Erin was hiding in her inn on the second floor, pretending not to be home. She’d spotted him walking up the hill, and she was dreading the conversation.

What would she say? ‘Oh, hello Culyss. Sorry, but I didn’t mean to give you a tail-job, I was just curious.’ It sounded even worse in Erin’s head, but she knew she’d have to say something.

As it turned out, Erin never had to have a painful conversation of any kind. There was pain of course, but it only happened to Culyss.

The Drake was knocking on the door of the inn when he heard the high-pitched screaming. He turned around and managed to scream once before the mob of angry Goblins overwhelmed him.

The small group of Goblins yanked him off his feet and began beating him with sticks. Culyss shouted for help as his gift of delicate soaps were trampled into the grass. The Goblins shrieked with fury as they pounded him.

Erin watched from her window. As far as she could tell, all of the Goblins were female, but it was hard to be sure. It was the small clues she picked up on. The female Goblins were a bit smaller than the males ones, usually had more clothing (although this was not a hard and fast rule), had more of a slant to their eyes and tended not to pick their noses as much. But her real instincts told her it was how savagely they were beating poor Culyss.

Male Goblins tended to fight as dirty as they could in a life-or-death battle. But the female Goblins here seemed to be aiming exclusively for the Drake’s groin. Even the most pissed-off male would probably have held off at jumping up and down on Culyss’ crotch while the other Goblins held his legs apart.

After a few minutes of hurt, Culyss managed to roll out of the mess of Goblins and run for it. Erin watched the other Goblins chase him back towards the city. Well. It looked like Rags had explained the link between sex and babies to the rest of her tribe.

“And all this time none of them realized?”

Maybe they already had known. Maybe this was just some good-old fashioned revenge on males in general. Erin wasn’t sure whether to applaud the Goblins or feel bad about Culyss. She settled for making herself a cup of blue juice and sipped at it in the privacy of her inn.

Now she just wondered how she was going to explain to Rags about the tea. Maybe pictures would help?

—-

Culyss never came back to the inn. Erin was happily alone, and only had the occasional beat-up Goblin meekly following an indignant (and empowered) Rags for company. That state of affairs lasted for two days, until Selys and Krshia came knocking on her door.

Neither one of them was happy. There was apparently the matter of the unresolved bet, and Erin was indignant that she’d been bet upon in the first place.

“It was just for fun, Erin!”

Selys protested as she hid behind Krshia. Erin hesitated, chair still raised over her head. Krshia sighed and gently took the chair away from her.

“It is regrettable, yes? Tkrn and Culyss were not ideal, but they would have been good for a few nights at least.”

Erin glared at Krshia, cheeks red.

“I said, I didn’t want any—I’m fine where I am!”

“But you are angry. Mating would help, yes?”

“No!”

“Oh come on, Erin. We just wanted to make you feel better! And Culyss did like you, even before you…you know…”

“I don’t want to hear it. That never happened!”

“I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s not like you’re a half-elf prude or something. What’s wrong with a bit of sex, Erin?”

Erin paused. She stared at Selys, who was glaring at her, half-offended. She could feel herself blushing. Erin stared down at her feet. When she spoke, it was quietly.

“It’s nothing. I know you two mean well, but…it’s just—I haven’t—I know how it works but I’ve never actually—”

Krshia and Selys exchanged a glance. Suddenly, everything clicked for the two of them.

“Oh.”

“I see.”

Krshia scratched at her head, and spoke frankly.

“I made a mistake. Tkrn—he was not a wise choice. I told him of you because I thought he would be good. For relaxing, yes? He is good, but not good enough for a first time, yes?”

“And Culyss is—yeah. He’s not first time material. Sure, he gets around but that’s for experienced girls. What you need is—someone else. Someone better.”

Erin sniffed. Suddenly, Krshia and Selys were being very understanding. They left her alone.

“It’s not like I don’t want to give it a shot, it’s just…”

—-

They came back an hour later. And this time, they brought gifts.

Horrible, horrible gifts.

“Here.”

Erin stared down at the object Krshia was pressing into her hands. She accepted it, only because the other alternative was to have it keep pushing into her breasts. She weighted it in her hands.

“Oh my god. This isn’t what I think it is, is it?”

Krshia smiled encouragingly at Erin.

“What else could it be, I wonder? It is for you, Erin. Until you find a mate, this will do.”

“And I have one too!”

Selys waved her ‘gift’ in the air and Erin’s eyes tracked it. It was almost hypnotic. The Drake offered it to Erin, but Erin really didn’t want to take it.

“You think I need this. Both of you?”

Selys and Krshia beamed at her. Erin stared down at the wooden instruments in her hands and tried not to look or feel them in her hands. If she had to categorize the two, she had a…a Drake one, and a Gnoll one. The Gnoll one was bigger. It was fairly heavy in Erin’s hands and she stared at it, mesmerized.

It was very realistic. Erin stared down at the large bulge halfway down the replica. She was almost completely sure that guys didn’t have a knot. But it seemed Gnolls resembled dogs in more ways than one.

Krshia smiled and nodded as Erin looked over her gift.

“It is carved well, and polished, yes? Much care has been taken so there will be no splinters while using.”

“And you can wash them.”

“Mm. That is helpful, yes? And this way, you need no one else to be happy.”

Erin stared at her gifts. She didn’t know what to say. She was literally speechless.

She looked up. The Drake and the Gnoll were still smiling at her, probably expecting her to say something about their well-chosen gifts.

Erin opened her mouth, smiled, hesitated, and then slammed the door shut. Krshia and Selys stared at the wooden door as they heard Erin bolt the door.

“Do you think she’s mad?”

Krshia shrugged.

“Mm. She is shy. But I will let you know if she uses the gifts. It will likely be today or tomorrow. It is not good to be stored up, yes?”

“I suppose so. But um, maybe don’t tell me. I don’t need to know.”

“As you wish. But it was a very good one you bought. Very real.”

“I know, right? There’s a great store that makes them. You have to ask because the shopkeeper obviously can’t put them on display, but they do all sizes.”

“Really? I shall have to visit this store for myself.”

Erin listened to Krshia and Selys talking from behind the door. It sounded like they were going to visit it right away. And Krshia said she’d know when Erin used—

Well, that made things simple. She couldn’t go into the city…well, ever now.

Erin covered her face in her hands. That was a mistake. The two replicas bumped into her face and she immediately lowered them. She stared at the two long, wooden, hard…she put them on a table and turned around.

Toren stared at Erin, dustrag in hand. She froze in place. His twin blue flames stared first at the wooden penii in her hand and then at her face.

Even though he was dead, the skeleton somehow managed to judge Erin with his eyes. Or maybe it was just her. Erin scowled. She threw one of the dildos and he dodged it.

“What are you looking at?”

2.15

There’s an art to it. Like all things, tact is essential. A smile is important, because your first impression is probably your last. Always remember to be courteous, professional, and efficient.

I can do that last bit. For the rest…I’m working on it.

“Delivery.”

The blue-haired girl who opens the door blinks at me. I blink back. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen someone with dyed hair. But, as I quickly see, it’s not exactly an intentional dye-job.

The [Alchemist] brushes a bit of the blue dust out of her hair and raises a small cloud. She coughs, and I step back.

“Are you Rikku?”

She nods, eyes streaming. I hold out my package, a heavily wrapped…potato. That’s growing. A green sprout is coming right out of the top. Oh, and the potato is bigger than a baby. Probably the size of about two babies if we’re using that as unit of measurement.

It’s heavy. And I feel like it’s still growing. The run out to this small cottage had me feeling like my backpack was moving the entire time. Gah. I regret this entire delivery, but at least it’s nearly over.

“Got a Seal?”

Maybe it was thinking of [Alchemists] that made me accept this particular request. It was a mistake either way. Turns out a lot of requests are often magical or perishable, or in this case—both.

The oddly-named Rikku disappears back inside her hut and I wait impatiently, hoping the potato won’t explode or eat my head off. I’m not sure what it’s for and honestly, I don’t want to know.

Still. Rikku. That’s an interesting name for someone around here. It sounds almost…Japanese. Something from my world.

Then again, there is a place named Wales around here, so I suppose people just choose the same names now and then. I still have yet to run into a Lenny or a George, though. Although I did meet this one guy named Adrian a while ago. That sounds almost normal.

But then, who am I to talk? My name’s Ryoka. That’s probably weird to a lot of Americans back home.

Anyways, potato. I want it out of my hands and into the hut before it does something weird. It was a rush delivery—lots of pay to move it as fast as possible. I can see why. Plant this thing in the ground and you might actually get a magic beanstalk in the morning.

At last, the door opens and Ms. Blue Hair emerges with an equally blue Runner’s Seal for me. What the hell happened in there? Do I want to know?

No.

“Here’s the package. Careful—it’s heavy.”

She takes it. She’s stronger than she looks, but I guess [Alchemists] have to be. I nod to her as she opens her mouth, probably to say thanks or something.

“See you.”

I’m running down the grassy hill and out the dirt road before she can even reply. Well, at least this time I said more than five words. It’s an improvement.

I don’t do well with people. I really don’t. It’s not even that I hate humanity in general. It’s just that I find conversations with strangers really, really awkward*.

*Yeah. Have you ever sat next to that silent person on the bus who just stares at you and then looks out the window the entire time? That’s me. It’s not that I don’t hate your guts – because I do, if you’re taking the seat next to me – but it’s just so awkward that I can’t deal. Seriously. Go away.

But being social is a skill I’ve got to learn here. Who would have thought? All those times my parents sent me to camp or cotillion, I’d get sent back or just disappear until they had to send out search parties and the police. And yet here I am, trying to be social.

The key word is trying. It’s really hard, okay? But I am trying.

I have to.

But hey, there is something to be said for brevity, right? As I power down the winding dirt road, I try to remember which delivery this is. Sixth one today? Or is it eighth?

It’s been a day since I pissed off Teriarch and got myself an eight hundred gold contract. You’d think that I’d be halfway towards the Blood Fields or wherever that magic stone is pointing me this time, but I’m still up north. Running deliveries for silver and copper coins.

I’ve got my reasons. First off, even if Teriarch’s delivery is really important, he’s an arrogant jerk and he can wait. Second, I need to prepare.

The last time I went down to the Blood Fields I ran past Shield Spiders, a few other monster types, but nothing more. I got lucky. But there’s no telling how many bandits or what-have-you might be out where I’m going, so I need some equipment.

It’s been made…painfully clear to me that I don’t have the skills to take down anything above the ill-equipped bandit or Goblin raiding party. I’ve got Teriarch’s potion, true, but I’m regarding that as a measure of last resort, rather than my first option.

So I’m lingering here, mainly because I’m waiting for some of my new equipment to finish being created. Or brewed. Concocted? Whatever the correct phrase is, Octavia’s doing it for me.

Her stink potion worked wonders in the High Passes. It was so effective, I got out of there even though Teriarch had taken it away. All the monsters were still gone, and I made it safely back to Celum without issue.

Now, I’m not going to carry around a bottle of that nightmarish stuff unless I can be sure, absolutely sure it’s not going to leak. Even stoppered up that potion somehow still smells. Octavia’s working on a more secure container, but she’s also got a few more projects to focus on.

The cost of hiring an [Alchemist]? Eight gold coins, both for the testing and experimentation process and delivery of the finished items. That’s insanely expensive, but Octavia wasn’t even sure some of the things I wanted were possible. I’ll get a refund if she can’t complete some of the things I want, but I think she’ll manage it. And if that’s the case, it will be eight gold coins well spent.

My bare feet churn the pleasant, warm dirt path. It’s so wonderful I half-wish I didn’t have to get back to the Guild to turn my Seals in. This is one of the few spots the Frost Faeries haven’t yet swept over, and as such, it still looks like it’s in the last stages of fall.

Mm. What a weird world this is, where winter is a product of creatures, not weather patterns. But is it like this across the world? These Frost Faeries seem quite slow—not to mention inefficient. I almost wonder if winter isn’t so much a world-wide event so much as a rolling condition that sweeps across continents, possibly changing course at the whims of the faeries. That would be quite interesting.

But of course how would I prove my hypothesis? Books are sort of low on my priority list right now. I don’t have much time to read, and I need to save up as much gold as possible for more important things. The lack of libraries in this world is offensive*.

*Public libraries, that is. Any wealthy merchant or noble probably has their own library of books, but I don’t see them letting me in. Hell, back in my world I needed to put on sandals every time I wanted in to a library.

Information. It becomes clearer with every passing day that even if I’m discovering some more fundamentals of this world, there’s an entire lexicon’s worth of data I haven’t even considered yet.

So what to do? Erin knows less than I do about some things, but she knows several groups of people who might have a lot of information. That Gnoll named Krshia, Klbkch, possibly Pisces…the only question is whether talking to them is worth the risk of giving secrets away.

I could try and contact BlackMage, or another one of the users in my iPhone if I knew how the spell worked. Pisces was able to recover the messages however briefly—could I send a one-time text to one of them?

Maybe. It seems risky, especially since it’s been proven that the iPhones can be hacked by magic as well. And anyways, I don’t know what the situation is with them. People can say anything, but even if we’re all in another world, we’re all still human. Politics, greed, and prejudice didn’t disappear with our old world.

No, no. Right now I need to focus on the task at hand. Teriarch’s delivery is my highest priority. Eight hundred gold will help me, Erin, and Ceria immensely. Moreover, it’ll help me with my next task as well.

Because I have a goal now. It’s to become a Courier.

The logic is simple. A Courier is considered to be an important figure, even vital depending on how you look at it. There’s influence there, and respect. They’re pretty much the same as a Gold-rank adventurer, or even higher. If I attained that position, I’d be able to go across the continent and ask questions and take deliveries anywhere I wanted without raising suspicion.

Plus, Couriers get paid a lot more than even City Runners for their deliveries. If I could support myself that way Erin wouldn’t need to worry about her inn. It would let me save up, use the money to…

Well, the larger plan’s still hazy at the moment. But Erin was always right. If I look too far ahead, I’ll trip on the things right in front of me.

Speaking of which—I hop over a jagged rock in the road. That would have hurt. But barefoot runners learn to watch the ground constantly, so the odds of us ever stepping in something horrible are pretty remote.

Hm. The things we see and don’t see. Is there a way to find out where the other people from our world are? We all have iPhones, so we should be able to locate each other that way, right? How did the magic find us? Just saying it’s magic is kind of cheap. Did it home in on some aspect of our iPhones? Are they sending out signals somehow?

Oh no. The GPS!

I halt in my tracks and throw my backpack to the ground. Ryoka, you idiot. How did you not consider that? Your GPS is the first thing people would think of. They could have been tracking you all this time! Everywhere you’ve gone!

My iPhone glows and I urgently tap my way into the Settings app. Then I pause. My heart stops trying to overload in my chest.

It’s already turned off. Right. Of course. I remember I turned off the GPS in my iPhone the day I got it, so my parents couldn’t spy on me. A smart move, since that was pretty much the reason why they let me have it.

Okay, that’s a relief. I close out of the settings menu. Battery’s still good, too. 30% or thereabouts. I could listen to some music while I run, come to think of it. It’s been a lone time since I took out my iPhone, but I want to conserve the battery now that Sostrom’s…

“What’s that, Human?”

And just like that, my day goes straight down the toilet. The air around me freezes, and I look up. A Frost Faeries is hovering over my shoulder, staring down at my glowing phone’s screen with curiosity.

God. I thought Teriarch had chased them away. But no, apparently nearly being fried only grants me a day’s reprieve. I glare at the Frost Faeries and put my iPhone back in its worn case.

“Go. Away.”

The faerie just sneers at me. They never listen to what I say, or respond to my comments unless it’s because they want me to answer a question. She flutters around my iPhone until I tuck it away in my pocket. Then she shouts in my ear.

“Don’t ignore me! Tell us what that is! It is a thing of iron, but not. And it makes light without magic or fire! What is it?”

Another faerie flies lazily by my head. They don’t seem to need to flap their wings as much as a normal bird or insect. She points at my pocket, talking to her friend. The faeries always seem to travel in groups of at least eight or more.

“’Tis an object born of smog and flame, from another world! She brought it here, this foolish wench!”

That makes my head snap up. I stare at the faerie that’s spoken.

“Another world? What do you mean by that?”

She looks at me, and then away. They have no interest in answering any of my questions. But I desperately need answers. Just what did she mean by that? Does she mean what I think she does? If so—

The first faerie flies down and perches on my head, freezing the skin with her tiny feet. She bends down so her head appears upside-down in my vision.

“Smelly human! How does a mortal like you know the old smoker?”

I have no idea what she’s talking about. And as much as it pains me, I’m curious, so I respond.

“What old smoker?”

The faeries exchange an incredulous glance as they hover around my head. They chatter to each other, staring at me and shaking their small heads as they do.

“Does she not know? She just talked to him!”

“I think she’s as daft as the other one.”

“Two heads and not a brain between them! How sad!”

“How funny!”

The fairy on my head leans down and slaps the skin on my head. I wince and grit my teeth. I really, really want to pluck the stupid faerie off my head, but the only thing that’ll do is give me frostbite. She’s giving me a headache just by standing there, but the faeries can get a lot colder if they want to.

“‘Tis the one of fire living in yon cave I speak of, you fool! The old grumpy one! How do you know of him, mortal and pathetic as you are?”

The one in the cave? They must mean Teriarch. But why would they call him…?

The fairy stamps on my forehead again and I wince. That’s it. They’re getting nothing out of me. I glare at the faerie and say nothing. If they can be rude jerks, so can I.

“Oh, ignoring us, eh? Well ignore this!”

Losing patience, the faerie on my head takes off. I know what’s coming and brace myself. A second later, a snowball catches me on the back of the head, making me stagger as I run. She laughs, and suddenly the entire herd decides that they want to join in.

The warm air and sunny skies turn cold and blustery, and snow begins to fall from the sky as the Frost Faeries work their magic, bringing winter to this last spot. The ground freezes under my feet, and all around me, snowballs the size of my fist pelt me from all sides as the faeries fly around me.

I run on, trying to ignore the cold snow as it strikes my face, my chest, my back, and my legs. I know they’ll stop. The faeries act just like bullies. They get bored if you don’t respond. They’ll stop throwing snow any second now.

Any…second…now…

—-

Ten miles down the road, I stop and drop my pack so I can pull out my snow shoes and a fresh change of clothes. Not to change with; just to wipe all the snow and ice off my body.

The last of the Frost Faeries flies off, laughing, and I silently curse them as I shiver. I’m drenched, and nearly hypothermic from the pounding they just gave me.

Who knew tiny faeries could throw snowballs so damn hard? But they’re gone—at least until they get bored and come back to torment me some more.

“God damn it.”

I never thought I’d hate anything as much as I did faeries. Seriously. They’re worse than dogs that aren’t on leashes or broken bottles on the road. I’d rather run barefoot through a forest full of pine trees than have one of those faeries following me.

And why the hell do they bother only me? It’s like they enjoy making my life a misery more than anyone else’s. Isn’t there some way I can get rid of them? They don’t like iron, but it doesn’t seem to work nearly as well as the old stories say. Half the time I see some poor fellow raising an iron horseshoe at the fairies only to get blasted off his feet by a gust of wind.

And what was that they were saying? It was something about Teriarch. They wanted to know why I knew him? Do they know of him? He was able to chase them off, which is pretty unique.

Old smoker. Why would they call him…?

…No. No, that’s not right. It can’t be. I mean, that would be obvious. I would have noticed that instantly.

Wouldn’t I?

Teriarch is just a mage. A mage who looks suspiciously Elven, and he doesn’t do anything to hide that. And he uses weird expressions…and he has a cave…

…And a lot of valuable treasure in the cave…and he can conjure really hot flames…

No. I would have noticed earlier, surely. Why didn’t I? The pieces all add up. But Teriarch—did he do something to my head?

Of course he did. He did it once. Why not twice?

Magic. How can I tell anything’s real? It could make me believe anything, couldn’t it? Too much more of this and I’ll doubt my own memories. What if there were things I said or did around Teriarch, or things he told me that he’s erased from my memory?

Think. Cognito ergo sum. That is all I know. Ergo sum cognito. I am a thinking being, that much I can believe. But…

Omnia quae scis forsitan species vana sit. I think that’s accurate. My Latin’s rusty.

…If I take this off-hand quote from the Frost Faerie seriously – and how else would I interpret it? – then why didn’t I notice it? Magic? Or maybe I noticed it and was made to forget.

How do you undo a memory spell? Is one on me? Could you even check?

Slow down, Ryoka. Any more of this and you’ll turn into a conspiracy nut. Not that all conspiracies are wrong. Turns out the government is spying on us, half the wealth of the world is held in the hands of just eight people, and magic and other worlds do exist.

Yeah. I’m in trouble.

I run on, trying to get somewhere indoors before the melted ice and winter weather kills me. It’s time to turn in my Seals anyways. I could use a hot bath, a hot meal, and a hot bed. Hell, I’ll eat and sleep in the bath if I could.

Yeah. A bath sounds really good right now. One short stop at the Runner’s Guild and I’m off to an inn.

That’s the problem with plans. They never work out quite as well as you’d hope.

—-

“Seven deliveries on one day? Come on Ryoka, I know I said we needed help, but try to leave something for the rest of us.”

“I’ll think about it.”

I smile faintly at Fals to let him know I’m joking. He laughs as if I’ve said something hilarious, and just like that, the conversation continues without any unpleasant silence.

I’m sitting in the Runner’s Guild, taking a moment to warm up and waiting for one of the receptionists to get back to me with my pay. Just so coincidentally, Fals happened to be done with his deliveries, so he came to sit next to me. He started talking, I didn’t bite his head off, and so here we are.

Mind you, we’re not the only Runners in the guild. A lot of people are inside, warming up. Including one person I was rather hoping died in a snowbank somewhere.

Across the room Persua glares daggers at me. If she had one in her hand, I wouldn’t be surprised if she threw it. I meet her gaze steadily, unblinking. If she wants a staring contest that’s fine. I can stare for at least five minutes before I need to blink.

Fals notices and casually moves his chair so his head is in the way. I look away and across the room I hear Persua laughing loudly at something.

When I’m in the Runner’s Guilds in these cities everything shrinks down, and all the little personal relationships and vendettas come right out of the woodwork. Remember, in this place Fals is the big shot Runner that all the female Runners and receptionists love. And Persua hates my guts because he seems to like me. And Garia likes Fals, which makes everything that much more complicated.

She’s not here right now, which actually makes me slightly relieved. We hadn’t spoken after I broke the news about the Horns of Hammerad, and I’m not sure what to say.

Meanwhile, Fals is doing his charming thing, which is to say he’s greeting all the Runners who come in by name, and talking animatedly with them. He’s a social guy. A good guy, perhaps. I still remember the problems I had with Magnolia and the Guild, but I’ll acknowledge he does his job better than any other Runner in the guild, including me. I might be faster, but he has a good relationship with all his clients.

Fals leans over the table, one leg bouncing gently on the floor. He, like all the Runners, is generally restless when seated. That’s one thing all of us have in common. We like to run.

“Liscor, huh? That’s a ways, but the Runner’s Guild in Esthelm might have a few requests going down that way. More if they know someone’s willing to do the route often.”

“Hm. Sounds good. I’ve got a…friend down there so I’ll be heading there a lot.”

Fals’ eyebrows rise, but he masks his surprise.

“Well then, I’ll talk to the Guildmaster down there when I’ve got the chance. We don’t deal much with the Drakes and Gnolls, but that’s because they seldom come north to trade. It could be good to open up a conversation again.”

I nod politely, and try not to say anything he’ll regret. Of course he’s surprised I have a friend. I’m surprised just saying it.

Guildmasters, huh? From what I understand, the ones in each local Runner’s Guild are retired Runners. The same goes for the Adventurer’s Guilds. The staff is either hired help or people too injured or old to work the jobs themselves. It’s a good system that gives work to people who’ve contributed to the guild.

Fals looks at me and then coughs politely.

“I was—wondering if you’d like to grab a bite at a pub later. I know a good chef who just learned the [Advanced Cooking] skill.”

Crap. This is what I was afraid of. I hesitate. Fals is a probably a good guy, but I’m not interested in him. I’m just not. But then, I can’t just refuse outright. I try to think of an excuse, and then the door opens.

Fals and I look around, and then both of us leap to our feet. Our chairs crash to the ground.

“Garia!”

She stumbles into the room, unsteady on her feet. Her hand is clasped to a bandage around her temple, and blood is running down her left cheek. One of the Runners by the door seizes her before she can topple over.

I don’t remember crossing the room. But I’m next to Garia before anyone else, peeling back the bandage. Fals hovers over my elbow anxiously.

“How bad is it?”

“I can’t see. Get out of the light and get me some water. And—a potion.”

I’d nearly forgotten about healing potions. I’m remembering all my first aid training. I snatch a water bottle someone gives me and use a length of cloth someone else gives me to wipe gently at the blood. It doesn’t look like Garia’s skull is fractured, just bleeding, but I need to check.

Breathing? Good. Pulse? Strong. If the head injury is bad, I need to avoid aggravating it. But first aid training is always given with the theory that the injured person will receive more complete care later. This world doesn’t have doctors or hospitals, just [Healers]. If she’s injured, I might be the most-qualified person to help her.

Garia shudders a bit as I dab at the blood, but sits still. Her eyes are unfocused. Crap. I pray she doesn’t have a concussion. But that might be better than a broken skull.

Fals pushes a healing potion into my hands.

“Here.”

“Hold on. I need to check…”

I feel as gently as I can around the injury. That does make Garia moan, but I need to know that nothing is broken. If it is, a healing potion might make the bone knit wrong.

Garia’s skull isn’t broken. I don’t even think the bone is cracked. She’s just lost blood. I uncork the potion and pour some around her injury.

It begins to close as Garia whimpers. She grabs my arm—so hard I can feel her pressing down on my bone. But I don’t tell her to stop.

In a few seconds the injury is closed and Garia lets go. She takes a few deep breaths, and then looks at me.

“Thanks, Ryoka.”

I stare at her. She’s still pale from loss of blood, and the healing didn’t do anything for her concussion, if that’s what she has. I grip her shoulder to steady her while I look into her eyes.

“What happened?”

As if I don’t know. But Garia just shakes her head. Her lip trembles. She looks at me, and then Fals, on the edge of tears.

“I got attacked.”

—-

The story comes out as the other Runners find Garia a padded seat. We have her sit down and the entire room congregates around her. It surprises me, but then, I’ve never been in the Guild long enough to see someone come in injured.

Whatever you might say about Runners and their pack mentality, they do look after their own. One Runner gets attacked and everyone’s at risk. That’s why the receptionist comes out from behind the counter with something alcoholic for Garia to drink, and Fals sits next to her while the other Runners crowd around, listening to her story.

“It was bandits. They came over a hill when no one was around and tried to cut me off. Some were shooting arrows, and one had a club. I tried to out run them, but he got me—”

Garia gestures to her healed head and the dried blood on her cheek. She doesn’t seem to notice as another Runner wipes the blood off.

“Bandits? On the main road?”

Fals shakes his head and some of the other Runners exchange glances.

“They must be getting desperate. I’ve heard there was a band around here that was preying on travelers…”

“Can’t believe they hit one of us in the daylight. And arrows? Normally they just try to rob us, not kill.”

“How did you get away?”

That’s what I want to know. Garia blinks up at me.

“I—was saved. I was on the ground when someone else attacked the bandits. I don’t know who. A traveler, I think. Maybe another Runner?”

Fals frowns worriedly, and glances at the map on the wall. The main roads and cities are all marked.

“Someone from Wales? We could ask the Guild if they had anyone coming this way.”

“Should we go out and see if we can find them? If it was one person—”

“They either got away, or the bandits got them by now. We wouldn’t find anything and we’d only put ourselves at risk.”

The other Runners argue in the background. I’m still intent on Garia. Fals asks the question I was going to next.

“You got away? Why were you still injured? Didn’t you have time to heal yourself?”

“I—I just kept running. I didn’t think to heal myself. I couldn’t, even if I wanted to.”

“Why not? You lost a lot of blood. A healing potion would have stopped you from collapsing like you did.”

“I—don’t have one. I can’t afford it.”

Garia blushes and turns red. She stares down at her feet as the other Runners look somewhere else. Of course. Of all the City Runners, Garia’s one of the slowest, even if she can carry a lot. She runs for only a few silver pieces at best, usually coppers.

The others are silent, but then Fals pats Garia on the knee. She looks like she’s going to cry from embarrassment.

“Nothing to be ashamed of. You got here on your own two feet, after being hit by a club. I couldn’t do that.”

The other Runners agree. Fals turns, and calls out.

“Don’t we have anything hot to drink? Not alcohol—can someone get a mug of goat’s milk? And food. And a blanket! Garia’s nearly frozen here!”

Some Runners immediately make for the doors at his words, and the receptionist darts into a back room to look for a blanket. I stare at Garia.

Not even enough for a healing potion. Jumped by bandits on the road. It’s never happened to me, but then I run so fast that maybe it wasn’t an issue.

Just when I think I know this world, something like this happens to remind me that you don’t need horrible monsters. Humans are evil and cruel enough to each other.

Fals is still trying to get Garia to sit still and calling out for something warm to drink and a blanket. I look at her, and the other Runners, and decide she’ll be fine.

Quietly, I make my way out of the crowd of people and towards the door. I slip out. I’ve got someone I need to visit. I was going to see her anyways, but now I’ve got two reasons to talk to Octavia.

—-

I hear the screaming just before I push open the door. Damn it. What now?

I flatten myself against the side of the boarded up windows, listening hard. Octavia’s screaming inside. Will I get a face full of explosion if I open the door? No time to wonder.

Yank open the door, throw myself out of the way. Nothing explodes. I rush into the shop and see Octavia in the center of it.

The dark-skinned young woman is screaming and clawing at her face.

“My eyes! It’s in my eyes!”

A bright red—no, vermilion-colored potion is sitting on the table in front of Octavia. It’s uncorked. Immediately, I cover my own eyes and hold my breath, but it doesn’t seem to be toxic.

And—I’m pretty sure I know what it is. And if it is what I think it is, Octavia’s only making it worse by wiping at her eyes.

I make my way as quickly to Octavia as I can without knocking anything over. She’s clawing at her face, but her eyes are streaming so badly she probably can’t see.

“Aaaaagh! I can’t see!”

“Octavia! It’s me!”

I grab at her hands.

“Don’t rub at it—you’ll just make it worse!”

She isn’t listening to me. Octavia’s fingers are at her eyes, and she’s fighting me as I try to restrain her. She’s strong—maybe stronger than me.

“Octavia, listen to me, stop—!”

Her fingers dig into her eyes and I freeze. Octavia screams, pushes with her fingers, and her eyes pop out of their sockets.

I see the fleshy orbs moving, and then they’re in the air, real and horrible for one second, attached by red string to the sockets. And then—

Two cotton pieces of fabric stitched together to look like eyes land on the ground. I stare down at them, and see the orange-red stain of the potion soaking the front of the cotton.

Octavia sighs, and relaxes in my grip. She speaks normally to me as she turns two gaping empty sockets my way.

“Oh, hey Ryoka. Can you find my eyes on the ground?”

I stare at her. Octavia’s face is still flesh, but without her eyes I can literally look into two empty sockets. They gape at me, and I feel my lunch coming up.

“I—”

“Oh wait, it’s the sockets, isn’t it? Sorry.”

She closes her eyelids and I can finally look away. I pick up both eyes very gingerly, and press them into her hands. Octavia smiles.

“Thanks, Ryoka. I wasn’t expecting that to hurt as much as it did. Wow. Good thing you came along, or I’d be looking for these forever.”

I nod dumbly, and then realize she can’t see me. Octavia carefully feels at the table in front of her as I stare at her.

“You’re…okay?”

“Oh, sure! Sorry if I scared you—I was just testing that potion you had me make. It’s strong stuff, let me tell you. Worth every copper piece you invested, and as soon as I clean the mixture off I’ll be happy to show you the others.”

She fumbles around, nearly knocks over the pepper-spray potion, and steadies it just in time.

“Hey, Ryoka, I’ve got a basin of water around here. Can you find it for me?”

Silently, I locate the bucket and put it in front of Octavia. She tosses the eyes in and begins to scrub at them gently.

“Hm. Feels like the oil in the potion is sticking rather well. I know I’ve got a cleansing potion on my shelves. Can you grab it? It’s green with streaks of blue.”

It takes me a few minutes to locate the correct potion, but when I give it to Octavia she adds a tiny bit to the water. It instantly turns clear, and less than ten seconds later she pulls her eyes out of the water and gently pats them down with a towel before popping them back into her face.

Octavia turns and beams at me, blinking a few times and wiping her eyes.

“Whew! Sorry about that. It’s always a challenge getting the cloth clean after a spill. I should just keep the cleansing potion on my belt, but you know how it is.”

I stare at her. I just can’t quite erase the image of her sightless gaze from my head.

“You’re…okay?”

“Just fine, thanks for asking! I’ll admit it hurt a lot getting that stuff on my eyes, but I can safely say that this potion’s complete. I’d ask if you want to try it, but you can’t pull your eyes out of their sockets, so just take it on faith, huh?”

I blink at the pepper potion as Octavia lifts it and recoil.

“Get that out of my face.”

“Oops, sorry, sorry. Let me just cork that.”

Octavia stoppers the potion before handing it back to me. I gingerly shake the potion and watch the thick liquid sloshing around inside.

“One pepper potion, ready to blind anyone you really don’t like. It should cover a lot of space. Just make sure you don’t throw it upwind or you’ll be just as blind when it hits you.”

“Got it. I mean—thanks.”

Yeah, a pepper potion. To be more accurate, this is this world’s equivalent of pepper spray. Octavia took every hot pepper and painful substance she could and mixed it into something that would probably make mace look like lemon water.

And yes, I asked her to make it for me. I just didn’t expect her to test it out on herself.

I eye Octavia’s eyes. They’re still a bit red and the skin around her face is a bit irritated.

“You’re sure you’re okay? That stuff is giving you a rash.”

“Eh, it’s not worse than anything I get from spilling acid on myself. I might try and get it fixed later, but I’m fine for now.”

Of course. Stitch-people wouldn’t need healing potions. Or if they did, it would only be as a last resort. But it’s far easier just to replace some fabric or stitch something together.

“…Well, good. I uh—”

I shake my head and remember why I’m here.

“Do you have any healing potions? Good ones. I need one.”

“Healing potions? I’ve got lots! Any particular potency you desire? The good ones are all over a gold coin’s worth.”

“I need one for Garia.”

“Oh?”

Briefly, I explain to Octavia what happened. The stitched girl’s eyes widen.

“That’s terrible! Of course I’ve got a healing potion. The girl needs it! Here, I’ll give you a discount. Garia can pay me back.”

She reaches for a potion, but I stop her.

“Garia said she couldn’t afford one. She’s not rich, so she could probably afford only a few silver coins’ worth.”

Octavia frowns.

“That’s…not really enough. I suppose I could give her something weak, but if she’s running she’ll need a strong one.”

“Right, so give me a healing potion that’s only a few silver coins. Here’s the payment.”

I place a gold coin and four silver coins down on the counter. Octavia’s eyebrows shoot up and she stares at me.

“Ah.”

“Got a problem?”

She hesitates, and then pushes the coins back towards me.

“Keep it. Garia’s a good kid, and she’s been a long-time customer of mine. I’d hate to see her get hurt—more than she already is, I mean.”

That surprises me, but Octavia takes a yellow potion off the shelf and puts it on the counter.

“This one should be worth only a few silver coins. And best yet, she can use it sparingly if the wound isn’t deep. Tell her I’ve got more in the shop. Tell the other Runners, too!”

“I will. Um. Thanks.”

Awkwardly, I take the potion. Octavia smiles at me.

“Now, is that all? As you can see, I’m still in the middle of testing and creating some of the things you asked for, but I’ve got some if you need them.”

I hesitate, then nod. I might as well. I’m not due to head back to Erin’s inn for a few more days, but better safe than sorry. Garia’s just illustrated that point.

“I’ll take whatever you’ve got ready. How many did you manage to complete?”

Octavia turns and moves to a small crate, talking as she opens the lid and shows me what’s within.

“The pepper spray potion is ready, although I didn’t come up with a way to spray it like you asked just yet. But you can still hurl it. I’ve got two bags done, and two more bottles for you.”

She hands me some bags with the drawstrings tightly closed. They’re supposed to be special cloths that won’t let anything through, but I make sure the knots are tight before I put them in my pack.

Octavia places a warning hand on my arm before she gives me the two other potions.

“Careful with these. I had to buy enchanted glass for both. There’s a cork on the top—pull it out and the glass will weaken so you can smash the bottles if you want. But be careful. Break it anywhere near you and—”

“I’ll be careful. You’ll keep working on the other two?”

“Of course! When you come back I’ll have multiples of each. And then we can talk about another deal, perhaps? I’d love to work on any more projects, if you’ve got the coin.”

“I should, when I get back.”

I store all the potions in my pack, carefully wrapping them in the blanket I bring for long runs. I nod at Octavia.

“I’ve got to get back to Garia. I’ll see you—”

“—Later. You Runners are always busy. Come back soon, and with more coin!”

I leave the shop and jog down the street. That was an exciting few minutes, but the most important thing is that I’ve got a potion. With that in mind, I double-time it back to the Runner’s Guild and nearly run into another Runner coming in.

“Sorry.”

“My fault. You first.”

He grins at me, and I nod and walk inside. I haven’t seen him before, but then maybe he’s from further away. I find Garia and the others more or less where I’ve left them, only now Garia’s got food and drink in front of her and a blanket on her shoulder.

Fals looks over as I walk towards him. He raises his eyes.

“Ryoka, where have you been?”

“Getting something. Here.”

I take the potion out and put it on the table in front of Garia. She goes wide-eyed at the sight of the glowing mixture.

“Free of charge. Octavia’s compliments. She says she’ll give a discount to any Runner who wants a healing potion.”

The other Runners murmur appreciatively, and I feel more than one hand slap me on the back. Well, maybe Octavia will get some business from this after all. Probably as she intended.

That thought’s unworthy of her. She gave me the potion for Garia’s sake. She might have known it would engender goodwill, but that’s just good business sense along with a kind heart.

Garia stares at the potion and then up at me. She turns red again.

“I can’t—this looks expensive. I can’t take this. I’ll pay you—her back.”

“It’s a gift. Take it and use it.”

“But—”

Fals nudges Garia gently and winks quickly at me. For once I’m grateful he’s here.

“Listen to Ryoka, Garia. Octavia knows she can get us buying her potions if she can prove she’s got quality. Besides, you need something for emergencies like today.”

He pauses and snaps his fingers lightly.

“I’ve got a spare wand with a single cast of [Slow] enchanted in it. It won’t stop arrows, but it should let you get away from any group of bandits next time. You can come by my room later and pick it up.”

The other Runners like that notion. One offers a stamina potion, and another tells Garia he’s got a dagger she can have. The good mood lasts right up until I hear the high-pitched voice from just opposite me.

“Some of us make enough money to provide for ourselves. We don’t need to bother other Runners.”

I look up. Now, why couldn’t the bandits have attacked Persua? She sniffs at both me and Garia. Her eyes flick towards Fals, and then shoot daggers at Garia.

“What’s the big deal? Garia got away with only a little scratch. If she were faster, she wouldn’t have been caught at all.”

I’m no expert, but even I know that was the wrong thing to say. A lot of Runners glare, but to my disgust, some seem to agree with Persua. Bastards.

“Anyways, Garia should pay Ryoka—I’m sorry, I mean Octavia back for the potion. We all earn enough, don’t we? At least, I do.”

Garia’s face is a tomato, and my chest is too tight. My hand clenches. Can I punch her? She’s not too far away. I could turn her stupid face into a paste before anyone could stop me.

But—no, damn it. I can’t do that. I loosen my hands and force myself to smile at Persua. She wants to use words? I can do words.

“Oh, really? How much do you earn, Persua? I’m curious. Do you earn a few silver coins each day or are they all copper? I earn quite a lot. Want to compare numbers?”

Persua’s sallow* face goes slack, and then she gives me a look of pure, unrefined hatred.

*Still not sure that’s the right word.

“At least I don’t run off whenever I please. I’m a dedicated Runner to the Guild, not some aimless drifter.”

That was weak. I open my mouth to retort, and Fals breaks in. He glares at both of us from Garia’s side.

“Persua. Ryoka. Not the time.”

She tosses her hair and I close my mouth, ashamed. Damn it. That was catty. I should know better, but Persua—

I’ve never had girls in high school run me over with a wagon. Just try to push me down the stairs. Persua’s on a whole new level. But Fals is right.

He waits until he’s sure we’re not going to start anything, and then turns back to Garia. He talks to her soothingly.

“We’ll ask the Watch to put a few patrols on the roads. What happened to the ones who jumped you, Garia?”

She shudders, and begins to speak, but someone cuts her off. A tall guy steps forwards and raises his voice.

“They’re all dead. I’ve reported the incident to the local Watch.”

Everyone looks at him. Garia opens her mouth and gapes, and I realize I’m standing right next to the guy who I saw outside the Runner’s Guild.

The tall Runner who I saw entering the Guild nods to the other Runners. He looks with interest at Garia’s head and speaks to her.

“Good to see you didn’t get too badly hurt, Miss Runner. I was worried, but you got away before I could look for you.”

Garia’s eyes widen, and she tries to get to her feet. Fals stops her, but Garia points her finger at the newcomer.

“You—you’re the one who saved me!”

He’s not quite as handsome as Fals is – someone broke his nose once, and it was never set quite right. But he’s got something the other Runners don’t, and that’s a presence. He looks like some of the athletes you see in the Olympics and in sports—someone with enough self-confidence in what they do that it shows in everything they do.

Fals smiles at the new Runner, and gets up to extend a hand.

“You saved Garia on the road? Thank you, from me and everyone in the Guild.”

“Think nothing of it.”

The stranger returns Fals’ handshake and smiles in reply. His eyes flick towards me, and then at the other Runners.

“It’s a good Guild you’ve got here. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Valceif Godfrey. I’m a Courier from First Landing. I’ve come down this way to do a delivery to the city of Liscor.”

He nods at the stunned room.

“Pleased to meet you all.”

—-

“I can’t stay. I’ve got an important delivery to make.”

That was the first thing Valceif said after the uproar had died down enough for him to be heard. He balanced on the balls of his feet, looking from Fals to the map on the wall.

“In truth, I’d like to have been on the road an hour ago, but I had to take care of those bandits and deal with the local Watch. And…I’m lost.”

He stands in the center of the room as if he’s used to the looks of amazement he’s getting. I’m the one who’s not used to it. The other Runners, both City Runners and Street Runners, are treating this guy as if he’s some kind of rock star. Even Fals looks amazed.

“It’s great to meet you. I’ve only seen two Couriers before, and never this far south. My name is Fals. I’m sorry the guilds didn’t notify us you were coming down this way, ah, Valceif.”

“Call me Val. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Fals.”

“Can we get you anything? You must be tired. Again, if we knew you were coming…”

Valceif shakes his head.

“I haven’t stopped running since I passed Invrisil. Unless you’ve got a mage in your guild, I’m not surprised you haven’t heard I was coming this way.”

A mage in a Runner’s Guild? I could see how that would be helpful, but that speaks to a far larger guild than the small one here. And did he say he came from Invrisil? Isn’t that the city six hundred miles north of here?

Fals looks like he can’t believe it either, but Val just smiles.

“I’m fine. Truly. I wouldn’t have stopped, but I’ve never come this far south and the snow makes it hard to tell where I’m headed. If you could point me to one of the main roads, I’d be grateful.”

“But we’d love to talk to you. If it’s not an imposition—I know a lot of Runners aspire to be a Courier one day. Could you spare an hour from your journey to rest?”

Again, the Courier declines.

“My delivery’s a priority. I can’t stop even to chat. Apologies, but I’ll be coming back up this way. There will be plenty of time then.”

Fals nods immediately. I wonder what’s so important that a Courier wouldn’t even be allowed to stop to rest.

“We can have a Runner show you to the spot. We also have a map if you need one—”

“A Runner is fine. Preferably someone fast?”

Fals nods. Flustered, he looks around. Well, this seems like a good opportunity. I raise my voice and step forwards.

“I’m heading down that way myself. Mind if I join you?”

The other Runners look at me, and Val glances questioningly at Fals. He nods, relieved.

“Ryoka is the fastest City Runner in the region. She can take you to the road fastest.”

“Well then, if it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to move out soon. Is that okay with you?”

He raises an eyebrow at me, challengingly. I think I almost like this guy. He’s confident, not just cocky. He reminds me of other athletes I’ve met.

“Give me five minutes. If that’s not too long?”

Fals looks like he’s going to inhale his tongue, but Val grins broadly.

“Five minutes is fine. I’ll be here.”

I nod and move towards the counter. The receptionist is staring at Vals behind it, but she jumps and looks at me as I cough.

“I still need my payment.”

“What? Oh! Of course! Just let me—”

It takes her slightly longer than five minutes to get me my coin, mainly because her hands are shaking so bad. But eventually I have my money and I secure my pack as I tighten my shoes.

Vals nods at me and extricates himself from the crowd of Runners.

“Ready to go?”

“Follow me.”

He turns and nods at the room.

“Runners, Miss Garia. It was a pleasure to meet you all.”

“Thank you for saving—”

Oops. The door closes behind me and Val. We’re already out the door. I glance at him. He’s a Courier? I wonder how fast he is.

As if he’s reading my mind, Val glances at my feet and then at the open street.

“Slippery road. If you want to take it slow, I’ll match your pace. Just point me in the right direction and I’ll be on my way.”

“I have business in Liscor too. I might join you.”

“You’re welcome to.”

If you can. Neither he or I need to hear the unspoken words. I grit my teeth. My body’s tired, but this is a challenge. This is a race. Me against a Courier. Time to see how high the bar is.

“Let’s go. Try to keep up.”

I don’t break into a sprint right away. Unless you’re running a race that’s a terrible idea. But I do set a fast pace through the city.

Val keeps pace effortlessly with me, and I can tell he’s watching me as I run. I know because I’m doing the same.

“You have good form. It’s nice to see someone else who knows how to run.”

He says that, but that’s my line. When I first came to this world, I thought no one else knew how to run properly. Even Fals tends to waste a bit of motion in his movements, and most of the Runners don’t have good posture or form.

But Val runs like any athlete on the track. Short stride, center of gravity light, stepping with the fore and middle of his foot rather than landing on his heels. He and I both run as if we’re falling forwards, bodies relaxed, feet flashing across the frozen ground.

The city disappears behind us and I decide it’s time to test how fast this guy really is. I move into my fast run, the speed I run at in a marathon. Val doesn’t even blink as he speeds up.

Huh. Okay…

I move faster. I’m at a dead-run now, racing speed. He stays right next to me, not even blinking. So I sprint. I push into the ground and take off. My feet might be hampered by these damn shoes, but even with them I can go terrifically fast.

The world blurs around me and becomes a tunnel. I strike the frozen earth with my feet as fast as possible, leaving a flurry of powdery snow as I dash ahead. That should do it. That should—

Val runs right next to me, legs flashing through the snow, grinning. Not mockingly; not even in challenge. He’s enjoying the run, and he’s right next to me as I run as fast as I ever have.

You’ve got to be—

“You don’t have any Skills, or Classes, do you? That you can run this fast is truly impressive.”

Val shouts that over the rushing wind. I can’t even spare the effort to look at him—I’m putting everything I have into the run. But I hear his voice, not even out of breath. I feel like I’m gasping for air over here.

“That’s what the pinched-face girl in your Guild told me. She doesn’t seem to like you.”

Persua? In five minutes—she talked?—what a bitch.

Can’t even think. I try to increase speed, but Val doesn’t even look strained.

“I don’t want to hurt your pride, but I do have a job to do. You’re quick, but I need to get to Liscor by tonight at the latest. So—pardon me.”

He runs a tiny bit faster, so he can nod back at me. Then he says two words.

“[Double Step].”

The world is a blur around me, but Val was like the center of a focused lens. Since he and I are keeping the same pace, it’s like we’re the only two people in a world of blurred colors. But when he speaks, he suddenly blurs forwards.

I can’t believe it. But suddenly, Val is taking two steps for every one of mine. His feet aren’t just blurring on the ground—I can barely see his legs moving. He accelerates forwards, running twice as fast as I do.

In seconds, he’s a hundred meters ahead of me. It’s like I’m standing still while he’s running. That’s how fast he’s moving.

The blur of motion that is the Courier accelerates to the main road, and then seems to pause. Suddenly the blur reverses direction and Val appears by my side, effortlessly keeping pace with me.

“I’ll see you in Liscor! I’m looking for some strange person who plays chess there. I’m told a Drake [Tactician] is the best player in the city. After I locate him we can have a drink or two.”

I can’t do anything else but nod. Val grins, and raises two fingers to his forehead. He accelerates, and then he’s moving faster than I am, faster than any human from my world has ever moved. He dashes down the snowy road, kicking up massive spays of snow into the air.

In less than a minute, he’s pulled so far ahead of me he’s a speck in the distance. I lose sight of him shortly after that.

I slow down and stop sprinting. My shoes slide a bit on packed snow, and I feel my feet rubbing at the leather and chafing horribly. I probably already have a blister or two, but that doesn’t concern me at the moment.

My heart is beating out of my chest. The cold air burns my lungs. I feel my body trying to recover as my legs scream in agony. I stare down the empty road, and say one word.

“…Fuck.”

2.16

She was a Queen, and he was not. In theory, that meant that he would obey her every whim. But theory is a poor substitute for reality, and the Antinium had long ago learned that a single entity could not be trusted to make the best choice every time.

So the position of Prognugator had been established, and much work had gone into their being. Each Prognugator was able to assist their Queen by handling the lesser affairs of the Hive, and even caution her if they believed she was in error.

Such incidents were rare, but they spoke to a system that worked. And yet, this particular Antinium was neither Prognugator nor another Queen, and still he had authority of his own.

Klbkch, newly reincarnated Revalantor of the Free Antinium, was technically above the rank of Prognugator. He could ignore even his Queen’s instructions, such was the nature of his duties.

Still, there was a difference between willful disobedience for a higher purpose and rebellion. Klbkch still obeyed his Queen’s orders in normal affairs, and she could question his actions much as he could hers.

Such as now.

“Glass windows? Why, Klbkchhezeim?”

Klbkch lowered his head as he knelt before his Queen.

“I deemed it a necessary expense, milady. The Hive can easily afford the cost, after all.”

“‘Can’ does not mean ‘should’. Moreover, you were rebuilding an inn that the human destroyed herself. Why waste the Hive’s resources on such a trivial thing?”

“We have more than enough funds to spare.”

This was true, but what of it? The Queen knew their Hive had enough gold to buy windows for much of Liscor. They provided valuable services with their Workers, although they took care not to take away too many jobs from the local citizenry.

In fact, they regularly under-produced when providing services. The Antinium’s Workers could construct and deconstruct buildings overnight if they so chose. They were efficient, tireless, and didn’t need to bother with measuring tools or work from a blueprint.

It would be a simple matter to take over much of Liscor’s industry, but that would invariably lead to economic disaster. And the Hive was meant to work together with other species, not drive them apart.

So while the Free Antinium occupied a vital slice of the economy, they still left plenty of work and opportunity for business with other species. They bought many goods—food, crafted items, and clothing, despite having little need for any of it. The Hive could produce all of the Antinium’s needs, but no one had to know that.

None of that justified needless waste. The Queen stared hard at Klbkch.

“Explain. Is this a gift to be offered this human child, or a bribe of sorts?”

“A gift, my Queen. Goodwill offered so that she might assist us with our tasks.”

“Hmf. I see.”

Klbkch spread his hands. He had only two, which bothered the Queen still. But it was something he had requested, and the efficiency of his new form would become evident in time.

“We need Erin Solstice far more than she needs us. And I believe her help should not be coerced. Small gifts and assistance rendered may benefit us in the long run.”

“The fact that it is her, a single human who has achieved the dream of the Antinium bothers me deeply, Klbkchhezeim. Why her? Why now? Why, after so long does it appear to be so simple?”

Klbkch tried to calm the agitation he sensed in his Queen. He spoke calmly and clearly.

“Perhaps because we have been foolish and adopted the wrong approach. We had no idea how to go about accomplishing this impossibility. And perhaps—because Erin Solstice is no ordinary human.”

“I see.”

The Queen did, and in more ways than just what Klbkch said. She knew he was keeping a secret from her regarding the human known as Erin Solstice. She did not care. Klbkch was loyal and if she did not trust him implicitly, he would not have lived past the day. He just irritated her sometimes. But then, they’d been a pair, the two of them, for longer than she could remember. It was just their way.

“The new one, Ksmvr. He struggles to take up your mantle.”

“Is that surprising? He is new. Give him time.”

“I would have killed him for his failure before.”

“He did not know. I have rectified his thinking. And a Prognugator is needed in the Hive.”

“Mm.”

The Queen shifted. There was much she didn’t like about the current situation. That was odd, considering that they had finally achieved part of the Antinium’s dream.

“What else goes on in the world above?”

Klbkch nodded. He paused, thinking. A Worker would never pause, and neither would a Soldier. But neither truly thought. Thought was something the Queen had learned to value above all else. She waited, patiently.

“The Listeners to the south also report a group of Gnoll warriors heading towards the city. They are led by a high-level warrior, and all belong to the Silverfang Tribe.”

“Interesting. The same tribe as before? Gazi the Omniscient slew the last group of warriors. What merits such great need that they would risk a second party?”

“Erin Solstice, perhaps. Or maybe a confluence of events.”

“Hrm. See to it they do not disturb the plan.”

“Yes.”

“Anything else?”

“The Listeners report a Courier has come delivering a package from the north. He is already in the city, asking after the Drake named Olesm.”

“At least this does not involve Erin Solstice.”

Klbkch paused again, and then, for the first time in years, the Queen heard humor in his voice.

“Not quite, milady. He asks after the best chess player in the city. He believes that is Olesm, but…”

The Queen shifted in her spot in the cavern, moving her bloated body. Her voice rose, and the Soldiers standing guard at the entrance to her room stirred.

“Why does the world turn upon one small human? What makes her unique!?”

The wrath of his ruler did not faze Klbkch, and his voice cut through her ire as he raised it.

“Perhaps because she is part of a grander picture, my Queen. One I have not put together yet, but it includes Erin Solstice. And she is not alone. Ryoka Griffin, Erin Solstice…they are pieces. I believe they are connected with the other anomalies found by the Hives.”

That stopped his Queen. She paused, and took in the silent messages he sent her across the telepathic link.

“It must be discussed. Find out more. I will speak with the others. In the meantime, others come from three Hives. They will wish to see the Abber—the Individuals. Ensure all five come to no harm.”

“With your permission, I will send them to the inn—under guard—with other Workers to continue learning to play chess.”

“Do so. Do what you must, Klbkch. I will keep the affairs of the Hive in order, regardless of what must be done above.”

“Thank you, my Queen.”

She sighed. She’d lost her closest confidant, her second feeler and her blade and shield. Her duties weighed on her more heavily.

But. But this was a time of change. A time of glorious revelation and success. She could feel it in her core. Just a little longer, and perhaps…

“They will be here soon. Do what can be done with this innkeeper until then.”

“Yes.”

There was nothing left to be said. The Queen raised a languid feeler and paused. A final thought made her speak.

“…Are you quite sure she has no more of those acid flies?”

“Yes, milady.”

“What a pity.”

—-

Once upon a time, there was an old city. A millennia ago, it stood tall and proud, a kingdom rich in both magic and wealth. But like all things, it eventually faded. The people’s hearts grew small, or perhaps the rulers grew arrogant and cruel. Eventually, the city fell to corruption from within.

They sealed their doors, and built terrible weapons. The survivors created traps to protect their wealth and loosed monsters in the walls of their homes. They sealed away the most powerful of their relics, daring any to claim them from this place of death.

Or something. Erin wasn’t too sure on the exact details, but the ancient ruins were apparently a big find, and everyone was excited and terrified.

Excited, because you might find the one ring of power in the ruins. Terrified, because Sauron himself might be down there, ready to poke your eye out.

Either way, the story made no sense.

“How the heck do you forget about an entire city?”

Olesm shrugged helplessly as he considered his next move. Erin waited to see whether he thought losing the bishop or the knight was a better idea. True, traditional thought on the matter said that bishops were more valuable over time, but the knight could threaten her king. Until she took it out with a little trap with a knight and her queen, that was.

“It surprised the Captain as much as everyone else. I mean, it was a fluke discovery. We were looking for something that might identify the species of monster Skinner was, and then we found a nearly complete map and some ruined texts in a book.”

Ceria watched as Olesm carefully saved his bishop from certain doom. Erin snatched away his knight and began advancing on Olesm’s king as they talked.

It had been a long time since either Olesm or Erin had played chess. So both had taken the time to play a few games after they’d established that a second Skinner was not about to rip their faces off.

Really, Olesm could have waited until tomorrow. But since sleep was pretty much out after Ceria’s nightmare, they’d stayed up, fortified by hot food and games of chess. Well, Olesm and Erin played chess. Ceria just watched.

“You’d think someone would at least remember, right?”

“I don’t know. It was a long time ago, and I suppose if the ruins were never found people would just forget. It could have been thousands of years old. Some of the ruins people find date back to the time when Elves still roamed the earth.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Zevara says—well, she’s worried whether this is a magic dungeon or just an old one. Skinner sort of points to it being magical, which would be trouble.”

“Um. Aren’t all dungeons magical?”

“No…at least, a lot of dungeons have magical things in them it’s true, but a magical dungeon has some kind of source of mana. It—well, Ceria, can you explain?”

“Yeah.”

The half-Elf nodded. She went to fold her hands behind her head and stopped.

“Magical dungeons are special because they essentially don’t run out of monsters. And they’re a completely different magnitude of dangerous than a non-magical dungeon.”

Erin captured one of Olesm’s pawns and he groaned.

“Why?”

“The mana in the dungeons attracts nastier monsters. Plus, it might make them stronger. Add that to the fact that whatever’s producing the mana is usually incredibly deadly, and some dungeons never get fully cleared. The nearby cities and nations just post guards and hire adventurers to keep the monster populations on the higher levels in check and pray nothing really bad comes out.”

“Sounds awful. And there’ll be more things like that Skinner?”

“The tombs were more like a non-magical dungeon, despite the undead. So, no. The rest of the dungeons might be far worse.”

Erin shuddered.

“Is there any good news?”

Olesm shook his head, but only because Erin was about to checkmate him.

“Maybe. It could be good for business. When adventurers hear there’s a huge dungeon here, they’re going to flood into the city.”

“I thought they did. Then they ran away.”

“Those were Bronze and Silver-rank adventurers. But a confirmed magical dungeon this old? It’s going to pull in Named Adventurers and Gold-rank adventurers, possibly even from other continents.”

“Whoa. Sounds good. And bad.”

“Mhm. Am I in checkmate?”

“In two moves you are.”

Olesm sighed and tipped over his king. He looked at the board sadly and shook his head.

“I thought the few levels I gained would make a difference, but that’s not the case.”

“You’re getting better.”

Erin reassured the Drake. She glanced out one of her lovely glass windows and frowned at the sky. It was getting light outside.

“Hm. Odd. I thought I’d get a few more visitors by now.”

“Visitors? Do you mean the Antinium? Or the Goblins?”

“No, I meant visitors. Guests. People I don’t know who want to buy lots of food and give me money.”

Erin sighed. She glanced out the window. The city was visible in the distance, but she didn’t see any people heading her way.

“You see, I was selling those hamburgers all yesterday and I was sure everyone would come rushing here tomorrow to buy more. But maybe they’re all not hungry? Or still sleeping?”

Olesm fidgeted as he reset the board.

“Oh. About that…”

Someone pushed open the door. Erin turned around, beaming.

“Hello, welcome! Come in and—oh. It’s you.”

Pisces kicked snow in from outside as he stumbled into the warm room. He looked around distractedly, and then lurched over to Erin.

“Ah. There you are. Your inn moved. Why did it move?”

Erin scowled at him and wondered if this was a sign of how her day would be. Pisces was not her favorite guest. In fact, she’d prefer to have almost anyone in her inn but him.

But she paused and reconsidered as Pisces approached. He seemed thinner than normal, and his robes were even dirtier than normal. When had she last seen him? A day ago?

No—not since they’d come out of the Ruins with Ceria. Normally Pisces appeared at her inn every other day at the minimum. Where had he been?

The mage’s messy hair was a sparrow’s nest, and his eyes were bloodshot. But he was grinning manically as he approached. He held something clasped between both hands, and Erin eyed it warily.

“Pisces. Why are you here?”

“I’ve just made a tremendous—no, exceptional achievement in the field of necromancy. I have formulated a new branch of magic, by myself.”

He glanced around and only now seemed to notice Ceria and Olesm.

“Ah. Springwalker. Drake. Greetings.”

Ceria raised one eye at Pisces. She didn’t seem surprised by his disheveled state.

“Pisces. What madness have you cooked up this time?”

Erin wasn’t sure she wanted to know. But Pisces was clearly eager to show her. He opened his hands.

“Behold!”

He lifted one hand to show Erin what was on his palm. Erin blinked down at something small and—crawly?

“Gyaaah! Spider!”

She flipped his hand up and the spider landed on Pisces’ face. He screamed.

“Get it off!”

The small spider scuttled off his face and onto the ground. It sped towards Olesm and the Drake yelped and toppled out of his chair. But the spider ignored him. It sped up a table leg and crawled underneath the bottom of the table to reach the top. There it paused, silently facing Olesm.

“Spider! Squash it!”

Ceria caught Erin as she raised the chessboard to smush the horrible thing. The half-Elf held her back as Pisces got back up off the ground.

“Don’t hurt it! It’s my creation!”

“What?”

Pisces was breathing hard. He shakily pointed at the spider as it stayed stock still, facing him.

“It’s dead. Undead, to be precise.”

Erin stared. As instinctive fear left her, she realized what Pisces was saying.

“No. You made an undead spider?”

Pisces gestured at the small spider as if it were something to be proud of.

“I may be the first [Necromancer] in years to master the animation of a species without bone. I even learned a new Skill. And leveled!”

For a few seconds, Erin debated hitting him, or the spider. Then she gave up and just accepted this as horrible reality.

She looked at the spider. It was quite small, now that she wasn’t staring at it close-up. That didn’t make it better.

It looked like the spiders you heard about in Australia or the Amazon, the ones which could kill in a single bite. It had a black body, but red crimson chitin plating its legs.

That was right. This spider looked like it had armor on its body, not just carapace. Erin shuddered. It stared up at her without moving, just like any other undead. But it was a spider. That made everything far worse.

“Okay. You’ve officially made the most horrible thing in existence. Undead spiders. Good for you. Now take it out of my inn.”

Pisces blinked at her. He gestured again at his spider.

“But it’s my latest creation. It’s a marvel. It—”

“Take. It. Out. Or I’ll squash it.”

Pieces stared at Erin. Then he scowled and pointed. Instantly, the undead spider leapt off the table and scuttled out the open door. Erin closed the door behind it and shuddered.

“Can’t I have anyone normal visit my inn for once?”

Pisces found an overturned chair, considered it, and took one that was already upright instead. Erin glared as she righted the overturned chair.

“Well, I believe my efforts have been noticed. I would like a meal, if you please. I’m quite famished.”

It was a strange thing. Both Erin and Ceria eyed Pisces at the same time, and both could tell the other was thinking of smacking him on the back of the head. That made them smile.

Olesm looked like he would have enjoyed throwing a few chess pieces at the mage as he gathered them up. But he held himself back. Instead, he sat at the table and reset the board as he spoke.

“I don’t see why a spider is that impressive. True, it’s a unique form of Necromancy, but is it more impressive than an army of zombies?”

Pisces sniffed. He splayed his hands on the table and looked pointedly at the kitchen. Erin ignored the look.

“It’s more of a revelation that Necromancy can be applied to more unusual corpse types than anything else at the moment. Animated spiders would only be useful for ambushes or reconnaissance in the military context. Bone and flesh is easier to use, but it’s the improvement I wished to bring to your attention.”

He nodded at Erin.

“As you might recall, you questioned me about the possibility of using non-humanoid remains to create undead. I took up your challenge, and thus the fruits of my labor were made manifest.”

Erin vaguely remembered needling Pisces about that. She regretted ever bringing the topic up.

“Great. Now you can make undead spiders. Keep them away, and we don’t have a problem. But that’s not something I really care about. I’m more interested in one skeleton. Toren.”

Pisces looked at Erin with a slight frown, and then around the inn.

“What about my creation? Is something…wrong with him?”

Erin tried to explain as briefly as possible what had happened. Pisces rolled his eyes when she told him about her order to go away, but he seemed attentive to the problem, at least.

“He’s gone. I can’t find him anywhere. You wouldn’t happen to be able to find him, would you?”

The mage paused, and closed his eyes.

“Odd. I should be able to tell where he is, but I cannot.”

Ceria took a seat opposite Pisces.

“I thought [Necromancers] could tell where all their creations are, regardless if they bound them to someone else.”

“Normally that’s true. But I’m—not sensing his aura anywhere nearby.”

Erin stared worriedly at Pisces.

“He’s not dead, is he?”

“He’s undead.”

He sniffed at her. Erin raised a clenched fist threateningly, and Pisces spoke faster.

“What I mean, is that he’s still animated, but I can’t sense his location. I would know if Toren had been uncreated, but I can’t locate him. It’s almost as if…something is interfering with his aura.”

“Magical spike? A concentration of mana?”

Pisces nodded at Ceria.

“Something like that. I could try to get closer, but that would involve a lot of work.”

“Well? What’s stopping you?”

Erin propped her hands on her hips and stared at Pisces. He blinked at her.

“Why would I do that? The skeleton will return sooner or later, regardless of your orders. It is in his nature. Besides, I’m quite hungry. As I said. Would you bring me a menu, or your dish of the day?”

“Of course! Because all I want to do is make food for a mage who brings spiders into my inn and never pays me!”

Erin raised her voice and grabbed at her hair. Pisces was impossible. Ceria punched him in the shoulder and Pisces gave her a hurt look as he rubbed at his shoulder.

“If your skeleton isn’t back by tomorrow I’ll take a look. But I need food to cast magic, and I’ve been sequestered by myself for the last few days. A few hours won’t make any difference. And I am a valued customer. Unless you were expecting other patrons?”

“I thought I’d have hundreds of customers by now! Or at least ten!”

Erin stomped around her inn, wondering what she could get away with serving Pisces that would take the least amount of effort. She pointed furiously out the window at the city.

“I made over four hundred hamburgers yesterday, and not one person’s coming here for another! Why’s that?”

“Hamburger? Interesting. I will try one.”

Olesm coughed into a scaled hand as Erin made a strangled sound.

“I can explain that, Erin.”

She looked at him. The Drake looked apologetic.

“I saw a lot of shopkeepers and vendors on the streets as I was coming here. Only a few were open that early, but all of them were selling those hamburgers.”

“What?”

They’d taken her recipe? Well, it wasn’t her recipe, but it still felt like theft.

Erin stared at Olesm, hurt. That wasn’t fair. Actually, it was. Erin didn’t own the hamburger recipe and it was really easy to make, but it still felt wrong. Ryoka had warned her. Erin just hadn’t expected the copying to happen overnight.

“But I’ve got more than just hamburgers! I’ve got other food I’m totally ready to make.”

“Really? I’ll sample all of it for you and give you my considered opinion.”

“I’m sorry, Erin. But that’s how it works. You have a really good idea, and the others decided to copy you. They’ve got your recipe down quite well. The only thing they haven’t managed to figure out is how to make the red and white stuff.”

Mayonnaise and ketchup. At least Erin still had that, although the two condiments were such a pain to make it didn’t make her feel any better. She slumped into a chair and sighed.

“Great. So much for a full house tonight.”

“Sorry about that, Erin. If it helps, I think you’ll still have Relc and Klbkch tonight. And probably some of the Antinium too.”

Ceria patted Erin on the back. Erin nodded. It was good that she had a customer base, but her hopes had been dashed.  She’d really thought she had something special.

“…Alright. I guess I can make a stupid cheeseburger or something.”

Pisces raised a finger.

“This ‘hamburger’ interests me more, actually. I prefer meat.”

“It’s the same thing!”

—-

Erin had slapped together a fast cheeseburger and served it to an appreciative Pisces when she started to feel a bit better. She sat down with Olesm and Ceria, listening to the mage’s appreciative noises and thought today might not be that bad.

True, it was a disappointment about the customers, but—

Someone knocked on the door to her inn. Erin’s eyes widened and she stopped beating Olesm in chess to smile at the Drake.

“Aha! See? First customer of the day.”

He blinked at her as Erin raised her voice.

“Come in!”

The door opened. But instead of the Drake or Gnoll that Erin expected, a human stepped into her inn. He shook some snow off his shoes and stepped into the room.

“Good day. I’m looking for a Drake named Olesm. He wouldn’t happen to be in here, would he?”

“What?”

Olesm looked up from his game of chess as the young man who’d entered spotted him. In a few steps he was at Erin and Olesm’s table.

Erin blinked up at the guy, so surprised that she nearly didn’t wonder how he’d moved so fast. He was a human? A human guy?

Yes, he was a normal human being. He had tanned skin, black hair, and a slightly crooked nose. He was dressed in traveling attire, and he looked like he was in great shape.

Olesm stood up.

“I’m Olesm. Um, are you some kind of messenger?”

“I’m a Courier from First Landing. I’ve got a delivery for the best chess player in the city of Liscor. Would that be you?”

The Drake’s eyes went wide, and he looked from the Courier to Erin.

“A Courier? That’s—I mean, yes, I am the best chess player in Liscor, but Erin here is far better than I am. What’s this about?”

“I’ve got a package. It’s got no listed recipient, but the instructions I was given were to deliver this to whoever recognizes this drawing.”

The Courier fished in his pocket, and pulled something out. Everyone in the room stared at a worn, faded, piece of parchment. Erin recognized it instantly as he unfolded it.

The ink had run in places from water stains, and someone had spilled something orange on a corner of the parchment, but on one side she saw a simple chess puzzle, with her listed solution on the back.

On the other side, a complex little chess game she’d once struggled with had been solved in four moves. Olesm took the piece of paper from the Courier and inspected the scribbled lines next to the puzzle with shaking claws.

“It’s…correct. Correct! I struggled for over a week on this one. Someone else figured it out?”

“Ah, so you are the creator of this…thing?”

The Courier lifted a thick, wrapped bundle out of the rucksack on his back. Olesm blinked at him and shook his head swiftly.

“Me? No, I barely solved it. Erin’s the one who made the puzzle.”

He pointed at Erin and she blinked and turned red as the Courier turned to her. He was taller than her by a good few inches, and he scrutinized her hard.

“My apologies. You’re the creator of the puzzle? My name is Valceif. Val. I was told to deliver this to you.”

“Me? Oh, I’m Erin. Erin Solstice. I uh, did make that, but I didn’t expect anything in return. Just…a letter, not anything else. What’s this about?”

“I really couldn’t say, Miss Erin. I’m simply a Courier. Someone put a generous request up for priority delivery to whoever sent this piece of paper. I’m supposed to give it to you, if you did make it.”

“I did. But…what is it?”

Val glanced down at something in his left hand.

“Hm. You’re not lying, so that makes you my recipient.”

He offered her the package, but Erin was still metaphorically ten feet behind the conversation. She blinked at his hand.

“How do you know I wasn’t lying? Is that a Skill?”

Val shook his head. The Courier opened his palm, and showed Erin a clear bit of quartz hanging from a leather cord. The clear stone was glowing yellow.

“Just a gem with a [Detect Truth] spell enchanted on it. Standard-issue for Couriers.”

“A Courier? That’s like a super-important Runner, right?”

He smiled, briefly.

“Some might say so. We’re just more competent than City Runners, that’s all. We do long-distance deliveries that are too important to entrust to anyone else. Someone paid a lot of gold to get this to you, Erin. I’d be pleased if you took it off my hands.”

She reached out for the package, and then hesitated.

“What should I do? I don’t have any Seals on me! You need one, right?”

He shook his head.

“It’s fine. Couriers use a different system than City Runners and Street Runners.”

He held up the wrapped package, and for the first time Erin noticed something odd about it. The object had been wrapped in layers of some kind of brown canvas fabric, but a black ribbon bound the object together. And in the center of the ribbon, a strange runic stone was embedded.

It glowed with black light. Ceria whistled and Pisces looked up from his meal to stare at the strange object. Val tapped it gently.

“This is a Courier’s Seal. It will record this location, your faces and identities, and the time I completed my request. Any mage will be able to ensure I delivered my package to the right recipient this way.”

“Oh. So—so it’s going to take a picture of me?”

“Something like that. Just place your hand on the seal, and it will do the rest. Don’t worry; it won’t hurt you.”

That didn’t sound reassuring, but Val was insistent, and Erin was intensely curious. Gingerly, she put her palm on the stone.

The black light glowing from the stone turned immediately white. Erin snatched her hand back, but the stone didn’t do anything else. It just fell off the ribbon, and Val caught it as the package began to unravel slightly.

“My delivery has been completed. Thank you.”

“Um, you’re welcome. I mean, thanks!”

Erin took the wrapped object and looked at it, at a total loss. It wasn’t that heavy—it felt rectangular and hard under her hands. She looked at Ceria desperately.

“What should I do. What is this?”

The half-Elf shrugged. She stared intently at the package. Even the Courier seemed interested. He coughed into his hand.

“You’re free to dispose of the package, but it’s nothing dangerous. The mage at my Guild would have detected that. It’s a delivery to you.”

“Well then…should I open it?”

Olesm nodded eagerly. He stared at the piece of parchment in his claws and then at the package.

“It must be from whoever sent that puzzle in the first place! Open it, Erin!”

“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to see what it is as well. I’ve come a long way and the curiosity is eating away at me.”

Erin blinked at Val, and then nodded.

“Of course. Sure! First Landing…that’s far, right?”

Pisces snorted and Ceria laughed. Val looked amused.

“Very far.”

“Well, um, have a seat if you want. This is an inn. Right, it’s an inn and I’m the innkeeper. I can get you food and I have a bed if you’re tired. Just as soon as I…”

Erin carried the package over to a table next to the one Pisces was at. The mage stood up, and he and Ceria walked over as Olesm and Val stared at the unassuming package.

Erin held her breath as she undid the black ribbon and pulled away the brown fabric. What could it be? She barely remembered sending the chess puzzle out, but someone had spent lots of money to send her something back? What could it be?

The last of the fabric fell away to reveal what was within. Everyone crowded closer to look, and then stared. Olesm’s face fell, and Erin felt disappointed.

It was…a chessboard. Just a chess board. It was made of gloriously smooth wood, and there was a deep richness to the set that made Erin think that she was holding something worth thousands of dollars in her world, but it was just a chess board.

It didn’t even have any pieces with it.

For a second, everyone stared at the chess board, and then Pisces snorted and went back to his hamburger. Erin stared down at the carved piece of wood, disappointed and even more confused than before.

“What’s this? It’s just a chess board. Why would anyone send me that?”

Ceria poked the board and shrugged.

“It looks nice. That’s quite a nice grain of wood there. A solid piece of Afzelia if I’m not mistaken.”

Erin had no idea what that was, but it sounded expensive. Even so, the chess board mystified her.

“What good is a chess board without pieces, huh?”

That was sort of the point. You didn’t need a chess board—the pieces were what mattered. You could play on the ground with lines drawn in the dirt if you had the pieces. But what good was a board?

Olesm scratched the spines on his head.

“Maybe it’s a gift to whoever made such a good puzzle?”

That made sense, but Erin wasn’t sure.

“It was just a puzzle. It wasn’t that hard. I know a lot more that are even worse.”

Olesm’s tail sagged.

“What? Really? But I worked so hard on it!”

Erin bit her tongue and tried to take back her words.

“I don’t mean it’s easy. No—you did a great job, Olesm! It’s just that I don’t get why anyone would spend this much money sending something just for a chess puzzle.”

“Some rich folks are like that. It could just be a gift of appreciation.”

Val nodded at the chess board, and Erin jumped to remember he was still there. He frowned at the board.

“It doesn’t explain why the sender was in such a hurry to get it here, but I suppose some people are simply impatient. But there was no request for a reply, just a confirmation of delivery.”

Was that curious? Erin thought so. What was the point of sending a chess puzzle if you didn’t send another, even harder one back? That was how it was supposed to go, and she was really looking forward to a dialogue. Back in her world, she’d done that with several people online…

The Courier shrugged, and rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck gently.

“Well, it’s a mystery. But I’m glad I was able to find you. I searched the entire city for the better part of an hour before I was told Olesm might be in this inn. And then the inn turned out to be in a different spot than I was told.”

“Oops. Um, yeah. We…moved a few days ago.”

“It only took me a few minutes to find the correct one. Don’t worry about it; the signs were helpful.”

Val smiled, and Erin smiled back. He had an openness to him that she liked.

“Well, I guess I’ll use this later. It’ll be good if we play more games of chess. For now…”

The wrappings Erin tossed in the kitchen. She could reuse some of it, and the brown fabric looked tough. She put the board on a table in one corner of the room and forgot about it the instant she turned around. Erin looked at Val and realized she had an opportunity here.

“Um, Val? I’m really grateful you came all the way here. And I’m actually an [Innkeeper], and this is my inn. So…would you like something to eat before you go?”

The Courier had been stretching, possibly about to run out the door. But at Erin’s words he paused, and grinned. He looked around the inn and nodded.

“I’d love that. Do you have anything you recommend?”

Erin smiled slyly, and Olesm and Ceria had to grin.

“How about a hamburger?”

Pisces raised one hand and called out.

“I shall have another!”

—-

Ryoka ran through the night and into the next day without stopping. It was willpower and desperation that kept her moving. Only that and one of Octavia’s stamina potions.

Every time Ryoka took a gulp of the terrible, blue liquid she wished she could rip out her tongue. But a second later energy would flood through her veins like a bursting dam. She ran ahead, legs forgetting the aches they kept reminding her body of, sprinting down the frozen road by herself.

But no matter how fast she ran, she knew she would never catch Val. He was so fast. Beyond fast. He’d surpassed the human limit. Her limit.

A horse would have been hard-pressed to keep up with him. No—he was probably neck and neck with a galloping horse. Maybe faster.

God. Ryoka closed her eyes for the briefest moment as she ran on. She’d always thought she could take on the challenges of this world by herself, without magic or classes. With some clever tactics and Octavia’s alchemy, Ryoka had thought she might qualify as a Courier. But Val had shattered that illusion.

He could run twice as fast as she could. That wasn’t just cheating. It was reinventing what it meant to be human. If people could beat horses without machines…

Maybe it was time to rethink her ideals. If that was what Ryoka could attain, maybe…

Ryoka’s melancholic thoughts were interrupted by a flash of light far off to her left. She paused, slowed, and changed directions in a heartbeat. Something was lying in the snow, around a mile away.

It was small at first, but as Ryoka approached she realized the object was actually huge. She stopped as the snowy ground grew muddy underfoot.

It was a…massive suit of armor. It lay spread-eagled on the ground, in an area of ground that was no longer covered in snow. The snow had melted, and something had turned the wet grass into a muddy landscape.

Ryoka slowed as she made her way across the broken earth and churned and muddy ground. What had happened here? A battle of some kind. But this armor…

As she stepped next to it, Ryoka realized that this armor wasn’t normal at all. It was plate armor to begin with; black metal hammered together to create an imposing behemoth. And behemoth was the right word for this armor. It was massive.

Even Calruz—even he would have found the armor a loose fit. But that wasn’t what attracted Ryoka’s attention. No, it was another aspect of the armor that bothered her.

It was battered. There was no other word for it. It looked like someone had bashed every single square inch of the armor with hammers. The black metal was dented in places—in others, Ryoka found holes where something small had punched through the metal.

Crossbow bolts? Ryoka doubted it, but that was the only thing she could think of. Either that or a huge longbow had done this damage. She’d seen only one broken crossbow in her entire time in this world, but something had punched through the armor.

But that brought another question to Ryoka’s mind. She squatted down next to the damaged piece of plate. It had no helmet, so she could peer inside without a problem. And what she saw was an absence of any blood or flesh.

There was no blood on the armor. Anywhere. That was the oddest thing. With all this damage, there surely should have been some blood or a corpse nearby, but the armor was simply empty.

Ryoka looked around. Someone had fought there. There should be some bodies. But there weren’t. She saw something else sticking out of the ground and headed towards it.

A massive, broken sword was embedded in the ground twenty meters away. Ryoka stared at it and noticed how something had cracked the blade in two different places.

“What the hell…?”

Just by following the muddy ground, Ryoka could see a terrific battle had been waged in this area. The swath of muddy ground was nearly two miles across, and reached all the way back to the foot of a mountain in the distance.

Ryoka followed them to an odd opening in the rock. It looked like the opening to a cave, but very small. It was just large enough that the massive armor might have fit through, but it was too thin to let anything wider through.

The human girl peered into the darkness of the cave, but couldn’t see anything. She went back to the armor, and regarded it.

“Steel?”

She was no metallurgist, but Ryoka guessed that was the case. It rang as she knocked on the armor with her knuckles. Iron would have been more of a thunk.

Who had the resources to make something so expensive? Ryoka was almost tempted to try and see if she could salvage the armor, but it was so wrecked she didn’t know if it was worth it.

It was probably worth it either way. Ryoka mentally marked the location as something to come back to. After a moment of hesitation, she buried the armor in the snow so it would be less visible from the road.

But who had fought here? Who was the wearer of the armor, and who had destroyed it? There were no clues.

Just another mystery to solve. Ryoka groaned as she stood back up. More tracks led into the crack in the mountainside. Something had gone in there, but Ryoka wasn’t about to follow.

For one thing, she was exhausted. For another, she had an aversion to entering dark caves where something with a crossbow might or might not be lurking. And for a third reason, she had a Courier to catch.

She was only a few hours away from Liscor. Ryoka made her way back to the road and set off. Her body hurt. She wanted another sip of the stamina potion, but Octavia had warned her it could only stave off exhaustion for so long.

Ryoka ran through the brightening morning, thinking only of the end. She could have food, a place to sit, and hot water when she got to Erin’s inn.

But when she arrived at the place where The Wandering Inn should have been, Ryoka only saw an empty hilltop. She stared up at the empty spot and looked around. No. She was definitely in the right place. But…

“…Where the hell did it go?”

—-

The inn’s glass windows were full of warmth and light when Ryoka finally found it. For a few minutes she just leaned against the wall of the inn, too exhausted to do anything else. Then the tantalizing smell and heat from inside called to her, and she pushed the door open.

The room was beautifully warm, and the instant Ryoka entered, she saw a familiar face. Ceria sat at one table, smiling and laughing with Olesm. Pisces sat across from them, munching on a familiar food. Erin sat at a table and laughed with Val—

Val.

Ryoka stopped in her tracks as Erin got to her feet. The Courier inclined his head at her and said something apologetically. She waved it away as she walked towards the kitchen.

“Another hamburger? Coming right up!”

Ryoka stared at Val as he leaned back in his chair and sighed happily. He had several empty plates on the table, and he looked like he’d been in the inn for quite a while.

He looked towards the open door, and saw Ryoka. Instantly, Val smiled.

“Ryoka? What a surprise! I didn’t expect to see you here! Did you just get in?”

Everyone in the room looked up at the sound of her name. Erin halted in her tracks, and beamed.

“Ryoka!”

Ceria got to her feet, and so did Olesm. Ryoka walked slowly forwards as her friends approached.

Erin went to hug Ryoka or do something friendly, but then she halted a few feet away from the running girl. Olesm sneezed, Erin coughed, and Ceria leaned away from Ryoka. She couldn’t blame them.

She stank.

“Sorry. I just got here. Ran all night.”

Ryoka knew she was drenched in sweat, melted snow, and not a bit of mud. But Erin waved at her face and smiled anyways.

“Wow, that’s fast! Here, take a seat and I’ll get you some food. And a towel. Do you want a drink? I’ve got this alcoholic drink I bought from Krshia…”

Ryoka sat at the table opposite Val and stared at him. Erin hesitated.

“By the way Ryoka, this is another Runner. A Courier, actually. His name is—”

“Val. We’ve met.”

“You have? That’s so weird!”

Val nodded. He didn’t seem bothered by Ryoka’s pong.

“We just met in a city north of here. Ryoka actually helped me find my way here. But I didn’t think we’d meet in this inn. You’ll never believe this, Ryoka, but it turns out my destination was here all along. I was delivering it to this innkeeper, Miss Erin.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it was a chessboard!”

Erin excitedly pointed to the chessboard in the corner of the room.

“I guess it was because I sent this puzzle to someone. And they gave me a chessboard. Well—it’s not that amazing, but it’s cool that we all know each other!”

“Oh?”

Ryoka’s face was completely blank. Erin blinked at her, but Val leaned over to her.

“I think Ryoka would do better with some food and drink in her. Water, not alcohol.”

“Oh, right! You must be starving! Coming right up!”

She was so tired Ryoka didn’t even question the hamburger. But she did nearly tear up, especially when she bit into it.

A proper hamburger. Not crap fast food. She ate two before she even realized what was happening and drank six glasses of water. Slowly—the food she’d take, but she had no intention of vomiting in this new inn.

“…And then they gave me windows, see?”

Erin was finishing explaining how her inn had moved from its previous location. It was a disjointed explanation, but Ryoka got the gist. Exploding inns? She had no idea what to make of that.

“Well, I am glad to have discovered this inn. I’ve never tasted food like this. I’d love to take the recipe back up north. I’m sure the innkeepers up there would love to learn it.”

Val sighed as he rested his hands over his full stomach. Erin smiled crookedly.

“It can’t hurt to tell you, I guess.”

There was something behind her words, but Ryoka’s head felt like static. She was full, and dog-tired, but she had another thought as she looked at Pisces and Ceria, arguing over something in the corner.

“I’ve got a problem.”

Everyone looked at her, and Ryoka realized she shouldn’t have blurted it out. But it was too late now. Ryoka’s exhausted mind couldn’t handle subtleties, only the thing that had bugged her all the way here.

“Can you tell if someone’s cast a mind-altering spell on me?”

She addressed that comment to Pisces and Ceria. The two mages blinked and exchanged a glance, and then came over to sit at their table.

“Mind magic? What, did someone hit you with something, Ryoka?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. Can you test me?”

It was just something the faeries had said. But the only people Ryoka even remotely trusted were the two in front of her. Ceria and Pisces exchanged another look and nodded. They were oddly in synch at times.

“There’s an easy way to tell, although it’s odd. Normally, a spell that messes with the head will remain concealed until the victim is aware of it. And naturally the magic prevents them from realizing something’s off. But if you think there’s a spell on you, this should work.”

Ceria explained as she raised her hand. Her fingertips were glowing green. Across from her, Pisces closed his eyes as his fingertips glowed blue.

“[Detect Magic].”

Pisces and Ceria cast the spell at the same time and glared at each other. The room suddenly lit up.

Ryoka and Erin gasped as Val suddenly exploded in colors like a Christmas tree. Magical auras swirled around him, concentrating on spots about his person. His pockets, places at his belt—

“Tree rot. You were right, Ryoka!”

Ceria pointed at Ryoka. She looked around, and noticed a shining coming from her as well. It was hard to see, but there was something…swirling around her head? Something bright, like a halo of smog. Erin stared at it.

“Hey! Your belt is glowing too!”

It was true. Some of the potions on Ryoka’s belt were glowing faintly, but one of them—the orange-pink potion Teriarch had given her was shining with light. Val whistled.

“There’s some magic here.”

Pisces and Ceria had their own aura of glowing colors as well. In fact, only Erin and Olesm were without their aura of colors. The inn was full of magical auras shining from different locations. Val, Ryoka, Ceria, the chessboard, Pisces…

“Well, there’s something strong affecting you, that’s certain.”

Both mages canceled their spell and the inn faded back into the normal range of colors. Everything suddenly seemed drab and ordinary. Ceria stared at Ryoka’s head, and shook her head.

“You’re enchanted. And with something so powerful that I don’t know that I can do anything about it. Sorry, Ryoka.”

“I know I can’t do anything about that.”

Pisces sat back in his chair, wide-eyed. He took Val’s drink and drained it.

“That’s Tier…6 magic? Tier 7? Who did you anger so to make them use that on you?”

“I have an idea. Damn.”

Ryoka sighed, frustrated but vindicated. She was right. And maybe the faeries were…nah. It couldn’t be. But how could they tell?

Val frowned at Ryoka, and then fished in his pockets.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you? Hold on; here. Take this.”

He took something out of his pocket and showed it to Ryoka and the room.

“I’ve got a powerful charm I use to ward against that kind of magic. It’s worth several thousand gold pieces, so it should remove anything that’s affecting you.”

“Oh! I know those!”

Erin peered excitedly at the charm dangling from Val’s hand. Ryoka recognized the object as well. It was a dreamcatcher, a circle in which someone had woven threads together in a symmetrical shape, like a spider’s web.

The only difference here was that this dreamcatcher was a far smaller version of the ones Ryoka and Erin had seen – barely longer than a thumb. And the frame was made of metal, not wood. But the threads were beautiful, each one a shimmering line of color that made a tantalizing pattern in the center of the charm.

“Here. Just put it against your head and it will dispel any magic on you.”

Val handed the dreamcatcher to Ryoka, and she looked at it dubiously.

“Are you sure?”

He shrugged.

“It’s not a one-use item, and if you’re enchanted, you’ll need something powerful to remove it. Consider it a favor from one Runner to another.”

“Huh. Uh, thanks.”

As soon as she accepted it, the small charm began buzz. Val nodded.

“You’re under the effects of something.”

Ryoka lifted it up, and suddenly the buzzing became a low whine. Val frowned.

“It shouldn’t be making that sound. Wait a—”

Too late. Ryoka pressed the charm against her head. She felt the metal warm, and then it cooled. Ryoka lowered the charm, and stared at it, bemused.

“I don’t know if anything hap—”

Something clicked in her head. It was like Ryoka suddenly going through déjà vu, only a thousand times stronger. She blinked. Memory, forgotten memory rushed into her head. Along with a word.

One word, echoing in her head.

Dragon.

The whine coming from the dreamcatcher suddenly turned into a shriek. Olesm clapped his hands over his ears and Pisces and Ceria ducked.

The dreamcatcher exploded, throwing Ryoka backwards. Val moved like a whirlwind, and Erin gasped as fiery fragments disappeared inches from her face.

Ryoka was catapulted over the top of a table, knocking Pisces’s empty plate off. She crashed hard to the ground as porcelain shattered under her, and felt something wrench in her shoulder.

“Ryoka! Are you okay?”

Erin crouched next to Ryoka, peering anxiously at her friend’s face. Ryoka was alright, albeit bruised and dazed. But she didn’t respond right away. Her eyes were flickering. The dreamcatcher had worked.

She remembered. She remembered everything.

2.17

Ryoka stumbled into the cave, bleeding. Dying. Every step was agony. She felt her sliced flesh and fragments of rock embedded in her skin cutting away at her sanity.

Pain. She didn’t know why she was still moving. But as Ryoka stumbled forwards, the rough stone turned to marble. The room filled with treasures made of gold and magic.

She left footsteps traced in crimson as she walked forwards, forgetting her hurts for a second. The wonders around her were far more glorious than anything she’d ever seen in a museum. Artwork as beautiful as a Louvre masterpiece hung next to swords that glimmered with magic. Yes, it was in the air.

Magic.

Ryoka felt her heart beating faintly in her chest. She heard rushing wind, but then the cavern wall opened up and her heart did stop.

Because in the center of this cave of miracles was a Dragon.

A Dragon. A massive creature four times the size of a house, slumbering on the cold marble. A creature straight out of myth and dreams.

Serpent. Wyrm. Drake. Arach. Naga. Ormr. Tanniym. Vovin. Draak. Drage. Draeke.

Dragon.

The massive dragon was sleeping in an open space in the center of the cavern. Ryoka stopped. She stared. His scales shone as the light touched them, so brilliant that her heart ached.

Her eyes filled with tears. Ryoka sank to her knees as her blood covered the marble floor. She didn’t care. It was worth it. This was worth it.

It was worth seeing this before she died.

“Hm. Who’s there?”

His head moved. The dragon opened both eyes and stared down at Ryoka. She gazed into two massive pupils, mismatched colors of heliotrope and cerulean. Celestial lights shimmered within the moving pupils.

For a moment, Ryoka understood magic. She gazed into the center of it; the reason why it could exist. A fragment of the truth. A piece of forever. A dragon’s eye.

Her eyes rolled back up in her head. Ryoka fell forwards and her nose broke as she toppled onto the floor.

The Dragon grumbled deep in his throat. He looked around, and tsked at the blood trail.

“I’m going to have to clean that up as well, aren’t I? And fix the nose. And use a memory spell. Honestly, this is why humans are…”

—-

She remembered.

“Awaken, human.”

Ryoka opened her eyes. She sat up at once and felt no pain. She was healed? Healed! How?

It was a miracle. But then Ryoka noticed the old man standing in front of her. Long white robes covered a body only lightly touched by age. His mismatched eyes gazed down at her as he gestured at her.

“Rise, human.”

Ryoka stood up. She couldn’t help it. She gaped at the old man who had pointed ears and flawless features.

“Mm. You must be exhausted from your travels. I confess; it was unusual for me to find one in such bad shape. But I have healed your wounds. I presume you are the Courier I requested?”

Ryoka blinked. She stared open-mouthed at the old man. He frowned at her.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

The human girl made no reply. Teriarch looked around, frowning.

“What? What is—”

He turned his head towards the cavern wall and paused.

“Ah.”

Teriarch’s illusory human form was perfect. He looked exactly like a normal human, albeit one made in flawless perfection and with slightly elven features. But he had forgotten one important aspect.

Ryoka stared at the shadow of the dragon looming huge on the wall behind Teriarch. It stretched out from his robes, lengthening impossibly until it perfectly reflected the dragon, not the illusion.

“My god. What—”

Teriarch sighed. He pointed at Ryoka, and she felt her head go blank.

“Let’s try that again.”

—-

Memory flooded into her. Words.

Teriarch stared hard at Ryoka as she stood, immobilized by the magic on her. He frowned, tapped at a lip.

“What has happened in the world since I have been asleep?”

Ryoka blinked at him. Since he was asleep?

“How long have you been asleep?”

“Ah. Well, I mean…”

Teriarch blinked at Ryoka a few times, and then waved his hand in front of her face.

“Forget that.”

Ryoka blinked. Teriarch frowned at her. He paused, and then spoke.

“I wish to know of any ongoing major wars between multiple nations, new technologies or spells developed, legendary monsters sighted or slain—import of that nature. Tell me all the news you have heard of in the past several years or so. What has transpired while I have been…secluded here?”

The human girl paused, and then shrugged. Even bound by the truthfulness spell, her tone projected quite a lot of insolence.

“Dunno.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t pay attention to world news. You probably know more about what’s going than I do.”

Teriarch harrumphed and glared at Ryoka, but the truth spell on her was still active. He changed tact.

“Do you at least know if Magnolia Reinhart still lives?”

“…Yes.”

He nods sagely, stroking his beard.

“Indeed, indeed. That is good. Well then, have you heard of a strange child known as Ryoka Griffin? She is a Runner, like you, although presumably high-level in the [Runner] class, unlike you.”

Ryoka opened her mouth and Teriarch continued, irritated.

“Although why Reinhart wants me to find the wretched girl, I can’t imagine. Do I look like I have the time to search for one annoying bratling all the time?”

“…Didn’t you just say you didn’t know if Magnolia was alive?”

Teriarch paused and then pointed at Ryoka.

“Forget that too. I do not know Magnolia Reinhart.”

He paused, and then amended his tone. Teriarch looked at Ryoka.

“Now, tell me where Ryoka Griffin is. Reinhart said—blast!”

He poked Ryoka in the head again and she forgot. Teriarch closed his eyes.

“This is why…”

—-

Ryoka paused as she stared at a massive broadsword hanging from one of the walls of the cavern. It was far too large for any human to use, or even a Minotaur. Teriarch stroked his beard proudly.

“Ah. Are you admiring my collection? That was a giant’s weapon, once. I took it from him when I—well, it was another time. Note the exquisite tempering of the blade.”

“All this gold and magical items…”

Ryoka stared around at the room, freed from Teriarch’s spell. She looked at a pile of ruby gemstones, each one larger than her fist.

“I’m…a collector.”

“This isn’t a collection. This looks…like a hoard?”

Teriarch waved his hands in Ryoka’s face hurriedly.

“This is not a hoard. You will not think it is a hoard.”

Ryoka blinked emptily at the air for a few seconds. Teriarch paused. Then he spoke conversationally.

“Do you like my collection? I have amassed it from every corner of the world.”

She gazed around, taking in the magnificence of the room for the first time. Ryoka had to admit, it was impressive beyond belief.

“How did you collect it all here? It looks…magical.”

“Oh, it’s quite magical. But I have my ways. And besides, when you can fly, amassing such things is fairly simple.”

Ryoka stared at Teriarch. He paused, and swallowed.

“Flying with magic, is what I mean. Not that I know of any other ways to fly, of course.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“Right.”

“Of course. Ahem. Do note the Orb of Scrying. It’s embedded in pure jade and enchanted with several enhancing spells that increase the range and scope of the spell itself.”

Ryoka glanced into it and froze. Teriarch stared at her with concern.

“What? Did I leave it on?”

He looked over and cursed.

“Tamaroth’s beard!”

The Scrying Orb was reflecting the room they were standing in. It showed a small human girl standing right in front of a golden dragon. This time Teriarch’s expletive made the cavern shake.

Teriarch thrust one claw at Ryoka as she turned to run. He spoke curtly.

“That’s it. Forget everything except the part where I gave you your instructions. Get out. Come back in two minutes.”

Ryoka turned around and walked out of the cavern. Teriarch cast an irritated glance towards the magical orb and his tail flicked the globe off its pedestal. It shattered in an explosion of mist and magic against one wall.

“Wretched thing.”

—-

And once more. One last memory made Ryoka shudder on the hardwood floor of the inn.

The stink potion was keeping all the monsters away. Ryoka had to smile as she walked towards the entrance of Teriarch’s cave. But she froze. Down the winding canyon path, she saw something out of the corner of her eye.

It was just for a second. But Ryoka saw it duck back behind a large boulder as she whirled. She froze in place, and her hand went to her side. She had a knife she used for camping and other tasks at her belt. Normally she’d fight with her hands, but…

The thing peeked out its head again, and Ryoka’s hand gripped the hilt so hard her knuckles cracked.

It looked vaguely human. It had a human head, a normal torso and legs that protruded slightly around the edge of the boulder. But it was naked.

And it wasn’t right.

Its face wasn’t right. One of its eyes twisted right until it was nearly vertical, and the other one was looking in the opposite direction of the first.

A tiny pupil stared at Ryoka from across the hundred feet that separated them. Then the thing came out from behind the boulder, and Ryoka froze. Her mind was overwhelmed by horror. It shouldn’t move like that. It shouldn’t—

It reached out for her, one horrible clawed arm stretching out, out across the long distance. Flesh stretched like gum, skin rippling and peeling to reveal something red and pulsating inside. Ryoka couldn’t move. Her body was filled with true terror. The thing’s finger reached out for her face—

And a roar of fury filled the air. The creature looked up, and suddenly its hand retracted in an instant. It turned and ran as a massive shadow turned the world around Ryoka dark. She looked up.

Teriarch flew overhead, golden scales lighting up even parts of the mountain as the sunlight bounced off them. He landed with a crash on the ground that sent Ryoka to her knees. She couldn’t do anything but stare at him.

Teriarch’s massive head snapped towards the thing and it fled, running in a jerking, halting manner back around a bend in the canyon. He breathed fire after it—a concentrated jet of flames that missed his target by inches. Then the creature was gone.

The dragon—Teriarch—sighed and looked around at Ryoka. The her of then had no idea who he was, and she could only stare up at him, transfixed. His voice was like an avalanche heard from far away as he spoke to her.

“You must be warier, Ryoka Griffin. Darker things lurk in the High Passes. They do not smell—or if they do, they have different opinions than we do.”

He shrugged, as if the encounter meant nothing. To him, it did not.

“Come in, then. We have much to discuss. Forget what you have seen here. It will only burden you.”

Then and only then did the Frost Faeries return, laughing, and the Dragon flew back into his cave, and breathed fire. The memory of the…thing…vanished from Ryoka’s mind as she went to confront Teriarch.

She had forgotten. But now she remembered. Ryoka remembered it. She knew. And the knowledge was glorious. She had seen one. Seen a legend in the flesh.

A dragon.

—-

Erin stared worriedly at Ryoka as the young woman lay on the floor, staring blankly up at the ceiling. She looked around at Val and the others.

“Shouldn’t we do something? It’s been thirty minutes already.”

Ceria shook her head. She was sitting in a chair, watching Ryoka intently. Other than moving Ryoka so she wasn’t lying at an awkward angle, she hadn’t let Erin or anyone else touch her.

“It’s best not to, especially if she’s experiencing something magically. Movement can mess with her perceptions and affect her mind. Unless you’ve got a different opinion, Pisces? You know more mind manipulation spells than I do.”

Erin looked at Pisces. He was inspecting Ryoka just as intently. She remembered that he did know some spells that created illusions, like when she’d first met him.

But he just shook his head absently.

“This is far beyond my abilities to comprehend. There was a warding spell mixed into the first spell, did you notice?”

“I did.”

Olesm said that from a far table. Val nodded. He was crouched next to Ryoka, studying her face.

“So did I. That spell took out a powerful charm. I need to see a [Mage] about that. I was told my charm would catch any spell and remove any enchantment.”

“Now there’s an empty boast.”

Ceria’s words were the last thing spoken for a while. Everyone watched Ryoka sleeping—or dreaming—in silence.

Erin worried. She wasn’t sure if she and Ryoka were good friends—they’d barely spent more than a day together, although they had rescued Ceria and fought monsters, so that had to count. But she cared about Ryoka. Not only was she Erin’s only lifeline to her world, but Ryoka knew how to do things Erin did not.

It seemed like an hour had passed, but probably only a few minutes had when Ryoka suddenly sat up, gasping and clutching at her head.

“Ryoka!”

Erin leapt forwards, but Val was closer. He steadied Ryoka with one hand as she flailed and grabbed at his arm.

“Easy. Ryoka, are you okay? Did the charm work?”

“What? What? I—I’m okay. Yes. It worked.”

Ryoka stared around the room, wide-eyed and out of breath. Ceria abandoned her seat to come over, and Olesm moved one table closer.

“What did you see? Did you remember anything important?”

“I—it was—”

Ryoka closed her eyes. When she opened them, something flickered behind her gaze as she shook her head. Erin saw a tinge of sadness—joy, even a bit of fear, but most of all, what she could only say was wonder in that look. It was an expression she’d never seen Ryoka make.

It looked…innocent. Not like Ryoka’s normally unreadable expression or her dour face.

“It’s a secret. I’m sorry. But I can’t say.”

“Damn. I thought as much.”

Val shook his head. He was picking up fragments of the burnt dreamcatcher off the floor. Erin really, really doubted he could fix them, but maybe they were still useful? She began to help him pick them up.

“I’m uh, I’m sorry about your charm.”

Ryoka stared at the pieces on the floor, and then her singed clothing. Val sighed as he nodded and Erin looked at him.

“Was it expensive?”

“You could say that. I paid over a thousand gold coins for that charm.”

“A thousand—”

Pisces choked and spat out a mouthful of water. Ceria stared at the blackened remains of the dreamcatcher and Ryoka turned pale.

“I can pay you back for it. I’ve got a delivery—”

Val waved a hand at her, shushing Ryoka. He looked at her seriously.

“Just tell me, from one Runner to another. Was it worth it?”

Ryoka hesitated. Then she nodded fervently.

“It was. It was worth anything and everything.”

“Then forget about the cost. It was my decision to lend it to you—I’ll take it as a lesson on giving things away. Although whether it was a mistake or not…”

Val shrugged. Then he grinned.

“Today is full of surprises, huh?”

Pisces and Ceria gaped at Val, and you could have picked Olesm’s jaw off the floor, but Ryoka only smiled. She flexed her hand and stared past it. She smiled, with such genuine feeling that Erin was taken aback.

“Thank you. It was worth it.”

“Think nothing of it. We’ve got to look out for each other, right?”

A thousand gold coin’s worth of magic didn’t sound like ‘nothing’ to Erin, but Val just swept the few burnt pieces into a bag and put it in his belt pouch. And that was it. Debt forgiven. That was so awesome Erin didn’t have words for it.

Val was a stand-up guy. Erin smiled, ran into the kitchen, and came out with a steaming burger which she put in front of him.

“I can’t pay for that, but have another hamburger on the house.”

It had been meant for Ryoka, but the other girl was still staring at nothing, and Erin didn’t think she’d mind waiting a few more minutes. Val eyed the hamburger. He’d already eaten four, but his stomach rumbled. He smiled up at Erin.

“You are very kind. But ah, could I have some of that red stuff on it? What did you call it?”

“Ketchup. But that’s extra. Pay up.”

Val blinked at Erin. She grinned.

“Kidding!”

—-

Ryoka was still trying to get her head back together when Erin came back with her food. Absentmindedly, Ryoka raised the burger to her lips and bit.

Perhaps it was a testament to nostalgia, Erin’s improving skill at cooking, or Ryoka’s state of starvation, but that was what brought her back into reality. Yes. A well-made hamburger could erase even the wonder of meeting a dragon.

At least for ten seconds, which was roughly how long it took Ryoka to inhale the burger. Erin brought her another, and Ryoka repeated the trick.

“Are you sure you should eat so fast?”

Erin asked Ryoka, as the second hamburger became crumbs before her eyes. Ryoka just blinked at Erin, and the girl threw up her hands.

“Fine. But if you throw up, you get to clean it up. Toren’s still missing, and I’m not doing it.”

“That’s fine. Can I get two more? Three?”

It was so good to eat food from her world! But Ryoka did slow down as Erin brought the third hot hamburger out. She was just ravenous, both from her run and her memories.

Val sat next to her, munching on some french fries Erin had made. He dipped one in ketchup and eyed Ryoka.

He really wasn’t what she’d expected. And the charm he’d lost because of her—

“Thanks again.”

He shrugged.

“It happens. Better that I found out my charm can be overloaded than get into trouble down the road. Besides, the mage that gave it to me will give me a discount—she had better since she promised it wouldn’t ever break. A few deliveries and I’ll be able to buy it again.”

“Really? How much do you make per delivery?”

Val rolled his eyes towards the ceiling as he munched on a fry.

“Forty gold coins? It can go over a hundred or two hundred if the area’s dangerous or if I need to get there quick.”

“Forty—?”

Ceria choked on a piece of potato and Olesm thumped her on the back until she spat it out. Val looked amused.

“It’s not that much. The nobility has enough gold to throw around, and any Gold-rank adventurer or higher earns a hundred times that much if they get lucky in a dungeon.”

“Money’s different where you come from, I guess. Here, gold coins are worth a lot.”

Erin said that as she refilled both Runners’ glasses. Olesm nodded, but Val shrugged.

“There’s a different kind of currency among high-level classes. Once you get past Level 30, you become one of…a thousand on the continent? Something like that. Your skills become in such high demand that you’ll earn more money than anyone else. And of course anyone with a class that involves managing land or selling or buying goods earns thousands of gold coins each month.”

Ryoka had to shake her head, although the parallel to her world wasn’t that far off. Erin sighed wistfully at the thought of all that money and then took a seat at Val’s table, smiling at him.

“Well, I’m happy you came here. Unlike some people, you pay for your food and you also helped Ryoka. So anytime you want to come back here for a night or to eat food, I’ll be happy to serve you.”

Val looked regretful.

“I doubt you’ll see me in the near future. I don’t often get deliveries this far south.”

“Really? But you’re a Courier. Don’t you go everywhere?”

“To an extent. But my area’s usually around First Landing. This is far, even for me. In truth, I’m surprised I was called on to do this delivery. Normally there’s another Runner who makes the run around here, but apparently he was busy due to some problem with the undead in the area.”

“Another Courier?”

That was the first Ryoka had heard of this. She wondered if it were a Drake or a Gnoll. Val nodded, and gestured to the window facing Liscor with one thumb.

“He’s a Beastkin named Hawk. I’ve met him a few times. He’s fast enough to get to First Landing and back. I don’t know why he didn’t take it, but apparently there’s been some trouble with the undead around here so he couldn’t.”

Hawk? Ryoka didn’t know the name either, but Erin did. Her eyes widened.

“Oh, I met him just yesterday! He’s so cute!”

Ryoka blinked at Erin. Cute?

Val laughed loudly, and nodded a few times.

“Hah! He is, isn’t he? Just don’t say that to his face. Hawk is even better at fighting than I am, and he gets touchy when us humans make fun of him.”

“But he is. I mean, he also eats meat. Isn’t that weird?”

“Why? He’s not like an animal rabbit, and don’t Drakes eat lizards?”

Val and Erin glanced over at Olesm. The Drake was trying to teach Ceria how to play chess, but when he heard that he looked around, an uncharacteristic scowl on his face.

“We’re not lizards!”

“Sorry!”

Val raised a hand and turned back to his conversation with Erin.

“In truth, I’m surprised I was needed at all. This place has two people with a Courier’s speed. One’s Hawk, the other I know of only by reputation. You haven’t heard of him, have you? He’s known as the Gecko by some of the Couriers who’ve met him.”

“Gecko? Like a lizard?”

Olesm’s shoulders hunched. Erin threw a rolled up cloth napkin at his head and it bounced off.

“I’m not talking about Drakes!”

She looked at Val and Ryoka and shook her head.

“I’ve never heard of someone named Gecko either. Weird. There’s all these famous people in Liscor that I don’t know about.”

“Well, perhaps he—or she—is only famous to Runners. I suppose other people wouldn’t care as much.”

“Hm. Well, you know, Ryoka’s a really fast Runner. I bet you she could be a Courier too!”

Ryoka and Val looked at Erin, and Ryoka felt her cheeks heating up. She opened her mouth, but Val cut in.

“A Courier needs a lot of experience. Maybe someday, but right now I’d still call her one of the fastest City Runners I’ve ever met. Which is even more impressive since she doesn’t have any levels.”

“Well—I guess. But Ryoka’s good! Can you give her a hand? Like, I dunno, talk to people about giving her a test or something?”

Val rubbed at his chin thoughtfully and nodded.

“If you’d like to try becoming a Courier, I could try and get some Runners Guilds to give her some long-distance requests. Ryoka, what do you think?”

Val looked at Ryoka. She blinked at the table, slowly.

“Mm.”

Both Val and Erin looked at Ryoka and realized the girl was falling asleep right on top of her food. Ryoka’s head was so full of static she barely heard the two changing seats. The stamina potion had worn off, and all she wanted to do…was…sleep…

Ryoka’s head came down. Her face smushed into the burger and she sat up quick. What time was it?

The sun was still out, and Val was still in the inn. But he was standing by the door, talking to Erin.

“This is a nice place, and your food is unique. I’ll do some shopping around the city and come back here tonight. Unless you’re expecting a crowd?”

Erin made a face.

“I was, but it turns out everyone in the city’s making hamburgers but me. Come on over and I’ll have tons of good food, okay?”

“I wouldn’t mind more of those fried potato things. Even if you’re only serving hamburgers, I’ll be back.”

“I’m going to make Philly cheese steaks!”

“Why does everything you make have the word ‘cheese’ in it? Cheeseburgers, cheese steaks…I mean, cheese isn’t the main part of it, so why…?”

Olesm scratched at his spines. He looked around for support and found none.

Val opened the door as he gave Erin a salute with two fingers, and then recoiled. Several Frost Faeries were hanging outside the door, laughing. Val eyed them warily.

“I hate those things. They plague me on runs and I can’t lose them no matter how fast I go.”

“Hah! The slow manling thinks he can lose us? What a joke!”

Val ducked as a snowball sailed through the inn’s doorway and knocked all of the chess pieces off the board Olesm and Ceria were using. Amid the Drake’s anguished cry, he ducked out of the inn, running fast towards Liscor with the faeries in hot pursuit.

Erin propped her hands on her hips and shook her head as she stared out the window.

“We’ve got to do something about those faeries. They’re really mean. You won’t believe what they did to me earlier, Ryoka. Ryoka?”

Ryoka’s head was lolling, but she jerked upright and looked at Erin.

“What?”

“…Nevermind. You know, I’ve got a lot of beds upstairs if you want to sleep. We can talk later.”

“—No. No, I’ll stay awake until tonight.”

If she slept now, Ryoka would never get to sleep tonight, and she didn’t fancy staying up for 24 hours in a row just to fix the problem. She scowled, and pinched herself hard.

“I’ll be fine. What are you going to do?”

Erin shrugged and stared at the position of the sun in the sky.

“I was planning on opening the inn all day, but since no one’s coming…I guess I’ll buy more food for tonight. I want to stock up, and Selys wants to go to the bathhouse together. Want to come? You can meet Krshia and wash…everything…off.”

That sounded good to Ryoka. Not the going to Liscor or meeting the Gnoll part, but a hot bath would be bliss. She nodded.

“Okay.”

She was still exhausted as she and Erin walked into the city, leaving Olesm, Ceria, and Pisces to mind the inn. Erin said she had faith in Ceria to keep the other two out of trouble, and it looked like they were all going to play chess instead. It turned out that [Mages] liked the game almost as much as [Tacticians].

Stamina potions. Ryoka knew it was only that which had allowed her to reach Liscor so fast, but she was determined never to overuse one again. She felt like her body was lead, and every few seconds her eyes would start crossing and go blurry unless she concentrated.

Talking was even harder, but Ryoka was curious why Val had come to Erin from so far away.

“You sent out a chess puzzle?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t a super hard one, but pretty hard. I guess it interested whoever sent the puzzle in the first place, because they sent me this expensive chess board. Why? Is that a bad idea?”

Erin looked at Ryoka as the other girl walked along, frowning at her feet.

“It could be. Not a good idea to give away secrets. Could be a…bad thing.”

Ryoka was having trouble thinking. She’d tried to explain the value of indiscretion to Erin before, but Erin just wasn’t as leery of giving away secrets as Ryoka was. Probably a personality thing.

“If you’re too good…it might be a problem.”

“Really? Being good at chess is a bad thing?”

It might be, if the person sending the chess board ever came looking for Erin and uncovered secrets about her. That was Ryoka’s paranoia speaking, but it was still a possibility.

Then again, given the thousands of other things that could go wrong, maybe she shouldn’t worry.

Ryoka followed Erin mechanically into the city, ignoring the route they took until Erin paused. Ryoka sniffed. A familiar scent was in the air—that of roasting meat. She looked around.

Market Street was full of shopkeepers and pedestrians. But in the winter chill, a third group of seller had appeared, and that was the food vendor. But unlike days previous, they weren’t selling a variety of dishes to the cold and hungry public, but one, very familiar food product.

Hamburgers.

Every Gnoll and Drake on the street was selling them as they cooked the meat over braziers, exactly as Erin had done on the first day. They were all in competition, but it seemed the people on the street were still hungry enough to give everyone some business.

Each vendor had a queue, and a unique lure. Some had added different varieties of cheese to their cheeseburger; others had their own blend of spices, or different kinds of meat. One enterprising Drake had even created a quadruple-patty hamburger that Ryoka would dearly have loved to try.

The Gnolls and Drakes paused as they spotted Erin down the street. They didn’t quite meet Erin’s eyes, but neither did they stop flipping and selling burgers. Ryoka stared around and inhaled the scents of grilled meat. Damn it. She was getting hungry again.

“Well, now I know where all of my customers went.”

Erin scowled and kicked at some snow on the ground.

“Let’s go find Krshia.”

As Ryoka stumbled after Erin down the street, Erin glared at the food vendors.

“Hey, is there anything I can do to them for stealing my stuff? Can I claim copyright or plagiarism or something?”

“Enforce copyright? Not unless you’ve got an army. Or a really big hammer.”

Ryoka scowled at the spinning ground. She saw Erin was opening her mouth – probably to ask what kind of hammer – when the girl turned and smiled.

“Krshia!”

The large Gnoll smiled as she came out of her stall to greet Erin. She sniffed at Ryoka, and the girl tried not to scowl directly at her.

“It is good to see you this day, Erin Solstice. And I notice you have brought your friend.”

“Yeah! Ryoka just came in yesterday. Oh, and you’ll never guess what happened this morning, Krshia! I met this Runner named Blah and he blah blah blah…”

Ryoka tuned out Erin’s voice as she tried to stay upright. Coming here had been a mistake. All she wanted to do was bathe fast and fall asleep. But Erin would talk to her friend, and then Ryoka would probably have to sit in the bathhouse for hours, talking…

God. She couldn’t deal with this right now. Ryoka just wanted Erin to finish whatever she was doing, so she could go back and sleep.

Music. Music would help.

Ryoka felt at her pocket. Her iPhone was still there, nice and safe in its case. She pulled it out and turned it on. She needed music. Something to keep her awake. Something with a beat.

She scrolled down the list of songs, frowning at the small letters. Ryoka had over ten thousand songs on her iPhone, and that was no joke. She had a 32 GB model, and since she’d also uninstalled almost every app besides a few essentials, her iPhone was just a glorified music player that could do magical conference calls.

Mind you, not all the songs were good, or even acceptable. Ryoka had far too many songs she’d downloaded in the indiscretions of youth and never bothered to delete. But finally she found one she liked. This one was a classic.

A heavy bass thumped in Ryoka’s ears with a steady drum beat. She waited, tapping one toe for Freddie Mercury. She grinned as the music swept her away.

“Ain’t no sound but the sound of his feet, machine guns ready to go.”

Another One Bites the Dust by Queen thundered in Ryoka’s ears as she turned the volume up to maximum and left it that way. She had no fear of annoying Erin as she talked with Krshia—one of the things Ryoka spent lots of money on was good headphones.

Freddie Mercury had a voice that spoke to Ryoka’s heart. She opened her eyes, smiling, and noticed something odd across the street. One of the Gnoll shoppers had stopped, and he was doing something odd. Ryoka frowned.

Was that Gnoll…bobbing his head? Yes. He was.

And over there. Krshia had stopped talking to Erin and she was tapping her foot. To the beat.

“Are you happy are you satisfied? How long can you stand the heat?”

Ryoka looked around. Every Gnoll in the street had suddenly stopped, to the bewilderment of the other Drakes and few humans. Yes. They were all nodding to the sound of the music.

Shit.

Ryoka stopped the song. Instantly, the other Gnolls looked around at her reproachfully.

Son of a…they could hear the music even from across the street. Of course. Ryoka wanted to slap herself. They were like dogs. Their hearing was far better than a human’s.

Krshia nudged Erin and pointed to Ryoka’s iPhone.

“Mm. Your friend, she has something very interesting, yes?”

Ryoka scowled, tucked the iPhone back in her pocket, and crossed her arms. She glared. Erin winced, and whispered to Krshia.

“She’s sort of grumpy because she’s tired.”

Ryoka heard that, and it only made her mood worse. Especially because it was true. She looked at Erin pointedly.

“Time to go?”

She said it like a question, but it wasn’t. Erin hesitated, but Krshia had already gathered her order. Apologizing, Erin left.

“Hey. What was wrong with that? Did they hear your music? Why’s that a bad thing?”

“Because they could realize that I have technology not from this world. And—and—”

Ryoka shook her head. Something about conspiracy theories and uncovering the truth? She needed to lie down.

“Let’s just go. You said there was a bathhouse?”

“This way. But uh, your iPhone—”

“I’ll leave it. With my clothes.”

“Right.”

—-

The bath did do wonders for Ryoka, enough so that she managed to apologize and even add a little to Erin and Selys’ gossip. Not much though; Ryoka just lay back in the warm waters and enjoyed being.

Unfortunately, due to some cosmic fate, it seemed that Erin’s mood was inversely proportional to Ryoka’s own. The instant they got back to her inn and found that no new guests had come by the entire day, the normally upbeat innkeeper lost her good cheer.

Erin stared around her empty inn and threw up her hands in disgust.

“Is every inn, pub, and tavern selling hamburgers tonight?”

Selys nodded as she shook snow off of a travelling cloak.

“Pretty much. Even Peslas is selling them in his inn.”

Erin slumped against a table and put her head down on the smooth wood surface. Ryoka exchanged glances with Selys. She felt she should say something encouraging, as a friend. Something helpful.

But what?

‘Shit happens. Get over it?’

‘At least it’s not raining?’

‘We all die some day, every one of us?’

…No. Ryoka decided not to say anything. Selys patted Erin on the shoulder, and looked around the inn for help.

Pisces just blinked at her, but Olesm piped up. With dreadful forced cheerfulness, he held up a chessboard.

“How about we all play some chess? I’m sure that will make us all feel much better. Ceria and Pisces really like the game as well!”

Ryoka volunteered to play, and Selys was stuck cheering people on since she had no real interest or skill at chess. As it transpired, she and Olesm were better players than the two mages, so both Ryoka and Olesm took on Erin.

Unfortunately, that turned out to be a mistake. Good as they were, even they weren’t close to a match for Erin. She beat them in brutal one-sided matches and then sulked at a table.

Ryoka gave up. She didn’t know how to cheer people up—she barely managed to stay happy herself most of the time. She pulled out her iPhone and stared at it. Then she threw caution to the wind and showed it to Pisces again.

“Can you cast [Repair] on this?”

The mage’s eyes flicked over Ryoka’s iPhone with unconcealed interest and avarice.

“I do know the spell. May I ask what’s wrong with this, ah, device?”

“It’s running out of…it needs mana, I guess you could say. Look, can you fix it?”

“If I do…would you permit me to inspect this object for a few minutes?”

“No. That won’t be possible.”

“Well, if that’s the case…”

Pisces shrugged as if there was nothing he could do. Ryoka ground her teeth, but then Erin spoke up.

“Do it. Or I’ll throw this at you.”

Erin didn’t raise her head, but she was holding a fork. Pisces hesitated. He was clearly thinking of Erin’s uncanny skill at throwing objects. He sniffed.

“Very well. [Repair].”

This time her iPhone didn’t change noticeably, but the screen flickered for just a second. When Ryoka looked again, the battery was at 100%. Perfect.

Ryoka flicked to her songs, but then she noticed Erin was staring at her phone. Right. Erin had told her that she’d left her phone back in her home when she was teleported here.

The look in Erin’s eyes was pure longing. She pointed hesitantly at the iPhone in Ryoka’s hands.

“Can I see it?”

Ryoka hesitated. Normally, her response to anyone touching her iPhone was to lay hands on them in an unfriendly way. She never lent it to anyone. But Erin—Erin was different.

Reluctantly, Ryoka handed the iPhone over.

“Here.”

She couldn’t even say ‘be careful with it’, because it could be repaired with a single spell. But it made Ryoka’s insides twist with embarrassment as she realized Erin was going through her songs.

“Oh my god. You’ve got Pokémon on here? That’s awesome!”

Her cheeks lit up. Ryoka was tempted to snatch the iPhone back, but it was too late. She gritted her teeth.

“It was a phase. I put lot of songs on there as a kid and a teen. I don’t listen to them anymore.”

That was a flat-out lie, but Ryoka would be dead and rotting before she admitted to listening to some of the songs she had on her iPhone. She’d gone through a lot of phases she wasn’t proud of.

“Oh man. This is just—”

At least Erin was happy. Ryoka saw her face light up, and realized she should have given Erin the iPhone a long time ago. She’d taken it for granted and listened to the music sometimes before she slept or as she ran, but Erin had nothing from their world. Ryoka took a seat as Erin closed her eyes and smiled.

Ceria eyed the earbuds in Erin’s ears with interest. They were sports gear, which meant they could stick in the ears even when Ryoka was running over rough terrain. They didn’t leak much sound, but Ryoka saw the half-Elf’s head tilt and her ears twitch ever so slightly.

“That’s so odd.”

Pisces was listening too. He had one finger touching his earlobe, and Ryoka saw a glowing blue aura around the tip of his finger and ear. She scowled, but both mages seemed to be having trouble listening to the faint audio that was making Erin smile.

Olesm and Selys looked at the mages and at Erin with clear interest, but they could hear nothing. Olesm prodded Erin gently.

“What is it? Can I hear?”

Erin looked startled, but then she nodded.

“Oh yeah, sure. This thing has speakers, right Ryoka?”

“That’s not a good—”

Ryoka trailed off and gave up. Ceria had already seen it once anyways. And besides…

“Sure. Yeah. Go ahead.”

Erin pulled the headphones out of the jack and the iPhone immediately began playing. Ryoka heard “Hey There Delilah” playing quietly in the silence.

The four guests in the inn froze. They each reacted differently.

Ceria’s eyes went wide as she heard the strange music she had listened to once before. Memory flashed in her eyes, and her eyes filled with tears and she took a seat. Ceria closed her eyes and remembered.

Olesm stared at the iPhone, mouth open, showing rows of sharp teeth. He listened with innocent wonder and his tail slowly began to wag to the sound of the gentle beat.

Selys blinked a few times, and then she took a seat, listening hard to the lyrics and closing her eyes.

Pisces—he stared out the window at the fading light in the sky without saying a word. He brushed at his eyes as the song ended.

And Erin and Ryoka listened and forgot for a moment they were in this world. Both girls felt pricking at their eyes. Erin wiped hers with her sleeve, and Ryoka just shook her head.

“Is there a way to make it louder? The volume’s maxed out, but…”

Erin trailed off as she clicked through the settings. Ryoka didn’t have a good solution besides buying a pair of speakers, but Pisces reached for the iPhone.

“A simple problem. Allow me.”

He tapped the metallic casing of the iPhone and whispered a spell.

“[Amplify Sound].”

Suddenly, the iPhone was loud enough to fill the entire room. Erin jumped, and then grinned as she stared down at the iPhone.

“Whoa. That’s so much better than speakers.”

Ryoka stared at her phone, suddenly very interested.

“How long does that spell last?”

It might be a terrible idea to play music while running in dangerous spots, but on the open road…Pisces raised one hand upwards and shrugged.

“I may be able to prolong the spell for several days with sufficient remuneration.”

“I can learn that spell in less than a day.”

Ceria frowned at Pisces and he scowled at her, but Erin still focused on the iPhone. She put a hand on her chin, and then slapped her forehead loud enough to make everyone look at her in concern.

Erin was suddenly excited. She halted the current song and held the iPhone out to Pisces.

“How loud can you make this?”

“How loud would you like it to be?”

“Really loud. Super loud! Loud enough to be heard even in the city.”

Pisces nodded, and frowned as he adjusted the spell, whispering words too quiet to hear. Ryoka eyed her friend.

“Erin. What are you doing?”

Erin turned and grinned at Ryoka.

“Getting customers!”

When she hit the play button on the iPhone, the sound that emerged nearly blew out everyone’s eardrums. Erin clapped her hands over her ears, but she was grinning wildly.

“Perfect! Now you all stay here and I’ll go get some business!”

She ran out of the inn. Ryoka followed her, and saw Erin climbing up to the roof. She shouted at Erin, but the other girl didn’t stop. Erin stood on top of the roof, and opened her mouth.

“Hey! It’s music time! Let’s start with a classic!”

Ryoka clapped her ears to her head. Erin’s voice was loud! It had to be a Skill—it sounded like Erin was shouting into a megaphone. But then Erin touched the iPhone and Ryoka realized what she was about to do.

The drumbeats that started blasting through the air sounded like air cannons going off. But in a second Ryoka heard the guitar playing chords she knew by heart. Erin took a deep breath, and then she starting singing at the exact same time Kid Rock did.

Ryoka gaped at the ceiling as Erin began singing, perfectly matching the lyrics to the music. The only difference was that Erin changed the lyrics from boy to ‘girl’ and man to—a really fast ‘woman’, which Ryoka entirely approved of. Erin sang along with the song, projecting her voice out across the open plains and towards Liscor.

The sound pulsed through the inn, so loud that Ryoka could feel bass in her bones. She couldn’t wipe the grin off her face, especially when she heard Erin try to sing along with the female chorus.

“Whooaaaoh? Wooaaaoh!”

Erin belted out the rest of the song until the last note. Ryoka expected her to stop, but Erin just switched to the next song. And then Ryoka heard something that made her blood chill.

No.

Thundering drums. The sounds of jungle wildlife. A cinematic orchestra, straight from the movie trailer Ryoka had ripped the song from.

No. She didn’t. But she did. Erin had the iPhone on shuffle. Ryoka started towards the door, but it was too late.

“This one’s from Tarzan! How did the lyrics go? Wait, I remember! Here goes!”

Ryoka listened in half-pain, half-amazement as Erin sang along with the song. How the hell did she remember the lyrics? But now Ryoka could practically see Tarzan on the screen in front of her.

As the song ended, Erin shouted down at Ryoka in a slightly-less loud voice.

“Oh hey, you’ve got tons of Disney songs on here!”

Ryoka covered her eyes with one hand. But she couldn’t stop grinning, even so. She remembered the songs right out of her childhood. Erin clicked through the songs, and then Ryoka heard a familiar drumbeat. Erin listened with a grin to the sounds of characters from Mulan falling down, and then her voice echoed off the city walls.

God. She even remembered the parts that weren’t part of the song.

It was amazing. Erin wasn’t a great singer, but she sang far better than Ryoka ever could. Ryoka had taken lessons from a professional along with a bevy of other lessons from tutors her parents hired, but she didn’t like singing. But even though Erin’s breathing was out of synch and she sometimes sang an entire octave off, the passion she put in her songs made up for all of it.

Ryoka stood in the kitchen as Erin sang a “I’ll Make a Man Out of You” from Mulan, and then ad-libbed to the wordless “Circle of Life” song from Lion King. And like the animals from Pride Rock, her words were the herald to a flood.

They came out of the city in ones and twos at first, and then the few became a stream which became a flood of people. Drakes, Gnolls, and humans too, following the sound of music.

They stood around Erin’s inn, listening to her as she belted out her world’s greatest hits filtered by Ryoka’s tastes. But there was the thing—hate the music or love it, Ryoka had a lot of the billboard’s top 100 songs across each passing year, and each one was preserved perfectly on her iPhone.

To the listeners, it was like hearing each classic the very first time. And this was a world that had never heard pop, rock, rap, or half of the musical styles evolved over a hundred years to the art forms they were today.

The audience was spellbound. Or rather, they were absorbed into the music, because the last thing they were doing was sitting still.

The Drakes and Gnolls were dancing! Ryoka saw what looked like classic ballroom dancing mixed with wild break dancing from a familiar Drake guardsman. The Gnolls had their own moves as well, and they moved to the beat in a way Ryoka could only call primal.

“Oh my god. It’s a mosh pit.”

She couldn’t hear the sound of her own voice. Erin had somehow managed to turn up the volume of her song, and she was drowning out even the roar of the crowd below.

One of the people right below the inn was shouting up at Erin. Zevara had [Loud Voice] as a Skill as well, or she had a great set of lungs, but the iPhone combined with Erin’s voice was loud enough to drown the angry Drake Captain out.

Ryoka grinned as she heard Erin switch songs. She ducked into the inn and saw Ceria, Selys, and Olesm all scrambling to cook burgers as Erin sang her heart out on top of the inn.

“This one’s called Apologize! And it’s directed at you, Zevara!”

Zevara tried to climb up the side of the inn, but other people in the crowd dragged her back. Erin countered by launching into “I Gotta Feeling”, and the rest was history.

Ryoka realized people were streaming into the inn as well. She made her way inside, and saw a huge press of bodies, held off at the kitchen by a wide-eyed Olesm. He was trying to keep order, and failing.

Somehow, Ryoka ducked through the crowd and shoved her way into the kitchen. She saw Ceria and Selys desperately trying to make Erin’s hamburgers. She’d left plenty of ground beef and ingredients, but the Drake and half-Elf were trying to make burgers and serve them to the hungry people outside while frying the meat. In Ceria’s case, one-handed.

“Here! Let me!”

Ryoka had to shout in Selys’ ear before the Drake surrendered the spatula. Ryoka began flipping burgers and dumping them onto a plate while Selys began adding buns and ingredients to the burger. She had no skills, but Ryoka knew how to cook.

The bass made the oil in the skillet bounce, but Ryoka started cooking as the beat blasted through the air. She flipped and served as fast as she could, losing herself to the music and the work. A scaled or fair-skinned hand was always there to take whatever Ryoka made.

She took her place serving food as well so Olesm could retreat and rest for a few moments. It wasn’t like taking orders though; people shoved money at her and grabbed food. Ryoka soon found herself covered in a mix of grease and food particles.

But they were selling everything and anything. Hamburgers were just the start; the people in the inn were demanding anything they could drink or consume, and Ryoka and the others struggled to meet the demands.

After they ran out of ground beef, they sent Olesm down to buy more and started cooking whatever Erin had in the kitchen. The crowd didn’t care; bowls of buttery noodles disappeared as fast as extra-crispy fried potato slices.

Olesm appeared thirty minutes later—an age—with welcome fresh supplies. Not only the ground beef; he’d bought everything he could in the market.

He’d also managed to badger Relc and Klbkch into helping Krshia roll up kegs of some kind of ale up to the inn. They nearly got mobbed by the crowd until Olesm set up one of the tables outside with the barrels and as many mugs as he could gather.

That opened the floodgates. Ryoka had thought people were flooding the inn before; now they couldn’t even see the floor. People crowded around, snatching mugs as money found its sticky way into a jar that had been filled with black flies. Klbkch took the flies.

Ryoka took only one moment to take a break. She staggered outside and saw that the inn wasn’t the only place doing business. Even as Erin sang on, more enterprising vendors had hauled out wood stands onto the grass and mud. The snow had long melted from the sheer body heat generated by the crowd.

Movement in the air made Ryoka look up. Above Erin as she stood on the inn, glowing blue shapes were flying through the dark night sky. Frost Faeries.

They were hovering in the air, dancing around, flying in complex patterns and laughing as Erin sang. For once, they seemed to be too caught up in the music to play any pranks. But one of them had…a mug? Ryoka saw the faerie empty the liquid and hurl the mug down into the crowd.

It shattered across the back of Relc’s head, but Ryoka didn’t think he or the people around him even noticed. They were caught up in the unfamiliar music, and the feeling in the air was pure excitement.

Erin started singing “All the Single Ladies” and half the crowd went wild. Ryoka had no idea Drakes even used rings, but then she saw a few on tails. And then she saw a few rings disappear and people start slipping off in pairs as the night progressed.

—-

How long did it last? Ryoka didn’t know, only that after a while even the adrenaline and music couldn’t keep her upright. She stumbled around, serving the waning crowd. At one point she saw Zevara shouting at Erin as the girl paused to take a drink and eat some food Ryoka passed up to her.

“People are trying to sleep! Stop singing!”

“No!”

It was a roar from the crowd below. Zevara looked around in disgust, and Erin tossed down the rest of her water. She stood up, and the cheering nearly deafened Ryoka.

“You can’t stop this! Yeah, you can’t stop me! Because—hit it!”

And of course she just had to sing “Can’t Stop The Feeling”. Ryoka had forgotten she had that song on her iPhone. Why? Oh, right, because it was catchy. Ryoka couldn’t help it. She moved her feet to the song. Just a bit.

…She might have danced with a Gnoll, and found herself competing to see who could perform more tricks with Relc. Ryoka knew how to do standing backflips; it turned out Relc could do that and break dance, but no one in the world knew how to moon walk.

For one glorious night Ryoka forgot about everything. She danced, laughed, and let the music sweep her thoughts away. She saw Erin laughing and dancing on the roof, and laughed too. The songs carried Ryoka up on a rush and carried her away until suddenly there was only darkness and silence.

From somewhere on top of the inn, Erin turned off the iPhone and stopped singing. The Drakes and Gnolls stumbled back towards the city, and Ryoka realized that the world was spinning around her.

Olesm and Selys had already staggered upstairs, leaving a trail in the trash strewn about on the floor. Pisces helped Ceria climb the stairs, and then wandered unsteadily out of the inn.

Ryoka looked at the stairs and didn’t even bother trying to ascend. She saw Val wave at her as he walked upstairs, waved back, and collapsed in a chair.

Her eyes closed. Ryoka was asleep before her head even fell back.

She slept, and dreamed of dragons.

—-

[Innkeeper Level 21!]

[Skill – Advanced Cooking Obtained!]

[Skill – Advanced Crafting Obtained!]

[Singer Class Obtained!]

[Singer Level 6!]

[Skill – Perfect Recall Obtained!]

[Skill – Control Pitch Obtained!]

Erin heard the words sometime right before she passed out. She woke up – still on top of the inn’s roof just past dawn, mainly because she was slipping off.

She nearly fell getting to the ground anyways, but managed to save herself just in time. Erin stared around the trashed landscape, and wondered if the snow would hide it all. No. She’d probably have to clean it up.

That went double for the inside of Erin’s inn. She took one look at the chaos and covered her eyes. But that wouldn’t help.

Without Toren, none of the dirty dishes and messy tables would miraculously clean themselves overnight. Erin stared around the trashed room and wished with all her heart that her skeleton would come back.

She hated cleaning up messes. Dust was what Erin was good at.

But something caught Erin’s eye as she stared around and tried to find a place to start cleaning. An oddity.

She knew no one had come by after the last patron had staggered out and Ceria had gone to sleep upstairs. But something had moved in the night.

Everything in her inn was the same as it had been when Erin had passed out. Except for one thing.

Erin stared at the chessboard Val had delivered to her, sitting at the far end of her bar. The rows of orderly pieces stared back at her, nice and uniform.

But—she’d never put any pieces on the chess board. And as Erin hesitantly stepped closer, she saw something else.

The pieces were transparent. Each one had a ghostly quality to it. They looked like a medieval set of chess, with vaguely human pieces in all the right places. But wisps rose from the pieces like smoke, and they had a faintly unearthly quality to their substance.

They looked like magic, and the coolest pieces Erin had ever seen in her life. And they were all perfectly set up in their starting positions on the board.

Except for one piece. A white pawn piece had moved up two squares, occupying one of the most traditional opening spots in the game. Pawn to E4. King’s Pawn Opening. Erin stared at it.

“Whoa.”

2.18

Erin woke up with a huge smile on her face. Today was the first day of the rest of her life, and for once, it was all amazing.

Slightly less amazing was the huge mess in her common room. Erin’s huge smile reduced in diameter, but she maintained a cheery outlook. True, her inn was trashed, but the money.

“The money!”

Gold coins, silver coins, copper coins. She had far more of the copper coins than anything else, but Krshia had given her several gold coins as she’d brought goods up from the city throughout the night. Erin had a huge jar of money, and next to it was an even bigger jar, again filled with money.

And next to that…

Erin had to hug herself, she was so elated. It had worked! Her crazy idea had worked, and she’d earned so much!

She had to give some of it away, of course. She hadn’t paid Selys or Ceria or Olesm for their help, and Ryoka had cooked up all the food! She wondered if the prickly girl would accept being paid. She would, right?

If only Toren was here, life would have been perfect. That made Erin’s smile slip, but just for a second. He would have cleared up this mess overnight and be staring creepily at her in the morning. But without him she’d have to do it.

Well, it was a fair price for a wonderful night. Erin sighed, rolled up her sleeves, and got to work. She could get a head start before she made breakfast. Something involving eggs and bacon, she guessed. It would be too much work to mix pancakes.

As Erin began to hunt for dustrags, buckets of melted snow, and of course a mop and broom, she thought about last night. She’d leveled. So many times! Erin knew Level 20 wasn’t actually that high—Selys had told her almost everyone got to that before they died. But still. Level 21!

And the [Singer] class. Erin was surprised by that, but she had wanted to sing her best on the roof. And what were those skills?

[Perfect Recall] and [Control Pitch]. Did they work? Erin focused.

Yes. They did. Amazingly so, in fact! Erin could remember every lyric, every verse in every song she’d ever sung. And what was more—

“Testing, testing, do, re, mi, fa, sol, la, ti, do!”

Her pitch was perfect. Even someone with an autotuner couldn’t have improved her voice. It made Erin feel weird; like her voice wasn’t her own anymore. But that feeling soon gave way into a greater desire to sing!

Ryoka had taken away the iPhone right before she fell asleep. But Erin could still sing without the device. Besides, it was still enchanted and would probably blow Erin’s eardrums out if she used it.

Now, what song could she sing? Erin remembered her warmup, and smiled as the lyrics popped into her head.

She bent to pick up a discarded dress, gingerly holding it between two fingers, and looked out to the brightening sky. Erin opened her mouth, and sang.

“Do, a deer; a female deer, re, a drop of golden sun…!”

—-

Ryoka woke up to the sound of music. Because she had a hangover, this was a terrible, horrible experience. Each new verse was a nail being jack-hammered into her skull, and the pillow Ryoka pressed over her head was taking too long to suffocate her.

The heinous singing floated down from below, accompanied by the loud clink of porcelain being stacked together or silverware being organized.

What Erin had forgotten was that last night, everyone had imbibed quite a lot of alcohol. She’d drunk it too of course; but Erin was immune to alcohol’s effects and so she was the only person waking up this morning without a hangover.

After Erin got to la, Ryoka could bear it no longer. She seized the nearest object she could reach, staggered out her door and hurled it down the stairs. It turned out that she’d hurled her bedside dresser, and it crashed into pieces as it hit the ground floor.

Ryoka heard the shocked exclamation from Erin. She grunted something and stomped back to her bed.

“Rude!”

But the singing stopped. Ryoka rolled back into bed and caught far more than forty winks.

When she woke up at last, it was an hour or two later and Ryoka was hungry. She stumbled out her door, and found everyone else was getting up as well. Their synchronization was probably due to the fact that the sun had hit all of their windows at the same time, and Erin still hadn’t bought any curtains for her new inn.

Sleepy faces, and wincing expressions. Ryoka nodded to the others.

“Ryoka.”

“Ceria.”

“Val.”

“Olesm?”

The Drake staggered out of Ceria’s room and paused. He looked around at the other people in the inn. Slowly, he backed into the room and shut the door.

Ryoka stared at Ceria. The half-Elf shrugged. She didn’t quite meet anyone else’s eyes as they walked downstairs.

They found Erin bright and cheerful, and a steaming bowl of scrambled eggs, a plate of greasy bacon, and bread. Ryoka could have hugged Erin, but she was more interested in eating.

“So. How did you all sleep? Um, sorry about the singing.”

“I quite enjoyed it. It was an unusual song.”

Val smiled at Erin around his breakfast. Ryoka grunted.  Ceria nodded as she massaged her temples.

“What a night. I can’t believe half of what I remember. And what I do remember—”

She broke off, not looking at Olesm. And he was pointedly not looking at Ceria. Ryoka eyed his twitching tail. Erin didn’t seem to notice either reaction. Instead, she pointed excitedly at the chessboard on the table.

“Guess what, guys? Look at this! The chessboard I got was magical!”

Everyone looked around. Olesm dropped his fork and Val whistled as he saw the ghostly pieces.

“I thought something was off. Well now, that’s not something you see every day.”

Ryoka frowned.

“What is it?”

“Some kind of duplication spell and magically connected board, I would guess. Obviously.”

Ryoka turned her head, and saw Pisces lurch into the inn. He looked – and smelled – like he’d been sleeping outside. The trash that fell from his robes attested to that fact.

“Pisces.”

“Ceria. I see you are having breakfast. Allow me to join you.”

Pisces inserted himself at Ceria’s table, much to her displeasure. Erin glared at Pisces, but she didn’t oust him from the inn. Instead, she looked back at the chessboard.

“So it’s like a magic chessboard that allows you to play against someone far away? Cool! I had…one just like it back at home!”

Ryoka glared at Erin while Pisces and Val raised their eyebrows. Olesm was busy inspecting the board, murmuring excitedly over the ghostly pieces. They did look quite impressive, especially as it turned out that the ghostly wisps followed the pieces as the Drake tried moving them across the board.

“They’re cold!”

The pieces were indeed cool to the touch, and Ryoka imagined holding solidified air as she touched them. Erin stared at the board, and the pawn moved on the other side.

“Well, this is an invitation to play if ever I saw one. Sounds like fun!”

Ryoka tried to quickly run through the consequences of playing a game, but she couldn’t think of too many. Besides, whoever had sent the board clearly knew it had arrived.

Erin reached for a piece, but Olesm’s tail twitched and she paused, seeing it. The [Tactician] hesitated, and then looked at Erin pleadingly.

“Can—can I play a game? I wouldn’t want to impose, but I’m curious…after you’ve played a few games, do you think I could try?”

“Well, why not now?”

Erin moved aside and gestured Olesm into the seat. The Drake gaped at Erin and Ryoka smiled in her seat.

“What? But no—I couldn’t do that!”

Olesm protested as Erin pulled back the chair for him. She shook her head at him.

“Oh come on. It’s not like it’s that important who plays first. And besides, the other person has no idea who I am. Go on! I need to clean up anyways.”

“If you’re sure…”

Olesm’s hands were twitching as much as his tail as he sat at the chess board. Hesitantly he peered at the pieces, and then moved a pawn forwards.

While he was waiting—and Ryoka wondered if he’d be waiting for a long time given the time zones that could be involved for the other player, she looked at Ceria. The mage was looking at Olesm, but she turned to Ryoka and also turned red when the human girl nudged her.

“What? Ryoka?”

“I’d like to talk with you about learning magic later. If you’re not too busy?”

Ceria smiled wryly.

“Not at all. I’ve got a few things to do this morning, but would a few hours from now be fine?”

“Sounds good. I’m going to run and then rest some more. I’ll meet you back here.”

“It moved! It moved!”

Olesm’s excited voice caught everyone’s attention. Ryoka glanced over, and saw a piece had indeed moved. Olesm was transfixed, but then he cautiously moved a piece. After a few seconds, the invisible opponent replied.

That was impressive. It hadn’t been what, more than a few seconds? Had the mysterious sender been waiting for someone to make a move? Ryoka liked chess, but she wasn’t nearly as fanatical as Erin and Olesm were.

“I’m going to stay here and clean up while Olesm plays, and then I’ll play. It’ll be a fun day!”

Erin collected plates and cutlery as she announced that fact to the room. Ceria nodded and gestured at the mage at her side.

“Pisces and I will visit the city. I want to see Yvlon and he’s going to get new robes.”

“I am?”

Pisces looked dubiously at Ceria. He plucked at his much-stained robes.

“My current garments are quite suitable.”

“They are not.”

Everyone agreed with Ceria’s statement. The half-Elf pointed at Pisces.

“You’re disgusting. You’ve still got that gold we paid you for Ryoka’s leg—use some of it!”

He hesitated, and rose to follow her as she walked towards the door.

“Ah. About that. You wouldn’t be able to give me a small loan, would you?”

The door shut behind them. Ryoka and Val left soon afterwards. That left only Erin and Olesm in the inn. Erin kept tidying up, getting rid of stains, forgetting everything in the rhythm of work.

It wasn’t easy. But it wasn’t hard either. In truth, only the stains and bits of food particles that got into cracks in the floorboards and under chairs and so on irked Erin. Now, why couldn’t she have gotten [Advanced Cleaning] or something instead? Although her two skills did sound useful. Erin wondered what kind of food she’d be able to make tonight. Hm. What should she make tonight?

After a while, she heard an odd thumping sound coming from Olesm. She looked, and saw his tail as smacking the ground as Olesm stared at the table. There was a helpless look in the Drake’s eyes.

“Olesm? What’s wrong?”

He turned to her. Olesm looked like he was about to cry as he pointed to the chess board. The white chess pieces were covering the board, while only a King and two pawns remained on his side.

“I—I’m sorry. I can’t do anything.”

—-

Ryoka inhaled the fresh, cold air as she stepped outside. Winter. Ah, winter. She wasn’t a fan.

The cold and snow made it impossible for her to run barefoot, and so she hated the winter. That was all there was to it.

Technically, Ryoka could run barefoot in the snow. Some runners could even run through freezing water in the winter; she’d seen Youtube videos. But it was a bad idea to do on a long run, and dangerous. Besides, her parents had freaked out when they learned Ryoka was doing it, so that was that.

Val appeared next to Ryoka and began doing the same sort of stretches she was doing. She glanced at him, and wondered if they were thinking of the same thing.

A morning run. It was the best time for it. Her body was stiff, and her head was still fuzzy and hurting from last night. No help for it but to run it all off. Daily morning runs were a part of Ryoka’s life—if she wasn’t going on a delivery today, she wanted to run for a while.

“Are you going for a run? Want company?”

Val’s offer surprised Ryoka. She stared at him for a few seconds before replying.

“I’d just slow you down. You’re way faster than me.”

It didn’t even hurt to admit. There was such a huge difference between them it would hurt more to deny such an obvious fact. But Val didn’t seem to think so. He scratched at his neck and looked at Ryoka.

“That may be true, but why would that stop us running together? I don’t have to use Skills. In fact, I prefer not to. [Double Step] and [Quick Movement] might be great for long distances, but they make me far too tired to do whenever I feel like it. So, that run?”

“…Sure.”

It was odd. Ryoka wasn’t a social runner. On the track team in high school, she’d been just as antisocial as anywhere else. In fact, she was even more ostracized there because she was the track team’s best runner and she didn’t get along with anybody. A pariah who showed up for events and track meets and nothing else.

That had been her parents’ fault as much as hers. They’d forced the coach to let Ryoka train by herself, since she would anyways after the track team finished. A bad decision. One of many Ryoka hadn’t protested or had made over the years.

She hoped running with Val was a good idea. She let him set the pace, and he led her here at a reasonably fast jog through the snow. Not too fast; she soon realized he wanted to talk as they ran, which was another unknown concept to her.

“That was one wild night, wasn’t it? I’ve seen celebrations in cities that didn’t reach that level. And the music! Dragons above, I’ve never heard anything like it!”

“It was good, wasn’t it?”

Words didn’t capture that night for Ryoka. It wasn’t magical or anything life-changing, but it was special all the same. It was…slightly magical, okay. It was a good night. A rarity for her.

“And that device Erin was using—was that yours? It makes music?”

“It—plays back music.”

Ryoka fished out the iPhone from her pocket and showed Val. It was off, and he peered at it curiously before picking up the pace.

“I don’t understand it, but I’ve seen objects that record sight and sound. And smell. I assume it’s like that?”

“It’s from where Erin and I come from. You can think of it as magic. It’s close enough.”

Perhaps it had been a mistake to give away that she had the iPhone, but that conversation with the others had illustrated just how borked the idea of keeping their world secret was. Besides, there was a benefit to giving some things away.

“Let me know if you meet someone who has something like this, though, will you? I’d be interested in meeting them.”

“I would too, especially if they’re anything like you and Erin!”

“Well, they might be. But I haven’t met anyone else.”

Ryoka felt her legs warming up as they ran through the wet snow. The sun was warm on their skin, and she was feeling better by the second. Nothing beat a good run, and surprisingly, the conversation didn’t hurt either.

“Again, I’ve got to thank you. That charm you had—I want to repay you somehow. It was extremely expensive.”

“Like I said, forget about it. It’s one favor from a Runner to another.”

Ryoka shifted uncomfortably. What Val had said sounded a lot like what she’d heard Fals saying all the time.

“Still. It’s not a small thing. A thousand gold coins—”

This time Valceif made a face and slowed down so he and Ryoka were next to each other. He looked at her seriously.

“Ryoka, we’re Runners. When one of us needs help, other Runners give what they can. If we need someone to help carry a delivery, we ask. Because we are alike, you and I. Today you needed help; tomorrow I might be the one in trouble, or someone else. I’m just paying back favors I received in the past.”

She considered that. Val looked around and sighed.

“Look, I’m not too happy about losing that charm either. But that’s how life works. We lose and we win. The last Runner who helped me out took two arrows pulling me to safety after a [Bandit Lord] jumped me. It’s the least I can do.”

Ryoka nodded. Then she lowered her head.

“Damn it. I’m a fool.”

“What? Why?”

Ryoka tried to explain as best she could. It sounded terrible and confused to her ears—she wasn’t used to talking about…anything with anyone. But Val seemed to get it. He slowed slightly as he thought.

“Hm. I understand what that Fals guy was saying, but that’s not exactly how I view it. It’s a problem with small-time Guilds. Here—”

He changed directions as he jogged through the snow. Ryoka followed him, and noticed they had just avoided a suspiciously flat spot.

“Shield Spider nest?”

“Other Runners warned me they like to hide in the ground during the winter. Good thing they’re the only dangerous monster that lays traps—at least, during this time of year. I’d never come here in the Spring or Summer without preparing a wand or two.”

Val shook his head.

“Still better than Crelers. Dead gods, I can’t stand those things. But where was I? Oh, right. Small Guilds like that are different than what I’m saying. There it’s ‘follow the rules or get out’. But Couriers don’t answer to our Guilds in the same way. We back each other up if we’re in danger, but no one bosses anyone else around. What that Fals guy and the guild wanted you to do—I’d be on your side as well.”

“You would?”

That surprised Ryoka, although perhaps it shouldn’t have. Val clearly wasn’t one of the Runners in a guild, and he’d treated the other Runners like a different kind of people.

“We’re a community, not a cult. And it’s not like I go around tossing charms at everyone I meet. If that pinch-faced girl wanted help for instance, I would have let her get hexed all day long.”

He gestured at Ryoka as they powered up a steep hill.

“You’re different. That Fals guy, the girl I saved—”

“Garia.”

“—Right. Well, they’re only going to become Couriers if they get really lucky and learn a good skill. That doesn’t seem likely to me. But you’re faster than them without levels. And you’ve got the grit to run all night to get here.”

“You think so? But I don’t—I don’t have any levels. I could never run like you do.”

Ryoka admitted that with a lot of regret. She’d always assumed that levels were just a cheap trick, a way to cheat or play someone else’s game. But of all the things in the world, seeing Val run like that had tempted her the most.

“If—if I decided to level up, maybe that would be better. Smarter. More sensible.”

She’d expected Val to agree with her, but instead he seemed wary of the idea.

“I personally don’t think it’s worth it.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one thing, and please take no offense, but—you’ll never reach my level if you start now. I know [Warriors] and other classes level up faster if they kill stronger enemies and so on, but [Runners] gain levels differently.”

“How so?”

“We level up based on how far we’ve run, and how challenging it is. True, you could do some horribly hard runs, but even then, I doubt you’d hit Level 10 by the end of the year, and it would just get slower from there.  No, I’d say you’ve got your own unique style without levels. You should continue as you are.”

That was the first time Ryoka had heard that opinion. She glanced at Val’s profile and his bent nose.

“You think so? No one else I’ve met shares your opinion.”

“Well, it’s a preference thing. And besides, you probably don’t know this, but Skills aren’t the same even for people with the same class.”

Ryoka had inferred something like that from comments from other Runners, but she hadn’t ever heard it from the horse’s mouth so to speak. She let Val go on as they ran a slow circuit of the Floodplains of Liscor.

“Skills are—how should I describe them? They’re like a gamble, but a safe one. As you level up, you’ll definitely gain some good skills and some not so useful ones. But you can generally predict which ones you’ll get based on your class.”

“Ah. A pool of options?”

Val lifted a thumb up and inclined his head at her.

“Precisely. There are rare skills you can get like [Double Step], and not-so-rare ones. For instance, almost every [Warrior] is going to get [Thick Skin] if they go for close-range combat sooner or later. But they might get it at Level 5, or Level 50. Well—not Level 50.”

“Why not—wait, there are rare skills every 10 levels?”

“Good guess! Yeah, I got my [Double Step] skill at Level 30. And of course sometimes you can learn a rare skill, but that takes training and some luck. I suppose if you had a class you could learn something that allowed you to move faster but…”

“Not worth it. Right. But how can I run faster without classes?”

“With magic, of course. I’ve met people like you before. People without levels, I mean. That’s how they overcome the problem.”

Ryoka slowed and her foot skidded over a patch of ice. She caught herself and ran after Val as he paused for her to catch up.

“You have?”

“Yeah. I meet them now and then. People of all kinds choose not to level. Well, they’re not too common as you can imagine, but I do run across them now and then.”

“Are there any differences between them and others?”

“Attitude? The way they get treated? Nothing else.”

That was disappointing, but maybe…Ryoka tried to keep the conversation going while she thought.

“And you think I can become a Courier even without Skills? With magic?”

“It’s possible. You just need the right equipment—the right magic if you’ve got the talent. Not all Couriers are fast. Some run a bit slower than you, but can’t be stopped. There’s a [Marksman] among us who rides a horse. She snipes anyone getting in her way from two hundred feet away.”

“Hm. So build up my résumé until I’m famous enough, huh?”

“Your what? Oh, you mean take a lot of prestigious requests? Yeah. Get a name for yourself as a trusted Runner and it’ll happen. You just need to take requests no other Runner will do.”

“Well, I’m on a good start.”

“Oh? How so?”

Ryoka hesitated. But she’d talked honestly with Val so far, and she wanted to be on a level. Besides…she told him briefly about Teriarch’s request, leaving out all of the really interesting details.

Val whistled.

“Eight hundred gold pieces? You’re kidding. That’s…no wonder your guy was expecting a Courier.”

“Well, it was forty gold pieces and a potion until I started bargaining with him.”

“Hah!”

Val had to think as they ran on. Ryoka had asked him whether he knew of the lands past the Blood Fields, omitting any mention of undead or the person she had to find, Az’kerash.

“The Blood Fields? And the southern lands, huh? You’ve got a problem there, but I’m not sure I can help you. I’ve only been down that way once or twice.”

“Pity. I’ll manage.”

“You shouldn’t have to go in there uninformed, though. And while I might know—hold on, let me see if I can find the other Courier nearby.”

“What?”

Val reached into a pouch at his belt. He pulled out…a stone, of all things. It was vaguely like the one Teriarch had given Ryoka—a normal smooth stone, although this one was inscribed with glowing symbols rather than an arrow.

They lit up as Val touched a finger to the rock. Ryoka heard nothing, but Val must have heard a voice, because he began talking to the air as they ran.

“Ah, hello? Am I speaking to Hawk? This is Valceif of First Landing. I’m in the area, and I was wondering if you had time to consult with me and another Runner. We’re just outside the city, running. Would you like to—? Thanks.”

He tucked the stone back into his pocket and looked at Ryoka.

“I’ve called Hawk, a Courier who does runs around here. He’ll be with us in a few seconds.”

That was no exaggeration. Barely ten seconds after Val had spoken, Ryoka spotted something hurtling towards them out of the city gate. She barely caught sight of the Runner himself; the snow geysering up behind him was what caught Ryoka’s eye. He intercepted the two Runners within seconds, and the snow cascaded down around them as Hawk, Beastkin, giant talking rabbit, and Courier of Liscor appeared.

“Valceif! I’m surprised they sent you down here!”

“Hello, Hawk. Well, you know how it is. You were busy, and I was nearby and they needed a rush job so here I am.”

The two Runners clasped…hands. Ryoka stared at Hawk’s large paw, and at his furry face and at…him.

She couldn’t deal. No. No—she was lost. He was a giant rabbit. This wasn’t just seeing a Drake or a Gnoll, this was a talking rabbit with pants and a six-pack. Ryoka’s mind was dissolving at the edges.

“And this is Ryoka Griffin, a City Runner. I was hoping you could help her. Ryoka, meet one of the fastest Couriers on the continent.”

“Hawk. I’m the Courier around here. Please to meet you, Miss Ryoka.”

Ryoka took the paw gingerly, and shook it. He had…five fingers, but four toes on his feet. The fur felt smooth and warm in her hands and she met his brown eyes and tried to smile.

Val took over the conversation. He briefly explained Ryoka’s delivery, adding a few details she thought were unnecessary.

“She’s a City Runner, but a step above the other ones. I was hoping you could give her some advice.”

Hawk smiled at Ryoka and shrugged.

“Well, I can keep you from running into too much trouble, but there’s always some war or skirmish going on down there. It’s risky for a City Runner or even an inexperienced Courier. You might want to reconsider going down there, Miss. How much are you getting paid? Is this request really worth it?”

He wasn’t precisely arrogant, but he seemed too relaxed to be taking the conversation seriously. After seeing how fast he ran, Ryoka couldn’t blame him for thinking she was small-fry.

She steeled herself. Rabbit or not, he was still a person. Remember that. Erin made talking to other species look so easy. She grinned at Hawk, and decided to take him down a peg. Just a peg.

“You could say that. My delivery’s worth eight hundred gold pieces. Think it’s worth doing?”

Hawk tripped, but caught himself before he face-planted in the snow.

“Eight h—”

He eyed Val. The other human was grinning at him. Hawk smiled ruefully, and nodded at Ryoka in apology.

“Well, I’ve underestimated you, I can see. But my point stands about the danger, especially if you’ve got something that might attract attention. Want to give the request to me? I’ll do the delivery and cut you in on a hundred gold pieces.”

Ryoka shook her head. She wasn’t about to trade the request, even if it would mean no risk to her. After what she’d learned about Teriarch, she just had to fulfill his request, for more reasons than one. Val looked at the other Courier reprovingly.

“Hawk.”

The rabbit man raised his hands defensively.

“I’m just asking. Okay. I thought you weren’t being serious, but I’m sorry Miss Ryoka. Right then. This is a serious delivery.”

“And she’s doing it.”

“I just offered.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine.”

Ryoka gestured to her belt pouch, where the letter and ring were hidden.

“Besides, what I’m delivering is spelled to only be carried by me. You’d probably die if you tried to take it.”

“That’s…an important detail. Right. Well, advice I’m happy to give. What do you need to know? Travel routes? Current battlefields?”

“All of the above and local monsters and so on. Ryoka’s never been down that way.”

Hawk nodded. His ears twitched and he looked out at the pristine snow around them.

“Mind if we run and talk?”

“It’s fine with me. I know a good route around here with some nice flat spots. Want me to lead?”

“Sounds good.”

“Go ahead.”

They set off. Like Val, Hawk adjusted his pace so Ryoka could comfortably keep up. It felt odd, being the slowest person in the group. Hawk began to talk as they ran together.

“Now, do you know where you’re going or do you have a moving target? If it’s something like one of the Walled Cities, you’ll be able to get there pretty easily. If not…”

“I’ve got a spell that points me in the right direction. I have no idea where I’m going.”

Val groaned.

“I hate those.”

Hawk nodded. The rabbit took long, easy strides that made Ryoka envy him. He didn’t even seem bothered by the snow as he ran through it. Well, he had pads on his feet…paws.

“Tricky. If you’re going by spell, you could run right into a monster nest or one of the war zones down there. There are a few conflicts going on, and any Human running past is going to get shot at, Runner or not.”

“What? Soldiers don’t attack Runners! If they know you’re a Runner, they should leave you alone!”

Val looked indignant, but Hawk only smiled at him.

“If you can prove you’re a Runner before they fill you with arrows, be my guest. Besides, they use spells that blast an entire area, so there’s no guarantee you won’t be caught up in one. My advice is just stay away, but if you’ve got to head into one of those zones…”

He began listing locations off, and Ryoka tried to memorize them. Val pulled out a map of the area and began marking spots for her. Another gift. She tried to refuse, but he told her it was only worth a gold coin or two. In response, she tossed two at him as they ran.

“Just be careful. You can talk to soldiers if they aren’t trying to kill you and usually get past, so that’s not the real problem.”

“What is?”

Hawk leapt straight over a five foot high drift of snow and landed lightly. He turned and ran backwards while Val and Ryoka went around it.

“Things to watch out for? I’d start with the Gnolls. Keep away from them unless you’re absolutely sure you know which tribe it is. Some are friendly towards Humans and other species, but others will try and eat you. Believe me, I know from experience.”

He scowled, rubbing at his neck. Ryoka could just imagine the conflict that would arise…she looked at Hawk and decided she would never be able to eat rabbit again. Not that she was particularly a fan in the first place.

“There are several nasty Goblin tribes down that way. Don’t underestimate them; they’re not like the normal ones around here. Um—there are lots of monsters, but they’re mostly hibernating or hiding in the winter. Watch out for Snow Golems, though. They’re practically invisible in the snow. Oh, and Wyverns. The white ones come down from the mountains sometimes and they love the cold.”

Ryoka knew what a Wyvern was, but she couldn’t believe the other thing Hawk had said.

“Snow Golems? Do you mean giant snowmen?”

“Snow things.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“Common mistake. I suppose you’ve seen what happens when some stupid brats make a snow Drake and forget to give it clothes? Imagine that, only ten times bigger and with icicles with claws and teeth. Plus, they can hurl snowballs filled with rocks.”

Hawk shuddered.

“I hate them so much. If you ever know you’re getting close to a group of them, bring some kind of fire spell with you.”

“And Wyverns—keep an eye on the sky. If you see anything overhead, even if you think it’s an eagle, make sure you’ve got somewhere to hide where they can’t reach you. They can dive incredibly fast, so be careful if it’s cloudy.”

“And you’re not going to talk me out of this, despite the danger?”

Ryoka looked at both Couriers, amused. This sounded almost as bad as the High Passes, but then she’d just been told by everyone that it was suicidal to try to go there. Both Val and Hawk shook their heads. Val gestured at her as they began to circle back in the direction of the inn.

“If you’ve taken the contract, you’re bound to deliver it. And if you’re the type to give up just because you might die, you’ll never become a Courier.”

Ryoka grinned, and Hawk and Val returned it. It was odd, being in sync with other people.

“Anything else?”

“The undead. Be very wary of them.”

This time Hawk looked completely serious.

“You weren’t here for the undead that attacked, were you?”

“I saw the aftermath.”

“Yeah, well…they weren’t nearly as bad as the ones you can find around the Blood Fields. I mean, there was that big one, but individually, the worst undead out there were Crypt Lords.”

“That’s nasty enough. They’re commander-types.”

“Yeah, but they were commanding zombies, skeletons, and ghouls. Not scary. But a lot of the undead you can find down there are leftovers from the Necromancer.”

“Oh.”

Ryoka looked between human man and rabbit man.

“The Necromancer? You mean the one who raised the undead army? What kind of undead are we talking about here?”

Hawk shuddered.

“Horrible ones. Smart ones. He enslaved wraiths and ghosts and built new types of undead. Look—just before you go, buy some emergency gear. Something to get you away quick if you run into a group of them.”

Ryoka felt at the potion at her belt, and remembered the ones she’d gotten from Octavia.

“I’ve got some stuff.  And four healing potions and three stamina potions. Enough?”

“Should be.”

“As long as you don’t stray too far from the roads. Healing potions are only useful if you’re alive to use them. Best trick is not to get hurt.”

“Agreed. Just don’t get hurt.”

“And don’t give up! Delivery or die!”

Ryoka had to laugh. Both Couriers were like her. It was amazing! She took a breath and quoted from memory.

“‘Neither rain nor snow, nor gloom of night shall stay these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds’, huh?”

Both Val and Hawk looked at Ryoka in astonishment.

“That’s quite good! Where did you hear that?”

“Oh, it’s a quote from my home about Couriers.”

“‘Neither rain nor snow’…yeah, I like it!”

Hawk nodded his head and Val did as well.

“We might just have to use that line! Thanks, Miss Ryoka.”

“Call me Ryoka.”

‘Miss’ seemed to be this world’s way of being polite, almost like Japanese honorifics. She bowed her head at the other two Couriers as they slowed on their approach to the inn.

“Thank you, both of you. I owe you a lot. I’ll repay the favor someday.”

“Bah. It was nothing.”

Hawk waved a paw dismissively. And then he grinned at Val and Ryoka.

“Talk is cheap, but meeting other good Runners? It’s great to meet other people who can run! You wouldn’t believe how slow the ones around here are. And hey, maybe we can go back to that inn for some more hamburgers afterwards, hey?”

Val and Ryoka paused. Ryoka remembered how many she’d eaten yesterday, for both lunch and dinner. Val was clearly thinking the same thing.

“No.”

“Not for at least a month.”

Both Val and Ryoka said it at the same time. Hawk looked slightly hurt.

“Why not? You were both at the inn last night, weren’t you? The one with the music? It was great! I must have eaten eight of the things, and then I got some tail, if you know what I mean.”

He grinned at Val and made a wiggling motion with his paw.

“Drakes. So slippery, you know?”

Val and Ryoka exchanged a look. Val looked at Hawk.

“Tail? You don’t mean—”

Ryoka’s mind literally shut down at the idea of Hawk eating eight hamburgers and then finding a female Drake and…

Neither human spoke, but they both accelerated at the same time. Hawk had to increase his stride to keep up. He glared at them as he kept pace.

“Oh come on! Do you think I’d be into fleshy people like you? I’d rather kiss a Minotaur first. At least they have something covering them! Furballs, you humans are so touchy.”

—-

Olesm was not a Drake given to arrogance, but he still had his pride. It had been badly crushed, beaten, and stomped by a certain human and the undead, but it was still pride nevertheless.

He’d leveled up, risked his life, and tried to learn to play his favorite game as best he could. He’d learned from the greatest chess player in the world—Erin, and he thought he’d made something of himself.

But now he knew the truth. The cold waters of reality were lapping around his head, and Olesm was too downtrodden to even bother trying to swim.

He felt Erin come over, and wished, wished, he was the kind of person who could capture her heart. But he was a [Tactician] – not a good one, not nearly as good as one in Liscor’s army – but he had a special skill. He could read people, and she wasn’t interested in him.

At all. Oh, she liked him, but Olesm knew it wouldn’t be more than that. And of course, he’d found someone—

It was just that she was like a beacon to him, a font of knowledge and unexplained mystery that stirred his soul. And he had let her down. He could barely look at Erin. Shame made Olesm’s tail droop.

“I—lost. Three games in a row. I couldn’t even put up a fight.”

Erin stared curiously at the chessboard as Olesm cringed. He couldn’t even bear to see how badly he’d been demolished. It hadn’t even been a battle, really. Just the other player pushing Olesm’s head down into the waters and holding him there while he drowned.

“Huh. That other guy’s good. Or girl. Probably a guy, though.”

“You can tell what gender he is just by looking at the board?”

Olesm’s tail drooped ever further. Erin was so far above him—

“No! I just mean—well, all the Grandmasters back home were mostly guys. Girls didn’t play chess as much so I meant…hm.”

She stared at the board, and then started resetting the pieces. Olesm stared glumly at the board.

“I think I made him mad. Or—disappointed him. I’m so sorry.”

After the first game, the other player had reset the board quickly. But this time he – or she – let Erin put all the pieces back. Yes, Olesm could feel the disapproval radiating off the pieces. It scourged him, and he couldn’t deny it. If he had found out that the player who’d come up with that marvelous puzzle was just someone on Olesm’s level.

Olesm lowered his head to the table. He would apologize, leave the inn, go to the city, and not bother Erin again until he was ten levels higher. He would—

A hand brushed the spines on Olesm’s head and he jerked. Erin patted him gently on the head as she took a seat at the table.

“There’s no reason to be mad for playing someone worse than you are. Everyone has to learn. If this guy’s mad, I’ll teach him a lesson for you.”

Erin flipped the board around, and moved a white pawn. Olesm hesitated, but his pulse suddenly began to speed up.

“He’s quite good.”

“I know. I could see. So—I guess I’ll take this seriously.”

“I’ll just—I’ll give you some—”

Olesm backed up until he was a table’s length away from Erin. He waited, with bated breath as she stared at the board. Then, almost reluctantly, he saw a knight move to F6. His spirits sank again.

This was…what had Erin called it? Oh, yes. Alekhine’s Defence. It was an aggressive opening to counter with, and it hinted that the other player had grown tired of playing Olesm. At first he’d played very cautiously, but now—

Erin smiled. She moved another piece forwards—a knight to C3. Almost instantly, the other player countered, moving his knight again, but Erin didn’t stop. She started playing pieces rapidly, as soon as the other player moved his.

Olesm could feel the shock running through the board. The other player had probably just realized someone else was playing—Olesm hadn’t moved his pieces so quickly, and certainly not with such skill.

For five whole minutes, the game paused, and Olesm could feel the other side recalculating. When the game resumed, it was slower, and the other player took his time thinking his moves over.

“Oh.”

It was a soft sound, in the gentle silence of the inn. It came from Erin as the game was more than halfway done. She’d made a mistake, and the other player had taken her queen. Olesm stared at the board in shock, and then at Erin. She was surprised, but she just looked at the board and started recalculating her position. He heard her murmur as she tapped her chin.

“He’s quite good. Yeah.”

And then—

She grinned. It was an expression like many of the bright smiles Olesm had seen and felt before, but this one was different. It made his scales tingle.

Because there was a light in Erin’s eyes he hadn’t seen before. And as she moved the next piece, punishing the bishop that had stolen her queen, he thought she looked…

Hungry. Yes, that was it.

Whatever else you might say of Erin, her skill at chess was indisputable. In this world, chess had lived in the minds of a few players for less than three years. But Erin had grown up playing chess as a child. She had breathed and lived the game, playing more matches in a year than Olesm had in his life.

Erin had grown up studying over 1,500 years of chess. She’d learned from Grandmasters and countless games she could look back on. Chess strategy had evolved much since the origin of the game, and Erin had learned to play at such a level that even among the 600 million players in the world, she still stood close to the top.

To Olesm, she was a god of chess that had come to this world. He had never beaten Erin; never even come close. But it is lonely, standing alone at the top. Only once he’d seen Erin challenged—only once had he ever seen her lose.

She’d played a hundred Workers at once and then taught them an Immortal Game. And then she had played one of her own. Olesm still remembered that game.

It must have been so lonely, afterwards. To play against players who couldn’t even make her take the game seriously. But now. But now—

Erin played silently, sitting with her back straight against the chair, posture perfect. She didn’t look around, didn’t chatter happily as she played. For once, she was concentrating completely on the game. And as the game drew close to its ending, her responses got faster, her concentration even deeper.

At the end, Erin took the black King, and Olesm remembered to breathe again. Erin sat back in her chair and laughed in delight. And that sound was pure and made him realize that she was happy.

Happy to have won. But happier to have played.

“Come on. Another game?”

Erin started resetting the board, but she tapped one of the ghostly pawns on the chess board once. And Olesm saw the black pawn move up and gently tap the board as well.

They understood each other. They were two players separated by hundreds, possibly thousands of miles, but they understood each other. They were here to play. So they did.

Another game. And another. Erin won both. Olesm watched as the fourth game began, and realized the truth.

Yes. Whoever was on the other side of the chess board was not Erin’s equal. But they were close. So close. And in each game, they sent a message to Erin, one written in every closely-contested exchange, every lost pawn and checkmate.

You are not alone.

Olesm wiped tears from his eyes. His heart ached, and he knew it would be silly to anyone watching. But there was a beauty in this that only someone who loved the game could see.

It took so much to look away, but he had to. Olesm walked into the kitchen and found what he was looking for. He’d found a bunch of parchment Erin had bought when he was helping out. It was still there, in a cupboard with an ink pot and quill.

Olesm returned to the living room and stared at the game. It was going slowly, and he looked at Erin’s face just for a second. She was closing her eyes, smiling gently, and his heart hurt for a moment.

He slowly picked up the quill and dipped it into the ink. Olesm began to write, noting down each move in the shorthand notation Erin had taught him.

And Erin smiled, and the chess pieces moved. They danced on the board and the Drake listened to history being made.

—-

Far away, and in a large tent on the middle of a hot and humid day, Niers Astoragon, second in command of one of the Four Great Companies of Baleros, and highest-leveled [Strategist] on the continent, gently pushed over the king and stared at the chess board.

He ignored the sounds of battle around him. His soldiers would emerge triumphant, and his lieutenants had the battle well in hand. Interfering with them would only impede their growth.

No, instead, he stared at the shimmering board and the magical pieces arranged on it. He had lost. For the fourth time. It had been close—ever so close! But he had lost. For the fourth time.

Niers did not rage. He was not, in fact, angry. Instead, he smiled, in much the same way Erin had. He put one hand on his chin and stroked it, feeling stubble rasp under his fingers. He had forgotten to shave, or sleep for that matter. He had been waiting to play the puzzle-maker and after an initial disappointment, his patience had been rewarded tenfold.

For a second, Niers debated hunting for his razor. He would have borrowed one of his lieutenant’s blades, but he hated how they fussed over him. A dagger as large as he was was still a dagger, and he was more than strong enough to lift it. It was just awkward, that was all.

Appearance trumped desire. Niers was a Level 63 [Strategist], and on his shoulders the fate of his company rested. He could not let his soldiers down. But—perhaps after he had played another game?

Niers reached down for a chess piece, and then he paused. A sound was coming from outside—a dissonance in the sounds of battle. Niers listened, and sighed. Some fool had just deployed the other army’s elite vanguard against his soldiers, turning this skirmish into a far bloodier battle.

His soldiers would need his help. Niers raised a hand and said two words.

“[Assault Formation].”

The air on the battlefield changed. Satisfied, Niers turned back to the board, ignoring the roar that came from his soldiers as the tide shifted once more.

He looked back at the board. He had sent it on a whim, judging the cost worth the possibility of a decent game. But now a bigger question loomed in his mind, one he’d wished he had asked sooner.

“Who are you?”

The chess pieces didn’t answer out loud. But as Niers saw the white side reset itself, he knew he would find part of the answer in the game. He sat down, concentrated harder than he had for what seemed like years—

And began to play.

2.19 G

The King of Goblins rode through burning fields and across battlefields filled with death and ash. Blood ran from his sword and the dead grew in heaps and mounds tall as mountains.

He roared, and a hundred thousand Goblins in his vanguard rose to follow. His armies swept across the land, burning, pillaging. Killing.

No quarter! No mercy! The playthings must die! Kill them. Burn them. All that the Gods have wrought must be destroyed.

His rage was endless. The Goblin King threw himself into battle, killing Humans, Drakes, Gnolls, and every species that got in his way. He only paused when the half-Elven archer raised her bow. The Goblin King’s last thought was regret as the arrow pierced his skull—

Rags sat up and screamed. Her tribe leapt to their feet, shouting as she struggled to sit up in her dirty blankets. Rags looked around wildly, and realized it had been a dream.

No—not a dream. A memory. One of her visions of a time long past, when the most recent Goblin King had lived.

Only a fragment, though. As Rags shouted her Goblins back down and waved her hands, she knew her tribe wasn’t large enough to let her truly focus on those memories. This was more like a…bubble, floating up into her mind.

She still remembered the rage. Endless, consuming rage. Had that been the last King? In Rags’ mind, he was more like an avenging nightmare, driven only by death and slaughter. She couldn’t understand.

But then, the Goblin King had been leader of a tribe that was nearly limitless. He would have been able to look back—perhaps a thousand years! If Rags had a tribe that large, she might understand more of his rage, his past, and most importantly, his death.

Rags had never heard of a Goblin dying of old age. Their kind had lives like matches; they burned out in seconds in the cold winds of this world.

But Rags would be different. She would never die.

The still very young Goblin rubbed at her eyes. She was awake. The memory of dying was too vivid to sleep on. She pulled the blankets up around her shoulders—yanking it from three Goblins who protested until she kicked them—and looked around her new home.

It wasn’t great. But given that the last cave the Goblins had lived in could be accurately described as a waste of space, this was fine.

Rags shuffled her way through sleeping bodies, heedless of what or who she stepped on until she got to the pot that miraculously hadn’t yet been emptied by the coals at one end of the cavern. Rags opened the dented lid, tasted the soup and made a face.

It tasted horrible. But then, most Goblin cooking tasted bad given the things that went in them. Rags wouldn’t have minded normally, but Erin’s cooking had spoiled her.

The Goblin found a bowl, ate the leftovers still stuck to the bottom, and filled it again. She had standing orders that other Goblins weren’t allowed to serve themselves except at meal times, and then only a limited amount. Her warriors ate twice what the other Goblins did.

But Rags was a Chief, and what good was being a Chief if you didn’t get special privileges? Other Goblins didn’t really grumble about a Chief using their power; it was unfair, yes, but it was just another thing they would do if they were Chief.

Rags ate the warm soup with her fingers, spooning it efficiently into her mouth as she looked around her cave. She turned, thinking to go back to her bed, and met two purple eyes made of flame.

The Goblin choked on her soup and reached for her sword. She never let her weapons leave her side, even in sleep. But Toren just caught the bowl as it fell, ignoring Rags as the Goblin stumbled back.

The soup bowl was caught, but since it was caught face-down, all the soup dripped between the skeleton’s fingers. He regarded the slimy mixture, and then shook it off his hands.

Rags glared at Toren, ignoring the spilled food. Someone would eat it later. She glared at him in much the same way Erin did, but the skeleton was not impressed.

He was crossing his arms, waiting for something. What? Toren could not speak, so Rags had to guess. Ah. Of course; he wanted her to fulfill the bargain so he could go back. The Goblins had been too exhausted to do anything after making camp, but his patience was clearly at an end.

Yes. The cave. The battle with the enchanted plate armor. Rags closed her eyes as the events of yesterday came flooding back to her.

She remembered. But since it was her memory, it was even more glorious.

—-

The enchanted suit of armor roared in fury, metal screeching as it swung at Toren. The skeleton dodged, and Rags popped up behind the armor and fired another crossbow bolt.

The quarrel punched through the shoulder of the chest plate, but like all of her other arrows it barely fazed the magical armor. It turned, and Rags immediately ran. The armor lumbered after her, but Rags had learned [Rapid Retreat] and she outdistanced the swinging sword easily.

Other Goblins shouted, and the suit of armor turned just in time to be struck by a dozen clay pellets. Even together, the impact barely rocked the massive construct. It began to chase the Goblins, but Toren leapt on it from behind, bashing it wildly.

His bones scattered, and Rags saw the team of Goblins arrive at last. They tossed three rolls of the boom bark on the ground and Rags shouted a challenge. She knocked the helmet of the armor off with a quarrel, and he charged her, greatsword raised to end her life. Rags cast [Firefly] directly at the rolls of bark as he ran past—

—-

It had been a battle like those Rags remembered from her furthest Chieftain’s memories. Back when multiple high-level Hobs had challenged deadly monsters and won. In this case, it had been luck, daring, the new crossbows and the boom bark that had won the day.

And only just. Rags remembered how the armor had gotten back up after it had been blasted once, and how they’d had to pelt it with almost all of their ammunition before it stopped moving. But they’d done it. They’d won.

The next Chieftain would be able to see this memory, Rags knew. Whoever followed her would learn much about how to do battle properly. Their skirmish had not cost a single Goblin’s life, or even an undead one. Toren had survived, albeit in pieces, and in the aftermath, Rags had put together several important points.

Firstly, it appeared Toren knew of the ‘place of death’. In fact, he had even fallen into it somehow, finding another entrance to the dungeon. Which led Rags to her second discovery, which was that this place was a dungeon.

Obviously. She wasn’t sure why no other Goblin had put that together, but then, not many had been witness to the many conversations at Erin’s inn. Sometimes the speakers even forgot Rags was there, and she would learn wonderful secrets.

But more information followed the first. This dungeon was massive. Rags knew this, because Toren had fallen into a rift miles away from where they were. This, Rags had learned due to the most important point:

Toren could understand her.

Yes, she had been stunned to realize the skeleton could understand the Goblin’s chattering language. The dead speak all tongues, and so Toren could understand Rags. And she could understand him because she was a genius.

It was easy. Ask a question, and Toren would gesticulate. Ask more questions to clarify, and he would draw images, or nod or shake his head. It was a basic system of communication, but through it, Rags had realized the skeleton was a lot smarter than he acted. She wondered why no one else had noticed.

Or…perhaps he had become smarter over time. Rags didn’t remember him being quite this knowing before. It made her wary, but the exchange of information had been worth it.

The entrance where so many monsters had come out of over the decades was indeed the entrance to part of the dungeon—the same type of dungeon as the ruins with the undead, although these were even more magical and dangerous, if that were possible.

But there was power down there, and Rags needed power. So she was going to explore the dungeon. With Toren’s help. That was the bargain.

Initially, Toren had been apathetic to the Goblins. He’d wandered off as Rags was marshaling her tribe, only returning when it became apparent that, among the sterling qualities the skeleton might have, a sense of direction was not among them.

Rags had talked, and he’d mainly agreed. Toren had done a rough sketch of the dungeon, indicated what levels had the most danger, and agreed to show her the first few levels he’d run through in exchange for her taking him back to the inn.

It was a good deal, and full of confidence after the battle, Rags’ tribe had marched into the crevasse in the side of the mountain. They’d lost nearly ten Goblins within the hour.

Three died when the gargantuan bats dropped down from overhead and began trying to tear them apart. As the close walls of the entrance had become wider, the Goblins had begun to relax. They’d come to a large cavern filled with lichen and dripping water, and that was when the Goblins had disturbed a nest of Dropclaw Bats.

This species of bat was so named because unlike other bats, they had evolved to enjoy and hunt after meat as much as smaller insects. They were twice as large as a human’s head—and they had sharp claws and the inclination and ability to drop on the heads of anything that entered their nests.

It would have gone badly for the unarmored Goblins if it weren’t for two facts. The first was that Goblins had good night vision, and the second was that Rags knew [Firefly]. The fire panicked the large predators, and made them easy targets for the Goblins holding slings and crossbows.

One Goblin had died from a combination of further wounds inflicted by the bats and friendly fire in the form of shrapnel falling from above by the time it was over.

That was bad, and Rags had kicked herself for being so careless. Just because Toren had been unmolested while he was fleeing the suit of armor didn’t mean everywhere was safe.

She’d ordered the dead bats collected and made into edible food, while she pinned down the living ones with stones on their wings. Not out of any generosity; it would just prolong the freshness of their new food source.

They had become dinner, and tomorrow’s breakfast as well. Tough as the leathery skin of the Dropclaw Bats might have been, everything melted quite nicely with enough water and heat.

But that was only part of the Goblin’s discovery. As they explored the further reaches of the cavern, they’d found the entrance to the dungeon. A part of the walls had caved in—due to some kind of collapse of the stone overhead. Rags had cautiously poked her head out into a long, winding corridor full of statues.

Nothing had moved, and Toren only recalled running for his life while he’d been navigating this area, so Rags had decided to risk it.

She had ventured a few steps out into the rows of stone statues, her Goblin warriors flanking her and Toren wandering around aimlessly when she spotted a pedestal holding a shining ring glowing with violet light. It was clearly valuable, and Rags wanted it. In fact, there were several pedestals scattered down the long corridor amidst the stone statues, each holding a prize of its own.

Goblins loved treasure as much as any other species, and Rags had decided that ring would look good on her finger. She’d gone two steps, and touched a pressure plate. A flurry of spectral arrows had flown over Rags’ head, missing her by two good inches. That wasn’t dangerous, but the two Stone Golems posing as statues that each snatched up a Goblin and ripped them apart were.

Six Goblins were dead before they evaded the stone hands and stomping feet—and swinging blades made of magic and spells ricocheting out of the room from concealed glyphs—and retreated back through the hole in the dungeon.

Fifteen Stone Golems had pursued the Goblins at frightening speed, but they’d stopped when the Goblins fled back into the hole in the dungeon wall. Why? Because…it wasn’t someplace they recognized?

It was the only thing Rags could come up with, and it was that which had saved her and her tribe, she suspected. But despite their losses, the Goblins had not come away empty-handed.

One of her Goblins had snatched a pendant from a pedestal. It was glowing, a blue-white gem in the shape of a circle, gilded with gold and hung on a necklace of gold as well. It was so beautiful the other Goblins immediately started fighting over it until Rags took it for herself.

Her [Detect Magic] spell showed that the item was magical, but Rags still had no idea what it did. She would have made one of her Goblins wear it, but then she’d heard the loud squeaking and remembered the Dropclaw Bats.

The bat had wriggled when Rags fastened the pendant around its neck, and then nothing had happened. Rags had reached for the pendant—

And then the bat had screamed as its flesh and bones began to melt. It took five minutes to die, and the entire time it was still intact enough to shriek. Rags and the other Goblins had stayed as far away as possible until it was over.

What remained of the unlucky bat was just a mixture of…it couldn’t even be called flesh anymore. Remains was the only word. The pendant had gone with the bat, and left only a foul stench and the memory of what it had done.

The Goblins and Toren had exchanged glances, and eyed the melted remains. They’d come to a swift decision, and worked on implementing it all of yesterday.

—-

So that was how Rags found herself eating another bowl of bat soup and watching her Goblins labor at the far end of the cavern with a skeleton by her side. The Goblins heaved the last boulder into place as Toren watched disapprovingly. They were hurrying to finish the barrier to the dungeon they’d started yesterday.

It was necessary, and Rags had refused outright to leave until it was completed. Toren had glared silently at Rags, but acquiesced in the end, mainly because he had no choice. Rags almost expected him to start tapping his foot like Erin did. The skeleton seemed to mirror a lot of the innkeeper girl’s reactions.

Rags stepped back and regarded her tribe’s handiwork. The pile of stones was by no means an impenetrable barrier, but from both sides it looked like a rock slide that could be too much trouble to move. She hoped it would seal off the cavern from any monsters wandering from below until she could come up with a better solution.

Like a door with a pit trap five hundred feet deep. But Rags was determined to stay near the dungeon. The Stone Golems were a terrible enemy—and some of the things Toren had seen suggested they were only the beginnings of the challenges that lurked below. But if there was anywhere to level up and challenge her tribe, it would be there.

For now though, Rags had to fulfill her promise. Toren was starting to smack Goblins whenever they tried to come near him, and he had a dangerous look in his eyes. True, he always had a dangerous look in his eyes, but Rags sensed trouble if she didn’t move fast.

She left the cave, the skeleton stomping out behind her. Rags inhaled the crisp, winter air, and decided she liked the cave better. Out here was too exposed.

A bony finger prodded Rags in the back and she turned and glared. Toren glared back, and it had to be said that he was better at it. Rags debated trying to punch him, and then gave up and stomped through the snow.

It was a long, quiet march through the plains. Rags set a fast pace; she knew roughly where all the Shield Spider nests were, and she could spot the snowy mounds that were Rock Crabs quite easily. Toren followed Rags silently, only pausing when she did.

Rags and Toren walked through the snow, both looking up as a last group of the reptilian birds flew south overhead. Rags saw a fox dash by and wished she’d brought her crossbow; Toren stared at a bird.

They paused to watch another herd of boars pass, this group not domesticated like the last group Rags had seen. The herd of hairy creatures sloughed through the snow, tusks helping to break apart the clumps of snow.

It was peaceful. Then a Carn Wolf howled, and the world became dangerous and deadly once more.

Rags immediately crouched in the snow, looking for the wolf. Normally, they didn’t howl when hunting Goblins so she might get lucky. Carn Wolves liked to sneak up and kill Goblins, but this sounded like they were hunting the boars, who had started to rush through the snow.

Rags looked around as she began to unsheathe her sword. But—Carn Wolves were huge, far bigger than normal wolves. She saw Toren reaching for a sword he didn’t have, and felt at a hard object secure in her belt. She pulled it out as the Carn Wolves loped out into the open.

It was an entire pack, and they closed on the boars quickly, even as the pigs squealed and changed directions. Rags watched as the wolves ran towards the herd, spreading out as they moved to create a net. It was a maneuver performed by hunters in this world and in Erin’s. The wolves would separate a weak link, a child or elderly boar from the pack and then work together to bring it down.

Except that this time, the lead wolf made a mistake. Too eager to send panic into the herd of boars, he rushed towards the center. The wall of hair opened up as he ran towards them, and then suddenly closed together, trapping the wolf.

He howled and bit, but suddenly the fleeing boars had turned their tusks on him. They charged into the wolf, slashing upwards with their tusks, smashing him from all sides. In a blink, they’d separated again, leaving a gored mess of fur and blood behind.

The other Carn Wolves slowed, and Rags watched them hesitate. Yes, that was the problem. Even the mightiest predator was in danger of being brought down by many smaller enemies. It was far easier to prey on the weak, the small, the isolated.

It was somewhat depressing, and predictable, when the leader of the wolves sniffed the air and looked at Rags and Toren. Mainly at Rags. She sighed as he ran at her, and pulled the object out of her pouch.

A red jewel rose into the air, and Rags felt sickening fear pulse through her veins. Not just from her jewel; as the wolves ran towards them, Toren suddenly emitted the same aura of pure terror.

The wolves faltered, stopped, and then turned and ran, yelping and whining in fear. Some left yellow trails as they ran; Rags watched them go as she calmly tucked one of Skinner’s ‘eyes’ back into her belt.

She’d forgotten Toren took the other one. Well, the gem was good for moments like this. More than once Rags had stopped something from attacking her or her tribe with the gem, but she knew it had its limits.

The problem—yes, the problem was that while the blood-red gem was extremely useful, it was useless against other Goblins. Skinner had realized that to his cost, and Rags had no intention of forgetting it.

Goblins were always afraid. Pure terror didn’t slow them down like other species; if anything, it made them fight harder. If Rags tried to use this on another tribe, she’d just get herself killed.

Plus, there were things the gemstone didn’t work on. The Antinium, for one, and Erin for another. And the undead. And Relc, or so Rags had overheard. And of course it didn’t stop long-range attacks, magic, traps…

Really, it wasn’t that useful. Rags put the stone away and took her hand away from her sword hilt as the yelping faded in the distance. But it did allow her to traverse the plains by herself, which was important. She could leave her warriors behind to guard the cave, and make better time this way.

Indeed, Toren was able to match Rags’ speed. The skeleton strode through the snow after her, flaming eyes tracking her movement and the seemingly unchanging landscape.

Rags ignored the look. The skeleton seemed to be able to control the fear effect from his gem, so she ignored him. She had to think.

Well, her idea with the dungeon had been a partial success. She’d found a place to live, at least temporarily. And it was a good spot to expand in; the stone could be mined away and the Watch wouldn’t patrol out that far. If Rags’ goblins kept to themselves, they wouldn’t be harassed.

Unfortunately, the new problem became food. Goblins didn’t just ambush travelers and attack herds for fun. They had no natural food sources besides what little they could scavenge, and in the winter their already precarious situation often became fatal. As Chieftain, Rags had to provide for her tribe, but she couldn’t do that without risking the wrath of the Watch.

So what now? Well, once Rags had finished delivering Toren, she’d play some chess with Erin. One of the reasons why she didn’t want to leave Liscor was chess. It was…different. Rags could be a Chieftain and she enjoyed it, but sometimes she just wanted to sit in the inn and play a game.

As the wooden building sitting on the hill finally came into view, Rags saw Toren’s eyes grow brighter. He abandoned Rags, running through the snow as she tromped on. She didn’t care.

Her job was done.

Toren paused and seemed to hesitate as he climbed the hill. Rags saw the other human besides Erin—the tall one with dark hair and different skin—sprinting out of the inn. She was followed by what looked like a fuzzy blue cloud of dots. Rags recognized them. They were the strange, mischievous things that liked to annoy people in the winter. They left Goblins alone, though, so Rags paid no attention to them.

Instead, she focused on the girl that ran out of the inn, waving her arms. Erin shouted something and the swarm stopped as it surrounded Ryoka. Something was going on.

Rags didn’t care. She pushed her way into the inn as other people came out and stared and talked. She just had one thing on her mind.

Chess.

There they were. Several boards were already set up on the tables. Rags hopped into a seat and smiled.

Yes, chess. It was so strange. But it had been the first time she’d learned…anything. From a game.

She’d never known about tactics, or trying to outsmart the enemy. Well, she had—but not in the careful, considered way you had to do it in chess. The game had taught her about thinking ahead, about patience. It had taught her to think, that was the thing.

And it had given her a gift, made her special. Unique. For that, Rags would always love the game.

Playing other people was nice too, of course. Rags listened to the commotion outside, kicking her heels with impatience.

At last the door opened and Erin walked back in, looking upset. Rags didn’t care. She waited for Erin to notice her; she had too much dignity to wave her hands or shout out. But the girl had frozen. She was staring at the skeleton who was standing patiently in the center of the room.

“Oh my god. Toren!”

Rags made a disgusted sound as Erin rushed over to Toren. She ignored the questions, the commentary from the people whose names she barely remembered. She waited for Erin to notice her.

“Hey, what happened to your eyes?”

The small Goblin glared, but Erin was too busy peering at her skeleton’s eyes to notice her. She stood up in her chair, but again she was ignored.

And a terrible thing happened. Suddenly, Rags was small again.

Small.

She was small. Physically, Rags was small even for a Goblin. But she was young, and that would change. She might not be a Hob in the sense of growing to become a giant, but she was still a colossus in her head.

But here, in this inn, Rags felt tiny. No one was paying attention to her. And she wasn’t important enough to command it.

She looked around the room. The mage Pisces, the other mage with the dead hand, Ceria. Olesm, the [Tactician], Erin, and Toren. And of course there had been the other girl, Ryoka. They were all important in their own way.

The mages had high levels, Olesm had twice as many levels in [Tactician] as Rags, and Erin was Erin, the girl who’d killed the last Chief. And Toren…

He was closest to Rags, but he was important to Erin because he was hers. But Rags was a Goblin. She was weakest, and she wasn’t valuable.

She didn’t matter.

At last, Erin looked around. She spotted Rags and did a double-take.

“Hey Rags! I didn’t see you there! When did you come in?”

Rags scowled at her, and tried to push away the thoughts lurking in her head. But they always came back, now and then, to remind her she wasn’t important. Yes, she liked this inn. But sometimes…

“Oh, I know you’ll just love this! Wait a second Rags—you’ll never guess what’s happened since you’ve been gone!”

Erin bustled into the kitchen, followed closely by Toren. Rags heard her exclaim, berate her skeleton, and then she reemerged with something wonderful.

It was a sandwich with meat in the center. Rags bit into it, and the worries of the world eased for a second. Erin called it a ham burger, although there was no ham inside. But Rags didn’t care.

Content now, she sat in the chair and waited to play Erin. But again—she was overlooked.

Now Erin was talking worriedly about the girl who had left, and arguing with one of the blue glowing spots in the air. Rags squinted at it, but she couldn’t hear anything. Was Erin talking to it, or just to herself? She seemed to be carrying on a one-sided conversation as far as Rags could tell, but then she went into the kitchen.

More waiting. Rags couldn’t stand it. She was a Chief. She shouldn’t have to wait! She looked around. If Erin was busy, what about the Drake?

But Olesm was busy watching Erin, and he didn’t even notice when Rags threw a chess piece at him. He just scratched the spot absently.

Being ignored. Rags felt a hot burning in her stomach as she glared around. But then her eye fell on something fascinating.

It was a chessboard, but the pieces were made of…air? Ghostly, frozen wisps of wind. Rags eyed Erin as the girl waved her arms about and shouted, and then made her way over to the table.

Yes, it was a magical chessboard of some kind. And by the looks of it, a game was in progress. Rags eyed the pieces, and picked one up experimentally.

It felt like lifting nothing, but there was something between her fingers. Entranced, Rags moved the queen and took a piece.

Suddenly, the board moved. A piece moved and cut down her queen. Rags leapt back and stared wide-eyed at the board. But then she understood.

There was someone else playing! Of course! It wasn’t a hard conclusion to come to if you assumed the board was magical, which it clearly was. So who was playing?

Whoever it was, they’d been playing a complex game. Rags sat down at the table and stared at the pieces. Only Erin could have played this game. And now Rags had messed up her game, trading a queen for a pawn. But—

The Goblin’s heart began to beat faster, and she stared around the room. Yes, Erin was still busy with the blue floating thing. Rags looked back at the board. Whoever was on the other side was waiting for Erin’s next move. Or Rags’.

Could she do it? Rags hesitated as she looked at the pieces. Erin was better than she was. But—

Small.

Rags moved a piece. She traded a knight for a bishop and watched her knight get taken off the board. She immediately attacked again, aggressively pushing with all the pieces Erin had.

She could do it. If Erin could do it, Rags could learn to do the same. Besides, this player wasn’t Erin. How good could…could…

…

Rags stared at the board. All of her pieces were gone. Her king was surrounded, and he’d just been forced into a check that would lead to checkmate.

No. This other player had just taken her to pieces in a matter of moves. How?

Rags slowly tipped the king over. Instantly, the board began to reset itself as she watched. Numbly, Rags moved her own pieces back to their starting positions.

It was impossible. That was just a—a fluke. Rags was better than anyone else, except for Erin and maybe, maybe Olesm.

Furiously, she opened up the board, moving a knight out as a starting move. It was because she’d started with Erin’s game and not her own. But this time, Rags would play her own way she’d…

…

Lose. Lose and lose again. It wasn’t even a drawn-out game. Rags stared at the board as her king tipped over again.

Who was this other player. How—

The pieces were moving. Rags reached to pull hers away, but the pieces weren’t moving back to their original positions. Instead, they were forming a…face.

It was a basic face, the basic expression Erin would have recognized as an emoji, or a smiley face. It had two eyes, and an upside-down smile.

He knew. Rags stared at the board and felt the same feeling of smallness again. Whoever the other player was, he knew he wasn’t playing Erin. And he was disappointed.

For a second, Rags stared at the board. Then she hurled it off the table.

“Hey!”

The Goblin jumped as Erin shouted. The girl came over and picked up the board as the ghostly pieces reset. She glared at Rags.

“What are you—hey! You moved my pieces!”

She glared at Rags as the Goblin stared the other way. Rags couldn’t even face Erin. Shame and anger wormed through her stomach in equal parts.

“Aw. It was a good game, too. I thought I might actually l—well, maybe not. Anyways!”

Erin shook her finger at Rags.

“This is mine. I’m fine with you using another chess board, but this one is connected to another one somewhere and—well, I’m playing, okay?”

Rags shrugged, still not looking at Erin. She heard the girl sigh.

“Okay. Sorry for getting mad, but—it’s bad manners to play another game, you know? I’ll play you, if you want.”

And have her confidence crushed even further? Rags hesitated, but she still loved the game. Reluctantly, she nodded, and Erin beamed. It was hard to hate her, even when Rags tried.

“Cool! You just sit there and I’ll—oh?”

Someone knocked at the door. Rags turned in her seat, ready to kill whoever walked in as Erin called out.

“Come in!”

The door opened, and Rags saw a familiar face. Or rather, a familiar body. The Antinium still looked alike to her, but she could recognize Klbkch by his lack of four arms and slimmer physique. The Antinium nodded to Erin as he entered the inn.

He was joined by the other Antinium Rags recognized—Pawn. He was a good player, almost as good as Rags, but she scowled when she saw the third person who entered the inn.

The Drake.

He made much the same face when he saw Rags.

“Oh good. The stinking Goblin’s back.”

“Hey!”

Erin propped her hands on her hips as Rags stared at the Drake. He looked at her once without any trace of emotion, and then smiled and talked to Erin.

Rags listened impatiently. The two Antinium and one Drake weren’t alone. They’d brought twelve other Workers with them. And they were here for…

Chess?

No. But it seemed they wanted to play chess like they had before. Yet Rags knew the Workers who had played in the inn before, and all these Workers were new to her. They behaved differently, and with Klbkch in the room, they acted…differently.

“Well of course! I mean, I agreed to it and I love to play chess so why not? And I’ve got enough boards so…”

Erin began organizing the Workers while Rags stared at the black-bodied Antinium. Something was off. She couldn’t place her finger on it, but she had a sense this was different.

“Rags? Sorry, but I’ve got to teach some chess. You could play a game with me to demonstrate if you want.”

Rags had no interest in a game where Erin would stop every move to explain what was happening. She sat in her chair, watching suspiciously as Erin first ran through the rules of the game and then had the Workers pair up and play.

It was the same, but not. Rags remembered learning chess, and this was…different. The Drake yawned as he leaned against one wall and tried to chat with Ceria, but the two other Antinium watched.

And as the games between the Workers began, Rags knew something was wrong. It showed in every move, and soon Erin realized it as well. She saw the girl frowning, and knew the games would soon stop.

But Rags had no real interest in the whys and wherefores of why this was all wrong. She’d come here to relax, possibly to level up, but to learn something and…and figure out what to do next. Instead, she was stuck in an inn watching other people play chess – badly – and with the Drake.

Every now and then he would glance at her, and she would stare back. His gaze sent wriggling worms into her stomach, but she knew he was just as bothered by her stare. And as it happened, he had less patience than she did.

“Hey, mind if I toss this Goblin outside? She keeps staring at me.”

Erin was talking to Klbkch, but she looked over long enough to scowl at the Drake.

“Don’t be a jerk.”

He made a face at her, but desisted. For a few seconds. Then he casually propelled himself off the wall and ambled over to Rags. She tensed up.

The Drake stopped, standing over the table and staring down at Rags. He was grinning, but not in a friendly way. He bent his head and spoke quietly to Rags.

“I went looking for your little nest, but looks like you lot ran away. Lucky you; if you’d stayed I’d be turning in Goblin ears to the Adventurer’s Guild by now.”

She remained stock-still, fighting not to show any emotion. The Drake stared at her, and she saw the malice in his eyes. It was a familiar look, one she’d seen often.

“Of course, you’re too afraid to do anything than hide in this inn. If Erin weren’t here, I’d bet you’d be too scared to get within a hundred miles of Liscor.”

Rags bit her lip. She wanted to say something—do something. Anger was boiling in her gut, but he was dangerous. She knew it. Say nothing. Do nothing. Wait until Erin looked around.

“You lot are all cowards. The second I raise my spear, you run away. Makes it easier to catch you, I guess.”

Rags snapped. She looked up at the Drake, and saw his smile. Rags’ lips pursed, and then she spat.

A glob of spit landed on the Drake’s arm. He blinked down at it, and she saw his eyes narrow.

—Rags woke up on the floor, head spinning and jaw in agony. She tried to sit up and fell back. Something was ringing loudly in her ears, and her teeth felt…loose.

Above her she could hear angry voices. The Drake was holding up two hands, shrugging his shoulders as Erin shouted at him.

“—dare you! How could you do that to her?”

“She spat on me.”

“You’re four times her size! And you’re a guardsman! You’re not supposed to hurt innocent people!”

“Innocent? People? It’s a Goblin.”

The Drake pointed at Rags as she slowly got up. Erin was red in the face as she yelled at him.

“Why are you doing this? You’ve never had a problem with her before!”

Rags saw the Drake’s eyes narrow.

“I didn’t have a problem? I didn’t visit your inn, remember? That’s because I didn’t want to come to this inn and see those filthy little bastards running around!”

For a second Erin hesitated, but she refused to back down.

“But you came here. And I have rules. The sign says—”

“‘No killing Goblins’. Right, right. But I didn’t kill her. And anyways, who cares what the sign says? You’re not part of Liscor, and I’m an officer of the Watch. My responsibility is to kill Goblins and other pests. You can’t stop me from doing it.”

He pointed at Rags and she flinched. Erin just stared at him for a few seconds, and then her voice was soft.

“Why are you doing this? Why now? What’s wrong with her coming in here to play chess? What’s so different?”

“It’s different because Klb’s back, and our orders are to get rid of these things. And we will, believe me. The instant they start attacking travelers—”

Erin shot an anguished glance at Rags. Yes, there it was. Ceria had spoken the truth. Rags saw the half-Elf standing at the other end of the room. Her fingers were glowing, but Pisces was holding her back. Good. The Drake could kill them all quite easily. Just like Gazi.

“Relc. I will be fine. There is no need for you to act on my behalf.”

Klbkch said the words calmly, and Erin chimed in as Relc shook his head.

“Rags is just a kid. You can’t hurt kids—or anyone who’s not dangerous! She’s a friend.”

He glared at Rags.

“Great. So now I’m the bad guy because I’m the only person here with a brain? The Goblins aren’t your friends. They’ll stab you in the back first chance they get! Stupid little—”

He kicked out. The Goblin barely saw the foot before the table she had been sitting on flipped over. She cried out and tried to get out of the way. The edge of the table crashed into the ground, nearly crushing her stomach as Rags rolled aside just in time.

“Relc! You do that again and—”

The Drake looked at Erin and she froze. He pointed at Rags, and spoke with icy calm.

“I see this thing anywhere near Klb or the city, and I’ll cut it down.”

Rags stared at him, and knew he meant every word. She stared up at him, and felt heaviness settle over her.

There was no safe place. Not even here. She’d been relying on Erin, but she couldn’t stop the Drake with words. He was strong. She was weak.

She wanted to run. It was the same feeling she’d gotten, only magnified tenfold.

She was small. And when the Drake was looking at her, Rags could see the same sight. Always the same moment in her head.

A fleeing back, a blur of movement. The Goblin’s chest explodes as Rags hides in the grass, and the Drake crows in triumph as he severs the head. Neatly. So neatly.

The Goblin child hides in the grass, wide-eyed, trembling, watching staring at the torso. Such a familiar thing, but alien. How many times did those hands pick her up when she’d fallen? But the body is bloody now, and lifeless.

The child does not cry. She waits for death as the second one who raised her is cut down feet away. And then a third Goblin. She waits for the Drake to find her, but he only saw three. Three Goblins, and a child they left so they could steal from a lone human.

She hides in the grass, trying to be as small as possible. If she is small, he won’t find her. If she pretends not to exist, he will not hear her heart beating.

The bloody torso sits in the grass with her throughout the night and in the next day, slowly rotting and stinking. Until the human comes.

Reality hit Rags in the same moment the memory flashed through her mind. She felt it, the same fear as before. But never. Never again.

She couldn’t allow it. So Rags stared at Relc. His eyes were murder.

But she—

She drew her sword.

“Rags!”

The small Goblin trembled as she faced Relc. He towered above her, muscled, deadly. She was afraid. She was going to die. She remembered the dead, and wanted to run, to scream and hide, to cower. But she stood, holding her sword.

She would not be small again.

“See? What did I tell you? I’d be doing you a favor, getting rid of this thing right now.”

The Drake’s spear was in his hands. Rags hadn’t even seen him move. She knew he could run her through in an instant, but she couldn’t back down. Wouldn’t.

He was stronger, faster, more deadly. But if she kept running from him, she’d never stop. She couldn’t. She couldn’t be small any longer.

She looked at the Drake and thought of his name. Relc. She would remember it until she died. Whether it was now or in ten thousand years.

Relc. She would not forgive him. He was her enemy.

“Come on. Take a cut at me. I’ll even let you get the first three shots. Then it’s my turn.”

Relc beckoned with one hand. Rags wanted to do it. She wanted to strike, but then he’d kill her. She stood in a deadlock. She would not run. But she wouldn’t die ever. Not yet. Not—

“Stop. That.”

Erin’s voice was a cold piece of iron in the heat of the room. She walked in front of Rags and Relc and stared the Drake down.

“Get out of my inn. And if you touch Rags—”

“You’ll what? Hit me?”

Relc sneered at Erin. He spread his arms, daring her to take a shot.

“You can’t stop me. Not you, not that Goblin—not even you, Klb, so take your hand off the sword.”

Klbkch said something, but Relc wasn’t looking at him. He was still staring at Rags, and she knew that he was waiting for her to make a move. But she wasn’t looking at him, but rather, something above his head.

Rags looked up. Something blue and indistinct was hovering over the Drake’s head. His eyes narrowed as he followed the path of her vision and he looked up.

“Oh for—buzz off you stupid thing!”

He swiped at it, but the fuzzy creature dodged out of the way effortlessly. They always did. But as Relc raised his hand to chase it away again, Rags felt the air freeze, and then the Drake’s entire body was covered in frost.

“Graaaaaaah!”

Even the Drake wasn’t immune to cold. He clawed at his scales, and the Winter Sprite hovered around him again. He snapped at it with his mouth, but no sooner did he do so than the air seemed to get even colder, and his mouth was suddenly full of snow.

Icicles fell from the ceiling, materializing out of nowhere. Relc spat out snow, and nearly got an eyeful of ice. He roared in fury and slammed out of the door as the Winter Sprite chased him, letting the cold air blow in from outside.

“Wha—”

Erin was staring at the place he’d gone, but then she turned towards Rags, full of concern.

“Rags! Are you alright?”

She reached for the Goblin, but Rags stepped away. But Erin ignored that and reached out to inspect Rags’ face.

“Stop that. He hit you, didn’t he? I can’t believe that! How do you feel? Do you need an ice pack…some ice? Is anything broken?”

Rags pushed the hands away and shook her head. Erin tried to fuss over her, but Rags didn’t need it. She heard Klbkch speaking.

“I will make apologies for my partner, Erin Solstice, and to you, Rags. I believe he cares about me, and you. But he fought in the Goblin Wars and thinks of Goblins as enemies…”

Rags barely heard the rest. She sat back at the table, shaking. Her jaw ached. The flesh was already swelling, but that wasn’t important.

She’d done it. She’d actually done it. She’d stood up to him. She hadn’t run.

She wasn’t small.

“Rags? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

Rags looked up. Erin was back, trying to fuss over her. Again, Rags had to fend her off. But Erin kept coming back, hovering over her, anxious, fussing.

Just like the Goblins who Relc had killed. Rags could barely remember that time. Barely, but—

After a while, she slid under the table. Not because she wanted to hide; but because she couldn’t bear Erin coming over to ask how she was every few minutes.

No one saw her move. Rags was small. She was invisible, as Goblins were. No one looked at Goblins except as a threat or a pest. Only one person stared at them, and she—

—She was different. But she was busy, and so Rags sat under the table and thought.

Vengeance. Hatred. She would never seek revenge, even with the rest of her tribe it was suicide. No, now was a time for cold thought. The Watch was out for her tribe, but that meant she had to make the choice, and quickly.

Where could they go? The only ways were north or south, and south led to the Blood Fields and the Broken Spear tribe had sent her the threat of death with her messenger. They would fall upon her people and slaughter them should she go south.

North, then. The Red Fang tribe was marginally more accepting, or rather, indifferent to her tribe, but that would quickly turn to bloodshed as well if she stayed in their territory. So what could she do?

Think. Think logically about the threats she faced. Rags concentrated. What was more dangerous, staying here and facing the Watch or risking the wrath of the Red Fang tribe and monsters further north?

Even without the Drake—no, Relc, his name was Relc—the Red Fang Tribe was no match for the Watch. There were nearly a hundred guardsmen—well, some were always on the walls and many stayed inside the city—but the ones who went on patrols were stronger than Goblins by far. Even if not all of them were a match for a Hob one-on-one, they fought together, with discipline and intelligence.

Besides, the Red Fang Tribe would break themselves on Liscor’s walls. That was the real advantage the Watch had. They could defend easily and come out to attack in force at any time. If you make it an equal battleground, perhaps there was a chance…

But with Relc, there was not. He could kill four Hobs by himself, Rags was certain. In speed, strength, and especially his iron skin, he was another kind of creature, closer to a monster himself than anything else.

The Red Fang Tribe it was, then.

So then what? Did she bring the fight to them? How? The Red Fang Tribe numbered nearly a thousand, not even including the smaller tribes that paid them tribute. Rags had one special new type of weapon, some acid jars and explosive bark. How was she supposed to fight that?

But cause trouble and death would come for her tribe. So Rags would be ground to pieces with the Watch on one side and the Red Fang Tribe on the other. The dungeon—she couldn’t risk it yet. So how…?

Small. She was small. But she had faced Relc and not run away. Rags remembered it. She remembered the trembling fear, the knowledge of death. But she’d stood tall. She hadn’t run. She had been mortally afraid but in that moment—

She hadn’t been small.

And in that moment, Rags knew what she had to do.

“Rags?”

The Goblin jumped. Erin’s head had appeared between two chair legs.

“There you are. Look, come on out. No one’s going to hurt you, I promise.”

As if Rags cared about that. She came out anyways, though. Erin touched at Rags’ face in concern, and asked her unimportant questions. But the knowledge was burning within Rags. The feeling.

She knew.

“I guess you’re okay. I’m just so sorry this happened. Look, let me give you some food or—or let’s play a game of chess.”

Rags shook her head. There was no time. She pointed towards the door, and Erin looked at it.

“You want to—of course. You can come back at any time, though, okay? It will be safe here.”

A wonderful lie. Or perhaps—Rags hesitated, looking at Erin. Perhaps she would make it true. But that wasn’t where salvation lay. That wasn’t where Rags could grow.

She shook her head, and pointed at the door again.

“Sure, sure. I know you’re busy. You’re going to go off and…”

Erin hesitated, and frowned.

“What do Goblins do all day when they’re not…trying to stab me or foraging for food?”

Rags looked up at Erin. And then she smiled.

“…You smile? I don’t get it.”

—-

The Jawbreaker Tribe was a small tribe of Goblins closest to Liscor. Besides the Flooded Waters Tribe, of course. In truth, both tribes were small-fry even among Goblins. But the Jawbreaker clan was one of those who paid regular tribute to the Red Fang Tribe, and so they enjoyed a modicum of protection.

Even so, they rested in a secluded grove of trees far away from any settlements, in a small valley where they wouldn’t be so easily noticed. The tribe was mostly asleep at this time of day—just before dawn.

It was winter, and cold was in the air. No Goblin wanted to be up, especially since being up meant scavenging all day for food, or chasing reindeer or other animals miles through the snow. Food might mean survival or death, but it didn’t mean they had to be proactive about it.

Their Chief thought the same way. Rockgaw, an approximate translation of his name from the Goblin’s language, was just waking up as the sunlight hit his face. He was a Hob, one of two in the tribe. He was the stronger of the two, but just by one or two levels, and he was lazy as well.

But even Rockgaw’s inclination to sleep couldn’t keep him abed when the sunlight was filtering down from over the hill top. He’d chosen the valley so it would take longer for the sun to reach him, but Rockgaw always felt the light was far too early.

He yawned, sat up, and looked around at his tribe as he scratched at his loincloth. Rockgaw pushed himself to his feet—

—And because Rags had no sense of the dramatic moment, that was when the crossbow bolt exited his spine and nailed his corpse to the ground.

The other Goblins in the tribe looked up and around. In the shocked silence, Rags gave the order to fire.

Clay bullets rained down from above, striking Goblins and sending the camp into chaos. Rags slowly loaded the black crossbow with another bolt and waited. Pound the enemy. Harass their flanks. She looked at the rows of Goblins holding crossbows and smiled.

Experiment. Change. Evolve. Oh, and pillage, steal, and stab in the back. That was the Goblin way.

The north was hers. The Red Fang tribe might control the local Goblins, but Rags had new weapons, new ideas, and most importantly, a new base to fight from. She could win. She would win.

She would claim the northern territory if the south was too dangerous. Rags would become stronger. She would level. And then, when she was ready she would explore the dungeon again. She would create a tribe large enough to kill the Drake and oppose the Watch. She would gather enough Goblins to remember what drove the Goblin King into such a rage.

She would grow. Until she could defeat the strange person who played chess from far away. Until she could beat Erin herself.

Rags had a list. She raised the crossbow, sighted at the Hob who came charging uphill and fired. Not at his head; lower down. At his second head, as it were.

She would not lose here, or ever. She had to be bigger, stronger. She would learn, and be merciful. To survive, Rags would be anything.

The Hob clasped the stricken area and collapsed to the ground. Rags eyed the object she’d partially severed with her bolt. Not too merciful; she was a Goblin after all.

But she could do it, Rags knew. She would do it. No matter what it took.

She would never die.

2.20

When Ryoka finished her run, she found Erin and Olesm sitting around the chessboard, discussing chess. She, Val, and Hawk stopped to watch the two.

If running was their world, Erin and Olesm belonged to the silent, mystifying world of chess. It reminded Ryoka a bit of religion, only instead of an altar or text, Erin and Olesm used a chessboard.

But then, would playing chess be the equivalent of prayer? And what was blasphemy? Flipping the board? And why was Ryoka taking this analogy so far?

She coughed into one hand. Olesm and Erin didn’t even look up.

“See, that’s when I knew he was pushing with the left side and trying to set me up for a pin. Here. So I did this and…”

“Ah! That’s when he made the blunder!”

“Right. But even if he didn’t, I would have taken a pawn and taken an advantage for the endgame. Which is where it would have gone if he hadn’t opened himself up like that.”

Olesm was busy writing on pieces of parchment as Erin explained. At least she looked happy. Ryoka still wasn’t sure about the advisability of playing chess with someone unknown but—

Trust. She had to trust Erin. Not with everything, but at least with this.

Ryoka coughed again, louder. Then she gave up.

“Erin.”

Erin looked up. She caught sight of Val and Hawk, and her eyes widened.

“Oh! Oh!”

Olesm looked round and nearly dropped his quill.

“Is that Hawk? What are you doing here?”

Hawk smiled as he and Val stepped into the room. Ryoka was displeased to note that they weren’t even sweating.

“We had a morning run, and Hawk and I were thinking of staying here for a chat. Unless you’re busy with your…game?”

“What? The chess? Oh, no. We’ve got lots of tables.”

Erin hovered around the two Couriers as they chose a table on the other side of the room. She kept staring at Hawk, and Ryoka knew she wanted to pet him. Erin was complex in many ways, but her hand was twitching.

“Can I…get you two anything? Breakfast? An early lunch? Snacks?”

“Can I have a hamburger?”

Hawk looked wistfully at Erin. Val groaned.

“Anything but a hamburger. How about those potato strips?”

“French fries? Sure! One hamburger and fries coming up. You want ketchup? Everyone wants ketchup.”

Ryoka looked at Olesm as Erin bustled around. The Drake was still writing on the parchment. Chess…notation?

“Now would be a good time for you to use your head, idiot.”

Olesm looked up.

“Hm? I’m sorry, were you speaking to me, Ryoka?”

“No. Myself.”

He went back to writing. Ryoka tried to clear her mind. She’d had her morning run, and that was helping dispel the effects of last night’s partying and drinking.

Now—concentrate. What was he doing? Writing things down. Obviously. Try to think a bit harder than pre-school level analysis. No, if Olesm was writing down Erin’s chess game—presumably against the other player—and given her comments about an equal game…

Erin was considered better than anyone else…

Ah. He was making a record of chess games. That was again, obvious. But Ryoka could see him making commentary notes on another sheet. And you only did that when…

“A newsletter. Or magazine.”

Olesm looked up again.

“Hm?”

“Sorry. Just thinking aloud.”

“It’s quite fascinating, isn’t it? Erin is a brilliant player and her opponent—”

“I imagine you must level quite often, playing her.”

The Drake made a face Ryoka could only describe as ruefully awkward.

“Not that much. But you’re right. I did level up quite a bit, and quite quickly too!”

Great. So Erin was helping whoever was on the other side of the world. Ryoka eyed the parchment. Would reading chess strategy help other [Tacticians]? For that matter, why was chess so good for [Tacticians] anyways? It was a game. One that involved strategy, true, but not…

“Oh my god.”

“That’s an interesting phrase. Most humans just say ‘dead gods’.”

Ryoka didn’t answer. That was it. Think for five seconds and you could figure out one of the critical truths of this world. This system of leveling had not been created by someone from Ryoka and Erin’s world, from Earth.

If what Ryoka thought was true. She had to ask.

“Olesm.”

He looked at her, quill poised above the parchment.

“Yes?”

“Are you familiar with most classes? I mean, I assume there are rare classes, but you know all of the ones people normally receive, don’t you?”

He hesitated.

“To an extent. I do ask about classes so I can use them if I need to coordinate with the Watch, so you could say that. Why? Was there one you were interested in?”

“Are there any classes for people who play…games? Board games, I mean?”

Olesm frowned and tapped his chin with the quill, ignoring the spots it left on his scales.

“Board games…we don’t really have that many. There are checkers, of course, and I know there are games that [Tacticians] have invented like chess…but none other that I can think of. Kids mostly play games like tailpuck or beanbag throwing.”

“Any classes related to that? A…class that involves playing against others for fun?”

“[Gambler]? Um…I’ve heard of some people getting the [Layabout] class or [Idler] class depending on what people call it, but that’s something that usually only applies to the aristocracy, you know, fourth sons and all that. Otherwise I suppose the [Tactician] class is the only one that fits.”

“I thought so. Thanks.”

“No problem. Glad I could help?”

Ryoka left Olesm to his game, thinking hard. She was right. It explained everything.

Question. Why did [Tacticians] level up from playing chess? Perhaps a few levels could be explained by the idea of strategy, feints, and so on, but that kind of rapid growth? No. It made no sense, especially not for a class that should be gaining experience from commanding armies and making dangerous decisions.

Yes, normally if you were going to level it should be in some kind of board game playing class, only there wasn’t one. And that was why Olesm and the others were leveling, and also why Erin wasn’t.

Because there was no [Gamer] class. And whoever had designed the initial system hadn’t thought of—no, perhaps it was the culture which hadn’t yet adapted to the idea of someone who just played casual games without a tactical or gambling focus. Erin thought of the game as casual; not something that she should gain a [Tactician] class from. But Olesm and the others looked on it as something different.

Which meant that Erin and Ryoka by themselves didn’t constitute enough of a group to define a new class, if that were even possible. The idea of pre-defined classes made by the creator of this leveling system might not gel with culture defining classes—Ryoka decided to table that idea for now as unconfirmed.

But it all made sense. It was a loophole in the system.

And she had no way to exploit it, unless she decided she wanted to play chess. And even then, probably only Erin would gain the benefits if she stopped looking at it as a game.

But that wasn’t the truly frightening thing. What was truly frightening was the secondary thought that had sprung into Ryoka’s mind as she stared at the chessboard.

Was it an accident? Or…was it on purpose. Chess. It had just been invented in this world, and it was gaining popularity among [Tacticians]. Enough so that one person had sent an expensive chessboard across the world, paying probably thousands of gold coins for the board, delivery, and so on.

Because they loved chess? Or because they knew it would help them level up if they found a worthy opponent?

Did the person who invented chess know they’d found a way to peacefully, easily level up their class? Or was it coincidence?

And what the hell should Ryoka do about the chessboard?

She considered her options. They weren’t numerous, and most of them would lead to Erin pitching a fit, even if the board ‘disappeared’ by accident. And the dangers…

True, it would help one person. But considering them an enemy because they might be using this to their advantage wasn’t wise. For all they knew, they were benefiting Erin as much as themselves, and that was if Ryoka’s darkest fears were completely on a level.

At any rate, Erin’s skill made her noteworthy, and more importantly, valuable. Was it better to be valuable and noticed or hidden and secret? She’d already sent the letter, and it would invite more problems to stop now.

Let her play was Ryoka’s plan of action, but she resolved to talk with Erin as soon as possible. Right after—

“Hey, do you want some fries?”

Ryoka nearly jumped out of her skin. Erin stepped back to avoid Ryoka knocking the big platter of golden, crispy, french fries. Ryoka stared at them.

“That was fast.”

“Yeah, it’s this new skill I got! [Advanced Cooking]. It makes preparing everything so easy, and look!”

Erin held up the plate in front of Ryoka. Each fry had been cooked until the skins were golden-brown, and Ryoka could just imagine the crunch. And hear it, because she’d tried one.

“This is good.”

“I know, right? So much better than the ones I made the first time! Skills are awesome!”

There was no denying that. Awesome. And scary.

“Anyways, I made a ton since I want to eat while I play with Olesm. Too bad they’re so greasy, but I bet the pieces won’t even take the grease!”

Erin beamed as she pointed to the magic chessboard and the ghostly pieces. Yes, that was Erin. Give her a magical chessboard capable of playing anyone around the world and she thought it was nifty because she wouldn’t get food on the chess pieces.

…Actually, if Ryoka could do that with clothing she wouldn’t mind forking over as much gold as necessary. Erin carried the food over to Val and Hawk, much to their approval and called out over her shoulder.

“Oh yeah, I forgot! Ceria’s upstairs, Ryoka!”

“What?”

Ryoka looked over, confused.

“She’s back already?”

They’d barely been gone for two hours, even with their discussion about dangerous places and monsters to avoid. Erin nodded.

“Yeah, she said she wanted to rest. But I’m sure she’s still awake. You could invite her for…french fry brunch! Or let her sleep if she’s napping.”

“I might do that.”

Ryoka left Erin behind as the innkeeper happily went back to the game with Olesm and the Couriers began eating. The taste of the french fry lingered in Ryoka’s mouth. It wasn’t quite a McDonald’s fry, but damn it, it was close. Skills were the scariest thing in the world if they could let Erin do that.

“And maybe they’ll change me, too.”

Absolute power corrupts absolutely. But what did…changes like classes and levels do to people? Empower? Or turn them into unstoppable bullies who picked on the weak?

Ryoka knew what it would do to people from her world. She’d seen the Stanford Prison experiment footage.

But people were different here. Some were better. Or maybe it was just that Ryoka noticed they were better. It might be that there were monsters, actual monsters to fight, or that people had to risk their lives. Those who went through trials might strip away some of the things that burdened people like Ryoka, might make themselves different.

Ryoka pushed open the door and stopped.

Or—perhaps they were altogether too alien for Ryoka to ever comprehend.

Ceria sat on the bed the Antinium had helped construct, in the light from the window, her features fair, her hair caught in the sun. Sometimes Ryoka forgot that half of her ancestry was immortal. Long dead, yes, but the flickers of her unearthly nature made Ceria so unique at times.

At others, she was just like any human. But Ryoka had never asked her about her parents. And—

She had the sense that it was something she shouldn’t ask for a long time, anyways. Not if what Ryoka thought was true. Cause and effect. Predictability.

The world was made of sad stories.

Such as these.

Ceria turned as she heard Ryoka step into the room. She wiped at her eyes, but didn’t pretend she hadn’t been crying.

“Ryoka. Sorry, I didn’t know you were back.”

“Something wrong?”

“Where should I start?”

Ceria laughed. She held up her skeletal hand mockingly, and shook her head.

“No. It’s not that. It’s Yvlon. She’s awake.”

For a second Ryoka had to remember, and then she recalled the female adventurer captain who wore silver armor. She felt a pang of guilt, remembering Yvlon had been at the Adventurer’s Guild and she’d only visited her once. But—

“Is she okay?”

“Her body is. They fixed most of the injuries she got, but she’s—scarred. But her mind…”

Ceria shook her head, despairingly.

“She just woke up. When she saw me, I thought—she blames herself.”

“Ah.”

It said it all, really. Ryoka listened to the sound of the same tragic story replaying itself out behind Ceria’s words.

“I had to leave because she was getting agitated. But she knows almost no one’s left. And the insurance—”

“The gold for the families of the dead?”

“Yes. We can’t pay it. I mean, she’s the only captain left, and her squad perished entirely in the Ruins. There are about eight others who made it, and they’ve scattered to the winds. And all our equipment was seized by the Watch.”

“And how does she feel about what happened?”

Ceria raised her shoulders slightly, and let them drop.

“How do you think? She blames herself for everything, never mind that Skinner ambushed us. But she wouldn’t calm down, and we had to get people to stop her before she injured herself. I had to go.”

The news had affected the half-Elf, Ryoka could see. But as to making Ceria feel better—

Ryoka looked to the stairs, wondering if she could call Erin. If not for support, at least for advice. Ceria noticed her look and shook her head.

“I’m fine. I wouldn’t want to disturb…whatever she and Olesm are doing.”

“Not having sex, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Ceria half-choked. Ryoka stared at her, eyebrows raised.

“I—”

She hesitated.

“About Olesm…it was—”

“Forget it. I didn’t come here to ask about that. And I don’t want to bother you. But if it’s a problem, I’d rather ask now before you melt Erin’s face off.”

“It’s freeze, actually. I’m not good at fire spells. And I wouldn’t do that.”

Ceria sighed and settled back on her bed, gesturing for Ryoka to take a seat. The girl rejoiced internally; she’d gotten the topic away from adventurers and death. Smooth conversationalist, Ryoka was not.

“Slime molds, I’d nearly forgotten about last night…look, I’m not sure what Olesm thinks. But if Erin’s interested in him—”

“She’s not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Fairly. It would be obvious, wouldn’t you imagine?”

“I would. But Olesm likes her.”

“Right. And you like Olesm.”

“A bit.”

Ceria smiled, and Ryoka had to ask.

“So?”

“Ryoka, I’m not saying anything. Just…it was good. And I like him for more reasons than just him saving my life, although that helps. We spent days down there with only each other to talk to. Whisper, really.”

“I’m not judging. But I wonder if others will.”

Ceria lost her slight smile, and Ryoka regretted saying that. But it was a good point.

“I wonder…we’ll see. I’m not even sure if there is a next time or anything. But…”

She sighed.

“Enough about him. He likes chess, and I’m sure he’s honest. He and Erin can stare at that board all day, but I’m not going to. What did you come here to ask about?”

“Magic. But if you don’t feel like it I can…”

“No, no. Now’s a good time as any.”

Ceria waved her hand and moved awkwardly to face Ryoka. She let her skeletal hand sit in her lap as she spoke. It was still hard to ignore, but Ryoka tried to meet Ceria’s eyes without turning it into a staring contest. It was awkward; she’d rarely had a long conversation at close-range. Or at any range, really.

“I suppose it was wrong of me to teach you a single spell and just leave you, but I was assuming you’d gain a level or two in the [Mage] class, and you’d be able to learn a few more spells from your level ups. But I guess that’s not going to happen, is it?”

“Not really. Is…that a problem? Can you not learn some spells or magic without a class?”

Ceria shook her head.

“No. It just makes things harder, that’s all. Leveling up is a great way to learn a new spell, and it’s so much faster than teaching yourself.”

She drummed the fingers of her good hand on her leggings.

“So, where shall we begin? If you want a formal education, I advise you to pull up a seat next to Pisces and wait for about a year. I can’t teach you what I learned in Wistram, but I can teach you some spells, if you want.”

“Anything you can do is fine by me. But I don’t know any of the basics of magic. How wands work, how spells work…”

“Wands amplify your magic. They have stored energy which may or may not restore itself over time. Depends on the quality of the wand—some contain spells that you can trigger once or multiple times.”

“Fine. Then how about artifacts?”

“Think wand, only usually with recharging mana and deeper reserves. Also, if you ever get one, never tell anyone you have it because some people will kill for it. Or offer you a king’s ransom.”

“Spells? I’d like to learn some.”

“Got a month?”

Ceria raised an eyebrow and Ryoka had to smile.

“You taught me [Light] in a day. Can’t you teach me another one?”

“If I know it. Or Pisces might help, but he’s finicky. Which one did you want to learn?”

Ryoka had a list. She’d thought it over, and if she could learn any, there were three she’d desperately love to know.

“How about [Detect Magic], [Fireball], and [Haste]?”

Ceria rolled her eyes.

“Everyone wants to know how to cast [Fireball]. Well, you’re out of luck. I can’t cast it unaided, and neither can Pisces. I used a wand for that when I had to cast the spell. But I do know [Ice Spike]. Trouble is, you probably won’t be able to cast it without a wand.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s a matter of shaping the energy. Oh, I could cast the spell once, but the backlash would hurt. Maybe if I had a better skill or more levels…plus, it’s Tier 3.”

“Which means it will take a long time to learn?”

“At your level, a year. No offense, but you’re a novice. [Detect Magic] is Tier 3 too, and [Haste]…no.”

“What’s wrong with that spell?”

“There are Tiers of magic. I explained this, didn’t I? Right, well, you could consider the spell you want to learn – [Haste] as a Tier 4 spell. No—wait, is it Tier 5? I don’t know, sorry.”

“Does that mean I can’t learn it?”

“No, you can learn it. Or rather, you have the potential to. It’s just…I can cast Tier 3 magic at best. Tier 4 – it’s possible, but I’d need a spellbook and weeks—maybe months to learn the spell at my level. Maybe I could learn it in a week if I had a tutor, but if I’m teaching myself…”

Ceria shook her head.

“It’s about time and effort. Put enough into a spell and you can master it. But there are limits. If I wanted to learn a spell like [Grand Fireball], it would take me years even if I knew how the spell was supposed to go. My magic isn’t at the level where I can understand it yet, and I’m not well-versed in fire magic anyways.”

“Right. So it’s not worth the effort?”

“It’s totally worth the effort, but I don’t have a spellbook. Why do you think I adventure for a living? It’s certainly not for my health.”

Ceria tapped her finger on knee, thinking.

“Pisces knows one Tier 4 spell, and that’s [Invisibility]. I remember him learning it – it nearly killed him and he studied every night for at least two hours for a month before he got it down. And he’s a genius. An arrogant, insufferable one, but he learned [Invisibility] when he was Level 18. He leveled twice from learning it.”

“So leveling for mages allows them to comprehend spells faster? Like [Grand Fireball]?”

“Well, assuming I gained ten levels overnight…yes. It would be far, far easier for me to learn. On the other hand, if I somehow…figured out how the spell works, I could learn it just as easily.”

Ryoka frowned. It sounded like magic was definitely not a linear thing. From what she remembered of learning [Light], it was almost closer to…reaching a mathematical revelation, solving a formula, or something of that nature. She let Ceria go on.

“Anyways, as a general guide, Tier 3 magic is good for fighting, so long as you’re not going after anything too deadly. [Ice Spike] for instance is Tier 3. There’s a derivative spell – [Ice Shard] that’s Tier 2. [Frozen Wind] is Tier 1, although I know Pisces can make the spell a lot stronger than it’s supposed to be.”

“And [Light]? Tier 1?”

“Well, I’d call it Tier 0 if I could, honestly. It’s one of the most basic magics people learn. Making light, making heat…[Spark] is another example.”

That made sense, and Ryoka was tempted to ask about [Spark], but—

“You can add magic to a spell? How?”

“Like this. Didn’t I show you?”

Ceria raised her hand and a familiar orb of bright yellow light appeared in her hand, a soft sun. She flicked the orb of golden light at Ryoka. The girl raised a hand reflexively and the light splashed around her hand, fading away as Ryoka’s eyes widened in amazement. She’d felt nothing when the light struck her flesh.

“You can throw it, but only a really good mage can control it at a distance. Same with size; you can add more mana to make the light bigger or give it a different shape, but these are just exercises. They help with your ability to control spells, but it’s just light in the end.”

“How about brightness? Can you make it as bright as the sun?”

“You can do the spell. You tell me.”

Ryoka concentrated. Ceria hadn’t even said [Light] to create the orb, but for some reason, Ryoka couldn’t do the same.

“[Light].”

The orb drifted up out of her palm. It was just as bright as normal; no brighter. Ryoka frowned at it.

“How do I—?”

Wait, that was a stupid question. Who asked for the answer to everything? Ryoka closed her eyes, concentrating, and then the orb grew brighter behind her eyelids.

“Huh. That was…quick.”

It was tiring to add more energy to the spell. Ryoka focused though, and the orb grew brighter…brighter…

But not that bright. Ceria was shading her eyes, but it wasn’t as if she was in any danger of going blind. Ryoka sensed she might be able to increase the light of the sphere, but she didn’t want to risk anything.

She let the orb disappear. That was another trick she’d just figured out. It was like pushing or pulling, but maybe absorbing and releasing were better ways of thinking of how she could control the power within her.

Whichever it was, the sensation was in a part of Ryoka’s mind she hadn’t even realized existed. Was…magic just like tonsils or an appendix? Something long forgotten?

“That was impressive. It’s hard to imagine something that bright. I can’t do it, myself.”

“Imagine?”

Ceria nodded.

“Mages can’t form spells based off of nothing. The images in our heads become spells. So I can make the light spell really bright, but not as bright as, say, the sun.”

She raised her hand and another orb of light appeared. It turned a bright white as well, but not as bright as Ryoka’s.

“Guess I don’t look at bright things that often, huh? And I’ve never seen the sun up close so I have no real idea what it looks like. The fact that it is so bright makes it hard to envision. What did you look at to see something so bright?”

Floodlights at parties. Police lights. Car headlights, and the sun, yes, because she was stupid when she was a kid.

“Fire, and stuff like that. Ah, you’re saying that I can learn a spell better if I understand what goes into it?”

“Well, I suppose you could say that. Most mages have specialties—something they understand. Myself, I understand the cold. Spent a few winters in the snow and ice, and I’ve always liked snowflakes. But I’ve studied icicles as well, and…well, it just means spells like [Ice Spike] make more sense to me.”

She nodded at the orb of light in her hands.

“You can probably figure out the rest yourself, but I’ll teach you how to manipulate the [Light] spell. But as for [Haste] and [Fireball], you’re on your own. If I hear of someone selling a spellbook with those ones in it, I’ll let you know, but if you’re buying an entire book for one spell…”

“It’s not worth it. Right.”

“Well, you could learn other spells within, but I was going to say it’s too expensive. Spellbooks with Tier 4 magic in them are way out of my price range, even back when I was with—with the Horns.”

That might be different soon. Ryoka wondered how much eight hundred gold would get her. Probably a Tier 1 spellbook, or Tier 2 at best. But magic…she was willing to spend as many sleepless nights as necessary for magic. But if she had a class, how fast would she learn it?

Ceria must have sensed Ryoka’s dilemma.

“I’m still not sure why you don’t like classes, but—well, I’ve said enough in the past. If you don’t want to do it that way, it’s fine. Magic requires study even with levels.”

Ryoka nodded, relieved. Another choice deferred. Not a good practice, but she could think it over all day and all week if she had to. The Wandering Inn was a good place to learn and stay.

Ceria pointed to Ryoka, and changed the orb of light in her hands into a square.

“If we’re going to practice, we might as well make it a complete lesson. Do the [Light] spell again. Now, clear your mind. Focus on the spell, and add as much power into it as possible. Let’s see how bright you can really make it.”

Ryoka did, and the two practiced until they heard the scream.

—-

“Aaaah! My eyes!”

Erin dropped the plate she was holding to cover her eyes, but when she looked down, Ceria had caught the plate and fries with a spell.

With her skeletal hand.

Erin stared as the room blurred around the tears and Ryoka and Ceria got up. Ceria tried to apologize. She was blinking quite rapidly, as was Ryoka.

“We were—practicing magic. How’s the chess game going?”

She didn’t get any response. Erin just pointed with her own hand, and both Ryoka and Ceria looked.

“Your hand!”

“What?”

Ceria blinked at her hand and then froze. Ryoka stared at the glowing tip of the bleached bones.

“I didn’t know you could move it.”

“I didn’t—I mean, I moved it before, but it was unconscious. Like this time.”

“It must be magic.”

Ryoka gave Erin a look, and she blushed.

“Okay, obvious. But I was wondering how it was staying together and y’know, not falling apart without skin and stuff.”

Ceria blinked.

“That’s true. I didn’t even think of that.”

“And you nearly put an ice spike through my head last time with it, so…it must move when you’re using a spell!”

Ryoka eyed Erin and looked between the two, but Ceria was nodding.

“When I channel magic it must—well, I hadn’t tried because I thought it was dead but maybe…”

She frowned at her hand. Ryoka and Erin saw nothing, but then the fingers twitched. And moved.

Ceria slowly closed the fingers into a fist, staring as the blackened skin and bones moved seamlessly. For Erin, it was the creepiest sight she’d ever seen; skeletons in biology class were one thing, but Ceria’s hand moved so naturally it was scary.

“Ancestors.”

Ceria breathed the words.

“Oh man, that’s amazing!”

Erin wanted to hug Ceria, but the floating fries were in the way, and she was afraid she’d break the mage’s concentration. Ryoka was smiling, too.

“That’s impressive. Does it hurt?”

Ceria shook her hand, but now she was smiling too.

“What’s really impressive is that I can cast magic with it more easily than with my other hand. I felt it when I caught that plate. It must be the bones.”

Erin didn’t get that, but Ryoka did, instantly.

“Half-Elf bones conduct magic more easily?”

Ceria paused.

“It’s…a secret. Don’t tell anyone, please.”

Ryoka immediately nodded, and Erin did likewise.

“Of course not. Totally. Um, thanks for getting the fries.”

“Fries?”

Ceria blinked, and only then seemed to remember the floating fries and plate in the air. She looked at Ryoka and Erin.

“Help me grab them? I can make them hover, but fine control is beyond me.”

In less than a minute, both girls had helped Ceria put the few remaining fries back on the plate, and had eaten more than half. They all went back downstairs to relay the good news to Olesm.

He was ecstatic, but then he had to show Ceria something which he clearly thought was equally important. He waved tightly-written parchment full of chess notation at Ceria, who just blinked at them. She wasn’t as impressed by his rendition of Erin’s game with the mystery opponent, either.

“Erin played a good game of chess? That’s good.”

“It’s more than good, Ceria. It’s…phenomenal! Incredible! It was—I’m sure whoever’s on the other side had to have leveled! I’ve never seen such playing. And I’ve got it written down here!”

He brandished the inky parchment at Ceria. She blinked at it, bemused.

“Looks intense.”

Ryoka was frowning at the board, Erin noticed. Did she want to play? But the running girl wasn’t interested in that.

“Are you two done playing for the moment?”

“I think so. I think whoever’s on the other side is busy, because they tapped the board twice with a pawn and then stopped. But I bet they’ll play me tomorrow. And they’re so good. Isn’t it great?”

“Wunderbar. But is the other player really that good?”

“They’re really, really good, Ryoka. The best I’ve met in—”

Erin hesitated, realizing she might be hurting Olesm’s feelings, but the Drake nodded.

“They’re the best I’ve seen, too. They must be a [Strategist]!”

“That’s a different type of [Tactician]?”

“No—it’s like a [Spearmaster]. They’re class changes that occur when you reach a certain level. You get specialized or…better skills.”

“Ah.”

Erin beamed, and she wondered when the mystery player would play her again. He’d won one game. Normally Erin didn’t feel bad about losing but—

It was a glorious day. She had french fries that were easy to make, Ceria and Olesm in her inn, and Val and Hawk and Ryoka as well!

But then the Couriers decided to leave, which was fine, and Olesm decided he needed to get back to the city as well. That still left Ceria and Ryoka, and Erin was happy to have them both here.

“What should we do? We can talk, or play games—other than chess—or we can go to the city or—”

“Hide.”

Ryoka was staring out a window. Erin followed her gaze and her heart sank just a little.

Frost Faeries were swarming around her inn, peering through the glass, making faces, and then—

Entering?

No. It couldn’t be. But as Erin watched in silent horror, the door slowly opened inwards to let a Frost Faerie into the room.

The small, azure creature looked around the room and smiled as Ryoka froze and Erin became a waxwork of horror. Ceria backed away until she was nearly towards the stairs, but too late. The Frost Faeries flew in.

They blasted in with a gust of cold air that put out the fire in the fireplace and reintroduced winter to Erin in a painful, freezing way. Ryoka and Erin covered their faces as icy particles stung their skin, and then the faeries were everywhere.

“Look, look! Two humans and a filthy halfling!”

“An inn! A place to rest and eat!”

“I shall have grilled pig! No! A grilled horse!”

“Look how they stand there, dumb and slow!”

“‘Tis without iron! Without pain!”

“What’s happening?”

Ceria shouted above the din of voices as Ryoka and Erin stared around. Faeries were everywhere, climbing walls, sitting on tables, upending plates—

“My kitchen! Hey! Stay out!”

Erin ran, waving her hands and shouting as faeries disappeared into the kitchen with shrieks of laughter and the sounds of breaking dishes. Ryoka was swatting at the nimble fey as they flew around her, tugging at her hair or pulling strands out. But as the air around her froze, even the runner had to give up.

But the worst afflicted was Ceria. As soon as Erin managed to chase the faeries back into the inn and they lost interest bothering Ryoka, the entire herd seemed to fixate on Ceria. And not in a good way.

“Half-elf! Whore!”

“Bastard’s daughter!”

“Filthy whelp!”

They flew around her as Ceria curled up, shielding her head. Some of the fairies dropped shards of ice on her; others threw patches of snow.

“Stop it!”

Erin’s voice wasn’t quite thunder, but it was louder than even the din of the faeries. They paused, and she hesitated, realizing she had no idea what was going on or what to say.

But Ryoka did.

“Why are you in here? I though faeries never entered buildings!”

The tall Asian girl faced the Frost Faeries without a trace of fear as they hovered in the air around the inn. Erin stood behind Ryoka with a lot of fear, remembering the avalanche that had hit her last time they’d gotten mad.

“You are not welcome here. Begone from this place.”

The Frost Faeries jeered as Ryoka pointed towards the door. One of them raised two fingers—an insult?—as she floated in front of Ryoka’s face.

“Hah! We can enter this place! It has no filthy iron in the making of it, and we were told we would be welcome as guests! We have a standing invitation, fool!”

Ryoka turned her head to look at Erin. The other girl looked innocently at her feet and mentally kicked herself repeatedly. The other girl leaned over to whisper in Erin’s ear.

“Is that true?”

“I didn’t know! They were going to attack the Workers while they were building so I said—I didn’t know!”

“Faerie bargains. Never trust anything they do.”

“Don’t make them mad, Ryoka! They can cause avalanches…and they know King Arthur?”

“…What?”

One of the faeries had been hovering right next to the two as they whispered. She laughed shrilly.

“Hah! Is that all ye wee mortals think about? King Arthur? The stupid wanker didn’t even know of Caliburn when we spoke of it!”

“Caliburn? You mean the Sword in the Stone?”

Ryoka’s gaze riveted upon the faerie, and Erin felt like an idiot. But the faerie just flipped them both off and flipped away into the air.

“You ask questions of guests? Where is our welcome, our drink and food? We demand our due! Bring us thimbles of wine and golden cakes and marzipan tarts and custards and we may grant you a boon!”

“But first let us chase off this impertinent one who would dare share this roof!”

“Ah!”

Ceria cried out as a faerie landed on her arm, freezing the flesh. Ryoka intercepted the next one, shielding the half-Elf with her body.

“Stop that. Now.”

One of the faeries eyed Ryoka malevolently.

“Ah, ye’d take the bitch’s side, would you, Human?”

Ryoka made no reply. Her eyes were narrowed, and one of her fists was clenched. Erin crouched next to Ceria, trying to think. Ceria whispered to her, eyes frantic.

“What do they want? Why are they here?”

“You can hear them?”

Erin was surprised. Everyone else treated the faeries – or Winter Sprites as they called them – like fuzzy blobs they couldn’t see. But Ceria could see something, clearly. The half-Elf nodded as she squinted her eyes.

“I can only hear these whispers, but I can see—something. They don’t like me. The winter sprites don’t like any half-Elves.”

“Don’t like you? We hate you, whore’s sons and daughters!”

One of the faeries dropped on Ceria’s head, and her hair froze stiff as the half-Elf screamed. She was too afraid of the Frost Faeries—Erin wondered what they’d done to her in the past.

“Stop that!”

Erin tried to swat the faerie away, but it just hissed at her, making her pull her hand back.

“If we give you something to eat, will you leave?”

Ryoka asked one of the faeries, and received only an insolent shrug in reply. She looked at Erin.

“Erin—make something for them.”

“What?”

“Something—”

Ryoka hesitated, and put her hand to her head as faeries flew around her, making faces and rude comments.

“Something sugary. Milk and sugar. Just hurry!”

Erin dashed into the kitchen and grabbed the bag of sugar and the milk she had left. She grabbed a bowl, poured nearly as much sugar as milk into it, and brought it out.

The faeries were at a sort of standoff with Ryoka and Ceria. The half-Elf was crouched as Ryoka shielded her, but every now and then a faerie would dart forward and throw something at her.

Erin shoved the bowl of sugary milk on the table, slopping some over the edge in her hurry.

“There! Food! Take it and go!”

One of the faeries hovered lower to taste at the concoction. She eyed the granulated sugar at the bottom of the bowl, and then dipped one finger gingerly in the milk. Erin held her breath as the faerie tasted it gingerly. And then—

“What is this? ‘Tis only sugar and cow’s milk! Do you think to insult us?”

The faerie shouted in outrage, and the other faeries clustered around the bowl.

“Milk and sugar? Not enough!”

“Only good for a snack!”

“We demand more!”

In seconds, the bowl was empty. Erin stared at it as the last faerie greedily shoveled wet sugar into her mouth. But while the faeries had eaten, they didn’t seem appeased. One of them floated in front of Erin, sneering.

“I suppose it is enough for a start. But we want more! You are an innkeeper, you slow thing, you. Make us more food! Ten more bowls and we will consider it a boon!”

Erin didn’t have enough for one more bowl, let alone ten. She said so, and the faeries grew even more frenzied.

“Then what about entertainment? No? Then we shall have our own sport!”

They began dive-bombing Ceria, pulling at her hair and clothes. Erin tried to push faeries away, but they were just too fast! They flew around her, inches from her skin, laughing as she swatted at them to no effect.

“Stop it! Stop it!”

Ceria batted at them with her good hand, but the faeries just flew around her. Erin tried to grab at a faerie, but the thing avoided her nimbly, then threw ice in Erin’s face, making her cry out.

“Erin—get a frying pan. And anything iron you’ve got.”

Ryoka was lashing out as well, but slowly, watching as faeries avoided her hands. Erin nodded and ran towards the kitchen, but stopped when a faerie flew in her face.

“What? A frying pan? We are not foolish queens, and you are no witch, bratling!”

“But you don’t like cold iron.”

Ryoka said it calmly, and the faeries froze in the air. The chill in the room—already close to freezing—deepened as she said it.

“Is that a threat, human?”

“No—just a fact. Faeries can’t be trusted. Never go near a faerie mound, never thank a faerie, never eat their food or tell them of your child. They fear cold iron, though, and I don’t believe you can enter a place without invitation.”

It seemed like Ryoka was saying all of this for Erin’s benefit as much as to the faeries. They stared at the taller girl coldly, and Erin shivered. She edged into the kitchen, and reemerged to hear the arguing.

“We don’t steal children! We bring Winter, you cow, you! And we will accept your thanks without stealing a boon! What we offer is in good faith, and you would threaten us?”

A faerie closest to Erin caught sight of her, and shouted in a loud voice belying her size.

“Cold iron! She holds it, sisters! Beware!”

The faeries shrieked, a noise so discordant it made Erin want to drop the frying pan. But she held onto it, grimly, and raised her voice.

“That’s right. And if you don’t leave right now, I’ll—I’ll—”

Erin didn’t actually think she could hit one of the faeries, nimble as they were. Nor, really, did she want to. They were evil pests, but she wasn’t a mu—she didn’t want to hurt them.

One of the faeries floated across the room, staring hard at Erin. The cold that emanated from her small frame was enough to make Erin flinch away, and when she spoke, the faerie’s voice was serious and cold, for once.

“Do ye threaten us with cold iron when we have guest-right? Would you break the laws of hospitality, mortal?”

Erin hesitated and lowered the frying pan. There was a glint in the faerie’s eye that made her very uneasy. And the thought of saying ‘yes’ make huge, clanging alarm bells ring in her head. Not quite as loud as when her [Dangersense] had gone off with Skinner, but almost.

“No. Noooooo…but Ceria’s my guest too! You can’t be mean to her if you want to stay here!”

The faerie snorted and pointed at Ceria.

“Bah! The half-spawn is no guest of yours! She pays nothing, and offers nothing for the boon of hospice! We may do as we please!”

How did they know that? But too late. Now that Erin had promised she wasn’t going to do anything, the faeries resumed attacking Ceria mercilessly.

“Whore! Whore! Whore and slut and bastard!”

“Kill yourself you freak!”

“Abomination!”

Ceria hid in a corner, weeping, as they surrounded her. The faeries were merciless, and Erin and Ryoka couldn’t stop them.

“Why are they so mad?”

Erin shouted it at Ceria. The half-Elf shook her head.

“They do this. They always do this. Ever since I was a child—!”

She yelped and screamed as a faerie ripped out a chunk of hair. Ryoka growled, and the faerie flew backwards, laughing with her bloody trophy.

“A chunk of hair from the daughter of whores! Hah!”

“Stop calling her that.”

Ryoka snarled, and the faeries around her laughed. They stopped long enough for the one who’d ripped Ceria’s hair out to fly back.

“And what would you have us do, Human? Play nice with the daughter of sluts and cravens?”

“No. Just pick on someone your own size.”

The faerie eyed Ryoka incredulously. She flicked a glance at Ceria.

“The pathetic thing is far larger than we, short-sighted fool.”

“Exactly. I’m telling you to piss off and go bother someone else. A snail, perhaps, or maybe a hornet’s nest.”

It was like listening to children, in between the flashes of adult speech and terrifying seriousness. The other faeries ooohed and laughed as the faerie in front of Ryoka shrieked with high laughter.

“Oh, and you’d stop us how? Will you break the guest-right? We will do the same to you?”

She flew at Ceria, shouting loudly at the half-Elf, hands reaching for her.

“Whore! Whore! Filthy slut and spawn of bastards! Drown yourself you filthy half-breed, you wh—”

Erin didn’t see Ryoka move. Even as Erin had flailed around desperately, the other girl had been moving slower, slower. She’d been watching the faeries as they flew, and now she acted. Her hand came up and flashed at the faerie as it flew by Ryoka’s face. And caught her.

Ryoka punched the Frost Faerie out of the air. Erin heard a yelp of surprise, and then the faerie smacked into the floorboards, and tumbled, coming to a stop a few feet away at the foot of a table.

All sound in the inn—ended. The faeries stopped laughing. Ceria froze up, staring at the frost faerie that was now clearly visible even to the half-Elf. The faerie lay still for a second, and then slowly sat up.

She didn’t appear to be hurt. Her crystalline skin looked undamaged from the impact, and indeed, Ryoka was the one clutching at her knuckles and rubbing at the frost coating her skin. But the faerie’s eyes were hard and dark as she stared up at Ryoka.

Slowly, the Frost Faerie flew upwards until she was at eye-level with Ryoka. The runner stared at her without a trace of fear in her eyes, but perhaps only Erin saw Ryoka’s calf muscles clenching up as the faerie flew within an inch of her face.

“You will regret that, human.”

Ryoka stared back, unflinching. The Frost Faerie glared for another second, and then suddenly, alarmingly, she grinned. She opened her mouth and showed Ryoka some wickedly sharp teeth in her tiny mouth.

“Hah! This is going to be so much fun!”

And then she screamed, and the faeries swarmed, and Ryoka was shouting, running, smashing out the door and into the snow as nearly all the faeries in the inn followed her out into the winter, hounding her, laughing.

Leaving Erin and Ceria behind to clean up the mess.

—-

It was supposed to be a fun day. Erin thought that as she picked up pieces of ice and swept snow into a corner as Ceria tried to light the fire. The half-Elf was shaken, and she needed a bit of healing potion for places where the faeries had cut or bit her or torn out hair, but she was alright.

“Ryoka really saved me. If she hadn’t gotten rid of them—normally they go away if I get inside somewhere, but here—”

One of the faeries had dropped down towards Ceria, and Erin had had her only good idea for the day.

“Pay me.”

“What?”

“Quick, anything! Hurry!”

Ceria didn’t have any coins, but at Erin’s insistence, she’d handed Erin her bra. It was either that, or her underwear, and Erin had taken it as payment.

And…it had worked. The few faeries that had elected not to chase Ryoka had grumbled, but they’d agreed not to bother the half-Elf. Why Erin hadn’t thought of that earlier she didn’t know.

And then they’d hovered around, making faces and rude remarks as Erin cleaned up until Toren came back. He came back!

How? From where? And why were his eyes purple? Erin was so elated, everything else fell away until she realized Rags had joined the inn too, and messed up her game!

But it was okay. And then Klbkch had come by with all the Workers he’d promised, and Relc and Pawn too! And that should have been wonderful as well. Except…

“It’s not going to work.”

Erin said it after the Workers had played for an entire hour. She stared at them and shook her head. Something was wrong.

“What is the matter?”

“They’re not…it’s not the same. You’re forcing them to play, and that won’t do any good.”

Klbkch stared at her, uncomprehending. He’d brought twenty Workers to Erin’s inn, to eat some food, but mainly to play chess like he’d said. And she’d explained the game and set them up playing just like last time, but—

“Is something the matter? We must have these Workers learn this game, Erin. It is…very important to the Hive.”

“Yeah, but it’s not going to work. It’s not going to make them individuals, or whatever.”

Klbkch paused. Pawn was busy talking to the Workers, and Relc was slouching against a wall, bored, as the two conferred. Ceria had gone upstairs to sleep off the Frost Faerie attack. But Klbkch—

It was still odd, talking to him. It felt like talking to a ghost, or—almost a stranger. But he was the same.

But different. And it made Erin hurt inside a bit to know it.

“I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to make more Workers like Pawn, right? By playing chess?”

“Ah.”

Even Erin could figure that out, given enough time. She shook her head.

“It’s not going to work.”

“May I ask how you know?”

“Remember the first time we played and I taught them?”

It seemed so, so long ago. But had it only been a month ago? Two? Erin wasn’t sure. But it felt like nearly a year.

“I recall. You played both Olesm and me, as I remember.”

“Yeah, and then I invited the Workers to play. But that was it. They weren’t forced. And later—I asked Pawn his name. That’s how he chose it.”

Klbkch was silent for a second, staring at Erin.

“You asked him his name? That was…dangerous. Most Workers become Aberration if that occurs.”

“Yeah. I know. But he managed to do—something. Because he played chess, I get that.”

“Because of you.”

“Not just me.”

Erin shook her head, but Klbkch was insistent.

“You have the quality. It is that which we seek.”

“Yeah—maybe. Probably not. But either way, you’re not going to get it by forcing the Workers to do anything. Ordering them around won’t make them individual because they’ve got to do it, see?”

Klbkch was silent for so long, Erin was worried, but then he nodded.

“I…believe I do. Odd. I believe…yes, I believe I do. It is a strange thing, for Antinium to comprehend. And it raises a problem which must be considered. But yes; I understand.”

He’d nodded, then, and ordered the Workers to stop playing. He was so bossy with them, but then Klbkch had told Erin they’d try again later, and that would have been fine. Fine, if it wasn’t for what happened afterwards.

“Stop. That.”

Erin stood in front of Relc, trying not to tremble. Was this how Ryoka had felt? He loomed over her, and only now did she realize how big he really was. How strong he looked. How—

She saw Toren moving behind the Drake, although he didn’t have a weapon. Erin shook her head slightly, and shifted to protect Rags. No one could stop Relc with force, she was certain. But maybe she could talk him down. She had to.

He stared at her with hurt and rage, and then a Frost Faerie had flown up and landed on his head. He’d run shouting from the inn, and Erin had sagged against one table.

“I will make apologies for my partner, Erin Solstice, and to you, Rags. I believe he cares about me, and you. But he fought in the Goblin Wars and thinks of Goblins as enemies. I will speak to him, but it may be best for all if the Goblin does not come here for a while.”

She’d nodded, and the faerie had flown back in, looking smug and satisfied.

“There! ‘Tis the boon fulfilled for your meager offering, Human! The hotheaded oaf will not bother you again today!”

And so she’d left and Rags had left, wounded and full of pride, and Ceria had gone to sleep and the faeries had flown off and Klbkch and Pawn and the Workers had left until Erin was all alone.

Except Toren was back.

Erin sat in her inn, at a table, tired, cold. But no longer alone.

“It was supposed to be such a good day, you know?”

He stared at her. Good old Toren. Where had he gone? But he couldn’t answer her. He was just…just…

What was he? Erin stared at him. He was more than a thing, but he was so slow. Could he think? He was an undead servant, according to Pisces.

“A lot’s happened, you know. A lot of good. Some bad.”

She felt tired. Yesterday had been wonderful, beyond words. And the days before that equally good. She’d rebuilt the inn, and created success out of failure.

“But I guess I can’t do that every day.”

Erin put her head down. Ryoka was gone, and Erin wasn’t sure when she’d come back. Faeries were flying in and out of her inn whenever they pleased, Ceria could move her hand, Toren was back, the Antinium had a weird problem, Relc was being a jerk even if he sort of had a reason, and Rags was hurt and missing and her tribe might be killed if they came back.

Some good. Lots of bad. But Toren was back. On the whole, Erin would consider that even-steven with the universe’s karma.

If nothing else happened today, she’d consider herself fortunate.

Erin put her head down and went to slee—

—-

She was a [Princess], and she was starving. For too long, the winter chill had cut her to the bone, and the wary shopkeepers and suspicious guards had made stealing far, far harder. And her magic was running out.

She had only a few charges of [Invisibility] left, but she was starving and so she used one now. It was the dead of night, and no one was around, anyways.

The stalls were left locked, but she had spells to take care of any locks, magical or otherwise. And besides, richness was her birthright; she deserved everything she took from the filthy mongrels and the disgusting serpents living here.

But tonight it seemed one fool had left their stall without closing it. Warm blankets sat to one side, next to rows of dried food and most tempting of all, a fresh ham sitting on a stool. The [Princess]’s mouth watered as she stole near.

“There you are.”

The voice came from out of the shadows as the [Princess] whirled in fright. A massive Gnoll—a huge creature of dark fur and muscle stood up and walked out into the moonlight. She had a deep woman’s voice, but all the [Princess] saw were her fangs, and teeth as she spoke.

“Hrr. Too long we have allowed you to go free. Between Gazi and the undead, we have not had time. But now you smell and you are without your magics hiding your scent, yes?”

She pointed in the general direction of the girl even as her eyes searched the empty street.

“Invisibility is not enough for our kind. And we have ways to catch you. Do not run—!”

Too late. The girl ran, but no sooner had her footfalls began to echo than the Gnoll was on her. She screamed, but that just made it easier for the shopkeeper to catch her up in one huge paw.

“I have you. Now, we shall soon see what you look like, yes? And then you shall answer to the Watch, for damages caused and mischief done, yes? Do not struggle. I will not hurt you.”

The invisibility spell, weak from the residual magic in the girl’s cloak and strained from the contact, broke. The ragged [Princess] swam into view, and the Gnoll smiled down at her.

“There you are.”

All the [Princess] saw were the teeth. Her mind was clouded with fear, and so she raised one finger.

She had rings on every finger, but the magic of each had long since faded from her journey from overuse. But one still shimmered with violet light. The Gnoll saw it glowing as the [Princess] called magic to it and spoke harshly.

“Do not—”

Again, too late. Too late, and too slow. The girl raised the ring and screamed one word.

“Ignis!”

The fireball that burst forth from the ring was nearly twice the size of her head, but when it struck the stall behind the Gnoll and girl, it exploded into a burst of fire that blew the girl off her feet while the flames engulfed the Gnoll.

For a few minutes the girl couldn’t move. She only heard the roar of flames, and the panicked shouts as people from nearby houses poked their heads out and saw the fire. Slowly, aching, the [Princess] got up. She stared at the burning stall, full of precious goods and a lifetime of work. The fiery display began to crumble, and flying embers began to ignite the street again.

Something seized her from behind. The girl screamed and whirled, raising her ring, but a massive hand descended, capturing her hand in a grip that promised broken bone if she moved.

The [Princess] stared into a snarling face and burned fur. She screamed and screamed, but too late. Two sets of fangs opened, and claws drew blood.

2.21

She sat on a grassy hilltop and slowly picked a fuzzy dandelion. Seeds scattered in the wind and she gently raised it to her face to blow the rest into the air.

Caught by the breeze, the seeds scattered across the grassy landscape. Below Erin, the white clusters of dandelions stood out among the grass.

Odd grass. Erin shifted, and realized it wasn’t nice and soft like the grass on suburban lawns. This grass was short, tough; crabgrass. In places, the grass grew tall, or so high they would go up to her knees. Small rocks filled her hilltop, a danger to her bare feet.

This was nature. Not just a thing to admire, and it had thorns. Erin stared down at the forest sitting at the bottom of the hill.

The trees were gnarled, some of them. Others were tall. So tall that they were at a level with her hill. Dark shadows flitted through the forest, and Erin thought she saw hooves.

Suddenly, the forest began to grow. Erin sat back as the trees suddenly shot up, until they were far taller than her small hill. They towered above her, and the forest grew, expanding until it covered the grass and her.

Erin sat up, and found herself sitting in a dark forest glade. The canopy was so high overhead that when she looked up, she couldn’t see more than patches of sunlight, filtering down from thousands of feet overhead. She felt lost, tiny, and alone on her small grassy mound.

She got up, and began to walk. She had to find something. It was why she was here. Why go somewhere unless you’re trying to find something? Or be found.

Was she lost? But no—Erin saw a sign. It sat at the foot of an ancient, crooked tree. Only a few dark leaves clung to the branches, and the trunk itself seemed to curve over with age. But still it stood, and below it, glowing words had been carved into a place bare of bark.

A sign, and a stone coffin sitting below the tree. How had Erin not noticed it? She looked down. It was rough granite, and unadorned. But still, it was special. So was the sign. Erin read it, and felt a chill.

Here is Albion. Here lies the King of Knights. Resting, until the day of most dire need.

Erin looked around. The stone coffin had been nearly swallowed by the tree sitting behind it. Roots covered the front of the coffin, but she thought she could still move the lid. Should she? If—

The girl hesitated, and then put her hand on the lid. She began to lift it, but then a voice, a real voice, spoke in her ear.

“It is only a dreaming thing. What you seek is not just in your head, mortal.”

Erin looked around. A tall lady dressed in silver robes stood behind her. She looked at Erin expressionlessly; perhaps only a trifle of impatience coloring her features.

“What is?”

The lady waved her hand at the coffin. She was…hard for Erin to understand. She was neither beautiful nor ugly; not striking in any way, nor tall or short or anything at all. In fact, the more Erin looked at her, the more confused she became until she ended up speaking to the air behind the woman.

“‘Tis only a dreaming thing. The true King still sits on the battlefield, dying of her wounds. The King has sailed away. The King walks among you. He has risen—he never was. Only your dreams may make the truth of it.”

Erin understood this even less. But the dreaming self in her knew exactly what to say.

“So he’s only a story?”

“A story made flesh. In this world, and others. How many times will you mortals tell it? Ah, but they are all worthy in their small way. But he is not here for you to wake. Not in dreams, anyways.”

Erin stared down at the coffin. She wanted to say something profound, but the words escaped her,

“Maybe we need him. Now, I mean. More than ever.”

“Mortals always think so. Perhaps he will come. But that would be a miracle, and you are only dreaming. If he comes, it will be in the waking times, not now.”

“Oh.”

Erin sat on the coffin. She felt guilty, but it was just a fake thing. The lady seemed to approve, and sat with Erin.

“An odd mortal, you are. Odd, to listen deep enough to hear our voice. Odder still, to walk into this place, even a small fragment in dreams.”

“I can’t help it. I think it’s a Skill.”

The lady snorted in a very un-ladylike manner.

“If the game of Gods were all it took to meet us so, we would be long dead. No. Even if it was something taken from them, the start of it came from you.”

She prodded Erin, and it hurt even in the dream. Erin frowned and rubbed at the spot.

“Why are you so mean?”

“Why are you so dull?”

There was no helping it. Erin decided not to talk, which suited her companion. For a while, they sat together as the forest grew and darkened around her.

“It is past time to go.”

At last, the other woman said it and Erin nodded absently. She felt…like she was melting into the dream. Becoming part of everything and nothing. She received another prod, and this time didn’t even look around.

“Now, human.”

“Okay.”

Erin obediently began waking up. The world began to dissolve around her.

“Pst. Human.”

The woman leaned towards Erin, and she grunted. The woman was suddenly intent on her, and she spoke into Erin’s ear.

“Will you give me something for naught? A gift?”

“Mm? Sure.”

“I would like all the sugar in your kitchen. May I have it?”

“Sure.”

The woman smiled, and vanished. Erin looked around. Everything was fading away, and she felt herself leaving. But it felt so disappointing to her. She might never come back.

Stuck by a sudden impulse, Erin reached out and moved the lid of the coffin aside. The inside of it was empty; just a dark hollow. But when she reached down, her hand grasped something far below.

Erin grasped the hilt of the sword in the stone, and pulled at it. It came loose, and she held it aloft. It was just a dream, but it shone with a light unlike anything she’d ever seen.

Erin stared at it, and felt a tugging at her ear—

—-

“Give it back!”

Erin opened her eyes, as someone pulled hard at her ear. She yelped, and let go, and then sat up.

In her dark kitchen, something flashed with golden light, just for a second. Erin blinked, and then it was gone. She looked around, and realized she was awake just an hour before dawn.

But she was not alone. A gentle blue light filled the room, radiating from a small body that hovered just in front of Erin. The girl looked up into the face of a scowling Frost Faerie.

“Are ye a thief as well as a fool? You are not a king, but you would be, and twice damned to take what is not yours!”

Erin blinked at the tiny face, head full of clouds and her dream and stupidity.

“What?”

The faerie made an exasperated noise and flew off. Erin watched her settle on the counter, and then realized she was grabbing at something. The tiny faerie was shoveling something…into her mouth? She looked like she was standing at the foot of some massive dune.

Then Erin realized the ‘dune’ was white, made silver by the moonlight, and that it was in fact her sugar. All of it.

“Hey!”

Erin shot to her feet. The faerie looked at her and fluttered away as Erin ran over to her sugar. What had—? The faerie had somehow managed to take the bag of sugar out of one of the cupboards and spill it onto the counter. Already, she had consumed over three times her body weight and the rest of the sugar was covered in small ice crystals.

“My sugar!”

Erin stared in horror. Then she rounded on the tiny faerie, who was flying about the room merrily.

“Why did you do that? That’s stealing! Who said you could come in here and eat anything you wanted?”

The faerie looked at Erin as if she were an idiot. She pointed to Erin.

“You told me I could have it, you silly fool!”

With that, the faerie landed on the pile of sugar again and began to gorge herself anew. Erin wanted to swat her away, but the faerie turned and hissed at Erin and the girl backed away hurriedly.

She’d never said anything like that, Erin was certain. Only…

She remembered her dream. It was already fading, but parts of it still stuck with her. She’d—no, that had been someone else. Right?

Erin hesitated, and it was enough for the faerie to keep eating. She kicked some sugar off her feet, and flew into the air, shedding the particles like dust.

“I am finished. It was a tasty snack.”

She grinned at Erin, revealing sharp teeth, and flew out of the kitchen. Erin watched her go. She really, really wanted a flyswatter.

She had faeries. It was like having bedbugs, or lice or…crabs. Not that Erin had ever had any of those, but she thought she might prefer an infestation of bugs. At least they could be killed.

The thing was—the reason Ryoka and Erin didn’t try to frighten them or swat them was—it was simple really, but sort of embarrassing. It was just that both girls were scared spitless of the faeries, or at least, Erin was.

They were…scary. Really scary. Just as Ryoka had learned, Erin was aware that the faeries might actually be able to kill her. Well, not ‘might’. They could probably do it quite easily. In fact, super-easily. One big avalanche and her inn and everything in it was toast.

If cockroaches could start earthquakes, there would be a lot more of them crawling around regardless of how horrible they were.

Maybe the inhabitants of this world treated the faeries like pests, but Erin remembered being buried in that avalanche of snow and ice. She’d thought she would die more than once before Toren managed to dig her out and Pisces melted part of the snow. Afterwords, he’d said not a word, but left the inn. And he’d stayed far away from the faeries ever since, not even coming near the inn when they were around.

But still. Erin stared at the mess of sugar and rapidly thawing ice and glared at the faerie. There were limits, even if Erin had given some sort of…permission.

“How did you eat all of that, anyways? Your stomach should have exploded. Are you hollow or something?”

This time, the faerie just sniffed at Erin. She flicked her wings up, raising a cloud of sugary dust and spoke to the air instead.

“I do not suffer your questions, mortal. Go ask a rock if you have so many useless things that need speaking.”

Again. Erin ground her teeth. It seemed like whenever she asked the faeries a personal question, they got offended and left. Why? They asked her questions all the time. It wasn’t fair.

But she’d been down this road before, and now she knew some things. The faeries were little jerks, but they did have some rules. So Erin changed tact. She called after the faerie as it flew off in a huff.

“You know, it’s rude not to talk to the host.”

The small creature paused, and then turned at the door. She was scowling, but she did turn.

“‘Tis rudeness we seek to offer to you and your kind, human. But I shall talk to you since you insist of it. We are guests and we will do as we must.”

That was good! Not the rude part, but Erin had finally, finally gotten a response out of them without having vital bits frozen off! She felt like doing a little dance.

But instead she suddenly had to worry about what to say. The faerie floated back in front of Erin, clearly waiting, and she realized she might only have one question. Quick, what would Ryoka say?

“Why do you hate us so much? Humans, I mean. Or do you not like all mortals?”

The faerie looked surprised for the briefest moment, and then rolled her eyes.

“Hate? We hate you as we hate the changing of days or lichen on trees, human. You are pests, nothing more! But we do not obey your commands and you will know it!”

“We don’t command you. I mean…”

Erin paused. Okay, they didn’t order the faeries around, but did telling them they had to talk to her and bothering them count? The faerie clearly thought so; she stared at Erin with one eyebrow raised.

“Okay, maybe we do. But you were really mean to Ceria, too! How is that fair when she’s my guest?”

Again, the small creature shook her head.

“Ye aren’t that smart, are ye? The fey answer to no one, mortal! We speak and bestow our gifts as we please, and none may command us! No god, no king, no lord or master. Have ye not heard the words? The fey obey no one, and we bow to none either. So what if we offended your honor? We do as we please. So long as the worthless child was not a guest we could do as we wished. Now she is your guest.”

It was an infuriating speech with so many holes Erin wanted to point out. But the faeries were a bit like children; they had odd rules of their own that they stuck to like glue.

“But now she’s my guest, you’ll leave her alone?”

The faerie looked insulted.

“Of course. She has guest right as do we! And we will obey your stupid rules while we remain within your place of power. But we are guests, not slaves. Ye would do well to remember that.”

“Right, right. Um, I gave you food. And this is an inn. You can sleep wherever if you pay me…?”

The faerie sneered at Erin. She did it quite well; it was a Snape-worthy level of sneer, which showed just how expressive the creature was.

“Paltry food, you gave us! Cow’s milk days old and sugar plucked and ground together by filthy hands! And we would not sleep in your inn when beds of fresh snow are ours for the taking outside! If you want our favor, ye’d better try harder.”

Erin did not want the Frost Faerie’s favor. She wanted them gone, and Ryoka back. But her ears pricked up nonetheless at the words. Being an innkeeper was all about selling stuff, after all. And she had [Advanced Cooking]. How hard could feeding a faerie be?

“Well, what would you like me to make? Do faeries like…milk? Sweet things like syrup?”

That’s what Ryoka had said, and Erin vaguely remembered stories about faeries eating that kind of thing. But the Frost Faerie just looked insulted.

“Do you think we are Brownies, or Pixies, to be bought with a bit of churned milk or tree sap? We are not foolish children; we stand high among our kind. We bring the Winter; ours is a duty entrusted to us by our King himself!”

That sounded important? Erin frowned.

“But what do you want?”

“Anything, so long as it is pure! Naught touched by filth, and that which is closest to our nature. Especially nothing from your smoky, polluted world. Figure it out!”

That was a typically annoying faerie answer. Erin thought hard.

“Do I get anything in return?”

Another look that told her she was stupidity made mortal.

“Of course. Did you not already receive one favor? For your bowl of milk and sugar. ‘Twas a paltry thing, but we repaid the debt in kind by chasing away the scaley-headed oaf.”

That was true! Erin wondered if the faeries worked on a favor economy or if they had actual money. But maybe then she could get them to leave Ryoka alone?

“Does that mean I get another favor for my sugar?”

“The sugar was a gift, was it not?”

The faerie looked pointedly at Erin, and the girl bit her tongue. Words. Ryoka had warned her to watch her words around faeries. She supposed this was a good example of that.

“Fine. No favor, then. But if I make something good, I get a favor, right? A big one?”

“If it is worthy. But deliver us more waste and we will braid your hair into elflocks and freeze your doors shut!”

As threats went, it wasn’t high on Erin’s scary list. Until she wondered exactly how tightly her hair would be tangled, and how much ice would be freezing said doors.

The faerie paused. She seemed to think, and made another face.

“…I suppose ye are owed the tiniest gift for the sugar. Ask, then, mortal. What small token would you wish of me?”

That sounded like a test. And now that Erin was getting in the swing of things, she realized it was probably very important that she not ask for too much. The faerie watched her as Erin thought. And then Erin knew what she wanted.

It was stupid. Silly. There were a hundred things she could ask for instead, should ask for. But Erin really, really wanted this.

Tentatively, she pointed at the faerie.

“Can I…touch you?”

The small Frost Faerie blinked in surprise. Complete surprise, painted openly across her face for the first time Erin had ever seen. Then she slowly nodded. And smiled with the barest hint of malice.

“If that is your wish. Come then, touch of me.”

Slowly, the faerie floated towards Erin, and suddenly the girl could feel the cold radiating off the small body. It was always cold around the faeries; in complete disregard for the laws of thermodynamics (if they even applied in this world), they seemed to radiate cold like fire did heat.

Only now it was cold enough around this one faerie to make Erin shiver. And when she tentatively raised her hand towards the faerie, she felt the air chilling her to the bone. And as she reached forwards.

“Ah!”

It hurt. It was like the worst winter days in Michigan, when it would hit -10° Fahrenheit, or around -20° Celsius. The cold wasn’t just a biting thing that hurt more as time went on, it was thrusting knives piercing Erin’s hand and twisting.

But the faerie was waiting. She looked at Erin expectantly, a smile playing on her lips. Erin hesitated—the skin on her hands were already white. But she wanted to know.

So slowly, she moved her hand forwards. Her fingers covered in frost, and her arm felt a shock as pain made Erin bite her lip hard. But she kept moving.

Slowly forwards. Ever so slowly, as if she were touching a butterfly or frightened animal. Because for all of her danger, the faerie was still a small thing. And so beautiful. So beautiful.

The pain made Erin’s vision go grey. But she moved slowly, ignoring the cold. Her hand was already numb. What kind of damage was this…?

But she had to try. Because it was a faerie. Because she would regret it forever if she didn’t try.

Magic.

The faerie stared. The tips of Erin’s fingers lost all feeling; her hand was pain and ice. But then her flesh touched the faerie’s arm, and it all stopped.

The cold melted away in seconds. Erin felt coolness under her finger and stopped biting her lip. She stared.

The faerie’s skin was smooth. It felt like neither flesh nor glass nor crystal, but some kind of fluid combination of the two. If you could turn ice to skin, if you could bring life to frozen air and capture it with magic, that would be what it felt like. Just the touch brought tears to Erin’s eyes. It was like Ceria, only far stronger. She was feeling something not of this world, not of her world. Something—

Something immortal.

And just like that, it was over. The faerie leaned away, and the contact was lost. Erin lowered her hand and clutched at it, but both frost and the terrible numb pain was gone. She stared at the faerie.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Of course not. ‘Twas only a touch.”

The faerie shrugged her shoulders, but Erin was sure she was supposed to have given up when it got too cold.

“Was I supposed to give up and complain about the cold?”

It didn’t hurt to ask. The faerie just grinned as an answer; the little creature wagged a finger of her own.

“You have grit, fool child. Perhaps the cold was just a test. But even to touch the fey is a price of itself. You are lucky.”

For once, Erin was in complete agreement. She remembered the touch, that slight sensation on her skin, and knew she’d remember it forever. A piece of a larger mystery. And finally she found the right question to ask.

“What are you?”

“We are that we are.”

The words were familiar to Erin. But the faerie gave Erin no time to stare. The small creature flew into the air, and around Erin’s head.

“Well! Brave Human that ye are, will you keep me longer? Or will you feed me? If not, leave me be! I have snow to bring, and clouds to chase!”

“What? No I—thank you. But can I ask one last question?”

“If ye must.”

“Magic.”

Erin stared at the faerie. She remembered the feeling in her hands. And she wished with all her heart—

“Do you think—I could do something magical? I mean, Pisces told me I couldn’t do magic and Ceria thinks so too. I’ve got a skeleton, but…could I ever…?”

She didn’t know why she was asking a Frost Faerie of all creatures. But it was magical. It was something else, and—yes, Erin began to wonder if it was actually the wisest creature she’d met so far in this world. A miniature female Yoda?

The faerie scratched at her head and shrugged, unconcerned. Erin backtracked on the Yoda bit. But then the faerie laughed.

“Magic? Why ask when you should already know? The fools who call themselves mages in this world talk of magic as if it is something had by few. But you have tasted of it; how else would the bag of bones move except not for you?”

Erin’s heart began to beat faster. She tried to quell the excitement in her chest.

“But that’s not magic, is it? That’s just a bit in me; not enough to do any spells.”

“Spells? Pah. Are ye an old man walking back through time, to be concerned with such things? Who needs spells? Is magic so petty to be all sparkles and muttered words?”

The faerie laughed, and the tinkling sound lifted Erin’s heart. Slowly, the faerie flew towards Erin, and pointed towards the door. She cast no spell, uttered no sound, but the door opened as wind blew from the inside. The faerie grinned at Erin.

“Magic is.”

Then she flew out the door and disappeared. Erin stared after the faerie, and listened to the beating of her own heart.

It was loud in her chest.

—-

That was how they found her. Toren walked in from outside, and Ceria came downstairs to find Erin sitting on the table, staring at her fingers. The girl looked up as they approached and smiled and made the right noises, but still the two hesitated.

Toren had no words to speak with, and so he left that to Ceria. But he stared around the inn, as he carefully placed a bag of coins on the table. He’d labored through the night to clear up the rest of the detritus left from Erin’s concert outdoors, and although he’d had to make a mound of discarded clothes, trash, and miscellaneous junk, he had come away with several useful items.

Ceria had slept poorly until just past midnight, dreaming of faeries and worrying about Ryoka. But she added Erin to her list the instant she saw her face.

“Oh, sorry Ceria. I’ll have breakfast out in a bit.”

Erin got to her feet as the half-Elf peered at her. Ceria shook her head; not in a denial of breakfast, but to reassure Erin. She hesitated.

“Is…everything alright? You look different, today.”

“What? No? No. No, I’m fine.”

She didn’t look fine. But she didn’t look bad either. She just looked…different. To the half-Elf and Toren, it was as if Erin was far away and here at the same time; almost sleepwalking.

Erin felt the same. Her heart was racing, but her mind floated on a sea of calm. There was something in her. Words, and wonder, but something else. Something…magical.

She was herself, and not at the same time. Erin remembered only bits of the dream now; distant memories that drew away with each breath she took. But it had done something to her, that dream. It had made her remember.

Nothing important. Nothing life changing. Just…childhood. Erin remembered walking through the snow, jumping into a huge mound and getting stuck. She remembered playing with a caterpillar with a stick, running away screaming happily. She remembered—

Believing in faeries. Believing in Santa. Believing in magic and waiting to turn eleven, hoping for the owl.

When had she stopped? Sometime after she’d learned to play chess. The magic had disappeared and the game had taken her in. But now Erin remembered.

And so she thought. And when she spoke, it was to Ceria and Toren both.

“I need a favor.”

Ceria looked up and paused as she shoveled porridge into her mouth. The half-Elf ate fast and with less table manners than might be hoped for, but at least she ate a lot.

“What’s up?”

“I want to make something for the Frost Faeries. Something to eat.”

The half-Elf frowned at Erin.

“If it’s poison, count me in. Otherwise, I’d prefer it if you didn’t attract them here. Guest or no guest, they still hate my guts.”

“I know. I know, but—I—”

She’d had a dream. A true dream. And for a second she’d held—

Magic. Magic is.

Erin spread her hands out helplessly.

“They didn’t like the milk and sugar. Well, they did, but they said it wasn’t good. But if I can make something they love, they might leave us alone or—or give us something. I want to try. Will you help me?”

Ceria sighed and rubbed at her face. She looked at her bowl, and began chomping down on her hot food twice as fast, talking around each bite.

“Fine. I owe you a lot, anyways. But if you’re serving, I’m leaving tonight. I’ll stay with Selys, or at an inn if I have to.”

Erin nodded absently. Magic. Could she do it?

“Thanks, Ceria.”

The half-Elf hesitated, and exchanged a glance with Toren.

“Okay, food for faeries. What do you need me to do?”

“Flowers.”

Ceria blinked.

“Flowers?”

“Flowers. I need lots of them. As many as you can find, okay? Big ones, small ones…if you’ve got some that are, y’know, wide enough to hold something, that’d be great.”

Erin was still thinking hard as she said it. She was trying to go back to the past. Yeah, as a child she had made meals for faeries. And if she was going to do it, wouldn’t it be…?

She realized something was wrong when Ceria took too long in replying. Erin looked over and realized Ceria was frowning at her.

“Erin, just because I’m a half-Elf, doesn’t mean I know where flowers are at all times.”

Erin blinked. Oh. Oops.

“Sorry. Was that racist? Species-ist…?”

“It’s nothing. I mean, we get that a lot. But most half-Elves don’t even like nature that much. We take on the cultures we’re raised in, so…”

Ceria waved a hand awkwardly. Erin nodded, disappointed.

“So you don’t know where any flowers are?”

Ceria hesitated.

“—Well, I suppose I could find some. Rot. Yes, of course I’ll go look. But just remember—!”

“Elves don’t like flowers. Got it. Sorry.”

Ceria opened her mouth, took a look at Erin’s face, and shook her head. Next, the girl turned to Toren, who stood up straight. His strange, new purple eyes burned bright in his skull. He seemed eager to accept his first new orders.

“Toren, I want you to get mushrooms. From caves, in forests…just don’t go near the city or anywhere too dangerous, okay? But I need lots of mushrooms by tonight.”

The skeleton immediately nodded and turned towards the door. Erin watched him walk out. Did he know the difference between poison mushroom and edible ones? Probably not. But if what she was thinking was right, it might not matter.

Think of faeries. Don’t think of them like people, but like stories.

Magic.

“I’m going into the city. I need to buy things.”

Erin reached for her coin pouch and hesitated. She took a handful of gold coins Krshia had helped her exchange and added them to the pouch.

“A lot of things.”

Ceria followed her out the door for a little bit, and then left. Erin walked through the snow, barely noticing the fact that she’d forgotten her second layer.

She’d held it in her hands, just for a second.

She was sure of it.

—-

A huge crowd of Gnolls and Drakes was gathered in front of the Watch barracks when Erin passed that way towards Market Street. She paused, long enough to realize that something was very wrong.

All the Gnolls were growling, or facing the barracks with fists clenched or claws extended. Their hair was standing up, and they were very still.

Standing in front of the entrance was Watch Captain Zevara, and at her side was Relc and Klbkch. The two heavy-hitters. Yes, something was wrong.

Erin listened to the shouting as she walked past. The Gnolls wanted in, and the Watch wasn’t letting them.

“Go back! Disperse! We’re holding the Human until a trial can be set up. Tomorrow! No one gets in or out, got it?”

Zevara was shouting above the howls and raised voices in the crowd. Not just Gnolls were angry of course; several Drakes seemed to be out for blood, but they were definitely a scaled minority in the crowd.

What had happened? But she had to follow the vision in her head before it was too late. Erin walked on, and noticed Klbkch’s head slowly turning to follow her before he focused on the crowd.

Keep moving. Keep walking. She had the vision.

But Erin stopped when she reached Market Street. Because of the fire.

It had swept through the street again, only this time there had been people close by, able to contain the blaze. In fact, the flames had only destroyed one place. A stall. One Gnoll’s stall, to be precise.

Krshia sat on the ground in front of her burned venue, staring at the rubble and ash. Nothing remained of her goods, not the wooden stall, not the carefully organized supplies—nothing.

It was gone. Erased. And somehow, Erin knew that insurance plans hadn’t been invented yet in this world.

The street was very quiet. Gnolls and Drakes gathered around Krshia, giving her space, watching silently. Erin didn’t know what to do. But she approached anyways. The crowd stared at her with little warmth, but they let her pass.

“Krshia.”

The Gnoll barely looked up as Erin walked over. She sat very still, staring at her stall.

“Erin Solstice. It is a dark day, no?”

“Yes.”

What else was there to say? Erin paused, and then sat down. She stared at the ruined stall and part of her heart broke. But another part saw grass growing out of the destruction, a tree pushing its way past the cracked cobblestone, into the sky.

If she could do magic, then maybe—

“What happened?”

Krshia told her in a soft voice. It was the thief. Some human girl who Krshia had set a trap for with the other shopkeepers. It had worked, but the girl had a ring that cast a spell which destroyed her shop.

She was alive. The girl, that was. Scratched, bleeding, but alive. Krshia had turned her over to the Watch however reluctantly to face trial. That was the law. But the law wouldn’t restore Krshia’s stall, or her livelihood.

Erin didn’t know what to say. This was the way of the world. That was what her brain told her. Bad days, death, violence. It was all over the news. Bad days, for everyone, everywhere, never ending.

But it shouldn’t be this way. Erin looked at her fingertips. She could still feel it.

“If I can help—”

“Not now. Maybe we will talk. But now—”

Krshia sighed, and all the boundless energy she seemed to have went out of her. Her ears lowered, her tail drooped. Erin reached out to pat her shoulder, and someone shouted.

“It’s their fault! These Humans caused this!”

She looked around with the crowd. A Drake was standing several feet away, pointing angrily at Erin. She recognized him.

Lism.

“You see? This is all because of Humans! Twice now, they’ve destroyed parts of our city! First, when they unleashed the undead and now, an upstanding shopkeeper’s livelihood has been destroyed!”

His voice was strident as he gestured towards the burnt stall and Erin. Krshia stirred, looking at him, and Erin slowly got to her feet.

Why him? Why now? But misery followed misery. Lism continued, shouting to his audience who was far more receptive than Erin would have liked.

“Adventurers keep coming into the city, merchants shortchange us, and humans steal from our most respected citizens! When will it end?”

“Lism. Shut up.”

Krshia said it quietly, but there was an edge in her voice that made the Drake hesitate. The Gnolls around Krshia were silent, but they were on her side.

But those further out in the crowd and many of the Drakes…Erin looked around and stood up.

“Erin.”

Someone whispered to her. Selys. The Drake’s scales were slightly pale, and she looked around as if she was worried. Krshia turned her head slightly to Erin.

“You came here to shop, yes? Go. We will speak. We must speak. But now is not the time.”

“If you’re sure—”

“Go.”

The Gnoll looked at Selys. The younger Drake had tears in her eyes as she stared at the ruins of Krshia’s shop.

“Selys. You will go with Erin, yes? Help her.”

“Okay. Erin—”

Erin stood up wordlessly. She walked through the silent crowd, ignoring the stares. Lism had backed off, but he was still shouting and arguing. He yelled something at her as she passed.

Selys tried to hurry Erin along as she snapped at Lism, but the girl paused. Her ears were ringing a bit. She stopped in front of Lism. The Drake looked alarmed, but then he looked around at the crowd and seemed to draw strength from the onlookers.

“Well? Are you going to attack me too, Human? Go ahead. Prove what a menace your kind is!”

Erin stared at him. Then she shook her head. She was aware other people were staring at her, so she raised her voice as she addressed Lism.

“You are not a nice person. Olesm’s nice, but you’re not. If everyone was nicer, I think we’d get along. But I don’t like you.”

She stared him in the eye, and walked off. Selys hurried off after Erin. After a minute, she heard him shouting in outrage.

Erin didn’t care. She left the street behind and walked on. Sometimes, sadness was too much to process at once. Why did bad things happen? Why couldn’t everything be good?

Magic.

“I don’t—scales and tails, why did it have to happen like that? Poor Krshia. What will she do after that? Almost all her goods were in that stall, and it was warded for goodness sake! What kind of spell could tear through that?”

Selys was talking rapidly as she walked with Erin, upset. Erin nodded once or twice, but then she had to ask.

“I’ve got to go. I’ve got—something very important to do. A guest. I need to buy ingredients.”

“Guests? Now? Erin…”

Selys hesitated. She sighed.

“I can help, I guess, but Krshia’s…look, who’s it for?”

“The faeries.”

For two long minutes Selys just gaped at Erin, searching her face slowly. Erin stared back, heart calm, heart racing.

“The—are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“But they’re—”

Selys hesitated. She looked at Erin again, searchingly, and took a deep breath.

“Okay. Since it’s you, okay. You look—explain it to me later? What do you need?”

Erin nodded. She felt grateful.

“Milk. Cream for butter, and…new cow’s milk.”

“Cream I can do, but new cow’s milk? What’s that supposed to be?”

“Is there a baby just born and a mother…who hasn’t given milk yet? That sort of thing?”

Selys had no idea. But she knew a Drake who knew a Drake who knew a Gnoll who said that there was a [Farmer] in a village north of the city who had a cow who was expecting a calf any day now. Two farmers, actually. One had definitely had a calf a week ago; the other might still just have a pregnant cow.

That was enough for Erin. She asked Selys for more help finding bags of sugar. The Drake gave her a very odd look when Erin bought two big bags with much of the gold she’d brought, but she just stared at Erin’s face and shook her head.

“I’ll get the shopkeeper to send a Street Runner to your inn. It’s close enough and she should do it with how much you’re paying her.”

Erin thanked Selys, and wandered away. She was still thinking. Yes. A half-Elf was pure, wasn’t she? Pure enough. And if you were going to gather dead and rotting things, why not a skeleton? It made sense, in that childish way.

As for milk…

Erin had to ask for directions, but eventually she left the northern gate and found the village. It was a small gathering on top of a large hill—it had to be a large hill to hold the houses and barn. In, fact, it was closer to a plateau, just with a gradient for a slope. Upland. That’s what the right word was.

She found the farmer’s barn and house a ways away from the village. Erin stared at the boars in a fence, and wondered why. Then she looked around and found an older Drake, tending to a calf still sticky and wet as he scrambled to his feet.

She’d arrived just in time. The Drake jumped when Erin approached and grabbed at a pitchfork, but she was unarmed and besides, he’d heard of her.

When Erin explained what she wanted, the Drake gave her an odd look, but Erin offered him a gold piece and he took it. It was hard to milk the cow; the mother clearly wanted the calf to suckle, but in the end the Drake had two buckets of…milk for Erin. He told her the calf needed the rest, and that was fine.

Erin stared at the buckets as she carefully carried them back to her inn along the snowy plains. Was it really milk? It looked…yellower, and thicker than normal milk. But it was a cow’s first milk. She’d asked, and yes, this was the first calf the cow had had. This was the first milk the cow had given.

It was what she needed. But—more. Erin was sure there was more that was important. Ingredients were fine, but they were only one piece of the puzzle. To make it special, you had to do things. You had to have ritual, a bit of…

Magic.

—-

Erin found her way back to the inn and separated the two buckets. One would be for tonight. The other she had to put into a butter churn.

She didn’t have one. But Selys had brought one with the delivery of cream. Erin thanked her, and then realized Toren was coming back.

The skeleton had a huge basket filled with odd mushrooms in his hands, but he also had a dead Shield Spider he was dragging behind him. Selys screamed a bit when she saw it, but Erin had an idea.

She took the mushrooms, and told Toren to milk the spider of venom. She had no idea how to do that and neither did the skeleton, but Selys had seen it done once and helped figure it out.

Erin missed the process. It was apparently messy—enough so that Selys left in distress, covered in spider insides. But she took the shell, or rather, had someone come to get it.

Toren gave Erin a small bottle full of clear liquid. She’d expected the venom to be green, but then, Erin didn’t know what it was supposed to look like. It was fine. Deadly; Selys had said it was dangerous, but fine.

If Erin drank it, she’d probably die. But maybe…

“‘Double, double, boil and trouble…’”

Toren looked at Erin curiously, and she shook her head. Witches did it. What would faeries eat? The trick was to abandon common sense. To imagine the stupidest—no, that was wrong. To dream. That was what children did. That was what Erin had to do.

Dream. And turn it into reality.

Erin went into her kitchen and stared at what she’d brought. She had lots of sugar. It was grown further south, where Winter sometimes never arrived, but even then, it was costly to ship and make. Erin had two big bags and she’d spent a lot of gold on both, but it wasn’t right.

Not pure. That was what the faerie had said. Maybe it was an offhand comment, but…

How would you make something pure? How would you put magic into sugar? Erin thought. Her eyes fell on the white sugar. Somehow, even without modern refining equipment, the skilled laborers managed to create sugar as white as salt or…snow…

Erin stared at the sugar. Yes. That was it. Snow. And snow was more beautiful in the moonlight. Moons. Dancing in a glade in a forest as the moonlight shone down.

Yes.

She took the sugar, and mixed it with snow in a large bowl. Then she set it on a table facing a window where the sun could shine in.

Then Erin set to churning the cream she’d bought. She knew what had to be done thanks to her [Advanced Cooking] skill, but it was still hard work. The handle moved easily at first, but after a while it grew harder and harder to move.

Still, she was strong, again thanks to a Skill. Erin finished churning the butter and found a sieve. She separated the wet butter from the buttermilk and put each in a separate container. Then she started making bread.

Toren returned with more mushrooms, some spotted with odd colors, a few simply brown and drab. Erin took them all, separating the good ones from the rotting and washing them carefully. She put them on a plate, arranging them carefully.

Ceria came back after another hour, muddy, cold, wet, and grumpy. But she’d found the flowers. The half-Elf had gathered quite a variety of flowers, most of them squashed and dying. But among them was something that looked like bluebells. Erin took the flowers and placed them around the table like cups.

She went back to work. Ceria helped set up the tables, arranging flowers and small dishes, but when she was done and the sun was starting to set, she found Erin, exhausted, using normal milk to make more butter and more sweet milk, just in case.

“Why do you think they’ll like all this? And why do you have to make the butter yourself? You could just buy it, with how much money you’re spending.”

Erin paused in churning the butter long enough to shoo Toren away again. He kept wanting to take over, but she wouldn’t let him touch the handle.

“Virgin hands. Fresh butter. No death. Except on the mushrooms.”

“Children’s stories.”

Ceria stared at the display, and nodded slowly.

“When I was a child—the elders said that once, a long time ago, the faeries were supposed to get along with Elves. Well, sort of. It’s just a story, but maybe…”

She trailed off, and Erin thought she understood. It was silly. Half of what was being done made no sense, but…

They were faeries. Fables brought to life. Who was to say what was right or wrong. Erin had to believe. Her heart was full of doubt, but the faerie had said it.

Magic is.

“Are you sure it will work?”

“It has to. And it should.”

Erin gave Ceria several gold pieces and the half-Elf went into the city. She came back with what few fruits she could buy, and more news about the thief and Krshia.

“Apparently, the girl’s a rich daughter of some kind. She won’t say whose child she is, but she had enough magical artifacts on her for a Gold-rank team of adventurers. Can you believe that? Nearly all of them are out of magic, though. It seems she’d been using them non-stop for nearly a month to steal and survive.”

“Mm.”

Erin labored over a last loaf of bread as Ceria talked. She was trying to bake fruits into the loaf, and it was working thanks to her [Advanced Cooking] skill. Erin had no idea it was even possible, but she’d thought of it, and so she was doing it. It would go lovely with the whipped cream. The vanilla beans had cost a fortune, though.

Ceria paused, clearly waiting for another reaction. But when it didn’t come she went on.

“Well, the Gnolls want her blood. Literally, her blood. Krshia’s the most calm headed of the lot. She wants the thief on trial. If she has people who will send payment, or the artifacts can pay off the damages…it’s not likely, given how much destruction the girl’s caused. But if she can’t, well, it’d be bad for relations to execute a human outright for theft, but I think exile would be a death sentence, don’t you?”

“Cold out.”

Erin stared out the window in the kitchen. Ceria nodded.

“Exactly. She’d die before she reached another city—even if they gave her supplies is my guess. I got a look at her, and she seems too pampered to last. But that’s what the Gnolls want. They’re talking about a blood-debt, so they’re pushing for exile if it means she dies. It’s a mess out there.”

The girl barely heard Ceria. She wondered how Krshia was doing. She was the important part of the story. Erin would go help her. Or come when the Gnoll called. But not yet. She understood. When she’d been hurt, she’d wanted to be alone to mourn.

Erin put the dough in the stone oven and walked out into her common room to check on the bowl of sugar and snow.

Over the course of the day, the snow melted and mixed with the sugar. Erin stirred the bowl until it was nearly completely mixed, and syrupy, heavy liquid lay in the bowl. As the moon rose, the light shone down into the cloudy mixture, making it glow.

Ceria helped some more, and even made food. Erin had forgotten to eat, but she was treated to some egg…yolks in a bowl and bread. With sugar. She ate it mechanically, still in a trance.

It had to work. Please, let it work.

The bowl was glowing by the time the two had finished. It looked like it was glowing. The moonlight was caught in the sugary water and reflected out, a mirror to the dark skies.

Maybe it was just a trick of the light. But it was enough. Erin took the first milk of a cow and mixed the moonstruck sugar and melted snow into it. She took the bread she’d made herself out of the oven. It was still warm, and she wrapped it in a towel to keep it warmer. Then she placed the hard-churned butter next to it.

Anything else? Erin set up another table with the alcohol she’d bought. Almost all of the profits of the concert had gone into this. A keg of rum, and another of mead; by now, Erin’s arms were tired. But she had one last thing to do.

The shield spider’s venom was still in the little bottle. Erin stared at the clear liquid, and then placed it next to the toadstools and mushrooms.

There. It was done. Erin blinked, and woke from her trance of labor. She was in pain. Her arms were screaming; her back really hurt. But it was done.

Ceria looked around the room. A bright fire burned in the fireplace, and candles had been lit at each table, giving the atmosphere of the room a close, intimate setting. Tables had been set up with different themes as Erin’s imagination had dictated.

A table of mushrooms and spider venom; a table of death. It sat on the opposite side of the central table with baked bread and fruit and sugary milk and whipped cream and everything Erin could make that was sweet and savory.

On the other side, she’d placed the special concoction. The cow’s first milk, mixed with the moonlight sugar water filled several huge bowls, and Erin had also added the special butter she’d churned and buttermilk as well.

Mead and drinks on another table—Erin had melted freshly fallen snow as well. It felt like a bit of magic; an innkeeper’s magic ritual to her. She stared around, and felt just a hint, just a glimpse—

Was this magic? Or just her imagination?

“Looks like all we need are the guests.”

Ceria stood to one side of the room, looking around as Toren entered, dragging in one last basket of bedraggled mushrooms. He hadn’t been allowed to touch most of the things in the room; only Ceria and Erin had done the arranging.

Half-Elf for purity, virgin for double-purity. It made sense in that old-fashioned sort of way. Faeries weren’t unicorns, but wasn’t there something to that story?

Erin didn’t know. But she knew it was time. Any longer, and she’d lose her nerve. She’d avoided thinking of the consequences of this all day. It had to work. It would work.

Believe. That was part of magic.

“How will you call them? I haven’t seen a single Frost Faerie all day.”

Ceria looked worried, but Erin wasn’t. It was the last part of the child’s story, the old fable.

Slowly, Erin walked over to the door. Now, how would it go? Oh, yes. The fair folk were special. They knew when things happened, didn’t they? So they would already know, at least in a story.

But they had to be invited. Erin had put all of the iron in cupboards, deep in the kitchen. She opened the door, and stared out into the night sky. Nothing moved in the snowy landscape. Her breath misted in the cold air as the warmth rushed outside.

The words. Erin raised her voice, only slightly, and spoke.

“Frost Faeries. Bringers of Winter. I invite you in. I open my doors to the Fey, and offer you this simple banquet.”

Her voice was lost in the darkness. Erin stared out, heart pounding. For a minute, she waited. Then two minutes.

Wait for it. It was how stories worked. It would work. It had to work. It—

Five minutes. Ten. The room grew colder.

“Erin.”

Ceria was at her shoulder. Erin sagged against the door. No. But that was how it worked, wasn’t it? She remembered making tea parties for faeries as a kid. They’d never showed up. Even when she’d turned her back, the little acorns had stayed in one place. The faeries weren’t coming.

Twenty minutes. In despair, Erin let Ceria pull her inside. She and the half-Elf turned—

And saw the faeries.

They hovered in the air, a shroud of them. A swarm—a herd. That was what a group of faeries were called. A hundred bright, glowing bodies. A hundred silent eyes and still faces.

Ceria went very still. Toren was standing, uncertain, staring up at the faeries. They were so silent. But then one flitted down in front of Erin. The girl recognized her from this morning.

“Human. Mortal. Ye have called us, and so we have come. For what reason do you summon the fey?”

Erin’s mouth was dry. She swallowed, and spoke.

“As guests. I offer you my hospitality. And I have made food which I hope will suit you.”

The faeries looked around. Some moved, swooping over the food and talking to each other. Yes—some were more excitable than others, and for some reason Erin thought of those faeries as younger.

“See what the mortal has made! Oh, see, see!”

“A first milking! And sugar mixed with snow in the moon. How strange, how odd!”

“Look! Poison she give us! A spider’s bite made drink, and mushrooms of every kind.”

“Death and life! Bread to eat and sweet creams and sugary treats!”

The first faerie raised her hand, and the others quieted and stopped in place. She stared down at Erin, and for a second, Erin thought she saw a smile.

“Strange. ‘Tis an odd banquet, but you have brought mead and made food. It has been thousands of years since we were treated to thus; and this place was built without iron. We shall accept.”

Ceria was wide-eyed. She stared at the faeries as they slowly descended to the tables. Erin paused. There was one last thing, and the faerie in charge seemed to know it as well. She flew over to an empty table.

“You offer us food, and we as guests must offer you a fair price. So do I give you the treasure of our kind.”

She flew around the table, once, twice. The third time, the air—Erin blinked. Something had happened. Where the table had been bare and empty, suddenly there was gold.

Gold.

A pile of gold coins filled the groaning table, stacked haphazardly but filling every inch. It seemed as though with each moment the pile of gold would shift and spill onto the floor, so full was it.

Erin gaped. The light of the candles shone off the gold, and illuminated the room. She couldn’t take her eyes away from the sight. Each coin seemed to have its own luminescence, and the sight was so beautiful—

The faerie hovered above the table, grinning broadly at the mortals’ stupefaction.

“Will ye accept this as just payment?”

Erin almost instantly said yes, but part of her had to go over and touch it, make sure it was real. She walked over to the table, feeling that each step was a dream. Carefully, Erin picked up one coin.

“Gold?”

It was gold. As Ceria picked up a piece, she stared at the coin. Erin knew it was gold too, but there was something different about these gold pieces, compared to the ones she used.

“It’s…pure gold. Pure.”

Ceria breathed the words as she held the coin up to the light. Her face was full of wonder. Toren glanced at the pile of gold, and to Erin and tilted his head. She didn’t pay attention; she was too busy staring.

“Well? Never let it be said the fey folk are not generous!”

The faerie laughed and swooped around Erin.

“Do you call it a fair trade, human?”

Toren clattered his jaw, and several faeries shot him dark looks. Erin quickly shushed him and nodded vigorously.

“Um, yes. Of course! Thank you!”

The faerie grinned. She raised her hand towards the ceiling, and suddenly the room was full of tiny cheers.

“You hear it, sisters? The bargain is struck! Fair payment, for a meal! Now, let us feast!”

It was as if she’d unfrozen time. The faeries immediately burst into movement. They descended on the food Erin had put out, chattering, laughing, so full of joy and lust for life that even Ceria and Erin were caught up in the sudden outburst of celebration.

Only one person in the room wasn’t happy. Toren. He clattered his jaw and jumped up and down on the ground, pointing to the gold coins. He swept some off the table, holding them up in front of Erin.

“What’s gotten into you? Stop it!”

She scowled at him. Toren dropped the coins and they clattered to the ground. He looked around, seemingly frustrated, and then ran at the faeries, waving his arms. Was he having some kind of fit? A malfunction? Erin pushed him away as the skeleton ran at the faeries, and grabbed Ceria.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him. Can you…?”

“Got it.”

Ceria nodded and Erin pointed towards the half-Elf.

“Go with her, Toren. That’s an order.”

The skeleton froze in place. Then, very slowly and obviously reluctantly, he nodded, and turned towards the door. The faeries laughed as he went.

Erin was relieved; she would have hated to ruin their mood. As Ceria left, Erin seized the small bottle of venom and began pouring it into small flower cups as faeries floated towards her. She felt like an awkward maitre’d, but she was determined to give the faeries the service they deserved.

She swept into the mood of the party in an instant, filling drinks, laughing, listening to the faeries chatter. Unlike when they spoke to her, Erin couldn’t make out a single word these faeries spoke. Their voices were totally incomprehensible to her—not in the way another language was. Erin had heard Spanish or French and could even guess some words because they shared the same ancestry as English. But even Mandarin or Arabic was more comprehensible than this. They were still human languages, but the faeries—

They spoke words Erin’s brain couldn’t even begin to process. But it didn’t matter. They laughed with her, and whirled in the air, drinking her sweet milk, quaffing alcohol out of the tiny flowers Ceria had brought, tearing hunks of bread out and eating them, despite the fact that it shouldn’t have fit into their stomachs.

And there was magic in the room. At some point, Erin’s bottle of spider venom ran out. She hadn’t even questioned how the faeries drank the deadly liquid like water, or how they were still flying even though some of them were clearly drunk. They were enjoying themselves, and so was she.

In a different way than the concert. That had been all noise and ceaseless energy, but this was different. Yes, the faeries could be raucous, but there was something else in the air that captured the feel of the room.

Magic.

Erin felt it in every wing beat, in the strange way the fire kept going without any fuel. She felt it as the faeries danced, creating wondrous patterns in the air that glowed as each candle slowly went out. And she felt it in her, as well. She had made this.

She had done it. Magic.

Look, she wanted to say. She wanted to run out and shout it to Pisces and Ceria and Ryoka and the world. Look, look! I can do it too.

And as the faeries danced through the air, Erin smiled and cried a bit. Out of happiness, out of relief. Out of joy and the wonder of it. And in her heart, she hoped these moments would last forever.

But all too soon her inn was deserted, and Erin stood among empty plates and discarded flowers. She stared around the inn, and felt in every bit of it how lonely it was. And she vowed it would not be this way ever again.

As Erin sat down slowly in a chair, every muscle aching, every bone weary, she looked at the table heaped with gold. And she smiled. It wasn’t all that was important.

But it did help.

Then her eyes closed, and the voice spoke in her ear as she slept.

[Innkeeper Level 25!]

[Skill – Inn’s Aura Obtained!]

[Skill – Wondrous Fare Learned.]

—-

When Erin woke up, the magic was still in her. It lifted her out of a dreamless sleep, and back into the real world. She could be excitable and full of boundless energy later; but right now she still wanted to linger in this feeling of tranquility.

Erin breathed in the smell of the morning, and thought about last night. She’d leveled up four times, and gained two skills. Two…important skills. One was very important, she felt. She had no idea what it meant, but the word made her smile.

Magic. She had it. She had magic, and the favor of faeries. What more could she ask for?

And the gold—

The gold. Erin looked over, but instead of the shining pile of pure gold coins, she saw…flowers.

Flowers? No. Erin’s heart stopped. But yes, that was what sat on the table. Not a heaping pile of gold worth a king’s fortune, but a mountain of bright flowers, bright and cheerful in the sun.

Yellow flowers. Golden, really, but flowers nonetheless. They were small, and piled together neatly on the table. They were quite pretty, really.

But they were flowers.

Erin’s brain came to a complete standstill. She staggered out of her chair, and stared around the empty room, looking at all the expensive, hard-to-gather things she’d made. The empty bowl of cow’s milk, the crumbs left over from the bread she’d made, the butter, the empty bowls that had held mushrooms, spider’s venom, sugar…

She noted the complete absence of any faeries, and then stared at the table where her gold was supposed to be.

The magic ended. Erin stared at the wilting golden flowers. Her left eye twitched. She took a deep breath.

“What the fu—”

2.22 K

When Gazi saw the castle’s spires in the distance, she knew she was close to her destination. She had travelled long and far across these arid lands, alone, tired, wounded and hungry. But she had never slowed her pace, barely paused to rest.

She was nearly home.

The city was much as Gazi had remembered it, but it was a mix of two memories. She remembered once, when she had returned in confusion and defeat to her liege, to beg him to reconsider. The city had been deathly quiet then; full of scared people listening to the sound of an empire’s collapse.

But the streets had been smooth, the buildings soaring high and each stall in each shop stocked with exotic goods from around the world. The citizens had been hearty and hale—some trending towards fat even—and surely no other city in the world had been greater.

Then. But Gazi also remembered when she’d left. She had ridden out, out through a broken place filled with empty-eyed people whose gaunt, vacant expressions bore no hope for tomorrow, let alone the future. The pavement had been cracked, and the first signs of decay had begun to touch even the magnificent structures Drevish had built.

Then, and then. But now was different.

As Gazi moved through the gates she heard a call from the battlements. She looked up with her four good eyes and grinned.

In truth, the walls had crumbled so much that there was little point to manning them. But someone did stand on the walls! Young boys and old retired veterans; hardly the ideal soldiers, but they stood anyways, wearing salvaged armor corroded by rust, or exquisitely maintained heirlooms.

They shouted down to Gazi, a person they recognized. She waved at them, but her feet did not stop moving. She sped through the city, and saw the faces of the people.

Theirs were gaunt, yes, and they were even thinner than when Gazi had left. But their eyes were different. They held what had been missing. Fire. Hope. That spark of life that could never be extinguished. It was that, more than anything that hastened Gazi’s steps even more, and told her the time had come at last.

Her King had returned.

Gazi looked with each of her four eyes, one watching the road while the other three looked in every direction, trying to assess the city, the bustling people. Everyone was moving with purpose, which told her that much work was going on. And more work would need to be done, if the ruined buildings she saw were any indication of the state of the city.

It was such a shame she couldn’t look further than the street she was on, though. If she could she would be able to look into the palace ahead of her, and see—

Well, perhaps her blindness was good for one thing. Gazi was conscious of her closed eye as she made her way down the street. It was attracting as much attention as her presence itself was. It made people hesitate.

For why would Gazi the Omniscient close her eye? It was her greatest weapon and defense; the gift of Gazers which Gazi had in turn honed and made even stronger than normal. While her four peripheral eyes could still see at great distance and even through objects at close range, they were nothing compared to her main eye.

But it was still damaged, still blind. Gazi still remembered the girl, standing in front of her, and her teeth ground together in fury, and her hand reached towards the sword on her back unconsciously.

But only for a moment. And even the pain and shame of defeat couldn’t take away the feeling in Gazi’s chest. She was at the massive gates of the palace. They stood open, and the guards there did not dare block her way. She was close.

“Gazi!”

A crowd of people stood at the entrance, waiting no doubt for a sign of her lord. But they cheered her loudly, as well they might. She was one of the Seven; her return was a herald of the times.

Gazi waved once, and then her armored feet were crossing marble, rather than dusty brick. She walked through a palace just as worn down as the rest of the city. True, this place had been better maintained than the rest of the city, no doubt thanks to Orthenon and those who had stayed. But even this place was in need of repairs.

And they were underway. Gazi walked through rooms bustling with people cleaning, rushing about with supplies, arms, parchment—it was a sight that moved her heart. This was what she had longed to see all these long years! But even so, she couldn’t stop. She had to see for herself, with her own eyes.

“Lady Gazi!”

“The Omniscient has returned! Tell the Steward! Bring word to the King!”

“Lady Gazer, do you need a drink? Food?”

Gazi waved or nodded at them all, not slowing, not stopping. No one stopped her either, and many wisely got out of the way since Gazi was moving at a speed few creatures—humans, Gazers, or otherwise—could hope to match. They knew that she had returned, and they knew where she was going. Where she had to go.

Only one person moved next to her. Gazi’s leftmost eye swiveled and she nodded her head once as a tall, serious man walked away from a conversation with a baker to join her. He had once been gaunt, but flesh had filled withered skin again, and now he walked with a lord’s grace and the poise and surety of his station.

One long mustache met well with his dark, somber clothing. Only an edge of faded gold brought any life to his garments. He looked much as Gazi remembered him; stern, unwavering, and formal. It was good to see him too, but she did not slow her pace, only nodded her head.

“Orthenon.”

“Lady Gazi. You have been away for a very long time.”

“Longer than most?”

“That remains to be seen. You are not the only one who has returned this day.”

That surprised Gazi. She turned her face so all four eyes could focus on him for a second.

“Who else has returned? Amerys? Drevish?”

“Lord Drevish and Lady Amerys have not yet made their way back. But Lady Mars and Lord Takhatres have both joined us. Mars arrived mere hours before you.”

Gazi wasn’t happy to hear that. Part of her was of course overjoyed that more had returned to lend their strength to her liege for the trials ahead. And yet, at the same time, a large part of her wanted her return to be the only event of the day.

And yet, not for one second did Gazi think of slowing, or having delayed her arrival. It was far more important to see him, to be there. And yet—

“How is he? How has he—changed since that time?”

Gazi stumbled over her words, uncharacteristically for her. She tried to ask the question that wormed its way through her heart, drowning out even the hope.

To answer, Orthenon just smiled. Their quick progress through the massive castle and winding corridors had taken them to the place both knew most well. The massive throne room.

“He is as he has always been—only more.”

“More?”

It was a word that banished shadows, a word to cling to, to light a fire from. Orthenon smiled, and she saw the flames burning brightest in his eyes.

“He has returned, and it was as if he never left.”

And then, they were there. Gazi stood in front of the massive doors, and heard her heart pounding. If she had use of her large eye, she could have looked inside herself to see that odd event for herself. And yet, Gazi was sure that even if she had her main eye, she would still not know what lay beyond those doors. She would have been too afraid to look.

Orthenon waited, silent, patient, waiting for Gazi to make the first move. She stood in front of the door and drew a few deep breaths. Then she placed her hands on the wood, and pushed the doors open.

The first thing Gazi heard was laughter. Deep, booming laughter that filled the massive room. It stopped her heart in her chest, and it might well have done the same for Orthenon.

How long? How long since she had heard that sound? Gazi moved forwards slowly, as if in a dream, feet taking her into the room. To see—

Flos, King of Destruction, her liege and sole light in the world, stood in the center of the throne room and laughed. He was six years older than when she had last laid eyes on him, yet those years had only made him more vivid to behold.

His golden-red hair was still like the sun, and age had only faded the colors slightly. He still moved with all the passion and vigor of a younger man, and despite his long slumber, his body had not given way to fat or decay. And his eyes—

They burned.

Gazi halted as Flos laughed, nearly doubled over from mirth. He was standing in the room, with four people surrounding him. Two—an armored woman with a massive round shield strapped to her back and a sword at her hip and a bird-man, blue and green feathers mixed with light clothing and a bird’s face with a curved beak—were known to her. But the other two people Gazi had never seen before.

One was a girl, the other was a boy. Perhaps it should be ‘young man and young woman’, but to Gazi, they were still children. Their features were similar; enough so that she automatically assumed they were twins, or at the very least, brother and sister. But there was another quality to them that made Gazi instinctively think they were like Erin and Ryoka.

They had that aspect to them, in the way they stood, the way they watched her lord, and their very presence in this sacred space that made Gazi think they were not from this world. If she had her eye she could have verified the truth of that at a glance, but all of her gaze was focused on one man, and one alone.

Her King.

He laughed and laughed, caught up in mirth. And then he turned. He strode towards the massive windows that faced out onto the city and threw his arms out wide. Nothing had changed.

“‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’”

Flos roared the words to the heavens, and laughed again, deep and long. He whirled, eyes full of fire.

“And naught remains. Nothing left but rubble and dust and words. How wondrous. I have not heard such words to stir my soul in years! And you say that was written by a poet? Would that I had the privilege of meeting her once.”

Still chuckling, the King went back towards the two small humans. And then he caught sight of Gazi, and the world stopped. For her, and for him.

Gazi did not remember kneeling, did not know when he crossed the distance between them. It felt like an instant, but then she sensed his presence. A hand reached down and placed itself on her shoulder as she stared on the ground, too timid to look up.

“Gazi. Faithful Gazi. I beg of you; rise.”

And she did. She would have followed that voice into oblivion, obeyed any command. Gazi looked up, and saw the face of her King.

He was smiling, even as tears stood out in his eyes. He said not a word, but enfolded her in a crushing embrace. She held very still, memorizing it, inhaling his scent. She wished this moment would last forever.

But then he released her, and she opened her eyes again. He was there. In front of her. She could reach out and touch him. And he was back. Yes, she felt it in her bones, in her very soul and every beat of her heart now.

He was back. Her lord had awoken once more.

“Gazi.”

“My lord.”

She smiled up at him, noting the way his eyes flicked from her closed eye, crusted with yellow liquid, to her dusty armor and face with concern. She savored it.

“It is good to see you again. But your eye—”

Gazi shook her head. An eye? What was her eye in this moment?

“A minor thing, my lord. I wish to tell you of it, and more.”

He smiled, and her heart skipped again.

“And I wish to hear every second of it. Come; Mars has just arrived, and I wish to hear your story with all to listen. Orthenon?”

The other man approached, bowing efficiently. Flos walked with Gazi across the long room, and she walked with him. Her King.

The two who knew her nodded as they approached. Mars the Illusionist, and Takhatres, Lord of the Skies, inclined their heads and Gazi did likewise. It was odd; she was almost glad to see both of them as well.

Perhaps Gazi frightened them, because the twins only stared at her. If that was the case, Gazi would have assumed Takhatres’ bird-like form and long, wicked beak would be more frightening, but perhaps they had become accustomed to him. She was hardly more different, with her orange-brown skin and odd, four-fingered hands, but perhaps it was the eyes. Humans always stared at her eyes.

“Gazi, I present to you Mars and Takhatres, who have both travelled countless miles to rejoin me. But also to Trey and Teresa, two twins who I have chosen to be my attendants. To all, this is Gazi, my eye and one of my hands and dearest friend to me. Returned at last.”

The others murmured their greetings, and Gazi heard a cracked voice from the boy. The girl just stared at her, wide-eyed and fearful. She looked at them pleasantly for her lord’s sake, but instantly, Gazi decided she did not like the two humans.

They had made her lord laugh. They stood here, in this place, at this time, and that meant they were trusted, favorites even of her King. For that, and that alone, Gazi hated them with all her soul.

But that was nothing. Nothing at all. Gazi turned her attention back to her King, and smiled again. He smiled back, full of life, and she knew that he would never go. A decade stood between them. Now, and then. One decade they had fought together, and she had been his sworn sword and led his armies to victory. Another decade he had lain quiet, slumbering, and her heart had broken and she had searched for that which might bring him back.

Now he had awoken. And so Gazi could finally say the words that she had carried in her heart for years. She looked into his eyes, and felt her own eyes growing blurry.

“My lord. I have returned.”

How both of their souls thrilled to hear the words! But her King only smiled. He placed one hand on her shoulder.

“Yes. And just in time. We have much to do.”

—-

His name was Trey, and he was afraid and confused. That was normal to him, but today, especially today, he was even more so. Normally, he would have loved to talk to his sister quietly by themselves in their private language, but they stood in front of a King.

His name was Flos, and he had come into Trey’s life and shattered everything the young man had believed in. True, it was Trey and Teresa who had been summoned to this world by magic or…or something, but Flos had pulled them out of the skies, and taken their lives in the palm of his hand. Like a current he had swept them along with them.

The massive man stood in the center of the throne room, larger than life, talking to the strange woman he’d introduced as Gazi. She looked…vaguely human. She had no nose, but she had long black hair turned into dreadlocks and she had a humanoid form. Her skin was dark orange, what Trey could see of it around her segmented, dark brown armor. It looked vaguely like scales, and it rippled and flexed as she moved, like a second skin more than metal.

She had four—no, five eyes. Four eyes surrounded a central eye, but that one was closed, and a yellowish substance had crusted it shut. And yet, the four eyes that did work were pupil-less, or perhaps the pupils were so faint that they couldn’t be seen. Because Trey was sure that at least one eye was looking at him.

He shivered, and felt his other half, his sister and twin, Teresa, do the same. She was just like him, and the two mirrored each other’s emotions and thoughts quite often.

It was an odd thing. Not all twins had their depth of connection at such a late age. They were both sixteen, although nearly seventeen in truth. And they were two of a kind, separated only by gender.

Both Trey and Teresa were from England, which their features clearly indicated. They had moderately dark blonde hair, fair skin, and they were the exact same height of 5’10. That was odd again; because they weren’t identical twins, at least genetically.

The correct term was fraternal twins, which just meant that they’d been born together, two babies growing in the womb instead of one. But that was vastly different from identical twins, who were the same egg that split into two.

No, Trey and Teresa were simply two children from the same mother and father who happened to look disconcertingly close to each other even late in life. The doctors had simply called it an unusual set of coincidences that their chromosomes aligned in so many ways; Trey thought of it as luck.

Because they were alike. The twins still remembered the secret language that they’d invented as kids, and they still shared thoughts even as they had slowly become different with age. Of the two, Trey was most likely to speak up, and Teresa was most likely to wait and observe. She had the good ideas and he usually ended up being the one to try and carry them out while she helped.

She preferred being called Teres, which was a better sounding name anyways, in Trey’s opinion. It was also the name of some muscle in the shoulder, but that wasn’t important.

They were alike. Alike and different. Trey liked video games; Teres preferred to draw and read. Both could play sports fairly well, which meant Teres was popular in team sports since she could keep up with her brother.

Neither one liked cricket, and they both preferred to leave jams in the fridge, way in the back where they could rot forever. They both liked movies, and music, and normal things, and both agreed that this world was terrifyingly scary.

Trey could see Teres’ pale face out of the corner of his eye. She was handling all these sudden changes a little worse than he was, which meant that she might start screaming at any second, really. Flos kept them in the throne room and by his side most of the time, but both twins could really have used a few days—weeks, months, really—to sit in a corner and try to make sense of everything.

But they had to be attentive. If they had not sensed it already, the surge of life that had flooded into the city and palace over the last month had told them that something big was happening, and Flos was at the heart of it all. He was a King, one that had woken up a city full of despairing people and dying hopes with words alone.

No offense to the Queen, or the royal family, but Flos was a character out of legends for Trey. He resembled the image the young man had of Alexander the Great, or perhaps King Arthur himself if Trey was honest. He seemed to radiate a massive presence at all times, and you couldn’t help but hang on his every word.

Now Flos was done speaking to Gazi. Trey jerked, and felt Teres nudge him ever-so-slightly. He hadn’t heard a word the King had said, but hopefully she could tell him later. Flos put both hands on Gazi’s shoulders and stared into her eyes with genuine warmth and love.

“You must tell me all of it—all!—later. But for now let us speak of this kingdom’s future and what has happened in my absence. I had not yet done so with Mars, and now is an opportune time.”

He turned, and looked at the twins. They felt a jolt down their spines, but no fear in their stomachs. This wasn’t an angry adult or boss to be afraid of; it was just that his stare was electric.

“Trey, Teres. To me.”

Obediently, they walked over, and Trey chanced another glance at the Gazer—no, half-Gazer named Gazi. She stared impassively back at him, and he shivered and looked away.

Flos clapped his hands together, and Trey thought he might actually wet himself. Everything the King did was so loud.

“There is much that has changed since you left, Gazi. These two who stand before you come from another world. I will explain more, but they have told me of another land, filled with armies and weapons which would humble even the greatest monsters of our world. It is they who reignited my flame, and so I have chosen to make them my wards and personal attendants. Treat them kindly, and teach them, I ask of all of you.”

Mars nodded immediately, as did Takhatres. Trey tried to avoid looking at Mars; he was still wary of the bird man, or Garuda as his species was known, but he’d gotten used to the calm Takhatres over the last few days.

But Mars on the other hand…Mars was not easy for Trey to talk to. He kept looking down. It was really hard! Teres had already kicked him twice, but—but—

Mars had huge breasts. There was just no way around it. But more than that, she had an amazing figure—she looked like a supermodel altered in photo shop. Her long, bouncing red curls of hair, her slender frame and unscarred skin, her luscious, bouncing—

Teres kicked Trey again, and he looked away. Mars gave him a smile and he turned beet red. Flos chuckled as Orthenon rolled his eyes and Takhatres smiled quietly. And Gazi—

She was staring at the twins. She’d nodded when Flos had spoken his request, but she didn’t have the open air Mars did or the quiet acceptance of Takhatres. She stared at Trey, and he felt uncomfortable. Her eyes were like a laser peering into his head. Trey moved slightly back so he was closer to Teres. He could feel her shiver, and hoped she could draw the same support he was getting from her.

“Now, a formal council will be in order later, as will much discussion. Over dinner, I believe. A banquet is out of the question until we have replenished our stocks, but I would dine with all of you and speak with Mars and Gazi later.”

Flos began speaking again, and Gazi’s eyes shifted away. Trey looked at Flos too; he couldn’t help it. Whenever the man moved, he became the center of the room.

“My kingdom is weak. I have let everything go, in my despair and apathy. Only Orthenon has kept everything from crumbling, and yet my kingdom is still broken. And all of you—I let you down. That you have come back is a gift I do not deserve.”

Flos looked Mars, Takhatres, Gazi, and Orthenon each in the eyes, and they each returned his stare, silent, smiling, bowing their heads. The silence around them was intimate and deep as they hung on his words.

At last the King turned to the twins and smiled again, but with a trace of sadness. He bowed his head.

“I abandoned my throne and my people. For a King, there can be no greater shame. And yet—I would have lost all in any case had I continued on my journey. My kingdom would have been shattered by blood and fire. Perhaps it was best to let it fall away. We may never know. But I have returned, and so we will begin again. I only ask you this: are you with me?”

“Of course!”

Mars was the first to speak, and the others were right behind her. Gazi smiled and bowed like a courtier, one hand to her stomach, the other flung out behind her as her leg moved back.

“Our lives are yours to use, my King. If you desire your kingdom, ask, and we shall deliver it to you.”

Flos smiled. He looked at the four in turn, and nodded.

“Very well. We shall begin here. When Takhatres arrived, we had enough to begin rebuilding. Now that two more of my Seven have arrived, we may make a start of this.”

He turned and strode towards the windows. Everyone followed, as Flos stopped to point out at the distant horizon. Chandrar, the continent they were on, was a hot, dry place, much like Egypt or some middle-eastern country, Trey imagined. Even though it was winter, the sky outside was bright blue, and it was warm enough that he was glad to be indoors.

“Bear this in mind. While my kingdom has waned, powerful new empires have risen. Even in my slumber I heard whispers of coalitions, and a powerful new ruler who had conquered the desert cities.”

Flos frowned as he pointed out, towards the massive desert that lay in the distance. It was close enough to see, but the rolling sands and dunes disappeared forever into the horizon. Trey couldn’t even imagine how far this land stretched.

Orthenon coughed into one hand.

“Assassins and armies will soon be sent against you, my King. Your allies may rejoice at your return, but your enemies are numerous.”

Gazi nodded.

“Word has already reached Izril, my lord, although I know not how. It was how I gained news of your return. If it has spread all the way there—”

Mars shrugged, letting the armor on her shoulders roll as she gestured to the sword at her side and the massive round shield on her back.

“Let assassins come. I will protect my King. It’s armies that will pose the greater threat. But how did news spread so far so quickly? I barely got word of your return a week ago, and I was close by.”

Flos smiled, and Trey felt the iPhone in his pocket, cold and hard. He’d kept it switched off ever since the call, but it had come as a surprise that he’d been allowed to keep it. Yet the King, for all he claimed Trey and Teres as his unwilling subjects, had insisted it was theirs.

“I believe I know how, and I would not be surprised if most nations had heard word of my return by now. No matter; I would hardly have kept it secret in any case. A King does not hide. And perhaps this way word will reach my farthest-flung allies.”

“But will they march to you or stay where they are? Either way, I would not count on this aid before the first enemy strikes.”

Takhatres said it bluntly, and Flos nodded. The King smiled, tugging lightly at his beard as he surveyed his city, bustling with activity.

“How to proceed, then? My kingdom is wasted; it will take much gold to cure their long sickness, and yet my treasury is empty. Those who could fight left to serve in other wars to feed their families, and my armory has only a few relics left in it.”

“You gave arms and armor to the soldiers who left.”

Gazi said it, and Flos nodded without a hint of regret.

“They earned it, and such things would have been useless to me as I was. No, I merely state facts, Gazi. And if arms were my only concern I would be lucky. But the walls crumble, and food is scarce.”

He turned towards the others, spreading his arms wide.

“If I have no army, no coin, few weapons and fewer supplies to feed my people, how should I move?”

It sounded dire, but the twins saw a smile on his face. His eyes were twinkling, and Trey realized that Flos was happy. The King looked at Gazi.

“Is it not wonderful? To be faced with such adversity from the start?”

She smiled a slight, enigmatic smile.

“As you say, my King. It is a fitting challenge for a beginning.”

“Would that life were thus.”

Flos sighed, and looked at Orthenon.

“We must exceed ourselves. For now, my Skills will help mobilize the people, but we must find a source of food to last us through this winter. It may never snow except in the desert, but we may still starve soon enough.”

Orthenon nodded. He gestured out the window at a small line of people, far below. Trey squinted, and saw an orderly group of people waiting to receive food from a wagon. No soldiers were guarding the wagon though, and it looked like the people helping unload the wagon were just volunteers.

“The stores from merchants we have seized will help, and more still have offered us goods at extremely generous rates, or for free outright.”

“For free? Why?”

Mars looked astonished, but Orthenon was not. He looked at Flos.

“They remember your kindness of years past, or they hope to earn favor with the kingdom. But it will still not be enough.”

The King frowned slightly, pondering the problem. He spoke into the air.

“‘Money is the root of all evil’, is that not one of the quotes from your world? Well, perhaps it is evil it engenders, for money itself would save lives and feed the empty bellies of children.”

Trey blinked at him and Teres shrank back even more as Flos looked at them. Were they supposed to reply? Sometimes Flos wanted a response just to hear their perspectives, or to know what people from their world thought. But now wasn’t one of those times. He turned back to the others and gestured out the windows.

“I am no peaceful King who waits and builds up his kingdom. I understand war; if it is a matter of funds, arms, or aught else, then we will simply have to take it.”

The others nodded as if this were the most natural thing in the world. Mars grinned, showing off a mouth full of perfect, white teeth.

“From whom? Do you have a preference, sire?”

Flos nodded, stroking the beard on his chin.

“There are several large bandit groups that have the might of a small army behind them. And there may be individuals of worth among them as well. Now that Gazi and Mars have arrived, it would be safe to send Mars and Takhatres out while Gazi remains. Her name alone would ward off most threats in your absence.”

Mars and the bird-man seemed pleased by this, but Gazi was not. She turned to her King and spread her hands out, protesting mildly.

“I can still fight, my lord. The loss of one eye—”

Flos was shaking his head, and Gazi fell silent. He looked at her with sympathy and affection, placing one hand again on her shoulder.

“I would never doubt your courage, Gazi. But I will not risk you yet, not over such a trivial matter. We must find a scroll or potion to regenerate your eye, and soon. Mars—Takhatres—”

“It will be a priority, my lord.”

Mars bowed, and gave Flos a sultry smile that made Trey’s heart skip a beat. But Flos just smiled at her, and the tall woman blushed instead.

“My thanks. Now—”

Someone knocked at the double doors. It was a slight sound, quickly swallowed up by the cavernous room, but Orthenon was at the doors in moments. He opened them, and admitted a man covered in dust and grit.

A construction worker—a [Builder] of some kind? Trey was surprised he was allowed in, but Flos strode over and spoke familiarly to the man as if it were only natural. He returned in moments, and spoke to the others.

“It seems there are matters I must attend to. Construction, a few emissaries—no, Gazi, Mars, I would hardly wish for you to bestir yourselves after your long journey. Rest here. We will have a short break! Orthenon, I will deal with this myself.”

Orthenon nodded as Flos strode out of the room. The tall man went back to stand with the other three, and Trey edged away from them slightly.

Now the mood in the vast throne room had changed again. In Flos’ absence, the smiles on the faces of his four vassals changed. They were still smiling; but differently towards each other.

Teres didn’t have to tell Trey that there was some tension between them. Mars was the first to break the silence. She shifted slightly, leaning down so her breasts were more obvious as she spoke to Gazi.

“It’s good to see you again, Gazi. A pity you didn’t come earlier; I would have dearly loved to see our lord’s face had we walked in together.”

Gazi smiled back at Mars, without a hint of actual joy in her expression. She had sharp teeth.

“I would not wish to sully the joy of meeting our King with your presence. He deserves someone by his side with the least amount of confidence and competence.”

“Oh? And I see you are as impatient as ever, Gazi. You might have waited; our lord was enjoying the poem of the long-dead king.”

The half-Gazer shrugged, almost regretfully and shook her head.

“What a shame he must listen to children from another world for entertainment. It seems the novelty of your presence has worn off already, Mars.”

The other woman’s eyes narrowed and her hand twitched towards the hilt of her sword. Gazi smiled smugly, but before the two could exchange another round of insults, Takhatres clicked his tongue softly. He spread his ‘arms’, two long wings with long feathers and nimble talons at each end.

“Do you two intend to exchange insults the instant you meet? Or am I so invisible that you don’t wish to ask me about how I have been, Gazi?”

Gazi looked at him, and her expression softened somewhat. Mars looked abashed, and scratched at her head as the two turned to Takhatres.

“My apologies, Takhatres. How is your tribe?”

“Right, sorry. How are your sons and daughter? Did your wives lay any more eggs since I last saw you?”

Orthenon moved over towards Teres and Trey as the three began to converse in earnest. Trey was relieved he was the one talking to them; his head was spinning again, and he desperately needed someone to talk to if he and Teres couldn’t get away to discuss things. And if there was someone Trey had to talk to, he’d choose Orthenon.

“How are you two doing, Trey, Teresa? It has been a long day and I believe my lord forgot that you two require food, even if he does not. Should I have something brought for you to eat?”

“What? No—I’m good, thanks.”

“I’m fine, thank you. I had a big breakfast.”

Teres smiled up at Orthenon. Apart from Flos, and Trey he was pretty much the only person she was comfortable talking to.

The tall, mustached man was kind, strict, and absolutely formal at all times. Trey admired him, and he knew Teres did…for more reasons than Trey did. Most importantly though, Orthenon was one of the few people the twins were comfortable talking to. He’d explained most of how this world worked to them, and his advice was always good.

As were his warnings. Orthenon lowered his voice as the three people behind him began to chat, Mars and Gazi trading the occasionally catty remark.

“A word of warning for you two: stay away from Gazi. She may be the weakest of the three, at least without her eye, but she is the most feared, and perhaps the most possessive of our King.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Trey didn’t know how to respond to that. Was Orthenon saying Gazi might hate them because Flos had made them his attendants? But wasn’t she more important anyways?

Teres was clearly thinking the same thing.

“Isn’t she one of the Seven? I heard someone mention that.”

Trey hadn’t heard that, but Orthenon nodded. He frowned at the two of them.

“Has no one told you of the Seven? Takhatres—no, I don’t believe he cares for boasting and I suppose it is considered common knowledge.”

He sighed, and tapped lightly on his pants as he thought.

“The Seven were once King Flos’ personal circle with whom he consulted and relied on. They were his generals, his leaders who each managed part of his kingdom. They were the strongest and best of his subjects. See the three before you; despite their squabbling, their names are known across this world.”

Trey felt a shiver go down his spine as he looked at Gazi, Mars, and Takhatres. Teres looked curiously at Orthenon.

“Aren’t you one of them?”

He smiled briefly.

“My role is different. I am the King’s steward; I can hardly leave his side.”

“In that case, who’s the strongest?”

It was a stupid question to say, but Trey was curious. He could feel Teres’ disapproval and blushed, but Orthenon treated it like a normal question.

“Mars is the highest-leveled, if that’s what you define as strongest. She’s Level 66; the second-highest level warrior class on the continent.”

That was certainly the highest number Trey had ever heard. Teres also looked impressed, and for good reason. Both twins had learned the conventions of this world by now, and they understood what that meant.

“In Chandrar she is second-highest, but in terms of levels, you would still be able to count those in the world with a level close or higher than hers between the two of you.

“So she’s stronger than Gazi?”

Orthenon hesitated. He looked uncomfortable.

“If the four of us were to fight here and now, Mars would likely be the one who walked away. But I would not place money on such a bet. The Seven were chosen because they excelled beyond all others at some aspect.”

“And why are they called the Seven? Do you mean they’re like the Seven Deadly Sins or something?”

Teres had clearly been thinking the same thing, but the look she gave Trey reminded him that not everything was a manga. Orthenon looked perplexed.

“Seven Deadly…? No. No names. Just the Seven. There was no history of them before Flos named the first four. And then he slowly added to their ranks. The number has no meaning; if there were another worthy of it, they would have been eight. As it stands, they might as well call themselves the Five.”

“Why?”

“Two of the Seven are dead. They perished before our King went into his slumber. And two more have yet to return. Amerys, the Calm Flower of the Battlefield and Drevish, the Architect.”

“Why do they have those titles? I mean, sorry, what do they mean?”

Orthenon paused, and a rueful look appeared on his face.

“I believe they would not like me to tell you. If you must know, it would be wiser to ask them yourselves.”

He nodded, and Trey unwillingly walked over to join the three with Teres. He hadn’t asked because he wanted to put the question to those three themselves. But Teres wanted to know, and she was going to make him ask, he just knew it.

Mars was speaking to the others as the twins and Orthenon moved back into earshot.

“—Still surprised Amerys isn’t here. Drevish I could see; if he’s got some sort of project going on he wouldn’t abandon it even for our lord, but Amerys?”

She paused, and smiled at the twins as they approached. Trey tried to smile at her and meet her eyes and nothing else while Teres ducked her head.

“You two are the ones who woke my liege lord, aren’t you? I owe you a huge debt, Trey and Teres, was it?”

She bowed formally to Trey, and he shifted awkwardly with Teres. He took Mars’ hand as she offered it and felt a callused, strong grip that nearly crushed his fingers.

“Um, it’s really nice to meet you.”

“And you.”

Mars gave Trey another smile. He blushed and tried to keep his eyes…anywhere above her shoulders, really. She looked exactly like someone out of an anime or video game, which was to say, stylized, unrealistic perfection of the female form…according to males.

His head was confused, and he was about to do something stupid, so Teres kicked him. Trey blurted out the question on his mind.

“Why—why do they call you the Illusionist? Can you do magic?”

Mars blinked in surprise, and Takhatres chuckled lightly in amusement. He saw Teres edging away from Gazi, towards him.

Trey knew Teres liked the bird-man, and he’d been nothing but kind to them in the week since he’d arrived. But still, the curved beak and predatory look of the Garuda bird-man made him look ten thousand times scarier than Falco. He had a habit of moving his wing arms out slightly and shifting from one clawed foot to another when talking.

Mars scratched at one bright red lock of hair in embarrassment. The others chuckled.

“I’m no [Mage], if that’s what you’re asking. My class is [Vanguard]—a variation of [Warrior]. I can’t do any magic, actually, although I have several magical items. That’s what the name refers to.”

That sort of made sense. Did she use illusions in combat? Trey wanted to ask more, but Mars looked uncomfortable, and Takhatres stepped in. He bowed his head so he could look down at Trey—the Garuda was quite a bit taller than he was.

“Most of our titles were given to us by our enemies. They’re true, but only to an extent. You might learn the full meaning behind them later, but for now—”

Takhatres smiled, and gestured towards the window.

“—Pressing matters await.”

It was as if a switch had flipped in the group. They looked towards the doors, and then abandoned the quiet bantering and casual conversations. They spoke quickly and decisively, as the twins listened. And the two realized they were having their own council before Flos got back.

“It is good you two are here. I’ve brought my warriors, but even with Orthenon here I was deeply troubled. Now that you two are here I believe we might truly begin to fulfill our lord’s ambitions.”

Takhatres spoke to Mars and Gazi frankly. Mars nodded.

“It’s good I didn’t stick around to confirm the rumors either. When I heard he was back—I was overjoyed, of course, but concerned. Now that I’ve gotten here, things are worse than I feared. Our forces are so weak any army could walk in here. Aside from us, who could protect our King?”

“We must simply fight and defeat our enemies. Now that our King has returned, what other choice is there?”

Gazi shrugged, as if unconcerned. Takhatres frowned at her.

“There is a difference between confidence and foolishness, Gazi. Perhaps alone you could slay an army, but can you protect our lord in the midst of battle by yourself?”

“Especially with your injured eye.”

Mars gestured at Gazi’s eye, and the half-Gazer frowned but made no retort. Takhatres nodded slowly.

“We must simply build up our strength as quickly as we can. I’ve brought my finest warriors here to act as security for now and my tribe is preparing to move into this area. In a few days’ time we’ll have an army.”

“But we need a legion to take this continent, let alone the world.”

“So? When he first began his conquest, our lord had little more than this.”

Mars frowned at Takhatres, but the bird-man did not look reassured.

“That was then. Now, the world knows of his might and our enemies will come at us full-force from the beginning. If we do not act, we may be wiped out before we even begin.”

“We have a few veterans from old wars, and the staff within the palace can aid us. But they hardly constitute a battalion. I tried to hold on to some soldiers, but there was no food or pay for them. If our King had asked it, they might have stayed but I alone…”

Orthenon sighed, shoulders slumping. Mars patted him on the back and even Gazi shook her head.

“You kept him safe and the kingdom intact. We must simply restore what has been lost. And we are four, here. Enough to defeat any army.”

Mars nodded cheerfully.

“Who could stand against our lord at the height of his power? He could rally the people here by himself if need be. Even now, between us, what force would be able to overwhelm us? That’s what we should be concerned with.”

Orthenon began listing names as the others nodded or shook their heads.

“In terms of major powers? The Four Companies of Baleros, Wistram, a coalition of Terandrian kingdoms perhaps, the Blighted King, the House of Minos…”

“Foreign powers. What about this continent?”

“There’s an alliance of nations to the north that formed after the empire fell. They’ll come for us.”

“But they’re fearful. Hm. We might have time there. No, I think it’s the Empire of Sands.”

“I heard of a growing nation before I left. What is the Empire of Sands?”

“A new [Emperor] emerged a while back. He absorbed many of the nations in our lord’s empire and created a vast army. He’s sweeping across the continent, and his soldiers are strong.”

“And our armies are all scattered or gone. That may be our greatest loss.”

Orthenon spoke the words quietly, and the other three nodded. He looked at the twins, explaining.

“The might of our lord never lay with one particular army, or even his generals. At the height of our power we had countless armies and individuals fighting underneath our banner.”

Mars nodded. She counted off on her fingers.

“The Rustängmarder, the Forgotten Legion, and the Silent Marchers are lost to us for now. But the Sunless Ghosts might rejoin us if we take the coast. And the Grave Wardens—“

“We don’t have the gold to hire them.”

“They owe us a debt. Is honor nothing to them?”

“No, but they swore a vow. And fighting wars isn’t part of that. If we could offer them support as well—”

“What about the Mad Ones? They’re staying in…Averach? They would surely send a delegation if asked. No other ruler puts up with them as our lord does.”

“Mad Ones? Who are they?”

Surprisingly, it was Teresa who asked that question. Orthenon nodded.

“[Alchemists], mainly. But also a new class—[Engineer]. They’re a group of walking disasters that create wondrous inventions and chaos. Having one of them in your city practically guarantees destruction and loss of life, but under our lord they worked to create miracles for us.”

Mars looked distressed. She tugged at her long hair.

“I can’t say I’d look to them first for help. Maybe some of them might provide funds, items—but they’re hardly the army we need.”

“What about—”

Takhatres broke off and looked towards the door. The other three fell silent, and then the doors opened.

Flos strode into the room, smiling as he rejoined the group. And the discussion was suddenly over. His vassals put aside their concerns to listen to the words of their king. And more—

“My lord. I had not the chance to offer you this earlier, but I wish to present you with the labor of my travels.”

Mars spoke first, bowing to Flos and withdrawing a strange black bag with glowing symbols etched on it. Flos blinked, and smiled.

“A gift? You alone are one. But if it will help my kingdom, I will accept with gratitude. What have you found?”

“Weapons, my lord. Weapons, and armor and magical items for an army.”

The woman reached into the bag and pulled out a sword. It was curved, like a scimitar, but double-edged and it glowed purple in the light. Flos took it and admired the blade, talking with Mars.

Trey was captivated by the magical blade—and the other weapons Mars began to pull out of the magical bag, but Teres nudged him and he looked and saw what she did.

Gazi was staring at Mars and so was Takhatres, and Orthenon for that matter. They didn’t look…angry, but there was a hint of challenge in their eyes. And then he understood.

It was not a contest, and yet it absolutely was. Each of the four wanted nothing more than to please their King, and be the one who did it best. For Orthenon, he had nothing to offer, and yet his contribution—staying loyally by Flos’ side these long ten years—was a heavy thing to surpass.

Mars kept pulling magical weapons out of the bag until she had a small armory at her feet.

“It will be enough to give to lieutenants and officers, or make one small group. I offer it to you for war, my lord.”

“More I could not ask for. Thank you Mars; it is a foundation to rebuild our armies upon.”

Flos smiled again at Mars and she bowed her head, blushing. Takhatres cleared his throat; it was his turn now.

“I have brought my tribe, and we have quadrupled our numbers since I last led them to war. Now my warriors are trained to fight fiercer, harder than before. We shall fly from the skies and blot out the sun on your enemies, my King.”

“I remember your tribe’s power before. I would not trade five armies for them, and I know they will spearhead the war. Takhatres, I offer you my thanks.”

Flos traded an arm-clasps with Takhatres and bowed his head slightly. Then it was Gazi’s turn. Trey could see the other three watching her, but the half-Gazer had not taken anything out. The half-Gazer spread her hands wide, smiling slightly.

“My lord, I regret to say I have brought nothing. What magic I have found, what treasures I have brought are not worth bringing to your attention. I can offer nothing but an amusing tale.”

“Oh?”

Flos’ brows shot up as Mars smirked and Takhatres covered his mouth briefly with a wing. They thought they’d won the contest, but Orthenon was frowning slightly at Gazi. And she had that slight smile on her face.

“Yes, my lord. You may know that I left this kingdom, and indeed this continent, to search for something that would wake your passions once more.”

“Indeed. And did you find it?”

“No, lord. Not at first. I searched countless places for creatures and monsters, but found nothing worthy. Until I came to a small inn in the city of Liscor on the continent of Izril.”

Trey listened with keen interest as Gazi described her first encounter with Erin. And he noticed that Flos was hanging on the half-Gazer’s words, his eyes alight with interest. And that Mars and Takhatres were growing less smug as the story went on.

“She—like the two here—comes from another world.”

Gazi gestured to the twins, and Trey and Teres exchanged a glance. Was she one of the people in the call? Could they meet Erin Solstice?

“A young woman who would leap into a burning pit to save a spider. And then toss it back.”

Flos stroked his beard and shook his head.

“—But I know you, Gazi. There is more to this story, is there not? Something about this girl is even more unique.”

The Gazer smiled.

“Yes, my King. When I looked at her, I saw that she had one skill I had never seen in my many years of travel. It is called [Immortal Moment].”

Now Flos’ undivided attention was on Gazi. He grinned, eyes alight with curiosity.

“[Immortal Moment]. An odd name for a skill. And…intriguing. I wonder what it does. Did you ever see her use it, Gazi?”

“I did not. I am not even sure Erin herself knew the nature of her skill.”

Flos frowned, and began to pace across the wide room, walking past the group.

“I know something of the nature of this world and classes and levels, and take a keen interest as you well know, Gazi. When one creates that which has never been before, they learn the skill automatically. It may be this young woman discovered a skill not of this world, and by doing so, earned it. If so—”

Gazi nodded.

“She is special. She alone has befriended Antinium and owns a skeleton as a servant. She talks with Drakes and Gnolls as equals, and she weeps to kill monsters. In and around her inn, she has forbidden slaying Goblins, and she teaches one how to play chess. And—”

She smiled, and touched her crusted eye gently with one gauntleted finger.

“—And she is the one who injured my eye.”

The others stared at her. And then Flos burst out laughing.

“An [Innkeeper]? A girl below Level 20? She struck you?”

Mars looked incredulous and Takhatres was frowning, but Gazi smiled with her lord.

“Yes. The other girl I mentioned who went to rescue the doomed adventurers—Ryoka Griffin—she told me you lived. I hesitated, but it was Erin who dared strike the blow.”

“A girl who blinded one of my Seven, who slew a Flesh Worm, who comes from another world and befriends even monsters and plays chess…”

Flos shook his head and then laughed again, long and loud. He stared up at the ceiling, and then sighed, slowly.

“What a fool I have been. That so many people and wonders were right under my nose while I despaired.”

He looked at Gazi, and chuckled again.

“You have given me no arms to fight with, nor a soldier to raise my banner. But your story has lit a fire in my chest Gazi, and for that I thank you.”

She bowed her head, smiling wider.

“Thank you, my King.”

“But even if you had brought nothing but yourself and a host of enemies to my gates, I would have welcomed you with joy beyond joy. I trust you know that, Gazi.”

Flos looked at Gazi, and she raised her head. The look she gave her King was open, honest, and sincere, and Trey understood then that this was a side of Gazi few saw.

“I do, lord. I do.”

“Then let us celebrate!”

Flos whirled, and threw his arms out wide. He looked at Mars and Takhatres and then whirled both into an embrace.

“Two of my Seven have returned to me on this day; this is cause for feasting if we had food. But without, we shall simply drink of each other and let the stories of the past be our banquet. The council may wait. Let us sit, friends, and you will tell me all that has passed.”

He nodded at Orthenon, and the man moved smoothly into action. He gestured Trey and Teres towards the doors; they often helped him organize the staff. Trey already knew they would be using one of the smaller dining rooms and telling the chefs to prepare the best meals they could with what they had.

Orthenon opened the doors and paused. Trey nearly walked into him. Someone was waiting—a travel stained Courier who spoke quietly to the King’s steward.

Trey and Teres didn’t hear what was spoken, but Orthenon’s own smile promptly vanished. As he confirmed the delivery, he slowly accepted the package the courier had brought.

It was a large box of plain wood, nearly the size of Trey’s chest. And it was heavy, judging by the way the weary Courier held it.

Orthenon took the box without any difficulty, and slowly walked back towards Flos. The King paused in his laughter and let go of Gazi as his steward approached.

“Orthenon. What is this?”

“A delivery, my King. It came just now by Courier. It is from the Emperor of Sands.”

It was as if he’d poured cold water over a fire. Mars and Takhatres immediately lost their smiles, and Gazi’s eyes focused on the box, and she touched the sword at her back.

Flos’ smile slowly faded, and he stared at the box in Orthenon’s hand. Slowly, the king took it. He had no fear of a trap, but he studied the plain wood and heavy box with a troubled expression—one of the few Trey had ever seen on his face.

The box was plain wood, but it had a hairline crack around the top. Flos put his hand to the lid, and hesitated.

“Perhaps it is only a figment of my imagination. But Orthenon—I fear to open this box.”

The steward looked at his King. Flos returned the stare gravely.

“I have never met this Emperor of Sands. But it is no difficult thing to imagine that he bears me no good will. And this box—”

“My lord. I cannot see into it with my lesser eyes. Let me open it. It may be trapped.”

Gazi reached for the box, but Flos stayed her hand.

“No—no. It is not that I fear. This Emperor is not such a petty man, I think. But I do not believe he is kind, either. No…my instincts tell me I will regret knowing what is inside of this.”

He gestured to the wood box, and then sighed.

“And yet, I must open it. If I were ruled by fear, I would not be a King. So. Let us see what this Emperor of Sands sends me.”

Slowly, he put his fingers on the lid and slowly pulled the wood upwards. Trey saw the wood come away, and then…was it ice?

Yes, it was ice! Slowly, the box slid off of a cube of ice, perfectly fit inside the wooden frame. It was clouded from condensation, but slowly it slid away from the rest of the box as the wood fell to the ground.

Flos held the clouded cube of ice in his hands and looked down at it grimly. Trey was confused. It was just ice. Was it a gift of some kind? Magical? But then he noticed the others had gone silent, and Gazi’s eyes were fixed on the block.

Slowly, Flos wiped away the clouded front of the block of ice. Teres screamed. Trey thought he would puke.

Encased inside the block of ice was a man’s head. His hair was short and wavy, and his skin tanned and dark. He had grey hair, and many wrinkles, and stern features. They had been made even more stern with his last expression; one of bitter, deep regret. His mouth was twisted sideways and down, and his eyes were closed.

Flos looked at the head and said not one word. Takhatres, Mars, Orthenon, all were silent. But Gazi spoke. She said one word. A name.

“Drevish.”

The Architect. One of the Seven. Now Trey realized the significance of the message, and his stomach roiled even harder.

“Oh my friend. Oh, my dear friend, builder of marvels.”

Flos whispered the words as his hands shook. He stared down at Drevish’s head, his face twisted in anguish and grief.

“What have they done to you?”

Drevish had died from a swift chop to the neck. The blood still flecked around his neck as Flos slowly held the dripping cube of ice. Everyone was staring at him. Mars was gripping her sword, tears falling from her eyes even as they burned with rage. Takhatres bowed his head, crossing his wings together and murmuring what sounded like a prayer. Orthenon’s hand was clenched so hard Trey saw a streak of blood running down and staining his perfect clothing. And Gazi—

Gazi watched her King. There was no smile on her face. Only expectation. She was waiting.

Slowly, Flos sat down on the ground. He sat cross-legged, ignoring the water staining his clothing. He paid no attention to the melting ice block; he just sat, staring at his dead friend.

He spoke quietly.

“We are not ready.”

His vassals stirred. Flos spoke on.

“We are not ready. Not to cross swords with the Empire of Sands. We have no army; we barely have a garrison here. My people still starve. That is why we must wait.”

He slowly lowered his head until it was touching the block of ice.

“Even this greatest of insult must be borne, for our army is not even gathered. Those vassals who might join us still waver, and our old allies still know nothing of my return. Wisdom dictates we wait.”

Trey held his breath. He’d never seen Flos look so dispirited. Only once—only when they’d first walked across worlds and into that room and seen the man sitting in the small chair, weary and old.

Now Flos looked the same. He looked aged, grey and tired and weary. He stared at Drevish’s head and sighed. And then he spoke one more word.

“But—”

The word was everything. The word was more than just sound. It echoed in the vast room, and Trey felt the same thunder in the air he’d heard once before. Flos slowly stood up, and looked down at the melting ice in his hands. His voice rolled and broke over those listening.

“But I hold in my hands, in my hands, the head of one of my dearest friends. A man I loved as much as any son, slain. On this day of great joy. And I am to bear this insult quietly? No, no. If I did not act, I would not be worthy to live, much less a King.”

He stared down at the head in his hands, and tears fell from Flos’ eyes. But his voice was steady. And it was growing louder. It was beginning to echo across the palace, through the kingdom.

“My friend, my brother, my comrade in arms. Drevish. You built me my cities and weapons of war when you desired naught but to create works of art. And now you are slain. I will meet this Emperor of the Sands and take his head for this, I swear it.”

Trey felt something trembling. He wasn’t sure if it was the ground or—himself. He clung to Teres as Flos slowly walked back to his throne. He placed the block of ice on the golden throne, facing him. The King bowed his head once, and when he turned, his voice was a roar.

“The Emperor of Sands has spilled my blood! He has taken from me, and so I will bring him to his knees. He thinks I will bear this insult and wait, but he does not know the nature of a King. He does not know me.”

He stood on the dais and pointed down at his four vassals and the two cowering twins.

“Tell me, my Seven! Does the King of Destruction suffer an insult to his people?”

“No!”

They shouted the words as one. Flos nodded.

“Does he run and hide from any enemy?”

“No!”

“Does he fear any being under the heavens?”

“No!”

They roared the answer as one. Gazi, Orthenon, Takhatres, Mars—their eyes were fire and they shuddered with rage.

The King drew his sword, and then his voice boomed through the castle; fury made incarnate.

“Then to war! Bring me my horse, my armor and armies! We will ride forth until the Empire of Sands is dust in the wind! To me! For vengeance and fury!”

He leapt off the dais and thundered down the steps. He moved so fast that Trey saw him at one end of the room and then throwing open the doors. Orthenon was right behind him, and Mars was already holding the massive shield and her sword, shouting in fury as she followed.

Takhatres was right behind them, and Gazi was last. But she stopped. Gazi paused at the door, and her four eyes found the twins. She smiled, briefly, and touched the sword on her back.

“To victory, children. Victory, and the glory of our King.”

Her tone said quite clearly there could be no other option.

2.23

Erin sat in her inn, covering her face. But when she took her hands away, the flowers were still there.

Flowers, instead of gold. It was…well, the thing was…

She should have seen it coming. Erin realized that in the obvious clarity of hindsight. Why would a bunch of tiny faeries be carrying around a pile of gold, and even if they did have gold, why would they give it to her when they could trick her?

Because that was what faeries did! Erin had read the stories. True—she was more of a Peter Pan fan than Brothers Grimm, but she vaguely recalled something about faerie gold now that she thought of it.

“I need to remember everything.”

Everything she’d ever read about monsters and myths, from Harry Potter to that one book from the Spiderwick Chronicles she’d read while teaching chess to kids. Erin wished her memory were perfect, but [Perfect Recall] was apparently only perfect when it came to artsy things.

Song lyrics, lines from Romeo and Juliet—even movie quotes popped into Erin’s mind with ease if she concentrated. But books? Apparently, they didn’t count.

But none of that should have mattered, because Erin should have known better. It was just—she’d had that dream which had been almost true, and she’d been caught up in the past. She’d done something magical, so it was fine that she’d gotten caught up in the moment, right, right?

Erin looked at the pile of golden flowers.

“…No.”

This was unacceptable. This was horrible. This was a pile of her own coin and a day of frantic effort down the drain. All she’d gotten were…four levels. Which was great. But it wasn’t money, and Erin didn’t even know what those two skills she’d gotten did.

What were they again? Erin frowned and massaged her head. She was still waking up. Um. It was [Inn’s Aura] and…

Um…

It was…[Wondrous Fare], right?

[Magical Cooking]? No, that wasn’t right. Clearly it was the other one. But what did it mean?

“[Wondrous Fare]. Like food? Or bus fare?”

Erin imagined getting into a bus and giving the bus driver a handful of the magical gold coins the faeries had tricked her into accepting. Yeah. That would be nice.

Faint clicking of bone on floorboard made her turn around. Toren had entered the inn, looking around warily. He was probably wondering if she was hurt. Erin sighed.

“It’s fine, Toren. I uh, I just realized I got scammed, that’s all.’”

Toren looked at the pile of flowers and back at Erin. She picked up one and sniffed at it and then sneezed.

“Achoo! Great. They even smell funny.”

They smelled like some kind of spice, rather than a floral scent. Erin scowled at the flower.

“I thought they were starting to like me! But this is what I get? Those—those—”

She trailed off. Toren looked at Erin quizzically, but the girl was thinking.

“Oh. Right. Turn bad things into good things. And they gave me something—even if it wasn’t what I thought. Faerie gifts. Okay, okay…”

Erin frowned at the flower. She sniffed at it again. It didn’t smell bad. And the faeries had given it to her. Maybe it was a trick. No—it was a trick. But were they completely useless or…?

“Maybe they’re edible?”

It was a long shot, but Erin gingerly tasted the flower. She was fairly certain that while jerks the faeries might be, they wouldn’t give her poison.

To Erin’s surprise, the flower was wet. No—it had a bit of nectar gathered where the petals met. It was tasteless, but it fizzed on Erin’s tongue.

Immediately she spat onto her palm and looked for somewhere to put the flower as she scrubbed at her mouth. Toren approached, holding his hand out. Gratefully, Erin turned to give the flower to him—

And began to shrink.

“What? Oh no! No, no—what’s happening?”

Toren stared down at her as Erin began shrinking towards the floor. The chairs, the tables—everything got taller around her. Erin stared around, too panicked to move.

The room grew around her until suddenly she was staring up at a ceiling as high as the clouds in the sky. Toren was—a giant tall as a skyscraper, and the nearest chair leg was like the trunk of a massive tree. Erin stared around in horror.

“Oh no. It’s the drink from Alice in Wonderland!”

It was magic! The flowers! That was wonderful and totally horrible at the same time. Erin began to panic.

“I don’t have the other one to make me big! W-what do I do?”

Maybe another flower would help. But suddenly, the table was a thousand of Erin’s feet up. She stared around, at her skeleton, the table, and herself.

Erin panicked harder.

—-

Toren hadn’t been having a good day. He hadn’t been having a bad day either, but today had been decidedly subpar. Ceria had brought him out of the inn when the curious blobs of blue light had appeared, and when he’d tried to warn Erin about the flowers, he’d been silenced and sent away.

The half-Elf had gone to the city, but Toren wasn’t allowed there either. So she’d told him to wait outside till morning.

Fortunately, Toren had not been ordered to follow Ceria’s instructions, just to follow her. And since he couldn’t follow her any further or return to the inn, he’d walked back until it was in sight and then waited until morning.

That had been unpleasant. It wasn’t that Toren got bored, but he didn’t like doing nothing.

He hated it. It was a feeling in his…chest. In the very core of his being. Toren felt something, and that was resentment.

He had been created to…to serve. That was his purpose, wasn’t it? Or was it something else?

To grow. To become stronger. Toren had already realized he was more than his common brethren. They could not restore themselves, and they had no levels. He was unique.

And he was Erin’s best helper. She trusted him. She—

She had sent him away even when he’d tried to help. Stopped him from doing his job. Toren wasn’t sure how he’d felt about that.

The skeleton had wanted nothing in the first days. Those had been good days, when there was only her words and him carrying out her words. The tasks had been hard—so hard!—but he had thought and worked and sometimes she had said ‘good job, Toren’.

But now he was thinking more, and the thinking was making Toren feel…complicated. It made his head ache; only he had no head that could ache or even a brain, so the feelings just built up inside of him until Toren wished he could smash his skull apart.

And now, Erin was doing something Toren couldn’t understand. Again.

The skeleton stared at his mistress as she toppled off her chair and began flailing around on the ground wildly. She shouted up at him.

“Help me!”

Obediently, the skeleton reached down for her, but Erin screamed and flinched away.

“Ah! Don’t! You’ll squash me with your fingers!”

Again, her words didn’t make sense. They weren’t right. Toren hesitated, but he couldn’t disobey her. And yet in his being, for the first time Toren questioned Erin’s words. They were orders, and they were the core of his being.

But they weren’t good orders. And it bothered the skeleton.

Erin was still thrashing around on the ground, kicking her legs and staring at a chair leg as she shouted and screamed. She turned and looked at Toren desperately.

“Go get help! Get someone! Ceria or Pisces! I need someone with magic!”

That at least was doable. Toren started for the door.

“Hurry!”

There had to be something he was missing. Toren glanced back at Erin as he shut the door. But she looked completely normal, if panicked, as she squirmed around on the ground like an insect. Maybe it had to do with the flowers?

It was a fault of his that he couldn’t understand. That must be it. Toren needed more levels. Yesterday had already proved his weakness.

The Drake named Relc had threatened his mistress and she hadn’t called on him. She’d motioned for him to stand down. Because…

Because she didn’t think he could defeat Relc. And Toren didn’t think so either. If the Drake had attacked, he would have failed.

Unacceptable.

Toren was so lost in thought he nearly walked past the half-Elf as she ascended the hill, staring at the inn from which Erin’s muffled voice was still audible.

Ceria paused as Toren stopped in front of her, and pointed at the inn.

“What’s all the shouting about? Is Erin okay?”

Toren shrugged, and pointed to the inn. Ceria hesitated, but then she hurried towards the door. Toren watched her go. She knew magic, and she was Ceria. Well, that was that.

Job done, Toren kept walking outside. Normally he would have immediately gone back to Erin, to obey her next instructions but now he didn’t feel like it.

Bad orders. Weak Toren. Unacceptable.

He’d had good orders before. Gathering the mushrooms yesterday had been fine. And he’d killed the Shield Spider in a good fight, crushing the thing again and again and battering it with a rock. And Erin had even been proud of him for bringing the venom!

But the rest had not been good. And Toren had been too weak to destroy the enchanted armor. He’d battered at it for over an hour, dodging attacks, reforming himself until he was dangerously low on mana, but he hadn’t done a thing.

Yet the Goblin had slain the armor. Her tribe had destroyed the enchanted being with flying pieces of clay and the exploding bark. She had something Toren didn’t. She would be more worthy of serving Erin and carrying out her stupid orders.

Toren paused. Stupid? They weren’t stupid orders. They were just…

Just…

He had to level up. He thought more, he became more with each level. But he had to protect Erin.

And yet—protecting Erin could only happen if he was strong enough. And Toren wasn’t strong enough. Therefore, he should level up to protect Erin.

That made sense. Toren thought hard. Erin would probably be screaming and talking with Ceria for a while. She wouldn’t need him for an hour, perhaps. And so what could Toren do in that span of time?

The skeleton looked towards the north. The dungeon entrance and the Goblin’s lair were too far away even if he ran. But there were several Shield Spider nests that way, and hungry bears. And those snow creatures.

Toren began to walk away from the inn. Level. Grow. And then come back, so he could listen to more orders from Erin.

He hoped they wouldn’t be stupid ones.

—-

Justice in Liscor was harsh and swift. Selys had always known it, and even taken comfort from that fact as a child. No one was above the law, and their Watch was stronger than other cities, except for maybe the Walled Cities. Certainly better than Human cities. Criminals could expect a quick end, or at least a hefty fine they’d pay for any misdeeds.

But the same knowledge wasn’t quite as self-evident as an adult. Selys knew the Watch was strong enough to fight off bandits and monsters and even a small army, but Liscor still stood between the south and north, a gateway between species. They couldn’t act without repercussions from either side, and that meant the same justice she’d admired as a child was sometimes more of a compromise.

Perhaps the best example of that was being played out here. Selys stood in a crowd of mainly Drakes standing at the city gates. She was dressed in warm clothing, because it was a cold day and starting to snow again. Even so, it was cold for the Drake, but it had to be even colder for the Human girl.

Selys stared at a blonde-haired girl with very pale skin. She might be beautiful, or she might be ugly; Selys really had no clue. She wasn’t good with human features, anyways.

Even so, the Drake thought the girl was probably some kind of nobility. She was wearing what had once been expensive clothes, and Selys had heard of the many magical artifacts the Watch had taken off her.

Now though, the girl’s hair was tangled and dirty, and her skin was red from the cold and equally unclean. The tears and wretched expression on the girl’s face didn’t help either.

No one seemed bothered by the girl’s distress, though. Tkrn’s own face was blank and impassive as he herded the girl out the gates. Selys knew that was a bad sign. Gnolls didn’t get angry the same way Drakes did. When they got silent, that meant they were really angry.

“A silent Gnoll is death’s bell toll.”

Selys murmured the words and got a few glances from the people around her. But it was true—the other Gnolls that had gathered to watch the Human thief be exiled from the city all had that blank, expressionless look on their faces.

They were furious, Selys knew. They’d wanted to tear apart the girl, but the Watch had intervened before the mob could do so. Now that the Human was being exiled, the Gnolls were even angrier than before.

It was all politics. The Watch hadn’t been able to get out where the thief was from, and they didn’t really care, not with all the Gnolls in the city outraged over the complete destruction of Krshia Silverfang’s shop.

And yet, killing an important Human was also out of the question. No one in Liscor wanted a war if it turned out the girl was from one of the Five Families or some lord’s daughter. So…why not just exile her? It meant they could deny involvement if she died, and it got her out of the city.

The only problem was that the Gnolls wanted her dead, not just gone. And so compromises had been made. The girl had no winter clothing, only the rags she’d had on, and she only had enough food for a day.

It was cruel, but that was Liscorian justice. Far worse would have been a group of Gnolls rioting in the streets. If the Watch had to intervene, there would have been even more bloodshed by the time it was over. After all, the Watch was mostly Drakes—if it became an issue of Drakes versus Gnolls it would be the same terrible conflict that played out across the southern part of the continent.

So the Human was exiled instead, with little chances of survival, and quickly too. No one in the crowd of watching Drakes and Gnolls had any sympathy for the thief, and the other Humans in the city had wisely stayed away from the gathering.

Only Selys had a twinge in her chest as Tkrn forced the crying girl out into the snow. She felt…bad. Mostly for Krshia, but Selys couldn’t watch the sniveling, whimpering girl herded out the city gates without a twinge of guilt. Maybe it was because she’d known Erin for so long. If it had been Erin sent to freeze or be eaten by monsters—

But Erin would never have done something so horrible. Selys glanced across the crowd at an open space. Krshia sat alone, among her own kind yes, but alone in her own small area of space. She watched the girl quietly, and Selys’ heart did hurt then.

Krshia had lost her stall, lost her goods. She had coin in her home still, but it was a crippling blow to the shopkeeper. And the Watch hadn’t repaid her. They didn’t have the coin, the city wouldn’t cover the costs, and the girl’s artifacts were almost all junk, devoid of their magic.

The Gnoll didn’t deserve this. The thief deserved punishment. But—

Selys’ eyes went back to the girl as she stopped, staring out at the snow-covered plains. The girl turned to Tkrn, clearly arguing, but the Gnoll just pushed her forwards. The girl fell into the snow and wailed a thin, piteous sound.

—This wasn’t right. Selys knew the girl would be dead in less than an hour, even if she stuck to the main road and didn’t walk into a Shield Spider nest.

But who would help her? Selys was a citizen of Liscor, and she couldn’t assist a criminal. And whoever the girl’s folks were, even if Selys had a way to get Hawk to deliver the letter, they would never arrive in time.

She knew one person who would help. One person who would help the girl, regardless of how many people disapproved. But Selys had no way of talking to Erin. Not right now.

It was more politics. Everyone knew Selys was Erin’s friend, and so everyone, or at least a lot of them, were watching her. It was why Selys had come here to watch the girl be sent away. She had to support her kind. If people thought she favored Humans over Drakes and Gnolls…

Some of the people in the crowd felt as Selys did, the Drake knew. But they were the minority. People liked Krshia’s shop, and the thefts had hit the city even as they were rebuilding and mourning their dead. Most of the Drakes had bored expressions, or ones of contempt for the girl.

Worse still were the ones who looked like they were enjoying the girl’s misery. Selys noticed Lism in the crowd, grinning and laughing with some of his friends. The old dull-scale even had a small bag of nuts he was snacking on. He was disgusting. Selys tried not to glare as her tail thrashed on the ground with anger. This sight wasn’t fun. It was sad. It was wrong. It was—

“Quite amusing. I wonder—will that guardsmen kick her into the snow?”

Selys looked over. Pisces stood in the middle of the crowd of Drakes, eating food and watching with apparent amusement. Now there was a Human who no one would ever accuse of being speciesist.

He was eating one of the hamburgers that had become the latest fad in Liscor. This one was a triple-patty sandwich smeared with rich mustard. It was meant for Gnolls, but the mage devoured it greedily, ignoring the juice that ran onto his robes.

Selys wanted to ignore him, or at the very least, not look at him, but Pisces had seen her. He unapologetically pushed his way through the crowd until he was standing next to her.

“Miss Selys. I am pleased to see you here.”

“I’m not.”

Selys glared at Pisces. The [Necromancer] returned her look blandly as he licked his fingers noisily.

“Why are you here? This isn’t your affair.”

“No? Well, I may not be a citizen it is true, but I was in need of entertainment.”

“And you think this is entertaining?”

“Vastly. The incompetence of your Watch only matches the amusement of watching fools reap their just dues.”

Pisces nodded at the girl and chuckled. Even the other Drakes around him gave him looks of disgust and moved away, leaving Selys and Pisces together in an opening in the crowd.

“Incompetent? The Watch might not have found her, but she had magical artifacts that hid her—”

“Oh, I’m sure. What I was referring to was not that, but the speed with which they have expedited her sham of a trial and condemned her to death.”

Pisces nodded at the Captain of the Watch, Zevara, as she stood with Klbkch, Relc, and the other Senior Guardsmen. The Drake was watching with a scowl as Tkrn moved the girl further from the gates.

“Drake and Gnolls do not care about Humans—your people have in arrogance and panic forgotten to ask the most pressing questions.”

“Such as?”

“Oh, the most basic of questions. Why is this girl here? Who are her people? She is clearly the runaway of some noble house or lineage—why not keep her for ransom or at least contact other cities by mage spell?”

That was what Selys had been thinking, but she would never have admitted it to the condescending mage.

“We want her out of the city. The Gnolls want her dead, and this is the best compromise. Besides, Liscor doesn’t deal with Humans.”

“How memory fades. I recall just a few decades ago this place was a hub of trade between cultures. But ever since that unpleasantness during the Necromancer’s attack…ah, well, at least everyone is happy. Except for you, I note.”

Pisces peered at Selys and she leaned away from him, frowning. But he was right. And in lieu of anyone else to talk to, Selys reluctantly confessed her opinion. She lowered her voice, although she and Pisces had plenty of space.

“I’m all for punishment. But this—”

Selys waved at the girl, who was trying to fight her way past Tkrn into the city. She was desperate, but the Gnoll was unmoving. He kept shoving her back into the snow.

“—This is murder.”

“It isn’t murder if it’s a Human. I believe one of your friendly fellow citizens told me that.”

Selys had a pretty good idea of who. Lism had not been quiet after the attacks, and worse, no one was telling him to shut up. She sniffed and twitched her tail in irritation.

“Not everyone hates Humans. And she’s just a child.”

Selys squinted at the girl as she gave up and just knelt in the snow, sobbing.

“Isn’t she?”

“She’s quite young. That’s good. If she dies it will be less trouble to reanimate her.”

Selys turned her head to gape at Pisces in horror. But that was right—he was a [Necromancer]. The mage looked offended and spread his arms wide.

“What? I’m on your side here. The girl gets punished, everyone’s happy, and I get a free body.”

The Drake edged away from him.

“You’re a monster.”

“I practice my craft without harm. I don’t disturb your graves.”

“Because you’d be killed in a second if you did. I’m surprised the Watch let you in the city! You have a criminal record. You were a thief—you went to villages and scared folks into giving you food and coin!”

“I repaid my debts.”

“Only because Relc made you.”

“I paid three times what I took. In the eyes of the law, my debt is settled.”

That was sadly true. As an apolitical city of commerce, Liscor’s laws meant that someone who had committed a lesser crime could pay off their fine and wipe their slate clean. It didn’t apply for murderers and so on obviously, and the fines were harsh, but it was a testament to that law that even a [Necromancer] with a personality like Pisces could walk through the gates.

“It appears our little show is at an end in either way.”

Pisces pointed, and Selys saw the girl had given up. She was slowly trying to make her way north, through the snow. She kept stumbling and falling onto the frozen ice, though, and she was still crying.

“She’s going to die.”

“Yes. Quite soon, I believe. Incidentally, I wanted to talk to you about entering the Adventurer’s Guild in the city. Do you have a moment?”

Pisces turned from the struggling girl to look at Selys. The crowd was beginning to disperse, but the Gnolls and many Drakes were still watching the girl slowly disappear into the distance.

“What? You? Entering the guild? You have to be joking.”

Selys stared at Pisces incredulously, but he only smiled enigmatically.

“I have my reasons. Being short of coin for one thing, but combat—and the opportunity to acquire fresh corpses is another.”

“Well, good luck. But I’m off duty. Go bother the receptionist at the desk and good luck, because we don’t have to admit you.”

“I know. That is why I’ve come to you.”

Selys laughed.

“If you think I’ll help you because you know Erin—”

She broke off, and hesitated. Her head turned, and she stared at the Human girl. She’d fallen in the snow again, and this time she hadn’t gotten up.

“Erin.”

“Yes, I know Erin. And I provide important services to her, such as the skeleton who assists her in her work. I am an asset, a valuable one you will make full use of if you know—”

Selys raised one clawed finger. She stared hard at Pisces. Now that she looked at him, the mage appeared different to her. He was still the same arrogant jerk he’d always been—he still looked like he was sneering at everyone and everything—but he looked different.

Ceria had helped him buy new robes, but they weren’t good ones. They were thick wool, and already slightly stained. They hung loosely on his frame, and Selys thought Pisces had lost weight. He had always been thin, but now his cheekbones stood out more. And come to think of it, every time Selys had been at the inn recently Pisces had been there. Erin usually only gave him one meal a day, even if it was a big one…

Selys looked back at the girl and made up her mind. She nodded to the girl who’d managed to get to her feet and lowered her voice even further.

“Help her, and I’ll figure something out.”

Pisces frowned at the girl, but didn’t react in any other way. His voice was equally quiet, and he put an annoyed look on his face and brushed at his hair as if offended.

“Help her? Why should I? And how, pray tell?”

“Tell Erin. She can help. If she decides to, I mean.”

“She most eminently will. Very well. Curious. I suppose I could deliver a message. And if I will, you will approve my request?”

“Consider yourself a Bronze-rank adventurer. But you can’t go now. Everyone’s watching and they’ll know I spoke to you!”

Pisces smirked at Selys.

“Please. I am a mage, am I not? I will go back into the city, hounding you about my request, and then cast the spell as soon as you slam the door to the Adventurer’s Guild in my face.”

Selys blinked at Pisces.

“You’ve got that planned out?”

“Any neophyte from Wistram is well versed in the subtleties of politics and subterfuge. If you would raise your voice and call me several names? I could suggest a few.”

Selys nodded. She was no [Actor], but insulting Pisces was easy. She looked back one last time at the girl, now a speck in the distance, cresting a hill. She was a thief, but she was not evil. And maybe she didn’t deserve to die. Selys had given her a chance. A slight one, but a chance.

She hoped that she wouldn’t regret her choice. Or Erin hers.

—-

It was done. Krshia watched as the thief left the city and felt not a thing. The other Gnolls around her muttered as the girl finally disappeared from the hilltop, but none went to follow her. The Watch’s presence here was as much to exile the girl as to make sure she died from the winter’s cold, rather than at a Gnoll’s hand.

It was a sensible decision, and Krshia applauded them for it. She bore Zevara no ill will, although the Drake clearly did not feel the same way. The Watch Captain kept staring at Krshia, possibly looking for signs of anger. But Krshia felt none.

She was hollow. And the girl thief’s fate mattered little to Krshia in any case. She knew the rest of the Gnolls in the city did not feel the same way; Tkrn had offered to cut her down even though it would mean his job, but Krshia had forbidden any action.

The thief was punished, and her few magical items taken away. She would die in the frozen wilderness, or she might live if she met a caravan or traveler on the road. But so what?

The damage was already done.

Slowly, the Gnoll looked down at the small thing in her hands. All else was ash; and this was the only hint of what had been.

Her heart felt like that ash. It was blackened by grief and beat too faintly in her chest. She had lost everything. The Gnolls in the city from her tribe had lost everything. It was all gone.

One of those Gnolls, a tall [Butcher] named Dreshhi growled low as the thief finally disappeared from sight. He had been one of those who wanted to kill the girl—and then chop her into bits and eat her. He was still furious, both at the Human child and at the city itself.

“Hr. And this is what passes for justice here? She has taken much, yes? Much from all of us, but you especially. And the city merely exiles her and does not repay you. If you had been a Drake—”

Krshia sighed. Best to cut him off. Dreshhi was a good person, but his words were too loud, and she knew many of the young ones in the crowd around her shared his opinion.

“It matters not. What we have lost would not have been replaced in any case. The girl will die either way.”

“Even so—”

Krshia did not want another debate, especially where there were ears which might listen. She cut Dreshhi off again; an offence, but acceptable given her loss.

“The bonds we have built here are more important than vengeance, yes? The goodwill we have won is all we have left.”

“Goodwill will not sway hearts or minds among the others, Krshia.”

That was true, and Krshia felt the weight of it pressing down on her. She sighed.

“Yes. We will have to discuss this. But for now, let us go, yes?”

The Gnolls hesitated, but Krshia had rank, or more accurately, worth. Worth was what governed Gnolls; seniority or power were lesser concerns for them. And until yesterday, Krshia had been most worthy of them by far.

Worth. She still had some of it, still had the debts of old to call upon and the goodwill fostered within this city. But old worth grew stale quickly, like meat. Now that Krshia had lost her shop, what worth could she have?

She could rebuild. Krshia had the coin, but she didn’t have the time. Even if her shop got up and running again, all that she had worked for was already lost.

Dreshhi knew it as well. The Gnoll spoke to Krshia as the Gnolls loped back through the city streets in a pack.

“We must hurry. The tribes already begin to move. If we have nothing to bring to the gathering, our voices will be lost.”

Another truth. But Krshia saw no good answer to the problem before them. They had had something worthy of bringing, something that would have made their clan great. All the clans brought things to share for all Gnollkind, and thus grew in worth and made their voices louder. But the Silverfang Tribe’s hopes had burned with Krshia’s stall.

“We have nothing.”

“We can try again. We have the coin—”

“Not for this. Not for more than one or two trifles. No, it is Erin we must rely on, I think.”

Dreshhi fell silent. That was not a comforting thought, but it was all Krshia could think to give. Erin Solstice. Upon her shoulders, all of Krshia’s hopes now lay.

At first, helping Erin had been such a small thing. An act of charity and aid to a Human who was worthy of both. But now—now she was all Krshia had left. All else was ash.

Krshia stared down at the thing in her paws. A fragment; that was all she’d salvaged. She crumpled the fragment of the spell book and let it fall to the ground.

Who would have known? And even if there had been a fire, non-magical flames would not have damaged the rare collection of books hidden in the back of her stall. Twenty three books; the sum of the efforts of the Silverfang Tribe over these long years.

All gone in an instant. Krshia still remembered the fireball, still remembered throwing herself out of the way just in time. Would that she had leapt towards the burning orb, intercepted the blast.

But how could she have known the spell was that powerful? It had been so secret, the books. They were safe there, with a Gnoll to quietly watch the market each night. Safer than Krshia’s home, which had been broken into twice by petty thieves.

A small mistake, but one that had cost everything. Krshia closed her eyes. She was still most worthy, and thus, on her back fell all the responsibility for the Gnolls she had led to this city. It was heavy, and she was tired.

“I must talk to Erin, perhaps tomorrow. For now, I will go and rest.”

The other Gnolls were instantly solicitous. They offered to walk Krshia back, but she refused. She moved through the streets slowly, nodding as Drakes offered her condolences, slowly ascending the steps to her small home.

Inside, Krshia slowly sank into one of the sturdy chairs she had bought with the first coins she had earned in this city, years ago. It felt like another life. And she had worked so hard, succeeding against all odds—!

This gathering would have been the one to make her Tribe famous. It would have improved all Gnolls, given them the power to cast magic spells. Their young would have prospered. But now—?

What would she tell her sister, the Chieftain? How would she face the others after her bold words and all that they had given her to undertake this grand quest?

Gnolls did not weep. At least, they didn’t weep pointlessly. Krshia had shed all of her tears already; now she only had sadness, pooling in her breast. Sadness, and only the faintest breath of hope.

She needed Erin. The girl had to have something from her world Krshia could use. Something worthy. Something that could make the Gnolls…

The Gnoll leaned back in her chair, and closed her eyes. The trouble was, she knew Erin. The girl was good-hearted, brave, and kind. But that she had something in her head worth a fortune? Krshia tried to imagine another world of metal ‘cars’ and the things Erin spoke of. But how different could it be if the girl was just like other humans? Did she know of a different kind of sword—a new forging process, perhaps?

Somehow, Krshia just couldn’t imagine that.

—-

“I see. And the girl will die soon?”

“To the best of my knowledge, yes, my Queen. She has no allies within the city, and the outside temperatures will freeze her without adequate protection.”

Ksmvr stood in front of his Queen and wracked his brains, trying to find something, anything, to add to his report. It was just simply an answer to the question put to him, but he knew it wasn’t right.

His Queen, the Queen of the Free Antinium within Liscor, sat before him, a massive creature hidden in the darkness of the massive cavern underneath Liscor. She was his Queen, his ruler and sole reason for living. And he knew he wasn’t good enough to serve her.

Ksmvr was the Prognugator of the Antinium, but he was new. He was inexperienced, and worse, attempting to fill a position that had once been occupied by Klbkch. The older, newly instated Revalantor was famous among the Antinium, if that word could be applied to any one being in the Hives.

Above him, Ksmvr’s Queen sighed, and shifted ponderously. He had no idea if that was a good thing or a bad one. His Queen was too large to move, but did her movement signify impatience, or simply a desire to stretch her limbs?

“I see. And the Gnolls? Will they attack?”

“I believe not, my Queen. They will be satisfied with the Human’s death, and Krshia Silverfang has ordered no reprisals to be made.”

Another simple answer. But Ksmvr was sure Klbkch could have answered better. With more details perhaps, or some insight? But it would not do to bother his Queen or offer unsolicited opinions.

Again, the Queen shifted. One large feeler waved towards the surface.

“This thief has cost them much.”

“Yes. They have lost the magical tomes stored in Krshia Silverfang’s shop, although I believe her reserves of coin are still hidden in her home.”

“Even so, a grievous loss. Perhaps unwelcome.”

Unwelcome? Ksmvr had no idea the Gnolls in the city were of interest to his Queen, but then, she played a far deeper game than he could imagine. If only Klbkch could advise him—! But Ksmvr was in disgrace with both his Queen and the other Antinium.

At last, his Queen shook her massive head.

“It may be this loss matters. Or not. Local Gnoll politics do not interest me. We will hear when these tribes gather to discuss later. To more important matters. The Workers.”

Ksmvr tried to stand up straighter. He was already standing at attention, but he knew this was the most important reason why he had been summoned.

“Yes, my Queen. We have begun testing the Workers as was suggested by the Individual known as Pawn. He and Bird—”

Ksmvr stumbled slightly over the names. They weren’t Antinium names, and what was worse, they had been chosen by the Workers themselves! It was as if they considered themselves to be the equals of Queens. And yet, these Individuals were desired by his Queen, for reasons Ksmvr did not understand.

“—They brought the Workers who had visited the inn together and attempted to recreate the conditions for reaching individuality.”

“By playing chess?”

“Yes. By playing chess. But questions were asked of the Workers as they played.”

“Which ones?”

“I…do not know, milady. Klbkch and I were positioned outside the room until called for.”

It had been a point Ksmvr had argued hotly against, but he had been overruled by Klbkch. His Queen paused, but did not ask him why.

“Then the results?”

She already knew, so why ask? But Ksmvr obediently reported.

“Of the twenty five workers, four became Individual, choosing names and asserting their independence and loyalty to the Hive. The others…all became Aberration.”

Ksmvr still remembered slicing Workers apart. It didn’t bother him, but even here, Klbkch had surpassed him. The other Antinium had danced a deadly trail of death through the rampant former Workers, while Ksmvr had stuck to the established protocols.

“One in eight? That is very acceptable. Why was that process not continued with the others?”

“I—believe it was due to the effect of meeting the Human known as Erin Solstice, my Queen. After the four Individuals were separated and the other Aberrations destroyed, Klbkch made the assessment that this process was a success. He gathered more Workers and some Soldiers and attempted to repeat the process.”

“And?”

“The rate of those who did not encounter Erin Solstice was—one in one hundred and sixty three. No Soldiers became Individual, but few became Aberration either.”

They had been especially hard to put down. Ksmvr still had a cracked bit of exoskeleton on one leg and his side where he had been struck.

The sound that came from his Queen was a deep sigh, but one tinged by an emotion Ksmvr could not identify. He waited, tense, alert for the next question.

“So it seems Klbkchhezeim was correct. Erin Solstice is needed, for now, at least. But of the five Individuals you have observed. Their loyalty?”

“Of the five, the first, Pawn, is the most independent. He also assumes a position of command among them, but remains receptive to orders from Klbkch. The others do likewise, and none have acted in any unusual manner.”

Aside from the fact that they were taking on responsibilities and roles no other Antinium had ever taken on before. Ksmvr did not mention the way in which Pawn spoke to him, or the painful games of chess they had played.

“Good. Continue.”

Ksmvr bowed his head. It took him a second to realized he’d been dismissed.

—-

The Queen of the Antinium watched and felt Ksmvr go, and sighed when she was sure he was gone from earshot.

“Inconvenient.”

That was the only word for it. Ksmvr was simply not Klbkch, and that was as regrettable as it was inevitable. Perhaps the new Prognugator would rise to the station, or perhaps he would not. In the meantime it was simply another annoyance on top of the Queen’s plate of annoyances.

But the Individuals could be replicated. They could be made anew, even if the cost was prohibitively high at the moment. And even that could be surpassed, if necessary. Erin Solstice was important, but not vital.

That was good. It meant that the Antinium could continue the experiment. It meant that they were not reliant on uncontrollable variables like Humans or other species. It meant…

It meant the time of change was upon them again.

Such a thought sparked excitement even in the languid Queen’s body. Again. Soon, perhaps, the Antinium might change again. And then the other Queens would know she had been right.

It might seem odd for rivalry and argument to form among the Antinium, but it had been discovered long ago that without such, the Antinium would stagnate. The Queen had endured the ridicule and scorn of her fellow Queens for long years, but now she would be proven right. The Great Queen would know of her success soon.

Maybe then she would allow the Queen the other types long denied to her Hive, and provide her with both plans and resources that they might be grown. Or perhaps it was time she created one herself. With the resources and bodies she would be given once her work had been deemed a success, the Queen would be able to improve her hive a thousandfold.

“And maybe then…”

The Queen sighed, relaxing back onto the soft bed that had been made to hold her vast weight. Until that day, she must continue to labor. More than once, the Queen had thought of trying to create yet another Prognugator, or even another Queen, but that had been outlawed both by the Great Queen and the pact made with Liscor. And yet, she was in sore need of another assistant.

Perhaps one of the Individuals might serve? It was part of the reason they were necessary, after all. Pawn had levels in [Tactician] – perhaps not as high as the Queen’s, but then again, perhaps so. The new Antinium leveled up far quicker than Klbkch or the Queen.

And she needed help. She left the above world to Ksmvr and Klbkch, despite her misgivings, so she could better lead her Hive below. The above world was not the Queen’s concern at the moment. She could not turn her attention to lesser matters. For if she were distracted by the concerns of the surface, who would lead her army against the threat from below?

The Antinium had long known of the dungeon underneath Liscor. The Ruins had been only a small part; in their tunneling, the Antinium had uncovered nearly all of the vast ruins. But entering them? Another matter entirely. It was all they could do some days to hold the line.

The Queen settled back against one stone wall and reached out to the rest of her Hive, assessing, commanding. Today’s casualty report: fifty two Workers and eighty six Soldiers slain. Five tunnels breached; fortifications in (242, -42, -4951) were in desperate need of repairs.

She thought as she went over the Workers slowly clearing bodies and hauling the rest to be turned into the easily storable and highly nutritious paste she loathed so much. The surface was inconvenient, but also necessary.

Gold-rank adventurers would soon be entering the city. Was it time to reveal the extent of the ruins? That process was underway, but could be sped up or halted with the Antinium’s help or lack thereof.

Soon. The Queen sat and pondered her hive and the dungeon beneath. It mattered little if it was Antinium or other species who fought their way to the center of the dungeon. But the Antinium must have the artifacts that lurked inside the true treasure rooms. It must be retrieved, but if the guardians were to be freed in the process—

Skinner was the least of their worries. The Antinium had killed nineteen Flesh Worms in the tunnels so far, even if none of them had built up so much flesh as he had, or the gems of [Terror]. No, the real threat was deeper, darker.

The Queen sat on her throne and turned her attention back to her long war in the depths. They had sworn to protect Liscor, that they might grow. The Antinium would do so, and then they would reap their harvest and the world would change with them.

—-

Ceria Springwalker hated the image everyone had of half-Elves. Everyone—mostly Humans, but all species really—had this image of half-Elves as these eternally happy beings who loved to frolic in flowers and hug trees.

Ceria didn’t like flowers, and the only time she hugged trees were to climb up them to escape from bears. She was a city girl, not some crazed nature freak.

Even so, she had to admit there was a grain of truth to the myths. She had an affinity with plants that few other species did. So it made sense Erin would ask her for help planting flowers. It just wasn’t fun for Ceria.

“Here. Space them out a bit more so they can absorb more nutrition.”

Ceria directed Erin as the two young women labored over the pots on the table. They were filled with soil, and Ceria had already made sure they had a good spot in the sun. More than that, she didn’t really know. She might be good with flowers, but she had no idea what to do with these ones.

The flowers that had caused Erin to think she was a tiny person for the better part of an hour were golden and soft to the touch. They were also a trick; Ceria had been expecting gold, but she fully realized that had been stupid of her. And of Erin, but the half-Elf didn’t want to make the Human feel worse than she was already.

Not that Erin looked too upset. The girl was actually humming as she chattered to Ceria about the possible uses of the odd flowers. She was calling them Alice Flowers, for a reason Ceria couldn’t understand. But Ceria did agree the flowers were probably as valuable as gold.

They were…magical. And not; Ceria could sense the same odd feeling from these flowers that she got from the Frost Faeries. It was a tingling in the back of her mind, a stirring in her soul.

Were they valuable or not? Certainly, an [Alchemist] might pay a lot for them if they weren’t common somewhere else, but Ceria just didn’t know. It still seemed a bit pitiful, given that it was payment for all of Erin’s hard work.

And yet, Erin had leveled up four times from that one night! Ceria couldn’t believe it. And her skills! [Wondrous Fare] and [Inn’s Aura]? Ceria knew that some [Chefs] earned [Magical Cooking], but she’d never heard of Erin’s skill.

That settled it. Erin Solstice was no ordinary human, any more than Ryoka was. Ceria glanced over at the other girl. Ryoka was as tight-mouthed as a clam, and twice as tough to crack open, but Erin was far more easygoing and open. She was smiling as she gently patted the flowers into the soil.

“Erin. You um, don’t seem like you’re too normal.”

The girl paused, and frowned at Ceria.

“Thanks? Or wait, is that an insult?”

Ceria laughed and stood up from her pot, dusting off her hands.

“Hardly. You’re unlike any Human I’ve ever met, and I’ve met a few. You and Ryoka are completely unique though; where do the two of you hail from?”

The half-Elf moved to sit at a table as Erin frowned at her pot. The girl replied absently.

“Oh, I come from another world. Ryoka does too.”

Ceria kept walking and then tripped over the chair she’d been going to sit on. She crashed to the ground face-first, breaking her fall with both hands.

“Ceria!”

Erin dropped the flower she was holding, but Ceria was on her feet in an instant. The half-Elf gaped at Erin.

“You what? Wait, you and Ryoka?”

The girl looked panicked.

“Didn’t I say? I thought I told you! Wait—I told Krshia and Klbkch but—I thought Ryoka told you!”

She clapped a hand to her head.

“Oh no. Ryoka’s going to be so mad at me!”

—-

Ceria sat in a chair and let her head spin for a while. Erin hovered around her anxiously.

“I mean, it isn’t that big a deal, right? There’s no way back—not that I know of, and Ryoka and I don’t know anything special. I think. I mean, technology is really different where I come from, but I can’t build anything like Ryoka’s iPhone.”

“I can’t believe it. I just—”

The half-Elf broke off, shaking her head. The trouble was, she could believe it. It would be far easier to call Erin crazy, but it made sense, especially with everything Ceria had observed about Ryoka.

No wonder the other girl was so cagey. And here was Erin, as oblivious of the dangers as an owl on a summer’s day. Ceria sighed. Someone had to protect the girl. It should probably be her.

“I guess we’ve got more to talk about.”

“I guess. But we’ve got a lot to talk about anyways, right? Like these flowers—and those new skills I’ve got!”

“The skills. Right.”

At this point, the skills were one of the last things on Ceria’s mind, but the half-Elf reluctantly focused on Erin.

“Obviously the [Wondrous Fare] skill has to do with you making food for the faeries. I’m not sure about [Inn’s Aura], but it might just make your inn more attractive or something.”

“Ooh, that could be helpful. But what about [Wondrous Fare]? Does that mean I can make food only for faeries or that it’s somehow…magical?”

“Why don’t you try to make something and see what the skill does?”

“Right! Right…”

Erin nodded a few times and disappeared into the kitchen. Ceria sighed, and Erin poked her head back out.

“Wait one second. I’ll make you some crepes, and then we can talk okay? Magical crepes.”

Ceria nodded weakly. She had no idea what a crepe was, but she prayed it would take Erin some time. Her head still hurt.

And then the door opened and Ceria’s headache doubled. Pisces walked in. She knew it was him because she couldn’t see anything, yet she heard the footsteps.

“Pisces. Don’t tell me you’ve gotten in trouble with the Watch again?”

“Hardly. I’m just here to avoid unwanted attention.”

Pisces reappeared in an instant, and Ceria sighed. This was not a good time for him to show up…which was why she should have expected him.

Somehow he could always pop up at the worst possible moment. She was only glad he hadn’t heard Erin’s accidental admission. Ceria would be the first to admit Pisces wasn’t evil so much as annoying, but he had a habit of causing trouble. If he learned about where Erin was from—

“What interesting flowers. Are they magical?”

Trust Pisces to focus on the magic in the room first. Ceria sighed.

“Take your hands away from those. If you steal one, Erin will hurt you. They’re a gift from the Winter Sprites.”

Pisces immediately snatched his hand away and backed up.

“Those things? I thought even Miss Erin would know to leave them well alone.”

“Well, she didn’t, and they paid her in flowers.”

“Ah. Well, perhaps I will just have something to eat. Is that food I smell?”

Ceria closed her eyes as Pisces strode into the kitchen. She heard a shout, and the mage hurried back out.

“Go away! I’m cooking! And Ceria, these crepes don’t feel magical!”

“Perhaps I should try one to be s—”

Pisces ducked as a ladle flew out of the kitchen. He sniffed loudly.

“That was dangerous. I am a customer.”

“Not paying!”

“Must you hold that against me? Well, soon enough I will have sufficient funds to pay for my meals. I have enrolled in the Adventurer’s Guild.”

That made Ceria sit up in her seat. Pisces, an adventurer? It was almost as much of a surprise as Erin’s admission. She eyed him. He must have been very hungry to be so desperate.

“You can’t be serious. You’ll die on your first mission.”

He sneered at her.

“If you can do it, Springwalker, I see no reason why I can’t do the same. Of course, with my undead I will be able to accomplish much even by myself. Unless you’d care to join my party…?”

“Fat chance. And stop stealing food or Erin will hurt you. And if she doesn’t do it, I will.”

Pisces was pointing a finger into the kitchen, and Ceria knew he was using a minor levitation spell. He scowled, and Erin yelped as the crepe he’d been levitating dropped back down.

“Pisces!”

He raised his hands as the girl stormed out.

“Oh—should I mention this?—there appears to be a girl freezing to death in the snow a few miles north of here. I thought you might be interested.”

“What?”

Erin stared at him as Pisces explained. Ceria narrowed her eyes at her…acquaintance. Friend was far too strong a word.

“How do you know that? And why are you telling Erin? I’d have thought you’d want the girl to die.”

“I would, but Selys insisted I tell Erin. She believes Erin will rescue the girl.”

“Well—of course! She’s out there with no coat? How could they do that?”

Erin stared at Pisces and then rushed into the kitchen. Ceria heard scraping, and then Erin stormed out of the kitchen with a plate of crepes in hand. She shoved it on the table and turned to Ceria.

“I’ve got to go! I’ll be back in a little bit Ceria.”

“What? Erin, listen. That girl is a thief. She was exiled from Liscor for a reason. You can’t just—”

Erin stared at Ceria. There was something disconcerting about the young woman’s gaze. She was normally so amiable, but now her stare was serious and unwavering.

“No one deserves to die in the cold. No one.”

She turned.

“Toren! Where is he? Nevermind—”

She ran back into the kitchen and reemerged with a coat. Then Erin dashed out the door.

Pisces watched her go and shook his head.

“Too kind by far, that girl. For a child from another world, she is rather careless.”

Ceria stared at Pisces. He smirked at her, and then frowned when he realized she wasn’t taken aback.

“Ah. You know.”

“How do you know?”

“A certain conversation on that device of Ryoka Griffin’s. It was troublesome to copy the [Message] spell as I recreated it, but…”

Pisces shrugged. Ceria remembered him bragging about that bit of magic as they’d exited the ruins. She narrowed her eyes.

“And now you’ve just sent that girl off to rescue a dangerous thief.”

“Not dangerous so much as annoying at this point, I believe. Her magical items are gone.”

Ceria stood up, sighing. She walked over to Pisces and smacked him with her skeletal hand. He yelped as she glared at him.

“Idiot.”

“Come with me. Once we go and make sure Erin doesn’t get mobbed by those damn Gnolls and Drakes, we’ll talk. About you being an adventurer as much as anything else. I’m reforming the Horns of Hammerad.”

Both his eyebrows shot up. He looked at her skeletal hand, and then blinked twice when he realized it had been the one to strike him.

“Well. That is a new development. But you have no wand. And unlike me, you don’t have any Skills in that area.”

Ceria smiled grimly, and raised her skeletal hand.

“Oh, I can do magic. And Yvlon is—well, she’s got scars but she’s still got both arms. And so do I.”

She concentrated, and an [Ice Spike] formed in the air, hovering above her skeletal hand, ready to launch. Pisces’ mouth fell open slightly, and then he regained his composure. He smiled at Ceria, for once genuine, reminding her of the young man she’d studied with back in Wistram.

“Ah. How intriguing.”

—-

Someone knocked on a door. Someone else opened it. It was an ordinary scene, except that it was Val knocking on Magnolia’s door, and it was a maid who came to open the expensive double doors and lead him inside the vast mansion that was her home within the city of adventurers, Invrisil.

But Val was used to the routine, and so he charmed the maid as she put him in a large waiting room and went to summon the lady of the manor. Magnolia was unique in that way; normally a senior maid or butler would handle Val, but he knew Lady Magnolia talked to all Runners, not just Couriers when accepting their deliveries.

And this one was special. Val had been puzzling over it the entire way north and he was wondering what Lady Magnolia would make of it.

He didn’t have long to wonder. Lady Magnolia, the deadly flower blooming in the north and scion of the Reinhart house swept into the room, charming Val before he could charm her.

“My word, is it Valceif? I haven’t seen you in—why it must be two months at least! Please, sit, sit.”

Val did so, watching as Magnolia sat herself in the rich little room, and her maids joined her. Well, only one maid today. Ressa, the head maid inclined her head at Val and he nodded back respectfully. It had taken a lot of work to get on the prickly maid’s good side, but then, he’d tried to conduct himself as respectfully as possible in Lady Magnolia’s house.

For good reason. No one made an enemy of the Reinharts and didn’t pay for it in some way. For one thing, Magnolia was a far better friend than enemy.

And Val liked her. So he smiled as he reached for his belt and brought out a folded letter and proffered it to her.

“I have a delivery for you, as you might imagine, Lady Magnolia.”

“Really? A delivery? I hadn’t expected one—at least, not from you.”

“Well, it’s a favor for a friend. I’m told you know Ryoka Griffin—this letter is from her to you.”

The name didn’t even make Lady Magnolia blink, but Ressa’s reaction was more dramatic. The normally unflappable maid stirred slightly, and then Magnolia smiled.

“Now that is interesting. Pray, when did you last see Ryoka?”

Val shouldn’t have been surprised Magnolia knew Ryoka; he knew the local Runner’s Guilds loved to fulfill her requests and each Runner took turns doing the lucrative deliveries, but he was surprised at Ressa’s reaction. He smiled back, trying to be as open and honest as possible.

“A day ago. She was in an inn just outside of Liscor. She left in a big hurry, but she gave me this before she went.”

He offered her the letter, and Magnolia took it. Her eyes sparked with interest as she took the letter from him. It was a simple thing, yet Magnolia scrutinized it and Val felt she took something away even from that.

“A letter from Ryoka Griffin. Well, well. Now what could it be…? Ah. It’s unsealed.”

Lady Magnolia took out a small piece of parchment and unfolded it. She looked at it, blinked, and then laughed.

Ressa stood stock still behind her lady, but Val knew that she had read the parchment as well. Her face was stony, but Magnolia was laughing in delight. Val had to smile too. He knew what the little bit of parchment said by heart, now.

We should talk soon.

-R.

That was it. No secret ink, no hidden message. Magnolia’s laughing turned to chuckles before she regained her decorum. She tapped the parchment gently with one fingernail.

“You’ve read this, I take it?”

Val ducked his head apologetically.

“It was my price for delivering it. I do apologize, but—”

“Oh nonsense! How clever of Miss Ryoka. A Courier must have his payment, mustn’t he? But I fear she hasn’t given you much to work off of.”

“Well, your reaction is quite interesting.”

“Isn’t it?”

Lady Magnolia twinkled merrily at Val, and he wondered how much this information was worth. The game of politics featured her as no small player, and any good courier knew to sell the latest tidbit as soon as possible before it grew stale.

Then again, secrets should be kept unless you wanted a dagger in your throat, and he had no desire to harm Ryoka. But she’d known what would happen when she gave him the letter because he’d asked, and so he was doubly interested in what Lady Magnolia would do next.

“Well, what should my response be? I suppose I could hire you—although Ryoka has gone further south, hasn’t she?”

No one knew how Magnolia learned her secrets, so Val didn’t even blink at her knowledge.

“Yes she has. But I’m afraid tracking her down would be something of a chore, even for a Courier. I could recommend you a good one who knows the area, though—”

“Perish the thought. It’s a needless expense. No, Ryoka will come north sooner rather than later. But I’m afraid she might be disappointed. Because my answer is sadly nothing.”

Lady Magnolia handed the letter to Ressa, and the maid made it disappear into her skirt. Val blinked.

“Nothing? Well, Ryoka did say you might have an unusual reaction.”

“I believe I would have—a week ago. But she was a bit too slow for once. Shall I show you what I mean? It may be interesting if you meet her again.”

“I would be delighted, but I fear it is unlikely I’d meet Ryoka again.”

“Nevertheless, I would be delighted to show you, if only to indulge myself. And I find it never pays to be certain of anything in this world. If you would be so good as to join me?”

Lady Magnolia stood up, and ushered Val towards the door. She led him through her mansion, filled with bowing servants and priceless artifacts to a large room. There she paused, and opened the door ever so slightly.

Val, realizing he should be quiet, leaned forwards. He found himself staring into a room expensively decorated as with every place in the mansion, but in this case, filled with sofas and fancy things to sit on. He thought one of the couches was called a ‘chaise longue’, but Val had seldom been this far inside a noble’s home.

But of course, that wasn’t the main feature of the room. The people were. Congregated around a resplendent table filled with every sort of drink and food were several people. They weren’t more than children, really. Oh, some were young adults, but they held themselves without the confidence Val and Magnolia had.

They looked…ordinary. Their faces were like any Val had seen on his travels, and they acted like normal people. But their clothes—they were brightly colored, and embossed with artwork Val had never seen before in his life! And then his heart skipped a beat as he saw one of them held a strange object in his hands.

It was flat, and looked vaguely like a mirror. But instead of reflecting things, it shone with a bright, unnatural light that had to be some kind of magic. And it was emitting sound, and some of the others were clustered around it. And what was that another one had? Some kind of…?

One turned his head, and Val moved his head away from the door, although he was probably far enough away that no one had noticed the small crack in the door in any case. Magnolia stealthily shut the door, and turned to Val.

“Well? Your thoughts, brave Courier?”

Her eyes were dancing. Val had to smile back. Lady Magnolia played games with fates and lives, it was true. That was what anyone with power did in the north, and their subtle wars could ruin lives. But Magnolia did her scheming in the open as much as in the shadows, with laughter and a willingness to share her fortune with others. He couldn’t help but like her for it.

“I believe I have seen something like the device held in that boy’s hands.”

“Yes. Fascinating, isn’t it? I regret to say that it puts Ryoka’s plans in a bit of a bind, however.”

“That is tricky. She’s a good Runner, you know.”

Magnolia led Val back to the room, where a tea set and snacks had already been set out by Ressa. She smiled at him.

“I would like to explain more, but I fear that would place you in jeopardy. Feel free to mention all the details to anyone who pays you well, though.”

He ducked his head, blushing slightly.

“If you wish me to omit anything—”

“Nonsense! You must have your payment, and I would be remiss if I let those busybodies up north miss a chance to gossip, worry, and scheme.”

Lady Magnolia laughed lightly again, and Val had to laugh with her. He leaned forwards and asked the question that was on his mind.

“So what does this mean, Lady Magnolia? Is it good for you, or bad for Ryoka? You said this was an interesting week?”

She beamed at him.

“Let us simply say that it has been a red letter day for all of us. Although the letter you’ve given me is not red. Oh dear. I suppose the analogy works in any case, though. Now, will you take tea or something stronger before you tell me of what has happened with dear Ryoka?”

—-

Later that evening, in Liscor, two teams of Gold-rank adventurers entered the city to the excitement of no one but Selys, who was at the desk in the Adventurer’s Guild at the time. A Named Adventurer began her slow journey as she sailed across the seas from Terandria.

And Erin hired her first employee. That turned out to be a mistake.

2.24 T

Toren took his sword and rammed it a few times into the snow. Yes. That felt…good.

If anything could feel good, that was. Toren only knew that using a sword felt natural to him, just like he was happier to be called ‘he’ rather than ‘it’ or ‘thing’. Was it because Erin had named him?

Questions like that made the skeleton’s head hurt. But now he was about to do something that required less thought and more action.

He was going to kill things. It needed to be done; Toren had to become stronger.

He was currently a Level 14 [Skeleton Warrior], thanks to the battle with the enchanted suit of armor, but that wasn’t nearly good enough. Toren had seen Rags’ tribe fighting, seen Relc and the Antinium and Skinner and the hordes of undead. He could tell how weak he was compared to all of them, so he was determined to gain strength.

But where to kill monsters? Toren paused as he sheathed the sword at his side and stared blankly around the plains. He didn’t see any monsters besides a Rock Crab hiding in its shell in the distance, and it would pulverize his bones in a single strike.

Ah. This could be a problem. Toren had to think for a while before he figured out where he needed to go.

The Watch kept the area around Liscor clear of most monsters. And the roads north were generally safe because trade had to flow. Only secluded areas like Rags’ secret dungeon entrance produced the occasional threat.

If you wanted a fight around here in the winter, you’d have to jump in a Shield Spider pit or build a snowman.  But Toren knew that the south was different. That way led to the ‘Blood Fields’ or so Ryoka had told Erin. And different monsters lurked there.

That was good! Toren now knew where he needed to go. But now he faced a different problem. How could he get there and back before Erin called for him? He must obey orders.

Fortunately, Toren had a solution for that too. He knew Erin; not in the sense of knowing what she liked or her personality or hopes or dreams or anything like that, but he knew how she tended to react.

The young woman was busy investigating the faerie flowers that had been left in her inn with Ceria when Toren walked back in. She’d recovered from the hallucinations, and now she was busy talking with Ceria about pots and planting things.

Toren didn’t care. He stealthily edged around the room, taking care not to attract attention. That was the thing; Toren might be a moving skeleton with purple eyes made of flame, but he was also not a person. Like a coatrack or a chair, he could become part of the room simply by standing in one place and stealthily moving a few feet every hour or two.

It was also because he had a valuable skill. Toren wasn’t nearly as high-level as Erin, but he’d still gained a few useful skills from the various classes he’d gained.

He had [Weapon Proficiency: Sword], [Lesser Strength], [Conceal Presence], and a few other skills from his classes, but those were the three valuable ones. [Lesser Strength] in particular had been a gift; Toren had received it when he hit Level 10 in the [Warrior] class.

It was [Conceal Presence] Toren used here though; he silently moved across the room, until he was right behind Erin and Ceria. Then he waited.

“Don’t you see? They’re valuable! If we plant these, I bet I could grow more!”

Erin was talking excitedly to Ceria, gesturing at the golden flowers. The half-Elf looked unconvinced, but she nodded anyways.

“If you think so. It’s winter, but they don’t seem to be dying—and of course the faeries brought them, so they must be resistant to cold. I can help with the replanting, but we’ll need some pots.”

“Pots? No problem. I think I have—”

Erin turned, and only then realized Toren was right behind her. She screamed and punched at him. Toren jumped back reflexively; he’d expected that.

“Toren!”

Ceria had her skeletal hand on her heart as Erin panted and glared at the skeleton. He didn’t see what the big deal was, but she always got surprised and upset when she turned around in the middle of the night and saw him staring at her.

“Erin, your skeleton is terrifying.”

“I know, I know. I—okay, fine. Toren, go into the kitchen and get me a pot. Not a cooking pot; a pot for planting things.”

Toren nodded and went into the kitchen. He didn’t want to help with planting flowers, but this was all part of the process. This time he grabbed an old, dented iron pot and came back out just as quietly.

Erin and Ceria were talking again, but then Erin remembered the pot and turned her head. Toren stared into her eyes.

“Aaah!”

Toren held out the old pot. Erin took a few steps back, snatched the pot, and shouted at him.

“Stop that! What is with you today?”

The skeleton had no ability to answer, but he’d come to understand that Erin wasn’t really asking. He waited, patiently.

“Go stand over there.”

Erin pointed to the bar, and Toren walked over obediently. All part of the plan. He kept watching as Erin and Ceria began talking about soil and proper lighting conditions and things he cared nothing about. And then it happened.

Ceria caught sight of him and shuddered. She paused, moved a few feet, and shuddered again. Erin looked up.

“Is it Toren again? What’s he doing now?”

“Look.”

The half-Elf pointed, and Toren saw his master poke her head up from her pot. She had a smudge of dirt on her cheek. He stared at her patiently.

“I don’t see—”

“Watch this.”

Ceria walked a few feet and picked up a wooden spoon they were using as a spade. At first, the skeleton’s head didn’t move. Then, slowly, it moved to track Ceria. The half-Elf moved back, and there was that slight delay before Toren’s head slowly rotated back to stare at her some more.

Erin shuddered with Ceria. She put one hand on her face, and swore as she got dirt in her eyes. She rubbed at her eyes and glared at Toren.

“That’s it. Out! Shoo! Don’t come back until later, and stop being…creepy! Understand?”

That was what Toren had been waiting for. The skeleton didn’t smile, but he instantly nodded and moved towards the door before Erin could change her mind. He heard the girl grumbling, but paid no heed.

He was free! Toren sped out the door and into the snowy plains. Yes, he was free, and he only had to come back later that evening, or that night. Or tomorrow, although he sensed that Erin probably only meant for him to be gone a few hours.

Regardless, it had worked. Toren had long ago realized that if he kept standing behind Erin or getting in her way, she would eventually order him outside. He’d never made use of that knowledge, except to carefully avoid doing just that, because he hadn’t ever had a reason to leave her side.

Until now.

Toren walked and then ran out into the Floodplains of Liscor, and then beyond it. He did not tire. He did not slow. He was undead, and death had long ago taken pain and exhaustion from him.

Ryoka could run faster. So could Val, Relc, and probably even Erin if she was being chased by Goblins. Toren had to carry his sword so that made him slower. But he didn’t stop, and so in that respect he was superior to most City-runners like Garia, Persua, or even Fals.

Even so, it took Toren over an hour to move past the Floodplains. He could tell he’d left because he reached a hill. It had quite a gentle incline, but it took Toren nearly thirty minutes to run to the top at full speed. And when he got to the top, he realized that there was a narrower gap on the hill he could have crested in half the time.

Toren didn’t get mad. He was incapable of it. He just marked the spot mentally so he would have a quicker route next time.

Now that Toren was on top of the large hill, he could finally see down the long stretch of land that led south, towards the lands Drakes and Gnolls inhabited.

It was…nothing special. At least, to Toren. He only noted that this place at least was truly a plain. The Floodplains were indeed quite flat in places, but in others they had so many valleys and hills like where the Wandering Inn stood that flat ground became an illusion at best.

But here, beyond the boundaries of Liscor, Toren saw the wilderness begin. He saw snowy ground, rocks, and…trees.

Yes, trees! At first Toren had assumed these were the same kind of trees he’d found earlier, the Boom Trees that exploded with deadly force. But no, these trees were normal coniferous trees, pines and evergreens forming large forests in between the open expanse of land.

It was a pretty sight, but the skeleton had no time for any of it. He scanned the landscape, searching for hints of movement. And then he saw a small shape moving far below.

That was enough. Toren raced down the hill, drawing his sword as he ran. He didn’t bother with stealth or plans; there was something alive, and so he was going to kill it. He wanted to kill it.

A skeleton running down a snowy hill is hard to spot, even with all the snow flying about. But the creature had spotted Toren already, and instead of running, it had stopped and waited for him to approach. That was a good sign; it meant it could probably fight.

Toren halted as he finally laid eyes on the creature that had been ambling through the snow. It was…a deer.

Yes, a deer. This was, in fact, a reindeer, and although it had an impressive set or horns, it was still just a deer and not a flesh-eating Creler or a giant bug with teeth or even a Goblin.

Disappointed, Toren lowered his sword and turned away. Killing things, that was fine, but he was aware that random acts of violence wouldn’t help him level. He turned his back, and thus took the reindeer’s charge straight to the back.

The impact knocked Toren off his feet and the hooves trampled and crushed his bones. If he had been flesh and blood, Toren probably would have had pierced internal organs and countless torn ligaments. But since he was a skeleton, the reindeer’s charge was mostly harmless to him.

Toren sprang to his feet as the reindeer aborted its charge before it could hit a tree, and turned, snorting, to face him. He lifted his sword, and clattered his jaw in delight.

It was an enemy after all! He nearly rejoiced, and only then realized that he might actually be in a bit of trouble.

Because here was the thing. Yes, Toren was facing a reindeer. And yes, it had just charged him to little effect. But only now did the skeleton realize that this particular reindeer, whether by mutation or evolution, was twice the size of a reindeer from Erin’s world.

He didn’t have any other reindeer for comparison of course; Toren was just aware that this deer was huge. It was a Corusdeer, although Toren had no way of knowing that. The two antlers on the reindeer’s head were colored as much orange as brown, and there were sooty marks on the fur around the Corusdeer’s hooves.

Still, it didn’t have a sword. Toren raised his and charged at the deer, slashing viciously at its sides. The deer reared up and Toren saw flashing hooves.

It kicked him in the skull and landed several good blows on his body which cracked bone. He slashed its side open.

Red blood covered the reindeer’s side as it made a distressed sound and retreated. Toren advanced, charging through the snow with his sword raised, but the Corusdeer was agile and darted away from him, easily outdistancing the skeleton.

Well now, this was inconvenient! If Toren had flesh, he would have frowned. He’d come out this far to fight monsters, not overly-territorial animals. He expected the deer to run and decided he would let it go; it wasn’t much of a challenge—when the deer suddenly stopped and lowered its head for another charge.

Toren paused, and then raised his sword. The deer wanted to die, apparently. He had no problem with that. He waited patiently as the deer pawed the ground, snorting. It might be stronger and faster than he was, but it was just a dumb animal. No threat at all.

Then Toren learned what made the Corusdeer different from normal reindeer. The deer’s horns began to glow, and then they lit up like pieces of iron in a forge fire, turning nearly white with the heat they emitted.

The hooves caught fire too. Suddenly, Toren was aware that everything was melting around him. That didn’t bother him, as he was a skeleton, but he had to wonder what would happen if his bones met the super-heated horn.

He hesitated for a second, and the Corusdeer suddenly charged. It kicked off the ground with an explosion of fire, and it was suddenly moving faster. A lot faster.

Toren threw himself out of the way as the deer thundered past him. He felt the air change around his bones, but then he was clear. For a second. He turned, and somehow the reindeer had turned and was already charging.

Too late to block or evade. Toren cut at the deer again as the horns caught him full-on in the chest. The deer veered to one side, bleeding from the face as Toren crashed back into the snow. But the horns still hit Toren’s ribs.

The skeleton heard a hiss, and felt part of his rib cage…disappear. He fought to get to his feet, and felt at his ribs. They were still intact. But—

A good chunk of his bones had been vaporized. As Toren felt at his third rib down, he encountered only air where bone should have been. Bits of ash flaked away at his touch. The deer had burnt away his bones with the intense heat coming from its horns.

That wasn’t bad. Toren’s mobility was still unhindered, and he hadn’t lost much. And he’d hurt the Corusdeer; it was now bleeding from two places. But something else concerned Toren.

He was not healing. Or if he was, it wasn’t as rapidly as broken shattered bone. That was very bad.

The Corusdeer was shaking its head, sending steaming droplets of blood flying into the snow. It was wounded right above the eye, and Toren was sure it couldn’t see out of it. Still, it raked the air with its glowing horns, forcing Toren to retreat.

He hopped backwards in the snow, and the two regarded each other warily for a few seconds. The skeleton considered his next move. He had to kill the deer now, that was plain. But he was more wary of the horns. Charging they might not be so bad, but if the deer pinned him and drove its horns into his body? He’d be ash in less than a minute.

The deer was certainly having second thoughts as well. She’d been trying to chase off the strange intruder who’d entered her grazing spot, and already it had injured her twice. Either skeleton or Corusdeer might have decided the risks here weren’t worth the reward, but that was when the snowman attacked.

Toren had only a second’s warning as the massive shadow engulfed him before a snowy fist smashed into him, engulfing the skeleton in a world of snow. He struggled, but snow was everywhere, and it was too thickly packed for him to move.

For a few minutes all was confusion for Toren. He was fighting to move, and could sense he was being swung around at great speeds. But then he heard a hiss and a roar, and the ice around him melted into water!

Toren fell out of the snowman’s body just in time to see the Corusdeer springing away as part of the massive Snow Golem turned to water and mixed with the snow on the ground. He scrambled away and saw his sword, still embedded in the snowy giant’s side. Toren stared at the huge creation in amazement.

It was a snowman. A crude sculpture of snow come to life. Technically he was a Drake, but his appearance had mutated too much to resemble his creator or any humanoid species for that matter.

A while ago—perhaps near the start of Winter, a Drake child had made a snowman in the fresh snow. The energetic young Drake had given the snowman eyes made of pebbles, long sticks for arms and a tail, a mouth, and even a radish for a nose, but had forgotten the most important thing: clothes.

Unprotected from the external sources, magic had entered the snowman—whether by accident or on purpose—and he had come to life. It might not have been that bad at first; for all the snowman was hostile to everything living, it wasn’t fast and it was made of loosely packed snow after all, hardly a threat. But this one had managed to survive its creation, and it had done what all creatures do.

It grew. The snow on the plains was a banquet for the Snow Golem, and it had absorbed more and more snow until it was taller than a Rock Crab and just as wide across. It had two massive arms made of snow, and large rocks and stones had formed two crude eyes and a mouth on its face.

Oh, and it still had a tail of sorts, but it was more like a third leg.

The Snow Golem roared again, and swung at the deer. The horns met the fist and Toren saw a flash and then a cloud of steam billow up as the Golem reared back, cradling his melted hand.

Something exploded, and Toren realized some of the stones caught in the Golem’s body were overheating when the antlers caught them. That wasn’t a problem for him or the Golem, but the deer caught some of the shrapnel from the rocks and staggered.

That was the Golem’s chance to throw a huge clump of himself at the deer, but it vaporized and became water as the deer lowered its head protectively. The force still threw the Corusdeer on the ground, but it staggered upright and the two creatures began to circle each other.

They’d completely forgotten about Toren. These two natural enemies were so engrossed in each other, that only when the skeleton had climbed all the way up the Golem’s head did the Corusdeer notice he was there.

It paused, and the Snow Golem finally realized something was wrong. It raised its only good hand, but Toren just clung to the massive snowy head, and the clumsy fingers couldn’t pull him out.

That was the Corusdeer’s cue to dart forwards, and the Snow Golem had to focus on the ground. Toren stood back up, and looked at the Golem’s head. Now, how would you kill something made of snow and ice…?

Toren knew how he’d kill himself, so he applied the same logic to the Golem. He didn’t bother with his sword; he just buried his hands in the Snow Golem’s head and began to dig.

For a few seconds, the Golem continued swiping at the deer as it ran around him below, melting his sides and darting in and out of reach. Then Toren tossed another armful of snow into the air and struck the Golem’s center. Then the Golem knew pain.

The Snow Golem roared in fury and agony as Toren dug down into its head, scooping out snow that looked different from the rest. It was somehow even whiter than normal snow, and it felt colder on his bones. The pure snow melted as soon as it reached the air, and the Golem screamed as Toren kept digging into it.

Slowly, the giant behemoth collapsed, and Toren realized it was coming apart. No longer bound by magic, the Golem’s body simply slumped to the ground, a small mountain of snow and dirt and ice.

Toren sat up in the snow, and pulled his sword out with him. Now that had been fun. He looked around quickly, and saw the Corusdeer was staring at the remains of the Golem, as if unsure it was dead. It backed up as Toren leapt onto the ground, sword raised.

Now, back to the fight. Toren waited for the deer to charge. It was clearly waiting for its moment, pawing the ground, feinting forwards, but then the deer hesitated. It raised its horns, and shook them, but too late.

The horns went out. The white-hot light and intense heat faded, and suddenly the Corusdeer was just an oversized reindeer, bleeding and tired.

Toren blinked, but the deer was just as surprised. It pawed at the ground, shaking its head, but it was clear that whatever magic or energy the Corusdeer used, it had run out from fighting both Toren and the Snow Golem.

Too bad. But Toren didn’t mind. As the deer began to back up, he charged it, sword swinging. This time the deer met him head on, raking the skeleton with its antlers, but they did nothing. And Toren stabbed the deer in the side.

This time his blade went in several feet. It didn’t hit the heart, but it did strike something vital because the Corusdeer moaned and pulled itself away. It didn’t strike at Toren, but began to run as the skeleton chased after it.

Even wounded, even half-blind, the reindeer instantly outdistanced Toren. But it left a trail of red in the snow, and a wake besides. That was enough for Toren. He ran after the deer even as it pulled away, not discouraged by how fast it was moving. It would slow in the end.

That was the thing about Toren; he was patient and he didn’t get tired. He pursued the wounded Corusdeer relentlessly through the snow, cutting at its sides each time he drew near. It couldn’t run forever, and each time it slowed there he would be, stabbing at it, cutting it, ignoring the hooves and horns that smashed into him time and time again.

Blood ran into the Corusdeer’s eyes as it surged towards a forest, trying to lose the skeleton. He ran after it, but then the Corusdeer made a mistake. Half-blind, it never noticed the low-hanging tree branches and ran straight into them.

Toren clattered his jaw with delight as the deer careened left and into a tree. The skeleton was on the wounded animal in a second. The Corusdeer raised its horns and knocked the sword out of the skeleton’s hand. It tried to use that moment to run, but Toren was on it in an instant. He put two fingers together and pushed them into the deer’s other eye. The deer screamed, and Toren felt delighted.

This was fighting. This was killing. This was what he had been made to do. The world became a small, concentrated bubble of violence for the skeleton. He punched and bit and battered the deer as it tried to kick him with its hooves or stab him with its horns. But there was no heat. No heat, and the deer was weakening. Dying.

Toren found his sword and brought it back as the deer lay on the ground, hooves moving weakly. He stabbed the deer in the chest, and then the head, repeatedly, painting the snow and his bones with gore.

It was done. He had won. Toren regarded the steaming corpse, and then took a bit of snow and began to clean himself. Erin hated it when he was dirty.

[Skeleton Warrior Level 16!]

[Skill – Even Footing Obtained!]

Toren couldn’t sleep, and he never rested, so the level up notifications always appeared in his head the instant a battle was done or a game of chess was finished. He considered the words as he finished rubbing himself with snow.

[Even Footing]? It didn’t sound that useful, but…Toren lifted a foot experimentally. He began to walk through the snow, and realized the ground was suddenly far, far easier for him to traverse. How? It was as if instead of landing on slick patches of ice or divots in the ground, he was walking on a smooth, hard surface rather than treacherous terrain.

That was useful. Not just for killing things; Toren was sure he’d be able to go wherever he liked with this skill. It was definitely handy, but it was—odd.

Odd, yes. That was the only word for it. Just a while ago Toren had been worried about not moving fast enough. And lo and behold, he’d suddenly gotten a skill that allowed him to do just that. Was thinking and leveling connected in some way?

Perhaps. Toren didn’t know, but he could see the connection. And yet, useful as this new skill was, it wasn’t quite what he needed. It would still take Toren over an hour and a half to get back to the inn, even if he didn’t slip every few minutes.

Speaking of which…Toren glanced at the sky and noted the position of the sun. Yes, he had to return anyways, or it would be dark by the time he got back. No more killing for today. It was inconvenient, but he had orders.

The skeleton began to run back towards Liscor and the inn through the snow, as if he’d never been fighting. The mound that had been the Snow Golem and the slowly freezing corpse of the Corusdeer lay on the ground, to be slowly covered as more snow fell from the sky. Toren ran on, thinking only of Erin, the inn, and the levels he had gained. He’d killed two new enemies today; probably the reason why he’d leveled twice. The Snow Golem was a true threat. If he hadn’t been melted out of it, he might have been trapped there forever.

He wondered what he might kill tomorrow?

That was Toren’s first day of hunting. It was not his last, but when he returned to the inn, he found something new.

A girl.

She was sitting in the middle of Erin’s inn, on a chair, shivering in a blanket as Erin fussed over her. The girl had a cup of warm and expensive milk, and a plate of hot beef and bread besides.

And she was complaining.

“—filthy peasants and monsters! They should all be wiped out!”

Toren stared. She was probably a guest. Probably. But he had an uneasy feeling, made worse when Erin looked around and saw him.

“Oh, Toren! There you are! I was wondering where you were. Look, this is my new employee. Her name is—”

Toren didn’t hear the rest. He looked at the shivering girl, dressed in filthy clothes and staring at him with open-mouthed horror. He looked at Erin.

No.

No, she couldn’t be doing this. She was replacing him? Or—no, not replacing him. Toren listened as Erin explained.

She was going to work here? Doing his jobs? Why? Wasn’t he the only help Erin needed? He’d…

Was it because he’d left? Surely not. Erin was saying something about the girl being rescued or exiled? Toren didn’t quite understand. He didn’t understand a lot of things that happened or that people said. But he looked at the girl and didn’t like her.

Not one bit.

More things happened. Erin began fussing over the girl for one thing, although it appeared the girl was quite capable of fussing over herself. She made the other people who visited the inn angry, Toren saw that. The half-Elf, his creator, and especially the Gnoll [Shopkeeper].

Was it important? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Toren only knew two things. He had leveled today, which was good, and Erin was putting him in charge of the girl, which was bad.

That first night, Toren stayed up late, thinking, trying to figure out if he was being replaced or if this was just punishment for something. He felt his ribs slowly beginning to restore themselves; the bones were reforming out of the air, but slowly, draining the mana within him by quite a bit. But it wasn’t important like the new girl was.

Toren ignored everything as he thought. He stood in the center of the common room until he noticed the girl sneaking downstairs. She didn’t notice him as she snuck into the kitchen, but she did when he caught her hand as it was reaching for Erin’s pouch of coins.

More screaming. More noise. Toren followed orders, and the next day he was left alone with the girl to supervise her. He stared at her in shock, but it was mirrored on her face with not a little revulsion and horror.

He had to teach? Her? Erin wanted the girl to learn how to clean, but all the girl did was back away from Toren, screaming insults and calling him names. He offered her the dustrag several times but she just ran away from him.

At last, she stopped being afraid of him enough to stand still and try to order him around. The girl planted her feet, opened her mouth petulantly and pointed towards the door.

“Thing, I order you to—”

What was Toren supposed to do? He agonized over the problem. He couldn’t kill the girl; he even had orders to protect her and ‘show her the ropes’, which sadly didn’t mean hang or garrote her either.

Okay. Toren could do that. He was good at following orders. It was just…the thing was…

The thing was…he didn’t care about the girl Erin had hired. He did not. He didn’t care that Erin paid more attention to her than to Toren, he didn’t care that the other girl was doing his job (albeit very poorly), and he especially didn’t care that she was a worthless waste of flesh and space.

She was just so tiresome, that was all. It was only that. Yes, only that. And she gave him orders which were…meaningless. They were just words. They didn’t bother Toren at all.

It was simply inconvenient, and Toren disliked the time he was wasting trying to teach her. But that all changed when Toren discovered he could do very enjoyable things to the girl when Erin wasn’t watching. It was fun; pleasurable even. First he used fists and feet, and then fingers, and then he just had to push to have fun. He could stare of course, but that wasn’t nearly as entertaining.

A distraction. In the end, that was all it boiled down to. After Toren discovered the fun that could be had from the girl, and managed to get her to do some chores, it became less of his problem and more of Erin’s. Teaching the girl was a mandatory part of the day Toren resigned himself to, which was only punctuated by a few enjoyable moments. He did what Erin asked of him, but when she was done and the new girl was sniveling or hiding, he went out and hunted.

—-

The Goblins were creeping through the snow, ten of them, dressed in grey winter pelts of some animal. Toren watched them for a while, but they weren’t part of Rags’ Goblins. He had seen them all, and they were coming from the south. He leapt up from the snow where he’d been lying, almost invisible, and ran the first one through. The second he grabbed and strangled with one hand as he began to slaughter the rest.

They couldn’t hurt him, not without magic or enough force to scatter his bones or grind them to dust. One of them tried to cast a spell, but Toren hacked him to bits before he could finish.

—-

The wolverine hunted through the snow, searching for something he could kill. He took a step and slipped on something smooth. Toren opened his jaws and bit upwards. A shame he didn’t have a Drake or Gnolls’ teeth.

—-

The second Corusdeer went down far more easily than the first. Toren had taken to carrying a small hatchet—one of the weapons he’d liberated from dead adventurers in the Ruins—and he threw it and scored a deep cut on the deer’s leg. It was easy to kill then; Toren ran forwards and cut at it from behind, evading the hooves with ease.

But this time, he miscalculated. The Corusdeer that had wandered too far from the herd was nevertheless within sight of them, and as Toren butchered the animal, the rest of the herd thundered towards him.

The skeleton heard a groan, or perhaps some kind of call, and then he realized he was surrounded. But Toren just raised his sword, and wondered how many of them he could kill.

The Corusdeer’s horns began to glow white-hot, and then the wind picked up. Toren glanced across the plains and saw that the wind had kicked up a cloud of freshly fallen snow. It blew towards Toren and the herd of reindeer, a wave of ice. But as it hit the deer’s glowing horns, the snow suddenly became steam.

They had been waiting for that. Even as the blinding steam rushed past Toren, the Corusdeer charged at him, dark shapes and burning horns and hooves in the haze.

Toren ran at them, howling silently. The first charge knocked him off his feet, but then he was among the herd, slashing, stabbing, tearing. The deer stampeded around him, and Toren felt his bones turning black and catching fire from the heat.

The deer were clustered around the skeleton, swiping with their horns, heedless of the heat which somehow didn’t set fire to their own thick hides when suddenly, as one, they turned and fled. Toren lay on the ground, bones still smoking, and stared at the herd as they raced away across the plains. He’d nearly forgotten about the gem of [Terror], but it had its uses.

It was half a day before he could walk again, but he leveled up from that battle all the same.

—-

The wild boar wasn’t one of the ones herded by shepherds of Liscor. He was an alpha among his pack, and he led them through the snow, foraging for edible food in this frozen landscape. In the summer of course they shed their fur, but right now they needed all the warmth they could get, so the herd huddled together.

Not just for the body heat of course; the boars were weak individually, especially given the numerous deadly monsters living on the plains, but together their tusks and explosive power could gore all but the deadliest enemies.

Still, this boar was taking his herd further south, away from Liscor. True, the threats in the south were just as bad; Rock Crabs and Shield Spider nests might be dangers around Liscor, but deadly tribes of Gnolls and other monsters like Wyverns would slaughter even a group as large as his.

But the alpha boar had made up his mind. His pack had just passed by a freshly slaughtered monster, a tall, semi-bipedal creature with leathery skin, and no face. It had only a mouth and no eyes, but its long talons and barbed forearms more than made up for its lack of sight.

It was a formidable enemy that was twice as tall as the alpha boar, and yet it had been brutally hacked apart. It looked like something had killed it, but not even stopped to consume it. What could be so dangerous?

The boar snuffled, raising his snout to the air. His nose was just as good as his eyes at determining where threats lay. He called to the rest of his herd and they followed him as he pushed a path through the snow.

Toren let them go. He was running low on magic from Erin, and he didn’t think he could win against the boars without using the ruby gemstone. And he didn’t level if he used that, or so it seemed.

—-

They were a Gold-rank team that had arrived late to Liscor. Late to the undead invasion, and too late to claim the best inns in the city, which was the most important thing. They weren’t happy about it, but they could still rent an inn to themselves.

“It beats staying at that little Adventurer’s Guild they’ve got in the City, that’s for certain.”

Halrac, their lead [Scout] and [Marksman] complained as they rode on horses through the snow. He peered at the magical compass in his hands and stared at the snowy landscape ahead before motioning the group forwards.

“I don’t think they would have had room for us even if we’d asked. Dead gods, what a city to come to. Are there no adventurers higher than Bronze-rank here?”

“A few, but the city doesn’t need many. They have a strong Watch.”

That came from one of the two mages. Halrac grunted at Typhenous irritably; not so much for the explanation as the mage’s riding style. He was sitting uncomfortably on the horse, who was clearly not fond of the older man, nor the tight grip the mage took on the reins.

“Well, that might be helpful for us. Less competition that way.”

Halrac pointed left, and the group skirted a Shield Spider nest. He kept looking around, but the other mage—a brown-skinned girl with stitch marks around her hands, neck, and knees and a long robe sighed irritably.

“That’s only for now. Already Silver-rank adventurers and even some Gold-rank ones are flooding into the city. Word’s spreading about the dungeon underground, and even the undead invasion hasn’t scared many off. Did you see the one talking to the [Paladin] and one with the hammer in the back? That’s a Silver-rank adventurer named Frostfox; she normally takes on missions solo, but even she’s teaming up. Unless we get a jump on the others, we might be upstaged by a Silver-rank team, or another Gold-rank one. There’s already two in the city!”

Halrac opened his mouth to reply, but their leader, a man with a greatsword and magical armor replied. His name was Ulrien, and Halrac was even more concerned about his horse, which had to bear both the man, his sword, and his armor through the snow.

“No worries. The guardian of the crypts that attacked the city was more than a match for any Silver-rank team, or even a group of them. How many joined up to crack open that place? Four? Five? And they were all slaughtered by the Lesser Guardian.”

“Makes you wonder how we’ll do.”

Halrac muttered the words under his breath, but his three companions didn’t look worried. And in truth, he understood Ulrien’s unspoken point. Silver-rank groups might team up as much as they wanted, but even a hundred Silver-rank teams wouldn’t be able to match the magical items and abilities of a Gold-rank team.

“What about Named Adventurers? If some of them arrive—”

“If some arrive, we’d better have a good foothold in the dungeon already. Which is why we need to find the entrance, Halrac.”

Revi glared at Halrac and looked at the magical compass in his hands pointedly. He opened his mouth to retort—he and Revi got along least well—but he turned his focus back to his task instead.

“We’re close to the center of the magical disturbance, but there’s nothing but snow and dirt around for miles.”

“Damn. Another false trail? Should we just start digging and hope we hit a wall or something?”

Typhenous sighed loudly and pointedly at the two non-mages as he pulled on his horse’s reins to make it stop.

“Even if you wanted to dig however far down it is to this dungeon, I doubt you’d be able to blast through the walls without a serious amount of effort. Frankly, I don’t believe I could do it even with Revi’s help. No; we need to find an opening in the earth, or a surface tunnel. The compass should flash when it detects an opening of some kind.”

“It’s flashed five times already today, each time over a Shield Spider nest.”

Halrac snapped back at Typhenous, irritable and cold. He pointed at the distant mountains looming over the plains.

“It might be the entrance is in one of those damn mountains, don’t you think? And if that’s the case we’d better join up with other teams as well because the High Passes are not a place for a single Gold-rank team to go exploring alone. And stop gripping those reins so tight! You’re hurting your mount!”

“Calm down, Halrac. We bought these mounts outright; it’s not like we’re hurting the animals too badly. We’ve got potions if they need it, and we need to get a drop on the others. Let’s keep searching.”

The [Scout] scowled, but he gently nudged his horse into a walk again. He knew he was being irritable—well, moreso than usual, but they’d been travelling day and night to get here before the others. The [Message] spell Revi had received from Liscor had told them of the dungeon and its possible riches, and that was enough to motivate them to make the thousand-mile journey.

“Alright. Let’s head towards that forest over there. Odds are the entrance is buried behind all those trees or underground.”

Halrac began to ride in that direction, but raised his hand just as quickly. The other three adventurers stopped as he squinted across the plains. His vision was far greater than normal, and so he was the first one to see the undead.

“Is that skeleton…fighting a Snow Golem?”

Revi frowned as the group slowly drew closer to the odd sight. Yes, in the distance a lone skeleton was exchanging blows with a Snow Golem of roughly the same height. It was an uneven fight; Halrac could already tell the skeleton was going to win. It had speed, reach, and strength on the Snow Golem, and even as he watched the undead creature speared the Golem through its vulnerable head.

“Now there’s a sight. Do you suppose it’s one of the undead left over from the attack on Liscor?”

Typhenous shook his head again. He gestured at the skeleton as it stomped the Golem into the snow and planted its sword in the snow.

“Look at how it moves. It’s no ordinary skeleton. It must be a revenant of some kind.”

“Revenant? You mean a possessed undead? That’s dangerous.”

Halrac hated the undead. They were hard to kill with his arrows, and some, like ghosts, couldn’t be harmed by normal weapons at all. It was part of the reason why he worked in a team; a mage was always useful when fighting those horrors.

He’d already put an arrow to his bowstring when Revi grabbed his arm. He glared at her.

“What?”

“Don’t kill it. If it belongs to the city, we’ll have to pay for its destruction.”

Ulrien snorted in disbelief.

“I’ve heard the local Watch uses odd creatures, but an undead?”

“Why else would it be attacking a Snow Golem?”

“Maybe the Golem attacked first. Let me handle this.”

Reluctantly, Halrac lowered his bow. Revi shot him a smile which he did not appreciate or return, and opened a pouch on her belt. Halrac eyed the scrap of cloth the stitch-girl pulled out suspiciously.

“If you’re just going to destroy it, let me—”

“I’m not going to destroy the skeleton. I’ll capture it. If it belongs to the city, we can return it. Otherwise, I’d love to know how strong the spirit bound to the corpse is.”

“And steal the spirit? I’m not having an undead following me around. It’ll spook the horses.”

Revi rolled her eyes as she held the scrap of cloth to the air. It was flesh-colored, much like the fabric that made up her body.

“I’m no [Necromancer], as I’ve told you a thousand times Halrac. But I can still use a spirit, especially if its memory of being alive is still strong.”

Her hands began to glow, and Halrac uneasily moved his mount away from Revi as her voice deepened. She tossed the scrap of fabric into the air and spoke.

“Arise, ancient warrior. Heed the call and return to fight once more.”

A figure shimmered into being. He was a tall man, dressed in bronze armor, holding a mace and shield. His face was completely blank, but he snapped to attention as Revi spoke.

“Capture that skeleton. Break his limbs if you must, but deliver the skull and torso to me intact. Go.”

Instantly, the armored warrior shot off through the snow like an arrow. Halrac had to admit he was impressed by the man’s speed even in armor, he seemed to leap from spot to spot, so that each step covered ten feet as he closed with the skeleton.

As the two began to fight, Halrac eyed Revi.

“I still don’t understand how that’s different from revenants. They’re spirits of dead people bound into bodies and forced to obey the caster. How’s that different from your summons?”

Revi scowled at him as Typhenous sighed loudly and Ulrien shook his head. She was the newest addition to their team, Griffon Hunt, and he still wasn’t used to her. Come to that, he’d be happier if they were still hunting Griffons for pay. It was dangerous, but it wasn’t unpredictable like exploring a new dungeon.

“They’re constructs, not ghosts or spirits. They bear some of the power of their previous bodies, but they don’t have minds. I call them from the memory of souls past, but they’re not the souls themselves. If they were, they’d be far stronger.”

“And that’s your ancestor, is it?”

“Perhaps. Not all String People are related. His name was Kelthor, but he’s only a shadow of the warrior he was in life.”

“Still strong enough to take on a lone skeleton, though. I hope you’ve got enough for when we fight a real enemy.”

“With any luck, I’ll have another one soon enough. I can imprint the soul bound to that skeleton and let the spirit go, and then we’ll all be happy.”

Halrac was never happy, but he watched as the skeleton began to fight with the summoned phantom anyways. His eyes travelled to the right, and he called out to Ulrien.

“Corusdeer. A herd of them. We’d best not get too close unless you want a real fight.”

The big man nodded.

“I see them. We’re far enough away and upwind. The only risk is that Revi’s pet warrior or the skeleton attract them.”

“If it comes to that I’ll recall the warrior or banish him on the spot. Stop worrying, Halrac. Watch; the skeleton’s nearly done.”

It was true. A shadow of his past self Kelthor’s image might be, but he was still far stronger than a normal skeleton. Halrac estimated he was around Level 25, give or take a bit. Not enough for a Gold-rank with his poor equipment, but certainly the equal of any Silver-rank adventurer.

He was bashing the skeleton mercilessly, and the undead was falling back, unable to strike back. Indeed, the armored man was still unharmed because every time the skeleton did try to attack, his sword would glance off the armor or shield of the man.

“Ancient equipment. How old is this construct?”

“Oh, I got it from my grandmother. He’s declined in power since she used him, but it’s a testament to his original strength. And he’s quite efficient.”

Kelthor’s phantom had caught the skeleton with a strike that knocked one arm clean off. The skeleton retreated now, running backwards swiftly as he deflected strikes. Halrac cursed.

“Damn. They’re headed straight for the Corusdeer herd.”

“Not if I can help it. Kelthor! Stop the skeleton now!”

It was impossible for Kelthor to have heard Revi’s actual words at that distance, but he did nevertheless. He sprinted at the skeleton, swinging his mace faster. And the skeleton—

Halrac felt the chill on his heart and nearly screamed out loud. Fear, pure and unrelenting, suddenly poured over him for a brief instant. Revi and Typhenous cried out, and Ulrien gritted his teeth. Kelthor suddenly paused and stumbled backwards, and the skeleton ran towards the Corusdeer herd.

The [Scout] turned to the other adventurers, feeling the terrible terror gripping him dissipated as quickly as it had come. Ulrien fingered the protective stone at his chest, and Revi and Typhenous collected themselves as best they could.

“What the hell was that?”

—-

The gem of [Terror] had worked. Toren scrambled through the snow, towards the herd of Corusdeer, knowing he wouldn’t get another chance to use it. The warrior that was alive-and-not-alive had only paused when he’d used it, which meant he was probably resistant.

And just as the skeleton thought that, the warrior with the mace and shield charged towards him again. He was so fast! He exploded through the snow, leaving a trail behind him as he dashed at Toren, mace raised.

This time the skeleton stood his ground. He swung his sword and dodged back as the mace flew at him. Too slow; Toren felt himself being sent flying again.

But this time, he was close to the herd of Corusdeer. They looked up as one of Toren’s ribs flew through the air above their heads, and then began pawing the ground as they sensed intruders. Perfect.

The warrior had paused, and Toren realized that the odd group of adventurers far away was probably controlling him. Slowly, he backed up out of the Corusdeer’s territory. Toren watched him go, and looked around at the deer.

They were igniting their horns, but not charging. Not yet, anyways. He slowly began to walk away from them as well. Towards the armored warrior, which was death as well. But Toren moved slowly, because he was waiting. Waiting…

They were almost out of range of the Corusdeer when it happened. A gust of air blew snow up into the sky. Toren had been waiting for that. He ran at the other warrior, and the phantom-man raised his mace. Toren knew he couldn’t win, not in a fair fight.

But this fight was about to get less than fair. Because as the snow blew in a cloud past the Corusdeer, it turned to blowing steam and mist as it hit their horns. The blinding fog engulfed Toren and the phantom, and too late the construct realized the danger.

He couldn’t see, or even breathe that well in the hot, vaporous fumes. But Toren had memorized the man’s position, and now he unleashed his gaze of [Terror] as well.

The man with the mace swung blindly, creating an arc of whirling metal around his head. He shifted, crouching low as he looked left and right, waiting for the steam to dis—

Toren’s purple flaming eyes appeared out of the steam, and his sword flashed forwards. His reassembled arm caught the mace and bone shattered once more as his sword flashed past the warrior’s neck.

The slight gap where armor met flesh parted as the sword cut through the ghostly skin. The man choked as blood spurted from the wound. Toren hadn’t expected that. But the phantom was real enough, and he sank to his knees, gasping for air, dying.

He looked up at Toren, and the skeleton thought he saw a smile cross the man’s face before his body dissipated, leaving his weapon, shield, and armor behind in the snow.

The steam vanished, and Toren was left alone as the Corusdeer dimmed their horns and ignored the skeleton once again. He looked at the dented bronze armor, a relic from time long past. He reached down—

And the arrow shattered his skull and sent Toren sprawling in the snow.

—-

Halrac lowered his bow and looked at Revi. The female mage was fuming, her eyes hot with fury.

“It was too close to the Corusdeer. If we went after it, it would only make the herd angry. You’ve already lost one summon—unless you can recover it?”

“No.”

Revi said the words bitterly. She stared at the armor that was all that remained of Kelthor, and shook her head.

“Once they’re dead again, they’re gone. If he was just injured I could restore him but—”

She clenched her teeth.

“What a waste. Let’s just go.”

She turned, and Halrac hesitated as he looked at the armor. It was lying in the snow next to the fallen skeleton.

“Do you want to recover the plate? It’s bronze, but it could be worth something—”

“Tsk. Leave it. It’s just low-quality armor anyways.”

The adventurers left. Revi was in no mood to talk, Typhenous was saddle-sore, Ulrien was bored, and Halrac had to keep looking for potential dangers as they continued exploring for the entrance to the dungeon below Liscor. But the [Scout] kept looking back at the skeleton. It hadn’t been that strong, but it had been cunning. And what had that terror been? Some feature of the undead, or a magical item?

It was dead, though. It lay in the snow, unmoving. But then why did Halrac still feel uneasy?

—-

It took a long time before Toren was sure he wasn’t being watched, and his skull was finally reassembled. He sat up in the snow and stared around. Well, he’d nearly died again, but he’d leveled up. A good trade, he felt.

On cue, the notification began to read in his head, but with a pleasant surprise this time.

[Skeleton Knight Level 20!]

[Skill – Power Strike Obtained!]

[Skill – Weapon Proficiency: Shield Obtained!]

[Skill Change – Power Strike → Mirage Cut!]

[Skill – Mirage Cut Obtained!]

He was a [Skeleton Knight] now? Was that different than a [Skeleton Warrior]? And did that mean he had the [Knight] class, or was that different from being a skeleton? Toren had no idea, but he looked at the metal armor in the snow and decided that whatever the mysterious message in his head was telling him, it was a good idea.

The armor was cumbersome to don, but when it was on Toren he felt tough. Heavy, and far slower, but tough enough to fight without needing to worry about being disassembled with each strike. He took the shield but left the mace in the snow; he preferred cutting weapons anyways.

It was a long and slow trek back to the inn. Toren was worrying how Erin would react when she saw the armor. Maybe he could hide it? It had never occurred to him to hide anything, or to trick her, rather. But it beat her asking questions, and of course, it wasn’t as if she owned the armor. It was Toren’s. He’d won it.

The annoying girl was probably going to be his responsibility when he got back. Toren dreaded that. Couldn’t he slow down?

Toren was pondering all of this as he slowly walked back to the inn. Then his head snapped up. He saw the struggling shapes on the hill before he heard the sounds of fighting. Toren saw furred shapes—brown, grey, and black mainly, struggling around the inn, and several figures fighting. One held a sword; the others warded the Gnolls off with magic while one more had no weapons and was fighting with her fists.

There was no time for thought, no time for action. Toren had no heart, but he felt a shock at his very core. Erin was in danger. Like her, hate her, he still had his duty. She was under attack, and that meant he would fight.

Toren drew his sword and shield, and charged.

2.25

She was dying. Lyonette du Marquin registered this fact with bitter acceptance. She lay in the snow and knew it.

She’d stopped moving. Lyonette knew she should keep moving, keep walking, but she was too tired. The biting, painful cold had stopped a while ago, and now she was feeling almost warm.

But she was still dying. It was hard to open her eyes, and Lyon knew when she closed them next, she would never open them. So. Death. The knowledge was bitter, but at least it would stop the pain.

What would be far worse, or so the girl felt, was that her death would be ignoble and untold. She would die like a dog, and that was worst of all.

They had done this. The mongrels and lizard folk. Lyonette clung to life for a few more seconds just so she could hate for a while longer.

Curse them. If she had one last wish, she would have sent fire and death to that city of monsters, Liscor. They had killed her. Her, a scion of the Marquin house, one of the Hundred Families of Terandria, Sixth Princess in line to the Eternal Throne of Calanfer.

And they hadn’t even the courage to kill her outright. Instead, she had been exiled, sent to wander through the snow until she collapsed. If she’d had her rings or cloak or any of her heirlooms—

But of course, they were out of power. Drained completely from overuse; their bindings broken. And the wretched creatures had taken the few that still had power.

Lyon snarled weakly. Taken. What was hers by right had been stolen. She had been betrayed. That was the only reason she’d met this end. All these peasants, refusing to recognize her superior nature. If she had only reached Magnolia Reinhart. Then—

The world was cold. Lyonette lay still on the ground. She looked up into the cold, grey sky and breathed out. Her eyes closed and—

Erin charged over the top of the hill and skidded down the side. She ran straight towards Lyon, but didn’t see the girl. Lyonette saw Erin approaching first with incredulity, then hope, and then alarm when she realized the girl wasn’t stopping.

“Where is she? Where is she? I can’t—whoa!”

Lyonette felt a foot slam into her stomach and then Erin landed on top of her. The young girl gasped as Erin flailed about frantically.

“What was that? What—oh.”

Death was preferable to life at the moment. Lyon curled up into a ball of pain and then felt something touching her. She jerked and flailed at it feebly, but then—warmth.

“Here. Hold still. Oh man, you’re so cold. Let me wrap this—”

A thick woolen blanket wrapped itself around Lyon as if by magic, the girl felt part of the chill on her lessening. And then she looked up and saw Erin.

The girl smiled down at Lyon with genuine kindness, warmth, and a bit of guilt.

“Um. Hi.”

Lyon blinked at her. Another human? Another girl? Her cold-addled brain struggled to work, and her mouth wasn’t helping.

“W-w-wha—?”

“I’m Erin Solstice. And you’re freezing. I have an inn nearby; can you stand?”

Instinctively, Lyon tried to move her legs, but they’d been stuck in one place for too long. Erin leaned forwards and Lyon got a good look at her face.

She was nothing special to look at. Part of Lyon thought that as it judged the other girl’s rough clothing, her unmannered appearance, speech, and conduct. But the other, larger part of Lyon looked at Erin and saw something shining.

Erin held out a hand and smiled. And she was like the sun. She melted the cold gripping Lyon.

“Come with me if you want to live. I’ve got crepes!”

The other girl’s hand reached out and took Erin’s. Lyon couldn’t help it. Erin lifted her to her feet easily. Lyon tried to move, and gasped in pain. Her legs were numb and painful at the same time.

“Here. Lean on me.”

Erin bent down and got under Lyon, helping the girl. Half-dragging, half-supporting the girl, she made her way back through the snow.

Lyon didn’t know what was happening. She didn’t really hear Erin as the other girl panted and tried to introduce herself and then gave up. She just knew she was being saved, and like a ship-wrecked survivor, she clung to hope.

The inn stood on the hilltop in the distance, promising shelter, warmth, and food. Lyon’s knees buckled at the sight, and Erin caught her.

“Come on. We’re nearly there!”

Lyon needed no encouragement. She fought for more strength as the two girls began to ascend the gentle slope. Suddenly, she began to believe she might actually live. The knowledge was sweet joy.

She took five more steps towards the inn, and began wondering how much coin Erin had, and whether the girl had a horse Lyon could take.

—-

“My name is Lyonette.”

That was how the girl introduced herself after Erin had stoked the fire, gathered as many blankets as possible, and made some hot soup. Lyonette sat in front of the fire, shivering, cold, and now, suddenly, imperious.

Lyon nodded regally at Erin, and gestured to her inn.

“We—I thank you for your assistance in my time of dire need. You will be handsomely rewarded when I am restored to my proper station, I promise you.”

Erin blinked. It was hard to take anything the girl said seriously. She looked like a multi-colored marshmallow with a tiny human head sticking out of it, so many blankets had Erin wrapped around her. Plus, her nose was drippy.

“Oh, it was no problem. I was happy to help. When I heard you were out in the cold, I couldn’t just let you die.”

“Just so.”

The girl looked around the inn and sniffed. Erin wondered if she had any tissues, when Lyonette looked back at her.

“I will stay at your inn for a while longer, perhaps a day or two. Then I will require assistance travelling north.”

Well, that seemed reason—hold on. Erin’s mind backtracked and focused on Lyon’s words. Somehow, she felt like the girl had missed a step. Or ten.

“What? Uh, no. No…I’m not sure what I said—I don’t think I said anything like that—but I’m not helping you travel. In fact, I was going to give you a job working here.”

“What?”

Now it was Lyon’s turn to pause and think. She stared at Erin in shock, and then fury.

“You would have me work here, like a peasant? I am grateful for your help, make no mistake, but I require help.”

Erin chose her words carefully.

“I think I am helping you. A lot, actually. And I’m willing to offer you a job working here. It wouldn’t be hard—well, it might be hard at first, but you’ll get used to it. And I’ll give you room and board, and even some money. I can’t pay much but—”

Lyonette stood up, shedding her blankets. She stared hard at Erin.

“I intend to go north as soon as possible. I will not stay another minute in this—this hellhole of abominations and freaks!”

Erin twitched at the word ‘abomination’. But she still kept her calm.

“If you want to do that, I won’t stop you. But I’m not going to help you.”

Lyon raised her chin and her eyes flashed.

“I order you to assist me!”

“No.”

The girl stared darkly at Erin for a few moments, and then, alarmingly, suddenly switched to placid calm. She sniffed, and looked back towards the fire.

“Very well. I will rest here instead.”

Erin didn’t need to be suspicious; she already was. But she modulated her tone to calm, friendliness.

“Okay, great! In that case I’ll wake you up at breakfast. You can rest today, but tomorrow I’ll show you the ropes. In a few days—”

Lyon frowned.

“I am not going to work. I said I would rest.”

“Yeah…but if you’re going to stay here, you’ve got to work.”

“Am I not your guest? And I am—weak. Why would you force me to work?”

Lyonette looked hurt and reproachful. Erin’s friendly smile didn’t waver.

“Well, you are a thief, aren’t you?”

Lyonette’s face went blank for a second and her eyes flicked to Erin and then away. Erin had a sneaking suspicion the shivering girl was trying to think up a lie.

“I know it’s you. You blew up…well, you destroyed my friend’s shop and robbed a lot of good people. But I didn’t want you to die out there, so I’m offering you a job.”

“I don’t want it. I will head north as soon as I am well.”

Erin took a deep breath. Her heart was pounding. She hated this kind of thing.

“Well, in that case, you won’t be staying here, then. Sorry.”

Lyon stared at Erin incredulously. Her eyes flicked towards the snowy landscape outside, and she wavered. Then a sly look flashed over her face for a second. The girl lightened her tone, looking at the door innocently.

“I suppose I shall simply have to set out myself, then. In the cold and snow. I fear my death will be on your conscience, but then, you wouldn’t let me go out without provisions, would you?”

Lyon’s obvious attempts to manipulate Erin angered her more than anything else the girl had done so far. Erin folded her arms.

“A coat, and five days’ worth of food.”

Lyon stared at Erin, caught off-guard.

“What?”

“That’s all I’m giving you. A coat, maybe some pants and boots, and food. You’ll need a bag to hold it, so I’ll give you that and point you to the main road.”

“But I will freeze long before I get to a city. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience, would you?”

“Not really, but I won’t give you any more help.”

Erin stared hard at Lyon. This was as bad as she’d feared. But she had to make herself clear.

“I’m giving you one chance, Lyonette. One. That’s all. Either work for me at this inn, or try to get to another city, but if you go, I won’t save you even if you die a foot outside my inn.”

Erin leaned forwards and Lyon leaned back. Erin’s gaze didn’t waver as she glared at Lyon.

“You only get one chance.”

The girl stepped back, rattled, and then moved away from the roaring fire. She looked at Erin and her expressions firmed.

“I am—”

The girl hesitated.

“—Of the aristocracy in Terandria. A minor House—the Clavalettes. I am distantly related to the royal family, and I will be treated with respect!”

“Really? Good for you. You’re still a thief. Take my offer, or you’ll be gone after dinner.”

Lyonette stared at Erin, her pleasant mask gone as well. Her brow and nose wrinkled and she hissed at Erin.

“Peon.”

Erin’s face went blank. She knew that peon was an insult, but she wasn’t exactly sure what the word meant.

“Well? Will you work here or not?”

“I will—under duress! I graciously accept your offer.”

Erin felt that last sentence should have been reworded, but she took it.

“Okay. Fine. Good. Now, I’ll let you stay here, but you can’t steal anything. And I’ll make sure of that, because I’m not alone.”

Lyon suddenly looked doubly wary, but she didn’t have time to move. Erin turned and called.

“Ceria? Do you want to introduce yourself?”

Ceria had been upstairs—the half-Elf had not enjoyed going searching for Erin, especially since the two had missed each other and she’d been outside longer than Erin by a good stretch. She descended the stairs and Lyon reacted by backing away.

“A half-breed? Here?”

She looked aghast. Erin frowned at her reaction and Ceria scowled.

“Oh great. She must be from one of the Human-only countries. Wonderful. That explains a lot.”

“What’s wrong? This is Ceria. She’s a half-Elf.”

“She’s a freak! An untrustworthy spy and troublemaker! I insist she leave at once!”

Lyonette stared with hostility at Ceria, who didn’t look that welcoming either. Erin opened her mouth, but Ceria put her good hand on Erin’s arm.

“I would watch your mouth, young Human. I’m a friendly half-Elf, but my kind isn’t always nice to people who offend us. I know you’ve heard the stories.”

Lyonette sneered at Ceria, but with a trace of fear.

“Children’s tales to frighten the simpleminded.”

“Oh, really? Well, not all stories are fake.”

Ceria slowly raised her other hand, and Lyon froze. Ceria had learned to manipulate her dead hand quite well, and the girl standing in front of her turned deathly white as Ceria brought it in front of the girl. Ceria raised her skeletal hand in front of Lyon’s face and flexed it slowly. The girl’s eyes fixed on the bleached bones in horror. Ceria leaned forwards, and Lyon shrank back.

“If you don’t want to find out which stories are true, I’d watch your mouth around here. And I’d tread carefully and obey every order as well.”

Lyonette backed away, nearly stepped in the fire, and screamed. Erin watched as she backed towards the corner of the room, turned, saw Toren standing there, and screamed again.

It wasn’t the first time Lyon had seen the skeleton. Erin had seen him come in earlier—from where? And introduced him, but each time Lyon saw him she screamed. Loudly.

It was almost funny, except that Lyonette had even less fondness for Erin’s skeleton, if that were possible.

“You consort with the dead? What kind of twisted monster are you? I defy your magic, [Necromancer]!”

“I’m not the necromancer. I just own Toren.”

Lyon stared at Erin, and then at Toren. She backed away from everyone, and only accepted some food from Erin at dinner. The rest of the time she spent in a far corner, glaring at everyone as she tore into her meal.

Erin and Ceria were discussing the problem with the Gnolls—and Ceria was adamant that there would be one—when Lyonette stood up. She left her clean plate and neatly arranged silverware on the table and stared at Erin, ignoring Ceria completely.

“I will rest now. I assume you have a bed prepared for me?”

“What? Yeah. Second room on the left. Do you want—?”

Lyon was up the stairs and out of earshot in an instant. Erin sighed exasperatedly, and Ceria shook her head.

“Regretting your choices? I don’t think she’s going to get any better, Erin.”

“She might.”

Ceria stared at Erin. The human girl looked down.

“Well, it’s possible.”

“And I might grow wings and dance naked in a grove, but that’s unlikely too. Look, it’s going to be a lot of work. Are you sure this is the decision you want to make?”

“I think so. I have to give her a shot, at least.”

Erin wasn’t sure. Not at all. But she had to try.

She had to try.

—-

The next day, Erin decided that yesterday had been a bad start. Yes, Lyonette had been rude, uncooperative, sneaky…the point was that tomorrow or rather, today, was a new day. Lyon could be different. She and Erin might really hit it off.

Buoyed up by what even she considered false optimism, Erin ascended the stairs and knocked on the girl’s door. Ceria had already left for the city; she always woke early for some reason. But Lyon had yet to rise, and it was already late morning.

“Lyon? Hello? Are you awake?”

There was no response. Erin frowned and knocked harder. No sound came from inside. Erin put her ear to the door and heard the snoring.

“Lyon.”

The girl didn’t budge when Erin raised her voice, but she did when Erin shook her violently. That was after gentle and insistent shaking; the girl could sleep!

“Whu?”

After a few minutes of irritated blinking at Erin, Lyonette scowled at her boss.

“Go away. I am resting.”

“It’s time for work. You’re working here now, remember?”

Lyon glanced at the window.

“It is far too early. I will get up in a few hours, perhaps.”

Erin stared as the girl lay back in bed and closed her eyes. Lyon quite deliberately rolled over to face the wall, away from Erin.

For two seconds Erin thought, and then she smiled apologetically.

“You know what? I’m so sorry. I had no idea it was so early, and—let me just apologize. I’ll let you sleep.”

“Mm. Good.”

Erin leaned forwards, speaking softly.

“But before that, can I just say one thing?”

“‘f you must.”

The innkeeper brought her lips next to Lyon’s ears and took a deep breath.

“WAKE UP!”

Erin screamed the words in Lyonette’s ear and the girl scrambled out of bed and away from her in an instant. It wasn’t quite as loud as when Erin had performed her one-woman one-iPod concert—she didn’t want to wake someone in the city—but it was still loud enough to deafen.

It was certainly an alarm clock to wake the dead or perhaps kill the living, because Lyon looked like she was about to have a heart attack.

“You twisted, evil—!”

“Lyon, when I ask you to get up, I mean it. You can’t sit around and do what you want, not if you want to actually stay here.”

Erin spoke over the girl’s insults, glad for her [Loud Voice] skill. Lyon stared at Erin and her face went red.

“What did you just call me? Lyon? That is not my name!”

She didn’t even seem to have registered the rest of what Erin had said. Lyon pointed a trembling finger at Erin in outrage.

“I am Lyonette. You will address me by my full name or not at all!”

Erin thought as she folded her arms and glared at Lyon. That was fair, or at least it would be if a friend had asked it—or a stranger—or anyone, really. It was just the tone of voice and the outrage that made Erin not want to grant Lyon’s request.

“I’m sorry you don’t like it, but it’s a nickname. I’ll try to call you Lyonette if you want, but you can’t overreact, and you will listen to me. Got it?”

Lyonette glared at Erin. It was a good glare; full of hauteur and unrighteous anger and some genuine imperious force behind it. But Erin had been stared at by dead Goblins, an Antinium Queen, and angry Drakes capable of ripping her head off. She was the better starer.

The two locked gazes for three full minutes before Lyon flounced out of bed and down the stairs without a word.

“Where is breakfast?”

“We’ll have some after I teach you how to cook. In fact, you will be cooking your breakfast.”

“No.”

“It’s quite easy. We’ll make eggs. It’s hard to ruin eggs.”

“I will eat now. You may teach me later.”

Erin propped her hands on her hips. This new day approach was fading fast.

“You know what? It’s your choice. Either you learn to make food, or you can skip breakfast.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

It was amazing Lyon could deliver the line with a straight face. Erin had to fight not to giggle, but Lyon’s personality helped.

“It’s what I’d do to a spoiled child, and it’s what I’ll do to you.”

“You can’t treat me this way!”

Lyon snarled at Erin, actually snarled. Erin wasn’t impressed. Gnolls could snarl.

“I’ll treat you any way I want. I’m paying you. Well, I’m going to pay you. If you work.”

“You dare. I am—”

Again, the girl hesitated, but recovered quickly.

“—Distant relative to Magnolia Reinhart, and I will not be addressed in that way! You will treat me with respect, or—”

Erin gave up. She pushed Lyon into the kitchen, or at least, tried to. She wasn’t expecting the whirlwind of claws and teeth the girl became when Erin laid hands on her. That was the start of Erin’s no good, very bad, very annoying day.

—-

Lyon. Or rather, as she insisted on being called, Lyonette. She was a nightmare. Erin thought she was good with people—at least, she didn’t have many problems in school even if she wasn’t the popular girl, and she’d always been good with kids. Even the really annoying young boys.

But Lyon. Lyon was a class of brat unto herself. Erin had only begun to realize that yesterday, but today cemented that fact in stone. Lyon was a disaster.

She couldn’t cook, wouldn’t clean, and treated everything and everyone with disdain. She hated and feared Ceria, she refused to stay anywhere near Toren, and she disliked Pisces—which was fair—but not for any of his many flaws, but just the way he dressed.

After an hour Erin had had enough. She’d had enough questions of ‘why should I?’ or ‘what’s the point if it’s going to be dirty tomorrow?’, or worse, ‘do you know who I am?’

Erin dropped the dustrag she’d been trying to get Lyon to accept and looked around. She saw Toren in a corner, right where she’d ordered him to stay. Another fun feature of Lyonette was that she wouldn’t go anywhere if Toren wasn’t in a corner, and Erin had had to argue her into living with that.

The skeleton looked impatient, which was odd. Erin thought she was imagining it, but Toren was developing several human-like qualities. He kept shifting from foot to foot and glancing around, very unlike his normal, stoic, terrifying silence. She hoped he wasn’t about to start asking questions.

“Toren. You teach her…everything.”

The skeleton turned his head and stared at Erin. So did Lyon. It was hard to say who had more horror in their expressions.

Lyonette was the first—and only—one to speak. She glared at Erin as she pointed with a trembling finger to Toren.

“Unacceptable. I will not—”

“You will. I’m going to the city. Toren, don’t kill her or do anything stupid. Just teach her how to clean the inn, okay?”

Toren nodded. Reluctantly, Erin thought. Well, she couldn’t blame him, but at least she could trust him to do his job.

The skeleton didn’t look happy, but at least he was smiling. Erin ignored the fact that this was because he was a skeleton and always grinning, and left the inn. She knew she could leave Lyon to Toren; he never had anything to do.

—-

Toren was busy. He knew this, and he only wished Erin knew this. Moreover, he did not want to teach Lyonette anything, unless it was how to bleed.

But orders were orders, and if he finished this, Erin might give him a nice order that would allow him to kill things. So he picked up the dustrag, and offered it to Lyon. Cleaning was easy, anyways.

The girl refused to take the dustrag. She backed up, screaming, and tried to flee. Eventually, Toren cornered her and the girl huddled in a corner, shrieking and cursing at him until she calmed down.

Once fear had been replaced with contempt and hatred, Lyon tried to push past Toren. She didn’t have much luck because she was afraid to make contact with him, and he kept shoving the dustrag in her face. He was getting impatient, which was new for him, but Lyon wasn’t like a wall.

You could clean a wall, or climb it, or bash it down with time. But the point was a wall was something you could work on. Effort put in was effort gained. But Lyon refused to do what Toren wanted no matter how much time he put in, and that was…

Annoying.

“Move aside.”

Lyon ordered Toren with commanding tones, pointing. The skeleton made no move. He thrust the dustrag in her face and she recoiled.

“Get that away from me. I will not be treated like this. I am r—I am nobility! You will obey me!”

Toren wasn’t completing his task. But it wasn’t his fault! It was Lyon’s. The flames in the skeleton’s eyes burned hotter as she tried to give him more orders. Only Erin gave him orders.

“Thing, I order you to—”

Toren dropped the dustrag and punched the girl in the stomach. Lyonette doubled over and retched. Toren watched with interest as her breakfast came up and wondered if he should hit her again.

“You—”

Lyonette stumbled away from Toren and her voice rose to a shriek. She started screaming at the skeleton.

“How dare you. I will—”

Toren walked over and punched her in the same spot. Lyon choked again and fell down. She curled into a ball and started whimpering.

Well, she was moving, but she hadn’t picked up the dustrag. Toren pointed to it. Lyon just moaned. So he kicked her.

She screamed, and he kicked her again and pointed. She saw the dustrag, and looked up at the skeleton. He raised his fist again and she scrambled to pick up the dust rag.

—-

“Erin Solstice.”

It was a bad sign when someone used her full name. True, people in this world liked different kinds of formality, but it was also about the tone of voice. Erin heard the warning signs in the voice, but since she knew and liked Krshia, she turned anyways.

“Krshia. Um, hi.”

“You have taken the thief into your home.”

Gnolls didn’t beat about the bush. Erin paused, and then nodded slowly.

“I did.”

“That is unwise. She will steal from you.”

“I know, but she was dying in the cold.”

“Yes. That was her punishment.”

“Death? She’s just a kid, Krshia. It’s not right. Look, I know she caused a lot of trouble, but—”

“You know nothing¸ Erin Solstice. She has done more harm to my tribe than any other. She is my enemy, Erin. Harbor her and you will break the bonds between us.”

Erin stared at Krshia. The Gnoll’s voice was hard and loud, and she’d chosen the middle of the street to confront Erin. That would normally have attracted a crowd, but the Drakes and Gnolls around her had taken one look at Krshia and decided to skip the show.

Her ears were as flat as her voice. Erin hesitated. She knew dogs. She liked dogs. She’d even had a dog that ate too many chess pieces and had to go through surgery as a kid. She liked dogs so much she knew it was a bad idea to pet one when their ears were flat. And Krshia—

“I’m giving her a chance. I’m sorry, Krshia, but I have to.”

“You have made your choice. Goodbye, Erin. We shall see what comes of it.”

Krshia turned abruptly and began to stride away. Erin paused, and then ran after her.

“Krshia, wait! Let me explain. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but—”

She reached out and grabbed at Krshia, but someone caught her hand.

“Aunt. Is this Human bothering you?”

Someone imposed himself between Krshia and Erin. A giant paw firmly grabbed Erin’s hand and she looked up, up into the face of a very tall Gnoll. He was tall, muscular, and, Erin couldn’t help noticing this bit: armed. A longsword hung at one side, and a large shield was strapped to his back. The Gnoll stared down at Erin, without a trace of friendliness in his smile.

“You are Erin Solstice, yes? I would not touch my aunt so lightly, yes?”

“Brunkr. Let her go. She is not an enemy.”

Krshia turned and stared at the Gnoll who had called her aunt. He let go, and Erin stepped back and felt at her wrist. It didn’t feel broken.

“Who—are you? I’ve never seen you before.”

“I am a warrior of the Silverfang Tribe. I have come here with my brethren, yes? We have come to guard, and assist our honored sister of the clan leader, yes? But instead of terrible enemies, all I see are thieves and backstabbing Humans.”

Brunkr gave Erin a wide grin, and stared hard at her. She did her best not to be intimidated, and held her ground.

“I’m not a backstabbing Human. I just wanted to help, that’s all.”

“Help? Help would be bashing in the thief’s head with a rock. I have heard of her deeds; if you harbor her, you are an enemy.”

“Brunkr. Leave her. Erin has made her choice. I will not stop her, but I will not deal with her either.”

Krshia spoke flatly to her nephew and walked away. He hesitated, but turned to follow her. But he gave Erin one last smile.

“I am here to fulfill my aunt’s wishes, and safeguard my people here. And that includes protecting our honor. Walk softly, Erin Solstice.”

Then he was gone. He strode through the crowd, generating a personal bubble of ‘do not touch me’ almost as large as Krshia’s. Erin watched him go.

“That. Is not good.”

She turned. She had been intending to shop at Krshia’s and ask for a bit of forgiveness and explain, but it looked like she was without her Gnoll friend. And without any Gnoll shops either, because she saw several Gnolls on the street giving her the stink-eye.

Erin sighed. She’d have to go to each shop to buy her goods, and only Drake ones at that. And carry all of it back herself. Wonderful. A short shopping spree had suddenly got longer, and probably more costly.

She just hoped this was the only bad thing that would happen today. After all, it wasn’t as if her day could get any worse, could it?

Erin knew full well it could, and that was even before she got back to the inn and Lyon started shrieking at her.

—-

“He hit me!”

Erin paused and stared at Toren as the skeleton stood behind Lyonette. The girl was red in the face as she alternatively raged at Erin and demonstrated with her filthy hands.

“And he made me clean up filth!”

“Well, that is your job. But he hit you? Hard?”

“He tried to kill me! I demand you destroy him at once!”

Erin stared at Lyon. She didn’t see any bruises on her face, but…

“If Toren hit you, that’s bad. But I don’t see any injuries. Where did he hit you?”

Lyon hesitated, and then pointed to her chest and stomach. Erin frowned.

“Can I see? I mean, I believe you…but I uh, want to see how bad it is.”

The other girl stared at Erin in horror and backed away.

“You want me to bare myself to you?”

The look on Lyon’s face suggested that Erin was a repeat sexual offender asking her to step into a back alley. Erin scowled at her, patience thin.

“Well, if you can’t prove he hit you—”

“My word as a noble should be good enough!”

“Not for me. And why was Toren so mad at you, anyways? Were you doing something you weren’t supposed to?”

“I was—”

Again, Lyon hesitated, and Erin smelled a rat.

“Look, he shouldn’t have hit you if that’s what he did. But I asked him to teach you, and I told you to listen to him. You agreed to do that when you said you would work here.”

“I never agreed to—”

“I am your boss. You’re my employee. You work for me, and do what I ask you to do, got it?”

“Boss? Employee? Why not just call me a servant and have done with it? I will not be ordered around.”

Lyon sneered at Erin and pointed to Toren.

“He struck me. Only the most craven and despicable masters would do that, even among the lower classes! I want him destroyed. Now.”

“No. You cleaned this room, pretty decently, so good job. Now, please do the upstairs. I think you can do it by yourself, so Toren doesn’t need to go with you. I’ll check on you in half an hour, but no one’s getting dismantled.”

Lyon’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re not going to do anything? I told you, he hit—”

“I will make sure he doesn’t do it again. Now, please go clean the upstairs, will you?”

Erin didn’t know that many swear words from this world yet, but she could have sworn she heard a really nasty one from Lyonette. The girl stomped towards the stairs, pausing to shoot daggers at Erin and Toren every few seconds.

When she was gone, Erin exhaled slowly. This was a lot of work, and the stress from her encounter with Krshia and now this was making her usual optimism take a dive into cranky town. She looked at Toren, curious. The skeleton looked completely normal, but Erin had to ask.

“Did you hit her?”

Toren nodded. Erin sighed.

“Hard?”

The skeleton seemed to think, and then shook his head definitely. Erin scowled.

“That’s what I thought. But don’t hit her again, okay? Just…get her to work without hitting.”

Toren nodded, and Erin sighed. She couldn’t blame her skeleton, not really. He was sort of stupid, and even she’d thought about hitting Lyon. Well, he wouldn’t do it again, and she needed him to teach the girl.

After five minutes with Lyonette, Erin already had a headache.

—-

That night, Erin made a wonderful meal of spaghetti and meatballs. It was as good as any restaurant food, and she was really happy to have her [Advanced Cooking] skill. She ate two plates with Ceria, and the half-Elf talked with Erin for a long time about different foods she’d eaten over the course of her sixty-odd years of life, which included everything from raw insects to elegant cooking at fine restaurants in cities Erin had never heard of before.

Lyon arrived late for dinner, complained about the cold food, refused to wait to heat the food near the fire, made disparaging comments about Erin’s cooking, and sulked off after eating half a plate.

She wanted more in an hour, and Erin refused. She wasn’t feeling generous, and a night of hunger would teach the girl a lesson or make Erin feel better.

It was impossible for Erin and Ceria to stay up late chatting, so they went to bed early. That night, Lyon woke both with a scream as Toren caught her trying to filch food. It was a bad night, and even though Erin got to sleep again, she still had to wake up early. Because the next day, Lyonette was gone with all of Erin’s gold not hidden under the floorboards.

—-

“Where was Toren when she took the money?”

“I don’t know. Out? Getting water? He does chores around the inn when I’m not giving him orders.”

Erin glanced at Toren. The skeleton looked abashed, but also angry. He had a sword in his hands, which was premature, but matched Erin’s general state of mind.

“Can we find her?”

“Easily enough.”

Ceria rubbed sleep from her eyes and yawned as she stood in the ransacked kitchen. She’d been the first up besides Toren, and she’d raised the alarm.

The half-Elf concentrated, and an orb floated upwards. It looked like a [Light] spell, but this one had a small arrow in the center. It was pointing northwest, and slightly downwards.

“Looks like she’s running for the north road. She can’t have gotten far; she took a lot and she’s not exactly a [Runner].”

“How do you know where she is? Can you find people just like that?”

“Hardly. I thought this would happen, so I planted a tracking spell on her.”

Ceria smiled at Erin and shrugged.

“A trick we learned at Wistram. Helped when we snuck around the libraries at night.”

“Well, let’s get her.”

Erin stood up, genuinely angry. She should have expected this as well, but she liked to believe in the best of people. But she was starting to understand that ‘people’ didn’t really include Lyonette.

“Come on. Toren, you run ahead. Catch her, but don’t hurt her, okay? Then I’m going into the city and you’re going to teach her to haul water and do a bunch of hard work, got it?”

Toren seemed to sigh, but he was out the door in a flash. Erin stomped out as well, Ceria following right on her heels.

“Erin, you know I want to say it.”

“You told me. But—”

“Another chance? How many does she get?”

“A lot. If it means not letting her die…”

“Fine. But I’m keeping the spell on her.”

Erin looked wistfully at Ceria.

“Any chance you can magic her into behaving?”

“If I could do that, I’d have fixed Pisces a long time ago.”

“Oh. Obviously.”

They found Lyon only a few miles away, struggling to get through the snow. Much shouting was had, but Erin didn’t feel better. In fact, she felt awful. She left Lyon with Toren in the inn and went into the city. She almost told Toren he could hit her, but refrained.

That would be cruelty, and Erin wasn’t cruel. No matter how hard she wanted to be. Besides, Toren was a good match for Lyon. He was unwavering, inflexible, and he never got bored. If he didn’t hit her, the only thing Lyon was in danger of was overwork.

—-

Toren was bored. He didn’t like teaching Lyon, and he really, really wanted to hit her. But he couldn’t.

The skeleton stared at Lyon. She stared back at him, with a smirk on her face.

“You can’t hit me. I heard your mistress say it.”

Toren nodded grudgingly. He pointed towards a bucket on the floor, but Lyon made no move.

“No. You can’t order me around anymore, monster, and there’s nothing you can do to me.”

What fools these Humans be. Toren nearly sighed, but instead he raised his index finger and poked Lyon hard in the side. She squealed.

“Stop that!”

Toren ignored that. He also ignored her flailing arms and he effortlessly knocked her hands away. He stepped next to Lyon and did the same thing.

He poked her.

“I will not be coerced! Torment me all you want, thing, but I wi—ah!—stop!”

Toren ignored Lyon. If she wouldn’t do what he wanted, he would make her. He wasn’t allowed to hit her, but poking had never been mentioned. So he poked her hard in the side.

Again. And again. And again. And again. And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And—

After the one hundred and fifty-eighth time, Lyon stopped screaming and trying to hit Toren and gave up and did what he wanted. It wasn’t as satisfying as hitting, but it got the point across, especially because when normal poking failed, Toren got a knife and started poking with that.

Lyonette complained of course, about the poking. But Erin just glared at Lyon until the girl shrank back and so Toren was spared any more orders. And he’d decided making Lyon work could be fun after all.

—-

It was after another day of difficult shopping in Liscor when Ceria invited Erin to visit the only other adventurer who’d survived Skinner. Well, the only one who was still in Liscor, that was. Erin accepted, out of curiosity as much as anything else.

That was how she found herself in a small room in the back of the Adventurer’s Guild, a place reserved for wounded adventurers. It had only one occupant: Yvlon Byres.

The young woman was everything Erin had ever dreamed of when she’d occasionally wondered if she could be a knight like one of her chess pieces, or someone like Indiana Jones or even a superhero.

Yvlon was tall, golden-haired, fair of skin…she actually sort of resembled Lyon, although Lyon’s hair was red and Yvlon had about a head of height on her and muscle and…

Maybe it was just their same posture, that of perfect ruler-straight perfection, and elegant manners. For all Lyon was horrible, she still ate and spoke like someone trained to it, and so did Yvlon.

And unlike Lyon, Yvlon’s manners matched her good nature. She shook Erin’s hand after Ceria introduced her, smiling.

“Yvlon Byres. An honor to meet you again, Miss Erin.”

Erin smiled back, and shook the callused hand, trying to stare Yvlon in the eyes.

She was…pretty. In fact, Erin would have ventured to say she was gorgeous before she’d come to Liscor. Her skin was mostly perfect, and she had great teeth, a shapely nose, and even nice ears. Erin wished she had Yvlon’s ears.

The only flaw was the skin which had been…ripped…away from the left half of Yvlon’s face. Not all of it; and in truth it wasn’t as if she’d lost her nose or anything like that. It was just—noticeable, that was all. The shiny scar tissue was still red and it was clearly different from her smooth skin.

Yvlon smiled bitterly at Erin and the girl tried to look anywhere else.

“I’m sorry. I—”

“It’s noticeable. Don’t worry about it. This is my penance. I failed the people I led, and I’ve been justly punished for that.”

“Don’t say that, Yvlon.”

Ceria scowled at the other woman as she took a seat next to the adventurer. Yvlon was still confined to bed, although the young woman seemed restless. Erin noted the suit of armor neatly packed on a dresser and took a seat as well.

“You and I both know that Skinner wasn’t your fault. How could we have known the door sealing him was unlocked already? Besides, Cervial, Gerald, and Lir were all there and they were all Silver-rank Captains. If they didn’t sense anything amiss, you wouldn’t have either.”

Yvlon shook her head. Her hand was tight on her bed sheets.

“It’s not about excuses, Ceria. I took responsibility for all of the lives of those adventurers when I took command, and worse, I failed to even keep my promise to honor their deaths. I have not a coin to give their dead families and loved ones, aside from my armor and sword. And I cannot sell those; they don’t belong to me.”

“No one expected a complete wipe down there, Yvlon. I’m sure the others will—”

Ceria paused, clearly not willing to lie.

“Well, all of us knew the risks. And Skinner’s dead, so they’re avenged. Just rest, Yvlon.”

The Human sagged in her bed, and Erin saw tears in her eyes. And this was the person Ryoka had disliked so much? Why?

“I wish I could be out and about. But my face—I didn’t want to use a healing potion. I need to bear this.”

“You’re just like Gerial and Calruz. So stubborn—”

Ceria sighed in exasperation, and bowed her head.

“You should use a potion. And then get on your feet. Look Yvlon—and Erin too for that matter—I’ve been thinking. Skinner was…a nightmare I’ve never seen before in my life. And losing all my friends and comrades—it’s crushed me. But I can’t give up now. I won’t. If their deaths mean anything, it’s that I should keep on living. And I can’t rely on Erin forever. So…”

She took a deep breath, and looked Yvlon in the eye.

“I’m going to go back to adventuring.”

Both Yvlon and Erin looked at Ceria, shocked; the half-Elf only shrugged.

“I know. But it’s all I know how to do. I could do small magics for money, but even I’d be ancient by the time I earned enough to buy any new spell books. And…I want to become stronger. I need to become stronger.”

Erin was still surprised, not least by the suddenness of Ceria’s decision, but Yvlon only hesitated a moment longer before clasping the half-Elf’s hand.

“Best of luck. I will get better and perhaps—my sword arm is rusty, and weak, but I’d be honored to journey with you if you’d have me. I must repay my debt somehow.”

“We’ll talk more about it when you’re better. I promise.”

Ceria smiled, and Yvlon clenched her hand tightly.

“Don’t go off alone, Ceria. I’ve seen too many adventurers fall after losing their party.”

“I won’t do anything stupid. I’m still recovering, and I don’t have a party. I’ll wait. Just keep focusing on getting better, alright?”

“I will.”

They talked for a while longer, about less important things. Erin had to tell a few stories to Yvlon of what had happened since she’d last been here and Ceria had to back her up before Yvlon would believe all the crazy things that had happened to Erin. She was especially interested in Ryoka, but all too soon a few hours had passed and Erin and Ceria had to leave.

Yvlon nearly tried to get out of bed before the two girls stopped her.

“I can walk, you know.”

“We know, but guard your strength. If you haven’t used a healing potion, your muscles will still be recovering.”

With resigned grace, Yvlon sank back into her bed. Erin noticed the bottle of glowing liquid by her bed stand and wondered if the former Silver-rank Captain wasn’t just a little bit pigheaded like Ryoka. But Yvlon nodded to Erin with far more courtesy than Ryoka had ever shown.

“A pleasure, Erin Solstice.”

It was, although somehow, Erin doubted she’d been as important as Ceria’s revelation. The two left quietly, and as they walked out of the guild Erin turned to Ceria.

“Adventuring? Really? Now?”

“Yes, yes, and yes, Erin. I know it’s risky, but…”

Ceria shrugged.

“It’s all I know.”

Erin chewed her lip, but couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

“Well, you can stay at my inn either way. My door is always open for you. And you don’t have to jump into it right away. You can stay as long as you want.”

“I know. It’s just—”

“Don’t worry. I’m not trying to talk you out of it; I’ll back you up! You do what you do best, and I’ll be ready with a hot meal and a bath. Well, Toren will have to carry the water for the bath. And I’ll need to buy a bathtub.”

Ceria smiled, touched. She patted Erin on the shoulder.

“Thanks, Erin.”

They both smiled. Then their smiles faded when they remembered who was currently living in their inn.

“At least she’s gathering mushrooms. I don’t see how anyone can mess that—well, poisonous ones—and she could not get any or squash them…huh…”

Ceria sighed, but then she smiled wickedly.

“Look on the bright side. Maybe she’ll fall into a Shield Spider pit and Toren will fail to save her.”

Erin turned and mock-glared at her friend.

“Ceria!”

“Sorry.”

“You should be. Honestly. I mean, if they scratched her a bit I wouldn’t mind, but…”

They laughed, and parted ways. Ceria wanted to talk to Pisces and Erin wanted to hunt for more sugar before she got back to her inn. Neither one noticed the furred shapes moving through the crowds towards the gates in a slow, but steady pattern.

—-

Lyon and Toren were gathering mushrooms that Erin wanted to experiment with when the ground caved in near the girl’s foot. She screamed and jumped back as the Shield Spider nest was revealed.

Toren looked down with interest at the sleepy spiders as they began to move and look for their prey. He looked at Lyon. She was paralyzed with fear.

Casually, Toren put one hand on the girl’s back and pushed her lightly into the pit.

She screamed, and flailed, and the Shield Spiders scurried over to her. Toren enjoyed the sight for as long as possible, until one of the Spiders tried to bite her.

Too bad Erin had told him not to let Lyon come to any harm. Toren almost sighed, although he would have needed lungs to do it.

He scared the Shield Spiders off with his gaze of [Terror] and then turned it on the girl. She screamed and peed a bit, but when she realized that Toren could turn the effect on and off, she ran to each spot. Toren jogged after Lyon happily, enjoying the screams. He mentally marked the spider nest for later, and wondered what he’d kill today.

—-

Later that day, Erin stood by a window, not looking directly outside but counting the shadows. She heard Lyonette stomp downstairs and sighed.

The girl had gotten back with a basket brimming full of mushrooms both poisonous and fair, and then locked herself in her room. Toren had gone out, and Erin was…busy.

She didn’t want to hear Lyon complain in any case. The girl was never happy, never satisfied, and now was not the time for it in any case. Erin sniffed the air and sighed. No. She looked around. Ceria…Pisces…they were both in the city still. And Toren was out hunting. No, not the time.

“He tried to kill me!”

“Hello, Lyonette. What did Toren do this time?”

Erin nearly added ‘allegedly’ to that sentence. Lyon could never prove when the skeleton had done anything, and she refused to show an inch more skin than necessary.

“He pushed me into a pit full of horrible spiders!”

Erin eyed Lyon dubiously. She didn’t appear to be injured, only scratched and dirty, and Erin was certain that Toren wouldn’t be able to fend off an entire pit of Shield Spiders in any case.

“Can you prove that?”

“I told you—”

“And I told you I want to see evidence. Besides, why would Toren do that? I specifically told him ‘no killing’. If he’s bothering you, I’ll follow you next time and see. But if you’re lying—look I need to take a break. We’ll talk about this later, okay?”

Erin turned. She really had to get Lyon upstairs, but warn the girl? She’d panic.

Lyonette emitted a strangled scream as Erin tried to walk towards the front door. She flew at Erin, hands raised into claws. Erin turned around—

And punched the girl in the face.

It was a good punch, and it had not a bit of suppressed annoyance in it. Lyon stumbled backwards, and sat down. She felt at her cheek. It was going to turn purple soon; Erin hadn’t hit her as hard as she could, but…fairly hard.

“You hit me.”

“You attacked me.”

Erin felt like she was back in elementary school, arguing with a kid over a fight he’d started. What boys never learned was that while pulling hair and hitting might work, Erin had a chess board which was hard, edged, and quite dangerous if wielded with force.

“You hit me.”

Lyonette appeared to be in shock. Erin didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t try to hit me. I’ve got [Dangersense] for one thing, and it’s going off—look, go upstairs and calm down and we’ll—”

“You hit me!”

Lyon got to her feet and screamed at Erin, face red. Her hands clenched into fists, but she wisely didn’t try to leap at Erin again.

“Monster! You violent thug! Criminal! Rogue! You filthy, horrible, wretched—”

Erin slapped her.

This time Lyon didn’t even make proper words. She just turned red, reached for Erin, and hesitated when she saw the look in the young woman’s eyes. She made an inarticulate noise and then she threw herself on the ground and began to sob.

Erin blinked. She’d been ready for an attack, or another fit, but Lyon just curled up into a ball of misery and began to wail. Erin had never really heard wailing done as well or as loudly as Lyon, but in this at least, the girl had some skill.

For a second, Erin’s heart wavered. But then she looked outside and remembered. She looked at Lyon, shook her head, and turned towards the door.

Erin left the girl to cry in the inn and walked outside, head bowed.

—-

It was a cold, snowy day outside. Even without the Frost Faeries, snow liked to fall, and not just in small doses. Erin stood outside and shivered. She closed the door to her inn, and sighed. Then she spoke into the air.

“I wish I’d never done it, to be honest.”

No one answered back. Erin took another step outside, and kicked at the snow, sending it flurrying into the air.

“I thought I could help her, maybe even make her a better person—before I met her. But I guess she’s just as bad as everyone thought. Worse, actually.”

Erin thought about this, and nodded.

“Honestly, she’s horrible. The worst person I’ve ever met…not that I meet many horrible people. I guess there are some eviler people in the world. Well, there are lots actually. But no one’s as petty as she is.”

She spread her arms out, helplessly.

“Ceria was right. Krshia was right. Everyone was right, even Pisces. She tried to steal from me. She’s not a nice person. She’d probably rob me blind if she could, and she wouldn’t be sorry.”

Erin bowed her head.

“And if I keep feeding her and trying to teach her, well, I’m not even sure it’d work. It might be impossible—it probably is. It’s not easy for me, and I’m stressed out and annoyed every day. This is the worst, and I regret ever hearing her name.”

Silence. Erin stared at the lengthening shadows around her inn. She felt the word on her tongue, and felt the air grow still around her.

The snow fell, and then stopped in the air. Erin stared around the open world, a gray world above, and an untouched land scape of white oblivion below. She stood on her inn, and felt the world pause for a moment.

She didn’t have to say it. She could still swallow the words, give up, walk away. For one moment, Erin stood on the abyss, waiting. The world held its breath and Erin savored the feeling of infinity. But then she spoke.

“But.”

It was the word upon which all things changed. Erin stared towards the sky, and spoke louder, speaking to the world and those listening.

“But. But if I don’t do anything, she’ll die. And maybe she deserves it. I don’t know. I can’t judge people. I don’t have the right. But I do know this: if she goes out, even if I give her money and supplies and Toren to guard her, she will die. She can’t make it alone. She can’t do…anything.”

Erin spread her hands out, a lone plaintiff in front of her silent jury.

“Why do people have to die? Why? Even if they do bad things—she’s just a kid. She might be horrible, but is that worthy of death? I don’t know. But I do know that if I don’t do anything, she will die. And that means her death will be because of me.”

The snow fell, and no one spoke. Erin took a deep breath.

“Another chance. It’s not about her. It’s not about one person. It’s not about doing the smart thing. It’s not even about doing the sensible thing. It’s about doing the right thing.”

She looked around. She looked into the shadows, and spoke to them.

“I can’t let people die. Not if I can help it. Not if there’s still a chance. She was a thief, but that was all. She didn’t kill people. And she needs help.”

Erin pointed back to her inn.

“I was alone, once. I was also useless. Maybe not as much as her but…someone saved me, once. They gave their life for me, and other people helped me survive. I wouldn’t be here without them. I won’t give up on her. Not yet. Not here. So—”

Erin broke off. She closed her eyes, and then spoke.

“So, if you want to get her, you’re going to have to go through me. Understand?”

For a second, all was still silence. And then it happened.

The shadows around the inn moved.

Gnolls stepped out of the shadows, tall, lithe figures shaking snow out of their fur. Covered as they’d been, they’d looked like part of the landscape. But now they appeared, and leading them was a Gnoll Erin recognized.

Brunkr stepped forwards. His chest muscles rippled under his fur as he stared down at Erin.

“She has harmed our Clan and deserves death. If you stand in our way, you will be our enemy.”

Erin sniffed. Wet dog. It was a familiar smell. She stared up at Brunkr.

“She is staying in my inn. She works for me. You are not allowed in.”

He bared his teeth at her. Erin didn’t step back.

“And you would stop me?”

“I would.”

Brunkr laughed. He looked around. At least twenty Gnolls were standing on the hill, all of them muscled, all bigger than Erin.

“And what will you do, outnumbered and weak as you are, Human girl?”

Erin stared at Brunkr, and shook her head.

“Nothing much. I guess I’ll just tell you something. Something very important that you should know.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

“My name is Erin Solstice. This is my inn. And. You. Are. Trespassing.”

Erin clenched her fist, thumb over knuckles just like Calruz had taught her. She punched Brunkr in the stomach as hard as she could. He blinked down at her and smirked.

He was still smirking when Erin’s leg came up.

“[Power Strike]!”

She kicked him in the groin and the Gnoll’s eyes rolled up in his head. He clutched at his groin and toppled over. Erin looked around at the other Gnolls.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Bring it!”

The Gnolls looked at each other. They stared at their fallen comrade, at Erin, and then at the inn. They howled, and charged.

2.26

Selys sat in her guild and desperately scribbled in the guestbook she’d borrowed from Erin. She had so many new adventurers flooding in to the guild recently, she thought she’d never get all the entries done and organized.

That was the thing not many people realized about adventuring. Sure, being able to hack apart a five-eyed slug that spat flaming acid was important, but did anyone think about who had to assess the bloody pieces and make sure it was actually an acid-spitting slug and not one that spat some kind of liquid flame? The bounties on those two varieties were different, and the paperwork that had to be done to make sure adventurers got paid on time was horrendous.

Even worse was the scheduling. Sure, you had a room full of warriors, but who did you send where? Obviously, sending a melee-group against a Rock Crab meant you’d end up with a bunch of red smears unless the adventurers were very high level, but then, who would you send? Mages needed backup, but independent adventurers didn’t work well together, and teams always had an agenda.

It was a tricky thing, running a guild like this. Selys was one of the older receptionists here, and certainly one of the most experienced, which meant that she often had to shoulder a lot of the responsibility. Her grandmother was Guildmaster, but up until now there hadn’t been much of a Guild to run, and so no one was ready for the tide of adventurers that had flooded into the city.

Selys scribbled another entry into her guestbook. At this rate, she’d never get it done. With one earhole she tried to listen to the person talking to her.

“Hmm? What’s that Messy? Another fight?”

Messyl, or Messy as he was known by everyone, made a face and raised his voice above the hubbub of the adventurers. He wasn’t an adventurer—he was just an apprentice [Carpenter], and a rather dreadful one at that. But he was a childhood friend, and so Selys reluctantly looked up as he spoke.

“I said, it’s the Gnolls! They left the city and went out, a whole lot of them! Some had weapons, and they were going towards that inn of yours.”

Selys dropped her quill.

“What? No. Why would they do that?”

Messy rolled his eyes expressively. He had slightly bulbous eyes, even more unusual on a Drake than a Human. His red-scaled tail thrashed with excitement as he spoke.

“The thief, why else? That new group of Gnoll warriors was not happy when they heard what she’d done. I heard they were howling all last night, and now—”

Selys had no time for the whys and wherefores of Gnoll politics. She stood up from her stool.

“If they’re going after the thief, Erin’s going to do something. I have to stop them!”

Messy eyed Selys dubiously.

“I don’t think you’re going to be able to talk down the Gnolls. They seem really angry. How did you not realize this was happening?”

“I’ve been here all day! I didn’t hear anything!”

Selys tried to think. Her tail lashed her stool as she looked around desperately.

“Krshia. Krshia can’t have been okay with this. I need to see her.”

It was abandoning her job, but Selys didn’t care. She stood up, and looked around the room. Could she leave this lot unattended and not come back to a smoldering ruin?

There were the usual assortment of Drakes and Gnolls in the building, but they were now joined by a sizable group of humans and some…not-humans. Selys’ eyes lingered on a group of three sitting in the back. They were one of the three Gold-rank teams who’d entered the city, and she had no idea what to do with them.

But then she spotted three adventurers who stood out from the rest. Mainly because they were all watching her.

Three Gnolls were staring directly at her, even as the other adventurers chatted and drank at their tables. Selys’ eyes darted towards the door, but one of the Gnolls was standing right next to it.

Selys gulped. It took no mean feat of the imagination to guess why they were here. Gnolls never did anything halfway, and if Krshia didn’t know some of them were going to kill the thief, they wouldn’t want anyone telling her. And while Selys knew there were other Drakes and even Humans in the room, she was just a receptionist. She didn’t think they’d stand up for her if some Gnolls decided to block her way. And if they did…

Selys was no fighter, even if she had the [Warrior] class now. She imagined what would happen if she tried to push her way past, and decided a full-scale fight inside the Guild was not something she wanted to be involved in.

But Krshia had to be told. Selys eyed the Gnolls again, and had an idea. The Drake’s tail twitched a few times, and then she slowly looked at the Drake in front of her.

“Messy? I’m going to check on our supplies in the back. Will you cover for me?”

The Drake gaped at Selys.

“What? I’m not a [Receptionist], Selys! What should I do?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just sit here and answer questions, okay?”

Selys slipped out from behind the counter and shoved her friend into the seat. He looked around helplessly as Selys eyed the Gnolls. They were waiting for her to make a break for it, she knew. She didn’t keep them waiting long. Selys ran—just not in the direction they were expecting.

The Gnolls blinked as Selys darted up the stairs. Two of the Gnolls rushed up after her. The other adventurers looked around, confused, and one of the not-quite Humans stood up.

“That was interesting. Should we have a look?”

“I don’t see why not.”

That came from a big…man sitting on the ground. He stood up as his two companions did likewise.

“An inn outside the city. Hm. It rings a bell. Isn’t that where the half-Elf is staying?”

“Coincidence? She might not be mixed up in it.”

“From all I’ve heard of Ceria Springwalker, she probably is. Let’s go, you two. We can at least see what all the fuss is.”

The big half-man walked towards the door, and everyone in his way made themselves scarce. Everyone but the Gnoll at the door, that was. The Gnoll looked up and hesitated, but he had orders.

Casually, the Gnoll stuck a furred arm to block the three adventurer’s passage. The Gnoll smiled up at the one in front.

“You do not want to leave, no?”

“I rather think we do. Could I persuade you to stand aside?”

“No, no. I have heard what you said and it would not be wise, no?”

The big ‘man’ chuckled.

“Wisdom has seldom been our asset. But I can see you won’t be budge. So…”

Delicately, the adventurer reached out. He flicked the Gnoll on the forehead lightly, and the Gnoll blinked and folded up as his eyes rolled back in his head.

The half-human looked around at the other two half-humans and smiled ruefully.

“Well. It looks like this might be very interesting after all. Shall we go?”

—-

Erin hated fighting. She hated when it happened, she hated that she could die, she hated the necessity of it, and the fact that she was actually good at fighting. At least, that was what Calruz had told her.

But in this world it was fight or flight or let a girl die, so Erin chose to fight. She just wished it was easier.

“[Power Strike]!”

She felt her knee connect hard with something, and then the Gnoll charging her grunted in pain. That was the second one she’d hit in the groin, but the problem was that this one wasn’t a guy. And for some reason, while Erin had hit the Gnoll hard, she hadn’t hit the Gnoll a quarter as hard as the skill should have allowed her to do.

The female Gnoll raised a paw and Erin ducked as it whished over her head. She punched the Gnoll twice in the stomach, shouting all the while.

“[Power Strike]! [Power Strike]! Why isn’t this—[Power Strike]!”

The Gnoll grunted and stepped back as Erin hit her. She was big, but Erin had been taught how to hit hard and she had [Lesser Strength]. The Gnoll swiped at Erin again, but she was clearly no warrior. In fact, she was short for a Gnoll, and Erin had the sneaking suspicion she was a teenager.

That made Erin feel guilty as she slugged the Gnoll as hard as she could in the stomach. The female Gnoll gasped and bent over, clutching her stomach, and Erin hit her on the cheek. The Gnoll fell down, and Erin stumbled away, gasping.

One down, a pack to go. The others weren’t going for Erin, though. They were trying to force their way in through the front door, and one had already begun smashing at the door.

“What’s happening? Who’s out there?”

Erin’s heart sank as she heard Lyon’s voice. The girl had no idea what was happening, and she was demanding answers in a high-pitched, frightened voice.

“I order you to tell me what is going on! Who’s out there?”

A snarl was her answer as one of the Gnolls smashed into the door with all his weight. Lyon shrieked and Erin dashed towards the Gnolls.

“Hide!”

Erin shouted at Lyon as she rammed into the first Gnoll from behind. He spun as she punched at him, but Erin twisted her head and hit him just under his ribcage.

“[Power Strike]!”

But again, Erin’s fist only struck the Gnoll with bruising strength, not the incredibly heavy blow that she’d used on Brunkr. Erin stared at her fist as she darted backwards, making the Gnoll run after her.

“Why isn’t it working!?”

“Hrr. Can’t do it more than once.”

Erin turned. Brunkr was back on his feet. He was wincing and bending over at the waist, but he was also very, very angry. He seized Erin’s fist as she punched at him and twisted.

“Aagh!”

Erin had to move or have her arm wrenched out of her socket. She bent sideways as Brunkr growled at her and the other Gnolls began ramming the door. Lyon’s screaming was the backdrop to Brunkr’s growling voice.

“Good kick. Now it is my turn, no? My Aunt may want you alive, but that does not mean unharmed, no?”

Well, that was a relief. She wasn’t going to die, but she was going to be horribly beaten up. Erin gulped and then tried to kick Brunkr in the nuts again. He caught her leg, and now Erin was hopping on one foot while she was all twisted up.

“First we will teach you a lesson, no? Then we will deal with the thief.”

“No.”

Brunkr turned. A shimmering ray of frost passed by his ear and struck a Gnoll in the back. The Gnoll howled in pain and confusion as ice spread across his back and he collapsed.

“Put her down and tell your friends to move away from the inn.”

“Ceria!”

Erin stared down the hill at the two mages and Brunkr snarled. Ceria was standing next to Pisces, her skeletal hand raised and pointing at Brunkr’s chest. Pisces stood next to her. He was holding a hamburger and trying to cram the rest of it into his mouth.

“This does not concern you, mages. Leave.”

Pisces looked like he was considering it, but Ceria just narrowed her eyes.

“Put Erin down. You’re not committing murder while I’m around.”

Brunkr scowled darkly down at the half-Elf. He nodded towards the door as he held Erin’s arm and leg.

“She is deserving of death.”

“That’s not for you to decide.”

“We will not be stopped.”

So saying, Brunkr lifted Erin above his head and then hurled her at the two mages. Erin felt the world whirling around her as she flew through the air.

“Hooooooooly—”

Erin crashed into Ceria and Pisces and scrambled to pick herself up. She couldn’t. She was completely winded and could only writhe on the ground in pain. Pisces was groaning, but Ceria raised her skeletal hand and shouted.

“[Snowy Blast]!”

Lying on the ground, Erin heard a whumph and the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. She looked up just in time to see the half-Elf blast another Gnoll off his feet with a massive burst of snow.

Brunkr snarled and descended the hill towards Ceria. She raised a finger and pointed.

“[Ray of Frost].”

A thin beam of shimmering light extended from her skeletal finger and struck Brunkr’s shield as he raised it just in time. The ice that formed around the shield and the intense cold made the Gnoll snarl in pain, but he kept coming.

“Pisces.”

“I’m up. Agh. Springwalker, do something about the ground, would you? They might not be warriors, but there are a lot of them.”

Pisces pushed himself up and rubbed at his head. He raised one hand and flicked an orb of fire at Brunkr as the Gnoll tried to advance. The Gnoll started dodging, but Pisces twisted his hand and the ball of fire flew around the shield and struck the Gnoll’s chest.

Erin heard a howl of pain and smelled burning fur, but then she saw a Gnoll had managed to bow the door of her inn inwards a bit. She didn’t know how she got up and ran the distance so fast, but then she was on his back, punching and hitting him wildly.

Fighting. Dodge, punch, kick. It was like Erin was learning to fight from Calruz again, only this time she was surrounded. And getting hurt. The Gnolls weren’t a friendly Minotaur or even Toren. They weren’t carrying weapons, but they were getting sick of pulling their punches.

Erin was in the thick of the fighting, punching, ducking, and getting hit. Erin reeled back as furred paw smacked the stars into her vision and swung a few times at the Gnoll in front of her. There were so many. And they were angry!

Brunkr was at the door, trying to break it down. But even his strength was having trouble with Antinium construction. The wood was splintering, but the Gnoll in front of Erin was too quick for her to tag, and he kept hitting her.

Erin stumbled and tasted blood in her mouth as the Gnoll struck her again. She felt flashes of darkness around her vision and saw a fist coming in low and fast.

But instead of flesh, the Gnoll’s fist met a shield made of bronze, and as the Gnoll recoiled in pain, a sword lanced out and caught him in the gut.

Toren twisted his sword and the Gnoll stepped backwards, gasping in pain. Erin stared stupidly as the skeleton shoved the Gnoll backwards and the larger Gnoll fell on his back. Toren wrenched the sword free and raised it high.

“No!”

Brunkr had seen the skeleton and now he turned from his opponents. He dropped the battered Pisces.

Toren was wearing armor. And he had a helmet! That was armor, but…Erin’s head was spinning. Why was Toren here? No—why was he wearing armor? And was he…bigger?

But the skeleton had dropped the shield in one hand and was holding his battered sword in a two-handed grip. He raised it above the Gnoll who was futilely shielding his face with his hands and Erin realized was going to kill the Gnoll who’d attacked her.

“Toren! Stop!”

Erin shouted desperately, trying to will oxygen into her depleted lungs. She reached out for Toren as Brunkr charged at him.

The skeleton hesitated. He looked down at the fallen Gnoll, and then started to lower his sword. He turned towards Erin and an arrow pierced the back of his helmet and shattered his skull.

Fragments of something red sprayed out of the skeleton’s eye sockets and mouth like blood. Erin screamed as Toren collapsed to the ground.

Brunkr lowered his sword in confusion, and the other Gnolls looked around. Erin turned, and the Gnoll in front of her took that opportunity to seize her arm. He was about to slam her into the ground when an arrow struck him in the knee and sent him sprawling to the ground.

The Gnolls blinked as arrows suddenly began to take them down from afar. Erin gasped in relief and Brunkr hesitated, and that was when all four members of the Gold-rank team Griffon Hunt charged into the fight.

—-

Halrac drew an arrow out of the quiver at his side and loosed it in one movement. His second arrow struck a Gnoll in the legs and the huge beast went down, roaring as he or she did.

The [Scout] could never tell the furry people apart, but it didn’t really matter. Either gender was dangerous, so Halrac loosed three more arrows at Gnolls, striking them in their midsections and legs to hobble them.

They weren’t lethal shots, and he wasn’t using arrows with points. He had a special type of arrow he used when fighting people, and the blunt arrows might cause serious damage or break bones, but they wouldn’t kill with healing potions being so plentiful.

“Someone get the girl!”

He shouted the words as his three comrades spread out around him. Ulrien charged towards the Human girl they’d seen being attacked while Revi and Typhenous took spots next to Ulrien. It was their classic formation, and Halrac knew what they were doing almost before they spoke.

“Give me a minute and I’ll cover this area with webs.”

Typhenous raised his wand and began pointing it around the hilltop. The old mage watched several Gnolls turn towards him without a hint of concern. Halrac kept firing into the scrum around the human girl, covering her and the door. He could hear another girl screaming inside. They’d have to get to the inn, protect both girls somehow.

But instead of taking advantage of their surprise attack to run, the girl was backing up towards her door. And she was fighting!

The girl punched a tall Gnoll repeatedly in the chest as he swung at her, dodging back as he swiped at her. Halrac cursed as he shot at a huge Gnoll carrying a shield and sword. This Gnoll was clearly a warrior class of some kind; he was blocking every shot as he advanced on the girl.

“What in the name of monsters is she—Revi!”

“I see it. Calm down.”

Revi was pulling scraps of fabric out of her pouches. She tossed three into the air, and shimmering figures appeared.

“Warriors! Guard us and protect that girl!”

Three armed warriors—two male and one female—appeared out of the air and met the Gnolls who’d been charging at the three adventurers. They swung into the Gnolls and smashed into them hard. Even the weakest of Revi’s phantoms was close to a Silver-rank adventurer in strength; far more than a match for untrained fighters.

But there were a lot of angry Gnolls and Griffon Hunt wasn’t about to start killing civilians. Halrac shifted his gaze as he drew another arrow and eyed the two mages fighting the Gnolls separately from them.

Another Gold-rank team…? No, they were using low-level spells. One was throwing small orbs of flame at Gnolls to keep them away while the other one had frozen the ground around them, making footing unstable while she blasted Gnolls with huge showers of snow that knocked them flat.

Then Halrac’s eyes widened and he nudged Revi. The [Summoner] lowered the wand she was using to fire magical bolts of energy and gasped.

“Gods. It’s getting up. Ulrien!”

“I see it.”

The warrior had halted his charge towards the girl. He instead ran towards the skeleton Halrac had shot through the skull and thought he’d killed again. The shattered bone around the skeleton’s head was reforming, and it was pushing itself onto its feet, shaking its head in a very human way.

Ulrien didn’t give it the chance to recover. He raised his great sword up and slashed horizontally as the skeleton turned. The big man’s blade wasn’t sharp, but the force behind his swing nearly sheared through the armor anyways.

The skeleton crumbled to the ground again, spineless, as Ulrien placed his boot on the broken armor and wrenched his sword free. He raised the sword to crush the skeleton completely, and Halrac prayed it would destroy the wretched thing once and for all.

“Toren!”

A voice made Halrac glance away from his friend. Someone was running at Ulrien. It was the girl. As the man turned, the girl ducked under his guard and delivered a right hook that made him stumble. Protected as he was by various enchantments, Ulrien wasn’t hurt so much as shocked. He raised a hand, and the skeleton took that moment to stab at his legs.

Halrac gaped, but his hands moved faster than his incredulous brain. He’d lined up another non-lethal shot to take the girl down when he spotted something flying his way.

The [Scout] ducked, and the tendril-thin beam of magic just missed his head. He saw the half-Elf pointing at him, and suddenly realized the other mage’s arc of fire had just expanded towards him, Revi and Typhenous.

Halrac blinked as both mages and the innkeeper started fighting them instead. He gaped as a stone cracked into his shoulder and then the girl began punching at Ulrien.

“Dead gods! What are they doing?”

Halrac had to take cover as Typhenous and Revi began erecting magical shields. His shoulder was on fire, despite the leather armor that had protected him from the girl’s throw. He glanced at Revi as everyone, Gnolls, half-Elf, and Humans, suddenly decided they wanted to team up on them.

“There’s more coming from the city. You kill that skeleton—I’ll hold them off.”

“Wait. Typhenous. Don’t—”

Halrac didn’t have time to caution the mage. Revi and Typhenous turned and began casting spells at another foe. Halrac cursed as he saw Ulrien was now trying to ward off the crazed girl and fight the Gnoll with the sword and shield at the same time. This was going from bad to worse.

And the skeleton was still moving. Somehow, even the damage Ulrien had done to it was being repaired, but slowly. Was it running out of mana? Halrac didn’t know, but he drew a special arrow out of his quiver anyways. This one would burn even the damn thing’s bones.

Halrac drew the arrow, sighted down the shaft, and then there was fire.

—-

Zevara hated Humans. Not just because they looked like pink, shaved pigs and they smelled horrible, but because they caused trouble.

True, Drakes and Gnolls caused trouble too, and Zevara was certain it was a Gnoll problem she was walking into right now, but she was also certain it was Humans who’d made the problem even worse.

One Human, in particular. And since Zevara had seen exactly what happened around Erin Solstice, she’d brought her best reinforcements.

“Relc, I want you to get in there and start cracking heads. Don’t use your spear unless you have to.”

The large Drake grinned at Zevara.

“No problem, Captain!”

“Klbkch. I might need Soldiers if the Gnolls start rioting.”

“We will monitor the situation.”

Klbkch and Relc weren’t the only pair of Senior Guardsmen in the city, but between the two, they represented the Watch’s greatest fighting strength. The Antinium nodded at Zevara as she led them and a group of Guardsmen up the hill towards the inn.

“I have heard another group of Gold-rank adventurers have joined the battle. How shall we engage?”

“Let Relc handle them. I’ll try to talk them down.”

“Why’re they here anyways? Did Erin bother them too?”

Zevara snarled and hastened her step. She didn’t want these adventurers in her city, but she had no desire to tangle with a Gold-rank team.

“Who cares why they’re fighting? They’re adventurers. They swarm to brawls like acid flies! Now—”

Her [Dangersense] that had been ringing in the back of her head went off loudly and Zevara ducked as a jet of something sticky flew right at her. It smacked into two Drakes and they cried out as the ball of webbing unfolded and snared them in place.

“Spread out! Relc!”

He was already gone. Zevara saw him sprinting towards a huge adventurer holding a great sword and a Gnoll—one of the ones who’d just entered the city—holding a shield and sword.

Zevara was more concerned about the mages, though. She recognized Ceria and Pisces—they were exchanging spells with two mages and an archer as Gnolls charged both. One lifted up Pisces and threw the screaming mage down the hill and knocked Ceria flat with one paw as she watched.

The Gold-rank adventurers were having a better time of it. Three shimmering warriors defended the group, and Zevara recognized them as summoned beings, brought forth by a [Summoner]. They were battering the Gnolls down with ruthless efficiency. One of the mages was firing bolts of magic that was blasting people off their feet, and the other was engulfing group after group in sticky webs.

That was the group Zevara needed to stop. She strode towards them, shouting.

“This is the Watch! Put down your weapons and stop fighting at once!”

None of the fighters around the inn heard her. Zevara didn’t have [Loud Voice] as a skill, and at times like this she really regretted its absence.

But her voice did attract the attention of the Gold-rank adventurers and one of the ghostly phantasms that was standing next to them. The tanned warrior turned and charged towards them. Zevara reached for her sword, but a brown blur appeared in front of her and met the phantasm in a clash of sparks.

“Klbkch!”

He fell back as the ghostly warrior swung a huge axe at him, forcing the Antinium back. Zevara ducked as one of the adventurers raised a wand and engulfed three of her Guardsman and an equal amount of Gnolls in a sticky web.

Zevara pointed her sword at the mage who’d cast the spell. She shouted at him as she advanced.

“Enough! Stop this at once! Put down your wand and—”

She got no further. A magical missile flew towards her and Zevara blocked it with her sword. The force of the impact jarred the blade out of her hand and sent the Watch Captain stumbling back. She looked up and saw another mage, a female with stitches around her neck and arms, pointing a wand at her.

That was it. Zevara hissed. She took a deep breath and spat fire at the adventurers. One of them shouted in panic, but the old man with a wand raised his and shouted.

“[Barrier of Air]!”

The flames spread out and vanished as they hit a wall of swirling wind. Zevara watched the flames dissipate, and cursed inwardly. She took a deep breath, and breathed a stronger jet of flame.

Again, the flames dissipated, but the mage had to throw up both hands to maintain the spell. Zevara gasped for air. The world darkened and turned grey as it always did after she used her birthright, and she tried to inhale. But she had to keep breathing fire. She breathed again, and the mages began firing at her. Her guardsmen returned fire with spell and arrow, and Zevara’s only conscious thought was that it was lucky Olesm wasn’t here. That way he wouldn’t see her kill that damn Human.

—-

Far below the surface, Olesm paused as Pawn and Bird both looked up towards the surface. He hesitated, a bishop in his claws.

“Something wrong?”

Both Antinium looked at him silently, and then shook their heads.

“No.”

“Nothing.”

“Oh. Well then.”

Olesm moved a piece and frowned as Bird and Pawn studied the board. He glanced over at the other Workers and the silently watching Ksmvr.

“…Does anyone have anything to drink down here?”

—-

Ulrien, Captain of Griffon Hunt and Gold-rank adventurer, was having trouble. He was fighting two enemies at once, which wouldn’t normally be a problem, but he couldn’t kill either. One, a Gnoll with a sword and shield, was pressuring him fairly hard. He was better than a Silver-rank adventurer, but his equipment wasn’t magical, and so Ulrien could block his strikes with his enchanted great sword and push him back with his superior strength.

But the other was a human girl who Ulrien had thought he was going to save, and she was troublesome. She kept kicking him in his unprotected back, and punching him in the side, shouting all the while. It didn’t hurt much—despite Ulrien’s lack of armor, he had several enchanted rings that took the force of the impacts, but it was throwing him off.

“We are not your ene—”

Ulrien grunted as the girl slammed into his side, and the Gnoll rushed forwards and bashed him with his shield. The big man growled and lashed out, knocking the Gnoll back. He swung at the girl—

And someone caught his fist.

Ulrien’s entire body lurched as all his momentum suddenly stopped against whatever had grabbed him. He looked over and saw a grinning Drake, just as big as he was.

“Hey. Nice sword.”

Relc raised a fist and punched Ulrien, sending the adventurer stumbling backwards as Erin gaped. But not for long; she heard a growl and saw Brunkr coming at her. Erin ducked and hammered at the Gnoll’s ribs, but then Brunkr caught her with a fist that made her wake up on the ground a second later.

“You might be a pretty tough guy, but I—”

The Drake ducked just in time as Ulrien punched back. Relc jumped back and then his spear was stabbing at Ulrien, butt-first so the adventurer staggered back as Relc bludgeoned him.

“Hey! Drop your weapon or I’ll have to hurt you, got it?”

Relc shouted, but Ulrien wasn’t about to surrender. He kept swinging his great sword, cutting the air with devastatingly powerful cuts that made Relc leap back. The Drake laughed as he hammered Ulrien’s chest with his spear.

“You’ll have to be quicker than that! You—ulp!”

An arrow flew at his face. Relc grabbed it out of the air, but that left him open. Ulrien slashed upwards with his sword and Relc raised his spear to block.

The thick shaft of wood splintered and broke as the blade swept right through it. Relc cursed and leapt backwards as Ulrien continued his cut and swung at the Drake’s ribs with the flat of his blade.

The Drake stared at his broken spear in his claws. His eyes narrowed. Relc raised the broken shaft of his spear and stabbed at Ulrien repeatedly, forcing the big man to defend himself.

It was a bad matchup. Ulrien’s teeth gritted as he swing faster, but he couldn’t catch the Drake, even as big as he was. And he was wary of actually hitting the Drake for fear he would kill him—

Relc had no such compunctions. As Ulrien guarded against one of his thrusts, Relc took a step back and twisted. Swung by the momentum of his body, Relc’s tail slapped Ulrien in the face right before he roundhouse-kicked the man off his feet.

The Drake laughed and kicked the great sword out of Ulrien’s hands. He raised his broken spear into the air, crowing with delight.

“Hah! Who’s n—”

Relc twisted as another blunt arrow flew towards his face. Halrac lowered his bow and pulled another arrow out. The arrowhead looked like ice, and it was glowing with blue light.

“Oh?”

—-

Halrac aimed down his arrow straight at the Drake’s torso. He was sure the Drake would survive the shot; the way he’d just outfought Ulrien proved it. The damn Drake could dodge his arrows, but this was magical; it would explode as soon as it got within range of the Drake, dodging or not.

The Drake was watching him, spreading his arms out and shouting something. Halrac ignored the taunting and pulled the arrow as far back as he could. Time to use an activated skill. He spoke as his fingers loosened on the arrow.

“[Pinpoint Sh—]”

Something kicked his bow out of line. Halrac cursed, turned with the arrow still nocked, and froze.

“Alright. That’s enough out of you, Halrac. Unless you really want to get us in trouble with the city?”

A pale woman was standing right next to Halrac, staring down at him. He looked up at her, and recognized her instantly. From the deathly whiteness of her skin to the black chainmail she wore, and her perfectly black eyes, there could be only one person she could be, at least on this continent.

“Jelaqua Ivirith.”

The female adventurer held the three-headed flail at her side as she stood casually next to Halrac. She hadn’t raised it, but he’d stopped moving.

“Halrac. Good to see you again.”

“What in the hells are you doing?”

“Stopping you. I should be asking what you’re doing, fighting the Watch and civilians like this.”

Halrac’s eyes flicked towards the large Drake.

“That’s a guardsman?”

“Liscor’s best. He’s moderately famous in the south part of the continent.”

The Drake was staring at Jelaqua, and he’d stopped smiling. She winked at him, and he made a face.

“Let’s all calm down, hm?”

Halrac wasn’t sure he wanted to obey her, but he was within her range. He looked over and saw Jelaqua’s other two companions had joined the fight as well.

A massive man, eight or perhaps even nine feet tall stood in front of Typhenous. The old mage hesitated as the giant man smiled down at him. This new adventurer was wearing patched clothing, but held in his hands a massive staff crowned by an orb that shimmered with light. He nodded politely at Typhenous.

The older mage’s lips curled. He stared up at the small giant, his own wand shimmering with magic.

“Moore.”

“Lower your wand, Typhenous. I don’t want any trouble.”

“You can’t stop me. You’re not half the mage I am.”

Moore sighed hugely, and rubbed at his chin with fingers the size of plump sausages.

“I shouldn’t like to argue that point, but I will stop you if need be.”

He and Typhenous stared at each other, and then Typhenous lifted his wand and pointed it at the other adventurer.

“[Eltraz’s Bin—]”

The giant man didn’t raise his staff. Instead he stepped forwards and kicked Typhenous before the mage could utter his spell. The old man choked and fell down.

Moore sighed and stood over the mage. He planted one finger on the man’s back as he struggled to rise.

“All’s fine over here, Jelaqua.”

Jelaqua nodded as Halrac gritted his teeth. Revi had paused, and he could see her hesitating. Two of her warrior constructs were down, bleeding wisps of magic as she faced off against the angry Drake breathing fire, but she had one hand in her pouch. Halrac shook his head at her slightly. Now was not the time to waste magic or her constructs.

“Wise man. Now, let’s hope your leader is just as sensible.”

Halrac saw Jelaqua pointing, and realized the last member of her group had appeared. A tall, gaunt man covered in what looked like a…a shell across half his body was standing next to Ulrien, holding a dagger in one hand. His other hand, or rather, entire arm was segmented with dark fungus and what looked like a crustacean’s pincer instead of a hand.

“Ulrien.”

“Seborn.”

“I hope you’re not going to fight anymore. It seems pointless, given the circumstances.”

Ulrien glanced at Relc and shrugged slightly.

“Depends. But we won’t fight with your lot unless we’ve got a reason.”

“Fair enough. I doubt our Captain wants any more strife than necessary.”

The two…men…nodded at each other. Ulrien glanced around and raised his great sword slightly as Relc glared at both adventurers.

“You wanna fight? Huh?”

The person known as Seborn shifted slightly. He held his dagger backwards as he turned sideways towards Relc instead of Ulrien. Both adventurers eyed the Drake, as Relc glared at both. They were at a standoff, right up until Erin crashed into the center of the trio, swinging at Brunkr as the Gnoll punched back.

—-

“You will regret this!”

Brunkr roared at Erin as she ducked another huge swing from him. He wasn’t quick, but he was so strong and tough! She’d been punching him as hard as she could, but he just kept on coming!

“You’re not going to hurt her! Stop! Go away!”

She lashed out and caught Brunkr with a good kick to the legs, but he just growled and came on. She ran backwards, ducking and dodging away from him.

Erin was vaguely aware that something was going on. She didn’t see any more Gnolls at the door of her inn, and she thought there were more people, but all of her attention was on Brunkr. His face was twisted into a snarl as he came after her.

“You punch like a weakling, no? Who taught you how to fight?”

“A Minotaur! And he was the best fighter in the world!”

Erin shouted as she planted a punch straight on Brunkr’s jaw. He swept his arm at her and backhanded her so hard Erin thought some of her teeth came loose. She staggered.

“Weak. The Minotaur taught you poorly.”

“He did not!”

Her head was spinning, but she couldn’t fall down. She gritted her teeth and ran at Brunkr, ignoring the punch that made the entire world freeze for a second.

“He taught me! Me! Punch! He taught me to punch!”

She was right in front of Brunkr. Erin planted her feet and began hammering him in the chest, screaming. She was out of everything. She didn’t even know what she was saying; all she could do or think was punch.

“Minotaur! Punch! Punch! Minotaur…[Minotaur Punch]!”

Something clicked in Erin’s head. She felt something change, and then felt her fist meet Brunkr’s stomach. But instead of harmlessly bouncing off his furred body, this time her fist hit the Gnoll and sent him reeling back.

Brunkr coughed, and Erin stared at her fist. He clutched at his stomach, but then roared and raised a fist. Erin raised hers faster.

“[Minotaur Punch]!”

Unlike [Power Strike], this skill worked twice in a row. Erin hit Brunkr so hard even she felt it, and he doubled over and puked up food and blood. Erin staggered back. Her arm felt wobbly, but she stood her ground even so.

Something was happening around her. Erin saw Relc—wait, Relc?—spinning past her, dueling two adventurers at once. One had…fungi on his face and a crab claw on one hand?

What was going on? Erin looked around, bewildered, and saw the man with the bow who’d shot Toren rolling away from a woman with a flail of all things. And Toren was on his feet and fighting Gnolls at the door to the inn, Lyon was screaming, Ceria was pinned by Zevara and—

What was happening? Erin staggered. The world was still spinning, but her blood was still boiling. Her friends were fighting with strangers, and the Gnolls were still trying to get towards the inn. Erin felt sick. She wanted to throw up, but more than that she wanted everyone to stop fighting.

That urge grew in Erin’s chest, until it felt like a living thing wanting to get free. And Erin felt like she could almost feel that desire in the air around her. It was like heat; and it was all around her inn. She opened her mouth, and screamed.

“Everybody stop!”

—-

The blast of sound made Halrac jerk and nearly caught one of Jelaqua’s wicked flails to a shoulder as he rolled away from her. He raised his bow, but then felt his arms grow heavy.

The air changed as the innkeeper shouted. Halrac’s body suddenly grew incredibly heavy—he could still move, but it was like something huge was pressing down on him from above.

Jelaqua paused as she raised her flail, and stared over at the inn. Both adventurers saw the entire hilltop had stopped, caught by the same oppressive weight that had struck them.

“Some kind of Skill. Feels like an aura effect.”

“I can still move.”

The dark-eyed adventurer eyed Halrac, annoyed.

“This isn’t your fight, Halrac. Your team is only going to cause trouble for us all.”

Halrac hesitated.

“But the Gnolls—”

“Use your eyes. This has gotten too big. Stop fighting and let’s talk.”

Jelaqua glared at him as she lowered her flail. Halrac had his fingers on an arrow in his quiver, but he hesitated. He could see she was watching him. Slowly, he lowered his bow.

“Revi—Typhenous—”

Halrac turned and looked around. Typhenous was still on the ground, and Revi was very still. He saw she was standing with both arms raised, not moving an inch. That was probably to avoid the two sword blades from cutting into her neck as an Antinium warrior held them to Revi’s throat.

“I would suggest no one move. This battle is now over.”

Klbkch’s voice was loud and carrying, and unlike Erin’s it generated a silence all of its own. Across the hill, Gnolls stopped fighting and guardsmen lowered their weapons. Revi’s magical constructs were frozen in place, and Relc paused as both Ulrien and Seborn halted.

Zevara got up out of the grass, and Klbkch lowered one of his swords, keeping the other level with Revi’s throat. Halrac could see the drops of sweat as they rolled down her face.

The Antinium looked around calmly, nodding to the girl.

“Miss Solstice. Good day. I regret this state of affairs. I will do my best to resolve it with the assistance of my colleagues in the Watch.”

Everyone stared. Klbkch slowly lowered his other sword, and Revi felt at her uncut throat. She raised one trembling finger and pointed slowly at the Antinium.

“You—you’re in the Watch?”

Klbkch nodded. He looked at her with his expressionless, insect face and Halrac shuddered with fear and disgust.

“I am. My name is Klbkch and I am a Senior Guardsman in the City Watch of Liscor.”

He looked around at the others on the hill.

“And it is my duty to inform you that you are all under arrest.”

—-

Erin had never been arrested back in her world. She was…had been…a normal person who didn’t do anything crazy like start massive brawls. She’d certainly never done drugs, and if she had tried alcohol, it had been in chess clubs late at night where the police seldom go unless someone starts flipping boards.

But now she was under arrest, only…not?

“I believe this incident was not entirely your fault, but considering the damage done and violence, it is my assessment that your inn should be placed under guard temporarily.”

That was Klbkch’s explanation, which essentially just meant a bunch of scary Drakes with swords and bows were standing around her inn looking threateningly while Zevara shouted at people. The Drake had taken her turn with Erin, even though Erin had explained what had happened.

“I don’t care why you decided to pick a fight with half the Gnolls in the city! But thanks to you and that damned thief, I’ve got over thirty wounded civilians and guardsmen here!”

“It wasn’t my fault! They were going to kill her!”

“We have every right! She has done much damage to our clan!”

Brunkr shouted angrily at Erin as he clenched his fists on the other side of Zevara. He was being held by two Gnolls, both of which were as battered and bloody as he was. Relc raised his fist threateningly, but the Gnoll didn’t seem the least bit intimidated. He snarled at Erin and the guardsmen, causing several of them to raise their weapons.

“We demand justice!”

“Justice has been done! You Gnolls are in defiance of the law! And you!”

Zevara spun and jabbed a finger at the sullen adventurers sitting together.

“Why did you decide to join in the fighting?”

One of the adventurers, a man wearing dark leather and holding a bow, raised his head and glared at the Drake. He pointed at Erin.

“We thought that the Gnolls were attacking the girl. And we’d just seen a skeleton come back to life after we destroyed it once. We were concerned it was Revenant of some kind, and we were tracking it.”

Zevara turned and stared hard at Toren. The skeleton was still wearing his armor, although it had been horribly mangled by the great sword that had cut straight through the middle of it. He stared at Zevara and she turned away in disgust.

“Ancestors save me from idiotic Humans—and you? What’s your excuse?”

She pointed at the three adventurers who’d helped end the fighting. Erin stared at the pale woman with totally black eyes before she shifted to the half-crab-fungi man and the giant with the staff. The female adventurer inclined her head towards Zevara.

“Watch Captain. We heard about the fighting and were spectating until we saw Griffon Hunt entering the fray. We decided to help stop the fighting.”

Zevara shot Jelaqua an icy look, but apparently she didn’t have much to say about that. Instead, it was Brunkr who lurched forwards, forcing the two Gnolls holding him to strain hard to keep him back.

“We demand vengeance! We will have the thief’s heart, Watch or not! You cannot stop us!”

The Captain of the Watch turned on Brunkr with fury in her eyes.

“If you try to attack someone again, I will arrest you and every Gnoll who joins you!”

The Gnoll snarled at Zevara.

“Try it. If anything happens to me, the Silverfang tribe will go to war against this city! We will not be stopped!”

“Oh really? This is something that I wish to hear. It is news to me. How is it that we will be defying the law in Liscor, hmm?”

Brunkr paused. Erin saw his angry expression suddenly shift, and his ears suddenly flattened down hard. He turned, face apprehensive.

Krshia stood behind Brunkr, arms folded, face like iron. Selys peeked her head around the Gnoll and on her other side, Erin saw a woman dressed in armor.

Yvlon nodded at Erin and smiled. She was wearing the silver armor Erin had spotted in her room. She was also looking a lot healthier—her face was nearly healed, and she looked completely steady on her feet.

Brunkr shrank as Krshia walked forwards until their faces were inches apart. He was taller than his Aunt, but he cowered in front of her. He raised placating hands.

“Aunt—”

She seized him by one ear, and Brunkr yelped like a dog as Krshia began to twist.

“Brunkr. My eyes and ears and nose must be deceiving me, no? Or else why am I seeing many Gnolls here, when they should be in the city? That should not be, no? Because I distinctly remember giving orders not to go after the thief, no? Or is my word no longer good enough for you? Do you want to become Chieftain already, hm? Is that what you are thinking?”

He whined and started to protest, but Krshia bent down and whispered something in his ear. Erin didn’t hear, but it made Brunkr go wide-eyed and silent. Krshia dragged him off and suddenly—

It was over.

—-

“I can’t believe it. That…thing is yours? And you let it wander around unchecked?”

Erin wanted to back away from the angry female mage named Revi. She was already regretting offering a free meal to everyone who’d been fighting. The Gnolls had all left for the city with Krshia, but she had a room full of guardsmen and, unfortunately, irate adventurers.

“Toren? Well…Pisces made him, and he’s helpful. I guess he goes off sometimes, but he doesn’t hurt anyone, right? I mean, you said he was just fighting a…Snow Golem? That’s not bad, is it?”

Another adventurer leaned forwards. He was…Halrac? The [Scout] guy. He looked angry and annoyed, but Erin hadn’t seen his expression change the entire time he’d been here.

“Frankly, Miss Solstice, any undead is potentially dangerous, and this one killed a construct we sent after it. Your servant is far more intelligent than normal undead, which should be impossible if he’s not a Revenant.”

“Well…that’s good, right?”

Erin saw the other adventurers of Griffon Hunt exchange a glance. Ulrien, the big guy who looked like some kind of bodybuilder cleared his throat and shook his head.

“You said one of your customers animated him? Which one?”

“Pisces. Oh—he’s upstairs. Sleeping. I can introduce him to you later, if you like.”

Erin pointed upstairs. Pisces was sleeping, and for once she hadn’t begrudged him the bed. He’d had a horribly swollen face after the battle, and Brunkr and the other Gnolls had battered him repeatedly. Erin knew she owed him a favor, although she hated to think of how many free meals that would mean.

“I don’t think it would help.”

Ulrien looked troubled as he shook his head. The last adventurers, an old man named Typhenous, lowered his mug long enough to stare hard at Erin.

“We don’t mean to accuse you, Miss Solstice. But undead are dangerous, and this one has several unique abilities we’ve never seen a skeleton exhibiting. I would be cautious, if I were you.”

Erin glanced over at Toren. He was circulating the room, refilling mugs held out by wary guardsmen as efficiently as ever. She didn’t get the problem. If anything, it was Lyon who Erin felt like worrying about.

The girl was unusually subdued after the fight, almost worryingly so. She was actually obeying orders albeit ineffectively. Erin winced as she saw the girl nearly trip and splash some soup all over a guardsman’s back.

“I’ll keep an eye on him. But um, thanks for helping me, I guess. I would have been in trouble if you hadn’t helped clear out the Gnolls.”

Halrac waved a hand and grunted while the other adventurers made similar noises and faces to match. Revi glared across the room at Relc. The Drake was laughing loudly at his own table with Klbkch, happily downing all the precious alcohol Erin had just bought in the city.

“Just be careful, and keep that thing on a tighter leash.”

Erin nodded, and backed away from the table. She was so busy backing up she ran into something huge and solid behind her. She turned, and jumped.

“My apologies, Miss Erin.”

Erin looked up, and up into a huge face staring apologetically down at her. She’d seen the giant man before of course, but she’d been a bit busy with everything that had happened. Now, though, Erin could fully realize what she was seeing.

“…Hodor?”

Moore’s face wrinkled up with confusion, but he smiled and stuck out a massive hand anyways.

“It’s Moore, ma’am. I’m very grateful you’ve provided me with such a fine meal, although I must insist I pay.”

“What? Oh, no, I wouldn’t dream of it. You’re very welcome to eat here, especially with how much help you’ve been! Lots! Huge amounts!”

Erin babbled as she gently shook his hands—or rather, a few fingers of his hand. Moore smiled, and gestured towards the door. Erin realized he was trying to get out and hurriedly stepped aside.

“Thank you. I believe I’ve had a bit too much to drink. I suppose it’s too much to hope that you have a giant-sized outhouse to match your hospitality?”

“What? Oh, no. Oh, I don’t. I’m so sorry!”

Moore shook his head and smiled at Erin.

“Please, please. I’m quite used to standing out. I’ll simply find a quiet spot to ah, relieve myself. It’s no worry.”

He stepped out of the inn, bending to avoid smacking his head on the doorframe. Erin heard laughter, and turned to see the other two adventurers sitting at a table.

“I do believe you’ve embarrassed Moore. He’s not used to someone being so concerned for him.”

Erin walked over and saw Ceria was sitting with Jelaqua and the odd man named Seborn. Her eyes drifted down towards the claw on his hand and the odd puffed up skin—or was it mold?—covering half of his body. She jerked her eyes away as he looked at her and smiled at the other two.

“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just that he’s…I mean, I’ve never seen anyone like him. Is he a, uh, a giant?”

“Quarter-giant, or eighth-giant, actually. He’s not sure, but don’t worry about it. He’s used to the stares, and so are we.”

Jelaqua stood and held out a hand towards Erin. Erin took it and found the other woman’s skin was clammy and cold to the touch. She blinked, but Ceria learned forwards and explained.

“Ah, Erin. These adventurers are all part-human, like me.”

“Really? I mean…oh. That’s cool? I mean, not cool exactly, but it’s nice? Not that being Human is cool or nice or not being Human is bad, but—um. Sorry. Thanks for helping, and uh, nice to meet you?”

Erin blushed as she stumbled over her words. She had no idea what to say, but apparently that was the right thing. Jelaqua blinked, and then burst out laughing. Even Seborn smiled, or at least, half of his face did.

“We’re delighted to meet someone as open-minded as you, Miss Solstice. We would have helped anyways, but I must confess, we had a reason for helping.”

Jelaqua nodded towards Ceria, and the half-Elf blinked in surprise. Seborn nodded.

“It was good we found you here. We have an offer to extend to you, Springwalker.”

He had a curiously resonant voice, as if he was speaking from inside some kind of room. Ceria blinked at the two adventurers in surprise.

“Me? I’m surprised you know of me.”

Jelaqua laughed.

“Well, we keep tabs on people like you. But where are my manners?”

She extended a hand towards Ceria, and the half-Elf gingerly took it. She apparently knew that Jelaqua’s skin was different from normal, because she didn’t react as the two briskly shook hands.

“Ceria Springwalker, my name is Jelaqua Ivirith. I’m leader of the Halfseekers or, as you might have heard of us, the Half Freaks.”

Her lips twisted sardonically as the adventurers continued.

“We’re a Gold-rank team, but we’ve lost a few members recently, and we came here looking to explore this new dungeon, but also to scout for someone to join us. And after seeing you fight, we think you might fit well with us.”

Ceria gasped in surprise and half-rose out of her seat. Erin stared at the two adventurers in surprise. Gold-rank? That was…really important, wasn’t it? Ceria looked from Jelaqua to Seborn in stunned astonishment.

“What? Me? But I’m only a Silver-rank adventurer! And I just lost my entire party. I barely have any magical artifacts on me what could I—?”

“Please, Ceria, calm down.”

Jelaqua smiled at Ceria as she put a hand on the half-Elf’s shoulder.

“We may be a Gold-rank team, but that doesn’t mean we have to hire only Gold-rank adventurers. Besides, it’s worth finding someone competent even if we have to level them up and give them a few magical items to get them started. Most importantly, you’re a half-Elf, like us. We need people we can work with, not people afraid of non-Humans.”

“It’s just so sudden. I don’t know—I’m honored of course, but—”

Ceria stammered, and Jelaqua shook her head.

“Take your time. We just wanted to mention that. It’s part of the reason we came out here and were able to help.”

Seborn nodded.

“Half-species are rare enough that we knew your name. So when we heard of the dungeon, it was easy enough to make the decision to journey here.”

“I will certainly think about it, thank you. It’s just that I have other people I’m considering forming a party with—”

Ceria glanced down a few tables. Yvlon was eating with Selys in a corner of the room. Jelaqua shrugged.

“Take your time. We’re waiting to unearth the entrance to the dungeon, so there’s plenty of time for you to think. And we’ll talk later – this is just so you know.”

Ceria nodded slowly. She looked overwhelmed. Erin could bear it no more. She raised her voice nervously and all three demi-humans looked at her.

“Um. Uh, is it rude if I ask what species you all are? I don’t want to be rude but—”

“It’s no problem. Most people don’t ask or they know.”

Jelaqua smiled as she pointed at Moore who’d just returned, ducking his head as he reentered the inn.

“Moore is part-Giant as you know. He’s our [Mage]. Our only spell caster, unless Ceria joins us. Next we have Seborn, our [Rogue]. He’s a Drowned Man.”

Seborn nodded.

“I’ve been like this ever since I was a young man.”

“Uh, Drowned…?”

The half-man nodded. He turned slightly and raised his crab arm so Erin could get a good look at him. He did look disturbingly like some kind of fungi was growing on him, but now that Erin looked closer, she could see where dark red carapace was had mixed with the puffed skin.

“It’s the name of our people—of everyone who’s suffered this fate. There’s a creature that lives in the sea that latches onto your body and melds with it. It can take your mind over unchecked, but even if you kill it, it will still change you forever. Half of me is monster, but it doesn’t affect me in any way save for my appearance.”

“Oh. I’m…I’m sorry?”

Seborn smiled at Erin, and shrugged.

“No need to be sorry, is there? I’ve gotten used to it.”

“And I’m a Selphid.”

Jelaqua said that as if the name itself should be explanatory. Erin frowned, and Ceria spoke up.

“Erin doesn’t know many other races. Ah, Erin, a Selphid is…well, you could call them parasites if you were rude, but they’re more like…”

“Parasites is a good word. We’re thieves, only we steal bodies instead of anything else. It’s troublesome, but it’s the only way we can live.”

The woman smiled at Erin, who had no idea what any of them were talking about.

“You mean you’re a ghost?”

Again, the adventurers laughed. Jelaqua shook her head.

“Haven’t you heard of the body snatchers of Baleros? No? We’re a species that find dead bodies and inhabit them, sort of like what happened to Seborn. Only, I can move between bodies and…well, I suppose it’s easiest to show you.”

Jelaqua stood up and pushed her chair back. She walked over to Erin, and then pulled her chainmail off. Erin blinked, but then Jelaqua had begun pulling her shirt off. And then her bra.

“What are you—hey!”

Erin turned away, and made shooing motions at the other guardsmen.

“No one look! No staring!”

She paused when she realized no one was. The guardsmen were staring hard the other way, and the members Griffon Hunt were staring at their food grimly. Across the room Relc shouted.

“Aw. The freak’s going to do that disgusting thing!”

Erin turned to glare at him, but Jelaqua chuckled. Erin found herself looking at a very pale—nearly albino in fact—set of breasts. Jelaqua tapped her chest and smiled at Erin.

“Watch. Don’t be alarmed, now. It’s just that Selphids are—”

Her chest opened up. Erin saw the skin part as something inside pushed the skin and bones away like wrapping paper. The inside of Jelaqua wasn’t red—no, it was nearly as white as the rest of her. Her skin was bloodless, as were her organs. Probably because Jelaqua’s body wasn’t living.

She was dead. And it was the writhing mass of creatures inside her, the dark green and yellow things that blinked and squiggled at Erin and waved long, thin tendrils like spaghetti that were living.

Something pulsated, and then Erin saw two lungs inside of Jelaqua’s organs expand, and her mouth opened and spoke.

“See? We live inside dead bodies. We’re parasites, but don’t worry—we don’t inhabit living people as a rule. We take on the attributes of our host, but we can change bodies if one gets damaged. Healing potions don’t work on dead flesh you see, and Erin? Erin?”

“Ah.”

Erin stared down at the chest-bursting…the thing that came out of her body…the tendrils of the flesh-exploding…skin…tearing open…

Her eyelids flickered a few times. Erin smiled at the creatures waving at her inside the dead body’s chest, blinked, and then fainted backwards.

No one caught her.

Jelaqua frowned down at Erin as the vine-like tendrils slowly closed the flesh back together seamlessly. She looked around with her human head at the others and scowled.

“Oh come on. I saw her put a Gnoll’s head through a window, and she went toe-to-toe with a Gold-rank adventurer, but this she faints over?”

Erin didn’t hear her. She lay unconscious on the ground until Klbkch helped Ceria bring her up to a room upstairs and slept for the rest of the day, which passed by with much drama and excitement, but no more chest-bursting or fighting.

It was the first of many eventful days to come.

[Skill Change – Power Strike → Minotaur Punch!]

[Skill – Minotaur Punch Obtained!]

1.00 C

Do you wanna hear a funny joke? Okay. Here it is.

‘A fat guy appears in a fantasy world and decides to become a [Clown].’

…I’m still working on the punch line. It’s the only joke I’ve got, though. I try to be funny, but really, I’m a [Clown]. I’m not actually sure we’re meant to make people laugh.

Curious about the parenthesis? It means I have a Class. [Clown], to be exact. Yeah. It’s this entire thing which I don’t want to go into.

Suffice it to say that I’m in a world where everyone gains levels and classes. Make sense? It doesn’t to me either. But let’s just call it a videogame where if you get stabbed in the stomach, you still bleed and die horribly.

I’m going to die that way, I just know it. I’m a fat idiot who chose/got the wrong class. Clown. In a world with monsters and magic, who wants to be a clown?

Me, apparently.

According to Edward or Eddy as he likes to be called, I shouldn’t even have this class. He keeps telling me I’m like a Bard or a Troubadour from one of the Final Fantasy series games. Number XXIV or something like that.

I never played those games as a kid. I wasn’t a gamer, and I sort of regret it now. Maybe if I was, I’d be able to deal with this.

Probably not. How could anything prepare you to actually fight and die against creatures twice as terrifying as anything from our world? Nothing could.

So it’s no wonder I don’t want to fight. Maybe that’s why I got the [Clown] class. Those first few days when we were all summoned to this world, I was just trying to cope by telling jokes and get people to laugh. I’m good at being the funny guy, normally. But then I became a [Clown] and everything got a lot less funny when we realized we were here to stay.

Oh yeah? Did I mention that? Okay, let me go back and explain. We—and by we, I mean me and around fifty people around my age of 20—appeared in this world thanks to a summoning spell. We appeared in front of this old guy on a throne, and suddenly everyone was screaming that we were the ‘prophesied heroes’.

Cut to now. Just over twenty of us are left, and instead of being the heroes of the Blighted Lands, we’re disgraces sent to garrison a village on the outskirts, barely acknowledged by the throne or the people.

Because we suck. You know how the main hero in a movie gets teleported to another world and instantly has some kind of special skill or talent? That’s us, just without anything special.

The King—the Blighted King, he’s called, Othius the Fourth – greeted us, and told us we would be the heroes who drove the demons out of his kingdom. He gave us weapons, sent us out into battle—

And we got slaughtered. The survivors couldn’t do anything, and so he gave up on us. He essentially exiled us from the capital city, and sent us out where we couldn’t cause any trouble.

Some of the others, the people from my world, learned to fight. Some even got good enough to hunt monsters and keep the surrounding area safe. But most of us couldn’t deal with what was happening.

Richard’s a [Knight], Level 26 and the strongest person in our group by far. He leads us and keeps us safe.

Emily’s a Level 21 [Hydromancer]. She’s the idol of our group if you can call anyone that. She’s popular.

The others – six or so guys and one girl who fight – all have some kind of fighting or magical class. The others either have barely one or two levels, or have chosen different jobs, like [Cook] or [Tailor] or [Gatherer].

The majority help fight and keep people safe, and the others help out or just…exist. But that’s the group. You can divide it neatly up into combat and non-combat classes, except for one oddball.

That would be me. The fat guy. A [Clown]. Funny man without anything funny to say about what’s happening.

Tom’s my name. It’s actually Thomas, but Tom is what I prefer to be called. And yeah, I’m the class clown of the group in more ways than one. But the truth is, I’m not actually that funny. If you couldn’t tell, no one ever laughs at my jokes.

I always wanted to do stand up, not slapstick. But it turns out I’m not good at either. Yeah, I’m an unfunny fat guy walking around with white makeup on trying to entertain people. Which is pretty funny when you think about it, and just sad when you actually see it.

I know, I know, I should have better self-esteem. And I’m actually just chubby, not fat. Pleasingly plump. Slightly hefty. I’ve got girth to go with my big bones, but I can still get around.

It’s just that I feel like a whale compared to all the people in this village. They all look like they escaped from some horrible refugee camp—or prison. They’ve got gaunt faces, skeletal frames, but they still keep going.

It makes me sick. But not too sick to stuff my face every day. I hate myself, sometimes.

Most of the time.

I’ve got depression. Clinically proven, not self-diagnosed, thanks. And normally I have a good hold on it—well, I used to. But I’m in a place where the only drugs we’ve got are different kinds of alcohol. Good luck finding a bottle of antidepressants here, much less a drug store.

It makes me feel worthless. It doesn’t help that other people share that opinion.

A [Clown]. I’m actually Level 19, which might surprise you. But when I got that class I took it as a sign. I mixed some white face paint, added a bit of red for my mouth and learned how to do things like juggle. I ran around, tried to tumble for people, told bad jokes, and generally made a fool of myself.

Really, I should have gained two levels from that, at most. But it turns out that me and everyone who was summoned to this world gained the [Hero] class when we arrived. We’re all Level 1 [Heroes], and no one’s raised it any higher, but it makes us level in every other class a lot faster.

So I’m Level 19 right now, and trying to get to Level 20. According to common knowledge, you generally get a better-than-average skill at Level 20 and a better array of skills after that.

Yeah. It is like a game, when all’s said and done. But it’s too real for me. Too real, and too terrible.

I can’t be a warrior, like the others. I don’t want to kill things, even horrific things with tons of eyes and claws. Actually, especially not them.

I just want to level up this class. I think…yes, I think it might be worth doing.

Right now? Right now, I’m trying to make people laugh.

Picture the scene, if you will. There’s a grassy spot in the center of the small village, a place where the dirt road turns to soil. It’s a small village they’ve put us in. But there are kids here, and people even this far out in the wilderness.

They can’t stray far from the village. There are several [Hunters] and more than one low-level [Warrior] or [Hedgemage] in the village, but the real protection comes from patrols and the small garrison of [Soldiers] stationed a few miles down the road.

Thanks to us, that garrison is tripled in size, and the villagers feel it in the increased levies on their goods and supplies. We’re even occupying the townhouse, a big building large enough to hold all of us together. We’ve got beds, daily meals, and even basic amenities courtesy of the crown.

The village people don’t have any of that. So they hate us.

But the kids—ah, the kids still enjoy our presence. Unlike the adults, we don’t have set jobs so we can interact with them. We used to more, but now most of the others won’t even play with the kids.

So it falls to me.

Look, look at the clown! See how he waddles around in the grass? I smile, feeling the dried paint crackling on my face. I toss three carved wooden pins up in the air, and juggle them around for the audience of eight or so children who stop playing tag to watch me.

It’s not the first time I’ve put on a performance, and so the tired housewife across the street just looks once at me and then shakes her head and keeps walking. But the kids are more willing to give me another shot, so they watch as I juggle the pins.

They’re horribly rough and awkward in my hands, but I did manage to color them bright red, blue, and yellow. Some of the paint wore off, but it still looks impressive as they flash over my head.

Okay, not impressive. But good. And it’s a miracle I can juggle at all, you know. It wasn’t a skill I had back home, but I learned it as I leveled up in the [Clown] class.

I’ve got several skills that allow me to do clownish things – juggle, do prat falls, etc. I’ve got one horribly annoying skill that isn’t active right now, thank god, and one weird skill.

[Loud Voice]. It does exactly what it sounds like. But it’s odd. It’s not a skill that a [Clown] would really need, right?

Normally, clowns aren’t even supposed to talk. I’ve seen a few in circuses, and they’re like mimes. They might make funny sounds, but they don’t speak.

But if I understand how this class works, then maybe…

Oops. I’m so caught up in thought that I drop one of the pins. The other two thump on the ground, and I search for a recovery as the kids mutter and scratch themselves, bored.

Right, how about this?

I pause, and raise my hands and pucker my lips. Then I point to my empty hand. The children watch my pantomime, knowing the punch line but still interested enough to watch.

I close my fist, and then do the trick where I pretend to pull something out. The only difference is that I do pull something out. I flip the bright blue pin up into the air, and then pull another one out from behind my back. The yellow pin joins it, and I’m juggling again, despite the fact that I never reached down to pick the pins back up off the ground.

The children laugh and point, and I smile for real behind the paint. That wasn’t half bad. And it’s all thanks to my Skill.

My only cool trick is that I can pull objects seemingly out of nowhere. I have to have them on me of course, but within a 5 ft radius of me I can pretty much grab anything and make it appear out of thin air.

But soon enough, even my juggling and hat trick gets boring. Especially since I don’t have any more props besides the pins. A real clown would have balloons, confetti, plates to balance on sticks…

I’ve got nothing else. So I stop juggling as the kids start to stand up and clear my voice.

“Does anyone want to hear a joke?”

They look back at me. One of the older kids groans and shakes his head, but they stick around. Kids are gullible that way.

“Okay.”

I’ve got this. I cough into my gloved hand.

“Um. Knock knock.”

They blink at me. At last, Wilen gives me a hand.

“Who’s there?”

“Goblin.”

“Goblin who?”

“Me. I’m gobblin’ up your food.”

They stare at me, and then at each other. Then the older boy shakes his head.

“I told you that he isn’t funny.”

I can’t tell jokes. I’m not wired that way in my head. I can only…be funny in a group. You know, say something funny when people are having a good time. I can’t make stuff up.

It took me ten minutes to come up with that one. All I get are silent stares.

One of the younger girls still sitting on the ground stares at me. Or more accurately, my flab. It’s covered by my colorful clothes, but the contrast between me and them makes me feel even worse than I already do.

“Are you going to help build another Wall? Or fight monsters?”

What a question out of such a young face. I falter.

“I’m—not a fighter. I’m a [Clown]. I do tricks. See?”

I reach towards her ear and pull out a flower. Lucky there was one nearby. She giggles, takes it, and runs off, and I’m saved. I straighten, and feel sweat running down my back. That was more intense than the juggling.

The Wall. It’s one of the features of this continent, not that I know much about this world in general. But this kingdom—this place—I’ve learned enough to survive.

We’re at the very edge of what people call the Blighted Lands. Here, the Kingdom holds back the Demons. It’s a basic story, because there’s not much more than that.

Go twenty miles north, and the ground will start to change. The grass will turn black; the wildlife will change. Monsters roam the landscape, fighting each other, moving west to snack on humans. The only thing that stops them are patrolling groups of [Soldiers], adventurers constantly hired to eradicate as many monsters as possible, and the few towns and villages of people brave enough to build out this far.

And of course, the Wall. The Fourth Wall if you want to get specific.

It’s a giant stone wall. Yeah. The only thing that’s special about it is that it’s stone, it’s a wall, and it’s about twice as high as the Great Wall of China.

That’s 50 feet, by the way. I know that because one of the people with us – Marian – visited the Great Wall in China, once. She died the first time we went past it.

The four walls are the ultimate defense for the Kingdom. They’re not just walls; there’s magical traps and artillery built into the wall, and they’re always manned by the best soldiers in the army. All monster attacks end at the wall, and the Kingdom behind it is relatively stable.

Sometimes things get through. In times of war, the Fourth, Third, and Second walls have been breached. But the First Wall has never fallen. Even the Demon King’s army never got past it.

Monsters. Demons. There’s a difference, apparently. Monsters are just…monsters. They’re anything from Goblins to Trolls to Manticores and Dragons. They’re mindless, vicious killers. But Demons are different. They’re mutated humans and other species that have their own civilization, their own army. They’re one of three powers in the Blighted Lands, and they’re trying to eradicate the Kingdom once and for all.

Three powers. The Kingdom; the place where sentient species (mainly humans) band together to fight against monsters and Demons. The Demon lands, the other half of the continent where another King rules, and then the place where no one goes.

The origin – or perhaps the center of the curse on this continent. The place where monsters keep spewing from.

Unlike other continents, monsters here don’t just breed to survive. New species keep popping up over here. Something keeps producing different kinds of monsters. People say it’s an ancient monster from the time of Gods, or some terrible spell that went wrong. Whatever it is, it’s too powerful to kill. The Kingdom’s sent countless armies to destroy it over the centuries, and not one has come back.

The Demon King as people call him is just as much of a mystery. Let’s just say that a group of monsters is organized. They raid the Kingdom, and the Kingdom fights back. Each side gives ground and harries the other, sending raiding parties at times, massive armies at others.

I’ve never seen a Demon. Some of the others have; Eddy says he saw one that looked like a Quanari from Dragon Age, it just looked like a person with goat horns. Which is what Eddy says Quanari look like.

That’s the thing. Demons are just mutated versions of whatever species they were. Humans who got exposed to…whatever lives in the Blighted Lands, affected by the magic or whatever. Some Demons have wings and talons and beaks; others look almost normal except for a few differences. The main thing you’d really want to know though is that although they have humanoid forms they have no compunctions against killing humans, even kids.

And the same applies for humans. The war between Humans and Demons has been going on for a thousand years or more, and even if now isn’t a particularly active moment in the conflict, small skirmishes and raids take place every week at least.

But here’s peaceful. Despite it being in front of the Wall, this village hasn’t seen conflict yet. Aside from monster attacks, it’s practically safe here, aside from the poverty and everything. You can live in a village like this quite peacefully for years, given the right circumstances. The nearby outpost keeps away the worst of monsters and enemy attacks, and there’s far more space here than in the cramped confines of the Kingdom behind the Walls.

The Kingdom keeps growing; that’s why humans move out past the Walls. But it’s not safe out here, where you can be attacked by monsters and Demons. That’s why the King wants to build another wall. A Fifth Wall. For that, he summoned us.

With a bunch of powerful [Heroes], the Kingdom would have enough power to build another Wall and seriously constrict the enemy’s land. The Kingdom would, in a single masterstroke, nearly double their available land and cripple the tide of monsters that harassed their exposed settlements.

And it was all going to work until it turned out that his magicians didn’t summon legendary heroes from another time, but a bunch of kids. Us. He still had hopes though; we were all summoned with a class no one had ever heard of – [Hero]. No one in living memory has ever gained that class, and people were treating us like legends.

So the king gave us armor, weapons, and a bunch of soldiers and sent us out to fight on the frontlines. He thought we’d level up quickly, so he arranged an expedition to a lightly-contested area so we’d gain experience.

We went out on one of those forays. Just once.

—-

I trudge through the marshes, trying not to slip and fall in the muck. My legs are burning, but I don’t want to complain. The men and women around me have swords and armor, and they keep telling us to be quiet in case the enemy is near.

I stare around at the dark landscape. It’s just past evening, and we’re trying to make it to the outpost built near here. The only problem is that since we summoned people are moving so slow, we’re still miles away from our destination.

Wet soil squelches underfoot. I push away a dark blue plant worming its way out of the ground and shudder. Flies and other insects buzz around our heads, trying to bite us or lay eggs in our ears or something. It’s miserable, but this spot is apparently important enough to fight a war over.

This is where the next Wall is supposed to be built. But the ground is black and twisted, and magic and fighting has created a swamp where solid ground should be. It’s not like this all the way down the continent; the ground changes after a few miles, the [Soldiers] tell us.

The problem with this “Fifth Wall” is that it has to be long enough to stretch across the entire continent. It’s insanely hard to build one, and it takes decades. The king’s made a good start though—he’s build fortresses and castles along where the Wall needs to be built, and they’re trying to fight off attacks while building the wall.

And we’re being sent to help. I might not have any real idea what’s happening, but I’m not sure I can fight.

“We should have argued more.”

Ahead of me, Richard turns back and shrugs. He blends into the night a lot better than I do, which makes me worried I’m going to be a target if we’re attacked. He grins, and holds up his sword.

“We’ve got weapons, and this rare class, right? And a ton of soldiers protecting us. We’ll be fine!”

Next to me, Katie slaps at a bug on her skin and catches it. She cries out in disgust, and the armed man walking ahead of us turns back, raising his spear. He sees nothing wrong and shakes his head.

“Oh my god! I can’t handle this. Why do we have to do this?”

“We’re [Heroes]. This is a gaming world. It’s our job.”

Eddy says that. He’s trying to lug a massive greatsword behind him, and he’s sweating horribly. But he wanted to be that kind of warrior. I think he regrets it now; it was easy enough to carry on the wagon ride this far, but we’ve barely gone two miles and he looks ready to stop.

Katie shudders, but she doesn’t protest. She still thinks we’re in a virtual reality world, or dreaming. Over half of us have that opinion, but I don’t. This all feels way too real. And being told that we’ll be fighting—

Most of the guys seem really into it. They chose weapons and talked about what class they want. But—I’m not a fighter. I don’t think I could stab anyone. I have a sword I barely know how to use. I’ve kept it sheathed because I’m afraid I’ll hurt myself if I try to pull it out. How are we supposed to fight? Will it be automatic?

“It’s so dark. And wet.”

Katie’s still complaining, even though she knows we should be quiet. She tries to step higher to keep her feet out of the mud.

Marian nods. She shudders as she steps in something that bursts underfoot.

“Dank.”

Ron turns and grins.

“Dank memes.”

Half of us chuckles or groan. Katie giggles uncontrollably. That’s when the first arrow shrieks through the air and takes Ron in the chest. A giant, scaled monster with more teeth than face rises out of the muck. He raises a spear and—

—-

I twitch, and my skin breaks out in a cold sweat. I wipe at my forehead before it can ruin the paint on my face, but it just smears the colors.

God. I still remember the sound the Demons made as they attacked. They were waiting for us, hiding with some monsters in the swampy waters. When they attacked, they caught everyone off guard.

Over a third of us died on that first bad night. The only thing that saved us were the soldiers; the king had given us a huge escort, and they died trying to protect us.

We got to safety, but no one was ready to fight after that. Half of us had some kind of breakdown, and when we returned to the capital, we didn’t look at all like heroes. I think that was when the King realized he’d made a mistake.

He had a few of his knights capture some monsters so we could learn to fight. I can still remember standing in the throne room as we were given a sword and told to cut a Goblin’s head off.

I didn’t have to even try. They gave up before they reached me. Only three people managed to behead a Goblin, and the rest of us were throwing up or crying.

So, after a few days of sitting in the capital doing nothing, the King sent us out to the village. Since then some of us have actually leveled up like he hoped—lightning fast according to the locals—but most of us still aren’t ready to fight.

After I’m done clowning around I walk back home, or rather, the place where we all sleep in the village. It’s the townhouse, and the only building big enough to hold all of us. Even so, as I push open one of the side doors I’m still struck by how cramped it is.

Beds fill the entire room. Small rolls of cloth, actual beds with wood frames, and in one spot a hammock—the villagers gave everything they had to give us enough places to sleep.

Over ten people are still inside, some sleeping, others talking quietly or trying to play card games. It’s like this at pretty much any time of the day. True, some people like Richard and Eddy go out on patrols and hunt monsters, but the rest just sit around. There’s not much to do in the village.

Awkwardly, I slip through the room and find my bed. Some of the guys and girls glance up, but they don’t say anything to me. I’m not exactly really popular, and I’m also dressed like a clown. Sort of weird, right?

I sink into the rough fabric sheets of my bed and look around. The only person nearby is Vincent—on the other side of the room I can see most people hanging out. That’s the girl’s side. We don’t have any walls, but we made a cloth curtain for privacy’s sake.

I sigh and lean back against the wall of the townhouse. Well, I did something. Not much, but I’m already tired. I feel despondent; depressed. Like I can’t do anything. I need my medication, but…

“♪Doo doo doodle do do doo doo doot~♫”

Oh god. Not now. A few beds over Vincent sits up. He’d been dozing, but he looks at me as I cover my face in my hands. It’s happening again.

It’s a cheerful little carnival tune, the kind you’d imagine hearing at any circus you visit. It’s clown music, it’s loud, and it’s coming from me. I don’t want to make the sound, but it’s a Skill.

Everyone in the room pauses as they hear the sound. They glare at me and I shrug helplessly. Most try to ignore it, but after a few minutes the tune gets on people’s nerves. For some people, it’s the last straw.

“Stop it!”

I hear the voice, and then Cynthia’s in front of me. She screams at me, face red as she points at my face with a shaking finger.

“Stop it! Stop making that sound!”

“I’m sorry! I can’t control it!”

I raise my hands, but she doesn’t care. She hurls something—a pillow at my head.

“Stop it! Just stop!”

She doesn’t like clowns. She was afraid of them as a child, I think.  And she’s stressed out. Like the rest of us, but she’s been crying more than most. And she just can’t stand the tone.

“God damn it, Tom! Can’t you turn that off?”

Someone else shouts at me across the room. I think it’s Kevin. He stands up, fists clenched.

“I’m sorry!”

Cynthia screams at me—more wordless than anything coherent. Chole comes over and pulls Cynthia away while giving me the stink-eye. Cynthia goes with her, crying now.

“I want to go home!”

Vincent follows Cynthia with his gaze and looks at me. The stupid little clown music is still playing in the background.

“Tom—”

“I got it. I’ll go. Sorry.”

I raise my hands and retreat. So much for a rest. Whenever the music starts playing, I annoy everyone around me. I can’t switch it off.

I go outside until the music stops. It only takes five minutes. It’s never long. But it always seems to happen at the wrong time—whenever there’s a group around, which I suppose is the trigger. Thank god it never happens when I sleep.

When it’s finally quiet again, I hear voices arguing. In the time I’ve been gone, it looks like an argument’s started. My fault.

“Well call them back. Why can’t you?”

Chole is arguing as she points to Vincent’s phone. He’s one of the only people in the group who had anything useful with them when they were caught by the spell. It was running out of batteries, but we found out that a [Mage] can cast [Repair] to recharge it.

“It doesn’t work like that! It was a spell that did the call, not the phone itself!”

Vincent holds his iPhone protectively as he argues with her. It’s been nearly two weeks since we got the call where we realized we weren’t the only people in this world, and we haven’t heard anything since. All the euphoria we got from realizing we might be saved is long gone, and we’re even more worried since it seems someone’s gunning for us.

Faces turn red, and they begin an old argument again. I listen as I go back to my bed, trying not to attract attention.

“Why can’t we use a spell? What’s wrong?”

“The guy who made the call – BlackDragon – he said it took a lot of magic! I’m not a [Mage], and I don’t think even Emily can cast the right spells.”

“Well then what do we do?”

Vincent shrugs. He gestures helplessly at the dagger on his belt. He’s got a [Thief] class—although it was from learning to set and disable traps and sneaking around, not from stealing things.

“We just need to keep leveling up. It’s how the games work. We grind and then we get stronger. Once we all get to a higher level and buy enchanted gear—”

“Bullshit. You think that’s gonna help? We’re going to die out here. Everyone’s abandoned us.”

Kevin gets right up in Vincent’s face as he says that. I try to hide as Vincent gets mad.

“Well what do you think we should do? At least I go out and fight. All you do is sit around all day and complain!”

That’s true. Vincent’s normally with the hunting party and Kevin’s not. But that just makes Kevin angrier. His face goes really red and he shoves Vincent.

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck you, asshole!”

“Stop it! Stop fighting!”

Chole and one of the other girls gets between the two of them before it can come to fists again. Behind them, Cynthia raises her voice as Vincent and Kevin let themselves be dragged back by the others.

“Someone’s going to save us. Someone’s going to come any day now…”

She rocks back and forth, mumbling to herself. She says it loud enough that the rest of us can hear—but not so loud that we can really tell her to shut up.

When she’s not upset, Cynthia keeps telling us that we’ll be rescued. She claims that the army will find a way to save us, or someone will open a portal to this world or—we’ll wake up or something. She wants to believe. And some of the others do, but I think the rest are starting to think like I do.

Even if people notice we’re gone, how would they get here? We can barely get to other planets, let alone to other dimensions. And even if by some miracle people build a…a Stargate or something, how would they know to look for us here? In a remote village in probably the worst part of the entire world?

Cynthia keeps repeating the words as she rocks back and forth. Stacy puts a hand on her knee, but the rocking doesn’t stop.

At least it’s only muttering and crying and shouting at me. It could be a lot worse.

The last time Cynthia freaked, she broke half of the plates and cups the villagers gave us, and the only glass window in the townhouse and the village itself for that matter.

Is it any wonder why the people here hate us? I’m not surprised at all. All this time, they were hoping desperately for someone to save them. Their King told them heroes were coming, and they believed.

They prayed for heroes.

Instead, they got us.

The argument isn’t over. Vincent and Kevin are giving each other the evil-eye, and Chole still wants the iPhone, which Vincent doesn’t want to hand over. He only gave it to Richard because everyone agreed he should be the one to talk, but aside from that Vincent won’t let anyone touch it.

That came after a few bad incidents where people kept the iPhone and pretended they didn’t have it…as voices raise again I decide I’m not going to get any sleep after all.

I leave the townhouse and wander around. I’ve eaten enough. Well—not enough since I’m hungry, but enough to survive. I can handle the hunger. And I still have one of the fruity buns in my pocket from breakfast.

One good thing about dressing like a [Clown] is that you get baggy pockets. Add that to my Skill to pull objects seemingly out of nowhere, and I can do one good trick. And eat food when no one’s watching.

Good thing Vincent didn’t get into a fight with Kevin. Because if they had, he would have won. It’s the thing about Classes and this world.

The thing is, Kevin’s a big guy. Also African American, which I know is really racist, but he looks scarier than Vincent, who looks…like an overfed white guy, if I’m honest. Sort of like me, although he’s in a bit better shape.

But Kevin has muscles. Vincent has muscles, but not nearly as many. But if it came to a fight, Vincent would win hands down.

He’s a Level 14 [Thief] with several skills that let him set traps, move around stealthily, and so on, but the levels have also made him stronger. We actually tested it; despite him not having any skills, he’s a bit stronger than another guy who’s as fit as he is. But he’s faster too; a lot faster. It seems there’s some passive benefit to leveling, but maybe it’s just the Level 1 [Hero] class he has.

Because that would be the big difference between Kevin and Vincent. A lot of the people in our group—all of the people who sit around in the townhouse all day but me, really—they’ve lost their [Hero] class.

It started happening a few days after we got to the village. One day Cynthia woke up and told us that she heard a voice saying she’d lost her [Hero] class. No one could explain it, and we didn’t dare tell the villagers or the soldiers.

Slowly, it happened to the others. Everyone who wasn’t fighting monsters.

Not me, though. And that’s the thing. I think I get why it’s happening, but I haven’t told anyone what I think but Richard. And even he doesn’t know the whole of my theory.

We’re all Level 1 [Heroes], the people who still have the class. But none of us have leveled, even though Richard’s a Level 26 [Knight] and Emily’s a Level 21 [Hydromancer]. But none of us have leveled the [Hero] class.

Some of us think that’s because there’s only one level for that class. Eddy thinks it’s a special class, and most people agree with that. After all, why wouldn’t Richard level up? He’s the leader and the best fighter out of all of us. If anyone’s a hero, it’s him.

Because that’s what they don’t get, the others. A hero isn’t someone who’s brave or courageous. A hero doesn’t slay monsters or rescue princesses (or princes). If you look up the word ‘hero’ in a dictionary, you get a different answer.

A hero is someone admired or idealized. A hero is a person others look up to.

A [Hero] is only a hero if other people think he’s a hero. Which explains how we got the class when we were summoned.

Trouble is, I’m no hero. And I don’t think anyone else in our group is, either. And the more these villagers and the rest of the kingdom gets a look at us, the less they think we’re heroes as well.

So we start losing the class. The villagers might have some hopes for Richard and the other fighters, but when you look at a bunch of whining, crying teenagers and young adults who argue all the time and do nothing…

We’re useless. I’m the most useless, but we’re just a drain on the village. God. I just want to not be here. But if I’m not in the townhouse, I’d better try to level up again. I just need one more level.

This time the kids ignore me just like the adults as I start my juggling act. They ignore me as they play, except as an obstacle. Tomorrow they probably won’t even stop to watch, and how will I level then?

Don’t think of that. Keep smiling. Keep waddling around. I spin the three pins higher in the air.

“A [Tumbler] can juggle six balls.”

I drop a pin and glare at the boy who addresses me. It’s the same one who commented on my joke.

Wilen. He’s too young to have a job besides help his parents, but he’s a bit too old to play with the other kids. He scratches at his uncombed hair as he stares at my fat belly covered by ill-fitting clown clothes.

“Are you going to leave?”

“No. I don’t think so, I mean. Not unless the king—I mean, your King sends for us.”

“Okay.”

Should I keep juggling? I really don’t want to. I’m sweaty, my arms are tired, and I’m not feeling funny. Wilen stands with me as I look around awkwardly.

“Are you trying to level up?”

“Yep.”

It’s weird to have a conversation like this, but Wilen is native to this world, and he seems perfectly at ease.

“How do [Clowns] level up? Is it from how long you juggle pins? [Tumblers] level up if they get a large crowd.”

“I think it works the same way with [Clowns]. I don’t know.”

“Don’t they have more [Clowns] where you come from, then?”

“They do but…I don’t know. Sorry.”

I shrug awkwardly, just as unsatisfied as Wilen with my explanation. I frown and bend to pick up one of my pins.

“It’s about making people laugh. I think.”

“But no one ever laughs at you. Your jokes are terrible.”

“Yeah.”

Wilen’s one of my regulars, so he’d know. I’ve tried nearly a hundred jokes in the time I’ve been here, but I’m really just not that funny.

“Well, I’m Level 19, so I should be doing something right.”

How much of that is due to the [Hero] class?

“If no one’s laughing at you, that can’t be the way [Clowns] level up.”

Wilen says this as if it’s obvious and I’m an idiot for not realizing it. I nod, and he scratches at his head.

“Is it about attracting attention?”

“No…[Clowns] are meant to be funny.”

“Really? But—”

“I know. But not really funny. It’s…”

How can I explain clowns to someone who’s never seen one? I mean, how do you even explain the funny guys who scare just as many people as you entertain? In the first place, clowns aren’t nearly the funniest bit of the circus act. They’re—we’re the sideshows at best.

“Clowns…are more like the jokers. They’re like the butt of the joke.”

“Joke? You mean, telling jokes?”

Wilen looks at me skeptically, and I shake my head. Then I have it.

“No—it’s about distracting people. Being a clown is about setting up the joke.”

“What joke?”

“I’m not sure.”

But it was right, what I said. Wilen frowns and opens his mouth to ask me another question. Gah.

I fish at my pocket, and then remember I’m a [Clown] and pull the fruit bun out of Wilen’s ear instead. He doesn’t look impressed, but he does look hungry. I hold the slightly-squished bun out to him.

“Here. It’s not very funny, but it’s edible.”

He looks at me suspiciously, but I keep my face straight. Wilen hesitates as he stares at the baked fruit bun in my hands.  Then he takes it, awkwardly.

“Thanks.”

He shouldn’t be thanking me. I should be thanking him. We’re the village’s responsibility; even if we occasionally get supplies from the capital, the villagers are forced to feed us from their stores.

“So. Um, how’s it going?”

Wilen shrugs as he devours the bun.

“Good. I’m trying to learn how to use a sword so I can get a [Warrior] class. My mom wants me to be a [Merchant] instead.”

He makes a face. I guess it’s sort of like wanting to be a policeman and being told to study economics instead. But after seeing monsters up close myself, I can’t argue with his mother’s opinion.

“You know, being a [Warrior] isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. A [Merchant] probably makes more money.”

Wilen looks at me scornfully.

“And how would I protect myself when the Demons attack? They’re gonna come again someday. The Demon King’s going to attack the Wall soon, everyone knows.”

I’ve got nothing to say to that. He’s right. This isn’t a safe place like America. Hell, America’s not even that safe, but at least only a few people get shot every day. But here you could get eaten by a giant…snail or something.

“Well, good luck. I’m going to uh, well, I guess I’ll see you later.”

“Okay.”

Wilen runs off to play with his friends. I waddle off to visit the horses.

The village has a large stable and about sixteen horses inside it. It’s very barnyard in terms of smell and appearance, but at least the horses don’t judge me like people. They just sniff at me and blow air.

I don’t like horses, and I doubt they like carrying me. But no one bothers me there, and I don’t bother anyone else.

It might be odd to have so many horses in a village, but they’re there in case a message needs to be sent to an outpost or a [Soldier] needs one. Besides, keeping the stable earns the villagers some badly needed coin.

I sit in some straw, praying the squishy thing underneath my butt isn’t something that came out of a horse’s rear end and take a nap until I hear a voice and sense someone standing over me.

“Tom.”

I look up at the sound of the voice, and try to smile. It’s Richard. The leader of our wonderful little group.

He’s returned with the others. They came in on horseback, eight people – three girls and five guys. Before, they’d have an escort of soldiers, but Richard is considered to be enough protection to lead the group on his own.

Around me, people dismount, most still awkwardly. There’s not a lot of natural riders in the group. I see one tall, pretty girl dismounting and brushing at her robes.

Emily. You could say she’s the second leader of the group aside from Richard. Most of the guys like her, and she’s got the highest level besides Richard. She sniffs at me, but doesn’t say anything.

Richard dismounts and tends to his horse while the others leave theirs still saddled and walk out. He’s a considerate guy, and he actually knows how to ride a horse. He grew up down south, in Mississippi, on a ranch of all things.

“Tom. How’s it been down here?”

I shrug as I stand up and dust straw off my pants.

“Quiet. I uh, I made Cynthia cry when the music started playing. Kevin and Vince nearly got into a fight.”

Richard sighs as he hangs up the saddle and rubs at his shoulders. He’s wearing chainmail, a shield, and sword, but carries it all as if it weighs nothing.

“Can’t you stop it?”

I hunch my shoulders, and my voice gets defensive.

“I can’t help it.”

He pats my shoulder.

“I know. Sorry. Cynthia’s barking up the wrong tree when she gets mad at you, anyways. She needs to get out some, or she’ll go crazy.”

“We’ll all go crazy soon if we can’t go somewhere else.”

“You still doing your juggling act for the kids?”

“A bit.”

People have no idea what I am. They stare at the white paint on my face and ask me what kind of class a [Clown] is. They don’t laugh, and they just watch me until they have something to do. I can’t make them laugh and take away their worries.

Richard picks at his fingernails as he leans against a stall. The horse he rode in on blinks at me.

“You know, Tom, you could come with us next time we go out. You—could fight. We’re going to go out hunting again tomorrow. You could join us.”

“I…don’t think  I can. I’m not a fighter.”

I get sick at the sight of blood. When I thought I’d have to behead that screaming Goblin…I still have nightmares about Ron and Marian.

“But why a [Clown]? Clowns aren’t…”

He trails off before he can say the rest, but I get it. Clowns aren’t funny. Yeah, that’s true. But there’s a reason I decided to keep pursuing this class. It’s just a hunch. Just a gamble, but maybe…

I’m saved from having to answer by a familiar sound.

“♪Doo doo doodle do do doo doo doot~♫”

We both listen to the obnoxious music in silence. Richard clears his throat.

“Can you at least change the music?”

“If I could man, believe me, I would. Anything but this.”

“Well, I guess it’s good you’re not coming with us when we’re patrolling. Imagine that going off when we’re sneaking up on a monster.”

Both of us laugh. Now why can’t I be funny like that?

“Chole wants to use Vincent’s phone to call the others again.”

“That’s probably not a good idea. Remember what happened?”

“Yeah. But she said…”

“I’ll talk with her. But we’ve got bigger news. I just talked with an officer on the road, and he says we might be getting reinforcements.”

I perk up.

“You mean, more soldiers?”

Richard shakes his head. He looks grim.

“No. I mean more people like us.”

That takes a moment to sink in.

“What?”

“The King thinks we were a mistake. He wants to perform the summoning ritual again and call more heroes to this world.”

“How can they do that again? Isn’t there a huge cost or something?”

“I think they can keep doing it so long as they’ve got enough [Mages]. They were saying that it took a lot of mana—and something else—but they want to give it another shot.”

“I can’t really blame them. Can you?”

Richard laughs, and looks at the hay on the stable floor.

“No. I can’t either. But it’s a mistake.”

It is. More people. I try to imagine that. I don’t want to see more people our age dying. Richard grasps the hilt of his sword reflexively and stares towards the doors.

“I’ll try talking to the soldiers again; try to get an audience with him.”

“He doesn’t listen to us. He never did.”

“But I’ve got to try. It’s the right thing to do.”

The right thing to do. No wonder Richard got the [Knight] class. He’s always looking out for the rest of us, and he’s got that famous Southern courtesy. He ponders as I watch him out of the corner of my eye.

“If I could convince him that some of us can be the heroes he wants, then maybe he’d listen.”

“You think you can?”

“Well, Emily’s over Level 20 and Red’s nearly there as well. That’s a lot faster than anyone in this world levels. If I can hit Level 30, I’d be the equivalent of a Gold-rank adventurer.”

“Maybe you should be adventurers. Vincent was saying that’s what we need. Magical items.”

“Eddy says the same thing. Maybe. If we could get an escort back behind the wall and into the capital, we could try one of the dungeons. It would be a lot safer behind the wall.”

“Yeah.”

Richard falls silent, and I can’t add anything. We stand together for a while, until Richard clears his throat.

“Let’s get some sleep.”

Funny. I mean, not really funny, but it’s odd. When did we all start taking orders so easily? I mean, I haven’t had anyone tell me when to go to sleep since I was a kid. But Richard says it and so we get back to the townhouse.

Cynthia’s done crying, and with the others, the minor squabbles of the morning are forgotten. For a while we eat some bland stew with bits of meat soaking in the gravy, and then we all blow out the lanterns and roll into the hard mattresses.

I sit in the darkness for a while, listening to people talking quietly as more and more drop off to sleep. Someone begins snoring, and I put my head back in the pillow.

My eyes close, and I begin drifting off. But I don’t hear any voice in my head

…No level up again. Darn.

Something’s going to happen at Level 20, I just know. If what I think is going to happen can happen, maybe—

Got to make people laugh. Do clown things. I need a red nose. A tomato? Do they have those in the market?

Can’t think. Got to sleep. I try to make the pillow slightly more comfortable as my breathing eases. Another day down. My thoughts dwindle as I close my eyes.

I really…need…better jokes…

—-

“Tom. Tom!”

Someone shakes me back into wakefulness. I look around, and see Richard’s face. There’s no light in the townhouse, but I can still see his face, lit by the orange light. He looks as close to panic as I’ve ever seen him—just like the first time we went past the wall.

He hauls me to my feet.

“Get up. And stay quiet.”

“W-what’s happening?”

“We’re under attack. It’s a Demon raiding party.”

Around me, I hear others waking up and spreading the news. I hear someone moaning loudly – Cynthia – and then she’s instantly silenced. Only now do I hear the crackling flames, the screams, and in the distance, the ringing of metal on metal.

War has come to the village. And it’s about to come to us.

Once everyone’s on their feet, awake and scared, Richard stands up on a chair in the center of the building. He raises his voice loud enough to be heard.

“A group of Demon archers is killing anything that moves in the square. If we go out on horseback they’ll shoot us down. We have to sneak out.”

“What about the soldiers? Where are they?”

Emily answers for Richard.

“They’re fighting at the outpost. They’ll send help, but we have to leave. Grab anything valuable and wait for my signal.”

She casts a spell, and I see some kind of magical shield forming around her. She pushes a side door open cautiously, and a few of our fighters follow her out. After a second, the door opens and Emily pokes her head back in.

“No one’s around. Follow me. Stay low and move fast!”

Guys and girls start to funnel out the doors. No one else is speaking, but I look around and the words pop out of my mouth before I can stop them.

“What about the villagers?”

Everyone pauses. Emily scowls at me, and points out the window in the direction the fighting sounds are coming from.

“They’re fighting with the soldiers. We can’t risk going to help them. There’s a group of Demons out there, not just monsters!

“But—”

“Tom. There’s nothing we can do.”

Richard looks tired as he unsheathes his sword. He’s going to bring up the rear. He motions me towards the door, but I hesitate.

“There are kids out there. Can’t we—?”

No one else meets my eyes. Richard hesitates, but Emily stares at him and something silent passes between them.

“There’s nothing we can do. We have to leave now.”

“Then I’ll go.”

“What?”

I’m shaking. But I can’t stop myself. I think of Wilen and the girl I gave a flower to this morning. I can’t not go.

“I’ll go. I’ll find you later if—I’ll go.”

Richard stares at me. To my great relief, he doesn’t try to stop me; he just pulls a flask out of his belt.

“Take this.”

He presses the yellow healing potion into my hands. Its high-quality stuff and I know it’s saved his life more than once when fighting. I take it and nod at him. What can I say?

The others look at me, but no one says anything. After a few seconds, Emily pulls someone towards the door and they start moving again.

You’d think one of them would try to stop me, try to tell me not to do anything stupid. But they’re already leaving. This isn’t a time for stupid heroic lines like a movie.

So why am I doing the stupid, heroic thing?

I don’t know. I certainly don’t feel like a hero as I scuttle down the street, trying to stay in the shadows. But maybe it’s just because I can’t stand us running away. Not now. Not—without trying to do something.

I’m just a [Clown]. I thought it would be a good idea, that there was something in there. But right now I don’t think of classes or skills or anything else. I’m just a frightened guy. Trying to do something right.

I hear someone screaming ahead of me and my heart stops in my chest. But it’s not a human sound. Ahead of me, the stable is sitting right next to a burning house. The flames haven’t touched the stable yet, but the horses are inside and they can smell the smoke.

I don’t have time to free them. If I rode a horse—but I can’t.

“I’m sorry.”

I say it quietly and move on. I can’t stop. Every instinct in me is telling me I’m in danger. I just need to find Wilen and the kids. They know to make for the outpost if they’re in danger, but if the soldiers there are under attack, where would they go?

If I can bring them to the others, Richard and Emily could protect them. If—

Something darts out of an alley ahead of me. I freeze, but it’s no Goblin. A small form runs through the street. I shout out, forgetting caution.

“Wilen!”

He turns towards me, face written with desperation. He starts towards me, but then I hear a crash, and something bursts through a wall of a house behind Wilen.

A huge hand punches through the stone, and a club that’s just a beam of wood sends burning wood flying through the air as it roars and charges towards me. I freeze.

A Troll. A massive, gray-green hulk of a monster, squat face grinning as he lumbers down the street after Wilen. The boy runs towards me, and I freeze up again. What should I—?

“Run! I’ll stop it!”

Wilen stares at me, but I shove him behind me. The Troll pauses as I run towards his left side, trying to draw him away. He turns towards me—the bigger target by far, and grins as he raises the broken piece of timber.

I’ve got to buy Wilen some time. I shout and wave my arms as I run left. I can get into an alleyway, lose him that way.

But the Troll lumbers to cut me off, and I realize he’s moving faster than I am. He cuts me off and raises his club. I slow and try to backpedal, but too late.

He swings the broken piece of timber. So fast! Too quick to dodge. I raise my arm—

—And wake up on the ground. I raise my head and puke as my everything spins. I have to turn over to empty my stomach, but I’m on my feet even before I fully think.

Wilen. Got to find him. The Troll must have thought I was dead. Where is…?

Something’s lying in the street twenty feet further down. I stare at it.

No.

It’s still moving. I stumble forwards, feeling my body screaming in agony. But it’s a distant scream; no louder than the one in my head. I run, and then the small shape comes into view.

Wilen. He turns his head towards me as I halt in the street. Despite the flames around me, my skin is cold. And my heart—

“Is that you, Mister [Clown]?”

He’s in one piece. Mostly. But his spine is twisted the wrong way, and his skin—

The young boy gasps up at me, face pale. He’s just a kid. Just a kid. Tears streaks down his face as I lurch towards him and fall to my knees.

“I tried to run like you said, but he was too fast. He caught me.”

“Wilen—”

I reach for him, but stop. What can I do? There’s nothing to do. Wilen gasps, his face pale.

“I think he hurt me. Am I okay?”

“I—”

My head is spinning. Wilen doesn’t need an answer. He bites his lip so hard it bleeds. He’s trying not to scream.

“Mister [Clown]—he’s coming back.”

I look over my shoulder. Maybe the Troll found something else to kill. Maybe he thought we were dead. Maybe he just got bored.

He lumbers back down the street, dragging his club along the ground. He squints at me and Wilen, and then grins again.

He takes a few step forwards and I feel the thumping in my bones. Wilen whimpers on the ground as the Troll’s grin widens. His chest heaves as the massive creature opens his mouth. He’s laughing.

I don’t get the joke.

1.01 C

Perhaps it’s just as well the gods are dead. Because as I hold a dying child in my arms, I can’t believe in anything greater. Not God, not heaven—

Certainly not myself.

I’ve always been a failure. It eats at me in the dark times and my happy moments. Before, I had medicine to stop the thoughts clawing at me, dragging me down. But now I see I was always right. The happy times were an illusion.

I can do nothing. I am nothing. I can’t be a hero, I can’t fight. I can’t even save a single kid.

Wilen gasps as he clings to me. He’s still alive. But not for long. I can see it. His spine and lower torso are—

“It hurts. A bit.”

He’s biting down so hard his teeth have gone through his lips. I hold him to my chest. I don’t know what to say.

“You’re going to be okay.”

He gives me the same look as whenever I make a truly terrible joke. It almost makes me want to laugh.

“I’m going to die. But you should run. He’s coming.”

I can hear the Troll thumping towards me down the street. The gargantuan bastard is taking his time, strolling along. I don’t move. I can’t.

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“You’ve got to. I am dying.”

He says it so matter-of-fact, but his small hand is squeezing my arm. I know he’s right. He does too. I don’t know what to do. He holds something out to me. A sword? No—just a knife. A kitchen knife. He must have tried to defend himself.

It falls from his fingers. He can’t even hold it. Wilen is in pain. He’s—I can see the hurt in his eyes.

So I tell a joke.

“Hey. I’ve got a joke for you.”

I say it out of desperation, out of fear. Because he hurts and I want to take away the pain.

Wilen looks at me. He tries to smile and fails. Sweat and tears roll down his face, indistinguishable.

“Is it a good one?”

“You tell me.”

“Okay.”

I take a deep breath. I don’t have a joke. But it comes to me in a flash.

“Wh-what do you call a fat [Clown] sitting in front of a Troll?”

Wilen gasps. His face goes a little paler, and he grips my arm as strongly as he can. His grasp is weakening. I look down, and see the blood pooling under the skin.

“What? What’s a…fat [Clown] sitting in front of a Troll?”

“The main course.”

It’s not funny. But he giggles, and blood trickles out of his stomach.

“That’s good. But I don’t want—”

He loses focus for a second and stops speaking. I hold him in my arms for a while, waiting for him to finish the sentence. Then I realize he’s dead.

Behind me the earth shakes and I hear a heavy laugh from overhead. I smell a terrible, putrid stench, and the smell of blood and death.

But I don’t care.

My head is swimming, but my eyes are dry. All my tears run from my heart. Like blood, dripping onto the ground. My blood.

Everything is spinning. I can feel death approaching, snuffling and grunting. The Troll.

I close Wilen’s eyes and move. I stand up. I keep moving. And I smile.

I am not happy. I don’t think I’ll ever be happy again. But this is tragedy, and I can either fold up and die, or move on.

Because that’s what a clown does. I think I get it. We make comedy out of tragedy, and pretend everything’s funny when it’s not. We…

Tell jokes so no one can see the tears inside.

The Troll is behind me. I see his massive shadow as he raises his club. Laughing. But he doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand true humor. He doesn’t understand anything.

I close my eyes. Sometimes you just need to let go. And let the funny inside you out.

Ha. It was a pretty funny joke.

Hahahaha.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA—

[Clown Level 24!]

[Skill – Greater Pain Tolerance Obtained.]

[Skill – Devil’s Luck Obtained.]

[Condition – Horrific Laughter Received.]

[Condition – Lesser Insanity Received.]

Oh. Oh.

So that’s what it feels like. It feels great. It feels aMaZIng.

I was right all along. Classes are what we make them. A [Clown] might not exist in this world, but we brought a bit of our world with us.

And [Clowns] aren’t just funny.

We’re hilarious.

Remember when I said I had depression? I lied.

And right now, the world is terribly, awfully, and horribly funny to me.

I put down the small body on the ground and stand up. The Troll stands over me, licking his lips. He laughs thickly, cruelly. That’s not a laugh. I show him what a real laugh sounds like.

“Hehe. Ohoho. Hahahaha. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.”

It hears me laughing. The Troll’s huge face wrinkles up in confusion. He doesn’t like what he hears. He doesn’t like the sound I’m making.

He swings his club. I go flying. Like a bird! I’m just a clown. I can’t dodge. Why would anyone think I could dodge?

I think my bones break as I hit the ground. But I sit up and keep laughing. Pain is just another side of pleasure, right? It’s so funny my broken ribs don’t even bother me.

The Troll stomps over towards me. He punches me as I sit up and down I go. Whee!

Haha. It hurts! It hurts and I bleed.

The Troll reaches to grab me, and then pauses as he notices the knife in his arm. It goes in and out as I stab.

“Stab. Stab. Stab. Stabbity.”

He stares at me. I giggle. Trolls bleed red! A wonderful discovery!

The Troll roars in my face. Ooh, scary. He steps back and raises his club. A bit too far!

“Aha! A weak spot!”

This time he screams as I stick the knife right into his loincloth. He throws me away and I roll around. Poor bones! Poor flesh! Where’s my healing potion?

The Troll stares at me as I lurch to my feet. He clutches at his groin and staggers away. I’m not hurting him much, but he’s too afraid. Of what? My face? The laughing? Can’t he take a joke?

I take two steps and remember. Oh right. Bones are broken! I take the potion Richard gave me. How horrible it is! What’s the point of getting hurt if you’re going to fix it so easily?

I drink the potion down completely. And then a second. It burns like fire. Healing potions aren’t meant to be consumed so much as applied. Too much, and you’ll suffer. But what’s suffering?

The Troll runs off—well, limps, really. I follow him. How am I supposed to find anyone with all this smoke? I keep tripping over dead bodies. Honestly. You’d think the villagers would clean up after themselves after they go bleeding all over the place.

That’s when I see the Demons. Eight of them, standing together. A group of archers, firing at someone in the distance. I hear a scream, and then the Troll shouts something at the archers as he runs towards them.

One turns her face, and I see a harsh, angular face, dark purple fur, and two ram’s horns. Hey, Eddy was right! They do sort of look like that.

“Wow. She is hot!”

But she had compound eyes, and some kind of chitin on her upper body that looks like armor. Mutants. Oh god.

That’s too funny. I’m fighting X-men?

“Hah!”

She looks at me. She’s probably in charge of this merry band. And oh look, they’ve got bows!

The other demons vary in appearance as well. One looks like he’s got fish scales, another one looks human except for the horn sticking out of his forehead, and another one is sliming from the arm.

Something inside of me wants to rage out. Something in me is disappointed. Demons? These are just people with skin problems. They’re no different than humans. They work as a team—they fight and kill, and they probably fear and hate us as much as we hate them.

What a crappy thing to be afraid of.

But that’s not what a [Clown] does! My thoughts twist, and my lips do the same. A [Clown] points out the way the world is broken and laughs at it. I’m an entertainer. A funny guy.

“Smile, smile, smile.”

The Troll runs past the group of archers, ignoring their leader’s orders to stop or take a bath. And now they’re looking around. Oh my. Did I scare the big bad demons?

One of them looks my way and shouts something. The others raise their bows and take aim, but uncertainly. Oops. I’m in the shadows, aren’t I? Well, time for the dramatic reveal.

I step out and give them a big grin and a bow. First impressions are important. And I must be a good showman.

Oddly, they all freeze when my face comes into view. Why? Is it my winning smile? Something on my face?

“Don’t look so frightened. I’m here to put a smile on your faces. Want to hear a funny joke?”

The Demon lieutenant raises her bow. She looses an arrow at my head before I can blink.

Something rips open my cheek. I blink, and touch at the cut flesh.

“Hey! I nearly died!”

She blinks at me. I glare at her, and then grin as I lick the blood.

“What do you call a fat man standing in front of a bunch of archers? A pincushion?”

I laugh and the Demons stare at me uncertainly. Don’t they get the joke? Or can’t they hear me? That’s even funnier.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA—”

Another arrow misses my head as I double over, full of mirth. Whoops! I stand back upright, and spread my arms out. I walk towards them, shouting merrily.

“Come on then! Fire! Fill me full of arrows!”

The archers hesitate. They’ve never seen anyone just walk at them, arms stretched out wide. I grin at the gleaming arrow tips.

One of them fires. This time he hits me in the leg. I stumble, but hey, what’s an arrow between friends? There’s a potion in my pocket. I pull it out of the air and drink it as another one hits my other leg. And I move towards them.

“Do you really think—”

Another arrow appears in my chest and I stumble. But the potion works. I regain my footing and keep walking.

“Do you really think you can shoot a guy with a great smile like mine?”

The arrow tips are seeking my heart. But they’ve missed. And there’s nothing for them to pierce, anyways. My heart’s in my mouth. Get it? Ha.

One of the leather-clad Demons lowers his bow as I draw close to him. He rips a sword out of his sheathe. Ooh, scary.

I wave at him, and smile wider. His eyes are wide as he stares at me. What? Am I that ugly or is it the lack of horns?

“Hey. Wanna see a magic trick?”

He blinks at the unfamiliar words. But that’s okay; I’m going to show him. I flick my hand, and a knife appears in it. I’d prefer a bunny, but they’re harder to kill people with.

The archer isn’t ready for that. He hesitates, and I slash at his throat.

I miss. He’s got a Skill, or maybe he’s just more athletic than an uncoordinated guy with arrows sticking out his chest. He leans back and the knife strikes his armor instead. The impact jars the blade out of my hand.

Oops. He stabs towards me with a sword, and I grab his hand. He shakes me off and tries to slash at me, but suddenly he’s not holding anything. His sword is gone. I waggle my fingers at him.

“Tada.”

Then I pull it back out and run him through with it. He chokes, and I laugh as I push him away.

“Now, anyone know where I can find a pencil?”

I hear a shout, and turn my head. An arrow spins me around. That one nearly got me for good! The Lieutenant drops his bow and charges with a long knife in hand.

“Aren’t you just precious? Here, catch!”

I toss the sword at her, and she dodges left. Right into the knife that’s suddenly in my hand.

But of course she’s a soldier! Big, bad, and oh-so-skillful. She deflects the knife and then rushes at me. She kicks me so hard I feel something burst in my gut. But the potion’s still in me, and you know what? It doesn’t hurt that much.

I fall to my knees as she raises the dagger over my head. She brings it down, and I bring my hand up. I catch the blade with my fingers.

“Hey, this thing’s sharp! Mind if I borrow it?”

The long, curved dagger disappears and the Lieutenant gasps. Probably because I just stabbed her in the stomach with her own weapon.

“What, no applause? Your other friend thought it was good enough to die for.”

I nudge her a few times with an elbow as she staggers back.

“Get it? Die for? No?”

The other archers charge me, screaming, trying to protect their boss.

“Oh come on. One at a time. Form a line!”

I pull an arrow out of my shoulder and slash at one of the soldiers. He dodges. Ooh, he’s got a knife too.

He should have stabbed me in the face or somewhere wonderfully painful then, but I grin at him as he lunges, and he goes all stiff. His eyes go wide, and I make them even wider as I stab the arrow into his right socket.

“Look at me! Look at—oh, wait. You can’t.”

I need better material. But now the other soldiers are pausing. Their leader is desperately trying to pull the blade out and use a potion before she bleeds out. So I give them my biggest smile to show them I don’t want to hold a grudge.

They run.

“Hey! The performance isn’t over yet!”

I run after them, but I’m too slow. And blood loss and all that. I look down and realize I’m still bleeding from several spots.

“Potions. They just don’t work like they used to, do they? Back when I was a lad, we all had negative AC scores and mages could only cast 6th level spells. Bah.”

The world spins, but it’s nothing compared to the twisting in my head, and the laughter in my ears. Who’s laughing?

Oh, right. It’s me.

But I have no audience to share the funny with? I look around. Nope. Just dead bodies.

Ooh, and one freshly dead Demon lieutenant! She’s trying to drag herself away. Looks like her healing potions aren’t as nice as mine.

She screams when I twist my head and torso down to stare sideways at her. What’s wrong? I even smiled.

“Would you like to hear a joke?”

She slashes at me wildly with the dagger covered in her own blood. I tut and take it away from her.

“Not very nice is it? Now, I’m not a good [Clown]—barely past Level 20, so give me a break, will you?”

I start chatting as I drag her through the dirt and blood on the street. She’s shouting something, but I’m trying to tell a joke.

“It’s really, really good of you to put up with my bad jokes. I’m just ripping off some of the greats, you know? Improvising my act. I’ll come up with something original soon, I promise.”

She spits at me. I laugh, and she tenses.

“Okay, okay. Too real? Too personal? I know. A [Clown] should be professional. Sorry about that. On to the real material! You wanna know how I got these scars…? Nah, just yanking your leg.”

I pull it and she gasps a bit and tries to get away. I kick her in her half-healed wound and she convulses. Then I pull the knife out and shove it in her mouth. Not too far, just far enough that it tickles the back of her throat. Her eyes go wide as I bring my grinning face right up to hers.

“Here’s the joke! All you—you people out there. You’re fighting against these humans and you think you’re the scariest things around. But here’s the funny thing: you’re just killing people like you. Ordinary people who become soldiers. We called you monsters and you believed it. But listen. You’ve never seen a real monster.”

I shove the knife a bit further into her mouth and she gurgles. The whites of her eyes are showing as I bring my grinning face close to hers.

I’m smiling. I can’t stop. Her rough skin rasps below my gloved hands as I whisper in her ears.

“Why so serious? Can’t you take a joke?”

That was cheap. But she still doesn’t hear me. The Demon officer shouts something as I drag her down the street. Towards a burning building. I can hear the horses screaming in their stable.

“Shh. Shh. Let’s go say hi to the nice horsies, shall we?”

There’s a heavy bar on the door. I huff and puff and nearly pull a muscle getting it out! By the time the doors open, the lieutenant is trying to run down the street.

“Hold on, hold on! We just got to the good part! And after you came all this way—let’s watch the final part of the show together, shall we?”

I tackle her to the ground and grab her by the ankle. Ooh, cloven hooves. Kinky.

She kicks me a few times in the face, but I don’t leg go. I’m just watching the stables. Any second now…

The horses inside the stable are nearly mad from fear and panic from the flames and blood in the air. When they sense there’s a way out, they kick through their paddocks and rush towards the exit.

The doors fly open. The horses rush out. The Demon girl I’m holding screams and tries to get away, but I hold her in place.

“My little pony, my little pony…something, something, look out for the hooves!”

The maddened horses stampede past us, screaming and braying so loudly I can’t even hear the Lieutenant screaming. She doesn’t even try to move; just curls up into a ball and completely misses the entertainment!

Me? I’m laughing.

The first horse knocks me flat and I hear ringing. And laughing. Another one hits me in the face and my nose breaks. Another steps on my hand. The bones break and I feel the flesh ripping. And I’m still laughing.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha—

It’s morning and the sunlight is bright on my skin before I realize she’s gone. I blink, look down, and notice the blood. It’s all over me. On my hands, my face, my clothes…

I’m standing in a ring of bodies. Not human bodies; Demon corpses. Soldiers. They’re all dead.

Except one. How do I keep missing the last guy? Must be a blind spot. Probably the eye I can’t see out of at the moment.

I turn towards him staggering a bit. Hey, what happened to my body? Looks like someone tap-danced on my skin with a pair of skates.

The Demon soldier flinches as I turn my face towards him. I try to appear composed. Shame on me. I’m at a wake, after all. His. Did he hear me chuckling?

He’s got a strange, half-melted face. Not from any injury—it looks too clean to be a wound. The five bloody holes in his leather armor on the other hand are probably my fault.

“Hey pal. You don’t look so good.”

The soldier bares his teeth at me and tries to raise a mace. But he’s too far gone. He says something as he collapses in a puddle of his own gore. I don’t know the words, but I understand him even so.

“Monster.”

That’s fair. Harsh, but fair. I feel at my face. Cuts—broken skin—nothing like how I remembered leaving it. But the face paint is still mostly intact, which is the important thing. Actually, I think all that blood’s started a new layer. How avant-garde!

I look around for my special friend, the Lieutenant who can’t take a joke. Is she this body? This one? No?

I turn over the corpses, but find no horns—at least, not the ones I’m looking for. She’s not among them. I can’t tell if I’m disappointed or relieved.

I’m aware…my thoughts aren’t quite right. I’m alive. After all of this, I’m alive. I shouldn’t be, but I’m alive.

And I’m still insane.

“Heh. Ha. Hahaha.”

Oops. Looks like I was completely right. But you know that thing about the hidden cost and all that? Probably should have read the fine print.

“Tom, Tom, lost his mind! What a shock; what a bind! Ahahahahaha!”

That’s how they find me. Laughing and covered in blood, out of my mind in the ruins of the village.

It’s a huge group of people holding weapons. Some of them I know; others are new faces.

I wave at Richard. He’s leading a group of eighteen [Soldiers] and several of the combat-capable townsfolk from a few miles down the road. He stops as I approach, and the [Soldiers] raise their weapons. The civilians just freeze and stare at me.

“Tom…?”

Richard’s dark skin is very pale behind the faceguard of his helmet. He looks at me, and I can see the whites of his eyes.

I look at him, and he flinches. The others can’t even look at me. I catch Emily throwing up on the ground, and even Richard’s face is far too pale. I grin at him, and he takes a step back.

“Hey. Want to see a magic trick?”

“Magic…?”

I spread my arms and bow theatrically. I gesture towards the death and destruction around me; the dead bodies and the burned village.

“Tada.”

—-

The village is destroyed. Those who didn’t flee for their lives perished at the hands of the Demons and monsters. But the Demons perished at the hands of terrible comedy, and I think the Troll just decided to go back home.

The people from my world wander the ruins with the few villagers, staring at the death as the soldiers collect bodies and stare at me. Actually, everyone stares at me.

My friends—well, the people I arrived with can’t even look at me. I give them my best smile and they just freeze up. Or run away. But the soldiers and townspeople don’t look at me the same way.

They can’t stand the carnage either. But they look towards me and the dead with a different perspective. They count. They see only enemy soldiers, and me standing surrounded by the dead.

They have something else in their eyes. Fear. Fear of the unknown. But hope, too. The funniest thing. They don’t understand what I’ve done, or what I am. But I killed monsters and they think that makes me a good person.

Hilarious.

Sleep and waking are the same part of the nightmare. I hear the voice, those dispassionate words that aren’t said so much as projected into my mind.

[Hero Level 2!]

[Skill – Weapon Proficiency: Knives Obtained!]

It’s so funny I can’t stop laughing. And crying.

I’m a [Clown] who kills people. I’m a fat man who’s lost his funny. I’m just a guy who kills people and lets kids die—

But I guess I’m still a [Hero], too. If that’s not funny, I don’t know what is.

Want to hear a joke? A guy gets transported to a fantasy world, becomes a [Clown]—

And stabs people in the face. It’s not funny I’ll grant you, but I’m working on it.

I’m—

—Already far gone. Goodbye, Wilen. The part of me that still remembers whispers it. Goodbye.

I’m so sorry.

https://archive.org/download/Laughter_201704/Laughter.mp3

Previous Chapter

2.27 G

The Gold Stone Tribe was mobilized and marching towards a gathering point just outside the High Passes as the sun reached the midway point in the sky. The Chieftain looked up, but declined to increase their pace. They were moving fast enough already, and they had many miles to go.

They were going towards a gathering of the tribes. Every Goblin tribe north of Liscor had been summoned by the most powerful tribe in the region: the Red Fang Tribe. Such was the power of their Chieftain and the tribe that the Gold Stone Tribe’s Chieftain hadn’t hesitated and set out at once upon being summoned.

But he still took care not to move too quickly, and his tribe moved with a large scouting perimeter out and all of his best warriors near the center, armed and ready. There was an enemy hiding in this snowy landscape, and it was another tribe of Goblins.

A big one, too. The Chieftain was no great thinker and Goblins weren’t exactly the most erudite speakers, but they gossiped and news of this sort travelled fast.

The Flooded Waters Tribe had come north. That normally wouldn’t be a big issue; their Chieftain was nothing special and they were few in number. But something had happened. In less than a week, their tribe had overrun the Jawbreaker, Sword Taker, and Bloody Hand Tribes, slaying or defeating their Chieftains and absorbing their Goblins into the tribe.

They attacked by surprise and used strange weapons, and their Chieftain could use magic. That was close enough to the Ghostly Hand Tribe to be disturbing, but apparently their Chieftain was also a [Tactician] who could manipulate the battlefield.

That was disturbing, and the Gold Stone’s Chieftain knew that in any other place, this new, ambitious Chieftain might well become a major power among the tribes in time. But here?

No. Not here. The Red Fang Tribe had heard about this incursion, and they had taken swift action. The clans were being summoned, and when they moved as one, this upstart tribe would be ground to dust in moments.

All the Gold Stone Tribe had to do was get to the meeting place soon enough. It was no difficult task; even a Gold-rank team would think twice before attacking the two hundred-odd Goblins travelling across the snowy terrain. And the Gold Stone tribe wouldn’t stay in any one place long enough to warrant an army coming at their backs.

Even if the Flooded Waters Tribe came for them, the Chieftain thought they might be surprised. How big could this new tribe be? They had to have lost many Goblins fighting three tribes already, and he had three Hobs under his command, and many warriors with equipment seized from Bronze-rank adventurers. They wouldn’t be troubled. They—

A shrill horn call rang through the crisp morning air, and the Chieftain’s head snapped up. He looked around wildly, and then saw the Goblins.

A small group of them appeared out of a forest miles ahead of the Gold Stone Tribe. The Chieftain called an immediate halt as his warriors raised their weapons. He counted.

Forty? No. Fifty Goblins at most, and not a Hob in sight. He relaxed. These might not be all of the Flooded Waters Tribe, but if that was all they could muster—

One of his Goblin scouts screeched, and the Chieftain’s head twisted. He saw another group of equal size emerging from the left. A hundred, then. Not a prob—

Another horn call sounded and the Chieftain’s heart sank. He looked right, already knowing what he’d see.

Fifty more Goblins. A hundred and fifty, and if the same held true for behind, two hundred all told. An equal fight, then. The Gold Stone tribe might be surrounded, but they could still bunch up and break out in any direction if need be. They could—

Movement. From the front again. The Chieftain saw the fifty Goblins spreading out, so that they formed a thin wall, each Goblin spread out in the distance. He almost laughed. What could they do like that? Each Goblin had nearly five feet separating them; anyone could push through them.

That’s when the other Goblins stood up.

They’d been sitting or lying on the ground, and at this distance, had been invisible. But now they stood, the real numbers of the Flooded Waters Tribe. Fifty became a hundred, and then the Goblins ahead of the Gold Stone Tribe parted and he saw the core of their army.

A different force of Goblins ran towards the Gold Stone Tribe, taking their position on a small mound ahead of them. They were all Goblin warriors, and there were two hundred of them.

Despair. But the Chieftain had no time to look for a place to escape. He heard a third horn call, long and whining, and then the Goblins raised something. He squinted. It was hard to see, but they looked like…bows?

Suddenly the air was full of arrows and stones. Goblins around the Chieftain cried out as the deadly hail began falling from all sides. He raised a shield to his face; the old iron rang as several projectiles struck it. The horn call blew one last time, loudest yet, from behind him.

The Chieftain turned, and saw the enemy Chieftain. She was sitting on a small hill behind his Tribe, surrounded by warriors. And Hobs.

His heart stopped when he saw the Hobs. Eight of them stared down at the Chieftain. They stood behind a small Goblin who raised a sword that shone in her hand. She screamed, and one of the Hobs raised a weapon. The Chieftain saw a black thing streaking towards his face. And then—

Nothing.

—-

Rags saw the black crossbow’s bolt catch the Gold Stone Chieftain in the chest and grimaced. She’d ordered her Hob archers to take the shot, and she’d also told them to try not to kill the enemy Chieftain if possible. Well, one out of two was good enough.

She watched as the Chieftain fell, and wondered if he’d survive the bolt. If his Tribe surrendered quickly enough, they might be able to get a potion down to him. She had more than a few healing potions on her belt and in her tribe’s grasp, and Hobs were tough. He might survive.

Either way, she wanted the other three Hobs, so she shouted an order and the rest of her archers carrying bows immediately lowered them while the Goblins holding the bullet-throwing crossbows fired on. They had practically unlimited numbers of the hard clay pellets and stones anyways, and it was the best way to wear down their enemy at no cost to either side.

Rags stood on her hill and watched as the Gold Stone tribe milled about in confusion, Goblins screaming as they realized their Chieftain was down and they were under attack from all sides. She hoped no one would rally them; she wanted this over with quick.

And indeed, the initial deadly volley followed by the rain of pellets quickly broke the spirit of the tribe. In minutes, their warriors were throwing down their weapons and cowering on the ground. Even the Hobs abandoned their weapons and clustered around their Chieftain, protecting him from the painful barrage. They could count. The eight Hobs that Rags had was more than enough of a deterrent by itself.

Rags let the Goblins fire for another minute before she blew on the horn again. It took all of her breath, but the effects were immediate and gratifying. Her warriors ceased firing, and moved in with her as she advanced towards the surrendered tribe.

Things went quickly then; the defeated Goblins knew what to do, and Rags was experienced now. She quickly found the Chieftain and poured a healing potion into the wound in his chest as a Hob helped pull the bolt out.

That done, Rags looked around. The Gold Stone Tribe Goblins were milling about, tending to the wounded or staring at her Hobs with as much apprehension as envy. She raised her voice, and Goblins immediately scrambled to do her bidding.

First, Rags organized her new Goblins, separating them. The children and pregnant females she put with the others, while she took any Goblins with archery skills and weapons and added them to her own ranks. Those with useful skills she put in special groups; the best warriors she added to her personal vanguard and the others she assigned to the largest, unskilled group of Goblins she used for every task.

Then she had the Goblins gather up their weapons, grab their supplies, and add them to her own. The Goblins leapt to obey as their former Chieftain sat up and poked at his chest experimentally. Rags ignored him, and mentally tallied up her latest acquisitions.

Nearly two hundred Goblins and four Hobs? That was an excellent outcome, and not least because this was probably the last tribe Rags could hit safely. The Red Fang tribe was calling all the other tribes together, perhaps to absorb them, but at the very least to come after her. They’d have to retreat soon.

The Gold Stone Chieftain lurched to his feet and lumbered over to Rags. She glanced up at him, and then pointed to some food her Goblins were dragging out. He nodded, and meekly walked over to eat without so much as a word of protest or moment of hesitation.

That was the thing about Goblins. The Tribes might fight, but it was customary for a defeated tribe to follow the victor, regardless of what had passed before. Either that, or they left without incident; slaughtering each other as prisoners wasn’t something Goblins did, regardless of how they treated other species they captured.

Neither was Rags worried about any other Goblin knifing her in the back while she stood in the snow and issued orders. Betrayal and backstabbing was not a Goblin trait, which might surprise Humans and other species. But while Goblins were completely fine with killing an enemy in their sleep, they tended to avoid that amongst themselves, at least within their own tribe. A Chieftain ruled because they were strongest; someone who took that position by cowardice would not lead the tribe well.

Now, declaring you’d be the next Chieftain and putting poison in the old Chief’s food while they slept? That was fine. Even commendable if no one saw you do it. After all, you’d have every Goblin in the tribe watching out for you and they’d tear you to shreds the instant you got close to the camp. A Goblin who could sneak past a hundred watchful eyes and disappear into the night was a Goblin who would make a great Chieftain.

Even the newly defeated Gold Stone Chieftain seemed perfectly happy to munch down on the dead Corusdeer her hunters had killed while she reworked his Goblins into her tribe. He had acknowledged her strength and had given in; his tenuous subservience to the Red Fang tribe hadn’t been worth more than his life.

Rags was relieved of that. This was an easy battle she’d won by virtue of superior tactics and a well-planned trap; but other tribes might have gone down fighting. And best yet, the Gold Stone Chieftain had accepted her. If he’d thought she was completely unworthy to lead, he would have fought her to the very last.

One young Goblin—well, young by Goblin standards, she was only a year older than he—brought Rags a bone with meat on it. It was hot, steaming, and still bloody. Rags tore into it greedily as her Hobs received the same treatment.

Another victory! Now that all the complexities were dealt with, Rags allowed herself to feel her accomplishment fully. And it felt good.

She had defeated a tribe of over two hundred Goblins with no casualties on her side and virtually none on theirs! The very idea of that a month ago would have been too much for Rags. And the fact that she now led over eight hundred Goblins…it boggled her mind. But she’d won, and she’d kept winning after that day in the inn when she’d decided to fight.

And it was so easy! Rags felt like she was walking on clouds, and her head was almost swimming with the joy of it. In one short week she’d absorbed three—now four—tribes into her own, each one larger than the last.

It wasn’t due to luck, either. Rags had planned each victory out and reaped the fruits of her labor. She’d defeated the other Goblins with her mind, not just with a sword and overwhelming numbers.

The other Goblin tribes might have been bigger, but their Chieftains had no concept of strategy. Rags did, and that, combined with her [Firefly] spell and stone bows meant that she could arm nearly every Goblin in her tribe with some kind of ranged weapon, even if it was only a rock.

Surround them, pummel them, cripple their leader. Attack at night or from defensible positions. These were all basic concepts, but Rags had seen how just one of these factors could turn a battle entirely around.

Already she’d leveled up several times as both a [Leader], [Tactician], and [Mage]. Rags had done very little fighting herself, so she was still the same level of [Warrior], but she could feel herself getting stronger. A Chieftain’s strength was their tribe; as their tribe grew, so did the Chieftain. And Rags had put the resources of each defeated tribe to good use.

She’d had more of the stone bows built of course – but the crossbows required specific parts that most tribes didn’t have access to. Fortunately, each tribe she’d conquered had any number of Goblins able to use bows, slings, and in some cases, crude javelins.

Thus, Rags armed her weakest Goblins with the crossbows. They were best in inexperienced hands; it took time to learn how to sling a stone or fire a bow, but a crossbow was point and shoot and even children could roll the clay pellets.

She’d taken the best weapons from each tribe’s collection and outfitted herself and her best warriors with them. She and her Hobs all had armor now; and semi-decent weapons. Steel maces, wicked battleaxes and even a magical dagger—Rags felt strong with all her equipment.

Only her bronze shortsword and shield were the same. There were better weapons of course, but Rags had been given them as a gift by Erin and besides…they were shiny. When she caught the light on her sword, the Goblins were impressed, and that was important.

And she had Hobs. Hobs! That was the greatest miracle of all. They were devastating warriors and each one was worth twenty Goblins. At least.

They were twelve now, former Chieftains and the strongest warriors of a tribe the lot of them. They weren’t all fat, like her former Chieftain and the Gold Stone Chieftain were. Hobs could be huge, round creatures, but some were just tall versions of Goblins. In any case, they were all her best warriors, easily the equivalent of any two Silver-rank team of adventurers.

In terms of Hobs, she had more than even the Red Fang tribe, although that was a poor comparison to make. Rags was well aware that her Hobs were only a drop in the bucket in a larger conflict; they had to be used well or they would be lost, much like a Queen in a game of chess.

She had no intention of clashing with the Red Fang tribe in any case; Rags had decided to head back to Liscor after this. There they could rest and prepare for future battles in peace. Her new tribe would put her on equal terms with the Watch, or at least make them too big to fight.

Besides, now Rags was sure she could hunt the more dangerous types of enemies around Liscor. Rock Crabs were still a problem of course, but her Hobs had fought Shield Spiders, and they told Rags it was easy to destroy a nest with few casualties if you had two Hobs and enough Goblins.

Rags bit into her meal and realized she was at the bone. She began to snap it so she could suck the marrow when she realized all of her Goblins had gone silent. Slowly, she followed their turned heads and saw the wolves.

As a young Goblin, Rags had heard stories but had never seen Carn Wolves in person. The massive wolves—three times as large as a regular wolf at least and capable of bringing down a horse in a single strike—were deadly enemies to Goblins.

But there was one tribe that had tamed the ferocious animals, much as the Broken Spear Tribe had tamed the Shield Spiders. This tribe of Goblins had learned to raise the massive wolves and even learned to ride them. With them, and led by their ferocious Chieftain, they had conquered hundreds of miles of territory north of Liscor.

And here they were, larger than life, watching the Flooded Waters tribe. They’d appeared without warning from her scouts, without a whisper.

The Red Fang Tribe.

Sixty Goblins, sitting on the backs of the rust-red giant Carn Wolves, stared down at Rags’ Tribe. A Hob Goblin sat on a massive wolf at the head of the group of riders, holding a red sword in his hand.

It wasn’t their entire tribe. That was the first thought that came into Rags’ mind after her heart began beating again. This—this was only a scouting group. Led by their Chieftain. But they were barely a drop in the bucket compared to Rags’ forces.

But words cannot lie so easily to the heart, and Rags’ was in her throat and beating out of control. She stared up at the leader of the Red Fang Tribe and saw only strength.

He was a tall Goblin, but not particularly big for a Hob. He would have been around the height of a normal Human man, but that was not what made him so terrifying. It was his presence. The Chieftain of the Red Fang Tribe practically vibrated with his will to fight and his confidence in his own strength. He bore battle scars all over his body, and his gaze was a lighthouse, a red beacon that swept the Goblins below him.

They cringed, all of them, unable to meet his gaze. The Chieftain stared down, looking for someone among the Goblins.

Rags.

He didn’t find her. Of course. Even armored as she was, Rags was no Hob to tower above the rest. The Chieftain rolled his shoulders and raised his sword into the air. Rags tensed, but the next thing the Chieftain did wasn’t order a charge. Instead, he spoke.

Flooded Waters Tribe! Send your Chieftain to fight! I challenge her!

His words boomed down the hill, echoing in the vast wilderness. Rags stared up at him, suddenly afraid. It was a traditional challenge, one she had heard many times when she had been growing up. But it had never been addressed to her.

Within her tribe, Rags ruled by virtue of her superior intelligence. And she had her black crossbow. Any challenge would have been settled in two seconds and she had always defeated enemy Chieftains with her tribe, as was fair.

But a challenge? No. Rags stared up at the Red Fang Chieftain and imagined trying to fight him. She couldn’t. He would cut her apart with a single strike.

But she had to say something. Her Goblins were looking at her, and Rags couldn’t back down. She stepped forwards, discarding the bone in the snow and stared up at the Red Fang Chieftain.

He saw her then, and frowned. Displeased? She was as far from him in nature as possible. Rags was still young; she was no Hob, and she was not going to accept his challenge.

That was clear from the way Rags stood with her arms folded, staring up at him. She had not run, which would be the sign of an unworthy Chieftain, but she refused to take up his offer. The only other course of action would be to fight, and Rags was tensed for the Red Fang Chieftain to do just that.

Was his entire Tribe nearby? If so, the only option Rags had was to retreat. But if it was just this group of riders…could they actually take down the Red Fang tribe here and now?

Surely not. But Rags had the black crossbow by her side, and her Goblins outnumbered his by a huge margin. Maybe…

The Chieftain moved. He kicked the wolf he rode gently in the sides, and it started to descend the slope. Rags’ Goblins stirred, but she held them back. Instead, she caught the eye of one of her Goblin warriors and slowly drew a circle on her palm. He nodded and stealthily moved off among her Goblins, grabbing others.

Her warriors would circle around, trapping the Red Fang’s riders. They could capture this tribe as well, Rags was sure. But she was still vibrating with nerves, and as the Red Fang’s Chieftain drew closer on his wolf—

Pressure.

Rags stared up at the Chieftain as he moved with his Red Fang warriors. He was the only Hob among them, but each mounted Goblin projected that same aura of strength. They were all armored with unrusted chainmail and thick leather. And their weapons—

They might be as strong as Hobs, each one. That was the sense Rags got. How high level were they? And their Carn Wolves were just as deadly. The great animals didn’t even flinch as the riders moved into the center of Rags’ tribe, and Red Fang warriors looked just as unconcerned.

They advanced down the slope, heedless of the countless bows trained on them. The leader of the Red Fang Tribe sat on his Carn Wolf and stared down at Rags as she approached.

The difference in their heights was beyond staggering. Rags felt like she was staring up at a giant. But it was equally difficult simply because up close, the Chieftain radiated danger. Rags didn’t have [Dangersense], but she was sure it would be screaming at her right now if she did.

The Chieftain looked at Rags and spoke, his voice low and rumbling.

Submit to my tribe. Or die.

He spoke in the Goblin’s tongue, which was short and guttural, so much so that many Goblins preferred to just grunt and point if the problem was simple enough. Rags stared up at him, and felt her mind go blank.

Submit? To his tribe? It was better than dying, which was how she’d gained control of the other tribes. And it was the sensible thing to do. The Red Fang Tribe—they were legendary. Rags knew her tribe was not their match. Even if they had only a fraction of their strength here, it was the smart thing to do.

She should do it. Rags hesitated as the Chieftain waited for her response. She could do it. He would probably let her keep her tribe, and they could go back to Liscor. She could pay tribute, and she would be safe.

It was the best choice. But Rags looked at the Chieftain and his sixty riders. They were in the center of her tribe and her ambush party was making their way around the rear. Could they…?

Submit. It was the smart thing to do. The safe thing. But Rags looked up and remembered a Drake staring down at her with hatred in his eyes. She saw the severed heads and knew her answer in a heartbeat.

Slowly, Rags shook her head. The Chieftain’s eyes narrowed.

Then die.

Rags didn’t even see him swing his sword. She only saw the Hob next to her move, and then the Gold Stone Chieftain was in front of her, taking the one-handed slash meant for Rags.

The blow broke the Hob’s shield and cut through his armor. Rags stared as the Gold Stone Chieftain fell, bleeding. The Red Fang Chieftain shook his head, and then raised his sword. And his warriors attacked.

Rags screamed orders as the mounted riders suddenly leapt at her Goblins. Her archers fired and warriors rushed towards the riders, but too slow. The wolves bounded forwards and into the ranks of her Goblins, snarling, and the mounted Goblins stabbed with their spears and slashed downwards, turning the front ranks into bloody ribbons.

The Red Fang Chieftain pointed at Rags and his wolf leapt forwards. Rags stumbled back, and more Hobs and Goblins rushed to protect her. One Goblin raised a crossbow—

And the Red Fang Chieftain sliced off the top of his head. It was a smooth swing that didn’t even slow as it cut the Goblin’s skull open. The Chieftain grinned with battle fury in his eyes as he cut left, right, left, right. Each time he did, a Goblin died.

The Chieftain took an arrow from a bow to the shoulder and didn’t even blink. The arrowhead snapped off as it hit his skin, and Rags realized he had some kind of skill. He swung backwards and delivered a backhanded punch to a Hob that floored the other Goblin. His Carn Wolf seized a small Goblin and crunched the struggling warrior in an instant.

All around Rags, her Goblins were screaming and trying to fight off the wolf riders who had charged into their ranks. Clay bullets and arrows broke or bounced off the Goblin warriors’ armor and the Carn Wolves’ hide. Each Red Fang warrior fought with a ferocity and speed of a Hob, and their wolves were just as horrible to fight; Goblins struggled to even get close enough to strike in the face of those slashing paws, and snapping teeth.

Rags moved backwards, looking around wildly. Where was her ambush group? Still getting into position probably. The attack had been so sudden they’d all been caught off-guard, and now the Red Fang’s Chieftain was cutting his way towards her.

His Carn Wolf howled and rammed its way through the ranks of Goblins, trampling them underfoot. The Chieftain leapt from its back and dodged a bolt as it flew towards his chest. He grinned, turned, cut two Goblins in half, and then charged towards Rags.

She dropped the black crossbow and drew her sword just in time. She raised her sword and braced the flat side with her hand as the Chieftain raised his sword high. He brought it down, and Rags saw whiteness and felt as if the sky had fallen on her head. But though her sword shook and bent, it miraculously held.

The Chieftain grinned, and Rags barely managed to turn her blade to block the next strike. He locked blades with her—on purpose. Rags could feel the unyielding strength behind his blade; if he’d wanted to, he could have cut through her bronze sword and straight through Rags in a single blow.

You are not true Goblin.

Rags felt a shock as her feet struggled for purchase in the snow. The Chieftain stared down at her, looking almost disappointed. He stared into her eyes, red eyes intent on her face.

You are too small to lead. Too weak. I will prove this.

He turned, and his wolf bounded away into the darkness. He roared, and suddenly his riders moved away, cutting themselves free of her Goblins. Rags fumbled for her bow and then raised her hand to cast a spell, but too late.

The Red Fang riders were already racing away as Goblins scrambled for their bows and tried to fire after them. Rags stared around, but saw no fallen wolves or dead Goblins from their tribe. Only her slaughtered Goblins.

Sixty against close to a thousand, and yet they’d fought their way out without a scratch. Rags was in shock. She stared around and the dead and dying and at her hands. Her small hands. They still trembled at the memory of clashing with the Red Fang’s Chieftain.

That was when the Goblin scout raced through her milling tribe, shouting for her. Rags turned, and he nearly fell in his panic. She caught him, and he gabbled his message. Rags felt her head go light with shock.

Over a thousand Goblins, perhaps many thousands—the scout had no accurate number—were marching towards them. The Red Fang Tribe’s main host.

They had to run. Rags looked around and began to shout. The Goblins abandoned the dead and seized the wounded, but as they did, more screams rang out.

Rags grabbed at her sword, but the sounds weren’t coming from here. She looked over the hill and realized what was happening.

The Red Fang Chieftain. He was killing the Goblins she’d sent to encircle him. In the distance, she saw her hiding warriors break and run as his wolf riders fell upon them. The Chieftain was fastest, and he swung his sword at the leader of the ambush team. The Goblin fell, and the Chieftain rode on, swinging his sword. Once, twice. Goblins bled and died.

Rags shouted, and her Goblins streamed out after the riders, but again, too slowly. Even as she watched, the Red Fang riders broke away from the combat, dashing over a hill and out of sight.

This time Rags didn’t hesitate. She ordered her Goblins to grab everything they could and began marching the main body of her tribe away from where the Red Fang Tribe was. But she could sense the Red Fang’s Chieftain was still nearby. He had promised to show her how weak she was? What did he mean by that?

She soon found out. The Red Fang’s Chief struck her tribe eight more times that day, until she finally realized what was going on. And then the next day, and the next. He forced her tribe on the defensive, making them fall back until the days became all the same.

Retreating, fleeing, running.

South.

Back towards Liscor.

—-

They were being hunted. That was all Rags knew. She sat around the small campfire, head bowed, too exhausted for any other thoughts. Her Goblins lay around her, some passed out on top of each other.

It was still light, but that hardly mattered. Her tribe was too exhausted to keep going, so Rags had called a halt. Even so, she’d posted half of her soldiers as a watch, in case the Red Fang’s Chieftain returned, which he would.

He always did.

Rags looked around. Her tribe. It was still mostly intact. Mostly. But over the course of a few days, they’d lost over a hundred Goblins, and half again as many were wounded. And not because the Red Fang Tribe had caught up with them, no. It was all due to the sixty riders and the Red Fang Chieftain.

They kept on attacking. Rags closed her eyes and remembered.

Flashes.

The Red Fang riders charged out of a forest ahead of Rags’ tribe. Her Goblins screamed and scattered, but she reformed them. She’d been expecting this. Rags ordered them into a line and had her archers prepare to fire. As the riders raced at her, she pulled something out of her belt.

A red gemstone. The gem of [Terror]. It had little effect on Goblins, but wolves? Rags raised it and activated the magic.

Terror, pure terror, rolled over the Carn Wolves and made them halt in their tracks. Their confused riders pulled and yanked at them, trying to make the wolves go on, but they refused, trying to retreat.

The Red Fang Chieftain stared at the gem in Rags’ hand and narrowed his eyes. As the first arrows and clay pellets began to bombard his warriors he raised his sword into the air and—

Roared.

The sound was deafening and bestial. It made Rags’ Goblins hesitate, and the fearful wolves froze in place. The Chieftain pointed towards Rags as her heart stopped again in her chest and shouted.

Charge!

The wolves leapt forwards, their fear forgotten. Rags screamed an order, and her Goblins warriors surged forwards to protect her unguarded archers, but too slow, too late. The first ranks were completely crushed as the Red Fang riders screamed into them, slashing, cutting—

Pain and defeat. Again and—

This time Rags had set up on high ground, but the Red Fang’s Chieftain didn’t even hesitate. He came up the gorge, so quickly her archers were barely able to target him. But that was fine. Rags waited. The steep incline was only passable in a few places. And in each—

The camouflaged rolls of boom bark were hidden beneath rocks, but the explosions would just turn the stone into deadly shrapnel. She held her hand at her side, the [Firefly] spell hot in her mind as she waited. The Red Fang Chieftain ran on, staring directly at her. The Hobs at her side hid their arrows dipped in oil, ready to fire. Nearly, nearly—

At the last moment, the Chieftain stared at the ground and suddenly pulled his wolf to a stop. Rags stared in disbelief as he studied the perfectly concealed ground where the boom bark was hidden, and then shook his head. He shouted, and his wolf riders turned with him, racing away. Rags stared at their backs, furious, confused, until she heard screaming from behind and realized he’d split his force in two—

And now, today, she’d tried to make a stand and corner him. But he’d spotted every one of her ambush teams and torn into them and retreated before she could get close.

That was the thing. The Red Fang’s Chieftain might be warlike, but he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t trying to fight head-on. If she could corner him and force him to fight, it might be a fair one. His fifty wolf riders might be strong, but even with the Carn Wolves they were outnumbered eight-to-one by her Goblins.

But they didn’t do that. Instead, they launched devastating attacks on Rags’ Tribe, outrunning her archers and slaughtering dozens of Goblins before turning and running away.

They were too well-armored, too strong individually, and they never fought Rags’ best warriors. Instead, they aimed for the weak spots, the archers, her unguarded flanks. And Rags couldn’t send her Hobs to counter, because of the Chieftain.

If her Hobs strayed anywhere outside the center of her tribe, the Red Fang’s Chieftain would come for them. He was unstoppable. Arrows didn’t slow him or his mount down and he had already killed two Hobs by himself. He was a monster, and at his back his small group of warriors turned into an unstoppable force that bled Rags day and night.

If they could have stopped, they might have found a cave to dig into, or some place to fortify which the riders wouldn’t dare attack. But even that wasn’t an option, because the Red Fang tribe was following in huge numbers, poised to strike down Rags’ tribe if they slowed.

The main body of the Red Fang tribe and all the lesser tribes under their command were advancing slowly, backing up their wolf riders and forcing Rags to keep moving or risk being caught. They were blocking every escape route, forcing Rags and her tribe back towards Liscor.

It was the neatest trap Rags had ever seen, and it was terrifying as well. She couldn’t do anything against these riders; her crossbow was the only weapon capable of hurting his warriors at a distance, and they could outrun her archers and outfight almost all of her Goblins.

Even so, Rags might have had hope. A hundred dead was terrible, but it was only a tenth of her fighting force. They’d killed several of the wolf riders and the wolves in return. But that wasn’t the real consequence of these daily raids, no. It was the effect they were having on her Tribes’ morale, and worse, confidence in her.

Small Goblin! Fight me!

The Red Fang’s Chieftain would roar that challenge with every new day, and his warriors would beat their shields and their wolves would howl. And each time Rags would turn and take her Goblins back, back towards her home.

She couldn’t fight. It was suicide, and her Goblins knew it. But still, they saw their Chieftain retreating and saw too that she was unable to protect them or hurt their enemy, and they lost faith.

Rags tried to project confidence, but that was hard because she had no idea what to do. She had to get back to Liscor. That was her home territory; she knew the landscape and could set a trap. But what?

Luring the Red Fang riders to Liscor would be pointless. The city would close their gates, or send the Watch and the terrible Antinium out to crush both sides. The Red Fang riders would just run while Rags’ tribe was cut to pieces.

They couldn’t hide in the caves either. It was no longer big enough for them, and if they pressed themselves in that small confine, she was sure the Red Fang Chief would walk in and slaughter them one Goblin at a time.

So what else was there? Rags was sure going into the dungeon itself would be death; she doubted even her Hobs could defeat the stone golems past the broken wall. And if not them then there was only one thing she could think of.

Erin. But Rags couldn’t even imagine the innkeeper defeating the Red Fang’s Chieftain, even with her friends to help. And besides—

No. No, this was Rags’ fight. She had half of an idea left, a wild guess. She just had to get back to Liscor to implement it, and soon. Because if she didn’t hurry, she wouldn’t have a Tribe by the time she got back.

The second night after the continued attacks by the Red Hand tribe, Rags had woken up and realized some Goblins were missing. A few families had vanished overnight, as well as some stragglers.

That was normal. Goblins left tribes if they were unhappy, to start their own tribes or wander. But the next night more had left, and then even more. The Goblins were losing their faith in their Chieftain, and so they were abandoning her.

Not all of them; this was mostly just from the Gold Stone tribe, although incredibly, their Chieftain had persuaded most of them to stay. But the exodus was increasing.

More Goblins left last night as well. Rags sat up and counted the empty beds. Twenty six this time. Almost exactly how many she’d predicted. Good? She didn’t feel anything was good right now.

She stumbled over to the campfire, and found the stew cooking on the fire. It was full of rations, dried meat and leftovers. It tasted awful, but it was hot and Rags scarfed the food down. She only realized someone was behind her when she heard the heavy footstep.

She whirled, and reached for her weapons warily. But it was only a Hob. He was one of the ones from the Sword Taker tribe, a tall Hob who used a huge hammer as a weapon.

He was staring at her. Rags hesitated. Did he want food? As Chieftain, she had first rights to food, but there was more than enough in the pot. Was he waiting for her to finish? Some tribes had different customs.

But then the Hob spoke and Rags understood.

Chieftain. Fight.

It was half a request, half an order. And the Hob shouldn’t have said it, but if he did, it meant others were thinking it. He stared down at her, silently. Rags looked expressionlessly at him, and then around.

More than one Goblin pretended to be asleep, but she realized she had a watching audience. Well, it didn’t matter. Rags looked at the Hob and slowly shook her head.

She wouldn’t die. But she wouldn’t surrender either. Not without one last try. She wasn’t going to sacrifice her entire tribe though; she wouldn’t be worthy of a Chieftain if she were willing to do that. Her Goblins had to trust in her.

But the Hob was insistent. He locked eyes with Rags, and she felt the hairs on her body rising. He wasn’t going to back down, and she couldn’t as Chieftain. She eyed him. He wasn’t wearing armor, but he was still bigger and stronger than she was. He was three times her size, at least.

The two Goblins stared at each other silently, and the tension in the air rose another level. The Goblins stopped pretending to be asleep and sat up. They knew what was about to happen.

The Hob spoke.

Challenge—

Rags dove and rolled as a fist missed her head by inches. She grabbed the crossbow she’d been sleeping next to and fired. The Hob gurgled and fell back, clutching at the shaft in his chest. The other Goblins stared as he collapsed onto the ground. He tried to raise one hand, fell back, and died.

It took Rags a long time for her beating heart to cease. She left the Hob’s body where it lay; they might use it as food, or not. They had to keep moving. But her head was full of…regret. It shouldn’t have come to that.

None of her Goblins looked at her, although she’d acted in accordance with their traditions. It was a fair fight, at least by Goblin standards. They knew she had the crossbow, and Goblins don’t believe in fair fights. Or rather, everything is fair since a fight is never fair. But it was still bad, for a Chieftain to have to kill her Hob.

Rags made her tribe move, and before long they were attacked again. They fought off the Red Fang’s attack and Rags continued onwards. One last try. All or nothing.

She spoke little that day, only a bit to her Hobs. They stared at her silently, and nodded when she insisted. But when she turned her back she could feel their eyes on her.

Again and again the Red Fang riders surged into her Tribe, but this time their tight formations made it harder for the warriors to stay and engage. Rags took down another rider and two wolves with careful shots, but her ammunition was running low and none of her other Goblins could penetrate the wolves’ thick coats.

They’d reached the very edges of Liscor when they made camp that night. They were just past the cave leading into the dungeon when Rags decided to make camp. Silently, her Goblins got to work as Rags planned out her last stand. She knew the area well; it was only a day’s journey away. They could make it, perhaps late if they had to fight off more attacks.

She went to sleep, worrying, dreaming. Was she making a mistake? No—she had to become strong.

But. But. Should she have given in?

No. Yes. Rags tossed and turned. One last try. What did she have? A final jar of Erin’s acid. Boom bark that the Red Fang’s Chieftain wouldn’t go near. And knowledge of the terrain.

Rags closed her eyes. She was a Goblin. She was not weak. She would show the Red Fang’s Chieftain her strength.

She slept.

When Rags woke up the next day, all her Hobs were gone.

—-

It was midnight when the Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe finally halted. The Chieftain of the Red Fang Tribe watched them set up in a small valley, but not to sleep. He’d nipped at their flanks all day, slaying Goblins, but their small Chieftain hadn’t reacted as normal. She’d forged ahead, until she reached this place.

He could see why. The valley was a natural trap of the terrain. It would be harder for his riders to get away, and if they were surrounded—but of course there was a second reason as well.

The Chieftain shook his head. He was disappointed, but he would show the small Goblin the true nature of Goblins here and now. He waited, his fifty riders poised and waiting around him as their wolves sniffed and pawed at the snow. They could sense it too, no doubt.

The Goblins in the valley began to spread out, forming a large circular formation, warriors with shields and swords facing outwards while archers and women and children armed with a few slings and the odd crossbows waited in the middle.

It was a pitiful formation, one that failed to rise to the stories he’d heard about the small Chieftain’s cunning. But then, it was all she had to work with.

Her Tribe had lost more than half their numbers last night, and all of her Hobs had gone with the Goblins. And by the looks of it, they’d taken most of her bows, slings, and new crossbows. All this Goblin had left were normal arms. She didn’t even have enough pikes to form a proper defense, not that they would have slowed his riders anyways.

The Red Fang Chieftain shook his head. Time to end this. He raised his hand and his riders tensed. But then the Goblins below began to make noise.

It was the small Chieftain who started it. She stared up at him and began to bang her sword on her buckler. She shouted—a faint voice in the vast emptiness of the rolling plains. But then other Goblins took up the same call.

They began to shout and stomp the ground, rattling their weapons against metal. They screamed at the wolf riders as the Red Fang Chief stared down at Rags. She met his eyes.

Well. Perhaps there was some Goblin in her. It wouldn’t save her, though. The Red Fang’s Chieftain unsheathed his sword and raised it high. It ended tonight. They would break her will with this.

The Chieftain took a breath of the cold night air and roared at his warriors as their mounts howled with him.

We ride!

The Red Fang warriors shouted and followed their Chieftain as he leapt down the slope. The Red Fang Chieftain was shouting as he sped downwards on his giant wolf, eyes locked on the small Chieftain’s. He couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed.

He’d really expected more of her.

—-

Rags watched the Red Fang Chieftain charge and held her breath. This was it. This was all she had left. Her depleted tribe stood at her back, loyal till the end. There were still enough of them to win. If they could just stop the riders for a second. If—

The Red Fang Chieftain roared as he came down the slope, and Rags felt a chill far colder than the cold air. He was coming. Her sword was sweaty in her palm, and her heart was beating too fast.

But the Chieftain was coming at her in a straight line. Rags watched his wolf dash through the snow, raising a cloud behind him. He hadn’t noticed.

She held her breath. One more step—

The Red Fang Chieftain kicked his wolf, and the huge animal turned, and leapt left, avoiding the hidden pit full of Shield Spiders. It was casual, almost contemptuous how easily he skirted the pit, urging his wolf right to avoid a second one, and then running around a third.

Rags stared at the Red Fang Chieftain, shocked, as he dashed between the Shield Spider pits without even disturbing the snow covering each trap. Despair was in her eyes, and as he halted in front of the ranks of her Goblins, he shook his head. He looked almost regretful as he raised his sword and his riders howled, charging towards her front lines.

Die, small one.

Rags let the look of shock linger on her face for two more seconds, and then grinned. The Red Fang’s Chieftain blinked. She raised her hand and clenched it into a fist—

And the ground shifted.

Behind the wolf riders, the snow-covered Shield Spider pits fell away. The Red Fang riders turned, confused, and saw Goblins. The Red Fang’s Chieftain turned, and his eyes widened as he realized the true nature of the trap.

Shield Spider pits. They were easy to detect even without [Dangersense]. Any living Goblin knew how to spot them. But then, Shield Spiders weren’t much of a threat to a proper tribe. All you needed to clear out a nest was a bunch of Goblins with long weapons. Oh, and a few Hobs of course.

They were all there, all of Rags’ Hobs and half of her tribe. They stood in the pits, Goblins all armed with bows and slings and crossbows. They fired into the wolf rider’s backs and sides as more climbed out of the pits and charged the rider from every side.

Rags shouted a command, and her warriors charged as well. Her archers began to fire, and the Red Fang riders found themselves surrounded on all sides.

The Red Fang’s Chieftain narrowed his eyes at the Shield Spider pits. He realized the problem instantly. In those shelters, Rags’ archers could continue firing without any fear.

Unless of course his riders went in after them.

The Chieftain pointed, and shouted. One of the wolf riders jumped his wolf into a pit and then screamed. His Carn Wolf screamed too; they’d both impaled themselves on the thick wooden stakes planted around the Goblin archers.

Rags grinned, and for the first time, she saw the Red Fang’s Chieftain hesitate. But then he turned to look at her, and she saw not a glimmer of fear in his eyes. Her smiled faded. No. He wasn’t going to…

Any other Chieftain would have surrendered, or tried to flee. But the Red Fang Chieftain just narrowed his eyes, and then raised his sword. He pointed, and shouted one word.

Charge!

His warriors didn’t hesitate. Fifty Goblins riding Carn Wolves crashed into the ranks of hundreds, and began to cut their way through. They didn’t stop.

A Red Fang warrior screamed as he lashed out with his sword, riding his Carn Wolf into the Goblins. He struck wildly, ignoring the countless hands that tried to pull him down.

A Hob buried an axe in his Carn Wolf’s head. The Red Fang warrior went down, but was on his feet in an instant, fighting with his sword even as countless weapons pierced his body. With his last moments he ran forwards and ripped a Goblin’s throat out with his teeth.

Goblins fell back as the Chieftain swung his sword, cleaving through multiple bodies with one swing. He didn’t even look around as he struck; the blood flew in his wake as he charged straight at Rags.

She had the black crossbow at her side. There was only time for one shot. Rags sighted down the bolt, and fired once. The Chieftain’s Carn Wolf howled and collapsed with a bolt in its neck.  But the Chieftain just leapt off its back and cut Goblins down as he ran towards her.

Rags was shaking. Her blood was fire. But she didn’t run. She tossed the black crossbow aside and raised her sword. It was time.

Challenge.

In the snowy night, Goblins fought and died. Mounted Goblins on huge wolves fought against a vast number of Goblins, bleeding, dying, but killing scores for each Goblin pulled off their wolf. And in the center of the fighting and dying, two Chieftains found each other.

Rags and the Red Fang’s Chieftain had nearly a hundred feet separating them, and countless bodies in the way. But they ran as if they were both alone in the world, eyes locked on each other.

They charged at each other through the mud, each one screaming. Two kinds of Goblin raised their swords as their tribes cleared out in front of them. They met in fury and fire, one dodging, retreating, using magic and cunning. The other raged, running through fire, attacking, slashing.

Two Goblins, each with a vision of the future. And as they locked blades, both Chieftains stared into each other’s eyes and for a second, their hearts beat as one.

They both felt it. They heard the voice echoing in their souls as they struggled for purchase on the slippery ground, in each beat of their hearts as they struck at each other.

This. This is Goblin. This is our nature.

It was a scream of a thousand lives, a thousand memories of Goblins who had lived and died before them. It rang in their ears, coursed through their veins.

This is Goblin. This is what we were born to do.

Rags saw a bare foot flash towards her chest and blocked just in time. She felt the impact—as she landed ten feet away. Her arm was broken. She uncorked a potion with her teeth and poured it over the bone, holding it in place as the Red Fang Chieftain charged.

Another potion. Rags downed it and pointed. Fire burst from her fingers and struck the other Goblin in the chest. He roared as the flames burned him but ran on.

Thunder. Rags ducked and rolled between his legs as the Red Fang’s Chieftain sliced at her. He missed, but turned and cut down three Goblins as they ran at him. A Hob tried to get in his way; the Chieftain ran him through without looking in his direction.

The voices in Rags’ head urged her on as she raised her sword, and she knew the Chieftain could hear the same words.

Fight. Fight! FIGHT. Fight or die! Kill or die!

They charged, for the last time. But as they did, Rags heard another voice. It was quiet, but it spoke in her mind, a younger voice, from twenty-odd years ago. The voice of a King. It whispered to her.

This is not who we are.

It made her falter. Rags hesitated as the other Chieftain screamed at her. She heard the voice in her head, louder than the rest.

Remember.

And she looked up at the Red Fang Chieftain—

And rolled into one of the pits.

It was close enough that Rags made it nearly to the center as she fell into it. She saw the wooden stakes rushing towards her, horribly sharp—

And felt one brush against her side. But she was small, and the burning pain was no worse than the impact of falling. Rags scrambled to her feet, and saw the Chieftain. He was standing on top of the pit, eyes on fire.

Coward!

He leapt. She knew he would. The Goblins around her scattered, but Rags waited. She felt the impact, and saw the Chieftain roar in agony as a stake struck him. But he was slashing at her before she could blink.

Her shield—

The impact tore through the metal, ramming Rags against the dirt wall of the pit. She fell down, stunned, as the Red Fang Chieftain walked towards her.

You.

He coughed and yanked the wooden spear out of his side. He looked at his blood, and then reached down and seized Rags. She kicked feebly as he lifted her into the air, reaching at her belt, feeling the world go dark.

The Red Fang Chieftain raised his sword and then looked around. His warriors were falling, dying. He was alone in the pit with Rags, but already Goblins were approaching with bows and arrows. He had lost, but Rags was dead.

How? How are you so small but able to do so much?

Rags met his eyes. She felt the cold glass in her palm. She gritted her teeth, and rasped.

I am Goblin. I am small. But I look down upon you all.

Then she raised the jar and smashed it above both of them. The acid rained down, covering both Rags and the Chieftain. They screamed, and Rags fell to the ground, writhing in agony.

Burning. Pain. Death.

Rags couldn’t see. She could barely think. But her hands fumbled at her belt, reaching for her only salvation. The glass was cold, and she broke it on her face, heedless of the shards.

Pain. But suddenly her melting skin was also healing. Rags felt her skin burning away and regenerating at the same time. She screamed, a raw sound, and broke another potion over her head, washing away the acid.

The pain continued, searing into her memory and soul. But eventually, it faded enough for her to be part of the world again. Rags sat up, screamed, and then stood up.

She had to—she had to—

The Red Fang’s Chieftain was lying on the ground, silent, smoking as the acid ate away at his flesh. Rags stared at him. She hesitated, and then uncorked her last potion and poured it over his head.

The wisps of dissolving flesh ceased. Rags saw flesh begin to grow over bone, and prayed she wasn’t too late. But then she saw the Chieftain sit up, and then stand and reach towards his own belt.

A second potion grew back muscles and flesh, and then he was standing over her, healed, and silent. The Chieftain of the Red Fang Tribe looked down at Rags, but it was she who spoke first.

I won.

He stared at her. Then the tall Hob shook his head.

Won once. Will not happen twice.

Rags shrugged.

Once is all. No second time.

For a second, she thought the Chieftain would grab his sword and run her through. His face was blank, expressionless, eyes fixed on her face. But then the taller Goblin grinned, and winced as flesh began to grow around his lips.

Is enough. You are Chieftain. Red Fang Tribe will submit.

He raised his fist and roared into the night sky.

Flooded Waters Tribe is strongest! Stop fighting!

Around the valley, Goblins slowly lowered their weapons, and even the handful of Carn Wolves stopped moving. The Red Fang Chieftain climbed out of the pit, and repeated his words to the shocked Goblins. His surviving warriors hesitated, and then took up the call. Rags’ Goblins echoed the shout, and then the night was full of voices. Rags stood in the center of it, listening to the roaring.

The Chieftain looked at Rags, serious now.

You have won. You were strongest, Chieftain.

Rags thought about this. She looked at the dead, the many dying, and thought about all that had passed. And then she looked at the Red Fang Chieftain and smiled.

Liar.

—-

It was not fair. You let me win.

That was what Rags said after the battle had ended and her Goblins were either recovering or clearing the dead. She stared at the Red Fang Chieftain as he squatted near a fire, not wary so much as curious.

Up close, the Hob Goblin looked like some kind of Goblin war god. His scars shone in the light, and his red-forged sword was beautiful—far too well-made for any Goblin. His giant wolf lay near the fire, glaring at Rags as he stared into the flames.

The Chieftain looked up. He had told Rags his name. Garen. It was…an odd name. Not a Goblin name. But Garen Red Fang was a legend in his own right, and Rags was certain, yes, certain that she shouldn’t have won. Even with a thousand Goblins versus his sixty.

You pretended to lose.

He looked up from the fire and shook his head.

No pretend. Tested. You won. Did not think you would.

Why?

He paused.

Must have good Chieftain. Must have better one than I.

It was an explanation, but not a satisfactory one. Rags had seen Garen fight. He was a devious leader, and a peerless warrior. She said so, but he laughed.

I am not Goblin enough. Not to lead all Goblins.

She understood that even less, but then, Rags was practically asleep on her feet from the healing and the battle. She could ask later, and she sensed he would tell her. He had submitted to her, and, stronger or not, she was now in charge. She was now in charge of the entire Red Fang tribe and all the lesser tribes. It hadn’t sunk in yet. But when they joined the main group…

Small Goblin. Chieftain. What is name?

Rags jerked, and then realized Garen was asking her. No Goblin had ever asked that question before. She hesitated, and then shook her head.

No shaman. No name.

He frowned slightly.

No name is bad luck. Must have one.

Again, Rags hesitated. She knew that. She looked into the fire and then at him.

Others have name for me. “Rags.”

There was no word for ‘rags’ in the language of Goblins. Rags had to sound out the word slowly. Garen frowned, and then laughed as he realized what she was saying.

“Rags? It is good name. Good name for Goblin.”

He spoke! Rags was so stunned she took a step back. Garen had spoken! Not with the Goblin’s language, but like a Human or a Drake or Gnoll! She’d thought that was impossible.

How? How speak?

He shrugged carelessly in reply.

“Many days practice. Many, many days. Learned to once, when adventurer.”

Liar.

“No liar. Was once adventurer. Became strong. Strongest.”

That was impossible. Even the most tolerant Human would kill any Goblin—especially a Hob—on sight. But Garen just grinned when Rags said that.

“Special adventurers. Once. Trusted me.”

And?

Rags was intensely curious, but Garen’s face closed. He studied the fire, and looked at her.

“Trusted. I fought with them until one day. Then I killed them.”

Rags was suddenly bursting with questions. She wanted to ask them all, but Garen looked at her, and she realized he had something to say.

Came here to find Chieftain. Me or you. Must unite tribes.

Why?

Enemy is South. Great enemy. Bad Goblin. Goblin Lord.

Goblin Lord. Rags stared at Garen as his words struck her. No. It couldn’t be. But if he said it—

She stared at the sky. The cloudy sky. It was a peaceful night now, now that the bloodshed had stopped. But if Garen was right, it explained everything. Bad Goblin? A bad Goblin Lord? If that was the case, then—

She looked out at her tribe. If that was the case…if a Goblin Lord was really growing, then it meant only one thing.

It meant all of the violence, all the death before this was only an opening act. A Goblin Lord was rising, and with it, war would engulf this region.

Garen grinned, and in his eyes Rags saw fire and war and death. She couldn’t help it. She laughed, and felt the world begin to move again.

Previous Chapter

2.28

The Stone Spears Tribe was not the largest Gnoll tribe in the southern half of the continent of Izril, nor the wealthiest or most powerful, not by far. They occupied the northernmost lands below the Blood Fields, and mainly roamed the rocky slopes close to the mountain range that separated the continent in two.

It was sparse living so far north, with far fewer animals than down in the rich flatlands or populated swamps. And the dangers of the mountains could not be ignored; Grisrith, the mountain range revered by the Gnolls as a place where legends and myths still roamed high above the sky, often saw deadly monsters descend the slopes to find easier pickings down below.

And yet, the tribe lived and even prospered in their own way here. They had made a good living prospecting for gemstones and other valuable minerals in caves and on the slopes; the constant avalanches and shifting geography meant that it was possible to find the gems close to the surface, and they had many Gnolls in their tribe who specialized in [Miner] classes.

Everyone loved shiny objects. Gnolls did, Humans did, and Drakes really did. Their shared ancestry with Dragons meant that the Stone Spears Tribe could sell their uncut gemstones to Drakes in cities at a steep price, which paid for food and supplies when shortages occurred.

But it did mean that much of the tribe had to spend all their time digging or prospecting for rocks, away from their main camp. It was too dangerous for their young and elderly to venture up the slopes, so most of the adults and warriors would leave on long trips while the young and a few experienced warriors stayed behind with the tribe in safe territory.

That was where the Stone Spear Tribe was now, in the center of a snowy patch of ground far from the distant forest or bottom of the mountain to the north and west. It was exposed land, which meant the cold wind could be harsh, but the sturdy huts the Gnolls had built kept away the weather, and besides, this way they could see any approaching dangers from miles away.

The small camp bustled with activity even this early in the day. Older Gnolls were busy tanning hides, tending the cooking fires, or fletching arrows and skinning dead animals in preparation for later processing. Nothing went to waste in a Gnoll tribe.

Young Gnolls, awkward furry creatures that scampered around on all fours as much as two legs and nipped and got into trouble all over the camp were the only exception to this efficiency. They had pretty much free rein to do what they liked…so long as that didn’t involve getting in the way or into too much trouble. Gnoll adults and elders were quick to cuff an errant child and send the unfortunate troublemaker whining back to play with the others.

There were the Gnolls, working, busy, living out another normal day. They had organized their tents in a rough circle to help mitigate any sudden winds, and closer to the center, the largest tent stood, a place for the entire tribe to eat and gather at, or where important decisions had to be made. The fire in front of it was large, but guarded by stones so that none of the flames could jump into the tents made of hide and wood.

And there, in front of the fire, sat a Human. She stood out in the bustling camp, not least because she had no fur, but also because she looked like she had been through a war.

Ryoka Griffin sat on a rough woolen rug, shivering and looking at nothing in particular. She stared ahead, gaze empty. Eyes tired. She was very, very…

Tired.

Over a week had passed since the day Ryoka had left The Wandering Inn. And it was not the same Ryoka who sat in the center of the Gnoll camp now as the one who’d left.

She was injured. Ryoka’s face, her neck—all of her exposed skin not covered by clothing was red and raw. She’d taken off her heavier layers to expose her arms and legs, and they were cut in places and yellow, black, and purple in other places. She had stings on her right leg and shallow, thin cuts on the left side of her body and face. Her face looked like parts of her skin had been rubbed right off.

And she was exhausted. Ryoka’s eyes were deeply shadowed, and her gaze was sunken, marked by desperation. She barely looked up as the Gnoll Chieftain of the Stone Spears tribe walked over with a bowl in his hands.

“Hrm. Here.”

He bent, and sat cross-legged next to Ryoka as he placed the bowl at her side. Ryoka glanced over disinterestedly, and saw a strange grey-brown paste with flecks of red mixed with what looked like…a fish?

Yes, it was a fish, a trout or whatever this world’s equivalent was. It looked like a normal trout, cooked and still steaming in the cold air. The Gnoll indicated the fish.

“Here. Eat while I apply this.”

Ryoka hesitated as she looked at him. She’d only met this Gnoll thirty minutes ago when he’d helped dig her out of the snow. His name was…Urksh. Ryoka had to struggle to remember. He was the Chieftain here, and he’d offered her food and shelter. She’d been too tired and hurt to refuse, but—

“Thanks. But you shouldn’t be doing this. I’m being followed.”

“Mrr. By the Winter Sprites? Yes, you have said. But they will not bother you here, I think. And hospitality has been offered; it would be wrong to refuse, yes?”

Ryoka shrugged. She eyed the paste as the Gnoll dipped a large, furred finger into it. He reached for her arm and she pulled away.

“What’s that?”

“Healing ointment. It is not a healing potion, but works well either way, yes? And it is better than wasting a potion.”

“And the fish?”

“Food. Eat. The ointment does not make it taste worse.”

Ryoka eyed the Gnoll for a second, but then picked up the fish, ignoring the heat that nearly scalded her fingers. She was starving, and she quickly began to tear into the fish, spitting bones into the fire.

Urksh raised his paw and carefully took Ryoka’s right arm as she ate with her left. She winced, and he adjusted his grip to hold her as lightly as possible.

“Apologies. But it must be done, yes?”

“Go ahead.”

Ryoka tried to ignore the stinging pain and burning that cooled as the Gnoll began to spread the thick paste over her arm. It felt wonderful; she’d been running with the pain for so long, the absence of it was pure release.

Urksh frowned as he studied Ryoka’s arm. He looked at the circular red bumps on her arm and the unnatural swollenness of her flesh that began to recede as the ointment did its work.

“Wasp stings. Odd to see in the winter.”

Ryoka shrugged, winced, and snapped a fish bone with her teeth. She remembered, and tried not to as she spoke around a full mouth.

“A colony wasn’t quite dead when the faeries woke them up. Got me before I could run away.”

“I see. And the skin? It is too red, even for Human flesh.”

“Snowballs. Lots of snowballs.”

“Hrm. And this?”

Gently, Urksh spread the ointment over the cuts on Ryoka’s face. She flinched a bit, but kept still, chewing on the hot fish.

“Ice shards. They made a bunch of icicles explode as I ran past. ”

The Gnoll sat back and frowned. Ryoka sighed as the pain radiating from her arms and legs began to ease. She wondered if he was going to ask her to take off her shirt and pants so he could treat the rest of her body; she was certainly bruised enough, but she had no idea if Gnolls even acknowledged Human nakedness.

But Urksh was more interested in the skies. He looked around, searching perhaps for the Frost Faeries. There was no sign of them in the sky overhead, but Ryoka had learned they were always nearby. He shook his head as he studied Ryoka’s injuries.

“We know the Winter Sprites. They bring snows and sometimes sleet. But though they play tricks, never have we seen them attack like this. Defend, yes, and cause trouble, but never cause such misery.”

“Well, I’m special.”

“Hm. Evidently so, yes? What did you do to anger them? Even those who shoot at the faeries with iron do not incur such wrath.”

Ryoka grinned, or rather, bared her teeth.

“I hit one.”

“Hr.”

The Human looked at the Gnoll, and the Gnoll looked at her with both furry eyebrows raised.

“It is a story, this.”

“Yes.”

Ryoka sighed. She’d explained some of what had happened when the Gnolls had rescued her from the snowdrift, but now it was time for the rest.

“To put it in a sentence…I was defending a friend from the Winter Sprites and I hit one to make them stop.”

“Interesting. Your friend, this was a half-Elf, yes?”

“Yes. They don’t do well with Frost Faeries.”

“No. This is known. But their dislike of you—it is concerning, yes?”

Ryoka closed her eyes.

“Yeah. It was a mistake.”

A mistake. That was an understatement. Ryoka shuddered and she tried not to remember again. Urksh looked at her sympathetically.

“How long will they pursue you, do you know?”

“A month? A year? A thousand days and one? Until they get bored, I guess. Or until I die.”

Silence. The Gnoll stared at Ryoka as she sat by the crackling fire. Warmth. She’d nearly forgotten the feeling after so many days of running through the cold.

“That does not seem fair.”

“It’s not about being fair. They want vengeance and so they’ll have it. Rules and mercy…they could care less about what other people think. They do what they want, and they want me to suffer.”

Ryoka half-smiled.

“I envy that kind of mentality.”

Again, the Chieftain of the Stone Spears paused. Ryoka knew he was important—at least, as much as any Chieftain was. How important he might be compared to say, Zevara, the Captain of Liscor she couldn’t tell, but she didn’t have any diplomacy left in her at the moment. Just exhaustion.

“We of the Stone Spear tribe have offered you our protection, and you shall have it. Many of our warriors are gone to mine in the mountains, but our tribe is strong, and we have fire and iron.”

“It won’t be enough. Seriously just—if the faeries come back, don’t bother them. You can’t even see them right?”

“It is…faint. And they smell of nothing. But we have promised—”

Ryoka laughed.

“I respect that, but you can do nothing.”

She stared at the fire, remembering now. The Frost Faeries. They had chased her the day she’d left Liscor without mercy or pause.

“I’ve been running for over a week now, nonstop. All the way from Liscor.”

“Far.”

“Yeah, but guess what? On my way down here, not once have I been bothered by a single monster. Not one.”

“That is…odd.”

“Not so odd. It’s the Frost Faeries. They’ve scared away every creature around me for miles.”

Urksh frowned at Ryoka, as if he wanted to doubt her.

“I did not know they had such power. They are spirits of winter and can bring cold, but many things here are dangerous.”

Again Ryoka laughed, bitterly.

“Have you ever seen a Wyvern get taken out by a herd of faeries? They froze the damn thing two miles up in the air.”

Ryoka had just heard the terrifying shriek overhead when the half-dead creature had crashed into the ground a few feet away from her. The Wyvern had been a humongous beast, nearly three times as tall as she was – a lesser Dragon without claws and dark, purple scales.

She had no idea how it had even been able to lift off the ground; the impact the Wyvern had made as it hit the earth had thrown her off her feet. Worse, the faeries hadn’t actually killed the beast, and as it slowly regained consciousness and mobility as the frost dissipated, it had looked around and realized there was a nice snack nearby it could eat to warm itself up.

“I’ve been running from them and only them. I can’t get away from them, though, and they don’t want to kill me. They just want to see me suffer.”

Yes, suffer. The Frost Faeries delighted in Ryoka’s anger and annoyance. Ever since she’d hit one. Ever since then, her life had been torment.

—-

Ryoka had known she’d made a mistake after hitting that faerie in Erin’s inn, but what should she had done? She had been defending Ceria, and she wouldn’t regret that. Besides, she was on an important delivery for Teriarch anyways.

So she’d run. Run out of the inn and through the snow, as fast as she could. At first, the faeries had just followed her, pelting her with snow, shouting in her ears, freezing her skin. Annoying and painful as it had been, Ryoka had felt relieved that was all that was happening.

Then it got worse.

She’d passed through the frozen landscape quickly, running past the Blood Plains after four days of being struck by snow at random times. The first night, the Frost Faeries had dumped cold water on Ryoka as she slept. It had lowered her body temperature so quickly that she’d had to practically lie on top of the campfire to get warm.

The second night, they somehow managed to lift the burning coals of her campfire into the air and toss them onto Ryoka as she slept. She’d healed up her burns with spare use of her healing potions, but in the following days she’d stopped using them – if she had healed every cut and bruise she’d received, she would have used up her small supply by the end of the second day.

Each day, Ryoka had gotten up, eaten, and run, all the while being harassed by as few as one, or as many as forty faeries at once. They threw snowballs – that seemed to be their default mode of torment when they were out of ideas – but they also got creative. Some used twigs to poke Ryoka endlessly, while others blew wind in her face, or found horribly smelly things to drop on her.

As Ryoka ran, she encountered every miserable winter weather pattern imaginable. Blinding flurries that led her off course and into patches of briars, pelting rain that took away her precious body heat, hail—and sometimes, blessedly, the faeries would get bored and stop bothering her for a few hours. But they’d always come back with some new prank.

Ryoka had tried to ignore them, tried to run on. The stone Teriarch had given her was pointing her further south and far to the west of the Blood Fields, and so she’d followed it despite the faeries’ interference, running through a winter wonderland.

It was a beautiful world Ryoka saw, even tarnished as it was by the flying ice bugs. Here was a landscape never industrialized or paved by machines. And everything was so vast! The forests she ran through were full of towering evergreens far taller than any Christmas tree she’d ever laid eyes on, and she had run through open snow-covered fields that a farmer could have driven a tractor over for an entire day and never reached the end.

On her sixth day, Ryoka ran across a vast, frozen lake so large that she actually had to make camp on it. She didn’t even realize it was a lake until her campfire actually melted the ground underneath it. The Frost Faeries hadn’t done anything to her that day, but they’d blown away all the snow when she woke up so that the sun’s rays made the ice slippery and treacherous.

Nearly ten miles of running on frozen ice had left her sides a mass of bruises. But it was just one misery on top of many.

From the lowlands Ryoka had begun to climb, following the stone, up rolling slopes, higher and higher. The near daily ascents were no worse than some of the runs Ryoka had gone on, but it meant that the faeries could play even more dangerous games. They’d form massive snowballs and roll them down at Ryoka—the powdered snow would hit her hard enough to send her tumbling backwards. Worse, sometimes the faeries would freeze a particularly difficult gradient so everything turned to smooth ice. Ryoka would find herself sliding all the way down, screaming curses that made the faeries laugh and clutch their sides in the air.

That was not the worst though, no. One night Ryoka had woken up just as the faeries dropped a black, squirming mass on top of her. They’d collected every single insect they could find, and the mass of unhappy bugs had covered Ryoka, biting or just trying to crawl into her mouth.

Misery.

But Ryoka refused to give up. She kept moving, kept running, trying to avoid depleting her stock of healing potions. She kept going, gritting her teeth as the faeries undid her boot strings, or tied the laces into knots. She ignored their insults, their continual assaults on her dignity. Until she was nearly at the breaking point.

It had come one day when Ryoka had found the faeries had stolen all of her clothing during the night and hung them on a particularly tall tree. She’d—snapped.

Screaming, throwing rocks, blistering the air with as many foul words as she could think of. The faeries had laughed and flown around her as Ryoka tried to smash their little heads.

Afterwards, Ryoka had just given up. She sat on the ground, desolate, convinced that the instant she tried to climb up for her things the faeries would just blow her off the tree, or snap one of the branches she was on. She’d given up and just sat in the snow, ignoring their remarks and their attempts to get her attention. And then something miraculous had happened.

The Frost Faeries went away.

Perhaps they were bored, perhaps – unlikely but perhaps – they had had a shred of mercy for her, or most probably they’d seen something interesting. All Ryoka knew was that they had left, and when she was sure they weren’t just hiding to betray her hopes, she’d gotten her things and began running, blissfully unhindered.

The faeries had come back when she was feeling better, three days later. And when they did, they’d been unrelenting as before. Ryoka had run on though, running and running until the day when they decided to drop as much snow as possible on her, burying her in a huge mound. She’d thought that was the end of it, until she’d heard the scraping and seen a furry face peering down at her curiously from above. The Gnoll had growled something, and then had come more sounds, light and warmth and—

Poke.

Ryoka snapped out of her memories and looked around. Had she dozed off? She was sitting in front of the fire in the Stone Spears camp, only it was later, the bowl of ointment was empty, the fish was blackened bones in the fire and a small Gnoll was sitting next to her, staring curiously at Ryoka’s face.

“What?”

The young woman blinked as she laid eyes on the young Gnoll. It was young, and it was a Gnoll, unless there were Gnoll dwarfs as well. But Ryoka suspected this was a child anyways, because the young Gnoll had that mix of curiosity and boundless energy that appeared in some children. And she was looking at Ryoka.

“Hrr?”

The Gnoll reached out and gingerly poked Ryoka in the side with one finger. That wasn’t bad, but Gnolls had claws, even the young ones. Ryoka twitched, and the Gnoll jumped back a bit.

“Stop that.”

Either the Gnoll child didn’t understand her, or didn’t care. Ryoka saw the Gnoll move out of sight, but refused to turn her head. She stared back into the fire, and then felt something prickling her back.

Poke, poke.

Ryoka’s left eye twitched. The young Gnoll looked delighted, and she reached out to poke Ryoka again.

“Stop.”

The young Gnoll’s questing paw was suddenly seized as Ryoka spun round and grabbed her hand. The Gnoll looked at Ryoka wide-eyed.

Ryoka stared down into two frightened eyes and felt like a monster. She released the child. All the hair on the young Gnoll went up and it—she fled, yipping like a dog.

“Hrm. Apologies. Mrsha is young and she does not know boundaries yet.”

The girl looked up and saw Urksh approaching, another bowl in his hands. This one was full of some kind of flatbread and lentils. Ryoka’s stomach growled and she stood up, legs pins and needles to speak to the Gnoll.

“I’m…sorry about that. I didn’t meant to scare her.”

The older Gnoll shrugged.

“Better to be scared than to be unwary, yes? She will return sooner than you will like. But her curiosity did some good this day, I think.”

“How so?”

Urksh pointed, and Ryoka looked across the bustling camp. Mrsha, the young Gnoll was hiding around one of the Gnoll tents. She disappeared when Ryoka met her eyes.

“She was the one who found you, yes? The young ones, they have the best noses. She smelled you while others were gathering food.”

Ryoka frowned as she saw a bushy tail poking out from behind the tent. Apparently that nose was good enough to smell Ryoka underneath five feet of snow.

“Well I’m…grateful. Ah, did the faeries…?”

“We have not seen them since they first left you. Do not worry. Here; eat. You must regain strength.”

The Chieftain handed Ryoka the bowl, and sat next to her. Ryoka ate awkwardly and tried to chat. She had many questions and the Gnoll Chieftain was a good host, but after only a few minutes Ryoka felt a prickling on the back of her neck.

That wasn’t unusual; most of the Gnolls stared at her back. But only one of them was actually brave enough to poke at her neck with an experimental claw.

Ryoka turned.

“What?”

Mrsha froze as she reached up towards one of Ryoka’s ears. Urksh growled and said something in the Gnoll’s language—Mrsha fled again. Ryoka turned back to the Chieftain and accepted his apologies, but five minutes later the young Gnoll was back, this time hiding behind a drying hide and watching Ryoka.

She was insatiably curious. Not just about Ryoka’s skin, but her hair and clothing as well. Gnolls were light dressers even in the winter, and so Ryoka’s layers of padded clothing were fascinating to the young Mrsha.

“Apologies, Ryoka Griffin. Her parents, they are both warriors and guarding the [Miners], yes? We must watch her and she is very interested in you, I think.”

Urksh sat back down at the fire after chasing Mrsha off. Ryoka nodded. She’d gotten a good glimpse of how the Stone Spears tribe lived, but she was curious about Gnolls in general.

“Do all Gnolls live in tribes?”

The Chieftain looked surprised at the question. He hesitated.

“Some do not. They live in cities, yes? They have given up their tribe and are outsiders, but we do speak with them. Why?”

Why? Ryoka nearly smiled. She was full of good food, warm, and not being hounded. And she was sitting next to a species like Humans but unlike them in so many ways. Why? Why everything. She wanted to know all there was about Gnolls and how they lived.

But Ryoka was so tired that after finishing the food her head was already nodding. Urksh smiled.

“There is time for talk tomorrow, yes? For now, accept our hospitality, Ryoka Griffin.”

He led her back through the camp, towards a tent the Gnolls had set up for her. It was a tall, circular construction and reminded Ryoka much of a Mongolian yurt. She stumbled inside, and fell asleep at once.

—-

The next day, Ryoka woke up to a rough sensation—almost like someone was rubbing a washcloth over her face. She opened her eyes and sat up—only to find two brown eyes staring into hers.

“What the hell?”

The Gnoll cub jumped and fled as Ryoka sat up. Her small room was completely trashed, and as Mrsha pulled back the flap, Ryoka realized the Gnoll child had taken some of Ryoka’s things. More accurately, she was wearing some of Ryoka’s things.

“Give me back my bra.”

Mrsha peered back at Ryoka with the bra hanging loose around the Gnoll’s own chest. She’d somehow gotten it off Ryoka during the night, along with all of the clothes Ryoka had fallen asleep in. She’d gotten off all of Ryoka’s clothes and it was only a small mercy that she hadn’t gotten to Ryoka’s underwear.

“Mrsha. Give. That. Back.”

The Gnoll hesitated. She looked at Ryoka, at the tent flap, and Ryoka, and yelped as the girl charged at her.

The Gnolls of the Stone Spear tribe saw Mrsha dashing out of the Human’s tent early in the morning, and then saw the Human in question a second later. Ryoka dove out of the tent flap and seized Mrsha as the young Gnoll tried to escape.

It was hard to wrest the bra back from the young Gnoll without breaking the fabric or hurting the young Gnoll, who was clearly expecting to be thrashed by the way she was struggling to get away. But after a minute Ryoka had her bra, and stood up…only to realize that she really should have put on another bra and some clothes before going after her missing one.

Half of the young Gnolls in the camp stared avidly at Ryoka, as well as some of the older Gnolls, although some were polite enough to look away. But all of the adults chuckled, aside from Urksh, who scowled and chased after Mrsha as she fled.

Ryoka stomped back into her tent and emerged fifteen minutes later, fully clothed, much to the disappointment of some of the Gnolls. Urksh was waiting for her, with a sulking Mrsha helping to debone fish under the eye of a watchful old Gnoll.

“Apologies again. I hope your sleep was not interrupted until now? Our sentries saw no signs of anything during the night, and we have lit more fires. They should keep away the sprites, yes?”

Perhaps. Ryoka could only shrug. She didn’t know anything that would keep away the Frost Faeries, aside from not being invited in somewhere. Erin had said Pisces had tried to scare them off with fire and they’d nearly buried the inn.

“You should eat. Here.”

Again, the Gnoll handed Ryoka a bowl, this time of fishy soup and a side dish of dried beef. She ate it gratefully, although Ryoka was tickled by the inclusion of a meat side to go with fish. Did Gnolls consider fish to be the equivalent of a vegetable or something?

Ryoka had just finished scraping the bottom of her bowl with a wooden spoon when she heard sniffing. She saw Mrsha at her side, sniffing at Ryoka’s hair curiously. The Gnoll backed up on all fours in alarm when Ryoka turned, but the girl just sighed.

“It’s alright.”

She wasn’t even that mad at the young Gnoll. Ryoka sighed as she tried to grind away at the tough, dried meat. She didn’t hate kids; it was just that she couldn’t deal with them. So she ignored the Gnoll as best she could as the youngster prowled around Ryoka, sniffing, touching, poking, and even licking once.

“Stop that.”

Ryoka pushed at the young Gnoll, and felt the heavy body shift only a little. Even Gnoll kids were heavy. She frowned at Mrsha, but then realized the child wasn’t looking at her for once, but upwards.

And so was every Gnoll in the camp. They’d all gone still, the entire Stone Spears tribe, over fifty Gnolls all staring at the sky. Silent. Watching.

Ryoka froze, and then felt the happiness of the day leave in an instant. She turned, and saw them.

Faeries.

They were circling in the blue morning sky like vultures, and even as Ryoka watched, the clear skies suddenly grew darker as clouds formed above her head. She stared upwards, eyes empty, and dropped the piece of meat she’d been chewing.

“So much for a break.”

When she’d started to run, Ryoka had been full of defiance, ready to ignore and endure whatever the faeries could do. But they were beings of forever, and she was just a mortal. In just a week they’d nearly shattered her spirit.

She had a mission, a job, a delivery to run. But it was so hard. Ryoka was just tired. So tired, she wanted to give up and go home. Only there wasn’t really any home, was there? Just an inn, and Ryoka couldn’t go back. Not empty-handed, and not with…

She looked up into the sky. The Gnoll’s fire hadn’t warded off the faeries long, if they’d even been bothered by the flames. One day of respite. That was…enough, she supposed. The faeries were descending, and now Ryoka could see the expressions on their tiny faces. For once she wished she didn’t have 20/20 vision.

They were smiling. For some reason, Ryoka couldn’t even get mad at that. This was what faeries were; fickle, tempestuous, but not evil. Just…themselves.

She stood up. The Gnolls were still watching the Frost Faeries warily, but she could see several, including Urksh, holding weapons. She couldn’t let them fight. The faeries might not kill – or maybe they did – but they’d destroy this camp in seconds.

So Ryoka stood up. She looked at the faeries.

“Come on then. What are you waiting for?”

All of her belongings were in the hut. Ryoka could probably grab them in a few seconds – hopefully the faeries wouldn’t scatter them to the far winds. Then she’d be out of the camp and running. That way only she’d go through whatever the faeries were planning. It would be wrong to get the Gnolls buried by an avalanche, especially if they tried to interfere.

Ryoka felt a churning in her stomach at the thought of more days and nights being hounded. But that was life. That was her life and it was how things were. Maybe this was hell. But it was probably just punishment. For everything.

One of the fairies spiraled downwards and looked at Ryoka.

“Having fun with the dog people, mortal? We do not fear their fire and their camp is open for all. But you know, if you grovel, we might relent and not bury everything in snow.”

Ryoka stared up at the faerie, vaguely surprised. That wasn’t how they normally greeted her. An insult and a face full of snow was more customary.

“Piss off.”

She waited, but the Frost Faerie didn’t attack. Instead, the little fey only frowned a bit.

“Are ye sure? If ye bow yer head a little bit we’ll relent.”

Now that was suspicious. Ryoka narrowed her eyes upwards. Her brain, inactive for so long from running and just surviving, began to spin back into gear.

“I’m not doing anything. And if you were going to attack me, you wouldn’t care what I did. What’s stopping you?”

The faerie hesitated.

“Naught but a little thing. But we decided that mercy would be best, even for a useless mortal like you.”

Ryoka just raised an eyebrow. The fairy pouted, blowing up her cheeks.

“Well, we owe a small favor. A tiny favor, really. We promised to forgive your attack, and so we shall. But a bit of groveling would help, mortal.”

The mortal fool ignored that while her mind raced. What had the faerie just said? A favor? A faerie’s favor? That was incredible, odd, and suspicious all at once. But the fey didn’t lie, or if they did, not often, and Ryoka assumed they were telling the truth. Then who would be able to get them to stop bothering her and how…?

Her eyes narrowed. Ryoka looked up at the faeries.

“…Erin.”

—-

She did it. I don’t know how, but she did it. Erin managed to earn the favor of the fey, and I…

Damn me, but I’m jealous.

And weary. Bone-weary. I just wish I could rest.

The faeries left me alone after that. Oh, they tried to get me to bow down and beg for forgiveness and dance for their amusement, but it seems like my punching one of them really is forgiven. Whether that means I’m immune to their normal pranks is different; I already saw them lift an arrow out of a Gnoll’s quiver and use it to spear one of the caught fish and carry it off.

Should I leave the tribe? Urksh tells me everything’s alright and maybe it is. But I’m still tired.

So tired.

Some days…are like that. In fact, most days back home felt very much like today. It’s the emptiness that I remember. It was that empty void in my chest; that lack.

The lack of anything to live for.

How can I describe it? It’s like being tired, but only in my heart. My body can feel as fresh and rested as I please, but there’s nothing in my mind, no burning passion in my soul. There’s nothing I want to do and nothing I want to strive for.

That’s what I remember most about growing up.

There’s a void in my heart, an empty little hole that sucks feelings into it. It waits, a small little creature growing bigger by the day until it will devour me entirely. The great beast of not caring.

Or perhaps it’s the whisper of my despair. Greater yet.

I am worthless. It’s true. Undeniably true.

I am in a magic world, but I still can’t do anything. I can’t learn any new spells, I reject the system of classes, I can’t kill or help my friends…

All these thoughts are because I’m tired right now. Tomorrow, maybe, I’ll feel better but right now I’m depressed and I know it. It makes nothing better. Because I can feel the same bad cycle in my head.

It’s the same as my childhood. It’s the rhythm I run to; the beat of my life.

Stay lonely. Fight with friends. Ignore my parents. Rebel. Cause trouble. Stay alone. Live in my head. Wish other people were dead.

Something like that.

And now, as I sit here next to a warm fire in a place of sanctuary with a hot belly full of food, I still despair. Because I can look up two inches and see the limit of my abilities floating next to my head.

One of the frost faeries waves at me and flicks a bit of snow at my face. It melts on my skin. I glance over at that shimmering creature of crystal and ice and magic and see wonder. And despair.

Here sits an unsurpassable wall. It’s ridiculous, but as I look at the faerie, I can’t imagine myself ever defeating one of these things. I punched one, once, and I nearly lost my hand to frostbite. Their bodies are ice, but their nature is magic. How could you even begin to destroy one? Maybe Teriarch could do it, but I am no Dragon.

They can freeze a Wyvern in seconds, conjure snow and ice, and they’re practically invisible and untouchable. That’s right. One of these little overgrown ice wasps is far, far stronger than Ryoka Griffin can ever be.

And now it speaks to me, in a voice that makes my earwax want to vibrate out of my ears.

“You should be grateful, oaf. Were it not for your Human friend we would have chased you out of this place and hounded you to the ends of this world.”

Funny thing about faeries; they never say hello or goodbye, or any of the pleasantries Humans use. They’re direct and to the point, another thing I admire about the bastards.

And they’re speaking to me, which is rare but not unusual. Sometimes they do that. When they’re bored of making my life a living nightmare. They float alongside my head and chatter to me, although when I say anything to them they refuse to answer.

But today’s different. My pride is exhausted, so I look over at the faeries.

“What did she do? Erin, I mean.”

The faerie narrows her eyes at me, as if she’s wondering if she should deign to respond. But then she raises her small chin, like a queen.

“She did what few mortals remember to do in any day and age. She honored us. She followed the traditions. But most wondrous of all: she made food fit for the fey.”

I stare at the faerie. Part of me, a large part, wants to ask how hard it is to slap together a bowl of milk and sugar. Another part wants to ask the faerie how many dead snails Erin had to gather to feed all of them. A third part just wants to slap the damn thing.

But all of those parts would just land me in trouble, or at least get me a face full of ice. So I look at the faerie and ask.

“How? A Skill?”

The faerie looks offended. It’s practically their default expression around me.

“A Skill? Pshaw! As if you could bottle knowledge and true magic so easily! Nay, what she did, she did herself and for that she is special.”

Special. Yes. I close my eyes briefly. Erin is special. Stupid and weird as well, but unique in her own way.

I look over. Mrsha is sitting next to me, staring up at the faeries. I wonder what she sees. The other Gnolls are twitching their ears every time I speak, but I don’t think they can hear the faeries speaking.

Part of me wants nothing to do with these faeries still, but they’re different from people like Persua. She’s a coward and a hateful fool, but the faeries at least are honest about their action and they’ve never tried to cripple me for life.

Plus, they’re magical. And I have to know as much as I can about magic. So I open my mouth, however reluctantly.

“I’ve heard of idio—people from my world going out to leave food and gifts for faeries. Do you visit them as well?”

The faerie looks insulted. She raises two fingers in my direction* and sniffs.

*Ah, the lovely V sign. Definitely means she’s from the U.K. or some country colonized by them. All bets are on U.K. though, given their accents.

“Us? Visit your pathetic kind and take your small gifts? We left your crumbling, dying world centuries ago. The earth dies, and death fills the air. We want nothing of it.”

And just like that she drops a bombshell in my lap. I’d suspected the faeries journey across worlds, but ours? We once had…?

And we lost them because of pollution. Holy fuck.

“You mean there were actually faeries on our world once?”

The faerie looks disappointed, and only now do I notice others are floating around nearby. Are they interested in this topic?

“Once. Do ye have no stories left that tell of us?”

They look almost…crestfallen. And I stare at them and remember.

“Excalibur. King Arthur. That story is the backbone of modern culture.”

But the faeries don’t look happy. One of them shakes their head.

“Is that all ye know? Naught of any other stories?”

Cautionary fables, stories about faeries spiriting away children…I don’t think that’s what they’re looking for. I hesitate and rack my brains. Think. Old myths…

“Are you…the Tuatha Dé Danann?”

“Tuatha! ‘Twould be as like to call us Fomoire, you fool, you!”

Great. Now they’re insulted. But again, the implications are staggering.

“So the Tuatha are real?”

Now it’s their turn to hesitate.

“Maybe not in your world, bratling. But each tale has a grain of truth. In another world, perhaps. But ye shall never live long enough to know the truth of it.”

“I remember the old stories. Did heroes like Cú Chulainn once walk our earth?”

The faeries pause, and then a look of infinite regret passes across their gaze. Just for a second.

“Not yours, mortal. Not yours. There is magic in the worlds, but yours has no heroes or legends that ever walked your earth. Nothing true or worthy. All ye have now is dust and old dreams.”

It shouldn’t hurt. It really shouldn’t. But I’d hoped—no. I should have known better. I lower my head, bitterly. It was just a dream of a kid after all.

“No gods, and no heroes. I guess superheroes were only a wish.”

A petty wish from a world too weak to save itself. I close my eyes and turn away. Is that our world? A place without magic or legends?

I stand. I’m done with faeries. I’m going to my tent to lie down. To think. Maybe—

“Wait, wait. What did she say?”

“Superhero? What’s that?”

I pause with my back to the faeries. But I can’t help it. I turn.

“You’ve never heard of superheroes? Superman? Batman?”

I feel silly speaking those names out loud in front of actual beings of myth and legend. But the faeries exchange glances and shake their heads.

“No.”

“Nay.”

“We have not heard of them. But if they are heroes, surely you know their story?”

I hesitate. But now Mrsha looks up me. And slowly, a thought passes into my head, so slowly I can’t believe it.

Of course. If the faeries left right after the dawn of pollution—the Industrial Revolution perhaps—they would never have heard of superheroes or—or anything since.

Well, what does it matter? It doesn’t. It’s just a story, and a stupid one at that. Modern-day legends meant to make money by selling comic books. But I still hesitate.

Once.

Once upon a time, there was a girl who jumped around with a red cape made from curtains she tore down. If I didn’t have the pictures I wouldn’t believe it. But it’s true. And if I have to admit it, I still went to see the movies.

Maybe it’s that which makes me turn and sit back down. And maybe it’s because they’re alike a bit, the faeries and I. We might be different in size, temperament…well, not temperament, but in our natures, mortal and fey, but we are alike in one sense.

We can’t let some stories die. We hope. And that’s what makes me speak.

“I do know a few stories. About heroes you’ve never heard of.”

“Hah! They’re probably not good stories anyways.”

But is it just me, or are all the faeries now floating around my head? They’re clustering so tightly that even the Gnolls can see something. And Mrsha is sitting, staring up at me, and I look over and see some other Gnoll children staring at me from a distance.

Well then. Maybe, just maybe…? But what story should I tell? They’re all silly, and culturally they make no sense. How would you even begin to explain half of the things they do?

But another part of me says that it doesn’t matter. They’re timeless stories. The details may change, but the heroes remain. And so I hesitate, and then look at the fire. Which one? Well, I could be feminist, but I never really liked her as much as the other two.

One dark, and one light. A duality. If there were only two heroes in the world I’d talk about to someone who’d never heard of them, it would be those two*.

*And maybe Spiderman. But honestly, I was never into Marvel as much.

And if I’m honest, I always did like him a bit more than Batman. So I look up, to the sky. The dark storm clouds are still there, but they’re clearing up a bit. And is that a bit of blue sky I see overhead?

Maybe not. But that’s the thing. It might be. So I take a deep breath and look at the faeries, Mrsha, and the sky.

And begin.

“Do you believe…a man can fly?”

“Yes!”

“No!”

“Fools! Any mortal can fly with magic!”

“Anyone can fly for a few seconds if we push them off a cliff!”

“Shut up.”

They quiet down. And now I have an audience. I take a deep breath. My heart is beating fast for some reason. Why? It’s just a story.

But it’s a good one. It’s one I have to tell. It’s something I cling to, a legend I want to be true. And maybe, just maybe, there’s magic there.

“Once upon a time—no, a long way away, so far you’d never dream of it, there was a boy. And his world was dying. But his parents wanted him to live, so they sent him far, far away. Not by spell or any kind of magic you know. But by a ship. A wondrous ship, made of metal and glass. It carried the boy through the air, higher than mountains and further than the furthest sea, across worlds, through space. His parents sent him away that he might live, while their world died. And their world was called Krypton. But the boy would not know that for a long time. He travelled far, and came to our world—my world, where a young couple lived. They were two Humans, named Martha and Jonathan Kent, and they found the boy in his ship as he landed on their world. And they named him Clark …”

—-

Stories. They don’t mean much to people who don’t listen. But to some, they mean everything.

Perhaps if you live forever you wouldn’t care about the passing of mortal lives, the concerns of those who flicker in and out of existence like mayflies. But I think you’d still care about stories. You’d still care about fables even as history passed you by. Because unlike the fragile conceit of mortal empires, some tales are immortal.

And sometimes, people write new stories which become legend. Perhaps the tale of Superman, Batman and all the other heroes I grew up with aren’t such stories. Perhaps.

But they’re damn close.

I’m no storyteller, and neither do I have a gift for words. Hell, my throat was hurting after the first five minutes. But I had an audience who hung on my every word, tiny mouths agape, and Mrsha and the Gnolls as well. They might not have gotten every nuance, but they understood heroes, and I think they were just as blown away by the idea of a superhero. Not someone with a [Class], but a truly supernatural person, someone who could lift a mountain over his head and had skin stronger than dragon scales and could outrun even the fastest arrow*.

*Look, I had to improvise a bit to explain. And Batman—well, it’s hard to explain a guy who hangs around in shadows and leaps from building to building to a non-brachiating species. I did my best.

Perhaps it was all meaningless, but that day I sat in front of a fire and told stories from my world. Not just for an hour, or even five, but the entire day. The fire in front of me waned, and then grew brighter as Gnolls threw wood on it. The camp bustled, but slowly, quietly, as Gnolls worked and listened.

First superheroes, but not just them. I realized something as I told the first story, and then Batman’s. These people, this world…they’ve never heard these tales. Never. And that’s a realization worth more money than—

I’ll dwell on it later. Some things are worth more than gold, and that’s the look on the Frost Faerie’s faces when I told them what they’d missed.

“To see a world in a grain of sand

And a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,

And eternity in an hour.”

Blake, William, Auguries of Innocence. Print. Not sure about the date or anything – the 1800’s? But the faeries had never heard those words. They had actual tears in their eyes, and some of the Gnolls looked just as moved.

How many years? Two hundred? Three hundred? Something like that. To the fey, I suppose it seems like not any time at all since they left. But how much have Humans made since then? Maybe not much in terms of moral gains or evolution of our bodies, but vast strides in areas like literature.

They’d never heard Lord of the Rings either. Hah. The entire time they swooped around my head, shouting.

“They live, they live!”

“Rings! Forged in darkness to bind souls! Yes! How did the Human know?”

“The small folk! They remember them!”

“To Mordor! To Isengard! To the ends of the earth!”

“Ye shall not pass!”

“Shut up!”

It was the best of times and the worst of times. Actually, it was just the best of times. I told that story too, and you’d be surprised how emotional Gnolls get. They get pretty physically demonstrative too.

I could close my eyes and remember a thousand times where my audience gasped or cheered or reacted with wonder and awe to stories that I’d nearly forgotten. But one moment stood out to me, as I sat beneath a dark sky full of stars and retold a moment from the Lord of the Rings.

Trick memory. It was just one conversation in a three-hour long film in a quartet of movies, but I’ve always remembered it.

“And Gandalf paused, and spoke. He looked at Pippin with a smile, and said ‘End? No, the journey doesn’t end here. Death is just another path, one that we all must take. The grey rain-curtain of this world rolls back, and all turns to silver glass, and then you see it.’ And Pippin said, ‘What? Gandalf? See what?’”

I look around. My audience is spellbound. I take a breath.

“‘White shores, and beyond, a far green country under a swift sunrise.’”

As I finish speaking, I look up, about to finish the scene and describe the Rohirrim coming to Gondor’s aid. But I pause, and hesitate. I see a speck of something bright and pure and eternal fall to the ground and melt in the snow.

A tear.

The faerie floating in the air above me slowly drifts downwards, until she’s right in front of me. Eye-to-eye. She stares at me, and her voice is quiet.

“I was wrong, mortal. There are still things in your world worth seeing and hearing.”

Just that. I cleared my throat and kept speaking afterwards. But I sensed the change in the air after that, a lightening. A difference in the way their small eyes looked at me.

Maybe, just maybe, not all stories are just that. I kept telling stories into the night, until the fire was low and everyone was dozing. But I went to sleep smiling.

Some weeks, some months, some years are bad ones. But it can take just one day to turn it around.

One day, or a story. A bit of magic.

It may be all that we brought from our world, but—

It’s enough.

—-

It was a bright and clear day when Ryoka shook hands with the Chieftain of the Stone Spears tribe and bade farewell to the Gnolls gathered to see her. She looked nothing like the Human who had first limped into the camp site, injured and weary. She stood straight and tall, and her flesh was healed. And she had something in her, a spark in her eyes.

She smiled at Urksh and bowed her head slightly.

“I owe you a debt, Urksh of the Stone Spears Tribe. I will repay it someday.”

Urksh shook his head slightly as he offered Ryoka a refilled backpack full of provisions.

“There is no debt for the joy you have given us. If you wish to stay, you would be more than welcome, Ryoka Griffin.”

“Three days is more than enough. They’ll get bored and start causing trouble to you if I don’t go soon. I need to keep moving.”

Overhead, the Frost Faeries flew high in the sky, telling jokes, laughing, but for once, not bothering her. Urksh glanced up and shook his head.

“You do not know where you are going?”

“Sort of.”

Ryoka hesitated, and then showed him the stone with the arrow.

“I think it’s taking me to a [Necromancer] of some kind.”

He looked troubled.

“We know of one Necromancer, but he is dead. And even a lesser one would be terrible indeed. Going by only a stone is dangerous, yes?”

“Hah! Is that what you seek, Human? Why didn’t you say so? We can find your dead-raiser far more easily than that bauble!”

Both Urksh and Ryoka looked up. One of the faeries flew down and gave Ryoka a pointy-toothed smile.

“We can sense where the dead gather. If you wish, we will take you to the one you seek.”

Ryoka looked suspicious, but then her expression changed. She nodded.

“If you know where to go. I’ll accept.”

Something tugged at her shirt. Ryoka looked down. It was Mrsha. The young Gnoll child was tugging at Ryoka’s shirt, insistently. She looked heartbroken. Ryoka hesitated, and then turned and bent. She patted Mrsha on the head, like a kid, ruffling her hair. The Gnoll girl shied away, but looked imploringly at Ryoka nonetheless.

“I’ve got to go.”

Ryoka turned, and—had the Frost Faeries been smiling? It was just a flash, but she could have sworn they’d been smiling at Mrsha. But as Ryoka turned towards them they were wearing their customary looks of mischief or contempt. But that was just an act too, wasn’t it?

“Come on slow Human! We go west now, west towards death! You will tell us many stories as we travel, won’t you?”

“Maybe.”

The faeries scowled. One flipped backwards in the air.

“Bah! ‘Tis just another way of saying ‘never’!”

“I’ll tell you stories if you don’t bother me, but only after we stop. Deal?”

“Maybe.”

Ryoka rolled her eyes, but then it was really time to go. Mrsha clung to her leg, but at last Ryoka prised her loose. The young woman turned and waved towards the Gnolls, and set out. It was a clear, blue day and the winter air was crisp and fresh.

She smiled, and waved one last time as the distant figures and tents disappeared from sight. For once, Ryoka wasn’t running from something but to something. And she was following faeries.

Ryoka’s good spirits lasted for fifteen minutes as she ran through the snow. Then a snowball dropped onto her face and she heard a voice in her ear.

“Oops!”

2.29

Some called him Az’kerash. Others, quite few now, remembered the past and called him Perril Chandler. No one living or dead remembered to call him by the nickname even he had forgotten, Peril. And those who spoke of him usually didn’t even bother with ‘Az’kerash’. They called him the Necromancer.

He cared not. He cared little about many things, in fact, and that lack of emotion was a void which grew with each passing year. A little sphere of silence and empty feeling in his heart. But he had grown used to that, too.

He was busy. In fact, he was so busy he didn’t even bother looking around as his servant spoke to him. All of his gaze was focused upwards, and the magelight was the only thing that lit up the grand chamber he used for creation.

Creation. There was no other word for it. The Necromancer looked up and created something never dreamt of by any species, now or in the past. It took up all almost all of his focus, and yet he still replied absently to the woman with pale skin and green eyes who stood attentively by his side.

Her name was Venitra; all else was meaningless. She stood before her master, in darkness, in the silence of his castle. She was here to report, and that provided her with all the joy in her life. When she spoke to her creator—when she was in his presence and felt his attention on her, however slightly—she felt fulfilled.

“Another being has breached the outer web, master.”

Perril Chandler did not frown; his face never changed as he stared upwards. He was devoting so much energy to what floated above that needless expressions would have been a waste. The fact that he could even respond at all was incredible to anyone who could understand what was happening. But he had been a genius, once. A prodigy. Now he was a legend and so he spoke, although he would only truly remember what had been said when the spell was finished. If there was something important enough to warrant his full cognition he would attend to it. But until then he simply trusted to his subconscious.

“Another one? Curious. Describe this new intruder.”

“Human. Female. Six feet in height. Black hair; athletic build.”

“Hmm. Not part of either army, then. Are there any other features that set her apart?”

Venitra nodded, although she knew Az’kerash wouldn’t see her. She had been taught to mimic the gestures of the living and she did so dutifully even though she’d never been alive.

“She resembles a Drath Archipelago native. Also, she appears to have several pieces of highly magical equipment, and she is running quickly in this direction.”

“Anything else?”

Venitra hesitated. The watchers had seen something else around the girl. Some kind of…things. Blurry, fuzzy blue things. Frost Sprites. But her master had long ago insisted they were unimportant, so she did not mention them. She did not want to fail him or bother him. That would be her greatest nightmare, if she actually slept.

“Nothing of consequence.”

“Hm. And you said she is running?”

“Yes. Quickly, but without any movement-enhancing Skills.”

“A Runner, then. Possibly a Courier, although they move more quickly. Interesting.”

One pale white hand came up and rested on his lips as Peril devoted more thought to this new information.

“I would investigate myself but my work—no, no. She is no doubt a messenger for one of the armies. Are they still engaged in combat?”

“Yes, master. Zel Shivertail has retreated from Wall Lord Ilvriss and is attempting to reform his shattered forces. The other army is actively hunting the scattered bands of warriors. Neither side has noticed the presence of the castle or made their way through the second web.”

A sigh. The Necromancer would have shaken his head, but he didn’t need to think as deeply.

“How troublesome. Even in this remote region, chance and the petty squabbles of the Drake cities can bring an army upon our doorstep. Well, it matters not who wins. Observe them, mark the spots where the dead fall. And if any penetrate the veil and enter the castle – kill them.”

Venitra’s eyes glowed brightly and she smiled.

“Yes.”

“Leave me.”

Her moment was over. Reluctantly, Venitra withdrew, and then went to deliver the instructions she had been given to the guardians of this place. She left the large room where the supposedly-dead legend stood, and walked out the double doors, letting them swing silently closed behind her.

It was a castle where Az’kerash made his home, but not one that would have been familiar to anyone who studied castles in Erin and Ryoka’s world. The corridors in this castle were vast, and the stones that made up the walls, floor, and ceiling were huge chunks of black stone, far too large for even the most advanced construction equipment from this world to ever lift.

And it was inhabited, just not by the living. A small army stood in front of the doors, waiting for an enemy that had never penetrated these walls. But it was always best to be vigilant, lest their master be troubled, so Venitra decided to be extra-cautious.

She raised her hand, and a dozen undead warriors followed her as she strode through the halls. Venitra walked through the darkness, needing no light. Only the glow of the deathless eyes lit the darkness, not just from her and behind, but from the corridors, the walls, the ceiling…

The undead stood silently, waiting. Waiting.

Waiting.

—-

Four days after leaving the Stone Spears tribe, Ryoka realized she was smiling.

It wasn’t an unnatural thing; normal human beings did it all the time. So did Ryoka. But she had trouble remembering when she’d last done it unconsciously, just because she was in a good mood.

And it wasn’t even as if she was even doing something insanely fun. In fact, she was failing to do something. But it was the challenge Ryoka loved, the feeling of pushing herself hard and doing something of real worth.

She frowned down at her open hands, which were glowing with light. That wasn’t a normal human thing, and neither was the sound that came from her hands. It was loud, and incomprehensible.

It sounded vaguely like someone saying ‘eh’ through a microphone, but only if that someone was a rock who could speak and the microphone in question was some kind of tricked out synthesizer that made the sound warble and bounce.

It sounded weird, and it was loud enough to make some birds in the distance fly up as Ryoka walked through the snow. She frowned, concentrated, and the ‘eh’ changed into an ‘ah’ that was high-pitched, sonorous, and somehow, flat.

“Is it…? No. Damn.”

Something landed on Ryoka’s head. The girl ignored it, although the cold was just slightly below a comfortable temperature. She frowned at her hands, until a small face appeared upside-down in her vision.

“Human. What is that?”

Ryoka ignored the question. Two seconds later the Frost Faerie pulled back Ryoka’s eyelids and the girl swatted at the faerie with a shout of anger. The faerie flew away, laughing, and Ryoka looked up.

The Frost Faeries flew high overhead, a group of twenty or more. Only one was hovering around Ryoka, but she was sure the others could hear every word she said. And because they were traveling companions and because she knew they wouldn’t leave her alone until she answered, Ryoka spoke.

“I was working on a spell until you interrupted me.”

“A spell? Ooh, what is it? Tell me!”

“[Noise]. It’s a Tier 0 spell that Ceria taught me.”

The faerie just blinked at Ryoka. She sighed, and lifted her hand to demonstrate. Her palm glowed for a second, and then the same warbling ‘eh’ echoed from her palm, only quieter. The faerie stared at Ryoka’s palm in expectation, flicking her glance between it and the girl’s face.

“Is…that it?”

Ryoka shrugged.

“It’s what the spell does. Ceria taught me it as a way to practice controlling magic. It’s not very useful, according to her; you can’t toss the sound and complex things like voices or music are impossible to create.”

She’d been trying to figure out if that was actually true. But after nearly an hour of producing various squelches of noise, Ryoka had to admit that Ceria was probably right. The spell was too limited to create actual sounds, let alone any kind of deliberate sound no matter how much mana she put in it.

Not that she had much mana or understood magic that well. Ryoka could only sense half of the things Ceria had spoken about. To her, the spell was a vague feeling in her head, a feeling or thought she could focus on. It was like nothing else she had ever felt; if there was such a thing as a sixth sense, magic would probably be it. It was like feeling a new part of her brain open up, and Ryoka had no idea how any of it worked.

She could add mana to a spell to make it stronger, adjust certain parameters like the loudness of her [Noise] spell or change the noise that came out, but nothing else. Even that was apparently tremendous work for a beginner, but Ryoka had sort of been hoping for more out of the spell.

So had the faerie. She looked at Ryoka and shook her head.

“Magic here is so silly. Tiers? More nonsense for you playthings and fools.”

She flew around Ryoka’s head and landed on the young woman’s left shoulder. Ryoka looked over and saw the small faerie resting comfortably on her jacket, legs swinging. It was such an odd sight, Ryoka had to blink even though this wasn’t the first time the faeries had done it.

They acted so familiar now it was eerie. But after four days—six if you counted the two in the Gnoll tribe’s camp—Ryoka had gotten to know the Frost Faeries, at least in the sense that neither side was actively trying to kill or maim the other.

She told them stories, and for that they helped guide her, played less pranks on her, and generally deigned to answer her questions. Ryoka still had a definite sense that she was more ‘interesting lesser being’ than ‘equal sentient’ to them, but she took what she could get and put up with their remarks and occasional snowball to the face.

And honestly, it was a small piece of wonder for a faerie, a being of the fey and myth and legend to sit on Ryoka’s shoulder. She just wished it wasn’t so cold.

“It might be silly, but that’s the only magic I can do. That, and [Light].”

The faerie sniffed dismissively.

“Aye, we’ve seen you playing with your faint glows at night. ‘Tis a pale specter of faerie fire or wyrd light. Have ye never seen a will-o’-wisp? That light is true light.”

“I have not, and I don’t particularly want to be led astray. And what do you mean ‘faint’?”

Ryoka had been experimenting with the [Light] spell, and at least there, she’d realized she could actually alter the orb of light significantly. Instead of having it float next to her, she could just project light from her hands like a flashlight, or even shoot it from one finger. It was incredible, but again, only to Ryoka.

“Hah! You think your light is bright? It’s but feeble glimmer compared to yon candle up overhead.”

The faerie gestured upwards, and Ryoka didn’t have to look to know she was pointing at the sun.

“Well, I can’t make light as bright as the sun. I’m sorry if that’s disappointing to you.”

“Worry not, pathetic human. All you mortals do is disappointing and sad.”

The faerie laughed and back flipped off Ryoka’s shoulder to reappear at the girl’s side even as Ryoka abandoned her magic practice and picked up the pace. The faerie leaned backwards in the air and adopted a lounging pose, as if she was lying down in the air. But she never lost her position in front of Ryoka, even when the girl transitioned into a run through the snow.

“We did promise to guide you to your destination, but so slowly? We bore, Human! Run faster! Or tell us a story!”

Ryoka gritted her teeth and raised her voice as she ran through the snow that tried to drag down her every step.

“I’m just a sad, sorry mortal. I can’t fly, and I don’t have Skills. I’m sorry I’m not Val, okay?”

The faerie blinked down at Ryoka, and then laughed in amusement.

“The Human? He is just as slow as ye are.”

That was interesting. Ryoka frowned up at the faerie. They didn’t like answering too many questions when she put it to them directly, but she’d learned to draw answers out of them in the form of conversations.

“Really? I thought he’d be fast, to you at least. What about Hawk? Isn’t he quick?”

“Would ye compare snails to birds, Human? We ride the wind and race through storms! We move across paths beyond worlds—what can your small feet do to catch us?”

The faerie looked insulted, and Ryoka quickly changed the subject.

“Okay, fine. You’re fast and I’m not. I guess you travel around a lot, then? Is that how you know Teriarch?”

The faerie narrowed her eyes down at Ryoka. She and her friends had already refused to answer Ryoka’s many questions about their home, their magic, and pretty much anything else of value. Reluctantly, she nodded.

“We’ve seen the old fool about before. In passing, when he was but a whelp, and later. What of it?”

“You’ve been around here for a long time, then. Are you older than Teriarch? How old are you—or do faeries move through time differently?”

Now the faerie did frown. She flipped her wings and ‘sat’ in the air, facing away from Ryoka.

“Secret.”

“Oh come on. What’s the point of a secret if you can’t share it?”

Ryoka felt like she was coaxing a kid, but the faeries were childish at times. But when the immortal turned her head to look at Ryoka, she felt a chill as she realized she was speaking to just that. Sometimes the faeries were childish, at other times their gazes turned ancient and unreadable. Like now.

“Some things cannot be told, and certainly not for a single tale, mortal.”

“How about a hundred? Don’t you owe me a favor? You may have promised to take me to the place where the dead gather, but I’ve told you countless stories and poems. Doesn’t that mean I get a few questions answered or—”

Squish.

Ryoka grimaced as she stepped on something soft and mushy. That was the problem with running in the winter, the fall, or outdoors in general. Oh, sure, the snowy landscape looked pristine, but she’d probably just landed in a patch of half-frozen muck, or a pile of compressed leaves of something.

“Damn.”

The faerie looked down at Ryoka and shook her head. Ryoka made a face as she pushed through whatever it was and ran on. She hated running in the snow. She had boots and heavy clothing on, and she was moving far more slowly than she or the faeries would have liked as a result.

And she couldn’t see where she was going, which led to moments like these.

“Okay, what about—shit!”

She stepped on something else that was slippery and gave way under her boot. Ryoka made a face as she lifted her feet higher so she could run on top of the powdery snow rather than on what was beneath it.

“God. Is this some kind of mountainous swampland or something?”

It didn’t look like it. Ryoka was heading up a hill, and she’d been running through a forest high up in the hills, close to the foot of one of the impossibly tall mountains. The faeries flew up the hill, and Ryoka followed, swearing as she slipped a few times on the ascent.

“Come on. I don’t want gold or any of those trick flowers you give, but I’d settle for knowledge. You told me you’re not even supposed to talk to mortals, right? Aren’t you breaking a rule already?”

Some more faeries flew down to fly next to Ryoka. The first one shook her head.

“Some rules can be broken. Others cannot. What you ask is too much, mortal. Leave it be.”

They’d stopped smiling for some reason. Ryoka wondered if she were treading on dangerous ground; she was certainly squishing through something.

“Is gossip really that important? I’m just asking about things of this world, not the secrets of faerie mounds or anything. What about Teriarch—I mean, the Dragon? Do you bother him at all?”

Ryoka grinned as she imagined Teriarch trying to keep his dignity intact while the Frost Faeries pestered him. No wonder he’d flamed them. She chuckled to herself, trying to keep her balance as she ran.

She was still laughing when she saw the first body.

At first, it just looked like an odd shape in the snow, a dash of color in the white landscape. Then, as Ryoka jogged nearer she saw the dark green scales covered with frost and the dried blood. And then she realized what she was seeing and stopped.

It was a corpse. Ryoka had never seen one before coming to this world. Well, of course she’d seen cadavers and she’d gone to a few open-casket funerals, but a corpse? Never.

And now everywhere she went she saw death. She should have been used to it by now. After the slaughtered Gnolls and the ruins in Liscor. But…

This person—no, this Drake hadn’t just died in the snow. Someone had killed him. Ryoka didn’t want to, but her feet took her closer, until she was about ten feet away. There they stopped. She couldn’t move forwards. And she couldn’t look away.

Death. The Drake had been killed, yes, but now the gristly details had emerged. He—or she, Ryoka thought the body size and shape belonged to a he—was lying face-down in the snow. The leather armor on his back had been split open by a powerful thrust; Ryoka could look into frozen insides from here. She didn’t want to.

Her stomach trembled. Her heart beat faster. Ryoka stared at the dead body for a long time, trying to make sense of it. And failing.

He was dead. Someone had killed him. Of course. It only made sense. This was a dangerous world…people killed each other. Or things killed people. Either way, it was normal. Even in Ryoka’s ‘safe’ world, people got shot and stabbed all the time. It made sense.

That’s what she kept telling herself. But Ryoka just couldn’t accept the fact of the dead Drake lying in the snow on this bright, crisp clear day, in the middle of nowhere.

She had to look away. She had to go. If there was a monster nearby—but the Frost Faeries would warn her, wouldn’t they? Or wouldn’t they?

Ryoka took a look around, and stepped backwards uncertainty. She had to go forwards, though, right?

She took a step to take her well around the Drake’s body, and felt something else squish slightly under her boot. The young woman froze.

Just something on the ground. But now a horrible premonition stole over Ryoka, the leaping of her subconscious to a conclusion her brain didn’t want to accept. No. It couldn’t be.

Slowly, Ryoka looked around. This place was very deeply buried in snow. You could barely see anything, but she’d started landing on something that tore and burst underfoot, hadn’t she?

Ryoka stared at the ground, and then at her boots. Slowly, she lifted them up and stared at the bottom. There was snow stuck to the bottom of her soles, but a piece of something else as well. Ryoka’s gloves picked out a fragment of fur and grey flesh. The hair was dusky blonde; the flesh was rotted from decomposition and frozen. The girl stared at it.

Then she threw up. And ran.

“Slow down, mortal.”

A faerie appeared in Ryoka’s vision as she dashed through the snow, slipping, running, pumping her legs as fast as possible to get away from the buried corpses. Each time her foot stepped on something that wasn’t snow Ryoka tried to vomit again, but she kept running.

“Human, slow down!”

The faerie was in front of Ryoka, speaking urgently. But the girl’s panicked, horrified mind was unable to listen to the words. She only stopped when the massive gust of wind blew her backwards so hard she crashed into the snow with a thump.

Ryoka hit something hard and she panicked, thrashing about. Was it another body? But no, it was just the ground. She tried to get back up, but a blue face was in front of her.

“Human!”

“W-what? What is…?”

Ryoka stood up, shaking, but she stopped running. The faerie hovered in front of her, serious now, face no longer lit by mischief.

“You are in danger. Do not blunder around like the fool ye are or you too will be dead.”

What did that mean? Ryoka stared at the faerie and tried to force moisture into a suddenly-dry mouth.

“They’re dead. It’s—the corpses. How many died? What happened?”

The faerie looked at Ryoka.

“What do ye think? We are close, now. Follow. And slowly.”

She flew off, ahead of Ryoka with the others. The young woman hesitated, but then stumbled after her. The smile she’d worn just a few minutes earlier was gone, and now there was a pit of fear and horror in her stomach.

The faeries pushed uphill a bit further, until they were at the crest. There they floated in the air, looking out at something below. Ryoka hesitated, and then climbed the last few steps and stopped as she saw what lay below.

…

Her mind was blank for a while. When it slowly returned, Ryoka stared on in silence. She’d heard the word of course, heard it quite often in her world. And she’d thought she’d known the meaning, but it was one thing to know, and another to see it before her eyes. Such a simple word. She breathed it into the cold air.

“War.”

Below her and far away, miles away, Ryoka could see people in the snow. Fighting. Drakes in armor and tall Gnolls struggled with each other, cutting each other with swords and axes and other weapons, bashing each other, fighting, bleeding, dying.

Red blood spurted from a Gnoll’s chest far below, and he fell back, mouth open. Ryoka heard her pulse roaring in her ears as she saw the Drake raise a spear and drive it through his chest.

How long she watched she didn’t know. Long enough for her frantic heartbeat to slow ever so slightly. And then she heard the horn calls in the distance, the sound of drums, the faint clash of metal and the thump of explosions.

And the screaming.

On her hilltop, the Human girl stumbled backwards, and one of the faeries looked at her. The fey were all floating in the air, silently watching the battle without a hint of the glee they normally exhibited.

“They fight fiercely down below, do they not? The children of Dragons and the hunting dogs?”

The faerie looked at Ryoka; the girl could only stare back. Her eyes travelled back to the battle below, caught by the carnage. She tried to speak. Her voice was shaky when it finally emerged.

“I—”

—-

I can’t believe what I’m seeing. No. It’s because I can believe it that everything is so horrible.

War.

They’re killing each other down below. Blood and guts spill onto the ground as a Gnoll rips a Drake apart with an axe. I can’t even—

My stomach wants to heave, but I try to contain it. No. Don’t throw up. Look at the faerie. I turn my gaze, and try to focus on the wondrous being. It helps, a tiny bit. But I still hear the screaming.

“You are pale. Have ye never seen war before, Human?”

The faerie points at the battlefield and my eyes follow unwillingly. It doesn’t seem real. But I know it is. I can’t even speak, but somehow the words still come out.

“No. Never.”

The Frost Faerie shrugs.

“It is just another battle. It is natural.”

The faeries eye me as I shake my head.

“It’s not.”

I can’t even look away. The battle is a ways away, but now I can make out the details of what’s happening as the shock fades ever so slightly. There are sides, yes. Two sides. One seems to be made of organized soldiers wearing livery with purple—the other seems far more ragtag.

And the other side is being slaughtered.

Maybe it’s a skill. Or maybe this is just how this world fights. But I can see the soldiers in livery starting to tear right through the ranks of the other side. One Drake runs another through with a sword and yanks it out as he cuts another Drake down and charges forwards with his friends. The lines were never that even, but now they bend and break as the soldiers on the other side turn and run.

And they’re cut down from behind.

Magic spells—fire and flashes of lightning strike warriors in the back, and arrows rain down from a group of archers on a hill. I can see a Drake standing there, sword unsheathed as he points down at the battle.

Some of the fleeing warriors are tossing down their weapons and raising their hands up. They get ignored, but everyone who doesn’t gets hacked to pieces, staining the white ground red.

I want to vomit. I want to run. But I can’t do either. I’m transfixed, and a thought floats above the revulsion and horror in my head. Just when I think I understand this world, I realize how alien it truly is.

The battle’s over, or close enough. The few who got to the trees keep running as archers fire after them, and only now can I take in the bloody scene in its entirety. My knees are shaking.

“A problem, is it not?”

The voice in my ear makes me start. I look around and see the faerie.

“What…what is?”

The small creature points ahead, nearly directly past the sight of the battle.

“Yonder lies your destination.”

My destination…? I’d nearly forgotten about the Necromancer. I swallow. Oh god. How am I supposed to get past all that?

Running? They’ve got arrows and magic. This—this isn’t the same as the Lich. That was a monster, but this is a battle. What can I do if the army decides I’m a threat. Could the faeries—?

I look at them, and they seem to read my mind. One of the faeries fixes me with a serious look.

“We do not interfere in the quarrels of mortals. Remember that, Human.”

Oh. I don’t know what to say, but I open my mouth and I’m terribly afraid I’m going to beg them to help me. To—I don’t know—bury the army in an avalanche or something? Maybe I can just get around them. If I run west and then north for ten—no, twenty miles, maybe I can get—

“Look out! Duck, fool!”

A faerie shouts and points. I whirl, and see some of the archers and soldiers down below facing my way. They’re pointing, and I realize they’ve spotted my obvious position on the hill. I hear a shout, and suddenly they’re raising bows!

“God!”

I dive into the snow just as the distant figures loose. Something whistles overhead, and I look up just in time to see black blurs shoot past where my head had been.

Oh no. This is bad. How could I have been so stupid? Who stands on a hill and gives away their position like that? I wasn’t thinking and now I’m dead.

I crawl towards the edge of the hill, back the way I’ve come. Get below their line of fire. But already I can hear shouting, growing louder.

“Damn it. Hey, can you—?”

I look up, and the faeries are gone. I’m alone.

Oh no.

I try to crawl faster, but the snow is so deep around me I can barely move, and if I stand up, I’m sure I’ll be shot. But now I can hear voices, angry ones, and a female voice roaring commands.

“Spread out! Don’t let the Human escape!”

I have to run. I brace my knees to get up and dash. How fast can I go in this deep snow? It’s knee-deep in places and nearly up to my waist where it piles up. If I slip—I can’t outrun people with bows and spells! But I have to.

A thought strikes me. Hold on, hold on. What if I…?

The shouting is getting nearer. I look around, and then take a chance. I dig into the snow around me. It’s deep. If I lie down, what then? I push snow up over my head, my body. Just pretend you’re a dead body. Hide. Don’t run; that’s what they expect.

I worm my way into the snow, trying to bury myself without making it seem like I’ve dug myself in. All the while I can hear sounds getting louder, but they’re practically drowned out by the thunder of my heart.

This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.

The snow buries my head, and all I see is white. The cold is around me, but I’m so panicked I can’t even feel it. I try to breathe slowly, and dig myself deeper while making no sound. The shouting is all around me now.

“Oh my god. fucking…shit, shit, shit—”

A dim part of me feels outraged that in a time of crisis, I don’t have the vocabulary to express myself. What am I, a middle-schooler? Even they know how to swear. But I’m scared out of my mind. I don’t even believe in a god*, but if I could pray—

*By that, I mean I don’t believe in worshiping one. That gods exist, or existed, well…that’s pretty definite in this world.

What do I do if they find me? I can hear snow crunching, and I wonder if they accept Human prisoners. If I have to fight—

Potions. The cloth bags. They’re my only weapons; I haven’t had to use any against monsters yet, but people—

I’ve got only a few of the ones Octavia gave me. Three potions, two bags. Which one was…?

I feel at my belt and then freeze as I hear someone speaking only a few feet away.

“Any sightings?”

“None, milady.”

“Then the Human is still here. Have the others set up a net and look for traps. The rest of you, with me.”

I hear snow crunching, and then the voice grows louder. They’re right on top of me! I hold my breath. I am invisible, unseen—

But a terrible thought strikes me. This would work in my world, but here they have mages. And then the voice seems like it’s right overhead.

“We know you’re here, Human. If you don’t come out right now we’ll blast this entire hill with magic!”

No. No, no, no…

“Come forward! Now!”

The tone in her voice makes it clear she’s a second away from ordering a strike. I have to move.

Slowly, I sit up out of the snow, raising my hands. I’m nearly blinded by the light. I blink, look around—

And see the soldiers.

There are eight of them, all Drakes except for a single Gnoll with a bow. And they’re armed, wearing chainmail, heavy leather, and holding weapons still covered in blood. And…they’re not looking at me.

Nope. Not at all. The Drake leading them is surveying the landscape below the hill with the other Drakes. They’re looking the other way…and they’re standing about ten feet downhill from me. One of the Drakes turns around as he hears me sit up, and shouts. The others turn, and raise their weapons as they react with obvious surprise.

Oh my god.

It was a bluff. And I fell for it!

Their leader is the first to react. She unsheathes her sword and points it at me as she shouts.

“Do not move! Soldiers on me!”

Her voice rings out and I hear shouting. I keep my hands raised, mind racing.

Ryoka, you damn idiot…! What can I do? The Gnoll had his bow trained on me. I’m not going to be able to grab a potion, but what about a spell? If I could buy a second, I could use Teriarch’s potion. It’s my last resort, but—

I have two spells. [Light] and [Noise]. I could use either one with my hands, but what could it do? The arrow is pointed at my face. I’ve got an idea for one spell—but no.

No. I stare down the shaft and eye the arrow tip. I…I’m too afraid to try. The soldiers are encircling me, and now more charge up the hill.

The Drake captain or commander or whatever points at me with her sword. She seems cautious of me, but all I’m in danger of doing is turning the snow yellow.

“On your feet, Human. Slowly. Make no sudden moves.”

This isn’t my first arrest, although it is the first one in this world and the first one where I’m being held up at sword point. I move with exaggerated care, making no moves that would alarm the soldiers. The Drake eyes me from head to snowy toe.

“Who are you? Are you a soldier from the Trisstral Alliance? Or a mercenary? An adventurer? Speak!”

Trisstral Alliance? I have no idea what she’s talking about—probably all those soldiers her army just slaughtered. I shake my head slowly.

“I’m a Runner.”

The Drake Captain blinks, but her eyes narrow.

“A Runner? Prove it.”

Thankfully, I can. Runners use Seals, but we also get one of our own to show to suspicious people…mainly like her. I’ve got one that lists my designation as City Runner; it’s spelled so the seal would break if it left my possession for longer than five minutes.

“I’ve got a Seal in my belt pouch.”

She looks at one of the Drakes.

“Find it.”

The Drake approaches me warily. She’s smaller than I am by a few inches, but she eyes me as if she’d like nothing more than to stab me in the eye. I don’t move, but I have to speak.

“It’s in the third pouch from your left. Don’t touch the other ones.”

That might not be the best thing to say, but it’s a valid damn concern. Teriarch’s ring and letter is in the second pouch, and he warned me what would happen if someone else touched it.

The soldier certainly doesn’t like hearing that. Her movements slow and I can sense the arrows and weapons around me as she slowly reaches into the pouch and fishes around. She pulls out the seal, and backs away quickly as she hands it to the Captain.

The Drake studies the seal and nods reluctantly.

“It’s real. Here.”

She tosses it back at me. I catch it unthinking, and I sense the soldiers lowering their weapons. Looks like Runner status means I do qualify as a non-combatant, but then, they’re not sheathing their blades either.

“What’s a City Runner doing out so far from any of the cities?”

The Captain eyes me suspiciously, but here at least I can lie with conviction. Oh so much conviction.

“Got a delivery for a tribe around here. Gnolls. The Stone Spears. I’m looking for their Chieftain, Urksh.”

“We’ve met them. You’re several days off.”

I shrug.

“Got chased by a Wyvern. If you point me in the right direction, I’ll go.”

It’s a good story. I keep telling myself that, and I hope I can still do fake honesty as well as I used to. The Drake is nodding as if she’s buying my story, and I’ve got the advantage that if she does bring me to Urksh, he’d probably cover for me.

I think she’s about to let me go when she nods at the soldiers.

“You may be telling the truth, but without someone with lie-detecting Skills I can’t confirm that. Regardless though, you’re going to have to come with us.”

Shit. My heart races.

“Where to?”

“Wall Lord Ilvriss will want to see you. You won’t be harmed so long as you don’t resist. Take her.”

She nods, and two soldiers come to flank me. They don’t seize me, but they point and I go. Don’t fight soldiers.

God, I’ve made a big mistake. Or maybe not. Maybe this Wall Lord is a reasonable guy. I’m sure he is. I’m sure he’ll send me on my way with an apology and a shake of the hand…claw.

I’m so fucked.

I can hear the female Drake shouting orders, recalling the soldiers, as they form up and move around and behind me. No chance I’ll be left with my two charming, smiling companions. I eye the blood on their weapons until one of them snarls at me and I look ahead.

I descend the hill and follow the small column of soldiers as it winds its way back towards the battlefield. As I walk, I try to figure things out. Is this army here to fight the Necromancer? People think he’s dead, and besides the Drake was mentioning some kind of alliance.

A war, then? I doubt anyone’s allying with the infamous Az’kerash, and I didn’t see any undead on that battlefield. Dead, yes, but they all bled quite a lot before they died.

Am I in danger because of the war? I mean, what does a [Necromancer] like more than dead bodies? Shit. I was going to plan how to meet the guy before I went to knock on his front door, but if this army gets attacked—

I stumble, and a soldier catches me and pushes me along. Nice to see they’re so interested in my well-being. What do I do? What can I do? The potions—

I see a glimmer of light out of the corner of my eye as I’m pushed along, and I see a faerie floating by, as conspicuous as can be. But the soldiers probably only see a fuzzy blur, and so she flies closer to me as I walk along. I stare not-quite at her, and she waves a hand.

Are they…going to help? She points to the soldiers, and my heart beats faster. If she freezes their weapons or hits them with something I can probably do the rest.

The faerie taps one of the soldier’s swords, making it frost over for a second and then points at me. She draws a line across her neck, waves, and flies away. I stare forwards and bite my tongue so hard it nearly bleeds.

I hate those bastards.

—-

His name was Zel, although few called him by that name anymore. It was a sign of respect, but it made him lonely at times. To others, he was Shivertail, or the legendary General of the Line, the famous Tidebreaker.

Some days he wished they didn’t believe in him so much. Because one day he would lose a battle, and his life.

It might be today.

The [General] stood over his maps, staring at a rough drawing of the terrain and landscape. Their army hadn’t been here long, and this was a forsaken part of the continent that not even Gnoll Tribes visited that often. He grimly marked a spot on the map and tapped it.

“We missed the battle. Ilvriss just got the entire group from Verdam and lost barely more than a handful of his own.”

The officers and adjutants standing around the war table muttered at this news. Zel felt the same, although his face didn’t show it.

“They got cut to ribbons. That was the last group not scattered to the winds, which means we’re on our own now. So. Let’s recap.”

Zel walked around the table, looking at his highest-ranking officers. In the privacy of his head, Zel Shivertail winced. They weren’t much. These were all low-level [Tacticians] and [Lieutenants] and even a few [Leaders] the allied cites had sent, not the high-ranking [Strategists] and [Captains] in Ilvriss’s army. No wonder the Verdam soldiers had been destroyed so quickly.

He wished he’d been at that battle, to even the odds. If he’d been there with his army, it would have been a fair fight—more than one. His abilities would have been a counter for Ilvriss, but that was war, wasn’t it? Fairness was a dream.

Zel cleared his throat, and everyone in the room snapped to attention, although they’d hardly been slouching before. They were brave, and loyal, and they were fighting to protect their homes. He couldn’t fault them for that, but the battle rested heavier on his shoulders because of it.

“Ilvriss caught us off guard when we were mustering our forces. If we’d gotten our army together we would have been fine, but none of our [Scouts] caught him and our [Strategists] didn’t think a Lord of the Wall would come out of one of the Walled Cities. Well, recriminations aside, he did and he’s here. And he’s just taken away our last chance at evening the odds. They outnumber us two-to-one, and we lost several good officers in that ambush.”

No one spoke, although Zel heard a muffled groan. He agreed, privately, but the soldiers had faith in him, despite the difference in levels, equipment, and soldiers between them and Ilvriss. He was a [General], and his abilities could turn the tide of this battle. But if he fell or couldn’t use them—

“Wall Lord Ilvriss’s forces don’t have to move; they know they’re guarding the only viable pass. Either we try to get out somewhere else and they fall on our backs, or we assault them head-on and try to rout them.”

Neither option was a good one. Zel saw it on the faces of those around him.

“An offensive battle isn’t one Ilvriss expects us to take. He’s hoping we’ll try to sneak around and catch us up against a cliff or in a tight spot so he can hammer us flat. It might work.”

Skills only did so much. They couldn’t produce miracles. Zel paused as he pointed to the battlefield, and the place where Ilvriss’s army was camped.

“That’s what he expects. That’s what would suit my abilities. So that’s what we’re not going to do. We’re advancing on his camp and attacking. Not tomorrow, not in an hour; right now. His soldiers are still healing and he’s probably assuming we’re still trying to gather those who have fled. No. We move out in ten minutes; leave the camp and have everyone ready.”

Zel fit action to word as he strode out of the tent. All or nothing. The cold air was harsh on his scales. Was today the day he died? He hoped it wasn’t. But if it was, he’d go down with a claw on Ilvriss’s damned throat.

He probably wouldn’t die. A captive was just what the leaders of the Walled City wanted. High-level officers and [Generals] were too valuable to lose in a small war like this.

The Drake growled under his breath as he stomped through the snow. He clenched his hands as he growled.

“What a burning stupid reason for a war.”

Good soldiers were going to die for politics. He hated that. But as his soldiers rallied and he prepared to launch an attack on Ilvriss, Zel had one consolation:

At least he’d get to see the surprise on that arrogant lizard’s face when he attacked.

—-

I really want to wipe the smug look off of that bastard’s face.

I’m standing in a tent, facing Lord of the Wall Ilvriss, the [Lord] in charge of the army that just slaughtered all those soldiers not an hour ago. Unlike his soldiers, he’s not in muck, snow, and blood. Rather, he’s wearing pristine red-and-gold armor in a luxurious, warm tent in the center of the camp that was going up as we speak.

And he’s arrogant. Exceedingly so. I can see it in the way he lifts his chin, the way he moves and looks at everyone around him as if they’re less important, and especially the way he talks.

He reminds me of some of my dad’s buddies, the politicians and bigwigs who you really want to smack a few times, or at the very least throw dog crap at*.

*Oddly specific? I did it once. Hilarity ensued.

And he’s about as trusting as a snake, and paranoid to boot.

“I told you, I’m a Runner. I’m not part of your little war.”

That earns me a glare from one of the Drakes in the room, the one who captured me. Her name is Periss, and she’s a [Commander] who seems to worship the ground Ilvriss stands on. I think she’s his second-in-command, but honestly, I don’t care.

I’d rather just run away from here and forget all these people, their names and titles. But that’s not an option, apparently.

“So you are. But a Runner is still a threat, especially if you are delivering messages or items to the enemy.”

Ilvriss stares hard at me and I stare right back. At first, I tried to be polite and humble, but when it became clear there’s a rule about killing Runners and after I got to know him* I sort of lost the humility bit.

*It took five seconds. ‘What is a Human doing in my tent?’ Pretty much sums it all up, or maybe it was the tone he said it in.

“I told you, I’m not delivering anything to this Zef or Zwell or whatever his name is. You can get someone to prove I’m telling the truth.”

Ilvriss stares hard at me, but I’m not going to blink. To his credit, neither does he, and he looks away, too important to get into a staring contest with a Human. He sniffs and his tail twitches slightly at me.

“A [Lord] can detect falsehoods as well as any other class, Human. I know you are speaking the truth, but it does not change the fact that you are here.”

“What could I do that’s so dangerous?”

“You could send word of Zel’s…predicament, or perhaps he would contract you to deliver something yourself. It matters not. You are a random element, and I will not have you disturb my battle.”

He’s almost sensible. Although, I wouldn’t ever accept a request to dodge an enemy army—well, I probably wouldn’t. I bite my tongue and try to come up with a response.

“I’m a City Runner, not a citizen of your Walled Cities. You don’t have any right to detain me.”

He raises his non-existent eyebrows and I hear Periss chuckle softly.

“Indeed? And who will enforce your ‘rights’, Human? An army from one of your precious cities? If they can make it past Liscor, I would be much impressed. But until then, I am a [Lord] and this is my army who provide all the right I need.”

Well, I hate to say it, but he’s right. You can’t exactly say ‘you and what army?’ to this guy, and he’s not about to budge on his position. I can see it in his eyes.

Ilvriss turns and studies a map in his tent. I stare at it covertly, trying to spot any landmarks, like say, a castle made of bones or something helpful to locate that Necromancer.

“Zel may have been injured in this skirmish, but his main force is still out there. Until we find and crush them, you will stay in our camp.”

I grind my teeth.

“Fine. Great. Wonderful. I’m honored.”

“You will not be treated unfairly, unless of course you attempt to escape. I honor all the tenets of war. But you must first relinquish any magical items on your person.”

One of his aides comes towards me, reaching for my belt. Shit. I step back, and Periss reaches for her sword.

“Don’t resist, Human.”

“I’m not resisting.”

Yet. I wonder if I could get out of this tent? The last thing I want to do is sit in a camp while I’m tied up and an enemy army is about to attack. I try to look around as I speak.

“Don’t touch my belt. I’m carrying a magical item that will attack anyone who’s not me or the recipient.”

They brought me into the center of this camp, but the soldiers are healing and they’re guarding the perimeter, not me at the moment. Only Periss is really watching me, and if I could cause a distraction, my potions might help me get away.

The aide hesitates, and Ilvriss looks over.

“What are you carrying that is so important?”

“Stuff. It’s confidential; I can’t speak of it.”

“If it is a weapon, we may seize it for use during our campaign.”

“I don’t know what it is, but if you want to touch it, do it a few miles away from me, will you?”

Periss glares at me, but now I’ve got Ilvriss interested enough to come over. He points at me.

“Show me what you are carrying.”

Slowly, I reach into my belt and sense the Drake behind me reach for her sword. But I’m not about to use the ring as a weapon. Rather, I’m taking the time to remember where all of Octavia’s potions are. Some in my belt, some in my pack. Well, damn. But I know one of them is small enough that I put it in a pouch…

I take out the ring and letter and show it to Ilvriss. Wisely, he doesn’t get any closer, but he studies both.

“Berlyrssat.”

One of the Drakes hurries forwards. He’s not a soldier either; probably a servant of some kind. He’s holding a stone, a clear bit of quartz or something. He waves it over the stone, and it turns deep violet, almost black.

Berlys-whatever takes a step back and gulps as he looks at Ilvriss.

“My Lord. This is a potent magical artifact. The magic on it is Tier 5 or higher.”

That makes the Wall Lord look at me. He narrows his eyes, and Periss’s sword is so close to my back that I can practically feel it tickling my spine. Don’t move. But I know exactly where Octavia’s potion is, now. If she’d just move away—

“What are you carrying? No, do not answer. You have your rules. Intriguing. This may be a weapon, but if it is it is lost to us.” He looks over at Periss, and the Drake nods reluctantly.

“We don’t have time to dispel the magic, if we even could.”

Ilvriss nods once, and then turns back to me, now suddenly and unfortunately focused on me.

“Well then, what else are you carrying?”

“Potions. Defensive equipment. Not stuff I want stolen.”

“We will recompense you for your items. Show me.”

Great, now he’s curious. I sigh, and reach into a pouch slowly.

“Stop. Berlyrssat will take your items, unless any of them are trapped?”

“No. But be careful.”

The Drake aide takes my belt, and begins opening pouches. My pack is sitting on the table, and pretty soon he has most of the items out. Ilvriss ignores my normal gear and stares hard at the potions, especially the one Teriarch gave me.

“Quite an odd collection for a mere City Runner.”

“It’s a dangerous world. Sue me.”

Poke. Unlike Mrsha’s claws, the sword actually goes into my skin a bit and draws blood. I glare at Periss and she gives me a death-look in return.

Ilvriss ignores us lesser beings and studies the glowing potion. Then he frowns as he stares at a clear liquid in another potion.

“What’s this? It’s not like any potion I’ve ever seen.”

“Don’t open it.”

“Is it deadly?”

The Drake eyes the bottle, and I shake my head.

“It’s not. It just smells bad.”

He looks over at me and sniffs.

“Smells bad? What kind of a potion does that?”

“Hey, I don’t judge your armor.”

Poke. I grit my teeth. Aagh! That hurt! I project as much sincerity into my voice as possible.

“Just don’t open it, alright? It smells bad. You’ll regret it. Don’t be stupid.”

This time Periss growls, but Ilvriss just raises an eyebrow. Yep, he’s like all those arrogant idiots. Tell him not to do something and he wants to try it just to show he can.

“Smell is hardly one of the things I fear. Any scent can be easily erased by magic.”

His claw reaches for the cork stopper. Periss raises her voice.

“My lord, is that such a good idea? Please allow me.”

“It is not deadly. The Human has said so and I have read the truth of it in her words. Let us see what she fears so much.”

I hold my breath and hope like hell I don’t puke. Ilvriss struggles to uncork Octavia’s wedged-in stopper, but then it comes out and—

“Dead gods!”

Have you ever smelled—no, wait, that’s not how I should explain it. Have you ever been hit by a car? Because the smell that fills the tent is more like a physical blow than anything else. I’m ready for it, and I still double over and nearly retch. The others aren’t so lucky.

Ilvriss jerks as the smell hits him, and I see his face change. He grasps at his throat—to stop from vomiting?—and his other claw grabs at the bottle. Mistake. It falls to the ground and the stink-liquid pours out and the smell gets worse.

In front of me I see the aide topple over in a dead faint. I hear the sound of vomiting and turn to see Periss throwing up.

No time to hesitate. I spin, step forwards hard as my other leg comes up.

Periss is still holding her sword. I guess soldiers really do have good instincts. She sees me move and tries to raise her weapon, but too late. My shin smashes into her face and she crumbles to the ground.

Oh god. I’ve got vomit all over my pants. But no time to rejoice. I charge towards Ilvriss and the table.

He’s still gasping, trying not to puke. I snatch a potion off the table as he turns towards me. Shit. He’s got a sword too.

“You—”

I uncork the potion and throw it in his face. I bought several potions from Octavia, all of them based on things from my world. This one I know works, because she tested it on herself.

The pepper spray potion splashes Ilvriss in the eyes and he doubles backwards, howling in agony. I toss the bottle to the ground and pray like hell I don’t have any of it anywhere near my face. I step around the fallen Lord of the Wall and grab everything I can, stuffing it into my pack.

No time to sort stuff. I can already hear shouting and people drawing close. I grab the rest of Octavia’s special items – two bags and one potion left now—and look around.

Everyone in the tent is down, but Periss is already stirring and Ilvriss is screaming and rolling around. He might be able to hurt me if he ever stops rubbing the peppers deeper into his eyeballs.

Do I try to take them hostage? No. Then the tent? I see figures? Where—?

I turn, and realize I’m an idiot again. I grab my pack, spare one second to kick Ilvriss in the stomach, and charge at a wall. Any wall. It’s a tent.

Periss’s sword makes a handy canvas-opener. I slash a triangle of fabric out to open a path just as the first soldier races into the room. I hurl the sword at him and he ducks—and it hits his leg. Swords are really heavy, okay? Then I’m out of the tent and running.

The camp is in chaos. When I used the stink potion to get to the High Passes, I had it uncorked in the bottle. Ilvriss shattered it, so everyone’s getting the entire dose straight up. Some of the Drakes can function, like me, but they’re still green* and it looks like every Gnoll is rolling on the ground clutching their nose.

*Green as in green in the face. Some have green scales, others have blue, yellow, black…look, I’m busy right now, okay?

I charge towards the edge of the camp, just as the soldiers notice me. Some of them reach for their bows and I curse.

Zig-zag motion, crouched low and moving fast. But no—there are too many. Potion, then? Teriarch’s or…?

I grab for a bag at my side. First bag I asked her to make. I undo the string and toss it to the ground as what’s inside ignites.

Smoke billows out of the bag, thick and white. The [Soldiers] cry out and some retreat back from me, but it’s not poison. I dive to the ground next to the bag as arrows begin flying overhead. The smoke quickly engulfs me and everything around me.

Smoke. I wanted a grenade, but a fuse takes time to light. But Octavia was able to make it into a bag, and she’s got a stone that lights on fire when it meets the air.

It’s some kind of pyrophoric substance, and it lights up the mixture I told her to make. Smoke. You can make a military-style smoke grenade with some saltpeter, sulfur, charcoal, and wood dust. All of that’s fairly common—people use saltpeter as food preservatives, and only sulfur is hard to get. But an [Alchemist] has some, and so she sifted the ingredients together and added a material that catches fire in the open air.

Instant smoke bomb. I made ones like it all the time when I was a kid, until the police caught me.

But unlike the small versions I made, this one’s got enough smoke to cover me and a huge section of the camp. Smoke billows upwards and I cough.

Stay low, get out of the radius. I hear shouting and thundering footsteps, but I just go for it. I charge forwards, praying like hell I don’t run into anyone.

I do. Five times. But they’re just as confused as I am, and Muay Thai teaches all kinds of throws, sweeps, and takedowns. I run on out of the smoke and out of the camp as soldiers rush around, and then charge after me.

I’m nearly at the edge of the camp and running towards a ridge when I hear shouting. Not from behind, but ahead. I hesitate, and that’s when the second army crests the hill and starts charging right at me.

—-

Zel Shivertail paused as his soldiers crouched at the base of the ridge that led directly to the enemy camp. He was confident—fairly confident his soldiers had managed to take down all of the [Scouts] that Ilvriss had posted, but they had only minutes before their disappearance was noted.

Now was the moment. He looked at his commanders, and saw only trust in their eyes. He hoped they wouldn’t be betrayed. He was leading the charge himself, which was risky, but he had to. A [General] led from the front and he was the strongest warrior.

He raised an arm, and hesitated as a [Scout] charged towards him, waving a furry paw as he abandoned the cover of the treeline. Zel raced towards him and spoke when they were close.

“Report!”

He listened for a few seconds to the Gnoll, and then dashed back to his commanders. They stared at him, tense, expecting the worse.

“This is it! The Ancestors are smiling on us today. Our [Scouts] report that something’s just happened in the camp! Headquarters is in disarray, and they’re off guard! Follow me!”

He leapt to his feet, and his soldiers rose as well in a roar. Zel charged up the ridge in seconds, and when he got to the top he looked down on chaos.

The enemy camp was full of running soldiers, and a thick white smoke that covered the main tent. Zel saw them running towards him, but they hadn’t even spotted the army running up the ridge yet. No, they were chasing something else. Zel grinned.

“A monster attack, or reinforcements from another side? Either way, this is our chance.”

He looked back as the first [Soldier] made it up towards him. Zel raised a claw into the air and shouted.

“Charge!”

He shot down the slope, and heard his army roaring behind him as they surged down the incline. Zel ran towards the smoke, unsure of what he’d find. Something was in the air, and it stank so horribly he wanted to gag. But he ran on, prepared for everything.

Everything, except for a tall Human female sprinting out of the smoke, running as if Wyverns were on her tail. Zel’s charge faltered as he saw her sprinting away, shouting.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu—”

The Human girl wasn’t alone. Soldiers billowed out of the smoke, practically half of the camp. They paused as they saw the charging army, but the girl just turned and sprinted away from both groups.

“Who is that?”

Zel had no answer. A wild arrow shot past his head and he grinned. He ran towards the soldiers who were struggling to form a line, and shouted.

“[Glorious Charge]!”

The effect on the army behind him was immediate. They roared as they felt it take effect, and Zel grinned to see the expressions on the enemy soldiers ahead. Everyone knew Zel Shivertail was the greatest defensive general on the continent. But that didn’t mean he didn’t have a few good offensive skills.

Few people knew he had that skill or how devastating it could be if used right. As the momentum built up behind him and he felt the Skill make his body lighter and his soldiers rush towards the enemy like a moving wall of flesh and steel, Zel grinned.

The Human was already gone, but the enemy formation was in shreds, and he could smell something horrible in the air and see smoke billowing out from the center of the camp. He might have to thank that girl when this was all over. Thanks to her, it looked like this battle might be winnable after all.

The first soldier saw Zel approaching and raised a spear, eyes widening with fear as he saw the famous [General] charging at him. Zel raised a weaponless claw and slashed, and both armor and flesh tore. Then he was turning, lashing out, cutting a huge Gnoll down. He blocked a spear with one hand, catching the tempered point as the Drake holding the weapon struggled to move it.

One of Zel’s soldiers charged into him, stabbing, and then the first rank of Zel’s soldiers crashed into the enemy like the tide. Zel grinned, and slashed left-right at a huge Drake who fended off the blows with his shield. And then the battle had truly begun.

2.30

I’ve always thought I was pretty detached and aloof. Growing up, I learned to ignore people and go my own way. Take running, for example. Lots of people run and everyone agrees that’s healthy.

But take off your shoes and suddenly everyone is a medical doctor who can’t wait to share their opinion on how stupid running barefoot is for your knees, your feet, your arch…

Somehow, what I do is important to other people, as if I’m making them run barefoot. Or, alternatively, if someone sees me running around in sports gear in the winter, they decide that I’m a poor, homeless girl who’s about to freeze to death and try to bother me again.

What I’m saying is that I learned to ignore other people and not react to the world around me, at least externally. I don’t show my feelings, and I keep calm most of the time as a result.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

Now is not one of those times. I’m currently crawling my way through a snow bank, and believe me, I’m doing it fast. Every two seconds I look around for moving shapes in the darkness, and I try not to piss myself as I do.

I’m in hell. Literal hell. You want to see blood and death all around? That’s pretty much a battlefield, and this one has gone to hell, mainly thanks to me.

Let’s set the scene. I walked in on a skirmish between two armies, and got captured. Somehow, I managed to escape by causing a lot of chaos, pepper spraying the general of the army and dropping a smoke bomb in the center of the camp. I was just running away when the other army attacked, and sent my lovely escape right into the middle of the crap heap.

Thousands of soldiers came charging down the ridge as I ran out of the camp. I saw this Drake guy in armor charge right past me, with no weapons but his bare hands. But the army behind him hit the soldiers chasing me like a brick wall, and before I knew it I was in the middle of a huge battle, three times as large as the one I’d seen from the hill.

I tried to get away, but I guess assaulting a [General] isn’t so easily forgivable because archers and mages were still trying to tag me even as both sides began fighting. I ended up sprinting behind a grove of trees and hiding in cover while both sides tried to push the other back.

That’s all okay, right? All I’d have to do is wait until attention was away from me and sprint out of there. I can run fast. That’s practically all I do.

But right when it looked like the soldiers were falling back, someone—a mage—decided that my smoke bomb was a good idea. I felt wind, and suddenly the entire world was covered in thick mist.

Mist? I take that back. It was more like fog. It made everything blurry after about five feet, and as a result I had no idea where the hell I was. I made a break for it twice, and found that each side was just as lost as I was. The soldiers began spreading out and fighting in groups everywhere, so that I had no idea where to run to.

It’s hard being lost in the middle of a battlefield, but the hardest part is being the one Human caught between two armies comprised solely of Drakes and Gnolls. You kind of stand out, and when one side is out for blood and the other one doesn’t trust you, you tend to get shot at.

A lot.

My leg is still burning. I lie down in the snow and feel at it. I pulled the shaft out and poured a healing potion over it, but I guess it wasn’t enough or something was wrong with the arrow. Damn. Is there a fragment caught in my skin?

I can’t tell. It’s dark, my winter clothes are covering the wound, and I don’t dare start a fire or even make a torch. I can hear shouting and screams all around me. The armies are still fighting, and occasionally I hear someone loose a really powerful spell, or shout orders in the distance. I’m just praying they don’t find me.

The snow is melting into my gear, and I know that it’s going to weigh me down if I stay there any longer. I don’t have the latest high-tech snow gear; my clothes aren’t waterproof and I really don’t want to try outrunning soldiers with another twenty pounds of weight on me. I have to get up.

Slowly, I push myself up into a crouch and look around. Now, where am I? I could be a few miles from where I was taken prisoner, or I could be two feet away from the camp. The mist dissipated after a few hours—just in time for the sun to set.

Damn winter days. Damn soldiers. Damn that Wall Lord and his stupid attack dog. Damn opportunistic enemy army.

And damn me for not waiting for Octavia to make copies of all of the bags and potions I ordered! What the hell was I thinking?

I’m down to one bag, one potion, and Teriarch’s magical potion of [Haste] now. And the problem is that the bag and potion work in tandem – realistically, I’ve only got one last diversionary tactic left. And this one—

I feel at the heavy bag I’ve secured to my waist. I really hope it’s not wet; that would render it completely useless, but Octavia reassured me the material that goes into the alchemical bags is both puncture and waterproof. It has to be, in order to contain most of the things [Alchemists] stuff in there*.

*They’ve got everything from those tripvine bags to deadly magical explosives I really wish I’d paid for right now. Here’s the thing: Octavia knew of alchemical versions of everything I wanted, but they were all more expensive than the versions I had her make. I didn’t exactly break the creativity bank with my requests, but I did offer far cheaper variations of existing equipment. A smoke bomb a la my world cost me only a handful of silver (aside from the experimentation and research fee), where it would normally cost a few gold for all the magical ingredients or spells that go into it.

Toss the bag first and then the potion. Right, right. Problem is, it’ll probably kill any normal person and I…don’t want that.

What am I saying? This is a war. But I’m no soldier, and I’m not a killer. Erin told me that.

Damnit.

The potion, then? I was tempted to pop the cork open and take a few swallows several times, but Teriarch’s potion is truly my last resort. Unless I am literally about to die, I won’t use it because if I end up in a situation where I’m without it—

Something else. One deadly diversion, emergency potion. A few healing potions left. And my leg—

Agh. I wince as I stand up and move into a snow-covered bush. It hurts. Damn it, there is something wrong. I need to see.

But the light…I glance around.

I’m in a small copse of trees, or is it a huge forest? There’s open ground to my left, and most of the noise is coming from that direction.

Can I risk it? Do I have any choice? I crouch in the bush, ignoring the prickling branches. They are not an issue at the moment. I’ll risk it.

And at least I don’t have to fumble around with a flint and bits of wood in the dark. I take a deep breath and concentrate.

“Okay, okay. You can do this.”

I can’t make a sphere of [Light] like the spell normally gives off. That’s a huge giveaway in the darkness; I saw a few [Soldiers] making those and they got sniped by a group of archers right off. It’s too obvious, but I do need light.

So what if I alter the spell a bit? It’s [Light]; when we were practicing, Ceria told me the spell is very easy to manipulate. All I need is an image, and I have one in my head.

“Come on, you’ve seen this a million times.”

I whisper to myself as I point a finger at my leg. Focus, think pinpoint, directed. Concentrated. A narrow beam, just like—

“[Flashlight].”

Something twists in my head as the word comes out. It feels like incredible pressure in my brain, and then sudden relief as the [Light] spell alters and a new one takes its place.

And there is light. Not from an orb, though.

Slowly, I raise my finger and stare at it. The tip of my finger is glowing white-yellow, and it’s emitting a cone of light that looks like any flashlight beam. It’s a narrow band; more like a penlight than anything else. It’s perfect, and just what I need.

“Holy shit.”

That is so convenient. Why didn’t Ceria teach me this spell instead of the orb of light? It’s so useful—but of course it’s probably another spell mages learn. Or not. If you’ve got the ability to light up your surroundings, why bother with directed light?

Regardless, it’s perfect for being covert. I doubt the light is too visible from my position in the bush, so I quickly shine it down at my leg.

It’s awkward, rolling back the cloth around my injury with one hand as my light source, but I pull the wet fabric back and see the problem at last.

“Ow.”

Looks like I missed a spot when I pulled that damn arrow out. I see a sliver—well, more like a large fragment buried in my flesh. The potion grew the skin right around it, and as I touch the wood gently I wince.

Damnit. It’s stuck in there now. But I need it out, and so I pinch at it and pull.

Sparks. Flashes of pain. My flesh tears and I nearly scream as the wood splinters. I grab at my belt and come up with a small knife.

Slowly, ever so slowly I lever out pieces of the wood and push back my skin to dig the rest out. The pain—

It’s not the worst I’ve felt, but there are tears in my eyes when I’m done. I grab a bottle out of my pack and pour the last of the healing potion over the wound. It closes instantly, and the pain is gone.

I have to sit after that. Just for a second. I shuffled out of the bush and squat in the snow for a second. Only then to I realize my fingers is still shining like E.T. I scowl, and cancel the magic.

I cover my face with both hands. God. This is beyond intense. I can still hear the fighting all around me, in the distance. What now? Do I run for it? I should, shouldn’t I?

Let’s consider the options. Either I run now, or I wait and hide until morning. But what then? Running in the light of day is going to get me spotted instantly, and if I keep trying to hide, the odds of me being detected go up as well. After a battle like this, whichever side wins is going to be scouring the woods for survivors, and if Wall Lord’s army finds me, I’m not going to be one of them.

Escaping the radius of the battlefield now is my only option, but the only issue is—to where?

Anywhere. Anywhere is fine. If I just pick a direction and run, eventually I’ll get away from them. That’s what I have to hope.

I squat in the snow, and suddenly realize something awful.

I need to go to the bathroom. As in, now. It’s gross, but it’s nature. I was with the Frost Faeries in the morning, and then I was pretty much being taken prisoner, tricking idiot [Lords], and running for my life and hiding for the rest of it.

Shit. I mean, not shit. This is not the place for any of that. I’m in the middle of a war here!

But what am I supposed to do? This is another issue that I never thought I’d have to deal with, but again, I’ve got no choice.

Cover, cover…I eye the bush. That is a very uncomfortable place to squat, but it beats anything else.

“Damn it.”

…

Do you know how hard it is to take off several layers of winter clothing and then do your business when you can hear people dying and hacking each other to bits around you? I mean, that does help the bowel movements in one sense, but in another—

Fear and hatred are pretty much equal in my heart as I brush away branches and try to hurry nature on its course. I’m terrified at any moment someone’s going to see me and this is not the way I want to die—

“Should we come back when she’s done, do ye think?”

“Bah! ‘Tis only a bit of night soil. ‘Twill do the thorn bush good.”

I swear, I had a small heart attack when I heard the voices in my ear. I look around, and see a familiar face. A Frost Faerie grins at me as she perches on a leaf, and more of her friends sit in the bush. Watching me in a very intimate moment.

I growl at them.

“Piss off!”

“It’s not us doing the pissing now, is it?”

The faeries laugh as I grab at my clothes. Here’s one small mercy: I did bring toilet paper with me*. I wipe fast and stumble out of the bush as the faeries float around me, chatting and winging through the air as if they don’t notice the battle going on.

*Toilet paper in this case being blank pieces of parchment, broad leaves, and anything else I could grab that looked soft on the skin. It’s not as if there’s actual factories manufacturing the good stuff, and some people in this world use stones, clay, sponges…fuck that.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

I hiss at the faeries once I’m properly decent. One of them settles on the bush, seemingly ignoring what just transpired there.

“We’re here to fulfill our part of the bargain, silly mortal. Do ye think we’re oath breakers who’d go back on our word for a silly little mortal war?”

I blink at them, and then remember.

“You mean you’re going to take me to the Necromancer? Do you not see the people killing each other over there?”

One of the faeries yawn and she floats up to the tree line.

“I see naught to worry us. Do ye fear the soldiers? Hah!”

She raises her voice and shouts.

“Come then, pitiful mortals! Come with your spears and metal! Yon Human will fight all of you!”

“Shut up!”

I hiss as loudly as I can at the faerie, looking around wildly. She flies back down and laughs in my face.

“‘Tis you who should be quiet! Have you forgotten? Mortals cannot hear our words any more than they can see our true forms. You’re the one clomping around and making sound in the darkness.”

That’s…true. True, but I just want to smack the smirk off the faerie’s face. I take several deep breaths. Even in the middle of a war these little nightmares act the same. If I were on the gallows, they’d be telling jokes and eating popcorn. They’d probably love the show.

But they’re here, and oddly, their presence reassures me even as they piss me off. I steady myself, and readjust my plans.

“Okay. Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry. Can you…take me to the Necromancer?”

“We will take you to the place where the dead gather, as per our agreement, Human.”

Faerie deals. Always beware the fine print. I’m not in the mood to analyze that statement, so I nod.

“Will you take me through safe paths? Away from soldiers, I mean?”

The faeries eye me.

“No paths are safe in war, Human. At least, not to you. We will take you away from the worst of the fighting, but we make no promises.”

Damn. But it beats wandering around, and hey, maybe this Necromancer isn’t interested in a single human. I haven’t seen any undead yet, which sort of makes me more inclined to seek him out than anything living at the moment.

“Alright, lead on.”

“Move quick, and silently as you can, Human. This way.”

The faeries fly off ahead of me, to my right. Deeper into the forest. I hesitate, and then move after them, slowly, quietly, wincing each time my boots crunch in the snow or I snap a branch.

It’s a long, harrowing journey in the darkness, with only the blue glow of the faerie’s light to guide my path. But then we enter a clearing and the faeries hover, pointing.

“There. Beyond lies the place you seek.”

My heart pounds as I stop and stare at the trees. They’re nothing special. Dark shadows seem to consume sight a few feet in, but otherwise the stand of trees looks ordinary to me.

“Are you s—”

Of course they’re sure. I bite the question back on my tongue.

“Okay, let’s go.”

I slowly walk into the trees, pushing past the thick branches. My nerves are twanging as I slowly make my way forwards. It’s so dark. What will I find beyond these trees? Death? It can’t be worse than what lies behind me.

But then—a voice in my ear.

“Stop.”

Instantly, I stop, listening for the sounds of something approaching. But then the faerie hovering by my face points.

“Go left here.”

I eye her, but do as she instructs. But after only a few feet she stops me again.

“Now forwards.”

Again, I take no more than ten steps before she speaks.

“Now right.”

“Oh come on.”

The faerie glares at me as I give her an irritated look.

“This is the path, Human. Do ye want to find this Necromancer or not?”

I’d soon as rather not, but maybe they’re steering me around pitfalls or something. Grumpily I obey, but then the faerie floats in front of me.

“Good. Now, walk backwards.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“You do that well enough. ‘Tis the only way through this maze.”

“Maze? What maze? We’re in the trees!”

The faerie gives me another look, and I realize how stupid that sounds. Magic doesn’t need to be visible, does it? But then…she could just be messing with me. The problem is, both theories sound equally valid.

But the faeries don’t lie…much. So I sigh and turn around, only to have the faerie yell at me again.

“No, don’t turn! Walk backwards, fool!”

I glare at her, but face forwards again and slowly walk backwards.

“If this is some kind of prank—”

The faerie rolls her eyes in impatience.

“Look at your stone, you fool, you!”

For a moment I forget that I have Teriarch’s enchanted stone. Then I pull it out and stare at the magical arrow.

It’s pointing behind me. I turn, and it swings around. What the hell? You can only get to your destination by walking backwards at this point?

I try to follow the stone’s directions, walking backwards, forwards, left and right seemingly at random. No wonder everyone thinks this Necromancer is dead if this is how you have to get to him.

“That’s a clever trick.”

“Not so clever. And ye missed a step. You walked too far forwards.”

Damn. She’s right. Somehow I’m back in the clearing. I sigh, and then freeze as I hear a voice.

“Are you a Courier, then?”

I whirl around. Standing behind me is a Drake, a tall warrior wearing plate armor. My heart freezes in my chest. Oh no. A soldier.

My hand shoots towards my belt, but the soldier sighs.

“Don’t move. I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m not in the mood to get hit with some [Alchemist]’s concoction.”

I freeze, and the Drake nods. My eyes dart around the clearing, but he’s the only person here besides me. Literally.

The faeries are gone. Looks like they won’t help me if I’m attacked. I have no idea what to do.

I stare at the Drake and recognize him, vaguely. He’s the one who led the charge on the other army. He’s covered with blood, and it’s practically painting his arms.

“I saw you fleeing Ilvriss’s camp. I don’t suppose you have a message for me?”

He doesn’t seem to be overly hostile, and he’s clearly not with the soldiers I escaped from. I hesitate.

“No. I’m on a different mission. But I am a Runner?”

“Who else could be living this far away from civilization? No, don’t answer. I don’t particularly care right now. But tell me, have you seen any other soldiers here? I’ve been separated from my army, and I keep getting turned around here.”

He’s lost? I glance at the trees behind me out of the corner of my eyes. Must be an unfortunate side effect of the magic.

“I haven’t seen anyone, but I think there’s fighting that way.”

I point back the way I came.

“Not sure if they’re your side or the other side, though. I didn’t get close enough to check.”

The Drake shrugs wearily.

“It doesn’t matter either way. So long as I get back to the fighting. I’d like to talk with you once this is over, assuming we win. Seems like I owe you a debt for causing that chaos in the camp.”

Really? A Drake that isn’t immediately suspicious of me? A sensible soldier? This is almost harder to believe than the magic forest maze. But I don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, especially when he looks like he’s just ripped apart a bunch of people with his claws.

“Sure. Thanks. I’ll just be going now…”

I take a few steps backwards. The Drake smiles.

“I understand. But before you go—could I get your name? My name is Zel.”

“…I’m Ryoka.”

He nods and smiles again.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Ryoka. Now then, I’ll let you be on your way.”

He turns and begins to walk past me, but then, stops, and sighs. I tense, but he’s not looking at me. Zel scratches at his cheek wearily, leaving a thin trail of blood.

“Oh Dragon dung.”

I look over. Standing at the edge of the clearing is a group of soldiers, weapons drawn, and leading them are two Drakes I recognize.

Lord of the Wall Ilvriss strides forwards, resplendent in his gold and crimson armor, his loyal subordinate Periss at his side. His cape swirls around him as he draws his sword, a shining blade that glows even in the darkness.

The effect is somewhat ruined by his red eyes and the awful stench coming from him and Periss. That might be why the elite soldiers are standing a bit farther behind the two than necessary.

Ilvriss stares at me and Zel, his eyes burning and blinking rapidly. He looks pissed. And uh, I might be edging behind Zel at this point.

The lone Drake looks at Ilvriss and the warriors without a trace of fear, but rather, weary resignation. He nods his head and Ilvriss returns the gesture.

“Zel Shivertail.”

“Wall Lord Ilvriss. I don’t suppose you’re here to surrender, are you?”

“On the contrary. I will have you surrender here, now, or after I have subdued you. This battle is over.”

Zel nods as if he expected nothing more. He eyes Ilvriss’ red eyes with interest, as well as Periss. She’s got a nasty bruise on her scales where I kicked her, and both she and Ilvriss are giving me casual looks of murderous rage.

“That’s a lot of elite soldiers to capture me. I’m flattered.”

Ilvriss shakes his head in irritation.

“I would not sully our duel with underhanded tricks. They are here for her.”

He points at me with his sword, and every eye shifts towards me. Oh shit.

There’s got to be at least fifteen soldiers behind Periss, and they all look like they’ve got special armor. How do I know? Magic runes, shining metal where there’s no light, and a general sense of…death emanating from the group of warriors.

I am so dead.

Ilvriss nods to his second-in-command.

“I will deal with Shivertail. Capture the Human.”

I tense to run, but surprisingly, Zel interrupts. He takes a casual step towards Ilvriss and everyone in the clearing raises their weapon. Is this guy some sort of badass? Or…the general of the other army?

“Hold on now, that’s a bit unfair. Why don’t you send some of those warriors my way? I’m sure it will make this a fairer fight.”

He raises a bloody claw, and Periss hesitates. She looks towards Ilvriss.

“My Lord—”

He glares at her. Looks like he wants an honor duel, no matter how stupid everyone else thinks it is. He points at me.

“Go, Periss. Hack off her legs if you must, but bring her to me alive. ”

That doesn’t sound good. I take two steps back, but one of the Drakes in the ground raises a bow. Well, shit. I’m definitely not faster than a speeding arrow. Think, Ryoka. What can I…?

It’s dark in the clearing. I glance around. The moonlight is faint as it filters through the thick canopy. If I run…no, their eyes are too good.

Eyes. Too good. Darkvision. My eyes narrow. Zel is beginning to circle with Ilvriss and Periss is slowly advancing towards me, sword raised. Her eyes are on my belt, but I don’t reach for a potion. Instead, I slowly raise my hand.

“Hey Lord Asshole. Take a good look at this.”

Ilvriss spares one glance towards me and opens his mouth at the same time Periss does. But that’s all I need. I focus, and push all the magic I have into one spell.

Now.

My palm shines white, and the Drakes and Gnolls cry out and cover their eyes. It’s the [Flashlight] spell again, only this time it’s on high beam.

I turn and sprint back towards the enchanted section of trees, pointing my hand backwards as I do. The light is blinding, but I hear the soldiers blundering after me even as the Zel guy leaps towards Ilvriss.

The trees encircle me. I hesitate. Teriarch’s stone is in my belt. Which way do I—?

“To your right, Human!”

A faerie flies down and shouts in my ear. I immediately run right even as I point my palm backwards. Blind them. I can hear Periss shouting angrily, her voice ringing through the trees.

“Seize her! Cancel that spell!”

The bright light emanating from my palm suddenly goes out. I blink in shock and nearly stumble as the now far-darker forest closes in around me.

Oh hell. I didn’t know mages could do that. I drop my hand and put all my energy into sprinting ahead. The faeries keep calling out directions and I obey them as I hear my pursuers shouting just behind me.

“Forwards! Now right!”

“Diagonal left! No, other left!”

“Stop and turn right! There! Run!”

“Left now!”

My foot catches on a root, and I stumble. My arms windmill and I jerk back upright—

And stop when I see the castle.

It sits in the center of a flat, open stretch of land covered by white snow. It’s impossible, but the castle is suddenly there, a structure sitting in the center of a cleared section of forest. It was invisible until I made my way through this maze; I could have sworn that only more trees were ahead of me.

But here it is. A castle. The home of the Necromancer, I’ve no doubt. It looms overhead, a black fortress of stone, a lone sentinel in the open landscape filled with snow. There’s something beautiful about it, but I have no time to admire the sights.

“Don’t move, Human.”

I hear the voice a second before a hand grabs me and a shaft of edged steel appears at my throat. Periss roughly drags me back as her soldiers rush out of the forest behind me. Somehow, they managed to follow me through the maze.

“Mage, watch for any magic coming from her and neutralize it.”

Periss is so intent on me she hasn’t even seen the castle. I hold very still as the steel nicks my skin, watching as the other soldiers gasp and stagger backwards from the massive castle. But Periss only has eyes for me. She snaps orders at the other soldiers.

“Someone search her belt and pack! Remove any suspicious items.”

One of the soldiers, a tall Gnoll with a poleaxe hesitates.

“Lady Periss—”

The Drake ignores him. She glares at me.

“We are going to go back to Wall Lord Ilvriss to aid in his battle. Prepare for combat against Zel Shivertail. And I swear to you Human, if you try anything I will slice off both your legs and arms—”

“Lady Periss!”

At last she looks up and freezes. The sword at my throat lowers, but I don’t dare move. Periss slowly lets go of me and takes a step back.

“By all the Ancestors, what…?”

She looks at me, and suddenly the sword is right back at my throat. I raise my hands, but the tip of the sword is literally tickling my larynx.

“What is this place, Human. Where have you taken us?”

I gulp. That actually hurts, as the sword tip pierces my throat..

“This is the place where the dead go.”

“What?”

“It’s the home of a [Necromancer]. Ah, the Necromancer. Az’kerash.”

It’s like I just said I brought them to the gates of hell. The elite soldiers groan aloud, and Periss’ scales go nearly as white as the snow. To her credit, she doesn’t even hesitate.

“Retreat! Now!”

She seizes me and another Drake drags me backwards. I’m practically lifted off my feet as the soldiers rush back towards the forest.

We get fifteen steps in, and then suddenly we’re rushing back out. Periss and her warriors stop in confusion, but I know what’s wrong.

“It’s a maze. You have to follow a path to get out.”

She turns and seizes me with both claws.

“What path!? Tell us how to get out?”

“I don’t know! I’ve only got this, but it points towards the Necromancer, not away!”

I show her the magical stone. Periss looks at it and shakes her head.

“We’re trapped here, then.”

She slowly lets go of me and looks around.

“Soldiers, comrades. It’s been an honor. Say your last words now, if you have them.”

The other Drakes and Gnolls look at Periss, and their weapons lower. They hesitate. Then a Drake begins to murmur, and a Gnoll howls towards the sky. I stare as the others begin speaking quietly, or simply wait, hands on hilts, staring at the castle.

Periss looks at me, all hostility gone.

“I have always loved my Lord. I wish I had the courage to tell him.”

I stare at her, uncomprehending. Periss holds my gaze, and then nods once and turns away.

A goodbye.

I don’t get it. I don’t understand. And in truth, I never have.

The Necromancer. Az’kerash. To me, he’s just another name, another bigwig in a world where everyone’s bald. How could I understand who he is, when everyone just says his name as if what he’s done is common knowledge?

Well, it probably is. But I don’t know it. It’s like someone who’s never been to our world hearing the name Hitler and wondering who he was. I didn’t realize the gravity of what Teriarch was asking me to do, and I don’t know why the soldiers look like they’re ready for death.

But then the earth shakes, and I do. I hear a groan, not the sound of any natural geological process, but the sound of something that is neither living nor natural. It echoes out of the ground, a horrible noise that comes from beyond, from the depths of dark horror and fear.

Bleeding in the brain. Squiggling shapes in your bedroom. The shadow standing at your front door. Maggots crawling in your mouth and eyes.

Fear.

Thump. Thump.

My heartbeat echoes. I turn, and look towards a patch of ground that begins to bulge upwards. Periss raises her sword slowly.

The earth shakes. I can feel it in my bones.

This is the place where the dead gather. This is the place where the Necromancer lives. But somehow I forgot what that means.

Now I know. Now I understand.

Something reaches up out of the ground, a hand, grey-green flesh, rotten sinew. But pink in places, too, oozing red. And bone. An arm, but not one any Human would have.

It reaches towards the sky, each finger as tall as I am, and the colossus rises. A head breaks the snow, and two eyes filled with huge, squirming maggots gapes at us. I’m screaming in my head, but the cold air is filled only with silence.

Az’Kerash. The Necromancer.

The undead giant slowly rises out of the ground and the soldiers behind me stare up at it. Suddenly, their magical gear that was so deadly seems like toys in the hands of children. They are ants, and so am I.

The giant stops halfway out of the ground. It raises its other arm, shedding snow and dirt and waits. I hesitate, but then I see more shapes.

They’re sitting up out of the snow, or walking from the castle. Skeletons, undead, both far more ghastly shapes too. A hideous, bloated creature with bones for teeth and claws drags itself across the ground, dribbling black blood from its ‘mouth’. A thing made of many worms reshapes itself as it slowly drags itself through the snow.

A tall corpse of a Gnoll strides towards us, a massive battleaxe in his hand, faded silver armor and a circlet shining in the moonlight.

An army of the dead. They advance towards us, walking slowly, as if they’ve got all the time in the world. And they do. They’re dead, endless, immortal. And we are trapped and alone.

“Human.”

Periss speaks quietly to me, her eyes never leaving the approaching undead. She holds her sword at the ready, tip pointed straight ahead.

“What was it that you were supposed to deliver?”

I don’t even bother with hesitation. What’s the point, now? I sense the ruby ring and letter in my pouch.

“A letter to Az’kerash from a Dragon.”

She stares at me silently. Then her lips quirk into a half-smile.

“And my Lord thought you were carrying a mere artifact of the past. Would that he knew this. Well, go.”

She points towards the castle and I stare at her.

“You’re just letting me leave?”

She shrugs as the horror drags itself out of the ground. The soldiers around her are forming into a line, their faces grim.

“You have your duty, I have mine. Let us both die fulfilling our roles.”

Across the snowy expanse, the undead Gnoll wearing armor stops and speaks. His voice is hollow, booming.

“I am Kerash, Commander of the Endless Legions of Az’Kerash. Die with honor.”

Something walks beside him. She looks almost humanoid, but she has no face, no features. Her body is rotted flesh, green in places, purple and blue and black in others. She rots, even in this cold, giving off a putrid stench.

“I am Bea. Am I not beautiful?”

Her dead flesh moves and I feel my stomach heaving involuntarily. Periss grits her teeth together, but her voice never wavers.

“Run, Human. This is between us and them.”

“The old blood shall be avenged.”

A Gnoll says that. He raises an arrow and sights towards the thing that called itself Bea, but doesn’t fire. Not yet.

“Death to the Necromancer.”

I look to Periss.

“You’ll die. Run.”

She looks at me, just once, and shakes her head.

“Drakes do not run. Go!”

My feet take me away as the soldiers charge. Sixteen against a horde. Kerash raises his battleaxe with one hand and Bea spreads her arms wide. I turn and pump my legs, running past zombies and horrors that reach for me.

The screaming begins in only seconds. I hear the sounds of death, of flesh being torn and bones breaking. But I hear the living shouting in defiance as they charge the dead, fighting to the last. But falling.

One by one.

—-

Zel Shivertail and Lord Ilvriss dueled in the snowy clearing, exchanging blows as they circled in the cold night. One wore armor sparkling with enchantments and held a sword which glowed in the night; the other wore plain steel and fought with his claws.

It was a close fight, but unbalanced. Zel was swifter, stronger, tougher. His claws were like steel and he had two and Ilvriss had only his sword. But the [Lord]’s armaments were magic, and he fought taking full advantage of that fact.

The magic enchantments on Ilvriss’s armor deflected Zel’s every strike, and the Drake [General] found himself slowly being pressed backwards as the [Lord] slashed with rapid, powerful cuts of his long sword.

With each cut Zel took, no matter how small, he stumbled, and his scales would darken around the cuts. Ilvriss pressed the attack mercilessly, guarding his uncovered face, the only spot Zel could truly attack.

“Surrender, Shivertail. This is too small a place for you to die. Once your Alliance surrenders you will be released.”

“It’s not over yet, Ilvriss.”

Zel ducked a slash and kicked out, sending Ilvriss stumbling back. The Drake snarled and raised his sword, and the blade glowed brighter. But then he wavered.

In the silence of the snowy night, something cracked. The [Lord] stared at his clawed hands. They were decorated by several rings that swirled with light, but one now grew dark. Slowly, the emerald gemstone, a brilliant stone with luminescent depths, broke in two. The gold holding the gemstone split, and the pieces fell into the snow.

Ilvriss stared at the broken ring. For a few seconds, the world stopped for him, and the sword lowered in his grasp. He whispered.

“Periss?”

Ilvriss stared for just a second too long. Zel rushed forwards and seized the long sword by the base of the blade. The Drake howled as his hand bled, but now Ilvriss was caught, and although the [Lord] struggled, he was unable to tear his blade loose.

Zel raised a hand and balled it into a fist. Ilvriss shouted with rage as he released his sword and reached for a dagger at his belt. He lashed out, took a blow to the chin, and collapsed on the ground.

Slowly, Zel Shivertail sat next to Ilvriss and sighed. Then he heaved the Drake onto his shoulder and looked around. There was no sign of Ryoka or Lady Periss and her soldiers. And he had no time to look.

The [General] started running back the way both Ryoka and Ilvriss’s soldiers had come, bouncing the unconscious [Lord] on his shoulder. The battle wasn’t won. Not yet.

Zel pretended not to have seen the tears on Ilvriss’s face, and the salty drops fell into the snow as the Drake carried the Lord of the Wall onwards, leaving the broken ring behind in the snow.

—-

Somehow I made it across the open stretch of ground between me and the castle. I don’t know how; I just ran. Ran as I’d never done before. The undead tried to seize me, but most of them were still focused on the soldiers fighting behind me.

I run, with blood freezing in my veins, towards the drawbridge. It was lowered, and I pound across the black metal, hearing the voices dwindling behind me. I did this. I brought them here.

A courtyard, deserted, paving stones covered with snow. And at the end, two vast double doors. My legs cover the distance in seconds and my hands seize the vast rings, pulling with all my strength.

I hear a scream as I throw open the wide doors and rush inside. Periss. I can’t focus on her death, but I feel the pang in my heart. She went down fighting.

I have to run. I can’t hear any sounds of pursuit, but the undead are terrifyingly silent.

The castle’s corridors are massive and silent. I run through them, blindly at first, and then by the faint light of Teriarch’s stone. Run, run!

Glowing, pinpoints of light all around me. The corridors are filled with silent skeletons, zombies, the undead! But they don’t move. They don’t even look at me as I run past. They’re…inactive. But something is moving down here.

“Intruder. Halt and—”

I skid to a halt. Someone is standing down the dark corridor. A woman. No. Not a woman.

A…knight? She’s wearing armor. But then she walks forwards, and I see that armor is bone. Her skin is bone. She is bone.

The knight made of bones is no Toren, though. Her face is that of a beautiful woman, harsh and angular though it might be, but her face is ivory white. Bone. And her armor, which is just another part of her body, is gleaming white. She has a great sword made of bone in her hands.

At her back are a group of skeletons. Again, not like Toren. These ones look like they’ve been…altered. They have far too many ribs, and it looks like their frames have been redesigned so they look like walking tanks. They’re all armed, and the bone-woman is striding towards me.

I reach towards my belt. Teriarch’s potion? No. The bag. I rip the string away and hurl it towards the woman.

She slices the bag in half before it gets anywhere near her. But that just makes the contents explode in her face. White powder fills the air and she halts, looking confused.

The fine particles fill the corridor, practically a smokescreen in itself. The woman stares at the particles covering her and the skeletons and waves it away.

“…Flour?”

That’s exactly what it is. I don’t know how the hell Octavia packed the flour in so tight—probably the same way she made the smokescreen. But now the air is saturated, and I grab the last potion out of my belt. I uncork it and hurl it in one motion.

Flames burst from the bottle the instant it meets the air. But even as the bone woman dodges, the liquid inside the bottle combusts and the hot oil and animal fat mixed with the pine resin burst outwards.

Liquid flame. Greek fire. Napalm. My last resort. But it misses the woman and instead bursts on a skeleton. She looks back at me—

And the air explodes.

The swirling flour dust and sugar I had Octavia pack into the bag combusts as the fine particles ignite. It’s called a dust explosion, and it’s as close to an actual bomb as I was willing to make.

Dust in the air. People know flour explodes when heated, but it’s really any fine particle in enough density that will combust. Coal mines, grain silos, even a kitchen can create these conditions.

The force of the blast nearly throws me off my feet and the heat cooks me. The flour dust blows outwards as the flames expand, engulfing everything caught in the center of the blast in fire.

But as the smoke clears, the woman made of bone strides forward, unharmed, untouched. Her eyes glow silver with rage, as she raises her great sword.

“You cannot—”

She stops. I’m already sprinting down the corridor, far, far away from her. I started running even before the flour exploded*.

*Rule one of monsters. You didn’t kill them. You didn’t even hurt them. I don’t care if you dropped a bomb on them or cut off their heads. They’re alive. Run.

I come to a cross in the halls filled with the waiting dead. I look at my stone. Left. I run, and see a pair of massive double doors. They’re guarded, but the soldiers stand still and silent like the others. I hesitate, but I hear thunder from behind and look over my shoulder and see the undead bone monster charging down at me. She’s running fast for someone so huge, but she looks like a freight train heading my way.

I rush towards the doors and heave at them. They’re heavy. I have to push all my weight against one, but slowly, slowly, the left door slides open. I slide through, and tumble into the vast room ahead of me. I spring to my feet—

“[Sticky Webbing].”

Thick strands of web fly out and encircle me. Instantly, I’m covered in webs, barely able to move. I stare at the hand that cast the spell, and for the first time, I see Az’kerash, Perril Chandler, the Necromancer in person.

He’s just…an old man.

Az’kerash stands in the center of a vast, circular room, staring upwards, one finger pointed at me. He looks like an old man. Just that.

His face is lined and he has white hair; he looks like Teriarch’s human form, but without the superhuman physique. He’s just an old man, with white locks and skin that’s albino white.

But he is the Necromancer. I can feel the power he has in the air. It seems to pulse off him, so much raw energy it makes me sick. I fear him more than anything else.

His right hand is glowing, and he’s staring up at something. My eyes travel towards it, and my head goes blank.

Impossible. Horrific. But what hangs above me is a nightmare of flesh and bones. It looks like a—whale. Or parts of one. Something—his magic—is shaping the flesh and bone overhead, transforming the carcass into a shifting mass of organs and muscle. There’s too much bone up there, and it’s curving against the whale’s skull. It shifts, and I see tendons and muscle moving—

I have to look away. The Necromancer doesn’t even glance my way, but he speaks.

“Venitra. Lower your sword.”

I can’t look around. I can barely move my legs; if I tried I’d definitely fall over. But I hear the heavy footsteps.

“Master—”

“You have failed. Regard this as a lesson and learn from it.”

“Yes, master.”

Her voice is deep, but surprisingly soft. I feel a presence behind me.

“I will dispose of the intruder now.”

“That won’t be necessary. Thank you, Venitra. I will take care of this myself. Leave me.”

I see the bone woman appear in my peripherals for just a moment. She looks at me with eyes full of cold fury, and then turns and silently exits the room.

I am left alone with Az’kerash. And now that I can look away from the terrible sight above me, I begin to see other details.

He is just a human or—he looks like one. But he bears other marks of his profession.

His robes are black. But that word and color don’t describe a tenth of what he is actually wearing. Can you weave shadows together? Can you take midnight and color it with shades of darkness, so finely woven that the world bends where the folds of the robes meet and swirl together? That’s his robe.

It is shadows, and they slowly ripple over his form, sucking in all light. And he has a ring on his finger, a piece of silver that looks normal, but makes what little magical sense I have scream at me that it is not.

And then Az’kerash speaks, and his voice is normal. Old, cracked, but still clear and strong. And—distant. He doesn’t look at me as he talks out loud.

“What is the point of having help if they can’t even keep out a single intruder? But then, if they were as competent as the creator, what would be my role? Wouldn’t you agree, young lady?”

“I—”

“It is impressive that you made it this far. But I am busy, and I will discover anything of value from your corpse at a later time.”

He points at my face and speaks.

“[Silent Sickle].”

The air ripples, and a ring of edged silver speeds towards my face. I throw my weight against the webs, and topple over.

The sickle cuts my hair, and through the flesh of my shoulder, so finely that only when I fall and jar the cut does it start to bleed. And the pain hasn’t begun yet, so severe is the cut.

“Interesting. Low-level spells have their weaknesses. I commend you.”

His finger shifts downwards towards my face. I stare at the Necromancer and know I’m about to die.

He’s—he’s not even looking at me. His other hand is shimmering with so much magic that it’s making me feel sick just looking at it. I don’t even think he’s paying attention; he’s acting on autopilot!

“Wait!”

I shout as Az’kerash’s finger glows. He makes no response and I desperately call out.

“I have a letter! I’m a messenger!”

The black glow around his fingers fades. Az’kerash pauses.

“A letter? From whom?”

“Teriarch. He sent a letter and a ring. It’s in my belt.”

I don’t feel the spider webs vanish. But they’re suddenly gone, and I scramble to my feet. I reach for my belt pouch, but it disappears from my waist and reappears in the Necromancer’s hand. He casually opens it and discards the belt as he takes both ring and letter in his hand.

For the first time he diverts his gaze from the floating collection of body parts overhead and glances down at the letter. I see his pupils only once—pale ghostly white light shining from behind two black corneas.

He doesn’t even look at me, but my heart falters in my chest. There’s something behind those eyes. Something inside that gaze, something else. It’s not Human anymore, if it ever was. But then he looks down and blinks once, and I look away, at his dark robes made from shadows and midnight.

“Let me see. Ah, yes. I was expecting this.”

I hold my breath. Az’kerash reads the letter swiftly, murmuring around.

“The usual long-winded greetings…my deepest congratulations to you…accept this small token of my esteem. Ah. And he’s sent a ring enchanted with warding and movement spells in the Silvarian dueling fashion – no, knowing him, it’s most likely an original. A nod to my passions and an expensive and practical gift. Appropriate.”

The Necromancer flicked his hand, and the ring vanished.

“How…predictable. A note and token of esteem to mark my two hundredth year of existence. He needn’t have bothered especially given our strained relationship. But Dragons are quite conscientious about such things and they are nothing if not formal. I don’t suppose this comes with a request for a reply? No, I don’t believe he would want to impose. Ah, well.”

The Necromancer looked over at Ryoka.

“Is there anything else?”

—-

Ryoka tried to work moisture into a suddenly dry mouth. What? Her mind was full of roaring static.

Az’kerash turned back towards the ever-changing monstrosity above.

“Is there anything else?”

“N-no.”

“Very well then. I suppose it would not do to kill one of his messengers. Go, then.”

Ryoka stood in place for a few seconds, but her legs wisely moved her towards the door. The static roared louder in her ears. A voice whispered in her ears.

Let’s see.

Hundreds of miles.

Countless dangers.

Two armies at war.

Frost Faeries.

Necromancer and undead minions.

For this. A delivery worth eight hundred gold pieces.

A letter. A…happy birthday letter and a token gift.

“I’ll just…be going now.”

The Necromancer didn’t even glance her way. He was totally engrossed in his project overhead.

“Ah, hm. Goodbye. Shut the door on your way out.”

She did, pausing only to pick her belt off the ground. Ryoka stared at the door, and then looked over and saw Venitra. And Kerash. And Bea. They stood around her, faces full of—

“The Master let her go? Why?”

“He is busy. His decision may be in error.”

“He doesn’t make mistakes.”

“No. But we should hold her until he is finished.”

“Agreed.”

Ryoka stared at them. Static.

She punched Venitra in her bony face and felt her hand crack. Broken bone? No, just horribly bruised. She reached into her belt pouch and pulled out a glowing orange-and-pink potion. Bea reached for her and Kerash intervened, pushing her pallid hands back with his.

“We need her alive.”

“Apologies.”

Ryoka uncorked the potion. The undead didn’t even seem to regard her as a threat. She downed the entire bottle. Wasn’t she supposed to only take a few gulps?

Venitra reached out towards Ryoka. Her fingers began to close over the young woman’s shoulders and then froze.

Ryoka blinked at the fingers. They’d stopped? No, they were moving slowly. Carefully, Ryoka moved backwards and watched as the fingers slowly closed together. The bone-woman’s face registered shock, and then Kerash moved, striking out at Ryoka, faster, but still at a snail’s pace to Ryoka.

She walked away. Then began to jog. And then run. Ryoka frowned, but her legs moved against her will. Faster, faster, faster.

“Ohnothisisn’tgoodIcan’tstop.”

Out of the castle in a blink of the eye. Ryoka’s mind was racing, but it couldn’t catch up with her body. Something in her was steering her legs, but her conscious mind was still trying to process what was happening. And then Ryoka was running—

—-

Zel’s soldiers charged towards the enemy, and the Drake [General] lifted a bloodstained claw and roared, inspiring his warriors and demoralizing the enemy army. Without either Periss or Ilvriss, their ranks were crumbling as his superior Skills and abilities turned the tide of the battle.

“Reform ranks and prepare another charge!”

This would shatter them. As Zel took his place at the head of the line, he felt tired. Too many cuts from Ilvriss’s damn sword. But he was getting old, too. Too old for meaningless battles.

The enemy was still regrouping. Zel narrowed his eyes. His troops were trying to form up, but this was the moment.

“Charge!”

He thundered across the ground, feet splashing in mud and blood. The enemy soldiers raised shields and tried to close ranks, but he could see the fear in their eyes. Zel raised a claw like a hammer and hesitated. His head turned.

“What is that?”

—-

Like lightning. Like the breeze on a summer’s day, elusive, fleeting, a breath of air and then clear skies. She runs.

A lone Human runs out of the forest, out of the place where everything died. She runs through magic, through snow and across forests and hills, her feet barely touching the ground. Her body is constant motion, and only the air holds her back. Her wake is a gale and storm; the snow blows up around her and the wind creates a snowstorm in the air.

She runs through the snow, across the battlefield, between soldiers who turn and stare at the blur of movement kicking up a storm of snow behind her.

Warriors raise their weapons and slash at the Human, archers loose arrows and mages blast the ground around her with spells. But she runs on, between charging soldiers, ducking a scything blade, vaulting over a falling soldier. On and on, ceaseless, unable to stop.

A messenger, a carrier of words and private things.

A courier for both rich and poor.

A traveler with no allegiance but her own.

A Runner.

Screaming, but in words spoken so quick only the Frost Faeries flying ahead of her can hear.

“Ican’tstop!Goddamnitstoplaughingandhelpme!”

The faeries hear her of course, and they keep pace with her easily. Perhaps they could stop her, but they’re laughing too hard to reply.

2.31

Erin stared hard at the golden substance bubbling and turning brown over the fire. It was cheese. Cheese, on top of a tomato sauce spread evenly over a doughy base.

With pepperoni. It had to be with pepperoni, or else there wouldn’t be any point, would there? Erin was a firm believer in pepperoni; she could take or leave pineapple and she refused to acknowledge anchovies.

These were the essential secrets of the universe, and this was the substance that made the world spin. Okay, maybe they weren’t essential, but they were pretty important!

“Pizza.”

Erin breathed the word, as she sensed the moment was now. She reached forwards and yanked the pizza off the metal rack over the fire, glad that she’d remembered to wear gloves this time.

“Pizza!”

It was glorious. Perfectly round, with a radius you could bite into with fluffy crust and generous toppings of both cheese and meat. None of the skimpy, bare-bones layer over the tomato sauce, thank you very much.

Erin slid the pizza onto the counter and grabbed a knife. She didn’t have a pizza roller, but it was easy enough to cut into the traditional eight slices. That too was essential; you couldn’t have unevenly sized slices, or someone might get stabbed.

It was done. Erin stared at her newest creation and felt her stomach rumble. But no, this wasn’t for her. This was for her customers.

As Erin swept back into the common room she enjoyed the sound of that word. Customer. She had some! But maybe that wasn’t the word for the people sitting in her inn. Hm. Patron? No, that sounded awful.

“Guest.”

That was a good word. Erin beamed as she sat her pizza down in front of the Drakes who eyed the food suspiciously. She didn’t know them, and that was glorious too!

She had guests that weren’t friends. It didn’t sound like much, but it was progress! For the last few days, Erin had been getting Gnolls, Drakes, and the odd Human into her inn, and not just her friends and Pisces. She was making money, and with her newest creation she was sure she was going to make even more.

“Is this…‘pizza’?”

One of the Drakes poked at a slice with a claw. Erin nodded proudly.

“Yup! It’s really good! As good as a hamburger. Try it; you’ll see!”

One of the three Drakes who’d come to her inn for lunch looked at his companions. He shrugged, and gingerly picked up a still-steaming slice. He blew on it a few times, and then nibbled it.

His eyes widened, and his tail twitched a bit. Erin watched his face and his tail anxiously. Drakes were like dogs, and Gnolls were even more like Dogs. They could lie pretty well, but their tails always gave them away.

“Hm. Lots of cheese. And chewy. Warm.”

He bit deeper into the slice as his companions watched expectantly. Erin held her breath. His tail twitched…and then began to wag!

Just a bit. But when the Drake finished the rest of his slice and reached for another one Erin knew she’d done it again. Or rather, copied it again.

“How is it?”

The Drake chewed thoughtfully and then nodded in satisfaction.

“Delicious. It quite suits our needs.”

Erin beamed, and the other Drakes nodded happily in approval. One picked up a slice, but rather than eat it, began to dissect it, examining the parts.

“Melted cheese, sauce…from a tomato? And rising dough. Extraordinary. But how delicious!”

The third Drake nodded. He wasn’t eating either, which was strange to Erin, but he also inspected the pizza with great interest.

“It seems easy to make. Simple recipe—”

“Tomatoes might be hard to come by. Not much call for them.”

“There will be. Put in an order and we’ll have enough.”

The first Drake nodded as he licked his claws.

“Cheese and sauce base—the meat is good, but I can see sliced fish being equally appealing. I’ll do a few prototypes.”

“Prototypes?”

All three Drakes froze and looked over at Erin. The second one gave her an unconvincing smile.

“W-well, we were just saying what an extraordinary recipe it is.”

“Oh. Um. Thanks? Are you some kind of [Cooks]?”

The third Drake nodded. He stood and extended a claw to Erin. She shook it, still not quite sure what was going on.

“Terres Hangclaw, at your service. I’m a [Chef] at the Dancing Drake in Liscor.”

“Oh, it’s very nice to—”

Erin paused as her mind caught up with what he’d said. She frowned at the third Drake, who cringed as the other two glared at him.

“Wait a second, what was that? You’re a [Chef]? Why are you here to—”

One of the Drakes hurriedly tossed down several silver coins on the table. His two companions rose and they gathered up the slices of pizza and retreated towards the door.

“Much appreciated Miss Human. But we’ve got to go. Don’t worry about the change!”

They practically dashed out of the inn with the rest of the pizza. Erin watched them go, mouth gaping.

“I’ve just been plagiarized! Again!”

She stared at the table, at her coins, and at the open door. She felt she should be upset, but they’d left a lot of money for one pizza. But they’d taken the recipe! …Which wasn’t hers. But it was still theft!

The door began to swing closed, but someone caught it. Ceria walked in, staring over her shoulder suspiciously.

“…Did I just see three Drakes running away with a bunch of food in their arms?”

“It’s called ‘pizza’ and they just stole my recipe.”

Ceria blinked at Erin. It was hard for the girl to explain, but the half-Elf got the gist of what had happened after only a few seconds.

“Ah, recipe thieves. It happens. The instant someone makes something worth eating, there’s always a huge race for other famous [Chefs] and [Cooks] to find out how it was made and improve on the recipe. I suppose it’s a sign of how well those hamburgers did that they were sticking around for you to come up with something else.”

“Yeah, but—!”

Erin gestured helplessly at the door as Ceria helped her gather all the silver coins. Ceria glanced out the door—the Drakes hadn’t yet made it to the city gates. They weren’t exactly fast on their feet, especially as they tried not to drop the pizza slices.

“Want me to hit them with a spell? I’ve got a pretty good aim.”

“No, no. I just wish I’d had a day to sell my food before it got taken away. I guess they’re going to earn a lot of money tonight.”

Ceria patted Erin sympathetically on the shoulder.

“If it helps, I think people will know where the food came from. Next time, you should only bring out the new stuff when it’s dinnertime. That way you’ll get at least one big crowd.”

Erin sighed, and Ceria offered her the handful of silver.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not like they’re your only customers.”

It was true. Erin had been happy with her increase in clientele, but they still weren’t exactly the crowds that she’d seen in Peslas’ inn.

“I guess.”

She took the silver coins, and then hesitated. Erin looked over at Ceria and smiled, forgetting about her stolen pizza recipe for just one second. She’d been looking forward to this all day.

“Say, Ceria, I’m running low on silver. Can you exchange a gold coin for me?”

“No problem.”

Ceria reached for her pouch, and blinked as Erin handed her a shiny gold coin.

“That was quick. You shouldn’t keep your gold lying out.”

“Oh, I had one lying around.”

Erin smiled mischievously at Ceria. The half-Elf frowned but reached for the coin.

“Well, thanks anyw—”

Ceria paused and stared hard at the gold coin Erin handed her. Then her eyes slowly travelled over to one of the windows. There, the boxes full of faerie flowers were still blooming, golden and shining in the sunlight. Ceria stared at the gold coin, and then narrowed her eyes at Erin. The Human girl tried to keep her face straight as Ceria peered hard at her.

“A gold coin, huh? Well, I’m happy to accept one. Let me just—”

Ceria raised the coin up and tried to bend it with both fingers. She frowned.

“Huh.”

The half-Elf hesitated, and eyed Erin’s twitching face. Slowly, she raised it to her mouth and bit the gold coin. She eyed the faint marks her teeth had left in the soft gold.

“It tastes like gold, but—Erin. Is this an illusion or not?”

“It’s fake! Isn’t it so cool?”

Erin pointed to the flowers.

“I just figured out how to make them turn into coins like the faeries did! See, if I pluck it and say ‘gold’—”

Erin carefully broke a flower off by the stem and Ceria blinked. Suddenly, Erin was holding a second gold coin in her hand.

“That’s incredible, Erin. I didn’t even sense any magic. And these coins feel like gold—real gold too, not the partially gold coins we use.”

She frowned at the coin in her hand and hefted it slightly.

“It weighs the same, feels the same, tastes and smells…rot, that’s good magic. Can you transform the flowers into anything else?”

Erin shook her head.

“It doesn’t seem to work with other things, really. But the coin feels real for an entire day. Then it turns back into a flower in the morning.”

Ceria eyed the bed of flowers speculatively. The blooms were growing quite fast even in the winter, and already Erin had seen a few more shoots poking their head out of the soil.

“Looks like that faerie prank is more useful than it seems. Are you planning on doing anything with the flowers?”

Erin looked at her friend blankly.

“Like what?”

“Oh, I don’t know…use them to buy something nice, perhaps?”

Ceria rolled the gold coin between her fingers. Erin frowned.

“Why would I do that? I mean, they’d find out and it’d be stealing, right?”

Ceria coughed into one hand.

“I know a few Human shopkeepers that—rot, never mind. You’re too nice.”

Erin laughed. Ceria tossed the coin back on the table and folded her arms.

“But seriously, Erin. Those flowers might be useful, but your new recipes are just as valuable. Be careful about letting people run off with them, okay?”

Erin nodded meekly. She chatted with Ceria for a bit longer before the half-Elf trooped upstairs to rest and practice some spells. Erin sighed as she went back into the kitchen. She put the gold coin on a counter next to her silver ones and sighed twice as she stared at the empty pan.

Another day up, another day down. It wasn’t as if it had been a particularly bad one so far, it was just that Erin felt like she was missing something. Someone, perhaps. She wondered where Ryoka was. She missed being able to talk to her.

And as for the recipe…

Shaking her head, Erin flipped the coin into the air and caught it. It really was amazing. But it wasn’t useful. She plonked the coin back onto the counter. After a minute, she mumbled into the silence.

“Besides, I probably wouldn’t get away with it…”

—-

Halrac was in a foul mood, and he didn’t bother trying to hide it. Not that that was particularly surprising to his teammates—the [Scout] was usually grumpy at the best times.

But right now he was sitting in an inn, and contrary to most people’s preferences, Halrac preferred to be outdoors sitting in the rain or sloughing through mud than indoors. Part of that was because of the company he had to share.

Gold-rank parties were often highly selective as to the people they recruited. New adventurers went through a thorough vetting process, but even the best parties usually had their moments of friction.

In this case, friction was a daily state of being between Halrac, Revi, and Typhenous. Ulrien was their silent leader and usually didn’t get into their arguments, but Halrac made no effort to hide his feelings about his new teammates, and Revi and Typhenous were typical mages through and through.

“Calm down, Halrac.”

Ulrien said it, but Halrac had been adventuring longer than his Captain, and he’d known Ulrien back when the other man had been a Bronze-rank adventurer. Halrac glared at his Captain and moderated his tone only slightly.

“I’m telling you, we shouldn’t be here! It’s a waste of coin, especially if all we do is sit on our asses!”

Revi frowned at Halrac and Typhenous barely looked up from his spellbook. But he spoke in a bored voice.

“We don’t have much to do but sit while we look for someone to dig out those ruins. I don’t see what the problem is, Halrac.”

The [Scout] gritted his teeth.

“The problem is that we’re not doing anything while other adventurers could be getting the drop on us!”

He pointed out of their private room. Griffon Hunt had been seated in this expensive side room in the inn, ostensibly as a mark of respect for their rank and the amount of gold they were paying the innkeeper—but also he suspected, to keep them out of the sight of the regular clientele of Drakes.

“That damn Drake seems to delight in serving us all the local recipes. With what we’re paying him, we should be eating whatever we want.”

Revi raised her eyebrows.

“Then tell him to make your local specialty or whatever, Halrac. But stop grouching because we can’t find anyone to dig.”

“How are there no [Miners] in this entire damn city?”

“There are. But they’re all Antinium. If we hire them—”

Typhenous broke off as Ulrien shook his head and Halrac growled.

“I’m not working with those monsters. Besides, the Halfseekers have tried and had no luck.”

“Well then, until we either decide to call out some people from Esthelm or pick up a spade ourselves, I think we’re stuck here. Come on, sit back and have a pint.”

Halrac shook his head and stood up.

“I’ve had enough of sitting in that inn waiting for something to happen. I’m going to look for some [Diggers] or [Miners] again. I’ll be back tonight or tomorrow.”

None of his comrades stopped him. Ulrien went back to reading, Typhenous did likewise, and Revi made another attempt at downing the bottle of wine she’d bought. Halrac shook his head as he stomped out of the inn, completely ignoring the Drake innkeeper who halfheartedly tried to persuade him to sit and have a drink.

Halrac walked through the streets, avoiding the crowds and trying to find his way through the unfamiliar territory. That was another thing. He was a [Scout]; he could fight in cities, but it didn’t mean he enjoyed trying to find his way through streets where everything was written in the Drake’s language and incomprehensible to him.

He scowled as he passed by a group of laughing Drakes. They fell silent as he walked past, which only caused Halrac’s scowl to deepen.

This entire quest for the dungeon’s treasure – if there even was a dungeon – was pointless. He never should have let Ulrien talk him into this. Griffon Hunt was wasting time and money here when they could be doing good somewhere else.

Plus, Halrac hated this city. He didn’t like Drakes much. Halrac had spent too much time fighting them off-and-on over the years as a soldier to trust them. The same went for Gnolls, and as for the Antinium…

The [Scout]’s gaze darkened as he saw one of the Workers scuttling down the street. He could never trust one of them. They were all heartless monsters.

He turned away in disgust. Even if he’d ever consider hiring the Antinium – and there was little chance of that! – he’d heard they were refusing to dig even for other adventuring groups. Self serving, useless—

“Oh, hey, you’re that [Scout] guy!”

Halrac stopped and turned. A young woman was approaching him down the street. A Human. He recognized her, but dimly. Where had he—?

Oh. The inn. She was the owner of the undead skeleton. The [Scout] debated walking off, but at least she didn’t have scales, fur, or chitin. He tried to remember her name. Solstice…?

“Good evening, Miss.”

“Hey, how are you doing? Sorry about the other day. Uh, you’re…H…Hal…?”

“Halrac.”

The [Scout] tried not to frown at her, or glare, or do any of the hundred things which he had been told he shouldn’t do when talking to people. But the young woman had an energetic enthusiasm about her and more importantly, the ability to completely ignore Halrac’s own dour mood.

“Halrac, right! I’m Erin Solstice. We uh, met when you were trying to kill my skeleton. I threw a rock at you.”

“I remember.”

“Um. Right. Sorry about that.”

“It’s nothing.”

What did she want? Halrac looked around. He had no idea where to find a guild for [Miners], if there even was one. He could start asking around, but that was likely to be a fruitless endeavor.

“So, um, how are you doing?”

Halrac looked back at Erin in mild surprise. He wasn’t used to people continuing to engage him in conversation.

“Nothing in particular. Why?”

“Oh, no reason. I mean, I heard your party was staying at an inn, but I’m always looking for customers—and I made this great new food! So I was wondering if you’d like to try it. At my inn, I mean.”

The older man blinked down at Erin a few times. He opened his mouth to refuse, and then hesitated. It wasn’t an issue of money that made him pause; he had more than he could spend when it came to drinks and food as a Gold-rank adventurer, but he was on a mission.

And yet, the idea of interviewing a bunch of unfriendly Drakes and Gnolls lost a lot of its appeal when he considered sitting by himself in her inn. It was certainly better than the other Drake’s inn where the large innkeeper would be constantly laughing and talking with a raised voice and getting on Halrac’s nerves.

“…How full is your inn?”

“My inn?”

Suddenly, the young woman looked wary. She scuffed at the paving stones.

“Well…there might be a few people, but even if there’s not, I’m great company!”

She didn’t expect the smile that appeared on Halrac’s face, but then, neither did he. An empty inn? Perfect. He was a [Scout], and used to isolation. And it beat having that fat Drake waddling around all the time.

What was his name? Peslas? Halrac shook his head, but he accepted the girl’s offer.

“Just give me a table in the corner and I’ll be fine.”

The girl beamed at him and led him towards her inn. Halrac followed, bemused, as she chattered to him the entire time. Erin Solstice seemed to have no trouble carrying on a conversation by herself, but to his surprise he found himself talking to her after a bit.

“If money is an issue, why not become an adventurer?”

“Really? You think I’d be good at it? I don’t like—I mean, I’m not a killer.”

Halrac shrugged uncomfortably as he walked through the snow with her. It had been a long time since he’d chatted with anyone who was female and not part of his team. It was a nostalgic, slightly bittersweet experience.

“You picked a fight with a Gnoll warrior and won. Barehanded. That’s as good as any Bronze-rank adventurer, and your skeleton is dangerous.”

“Yeah, yeah. I guess you’re right.”

“Is it still…alive?”

Halrac had pierced the undead creature’s skull with an arrow, but he had seen it walking around after the battle was over.

“What, Toren? He’s fine. But you know, it’s weird. I think he had some kind of gemstone in his head—this red gem that I got after these undead attacked my inn. It made his eyes purple, but even after it broke, his eyes haven’t changed back! How weird is that?”

As far as Halrac was concerned, the skeleton was a walking mystery that he desperately wanted to solve by grinding its bones into dust, but he held his tongue. He didn’t understand the comment about the undead, but that did explain the skeleton’s gaze that seemed to emit fear.

“Who knows?”

“I don’t. Oh, here’s the inn!”

They’d come to it surprisingly quickly. Halrac watched Erin opened the door and usher him inside. There she seated him in a table near one corner of the room as he’d requested, but she was almost as bad as Peslas. She pestered him with questions, offering him a glass of warm milk, and then hovered around him as she gave him a menu with very few options, only two or three of which he actually recognized as food.

“Can I interest you in our newest dish?”

Halrac hesitated. His first response was a curt ‘no’, but it was a hard thing to say to the innkeeper’s friendly expression.

“…What is it?”

“Pizza!”

Halrac had never heard of pizza, but he listened to the girl’s description of what it was and decided he could always claim he was sick. But cheese layered over tomato sauce and bread? It didn’t sound that good.

It didn’t look that good to Halrac either when the innkeeper came out with it. He eyed the slices of pizza and touched it experimentally. Some kind of open-faced sandwich…?

Sensing the girl’s eyes on him, Halrac reluctantly took a bite. It wasn’t as bad as he expected, and the tomato sauce oozed into his mouth as he chewed on the melted cheese and dough. No, it wasn’t bad at all; had he been a soldier on a cold night huddled around a campfire, Halrac imagined he would have loved this food.

As it was, there were far worse things to eat for dinner, and Halrac hated wasting food. He took another bite and decided that the pizza was warm and filling. That was when the door opened and a girl stomped in.

“A [Barmaid]!”

She screeched at Erin as she hurled a bundle of sticks to the ground. Halrac half-turned with his hand on his dagger, but this new girl’s anger was directed solely at Erin Solstice. He watched as she stormed up to the other young woman and realized this was the girl he’d helped save.

Perhaps it had been a mistake. Halrac winced as the blonde girl raised her voice another octave and shouted at Erin, who was wearing a fed-up expression.

“What is it now, Lyon?”

“Lyonette! And I just leveled up as a…a…[Barmaid]!”

“That’s good, isn’t it? And hold on, why did you level up? I told you to get firewood!”

The girl named Lyon or possibly Lyonette hesitated, and Halrac rolled his eyes. He could see dampness on her thick winter clothes, and the girl even had snow caught between the folds of her clothing. She’d probably been taking a nap while she ran the errand—it was a miracle something hadn’t found and eaten her while she slept.

“I may have—that is not important! I am noble! I will not be sullied with a—commoner’s class!”

Erin’s brows snapped together and she began to argue with Lyon as Halrac grunted to himself and tried to turn off his ears. The girl was a noble? A runaway or an impoverished one, perhaps.

That explained a lot. Halrac had already heard people in Liscor grumbling about the Human thief, and she looked and acted like many of the jumped-up aristocrats he’d had the misfortune of encountering. He decided he didn’t like her and proceeded to ignore the girl’s argument with Erin as he reached for another slice of pizza.

Somehow, the platter was empty and Halrac was looking into an empty mug by the time Erin won the argument. The angry blonde girl sullenly gathered up her bundle of firewood and flounced into the kitchen. Erin came back over to smile apologetically at Halrac and refill his mug.

“Sorry. She’s—well, she’s new.”

He grunted and waved a hand. Now that his belly was full, Halrac was tempted to leave for his bed, but he doubted he’d be able to sleep just yet. Instead, he eyed his mug. Warm water was all very well, but—

“Alcohol? I mean, yeah, I’ve got some. I think.”

Erin blinked at Halrac a few times as if she was taken aback by his request. But she dutifully went behind her counter and exclaimed in surprise.

“Hey, look! A keg! I wonder what’s in it?”

As unwelcome as that statement was, it wouldn’t be the worst thing Halrac had heard when being served drinks. The girl came back with a mug full of too much foam, but with the promising amber liquid at the bottom.

“Thanks.”

He took a sip, and tried to hide a grimace. Erin glanced at Halrac as he took another gulp. This time his face didn’t change, but hers fell.

“You don’t like it.”

Halrac was starting to dislike this young woman’s ability to read his expression. He shrugged, and tried to pick his words carefully, which it had to be said, wasn’t his strong suit.

“It’s fine.”

He’d grown spoiled after becoming a successful adventurer. Halrac had drunk worse swill before, even if this keg tasted as if someone had watered the ale quite heavily.

“No, no. It’s not.”

Erin waved her hands about in distress while Halrac saw Lyon sneaking upstairs, probably to take another nap.

“I knew I shouldn’t have bought the cheapest kind!”

She rushed around, looking for another keg while Halrac debated whether it was worth drinking more just so he could get drunk, or cutting his losses and leaving now. But oddly, he was feeling relaxed, despite the oddness of this inn. Maybe it was just because he was around humans, or maybe it was just Erin. She asked constant questions without reserve, but she didn’t pry or judge like other people.

“Aha! I’ve got it!”

Halrac looked over and saw the girl standing by a windowsill. She was picking at something—a box set on a table illuminated by the sunlight. Halrac’s enhanced vision had no problems picking out the golden flowers Erin was gathering up and…squeezing into a mug?

The girl was crushing the flowers and gathering up the few drops of nectar into a mug. Then she added more ale—even more sloppily this time, so that there was just as much foam as liquid. She brought over the dubious concoction to Halrac and shoved it in his face.

“Here, try this! It’s a special drink.”

“What’s in those flowers?”

“Um. I don’t know.”

Halrac looked at Erin, and she hurried to explain.

“They’re magic flowers, and when you drink the nectar, you get sort-of drunk. And I mean it might go well with alcohol—spice it up, you know? I’ve got this skill – [Wondrous Fare], and it was telling me that this would work.”

Halrac had never heard of that skill, but Erin looked at him pleadingly, and it wasn’t as if he had anything better to do. Or drink.

He sniffed at the mug suspiciously. It seemed unlikely the innkeeper would try to poison or drug him, but he was always cautious. None of his Skills were warning him of anything though, so he took a cautious sip.

And—

The wind ruffled Halrac’s hair. He glanced around and wondered where the girl had gone. But in the next moment he forgot about her, because he realized where he was.

Home.

Not the burnt wreck that was all that remained in the real world, but home, the home Halrac had known all his life before it had been taken away. He was standing on a green hilltop in the midst of a fall day, the trees around him full of color, the air crisp and fresh. Below him, his small hamlet bustled with life and motion as [Farmers] went about their chores and children helped chase animals or played together in the street.

Halrac looked down and saw his arms. Young skin, unblemished by scars and not yet tanned or covered with hair shone in the sunlight. He was a lad of seventeen again, and he felt as if his body were like air, full of youthful strength and energy.

“Halrac? What are you doing?”

His heart skipped a beat. Halrac turned, and saw Ariael. She was wearing the soft white cotton robe of the Harvest Maiden – given to the most beautiful girl in the village. And she was standing on the hilltop with him, smiling. At him.

It hadn’t been like that. Halrac remembered this day, when she’d been standing with Telfar instead, laughing with him while Halrac looked on miserably. But this moment was different, and Halrac knew she was in love with him. And he? He’d been in love with her all his life, right up until the day she died with the others.

And now she was here, with him.

Halrac laughed, and flung his arms around Ariael, swinging her around in the air like he’d always dreamed of doing. She clung to him and kissed his face as they tumbled around on the green hilltop, free and light, together for one perfect day.

The young man turned and saw his small village below him bustling with life and people after the harvest. He could see his father laughing together with his mother as he lifted a huge bundle of grain on one shoulder and she carried a bucket of milk inside their house. He pointed, and Ariael turned and saw the first pies being brought out and set on the long table for all to eat. She tugged at his hand and he followed, stumbling, laughing as he—

—-

Erin had never considered herself a murderer, but it was clear she had a talent for killing people. This was an issue she felt she should think seriously about at some point, but right now all she could think of was that she’d made yet another huge mistake.

“Please wake up, please wake up!”

She shook Halrac desperately, rattling the older man back and forth as he sat in his chair, staring at nothing. She’d already prized the mug from his hands—he’d kept sipping at it even while he went into whatever trance he was in—but he was still out of it.

“Come on, it’s only a drink! Just a few flowers—more than a few! It’s not a drug if it’s magic, and you’re not overdosing or whatever! Come on, wake up!”

Erin wondered if she should slap Halrac. That never seemed to work. Water, then. She looked around, gave up, and threw the non-faerie-flower drink in his face.

Halrac blinked as the alcohol splashed over him. He coughed, spluttered, and looked around.

“Ariael? What—?”

“I am so sorry, Halrac! I didn’t know that would happen! I thought you’d just think you were suddenly big like in the stories—but the alcohol did something. It’s a drug. I’ll throw it out—”

Erin seized the mug, but Halrac’s hand moved and he was suddenly gripping her hand. The usually dour-faced adventurer stared at Erin with such intensity she as frightened.

“It’s not a drug. It’s memory. Give me another drink, please! I’ll pay anything—”

“No, it’s dangerous! You went all blank-stare on me. I shouldn’t give it to anyone, not until I’ve tested—”

The two fought over the mug. Halrac was stronger than Erin, but he was at a bad angle and trying not to spill the drink; at this point, Erin was trying to upend it on the floor. They engaged in a silent match until someone spoke right behind them.

“Erin? Is he bothering you?”

Both Halrac and Erin froze. Erin turned her neck and saw Ceria. The half-Elf had walked up behind the two and her skeletal hand was glowing with magic.

She wasn’t quite pointing her glowing finger at Halrac’s face, but her expression was grim. Halrac and Erin exchanged a glance, and both realized that Ceria had entirely the wrong idea of what was happening.

Slowly, Halrac let go of Erin and she stepped back.

“It’s nothing Ceria. I uh, gave him a drink with that nectar in it. You know, from the flowers?”

“Oh?”

Ceria hesitated, but her finger stopped glowing. Erin tried to explain, and the half-Elf sighed, in what sounded like relief.

“Of course that’s what would happen. Well I’m—well, good.”

She nodded to Halrac and he nodded back. The older man looked at Erin and bowed his head.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no. I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have given you that drink without testing it on Pisces first. My Skill just told me to do it and—sorry! Um, uh, would you like anything else, Halrac? Anything? Anything but a certain faerie drink which I’m not sure I’m ever going to serve again?”

He hesitated. The Gold-rank adventurer still looked shaken, and Erin saw him pass a hand over his face several times before he looked at her.

“Food. Yeah.”

“How about a hamburger?”

“A wh—fine. Fine. I’ll have that and as much ale as you’ve got.”

Nervously, Erin took the mug of with the faerie flower nectar in it back into the kitchen and started cooking while Ceria took a seat next to her in the kitchen.

“I had no idea that would happen. But he seemed so…gone!”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing. He said it was memory? Hm.”

Ceria rubbed at her chin as Erin flipped two patties, distractedly cooking while she talked. The half-Elf eyed the half-empty mug, but didn’t make a move for it.

“I’m no expert Erin, but it seems like those flowers are part of the Frost Faerie’s illusion. You can make them look like gold coins, and you said you felt like a giant when you sipped some. Perhaps they’re enchanted with illusions that make us see what we want to.”

“Oh, so Halrac was seeing what he wanted to? He said a name—I think it was a girl’s…”

Ceria shrugged.

“I don’t know, but it’s rare for him to lose his cool.”

“Wait a second. You know Halrac? You never said!”

“Know him? Hah! Only by reputation. He’s a veteran Gold-rank adventurer, Erin. He founded Griffon Hunt with Ulrien nearly a decade ago, and he’s famous for never panicking or breaking under stress. That drink of yours must be powerful stuff if it got him.”

Erin frowned at the drink as her hands mechanically slapped a burger together.

“I didn’t mean to do anything bad. I just listened to my Skill.”

“That’s not always the wisest move. In any case, I don’t think what you did was wrong. If anything, I think he’ll pay in gold if you give him more of that stuff.”

“Maybe.”

Erin didn’t know. But she took the hamburger out to Halrac, who accepted it and a non-magical drink with a grunt. Ceria and Erin had a meal of another hamburger—Erin was too rattled to make a pizza at the moment—on the other side of the inn.

After about an hour of talk—during which Halrac just ate his food and stared at his arms and hands as if he were still in that trance—the door to the inn opened and two more familiar guests walked in.

“Good evening, Erin.”

Pawn nodded to Erin as she turned and beamed at him, and a familiar Drake poked his head in as well.

“Oh, uh, hi Erin! Fancy meeting you here!”

Ceria snorted as Olesm edged his way in behind Pawn. Halrac had frozen in his seat, but Erin welcomed both Drake and Antinium in, seating them in the center of the room.

“Pawn! Olesm! I haven’t seen either of you two for ages! Why haven’t you stopped by?”

Pawn nodded his head while Olesm stared over Erin’s shoulder.

“I am sorry, but I was busy within our Hive, attempting to make more Individuals. And until recently, I was being interviewed by Klbkch, Ksmvr, and the Queen.”

“Whoa. That’s big stuff!”

“It is indeed. Olesm was with me until I suggested we eat here for the night.”

Erin looked at Olesm, and the Drake scratched at his head spines and looked the other way.

“I didn’t know you were in the Hive! That’s cool—are you teaching the Antinium? And why haven’t you come by earlier? You know I’m always up for a game of chess!”

Olesm waffled as he avoided looking straight at Erin.

“You know how it is, Erin.”

“No I don’t.”

He faltered, looking over at Ceria for support. The half-Elf just rolled her eyes as she bit into her second hamburger.

“Well, it’s just that I wanted to try playing other players and the Antinium are always willing to play—and even pay me for their time! And I know you’re busy and I wouldn’t want to take away from…”

His eyes flicked left, and Erin looked over and saw her magical chessboard, the pieces sitting ghostly and transparent on the wood. She’d left a game unfinished with her mystery opponent, as he’d had to stop for some reason. Erin frowned in confusion, and then glared at Olesm.

“Now wait just one minute, Olesm. Even if I play someone else, I’m happy to play you! Even if you’re not as good as he is yet, you’re still a great player!”

The Drake shook his head.

“I know how good I am Erin, and after that game with him—I wouldn’t want to hold you back, really.”

“Hey!”

Erin seized Olesm and glared at the surprised Drake.

“How good you are shouldn’t have anything to do with being allowed to play the game. Anyone can play chess, and you should play me as much as you want! That’s the only way you’re going to get better and—”

She glared at Pawn who shrank back in his seat.

“—And I don’t mind teaching new players either. I like chess. Anyone who likes chess is welcome to play me, anytime, anywhere! Well, not anywhere, but most of the time I’m up for a game!”

Olesm blinked at Erin, but as her glare transitioned into a smile, he managed one too.

“I’m sorry, Erin. You’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking—of course I’d love to play.”

“Good. In that case I’ll play you and Pawn at the same time. I love to play a dual game. Just let me feed you two first. Hey, do you want to try some pizza?”

“What’s ‘pizza’?”

“It’s—”

“Olesm?”

The Drake’s head turned. His eyes widened, and Erin blinked in surprise.

“Zevara? What are you doing here?”

The Captain of the Watch and tall Drake with an attitude and flame for breath walked slowly into the inn. She nodded awkwardly at Erin.

“Human. Is your inn open at the moment?”

“What? Oh, yeah, yeah, it is! Um, do you want to eat here? Or drink something?”

Erin hesitated. She’d never seen Zevara in a non-shouting context, and she was totally off-guard. But the Drake Captain looked at Olesm and looked almost as unsure as Erin.

“I suppose I could have something. I uh, just came by because I’m off-duty and I saw you walking this way, Olesm. Do you mind if I join you?”

“Me? Uh—”

Olesm glanced at Ceria for some reason. The half-Elf shrugged, again for reasons Erin couldn’t understand, and Zevara looked at her.

“Springwalker.”

“Zevara. I’m sure Olesm wouldn’t mind if we shared a table, would he?”

“What, me? No, no…I just thought I’d play a game of chess…”

“We can do that later. You should talk, Olesm!”

Erin beamed and the Drake sagged as the two women sat next to him. Pawn politely offered his chair to Ceria and the half-Elf took a seat on Olesm’s left while Zevara took a seat on his right.

Now that she had multiple guests, Erin remembered Lyon and looked around for her. But the newly leveled [Barmaid] was nowhere to be seen.

“Every time I need someone to serve drinks and food…it’s not even that hard! I do all the cooking!”

“I’ll go find her, if you want.”

Olesm stood up, but Erin hurriedly waved him back down.

“She’s probably hiding or something. I’ll get Toren to look after her when he comes back. I’m not sure where he is. No, you sit. I’m sure Olesm would like the company.”

The Drake had the oddest expression on his face. Meanwhile, Ceria started talking quite friendly with Zevara, and the Captain seemed just as polite. Erin smiled; it was good to see both getting along so well, although Olesm was very quiet. Erin bustled around the kitchen, getting food ready while the others talked or sat in silence. There was quite a lot of that, despite the full table.

Olesm must have been hungry, because he looked incredibly relieved when Erin came back with two hot pizzas, one on each glove. Pawn nodded in appreciation, but paused as he glanced at Ceria and Zevara. The two hadn’t even looked at the pizza; they were smiling at each other and laughing, although Erin must have missed the joke.

“I believe I would like to play a game, Erin, if you’re free.”

“Totally! Just holler if you need anything, okay?”

Ceria and Zevara nodded without looking her way. Olesm hesitated, and then slowly pushed back his chair.

“I guess I’ll play—”

“Sit.”

He sat. Erin found a table closer to Halrac and sat at it with Pawn. The [Scout] hadn’t asked for much more than a refill and he nursed his drink quietly while she talked with the Antinium.

Erin arranged the chess board as Pawn sat in his chair, chewing quietly on a piece of pizza. She wasn’t sure if he liked it, but she hadn’t found any more bugs for the Antinium to eat, so she just prayed it was edible for them.

“Okay, would you like to be black or white, Pawn?”

“I shall choose white, if it is acceptable to you, Erin.”

She nodded happily, and Pawn studied the board for a minute before moving a pawn up to D4. Erin immediately moved a pawn up to D5, and Pawn moved a second pawn up to C5, initiating the Queen’s Gambit.

Erin immediately pushed a second pawn into Slav Defense, C6, and there the game paused for a moment. Pawn studied the board, and then, unusually, looked up at Erin.

Normally the Antinium was concentrated totally on the game, so this change made Erin stop pondering chess strategy for a moment and look at him.

“Something wrong, Pawn? Is the pizza no good?”

“The pizza is perfectly fine, Erin. But I have something I wish to talk to you about.”

Erin frowned.

“Oh? What’s that?”

Pawn placed a hand over a chess piece and hesitated. He looked directly at Erin again, and she started to sense that he hadn’t come to her inn to play chess after all.

“I came here to ask for your advice, Erin.”

Pawn lowered his voice as Olesm began trying to teach both Zevara and Ceria the game of chess. Erin stared at the Antinium, concerned.

“Why? What happened? I mean, is something wrong?”

“Nothing—well, I suppose that is not accurate. Today I was summoned before my Queen, as I said. I, along with four other Antinium, the four that became individual.”

“Oh.”

That sounded big, to Erin. She still didn’t quite understand why individuals were so important to the Antinium, but she’d gotten a vague idea of Pawn’s new significance. He nodded to her as he slowly moved a piece forwards.

“Yes. She called us and asked us questions about our nature. She…analyzed us for what we might be, what we might achieve.”

Erin stared at the board. Pawn had moved a pawn forwards again—only it was a terrible move. C4-C5? That was Bad Slav. She’d taught him to avoid that. Erin looked at Pawn in confusion and for the first time noticed that something was different about Pawn today.

He looked…smaller. The Antinium sat hunched over in his seat, and Erin realized he looked much like she’d first seen him. That was to say, like a normal Worker, meek, inconspicuous, unnoticed.

“Pawn?”

What had happened? What had his Queen said to him—done to him? Erin remembered Ksmvr, but Pawn didn’t look hurt. He just looked…

Helpless.

Erin looked at the board, and then abandoned her game. She looked at Pawn, seriously.

“What happened? What did she do to you?”

He shook his head slowly.

“Questions. That is all she asked of us. Questions.”

“What kind of questions?”

Questions could be bad and hurtful. But Pawn only raised one hand, palm up, helplessly.

“Questions we could not answer. Erin. She asked us what being individual meant. How it happened. We could not answer. And she asked more questions—what will we become? What classes can we take? How can we serve the hive?”

He shook his head.

“She asked if I would lead Soldiers to battle. Me. Because I have gained a class from playing chess and am highest-level besides Klbkch. But me?”

Erin looked at Pawn. She couldn’t imagine him fighting like Klbkch or Ksmvr. An image flashed in her mind. A memory. She saw a Worker, flailing at Goblins, fighting like a child as they stabbed him—

Pawn continued to speak, haltingly. His voice was strained with an emotion she’d never heard from an Antinium before.

“I told her that I loved this game. I enjoy playing chess. But I cannot lead armies. I have a [Tactician] class, but…I have stopped leveling.”

Erin blinked. Pawn nodded at her.

“It is problematic. Yet I have no desire to carry out another occupation. I cannot go back to being a Worker, but not even my Queen knows what we are now.”

He spread his hands, knocking over pieces on the board. Pawn jerked in surprise, and then clumsily reached for the pieces. But he abandoned them and looked at Erin.

“I am lost. If I am not a Worker, what am I?”

“I don’t know. Pawn—”

He shook his head.

“My Queen did not know. You do not know. No one knows. Not even us.”

He stared at Erin, and she felt helpless. Pawn’s expression didn’t change, but it couldn’t, not really. He had no nose or skin or even tear ducts. But his mandibles clicked together softly, and his hands clenched on the table.

“We are all lost. But I am the first, and so they look to me. And I—”

Pawn glanced up at Erin, and then away.

“I do not know.”

“Pawn. It’s not something you can figure out right away. Stuff like this is complex. It takes time.”

Erin reached out to touch Pawn’s hand, but he knocked hers away. He stared at Erin, trembling slightly.

“I asked them to go to you that night. I gathered the Workers and told them to fight. And die.”

Erin felt a hole open up in her stomach. Pawn stared into her eyes, his multi-faceted ones direct, full of hidden emotion.

“I asked them to go. They did it willingly, but I was the one who suggested it, who told them to do it. Not my Queen, not Ksmvr or Klbkch. I, and no other.”

She remembered. Erin’s eyes were stinging, but she made herself look at Pawn.

“They saved me, Pawn.”

He nodded.

“Yes, and it was necessary! It was good! But—but what happens next?”

“What?”

Erin didn’t understand. Pawn looked at her, as if willing her to.

“They died to save you. It was well. But what will become of those dead? When Bird, Garry, Belgrade and Anand and I die, who will remember the fallen? They lived. Magnus, Rook, Calabrian, Vladimir, Emmanuel…they lived. But only we remember. Only we care.”

Erin stared at Pawn. This was beyond her. So far beyond her. But Pawn had come to her for help. Only, what help could she give? What advice could she give someone on a road no one had walked before?

“I don’t know, Pawn. I’m sorry.”

The Antinium sat in his chair, shivering. No. Not shivering. Erin looked at him more closely.

He was…twitching. Shaking. It was just like when Erin had first asked him his name, only more violent now.

“What wIll we dO, EriN? wHAt wILL We bEcOme?”

His voice—Erin felt a cold chill run down her back, but she refused to move back. She looked at Pawn. He stared back.

“whAt ArE wE?”

A faint sound made Erin look away from Pawn. Olesm, Ceria, and Zevara hadn’t noticed his behavior, but Halrac had. He was holding something in his left hand. A dagger.

Erin looked at him and shook her head slightly. He stared at Pawn, his face grim, and his eyes flicked to her. She stared into his eyes. Just stared.

Slowly, Halrac sheathed his blade. Erin turned back to Pawn. He was still shaking. She put a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey. Hey, listen to me. You’re not alone. There are others like you.”

“nONe aRe LIke Me.”

It was true. But not true. Something stirred in Erin’s memory. She looked at Pawn. The first of his kind, the leader of a people who no one trusted, who were unimportant. Who didn’t know…

Memory flickered in Erin’s mind. Not recent memory, but stories. Fragments of something she’d heard long ago, in a quiet place as a child.

Perhaps it was the last name Pawn had spoken. Emmanuel. But Erin remembered, and so she pushed aside the chess board and edged her chair closer next to Pawn. She put one hand on his cool chitin.

“You know, there was once a guy like you. He wanted to save his people, too.”

“ReaLLy?”

His voice was calming down. Erin smiled at Pawn, and sensed Halrac’s eyes on her back.

“Yeah. In fact, I know a story about this guy. He was famous, you know. His name is Moses, and a lot of Human kids know about him.”

“What did…what did he do? Who was he?”

“He was…a normal person. Well, not normal. But he didn’t think he’d do anything special, until the day he realized he was different than the people around him. And then he realized he had a people who were being mistreated, who were in need. And he led them.”

That was sort of true. Sort of. Depending on which story you listened to. Which movie you watched. Erin had never watched The Ten Commandments, but she had seen The Prince of Egypt more than once.

“His people were slaves. They were ruled by a harsh king – a Pharaoh. But Moses was called, and so he led his people to freedom.”

Pawn cocked his head at her. His voice returned to its normal pitch.

“Is this an instructional story or a historical narrative?”

Erin paused. She scratched her head and smiled.

“I dunno. It’s just a story. Would you like to hear it?”

He hesitated, and then nodded. So Erin told him a story from childhood.

“Once upon a time, in a place named Egypt, there were two peoples. Both were Humans, but they were…different. One people were called Egyptians, and they had slaves. And the slaves were called Hebrews. And the king of the Egyptians was called the Pharaoh. But he was afraid that the Hebrews would rise up one day, so he ordered every baby boy to be killed. And Moses’ mother didn’t want that to happen. So she found a river – the River Nile – and put Moses in a basket. Then waited until someone found Moses. It was the Pharaoh’s daughter, and she took him into the Pharaoh’s house so Moses grew up as an Egyptian prince when he was really a Hebrew. But one day he discovered who he truly was. It was when he found a burning bush…”

—-

Erin told the story of Moses, abridged and slightly inaccurately, but from start to finish. Pawn listened quietly until she was done, but when he finished he just shook his head at her.

“It is a good story, but I fear it is not as easy for us. The Antinium are not slaves to our Queen—she is part of the Hive, as are we all. It is just that there is no place for us now, and our purpose…”

He broke off, shaking his head harder.

“Rebellion would only lead to death. Senseless death.”

Erin waved her hands hurriedly and nearly knocked over her chess board.

“Oh, no, no—I didn’t mean the Queen was like the Pharaoh. It’s just a story. A parable. I was just saying that Moses was like a leader, and you’re like a leader.”

He paused.

“It is a good story, but I am no chosen one. Moreover, you say this Moses was chosen by a god. You speak of gods, but I am told the gods are dead.”

Erin hesitated.

“Maybe. I mean, here it seems like that’s true. But I always grew up knowing there was a god. Then later I…well, where I’m from people believe there are gods. People believe they came to earth, like Jesus Christ.”

“Jesus? Is that another Human who led his people?”

It sounded odd to hear an Antinium speak of Jesus. Erin had to smile.

“Yeah, you could say that. He was someone who saved his people. Actually, he saved the Hebrew just like Moses, just after a long time had passed. And he was the son of God! Well, depending on who you ask.”

Pawn stared at Erin. Across the room Halrac’s head slowly lifted and he looked over at Erin. He raised his voice and both Antinium and innkeeper looked over.

“The gods are dead. Everyone knows that. But I’ve never heard of a descendant of gods.”

“I uh, well, everyone says it where I come from.”

Erin realized she was on the edge of what Ryoka had warned her about. But it was too late to go back.

“We have gods. Or one god. There are more, but the one I was told about when I was young—I mean, people just call him…God. Or it God. Her God. It’s hard to explain.”

Halrac eyed Erin dubiously, but he actually moved his chair closer.

“Explain that. I’ve always known the gods are dead. Always. And I’ve never heard of one just called…God.”

Explain Christianity? Erin wasn’t sure. But now Pawn was looking at her too, and he’d stopped shaking. So she took a breath and tried.

“Well, they say he—I mean, God—created the earth and everything in it in seven days and did all this stuff. You know, god stuff. He cast out Humans from paradise because we were sinful, and pretty much uh, let the world work for a long time. But his people, his chosen people I mean, he always watched over. That story of Moses—that was one example of how God chose his prophets and messengers to help save them.”

“After they became slaves.”

Halrac snorted decisively.

“Some God.”

Erin had nothing to say to that. But she felt like she owed the religion a tiny bit of defense.

“Well, he did save them eventually. I think it was sort of like a punishment for something. Maybe. Anyways, later he sent his only son to die for our sakes.”

“Our sakes? His son? I do not understand.”

Pawn looked at Erin while Halrac grunted again. And Erin—

Hesitated.

The story of Jesus was on her lips. It wasn’t what Pawn wanted – it wasn’t the story that could help him figure out who the Antinium were. But it was a good story.

Perhaps it was only a story. Maybe it wasn’t. Erin didn’t know.

She didn’t believe. Not anymore. But she’d heard the same stories over and over, and she could repeat them to her listeners.

“Just listen, okay? It gets complicated, but I guess one day, long after Moses had saved the Hebrews, they were suffering in another land. This time under the Romans. And God knew they were in trouble, but he was sort of looking at the entire world, you know? And everywhere he looked he saw sin. So he decided to do something about it. So he looked for good people—Mary of Nazareth and her husband, Joseph of Nazareth, and chose them to raise his son who he would send down from heaven…”

“Heaven?”

Pawn interrupted Erin. He looked at her intently.

“What is ‘heaven’? I know of hell, but I have never heard of heaven.”

Erin wavered.

“Wait a second. How can you know of hell and not heaven? What’s hell over here?”

Halrac was the one to answer. He fiddled with his mug.

“Hell is where the Demons come from. In Rhir—there is a place where no army has returned. That is what people call hell. Is that what you mean?”

Erin frowned.

“No…hell is more like—well, it’s a place you go when you die, not a location.”

Pawn and Halrac both looked at each other, and then away. Halrac scowled. Erin shook her head.

“Hell isn’t a place. I mean, not a place on earth. Not in this world. It’s the afterlife. The place where bad people go when they die. We go to hell because we sin. We suffer in life because we sin—that’s what the Bible says, anyways.”

“Bible?”

“The…history of all this, I guess. I mean, the history of the Hebrews and their God.”

“Ah. And heaven?”

How could you describe heaven to someone? Erin closed her eyes. She looked at the ceiling, and did her best.

“Heaven is a place where good people go. It’s a place where there’s no pain, no suffering…everyone’s there. You can see your family, your friends, and everything is happy. Forever. That’s what heaven is, I think.”

When she looked back down, Halrac and Pawn were staring at her.

“What? Don’t you believe in life after death?”

Halrac shook his head slowly.

“When I was a lad, I was taught that we’d come back to life after we died. It depended on our class and our level—the higher level we were, the better life we’d have. If we didn’t do much and died with low levels, we’d come back as animals, or worse, monsters. But that’s all.”

“And you, Pawn?”

He was silent for a few minutes.

“The Antinium know of nothing after death. But we do know of death. When an Antinium dies, their memory remains in the Hive. But of the Antinium themselves…nothing. Only a few are kept to return to the Hive in times of need. Klbkch is one such. But even they fade. And in time, all Antinium will die. And after that…”

He looked at Erin.

“They cease to be. That is what happens after the Antinium die.”

She stared at him.

“That’s…not what some Humans believe. They think everyone can go to heaven, if they believe.”

“Everyone? Even an Antinium?”

“I guess so. But let me finish my story. You see, God was sad because we were all sinning—doing bad things. So he sent his son to die for our sakes. Because if he did, all our sins would be forgiven.”

Halrac eyed Erin.

“Like some kind of blood ritual? Magic?”

“No. Redemption. No magic, no ritual. Just forgiveness. It would be a second chance for all of us.”

“A second chance. To do what?”

Erin paused.

“Anything.”

And Pawn looked at her, silently, with the same grave emotionless expression that all the Antinium shared. But there was a spark in his dark eyes, a glimmer of something.

Hope.

So Erin took a deep breath, and reached back. She reached back to childhood, to youth, to innocence and faith. And she told them stories. She told them of a son who died upon a cross to save the world, of a God who created everything and gave law to the lawless. She told the listening adventurer and Antinium parables, stories, and tales of miracles and deliverance.

At some point Olesm knocked his chair over across the room and ran out the door with Ceria and Zevara in hot pursuit. But no one paid any attention. Erin told stories to the listening man, full of skepticism and bitterness, and to the Antinium, lost, afraid, and alone.

And they listened. It was not an [Immortal Moment]. There was nothing immortal in the way Erin would backtrack, or make mistakes or get up and serve another round of drinks. Perhaps because she did not believe.

But there was something there. Something which captured the heart and made Pawn listen, and Halrac stay. And it continued into the night, whispering to the three.

Stories.

Faith.

Religion.

—-

The inn was quiet when Erin finally locked her door and her last guest vanished into the snowy night. Olesm had fled long ago and not come back, and neither had Ceria or Zevara. But Halrac and Pawn had stayed until past midnight, listening to Erin.

The adventurer had gone first, with generous tips for Erin multiplied several times over the normal rate. He’d ignored all her protests, and insisted on it.

Halrac had left after filling his water flask to the brim with Erin’s faerie-flower drink, but he’d walked back towards Liscor without touching it. Instead, he’d stared up at the sky as the Gold-rank adventurer slowly walked back through the snow.

Pawn looked up too as he made his way back towards the city. He saw only stars and the twin moons overhead. Nothing he hadn’t seen a hundred times before.

But…how many times had Pawn actually looked up at the sky? When he thought about it, it was more than likely he’d looked up less than a hundred times. And he had never paid attention to the shining stars. They had simply been objects, irrelevant parts of his world.

But now Pawn looked up and wondered what lay beyond the stars in the sky. He looked up and wondered if out there, somewhere, there was a place where he could go. A place for the lost like him. A place to be saved.

As he looked up, Pawn felt something in his chest. It was desire, a yearning that came so strongly that the Antinium shuddered. He had never felt such a want in his life, but how it came over him, a fierce desire for something he didn’t have.

Sin. Hell. Slavery. Betrayal.

Erin’s stories stuck in the Antinium’s mind, whispering to him, speaking into his heart.

Redemption, salvation, rebirth. Resurrection. The forgiveness of sins.

His only son.

And—

“Heaven.”

It was just for a second. It was only a hope, the small desire of one who had never known he wanted it. But for one moment, Pawn wished it were all true. And in that moment, he believed.

And as he looked up, the Antinium heard the whisper. It came out of his heart, and then Pawn heard the voice in his mind.

[Acolyte Class Obtained!]

[Acolyte Level 1!]

[Skill – Prayer Obtained!]

It struck the Antinium from above, and he fell to his knees, in the snow and the night. He stared up, and knew.

The night sky hung overhead, silent, distant, but no longer simply the sky. Now there was something behind it. Something made of dreams and hope and belief, but something nevertheless. Pawn believed, and he hoped, and that was enough. It was enough to dream of salvation.

And then there were Gods. Or at least, one.

2.32 H

Ceria woke up in her own bed. She also woke up alone, which was vaguely disappointing.

But not really. She still had mixed feelings about Olesm, and last night had been—

Disappointing. Mostly for herself.

“Am I still a pointy-eared kid fighting over a boy?”

Ceria conjured a bit of snow and then melted it in a bowl. She splashed some of the water on her face and sighed.

“Zevara.”

Ceria was over sixty years old. Not young for a half-Elf and certainly not old for an Elf as far as she knew; she was barely older than a teenager by her people’s standards, and she’d heard that Elves could live for over thousands of years which made her…what? A tadpole?

She’d be lucky if she ever lived past three hundred. Half-Elves grew about one year to every three a Human did. They also died from stupid things just like Humans, so the average half-Elf died before they hit a hundred years. And yes, that meant she was barely twenty by Human standards, but that was also a stupid comparison.

Ceria was over sixty. Some days she felt like the older females, Human, Drake and Gnoll who shook their heads at the youngsters running about. She’d lived and loved and seen countless things over the years, far more than anyone else she knew.

She was old. And not old. Other days Ceria still felt like marching for eight hours, camping in the cold and wet, and then getting up to duel a Mothbear in the morning. It was an odd feeling, being caught between both states.

But that was being a half-Elf for you. It had the advantages of both races, but the flaws as well. And that meant Ceria often had Human jealousy and Elven detachment.

She assumed it was her immortal (or close to immortal) heritage that made her eventually push away anyone she liked, but it was a consequence of aging. People, normal people, had no idea of how hard it was.

Some children grew up in days, like Goblins or children forced to fight or provide for themselves or their families. Half-Elves grew up quick too; despite their long lifespan, they didn’t stay as squalling infants any longer than Humans, and they grew to a proper size pretty quick too.

But with that said, some things were different. Ceria had matured to her adult body when she was in her twenties, but puberty had still hit her hard. She’d spent ten years dealing with the worst of hormonal imbalances, uncontrolled magical outbursts and the like.

It was her Human side. Elves didn’t go through puberty, but Humans did, and it messed up her biology. As a consequence, Ceria had quite a lot of experience with failed relationships. She just didn’t want Olesm to be one.

But maybe he should be. Ceria sighed as she combed at her hair with her fingers. She didn’t have money for a comb and she’d lost hers in the crypts.

“Captain of the Watch or Silver-rank adventurer, hm?”

To his credit, Olesm hadn’t seemed particularly interested in both last night. He’d tried to excuse himself while Ceria and Zevara had traded barbs, and then eventually, run for it. He’d locked himself in his house which meant there hadn’t been a happy ending for anyone but him.

Another sigh. Ceria stared at her face in the water’s reflection and felt her stomach rumble. She looked out the window, but it was still dark outside. The sun would crest the mountains soon.

He’d saved her life. And he was nice and considerate and not Human, all of which were important considerations. But he also liked Erin, he had at least one persistent stalker, and he would die long before she did. Assuming Ceria didn’t die at the hands of a monster.

She liked him. But…

The half-Elf shook her head. But she had her own life. She had something she needed to do, and she’d been putting it off staying at Erin’s inn and fighting over Olesm. She raised her skeletal hand and stared at it.

She still felt something. Ceria could flex the bone and sense the magic moving her hand, but her skin and arm…

“What a price to pay, huh, Gerial?”

For a second Ceria’s face crumpled. He was just another dead Hu—no. He’d been her companion, her friend. Now he was dead. So were Calruz and the others. She’d lost everything, again.

Could she stop? It was a tempting thought. Ceria looked around her room. It was a lovely place. Erin’s inn might not be fancy, but she ran it with care and attention. She’d offered Ceria a place to live as long as she wanted, and that was tempting.

She could become a barmaid. Maybe. At the very least, she could learn to cook or help Erin out in some way. She could abandon her dangerous lifestyle, try to build a life in the city with Olesm. She could do that.

But it would never be enough. Ceria sighed and shook her head. It still burned in her, after all. No matter how much she denied it, she had more Human in her than most of her fellow half-Elves. She stared at her dead hand and felt blood pumping through the rest of her body.

“One last time.”

Her hands—both of them—clenched. Ceria opened her window and tossed the bowl of water outside. She took a deep breath of the cold air, letting it freeze and wake her at the same time. She spoke to the lightening sky.

“One Horn of Hammerad still remains. Death before dishonor.”

She turned, and strode downstairs. To breakfast, and then to glory. That was how the Horns of Hammerad lived.

—-

Yvlon woke up. She stared dully at her face in the hand mirror she’d received from her mother, a long time ago.

It was one of the few possessions that had survived the crypts. Rather, it had been returned to her when the guardsmen had discovered it and the identification magic had pointed it back to her.

They probably would have kept it; it was an expensive thing, spelled for protection and backed with pure silver with further magics that would identify curses and hexes and so on—but the Byres family had put a lock on the mirror. It wouldn’t reflect anything if it was held in a non-Byres hand. If you wanted it, you’d have to dispel all of the magic on the mirror, which wasn’t worth the cost.

And now that it was back in Yvlon’s hand, it could reflect all of her faults. She gazed into the smooth surface and saw her imperfections.

Staring back up at her from the glass surface, Yvlon saw proud features, sharply defined, fair skin, blonde hair—

And the faintest trace of a horrible scar across her left face. She grimaced and touched the faintly discolored skin lightly.

The healing potion had done its work too well. When Yvlon had downed it to regain her strength and help Selys, it had replenished her damaged skin as well. She hadn’t wanted that.

Yvlon put the mirror on her dresser in the Adventurer’s Guild and began dressing for the day. She moved quietly, so as not to disturb her neighbors. Now that she was healed, she’d been moved out of that room and into the few rooms the Guild kept for adventurers down on their luck.

It was a small, cramped space barely large enough to sleep and store a few items in. But it was all Yvlon needed and more than she deserved, so she didn’t care. But the walls were thin and she knew her neighbors were sleeping, so she tried not to clank as she began putting her armor on.

There was another irony. Yvlon stared at the polished silver plate armor as she laboriously put on each piece. She had no coins left to her name. Not a one. But she was still rich, by any standard. Her armor, sword, and shield were the highest-quality steel, an alloy of steel and silver, in fact, a Byres specialty. It wasn’t much silver, but enough to ward off some monsters and aid in beneficial magics.

Plate armor. A longsword made by a Level 32 [Blacksmith], and a shield of the same quality. It was the armament of a [Knight], even though Yvlon was only a [Warrior]. She wasn’t deserving of the [Knight] class in any case; she was merely the daughter of a small aristocratic house with merchant roots. And she was a failure.

She’d left her people to die. She’d let them die because of her incompetence. And she’d only survived because she’d been guarding the rear. Countless Silver-rank adventurers, good men and women who she’d known personally – had died in the crypts.

And she could not lay even one bronze coin on their graves. All her fault.

If she had been weaker, Yvlon would have considered falling upon her sword. But that wasn’t the Byres way. Honor mattered to them, and it would be a dishonor to the memories of the fallen if she didn’t continue.

She needed coin. Not just enough to survive on; enough to make the smallest of amends to the families of all the deceased. That was why she had to keep going.

Yvlon buckled her sword to her belt and picked up her shield. She walked towards the door, barely feeling the weight of the armor she bore. That was not what was heaviest.

“I am weak.”

She whispered the words as she pushed the door open. There was no time for breakfast at the Guild; she didn’t have any money to pay for it anyways, and she didn’t want to indebt herself to Selys or the Guildmaster – Selys’ grandmother – any further.

It was time. She’d lain in bed, grieving and dwelling on her failure, for too long. She had to act. Yvlon only hoped she could rise where she had failed once before.

She strode out the Guild doors, through the streets, towards the southern gates. She had one more chance. The Silver Spears were dead, even their Captain. But perhaps she could start again, humbly, in a group that would accept her despite her sins.

She could only hope.

—-

Pisces woke up, looked around the small den he’d made for himself in what had been a bear’s cave and scowled. He had few concerns, but money was one of them.

He hated the smelly, cramped den. Even though he’d reinforced the entrance and warded it with a few spells, it was horribly exposed. And it was a miserable place to study magic. That was why he needed money, and hence the reason why he’d decided to become an adventurer.

Pisces scowled as he stood up, brushing at his dirty robes vaguely as he looked for something to eat. He vaguely recalled taking a few sandwiches Erin had made last night, but he must have forgotten where they were because he couldn’t find them. Another irritant.

If only that annoying Drake – Selys, that was her name, wasn’t it? – would recognize his talents! He had far more important things to do than clear out sewers or erase insignificant threats.

Pisces stumbled outside, glaring up at the sky. It was too early for this, but he’d promised Springwalker, and she got snippy if he was late.

Pisces stomped through the snow, wiping at his nose and sniffing, and grumbling under his breath. Part of him still hated everything, and resented everything. But another part of him was still the same young man who’d dreamed of greater things. Maybe that was why he’d agreed to her proposal.

Or maybe it was because he’d lost his way. Just a bit. Pisces had labored for years, sacrificing everything—and he’d created what he’d always dreamed of. Toren, the skeleton Erin had taken and named was a pinnacle of magical achievement. But he was…wrong.

Pisces couldn’t explain it. Only that he no longer felt the same burning passion in his breast when he looked at his skeleton. Toren was powerful, adaptable, and by the looks of it, he’d actually managed to assimilate some of the magic in the gemstone he’d been storing in his head. All of that was beyond the mage’s expectations, but…

It was just that he was lonely, sometimes. He’d forgotten, but for the last few days—well, ever since she’d arrived, really—he’d been sitting in Erin’s inn. The girl was unkind to him of course, and the food she served was often substandard – except for the hamburgers. But there was something there, something that drew Pisces back again and again.

He didn’t know why. But he sometimes wondered what would have happened if he’d pursued other fields of magic besides Necromancy. Maybe then the annoying Drake at the Guild wouldn’t turn her nose holes up at him. Maybe then—

Pisces sneezed, wiped his nose on his robes, and walked on through the snow. Enough, enough. He’d do his job. That was all. He was a [Necromancer] to the core. But he couldn’t help remembering the past as he walked through the snow. More spells than just ones revolving around death flowed into his mind. [Flame Rapier], and of course [Flashstep] for backup. Once he’d been different. If he’d taken a different path—

The mage tripped and fell in the snow, but his mind was burning with memories of the past. He was no adventurer, no great hero. He was despised, and his magics were unappreciated. He had no friends, not even in Springwalker, not really. Not anymore. But it hadn’t always been this way.

—-

Erin flipped pancakes and yelled at Toren and Lyon. She couldn’t tell which one bugged her most some days, but at least Toren was efficient. When he was around. The skeleton disappeared too much for her liking, and he kept wearing that stupid armor. It was cool-looking, sure, but what was the point when you were serving food?

She burned herself on a pan and yelped. Maybe that was the reason. She really, really wanted some maple syrup. At least she had butter.

Mm. Butter.

—-

Three adventurers walked into a bar. To be more specific, a [Necromancer], a [Mage] specializing in ice-magic, and a [Warrior] walked into an inn. Actually, the [Mage] had been there the entire time.

But they sat close to the bar, at one of the tables as a sulking Level 1 [Barmaid] brought them food. The adventurers eyed each other.

“Why are you covered in snow already, Pisces?”

The [Necromancer] sniffed. He stared hungrily at the stack of pancakes in front of Ceria and licked his lips.

“Never mind that, Springwalker. I assume you’re paying for breakfast? And since we are gathered here, I would venture that we are indeed set upon this course of action…?”

Ceria scowled at him and Yvlon raised one eyebrow.

“You never pay for anything anyways. Eat. I guess I can trespass on Erin’s generosity a while longer. That goes for you too, Yvlon.”

“You’re too kind.”

The adventurers looked up as Lyon flounced over. They weren’t alone in the inn, but somehow they’d been unlucky enough to have her visit their table. Two seats over, Halrac was sitting at a table, staring at Toren. The skeleton was holding up a menu – a few items on a piece of parchment – and pointing to it.

Lyon was more direct.

“What do you want?”

She stared—glared, really—at the three adventurers. Pisces sniffed, Yvlon politely met Lyonette’s eyes and nodded, and Ceria stared until the girl looked away.

“I will have this pizza dish, a hamburger, the pancakes, a glass of milk and any alcohol on tap—”

“Erin says you can have what she makes. The half-Elf has her food. What about you?”

“Pancakes for me as well, I suppose. Thank you.”

Yvlon watched Lyonette stomp back into the kitchen as Pisces sank back in his chair, sulking. Ceria sighed as she began to cut into her pancakes. Her stomach was already growling happily.

“That’s a charity case if I’ve ever seen one. I don’t know how Erin puts up with her.”

“She reminds me of children of the aristocracy.”

Ceria eyed Yvlon.

“Like you?”

Yvlon shrugged.

“If you want to put it that way, yes. My family isn’t as rich so I never grew up that way, but some of the richer houses…I wonder where she’s from.”

“I don’t particularly care, so long as she brings us food before I starve to death.”

Pisces grumbled as he saw Toren walk over to another table and point to the menu so the startled Drakes and Human could order. It was rare to see other people in Erin’s inn, but she’d been having more and more customers of late. Not many, true, but he supposed she was earning something.

Yvlon had noticed Halrac now. She stared at the [Scout], who looked over at her and then back at his drink, expressionless.

“Is that…?”

“Don’t stare. I think he’s got a Skill that can tell him when he’s being watched. Yeah, that’s Halrac of Griffin Hunt. Apparently he likes this place and Erin serves some kind of drink he loves.”

“Will wonders never cease?”

Yvlon shook her head in amazement as the innkeeper of The Wandering Inn came out herself, balancing a hot pizza on a platter.

“Pizza? Which one of you wants the pepperoni? How about the sliced fish…?”

Pisces raised his hand, but Erin ignored him and went over to her other table of customers. He scowled, but then Lyon was walking towards them, holding a plate full of pancakes awkwardly.

“It’s heavy. Here. Take it.”

She nearly spilled the plate on the table, but Pisces and Ceria both pointed, and the dish stabilized before it could spill its precious cargo. Lyon sniffed.

“There.”

She walked off. Pisces and Yvlon began to eat, and then there was silence for a few minutes. Ceria looked at the two, and after she’d eaten her second pancake she cleared her throat and spoke.

“I’m not sure if it’ll work. That’s all I’m saying.”

Pisces snorted into his meal. Yvlon eyed him with a frown.

“Why wouldn’t it work? You have two mages and a competent warrior. We should be able to deal with any number of monsters.”

“You say that, but you’ve never been an adventurer, Pisces. Yvlon and I have, and we both know that a good team needs more than three people.”

“Safety in numbers? Bah.”

“Silver-ranked adventurers are often called on to clear entire infestations or caves by themselves. You want to fight an entire pack of Carn Wolves with only three people?”

Pisces stopped chewing and eyed Ceria with momentary concern.

“That’s a Silver-rank threat?”

“Surprised?”

Ceria smiled at him, although privately she considered that it would be rare for a single Silver-rank team to try that alone. The Horns of Hammerad would have stocked up heavily and maybe even teamed up with another team or a few independent adventurers before trying that.

The Human mage swallowed and looked thoughtful.

“Ah, well, perhaps you have a point. But increasing the numbers is by no means a guarantee of success. Smaller parties do better, they have less loot to split, and they can perform the same task as a larger group if they have the prerequisite levels.”

“That’s a bold statement to make.”

Yvlon looked at Pisces skeptically, but he only sniffed.

“Not at all. I attended a class in Wistram which looked into adventuring trends among other things. Smaller groups of higher leveled warriors are better than a large group. Why do you think most Gold-rank teams are comprised of six adventurers or less?”

Yvlon opened her mouth, and fell silent. Ceria sighed.

“Assuming you have a point, I still say the optimal number of people is four. We need another party member. Someone who doesn’t rely on magic, preferably.”

Pisces shrugged.

“You may be right. But who—”

He broke off as Erin bustled over, this time carrying several mugs. She beamed at the table, or rather, at Ceria and Yvlon.

“Hey, it’s great to see you all! Here’s water, Pisces. Do you want something stronger, Ceria, Yvlon?”

“I’m fine, Erin.”

“I as well. Thank you, Miss Solstice.”

“Oh, call me Erin. Just call if you need anything, okay?”

Erin smiled at Yvlon. Then she looked towards the stairwell and her tone altered.

“Lyon, I told you that you can have one break. One. And not for an entire hour!”

She bustled off. Pisces glumly looked at his hot water but drank it anyways.

“As I was saying, very well, a fourth member – assuming they are able-bodied and sound of mind – may be useful. But unless I miss my guess, aren’t we in more dire need of arms and supplies?”

Both of the other women nodded reluctantly. Yvlon tapped the table with one finger.

“That’s a serious concern. We might have the levels, but I’ve never gone on a mission without healing potions, and I don’t have the coin to buy even a poultice. And Ceria, I know you broke your wand—”

“Not an issue any longer. Turns out I can still cast magic.”

Ceria held up her skeletal hand with a rueful grin. Pisces stared at it with interest.

“Any reduction in magical ability? You were using quite a cheap wand before, but it was attuned to ice-type spells.”

Ceria glared at him.

“Hardly. I can cast at the same level of efficiency—possibly even higher. There’s no latent boost to the mana I can draw on without a wand of course, but I can still cast with the same speed.”

“Fascinating. But of course it would also help with the backlash on direct-contact spells, wouldn’t it? I imagine you wouldn’t have to incorporate the shielding effect when using [Icy Grasp] for instance…”

“That does help with the mana, but I can still freeze my skin. It’s not something I’d recommend freezing your skin off for, but you’d never believe how useful it is to have five digits. You can actually simultaneously cast the [Icy Shard] spell among each finger and the mana cost—”

Yvlon cleared her throat politely as the two mages began to engage in magical discussion. They looked at her, and she politely nodded.

“I’m sure this is important, but if we can stay on focus?”

Ceria looked abashed and even Pisces nodded reluctantly.

“Sorry, Yvlon. You’re right. Well, like I was saying, I can still cast magic.”

“What about you? Ah, Pisces, was it?”

Custom dictated that Yvlon would use Pisces’ last name, but he didn’t seem to notice the invitation to introduce himself fully. He nodded.

“Do not worry yourself. My magic is fully unhindered by my lack of a wand.”

Yvlon looked at Ceria. The half-Elf explained.

“He has a skill. But I worry about equipment, too. I’ve got my robes and they’re enchanted with good magic, but Pisces has no items whatsoever.”

“I could use a robe like yours. Something with defensive enchantments might be nice.”

“And something that resists stains.”

Ceria stared pointedly at Pisces’ dirty robe, and the mage sniffed.

“Very well. Healing potions, mana potions of course, and magical items. How, pray tell, will we pay for that? I have a few silver coins to my name.”

“I’ve got some money from helping Erin with the inn.”

Ceria sighed as she pulled out a very flat money pouch from her belt. She upended it and came up with one gold coin and a few coppers.

“That’s one potion and supplies for a few days, maybe. Not nearly enough. Pisces?”

He stared at her. Ceria stared back.

“Your pouch. Come on.”

“I don’t see why I have to contribute my savings—”

“You’re the one who wanted to join up. We’ll reimburse you.”

“Naturally.”

But even with Pisces’ coins, they only came up to just less than two gold coins. The three adventurers stared at the money.

“Well, if we take a few safe jobs…”

“Risk is not something I enjoy, Springwalker.”

“A loan?”

“Do you want to have to repay one of those merchants?”

“How much do we realistically need?”

“I’d say…fifteen gold coins for a full supply? That would do for a fourth adventurer as well. We’d have potions, one or two magical items…at the bare minimum, probably six gold coins.”

“Wonderful. And we have no mounts, should I mention that detail.”

“That’s limiting, yeah. Jobs around here are scarce with all these new adventurers.”

“What if Springwalker sells her robes? That would more than cover the startup cost?”

“What if I hit you?”

“I see I’ve touched a nerve. Well, you two sort it out. I must occasion to the outhouse.”

Pisces stood up and pushed back his chair as Erin reemerged, holding an overly-frothy mug of beer that she gave to a dismayed Drake. The mage wandered over to the door, turned, paused, and looked back at Yvlon and Ceria.

“Ah, I should mention this fact. I’ve been informed that any raising of the dead using bones of Drakes or Gnolls will not be allowed while I reside in Liscor or the surrounding area. So unless you plan to slay the monster and have me reanimate its corpse, I fear many of my spells will be unavailable to me.”

Ceria didn’t look surprised, but Yvlon frowned. Pisces walked towards the door and left the inn as the two adventurers talked.

“Sorry about Pisces, Yvlon. I told you he was annoying, but words don’t really cover it, do they?”

The blonde-haired woman shrugged.

“I’ve worked with difficult adventurers before. But I’m concerned. You said his main class is [Necromancer]. If he can’t use most of his spells, can he really fight with us?”

“Unless he’s lost his touch, I think he’ll be fine, even without magical items.”

Ceria replied drily as she took a drink of water and grimaced. Hot, boiled water wasn’t exactly her idea of a good drink. Yvlon looked towards the door to make sure Pisces hadn’t returned and lowered her voice.

“Is he any good?”

“Pisces? He’s an excellent mage, as much as I hate to say it.”

“Really?”

Both adventurers jumped. Erin was standing behind them with another plate of pancakes.

“Oops, sorry, sorry! I just overheard…what’s this about Pisces being good at anything?”

Ceria smiled as Erin put down the plate and pinched the topmost pancake for herself. She shrugged.

“Look, I know you two have your doubts, but Pisces is a strong mage. He’s got more levels than I do.”

“Yeah, but he’s…Pisces, y’know?”

Erin looked skeptical as she hovered next to the table. Yvlon had the same expression on her face, although she was polite enough not to say anything. Ceria sighed as she tore the pancake into chunks and popped them into her mouth.

“Look at it this way. He might be an arrogant loner who scared people out of coin, but he survived by himself for this long, didn’t he? How many people do you know who could live by themselves in the wilderness of Liscor?”

Erin raised a hand, and Ceria smiled and Yvlon had to laugh.

“Yeah, but I mean alone. I don’t know when he got to Izril, but he must have made his way to this spot pretty much by himself. He got past bandits and monsters and I know he killed at least a hundred undead in the battle for Liscor. Olesm says he even downed a Crypt Lord by himself.”

“That’s impressive, but not exactly difficult for a [Necromancer].”

Ceria nodded. And then she made a face again.

“Look…he’s nothing special now, but he was once, alright?”

She looked towards the door, but Pisces still hadn’t returned. Ceria sighed, and looked back at Erin and Yvlon.

“Okay, no jokes or sarcasm. Pisces is a powerful mage, especially for his level. His focus is [Necromancy], but he knows a lot of other spells; far more than I do. And he can use them well. He was an excellent duelist back in Wistram. One-on-one battles are his specialty. He knows a Tier 4 spell – [Invisibility] and he can conjure a small army of minions. He’s a better Silver-rank adventurer than we are.”

Erin’s jaw dropped. Yvlon’s eyebrows rose, but she didn’t oppose Ceria’s statement.

“Well then, why hasn’t he become an adventurer before? And why didn’t you want him on our expedition? I recall—”

“I know. But he wouldn’t have joined, and he’s not a good adventurer to journey with. The only reason he’s with us now is that he’s desperate for money.”

Ceria scowled into her drink. Then she looked up.

“The problem with Pisces is that he doesn’t obey people he doesn’t like, and he won’t follow any orders he thinks are stupid.”

“Will he obey you?”

The half-Elf grimaced.

“He’d better. But Pisces makes his own decisions. That’s why he’d have never worked with Gerial and Calruz. But we might be able to get him to cooperate. Maybe.”

“Oh—”

Erin looked up. Pisces walked back in, washing his hands with some snow that he casually tossed back outside as he shut the door.

“Back to work! Where’s Toren…?”

The innkeeper left and Pisces took his place. He looked at the two.

“Talking about me?”

“Just wondering if you can pull your weight without a zombie to do it for you. Look, okay, maybe we get enough money somehow. Erin might spot us some coin.”

Yvlon hesitated.

“I’d hate to bother her—”

“What choice do we have? We can offer to repay her double, but we need potions. And items. Hey, Erin!”

Erin poked her head out of the kitchen and walked back over.

“What? Need anything, Ceria?”

“Maybe. You wouldn’t happen to have some deadly weapon in a bottle we can use, would you?”

The girl stared at the half-Elf as suspiciously as the others at the table.

“…Like what?”

“I don’t know. A deadly poison? Some kind of spell scroll?”

“Why would I have anything like that?”

Erin propped her hands on her hips, but Ceria was unmoved.

“At one point you were selling jars of acid to Goblins. And you built your house out of a tree that explodes when anything gets near it.”

“Oh. Right. Well, I don’t have any more acid, but you could get some of that boom bark.”

“Boom bark?”

“Krakk trees.”

“Ah.”

“Aside from the fact that I’d prefer not to carry around an unstable explosive like that…I checked. Looks like someone cleared out the entire forest.”

“Weird. Huh. But I don’t have anything else. I’m sorry.”

“Hmm.”

Ceria shook her head. Erin hesitated.

“I know you guys are going to adventure again. You know, if you need help that bad, I could lend you Toren…”

Ceria looked over at the skeleton. She thought for one second and then shook her head.

“No.”

“I also must refuse.”

Yvlon looked at Toren as the skeleton walked across the inn, shepherding Lyon by poking her repeatedly in the back. Pisces just shrugged.

“He is quite competent, but I will abide by the majority vote. Unless your objection is because you doubt my abilities as a [Necromancer], Springwalker?”

Ceria shook her head and sighed.

“Unless you’ve created one of your freakish leveling undead that you keep saying is possible, forget it. Even a regenerating skeleton won’t be that useful when we fight something like a Rock Crab.”

Pisces sniffed.

“No need to mock. Toren is a perfectly capable construct. Very well though. If not him, then who?”

Erin thought.

“Ryoka?”

“Hah!”

Ceria laughed out loud and even Yvlon smiled. Erin looked confused.

“Why? What’s wrong with her?”

“Frankly, Erin, even Pisces is a better choice than Ryoka.”

“Thank you for that.”

Yvlon nodded.

“Capable though she may be, she has no levels and her skills at fighting aren’t adequate for killing monsters. No.”

“Then how about me?”

This time Erin was the one who jumped. She looked around at blinked.

“Olesm? When did you get here?”

“Just now. I uh, was dodging Zevara but I knew you were going to discuss this today. Ceria mentioned it.”

The Drake looked proud as he took a seat at the table. Erin went back into her kitchen for more pancakes and Ceria covered her face with a palm as Pisces and Yvlon glanced at her expressionlessly.

“I mentioned that? When?”

“Last night. I…want to join your group.”

Pisces raised an eyebrow as he took a drink. Yvlon was silent, but Ceria could read the mood. She sighed. This was hard.

“Olesm—”

The Drake looked around the table, and he raised his voice slightly.

“[Tacticians] are very useful! Didn’t I prove my worth down in the crypts?”

“You did. I’m not saying you’re not useful. You can save lives. It’s just—”

“The class of [Tactician] is quite useless in small groups. Your skills are best used to aid large formations, not individuals. Unless you have adequate combat skill, you are relatively useless.”

Pisces delivered the explanation flatly while looking away from Olesm. The Drake stared at the Human.

“I want to become stronger.”

“Then by all means, join an army or play games of chess. But I would vote against your inclusion into any adventuring team.”

Yvlon sighed. She didn’t look too kindly at Olesm, but she nodded.

“So would I. I’m sorry Olesm, but Pisces is right. Rude, but right.”

“Ceria?”

She couldn’t meet his gaze.

“I—you’ve got your job, Olesm. This is what I do for a living, but you—I’m sorry.”

Olesm looked hurt and angry. Ceria’s heart hurt. Without a word, he stood up.

“Hey Olesm! I’ve got pancakes! Well, some are more like crepes, but—”

Erin paused as the Drake turned and strode out of the inn without another word. The innkeeper looked at the table, confused.

“What happened?”

“It’s nothing. We just…Olesm can’t be an adventurer. He took it hard.”

“Oh.”

Erin paused, and then set the pancakes on the table. Pisces grabbed another one, and Ceria sighed. The silence lengthened.

And then the door opened again.

Ceria looked up hopefully, expecting to see Olesm coming back. She could apologize—

But it wasn’t Olesm. It was an Antinium who walked in, but one Ceria only vaguely remembered. It wasn’t the one called Pawn, or the one called Klbkch. Erin recognized him. She gasped.

“Ksmvr? What happened?”

The Antinium was wounded. He stumbled into the inn, bleeding green. Ceria half-rose from her table, the spell for [Ice Spike] coming to her mind as Yvlon did likewise and Pisces shoveled down his pancake. Halrac had turned in his seat, and the party of Drakes and one Human had frozen.

Ksmvr didn’t appear to hear Erin at first. He stumbled a few more steps into the room, pausing as she rushed over to him. Toren was at her side, but the skeleton was clutching the sword hilt at his waist.

“You’re hurt!”

Ksmvr nodded. He had several deep cuts in his exoskeleton, but the worst of his injuries was his arms. One of them was missing. His lower right arm was a jagged stump of exoskeleton. It had been patched with some kind of grey goo, but traces of green still seeped around the bandage.

“I have been…relieved of my duties.”

He wavered, and nearly collapsed into the chair as Erin rushed him to a table near the three adventurers. Ceria and the others turned back to their meal, but everyone was listening as Erin and Ksmvr spoke.

“What happened? Did something attack you?”

Ksmvr half-nodded and shook his head as Erin snapped for water and cloth. A shrinking Lyonette brought the items to another table and Erin began making a messy tourniquet.

“I am no longer the Prognugator for my Hive. Or rather…I am, but I am no longer required to fulfill my duties.”

The Antinium said the words dully as Erin fussed over his injures. She looked at him with genuine concern in her eyes. Ceria had trouble doing the same; despite his wounds and the Antinium she had met, she still had a hard time forgetting what they had done. By the looks on Halrac’s and Yvlon’s faces, they felt much the same.

“What? So there’s no Prognugator? But I thought that was important.”

“Revalantor Klbkch will fulfill my duties in the interim. He…is far more qualified than I.”

“But what did you do? What happened?”

“I failed to hold the line.”

Ksmvr said nothing more as Erin bandaged him and offered him food – raw meat and fish, the things Antinium could digest. Ceria eyed his injuries. It looked like he’d been in combat from the wounds, but something was missing. What was it?

His weapons. Yes.

He was missing his two swords and daggers. Without them, Ksmvr looked naked and smaller.

“Looks like the Antinium have their own battles. Intriguing.”

Pisces didn’t even bother to lower his voice. Ceria glanced at him in irritation, but the mage was studying Ksmvr with interest. The Antinium was nodding as Erin hovered around him, asking if there was anything he needed.

“I am fine. I am…fine. I have no purpose. I came here to…to…”

Ksmvr looked at Halrac.

“My Queen will begin negotiations for the immediate excavation of the ruins. The entrance is known to the Antinium. There are many…many monsters guarding it.”

Halrac hesitated. He frowned at the Antinium, but eyed Erin and just nodded.

“We might talk.”

“Good. That is good.”

Ksmvr sat in his chair, head bowed. Ceria tried to talk more with Yvlon and Pisces, but her attention was totally on the conversation the two were having.

“So, uh, first missions? Where should we go first?”

Yvlon shrugged.

“If we can, I’d like to find a good job here, but the odds are slim. We’d have to go either north or south.”

“North.”

Pisces said it firmly.

“I have dealt with Drakes and Gnolls; they don’t trust humans. Given that we are almost all human, or have human heritage, we will find better employment north of here. In Esthelm, perhaps.”

“It’s a long trip, though, and it will take a while to get off the ground. We’d be earning only a few silver for the safer quests, and there’s not even a guarantee of getting a decent-paying one against tough monsters. Either way, it will be a struggle. What do you think, Ceria?”

“Hmm? Yeah…”

Ksmvr was talking to Erin. Ceria’s ears were better than a Human’s, and she could hear him as he spoke in a low voice with her.

“I came here to find you. You gave Pawn purpose and Klbkch thinks highly of you. I…don’t know what to do. I am a failure.”

“Don’t say that! You’re got tons of skills! Like…chopping things off. I mean, you can fight, right?”

“Revalantor Klbkch is by far my superior, despite his reduced levels. I am worthless. I cannot—”

“Springwalker? Are you even listening?”

Ceria looked around.

“What?”

Pisces gave her a pained look.

“Money. Where will we find it, pray?”

“I have no idea. The last mission the Horns of Hammerad did – well, before the ruins – was digging through the Ruins of Albez, near Celum.”

“Albez?”

Yvlon wrinkled her brow.

“That’s a risky endeavor. There’s not much to find there and a lot of strong monsters. Was it worth it?”

Ceria smiled.

“Pretty much. We got a few enchanted items – mundane stuff, like spelled cooking equipment, and an old recipe book and a few really expensive plates. It was enough to cover the healing costs and put us ahead in quite a bit of gold. But it’s risky.”

“Still, if we knew there was treasure…”

“We don’t. I’ve led several expeditions, and I’ve come up empty-handed often as not.”

Yvlon shook her head regretfully.

“If we’re going to risk taking a dangerous mission for rewards, I’d like better odds than that.”

“Yeah.”

Ceria looked back at Ksmvr and Erin. She was talking intently to him, but glancing over at their table every few seconds. What was she…?

Just as the half-Elf was frowning, Ksmvr stood up and followed Erin over to their table. Ceria looked up at him, unsure.

“Ksmvr?”

“Greetings.”

He nodded politely at Yvlon and Pisces. The mage just grunted and Yvlon inclined her head stiffly. The Antinium’s early unsteadiness was gone; he seemed stable on his feet again, despite the blood loss and missing arm.

“Erin?”

The young woman smiled nervously at the three.

“Um, well Ceria, I just had a thought. You’re looking for an adventurer, and Ksmvr sort of got kicked out of his Hive for a while, so I thought…y’know, why not? He’s a fighter, and he’s pretty good.”

All three adventurers sitting at the table exchanged a long look. Pisces coughed and shrugged. Ceria fiddled with a fork, and Yvlon frowned. It was the blonde-haired woman who spoke.

“No offense Erin, but your friend Ksmvr is injured. And we’re looking for a capable fourth member, not—”

“I am considered to be a Silver-rank adventurer’s equal within my Hive.”

Ksmvr looked at Yvlon. He indicated his missing arm.

“This will not slow me down. I am capable of using many weapons.”

“Like a bow?”

Ceria was still frowning, but she stared at Erin and then at Ksmvr, thinking hard. The Antinium nodded.

“Archery is among the skills I have acquired. I have no Skills, but I am competent with every common bow type.”

“But you got kicked out of your Hive because you weren’t good enough.”

Again, Pisces was as blunt as a mace. Ksmvr hesitated, and Erin jumped in.

“Yeah, but he says it was because he’s not as good as Klbkch. And that’s not exactly fair, right? I mean, Klbkch is Relc’s partner, and Relc—”

“The Drake is at least the equal of any Gold-rank adventurer.”

Pisces frowned and nodded.

“I saw him dueling one of those adventurers before. He managed to force him back without any magical equipment. If that is the standard—”

He eyed Ceria. She could tell what he was thinking, but she wasn’t entirely sold. Yvlon was still frowning too. She sighed. Just when they needed something, Erin came up with it, albeit in the oddest way possible. She usually had good ideas, but—

An Antinium? Really? Ceria had journeyed with Calruz, and that had been fine, but the memory of the Antinium Wars still sent shivers down her spine. She hadn’t been on the continent, but she’d heard the stories.

Freaks. Monsters. But wasn’t that what people said about half-Elves? Ceria was still frowning when she heard the shouting from outside.

“Tree rot, what is it now?”

She stood up as a Drake burst into the room. He was panting, and wild-eyed. He wasn’t wearing armor; in fact, he wore what looked like farming clothes. He stared around the room.

“Please, is there any adventurer here? There’s a Goblin army attacking our village!”

Halrac was on his feet at once. Ceria blinked—she’d nearly forgotten he was here, but now the adventurer was a focused arrow. He strode towards the Drake.

“I’m a Gold-rank adventurer. Lead me to your village.”

The Drake nodded gasping with relief.

“Please, hurry! One of my friends is gathering the Watch, but there are hundreds of them!”

He ran out the door. Erin wavered, staring at it. Ceria grabbed her by the shoulder.

“Don’t even think about it. Close up your inn. Get upstairs and have your skeleton guard the door. Pisces, Yvlon—”

“You can’t be serious!”

Yvlon scowled and grabbed Pisces by one arm, lifting him up.

“This is our job. We defend people from monsters, even without a request. Come on!”

He grunted, but yanked free of her arm and moved towards the door with surprising haste. Ceria was going with them when Ksmvr spoke.

“Please, let me help. I am bound to defend Liscor in any case.”

She hesitated.

“You have no weapon—”

“Here! Here, take this!”

Erin burst out of her kitchen, juggling several bottles and a knife. She handed the knife to Ksmvr.

“It’s sharp. And these are the potions I have. Two healing potions—”

“You might need them.”

“Take one, at least!”

Ignoring Ceria’s objections, Erin thrust the bottle into the half-Elf’s hands. Ceria hesitated for only one more second and then nodded. They might need it.

“Thanks, Erin. Stay safe.”

She looked at the others. Yvlon was already at the door, her eyes following the Drake and Halrac as they sped across the snowy landscape. Pisces was waiting too. For all he groused, the mage wasn’t evil, and he was serious for once. And Ksmvr—

The Antinium held the knife, looking as poised as an arrow. So different from when he’d come in. What had Erin said to him? There was no time for thought. Someone was in trouble. Goblins. An army?

Ceria took a deep breath. She opened the door.

“Let’s go.”

—-

Everything an adventuring party was depended on their group composition. You had to move as a team; Ceria knew that. The Horns of Hammerad had been built for close-range engagements and rapid movement; Calruz had formed the group out of warriors and mages who could keep up. This new group was different.

Yvlon was quick and fast, and Ceria had known that she would be an excellent member of any party. It was one of the reasons why she had decided not to join the Halfseekers; she had the makings of a strong team already. Pisces was another powerful mage, possibly better than she was, but he was out of shape and gasping as he ran through the snow. But Ksmvr—

The Antinium plowed through the deep snow like a horse, relentless and tireless. Ceria eyed him warily as she ran. He was an unknown quantity, but they needed every hand they could get. Halrac was already far ahead of them, but if this was a Goblin army, all they’d be doing was getting their attention and running for their lives.

The village appeared in the distance as the four crested a hill. Ceria shaded her eyes and Pisces muttered a spell as both mages surveyed the scene.

“That’s no army.”

Yvlon couldn’t see the details, but she nodded.

“It’s just a raiding party. Two hundred, possibly three hundred Goblins.”

“Oh, wonderful. Nothing to worry about, then.”

Pisces snapped as he stared at the mass of Goblins fighting in a large village. From this distance, Ceria could see some defenders trying to hold them back, but they were woefully outnumbered, and the Goblins were trying to break into the houses.

“What are we supposed to do about that, pray?”

“Help as best we can. We’re not alone; look. There’s the Watch.”

Ceria pointed left, towards Liscor. The Watch had deployed fast and in serious numbers. She saw at least eighty guardsmen approaching the small army of Goblins, led by a familiar female Drake. Something—someone shot out of the group as the Goblins turned, and a huge Hob in the center raised his sword and pointed at the guardsmen.

A blur of green motion sped through the snow. Relc crashed into the warband and then leapt away, and two Goblins fell down with holes on their torsos. Ceria saw him dodge away as arrows flew.

“Damn. There’s even a Goblin [Shaman] down there. Look at the lightning!”

“Let’s get into it as well. Those people still need help!”

The Goblin raiding party had split up. The vast majority was charging the Watch, who’d taken up a stationary position while Relc dashed back towards them. Arrows and magic were already beginning to fly, but a large number of Goblins were still trying to kill everyone in the village.

“Come on!”

Ceria ran towards the village, aiming for one of the houses. Pisces, huffing and puffing, caught up to her and shouted in her ear.

“There’s too many! Are you insane, Springwalker!?”

“We have to do something! And Halrac’s nearby! Look!”

She pointed. Across the open expanse of land, nearly three hundred meters out, she could see the [Scout] and the Drake who’d led him here. The Human was kneeling, but he had a bow in his hands. Even as she looked at him, he raised it and fired.

Ahead of her, a Goblin breaking through a closed window spun around and fell down, an arrow in his chest. His fellows looked up and around, screeching, and saw Ceria and her group. But another arrow caught a Goblin in the eye, and they turned and saw the lone [Scout] in the distance.

Again, the Goblins divided. A group went charging towards Halrac, but started collapsing, arrows sprouting from their bodies like magic. Halrac had to have a Skill, because Goblins were falling left and right.

For a moment Ceria thought he could take care of all the Goblins himself. Halrac had taken a distant position and he was downing Goblins fast. But then something odd happened.

One of the Goblins shouted, and the warriors suddenly bunched together and raised shields. Ceria blinked. Shields?

But yes, these Goblins had shields, and even armor! It wasn’t high-quality; some was rusted and a lot of it was iron or bronze, but they were all armed. They looked like an actual army, not just a raiding party.

The Goblins started advancing on Halrac, using their shields to block his incoming arrows. He still found gaps in their armor, and Goblins stumbled back and fell as he caught them on the arms, legs, and pierced through weak spots, but they were still moving towards him.

And the rest were looking at Ceria. They weren’t all Goblins; she saw a Hob among them, a huge Goblin as strong as most Silver-rank adventurers. But Ceria also heard the Drakes screaming inside their homes. So she raised her skeletal hand.

“[Ice Spike]!”

The shard of ice caught a Goblin in the chest and he fell down, his last breath emerging as a scream. Yvlon stopped next to Ceria and raised both sword and shield. Ksmvr did likewise, as Pisces tried to raise himself, still panting.

“Here they come.”

Yvlon’s face was grim. Ceria counted. Nearly…sixty Goblins. Some were still fighting the villagers, but there were far too many to take on.

“We’ve got to slow them down. Buy time. Pisces stop gasping and help!”

“Oh…of…course…let me…”

The [Mage] gasped for air, and then stood up. He inhaled deeply as the Hob leading the remaining Goblins pointed at Ceria and shouted. Another group peeled off and marched towards them, leaving the defenders behind, pressed further and further back.

“[Ice Spike]! Pisces!”

“Just a moment, Springwalker. I’m looking for the best place to—ah, there.”

Pisces pointed and Ceria saw a place where several Goblins had fallen from Halrac’s arrows. The tip of Pisces’ finger glowed purple, and his voice became deeper, resonant.

“Oh fallen Goblins. Rise from your graves and seek my enemies!”

Eight of the Goblin warriors that had fallen jerked and slowly rose upwards, eyes glowing blue, not red. They immediately fell upon their friends, who turned and screeched as they saw the undead.

Ceria felt a chill as she saw the undead getting up, and felt Yvlon shudder beside her. Pisces hadn’t used to do that so casually. When they’d parted, he’d still pretended to be a [Mage], but now he didn’t hide what he was, and she was fighting alongside him. Alongside undead. It still felt—

The undead slowed the Goblins coming at the group. That was enough time for Ceria to continue firing [Ice Spike], heedless of the mana it was burning up. She didn’t have many other long-range spells, and while [Ice Shard] might kill a few, it would only work at close range…

The undead were hacking at the Goblins, heedless of the vicious wounds they were taking as their former comrades hacked them apart. The armor they were wearing was suddenly a disadvantage for the Goblins fighting them.

But there were many Goblins and the undead were a crumbling wall. Ceria gritted her teeth and cast [Ice Spike] again, but this time the shard lodged in one of the Goblin’s shields. Now the Goblins came at the group, running in a staggered formation, shields up, weapons at the ready.

“Formations? What the hell…”

“Get back! Ceria, cover me!”

Ceria saw Yvlon charge, and then Ksmvr was right on her heels. The two warriors slashed at the front ranks and then fell back as Ceria hit the the front rank with ice spells. Pisces raised a hand and pointed.

“[Frozen Wind].”

The air froze around his hand, making the first few Goblins slow and shout in agony as Yvlon and Ksmvr dodged out of the way. Pisces grinned and threw a fireball, and the Goblins had to slow and raise their shields or be caught by the two mage’s crossfire.

“Aw hell. Another Hob!”

Yvlon slashed left and then right, and then fell back, dueling a Hob that had joined the Goblins. Pisces looked at her and raised a hand.

“Back.”

She tumbled away and the jet of flame seared the Hob, making him roar in agony. But he charged through the flames at Pisces.

“Now would be—”

Ksmvr launched into the Hob from the side, stabbing fast and quick with the knife Erin had given him. The Hob threw him to one side, and Pisces shook his head.

“Springwalker?”

“[Icy Floor].”

Ceria pointed at the ground and then the snow crystallized. The Hob’s foot slipped, and Pisces raised a hand again.

“[Shock Volt]!”

It was another Tier 2 spell. This one was a shock of electricity that burst from Pisces’ hands, arcing towards the Hob’s metal armor. The big warrior screamed as he fought to get up. He raised his mace, and a shard of ice burst out of one eye like a red flower.

Ceria lowered her hand and exhaled hard.

“Damn it, I hate Hobs.”

“Get back, they’re forming up!”

Yvlon pointed, and Ceria saw the Goblins were charging towards them, a group of thirty this time. The half-Elf immediately pointed at the ground.

“[Icy Floor]!”

It was hard to cover a wide stretch, even in the winter. But Ceria saw the area in front of them freeze up, and the Goblins immediately split their group to circle around the frozen patch of ice.

“I’m nearly out of mana. Pisces?”

The other mage nodded, wiping at his brow.

“I have enough for more spells or undead. Should I?”

“Do it!”

Yvlon took a position as the group moved back. Ceria unsheathed a dagger; she was acceptable with it, and her robes would help, but she didn’t want to fight if she could help it. Yvlon pointed towards the other edge of the ice patch.

“Ksmvr, I need you to take one side.”

“Affirmative.”

“Pisces, if you can slow them down—”

The mage was focusing, his eyes narrowed. He spoke slowly.

“I can do a bit better than that.”

He pointed.

“[Animate Dead].”

Across the distance, the Hob sat up. Ceria gasped, but the massive undead was suddenly on his feet, and turning towards the Goblins. They screamed as he charged towards them, mace raised.

After that, it was more watching than anything else. Ceria and Pisces stood behind Ksmvr and Yvlon, a last line of defense, mana exhausted. But it didn’t come to a melee; the Hob that Pisces had reanimated ended the battle by himself. Heedless of injury now, he smashed Goblins left and right until they brought him down by weight of sheer numbers. And in the meantime, Yvlon and Ksmvr harassed them from the flanks.

Yvlon killed two more Goblins, slashing off limbs and inflicting deep wounds without ever letting them get close. She had no activatable skills, but she more than made up for it with competent swordplay. No blade even touched her armor; she turned away every cut with her shield and used it to ram Goblins, knocking them off balance and keeping the rest at bay.

Ksmvr had abandoned Erin’s knife and seized two swords. He hacked Goblins while his third arm held a shield which he used to defend himself. He took wounds, but they were only light ones that didn’t penetrate his carapace.

And then it was really over. The last Goblins fled, and Ceria turned and saw a trail of dead Goblins leading up to a pile of them where Halrac had been. The [Scout] was advancing towards the village, bow raised, picking off fleeing Goblins with careful shots.

And the Watch—

A group of them came running into the village, led by Zevara. She halted when she saw the other Goblins had fallen, and eyed Ceria and the other adventurers oddly.

“You took care of them all?”

“Mostly. Halrac got the majority.”

Ceria pointed, and the [Scout] shrugged and grunted. It was true; over half of the dead Goblins in the village had been killed by arrow, and the leader of the Goblins was slumped in the snow, three arrows protruding from the eye slits in his helmet.

“Good work.”

Zevara said it oddly, as if she wasn’t used to having adventurers assist the Watch. From what Ceria knew of Drakes, that might actually be the case; the local militias often did more work than adventurers in the south.

“How did it go with the others?”

The Drake hesitated, and then grimaced.

“We lost a few good soldiers, but only a few. Those damn Goblins fought well, almost as if they’d been trained. They didn’t break until the last.”

“And the Hobs. There were a lot of them for a raiding party.”

“Yes. There were.”

Ceria and Zevara exchanged a look, and then the truce or whatever had passed between them ended. Ceria coughed.

“I’d like to claim partial salvage rights on the dead, unless you object?”

“Partial salvage…? You mean loot them?”

“It’s an adventuring thing. We helped, so we’d like to collect items and equipment.”

Zevara shook her head, but waved a claw.

“Go ahead. Do whatever you want. I’ll have my men strip and burn the rest later.”

Ceria nodded. She turned to Halrac. The [Scout] hadn’t even spoke to Zevara. He was going from body to body, collecting arrows he could reuse.

“Halrac? Thanks for covering for us out there. We’re requesting salvage rights. Do you want…?”

He shook his head and grunted.

“Go ahead. Nothing I need.”

Custom dictated that the adventurer who was highest in rank, or level, or who’d done the most work got first pick. But Ceria had doubted a Gold-rank adventurer would waste his time with that anyways; she was vaguely surprised he was even recovering arrows.

She walked back to the rest of her party—and it was a party now—exhausted. Pisces was sitting on the snow, and Yvlon was talking to a Drake—an older woman who had tears in her eyes.

“Don’t know how we can thank—”

“It’s nothing. Please, it’s our job. Are there any wounded?”

“The Watch has potions. But thank you! If it weren’t for you and that other Human—”

It was odd. Sometimes it was like this after a battle, but usually it wasn’t. Ceria couldn’t remember the last time the Horns of Hammerad had intervened to save a village, but then, they often got requests and seldom saw a monster attacking out of the blue.

Usually, adventurers took their pay and left, often having to wrangle it out of the suddenly not-so-grateful head chief or council of villagers. But the Drakes here were amazingly grateful, and Ceria found she and the others were the target of praise and adoration.

“It’s nothing, really. Pisces, we’ve got permission to check the dead. Do you have any mana…?”

“[Detect Magic]. There, there, and…the Hobs.”

He pointed. Ceria excused herself from the mob to walk over to the bodies Pisces had identified.

“Ah, this one was the Goblin [Shaman]. Looks like a wand of some kind and this feather amulet.”

“Careful. You never know what types of enchantments—”

“I’m not an amateur, Pisces.”

Ceria carefully picked both up with a piece of cloth and stowed them away. Then she investigated the other bodies.

“Magic rings? A necklace? And this sword is pretty good. Ksmvr!”

The Antinium walked over and Ceria handed him the sword. He studied it.

“This is a superior blade for a Goblin. Curious. My knowledge of Goblins indicates that this would usually be the equipment of a Chieftain, not a normal Hob.”

“Could this have been a tribe, do you think?”

Yvlon shook her head as she investigated another corpse, finding a gold ring.

“No children, no pregnant females. This is a raiding party, but it must be a huge tribe it came from.”

Ceria exchanged a look with Pisces. They were both thinking the same thing.

“Could it be that Goblin that Erin lets visit? Rags…?”

He looked troubled, but shook his head.

“I taught the Goblin a few spells. She is…intelligent. She would not be so foolish as to attack when the Watch is nearby, and these Goblins are different. Note the armor and the markings here and here.”

He pointed, and Ceria saw these Goblins had notched ears.

“That’s a different tribe.”

“Where did they come from?”

“South. That is what the villagers informed us.”

Everyone looked at Ksmvr. Ceria stared in that direction, worried. Yvlon nodded.

“They came from the south. From the Blood Fields. There must be a new tribe down there, a dangerous one. If this is a raiding party, what must their actual tribe look like?”

Something lurched in Ceria’s stomach. She breathed one word.

“Ryoka.”

2.33

Some days he could not bear to see her as she was. He remembered when she had been smaller, and the first time she had walked through the tunnels of the Hive. But now she was bloated, obscenely huge, grand and horrible and beautiful all at once.

That is what Klbkch thought as he gazed upon his Queen. She was not what she once was. She was greater now, yes, with a Hive full of thousands of Antinium who followed her every order. But sometimes he wondered if she was a captive, a helpless prisoner. He knew he was.

“—We will dispose of the bodies of the Goblins for the city. I believe they will be largely useful as food supplies unless they carry some kind of invisible affliction.”

“Very well.”

His Queen gazed down at Klbkch, as they had often done. He stood at perfect attention, in the darkness of his Hive underneath Liscor, speaking up to her. This was his duty; true, he had other tasks now, but he had done this for decades, and it was what was needed. His Queen was the ruler of the Hive, but Klbkch was her eyes and ears and sword, if need be.

Up until a few weeks ago. Now Klbkch was a Revalantor, and in theory he should have been reporting to his Queen less and working with Pawn and the new individuals, but the situation had changed. Klbkch shifted slightly, a movement his Queen picked up.

“Is something amiss, Klbkchhezeim?”

“Not as of such, my Queen. However, casualties from the latest incursion from the dungeons were quite severe.”

“Yes. It seems activity above has woken more of the wretched things.”

“I believe it would be wise to proceed with the uncovering of the dungeon as soon as possible.”

“So you have said. Repeatedly.”

Above him, the Queen stared down at Klbkch. He knew she was not pleased. She wanted the Hive to do this alone, but he had argued this point for years. He thought he’d convinced her after Skinner to take the opportunity, but was she having second thoughts?

Klbkch braced himself for another argument, but instead his Queen just shook her head.

“What then, of the adventurers? Will they locate the dungeon themselves or must we point them to it?”

“They have been unable to locate the exact entrance, but two Gold-rank teams have already approached me and asked if the Antinium would dig in search of it.”

“Ah.”

Was that a good sign or not? Even after so long, Klbkch wasn’t certain.

“…They have offered a sizeable sum of gold to locate the entrance to the dungeon. I believe they are offering us a higher price than the normal rate.”

“That would be useful.”

Gold was not really an issue for the Antinium, but every bit helped. Klbkch nodded.

“If we were to accept a lower price, we might surprise them and influence their feelings towards us in some positive manner. Griffon Hunt appears to be especially hostile towards us.”

“Is that an issue?”

“It may not be, but I would prefer to do so if you will permit it.”

Another sigh.

“Very well. I trust your judgment, Klbkch.”

She trusted his judgment, but didn’t understand it. It was an odd thing, but his Queen—all Queens, really—did not value goodwill or friendship as a resource. They only thought of other species as variables to be influenced, and hence that was why Klbkch occasionally had to argue like this.

Perhaps this was why the Prognugators had been created; to fill the voids of each Queen’s personality. Of course, each Prognugator and Queen was different; Klbkch knew other Hives had vastly different ways of approaching their work.

Regardless…

“We will construct a tunnel with multiple branching sections to the entrance of the main dungeon and unearth it in…three days. I believe that should be enough time.”

“No doubt. But it is these adventurers that concern me, Klbkch. Regardless of their designs on the treasure; will they be enough to be useful in the first place?”

“They are Gold-rank, my Queen. They should have the combined capability of at least a thousand of our Soldiers.”

“Mm. Indeed, if they could disarm the traps it would be best. But I more referred to their lack of numbers. I would prefer at least one Named Adventurer and twice as many Gold-rank ones.”

That surprised Klbkch enough to make him hesitate. From being so opposed to any interference, his Queen had changed her opinion quickly. Why? He wondered if she’d been speaking to another Queen.

“—I believe more will flock to the area as the dungeon is uncovered and its scale is noticed. The minor treasures and artifacts will doubtless encourage some. It is only a matter of time.”

“Well then.”

He nodded. There was nothing more to say.

“Then, finally, I will initiate the next part of the plan regarding Ksmvr, with your permission.”

His Queen sighed and shifted on her throne again. Sometimes Klbkch wondered if she were growing tired. She was certainly old. Perhaps it was time for her to go through the Rite of Anastases, but that would necessitate bringing her to another Queen, or Queens, and the effort involved would be immense.

“I dislike the need for it, but very well. You are sure he suspects nothing?”

“As far as I am aware.”

“Hm. Disappointing that he does not think or wonder. But then, he is young.”

And untested. And experimental. Klbkch added these words in his head, but did not say them out loud. Ksmvr was his Queen’s pet project, and he might be useful—

If he were stronger.

“I will return to my duties. I believe Pawn is speaking with the other Workers, both individual and not. The others will arrive within the week.”

“I see. Then go.”

His Queen waved her feeler again. There wasn’t much more to be said. After her initial excitement, she had gone back to managing her Hive. Antinium didn’t dwell on emotional matters, if they even felt anything.

Klbkch understood. It was a practical choice. But he had changed in the last few months, and recently, he’d begun feeling—

He turned, and walked out of his Queen’s presence before she could sense his emotions. So much was changing within the Hive right now. She needed him more than ever. He would abide for a while longer before he acted on his concerns.

And he had work to do. Klbkch’s legs carried him swiftly through the tunnels, occasionally passing by Workers and Soldiers who moved aside so as not to impede his progress. That was how it worked in the Hive. Soldiers would move as quickly as possible through the Hive, usually to rest, eat, or reinforce areas under attack. Workers would scuttle around, stopping or moving out of the way to accommodate Soldiers. And Klbkch?

He walked in a bubble of his own. He was Revalantor, a step above Prognugator. No one would get in his way. Within his Hive, he was alone.

As he had always been. Ever since he had arrived on this continent. But it had not always been this way.

Lost in thought, Klbkch only came back fully into reality when he was at his destination. He stopped at a tunnel less trodden than the main channels and walked into a small storeroom big enough to hold a single bedroom’s worth of goods.

It was one of the many storage rooms the Antinium of Liscor had built. True to their nature, each storage area had its own designated location and purpose depending on the value and need for each item contained within.

Because this storage room contained items not useful for Soldiers and Workers fighting in the Dungeon, it was located closer to the surface. But given the value of the items contained within, it was relatively close to the Queen’s room.

There were no guards at the doors, and there was no door for that matter. There was no need. Anyone who had penetrated this far into the Hive would have to have slaughtered almost every single living Antinium to get here, and if that was the case, what good would a door be? In any case, the need to open and close a door and station Soldiers there was a needless waste of resources.

And the Antinium did not waste resources.

Klbkch walked into the room and carefully walked over to a closed box. He opened it, and withdrew a folded piece of paper. He handled it with extreme care because the parchment was cracked and crumbling with age.

The Antinium walked out of the storage room and up through the maze of tunnels, closer to the surface. He entered a side tunnel, and then entered into the cellar of an ancient building that had been buried underground.

The walls of this building were crumbling; the stone looked as if it would fall apart at the touch. A beam slanted as it seemed to audibly groan under the pressures exerted on it from above. The door leading upwards was jammed open, and collapsed earth could be seen blocking the way upwards.

It was clearly some lost building that had once been part of Liscor, or at least, part of some ancient city. Klbkch advanced into the room and looked around. He had no fear of anything collapsing, despite the precarious appearance of the room. He was an Antinium and could dig through dirt with ease, and he’d spent nearly a week overseeing the construction of the room to begin with. The stone may look weak, but it was as structurally sound as any part of the Hive.

“Ah. There.”

Klbkch strode over to one wall, where he’d had some Workers drag in a wine rack and nearly fifty expensive vintages and smash the entire structure before adding a coating of dust to the mix. The Antinium knelt, lifted a broken board, and tucked the folded parchment underneath it. Then he raised his head.

Footsteps, a bit too quick and too soon. But it didn’t matter. Klbkch straightened, took a few steps into the center of the room, and turned just as Olesm entered.

“Ah!”

The Drake screamed and leapt back from Klbkch, fumbling for the dagger at his side. Perhaps it was seeing the motionless Antinium standing in the nearly pitch-black room that had scared him. Klbkch raised his voice.

“Olesm. Excuse me, I did not mean to alarm you.”

“What, me? No, I’m sorry Klbkch. I just didn’t expect anyone down here.”

Flustered, Olesm stepped into the room and hesitated. He looked warily at the walls and ceiling.

“Ah, is it safe to enter?”

“Some structural reinforcement is necessary, but the room is safe for now.”

Klbkch lied as Olesm cautiously stepped further inside, looking around surreptitiously as he held the small lantern in one hand. Klbkch had no need of the faint glow it emitted, but for the rare visitors to the Hive, it was essential.

“I see you are alone. Have you finished teaching chess to the Workers?”

It was another redundant question; they had been the ones to inform Klbkch of Olesm’s movements. But the Antinium listened attentively to Olesm anyways.

“Oh, yes. They’re making great progress, just great! Some of them have no interest of course, but the ones who do play constantly. When they’re not working, of course.”

“Of course.”

Klbkch liked chess, but his interest was a shallow drop in the bucket compared to the waterfall of passion some of the Workers displayed for the game. It was…odd. The Antinium had never brought games or anything like it into their Hive. It was pointless, again, a waste of resources.

But had that been the clue all along? When Klbkch had suggested it, his Queen had grown silent before dismissing them. Was the key really just that?

…No. There was more. It had to be other people, not just the Antinium. People like Erin, special people who could teach them. That was why Ksmvr had to leave, and why this was important.

“I see you have come here again. Are you looking for additional maps of the dungeons? Was the one recovered not enough?”

Olesm shrugged slightly. He seemed a bit upset, insofar as Klbkch could read Drake emotions. His tail was twitching more than usual, but he wasn’t shouting or throwing things as Relc often did.

“I’m sure it was fine. The Council was very grateful for the discovery. But ah, I’m just looking for anything else that might be of use.”

“I see. Well, we have not completed our search of the area. The Antinium have discovered more buildings, but few remain even partially intact. This one seems to be the most important.”

“Yeah, you’re right. There could be something else here, couldn’t there?”

Olesm peered around the room, aiming his lantern at corners as Klbkch watched.

“I mean, I don’t know who lived here, but if this was some kind of [Cartographer]’s basement…”

“Could more maps be trapped under the rubble?”

“Maybe. Would you ah, like to give me a hand?”

“Certainly.”

Klbkch moved forwards and he and Olesm began searching the room systematically. Klbkch focused on the side of the room opposite the destroyed wine rack, while Olesm searched the other side of the room.

Even so, it would take Olesm a while to find the hidden parchment, as the Drake was focused on one corner of the room and very slowly making his way over. Klbkch decided to make small talk, if only so he would not become bored.

“I had expected that you would be at Erin Solstice’s inn instead of down here.”

“What?”

Olesm looked over as Klbkch picked up a fragment of cloth and discarded it. The Drake hesitated.

“Well…I mean, you did offer to pay me to teach the Antinium. It’s good money, and I always love playing chess.”

“Ah. But Erin is the greatest chess player in Liscor.”

She might be the best in the world. Certainly, she was among the best from hers, or so Klbkch had gathered. That was something else he had not told to anyone, including his Queen. It was…his secret. Erin had told other people of course, but who among them came down here to talk to the Queen? If he did not speak, she would never know. At least, not until the moment was right.

“Erin? Yeah, I mean, she is the best. But ah, I don’t want to disturb her. Plus, there are other reasons…”

Olesm’s voice trailed off and Klbkch observed his tail thrashing even harder.

“You seem upset. Is something the matter?”

“Yes! No. I—I just had a bad morning, that’s all.”

“Ah.”

Klbkch went back to searching through the rubble. He didn’t say anything. In his experience, non-Antinium would say what was on their minds eventually. In this case, it took Olesm only ten minutes to blurt out what he was thinking about.

“It’s Ceria. And adventuring. And Erin, I guess. I just feel like I’m not in their league anymore. In terms of levels, I mean.”

“Oh? I fail to see the issue. You are the highest-level [Tactician] in Liscor, are you not?”

“Hah!”

Olesm laughed bitterly as he tossed a rock against one wall.

“That’s nothing compared to the [Strategists] in our army. I might be higher-level than some of the Humans in the northern cities, but so what? I’m still weak.”

“You are young.”

“But I could be improving, don’t you see?”

Olesm’s tail raised a cloud of dust as he turned to Klbkch in frustration.

“I wanted to join Ceria and become an adventurer. I thought if I did that, I could develop some skills, maybe even transition into a commander class…! It’s possible if you gain enough warrior levels, you know.”

“I am aware.”

Enough levels in [Warrior] and [Strategist] and the two classes would merge into a new class, usually [Commander]. It was an odd feature, especially since some people could level in [Commander] right away. As far as Klbkch could tell, it was simply a way to consolidate levels, but he had no idea why that would be useful. Two classes were better than one, weren’t they?

“But she said no. She said I wasn’t strong enough—”

Olesm grabbed a piece of wood up and clenched it hard in a scaly fist.

“Adventurers live quite dangerous lives. Silver-rank adventurers face threats that may be above your level at the moment.”

“I know! I know, but the way she said it—can’t I go with them? Why do I have to be here?”

This was an unexpected development. Klbkch paused, and decided to continue with the conversation.

“Is it not Liscor’s policy to keep at least one [Tactician] in the city to ward off potential attacks?”

“It is. But I could delegate the job or—I just want to be better, you know? I feel worthless every time I play Erin, now that I know she’s taking it easy on me. I mean, I knew she was already, but now…”

Klbkch nodded slowly.

“I can understand your position. After my death, I too lost quite a number of levels.”

“Really? I had no idea that was how it worked. Does it happen like that for all Antinium?”

Olesm looked at Klbkch in surprise, and the Antinium felt a small moment of kinship with the young Drake. He couldn’t close his eyes, but Klbkch looked down at the ground, remembering as he spoke.

“Revival is rare even among my kind. But yes, once individuals are revived, they lose ten levels among their classes.”

“Ten!?”

“It is a small price to pay for life, is it not? But without at least ten levels, individuals are unable to be revived.”

It was a secret Klbkch was telling Olesm, but not a big one. The Drakes and Gnolls had figured out the Antinium’s ability during the First Antinium War; only the exact nature of the resurrection and the amount of levels lost had been a secret. And it was one worth telling to Olesm, Klbkch believed.

“I was stronger. Once. But I am pleased to say that I have regained five of my lost levels already.”

“Fiv—how? Please, tell me how you did that!”

Olesm looked at Klbkch pleadingly.

“I’ve leveled a lot since Erin came, but it’s not nearly fast enough. How did you do it so quick?”

Klbkch paused. Now here was a secret he couldn’t speak of.

“The Hive has suffered a…few monster attacks as of late. I have helped fend them off and recovered my lost levels as a result.”

It was true except in the details. Olesm nodded in understanding.

“Oh, like those giant tunneling worms or Shield Spiders? Those can be nasty.”

“Among other things. They are difficult to deal with.”

“Good thing we don’t get Crelers down here, right?”

“Not anymore.”

Klbkch hated Crelers. Olesm shuddered, and went back to working after a bit longer.

“I just wish I could level like that, you know?”

“Perhaps you will. It just takes time.”

“Yeah, but I—”

Olesm paused as he lifted a piece of wood, and then his voice rose in excitement.

“Klbkch! Look! I found something!”

Klbkch walked over and saw Olesm holding up the ancient parchment as he held the lantern up with trembling claws.

“Is it another map of the dungeon?”

“N-no. I don’t think so…? No, wait, I know what this is! It’s a map of another dungeon!”

“Indeed?”

Klbkch peered at the faded lines and nodded as if impressed.

“This is quite a find. Is there perhaps another dungeon beneath Liscor?”

“There can’t be. That would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it? No, this must be another place. Maybe nearby…?”

Olesm stared at the faded writing on the map. Klbkch had a hard time reading the old Drake language, but Olesm had studied it, another reason why he’d been invited into the Hive.

“Albez. Huh. I don’t know where that is.”

“Perhaps it is a location north of here? A Human or native to that region might know. Ceria Springwalker or her companion, Yvlon Byres, perhaps.”

“You think so?”

Olesm hesitated. He looked at the parchment and carefully folded it up.

“Can I…borrow this? I’ll return it later.”

Klbkch shook his head, but not in denial.

“The Antinium have no use for maps. Do with it as you will. I only hope you will mention our efforts to the Council when you report.”

“What? Oh, yes, I will. Thank you!”

Olesm was already headed towards the tunnels. Klbkch watched him go, and knew the Drake would be making a beeline for the surface…unless he got lost. Mentally, Klbkch ordered a few Workers to intercept the Drake at tunnel intersections.

Klbkch’s job was done. He sighed. It wasn’t as if this had been particularly tiring, but Olesm’s mention of levels had brought Klbkch back in time again. It was playing on his thoughts when he’d stood before his Queen.

The past. Klbkch hadn’t given it much thought, but after he’d met Erin and died again, it was starting to weigh on him.

Klbkch reviewed his classes. He was a Level 21 [Swordslayer], a Level 18 [Commander], a Level 6 [Diplomat], a Level 13 [Guardsman] and a Level 14 [Assassin]. He’d been stronger, once.

Yes. Klbkch remembered a time when he hadn’t had any levels in either [Commander] or [Diplomat]. He’d been a pure warrior, a Level 44 [Swordslayer], and a Level 26 [Assassin]. He hadn’t even been a Prognugator, then.

Was it just him, or was it harder to level now? Maybe it was his age as well. It had been so long since they’d left Rhir, and even longer since he had first been hatched. He could barely remember his first Hive, deep in the darkness. Maybe there were still—

Klbkchhezeim.

Klbkch snapped to attention, all memory passing from his mind in an instant. He knew what his Queen meant in a single touch of their minds.

It was another attack. More monsters were swarming out of the dungeon, and the Soldiers needed him. Klbkch ran out of the fake cellar, heading directly towards the scene of the battle.

Forget the past. The Centenium were dead. He was a Revalantor now. Klbkch grabbed at the two swords at his waist, feeling the blades slide out of their sheathes. If only he had his old swords. But then, he and his Queen hadn’t been allowed to take anything of value when they established this experimental Hive. Maybe after the others came and saw what they had done…

No time for thought. Klbkch ran faster as he heard the first shriek of rage in the air. His body was light, his mind was focused. He was the blade of his queen.

It was time to go back to work.

—-

“Wow. Wow. And you fought the Goblins off by yourself?”

“With the help of the Watch. And Halrac. And the villagers and quite a bit of luck.”

Ceria grinned at Erin as the half-Elf sat at a table in the inn, drinking beer and relaxing with the other three adventurers. Erin assumed they were adventurers. Of course, Pisces had just been a mage and Ksmvr was an Antinium Prognugator, but they were adventurers now, right?

She didn’t quite know what that word meant. Erin hadn’t met many adventurers outside of the Horns of Hammerad, Griffin Hunt and a few others. She got that they went into dungeons and killed monsters, but the idea of just wandering around helping people sounded more like being a hero to her.

It was a different world, especially in how one second Ceria could be sitting in the bar, and the next she’d be out fighting a Goblin army.

“Raiding party, Erin. I told you, it’s a raiding party.”

“What’s the dif—oh, right. Numbers. But two hundred Goblins is a lot.”

“Not compared to an army, believe me. And in truth, this raiding party is small compared to how big they can get. When a Goblin King emerges, you can see raiding parties in the thousands.”

“Which isn’t so much a raiding party as another army. Bah, the terminology used is wholly insufficient.”

Pisces scowled around his drink. He seemed happy Erin had brought out the alcohol, but even happier that she’d made more food—lunch, this time. It felt like she’d just served breakfast, but here was another crowd, even larger thanks to some of the Guardsmen who’d decided to eat at the inn.

Speaking of which—

One of the Gnolls in armor waved a paw, and Erin turned.

“Can you get that, Lyonette?”

Across the room the girl hesitated, and then slowly walked over to the table with Gnolls and Drakes, displeasure evident on her face. The guardsmen didn’t look that happy to see her either, but in a few seconds she was walking into the kitchen to get more food.

Erin had made soup. It was a nice, easy dish to make and she could keep serving it instead of having to constantly make more for new guests. She’d added all kinds of spices and meats and vegetables in it—it almost felt like Erin’s skills were doing all of the cooking, rather than her.

“This is really good, Erin. Thank you.”

“Oh, no, thank you? Um, I’ve got more if you want it.”

“Please don’t trouble yourself. I’m quite full.”

Yvlon put down the spoon in her bowl and sighed contentedly as she reached for her drink. She’d requested milk, a stark contrast from the others.

Ksmvr nodded silently. He was drinking water, and he’d finished two bowls of soup in near-silence. Erin’s eyes were drawn to the stump of his third arm, but the Antinium didn’t even seem to notice his wound.

He was still probably depressed. Erin couldn’t believe he’d been kicked out his Hive, just like that. She wanted to talk to Klbkch about it, but she hadn’t seen the Antinium and Ceria had said he wasn’t with the Watch who fought the Goblins.

“It’s just so scary, thinking there could be more of them out there. And they’re not Rags’ Goblins, you said?”

“I’m almost positive about that.”

Ceria nodded and Pisces murmured his agreement. That made Erin’s heart ease a tiny bit. She’d hate to imagine Rags getting hacked to bits.

“Well, I’m glad you’re all okay. We got attacked by Goblins too, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as this.”

“What?”

Ceria looked up sharply, and Erin raised her hands.

“Don’t worry! They never even got inside the inn.”

“What did you do? Did my creation kill them?”

“Who, Toren? No. They never even got close. I sort of yelled at them and they ran away.”

All four adventurers exchanged looks. Yvlon coughed politely.

“You yelled at them?”

“Sort of. I mean, I didn’t use [Loud Voice]. But it was that…that other skill I learned. Remember when everyone was fighting at the inn?”

Pisces massaged his stomach and scowled.

“How could we forget?”

“Well, back then I shouted and I felt everything sort of get heavier, remember?”

“I remember.”

Ceria frowned.

“I thought that was just a spell one of the Gold-rank adventurers cast. But you did that?”

“I think so. And when I saw the Goblins coming, I sort of just shouted at them to get lost and they did. I don’t know what happened, but the inn felt…bigger for a little bit after that happened.”

“Bigger?”

Ceria looked skeptical and Ksmvr and Yvlon just looked confused, but Pisces shook his head.

“It’s an aura. I haven’t heard of an innkeeper using one, but it’s quite common among leader classes.”

“An aura? Oh—you mean, [Inn’s Aura]? That’s one of the skills I got!”

“It’s quite a useful skill. It allows you to control the area; in this case I suppose around your inn to aid allies or impede enemies.”

“Whoa. That’s so cool!”

Erin smiled, and Ceria had to laugh.

“How do you not research your Skills when you get them, Erin?”

“I’ve got a lot to do, okay?”

Pisces cleared his throat, and everyone looked at him. He tapped the table as he settled into his lecturer voice.

“The aura skill is a powerful tool to aid in combat, but not one I would rely on. Any powerful monster or individual will be able to resist most of the effects. However, I will admit that it seems particularly well versed in deflecting low-level enemies. I suspect you may also be able to use it as a basic fear effect, or at least as a form of intimidation as evidenced by your chasing off of the Goblin invaders.”

Erin blinked at Pisces a few times while Ceria rolled her eyes and Yvlon just looked confused. It had been a while since she’d heard Pisces go all scholarly on her.

“Well, it seems quite useful.”

“Quite.”

“Good that you got rid of the Goblins. I’d hate for you to be in danger.”

Everyone nodded, and Erin did too, but the truth of it was that she’d never been in danger. It had been nine Goblins who’d approached her inn, and they’d already been hesitating when they saw Toren come out wearing armor. Erin shouting had probably been the last straw.

Ksmvr drained his mug, and looked at Erin.

“I would not like to bother you, Erin Solstice. But—”

“Water? No problem!”

Erin took the mug and whirled into the kitchen. She filled the water with some from a kettle she’d boiled and glanced at how much was left. Not enough. She could boil snow of course, but it was easier just to get some from the stream. It hadn’t frozen over despite the weather.

“Lyon, we need more water. Can you fetch…two buckets?”

The girl scowled as Erin walked back into the common room. She folded her arms.

“Me? Go out there?”

Erin frowned. She didn’t like that tone of voice. Never mind that it was Lyon’s semi-permanent tone; it meant trouble whenever she heard it.

“Yeah. You’ve done that a hundred times. What’s wrong?”

“Those horrible little monsters! They attacked the inn and they could be lurking outside!”

Lyon pointed to the door as if the Goblins were hiding behind it. Erin sighed.

“They’re all dead or run away. The Watch made sure of that.”

“How can you be sure?”

Erin paused.

“I can’t. But I’ll send Toren with you, how about that?”

It would defeat the purpose of sending Lyon in the first place, but at least then they’d be able to carry enough water back to last a good while. But the girl didn’t like that idea either.

“I won’t be followed by that horrible thing!”

“In that case, go by yourself. It’s not far.”

“Alone!? Absolutely not! I refuse to work until you hire an adventurer to exterminate all of them!”

Erin’s good mood slowly evaporated. Ceria blinked up at Erin from her table and nudged the innkeeper with one foot. She whispered up at Erin.

“You haven’t told her about your…other guests?”

“They haven’t come back for a while now. Um.”

Erin glanced over at Lyon. The girl was giving Erin a triumphant look, as if she had the moral high ground. It was always like this, and Erin didn’t want to deal with it. She looked over.

“Toren?”

The skeleton paused as he industriously mopped a table with a rag. He slowly turned, and Lyon screeched as she backed away from him.

“No! I will not—!”

The skeleton’s purple eyes flashed and Lyon ran out of the inn, emitting a half-sob, half-shrieking sound.

Ceria watched as Toren followed the girl out of the inn, frowning slightly. She looked at Erin.

“You don’t think it’s kind of cruel, making Toren deal with her?”

“Is that cruel for Toren or her? I’ve told him he can’t hit her, push her, poke her, or do anything to her. And I can’t deal with her.”

It was a painful admission for Erin, but it was true. She’d tried—oh, how she’d tried!—but Lyon would simply refuse to work. No matter how nice or mean Erin got, the girl would just sneer at her. Toren had a way with Lyon, in that he never gave up and could scare her with his eyes, but Erin didn’t have that same ability.

“I suppose.”

Ceria looked troubled, but Pisces just shook his head.

“I analyzed my creation after Miss Solstice pointed it out to me. He has absorbed the magic from that gemstone into his spell matrix. It appears to be a lesser version of the original spell, but it seems quite useful in shepherding the annoying girl around.”

He raised his mug and drained it as Erin nodded in relief. She had been worried about Toren. In truth, she still was. She’d thought her heart would stop when Halrac had shot him in the head. She’d had no idea what the red gemstone was, until she’d realized that Toren had picked up one of Skinner’s ‘eyes’ after the battle. How he’d gotten a hold of it she had no idea.

It was starting to bother her, to be honest. Not the eyes—Toren didn’t try to scare her and Erin doubted the effect would work on her after Skinner in any case—but it was how much Toren had changed.

He wore armor, he disappeared at random times…if she wasn’t so busy, Erin would have tried to see what was going on with her skeleton. Was something wrong with him? Maybe Pisces should take another look at him. Toren seemed more intelligent than he had been when Erin had first got him, but still.

Still, Erin was always busy now. She was cooking, serving guests, and didn’t have time to do much else. She’d hoped that Lyonette would take some of the burden off, but in this case, the girl had added to Erin’s workload.

“I need another helper.”

“No, you need a better helper.”

Ceria corrected Erin as the girl took a seat at the table. No one was shouting for her, and Erin had been on her feet all day.

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe Pisces can raise another skeleton for me?”

The mage snorted.

“Hardly. You don’t have the mana to sustain it, and Toren was a work of art.”

“Oh? He looks quite mundane to me, Pisces.”

“Come now, Springwalker. Surely you’ve observed his ability to reanimate? I layered the reanimation spell across each individual bone and tied the entire spell together. It can’t be replicated.”

Ceria eyed Pisces suspiciously as Erin blinked. Was Toren that impressive?

“It seems odd you’d give that to Erin for free.”

Pisces hesitated and then shrugged.

“Well, I owed her a small debt for my meals, and I observed her sterling work with the Antinium. The individuals such as Pawn—it seemed to me she would appreciate a fine worker.”

“I guess I did.”

It was odd, but Toren had been invaluable. Erin thought about that as Ceria pushed aside her empty bowl and pulled something up from the table.

“Alright, I’m feeling a bit more alive right now. Time to take stock of what we got from the Goblins.”

“What?”

Erin stared as Ceria pulled out two rings, a short sword, and an odd necklace of rough leather with a large claw attached to the end of it.  The half-Elf laid all four objects carefully on the table as all the adventurers leaned in.

“What’s that?”

“Magic. Or at least, they’re all magical. We pulled them off of the bodies of the dead Goblins.”

That was plain to see. One of the rings had blood all over it. Erin shuddered, but Pisces and Ceria ignored the blood as their fingers hovered over the rings. Erin expected them to pick one up, but neither did. In fact, she noticed that Ceria had lifted all four objects up with a handkerchief covering her hand, and as the half-Elf turned the necklace over, she used it again.

“Why aren’t you touching them? Are they dangerous?”

“They could be. It’s one of the rules all adventurers learn: don’t touch magical objects unless you know what it is. They might be trapped or warded against being stolen.”

Yvlon nodded. She was keeping her hands well away from the magical items.

“In the worst case scenario, they might kill the user, or explode. Even if they’re not deadly, I’ve seen objects start screaming or emit horrible gas or just melt.”

Erin blinked at the items on her table. Then she edged behind Ceria.

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry. We’ve done this before. We won’t destroy anything.”

The half-Elf reassured Erin as she and Pisces studied the items. Pisces was muttering under his breath, but he wasn’t doing anything obviously magical. Ceria returned her attention to the sword, frowning.

“Besides, it’s not as if these have particularly strong enchantments.”

“You can tell?”

“Oh yes. Items have an…intensity about them. You remember how magic has tiers? It’s like that. I’d say these are Tier 1—maybe Tier 2 on one of the rings at best. Mind you, Tier 1 is still good; it’s not like any enchantment is worthless.”

“Ah, but this one is.”

Pisces tapped the sword’s hilt as he looked at Ceria.

“Very common. It’s just a minor reinforcement, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Glad to see you waited for me to confirm it.”

Ceria grumbled, but nodded. She lifted the sword.

“This is just a basic hardening enchantment. It improves the strength of the blade, but not the sharpness or anything else. A bit better than nothing I suppose; Yvlon, Ksmvr, you want it?”

Yvlon shook her head.

“I suspect my longsword is better quality in any case.”

“Really?”

Erin looked at the sword at Yvlon’s side in surprise. It was certainly…shinier, but was it better than magic?

“Of course.”

Pisces snorted as Ksmvr accepted the shortsword.

“Quality steel forged by an expert? Compared to that, this is an iron blade—of acceptable craft, but not nearly good enough to compare. Magic cannot replace the actual base material it affects.”

“Not unless that magic’s really good. Looks like this is just random trinkets the Goblins stole.”

Ceria eyed the necklace and grimaced.

“Hey, this looks exactly like the dining hall at Wistram, doesn’t it, Pisces?”

The other mage looked at the necklace and nodded.

“Indeed. Resistance or nullification of improperly prepared foodstuffs.”

Erin couldn’t believe her ears.

“You mean it stops food poisoning?”

“It’s handy if you eat a lot of raw eggs. I’d take it, but I’m afraid the magic isn’t contained properly.”

Ceria shrugged as she lifted the necklace up and offered it around. Erin had no idea what she meant and said so.

“Well, mages have a hard time wearing magical gear unless it’s made really well. Take my robes for instance—they don’t leak any magic and their enchantments are…tightly woven is the best way I can describe it. But something like this—”

The half-Elf lightly flicked the dangling claw and shook her head.

“It just interferes with me if I’m trying to cast a spell. Think of it like this. If I was wearing a ring that resisted fire and tried to cast [Fireball], the magic in the ring would try to cancel mine out. Well, it’s more complicated than that—”

“—Far more complicated.”

“—Shut up, Pisces. But that’s the general idea. Wearing that necklace would interfere with a lot of my spells. I could cast around it, but it might take a bit more time and mana, and it’s not worth it to resist the occasional illness.”

“I see.”

Erin stared at the claw. She didn’t need it; if she was making bad food, she deserved her stomachache. But to her surprise, Ksmvr raised his hand again.

“I apologize for my unseemly behavior, but I believe it would benefit me the most.”

“Really?”

He nodded at Erin.

“Perhaps this trinket will allow me to consume products of gluten.”

“Hey, that’s a good point! And it’s not as if this is expensive stuff; here.”

Ceria tossed the necklace to Ksmvr who caught it and bowed his head.

“I am most grateful.”

“I’m fairly certain it won’t affect the enchantment on the shortsword either, right Pisces?”

He nodded. Erin scratched her head.

“So enchantments on different magical items…?”

“Affect each other. Only naturally. If they didn’t, every adventurer could wear a thousand magical spells on their person.”

Pisces nodded as Ceria began studying the two rings. He pointed at Yvlon.

“Why do you think experts in physical combat usually only use a sword and shield and a few enchanted items? Why not enchant every piece of armor?”

Erin had no idea what adventurers normally wore. Pisces continued.

“It is possible of course, but the skill and craftsmanship that would have to go into each piece of equipment would be extraordinary. Thus, only the most legendary of warriors would have multiple enchanted items and most adventurers carry a singularly enchanted blade and ring in most cases.”

“And us Silver-rank adventurers are generally too poor for any of that.”

Ceria sighed as she tossed one ring at Pisces. He studied it as she looked over at Erin.

“Getting magical items or finding one is the first step towards Gold-rank. My robes, for instance are half of the gear I’d probably need. If I had a good wand or stave and a higher-Tier spellbook, I could probably call myself a Gold-rank adventurer.”

“Another worthless ring. Minor enchantments against cold weather.”

“Yup. Let’s sell it for a gold piece or two—unless you’re feeling cold, Yvlon? Ksmvr?”

The other two shook their heads. Ksmvr was fastening the claw around his neck.

“I have imposed too much already.”

“I defer to the mages.”

Yvlon smiled at Ksmvr, awkwardly, but the first time Erin had seen her do so to the Antinium.

“I suppose you’re one of us now, Ksmvr. Don’t worry so much about formality or debt; when the time comes, we know you’ll help us out too.”

He paused, and then nodded.

“The notion of social debt has been imparted to me. I will remember this favor.”

“Close enough.”

Ceria sighed, but her eyes lit up as she studied the final ring, a wooden one traced with black lines in a crude pattern and then polished until it shone. She hesitated, poured a bit of her drink out to wash the blood away, and nudged Pisces.

“Hey, look at this. Maybe I’m reading this wrong, but if you compare it to [Protection from Arrows]…”

Pisces bent over to look, and Erin thought that the two mages looked like excited researchers bending over a text—or maybe archaeologists looking at a piece of broken pottery in a dig site. She supposed that to identify enchantments, you had to know the actual spells that went into them.

“Magic’s harder than it looks, huh?”

Lyon paused as she entered the doorway and scowled hard at Erin.

“Of course it is.”

Toren nudged her with the two buckets he was carrying and she stomped into the kitchen. Erin saw Pisces trace the pattern on the ring and then he looked up.

“A valuable find. A single-use regenerating enchantment of deflection…?”

“Close enough. Yeah, this one’s good.”

Ceria put the ring on the table and looked at the others.

“This ring deflects a single arrow that’s shot at you, and then the magic recharges until it can do it again. It’s worth good money—at least ten or twenty gold coins, possibly up to forty depending on how strong the deflection spell is and how fast it restores itself—but I could see one of us using it. What do you think?”

Yvlon stared at the ring and scratched her head.

“This is what helmets are for in my case. Ksmvr might be able to use it, but he’s got his outer…skin.”

Ksmvr nodded.

“My carapace will resist most arrows. And I have already claimed half of the items here. I believe this would be more suited in the hands of one of you two?”

“It’s not got much of a magical leak. And I could use some protection.”

“My robes are unenchanted.”

Ceria and Pisces stared at each other for a long moment, and then she sighed. Pisces took the ring and Ceria sat back.

“I get first choice of any spellbooks, got it?”

“That is acceptable to me.”

Erin smiled broadly. It was just dividing the loot, but there was something…exciting about watching it happen. She felt like she was part of the adventure herself, and she had to ask.

“Okay, now you’ve got some magical items. What happens next?”

All four adventurers paused and looked at each other. Ceria shrugged.

“I guess we register our name, and then take on some easy requests until we get some money saved up. Sewer exterminations, guard duty…stuff like that.”

Erin’s face fell.

“Oh. Nothing like going on a quest or exploring a dungeon?”

“Look how well that turned out last time.”

Ceria slapped Pisces on the back of the head. He glared at her, and Yvlon smiled ruefully.

“Adventuring isn’t all big explorations, Erin. We need to save up money before we can handle bigger assignments, and then…well, it also depends on if we find anything good. The ruins were our one big shot, or so we all thought. That’s why all the teams decided to risk everything.”

“And now they’re gone and we’re poor again.”

Ceria sighed as she pulled her drink back closer to her. All the excitement of before was gone, and she stared into her mug.

“Killing rats. That’s how I started my career. I killed over a thousand of the damn things until I could find a better job, and I thought I’d never have to do it again. But here I am again. Killing rats.”

“Are they that big of a problem?”

“If they breed and spawn giant ones as long as a Minotaur, yeah. Mainly they’re just too big for most cats and they bring plague so we earn coppers for each tail we bring in.”

Pisces sniffed.

“I hate the sewers. My robes—”

“Just learn a cleansing spell!”

“Got a book?”

“I hate to admit it, but my armor is going to stink for months afterwards.”

Yvlon sighed and even Ksmvr nodded.

“I am uncomfortable with the smell, but I wish to aid this group I am a part of. Regardless of the location.”

Erin looked at him and smiled slightly. It looked like he was really trying what she’d suggested—being a part of a group like Klbkch and Pawn were. But her smile faded as she looked at the despondent adventurers.

“Um, well, maybe you can do a few other requests.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe.”

“Not likely.”

Ceria sighed.

“With all the adventurers around, we might get one or two good jobs, but steady work will be stuff like standing guard at night or killing pests. Even if we go north to Esthelm—and that will take coin we don’t have yet—it’s better if we start small. We need good equipment before we take on missions like fighting Mothbears.”

“What’s a—?”

“It flies and it’s a bear. With antennae. And claws.”

“Oh.”

“Some of them are poisonous.”

“Ah.”

“But honestly, I’d take on a group of them if we had the coin. If—”

“A month of work? Then we could look into riskier missions.”

“Yeah. It’s just…I’m sorry you guys. I wish I had better news for you, but if you’re all committed…”

Ceria looked around helplessly. Yvlon nodded.

“I’m with you, Ceria. I told you that.”

Pisces shrugged.

“I suppose wading through muck with you would be preferable to working with lesser companions.”

Ksmvr bowed his head slightly.

“I will work hard to make the most of the opportunity you have given me.”

Ceria smiled. It was a faint smile, but it was there. She stood up, and put her hand on the table.

“I’m sorry. It’s been so long since I’ve done this, I’d almost forgotten. But when we gather to form a team, it is a special thing. I was a member of the Horns of Hammerad for years; I was part of the team when Gerial and Calruz and I first formed it, and we were the greatest of friends, the closest of companions then.”

She shook her head and a shadow flickered across her face.

“They’re dead now. That’s what happens to us in the end. But the Horns fought until the end, except for one, who ran because her friends sacrificed themselves to keep her alive. Well, the Horns of Hammerad are not gone so long as I live. And if you’d fight by my side, then the Horns of Hammerad will keep fighting.”

Yvlon instantly rose and put her hand on the table. Erin held her breath as Pisces stood.

“You will keep the name? I believe it came from the Minotaur, did it not?”

Ceria shrugged.

“Unless you have a better one?”

“I do not. And I will fight with you, Springwalker. For pay of course.”

“Of course.”

Pisces gently laid his hand on the table. He smiled, and for a second Erin thought it was one of the most genuine looks she’d ever seen from him. Ksmvr was the last. He hesitated.

“I came here in despair. I was recommended—is it truly alright for one such as I to join so quickly?”

Ceria and Yvlon laughed.

“That’s adventuring for you. We’re spontaneous. An enemy can be a friend and fortune can change in a moment. If you’re with us, just don’t betray us.”

He nodded.

“I will not. I swear it.”

A fourth hand joined the circle. Erin held her breath, and the Drake standing behind her did too. Ceria, Yvlon, Pisces, and Ksmvr held their hands together for a moment, and then stepped back.

“The Horns of Hammerad live again.”

Yvlon shook her head.

“They never died.”

Ceria smiled faintly.

“And now, as your glorious leader, I will lead you in the greatest hunt for rats the world has ever seen. We’ll be wading through dung for weeks!”

Pisces shook his head and Yvlon laughed lightly. And another voice spoke, quietly.

“What if you didn’t have to do all that?”

Erin turned. Olesm was behind her again. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised. He’d come in—she’d sensed someone behind her a while back, as the four were forming their team. But he didn’t have the same energetic look about him.

Ceria hesitated. Pisces rolled his eyes and Yvlon sighed.

“Olesm? What are—”

“I ah, heard you forming your team. Congratulations.”

The Drake bobbed his head as he stared at the Horns of Hammerad. Ceria hesitated, and glanced at Erin. The Human girl could see the pain in her eyes.

“Um. Well, Olesm, they just formed the group but I’m sure if you became an adventurer too and trained, you could be—”

The Drake shook his head.

“No. No, I can’t be an adventurer.”

“Olesm. Just because I said—”

“It’s not that. I just received word via mage spell. There’s a Goblin Lord in the south. He’s raised an army, and until he’s dead, Liscor will need everyone on the walls if he heads north.”

Ceria gasped and Yvlon shook her head. Erin was confused.

“Goblin Lord? Is that bad?”

“Not like a Goblin King, but close. Did they say what size his army is?”

Olesm shook his head.

“There’s no details. But he’s strong. Zel Shivertail himself clashed with the Goblin Lord and retreated. He had a smaller army, but—”

“Dead gods. Shivertail lost a fight?”

Erin realized her inn had gone quiet. She looked over and saw some of the guardsmen were on their feet. They looked pale. Olesm turned and nodded.

“His army was already reduced, but until armies are sent to destroy the Goblin Lord, the city will be on alert. Captain Zevara will tell you more.”

The guardsmen exchanged glances and some of the other patrons in Erin’s inn rose and began putting money on the table. She hesitated, but Toren was there to sweep away plates and coins. Olesm looked at Ceria.

“The Council would never accept my request to leave. Even without me, Liscor’s walls would never fall in the time it took for reinforcements to arrive, but I’m the strongest [Tactician] around so…”

He spread his hands helplessly.

“I’m here to stay.”

Erin’s heart ached. Ceria hesitated, and reached out for Olesm. He moved past her and put something on the table.

“I found this earlier today. You should use it.”

Confused, Erin watched as Olesm cleared the table and then spread the parchment out. It turned out to be a map, a faded parchment detailing some vast complex. It had branching pathways, what looked like secret rooms—

“What is it? I mean, it’s a map, right?”

“A map. Yes.”

Ceria and Yvlon studied the map as Pisces stared hard at the symbols covering the parchment. They were faded, and Erin couldn’t read them. It looked like the odd script the Drakes used. She’d seen proper English writing, but this was different. But Pisces could clearly read the language. His lips moved, and then he looked up and turned white.

“Albez. You have a map?”

Ceria’s reaction was immediate. Her head raised and turned so fast Erin thought she’d get whiplash. She looked at Yvlon, and the two immediately raced to the windows. Erin stared at they began shutting them.

“Erin, can we lock this door?”

“What? S—”

Ceria barred the inn’s door and then helped Yvlon cover the last of the windows. The inn was suddenly very dark, but Pisces cast [Light] as the two adventurers went back to the map. Ceria’s face was pale, but her hands were shaking with excitement. Yvlon looked the same.

“Dead gods. Look at it! This is a map of Albez!”

“Are you sure?”

Yvlon looked at Ceria. The half-Elf paused.

“There should be landmarks. You’ve been there too, Yvlon. Can you see…?”

“There.”

The armored finger pointed down at a round building on the map. Erin craned over to see.

“That’s exactly like the ruined building that Carn Wolves use as a base sometimes, isn’t it? The one with the broken dome.”

“You’re right!”

Ceria stared at the map hungrily. Her finger traced the page.

“Look, if you see here—that’s got to be a secret room. It leads directly to what looks like a storeroom. If we could go there and verify—Olesm, do you know how valuable this is?”

The Drake nodded slowly. He smiled at Ceria, sadly, Erin thought.

“I had some idea. Look. It’s a gift. You need this, don’t you?”

“Olesm, this could be our big break.”

Erin still didn’t know what was happening. She looked from Olesm to Ceria to Yvlon and back again. Ksmvr was doing the same thing.

“What does it mean? This is good, right?”

Yvlon nodded slowly. She spoke as she studied the map.

“The Ruins of Albez are up north. They’re famous for well, being full of treasure. But most of it was cleaned out decades ago; adventuring teams can find something extremely valuable now and then, but it’s usually a fruitless effort.”

Pisces’ eyes were alight with avarice as he studied the ancient parchment.

“But if we had a map of the entire place and we knew where to search, we might find treasures never found before! It’s just a matter of hiding the fact we know as we request permission to explore and dealing with the monsters and traps there. But the potential—”

“No one has ever had a map of the ruins before, Erin. No one.”

Ceria stared at the parchment, and her hands gripped together tightly.

“This is big. Possibly bigger than the ruins here. Because most of the traps, all of the big monsters and guardians of this dungeon are already gone. Albez was unearthed during an earthquake. So if there is treasure, it might be unguarded. And the best stuff might be waiting for us.”

She looked up at Erin, and the girl felt a shiver of excitement as she saw the look in Ceria’s eyes. There was something blazing in the depths of the half-Elf’s eyes. A look reflected across the other three adventurers, even Ksmvr.

“This could change everything.”

—-

They left after four hours. Erin had been present for all of it, letting Lyon retreat to her room and Toren clean up and wander off as she listened to the adventurers argue and talk. Olesm had left early too, and Erin wished she’d had something to say to him. He’d been gloomy, and unfortunately, Ceria had been so excited she hadn’t said more than goodbye as he’d gone.

But the adventurers were consumed with a passion that Erin had only seen once before, the last day she’d seen the Horns of Hammerad together. No; this was even greater than that, in a way. Because the treasure was out there. They knew it, and they wanted to find it first.

They borrowed money from Erin. A lot of her gold, which they promised to repay when they got back. If it meant they would come back, Erin would have given them all of it.

She offered food and supplies and even Toren, but they only took the first bit. They were heading into the city to buy as much as they could, leaving Erin in her inn.

It made her feel lonely, just a bit. Her life wasn’t like that, full of passion and danger and possibilities. Part of Erin had wanted to say ‘take me too’, but she wasn’t a killer. Or an adventurer.

But a tiny part of her wanted to be. A small bit of Erin wanted to join them, and so she was sitting at a table, head propped up on her hands, thinking.

“Maybe I can be an adventurer. I’ve got Skills.”

She had some skills. And she had two levels in the [Warrior] class. Okay, that wasn’t great, but maybe she could train?

It was a beguiling thought. Erin had never considered herself a fighter, which is why she hadn’t leveled, according to Selys. But maybe if she wanted to…

Was there an [Adventurer] class? Probably not if Ceria and Yvlon didn’t have one, but could you make a class? Erin had never thought of that before. Perhaps—

Someone knocked on her door. Erin jumped, and then realized Ceria and Yvlon hadn’t even unshuttered the windows. They’d been terribly afraid someone would find out they had the map, especially one of the Gold-rank teams.

“Coming!”

Erin went over to the door and opened it. She expected another guest, perhaps coming for dinner. But instead, she blinked and her jaw dropped when she saw the butler.

He had to be a butler. Either that, or he was the coolest-looking manservant in the world. His hair was dark and combed, his coat and leggings were dark black with a white shirt perfectly tucked beneath, and he looked at Erin with an expression of courteous expectation. Silver lined the edges of his coat, and the buttons looked like they were made of gold.

Erin stared. She felt like she’d walked out of this world, and back into England or somewhere like that. The butler stood in the trampled snow outside, as more flakes began to fall around his head.

“Miss Erin Solstice? I am a [Butler] in Lady Magnolia Reinhart’s employ.”

Even his voice sounded formal and amazingly cool. Erin had no other words for it. Just…cool.

“What? Um, what? How do you know my name?”

“I am not at liberty to say, miss. Would you care to accompany me? I have an invitation for you to join Lady Magnolia Reinhart at her estate in Invrisil.”

He stepped back, another smooth motion, and raised his hand to indicate the carriage. Erin hadn’t even seen the carriage before that. It was a dark green edged with gold, and the wheels were painted black. And it had horses that looked like ghosts.

“Wh—”

Two spectral horses stood in the snow, pawing at the ground and snorting as if they were real. But they were both a bright, golden color and shimmered with magical energy. The [Butler] inclined his head slightly.

“Lady Reinhart hopes you will accept her invitation to join her. No harm will come to you.”

“W—b—why? What does she want with me?”

Ryoka had mentioned a Lady Magnolia, hadn’t she? Had she gotten her confused with Erin? But the [Butler] didn’t seem perturbed.

“To take you to the others, of course. Lady Magnolia wishes to reunite you with your people.”

“My people? I have people? Who are my people?”

The [Butler] raised one eyebrow.

“The other people from your world. Lady Magnolia has found eight others, not including Miss Ryoka Griffin and yourself. They are gathered with her, under her protection. Would you like to meet them?”

Erin stared. And then she looked at the carriage and the magical horses. And the [Butler]. And at the carriage and horses again.

Suddenly, she wasn’t sure if Ceria and the others were the ones she should be envious of.

2.34

I walk because it still hurts to run. I move because it’s just a bit better than staying still.

But yeah. I’m in pain.

Overhead, the sky is clear for a brief window of time, exposing clear skies. But clouds are coming in fast, and there will be a blizzard before nightfall. I’m no meteorologist, but I’ve got a bunch of flying faeries that tell me this is so. And I believe them.

I’m not crazy, I swear.

Some days I think I am, actually. In the past, I was sure I was sane despite what other people thought*. Now though, I’m beginning to wonder if this is all because I’ve snapped and I’m in the straightjacket at last.

*Lots of diagnoses from people with long degrees. What all the talk of social disorders really meant was that I was an uncooperative brat who hated authority figures. I locked a therapist in his office one time and walked out with the key. Good memories.

But as I take another step in the snow, I decide that fantasy doesn’t hurt nearly as much as this reality. My entire body is—

Frankly, it feels like I’ve been hit with a car and then beaten with sticks for a few hours. I feel like curling into a ball and crying every time I move, but that would hurt even more.

The potion Teriarch gave me has worn off by now, obviously. I sort of slowed down about twenty minutes after I drank it.

I say twenty minutes, but what I really mean is this endless blur of motion – all sped up in my head, but at the time it was all moving at normal speed for me. I ran out of that battlefield, and back towards Liscor. I think I covered over fifty miles in those twenty minutes—I could be way off, but I was literally running faster than a car so who knows.

Anyways, after the potion wore off I just fell down. The faeries laughed their little asses off when I started feeling the pain from my legs, but I somehow managed to drag myself into a cave they found for me.

That’s another thing. The faeries were with me while I was running, the entire time. They were actually faster than I was—no, I don’t even think they were having a hard time keeping up. How fast are they really?

Back to the important bit. You know how you can tear muscles if you run really hard? Imagine what running that fast does to your body.

I had several healing potions in my pack before I made it to the Necromancer. They were good quality potions too. They’re gone now, and my body still hurts.

For two days I think I sat in a cave, trying to heal my torn muscles and just—just remembering. After I stopped, for a while I couldn’t even process the world around me. My mind was still too busy catching up from where I’d left it.

Fast forward to now. I finally left the damn cave and started moving again because I was feeling better, and because the faeries were getting bored and dumping snow into the cave. If I’d left it another day, I probably would have been trapped inside.

So yeah. That’s what my life has been recently. I stumble through the snow, heading back the way I’ve come. It’s a long way to Liscor, but I’ve got plenty to think about.

Like Az’kerash. The Necromancer. The battle, Wall Lord Il—whoever he was, and…

Periss.

“Damn it.”

It all happened so fast. I was a runner, and then a prisoner, and then a noncombatant in a warzone, and then…

I led them to their deaths. That was my fault. True, they were chasing me and probably going to hit me a lot and take me prisoner, but—

My fault. There’s no way to escape that. Periss might have been a loyal hound for her master, but she was also brave. And she let me go to fight what she saw as the greatest threat to her people.

The Necromancer. Az’kerash. Perril Chandler. I remember what I saw him creating, and my stomach heaves.

“Oh right. The letter.”

I pause.

“Fuck that dragon.”

I hate him so damn much. One of the faeries hears me muttering and floats down to laugh at me.

“What’s wrong? Is it not what ye expected?”

I glare at the faerie. How is it that I’ve probably talked to these floating freaks more than anyone else in this world or—most of my life?

“When I get told to deliver—no, when a Dragon casts a spell on me to do a delivery and pays me nearly a thousand gold pieces to send something to a legendary Necromancer, I expect it to be important.”

“Hah!”

The faerie laughs in my face. She flips upwards and settles on my head. For some reason they really like sitting there. I’m not sure if she’s one I’ve talked to before; I think she is, but I’m not being racist when I say they really all do look alike. It’s hard to make out frozen features on minutiae, alright?

“If it was important, the Dragon would have used magic, fool! But he had no wish to break through the dead raiser’s wards and he wished to be polite. More fool you for thinking what ye carried was valuable.”

I grit my teeth, but she has a point. If Teriarch can alter memory and disguise himself as a Human – and if he can teleport me all the way back to Celum in a few seconds – he really doesn’t need even the best Couriers.

Polite damn Dragons. Who would have guessed?

“Fine. Whatever. Get off my head. You’re giving me a headache.”

“Ooh, and what will you do if I don’t?”

I raise my finger and point it at the faerie.

“[Flashlight].”

For a second the world around me lights up, and the faerie shouts in surprise. I grin as she takes off; swearing in what sounds like…Welsh? Their accents seem to vary between faeries, which is odd, but not so much if you assume they occupied different parts of Europe. I could swear I heard one of the faeries talking with a German accent, but they might have just been messing with my head.

But of course, any action against faeries prompts a greater or equal reaction. She dumps snow on my head. I swear and flash her again.

With my finger. It shines into the sky, so bright I can see the beam even in the light of the day. It turns out that I can adjust the intensity of the light very well, and so I blind the faerie again.

“Ye daft bugger!”

She flies around erratically, as I shine my light at her, and then she stops, flies back on my head, and grins at me.

“Ah, well. ‘Twas quite a good surprise!”

That’s faeries for you. Insult them a bit and they’ll hound you, but do something like that and they just regard it as a bit of fun. I’m starting to understand them more, but they always surprise me a bit. The faerie on my head doesn’t even seem to mind the light anymore. I frown at her as I walk on, trying to substitute the pain in my head by thinking about faeries.

“Did you just turn off your eyes or something?”

“What? Are ye stupid? Nae. I just saw past the light, ‘tis all.”

“…I see.”

Multiple layers of vision? Obviously a faerie might have access to all kinds of spectrums of light. But even that might be too simple; she could very well just ignore the light on my wavelength if she wanted to. Huh.

A tiny head lowers into my line of sight as the faerie grins at me.

“If you really wanted to surprise us, ye’d do better to make the loud sound and noise along with the light!”

“What? Oh—you mean the [Flashbang] spell.”

That was a good one. I had no idea I could do it, but while I was in the cave I started experimenting with the two spells I did know. [Noise] and [Light]. My reasoning was that if I could alter the [Light] spell with some work, why not the [Noise] spell? Hell, why not combine the two?

A day and a half later, and two aching eardrums prove I’m right. The burst of noise and sound isn’t exactly like being hit by a real life stun grenade—and there’s a whole lot less death and injury since this is just light and sound, not actual explosive force like the damn things people use, ‘non-lethal’ my ass—but it works.

Sound and light. Light and sound, just amplified. It’s the easiest thing to remember, especially if you’ve actually seen a flash bang go off*.

*Yeah. Police drug raids, wild party, and I wasn’t actually doing drugs. But try explaining that to a bunch of officers tearing up the place. The one time my father’s connections actually bailed me out of trouble I didn’t start.

It’s a great spell, and I can see how useful it would have been with all those soldiers. Hell, it might have slowed Periss enough—well, the [Flashlight] spell works well enough just to blind people. The [Flashbang] spell is a bit more intensive, and it hits me as well which is a major problem. Since I can’t move the [Noise] spell, it’s always set to friendly fire which sucks. And there’s one more problem.

“I feel sick after using that spell just once. I don’t have the mana to keep using it.”

“Weakling.”

I glare up at the faerie dangling her cold legs on my forehead.

“As far as I understand it, magic isn’t something I can actively train myself to have more of, unless I want to alter my body somehow. What I have is what I get and I’m grateful for that. Unless you know something about magic that I don’t?”

I’m sure they do. For all I hate these faeries at times, they’re a damn goldmine of information. If they choose to share it.

Which this faerie does not. She sniffs at me, arrogant as a queen despite the fact that she’s naked and tiny.

“Of course we know how magic works. But why should we tell you? And how would you understand? Would ye explain breathing to a rock?”

“I’d give it a shot. And I could try to understand your view of magic. Unless you don’t understand your powers enough to explain it in the first place, that is?”

The faerie pauses, and I think I’ve got her. But then she laughs, clear and bright as a bell. She takes off, and a few more of her friends fly down to laugh at me as well.

“Ooh, look. The plaything is trying to be clever. Take this!”

They flick their fingers at me and I flinch. But no snow appears. I frown, take a step—

And slip on the ice patch they’ve just created. I crash to the ground, swearing as they laugh and sit on my side as I struggle to get up.

Faeries. But I guess I deserved that? Wait a second, no I didn’t. I just asked a damn question about magic. Screw their opinions about what I should or should not be allowed to learn.

But each time I talk to them, I swear it’s worth it. Bruises and all.

Plaything. That was another word they kept using. Once the faeries have stopped laughing I ask them about it.

“What do you mean when you call me ‘plaything’? I’ve heard you call me that before. Whose plaything am I? Teriarch’s?”

Huh. That makes the faeries stop laughing. They exchange a look, and I watch them. Then one of the faeries shakes her head.

“As if the Dragon would bother with you. Nae, ye are a plaything of greater powers still. But you don’t even know what ye’ve given up, do you?”

“Given up? What do you mean?”

“Ach. How would we explain it? What good can a slave do with the chains on their neck? But you put it on willingly, didn’t ye?”

She looks at her companions and shakes her head again.

“Your…classes, fool! Your levels and foolish things. You are a plaything, and you know not what that means or who plays this game.”

And there it is. Part of the mystery, right there if only I was smart enough to put all the pieces together. I frown, but then I notice the faerie’s expression. She’s…glaring at me. So are the others.

Hm. They really, really don’t like this subject. And I can see they’re getting ready to either fly off or do something nasty to me, not just prank me.

So I look her in the eye and shake my head.

“I’m no plaything.”

“Liar!”

“Lies, you are all playthings! Ignorant slaves!”

“You cannot hide the truth!”

Okay, now they’re pissed. The faeries fly around me, and more of them come down. They look angry.

Faeries. Quick to change emotions. And dangerous. I gulp, but hold my hands up.

“I’m telling the truth. I have no classes and no skills. I never leveled. I chose not to.”

They freeze. One of the faeries squints at me.

“Truly?”

“Can’t you tell?”

They hesitate, and then shake their heads reluctantly. Huh. Seems like that’s one of the things faeries can’t do. One of them, the first one, I think, floats closer and eyes me suspiciously.

“Do not try to trick us, mortal. Tell us plain: do you have levels? Did ye accept the power of this world?”

I look her straight in the eye. If ever this was a time to be honest…

“I swear it. I swear it on the water, by the grass and earth and sky and on my name. I swear it by honor and life itself.”

I’m not sure if those are the right words. I don’t know any faerie oaths and I’ve forgotten any famous ones in the moment. But it seems to work. The faeries exchange a glance and then look at me. one speaks.

“That is…good. And interesting. It changes much, Human.”

“And nothing.”

Another one mutters that. Some faeries nod and others shake their heads. For the first time I see them start to argue, but then they look at me. Almost all of them fly out of earshot and the first one—I think it’s still her—remains.

“Would you like to explain any of that?”

She lifts her small nose up at me.

“‘Tis for us to discuss. We will tell you if you need to hear it.”

“Thanks.”

I sigh. Faeries. Secrets. It’s not as if I’m not used to this already. I glance over my shoulder the way I’ve come. A long, open stretch of snow is behind me, and a small forest seems to be ahead.

“Damn it. Do you at least know where I am? Am I even headed back to Liscor?”

She hesitates, and then nods stiffly.

“You go the right way, Human. You and others march towards the city that floods.”

Wait, what? Two parts of that sentence bother me.

“Me and others? What do you mean?”

She squints behind me. I look over my shoulder, but I don’t see anything. But the faerie does.

“‘Tis a great column of the children of Dragons and the walking dogs following your trail. About a day’s journey behind.”

Oh no. My heart begins beating faster again. I remember Ilvriss and the other one. Zel-something.

“Do you know which army it is? Is it the one who captured me, or the other one?”

She shrugs. Well of course faeries don’t care about mortal affairs. She eyes me as I try to pick up the pace.

“Ye know we will not interfere in mortal affairs.”

“I know. But you seem to interfere a lot in my life.”

She shrugs as she floats by my head.

“Some rules may be broken. Some may not. But we speak to you now because your life is not in danger. We will not save ye if you were to fall off a cliff, say. We do not interfere with death.”

For a second her eyes are ancient again. I shiver.

“Because of the price? Or because it’s forbidden?”

“All things have a price. Ye would do well to remember that.”

Silence follows that statement. I mean, what the hell do I say to that? I clear my throat as I try and force my legs to move faster.

“Well. Ah, I will remember. But thank you for helping me before. With everything.”

I wonder if they broke the rules a bit to help me get to Az’kerash? True, I might not have been in danger of dying until I got in sight of the castle, but—

The faerie eyes me as if she can see inside my head. And if she can see on different planes, why not? But she nods.

“You are a curious mortal. Almost interesting, even though ye art a fool.”

“This mortal does have a name, you know. My name is Ryoka Griffin.”

“Good for it.”

I glare at the faerie. But part of me actually wants her to know my name. This is not like the phone call with the person who wanted to scry on us or Teriarch. This is a faerie. I want her to remember my name and—

“What’s your name?”

I look at the faerie, and realize I’ve never asked. I thought faeries didn’t even have names, but perhaps they do. She looks at me.

“Why should I tell you? Names are important and not to be thrown around lightly, Ryoka Griffin.”

Damn. Was that a mistake? But they can find me and mess with me even without a name. I shrug.

“I’m just curious.”

“Curiosity has killed many cats. Few come back. Besides, ye would never pronounce it.”

“Try me.”

The faerie stares at me archly as I raise an eyebrow at her. Okay, it’s clichéd, but faeries don’t know modern tropes and taunting them often works. She opens her mouth, hesitates, and then vanishes.

“What?”

I blink. One second she’s there, the next…wind and silence. Why? Did I bother her that much? Did I offend her by asking for her name?

Faeries. Let’s see. Names…ah, they’re bad to give to faeries. But I told her my first and last name, and my first name is in kanji, so that would make it difficult for her to control me. I don’t even think they’re that evil, but I didn’t mention my middle name either.

Maybe it’s just because she didn’t want to answer? But even when they get snippy they still talk. So what—?

Hold on. Hold on. The faeries don’t disappear except in one case. When they can’t interf—

I look around. I’ve kept walking as I talked to the faeries. Hell, it’s practically my default state of motion. I’ve gone a small ways into the forest, and the trees were sparsely planted so I have plenty of room to walk between them. All is silent, and I don’t even see any animals.

…And neither do I hear any birds, which I would expect to hear in a place like this. Even in the winter there should be some around.

Immediately I lower my stance. My body’s sore, but it can move. I can cast [Flashbang] if need be, but I have no more potions or bags. I look around warily. Nothing but trees, and yet the faeries are gone.

“I know someone’s out there. Come out!”

Silence. Even the wind is still. I look around.

“Show yourself!”

For a few seconds I’m tense, waiting. I can’t see anything that makes me think there’s someone nearby, but now my skin is crawling and I’m sure there is something there.

And then someone steps out behind a tree that seems far too slim to hide them. A Gnoll walks out from behind the brown, snowy bark, holding a bow in her hands.

She was so invisible that my heart skips a few beats when she moves. I flinch, but if she’d wanted to kill me, she would have while I was standing around like an idiot. The Gnoll is wearing only a few garments despite the cold, and her breath clouds the air. She nods at me, gravely.

“Mrr. Ryoka Griffin. I am Hekra of the Stone Spears Tribe.”

Her bow is lowered, and I relax when I hear what tribe she’s from. I smile at her.

“Sorry. I was wary—are you out hunting?”

“Hunting, yes. But not for game. There are none to be found.”

Some Gnolls are taciturn, but Hekra seems more distracted than anything else. Her eyes flick around the forest, and then to me.

“Were you talking with the Winter Sprites?”

I frown. What’s this?

“Yes. I was. Were you expecting something else to be nearby?”

She shrugs.

“I am not sure. There is something in the wind.”

Hekra hesitates, and then points out of the forest, east and to the north.

“It is dangerous to be alone. Our tribe’s camp is that way. I will take you there. Follow.”

I nod, and the Gnoll begins to walk through the snow. Not fast; in fact, she’s silent as she moves through the trees, despite the landscape. I feel like an ox as I blunder after her in my heavy shoes. And her head is scanning left and right as she moves, and her ears are twitching.

She’s listening for something. And looking. For what? A monster? Enemies?

I don’t know, but I frown as I walk after her and try to keep silent. The faeries reappear slowly as I continue moving. Perhaps they didn’t know if Hekra had been a threat or not either. Good to know they’re not omniscient. But their sudden disappearance and the news of the army following me bug me. Almost as much as Hekra’s own wariness.

Is there something out here? Something else? I follow the Gnoll as she leads me towards her tribe’s camp. And now I’m listening as well.

Where have all the animals gone?

—-

“There is nothing out here.”

Ilvriss snapped at Zel as the two Drakes marched through the snow, at the center of a huge column of soldiers and prisoners. Zel Shivertail wondered if he could ignore the other Drake, but politeness dictated he reply. Plus, Ilvriss would remember any slight.

“I’m sure there isn’t. but this is the way the Human Runner went, and I want to follow for a bit.”

Wall Lord Ilvriss glared at Zel. He was a prisoner, as was the bulk of his army. They’d surrendered fast after Zel had charged their lines and they’d realized their leader had been captured. Now Zel was marching with a huge number of them captive among his lines.

He wasn’t worried about the prisoners trying to stage an escape or attacking in his army’s sleep. For one thing, his soldiers were on alert and for another, it would violate the laws of war and Ilvriss’ own sense of honor. Say what you would about the Lord of the Wall, but the Drake was honorable. He’d as soon break the rules of warfare as he would cut off his own tail.

That was also why Ilvriss was marching next to Zel in the snow. He’d even been allowed to keep his armor; it was cold, he needed his dignity, and without his sword Zel could trounce him with one claw tied behind his back.

None of that improved Ilvriss’ mood.

“This is pointless, Shivertail. We should be headed back to your damn alliance cities so I can be ransomed. You are wasting time following a Human who is long gone.”

“She can’t have gotten that far.”

“Oh, really?”

Ilvriss made a sound that in a lesser Drake would have been called a snort. Zel thought of it a snort anyways.

“Didn’t you see her escape? At that speed—”

“At that speed, I’d be surprised if she could sustain it for more than five minutes. And afterwards, she’d have to rest. Potion or not, there are limits to what bodies can handle.”

“The Human’s tracks might be there, but she is still a Runner. She is far faster than this slow army.”

“True, but I want to head this way anyways.”

“Why?”

“Curiosity. She helped me win the battle, if you don’t recall? And there is also the matter of Periss and the soldiers you sent after her.”

Ilvriss looked at Zel out of the corner of one eye. He and Zel hadn’t talked much aside from the ritual offer of surrender and a few short acerbic conversations while they were marching. He shrugged.

“She disappeared. She must have lost the battle.”

“You can’t believe that.”

Zel knew Lord Ilvriss, and he also knew Periss. The very idea that she would have lost a fight to the girl named Ryoka Griffin was ridiculous, and both generals knew it. But Ilvriss just shook his head.

“I will not speculate. I will investigate this matter when I am restored to my city with all the power and resources I have, however. The city we are marching away from as we speak.”

Well, that didn’t bode well for the Human. Zel sighed.

“We can go this way until we hit the main road. Then we’ll start moving south. A day or two of detouring won’t slow us, unless you have another army waiting in ambush?”

Ilvriss shook his head.

“Would I need one? My army would have defeated yours easily. If—”

“Yes, yes.”

Zel ignored the Wall Lord as he walked ahead. He’d deployed heavy scouts ahead of his main army. He didn’t know why, but his instincts were telling him to do so.

He was no [Tactician] or even a [Strategist]. Zel had ranks in the [Commander] class, but only that. In truth, he was a [General] who led from the front and he did his best fighting when he trusted his gut.

And his gut told him there was something else. Not just the Human; she was interesting and possibly important, but there was another presence in these empty forests and highlands.

Zel tightened his fist and silently assessed his condition. His army might be battered, but they were more than capable of managing the prisoners and Ilvriss. With him, they were more than a match for any army a city-state might field, with the exception of the Liscorian army and a few others. But Liscor had sent their mercenaries far to the south. So what was making him so uneasy?

He didn’t know. But Zel ordered the pace to be picked up. The supply lines could damn well catch up later. He had a mystery to solve.

He hated mysteries. This foreboding he felt reminded him of the Antinium and if it was them—

No Hives were allowed to be constructed outside of the six already present on the continent. Even then, they weren’t allowed to expand past certain borders. It wasn’t beyond belief though that the Antinium might hide something this far out here. How else would the girl have made Periss vanish like that?

It was an outside chance. But if it wasn’t the Antinium out here, he wanted to know what it was.

And if it was an unauthorized Hive…Zel’s claws clenched. If it was, it would mean another Antinium War.

He hoped it wouldn’t come to that. But he had to investigate. So Zel marched onwards, wondering. Listening.

What was it?

—-

Ryoka walked into the Stone Spears camp, smiling as she saw Urksh, the Chieftain of the tribe, standing at one of the huge bonfires the Gnolls liked to make. But that smile faded as she took in the camp.

It was not the same place she had left.

Before, the camp had been sprawling chaos, but organized for all of that. Children had run around freely, and Gnolls had been at work performing various tasks.

Now though, the camp looked like it was under lockdown. The children were nowhere to be seen, but Ryoka thought they were in the tents. Gnolls with bows and spears stood at the edges of the camp, and groups of them moved into the camp and out of it, talking with Urksh before heading out again.

Something was clearly wrong, and Ryoka jogged over.

“Urksh.”

He looked at her.

“Ryoka Griffin. I am pleased to see you well. But this is a bad time for greetings. Forgive me if I do not offer you all the hospitality.”

“No. That’s fine. But what’s wrong?”

Urksh nodded to Hekra and she trotted off to join a group of hunters heading out. Urksh watched them go and shook his head before he looked at Ryoka.

“Mrsha. She is missing.”

A hole opened up in Ryoka’s stomach. She stared at Urksh.

“How?”

He shrugged.

“We do not know. This morning she went out to help gather plants from beneath the snow. She wandered from the gatherer with her and we have not seen her.”

“She just left? Did anyone hear anything?”

“No. But that is not uncommon. Young cubs, they wander a mile or two away to help or play.”

That seemed like a risky way of looking after children, but Urksh explained.

“Even if they are a ways away, children may howl. And we take care that they do not enter places where any monsters may lurk. She was only gone for a few minutes, but when the caretaker searched, she was nowhere to be found.”

“Wouldn’t she have said where she was going?”

Urksh shook his head. Ryoka knew she was asking all the stupid questions, but she had to. Her stomach was beginning to churn. Mrsha? It seemed like just yesterday she’d seen the Gnoll rolling in the snow and following her about.

“Mrsha is different, no? She is healthy, yet she does not speak though her throat is undamaged.”

“Is she mute?”

The Gnoll looked at Ryoka, confused. Did they not have mute Gnolls? She shook her head.

“Can she make any sounds?”

Urksh nodded.

“Yelping, growls. Small sounds. She is young, but even children can howl. That we have not heard her is worrying.”

It was a terrible question, but Ryoka had to ask.

“…Could she have gotten hurt? Injured? If a monster—”

The Gnoll instantly shook his head, which made Ryoka feel better.

“If she was attacked, she would have made a sound, no? And if she were dead, we would smell blood. No. Something scared her as she was wandering. That, or else she went looking for something.”

There was an inflection in his tone that made Ryoka hesitate.

“Something? What kind of thing?”

The Gnoll Chieftain did not immediately respond. He looked towards the sky. It was just past midday, but the storm clouds the faeries had warned Ryoka about were closing in.

“A smell in the air. It is faint. And it may be nothing, but some of our hunters feel as though they are being watched.”

He looked at Ryoka.

“Normally we would have more searching. But the miners, they are not back, no? We have not the numbers to mount a search.”

He was worried. Ryoka could tell in the way he changed his manner of speech. Gnolls usually said ‘yes’ at the end of sentences, but they only used ‘no’ when they were upset or angry.

“You can’t get in contact with them?”

He hesitated.

“We may howl, but they are a few day’s journey away. If we do not find Mrsha before the storm comes…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. If there were tracks, or…a body, they would be covered by the deep snow. And even if the young Gnoll was alive, could she survive that cold a night?

“Forgive me Ryoka. I must go lead another search. We are combing the mountains where she was.”

Urksh bowed to Ryoka and began to walk off. She didn’t even think. Ryoka caught Urksh’s arm as he started to leave the camp with other hunters.

“Let me help. I can run, and I owe your tribe a debt.”

The Gnoll looked at her, and then nodded.

“You are limping. We have a poultice. Use it and then join us. We will need to move quickly before light fades.”

He loped off, and Ryoka stared around the campsite. High in the air, the Frost Faeries hovered, watching.

“Do you—?”

Ryoka bit her lip. They wouldn’t answer. Mortal affairs. She shook her head and moved towards one of the tents. Healing poultice, and then she would run. As fast and as far as she could. She owed the Gnolls a debt.

More than that, she wanted to see Mrsha’s face again. But a small part of Ryoka was whispering in fear, and she had to push the voice back.

Let it not be so. It was just an accident, a lost Gnoll. Nothing more.

Everything would be fine.

—-

Ryoka ran through a forest, Gnolls spreading out around her. They ran in a curious bounding motion across the snowy landscape, separating so that each Gnoll could cover a large patch of land.

Normally Ryoka wasn’t anywhere near as fast as a Gnoll, with her heavy winter clothing and boots. But she’d abandoned all of that to give herself some more speed and mobility. She’d wrapped her feet in fur and bound it to her legs instead of boots and she was down to her shirt and pants.

It was risky, and Ryoka could feel the chill in the air. But so long as she got back to the Gnoll’s camp she would be fine.

And she needed to move fast.

“Mrsha!”

Ryoka shouted as she ran through the forest. Frost Faeries flew around her, their translucent forms for once lacking the vibrant energy they normally possessed. They flew over Ryoka’s head, silent, watching. She ran, paused, and called out again.

“Mrsha! Can you hear me?”

Around her, Ryoka could hear faint howls in the distance. The Gnolls were calling out for Mrsha in their own way, pausing to listen. But they clearly heard nothing, because they howled again from different spots a few minutes later.

Where could she be? Urksh had said she was gathering a plant which grew high up on the slopes, and yet the Gnoll child could have ranged down the side of the mountain or in the forests. Normally the adult Gnoll would have smelled or found her instantly, but for some reason she’d disappeared.

She knew not to wander far off, and she would have made a sound if she was attacked. So then why had she gone so far away? Ryoka’s mind was racing as she ran and called out, and each suspicion she had was worse than the last.

“Mrsha!”

The small Gnoll had light brown fur and an inquisitive, curious face. She had always been poking around in Ryoka’s things or touching the Human girl while she was in camp. At first it had been annoying, and then it had been almost relaxing. The Gnoll child was unafraid of Ryoka, and she’d enjoyed bothering the girl.

Ryoka wished she could feel that small claw poking into her back.

“Mrsha! If you can hear me, call out!”

Was there magic she could use? Ryoka ran out of the forest and up a slope, looking for places where a young Gnoll might have tripped or fallen. Pitfalls, a subterranean cave entrance, a Shield Spider nest—Urksh said they’d cleared out all of the nests nearby and marked the ones that they hadn’t, but could Mrsha have fallen into one?

Surely the Gnolls would have checked. She would ask when she got back. Ryoka ran up the slope, ignoring the way her feet slipped and legs cramped up.

The mountain was silent. It loomed overhead, higher and higher, the snow gradually giving away and revealing rock the higher you looked. No sane person would climb that mountain. But would a young Gnoll do that if she was afraid?

Afraid of what?

Ryoka ran upwards, calling out. Frost Faeries flew around her as Ryoka shouted, waiting, hoping for a reply.

But no one answered.

—-

“Rest. You must rest, Ryoka Griffin. Eat this.”

Ryoka looked up. Urksh was offering her something. She reached up and found he had a bone with cooked meat on it. She took it and bit, ignoring the heat and bloodiness of the food.

She wanted to keep moving, but her body had grown too tired. And the Gnolls had come back to camp, most of them, anyways. Ryoka had  gone back to see if anyone had found Mrsha, but they had not.

They hadn’t found anything.

Forest. River. The frozen lake. The higher passes. Even the few caves they knew of, both inhabited and not. The Gnoll [Hunters] and other adults had scoured each location, even travelling further than they thought Mrsha could move. But they hadn’t found any tracks or signs of her. And that was telling, because the girl would have left some fur or traces of her passing, wouldn’t she?

And now the mood in the camp had changed again. Instead of the subdued panic Ryoka had sensed earlier, now the Gnolls were silent. Completely so. The [Hunters] still conferred, but there were less of them going out to search. They had few spots left to cover.

They were giving up hope.

Urksh sat with Ryoka by one of the fires as she ate mechanically. She looked at him.

“I’ll head out again after this. Give me a few minutes.”

“You must rest. It would not do to lose you. It is beginning to snow.”

He was right. Dusk had set in, and with it, the storm had finally arrived. Thick flakes were beginning to fall from the sky, and they were only the beginning. Soon, wind and snowfall would make visibility impossible. And then—

Ryoka’s hand tightened on the bone and she nearly burned herself. She let go and wiped her hand on her pants.

“She’s not lost yet. There are places we haven’t looked. Higher in the mountains, perhaps.”

Urksh shook his head.

“She knows that there is death up there. She would not go unless she was desperate.”

“And if she was?”

His gaze was steady as he met Ryoka’s burning stare.

“If she was, she would know that there are many deep crevasses. If she fell into one, we would never hear her or catch her scent. If she survived the fall.”

Ryoka looked away and clenched her fist. Urksh looked at the sky.

“We do not think it is that. Only a monster would chase her so far, and most are too smart to go high up. The ones in the mountain are large enough to spot and smell…but another might have caught her.”

She looked at him. Urksh stared into the fire. He had searched longer than most, as long as Ryoka, and dark sweat still stained his fur.

“A Wyvern can grab even an adult up in seconds. If it swooped down, it would take only seconds.”

Ryoka stared at Urksh. But she saw the same expression on his face. Gnolls were practical. They would keep looking, but if they didn’t find her by tomorrow, then realistically Mrsha would probably be dead.

Humans might look for far longer than that, in hopes of finding a miracle or the remains. But Gnolls had to face facts or die in the wilderness.

“She’s not lost yet.”

“No. And we will search for her until we have lost all hope.”

He stood. Ryoka hesitated, and stood with him.

“Magic?”

If they had any, they would have used it. Urksh shook his head.

“Our [Shaman] knows no spells that will aid us. He can heal and fight but little more.”

“A beacon, then. If she’s just lost, maybe we can show her the way back. I have a spell that might—”

Again the Gnoll shook his head.

“She knows where we are camped. And we should not draw too much attention to ourselves. Not tonight.”

He looked at her.

“There is something in the mountains. We have sensed it.”

Ryoka nodded. She had too. She pointed, and the Gnoll looked up.

“The Frost Faeries seem to think there’s something out there too. They disappeared when I met Hekra—I think they were expecting something else. They won’t help if someone’s life is in danger, and there’s that army…”

She’d told Urksh about the army coming this way when she’d remembered. He’d simply shrugged. Gnoll Tribes had their own peace treaties, and the Stone Spears had no issues with any Drakes at the moment.

“If there is something we will fight or flee. We have watchers and there is nowhere to hide in this flat space. But we dare not send the entire tribe out to look any longer.”

Ryoka nodded.

“I’ll keep looking. Don’t worry about sending someone with me.”

Urksh looked at her directly.

“You will not find her by searching the same places again, Ryoka Griffin. Do not waste your strength.”

Ryoka bent down and tried to tie the wrappings around her feet even tighter. She’d begun to get frostbite by the time she’d returned, but she’d been able to run far faster like this. It was worth the pain, especially since she could use the healing poultice.

“I have to look.”

“If you had a location, I would go with you myself. But this is a vast wilderness. Who will tell you where she has gone?”

She tried to ignore the voice of reason. Gritting her teeth, Ryoka bent to touch her toes and tried to stretch.

“I don’t know. I just have to h—”

She paused. Who would help her search? Gnolls were experts in this terrain. The Stone Spears knew every spot in the area. Who would be better at tracking than they were? Who could see—?

Her eyes travelled upwards.

The Frost Faeries. They’d been so silent as Ryoka searched. They hadn’t disappeared, but they hadn’t said anything. Normally they’d be showering Ryoka with remarks and jokes, but now they were just watching.

Perhaps they were worried about Mrsha too. They liked children. But maybe there was more to it than that.

“We are forbidden to help in mortal affairs.”

Ryoka said the words very quietly. Urksh looked at her, and another Gnoll’s ears twitched across the camp.

“What do you mean by these words, Ryoka Griffin?”

The faeries weren’t looking at Ryoka. They were staring elsewhere, but she knew they knew she was watching them. And their eyes were good. They could sense an army on the move a day away, and they’d known when the hiding Gnoll was there. They could see through a Necromancer’s enchantments, and even a Dragon’s.

“They know.”

All the Gnolls looked up. The Frost Faeries stared down, faces expressionless as Ryoka pointed at them.

“I want to speak with you.”

One flew down. Urksh’s eyes narrowed and he squinted just to the left of the faerie, but Ryoka just stared grimly at the faerie as she flew in front of the Human girl and the Gnoll Chieftain.

“What do you want, mortal?”

“You know where Mrsha is, don’t you?”

The faerie looked at Ryoka silently. Her face wasn’t filled with mirth or mischief or any of her normal range of emotions. It was old again. Old and timeless and terribly dispassionate.

“What if we do?”

“Tell me where she is.”

The faerie shook her head.

“This is no concern of ours, mortal. And we are bound not to interfere with your lives.”

“Tell me.”

Urksh looked at Ryoka. She remembered that he couldn’t see her. She looked at him.

“They know.”

Instantly, the Gnoll grabbed for the faerie, but she just flew around his hands and froze his paws. He growled, but suddenly all the faeries were around the Gnoll. The other Gnolls in the camp had seized their weapons, but they hesitated as the central fire and then all the fires in the Gnoll camp suddenly went out.

There was a dangerous look on the faeries’ faces.

“We are not bound by your rules, but ours, mortal. And ours are ancient as time itself. We do not interfere with your concerns.”

“What if I offered you a trade? Something worth breaking the rules?”

Ryoka had no idea what that could be. But she was desperate. The Frost Faerie looked at her and shook her head.

“You have naught that would suffice. And the price is too much for you to bear.”

Urksh hissed as he cracked the ice on his fur. He looked at Ryoka.

“What do they say?”

“We don’t have anything they want. And Urksh—I think they’re not allowed to help us.”

He shook his head and stared at the faeries.

“We cannot force them?”

The faeries stared at Urksh dispassionately. Ryoka shook her head hard, noting the other Gnolls and the bows they were not quite raising.

“Don’t try. Please. They might do a lot of damage to you, and I’m not even sure you can hurt them.”

Urksh stared hard at the faeries, but eventually nodded. Bows were lowered, but the expression remained. Now everyone was staring at the faeries, and they were watching Ryoka. Silently.

“There has to be something I can offer. Something you want.”

“You have nothing you can give us, Human.”

And if a faerie said it, it was probably true. But Ryoka couldn’t leave it like this.

She turned away from the faeries. Not to leave; but to pace. Urksh watched her silently as Ryoka walked back and forth.

Think. Think of faeries. They made deals. They never gave anything without asking for that much or more in return. They…honored their word.

None of this could help. Not if they didn’t want to make a deal. Or couldn’t.

“Stories?”

But stories weren’t enough. Not for a life. Not if this was what Ryoka thought it was. Think. What could she do to faeries? Nothing. She was like dust in the wind compared to them. She had nothing to threaten them. Nothing to offer them. Then, what did they want?

Ryoka looked up. Faeries. She had nothing to give them, but they were still faeries.

“Do you want Mrsha to die? Is that why you’re not helping?”

Urksh stirred. He looked at the faeries. They stirred too. And now there was anger in their expressions. The temperature in the air lowered again, and Ryoka began to shiver uncontrollably as one floated closer to her, eyes narrowed.

“Do you think we are Sluagh, mortal? Do ye think we delight in the suffering and death of innocents? Nae. We are no Redcaps nor Finfolk to delight in death of children. We are not monsters. Speak carefully lest ye offend us.”

It was hard, so hard to meet the small gaze in front of her. But Ryoka did it. She spoke to the faerie defiantly.

“But you’d let a child die.”

“Because there are rules.”

The faerie hissed at Ryoka, and the girl felt parts of her face go numb from the intense cold around her. The faerie was like an avatar of frost, a thing of primordial, endless cold.

“But you could help.”

“You have nothing to offer.”

“But you want to help, don’t you?”

And the faerie hesitated. Just for a second. Ryoka went on, speaking quickly.

“We have nothing to offer, but if there is a price, I’ll pay it.”

Urksh interrupted.

“We will. The Stone Spears will bear any price for our young.”

He couldn’t have known the other side of the conversation, but he put a paw on Ryoka’s shoulder and gripped her hard. She nodded at him.

The faerie was silent for a long time. She stared back at her fellows, and then looked at Ryoka. And there was something else in her expression. A bit of sadness?

“You do not know what you offer. The price is too great, mortals. Do not ask.”

“Please.”

Ryoka bowed her head, bowed in front of the faeries. Urksh did the same. Across the camp, she sensed Gnolls doing likewise. The faeries floated above her head, silent judges.

“The price is always the same. Life for life. Death for death. And even if there is not death, you ask much of the fates.”

Fate. The word sent a chill down Ryoka’s spine. Was this all fated? She was too afraid to ask.

“Please. Give her a chance. I’m asking you—as one who called the fae her friend. As someone who needs help. Please. For a child. For life.”

The wind began to pick up. Overhead, the snow began to fall harder. The faerie glowed in the darkness, but not with any light to chase away the horrors of the night. The glow she gave off was terrible and beautiful, but it was not kind.

“Very well. So it is agreed. We promise nothing, but we will offer you a chance.”

Ryoka looked up. Urksh stared at her as she stood.

“What do we need to do?”

“Only follow. And only you.”

She pointed at Ryoka. The girl hesitated, and turned to Urksh.

“I need to go alone. They’ll take me to her.”

He grabbed her. The old Gnoll’s eyes were full of fear, but also hope.

“Go. Please. And take this—”

He hurried inside a tent, barking orders. Gnolls scattered, and then one came towards Ryoka holding a torch. It was wood coated with resin, and the Gnoll muttered words to get it to light. He must have been the [Shaman].

Urksh came out of the tent holding bottles. Potions. He handed them to Ryoka.

“For healing. Take. And this.”

He gave her something else. Ryoka stared at it.

“What is this? A rope?”

He nodded as he helped store it in Ryoka’s pack. The rope was unlike the gear she had seen Gnolls use. It was long and thin and light, and it seemed to coil itself naturally as Ryoka put it into her equipment.

“It is magical. It will stretch a long ways. If you go where I fear, you will need it.”

Another Gnoll came over with a fur coat, and another, small enough for a child. It was hard to wrestle them into her pack, but Ryoka discarded her clothes and everything she didn’t need to make room.

“I’ll go. I don’t know what the faeries will ask or if I might fail. This is like—”

She hesitated. It reminded Ryoka a bit of an old Greek myth, like the tale of Orpheus. Quests involving life and death always ended badly. But she had to try.

“—It could be bad. If I don’t return, don’t send anyone after me.”

Urksh nodded. He grasped Ryoka by the shoulders.

“Go. With all our hopes. Save her, we beg of you.”

He lowered his head. Ryoka grabbed his arm and squeezed it once. Then she turned. The faeries were still floating overhead, watching.

“I’m ready.”

“Follow, then. And quickly. May ye not regret your choice.”

With that, the faerie flew off. North, towards the mountain. Ryoka didn’t hesitate. She ran after them, as fast as she could. She ran across the open plain, picking up speed, and then uphill as the land began to rise.

The air grew colder around her, and the snow began to fall harder. Soon it would be too cold for all but the most determined to survive. Yet even that could not match the cold in Ryoka’s heart. A pit of fear held itself in her stomach, but her body was burning. Exhaustion fled. She ran. She ran with more force in her step than she had put in anything before.

She saw a young Gnoll in her mind, and knew that she could not fail. Ryoka ran on, and overhead the faeries watched her slow progress with eyes that beheld immortality.

In the distance, Zel Shivertail’s army marched onwards, ignoring sense which told the [General] to make camp. His scouts had seen the bonfires in the distance, and even if they had gone out, he was sure he could find the Gnoll tribe. He marched on, listening to the wind and the sound of the foreboding in his heart.

And high above the rest, watching from a distant place, something twisted the Gnoll [Hunter]’s head around and lowered the dead Gnoll to the ground. The other Gnolls lay where they had fallen, arrows sprouting from their bodies, magic-torn wounds gaping open and steaming for only seconds in the cold air.

Dark shadows stood on the cliff, watching as the faint fires of the Stone Spears tribe were rekindled. They looked out, and more shapes moved. Hundreds of them. Thousands. The night was filled with shadows, and as the blizzard began to engulf the land in earnest, the dark shape stood. It bit into the Gnoll and ripped flesh away, chewing.

And then the Gnoll slowly sat up. Lifeless eyes stared at the one who had brought it back, and the Gnoll stood with its fellows.

Waiting. And the blizzard consumed everything and the girl ran on, hoping, praying.

She would not fail. She could not. But the word whispered in her ears again. The word of despair and madness. The word to shatter all hopes and dreams. The word of playthings. The word that meant she could do nothing.

It whispered to her, spoke to her. Haunted her steps.

Fate.

2.35

My heart is beating out of my chest. My legs are burning.

I am fit. I think. No—I know that I’m in good shape. Better than good shape. If you compared me with any athlete from my world, you would find—

My suspicions don’t matter right now. But I know this: I am at the peak of my ability in this world, despite all that has passed. It’s not that I have any Skills or classes, but it is due to the nature of this world. I am more than I was, and that bothers me.

But even if I am quicker, stronger, and healthier by some unknown margin, I am still not superhuman. I can’t move as fast as Gazi, I don’t have the ability to shatter the earth like Calruz. Hell, I only know a few spells that I can cast once or twice thanks to Ceria.

What I have is earned. Even the spells I know are things I had to learn, not things that were given to me. [Flashlight], [Flashbang], [Fl—]

Well, the last one is conceptual. But all of these spells stem from the few things I understand. You can make the [Light] spell brighter, alter its shape, and even toss the orb if you want to surprise someone. But it’s still not a strong spell. I can’t use it to kill something.

That’s the problem. That’s what I fear as I run through the night, flecks of snow stinging my uncovered face, as I stare up into the dark sky at the lights.

Frost Faeries. They glow with a shade of blue and depth to the color indescribable in the words we Humans use. And they fly through the wind and darkness as if neither exists, pausing briefly only to wait for me. They know where Mrsha is, and they’re taking me to her.

But in my heart I fear I might be too late. Or worse, that I might fail. All I get is a chance. A chance to save her life.

I have no idea where Mrsha is. She disappeared while she was gathering food. She could have gotten lost, but—no. No, if she had she would have returned. If she went that far enough away from the Gnoll she was with, it was because she was taken, or she had to flee.

A monster, then. Or something…else. I don’t know. But if that is the case, I might have to fight whatever took Mrsha. And I fear I am too weak to do that.

The faeries fly a bit higher in the sky and I see the ground shifting upwards. I have a torch, given to me by one of the Gnolls. Its flickering lights illuminate the ground in front of me. I could discard it and use [Light], but I need to conserve every bit of magic I have. Casting a single spell tires me, and I cannot slow now.

I am stronger than I was, but I am still weak. My heart is racing, and I am afraid. Not just because of monsters.

From the camp of the Stone Spears, the landscape slopes gradually upwards. They are camped at the foot of a mountain, one of the ones surrounding Liscor. If I look up I can see it, a massive wall of stone and ice reaching up into the sky.

It is vast. I am reminded of the Himalayas, but I wonder if these peaks are even higher. And I am afraid.

If I have to climb that place, will I get to Mrsha in time? How far could a child go?

Right now I’m wearing heavy clothing. Winter gear; boots, padded pants and coats that cut the worst of the chill around me. But this is no ultra-thin fabric from my world. The things I am wearing are heavy, cumbersome, and as I sweat and run through the snow and ice, they grow heavier.

Added to that, I have been running all day, searching for Mrsha. My body isn’t even fully healed from using that potion Teriarch gave me. And I am mortal. If I step into a bad spot and wedge my ankle, I could easily break my foot.

All of these things would make finding Mrsha impossible. And I must find her. I must. But I only get a chance.

Fate. That’s what the faeries mentioned. I look up at them as I run, gasping for air. My legs are burning already. I shouldn’t run so fast.

“Why do ye slow?”

One of the faeries flies down as she notices I’ve reduced my speed. I shake my head, but I need to answer, so I gasp a reply.

“Conserving energy.”

I have to. If I go full-throttle I’ll run out of gas far too quickly. And I know I’ll need a lot more in all likelihood.

The faerie shakes her head in disapproval.

“Strange. You mortals have strange ways. Why run slower to run faster later?”

I don’t know if I should talk to her. Wasting energy? But anything I can get out of the silent faeries is important.

“If you know how close I am, just tell me and I’ll run as fast as I can.”

The faerie looks at me, unsmiling.

“Do not ask for more than you were given, mortal. We are breaking a rule now, to give you a chance.”

“But is it fate? Do you know what will happen?”

That’s the question that lurks in my heart. Fate. Is this all some grand scheme? If it is—

The faerie stares at me with cold eyes and flies upwards. I watch her go, frustrated. She won’t tell me. But why would immortals tell playthings anything? If we are that simple, why bother at all with us?

I think I understand why they are so disdainful of us. The real question is why they even bother to talk at all.

Fragments of immortality. Eternal stories. Children. These are the things the fae love. So perhaps that’s why they’re helping.

But either way, the rest is up to me. So I increase my pace, just a bit.

There’s a rhythm to running. I’ve done marathons, and I know enough about running on uneven terrain to move quickly. But I am so slow compared to how I would be barefoot and without all these clothes.

The faeries fly on, overhead. They lead me around a forest, up a slope, and onwards. I recognize where we are, now. I’ve come this way earlier today.

We arrive at the place where Mrsha was last seen. A hill where edible plants hide underneath the snow. Countless feet have trampled the snow, but the faeries don’t even pause when they come to it. They fly north, up from the hill, towards the mountain.

Urksh was right. If there was a place Mrsha ran, it was up there. It’s a place where the Gnolls wouldn’t have searched that hard. Go too high up, and you’d be lost forever. No one can hear or smell you if you get buried underneath an avalanche.

I run upwards, up the slope. My legs—I run up the hill, and then higher still. I can’t stop.

Please, let me not be too late.

—-

She is cold. Mrsha sneezes and whimpers in the place she cannot escape from. She is very cold.

She has never been this cold before. The winter air is freezing her. Normally, she would be back in the camp her tribe makes, huddling with others for warmth in a tent or sitting near a fire, so near her fur would be in danger of catching on fire…

Just the thought makes Mrsha moan, but she’s too tired and frightened to make any larger sounds. At first, she had howled and cried out for aid, but no one came.

She knows she went too far up. She knows. All the elders told her again and again, never to come up this far. She knows they cannot find her here.

But she had no choice. Mrsha glances at the thing lying half-covered in the snow and shudders. She tries to move away from it, but there is no space. And she is hurt.

She sits and stares up towards the sky. It is cold. She is hungry, and desperate. She fears she will not be rescued, now. And she is growing tired. She raises her nose to the air and sniffs again.

There it is. The same scent. Not just from the thing beside her; it is in the air. Mrsha’s nose is keen, even for a Gnoll’s. She can smell the scent in the air, all over the mountain.

They are everywhere. And the thought of them makes Mrsha afraid. But she can do nothing. So she sits. And waits.

If she believed in gods, she would have prayed. But Mrsha knows the gods are dead. So she just hopes. She tries to believe.

But it is so cold.

—-

Higher. And higher still. I am following the faeries as they lead me to the base the mountain. I think they’re trying to guide me on the easiest route, but—

I climbed a mountain once. But that was nothing like this. There’s no road here, no easy path. The ground becomes vertical in places, and now I have to use both hands and legs, sometimes pulling myself up as my feet slip on the snow-covered rocks.

The faeries watch me, stopping to settle on a rock and I pull myself upwards, straining and grunting with effort. Their faces are expressionless, but their eyes are not. I think they’re pretending not to care, but they fly ahead, showing me the way with too much alacrity for me to believe otherwise.

They care. But they fear I’m not going to make it.

“How far?”

One turns back to stare at me as the others fly overhead. She says nothing. I gasp, and cough. I’m moving too fast, now. I can taste a bit of blood where I bit my tongue when I fell, and from my searing lungs.

I don’t care. Faster. I gulp air into my lungs.

“How…far? How much time?”

They don’t answer. But they fly higher. So I grit my teeth and move.

—-

Urksh waits, standing at the edge of the place where the Stone Spears have made camp. He waits, and listens.

But he hears nothing apart from the falling snow, the crackling fires beside him, and the words of his hunter, Hekra.

“More have gone missing. All to the north and west.”

He looks at her. Hekra’s face is still, but her ears and tail betray her agitation. She is worried, and so is he.

“That makes thirteen.”

Thirteen adults, hunters and warriors all who are missing. Three patrols sent out to look for Mrsha that never returned. There is something out there, and both Gnolls know it.

Yet what worries Urksh most is that there was no trace of those who disappeared. No howls to indicate enemies, nothing. Whatever happened to the Gnolls of his tribe happened swiftly and took them by surprise.

“Have every warrior ready, no? All of them. And pack what is needed.”

What is needed. In case they have to flee. He doesn’t have to say that part out loud. Hekra nods and trots off. Urksh looks back into the darkness.

Something is out there. Something. And he can catch faint whiffs of it on the air. It is a familiar smell, but odd. Twisted. He knows he smells his enemy, but there is something wrong with the scent. There is death in the air.

Urksh stares the way the Human named Ryoka Griffin had gone, following the strange, indistinct lights in the air that she claimed were living creatures. Winter Sprites. Frost Faeries.

He hopes she will be safe. But right now Urksh is more concerned about his tribe. To the east, Ryoka Griffin claimed an army was approaching. A force from the Drake cities. It has doubtless camped for the night, but Urksh’s instincts tell him to bring his tribe closer to the camp, regardless of the tension that might cause.

There is safety in numbers, and he is worried. But he dares not move his camp. If Ryoka returns with Mrsha, they will need to find them here.

So the Stone Spears wait, watching the darkness. And the darkness watches back. Silent shapes spread out across the highlands, slowly encircling the Stone Spears tribe’s camp in a vast net, waiting.

Waiting.

—-

How long has it been? I can’t tell. Hours? Just an hour? Perhaps. It feels like hours.

My hands are raw and cut and blistered. Despite the gloves I have on, they’re not enough. The jagged rock and rough handholds I can find cut into my skin, but I ignore the pain.

How high am I? High. I’ve been climbing for a while, and still the faeries lead me onwards. I can’t believe Mrsha got this high up, but the route we’re taking isn’t impossible for a kid, especially not a young Gnoll.

Especially not if she was being chased.

My feet slip, and my arms windmill as I nearly slip down the slope in the darkness. Careful. I push myself back up and look around.

“Okay. Where n—?”

The faeries are gone. One second they were ahead of me, leading the way, and now they’re not. I look around, heart beating fast. It’s dark. I had to toss away the torch the Gnolls gave me a while back to use both hands. Without the faeries, the side of the mountain is full of shadows.

“[Light].”

A ball of yellow light appears in my hand and flies upwards. I stare around, but see only rock and dirt where everything isn’t covered by snow.

But if the faeries aren’t here.

“Mrsha!”

I raise my voice and cup my hands to my mouth. My legs are exhausted, but I don’t dare sit. And neither do I dare take any more steps. The ground looks stable, but—

“Mrsha! Can you hear me?”

—-

She is going to die. Mrsha knows it. It makes her cry, but she only sheds a few tears because it hurts when they freeze on her fur.

She is going to die. She shouldn’t have strayed so far away. But she’d wanted to chase a snow hare, and then she’d smelled the thing and it had leapt out at her—

She shudders. It is so cold. Her eyes are flickering, but Mrsha knows she must stay awake. But what is the point if she’s not going to be rescued?

The Gnoll child sits with her back against a stone and breathes more slowy. She is so tired. But then her ears hear it. The faintest of sounds, and then—louder.

“—sha!”

The Gnoll looks up. There it is again.

“Mrsha! Can you hear me?”

It’s a voice! A familiar voice! It’s not the sound of any of the elders Mrsha knows, or any of her playmates. But she knows this voice even so. It’s from the Human, the one who tells stories.

How is she here? But Mrsha hears the Human shouting, and sits up. Someone came for her.

Hope.

She raises her voice and howls upwards, desperately. With all her strength.

She wants Ryoka to find her. She wants to be saved. She doesn’t want to die here alone.

Not like that thing.

—-

I’m shouting, but I hear nothing. The wind is blowing around me, and I can’t feel my face. There’s so much snow.

Am I too late? My heart is shuddering. Is that why the faeries left? Because they’ve given up hope?

“Mrsha!”

There’s no response. I’m too late.

But then I hear it. A sound, growing louder. A wild howling, high-pitched and frantic, like and unlike any animal’s call I’ve ever heard.

Mrsha.

I stumble in the direction of the call, and then stop.

“Stop damn you…think!”

Think. I can’t blunder ahead blindly. If I die now, she dies.

I raise my hand, and the orb of light floats to it. I can control the light. So I flick my hand and toss the orb ahead. I can’t control it after I’ve thrown it, but it illuminates the ground in front of me.

There! The orb of light sails over a small crest of snow and then reveals that the crest is in fact a precipice. The ball of light reveals a sudden drop as the ground slips, a natural, concealed crevasse in the mountainside. Cautiously, I cast [Light] again and walk forwards, staring at that spot, praying I don’t trip.

The howling is coming from below. I stare over the edge. The light cast by the orb is too weak to illuminate the depths of that place.

“Mrsha?”

—-

She hears the voice, and then sees the light. Mrsha howls up desperately, and hears an answering shout. The light is very faint. But then it changes, and a beam shines down. It sweeps the place Mrsha is in, bouncing off the slick rock walls, and then catches her. She waves her paw weakly.

“I see you! Hold on!”

—-

God. Gods. She’s at the bottom of a crevasse. No wonder no one heard her.

I stare down at the small, brown shape of Mrsha. She’s sitting at the bottom of a crevasse. Not too deep, but far too far down for her to climb back up.

I squint. There’s something—next to her? Some dark shape covered by the snow. But I can’t make it out. It doesn’t matter. I need to get down there.

But god. This is a nightmare. I’ve attended lessons on how to conduct emergency rescues of people trapped in situations like this, and I’ve climbed before, and this is about as bad a situation as you can get.

I need to get to Mrsha, but that means I need to climb down there. I don’t want to try tossing her the rope Urksh gave me and have her pull herself up. I need to go down there.

Down? The sensible part of my brain laughs at how stupid that is. I don’t have the equipment to do that. I don’t have a harness, any climbing gear—hell, I don’t even have a backup!

But I’m already tossing my pack down and fishing things out. The first thing I grab is the furs the Gnolls gave me. It was for Mrsha, but I toss it down on the edge of the crevasse. If I put the rope down, I don’t want it to fray and snap.

Maybe it won’t, if it’s magical. Wouldn’t that be amazing? But I don’t want to test it.

The rope Urksh gave me apparently stretches or lengthens. Good for it, but I need an anchor. I don’t have anything to help me with that, and there aren’t any trees around. I stare around the mountainside, aware of the need for speed, but also the desperate need to do this right.

Okay, okay. First things first. If I’m going down, I need an anchor.

I find one close to the precipice. A rock horn helps me as I loop it around another part of the rock. No way to equalize the anchor points, and all I can do is use more and more rope. I loop more rope into the rock and tie it off and stare at the horrible mess I’ve created.

A constriction anchor. Fuck me. At least this rope is magic, for what it’s worth. It had better be, because with all the rope I used to make the anchor secure, I’m not going to be able to get all the way down, much less do what I need.

Moment of truth. I can hear Mrsha making agitated sounds from below. She thinks I’ve left her. I shout something reassuring down at her, and take a deep breath.

Rappelling without a harness. Okay.

I slide the rope between my legs so I’m holding one end with my left arm and the other end that’s going through my legs with my right. I stretch the rope out, and approach the edge.

This is madness. But Mrsha is down there. So I lean on the rope and step out into the air.

Rappelling. I hold the rope hard with my right hand, and take a deep breath. Mrsha is going insane down below. She’s probably never seen someone climbing like this. Descend, rather.

I jump down the cliff and Mrsha screams. It’s more like a howl. But I arrest my fall and absorb the impact as I kick into the wall. I hold my position for a moment, look down for the next place I want to move down towards, and then jump several more feet down.

Abseiling. I’ve done it countless times, but always with a safety harness and a spotter. What I wouldn’t give for a carabiner…

I’m running out of rope. I see the end, and I pray Urksh wasn’t lying to me. Come on, rope. Do your magic thing. I pull, hoping it will do something—

And it stretches. Or rather, elongates. Rather than running out, I find more rope as I slowly rappel downwards.

Pause. Jump. One second of descent, and then I brace as I land on the wall, showering Mrsha with snow. Pause again. Jump. Each second I’m terrified my hand will slip, but the tension stops me as I jump down again, and again…

My feet touch the ground, and then something rams into my side. I shout, but its Mrsha. The small Gnoll jumps all over me as I have to sit at the bottom of the small crevasse.

“God.”

I cover my face with my hand for just one second. Then I nearly fall over as Mrsha swarms over me. The Gnoll is licking and hugging me desperately.

“It’s okay Mrsha. I’m here. I’m—”

She’s making small noises. Whimpering, the sounds an animal would make. Or a child. I hold her for a few seconds.

“I’ve got you. It’s going to be alright, okay?”

I’m shaking so hard, but no more than she is. I found her. I found her in time.

But the worst is far from over. And we can’t stay here. Mrsha is freezing, and I need to get her up. Somehow.

I have a plan. And I’m about to tell it to Mrsha when I look over and go rigid. Mrsha cranes her neck to see what’s happened to me, and then she growls softly.

It can’t be. But lying in the snow, half-buried is a small shape. It’s not a rock like I initially thought. No.

It’s a body.

Not just any body. I slowly let go of Mrsha, and she backs away as I hesitantly go over to the shape. It’s lying face-down, but I turn it over and already know what I’ll see.

A Goblin’s face stares blankly up at me, red eyes dimmed, face frozen. He—or she was wearing armor, some sort of scale mail, but it wasn’t enough to save them from the fall. Their neck is bent at a wrong angle.

It must have chased Mrsha. She was out gathering and it surprised her. She ran, and both fell down here. Mrsha got lucky, but the Goblin died.

Goblins. If there’s one, there’s more. And this one is armed. I stare down and see the axe at its belt. Armor and weapons. This Goblin is way more dangerous than the ones I’ve seen to the north.

Danger. But I can’t focus on that now. I stare upwards. I need to get Mrsha to safety first. And now that I’m down here, I can look up and realize how fucked I am.

The crevasse is only about twenty feet deep. Only. Hah. But it’s a horrible mess. The edge of the precipice actually juts outwards, so that the ice and rock wall is further inside. In short, it makes climbing up with your hands impossible unless you can go nearly horizontal at the top.

I have one thing that will help with the ascent. A rope. And that’s a good thing. But still.

A damn rope. No equipment, nothing else. Just a rope and my two exhausted arms to carry me up twenty feet.

I have no ascender. Nothing to help me climb. I don’t even have any damn knots in the rope that I can use.

I look at Mrsha. She’s staring upwards, hopefully. Maybe she thinks there are others nearby. I hate to disappoint her, but she’s got to know what I’m going to do.

“Mrsha.”

She looks at me, full of hope. I’m the adult here; she’s relying on me. It makes my stomach twist.

“I’m going to get you to safety, okay? But you need to listen to me.”

She nods. I tell her what I’m going to do.

“I’m going to tie a harness around you. Uh, that’s this rope. It will help me lift you up. And then I’m going to climb to the top and pull you up. I’m not going to leave you, okay?”

She stares at me. Does she even get it? But then she nods, a small motion. I take a breath.

“Okay. Lift your arm.”

At least I know how to make a rope harness. I stretch the rope further, looping it securely around Mrsha’s legs and around her groin, tying bowline knots. Now square knots here, fisherman’s knots…

She doesn’t wriggle much, but she stares at the rope harness in confusion. Again, not something Gnolls are used to I guess.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be able to pull you up. Now—”

I stare upwards. Now comes the hard part.

To make all this work, I need to climb to the top of the crevasse. By myself. Without any handholds except the rope.

I can’t do this. My arms are already tired and so is the rest of my body. But I have to.

I hesitate for a minute as Mrsha stares at me, but her eyes are what make me move. Making sure she’s out of the way, I jump up—

And grab the rope.

Immediately, my legs tangle around the bottom of the rope. I fumble blindly with my feet, until I’m wedging the rope between my boots. One boot goes up, and the other steps on the rope, trapping it, giving me a way to stand and support myself. But that’s only if I can climb. So I take a deep breath, lift my hand, and begin.

One hand goes up and I pull myself up. And then another. At first I get up the rope fast, and Mrsha makes sounds of encouragement, running around below until I shout at her to stop. I can’t handle the sway.

It’s been a long time since I climbed a rope. Too long. I haven’t been working out my upper body as much since I came to this world, and hell, I don’t remember the last time I went climbing. And I’m so tired.

Pull. Acquire the rope with my legs. Stand. Pull. Already I can feel the shaking weakness in my arms.

Why didn’t the faeries say to bring anyone else? Why me? Because I asked? How can I do this?

My arms burn as I pull myself up. I nearly let go as my muscles start to give and quickly stand on the rope again.

I can’t do this. My arms are going to give out. But I have to. I have to—!

Somehow I pull myself up again. Impossible. I’m not this strong. But I can do it. This world—what’s happening to me?

Again. And again. Screaming inside my head. Up. I can’t pause or it’s over.

It’s so far up. Just twenty feet? Feels like forever.

I’m wearing too much gear. My winter clothes—should have taken them off. Should have rested. Told Mrsha that. But too late now. I pull myself up again, and see the top.

So damn close. Pull. Grip. Pull. Grip. Pull—

One hand lets go of the rope and reaches around the precipice. I grab desperately, and then pull—

“Up, damn you—!”

Slowly, slowly, my body lifts over the ridge. I hear Mrsha making sounds below me, but I can only focus on pulling myself up. Every fiber of strength I have left goes into getting myself up and over—!

And then it’s over. I collapse onto the ground and crawl forwards, gasping with exhaustion. I don’t know how long I lay there, but eventually Mrsha’s anxious barking rouses me. I poke my head over the side and see her staring up at me, eyes full of fear and worry.

“It’s okay.”

It’s okay. I seize the rope and call down to her. Once Mrsha realizes what I’m going to do, she untangles the rope and sits down. Slowly, I stand and begin to pull.

If the climbing was hard, this is easy. I can lean back, pull her up a bit at a time. I’m heavier than Mrsha, and I can use that to help me pull her up as she sits in her harness, making faint sounds of worry. But she’s safe so long as I don’t let go and she doesn’t panic. And I won’t let go. I would never let go.

It feels like an age, but I brace myself, pulling hard, and then I hear a noise. I pause, and realize Mrsha’s at the edge. I pull, very slowly, and then I see paws scrabbling at the ledge. And then a head.

Mrsha comes over and instantly the Gnoll is bounding to her feet. She tangles in the rope, but then frees herself and leaps at me. I grab her, and hug her.

And she hugs me back. For a second we just embrace, as I feel her shaking slow and my own fears ease. She’s alright. She’s going to be alright.

And then comes untangling the rope harness and getting Mrsha into those furs. She wriggles into them and sneezes as I sit on the ground. I need a minute.

But now Mrsha is safe. I look over the mountainside, across the empty landscape. Huh. We’re pretty far up. Amazing she managed to get this far. But fear will do that to you, I guess.

What now? Well, we’ll get back to the camp. Urksh is probably worrying, and we’re still sitting ducks if a monster appears. It might be hard to find the way back, but the faeries—

The faeries. I look around. They’re still not here. No—they might be, but they’re still hiding. Invisible.

Why? I got Mrsha. She’s safe. It’s over.

Unless it’s not.

My heart begins to pound. Mrsha looks at me as I slowly stand up and stare around. What else could be wrong? But we are in danger. If they aren’t here—

And then I see the sparks in the distance. From our position on the mountain, at first they just look like sparks. But then I realize what they really are.

Torches.

First one, and then a group. And then the lights spread. Not just one or two or even a hundred. But thousands. Fire flares and spreads as the darkness below becomes lit by countless pinpricks of light.

Mrsha goes stiff beside me as she crouches and stares at the sight. I stare too.

“That’s not the Stone Spears tribe.”

It can’t be. There aren’t enough Gnolls by far for that. The army of Drakes? But this feels different. A chill runs down my back.

What is happening? But Mrsha looks at me, her face full of fear, and the pieces come together.

Smells on the wind. Strange shapes watching. The dead Goblin.

Mrsha whimpers, the smallest of sounds, and touches my leg. And I feel the eyes on me and realize we are not alone.

Watching.

“No.”

It can’t be. But they are silent, and watching, like snow-covered statues. It cannot be.

But there they stand. Goblins. They look down upon the two of us, red eyes shining. How many? Twenty? Thirty?

A scout party, perhaps. They might have heard Mrsha and me, or maybe they were following from the start.

What do they want? But I know the answer. They’re all armed, and they’re wearing armor. These aren’t wild Goblins in some tribe.

This is an army.

And they are going to kill us. I see it in their eyes. Goblin eyes might be different than Human or Gnoll eyes, but there is an expression I recognize there.

Pitilessness. Cold wrath. Death.

They look like monsters, but they are all the more terrifying because they look like people. One of them raises a hand and points down at me.

“—”

I can’t understand what he’s saying. It’s in the Goblin’s tongue, chattering and incomprehensible. Slowly, the Goblins descend from the rocks, encircling us. They draw their weapons.

I feel Mrsha at my side. The Gnoll is hugging me so tightly I can feel her claws piercing my leggings. I know she’s terrified. So am I.

“We are not your enemies.”

The Goblin who pointed at me, a warrior wearing chainmail and holding a mace, stares into my eyes. There’s nothing there. No empathy. No sympathy.

They’re going to kill us. Already they’ve encircled the two of us. I glance towards the south. The path down is that way, but there are Goblins waiting there. I have no weapons. I’m exhausted, and Mrsha can’t fight.

Slowly, I raise my hands to my head and above them. A universal sign of surrender. Some of the Goblins laugh, but their leader just watches me.

My heart is pounding out of my chest. I watch as he steps forwards, and then put my hands on my head. No time to think. Just—

You don’t need to use your hands to cast magic. My thumbs find my ears and I shout.

“[Flashba—]”

The world goes silent and dark as I close my eyes. The flash passes, and I look around. All I hear is ringing, but there’s Mrsha, lying on the ground as Goblins around me flail and open and close their mouths like silent mimes.

I grab Mrsha. She jerks and claws at me, but I pull her up and throw her over my shoulder in the fireman’s carry. And then I’m running, knocking Goblins aside and charging down the slope, sliding around rocks, praying I won’t fall.

Mrsha is on my back. I think she knows I’m carrying her, but she’s still struggling. She must be in pain from the spell. She screams, loud and anguished. I only know because I can feel the vibrations she makes as I grab her and run. I didn’t have time to tell her to cover her ears or eyes and she’s deaf and blind as I run with her down the slope.

I am, too. I can barely see with all the shimmering shapes burnt into my retinas, but I run anyways. I can hear the Goblins shouting and blundering after me above the ringing in my ears.

And then—a scream. I look back and see two shapes tumbling into the crevasse. Good.

Down the slope. Dodge around rocks. This terrain isn’t right for running, but I slide down and take the impact on my legs and lower body as I crash down the side of the mountain. Run. Run.

Run.

—-

They’re following. I know it. I charge down a hill, slipping in the snow, and Mrsha growls anxiously in my ear. I try not to fall, but I’m trying to run at the same time, to go faster.

The Goblins are right behind us.

I can hear them shouting, screaming in that high-pitched battle cry of theirs. They’re following us, and occasionally one tries to loose an arrow or whirl stones at my back.

But if there’s one thing I’ve got on them, it’s speed. Despite Mrsha on my back I can run faster than they can with their short legs. But I’m still running through the snow and that slows both me and them.

And I’m lost. I run straight now, as the hill transitions to an open plain, but I don’t know where to go. The tribe. I have to get to them. But where—?

Claws dig into my arm and I gasp. But Mrsha is patting my head, growling anxiously and I realize she’s trying to tell me where to go.

Mute. She’s mute. I look around, and see a paw pointing just to my right. I don’t hesitate and immediately take off running that way.

Arms burning. Legs aching. I’m at the end of my tether. But I have to keep going. I can’t slow down, not now.

How many Goblins are around us? The blizzard is still pouring snow, but I swear the sky is orange now, and there are glowing lights on the horizon.

Goblins.

Mrsha screams in my ear and I see shapes ahead of me. More? They’re coming at me, but they’ve doused their torches to try and hide. I run around them and sense something fly past my back. The little Gnoll on my back is screaming.

She’s a target. If they aim at my head, they’ll hit her. But I can’t do anything. I can only run faster.

Mrsha is howling, loud and anxious. I want to tell her to shut up, but she’s trying to call for help, and the Goblins know we’re here already.

She taps my arm and points. That way. I change directions, trying to get traction. But the loose snow is making me slow. And I’m carrying Mrsha. I could put her down and let her run—

No. Keep moving.

A forest ahead. I hesitate. They could be hiding there. But go around? It’s too far. I take a deep breath and charge in.

Something steps out of the trees. Mrsha screams again, but I kick the Goblin in the chest and run the other way. Deeper into the forest. They’re jumping out around me, but I bull rush another and break out of the trees with a horde of them on my tail.

Open plains. We’re getting closer now. Mrsha’s tapping my head again, and she points me further to the left. I run on.

“Got to—”

We’re going to make it. I have to believe that. But then I see more torches moving rapidly to my left. So I turn right. But there are more torches that way.

And ahead—

The two groups of Goblins race ahead of us, encircling our position. I slow, and then there are Goblins all around us.

Mrsha is silent. Slowly, I stop, in a circle of armed warriors. They’re closing in.

“Ah.”

I guess this is how it ends. I put down Mrsha in the snow. Gently. My heart is thundering in my ears.

“I guess it’s because you’re not a killer.”

Erin’s words echo in my ears for some reason. I stare at the Goblins and slowly pull away my coat. No time to take off any more layers. They watch, silently, as I discard what clothing I can.

Get lighter. Stay out of reach. They’re not shooting up, which is a mercy. But I can see it in their human expressions. They want to cut us apart. Make it slow.

Ah, Erin. For some reason I remember that Goblin she introduced me to. Rags. Would she be part of this? Is this her tribe? I doubt it.

I raise my fists, slowly, as the Goblin warriors advance. Mrsha is at my side, but I nudge her away.

“Stay back. Run if you see an opening.”

Hollow words. Where will she run to? But maybe she has a chance if she can get ahead of them. She outran one.

Erin. If I were at her inn, I could bar the doors and stay safe. Why am I thinking of the inn?

One of the Goblins steps forward. It’s the leader, the one I blinded. He bares his teeth at me.

The inn. My heart is racing. My hands are clenched into fists. It will be hard to kick in the snow.

I really just want to sit in front of the fire again and lose a few games of chess to her. I want to sit in her inn and listen to people talk and laugh. I want—

I want to live.

Their blades are sharp.

“If.”

And then he runs at me, and I raise my leg—

—-

This is what Mrsha saw. In the dark storm, as snow fell all around her, the small Gnoll huddled close to the ground, watching as shapes and shadows fought in the flickering light.

The Human, Ryoka Griffin, stood alone in a circle of Goblins. They came at her, laughing, one and two at a time, to play with the unarmed Human.

The first Goblin raised his mace as he charged the young woman. But Ryoka raised her leg and kicked out, catching him in the chest, too fast for him to block. He stumbled back, and she pointed at him.

“[Flashlight]!”

A beam of light burst from her finger, catching the Goblins by surprise. The light was so bright the young Gnoll had to look away. The Human leapt forwards as the Goblins shielded their eyes and struck the Goblin with the mace twice in the face.

He fell down. Ryoka punched him as he lay on the ground and he did not get up. She stepped back, and raised her hand. The Goblins watched her, surprised and now wary.

The Human pointed straight up, into the sky. She took a deep breath, and said a word Mrsha didn’t understand.

Ryoka fired a flare into the night sky. An incandescent red light shot from her hand and flew upwards as the Goblins cried out and retreated. But it wasn’t an attack.

The red light hung in the air, defying gravity as Mrsha stared upwards. Ryoka looked into the sky, her face grim. She fired the flare again, making the snow and landscape grow red. Then the light touched the ground, and the world became dark again.

Mrsha didn’t understand. Nothing had happened. The Goblins looked at the Human, but when it was clear she had no more spells, they regained their confidence. They came for her.

Punches. Kicks. Mrsha had seen the warriors and hunters of her tribe practicing and even fighting with spears and the occasional sword or axe. They had their own ways of fighting, rough, but efficient. But the Human—

She flowed from punch to kick, pivoting, trying to keep her back secure. She fought in ways the young Gnoll had never seen before, holding the Goblins back and hurting them, even without a weapon of her own.

But she was one and they were many. Ryoka pointed and light blinded them again, but they pushed her back, slashing at her wildly. And she was tired.

Every time she raised her finger and light blinded the Goblins, Mrsha saw the Human girl’s face twist as if she was in pain. And then she would be a little bit slower, a little bit weaker.

And the Goblins were many. They ran at her, half-blind but too many for her to stop. Ryoka fell back and Mrsha saw a Goblin slash at her leg. Ryoka dodged the sword, and punched the Goblin. But then he seized her hand and his mouth opened—

Mrsha saw the teeth close on Ryoka’s hand as she tried to pull away. She heard a crunch and a scream, a shout of agony. Ryoka pulled her hand away and Mrsha smelled the blood before she saw the stumps of her pinkie and ring finger.

Ryoka raised her bloody hand and looked at Mrsha. The blood dripped to the snow as the Goblin laughed and swallowed the digits. And the Human’s eyes were full of regret as she stared at Mrsha.

—-

“Ah.”

I stumble back from the Goblin who bit me. He laughs, and I look around and see Mrsha, crouched in the snow. And then there’s my hand.

He bit me. He took…my fingers. I stare at my right hand in shock.

Two stumps glisten wetly as blood begins to run into the snow. Automatically, I cover the wound. If I lose too much blood in this weather it would be bad. And it will sap my body heat.

Not good. I—

Another Goblin charges at me with a knife. I turn and kick, and he falls. But then I stumble.

“My hand.”

They’re laughing now. The Goblins watch as I clutch my wounded hand, and advance more slowly. I walk backwards, until Mrsha is touching my leg.

Can’t run. Can’t die.

I try to clench my hand, but it’s not right without those two fingers. There’s a gap and I can see straight into my palm. It looks wrong.

A Goblin advances towards me. The one who bit me. He raises his sword and grins around bloody teeth. I step towards him—

And hear a roar.

The Goblin turns, surprise becoming fear, and then his head disappears. I blink. Something flashes in front of me, and then there’s a Gnoll.

Not Mrsha. This one is taller, stronger, male. Urksh. He hacks another Goblin with an axe and the smaller warrior falls, head torn open.

And more Gnolls. They attack from the left, archers and warriors. I see…Hekra, standing with three other archers. She raises her bow and her hand blurs. Two Goblins fall, with arrows in their chests.

Nice skill.

I stumble, and a Goblin slashes at me. I step back, but he advances, and now there’s a lot of blood in the snow. Mine.

I punch him in the chest, but he’s got armor on and just stumbles. He raises his sword—

And Mrsha lunges into him from the side. She bites and tears with her small claws and he shrieks. He raises the shortsword and I grab his arm. I twist with my good arm and I hear his arm break.

He screams. I let go and pull Mrsha back. And then the Gnolls are around us, fighting, killing—

“—Griffin. Ryoka Griffin.”

Someone is grabbing me, holding my wrist. I look around. Urksh has me. He’s wrapping something around my hand, putting rough cloth on—

“Aah.”

It’s starting to hurt now. But more than anything, it just feels wrong to have something on the two stumps of my fingers. Urksh holds the cloth over my hand and nods to a Gnoll.

“Watch. They are coming.”

The Gnoll disappears. I blink at Urksh.

“I found her.”

He smiles at me, briefly.

“You did. Now we will handle the rest. Do not move. We will carry you.”

“I can—”

Too slow. He lifts me, and with another Gnoll, they run with Mrsha and me. The wind is cool on my skin as I blink around.

“I’m okay. I can run.”

“Rest. You did a great thing. I am honored to have met you, Ryoka Griffin.”

Something about his tone makes me look around. We’re not headed back towards the camp.

“Where—?”

“They are coming. We must flee.”

And then I see it, and I realize what despair tastes like. We were closer to the tribe’s camp than we thought, Mrsha and I.

Close, but too far. Too late.

This how it ends. This is how we die.

Hundreds of Goblins—thousands—stream across the plains. They are lit by mage light and torches as they run, firing, fighting with the few Gnolls who stand to hold them off.

The rest are fleeing. I can see over a hundred Gnolls, adults and children, running as fast as they can towards the west. But they’re being harried. Goblins are coming from every direction. It’s as if the world is being consumed by them.

And in the distance I can see the main host. A black tide of shapes, like some horrible flat beast, writhing towards us. There are larger Goblins among the main horde. Hobs. They’re firing arrows too.

Urksh runs with me in his arms, tireless as he rejoins the tribe. I look back and see more Gnolls breaking away, charging the Goblins coming at us without fear.

“What are—?”

“They buy time. Here. Run.”

He puts me down, face grim, and I understand. A few Gnolls are going to fight. They run at the Goblins, taking arrows, stumbling, many not even reaching the armed warriors. Those that do fall in an instant, cut from every side.

It’s all happening so fast. I can’t process it all. War? It’s so sudden, but then I see a blue glow.

Frost faeries. They’re hovering high in the sky, watching it all. And I wonder why they’re here. But then I realize, it’s because they’re no longer watching me.

Because this is not my story. Not in the grand scheme of things.

It’s his.

The Goblins are pursuing us, an endless horde of them. They’re striking our backs and flanks, trying to bring the adults protecting the children down, trying to block us off. They’re so focused on us, they never see the Drake charging towards them.

His armor is battered, and he has no magical items. Not like the other Drake who’s hot on his heels, holding a shining sword filled with magic. But the Drake in front is different. He has no weapons, yet his claws can cut steel. He runs at the head of an army, and as the Goblins turn, their faces change.

Maybe they can sense it in the moment before they die. Maybe they realize it. How could I not?

But he is a legend. A hero among Drakes. He must be.

Zel Shivertail charges past me and our gazes meet for one eternal second. Then his army and the remnants of Wall Lord Ilvriss’ army crash into the Goblins, cutting them apart, throwing bodies into the air as they rampage through their unguarded ranks.

The entire Goblin mass ripples in shock, but Zel doesn’t even stop. He runs forward, and his hands blur and Goblins fall down, torn, bleeding, dying.

Ilvriss is there as well, swinging his sword left and right, teeth bared. Are they on the same side now? They must be. The two generals cut through the first rank of Goblins and the next, and then they’re charging at the vanguard of Goblins.

That’s when I see the Goblin Lord for the first time.

He’s standing in the center of a mass of Goblins wearing magical armor. It’s not that he’s bigger than the others; he’s actually just a bit taller than your average Human, definitely smaller than the biggest Hobs.

But his eyes are a thing of horror. I have seen them once before. His pupils are white, and the rest of his eyes are black. They glow, and even miles away, I somehow see them. He looks at Zel, and as his gaze passes mine, I feel terror in my soul.

He raises a hand, and suddenly the battle shifts again. Goblins cry out, and their ranks form up. Zel’s charge pauses as he finds himself running into a wall of shields.

A proper army, one with formations and tactics. And then I stop running as Urksh spins me around. His teeth are bared, and I look forwards and see more despair in the face of hope.

“No. No.”

Hobs. Another army falls on us from the side, encircling the Stone Spears before they can move away. I see Gnolls running back, but the battle is already joined behind us.

And this ambush party is attacking the Gnolls from the flank. Too many Hobs. I see warriors falling, unable to stop their advance. And neither Zel nor his army notice. They’re too busy cutting towards the Goblin Lord.

“Help us!”

I shout it at the Drakes and Gnolls, but they’re too busy fighting. No—the soldiers think we’re part of the army, or they just want us to hold the Goblins off while they attack. I see Hobs, so many of them! Over a hundred of them stride forwards in heavy armor, cutting Drakes and Gnolls apart.

How is this possible? I stare up. The faeries. They’re still watching the battlefield.

A Goblin comes at me. I kick him, and look wildly around.

“Mrsha!”

She’s hiding in the snow again. She never made it within the protective line of adults, and Goblins and Gnolls are struggling around her, nearly trampling the small girl.

I push towards her. Goblins in my way, Gnolls too. Someone stabs me in the side and I feel the pain and punch. They move away, and I stumble towards Mrsha.

“Here.”

I grab her, and she clings to me. I turn to run, to find safety, but there’s none to be found. Everyone is fighting. And the Stone Spears are dying.

A Goblin [Shaman] blasts the Gnoll Shaman of the Stone Spears tribe apart with some magic. And then I see his body rise, and I realize what’s happening.

The dead. Not all the Goblins are dead, and some of the Gnolls are beginning to fight against their kind. This Goblin army is raising the dead. The Goblin Lord is another [Necromancer].

And now Zel’s army is being forced back. He is still fighting his way towards the Goblin Lord, but his charge is faltering, and fewer people are at his back. If he doesn’t retreat, he’ll be cut off. But if he kills the Goblin Lord—

Either way, we die. I look up again as Mrsha holds me and sobs into my clothes.

“Help us.”

The faeries stare down. One speaks, and it’s a whisper in my ears despite the screaming and clash of weapons around me.

“We have. Would ye ask us a second time? Do you know what the fates will ask?”

“Please!”

“There are rules.”

“We will die.”

I look at them, and see the faeries nod.

“Yes.”

“Help us. I beg you.”

“There are rules.”

Goblins around me. I spread my arms. One last try.

“Are the fey slaves, or are you free? Help me! I am Ryoka Dawning Griffin, and I offer everything! Change fate. Save us.”

Someone puts a hand on my shoulder. I look around, and see Urksh. He clutches his stomach, and Mrsha stares in horror as he holds his guts in place. The Gnoll looks up towards the faeries, hovering high overhead.

“We offer everything.”

The world goes silent. I see the faeries overhead. I see Urksh, feel his paw on my shoulder tighten once, and then fall as a Goblin stabs him from behind. I see Mrsha screaming, and a Hob raise his club. I move to block him, and the world freezes.

—-

Zel ran, cutting Goblins apart, trying to force his way through their ranks towards the Goblin Lord. There were only a few ranks left until he ran into the Goblin Lord’s personal guard. He saw the strange Goblin staring at him, eyes pale and unearthly. He was surrounded by Hobs, but Zel knew he could kill the Goblin if only—

He cut left with a claw, and a Goblin fell back, throat opened to the air. Zel threw another Goblin aside, and saw only one thin row of Goblins ahead of him. They were pale. And dead.

“Undead Goblins?”

They didn’t seem strong. Zel hesitated. His [Dangersense] was going off nonstop, but he could see the Goblin Lord waiting for him. He clenched his fist, and felt a presence at his side.

“Shivertail.”

Ilvriss was injured. Even his magical armor and the weapon Zel had restored to him hadn’t saved him. Zel was hurt too, cut in many places despite his defensive Skills and armor. The two Drakes stared at the Goblin Lord as the leader of the Goblins watched them silently.

“We have to end this now, Ilvriss.”

“Agreed. The world needs no more Goblin Kings”.

They prepared to charge, but then Zel heard a sound and felt the chill. He turned.

Part of the battlefield had turned to ice. No—not just the battlefield. Goblins stood frozen in place in a huge circle around a group of Gnolls. The tribe he’d seen fleeing. They were cut down, only a few adults standing. And while the Goblins around them had died, more were closing in.

And there were children among them. Zel saw another adult go down as she tried to shield two cubs. The Goblins were trying to hack them apart, and his army was too busy fighting the other Goblins to see.

“Shivertail!”

Ilvriss was gripping his sword, and Zel could see the Goblins around him forming up. He would only get this once chance. But the children—

“Ilvriss. That Gnoll tribe is defenseless. Retreat.”

The Lord of the Wall gaped at him.

“Are you mad? We’ll never get another chance!”

“Retreat! They’ll all be wiped out if we don’t push them back!”

Zel turned, and yanked Ilvriss back. The other Drake fought him, snarling, and destiny changed.

One of the undead Goblins had been advancing on the two Drakes. If they had been closer—

The dead Goblin exploded. Zel and Ilvriss were caught on the edge of the blast, and they were thrown backwards, through the air. Only his armor and skills kept Zel intact as he crashed into the ground. He heard ringing in his ears, and sat up.

A huge crater was all that remained of where the undead Goblin had been. But Zel saw another one walking slowly through the empty zone, towards his soldiers. Living Goblins scrambled out of its way, and Zel found the breath to bellow.

“Retreat!”

His soldiers heard his voice. Zel surged upwards and grabbed Ilvriss, who was crawling around, looking for his sword. He forced the Drake up, and they ran backwards.

Towards the Gnoll tribe. They were all dying. Children, adults—Zel howled as he saw a Gnoll cub being cut down, but he slew the Hob and covered the rest of the children as his army ran to guard them. But they were all retreating now, in face of the overwhelming Goblin numbers. The Hobs had formed up, and a hundred of them were leading a charge. Even experienced soldiers fell before their blades.

Zel seized a child, and saw his soldiers saving the rest. The adults were dead. They lay where they had fallen, teeth bared, bodies filled with arrows, hacked apart. A few stood, undead, now slaves in death to another master.

Something grabbed Zel’s foot as he turned to go. He looked down, ready to kill, and saw an old Gnoll, gripping his leg. The Gnoll mouthed something, and Zel bent to listen. But there was too much noise, and the Gnoll died, half-smiling.

Zel straightened, and looked around. His army and Ilvriss’s forces were running now, the rearguard putting up a defensive line. He would join them. His skills would allow his army to retreat, but the Goblin Lord’s army was unstoppable. He stared at the Goblin Lord and felt those terrible eyes on his.

And then Zel saw a blur of movement. Someone was running, running past the Goblins. A Human girl ran, surrounded by blue lights. She was holding something in her arms. A small, struggling shape. A Gnoll.

She ran and the few Goblins who tried to pursue her froze in place. Zel watched the Human go and saluted her once with one claw.

For luck. He looked back at the Goblin army closing on them and saw only death. Death, those who commanded death, and an army large enough to threaten the continent.

They had to be stopped. But Zel could not do it here. So he retreated, tasting defeat in his mouth as the Goblin Lord stared at the [General]’s retreating back.

And smiled.

—-

Ryoka ran. She ran through the ranks of Goblins, in a world of her own. Cold air blew around her, and the faeries flew in front of her, leading her to safety.

They had done something. Each step Ryoka took felt like ten. She flew across the battlefield, like wind, snow rushing past her face. She was filled with magic.

But her heart was empty and broken.

A Gnoll struggled in Ryoka’s arms. A small shape, a small child cried out as Ryoka left her tribe behind. Two innocent eyes watched as adults and children fell, dying. She cried out, but Ryoka didn’t listen. The Human ran on, until the last lights of the Goblin army were far behind them.

At last, the faeries stopped, and Ryoka slowed, coming to a stop in knee-deep snow. She wavered, her head and body completely empty.

A faerie flew down in front of Ryoka, face expressionless. But there was sadness in her eyes, and Ryoka knew without asking what the cost had been.

“Can you…really see fate?”

Was it all pointless? Was it all preordained? The faerie just looked at Ryoka. Just looked.

“If there is destiny, I defy it. I will not bow to fate.”

They were meaningless words. If there was fate, there was no way she could fight against it. But she had to believe. Tears fell from Ryoka’s eyes. Tears that mixed with the blood on her body. Ryoka lifted her right hand and stared at the two stumps.

A small price to pay. Not enough, though.

Urksh. Ryoka bent down and put Mrsha in the snow. The Gnoll child looked up at Ryoka, and the Human blinked.

“Oh. Your fur.”

At some point in that endless run, something had happened. Mrsha’s brown fur had changed. From the colorful forest brown, it had become pure white, as white as snow. Blood and grime darkened the child’s face, but it was not hers.

“I’m so sorry.”

The Gnoll child said not a word. Her eyes were filled with tears. Ryoka stared at Mrsha’s fur, and then looked at the faeries. She gazed at the faerie in front of her, and saw immortal eyes. Tired eyes. A reflection.

“Next time I will save them all. Or die trying.”

Ryoka thought she said the words. She blinked, and then collapsed, falling face-first into the snow.

Mrsha looked at the fallen Human and slowly reached out to shake her. Ryoka didn’t move.

Overhead, the faeries exchanged a look. They nodded, and began to spin around in a wide circle overhead. Mrsha stared upwards as the snow falling from overhead stopped. And then the air began to warm.

All around Ryoka and the Gnoll, the snow began to melt. The child stared around, wild-eyed as grass and flowers began to grow upwards, creating a soft bed of new life around the two.  The air was warm, and for a second, the frozen crystal of the Frost Faeries’ skin changed, and grew brighter. The colors of spring ran through their bodies, bright and green, the color of grass and sunlight and clear blue skies.

But then the moment was past, and the faeries were ice and winter again. They hovered in the sky, above the small sanctuary they had formed. Ryoka slept on, unheeding. A voice spoke in her mind, a toneless, emotionless announcement delivering a message into her mind.

[Barefoot Runner Class Obtained!]

[Barefoot Runner Level 8!]

[Skill – Flawless Stride obtained!]

[Skill – Enhanced Movement obtained!]

[Skill – Dangersense obtained!]

[Skill – Final Run Learne—

“Nae, she will not be learning anything. Not from you at least. Leave the fool alone, ye thing of dead gods. She is different.”

[Level Ups Cancelled]

Mrsha raised her head. She heard nothing of the faeries’ words, knew nothing of what had passed. She touched the motionless Human, and raised her head towards the moon. It shone down around the clear patch of grass and flowers blooming in the center of the snowy wasteland.

She howled up at it, her voice loud and wild, filled with grief.

But no one answered her call. And so Mrsha howled and howled into the night, alone. Knowing that she was alone.

A sudden noise split the silence of the night. Mrsha leapt back from Ryoka, hair standing on end, as something in the girl’s pack began to ring, emitting a strange sound she had never heard before.

The iPhone rang for five whole minutes as Mrsha looked around and the faeries watched silently from overhead. Then it too fell silent.

Far to the south, the Goblin Lord pursued Zel Shivertail’s army, forcing them to run until the Goblins finally gave up on the chase. They gathered once more, to grow and become even stronger, until the northern tribes could be subjugated. They would sweep north, soon.

Across the world, a group of mages stopped casting, and changed their target. Another phone began to ring, on another continent.

None of it mattered. Where Ryoka lay, dreaming of fire and darkness, sleeping next to a small Gnoll who curled up next to the Human, there were no sounds. The faeries hovered overhead, guarding the two into the night.

There was no noise here, no words that could be spoken.

Only the slow, heavy sound of silence.

And the memory.

Of death.

2.36 G

She was not prepared for this. For any of it.

That was the first thing Rags realized the day after she became leader of not only the Red Fang Tribe, but all of the allied and subservient tribes under Garen’s control. She was not ready to lead such a host. She knew it, and he said it to her.

Repeatedly.

It was the first thing Rags thought when she woke up in one of the cleared out Shield Spider nests and pushed aside her dirty blankets and realized what had happened. She climbed out of her pit and stared around.

The small valley where she had made her last stand was still filled with the dead, mostly of her tribe, but also of the Red Fang Tribe’s warriors and mounts. Rags looked around and saw her Goblins awkwardly binding wounds, or making food…of the dead, but most were still slumbering.

They had been pushed to the brink by the Red Fang’s harrying. And only now did Rags see the cost of it.

Death.

Garen Red Fang, leader of his tribe and several hundred miles of territory north of Liscor, had been sleeping. But he woke up quick when Rags jumped onto his stomach from the top of the pit. He roared in anger, reached for his sword, and stopped when he saw Rags.

“Chieftain.”

He spoke, with words not in the Goblin language. Rags was still struggling with that. But Garen nodded to her and stood upwards effortlessly, stretching as if he hadn’t been in a fight to the death yesterday and had part of his face melted off.

“Food?”

She scowled at him, but jerked her head towards the top of the pit. Garen’s war cry had woken her entire tribe; Goblins don’t ignore subtle clues like someone screaming and few of them were about to go to sleep after a scare like that.

The snowy world descended into organized chaos as the green-skinned Goblins began scurrying around. Rags watched as those Goblins with levels in [Cook]…or more accurately, its sub-classes, [Butcher], [Scavenger], [Stewer], and so on, began making food. Garen blinked around at his tribe and waved at them. Then he looked at Rags.

“Much to speak of, Chieftain.”

She stared at him, and then nodded. Yes, there was much to speak of. She and Garen wandered off as her tribe got to work, watching the Goblins mill about.

There was organization in it, despite how it might look to a non-Goblin. Each individual had their task and role in the tribe, but they would take over each other’s jobs in the blink of an eye, usually communicating with a grunt or a poke or punch. Sometimes they got into fights and screeched at each other, but that was quickly broken up by the sub-leaders of each tribe: the Hobs.

They were big, generally mean, and generally committed to the idea that if someone else was doing the job, they didn’t have to. They enforced Rags’ orders and helped make decisions. Such as: were the Carn Wolves edible or poisonous? Did the Goblins skin them and keep the pelts, or try to eat them fur and all?

Garen watched his wolves being cut apart with no real emotion, although his eyes did tighten for a few seconds before he looked away. He glanced over where his mount was lying by the fire. Rags looked too.

Of the fifty-odd Goblins Garen had taken with him to harass Rags’ tribe, a little over twenty were left, and all of them were injured. On the other hand, only a handful of wolves had survived; Rags had ordered her tribe to kill the mounts first.

The Red Fang warriors seemed to be getting along fine with her Goblins, Rags noted. In that way they were like any Goblins; they might not be slapping backs with the Goblins who’d been trying to cut them apart, but they understood the changing nature of dominance within the tribes.

The wolves on the other hand were confused by this ceasefire, and still understandably upset, more so after they saw their pack being devoured by hungry Goblins. Several snapped at the Goblins walking around them, and only let their riders tend to them. They calmed down when they were fed dead Goblins, but they still stared hard at Rags’ tribe.

Garen noticed Rags’ stare.

“They will obey. They take time, see you are leader.”

Rags nodded absently. She stared at Garen, and then recalled a bit of what had been said the night before.

Why?

It was a question she hadn’t really gotten an answer to. Garen shrugged.

“Must be done.”

Rags didn’t understand that. Her brows furrowed, and she glared at Garen.

You kill many of tribe.

He shrugged and sniffed the air.

“A test.”

You are stronger. Why me?

He grinned.

“Stronger. Yes. But cannot lead. Not like you.”

She didn’t understand. But after they had eaten—roasted wolf that filled the stomach which even Garen devoured readily—she began to realize what he meant when they decided what to do next.

Normally, Rags would be in charge of everything. But Garen was no ordinary Chieftain, and neither was she, for that matter. He told her the rest of his tribe was on the way, with the allied tribes.

“My tribe is quickest. Others are slow.”

Garen flicked a bone into the spider pit as the Goblins dragged the remaining bodies into each one. They could be buried; perhaps the Spiders would eat them, or some other creature would, but Rags had decided it was better than leaving them out and making Liscor’s Watch suspicious.

How many in Tribe? How many here?

Garen shrugged. He looked at a warrior from his tribe, and the Goblin scratched his head with his one good arm. The other was bandaged. They argued, and Garen eventually came up with two hundred as a rough estimate. Two hundred Goblin warriors here. And the rest of his tribe…he had no idea. Lots.

Rags frowned. Most Chieftains knew almost exactly how many Goblins they had in their tribe, but Garen seemed very casual. But she was busy overseeing ways to move the injured, and plotting their next destination. She wanted to take the tribes away from Liscor, back to the cave perhaps, or somewhere else they could rest and regroup.

She wanted to meet the other tribes, but Rags scowled when she heard one of her Goblin scouts reporting that they were dragging their heels, walking towards her tribe at a snail’s pace as word of her victory over the Red Fang tribe was done.

Garen was all for letting the tribes disperse as Rags deliberated what to do. She glared at him: she’d been thinking and he was interrupting her. No one bothered her when she was thinking, not even other Hobs. But Garen clearly thought he was more important than anyone else.

He was right, of course, but it was still annoying.

“Let tribes go. They will come if you tell. But you are not Goblin Lord.”

Not yet, and perhaps never. That was what Rags heard. She nodded reluctantly. With the Red Fang tribe, she would replenish most of the Goblins she’s lost, and as her tribe neared a thousand individuals, she would have trouble keeping track of them all. Managing the thousands of Goblins in all the allied tribes was beyond her, so it was wisest to keep the Chieftains apart rather than cram them together and risk a fight.

Tell them to go, then. But not far.

Garen nodded in agreement, and he sent two of his least injured riders to spread the message. Rags began moving her tribe north as the last Goblin corpses were buried, and then she and Garen found themselves moving at the center of her tribe, in a small space of their own.

Rags was used to it, but the fact that Garen was still following her was annoying. She glanced at him a few times before deciding to bite the poisonous toad, so to speak.

What do you want?

He grinned at her, unabashed by the tone in Rags’ voice. Garen patted his mount, the gigantic wolf he rode who was limping at his side, and replied to Rags casually.

“Am walking. Not good?”

Rags’ brows snapped together. She glared at him, ignoring his growling mount.

I am Chieftain.

“Yes. But I am better Goblin. Older. Wiser. Stronger. Must teach you before you are better Chieftain than I.”

She pondered this. Rags had never heard of a Chieftain being taught – they normally learned what they needed to from observation, or made up everything as they went along. It was a non-Goblin concept, something Erin might come up with. Rags didn’t entirely dislike it, but she had to make one point clear.

I am Chieftain. You are not.

She could have no fighting over her position, especially since Rags knew she would lose if he challenged her. Garen nodded.

“Will not fight, Chieftain. Do not want to lead.”

That was another odd statement, but Rags saw the truth of that once she saw the rest of the Red Fang Tribe. Her Goblins had been moving at a reasonably quick job for little over two hours when she heard a warning cry, and saw the Red Fang tribe approaching.

Her first reaction was of disappointment. Not because there were less Goblins than advertised; there were actually around three hundred by her quick count, and nearly forty wolves not including pups. It was a vast tribe, made even stronger by the fact that they had six Hobs with them, the highest number she’d seen outside of her own tribe.

And indeed, the Red Fang tribe was clearly a giant among the tribes of the area. They had quality armor on most of their warriors, and weapons to match. But Rags was disappointed because when she looked at the Goblins who were not warriors, she saw her own tribe, back when she had not been Chieftain.

All of the non-warriors were thin and scrawny. The children were ragged or naked, and the Red Fang tribe didn’t look like it was carrying much food at all. They were clearly a tribe of warriors, but most tribes Rags had encountered had a simple scale of welfare. If one Goblin was fed, they all were. True, the Chieftain would be fed most, but tribes with a strong fighting force seldom had food issues.

Yet this tribe did. Rags called a halt as she approached the tribe. Immediately, the Goblins bowed their heads and didn’t meet her eyes. She was in control.

Garen sauntered over as Rags did a quick circuit of her tribe. He poked her, and she debated knifing him.

“Should teach how to fight now. Be stronger.”

She shook her head. This was far more important. She had just acquired three hundred new bodies; it was time to reorganize and rethink her tribe’s structure.

Garen frowned, not understanding.

“What? Why wait?”

Rags sighed, but she grunted at him as she looked around at the tribe. They were all watching her intently, the Hobs especially for some reason. She hoped they wouldn’t be trouble. All of these Hobs looked even stronger than the ones in her tribe, and she would need each one.

Food. Clothing. Weapons. Sleeping place. Must have things.

“Food?”

Garen’s brows rose dismissively. He shook his head, and then pointed at a Goblin, seemingly at random.

“Chieftain wants food. Get food.”

The Goblin stared at Garen and then at Rags uncertainly, but no harder than Rags was doing. She watched as he poked a few Goblins and they began to shuffle off. They had no direction, no weapons outside of the ones the Goblins were carrying, no way of retrieving their food—

What are you doing?

Garen looked blankly at Rags.

“They get food. Kill something. Find something. Bring back.”

What if they didn’t have enough food? What about logistics, and the need to find a food source if the tribe would stay in the area? Garen just stared at Rags, and then pointed again.

“Hobs will take care of it.”

Rags looked over. Indeed, one of the Hobs had intercepted the food gathering group and was trying to give them orders. He gave Rags a look of long suffering and then she understood.

Garen might be a warrior beyond warriors, and unbeatable among Goblins, a devious attacker and even a former adventurer who knew more about Humans and other races than even other Chieftains…but he was no leader.

He had no levels in the [Chieftain] class, or even the [Leader] class. His idea of leadership was leading the small group of warriors he had handpicked and trained himself into combat, and letting the Hobs and other Goblins sort the rest out.

In fact, Rags learned to her mounting indignation, Garen hadn’t even really grown his tribe himself. Goblins had simply wandered towards his camp like moths drawn to a flame and he’d let them stay. The only reason he even had a tribe was because he felt the general urge to, but he was incapable of leading any more than his few hundred directly, despite his overwhelming strength.

It wasn’t a huge flaw in a person, but it was in a Chieftain. As the leader of the Flooded Waters Tribe, Rags felt for the Red Fang Tribe, so she sprang into action, much to Garen’s annoyance.

The first thing Rags did was cancel Garen’s idiotic food gathering order and send out scouts from her location. Not to find food; she wanted a place to make camp at the moment, and her scouts would report any good food sources around.

Next, Rags began identifying useful Goblins in the tribe while she ordered her tribe’s food stashes to be emptied to feed the hungry Red Fang goblins. She always brought as much food as her tribe could carry, and so Rags watched as it was devoured by the newcomers.

The Hobs of Garen’s tribe looked on with relief as Rags began separating the Goblins, identifying classes, making the children and mothers and elderly stay together—she took the six Hobs who she’d decided were fairly competent and gave them the task of overseeing the different groups in her tribe.

Rags had dedicated scavengers, hunters, warriors, and many other groups dedicated to doing one thing in her tribe. She’d set up her internal system so that at any given time one group of Goblins could be out doing something, another could be relaxing, and her warriors could be ready to assist or protect the camp at any time.

Garen had none of that. He wandered around as Rags struggled to find a way to manage his Carn Wolves. They were distrustful of her, but they seemed to realize that she was the new boss.

At last, Rags’ scouts came back with a number of locations they’d spotted, and she picked out a large forest sitting at the base of one of the mountains as a good place to stay for a while. They’d also told her that there was a herd of Corusdeer nearby, and as far as she was concerned, that was an excellent source of meat.

Normally Goblins helped mitigate the huge number of mouths to feed in their tribes by eating their dead. But Rags considered that having dead Goblins at all was a sign of failure, so she was extremely careful to find new food sources. By the looks of the Red Fang tribe, they’d been forced to eat their dead numerous times already.

Perhaps it was time to grow food out of the ground like she’d seen Drakes and Gnolls doing. Rags knew it was possible; she didn’t know if it was possible in the snow, but it would be nice to have a reliable source of food. For the moment though, she wanted the herd of deer slaughtered. They could salt the meat; another thing Garen’s tribe didn’t do.

Still, Corusdeer were dangerous. Normally Rags would hesitate to attack a herd, even with her Hobs. So she sent Garen instead. He frowned at her when she gave him the order, along with a large number of warriors armed with pikes and bows, slings, and crossbows to keep the deer at bay and strike them from afar.

“Why? I am not hunter.”

But he was strong. And more importantly, Rags had said so. She glared at him until he went, with strict orders to keep as many Goblins alive as possible.

He came back after Rags had firmly established her camp, with designated places to eat, sleep, and excrete. Garen eyed the orderly camp Rags had made, and the way the young Goblin was organizing several groups each led by a Hob to go out and enter caves and other dens for more food.

The former Goblin Chieftain dismissively tossed a Corusdeer’s carcass down at Rags’ feet. He’d beheaded the alpha stag in the group, and Rags was pleased to note that the group she’d sent with him was only down a few Goblins.

Garen wasn’t even wounded. His skin was like armor, but the deer hadn’t even gotten close enough to gore him. According to the Hobs that had gone with him, Garen had ignored their hunting formation – closed ranks of pikes and stakes to hold the deer back and archers striking deer on the edges of the herd – and had walked into the herd, swinging his sword and cutting down Corusdeer even as they turned the snow into fog.

No other Goblin could do that. Not even a Hob, or a Chieftain. Rags could see the admiration in the eyes of the other Goblins who had gone with them. She understood. She’d felt it herself; it wasn’t just seeing him fight like that which was amazing. She’d seen adventurers striding around in magnificent armor, slaying huge monsters. But this was different. Garen was a Goblin. He was one of them, a being who could fight like a hero.

He was what Rags had dreamed of being, before those dreams had been crushed. But seeing him made her want to be strong again. She was strong as a Chieftain, but as an individual Goblin?

“We talk now?”

Garen was irritated, but he grew less so when he realized there was more hot food available and a comfortable place that had been cleared of snow to sit in. The forest was an ideal campsite for Goblins, so long as Rags made it clear to keep fire away from the trees.

It was time to talk. Rags sat with Garen and they ate again, as she finally asked all the questions on her mind. Some she had worked out, but Garen confirmed the rest.

Garen Red Fang. It wasn’t just his tribe’s name, it was his own. He had been named by the Shaman of the Old Fire Tribe, but he had wandered away from his tribe as soon as he had grown older, dissatisfied with working for his Chieftain and wandering to become stronger.

And he had. Oh, he had. Garen had learned to fight by himself, and he’d leveled up as a [Warrior] quickly. Not only that; he’d become a Hob as well, and ended up terrorizing quite a stretch of land far to the north by himself, clashing with other Goblin Tribes and local monsters until he came to the attention of a Silver-rank team of adventurers.

They’d hunted him down, and nearly killed him, but something strange had happened then. Intrigued by a Goblin who was intelligent enough to fend for himself and clearly independent, the leader of the adventurers had spared his life, instead just chasing him away.

Garen had fled, but not far. The encounter with the adventurers had changed him as well; he grew curious of the Humans and other species who he’d only regarded as enemies and prey. Consumed by his desire to understand more, Garen actually disguised himself as a traveler, hiding his green skin and face behind robes and a crude mask and gone into villages and towns, listening to Humans talk.

His first few tries had been hugely unsuccessful, but Garen soon learned to speak passably in the Human language, and no one would suspect a Goblin of being so tall, or peaceful. Garen managed to even enter cities, usually in secret and while the guards at the gates weren’t watching. But he was strong and clever enough that the few times he was caught, he could fight his way out.

And so Garen had gone searching for the adventurers who’d spared him once before. He tracked them down, and after finding them, he’d challenged them a second time.

He lost again, but this time he’d volunteered to join their group. After much debate, he’d been accepted, and so Garen Red Fang had become the first Goblin to ever journey with adventurers. With his team, they’d take on normal monster-hunting requests and even explored dungeons, eventually progressing to Gold-rank status.

That was how Garen had gotten his sword, and become such a devastating warrior. He’d formed close bonds with the adventurers too, Rags gathered…until the day when he betrayed them.

That was the only thing Garen wouldn’t talk about. The tall Hobgoblin had clammed up about it, sucking the marrow out of a bone and staring moodily into the fire. Rags had let it drop, because the next part of his story was more important still.

After his betrayal, Garen couldn’t stay in the world of non-Goblins anymore. He’d retreated to the area north of Liscor, a land where Goblins were generally ignored aside from the monster-slaying requests posted with regularity in each village. He’d wandered around the High Passes, and even tamed a Carn Wolf when he began to desire a tribe.

In the truest Goblin fashion, Garen had found the biggest tribe around and challenged the Chieftain to a battle. He’d even allowed the Chieftain to fight with as many warriors as he wanted, but apparently the Hobgoblin in charge had taken one look at Garen and fled, quite sensibly too. Thus, Garen had his tribe.

Normally, the story would then become about Garen growing his tribe, thanks to his incredible abilities as a warrior. But as Rags had observed, Garen was a terrible Chieftain and he quickly realized that as well. So instead of expanding, the Red Fang tribe had established a local superiority, rivaled only by the Broken Spear Tribe and Ghostly Hand Tribes to the south.

Until the day the Goblin Lord had emerged.

This is where Garen paused, and Rags sat up. She understood why he’d done what he had, vaguely. He’d gathered his tribe, and the nearby ones, to form an alliance that would be able to defeat the Goblin Lord. The problem was that they were fractured, having no great Chieftain to lead them. Garen was strongest, but he couldn’t manage them effectively. But when he’d heard of an upstart Chieftain who’d absorbed several tribes and was using actual tactics and formations—

Well, he’d tested her, with blood and death, and she’d passed. But Rags wanted to know why he’d decided this Goblin Lord was so wrong.

She knew what all Goblins knew. Obey the Chieftain. But there was a sense—yes, a sense in her head that told her to obey a Goblin Lord. And a Goblin King? It was like the memory of the sun for someone who’d lived all their life in shadows. She wanted a King, so she couldn’t understand what was wrong with a Goblin Lord.

“He is wrong.”

That was what Garen said. He stared into the fire, tossing the fragments of the bone into it.

Who? Broken Spear Tribe Chieftain? Ghostly Hand Tribe Chieftain?

Rags was sure she would have heard if either was expanding; she would have expected them to go after her weak tribe first. But Garen shook his head.

“Neither. Different. Broken Spear Tribe Chieftain surrendered. Ghostly Hand Chieftain is dead.”

That rocked Rags back in her seat. The Chieftain of the Ghostly Hand Tribe was dead? But she was a [Shaman] capable of powerful magic! And yet, apparently the Goblin who’d replaced her as Chieftain and started expanding her tribe was more powerful still.

“I met him. Once.”

Garen had gone south, evading adventurers and cities to meet this new Chieftain when he’d first heard of his power. But the Red Fang’s leader had left as soon as he’d seen the Goblin.

“He is…bad. Bad Goblin.”

It was a word Rags had never heard spoken of another Goblin, but she understood his meaning. Bad Goblin. One who could not be trusted, could not be part of a Tribe. Who must be fought against, even if it meant war between Tribes.

So. I am Chieftain to fight.

Garen looked up and shrugged fractionally.

“Not yet. Goblin Lord is slow. Growing Tribes. Much time. Good. Need time to make you stronger.”

Stronger? Garen nodded.

“You are weak. Must be far stronger. I help.”

That was how Rags found herself sparring with Garen in the middle of her campsite after they’d eaten. She blinked at him as he picked up a tree branch and faced her. She had a shortsword and her buckler, but he only had a piece of wood.

Goblins and Hobs gathered to watch as Rags stood in front of Garen. It was a ludicrous matchup. Despite his lack of arms, he was twice her height and all muscle. She had muscle, but nothing like him.

“Attack me, Chieftain.”

She blinked at him. Rags gestured to her sword.

I will cut you.

Garen grinned at Rags lazily. He poked at her with the branch.

“Cannot. I will show you the difference between us. Your weakness.”

She hesitated. Garen raised a hand and beckoned.

“Come. You will not h—”

Rags lifted a finger and cast [Firefly]. The insect-bird made of fire flew at Garen’s face. He lost his smile and twisted out of the way, but the bird tried to descend on his torso.

Garen dodged backwards, incredibly fast, and swatted at the spell with his branch. His swing cut the air, but all that happened was that he set his weapon on fire.

Which was a good thing if he wanted to hurt Rags, but the firefly spell was still coming at Garen. He backpedaled, striking at the fiery thing again and again. Rags wondered if he didn’t know what to do when Garen hit the firefly again and it burst and vanished into wisps of flame.

Casually, Garen tossed the flaming branch into one of the fire pits and looked at Rags. He grinned.

“Spells can be broken.”

She stared at him. She had no idea you could do that. But now Garen was advancing, barehanded, and she raised her buckler.

She’d fought him once, seriously. Even if he’d been taking it easy on her, she had a chance. Before Garen could strike, Rags darted forwards, shortsword stabbing at his stomach. She saw him draw his right foot back—

When Rags came to, Garen was emptying a potion on her. She nearly screamed as the pain hit her.

Garen hadn’t bothered with dodging. He’d just kicked her shield arm hard enough to send her flying, rolling, and crashing across the campsite. It was enough to merit a potion, and as Garen pulled her up he only grinned.

“See? Weak.”

Rags glared at him, but she could find no words to argue against that.

—-

It was an odd thing, to be taught to fight. It was almost counterintuitive; all Goblins knew how to fight. But the difference between Garen and normal Goblins was that he knew how to fight well.

It wasn’t tactics or strategy. Rags understood that. It was positioning, the way you transitioned from blow to blow, even the way you stood and held your weapons. Garen gave her a crash-course on that before he moved to sparring.

He was big on sparring. It was one of the few things he did well as Chieftain, and Rags immediately saw the benefit of it. His warriors were the cream of the crop despite their low numbers, and they could hold their own even against larger opponents by virtue of their combat prowess.

She’d made it mandatory for all her warriors to spend time sparring, although she’d insisted on blunt weapons. For her and Garen, though, there was no need for restrictions.

“If you can hurt me, you are ready.”

So said Garen as he let Rags attack him, effortlessly dodging and parrying her blows with his sword. Occasionally he would attack, and when he did, Rags nearly always suffered for it.

Garen did not hold his blows back—much. Rags would go flying, find herself waking up in pain, or just occasionally, block and live to regret it. She complained to Garen, but he was relentless.

“Must hurt. Training only works when hurt. Level up cannot be without pain.”

That intrigued her. Rags stared at Garen after one training session.

Can level without fighting others?

He nodded.

“Slowly. Takes much time, but can.”

It was a revelation, but only to her. Apparently that was common knowledge among non-Goblins; just another way in which they were woefully behind. Indeed, when Rags went back into her memories of past Goblin’s lives she realized that older Chieftains had indeed leveled up by training themselves and their warriors.

Garen was intrigued by the Chieftain’s memories. As a poor one, he could barely look back more than one or two generations, but even he had a sense of his heritage.

“Goblin King. Was famous. I asked many questions, but much is history. In books.”

He couldn’t read books, and even his adventurer companions were wary of telling him much about the Goblin King. But what Garen did know was fascinating to Rags as well.

“Was not always warlike. Was peaceful.”

Peaceful? Yes, apparently so. Rags found that some of the Chieftains she’d conquered – the Gold Stone Chieftain in particular – knew more about Goblin history than she did. It was custom for Chieftains to meet and trade on occasion, another thing that neither Rags nor Garen knew.

Neither of them was a conventional Chieftain. But Rags led by virtue of her superior mind which the other tribes respected, and Garen was strong, which was enough.

And yet, apparently the old Goblin King had been beloved by Goblins. That was what the Gold Stone Chieftain claimed.

Was strong. Was smart. Traded with Humans.

Rags and Garen exchanged looks.

“Traded?”

The Gold Stone Chieftain nodded importantly as he relayed this information while they ate. The Goblin King had had a tribe larger than any other, and he had been largely peaceful. He had been a Goblin Chieftain at first, and then a Goblin Lord, and then had come the day when others called him Goblin King.

It had been glorious, apparently. What few scraps the Gold Stone Chieftain could recall was of his ancestors being happy, fed, and safe. But then something…bad had happened, and there had been war.

Terrible war.

Rags had no idea what to make of that, but one thing was clear: a Goblin Lord was close enough to being a King that all the other species grew very nervous when one emerged. That was enough for them to send armies against the Goblin Lord. They might win or they might fail; either way, it gave her time to make her tribe stronger.

“You do not need to make tribe stronger. You need to be stronger.”

So Garen insisted, and Rags agreed. In part. She willingly practiced with him, but she wanted a strong tribe to rely on as well. Garen disagreed.

“I am [Dragoon]! Strongest [Warrior] and [Rider] combined!”

He thumped his chest and announced proudly to the awestruck Goblins. Rags had never heard of a Goblin receiving a unique class, but Garen had high levels in both classes. And he was a [Beast Tamer].

“I tamed wolves. Hit them. Made obey. Fed with. Hunted with. Slept with.”

His Carn Wolf was a massive alpha wolf among his pack. On his back, Garen was twice as dangerous, and he claimed he was more than a match for any single Gold-rank adventurer, even with magical items. Garen had a few of his own as well; a ring that helped protect him from arrows, another that resisted poisons, and his sword.

Rags stared at the crimson blade suspiciously. It was sharp, and Garen apparently never needed to polish it, but there was nothing overtly magical about it.

Garen grinned as he held it aloft. He muttered a word, and the blade began to glow white hot. He used it to cut a branch apart and watched in satisfaction as the wood caught on fire. Rags grumbled as she stamped out the flames, but she was impressed.

“Is good not to show. Magical blade helps against strong monster. Good surprise.”

Garen put his blade in the ground and eyed Rags’ bronze weaponry pointedly.

“Need magic weapons. Very important.”

He also wanted her to stop leveling up in other classes. Garen had many things he wanted, but he was insistent on this point.

“Must choose what to do. Cannot be everything. Strong warriors are one thing. Archer. Fighter. Mage. Choose.”

Rags disliked that part of him the most. She disliked being pushed to do anything, especially since he was under her authority. But Garen seemed to regard himself as her teacher and thus he treated her orders as suggestions to be ignored or interpreted. It wasn’t ideal, but Rags was willing to admit that she wasn’t able to risk a confrontation with him just yet. As he said, she was too weak.

—-

A few days after they had settled in the forest, Garen came to Rags holding one of the stone crossbows she’d invented. He tossed it dismissively on the ground before her, as he often did when he found something lacking.

“Too weak.”

She blinked at him. Rags was trying to use one of the holes the Goblins had dug, but Garen didn’t even seem to care. She glared at him, but the former Chieftain clearly wanted a reply now.

Not weak. Good weapon. Easy to use.

He shook his head.

“Too weak. Cannot hurt enough. Arrows better.”

He demonstrated, firing the crossbow at his own palm at point-blank range. The clay pellet shattered harmlessly on his skin. Garen shook his head again.

“For hunters. Not for fighting.”

Rags partly disagreed. The stone crossbows were excellent weapons, and not just for hunting. Their ease of use and cheap ammunition meant they were perfect weapons to give to Goblins who weren’t active warriors. Anyone could use one, which meant she could arm all the children and noncombatants with a crossbow.

But again, Garen was convinced he was right, and as soon as Rags was finished doing her business, she explained why she didn’t have more ‘proper’ crossbows.

No parts. Need metal. Wood. Turning things.

Garen blinked at Rags, uncomprehending. She showed him the screws and explained how hard it was to get them. He just shook his head and laughed.

“Hard? Not hard! Very easy. Come!”

That was how Rags found herself sitting on a hill, staring down at one of the roads leading out of a city. The Goblins could hide fairly well in the snow, and so Garen brought her and a group of warriors out so they could watch the traffic going between Human cities. He’d posted scouts on other hills and observation points, waiting for the right item.

“There.”

Garen pointed, and Rags saw a covered wagon rumbling out of the city, pulled by a pair of horses and guarded by several armed warriors. She squinted.

Turning things?

Garen had no idea, but it was an ideal target nevertheless, according to him. He explained.

“Not Runner. Slow. No strong guards. Full of not-valuable things. Food, or other things.”

Runners were too hard to catch for most Goblins. Besides, they tended to post large bounties if they were attacked, and Garen had a policy to avoid conflicts with adventurers. If they killed Goblins, that was bad. But if the Goblins killed the adventurers, more would come, and higher-level ones, too.

But wagons? Wagons were fine. Garen had learned to target a few from each city to avoid raising suspicions. He’d even identified some Runners who were good targets.

“See? Thin girl.”

He pointed one slower City Runner out to Rags as she left the city with a few others. According to Garen, she ran with a few City runners at all times and she was a coward. It was easy to send a few Goblins after her and make her drop her packs.

On the other hand, there was a slow runner the Goblins avoided. He pointed her out as well. She was big, ran slowly, but apparently she was made of tougher stuff.

“Strong. She punches hard. And she had nothing good.”

He scowled at her. Rags was of the personal opinion that a crossbow bolt between the eyes would solve any problem, but Garen had insisted that not killing Runners was the smart thing to do, and she reluctantly deferred to his judgment.

They shadowed the caravan with the wagon for several miles as it pulled out of sight of the main city. It was still along the main road, but Garen’s tribe was experienced at these kinds of raids.

He pulled his warriors out of cover and mounted them up behind a hill. Then, Garen had Rags wait in some bushes with archers while his mounted Goblins drew closer to the caravan. Rags held her black crossbow, sighting down the shaft as she waited.

The caravan was rumbling along, warriors reasonably alert, when the travelers on the road heard the howl of a Carn Wolf. It was quickly joined by others, and the Humans realized a pack was hunting.

Most of the Humans began to run immediately. The slower-moving wagons and carts were abandoned, and the warriors on the road drew close to their caravan, closing ranks and looking around wildly.

It was a good tactic. They could probably scare away the Carn Wolves, especially since they had a mage in their group. But they weren’t prepared for mounted Goblins. The Humans gaped in shock and terror as Garen burst out of his cover with his warriors, shouting and charging the Humans.

Rags saw the [Mage] stand up on the wagon and aim at Garen. Her finger pulled on the trigger of her crossbow, and she felt the crossbow snap forwards and the mage fell down. The Humans looked around wildly as her archers stood up, and Garen crashed into them, sword slicing apart their armor with ease.

It was over in minutes. Garen had his Goblins loot the cart, and then he burnt the entire thing and scattered the pieces, as if a spell had obliterated both cart and Humans. His warriors let their mounts savage the dead Humans, and then they were away with their spoils.

As it happened, the cart had been carrying a bunch of weapons, no doubt for sale in another city. Garen gleefully showed the wonderful blades and shields to Rags, and she had to admit that the raid had been a huge success.

Even so, a part of Rags hurt as the Goblins raced away with their prize. She stopped and stood next to one of the bodies, staring down at it.

A female Human stared blankly up at Rags, red hair made redder by blood. Rags bent down and closed her eyes.

Garen walked over, his wolf sniffing at the dead Human. He looked dismissively at the body.

“Annoying mage. Good shot.”

Rags had killed the woman with a bolt in her back. The smaller Goblin shook her head. She wasn’t feeling guilty—no, not really. But she stared at the woman’s face and thought of Erin.

Garen had no such feelings. He kicked the woman dismissively.

“Dead Human. Do not worry. No one will come.”

Rags shook her head.

Not all Humans bad. Some…good.

Garen laughed at her. He shook his head.

“All bad. They hate us. Fear us. We are trash to them.”

That was true and not true. Rags remembered being hunted, remembered the fear and terror and hatred she had of Humans. But then she had met Erin, and her life had changed.

Not all. One is not.

Garen looked at Rags curiously. How could she explain in their limited language about Erin, a Human who defied explanations? Garen listened, but dismissively.

“I have met many Humans. All are the same.”

His cavalier dismissal of Rags’ opinions angered her. She glared at him.

What about party? Adventurers. All same?

Garen hesitated.

“That is different.”

How?

He didn’t want to say. Garen shook his head.

“Is not important.”

Tell.

He stared at her. Rags folded her arms. She was Chieftain. If he wouldn’t obey, then he was not part of her Tribe. Garen hesitated, ground his teeth, and shook his head.

“Different. Not Humans.”

Drakes? Gnolls? But Garen shook his head. He muttered, trying to find the words to describe it.

“Not Human. Half. Part. Were different. Like me.”

He broke off their conversation, turned his mount, and insisted it was time to go. Rags frowned, but she let him hoist her up and ride back to camp. But Garen’s past was a riddle to her, and she wanted answers.

Why kill them? Why betray?

For several days Garen refused to answer even as Rags pressed him. But at last he gave in. He took her aside and showed her something. Something small.

A key.

Just a key. It was a black key, made of a shining material that looked like onyx. It was clearly valuable, but it was just a key, not some magical weapon or powerful artifact. Rags stared at it in complete disappointment, but Garen tucked it away in his belt, more careful with it than he was with his sword. He tapped his belt.

“Is most valuable thing. The key is important.”

Worth betraying his entire party over? Garen nodded.

“Is the key the last Goblin King wanted.”

Rags stared. But that was all Garen would say. He had killed his fellow adventurers over the key when they had found it at the bottom of a dungeon. They had recognized the artifact on sight, and Garen had demanded it for himself. When they had refused, he had fought and been forced to kill many of them before fleeing with the key.

But what did it unlock? Garen knew, but he wouldn’t tell Rags. It was another mystery, but he was adamant that neither he nor she could reach the thing the key unlocked.

“Too dangerous. Not even old Goblin King could reach. Is death beyond death where treasure hidden. Maybe someday tell. Not today.”

And that was it. Garen refused to talk more about it, and Rags found herself pondering the key, but not often. She had so much to do!

Manage her tribe. Find new food sources. Meet new Chieftains. Create new weapons. Devise tactics and formations. Train with Garen. Learn to ride?

Yes, of all the things Rags found herself doing, riding was one of the most surprising things. After she’d met with one of the smaller Goblin tribes to show the new Chieftains who was boss, Garen had taken her aside and shown her his wolves.

He was a [Beast Tamer] and the animals responded to him. But his tribe had adopted the Carn Wolves and so many Goblins knew how to ride and care for the animals even if they didn’t have the class. But Garen was of the opinion that Rags should know how to ride, and so he wanted to find her a mount.

It was a tricky problem. All of his Goblin riders were normal-sized Goblins, not Hobs, since the Carn Wolves could only support so much weight. But Garen had chosen the biggest normal Goblins to ride. Rags was still young, and she was so small that it would be hard to control even a small Carn Wolf.

But Garen had a solution. He brought her to a den the Carn Wolves had created, and showed her a litter of pups that had just been born. Rags eyed the half-blind, furry creatures with a bit of disgust, but Garen bent and picked one up, ignoring the objections of the nursing mother.

“Here. Good wolf.”

He showed her an albino wolf, a runt of the pack. The wolf had glorious white fur, and it blinked at Rags. The Goblin blinked back. She looked at Garen and he explained.

“Wolf will grow. Will become good mount for you. Raise. Teach. Ride.”

He offered the cub to her, but Rags shook her head. She thought about the cub, and looked at Garen.

Not good.

He raised an eyebrow.

“Why? Too small? Will grow.”

She shook her head.

White wolf. Is target. Normal one better.

Garen stared at her for a few seconds, and then laughed. He put the small albino wolf back with the others, and the small thing bumped over to his mother’s teat and latched on.

“I will find another. Teach you to ride a normal one.”

And so their days continued, but with a small problem. Rags knew she was growing, learning, and her tribe was certainly benefiting from the time to rearm and grow. But she herself was…impatient. She found herself looking south more and more often, until only a week after her victory over the Red Fang tribe, Garen found her staring south on a hilltop.

“What, Chieftain?”

He still used her title so casually. Rags made a face, but she didn’t answer right away. She was thinking.

She’d left so much behind in Liscor. Not just the inn and the games of chess, but the dungeon. Now of course she was bigger, more important, with a huge tribe at her disposal. But—

But she couldn’t help wanting to go back. She was missing something, Rags felt. Garen was teaching her how to be stronger in his own way, but he was not enough.

What would Erin do? She was weaker than Garen, but she had her own strength. And she had things he had never dreamed of. She had defeated Skinner, and even made friends with the terrifying bugs. Her skeleton lived even though he was dead, and the dungeon—

Rags’ fist clenched. Garen looked at her curiously. He was the strongest Goblin she had met, but was he stronger than Relc? He was a single Goblin, and he thought that was fine, but it wasn’t.

She’d wanted to be strong. She’d wanted to be able to fight for herself, but now she was a Chieftain. Would she become one Goblin, mighty by herself but held back by weaklings?

No, no. There had to be something else. Goblins couldn’t just be like Garen’s tribe, a group of powerful Goblins still inferior to a group of similarly trained and armed Humans. They had to become stronger some other way.

He didn’t know how. But Erin might. She might. And suddenly Rags knew what she wanted.

She looked at Garen. The tall Goblin was staring at her expectantly. Well, he’d snuck into a city once, hadn’t he? She met his curious gaze and explained what she wanted to do. Garen stared at her, and then laughed and laughed until he was nearly sick.

—-

Two Goblins walked through the snow towards Liscor. They were Goblins, but no one looking at them would have made the connection. Externally, they were hooded travelers, a father and daughter perhaps, unwisely travelling in such harsh conditions by themselves down the main road.

The few travelers who passed by didn’t even give the two a second glance, other than to shout greetings. Both travelers waved back, and in no time they came to the city gates. But here they took a detour and walked south around the walls, towards a small inn on a hill twenty minutes’ walk away from the city.

It was a simple inn, but well-crafted, with glass windows of all things. The tall traveler stopped as the smaller one led the way. They would stop for something to eat perhaps, or a bit of conversation. Rather, to listen to conversations. Really, it didn’t matter what happened so long as they were there. The inn was a place of safety, and at least one of the two Goblins was very curious as to what he would find inside.

But something curious happened as the two approached. A black carriage suddenly ran through the snow, making both Goblins stop and watch in amazement as ghostly horses pulled the vehicle to a complete stop. Someone got out. It was a young Human girl that one of the Goblins recognized. She waved to the driver inside, and then walked to her inn.

That was the first interesting thing that happened. The next was that shortly after visiting, a Drake, an Antinium, another Drake [Receptionist], a Human [Scout], and finally, an annoyed [Princess] and a skeleton entered the inn shortly after the girl did. The Goblins hesitated, but entered the inn as well.

And then there was a fight. But that was hardly unusual.

This is the tale of the Wandering Inn, a day before Ryoka returned to Liscor. A day before that, Erin had left her inn behind. She had gone to the City of Adventurers, Invrisil. And there she had met Lady Magnolia for the first time.

2.37

Erin sat on an expensive cushion in an expensive coach, staring at a [Butler] driving the vehicle pulled by magical (and probably expensive) ghost horses and tried not to get anything dirty. Her ears were still ringing.

“I demand to be taken along!”

Lyon had screamed and thrown things and even tried to hit the impassive [Butler] for the better part of an hour. The poor man had stood immobile and unyielding in the face of it all. In fact, Reynold the [Butler] had repeated only one thing:

“The invitation is extended to Miss Solstice alone. I apologize for the inconvenience.”

In the end, Erin had to forcibly restrain Lyon via use of Toren. She’d told him to close the inn until she was gone, to look after Lyon, and then she’d run into Liscor and told Selys what was happening.

One confused conversation and a sign on the inn’s door later, Erin was in the coach, wondering if she’d made a horrible mistake. The landscape blurred past her, ground and trees and even people disappearing in a blink of an eye.

It was very much like being in a car, except that even cars rumbled and moved left and right and were generally unpleasant to be in for longer than forty minutes.

But this carriage was smooth. Erin didn’t even feel like she was really moving. It felt unreal, and she was used to taking airplanes and cars around.

But the [Butler] seemed to be completely at home as he steered the carriage…somehow. There was a wall with an open window that Erin could speak to him through, but most of her view was blocked.

Erin guessed that normally this carriage would have been full of rich people, probably sipping fine wine and talking about important things. She felt out of place inside of it, but at least there was wine and food available.

Quite a lot of it, in fact. A bottle of wine sat in a bucket of ice while small crackers, cheeses, and even some fruits Erin hadn’t seen in the markets were carefully arranged for her consumption. Erin was still too afraid to touch anything, even though she was getting tempted by the spread.

“I do apologize for the sparse accommodations.”

Reynold looked back apologetically at one point and delivered that shocking statement as if he really was sorry. Erin just blinked back at him in astonishment.

“What? No! It’s great! I mean, this is so much—and your carriage is so fast.”

“Your words are too kind. Please partake of the refreshments. If there is anything I can do, do not hesitate to ask.”

Erin nodded, and Reynold returned his focus back to the road. He was a very silent guy, or maybe it was just the fact that he was a [Butler]. It had taken her a few tries to even get him to tell her his name.

She nibbled nervously at a cracker smeared with cheese and ate nothing more. It was a long, long drive. Reynold had told her the trip would take at least four hours, and after fifteen minutes she was already antsy and bored. So Erin did what she did best:

Talk.

“So uh, you’re a [Butler]. What do you do?”

“I serve the Reinhart house, Miss.”

“Oh, right, right. Like uh, cleaning things and welcoming guests?”

“…That is largely correct, Miss.”

“But sort of incorrect? Do you always travel around like this? How do the ghost horses work? What if you get attacked? Do you want some of this cheese? There’s lots.”

Two hours in she got him talking.

“In truth, Miss—”

“Erin.”

“…Erin. Well, in truth I’d say that most folk wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between a normal vintage and a well-aged reserve. You see, it really comes down to the situations in which a bottle is enjoyed in.”

“Oh, really? I mean, I can’t really tell the difference—not that I’ve had much. But how can you tell? Do you have a really good sense of taste or something?”

Reynold chuckled softly.

“I? Hardly. While it is true the [Butler] class has several qualities and Skills that overlap with [Gourmet] and other such critical classes, the true test of experience lies in how much wine you drink and the pace at which you drink.”

“Ooh. I think I get it.”

“Quite. A proper tasting should involve first sampling the wine’s bouquet—that is to say, aroma—before slowly imbibing the drink. Simply tossing it down will ruin the subtle flavors of each sip, and they are quite exquisite.”

“So you’ve had a lot of expensive wines? Because you serve a lot of them, right?”

“Indeed. It is one of my functions to ensure that I do not serve an inferior glass. Also, it is a custom dating back to the time when poison was used liberally in drinks. Not that I fear being poisoned. And should I just mention it—pairing the right food to go with a glass of wine is often an art form in itself. Do try some of the Perisgraé Cheese with the wine, will you?”

Erin did.

“This is really good! You should have some!”

“It would hardly be—”

“I’m putting some through the window! Here!”

“Ah. Thank you.”

“Mm. This cheese doesn’t taste like anything I’ve had before. What’s it from?”

“A goat subspecies that eats rocks, I believe.”

“Bufh. Really?”

Erin coughed and eyed the cheese. It didn’t taste like rocks.

“Indeed. A number of excellent foods come from rare magical species. Alas, such products are inevitably in short supply, but Lady Reinhart has the means to secure even the rarest of delicacies. Some of her most prized wines were made from plants and fruits no longer present in this world.”

“Wow.”

Erin enjoyed talking with Reynold, and she got the impression that he was surprised that he was enjoying talking to her. They chattered on about small things for an hour or two; he told her that Lady Magnolia was quite rich and had many servants with lots of levels in strange classes, but he was apparently not allowed to say more.

Still, it was good to make a friend, and Erin enjoyed his tips on how to best savor the snacks in front of her. She thought she might buy a few cheap bottles of wine when she got back to the inn. Or maybe she could make some herself? She had a Skill for that, didn’t she?

But once their conversation had lapsed into silence, Erin found herself worrying. There were butterflies in her stomach. Massive, flesh-eating ones that were probably a real thing in some part of this world.

Everything had happened so suddenly. One minute she’d been in her inn, the next she was going farther and faster than she’d ever gone in this world. Reynold assured her everything would be alright, but Erin was still worried.

Lady Magnolia. Ryoka had told Erin briefly about her, but from what she’d said, Lady Magnolia was just some rich woman who liked expensive things. She’d apparently gotten interested in Ryoka and started hiring people to follow her, but that didn’t exactly explain the magical carriage and butler appearing out of nowhere. How had she found out Erin was from another world? Had Ryoka told her? That didn’t seem likely. And she’d found other people from Erin’s world?

How? Where had they been? Erin stopped eating as she wondered. What would they be like? Who were they? Did they know anything about why all this had happened?

When the coach finally began to slow and then stopped and Reynold opened the door, he found Erin in a state of near-panic. The sight of his distinguished mustache helped calm her down. Maybe it was just his suit. It was so cool.

“We’ve arrived, Miss Solstice. Allow me to escort you out.”

Caught up in her thoughts, Erin had completely neglected to look out the windows in the last half of her trip. If she had, she would have witnessed the famed city of adventurers, Invrisil, and probably be shocked and amazed. But as soon as Erin’s foot touched the paved pathway and she looked around and found herself on Lady Magnolia Reinhart’s estate—

“Oh.”

That was all Erin said. She stared around, slowly taking in the fact that she was standing in a courtyard…leading up to a huge wall with holes in it…which turned out to be a house…a big house…with architecture…

She had expected a mansion. She hadn’t expected…this.

Ryoka had visited Lady Magnolia’s home in Celum, but to compare that modest space to the true home of Lady Magnolia Reinhart was to compare a one-room apartment to Versailles.

Erin had seen pictures of mansions owned by celebrities and millionaires, so she wasn’t exactly blown away by the size of the Lady Magnolia’s home. It was big, yes, but still believable. What left her speechless was the Architecture.

It had to be Architecture, because it was the kind of thing that couldn’t go uncapitalized. The best way Erin could think of it was that there were no flat spaces. Houses in her world tended to have flat surfaces as walls, and indeed, most skyscrapers were just giant rectangles with the occasional artistic design.

But this was a building made back in the time when people took years or even decades to build structures. It had art in every inch of the building. Erin stared up at the sculptures carved into the walls, and the decorative reliefs made of metal and stone. Words like crenellation, fenestration, and porte cochère leapt into her head, although that last word was just because Erin had taken French class at one point. And failed.

But still, even that would have been comparable to some of the better antiquities in Erin’s world. What set Magnolia’s home apart was the magic. There was a lot of it.

It was in the air. Literally in the air. Erin stared up at a cloud, a cloud moving just twenty feet off of the ground in what looked like the massive garden. It was a dark storm cloud, and it was raining into the lush vegetation. Another cloud enshrouded a section of Lady Magnolia’s mansion, engulfing the topmost windows. Erin longed to reach out and touch it, but—

A fish swam across the front of the mansion. Erin blinked, but she hadn’t gone insane. Not yet. A silvery fish swam across one glass window as if it were underwater and then leapt into the next window, so lifelike that Erin had to convince herself that part of the estate wasn’t underwater.

“Ah. The intruder defenses are activated.”

Reynold murmured that quietly as he stood beside Erin, perfectly at attention. She blinked and looked at him, but he stared ahead as if he’d said nothing.

“What does that mean? The fishes?”

They weren’t alone. A wolf prowled across the front of the building, and a bird flew across the roof.

“Quite. But do note the guard Golems to your left.”

Erin turned her head and gasped. Both Rags and Toren would have immediately recognized the towering behemoths clad in steel armor, although these Golems were made of silvery metal rather than black. They were also, disconcertingly, gilded with pink metal. It did not make them cute or less threatening. And both Goblin and Skeleton probably would have run away immediately given that instead of one enchanted suit of armor, there were four.

They walked with mechanical precision, patrolling the large courtyard and grounds in front of Lady Magnolia’s gated estate. Erin’s eyes bugged out as she saw the Golems; when she looked up, they nearly popped out of her head.

“Oh my god! It’s a Pegasus! A Pegasus!”

Reynold tried to pry Erin off of his arm as she grabbed him.

“Please calm yourself, Miss Solstice. It is a spell. A summoned guardian. It is not real.”

“Can I fly it!?”

The [Butler] coughed and Erin caught a hold of herself.

“Right, probably not. Sorry. How is all this possible? I mean, Ryoka said—but—how? Is Magnolia really that rich?”

Reynold lifted one eyebrow.

“Lady Magnolia? She is the heir to the Reinhart family and one of the richest individuals on the continent.”

Erin stared at him. For the first time, she began to wonder just exactly what Ryoka had done and said to get Lady Magnolia’s attention.

“Miss Solstice?”

Erin turned as Reynold snapped back to even more perfect attention. She saw a tall woman dressed in a somber black dress, as official-looking and impressive as Reynold’s own attire. She was flanked by two other women, dressed like English maids or…Japanese cosplayers.

There were frills. And even bows. And a certain white and black color coordination that struck the eye. But the two maids were clearly following their leader, who turned out to be a maid herself.

“Miss Solstice? My name is Ressa. I am the [Head Maid] in service to Lady Magnolia. I will take you to her, if you would follow me?”

Erin gaped. Then she rallied and gaped harder.

“Um. Wow. Okay. Uh.”

She looked around. Reynold was standing straight and staring ahead. Erin hesitated, and then nodded.

“Thanks for taking me out here.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss Solstice. I trust that you will enjoy your stay.”

He answered her politely and without meeting her eyes. Erin felt a pang, but then Ressa was by her side.

“If you will follow me? Lady Magnolia Reinhart awaits your company.”

There was nothing to do but follow. In fact, not one person hesitated as Ressa led the way into the mansions. The double doors swung out as if they were automatic when they were in fact, magical. She strode along so quickly that Erin had to move fast to keep up.

But again, who would argue with Ressa? Erin might not have known it, but just one look at Ressa was a glimpse into her personality and function in the Reinhart household.

Ressa looked almost inhumanly good. It was a feature of her class, although Erin couldn’t have known that. All Erin did know was that Ressa looked how she wanted to look when she was full of bad self-esteem and dreamed of being taller and a supermodel. She was beautiful, but also stern and imposing. Exactly like the head matron or schoolmistress out of some old children’s book.

Or a queen.

And there was certainly something queen-like about the way Ressa strode through the halls and the servants bobbed their heads to her—or maybe Erin—and began to work twice as hard.

Erin noticed that with part of her mind, but the rest of her was trying to take in the mansion that Ressa seemed determined not to show her. Paintings, statues, and what looked like magical artifacts blended together with long corridors and rooms filled with wonderful furniture and objects that disappeared as Erin moved past.

It was all too much to take in. Erin could barely focus on one thing at a time; her eyes would catch on something and then transition to something else, so the only thing she remembered was wealth and beauty and grandeur.

And that was sort of annoying. Erin frowned. She looked at Ressa’s back as she passed what looked like a gallery of magical items in glass cases. She opened her mouth, hesitated, and then spoke up.

“Excuse me. Could we slow down for a second?”

The air froze. The servants trailing Erin and Ressa flinched. The tall woman looked over at Erin.

“What was that?”

“Oh, sorry. I just wanted to look at some of this stuff. It’s really incredible. Unless Lady Magnolia is waiting for me?”

Erin blinked innocently up at Ressa. The [Head Maid] hesitated.

“Lady Magnolia is extremely busy at the moment. You may wait for her in a dressing room.”

She was disarmed by the smile the younger woman gave her.

“Oh. If she’s busy I wouldn’t want to disturb her. Can I just look at these displays instead of waiting in a room? It’s really amazing.”

Reynold seemed to be trying to swallow his tongue, and the maids were staring between Erin and Ressa and slowly trying to edge away. Ressa blinked, but then her brows snapped together.

Erin felt the slightest tingling in her gut, and a vague sense of unease passed through her—for just an instant. She blinked, and it was gone like a moment of indigestion. She looked at Ressa and wondered if she was going to let Erin look. She was staring at Erin’s face pretty hard. Thinking? Erin wouldn’t want to get anyone in trouble.

After a few seconds, Erin realized that this was intimidation, not pondering thought. Erin stared back, not smiling anymore. Was the other woman trying to scare her? She was tall, but that wasn’t scary.

Again, the briefest moment of unease passed through Erin as Ressa’s glare seemed to intensify. But Erin just stared back. She’d looked at Skinner; this wasn’t very scary.

And now Ressa seemed confused. Erin looked around as she scratched her back awkwardly. Reynold and the other two maids looked pale. Was something happening? Was Ressa using a Skill? Why wasn’t it working on Erin?

Maybe it was some kind of intimidation skill. Erin frowned. Should she get upset? But maybe Ressa just wanted to do her job well. It couldn’t be easy, leading people around all the time.

“Um. Is that too much of a bother?”

Ressa blinked. The tingling in Erin’s stomach faded, and she heard people start breathing again. The head of Lady Magnolia’s staff stared at Erin and slowly nodded her head.

“The drawing room may wait a while longer. What do you want to know?”

Erin shrugged.

“I don’t know. It just looks interesting. Is everything magical?”

She pointed.

“What does that thing do?”

—-

“…This sword was used by the young Lady Magnolia during her first battle at the pass in Liscor during the First Antinium War. She successfully defended herself and injured four Soldiers when they broke through the ring of guards to attack her. You will note the enchantments for sharpness and frost etched onto the blade.”

As it happened, Ressa lectured like a teacher as well, with excellent oratory skills and clearly a lot of passion when it came to her mistress. Erin nodded approvingly as she studied the shortsword in one of the many cases on display down a long hallway with windows looking out on the courtyard.

“Yeah. It’s shiny.”

Ressa glanced at Erin as the girl held her hands just over the lid of the glass case. It wasn’t locked, but Erin had the definite impression this was a ‘no touch’ sort of deal. She could actually feel the air growing colder around the pedestal.

“And what’s that? Is that a powerful ring?”

Erin moved over to the next object on display. Ressa nodded stiffly as maids and servants stared at the two and furtively scurried around behind their backs.

“…A ring of teleportation. Or should I say, [Lesser Teleport]. It is fixed to an anchor, but no mages have been able to discern where the ring leads to. Putting it on might be deadly, hence the reason it is kept here.”

“But it’s not guarded or anything. Isn’t it dangerous if someone teleports to this ring?”

Ressa shook her head. It had taken a few minutes for her to start talking, but Erin had finally gotten her to explain what each object was and did outside of a one sentence reply. Either she was nicer than she looked, or she’d just given up trying to scare Erin.

“Each object here is protected by the enchantments of the mansion. Only a truly powerful mage would be able to penetrate the wards here.”

“But what if they did break through? And what if they, I dunno, brought an army?”

“That would be amusing to see.”

There was a glint in Ressa’s eyes. Erin blinked, and then nodded slowly.

“Right. So all of these things here are really valuable, right?”

“To a…certain extent. They are hardly the most prized artifacts in the Reinhart’s possessions, but they are important curios.”

“Like this other ring? What does it do?”

“It conjures a Hellhound to protect and defend the wearer for four hours. It can only be used once a month unless recharged with magic sooner, and the summoning time takes one minute.”

“Whoa.”

Erin eyed the ring. It looked like someone had melted and then twisted together metal and some kind of red stone to form the band that sat on a dark purple pillow.

“That sounds really useful. But why not give this to a servant? It could be useful when they’re out doing things. I mean, I was sort of worried we’d be attacked on the way here.”

Ressa sniffed dismissively.

“The [Butler] assigned to escort you has a number of magical items at his disposal and adequate Skills to ward off most attacks.”

“The [Butler]—you mean Reynold?”

Ressa paused. She looked at Erin oddly.

“…Yes. I do apologize if he acted with undue familiarity towards you.”

“What? Oh no, no!”

Erin waved her hands frantically at Ressa and nearly knocked over another pedestal that held a key in a display case. Ressa silently moved Erin away from the displays.

“I had a great ride. He was really nice! I just talked to him and he told me about wine and stuff.”

“Wine? Ah. One of Reynold’s duties is overseeing the wine collection.”

“Yeah. He talked about that. I made him, really. So if he’s in trouble—”

“Please, pay no mind to my comment. I am…glad you found his company so refreshing.”

Ressa glanced out the window as she spoke, and then looked at Erin. She nodded slightly.

“I believe Lady Magnolia will be finished with her business shortly. If you would accompany me?”

“Oh. Sure.”

Erin awkwardly trailed after Ressa. This time the [Head Maid] didn’t walk nearly so fast, so Erin could stare around the mansion.

“This place really is the greatest. I haven’t seen anything like it.”

“Truly?”

Ressa seemed surprised, but Erin nodded.

“Yeah! There’s magic and maids and butlers and all kinds of amazing things. Like that painting of the mountain. I’ve never been in any place as fancy as this.”

“I would have assumed you had seen similar sights. You come from a world far more…advanced than ours, do you not?”

Erin paused in surprise. But that was right, if Lady Magnolia knew Erin was from another world and had people here, they would have talked to Ressa and the others.

“…Yeah, but I mean, it’s nothing special.”

“You fly through the air like the greatest of [Archmages] I am told. And you build buildings into the sky.”

“What, skyscrapers? They’re nothing special. Not like this.”

Erin was no world traveler, but she had visited other countries, often to play in chess tournaments. And she had visited fancy hotels (and not so fancy ones), but they were products of steel and glass. As magnificent as they got, they were still creations of a company that was probably less than a hundred years old.

And no hotel Erin had ever stayed at had a Van Gogh behind the receptionist’s desk or a statue carved by Rodin in their lobby. Lady Magnolia’s home had more works of art than Erin could count; it was like she’d turned a museum into her home.

And the magic. The magic was far beyond anything Erin had ever seen. There was something real to the statues of armor and the summoned guard Pegasus that no CGI or animation could replicate.

“I think your world is a lot more fantastic than mine. We have some things that are more advanced, but that’s only technology. We don’t have magic.”

Erin said it truthfully, but Ressa stopped walking for a second and looked at her in surprise.

“Thank you.”

For what? Erin opened her mouth, but the maid began walking again.

“We are entering the guest suite of the mansion. If you will inform me of your preferences, I will have food and drink prepared for you immediately. I do not expect Lady Reinhart will be occupied for more than—”

“It’s her!”

The loud voice was a shout of surprise and jubilation, totally at odds with the quiet dignity of the mansion. Erin jumped and Ressa turned as a door flung itself open.

A young man stood in the doorway. Erin was treated to a…normal face. When you got down to it, it was a normal face. The young man was not a Drake, nor a brooding veteran like Halrac. He didn’t have a face full of hair like Krshia, and his eyes were brown, as was his hair. He didn’t have exposed bone or glowing eyes and he wasn’t armed.

He was a normal Human. It was a relief. And he looked just like someone from Erin’s world. That’s what made her stare and gape.

He was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. Completely normal, again. But that was so abnormal for this world that it was a shock. His t-shirt was black and had the green Android robot staring creepily at Erin. He had a watch—no, a Fitbit on his wrist, and a smile on his face.

Ressa did not. She blocked the young man’s path as he flung the door open and walked towards Erin.

“Mister Joseph, I must ask you to remain in your room. Lady Magnolia wishes to speak with Miss Solstice bef—”

“You’re actually here! Come on in!”

The young man—Joseph—ignored Ressa and tugged on Erin’s arm and suddenly she was in another room. She blinked, and looked around, confused, and then she was surrounded by people.

A young woman sitting with knees drawn to her chest stared at Erin from her chair. She had black skin—which again, was normal where Erin was from, but was the first person Erin had met who looked like that in this world. Now that Erin had grown used to brown fur and scales of different colors, it was another shock.

But another young woman was in front of Erin—more of a teenager, actually. She had a casual shirt, loose pants, and a cotton jacket on, and two rings. And she had painted nails, dark purple flaking slightly at the tips.

Erin stared at her. The other girl had a pair of sunglasses perched on her forehead. She was just like any normal girl from Erin’s world. Any normal girl.

It was almost too much for Erin to handle. She stared at the other girl and exclaimed.

“Oh my god!”

“Oh my god!”

A second’s hesitation, and then they threw their arms around each other. More people crowded around, ignoring Ressa as she spoke loudly behind them, and suddenly Erin was back home.

For a few seconds, Erin could stare around and only see people from her world. For a few seconds. And then the opulence of the room they were in hit her, and she realized she was standing in a sitting room that even the Queen of England might have envied. Maybe. Erin had never been in the Buckingham Palace, so she had no way of comparing the two. But this room was up there in terms of poshness.

Gold-backed chairs. Rich sofas and rugs that were probably real fur rather than machined fibers. A table made of crystal, and another one of those platters heaped with exotic foods and drinks.

Oh, and a huge glass window that looked out onto a massive garden where the storm cloud was still making its rounds. Erin stared around, but then the young people were around her, talking, demanding her attention.

And they were young. Erin was 20 years old, but they all seemed younger than her. Maybe it was just her perspective, but none of them could have been older than sixteen. But apparently they were close to her age or a few years younger.

The young man who’d dragged her into the room was the first to make himself coherent over the outpouring of voices. He shouted everyone else down, and Erin finally managed to count how many people were in the room.

Six—no, seven. The girl in the chair hadn’t gotten up, but she was still staring in Erin’s direction. Ressa had left.

The young man smiled at Erin again, revealing straight teeth, probably the result of braces, another oddity. He introduced himself at last, along with the others.

“I’m Joseph, this is Rose. And this is Galina, Troy…”

Erin looked around, forgetting names, shaking hands, waving, and nodding at the people he introduced. They were nearly equally split between genders, and with Erin there were four boys and three girls in the room.

“I’m Erin. Erin Solstice. How did you all get here?”

Erin stared around the room, still slightly in shock. The hubbub started again, but this time the young woman who’d hugged Erin—Rose—explained.

“I was travelling to visit France, and these guys were a group of international students visiting the United States. We were all in the Chicago airport when we were taken.”

“You mean, abducted.”

Another boy said that. He had Asian features—although Erin wouldn’t have been able to guess where he was from. She blinked at him, and Rose looked irritated.

“It wasn’t an abduction! It was a spell, a spell!”

“How do you know?”

“That’s what happened to the Americans, remember? I told you, they said there was a spell. That has to be it!”

“But why didn’t we all end up in the same place? Was it just a mistake?”

“It has to be a spell. What else could it be?”

Erin blinked as Rose began arguing with the other guy. Joseph jumped back in, cutting the two off.

“We arrived in the world just last week! It was crazy—one second we were waiting for our flight, and the next, we were here! We—the seven of us—appeared in this city in the middle of nowhere. Everyone was screaming, and Rose ended up in a forest!”

“What? One week?”

Erin stared at him. Joseph was wearing a huge grin, and he seemed to be practically vibrating with excitement.

“Yeah. All these soldiers ran up the instant we appeared and arrested us. We had no idea what was about to happen and they brought in a mage to look at us when Lady Magnolia arrived! She got us out of prison and took us here. Can you believe this place?”

“Wait, hold on. How did she find—no, wait, what’s happening back home? Does anyone know we’re missing? I’m missing?”

Erin grabbed Joseph. He looked startled and shook his head.

“No—we haven’t heard anything about missing people. Why. When did you get here?”

She didn’t even know. Erin let go of Joseph and shook her head. Ever since she’d landed in this world, each day had felt like a week. Or a year.

“I—don’t know. Three months? Four? It feels like two years.”

“Three months!?”

Everyone looked startled, again, except for the girl sitting in her chair. She was rocking back and forth and staring at Erin without participating in any of the noise. Her eyes were sunken and she didn’t seem to blink.

“Three months, are you serious?”

Joseph stepped back and ran a hand through his hair. Rose stared at Erin.

“Do you have an iPhone? Were you part of the call?”

“The call? Wh—oh!”

Erin remembered the call Ryoka had told her about, the one with people from all over the world. She shook her head.

“I don’t have anything from my—our world. But I know a girl who does. She was part of the call?”

“What?”

Again, the exclamation and uproar nearly deafened Erin. The guys were talking excitedly, and the girls were asking Erin where the other girl was, what her name was, when she was getting here, and so on.

Erin raised her hands.

“I don’t know! She’s out on a delivery. She’s a Runner and I haven’t seen her for a week.”

“A Runner? What’s that?”

Erin blinked at Joseph. It seemed so obvious, but he really hadn’t been here. She tried to explain.

“It’s like a post office worker here. She delivers messages, packages—usually she runs from city to city, avoiding monsters and bandits.”

“What? That’s so weird. Why would anyone want to do that?”

“Well…”

Erin stared at Joseph. She shook her head slightly.

“It’s what she had to do to survive. I mean, I became an [Innkeeper]—”

“You’re an [Innkeeper]? Why?”

“…Because that’s the only way I could survive. I didn’t know there were other people and Lady Magnolia wasn’t there, and I found this inn and got the class, so—”

Erin could only shrug. She looked at Joseph and the others helplessly.

“You’ve only been here for a week?”

They nodded.

“Maybe longer. But not much more than that.”

Rose interrupted. She pointed at the girl sitting in the chair.

“Not Imani. She was with another group of people in the airport. She ended up somewhere else.”

Erin looked at the girl again, and this time the young woman seemed to retreat further into herself as everyone stared at her. She clutched her knees to her chest with two arms.

“Um. Is she okay?”

For a second Joseph’s face lost its good cheer. He lowered his voice, although he was clearly audible in the room.

“Imani ran into monsters when she and the others appeared. She was the only one who got away, and she was in this small village until Lady Magnolia found her.”

“Monsters? What kind of monsters?”

Imani shuddered. She looked up at Erin.

“Crelers.”

She whispered the word as she rocked back and forth on her chair. The room went silent. It was the awkward silence of people not knowing what to say. Erin moved over, until she was close to Imani. She hesitated, and then pulled up a chair next to the girl and sat next to her.

“I’m sorry. I ran into a Dragon the first night I was here.”

“A Dragon? Reall—”

Rose, or perhaps it was someone else, kicked Joseph. But Imani looked at Erin. She seemed to understand.

“How’d you get away?”

“I ran. And then I ran into a group of Goblins.”

Erin had to smile bitterly at the memory. She could still taste the fear and feel the burning on her arm and leg as she ran, screaming and crying through the night. Imani looked at Erin and then uncovered her legs a bit.

“I hid. On the rocks. They can’t climb rocks.”

Erin put a hand on Imani’s shoulder. The other girl gripped her so tightly Erin could see Imani’s hand go white.

“I’m sorry.”

“They all died.”

It was a whisper meant only for Erin. And then Imani began to cry. Erin held her, as the other young men and women—the other boys and girls, really—stood around in awkward silence, not knowing what to do or say. But Erin did. She hugged Imani to her chest, and the other girl broke down in her arms.

It was something only they could share. Something only Erin and Imani could understand. So Erin held the girl and talked quietly, until she was sleeping and the others were sitting together.

They were no less talkative, but they were more subdued. Still, Erin saw the energy blazing in the eyes of all of the boys and most of the girls. And she began to understand a tiny bit of what was happening the more they talked.

“They might not be dead.”

“What?”

One of the guys looked at the sleeping Imani and lowered his voice even further.

“They might not be dead. I mean, Imani says she saw them die, but what if they just…woke up? If this is a game, then…”

Erin couldn’t believe her ears. She stared at him, but it was Rose who spoke up, sharply.

“This world isn’t a game.”

“How do you know? If this is some virtual reality—”

Joseph looked at Erin.

“It’s insane, this world, you know? Levels? Classes? I saw one of the maids use a Skill, and it blew my mind! She was cleaning up a spill, and then she just moved the mop and—it was all gone! In one go!”

Erin nodded slowly. She’d explained about her inn and Ryoka in briefest terms, but it was hard to communicate all that had happened to her to these people. They had no frame of reference to understand it.

“Drakes? You mean Dragons?”

“No—I mean they’re like walking lizards, only they don’t like being called that. And there are Gnolls—”

“Ah! I know Gnolls. Do you have to fight them off? Do you have any combat skills or spells?”

“No. I mean, I learned how to defend myself, but I’m no warrior.”

“What about magical items?”

“Magical items?”

“Like a sword or a ring. Something enchanted!”

“I have a chessboard.”

“A chessboard?”

“Yeah, it’s—well, it’s magical. Nevermind. It’s a long story. But what are you all going to do now that you’re here?”

Erin wanted to know what Lady Magnolia intended to do with everyone. But not one of the people in the room knew.

“We’ve been stuck in Lady Magnolia’s mansion for the last few days. Ever since she found us. We can go out in the garden or wander around, but she doesn’t want us leaving this place. She says it’s too dangerous.”

Erin nodded, although she noticed the dissatisfied look on Joseph’s face.

“It is dangerous. I’m glad Lady Magnolia found you all.”

“Yeah, but look out there!”

Joseph pointed to the window in frustration. He waved his hand and nearly spilled the goblet of wine he’d filled to the brim. Erin eyed it.

All of the international students and Rose were eating some of the food that had been laid out. It was all rich stuff, and delicious, but they were also drinking. A lot. Some of the students from other countries – like the guy from China and the one from Poland – were drinking at a slower pace, but the rest were enjoying alcohol liberally, especially the ones from America. Joseph kept offering Erin a cup, but she was sticking to a mild fruit juice.

Now Joseph took a gulp of wine and pointed out the window. In the distance, Erin could see countless buildings, spreading out across the horizon.

“Look at that! Even the sky is bigger here. And there are monsters and magical artifacts! I want to get out there and start leveling.”

“Leveling? In what class?”

Joseph shrugged as he grabbed a sausage off a plate. Rose gave him a disgusted look; she was using the silverware, which was actual silver.

“I don’t know. I’m thinking of learning to use a sword and becoming an adventurer. Or spells.”

“An adventurer? But that’s such a dangerous job!”

Joseph gave Erin an odd look. He shrugged.

“Yeah, maybe at first. But if I get to a high enough level and have potions, it won’t matter, right? I was thinking that we could form an adventuring team! I mean, there are eight of us—nine, including you Erin—but we don’t all have to go out. Some of us could take levels in supporting classes.”

“But why would you want to do that? Lady Magnolia wants to keep you here, doesn’t she?”

Another guy shrugged. He was from…Spain? No, that was Joseph.

“She says that she’s considering it. We’re hoping she’ll give us some magical weapons and armor—you know, to give us a head start. And maybe teach us some magic. I mean, what else should we do? Nothing?”

Erin shook her head.

“That’s really not a good idea. It’s dangerous out there. I mean, you could get killed.”

She wanted to add that they would get killed, but she couldn’t say it. Everyone—except for the sleeping Imani and Rose—didn’t seem to get the danger. Two of the guys seemed almost ecstatic as they began arguing over the best class to take.

“So what about this Ryoka? Why isn’t she here? I know Lady Magnolia was looking for someone else besides you. Is she that far away?”

Erin’s heart sank as Rose asked her the question she’d been dreading. Erin had been wondering that very thing herself.

“I don’t know. She was going south, to meet some kind of important person and do a big delivery. She was going to earn eight hundred gold coins for it, but I haven’t seen her.”

“Eight hundred—!”

This time Joseph did spill some wine on the carpet. He looked guilty as Erin scrambled for water, but waved her away.

“Don’t worry about it. We’ve spilled stuff before and the maids clean it up. But eight hundred gold pieces? How’d she get that?”

Erin hesitated and sat down.

“I don’t really know. She uh, mentioned a client, but she ran off before I could get all the details. She was being chased. By Frost Faeries.”

“Faeries? No way!”

Nothing would do then, except that Erin tell the entire story of her meeting the faeries as they brought winter. Joseph shook his head, grinning again, when Erin had finished.

“Faeries. Wow. Bring a bottle and a net for extra lives, huh?”

“No—it’s cold iron. They’re dangerous, right?”

Erin nodded.

“I’m just worried Ryoka is okay. I tried asking the faeries to forgive her, but they all left a while back and I haven’t seen one.”

“I’m sure she’s fine. Don’t worry about it. If she’s got levels in this uh, [Runner] class and potions, she should be able to outrun anything and heal up, right?”

Erin shook her head.

“Ryoka doesn’t have levels. Or classes.”

“Why?”

Erin could only shrug. She couldn’t really explain it, not to these people. She went on, growing more silent as the others began talking and arguing more and more.

It sounded like they had gone over these topics many times before, because Erin sensed each group had their own opinion. Rose wanted to make contact with other people from their world, along with two of the other girls, but Joseph and the guys wanted to try fighting monsters. With magical items, of course. The other girls just wanted to explore the city and the world as if they were tourists.

Rose glared at Joseph as he argued with her. Both of their movements were growing exaggerated, and they were getting louder the more they drunk. Joseph grabbed something from one of the tables, and Erin saw with a shock that he had a tablet in his hands. Apparently, this group had been holding their carry-on luggage, so they had quite a number of objects from their world with them.

“You’ve got a phone, and I’ve got a tablet right here. All we need to do is level up in the [Mage] class—or earn enough gold to hire someone to cast the right spell! Lady Magnolia could help with that, and once we get strong enough, we can probably travel there ourselves.”

Another guy—Leon from Poland—nodded. He pointed to the expensive furnishings of this room for emphasis as he spoke.

“It’s all about getting the right start. It’s almost like a cheat to have Lady Magnolia helping us—if we get magical artifacts right off, we can fight tougher monsters without being worried about getting hurt. We gain gold, level up, and do that until we’re high level!”

“And then what?”

Leon looked at Erin as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“We’re going to find a way to go back home. Through a magical portal or something. Or a spell. There has to be one.”

Joseph nodded.

“If we got here, there has to be a way back.”

Everyone nodded. There had to be. Erin stared down at her hands and thought of Pisces and Ceria. She was sixty years old and she hadn’t hit Level 30.

Oblivious to Erin’s thoughts, Joseph grinned.

“There’s so much I want to see. Like Goblins. I hear they’re pretty nasty. I wonder how dangerous they are? Erin, could we take on a tribe with some swords and potions?”

Erin looked at Joseph and tried to imagine him facing down fifty screaming Goblins as they charged and screamed. She shook her head.

“Goblins aren’t all evil. Some of them are friendly. Or can be.”

“Oh, you mean they’re not all dangerous? Do some have peaceful villages or something?”

Erin hesitated.

“No—they’re just—”

She gave up. How could Erin explain Rags to the people here? She hadn’t even talked about how the Goblins had killed Klbkch, or the day when she’d woken up and seen Relc holding the severed Goblin heads. She hadn’t talked about fighting the Goblin Chieftain or Skinner, or anything else.

She just listened, growing more silent as she sipped at her drink as the talk wore on. They were going to explore, leave the mansion soon. Erin was supposed to be the last member of their group since Ryoka couldn’t be found. Lady Magnolia had promised them weapons, gold, even lessons on magic. They were going to find a place to stay in the city, enroll in the adventurer’s guild—at least the guys were—and they’d all find good classes. One girl asked if they could stay at Erin’s inn for a while. Erin imagined them meeting Toren or dealing with a Rock Crab and couldn’t reply.

It was as if someone had let a fly or a mosquito loose inside of Erin’s head. She thought she heard buzzing, faint, but inescapable. It grew louder as the conversation progressed, until it was trying to burst out of her head. The voices around her became fragments, and more slurred the more the others drank. They were so excited from Erin’s arrival that they ate and drank quickly, talking in bursts over each other.

“We need to find a place to stay. An inn, like Erin’s, or we could stay here. But what we really need is potions—”

“I want to learn magic. Did you see that Pegasus outside, and those suits of armor? We could be [Summoners]—!”

“I played Dark Souls. Not the same thing obviously, but if we keep an escape route open we should be—”

“—Tactics. Someone has to be a tank. We can get defensive equipment—”

“—Tame a monster—”

“—Wonder when we’ll go back home—”

“—Learn to cast magic—”

“—Hang out here. It’s like a hotel, isn’t it? Way better than back home—”

“—As soon as we can get Ressa to leave us alone, I want to see if they’ve got any artifacts in the armory we can use.”

“Ressa?”

Erin’s head snapped up. She looked at Joseph.

“What about Ressa? She seems nice.”

He made an expression of displeasure, one that was mirrored across the other’s faces.

“She’s a pain in the ass. Lady Magnolia gave us the freedom to go wherever we want, but Ressa keeps insisting we stay together in this part of the mansion.”

“Really? She didn’t seem that way to me.”

But Rose was nodding.

“She and Magnolia—well, they’re not bad—”

“Ressa is.”

“Right, but Magnolia’s generous. It’s just that she’s awkward, you know?”

“No?”

Erin had no idea, and Rose struggled to explain.

“Really awkward. It’s like she’s a countess out of Downton Abbey or something, you know?”

“Oh come on, she’s not that bad. She’s pretty outgoing!”

“Yeah, but watching everyone bow to her is kind of cringy, isn’t it? And she keeps laughing when we explain elections and democracy to her—”

“At least we’ve got proper toilets and they wash their hands here. I was really afraid they’d all be eating with crap on their hands or filthy and depressing like Game of Thrones.”

“I know, right? And the servants don’t seem to have any kind of education. You know they don’t have schools here? It’s as if—”

The girl that had been speaking broke off quickly. Erin turned in her seat, and saw the door at one end of the room was open. Ressa was standing there, quietly emanating…dissatisfaction.

Perhaps it was the look of the room. Food was scattered across the sofas, on plates or on the carpets. More drinks had been spilled, and half of the people within were lounging around or fiddling with the electronics they’d brought. Erin had been shocked to learn all of them were still able to use their devices thanks to near-daily [Repair] spells.

The [Head Maid] looked at Erin in the silence.

“Miss Solstice? Lady Magnolia will receive you at your convenience.”

Erin stood up.

“Looks like I’m going to meet her. Um, nice meeting you guys.”

She walked towards the door. Joseph stood up awkwardly as if to follow Erin.

“I’d—we’d like to go with Erin. To talk to Magnolia.”

The expression on Ressa’s face froze as she held the door open for Erin. She did not look quite at Joseph.

“Lady Magnolia will speak to you at a later date. For now she wishes to speak to Erin alone.”

“Yeah, but she’s one of us. Why does she have to be alone?”

“That is what Lady Magnolia wishes.”

Erin stepped past Ressa. She heard Joseph raised his voice.

“Could I—?”

“No.”

Ressa closed the door. And then she took a key from her pocket and locked the door from the outside. Erin wondered if that was overkill, but two seconds later she heard the door handle rattle slightly.

The maid turned and nodded to Erin again.

“My apologies. If you will follow me?”

Erin walked with the tall maid in the corridors in silence for a few minutes. It was hard to reestablish the conversation after all that. Erin cleared her throat silently, and then spoke up.

“Um, we were in there a long time. Was Lady Magnolia busy?”

Ressa shook her head as she walked Erin back through the corridors, and then up a long flight of stairs.

“Lady Magnolia felt it best that you mingle with the others for a while, given you had already met. She is now free from any business at the present time.”

“Oh. Good.”

More silence. Ressa was walking faster than normal again. Erin thought, and spoke to the maid’s back.

“I’m uh, sorry about the mess they made. I’m an [Innkeeper], so I know how it gets. I’ve got [Advanced Cleaning]. Maybe I could help…?”

“The [Maids] have the prerequisite skills. Do not worry.”

Ressa hesitated, and then looked at Erin.

“Thank you for offering, however. It is not often that we entertain such visitors.”

“Really? I thought she would have tons of guests.”

“She does, but they rarely stay for more than a few hours at a time.”

Joseph and the others had mentioned the servants weren’t too helpful with directing them or finding mages to cast [Repair]. Erin wondered how much of that was intentional.

“Do you uh, not like them? The people from my world, I mean? They don’t think you do.”

Silence from Ressa. She slowed as she passed by an open doorway. Erin caught a glimpse of a massive library filled with tomes being slowly dusted before she passed the entrance.

“We serve Lady Magnolia. We clean and cook, but we do far more than simply maintain her estate. We are there to help her.”

Not anyone else. Erin swallowed what she’d been about to say next.

“Here we are.”

Ressa stopped by a pair of double doors. She rested one hand on the golden knob and looked at Erin.

“I trust you will extend the same courtesies to Lady Reinhart as you have shown me. She is close to royalty as this land has to offer.”

Erin nodded seriously. She hesitated as Ressa pressed down on the handle.

“Um. Is there anything I should say? No one really told me why she wanted me here. What should I do?”

It was the mystery that not even the people from her world knew the answer to. Ressa paused, and looked at Erin.

“Be honest. Be truthful. Lady Reinhart has only your best interests in mind, and she has devoted quite a lot of money and time to gathering your companions here.”

Erin nodded.

“Thank you for the help.”

“You are welcome.”

Ressa smiled, just for a moment, and then the door opened. Slowly, Erin walked into the vast room and stopped.

It was pink. That was to say, someone had decided the theme for the room was elegant luxury, and the predominant color should be light pink. It wasn’t displeasing to the eye, but Erin felt that there was just too much of that color and not enough of anything else.

It was also a smaller room than Erin had expected; she’s almost believed she was entering an audience hall, but Ressa had led her to an intimate sitting room, the kind of place where you could chat and converse and gossip, but elegantly.

A large couch sat in the center of the room, across from its twin. A small table sat in the center, holding a tea pot, cups, and some light snacks.

And a woman was sitting at the couch. She wasn’t normal. Oh, she was no radiant beauty like Ressa, but neither was she ugly. She was quite attractive, but she wasn’t a young woman either. She was in her forties, a larger woman than Ressa, if shorter, and she was dressed in a shimmering gown of green that looked either magical or magically made. Her lips were lifted in a slight smile as she studied Erin, and Ressa stepped quietly behind her as another maid slowly closed the door behind the girl.

She was not normal. It wasn’t that she looked different, but that she held herself differently. From tip to toe, she was graceful, refined, and serene. When she moved or spoke or even laughed, it was still with a base of what could only be called class.

And she was looking at Erin. Her eyes were the only parts of her that weren’t veiled in politeness. They were like searchlights, sweeping Erin from top to toe, looking through her, at what she was, what she had done, what she would do. They were unsettling and mysterious and that, more than anything, made Erin stop where she stood.

Lady Magnolia was sitting, but Erin’s heartbeat grew faster as she stared down at this woman who owned so much. Erin thought of the Queen of the Antinium, sitting on her throne in the dark caverns. She swallowed once, and took a deep breath.

This was her. Ryoka’s pursuer, the one who’d pieced together the truth of Erin’s nature. A woman with wealth and power, a [Lady], and a living legend in her own right. The head of the Reinhart family, the heroine of the First Antinium War, and the woman who loved ice cream and blue fruit juice.

Lady Magnolia.

She smiled at Erin, and raised a cup of tea as she gestured to the couch in front of her.

“Good evening, Miss Solstice. Do take a seat. We have much to talk about.”

2.38

Erin remembered staring down the barrel of a Dragon’s nose. It wasn’t the most glamorous or exciting way of putting it, but that was what had happened.

She’d stepped around the corner, into what she’d thought had been her bathroom, and then there had been a Dragon, larger than life, larger than a house.

Breathing fire.

Erin could only vaguely recall the screaming and panicked rush filled with fire and a roar that sounded almost like a voice before she was out of the cave, running for her life. But she could still remember the moment she’d stared into the Dragon’s swirling blue and violet eyes.

Her heart had stopped. The world had gone silent, and Erin had felt the same sensation that always overtook her when she used the [Immortal Moment] skill now. She had been overwhelmed by his presence.

She felt the same thing now. Lady Magnolia Reinhart was just sitting there. And she was just a woman, not particularly tall or big. But she had a presence.

And then the woman spoke, and the moment passed. But Erin still remembered it.

“Do come sit, Miss Solstice. Or—may I call you Erin? Formal titles are so tiresome, and I gather your people speak somewhat more casually than mine, is that right?”

Your people. Erin blinked as she awkwardly took a seat opposite Lady Magnolia on the couch. She practically sank into it, it was so soft. And comfortable. And cool!

The air was filled with the faint scent of lavender, and the room was cool and pleasant, the perfect temperature to be in. Erin had a terrible desire to just lie down on the sofa and relax, but she couldn’t do that. She scrambled to answer Lady Magnolia’s question instead.

“Um, yes. I mean, we do. Sorry! I can try—”

“Think nothing of it. I find it delightfully quaint. But where are my manners? Do forgive me. I am Magnolia Reinhart. Delighted to make your acquaintance.”

“I’m Erin. Erin Solstice.”

Magnolia held out a hand and Erin took it. She had the oddest impulse to kiss it as if she were a knight, but perhaps that was because of how elegantly the other woman moved. She had no wasted movements, no hesitation. She was the picture of grace, and good cheer for that matter. Lady Magnolia had a slight smile on her lips and a face naturally given over to laughter and energy.

“I have been terribly anxious to meet you, I must say.”

To Erin’s surprise, Lady Magnolia had a firm handshake. The older woman withdrew her hand and picked up her tea cup and saucer.

“I have tea, if you will share it. Unless you prefer something stronger? A fruit drink, perhaps? I’m afraid I have no coffee and nor do I know of any substance like it as of yet, but do let me know if you desire anything else.”

“What? No. I’m fine. Tea is fine, I mean. Thank you.”

Erin watched as Ressa deftly lifted the steaming pot and filled both cups with a gold-green liquid. It smelled like citrus and tasted like—

Limes?

Lady Magnolia chuckled at the look on Erin’s face.

“Do excuse me. This is a favorite tea of mine. I find it does wonders for the inattentive mind. But where was I? Ah yes, allow me to welcome you into my household. I apologize for the delay; I was meeting with some rather important people and then of course you had met the young men and women from your world. I would have been remiss to draw you away from that gathering, but now that you are here, would you like to play a game of chess?”

The question came at the crest of a tidal wave of words and hit Erin in the face. She stared at Magnolia for a few seconds.

“Um—yes?”

“Wonderful. Ressa?”

Lady Magnolia clapped her hands in delight. Erin watched as Ressa took something off a shelf—a chess board and pieces, already set up as if it had been prepared ahead of time.

Everything was moving a bit too fast. Erin hesitated as she held the tea cup between her fingers.

“Um.”

“Yes?”

Lady Magnolia twinkled at Erin. Almost literally. In the course of a few seconds she’d gone from being a mysterious, almost scary person in Erin’s head to the down-to-earth genteel noble in front of her.

“Well—I just wanted to say thank you for bringing me here. And sending the coach and uh, helping the other people.”

“From your world.”

“Um. Yes?”

Lady Magnolia chuckled again at the expression on Erin’s face.

“Don’t look so alarmed, my dear. Please, relax. I assure you, I only wanted to speak with you, hence the rather rude and abrupt way I brought you here. Do accept my apologies.”

“What? Oh, no, it wasn’t rude—”

Erin tried to wave one hand and hold the tea cup and saucer while Ressa put the chess board on the table between the two. Lady Magnolia smiled again.

“I’m told you play chess quite well, and I must confess, I had hoped you would indulge me in a game.”

“How did you know—?”

“Oh, a [Lady] has ways. Do pay it no mind. I would simply love to play a game with you while we chatted. I believe you’ve met a very striking Runner named Ryoka Griffin? I would so love for you to talk to me about her as we play.”

And so they did. Erin blinked at first, but when Magnolia asked her whether she wanted to be white or black and they began playing the game, her chess instincts kicked in and she began to play, chatting as she did.

“So you knew Ryoka a long time before I did?”

“Oh, I had seen her delivering a number of curios to my house.”

Lady Magnolia replied casually as she moved her pieces out. She had learned to play somewhere, because her opening was a good match against Erin’s.

Ressa stood to one side of the table, silently listening to the conversation, hands folded in front of her. She was like a statue, and Erin thought it was sort of odd to have the head maid here on serving duty, but maybe that was just how it worked?

She was feeling a lot more relaxed than she had been, even more than when she had been with the other people from her world. Lady Magnolia’s open face and natural charm just…invited Erin to talk.

And so she did, about Ryoka, about her job as an innkeeper, and the people she had met and the monsters she’d had to kill. Lady Magnolia was an excellent audience, and they were halfway through the game when the conversation changed.

“The undead and Goblin tribes? My, you are adventurous. I had the impression you were quite self-sufficient, but I had no idea you were quite so extraordinary.”

Erin blushed at the compliment. Lady Magnolia smiled, and she picked up something on the table. A monocle, but a very strange one. This one had a rim made of black rock—obsidian? And it looked like tiny runes had been carved into the sides that made the glass move with odd colors.

“What’s that?”

“Oh, this?”

Lady Magnolia blinked at Erin through the monocle for a few seconds, and then put it down lightly with a shrug.

“A simple keepsake. It helps with bad eyesight. I confess, my vision is not what it used to be. Age, you know? Pray, ignore it.”

“Oh. Okay.”

The game continued. Erin frowned. Lady Magnolia was quite good. Erin had taken several of her pieces, but the other woman was doing just as well.

“You’re a great player. I’ve only met a few people as good as you.”

“You are too kind.”

Lady Magnolia beamed as she delicately moved a pawn to block one of Erin’s bishops. She looked at Ressa.

“Young Erin really does have a way with words, doesn’t she Ressa? I fear I am going to blush.”

Ressa bowed her head slightly. Magnolia turned back to Erin, smiling again.

“In truth, I fear I don’t play nearly as much as I should. But I did learn the game when I was sixteen, and I’ve played regularly with at least one good opponent since then. Still, I am glad that I can keep up with someone of your caliber.”

Erin nodded distractedly. Whatever Lady Magnolia said, she was some kind of expert. She was pressing Erin hard, and the game required her concentration, which made her happy.

But she did notice something happen. Perhaps it was because she’d gotten to know Ressa earlier, but when Lady Magnolia spoke about playing chess, the other woman had…shifted slightly. It was just a slight movement of her feet, and in anyone else Erin would have dismissed it as being tired or sore. But Ressa had been like a statue throughout the game and the conversation, and somehow it struck Erin as odd.

It was because she was playing chess that Erin noticed it. It was the odd sense she sometimes got, of being aware of the board and the room as a whole at the same time. In two seconds Erin had nearly forgotten what she’d noticed.

Lady Magnolia cleared her throat.

“Ah, but this is hardly the time to talk about my past, is it? I am glad you are here, Erin. I was afraid you might turn down my invitation if you were anything like Ryoka.”

“Yeah, she is like that, isn’t she?”

Erin smiled, and Lady Magnolia laughed again.

“Well, we were all like that, weren’t we?”

“I don’t think I was.”

“Ah, but you are so open it’s quite refreshing. I trust the carriage ride was pleasant? I only ask because I was afraid you might have lacked for company. A single [Butler] for a driver is rather sparse company, isn’t it?”

Erin blinked. She looked up from her game at Lady Magnolia.

“The butler? You mean Reynold? No, he was great. I really liked him.”

And again, there it was. This time it wasn’t Ressa who shifted, but Lady Magnolia’s hand paused for just one fraction of a moment as she lifted the tea cup to her lips.

“Ah yes, Reynold. It is good that you know his name. You know, your friends never bothered to ask any of the names of the servants that attend them. Or is friends too strong a word?”

Lady Magnolia’s eyes flicked up to Erin’s face searchingly. Erin wasn’t sure how to respond. She wasn’t friends with Joseph and Rose—they weren’t people she disliked, but friends? No.

But what was the polite way to say that? Erin didn’t know, and fortunately Magnolia didn’t seem to require an answer. The woman laughed as she delicately advanced a pawn two spaces to threaten one of Erin’s knights.

“Do excuse me; I am rude today, aren’t I? Of course not everyone from one world would know each other, let alone be friends. On the other hand, I would be delighted to say that I am now your friend.”

Friend? That sounded right. Erin’s stomach stirred slightly, but not in hunger. She frowned. Something was nagging at her. Oh yeah. That was important.

“Um. Lady Magnolia—”

“Magnolia, please, Erin. We’re all friends here, aren’t we?”

“Oh, right, sorry—um, well, you know that I’m from another world, don’t you?”

“I do indeed.”

Erin stared at Lady Magnolia as her hand hovered over a chess piece. She felt that was far too calm a response. Lady Magnolia noticed Erin’s expression and waved a hand.

“Please. I know how extraordinary this is, but I have had quite a while to process this fact. And what kind of [Lady] would I be if I were not collected and calm at all times? I know you are from another world. I know the other charming young men and women downstairs are from another world. That is why I have gathered you all here.”

She moved a piece forwards and took one of Erin’s knights. Erin frowned. She’d played a great counter to Lady Magnolia’s move, but suddenly she’d just lost two pieces in a cunning fork that had completely blindsided her. That was normal—but Erin couldn’t believe Lady Magnolia had seen through her so quickly.

Amazing. She tried to focus on the conversation as she continued playing, focusing harder on her pieces.

“Uh—well—then why are we all here?”

Lady Magnolia studied Erin for a second, and then deftly moved a bishop out of harm’s way. Not immediate harm’s way, but out of a trap that would have come two moves later.

“Well, I hope you will stay here. Now that you have seen my small estate, I hoped I would be able to convince you and perhaps even Ryoka to accept my hospitality for as long as you stay in this world. You will say yes, won’t you?”

Something was seriously wrong. Not about the conversation, but on the chess board. Erin could sense it. Lady Magnolia was no great player. She was good, but nowhere near as good as someone who’d memorized opening and strategies like Erin. Her opening game had shown that, and even now she made small mistakes no seasoned player would make simply by virtue of experience.

And yet, she kept hitting Erin in exactly the worst places, or started pulling her pieces out of the way when Erin tried to attack or set traps. It was almost as if she could read Erin’s mind.

Maybe she could. Erin glanced up. Lady Magnolia was smiling at her.

“Um, sorry. What did you say?”

The other woman blinked. So did Ressa. Erin grinned sheepishly.

“I’m so sorry. It’s just that when I get into chess, I sort of—sorry!”

“Not at all, not at all. Do excuse me. I should be focusing on the game as well.”

Lady Magnolia moved a piece forwards, blocking Erin’s advance that would have threatened her Rook. Erin frowned. Maybe—

She moved a pawn forwards. It was a ranging attempt, meant to pressure Magnolia’s pieces back so Erin could get a shot at her King.

Lady Magnolia castled. Erin saw the move, and felt the pieces fall into place. She looked up, and saw Lady Magnolia’s smiling again. She had such a nice smile.

“I was just wondering if you would stay here. If you would, I would greatly appreciate—”

“—Excuse me. You’re reading my mind, aren’t you? I mean, you’re doing something to me, right?”

The room froze. Lady Magnolia paused, mouth open mid-word, and Erin felt Ressa’s eyes boring into her. But she stared at the [Lady] opposite her calmly.

Nobles and maids. Neither one had obvious expressions, but now Erin had learned what to look for. Magnolia’s eyes flickered to Erin’s face, and then she sighed.

“Am I really that transparent?”

She half-turned in her seat and frowned at her maid.

“Ressa, why didn’t you tell me I was being that obvious?”

“You appeared to be quite subtle, milady.”

“I thought so too. Ah, well.”

It was as if someone had flipped a switch. Lady Magnolia sighed and put down her tea cup. Erin blinked at her.

“And here I thought I would get away with everything quite easily. Oh well. I suppose you’ve found me out. What will you do now?”

She looked at Erin expectantly. Erin blinked at her, hesitated.

“Um. Uh. I guess I’ll ask you not to do it when we’re playing chess?”

Lady Magnolia paused as she stretched her hands out. She eyed Erin. Ressa was doing the same.

“When we’re playing chess?”

“Yeah. Well actually, I don’t mind it so much, but it would have been good to know. I was actually just curious if you were doing it.”

Ressa and Magnolia exchanged a look. Lady Magnolia sat back in her couch.

“Ah. I see.”

She paused. Erin stared at her. The silence grew uncomfortable, and then Lady Magnolia smiled.

“I most sincerely apologize. I wished to see you playing your best, and so I broke the rules most shamefully. Allow me to concede and tender you my deepest regrets. If you wish, we could restart and play another game fairly…”

Erin shook her head.

“No. Actually, I’d like to play another game just like we are right now.”

A second blink. This time Lady Magnolia’s eyes met Erin’s, and the girl felt a slight jolt.

“Intriguing. Why, pray?”

The young woman shrugged awkwardly.

“I think it would be sort of fun. But you are reading my mind?”

“…Yes. It’s nothing as advanced as knowing what you’re thinking; I possess a skill called [Sense Intention] and I am quite adept at using it. I can sense which pieces you are focusing on, which allowed me to play as well as I did.”

“Cool.”

“Cool?”

“That’s so cool.”

Erin grinned. She looked at the board and began moving pieces back to their starting positions.

“Can you do it again? While we’re playing, I mean. I want to see if I can beat someone who can tell what I’m trying to do.”

For two seconds, Lady Magnolia stared at Erin with genuine surprise written all over her face. And then she gave Erin a real smile. It made all of her other smiles seem fake and plastic by comparison, because it was truly, wonderfully filled with delight and mirth.

“I should be delighted. You are quite the unusual young lady, you know.”

“Really? I guess. Hmm. I guess I’ll start as white again.”

The game restarted. Erin put her pieces back in place, and wondered how to beat someone who could sense what she wanted to do. She noticed Ressa staring hard at her, and Lady Magnolia was looking at her completely differently now. With less confidence, and a lot more intently, as if she was trying to read Erin.

But Erin had learned to play chess with a poker face. She adopted her best one now, trying not to give away anything more than what Magnolia would sense. Erin began to play, in silence this time, and remembered the past.

Once upon a time, she’d loved chess. Then, later, she’d grown to hate it. She’d hated the memorization, the constant games, the agonizing over win/loss ratios, and the way chess had consumed her entire life, leaving time for little else.

She had grown distant from the game, and eventually stopped playing altogether, despite many people urging her not to waste her talents and quit. But Erin had grown sick of that small board, and she had been happier being normal.

And yet, and yet…Erin had passed through the years, and slowly she’d realized that chess had changed her. Even a casual game was different for her, because she was not an amateur, but she was still not a professional. No one in her school or even her district could challenge her, and yet the top of that strange world was still far away from her.

Too, Erin had slowly realized how much chess meant to her. Without it, she had nothing that set her apart from other people, and that was good and bad. She was tired of chess, yes, but she was meaningless without it.

And so, slowly, Erin had grown to love the game again. She’d played for fun, and then rediscovered the feeling she’d had when she first learned to play. She had begun to reenter the world of chess, and then she’d travelled into another world.

And then—

If there was a god of Chess, or perhaps, a goddess, they were a cruel, calculating god that bestowed their gifts like curses upon the people who lived to play. If there was a god.

A metaphorical god, that was. Not the actual gods and goddesses that claimed the game, but the living spirit of chess itself. Erin thought of it in that way. The God of Chess was silent and often cruel, living through cold stone and static rules that broke people across the unchanging boards. But she had touched god in her games, and when she had come to this world, he, she, it—had blessed her.

Immortal games. Opponents to teach and learn from and who loved the game as much as she did. Erin was no longer the same player she was. She might be clumsy, and stupid, and whatever else, but there was one thing Erin was good at. One thing in which she stood at the very peak of in either world. And that was—

“Checkmate.”

Erin moved her knight forwards and completed the trap. Magnolia’s king stared up at her, forlornly cornered by several pieces just waiting for him to make a move so they could dash his brains out.

“Remarkable.”

Lady Magnolia breathed the words as she gently tipped her king over. She looked up at Erin, and her eyes were full of light.

“I have seldom lost a game of chess when using [Sense Intentions], Erin Solstice. And even without it, I consider myself an adept player. But Skills matter very little against someone of your level of skill, or so it would seem.”

“It was a good game.”

That was all Erin could really say. She smiled and cracked her fingers before she realized that would be rude and blushed. Lady Magnolia chuckled.

“It was. Surprising as well; I had no idea it would be that obvious that I was reading you.”

“Well, I just have a sense with these things, I guess.”

“Indeed. I wonder, can you sense anything else?”

Anything else? After scratching her head a bit, Erin shook it.

“Not really. I’m really only good at chess because I play it so much.”

“That is readily apparent. Indeed…”

Lady Magnolia tapped her lips with one fingernail and sighed.

“I have a friend who I would dearly love to introduce you to. I suspect you might triumph if the two of you were to play a game of chess, and I would love to see the expression on his face if you do. You are certainly one of the best players in this world, I can see that for myself.”

Again, Erin felt herself turn red. Best player? In the world? That would be a complete and horrible lie in her world, but here? She wasn’t sure if she should feel happy or sad that was the case.

“A child who grew up studying a game which is…new to this world. How intriguing. But I would imagine there are least…five people who would be able to best you. Don’t you think the number is five, Ressa?”

“I would not know, milady.”

“Liar.”

Magnolia smiled fondly at her maid. Erin was happy to see that; it seemed like she was friends with her servants. But what she’d said caught Erin’s attention. The chess maniac in her raised its head.

“Really? You know other people who like chess? Can you tell me their names?”

Maybe one of them was the person who’d sent her the chess board. It could happen. Magnolia studied Erin, and then smiled again. She seemed to like the secretive smile.

“They aren’t necessarily chess players, but they have the ah, skills and temperaments to be the best in any such game. But as to their names—I would hate to ruin the surprise. Let us just say they include an old fool, the world’s smallest strategist, a reclusive mage, a miserable king and a dashing and quite charming lord. One genius on each continent—except for Chandrar, that is. I don’t imagine the young [Emperor] or the King of Destruction’s Left Hand would be quite good enough to defeat you.”

That made no sense to Erin, except the King of Destruction, and she had no idea who his left hand might be. Assuming it wasn’t literal and he had a giant left hand that played chess. She’d heard of crazier things.

“Well, I just like chess. It’s not a big deal, but I’d love to meet them.”

“Nonsense. Anyone who can claim to be one of the greatest experts in any field is worthy of note and admiration.”

Lady Magnolia leaned forwards and refilled Erin’s tea cup herself, against Ressa’s mild protests.

“That is simply another reason why I must insist you stay at my home. I would be delighted if you would act as a chess teacher, or if you simply consented to play games against some of my guests.”

“Me?”

“That is why I requested you visit me. Why else did you think you were here? For the pleasure of your company of course, but I believe it would only be right to offer you the same hospitality I have given to the others.”

Erin’s mouth fell open.

“Really? Here?”

“Is it so surprising? I believe you would quite enjoy your stay. We could put you up in a guest room, perhaps, until more permanent accommodations could be found. What do you say? Won’t you accept?”

For some reason, the offer sounded extremely generous to Erin. Of course it was, but she couldn’t take it, right?

Why not?

Because—

Erin shook her head slightly.

“No, but I—I have an inn.”

Lady Magnolia’s smile didn’t waver. She lifted the tea cup to her lips and drank a bit.

“Ah, but isn’t it terribly dangerous? Wouldn’t it be easier to relax in comfort rather than risk your life working such a difficult job?”

“I like it. I mean, it’s hard, yeah, but—”

Erin wanted to accept Magnolia’s generous offer. Part of her did. But another part was thinking of everyone she would have to leave behind. Ceria, Selys, Krshia who was in trouble, Toren, Pisces, Rags, even Lyonette. What would that girl do without her? And then there was Ryoka—

But Magnolia was speaking more quickly now, and Erin found herself hanging on every word.

“Far better if you stay here with the others. They will become excellent adventurers, and you will all be safe here. Don’t you agree?”

Erin wavered. But only for a second. Why was she even arguing about this? Lady Magnolia had been so generous to her and everyone from her world. Why wouldn’t she accept? She would be comfortable here, happy—

But it would make her friends upset. Erin knew that, and it hurt, but her desire to say ‘yes’ was far, far stronger.

So she wavered. Only for a second. But that second was an eternity upon which Erin stood, gazing out at two forks in the road of her life. She held her own destiny in her hands, and weighed each choice, remembering the past.

A second became a moment. A moment became a day, then a year. The year became eternal. And in that immortal moment, Erin realized something was wrong.

She was not in control. Because as her mind weighed the choice, every part of her pointed towards her inn. Yet…something was telling her to say yes.

Something was wrong. Erin felt it. It was a sense in the back of her head, the same thing she’d felt all throughout the conversation. Only, Erin hadn’t known it was even there, so insidious and quiet had it been. Yet now it was out in the open, exposed by her own Skill and relentless time.

One second passed. Lady Magnolia was staring at Erin intently, and so was Ressa.

“Well?”

The air smelled of lavender. Erin shook. Her mouth opened to say yes. She bit her tongue.

“Mmngh!”

Blood filled Erin’s mouth, and pain shot through her mind, breaking her out of whatever was holding her. Lady Magnolia blinked, and Erin kicked the table over, sending both drinks and chess pieces flying.

Lady Magnolia stared at the flying objects in shock. A tea pot full of hot liquid flew towards her head. She did not raise her arms to block or try to move out of the way. She simply stared at the flying pot with a look of mild surprise on her face.

A hand shot out and grabbed the pot. A body interposed itself, and the hot liquid splashed against her back. Ressa flung the pot away and reached for Erin. The girl saw the hand reaching for her throat, as quick as lightning—

“Stop.”

Ressa stopped. She stepped back, and the chess board cracked against one wall, the delicate wood breaking with the force of the impact. Chess pieces rained across the carpet and Lady Magnolia sighed.

“Teriarch did say this would happen sooner or later. But did it have to happen when I put my favorite tea pot out?”

Erin stared at Ressa. Her [Dangersense] was clanging loudly in her head. The [Head Maid] was staring at Erin, but there was nothing maid-like about the look in her eyes. She looked like she was ready to kill.

“Ressa. Your lovely rear end is in my face. Move aside please, and have someone clean up this mess.”

Ressa paused. She turned and Lady Magnolia patted her.

“It’s quite alright. Erin isn’t going to try and kill me, or so I believe. Is that right?”

“Um. Yeah?”

“Well then.”

Ressa hesitated, and then moved swiftly to one side. She withdrew a bell from her pocket and rang it. In four seconds, the door opened and maids rushed in. They stopped when they saw the mess, but Ressa began snapping orders and they sprang into action.

“Do follow me. I think we had better let them get to work, and I would hate to get in their way.”

Lady Magnolia nodded to the doors. Erin stood up and followed the older woman as Ressa stood uncomfortably close behind her.

“Ressa! Stop that!”

Two minutes later, they were in another sitting room, a larger one that lacked the intimacy—and the pink—of the first. Lady Magnolia sighed as she sat. She looked at Ressa.

“I hope you weren’t burned too badly by the tea.”

“It was lukewarm.”

“And your dress? Feel free to change it.”

Ressa glanced at Erin before replying.

“I am quite comfortable, milady.”

“Stubborn.”

Lady Magnolia sighed, but she turned to Erin. This time she did not smile, but just looked at Erin. Just looked.

And then everything came full circle. Because her gaze was like a spotlight, and it fixed Erin in place. It was the same look she’d given Erin when the girl had first come in; a searching stare that tried to strip everything that Erin was away and see her inner self.

Erin stared back. She wasn’t good at staring, but she’d gotten a lot better. And now that she knew what was happening, anger was fueling her stare just as much as anything else. Her stomach tried to roil, but even this was still better than the pure terror Skinner had brought.

It was like staring into a jet engine, or the sun. Erin felt like she was literally about to be blown away—her body was shaking just trying to keep still. But she kept staring.

And then it was over. Lady Magnolia blinked, and Erin could look away. She looked around and saw Ressa was standing far away from the two of them, looking at a wall. The maid looked back at the two of them, and Lady Magnolia sighed.

“I cannot underestimate anyone these days, it seems. First Ryoka, and now you. I thought she was rather unique, but perhaps it was she who was merely uncommon.”

Erin didn’t understand that. She stared at Lady Magnolia and wondered what to say.

“What do you want?”

“Uninspired.”

Lady Magnolia frowned at Erin.

“Excuse me?”

Erin frowned back. Lady Magnolia shook her head.

“After all that insightfulness, force of will, and commendable chess playing ability, that is hardly a question worthy of you, Erin Solstice.”

A small pit of anger had been bubbling in Erin’s stomach since she’d realized what had been happening to her. It grew a bit larger.

“I’m sorry that I’m not smart enough to ask the right questions.”

“Oh hush.”

Lady Magnolia reached out and tapped Erin’s nose. The girl blinked in outrage and the woman continued.

“I am complimenting you, Miss Solstice. You have quite magnificently foiled two schemes of mine, which so rarely happens that I am in shock. And yet you appear quite naïve in other matters, which is why I will be extraordinarily blunt.”

“Thanks. What was all—?”

“I was attempting to persuade you to join the group of rather sorry individuals I have managed to save from being torn apart or beaten to death so that I might protect you. I confess I was also testing your ability in chess in the hopes you could be useful, but my main goal was to simply sequester you away from the world where you would no longer be able to cause any harm.”

Lady Magnolia delivered the statement in a brisk, matter-of-fact tone of voice that lacked any smiles or charm. She stared at Erin. Erin stared back.

“Why?”

“Because I believed you were not like Ryoka Griffin. Now, I believe it might be Ryoka Griffin who I must measure against you.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Good. I would hate for you to be as perspicacious in all things as you are at evading my Skills.”

Erin didn’t know what perspicacious meant either, but she bit her tongue and listened. Lady Magnolia paused.

“Tea please, Ressa. Raspberry, I think. Cooled.”

Ressa nodded, and Lady Magnolia turned back to Erin.

“When I first met Ryoka Griffin, I believed one thing. I believed I had either met the most capable and amazing young woman I had ever encountered, or that I had met someone who possessed knowledge she could not possibly acquire in this world. Possibly both.”

Lady Magnolia flicked her fingers, and Erin saw she was holding the monocle again. She peered at Erin through it again, frowning as she continued.

“I believed she was unique, but I soon learned that she was not. I soon realized she was one of many, and that led me to find the others like her and question them.”

“With torture? Did you find the others so you could—”

“No, and no. I found them because they were in danger. Two groups were dead, slain by monsters before I was even aware of the need for action. I found poor Imani nearly too late, but we saved her at least. The others, including young Rose, were far easier to locate and retrieve. And I asked them about their world, using [Charm] to persuade them to reveal more than they otherwise would, yes, but it was hardly difficult. Drink and a lovely woman or lovely young man listening attentively does wonders.”

Erin could believe that. She was trying to follow what was happening, and that was hard because she was still reeling from what had happened.

First, Lady Magnolia was nice. Then it turned out she was using a Skill on Erin, hence the table flip. But she didn’t want Ressa to smash Erin’s brains out, which the [Head Maid] could possibly maybe do. So Erin was safe. For now. And now it turned out Lady Magnolia wanted to find everyone from Erin’s world because she’d met Ryoka. Because…?

“Why? Why are you doing this?”

Lady Magnolia rolled her eyes, but Erin cut her off.

“I’m just a girl. From another world, right, but why are you so interested in us? Is it because we know things you don’t?”

“You come from another world. Of course you know many things we do not. I wished to ascertain what exactly that was, and when I realized what a vast difference in technology we possess, I immediately decided that you, Ryoka, and anyone else from your world must not be allowed to talk freely.”

“Why?”

“I wish you would stop asking me that question. You are quite intelligent enough to know why.”

Erin thought.

“Guns?”

“Among other things, yes. But merely the existence of another world would drive many Kings and fools into a frenzy and might begin a war that I am sure, absolutely sure that my world would lose. The nations of your world possess weapons far too deadly for all but the greatest magics to overcome, and the cost regardless would be far too great.”

Lady Magnolia looked up as Ressa let a maid approach with a pot of tea. She accepted a cup and Erin refused hers.

“If I intended to poison or drug—well, perhaps raspberry is not for everyone. I delight in sweet things. I digress however; even putting aside the knowledge that your world exists, any one weapon from your world would be deadly if knowledge of how to make them spread. Fortunately, not one of the children I found knew the exact details of how to make these weapons, and so my beliefs changed again.”

A hand tightened on the stem of the teacup, and Erin realized Lady Magnolia’s voice was trembling slightly.

“The technologies they so thoughtlessly spoke of would bring this world to ruin, but fortunately none of them know how to make any of what they claim is possible.”

Ressa nodded at this, one of the few movements Erin had ever seen her make. Magnolia continued.

“The few experts I know of and one…worldly confidant of mine assure me that even if this knowledge has spread, which I am sure it has, it will take years and quite a lot of groundwork to reproduce on a larger scale. And I shall search this world for traces of such preparation and quash it wherever it may be found.”

That sounded good. And it was good, wasn’t it? Erin wasn’t sure what to think.

“And so, now I find myself back where I started. I believe Ryoka Griffin is an extraordinary young woman, if only because she knows when to keep her mouth shut.”

Lady Magnolia stared at Erin as she sipped from her cup again. Erin folded her arms.

“What are you going to do?”

“Throw this tea cup at you if you continue asking such questions.”

“Fine. What are you going to do about Joseph and Rose and Imani and the others?”

“I intend to indulge their requests.  You know they have petitioned me—repeatedly—about becoming adventurers? All of the young men seem quite excited by the prospect, as young men often are. The young ladies would like to travel into the cities with pockets full of gold and shop, or so I gather.”

Erin frowned.

“They did tell me that. Joseph says you were going to help them. Give them magical weapons and armor.”

“Yes, and they are quite excited about the prospect. I have a mind to send them out with a few guides and let them enlist as Bronze-rank adventurers, with perhaps a gift of coins and a few choice items. What do you think of that?”

She didn’t even have to think. Erin replied instantly.

“They’d all die in a heartbeat.”

Ressa nodded. Magnolia smiled briefly.

“It would be amusing, or perhaps, sad, to see. I don’t believe any of them have actually killed anything in their life, or even helped butcher an animal. That might have informed their opinions. Only young Imani seems sensible and she is distraught with grief.”

Erin glared at Lady Magnolia. So. That was the plan.

“Are you going to kill me too?”

“Kill you? Haven’t you been listening to what I have been saying?”

“But you said—”

“I said I would send them out to become adventurers. But I will not let them die. I believe a few non-life-threatening injuries and a healthy dose of terror would be good for them.”

“That’s mean.”

“On the contrary, it’s quite generous considering that I do not owe them anything and I will be saving their lives in the long run.”

Erin frowned.

“You’re treating them like pawns or—or people to be manipulated. That’s wrong.”

Lady Magnolia sighed in irritation.

“I will stop treating them as pawns when they stop treating my world as a game to be enjoyed. As it is, that drunk group of young travelers below us are thoughtless, careless individuals who insult my servants, cause messes, throw up in the upholstery, and do not realize the gravity of the situation. I believe half of them are convinced this is a fictional reality, a dream perhaps, or some kind of living game.”

Erin bit her lip. She couldn’t deny that. Lady Magnolia paused, and went on.

“Not all are so foolish. Rose for example seems to understand the need to meet with others from your world, which is why I watch her in case she is called again on that…phone. And Imani is quite sensibly afraid of going out; I believe I will give her a bedroom away from the others now that you have opened her up.”

All of that still sounded suspicious to Erin. She stared at Lady Magnolia and raised a hand as if she were in school. Magnolia eyed it.

“Can I ask a question? Why I am I here?”

“You are here because I assumed you were like the others. I intended to confine you, perhaps after teaching you a few lessons about this world and the dangers therein.”

“And now?”

“I suppose you will have to go back to your inn. That is, unless you wish to accept my offer of hospitality. It still stands, and I would allow you to travel if you so wished.”

“Why?”

Lady Magnolia paused. She looked behind Erin.

“Ressa.”

A hand smacked Erin lightly on the back of the head. Erin yelped and turned, but Ressa stared blankly ahead, face expressionless. Lady Magnolia tapped her tea cup with one nail to get Erin’s attention.

“Consider my position, Erin Solstice. I have found visitors, or perhaps, refugees from another world. They know of terrible weapons, but have not the knowledge to create them. And yet, even the knowledge that such things can be created is enough to cause destruction in the long run. And these children—yes, children—are by and large helpless. They are walking magnets for chaos, and I dislike chaos.”

Erin sat in her seat and thought about that.

“Yeah. Guns would be bad.”

A hand smacked her on the back of the head again. Erin turned around, and Lady Magnolia smiled.

“I believe the young woman will hit you if you do that again, Ressa. And she has both [Bar Fighting] and [Minotaur Punch] as skills. I would be careful.”

“How do you know that?”

Lady Magnolia lifted the monocle in her lap.

“A little device made for me by a friend. It allows me to read [Skills] and [Levels] unless they are concealed. I would love to know what [Immortal Moment] and [Wondrous Fare] do, by the way. But to your point—yes, many of the technologies the others have described sound incredibly dangerous. I do not wish for any of them to become public knowledge.”

Erin rubbed her head as she nodded.

“That’s what Ryoka’s afraid of. She doesn’t want anyone to find out what we know.”

“And that is why I wish to speak with her. But, quite ironically, she is the one person who rightfully distrusts anyone like me.”

“Isn’t that smart?”

“Oh, of course.”

Lady Magnolia waved a hand. She drained her cup and placed it on a table.

“It is an excellent assumption to make. But in this case, I believe Miss Ryoka and I—and even you, Erin—are all on the same side.”

“And what side is—”

Erin looked at Ressa. The other woman’s hands hadn’t moved, but her lips twitched. Erin scowled.

“What side is that? It’s a smart question!”

Ressa shrugged impassively. Lady Magnolia rubbed at her eyes.

“I suppose it is? Erin, we are all on the side that wishes for peace, prosperity, and a lack of monsters or wars. I think that is a fair statement for me to make.”

“Right. I’m on that side.”

Erin nodded reluctantly. Lady Magnolia nodded as well.

“Most people are, but the problems emerge when selfish individuals place their own desires above that cause. Hence the infighting and petty bickering which grips both Drakes and Humans on this continent, and to a lesser extent, the Gnolls.”

She sighed.

“We waste time and resources killing each other while the true enemy grows stronger. Ah, if only the [Lords] and [Ladies] of this continent could see what I see. But of course, some do and others only pretend to. Vision is not hereditary, I’m afraid. And it is opinion which matters more.”

“So you’re afraid these nobles will cause trouble if they know what we—I—people from my world know?”

“Anyone would cause trouble with such knowledge, Erin. Anyone. But some would be more dangerous than others, I admit.”

Erin frowned. She needed a notepad, or something to write on to figure everything out. But she did her best.

“Let me get this straight. You found Ryoka, and realized she was from another world.”

“Possibly from another world. I had other suspicions at first.”

“Okay, but you found her and found other people. And when  you realized that we all know bad things—”

Lady Magnolia winced at Erin’s choice of words. Erin glared.

“—You decided to keep us all here so we don’t cause any trouble. But you’re letting me go?”

“Because you are not as thoughtless as the others, and moreover, because I believe you will do more good where you are than under lock and key.”

“And Ryoka?”

“The same, although if she would consent to helping me, it would make my life so much easier.”

“So you can make guns?”

“No.”

Lady Magnolia said that flatly. She stared Erin straight in the eye.

“I will never create these weapons. Not unless someone else has already spread them to the point where they have become commonplace.”

“Why?”

“A thousand reasons, not least of which is that it would destroy this world. Ryoka knows this, which is why she has sensibly avoided me for fear I would use such weapons.”

Erin nodded. That was what Ryoka had said, more or less, so she supposed she could believe Lady Magnolia.

“And where is Ryoka?”

The other woman paused. She looked at Erin, and then shook her head.

“If she has not told you, I will honor her discretion as a Runner. I do worry that she is well of course; but we must make gambles, and I rather like the idea of rolling the dice, especially if my die is Ryoka Griffin.”

“You’re gambling with her life?”

Lady Magnolia looked insulted that Erin looked upset.

“Of course. Every person of note and power on the continent is a gambler who plays for the highest of stakes, Erin Solstice. Except for the Antinium Grand Queen. I’m afraid she only takes safe bets with acceptable risks. But until I am sure I play against her and her alone, I must resign myself to uncertainty. And to minimize that risk, I find it is important to get to know people.”

“Like me.”

“If you like. Now, let me offer you a few reassurances. I will not harm the others from your world…unduly. Nor will I share their dangerous secrets, unless of course there is something actually valuable from your world that might be used in this one. I would quite like to taste a pizza and hamburger, you know. Perhaps you could leave the recipe with my [Chef] before you go?”

“Um—”

“Also, I am not interested in harming or impeding you or Ryoka in any way. I simply desire your cooperation and perhaps your help. Actually, I desire Ryoka for all these things, but I shall include you as well.”

“To do what exactly? Making the world a better place?”

“If you could do that, I would be most grateful. No—in helping to defeat the one enemy that truly threatens this continent. The Antinium.”

Erin’s brain halted when she heard that. She cleared her throat, wishing she’d taken another cup of tea, and then spoke.

“The Antinium…aren’t your enemies.”

Lady Magnolia raised a finger.

“A few Antinium you are acquainted with may not be my enemy. But the rest are. Indeed, if their Queen ordered it, I would not place high odds that they would not cut you apart.”

Erin swallowed.

“Pawn and Klbkch wouldn’t do that.”

Lady Magnolia raised an incredulous eyebrow.

“Wouldn’t they? How much do you know of the Antinium? How much do you know of Klbkch the Slayer’s past?”

Klbkch the Slayer? Erin had never heard of that title. She opened her mouth, but the other woman waved her to silence.

“I am Lady Magnolia Reinhart. I have no enemies upon this continent, or so it is said. And yet I consider the Antinium Queens my greatest nemeses. Consider that for one moment, and please, think before you reply.”

Erin opened her mouth, hesitated, glared at Ressa, and then thought. Magnolia watched her, not without a bit of sympathy.

“The Antinium do battle much in the way your world fights, or so I gather.”

Erin blinked. Lady Magnolia smiled and clarified her statement.

“What I mean is, they fight under the assumption all soldiers are equal. They raise their warriors to be excellent, but no individual is better than another in their doctrine. That is because the Antinium do not level. But other armies fight differently.”

Lady Magnolia lifted her cup, accepted a refill from Ressa and drank a bit before continuing. Erin saw Ressa glance at her mistress, and something flickered across the maid’s face. It almost looked like…worry?

“In this world, an individual can change the course of a battle. A single hero can win a war. And that is because we level. Armies protect their highest-level warriors, or risk them in order to deal damage to opposing forces. But a hundred Level 15 [Soldiers] would not be worth the life of a single Level 30 [Vanguard]. So we sacrifice the many for the good of the few, that they might grow stronger. That is the difference between our worlds.”

Erin tried to imagine it. It wasn’t actually that hard. It was like…superheroes. They could fight entire armies by themselves, and that was sort of like a high-level warrior, right? Lady Magnolia nodded.

“Now consider this. What would happen if your world’s technology fell into Antinium hands? Or rather, feelers?”

Erin tried to imagine that. Her heart sank.

“Weapons of war. Tanks, these flying planes of yours, and of course, ‘bombs’. Terrible weapons that require no levels to use. And worse still, a gun. A weapon with exceptional range that can fire faster than a repeating crossbow if made correctly. Such weapons would allow even children to kill the greatest of warriors. All races would take that technology and kill with it, but the Antinium would benefit most greatly. That is why this technology must not be realized in this world.”

Again, Erin raised her hand. She lowered it when she saw Magnolia staring at it.

“Um, but why wouldn’t you just use a gun or something and not share the way the weapons are made?”

“Aside from the obvious point that any weapon can be used against its owner, I have found that nothing stays secret for long. The instant a weapon is used, it is copied a thousand times over. Have you not witnessed this yourself?”

Erin thought of her hamburgers and had nothing to say. Lady Magnolia sighed again.

“If these ‘guns’ were to become widespread, two groups would benefit most from their usage. In less than a decade, the House of Minos would fall to its ancient enemy and the Antinium would sweep across the continent.”

Another pause.

“Were things otherwise, and were I more foolish, I might even consider manufacturing these devices myself, regardless of the risk, to deal with the Antinium. With them, I could create an army capable of killing Dragons; a force that would humble even Flos on the field of battle. But I am a bit wiser than that. By the time I defeated the Antinium—and that is still not wholly predictable—the entire world would be armed thusly, and we would burn nations to the ground and slaughter entire species before the bloodletting was done. No.”

Erin was quiet for a while after that. She didn’t know what to think of Lady Magnolia. The woman herself sipped her tea quietly as she watched Erin. At last, Erin looked up.

“I still don’t think they’re your enemies. The Antinium, I mean.”

“You do not know their history. You have not seen what they do.”

“Kill people? But Humans do that.”

“And we are a wretched species. But the Antinium are sadly better at killing than we are, and their Queens attempted to wipe this continent free of every living species once before. Consider this, Erin. Even in war, [Lords] and [Generals] often spare civilians. It is a point of honor, and practicality. Not even [Soldiers] relish that level of violence, and so the few who slaughter are condemned by every nation.”

She raised a finger.

“But the Antinium have fought thusly from the beginning. They leave no survivors. And what is worse, they make no permanent peace. I believe they have simply been waiting since the last Antinium War, building their strength for the final war in which they will win and slaughter us all.”

Erin couldn’t believe it. Klbkch, do that? But—she’d seen him killing Goblins that one time. And yet Pawn—

“It is not the individuals I speak of, but their Queens. They are heartless and care nothing for other species. If you will not believe it of the Antinium you know, believe that.”

Erin could. She remembered the Queen, and the cold way she had spoken about Klbkch, her subject.

“So that’s it? You’re fighting a war and you want help from us?”

“…If you want to put it that way, yes. Rather, I simply hope you will not make things worse. I don’t expect much help from you.”

“Hey, that’s—!”

“Accurate.”

Erin opened her mouth. Lady Magnolia stared at her. Erin closed her mouth.

“Erin Solstice. A young woman who treats Goblins like people and teaches the Antinium how to become individuals. That alone makes you extraordinary, but it will not win a war.”

Lady Magnolia drummed her fingers on her leg.

“I should like nothing more than for the Antinium to all become individual. That would mean they are people, and people can be manipulated, flattered, bribed, intimidated, or threatened. A swarm simply devours everything in its way. But it will not happen, because while the Queen in Liscor is a visionary, the other Queens and the Grand Queen lacks her ideals. No, it will not change what is to come.”

“And that is?”

“War. And not just any war. A world war, as your people have spoken of.”

Lady Magnolia said it calmly. She looked out one of the windows, at the setting sun.

“Perhaps it will not begin on this continent, but it will come soon. Already the idea of it hangs in the air, whispering in every ear.”

Erin felt a chill.

“How do you know?”

“From whispers. It is hard to know everything, everywhere. The Isles of Minos, for instance, suffer few spies. Even so. A Goblin Lord has emerged in the south, and if a King should rampage again, we may all fall to the youngest species before the Antinium.”

Lady Magnolia started ticking off points on her fingers.

“Az’Kerash builds an army of the dead, and I only pray we may stop him. I would send heroes to slay him before he unleashes his madness, but they are in short supply. Between him and the Antinium, we face two major enemies, although one is far more dangerous than the other. An individual versus a swarm, you see? And then there are simply dangerous fools among the Drakes and Humans who would start bonfires over matchsticks anyways. Flos goes to conquer, and perhaps he is the least dangerous of all. He at least desires to create a kingdom rather than break everything apart. And all of this happens because of your people, Erin Solstice.”

The room felt darker, and not just because the sun was setting. Erin tried to swallow around a dry mouth.

“My people?”

“We were at peace before you arrived, Erin Solstice. A factitious, torn peace full of petty battles and squabbles, yes, but peace nevertheless. The world was slowly healing, but all too soon the truce forged of paper will burst open like scabs and war will once more ravage the people and land.”

Lady Magnolia paused. The shroud around her lifted, and she looked over.

“Mm. That was quite good, wasn’t it, Ressa? I shall have to remember that to Teriarch next time we speak. Write that down, would you?”

“Yes, milady.”

Magnolia turned back to Erin.

“I don’t mean to sound completely hopeless. There are threats, true, but I hope that my preparations will guard against some of them. This continent is strong, and I have done my best to ensure the north is stronger than it was. But that is the truth of it. War is coming. And you few travelers are caught in it.”

Erin tried to breathe and had trouble doing so. It seemed so huge when Magnolia said it like that.

“What should we do, then? I mean, is there anything—?”

“Nothing. You can help those you meet in your inn, and perhaps that will change things. But unless you know of a technology that saves lives…? There are a number of curious things the other young men and women talk about, but they are frustratingly vague on details. I will pursue that line of questioning, however.”

Erin shook her head.

“I still don’t think it’s right, keeping them here.”

“And what would you do? Let them loose?”

Magnolia frowned at Erin. Erin shrugged.

“Maybe not, but they’re not as stupid as you’re treating them.”

“Fools seldom are. But they are thoughtless, which is worse. What could they do that would not cause more harm?”

“I don’t know. But give them a chance.”

Magnolia paused as she sipped at her cup.

“A chance? As what, adventurers?”

“Maybe. But just give them a chance to do something rather than lock them up and let them be useless.”

Erin tried to explain.

“I have this annoying—this girl in my inn. She’s really, really troublesome, but if I left her alone she would die.”

“Ah. Lyonette de Marquin. Dreadful girl. I’m not sure she is the example you should use.”

“You know who she is? I mean, she said she knows you—”

“I’m sure she does.”

Lady Magnolia made a face as if the tea had suddenly gone bad. Erin looked around and saw Ressa making a similar look of disgust, which disappeared as soon as she noticed Erin looking.

“She says she’s really important and that you’d take her in. But the [Butler]—sorry, Reynold—wouldn’t let her come with me.”

Magnolia sighed as she swirled her tea around with a silver spoon.

“She certainly is…important, but I fear she overstates her value. She wrote me several strident letters demanding that I offer her the hospitality of my house. I do not wish to do so.”

“But she nearly died by herself! She was getting exiled and she would have frozen to death if I hadn’t found her!”

“A pity.”

Erin’s heart grew silent in her chest for a moment. She looked at Lady Magnolia.

“Just because someone is really…really annoying or useless doesn’t mean they deserve to die.”

“Neither does it mean that I should waste time and resources saving them.”

“But that means you’re killing them if you don’t help. That’s wrong.”

A sigh. Erin gritted her teeth as Magnolia looked at her.

“What if they are a danger? What if killing them would save thousands of lives? Would that not be the most morally correct choice?”

Now Erin was getting angrier. Magnolia was—well, she wasn’t a bad person. Maybe. But she was getting on Erin’s nerves.

“You don’t get to decide that. God—gods know everything, so I guess if they existed, they’d be able to say if that was right or wrong. But the gods are dead. Everyone tells me that. So no one gets to decide if things are moral. You can kill however many people you want, but you can’t say it was the right thing to do.”

“Fine then. I chose to let Lyonette die. I do not regret it, any more than I regret confining the others from your world. I cannot release them into the wild because they would die, and neither will I risk them spreading dangerous information as they so casually do. But they are quite a drain on resources.”

“So? You offered to take them in.”

“To save their lives. But I may soon lock them in a house and toss bags of grain inside rather than keep them here. They are not worthy of this house, or the people who must put up with them. They eat, argue, talk about games and laugh at monsters as if they were harmless, and talk to my servants about freedom as if they were slaves.”

“They do? I mean, really?”

Lady Magnolia scowled.

“One of them does, at any rate. She doesn’t seem to understand the difference between employing a family of their free will and forcing them to work.”

“I’m sorry if they’ve offended you. But—”

“I will give them a chance, which may be more than they deserve. Enough. It is growing late, and I wish to impress one thing upon you, Erin Solstice.”

“What?”

“Numbers. Or perhaps—worth.”

Lady Magnolia put down her cup and looked at Erin directly.

“The smallest of the Antinium Hives – the one based in Liscor – holds at least three thousand Antinium at any given time. More, as of late. At least two thousand Workers and a thousand Soldiers are ready to go to war at any moment; my estimate puts their numbers at a thousand more in their Hive. And that is the least of the six Hives, if there are only six. The others are larger by an immeasurable factor.”

The numbers staggered Erin. Three—no, four thousand Antinium? Why didn’t they help when Skinner attacked? But Lady Magnolia wasn’t done. She pointed at Erin.

“You are worth two Antinium Soldiers in a battle. Ryoka—with items, perhaps she could defeat a dozen. Two dozen. But I very much doubt it.”

She shook her head.

“As dangerous as you are, as unique as you are, you are only one Human. But I require an army. I seek heroes. I have children, bright and full of weapons that would shake the earth—none of which I can use now or without having them used against me in time. You and Ryoka Griffin are extraordinary in your own ways, but you are still young. And small.”

Magnolia looked towards the window.

“I will hope that you rise to the challenges you will face. If there is a way I may aid you that will encourage growth or help myself, I will do so. But I am playing a game against titans, and I am only a small Human.”

Erin didn’t know what to say to that. Magnolia looked large and small at the same time—a giant in her own right, full of more force than anyone else Erin had met—but still so small compared to the things she talked about.

“If you are able to, I hope you will persuade Miss Ryoka to visit me. I am in need of whatever aid she can give; whatever she can remember. These new defensive potions and alchemist creations she has made cheaper will save countless lives in the long run. But convincing enough farmers to grow spicy peppers will be difficult. Bottles are equally expensive, but if it can be manufactured into a spray as young Rose claims…”

Magnolia sighed, and looked at Erin.

“Which brings me to you. You, Erin Solstice, the girl of many odd talents. You have skills, and a brain hidden behind all that fluff, but you maintain a small inn and do little with what you have. Is that all you will ever do? What is it you wish to do in this world, Miss Erin Solstice? Do you want to go home to your world? Or perhaps, do you want to stay here? This world is full of wonders, but I am sure yours is filled with just as many.”

Her eyes bored into Erin’s, unblinking, and Lady Magnolia’s voice seemed like the only thing in the world. Erin couldn’t look away as the questions hit her again and again.

“Will you protect this world? Save it? Do you simply want to live in peace? Or perhaps you would like to destroy it? Do you even care?”

Erin opened her mouth, but Lady Magnolia silenced her.

“I don’t believe you have an answer that would not prompt me to throw something at you.”

“I do.”

“Really? This tea pot is quite heavy and quite expensive. I would hate to waste it.”

“I want to protect the people around me. That’s all. I have friends. I don’t want them to die. I want to help them, and some day find a way home. And live in peace. That’s all.”

Lady Magnolia stared at Erin for a while.

“Hmph. Well, at least you don’t have small dreams. Well then, Erin Solstice, delightful and infuriating as this conversation has been, I believe only one thing remains for me to do with you.”

Erin tensed. Ressa had moved behind Magnolia, but she was fast.

“And what’s that?”

Lady Magnolia smiled.

“Send you home.”

—-

It was a small group that gathered outside the coach. Reynold held the door open as Erin climbed in, and the girl realized that Joseph and Rose and the others were watching her from a window. And trying to shout to her, by the looks of it.

She’d wanted to say something to them, but Lady Magnolia had vetoed that suggestion. She claimed she had no desire to listen to another hundred complaints and besides, Erin had nothing to say to the others that they would not learn soon enough.

Erin had silently agreed with that, but she still glared at Lady Magnolia as she got into the carriage. She was fairly sure she didn’t like the [Lady], but at least in public Lady Magnolia was all smiles and rainbows.

“I trust Reynold will see you safely to your inn. I also took the liberty of sending a meal with you, as I shamefully neglected to play the good host. Do take care.”

“…Thanks.”

The door began to close, but a slim hand interposed itself before it could shut. Erin wondered what would happen if she slammed the door, but then Magnolia opened it. She lowered her voice so that only Erin could hear.

“Oh, and by the way, Erin. Though I laud your desire to protect those around you, I believe you will soon find that answer means changing the entire world. So the question remains: what will you do? Will you try to save this world we live in, or wait for others to do it for you?”

Erin stared at Magnolia. The other woman was smiling.

“If I punch you, would Ressa kill me?”

Magnolia’s smile widened.

“Quite likely. Do agonize about your future on the ride home. Goodbye.”

The door closed. Reynold waited until Magnolia was clear, and then snapped the reins. The carriage began to move swiftly away, and Erin sat back in her seat.

“I think I really hate her.”

Lady Magnolia. She was like a hurricane trapped inside of a bottle inside of a tornado inside of a washing machine. She was all go, and even thinking about what she’d just learned made Erin want to vomit up thoughts.

And she was so confident she was right. She’d seen right through Erin. Or maybe—

Erin turned and glared out the window as Lady Magnolia’s mansion disappeared in the distance. She had a small thought in her head.

Maybe…she was actually a good person. A rich [Lady] trying to save the world by herself.

Probably not. She was still a jerk. But the things she’d said—

Outside, the world began to blur as Erin sped away from Lady Magnolia’s house, and back home. Thoughts whirled around in Erin’s head, not least of which was that Magnolia had put enough food in the carriage to feed both her and Reynold for a week. But that wasn’t as important as what she’d learned.

So many things. War? The Antinium? Were they really the biggest threat? Could Magnolia be trusted?

Erin wanted so desperately to talk to Ryoka about it all. But without anyone to talk to—besides Reynold, and he really couldn’t help with this—Erin found herself drifting off. Her mind began looping, and only a few thoughts repeated themselves.

What had Magnolia said? Choose. Erin thought she had an answer, but war? She couldn’t even imagine—

What should she do?

Live alone.

Save the world.

Run away.

Ask for help.

Live in peace.

Fight for freedom.

Bring democracy.

Protect secrets.

Go back home.

Save the world.

Protect her friends.

Save the world.

Give up.

Save the world.

Save the world.

Save.

The.

World.

Interlude – Quiet Discussions

Lady Magnolia and Ressa retired to a personal sitting room after Erin had gone. It was a mark of Lady Magnolia’s abilities as a [Lady] that she did not seem to notice the shouting young men and women who were trying to attract her attention. Her servants and a glare from Ressa allowed Magnolia to make her way up the stairs unimpeded.

The truth of the matter was that no matter how upset Joseph and Rose and the others were, they didn’t quite dare shout in Magnolia’s presence. And neither were they able to force themselves to push past the polite maids and manservants to accost her physically. They were held back by Lady Magnolia’s sheer presence.

It was a skill as well as a Skill, and Lady Magnolia had mastered both. She let Ressa close the door and muffle the last indignant protests echoing through her home and sighed.

Even that was graceful. Lady Magnolia was known throughout the continent—well, by Humans at least. Any Drakes and Gnolls who paid attention to Humans knew of her, but Humans were by and large identical to the majority of Drakes and Gnolls. Still, those who knew anything of Lady Magnolia knew that she was a [Lady]. At all times she was graceful and polite.

And in her own room, away from the eyes of the world, Magnolia was no less composed. Her diction did not slip even in private. She was elegant, thoughtful, deliberate, never offered an unkind word—

“Ah. I am exhausted, Ressa. Do you think we were quite so impudent and annoying when we were children?”

—Is what people expected. The truth was rather different. Lady Magnolia very nearly flopped back into her couch. She picked up the tea cup, drained it, filled it, and drained it again in quick succession.

Ressa eyed her mistress and childhood friend disapprovingly. Like a good maid, she had said nothing in Erin’s presence, but she had made her feelings about the tea Magnolia drank quite explicit numerous times before.

Raspberry tea. It was a delicious and even healthy beverage as enjoyed by most people, but in this case, it had been sweetened with so much sugar to make the drink practically poisonous in and of itself. Magnolia drank it like water, as much for the caffeine as the sugar high.

“She was quite spirited.”

“Spirited? Hah! I’ve met Minotaurs with less gall. Still, I think it turned out for the best, don’t you?”

Ressa shrugged. She deftly whisked the pot full of sugary tea away from Lady Magnolia. The other woman scowled, but made no attempt to retrieve it.

“I believe Erin Solstice will return to her inn safely.”

“Oh, I think so as well. There were no reports of bandits on the road, no monster sightings, Reynold is there, and if worse comes to worst, she is quite a resourceful young lady. I did mention the combat skills she had to you, didn’t I? She had [Unerring Throw] as well. Quite a powerful skill, if used right.”

“Indeed, milady.”

“Stop that.”

Lady Magnolia mock-glared at Ressa as the maid began inspecting the room for any signs of dirt, dust, or failure on the part of the maids who had cleaned it. Magnolia sat back in her couch and stared up at the ceiling.

“Only the gods may decide what is right and wrong, eh? Such strong conviction. It reminds me of our youth, doesn’t it?”

Ressa shrugged slightly. When she was out of the presence of others she acted far less formally with her employer, but she was still quite diligent in her duties. She lifted up a pot and regarded the spotless underside.

“As I recall, you were even wilder than Erin Solstice as a young lady, Magnolia.”

“And so were you. Do I need to recall the incident with the granary to you?”

Ressa made no reply. Magnolia sighed, louder. It was hard to poke fun at Ressa. Either the woman took it, or she hit you. Either way, you lost.

“Do you think I was too harsh on the girl? I placed a tremendous burden on her shoulders.”

“I believe she will be equal to the task.”

Ressa said that thoughtfully as she paused in opening a drawer. She looked at Lady Magnolia.

“Do you know, I found myself talking to her quite naturally after only a few minutes. And she was able to befriend Reynold over the course of their trip.”

“I noticed. That is a valuable talent, and no doubt one of the reasons she survived by herself.”

Magnolia nodded and stretched out on her sofa like a cat. She put her feet up, which made Ressa stare pointedly at them. They did not come off the couch.

“It simply proves what I said earlier. Wild cards are far more useful to play with when the deck is stacked against oneself. I anticipate her causing quite a lot of trouble for the Queen in Liscor, and the Antinium delegation who are so stealthily making their way towards the city.”

“Indeed.”

Ressa casually pushed Magnolia’s feet off the couch. The [Lady] of the manor stared at her maid.

“I do own this couch, you know.”

“It’s unenchanted and you have a tendency to kick things. Use the other couch if you want to lie down. I won’t have you causing hundreds of gold worth of damages.”

Lady Magnolia grumbled, but she sat up.

“What happened to the other one that’s normally here?”

“You spilled food all over it. It’s being cleaned.”

“Ah. I suppose we should have hired the enchanter to prevent stains as well.”

“It is enchanted against stains. The maids are trying to wipe all the food off.”

“Oh.”

After a moment’s silence, the convivial, chatty atmosphere passed. Lady Magnolia sighed and sat up, and Ressa knew she was back to work. She never took long breaks.

“Now that our guest is gone, tell me about that Goblin Lord. No one has gotten close enough to give me a description, but those reports of dead Goblins being part of his army are disturbing. He must certainly be strong if he managed to defeat Zel Shivertail.”

Ressa nodded. She closed her eyes, and then spoke from memory.

“The [Scouts] put his army at something close to the equivalent of a Walled City’s standing army. He has over a hundred Hobgoblins and at least ten [Mages] or [Shamans] in his army.”

“He is that powerful already?”

Lady Magnolia made a disgruntled face. Ressa nodded.

“Other details are still coming in and we will know more after Shivertail returns to one of the cities and makes his report.”

“But none of the mages have found out anything else? The [Scouts]?”

“They cannot get close and the mages do not have a good fix on his location. The few that can [Scry] do not know his name.”

“What about Teriarch? He could find anyone he wanted if he weren’t so lazy.”

“He has…ignored our messages to him.”

“He’s probably sulking. I gave him quite an earful after he gave Ryoka that ridiculous delivery.”

Lady Magnolia scowled and sighed.

“Very well. The Drake cities will take this seriously once they hear Ilvriss’ testimony along with Shivertail’s. But what about the northern Goblin tribes? They have a leader, but do the other families know of it?”

Ressa hesitated.

“Many of the aristocracy are aware of trouble with the Goblins in the south, but no more than that. Only Lord Tyrion’s spies have realized the northern tribes are moving, and they have only said that they suppose the Goblins may be organizing.”

Magnolia’s face spoke volumes.

“They ‘suppose’ the Goblins may be organizing? Ressa, the next time you meet Lord Tyrion, do endeavor to smack him on the head a few times, would you? His scouts are nearly worthless if that is all they can report.”

“I shall do so if possible.”

It would be Ressa’s pleasure, although the odds of her actually laying hands on Lord Tyrion were low. Magnolia sighed as she put her fingers together.

“No one pays any attention to Goblins until it is too late.”

“Except for you.”

Lady Magnolia laughed.

“Yes, well, Teriarch did convince me rather thoroughly of that point. It is hard to ignore them when you know the truth, is it not?”

“It is.”

“Well, we shall let things play out. The Goblin Lord is not an immediate threat unless all the northern tribes join him at once, and I very much doubt that Garen Red Fang will bow so easily. But this does present us with an opportunity.”

Magnolia stood up and walked over to a window. Ressa joined her, noticing a smudge on the glass and frowning hard at it. Lady Magnolia spoke to the window as Ressa produced a cloth and began to clean.

“Zel Shivertail is too important to ignore, but his defeat – even though it came after an incredible victory over Wall Lord Ilvriss – will no doubt lead to a period of disgrace as fools seek to belittle him. A shame some of those Drakes are so close minded, but it is exactly what we have been waiting for.”

“It would appear so.”

Slowly, Magnolia nodded. She stared out the window at the setting sun.

“Now that he is in disgrace—or rather, will be—it is the opportune time to persuade him to come north. I only wish it were as simple as offering him riches or power.”

“Shall I send a message by [Courier]?”

“No—I believe I may send a [Message] spell instead. This is too important to be subtle about. We need a general of Zel Shivertail’s caliber.”

Ressa nodded in agreement. Magnolia sighed.

“And what of Ryoka? Is she still alive, or should I have told young Erin not to wait?”

“She is alive.”

“Good. And she will return in…?”

“Two days. Theofore has located her.”

“Really? I would have thought the other [Assassins] and [Scouts] would have had more luck. Then again, perhaps he understands Miss Griffin better than they do.”

“Or it could just be chance.”

Lady Magnolia glanced over. Ressa’s face was completely straight.

“Pragmatic kill-joy.”

“As you say, milady.”

“Make sure she arrives at the inn safely. Until I have a chance to speak with her, she must not die, is that clear?”

Ressa hesitated. She looked at Magnolia for a moment, wondering if she should add this detail.

“She is injured.”

“What?”

Magnolia had been thinking of something else, but now she focused on Ressa.

“How badly?”

“Theofore reported that two of Ryoka’s fingers are missing, and she appears to be moving far slower than normal. She is not alone, either.”

The calm expression on Magnolia’s face disappeared. Her brows shot together.

“Who else is with her? A survivor of the Goblin Lord’s attack? The Winter Sprites? Teriarch did say they were attracted to her, but I thought it was just because they enjoyed tormenting the girl.”

“A young Gnoll cub. Theofore believes Ryoka may have rescued her.”

Lady Magnolia closed her eyes, and pressed her fingers to her temples tiredly.

“Of course she did. And lost her fingers and got hurt in the doing, no doubt. She is ill-suited to be a Runner in temperament. She is far too sympathetic.”

For a second the two women stood and stared out the window in silence. Magnolia put a finger to her lips.

“But a cub…? There must have been a Gnoll tribe caught in the mountains.”

Ressa nodded.

“The Stone Spears tribe was wintering in that region. It is likely that Ryoka Griffin’s paths would have crossed with theirs.”

“Are there any survivors?”

“Possibly. Half the tribe was camped out while the warriors and miners travelled higher, searching for ores and gems. The [Scouts] and [Assassins] reported a higher number of Gnolls travelling with Zel’s army—they may have been saved.”

Again, Lady Magnolia closed her eyes.

“And the mining group?”

Ressa would have liked to pretend she didn’t know, but no one could lie to Magnolia Reinhart. She spoke quietly.

“One of the highest-level [Assassins] sent with the scouting group slipped past the Goblin Lord’s army and located the mining site. She found no survivors. It appears the Gnolls were ambushed and slew over a hundred Goblins before being overwhelmed.”

“I see.”

More silence. Ressa spoke into it.

“The Gnoll cub seems to be unusual.”

“How so? Is the child injured? If so, have Theofore—”

“No. She has white fur.”

Now Magnolia looked at Ressa. Her eyes were serious.

“A Gnoll with white fur. That is no coincidence, Ressa. But what does it mean?”

“It is a portent of some kind?”

“I would have to ask a Gnoll [Shaman] or Teriarch. My memory is fuzzy. But yes, it is.”

Lady Magnolia thought for a few more moments and then sighed. She let her hands drop to her side.

“We must hurry. Things are happening too quickly now. If we had another year—but of course we do not. Very well. The Goblins will keep for a while longer. Now, onto armies. I know Lord Tyrion’s army just smashed two other armies in that little spat of his. Do you have numbers on how many of his soldiers perished?”

“Very few, or so the rumors state. Eyewitnesses saw only a few bodies in his livery after the battle, so it is safe to assume he completely routed his enemies.”

“Only naturally. His soldiers are splendidly well equipped and trained. They are peerless among the armies of the north. A bright and shining jewel that needs only the correct setting to become perfection. It is a shame the same cannot be said of their lord and leader.”

Magnolia sighed. But then she smiled.

“And what of our little project, Ressa? Where do we stand at the moment?”

Ressa nodded.

“Discounting the city-states and their private armies as well as the personal retainers and forces available to other lords and ladies—”

“Of course.”

“—Then, at the moment we will be able to call upon two thousand individuals with combat-classes above Level 20. Over six hundred of that number possess levels above 30. Six Named Adventurers and eight Gold-rank teams are available, and we have at our disposal at least three hundred and fifty irregular units.”

Lady Magnolia smiled wider. She looked at Ressa, but the woman was done. Gently, Magnolia prompted the maid.

“And…?”

Ressa sighed.

“…And one unicorn.”

“Most excellent. Now then, I believe we should send another letter to a certain [Strategist]. If we do manage to obtain Zel Shivertail’s services, then we will have a peerless army with a general to match. But to make them public and start training them in earnest, I would need a second hand for Zel of equal ability.”

Ressa sighed. She knew who Lady Magnolia was hinting at, but here at least she believed her mistress was wasting her time.

“Thus far all missives to him have been ignored.”

Lady Magnolia waved that fact away like an annoying fly.

“He can’t keep ignoring me forever. Send fifteen more letters off this instant. If we keep bothering him eventually he will have to talk with me.”

“Keep telling yourself that, milady.”

Ressa muttered the words, but Magnolia wasn’t listening. She was quite good at that—she had been since they were children. The [Lady] began asking more questions, and Ressa continued to answer.

Back to work. Erin Solstice’s visit, however notable, was only a small part of the many things Magnolia Reinhart had to deal with each day. Ressa was just as busy. She had to organize the maids, clean up whatever mess the people from Erin’s world had left, speak to spies and [Assassins] and find someone to blame for that smudge on the window. She had plotting to do with the most powerful woman on the continent, people to organize, tea pots to refill, dinner to serve—

And of course, letters to send.

—-

It was a hot and muggy day, but the [Strategist] standing on his war room table staring down at the map of tomorrow’s battlefield felt none of the heat. His tent was cool thanks to the magic woven into the fabric—a source of much relief to the other people gathered in the tent.

They were all [Strategists]. Well, a few were still [Tacticians] by virtue of lower levels, but they were all focused in the same area.

And that was odd, because the tent contained all the high-ranking officers in the army. Normally the room would be filled with [Officers] and [Lieutenants] and [Leaders] rather than just [Strategists]. But this odd quirk was probably due to the army’s leader. The man leading this army was a [Strategist] without one level as a [General] or any other class. He was infamous for this, in fact, and he led his army without any other skills. He was known as the Titan, which was clearly an ironic name to anyone who actually knew what he looked like.

And at the moment he was planning a battle. The [Strategist] was speaking to a tall man dressed in armor save for his head. There was something off about this armored man’s neck. But as he nodded and his head wobbled, the [Strategist] held up a hand and everyone in his tent paused. Two seconds later someone knocked on the tent flap.

“Enter.”

A [Soldier] poked his head through, one of the ones on guard duty.

“A Courier is here to see you, sir.”

Niers Astoragon, the Titan and [Strategist] leading this army, sighed as he looked up from the map and waved the Courier into his tent. He already knew—or suspected—who the letter was from.

The Courier immediately strode into the tent as one of his lieutenants held the flap open. The stiflingly hot, moist heat tried to rush in, but the cooling enchantment on the tent quickly stabilized the temperature.

The young female Courier who handed Niers three letters wasn’t even sweating. It had to be a Skill, or a magical item of some sort. Niers eyed her belt idly as he accepted the first letter and pulled the envelope open. He was quite tempted to buy an artifact like that for himself on days like this, but it would be needlessly expensive to order, given how many other enchanted items he carried. If only the magics didn’t clash so—

Niers grunted as he kicked the sealed envelope’s lid off and noticed the delicate, gold-edged card. Of course. It had to be from her. What a waste of time.

Any message sent by a Courier was almost always opened within seconds of receiving it. That was because no one would send pointless letters at such expense. That damned Magnolia Reinhart knew that, and so she sent Niers letters constantly, forcing him to open them on the off chance he was receiving vital information.

How he hated and admired that woman’s twisted mind. But Niers knew what he would see the instant he pulled the delicately scented card out of the envelope, and he tossed it on the table after only a few second’s cursory study.

“Pick that up and dispose of it, would you, Umina? And if the others smell of lavender, rosemary, raspberries, or any other floral scent, discard them too.”

The lizard girl standing closest to the entrance nodded and began sorting through the letters. Niers sighed as he turned back to the map, conscious of the eyes on him. He stepped to one side casually, allowing Umina to pick up the letter he’d opened. She moved very carefully, as if afraid one mistake from her would crush him.

He hated being treated like that. But Umina was new to his group of students and so she wasn’t quite used to his stature. Either she would learn or she would not. Niers concentrated on the battle and put petty distractions aside.

Yes, that was the irony of the nickname his enemies had given him. Niers had embraced the name, but it did cause confusion, which was why he sensed the Courier’s eyes on his back as he turned back to the map.

To hear talk of the second-in-command of one of the Four Great Companies of Baleros, Niers was a giant in every sense. He led his armies to victory after victory, using his mind as a weapon where most [Generals] led with their swords. He could outmaneuver any foe, defeat any force, even those three times as large as his. With his Skills he could turn his soldiers into horrific monsters, yet if he needed to retreat his army would become ghosts on the battlefield.

He was a monster, the highest-level [Strategist] on the continent—perhaps the world. Quite sensibly, Niers kept his exact level hidden, but his prowess was unmatched. So they called him the Titan, and only some got the joke. And that was that Niers was tiny. He was only six inches tall.

Aside from that one detail, Niers looked like any middle-aged man. His hair was dark black, slightly grey, and he had a powerful, if minuscule, build. He wore armor as expensive as any [Lord]’s—more expensive in truth, given that [Blacksmiths] had a terrible time forging anything so small. And he looked Human again, apart from the issue of his height.

Niers was actually quite tall for an individual of his race, but of course that meant very little when the average height of his people was about as tall as a Human’s hand. The Fraerlings, or the Small Folk as they were more commonly known, were a reclusive people on Baleros, who seldom took part in continental or worldly events, preferring to stay within their small communities and only travel to villages, towns, and cities on the occasional trip to sell goods or request aid from adventurers.

Except that of course, there were exceptions. And it could easily be claimed that Niers was the most famous Fraerling in the world. It wasn’t a position he particularly relished; he would have liked to be known for his strategic prowess rather than his origins, but fame was fame, and he knew he was a hero to the children of his kind.

Umina hesitated as she held the bunch of letters the Courier had brought. Niers knew she was capable of magic, but burning a set of missives that came from a Courier must have gone against all her instincts.

“I should just—?”

“A flame. Here.”

One of Niers’ older students intervened before Umina could interrupt their teacher. He took the letters from Umina in gauntleted hands and let her conjure a small flame between her hands. The letters curled and burnt away as he held them to the last, calmly, without fear of fire.

Cameral dusted his hands, letting the ashes fall to the earthen ground of the tent. Niers nodded and grunted irritably.

“The message was not to your liking, lord?”

“It was pointless. They were more letters from Lady Magnolia.”

“Ah.”

The mood in the tent changed. Niers had countless students, although only twelve or so were present in this large tent. Each of them he had accepted on the basis of their incredible minds and ability in battle. But any [Strategist] of worth would know the political realm as well as the battlefield, and Lady Magnolia was on a short list of names one memorized no matter where you were in the world.

One could argue that Niers’ burning of her letters was an affront; a dangerous one given the influence and power of the Reinharts. But he was powerful enough in his own right that he could do such things. The nature of his correspondence with Magnolia Reinhart was a mystery to his students, but Niers already knew they would be discussing the issue or sending their own spies and informants out after this meeting. It was commendable of them, if predictable.

Still, Niers had to admit he was growing equally parts curious and annoyed from Magnolia’s incessant attempts to contact him. She sent letters via Courier in waves, to the extent that Niers found himself hounded by her.

They were always the same letters, too. A gentle invitation to speak with her via mage spell, or even in person should he have the opportunity. Thus far Niers had done neither such thing, nor had he replied to her via letter. Again, it was an act of rudeness, but one he thought she would expect and the only sensible course of action he felt he should take.

He had no desire to be ensnared in the woman’s schemes, much less to talk with her at the moment. Niers had met her only twice in his life, but he had learned to be exceptionally wary of her.

Moreover, he feared that if he ever did talk to her, she would offer him a prize he couldn’t refuse. And he was loyal to his Company and his commander to a fault; far better not to be tempted in the first place.

“Try not to agonize over the woman too much, would you? Magnolia Reinhart’s mind would put most [Strategists] and [Generals] to shame and we have a battle to win.”

Cameral nodded gravely and the others shifted, as if they were children being caught in a mischief. It always seemed to amaze them that Niers knew what they were thinking, but of course that was just their imaginations. He simply knew what they would do because he had been like them, once.

The armored man’s head wobbled as he nodded and Cameral put one hand up to steady it.

“Take it off if it’s loose. I’ve told you, I don’t need you to look like a Human all day long and I have no desire to be squashed by your head.”

That remark went to Cameral. He was a Dullahan, hence his loose connection between head and body. When he apologetically took his head off the suit of armor, dark orange light could be seen flickering within the armor’s opening.

It wasn’t empty armor, Niers knew. There was some kind of flesh and blood in there, hence the Dullahan’s need to cover it with protection. Cameral’s armor was quite good steel—Niers had seen other Dullahans with wood armor or inferior scrap metal, but his subordinates wore high-quality gear.

Gently, Cameral cradled his head in his hands, turning it so he could see the table and Niers better. It was how Dullahans like to see things—either that, or have their heads float by their side, but this was apparently rude and so the man thought he needed to put his head on his shoulders every time he was in Niers’ presence. It was a sign of respect, but it grated on Niers’ nerves.

All distractions aside, Niers could finally focus on the battle. He stared down at the open, grassy plains his opponent had chosen for the battlefield. It was gently sloping, giving a height advantage to the defending army that was camped at the crest of the incline. A solid choice of location in other words, but Niers had already encircled the army with his own.

Their opponent for the day was a [General] with defensive skills named Grimvol. Niers had forgotten what spat had caused their Company to be called in, but he had led an army out to defeat this foe with as few losses as possible. After that would come pay, relaxation, and rest—until the next contract.

They were a mercenary group, one of the finest. Niers had been fighting for over fifty years in Baleros’s endless plains and deep jungles and yet he knew each battle could be his last.

Probably not this one, though.

The small pieces on the table were quite obvious to anyone familiar with this type of planning. Niers and Grimvol had nearly equally large armies, perhaps with a few more numbers on Grimvol’s side, and their warriors were nearly of the same level. The banners floating over each piece’s head denoted their relative level and Niers had other pieces to mark warriors in his and Grimvol’s army with high levels or unique classes.

This battle looked straightforward. Niers’ army would surround and consume Grimvol’s force, denying any attempts the man made to push his way out. Niers had left a heavy presence of his soldiers to the north and south while he was personally leading his heaviest vanguard to the west.

It made sense. Niers was the commander of his army and he needed the protection of his soldiers, not to mention his abilities would be most useful with more soldiers. The east of Grimvol’s army had the weakest part of Niers’ army, because that was where a forest met the plains. It would be hard to fight in that terrain, and if Grimvol tried to retreat into the dense jungle of Baleros he would risk becoming lost or surrounded in that hostile environment.

“I will let you spearhead the assault, Cameral. Take it slow and make it seem like we’re ready for a pitched battle so he has plenty of time to launch his surprise attack.”

The Dullahan nodded as the others looked to the eastern section of the map. Yes, Grimvol had predicted Niers would do exactly this, and he had capitalized on the [Strategist]’s plans. This entire battle was a deadly trap designed to kill Niers Astoragon and rout his army.

Niers sighed. It was almost sad, really. Grimvol wasn’t nearly confident enough to take him on by himself. That was obvious, so anyone with half a brain would check for a trap or some secret to the location the other [General] had chosen. And Niers had found the trap Grimvol had set with depressing ease.

He was expecting to receive reinforcements from a much larger army hidden in the jungle to the east. Unfortunately for him, Niers had already destroyed that army and replaced that force with his own yesterday, and it would be two of his subordinates that appeared with his army instead.

“Wil and Yerranola are already in position. They will arrive within minutes. Conserve your soldiers until then, and move in.”

The others nodded. Niers had sent two of his more senior students to take command of his second force and they were already waiting for the battle to begin. Grimvol didn’t know it, but he was facing fifteen [Strategists] and [Tacticians] not including Niers himself. It was overkill, but there were no other battles Niers’ Company was engaged with at the moment and everyone could use the practice.

Ordinarily, in the face of such overwhelming odds most [Generals] and [Lords] would take the day off to celebrate and relax, confident in their complete victory.

However, Niers was still planning out the next days’ battle with excruciating care. He disliked overconfidence as a rule, and, moreover, it was in his nature to be detailed to the extreme. A few minutes of work could save hundreds of lives, and as long as that was the case he would not rest.

Niers pointed to the map and looked at Umina, the young woman he’d entrusted with his division of cavalry for the battle. She was a lizard girl, which was to say, a member of the Lizardfolk, who were not the same as Drakes. There was a lot of bad blood between the species, and despite their superficial similarities, they were quite separate races.

“Sweep in from the left and hit his cavalry before they can start moving. Once he’s pinned from all sides he should surrender fairly quickly.”

She nodded with a trace of uncertainty. This would be the first time Niers had put Umina in a command position, and with his swift-moving cavalry elites, no less. He believed she would rise to the challenge, but it seemed the girl herself didn’t believe that.

Perhaps he should advise Marian to talk with her? No, that was best left for her to do herself. As touchy as the Centaur could be, he knew that she and Umina were friends.

It might have been easier for Marian, the largest of his students in the tent, to lead Niers’ cavalry. She was a centaur and more naturally suited to the rapid attacks and deployment that her species used in battle. That was why Niers had her coordinating the stationary mage unit that would be intercepting spells and bombarding the enemy army.

No one in his group of students would be fighting in their strongest field, which was how he’d intended it. Overspecialization in any one area just meant you had a bigger weak spot to hit, and so Niers took care to push his subordinates to improve themselves.

Without risking his army, of course.

“I would like for there to be less than forty casualties tomorrow. Try to achieve that, although a bloodless victory on our side would be even more welcome if it were possible.”

That meant no heroic charges. Niers was speaking to all of his students, but his eyes lingered upon one of his newest recruits, a tall Minotaur who stood with his arms crossed, frowning intensely down at the map. He nodded silently. Venaz was in charge of his left flank, and he was no doubt keen to impress him. He had been sent from the Isles of Minos after much competition to become his student, he gathered, and the Minotaur was always attempting to outshine his other students.

When had he stopped becoming a leader of soldiers and started becoming a teacher? Niers scratched at his head and frowned. It was tiresome, he had to admit. But the world needed more [Strategists] and his students had a way of being persistent.

“Very well, I believe we are finished. Oh, one last thing. Have…yes, Venaz, have your drummer beat a signal when the battle is about to begin.”

The Minotaur looked at Niers curiously.

“What should I have him transmit?”

“Anything. Just make it complex, would you?”

“Is there a purpose to this?”

That showed how new he was. Venaz blushed a bit as his more senior students chuckled and pawed at the ground but made no comment. Touchy. Niers sighed.

“Stop that. The exercise of the drum signals, Venaz, is to confuse the enemy. The complex signals mean nothing to my soldiers. It will be meaningless to everyone but Grimvol. He will wonder about what the signal means and whether or not his trap has been discovered. It will slow his reactions and make him more hesitant than he already is.”

And his nerves would already be shot because he was going up against the legendary Astoragon, who saw through traps and deception in an instant. But Niers did not say that out loud, because while true, it was pointless ego-stroking. His students understood what he meant, and if they did not, there was no place for them here.

“You have your positions. Try not to get hit by a spell or arrow, would you? You have the rest of the night to yourselves. If you will excuse me, I have a game to return to.”

Almost as one, his student’s gazes flicked to the side of the tent. Niers was so small that he actually slept in his command tent, on top of one of the tables in a smaller cot. That was just for convenience’s sake; Niers had no desire to be stepped on by a sleepy soldier in the night or find himself under attack by the local wildlife. Or bugs.

But pride of place sitting next to his personal lodgings was a chess board. That was hardly unique in this camp; as the inventor of the game of Chess, Niers’ students played his game almost religiously, as did much of Baleros for that matter.

Yet this board was different. For one thing, it was magical. The ghostly chess pieces shimmered in the cool air, as light as a feather but as firm as steel. The pieces stood here, but also somewhere else in the world, mirroring each move exactly.

Another item that cost a fortune. But this one was indisputably worth it. With it, Niers could play a game with anyone else in the world. Or rather, one person.

It sat next to Nier’s tent, a message anyone could understand. Here was an opponent Niers considered worthy of his time, a worthy match for the Titan himself. No wonder his students looked at it curiously each time they came in.

“Sir. May I ask what the score is this week?”

Niers nodded at one of his students, a Human.

“This is the seventh game. As it stands, I have won two games and lost four.”

Silence.

He understood, he really did. How many people on this continent—no, in the world could beat Niers Astoragon in a game of chess?

It wasn’t just a small thing like losing a game. Niers had invented chess, mastered it. Between his levels as a [Strategist] and his own long hours of study and passion for it, it was fairly safe to say that Niers could win most games while he was still asleep.

When the game had first begun to spread, Niers had travelled around, playing people. He had enjoyed many games, but he had only lost twice. And later, after people had come to challenge him by the thousands, he had only lost a handful of times after that.

And never consistently. Until a few weeks ago, Niers had not a single rival on the continent. His best students could win one game out of ten at best. Other [Generals] and [Strategists] could win two games in ten, or three in ten, but that was all.

And none of them pushed Niers. He had been alone, a lonely king sitting high above the world and watching other people trying to climb the tower he had built. None could approach him. It had been terrible.

And then—it had just been a whim. A few hundred gold pieces spent to entertain himself. Niers had sent a challenge across the world, a test that would separate the good chess players from the mediocre. He hadn’t expected many responses, but one had come back to him almost instantly.

Niers smiled as he remembered. A clumsy drawing of a chess board and a curious system of notation that was superior to the one he had come up with. And then—!

He’d spent hours, days on the puzzle. In between battles he’d struggled to come up with the answer, delighting in the challenge. It had come to him almost too soon, but he’d been obsessed. He’d ordered a chess board made, sparing no expense and paying almost triple for the speed of its construction and delivery.

The wait had been almost as sweet as the knowledge that there was someone out there with skills rivaling his own in the game. Niers had wondered and speculated who the mysterious puzzle-maker was, worrying that their skill might only be in the creation of puzzles, not the game.

He’d almost, almost missed the little trick the other player had played. After that first game, he’d been so angry, so frustrated! How could his opponent be so weak at playing the game when they had created such a masterful puzzle? But then the pieces had moved, and he had seen it.

High above on his tower, the lonely king had looked up and seen the vast fish swimming through the sky. He stood up and saw it swim past him, a beast unimaginably beautiful and mysterious, a thing that defied words. A terrible, wonderful, lonely creature waiting for someone to join it.

And so the king had leapt from the tower built of his conceit and tried to learn to fly. And he had felt, for the first time in decades, the sense of inferiority, of challenge, that he had lacked.

It was wonderful. And as Niers had played he had known it in his bones.

He was not good enough to match this mysterious player. Not good enough. But he was close enough that neither was alone any longer.

A wonderful thing.

The small man leapt from his map table over to the other table with the chess board, ignoring his students. He stood over the chess board, eying the pieces that still stood in the middle of a game.

Two wins. And four losses. That was unimaginable to Niers’ students, but it was a source of delight to Niers himself. He couldn’t explain it to them—how could he? They were young and still grappling for any measure of success, fame, or fortune. But to lose a game and experience defeat after defeat—

It nearly brought tears to his eyes just thinking of it. Niers shook his head. It would really not do to weep in front of his students.

“Have you discovered the identity of your opponent, sir?”

Niers looked over with a frown. That was Venaz for you, or rather, Minotaurs. They disliked secrets and they preferred to do everything out in the open. It was a flaw he’d resolved in his strategic thinking, but it still bled into the way he handled everything else.

“I prefer to savor the mystery. I have my suspicions of course—”

He knew where the Courier had gone. It had taken him quite a lot of gold but he’d backtracked the location of the letter to Izril. And he knew that after leaving the boat, the letter had travelled to Liscor. Liscor. Who knew a city that had produced a genius like General Sserys would have another hidden gem in it? Unless that was just where the Courier had tracked down the mysterious chess player.

“—But I have not looked into the matter any further. In truth, I am not sure I would like to.”

That made Venaz frown, but Cameral and Umina nodded. Their species understood privacy a bit more, even if that wasn’t the entire reason why Niers was so hesitant.

The [Strategist] smiled. He stroked his beard.

“Well, if you are so interested, why not present me with your theories? I trust you have some suspicions as to who my opponent might be?”

His students shifted. Some of them obviously feared to speak up, but Niers didn’t have a lot of time for hesitation on the battlefield. So it was only seconds before Marian raised one hand.

“Sir, I believe your opponent may be a Dragon.”

“Indeed? What leads you to that conclusion?”

Marian shifted. Niers knew she had to be uncomfortable in this tent; Centaurs didn’t like being in small places any more than horses did, and there were too many people for her to move about freely.

“It is simply an observation based on your opponent’s unusual skill. Only someone with a truly brilliant mind could defeat you repeatedly in a game of chess.”

“Hmm. So you believe a Dragon is my opponent? I would disagree for one main reason.”

Marian looked crestfallen, but Niers waved a hand.

“It’s nothing you could have known. But I observed that after my first victory, my opponent immediately changed tactics. They switched into a highly risky style of play, abandoning their previous style.”

It was almost like his opponent had been trying to provoke Niers. They had completely switched their playing style around, and Niers could almost hear a voice coming from the board. ‘There now. What do you think of that? What will you do next?’

Some of Niers’ students looked confused. He smiled and explained.

“Curiosity. The other player took a risk that they might lose another game to test me. Dragons are not like that. They are, by and large, very touchy beings. They dislike losing intensely and I believe a Dragon would have attempted to crush me several times in a row so I understood my place.”

Niers also doubted whether chess would have spread to the point where the reclusive Dragons would have learned of this game. He shook his head, but kindly, at Marian.

“A good guess. Does anyone else have one?”

“One of the Archmages?”

“A [Lord] or [Lady], perhaps? A high level one?”

“Surely not. For someone of this level it has to be a [King]. Perhaps the King of Destruction—”

Niers had to laugh at that.

“I don’t believe Flos is very interested in such things at the moment, Venaz. And I have played him once before and he was not at this level.”

The room went silent. Niers realized he had spoken more than he probably should and made a face.

“Don’t look like that. Yes, when he was still slumbering I travelled to his kingdom to meet him. This was before I had revealed the game of chess in its entirety, but I convinced him to play me a single game.”

“And?”

How their eyes sparkled. Niers smiled and stroked his tiny beard.

“I won.”

They sighed, but hardly looked surprised. Niers shrugged.

“His spirit wasn’t in the game. In truth, I believe that he would now be a far better player, but even then I would win more games than I lost. His steward on the other hand—Orthenon, I believe his name was?—he was a far more difficult opponent.”

“But if it is not the King of Destruction, then who—?”

“A question to ponder over some drinks, perhaps. But I will find out in my own way.”

Niers cut the rest of the speculation short. His students bowed their heads to him and filed out of his tent. The strategy meeting had ended.

It was a sign of how confident they all were that this was the type of conversation they had on the eve of battle. Niers sighed. It was making some of them overconfident. After tomorrow he would start splitting them up, giving them harder assignments.

He wandered over to the chess board and looked at the pieces. It had been two days since they had last moved. That was fine; he was often busy and he respected that his opponent had their own life to lead. But still, it was the moments when he played that he lived for.

A genius at chess. Someone who could defeat a Level 64 [Strategist]. Not even a [Strategist], in truth, a [Grandmaster Strategist], an odd subclass he had obtained shortly after learning to play chess.

His exact level and his class change were secrets, of course. Niers studied the chess board again, plotting ahead his next moves, but his mind was racing.

“Who are you?”

It was a question that had plagued him, despite what he told his students. He was so curious it hurt. Someone was out there who played chess better than he did.

It could just be a higher-level [Strategist] or someone with a similar class and Skills. Niers knew a few people whom he suspected of having levels close to or higher than his. But…

No. His gut told him that couldn’t be the case. He had invented chess; how could anyone reach that level so quickly?

That was the secret, though, wasn’t it? Already an entire continent had hailed the game Niers had created as a masterpiece, not only a wonderful pastime and source of entertainment for people, but an aid and means to become stronger for [Tacticians] and [Strategists].

But he hadn’t invented it. That was the grand lie, the little trap he’d set out in hopes of catching a far larger truth. And Niers had felt the first pull on the string with this opponent.

“A Dragon might remember…”

Or was it some other kind of immortal? Niers had no idea, but for some reason he couldn’t imagine an immortal playing the fresh and vibrant games he’d enjoyed. Yet who else could have known the game of chess before he’d claimed to have invented it? And why had they not disputed his claim as he’d hoped?

To not reveal themselves? Possibly. But this was almost as blatant. Perhaps they were trying to tell him something?

Niers buzzed with curiosity. It was this he lived for. These last few wars his Company had participated in were dull to him by comparison. He was already rich and he had trained his armies to be one of the strongest on the continent. He had no ambitions but chess and finding the truth. The truth of the past that he had discovered along with the game long ago…

“Who are you?”

He could always find out, of course. It might take a week, but assuming no idiot started a war after this…he could be in Liscor even sooner if he made some arrangements. A [Teleportation] spell might cost him dearly, but he was more than able to buy however many he wanted. In that case, he could leave and be back in a day—

No. Niers shook his head. He didn’t want to spoil the surprise. And there was one more reason, after all. He had barely leveled up this last long decade. He’d leveled up once, and that was it. He had stagnated in his class, but after only eight games—

He’d leveled. And Niers had the suspicion that he would continue to level so long as he was pushed to his very limits by his opponent. If he could hit Level 70, what miracles might occur?

Wait. Be patient. Niers sat in front of the chess board and grimaced. His students’ departure had let quite a lot of muggy heat into the room.

It was so hot outside. Niers hated the heat, even though Baleros was almost always like this. The only thing he hated more was deserts. Sandstorms were even more unpleasant when the individual particles were capable of ripping out chunks of your skin.

What he wouldn’t give for a sword made of ice, or a cool drink right now. He could always request one, but what kind of example would he set?

Niers Astoragon sighed as he sat in his tent, waiting for the night to end so he could win another battle. The world was moving, yet for so long he’d found himself stagnating. Perhaps it was time to quit the Company. Read one of Magnolia’s damn letters. Could he abandon his Commander, his long-time friend and the leader of his Company so easily?

But he ached to know. And…Niers felt it. It was in his bones, a sense, a premonition of battle. It came from his class, but it was far larger than anything Niers had felt before. It seemed to engulf the world, a strange tugging that came from the sky. Larger battles would await him soon, battles Niers had never dreamed of. That was what his instincts told him.

All he had to do was wait. Niers studied the chess board.

“Come back soon, will you? It grows terribly lonely without you.”

He stretched. Time for sleep. He couldn’t be caught yawning in front of his troops, could he? And at least his tent was starting to cool again. Still, a cool drink right now would be very welcome. Perhaps after the battle. As celebration.

He wondered when the damn Winter Sprites would get here, or whether they’d forgotten to bring winter.

Again.

—-

[Loran Grimnar] – Anyways, it’s hot as hell over here. How is it winter where you are?

[Humble Actor] – Search me. I think it’s because the Winter Sprites haven’t arrived on your continent yet. Apparently they bring the winter.

[Loran Grimnar] – Seriously?

[Humble Actor] – Yeah. And it’s weird. I saw them a few times. Got hit in the face with snow as well, but I swear they’re actual faeries. No one else seems to see them, but I can.

[strider_479] – I can confirm that. I’ve seen the Winter Sprites too. They’re horrible. If you bother them they start avalanches. Stay away.

[Humble Actor] – Words to the wise.

[BlackMage] – I still can’t raise [batman]. I guess we’ve got to do this by ourselves, guys.

[Humble Actor] – Oh? Is that the last person you wanted to call?

[BlackMage] – Yeah. But they’re not picking up.

[Loran Grimnar] – Why do we want BATMAN of all people in the chat?

[strider_479] – It was pretty clear looking back that [batman] was a lot smarter than we thought. They figured out there was a spy in the group and warned us in secret.

[Loran Grimnar] – what? Gtfo.

[BlackMage] – No, really, it’s true. But I’ve called them five times and they’re not answering.

[strider_479] – What about [America Group]? Why not invite them?

[BlackMage] – Too dangerous. There are a lot of them, right? I want to keep this to as few people as possible to avoid possible leaks.

[Loran Grimnar] – Okay, let’s get this started! We’re going to share more info, right?

[strider_479] – Hopefully without anyone spying on our conversation and less noisy voices.

[BlackMage] – Exactly. Let me also introduce [Humble Actor]. She somehow managed to get in contact with me at Wistram and I showed her the previous conversation.

[Humble Actor] – Hey everyone.

[strider_479] – Pleased to meet you.

[Loran Grimnar] – Why is strider here?

[strider_479] – What?

[Loran Grimnar] – I just remembered. You gave away your name! You could be tracked or an imposter!

[strider_479] – First off, I’m not. Second, I was adopted. My birth name’s a mystery even to me.

[Loran Grimnar] – oh

[Humble Actor] – Lucky break.

[BlackMage] – Exactly. I can confirm this – mages tried to scry strider and couldn’t, so she’s safe.

[strider_479] – And the others?

[BlackMage] – We’ve lost contact. We can’t see anything.

[Humble Actor] – Fuck.

[Loran Grimnar] – omg

[BlackMage] – This is why it has to be secret. I wanted [batman]’s opinion, but we can always show him/her the log.

[strider_479] – Fine. Where should we start?

[BlackMage] – Let’s do this properly. The [Mages] with me are nearly sure we won’t be hacked so tell us your class, general location, and situation.

[strider_479] – Sounds dicey.

[BlackMage] – We want to help. I’m at Wistram. They can come get you guys.

[strider_479] – Still risky. How about just classes and continents until we can be sure everything is on the up and up?

[Humble Actor] – I’m for that.

[BlackMage] – I guess…sorry, I know this is risky.

[strider_479] – No worries. I’ll start. [Ranger], like I said. I’m in Terandria.

[Loran Grimnar] – [Warrior]. Baleros.

[BlackMage] – I’m a [Mage] on Wistram.

[strider_479] – Humble?

[Humble Actor] – [Pop Star]. Terandria.

[Loran Grimnar] – WHAT

[Humble Actor] – Shut up. I’m also an [Actor].

[BlackMage] – Can you explain how you got that class?

[strider_479] – And what it does?

[Humble Actor] – It’s a variation of [Singer]. It’s complicated how I got it, alright?

[BlackMage] – Let’s just start from the beginning.

[Loran Grimnar] – This is so weird. How is that a class?

[Humble Actor] – Go to hell.

[BlackMage] – Please calm down.

[strider_479] – Why are we doing this, by the way [BlackMage]? What’s the end goal for us?

[Loran Grimnar] – Aren’t we just sharing information?

[Humble Actor] – No, Strider’s right. [BlackMage], you told me you had a plan.

[BlackMage] – I did.

[BlackMage] – Our first goal is to exchange information. Anything unusual we can tell each other, any hints or unique classes like [Humble Actor]’s [Pop Star] class could be vital. But after that we need to work together. And that means we meet up or find some way to help each other. Big things are happening. The King of Destruction is moving, and there’s a few wars going on in Terandria right now.

[strider_479] – You’re telling me.

[Loran Grimnar] – Seriously?

[Humble Actor] – I’ve noticed. Pain in the ass.

[BlackMage] – Right, and it’s getting more dangerous. We need to work together. If we can meet up and collect other people…

[strider_479] – We’ve got an army.

[Loran Grimnar] – Is there a war? I mean, other than the one in Terandria? Are we going to fight the King of Destruction cause…not me.

[Humble Actor] – Si vis pacem, para bellum.

[Loran Grimnar] – What?

[BlackMage] – I don’t know if we’re going to war. But the mages in Wistram say they’re not going to sit on the sidelines. We just need to work together. Strength in numbers.

[strider_479] – Better than being alone. We can find that Kyle imposter or at least protect ourselves from him.

[Humble Actor] – Count me in. Where do we start?

[BlackMage] – Details on your arrival would be great. What it was like when you arrived, if you noticed anything odd, where you ended up…it might help us identify if you were the subject of a spell.

[Loran Grimnar] – So it WAS a spell?

[BlackMage] – Not for everyone. They’re not sure. But they’re working on it. We’ve got people here who want to help.

[strider_479] – Can they send us back?

[BlackMage] – Maybe. But reversing the spell is harder than bringing people over, apparently.

[Humble Actor] – Wonderful.

[BlackMage] – Don’t give up, guys. We know we’re not alone.

[Loran Grimnar] – Right, and we can link up! Strider and Humble are on the same continent. If we work together we can win!

[Humble Actor] – What is this, a support group? We’re not in a game.

[BlackMage] – No, but we are unique. We were chosen for a reason, I think.

[Loran Grimnar] – We can do things the people in this world can’t. We could be heroes.

[Humble Actor] – Maybe.

[strider_479] – Let’s start. Do you think [batman] will be on board with us?

[Humble Actor] – Who knows?

[BlackMage] – We’re all on the same side here.

[Loran Grimnar] – Yeah. We can save the world.

[Humble Actor] – Good joke.

Interlude – The Antinium Wars (Pt.1)

(This book was found by Ryoka Griffon on sale in Celum shortly after she arrived in this world. She purchased it for two gold pieces and six silver and read through this entry before she encountered a cart at high velocity.)

Introduction –

Although many accounts of the famed Antinium Wars (or the Incursion Wars as they are sometimes referred to) have been written, and countless [Tacticians], [Strategists], and even [Commander] classes have detailed countless analyses of the ensuing battles, no one singular narrative has as of yet been compiled. It is this lowly [Writer]’s hope that this historical patchwork will serve as a first step for future accounts to be compiled.

Many reports of the First Antinium War are based on hearsay and the often inaccurate recollections of [Soldiers] and [Adventurers] who fought on the front lines. While insightful, these testimonials will be omitted so as to provide a retelling based only on written accounts.

With that said, these brief accounts are by no means to serve as a guide to the lifestyle or nature of the Antinium, or even as a guide from which future strategies and tactics may be derived. It is simply history, which must be remembered.

Issrysil has survived two wars with the Antinium and the tenuous peace we have forged has lasted for nearly a decade as of my writing this. But we must never lose our vigilance. For if the Antinium should feel bold enough to begin a third war, I fear that this continent and those within will be swept away by their ceaseless numbers.

—Krsysl Wordsmith

The First Antinium Wars –

It must first be noted that despite the outcome of the First Antinium Wars, the Antinium’s defeat was not so much due to their lackluster performance or any particular strength of opposition. It could be argued that the Antinium made only one real fault during the war, and otherwise fought to the best of their abilities, displaying a level of organization and cunning that eluded the Drake, Gnoll, and Human nations that almost failed to overcome them.

Yes, if the Antinium made only one true mistake, it was before the war had even begun. It was a mistake that cost them the continent, and perhaps, the world. It was this:

The Antinium underestimated the sea.

—-

The year is 5 B.F., and the world is still reeling from the news thundering out of Rhir. The Blighted King’s armies have been shattered in defeat after defeat, and each of his Walls have been stormed save the final one protecting his capital. Yet, the Demon King has also been pushed to the very brink of his territory, and this new species, dubbed the ‘Antinium’ has suddenly vanished from the continent altogether.

Neither the [Mages] of Wistram nor any other nation can locate the species by spell, and so every country with even a sliver of land exposed to the sea has locked its borders and watches the horizon warily, lest the Black Tide roll across their unguarded lands.

But no attack comes. The oceans are silent, and after several months of waiting, tensions ease. Wherever the Antinium may be, they are not here. And so peace resumes, as news comes that the Blighted King is rebuilding, and his armies already retake his lost kingdom.

That is when the Antinium arrive. Not with a vast army to cover the world, but with only four ships out of the two hundred vessels that launched from Rhir’s shores. Four small vessels that ground themselves on the southwestern most edge of Issrysil in the last month of winter. That is how the Antinium arrive, and they remain hidden for many months. Resting. Regaining strength.

This is how the Antinium lost the war before it began. This is their only folly.

—-

From the few eyewitnesses who spotted the Antinium leaving, or, as it is now believed, retreating from Rhir, we know that over two hundred greatships were spotted, each teeming with Antinium and their precious Queens. This number is not in error; multiple accounts indicate these numbers are genuine.

And yet, only a few ships ever reached Issrysil’s shores. Given that no fleets reported encounters with the Antinium and the lack of any noted sea monsters, it can only be assumed that the Antinium lost nearly all their ships at sea due to storms and becalmed waters.

Fierce warriors though they may be, the Antinium are poor sailors for obvious reasons. Moreover, it can be assumed that they did not fully understand either the length of time it would take to cross such a body of water as the ocean, or the difficulties navigating, staying provisioned, etc. That led to their near complete annihilation, and it is perhaps more accurate to say it was a miracle any ships landed on Issrysil after all.

We may never know if the Queens intended to journey to this continent or not; nor do we know what they did in those few months, although we can speculate that creating a Hive and replenishing their lost Workers and Soldiers was their main focus. The next documented encounter was with the port city of Nasserous, in which the Watch Captain* details several unusual occurrences nearly eight months after the Antinium left Rhir.

*Watch Captains hold a higher position of authority than in Human cities. Among Drakes, the Watch Captain generally shares the same rank as members of a ruling Council and is usually given complete authority in local military matters.

From the journal of Watch Captain I’sl

“…do not know where they have gone. A second patrol found no bodies, but did mention four shipwrecks along one of the beaches. They thought the vessels looked empty, but I will send more men to scout later. If there are Krakens or some other monster capable of downing ships in the area, we must know immediately.”

Several days later, Captain I’sl recorded another entry.

“…all missing. Now I am certain something is out there, but I fear to send any more guardsmen to check. My last patrol had five [Guardsmen] above Level 20 in it; a lone [Scout] found no traces of them or even any violence done. I am posting a double-watch on the gates and putting a bounty up for Silver-rank adventurers or higher to investigate.”

The Watch Captain did just that, but neither adventurers nor later patrols would find any signs of these mysterious assailants. It is believed the Antinium left their position on the beach and avoided further contact while they journeyed north, into the rocky highlands. There they continued to hide until a chance encounter some two months later.

To Guild Master Jekra of Talvasor

“I am writing to you to detail an unusual circumstance which has happened in my guild today. Not an hour ago, a Gold-rank [Ranger] entered my guild bearing four corpses on a litter which caused quite a commotion. He says he found these monsters hunting together on a rocky hillside and they attacked him on sight.

I have inspected the corpses myself, and I must confess, they gave me quite a stir when I saw them. These new monsters are like nothing I have encountered either as an adventurer or Guild Master. They are some kind of insect, with black bodies and tough exoskeleton, and yet have four arms and two legs and apparently walk on two legs like Drakes and Gnolls. Their blood is green, and their eyes are multi-faceted like an insect, and they have wicked mandibles with which they might bite.

I have never seen this kind of monster before. I am unsure if it is some new dungeon-spawn or a species of some kind. I am writing to you in hopes you will know their species and know of an appropriate bounty to reward the adventurer with. He claims the creatures fought with unusual ferocity, not ceasing until he shot each one through the head and hacked off their heads. Please advise soonest,

–Guild Master Pessia

Fortunately, Guild Master Jekra was able to connect the bodies of the Antinium with the rumors from Rhir and immediately raised the alarm with each of the Walled Cities, urging immediate action and mobilization of each city-state’s standing armies.

It is here that multiple written accounts of the following events begin, and so the decisions made by the leaders of each Walled City* cannot be cast into doubt. For nearly a month, authorities debated and argued against the presence of the Antinium within Issrysil. Lacking evidence of the Antinium outside of eyewitness accounts (the bodies of the slain Antinium had long since been disposed of by the time others could verify the claim), and due to the lack of any prolonged conflict, the collected authorities failed to take decisive action.

*The famed Walled Cities are not all ruled by the same methods of government. Some espouse an elected official, while others are managed by a body of powerful individuals or, in some cases, a hereditary leader.

A few leaders of Walled Cities posted hefty bounties for Gold-rank adventuring teams to explore the area where the Antinium had been sighted, but again the Antinium preferred to avoid combat where possible, and thus the adventurers returned empty-handed, emboldening the claims that this was merely a false alarm.

On the outskirts of civilization near the mountains and in the highlands, further reports of mysterious monsters and strange people moving about at night continued to appear, in growing numbers and proximity to towns and cities. [Strategists] believe that these were the first scouting groups deployed ahead of the main assault.

However, word of the Antinium’s arrival had been kept to a bare minimum of people, as the leaders of the Walled Cities did not wish to start a panic. Only a few other individuals of note knew of the Antinium’s presence, including the young Lady Magnolia Reinhart, Lord Tyrion Veltras, and General Sserys.

It is unknown how Lady Magnolia and Lord Tyrion learned of the Antinium, but it is speculated that both Humans had access to powerful magic spells which alerted them to this issue. While Lord Tyrion knew of the Antinium, he took the view that any conflict would only weaken both Antinium and the Drake and Gnoll populations, allowing the Human cities to easily crush all sides after the war ended.

By contrast, Lady Magnolia took the news of the Antinium most seriously out of all the three, and immediately began contacting other prominent lords and leaders of the Human city-states. Her actions would later impact the course of the war, but at the time, even the word of a young Reinhart failed to sway all but the most cautious of listeners in the north.

On the other claw, General Sserys of Liscor was imminently poised to deal with the situation when he was alerted to the Antinium, and he took decisive action. This is also the first instance where General Sserys’s personal diary reports meeting the Antinium, on a routine guard mission with the Liscorian Army*. He records an unusual patrol and the losses taken by his men.

*The army of Liscor is renowned as being one of the strongest forces on the continent, and most notably for selling its services to any nation who will hire them. As such, the soldiers and commanders seldom stay near their city and instead fight constantly on battlefields for pay.

From the Diary of General Sserys of Liscor –

“Today marks what would have been an uneventful day in our patrols around the city of Ussls. Our subjugation of the local Goblin Lord’s forces has been bloody and hard-won, but I now believe we have stamped out the last of his Chieftains and scattered the few remaining Goblin tribes to the wind. All things being normal, I would not expect more than a few encounters with local monsters, but one of my patrols has been attacked and now six of my soldiers lie dead after facing some unknown enemy.

To summarize: a patrol of twenty Drakes and Gnolls met with a group of fifteen black individuals in a forest, busy harvesting trees with crude weapons. Upon realizing they had been discovered, this strange group immediately attacked my soldiers before an overture could be had. Before they retreated, they killed six of my soldiers – running into the barrier of spears my soldiers had formed to hack apart the front rank. Thereafter, the black creatures retreated, carrying their dead. The patrol leader declined to give pursuit and immediately reported back to me.

I have sent out three forces of sixty warriors each to work with patrols to locate these creatures again, but they have turned up empty-clawed thus far and I am not confident they will find any trace of them. These creatures seem to disappear easily, and had it not been for this chance encounter our army might have passed them by completely.

I am deeply troubled by this. Equal losses against a numerically inferior foe is not acceptable, given the strength of our soldiers. Moreover, the willingness of these strange enemies to throw themselves on our spears and then their desire to remove their fallen brethren is also concerning.

I will see if more work can be had for our forces in this region, even if it means less pay. My commanders will not like it, but my instincts as a [Strategist] tell me this should not be ignored.”

General Sserys did indeed remain in the area for several days afterwards, and his worries would soon be proven extremely prescient: it was five days after this encounter and nearly six and a half months after the Antinium had landed when fifteen villages and a small town were all destroyed in a single night.

The attacks occurred almost simultaneously, and left no survivors. Merchants, adventurers, and a patrol from one of the Walled Cities found the deserted buildings and raised the alarm. Every settlement within a hundred miles was put on alert, and that allowed several survivors to escape when the next wave of attacks began.

Over thirty small villages were attacked two days after the first attack, and several high-level adventurers and groups of soldiers managed to hold back the Antinium long enough for civilians and Runners to raise the alarm. But when a retaliation force arrived, all the villages were found deserted, and both bodies and Antinium were gone.

However, multiple eyewitness accounts confirmed the worst fears of the Drake leaders. Although magic could not locate their hives, these attacks matched the first ones suffered by the Blighted Kingdom in Rhir, and the previous reports of Antinium sightings only confirmed this fact.

Faced with the inescapable realization that the Antinium had landed on their shores, the leaders of the Walled Cities reluctantly began discussing the formation of a coalition army, although several held out hope that teams of adventurers would be able to root out the Antinium by themselves. The lack of any serious attacks meant that negotiations bogged down until spring of 3 B.F., when the Antinium launched an all-out assault on the cities of Ys, Beresslars, and Washaven.

Every city had been put on alert and soldiers and the local Watch vigilantly manned the walls. However, at this point the Drakes and Gnolls had little experience battling the Antinium and made preparations as if they were in danger from a conventional force, rather than the Antinium’s unique style of tactics.

The Walled Cities nearest to the three cities received a panicked [Message] spell just past dawn, and then nothing. Although a force of riders immediately rode to the aid of the cities, it was too late. The Antinium attacked and withdrew before the cavalry reached the city, and the [Captain] in charge declined to give chase.

In less than two hours, the Antinium managed to kill or maim over 80% of the population in each of the cities. The walls and conventional defenses that make the city-states so difficult to take by conventional siege fell within seconds of the attack.

Recorded testimony by the few survivors reports a horde of black Soldiers and even Workers swarming up the walls, building living ladders and overwhelming the adventurers and City Watch by sheer force of numbers. So fierce was the assault, half of the city’s forces were caught in their beds and slaughtered there.

This was the beginning of the war in earnest. The city-states immediately declared a state of emergency and began raising as many soldiers and warriors as possible. However, each city preferred to raise their own armies and retain former alliances, rather than join together.

This was the second mistake made by the Drakes. Initially, the Antinium war force was outnumbered by the numerous Drake armies on the continent. But the separated armies and reluctance of the cities to work together allowed the Antinium to attack with local superiority and quickly overrun countless cities around their Hives.

While the Drake cities had existed in a state of enduring war and skirmishes with each other, one of the factors that prevented most of them from being conquered was the difficulty of taking the city before reinforcements could arrive. Even the largest of forces would take time to breach the walls and other magical defenses that guarded each city, in which time another army would surely launch an attack on the attacking force or their home city.

In this way, a city-state could easily remain autonomous or at the very least, retain much of its independence by forming alliances with nearby settlements and Gnoll Tribes. However, the Antinium’s style of attack was to overwhelm the walls by sheer numbers and relentless speed. Relief armies would find the cities already full of the dead or find the Antinium had already retreated by the time they arrived.

In less than a week, eight cities had fallen and the Drake city-states had realized the magnitude of their error. But while all agreed a coalition army was needed, no city wanted to send their armies past their walls, for fear the Antinium would attack while they were undefended. And while they hesitated, the Antinium swarmed over their walls and slaughtered them regardless.

Only a few armies achieved any success against the Antinium during these initial assaults. A few city-states with superior forces pushed back the Antinium and General Sserys’ army achieved several definite victories before retreating in face of overwhelming numbers.

A Drake [Tactician] recorded several initial observations after one battle, which he immediately passed on to every city-state via mage spell and Courier. She describes the Antinium as an extremely dangerous threat, despite their apparent lack of high-level warriors and magic:

“…While these ‘Antinium’ do not appear to have any individuals within their ranks with unique Skills, I believe their warriors are the equivalent of any Level 15 [Warrior], and are perhaps even stronger when fighting in tandem.

There are two types of Antinium I have observed: the massive Soldiers and the smaller Workers. Of the two, the Soldiers are vastly more dangerous. They fight hand-to-hand and charge into pikes and magical traps without regard for their lives. They will continue to attack even when mortally wounded, and they are capable of bludgeoning even the most well-armored warrior to death given time.

Their shells are as tough as any leather armor and the Antinium fight and move together like a professional unit. Our army was only able to achieve victory by using our superior vantage point and numerous area of attack spells to decimate their formations. Our elite soldiers carved through many of the Antinium, and it appears the lack of magic and any high-level warriors is their only weakness.

The Antinium have no mages, and their ranged weapons are primitive bows and crude stone arrows. Nevertheless, their numbers and efficiency more than make up for this gap. It seems even the “Worker” class can use a bow to fire arrows, so their ranks of archers are capable to matching even our best divisions in terms of sheer output of missiles.

Be warned however: our warriors found themselves under attack from behind our lines at multiple points, and our group of mages found themselves under attack as the Antinium burrowed out of a tunnel. I recommend posting sentries to watch for these surprise attacks, and to fight on hard stone or in marshland if at all possible.”

The most troubling advantage the Antinium had over both Drakes and Gnoll species was their ability to tunnel. Entrenched positions with vulnerable elements such as command headquarters or areas with high concentrations of [Mages] or [Archers] would find themselves under attack by teams of burrowing Soldiers and Workers who would inflict as much damage as possible and then retreat.

These surprise attacks led to a diversification of valuable soldiers, and a standing policy among Drake armies to never have more than one Level 30+ soldier stationed in a squad at one time. This policy is still enforced within all Drake standing armies to this day.

However, even with their mages hidden and protected, there were never enough with levels high enough to turn the tide of battles. The Antinium gladly sacrificed thousands of their Soldiers and Workers to kill even one high-level individual. Slowly, the mercenary armies retreated, forced to abandon their client cities as their forces were gradually worn down.

Sserys made several overtures during this time to local cities, sending requests for their soldiers to join with his to repel the Antinium’s advance, but he was rebuffed and eventually led his soldiers far to the east as cities fell around him. Thanks to his slowing of the Antinium’s advance, several cities evacuated all their civilians and soldiers, but in terms of the overall map of the war, the Antinium were barely slowed as they continued to rampage across Izril.

One month after the start of the First Antinium War, the Antinium paused. It is believed they spent a week replenishing their lost troops and reinforcing their armies, and perhaps, digging and constructing more Hives. No army dared to launch an assault, and the few places where the Antinium had been stopped remained locked in semi-constant combat.

The Black Tide of the Antinium began to march once more, sweeping east, south and north with such ferocious speed that any hope of mobilizing a response force was lost. In an instant, the Antinium had captured nearly thirty percent of the southern half of Issrysil and seemed to be poised to sweep across the rest. However, they met their first obstacle as they encircled and began sieging the Walled City, Zeres.

The Antinium had successfully bypassed four of the Walls built by the Blighted Kingdom in Rhir, but they found the superior construction of the Walled Cities a different challenge*. A huge army began to lay siege to Zeres, but after a week of day-and-night warfare, the Antinium found themselves rebuffed with extreme casualties on their sides and virtually no losses by the defenders.

*The famed Walled Cities bear an entirely different type of fortification than smaller Drake cities. Their origin dates past recorded history, and the magic that allows the three-hundred foot walls to stand hardens the stone and even allows it to repair itself given time. No army has ever taken one of the remaining six Walled Cities by siege, although several coups and betrayals from within have seen the famed cities fall over the millennia.

The living ladders the Antinium used were far too short to reach the battlements of the Walled City, and the defending archers and mages could rain down fire with impunity, as the Antinium found that it was impossible for their arrows to reach the defenders from their superior vantage point.

One of the Lords of the Wall in Zeres jubilantly recorded the Antinium’s failure in his personal diary:

“They cannot break our walls, nor destroy the fortifications underneath! Their sappers may be strong, but these foul insects lack the magic to destroy the enchantments protecting the Walled Cities. We are safe, so long as they find no way to climb our walls or build a siege tower large enough.”

Indeed, the ground around the Walled Cities was impenetrable by conventional tools or equipment due to the magical enchantments radiating out from the walls. This frustrated the Antinium, and several watchers from the walls observed the Workers digging at the ground until their limbs broke and their digits were bloody and raw.

Zeres stood, and the Antinium were unable to abandon it lest the army fall upon their backs. This, along with the sieges of several other Walled Cites occupied a large part of the Antinium’s army, slowing their advance.

If there was a disadvantage to this situation, it was that while the Antinium took heavy losses in their initial assaults, they quickly retreated out of range and maintained a passive siege, hoping to wear down the Walled Cities’ supplies.

This would take years, given the massive stockpiles each Walled City maintains and their ability to grow produce and even herd animals within their massive confines. But so long as the Antinium maintained their siege the armies of each Walled City were forced to remain behind their walls, leaving the smaller city-states to fend for themselves.

The Antinium legions might have swept across the entire southern half of the continent unchecked, were it not for two groups which threw back their armies in unprecedented defeats.

While the city-states slowly evacuated and fell to the Antinium, another force entered the swamplands and grassy plains belonging to the Gnoll tribes, burning and killing everything in their path. However, the Gnolls of Issrysil built no cities like the Drakes, and unlike their scaly rivals, their opposition to the Antinium was far more successful.

The Gnoll tribes of the plains and swamps reacted to the Antinium threat swifter than any of the factitious Drake city-states, and over a hundred tribes sent their warriors to form a massive army – the same kind that successfully repelled even the greatest vanguards during the wars between Gnolls and Drakes of previous centuries.

In their first major engagement with a vast force of nearly eighty thousand Antinium, an army of twenty thousand Gnolls managed to rout the entire force in a bloody battle that lasted only a day. It is suspected that this army was not comprised of normal Gnoll [Hunters] and [Warriors], but rather of elites chosen out of every tribe.

Casualties were high on both sides, but the Antinium army was nearly completely destroyed and a much larger force of over a hundred thousand Gnolls assembled over the course of the next week. This main army, supplemented by several ‘hunting packs’ of tens of thousands of Gnolls, successfully fought off every Antinium advance into Gnoll territory.

The Gnollish resistance likely had much to do with the Antinium’s inability to overwhelm any one front later on in the war. They continued to fight the Gnoll Tribes in increasingly costly battles to both sides, but never penetrated further than fifty miles into the Gnoll heartlands at any time. Nevertheless, the Gnolls never sent any armies out to attack the Antinium in retaliation, preferring instead to guard their scattered tribes and holdings.

Given time, it is possible the Antinium could have taken the Drake settlements and encircled the Gnolls with overwhelming numbers, but their advance east was stopped at the Shivering Falls Pass by the first coalition army formed during the war.

General Sserys had pulled back the Liscorian army far east, looking to rally the cities. Initially he found no help, as the cities distrusted the mercenary nature of his army and feared betrayal. But as it became clear the Drakes would perish alone, more and more soldiers and high-ranking officials began to engage in private communication with Sserys in direct defiance of their city’s governing bodies.

As the sieges of the Walled Cities began, the Black Tide separated and sent a massive force towards the Shivering Falls Pass, one of the strategic locations separating the eastern and western part of the continent. This vanguard army numbered over a hundred thousand, and every city in its path evacuated, fleeing towards the Walled Cities which found themselves swamped by refugees.

Only one [General] refused to retreat. Sserys believed that the loss of Shivering Falls Pass would allow the Antinium to establish a foothold which would be impossible to shift. He  instead called every [Commander] leading an army of over a thousand soldiers in the area to join him to defend the pass. The reputation of the Liscorian Army and Sserys’s own high level persuaded countless mercenary groups and smaller armies to accept his gamble and join with his forces which engaged with the Antinium in the center of the pass.

Sserys spoke briefly to his soldiers as his smaller force prepared to repel the Antinium advancing down the pass. He spoke to his army minutes before the armies clashed:

“There is no time for speeches, no time for mighty oaths or solemn vows. Here is the enemy. Here we stand. I will not take a single step backwards. Who will guard my tail?”

General Sserys’ coalition army met the Antinium in the center of the pass, fighting in the narrow confines of the rocky canyon while the Drake [General] led his soldiers from the front.

He personally led fifteen charges against the Antinium. True to his word, General Sserys refused to retreat. Instead, he set up forward lines in the center of the Antinium formations, pushing their numbers back rather than allowing them to regroup.

His overall strategy consisted of forming heavy ranks of soldiers with defensive classes with [Tacticians] and [Strategists] assigned along each column, using their active abilities to reinforce their position. Archers dueled with Antinium at range and mages blasted the clustered Antinium, who had no way to return that kind of destructive power.

Forewarned by previous battles, Sserys actively collapsed tunnels that appeared behind his lines, but his success was also due to his relentless advance; the Antinium never had time to dig underneath his forces as they overran their formations, much as the Antinium had done so effectively in previous engagements.

Using kill-teams of high-level warriors, Sserys sent them in to devastate Antinium lines and retreat with few or no casualties while lower-level warriors pushed the Antinium further and further back. While each Antinium Soldier was stronger than the average freshly recruited [Soldier], Drakes and Gnolls above Level 20 were able to slay countless Antinium before being forced to retreat.

After nearly two days of continuous fighting, the larger Antinium force retreated with less than a quarter of its original numbers. General Sserys’ forces took very few casualties by comparison; the extensive quantity of healing potions, [Healers], and skills of [Commander] classes combined with rotation of wounded soldiers saved thousands of lives on the battlefield.

This victory was the first major defeat of any Antinium army on the continent. News instantly spread to every city-state and with it, both Drake and Gnoll populaces experienced a surge of morale. The Antinium could be defeated. They could be stopped.

The defeat at Shivering Falls was not a significant one for the Antinium hives in terms of either soldiers or strategic importance, but the loss did surprise the Queens commanding the war. Even in Rhir, Antinium had seldom suffered defeat until their departure, and this decisive loss must have alarmed the Great Queen.

Although several additional armies could have joined up to engage Sserys’ army a second time, the Great Queen declined to do so. Instead, she sent additional armies north to assault Liscor while the rest withdrew to maintain their sieges and hold over claimed territory.

This proved to be an error, as Sserys’ victorious army began attracting support and new recruits on an unprecedented scale. The [General] rallied the east, reaching out towards the two Walled Cities not directly in line of the Antinium’s advance for support. Desperate for a leader capable of defeating the Antinium, they sent all the arms and soldiers they could muster.

Sserys’ communications with the leaders of both cities is largely of a diplomatic nature; his reassurances to both leaders are mainly personal and it is likely he avoided any references to his overall strategy save one exchange. Initial requests from both cities were for Sserys to act defensively and hold off the Antinium advance, rather than move to attack as he wished.

Faced with mounting pressure both from correspondence and from officials sent from the Walled Cities, Sserys sent a curt response by mage letter that reads as follows:

We will not retreat.

Victory can only be won by meeting the Antinium face on. Cowardice will only doom us faster. We will assault them and rally our kind or die fighting. This is our only chance.

Do not try to dissuade me from this course again. Drakes do not run.

–General Sserys of Liscor

The next day the First Coalition Army of Liscor launched a full-scale counterattack on the Antinium forces laying siege to the Walled Cities.

Interlude – The Antinium Wars (Pt.2)

The First Antinium War had raged for over four months after the initial assault and resistance of the Drake armies when the Antinium began to realize that the continent would not so easily be taken.

The Black Tide had swept across Issrysil much as they had done on Rhir, but unlike the Blighted Kingdom, the Drake and Gnoll species had no great enemy like the Demon King to fight against. And in the face of the Antinium’s invasion, in time the warring Gnoll Tribes and Drake cities put aside their longtime rivalries to unite against a common enemy.

The eventual alliance of cities and tribes that formed under General Sserys’ command took months to come together, all while the Antinium were conquering unchecked. Had the alliance come together at the start of the Antinium War, or even after a few months, the Antinium war machine might never have been allowed to grow as large as it did.

Sserys eventually managed to unify every standing Drake city and forge a tenuous agreement with the collective Gnoll Tribes—essentially a non-aggression pact that allowed the Drakes and Gnolls to focus solely on the Antinium. Thus, Sserys was named High General and given command of the entire war against the Antinium.

It must be said that despite his high level and strategic expertise, even Sserys and the best [Strategists] on the continent were hard-pressed to even slow the Antinium. The Queens reacted with such speed and decisiveness that catching their armies off-guard was difficult, and without issues of morale or lapses in communication, the Antinium possessed fewer weaknesses to exploit than conventional armies.

Yet, if the Black Tide was relentless, there were still bastions which even the endless numbers of Antinium Soldiers could not wear down.

The Gnoll Tribes, Walled Cities, and Sserys’s army were the indomitable pillars that could not be broken down however many times the Antinium attacked. But cities burned and floods of weary Drakes and Gnolls fled eastward, another target for the Antinium to exploit.

General Sserys could not abandon the civilians to roving Antinium war bands, and so the Drakes were forced to fight defensively. One small mercy seemed to be the limit to the number of armies the Antinium could field at once; with the few Queens in each Hive, they were unable to scatter their armies and perform the simultaneous lightning-strikes as had been so devastating in Rhir.

However, the Drake forces were clearly at a disadvantage, and meanwhile the Antinium were continually pushing north, towards the last bastion between Drake and Human lands – Liscor. Sserys was aware of this danger and directed ever more armies north to hold off the Antinium while he attempted to evacuate the lowlands, but his armies were slowly being fought back by the Black Tide.

Two events of note changed the balance of power during the First Antinium War. While [Strategists] and [Tacticians] have continually argued the implications of each engagement, from a historical perspective the Antinium were always winning. But the emergence of a second leader who would prove vital during the war and the famous Accord at Liscor both helped tip the scales back towards the defender’s side.

The city-state of Geir lay directly in the line of the Black Tide, but had thus far escaped any major conflicts with the Antinium. However, after one of Sserys’ armies suffered a major defeat, the Antinium suddenly advanced on the city, striking within hours of their last battle with the speed that had so dismayed Drake [Strategists].

The few [Scouts] monitoring the Antinium front reported seeing the Antinium swarming the walls, heedless of the defensive spells exacting a toll on their army. Like many other settlements, the defenders mobilized too slowly to push back the Antinium and their gates were dragged open within the first hour of fighting. After that, all visual reports ceased as the scouts were forced to retreat as more Antinium pushed the frontlines forward yet again.

Communications ceased as the Antinium armies continued onwards, and it was assumed the city was overwhelmed. However, two days after the attack, a lone Human Courier – Mihaela Godfrey – broke through Antinium lines from within and delivered a message to General Sserys. It came from a young Drake [Lieutenant] stationed within the city and reads as follows:

“To anyone who may read this,

My name is Zel Shivertail. I am a Level 15 [Lieutenant] in command of Geir’s remaining forces, as I believe all higher-ranking officers are now dead…

We have been attacked by a vast Antinium army which overwhelmed our walls. The attack happened with such suddenness that most of our warriors were lost within the first few moments. I managed to rally what few soldiers, guardsmen and civilians I could and retreated into the keep.

The Antinium broke through the stone walls, but the city was built on an ancient dungeon. We have barricaded ourselves within and the Workers have yet to tunnel through the enchantments…

They are relentless. With each hour more Soldiers attack our positions. We have set up killing corridors and are using what few [Mages] we have while our warriors rotate. Everyone, Drake and Gnoll and the few Humans with us are fighting.

I have sent our one Courier out, in hopes that she may reach someone who will bring word to General Sserys. Please tell him we are still alive, and not to send reinforcements. The enemy is too well-entrenched here. All of us know our lives are lost, but we will keep fighting and divert as many Antinium against us as possible.

We will hold this place so long as a single one of us draws breath. I beg only one thing of those who would follow: avenge us. Scourge our enemy from these walls and reap a hundred bodies for the fallen.

We are here. We will fight until our last.”

At first, many believed Shivertail’s message to be a trap set by the Antinium. But records indicated that Geir had indeed been built over a dungeon of considerable size and magical strength. That there were still survivors shocked those in command, and Sserys immediately began exploring options to support the beleaguered survivors of Geir.

Written recollections suggest that as many as three hundred assorted [Soldiers], [Guardsmen] and civilians with assorted classes escaped into the dungeon, due in no small way to Zel Shivertail’s quick thinking. The Soldiers prioritized fighting those with combat classes, allowing a large number of civilians to take cover during the attack.

Perhaps the Antinium believed that the survivors would be easy to rout, and indeed, they might have been were it not for the explosive leveling that occurred as the desperate people fought an increasingly deadly defensive battle against the Antinium Soldiers, who found themselves unable to advance down the narrow corridors which equalized the numerical superiority enjoyed by the Soldiers.

This, combined with the magically impenetrable walls, gave the survivors of Geir a fighting chance. Their situation was no less dire, but they were able to resist being overwhelmed on the first day, and the next. And as the fighting continued, a miracle occurred.

Forced to fight with their tails to the wall against impossible odds, the defenders of Geir leveled up almost daily and gained unusual classes such as [Stalwart], [Defender], and [Lineholder] among the warriors, and [Survivor], [Fighter], and [Protector] among the civilians. A few even gained rare classes like [Slaughterer], [Blood Berserker], and so on.

This explosive growth is widely known and accounted for by [Tacticians] of Drake, Human, and occasionally, Gnoll species when laying siege to well-fortified positions, but the Antinium were clearly unprepared for this eventuality. They hurled more and more of their Soldiers into the battle until eventually, the dead grew to be so numerous that the defenders were able to construct impromptu barricades out of the slaughtered Antinium.

For over a month, Zel Shivertail led his increasingly high-level defenders against the Antinium, until the day they managed to push out of the dungeons and retake the keep.

This had been the moment Sserys had been waiting for. He personally led a mounted group of elite soldiers to the rescue, driving a spear into Geir while two armies held back the Antinium long enough to retrieve the survivors.

The daring success of Sserys’s actions and the retrieval of over forty Drakes and Gnolls with levels over 30 was hailed as a heroic victory throughout the continent. As the leader of the defenders of Geir, Zel Shivertail was awarded multiple accolades, not least for his own achievement in the face of dire odds. From a Level 15 [Lieutenant], Shivertail grew to become a Level 39 [General] after his battles, one of the most incredible growths ever recorded in known history.

Shivertail was immediately given a command of his own; he assembled an army around the survivors of Geir and led his soldiers on to several notable victories, not least of which was the second defense of Shivering Falls and his retaking of Geir later on in the war.

His defensive abilities—born out of that deadly siege—allowed his army to fight off far larger forces than his own and even push back the Antinium at a number of key battles. Shivertail became hailed as ‘Tidebreaker’, in reference to the Black Tide’s failure to overwhelm his army time and time again.

More important than his prowess as a general was the fact that at last a group of people had survived one of the deadly Antinium assaults. Geir’s story became a rallying cry and brought new confidence and hope to the citizens desperate for any good news.

Sserys is known to have been especially heartened by this event, and began to rely on Shivertail as one of his most trusted generals. He wrote in one entry in his private diary:

“…talked with him at length. I still cannot believe young Shivertail managed to do what he did with so few numbers. But I have seen his willpower and daring on the battlefield and have every expectation that he will rise to the occasion as this damnable war goes on..

It has taken some doing, but at last I have commissioned some armor fit for him. Yet he refused my gift, claiming it would be better suited to someone of a lesser level. He has also forgone any magical weapons, as his Skills allow him to fight with his claws with far more efficiency than even experienced warriors.

I must confess, I admire his humility, but I cannot lose such a valuable young [General]. He is an icon among the soldiers, and he gives me hope we may win this war yet…”

Sserys’s cautious optimism would soon be rewarded, for the Antinium chose that moment to launch their most daring offensive yet. They diverted every active army not engaged north, towards Liscor, one of only two gateways to the northern Human territory, in hopes of cutting off any possibility of reinforcements and encircling Sserys’s forces.

This attack on General Sserys’ own home would normally have provoked an overwhelming response from the Liscorian Army and the General himself, but countless Antinium armies were sent to slow the massive force Sserys attempted to bring to his home city’s rescue.

Liscor found itself under attack by a huge Antinium army, but uniquely, did not immediately fall to the Antinium onslaught. Like the Walled Cities, Liscor possessed above-average magical defenses upon its walls which allowed it to repel the Antinium host countless times. Yet the Antinium filled the region around Liscor, with so many bodies present that it seemed as if the ground really was water to the hopeless Liscorian citizens.

Sserys, desperate to save Liscor, pushed ahead with his armies, fighting countless desperate battles to find himself at the southern entrance to Liscor. But there his progress halted. The Black Tide met him with overwhelming numbers and encircled his back, cutting off any hope of retreat. Suddenly, it was Sserys who was trapped as both his army and Liscor were surrounded by the Antinium forces.

No other Drake commanders were close enough to come to Sserys’ aid, and Zel Shivertail, commanding the bulk of the Drake forces, was fighting back a huge push from the Antinium front and could spare no armies to break the siege.

The Drake armies were forced back and cut off, and Liscor teetered on the verge of collapse as the Antinium continued their relentless siege. It would be no exaggeration to say that the fate of the Drakes hinged on retreating with Sserys’ army mostly intact. Without it, the Antinium would have been able to completely overwhelm the stretched Drake armies already.

But the Antinium had no intention of allowing Sserys to retreat. They launched an all-out assault and Sserys made his stand against one of the mountains.

—-

The hour was just past dawn, and the Drakes had endured yet another massive assault that had seen tens of thousands of Antinium Soldiers charging their defensive lines without regard to their own casualties.

Sserys was preparing to rally his troops for a final charge. He had been pushed back six times, but he considered his army’s only chance for survival was to push to the gates of Liscor. There they might be able to hold out long enough for Zel Shivertail to muster a force to come to their aid, but the Antinium had formed a literal wall of bodies that continually replenished itself.

As Sserys prepared to give the order, he heard a horn call in the air. He relates the moment in his personal diary:

“…and in the midst of my despair, I heard it. A battle horn, a call to arms. Not from my camp or the endless Antinium horde, but beyond, to the north. That is when I saw the Humans. They swept down the pass, an army as great as any that ever marched north against us. [Knights] and [Adventurers] riding on warhorses, ranks of [Soldiers], and countless mages raining fire and death on the Antinium from behind.

It was glorious. And in that moment, I saw a young woman at their head, raising a sword. And I knew this battle could be won, and ordered the charge. Not towards Liscor, but into the center of the Antinium army.

For Liscor I would die. But that was not this day. And we broke the Black Tide between us, Drakes, Gnolls, and Humans all striving together for glorious victory.”

The arrival of the Human forces at Liscor was a complete surprise to both Sserys and the Antinium Queens. The long history of enmity between the indigenous Drake and Gnoll populations and the Humans, beginning when the first Humans landed on the continent from Terraria, meant that even while they fought against the Antinium, the Drakes were more concerned that a Human army might attack their forces than that they might come to their aid.

Too, the fractious Human city-states to the north were just as divided as their Drake counterparts. Unless a Drake army was marching north, the Humans refused to work together. That such a massive army – of over a hundred and sixty thousand Humans – had arrived in Issiysil’s darkest hour can be accredited to one person: Lady Magnolia.

The young Reinhart had not spent the many months during which the Antinium War had raged silently. Although her initial warnings had fallen on deaf ears, the scion of the Reinhart house slowly gathered influence and support, seizing the power from her family in a swift and bloodless coup and using her power to force or persuade cities to lend arms towards a relief army.

The Antinium’s growing threat alarmed many prominent Humans, and with the full might of the Reinharts behind the effort, a Human army was formed and sent south just in time to break the siege of Liscor.

It is unclear how much the young Magnolia Reinhart invested into the war effort, but every Gold-rank and Named adventurer in the North was offered exorbitant sums to act as vanguards and special units, and elite warriors from each city were sent to fight with heavy investments of both supplies and arms, indicating that this was no token force. The Humans meant to throw the Antinium back into the sea, starting with Liscor.

The Human attack occurred under the guise of mass-concealment spells that nearly drained all the mages in the force. However, their surprise attack was so devastating that countless thousands of Antinium died in the first moment as the army dropped its enchantments and charged into their unguarded rear.

While Human and Drake tactics share many similarities, there is a marked difference in army composition. Humans heavily favor mounted assaults with armored cavalry as opposed to Drake armies which usually have small mounted regiments. Additionally, Human armies favor a mass-attack with mages before launching their first assault.

Thus, the Antinium found themselves hammered repeatedly by countless spells before the bewildered Workers and Soldiers observed a stream of heavy cavalry charging into them. At the same time, Sserys launched a devastating attack of his own, and the Antinium lines began to break as the army struggled to fight on both sides and hold off an attack from Liscor as the defenders began to sortie.

The siege of Liscor broke as the Black Tide found itself hammered from two fronts. The armies of General Sserys blockaded the southern exit while Lady Magnolia’s Human armies rampaged through the lines of the Antinium, blasting apart their ranks with magic to great effect while armored cavalry mounted continuous charges to break the advancing Soldiers.

Numerous Human [Lords] and lesser nobility were present at the battle leading their respective commands, but unusually, Lady Magnolia Reinhart was spotted on the field herself, inspiring troops from behind her house’s personal elite guard. While the Lady Reinhart did not participate in any of the fighting, her presence on the battlefield was a significant break with typical aristocratic behavior in the nobility.

The battle around Liscor raged for several more hours, but the balance of power inevitably shifted towards the Drakes and Humans. The Antinium retreated in chaos, leaving countless dead and both armies to celebrate.

Whatever initial misgivings the Drakes might have had about Human aid was set aside in the face of their timely arrival. Magnolia Reinhart was again instrumental in acting as a buffer between both forces and deciding on a course of action as both sides’ commanders debated how to press their advantage.

The end result of the battle for Liscor was a huge blow to the Antinium forces and a new ally in the form of the Human coalition army, which would go on to secure numerous victories against the Antinium. However, Lady Magnolia Reinhart would return north after the battle, having lost her taste for war in that first battle. This came as a relief to many of her personal aides and those affiliated with the Reinhart house, but also to General Sserys as well.

“I sought out the young lady Reinhart after the speeches and celebrations were finished. I wanted to thank her personally, but to my surprise, I found her wandering amidst the fallen. Many Humans gave their lives, and I saw her staring at their bodies for a long time among the Antinium.

I believe she wept, and vomited, although I only rejoined her later. All I know is that while she accorded me with every courtesy and behaved to the utmost standards of her Class, her face was pale and she seemed unsteady on her feet. I did not take much of her time, and spoke with her later, after she had recovered herself.

I must confess, while I take little pleasure in the discomfort of young Reinhart, I am relieved to see her thus. Had she half the cunning, bravery, and skill on the battlefield as she did in the realm of politics, I fear we would soon be in greater danger from the Humans than the Antinium.”

Despite Sserys’s fears, Magnolia Reinhart was still instrumental during the rest of the Antinium War, if not as a warrior or commander, then as a diplomat. She convinced wavering allies to commit to aiding embattled armies and campaigned ceaselessly to maintain the pressure on the Antinium.

It seemed the war was won, or so the [Messengers] and [Runners] shouted from every rooftop. Both Drakes and Humans had allied, and even the Gnoll Tribes had sent a smaller force of their own to push the Antinium back. This coalition of forces – dubbed the Southern Alliance – joined together to push back the Antinium time and time again in resounding victories. The sieges on two more Walled Cities were broken, and the Antinium lines were pushed back until their Hives were in striking range.

However, this was not the end of the Antinium War, merely a lull in the fighting. The Queens had indeed withdrawn their forces, but not to retreat. Instead, they launched a second massive offensive as the three joint armies drew closer to their position, deploying their secret weapon in the war: the Prognugators.

Perhaps the so-called Prognugator class had not yet been ‘born’ in the Antinium Hives, or their movement to the front lines signified the desperation of the Antinium Queens. However, as the Drake, Human, and Gnoll forces approached the hive, they found themselves suddenly under attack by overwhelming Antinium numbers, acting in even greater and more deadly concert than before.

Suddenly, the Antinium armies were using advanced tactics and strategy not seen before during the war. While the Antinium had always employed basic strategies and formations, now they launched sneak attacks, flanked weak targets actively, and laid traps and feinted, much like any force led by a competent commander.

And yet, the Antinium had no visible commanders on the front lines, no observable [General] which archers or mages could aim for. It was only after a decisive battle in which an Antinium vanguard broke through Human lines and slaughtered the [General] in command did witnesses report seeing an Antinium who looked like a Worker, yet wielded swords and fought like a warrior with classes.

This was the first sighting of the elusive Prognugators, one of the sub-commanders of the Antinium. They appeared to be ordinary Workers or normal Antinium until they displayed their unique abilities on the field. These included strong fighting capabilities – at least on the level of a Silver-rank adventurer – and keen strategic insight. They would pretend to be ordinary Antinium while they secretly led the armies, only to reveal their true nature when in danger or at key moments.

Once Sserys and the Human commanders learned of these Prognugators, every effort was made to hunt them down and destroy them. But despite several reported kills of the Prognugators, it seemed they were immortal.

In one battle, a spear-wielding Antinium would be slain by arrow, but only a week later he would reappear, fighting with the same vigor as before, completely unharmed. It was as if the Prognugators were endless, and the bewildered soldiers began to fear these immortal Antinium as unkillable nightmares.

However, the Prognugators could die. Reliable accounts, including one by Sserys himself, describe the [General] and others killing the Prognugators in single-combat, only to see them appear again, apparently weakened. While it was not clear from afar, Sserys reports that after he slew a Prognugator who fought with dual swords and daggers the first time in a close match, the Antinium was noticeably weaker the second time they dueled, and actively avoided Sserys in the third battle they met in.

It seemed that whatever claim to immortality the Prognugators had, it was not infinite. Repeated deaths led to a final ‘death’ as it were, and their ranks eventually thinned as they were repeatedly sought and destroyed.

Of the six Prognugators, only three apparently ‘survived’ the end of the war. Klbkch the Slayer, Wrymvr the Deathless, and the Small Queen Xrn were sighted after the First Antinium War and even during the Second Antinium War*. It is speculated that their repeated deaths or perhaps their failures to secure victories may have led to their final demise at the hands of their Queens. Other theories include a limit to the number of times the Antinium are able to revive such individuals, but whatever the case, the eventual death of half of the Prognugators led to a far more cautious approach in their deployment.

*As of writing, Klbkch is the only Prognugator confirmed as still living – he resides with the sixth Antinium Hive in Liscor after the peace treaty following the end of the Second Antinium War.

And yet, the damage caused by the Antinium’s second advance brought even the combined Human, Gnoll and Drake forces to a standstill. The Antinium fought desperately to keep the armies from taking even one Hive, and eventually the true power of the Antinium began to tip the scales of balance back in their favor.

Antinium Soldiers, despite their weaknesses, were extremely efficient and impossible to break from low morale. Exhaustion did not seem to be a factor for the Antinium; some fought until they literally died of exhaustion, but the same could not be said of the non-Antinium forces.

Sheer exhaustion from continuous battles wore down the Drakes, Humans, and Gnolls, leading to repeated defeats as weary soldiers faltered under the ceaseless advance of the Black Tide. Suddenly, even the advantage enjoyed by the three races began to erode as more and more Antinium marched out of their Hives each week, a consequence of their high birth-rate.

The battle lines stabilized once again, but this time it was to the detriment of the Drakes. Sserys grew increasingly worried as more and more defeats occurred among his armies, writing in his journal the fears he refused to share with those under his command.

“Again, and again they come for us. Are they endless, or do these ‘Queens’ bear children so quickly that they can replenish their armies in weeks?

The Humans fight far more bravely than I would believe, but even with their army, we cannot keep fighting as we have. In a month—perhaps less—we will lose this war.

That is unacceptable. We must act decisively to end the war now or resign ourselves to death. It is time again to gamble with the fates and risk all or nothing. If need be, I will lead the charge myself into the heart of one of their Hives. If we must sacrifice an army to take the life of even one Queen, it may be worth it.”

Sserys’ proposal to launch a suicide attack was unanimously rejected by the war council, but it became clear that without some decisive action, the war would be lost.

Nine months after the beginning of the Antinium War, the true weakness, the crucial weakness of the Antinium was discovered by chance in an engagement with a patrol of Humans that found themselves ambushed by over fifty Antinium Soldiers and Workers.

The ambushed Humans quickly fell to the Soldiers, but one [Hydromancer] cast a [Rain] spell in desperation. She perished, but a relief force found that the area the patrol had been ambushed in – a natural valley – was filled with not only the corpses of the lost patrol, but all the Antinium. They had drowned attempting to climb the muddy embankment and sank beneath the waters.

This development largely went unnoticed until the [Strategist] assigned to the army reviewed the patrol’s report. She quickly sent a message to the highest-ranking mage in the army, and the experiment was duplicated on a larger scale the next day.

The results were immediately apparent and decisive, and it led to the Antinium army’s eventual complete defeat and the changing of the entire war. It was a simple discovery, yet vital, and it was this:

The Antinium cannot swim. They are unable to float, and despite being able to hold their breath for an extended duration, they perish of suffocation like any other species.

At first, General Sserys dismissed the reports coming from the Human army as impossible, an error in judgement. He and other Drakes had to see the Antinium drowning in person before they would believe.

In retrospect, the Antinium’s weakness appears obvious, but not so to those who had fought against the Antinium at the time. In Rhir, the Antinium had battled the Blighted King’s armies with few places that were located next to water, and their departure across the sea tricked the world into believing they were able to swim. What sane creature would travel across the oceans without the ability to even float?

Yet the truth remained: the Antinium could not swim. And with that discovery, their endless numbers suddenly became not only manageable, but a weakness.

The Drake and Human armies suddenly pulled back from their offensive charges and adopted a wholly defensive formation. They placed heavy groups of pikes and defensive soldiers towards the front, all to buy their [Mages] enough time to cast [Rain] and other weather-related spells to flood the battlefield. [Geomancers] and [Diggers] built floodwalls to contain the water, and formed natural valleys to drown the Antinium in.

This general strategy required constant adjustments as the Antinium armies actively tried to avoid just such a scenario, but the results were dramatic. Entire armies of the Antinium perished, and they found themselves unable to advance into certain areas for fear of being drowned out. The Drake armies even created artificial lakes to halt the Antinium’s progress in some areas.

While the Workers could drain the waters given time, the ability of the Drakes and Humans to set the battlefield forced the Antinium on the defensive. In the course of weeks, the Antinium had been pushed back all the way to their Hives by the attacking armies, and there, for the first time, the Queens were finally in direct danger.

Sserys led the first attack on an Antinium Hive. He recorded the battle in his diary:

“That first assault was the most harrowing experience I have ever gone through. Antinium filled the tunnels, fighting savagely in that confined space. The tunnel walls kept opening up around us as the Workers tunneled around to hit our flanks and rear, and they came at us without pause, desperate to defend the Queen that must surely lurk below.

…We cannot face them. No. I have pulled my forces back and ordered every mage in my army to cast as many water spells as possible. We will flood the monsters out.”

That was exactly what Sserys’s army did. For four days and four nights, the mages cast endless [Rain], [Downpour], and other related spells, flooding the Hive with water.

It is believed the Workers in the Hive labored desperately to drain the water into side-tunnels and other passages, but even their efforts eventually failed them. The Antinium launched constant attacks on the Drakes above, but by the end of the fourth day the water had reached the mouth of the Hive entrance, and after three more days of waiting, [Divers] were sent in. They found the Hives full of dead Antinium and the drowned Queen deep below.

One Hive had fallen, and the continent celebrated. Yet the cost of that battle did not go unnoticed or unwarned of. Mages specializing in water magic warned of the effect the spells would have on the weather, and Sserys himself banned this tactic except as a means of last resort.

“Dead gods, I have never seen such horror. The entire Hive is dead. We know that now. All within are drowned and rotting—over a hundred thousand Antinium, possibly twice or three times that number. All dead.

We burned the ground to ash, and then filled their tunnels with water. We made it rain until the world seemed as if it were naught but mud and rain. And the cost has taken its toll.

I remember this land. It was green and lush, but now the ground is a swamp of death and the sky is cloudless. The mages tell me that this magic has interfered with the weather. It will not rain here for decades. While it is a flooded place now, soon this will become an arid wasteland, fit only for the dead we have entombed.

Never again. Not if I can help it. This war has made me sick, and I am tired of it. Let us finish this once and for all if we must.”

True to the mage’s predictions, the site of the Antinium Hive has since become a dry desert, and both vegetation and wildlife have died out in a fifty mile radius around the place of the former Hive.

And yet, this victory over one Hive was not only decisive, but the first chapter in the final saga of the war. Emboldened by the destruction of one of the four Hives the Antinium had built, the Walled Cities and Human alliance decided to form a grand coalition army – dubbed the First Unified Army – to assault the main hive of the Antinium and end the war in one quick stroke.

Almost every commander and leader was in support of this plan, as every side had grown weary of this ongoing war. Sserys himself volunteered to command the army, and only a few dissidents opposed this strategy.

Among them was Zel Shivertail. The second-in-command argued that the Antinium were too dangerous to fight, even with their weakness exploited. But his voice was lost and overruled by Sserys himself, and the First Unified Army set out towards the Antinium Hive nearly one year after the Antinium War had started, one of the largest armies to ever march across Issrysil.

It was at this moment that the Antinium did something unprecedented. They attempted to sue for peace. Antinium [Workers] bearing white flags approached armies en-masse. While they were often cut to ribbons, many survived and the letters they bore were all identical. The Antinium Grand Queen – a position that was entirely new to the Drake and Human leadership – requested an immediate peace treaty between the Antinium and the rest of the continent.

These terms were unanimously refused by the leaders, who felt that they now had the upper hand. Rather than make peace with the Antinium, it was infinitely more preferable to destroy them all at once, and so Sserys’ army was given complete authority to dispose of the Antinium in any way they saw fit.

[Couriers] and [Mages] kept the army in almost constant contact with the other cities as the army approached the main Hive where it was believed the majority of the Queens and the Grand Queen of the Antinium resided. Only a few Antinium forces challenged the army, and they were quickly destroyed.

Sserys encircled the Hive with his army and made camp, assuring the cities that they would destroy the Hive on the next day. His forces settled in—

And were all gone by the next day.

It was an almost completely silent night, punctuated only by a few [Message] spells that seemed to have been cast by accident. But as the Drake and Human leaders waited for Sserys to report in as dawn broke the next day, they found that no mage in the army could be reached, and none of the [Couriers] sent the night before had returned.

Many spells have been attempted, witnesses interviewed, and even the Antinium have been questioned, but to this day, there exists no record, no evidence of what transpired during the night. No spells were cast, and no alarms were raised among the cities. But every member of the army, including non-combatants like [Cooks] and [Porters] disappeared without a trace, leaving behind neither bodies nor clues to what had happened.

Only one record remains of that night. General Sserys’s diary. The latest entries record the First unified Army settling in, Sserys’ proposed tactics for beginning the siege of the Hive, and a final entry.

“This is the hour of my death.

We have been attacked in the night. We were prepared, although not for the amount of Antinium that emerged. But our defenses were solid, and we fought them back and began the siege early.

The Antinium came at us, limitless numbers of Soldiers and Workers, but we destroyed them by the thousands.

We met them in the tunnels and pushed them back. Soldiers and Workers both emerged…we melted them, blasted them apart…we were winning. I believe it was just past midnight when the Antinium pulled back and we believed they were making a final stand.

They arrived as we were pushing towards the central hive. Our night scouts reported sounds and then—silence. Slowly, all the camps around my headquarters stop reporting in, even forces with tens of thousands of soldiers. But even as I sent [Runners] and mage spells demanding reports, I received only silence. No one returned.

Something is moving in the tunnels. Something is underneath us. They are waiting, systematically destroying my army in the cover of the night. Already they are attacking the edges of the camp.

I do not know what kind of enemy we are facing. I only know that they are Antinium, but of no kind we have witnessed before. They are some new breed of Antinium, some secret weapon of the Queens.

Thus far we have not recovered any bodies intact for me to describe. To destroy these new varieties of Antinium, our soldiers and mages have had to dismember them. They do not stop.

Zel must be told. There are more Antinium types than just Soldiers and Workers. We cannot defeat them. I hear my warriors fighting and dying. We will make a stand here, but I know that I will not live to see the dawn.

I regret leading these good soldiers to their deaths. I only hope that we will do enough damage that the Antinium will continue to sue for peace.

…I am tired. I can hear them coming for me.

Alas, this is the place where I part ways. If I could go home once more—but no. Goodbye. Let my death have meaning. I will die as I lived: a soldier.

‘Oh sunfilled skies, let me ride again on the fields of battle in another life. To Liscor, and the world, fight on. May we one day know peace.’

—Sserys of Liscor

High General Sserys’ journal and his corpse were both found in the remains of the First Unified Army’s encampment twenty four days later. After the initial loss of contact, the allied city-states waited with increasing concern until, seven days later, it became clear that the Unified Army had been destroyed, and no survivors remained to bear word of their defeat.

After the city-states accepted the fact that Sserys and his army had been lost, they immediately began organizing a second, even larger army to investigate the site of his demise. This second army, entrusted to Zel Shivertail, was given explicit instructions not to attack the Hive, but only to gather information and immediately retreat. Constant, 24-hour contact was maintained between the army and the city-states as they approached the seemingly inactive Hive.

The Second Unified Army found the encampment of the first mainly intact; no damage was reported to either the fortifications or even the tents established. Indeed, even high-level [Scouts] could only detect faint signs of violence and tracks leading into the Grand Hive.

No soldiers of the First Unified Army were found besides High General Sserys; speculation abounds to this day as to their fate, but it is most likely the soldiers were first killed then processed as supplies within the Antinium Hives.

Only General Sserys’ corpse remained, lying in his command tent, fully armored, sword still grasped in his hand. The [General] had died fighting, with traces of Antinium blood upon his sword. His cause of death was a single strike to his heart which tore through both enchanted armor and bone to reach it.

The Second Unified Army collected Sserys’ corpse and his diary and immediately retreated. The city-states argued and debated what to do in the face of this new information and mysterious new breed of the Antinium. It was feared a third offensive would drag this war out even further, but it never came to that.

To the great surprise of all, the Grand Queen of the Antinium still sued for peace despite the massive losses suffered by the Southern Alliance. [Strategists] speculate that this was a pragmatic move; although the Antinium may have destroyed the First Unified Army, the Second would doubtless cost more lives and resources, and leave the Antinium prey to another attack if the Human Coalition entered into a combined assault.

Whatever the case may be, the First Antinium War ended with a signed accord by the Walled Cities, the Grand Queen of the Antinium, and the Human coalition led by Magnolia Reinhart. Further hostilities would be limited to a few instances of adventurers straying too near to the Antinium Hives until the famous Goblin King’s rampage coincided with the assault on Liscor and the surrounding area by the Necromancer Az’Kerash—

(At this point, Ryoka Griffin stopped reading. She left this book behind to journey to the High Passes, and has since not reopened it.)

Previous Chapter

2.39

She slept on the way back. Somehow, Erin found she was extremely tired after her meeting with Magnolia, and despite it being only dusk she slept like a baby.

She woke up as Reynold slowed the coach next to her inn. Erin blinked, looked around wildly, and realized she was home.

Home. It was an odd thing to say, and even odder that the sight of Toren’s skeletal frame standing in front of her inn was reassuring, but there it was.

Erin was home.

It was the work of a few minutes for Erin to extricate herself from the carriage. Not because she was that slow; Reynold insisted on helping her pack up the huge meal Lady Magnolia had sent with her. It was far too much for Erin to eat, but she suspected Lyonette might enjoy the rich food.

“Thanks so much for driving me out here, Reynold.”

“It was my pleasure Miss Solstice.”

“Erin. Um, will you come in for something to eat? Or I could make you up a bed. It’s getting late.”

The [Butler] smiled.

“I fear I must decline. I will return to Lady Magnolia’s side shortly, but I thank you for the offer.”

“Oh, it’s no—if you ever have time, come by and I’ll treat you to a meal on the house, okay?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

Erin watched as the man climbed back in the carriage and the horses began to gallop. She looked over at Toren as the skeleton walked down the hill. He stared at her. She stared back.

“Hi.”

He nodded. Erin looked at him for a few more seconds.

“Is Lyonette here?”

He nodded, and pointed up towards the inn. On cue the doors flew open and Erin heard a strident voice.

“Is he gone? Come back! I insist—!”

The girl dashed down the slope and stopped, waving her arms and shouting at the coach. She turned to Erin, furious.

“How dare he? The nerve—did you inform Magnolia Reinhart of my distress? When will she send for me? You may pass any correspondence from her directly to me.”

She looked at Erin expectantly. Erin blinked.

“Um. She knows you’re here.”

“And?”

“And that’s it. I don’t think she’s sending anyone else. Hey Toren, help me carry all this food to the inn. You can have this basket. And this bundle. And I’ll take this…there’s some good food in here so don’t drop it.”

Erin trooped up to her inn and went inside, ignoring Lyonette’s outraged monologue. The noble girl calmed down only slightly when she saw the feast Erin had brought back.

“Hmf. Well at least the woman was decent enough to provide me with a decent meal as recompense. I will await her reply while I make do.”

Erin suspected Lyonette would be waiting for a long time, but she wisely didn’t mention that.

“If you set the table we can eat, Lyonette.”

The girl stared at Erin. Erin stared back. Lyonette’s petulant self-righteousness was a far cry from Ressa’s stare and Lady Magnolia’s sheer presence. In a few seconds the girl flounced into the kitchen.

She was just finishing setting the table—badly—and Toren had emerged with a jug of cold milk when the door slammed open.

“Humans!”

Relc bellowed the words and Lyonette screamed and dropped the forks and ran for the stairs. Erin laughed.

“Relc! And Klbkch! And Selys?”

The [Receptionist] walked in as Klbkch held the door open and smiled at Erin.

“Hi Erin. I hope I’m not bothering you, but I saw that coach come in and everyone was headed this way, so…”

Klbkch shut the door and nodded to Erin.

“I hope we are not interrupting you today, Miss Solstice?”

“No, that’s great, come in!”

Erin waved the three into her inn happily. She hated being alone, which was to say, trapped with either Lyon or Toren. Relc chortled with delight when he saw the spread of food Toren had placed on one of the tables.

“Where did all this come from?”

“Oh, that? It’s um…a gift. I can’t eat it with just Lyon, so everyone grab a plate and have some. Lyonette—more plates! And forks. And spoons and knives. And cups!”

The girl looked up with disgust, but Toren shepherded her back into the kitchen. Relc stared after the girl and scratched his head, looking briefly put out, but Klbkch spoke to Erin as Selys happily investigated the food.

“I regret that Pawn is not able to visit. He is occupied within the Hive.”

“And I couldn’t find Olesm. I think he’s busy at the Runner’s Guild for some reason. I saw him taking a huge stack of parchment there earlier.”

Selys eyed the food Erin had spread on the table. Magnolia, for all her objectionable traits, was certainly generous when it came to food. Since Erin had fallen asleep before she’d touched the spread, she had two different roasted pheasants, over ten cuts of meat, cheeses, two bottles of wine, fruits that were only slightly wilted, bread, some kind of spicy dip, a sweet dip, olives, and even a crab—

“Is this really all a gift from this Reinhart lady? Did she like you that much, Erin?”

“I think she was just being…generous. She’s really rich, I think.”

“Wow. You know, I knew she was important after Ceria told me about her messenger, but I didn’t know she was that important.”

“You’ve never heard of her?”

Erin was curious. Selys scratched at one cheek and twitched her tail in embarrassment.

“Well, it’s just—she’s a Human, you know, Erin? I guess I just don’t pay attention to famous Humans that much. I might have heard her name once or twice…maybe she was important historically? How old is she? Anyways, I could name a few important adventurers and teams, but not more than that.”

“So no one knows of Lady Magnolia Reinhart?”

“Reinhart? She was the one who sent that carriage?”

Relc looked up from the food as Toren and Lyonette reappeared. Klbkch looked at Erin as well.

“Yeah. She wanted to talk. So you know her, Relc?”

He shrugged.

“The Deadly Flower? Yeah, I’ve heard of her.”

“Oh! From the Antinium Wars! That’s her?”

Selys gasped in sudden realization.

“But she’s a hero! And she helped beat the Antinium both times. I had no idea!”

She glanced over at Klbkch and froze.

“Uh—”

Klbkch nodded as he delicately consumed a slice of beef.

“I have never met Magnolia Reinhart in person, but I am well aware of her accomplishments. I am curious as to why she wished to speak with you, Erin.”

He looked at Erin, and she realized he probably knew why. Relc scratched his spines and shrugged.

“Who cares? I mean, you can tell us, but free food is free food, right? Can I have all of this?”

“Sure.”

“Great!”

Relc began heaping a plate with as much food as possible, much to Lyon’s outrage. She glared daggers at the Drake which Relc happily ignored. Lyonette tried to load her own plate while keeping as far away from any non-Human as possible. That was fairly impossible, but she gravitated more towards Selys than Klbkch or Relc, staying the furthest away from the Antinium.

“This is so tasty!”

Selys smiled at Erin as the two took their plates to a table. Relc wavered, but Klbkch tapped him on the shoulder and they took a table a few feet away. Erin had noticed the lack of invitation from Selys, as well as the way the Drake had kicked her when she opened her mouth to invite the other two to join her.

“Why don’t you want to eat with Relc?”

She whispered that to Selys when she was sure the other Drake was investigating one of the kegs Erin had put on the bar’s counter in the back. Selys made a face.

“He was flirting with me on the way here, Erin. I just don’t want to give him the wrong idea so soon afterwards.”

“Oh.”

Erin had discussed the more…intimate…relations of each species with Selys before, but she’d never really asked about the Drake’s love life. But from the look on Selys’s face, Relc wasn’t included in any of her aspirations.

“Don’t you like him? I do.”

“As a friend, I guess. I mean, I don’t know him like you do. But I’d never date him, Erin!”

“Why? I mean, he’s not that bad, is he?”

Selys looked over at Relc as the Drake happily poured himself a drink of ale and grimaced.

“Well no, but—he’s really muscly, and he’s arrogant and selfish too. I know he’s a really important Senior Guardsman and he’s really high-level, but I’d hate to be the Drake who had to put up with him in a relationship. Anyways, I prefer guys who look…better, you know?”

Erin frowned at Relc.

“Really? He looks fine to me.”

“That’s because you’re a Human.”

Selys sighed. She swished her tail back and forth on the floorboards.

“Look, it’s not just that. He’s older than me, you know? I mean, I’m almost the same age as his d—”

She broke off as Relc walked over. His tail was wagging as he held up a mug.

“This is alcohol, right? You’re finally serving alcohol?”

He nearly had tears in his eyes. Erin nodded and grinned.

“I bought some—I even made this really weird special drink, but it’s uh, sort of in testing. It does weird things when people drink it.”

“Really? I’ll try some so long as I’m not throwing up afterwards.”

Selys looked intrigued. Relc nodded.

“I’ll try it even if I do throw up. Alcohol!”

He went back to his table as Erin turned back to Selys.

“Anyways, meeting with Magnolia was huge. She said so many things—”

“So tell me everything!”

Erin took a deep breath, and then looked towards the door. A second later, Halrac opened it. The [Scout] grunted when he saw the food on the table before his eyes flicked to Erin.

“Are you open?”

Relc looked over and froze, but Klbkch seemed perfectly at ease. Selys had frozen in her seat, but Erin only smiled wider.

“Come on in, Halrac! Get a plate and have something to eat—it’s a buffet tonight!”

The older man eyed the spread without comment. He seemed puzzled by it, possibly because he could identify the rich food as out of place in the inn, but he loaded up his plate and took a table away from the others.

Erin resolved to talk to Halrac later, after she’d finished eating. He was so silent, except when he was bugging her about having more of that faerie flower drink. But she bet she could get him to open up if she talked enough. She turned and saw Selys gaping at her.

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

“Erin! That’s Halrac! Halrac as in, Halrac from Griffon Hunt! The Gold-rank [Scout]!”

“Um. Yeah?”

Erin knew that. She couldn’t remember if Halrac had told her or she’d heard it somewhere else, but Selys seemed blown away by that fact.

“What is he doing here!? I thought he was staying at Peslas’ inn!”

“Really? Well, he comes in every night. I guess he likes my inn better.”

Erin felt a bit smug at that, but Selys shook her head.

“But he’s famous, Erin! How’d you even meet him? I mean, maybe he’s not as famous as Magnolia Reinhart—”

“Who you didn’t know.”

“—Shut up. I know adventurers because it’s my job, okay? Halrac’s a veteran. He’s killed Griffons by himself and he’s probably the closest to becoming a Named Adventurer in Liscor right now.”

“Well, he’s a good customer. Silent. Doesn’t throw things. And he tips well.”

“He’s rich.”

“Really? Well, I think he keeps coming back because of this drink I made. You know those flowers I told you about? A few days ago I—”

Erin broke off again. Selys looked at her.

“More guests? How can you tell?”

“I don’t know. I just…sense it.”

Sure enough, only a few seconds after Erin had turned, the door opened.

“Rags!”

Erin half-rose from her chair, beaming as the small Goblin entered, pushing back her hood. But the young woman stopped when she saw Rags wasn’t alone.

Rags had a friend. Or an underling? How else could Erin explain the second Goblin that walked through the door. He was likewise hooded, and Erin only caught a glimpse of green skin as he tugged the cloth over his face and looked around. But that wasn’t the thing that stopped her.

“A Hob!”

Relc shot out of his chair and reached for his spear. Klbkch caught his arm, but Lyonette screamed and Selys choked on her mouthful of food. Erin looked at the tall Goblin.

He didn’t look like the Goblin Chieftain at all. What had Relc said? A Hob? As in Hobgoblin? But he looked so…so…Human.

That was to say, he looked humanoid. He was about as Human as a Drake and Erin detected fangs in the smile he gave her.

The Hobgoblin made her uneasy. But then Erin noticed Rags was staring at her. Expectantly. And Erin realized Rags was waiting to see what she would do.

Yet, Erin had a definite sense that this mysterious Hobgoblin wasn’t like Rags. He was dangerous, and everyone in the room felt it. Especially the warriors.

Across the room, Relc and Klbkch were silently staring at the Hobgoblin. The air had frozen around Relc and one of his hands was clenched into a fist. Halrac had paused as soon as the second Goblin had entered, and one of his hands was at his belt. Even Toren was staring hard at the second Goblin.

The air was full of tension. Erin felt her [Dangersense] tingling in the back of her head, but she ignored it and made herself smile. What had Lady Magnolia said about Goblins? No—she’d said it about Erin. A girl who treated Goblins like people. Because Goblins were people. Remember that.

“Rags, come in! I’ve got tons of food, and you’re always welcome here. You and any Goblins. And I see you’ve got a friend. That’s great. Well, he’s a guest and isn’t going to be attacked, okay?”

Erin didn’t look at the others, but she raised her voice and sensed the mood change. Klbkch nodded silently, and Halrac slowly relaxed in his seat and turned back to his drink. Only Relc stood staring, until Klbkch tapped him gently on the shoulder and pushed him back towards his seat.

Erin approached the two Goblins cautiously. Rags looked…different. It felt like ages since she’d last been in the inn, and something had changed in her demeanor.

She looked taller. Physically—she seemed to have grown an inch or two, but also in the way she carried herself. She stared up at Erin without a trace of fear, but only a sense of curiosity and something else in her crimson eyes.

“I’ve got food. Um, and we can play chess later. Where’s your tribe?”

Stare. Erin looked up at the other Goblin. He grinned at her, exposing sharp teeth.

“Who’s your friend?”

The Hobgoblin opened his mouth and Rags kicked him. He frowned down at her and she glared up at him. Erin scratched her head.

“Is everything okay?”

Rags shrugged. She walked over to the table filled with food and grabbed a plate. The tall Goblin followed her. Erin watched them begin to pile food on their plates as they muttered to each other in their incomprehensible language and went back to Selys.

“Erin. Who’s that other Goblin?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, why is he here?”

“He’s…hungry?”

Erin spread her hands out as Selys kicked her.

“Ow! I don’t know! What’s the problem?”

Selys lowered her voice and hissed at Erin.

“The problem is that he’s a Hobgoblin! They’re not like normal Goblins. They’re dangerous! Even a normal Silver-rank adventurer wouldn’t be a match for one!”

“Well…he’s with Rags! That means he could be okay!”

“That’s not your only problem, Erin. After that Goblin raiding party—this isn’t good.”

“This is my inn. What’s the problem?”

Selys nodded.

“Him.”

Erin looked over and saw Relc. It wasn’t like she’d forgotten the last time Relc and Rags had met, but now that she looked over, she could see Relc’s expression. Selys looked grim.

“He’s not going to stay calm, Erin. He’s going to start a fight.”

“He won’t do that.”

Selys gave Erin one of the flattest looks the girl had ever received. If the Drake had eyebrows, both of them would have been raised. Erin hesitated.

“Right?”

Rags and the mysterious other Goblin chose a table on the other end of the inn, away from Relc and the other guests. Erin was relieved for that, and hoped she could maintain the peace throughout the night. After all, the Goblins weren’t doing anything, and Relc wasn’t that crazy, was he?

Her optimism lasted for ten minutes. Then, as Relc was going back for more food he paused in front of the table and sniffed the air theatrically.

“Does something stink in here, or is it just me?”

Erin’s heart sank. She watched Relc turn towards the Goblins, heart pounding. Relc opened his mouth and Erin spoke.

“Stop it, Relc.”

He turned to look at her. Relc’s eyes were smoldering, and he seemed even bigger than normal. Erin’s heart was pounding. She did not want to be here. She didn’t want this to be happening. But she had to say it.

“They’re not doing anything. Leave them alone.”

“Me? I didn’t say it was the Goblins who stank—”

“Relc.”

Klbkch spoke up from his table. His voice was low, but Relc hunched his shoulders. The Drake made no further comment but stomped back to his table.

Both Goblins had looked up when Relc spoke, but they returned to their meal as if nothing had happened. The taller one was looking between Erin and Relc with interest, but neither seemed upset.

If that was all, Erin would have considered herself lucky. But no sooner had Relc put his plate down then he raised his mug high into the air.

“Hey Klb, let’s toast our friends. You know, the ones who died defending that village from monsters, you remember?”

He raised his mug and spoke loudly to the room.

“To Byssa, Invrss, and Olivis, who died protecting us from a real threat. Those bastard Goblins.”

The inn was silent as Relc noisily drank the entire mug down. He tossed the glass casually onto the table and looked at Rags. She stared back.

“Stop it.”

Erin was on her feet. Her knees were shaking, but she made herself stand. She walked in front of Relc and met his eyes.

“Why are you doing this?”

Relc met her eyes and Erin felt a shock. There was something dark in the large Drake’s gaze.

“Because I can’t stand the fact that you let them in here. Because you’re letting them eat while my friends are rotting in the ground.”

“They’re not the Goblins who killed your friends. Rags is di—”

“It doesn’t matter. They’re all the same!”

Relc picked up the mug and hurled it past Erin. She flinched and Selys screamed as the glass shattered.

Across the room Toren moved. He’d been standing still, but now he grabbed at his sword, purple eyes blazing.

“Toren! Stand still!”

He froze in place. Relc sneered at the skeleton.

“Good decision. Your little pet monster won’t stop me. And neither will you.”

He moved towards Erin.

“Drake.”

Halrac half-rose from his table. Relc pointed at him.

“Stay out of this, Human.”

He looked back at Erin as Halrac hesitated. He was armed, but Erin didn’t want a fight. She shook her head at him as Relc stared at the two Goblins.

“I’ve seen those things kill countless good people. They’re heartless murderers that don’t deserve a chance.”

“You’re wrong.”

“What?”

Erin crossed her arms. She felt like a small bug in front of Relc. His rage seemed to be coming off him like heat. He loomed over Erin, but she refused to take a step back.

She saw the small bodies, held the severed heads of the dead Goblins in her hands. She saw the child looking up at her with hate in her eyes. Never again.

“You will not hurt them. Not here, and not anywhere. Do you understand me? They are under my protection. If you hurt them, you will be my enemy.”

Erin’s chest was tight. The air felt hot, but now she felt like her entire being was being poured into those words. She stared at Relc and felt something alive around her. She pushed, and he narrowed his eyes.

“You’ll regret it, Human.”

“Maybe I will. But until then, I’ll do what I think is right.”

The air was hot. Erin met Relc’s gaze for a long time, an eternity. At last, he looked away.

“Okay, you know what? I’m fine.”

Relc raised his hands. He sat back down. He grabbed a piece of meat and turned back to his plate as if nothing had happened.

The sudden lack of hostility nearly made Erin stumble. She stared at Relc’s back and then got angry. Just like that?

She couldn’t let it go. Not like this. Erin’s pulse was thundering, but she felt oddly calm, as if she was standing on the brink.

“No. Get out.”

Relc paused as he reached for another piece of meat.

“What?”

“You heard me. Get out. You’re not welcome here right now.”

“I’m not going to pester your little Goblin friends.”

“It doesn’t matter. You said—you made yourself clear.”

Erin bit her tongue as she stumbled over her words. They sounded stupid in her ears, but her chest was still tight.

“You were nice to me. But if you can’t tolerate my guests, then you’re not welcome in my inn. Go away, and maybe I’ll let you come back later. But not now. Not tonight.”

Relc’s eyes narrowed.

“You sure you want to do that? I’m a guardsman of the city. You can’t just—”

“Relc.”

Another voice interrupted him. Klbkch spoke. His voice was dry and calm as ever, but there was an edge to it.

“Do not use your position as a guardsman here. Erin Solstice has spoken. She is within her rights. I will testify to that if need be.”

Relc’s head turned. His tail was very still as he looked at his friend.

“Stay out of this, Klb.”

“The [Innkeeper]’s word is law here, guardsman. Don’t push it.”

Now Halrac spoke up. From his chair he stared at Relc. His hands weren’t quite at his belt, but Erin could see a dagger at his side. Relc stared at him.

“You think a dagger will scare me? I could take both you and Klb together. Want to see?”

“No one’s fighting anyone.”

Erin raised her voice. She felt the pressure on her intensify as Relc shifted his gaze her way. But she was also pushing back, and she felt the air around her growing solid. It was like she was pushing down on the entire inn.

“Didn’t you hear me, Relc? Leave.”

He stood up fast. Erin didn’t move, but both Klbkch and Halrac did. They walked forwards but Relc stepped towards Erin.

“Do you think I’m scared of you?”

“No.”

Erin’s eyes were locked on Relc’s. She felt her pulse racing, felt every floorboard and chair in her inn. She pushed harder and Relc gritted his teeth.

“This is my inn, Relc. Get out or face the consequences.”

“You’re just another stupid Human. You don’t understand anything, do you? ”

“I understand right and wrong. You can’t kill people, Relc.”

“They’re monsters!”

He roared it in her face. Erin felt spittle strike her cheeks. She felt Halrac shift, but she refused to move. Relc drew in another breath and then Erin heard a quavering voice.

“Erin’s right, Relc.”

The Drake turned, incredulous, as Selys stood up. The younger Drake looked a lot smaller and she was shaking with her nerves, but she found the courage to look him in the eye as she spoke.

“Erin’s right. You’ve got to leave. This isn’t right. I’ve seen Rags and she’s never—”

Relc whirled and Selys flinched. He stared around the room. All his furious eyes met were cold stares, and two pairs of crimson eyes. Rags stared at Relc with silent hatred, and the other Goblin…smiled.

The Drake guardsman turned back to Erin. But now both Halrac and Klbkch were blocking Relc’s way, and the Hobgoblin was still sitting at the table with Rags. Smiling. Just smiling.

Relc’s eye twitched. He took a deep breath, and then turned. Slowly, he walked towards the door. Relc opened it, and turned. His eyes—Erin felt her heart breaking when she saw the look in his eyes.

“I hope your damn tails fall off. All of you!”

He slammed the door so hard that Erin felt the thump from where she was standing. She wavered, unsure, and then heard the angry roar as Relc stomped back towards the city.

All the strength went out of her legs. Erin sat down, and found that Selys had put a chair underneath her bottom just in time. The other Drake grinned at Erin weakly.

“That was exciting, wasn’t it?”

Erin looked back. Selys’s smile faded. After a moment, Erin put her head on the table. She didn’t cry, but she was terribly, terribly sad.

—-

It was quite a while before anyone began eating again. Halrac and Klbkch returned to their seats silently without more than a word, and only Selys tried to fill the awful gap in the room with words.

Erin had to go upstairs to find Lyonette. The girl was hiding in her room, under her bed. She only came down when Erin reassured her that Relc was gone, and then she grabbed a plate of food and barricaded herself in her room.

It also took Erin a while to remember she’d told Toren to stand still. The skeleton was frozen in place until she told him he could go, and then he seized a bucket and walked out of the inn. Erin almost wondered if he was mad—but Toren didn’t have emotions, did he?

At their table, the two Goblins chattered quietly. Neither seemed disturbed; Rags actually looked cheerful, and her companion kept shooting glances at Erin.

And Erin herself? She felt awful.

“He was nice to me. He was the first person I ever met. The first one that didn’t try to kill me, I mean.”

“I know.”

Selys patted Erin on the back sympathetically. The two stared at their meals, neither one hungry anymore.

“That was amazing how you faced him down, though. No one picks a fight with Relc in the city when he’s mad. Even Watch Captain Zevara is careful. Relc once beat up over forty people in a fight, did you know?”

“No.”

“And that Skill! It was a Skill, wasn’t it? When you were staring at Relc, everything suddenly grew really heavy. It was like the air was trying to crush me.”

“It just sort of came out. I don’t know how I did it.”

“Well, he’s gone.”

“Yeah. But he might not ever come back.”

Selys had nothing to say to that. After a while, Erin stood up and went over to Klbkch and Halrac and thanked them for helping. Klbkch nodded and told Erin he’d speak with Relc, although she wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. Halrac just nodded.

“You’re an odd person. Brave.”

It was a compliment, Erin supposed.

It was quiet dinner, but at least it was a somewhat pleasant one. Erin chatted with Selys and Klbkch, and occasionally approached the table with the two Goblins. They just stared at her when she came over the first time, and Rags had just shrugged when Erin apologized for Relc.

Something was up with them. They kept watching Erin, but apparently they were too busy chattering in their own language, so Erin left them be.

After a few hours, Selys left. She had to go to work tomorrow, and Klbkch left too, to escort her back. Halrac lingered for an hour longer before he left, muttering about dig sites and mages.

Rags and her mysterious Hobgoblin friend left as well. Erin sensed his eyes on her as they left, but she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or bad thing.

And then Erin was alone. She sat in her inn, listening to Lyonette moving around overhead and wondering where Toren had gone. Her heart still hurt.

What should she do? Goblins. She felt bad at kicking Relc out but—no, she had meant every word. But Magnolia’s words still echoed in Erin’s mind.

She was weak. All those grand things the woman had talked about—Erin really was incapable of doing anything without help. She couldn’t even face Relc without everyone’s help.

So. Then. What could she do?

“Level up.”

That was her only option, wasn’t it? Erin sighed. Stronger. She had to do something. She had to make something. Somehow. Some way.

“Well, I have one idea.”

Tomorrow she could—

Someone knocked on the door. Erin frowned. A late night visitor? She wondered if she could say they were closed. She stumbled over to the door and unbolted it. Erin yanked the door open and then froze. And then she smiled, her face lighting up with joy and relief.

“Ryoka?”

—-

I am angry.

I think I’ve always been angry. Ever since I found myself disappointed by the people I looked up to. Ever since the day I stopped believing in heroes.

It’s a long story. And I guess a lot of it was my fault. Once upon a time, there was an angry girl lashing out. Rebelling.

We all go through that phase. But I never quite got over that sense of fury when I learned the world wasn’t fair. That, somehow, while I’d been handed a great life, there was still so much injustice.

At times I forget. I run and run to forget, and I ended up running into another world where I thought I could be happy.

But now it’s back. The same old fury, a snarling beast in my stomach, pounding rage seething in my heart.

The kind of emotion that would lead me to murder. And there are people in this world that are worth killing. No—not people.

Monsters. Just monsters.

The snow crunches under my feet. I walk forwards, a small Gnoll cub awkwardly padding alongside me. My stomach is empty, and I feel lightheaded.

At the end of my rope. Far past it, in truth. My two stumps on my right hand ache. I’m exhausted, hungry, injured.

And so angry.

Even now, the rage threatens to consume me. I—

I’ve never been this angry before.

I’ve felt anger before. Hot and seething. And I’ve felt fury, deep and coiling, building like a pressure cooker, ready to explode outwards with a good spark. And I’ve felt all-consuming rage, burning a hole through my mind, eradicating common sense. But this—this is different. This feeling frightens even me.

This is black fury, terrible madness that grips me. And with it, I hear the little voice I thought I’d buried. It whispers to me.

Kill everything. Kill everyone. Stab them. Gouge their eyes out. Rip them to shreds.

Let the damn world burn.

I can’t stop looking at my hand. The place where my fingers should be. And memory. I can remember Urksh and the Stone Spears tribe.

All dead.

All because of me.

Goblins. I woke up screaming two nights in a row, hand burning, infected. I scared Mrsha. Even now, the Gnoll cub is following me, but a ways away. She fears me and maybe, hates me for what I did.

The price paid for her life, and mine come to that.

I look down at her, and the Gnoll looks up at me. Her fur is so white now, the color of fresh snow. She’s almost invisible if she stops, and her brown eyes are the only real color on her body aside from her claws and nose. She is…silent.

She’s always been silent. But now Mrsha walks like a ghost. She has lost her tribe. Her family, her friends…

All because of me.

Even now I see the faerie hovering overhead. I hear Urksh, hear his voice over the sounds of his tribe dying around him.

“We offer everything.”

Did any of them survive? Any of them? Or did the entire damn army die as well? What was the price?

Mrsha stumbles, tripping over something in the snow. I stop, and she slowly gets to her feet.

She’s tired. And hungry. Neither of us have eaten.

“It’s only a little farther. Can you walk?”

She nods. I nod back. There’s nothing more to say. If I carried her I would fall within a mile.

“I’m sorry.”

How many times have I said that? How many times did I see it when I woke and remembered? Mrsha just looks up at me silently, her young eyes judging. But she can’t tell me how she feels.

It doesn’t matter. I know. I know what it’s like, to lose faith in someone you admired. I failed Mrsha. I brought her stories and then death. I gave her a small dream and then took everything she had.

I…this is all my fault*.

*Of course it isn’t. I know it isn’t. I’m not responsible for all of it. I didn’t force armies to fight or make the Goblins kill. But it is my fault. Mine alone.

Too late to go back. Too late to offer something else. She is all that remains, and I must take care of her. So I turn and look across the snowy plains.

Something flits down into my line of sight. A body made of crystal and ice. Immortality frozen into the shape of a small faerie. She looks at me.

“Yon city is but an hour’s journey away. Do not stop now.”

It almost makes me laugh. The faeries are worried about us. About me. I look at her.

“What was the price? What was paid, and what was lost?”

She looks at me in silence. It’s the same question I’ve asked every time one of them comes near. Silently, the faerie flies back up with the others.

They’ve been avoiding me. Can’t they answer?

“What did we pay? Was it really that steep a price!?”

I shout up at them. Mrsha hunkers in the snow and covers her ears with her paws. The faeries look at me, silent judges.

“Do not ask, mortal. What is done is done. Only regrets can come of knowing what might have been.”

I snap. I don’t remember seizing the rock in the snow and hurling it up at the faeries. I scream at them, my voice raw and furious.

“Fuck you! Give me a goddamn straight answer for once you bitches! Tell me! Damn you all, you traitorous conniving demons! What was the price!? Tell me or—”

Something. I see a shivering ball of fur cowering on the ground beside me as I hurl snow and scream at the retreating faeries. I halt, stop.

Mrsha is cowering in the snow, away from me. She’s shaking so hard that it looks like she’s vibrating.

All at once, the anger goes out of me.

“Mrsha. I—”

I step towards her. She flinches away. I stop.

“I’m sorry.”

I sit in the snow, flames gone. Embers remain, but they smolder on. Yet guilt and sadness are in me now, too strong to ignore.

I’ve really made a mess of things this time, haven’t I? I thought a few potions and some alchemist’s tricks would change things. But I—

I was arrogant. And now that arrogance has cost lives. If I had levels, maybe I would have gotten to Mrsha sooner, or maybe I would have been able to fight. Maybe—

But now it’s too late. Far too late.

Ever since that night, the voice of the system or whatever it was has stopped speaking to me. Usually, every night really, I’d hear some kind of notification in my head and cancel it. [Barefoot Runner Level 1!], or [Disciple Level 3!] after the fight I had with Calruz. Yet now that I’m waiting for it, I hear nothing.

Nothing at all.

I guess it just gave up on me. Or that was part of the price I paid? I don’t know. I only know that I got away from certain death and paid for that miracle with two fingers. And I know that Mrsha survived, at the cost of her entire tribe.

Maybe they were fated to die, and this allowed one to live instead of others. Or maybe the faeries altered destiny so the tribe died instead of just Mrsha. I guess I’ll never know.

But I remember the Goblin Lord. I remember his eyes, and his damn army.

I clench my fists as Mrsha slowly stops shaking and looks up at me. I force myself to smile unconvincingly at her. But inside, the madness rears up again.

I will never forgive them. They will die. I swear it.

I am no killer. That’s what Erin told me. But those monsters deserve to die. And I will kill them, even if it means I can never go back to who I used to be.

For now, I look at Mrsha and try to make my voice soft. Reassure her. I wish I knew how. She’s just a kid. She needs an expert to help her with the trauma and loss. But I’ve been marching her relentlessly.

“I’m sorry for shouting, Mrsha. We’re nearly there. Once we get to the city, we can eat and sleep, okay? We’ll be safe there.”

I point and Mrsha squints. Liscor is visible across the rolling plains of snow in the distance. She looks uncertain.

“We’ll be safe, I promise.”

What a lie. And how could I promise that to a kid who’s just seen her family cut down around her? But Mrsha nods, trusting me and so we walk on as knives of guilt cut my stomach to ribbons.

On and on, in numb silence.

It feels like a second before I’m staring at a wooden door. I look around and blink. It’s night time. Mrsha leans against my leg, too tired to do anything else. The faeries are gone. I look around, but their glow is nowhere to be seen.

Good. I guess. My head is full of fog. I raise my left hand, my good hand, and knock.

For a minute I think no one’s coming. But there’s light in the windows. Please let her be there. Then I hear the scraping of bolts in the lock and the door opens.

Light and warmth spill out into the cold night. I blink.

“Ryoka?”

A familiar face fills the doorway. It’s strange, but she hasn’t changed a bit.

“Hi, Erin.”

She beams at me. I can barely lift my head. I’m back.

All the strength goes out of my legs. I collapse forwards, onto Erin.

She yelps and catches me just in time.

“Ryoka? What’s wrong?”

“I’m back.”

“Are you hurt? Are you tired? Hold on, let me—who’s this?”

I try to pick myself up as Erin fumbles for the door. It’s almost comedic so I smile, but then I see Mrsha peeking anxiously at Erin from the snow.

“Mrsha.”

“Who?”

Erin’s face is a picture of confusion as I turn and beckon. The Gnoll hesitates, but she steps into the warm inn and sniffs the air.

“Oh! She’s so cute!”

Erin bends down and Mrsha leaps back out the door like a wild animal. I sigh.

“It’s okay. Erin—this is Erin Solstice, Mrsha. She’s a friend.”

A friend. I hold the door open. Mrsha hesitates, but she pads in again. This time Erin maintains a respectful distance.

“Where did she come from, Ryoka?”

How can I explain? I just sigh.

“It’s a long story. Her name is Mrsha. She’s just a kid. I brought her here because there’s nowhere else for her to go.”

Mrsha pads a bit into the room, her nails clicking on the floorboards. She’s on all fours—it seems Gnolls alternate between two and four legs and she’s still used to four legs for movement. She sniffs and stares at the dim embers in the fireplace, but she stays next to me.

Erin looks at Mrsha, eyes widening as she realizes what I mean.

“Oh no. Did you—was she lost? Or…abandoned?”

“Neither. Her tribe’s gone, Erin.”

It’s all I can say right now. Even that hurts. Erin’s eyes widen, but it takes her only a few seconds to get it. She’s lived in this world as long as I have. Possibly longer. She knows what I mean.

“I’m so sorry. Hey sweetie, are you alright?”

Erin bends down with a big smile for Mrsha. But Mrsha just edges away. She hides behind a table, staring at Erin. I can’t blame her for being afraid.

“Mrsha. It’s alright. Erin’s not dangerous. She’s nice. She’ll help look after you.”

Better than I can. Mrsha peeks up at Erin from around the table and I realize how thin she’s gotten. She barely ate after that first night, and without food—

Erin lets Mrsha sniff at her hand, but Mrsha’s still shy. She looks up at Erin with wide eyes, and I realize that she’s probably only the second Human that Mrsha’s ever met.

Too bad. If she’d met Erin first—

I close my eyes. It all hurts.

I lean on one of Erin’s tables, exhausted. My hand splays out and Erin looks down and gasps.

“Your hand—”

I grimace. It’s still hard for me to look at the stumps. I wrapped them in some bandages, but—

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll tell you later.”

“Tell me later? Ryoka, what hap—”

“Feed her first. She hasn’t had any food today.”

I point to Mrsha. My stomach is empty, and I’m about to pass out from hunger. Mrsha must be worse off. Her ears perk up when I say ‘food.’

Erin’s still hesitating. She’s looking at my hand, and that makes me…irritated. I know it’s bad. Haven’t I stared at it every second of every day? But that’s not important.

“Erin. Food.”

My friend jerks and Mrsha jumps back. Erin looks around wildly.

“Food? We’ve got food. There’s some leftover meat—uh—where did Toren put it?”

She raises her voice to shout for the damn skeleton.

“T—”

“Don’t.”

I have to raise my voice in a half-shout that scares both Erin and Mrsha. Both look at me.

“What?”

“Don’t call Toren. You’ll scare her.”

I can’t believe I have to explain it to her. My temper—it flares and goes out. Not Erin’s fault. Erin blinks at me, and then looks at Mrsha.

“Oh, right!”

My teeth grit together as Erin rushes into the kitchen and goes looking for the food. Why am I angry? I mean, why am I angry at her? It’s not Erin’s fault if she’s thoughtless—

Control yourself. I can’t trust my emotions at the moment. I take a few deep breaths as the chill leaves me and exhaustion fills my limbs. It’s okay. Everything’s okay now.

It’s really not, but I tell myself that until Erin returns. She’s got some food wrapped in cloth and she’s dusting off snow. It turns out she’s got meat—part of a roasted fowl and some sliced meat, cold bread, and cheese.

She must have put it in the snow to keep it preserved. Doesn’t she know that will attract scavengers and monsters? If she thought for one damn second—

Calm down.

Erin adds more wood to the fire as she unwraps the food.

“Sorry—you can put it near the fire to warm up. And uh, I don’t think Toren’s in the inn. He must have gone outside.”

“Fine.”

The meat is cold and hard from being kept outside. I barely taste it, but gulp it down. Mrsha’s eating just as fast. Erin watches us gobble the food up and goes to get more.

“Enough.”

I say it after a few more minutes of frantic eating. Mrsha looks at me.

“Don’t eat too much or you’ll get sick.”

Heavy food on an empty stomach. Already I feel a tiny bit nauseous, but I’m alive. Alive.

Erin hovers around me and Mrsha, a pitcher of warm milk in her hands. I know she wants to ask questions, and I don’t want to say anything. All I want to do is sleep. Sleep and not have to deal with this. But I’ve got to deal with this.

“Why didn’t you eat? I mean, didn’t you have any more food?”

No, we starved ourselves for the fun of it. I bite my lip. Calm.

“We ran out of food a day ago.”

It was either stop to forage or press on. I wasn’t sure whether I could find anything—or whether I’d be able to get out of danger if I met a monster—so we just kept moving.

Mrsha shudders. She reaches for a glass of milk and gulps it greedily. I stare at her and feel another pang. That’s one more thing I have to answer for.

Erin sees me looking. I don’t know what she sees on my face. I don’t want to know. Looking at her expression is bad enough.

“Ryoka, what happened?”

At last, Erin puts the jug on the table and sits next to me, staring. Mrsha hesitates, but the Gnoll just edges away from Erin a bit as she chews at some scraps on her plate. I sigh.

“It’s a long story.”

“Tell me. Please? All I know is that you were going on a long delivery, but the Frost Faeries chased you away. Did they do this?”

“No.”

They might have. But—they’re malicious, deceitful, antagonistic—and yet, I know they like children. No, they would never have organized this, even if they could.

And Erin’s staring at me. Just staring. I want to tell her, but I don’t. I want to bury the memories forever, and another part of me wants to confess my failure.

I hesitate. Mrsha’s still sitting here. But she’s not going to let me put her to bed so easily. And it needs to be said. So I look at Erin.

“Fine.”

No one else has to know. I may never tell the entirety of what passed again. But Erin knows me. I know Erin. We haven’t known each other for long, but I trust her. More than almost anyone in this damn world. She helped save Ceria with me. She…

Might understand.

Slowly, I begin to speak. I tell Erin everything that passed since I ran out her inn being chased by the faeries. Some of it is unimportant. The long days of being tormented by them – meaningless now. They’re almost pleasant memories to what came next.

And I can’t describe what passed in the Gnoll’s camp. I just tell Erin I entertained the faeries with stories and leave it at that. What I felt then is too precious to break down into a mere words.

Then comes the battle between the two armies. And the Necromancer. Erin listens, asking questions I don’t answer, wondering, speculating. But this is all a prelude.

When I speak of the night that Mrsha lost everything, the Gnoll child flattens herself to the ground and covers her eyes with her paws, shaking. Tears trickle down her face. Erin looks at her but I keep going.

It must be said. And it’s so easy, too.

“I struck a bargain with the faeries. They helped save Mrsha and me, but the Stone Spears tribe—all of them—we left them behind to the Goblins. The army was in retreat and I ran with the faeries. They froze everything in our way. I don’t know what happened to the others.”

The memories almost wipe the living world from me. I see ghosts, blood, and death. But the world swims back into vision when I hear Erin crying.

She’s crying. My eyes are dry. Erin’s shoulder shake as she stares at me. It hurts. Her sympathy hurts. I look away.

Erin wipes tears from her eyes. She goes to pet Mrsha, but the Gnoll jerks away. She scampers under a table and curls up into a ball.

Heartbreak. My eyes are dry, and my soul is bleeding. I look at Erin.

“We came back. The faeries are still around. Mrsha has nowhere to go. Can you take care of her at your inn?”

“Of—of course. Absolutely. No problem.”

Erin looks around for something to blow her nose on. In the end she runs into the kitchen and comes out with a dirty rag. I eye her as she wipes the snot from her face.

“I’m so, so sorry.”

“You’ve said that. It happened.”

Nothing can change that. I sit at the table and stare at my fingers. So much, and yet so little. Not enough of a price, and yet—

They’re gone. Forever. No potion will bring them back. Not even Magnolia’s healer friend can restore missing body parts, just restore damaged ones.

Gone forever. A small price to pay.

“The Goblin Lord is still out there.”

I clench my hand, ignoring the pain. I sense Erin grow still as she sits next to me. I look at her.

“You need to be careful. His army was many days south of here, but he could come north. If he does—”

“If he does we’ll see. But for now you’re safe. I’ll lock the doors and Toren should be back. I’ll tell him to guard the inn.”

“Fine.”

Erin fidgets in her seat. I look at her. Why is she so easy to read? Doesn’t she have any…

“What is it, Erin?”

She hesitates.

“Um. Rags is in the area. With another Goblin.”

Silence. In my heart. I feel my fingers throbbing.

“Keep her away. If I see a Goblin right now I will kill it.”

I meet Erin’s eyes. Mine feel like they’re burning. She looks startled, but not afraid. Have I ever seen Erin afraid? But then her expression clouds and I see…disappointment.

It makes me angry. How can she judge me, when she’s heard what happened? How can she let Goblins into this inn?

How can—

I need her. I try to stuff the insanity welling up in my chest further down, but it keeps bubbling up. Pockets of madness.

“What happened here?”

I ask to distract myself. I don’t know that I really care. Erin hesitates. Now she looks worried.

“Oh, nothing much. Nothing…too important.”

“Erin.”

“Well…okay, some stuff happened.”

“Tell me.”

Hesitate. Fidget. She looks at Mrsha, and then at her hands. I stare at her. At last, Erin gives in and begins to chatter nervously.

“Oh I met some Gold-rank adventurer’s after I took this girl into my inn. She’s sort of annoying but they were going to let her die in the cold if I didn’t help. So that led to a fight and then I found out the faerie flowers were useful and I kicked Relc out after he got mad at Rags’ Goblin friend and ImaybewenttoseeLadyMagnoliatoday and—”

It’s like someone’s sent a jolt of electricity down my spine. My eyes fly open, and my heart begins to beat again. Anger stirs in my chest, a dark, twisting thing.

“What did you just say?”

“I met Lady Magnolia. Look, she sent a carriage to my inn, Ryoka, and I thought—”

“You just got in, didn’t you? Just like that, without a second damn thought?”

“I—”

Erin spreads her hands out helplessly. As if to say ‘what should I have done’? It makes me even angrier. My voice rises, and Mrsha, half-dozing, looks up.

“What did you tell her?”

“Um.”

Erin scratches her head. She can’t even remember.

“Nothing much…? But she knows I’m from our world. I mean, another world. And uh, she’s got other people.”

“Other people from our world?”

Damn her. My heart is beating faster. Erin nods.

“Yeah, she’s got a bunch of girls and guys. They’re younger than us, but they want to become adventurers. But uh, Magnolia doesn’t want them to leave. She’s afraid they’ll tell the secrets of our world.”

“And she knows those secrets? She knows everything?”

Erin can’t meet my eye.

“…Yeah. She knows about guns and stuff.”

“Fuck.”

I hit the table with my good hand. Erin looks worried. She reaches out to me, but I knock her hand away.

“I didn’t tell her anything important, Ryoka! She just wanted to know if I could be trusted. She tried to use a Skill on me, but it didn’t work—”

“You shouldn’t have been near her in the first place!”

I jab at Erin with one finger. She looks indignant.

“Why not? You met her!”

“Before I knew how dangerous she was. But you—you should have thought before you spoke to her! Did you even hesitate? Or did you see a shiny coach and just decide to get in?”

“Ryoka, that’s not what happened. Listen.”

Erin frowns, but I’m done listening. The beast is in my chest, and the fury is consuming my mind. Too late.

“No. You listen. You going to meet Magnolia is exactly what she wanted. She knows you’re from another world now, you idiot! She had no way of telling, but you gave it away—probably the instant she suggested she knew! And now she knows I know you, she’ll use you to get to me!”

“She wouldn’t do—”

Erin hesitates. Even she can’t finish that sentence. I glare at her. Something’s in my chest. It has control of my tongue.

“You don’t think. You just dance to her strings like a damn puppet, you moron.”

The other girl’s brows snap together.

“Don’t say it like that. I didn’t do anything wrong! I think Magnolia’s on our side.”

“On our side?”

Something in me snaps. All of the hatred, the anger, the frustration and fear and loss—it spews out of me, like poison.

“You fucking idiot. Don’t you ever think? No. you don’t. You just go ahead and do whatever’s in your empty head without a second’s regard for the consequences. Because of you, one of the most dangerous people in the world knows your secret and she’ll never give up. This is all your fault, you airheaded brat.”

I can’t stop the torrent. I don’t even want to. Erin stares at me first in shock and hurt, and then outrage.

“I’m not an idiot! Ryoka, just listen—”

“Shut up.”

“No! You shut up and listen!”

“So I can hear more of the lies Magnolia’s put in your head? But you believe what she’s told you without any doubt. Just how stupid are you!?”

I’m going too far. I know it, but I can’t stop. Erin’s face freezes.

“Don’t call me stupid.”

“Why not? You’re the dumbest person I’ve ever met.”

“Ryoka. I’m warning you—”

“Oh? And what will you do?”

“Just don’t call me names! Listen to me for a second!”

“No. Fuck you. You’re an incompetent buffoon.”

I poke Erin in the chest, hard. Too far. Stop. Erin grabs my hand.

“Don’t touch m—”

I throw her. Erin slams into the table and I realize I’ve gone too far. She gets up fast. I raise my hands.

I want to fight. I want to hit something. But the rest of me wants to stop. A voice is screaming inside my head, the same voice that shouted when I fought Calruz.

But it’s too loud. Everything hurts. My heart is in pieces. I just want to hit something, and get hit back. Maybe then—

Erin swings at me. Slow. Clumsy. I step back and punch her. With my bad hand. My stumps collide with her chest and I grab at my hand in agony.

While I’m bent over, Erin clenches her fist. She punches at my chest. I see the blow coming a mile away. I raise my arms to block—

—-

Thump.

The impact was so heavy it made Ryoka’s entire world disappear for a second. The impact sent her flying backwards. Ryoka flipped over the table and hit the floor. She lay there, silent and breathless for a few seconds, before she gasped and rolled to one side.

Erin stood, shaking as she stared at Ryoka. [Minotaur Punch]. She hadn’t meant to use it. She hesitated. Should she go and help—

Something sharp stabbed into Erin’s ankle. She screamed in pain as it began to gnaw at her flesh, like needles jabbing into her skin.

“Aaaah!”

Erin shouted and waved her arms in a panic as she tried to shake off the thing that was biting her. She managed to fling it off and then saw Mrsha fly through the air. The Gnoll child crashed into a table and fell to the ground, whimpering in pain.

“Oh no, I’m so sorry—”

Ignoring her bleeding ankle, Erin rushed over. Mrsha blinked as she got to all fours, and then her eyes focused on Erin. She snapped and Erin nearly lost a finger. Mrsha leapt at Erin, and the girl yelled in pain as Mrsha tried to claw at her face.

“Mrsha! Stop!”

The Gnoll paused. She looked over as Ryoka got to her feet. The other girl was clutching at her chest, wincing, but she was unharmed. She pointed at Erin.

“Get off of her.”

The Gnoll hesitated. Then she leapt off of Erin, her needle claws digging into Erin’s flesh one last time. She ran to Ryoka and circled the girl anxiously.

Slowly, Erin stood up and looked at Ryoka. The other girl met her eyes. The anger that had been smoldering in her gaze was suddenly gone, extinguished by the brief fight. She looked down at Mrsha, and then back at Erin.

Neither girl seemed to know what to say. Erin stood and stared at Ryoka, still feeling the pain in her chest from where the girl had poked her. Her ears were still red, and she was angry—

Until she looked at Ryoka’s fingers. And Ryoka’s fury was gone too. She sagged, and suddenly seemed a hundred years old.

“I’m sorry, Erin.”

“No. I’m sorry too.”

Awkwardly, Erin walked over and helped Ryoka sit down. The Asian girl winced as she sat and touched her chest.

“What was that?”

“Uh, [Minotaur Punch]. It’s…a skill. I shouldn’t have used it. I’m sorry.”

“Strong. If I hadn’t blocked it would have cracked my ribs. Nearly did anyways.”

Ryoka took a few deep breaths, wincing. She nodded at Mrsha as the Gnoll circled her legs.

“I’m sorry Mrsha bit you.”

“No—it was my—”

“It was my fault. I shouldn’t have said any of that.”

Ryoka stared blankly at the table. Erin didn’t know what to say. At last, Ryoka looked up.

“Strong. I guess that’s what levels give you, isn’t it? Power.”

“Yeah?”

Erin didn’t know what Ryoka meant, but the girl nodded. She stared at the table again, and her hands.

“If I had levels, I could have saved them. Maybe.”

From an army? Erin opened her mouth and then closed it again. Ryoka’s eyes glistened as she looked at Mrsha. The Gnoll was just staring up at her. Slowly, the girl bent and patted the Gnoll on the head. She curled up around Ryoka’s feet. Shivering.

Silence fell as the two sat with each other. Mrsha’s rapid breathing slowed as she curled around Ryoka, and as time passed by, her body relaxed. Her breath came more slowly, and then crawled. Mrsha slept.

Ryoka stared down at Mrsha’s slumbering body. She looked at Erin, and saw the other girl was barely hurt. But Ryoka could feel her lungs still working for air, and felt the pain from that one punch in her chest. She smiled bitterly.

“I guess I’m weak, huh?”

So weak. Even Erin was stronger. Ryoka stared at her hands. They shook. The bloody bandages around her stumps were coming loose. Erin watched as Ryoka raised them.

“I’m so weak. I couldn’t save anyone. I just watched them die, Erin.”

“I know.”

Erin knew what Ryoka meant. The girl looked at Erin. She was shaking all over now. Ryoka was coming apart at the seams. Her eyes were full of liquid. Tears.

“I tried—”

“I know.”

“I really did—”

“I know, Ryoka. I know.”

Ryoka grabbed at Erin’s arm. Her grip was strong, but she was shaking.

“I couldn’t do a thing, Erin. Not one thing. They’re all dead because of me.”

“It’s not your fault, Ryoka. It’s not.”

“It is. I caused this.”

“No.”

“I couldn’t do anything.”

Erin hugged Ryoka. She felt the girl freeze up, and then Ryoka broke down. She began to sob, slowly, and then into Erin’s shirt. Erin held Ryoka as the tears came at last, the dam breaking, the unshed sorrows spilling out in the safety of Erin’s inn at last.

In the silence of the night, Erin held Ryoka as the girl cried into her arms. Tears rolled down the other girl’s face. She grabbed Erin, clutching at her shirt as if she were hanging on for her life.

“I couldn’t do anything, Erin. I couldn’t—”

“I know. Shh. I know.”

From the staircase, another girl stared down at the two girls sitting in the common room. She spoke not a word. Out in the snowy landscape, a skeleton prowled, hunting, killing. He did it to feel alive.

And on the floor of the inn, a small Gnoll slept. She didn’t hear the agony in Ryoka’s voice or even notice the tears that fell onto her snow-white fur. She slept, not caring if she lived or died when she woke.

Ryoka felt the world spinning around her. Nothing was right. But there was someone hugging her, her one anchor in a world full of pain. She cried into Erin’s arms, letting all of the pain out, sobbing and wishing the past few days had never happened. Wishing she had the power to change the past. Wishing she were stronger. Remembering the dead.

Outside, the snow began to fall again. More and more, until it seemed the world would be covered in it. On Izril, Terandria, and even Baleros and Chandrar. The snow fell as Ryoka wept.

Previous Chapter

2.40

Erin woke up to the sound of snuffling. She opened her eyes fast; when you hear something large and unfamiliar moving around your face, sleep tends to be a lesser concern.

To Erin’s relief she wasn’t being attacked by mutant caterpillar pig monsters. Instead, she saw Mrsha, the small white-furred Gnoll rooting around her cupboards. She was pawing through Erin’s meticulously organized shelves, sniffing at what she found.

“Hey.”

Erin said it softly, but Mrsha still freaked out. The Gnoll turned and scampered out of the kitchen, fur standing straight on end.

“No, wait, I didn’t mean—”

The young woman rolled out of her blankets, tried to stand, tripped, and smacked her toe against the cupboard.

When Erin had stopped whimpering she found Mrsha in the common room, hiding under a table and staring at Erin. It was like having a wild animal in her inn, except that Mrsha’s eyes were far more intelligent than any animal Erin had ever seen. She stared at Erin warily as the girl halted.

“Hi Mrsha. You’re awake, aren’t you? Are you hungry? Do you want food?”

Erin kept her voice low and soothing. Mrsha made no move, but she backed up a bit as Erin stepped forwards. The girl stopped.

What should she do? Ryoka was currently upstairs, sleeping, and Erin had no desire to wake her. Carefully, Erin walked back into the kitchen and looked around.

Mrsha’s nose twitched as Erin came back out a few minutes later with some fried sausage and scrambled eggs. She stared fixedly at it, but she retreated to another table, hiding between the chair legs as Erin approached.

Carefully, making no sudden moves, Erin put the plate on the floor. Mrsha stared at it, and then watched as Erin retreated to the kitchen. Erin hid herself behind the door frame and waited.

After a few seconds of staring at the plate and Erin’s half-visible head, Mrsha made her move. She darted out from the table and stopped at the plate. She began to gobble down the food on the plate, licking her paws greedily as she scarfed the food.

It was adorable to Erin the way Mrsha licked the plate clean with her tongue and washed her paws and face. Adorable, and heartbreaking. Ryoka had told her what had happened to Mrsha’s tribe. She was all alone now.

What was she supposed to do next? Mrsha burped and Erin decided to attempt contact once more. Her ankle still hurt from Mrsha’s bite yesterday, but she had been punching Ryoka at the time.

When Erin approached again, this time with a glass of water in her hands, Mrsha tensed, but didn’t run.

“Hey cutie. Here’s a glass of water. Are you thirsty?”

Mrsha peered suspiciously up at Erin. She accepted the glass of water and drank messily. She was still clumsy enough that she slopped a lot of water onto the floor, but Erin didn’t care. Mrsha flinched a bit as Erin sat next to her, until Erin offered her a hand.

“I’m sorry I kicked you last night. Ryoka and I just had a fight. But I’m not mean, okay?”

The Gnoll child blinked at Erin’s hand. Then she sniffed it. Erin kept very still as Mrsha’s whiskers tickled her skin. The Gnoll grabbed Erin’s hand with her own paws, and Erin was relieved not to feel the sharp claws, but instead the much softer pads on the Gnoll’s paws.

Mrsha inspected each of Erin’s fingers with great interest, flexing them, pulling them apart and together, even patting them. Then she hesitated, and licked Erin’s skin.

“Hey! That tickles!”

Erin laughed and pulled away. Mrsha looked alarmed, but when she saw Erin laughing something changed. The Gnoll put her paws on Erin’s leg and looked at Erin inquisitively.

“Go ahead. I won’t move.”

Erin did her best, but she wasn’t prepared for Mrsha’s curiosity. The Gnoll prowled around her, poking at Erin’s body, her sides, even patting Erin’s breasts which elicited a yelp of surprise. The small Gnoll was soon all over Erin, and Erin was laughing as she finger-combed Mrsha’s hair when Ryoka walked downstairs.

Ryoka Griffin was still numb, but better. Incomparably better than yesterday, in truth. She remembered the empty bleakness in her soul like a nightmare. Now she was still hollow, but there was something inside of her. Something warm that came from a full night of sleep in a warm bed and hot meal.

She walked softly down the stairs and saw Mrsha sitting in Erin’s lap as the young woman ran her hands through Mrsha’s soft hair. Erin was humming a song under her breath, and Mrsha was swaying to the sound.

Ryoka paused and watched the scene for a little while. Erin was singing the doe rei mi song.

“Me, a name I call myself. Fa, far, a long, long way to run…”

Mrsha’s eyes were closed. The child wasn’t smiling, but her face was…peaceful. Ryoka wiped her eyes and waited until they finished stinging before she walked into the room.

“Ryoka!”

The Gnoll’s eyes shot open at Ryoka’s name. She leapt out of Erin’s lap and ran on all fours around Ryoka.

“Mrsha. Hi.”

Ryoka raised her hands as Mrsha leapt around her like an excited dog. Mrsha stood up and reached for her. Ryoka hesitated.

“Here.”

Erin lifted Mrsha up. The Gnoll squirmed, but then started licking Ryoka’s face and sniffing her. Ryoka recoiled, but held in place as Erin stared at her.

“Morning, Erin.”

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

Ryoka scratched at her hair. She avoided staring at Erin. The two stood awkwardly until Mrsha wriggled out of Erin’s hands. That broke the spell.

“You want food? I’ve got lots.”

“Sure.”

Ryoka sat awkwardly at a table as Erin disappeared into the kitchen. Mrsha tried to follow Erin in, but Ryoka called her back. Mrsha sat on the floor and fidgeted until Erin came back with crepes of all things. Ryoka stared at the steaming food until Erin plonked down some butter and a bowl of sugar.

“How…?”

It wasn’t that Erin had made the crepes; it was that she’d been in the kitchen for less than twenty minutes and she’d already fried up a stack large enough for Ryoka, Mrsha, and Erin herself. And she’d managed to cook some more sliced sausage up on another plate.

“Oh, I’ve got [Advanced Cooking] and I figured out how to make pancakes earlier. Try some, they’re really good!”

Erin handed Ryoka a fork and then dug into her own plate. Mrsha was already patting one of the hot crepes with a paw, waiting until it was cool enough for her to eat.

“No, here, darling.”

Gently, Erin wrapped Mrsha’s paw around a fork and showed her how to cut and pick up the crepes. Mrsha was clumsy, but she soon began to spear oversized bites of crepe and dip them into butter and sugar before transferring them into her mouth.

Normally that kind of excessive gluttony would be remarked on—at least in Ryoka’s house. But Erin was doing the same and Ryoka herself put back quite a number of crepes before she even began to feel full.

“That was good. Really good.”

“I’m glad. You ate more than I thought, but we’ve got leftovers. I guess Lyon can eat them.”

Erin covered the plate with a cloth as Ryoka frowned.

“Lyon? Who’s that?”

“Oh—oh, right! I forgot, you haven’t met Lyon! She’s probably still sleeping upstairs.”

Ryoka’s eyes flicked to the stairwell. She hadn’t even noticed there were other people in the inn. But now that she was finally thinking again, a hundred questions and thoughts were pushing through her mind.

She couldn’t help it. It was her nature. But part of Ryoka felt she shouldn’t be wondering and planning. Everything she did hurt people. What good were her opinions?

But then Ryoka looked at Erin as the girl laughed at Mrsha’s attempts to steal sugar from the bowl. Flawed as she might be, she could still help Erin who sometimes didn’t think enough.

“So this Lyonette is a new employee? Did you hire Ceria too, or is she in the city?”

Erin paused.

“Um. No. Ceria’s gone north. She’s gone back to adventuring.”

Ryoka held quite still as her thoughts paused. She didn’t swear, and she clamped down on her immediate response. Because Mrsha was sitting in her chair, happy and bloated. Ryoka would slice off the rest of her fingers before she disturbed the child’s moment of peace.

“I guess a lot has happened. You’d better tell me all of it, Erin.”

“Oh—sure. But uh…”

Erin’s eyes slid sideways to Mrsha. The kid was staring at a crumb on the table.

“Uh, what are you going to do about her, Ryoka?”

“I don’t know.”

“You said she’s by herself? Does she have any…anyone…?”

Ryoka closed her eyes. Something dark squeezed her heart.

“I don’t know. I…doubt it. And I have no idea who to ask.”

Memory flared in her head.

“What about that Gnoll you know? Krshia, right? Could we ask her for help?”

Mrsha’s ears perked up at the word ‘Gnoll’. She looked over at the two Humans. They exchanged a glance.

“Um, well, the food was good, right Ryoka?”

“Right.”

“How about I find something for Mrsha to do? Hey Mrsha, you must be bored. Do you want to play with uh, some things, sweetie?”

Mrsha cocked her head at Erin. Ryoka stared too, raising her eyebrows silently. Erin hesitated, and then ran into the kitchen. Both Gnoll and Human heard banging and doors opening, and then reemerged with an armful of ladles, rolling pins, and other cooking equipment.

As a ploy to distract Mrsha, Ryoka thought it could never work. But she’d forgotten that Mrsha wasn’t a child in a first world country, and she’d probably been banned from hanging around the cooking pots in the Stone Spears tribe’s camp. She immediately scooted over to the cooking equipment and began inspecting it with interest.

Erin sighed as she and Ryoka relocated a few tables down to talk. They kept their voices low, in case the young Gnoll was listening.

“Good thinking, Erin.”

“I guess she’ll play with those for a while. But I don’t know what to do, Ryoka. She needs someone to look after her, and proper toys and stuff. Not…”

“I know.”

“And she’s so sad, Ryoka.”

“You can tell?”

Ryoka stared at Mrsha as the Gnoll inspected the various cooking utensils Erin had brought out. She was half like a normal toddler in that she tasted everything, but she was clearly older and smaller. It must be a Gnoll quality to want to smell and taste everything.

Erin nodded.

“She’s just like a kid. I mean, a Human kid. She’s really curious, but every now and then when I was playing with her she’d…how bad was it?”

“Bad.”

Ryoka saw the Gnolls falling around her, and the Goblins screaming and cutting both Drakes and Gnolls apart. She shuddered. Erin stared at Ryoka, and then looked at Mrsha.

“What should we do with her?”

We. It was just like Erin, to immediately put herself into the problem and look for a solution. Ryoka half-smiled.

“I guess we need to talk to Krshia. She’d probably be willing to help, right?”

She vaguely remembered Erin having a good relationship with the Gnoll, but now Erin hesitated. She looked at the table and twiddled her thumbs.

“Um. There’s this thing with Krshia. ”

“What thing?”

“Well—”

Erin began explaining in a rather confused way a story about Gnolls and burning shops when Ryoka heard someone moving upstairs. Ryoka turned, and saw Lyon.

The young woman stood staring down at the room. Mrsha had gone silent as she appeared at the head of the stairs, but Lyonette’s eyes were fixed on Ryoka and Erin. She stared at the two girls, and then spoke in a haughty voice.

“I am awake. Where is breakfast?”

Ryoka watched Erin’s face change in a second. Her bright smile disappeared and she sighed. Ryoka stared at the other girl.

“Who the hell is that, Erin?”

“Oh—that’s Lyon.”

The other girl had heard her. She descended the stairs with chin raised.

“That is Lyonette de Marquin, peon.”

She was wearing somewhat ragged travelling clothes, and her hands were dirty from work. But she still conducted herself like some of the haughty girls Erin had sometimes seen, those born into money.

“Ryoka, meet Lyonette du…something. She’s uh, an employee I’ve hired.”

“I am pleased to meet you, Ryoka. I trust you will conduct yourself with the appropriate manners in my presence?”

Ryoka eyed Lyon as Erin scowled. She shrugged.

“Perhaps.”

Lyonette’s brows flashed together, but before she could speak, Erin interrupted.

“I’ve got some crepes in the kitchen, Lyonette. You can have them or some porridge. Or cereal. Help yourself.”

The haughty girl sniffed, but she went without another word. Ryoka stared at Erin.

“An employee?”

“Sort of. I mean, yes, but she’s not a good one.”

Erin rubbed at her eyes as Lyonette poked her head back into the common room.

“Where are the forks?”

“The drawer next to the cutting board.”

“Very well.”

“So, is she some kind of noble?”

“Yeah, she says—”

“Where are the cups?”

Erin’s left eye twitched.

“I’ve told you, it’s in the cupboard above the forks.”

“Ah.”

Ryoka watched Lyonette disappear. Mrsha had stopped playing with a ladle and was staring at the kitchen with interest.

“She reminds me of a female Pisces.”

“Even he wasn’t this bad.”

“So why haven’t you fired her?”

Erin shrugged helplessly.

“Because I can’t. She’s got nowhere to go, Ryoka. And if I send her north a monster will eat her. And she can’t go into the city because all the Gnolls want to kill her.”

Ryoka raised both her eyebrows. Erin shook her head.

“It’s a long, long story. And it’s actually why I’m not talking to Krshia, actually.”

“Then tell me. Start with—no, tell me what happened from the start. Let’s do this right.”

It took a while for Erin to relate the entire story, but for once, Ryoka managed to listen to all of it without many interruptions. Lyonette returned with her breakfast and ate in a corner. Mrsha abandoned her playing to stare at Lyon. Both girls tensed when Mrsha sniffed around Lyonette’s legs and the other girl froze up, but surprisingly, Lyonette let Mrsha paw at her without any screaming or noticeable revulsion.

“…And so now I can’t buy anything from any Gnoll shopkeepers, and I haven’t talked with Krshia since. I’ve been meaning to, but after all these adventurers came by and Magnolia wanted to chat…”

Erin spread her hands out helplessly. Ryoka nodded absently as she looked at Lyonette. She hadn’t exactly had a good impression of the girl from the start, but she was now right above Persua on Ryoka’s dislike list.

“And that’s what she’s like all the time? Just…”

Ryoka waved a hand at Lyon as the girl stared at Mrsha and the Gnoll stared back. Erin nodded miserably.

“Erin…”

“I know. But I didn’t know she was like that!”

Both girls watched as Mrsha scooted closer. Lyon hesitated, but then she gently patted Mrsha on the head. She began to scratch Mrsha behind the ears and the Gnoll child leaned into Lyon’s side. For once, Lyonette wasn’t scowling.

“That’s odd. Normally she runs away from anyone with fur or scales. Or dirty hands.”

Ryoka nodded. Then she spoke the thought that had coalesced in her mind ever since Erin had described meeting Lyonette.

“She’s a princess.”

Erin paused. Then she turned and stared at Ryoka.

“What?”

Ryoka nodded at Lyonette.

“She’s a runaway princess. She has to be.”

“Well, I know she says she’s noble, but a princess?”

The incredulous look Ryoka received did nothing to faze her. She shook her head.

“She is a princess. How can you not see that?”

“How are you seeing that?”

The other girl began to tick points off on her fingers.

“Running away from a royal family, calling other people peons, countless powerful magical artifacts, haughty attitude.”

She looked at Erin.

“How many stories do you know of where the princess runs away? Look at the way she acts—not to mention the fact that she seems to think Magnolia would just take her in. We’re in a world that has dragons and magic, Erin. Lyonette is a princess from Terandria. They have several royal families there.”

It was a lesson in facial expressions to watch Erin’s face. Incredulity turned to thoughtful contemplation, and then uneasy suspicion which became shock and realization, which finally merged into reluctant acceptance and deep regret.

“Oh my god.”

Ryoka patted Erin on the shoulder as the girl slumped to the table.

“She might not be a princess. But she’s probably among the high nobility, at least.”

“How could I not have seen it?”

“The important thing is what happens next.”

Erin looked up.

“Like what? Send her home? How would I even…? You said she’s probably from Terandria? That’s another continent. I can’t send her back there!”

“I’m not suggesting you do. But you have to do something about her. She’s a danger to you if she stays here.”

“Because someone will come looking for her?”

Ryoka nodded. Her mind was already racing with possibilities.

“To bring her back—or kill her. Or use her as a hostage. Either way, you’ll be a loose end to tie up. Maybe she’s not that important if Magnolia isn’t interested in her, but she’s clearly some rich person’s daughter.”

“Noooooooooooo…”

Erin moaned as she covered her face in her hands.

“Why is my life so hard? What do I do? I don’t need this!”

She lowered her hands and stared at Ryoka.

“What do I do? What can we do?”

“Think.”

“What?”

Ryoka tapped the table.

“Calm down. Just think. Lyonette is a problem, but from what you’ve told me, she’s not the only thing on your plate. You’ve got lots of problems.”

Erin looked down.

“I know.”

“And I’ll help you with them.”

There was a pause, and then Erin looked up. Ryoka didn’t exactly meet her eyes. She cleared her throat awkwardly. Her face was hot, but she knew what she had to say. It was just hard.

“I…said a lot of things I shouldn’t have last night, Erin. I’m sorry.”

“What? No, Ryoka, I know it was really tough. I’m sorry for hitting you.”

Ryoka rubbed at her chest. Her ribs still hurt.

“No, it was my fault. It’s just—a lot of things have happened. That army of Goblins is a real threat. But from what Magnolia told you, that might be the least of the things that’s about to hit the continent. And we’re about to be caught in all of it.”

Erin caught her breath. When Ryoka said it like that, everything seemed so much more overwhelming. She had no idea what to do, and said so.

“What should we do, then? I mean all these problems—what are you going to do, Ryoka? Do you have a plan?”

She had nothing like a plan. Ryoka stared at her hand. She had nothing. She didn’t know what to do. But now Erin was counting on her too. She had to keep going. She couldn’t falter. Not now.

“Next? I guess the next thing I have to do is collect my reward from Teriarch. Once I do that, I need to deal with Lady Magnolia. Then…I don’t know.”

Ryoka stared down at her maimed hand.

“I’ve got to finish this delivery. When I do, I’ll come back and help you.”

She looked at Mrsha. But then felt something. Erin touched Ryoka’s good fingers gently.

“Don’t go. Stay here for a while.”

The taller girl shook her head. Her legs felt like lead and her mind was still heavy. But she had to see this through. She had not told Erin who Teriarch really was. A Dragon. Maybe he would have the answers to all of this. Maybe—

“I have to go. I have a job, Erin.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to go today. Or even tomorrow. Ryoka, you looked half dead when you came in! And then there’s Mrsha and all this stuff that’s happening here…stay here.”

Ryoka hesitated. She looked at Mrsha again. The Gnoll was leaning against the table where Lyon sat, eyes closed. Could she just leave Mrsha here and run on?

No. Of course not. Ryoka closed her eyes and nodded.

“That was stupid of me. I’ll stay. At least for a day.”

“Good! Then we can do something together!”

Ryoka opened one eye and stared at Erin.

“Like what?”

“Something. Anything!”

Erin looked at Ryoka. She smiled in excitement.

“We’ve never actually done anything together. I mean, we went into the city that one time and I sang on the inn’s roof, but besides that…”

Ryoka nodded slowly. She looked at Mrsha, and then at the inn. This inn. This place where she felt safe. Somewhere to go home to. Slowly, she began to realize what she had to do.

“Okay. Let’s do something.”

The [Innkeeper] smiled.

“Great! What should we do? We could get a bath. You and Mrsha, uh, sort of smell. Or we can visit the city. Or—”

“Let’s go see Krshia.”

Erin froze.

“What, now? But—”

“As long as Lyonette’s here, she’s a problem. Those Gnolls won’t give up after just one attempt. At least, that Brunkr might not. I want to be sure you’re safe. And I…need to tell them what happened.”

Erin nodded slowly. Ryoka stood up, and stared out the window. The sky was clear, but snow had fallen heavily. Her body was tired, but she kept moving. She had to keep moving.

She had a duty now. A mission.

Ryoka stood, and shouldered the debt she carried. It weighed her down and gave her a purpose. She looked at Mrsha and knew what she had to do.

—-

Erin walked down Market Street in Liscor and felt like nothing had changed. And yet, the feeling in her bones was like that of a traveller coming home after many years.

How long had it been since she’d walked down these stalls looking for that familiar brown fur and calling voice? Too long. Just a week or two had passed and yet—

She missed her friend.

It took Erin a while to spot Krshia’s shop. That was also because she was walking with Ryoka and Mrsha; while Ryoka could easily keep pace, Mrsha was not so quick. The Gnoll child kept pausing to stare around the market or dart off after some interesting sight or smell, and Ryoka and Erin kept having to go after her. Eventually, Ryoka ended up dragging a reluctant Mrsha along by the paw.

But at last, they were through the market and nearing the intersection when Erin saw two familiar figures. Krshia stood behind her shop’s counter, arguing with her nephew Brunkr.

It was all the same. And yet, it wasn’t. Not nearly.

Erin remembered Krshia had always been in the center of Market Street, with one of the biggest shops and many customers. But now—

Now she had a small stand, with a few items on display. It was so far from the bountiful shop she’d kept stocked that it hurt Erin’s heart. And neither was the Gnoll smiling and laughing with her customers. Her ears were flat against her skull and she was snapping at Brunkr.

“—go back if you are so impatient! Tell them, yes, tell them of my failure! But here I am still the leader, am I not? If you go against my wishes, you defy the Chieftain!”

“You are not the sole leader here, Aunt!”

Brunkr wasn’t wearing his sword and shield, but he was still taller than Krshia. His fists were clenched, and both Drakes and Gnolls were walking wide of him. Erin stopped as she saw the two, uncertain.

Someone bumped into her. Ryoka cursed under her breath as Mrsha tried to tug her into a queue of people lined up to buy some grilled meat that smelled wonderful in the cold air.

“Mrsha, no! You can’t—Erin! Can you hold her?”

Ryoka looked over and saw Krshia and Brunkr. She paused, but didn’t let go of Mrsha who was practically drooling.

“That’s Brunkr?”

Krshia was growling at Brunkr, and he was making the same noise. It looked as if they were about to attack each other at any second. In short, not the atmosphere Erin wanted to have a reunion in.

“Yeah. Should we—?”

Ryoka hesitated for a second. Then she thrust Mrsha’s paw into Erin’s hand. Erin lifted the Gnoll into her arms and watched Ryoka. The young woman walked straight into the argument between the two Gnolls.

“Krshia Silverfang? My name is Ryoka Griffin. We need to speak.”

Both Gnolls shut up and stared at Ryoka. Erin held her breath and Mrsha stared as Ryoka faced both Gnolls down without a hint of fear. Tall as Ryoka was, both Gnolls were taller and bigger than she was.

Brunkr glared at Ryoka.

“Another Human? Go away. We are busy. This is a matter between me and my Aunt.”

“I’m a friend of Erin Solstice’s.”

Ryoka jerked a thumb over her shoulder at Erin. Krshia’s eyes widened when she saw Erin and Mrsha, but Brunkr just growled.

“I do not care. Go away.”

He tried to loom over Ryoka, but she didn’t even bat an eyelid.

“And who are you supposed to be?”

“I am Brunkr, warrior of the Silverfang tribe. And I—”

“Okay. Piss off. I need to talk to someone important.”

Erin’s mouth fell open. Mrsha’s ears flattened and suddenly she was the one clinging to Erin. Brunkr’s eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth.

“You dare? You dare to insult me? You?”

Cold sweat ran down Erin’s back. She’d thought Ryoka had gotten better—or at least she wasn’t crazily angry anymore. But she wasn’t showing many signs of sanity at the moment. What should Erin do?

But Ryoka seemed to have a plan of her own. She calmly stared at Brunkr as the Gnoll drew back his lips and bared his teeth.

“I dare. I dare because there are more important things than you, little Gnoll. Krshia Silverfang. The Stone Spears tribe is gone.”

The street went silent. Ryoka’s raised voice caused a hush and a pause as every single Gnoll on the street within hearing—and that was quite a radius—stopped and stared at her. Brunkr had drawn in his breath to roar, but now he froze, eyes wide.

Krshia stared at Ryoka. Her eyes flicked to Erin, and only now seemed to notice Mrsha. She took a step back, and for a second her eyes were filled with fear.

Then the moment passed. She looked at Ryoka, and shook her head.

“You speak the truth?”

“To the best of my knowledge. I witnessed their end.”

Krshia nodded. She looked at Brunkr.

“Close the store. I must hear this.”

He didn’t argue. The street was full of silence as Krshia gestured. Ryoka walked after her, silent. Erin hesitated, but hurried after the two, Mrsha in her arms. She sensed Gnolls following her. And now that all eyes were on her and Ryoka, they saw Mrsha too. She heard muttering, and felt a twinge of unease in her heart.

They were all Gnolls, and Krshia was her friend, even after Lyonette. She didn’t seem angry at Erin, even if Brunkr was a jerk. But then why were all the Gnolls staring at Mrsha? And why was she holding on to Erin so tightly? And why—

Why did they all look so afraid?

—-

I think I have it figured out. I’m Ryoka Griffin. I’m a Runner, and an arrogant young woman who thought she was better than she actually is. Because I was a fool, people died.

Maybe I couldn’t have saved them anyways. But I could have been stronger, and maybe that would have made a difference. Regardless though, they died. The people who helped me died. It may not be my fault, but I still have a debt.

A debt to the dead.

One person still lives. A kid, a child. I will keep her safe. But I will also pay off my debt. And the first part of that is confession.

I sit in Krshia Silverfang’s apartment, a cup of weirdly bitter tea in my hands. There’s a bowl of chopped meat on the table, but I’m not sure if it’s raw so I don’t take any. Erin and Mrsha have already eaten several cubes.

Krshia sits across from me, with Brunkr by her side. She’s clearly in charge; she was the only person to ask questions as I told her what happened. Whatever their beef, Brunkr is clearly subordinate to her in this matter.

And there are Gnolls outside. I look towards one of the windows and see a bit of fur disappear. Gnolls are standing outside the apartment, maybe even on the roofs. I doubt it’s an ambush. I think they’re listening in on our conversation.

Small wonder. The news I have is bad, as bad as it gets. I can tell that just from the look on Krshia and Brunkr’s face.

“A Goblin Lord.”

That’s what Krshia says after I finish. She stares down into her cup of tea, untouched, as her nephew clenches his fist. She looks up at me gravely, and I nod.

“A Goblin Lord. And he’s got an army.”

“An army strong enough to defeat Zel Shivertail. It is an ill thing. Worse, he has slain the Stone Spears tribe to the last.”

Krshia’s eyes flick to Mrsha. Mrsha’s sitting next to Erin, but she seems uneasy around Krshia. No more than Krshia and Brunkr seem uneasy around her, though. They keep looking at her.

Because of the fur?

“These are dark tidings you bring us, Ryoka Griffin. But I am grateful you speak to us of what has passed instead of letting others spread the news.”

I nod, my attention back on Krshia. In truth, I have no idea what this Gnoll is like. I knew Urksh, fairly well for someone who’d only spent four days in his company. But Krshia is a stranger, for all Erin says she’s ‘nice’. I have to watch her, and at the same time, I have to help. A good start is being honest.

“I owe them. The Stone Spears tribe saved my life. Their Chieftain was kind to me.”

Krshia nods. She closes her eyes for a second, and I see a bit of pain cross her features.

“I knew Urksh. He was not the strongest Chieftain, not as a warrior, but he was wise. That he is gone is a true loss.”

“That the tribe is gone is a disaster.”

Brunkr growls as he clenches his fist. No tea for him. He looks at me, eyes full of passion and fury.

“What of the mining expedition? They may yet live. Gnolls will not die to Goblins so easily.”

I shift in my seat and shake my head.

“I had the same thought. But that army had over a hundred Hobgoblins in it. Even if the mining expedition wasn’t found…”

Krshia nods. Her expression is bleak.

“They would throw themselves upon the Goblins rather than live without their tribe. They are gone, Brunkr.”

“All except one.”

I nod at Mrsha. She blinks around as both Gnolls stare at her. Erin pats Mrsha on the shoulder soothingly, but Mrsha just edges towards her, away from Brunkr.

“Hrr. Yes. Young Mrsha.”

Krshia gets up from her chair. She bends down and Mrsha scoots back, but the other Gnoll’s face is nothing but kind. She growls something low and soothing and Mrsha’s death-grip on Erin’s arm slowly releases.

Mrsha doesn’t speak—she can’t—but she does reach out with one paw. Krshia lets Mrsha put a paw on her cheek, and then nuzzles the smaller Gnoll gently. White fur brushes against dark brown and I look away.

“Human.”

Brunkr looks at me, his eyes serious. I stare back. I don’t like Brunkr. He’s probably a solid, serious guy, but he doesn’t strike me as smart. And it’s smart I need right now. Smart, and willing to talk and compromise.

“What of the other tribes? Did you run and warn them? Or are they at the mercy of this Goblin army?”

Krshia steps back from Mrsha and looks disapprovingly at her nephew.

“If it is Shivertail, he will have had the Gnolls in his army howl, yes? The tribes will be warned. This Goblin army will not catch them so easily.”

She shakes her head.

“No. They are warned, but a meeting must be called. The tribes must either flee or band together to destroy this threat before a Goblin King arises.”

“I will lead the warriors south, to defend our tribe—”

Brunkr rises, but Krshia glares him back down.

“And do what? A few spears will make no difference against such a horde. Besides, you are weeks away and our tribe is secure. You are needed here.”

“To do what? Guard ashes?”

Brunkr’s hackles raise as he stares at his aunt. She glares back, and the mood in the room goes sour again. Mrsha edges away, and Erin looks worried. She hasn’t said much—I guess she’s worried about saying the wrong thing.

But I? I don’t care if the mood’s wrong. I just want to resolve this. So I clear my throat and get the two Gnolls to break off the staring match.

“That’s the second thing I need to talk to you about. Krshia Silverfang—”

She waves a paw.

“You are a friend of Erin’s. I am Krshia.”

I nod.

“Krshia, Mrsha here is without a home. I don’t know anything about Gnoll customs, but you’re the only Gnoll that Erin knows. Is there any way she could stay here?”

I’m not prepared for the look of horror Mrsha gives me. She tries to struggle out of Erin’s arms towards me, but the girl holds her. She’s giving me a look too. What?

Krshia hesitates. She casts an eye at Mrsha, and I see her expression as she looks at her white fur.

“Brunkr. Will you go and give Mrsha some food? I have some snacks from home she may like.”

It’s the cheapest of tricks, but Mrsha’s ears perk up at the word ‘food’. Brunkr glares, but he stands up and walks into the kitchen. Erin’s the only one who protests.

“Mrsha’s had a big breakfast, and a lot of these cubes. Maybe she should—”

I glare at Erin and jerk my head towards the kitchen. Her face goes slack and I nearly slap my head as I see her put the pieces together.

“Oh. I’ll uh, let’s go eat something, Mrsha!”

She leads Mrsha into the kitchen. But the kid still looks over her shoulder at me twice on the way there, and I see her peeking back to make sure I’m not leaving.

Damn it. I didn’t mean I’d just run off. But I just meant that—

Krshia moves towards me and lowers her voice. I focus back on her, leaving recriminations aside for a second.

“Ryoka Griffin. The situation is more complicated than it seems, yes?”

“It is.”

I keep my voice low as the Gnoll sits next to me so we can talk. I can sense her body heat, and her fur makes me feel like I’m next to a bear. But her eyes—her eyes are just like any person’s eyes. I focus on that.

“This news you bring is terrible. My heart hurts for Mrsha. And yet, the situation here is complicated.”

I nod.

“I know. Your people want to kill Lyonette, and Erin’s protecting her.”

Krshia nods.

“Among other things. It was a terrible thing Lyonette did.”

“She destroyed your store, yes. And she did a lot of damage to other Gnoll’s shops. But there’s something else, isn’t there?”

All of that was bad from the way Erin described it, but it still doesn’t quite square with a Gnoll hit squad going out after Lyonette. Krshia hesitates, and I stare at her.

“I’m not Erin, Krshia. Let’s speak honestly.”

Her lips quirk into a bitter smile.

“It is something that I have wished for. But circumstances have conspired against me speaking so before now, yes? What you say is true. The thieving girl destroyed more than simply my shop. She destroyed something…precious to my clan. Something we have labored to accumulate for many years.”

Fuck. That’s not what I wanted to hear. But it puts the pieces together. I nod.

“So Erin, by saving Lyonette, is also preventing you from righting the wrong.”

“She has taken on the debt, yes.”

Krshia nods. I scowl.

“That’s bullshit. It wasn’t her fault. She did nothing that warranted an attack.”

Krshia’s eyes are steady as she meets mine.

“No, she did not. That was wrong. But the debt of the thief cannot be erased except by blood, and Erin Solstice bears the cost so long as she protects her.”

Gnoll customs. In my stay with the Stone Spears tribe, Urksh explained some of their customs to me. They take debts like this seriously, and their idea of guilt is transferable. I scowl into my cup of tea and drink some. Not bad, and it gives me a second to think.

“Do all the Gnolls in Liscor think like this?”

“Some. The young do. We who are older understand Erin Solstice. But even so, it is hard to accept. The thief must be punished. The debt must be paid.”

“But she has nothing.”

“Nothing but her life.”

The old customs. Blood settles all debts. The most ancient of customs. Sometimes I think the Gnolls are just like us—well, what the hell am I saying? That does sound like us.

Damnit. Fine. Let’s see just how bad this is.

“And what is the worth that Lyonette cost you? How many gold coins would it be equivalent to, for instance?”

“Fifty thousand gold coins.”

I blink, and stare at Krshia. She stares back. I open my mouth, and close it. If I’d said something like ‘you can’t be serious’ or ‘this must be a mistake’, I’d probably have to stab myself to erase the embarrassment.

Krshia is serious. And so I’ll answer her. I stare at Krshia.

“So long as Erin has that debt, you won’t help her, will you?”

“It would be…harder, yes. We have given Erin Solstice aid before, as we have you.”

I remember the Gnolls that helped fight Gazi and nod.

“You know she’s from another world. And you wanted her to give you something useful. Something you can bring back to your tribe.”

Krshia inhales softly. I hear Brunkr growling to Mrsha in the other room and her knocking about.

“You are quick, yes? You think differently than Erin does.”

“Not necessarily better.”

“No. But you are correct. We did hope. We offered much in exchange in hopes of receiving more. But—”

Krshia shrugged.

“The thief cost us too much. It was poor luck, but my tribe will pay for it. I do not believe Erin will be able to offer anything worthy of such a debt.”

“So you’re trying to talk Brunkr out of trying to kill Lyonette.”

Krshia’s eyes flicker. She inclines her head.

“Very quick. It would undo years of work in Liscor and do more harm than good. But the debt still remains.”

“Fine. I think I understand the problem.”

I sigh, and put down the tea cup. Then I face Krshia, and raise my voice so the Gnolls listening at the doors and windows can hear.

“I will take on Erin’s debt. And I will pay it.”

The Gnoll blinks at me. Once. Twice. I grin, the wide grin of an idiot who’s betting everything with nothing in their hand.

“You are confident, yes? Do you have something of that worth?”

Eight hundred gold pieces, which I don’t actually have at the moment. 1.6% of Erin’s debt. I don’t say that out loud, though.

“I’ll find a way. I am from another world, just like Erin.”

Krshia blinks at me. But she doesn’t seem surprised.

“Mm. But that does not mean you have anything more than Erin Solstice, yes? And should this not be a great secret?”

“Things have changed.”

A certain group of idiots in Magnolia’s care proves that.

“I will pay the debt. I will find something that will erase Erin’s debt. I promise.”

Krshia studies me.

“You are confident, yes?”

“Yes.”

I hold her gaze. After a second, she nods.

“Soon. If you would erase the debt, then you must do it soon.”

“Fine.”

I am so fucked. But it’s just one part of the debt I owe. I look at the kitchen as I hear Brunkr growling and Erin laugh.

“What about Mrsha?”

Krshia nods.

“We will take her. My tribe is far to the south, but we will raise her here until we journey back.”

I hesitate. That’s what I had planned, but I remember the look in Krshia and Brunkr’s eyes.

“And she will be safe?”

“Yes.”

Barely a flicker. But it’s there. I stare at Krshia.

“Her fur is white. I thought it had to do with the Frost Faeries who saved us, but does that mean something in Gnoll culture?”

Krshia’s gaze wavers. She picks up a cube of meat and pops it into her mouth and swallows it without looking at me.

“There is…significance.”

“You mean it’s bad luck. Or an ill omen.”

“…Yes.”

“What does it mean, exactly?”

Krshia pauses.

“Don’t lie to me, Krshia Silverfang.”

She glares at me. I glare right back. Krshia sighs and scratches at her neck.

“Too quick. You are prickly, like a thorny bush, yes? But you are right. White fur is a sign among my kind. No Gnoll has white fur, except those touched by disaster.”

“Disaster?”

“Those who have lost their tribe. Those who have survived calamity. And, it is said, those who bring it.”

My throat closes up. I’m suddenly very, very glad that Mrsha is in the other room.

“None of what happened was Mrsha’s fault.”

Krshia traces a pattern on her leg.

“I am sure you tell the truth. But my people believe in such signs. Can you be certain that none of it was due to her?”

The Frost Faeries. I clench my fist and feel my nails digging into my skin, puncturing it.

“No. But she is still innocent.”

Krshia studies me and nods.

“I will take her. She will be safe with me.”

I shake my head. Now everything’s changed again.

“No. She’ll stay with Erin. I saw the way Brunkr looked at her.”

“He is young.”

“But if he acts like that, so will the other Gnolls. Would Mrsha even be safe in Liscor?”

Krshia nods, but only after a second. I feel grim. Literally grim.

“If you can’t be absolutely sure she’ll be safe, she’ll stay with Erin. And anyone who tries to hurt her will have to go through me and every damn guard I can find.”

“She will not be harmed, Ryoka Griffin. But perhaps it would be best for her to stay in the inn.”

“Fine.”

I shake my head. This has been complete crap, but at least I’ve got something else to focus on. What the hell can I give the Gnolls? I know there’s something.

Gunpowder aside, there has to be something. Advancements in archery? I saw the Gnolls using shortbows and longbows, but what about composite weapons or compound bows? Can I even make that?

Some kind of medical advancement? Education? But it has to be something truly valuable. Damn it, how will I keep Mrsha safe? I haven’t seen Erin’s skeleton—she’ll have to keep him around the inn at all times. How soon is ‘soon’?

Krshia interrupts the whirlwind of thoughts in my head.

“Why do you offer to take up Erin Solstice’s debt, Ryoka? Is it merely friendship or something else?”

I look at her. The answer is burning in my chest. It’s the only thing I can do. What I must do.

“I have my own debt to the Stone Spears tribe. That’s why I’ll help Erin and give your tribe something of worth. I owe Mrsha more, though. Remember that.”

“And what do you owe Mrsha?”

Krshia’s brown eyes are fixed on me. I meet her gaze, my eyes serious.

“Everything.”

—-

Something else happened before Erin and Ryoka left Krshia’s house. Ryoka was just finishing her discussion with Krshia when she heard a yelp, and then a shout from the kitchen. She’d leapt out of the couch and was running into the kitchen before she knew what she was doing.

Brunkr was shaking his arm and shouting in agony. Ryoka saw Mrsha biting his hand, teeth gnawing at his flesh as he tried to throw her off. Erin was holding him down.

“Mrsha!”

“Get her off!”

“Mrsha, let go!”

I run to Mrsha and help drag her away from Brunkr. Her mouth is bloody and she struggles like a wildcat in my grip, snarling silently at Brunkr.

“That hurts!”

He roars at her and bares his teeth. I push Mrsha behind me, but Erin and Krshia block the way.

“Desist, nephew.”

“She drew blood!”

Brunkr snarls at Krshia, but Erin stands in front of him. She raises a fist.

“Get near her and I’ll punch you.”

That makes Brunkr hesitate. He eyes her, and I hustle Mrsha into the other room. I’m about to shout at her when I see her face.

Mrsha’s teeth are covered in blood and she’s still snarling. But she’s also crying. Tears roll down her face as she strains in my arms, trying to get free.

In the end, Brunkr goes back into the living room as Erin and I sit with Mrsha. I don’t know what Krshia said, but a few words from her in the Gnoll’s growling language made Mrsha stop trying to attack Brunkr.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know!”

Erin accepts a wet washcloth as she mops at Mrsha’s face. The Gnoll wriggles away from her at first, but then lets her clean up the blood. She spits onto the cloth and I offer her some tea to wash the blood away.

“All I know is that Mrsha was fine, then Brunkr growled something at her and then—she attacked him!”

Brunkr looks defensive as Erin pauses to glare at him. Krshia gives him a death look and his ears flatten.

“Brunkr. What is it you have done?”

He glares at the floor as he mutters a reply.

“I just told her…her tribe is gone. Gone, and never coming back. Gone because she brought disaster with her. Because she is cursed.”

Silence. I stare at Erin, and then Mrsha. She’s crying again.

Erin stands up. She doesn’t say a word. She just punches Brunkr hard enough to send him crashing into a wall. Krshia nods in approval.

“My deepest apologies, Erin Solstice.”

“I think we should go.”

Erin looks sadly down at Mrsha. She’s crying, and clinging to me. I feel her claws piercing my skin, but I just hold her. Krshia looks sadly at us, her eyes lingering on Mrsha’s white fur.

White as snow. A pure color. White, the color of purity, innocence.

And also death.

—-

It’s a slow procession home. I carry Mrsha, even though she’s heavy. She’s still crying. I have to stop twice for her to throw up. All the food she ate comes up and she just clings to me harder.

Another failure of mine. I’m not worthy of even staying around her. But if Krshia can’t protect her, somehow I have to.

Somehow.

Erin and I don’t talk much on the way back, just slog through the deep snow. It looks like it will snow more tonight.

“Aha! I see the mortal fool has met the one who serves food! ‘Tis good!”

“But they move so slowly! Like ants! Like bugs!”

“Should we drop more snow on them? An avalanche? Hail?”

Frost Faeries fly down out of the air. I stare up at them. Now’s not the time, but they laugh and grin as if nothing’s wrong.

“Ho, travelers! Give us your coin or we shall bury you!”

“Brigands, we! Victims, thee!”

Erin winces, but she doesn’t respond to the faerie’s provocations. I have no such inhibitions.

“Get lost, you lot. Now’s not the time.”

“Ryoka!”

Erin hisses at me, but I just stare at the faeries. They pause.

“Ooh, the mortal has teeth! Are we disturbing you?”

I point to Mrsha. She’s buried her face in my clothes and hasn’t moved. I feel her tears soaking through my layers of clothes.

“You’re bothering her. Go away.”

The frost faeries hesitate. They stare at Mrsha and seem to confer. Then, without a word they fly away.

Erin gapes at me.

“How did you do that? They never listen to me!”

I shrug, adjusting my hold on Mrsha.

“Hit them where it hurts. They like children.”

As if to spite me, I feel something gently smack me in the back of the head. Erin wipes away the snow as I grit my teeth.

“Little freaks.”

Another snowball taps me on the back lightly. Erin shakes her head.

“I think they like you.”

“I’ve reached an…understanding with them.”

“That’s so…uh, well, it’s good, right?”

“Who knows?”

We walk on. In a few minutes we can see the door of Erin’s inn at the top of the hill, and something else.

“There’s a crowd at your inn.”

“Oh! I guess everyone thought I’d be in!”

Erin darts forwards, and I hear her calling to people ahead of me. I barely recognize any of the people who’re standing in front of the inn. A female Drake…Selys? And the Antinium’s either Pawn or Klbkch—no, Klbkch is the only one with two arms, so it must be him. And there’s an older guy in his thirties who I know I’ve never seen. He’s wearing leather armor and he looks like a fighter. And…

Goblins. My footsteps stop and my heart freezes in my chest. The small Goblin—Rags is standing next to a Hobgoblin in the snow, apart from the rest. I quickly look down at Mrsha, but she’s still oblivious to the world, clutching my chest.

Erin returns, beaming at me.

“Everyone’s here! Looks like I’ve got a full inn—what’s wrong?”

Only now does she see the expression on my face. I point with one hand to the Goblins.

“Them. Get them the hell out of here.”

“Who?”

Erin turns. Then she looks back at me, troubled.

“Ryoka. They’re guests. I—”

“I’m not asking you!”

I point at Mrsha and Erin’s face changes. Reluctantly, she goes up the hill. I see her talking to the two Goblins and pointing back at me and Mrsha. I don’t know what she says, and I don’t care. I walk up the hill, away from the Goblins. By the time I reach the top, they’re gone.

Erin had that disappointed look on her face, but I don’t care. I push into the inn, ignoring the others who greet me. Only when I’ve put Mrsha down do I look around.

“Hello! You’re…Ryoka, right?”

I hear a friendly voice and look around. Selys, the female Drake, is smiling at me. She looks down at Mrsha. She’s curled into a ball in one of the chairs.

“Aw! Who is this?”

“Mrsha. She’s had a bad day.”

Selys nods and walks quietly away from Mrsha so she can speak to me.

“I know we barely got to talk, but I heard a bit of what happened from Erin.”

“Oh, really?”

Inwardly, I curse as I hear the words come out. I’m still really hostile from seeing the Goblins, but Selys just gives me a smile.

“Don’t worry. I get it. Erin is a little oblivious, but if you ever want to talk, I’m willing to listen.”

I stare at her. Well.

“I guess [Receptionists] have to deal with a lot of crap, huh?”

She chuckles.

“It’s part of the job. And after hearing about that Goblin Lord—Ancestors, I’d hate to imagine that. Is that Gnoll child—?”

“She’s the only one who’s left, yeah.”

Selys’s eyes are full of pity.

“Poor girl. Let me know if I can help, okay?”

Is it really that easy? Can you really just offer to help like that? I hesitate, and then nod awkwardly.

“Thanks.”

“Just let me know. And I think what she—what’s her name? Mrsha?—what she really needs right now is some sleep and quiet.”

But when Selys and I try to bring Mrsha upstairs, she starts slashing at both of us the instant we get near. She bites at me even when I try to sit next to her. And it turns out that claws hurt even if you have scales. We have to leave her alone. Selys and I retreat as Erin bustles around us, chattering to Klbkch and the Human.

“Oh, Ryoka! Have you met Halrac? No? This is Halrac. Um, he’s a Gold-rank adventurer.”

I nod at the grizzled man. He nods back. Unfriendly guy*. His eyes flick to Mrsha as he sits at a table.

*Wait, what the hell did Erin say about him being Gold-rank?

“Ryoka Griffin. You have my condolences.”

I turn. Klbkch, one of the damn Antinium—no. He’s one of Erin’s friends and he died once to save her. I nod to him.

“Klbkch?”

“Yes. Allow me to reassure you that I will conduct patrols of the area south of Liscor when possible to ensure the safety of Mrsha and this inn.”

“Really?”

That’s…suspicious. Why would Klbkch take so much interest in Erin? It must have to do with the individual Antinium thing and Pawn. Damn it, Erin.

But any help is welcome, so I nod. Klbkch looks at Mrsha. She’s crying again. Her small body shakes, and I feel my heart ache.

“I regret what has occurred. Rest assured, if the Goblin Lord’s army passes near one of the Hives, it will be destroyed.”

There’s nothing to say to that. I just nod. But Mrsha’s crying puts a damper even on Erin’s good cheer. She does her best, cooking up food and insisting we all sit together at a table, but she can’t get Mrsha to move and so Lyonette brings us our drinks—hot water for me and Klbkch and ale for Selys—in silence.

I glance over at Halrac. He’s sitting alone, but he keeps staring at Mrsha. Is he bothered by her? Well, of course he would be. He stops Erin as she passes a table and points to Mrsha. And then, for some reason, I see him point to a bunch of flowers on a table near one of the windows.

“Flowers? Why the hell are there flowers in here?”

Selys looks over as she bites into some spaghetti with meatballs.

“Oh, those? I think they came from the faeries. That’s what Erin says, anyways.”

Klbkch and I stare at her.

“The Frost Faeries gave them to her? Why?”

“I dunno. For some meal she cooked them. Erin was pretty mad about it at the time.”

Oh my god. She didn’t. They didn’t. I stare in horror at the flowers as Erin goes over to them. Golden flowers. Is it too much of a leap of logic to assume…?

“Did she think they were golden coins?”

Klbkch stares at me as if I’m crazy, but Selys nods. She slurps down a noodle.

“That’s right! That’s what Erin said! How did you know?”

I put my face in my hands and groan. Did Erin just not remember those old stories about faeries? I hope she didn’t waste that much food on those bastards*.

*Is bastard the right word, here? Bitches might be more gender specific, but it doesn’t really encapsulate how much I sometimes hate those damn faeries.

“Pardon me. Am I to understand these flowers were enchanted to look like coins?”

I nod at Klbkch. It feels really odd to be sitting and chatting to an Antinium, much less Klbkch the Slayer. I want to talk with him, but not with Selys around.

“It’s something the faeries do. They trick people into accepting gold that turns to flowers or disappears the next day. Erin got taken for a ride.”

“I see. This is unfortunate.”

“Yeah, but Erin says the flowers are actually useful.”

“What?”

All three of us look over to the flowers. Erin is picking some and…squeezing them? Yes, she’s adding them to a mug and Halrac’s watching her with an intense expression. What the hell is going on?

But then Erin walks over to Mrsha with a mug full of ale and a few drops of that flower nectar mixed in. I frown as she gently touches Mrsha.

“Mrsha? You okay, honey?”

Mrsha swipes at Erin, but the other girl is out of arm’s reach. Erin touches Mrsha again.

“Hey, I don’t want to bother you sweetie, but I’ve got a drink. It’ll help you relax, okay?”

“The hell is she doing?”

Is Erin trying to get Mrsha drunk? I stand up, frowning, but Klbkch tugs on my arm.

“Please wait, Ryoka Griffin. I believe Erin Solstice may be attempting to do something beneficial.”

I hesitate. But then, this is Erin. I look back at the flowers, and then at the way Halrac’s staring at the mug. Flowers. Illusions.

Hallucinogens? Not the craziest thing I’ve heard of.

Even as I watch, Erin coaxes Mrsha out of her ball. The Gnoll sniffs at the mug, but curious as ever, she tastes some. I watch her gulp a few mouthfuls of the drink down with butterflies in my stomach. Mrsha’s eyes go wide, and then she sighs. She closes her eyes, and then goes limp.

“Mrsha?”

Erin turns towards me as I approach. She lets me take Mrsha. I feel at her anxiously.

“She’s just asleep, Ryoka. Or…in a trance. Halrac says the drink helps. I’ve tried it before, and it does make you feel better.”

“It will.”

I turn. Halrac, the Gold-rank adventurer is standing behind us. He nods to me.

“Miss Griffin? Erin Solstice has a unique drink. It’s liquid memory.”

“Memory? You mean it’s some kind of drug?”

I glare at Erin. She raises her hands defensively.

“It’s just the flowers and some alcohol! It’s part of one of the skills I learned, Ryoka! It’s called [Wondrous Fare] and Halrac says it makes you feel better! He’s had lots!”

Erin looks over at him and the adventurer nods. He stares at the drink on the table.

“It…brings back happy memories. For a time. I imagine the Gnoll child will sleep after drinking it, in any case.”

I stare at Erin. Faerie flowers can be made into a magical drink? Why did I not think of that? No—is Erin a genius or just insane?

“Are you sure it’s safe?”

“Why don’t you try some?”

Erin offers me the drink. I accept the mug and stare into it. Halrac looks at the piss-colored liquid as if it’s liquid gold, but I’m not so sure.

“It’s not bad?”

“The alcohol is swill, but I’ll vouch for its effects. I’ll have one myself, and pay what you want for it.”

“Really? Ooh, what should I charge?”

“Is that drink for everyone? I’d like to try some too if we’re having samples.”

Selys stands up and stares at the mug, as does Klbkch. Erin picks some more flowers as I stare at the liquid.

It’s not like I haven’t tried…certain medicinal herbs…before. But that was just once, and I’ve never smoked or taken any hard drugs. I love to run, not mess up my body. But if Erin was confident enough to give it to Mrsha—

At the very least I should see what effect it has. I hesitate, but Erin’s already mixing up another three mugs. Cautiously, I down the drink.

Yep. That’s some crap. Did Erin buy the cheapest alcohol available? I frown as I swallow. I don’t sense any other taste, but it was just a few drops. How long does the effect l—

The world dissolves around me. Into rushing air. Into mist and smoke that drifts up from the fire.

I stare at Urksh as Mrsha sits next to me, staring up at me. The Gnolls in the camp bustle around, laughing, talking, as I stare at him. He looks up from a bit of hot fish and grins at me.

“You look shocked, Ryoka Griffin. Is this not what you wished to see?”

“No. No, I—”

I falter. Mrsha looked up inquiringly, her brown fur shining in the firelight. Urksh laughs.

“It is well. Rest here a while before continuing on your journey.”

“I will. I just—”

A piece of hot fish—mackerel, maybe, is resting in my hand. Hot enough to nearly burn my skin, but not quite. So warm and tender that I can bite into it and banish the cold of the night air. The fire in front of me warms my skin, and Mrsha sighs as she snuggles into my side.

I look at Urksh. He smiles as he sits in the cold winter air. The Gnolls laugh as they prepare to sleep for the night.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He nods.

“I know. But it is not you who must apologize, yes? We paid the price as we wished.”

“Yeah. It’s just—”

He shakes his head.

“Eat, Ryoka Griffin. And then, perhaps, tell us another story. The one about the [King] with the sword was particularly good, I thought.”

Mrsha nods. She sits up eagerly, and I raise the fish to my lips. The scent makes my mouth water, and I see Gnolls drifting over. They sit together, warm, happy, full. The cold air blows, but it is banished by the warmth here. I open my mouth, and my teeth sink into the hot food—

“Ryoka? You’re doing the same staring thing. Are you okay?”

“Oh.”

The vision fades. I stare at Erin. She smiles nervously at me.

“No good? Everyone’s gone silent. I tried the drink, but I only had a bit and I just felt happy when I remembered playing chess against Pawn. Is it too strong or good like that?”

I stare at the drink. It’s still half full. I put it to my lips and drink the rest down. The world spins, and the last thing I feel is myself falling backwards. And then, for a few moments, I’m sitting around a camp fire again. Laughing. Happy. And I ask for their forgiveness and know peace.

Until I wake.

—-

Outside the inn, the Frost Faeries watched as Ryoka Griffin collapsed backwards and Erin scrambled to catch her. They hovered outside in the cold, staring through one of the windows. It wasn’t that they couldn’t enter; it was just that they didn’t mind the cold and they didn’t want their conversation to be heard.

“The drink is made from the flowers. The innkeeper made it.”

“That’s not supposed to happen. Mortals don’t use the flowers we give them! They’re supposed to throw them away!”

The faeries watched as Erin laid Ryoka down and then looked at the other patrons of her inn. They all had the same far-off expression in their eyes.

“Should we remove the flowers?”

“But ‘twas a gift! We cannot take it back!”

“What if we gave actual gold? Would that suffice?”

Inside the inn, Erin brushed against Klbkch. The Antinium had gone completely still after drinking his mug, just like Selys and Halrac. Now the slight nudge sent him toppling backwards, and like a domino the Drake and Human toppled over as well. The faeries watched as Erin began to panic.

“‘Tis funny.”

“Yes.”

The faeries paused. They looked at each other.

“I wonder what the drink tastes like?”

“Swill, I heard.”

“Good swill?”

There was only one way to find out. The faeries swooped into the inn.

“Innkeep! A mug of your finest swill!”

And both Ryoka and Mrsha slept soundly, dreaming of a happier time. That was, until they woke. But though the dream faded, part of it remained, filling them up. Mending cracks in their hearts. Like a flower, growing in the snow.

2.41

Because she woke up early, Erin decided to make gravy. Everyone else was still asleep, anyways.

Ryoka and Mrsha were upstairs, but Erin had had too much trouble trying to drag Klbkch and Selys up the narrow staircase, so she’d left them in the common room with a blanket and pillows instead.

It was easy to make gravy. Erin got a pot out and fished around in her cupboard for supplies. She got out some flour, and found some of the bacon fat she’d chilled thanks to some snow she’d packed into a cauldron. It was mostly melted, but it kept the food she put in nice and cold, if a bit wet.

By the time Ryoka stumbled downstairs with Mrsha in tow, they found Erin putting out gravy on the table in a huge bowl next to steaming biscuits and mashed potatoes. That coincided nicely with Selys and Klbkch waking up on the floor. Erin beamed at all of them as her guests rubbed their heads and moaned.

“Morning!”

Selys clutched at her forehead.

“How much did I drink last night?”

“Um…four mugs? No, wait…six? Eight?”

Erin had lost count. She’d kept serving everyone the faerie flower alcohol until they’d started to pass out. It had been a long, anxious night for her. Everyone would just take a drink, stare off into the distance for ten minutes, and then keep drinking. In the end, they’d all just gone to sleep—except for Halrac. He’d left for the city, staggering slightly. Erin had been worried, but he was a Gold-rank adventurer.

“Ancestors.”

Selys groaned and clutched at her head. She tried to stand up and sat back down hard.

“My mouth tastes like…dead gods, that was some awful ale, Erin.”

“Hey!”

Erin opened her mouth, and then closed it.

“Well…I’ll buy some better stuff next time, okay?”

“There shouldn’t be a next time.”

Ryoka lurched over to the table as Klbkch dragged himself upwards. Mrsha yelped and scurried away at the sight of the Antinium. He looked worse for wear. Even though his appearance was mostly unchanged—the Antinium not really having skin or clothing that could get rumpled—he looked…disheveled.

“Good morning, Klbkch!”

Erin smiled at Klbkch. He looked around at her, somewhat slowly.

“I have failed to return to my Hive. That has never happened before.”

“Oh no. Is that bad?”

Klbkch nodded slowly.

“I must…excuse me.”

He put a hand to his head and paused. He had no eyelids, but Erin sensed that he was concentrating. After a moment, he nodded.

“I have informed my Queen. She has recalled the search parties.”

“Search parties?”

Klbkch shook his head. He stared at the food on the table as Mrsha tried to grab a biscuit with her hand. Silently, Ryoka grabbed a plate and spooned potatoes and biscuits onto it, and slathered everything with the thick gravy. She put it on the table and handed Mrsha a spoon. Clumsily, the small Gnoll tried to inhale the entire thing.

“So. Um.”

Everyone looked at her. Erin smiled nervously.

“How was it last night? Was the faerie flower drink really that good?”

Erin didn’t really understand Halrac’s fascination with it. When she’d tried some, she just remembered happy moments, but that was all. And yet, between the four people in her inn (not counting Mrsha), they’d downed an entire keg’s worth of her ale.

Ryoka, Selys, and Klbkch exchanged a long look. As one, they shook their heads.

“That was a terrible drink.”

“Awful.”

“Please do not serve it again.”

Erin’s jaw dropped.

“What? Why?”

Selys was still rubbing at her forehead as she nibbled at a biscuit. She drank deeply from a glass of water and grimaced.

“At first, I thought it was wonderful. I was remembering having fun with my uncle when he used to visit. And I was so happy—but then the memory kept going and going, and I felt the need to keep drinking. Every time I woke up from the…dream, I just drank more and went back.”

“So? What’s the problem?”

“Remembering a bit is fine. But after a while—there’s such a thing as too much nostalgia, you know?”

“You can get lost in the memories.”

Ryoka nodded. She stared at her gravy, ignoring the smacking sounds Mrsha was making next to her.

“It’s like an addiction. You keep wanting to go back. Put another drink in front of me and I’ll keep drinking it, again and again.”

“To remember.”

Klbkch was silent. He hadn’t even put anything on his plate. Ryoka looked up at Erin.

“Dilute the drink. Maybe offer the full-strength version once in a while, but don’t keep serving it to us, damn it!”

Erin shrank under the strength of Ryoka’s glare.

“Oops. Sorry.”

The three diners turned back to their breakfast in silence. Mrsha ate happily, scarfing down the rich gravy until she had a round belly. She at least, had had no ill effects from last night, having only imbibed a few mouthfuls of the magical ale.

Erin scratched her head. She’d wondered about the drink, but then of course the faeries had come in and she’d given them several pints before chasing them out. She remembered them flying into walls and laughing before she’d managed to get them out the door.

“So…can I get you guys anything else?”

Klbkch shook his head. Selys put her head on the table and moaned softly. Ryoka was rubbing her eyes.

“I’m uh, oh! Lyonette!”

The possible princess walked down the stairs and paused when she saw Selys and Klbkch. She sniffed.

“I am awake. What is for breakfast?”

“Mashed potatoes and gravy. And biscuits!”

Ryoka eyed Lyonette silently as the other girl helped herself to food. Silently, Erin’s guests ate until Selys looked out the window.

“I’m really glad I don’t have work today.”

Klbkch nodded slowly.

“I believe I shall…abstain from my duties as well. It is necessary.”

“Oh, uh, well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

Both Drake and Antinium stared silently at Erin. They looked melancholy. And so did Ryoka. She was just staring at her food.

It was like…it was like everyone had depression suddenly. Erin’s eyes darted around until she saw Mrsha was fidgeting on her chair.

“Hey Mrsha, what’s wrong?”

The Gnoll child was squirming, in a very familiar fashion. Erin realized what the problem was.

“We have a bathroom right outside. Come on, let me show you.”

She took Mrsha’s hand and the Gnoll eagerly leapt off her chair to follow Erin. They’d made it to the door when Erin felt a familiar sensation, that of someone approaching the inn. She stopped, and then the door opened.

The early morning sky was gray, but light still flooded into the inn. It flowed around the figure that entered, and despite the bright sky, the gaping sockets of Toren’s skull were still dark, illuminated only by the two burning purple flames that stared at Erin and Mrsha.

The skeleton was wearing the battered bronze armor he’d found, only it seemed even more battered and torn up than before. In his hands he held a notched sword and shield, and faint streaks of blood covered his blade.

“Toren! There you are! Where have you been!?”

Erin scolded the skeleton as he stood silently in the doorway. He stared at her, silent as always as Erin frowned at him. Then she felt a tugging at her hand. She looked down.

Mrsha was trying to pull away from Erin. All her fur was on end, and she was scrabbling at the floorboards as she tried to run.

“What’s wrong, Mrsha? Oh, is it Toren? You’ve never really met him, have you? Well, he’s really nice—”

Erin broke off. She sniffed. Something was smelling. That’s when she noticed the puddle around Mrsha. It seemed the skeleton’s arrival had affected Mrsha’s bladder control.

“Aw, Mrsha!”

She let go, and the Gnoll scampered back towards Ryoka, whimpering in fright. Ryoka slapped her forehead as Erin stared at the puddle. She looked around and smiled sheepishly at Toren.

“Hey Toren. I’ve got a job for you.”

—-

Some days I just want to punch Erin. I’d probably get my ass kicked, but I’m still tempted*. It takes me nearly half an hour to calm Mrsha down after Toren appears, and even then, she won’t go anywhere near the skeleton.

*How strong is Erin, anyways? I know she has [Minotaur Punch] as a skill, but is there a set limit on how strong the Skill is? And if it depends on her hitting her target, that’s not too reliable in a battle. Plus, if she hits armor wouldn’t she break her hand?

Not that I blame her. Toren freaks me the hell out too, and I don’t understand how Erin’s so cavalier about having him around. She’s busy ordering him around even as I finally finish breakfast.

“Thanks for the food, Erin.”

“Oh, no problem! How did it taste?”

“Good. Was that roux you made?”

“What?”

“Roux.”

“No…it was gravy.”

“But—Erin, do you know what roux is?”

“…No.”

I rub at my face.

“Never mind. I guess your skill told you what to do, right?”

“Yup! I’ve got [Advanced Cooking] now. Isn’t it great?”

Erin puffs out her chest and looks proud. Selys looks impressed and Klbkch nods. I shrug.

“I guess. It’s an important skill, right?”

“For an [Innkeeper], it’s great! Most [Cooks] and [Innkeepers] in the city have [Basic Cooking], but [Advanced Cooking] is rarer.”

Selys explains as she finishes her plate. I rub at my head. It still aches, but it looks like it’s time for me to get to work. Time to think, and plan. Selys is a native here, and she knows a lot of common-sense things. So I ask her the obvious questions.

“If that’s the case, there’s presumably an [Expert Cooking] skill, right? How many people would have that?”

“[Expert Cooking]? Well…no one in this city has it. You’d have to be a really high-level [Chef] to have that. I’ve heard some of the Walled Cities have people with that skill. They’re always hired by the nobility.”

So. You can rate skills by their rarity, which generally corresponds to a level. Makes sense. And I guess it’s still a parallel to our world.

“What level would you say that skill appears at?”

“Um…Level 40? Maybe Level 30, if you got lucky. There are better skills—or so I’ve heard, but it’s still rare.”

“Right. Because most people don’t usually get to Level 30?”

“That is correct.”

Klbkch nods as he delicately slurps up some gravy. I try not to look at him eat—I try to be open minded, but the Antinium creep me out in a way the Gnolls and Drakes don’t. Hell, even Selys is still sort of disturbing to me. I don’t know how Erin is so natural around all of them.

But here I am, sitting with Klbkch the Slayer and a Drake [Receptionist] of all people, talking as if I’ve known them for a long time. They’re so friendly.

“I still can’t believe you don’t know all this. Is it because you don’t have levels?”

Selys stares at me, and I tense slightly. She doesn’t know I’m from another world. But hell, I have to know how levels and classes work. I might not use them—and possibly can’t anymore—but not knowing how this world functions is only inviting trouble. So Ryoka, lie your ass off.

“That’s right. I’ve never paid attention, I guess.”

“Erin was like that too, you know. Are you both from the same nation? You seemed to know each other.”

“Something like that.”

Klbkch nods.

“I am familiar with the country they originate from, Selys Shivertail. Their people have customs unlike ours.”

That makes me stare hard at Klbkch, even though Selys accepts his statement at face-value. He just covered for me, didn’t he? Erin did say Klbkch knew she was from another world. And now Erin’s coming over. I try to signal her with my eyes to play along, but she’s oblivious.

“Oh yeah, this is a lot like…uh, where we come from. I mean, there are some big differences, but there’s actually a lot of stuff in common, right Ryoka? Like, this is totally like Dungeons and Dr—”

“It’s sort of similar, but I wanted to be sure about all the details.”

I cut Erin off and glare at her. She returns my look blankly.

“What? I’m not a gamer, but you told me you understood something about the system, right? It’s like Diablo, you said.”

“Diablo?”

Selys looks between us. I shake my head.

“It’s just…nothing. It’s a game from where we come from.”

“Oh, I see.”

I am going to kick Erin’s ass. As Selys and Erin start talking about Mrsha, I cover my face for a second. Then I look up and see Klbkch is staring at me.

Oh shit. Did he…how much did he get from that? Erin says he knows she’s from another world. What about me?

Kill Erin. But watch him. Klbkch the Slayer. I read the history of the Antinium Wars—damn it, I wish I’d read more than the first section now. They didn’t mention much about the Prognugators, but this guy was around decades ago. He dueled General Sserys—he’s dangerous.

But the Antinium in front of me is sitting in Erin’s inn, eating gravy. And he was killed by Goblins, or so Erin said. Weakening Prognugators. Hmm. And Erin’s involvement with the Antinium is also special. She can make unique Individuals, which could mean…

Gah. My head hurts already, and not just from the alcohol. I thought my life was complex, but Erin’s is ten times more convoluted. Not only is she involved with the Antinium, she’s attracted Lady Magnolia’s eyes, and she’s on the receiving end of a Gnoll debt so massive it can only be settled with death—unless one of us has fifty thousand gold pieces lying around.

Holy fuck. I close my eyes for a second. What should I do? What can I do? Normally I’d be running off to collect my payment from Teriarch, but—

No. I look over and see Mrsha, crowding around that Lyonette girl for some reason. She’s feeding Mrsha scraps from her plate and scratching her behind the ears.

Oh yeah, and Erin’s got a princess or some high-ranking noble’s daughter in her inn. God damn it.

I massage my temples. Selys looks at me sympathetically.

“Head still hurting? A healing potion will get rid of that. I know a shopkeeper who sells cheap ones.”

“No—thanks. I’m just really busy. There’s a lot of shi—a lot of stuff I need to deal with.”

“Like what? I’m free today, if you need some help, let me know. A friend of Erin’s is a friend of mine.”

Selys smiles at me. I hesitate.

“Nothing too important. I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

“As you like. I’m going to see if Erin wants to relax in the bath house. You’re welcome to join us.”

“…Thanks.”

Selys gets up to chat with Erin. I stay at the table, thinking. People move around me. Klbkch is still sitting—he’s not eating, but I suppose the Antinium have to sit to digest? I put him out of my mind and think.

I’ve really got to think, because there is a lot of crap for me to deal with at the moment. I won’t say that this is a terrible situation but—no, aside from moments where I’m actually in danger of being killed, this is probably one of the worst.

Fifty thousand gold pieces. Let’s just focus on that. Yesterday I made a claim to the Gnolls that I would pay Erin’s debts. There’s multiple reasons why I did that.

First, it’s pretty clear the Gnolls have power. Erin’s been helped by them in the past, and they might be an ally. If there are any groups she and I can trust, that is. But Krshia seems intelligent, and it’s better to have someone on our side than against us. Which leads me to the second point.

We need the Gnolls to cancel the debt, or else Erin and Lyonette are in danger, and so is Mrsha if she’s staying with them. Is this even a place for a young Gnoll? How can Erin raise her? I can’t…I can’t stay with her. But she needs a home. A family. If Krshia could—

Third point. Krshia might be able to mitigate the stigma associated with Mrsha’s fur, but not with her authority contested. The debt of Lyonette’s is sapping her influence as long as it remains unresolved. That Brunkr idiot seems to be trying to usurp her position, and he would be a danger if he took control. All in all, that means resolving the debt is really damn important.

The only question is…how? I have some ideas. I could give the Gnolls a technology—that was what I claimed, but now that I think of it…

Fuck. I am so screwed.

Let’s put this in perspective. I need to give the Gnolls a technology worth 50,000 gold pieces. At the same time, I can’t destabilize the world by giving them gunpowder.

No.

All flesh is grass.

No.

So what do I do? It seems simple, right? But what can I physically give the Gnolls besides weapons? The industrial revolution? What the hell would a nomadic society need that kind of infrastructure for? And they wouldn’t be able to make use of it, anyways.

No, think. It has to be something simpler. A practical technology or revolution. Think, Ryoka.

Hm. Trebuchets. But damn it, that’s a siege weapon—not something roaming tribes need! First off, wouldn’t trebuchets exist in this world? They were a medieval invention, and this world has renaissance-era technology at times.

For instance, they’ve got glass. Hmm. Lenses? But that technology is dependent on glass grinding to focus the lenses properly, and I don’t know how they’re made.

Damn. So telescopes are out. What else?

Radios…? Hah. Even if I had the ability to work with wires and metal to that extent, who needs radios when you have mage spells and the ability to howl? Long-distance communication isn’t a problem for them.

Bows. Gnolls use bows. I’ve seen them use composite bows and short bows so…fuck. They don’t have compound bows, though. But could I make one? Nope. I’d need industrial-era technology.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Okay…steel. But this world has steel. On the other hand, I never saw steel in the Gnoll tribes which means only a high-level [Blacksmith] can probably make it. It’s no revolutionary technology, though.

I wish I knew how to make Damascus steel. There’s the Bessemer Process of course, but that requires industrial era technology, again…

A printing press? This world still has handwritten books in many cases, but…

Two reasons why I can’t give the Gnolls that. No, three. One, I don’t know how to make a printing press. With screw-based technology, of course, adapting from the wine press…but hell, I’d need months to figure out the exact way to set one up. Second, the cost in resources and space isn’t practical for Gnolls again, and third…

You can’t copy magical spell books with a printing press. That’s obvious. I’ve seen spells, and if they exist on paper, it’s not just in the two-dimensional sense. My guess is that it would be impossible to copy one with any kind of printer, so that already makes one of the greatest revolutions of our world fairly useless to the Gnolls.

What they need is something immediately useful, but the more I think, the more I don’t have any good idea. None except for weapons, and I won’t give that to anyone.

“Fuck.”

I hold my head in my hands as I sit at the table. Then I hear someone clear his throat delicately.

“You appear to be in a state of distress. May I inquire as to your predicament?”

I look at him. Trust no one.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

Klbkch pauses.

“Does your issue relate to the Gnoll debt towards Lyonette du Marquin?”

What the hell? Klbkch is just staring at me. My heart rate picks up, but I keep my face straight.

“How do you know about that?”

“The Antinium know much of what occurs within Liscor.”

“…Were you listening to our conversation yesterday?”

The Antinium shakes his head.

“No, but there are a finite amount of topics which would necessitate such discussion. And the Gnoll’s issue with Erin and Lyonette is a pressing concern.”

“To you? Why the hell would the Antinium care about something like that?”

“Erin Solstice is…important to the Hive. And to me.”

What an odd thing for an Antinium to say. I stare at Klbkch.

“What do you want?”

His multifaceted eyes are fixed on mine.

“I wish to speak with you, Ryoka Griffin. I have desired to speak with you for some time. My observations of your behavior lead me to believe I can trust you.”

He’s been…waiting? To speak with me? And watching me? I’m naturally paranoid, but this makes every instinct I have scream out warning signals. I shrug, carefully.

“I’m free to talk. What…did you want to talk about?”

“I would like to speak candidly, Ryoka Griffin. You are wary of me; that is understandable. But I do not wish to cause you or Erin Solstice any harm. I would like to assist you, and I hope you will regard me as an ally, not a potential foe.”

I…fuck. This is coming out of left field. I thought I was in left field already, but this is catching me totally off guard. I scramble for a response. Test him.

“Are you trying to say we’re on the same side?”

Klbkch tilts his head slightly.

“Are there sides, Ryoka Griffin? The Antinium are not your enemy.”

“I disagree.”

“As do I. If the Antinium were your enemy, Ryoka Griffin, you would be dead. You do not matter to the Hive or my Queen. Erin Solstice is only a tool to be used. So long as that is the case, any interaction with either of you falls under my purview of responsibilities.”

I pause. Klbkch is speaking carefully, and if I read between the lines…

“You’re offering to help. Why?”

“Because Erin Solstice must survive. She must live to help the Antinium. And you are attempting to protect her because you both come from the same world.”

He knows. My heart stops dead in my chest for a second. He knows.

I glance around, but the inn is empty. Where has everyone gone? And why is it daytime all of a sudden?

Klbkch says nothing. He just looks at me. Watching. He’s seeing how I react.

Can I take him? He’s got two swords and classes. So…no. My right hand is still injured and I’ve got no weapons.

“I would prefer this discussion remain civil. Rest assured, I will not harm you or Erin. That is the last thing I desire.”

Fuck. But at least I might not die this instant. I try to keep my voice level as I reply. Focus. This is…the Antinium are as bad as Magnolia. If they know…

“Why bother with the niceties? Are you trying to get us on your side so we can help your Hive?”

Klbkch’s gaze doesn’t waver.

“So long as Erin lives, she will help my Hive. But to answer your question: my Queen is not aware that you and Erin come from another world, Ryoka Griffin. If she was, you would be captured and quickly interrogated.”

I feel a chill. But, wait a second. Klbkch is saying—he’s saying he’s lying to his Queen? For us? No. For Erin?

“Aren’t you supposed to be the right-hand of the Antinium Queens, or something? I thought Prognugators were loyal.”

“I am. But loyalty takes many shapes, and I have grown to question the direction the Antinium are taking. I believe leaving you alive is preferable to your deaths. No—I know this is the case.”

My god. Is this…is this Erin’s effect? She created individual Antinium, but affecting the allegiances of a Prognugator? Or is this something already occurring? I reach for a mug to take a drink. My hand is shaking. Klbkch nods, seeing my reaction.

“I have not informed Erin of this because of the dangers involved.”

“But you’re telling me? Why?”

“Because you can keep a secret. Let me be clear, Ryoka Griffin. Your status as a traveler between worlds is not important to me. If my Queen knew of this, she would interrogate you mercilessly. But I only care about Erin Solstice. She is the valuable one.”

“The Individual Antinium.”

“Just so.”

Klbkch nods.

“Erin Solstice must not die. She must live, and help my Queen change the Antinium from within.”

“But—you want to help us. Help her.”

“I will assist you to the best of my capabilities and inform you of the dangers of which you are not aware. I will reveal secrets of my Hive. I will use my command over Soldiers and Workers to defend this inn and your persons, if need be. I will even lie to my Queen for you.”

“Because Erin is important.”

“She is everything, Ryoka Griffin.”

“Why haven’t you told her this? Why haven’t you offered to tell her…all of this?”

For the first time Klbkch looks uncomfortable. He pauses and clicks his mandibles together delicately.

“I had considered that option to begin with, but it grew apparent that Erin Solstice cannot keep a secret. Anything I tell her will inevitably be repeated to all our costs. You are more discreet.”

So because Erin has a big mouth and doesn’t think, he can’t trust her. But he trusts me?

Or does he? Is this all some ploy? I have to test him? Hah, as if I’ve got a choice. Here’s an Antinium Prognugator or—Revalantor or whatever the hell he is now, offering to tell me all about his Hive. I can’t turn my back on this.

Take a breath, Ryoka, and plunge in. I don’t know how far these murky waters go, but if this is the case—I look at Klbkch.

“Fine. Tell me what you know. About the Gnolls and their debt, for instance. You said you know something?”

He nods.

“The Gnolls in Liscor are led by Krshia Silverfang. Ostensibly, they arrived nearly a decade ago to facilitate trade, but their true purpose was to acquire information or objects of value to improve their tribe’s standing. The decennial gathering of Gnoll tribes involves bringing a gift to be shared with all Gnolls, and the Silverfang tribe hoped to gain something of true value to improve their standing and influence at this event.”

Holy fuck. I stare at Klbkch.

“You were planning this all along, weren’t you? You wanted to tell me this.”

He pauses.

“My goal is to keep Erin Solstice alive. It is only fitting that I inform you of all dangers to her, and the Gnoll situation has been studied closely by my Hive.”

“Okay, okay, go on.”

I listen with rapt attention as Klbkch continues.

“Under Krshia’s influence, the Gnolls began pooling their profits and purchasing magical tomes from every shop they could find. They gathered many spell books together—most containing Tier 1 to Tier 3 spells—in the hopes that they might offer them as a gift to the tribes.”

Gnolls learning magic? I’ve never heard of a Gnoll [Mage], just [Shamans]. But wait—didn’t Erin mention the Gnolls had a feud with Wistram?

“So the Gnolls wanted to train their own [Mages].”

“Correct. The spell books were hidden in Krshia Silverfang’s shop, to avoid detection, and, I suspect, to enable them to transfer them easily. A few weeks ago, Krshia Silverfang sent word to her tribe requesting warriors to transport the books out of the city. I believe they were also arriving to help guard Erin Solstice, whom the Gnolls had identified as potentially valuable. However, Gazi the Omniscient slew the first party sent.”

The Gnolls on the road. I remember.

“The next group sent arrived too late. Before the spell books could be transported, Lyonette du Marquin destroyed Krshia Silverfang’s shop using a powerful magical artifact which bypassed the normal magical protections on the books.”

“…Shit.”

That’s even worse than I thought. Klbkch nods.

“It is an unfortunate circumstance, but without any gifts for the Gnoll tribes, the Silverfang tribe will lose much of its standing.”

“And that’s why the debt is around fifty thousand gold coins, isn’t it?”

“A considerable sum was spent accumulating the spell books over the years. I believe the Gnolls were ignorant of the dangers a powerful spell could pose to such books. Most spell books are immune to conventional harm, but sufficiently powerful magic will destroy them.”

I close my eyes.

“Damn it.”

“I surmise that you have accepted the responsibility for this debt along with Erin Solstice. She is aware of the issue, if not the cost, but she will be unable to resolve it herself.”

“And I suppose the Antinium won’t help?”

Klbkch shakes his head.

“Erin Solstice is certainly important to the Hive, but my Queen would never authorize such an expenditure of resources for any individual. At the moment. She does not understand how important Erin is.”

“Which is extremely. You think different from your Queen. Are you rebelling against her?”

“No.”

The word comes out fast and flat. Klbkch stares at me and I’m suddenly aware that he’s armed and I’m not. Then he seems to relax, and I’m able to as well.

“I would never betray my Hive, or my Queen. But I believe she makes mistakes. One of them is not trusting others. My Hive, my Queen, we need allies if we are to change the Antinium.”

“Change the Antinium? How?”

Klbkch hesitates. He holds up one finger.

“Allow me to reconfirm that we are alone.”

I twist in my chair, but that’s an idiotic move. Klbkch is clearly doing something. He looks up after a minute and nods.

“The inn is vacated, and there is no one within two hundred meters of our location. I have reconfirmed that the [Assassins] and [Scouts] sent by Lady Magnolia are hidden several miles to the east of our position and possess no listening artifacts or spells. Selys Shivertail is with Mrsha in Liscor—”

Wait a second, what did he say?

“What? She’s with Mrsha? Where’s Erin?”

“She is exploring the wilderness with Toren and Lyonette. I believe she informed you of this.”

I…vaguely recall something like that? I was thinking about the Gnolls and remember Erin saying something. I should pay more attention to my surroundings.

…Was Klbkch sitting there the entire time? Watching me? Then another thought strikes me. I pause and stare hard at Klbkch.

“You…know where she is? Both Erin and Selys? At any given moment? Are you having them watched?”

I can’t believe Soldiers and Workers are that good at hiding. Unless…is the Hive that spread out underground? Klbkch shakes his head.

“There is no need for physical scouting. A specialized breed of Antinium developed within our Hive is able to listen to movements and sounds at extreme range. They are able to monitor individuals, if given instructions and time.”

‘There are more Antinium types than just Soldiers and Workers.’

“You have more than Soldiers and Workers?”

“They are known as Listeners. A few were allocated to our Hive. Their existence is not a secret; they were revealed during the Second Antinium War along with a few other types. However, only Soldiers and Workers are allowed within the Hive in Liscor.”

“Why is that?”

“Because my Queen stands lowest among the six Queens under the Grand Queen. Her work here is experimental, as are her ideals. And so she is restricted from utilizing the Hive’s full potential, denied certain resources and equipment.”

A power struggle between the Antinium? No way. But that means—

“Are the Queens competing with one another? Are you at odds? Do the Hives fight each other?”

Klbkch shakes his head.

“Competition is strictly based on achievement. The Queens and the Antinium have one goal, but viewpoints differ between Queens as to best achieve that goal.”

Like having multiple CEO’s working towards one end. I nod, slowly.

“And you want your Queen to succeed.”

“I believe in her mission.”

“Which is to create Individual Antinium capable of leveling which will make the Antinium stronger.”

And deadlier. They would overrun the continent. Klbkch simply nods.

“Astute. My faith in you was not misplaced.”

“But if Erin helps you, we all die. We make the Antinium stronger, and you’ll still kill us all in the end.”

Klbkch shakes his head.

“My Queen is alone in seeking to gather allies and forge relations. Yet even she is limited in…vision. She treats other species as pawns; I would have her see them as people.”

So the Queen in Liscor is more progressive than the other Queens, and her Prognugator is even more so. I think I understand.

“You think you can talk your Queen around. But either way, she has to have more influence.”

“Just so. And the proof of her labors rests in the Individual Antinium.”

“Which is why Erin Solstice is essential.”

“Correct.”

My pulse is racing. I have to calm myself and drink more water before I can speak.

“Okay. Okay, let’s say what you’ve said is all true. What happens when your Queen proves herself? She gets special Antinium?”

“She will gain access to the…tools to create such Antinium if she desires.”

“So the other Hives have special Antinium already.”

The ones who killed General Sserys during the First Antinium War. Klbkch nods.

“Each Hive’s Queen has special dispensation to create their own unique type of Antinium. The Grand Queen is privy to every Hive’s secrets, but besides her, each Queen hoards her own unique type of Antinium and method for improving our species.”

Bombshells. That’s what this day is filled with.

“So what you’ve told me is that the Antinium aren’t united. Or rather, there’s a power struggle in the Hives and factions for how the Antinium should evolve.”

Klbkch glances at me.

“If any of the Queens—or other Prognugators—learn that knowledge has come from either you or I, we will both die.”

A moment of silence. I read the unspoken words.

“Does that mean you want me to tell someone? Lady Magnolia?”

“I would prefer my Queen to rise in status. She has worked long without permission to create her own types or deviate from the normal Soldiers and Workers.”

“Because she’s a renegade? Because she’s in disgrace?”

“Because she wants to create Individuals, yes.”

“What happens now that she’s succeeded? Or rather, Erin has? Does she need to prove this to the other Queens, somehow?”

Klbkch’s sits very still. He barely moves, even when speaking or gesturing. He’s an entirely different kind of person, more like a robot than a human being. Yes, a robot. One made from chitin rather than metal. A tin man, a bug man. With a heart.

“A delegation of Antinium will arrive shortly. They will assess whether or not Pawn and the other Individuals are truly Individual. Then the Queens will debate and the Grand Queen will decide what to do with the information.”

“And then?”

Klbkch shrugs.

“It will change everything. Or nothing. The Grand Queen will decide whether Individuals will make the Antinium stronger and move from there.”

“And why do the Antinium need to be strong? To conquer the continent?”

“If necessary.”

The cold-blooded response ties my tongue. Klbkch looks at me and shakes his head.

“The Grand Queen is more minded to pursue peace at the moment, at least until she is certain victory would not weaken the Antinium. Moreover, I believe I can convince my Queen to speak against such an action. This continent is not what the Antinium seek. We require strength to take back our home.”

“Your home? Someone chased you out?”

My god, the book—I need to read the second part. What he’s saying changes everything. Klbkch nods.

“It is why we fled Rhir. And why we continue to attempt to build our forces. We left because we were losing, Ryoka Griffin. And now that we are gone, the enemy will soon emerge above-ground again. This Blighted King is strong, but he is unprepared.”

“Unprepared for what?”

“We must be stronger. I must be stronger.”

Klbkch looks at me. I’m transfixed. For a second, he seems huge. Ancient. I’m like a bug—in his eyes.

“That is why you must help me. Why I know you and Erin must be protected. The Antinium must change. Or the Antinium will be wiped from the earth.”

“What. Happened?”

Klbkch pauses. He stares into his cup. And then he looks at me.

“The Antinium Wars? What Drakes and Humans and Gnolls fear so? They were setbacks. Dust. The true disaster occurred on the oceans when we lost our entire people. Even now, we are a fraction of what we were.”

I take a breath. Heart. I can hear my heart and his voice. Nothing else.

“If that’s the case, why did you run? What was so terrifying that you had to flee rather than fight?”

Klbkch pauses. He sits in Erin’s inn quietly, but his eyes reveal what he is. There’s something timeless there, something akin to Ceria’s gaze. Or Teriarch’s. Don’t look at Klbkch and see a bug. See him for what he is. A creature from centuries ago. An old hero of the Antinium, maybe. Something ancient. Only now do I realize how terrifying what he’s saying is.

The Antinium. Creatures numbering in the hundreds of thousands. Millions, even. Why did they ever run from Rhir? What could have caused them to flee?

Klbkch’s voice is the only thing in the world. Soft. Yet the words he speaks are so loud I can feel them shake my soul.

“We fled from a God, Ryoka Griffin. There is a God buried in Rhir. And it is trying to wake up.”

—-

It—it’s almost funny. I feel like puking, or screaming, or asking a thousand and one questions. But that issue with the Gnolls and the fifty thousand gold coins’ worth of debt? Not a problem right now.

“Again, I regret that I cannot assist directly with the issue of the Gnoll’s debt. But I agree that their aid would be invaluable to both you and Erin Solstice. The Gnolls possess a wide degree of skills and knowledge the Antinium have not, and they are steadfast allies to those who have assisted them.”

Klbkch and I sit in Erin’s inn and talk. Calmly. He’s calm. I—well, I’m still trying to calm down.

I had a…freak out after his revelation about the God. Just a little one*. But now we’re all calm. Klbkch is speaking about the future, and frankly, I’m inclined to listen to him.

*It was something. I may have become hysterical, for the first time in my life.

The Antinium. I had no idea—what he’s told me is hopeful, strangely enough. True, there are five other Queens who want to kill all other species, but there’s dissent among the Antinium. Hope for change and peace. But do I share that information? Do I help Klbkch overtly or just keep Erin safe?

“May I ask what you intend to do to settle the debt?”

I blink, and refocus on our conversation. I need to think. I can’t be useless, not now. Too much is at stake, although again, Gnoll debt? Small potatoes.

“I’m not sure yet. I’m weighing my options, but I don’t have that many things I can really offer the Gnolls at this moment.”

“From what you have said, there are many technologies available to you, but few or none that you are able to reproduce at the moment. My Hive could assist with the collection of resources, but the Antinium do not shape metal—at least, most Hives do not.”

“One does?”

“I believe so.”

There’s an information lockdown between Hives? Hm. That’s more rivalry than competition. Good to know.

“Yeah, there’s not much I can really make. Hell, I know all kinds of useful technologies and advancements in metallurgy, medicine, construction…but you need an existing framework to build all of it. Titanium, for instance is a metal harder than steel, but it’s impossible to smelt without…well, damn, I guess a Tier 6 spell might do it or something…”

“Impractical for the Gnolls, in short.”

“Yeah. And things like mathematics—well, it would change the world, but it’s not immediately useful.”

“Indeed.”

I sigh.

“Fuck. I think it has to be an artifact. A magical one. I’ll have to ask Lady Magnolia—or Teriarch.”

I told Klbkch a lot. Not everything, but quite a lot of what I’ve seen and done. And what I know. The Antinium nods.

“A dangerous choice. Both individuals are quite powerful and you may risk much by approaching either one. Despite Teriarch’s abilities, I would encourage you to view Magnolia Reinhart with the same amount of caution.”

Another surprise. No—I really shouldn’t be surprised, should I?

“You know him? Teriarch?”

“We know he is a Dragon. He incinerated two armies sent against him in the Second Antinium War. It was a mistake to attack him. I advised against it, but the Queens did not listen.”

Get the book. Read the book. Unless that’s the part of history that no one knows about. Yeah, I think people would know if a Dragon lived on the continent. Another secret to keep.

“If you are able to convince him to part with one of his treasures…yes. That would no doubt satisfy the Gnolls.”

“If. Any tips?”

“Do not attack him.”

“Thanks.”

I eye Klbkch. He sits calmly in his seat, watching me. If only I could read Antinium and tell what he’s thinking. Is he really that calm? He must be nervous. But his face is an insect’s face; impossible for me to read.

“I’m surprised you don’t want me to tell you how to create weapons from my world. Not that I would.”

“Despite the advantage it would bring, I fear it would work at cross purposes to my goal. A superior type of weaponry would only impel my Queen to abandon her current plan and use such arms to begin a third war. I would not wish such bloodshed to occur. I…do not wish to see the inhabitants of Liscor die.”

A tin man with a heart. Part of me actually wants to hug him. The other half wants to sit in a corner and gibber for an hour.

“So. What’s the plan?”

Klbkch tilts his head.

“I will provide you with information, resources, protection. You must assist Erin Solstice in your own way. And if you have a means to help my Hive—”

“Right. I get it.”

I stand up. I start to pace. I have to move.

“But there are so many questions I want to ask. All the things the Antinium know—”

“I will share what is necessary. But some secrets must remain so. If you are caught and tortured or charmed—”

“Right. Right.”

He’s no idiot. I eye Klbkch. No, he’s no idiot at all. He’s a Prognugator, one of the Antinium Generals. He’s probably smarter than I am. But then what can I ask?

“If you can’t give me something to give the Gnolls, all we can exchange is information.”

“Just so. I believe that is extremely valuable in itself.”

He’s not wrong there. I spread my hands.

“Is there anything you want to know about my world?”

“Many things intrigue me. But if I may—earlier today, Erin mentioned to you that our system of leveling is similar to your world?”

“Ah.”

I make a face. Erin and her big mouth. How can I even explain that to him?

“We…don’t level up in our world. Not at all. We can become better at things through practice, but we don’t level.”

“Not at all? Erin mentioned a game in conjunction with this fact. ‘Diablo’.”

It feels completely strange for an Antinium to start mentioning video games. I shake my head.

“That’s…it’s just a video game. A thing people play for fun, like chess. It’s not…”

I hesitate. Hold on, now.

“It has parallels to this world. Erin and I have both noticed it. The way this world operates with people leveling up—it has parallels to a game. But many things are different.”

“I see. But are the mechanics similar?”

“They are. I know the game—”

Hell, I lived Diablo III for a while. I was addicted until my damn parents made me quit.

“—But I couldn’t compare it to this world. I don’t know how the class system works or how leveling works.”

“It is considered a mystical element of our world as well. Most people understand the mechanics, but there is no consensus on the reason behind our leveling or advancement.”

Really? I frown.

“Can you explain some of the mechanics to me? From your perspective—a native’s perspective, that is.”

Klbkch nods. He taps a finger on his arm a few times, a dry, clicking noise. Then he speaks.

“Leveling is a means by which we grow stronger. As we take interest in certain activities, we gain classes. By pursuing these activities we gain more levels in a class. However, gaining levels grows exponentially more difficult as time goes on.”

I nod. That all squares with what I understand.

“Most people will end up around Level 20 in one class over the course of their life. Few individuals reach Level 30. A handful in each town; a few dozen in a city. Few will ever reach Level 40; those who do are considered famous in their own right. Those who pass Level 50 in their class are generally known throughout the world.”

Again, more information I know, but Klbkch saying it is still useful.

“Is there anyone who’s ever hit a…maximum level? Level 100, for instance?”

Klbkch seems to frown. He has no eyebrows but—is it just my imagination? That’s the sense I get from him.

“I know of no individual with a level approaching one hundred. Legends speak of individuals with levels above eighty and ninety, but why would there be a limit of one hundred levels?”

“Because…”

I pause. Well, because it’s a round number? No; there’s a reason for it.

“Hold on. This is a concept from my world. Where I come from—video games usually have a level limit. Level 100 or 99 is usually that limit.”

Diablo III didn’t have that system. The level limit there was Level 70 with Paragon levels, but in this case it sounds like Level 100 would be the closest match. Klbkch shakes his head.

“That is odd, but intriguing. I have never known any individual with such a high level in any case. Most grow too old to continue leveling in time to pass Level 60 in any case.”

“Hold on. Old? What does age have to do with levels?”

I frown. Is leveling…age gated? That doesn’t sound quite right.

“Age is a known factor in leveling. Those who grow older level far more slowly, independently of their actual class level.”

“That doesn’t sound like any game I’ve played. Are you sure that’s what happens?”

Klbkch nods.

“I am one example of this occurrence. I have…declined in ability much over the many years I have been alive. I have lost levels, which is an occurrence that only occurs among the Antinium.”

“You lost your levels? Because you died, right?”

“Correct. During the First and Second Antinium Wars—and even before that—I have experienced death many times. I am able to be resurrected thanks to my Queen, but each time I lose ten levels from my classes.”

That sounds exactly like a video game. Resurrecting and losing levels? I scratch at the table with a fingernail.

“And you’re saying you’ve having a tougher time regaining your levels because you’re…older?”

Klbkch nods again. He seems to hesitate, and then he speaks.

“This is secret information. At the moment, I am a Level 21 [Swordslayer], a Level 18 [Commander], a Level 11 [Diplomat], and a Level 14 [Assassin]. However, at my peak I was a Level 44 [Swordslayer], and a Level 26 [Assassin].”

My jaw drops. If you add up the levels, Klbkch is saying he once had seventy levels altogether! Isn’t that on par with a legendary hero? No—a Named Adventurer is only around Level 40. He was stronger than that? Wait a second, if you add up the levels he has now…

“That’s…incredible.”

Klbkch nods. It’s not arrogance.

“My abilities were quite useful. However, you will note that my current self is far weaker than I was. Recently, I have struggled to regain even the levels I have lost, and I find it increasingly difficult to level up my [Swordslayer] class.”

“Right, but you still have over sixty levels total, don’t you?”

“Correct. But that is only cumulatively. As I have said, I am leveling slower due to my advanced age. I am quite old, and it is an established fact that older individuals gain levels slowly.”

Wait, but what Klbkch is saying doesn’t make sense to me. I tap the table as I speak.

“What about your cumulative levels? I mean, you were Level 70 in total, and now you’re Level 64 in total. Wouldn’t that explain the slower growth you’re experiencing?”

Klbkch pauses. Again, I get the impression he’s frowning at me.

“Why would cumulative levels affect my growth?”

“Because you’re nearing the level cap of one hundred. If it exists in this world. Look, in a video game leveling up requires more experience the higher level you are, right? Just like this world. But that cost is also based on your total number of levels, not just a single class’s level.”

Do they really not know this in this world? Does that explain lower levels? Gods, it might. The Antinium stares at me across the table skeptically.

“That conclusion requires a number of suppositions that cannot be substantiated. I am not sure your belief that there is a maximum level in this world is correct. Moreover, why would each class count towards this total?”

“Why does age count towards leveling?”

I shoot a question back at Klbkch. Okay, it’s a cheap debate trick, but I feel like I’m on to something.

“The problem I’m hearing with your world is that everyone assumes you slow down in leveling due to age. But what if that was just because older people have a lot of other classes?”

The Antinium is silent for a long moment.

“Most individuals do not level past Level 20 to begin with. Few attain a cumulative level past fifty, even with other classes.”

“Because it gets harder to level up! And people think it’s age, but—okay, let’s say you’re a Level 20 [Butcher], but you have ten other levels in…I don’t know, [Dancer]. That means that the system would treat you as a Level 30 person when it comes to leveling up, slowing your growth. And that also means that adventurers, generals…everyone is stunting their growth and maximum level by taking on needless classes!”

I point at Klbkch. My heart is racing with excitement.

“You aren’t leveling up because you have needless classes. You were stronger when you were younger because you only had two classes, and you focused on one more than the other. Think, Klbkch. Can you name any other individuals who only had a few classes?”

He’s silent for a long time. Then Klbkch looks up.

“The first Grand Queen. She…she was Level 79. She was a [Supreme Matriarch] – a special class gained from advancing in the [Queen] class for centuries. She…she was extraordinary among my people because she continued to level even in her later years.”

“My god.”

I have so many questions. But I have to continue.

“Okay. Then—damn, we need more information. Do you know if your Grand Queen had stopped leveling? Or was she continuing to gain levels? Did she have any other classes?”

Klbkch pauses. He lowers his head, as if he’s in…pain? As if the memory hurts him.

“She was focused. She only truly desired one class, and never took any other. She was so dedicated to leading us that…yes; she had only one other class, although I barely recall it.”

“That’s why she got to such a high level. The exponential difficulty of leveling was working against her of course, but she would never have gotten to that level if she didn’t focus on one class.”

I think I’m smiling. I don’t have levels—I might not ever have them anymore—but we’ve figured out something huge. This information—could I give it to the Gnolls? Hold on, it’s not that useful unless you have people who can actually get to a high level, but…no, it’s still frickin’ big.

All at once Klbkch stands up. I flinch, but he’s not looking at me. He stares out a window.

“I…we must confirm this. This information—if it is true, it changes much. That it was not discovered—”

“I guess if most people never level up as much, it wouldn’t be an issue. And someone who’s high-level might not realize they’re nearing their level cap. Plus, it might be a softcap.”

“Softcap?”

“It’s another idea from my world’s games. It means that there’s no hard stop when you get to a certain point, like Level 100, but afterwards continuing becomes impractical. So let’s say there’s a softcap on Level 100. It means that after that point you can continue leveling, but advancement will be even slower.”

Klbkch begins to walk back and forth, like I was doing. I watch him move—he’s got to be agitated.

“That adds credence to your statement. In advanced years, leveling is often cause for celebration.”

“Is there any way we can corroborate this information? Prove it, somehow?”

“My situation is unique to my nature, and I do not have access to information about other Prognugators and Queens.”

“Why not ask a local, then? You said Selys was in Liscor?”

Klbkch nods.

“She is in the park with Mrsha.”

“The park? Well, can we talk to her?”

“Let us go at once.”

—-

When Klbkch opens the door for me, I blink at the snowy landscape. The snow is knee deep outside.

“What the hell happened out here?”

The Antinium walks out with me, striding through the snow as I shut the door to Erin’s inn.

“I believe the effects of alcohol on the Frost Faeries led them to increase the amount of snow that fell overnight.”

“Goddamn it, Erin.”

“I would appreciate it if you did not use that expression.”

I hesitate, and look at Klbkch.

“Oh, right.”

Gods are real. When I think of that—it makes the revelation of leveling seem pale in comparison. I still can’t believe no one in this world realizes there’s a level cap. But if most people never level that high up, and the few who do just think they’re ceasing to level due to age…

“What can you tell me about the God?”

“Very little. I only know what my people know. And I would prefer not to speak of it in any case.”

“Why?”

Klbkch looks at me.

“Because even speaking of Gods gives them power.”

American Gods. Neil Gaiman. Or—alternatively, Small Gods, Terry Pratchett. My mind races. I—I close my mouth and walk with Klbkch in the snow, thinking.

It’s only a few minutes before we reach Liscor’s gates, despite the heavy snow. The guards recognize Klbkch in sight and call out to him. He waves. We walk on. Klbkch leads me down the streets of Liscor, and I look around at the bustling city.

You’d never imagine it was just attacked a few weeks ago. While this place isn’t New York, it’s hardly a small town either. The city feels…well, it feels big. Populated. Liscor is bigger than Celum or Esthelm, despite being enclosed on all four sides by those massive walls*.

*Talk about fortifications. Apparently, all Drake cities have these gigantic walls, although Liscor’s are second only to the famous Walled Cities. If the gates hadn’t been left open during the undead attack, I can’t imagine even a hundred thousand of them would have been able to break into Liscor. Not without siege weapons. Undead siege weapons…? A giant?

It’s either because he’s an Antinium or because he’s a Senior Guardsman—probably both—but Klbkch and I walk in a circle of space even on the most crowded of streets. Surprisingly, not all the looks he gets are unfriendly, either. Some Drakes and Gnolls nod to the Antinium, and Klbkch exchanges greetings with several people he knows by name. It’s actually me that gets more dirty looks.

The Antinium turns down another street.

“Where are we going?”

“To a playground, I believe. In the park. Selys has taken Mrsha there.”

Sure enough, the street widens and then I find myself staring at the oddest of sights. In the center of the city is…a park. A big one, at least, for an enclosed city like this. And there’s a playground occupying a part of it as well.

“What the hell?”

It’s a playground. And those are…trees. And grass, growing right next to the cobblestones that line the circular perimeter of the park. That’s normal. Yeah, parks, trees in a city with walls. I can see that.

But the playground catches my eye. Because it is not like a Human playground. Human playgrounds aren’t this cool.

It’s a…jungle gym. At least, that was what it was. But some mad architect took one look at the plans and decided to make a playground for children that would give any anxious parent a heart attack.

Long tunnels of smooth, polished wood connect towers that spiral upwards like a miniature castle. Monkey bars are set twenty feet in the air, above a floor that you have to climb up a long rope just to get to. Even as I watch, a Gnoll cub slides down a slide that curves downwards over thirty feet, dropping the kid down towards the ground in a long, spiraling journey.

The towering construction of wood and stone goes up four stories high. It has separate rooms with glass windows for children to occupy and play in—walls with grips that any climbing gym in my world would envy—even a huge rope bridge which sways and wobbles high over my head.

I know my mouth is gaping. I stare at the giant tower and I want to climb it. But while the child in me dreams of swinging and jumping around high up there, the practical part of me wonders what the hell happens if someone falls? There are so many ways to topple off—that damn rope bridge has huge gaps in it! A fall from that high ends up in death no matter how soft the grass is.

And then, just as I’m imagining that scenario—a kid slips. I see a Drake child overbalance and tumble off the side. I open my mouth to shout and I dash forwards, but I’ll be too slow, I know it.

But then—the young Drake’s body pauses as he falls through the air. I watch in incredulity as the air around the kid seems to freeze, and he slows down to a crawl. He softly lands on the ground and laughs.

I stare, and then hear laughter. Some Drakes are laughing at me, not the kid. I guess the look on my face must be hilarious.

“Please do not be alarmed. The magical spells on this playing area are cast by a Wistram mage and checked upon each year.”

Klbkch walks over to me and I stare at him. He nods at the playground and the Drakes and Gnolls walking around and enjoying this natural retreat in the center of their city.

“It is an expensive construction, but one the city council devoted funds to as a matter of public benefit. I am told the Walled Cities have similar constructions with an even greater degree of magical enchantments.”

“Why the hell do you need something like this?”

I point at the playground. One of the Drake parents gives me a dirty look, and I watch my mouth.

“Due to the unique geography of this landscape, the residents require a place to relax and enjoy themselves when confined to the city during the spring months.”

“Right, I read about that. But…huh. It’s just like my world. We have parks in our cities as well. If not so…close to other buildings.”

“Indeed? That is interesting. Ah, there is Selys.”

Klbkch points to a familiar Drake and a bundle of white fur. Mrsha is swinging on some bars way too high for me to feel comfortable about, laughing with a bunch of other Gnoll kids. Two groups of parents are watching their offspring play with Mrsha without any worries—I see the Gnoll parents eying her fur, but they make no comment.

“Ryoka! Klbkch?”

Selys greets the two of us with some surprise.

“Did you come to check up on Mrsha? I told you I’d take her out for the day. Unless…Erin’s done with her exploration?”

“No, not yet. Actually Selys, we wanted to talk to you.”

“To me?”

Selys looks at me, surprised. I nod.

“Can we sit somewhere?”

“Oh, of course. There are some benches over there. Mrsha? We’re going over there?”

High above us, Mrsha lets go of one of the bars and waves a paw. She looks so happy up there, just like one of the kids, immersed in the adventure of a life time. Like any other Gnoll cub—except for the fur.

I leave her behind and sit with Selys and Klbkch. It’s a cold day, but at least there’s a bit of sun coming through the clouds at the moment. Funny, it seems warmer in this park. Must be all the kids running about or…an enchantment over the entire place? Maybe it’s just my imagination.

“So, what can I help you with?”

Klbkch looks at me. I guess he wants me to explain. All of this makes sense to me, but to a native of this world, this must be like finding out the earth is round, or…or that the planets revolve around the sun.

Hell, I didn’t know I was going be pulling a Galileo today.

Slowly, I explain my theory about leveling to Selys. She stares at me with increasing incredulity until she guffaws as I get to the part about cumulative leveling.

“What? Are you serious, Ryoka? Levels don’t work like that! Everyone knows you level slower as you age—it’s because we’re running out of energy, not some weird limit!”

She waves a claw at me, still chuckling. I frown at her.

“How do you know? What makes you so sure?”

“I know because—well, look, just because people don’t level when they’re older doesn’t mean there’s some limit!”

Selys frowns as she tries to explain. She frowns, and then brightens.

“Take old Peslas, for example. He’s an [Innkeeper], like Erin. Have you heard of him?”

A bit of memory flares inside my head.

“He’s the one who runs another inn, isn’t he? The one the Gold-rank adventurers are staying at?”

“That’s right. Well, he’s above Level 30 in the [Innkeeper] class, so his inn is one of the best in the city. But he hasn’t stopped leveling because he can’t! He’s old, and he just doesn’t want to work harder.”

“What do you mean?”

Selys rolls her eyes and wraps her tail around one leg of the bench.

“Not everyone wants to work their tail off until they can get to a higher level, Ryoka. Some people decide they’re at a good level and stop. For instance, Peslas has a nice inn and lots of guests, but he doesn’t work that hard. And he’s old. So he levels once every couple of years. He leveled up six years ago and threw a huge party. My grandmother and I were invited to it.”

“But he could be leveling slower because of his total level as well, not just because he’s taking it easy and he’s old.”

“Yeah, but…well, he doesn’t have that many levels in other classes.”

Selys looks uncertain. I shake my head.

“But every level counts, Selys, don’t you see? Someone who has only one class that she levels like Erin will level up fast. She told me she only has a few levels in [Singer] and [Warrior], but how many do you have? How many does Peslas have?”

Now the [Receptionist] frowns to herself. She mutters as Klbkch and I watch Mrsha running around with another Gnoll kid.

“Well, I know he was bragging—he talks a lot about his classes—I know he said he was a [Warrior] when he was younger. He got to Level 16 while serving in the army, so there’s that. And he has levels in [Cook] and [Bartender] because he used to do that before he became an [Innkeeper]…but he doesn’t have many in each. Just a few levels.”

“Does he have any other classes?”

“Oh! I remember! He’s got a few levels in [Singer] and [Dancer] too! He was so happy about that—he got a good Skill that helps him sing…”

Selys’ face turns pale. I nod, and Klbkch nods too.

“One or two levels here and there. In this world, it’s not that much. In fact, people like to level, don’t they?”

“It’s so useful. And we get Skills even if it’s one or two levels.”

Selys mumbles the words. I nod.

“But that slows you down. It takes away from the maximum level you can achieve. It hurts you, but no one realizes it because everyone thinks it’s due to age.”

“And few people have the desire to reach higher levels in any case. So the issue is never noticed. In any case, why would anyone assume there is an artificial limit?”

Only someone from another world would assume that, and only because older video games like Pokemon had hardcoded limits to their system that prevented them from going past Level 100. Why would a system in this world have that kind of limit? It would only make sense if someone created the system…

Klbkch looks at me. I nod. My heart is racing.

Selys shakes her head repeatedly, as if dazed.

“This is huge. This is…do you know what this means if this is true?”

“It will affect all in small ways, and affect few in huge ways.”

Klbkch said the words softly as Mrsha nipped at a Drake’s tail and elicited a shout from the Drake and her parents. I consider what he’s saying.

For many, I guess this information wouldn’t be too useful. Not if they don’t have the ambition to level up faster. But maybe it would allow everyone to reach Level 30, rather than waste their early levels on useless classes. It would lead to specialization—but most importantly, it would allow the people who reach the high levels in their classes to become even stronger.

“This information could change the world.”

I look at Klbkch. He looks at me.

“Fifty thousand gold pieces?”

“Perhaps.”

“What are you talking about?”

Selys looks between us. She’s trembling. Her world must be shaking. I feel sort of bad for her, but this information helps her as well.

Klbkch nods. And then he nods again.

“What Ryoka Griffin describes is exactly what I am experiencing. I had feared it was due to my age—or that I was becoming weaker—but I have ceased to level in my main class because I have too many other classes. It may be age, but Ryoka’s theory is equally sound, perhaps more so given…certain factors. I believe she is correct.”

“Dead gods.”

Selys breathes the words like a prayer, only no one prays in this world because the gods are dead. Except there is one.

Klbkch nods one last time. He’s like a creepy bobblehead.

“I must confirm this. There is information in my Hive which I am able to sort through. Data on warriors, people in positions of note, unusual classes, and so forth. I will review several hundred individuals and see if the results match your conclusions, Ryoka Griffin. If it is correct, this secret you have uncovered will be valuable beyond belief.”

I nod. My heart is pounding. Information that could change the world. Klbkch glances at Selys.

“This knowledge must not spread until it is certain, and even then, should be kept quiet. For now. Are we in agreement?”

Selys nods vigorously.

“Lips sealed. Completely.”

But then her face falls.

“Ah! But I’ve got so many classes! I thought—everyone gets a few levels in one or two classes but no one cares about that! No one—does that mean I’ll never reach a high level?”

Her face is stricken. Klbkch nods slowly.

“It will be…difficult for me as well. If I am unable to reach the same heights, it would be best for me to rectify the situation.”

I eye Klbkch. He’s the only one who can lose levels, but if he’s suggesting what I think he is, that’s insane.

“For now, just don’t level up if you don’t want to. You can refuse to level up or take a class.”

Selys shakes her head distractedly.

“I never understood why that was possible. I thought you’d have to be crazy to turn down a level or not gain a new class.”

I nod. It’s not a conclusion anyone would make if they didn’t understand games. Is it a trap for the people in this world? Or just an oversight? Does anyone know this secret? Some people must, but they would hide it because it’s so valuable, wouldn’t they?

“I think—yeah, I think if my suspicions are true, it’s for this exact reason that you can refuse to level up.”

A system based on a game, except no one knows the rules. My spine tingles. Gods. One is still alive.

We don’t say much after that. Selys and Klbkch just stare at each other and she mutters about classes while he…goes through his Hive’s information. I’m not sure how he does it. Is it stored in some location, or are the Antinium all carrying bits of the data?

For now, I don’t ask. But after half an hour Klbkch looks towards one of the walls.

“Something is happening.”

People—Drakes and Gnolls, and even some of the Humans—are pointing and walking in one direction. I stare at Selys and Klbkch.

“What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know. Do you want to see?”

Klbkch and I look at each other. We’re thinking the same thing without saying it out loud. If there’s a crowd and something going on which attracts attention, there’s probably one person—one girl at the heart of it.

People are clustering around the southern gate, and I hear people exclaiming and laughing. Klbkch, Selys, and I make our way through the crowd, Selys holding Mrsha so the small Gnoll doesn’t get lost. We get close to the southern walls—close enough to hear the laughter and exclamations—but the people are packed so densely around the gates that there’s no way through.

“Up there.”

Klbkch points towards the battlements. The citizenry aren’t allowed up there, but his position as a Senior Guardsman gets us up there. And that’s when we see it.

“Oh my god.”

At first, it’s just an odd shape moving around in the snow. You can see from a long distance on the battlements, and that’s how I see Erin. And Toren. And then, when you look closer, you see it.

The [Guardsmen] on the wall are laughing so hard they can barely stand up straight. I stare down at Erin and Toren as they…traverse the snow. Yup. Just when I think she can’t get any stranger, Erin does something like this.

I look at Selys. She’s covering her mouth as she tries not to guffaw. Klbkch is just staring. I think he’s in shock.

Someone has to say it. I stare down at Erin and shake my head.

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

2.42

She was a [Princess]. She was royalty. She was heir to one of the glorious kingdoms of Terrandria, and she had seen more in her eighteen years of life than most commoners could hope of glimpsing in their entire lives.

And she understood people. People were dreary, dull, and most had small ambitions and smaller minds. But Lyonette du Marquin couldn’t understand the person called Erin Solstice. She was a mystery.

Of course, to look at Erin, one would immediately notice her plain looks. She had a modicum of attractiveness perhaps; her teeth were not crooked and she had no glaring disfiguring features, but she was no courtly beauty.

And indeed, her class was mundane as they came. She was an [Innkeeper]. Only…she wasn’t just an innkeeper.

She played chess, the game of [Strategists] and the nobility. She played it better than anyone Lyonette had seen, and that alone was inconceivable. But more than that, she treated with the lesser races as if they were people, and she employed a vicious, horrible, ghastly undead skeleton as if there were nothing abhorrent about the idea!

And yet, and yet. She was also kind. Grudgingly, Lyonette admitted that fact as she broke her fast on the thick gravy and biscuits. She dipped a steaming chunk of biscuit in the meaty sauce and consumed it ravenously.

This was not the elegant food she dined on nightly in her home. But it was…an acceptable repast nonetheless. That was one small point in Erin Solstice’s favor.

Something snuffled at Lyonette’s leg and she looked down. The young Gnoll cub sat on the ground underneath her table, staring up at Lyonette with wide, curious eyes.

Another point. At least Erin Solstice, for all her myriad flaws, was kind to children. Even a Gnoll child was not without merit.

And this one—

Lyonette glanced around, but the Drake female and Solstice were talking, and the odd City Runner was talking with the horrible Antinium. And the skeleton was in the kitchen. So Lyonette broke off some of her biscuit, dipped it in gravy, and lowered her hand under the table.

Mrsha immediately glomped onto Lyonette’s hand and licked it, which made the girl laugh. Quietly. She’d always loved the dogs that the [Kennel Master] raised, and the Gnoll child was more than a mere animal. She—it had broken Lyonette’s heart to hear the tale. Not for the Gnoll tribe of course; they were ghastly beasts. But the Gnoll child had looked so sad…

What was she doing here? Lyonette frowned as she wiped her fingers and resumed eating. She should be headed north, with as much coin as she could take. Lady Magnolia would surely take her in, despite Solstice’s lies. And then…

And then, Lyonette could find her true calling somewhere else. She could search for adventure, rather than continue being trapped by mundanity.

She would not escape without cost, though. The humiliation Lyonette had already suffered was beyond forgiveness, and worst—she had another class.

[Barmaid]. Level 3. And she had gained a Skill. [Lesser Stamina]. It made napping more difficult, but on the other hand it allowed Lyonette the energy to complete the many irrelevant tasks Solstice forced upon her.

That was the greatest affront of all. Her royal class had been ruined by the addition of a common class. It was an unforgivable occurrence; Lyonette had been sullied. If her father were to learn of this—

Lyonette’s stomach clenched. What did she care of her father? What did he care of her? He had probably only sent search parties as far as the shores of Terrandria, never imagining she would have the courage to book herself passage to Izril. And she had survived monsters, starvation, and even the horrible mob that had cast her out of Liscor to get this far.

She was only staying at this inn because she had no choice. But soon, she would be restored to her rightful position. And perhaps then she would extract some form of retribution upon that damnable skeleton.

A [Barmaid] class. Of all the insults! Lyonette scowled as Mrsha sniffed at her feet and recoiled. It was unacceptable! She was not destined to wait upon commoners like a useless peasant!

But she had leveled up. There was that. Lyonette stared at her food, suddenly less hungry. It had been so long, she’d almost forgotten what leveling up was like. That had been nice.

“Perhaps…”

Lyonette hesitated, and shook her head. No, it was ridiculous. But a thought nagged at her mind as she pushed back her plate. It was intolerable of course, being ordered around, being subservient to another. It was ridiculous that she should level in any class other than [Princess]. But…

But it was better than being useless.

—-

“So, I was thinking, I need to make my inn more popular, you know?”

Erin gestured around her inn as she spoke to Selys. She wasn’t trying to be mean of course; she had a nice inn. Everything had been built by the Antinium, and she even had glass windows. Even Peslas’ inn didn’t have glass windows. But—it wasn’t enough.

“I mean, I’ve got that faerie flower drink, but I need to work on that. I was really thinking, though, that I need more stuff.”

“Stuff?”

Selys looked at Erin blankly. Erin nodded and tried to explain.

“Remember the acid flies? Well, the Antinium loved those. I had a full inn some nights, and I made tons of gold coins! But now its winter, I’ve got nothing special to sell. And I don’t get many guests. Plus, I made a bit of money selling the acid fly acid, you know?”

“Don’t remind me.”

“But Selys, just think about it! It was so useful—it helped kill Skinner, and you can melt undead with it really fast. Even if it does smell.”

“Where are you going with this, Erin?”

“Well…I was thinking I could sell stuff to adventurers.”

Selys eyed Erin suspiciously.

“What kind of stuff?”

“You know, like seed pod cores. I’ve still got some and they scare those Rock Crabs away. Plus, if I find more boom bark I could maybe sell that.”

“Didn’t Toren blow up your inn with that?”

“Okay, maybe not boom bark. But it could be good business, you know! I just need to go exploring.”

Selys glanced out one window. The snowfall from last night had stopped, but the snow was so deep that there were practically no features to the landscape. Even opening the door this morning had necessitated quite a bit of arm strength on Erin’s part.

“Exploring? In this weather? Erin…”

“I’ll get Toren to guide me. I think Mrsha’s scared of him, anyways.”

Both females looked over and saw Mrsha prowling around after Toren as he mechanically swept and cleaned up the common room. Every time he turned towards her she would scoot under a table, but she kept eyeing him warily.

“Your skeleton scares me, Erin. Okay, if he’s with you I guess you can always let him fight monsters and run away. But be careful, alright? Shield Spiders still make their nests and [Dangersense] doesn’t cover all kinds of traps.”

“Sure, no problem. But that means I’ll have to leave Mrsha with Ryoka.”

Erin looked over at Ryoka. She was still staring at her plate, although she’d finished eating. Klbkch was watching her, and it looked like Ryoka was in deep thought.

“Do you think that’s wise?”

“Well, Ryoka did bring Mrsha this far.”

“No, I mean, look at her.”

Selys pointed back to Mrsha. The Gnoll cub had lost some of her fear of Toren. She was reaching out and even as the skeleton turned, she grabbed his ankle curiously. Toren whirled, and Mrsha fled, yelping in terror.

“Toren! Don’t scare her!”

Erin went to cuddle Mrsha. She looked at Selys.

“What’s the matter?”

“She needs entertainment, Erin. She can’t stay in an inn all day, and she needs a minder, not…”

Selys nodded to Ryoka. The other girl was still motionless. Toren approached and tentatively reached for her plate. The other girl made no response, even when he waved a bony hand in front of her face.

“Right. Well, what should I do? Maybe I could leave her with Krshia?”

But that would mean she was around Brunkr, and Erin didn’t like that.

“Leave the child with me.”

Both Selys and Erin turned. Lyonette had stood up. She raised her nose at the two of them imperiously.

“What was that, Lyon?”

The girl’s eyes flashed, but she made no comment about her name. Erin liked the sound of Lyon better than Lyonette, anyways.

“I am bored. I will look after the child—Mrsha.”

Erin and Selys exchanged a look. Erin tried to make her tone friendly.

“Well, that’s really nice of you to offer, Lyonette. But…uh, I think…um…no.”

Lyonette scowled.

“Why not? I am quite capable of looking after a child.”

She glared as both Drake and Human exchanged a dubious look. Selys coughed into one claw.

“I can take Mrsha, Erin. I’ve got a day off and besides, there’s a playground in the city. She can have fun with other kids there.”

“A playground?”

Erin had never seen anything like that, but then, she’d never bothered to explore the city fully. Selys nodded.

“She’ll be safe with me. And I’m sure she’d like to have fun, wouldn’t you, Mrsha?”

The Gnoll cub looked up at Selys. She wagged her tail a bit and sniffed at the Drake as she crouched down.

“She’s sort of like a puppy, don’t you think?”

Erin whispered to Selys as the Drake scratched Mrsha behind the ears. Selys shrugged.

“Gnoll cubs are pretty animal-like. And Mrsha’s young; I wouldn’t worry about it. Drake hatchlings like to bite everything they can fit their mouths around. Aren’t Human children different too?”

Erin thought of screaming babies and toddlers who would eat bugs and sand and poo. She nodded.

“Well…if you don’t mind, that would be great, Selys! Thanks! Then Lyonette can help me and Toren look for cool stuff.”

Lyonette’s brows snapped together.

“What was that?”

“Hey Toren!”

Erin called out to the skeleton. He looked over at her.

“We’re going out! Get your sword and put the dishes away, okay? Lyonette’s coming too!”

The skeleton appeared to perk up when Erin mentioned the sword, but when she mentioned Lyonette he seemed to sag. He walked into the kitchen as Erin went over to Ryoka.

“Hey Ryoka, is it okay if Selys takes Mrsha for the day?”

“Mm.”

Ryoka didn’t look at Erin. Erin hesitated.

“And uh, I’m going outside. With Lyonette and Toren. I’m going exploring.”

“Mhm.”

The other girl’s face didn’t change. She was clearly deep in thought, or sleeping with her eyes open. Erin hesitated.

“I will inform her, Erin Solstice.”

Klbkch nodded from his seat. Erin smiled at him.

“Oh, thanks Klbkch! But are you sure you want to stay?”

The Antinium nodded.

“I would like to chat with Ryoka Griffin. Take care while you are exploring. Do not hesitate to run.”

“Don’t worry! I’m going to bring a frying pan and a knife.”

Klbkch stared at Erin. She gave him a thumbs up.

“See you later!”

—-

“It’s cold. And wet.”

Lyonette complained loudly as she followed Erin and Toren through the snow. The skeleton was breaking a path through the deep snow, but even so, Erin had to fight just to keep moving. The snow was deep today, even for someone used to Michigan winters.

Erin had seen snow that went knee-deep, but she couldn’t remember ever seeing waist-deep snow. But in some of the valleys, the snow had accumulated to the point where it made progress impossible.

“Why are we even out here?”

Lyonette complained even more loudly Toren slipped in the snow and face-planted. Erin sighed. She was already regretting taking Lyonette with her, but it was either that or inflict her on Ryoka. And Ryoka would probably kick Lyonette in the face.

Why hadn’t she left Lyonette with Ryoka?

“Come on Lyon, it’s not that bad.”

Erin’s foot found a divot in the ground and she windmilled her arms wildly to stay upright. Lyon stared at her in disgust. But instead of her usual snide remarks she folded her arms.

“Do not mistake me; I am grateful for your assistance in my time of need. But I am not your slave, to be ordered around at your whim.”

“I didn’t say you were. But we’re all working in this inn together, Lyon. I own it, but I need your help.”

“And how is this helping your inn, pray?”

Lyon gestured at the white landscape. She stared at Toren as the skeleton sloughed ahead of them.

“It will take the better part of a day to get anywhere. And what are we even looking for?”

Erin shrugged.

“I dunno. Hunting monsters? Gathering mushroom and rare stuff? Maybe there’s a mine around here somewhere.”

Erin had no idea how mining worked. And the look Lyonette gave her told her that she probably wasn’t going find any gemstones any time soon.

“You. Wish to hunt monsters?”

“Well, want is a strong word. But Toren’s got a sword. And armor.”

Erin pointed at Toren. The skeleton had stopped to watch the two girls argue. He was slowly sinking deeper into the snow as his holey bronze armor weighed him down. Lyonette sniffed.

“That thing fills me with no confidence.”

“Well…I have a frying pan.”

Erin lifted it to prove her point. Lyonette stared at the frying pan.

“…Are you unwell in the head? How will a frying pan kill monsters?”

“Hey! I killed a ton of zombies with a frying pan! Well, not this pan because they get really gross when the brains and stuff get on it but—”

“Wait, you killed a zombie? By yourself?”

“I had help. There was this undead attack and I had to kill a bunch of undead. Some Antinium Workers came to help me, and a lot of people died. Oh, and there was this horrible huge flesh-worm-thing that attacked. And a lot of zombies and ghouls and even these Crypt Lords tried to kill me, so yeah.”

Erin was aware that Lyon was gaping at her. She cleared her throat, slightly embarrassed.

“Anyways, if it’s just a Shield Spider or a Rock Crab we’re fine. I can scare away Rock Crabs and Toren and I can kill Shield Spiders.”

“You can!?”

“Well, yeah. You just hit them and keep dodging their fangs. And legs. Oh, and don’t fall into their pit traps.”

This was all normal to Erin. But Lyonette stared at her as if this was all completely new to her. Which, come to that, it was.

“But—Silver-rank adventurers take on requests to slay Shield Spiders!”

“Yeah?”

Erin scratched her head. Lyon stared at her. The silence lengthened until Erin felt it was time to move.

“Okay, we’ve got to go. Toren, take us to the place you found the mushrooms!”

She turned and began to follow Toren. Lyonette followed them after a few seconds.

It was mercifully quiet for a while, but Erin was beginning to suspect that Lyonette, annoying though she’d been, was right. After about thirty minutes of struggling in the snow, they were only a hundred feet away from the inn.

“Alright, new plan! We’re going into the city!”

Of course, when they got in sight of the gates and the Drake Guardsman on duty, Erin realized that there was another problem.

“Oh, right. Lyonette can’t come inside and neither can you, Toren.”

Both skeleton and [Princess] gave Erin a flat look. She smiled and scratched at her head.

“Um. Okay, Lyonette, you stay outside with Toren. I’ll be back soon!”

Lyonette stared at Erin as the girl shook snow off her boots and proceeded down the freshly cleared streets of Liscor. Then she looked at Toren.

The skeleton stood where Erin had left him. He was staring at the snow. Just staring. Lyonette knew the skeleton’s features never changed, but she got the distinct impression he was upset. He was gripping his sword rather tightly.

Slowly, she edged away from the skeleton and then looked at the guard. The Drake on duty stared ahead, boredom written into every inch of his body and his slowly wagging tail. He’d eyed Toren once, but apparently the guards knew about Erin’s undead helper. Slowly, he scratched at his butt.

Lyonette decided to stand right where she was. After a few minutes of waiting in the cold snow, she sneezed.

—-

“Snowshoes?”

Krshia looked blankly at Erin. The Human sneezed again and nodded.

“Yeah. Do you have any?”

Krshia scratched at her furry chin. Today Brunkr was nowhere to be seen, and she’d told Erin that he was still sulking.

“There is not much call for them outside, yes? The roads, they are melted clear with magic spell and many feet. And it does not usually snow so deeply.”

“Yeah. Um. Oops.”

Erin recalled several drunk faeries laughing as the flew out of her inn. She had the feeling that might have precipitated the sudden weather change.

Krshia eyed Erin, but shrugged.

“I may be able to find some. But none that will fit Human feet, yes? They will require resizing. And certainly none for your undead…thing.”

“Oh, I’ve got [Advanced Crafting], and I only need a pairs for me and L—uh, I just need two. Toren can run pretty fast through the snow since, you know, he doesn’t get tired.”

And the snow had a lot less mass to constrict in his case. Skeletons were thin.

Krshia nodded.

“But you will still be quite slow, yes?”

“Yes? I mean yeah, that is a problem.”

Erin frowned. She wanted to get around, at least so she could do some exploring and maybe gather some rare mushrooms like the ones Toren had found. Maybe she could sell them to the faeries for actual gold this time, or use them in a dish. But it was hard to explore when you moved at a glacial pace.

The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] thought as she and Erin stood together in front of her stall. It was nice to be on speaking terms with Krshia again. She always had good advice for Erin.

Let’s see. If snow shoes were too slow, what was faster?

“How about skis?”

“Skis?”

Erin tried to explain. Krshia looked blank.

“Snow shoes we have, but these…pieces of wood seem too fragile. Gnolls would not use such things. Perhaps a Drake might have such devices.”

The tone in her voice suggested that only a Human would be that crazy, and even then, possibly only Erin.

“Well…darn. Maybe I could make some, though. Can I buy some wood? I mean, it’d be hard since Lyonette doesn’t know how to ski. And Toren can’t either…too bad we can’t all just—”

Erin paused. Her train of thought stopped, as she switched transportation methods. Okay, skiing might be a bit impractical, but there was another easy way to travel in the snow, wasn’t there?

An idea sparked in Erin’s mind.

“Hey Krshia, do you have any sleds? Can I buy one? No—can I buy one and a lot of wood? And some nails? I have a hammer. Ooh, and some leather. Or maybe rope. And do you have bells?”

The Gnoll frowned at her.

“Wood is expensive in the winter, Erin Solstice. I would not ask, but I have not the coin to make promises to other shopkeepers. Are you sure you have the money?”

“I’ve got gold. Lots of gold.”

Erin reached into her belt pouch and pulled out a handful of gold coins. She slapped them on Krshia’s counter.

Krshia’s eyes bulged. Erin smiled sheepishly.

“I saved up. And Halrac tips a lot. So about those bells…”

—-

“T-there you are!”

Toren looked up at the sound of Lyonette’s voice. The grinding impatience and simmering resentment in what would have been his heart—if he had one—faded for a moment when he saw Erin. At last, his stupid mistress would give him an order and hopefully he would soon be released.

But his hopes were dashed when he saw what Erin was carrying. The girl was trying to lug a huge pile of various types of wood as she dragged a wooden sled on the ground. She had a box of nails and screws precariously next to a saw on top of the load.

“Hey Lyonette! Hey Toren! Sorry I’m late! It took a while to get all this stuff!”

Lyon stumbled towards Erin, her teeth chattering.

“I’m freezing. You’ve been gone for an hour!”

“Sorry, sorry. I really am. But look! We just need to get this back to the inn and we can build some really cool stuff with it!”

“Build? Build what?”

Toren wanted to know that too. Erin was smiling oddly, and he didn’t like the look she was giving him. It was almost as if she was measuring him, and the skeleton’s nonexistent blood ran cold when he saw the bells.

He wanted to run. Something about the glint in Erin’s eyes made him want to run.

“Hey Toren, come here for a second, will you?”

—-

It was a cold, snowy day around Liscor, and on the continent of Izril in general. The snow had fallen hard last night, and so even the most determined travelers like City Runners and caravans following the main roads were moving at a snail’s pace.

The Frost Faeries considered this entertaining. They laughed and threw snowballs at one poor Gnoll who was dragging a toboggan filled with supplies across the snow. Yes, the snow could not be avoided. It was everywhere, making people’s lives a misery. The Frost Faeries felt smug at that thought.

But then—movement. From their position high overhead, the faeries saw something odd making its way across the snowy plains. They swooped down, keenly interested in anything unusual. And as they got closer their tiny jaws dropped and their eyes bulged.

They’d seen sleds before, of course. The Gnoll tribes used them for all kinds of transport, and sleighs were similarly used in colder weather. But this—this was different. No horse pulled the sled that had been mounted on skis, and indeed, this device alone was making quick headway in the deep snow. Because of what was pulling it.

A horse, fast as it might be, could only travel on relatively clear roads. The same went for a dog team; even the best dog sleds would have issues in waist-deep snow. But there was one creature that ignored all temperatures, which could run full-sprint for hours on end without tiring, and most importantly, couldn’t disobey orders.

“Mush, mush!”

Erin shouted happily as Toren pulled the sledge she’d built through the snow. The wide and long vehicle she’d constructed with the use of her [Advanced Crafting] Skill was six feet long and wide enough for both her and Lyonette to sit on it comfortably.

The skis she’d mounted on the bottom allowed the sledge to speed around even in deep snow, and Toren made it all work. The skeleton flailed his arms wildly as he ran through the deep snow, and Erin laughed as the reins she’d fastened to his body jingled and rang in the crisp air.

A leather harness for her skeleton, a sled for Erin and Lyonette—and they were speeding across the winter landscape with quite commendable speed. In truth, Toren could only pull the sledge about as fast as Erin could jog at the best of times, but it was a pleasant ride, and most importantly, Erin was riding and not fighting through the snow.

Erin flapped the reins again and Toren endeavored to run faster. She looked over at Lyonette and saw the girl had the same expression on her face as the Frost Faeries overhead had. A sort of slack-jawed stare with glazed eyes for the full effect.

“Isn’t it great?”

Lyonette stared at Erin. Her eyes were fixed on Toren. The skeleton was fighting his way through another thick drift of snow, his jaw gnashing furiously as he pulled the sledge up a hill.

“Go for it, Toren!”

From her position at the head of her ride, Erin stared across the open landscape. This, now, this was what she’d been missing. This was fun. She felt a song coming on, and began to sing, her voice carrying for miles around.

“Dashing through the snow, on a one-skeleton open sleigh, over the hills we go, laughing all the way!”

Erin’s voice echoed across the snowy landscape as the wind rushed past her head. She pointed.

“There! Go that way, Toren!”

She was pointing towards a cave opening in the distance. Toren change directions, and Erin whooped as she felt the sledge shift smoothly on the snow.

“Let us ride! We demand to join in!”

Erin looked up and Lyonette screamed as Frost Faeries flew down from overhead, laughing and pointing at Toren. They settled on the side of the sledge and for once Erin didn’t begrudge their presence.

“What song is this? We must sing along!”

“Sing! Sing for us!”

“Okay! Everyone join in!”

The faeries cheered and Lyonette stared at one as it landed on Erin’s head. The young woman thought of the few Christmas songs she knew by heart, and began to sing.

“You’d better not shout, you’d better not cry; better not pout, I’m telling you why! Santa Claus is coming to town!”

“Ooh, threats! Good!”

“Who is Santa Claus? Does he eat children?”

“Run faster, dead thing!”

Toren staggered as a snowball bounced off the back of his head. Erin looked at the Frost Faeries in surprise.

“Haven’t you heard of Santa Claus? Lyonette?”

No one had. And it was a bit too windy to explain about Santa, so Erin found herself switching songs.

“Oh, the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful! And since we’ve no place to go; let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!”

This was a song the Frost Faeries could get behind. They cheered and laughed and started singing along with Erin.

“Let it snow!”

“More snow! Let’s bury yon mountains, sisters!”

“What? Wait! Don’t do that!”

Erin shouted at the faeries as more snowflakes, heavy thick ones, began falling from the sky. The faeries looked at her. So did Lyonette.

“Who are you talking to?”

Erin pointed at a Frost Fairy.

“Her!”

Lyonette stared at the Frost Faerie, and then at Erin with the look of someone who clearly feared she was sharing a seat with someone who was insane. Erin remembered Lyonette couldn’t see the faeries.

“They’re faeries! You can’t see them but—they’re little blue people! They’ve got wings and they speak to me and Ryoka! They make it snow, but I’m telling them to stop!”

The other girl edged away from Erin. But the snow had begun to fall and it had also stopped as soon as Erin had complained. The rest of the sleigh ride was filled with more Christmas songs, most of which the faeries sang with Erin. The only one they hated was Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, because they thought he was a freak.

As they reached the cave, Erin leapt off the sledge, still arguing with the faeries.

“He was not a freak! He just had a red…shining nose, that’s all! It was probably magic!”

“Bah! He was an abomination! ‘Twas right of the other reindeer to shun him!”

“How bright was his nose? Bright enough to light up the sky?”

“Who is Santa Claus?”

“Oh hey, this is one of the caves where Toren found all those mushrooms, right Lyonette?”

The [Princess] stared at Erin.

“Um. Yes?”

“Good! Let’s go get some poisonous mushrooms!”

The faeries cheered and Erin walked into the cave. She ran out a few seconds later.

“Bear!”

It was a sleeping bear, but that was more than enough for Erin to retreat back to her sledge. She pointed at Toren. The skeleton had paused to squat in the snow, probably to take a break from the efforts of pulling the sled, and the jingling harness she had put on him.

“Toren, there’s a bear! You go in there!”

The skeleton brightened up considerably. He reached for his sword—Erin had made him leave his armor behind so he would move faster. She scowled at him.

“Don’t hurt the bear! Just get those mushrooms! And be quiet; don’t wake the bear up if you can help it!”

As she and Lyonette sat in the sledge, Erin listened to the faeries laughing overhead. Lyonette eyed the fuzzy blue shapes she identified as the dangerous and unpredictable Frost Sprites and ducked whenever any of them come close.

“Are we just gathering mushrooms?”

“Well, to begin with. We’ll visit all of those caves Toren found and see if we can’t find something cool, okay?”

Lyonette shrugged and sniffed. She wiped her nose, and eyed Toren as the skeleton skulked back out of the caves, holding two handfuls of discolored mushrooms.

“Are we going to take all of the mushrooms with us? How will we carry them?”

Erin snapped her fingers.

“You’re right!”

She waved at Toren and hissed at him.

“Toren! Get the rest of the mushrooms quick, will you? We’re going back to the inn! We need jars! Lots of jars! Ooh, and I can make us lunch!”

The skeleton twitched.

—-

“Are those…bees?”

The third cave Erin and Lyonette found after a hearty lunch harbored a strange sight. Erin cautiously peered into the depths of the large cavernous hole in the side of the mountain and stared at the shapes moving around in the darkness.

Lyonette hung back. Erin beckoned her closer, and the girl reluctantly approached. She was holding a ball of light—it turned out she knew the spell, even though she didn’t have the [Mage] class.

“I think those are bees. What do you think, Lyonette?”

The girl hesitated. She flinched as one of the shadows flew closer.

“They’re—they’re bugs! I didn’t think any were alive in the winter! Why do you even care? They’re horrible!”

“Yeah, but are they bees or wasps?”

Erin frowned at the bees. She thought they were bees. She could vaguely make out a certain fuzziness about them, and hornets looked different. More evil. So. Bees in the winter. It was certainly something she hadn’t expected to see, especially in a cave. But then, she supposed bees had to live somewhere. They didn’t migrate, after all. Or did they? Were these special winter bees?

The last three caves they’d visited had been uninhabited except for some plant life and mushrooms. Erin had made Toren scrape mold and fungi and pick mushrooms and put them into glass jars. She really doubted she’d do anything with the mold, but she was feeling scientific. And adventurous, which was why she hadn’t immediately run when she’d seen the flying insects in the darkness of the cave.

One of the faeries that had decided to make her own nest in Erin’s woolen hat hissed at the insects. It seemed to hear this and buzzed closer. As it’s features became clearer Erin and Lyonette backed up fast.

It was a bee. A big bee. In fact, it was the biggest and most terrifyingly large bee that Erin had ever seen in her life. She’d heard of the Japanese Giant Hornet which could grow longer than a human finger, but these bees were in a different category altogether.

They were as big as her entire hand—no, bigger. The bee buzzed closer and Erin saw a huge stinger and long legs, and the familiar yellow fuzzy patch around the black carapace of the bug. She froze in place as it approached, seemingly staring at the Frost Faerie on Erin’s head.

And it wasn’t alone. As if they had sensed the intruders, suddenly a swarm of bees began flying over towards the invaders. They were coming out a huge nest that was actually blocking a good part of the cave. The massive hive was anchored to the stone walls and Erin could hear a thrumming from within.

The lead bee buzzed closer and Lyon and Erin froze in place as it approached. Toren stared at the bee curiously, but without a hint of fear. In a situation like this, Erin considered the best move to make was not to aggravate the insect. Any sudden moves could make it angry, but fortunately Toren didn’t seem inclined to attack and Lyonette was scared stiff. They could back away without triggering—

“Wretched insect! Know your place! Begone!”

The Frost Faerie on Erin’s head flew up and smacked the bee on the head. Frost spread from where she’d touched the insect and it recoiled. The bees suddenly became agitated, and the Frost Faerie flew at them, screaming insults.

Erin didn’t need to see any more than that. She turned.

“Run!”

Lyonette was already gone. Toren watched as Erin ran out of the cave screaming and the Frost Faerie retreated, shout insults at the bees as they swarmed after her. The skeleton leisurely walked out of the cave; the bees totally ignored him as they chased the two Humans and one immortal outside.

Erin flung herself into the snow and tried to bury herself deep. Lyonette was doing the same. Above her, she heard the rest of the faeries shouting in outrage and a horrible, terrifying buzzing overhead.

After what seemed like an eternity of tinny voices shouting and buzzing confusion, Erin dared emerge from her snowy cover. She found several dead bees littering the snow around her—all of them frozen, and triumphant faeries laughing and chasing the few remaining bees into the hive.

“Take that, ye craven fools!”

“Trouble not the fae!”

It seemed like there was some definite antagonism between the species. And even as Erin watched, the faerie began eating one of the bees. They tore it apart and—

It took Erin quite some time to pull Lyonette out of the snow. The other girl just screamed and tried to wriggle further into the snow bank when Erin touched her. When she finally came out she was red-faced with the cold.

“I am not going in there again! You can’t make me! I won’t!”

“Don’t worry Lyon, we’re not going in. I promise.”

Erin tried to soothe Lyon. At last, the other girl subsided, and Erin took a few deep breaths to steady herself.

“Well, yeah. Those are some scary bees. And even if the Frost Faeries can beat them—”

“Anytime!”

“We fear no stingers!”

“Bring out your Queen! We’ll duel her!”

“—I really don’t want to get stung. So. Toren!”

The skeleton looked up. He was gathering up dead bees and stuffing them into a glass jar, a measure Erin wasn’t sure if she approved of. Well, she probably would have told him to do it anyways, but the bees were even more horrific crammed into the jar.

Erin found a big jar and tossed it to Toren.

“Go into the nest and get me some honey! And honeycomb. Don’t do too much damage to the nest and don’t hurt the bees—if you can. Okay?”

Her skeleton stared at Erin with what almost looked like an aggrieved air before he nodded and walked back into the cave. Erin settled back into the sledge and looked at Lyonette.

“He’ll be fine. I think. I mean, he’s dead and a skeleton. They can’t really hurt him, right?”

Lyonette just stared at Erin. She wasn’t hurt, but she was still breathing heavily.

“You are insane! I thought you were just unnatural, but you are clearly—insane!”

“No I’m not.”

Erin was hurt by the accusation. Lyonette shook her head. Erin turned back to the cave and listened.

“Wow. You can even hear them buzzing from here.”

The buzzing from the cave was indeed an audible thrum that could be felt even from here, like a bass beat coming out of a speaker. Erin and Lyonette waited for another minute, and then heard the buzzing change in quality. Suddenly, it grew much, much louder and there was an audible note of menace to the sound.

“Uh oh. Looks like Toren’s at the hive.”

“S-should we hide?”

“Why? He’s the one getting the honey.”

Erin felt rather smug. Even Pooh Bear couldn’t do as well as she could with a skeleton helper. Lyon shook her head.

“But even if he’s unharmed, what happens when they follow him out and find us here?”

Erin stared at Lyonette. The girl stared back.

“Run for it!”

In the sledge, the Frost Faeries laughed as the two girls jumped into the snow and began trying to cover themselves again.

“Hah! Foolish mortals! Let the buzzing things come!”

“Yes, we’ll freeze their wings. We won’t run from any overgrown flies!”

They laughed as the buzzing sound turned into a roar, and then the faeries paused as the bees emerged from the cave. Not just one or two or even a hundred; thousands of bees poured out of the entrance, engulfing something in the center which waved and struggled wildly.

The faeries stared at the thousands of bees congregating around Toren—a swarm so huge that they began to blot out the sun overhead. They exchanged a glance and then dove into the snow with Erin and Lyonette.

Erin peeked up as the bees swarmed angrily. She couldn’t see Toren among all the bees. Where was he, trying to get back to the sledge? But then her eyes widened as she saw him.

Her skeleton was in the center of the swarm of bees. And he wasn’t on the ground—he was in the air! They were lifting him up! The angry bees lifted the struggling Toren off the ground, ignoring his flailing, until he was a speck in the sky. Then they dropped him.

Erin and Lyonette and the faeries saw Toren falling to earth. They felt the thump he made as he smashed into the ground, the snow doing nothing at all to cushion his fall. They saw his bones scatter into the air, and all ducked as the bees flew back into their hive.

It was a long time before anyone dared to move. Then, Erin got up and stared at Toren, or rather, the scattered bones that were Toren. They were wriggling towards each other, over, say, a radius of about fifty feet.

She cleared her throat several times, and looked at Lyonette. The girl had found the jar of honey Toren had extracted, safe where he had dropped it in the snow. A massive chunk of honeycomb floating in a huge pool of honey. A maggot—or rather, a baby bee was wriggling inside the sticky liquid.

Erin stared at the maggot. She looked around, and found Toren’s head in the snow. The skeleton stared at her reproachfully. The faeries stared at the bee larvae and licked their lips. Lyonette threw up.

“Um. Well, good work everyone. Let’s take a five minute break, okay? And can you look around for Toren’s bits? I think that’s his hand over there.”

—-

Aside from the bees, though, it was really a pleasant ride through the snowy plains around Liscor. Once Toren was reassembled and the faeries had…eaten…the bee larvae, he pulled them onwards and Erin and Lyonette could relax and try to warm up. The honey was delicious, and all things considered, they felt good. Even the Snow Golem attack didn’t bother them much.

“Aaah! Help!”

Lyonette screamed as Erin found herself pulled off the sledge by a snowman twice her height. Erin hit it with her frying pan repeatedly, but the packed snow resisted her blow. The Snow Golem opened its maw—sticks for teeth snapping at Erin as she struggled—and then bit down on her midsection.

“Ow!”

Erin screamed in pain and punched the Golem in the head. His bite didn’t hurt—well, it didn’t hurt half as bad as it should have. His ‘teeth’ were just fallen branches and sticks after all, so while they drew blood as they pierced Erin’s winter clothing, they didn’t do much more damage.

“You jerk! Toren, help!”

The skeleton attempted to rush to Erin’s aid, but two more Snow Golems were blocking his way. They smacked at him with blobby hands made of snow, and tried to bury him with their bodies. And that was it. That was all they could do, really.

Erin raised her fist and punched the Golem in the face. Her [Minotaur Punch] reshaped the Golem’s face a bit, but again, her hand wasn’t exactly the best weapon to use against a creature made entirely of snow.

What she really needed was a shovel. And once Erin realized that, she just dug herself out of the Golem’s grip. Toren was busy slicing the other two Snow Golems apart with his sword, but Erin had little trouble disassembling her own Golem. The only dangerous moment came when he tried to smother her with his body, but by that time she’d realized he had a brain—a core of beautifully white—and cold—snow. She punched that and made the Golem’s head explode into powder and the Golem collapsed.

Panting, Erin got back in the sledge as Toren put his foot through one of the Snow Golem’s heads and tried to get it loose while the other one bashed him repeatedly with a rock. Lyonette offered Erin a towel.

“Thanks.”

Erin stared at the Frost Faeries reproachfully. They were laughing and placing bets on whether Toren would kill the Snow Golem now or after it had knocked his head off.

“You lot could have helped, you know?”

“Bah. Yon enchanted snowballs are no threat.”

One of the faeries waved a tiny hand at Erin dismissively. Then she cheered as Toren beheaded the last Golem with a slash of his sword. The skeleton did it in a flashy manner—he ducked as the Snow Golem lunged at him, and his body blurred. Erin blinked as Toren’s sword sliced the head off the Golem and the rest of the body collapsed.

“Wow, that looks like a Skill, doesn’t it, Lyonette? I wonder how he did that? Can the undead level up?”

The girl just shuddered and stared at the abominable snowmen. She stared at Erin.

“How are you so calm? They tried to kill you!”

“Yeah, but they’re not that dangerous. Besides, isn’t it so cool?”

Lyon stared at Erin. Erin stared back with a smile on her face.

“Some monsters are horrible, but this is magic. And we’re on an adventure, right?”

“…Are we?”

“Yeah! Oh hey, Toren, wait!”

Toren paused, foot raised as he prepared to stomp the Snow Golem’s head into mush. Erin frantically waved at him.

“Wait! Give me a jar!”

The unnaturally pure snow in the snow Golem’s head froze Erin’s hands even through her gloves as she shoveled it into the jar. But it was definitely magical, so she filled another big jar with snow. Toren stared at the Snow Golem’s face as Erin finished extracting the contents of its head.

Erin smiled as she held up the heavy jar and stared at it. The snow might melt, but she could see if it was still magical afterwards. Or maybe she’d leave it outside and keep it fresh. Would it create another Snow Golem if it was outside? How did they even form, anyways? Did they eat people? Could they even eat? She breathed onto the glass and wiped away the condensation as she stared at the shimmering white snow inside.

“Snow Golem brain-snow.”

Erin thought about that for a second.

“Ew.”

—-

They were quite a ways away from her inn—farther than Erin had ever gone, in truth—when they found the Corusdeer corpses. Erin shouted for Toren to stop the sled and jumped out to stare at the hacked up body parts lying in the snow.

“This is so awful. What could have done this?”

The deer had been hacked to bits, at least ten of them. They’d stained the ground red, but the white snow had covered the bodies partially. Only the area around the horns was melted in truth; even as Erin stared, the horns gave off steam in the air.

“Something killed them, but didn’t eat them. What? An adventurer?”

She couldn’t imagine Halrac picking on poor animals, but maybe they’d attacked him. Toren looked the other way as Lyonette stared at the bodies and the faeries debated whether they were hungry enough to have deer after the bees.

Gingerly, Erin approached and stared at one of the Corusdeers’ horns. She was fairly sure she couldn’t use the meat; it might have frozen, but something could have infested it or…or it could just be rotten. She held one hand out towards the horn and touched it.

“It’s hot!”

It actually burned her fingers when Erin took off her glove to touch it. She sucked at her fingers and waved Toren over.

“I want all these horns. Um, wrap them in something or they might set the sledge on fire.”

Toren stared at the Corusdeer he’d killed and kicked one of the deers’ heads. Then he clattered his jaw and unsheathed his sword and got to work at hacking the horns off the heads. He wasn’t quite wishing the sledge would burst into flames. He was more praying that he accidentally crashed into a Shield Spider pit and they killed everyone at this point in the journey.

—-

“Well, that was fun!”

Erin stretched as Lyonette staggered into the inn and collapsed next to the fire. The girl moaned softly, and Erin turned as Toren lugged the huge collection of jars and the hot Corusdeer horns into the inn. The faeries flew in as well, laughing and in extremely good spirits.

“Where’s Ryoka and Klbkch?”

Both Human and Antinium were gone. Ryoka must have finished her thought, and Klbkch was probably back in his hive. And Selys and Mrsha hadn’t returned yet. Erin stared around the inn, momentarily deflated. Now there was no one to share her amazing discoveries with. She looked at the jars Toren was piling on the table.

“No, not like that, Toren.”

He was creating an unstable pyramid, as if he wanted the glass jars to break. Erin scowled at him and he began putting them in a more stable configuration.

“Let’s see. What did we get?”

She had several small jars filled with different kinds of mushrooms. Some were green, some were purple—one type was a really tall mushroom that came up to knee height and had a spotted crown the size of a car tire. She’d had to cram that one in to the jar. And another was a really tiny mushroom that glowed in the dark. They were all promising, if not edible.

She also had the honey Toren had stolen from the Hive—a huge jar of it that Toren had to use both hands to carry—and another jar filled with dead bees. And she had the Corusdeer horns and a jar of Snow Golem snow.

Erin rubbed her hands together happily. Toren put the bundle of horns in a corner of the inn and folded his arms. Lyonette moaned.

“This is such a great day.”

Not only did she have new stuff to experiment with, she had a new way to travel! Now Erin could actually go places, with Toren to pull her. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it before, but an undead could pull her around all night! Why didn’t everyone have…undead horses or something, and ride carriages around? Maybe Pisces could make an undead horse for her.

Erin’s mind was spinning with possibilities, but one thing was tugging at her mind. She walked up to one of her windows and stared at the sledge. It was part sled, part sleigh. And it was so useful. But…

Yeah. There was one thing you did in the winter that Erin really hadn’t done yet, had she? She’d been so sick of the snow, and the Frost Faeries that she’d forgotten. Winter was supposed to be fun! She remembered countless days when she’d thrown snowballs, made snow angels, and gone snow sledding. Of course, that was a lot of work—Erin actually preferred snow tubing. Now that was amazingly fun.

Of course, it was only fun because there was this amazing lift you could hook your snow tube to. It carried you up a huge hill and then you could sled down. If you had to climb the hill every time it would get old fast. It was too bad this world had nothing like that.

Toren crept towards the inn’s entrance, hiding his sword behind his back as Erin stared at the sledge. Yeah, too bad. Because it would be amazingly fun to ride down a hill in that. But she’d have to pull it up.

“Unless…someone does it for me.”

Erin’s eyes shifted sideways and Toren froze as he tried to open the door silently. She grinned.

“Hey Toren? I’ve got another job for you!”

—-

The [Guardsmen] on top of Liscor’s high walls were often bored, but today was a bad day where they were not only bored, but cold. They shivered on their posts, freezing despite the modicum of cover the crenelations gave them from the biting wind. A hot drink would warm them right up, but sadly they would have to wait until they were relieved to enjoy such luxuries.

Occasionally, Watch Captain Zevara or Senior Guardsman Klbkch would come up with some hot drinks for everyone on guard, but it didn’t look like one of those days. Relc had stomped by an hour ago, and one look at his face had discouraged any such suggestions. Besides, that Drake never paid for anything if he could help it.

So the [Guardsmen] were mildly intrigued when they saw the Human young woman who’d already gained some renown in Liscor sitting at the top of a hill. Her skeleton had untangled himself from its harness, and she was staring down the steep incline.

They’d seen her riding around on the sled earlier of course, and they’d remarked on the oddity of the sight. But now the Human was doing something different. She stared down the hill, and then called something towards the skeleton. He ran at the sled and pushed it, and then the [Guardsmen] heard the scream, slightly delayed, as the girl went flying down the hill.

That was the thing. A sled was customary for sledding for one reason. It was actually slower than something like a sleigh or skis. This was important; while speed was preferable, there was such a thing as too much speed.

The guardsmen watched the girl shoot down the hill at a speed faster than any horse could gallop, and heard the shriek of terror turn to laughter. They watched as she waved and hollered at the skeleton, and then saw it run down the hill.

Of course, each Drake and Gnoll on watch had been thinking the same thing: sure it was fun to ride down the hill, but the Human would have to pull the heavy sledge back up, and that would be exhausting. But then as they saw the skeleton run down to the sledge and begin to drag it back up the hill they realized what was going on. Erin shouted and waved at her skeleton as it slowly dragged her back up the hill, and then she slid down again, going even faster on the flattened snow. And she did it again, and again, and again—

—-

Ryoka couldn’t tell if it was envy in her heart as she stared down at Erin, or sheer amazement. She’d actually done it. She’d actually found a way to trivialize even Toren’s existence. From undead warrior, he’d become a glorified dishwasher and cleaner. And now he wasn’t even that.

He was a sled lift.

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Ryoka muttered the words as she and a crowd of [Guardsmen]—and a large body of Drakes and Gnolls citizenry—watched Erin as she laughed and shot down the hill again.

Selys held up Mrsha so the Gnoll could see Erin. The Gnoll stared with fascination at Erin, and Klbkch just stared at the sight, perplexed.

“That is so stupid.”

Ryoka felt she had to repeat herself, because no one had responded to her comment. She looked down at Erin on the sleigh and hesitated.

“…I want to ride that thing.”

She’d gone snowboarding and skiing before, but Erin’s crazed vehicle was another level of crazy. It had all the speed of a ski, but added a good deal of weight to the momentum of the ride. Plus, there was virtually no way to steer the thing, so you could only hang on for dear life and pray like hell you didn’t crash.

If Erin had a stuffed tiger in the back of her ride it would have been perfect, but this looked fun enough.

“What is it? I’ve never seen something like that.”

Selys was frowning at Erin’s vehicle. Klbkch nodded.

“It is not a sleigh, and nor is it a sled. It is some hybrid of the two.”

“It’s a goddamn sledge.”

“A what?”

“It’s something—well, it’s something from where Erin and I come from.”

Klbkch stared at Ryoka and she caught his eye. He nodded slightly.

“Ah. I see. And this is a device used for entertainment?”

“I guess. That’s how she’s using it.”

“Wheee!”

Her voice was audible even from where they were standing on the battlements. The others watched as Erin shouted at Toren. She was clearly telling him to push her. The skeleton took several steps back, and then ran at the sledge.

“Wow. He pushed her hard.”

Indeed, it almost looked as if the skeleton was trying to push Erin as hard as possible. She shot down the hill in the sledge, going even faster on the compacted snow.

Erin screamed and laughed as she shot down one of the hills, and then screamed in an entirely different tone as she noticed the rock. From their position on the wall, Selys, Ryoka, and Klbkch saw Erin wipe out.

“Wow. She flipped.”

“Head over heels. First time I’ve seen that.”

“She is not moving. Has she been seriously injured?”

“No—I think she’s stunned. Look, she’s starting to wiggle.”

The Human girl was making an involuntarily snow angel in the ground. Ryoka looked at Mrsha and saw excitement shining in her eyes. Yes, this was a ride to bring out the daredevil in any kid.

The crowd below was watching Erin, but already Ryoka could see people peeling off and hurrying back into the city.

“Looks like she’s started a trend.”

Indeed, even the adults were coming back with sleds and things to slide on. Ryoka grinned. It was stupid. It was dangerous. But hell, she was going down there and trying it.

“Hey Mrsha, want to go for a ride?”

The Gnoll child stared at Ryoka. Klbkch stared at Ryoka. Selys looked down at Erin.

“I call the front!”

—-

“OhAncestorshelpmeI’mgoingtodie—”

Erin sat on a hill and watched as Selys zoomed past her, screaming at the top of her lungs. Klbkch stood next to her, watching as Drakes and Gnolls dived out of the way of the uncontrolled sledge.

“I am afraid that vehicle is too dangerous. The other sledders must vacate the hill before it descends or a life threatening accident may occur.”

“Yeah.”

Erin nodded and winced as she felt at the bruises on her back and butt. She’d gladly given up her chance to ride the sledge after the second time she’d had a major wipe out. Now Selys and countless other Drakes and Gnolls were queuing up for a turn. Toren was tirelessly pulling the sledge up a hill, and he’d already accommodated Ryoka’s request to ride it down ten times.

Ironically, only Mrsha had been banned from using the sledge. Instead, they’d given the small Gnoll a much smaller sled that Krshia had begun to enterprisingly sell to the citizens. Some people had their own sleds, but it was rare for them to have this much fun in the snow, Erin gathered.

“I mean, it’s dangerous to be outside the walls. And besides, it’s a lot of work. But that skeleton of yours is really handy, Erin!”

So said Selys after she returned slightly windblown but unharmed from her exciting ride. Erin grinned and offered her the jar of honey. Selys’ eyes bulged at the sight of the massive jar of sweetness.

“Where did you get that, Erin?”

“From a huge bee nest! Actually, Toren got it, but the bees lifted him into the air and dropped him! It was crazy! And we got attacked by Snow Golems! And we found these horns!”

The Drake’s mouth fell open when Erin showed her one of the horns she’d taken from the deer. She’d had to remove a bit of…flesh, but now it was helping keep her warm as she sat in the snow. The horn radiated heat, which was extremely useful.

“Are those Corusdeer horns? Where did you get all of them, Erin?”

“I found a lot of dead bodies in the snow. They were just lying there, so I found them. They’re a deer’s horns?”

Ryoka stomped up the hill, shivering, Mrsha right behind her. The Gnoll was happily rolling around in the snow and dragging the small sled she’d been riding, but she began sniffing at the air and made a beeline for the honey the instant she saw it.

“What the hell is that, Erin?”

Nothing would do but that Erin explain everything to Ryoka, Selys, and Klbkch as she let Mrsha lick honey from her paws. Selys shook her head in amazement after Erin was done.

“You are crazy, you know that? You could have fallen into a Shield Spider pit, not to mention those bees can kill anything they come across! And the antlers—it was a windfall you found them, you know. Even Gold-rank adventurers don’t like taking on a herd of Corusdeer, and their horns are really useful! I can pay you four silver per each antler. The Adventurer’s Guild sells them to [Alchemists] and [Blacksmiths].”

Ryoka frowned.

“That doesn’t sound like a lot.”

“Well, the Guild needs to take a cut, and after all, it’s not like we want people to just go around provoking Corusdeer.”

Selys explained defensively as Mrsha tried to dip her entire paw into the jar of honey. Erin gently grabbed Mrsha’s arm, and then she noticed something wriggling in the honey.

“Why not just cut out the middleman? You can probably get twice that if you negotiate with them directly.”

Selys glared at Ryoka, but Erin shook her head.

“I want to try and use them.”

She saw Mrsha’s eyes following the movement, but save for Klbkch and Mrsha, no one had noticed. Ryoka rolled her eyes, but shrugged. She bent and dipped her finger into the honey.

“Good stuff, though. You can make a lot of treats with this.”

She licked her finger as Erin opened her mouth, and then frowned.

“What the—?”

Slowly, Ryoka reached into the honey and grabbed at the wriggling thing. Selys covered her mouth and Mrsha backed away as Ryoka pulled out a huge, fat, wriggling bee larvae. The Asian girl stared at the larvae as it tried to climb up her hand. She stared at Erin, as the other girl gave her a sheepish grin.

Ryoka’s face turned green. Klbkch stared at the larvae with interest, and he spoke at the same time as some Frost Faeries swooped down from overhead. They both asked the same question.

“Are you going to eat that?”

Previous Chapter

2.43

That night Erin cooked up a storm. She had far more visitors than usual; Drakes and Gnolls came into her inn in large groups, mainly to eat something quick after a day of playing in the snow.

Erin was only too happy to put her skills to the test. And it did seem like [Advanced Cooking] gave her an edge; she had many happy customers.

Soon though, her inn was quieter and there were less guests. That probably had to do with her evening crowd.

Ryoka sat at one table with Klbkch, talking quietly and giving casual death-glares to anyone who walked too close. She was in deep conversation with the Antinium, and he seemed just as engaged. That was nice. Ryoka had made a friend!

There were more Antinium in the inn too, though. Klbkch had brought them. They were all Workers, except for Bird. He was now their…guardian, or minder Erin supposed. But she was disappointed Pawn wasn’t there.

They’d all come for the bees. Klbkch had been interested in the wriggling grub, although the Frost Faeries had carried it off in the end. So Erin had decided to use one of her harvests.

“Tonight I’ve got a special on bees! Big bees! Hot!”

Every single order from the Antinium was for a bee, so Erin opened the jar and gingerly extracted the dead bees the Frost Faeries had killed.

At this point Lyonette, who’d spent the rest of the day recuperating, had to go into the common room and serve drinks rather than watch Erin cook. She’d been surprisingly helpful today, in that she’d been actually helpful. She’d served drinks to Drakes, avoided annoying the Gnoll customers, and she hadn’t dropped any—she’d only dropped two things!

Erin was happy about that, but at the moment her attention was a little focused on the bees. She gingerly pulled them out of the jar, staring at their curled up legs and wondered if she had chosen the wrong kind of clientele.

But no, the Antinium were her guests! They were nice and they were polite—

Even if they did like to eat bugs.

She could handle it. Erin could handle the bees. Her [Advanced Cooking] applied to them, oddly. Slicing through the chitin and frying it up in a pan wasn’t disgusting. It wasn’t. It was horrific, but Erin didn’t throw up.

And when she was done, she had some steaming bees that she could drizzle honey and cheese on, couldn’t she? And it would be delicious.

Erin stared down at the glistening fried bees on the plates and shuddered. They still didn’t look good to her. She turned as Lyon appeared in the kitchen.

“Oh hey, Lyon. The Antinium’s food is done.”

The girl turned pale as she stared at the bees.

“Do I have to…?”

“I’ll carry them out. Don’t worry.”

Erin took two plates in each hand and walked out. After a second she saw Lyon grab a plate and, holding it out far in front of her, she followed Erin. Wow. She was trying! Why?

Maybe she was realizing that she should be more grateful for her job, and that it was better to be helpful than not. Maybe Lyonette had had a change of heart and wanted to be useful! Or—she could just be helping out so Erin didn’t make her go out on any more harvesting trips.

Either way, it meant the bees reached the Antinium quicker. Bird sat up when he saw the dead bee on his plate and clicked his mandibles together. Even the other Workers stopped playing chess for a second to stare at the food.

“This looks quite delicious, Erin Solstice. Thank you for preparing it for us.”

“Oh, it’s just something I had lying around. There’s a nest of bees around here, you know.”

Bird nodded.

“They are considered a Silver-rank threat. Without mages they are practically impossible to kill.”

Erin looked at the other Antinium as Lyonette handed a Worker a plate and fled. Bird delicately broke off a wing and began to nibble at it. Erin tried not to watch.

“Uh, where’s Pawn? I thought he’d be with you.”

“He is thinking. And speaking to the Workers in the Hive. He has duties below. What he does is important.”

Bird spoke solemnly. All the Workers nodded at once. Erin blinked.

“Oh? That’s…good. I’ll get the rest of your food. And then maybe we can play some chess!”

“That would be most welcome.”

Back in the kitchen, Erin saw Toren. The skeleton was standing over a pile of dishes. He was still a bit wet from his activities outside. He’d been pulling sleds up the hill for nearly eight hours straight. Erin was a little proud of him, and of herself for thinking up the idea.

“Hey Toren, help Lyonette carry the plates out, will you? I’ve got to make more food.”

The skeleton turned. He stared at Erin and then walked over to the plates. He knocked Lyon’s hand aside and grabbed two and walked abruptly out the door.

Erin frowned at him. If she didn’t know better she would have thought that was rude. Lyon sniffed as she rubbed at her hand.

“That thing bothers me.”

“Who, Toren? He’s probably just tired. Or something.”

Did skeletons run out of mana? Erin resolved to ask Pisces more when he came back. She sighed and picked up the pan she’d been using to cook the bees. Then she stared at it.

It wasn’t precisely messy, but bits of the bees had been broken off as she’d fried them. And certain internal fluids had leaked out. Slowly, Erin put the pan down. She carefully tied a piece of red yarn to the handle of the pan she’d used and pointed it out to Lyon.

“This is the bug pan now, okay? Bug pan.”

Lyonette nodded weakly.

Erin put it in the pile of dishes for Toren to wash. Then she got to cooking. She was hungry, and she had a good feeling about tonight. She’d invited Krshia to come over later, and Mrsha and Selys really seemed to have bonded.

“Lyon? Go ask Selys what she and Mrsha want. I’ve got hamburgers, and I can make pizza—ooh! Tell Mrsha I’ll put a little honey in a bowl for her, will you?”

Erin hummed happily as Lyon walked out the door. Today was a good day. And tomorrow would be even better! She looked at Toren as he walked back in.

“Hey Toren, we’re going to go out tomorrow and get more stuff! Get ready because we’ll be running around all day!”

The skeleton stared at her. Erin turned back to her cooking and hummed happily. The skeleton stared at Erin’s back for one second and then picked up a plate with a bee on it. He walked towards the door and then tripped. Deliberately.

—-

I look up when I hear the crash of breaking ceramics, but it’s just Erin’s pet skeleton. Toren dropped one of the freakish bees Erin was cooking for the Antinium and now it’s rolling across the floor.

That’s the thing about Erin. Yup. I don’t consider myself squeamish, but I’d never touch one of those gigantic bees, let alone cook the thing. But Erin can fry them up without a second’s pause.

“Aha! Free food!”

From overhead, one of the Frost Faeries jumps down from a beam in the ceiling. She grabs the bee and she effortlessly flies it back up overhead. The group of faeries sitting above the other diners begins to tear it apart and I look away.

Klbkch stares up at the Frost Faeries. He can’t see them like I can, but everyone saw the bee flying through the air.

“The Antinium have no knowledge of these Frost Faeries. I am intrigued that you are able to see them and talk with them.”

I nod. Intriguing isn’t even close to the word I’d use.

“They implied there was a glamour or some kind of illusory magic on them. I think Teriarch can see them, but no one else I’ve met has been able to.”

The Antinium nods. He and I are sitting at a table in one corner of the room, away from any potential listeners. I’m wary of the Gnolls, but they seem engrossed in their own conversations so I try not to stare too hard at them. The key to talking in secret is not to look like we’re discussing anything important, after all.

“They are regarded as natural forces by the citizens of Liscor. That you are able to pierce their spells may be another result of your coming from another world.”

“It seems that way.”

I look up at the faeries. They’re an odd bunch. They’re still devouring the bee—happily, I can’t make out any of the details in the shadowed rafters—but they aren’t everything I expected of them. They’re surprisingly caring when it comes to children, and while they obey rules and bargains made, they can break said rules and interfere to help people as well.

Odd.

“I’m going to try and speak more with them. But it’s hard to get a faerie to tell you anything. Trust me on that one.”

Klbkch nods.

“I wish you luck. But I believe we were discussing your theories on leveling. I have news.”

I look back at the Antinium, all my attention instantly focused. Yeah. This is the real reason we’re sitting together. Now that I have someone I can trust—besides Erin—I have countless things I want to ask of him*.

*I’m still not entirely sure I can trust Klbkch, of course. He has a past—and of course he is still loyal to his Hive. But he makes a good case for himself. If he wanted to, he could easily capture either Erin or me and force us to tell him everything. On the other hand, if he wants our cooperation, well, better to be a useful chess piece than a disposable one.

“What have you learned? Does your Hive’s data match my theories?”

Klbkch nods.

“I have reviewed several hundred individuals with high levels, and their cumulative level rarely approaches one hundred. More than that, individuals with more than two classes rarely surpass Level 30.”

I sit back in my chair and exhale.

“Correlation, if not causation.”

“I am unfamiliar with these terms.”

“It means—”

I try to explain to Klbkch the basis of scientific theory. He nods.

“That sounds accurate. Even if there are nuances to what you propose, there is a high likelihood that cumulative levels factors into the leveling process rather than age.”

“And that means…”

I pause. What does that mean?

“It means we have to tell Erin. And that I have something to give to Krshia and the Gnolls.”

“But no one else?”

“Are there any Antinium you’d tell?”

Klbkch shakes his head.

“My people rarely level in any case. Only the Queens level and they almost exclusively level in the [Queen] class. I could inform other Prognugators, but that would likely lead to every Hive quickly learning this information. I may inform the Individuals, but I will observe them before doing so.”

I frown at Klbkch.

“Why don’t the Antinium even level up that much? Is it because your species is a hive mind?”

“So my Queen has speculated. Even Soldiers do not gain levels in the [Soldier] class that often. She believed that this was due to the Antinium not making their own decisions, hence her desire to create individual Antinium.”

“Sounds like this information doesn’t help the Antinium that much.”

“Indeed. I suggest you use it to placate the Silverfang tribe. If you believe it is worth the information spreading, that is.”

“Hm.”

Is it worth it? But Selys knows now, and once someone knows the information will eventually spread. And we need the Gnolls, Erin and I. At the very least, they can’t be an enemy. I think of Brunkr and—no.

“I’ll tell them. But you and I need to speak more.”

“What would you like to speak about, Ryoka Griffin?”

I stare at Klbkch’s face.

“Everything. I—Erin and I—we’re living in this world ignorant of everything that’s occurred. We don’t know geography, history, or any kind of politics. I want to know how magic works, how things like healing potions are made, what kind of dangerous people exist in the world…”

“I will tell you some of what I know. But I fear I may not be able to answer all your questions in that regard.”

“Why?”

Klbkch taps the table slowly.

“To begin with, my Hive has its own sources of information which it does not share with other hives. And though we have accumulated knowledge, much of it is…specialized.”

My heart sinks.

“Meaning you don’t pay attention to world events?”

“My Queen does, and I hear conversations. But I believe only the Queens look beyond this continent. Most of what my Hive knows of are locations of mineral deposits, fertility of soil, monster lairs and dungeons and so forth.”

I sit back in my chair and frown. I pinch at the bridge of my nose as I think.

“I see. Damn.”

“I have much information that will be useful, however. It has occurred to me that there is another facet of the leveling system that may prove crucial.”

My eyes snap open.

“What?”

The Antinium nods slowly.

“I believe I had informed you of my levels? I possess a wide variety of classes, that will prove detrimental to me leveling up. However, there may be another way to address the issue. I may be able to merge my classes.”

What? I stare at Klbkch.

“You can do that?”

“I am aware it occurs in some rare cases. Two classes may merge to create a new, hybrid class. For instance, a [Warrior] and a [Strategist] class may merge to form a [Commander] class.”

“But—wait a second. You have the [Commander] class, don’t you? And the [Swordslayer] class. Why didn’t those two merge?”

“I can only speculate. But I received my [Swordslayer] class long before I became a [Commander]. Moreover, the [Swordslayer] class is an advancement of the [Warrior] class. It may be that the classes become…”

“Incompatible?”

“Yes. Or I simply may have wished to retain my purely combat-based class rather than focus on a leadership role.”

“I get it.”

I nod and sit back in my chair. Merging classes? What other secrets does this system hold? Prestige classes? Are there certain classes that can only be met by fulfilling rare conditions? Klbkch studies me for a second and then speaks.

“Class merging is rare, and up until this day I had regarded it as a somewhat negative phenomenon.”

Right. While a unique class might be useful, two classes would be thought of as better than one, right? Double the skills. But if it helps with the level cap…

“Here’s a question for you, Klbkch. How much of a difference between Level 20 in [Swordslayer] and Level 44 is there? How strong were you back then?”

In short, how dangerous is a Named Adventurer? I’ve seen Gazi fight, but was that only because she had her enchanted eye?

Klbkch pauses, and then he sits back in his chair. He opens his mandibles, and pauses. I look up. Toren’s stomping over to us. He shoves a plate with a dead bee onto the table in front of Klbkch—so hard it nearly flies off the edge—and then turns and walks back into the kitchen.

“Ah.”

Klbkch inspects the food as I try not to stare at it. Is it just me or is Erin’s skeleton acting oddly? Can skeletons think? Damn. I should ask Pisces about that.

“Pardon me. I will eat as I speak if that is not rude.”

I wave one hand at him, and try not to look as he begins to tear the bee apart. I doubt I could eat in any case right now; his meal is making my stomach roil.

“To answer your question, the difference between my abilities now and in the past is…immense. At the height of my levels, I was quite capable of fighting against even the most powerful of monsters.”

Klbkch stares past me, as if he’s remembering. I have to keep reminding myself how old he must be. I’m not sitting in front of someone my age, or even twice my age. He’s like an old man.

“What kind of Skills did you have? Were they more powerful as you leveled up or did you get useless ones?”

“I would occasionally receive less useful skills, but they did get progressively stronger. One Skill I received at Level 30—at the same time I received the [Swordslayer] class—allowed me to deflect a blow with my swords, even if I was being assaulted by considerable force. I believe I once used it to knock aside a ballista bolt at point blank range.”

I whistle. That’s scary.

“Leveling up in one class sounds better than taking multiple classes.”

“I believe so. My Level 40 skill was named [Continuous Cut]. I was able to use it to strike down enemies with such speed that I could eradicate entire battalions by myself over the course of a battle.”

A battalion? Isn’t that…five hundred soldiers? My chest is tight.

“Klbkch the Slayer.”

“So I was named. But as I believe you know, my skills were inferior to General Sserys. He slew me in battle and I have never regained my former levels.”

Wow. Again, I have to wrestle with myself. Levels are so damn useful. But—bah. It doesn’t matter now, does it? I have a feeling the reason the faeries are so friendly with me is because I don’t have any levels. If their friendship is contingent on me not leveling, that’s already one very compelling argument not to level.

No matter how cool Skills sound.

I scoot my chair closer to the table, even though that puts me closer to the bee Klbkch is devouring. He’s leaving the exoskeleton alone, though.

“Is that really enough of a meal for you?”

Klbkch looks surprised as I point at the bee. He sucks something into his ‘mouth’ and hesitates.

“It is not wholly adequate for my dietary needs. But there is food in the Hive and this is a tasty…treat.”

“Erin told me the Antinium can’t handle gluten. What do you eat, then?”

“We harvest meat and grind it into a paste along with other substances. We do have plants we cultivate—we use them to feed other species we rear for the purpose of consumption.”

Ah. Good. The Antinium have perfected livestock production. I shake my head.

“Well, okay.”

“Hey you two!”

Both of us look up. Erin bustled over to the table, beaming.

“How are you doing? Sorry the food took so long Klbkch—and uh, sorry I haven’t made yours, Ryoka. It’s really busy tonight!”

I shrug. Klbkch nods at Erin politely.

“This is a most satisfactory dish, Erin. Thank you.”

“No problem! Do you want seconds? I think we’ve got more bees in the jar. And I can whip you something up if you want. Ooh, how about honeycomb? And Ryoka, do you want a hamburger?”

Hell yes. Give me some greasy, disgusting food. My arteries can take it*.

*Probably.

“I’ll have a hamburger. Two, actually. Rare.”

“I would be delighted to try some honeycomb, if that is not an imposition.”

“Great! I’ll be back with your orders!”

Erin beams and bustles off. A few seconds later Lyonette appears with some drinks.

“I have water and milk. And ale. Which one do you want?”

“I’ll have the ale.”

“I shall have water.”

She puts the drinks on our table and leaves. I stare at her back. Huh. Erin managed to make her useful. There’s something I thought I would never see.

“You seem interested in the former thief.”

I look at Klbkch and nod.

“I uh, think she’s special.”

“She did possess a number of powerful magical artifacts. And she claims kinship with Magnolia Reinhart.”

“Right. She might be more than that.”

“How so?”

“It’s complicated. I’ll explain it later. Right now, I’d like to ask a few more questions about what’s going on in Liscor.”

“I see. I will answer to the best of my abilities.”

Honestly, Lyonette is small potatoes next to everything we’ve been discussing. I put her out of my mind and concentrate on more pressing concerns.

“Apparently all these Gold-rank adventurers are in town looking for a dungeon that’s buried underground. But the Antinium should know about it already. Is there a dungeon, and if there is, what’s inside of it?”

Klbkch sits back in his chair. He regards the stripped bee carcass and pushes it away.

“There is a dungeon under Liscor. My Hive has been doing battle with the monsters emerging from the dungeon for many years now. Some are drawn to the location; many seem to have nests within the dungeon. But there are traps and many magical defenses as well. Until recently, my Queen had desired to secure the dungeon herself, so that our Hive might reap the rewards of what is contained within. However, this has proved unfeasible and so she has elected to open an entrance in the hopes that adventurers might eliminate some of the traps….”

—-

Erin beamed around the room. She had Antinium eating, Drakes eating, Gnolls eating…she had a full inn for once! And everyone looked happy.

Well, true, the Antinium just looked expressionless and Lyon kept turning green every time she looked at them devouring the bugs—as did the Drakes and Gnolls for that matter—but the point was, she was in business!

And to top it all off, just as a family of Drakes exited the inn after paying Lyonette, in walked Krshia.

“Oh, hey Krshia! I’m so glad you could make it! Brunkr’s not coming?”

Krshia smiled briefly.

“He is nursing the bite young Mrsha gave him. I believe he is also afraid of you, yes?”

Erin laughed. Privately, she was glad Brunkr wasn’t with Krshia. He was kind of a jerk. Out of the corner of Erin’s eye, she saw Ryoka and Klbkch turn in their seats. Krshia nodded gravely at Erin and smiled ever so slightly as Mrsha bounded over, tail wagging.

“It is good to see you, Erin Solstice. And you too, young Mrsha, yes?”

She bent down and ruffled the younger Gnoll’s fur gently. Mrsha sniffed at Krshia and the taller Gnoll sniffed back. Then she looked at Erin.

“It has been too long since I have come here. I would eat here, unless you think it unwise?”

“Oh, no, no. Come in? Unless—”

Erin glanced over, suddenly concerned, and saw Lyonette. The girl had frozen against one wall, eyes wide as she stared at Krshia. The Gnoll sniffed.

“I will not be troubled by the thief, no. And I would sit with Ryoka Griffin and Klbkch if they will have me.”

“Sounds good.”

Ryoka stood up and Klbkch politely made room so Krshia could sit at their table. Both seemed intent, but Erin was just happy to take Krshia’s order—honey-glazed roast ribs, made with real honey—before she bustled off into the kitchen.

She was so busy! Lyon and Toren were filling drinks and serving food, but Erin kept having to cook things. Which she didn’t mind, but it was a relief to sit down after a while and play a game or two of chess with Bird and the other Workers. She won of course; but the games were fun, especially when she played them without looking at the chessboards.

The ghostly chess board called to Erin, and after a while she played some more with her mysterious opponent. They always seemed to be awake; once Erin moved a piece she’d receive a countermove within the hour at the latest, and then they’d both play for as long as she was able. She really did wonder who was on the other end.

Mrsha wandered around the busy room as Selys ate and laughed with some Drakes that she knew. The young Gnoll peeked at the chessboards, and after she overcame her initial skittishness with the Antinium Workers, she sniffed at their bees, tried to eat a chess piece, and eventually sat on Erin’s lap, drowsy with exhaustion.

“Uh oh. Time for someone to go to sleep.”

Erin carried Mrsha upstairs and put her in a small bed she’d made up in Ryoka’s room. The Gnoll curled up in her blankets and Erin’s heart hurt for a second.

This was no place for a young Gnoll, no matter what Ryoka thought. She had to find Mrsha a home, maybe with Krshia or another Gnoll family. If only that nasty Brunkr wasn’t there, and if only Mrsha didn’t have white fur. It wasn’t unlucky. It was…beautiful.

“Maybe a bucket of paint.”

Erin softly murmured the words as she closed the door and tiptoed back downstairs. She entered the common room with a big smile, just in time to hear Ryoka cursing. And Erin was relieved that Mrsha wasn’t around to hear that.

—-

“Fuck.”

I know it’s unoriginal. I know there are a thousand different curse words I can use to express my ire. But there’s just something simple about that word. And I’m annoyed, so I’m not in the mood to wax poetic in my anger.

“I am sorry, Ryoka Griffin.”

Krshia sits at the table and stares gravely at me over her meal of ribs. She lifts one up delicately and chews at the tender meat. I stare at the remains of my second hamburger and scowl.

“You’re sure it’s not enough? Really sure?”

The Gnoll shrugs her broad shoulders.

“It is a valuable gift. But it is not enough, yes? What you offer is a secret, the kind that may shape the world. But it will do so too slowly, and it is…”

She hesitates. Krshia taps her claws on the table as if in thought.

“Forgive me. I do not know this word. It is not enough.”

“Inadequate?”

“Hrm. Yes. It is inadequate to what must be given at the meeting of the tribes. It is a valuable gift, but one too cheaply won.”

“I am unsure as to the meaning of your statement, Krshia Silverfang.”

Klbkch speaks to Krshia and she nods at him. They’re very polite towards each other, Klbkch and Krshia. I get the impression they respect each other—but they might not like each other’s company.

“It is hard to explain to non-Gnolls. I shall do the best I can.”

She puts down her bone, totally cleaned of all meat and takes a drink from her ale. I massage my temples and listen.

“Each tribe, each one knows of the gathering that occurs every decade. And so all tribes work to collect or make something that will help all Gnollkind, yes? Some tribes amass wealth to be shared out; that is an easy way of doing things. Others collect food, or arms—my tribe received a Dwarven-made set of arms at the last gathering. The tribe who collected such weapons for every tribe rose in standing much from that.”

“And your tribe wanted to gather spellbooks.”

I understand that part. Krshia’s brows draw together and she sighs heavily.

“Yes. It was supposed to be a secret, but it is hard to hide in Liscor. In any case, it would have been a great gift, one worthy of much praise among the tribes.”

“And yet, this information Ryoka has shared with you has the potential to change your entire race, does it not?”

Again, Krshia nods at Klbkch.

“It does. But there are two reasons why it is not enough. The first, it is that it is not a good secret to have, yes? It raises many problems.”

“Such as?”

“Mrr. When I think of what you have said, it means that to gain a higher level, one must take only one class. This is…problematic. If one must take only one class, it means Gnolls must choose their classes early and never change them. That will make life in the tribes more difficult.”

I guess I see the problem. Gnoll tribes are very practical; everyone contributes towards making the tribe a better place. One day someone might be a hunter, but the next they could take over cooking duty if need be. If everyone has one class though, then suddenly everyone’s a specialist. And, to quote Robert A. Heinlein, specialization is for insects.

“I see the problem.”

“Not all of it. The second problem is that such choices of classes must be made when Gnolls are very young; barely more than cubs, yes?”

Krshia looks troubled. She shakes her head.

“It is not what I or any of my tribe would wish, to force our young to do what they might not want. And yet, it would be necessary. We would have to decide the fate of our next generation. And that is…troubling.”

“Oh.”

Oh. Oh. I get it. Klbkch looks confused, but this is about free will. Gnolls probably hate to force their kindred to do anything; it’s all give and take. Putting someone in a set path for life might work in China with tiger moms, but it’s not going to fly among Gnoll parents.

Well, shit.

“I see your problem, Krshia. But this information might help in any case. Even if you don’t choose to make your kids take one class, at least Gnolls can be more aware of what’s happening.”

She nods.

“This is so, and even with these issues, it is an important gift. A secret of the world. It will take all the tribes to decide if such knowledge should be shared or hoarded.”

“Well, only Selys knows about it so you might have a chance of keeping the secret. Would all Gnolls be so uh, tight-lipped though?”

“If it is decided, they would not betray the pack.”

Hmm. That’s a lot of confidence. I shake my head.

“Okay, what’s the second reason why the secret isn’t good enough?”

“It is too cheap. For a work of ten years, it is too cheap. I am sorry.”

Krshia spreads her hands on the table.  She looks at me and Klbkch.

“It is an important secret, but you and Klbkch have uncovered it in days, yes? The other tribes have labored for a decade to bring that which is most valuable to us. How can my tribe’s Chieftain raise her head high with only one small secret to offer the other clans?”

When she puts it like that…I look at Klbkch. Damnit. I really thought we’d solved the problem.

“I get it. I’ll…I’ll think of something else, okay?”

Krshia nods gravely.

“That you have made such an important discovery will help, Ryoka Griffin. I will share what you have told me with the Gnolls in the city. That will please them and keep them obedient. For now.”

And like that, the secret spreads. No matter what Krshia says, I feel like in a year everyone will know about this leveling system. Oh well. I’ll take what benefits I can get from it for now. I need to tell Erin about that too, though. But…

I put my head in my hands as Krshia and Klbkch look at me. Gods. I thought I really had it, this time. But instead I haven’t solved anything.

Just what am I going to do? I think of Teriarch, and I know I have to leave soon. But Mrsha’s still here, and Magnolia’s spies are all over the place and there’s people from my world in her mansion—

What am I going to do?

—-

Ryoka looked like she was having a busy conversation with Krshia and Klbkch, so Erin left them to it. She was busy playing chess, cleaning up dishes, talking to patrons—

“Aha! I see yon keg is unguarded! I declare it plunder!”

“Free drinks! On the house!”

—And chasing Frost Faeries.

“They’re not free! Stop that, you little thieves!”

Erin shouted as she ran after the Frost Faeries. They laughed as they swooped around with mugs in their hands—they were amazingly strong to be able to carry the heavy containers so easily.

Chess board, drunk faeries, collecting payment from her guests—Erin ran around until her feet were sore and it was past midnight. Only then did the last of her guests leave.

Bird departed with Klbkch and the other Workers as Erin bid them good night—or an early morning, rather. Krshia had already left, and Ryoka was sitting at one of the tables, her head in her hands.

“Hey Ryoka. I’m going to lock up, okay?”

The other girl nodded silently, and Erin closed up the inn. Ryoka looked stressed, but Erin felt good as she curled up in her kitchen cot. She’d done some solid innkeeping today, and gotten a lot of cool stuff she couldn’t wait to mess around with tomorrow.

[Innkeeper Level 26!]

And for once, it sounded like the world agreed with her.

—-

The next day, Erin woke up early because she had to pee. She stumbled around, banging into pots with her face and nearly knocking over the jar full of Snow Golem snow, before she finally made it to the outhouse. She sat, shivering, as she did her business, and then went back into the inn and tried to get to sleep.

The only problem was that the cold had done the work of a cup of coffee, and no matter how Erin tossed and turned she couldn’t doze off again. So she got up, despite having only had about two hours of sleep in total.

“Mrshbvg?”

Lyonette blinked at Erin as she came down the stairs—early for once—and found breakfast was already made. Erin stared at her food and scowled as Lyonette opened her mouth.

“I have leveled up in this…[Barmaid] class yet again.”

“Good for you.”

“And I have a Skill! [Basic Cooking]!”

Her tone made this seem like an outrage rather than a good thing. Erin eyed Lyonette wearily from her table as Toren stepped into the inn. She’d told him to come back in the morning.

“It is an outrage! Why would I need such a Skill?”

“…To cook stuff?”

Erin held her head in her hands. She sighed as she spooned delicious honey onto her buttery crepes. At least that was good.

“Honestly, Lyon. It would help me out if you can cook. And you could manage the inn when I’m gone, too.”

The girl paused with a huge forkful of dripping crepe a quarter of the way towards her mouth.

“I could?”

“Yes? No? Maybe? I’m gonna go out and get more bees. That’s what I’m gonna do. The Antinium like them.”

Erin groaned into her food. She looked around at Toren.

“Hey. You.”

He looked back over at her. He seemed almost…annoyed, or antsy. He kept fidgeting in place, as if he was bored. But Erin was too tired and grumpy to care.

“Get the sleigh ready. And get some jars. We’re going exploring again.”

He stared at her, and then stomped out the door, not even bothering to close it until Erin raised her voice and called him back. Lyonette stared at the skeleton and then at Erin.

“Me? You mean, I would own the inn?”

“Not own. But you’d be like uh, a temporary innkeeper. It’d be like your castle, and you’d be like a princes—”

Erin bit her tongue on the words. Lyonette was staring at her.

“Ahahaha. I mean uh. Yeah! Like a princess in a castle, except…not. Yeah.”

She looked around wildly. Ryoka and Mrsha were still asleep, but she knew the young Gnoll would be up soon, and thus, by default, Ryoka.

“I’m uh, I’m going to go get more bees with Toren now. I’ll be back soon—you just hold down the fort. There’s plenty of crepes and if anyone comes by, you can serve them hamburgers. I showed you how to make them, and [Basic Cooking] will do all the rest. Bye!”

She fled the inn before she could say anything else. Outside, Toren stood next to the sledge. He wasn’t wearing his jingling harness. Erin scowled at him.

“Come on, put on the harness, Toren! I haven’t got all day.”

Soon enough, she was in the sledge and Toren was pulling it along. Erin told him to go back to the bee cave. She distinctly felt him hesitate, but soon enough they were there.

“Okay. Here’s the plan.”

Erin crouched in the snow as Toren stared at her. She’d chosen a place far, far away from the cave and with a lot of snow for cover. She pointed at him.

“You go in the cave with two jars this time. Try to get as much honey and as many bees as possible. Actually, go in with four jars, okay? I want two jars of honey and honeycomb, and two full of bees.”

Upon reflection, she probably could have ordered him to do all that by himself, but there was something satisfying about getting out and doing the job herself. Sort of. Erin hid in the snow and watched as Toren ran about and ended up getting lifted into the sky and shattered again by the bees. But he got the honey and a lot of bees, surprisingly.

“Good job, Toren!”

She said it to the head as she helped put him back together. The skeleton just stared at Erin as she gingerly held up the jar he’d stuffed with living bees. Some were still buzzing against the lid.

“Creepy. Okay, next we’re going to look for more mushrooms, okay?”

Erin had the vague idea she could feed them to the Frost Faeries, but she really just wanted to stock up before she went back into the inn. It was only just past breakfast, so she had plenty of time.

The sledge felt wonderfully soft as Erin climbed back into it. She’d added a blanket and a pillow since yesterday, and now she snuggled into them, keeping the jar of dead bees far away from her on the sledge as Toren pulled them onward.

Yes, this was the life. Being an [Innkeeper] was hard work when you were doing all the cooking, but now Lyonette was finally pulling some of her weight and Toren was pulling Erin’s weight and more besides.

The landscape passed by Erin’s fluttering eyes as she rearranged the pillow on the sledge. It was so comfy here. And there was something hypnotic about travelling like this. It was almost like a ferry ride, but with snow instead of water. And Erin had always slept well on car trips.

She yawned. She was so tired. A nap wouldn’t hurt, right? Lazily, Erin raised her voice.

“Hey Toren, let me know when we’re at the next cave, alright. I’m going to take forty winks.”

The skeleton’s head rotated on its shoulders and he stared at her silently. Erin waved at him.

“Don’t hit anything or run us into a pit, okay?”

She closed her eyes and yawned again. It was so pleasant, riding along on the sledge. Sure it was cold, but she had a lot of layers on, and she didn’t get bumped around.

Erin began to doze off. Within moments she was snoring softly as the cold air blew around her.

—-

When Toren heard Erin’s words, he couldn’t believe his ears. Not that he had ears. He couldn’t believe his earholes, rather.

When he turned and looked and saw her lying on the sledge with her eyes closed, he couldn’t believe it. When she started to snore, he believed, but he was really upset about it.

She was asleep! The emotion Toren felt wasn’t just anger, it was indignation. She was asleep and he—he was pulling this stupid sledge!

The feelings surged and fought for dominance in the skeleton’s chest as he ran onwards. He wasn’t tired, not physically at least, but the part of him that thought and felt was sick of pulling Erin on her pointless errands. He had no desire to be smashed by bees again, and he found gathering all these mushrooms…tedious.

And then there was the sound. The awful, endless, sound.

Dingle. Dingle-dingle.

The sleigh bells rang as Toren ran on. They were the most obnoxious things he’d ever heard. They clanged together on his harness. His chains. They were sounds to drive any creature insane.

Dingle dingle dingle.

He was angry. No; he was furious. Toren resented every order coming from Erin’s mouth now. The endless sleigh rides where he’d been forced to pull it up a hill for laughing Drakes and Gnolls had been torture; this was the final straw.

In Toren’s mind he began to wrestle with Erin’s orders. She had given him orders, but they were bad. No—they were worse. They were unacceptable.

Part of him told Toren to obey. This was his duty, what he’d been created for. But—no—he didn’t want to do it! Toren wanted to be free, free to fight and kill and—

Dingle. Dingalingle.

He hated this. He hated taking orders, and hated pulling this stupid device. Toren wanted to grab his sword and hack the sledge to bits. Or—or he could use it on Erin to—

No. he couldn’t do that. The magic binding him still prevented him from doing that. But he was beginning to feel the limitations of it in his soul. Yes, he had to obey orders. But he could misinterpret. He could act slowly. He could—

What had she said? Let her know when they were at the next cave. And she wanted him to pull the sledge. Toren thought about those words. Erin meant other things when she said them to him, of course, but the literal wording gave him a lot of leeway.

What could he do? Toren looked back at Erin. She was his Mistress. But she wasn’t worthy of that title. He wanted…

Dingle. Dingle dingle.

He wanted to be free. And so he would take his freedom, even if it meant getting rid of Erin. He couldn’t harm her, but there were other ways of getting rid of her inconvenient orders, weren’t there?

But could he do that? Toren wrestled with himself. He wanted to be free. But he had orders. But he wanted to be free. Yet, could he—

Din—

Snap.

Toren heard the snap in his mind and in real life. He stared down at the bell in his hands. No more. Nevermore. He would never be a slave again. He would be free.

No matter what he had to do for it.

Slowly, the skeleton adjusted his course. He glanced back at Erin, and saw she was deeply asleep. He began to run north, away from Liscor, away from the inn, this time running as fast as he could. He had a plan.

The sledge travelled northwards, away from the inn, and the mountains. It was clearly going in the wrong direction, but this early in the morning who would be outside to see it? And who would care?

Two Goblins sat on a hill. One was sulking as she adjusted her crossbow. She wanted to eat at the inn, but she’d been banned for reasons that weren’t her fault, even if she understood them. The other Goblin was bored. But his eyes were keen, and so he saw the skeleton, saw the sledge change direction.

The Goblin saw everything. And he grinned. But he said nothing to the other Goblin.

Slowly, the sledge disappeared over the last crest of the hill. Garen Redfang smiled to himself, and wondered when Rags would decide to return to her tribes. She still had much to learn, and this soft place with that strange [Innkeeper] was not the place for her to be right now. She had to be tough, strong. She had to lead the tribes. She could be a Goblin Lord, he knew. And the fewer annoying Humans there were to impede her progress, the better.

—-

Erin woke up slowly. She was cold, and stiff, and no longer moving. That was when she realized she’d stopped. The sunlight was bright, and Erin felt like she’d had a good nap.

“Toren?”

She blinked, looked up at the sky, and gasped. The sun was high overhead! She must have been sleeping for hours!

“Toren! Why didn’t you wake me?”

Erin shouted as she sat up and looked for her skeleton. But she received no answer. And as she stared around, Erin realized something was very wrong.

The sledge was sitting out in an open field in the middle of snow. That was normal. But the landscape around Erin was not. Erin stared around. Wait a second, where were the mountains? Liscor was surrounded by mountains, but now she couldn’t see any. Except for those much smaller mountains over…there…

Her stomach twisted into knots. Erin stared over to her left. There were trees over there. A forest. There weren’t any forests near Liscor, except for the boom bark trees on that one hill. And why was the ground so flat over here?

“Toren? Where are we?”

Erin looked around wildly now, but her skeleton was gone. She took a few deep breaths, trying to release the knot in her stomach.

Okay, okay. Don’t panic. She was okay. She just had to take stock of her situation. Think. What did she have?

She had: a jar of dead bees, another two jars of honey, a pillow, a blanket, and a sledge. Oh, and her handy frying pan that she kept in case of danger. And her money pouch? Maybe?

What she didn’t have was Toren, any idea of where she was, or any money.

“Toren? Hey, Toren.”

Erin raised her voice hopefully. Maybe her skeleton was nearby, but he just hadn’t heard her. Or maybe—maybe he’d gotten lost trying to find a cave, and now he was scouting around. That was it, right?

“…Toren?”

He was going to appear at any second. Any second. Erin raised her voice.

“Toren! Where are you?”

There was no response. The cold wind blew, and now Erin felt very alone. She stared around the wilderness. That’s when she noticed the dead wolf.

It was just a wolf. It wasn’t a Carn Wolf; it was smaller, had dark grey shaggy fur, and it had been brutally decapitated. Its head lay in the crimson snow, staring up at Erin. She stared back, too shocked for words. And that’s when she realized she was alone. Lost and alone.

“Uh oh.”

—-

Ryoka woke up slowly when she felt someone licking at her face. She pushed the furry thing off of her and ignored the complaint as it hit the ground. Two seconds later, Ryoka woke up fast as Mrsha cannonballed into her stomach.

“Damn it, Mrsha!”

The Gnoll ran out of the room in fright and Ryoka tumbled out of her bed, tangling in her sheets. She arrived downstairs to find Mrsha hiding behind Lyonette. The girl looked at Ryoka reproachfully as Mrsha quivered behind her.

Ryoka rubbed at her face. Wonderful. She’d already made a mess of things and it wasn’t even five minutes since she’d gotten up.

“I’m sorry, Mrsha. I didn’t mean to shout. Just don’t—hit me in the stomach, okay?”

She rubbed at her stomach and sat down on the floor. Slowly, Mrsha came out and gave Ryoka a hug. Sometimes she nuzzled or licked, and sometimes she acted just like a kid.

“Where’s Erin?”

Ryoka asked that question to Lyonette after she’d eaten a few crepes. Mrsha had smeared the delicious honey all over her face and she was busy cleaning herself. Lyonette shrugged.

“She took that horrible skeleton out to ride her sleigh. She said she was going to get more bees.”

“Great.”

Ryoka sighed, but ate her crepes and wondered when Erin would get back. She needed to talk to the other girl about a lot of things.

Selys dropped by in the morning, to say hi to Mrsha mainly, and eat some more crepes. It turned out that there weren’t quite enough, but Lyonette made some to everyone’s surprise. The other girl acted haughty about it, but she fed Mrsha one under the table when she thought Ryoka wasn’t looking.

Ryoka waited for another hour, talking with Selys about how to take care of Mrsha and playing with the Gnoll cub. She had no idea how to really play games with children, but Selys knew a lot of games, including patty cake, although the lyrics she used were quite different.

Time passed. Ryoka went outside to see if she could spot Erin riding around. She ended up going into the city, and Selys went with her, this time to take Mrsha to a bathhouse. The Gnoll had begun to smell a bit.

Ryoka met the Drake who called himself Olesm on the way to the city. He was looking for Erin, and when she told him she hadn’t seen her all day he seemed depressed. He elected to wait in the inn and Ryoka went to talk with Klbkch.

It turned out he was busy acting as a guardsman, so Ryoka went to the top of Liscor’s walls to look for Erin. She didn’t see her, or the sledge.

After midday and a lunch she bought in the city, Ryoka was getting antsy. She talked to Krshia and then went back to the inn to talk to Lyonette and the Drake named Olesm. None of them had seen Erin all day.

This time Ryoka went directly to Klbkch and asked him if his Hive knew where she was. He told her his Listeners couldn’t hear Erin nearby, and that Erin herself hadn’t been spotted since she’d left in the morning.

There was no sign of Erin at the bee cave that Lyonette pointed Ryoka towards, although the snow was disturbed. Ryoka returned to the inn and worried.

By the time evening had fallen, Krshia, Klbkch, and all of Erin’s friends from Olesm to Selys were looking for signs of Erin. Lyonette swore she knew nothing else, but the tracks of Erin’s sledge had crossed with the others too many times for Ryoka to tell where they went.

For once, the ubiquitous Frost Faeries were nowhere to be seen, and Krshia said that she’d spotted them flying south and spreading more snow in the morning. Ryoka sat in her inn, worrying, until she remembered Halrac.

The Gold-rank [Scout] was grumpy as ever and irritated that she’d roused him from his discussion with Bird of all people about some kind of digging project, but when Ryoka told him that Erin was missing he immediately agreed to go look for her.

The [Scout] tracked Erin’s trail all the way from the inn to the bee cave, and he found the set of tracks that led away from the cave and towards the north. They went on and on, and Halrac’s keen eyes spotted the tracks still going north for miles.

Ryoka went back to the inn and spread the news. She listened to Erin’s friends talk and debate, and thought long and hard about why Erin would decide to keep going. She thought about dangerous bees, possibly monsters—although Halrac had found no tracks—and then about skeletons. She thought about Toren, and thought about stories like Frankenstein.

The night was very long for Ryoka. Lyonette made food—a bit burned—for Mrsha and Selys, and Ryoka talked for a while with Krshia and Selys and made arrangements. She gave the Drake and Gnoll most of her gold coins and had to tell Mrsha three times what she was going to do.

The next morning, Ryoka left the inn bright and early, leaving Lyonette behind and Mrsha with Selys. She ran north, looking out for any signs of a sledge, and asking travelers if they’d spotted any sign of a girl or a skeleton. But she heard nothing. Found nothing.

And so Ryoka ran on, and thought of a Dragon that could scry for people if he knew their names. She ran a bit faster after she thought that.

And far away, a [Skeleton Knight] stabbed a pair of travelers to death on the road. He took their coins on the vague chance they might be useful, and kept walking. He was going back to Liscor, to a dungeon where he could level up. His purple eyes glowed and he smiled.

He was always smiling, but this time it was because he was happy. So happy.

Blood dripped down from his fingers, ran down his battered armor and into the snow. The skeleton left a trail of blood as he walked on. At last. He kept thinking those words.

At last.

He was free. And when he was a higher level—just a bit higher—

He’d finally be free forever.

2.44

The continent of Izril had been changed by winter. The cold snows had buried the green hills and fauna, and turned the world white and cold. And just north of the famous High Passes and the climbable mountains, the world had grown desolate.

A large field had been covered by snow, and it was here the winds blew without mercy. Chilling gusts made the freezing temperatures even more dangerous for anyone caught outside without protection.

Flecks of snow fell from a forest in the distance and whirled into the air. They flew in the wind, icy daggers which melted and froze again on bare skin. The field was silent. It was a cold winter wonderland; a place untouched by any artificial dwellings or settlements.

But one figure moved through the static landscape. A Human girl stumbled and slowly pushed her way through the snow, dragging a large sleigh-like vehicle behind her. The cold air tried to bite into her clothes, and the haunting isolation would surely have driven any mortal person insane after a few days.

Because Erin had been outside for less than three hours, she was still in good spirits. And she wasn’t exactly marching in weary silence. She was singing.

“Because of my skeleton, I can’t find my way home.

That’s why I’m roaming!

It’s so cold out here, I might freeze to death.

So I can’t stop and rest!

Ba dum bum bump bum.

I think I’m totally lost. My sleigh is covered in frost.

I uh, I’m really, really cross.

Stupid Toren!”

Erin wasn’t feeling too bad at the moment. True, she was lost, abandoned by her skeleton, and she had no idea where she was, but she had a catchy tune in her head so she was focusing on that.

She had no niceties in her song like a proper melody, or a sense of rhythm; no accompaniment aside from the sound the sledge made as she dragged it through the snow. Everything was ad lib, which led to some interesting lyrics.

“No matter where I go, everything seems the same!

I think Toren’s to blame?

I really want to eat, but all I have is honey and dead bees,

I wish I had some—aaaaah! Wolves!”

She spotted the first grey shape creeping towards her in the snow by chance; she turned her head and saw the wolf about thirteen feet away from her. Erin stopped singing and screamed as the wolf got up and howled. More wolves howled around Erin, and she realized her singing—and the dead wolf Toren may or may not have killed—had attracted a pack.

“Stay back! Stay back!”

Erin screamed at the wolves as they began to circle her. Again, these were not Carn Wolves, but they were still big and scary to Erin, a girl who had only seen wolves in zoos and on National Geographic and Planet Earth.

And now here they were, larger than—

One of them raced through the snow and leapt at Erin. She yelled, but didn’t flinch away or try to protect her face. Instead she clenched her fist.

“[Minotaur Punch]!”

The fist caught the wolf in the stomach. The animal made a wheezing, grunting sound as Erin sent him tumbling into the snow with a punch. Another wolf leapt and Erin dodged and then kicked it in the face. She was wearing winter boots, and the wolf yelped and leapt back.

“Take that!”

She yelled at them and then scrambled so she’d have her back to the sledge. The wolves charged again, but Erin was ready. Her heart was beating out of her chest, but this wasn’t as bad as the undead. The wolves weren’t as dangerous as Gazi, or as numerous as Goblin—

Erin slapped a wolf in the face and made it retreat. But they were scary, and they had teeth! Twice they’d bit into her clothing, but they’d missed her skin. She punched another one. It made the wolf collapse onto the ground for a second before it got up and sped away.

“Yeah, that’s right! You want a piece of this?”

The young woman shouted and waved her arms to try and make herself look bigger. Scare them away. Make as much noise as possible. She saw the wolves hesitating and kept screaming. She wasn’t going to die here, not to wolves.

—-

The wolf pack was hungry, which was why they’d decided to go after the two-legged creature that smelled so odd. Normally they avoided all such creatures and went after familiar prey, but the winter snows had been deeper than normal of late, and finding food had been more difficult than before. They had spotted a group of Corusdeer moving south earlier this week, but there hadn’t been any stragglers to run down, and the deer were too dangerous for a wolf pack to take on unless they were desperate.

So they’d closed in on this Human, using stealth to approach her. But she’d spotted one of their number so they’d attacked.

That had been a mistake. The creature was small, but it hit and struck the wolves like a falling tree. The adults couldn’t bite her no matter how they leapt. And the female thing was refusing to run.

Was she prey? The wolves had thought so, but they were quickly changing their opinion. The creature was screaming and acting afraid, but she was strong, and she didn’t smell afraid like a prey. And then Erin picked up a wolf that had jumped at her and threw it at the others.

That was too much for the wolves. They slunk back as she yelled and threw snow that smacked one of the young wolves in the face and considered their options. They might have stuck around at a distance, watching her and waiting to see if she faltered, but then they raised their noses and scented trouble in the air. The wolves turned and fled. They might be hungry, but even they weren’t willing to deal with this kind of trouble.

The strange two-legged creature stayed where she was, yelling and cheering. She didn’t see the angry grizzly bear emerge from his cave until he was nearly on top of her.

—-

“Oh my god! A bear! A bear!”

Erin screamed as she pushed the sledge through the snow. She didn’t know why she’d brought it with her, but it hadn’t occurred to her to just run.

It wouldn’t have helped anyways. The bear was thundering through the snow, creating massive geysers as he roared and came at Erin. She screamed again.

“Stay back! Stay back! STAY BACK!”

She used her [Loud Voice] skill by accident. The bear hesitated as Erin raised her fists in desperation. He averted his charge and ran sideways before stopping and staring at Erin. She stared at him.

The bear was angry—she’d probably woken it from hibernation. Erin might not have ever encountered wolves, but she knew about bears. Michigan had bears and she knew—what was it?

Don’t leave food out, don’t get between a bear and her cubs…stay calm if you see a bear at a distance…but what about an attacking, angry bear?

Erin didn’t know, but the bear was getting mad again. He tried to charge. Erin screamed at him.

“GO AWAY.”

This time the bear clearly reacted to her voice. He shied away and Erin realized he didn’t like the sound.

“Don’t like that? How about this?

She took a deep breath, and then Erin let loose.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—”

—-

Three hundred meters away, a [Hunter] lowered his bow and looked up. The bird he’d been stalking took wing—as did every bird in the forest. They flew up into the air in a panic and he took aim and loosed his arrow. He missed. The [Hunter] cursed, and then looked around.

“What in the name of Dragons is that sound?”

It sounded like someone screaming, incredibly loud and from far away. The man with the bow—Jerad Riels—hesitated, but then he ran through the forest, heedless of the snow that crunched beneath his boots. He was normally as stealthy as possible to avoid alerting his quarry or dangerous predators, but that sound was drowning everything else out.

He ran out of the forest and saw a bear. Jerad knew this bear. It was an aggressive male that he’d stayed well away from while it was hibernating in its cave. Right now, the bear was loping back to his cave as fast as he could. He was running, yes, running from…a girl?

Jerad squinted. He didn’t have a Skill that enhanced his vision, but his eyesight had always been good. His eyes widened as he saw the young woman standing in front of some kind of sleigh. She had no horse, but perhaps the animal had bolted. The girl was the source of the unbearably loud screaming.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—oh hi there!”

The older man rubbed at his ears, which were ringing. The young woman smiled at him. She was wearing winter clothing, and her sleigh looked like it had been cobbled together in a hurry. There were several jars in the back, and Jerad’s eyes widened when he saw one jar was full of deadly Ashfire Bees.

“Oh hey. I’m lost. My skeleton ran off. Can you help me?”

Jerad looked at Erin.

“What?”

“I said my skeleton ran off.”

His ears were still ringing. Jerad rubbed at them. He could have sworn she’d said something about a skeleton?

“What did you say?”

“What?”

“What?”

—-

About two miles to the southwest, the Goblins paused when they heard the faint scream which cut off after a few minutes. Their sensitive ears twitched and they looked at each other, but they moved on when their Hobgoblin leader grunted irritably.

They were thirteen Goblins in all, and not your ordinary group of Goblins either. Each one was over Level 10 in a combat-oriented class, and they all wore armor and carried swords that were neither rusty nor broken. They were part of the Red Fang tribe, and they were on a mission to kill.

The twelve Goblins and one Hobgoblin that marched through the snow had only one task: kill the [Innkeeper]. Kill the girl and do not tell the Chieftain. Each one of them had been told this by Garen Redfang himself in secret, and so they moved tirelessly through the snow, alert for any signs of this Human.

After a while, the Goblins halted for a quick break. They sniffed the air, studied tracks in the snow. Then they looked at each other. None of them spoke, but they were all thinking the same thing:

Which [Innkeeper]? Which girl? What did she look like? Where was she? Was she strong? Did she taste good?

After a moment the Hobgoblin scratched at his back and pointed in a random direction. The Goblins headed that way. Garen had told them the girl went north, but none of them had any tracking class, so they’d lost the tracks the sledge had made in the snow nearly an hour ago.

The Goblins marched on. They were a dangerous band, armed to the teeth. On a mission.

After they’d walked for four more hours in an aimless circle, it occurred to one of the Goblins that the scream and the girl might be connected. They hastened back to the location of the screamer, but by that time whoever had made the sound was long gone.

The Goblins shrugged and kept on looking. Garen Redfang may have picked some of his best warriors, but none of them were exactly bright. Even by Goblin standards.

—-

It was a longstanding practice among Drakes to make fun of Human [Guardsmen] and the local law enforcement in Human cities. One popular Drake joke revolved around comparing Human city militias and guardsmen to ineffectual shaved Gnolls – a joke that fares poorly in translation and is considered extremely offensive to both Humans and Gnolls.

However, it was a universally accepted fact that if you wanted to get rid of a monster or apprehend a criminal in a Human city, you should hire an adventurer. While the local watch might be capable of apprehending common thieves, the difference in the quality of soldiers employed by Drakes and Humans was vast.

In Drake cities such as Liscor, a [Guardsman] was a prestigious job that afforded excellent pay and required an equally high level of competence. In a Human settlement however, those who possessed high levels invariably became mercenaries, adventurers, or personal guards. Thus, gate guards in cities like Celum were usually bored and not inclined to seek out conflict in most cases, their work usually being to break up bar fights and prevent thefts and muggings rather than fend off monster attacks.

But they still did their jobs, and all guardsmen loved anything interesting, which was why they stopped the young woman who was trying to push a sleigh into their city.

“Excuse me Miss, but you can’t bring that through the gates.”

Erin brushed aside her hair and wiped away some sweat from her brow. Despite it still being cold, she was hot from her exertions. She’d pushed the sledge for miles down the road after the nice [Hunter] had helped her get to it.

“Aw. I can’t?”

“You have no horse, and that thing looks like it’d get stuck on the cobblestones.”

They were probably right. Erin sighed and looked around. She was surprised by everything. For one thing, this city had low walls. They were only about twenty feet tall, and the town had a steady flow of traffic. And everyone was a Human!

Erin had had a…reaction when she’d started meeting people on the road. She’d gone around shaking hands and saying hi. Everyone had looked at her as if she was crazy, especially when she told them she was travelling alone. She hadn’t even mentioned her missing skeleton; it didn’t seem wise to mention that bit.

There was a nice spot of open snow just to the left of the gate. Erin pointed to that.

“Can I leave my sledge there?”

The guardsmen exchanged glances and shrugged. Erin pushed the sledge over and wiped at her brow again. Now that she wasn’t in the driver’s seat she felt a little guilty about making Toren pull the sledge everywhere. But why had he just run off? Erin didn’t like to suspect the worst but—

She suspected the worst. Toren had run off, like…a stray dog? A stray undead dog with armor and a sword and eyes that cast a fear spell. She was a tiny bit worried, but right now she needed to get back home.

“You wouldn’t happen to know how far we are from Liscor, would you?”

The [Guardsman] stared at Erin as she carried the three big jars with her. She had to use her blanket as a sack, and the jars clinked together. She really hoped they wouldn’t break.

“Liscor? Are you a [Trader] from there?”

“What? No. I’m an [Innkeeper] and I’m lost.”

He stared at her. He had a fuzzy mustache that wasn’t quite deserving of the name and brown hair. He looked cold in his armor. He was also giving Erin a look of deep skepticism. Erin blinked at him.

“What? I am. I got lost.”

“Liscor is over a hundred miles south of here. How did you travel this far without knowing that?”

“What? A hundred miles!?”

Erin clapped her hands to her head. How would she get back? She wasn’t going to walk that far! And she didn’t have Toren!

The guardsman stared at Erin as she groaned out loud. Then his eyes shifted to her makeshift bag with the clinking jars. They were clearly heavy as they strained against the fabric.

“What’s in the jars?”

“What, this? Honey and, uh, honey-related stuff.”

The fuzzy-lipped man frowned.

“I’ll have to inspect the jars. There’s a trade fee if you bring goods into the city.”

“Aw. Really?”

By this point, the other guardsman at the gate had taken over waving people in to the city. Erin was a sideshow attraction that people stared at as they went through. She sighed as the guardsman nodded.

Reluctantly, she reached into the satchel and carefully pulled out the jar of honey. Everyone looked around and stared at the golden substance. Fuzzylips’ jaw dropped.

“Is that—where did you get that?”

“Uh? From a bee hive? You know, bees?”

One of the armed guards following a caravan burst out laughing. Fuzzylips glared at her as she walked through the gates and then stared hard at Erin. But she just gave him a round-eyed look of innocence. He sighed, cheeks red.

“Are all these jars honey? There’s a tax on them—you’ll have to pay quite a few silvers.”

Erin’s face fell. She reached into the sack and slowly pulled out the jar of dead bees.

“Do these count?”

The guardsman had glanced sideways to flip off his chortling comrade at the gate. He looked back to see an Ashfire Bee the size of his face crushed against the walls of the glass jar.

He screamed and felt backwards, grabbing for his sword. The other guardsman recoiled, and then laughed harder when he saw the jar.

“How did you get those?”

“I caught them. Sort of.”

It was hard to explain if she didn’t mention Toren, and even harder if she did. In the end, Erin just gave up.

“Look, I’ve got bees. And honey! And I need a way to get back to Liscor. So…can I go in and buy a horse or something?”

Fuzzy-lips didn’t look like he was having a good day. He was breathing hard, and he’d told Erin to put the bee jar back in her satchel. He cleared his throat a few times.

“I suppose you could buy into a caravan or a horse. But a caravan’s slow and a decent horse would cost you at least thirty gold pieces. I doubt you’d make much headway with all this snow we’ve had in any case. Even with your…sleigh.”

Erin’s face fell. She scratched at her head. She had some money, but she really didn’t want a horse, mainly because she couldn’t ride one and she had no idea how to make one go. First things first.

“Okay. Um, can I go in the city now?”

“You’ll have to pay an import tax. Bring the jars over here, please.”

Fuzzylips led Erin over to a small stand located in the gatehouse. To her surprise, she saw they had a bunch of balance scales, crude measuring devices—they were going through a merchant’s wagon item by item, and another guardsman was tapping on parts of the wagon as if he was looking for hidden compartments.

They had to use a big scale for her jars. Erin caused quite a fuss when she took the honey out again—and Fuzzylips got to work weighing the jar. He used colored stones to balance the scale and he muttered to himself as he measured the jar with a knotted rope.

Then he told Erin to place the bee-filled jar on the scale. She did so, ignoring the gasps. Fuzzylips measured the jar fast, and he freaked out when one of the bees twitched inside the glass.

“They’re alive!?”

Erin poked at the bee curiously. It was waving its feelers at her.

“Weird. I know I sealed the jar, but I guess they’ve still got a bit of air left in there. Huh. It’s been like, ten hours since then. I had a long nap.”

The poor guardsman measured the jar fast without touching the glass. When he was done he scribbled on a piece of paper and told Erin how much it would cost to take the jars into the city.

“Four silver for each jar of honey and seven for the jar of…”

Fuzzylips shuddered.

“Bees.”

“That’s a lot of money! And why are the bees more expensive than the honey?”

“You’ll get more for them from any merchant, I expect. And the [Alchemists] pay a mint for monster parts.”

“They do? Hmm…”

She’d probably need some money to get back. More than she had, anyways. Erin fished around in her pockets.

“Where’s my money pouch? Uh oh. Did I bring it with me?”

Fuzzylips stared at her with a pained expression as Erin checked the many pockets of her layers of clothing.

“Coins? Coins, coins…aha!”

She pulled out her coin pouch and triumphantly spilled some coins into her hands. Again, the guardsmen’s eyes bulged as they saw the gold coins that Erin had earned from her successful days of innkeeping.

“How many silver coins is…? Oh wait, I give you one. Here!”

Erin handed a gold coin to Fuzzylips. He took it, staring as she tucked the rest into her pouch. He had to test the coin by scoring it with a dagger to make sure it was real. The gold attracted not a few eyes, and the [Guardsman] had to fumble with his own purse to make change for her.

“Here you are. And here is your signed proof of entry. Present it if you’re questioned.”

Erin had to fumble with the stamped piece of paper. She smiled at the guardsman.

“Thanks! Can you tell me where I can find an [Alchemist]?”

“Go down the main street and take a left when you see the Adventurer’s Guild. There are a lot of shops down that street.”

“Thank you!”

“Ah, before you go—”

Fuzzylips coughed, and Erin turned back. He and some of the other guardsmen—some of whom weren’t actually men—were staring at Erin.

“You said you came from Liscor? And you’re an [Innkeeper]?”

“That’s right!”

“But—only Drakes and Gnolls live down there. I heard a dungeon was found earlier—are you an adventurer was well?”

Erin frowned.

“No…I have an inn. It’s called, ‘The Wandering Inn.’”

“Ah. Because it wanders magically?”

“No. It’s, well, it’s sort of a joke. And I found the inn by chance when I was…wandering. See?”

Erin tried to explain. In the end, she gave up.

“Anyways, I run it, but I went out for a uh, ride, and I got lost. So I ended up here and now I’ve got to get back. With a horse or something.”

“I see?”

“Yeah! Well, anyways, thanks for all the help!”

Erin smiled at them. She waved and walked out of the gatehouse. The [Guardsmen] and two [Guardswomen] looked at each other. Fuzzylips scratched at his weak mustache.

“What’s the joke?”

—-

Celum was amazing. It looked like a real medieval town, with tons of rumbling wagons and people who dressed in rough clothing and other people hawking their goods. True, Liscor had some of the same elements, but Drakes and Gnolls were different and Liscor didn’t get nearly as many visitors. Erin walked through the streets looking around in awe.

“Wow. And they’re all Human!”

That was something she could only be amazed by in this world. But yet, everyone who walked by Erin was Human, and…white. They all had variations of fair skin, and a lot of them looked European. Erin found that slightly odd, but she was already wondering if she could wait here for a day before returning to her inn.

It had been so long—she just wanted to talk with some other people. But the glass jars were heavy and they kept threatening to fall out of her blanket-satchel. So Erin resolved to sell them first. She could probably sell the honey to a bunch of places, but the bees had to go to an [Alchemist].

What had Fuzzylips said? Something about left at the Adventurer’s Guild? Erin frowned. She tried to make her way through the flow of traffic, but she hadn’t gone more than eight steps before she ran into an issue.

Namely, traffic. In Liscor she hadn’t experienced many problems, but even the main road of Celum had a lot of congestion due to all the foot traffic and the wagons that were constantly moving by. No one wanted their feet crushed by a wagon wheel, and the horses themselves were not keen to have to push through people. All this meant that Erin soon found herself jostled and moving very slowly.

She was worried the glass jars would fall out of her satchel. Erin frowned and wondered if she should try to find another way through the streets before someone yanked at her shirt.

“Hey Miss, I can take you to an [Alchemist]!”

Erin looked down and saw a gap-toothed grin and a young boy smiling up at her. She smiled back.

“Hi there! Who are you?”

The young boy couldn’t have been more than thirteen. He was scrawny for his age though, and he looked underfed. But he gave her such a charming smile that Erin immediately liked him.

“I’m Grev, Miss. And you need to get to an [Alchemist] to sell them bees, am I right?”

“How do you know I’ve got bees?”

Erin was surprised, but the boy just shrugged.

“I wait at the gatehouse. I’m a local guide; I can take you where you need to go without having to wait for all this traffic!”

That did sound good. Erin looked at the milling people—and at the heavy wagons and pooping horses—and smiled at Grev.

“Well, if you know the way I guess I can pay you something. Like a silver coin?”

“I’d do it for half, but if you’re offering—”

Grev’s mouth fell open as Erin put a silver coin in his hand. He stared up at her, and Erin gave him a smile.

“Lead on! And can you show me around afterwards? I’ve never been to Celum.”

Her genuine enthusiasm and trust nearly made the boy reconsider. But then he put his [Fake Smile] back on his face and pointed down another street.

“Sure thing! This way, Miss. I know a short cut.”

Erin happily walked after Grev. She walked down some side streets off the main street, looking around happily. Her smile was wide, and it only faded a bit when she had to go down an alleyway. When she saw the three men in dark clothing her smile was faded, but still hanging on determinedly to her face. When they unsheathed their swords and daggers she lost the smile.

—-

“Hey, wait a second. You tricked me!”

Erin glared at Grev, but the boy dashed away from her and ducked past one of the men. He held out a hand and the man dropped a few silver coins into it. He stopped and hesitated though, looking back at Erin. He spoke to the man with the sword.

“Don’t hurt her! She’s got the money in a pouch.”

The cloaked and hooded man cursed and struck at Grev.

“Beat it, brat.”

Grev fled, casting one glance back at Erin. She stared at the men—two in front and one behind as they slowly advanced on her. She wasn’t sure if she should be scared or not, but Erin was decidedly unhappy at the moment. She glared at the men as she protectively shifted the glass jars at her side. The clamped lid of the bee jar brushed against her finger as she considered her options. She’d left the frying pan in the sledge, and they had weapons. What should she do?

“Hand over your coin and them jars and we won’t hurt you.”

The lead man was the one with the sword. Erin eyed it as he grinned at her, exposing bad teeth. He had a low, raspy voice, although it sounded like he was doing it on purpose. The man next to him was shorter, and he was smiling unpleasantly as he eyed Erin in a way she really didn’t like.

“Scream and this will be quick. But if you don’t move, this won’t hurt—much.”

Erin looked over her shoulder. The other man was approaching as well. They weren’t afraid of her.

“No. Go away and I won’t hurt you.”

The muggers laughed. The lead man stepped forwards.

“Don’t make this h—”

Erin punched him. She’d found she didn’t have to yell to use her Skills, but it felt good.

“[Minotaur Punch]!”

Her fist caught the man by surprise. Erin felt something crunch horribly as she struck him in the nose, and he dropped to the ground, screaming. The other man blinked, but he slashed at Erin.

“Aah!”

She stepped back and he missed her by inches. Calruz had taught her how to fight against someone with a weapon though, so she let him swing again and then kicked him in the groin. He cursed and Erin punched him in the face. His head snapped back and he fell back.

A huge arm encircled Erin’s throat. She gasped and kicked, but the third man lifted her up, trying to strangle her. Erin grabbed at his arm desperately. He had thick muscles, and she was already feeling the need to breathe. She saw him raising the dagger in his other hand.

Desperately, Erin grabbed at the mugger’s hand. He was strong—stronger than her even with [Lesser Strength], if not by much. But she couldn’t break his grip from this angle. She caught at his hand, and then felt his thumb. Erin grabbed it and bent it back until it broke.

He screamed and let go. Erin gasped for air, and then ducked away as he cut at her. She kicked him in the stomach and twisted left as he tried to stab her in the stomach.

It was just like when Calruz had had her fight Toren. It was dangerous and deadly—but Erin could fight! She could do it! She just didn’t like to.

She stomped on the man’s foot and punched him in the throat when he shouted in pain. He made a gurgling sound and folded up.

“You whore.”

The man with a sword was getting up. His nose was squashed and he had a nasal tone to his voice now, but there was murder in his eyes. Erin slowly backed up, and her foot touched the glass jar full of bees as the man advanced down the alleyway, sword raised.

“I’m gunna cut you.”

“No you’re not.”

Erin reached down and opened the jar lid. The man stopped and stared at the jars suspiciously. He reached into his side and pulled out a dagger.

“Don’t try it.”

“Oh yeah? Go away and I won’t have to hurt you.”

Erin clutched the thing in her hand as she crouched by the jars. The man hesitated.

“I’ll—”

“Bee in the face!”

Erin threw the dead bee at the man’s face as she dove out of the way. He threw the dagger, but it missed as Erin rolled and smacked into the alley wall. And then the mugger screamed as Erin’s [Unerring Throw] presented him with a bee at intimate proximity to his face.

“Take this!”

Erin ran over to the man just as he tore the dead bee off of him. She punched him in the chest and felt something go crack. He dropped the sword, and she punched him in the face. He fell down and didn’t get back up.

Breathing heavily, Erin staggered backwards, and stared at the three muggers. They were down and she was alive. Yeah. Alive.

Something burned. Erin looked at her arm and saw a deep cut she didn’t remember receiving. And her side was hurting too. Something had cut her there too! But she wasn’t hurt besides that.

“Oh wow. Oh no. Oh…”

Erin had to sit down for a second. The dead bee was lying on the ground, so Erin tossed it back in the jar and sealed the lid. Some of the bees were moving in reaction to the air. She stared at one of the men as he bled from his crushed nose and tried to breathe.

She’d never been attacked in Michigan. She’d never even really been in a fight. Of course, here she’d fought undead and monsters quite a lot so she hadn’t been terrified, but still—there was something scary about people trying to hurt her.

Erin sighed and stood up. She walked over to her jars and heard a gasp. She whirled around and saw a small shape stand up and dart towards the alleyway entrance.

“Hey! You! Don’t move or I’ll shoot! I mean, throw!”

Grev froze mid-step, and Erin lowered the glass jar in her hands. She stared at the young boy.

“You! Hey, come here you little jerk!”

Slowly, the young boy turned and walked towards Erin. His face was nearly white and he was trembling.

“I didn’t mean to do it! They forced me to, I swear! They were gonna kill my sister if I didn’t, miss!”

“What? That’s so ter—why were they giving you money, then?”

Erin frowned at Grev. He turned a shade whiter.

“I—I—please don’t kill me!”

The young woman thought about everything for a second. She considered the day she’d had—most of which she’d slept through, Toren’s betrayal, her entrance to the city and near-death or horrible mugging and worse experience and Grev’s part in all of it. She nodded to herself and clenched her fist.

“Take this!”

Grev screamed. Erin punched him on the head, hard, but without using her full strength. He yelped, and tried to scramble away. Erin caught him by his dirty shirt and he screamed in fear as he tried to shield his face.

“Please—”

“I’m not going to hurt you any more.”

Grev’s face instantly brightened.

“You’re not?”

Erin tried to make her face scary. She stared at Grev, trying to look menacing.

“I won’t if you do something for me.”

“W-what?”

Erin pointed to the unconscious muggers. One of them was groaning, and she wondered if she should kick them or sit on them or something. At the very least she should pick up all the weapons they’d dropped.

“You’re going to get me the Watch, and I’m going to sit here.”

Grev nodded eagerly. Erin almost let him go, but she had a thought. He was probably just going to run away, wasn’t he? She looked at the jars on the ground and had an idea. Grev’s white face turned even most ghost-like as she lifted one of the dead bees and showed him it.

“You’re going to get the Watch, understand? If you don’t, I’m going to take this bee and shove it—”

Erin hesitated. She eyed the horrible dead bug and Grev’s pale face.

“—Somewhere horrible! Go! Run!”

He ran as if the bees were chasing him. Erin stared down at the bee. Now that she thought about it, they were really useful. Then one of the bees tried to crawl out of the jar and Erin slammed the lid shut, cutting off two of its legs.

“Oops. Sorry!”

—-

Fuzzylips looked like he was trying to tug his budding mustache off his face. He had an incredulous look on his face that Erin was unfairly beginning to associate with his character in general. It seemed to pop up any time she explained something.

“So, you took down three muggers – one of whom was a former Bronze-rank Adventurer – with your bare hands.”

Erin nodded. She watched with interest as the squad of guardsmen forced the groaning men up and subdued any protest with brisk, efficient blows to soft spots.

“But you don’t have any combat classes except ah, two levels in [Warrior].”

Grev was shaking in the street. One of the guardswomen had an eye on him, and he looked afraid as he stared at Erin. What were they going to do with him? She nodded vaguely.

“I’ve got some Skills, though.”

“I see. And you beat them all without any injuries?”

“Well, I had a few but the healing potion cleared them up.”

Fuzzylips cleared his throat again.

“I see. Well ah, Miss Solstice—”

“Call me Erin!”

She beamed at him. Fuzzylips turned a bit red.

“Um—Erin. Well, I’m sorry you had to meet the worst folk in our city so soon. But you’ve done everyone a service, taking these men down. I’d like to present you with their gear, although we will of course be confiscating their weapons and armor. But I can give you some coin and the items they had on them.”

He offered Erin a small pouch he’d added two silver coins and four copper ones to, and three bottles of what Erin assumed were healing potions. She eyed them, confused.

“So you’re giving me their stuff? Because I beat them up?”

Fuzzylips nodded. Erin thought about that.

“Okay.”

“Well then, we’ll let you be on your way. I believe I will escort you to the [Alchemist] myself, in case of other…attacks. As for you—”

He turned and Grev made a run for it. He got two steps before the woman in armor grabbed him and roughly dragged him back. His face was a mask of terror.

“We’ll see if your folks can pay the fine for your crimes. If not, it’ll be lashes, boy.”

“What?”

Erin spoke up as Grev went white and began to cry. Fuzzylips looked at her.

“Pardon, Miss Erin, but it’s the only way to deal with his kind.”

“I already hit him. Isn’t that enough punishment?”

She felt guilty saying that, but Fuzzylips hesitated.

“He deserves a whipping, Miss. There’s no telling how many folks he caused to get murdered or robbed.”

“Right. Well…um…well, what if I said I forgave him?”

Both guardspeople looked at Erin. She was staring at Grev. He was looking at her as if she was his last hope. He squeezed his eyes and more tears fell. She wasn’t sure if he had really learned his lesson, but she didn’t want him to be lashed.

“If you want to drop charges…”

Fuzzylips muttered with his companion and turned back to Erin.

“Are you sure? He’s just as guilty as those other men, mark my words.”

“Well, if he does it again I’ll shove a b—I won’t forgive him. How’s that?”

Erin crossed her arms and tried to look imposing. Fuzzylips and the guardswoman looked skeptical, but he nodded at last.

“Well, boy, looks like you’re getting off easy thanks to Miss Erin.”

Grev looked relieved, but he went pale again as Fuzzylips put his hand on his sword.

“Mark me, though. I know your face, and if we catch wind you’re thieving or committing any more crimes—it won’t be lashes next time. We’ll cast you out of the city. Understand?”

The boy’s face went pale again. He stuttered.

“Y-yes.”

“Then beat it.”

Grev fled, staring back once at Erin. She watched him go, and felt like she should wave. He was a bad kid, but he was still just a kid. Who’d tried to get her killed, true.

After a moment, Fuzzylips cleared his throat.

“Who might you be wanting to see, Miss Erin? I know three reputable [Alchemists] in the city—do you have a preference or name?”

Erin scratched her head.

“Uh, how about the one who’s most likely to buy a jar of bees? I mean, do they even need bees?”

“The stitch-girl might.”

The guardswoman muttered to Fuzzylips, and he made a face.

“That’s true. That loon’ll buy—you want Octavia, Mi—Erin.”

“Cool. Do you know the way?”

“I’ll take you there. It’s only a few minutes’ walk.”

“Really? Thank you!”

Erin began to walk with the man, and then she paused and turned back to the other guardsmen. She smiled at them, deliberately ignoring the way they were kicking the guy with the sword in the stomach.

“Thanks for all the help!”

The guardspeople looked up, surprised, and the man on the ground spat out some blood and said a word that was muffled as he received another kick. Everyone watched as Erin walked off with the guardsman. Then the members of the Celum’s City Watch gathered together for some discussion as the three muggers were hauled off.

“An [Innkeeper] took down three men in an ambush? Are you sure that’s what she said?”

“Positive. And she’s from Liscor? If that’s what the [Innkeepers] are like there, what kind of crime do they have in Drake cities?”

“The Wandering Inn? I still don’t get the joke.”

—-

It was a pleasant walk, not being mugged or horribly attacked while Fuzzylips led her down the city streets. They even made better time; the [Guardsman] wasn’t afraid to shout to make people move aside, and by the time they got to the small street with the boarded-up windows, they’d had quite a nice chat.

“So you guys have never been to Liscor? Really?”

Fuzzylips coughed as he stopped in front of the shop. Erin looked up and read the sign.

Stitchworks. Potions, tonics, herbs.

That was a cool name, Erin decided. She didn’t know how it applied to [Alchemy], but maybe alchemists made magical string? She’d have to ask.

The man next to her coughed, and Erin looked over and listened attentively. He was quite a nice guy once you got to know him, even if he was terrified of bugs and okay with hitting kids.

“I’m not much of a traveler, to tell the truth. And even merchants rarely go that far south. It’s not profitable, dealing with non-humans. I suppose ten years back we did more business, but that was before the Second Antinium War with the Necromancer and they opened their gates to those bugs.”

He shuddered. Fuzzylips—whose name was actually Wesle—had a deep hatred towards the Antinium shared by most humans. She made no comment, but smiled again as she looked at the [Alchemist]’s shop. Some horrible odor was wafting from the inside.

“Well, thanks for taking me here Fuzz—Wesle.”

He turned red again and furiously stroked his mustache.

“It was my pleasure, Miss Erin. And if you ever need help, I’m sure I’d be happy to help.”

Erin nodded and smiled again before she pushed open the door to the shop. She cautiously walked into the dark room, expecting a mad scientist’s laboratory.

She was not disappointed. There was a bit more utility and a bit less insanity in some of the glass devices sitting on counters – Ryoka would have recognized medieval versions of Bunsen burners and test tubes – but the glowing liquids on shelves, ingredients hanging from hooks and general dim lighting offset only by the magical glow of potions still made Erin want to pee a bit. With nerve and excitement.

The only thing missing was this ‘Octavia’, who Fuzzylips didn’t seem to like that much. He’d called her a skinflint and insane, which seemed harsh.

“Hello? Is anyone here?”

Erin cautiously stepped into the shop. It was eerily quiet. Where was the shopkeeper, the alchemist? Was she out? If so, why was the door unl—

A dark brown face and a braided ponytail appeared in Erin’s plane of vision. Octavia popped up from the counter holding a piece of plant matter in her hands. To Erin, it looked as if the girl had appeared out of nowhere.

“Welcome to Stitchworks!”

Erin screamed.

“Gyaaaaaaa—”

“Are those Ashfire Bees?”

Erin blinked and cut off mid-scream as the jar full of bees was lifted out of her hands. Octavia held up the jar, breathing on the glass and wiping it clean.

“Let’s see…soldier bees, and worker bees…all intact as well! And alive? How did you get—no, I can make use of these—”

Erin blinked a few times at the dark-skinned girl. Her mind was still playing catch-up trying to interpret what Octavia had just said. The other girl was speaking really fast.

“You said they’re Ashfire Bees? Why do people call them that?”

Octavia bustled around Erin and placed the jar on a big scale. She kept speaking as she did, and as Erin stared at her back and the shock of meeting her wore off, she noticed Octavia’s odd stitch-marks around each shoulder and her neck, accentuated by her sleeveless shirt.

“Hmm…let’s see. That’s not a bad quantity at all. And they’re large bees, too; intact. Yes, I can give you a great deal. Let’s say I give you five gold coins for the jar, and I’ll toss in two of my custom-made stamina potions. It’s a great deal and I’ll throw in a 15% discount on any purchases you make. What do you say? Plus, I can give you a great deal on the honey!”

Erin blinked at her. She raised a hand.

“Um. I don’t need potions.”

“Are you sure? If you’re not into stamina potions, why not a healing potion? Everyone needs a healing potion, even if you’ve got the safest job in the world. I tell you what—I’ve got some low-strength potions right here, perfect the occasional scrape or bruise. I’ll trade them to you—let’s say half-weight of this jar? You’ll make back the market value of your bees or even double or triple the worth with a little bit of legwork in the market, easy.”

Erin hesitated again. Part of her wanted to say ‘yes’, but she wasn’t even really sure what she’d been offered.

“That does sound good. But no thanks. Why are they called Ashfire Bees?”

“A tough customer, huh?”

Octavia didn’t seem to be fully engaging with Erin. She spoke even faster as she pulled some potions off the shelves.

“I’m not fully liquid in terms of finance, but how about some of my latest inventions? I call these pepper potions. A few drops in the eye and your enemies will go blind. They’re going to be a bestseller I can tell, and I’ll give you to them practically for free—I was using them to fill another order, but I can make more and for you I’ll add that to some mana and stamina potions—a full set. Even if you don’t need them, they’ll be worth a fortune, what do you say?”

“Y—”

Erin bit her tongue. She wanted those potions now. She could sell them at her inn! But right now, she needed money more badly. She cleared her throat awkwardly.

“I don’t really exercise. And I don’t fight, so uh. The bees? Why are they called that?”

“Bees?”

For the first time Octavia paused, she looked oddly at Erin.

“What about them? Do you want to do a trade? I’ll take a few specimens off your hands if you’re willing to trade. Or—”

Erin raised her voice and cut the other young woman off.

“The Ashfire Bees. Why are they called that?”

Again, Octavia blinked at Erin. Then she slapped her forehead.

“Bees! Of course. Well, the Ashfire Bees—lovely quality and perfectly undamaged except for those two, by the way, you must tell me what adventurer harvested them—are known for their ability to withstand heat, and the way they can even start fires when they gather together. Not so much in the winter, but when spring comes, watch out! They’ve burned down forests and they’re quite dangerous which makes them big targets for adventurers. Consequently I rarely see so many in one place, but as I’ve said I’m willing to make any trade you w—”

“Does their honey have any special effects?”

“Their honey?”

Octavia’s eyes widened as she saw the full jar Erin pulled out of her bag. It was gone before Erin could blink.

“Ashfire Bee honey? Well, it’s not the best of reagents, but I can see it acting as a potent base although of course it’s not confirmed since there’s really no reason to use that when it’s such an expensive—I suppose I could make you a good deal right here without you having to find a merchant. Name your price and I’ll make sure you get the best deal right here. In fact, let me find you a seat.”

The girl with stitches tried to alternatively block Erin from leaving or retrieving her jars as she scrambled around for a place for Erin to sit. For Erin’s part, she was so bemused and confused that she eventually took a seat in a stool as Octavia tried to make another deal.

“Okay, you’ve clearly got some merchandise and I would be delighted to take it off your hand. So I’ll offer you my best item right now, which is a high-quality blur potion that I’ve just developed. It has a few minor side effects, but I think you’ll agree that the tradeoff in twitch speed is worth it.”

She grabbed a strange potion—yellow with whirling flecks of blue and shoved it in Erin’s face. The colors spun hypnotically as Octavia kept speaking.

“I think you’ll notice the blending here and the telltale unabsorbed reagents. This is a rare potion—any Silver-rank adventurer would want one. I can give you this and half my stock of—”

“Nah, I don’t want any. Hey, do you think the bees are magical, or is it just a biology thing that makes them so big?”

Octavia paused again. Erin looked at her innocently and started asking all the questions she’d been pondering.

“You see, I really don’t know much about the bees—but I thought you could use the honey and maybe some mana potions and make something cool. Actually, I just wanted to know if mana potions made food…magical. Because what if I added that to alcohol? Does it just make mana alcohol? Or does something else happen? Can you add potions to magical things and make the effects stronger?”

“Um—well, that’s a very interesting question. I have to speculate—”

Octavia hesitated. She looked at Erin.

“What type of ingredient are we talking about here? Some kind of magical excretion?”

Erin shook her head.

“No, I’ve got these faerie flowers, see. When I add them to ale it creates this weird hallucination sometimes—if I add too much you see things.”

“Faerie flowers?”

It was disconcerting the way the other girl’s eyes sparkled. In an instant Octavia was pacing around Erin, speaking rapidly.

“I’m so sorry, it was my mistake. I didn’t realize you were another [Alchemist]—well, I haven’t heard of any ‘faerie flowers’ but I suppose terms differ—are they some kind of toadstool? Of course, I’d love to discuss the effects, but if we’re talking experimentation then I’m sure we can come to an understanding.”

She practically ran over to her shelves and began pulling down ingredients. Erin stared at what looked like a cow tongue floating in green liquid and a handful of purple leaves as Octavia kept trying to seal the deal, whatever the deal was.

“I have quite a large variety of rare ingredients and I would be happy to assist you. Where did you come from? Esthelm? Wales? Further than that? I’m gratified that you chose my shop to visit first—I may not be the highest-level [Alchemist] in the region, but believe me, my experiments have already yielded several new innovations. I’ve got a wonderful new way to make smoke bags, and you won’t believe what I’ve developed for self-defense. True, the Watch banned me from using the stink potion anywhere in the city but—what type of alchemy did you say you practiced?”

“Uh.”

Erin’s brain hurt. But Octavia was looking at her so intently, so Erin scrambled for a response.

“I’m not an [Alchemist].”

“Oh, so you’re just an interested party? Adventurer? Merchant? If you’re looking for someone to experiment on your behalf, you’re in the right place.”

“I’m uh, not any of those things. And I don’t want to make potions. I want to make food. I’m an [Innkeeper].”

“Well, I think we can partner and do some great things together. I think a small down payment on your part would help if we’re going to use my shop, and of course if you have any other ingredients I’d be happy to pay a City Runner to import—”

Octavia broke off. She paused, and then slowly turned her head and stared at Erin, the first non-hyperactive moment Erin had seen her make.

“What did you just say?”

2.45

As Erin Solstice sat with the [Alchemist] named Octavia in a warm room in the city of Celum, another girl ran through the snow far to the south. She had been running for a long time—before Erin had even woken up, in truth, but she ran on with wild abandon.

Most runners conserved their energy; measured their pace and thought of distances to traverse, and of caution and prudence. They treated their bodies as finite resources. But Ryoka Griffin ran as though there would not be another ten minutes, let alone a tomorrow. She didn’t think beyond each step; her bloody feet churned through the snow as she ran the icy road from Liscor north.

She had known pain before. She had felt it in her heart, in her fragile limbs and from a thousand races and competitions and injuries. But now the agony of her heart was making even the urgent, biting thunder in her legs and chest grow silent. She had to keep running. She had to get there in time.

She ran north, gasping for air. She ignored the group of Goblins who spotted her and chased after her for a few paces. She ignored the people on the road; merchants and even groups of adventurers who called out. She ran with only one purpose in mind.

To avoid being too late.

—-

Never again. I swear it. Never again, I swore.

Time and time again I’ve said the same things, made the same promises. My broken oaths litter my past, and the dead claw at my heels. I feel like I walk in circles; repeating the same story towards infinity.

I can’t break free. I can’t stop it. I make friends and lose them. No; until this point I didn’t have friends. It was just me driving the nail into my skin, waiting for my skin to fester and rot. I would throw myself into challenges and cast everything to the wind because there was nothing worth clinging to.

At least, in my mind. But when I finally looked up and saw what was worth holding onto, it slipped from my fingers like starlight in the harsh light of the truth.

I ran for my friends and found only blood and bones before my eyes. Piles of bloodied rags in the darkness. Memory in shadow. It hardly seems like they’re gone. The lack of any goodbye haunts me.

I fell down and the Stone Spearstribe lifted me out of the cold. They offered me a hand—a paw—and lit a fire to ward away the cold. They died to destiny and monsters, fighting alone against a horde led by the Goblin with empty eyes.

And one last time, yes, one last time I run. Onwards, to save a friend who made a place to live in a world filled with monsters and magic. She built a place to keep my heart, and I brought death to her doorstep.

Is that my fate? Is that the price I pay? The cruelest of fates would be that. If destiny could read my mind, it would know that punishing others for my transgressions would hurt me most. If that is the case, why shouldn’t I run far away, far away and find a place where I will be alone forever?

I tried that once. But people who loved me found me. I tried it twice, and they still brought me back. Was it truly love, or just the need to fulfill their duties as parents and guardians in a society that judged?

I should have asked, even if it meant listening to lies.

…

I have one last card to play. My deck is nearly empty. I thought I had a full hand of cards, but each one has flown away into a sky full of regrets. Some nights I stand on a hill full of yellow bones and wonder who will bury me in the dark earth when I die.

I have nightmares about that. Not of dying; I never did. But now I fear I will outlive everyone around me.

My fingers hurt. My lungs hurt. My feet—

At some point I think I decided the boots I was using were slowing me down too much. I threw away the coat and hat and everything else with it around the same time. I run through the snow. My feet burn with the cold; a terrible prickling pain trending towards numbness. Frostbite awaits, a dark little creature holding oblivion in one claw.

I don’t care. I run on, as fast as I can. I don’t even remember how long it’s been. I knew I had to get to Teriarch right away; but it will take at least a day of running straight out to get there.

Too slow. I might die before I reach him. So many things could happen. But I have to run as fast as I can.

If Erin is dead, then I really am lost.

How do I know she’s even in trouble? I can’t tell. She could have wandered off and simply not come back.

She could be dead.

It could be a thousand and one things or none of them. But as I was thinking, the terror of it came over me. When did I—? I’ve never been this afraid. Not of anything. But the thought of losing someone else makes me run even faster than I do now.

Running alone through the snow, blurring past people on the road who stare at me in surprise. Running, running.

But they follow me even so. So I guess I’m not alone.

“Is she trying to run fast?”

“I think she is! But she is so slow, isn’t she sisters?”

“Yes, so slow! Slow like dripping sap and ice melt.”

I grit my teeth. But they’re with me, as always. I look left and see a faerie lazily flying by my side. She laughs at me.

“Huffing and puffing away. Do you think it will help?”

“Where. Is. Erin?”

The faerie stares at me. I stare back. For once, this is a contest I can’t win. After a few seconds I stare back at the road, just in time to dodge past a large stone.

“Human. Have ye not heard us the last hundred times we’ve said it? We do not interfere in mortal affairs.”

“Liar.”

The faerie flips over and stares at me.

“Mm. True. But we do not break our oaths that easily.”

“You broke them once for me and Mrsha. Just tell me if Erin’s okay.”

“And why would we do that?”

Don’t snap at them. Don’t yell. I breathe in and taste the blood as the cold air rushes into my lungs.

“Don’t you care? She made you food. She likes you.”

“She is still mortal. She is one among countless many. Why does she matter more?”

“She matters to me.”

“So?”

It’s too much. I stop in the snow, slowing down and trying not to tumble as I start to skid. I stare at my feet in the snow and only notice now that I’ve left a trail. I lift one foot and see pink, red flesh. Blood begins to drip out of the white-red gashes on my feet, but slowly. The cold makes even losing blood hard.

“Ooh, she bleeds!”

Some of the faeries flying around me fly closer. I wave them away, but they just fly around my leg, pulling faces at me. I stare at them.

“Help me. If you won’t help me find Erin, help me reach my destination quicker. I know you can.”

I still remember the rushing air around me, the coldness in my bones, and the feeling—of flying. The night I ran through the Goblin Army to safety with the faeries—how far did I go? Each step felt like I was running into forever. The world felt still around me and I felt like I understood running like I never had before.

I need the same thing now. Erin could be injured, betrayed by her damn skeleton. Or maybe it failed her and a monster got her. Or if she crashed the sledge—

Erin lies on the ground. The blood from her head stains the snow. She’s looking around, calling out for her skeleton. I hear a growl, and then a Carn Wolf pads over to her. It sniffs at her and then bites, engulfing her head in its huge mouth. Muffled as it is, I hear a scream—

I shudder. My dreams were like this last night. I keep seeing—

I have to run faster. I look at the faeries. They’re hovering around me, giving me skeptical and incredulous looks. One of them floats nearer to my face.

“You beg a favor with naught to offer? Nay, you beg to alter destiny? Have you no shame?”

“Not anymore.”

I meet her eyes squarely. The faerie shakes her head at me.

“Nothing is free. We are not gods! This fate you fear is your duty to change, mortal.”

“My name is Ryoka Griffin.”

She gives me an old look.

“Dust.”

“She fed you. She built her inn out of copper to please you! She’s the only damn person in this world worth saving! Don’t you care!?”

I scream at them. The faeries hover in the cold air, and I feel it grow colder. My feet don’t really feel like anything anymore. But I don’t look away from them.

This time, the high-pitched voice is gone. The voice that comes out of the glittering diamond of a body is lower, and it echoes. Something else is speaking. Or perhaps it’s the true form of the faerie that even Erin and I can’t see.

“We care. Watch your tongue, mortal. We care. We care like pouring rain and a new shoot’s blossom. We care for fires’ burn and for scurrying things caught by flood and fang. We care for the fading earth and the sigh of a dying breeze. We care.”

“So stop asking!”

A snowball hits me in the face. This one has shards which cut and burn. I wipe away the snow and feel myself bleeding. Around me, the fey are hovering. Watching.

“I know there are rules. I know destiny exacts casualty for every action. But if that is the nature of this world, why not cheat? Why not—break the rules and act without consequence? I bet you can.”

Scornful looks. One of the faeries flies closer. I think I know her. I think I’ve been talking to her most of the time. She looks like the others, but—

She taps me on the nose and everything freezes for a second. I stumble backwards and clap my hands to my face. She shakes her head.

“You really know nothing, do you? Did ye ever think that even we have enemies? Did you not think that the rules exist for a reason? You could not even dream of those who would call the fair folk their enemy.”

“So what?”

The faerie blinks at me. I swing at her and she lazily flips over my hand. She doesn’t look offended. I breathe heavily out of my mouth; my nose feels numb.

“What’s the point of rules if you can’t do anything? If—if your version of morality doesn’t consider Humans important, it’s broken. If that’s what you believe, you can all go to hell.”

I raise my middle finger and flip all the faeries off. They stare at me.

“It matters. Now matters. If we’re so insignificant and you can’t do anything, why are you following me?”

The faeries exchange a glance. And then four more fly down with the first faerie. They speak right on top of each other.

“Because we are bored.”

“Because you defy the fates.”

“Because of a grain of sand.”

“Because you would challenge Gods.”

“Because we can.”

I look at them.

“Then help. You can’t just watch. There’s a cost, even for the audience.”

One of the faeries blinks. The others scratch at their heads.

“There is?”

My heart beats again. I hear it, but my mind is racing. I grasp for straws.

“Of course there is. The audience is never silent. They gasp and encourage or boo the actors. And sometimes they help. Sometimes they change the story.”

“Mm. True. She speaks the truth!”

One of the faeries says that. The other smacks her, eliciting a cry of pain. The second faerie glares at me.

“You have asked much already. Too much! If we do all for you, what purpose do you serve?”

She’s right. I stare at her. I have been asking for their help. I should have been taking care of everything myself.

Without a word I keep running. Something in my body screams, and I swear, it feels like things are breaking—snapping apart in my legs. But I keep running nevertheless.

Faster. I have to run—

A faerie flies by my side. The same one as before. She looks at me.

“Ye really are slow, you know.”

“I know.”

I close my eyes. It was the only thing I was proud of. But it’s true.

“I know.”

A bit faster. I pump my arms, and my foot pushes off the ground. I can’t really feel them. But who cares?

This might be my last chance.

Erin backs away from a skeleton with a sword. It grins at her, empty sockets flashing with purple life. She raises her arms, but it runs her through. Blood bubbles out of her mouth and she grasps at the skeleton. It yanks the sword back and pieces of her come with it. It slowly raises the dripping blade and—

Faster. I gasp and cry and run. Just once, please. Please God, or anyone who’s listening. Just let me save one more person.

I did it once. Mrsha. I paid a price. I’ll do it again. No matter what I have to give up. Faeries and Dragons. Immortals. I’ll offer whatever it takes.

But how? I know who might find her. But how can I convince him to help me?

It’s like part of me is screaming at once, running with a thousand emotions in my heart. But another side of me sits in silence, listening to the rushing wind. That other Ryoka in me is thinking. Even if I get to Teriarch in time, how do I convince him?

He’s proud. He’s a Dragon. I’m nothing. He might erase my mind or kill me in an instant. What could I offer him?

Think. Dragons. Old. Immortals. Timeless. Pride?

No. Greed? Wisdom? The desire of immortals is…what does a Dragon want? Virgins on stakes? Cow steaks? Money? Magical items?

It’s impossible. But I have to think of something. Something that would tempt even a Dragon?

The oldest kind. The oldest games. Something timeless. Pride. Challenge the Dragon. Sacrifice and risk. A magic sword.

I—old. He’s old. And he’s prideful? Yes. Something’s there.

Hold on. Pride. Magic sword. Magic? Magic…the oldest games?

Hang on.

I think I know what I have to do. If I can ask him that—how did it go? Red house. Owning cats? Fish?

Try to remember. Cryptology club. Middle school. So long ago. I can reconstruct it. Think of it.

My mind is fuzzy. I’m so tired. How long have I been running? Where did my shoes go? I feel numb. It’s a bad sign. But I’m still running. It feels like it’s been over a day. Or maybe it’s been a few hours?

It doesn’t matter. I can feel the cold wind touching my half-healed stumps. I’ve already lost something. I’ve not lost enough. I would give away the rest if it means I’m not too late for once.

I have to be there in time.

It’s so cold.

—-

High above the girl, the faeries fly in the cold sky. They stare down at her and consider what she’s said. They debate in words no Human could ever understand, and think of what might happen and might be.

A faint wind blows. It pushes the girl, though she doesn’t feel it. It is not a wind that touches the skin. It makes her run across the ground, through the snow, and yet, somehow, her path is shorter than before. She runs the same distance the same way, and yet the wind makes her arrive a bit faster than she would have otherwise. That’s all.

The faeries fly after her, savoring the breeze. Then they fly up, and one speaks. She declaims to the world, to the others, her voice high and carrying.

“‘Tis so often we see on high that it is like rain.

The thing that kings dream of and heroes possess;

An end or beginning of such tales, which mortals call doom.

The birthright of tragedy; a speck of hope in despair.

As blades of grass are crushed ‘neath heedless foot

So too shall the skein of woven fate

Crumble and break

Upon this earth.

Yet for this one, the star shines brightest now,

At fire’s waning and the moment hammer strikes.

‘Twill spell her fate, the wretched child

Who would dice upon the table of worlds with Gods.

But quick, we fly on!

To bear witness for friendship burgeoning.

And let the oldest stories rise again.

Lo! We declare such immortal words.”

The other faeries looked at each other. One spoke.

“Lord, what fools these mortals be!”

They flew off after Ryoka. And in moments, hours, in due time, she reached the High Passes.

—-

“Teriarch!”

The girl screamed. The Dragon watched with magic, one eye cracked the tiniest fraction of the way open. His spells had woken him from his slumber, and now he stared at the girl running through the deathly path between the mountains.

Shouting.

He’d thought she was at least partly intelligent. Didn’t she know what shouting would bring? She wasn’t even using that foul potion this time. Already the wolves were following, and the goats had begun to descend. A few more steps and she would wake darker things with her noise.

He sighed. He didn’t feel like dealing with Humans today. Already he’d been pestered by Reinhart’s messages. He just wanted to sleep. But he had sent something with her, hadn’t he? Something important?

Oh yes, the letter. He’d thought about it for a while. Had it arrived? Teriarch thought of Perril Chandler. Yes, the mage was a nuisance, but the letter was the important thing. He had to know if it had arrived safely.

The Dragon grumbled, but the girl was stumbling. And there were those blasted fae with her as well. But it couldn’t be helped.

He stirred himself, spoke a word. A man appeared in the room; standing with an irritated expression on his face. Teriarch focused, and the man walked back a few paces. There. He looked normal, didn’t he? Teriarch had a thought and glanced at the cave wall.

Right. Shadow. He flicked his tail and his shadow vanished. That should do it.

He looked back at his image of the high passes. He couldn’t focus on the girl; her blasted name still didn’t work. But he could still see her from high overhead. He spoke another word. The girl in the magic spell vanished, and she was standing before him.

She stumbled; stared around in shock. The fae were already chattering to him in tinny voices that hurt his ears. Teriarch grumbled and spoke another word. The flitting immortals didn’t freeze, but the girl did. That was something.

Teriarch cleared his throat. Below him, the magical copy did the same. He saw the Human representation of himself raise his hand to cast the next spell.

All he had to do was say a few words. Teriarch didn’t know what the spell would be called with the magic system Humans used. [Greater Geas] was probably close enough; he doubted the girl would ever meet a mage capable of casting the same.

The Dragon took a breath. He only had to say those words. Then he could ask her all the questions he wanted. She wouldn’t be able to throw off his magic if he used more force. He only had to do that.

But then the Dragon smelled the blood. It was such a faint odor at first, almost masked by the scent of the fae and snow and sweat and ice. And he was used to smelling blood from the things in the High Passes. But this blood was fresh, and close.

Teriarch stared at the girl. Blood was pooling around her feet, running in the warmth of his cave. It ran from her feet, but he couldn’t see any wounds on her body. He stared at her feet.

Two words. He only had to say them. But Teriarch hesitated, and that made all the difference. It was such a small thing. But it meant…

Everything.

—-

“Your feet.”

I stare at the old man, unable to move. I throw myself against the spell that holds me, trying to move any muscle in my body. Hell, I’d release my bowel control if it meant getting his attention. But the full-body paralyze spell freezes even those muscles.

I can’t let him send me away. I have to resist whatever he does. I have to resist. Don’t lose focus. Don’t give in. Don’t—

“What happened to your feet?”

I blink at him. I can move again. I stare down at my feet and see the blood.

“Oh.”

There’s a lot of it. It stains the perfect, lovely marble floor. I raise my foot and slowly stare at it.

Ruined. Flesh is torn. I stare at the bottom of my feet and try to remember what they’re supposed to look like. My feet always had calluses, and Mom used to say that they looked awful. But now—

“Hah.”

It’s not quite a laugh. I just stare at what used to be my soles and shrug. I look at Teriarch. The old man is staring at my feet. His haughty look is gone.

“It doesn’t matter.”

He looks at me, surprised. I just stare back. They really don’t matter. Not right now. But he shakes his head.

“Enough. [Mend].”

He points at my feet, and I feel a shock that goes through my core. It feels like something bright flashes through me. If bright could be a feeling—

Suddenly, the terrible numbness in my feet and my legs fades. I feel pain, and then not even that. I wiggle my toes, able to wiggle them after that feeling vanished.

Blink. Blink. My toes waggle in the blood around my feet. Teriarch speaks again, and then the blood begins to flow away.

I turn around and see the blood flowing away, back towards the cavern entrance. One of the faeries laughs and chases after it.

“There. Kindly do not track—kindly do not bleed in my domain again.”

This time, I look at Teriarch and realize how frozen and tired I’d been before. Now my mind feels like it’s racing at its peak. No—I feel better than I have in years. What magic was that?

No. Focus. Standing before me is a Dragon. Remember that.

But now that I’m in front of him, the old man seems far realer than my belief in Dragons. Just looking at him erodes my confidence in my memories. I remember them clearly but he looks—

He looks good, okay? Like, really good*.

*Like the kind of person we wish we could be. Like a model, something to strive for. Even if it’s an illusion, it’s art in its own way. He makes me remember my imperfections.

But I have to focus. Erin.

The thought of her is the shock I need. I blink and grit my teeth so hard my gums hurt. Teriarch stares at me in silence for a few moments. What should I say first?

“Well, I must congratulate you for punctuality, I suppose. You took longer than I had hoped, but you are clearly dedicated to your duties.”

I stare at him. What? What’s he—

Oh. Oh right. The letter. I’d barely remembered that.

Human Teriarch sighs. He waves a hand and a bag appears and gold coins appear out of the air and drop into it. A lot of coins for such a small bag*.

*A bag of holding? No—focus. Why do I feel so—so distracted? I was—was I depressed? Did that spell actually normalize my brain chemistry or something? Focus, Ryoka*.

**But I want to smile. I want to laugh. What the—I feel so good. What is this? I’ll take it, whatever it is. I can do this.

The old man waves the bag and it drifts towards me. He looks me in the eye, his heterochromic eyes hypnotizing.

“Speak the truth…messenger.”

Did he just forget my name? Teriarch clears his throat.

“I assume that you fulfilled my request and delivered both ring and letter to Perril Chandler?”

“I did.”

He nods.

“Was there any response? I doubt it, but the man might surprise me.”

“No. He…read the letter and said it was an appropriate gift.”

While he was making a horrific monstrosity over my head. Don’t mention that part! Just speak the truth. But half-truths. Yeah.

Teriarch looks vaguely pleased. He nods, but then flicks his fingers.

“Well, it took a bit of thought. And with that, I should be fine for another hundred…blast, what about Reinhart? Hmm…”

Unless Magnolia’s older than I thought, Teriarch believes in thinking ahead a lot more than a Human. And he’s pretty damn optimistic too, unless Humans live longer than they do in our world.

But then the old man pretending to be a mage looks back at me, and my spine stiffens. It’s not a spell; I’m just tense. I have to speak. I open my mouth, but then the bag flies towards me. I catch it instinctively.

“There. Eight hundred gold pieces, as agreed. I believe it should serve you well. Now, I will send you back to your city or hovel or wherever you please.”

He waves a hand and then hesitates.

“Ah. [Open Portal]?”

Did he just cast magic without using a spell? The shimmering magic of golden motes that begins to swirl around me started before he said those words. But that’s not important.

“Wait!”

He looks irritated.

“What is it this time? I will not renegotiate—”

Is now the time for it? No, no time to hesitate. I point at Teriarch, straight at his chest.

“You…you are a Dragon, aren’t you.”

He freezes. The air freezes. For a moment the world goes s—

“Ooh! She said it!”

“Shh! Quiet!”

That came from overhead. I barely process the voices, though. Neither, seemingly, does Teriarch. He stares at me. At last, he clears his throat.

“Dragon? What? You must be…I’m not a Dragon. Hah. You must be mistaken.”

Oh my—he sucks at acting! I stare at Teriarch. He stares back.

“Don’t lie to me. I know you’re a Dragon.”

“I’m not a Dragon. You’re mistaken. I’m uh, an [Archmage]. You must have confused my noble disposition with a Dragon’s…somehow.”

“I know you cast some kind of memory spell on me. I broke it and remembered. You. Are. A. Dragon.”

The white brows of the old man draw together.

“That’s impossible! No Human could—wait a second. Did Magnolia interfere? Is this one of her…pranks?”

“A Courier had a powerful charm. It broke the enchantment on me.”

“A Courier? One of them had—but my spells—was it a directly applied magic, or some kind of non-renewable sealed spell? I suppose my magic might have been compromised by a interwoven spell…”

The old man begins to mumble. Again, I’m a bit taken aback. He sounds grouchy, now, not like a Dragon. But after a few more seconds the old man looks at me. Shit. He’s going to—

“Anyways, you are mistaken. I am not a Dragon. I am just a—”

Teriarch’s eyes widen and then my fist crunches as it meets his perfect nose. It was a good punch; I stepped in and hit him with my best shot. With my left hand. My right one is still missing those fingers even after the spell.

I’ve gotta admit, even though part of me feels bad for hitting someone who looks like he’s four times my age, I enjoy that immensely. Add that to my gravestone*.

*Ryoka Griffin, 1995 – 2017. “Never knew when to shut up. Also, punched a Dragon.”

The old man stumbles backwards. I blink. What? He raises a hand to his nose and looks at the blood gushing from one nostril.

Oh no. Oh shit. I didn’t—he’s human? But I thought—

“Hmf. Humans are so violent.”

And then the old man in front of me wavers, and vanishes. The blood, the odor of his body, even the presence of him, the faint sense that something is there all vanishes in an instant.

And then I see the Dragon.

There are no words. It’s a Dragon. What else can I say? And yet, and yet…how insufficient the word is for him.

A Dragon. A wyrm. A being of scales and fire. An immortal creature or at least an ancient one in most mythoi. Ostensibly a large lizard with wings when you get right down to it. But the reality of one is different.

The Dragon lounges in the cavernous cave, the place that could hold a military aircraft hangar with ease, and makes the room feel cramped. He stretches out,  serpentine tail coiling around some of the magical artifacts piled up in his room. He’s not sleeping on a pile of gold a la Smaug—rather, he’s just lying on the ground, using his claws as a pillow.

Yes, he looks more like a dragon depicted in Western culture than an Oriental dragon. But instead of horns on his head he has a mane that looks like someone’s taken molten bronze and turned it into some kind of living hair.

Oh yeah. His scales are bronze. A deep bronze—and let me be clear, when I mean bronze, I don’t mean the color people think of as bronze. I mean bronze as it truly looks when it’s worked properly:

Golden.

The light. Oh, the light. Even the sun doesn’t look as beautiful as this color. The faint light in the cavern reflects off his scales and turns the entire cavern a slightly odd shade. He glows in the light, and his mane is luminous as the rest of him.

And now the Dragon—Teriarch raises his head. When I first saw him he looked almost as if he was sleeping, but now he sits up, and spreads his wings slightly. I step back and stare up, up, up, into two mismatched eyes that pierce me to the core.

This is a Dragon. This is Teriarch’s true nature, in front of me at last. He still defies words. We have so many, but what could really describe what I’m seeing?

Serpent. Wyrm. Drake. Arach. Naga. Ormr. Tann—

Wait a second, I’ve done this before.

I break out of the spell. I’ve done this before. Yes, I’ve seen Teriarch before. And I could stare at him forever, but I don’t have time for that. I clear my throat.

“Uh—”

“Human.”

The word makes my bones vibrate. Teriarch’s voice—his true voice shakes me to the core. Remember that bowel movement I talked about? I’m one second away from actually making good on that threat.

Teriarch lowers his massive head and suddenly he’s only twenty feet away from me. Twenty feet, but his head—I’m fixed in place, like a mouse staring at a cat. Or a mouse staring at a jumbo jet that smells like brimstone. When his mouth opens I can smell fire.

“So. You have uncovered my true form. I suppose I should congratulate you. But know this: your error was not in bringing this secret to your grave. Whatever paltry treasure you have imagined obtaining, know that I will not part with a single fraction of my wealth. If you are wise, you will—”

“I don’t want any treasure.”

He pauses. The sight of a puzzled Dragon is something I’ll take to my grave.

“What?”

“I don’t want any treasure. I’m not here to try and extort something out of you. I don’t have any desire to tell anyone that you’re a Dragon.”

Pause. The huge eyes sweep over me like spotlights.

“Oh.”

Blink. Even that’s scary on a face as huge and terrifying as his.

“Then why are you here?”

Stay calm. Be cool. He might be a Dragon, but he’s still Hu—he’s only mort—he’s uh, he probably has the same emotional wavelength as I do. He’s acted like that so far, anyways.

I clear my throat nervously.

“I…need help.”

“What?”

One eye stares at me. My mouth is dry as the Sahara in a heat wave, but I speak anyways.

“My friend is missing. I need you to help me find her. I need your magic. I ask—humbly—for your aid.”

Stare. The Dragon’s just staring at me. I mean, Teriarch’s just staring at me. Is this a lizard thing? My back is already sweaty, but then he turns his gaze away. Teriarch stares at the ceiling and starts talking to himself.

“First Reinhart, and now a random Courier. Do I look like I enjoy entertaining such…?”

It’s a mumble, but coming from a Dragon, it’s quite audible. Teriarch seems to realize this, because he shuts up and fixes me with another glare.

He looks…grumpy. The massive Dragon exhales a plume of smoke as he stares at me.

“Why should I use my vast powers for you?”

Okay. Time for reasoned arguments. That I didn’t prepare. With a Dragon.

I gulp.

“Magnolia Reinhart knows my friend. If Erin Solstice dies, she will be upset.”

I can only tell the truth. Or maybe he can sense it? Did he cast that spell on me this time? But it’s sort of true, right? Erin did mention that. It’s not a lie, not a lie, not a lie…

Teriarch eyes me.

“So? Humans are always upset.”

Is that a bluff? Call it.

“Oh really?”

I try to smile at Teriarch, but my lips barely work. I feel like I made a really stupid face, but I press on.

“That’s an interesting perspective. Would you like to talk to Magnolia Reinhart and explain how you knew Erin was about to die and you let her? I’m sure she’d love to hear that.”

He twitches. I’m on the mark, or close to it.

“Reinhart doesn’t have the power to order me about.”

Now he really does sound like he’s grumpy! I take a deep breath. Flatter. Dragons. Pride. All that.

“I don’t mean to offend you. It’s just that I really care about my friend, and I know she’s important to…Magnolia Reinhart. I need your help. I’ll do anything for it.”

“Huh. What would I need from you?”

Teriarch draws back and stares over my head. He looks at something on the ceiling. I look up too.

Oh shit. The Frost Faeries are flying around the ceiling, laughing and then shrieking as Teriarch stares at them. They don’t look intimidated at all, but the Dragon looks pissed.

“Hrm. Let me see. You come here, bringing these pestilent beings with you, bleed in my cave twice, inflict that foul potion upon my senses, extort me for more money than your services are worth, and then you demand my help after insinuating that Reinhart may order me about?”

Uh oh. When he puts it like that…yeah, maybe I should have reconsidered.

And to make matters worse, the faeries seem to have understood his reference to them. Some of them fly around Teriarch’s face, shouting shrilly.

“Pests! We aren’t the pests, you bag of scales, you!”

“We do not fear you, old fool!”

“Indeed! Just the other day we slaughtered a score of bees!”

“Begone.”

It’s only a word, but it sends the faeries flying away in a panic. Okay, local chain of authority established. I gulp, as Teriarch looks down at me.

“I know it’s presumptuous, but—”

“No.”

The word rocks me on my feet. But I hold my ground. Not for my own dignity; I think I did pee a bit there. But Erin—

“Fine. No favor. But I still need your help.”

“Indeed?”

Now he’s mad. Teriarch stands up for the first time and holy crap is he huge. He takes one step towards me and I flinch. His head lowers further until I can stare down his nostrils. They’re like the muzzle of a cannon.

“And what will stop me from erasing your small mind and sending you out of my cave to be torn apart, Human?”

Yeah, he’s mad. I gulp, but I’m out of saliva.

“I—I challenge you, Teriarch. I challenge you to a game of riddles.”

He blinks. Overhead, the faeries blink. I can practically see his brain working.

“What?”

This was a stupid idea. This was the kind of stupid idea I could only have while running through the snow at freezing temperature and high velocity. But it’s all I’ve got.

“You heard me. I said I challenge you. To a game. Of riddles. It’s customary, isn’t it?”

“It is?”

“It is!”

“The game! She challenges him to the old game!”

Overhead one of the faeries shouts jubilantly. Both Teriarch and I look up.

“Haven’t—haven’t you heard of that? Uh, riddles? You don’t—don’t do that?”

Teriarch looks miffed.

“Well, I suppose I have enjoyed a riddle or two. But are you implying some play this game as a way to win…favors?”

“Yes…?”

I really shouldn’t base all my ideas on The Hobbit. Teriarch just stares at me for a while. I try to explain.

“Uh, well, I thought it was considered a sacred game that not even the most horrific of monsters would dare to violate. You could—uh, use it to wager things like life, magic rings—it’s a contest—”

“I am familiar with how games work.”

I shut up. Teriarch stares at me, and then flicks his eyes to the faeries above. Then he sits back.

“Riddles? A game? How…intriguing.”

Oh, be still my beating heart. Seriously, be still. I think I might be as close to a heart attack as I’ve ever come. But then Teriarch looks at me, and I don’t need to worry about that heart attack. It’s already happened.

“But why would I want to waste my time playing a game I know I would win?”

Good question. Excellent one. Do I have an answer? I scramble.

“Well…because it’s a challenge.”

“So?”

He looks nonplussed. And then I get a bit annoyed. My mouth opens, and it takes charge instead of my fumbling brain.

“So? Are you a Dragon or a lizard that likes to hide under rocks? It’s a challenge, idiot. What part of that don’t you get?”

Teriarch gapes at me. The faeries gape at me. My mouth continues as it shoves my brain into the backseat.

“Are you really as stupid as you look? A challenge isn’t meant to give you something. It’s an attack on your authority! If you think it’s so easy to beat me, why not prove it rather than act like a coward and stall? Bring it!”

I’m pointing at Teriarch. His eyes fix on my finger. Above me I hear cheering. I see massive teeth draw back into a snarl, and then I hear the voices, at the edge of my hearing.

“She dares! She dares!”

“Let havoc cry and slip loose dogs!”

“‘Tis the moment! It is upon us!”

I hear something, or…feel something from overhead? Even Teriarch looks up.

“What are—?”

Then something hits me, and I feel…different. But I can’t wonder what I’ve done. Something about faeries? But Teriarch is staring back at me, full of rage.

I meet the Dragon’s eyes, and bow my head. I need to say this right. I’ve only one shot.

“Know now I only seek to make things right!

Oh temper’d Dragon take heed of my request.

Put back your ire as in my hour of plight,

I do beseech thee at one other’s behest.”

Wait, what did I just say?

—-

Oh fair readers let us set the stage and bring you sighs and words unseen. For this cavern where Dragon waits and Human does set the fates, the faeries dance and laugh and dream above. Nothing but such words and plots will inflame few thoughts.

And so they gather closely and listen well; is this Ryoka’s triumph or her death knell?

The Dragon laughs and breathes brimstone’s glare. Sure to sizzle the Human fair. He mocks and talks; she stands firm. Determined to trick this ancient wyrm.

“Your riddle game insults my name.

I am Teriarch; by what dare you to my time lay claim?”

“I dare for friendship and pride and all these things;

I challenge you to an ancient game played for things like magic rings.

It’s fun and daring; a game of skill.

Unless you fear you lack the will?”

The Dragon blinks and the faeries cheer. It has been too long since they have seen a mortal without fear.

“Hm. Well I suppose I could indulge your request

—understand it is not at your bequest.

But any game must wager meet.

If I would win, what will I keep?

You have nothing to offer—you there in bare feet.”

She speaks before him brash and bold; she does not fear to not grow old.

“I offer my life to serve until I am old and lame.”

“A spell will do the same.”

“My soul?”

“What need have I for souls, I, a Dragon, the lord of flame?”

She thinks then, and ponders long, knowing her next answer must not be wrong.

“Then I offer what you do not know, the secret of my name;

the one thing I offer that you have to gain.”

A moment’s pause and the faeries wait. To see what will be decided of this amusing Human’s fate.

Then the maw opens and a deep voice speaks. The words of one neither small nor meek.

“Very well I accept your bet. But beware—would you lot stop that?”

—-

I see Teriarch raise his head up towards the ceiling, and my body throws me to the floor a second before he spits fire. I hear screams and then the faeries are flying around in a panic. Are they dead? No—just on fire. Literally.

The Dragon harrumphs as the smoke and water cascade from the ceiling around me. I get up, shaking a bit as the faeries hide in a corner of the cavern behind some valuable-looking objects, shouting insults.

“Oafen clod!”

“Foul breath! Stupid snake-with-legs!”

“Fat old one!”

“Pests!”

Teriarch bellows and the faeries scatter again. He snorts and glares at them as they decide to hide behind me.

I stagger. And put a hand to my head. And hold my stomach so I don’t vomit. What happened?

“What the hell—”

Was I rhyming? Why did I say—it seemed so natural—

“They have an odd sense of drama.”

Teriarch glares at the faeries as countless icy pinpricks freeze my shirt to my back. But his tone is more conversational.

“They alter the sense of—well, I suppose you would call it your perception of reality. It gets quite tiresome after a while. Still, it is rare to see them do that.”

“Oh.”

My knees are weak. Teriarch blinks a few times at me. His anger is—gone. He’s just looking at me now.

“Curious. This has been an odd day.”

You’re telling me? I knew I was going to be facing down a dragon at some point, but this—

“Well, I have accepted your game one way or another, so let us begin.”

“What?”

Hold on, just like that? But Teriarch is moving. Is he…sitting? No; he can’t really do that, or if he could it would be really awkward. He lies back down like a cat, pointing his head at me.

“A game of riddles, is it? I still have doubts about your intellect. You clearly cannot be that intelligent if you believe you have a chance of succeeding.”

“And you don’t seem that intelligent since you keep claiming you’ll win without any evidence. Would you just shut up and ask me a question? Or I’ll go first and—”

My hand cuts off my incredibly suicidal mouth and muffles the rest. I can hear the faeries laughing and exclaiming on my back.

For a long minute Teriarch stares at me and I imagine what would happen if he breathed even a bit of the fire he hit the faeries with. Let’s see. Death would be instantaneous unless the flame wasn’t that hot, in which case my eyes would melt and I would die in painful agony as every part of my body literally caught fire or just evaporated—

“Fine. As you wish.”

The Dragon snorts and smoke makes me cough. He frowns at me and then rolls his huge eyes and stares at the sky.

“Then, here is a question half of you Humans get wrong. Answer me in ten seconds or I will erase your memory.”

Shit. I think I pissed him off.

Teriarch pauses. Wait a second, does he not have a riddle ready? His mouth moves as if he’s thinking to himself. Is he really—?

“I am that which grinds down mountains and fells even the greatest of structures. Kings cannot ignore me, and yet all things will eat of me until I devour them in t—”

“Time.”

The Dragon pauses. He fixes one eye on me.

“What?”

I’m shaking, but again, my mouth is moving faster than my brain. I’m all instinct right now, and I blurted the answer.

“The answer is time.”

First he doesn’t know about the riddle game, then he pulls one right out of The Hobbit? Holy crap, I’m glad I watched the movie this summer. But is that really a normal riddle? It’s so…easy.

Teriarch looks put out. He harrumphs, and the wind nearly makes me lose my balance.

“I see this riddle has been told to you before. Well; it is a simple one. Ask your riddle, then.”

“Ooh! Is she going to ask her riddle?”

“How exciting!”

“That last riddle was awful.”

Okay, ignore the peanut gallery that’s perching on my shoulders and head. Teriarch is glaring at them or me, I can’t tell which. I gulp. This is all moving very fast. But it’s time. He wants a riddle? I’ve got one for him. Albert Einstein, don’t fail me now.

“Ahem. Uh, in a village there are five houses. Each one is painted a different color, and in each one lives a different species. The five people who live in each house each eat a different kind of food, practice a different kind of magic, and own a different kind of pet.”

Silence on my shoulders. I am conscious of many little eyes staring at me, and two big ones. Teriarch clears his throat.

“Is this riddle going—?”

“The Drake lives in a magenta house.

The half-Elf keeps Shield Spiders as pets.

The Human practices Cryomancy.

The purple house is next to, and on the left of the puce house.

The owner of the purple house uses Necromancy.

The person who eats souls rears Griffins.

The owner of the fulvous house eats bees.

The person living in the center house practices Chronomancy.

The Antinium lives in the first house.

The person who eats grass lives next to the one who keeps Carn Wolves.

The house owner who raises talking mushrooms lives next to the being who eats bees.

The being who eats pancakes studies Pyromancy.

The Gnoll eats bagels.

The Antinium lives next to the ebony house.

The grass-eater lives next to the one who casts Aeromancy.

The question is this: Who owns the Crypt Worm?”

And when I’ve finished my desperate riff on an unfair classic question, only now do I realize how stupid it sounds. This isn’t a fair riddle. He just asked me one about time, for goodness sake! Why did I think—?

I’m—I’m going to die now.

I look over to my right. The faeries are—all of them—giving me the fish-eye. I can hear them whispering.

“Is that a Human riddle?”

“I don’t get it.”

“What Crypt Worm? She never mentioned one!”

“What’s fulvous?”

I chance a peek at Teriarch. It might be the last thing I ever see, after all. He’s just staring at me. Is he considering how to bake me alive? Or is he actually thinking of the answer? No; he can’t. It’s not that simple. He’d have to have a pencil and paper. Hell, it took me ages when I figured—

“Hmm. The…Gnoll. Yes, the Gnoll.”

I feel my heart stop in my chest. Yes, for one second, my heart literally stops beating. The shock that hits me is like a real thing. How—

Teriarch grins at me. His teeth are like my tombstones.

“That was quite an intriguing question. Was it your best?”

The faeries’ tiny little mouths fall open as one. Me? I’m starting to panic.

Oh no. He’s smart. Not just smart; he’s a genius. He has to be. Teriarch raises a claw; now his eyes seem brighter, and he seems more animated.

“Well, it appears we have both answered one question correctly. And you seem to know some interesting riddles I have not heard of. Now, what should my next one be? Hmm. Hmm…naturally I know quite a lot of riddles, but if you know the answers, I should ask…let me see…”

And: shit. He’s competitive as well.

I take a few breaths as Teriarch mumbles to himself like a jet engine preparing to take off. Calm down.

Pep talk. I need a pep talk. Okay, I imagine my brain is giving me advice, because I need it.

Breathe slowly. Focus. You didn’t expect him to get that, but you’ve got more questions you can toss at him. All you have to do is concentrate. You have one advantage Ryoka. And that’s that while this world might have incredible magic, ancient Dragons, and people who can attain power beyond mortal limits—their riddles are still crap.

“Hmm. I have it!”

All my nerves are on fire at the sound of Teriarch’s voice. He raises his head and stares at me triumphantly.

“Human, here is a riddle that stumped your kind for over a century when your people were young. You stand at a crossroads on your journeys, but before you lie two guardians, one for each road.”

What? No. He’s not going to ask—really? I hold my breath as Teriarch goes on.

“The enchantment upon you is thus: you cannot tell either road apart, and yet one leads to safety, and the other danger. Once you have started down a road you cannot turn back. The two guardians will answer one question, but you may only ask it of one of them. And one will always tell truth and the other only falsehood. What question do you ask to take the safe route?”

Okay, riddles in this world officially suck. Or maybe it’s just the time. Or just the Dragon. Did he say that question stumped Humanity for a hundred years? Well, if these were the first riddles…

Teriarch grins at me, triumphant. The faeries are murmuring amongst themselves, clearly impressed.

“I will allow you some time to ponder your answer.”

“I don’t need it.”

He blinks.

“What? But—ah, then what would you ask one of the guardians whom you cannot tell apart?”

I shrug.

“I’d punch the one on the left and ask them if it hurt.”

More silence. Then I hear one of the faeries titter. They all start laughing and Teriarch glares at me.

“That is not a proper answer.”

“You want a proper one? Fine.”

I scowl.

“My question to the guardian would be this: ‘Which path would the other guardian point to that would lead me to safety?’ And then, I’d take the opposite road the guardian points to.”

“How did you know that?”

“Logic.”

And I already solved that puzzle back in middle school. It stumped me back then, but hey, no one needs to know that. Teriarch stares at me.

“Well, I see that you have some intelligence after all.”

“Good to know you aren’t blind. My turn.”

As the Dragon splutters, I think fast. Okay, Einstein doesn’t work? That’s okay, I’ve got…

I uh—

I—

I don’t have time to make up another riddle! And I don’t remember many! They were not my thing in school. I was only in that club for two months! I really thought Einstein would get him, but, hold on, what about the blue foreheads one?

Yeah.

I look at Teriarch.

“Pay attention. A hundred—no, ten thousand people are locked in a room. Each person has a color painted on their head, but there are no mirrors and no one is allowed to speak due to an enchantment. Every day, the door will open and anyone who has a blue-colored forehead will be allowed to leave.”

I pause. Teriarch is frowning and his lips are moving. The faeries are giving me a glassy-eyed look.

“The magic on these ten thousand people prevents them from leaving unless they are absolutely certain they have a blue forehead. In this room, there are 2,459 people with blue on their foreheads, 98 people with red on their forehead, 12 with white foreheads, 4,421 people with no paint on their heads at all, and finally 3,010 people with viridian-colored foreheads. Fifteen people have no noses, and one person suffers from bladder incontinence. At least one person has a blue forehead, and the people know this. On what day does the last person with blue on their forehead leave?”

Again, I just hear silence. But this time Teriarch looks intrigued. He turns his head and begins muttering. Meanwhile my heart is pounding. I jump as someone slaps me on the ear.

“What?”

The faerie glares at me.

“These aren’t proper riddles! What trickery is this?”

“They are riddles! They’re logical riddles!”

“They’re stupid!”

All the faeries begin chattering their agreement. I swat at them and then one bites me. I’m trying not to shout in agony when Teriarch looks back at me.

“All of the people with blue foreheads will leave on the two thousandth four hundred and fifty ninth day.”

Oh…

I do sit down, then. Teriarch watches me slowly fold up onto the ground with a smug look. He looks almost like a grinning cat; like Garfield. But I’m just filled with despair. He doesn’t even seem to notice. His tail twitches, knocking over something that shatters as he speaks out loud.

“My turn I suppose. Hrmf. Well, what shall I ask? All of the truly difficult riddles are unpronounceable in your tongue. You wouldn’t happen to speak the language of magic, would you?”

“…No.”

He ponders as I stare at my hands. What was I thinking?

“Ah. Well, here is a simple question, Human. I have…five thousand eight hundred and eleven pears in my possession. I ah, I need to pay for them, but each pear is worth eight silver coins. How much are—”

“Forty six thousand four hundred and eighty eight silver coins.”

I know they’re staring at me, but I don’t care. Okay, so I answer that question, but what can I ask that he can’t answer? Think. I don’t have that many riddles, and he seems to know all the old ones. An unfair one? The Mad Hatter’s—but no, he’ll ask for the answer!

I need a question even someone as smart as he is can’t answer. A question that defies logic or—or—

What about…it’s my last shot.

Teriarch is staring at me. I look up, and realize I actually missed his question.

“What?”

“How did you know the answer to that? That was no riddle.”

“It was just math.”

“Aha!”

One of the faeries on my shoulders flies up. She glares at both of us.

“This is no fair game! Ye two are both cheating! We demand another game! We want—”

Teriarch breathes out. It’s the equivalent of me blowing gently, but it nearly blows me backwards and it sends the faeries flying off me. He shakes his head.

“Enough of that. Now, ask me another riddle. And make it a good one!”

He seems happy. But my heart is sunken into my chest. Time to cheat. This is all I’ve got.

“Fine.”

I look at him. Why does he have to be powerful and smart? It’s almost unfair. But a part of me has to admire him. He solved Einstein’s riddle in a heartbeat, and the blue foreheads puzzle nearly as quickly. He’s—

He’s not like what I expected. And maybe he thinks that of me, because Teriarch is waiting for my question. Too bad I have to win.

“Here is my riddle. This statement is false. Was what I said just now correct or incorrect?”

The Dragon eyes me. I wait for him to declare me a cheater, and I hear someone shouting indignantly from the other end of the cave. And then—he laughs.

“Hah! That old paradox? That’s easy. The answer is—”

My ears ring when he says the next word. I clap my ears to them. Teriarch blinks at me.

“Ah. I forgot Humans can’t understand that language. My apologies.”

“What was that?”

He smiles at me. A Dragon’s smile.

“The answer to your question. That which is made false by being true unto infinity. The Elves came up with the word; it stumped all of them back in the day.”

Of course. I close my eyes. It’s not the earth that falls out from under me; no, this is different. I just feel tired. Tired and frustrated and helpless.

It’s over.

Above me the Dragon is eagerly speaking, faster than before, his deep thundering voice now replaced by a conversational tone.

“Well, I suppose that makes it my turn. How intriguing. I…hmm. What was that old riddle about sand? Ah, I think I have it—”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Excuse me?”

I sit back. Teriarch’s face looks puzzled in my blurred vision. I raise my voice, trying not to choke.

“I give up. I lose.”

“What!?”

“This is wrong! WRONG!”

“Where are the riddles! The games of cunning and skill?”

“This should not be! Did we—”

“Out of my cave!”

“Aaah! Flee!”

I see shapes darting away, flying out of the cave. And I hear whispers. I barely pay attention.

“That game was stupid! It wasn’t true or right! It—did we waste our time?”

“Is she wrong? Did we…?”

Even they think I’ve failed. The faeries leave and I can’t see anymore. Everything is swimming.

I’m crying. I’m actually crying. I sit on the floor and try to wipe my eyes. I was so sure. No—I wasn’t sure, but I thought this was stupid and it was the only thing I could think of.

“I can’t beat you. I can’t even try. ”

No matter what riddle I throw at him, he’s going to solve it. He knows the answer to a paradox. What chance do I have?

I tried to use my brain. I should have just begged. I bend over and bow to Teriarch. He’s staring at me in silence.

“I can’t win. Just—please. I have a friend. I don’t know where she is. I’ll do anything, but please, please help her.”

That’s all I had left. My pride. I give it up at last. I thought I had so much. Once upon a time, I thought I was better. But I’m not.

I’m not stronger than anyone. Calruz and Gerial and the Horns of Hammerad humbled me. I’m not faster either; Val outran me easily. I’m not braver than Erin, or smarter than Teriarch. I’m just…

Weak. And normal. And very small.

And desperate.

I lie on the ground, crying like a kid. And I wait for it to be over. I wait to be squashed like a bug into a smear or to be mind-wiped and sent somewhere else to die. But none of those things happen.

I hear the air moving, and a hurricane that sounds like a sigh. And then I feel something touching me.

A massive claw pushes me up gently. I find myself sitting back, and then a massive head snakes down to my level. A voice speaks.

“Sit up. Wipe your face. What did you say your friend’s name was?”

My eyes widen. But the eye that looks into mine is not angry, and the voice is soft. I stare up, and Teriarch blows a plume of smoke upwards.

“I…suppose I could spare my time for a spell. Scrying is not difficult, and a teleportation spell is quite easy if need be. I just need her name.”

“Erin. Erin Solstice.”

I breathe the words. Teriarch mumbles the name, and then he traces something in the air. I see something shimmering in the air, and he sniffs at it. He stares at something that flickers. His eye widens.

“Oh.”

He stares at me. I look back at him, heart pounding. But then the Dragon shrugs. He looks at me oddly, and then speaks.

“The spell will take a while to activate. But it will find your friend unless she is as peculiar as you are. I grant you the hospitality of my home, Ryoka Griffin. You may wait here until it is finished. And maybe you can tell me a riddle in the meantime.”

I stare at him. He’s a Dragon, a thing of immortal years. But as he lowers his head, he looks a bit more Human, or a bit more like me. There’s something in his eyes that makes me think he’s ancient beyond years, and unknowable. But then I see a bit of kindness.

Like an old man wiping away a kid’s tears. I breathe in, and out.

And then I sit up.

“Well. I do know more riddles.”

“Excellent. Tell me one.”

“Have you heard of an enigma?”

“A what?”

“A code.”

His eyes shimmer.

“I know many codes.”

“Then figure this one out. The riddle goes like this:

The noblest name in Allegory’s page,

The hand that traced inexorable rage…”

And I see a Dragon smile.

I smile too.

2.46

I sit on the ground and laugh. Hysterically. I thought I’d never be hysterical, but now I guess I am.

Let’s recap. I’m sitting on the ground in the center of a cavern filled with magical treasures. The floor is smooth marble; magelight fills the room. Valuable treasures lie scattered around like afterthoughts, and a Dragon lies across one half of the cavern and eyes me uncertainly.

In short, exactly how I imagined all of this going down. I think I have tears in my eyes, but I can’t stop giggling like a loon to wipe them away.

Erin’s fine. Of course she’s fine. Why wouldn’t she be? I ran all this way, desperate, and she was fine the entire time. She’s talking happily with Octavia in the image Teriarch shows me, and by the looks of it they’re having a good time. Octavia seems animated, at least.

She met Octavia. In Celum. I don’t know how she got there, but Toren must have carried her that far. Somehow.

It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t. Now that I know she’s okay, it’s like a cloud lifted from my mind. I can think clearly—only to realize how stupid I’ve been.

Here be Dragons. Or at least, one. Teriarch. He stares at me with a perplexed expression on his huge face. It makes me laugh harder.

How did it get like this?

“Human.”

His deep voice is impossible to ignore, but even he has to raise it above my manic laughter. Teriarch frowns at me.

“No. Ryoka Griffin, isn’t it? Are you well?”

“I’m—fine.”

I’m not. All of a sudden the laughter wants to turn to tears, and I feel like throwing up.

I’ve made such a mess of my life, haven’t I? Just like the last world, I guess you can’t let go of who you are even with a second chance.

I’m just a bit tired, now. But when I look up, even the bleakness of my heart is relieved.

After all, I am staring at a Dragon.

A Dragon.

He lies in his cave, shining like living gold. His scales are brilliant, and they reflect fragments of light onto the walls every time he moves. He is a Dragon. Teriarch is a Dragon.

They’re real.

He delicately clears his throat, and I scrub at my face. Okay, okay, I’m okay. I can’t waste this moment. Waste any more of this moment, that is.

“Sorry. I uh—I’m sorry about that.”

He waves a claw at me.

“I shall pay it no mind. I am relieved that you are so…lighthearted. I understand you were quite concerned for your friend.”

Is a polite way of saying that he’s glad I’m not insane? For a second, I’m tempted to play all of this off as some kind of mental disorder. I wonder how he’d even deal with that?

He’d probably just heal me. Can he heal the mind with magic? What if you were born with chemical imbalances in your brain, for example? Would a [Restore] spell be useless in that case?

There’s the quasi-scientist in me, asking all the questions. Teriarch is still staring at me, so I clear my throat.

“I’m sorry about that. It’s just been a rough couple of days.”

“I see. My condolences.”

He coughs. I scuff at the marble tiles with my foot.

Oh my god. Here I am, talking with a Dragon, and I’m having problems carrying the conversation. And so is he!

Remember, he’s a normal person. Remember that. He’s just a Dragon, an immortal being – not a mammal, not someone who grew up with any of my societal norms, moral standards, hell, we’re not even the same gender…

“Well, yeah, it’s been tough.”

Someone shoot me. But Teriarch just nods and casts his eye to the ceiling.

“I did notice those pests following you about. They have a habit of ruining anyone’s day for as long as they maintain interest.”

“Pests? You mean the Frost Faeries?”

“Yes. I was quite intrigued. How is it that you can see them? Their glamour is usually impenetrable to even the most accomplished mages, unless they know what to look for.”

Um. That’s a really good question. I was going to look into that, but I never got around to it. I hesitate.

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Ah. Of course. I see.”

He gives me a dismissive look. And when a Dragon does it, you really feel small*. He scratches at his jaw. He was interested when I was telling him riddles, but I guess he still thinks I’m an idiot.

*Seriously. He’s about the size of a passenger airliner. Not a 747—more like an Airbus A380. Hell, what would happen if he landed on one of them? He could take down planes just pushing them out of the sky.

I grit my teeth, and moderate my tone. Okay, Dragon or not, I still don’t like being underestimated.

“I was going to say, I’m not sure, but I think it’s probably because I come from another world. Something about the chemical balance in my head – or my diet and my origin from another planet – may help me pierce their illusion. It could be any number of factors.”

The Dragon pauses. He looks back at me.

“Well of course. Ah…well, your origins might be one explanation, but faerie magic accounts for more than one world. There must be another reason; usually their magics are broken by satisfying some rule.”

“Any idea what that might be?”

“Not as such. But I must congratulate you on your considered opinion. It is rare to meet a Human so…thoughtful.”

“You mean, it’s nice not to meet an idiot. And that wasn’t a ‘considered opinion’. That was a basic conclusion that took less effort to come up with than it took to say.”

In the resulting silence I suck my lips in. Shit. I did it again.

But instead of swallowing me in one gulp, Teriarch only stares at me. Then he nods.

“Indeed. Well, I must apologize. It is rare for me to meet any mortal beings worthy of my time. Of course, the gap between our levels of understanding is such that these misunderstandings must inevitably occur.”

Did I just get a Dragon to apologize to me? It was a backhanded apology, but—I’ll process that later. Right now, the intelligent part of my brain that seems to have been on vacation up till this point wakes up and taps my frontal lobe. I might have screwed up in coming here, and that riddle game, but I have an opportunity here, don’t I?

After all, I am talking to a Dragon. And suddenly, I’ve got questions. Millions of questions.

I cough delicately. Teriarch is just staring at me, frowning as if he’s trying to work out what to do with me. Time to get on his good side, or at least, get some solid answers out of him.

“Teriarch.”

He looks down at me. I hesitate, and then bow stiffly. The Dragon looks nonplussed.

“What’s this?”

“Thank you for helping me locate my friend, even though you were the one who won the game of riddles.”

“Think nothing of it.”

The Dragon raises a claw and flicks it, almost like a Human would. He almost seems embarrassed—but then he perks up.

“Ah, yes, I did win, didn’t it? And now I will claim my prize. Tell me, Human. How did you evade my scrying for so long?”

He bends his head down eagerly towards me, and I take a step back involuntarily. I’d almost forgotten when I promised him. It seems too inconsequential, but—

“My name. When you tried to scry me, you weren’t using my proper name.”

“What?”

He frowns at me.

“That should not be. I questioned you under a truth spell. It would have been impossible for you to lie about your name.”

“Yes, but my name—my true name is Ryoka Griffin. I didn’t lie to you. But ‘Ryoka’ is only a translation. I was originally named in another language.”

To my surprise, Teriarch looks offended by this revelation. He starts grumbling to himself as his head rises up.

“That’s it? That hardly constitutes—a minor technicality like that isn’t part of—inferior spell design. I should have used…another language? But all peoples now speak—ah. Of course. You are from another world, after all. I should have factored that into my calculations.”

Now that I think of it—Teriarch isn’t even blinking over the revelation that I’m from another world.

“You knew who I was before this, didn’t you? Lady Magnolia told you.”

“She did.”

Teriarch is still frowning at something in the air. He mutters to himself, and this time I don’t understand the words at all. His eyes seem to shine with light that isn’t there, and I feel the hairs on the back of my neck tingle. Is he trying to alter his spell? Or scry me?

“How do you know her?”

“That is none of your business.”

Teriarch looks at me dismissively. I twitch a bit at that. I hate it when people say stuff like that to me.

“Oh really? I’d say scrying on me without my permission constitutes a violation of my privacy. And Magnolia sending [Assassins] after me and constantly interfering in my life? That also sounds like my business.”

A pause. The Dragon eyes me. And I feel a bit of trepidation as I realize who I’ve snapped at this time. But his voice is just quiet and calm, without a hint of anger.

“She will speak with you in due time. If you have questions, I would advise you to speak with her. I may render her the occasional assistance, but her affairs are her own. I will not divulge her secrets.”

His eyes flick away, and I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding in. Okay, somewhat kindly, yes. But…still a Dragon.

He looks back at the shimmering image in the air and I realize Erin and Octavia are still hovering in the air. It’s…well, it’s a bit disturbing to think that he can just watch anyone he wants. Big brother’s got nothing on a magical Dragon.

But Erin’s not going to the bathroom or doing anything else private. She’s still in Octavia’s shop, in one piece and not missing any limbs. I stare at my right hand. Hell, she’s not even injured.

She looks happy. I can’t tell what’s happened, but it seems like Octavia’s counting out some gold coins and Erin’s peering around and touching things. Damn it, did Octavia scam Erin out of a bunch of money? She’s a fast-talker and Erin’s not. If she’s trying to con Erin I’ll kick her stitched-up ass.

Teriarch indicates the image.

“I will teleport you to your friend—after erasing your memory of course.”

“What? You’re going to erase my memories?”

The talking Dragon has my full and undivided attention. He scratches at the side of his head as he replies, nonchalantly.

“Well, of course. I can’t have you remembering our encounter. Fear not; I am quite capable of erasing only certain memories. You will find yourself outside your friend’s shop with vague memories of arriving there.”

That doesn’t sound good. The free ride, maybe. But the rest? No.

Think. I spread my hands out in supplication. I’ve got to talk him out of this.

“Oh mighty Teriarch—”

I pause. Nah, I can’t do that.

“—Look, don’t erase my memory. I won’t tell anyone what I’ve seen.”

He raises one eyebrow at me. And yes, Dragons have eyebrows. It’s more like a bony spur on their heads, but it works just as well for purposes of skepticism.

“I have heard that claim from countless lips. Each time it always ends with me raining fire and destruction upon the armies that come to slay me.”

He fixes me with a stare any basilisk would be proud of.

“Why should I trust your word now?”

“Besides—I did figure out who you were before this. If I wanted to expose your secret I would have already told someone. And how do you know I haven’t left messages to myself in case you erase my memory?”

Note to self: do that next time. At least Klbkch knows.

But Teriarch doesn’t seem impressed.

“In that case, I will simply have to control you with a spell and have you erase all of your records and kill all those you have told before you slit your own throat. How does that sound?”

I fold my arms.

“Won’t work. Even if you could get me to erase all of my contingency plans, the faeries would just tell me again.”

The Dragon pauses. He looks towards his cave entrance, almost uncertainly.

“They wouldn’t do that. They don’t choose sides.”

“But they are annoying.”

And I’d just bet they’d love to do that – if it occurred to their tiny little minds to do it. But the argument seems to work. Teriarch frowns.

“I can simply cast a spell on you to force you never to divulge my secrets. Or to cease speaking altogether. Which I am considering at this moment.”

Aha. Don’t push the Dragon too hard, Ryoka.

Shut up, Ryoka. I just shrug at him.

“You can do that. But that strikes me as an exceptionally crude and simple solution for a Dragon.”

He pauses.

“How so?”

“Well, aren’t you a Dragon? A famed creature of legend and myth with intelligence and wisdom far beyond that of even the greatest of mortals?”

“Mm. True.”

Teriarch smiles. Let’s see. Dragons are conceited, prideful, and not a little bit susceptible to flattery. I go on.

“Why wouldn’t you want everyone to know of your nature? I’ve heard Dragons once advised philosopher-kings of old. Why not spread word of your identity far and wide?”

He scowls.

“That tends to lead to noisy adventurers with swords tromping around my cave. And armies, eventually. I think not.”

“Well, what about a few people? Lady Magnolia clearly knows about you. Isn’t it beneficial to have a few beings to talk to—people who can help you out?”

“Perhaps…but I am seldom in need of assistance.”

“I just delivered a letter for you.”

“Slowly, and at great cost. You had to come back for directions.”

Teriarch harrumphs and the wind makes my hair ruffle. Smelling his breath is like sticking my head into a train engine and inhaling.

“If it were addressed to any other person, I would have no issue in using magic to facilitate any communication I needed. Moreover, I can fly.”

He spreads his wings, and I eye the thick membrane connecting the wings. Interesting. They’re definitely proportional to his body mass, but there must be some magic to them or else he’s never getting off the ground with just his muscular strength. I shrug and glance towards the image of Erin and Octavia again.

What are they doing now? Erin’s tossing stuff in a…pot? Yes, she’s got a pot over a stove and she’s pouring a potion into it, and a bunch of carrots. Octavia looks like she’s swallowed her thumb. What are they doing?

Focus on the annoyed Dragon.

“Uh, right. Well, even if that’s the case, what if you have to send another letter to Az’kerash? And my abilities aren’t just limited to running. I did know several riddles which intrigued you.”

He grunts and shifts his position awkwardly on the stone floor.

“You are hardly a font of endless knowledge. Or are you implying you know all the secrets of your world?”

“Not all of them, but I know quite a bit.”

“Oh, really?”

The skepticism in his voice makes me frown at him.

“I have a good memory and I was considered to be an excellent student in my world. I know more about mathematics, biology, and the way my world works than almost anyone else my age.”

That’s fairly accurate, although ‘excellent student’ is definitely stretching it. But Teriarch seems determined to be obstinate. He rolls his eyes to the ceiling and flicks out his tongue before he comes up with something.

“Ah, but Reinhart has acquired several children like you. They all hail from your world; what is to stop me from questioning them.”

This time I snort out loud. Teriarch looks more surprised than affronted.

“What?”

“You think you can get any decent information out of a bunch of high schoolers? If they know a tenth of what I do, I’ll eat Magnolia’s maid.”

There it is again. I see him smile!

“You are prideful.”

“Shouldn’t I be?”

He grins at my challenging tone.

“Pride is something which all thinking beings have. But it can be true or illusory. Is yours the kind that would shatter if put to the test?”

He flicks one wing dismissively.

“Regardless, your knowledge may be useful, but what use have I of it? I am no Elf or Gnome to be constantly intrigued by new discoveries and knowledge. I know the secrets of magic and the true nature of this world. I know the names of ancient secrets and treasures long buried. I command storms and flame. What do you have to offer that I don’t already have?”

“Breath mints?”

The Dragon’s eyes bulge. I grin at him, wild and slightly-unhinged on my part. I can’t help it. He’s being competitive and I have to take him down a peg.

“You may be a high and mighty Dragon, but I have seen things just as amazing as you are. Tell me, how fast can you fly? Can you break the barrier of sound? How high can you fly? Can you fly to the moon? Humans have done both these things; if we can do it, doesn’t that make us better than you in some way?”

I’m smirking a bit at him, but to my surprise, Teriarch’s lips quirk and he gives me a smile of his own. It wipes mine clean off my face.

“I have not flown to the moon, but I can break the air into pieces. And you are not the only species to reach such heights. Both Gnomes and Elves have walked upon the twin moons in the sky.”

“What?”

No way. But Teriarch is giving me another smug look. That’s impossible, but then—we did it, didn’t we? If you had the right knowhow and spells—

“Well, I suppose that just means Humans, Elves, and Gnomes are all better than Dragons in some way, aren’t we?”

This time Teriarch’s glare is accompanied by a wing flap. The gust of air makes me stumble. I regain my footing and see him smile.

“My apologies. But I believe this discussion has run its course. I do not engage in pointless debate that serves no higher purpose.”

“Coward.”

“What was that?”

I eye Teriarch’s teeth as he bares them ever so slightly.

“Nothing.”

“Indeed. And our…argument arose from one point. You do not wish me to erase your memory. I wish to do so. And I am the one with the authority to decide.”

That’s it, isn’t it? I bite my lip, but I can’t really argue with that. Instead, I sigh.

“Well, you’re right about that.”

Teriarch pauses as he draws himself up, towering over me.

“That’s it? No pleading? No begging?”

“Not my thing. If you’ve made up your mind to do it, I can’t stop you. I just think it’s a shame, that’s all.”

“Well, all beings desire to know all they can. You will not lose much, Ryoka Griffin. Just a few moments.”

He speaks a word, and I feel my bones humming. I stare up at him. He stares down at me, like some kind of ancient god. And because I can’t ever let anyone have the last word, I speak.

“Nothing? Really? A few moments are worth more than that. A moment is enough time to die. A few can be…everything. More than that. ‘A world in a grain of sand, and heaven in a wild flower. Hold infinity in the palm of your hand, and eternity in an hour.’”

I see a Dragon’s eyes widen. Yes, I’m not over it. He’s still a Dragon. So I say that too. A bit of honesty before oblivion.

“Today I met a Dragon. You. And it was amazing. Indescribable. I’m not a poet, and I can’t find the words to even describe the magnitude of what I’ve glimpsed. I just think it’s a shame that I will forget something as timeless as that. In truth, I almost can’t believe that any spell could wipe that kind of experience from my mind. So if you’re going to do it, go ahead. But if you can really take away that moment from me without changing who I am, go ahead.”

I stare up at him and wait, trying to memorize every detail of his face, every part of this moment. But Teriarch hesitates.

“Were those your words, Human?”

“No. A poet wrote them. A Human poet.”

“I see. But what you said about me—do you truly find me that magnificent?”

“Yes. Don’t they have stories about Dragons in your world? They do in mine. You—your people are one of the most iconic images in my world. When people think of fantasy—of swords and sorcery and adventures, they think of Dragons.”

Now two eyes are staring at me. I shudder. Why does it feel as though he can stare into my soul? Maybe it’s the difference in age between us.

But I’m not lying. For once, I’m telling the truth. Compliments and flattery are mixed in, yes, but this is the truth. I can remember reading of dragons as a girl. I can remember the awe of imagining one. And reality did not disappoint.

“I grew up reading stories of dragons hoarding their gold, or fighting knights in battle. A dragon. Terrifying, yes, dangerous, yes, but for every Human in my world, when we dream of magic, we think of your kind.”

“Really? Truly?”

It’s as if he’s hanging on my every word, suddenly. And I have a thought: maybe he’s just as eager to know he matters as I am.

I nod. My heart is pounding.

“We know of you, even if all we know are stories. Remember that, Teriarch.”

For a second, I think he’ll zap me anyways. But the Dragon doesn’t. He closes his eyes.

“Myths. Legends. That is what my kind has become. But if I left your memories intact—”

“If you do, I will tell no one else. I swear.”

Another look. Longer, this time. Then Teriarch turns back to the image of Octavia and Erin floating by his head. I focus on it and realize something’s happened. Both of them are running around and if I had audio, I’m sure I’d hear them screaming. A thick purple vapor pouring out of one pot seems to be the reason. Even as I watch, something melts through the pot as Octavia tosses a white potion into the pot and something explodes into a cloud of white powder.

“Neutralizing potion. At least the [Alchemist] knows to take proper safety precautions. They should have mixed the carrots with a cold agent – even ice would have worked – before mixing in the Corusdeer horns. Of course, they would need a stronger coating. Flour, perhaps.”

Teriarch mutters that as he somehow manipulates the image and sends it down closer to me. I stare at the pot.

“Did you notice all that while we were talking?”

“Of course. We Dragons are quite capable of such feats. Compared to flying and breathing flame while casting a spell, this is trivial.”

He smiles, and suddenly it seems like Teriarch is…tired. I look up at him and feel as if he’s suddenly ancient. Or acting ancient, rather.

“I will send you to your friend. With memory intact.”

“Really?”

I can’t believe it. I wouldn’t have changed my mind with my weak arguments. But Teriarch just nods. He looks so old, now. Was it something I said?

“I will send you back. Do not move, and the process will be smooth. I will be certain of the altitude this time.”

He smiles. And something about him makes me a bit annoyed. First he’s intimidating, and then he’s tired. I want—I have the urge to say something. Here I am in the center of a cave full of treasures.

I turn around and stare at the thousands of things on display. A literal Dragon’s hoard. And the Dragon himself, muttering in his deep voice high above me. I can’t let it end like this. I should do something. I—

Inspiration, crazy, Erin-level inspiration hits me. I look back at Teriarch.

“Ahem. Before I go, can I uh, interest you in an offer?”

He cracks one eye open and frowns at me.

“I am concentrating. Teleportation spells are not easy even for me. What offer?”

How would Erin pitch this? I try my best.

“Would you…consider donating one of your magical items to the uh, GRF?”

“The GRF?”

“The Gnollish Relief Fund.”

That sounds so stupid. It’s perfect. Exactly the kind of thing Erin would say! Teriarch just gives me a blank look.

“Let me explain. I uh, happen to be trying to help out a Gnoll tribe.”

I try to explain as best I can the mess that Erin and I got ourselves into. Krshia’s tribe, the Silverfang tribe, and how they lost all their spellbooks they were trying to bring to their all-important Gnoll summit. Teriarch nods as I finish.

“I am aware of Gnollish traditions. That is a fine one; of course, they used to meet only once every hundred years, and then every fifty years. Then it was twenty years, but I suppose the tribes need to stay connected in this day and age.”

He sniffs; he doesn’t like to alter tradition, I guess.

“But what does this have to do with me?”

“Well…you have a lot of magical items. Would you consider giving one to the Silverfang tribe? A spellbook, for instance?”

He just stares at me. Yup. Definitely an Erin idea. But she could pitch it in a plausible way. Me—

“Why would I even consider something so…ridiculous? Why would I ever give up my possessions for free?”

“Ah, but it wouldn’t be free.”

“Go on.”

Yeah, go on, Ryoka. Tell him why it’s not free*.

*Shut up, me.

“Well, just consider the benefits. You would have a Gnoll tribe in your debt. It would be very clear that it’s you – the great [Archmage] Teriarch – they owe their great gift to.”

“A single Gnoll tribe could do little for me.”

“Yes…but your name would be venerated among their tribe. You would have a little bit of immortality among them. A bit more, should I say? You would be a patron of their tribe.”

“Hmm. Intriguing.”

Teriarch seems pleased by the idea of being honored. Then he frowns.

“Why a spellbook, though? I had no notion that the Gnolls were interested in magic as mages practice it. Their shamans use tribal magic quite well.”

“Well…I think it’s an experiment.”

Another frown.

“An experiment?”

When I explain the longstanding grudge the Gnolls have over learning magic at Wistram, Teriarch really looks confused.

“Why wouldn’t they be able to learn magic? The mages of Wistram are no fools—at least, they were not two hundred years ago. Why would they expel the apprentice sent to them?”

I stare at Teriarch. Did he just imply…?

“Wait—you’re saying Gnolls can learn magic? But the mages didn’t think it was possible.”

The Dragon shakes his head in exasperation.

“Of course the Gnolls can learn magic. Some races are more adept, but they are hardly mindless Antinium or magic nulls. Why would Wistram not…? That is very, very odd.”

Oh wow. Another secret for Krshia. My heart beats faster.

“Well, this is the Silverfang’s great gift to the other tribes. So if you gave them spellbooks—say, uh, fifty of them—”

“Fifty spellbooks?”

Teriarch rears up. He stares at me.

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

I spread my hands, a bit outraged. I look around his cavern and point to a bookshelf.

“There! Aren’t those all magical tomes? You’ve got at least three bookcases in that one spot. Fifty spellbooks—hell, even ten would be—”

“No. That is unthinkable.”

“Why not?”

“Because they are mine.”

Teriarch’s tone is as flat as the glare he gives me. His tail snakes out and curls around the bookshelves I pointed to, as if he’s afraid I might grab them and run off.

“Oh come on. Don’t be stingy.”

“This is mine. I will not just give away what I have collected for nothing.”

Great. The one thing all the stories had to get right was that Dragons are greedy and possessive as hell. I sigh and rake my hair.

“Then—what if you copied a spellbook? Can you do that? With magic, I mean?”

“Of course I can copy a spellbook. I can write however many I wish. But the process requires expensive ingredients and time which I will not waste.”

Teriarch shakes his head at me. But I’m still going for it.

“One spellbook, then. How about just one?”

I think Krshia needs at least one—probably ten. I could get another one if I used all the gold I just received, according to Ceria, but if I can get one—

“I have many spellbooks in my possession, some of which are indeed useful even to the most meager spellcasters. But I will not part with any of them.”

“Why not? You don’t need them. And you clearly have more wealth than you need. Why not give them away?”

“Because they are mine.”

The same response. Teriarch’s eyes glitter. His head snakes down towards me and I shiver when he stares at me with his heliotrope eye. Avarice. Okay, so he’s an old man who likes collecting things. Gotcha.

“The Gnolls need a spellbook, Teriarch. Don’t you have a bunch of—inferior copies you could part with?”

“None of the books in my collection are remotely inferior.”

“Damn. So they all have high-tier spells written in them?”

Teriarch looks confused.

“High-tier…? Oh, your little magical organizational system. No; on the contrary. Many of my books contain lower-class spells. But they are of a higher quality in terms of content and accessibility for those studying them.”

I only partly understand what he’s saying. Teriarch notices my blank look and sighs.

“I suppose Gnolls would know as little as you do. In truth, the Silverfang tribe’s gift would be problematic in any case. If they truly bought over forty spellbooks, I imagine they would have proven quite redundant given the commonality of low-level spells. Moreover if they were cheap enough that a single spell could destroy them, they were probably personal references rather than a proper instructional tome.”

If I had ears that could perk up like Mrsha’s…

“Tomes? You mean there are different kinds of spellbooks?”

Teriarch gives me an arch look as I try to look innocent. Play the idiot. Or maybe not the idiot, but the naïve pupil. He does seem to enjoy talking.

“Of course. Have you truly not heard…well, you are no mage. Not all spellbooks are simply repositories of spells. Some are written to teach magic to those who struggle. Let me show you an example.”

He turns and bends down to the bookcase his tail was wrapped around. I can’t tell how he reads the little letters as far away as his eyes are, but then a book floats out of the bookcase and flies at me.

It’s huge. I nearly flinch as a tome half as tall as I am and nearly as wide hovers before my face. It looks like the ancestor of all books, and the front is bound in red leather embossed with gold and what looks like melted gemstones that form words I can’t read.

“Behold. A first-edition tome of Rihal. Three hundred years old and in perfect condition.”

“How do you lift that thing? Were the people of Rihal giants?”

“Hardly. It is a magical tome. It can be lifted by a child if need be.”

All at once the tome drops out of the air. I grab at it and overbalance as I find that the massive book weighs less than a pebble. It sits in my hand, as I gape at it. Teriarch grins, and the book floats back up.

“This is a true book of magic. It is a teaching device, not simply a list. Observe.”

He flips the book open, and I find myself staring at a page full of strange symbols that seem to move or—or have more than two or three dimensions despite being written on the page.

It looks like Ceria’s spellbook, at least in that there’s written magic there. But unlike her spells, these symbols look different. They cover the page, and I get the distinct sense they’re connected. I flip through the pages, noting a certain continuity among the strange symbols.

They’re nothing I could translate to English or any language I know, but the little magic Ceria taught me means I can still read…something. Is it a spell on the book? No. It—it doesn’t look like the spell Ceria showed me. Instead, the shimmering not-words of magic look almost like an—

Of course, fire is a primal construct. Of course. Why did I not understand that? If heat and cold are a duality, then fire represents heat just as ice would cold. Science would say that fire is complex, but to nature, fire is a simple thing. It devours.

And so, unlike the [Light] spell in order to cast a flame spell, I need to offer fire a source. Light is so ethereal that it can be shaped easily by magic; but fire requires fuel. So concentrate mana in one finger, and ignite it. Let your will be the spark and then feed it constantly, let it grow larger and larger—

Explanation.

I blink. And then stare at the glowing flame dancing on my fingertip. I gasp, and it goes out in an instant. A wisp of smoke flies upwards and dissipates.

Teriarch laughs. I look up at him, amazed and moved.

“The book just explained to me how to cast—I learned that spell in an instant!”

I know how to cast that spell, now! No—more than that! I know how fire magic works, at least at the most basic level. The spell I cast wasn’t even a spell, just applied theory. If I used it in a real spell—

Teriarch looks smug as he regards my stupefaction.

“The art of magical teaching has been lost to many. I suspect formalized schools of education such as those in Wistram and those nations that have lasted longer than a few centuries – Terandria for example – might have comparable methods. But this book was a crystallization of the Rihal Imperium’s knowledge of six hundred years. This is merely a book the apprentices and novices would study, of course.”

I’m only half-listening to him. It was magical. It was magic. And that was one spell. I’d almost given up on ever learning magic like Ceria since it seemed to be so dependent on levels, but that—that was like learning science, or math. It was logical. It made sense in its own way.

“You learnt that spell fairly quickly. Some students take numerous tries before they can begin learning even the most simple of cantrips. But then, fire has always come easily to your kind, hasn’t it?”

An instructional spellbook. Not some mage’s personal notes or collection of spells, but a primer to spellcasting*.

*I want it. Can I take it and give the Gnolls something else? Or can I copy it with my iPhone—damn, that’s not going to work. I’ve got to read this first. I’ve got to have it. Somehow.

“Well. I’d say that spellbook would be an excellent gift for the Silverfang tribe. Why not giv—”

“I have told you once and now again: no.”

I grit my teeth. I need that book.

“Would you accept a trade? Knowledge for knowledge? Or something else?”

“You have nothing to offer me.”

The book floats back towards the bookshelf as Teriarch smiles again. He just wanted to show off his collection. But I’ve got—I reach into my pocket, reluctantly. Time to play a card.

“Would you accept this?”

Teriarch blinks at my iPhone.

“What is that? A piece of metal? No—there is some energy within it.”

I hit the power button on my iPhone and the screen lights up. Rather than recoil in surprise or gasp like I was hoping him to, Teriarch just stares at the iPhone and listens to my explanation.

“Ah. An information device. I have seen magical versions of this. They were always too small for me when the Gnomes made them, though.”

“Well, it’s a one-of-a-kind—it’s damn rare since only people from my world have it.”

“Hmm. But it has no magic in it.”

“Yeah. So? It’s still rarer than your spellbook.”

“Hmf. Metal wrought. That is all your little thing is.”

How can a Dragon be so intelligent and so dismissive all at once? It’s the arrogance thing again. I keep my voice level.

“It can do more than just light up. It plays music.”

When I hit the ‘shuffle’ button on my iPhone and it begins playing music, Teriarch’s eyes open wide. Not because of the ability to play music, as it transpires.

“I have never heard that song before.”

My iPhone is playing ‘Beethoven’s 5 Secrets’, a song I found on a Youtube channel I became addicted to a few years back. It’s a remastered version containing elements of four movements from Beethoven’s 5th Symphony. Not to go on too much, but it’s a complex melody using instruments in ways even a Dragon wouldn’t have heard before.

I grin. Music is one of the few things my world will never lose at. Genius is genius no matter where it goes. I wonder what the faeries would think of this song.

“Do you have more songs on this device?”

“Thousands.”

“I see. Then it is useful. I believe I shall study it.”

“Wait. What?”

Before I can react, Teriarch reaches out. His claw is insanely quick for something so big. It takes a chunk out of my iPhone. I shout in shock as the screen goes dark and the music cuts off abruptly.

“You bastard! Why the hell did you—”

Teriarch ignores me. He taps the iPhone in my hands with his claw. Instantly, it’s whole once more. Then the Dragon coughs.

“Ahem. [Repair].”

There it is again. I’m damn sure now that he doesn’t need to even say the spells out loud to use them. Does that mean it’s not necessary or that Dragon magic works differently from every other species’ magic?

Right now I’m still shocked. I touch my iPhone, and it powers up smoothly. Hell, it’s still on the same song! But I realize Teriarch is still holding the piece he tore away. He tosses it up in the air and speaks another word.

“[Reconstruct].”

The piece of torn silicone and metal flies up into the air, and an iPhone falls down. Teriarch pauses it in the air right in front of me, and I stare at a second fully-functional iPhone 4 hovering in the air.

“My, that took quite a bit more energy than I expected. But as you can see, an object not made of magic can be easily replicated. So it is not so valuable as you think.”

The iPhone floats up and Teriarch inspects it.

“I shall have to use a Human form to investigate this. Ah, well, it may be worth the effort.”

“Give that back!”

I shout at the Dragon, and for the first time jump up and try to snatch it from his claw. He moves out of the way, eying me curiously.

“Stop shouting, young Griffin. You have your device fully intact, do you not? I will take this copy.”

“You can’t do that! That’s theft! It’s not legal!”

“Why not? It cost you neither time nor your possession. I simply copied it.”

“What—you—”

He speaks over my splutters.

“Besides, there is no law here against such things. I am in the right regardless.”

Calm down, Ryoka. Ignore the desire to punch the D—

I kick Teriarch in the leg instead. Pivot, balance on one leg, side kick. I feel like I’ve just hit a wall. The Dragon frowns at me.

“Stop that.”

I glare up at him. Okay, violence isn’t going to work here. Instead, I go for a rationed response.

“You can’t just take my iPhone and not give me something in return. That would be theft.”

“As I have just said, I stole nothing. You have what you came in with.”

“But you stole information! Ideas! Data! Intellectual property! Theft is still theft even if you use magic to restore what was taken. Or are Dragons above the morality of we inferior beings?”

He frowns at me. But I can see I’ve struck a nerve. He glances sideways, and then his tone grows smoother.

“This little thing doesn’t have that much data on it. Surely—”

“It’s got 32 gigabytes of data on it! You could store over a hundred thousand books* on it!”

*Am I right? If you assume each book is…screw it, I’m right!

Teriarch blinks at me. Then he stares at my iPhone.

“So many? But the Gnomes could only get—ahem.”

He coughs.

“Well, I admit this device is interesting. So perhaps I will pay you a few hundred coins for it. How does that sound.”

I stare at him.

“Give me that book and we’ll call the debt even.”

“What? But that is a Rihal—”

“You copied my iPhone. You took  my possession first, so if you want to keep it, you’ll give me the tome.”

Maybe it’s my tone of voice, but Teriarch gets mad. He looms over me, growling. His hot breath is like a blast furnace on my face.

“It was my magic that recreated it, girl. Do not try to negotiate—”

“Are you a thief, ‘oh great Dragon’? Or are you a bully and a thug who steals from people who can’t resist?”

“I never said—”

“Can it!”

I’m shaking. I point at the tome.

“Give me that. Give me that and I’ll make sure the Silverfang tribe honors your name, and you can have an iPhone worth more than half of your crumbling books put together. But refuse and I’m walking out of here with two iPhones.”

“I do not suffer threats or extortion, brat. I could erase your memories, you know. Or blast you into ash.”

Teriarch opens his mouth and I see a hot glow from below. I try not to gulp as I meet his eyes.

“You could. But you and I would both know that you were a thief. Forever.”

For two long minutes he and I lock eyes. I feel sweat running down my back and some stings my eyes, but I don’t dare blink. Then he looks away.

“Hah.”

He chuckles. All at once, the intensity of our confrontation fades away. I watch as the Dragon starts chuckling, and then laughs; a full-bodied sound that makes his scales ripple.

“You really are an interesting Human. I can see why Reinhart is so fascinated by you.”

Slowly, I breathe out. And find myself sitting down. Teriarch sees that and chuckles harder.

“Any more intensity and you might have wet yourself just like she did all that time ago. Or was that her maid? Ah, well.”

He keeps laughing. Me? I’m trying not to revert back into a babbling mess. To steady myself, I stare back at the image of Erin and Octavia. Oh? Now they’re trying to put out a fire. A black fire that seems to be shooting globs of molten fire around her shop. And now some potions have heated up and one’s exploded. Good, good.

“The arrogance and temerity of—but that is why I find myself so…how long has it been? Besides Reinhart, of course. But even she didn’t dare—except for that time…”

He’s mumbling to himself again. I rouse myself and stare at him.

“Well?”

That snaps him out of it. Teriarch stares at me for a long moment, and then sighs.

“Would you accept ten thousand gold pieces? Twenty thousand?”

Twenty th—no, wait, the Gnolls spent over fifty thousand, didn’t they? I eye Teriarch. Hell, I might be able to bargain him up to that, but…

Nah, I want to read that spellbook.

“The book, Teriarch. Take it or leave it.”

“I—hrgh. Very well.”

Teriarch seems to waver, and then he makes a snap decision. He makes the book fly out of the bookshelf and then dumps it in my arms.

“There. Take it. It is a deal. And I will keep this.”

He holds the iPhone in his claws like a prized possession. I grin, almost giddy. I did it!

Then I have another thought.

“How can I carry it?”

“Use the bag.”

Teriarch snaps at me as he delicately inspects the iPhone. He’s sniffing it, and even licking it with the tip of his tongue. It only takes me a second to realize he means the bag he gave me with all the gold coins. I open it, and somehow it opens wide or the tome grows small, because it suddenly fits in the bag.

“A bag of holding.”

“Well, of course. Did you think all those gold coins fit in there by chance?”

“Isn’t that ex—”

I bite my tongue just in time. Don’t look a gift bag in the mouth, Ryoka. Unless it’s to see whether I can fit inside it. Teriarch is too busy acquiring his latest possession anyways.

Huh. It was amazing how he could create a second iPhone just like that. Wait. If he can do that, could he—

“Teriarch, would you consider duplicating the iPhone? For my friend?”

What if we could call each other? Hell, if I could get more copies—

Teriarch pauses at my words. He stares down at me, and then turns his entire body. He brings his head down to eye-level and says one word.

“No.”

It nearly blows my eardrums out of my head.

—-

Okay, as it turns out, Dragons might be willing to  part with a fraction of their treasury—very reluctantly—but they hate the idea that their possessions can be copied. That was what Teriarch explained to me after my ears stopped ringing.

Now it’s time to go. Teriarch is eying the magic pouch I stored the spellbook in, and he seems grumpy. If I didn’t know better I’d say he was tired, but it might just be that he gave away his book. At least he’s still teleporting me, anyways.

“Stand inside of the circle. There. Do not move.”

He instructs me as he fixes his eyes on the image with Octavia and Erin in it. It looks like the fire is out, but the shop is still smoky and the two girls seem to be engaged in a shouting match. Before that they were lying on the ground, covered in sweat and panting.

I hold still, although I want to move and whoop and shout for joy. I did it! I actually got—there’s so many things I want to say that I can barely contain myself.

There’s a lot more I want to ask Teriarch as well. But he definitely looked ticked as he mutters about non-exact coordinates and not putting my corporeal form though a wall. Ew. I think of splinching from Harry Potter and still my nervous movements.

Teriarch frowns at me.

“The spell is nearly complete. I would warn you to gear yourself better, but you clearly have some ability to have survived this far. What happened to your fingers?”

Only now does he notice? I glance at my right hand.

“I lost them on the delivery.”

“Ah.”

The Dragon goes still above me. He stares at my hand, mid-way through his spell. I shrug, trying to ignore the feeling in my stomach.

“It was my fault. I—made a pact with the faeries. To save a life, I gave that up and a Gnoll tribe gave up their lives.”

“I see. I am sorry.”

Teriarch hesitates. He opens his massive maw a few times and closes his mouth, as if he wants to say something. His eyes flick left towards something, but he eventually remains silent. I half-grin.

“You know, I was prepared to give up my arm to save my friend, Erin. I didn’t know what I’d have to give up for your help.”

The Dragon shakes his head at me, utterly confused.

“An arm? What would I do with an arm?”

“I don’t know. I just thought—the faeries always demanded a sacrifice for their help, a big one. It never occurred to me to just ask for help or—trade.”

Teriarch snorts in derision, and waves one claw in front of his face. Why would a Dragon have such Human qualities? Maybe he learned it from observation? Or maybe—Humans learned it from him?

“You have been speaking too much with those pests. Their sense of duty and obligation—indeed, their price for intervention is far different from yours or even mine. I would advise avoiding their help unless completely necessary.”

See, this is why I shouldn’t go. I shift and stare up at Teriarch.

“Really? They’re that different? I thought since you and they were immortals you’d be the same.”

The Dragon goes for the bait. He snorts at me, and this time smoke makes me cough.

“Ah. My apologies. But your comparison is as humorous as it is insulting. I am a Dragon, not a being of nature. We are both immortal, true, but our roles are vastly different, as our capabilities. I take it that you are aware the faeries are not from this plane of existence?”

“I am.”

“They travel between worlds, and so they have different perceptions. In some places, or so I am told, the will of the world and fate can conspire against interference and punish those who would dare such folly. In the same way, Gods guard their demesnes jealously. Even the fae would not tempt the wrath of such beings lightly. Hence, their rules are kept and enforced among their kind.”

Oh. That makes a ton of sense. I try to give Teriarch my most engaged-student look. I’m bad at it. I never paid a lot of attention in class if I knew the material, but if Teriarch were my lecturer, I’d go to every class.

“Their superstitions and internal laws are meant to protect, but sometimes become redundant. In this world, for instance. The Gods are dead. They have more authority here, hence their control over the weather. But I suspect the fae dislike attachments and debt in any case, which is why they would refuse to help. Too, they love tradition, and would demand a gift for any great aid freely given.”

Gift? Was that my fingers? Or—no, that was an exchange. But could I get them a gift? An iPhone?

“But that is enough of faeries. Stay away from them, or not, but take my gift to the Gnolls. Tell them it is…for their future.”

I look back at Teriarch. Suddenly he looks tired again. He touches the teleportation circle at my feet and the symbols glow bright.

“I wish you the best of luck Ryoka Griffin, for the riddles as well as your device. It has been long since I have found this much enjoyment in mortal contact.”

Oh. It’s really over. I look up into those two magnificent eyes and feel a pang in my heart.

“Do I really have to go? So soon?”

“I am afraid so. I do not entertain mortal visitors for long. And this is too dangerous a place for casual visits in any case.”

I blink. Teriarch smiles at me. He’s right, of course, but even then, I disagree. I’d risk any peril to come back just to look at him. But can I return? Do I have permission to return? Did I have only this one chance?

“Do you think you’ll need a Runner in the future? For another delivery, perhaps?”

He laughs softly; the breeze ruffles my hair as he stares around his cavern, vast for me but barely adequate for him.

“I do not receive letters as you Humans do. If Reinhart has business with me, she will use mage spells. No; I am done with you. Rejoice, Ryoka Griffin. You have seen a Dragon and lived.”

He smiles at me, exposing rows of teeth that make me wonder what could ever challenge his kind. Not armies, not tanks—hell, a Tyrannosaurus Rex would roll over at the sight of those jaws. But he still looks far kinder than the mage I first met.

“Go. And tell no one of what you have seen. Hmm. Perhaps you will. But I would like to believe…yes, I would like to believe you can be trusted.”

“I swore I would not tell. You are only a…mage I met, once. I keep my promises, Teriarch.”

“Perhaps you do.”

He bows his head. And then he speaks a few last words as the light begins to shimmer around my feet.

“Huma—Ryoka. Even if it was mere flattery, I was glad to hear that your people still tell tales of my kind.”

I look him in the eye. Magic swirls around me. Do I have to go? I felt safe here. Safe and—

“I meant every word.”

One last smile. I have seen a Dragon smile.

“Farewell, Ryoka Griffin. We will not meet again.”

No. But before I open my mouth, I’m gone. The last thing I see is Teriarch’s smile. And then—

—-

Octavia hurled a potion bottle at Erin. It was empty and so Erin only dodged splintering glass. But the other girl was searching for more ammunition, and Erin had already dodged a chair and a set of scales.

“Get out!”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t know it would do that!”

Erin danced and dodged as Octavia raised a log of firewood like a club. The stitch-girl was trying to hit Erin as they danced around the shop counter when they heard a sound like rushing wind.

Both young women looked around just in time to see Ryoka appear two feet off the ground. The girl was frozen in place for a second until the swirling magic light around her vanished. Then Ryoka blinked, tried to take a step, smacked her head on the ceiling and fell to earth.

“Fu—”

She landed on the ground and crouched to distribute her weight. She did not fall over or stumble. Erin and Octavia looked impressed, before they remembered to gasp in shock.

“Ryoka!?”

“How did you—?”

Ryoka got up slowly. Her head was dizzy, and she felt vaguely like throwing up. She stared around the wrecked shop, with smoke clinging in the air and the smell of a thousand horrible things adding to the suffocating miasma. She stared at Erin, sheepish, wide-eyed, and Octavia, uncharacteristically upset. She nodded to herself and then pointed to the melted pot she’d seen earlier. The liquid was still bubbling in the ruined metal..

“Uh, try cooling down the carrots with something before you add in the Corusdeer horns. And use some flour as well.”

Both girls looked at each other, and then at Ryoka. Then Erin raised a hand.

“What kind of flour?”

2.47

Ryoka knew that she didn’t have the same sense of normality she used to have. Her reactions to things like monsters and magic had been tempered by her experiences in this world, and she could look at Goblins and magic spells without batting an eyelid.

And of course Erin and Octavia were both independent young women who had experienced just as much, if not more, than Ryoka had. But it was still slightly worrying that of the two of them, Octavia was the one who reacted normally.

“How did you—was that a teleportation spell?”

“What kind of flour did you mean, Ryoka? Did you mean acorn flour, or wheat flour? Oh and, how did you do that?”

Ryoka felt like throwing up. Her insides felt like someone had shoved an electric egg beater in them. It had been like that last time as she recalled, although at that point she’d appeared above the rooftops of Celum. She’d been more preoccupied by not sliding off the roof she’d landed on to worry about throwing up.

The smell wasn’t helping. Octavia was staring at Ryoka in shock, but Erin had, in her own way, adjusted to the situation in a second. There was almost something commendable about her mental resilience.

“So was that a spell? Oh wait—you look like you’re going to throw up. Here!”

She handed Ryoka a large, empty jar. It looked like the disposal container for failed alchemical reactions. The taller girl pushed it aside and took a few deep breaths.

“I’m fine, Erin. Just give me a moment. And fresh air.”

She stumbled towards the door of the shop. Erin hesitated, and followed her. Ryoka had to step around upturned chairs and avoid two puddles of potions. Octavia’s shop was trashed. What had happened here?

Oh, right. Erin.

It took a while for Ryoka to regain her internal sense of balance. Her head was still spinning, but when she felt ready to explain things and not throw up, she looked around.

Erin was standing next to Ryoka, staring up into the cloudy grey sky. The winter air blew her hair wildly, but she didn’t appear to notice.

She was smiling. It was so surprising to Ryoka that she stared. Despite being marooned in an unknown city and all she had presumably gone through, Erin was still smiling.

Ryoka touched her own face. She wasn’t smiling. She rarely did.

Erin grinned at Ryoka. The other girl was clearly happy. Then she threw her arms around the other girl.

“Hey!”

“I’m so glad you found me! I was so worried—but you just poofed out of nowhere! How did you do it? Was it magic?”

“No—sort of. It was a mage. I met a mage on one of my deliveries, remember? Teriarch?”

“You mean that grumpy mage guy? He teleported you?”

Ryoka hesitated.

“Yes. He did. He helped me find you and get to you. I was…worried. But it looks like you were okay. What happened?”

“I don’t know! One second I was taking a nap as Toren pulled me around, the next…poof! I’m out in the middle of nowhere and there are wolves and bears! Well, just one bear.”

Ryoka listened as Erin gave her a garbled explanation of what had happened. She shook her head.

“You fought off a wolf pack? And scared away a bear?”

“Um. Yes?”

Ryoka wanted to disbelieve, or at least believe Erin was exaggerating or boasting, but one look into her eyes told her Erin was telling the truth. It almost made Ryoka’s adventure seem normal.

Almost. The Dragon and the game of riddles still trumped beating down wolves with your bare hands. It felt like a dream, even minutes after it had happened. She’d talked with a Dragon. A Dragon. They were real. He was real.

Ryoka sighed. She was back in the real world. She had to focus. She noticed Erin still hadn’t stopped hugging her and frowned.

“Okay. That’s enough. Get off.”

She broke Erin’s hold and the girl beamed at her.

“I’m just so glad you’re here! You’ll never believe who I met! That girl in there—the angry one—she’s named Octavia and she’s an [Alchemist]! Can you believe it? She’s got all kinds of cool potions, too!”

“I can believe it. I know her, actually.”

Ryoka looked back inside the shop. Octavia had left the two girls alone for a few moments to try and mop up some of the potion on the floor.

“What the hell happened? I saw a bit when Teriarch scried you—”

“Whoa! He can scry people?”

“—But I didn’t get a good look. Erin, what are you doing?”

“Come on, let me show you!”

Erin tugged Ryoka back into the shop. The instant they entered, the noxious smell in the air assaulted Ryoka’s sinuses again. Her nose had already gone numb.

“No! No! Out!”

Octavia shouted the instant she saw Erin enter. To Ryoka’s surprise she jabbed the mop at Erin like a spear, trying to keep the [Innkeeper] at bay.

“Hey! Watch it, Octavia! I’ll help clean up! Ow!”

Ryoka caught the mop and stared at the girl made of fabric and stitches. Octavia looked like a normal person, albeit with a Frankenstein-esque appearance with all the stitches on her shoulders and neck. She also looked uncharacteristically flustered. She pointed at Erin.

“Ryoka, you know this girl?”

“Hi, Octavia. What’s happening?”

The dark-skinned girl waved her hands and tried to push Erin back out of the shop.

“Do something about her! She’s an insane fool who’s going to get us all killed!”

“Oh come on! It was only o—two accidents!”

Erin protested, but Octavia was clearly upset. She glared at Erin, fists clenched.

“You melted a hole in my kitchen! And then you nearly poisoned us both!”

“What happened?”

Ryoka interposed herself between the two girls. Both tried to explain at the same time, with much arm waving and accusations.

“I just wanted to make some magical stuff! Like food or a potion! I even paid Octavia a lot of gold to help me out!”

“I thought you wanted to do a few experiments! I had no idea you were this insane!”

Octavia pointed a trembling finger to the part of the shop where the smell was most overpowering. Ryoka saw what looked like the epicenter of a localized disaster; a cauldron had partly melted, and a thick purple residue clung to all the nearby surfaces. The [Alchemist] turned to Ryoka, imploring.

“Please, keep her away from my ingredients and potions! She just keeps mixing them together without any sense of the danger.”

Both girls turned and stared at Erin, who looked hurt.

“That’s how alchemy works, though, right? We have to experiment to—”

“No!”

Octavia clutched at her dreadlocks. Ryoka had to agree with her on this one.

“Erin, you can’t just throw ingredients and potions together. If alchemy is anything like science, you need to document your work. And all this stuff is magical. You need safeguards.”

“What, really?”

“That’s what I said! But you create a poisonous cloud and melted—”

“Octavia, shut up for a second.”

Both girls shut up and stared at Ryoka. She almost felt like an elementary school teacher dealing with a bunch of brats. But still, Ryoka had to smile a bit. Erin was fine, and she’d even managed to piss off Octavia. And Ryoka had a bag full of money and a spellbook. Wasn’t something supposed to be going wrong by now?

“Let’s start over. Octavia, I’ve just finished a delivery and I came here to find Erin.”

“But how—I don’t know anyone who can just cast a [Teleportation] spell out of nowhere. Was there a spell circle? No one can just click their fingers and just—wait—that delivery to the High Passes…”

“Runner’s confidentiality, Octavia. I can’t tell you anything.”

The stitch-girl looked disappointed. But then her eyes widened.

“Is it the potion maker? Do you have another—”

Ryoka sighed.

“Shut up. Please. Octavia, this is Erin. A friend of mine. She’s an [Innkeeper] in Liscor, far from home.”

“Hi.”

“And Erin, this is Octavia, an [Alchemist] who talks too much for her own good. And she tries scamming everyone she meets, so don’t take any of her bargains.”

“That’s—”

“Now, explain to me how you two met. And what happened. From the start.”

Both girls looked at each other. Then they began a more coherent narrative that Ryoka could actually follow.

The story went like this: Erin, coming into the city had a jar full of bees and two jars of honey. She also had a desire to get rid of said jars, and thus went to find an [Alchemist] to sell them to. Octavia, being known as the enterprising (and annoying) [Alchemist] she was, was only happy to take Erin’s goods and her money if possible.

The interesting part of the story was that Erin was only too willing to give Octavia both, if she helped Erin do her own experiments. Octavia had happily accepted, but it turned out that Erin’s style of experimentation was insane, to say the least.

“She just threw two potions into the mixture. Just like that.”

Octavia pointed a shaking hand to the place where all the poisonous smoke had come from. It had been neutralized by some kind of white powder, but Ryoka and Erin were both keeping clear of the area.

“That was after she melted a hole in my best cauldron trying to make soup with ground up Corusdeer horns!”

Erin shrugged helplessly.

“I thought I could make something warm and tasty, you know? Something magical.”

“I told you it wouldn’t work. Corusdeer horns can get so hot they’ll melt through almost anything. Putting them over a fire is just asking for a melted fireplace. And in a soup? You’d melt a hole right through your stomach!”

“But Ryoka said—”

“Erin, Octavia has a point.”

“What?”

Erin looked at Ryoka as the other girl shook her head. For her part, Ryoka was uncomfortable with Octavia’s description of Erin’s activities as well. Erin could easily have blown up Octavia’s entire shop or killed herself trying her mixtures out on herself.

“I know you’re excited, but you should really try and think over what you want to do before experimenting. Set a goal, make a hypothesis, and then mix something up, okay? And run everything by Octavia first.”

“Aw.”

The shorter girl sagged a bit. Octavia looked relieved.

“Good. Now, I’ll expect you to pay for damages. I’ll send you the bill—you can leave and—”

“What? I’m not going. I haven’t even finished half of the things I wanted to try yet!”

The [Alchemist] froze.

“What? You can’t be serious.”

Erin looked indignant. She grabbed her money pouch and jingled it in front of Octavia’s face.

“Didn’t I pay you for experiments? Sure, a few of them went south, but I still get to try out more stuff! You promised!”

“I said that, but—you can’t seriously expect—”

Octavia spluttered and tried to argue, but Erin was already looking around for more ingredients and potions to mix and match.

This looked like one particular bargain that had backfired spectacularly for the stitch-girl. Ryoka’s lips twitched. She saw Erin looking at a rack of mana potions. Octavia angrily reached for Erin’s shoulder, but Ryoka caught her arm.

“Don’t try to stop her, Octavia. Erin’s a better fighter than I am; I’ve seen her kill zombies with only a frying pan. She can beat a Gnoll in a fistfight.”

That was all true, but it made Erin turn red and Octavia hesitate.

“But—now, I understand a deal’s a deal, but let’s be reasonable here, Ryoka. You can’t just expect me to fulfill my end of the bargain now, can you? What about damages and the costs of my lost reagents? True, I factored that a bit into the price, but I should be recompensed for my damaged shop and trauma, I really should. You can’t really justify letting Erin continue after all she’s done, can you? Let’s call it quits and I’ll throw in one—two potions, free gratis, alright?”

Ryoka watched Erin’s eyes glaze over as Octavia wheedled and pleaded with her. She raised one eyebrow at Octavia.

“How much did Erin pay you for letting her use the shop?”

The stitch-girl hesitated.

“Um—”

“If it’s over ten gold coins, she could probably buy out that entire rack of potions. I know they’re not high-quality. And how much do carrots cost? A few Corusdeer horns?”

“Well—that is to say—you can’t just simplify the base ingredients cost to a few coins, Ryoka!  You know that. You and me—we’re businesswomen. You know there’s transportation fees and procurement costs for adventurers and in the winter prices go sky high—”

Ryoka stared Octavia in the eye until the other girl’s words ran down. She looked back at Erin.

“Go ahead, Erin. Do your worst.”

Erin smiled brightly. She already had some carrots in her hand and another Corusdeer horn. Octavia went pale.

“Stop that! Don’t you know how much those c—no, not that one! That’s rare! I only have—Ryoka, do something! Ryoka!”

—-

Alchemy really was quite fun. Erin didn’t want to be an [Alchemist], and Ryoka had told her she shouldn’t take any other classes in any case, but she enjoyed the feeling of experimenting with all the things Octavia had in her shop.

True, she’d nearly poisoned herself once with that terrible cloud, but that was a mistake. Now that Ryoka was here, Erin was taking things slow. She wasn’t even mixing potions now; she was doing something she’d always wanted to try. She was making magical food.

Slowly, Erin stirred the last of the powdered Corusdeer horn into the big pot of soup bubbling over the fire. This time the powder dissolved without causing the entire liquid mixture to glow white-hot and melt the pot, so Erin considered that a good sign.

“Mm. Smells good, doesn’t it, Ryoka?”

“Mhm.”

That came from a desk a few feet away. Ryoka was lying on the desk, slumped over, using one of Octavia’s stools as a seat. She’d cleared away all the alchemy equipment so she could sprawl out on the smooth surface.

She looked tired. But she was staying with Erin as she worked, and Erin was glad to have her here. It had been so surprising to see Ryoka just fall out of the air. Was it magic? She hadn’t really told Erin anything, but Erin was fine with that. Ryoka had found her!

Carefully, Erin added some dried thyme to the soup. That wasn’t part of her magical formula; it was just for taste.

Octavia was off sobbing somewhere, or so Erin assumed. She got really mad because Erin wasn’t being cautious enough, but that was what [Dangersense] was for, right? Besides, Erin hadn’t destroyed anything after those first two attempts. She’d just used up a lot of Octavia’s stuff; that was all.

And it looked like it was all worth it. Erin breathed deeply and inhaled the scent of her new soup. Ryoka’s suggestions had done the trick.

“Let’s see. Cold carrots with a gelatin, lots of wheat flour, and less Corusdeer horn. And I washed the horn this time!”

Erin wasn’t sure about edibility of any of Octavia’s ingredients, but the powdered horn had been washed, and now it was being boiled. That was okay, right?

Ryoka cracked open one eyelid and stared at the bubbling soup.

“Why did you add the herbs? Won’t that mess up the entire mixture?”

“No…I don’t think so. See, if this were potions, you’d have to add all the stuff while it was hot and I couldn’t add stuff like seasoning. But this is just one ingredient, so Octavia said it would probably be okay.”

“Ah. There’s no catalyst, huh?”

“Um. Yeah? It’s just food, so I’m really not doing proper alchemy.”

“Looks good to me. Is it supposed to bubble like that?”

Erin looked back at the pot and yelped. The Corusdeer horns had made the soup extremely hot. But the flour and thicker mixture was diluting the heat; it was only bubbling over rather than meltingly hot. She stirred and blew and added more flour and water as Ryoka watched.

“It’s sort of surreal to see you here, Erin.”

“Yeah, I can’t believe all that happened already. Weird, isn’t it? I never thought I’d get to visit a Human city so easily.”

“Neither did I. You know it’s over a hundred miles from here to Liscor?”

“What?”

“You made the trip in one day. Even if you were asleep, Toren had to have been booking it to run that far so quickly. And you say you slept through the entire thing?”

Erin scratched at her cheek awkwardly.

“I, uh, well, I didn’t get much sleep the night before, okay? I might have slept for a long time.”

Ryoka sighed. Erin felt moved to turn and look at her now her soup was back under control.

“You okay, Ryoka? You seem down.”

She saw two shoulders twitch on the Asian girl’s comatose form.

“I’m sort of tired. Been a long day.”

“It really was.”

Erin reached for a stick and lifted it into the air. She eyed the pink smeared layer at the end, and then shuddered and dipped it into the soup, praying it wouldn’t interfere with the taste.

Octavia had an interesting way of testing potions. She had this…thing. It looked like a layer of flesh on a stick, really. It was gross, but it came out of this jar with magic runes on it. According to Octavia, it mimicked Human flesh and other body functions. And it was reactive, so you could see what happened to skin or your stomach if you dipped it in the potion. If anything burned, turned black, or started dying, you had a problem.

It was also expensive, and Erin had burned the last four tests she’d used in the soup. Something about the mixture was making it literally too hot for consumption even when Erin had taken the pot off the stove. But now she thought she’d done it.

“Oh, hey, look Ryoka! This time it’s not burning!”

Ryoka grudgingly raised her head and eyed the dripping flesh-tester as Erin lifted it out of the soup.

“That’s disgusting. Remind me why you wanted to even use Octavia’s shop, Erin?”

Erin hesitated. She stirred the soup a bit more and then took it off the fire. She spoke as she filled a bowl with the bright orange-yellow mixture. It had floating bits of thyme in it, and Erin’s [Advanced Cooking] sense told her it was probably not too bad in terms of taste. But the real test would be seeing how it affected someone.

“I wanted to make something magical. Something…useful. Something other people can’t steal that only I can do, you know? Maybe even something that can help people – not just feed them. Like the faerie flower drink.”

She offered the bowl to Ryoka.

“Here. I think it’s done. Want to try some?”

The other girl stared at the bowl of steaming liquid and looked back at Erin.

“Why don’t you try it? Shouldn’t you do it if you’re the creator?”

Erin hesitated.

“Because…I don’t want to.”

“Well then, why should I try this stuff?”

“Aw, come on. It’s probably harmless. The flesh-test didn’t do anything.”

“That doesn’t reassure me. I could still get food poisoning or have a horrible reaction.”

“My [Dangersense] isn’t going off. That means it’s okay, I think. And Octavia said the Corusdeer horns aren’t poisonous or anything. Just…hot.”

Ryoka eyed the soup like someone watching a ticking time bomb slowly counting down.

“No.”

“Aw come on Ryoka, I dare you to eat it.”

Erin pushed the bowl onto the table. Ryoka pushed it away.

“I said no.”

“I double dare you.”

“No.”

“I triple dare you.”

“Erin…”

“I triple double dog dare you.”

“Stop.”

“I quadruple dog d—”

“Alright, fine. Shut up. I’ll try it.”

Ryoka grabbed the bowl and hesitated as she eyed the soup. Cautiously, she dipped a finger in and looked back at Erin.

“If I die—”

“You’re not going to die. Just try it!”

The other girl looked around and pointed to a wall.

“The healing potions are over there.”

“I know.”

“And Octavia’s neutralizing potion is there. It’ll take down most potions.”

“Ryoka, it’ll be fine! Just try it.”

The tall girl eyed the potion, sniffed it, sighed, and then reluctantly sipped a bit of the bowl. She instantly made a face.

“Hot!”

She licked her lips, paused to consider, and then swallowed some more.

“It tastes…good, actually.”

“Really?”

Erin smiled widely. Ryoka nodded as she drank the rest of the bowl.

“Whew. It’s hot. And it’s…staying…hot. Erin? What’s happening?”

Gingerly, Ryoka prodded at her stomach as Erin tried to explain.

“Corusdeer horns burn for a long time. I thought—you know, since this stuff is magical I could use it in a food to warm people up. Because…it’s so cold.”

Ryoka considered this. She prodded at her stomach and then shrugged.

“It doesn’t hurt. And the warmth seems like it’s spread out. I feel like I could walk outside naked without a problem. But it doesn’t feel bad…”

“Pleases don’t go nude.”

Both girls laughed. Then Ryoka grew silent. She stared at the pot of soup and then looked at her friend.

“Erin. Do you know what happened? Why did you suddenly vanish? Where did Toren run off to?”

She had an idea, but Erin didn’t want to say it out loud. Slowly, she nodded as her smile faded.

“I think he did something. I think he was the one who abandoned me in the middle of nowhere.”

Ryoka nodded. She let Erin stare into the fire for a few seconds before she asked her next question.

“…What are you going to do?”

Erin shrugged. She felt odd when she thought of what Toren had done. It was betrayal. She didn’t know why, or how—she hadn’t even thought he could do that. But when she thought of her skeleton deliberately leaving her to get lost or die, her heart hurt. She kept her voice low as she replied.

“I might have to kill him. Or—if he’s just disobeying orders, maybe Pisces can fix him? I need to ask Pisces. But if he’s dangerous, I’ll have to take care of him somehow.”

“Is that even possible? He seems immortal and he’s dangerous.”

“He’s not that strong. I mean, he’s a bit stronger than before, but if you break him into pieces you can keep him from coming back together.”

Ryoka nodded slowly. Erin smiled, bitterness mixed with ruefulness.

“I might need help, though.”

“That’s why I’m here, right? I’ll give you a hand.”

Gingerly, as though her face were unsure of how it all worked, Ryoka smiled. Erin smiled back.

“Wanna show Octavia the soup?”

“I suppose. I’ll get her. She’s sulking upstairs.”

Erin poured more soup into a bowl as Ryoka went to get Octavia. The [Alchemist] didn’t have a very welcoming expression on her face when Ryoka finally got her to come back and look at Erin’s creation, but her natural curiosity got the better of her and in minutes she was trying the soup herself.

“It is hot, even when it’s not on the fire. Look—I added some snow and the temperature didn’t even change. Tastes waterier, though.”

Octavia patted her body and then took one of her arms off and studied the cloth. She reattached it as Erin gaped and shrugged.

“Seems like the effect spreads from the stomach. It didn’t affect my arm as cloth, but the effect works when I reattached it. I feel warm all over.”

“You—but wh—”

“I feel warm. Hot, even. If I was outside I’d be fine. And…hold on, I wonder if the effect actually protects you from the cold or just makes you feel warm?”

Ryoka commented as she fetched some more snow from outside. She melted the snow she was holding in seconds, and soon she was smiling.

“I bet I could run barefoot as long as this lasts.”

“I can sell this.”

Octavia’s eyes glittered. She looked at Erin.

“Mind you, it still felt really hot going in. You might want to adjust your recipe.”

Ryoka nodded. Then she had a thought and scowled.

“Damn it, Erin. It is going to be this hot coming out as it felt going in?”

“Ew. I hope not. But doesn’t it warm you up?”

Erin put aside Octavia’s magical arm trick for a second to bask in her own success. She sipped her soup and felt the warmth spread. Yes, she’d done it!

“How did you know this would work?”

Octavia stared at Erin curiously. Erin shrugged.

“I just have this…skill. It’s called [Wondrous Fare] and it sort of works like [Advanced Cooking]. I get a sense of how to make food magical. I think.”

Ryoka scratched her head.

“What I don’t understand is why the soup works like that. What’s in the horns that does all that?”

“Dunno. It’s magical.”

Octavia cleared her throat.

“Corusdeer horns are used as alternative fuel sources by [Blacksmiths], [Chefs]—anyone who needs a really hot fire. They burn for a long time and they burn so hot you have to divide up a horn into sections to really use them. One horn can go for as much as twelve silver pieces or double that if there’s a shortage—want to know how many you used?”

She glared, but Erin only stared back.

“Wanna know how much I paid you?”

“That barely covers—”

Octavia hesitated. Even she had a problem telling barefaced lies, apparently.

“The soup will be a good addition to my stock. Just write down the recipe and I’ll improve the mixture. I can probably sell—”

“Hold on, that’s Erin’s soup. Not yours.”

“Oh, she can have it. I don’t need any right now; I know how to make some. But I’m not sharing the recipe.”

“What?”

Octavia moved with the speed of greed. She stopped in front of Erin, glaring. Ryoka reached for her shoulder but this time Octavia pushed her hand away.

“That wasn’t part of the deal! I let you experiment here—I deserve to know the recipe!”

Erin blinked at the alchemist girl.

“Yeah, it wasn’t part of the deal.”

“Exac—huh?”

“It wasn’t part of the deal. I just wanted to experiment; I didn’t say I’d give you the recipes.”

“Yes—but—let’s not be hasty now, Erin. We can make a trade—”

“Tomorrow, maybe. Ryoka says we’ve got to do other things right now. So I’ll be back tomorrow, Octavia! I want to try making a lot more stuff next time.”

“Wait, t—”

Ryoka shut the door in Octavia’s face, grinning. Erin grinned too as they walked out the street. Ryoka had already taken off her shoes and put them in her Runner’s pack, and she was cautiously walking along the frosted cobblestones with her bare feet. She grinned.

“This stuff works well. I’m surprised, though, Erin. I didn’t expect you’d be that rude to Octavia. She’s pushy, but that was surprising.”

As a matter of fact, Erin felt guilty. She made an unhappy face.

“Yeah, I figured out she was trying to cheat me pretty early. I didn’t want to be mean, but she just doesn’t let me do anything unless I just do my thing, you know?”

“That’s fine by me. It works well on her.”

Ryoka stepped into a snow drift and out of it, shaking off the melted snow. This time her smile stretched across her face, like the Cheshire Cat. Erin had seldom seen the other girl so happy.

“This is fucking amazing. I can run with this soup, Erin!”

“Can’t you run anyways? I’ve seen you running in the snow—”

“Not like this.”

Ryoka waved her hand and shook her head.

“Running in those shoes? I’m slow in those. I’m at my fastest barefoot; this stuff is helpful. I’ll buy all of your soup even if no one else does.”

“I think a lot of people will eat my soup! Isn’t it amazing how no one made it until now?”

“Yeah. Amazing. Or…impossible.”

“What do you mean?”

Ryoka led Erin down the street, attracting plenty of stares as she walked outside in what was essentially a t-shirt and shorts without shoes on a wintery day.

“I’d like to know whether Octavia could reproduce that soup even with a recipe. It might be that she can’t, or at least, not so easily. You have a skill, right? It could be that [Wondrous Fare] allows you to make magical food without needing some other kind of reaction or spell.”

“Really? That would be so cool!”

Erin hurried after Ryoka, struggling to keep up with the taller girl’s stride. Ryoka noticed and slowed her walk down, leading Erin deeper into the city.

“Where are we going, by the way?”

Eying one of the signs where two streets crossed, Ryoka took them right. She slowed again to walk next to Erin, speaking over the rumble of an approaching wagon.

“First things first. We should get word to Liscor and let everyone else know you’re safe. Olesm, Selys, Klbkch—even Halrac was worried about you, you know. Mrsha kept trying to follow me when I left.”

Both girls walked to the edge of the street to avoid the wagon as it moved past them. Ryoka especially kept her feet clear. The driver of the wagon stared at Ryoka as he passed, nearly running down another pedestrian who started cursing at him.

“Haven’t you ever wondered how cities kept in touch besides Runners and caravans?”

“No?”

Erin had assumed Runners were the only form of communication. Ryoka shook her head and explained.

“There’s a spell—[Message]. You can send, well, the equivalent of magical emails to people. Not a long message and I think there’s a mana cost with the distance involved and perhaps even the atmosphere, but—”

“Oh! You mean, like Twitter? Magical Twitter?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

Ryoka sighed.

“It’s really expensive, though. So we’re only going to send a single message for you. Think of what you want to say; make it concise. It’ll cost a couple of gold coins either way.”

“That’s a lot of money for just one spell!”

Erin was indignant, Ryoka resigned.

“It’s one spell, but there aren’t that many people willing to play telephone all day long. Besides, not all [Mages] learn the spell. Ceria told me it’s not easy to cast, either. You have to be at least Level 15 or so. Here. It’s down the same street as the Runner’s Guild.”

She was staring so much at all the sights that Erin nearly missed the building Ryoka pointed to. The other girl acted as if this was nothing special, but this was the first city Erin had been to besides Liscor, and even then, she’d never really explored every alley and building there either.

The people were so normal-looking it almost hurt. True, they wore rougher garments with a lot less color and logos than Erin was used to, but they were all Human. Sure, some wagon drivers cursed at the pedestrians and some people had swords, but wasn’t that the same as angry people in cars and people carrying guns from her home?

People were people. And though Erin was happy to call Drakes, Gnolls, and Antinium her friends, she always felt a bit alone in Liscor. But here everyone was Human.

It made her smile. And because she smiled, Erin had a different experience of walking through Celum than Ryoka.

The Runner strode through the crowds, impatient, often waiting for Erin, a semi-scowl plastered on her face. But Erin smiled and said ‘hello’ or ‘excuse me’ to people as she walked past. And for every person who gave her an affronted look or just ignored her, two more gave her a smile or a surprised word in response.

Erin stood out from the crowd. Ryoka noticed it as she waited for Erin next to a large building with the symbol of a wand with wings painted on a sign. What the other girl saw was that Erin had no problems waving to an adventurer or a guardsman striding down the street. Other citizens walked wide of people with arms unless they knew them, but Erin was fearless. And these surprised warriors usually waved or smiled awkwardly back.

All Erin noticed was the odd look Ryoka gave her before she pushed back the door. Inside, Erin gasped at the sudden change in temperatures.

“It’s so warm!”

It was indeed like walking into a completely different environment. Despite that, there was nothing like a fire in the large room with one large staircase set against one wall. Ryoka glanced at the doorframe.

“Heating runes or something like that. Looks expensive.”

She let Erin further in. Neither Ryoka nor Erin had ever set foot in such a building, and so both stared around in surprise, if not awe.

This building which was not a Mage’s Guild was expensive, to say the least. Smooth floorboards of rich wood glowed as hovering mage lights gave steady, clear illumination to the room. A second floor overlooked the lobby-like ground floor, where several receptionists were busy tending to their queues of people. There wasn’t too much of a line; but those who were waiting looked like they were all rich, or employed by rich people. The only exception to that rule were the two adventurers waiting in a line of their own.

It was that one that Ryoka took Erin to. Erin stared in fascination at the sheets of paper the people at the counter were writing on. Once a stack had been collected, they were sent upstairs.

“Oh. I get it. They’re writing it all down so it can be sent off!”

“Looks like they make backlogs and the mages come in later. Might be a little bit before our message gets through.”

The adventurer in front of Erin and Ryoka finished his business, and then the man at the desk gestured and Ryoka and Erin walked forwards.

“Are you an adventurer? This line’s for adventurers or runners only.”

The man spoke briskly, barely looking up from his paper. Then he noticed Ryoka’s bare feet and scowled briefly.

“I’m a City Runner. Here’s my seal.”

Ryoka reached into her travel pouch and pulled out a glittering seal that was made of some blue metal and silver. Erin was entranced by the way the colors blended together and sparkled, but the man barely looked at it. He nodded and passed it back.

“Do you have a message to send, or are you here to pick up? The mage on duty hasn’t collected any incoming messages for your guild.”

“Message to send.”

The man grabbed a fresh piece of paper and dipped his quill in the ink pot.

“Name?”

“She’ll be sending the first message.”

Ryoka gestured to Erin. Erin smiled.

“Hi—”

“Name?”

The abrupt response made Erin feel like she was at an airport or something.

“Erin Solstice.”

“Destination?”

“Um. Liscor?”

The man scribbled down on the piece of paper, quill blurring so fast that Erin could barely follow. He wrote faster than most people could type, and his writing—far from being ink splattered and cursively-illegible—was almost agonizingly straight and easy to read.

“And who are the recipients of your message? Please list more than one person if at all possible.”

“Okay. Selys Shivertail or Krshia Silverfang. Selys is a Drake and Krshia’s a Gnoll. Oh, and Klbkch! You can add him too. He’s an Antinium.”

The receptionist’s quill paused when Erin mentioned that. Erin sensed Ryoka was covering her face in her hand as everyone in earshot looked at her. She blushed.

“Well, he is.”

The man at the desk recovered quickly.

“Very well. And the contents of your message? Be aware of the prices for longer messages.”

He pointed to a board over his head. Erin gulped as she noticed how expensive messages got.

“Okay. Um—this isn’t part of the message. This is just me thinking. Uh, write this. ‘Hi guys, this is Erin. I’m well—’”

Wearing a pained expression, Ryoka interrupted Erin.

“Cancel that. Write this instead. ‘This is Ryoka. I am with Erin in the city of Celum. We are both well, and we will attempt to return soon.’”

The man efficiently scribbled down their message and then crossed out the parts Erin had said. He offered the sheet of paper to the two young women.

“Does that appear to be correct? Yes? Then the price will be…”

Erin’s face fell, but Ryoka just dug at a pouch and dropped several gold coins onto the counter. The man collected them, and then for some reason used a magnifying glass to stare at each of the coins in turn.

“What’s he doing?”

“He’s checking to make sure they’re authentic.”

“Oh.”

That done, Ryoka received a few silver coins in return.

“A mage will send your message via spell sometime today. If there is a response, we will hold the reply for one week before disposing of it. Thank you.”

That was that. Erin turned to go, but Ryoka hesitated.

“…Wait. I’ll send one more message now.”

The man looked up.

“Very well. Your name?”

“Ryoka Griffin. The message is also to Liscor, but the only recipient is Krshia Silverfang.”

Erin watched the man writing on a fresh piece of paper and looked around the room. This was a lot of work compared to using a phone, but she could also see how useful it was. No wonder a lot of merchant-types looked like they were sending messages to other people. You could get good tips about the markets in other cities. Or evil monsters trying to swallow people whole.

“And the contents of your message?”

Erin looked back as Ryoka took a deep breath. The other girl seemed to think for a moment before she nodded and spoke.

“Send this: ‘Krshia Silverfang, this is Ryoka. I have what you want. Tell the others to wait for my return.’”

The man looked up.

“Is that all?”

“Yes.”

Erin noticed something then, as the man showed Ryoka the piece of paper. He’d looked sort of bored when she spoke to him, but when Ryoka had delivered her cryptic message he’d become more interested. Come to that, so had the woman standing at the counter next to them…as well as the other man behind the counter. They looked the other way when Erin stared, though.

Ryoka paid for the second message and then she and Erin walked towards the entrance of the building. Erin told Ryoka what she’d seen in a hushed voice. Ryoka only shrugged.

“Don’t bother keeping your voice down, Erin. I’d bet there are spells that can record our every word in here. And you can bet that more than one person’s going to read that message or pass it along before it gets to anyone in Liscor.”

“Really? How do you know?”

Ryoka smiled crookedly.

“Because knowledge is power, or money. [Message] spells don’t seem to be that well-encrypted magically in the first place, but having secretaries handle the mail means that all kinds of secrets are probably sold off or kept. Most people might not know that, but you can bet all those [Receptionists] read all the messages before they go out.”

She hadn’t bothered to lower her voice. A rich, fat man waddling towards an exit looked at Ryoka with a horrified glance, and Erin winced as the people at the counters glared daggers at Ryoka’s back.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s Human nature. But I didn’t say anything they can use; just so long as our friends know we’re safe, it’s fine.”

They were outside the building now. The rich guy had done a u-turn and was moving at speed back to the desk to confront one of the flustered secretaries. Just in case though, Erin lowered her voice.

“What was that message to Krshia, though? What do you have? A delivery?”

Ryoka didn’t look around, but she jabbed Erin with an elbow. Gently.

“That’s private. Let’s not talk about it; I’m sure that spells can be extended past a building, and there’s always Skills as well.”

That made Erin worried for two entire streets, until Ryoka paused to reassure her.

“Don’t worry; Runners are used to transporting all kinds of secret stuff. I doubt anyone would pry too far into my business, but I’m just being cautious.”

“You really think about different stuff than I do, Ryoka. I just try not to let a monster eat my face off and make good food.”

“We all have our skills. Don’t worry about any of it. Right now, our next goal should be finding you transport back to Liscor.”

Erin made a face at Ryoka as they walked along through the snow. Ryoka still looked completely fine wearing practically nothing, even though it was starting to snow. She was making Erin feel cold.

“I don’t know how we’re going to do that, Ryoka. I left my sledge outside of the city, but there’s no one to pull it. Unless you—?”

“No. I suppose we could buy a horse for you and I could run with you, but that’s risky.”

“Risky? Why?”

Ryoka looked exasperated.

“The roads aren’t safe, Erin. The main ones might be, but there’s always the chance of a monster or bandit attack. I can outrun most monsters and I’ve got some items that will help me, but even on a horse you’d be a target.”

Scowling, Ryoka kicked through a pile of snow, ignoring the looks the other pedestrians gave her.

“It’ll be hard getting you back quickly and safely. A caravan’s normally how people travel, but those are slow. We could hire adventurers to guard you, but that would cost a lot of money.”

“Adventurers? Isn’t that overkill? Look, Ryoka, I don’t know about riding, but why don’t the two of us just go back together? You’ve got those martial arts moves and I have some skills. If we get some stuff from Octavia we can probably handle most monsters, right?”

The other girl considered Erin’s suggestion.

“I did get more of the potions and bags from her. I suppose you might have a point but…damn it, I don’t know if there’s any dangerous monsters or bandits nearby. The Runner’s Guild would know, I guess.”

“Oh, do you need to go check in with them? If you want I can wait—”

Ryoka shook her head.

“I can check in later. I want to get you back to Liscor before I take on any requests. But I can ask for information. Okay. Let’s say we go by ourselves. We still need provisions, more of Octavia’s potions and bags, a damn horse—I wonder if we can rent one—”

Erin’s stomach growled.

“Can we talk about all that stuff over dinner? I haven’t eaten in ages.”

Neither had Ryoka, as it turned out. And once Erin reminded her, it turned out that both girls were famished.

“We’d never get to another city before dark, I guess.”

Erin nodded in agreement. She was tired; all of what Ryoka was saying sounded like a lot of work she didn’t want to do right now.

“I have to go bother—see Octavia tomorrow, anyways. I want to do more experiments before I go. And it’s late. Why don’t we stay at an inn?”

“An [Innkeeper] staying at an inn?”

The notion seemed to amuse Ryoka. She led Erin down another street, and both girls looked out for inns.

“This’ll be great. You know, I was really scared when I woke up, but now I’m thinking this could be more like a holiday.”

“You always look too much on the bright side of things.”

Ryoka grumbled as she pushed the door open to an inn. Erin followed her inside and felt the heat of a roaring fire wash over her at the same time the babble of several voices and the clink of metal meeting pottery hit her ears. She smelled roasted and burnt meat and found herself in an inn.

It was weird. Despite her profession, Erin had been in a grand total of two inns in this world before this, and one of them was hers. And this, clearly, was not her inn.

For one thing, it was a lot more run-down than Erin’s brand new sparkling inn with glass windows. This inn had only shutters, no glass, and it also had stains and tracked in dirt that Erin noted the instant she walked in. There was a bit more mess and a bit less polish, but the inn made up for that with its clientele.

In that it had some rather than none. The room wasn’t exactly heaving, but there were about fourteen people inside, not counting the staff. Two young women circled the room, delivering food and drink to the tables as weary-looking men and women ate. At the far end of the room, a group of five noisy adventurers were laughing and drinking loudly.

Yes, it was an inn that failed to impress, but it gave Erin the sense that it would be a decent place to eat and sleep. It might not have been home for her, but it was clearly looked after by someone who cared, and that alone made it worthy of respect.

Ryoka gave the inn and the entire room one look before she turned to go.

“Come on, Erin.”

“What? But why?”

Before Ryoka could respond, the [Innkeeper], an older woman in her mid-thirties, rushed out of what looked like the kitchen. Spotting two potential customers she hurried forwards with a big smile on her face. Her apron was slightly smutched, but she looked friendly—if harried. She slowed as she recognized Ryoka, and then beamed.

“If it isn’t a City Runner! Miss Griffin, isn’t it? Do come in, please!”

Ryoka wore a pained expression as the woman approached. Erin smiled and received a wider smile in return.

“Welcome to the Frenzied Hare! Do take a seat. My name is Agnes; and I do know you, Miss Ryoka Griffin. You stayed at my inn just as you were starting out as a City Runner. Do you remember?”

It was something that Erin had noticed. Whenever Ryoka didn’t want to say something or talk with someone, her face would become very closed off and she’d change her posture to be more withdrawn. She was doing that now, even though the woman was acting really nice.

“I’m sorry. I don’t recall. Please excuse us; we were just looking in.”

“Oh. I see. But if you’d like to stay, we have food hot and ready.”

“That sounds good to me!”

Erin smiled at the woman. Agnes smiled back.

“Oh, and who are you?”

“My name’s Erin. Please to meet—”

“One second, please, Miss Agnes.”

Ryoka dragged Erin away before she could introduce herself. Erin glared; Ryoka was being rude, but Ryoka herself looked annoyed.

“We’re not staying here, Erin. We can afford a much better inn.”

“What? But she’s nice. And this place doesn’t look so bad—”

“I’ve seen good inns, and this isn’t one of them. The food smells burnt, there’s an obnoxious group over there, and the inn’s not crowded despite it being dinnertime. There are better places to be if we’ve got money. Let’s find one.”

She had a point, but Erin was reluctant to concede. Ryoka walked back to Agnes, whose smile had slipped slightly. She had a resigned look in her eyes before Ryoka even spoke.

“I’m sorry Miss Agnes, but we really have to be going.”

“I understand. But if you ever want to stop by…”

The older woman looked crestfallen and slightly hurt. That made up Erin’s mind.

“Nah, let’s stay.”

She interrupted Ryoka. The other girl turned and glared silently at her, but Erin ignored the look. She smiled at Agnes, who gave her a more genuine smile of surprise in return.

“I’d love to have whatever you’ve got. And we’d like to stay the night, wouldn’t we, Ryoka?”

The other girl looked exasperated, but gave up.

“I suppose we will. A table for two, Miss Agnes. Away from those two, please.”

She nodded at the adventurers who were spilling a lot of their drink on the floor in proper quaffing style. Agnes beamed and led the two girls to a table at the other side of the room, talking excitedly with Erin.

“Oh thank you. You know, it’s been hard since my poor husband fell ill. He’s been abed these last two weeks with a terrible fever, and I’m trying to keep the place running, but I just don’t have his levels, I really don’t. I was a [Tailor] by trade before I became an [Innkeeper] with him…”

“Really? That’s so odd. You know I’m an [Innkeeper] myself, Agnes.”

“Someone as young as you? Bless my heart, that’s quite an achievement! No wonder you’re friends with Miss Griffin, Miss Erin was it?”

“Please, call me Erin. Yeah, I have this inn near Liscor, but I’m uh, travelling abroad for a bit…”

By the time Erin had sat down with Ryoka and they’d ordered some beef with potatoes, the meal of the day, she’d become entirely invested in Agnes’ struggle.  She’d even met the two barmaids, Maran and Safry, and they’d both been cheerful and welcoming, if tired. Agnes had chatted happily with Erin before going back into the kitchen to cook, a scene so familiar to Erin that she felt a strong bond with the woman.

Ryoka sat with her arms folded, a scowl on her face. She had refused to take part in any of the conversations. Now she was waiting for their food, clearly annoyed that Erin had chosen this inn to stay in.

“Aw, come on Ryoka. Agnes is nice! Don’t you think so?”

“She’s fine.”

That was her problem. Ryoka got grumpy if she didn’t get her way. Erin was determined to remain upbeat, though.

“Agnes said she knew you when you just got here, Ryoka. You really don’t remember her?”

Ryoka shrugged, looking uncomfortable.

“She’s an [Innkeeper], Erin. No offense, but I sleep in a lot of inns in my job.”

“You remember me, though.”

“You kind of stand out, Erin. This place…”

Ryoka let her voice trail off. She shrugged, looking darkly resigned.

“Let’s just eat. We can talk over dinner.”

“Ooh! I think I see the food.”

Erin turned in her seat and smiled as Safry came out of the kitchen, balancing two plates and two drinks – boiled water and milk in her hands. Ryoka sighed.

“Don’t get your hopes up. Food around here isn’t always as good as your inn.”

“You’re so pessimistic, Ryoka! Come on, how bad could it be?”

“Tell me you didn’t just say that.”

—-

It was entirely the meal Ryoka had expected, and clearly, not the one Erin had envisioned. She saw Erin’s face visibly react to the slightly charred meat and lackluster potatoes as Safry put them in front of them. Ryoka took a fork and poked at her meat, wondering if she’d even be able to get the fatty bit down or whether she should just order another plate and choose the best parts between the two of them.

Safry apologized to Erin as she put the drinks down. She was already friendly with Erin, something Ryoka couldn’t believe.

“Sorry. Agnes ain’t got a Skill. You sure you don’t want anything stronger to drink? Helps wash it all down.”

“No, it’s fine. Thanks Safry!”

Erin smiled at the other young woman, and then went back to looking at her plate. Ryoka sighed.

“See what I mean?”

“It could be good!”

Erin tried to be optimistic as she speared a bit of meat and put it in her mouth. Ryoka watched as Erin chewed, tried to swallow, and was forced to chew more. Her face fell.

“Aw.”

There was way too much gristle in their meat. Ryoka was picking at her potatoes with her fork; they could have used more boiling and they were bland as, well, bad potatoes.

“Looks like the husband had all the cooking talent in the marriage. That, or this inn makes most of its money serving alcohol.”

“Ryoka! Don’t be rude!”

Erin swallowed her bite with some effort. She looked visibly disappointed, but she tried to eat another bite of potato.

“Okay, this isn’t good…but maybe Agnes just doesn’t know any recipes?”

“More like she’s probably never had to really practice until now.”

Ryoka sighed. She’d begun to understand the advantages of levels, as well as the drawbacks they created.

“Her husband—I guess he had the cooking Skills. Agnes doesn’t, and so she never bothered to learn how to cook that well since she didn’t have to with him around. After all, what’s the point? Someone with [Basic Cooking] can do all of what’s needed, which means that unless you live in a Gnoll tribe where the work gets passed around, you probably don’t learn a lot of skills unless that’s your job.”

Ryoka took a bite of her potato and grimaced.

“Or maybe it’s just her. We can still find another inn, Erin.”

“No, we’re staying here. Agnes is nice.”

Erin was wearing her mule-like expression. Ryoka hated that look; it meant Erin was determined to do things her way. She sighed and chewed the potato and washed it down with water. Food was food, after all.

Why was she so upset, anyways? It was just one meal. After all that had happened today, she could take a terrible meal and a lumpy bed. It was just—Ryoka had gotten spoiled from Erin’s cooking, that was all.

The two endured two more mouthfuls of food before Erin put down her fork, looking distressed.

“This is really no good.”

“I told you. We can leave—”

“No, I said we’re staying. But I’m going to have a word with Agnes.”

“What? Erin. You can’t just—”

Too late. Erin was already up and walking into the kitchen. Ryoka ground her teeth. If Erin caused more trouble, she’d…she’d…

Do what, exactly? Ryoka’s memories kicked her and showed her an image of her challenging a Dragon to a game of riddles. Compared to that, what was getting tossed out of an inn by an angry [Innkeeper]?

Erin was gone for quite some time, and Ryoka was idly wondering if she could pull out Teriarch’s book of spells and read it under the table, somehow. Given that it was practically the size of the table, she doubted she could make it work. The adventurers were still laughing and getting on her nerves across the room, and she was just about to order some alcohol and get stinking drunk to put an end to her miseries until tomorrow when someone called her name.

“Ryoka? Is that you?”

A familiar voice caused Ryoka to jerk up in her seat. She looked towards the entrance, and there in the doorway stood a familiar giant young woman.

“Garia?”

Garia Strongheart strode into the inn with a huge smile on her face.

“Ryoka!”

It had been a long time, or Ryoka would have remembered to watch out for Garia’s crushing strength. The hug the shorter girl gave Ryoka made her bones creak, but Ryoka didn’t care. She was even moved to smile at Garia as the other girl took a seat with her.

“Garia, it’s been a long time. How have you been?”

“Oh, you know. I’ve been running deliveries; nothing special. But you—I haven’t seen you in weeks, Ryoka! I didn’t even know you were in the city—no one in the Runner’s Guild mentioned seeing you. What happened? Were you on some kind of really special delivery? I thought you were just going down to Liscor for a while!”

Ryoka realized with a pang that she hadn’t told Garia about what she was going to do. She shook her head.

“It’s a long story. I’m not doing any deliveries at the moment; I’m actually with a friend.”

“A friend? You?”

Garia’s open face was a bit too shocked for Ryoka’s comfort, but she sat and Ryoka flagged down one of the barmaids—what was her name again?—and soon they were talking.

“Anything new happen? Where’s Fals?”

“Oh, he’s out on a delivery. Nothing’s new—unless—have you heard about Persua?”

Ryoka made a face.

“Tell me she’s dead.”

“No—actually—”

Garia broke off and sniffed at the air. Ryoka stopped and looked up too.

Something had changed. The odor of the inn, like background noise, had long since stopped sending active messages to Ryoka’s brain. But something had changed. The odor of slightly burnt meat had changed, and something new and fragrant was in the air. It made the mouth water, and it was coming from the kitchen.

“What’s that smell? Oh, did Jerom recover? He’s a good cook, although Miss Agnes who runs the inn right now isn’t so much.”

Garia looked guilty and glanced around for the innkeeper as she talked with Ryoka.

“I never expected you to come here. I stay here all the time because it’s cheap and Agnes is so nice, but the food isn’t that good. You can probably find a better place, Ryoka.”

“You’re telling me?”

Why was a nice innkeeper the only requirement for both Garia and Erin? But Ryoka was still bothered by the new smell. Her eyes narrowed as one of the barmaids went into the kitchen and came out with a very familiar bun and burger on a plate. The barmaid offered it to one of the customers and Ryoka groaned.

“She’s not.”

“Who? Is someone doing something?”

Erin. Damn it. It was always her stupid ideas. But even as Ryoka watched, more food began to come out of the kitchen as both Maran and Safry struggled to keep up with the flow.

“Here’s a, uh, hamburger, Miss Ryoka. [Innkeeper] Erin said you’d want one.”

Ryoka eyed the burger with the toasted bun and thick, fried patty. This was a homemade burger with all the fixings; it even looked like Erin had mayonnaise somehow and put it with the fries.

How the hell could she cook so fast? It had to be the [Advanced Cooking] skill, but she was still far quicker than she had any right to be. Ryoka’s stomach growled as she stared at the wonderful hamburger, a far cry from the plate of food Ryoka had pushed away.

“Is that…what’s that, Ryoka?”

Garia was staring hungrily at the burger, and even Safry looked like she could use some. Ryoka grunted and took the plate.

“Tell Erin to make another for Garia. And if she’s making more food—”

“Oh, she is. Like lightning, that one. She’s got [Advanced Cooking]. Isn’t it amazing?”

“[Advanced Cooking]? That’s really impressive. Ryoka, do you know the new cook?”

“She’s my friend. She decided to help your innkeeper out. She’s an [Innkeeper] as well.”

Ryoka grumbled into her burger as Garia tried to press her with questions. The juicy meat was making her feel a lot better, and Garia’s eyes nearly popped out of her own head when she got hers and tasted it.

“This is delicious! And what’s this stuff? Did the barmaid say? Fries? Oh! They’re a potato! Your friend is amazing, Ryoka!”

Both girls devoured the food as Ryoka watched the room change. The diners hadn’t exactly been diving into their meals, but now everyone from the tired workers to the adventurers had found a separate stomach for Erin’s far higher-quality food. It flew out of the kitchen and in accordance to the laws of commerce, the livelier mood and smells drew more customers in.

“And now she’s talking with the guests. Wonderful.”

Ryoka tried to catch Erin’s eye, but the girl had now exited the kitchen and was animatedly talking with people, being trailed by Agnes who was giving the other girl amazed looks.

Garia was munching down her second burger, but she stopped to stare at Erin.

“She looks so…so normal. Nothing like you, Ryoka. How did you meet her?”

Should she lie or tell the truth? Ryoka was debating answering Garia when she noticed a disturbance at the other end of the room.

The adventuring group was clearly not a group of Gold-rankers, like Halrac and Griffin Hunt, but they were certainly boisterous enough for two groups their size. They’d been laughing, telling rude jokes and generally causing a mess since Ryoka had come in, growing progressively drunker. She already hated their guts, but even the exclusively-male team had found some delight in Erin’s cooking.

Unfortunately, that had only made them more excited. Ryoka saw one of them grabbing Safry’s arm as she came by with a refill for their tankards. She tried to pull away, but then one of the men grabbed at her breasts while the other felt at her legs.

She knew that it was common in a time before lawsuits and rules about sexual harassment, but Ryoka’s blood boiled at the sight. Safry finally pulled away, looking clearly distressed, but the men only laughed harder. Ryoka growled and tried to stand up.

“Ryoka. Don’t pick another fight, please.”

Garia had seen the same thing as Ryoka, but she only looked uncomfortable rather than angry. She tried to tug Ryoka back down as the other girl eyed the adventurers. There were five of them and two were still wearing armor. Ryoka itched to pick a fight, especially with the man who slapped at Safry’s butt as she retreated.

She had two options. Do something, or do nothing. Most of Ryoka wanted to get up and kick that adventurer’s face in, but one part of her and Garia was telling her that was a bad idea.

“Don’t, Ryoka! If you cause trouble you could get hurt!”

That was true. It wasn’t her fight, and the men had only treated Safry like an object. That was all. Perfectly normal. Ryoka clenched her fist, and then felt the missing fingers on her hand.

She looked down. There were stumps there. She sometimes forgot, now, that she’d lost her fingers. Garia hadn’t even noticed yet; Ryoka had kept her right hand under the table. She’d lost her fingers to overconfidence. A curse, maybe, but the Goblin who’d bit them off had taken her off-guard. And that was only a Goblin. It only took one second, one mistake…

She stared at her hand. She stared back at the man. Slowly, Ryoka relaxed back into her chair. The moment had passed.

Simmering, Ryoka sat back down. The adventurers hadn’t even noticed her. She watched them now, and saw how both Maran and Safry clearly didn’t want to go near their table. But all too soon their tankards were empty, and Maran went this time to give them more alcohol.

This time it was more jokes and more grabbing hands in all the places they shouldn’t be. Garia gripped Ryoka’s arm with a hand strong enough to hold her in place. Maran turned red as one the men tried to tug her blouse down.

Again, Ryoka agonized, but this time Erin saw. One second she was talking to Agnes and an older man at a table, the next she was standing in front of Maran, pushing the man’s hands away. Ryoka heard her voice clearly across the inn.

“Don’t do that again, please.”

The entire room went silent. Garia’s mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ of horror, and Ryoka saw men and women stop and stare at the adventurers. All five men had gone still. Agnes looked horrified. Erin was just calm.

“Hey mistress, we didn’t mean anything by it. We were just being friendly!”

Ryoka heard the drunk words; an echo of other phrases she’d learned to despise at parties by drunk men and women. She gritted her teeth, but Erin was still calm. She gave the adventurers a big smile.

“Please don’t touch Maran. She’s just trying to do her job, okay?”

“Or what? We paid good coin to sit here. Don’t you know who we are? We’re the Brilliant Swords of Celum!”

One of the men threw that out there, looking proud as if he expected applause. Erin didn’t bat an eye.

“Yeah, but you’re still guests. And this is my—Agnes’ inn. But I’m in charge for tonight. If you don’t behave, I’ll kick you out.”

This time all the adventurers went still, and Ryoka could hear people edging away from Erin. But she didn’t even blink as the bigger men stared at her. Then one laughed, a forced laugh that sounded far too jovial.

“Fine. We’ll not lay hands on her. My promise, good mistress.”

“Great!”

Erin smiled and turned to go. As she did, the man reached out and slapped Erin on the butt.

The room fell silent. Ryoka knocked back her chair, but Erin moved first. She turned around and looked at the grinning adventurer in the eye. He smirked at her.

The fist that crunched into the man’s nose sent him flying backwards in his chair. He crashed to the floor as his buddies stared at Erin in shock. The entire inn was a frozen scene; Ryoka’s smile could have cured depression.

Then one of the men roared and pushed himself back from the table. He reached for Erin, but she grabbed a mug from the table and smashed it across his face. He staggered back and she raised a chair and smashed it across his chest.

Bar fighting. Erin kicked the table over and then punched another man hard enough to send him to the floor. Ryoka watched as customers fled, and then heard a voice.

Garia was sitting in her chair, staring at Erin as she took on all five men at once with a good deal of success. She stared at Ryoka, pale-faced.

“That’s your friend, Ryoka? She’s even crazier than you are!”

“I know. Isn’t she great?”

Ryoka grinned. Then she turned, vaulted a table, and kicked a man in the back. He staggered into his buddy and Ryoka got to do a roundhouse kick on the man who’d slapped Erin on the butt. She saw Erin kicking one of the downed adventurers and grinned when she saw a plate of potatoes and meat mostly untouched.

She’d just managed to smash it across a man’s face when someone else tried to grab her. But Ryoka hit him with fast jabs and he missed as he swung at her clumsily. It was chaotic and messy, but Ryoka had been trained a lot better than a bunch of idiots with swords who were drunk. And she had Erin to watch her back.

Between the calls for the city watch and screams, Ryoka felt her blood pumping as she punched and kicked and dodged. The best part of the fight was when Garia seized one of the men and threw him into a wall hard enough to make him lose all his dinner. And that was before one of the regular customers decided to join in and help out Erin by laying one of the adventurers out with a punch.

It looked like it was going to be a good day after all.

2.48

Rags sat astride a huge Carn Wolf and saw a dream. It was one every Goblin had likely dreamed at some point in their lives. It was a wish, a vision for bad nights and when their bellies were swollen with hunger or the Goblins lay bleeding from their injuries, trying to sleep.

They dreamed of cities burning.

In Rags’ dream, the tall walls of the Human and Drake cities fell, masonry crumbling. Fire raged throughout the city, and the screams of the merciless monsters within echoed throughout the dark night. For once, those that had hunted her, hunted her people, were the ones trapped like rodents by blade and fire.

Smoke stung Rags’ eyes and she blinked. But the vision in front of her did not vanish. This was no dream.

It was a nightmare.

Humans ran and fled from her Goblins as they poured into the city. Rags watched them flood into houses. The surviving Humans ran as the Goblins approached. Those who fled were allowed to go untouched; she had made her orders clear. But anyone who raised a sword or weapon died. It was as simple as that.

Every Goblin in the small retinue following Rags was grinning at the sight. It was, after all, what they had dreamed of when they were small and hiding from Humans, or barely alive after an adventurer had cut them in battle or their lair had been burnt to the ground. But Rags could not smile.

This was all wrong.

The only other Goblin that wasn’t smiling was Garen Redfang. He rode up to Rags, letting his massive Carn Wolf lope up next to her. Rags’ own mount shied away from the larger wolf, but Garen dismounted so they would be at an equal level. He stood next to Rags and stared at the burning landscape.

He was not happy either. He had called her approach soft and weak, despite the victory it had earned them. He would have preferred to burn the entire city down, but Rags had overridden him. Now he folded his arms and spoke to her as he watched their tribes racing through the city.

“They will never forgive us for this. Even what you have done is not enough.”

Rags nodded. She stared at the burning wreckage and looked at the bodies on the ground. So few of her own, but too many.

And there were countless dead. Humans lay where they had fallen, bristling with arrows. Goblins shared their space too; they lay in clumps or in bits, where Garen’s elites had forced them into desperate clumps before hacking them apart.

Either way, there was too much death here. Too much, to too little point.

When had she started thinking like that? Rags didn’t know. But it was different, to think of things in terms of cost and gain rather than simply life and death.

There was still a large part of Rags that didn’t care if every Human died. But the rest of her, the part of her that had learned, knew that this would only make living here more difficult for her tribes. Moreover, it might mean the Humans would send armies against her tribe rather than the real enemy.

Rags’ eyes narrowed as she saw a cluster of her Goblins break off from the main stream and crash into what looked like a blacksmith’s shop. Good. She hoped they wouldn’t try to grab the anvil though; they already had one.

Her Goblins weren’t just looting randomly; they were trying to gather what she wanted, racing the flames. A few of her more daring Hobs even went into burning buildings, emerging burnt but with valuable goods in their hands.

More screaming. Rags could even hear words from her distant position. She saw a man cursing at a Hobgoblin before he lost a hand. Then he just screamed.

The family he was trying to protect ran as the Hobgoblin finished off the wounded Human. She saw one of the children lagging behind. So slow. Goblin children ran fast because if they were left behind they were trampled or dead. But this child fell.

The Hobgoblin ignored the child as the mother seized her and ran. They were not a threat; they were simply part of the frightened herd trying to flee the Goblins.

Thousands of Humans were fleeing, but countless more were dead. The city was gone for all intents and purposes. Soon other armies might come to reclaim it, and if what Garen had said was true, so would Gold-rank adventurer teams. But Rags and her Goblins would not be there.

Garen shifted besides Rags. He’d taken several deep cuts during the battle, but even the sharpest blades hadn’t managed to fully penetrate his thick skin. He truly was a Gold-rank adventurer in terms of strength. Rags envied him, even as she realized she would never be Garen. Her strength lay elsewhere.

And now the fire was engulfing the rest of the city. The Goblins kept away from the worst of the inferno as they completed their looting. Rags watched the fire begin to rage out of control. It wouldn’t devour all of the stone, but any Human in the city that was still in hiding would be dead.

Perhaps, if she had been at Erin’s inn, it would never have come to this. But Rags had been barred from entering. Kicked out.

The reasons made sense, but they still stung. She had seen the small Gnoll and the angry Human that Erin had pointed to and seen a reflection. She’d looked at the child Erin had called Mrsha and seen something familiar in her eyes. She had seen herself. It had thrown her into confusion. Rags wished she had had one more chance to sit there and be—

But it was too late. Too late, now. And it had taught Rags an important lesson. Goblins stood alone. In the end, there was no one who would stand by them but themselves.

Someone moved over to Rags’ left. She shifted, the black crossbow in her hands, but there was no reason to worry. Her Hob escort and Garen moved slightly to let one of the smaller Goblins approach. Rags watched as he talked to Garen and gave the Hobgoblin something.

Garen came back to Rags and offered her a rough piece of metal and wood. Rags stared at it. That was quick. But they had the wood and metal and with the Human equipment, their [Tinkerers] could do good work.

“They say they have found many parts in the city. Enough for hundreds such.”

The first finished crossbow shone in the light of the flames as Rags lifted it and stared down at the deadly weapon. Garen looked disapproving; he liked to fight up close and personal. He saw a cheap tool, but Rags saw something else in the crude crossbow.

Goblins were weak. Everyone knew that. Goblins knew that. To survive, they had to overwhelm, attack with trickery, cheat. If they could not be strong, they would build themselves strength.

“Where to next? To battle in Liscor?”

Garen grinned, showing bloody teeth. He was ready for a fight, and so were his warriors. But Rags surprised him and the other Goblins as she shook her head.

“No. North.”

The two words were rough and awkward on her tongue. But she’d said them right. Garen’s eyes narrowed and he tried to argue, but Rags glared.

War was coming. And Rags’ Goblins were not ready. Not yet. She looked north. Larger tribes ruled there, and more cities of Humans, and lands filled with more sights than she had ever seen before.

This Goblin Lord had an army of horrible things. An army that could crush her weaker tribes in a second. They couldn’t challenge them.

Not yet.

Within the hour, the Goblins in Rags’ tribe had formed up and the entire group was heading north at speed to rejoin the rest of the assembled tribes. Rags rode at the head of the army, riding slower so the Hobs could keep up.

As Rags bounced along on the wolf, she remembered a small Goblin sitting in an inn, playing chess. She wished, in her heart with words she would never dare to say, that she was back there.

But she was older now. She couldn’t go back to who she’d been. Her goals were what they had always been.

To be stronger. To learn the truth. To survive.

Behind her, Esthelm burned.

—-

“I should arrest you for this. Both of you.”

Ryoka stared at the [Guardsman] with the fuzzy lip who was speaking to her and Erin and wondered what he would do if she punched him in the face. Probably stab her.

It was a bad idea. She was still hyped up after the bar fight. Ryoka knew that. So she folded her hands behind her back, punched no one, and let Erin talk.

“But it wasn’t our fault, Fuzzy—Wesle.”

Erin pointed to the groaning adventurers, only half of whom were conscious, and waved her arms as the guardsman rubbed at his eyes and sighed.

It was late. The sun had already set, but the streets were full of fire, mainly from the torches the local City Watch was carrying. They were out in surprising force for a small bar fight; over ten [Guardsmen] and [Guardswomen] were on the streets, mainly clustered around the four Bronze-rank adventurers and one Silver-rank adventurer.

It was probably because they were nervous of the lone Silver-rank. But if that was their worry, they would have done better to be standing around Erin. Ryoka had seen her take down the Silver-rank and give all the others several good punches and she barely had a scratch on her.

Not that it had been an exactly fair barfight. After Ryoka and Garia had joined in, the entire inn had entered the fray on the side of the girls. As a result, the adventurers looked like someone had rolled a few beer barrels over them.

Most of the inn’s patrons were back inside, drinking and celebrating their victory. Only Agnes stood outside with Erin and Ryoka, looking understandably worried. What Ryoka couldn’t figure out though was what was going to happen next.

Celum’s City Watch was far different from Liscor’s. For one thing, their response time was a lot slower. They’d only shown up after the adventurers were being tossed outside in a heap, and they’d come all at once. Erin had described the Senior Guardsmen Klbkch and Relc to Ryoka, and by the sounds of it they could arrive in less than five minutes and break up fights single-handedly.

Not so here. And it was also apparently rare for the City Watch to be called in for matters where civilians fought adventurers. Erin had had to convince Wesle that they had been the ones to beat the adventurers into a pulp, which had now led to this interesting situation.

“Miss Erin, Miss Griffin. You can’t just start fights in this city.”

“But they were being jerks. One of them slapped my butt!”

Erin glared at Wesle. He looked like he wanted to tear out his peach fuzz.

“I understand. But that’s not a reason to start a brawl, surely.”

Ryoka’s eyes narrowed, but Erin just stared hard at the guardsman.

“So does that mean you’re okay if I grab your butt? What if a guy did that do you?”

He paused.

“That’s not—I’m not saying you were wrong, but—”

“I said not to. And he did it anyways. So what should I have done?”

“It’s not that bad, surely?”

The flat look Wesle got from both Erin and Ryoka was echoed by several of the female members of the Watch. To Wesle’s credit, he realized when continuing would be a bad idea and raised his hands in surrender.

“Fine, fine. I understand you had a good reason. But was there really a need to damage them this badly?”

Behind him, one of the [Guardsmen] was trying to wake up one of the adventurers. But the man didn’t want to wake up, wisely perhaps, because his face was closer to the color of a plum than actual flesh.

“I dunno. They tried to hit me. I just hit them back better. It was a fight. Would you say the same thing if they hit me that much? What’s the problem?”

“I—never mind.”

Behind him, one of the guardswomen gave Erin a thumbs up. She smiled and waved back. Wesle looked resigned.

“So, are you gonna arrest us?”

Wesle hesitated, and then shook his head.

“It was a brawl, but Miss Agnes only leveled a complaint against the adventurers, not you. Moreover, there are laws against adventurers fighting civilians. They’d get in a lot of trouble if they threw the first punch, but you say you started it?”

Erin nodded.

“But one of them did draw his sword, correct?”

“For about two seconds. Then Ryoka kicked him and he dropped it.”

Wesle shifted his attention to Ryoka and eyed her dubiously. She eyed him back.

“You’re a City Runner, aren’t you? I’ve seen you entering the city quite often. You know your Guild prohibits fighting with adventurers, don’t you?”

Ryoka shrugged, unconcerned.

“I’ve heard of that. I was defending a friend.”

There probably was a rule against picking fights with adventurers, but Ryoka doubted anyone in the Runner’s Guild would enforce it. They’d probably celebrate any news of adventurers getting beaten up. And both she and Wesle knew it.

He threw up his hands.

“Fine. But I’m warning both of you: don’t do it again.”

“I won’t if people stop slapping my butt.”

“After today, I doubt anyone will try to do that.”

Ryoka shifted idly from one foot to the other. Her feet were getting slightly cold on the frozen cobblestones. Wesle looked back at her again.

“Do you need shoes, uh, Miss Ryoka? We have several good [Shoemakers] that I’m sure are open even at this time of night.”

“What? I’m fine.”

She’d almost forgotten that she was outside in a t-shirt and shorts and without shoes. Ryoka grinned at Wesle’s reaction.

“She drank this magical soup that I made. That’s why she’s outside in the cold.”

The [Guardsman] eyed Erin, but she looked so honest he just nodded as if he understood.

“Well, uh, I guess that concludes our business here. We’ll lock up those adventurers for the night and file a complaint with their guild about the incident.”

“Aw. Are you sure you have to go? Why not have a drink in the inn first? And food. I’ve been making food and everyone loves it! Have you ever heard of a hamburger?”

Ryoka glared as Wesle hesitated, clearly torn by the idea of a quick bite to eat and something to drink. Whether or not he would have abandoned his post for a few minutes was never resolved though, as a Street Runner suddenly skidded around the corner, nearly running over one of the adventurers being dragged by two of the [Guardsmen].

“Urgent message for all [Guardsmen] in the city!”

Wesle frowned and he and two other members of the Watch went to listen to the young man. He was barely more than a teenager in actual fact; Ryoka vaguely recognized him as one of the faces at the Runner’s Guild here. She watched Wesle’s expression change, and then the man raised his voice and shouted at the other members of the Watch.

“Take them to the jail! Everyone else, get to the walls now!”

The two other [Guardsmen] ran off, and suddenly the Watch was buzzing with movement. The Street Runner dashed down another street as Wesle began to march off with the rest of the Watch.

“Wait! What’s happening?”

Erin caught at the man’s shoulder as he began to leave. He hesitated, torn, but then stopped while the others moved at a fast jog through the streets, armor jingling.

“We just got a mage [Message]. A Goblin army just attacked Esthelm and burned it to the ground! Every member of the Watch is going to the walls and we’re rousing the militia just in case. I’d advise you to stay indoors until we’re sure where the Goblin army’s gone.”

“What? Goblins? What happened?”

Ryoka grabbed Wesle. He blinked as she dragged him forwards, suddenly intent on his every word.

“What did the message say?”

He blinked at her, but her glare made him talk.

“The report’s confused. Apparently a Goblin army attacked Esthelm sometime in the evening. They overran the gates and started slaughtering everyone in the city. Then another Goblin army appeared and the two fought. In the confusion a lot of citizens got away, but the city is lost.”

A sharp dagger of fear and panic shot through Ryoka’s stomach. She let go of Wesle.

Goblins. The image of the Goblin Lord, of the army that had destroyed the Stone Spears camp flashed through her mind. Why were the Goblins so far north? Was it even the same army? And then, hot on the heels of that thought was another worry. What about Mrsha? How had they gone past Liscor? Over the mountains? Through the high passes? Or had they just gone around the city?

“All of the nearby cities are putting together a force to fight off the Goblins and retake the city, but it might be weeks before we root them out. And if this is a raiding force from that Goblin Lord we’ve heard about, then he’s got a bigger army than we thought.”

Wesle was talking anxiously with Erin. She looked worried, but she was probably only worrying about her Goblin friend, Rags. Ryoka wasn’t worried about a Goblin right now. She was imagining what would happen if that Goblin army came north.

They had hundreds of Hobgoblins. And dead Goblins that were living bombs. And their leader, the Goblin Lord, the one with the empty pupils—

His eyes. Ryoka shuddered and thought of the Necromancer. Not Pisces; the true lord of death. Az’kerash. He had the same kind of eyes.

She wondered what it meant. Behind her, Ryoka heard Erin sneeze as Wesle ran off. The night air was cold, and the clouded skies were so dark. With the absence of the guardspeople and their torches, the street was full of shadows, the only light coming from shuttered windows. Ryoka shivered, feeling the effects of the magical soup she’d had beginning to fade.

It was a cold, dark winter night. And it felt like the night was only going to get darker still.

Darker, and more dangerous.

—-

Venitra was at home with the darkness. She had been born of it, and in the castle of Az’kerash, the famous Necromancer of Izril, bright light was a forgotten memory.

The undead woman made of bone had not left the castle since the unforgivable incident that had occurred over a week ago. The strange Human girl had vanished from the castle so quickly that even she, Kerash, and Bea couldn’t catch her. And because they had orders not to leave the castle or its premises, they had merely collected the dead Drakes and Gnolls for their master to review later.

Now Venitra waited for her glorious creator to finish his work, half dreading what he would say when he learned of her failure, half exultant at the thought of hearing his voice and knowing his will again after so long.

It was Venitra’s worst nightmare to be found wanting in the eyes of her master. To disappoint him in any way was unthinkable; she would be betraying not only him, but the grand design he had made in her being.

Venitra was unlike Kerash or Bea. She had been designed by Az’kerash personally; she had been created from nothing by his perfect mind, not reanimated from the dead or self-forming like the other two. Even among the rest of Az’kerash’s servants she was unique, for she served their master and received his commands in person.

And now she would bear witness to one of his greatest creations yet. Venitra stared up as the massive creature of flesh and bone finished forming overhead. It was nothing like the horrible blend of parts that Ryoka had glimpsed; now that it had attained its true configuration, it was a creature of nightmarish grace and terror.

It hovered overhead, tens of thousands of pounds of obscene white flesh. Two gaping holes served as sockets for green flames which burned in them as the undead creation came to life. Massive…limbs struggled in the air, fleshy appendages that would propel the huge bulk of the creature around.

And at its head, a sunken spear of bone jutted outwards, half sunk into the undead monsters’ skull, surrounded by sinew. Venitra knew bone and muscle and so she could guess at part of what this behemoth had been designed for, but even still, the idea took her breath away, if she had any she could have given in the first place.

In front of her, the ancient man who she loved lowered his hand. The undead thing floated downwards, still and waiting for his command. He stared at it for a few seconds, and then nodded and turned to Venitra.

He was smiling. The wrinkles and silvery hair on his head took nothing away from the awe Venitra felt every time she beheld him. His black eyes and white pupils made her shudder as they fixed on her. But it was his smile she basked in.

“Is it not wonderful, Venitra? With this, my army nears completion. Even the Walled Cities will tremble to see this creature upon the battlefield.”

“It is magnificent, my master.”

Venitra said the words truthfully. Az’kerash nodded. He gazed at his creation with pride, and then looked back at Venitra.

“I will need more corpses, of course. I used all of our limited supply to create this one. We will need as many corpses as we can retrieve, but sending a group to the ocean without being detected will be difficult.”

“My lord, if you need more bodies. I volunteer to—”

The man known to very few as Perril Chandler waved a hand at Venitra as she placed her hand on her breast.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Venitra. Without enchantments you would sink to the bottom of the ocean. No, I believe I might send Bea. Her plague abilities would allow me to harvest entire pods without damaging their bodies.”

He regarded his monstrosity almost fondly.

“Yes, we will need at least six to complete our army. Fourteen would be ideal, but that would require far more harvesting than we have time for. Regardless I will test my new creation’s capabilities shortly. But for now, tell me my faithful servant, what has passed while I have been working.”

That was his only weakness, if Venitra would have admitted Az’kerash had any flaws at all. When he was focused on creating new undead, her master used his mind almost exclusively for that task, only devoting a small bit of it for other matters. Like that he could respond to basic questions and even defend himself if necessary, but he would be forced to awaken fully to use his full intellect on a problem. As a result, he was rather…single-minded during those times.

She bowed her head to him, prepared for the worst.

“My master. While you have slept, we your servants committed an unforgivable sin.”

“Really?”

Az’kerash’s eyebrows raised. He looked skeptically at the woman made of bones.

“I dislike theatrics Venitra. What did you fail to do?”

“We allowed an intruder into your personal quarters. A young woman.”

“Really? She made it past all of you?”

“She was not alone. A group of skilled Drake and Gnolls warriors followed her. They all died, but she eluded me and forced her way in here.”

“And did I kill her?”

Perril Chandler looked bored as he regarded his kneeling servant. Venitra hesitated, dreading this most of all.

“No. You let her go.”

The [Necromancer] froze.

“I did?”

Venitra looked miserably at the ground.

“In your wisdom, you must have seen something in her that I did not. She claimed to be a messenger…”

“Now I recall. Yes…I did talk with her.”

Az’kerash put his fingers on his temple and closed his eyes. When he opened them, his gaze was sharp.

“I recall now. Yes, she was a messenger. She delivered a gift from Teriarch.”

“The Dragon?”

Now worried, Venitra looked up. But Peril just smiled crookedly.

“It is of no significance. He gifted me a ring to celebrate my 200th year of existence. It might even be useful, but that was all.”

That news distressed Venitra almost as much as her failure. She spread her arms.

“We should have prepared gifts for you as well my master. The Chosen will immediately—”

“No.”

Perril Chandler raised a hand, and his brows now snapped together with realization. He looked back at Venitra, suddenly worried.

“Did you slay her? The messenger? I let her go because I was focused, but she should never have been allowed to live. Is she dead?”

“No, lord. We—”

“She escaped? With knowledge of this location?”

Suddenly, Az’kerash’s face twisted with sudden fury. Venitra knelt in fear as he paced back and forth in front of her, magical robe bursting into fragments of shadow where it touched the ground.

“She could undo a decade of preparation! If she forces our hand—”

The mage’s hands glowed with dark purple light. Venitra feared the worst, but then Az’kerash paused. As soon as the anger had come, it was gone.

“…No. If she were going to use that information, it would be too late in any case. I will scry the leaders of various cities. If they are not moving towards our location then we are safe.”

He laughed shortly and tugged a lock of hair.

“What a blunder. But I was so confident. That any mortal could penetrate the illusory forest, let alone bypass all of my guards so easily…”

Peril shook his head.

“Arrogance is my flaw; even now, it seems. Of course Teriarch would not send anything less than a Courier to do his bidding. And that old fool would insist upon delivering me a gift, even if we were mortal enemies.”

Slowly, he turned back to his kneeling servant, and walked over to Venitra. The undead woman shuddered as he touched her.

“I have erred, Venitra. I fear I must call upon you to rectify my mistakes.”

“It is my purpose, lord.”

Az’kerash nodded slowly. He studied Venitra and nodded.

“Take one other of the Chosen and locate this Runner, this Human girl. You remember her face? Of course you do. Track her down; follow her trail. To that purpose, Ijvani or Oom would be best suited to accompany you.”

Venitra nodded and sprang to her feet. She was already considering the journey and all the variables, from where to start her search to the best way of killing the Human when they found her. Slowly and painfully of course, but in a way that would allow them to hide the body.

“Venitra.”

Her master stopped her with a word. He studied her and shook his head.

“I need not impress on you the importance of this mission, but I will do so anyways. The Runner must not speak of what she knows, but if she has truly kept my secret…Couriers are famous for taking no sides, or at least they were when I was young. It might be she can be bargained with.”

He closed his eyes, thinking. Venitra waited for his commands even as she longed to tear the Human girl’s head off with her bare hands.

“In that case, I will count on you to exercise your own judgment. I will look through your eyes if the need arises, but if I am preoccupied or my spells are blocked, you must decide whether you will be able to slay her or whether the cost will be too high. I place my trust in you, Venitra. Know that.”

Venitra nodded. She almost trembled with her master’s faith in her. She strode out the door as Az’kerash watched, her feet thundering down the stone hallway as she broke into a run.

“So eager. But at least she has the artifacts to aid in her stealth.”

Perril Chandler sighed and gritted his teeth, admonishing himself for his failure now that he was alone. But he quickly put his self-recriminations aside and considered the ramifications of this new information instead.

If it came to war, he was ready. It would be soon, but he could begin. If not…then he would have more time. The armies that could be brought to bear against him didn’t worry Az’kerash so much as one thought.

“Teriarch.”

The Dragon. His gift fit perfectly in line with his character and what Az’kerash knew of Dragons. And yet, the messenger had slipped past even his elite undead. Just for a delivery? And Peril dimly remembered that two armies had been engaged in combat in the forest near his home. And then they had gone and fought the Goblin Lord…

Was it all coincidence? It might be; stranger things had happened by pure chance. But what if it were not?

“If it were not mere happenstance that he sent her…Teriarch. Are you taking sides at last, old one? If so, whose?”

Az’kerash stood in the dark room, ignoring the lumbering beast by his side. His deathly eyes stared out into the darkness as he considered sending a message to his apprentice. But it would be more interesting to let that one run free a little while.

And yet, Teriarch was a true concern. Even more than the Hives. If he should act…

The Necromancer stood in his castle, sensing his minions as two left in search of a Human girl. He stood and stared into the darkness.

Pondering.

—-

The darkness of the cave was lit by the harsh glow that was practically unique in this world. The bright LED-illuminated screen of the copied iPhone made Teriarch’s ancient eyes hurt, but he had already learned to adjust the brightness. And he was too fascinated to worry about a little bit of pain.

“Hmm. Hm. And what does this button do?”

The old man that Teriarch used to disguise himself gingerly touched the screen of the iPhone. He hit the crossed arrows at the top of the screen marked ‘Shuffle’. Music immediately began playing.

Teriarch’s Human form raised his white eyebrows as fast drum beats began to echo throughout the cave. The Dragon blinked as a voice burst out of the iPhone.

“You change your mind like a girl changes clothes…”

For about five minutes Teriarch listened to the song in complete silence. Near the end he began tapping his claw against the marble floor. When the song was over he made his Human form stop the next song from playing.

“Fascinating. And what’s this song? Delightful that someone actually knows the word ‘bohemian’, but did a [Queen] truly sing this song? Perhaps I should have asked the Human to clarify…”

He was just about to play the next song when Teriarch looked up and scowled.

“Tamaroth’s beard! What now?”

He didn’t wait. The instant the pink butterfly materialized around his head, the Dragon snapped it at irritably. He glared at the magical image that filled the air.

“Reinhart. I’m busy.”

The bright and inappropriately cheerful voice in Teriarch’s ears and mind had not a shred of guilt in it.

“I do apologize, Teriarch. But you see, I’ve had a bit of an incident here and I need a bit of help.”

“What? What do you—oh.”

Teriarch paused as, in the image of Magnolia’s private room in front of him, she moved aside and showed him something. He frowned.

“That is a problem. You are well, I trust? Not injured in any place? They coat their blades in poisons as I recall.”

Magnolia’s tone was overly-patient as she replied.

“Yes Teriarch, I am fine.”

“Did you breathe in around them? That is to say, a lot of them use airborne toxins which can be odorless and colorless—”

“I did breathe, but I am assured that this will not affect my health unduly. Unless I stop. I am well, old man. But I need you to make sure my mansion is secure.”

The flat look Teriarch gave Magnolia didn’t impress her. He glared, but since that wasn’t working he cleared his throat and replied in an acerbic tone.

“First of all, I am not a simple magical detector for you to call upon as you please, girl. I am a Dragon, and should be treated as such. Moreover, have you forgotten the basic courtesies of your station, let alone your Class? We have much that could be discussed in civilized discourse. In fact, I had a rather unusual encounter this day—”

“Teriarch.”

This time the stress in Magnolia’s tone made an impact. Teriarch hesitated, about to continue, but gave in.

“Oh very well. Let me see.”

He muttered a few words and slapped his tail. Magical symbols and flashes appeared around his vision in quick succession. Teriarch eyed the dizzying spectacle as if it were normal, and nodded.

“Nothing but the usual enchantments. Also, there’s one more right outside your door—”

“I am aware. Thank you, Teriarch. We may need to speak later.”

“Why not now? I’ve found this most delightful—”

The image disappeared as the Dragon was in midsentence. He stared at the empty air, indignant. For a few seconds Teriarch considered teleporting Magnolia Reinhart to his cave, but after remembering the distance and the protective spells around her he gave up and just lay back down in a huff.

His bad mood didn’t last long, though. In no time at all, Teriarch was staring back at the iPhone, fascinated. He mumbled to himself, contentedly swishing his tail back and forth.

“Hmm. Where was I? Oh yes. ‘Play’.”

—-

Magnolia closed the spell with a wave of the magical wand and tossed it back into the small ivory box she used to hold it. Then she sat back down on her resplendent couch and sighed noisily.

“Hmf. Talking with him is always an exercise in patience. Ressa, next time do you think I could get away with using one of those delightful ‘tablets’ while I talk?”

Standing beside Lady Magnolia, Ressa the [Maid] inclined her head gracefully and spoke with a dignified tone.

“I would not dare to question your bad judgment, milady. But if you wish for me to take one away from one of the young men or women, I will do so at once.”

“Mm, perhaps later. For now, show in our young [Assassin].”

Magnolia sat up on the couch and put on her most cheerful expression as Ressa went to the doors. They opened, and two silvery metal Golem let go of Theofore the [Assassin] as Ressa escorted him into the room.

The man’s dark clothing was mussed, and he had a bruise on one cheek. He also had the expression of someone who was convinced they were about to die, and only wanted less screaming before it was over. He looked at Lady Magnolia as if she were the executioner with a rusty axe, barely moving even when Ressa prodded him several times in the back.

“Oh let the boy stand there if he wants to, Ressa. I can shout and he’s got good ears.”

Lady Magnolia watched as Ressa walked back to her and smiled cheerfully at Theofore. His eyes flicked to her maid, to the window, and to her in quick succession. She reached for a teacup and drank from it as she spoke.

“Try not to be so obvious, won’t you? Theofore, let me speak clearly before you do something rash and fatal. I did not bring you here to kill you. That would be pointless; nor am I here to interrogate you, given your Guild’s magical wards that prevent you from speaking and all that. I am simply going to ask you a few questions, and then let you go. With that in mind, know that if you try to kill me Ressa will make you very dead, and if you try to run we will have this conversation again, sans my good natured attitude. Is that clear?”

Theofore looked at Lady Magnolia and licked his lips.

“What…what is the meaning of this, Lady Reinhart?”

Magnolia frowned at him, then looked at her maid.

“Ressa, the next time he asks a stupid question, have one of the Golems tear off his arm and beat him with it? Or do it yourself if you’re so inclined.”

Ressa nodded, and Theofore shuddered again. He clamped his lips shut.

Magnolia nodded. She tapped her tea cup with one finger.

“My intention is to send your Guild a message, but the messenger need not have all of his limbs. In fact, I find a severed head often speaks quite clearly as well.”

“And what message would that be?”

Magnolia tilted her head ever so slightly sideways, and Theofore flinched. But she didn’t order Ressa to tear off his limbs. Instead, she simply pointed with her pinkie finger to a corner of the room.

“First, explain that, if you would?”

Theofore turned. His pale face went even whiter. Lying in the corner of the room was a pile of black rags. That was what it seemed to be at first glance, until you realized the rags were in fact two [Assassins], or what remained of them. They were very, very dead and still smoking slightly.

“I am not aware that my contract with the Assassin’s Guild had expired. Oh, and it’s quite odd that you didn’t notice that when you came in. Aren’t [Assassins] supposed to be aware of everything in the room? I suppose you were just…preoccupied.”

Theofore didn’t reply immediately. He was still staring at his dead fellows. Magnolia lightly cleared her throat and he jumped and looked at her.

“Lady Reinhart—I have no idea why either of these two would make an attempt on your life. Please let me assure you I had no knowledge—”

He cut off as Lady Magnolia raised one of the fingers on her teacup. She shook her head slightly.

“The [Assassins] were not after me. They came for the young men and women under my protection. What, pray, do you know of that?”

Theofore’s face was the face of someone trying to be as open and honest as possible. He spread his hands.

“I know nothing of that, my lady. I am not highly ranked in the Guild.”

Lady Magnolia sighed. She frowned slightly.

“No, you are not, are you? Well then, as it stands I have two dead [Assassins] in my mansion, a bunch of frightened young men and women, and a mystery. I hate mysteries. So you will clear this up for me by delivering a message to your Guild: I require an immediate response. Until the Guild chooses to reveal to me why this occurred, all the [Assassins] your Guild has provided me will be sent back, and I will regard any of your number approaching me or any of my estates, servants, or allies as an enemy and deal with them as such.”

Licking his lips, Theofore looked from the [Assassins] back to Magnolia before replying carefully.

“I can assure you Lady Reinhart, the Guild would never seek to go to war with a member of the Five Families—”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t. But unless I receive a satisfactory answer, it is I who shall go to war with them.”

What Theofore could have used at this moment was a handkerchief to mop up all the sweat running down his forehead and back. Lacking that, he used a dark sleeve.

“I hope you will not make any sudden decisions, Lady Reinhart. I am sure my Guild would not wish to engage in hostilities with you a second time. Once again, I can assure you—”

A brief wave cut him off. Lady Magnolia stood up suddenly, and Theofore flinched again. She stared down at him coldly.

“Enough. You have your message. Go back to your guild. Ressa, throw young Theofore out, please.”

Ressa did as instructed. Theofore had only a second to scream. Magnolia paused in the newfound silence of the room.

“I do believe you threw him out the window, Ressa, my dear. The door would have sufficed.”

“You didn’t specify, milady. And he is alive.”

“True. Oh, and he’s already running. Young people are so commendably quick, don’t you think?”

Lady Magnolia sighed as Ressa closed the window. She rubbed at her brows and drank more deeply of her sugary beverage.

“[Assassins]? In my mansion? And they knew about the children from the other world? How, Ressa?”

The [Maid] only shrugged as she stared at the window, following Theofore’s progress. Magnolia mumbled to herself as she poured herself another cup of tea.

“Is it the Circle of Thorns again? Please tell me it’s not. That nightmare took my great grandmother’s entire life to sort out and we can’t have it now. At least we know it isn’t Lord Tyrion’s doing.”

Ressa’s shoulders rose slightly.

“You never know. He might have found a potion that allowed him to grow another brain.”

Magnolia laughed at her friend.

“Even with two brains, Tyrion’s sense of honor wouldn’t allow him to use [Assassins]. No, this is something else and I don’t like it. And it’s come at the worst time too, almost as if someone knew what was about to happen.”

“Perhaps they did.”

“You’re not helping.”

Ressa shrugged.

“I like to think of the worst case scenario.”

“This is one of them. Right now, we have two major situations on our hands, Ressa. Even as we speak, that damnable Antinium group is converging on Liscor. Representatives from at least three Hives are there and we have no way of spying on them. Not in person, at least. Teriarch might be able to find them visually, but he won’t be able to scry them. I cannot trust any [Assassins] to report on them, and they just ate my best two [Scouts].”

“We have people in Liscor.”

“But no one who can follow them anywhere else.”

Magnolia drained her tea cup and scowled darkly.

“That’s one problem. The second is the same. The Antinium are about to unearth that dungeon, either now or in the next few days. The worst timing, Ressa. Do we know when the Gold-rank teams are going to open the doors?”

Ressa nodded. She had a smile on her face that Magnolia didn’t like.

“Now, I believe.”

Lady Magnolia’s tea cup smashed through one of the windows of her mansion. Theofore didn’t know it was a tea cup, but it did inspire him to run even faster. He was vaulting over the wall of the estate grounds before the last of the glass had even finished shattering on the ground.

—-

“Do we have to do this now?”

Halrac scowled; essentially his normal facial expression, but today’s scowl was special. It was pronounced.

“The entrance is right there. Why are you getting cold feet now?”

The stitch-mage visibly hesitated. She flicked her dark hair and glanced uneasily at the massive double doors in front of their team.

“I just feel nervous. You hear tales of what happens to the first groups that enter an unexplored dungeon. I’d like to keep all my cloth attached to my body, that’s all.”

Halrac scowled again and opened his mouth, but this time Ulrien nudged him. The huge man lowered his greatsword and looked at Typhenous. The older [Mage] seemed confident, but all the members of Griffin Hunt had learned long ago to work together. An adventurer who was less confident dragged down the group, so they had to address this before they went in.

They stood at the bottom of a massive ramp into the earth. Over two hundred feet of gently sloping dirt led down to a huge stone wall and a set of huge double doors. They looked like they were made of bronze, but golden inscriptions had been carved into the metal. The reliefs looked like twisting Dragons breathing fire.

Or…Drakes. Drakes casting magic. Halrac eyed the inscriptions distrustfully.

This was the entrance to the dungeon beneath Liscor. The true dungeon, according to the Antinium. They had completed the excavation this morning, and the Antinium named Klbkch had led Griffin Hunt to this location.

The Antinium stood off to the side with an escort of the huge Antinium Soldiers, calmly watching Griffin Hunt. Halrac didn’t like the Antinium presence and he gritted his teeth every time he saw them. Ulrien was clearly just as uncomfortable, but the big man had managed to deal with the Antinium. It had cost quite a lot of gold to hire them to dig, but now Griffin Hunt was at the entrance of the dungeon first.

All their efforts, all their long days of feuding with the Halfseekers and the other adventuring groups to deal with the Antinium and be the first into the dungeon had come to this. For a while it had truly felt like Halrac and the others were at the center of all the drama in Liscor as they bullied and bribed their way to this point. Halrac still had a bad taste in his mouth from dealing with the Antinium and that irritable Watch Captain every single day.

But it had paid off. Griffin Hunt was here, and the Halfseekers and other adventurers had grudgingly bowed out to let them claim the first crack at the dungeon. But they were wavering at the last moment, or Revi was.

“It’s just…can’t we deal with the Halfseekers? Or another Silver-rank group? If we formed an alliance and moved in, we might be better prepared, wouldn’t we?”

Revi looked uncertainly around the group. In terms of seniority, she was by far the most inexperienced Gold-rank adventurer, as well as the youngest.

This time it was Typhenous who argued against Revi. He normally took her side, but the mage was staring at the images of Drakes casting magic and he was clearly eager to enter the dungeon.

“You think there might be strength in numbers, Revi, but look what happened to the last group of adventurers that tried that. Unless we’re prepared to wait a week or two and practice tactics with another team, there’s no point.”

The stitch-girl didn’t look convinced.

“We could still send in a team to scout things out.”

“To die, you mean.”

Both Ulrien and Halrac’s faces showed what they thought about that. Revi held her hands up defensively.

“I didn’t mean it like that—”

“No.”

It was common practice for some Silver and Gold-rank teams to send in inexperienced adventurers to soften up monsters or clear out traps and assess a dungeon. As a [Scout], Halrac had been on the receiving end of that sort of assignment more than once, and Ulrien shared his sentiments. He was about to tell Revi this in no uncertain terms when Ulrien interrupted him, putting a hand on Halrac’s shoulder.

“No sacrifices. No one else goes in first. We go in, and if we find monsters or traps we deal with them. We have the equipment and the experience.”

“But can’t we wait and see—”

“No.”

Halrac couldn’t take it any longer. He broke in angrily, ignoring Ulrien’s sigh. He glared at Revi.

“If the Halfseekers or another Gold-rank team go in, they might be able to sweep through a huge amount of the dungeon by themselves. Any second we waste here, we could lose a fortune in artifacts.”

He stabbed a finger at the Antinium. Klbkch looked over at Halrac interestedly as the [Scout] raised his voice.

“Do you think they’ll just wait for us? No. They’ve got an army ready to go in and the instant this dungeon opens every adventuring group on the continent will want to get in there and raid the place. Remember the dungeon near First Landing? They’re still exploring parts of it, but the first adventurers that went in came out as Named Adventurers. That’s why we’re here.”

Typhenous nodded.

“We are on a time limit, Revi. If a Named Adventurer gets here, they might be able to clear parts of the dungeons by themselves. If a team does…I’m told there are even [Mages] from Wistram who are coming to look at the dungeon. If there’s any time, it’s now.”

Revi looked uncertain, but Ulrien put a hand on her shoulder. The normally taciturn Captain spoke reassuringly to her.

“You’ll be behind us all the way. You’ve got your summons and we don’t take risks.”

He nodded to Halrac and Typhenous. Both of the older adventurers nodded back.

“We are not Silver-rank adventurers. We go in, and retreat the instant we run into anything dangerous. If something follows us, we contain it. We’ve already set up enough traps to take down five Griffins.”

“Okay. Okay…”

Revi took a few deep breaths. Then she nodded at Ulrien. He let go of her shoulder and stepped away. She clenched her fists and nodded at Ulrien. He looked at the others.

“Ready?”

Halrac already had an arrow on his bowstring. He was ready for anything as their team approached the doors. But he looked back at the Antinium one last time.

It was odd. They’d been cooperative in helping Griffin Hunt locate the dungeon, and they’d excavated a huge amount of soil in no time at all. According to the Antinium, they’d found more than one entrance to the dungeon; collapsed parts of the ruins, and even what might have been a secret entranceway. But this was the main entrance, untouched by time.

It was suspicious. How had they known exactly where the dungeon was? And why was there such a huge escort of them waiting around the dungeon?

There weren’t just one or two Antinium Soldiers waiting with the unique Antinium named Klbkch. Halrac had counted fifty of the massive brutes standing at attention behind their leader. He’d never seen that many warriors outside of a battlefield.

Halrac knew what that many Soldiers could accomplish. They might not have been able to overwhelm Griffin Hunt in a fight, but they could take down several Wyverns or Griffins together. Why so many?

Fifty Antinium Soldiers. And their so-called Prognugator. Halrac slowly adjusted his quiver and began counting how many magical arrows he carried. He put the regular arrow back in the magical quiver and drew one with an arrowhead that crackled with electricity.

Ulrien looked at Halrac. The two adventurers had been together long enough to read each other. The Captain of Griffin Hunt looked at Revi and Typhenous.

“We’re going in. Revi, I want your strongest summons out at the first sign of danger. Typhenous, hang back and use your best spells; don’t worry about conserving anything.”

The two other adventurers reacted to his warning, visibly straightening and bracing themselves. Halrac looked at Ulrien. The big man stepped towards the double doors and cracked his fingers.

“Might be rusted. I’ll give it a shot before we use ropes.”

He grabbed the two door handles. Halrac saw the muscles on Ulrien’s arms bulge, and then he heard the doors groan and then something break.

Rust, dark and brownish-red flaked off from the doors. They moved a fraction as Ulrien grunted, and then the adventurers stepped back.

“I can open it. Get ready.”

Halrac took several steps back. Revi and Typhenous had already set up twenty paces away from the doors, ready for something to come out. Halrac sighted down his arrow and nodded at Ulrien.

The big man grabbed the door handles. Halrac’s heart was beating faster than normal, but he was ready. He’d faced down Griffins with nothing but a dagger. He’d open these doors and come out better. Stronger.

Ulrien counted down as he braced himself on the doors. His voice was steady and calm and echoed slightly in the excavation site.

“Five…four…three…two…”

His pulse slowed. The world slowed. Halrac saw Ulrien brace, and he drew back his arrow.

“One.”

The doors opened. Ulrien didn’t pull them open slowly; he threw them open and surged backwards, drawing his greatsword and bracing in an instant. Halrac’s eyes pierced the darkness, seeing a long corridor full of dark stone. But nothing else.

There were no monsters. No visible traps, and judging by the way Typhenous relaxed, no magic.

They were safe. And the dungeon was open.

For another second Halrac was tense, then he relaxed ever so slightly. Ulrien lowered his sword, and Revi and Typhenous walked forwards. They looked at each other and shared a smile. The tension wasn’t gone, but the worst was over.

Halrac had expected something to happen when the doors opened. He’d expected a monster or a warning spell or…something. But there was nothing. He nodded to Ulrien and walked towards the door. As a [Scout], he would go in first. His foot crossed the threshold of the dungeon. Ulrien felt something peculiar for a second, but then it was gone, like a bad memory.

He turned towards Typhenous, about to ask if anything magical had been triggered. And then he felt it.

Danger.

—-

Zel Shivertail stood in front of a jury of idiots. Technically, they were his peers, but he didn’t respect any of them.

They were the rulers of the Drake city-states, the Lords of the Wall who ruled the Walled Cities, and even Watch Captains of renown. He hated their guts.

They didn’t understand. They stood or sat as they preferred on the soft, elongated chairs that Drakes liked in the room they had chosen to judge his testimony. Wall Lord Ilvriss was standing next to him, but not with Zel. He had his own circle of authority and friends in this room.

Zel had precious few allies and more than a few enemies. But they had to hear his message. He glared around the room and raised his voice.

“As I’ve said, this Goblin Lord is the real threat. If we ignore him, he will become a Goblin King in time.”

A Lady of the Wall raised her voice. Her tail twitched irritably as she stood and spoke down to Zel.

“So you have said, Zel Shivertail. And we will create a coalition army to deal with the Goblin threat in due time. But I see no reason for our cities to form the grand alliance you suggest. We have and always will be independent bodies unto ourselves; Drakes do not hold hands like Humans.”

Several other leaders in the room sniggered at this. They fell silent as Zel glared at them. All of these powerful Drakes, and they acted like they were barely more than hatchlings at a playground.

“I don’t suggest that we ally just because of the Goblin Lord. But what about the Antinium? Are they any less of a threat? And Flos? Will you ignore his return or will you take my advice and do something before it is too late?”

“We have heard you make the same case every year, Zel Shivertail. Flos may have returned, but all reports claim he barely has an army, let alone a force powerful enough to threaten our lands.”

That came from a Watch Captain. Zel gritted his teeth and thrashed his tail on the stone floor. How would someone who defended a static wall understand the dangers of someone who moved armies around like Flos?

“His forces may be weak now, but give him time and he will be just as strong as before.”

Another dismissive voice.

“The Emperor of the Sands will crush him. The King of Destruction is a continent away, Zel Shivertail. He is not the threat.”

“That is what we said last time, right until his ships started landing on our shores!”

Zel raised his voice, but that did nothing. He controlled himself with effort.

“Then the Antinium. They grow stronger while we fight each other pointlessly. What about them?”

“If they dare to attack a third time, they will be destroyed. We have built our armies and cities, and we know how to fight them now. They may grow, but we will grow faster.”

The arrogance. Zel closed his eyes, and then raised his voice again.

“If you really think you can beat the Antinium in the long term, you are as blind as well as stupid. I am telling you, they are ready for war. If you would just put aside your cursed pride and consider—”

“Silence, Zel Shivertail.”

This time the censure was accompanied by a slap of the tail. Zel looked up and saw one of the rulers of the Walled Cities had spoken. The Serpentine Matriarch of Zeres stared down at him with icy disapproval, the gemstones around her neck and tail flashing as she spoke.

“This assembly has heard your voice since you are a hero of the Antinium Wars. But your conduct is disrespectful to those gathered here. Moreover, your defeat against a single Goblin Lord calls into question your abilities as of late. This conflict with the esteemed Wall Lord Ilvriss—”

“You mean the fool who lost a battle!”

That came from a lesser ruler of the city. Zel saw the Matriarch’s eyes flash and knew the beginnings of a new feud between the cites had been started. He watched, helplessly, and the assembly meant to combat a mutual threat fell into bickering and shouting. As it always did.

“Silence. A Lord of the Wall is the equivalent of any lesser city-state’s ruler and will be treated with—”

“This war isn’t over! Zel Shivertail won that battle, and put his tail on the line to defend a Gnoll tribe and take on a common threat. If you want a resolution to this conflict, we will discuss terms—”

“Terms? Hah! You’ve lost your grand army! We can put another one in the field in a second. Know your place!”

Zel looked around helplessly. There had to be someone willing to listen to reason. But all he saw were Drakes too caught in complacency to listen to reason. One last time. He had to try one last time, as he’d tried a hundred times before.

The General of the Line, the famous Tidebreaker of old took a deep breath. He was a hero to the people, but ignored in this room. But he could still shout. He took a deep breath, and then his eyes widened.

Someone in the room screamed. Two of the Watch Captains swore and reached for their weapons, and the guards at the door rushed in, armed and ready. Zel spun around and looked north. The feeling came from the north. It was the sensation of dread and danger, but it felt as if it came from far, far away. He had never felt anything like that with his [Dangersense].

“What happened? What is it?”

Those Drakes in the room without [Dangersense] looked confused and demanded explanations as Zel exchanged glances with Ilvriss. The Lord of the Wall had no [Dangersense] ability, but he understood what the reactions had meant.

“Danger?”

“Something. Something has happened far away. Something very dangerous. A monster, perhaps. Or something else.”

“What else?”

Zel had no answer. He looked towards the north. Something in the Human lands? What could be dangerous enough to affect him from so far away? He’d heard of sailors being warned of volcanic eruptions or people predicting an earthquake, but this wasn’t the same. Those warnings were sharp and urgent. This felt deeper, quieter, yet just as ominous.

He clenched one claw as he stared around the room. Already order, or rather, chaos that looked like order, was restoring itself. He doubted he could use this to persuade these rulers to give him any soldiers to investigate, let alone ally. He was wasting his time here.

Zel turned his attention back to the north. All he would receive here was censure and mockery. But north—

“What in the name of the Ancestors is happening right now?”

—-

Niers sat patiently on a small chair on top of his war room table in his tent. He eyed the cool fruit juice drink he’d poured for himself, but didn’t drink from it yet. It was an exercise in patience; a reward for a job well done.

In truth, there was something ironic about him waiting to drink what was really only a thimble’s worth of cooled juice given his immense personal wealth. Niers was nothing if not an economical person to feed even if he ate the most expensive dishes, but he made up for that thrift by spending his money lavishly elsewhere.

Right now he was waiting. Not waiting for something to happen, but waiting to receive word if something had indeed happened. He had been waiting patiently throughout the day, but now it seemed his patience would be rewarded.

Someone tapped at the canvas door of his tent. Niers looked up and raised his voice.

“Enter.”

The flaps parted and the two soldiers at his tent let in a Courier holding a bundle of messages. Niers touched the offered seal and then took the stack of parchment.

None of them were particularly long pieces; most were just scraps rather than proper sheets. The Courier didn’t even glance at them as he left, although Niers knew he had to have been burning with curiosity. He might even have read them, although Niers knew the Runner’s Guild had very strict rules against that for Couriers.

It didn’t matter. If anyone could put together what Niers was up to from these pieces of paper he would be quite impressed. Most would probably not even bother. He liked to send messages to himself or send coded missives with nothing in them of value to friends quite often, just to annoy people who spied on him.

It made getting the important information that much easier. Niers looked down at the pieces of parchment and tried to sort them out. Each one had a message written in plain and neat script. He’d used the mage messaging service to receive these short communiques; he hadn’t even bothered to pay the extra fee that would make the messages supposedly more secure. It was just a waste of money and it attracted attention.

There was nothing very special about these messages anyways. They were just status updates, the kind of thing any leader might receive in the field. The only difference was the place these messages came from.

The longest piece of paper was still small enough for Niers to hold up by himself. He folded the piece of paper and put it on the table, next to a large map of Izril he’d bought. Niers stepped back and looked at the missive. The message was short and simple. It read:

‘Dungeon in Liscor opened. [Dangersense] triggered across city.’

So. A new dungeon was open. Niers nodded to himself. There was nothing strange about that. But what was strange was the next message he read:

‘[Dangersense] activated. Wales.’

Now, who would care about someone’s [Dangersense] activating? They went off all the time; when people were about to step on a rotted floorboard, or when a horse had lost control of a wagon, a monster was nearby…it happened often.

But each message had come in at the same time, and had been reported according to Niers’ request. He put the first message down and looked at the next one.

‘[Dangersense] alarm. Zeres.’

More mage [Messages], all with the same content. [Dangersense] reported in cities across the continent, all at the same time. Niers noted down where each report came from, and then traced a slow circle with a compass around the map. He stared down at the point of origin.

“Roughly the same diameter as before. This one’s a bit bigger.”

He walked off the map and sat down with a sigh on a tiny stool.

“So, they’ve found another one, have they?”

It was only a matter of time. Niers smiled briefly; he loved being right. But what did it matter?

Everything? If they found the treasures within, perhaps. Maybe more of the puzzle? Doubtful. It just meant the ruins were old, and possibly had truly legendary guardians and rewards for those within. He wondered whether the city would survive the influx of treasure-seekers and monsters that would be attracted to the dungeon.

But did it matter to him? Niers wondered. He kicked aside the pieces of parchment and abandoned the map for the moment. He walked across the large war room table, and then stared at something that glittered in his vision.

It was a letter, an opened one. Niers had already read the contents of the letter, but he looked at it again. He couldn’t help it.

The envelope was a work of art in itself in truth. It smelled of lavender, and the gilded edges of the letter sparkled gold in the light of the tent. Niers glanced at it once, and then again. Then he looked at the chessboard sitting next to the map.

The ghostly pieces stood silent in the humid air of the tent. Niers sighed and went back to his fruit drink. He eyed the dripping sides of the glass and then drained half the drink in one go. He scowled and looked back at the chessboard.

The pieces didn’t move. They hadn’t moved for over two days now. That bothered Niers, although it shouldn’t have. He knew the other player had a life and duties. But having completed his latest set of battles, Niers had been looking forward to playing several games. Instead, the pieces had stopped moving one day, and though he’d waited hopefully, they hadn’t moved since.

They’d never been silent for this long. Niers didn’t know what it meant. Disaster? Or was the mysterious player bored of their game? Surely not. Were they hurt? Injured? Who were they?

He shook his head. But now Niers was irritated, and not even his cool drink was helping. A dungeon in Liscor. Adventure. A challenge. He couldn’t go there. That damnable letter he never should have opened, hinting, tantalizing. And the game, the one thing he wanted—silent.

Niers stomped over to the chessboard. He stroked his beard and scowled down at the pieces.

“Who are you? What piece of the puzzle am I missing?”

The pieces were silent. He wasn’t even in a good position in this game; he’d made a careless mistake and his opponent had happily punished him for it. But he’d been delighted because they were his equal. His better.

“Can you help me? Can I help you? Can I trust you? If we worked together—”

Niers broke off and shook his head. Speculation. That was all he had. If they returned to playing, he would know one thing.

If they returned. What if they were dying? He could find out who his opponent was. If he went—

But he had duties. Niers looked back at the map, then the letter, then the chess board.

He stared at the silent pieces, looked back again. Letter. Map. Chessboard. For once, the small [Strategist] was unsure of what to do.

—-

Erin sneezed. Once, and then twice. She wiped her nose on her sleeve and knew exactly what she had to do.

“I’m gonna get something else to eat. Ryoka, are you coming?”

The other girl looked up at Erin’s voice, but she didn’t respond right away. Erin shrugged and walked back into Agnes’ inn to get warm.

Inside, people greeted her with cheers and she was immediately bombarded with requests for more food. Erin smiled and chatted, but she didn’t go into the kitchen right away, even though Agnes was hinting at it strongly. She wanted to talk with Ryoka, but the other girl just stomped over to her table silently, a forbidding look on her face.

Maybe she was still upset about the news about the Goblins? Erin didn’t know what to think about that. She hoped Rags and her little tribe was safe; they were in Liscor, right? Hopefully they’d keep their heads down.

She felt really uneasy and upset for some reason. Maybe she was feeling guilty about beating up the adventurers? No. Maybe. A tiny bit.

Then the sensation was gone. Erin frowned and rubbed her nose on her sleeve again. Good thing she’d gotten out of the cold. It was messing with her head.

Ryoka was shaking her head when Erin came over. The big girl she’d been with was in the bathroom, and Erin was slightly relieved; she’d looked sort of scared when Erin had introduced herself after the fight.

“Something wrong Ryoka? Ryoka?”

The other girl just looked at Erin, slightly haunted.

“We’re screwed, Erin. This news—we’re in it deep now.”

Erin frowned.

“We are? I mean, how do you know?”

Ryoka just shook her head. She spread her hands on the table and clenched them into fists. Erin’s gaze was drawn to her missing fingers. Ryoka studied them, and then looked at Erin.

“If there are Goblin warbands roaming the countryside, getting you back to Liscor safely will be a hundred times more difficult. I can’t protect you from them, and there could be thousands of them. There might be war here soon, and if that’s the case, not even Celum is safe. Maybe not even Liscor.”

Erin scratched her head. That did sound bad.

“Okay. But what can we do about it? I mean, we can’t do anything right now, right? So relax, Ryoka. It’s been a long day.”

“We can’t just take this easy, Erin! We have to think. We’re both in danger. You’re in danger!”

“I know. But you need to relax, Ryoka. We need to relax. Okay? We’re safe here, for now. Let’s worry about this when we’re more awake and we haven’t just been in a fight.”

Slowly, Ryoka looked at Erin and nodded. She seemed surprised, but Erin just smiled.

“Great. I’ll make us more food.”

The Asian girl half-smiled at Erin. Then her eyes flicked towards the door.

“Fine. Get ready to make some more food though; looks like you’ve got a crowd.”

Erin saw people were coming into the inn, lured by the noise, heat, crowd, and the recent fight. She beamed and stood up, opening the door for a surprised couple.

“Welcome to The Wandering Inn! Come in, have a seat; don’t mind the bodies. Can I get you anything to drink?”

The man in front stared at Erin in confusion. He looked at the woman by his side and then at Erin.

“I thought this was the Frenzied Hare? Did we come to the wrong inn? Or has it been sold?”

Erin blinked at him. Then she remembered she wasn’t in Liscor, and this wasn’t her inn. She turned slightly red.

“Oh. Oops.”

She stared at the man and woman. They stared back. Slowly, Erin opened the door wider.

“I’m uh, helping out. Come on in if you’re hungry. We’ve got hamburgers!”

After a moment of hesitation, the two did exactly that. Erin closed the door, and let the warmth of the room wash over her.

On this cold night, she felt alive. Happy, even. She was far from home, and lost, but she wasn’t lost. Ryoka was with her, and she had found something special with Octavia, even if the other girl was sort of a jerk.

The Goblins were bad news, and Toren was gone, but Erin had hope. She’d been through worse. She could get through this. With Ryoka. Together.

Erin stood in her inn and breathed in. Slowly. The scents of spilled beer and cooked food filled her senses, along with the unpleasant odors of sweat and vomit. She stopped breathing so deeply. But she still felt good.

It wasn’t the right city; it wasn’t even the right inn. But she was there, and Ryoka was there. And so, just for a moment, it was home.

Inside the inn, Erin sneezed again.

End of Volume 2.

Author’s Note:

And here we are again. It’s been a long journey friends, and I think it might be longer than any of us had anticipated at the beginning. Are you still with me?

It’s an interesting thing, ending a book, or volume in this case. Did any of you predict this would be the chapter it happened? It might feel abrupt to you all, but I felt like this might have been a good time to do so.

I could have ended this story with Ryoka meeting Az’kerash, or after the Goblin Lord attacked. I could have ended it with her reaching Erin’s inn again, or after the healing process had begun, or even when Erin disappeared with Toren carrying her off into the snows. Or as Ryoka was about to meet Teriarch again. Or after Erin met Magnolia.

All those spots were good. But this felt to me like the best spot. Now Erin’s out of her inn, for the first time ever. Goblins are on the loose, everyone’s got secret plans and goals, and this world feels way bigger than before.

Way bigger. I mean, seriously. This volume has expanded Innworld a huge amount, and I can’t help feel happy and nervous about that. More people and characters mean richer interactions and a better plot, but it does put more pressure on me as an author.

Interestingly, I just read an interview with Robin Hobb about this very issue. She spoke of the trap fantasy authors fall into, where they build a huge world and watch it go crashing down because they can’t manage the world they’ve created. Will that happen with me and this story?

I dunno. I’d hate to go the way of the Name of the Wind series and to a lesser extent the Game of Thrones series (and even Half-Life 3) and stagnate due to the pressure and complicated plot web. But then again, I have an advantage all these other stories do not; I am writing a web serial, so I deliver regular chunks of information to you all without the need to make it into a book or wrap this up in a time frame. My only restriction is whether or not you’ll read what I’m writing. Honestly, I can’t believe anyone’s still with me after all of this.

The path we’re walking has gone astray, dear readers. We abandoned the simple road of dirt I cleared in my head a long time ago. The plot I set out has grown complex, and now we’re venturing into the deep forest, with branching paths and new people and ideas popping out at each step. But, believe it or not, we’re still following the general outline I laid out at the very start. The big things are still the same, and I’m advancing towards them slowly but surely.

That’s the theme of this volume. Everything becomes wider than the narrow worldview of the first, and with that new horizon comes my pledge to write as best I can without creating something that will drag on too long or become boring. There is an ending to this story, and I will walk towards it (or run if you all get bored).

Do forgive the wordiness. As you might have noticed, it’s my feature and also my flaw. But I get to pontificate because this is the end of a volume and I deserve a chance to talk, darn it. And tell you all how awesome you are.

Let’s go back to the start of this year, or even the start of this volume. Honestly, I wasn’t in a good place at that time, either in my head or work. I was working a part-time job as you might have known, and at times I felt like the sheer physical aspect of it would overwhelm me when I added the burden of writing a long chapter twice a week to it.

Too, I hated working part-time. I just wanted to write, and being self-employed was my dream. A distant dream, I felt. Back then I had no money in my Patreon, and my story was getting maybe 500 unique visitors a day on my best day. But I had a dream and I made myself a goal, which I even posted on this site. I said I’d become self-employed in the year and thought it would be the challenge of a lifetime.

I did the internal calculations and said to myself that I could keep working my hard part-time job and writing with the rest of my time. I could use up all the energy I had stored up, but if I didn’t become self-employed by December of 2017, I’d probably collapse. I was burning out, and this was my hope.

And then, five or six months later I realized my goal. I quit my job, and now I’m feeling better. Not amazing. Not yet, but better each day. That doesn’t mean I do backflips out of bed and have a huge smile every day; like all things I have my ups and down and some nights, like tonight, I’m up past 2 AM writing to finish a chapter. But I enjoy it. I like my new lifestyle, and I like this.

That’s why I have to thank you all, readers who donate, but even the readers who just read. You are the reasons I keep going, and each comment, each donation, or even each set of silent eyes helps me out. I hope I can continue writing and earning money for a while, but I’m grateful just for this.

Now, here’s where I get greedy. If you liked this story, please consider sharing it or recommending it to friends or on a site with people who might like this story if it’s not too much work for you. I always make this appeal at the end of a volume, frankly because I hate to self-promote and I wouldn’t trust me because I’m the author and I’m a biased source. And you all can do it better.

If you don’t feel like doing that, it’s fine. I’m happy where I am. But I do hope you comment if you think something horrible (in a friendly manner, let’s not be rude to anyone), or just comment if you like something. And I hope to keep entertaining you with this wild story, and getting better as a writer. For all you’ve done for me, I am very grateful.

To you all and Erin and Ryoka and all the rest, until this story ends…let’s go for an adventure in Volume 3.

…Coming Saturday. Uh oh. See you then and thanks for reading!

–pirateaba

3.00 E

I don’t dream of seeing. But I do dream of adventures. I think every boy does, and I never forgot that dream even when I grew older.

Yet it’s one thing to imagine being transported into another dimension or to another world, and quite another thing if it actually happens. Upon reflection, I think I would have rather eaten my quiche instead before I left, but we can’t have everything.

Day 1

When I found myself in another world, I picked up on it right away for a number of reasons. First: I’m pretty darn sure that a food court doesn’t have grass inside of it, or trees. Second, it just felt different.

The air smelled strange to me immediately. You think I would have noticed the sun on my skin, but it was the stark difference in the way the wind smelled to me that stood out first. It’s like…honestly, it’s like the difference between living in a polluted city like New York – no, scratch that, somewhere really polluted like Hong Kong or Beijing – for a few months and then going somewhere where the air is pure and clean.

There is a quality to the air. In bad places like airports, it smells sterilized and stale, and that goes double for airplanes. In a polluted place, it’s more pervasive than anything else; after a while you get used to it, but then the fog is in your lungs, making even breathing harder than it should be.

The difference between clean air and polluted air is tangible even to people who don’t take that much notice of it. But the difference between the relatively clean food court and the place I was now in?

Unimaginable.

I look around, the bacon quiche still in one hand, my walking stick in the other. I feel like I should be freaking out but honestly, I don’t want to start running about. I can’t tell what’s around me right now except that I’m now standing on the grass, and I’d hate to run into a tree, if there are any in the area.

If you haven’t guessed by now, I’m blind. That’s not legally blind, of which there are many variations. I mean I see nothing. Not blackness, not a distinction between light and dark—nothing. That’s fine by me, but most people I’ve met make a big deal about it.

Normally, I get on just fine no matter where I go. I have good friends, my parents are overprotective, and I can always ask for directions or help in a pinch.

Which would be now. The only problem is, I’m getting the distinct impression I’m alone. My best friend Zoe is not sitting at a table a few feet ahead of me, and I can hear birds.

I sweep the ground cautiously around me with my cane, pausing as I feel dirt at the tip and grass. That’s definitely not ceramic tiles. Either someone’s playing an amazing prank on me or—

“Hello? Zoe? Is anyone there?”

No response. This is like a bad dream, the kind I used to have as a kid where I’m lost in a huge building with no cane and no one around me. Only then I kept imagining something was sneaking up on me and it was dark.

“Hello?”

This…place is clearly somewhere in the light. I can feel sunshine on my skin, and I’m pretty sure it’s early morning judging by the dew on the grass. I know that because I’ve sat down.

Some people freak out when the unexpected happens. If I were someone else I might run around screaming, or panic. But being blind means that you learn bumping into things at high speeds is a bad idea. Plus, I still have the quiche in my hand.

I rest it on my lap as I sit to think. Well, I’m somewhere else. Not in the mall. I might have suspected a prank, but Zoe isn’t nearly that cruel, and it’s not as if I’ve blacked out or been distracted. I literally just took a step and found myself…

Here.

“Is it a forest? Or a meadow? A hiking trail?”

I touch gingerly at the grass and ground. Yep. That feels like morning dew. The grass is long and uncut—another sign? I’m not on someone’s lawn here. And then I find a flower.

It feels soft under my fingertips. The petals nearly stick to my skin, and I recoil when I realize the head of the flower is wet. What kind of flower is this? Has a bird or something pooped on it?

“…No. Nectar.”

It smells sweet and odd, and like nothing I’ve ever smelled in my world. Already I’m at the other world conclusion, but this time I’m pretty damn sure.

The flower smells spicy-sweet, but also dark if that makes sense. It smells dark like I imagine the shade appears to people—not that I’ve ever seen it for myself. But I can imagine the shade—a wet, creeping thing as wide as an ocean that sucks up sunlight. That’s closest to the smell of this flower.

It’s like nothing I’ve ever smelled before, and I have a good memory. I’ve visited huge greenhouses and even flower gardens across different countries in the world – the Keukenhof Gardens in the Netherlands were my favorite – and never come across this unique smell.

Cautiously, I reach down and pick the flower. I feel a bit bad, but I have to touch it, feel it. I’m aware it could be poisonous, but I don’t care. I smell it again, and this time realize the center of the flower was indeed sticky with that nectar.

Do I dare taste it? No, that’s probably too risky. But that adds to my theory. I am somewhere else, and something…strange has happened to me.

“Magic? Teleportation? Some kind of ultra-vivid hallucination?”

It can’t be real. But some part of me whispers ‘yes it is’. Yes it is.

This is real. You’re in another world.

And that makes me smile. Even if the curtain falls down in the next second or it turns out I’m being tricked. For a second I believe.

The air smells different. Cleaner. Sweeter, even. For that matter, even the sunlight feels…odd. I could have sworn it was quite warm in San Francisco—warm enough that Zoe and I went into a mall to cool down. But today feels like a crisp autumn day.

A breeze ruffles my hair. I smell grass and that strange otherworldly smell of flowers I’ve never seen before. And I hear a bird warbling off in the distance. That at least sounds normal.

It’s such a pleasant day. I could get up and walk into uncertainty, but right here the grass is soft. It could be I’m sitting right at the edge of a cliff and I’d never know. But here is nice.

How long did I sit there, holding the quiche in my lap, just listening to the wind and birds? An hour, maybe. I sat and listened and grew more and more convinced that I was somewhere else. Somewhere special.

That’s when I heard the voice. It was distant at first, and then grew louder, accompanied to the sound of branches crackling. Something wails and I hear a thud off somewhere behind me and to the left.

I get a bit worried. Okay, stepping into another world is a jarring experience, but I was keeping calm by rationalizing it as a Platform 9 and ¾’s experience. But no one wants to meet a monster.

Or a bear. Forest + large thing = bear in my mind. But this bear has a voice. And it’s upset.

Behind me, I hear the thing stop, and then hear what sounds like sobbing. That’s reassuring for me, but then I practically feel something punch something else. It sounds like a tree from all the branches rustling from the impact.

Is it a person? I listen hard. Contrary to public belief, being blind does not confer supernatural senses to me. I just use what I have more efficiently. I can sort out the sounds—yes, someone’s crying. They’ve got a deep voice which is why it sounded so odd. And they’re hiccuping.

I already feel a bit sympathetic for this person caught in their grief, although the thumping aspect I don’t like. If they’re hitting that tree, then I’m listening to it splinter from the impacts.

But there’s no helping it. I stand up and raise my voice.

“Hello? Is anyone there? Are you okay?”

Immediately the crying stops. I hear what sounds like the intake of breath. I call out again, turning towards where I heard the person.

“I think I’m lost. I’m sorry, but could I ask you for some help?”

“Help? I’m coming!”

It is a person! I never thought that would be the highlight of my day. But not only is it a person, it’s apparently a female person. At least, that’s what she sounds like. But she has a very deep voice; not that I object to that. Her voice sounds soothing.

Immediately after she speaks, the mysterious person runs over to me. I hear her crashing through branches as she makes a beeline in my direction.

“I’m here! What’s the prob—oh!”

Her footsteps make the ground tremble just a bit as she walks closer. I hold my ground and sense her as best I can.

Heavy. She’s definitely that. And big; that’s my general impression. And she smells. Not bad per se; but she smells…not exactly normal, I guess is the best way I could describe it. She’s certainly perspiring a bit, but that’s not unpleasant.

And then she speaks again, and I hear the worry in her tone. Her voice is deep but smooth, and she has good diction; it’s rare to hear someone enunciate as well as she does.

“I’m here. Are you lost, stranger? Are your eyes hurt? You have them closed.”

“What? No. I’m—”

I lift my cane a bit and I can feel her recoil backwards. I hear her take a step back. Did she think I was going to hit her? I lower the cane and raise a hand.

“I’m sorry. I’m blind. This is my walking cane.”

“You can’t see?”

The voice sounds shocked. She didn’t recognize my cane, either. It’s pretty universal—am I really in another world?

“Not at all. I can’t see you, but I can hear you.”

An intake of breath. I feel like whoever’s standing in front of me is huge; or at least their lungs are.

“You can’t see my face?”

“No. Is something wrong?”

Silence. And then—

“No. Nothing’s wrong.”

I smile. I’m not sure if I’m smiling at her, but it helps. It always does.

“That’s good. I heard you and didn’t want to interrupt, but I am in a bit of trouble. My name is Laken Godart.”

I offer my hand, and I sense hesitation. But then a hand engulfs mine.

A big hand. But it gives my hand such a delicate squeeze that I barely feel a thing.

“My name is Durene. How did you end up here, Mister Laken?”

Mr. Laken? How odd. Is there any country I know of that uses that kind of title? I smile ruefully.

“I’m not quite sure how I got here. I was at a mall, and I must have turned the wrong corner? Something happened because I was suddenly walking around here.”

“Mall? I’ve never heard of that town. I’m sorry.”

My eyebrows shoot up. Either she’s a brilliant actor and this is the greatest simulation of all time, or she’s serious.

“Can you tell me where I am?”

I think she nods. I’ve been told people do that a lot although I only understood the gesture after someone showed me exactly what they were doing with their head.

“You’re near the village of Riverfarm. In the forest, actually.”

Riverfarm? At least I was right about the forest bit.

“Is that near a city? I was in San Francisco just now and I have no idea how I got here.”

Another pause.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know where that is. Is it a big city?”

“Very big. What’s the biggest city near here?”

“That would be Bells. It’s over thirty miles away, though.”

“…Is that anywhere in America?”

“America?”

…

This is probably just a dream. Or a mental breakdown, although the psychiatrist my mom hired gave me a clean bill of health for the last few years. This is any number of things, but what I really want, a tiny bit, is for this to be real.

“Sorry Durene, I’m going to go out on a limb here, but…could you tell me what the year is? And what nation I’m in?”

“Nation? Year? I—don’t keep track of the years. I think we’re around 22 A.F.? And, um, we’re not in a nation. No one rules Riverfarm but the village head.”

“Oh my god. I am in another world.”

“What?”

“I must be. Durene, do I look…unusual to you?”

A pause. I can feel her drawing slowly closer. I can’t tell, but I think she’s looking me over.

“Well…you dress a bit oddly. You have unusual clothing. There’s a strange symbol of a triangle on your shirt. It looks…colorful.”

I smile, a tiny bit. Being blind means my fashion sense is a bit skewed. I know I’m wearing shorts and a t-shirt, apparently with a logo of the Illuminati eye on it. Zoe told me it looked good, but I have reason to doubt her fashion sense.

“Have you ever seen anything like it before?”

“Not so vividly. Are you a noble? A merchant who sells fabric?”

“No. I’m just blind. And I think—yeah, I think I’m very far from home.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

I shrug.

“It’s not your fault. I think. If it is, I’d love an explanation?”

“What? No! I’d never—”

She’s so easily distressed. That makes me feel a bit guilty.

“I’m sorry. It was a joke.”

“Oh.”

What to say? I’m usually a decent conversationalist. Or at least, I can always find something to talk about even if it’s not well received.

“I heard you crying. Are you alright?”

“Me?”

I’ve heard of a blush as well. Based on people’s descriptions and the one time I touched someone while they were blushing, I imagine heat filling their face. That’s certainly how it feels to me, and I suspect, Durene at the moment.

“It—it was nothing. I was just upset, that’s all. I didn’t think anyone was around.”

Her voice is rough with emotion. I pause, but why not follow this? There’s nothing to be gained from holding back. I learned that a long time ago.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to speak about it. But if you want to talk—”

“No.”

I nod. But I can feel her hesitating. So I wait.

“Someone called me a name. That’s all.”

“Ah.”

So many years, so much feeling can go into a single word. I face in her general direction, and I know she’s looking at me. And then I hear something funny.

Rumbling. Gurgling. A massive stomach. And I remember I do have something in one of my hands. I smile even as I sense Durene shifting and presumably, blushing.

“Durene, would you like to share this quiche with me?”

“Are you sure?”

“Why not? Let’s sit and talk. You seem like a nice person.”

I sit down on the ground. After a second, I sense someone sitting next to me. I don’t have a fork, but it’s no trouble to lever the quiche out of the tin container and break it apart. I give the bigger section to Durene over her protests and we eat and sit and talk.

That was how I met Durene, and my introduction to another world. As I said, I would have liked to eat my quiche first. It was only lukewarm at that point, but at least the company was nice.

Day 2

When I woke up, I once again confirmed that I was in another world. I didn’t freak out.

That mildly surprised Durene, when she found I was up and quietly exploring her house. She lives in a rather large house next to a stream. I can’t imagine it as a whole yet, but my exploration and her descriptions of the building give me the sense of a building of wood and rough stone, but carefully patched to avoid the elements or nature getting in. The stone floor is only slightly rough on my bare feet, and the lone window has no glass.

In short, this is a medieval building, and from what Durene told me in our hours-long chat yesterday, this is a medieval world. With magic. And only a limited grasp of technology. She was amazed to see my fiberglass cane; she exclaimed over the material as if it were alien to her world, which it was, in a sense.

Now I sit at a table, feeling like a midget in the chair Durene put me in while she clatters around the kitchen. I can smell something cooking, and it sounds like she’s making eggs. The scent of warm bread is already filling my nostrils.

“Here you are, Mister Laken. I’m sorry it’s a bit burnt.”

“It smells delicious. And call me Laken.”

I hear and feel the big plate being placed in front of me. After cautious exploration with a fork I find the eggs—only slightly runny—and the toasted bread. Yes, it’s crunchy, but it is quite good, and I tell her so.

“Thank you for letting me sleep here. I think I took your only bed. I’m sorry about that.”

“Oh, no! It’s nothing. And I like sleeping outside.”

“Pretty liar.”

Well. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever startled someone into silence so quickly. I hear her shifting, clearing her throat, and then she bursts out.

“Aren’t you worried?”

I raise my eyebrow. I have no idea if it looks good, but friends assured me it did, and I fell in love with the idea after reading a story where the main character did it to great effect.

“About what?”

“Well, you said you’re lost. Alone. In another…another world? How are you so calm?”

That makes me smile. I may act calm, but I spent a good bit of last night while Durene was snoring outside freaking out and trying to affirm I really wasn’t hallucinating. I have a sore arm from all the times I’ve pinched myself.

“What’s the point of freaking out? I’m more excited than anything else, actually. I’m in another world, one with magic. There’s no magic where I come from.”

“But you told me you have so many strange things. Like these ‘cars’ and ‘malls’. It sounds amazing.”

“I’m surprised you believe me, to be honest. If I heard someone talking about my world, I’d assume they were crazy.”

“But you make it sound real. And that stick you have which folds up—”

Another miraculous invention by her standards. I think it was actually that which convinced Durene I was from another world. That, and my iPhone. I think Siri scared Durene more than anything else.

Yes, it turns out I have no wireless, and without battery I turned Siri off to save energy. But having an iPhone, even one with limited power, is amazingly useful in a survival situation, which is what I find myself in.

So is having a friend. I smile at Durene.

“I don’t think my world is that special. But I am glad you found me, Durene. I’ve always found that I can trust most strangers.”

Another pause. Another hypothetical blush.

“Really? But you can’t even see—and you just trusted me to help you. I could be—”

She pauses.

“Someone bad.”

“But you’re not. And I have a good sense for people, or at least, I like to think so. You seem like a very nice person, Durene.”

“I—thank you. But you can’t see—”

I smile wryly.

“I do notice some things. For instance, I know you’re taller than me. And stronger. And you have calluses on your hand, your table is cracked here—and you have a big appetite.”

It’s hard not to notice her chomping down her food, to be honest. Durene shifts in her chair, making the wood creak.

“I’m sorry.”

“What? What are you sorry for?”

“Um—”

“I quite enjoyed the eggs and toast. Did you make it yourself?”

This time I think she nods, because there’s a bit of silence before she speaks.

“Oh! Yes! I eat a lot. So I have a big garden and I um, raise chickens and pigs and other animals. But I can’t cook well because I don’t have any Skills.”

“That seems rather harsh. Your food tasted good to me.”

Silence. And then—

“Thank you. But I have to buy a lot of food anyways. The villagers sell me lots of things I can’t make by myself.”

“So you live in a village? How many people live there?”

If it seems odd we didn’t cover that yesterday, well, there’s a lot of explanations and confirming to be done when you think you’ve ended up in another world. Another part is convincing a scared young woman that you haven’t trapped a person in your iPhone.

Is she young? Durene sounds like she’s a bit younger than I am. Of course, I’m terrible at judging ages so she could be anywhere from my age to still in her teens. Girls grow up quicker than guys, after all.

Back to the conversation. Durene apparently lives in a small village of around sixty souls, most of whom live closer to each other. They inhabit a lovely area of farming land fed by a river, hence the name Riverfarm. The people there grow crops and raise animals—they have a blacksmith, and a dedicated person to go and trade for them at a town, that person having the most skill at buying and selling.

The people in this village live together in large families. The children often go out to learn jobs in other towns as they grow, or manage the family business. It’s rare to see a single new face in a month, let alone a group of people aside from adventurers or Runners now and then.

Oh yes, this world has adventurers and the weirdest postal service I can imagine. But what stands out to me in all of Durene’s explanations is an odd…lack of detail. Namely herself.

Durene doesn’t live in the village. From what she says, the only other people who live alone are bachelors or bachelorettes or those who have lost their partners. But Durene is far too young to fit either criteria, and she tells me she’s never met an adventurer, despite them being popular with all the kids.

I smell a rat. And Durene. She still smells…off. If I met other people I might understand what’s different about her, but until then I just keep the conversation going and tell her a bit about where I come from.

That’s me Laken Godart, blind son to two fairly affluent parents, one a lawyer, the other a businessman. I’ve travelled more places than Durene’s heard of, and I’m blind. That’s a basic description, but the key to selling yourself is embellishment.

And all too soon, I find that Durene’s big breakfast has affected me in another way. I clear my throat politely.

“Uh, Durene? Can you help me get to the bathroom again?”

Yes, it’s embarrassing to have to ask someone you’ve just met to help you out, but I’m used to it. Don’t want to walk into the ladies’ room now, do I? But then, they’ve always been quite considerate the two times I’ve done it by accident.

Anyways, it’s always easier if I ask for help, especially since any door could be the wrong one. And Durene is happy to help.

“No problem. This way—oops! Let me just push this aside—the door’s over here.”

She’s very considerate. Normally people have a hard time directing me, but she’s gotten the hang of it quite quickly. She lets me grab onto her arm—I can feel her muscles rippling every time she shifts—and she walks forwards at a reasonably fast pace.

It’s not as if I have trouble moving around, and I can sense whether she’s walking up an incline or stepping around something. It’s natural to me, and once I explained that to Durene she got the trick of it quickly.

Her bathroom is an outhouse located outside of her home and a ways away from the stream. She has to wait at a respectful distance afterwards, but I don’t take long. There’s only one problem.

“Do you have any toilet paper? Uh, anything to wipe with?”

“I’ll get some leaves!”

“Leaves? Hello? Durene?”

It turns out toilet paper is a luxury so rare Durene’s never heard of it before. But the leaves she gives me are serviceable, and my butt doesn’t complain too much.

The outhouse is definitely an outhouse in the sense that I know there’s no water below me as I toss the leaves down. But it smells nice; Durene’s put some fragrant herb there to chase away the smells. I say as much as I leave.

“Your home seems very nice, Durene. I’m envious.”

“It’s nothing special. It’s really not. It’s—crude.”

“I don’t think so. But uh, do you have anywhere I can wash up? And some soap?”

“Soap?”

It takes me a while to get across the basic idea of hygiene to Durene. That’s my first worry. But she boils some hot water for me and when I’m reassured it’s not scalding, I use that.

“You really need to wash your hands, Durene. In my world, countless people died in the past because they didn’t keep themselves clean enough.”

“Really?”

It’s amazing, flattering, and humbling how Durene takes all my statements at face-value. I tell her about the Black Plague, and within minutes she’s swearing up and down to buy some soap the next time someone goes into town.

Before I know it, it’s lunch-time. I could certainly use something to eat, and Durene takes me around the garden, letting me feel the growing plants and the bunch of potatoes she yanks up.

But then we hit a problem. Durene goes into the kitchen to cook them while I sit outside and listen. But after twenty minutes I know something’s wrong. I can hear her trying to be quiet, but the clattering and the burnt smell can’t be so easily hidden.

“Is everything okay? Durene?”

“I—I’m sorry.”

There’s a catch in her voice when she comes out and tells me she’s ruined the potatoes. I don’t get it, but if there was a fire alarm in her house it would be blaring. She doesn’t even let me inspect the ruined food; apparently it’s so burned she just dumped it outside for the pigs.

“I can’t cook potatoes. I’m sorry. I normally eat them raw.”

“Well, we can’t have that. Let me help you.”

“Help? But you—”

“I can’t see, but I can cook. Come on!”

I reach out and touch her arm. It’s a big arm, and she recoils instantly. But I soothe her and guide her back to the kitchen.

It’s an odd thing, cooking while mainly instructing someone else. Odd, but fun. Only for me at first, but then Durene gets into it.

We make sautéed potatoes. It’s an easy recipe, but I have to show Durene how to cut properly at first. I hear her cut herself twice before I realize her form is off.

“Like this, see? If you’re cutting leaves like this rosemary—do it like this.”

Durene gasps, but I place the knife at my knuckles and roll it across the cutting board, slowly slicing the herbs into small slices.

“Easy as anything. Don’t worry; even if you can’t see, there’s no way to cut yourself like this, see?”

“I do! That’s incredible!”

“It’s not. Really. Now, let’s get to work on the rest of those potatoes, okay?”

“Okay. The chopped potatoes are…here. We boil them?”

“That’s right. Is the water boiling? And you added the salt? Put them in. They’ll go there for about four minutes, okay? Now. Where’s the pan?”

“I put the oil in.”

“Now the potatoes. Flat side down. There. Doesn’t that sound good?”

The sizzling oil makes my stomach wake up. I smile as I hear Durene clumsily sliding the sliced potatoes around the pan.

“Is it crispy golden brown? Okay, let’s reduce the heat. Now…a bit of butter. Just a bit…and the rosemary…doesn’t that smell delicious?”

“It does! It does!”

Success. We sit down and Durene eats her food as if it’s the best food she’s ever had. Apparently, it is.

“I’ve never cooked anything like that before. Do you have a Skill? You must!”

“I wouldn’t call it skill. I just learned from a great chef.”

Thank you Gordon Ramsay. I might not be able to see them cook, but I do love chefs who tell me exactly what they’re doing.

“Are you a [Chef]? Is that your class?”

That’s an odd way of putting things. I shrug, a bit embarrassed.

“I wanted to be a professional chef, and then a professional food critic when I was younger. I gave up on that when I found out someone else had already become blind Masterchef. And, it has to be said, I’m not that good at cooking.”

“But this—”

“It’s not nearly as good as something professional chefs can make, believe me. And you did all the hard work.”

“You know so much, though.”

I want to squirm a bit with embarrassment.

“I just studied a lot of different professions, that’s all. Chef, food critic…at one point I wanted to be a billiards player, but that’s not actually possible. I wanted to do anything that wasn’t boring, so I tried a lot of things.”

“That’s so amazing. So much better than I am.”

I think she’s staring at me. I can feel her proximity towards me. Her voice is also much more intent—she sounds fascinated. I can’t help but smile.

“You’d be surprised what you can pick up if you work at it. Forget cooking—I once disassembled and reassembled an old computer by hand. That’s…like a complicated device.”

“I wouldn’t know. I…I only have the [Farmer] class.”

There it is again. Class? I frown.

“Classes? Do you mean jobs? You mean, you get assigned a job?”

“No. I’m just a [Farmer]. Level 6. Do you not have classes in your world?”

“Oh wow.”

Is it obvious? Did I not notice it because I can’t see? But Durene assures me she doesn’t have her class and level floating above her head like an MMORPG. Even so, my mind is blown because now I realize I’m in a video game. Or something like a video game.

“You mean, you played games with the fates of people?”

“No! It was all just pretend. But it’s exactly like how you’re describing your world.”

“Oh.”

We sit together, in her garden, talking. By this point Durene and I are comfortable enough to sit closer than before, and yes, she is tall. I’m not short myself; apparently I’m around 184 cm, or around 6’1’’ for people using the horrible US measuring system, but Durene is at least a head higher than I am. Possibly bigger; she hunches over as we talk.

And she is huge. And conscious of that; she treats me even more like a glass object than people who just know I’m blind. I am grateful in her case, though; it does feel a bit like a giant is keeping me company.

Hmm. A giant?

One last detail: Durene’s skin is rougher than normal. Her inside palm is fairly smooth, if callused, but the few times I brushed against the outside of her skin, it was surprisingly rough and even felt cracked in places.

Odd. But she is a great listener, and we sit together long into the night. I tell her stories, and she tells me of this world. Magic and adventurers and a gaming system.

Dinner that night is marinated mushrooms, again thanks to me marathon watching Ramsay videos. It’s good that I remember so many vegetarian dishes; Durene likes meat, but it is apparently a rare delicacy for her, despite the pigs she introduced me to earlier today.

We don’t have any vinegar, but Durene’s garden is plentiful, and everything is so high quality that we barely need any seasoning to make it go down. Fresh water from the stream completes the meal, and Durene eats four times what I do. Good thing we made a lot.

Sometimes I wish I could see. I have no idea what it would be like, and usually I don’t ever care. But when I’m having a bad day or I’m frustrated and wish things were easier, I wish I could see.

But now, I just want to see her face. Even though it seems like Durene is self-conscious about it.

I wonder why. I wonder as I tuck myself into her bed and listen to her snoring outside.

At least I know she’s not a Troll. The ones from the Hobbit turn into stone in the morning, don’t they? Maybe people just grow really big in this world.

Maybe. But she’s still a good person, regardless.

Day 3

Apparently, one of Durene’s obsessions is fish. Understandably so; she can’t catch much game and she sells most of her pigs rather than eat them. Her occasional chicken only comes when one dies, and as I’ve observed, she has trouble cooking even the most basic of meals.

But fish? Fish is hard to get wrong, and Durene has a crude fishing rod that she tries to catch fish at the stream with almost every day. Apparently, she has little success and I figure out why quite soon.

“You need some bait that wriggles. Worms are better. And you’re moving the line too much. Let the fish bite before you pull it out of the water. See? Patience is key.”

It’s amazing. But no one’s ever taught Durene this, and she observes me fishing with rapt attention. I feel—

I feel happy to teach her, and supremely annoyed no one ever taught her something as simple as this. Do people in her village not know how to fish?

Or is there another reason why she lives alone?

I get half my answer after I yank the second small fish out of the stream, much to Durene’s delight. I hear voices, laughter; the sounds of several children. And then I hear the voices.

“Freak! Come out, Freak!”

Beside me, on the grass, Durene goes still. I pause, the crude clay mug Durene gave me half full as I scoop water out of the stream.

“Where is she? Freak!”

I hear merry laughter, running, shouts of joy at odds with the words and tone in the childrens’ voices. It doesn’t take them long to find us.

“Freak! Freaky freak! Fr—who’s that?”

I turn my head as the sounds of running feet stop. I counted…six kids? All young; probably around ten. Mostly boys, although there’s one girl in there. They pause uncertainly.

“This is Laken. He’s a stranger to these parts.”

Durene tries to explain. I smile and introduce myself, but the instant the children discover I’m blind, respectfulness vanishes.

“He’s blind!”

“A freak! Freak’s gotta friend!”

“Freaks!”

Is there something in the water here? Or is it just them? I frown at the kids.

“That’s not a word you should be using about Durene.”

“But she’s a freak!”

One of the boys protests. Then I hear a yelp and the girl speaks.

“I think he don’t know. He can’t see her!”

“That’s right!”

More exclamations.

“You should run, Mister! Durene’ll eat your heart out!”

“No I won’t!”

“Aah! Run from the freak! She’s gone mad!”

Durene stands up in anguish. And then I hear her yelp. Someone’s tossed a stone at her! I hear it plop into the stream.

“Eat dirt, Freak!”

Okay, mudballs. Another one flies. Durene’s not doing anything to defend herself, so I stand up. The mug of water is still in my hands. For a second I’m tempted to hurl it but—that wouldn’t be right. The children go silent. What should I say?

“It’s nice to meet all of you. Cheers, mates.”

I raise the mug of water in their general direction and then drink from it. Honestly, it tastes a bit like clay. I look at the kids, or rather, in their general direction I hope.

“Now piss off.”

Silence. I keep my face still. I’ve never actually stared anyone in the eye mainly because I could miss, and I can barely keep my eyes open for a staring contest in any case. My eyes still get watery even if I can’t see.

But I am good at holding still and remaining calm. The children aren’t. After a few more seconds I hear them retreat.

I sit back down next to Durene. She’s trembling.

“You okay?”

I keep my tone light as I reach for the fishing pole again. I can’t find it, but then Durene silently presses it into my hands.

“Do you know what I meant when I said ‘cheers’? It’s an expression from another culture. It means, well, it’s something you say before you have a drink, or at a party.”

“Really?”

Her voice is quivery, but it is curious. I nod and smile.

“I met an Australian guy once who could make that word sound like a threat. He said it to a bunch of soldiers who were bothering us and—well, it’s not always polite. It’s all about nuance, you see?”

More silence. I hear Durene gulp.

“I—I’m sorry. What they said—”

“—Is none of my concern. Those little wankers were being obnoxious anyways. They’re too good to be called brats. Do they harass you often?”

It’s nice to know more than one culture. It helps when you want to add to your repertoire of insults. Durene laughs shakily, then goes quiet again.

“Sometimes. I mean, they come by sometimes but they don’t do more than throw things.”

“Like rocks?”

Silence is my answer. I clear my throat.

“They’re miserable little monsters; don’t listen to them. Anyways, they’re just kids, aren’t they? Can’t you chase them off?”

“I couldn’t do that! I might hurt someone, and then—”

She sounds genuinely shocked. And afraid. Is she worried about the mob of stereotypical farmers with pitchforks? But that had to come from somewhere. Maybe she’s right to be passive.

“I’m sorry if I got you in trouble. But I couldn’t stand by and let them harass you.”

“It’s okay. I think. Yes, it’s okay. But I’m surprised you weren’t angrier when they called you a freak. You’re not.”

Again, her tone suggests…what? Depression? Low self-esteem, certainly. But the clues aren’t all there yet, even if I know most of what’s going on. As for me…I shrug.

“I used to be a lot angrier than this. But I’ve gotten calmer now; I don’t lose my temper that much. I’ve been called names too.”

“Really?”

I smile again, but this time with an edge.

“Everyone gets called names. I’m just an easier target since I can’t see anything coming. Then again, I get it. When you’re a kid, anything weird is a target. Anything different or scary…it’s easier to shout insults than get to know the person. That doesn’t mean I think what those brats did was right, of course. Next time one of them calls you names, hit him. Or just call him names as well.”

“I couldn’t hit anyone! And I’m not good with insults.”

“What? Insults are easy. Come on, try one. Call me something.”

“I—I don’t know. What would I even call them?”

“Unexploded pimple? Pitiful asshat? Cowardly mushroom? Insults can be anything you want them to be.”

The laugh that comes out of Durene is more like a bark of amusement, but it’s genuine and real.

“Tell you what. Let’s grill up these fish and I can teach you some of the really pithy insults I’ve heard of, okay? You might want to cover your ears though; some of them could make a sailor blush.”

She laughs delightedly and I smile again. It’s a better day, despite the kids. And the fish isn’t even burnt this time.

Day 5

I find myself spending almost all my time with Durene day by day. She’s an open person and easy to talk to; she likes listening more than she likes speaking, but she can break down this strange world into easy-to-understand fragments for me.

She’s in the middle of giving me a history lesson about some version of Alexander the Great when I hear a shout. I’m ready for the kids this time, but to my surprise, only one comes running.

“Durene! The wagon’s lost a wheel! Come and lift it, our Da says!”

“What? The wagon? I’m on my way!”

Durene jumps to her feet with amazing agility, and then hesitates.

“I have to go help, Laken. Will you be okay? I can take you there—”

“I’m fine. Go. I’ll be okay until you come back.”

Again, being blind is not like being porcelain. I let Durene run off with the kid and think of what to do. Twenty minutes later, Durene thunders back to the cottage looking for me.

I’m fishing.

“Durene. You’re back. Is everything okay?”

She smells a bit of hay and some other animal scent. And a bit more of that musky odor that’s probably her sweat. I hear her clear the stream in one jump.

“Everything’s fine. I helped Mister Prost with his wagon; that’s all. The axle of the wheel broke, so he had Finnon go get me.”

“Huh. Do they always call on you for help? It seems like they’d need a team of people to move a busted wagon.”

She shifts next to me. Uncomfortably? It’s surprisingly easy to tell when someone’s hiding something even if you can’t read their face.

“Oh—it wasn’t that hard. I just had to help lift it up a bit, that’s all.”

She doesn’t even sound winded. But she ran off and came back in less than ten minutes and helped a farmer put a new wheel on a wagon?

Odd. Odd, odd, odd, odd…

“You do repairs often, then? That’s pretty handy of you.”

“Well, I don’t have a class. But if they need help lifting or, you know, raising a barn—”

“Gotcha. So how bad is the damage?”

“They’ll have to fix it later, but it looks like it was just the axle that went. I just got the wagon back to their home so they could give old Evera a rest. She’s their plow horse and she gets tired quickly.”

Okay, so she pulled a wagon which might or might not have been full of produce an unspecified distance. Hmm.

It could just be her class. Durene said she was a Level 6 [Farmer], but she has one [Enhanced Strength] skill already. Apparently that makes her way stronger than normal; when I asked her to demonstrate, she lifted me up with one hand as if I was a feather.

But the skin? And the things those kids said? What could that—

Bah. What am I, a detective? The answer is no, because I can barely solve a Sherlock Holmes mystery, let alone figure out those stupid wire puzzles. And Durene deserves respect from me, if no one else.

She’ll tell me when she’s ready.

Day 6

“I need a class.”

That was what I told Durene when she woke up in the morning. I get up before she does; not that either of us are late sleepers. We’re both morning people actually, although I tend to function just as well in the dark as in the light for obvious reasons.

But I do like to hear the birds sing and feel the sunlight on my face. I don’t mind relaxing for an hour or two by myself in the mornings. As Zoe once told me, I’m the chillest blind guy she knows, which is to say I’m the only blind guy she knows. She knows a blind girl—Teresa, but she and I don’t get along.

I hate Teresa.

Durene is silent for a long moment after I tell her this. We made doughy crepes this morning and added some wild berries, but she stops eating them now.

“Why?”

“Isn’t it what people do in this world? You told me no one you know didn’t have a class.”

“That’s true. But…”

I wait, yet no further thought comes. I explain myself while I try to see what’s making her upset.

“I’ve put a lot of thought into it, and I need to have a class to survive in this world. I can’t just rely on your goodwill forever.”

“But a class—that means you’d go and get a job, right? You’d…leave.”

Oh. Oh. I feel like an idiot.

“I don’t want to be a burden, Durene. I’m already making you sleep outside and now you have to feed two mouths.”

“That’s not a problem!”

The table shifts as Durene moves. She apologizes, and then her tone changes, becomes more pleading.

“I don’t mind the grass! I don’t! And you eat a lot less than I do. I wouldn’t mind you staying! I…like having you around.”

What do I say? What do I do? Whatever it is, it must be something that won’t break her tender heart.

“You know I have a home, Durene, and a family. They’re probably worried sick about me. I want to get back to them.”

I can almost feel her drooping at the other side of the table. I clear my throat and go on.

“But I do enjoy staying here with you. If you’re sure I won’t be a burden, I’d love to stay here. I just mentioned a class because it’s fascinating, really.”

“You’ll stay here? You’re sure?”

It’s not pathetic how eager she sounds, how hopeful. It’s heartbreaking. Who left this girl alone? I nod.

“I doubt there are many jobs for a blind person in your world anyways. Unless I can learn magic? I’d love to learn that.”

“I don’t know. I’ve heard of spellbooks, but I don’t know if mages learn any other way.”

I make a face, mildly outraged as I eat more crepe. Even in this world I’m handicapped by a lack of braille books? And I very much doubt there’s any kind of audio spellbook.

“Well, that idea’s out. I guess I’ll have to sleep on it.”

Then I have another idea. I suggest it to Durene as I help her wash the pottery dishes. She doesn’t use soap, but hot water works pretty well. She can tolerate the heat far better than I, though. But her hands are clumsier, so we both work slow.

“Why don’t you show me around your village?”

Durene nearly drops the cup she’s holding. I push it back into the bucket of water just in time; the splash gets water all over my clothes.

“What’s wrong? I haven’t introduced myself, and I’m sure they’re curious about me.”

“I—I wouldn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s fine. I like meeting people. Besides, I have to meet them sooner or later, don’t I?”

“I guess.”

Day 8

It takes me two more days for me to convince Durene to take me into the village. She resists, stonewalls—not so much out of reluctance to visit on her behalf, but for fear of how the villagers will treat me, I think.

And how do the villagers treat me?

With kindness.

Oh, they knew a stranger had moved into Durene’s house, but no one had come by. I think they were more apprehensive than curious, and Durene herself might have told them to steer clear before then. It isn’t as if we are always together; she made several trips into the village prior to my arrival, and I can only speculate I was the topic of gossip.

When Durene finally lets me into the village, I hear a few mutters, but Prost, the [Farmer] who Durene had helped out a few days ago, is the first to shake my hand.

“You’ve got a fine grip, son. You’d be a good farmer.”

“Ah, but I’d keep trying to milk the bull, and that wouldn’t end up well for anyone, would it?”

A joke, a laugh, and I change from the scary unknown to someone approachable, even likeable. One mother smacks her son for calling me names, and soon I’m introducing myself as a traveler from far off, sidetracked by a spell and relying on Durene for help.

That bit of fiction is met by approval from all the villagers, but later on Prost takes me aside as Durene helps lift a few kegs for one of the farmers.

“I wouldn’t say much about Durene—she’s a good helper in times of need, but she’s a bit—”

“She seems like a nice, normal young woman to me. Wouldn’t you agree?”

I shut him down in an instant. I don’t want to know. Not from him. Not from someone who isn’t Durene who’s chosen to tell me. That ends the conversation; it’s awkward for a few moments until I ask about farming around here. Turns out that these farmers have quite the variety of crops, and they’re fascinated when I talk about greenhouses and crop rotation. Some high-level [Farmers] have Skills that approximate those effects, and soon I’m actually giving out vague advice on farming techniques I half-remember. Too bad I can’t give them a combine harvester.

Durene hovers around me anxiously at first, but then relaxes as time went by. The other villagers treat her—well, I guess. They have a huge mug of milk for her, and she helps drag a huge tree that had fallen out of the way. But—

We leave the village after several hours, with invitations for me to call on various families for a meal and conversation. I can tell stories about the places I’ve been to if I omit the parts that they wouldn’t understand, and in this small village I’m the equivalent of a celebrity, or a novelty.

The villagers like me. I think I can say that with confidence. They think I’m kind, charming, and okay, mad as a loon. But Farmer Prost’s wife Yesel gives me a basket full of goods to take back to Durene’s home—or rather, she gives Durene that, and I met a good deal of people that day. All in all it was a success.

I just wonder why they dislike Durene so. Or maybe not dislike? She’s clearly known them all her life. But there’s a wall between her and them, and no matter how kindly the villager are towards her and no matter how hard she tries to be as helpful and meek as possible, they still keep their distance from her. I hear it in their tones and observe it through their actions.

It makes me hate them, just a little.

Day 11

I woke up knowing what class I’d have. I was so antsy that over breakfast I nearly put my hand on the frying pan in distraction. I broke the news to Durene as we ate cheese on scrambled eggs; neither of us could do omelettes.

“I think I’ll become an [Emperor]. Do you know if I have to declare that? Or is it just doing something that gives you the class?”

Durene choked on her eggs and I had to listen to her splutter for a while before any coherent words came out.

“That’s impossible! Laken! What are you saying?”

“I’m going to be an [Emperor]. It seems like the easiest class for me to take, and perhaps I’ll gain some useful skills.”

Honestly, it was the first class that came into my mind as a viable option. But Durene told me flat out it was impossible. I told her she was wrong.

“You can be an [Emperor], Durene. You can, and I can.”

“It’s not possible! To do that—you’d need a kingdom, and a palace and white horse and—and—”

Her voice trails off, unable to even describe my folly. I can only smile.

“But you can, Durene. I know of a man, an ordinary man, who became an Emperor. All by himself, although he was poor and he had no palace or horse.”

“Really? Who?”

There’s skepticism, but curiosity and eagerness in her voice in equal measure. She always loves stories from my world. This one puts a grin on my face even as I speak.

“He was known as Emperor Norton the 1st of America. He was a real man who became an Emperor just by calling himself one. I always loved his story.”

“Emperor? But you said America has no rulers. Only someone with the [President] class.”

My explanations of how my world works might have gotten a bit jumbled. I shake my head.

“That’s true. But Norton didn’t care what the rules were. One day, he declared himself Emperor. And he lived and died acting as one.”

It’s an amazing story, and one I have to struggle to do justice to. How can I explain to Durene the tale of Joshua Norton, a failed businessman who one day woke up and sent letters to every newspaper in San Francisco proclaiming himself as the Emperor of the United States?

Well, sort of like that, actually.

“He made proclamations and sent orders to the army—none of which were ever obeyed—and he even made his own money. I know it sounds ridiculous, Durene, and I’ll just bet you’re smiling, but here’s the crazy thing: it worked! The people let him go around calling himself Emperor, and in time they began treating him like one.”

“They didn’t.”

“They did. Not all of course, but he eventually made his own money and became known throughout the city. The people of San Francisco accepted his currency, and he dined in the finest restaurants and went to famous plays in the theater where they would hold a seat for him. When he died, over thirty thousand people went to his funeral.”

Durene listens in silence, rapt with attention. I can only imagine it myself. His story captured my heart.

“Some say he was a madman. And maybe he was; he probably was, honestly. But he also dared to dream. And that’s something I’ve always admired about him.”

He dared to dream. There are worse things to be remembered by. And unlike the rich businessmen and famous stars and politicians of the day, Norton I is still marked in history as the first and only Emperor of the United States. It may seem funny to most people, but I think he’s the one laughing in the end.

“If one man can declare himself Emperor, I don’t see why I can’t follow suit. Kings might be born to rule, but the first kings were just men with an army who made themselves crowns. I might not have an army, or a crown, but it’s worth a shot.”

“Maybe.”

As impressed as she is by the story, I can hear the doubt oozing from Durene’s every word. But I just grin.

“I’m in another world, Durene, and from what you’ve said, classes rule this place. Why not take one of the best ones if I can? So. You can be my witness.”

I stand up dramatically, praying I don’t hit anything by accident as I gesture grandly.

“Hear my words, that they may be passed down for posterity. On this day, I, Laken Godart, declare myself Emperor of the Unseen, sovereign lord and ruler of all I survey. Not only Emperor; I declare myself Protector of Durene’s House as well.”

For a second I hold the pose, and then hear Durene giggle. It sounds amazing coming from her deep voice. I smile and sit back down.

“You can’t do that! What if someone heard you?”

“Well, then I’d demand that they show me the proper respect I deserve. And ask for their taxes. You owe me a tithe, I believe. I demand your finest crepe as your [Emperor].”

Giggling like a girl, Durene passes me one. I eat it with an air of triumph, and tell her several more jokes that make her laugh.

And that’s good. That alone is worth the crazy attempt. But as I sleep that night, I can’t help but think that it would be nice if I could be [Emperor]. I’d make the world a better place, or at least, try to.

I’d like to hear Durene laugh a lot more, and make it so she never has to cry herself to sleep another night.

In my heart, as I let sleep overtake me, I do believe I could do it. I believe. That’s what I learned to do. I believe I can be something more than people expect of me.

My eyes close. I breathe out. And then I hear a voice in my mind.

[Emperor Class Obtained!]

[Emperor Level 1!]

[Skill – Aura of the Emperor obtained!]

“Das war ja einfach!”

Day 12

Durene is in a state of panic; I’m calm.

Sort of calm. I’m freaking out, but in a good way. Durene’s just freaking out.

I blink as she tromps past me, nearly hitting my leg. Her voice is strained as talks out loud.

“It can’t be! You don’t have any fancy clothes! How can you be an—an—[Emperor]? It doesn’t make sense!”

I don’t know. But I do know, at the same time. I sit up straight. I can’t tell how this new Skill I’ve received works, but I feel a bit…different. A bit more secure in myself. I was right. I dreamed, and I was right.

“Durene. Is an [Emperor] simply defined by his clothes? A king is still a king in rags, after all. It may sound silly, but in this world people become what they believe, I think. You haven’t become a [Cook] because you don’t think you can be one. But I? I think I can do anything I want to. And I think you can too.”

She stops mid-step. I can sense her facing me.

“I—I have to go. I have to—go.”

She practically knocks the door down trying to get away. I sit and think in her house, trying to figure out what it means. Something. What can an [Emperor] do? What could my skills do? Is it even practical? How can I get home?

Someday, I want to go home. Even if Durene is here, I…

I need to find my family again.

When the door opens again, Durene comes in silent, but no longer panicking. She avoids the topic of my class and I do too, at least for a bit.

“You have a nice home, Durene. But I’d love to visit a town someday, or a city.”

She hesitates.

“I—I want to, too. But it’s tricky…”

I don’t ask why. Instead I just nod.

“You’ve said there are other continents in this world, filled with all kinds of different species.”

“…Yes.”

“Where are we? What continent are we on?”

“Izril. We’re on Izril.”

“Huh. Sounds almost familiar.”

3.01 E

Day 13

I am an [Emperor]. That is fact.

But I don’t know what it means. After an entire day of speculation and worry, Durene has no more answers for me. Myself, I’m just content to find out.

I guess it’s because of my class that Durene is freaking out so much. To me, it’s just a title that doesn’t mean much; something that happened to me because I tried something new. But to Durene, that class automatically makes me royalty.

No—isn’t an [Emperor] even higher in status than a [King]? A king might rule by virtue of lineage, but an emperor could in theory rule over multiple countries, and thus kings.

Huh.

Wow.

I guess it’s a huge deal, but again, I’m only Level 1, and all I have is one odd skill. When I told Durene, she said she couldn’t see anything like an aura about me, but Skills don’t work all the time necessarily. Some, like her [Enhanced Strength] skill are essentially permanent passive changes, but others have to be used.

As far as I can tell, there’s no word or catchphrase that activates [Aura of the Emperor]. Believe me, I tried and probably looked quite silly doing so. Whatever it is the skill, like my class, is a mystery that will have to wait.

I sigh as I carefully walk across the dirt forest path near Durene’s house. It’s been a while since I’ve been by myself, and to be honest, I needed this break. My lovely host has been fussing over me all day, and she didn’t even want to let me go out on my own.

That was an argument she was never going to win. Her concern is touching, but I’m hardly a quadriplegic; I need to stretch my legs and I hate being chaperoned all of the time. It’s fairly easy to keep track of the dirt path, and I’m hardly about to wander off that far. Durene showed me the route, and I have it memorized.

“What a mess.”

It really is. I’ve gotten used to living in this world thanks to Durene, but now a bunch of questions are circling around in my head. How can I get back home? Is it even possible?

Durene is convinced that whatever happened to me was the result of magic. I tend to agree, but if any normal spell could teleport me across worlds, I’ll eat my hat. No, something big happened that dragged me here, and I need to find out what.

And I won’t be able to do that in Riverfarm. I need to go out into the world. A lone, blind guy in a world full of monsters and magic.

That would be my death. But it’s different for an [Emperor], isn’t it? What’s the difference between a blind man and a blind [Emperor]?

Maybe everything. Because one of them is an [Emperor].

Norton I of America. Do you know why I loved his story? Because he was the Emperor of the United States in his head, and nothing could take that away from him.

Being blind sometimes sucks. For me it’s normal, but there are days when I grow frustrated. Frustrated because other people can do things so effortlessly that I struggle to do. I’ll never catch a ball, or drive, or even paint. I can’t experience some of the things people talk about.

It’s a bit unfair. And when I was young, I hated the way I was treated. Sometimes, yes, sometimes, I felt like less of a person because people thought of me that way. Here’s a blind kid. He can’t appreciate this, or do that. He’s different. Not the same.

But I am blind. I have my own worth, regardless of whether people acknowledge that.

I stop walking. Here I am, in a forest I can’t see. In a world totally different from my own. Some might say that it’s not that different for someone who can’t see, but I can sense the difference in every step I take. I feel the same wonder when I hear a new bird’s call, or touch Durene’s hands and know that she is different.

I am an [Emperor]. No one can take that from me. I may have gotten that class easily—just by declaring myself so. But I believed in it, even so. I believed. When you are blind, sometimes the world is uncertain. I have to trust when I get up and walk around my house that everything is the way I left it.

I trust the things I touch with my cane, just like a seeing person trusts their eyes. But I am prepared for the times when I miss a branch or something with my cane and walk right into a shrub. I am ready, in short, to walk off a cliff some days because I can’t ever be 100% certain something is right in front of me. But I have to believe I’ll step onto solid ground.

So believe this: I am an [Emperor]. I should start acting like one rather than worrying about what it means.

What should I do, then? What would an [Emperor] do? I think for a while as I continue my slow amble through the forest.

“I am an [Emperor]. Ergo, everything I want to do is what an [Emperor] would do. There are no wrong choices.”

But are there even more right ones? I remember studying Charlemagne’s history. The man was an imperialist; as far as I can recall he was more or less personally involved in wars of conquest. And yet, he also instituted huge reforms across his empire.

So did Norton, at least in theory. He wanted to abolish Congress to safeguard his empire, and rumors have it that he actually stood in front of a mob to protect Chinese immigrants during race riots. Regardless of whether that’s historically true or not, an [Emperor] has a duty to his empire and those he rules over. He keeps them safe, protects them; makes them better.

I would like to do the same for Durene. If she is my one subject, then what can I do for her? I walk and think, and only stop when I notice Durene not-so-subtly trying to shadow me in the forest. She really can’t hide at all. But she does care, which is why I like her.

I do like her a lot. I just wish she’d tell me everything.

Day 14

What would any good [Emperor] do? What would any sensible person do when finding themselves in another world, much less a game world? Today I asked Durene countless questions about Riverfarm and the world. I’d asked her a lot before, but today I compiled it all together in my head.

“So you’ve never really gone further than a few miles outside of the village?”

“No. Never.”

Durene and I sit together, sipping from some home-brewed mint tea. It’s quite strong since we’re using actual mint steeped in hot water. It’s a shame we can’t add some honey or sugar, but Durene has neither.

She’s not rich. That much is clear, although I have to dance around the topic a bit.

“So you earn a few coins from selling your crops and animals now and then. But you’ve never gone with the trading cart to town?”

“No.”

She shifts in her seat and slurps from her tea. She’s uncomfortable. I sigh.

“You know, Durene. I don’t really care if you’re a bit different from other people. You’re a nice young woman; regardless of who you are, I won’t judge you.”

Silence. Then, her deep voice quavers.

“Do you—? Did someone—?”

“No. But I am smart enough to know you’re hiding something. But I won’t ask until you’re ready. I do hope you know you can trust me, though.”

“I do. I do! It’s just—”

It sounds like she’s on the verge of tears. I reach out and touch her mug instead of her fingers. Durene laughs as I make a face and find her huge hand.

“Take your time. I’m not going anywhere. Now, tell me. What’s it like living here? Do you ever see any monsters?”

“Well…”

Monsters. I can’t even imagine what one of them would be like. According to Durene, they’re not that bad around here. Goblins are the only real nuisance, and the village immediately sends for adventurers to root them out if they’re spotted nearby.

But—yeah, there is a huge difference in the amount of danger people in this world have to live with. I might worry about bears in parts of the world, or muggers, or war, but never horrible little green creatures with teeth like knives.

God, they sound creepy.

“It’s bad when Goblins come. Everyone has to give money to raise a bounty on them, but it always takes the adventurers a few weeks to arrive, and I don’t know what we’d do if a Goblin Chieftain ever showed up.”

Goblins are apparently a bigger threat in the north part of Izril than they are the south. It’s about population density, or so I’m guessing. Humans occupy more of the north than the south which belongs to Drakes and Gnolls and something called the Antinium. So monsters accordingly spring up more near the north since there’s more to eat. Odd; I would have expected them to be more plentiful in places where Humans are less common, but then, these monsters aren’t prey, but our predators.

Riverfarm isn’t that far north—it’s decently far away from the High Passes—a huge mountain range similar to the Himalayas which divide the continent in two. Apparently the nearest major city is Invrisil; the city of adventurers, so named because they have the largest population of adventurers active and retired on the continent.

“They’ve got Gold-rank teams there. You can even find Named Adventurers passing through sometimes! And they say the markets are filled with magical items and wondrous things, like the parts of dead monsters and rare gems and artifacts.”

Durene’s voice is filled with wonder as she describes the city. I have to confess, the image sways me as well. Of course, the adventurers that Riverfarm can afford are a far cry from those elites.

All of the villagers, including Durene, are frankly poor. Durene is especially poor, but the villagers aren’t exactly rolling in wealth either. They earn a few gold coins every year when the weather is good and the crops are plentiful. At best. During the worst times they’re subsistence farmers, or they’re starving.

“Folks save their coins. Mister Prost saves all his coins for instance; he only spends money when he has to buy new tools or fix his wagon. He’s going to have to buy a new plow horse soon; I help out, but Evera—the horse—is old. And they want to start raising pigs, but that’s an investment, and they could always use more coin to fix up the house…”

“Is anyone rich in your village? The [Blacksmith]?”

“Not really. He doesn’t have that many levels and you know, he’s still a [Farmer] as well. There’s another [Blacksmith] in town that has more levels. Occasionally some people from other villages come by with work, but never for more than a few silver coins at best.”

“It sounds like your village does fairly well for itself.”

“Some years. Last year was okay, but the year before that was hungry. If we have a bad harvest or if winter comes early, it’s very hard. The villagers do their best, but sometimes bad things happen. And ever since they took me in—”

She breaks off. I think I understand this bit. Durene is huge. She’s not necessarily fat; she doesn’t let me touch her, but I know that she can move about with surprising speed, faster than I can. So she’s probably not fat, but she is big. She eats roughly four times what I do every meal, at least.

“I try to help out a lot. But I can only pull and lift stuff. I don’t have any Skills.”

“You said you were a Level 6 [Farmer], didn’t you?”

“Yes. I’m not too low-level for my age—some people are around Level 15, but I didn’t even apprentice and I taught myself so I leveled up slower.”

“What about your father? Your mother? What did they do when you were growing up?”

Durene hesitates. I wait in silence, the empty cup of mint tea in my hands, shedding the last vestiges of warmth. Then her voice mumbles.

“Mom died when I was four. I never met my dad. He’s dead too.”

Day 16

I think Durene is still depressed after our last conversation. We don’t talk much—that is to say, not about important things. I spend most of the time helping Durene finish up her harvesting. Most of her plants are fully grown, and we pull up several pumpkins today.

She wants to get ready for the winter, although it feels perfectly fine to me right now. Then again, I don’t know this world so weather could change a lot quicker around here.

I also sense that Durene is wrestling with something in her head, most likely whether to tell me about her past. It feels like it’s on the tip of her tongue sometimes when she pauses in talking with me.

But not yet. I abide. I’ve learned patience, and in the meantime I can teach Durene some things.

“So, your heart sends blood across the rest of your body. From your head to your toes. So you could lose an arm or a leg if you made sure to stop the blood loss, but your heart is essential.”

Durene scratches at her head.

“But doesn’t the heart get tired? I get tired from walking all day. How can a heart keep beating all the time?”

I grin.

“It’s the strongest muscle in our bodies. And it does get tired. People have heart attacks—times where the heart stops—as they get older. There’s a reason we can’t live forever; our bodies start breaking down as things stop working.”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

“I don’t know how old people get in this world, but the oldest people from my world are around a hundred years old. Rarely more than that.”

“A hundred? That’s a lot! Old man Schnel died when he was 62, and he was old.”

“Well, some things affect how old you’ll grow. Some of it is just chance or your body, but what you eat, how you live—all of that can affect your health. Like food. Remember what I said about a balanced meal?”

“Um…”

It’s fun teaching Durene the basics of biology, science, and so on. I didn’t really feel like math was that important and her speaking skills are good—she can’t write though, and I can’t help her with that.

No one taught her. But I will. Not everything will be necessarily that practical, but I hope some of it will help. Durene drinks down all of my lessons like a sponge as we harvest and cook. Helping her grow is something that makes me happy. It’s what an [Emperor] would do. What I will do.

Day 17

More harvesting. Apparently, the other villagers are also making their last harvests of the season. They might get one more yield from their crops, but maybe not. We’re storing a lot of Durene’s goods in the cellar.

…I had no idea her house had a cellar, but she has a rather large root cellar outside! That’s one of the things that blows me away; I would have never guessed there was a trapdoor right over there.

Day 19

I leveled up last night! I am now a Level 2 [Emperor]. What triggered the change? Durene has no idea, but I think I know. She’s my subject. Teaching her and tending to this small cottage which I claimed as my own is the same as improving my empire, all of it in fact. It’s all about perception. Perhaps there is a limit to how much exp I’d get this way, but for now I’ll take what I can get.

No idea what the extra level will do for me, though. I haven’t gotten any skills and still haven’t figured out the [Aura of the Emperor] yet.

Hmm…

Day 20

I wake up when I hear the oddest sound. Footsteps; Durene’s. Crunching.

Now, footsteps are generally easy for me. I can tell some people apart by how they walk. There’s a tempo to their pace, and of course weight makes their footsteps sound different too. Durene is clearly distinct.

But what is she stepping on? It can’t be what I think it is.

“Snow?”

It is snow! Apparently the entire world decided to up and change as I slept. Durene tells me the Winter Sprites must have brought snow to the region, which makes me wonder if she doesn’t understand how the weather works.

But no—apparently in this world, weird dancing lights known as Winter Sprites can manipulate the weather. They’re also a bit of a hazard, according to Durene. They’ll throw snow at you if you bother them or play tricks.

That doesn’t quite make sense, but the important thing is clear: it’s winter. And oh boy, it’s cold!

I help Durene strike some sparks into the fireplace of her cottage. She had to run outside for some firewood early in the morning.

“I usually keep a pile inside, but I forgot to this year. The wood’s a bit wet, but I think it’ll light.”

Durene sneezes after she says this. She sounds cold. And there’s an unpleasant amount of chill in her house without a roaring fire in her fireplace. I said her home was cozy, but it’s apparent that Durene could use a better house, like the ones in the village perhaps.

Frustrating. That’s what it is. I help make a thick soup while Durene clears snow, brings in chopped firewood and so on, and we have a hearty meal. But I can’t help but feel like I am a drag now that snow is making it practically impossible for me to find my way around outside.

It takes a while for the fire to start, but once it does we’re warm again. Durene claims she can chop enough wood for the winter and she’s hopeful about food—she says she had a good harvest, but this is living closer to the edge than I’d like. There are no supermarkets here.

At least we have some winter clothes. The villagers sent some clothes up with Prosts’s wife, Yesel. She came by around midday, with some coats and other garments for me. Good thing too—I was getting tired of my one set of clothes.

Etiquette demands we offer her something to eat and some of the now wonderfully warm mint tea. I chat with Yesel; she’s quite happy to chatter on with me while Durene listens. It’s very nice, but I sense the way she talks to Durene. And the way she hints to me.

“We’d be happy to put you up in our home for a few days. Just until the first chill goes away. The children could squeeze together in one room I’m sure.”

She’s not even really hinting. She’s flat out telling me she wants me to go back with her into the village. And Durene’s clearly unhappy about it, but she doesn’t want to object.

I sip my tea calmly. What’s the best answer here? Well, clearly: no.

“I’m sorry Miss Yesel, but Durene’s made such a nice place for me—we just got the second cot set up. I’d love to join you for a meal or two later, but for now I feel I should stay here. I’d hate to be out on the road in my condition, you know.”

“Oh yes. I’ve made a good spot for myself, Miss Yesel. And I can get everything Laken needs here—”

“I’m sure you have, Durene.”

Yesel interrupts Durene politely. I get the feeling she’s not actually smiling, but her tone sounds friendly as she reaches out to touch my hand. I jerk and she takes her hand back. I hate it when people touch me without  warning me.

“Do excuse me. But I’m sure we could get Durene to pull the wagon if you don’t want to walk. It would only be a few minutes’ trip.”

So polite. So friendly. I can feel the invisible looks she’s giving Durene. My skin prickles, but I smile in her direction.

“Nevertheless, I’d truly hate to take over your rooms. Kids should have a lot of space, and I wouldn’t want to cramp you all.”

Now she’s hesitating. I know for a fact that my poker face is perfect; but she can’t quite tell if I’m innocently being obtuse or refusing her. Now she takes a different tack.

“Well—the Beetrs have also said they’d be delighted if you came over for dinner. And they have an empty room after their daughter sadly passed away last summer. You could join them. What do you think?”

“Mm…well…”

“It would be so much larger than here. I know Durene has done her best, but isn’t this a tiny bit too small for two people?”

“I—I could sleep outside! Or in the root cellar. I’m fine with—”

“I actually like the closeness, in fact.”

This time it’s my turn to interrupt Durene. I smile placidly, although I’m getting more and more annoyed by the second. I can sense Yesel reacting across the table.

“I think I’m fine, I really am, Miss Yesel. Durene is an excellent hostess. She’s helped me out immeasurably and I have every confidence that she will continue to do so.”

Durene’s silent, possibly embarrassed, and Yesel is quiet. Then she speaks to Durene directly.

“Durene? Why don’t you go fetch us some more firewood? I’m sure Mister Laken is feeling quite chilly.”

I bite my lip as Durene rises without a word to do as Yesel says. Mister Laken is feeling fine, thanks. And Durene shouldn’t have to obey someone else’s order in her own home.

But because Yesel is giving us a gift and because I don’t have the full picture—not yet—I listen. Yesel leans forwards to talk to me as I hear Durene moving about outside.

“Durene is a good child, Mister Laken. Sometimes. But we put her out here so she wouldn’t cause trouble if—has she told you what she is?”

“No. I believe she will tell me when she feels comfortable.”

“Yes, but—I think you don’t quite understand what the problem is.”

I raise one eyebrow.

“Problem? I haven’t had a problem with Durene, Miss Yesel. Unless you think otherwise?”

“No…”

She says it, clearly meaning the opposite. I hear a slurp, and then her voice again.

“But some of us in the village—Durene was wonderfully good about taking you in, but she’s not someone that should be kept cooped up with you—with someone like you—all winter. It would be better for everyone if you stayed in the village. We’d love to have you.”

And I’d probably hate it there. I listen to Durene lifting something with a grunt, and then shake my head.

“I have no problems with Durene, Miss Yesel. I will stay here.”

Now frustration enters the other woman’s voice.

“I really don’t think that’s wise. Durene is—”

“—Is Durene. I think that’s what you meant to say, Miss Yesel. Please don’t say anything else. I prefer to let people keep their secrets.”

“But—!”

This has gone on long enough. I stand up.

“Good day, Miss Yesel. Thank you for the clothes.”

There’s not much she can say after that. I practically chase her out, and Durene, covered in snow and bewildered, barely gets to say goodbye.

Okay, maybe it was rude to bundle the woman off so fast, but she was being incredibly rude. I know Durene has a secret, but why wouldn’t they trust her with me? I’ve slept under her roof for over two weeks now without a problem.

It’s cozy and warm in Durene’s cottage after Yesel leaves. I’m perfectly content, and Durene is almost pathetically relieved that I’m staying. She keeps chattering nervously about everything but what that conversation meant.

It occurs to me later what the problem is. I don’t have a problem with Durene, no matter who she really is. But Yesel and the other villagers don’t like that I don’t care.

Not one bit.

Day 22

I’ve just begun to adjust to the new circumstances of freezing weather. It’s impossible for me to really find my way around outside without Durene, but we can still go walking in the snow. Of course, I have to be bundled up like a sausage, but that’s okay.

And it’s not like we lack things to do inside. There’s still so much that no one ever taught Durene—whether because this world doesn’t have any standard of education or because no one taught her specifically, and I enjoy talking with her.

But sometimes we do crave the outside, if only to perform vital tasks. Despite the decent construction, Durene’s outhouse freezes all my bits the moment I try to do my business. That makes everything slower, but she waits patiently for me as I attempt to speed up my natural body processes.

That’s when I hear the laughter, and the malicious voices. Children—the village children—come running up the path towards Durene’s cottage as I sit in the outhouse.

“Freak! Come out, Freak!”

“There she is! Get her!”

It’s like listening to a movie, only I’m sitting in a freezing-cold movie theatre and I don’t have a bag of popcorn. And this is real, so my heart immediately pounds harder when I hear Durene’s voice.

“Ow! Stop!”

What’s happening? I hear paffs, the sound of snow hitting—

Snowballs. Those little bastards are throwing snowballs! From the sounds outside Durene isn’t doing anything, just trying to shield herself. But the children are laughing.

“Get her! She’s a [Witch]!”

“She’s tricking the blind man! Let’s slay the Freak!”

“I’m not! I—ow!”

More laughter, and the sounds of more snowballs being thrown. I fumble with my pants, trying to think of what to do as the situation outside escalates.

Those—there’s a difference between having fun and being malicious little demons. I have to do something. But what?

For a few seconds, I worry about consequences and repercussions. Durene has her own relationship with the villagers. Who am I to interfere with that?

Who am I?

An [Emperor].

Oh.

Of course.

How could I have forgotten? This house is my empire; Durene is my subject. And those annoying little brats are harassing her. I have a duty to her.

I don’t quite kick the outhouse door open, but I do push it out with more force than normal. Frankly, I’d hate to break the door even in my anger. No one wants to have wind and ice flecks blown right at their private parts in the midst of an intimate moment.

The laughter cuts off as soon as I step into the snow. I turn in the direction of the kids.

“Hey. You lot. Stop that.”

Not exactly fighting words, but I’m deadly serious. And these are just kids. I hear uncomfortable shifting, and then voices.

“What should we—?”

“He don’t know nothing! He’s blind!”

“Yeah! We gotta chase away the Freak!”

I point in their direction.

“I don’t appreciate bullying. Keep away from Durene. If you little bastards throw snow at her again, there will be consequences.”

For two seconds I think that will work. Then one of the children laughs uncertainly. He jeers at me.

“You can’t do nothing! You can’t see!”

“Yeah! He likes the Freak more than real people!”

“Get him!”

Something flies past my face and I flinch back. Crap. Suddenly all the animosity of the gang of children is transferred at me. A snowball filled with ice bursts against my coat and I wonder what I should do next.

“Stop that!”

Something huge interposes itself between me and the children. I feel Durene protectively shielding me.

“Look! The Freak’s in the way!”

“Get her!”

“Throw these! Eat pinecones, Freak!”

Something bounces off Durene and she yelps. That’s when I lose my temper.

“Enough.”

I push Durene aside and the word comes out of me like a shout. But it’s not quite a shout. It’s…something else.

The rage burning in my chest ignites, and it attaches to the word. It bursts out, and I feel it leave like a physical thing.

What happened? What did I just do?

I hear screams, and then the sound of someone throwing up. Then I hear footsteps, running, confusion, screams—

Then silence.

“Durene? What’s going on?”

I reach out and touch a thick back covered with cloth. I feel Durene’s cold skin shivering, and then she takes my hand with her callused palms.

“Laken? I—I don’t know. You did something just now. The kids—they’ve all run off!”

“I did that?”

I must have. And it must be—

“[Aura of the Emperor]. Durene, tell me what happened.”

We stand in the snow as Durene tries to relate what happened. According to her, it was suddenly as if I shouted and something hit the kids. She felt a presence—and sudden fear. But what I did wasn’t aimed at her, so it was brief.

The children clearly had a more violent reaction. They made tracks. I don’t know what I did, not exactly, but I can guess.

“I was angry. Seriously pissed. I must have used that to scare them. The aura—I might be able to use that in other ways as well.”

I can remember the sensation. It was physical; like sending part of myself out into the world. It was amazing, and terrifying. I’ve never felt like that before, but I’m glad.

Yes, I’m glad I did it. And so is Durene. In her own way!

“You shouldn’t have done that. You shouldn’t have! There will be trouble—”

“If there is, we’ll be causing the trouble. Those children had no right to harass you.”

“But that’s just them being…”

“That’s them being intolerant idiots. I won’t let anyone do that again. It stops now.”

How? All I know is that I mean every word as Durene and I dry off. How would I stop those kids, outside of using that skill again?

Fence? Too hard, and they’d just climb over it or get around it somehow. Bear trap? Probably not.

“I suppose we could just bury them in the snow head-first next time they come by. I’ll hold their legs; you dig the hole.”

Durene giggles nervously, and I smile as I tell more jokes to make her laugh. But I can’t help but feel like I’ve started something.

I’m right. Not thirty minutes later, I hear someone approaching. Durene tenses up and she tells me Prost has come by. We invite him in, and he gets to business in a matter of seconds.

“The kids say you did something, Mister Laken. They weren’t hurt none although they’re fair terrified. But we’d like to know what happened.”

“Oh, you know, Mister Prost. I heard them throwing snowballs and pine cones at Durene and had a word with them. We can’t have children going around attacking people, can we?”

“No, I suppose not. Still, that was a bit of a thing to do over a little thing like that, wasn’t it? I’m sure the children didn’t mean nothing by it. They tease Durene, but there’s nothing in it.”

I keep my voice light and friendly, like a calm before the storm.

“I’m sure you’re right, Mister Prost. I’m sure they didn’t meant anything by the snowballs. Or the name calling.”

He shifts, and I hear Durene swallow.

“Mister Laken, you seem like a nice enough young man. But there’s something you don’t know about Durene.”

“So I’ve been told by you, the children, and your wife. I thought I made it quite clear that I don’t care.”

“Nevertheless, sir. Durene’s different.”

“Mister Prost—!”

I can almost feel Durene shrinking back. And now I’m even angrier than I was at the kids.

“Stop that. Yes, you, Mister Prost. Durene has been nothing but friendly to me since I arrived here. Your children on the other hand attacked her, and then me.”

“I know that sir, and I’ll make sure they remember it. They won’t be walking straight, you have my promise. But Durene—”

“What is your problem with her?”

I snap. I can’t help it.

“Durene is different. I get that. But what does that matter? She’s a friend. My friend. If she has a secret, she will tell me herself. Now, I think it’s time you leave.”

Prost hesitates, but he doesn’t get up.

“You might think Durene is fine, but you don’t see her like we do. Now, Durene, you’re a good enough girl, but—”

I stand up.

“Enough. I think you should leave, Mister Prost. Now.”

The other man stands up. He’s angry, now.

“You don’t understand the situation, Mister Laken. Durene’s our village’s problem, and she was easy enough to manage before this.”

“I—”

I’d almost forgotten Durene was in the room. She sounds like a mouse—a big one—as she tries to speak.

“I’m not doing anything! I just want to help Laken!”

The other man’s voice is flat as he replies.

“You don’t belong with our kind. You help—but we keep you away for a reason. Remember your father? If his kind came back or you lost control—you’re not like us, Durene. And Mister Laken doesn’t know that!”

“He likes me! He doesn’t care! Why is that so bad?”

For once Durene is arguing back. I don’t respond and let her raise her voice. But now Prost is shouting.

“Don’t you raise your voice to me! Who do you think took you in, fed you? We risked our necks for you!”

“You only did that because my mother asked you to! And you gave me scraps! I had to sleep in the barn with the other animals! I never—never ate with you all! And now you’re trying to take away my only friend!”

Now it comes out. Durene’s voice is filled with emotion, and I can hear her hands cracking the wood of her table as she grips it. There’s a crack, and I feel the table I’m sitting at break.

Prost knocks over his chair and retreats to the door. Durene’s on her feet—not advancing—but I get up before anyone can act.

“That’s enough. Prost, it’s time for you to go. I’m staying here with Durene, and nothing you tell me is going to change that.”

“But you don’t understand!”

It sounds like Prost is nearly tearing out his hair—if he has any—in frustration. But he’s afraid of Durene as well, I can tell.

Durene’s voice is cold.

“If that’s what Laken says, he stays. I’ll take care of him here. Now, you’ve gotta leave, Mister Prost. This is my house, and you’re not welcome here any longer.”

She advances, and I hear the man rush out the door. I follow Durene out, and hear Prost’s voice. He’s far away from us but shouting.

“Do you know what she is!? She’s a monster! A freak!”

My pulse is boiling in my veins. I glare in his direction.

“I don’t care. Go away and stop bothering us!”

“You don’t know anything, boy! She’s tricking you by acting friendly, but her kind can’t be trusted! She’s a monster. She’s not Human she’s a—”

“A Troll!”

The word doesn’t come from Prost’s mouth. It comes from Durene, a shout. My heart skips a beat, and then I hear her shouting.

“Troll! There! I said it! Troll, Troll, Troll!”

Her voice is huge. Huge and deep, and it’s so loud I swear snow is falling from the trees. She screams at Prost, leaving the man speechless.

“Why can’t you let me have this? Why did you have to tell him? What harm would it have done if I—”

Durene is crying, sobbing as she shouts as loudly as she can. She rails against Prost, cursing him. I hear an impact and sense she’s fallen to her knees. In the next silence I listen and hear distant crunching in the snow.

“He’s running.”

Coward. My heart is beating too fast, and I feel something clenching at it. I’m furious, but right now Durene is more important.

Slowly, I step forwards towards her, reaching my hand out. I touch her—and her rough skin slides under my fingertips. She makes no move; only sobbing as I slowly touch her.

Arm. Rough arm, practically bursting the seams of her clumsily-sewn clothing. And then up to her shoulder, twice as broad as mine. Her muscle is as dense as a rock, and her skin feels like an elephant’s hide.

Then her neck, her head. It’s like a Human’s but big enough for her body. Her nose is…wide, and she has eyebrows. And hair. Long and coarser than Human hair, but not by much.

That’s the secret. That’s what she feared. Her terrible, meaningless, sad secret. But she told one lie, and as I touch her face, I know. I see everything.

I murmur the words into the snow as I touch her tears.

“Half-Troll.”

[Emperor Level 4!]

[Skill – King’s Bounty obtained!]

Day 23

Troll. What do you think of when you hear that word? I’m told that movies have wonderful images of Trolls, but I have obviously never seen them.

So I can only work off the descriptions of Trolls I’ve read in stories. When I first read The Hobbit, my notion of Trolls were these slightly bigger-than-average Humans with cockney accents and weird names. One of them was called Bert, for goodness sake!

But then I listened to The Lord of the Rings movie, and my idea of Trolls was different. The idea of some massive, grey humanoid creature that roared and swung a club around fixed itself in my head. Even when I read the descriptions of green Trolls with noxious odors, the image of the Troll with stone-like skin and savage, dimwitted rage stayed with me.

That is not Durene. So when I listened to her, I threw away all the notions and preconceptions I had about Trolls. All of them. I put the stories I’d heard in a box and tossed it out, because she deserves to tell me who she is rather than have me judge her before I know her.

And I do know Durene. She isn’t violent. She isn’t angry. And from what she tells me, neither are Trolls.

“I didn’t know my father. He was—he was a wandering Troll, and I think he met my mom during the Spring. He was hungry and she was living by herself and—”

Trolls are monsters. Everyone considers them as such, apparently. They don’t have a civilization like Drakes or Gnolls, but they are smarter than your average monster. Smart as a Goblin, which might not be saying much. I don’t know. But not all Trolls are violent.

“He must not have been hungry, because he didn’t eat my mom. Not all Trolls eat…people.”

We sit together in Durene’s home as she tells me everything. The fire crackles, but aside from that, everything else is quiet. I sit silently at her broken table, listening as Durene’s low voice speaks into the silence.

She’s done crying. All the grief and fear of last night is gone, and now the truth comes out of her. All the things she wanted to tell me, spilling out. I can feel the fear in her voice, that I’ll judge her, run from her. Fear her. I listen to it all in silence.

“Mom was living alone, away from the others. She’d been married—I think she’d had a husband before, and another kid. But she lost both so she had a small farm by herself. And Dad was hungry, so she found him in her fields. And I guess she must have liked him, or gotten to know him somehow, because a few weeks later she was pregnant.”

“That’s how they met?”

Durene shifts.

“I don’t know. Mom never said, and the villagers just said that Miss Yesel came up one day and found her pregnant and alone. And Troll tracks nearby. I think that’s how it happened. I hope it is. Otherwise…”

Otherwise, her mother was attacked by a Troll. And Durene will never know which is true, because her mother is dead and none of the other villagers were there. But they speculated, and Durene probably grew up hearing that speculation.

“Anyways, they let Mom stay, but an adventurer heard about a Troll and came to kill it. He—he did. And afterwards, he wanted to kill me too, but Mom wouldn’t let him.”

“Did she raise you alone?”

“She tried. But after I was born she was so weak because I was too big—and she never fully got better. She died when I was four. After that, the village took me in, but I didn’t really have a home.”

Sleeping in a barn. Fed scraps. I can only imagine what it was like.

“When I was bigger, I made my home here, where Mom used to live. I’ve been living here since, and the villagers only call me when they need help. I was alone, and I’d hide every time adventurers came by. I hid from other people too, in case they thought I was dangerous. Until I met you.”

I get it. The crying in the woods, the hope that I wouldn’t immediately judge her, the villagers wanting to separate me from the potentially dangerous half-monster.

It all makes sense. It’s such a predictable story in some ways.

And it’s such crap. Durene doesn’t deserve any of this.

I choose my words carefully in the silence after Durene’s confession. I really don’t know what to say, but I know what not to say.

“Durene. I’m sorry all of this has happened to you. But it doesn’t change anything for me.”

She gulps.

“Laken. I—I’m sorry I lied.”

“That’s okay.”

“No. It’s not. I should have told you. And you don’t have to—to say nice things. You can leave. I’ll bring you into the village and apologize.”

“Why would I do that?”

Pause.

“What?”

“I’m staying here. With you.”

“But—”

“You being half-Troll doesn’t change anything. I told you that, remember? I got to know you, and that means I won’t run away just because you’re not Human.”

“I—you don’t understand. I’m half Troll. Adventurers would kill me on sight. If I were in a town or a city I’d probably have a bounty put on my head!”

“Probably. But that doesn’t mean I’ll go. It’s okay, Durene.”

“No! Stop being so nice!”

“Durene, calm down. I’m not upset.”

“I know! But—it’s not nothing! Stop being so nice to me! What I am—I’m not Human! I’m not normal! Don’t pretend you don’t care!”

“I care. But I know you.”

“No you don’t. You can’t see—you’d never trust me if you could see.”

“That’s what the villagers have told you. But they’re wrong. They look at you and see a monster but they are wrong. They. Are. Wrong. Do you understand that, Durene?”

“…I can’t. No.”

“Durene? Where are you going? Durene? Durene!”

I’m on my feet as the door slams open. The cold winds of winter rush in, and I hear massive footsteps thumping away. I run after her, shouting.

“Durene!”

Only after I’m outside does it occur to me that maybe I should have given Durene more space. She’s right; I was treating this like nothing. I should have shown more of the surprise swirling inside of me.

But I didn’t want to hurt her feelings and I still meant what I said. How could a girl that nice and caring be a monster?

And now I’m running through the snow, without my cane. I slow the instant I realize that.

Oh shit. The snow is deep around me, I can’t see, and there is nothing like a path that I can follow.

I’m lost.

For a few seconds I just turn, trying to look for my tracks in the snow. But I can’t find them. I shout for Durene, but she’s not coming back. I’m by myself, and I can already feel the cold piercing my clothing.

This is probably a blind person’s worst fear. Without any tools I can barely find my way around, and without people or landmarks in this freezing weather—I’m so dead.

I start walking forwards, trying to feel for anything that reminds me of Durene’s cottage. I don’t have a choice. Either I could stay and hope Durene comes back—and she could be gone for hours—or I try to return to the cottage.

I only ran a little bit outside. But that distance could be miles as far as I’m concerned. This damn snow! It’s falling from the skies and making everything unfamiliar. Even my tracks—I try to kick up as much snow so I can find my way back.

Okay. Let’s go…ten steps this way. No? I feel nothing familiar, so I try to retrace my steps. I find my tracks and get back to roughly where I thought I was before. Now this way. No?

…Where did my tracks go? I spin around, confused. The snow—it’s too thick! I bend down, but my hands feel only the same level of snow around me. It’s as if I never started walking in the first place.

Oh no. I’m starting to panic. I stumble forwards, feeling my way ahead.

Gah! Damn it, I just ran into a tree. That’s bad. I’m in the forest. I try to turn back, but I’m not 100% sure I’m not going further into the forest.

Another tree. And now I’m trying to listen for anything that can help me find my way to Durene’s cottage.

I might die out here. I take a deep breath.

“Durene! I’m lost out here! Can yo—”

I trip. My world shifts and I hit the ground hard. Something just caught my foot! Not a tree root—

I scramble back towards whatever it was in the snow. I’m praying that I tripped over one of Durene’s plants and I’m in her garden.

It’s not a plant. It’s not anything like a plant. Instead, as my aching foot could attest, the object is heavy and partially buried in the ground. I feel at it.

Not a rock…the outside is rough and coarse. A bag? Yes! I can feel the opening here, and two drawstrings. Curious now, despite the cold, I undo the strings.

Is this some kind of bag of fertilizer? But no, why would that…

Hold on. My fingers encounter something hard in the bag and jerk away. I touch again. Something clinks as I shift it.

Round, hard, circular objects. Lots of them. I feel them, lifting one up and dropping it.

“What the hell…?”

Clink. Clink.

There’s only one thing that makes that kind of beguiling, attractive sound. And the weight of it! I pull at the bag, but I can’t even get it to shift in the frozen ground.

Is this what I think it is? Really?

“Laken! LAKEN!”

I hear someone shouting my name in the distance. Immediately I stand up and bellow back.

“Durene? Over here!”

Immediately, I hear crashing through the woods. Branches splinter off Durene as she crashes towards my location, showering me with snow. I splutter and then feel two arms around me.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize you were out here!”

“It’s okay! Durene! You’re squishing me!”

Immediately she lets go. I gasp for air—I’d heard of a bear hug, but this is the first time I actually felt someone literally squashing me.

“Sorry!”

“It’s okay. I’m really glad you found me. Durene, I’m sorry.”

“No, I—”

I grasp her arm. She falls silent, and I do too. For a few seconds, I just listen to my heart beating, and hear snow softly falling in the background. Durene’s skin is rough under my palms. Rough, but not unpleasant.

“This is the first time I’ve really touched you, you know.”

“Really?”

“Really. You’ve helped me along, but I normally grab your clothes.”

And she never let me touch her before that. I feel Durene gulp as I hold her.

“Oh.”

We stand like that in silence for a little while. Then I feel the chill seeping into my bones.

“I guess we should go back.”

“Right! Let me carry you.”

Durene wants to lift me up, but I shake my head.

“I found something in the ground. Can you pull it up?”

“In the ground? Where?”

It takes me a few seconds to find it. Durene covered it when she ran over. But when I show Durene she lifts it up. It sounds like she’s uprooting a huge amount of soil and I cover my face as some of it flies at me.

“What’s this bag? I’ve never. Oh.”

Her voice goes silent all of a sudden. I feel around, and then find the bag in her hands. I reach into the open top and pick out two of the heavy little circular things within.

“Hey Durene. Would you mind telling me what you see? I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but…”

I tap the round object against the second one and hear that delightful chime of metal on metal. Each coin is heavy, and as I weigh them in my hand I notice the rough, smooth stones in the sack as well. Well, well, well.

“I could be wrong, but I hope I’m not. Because unless I’m very much mistaken, this is a gold coin. And this would be buried treasure.”

I’m remarkably calm about that bit. That is, until we get back to the cottage and start counting.

“It’s all gold!”

Durene exclaims as I place another coin on the careful stack of five on the table. I have to move carefully so as not to knock over my stacks, but with Durene’s help we’ve tallied the contents of the mysterious sack at last.

“One hundred and forty one gold coins and eight gemstones.”

I sit back in my chair and reach for the mug of tea. Durene pushes it into my hands and I savor the warmth. I still feel a bit cold after my little exploration outside.

“It’s a fortune. A huge fortune! Where did it come from?”

“I have my suspicions.”

I can sense Durene’s curiosity. I smile. The treasure I found managed to calm Durene down. She forgot about her woes to bask in the radiance of gold. Myself, I can’t see the appeal. It’s just heavy metal to me, but I’m told it’s quite valuable.

And in this case, it’s literally more money than Durene has ever seen in her life. By her estimates, I could literally buy Riverfarm six times over. At least. She has no idea where the money came from, and I tend to doubt that someone would just leave a fortune in the ground like that. But there might be another explanation for my good fortunes.

“[King’s Bounty]. It has to be my Skill.”

It tickles my sense of humor a bit that I got a skill probably meant for [Kings]. I didn’t really have time to even wonder what it meant, but this is a pretty good sign of what the Skill does.

“You mean you got money because of a Skill?”

“Perhaps. It might be that I can’t be poor if I have [King’s Bounty] as a Skill. You know, like how a [King] should never be poor? Haven’t you heard of something like that happening before?”

“No. Never! But—I have heard of [Treasure Hunters] that can find buried treasure. But why would an [Emperor] have that skill?”

“Perhaps because any ruler should have money? Doesn’t it make sense that the Skill would be doing this?”

“Yes, but Skills aren’t normally this powerful! Not at early levels!”

“Right. You mentioned that. Normally people received weaker skills the lower level they are. Only when they’re above Level 30 do the skills become powerful, right? But maybe this is a crummy skill for an [Emperor] by comparison.”

“I can’t believe it. I can’t.”

“It’s certainly useful, although I wonder how we’ll spend it. There’s not exactly a lot of shops around here.”

“We?”

“I told you Durene, I’m staying with you. And you helped me dig this thing up. Without you, I would have frozen out there in a few more minutes.”

“But—”

“Durene.”

I reach out and touch her. This time I get one of her sides. She freezes, but I trace my hands upwards. I find her face, and feel her trembling.

“Durene. I’m going nowhere. And I don’t care if you’re half-Troll or half-Goblin or half-Frog. You are who you are, and I like you for that. You can run, and I might not be able to follow you in the snow, but when you come back, I’ll be waiting. So why not just stay?”

I feel silly, and I’m sure what I said didn’t make too much sense. But Durene trembles, and I feel wetness at my fingers.

“I don’t know what to do. I want you to stay, Laken. I do. But what if—what will the others say?”

“What they say is their business. Not yours. I’m asking you if I can stay here, Durene.”

“Yes. Please.”

“Then that’s settled, then.”

“But you and I. I don’t know what I should—I must be so strange to you.”

“Only a bit. But that’s because I don’t know you just yet. I know a lot but…Durene. Will you let me touch you? I can’t see, but I want to get to know you.”

“You—what if you hate me?”

“I never would.”

“Then—can I touch you?”

“Of course.”

A rough hand, a finger gently brushes against my face. It feels as light as a feather. I feel at Durene’s face, tracing the contours of her features, trying to understand her in my own way. She touches me, gently, as if she’s never touched another living thing before.

Slowly, I work my way down from her face. Durene shivers, but her touch is just as light. I am curious, and so is she. There’s no words, but I think we understand each other completely in that moment.

No more secrets. No more hidden truths and untrue and unkind words. Just a light touch; an intimate question whispered from one person to another.

And there’s more touching, but I won’t talk too much about that. The snow falls heavily, as inside, Durene and I explore one another. We are who we are. No more.

No less.

Day 24

I feel like I shouldn’t share much of this day either. Let’s just say that today the pile of gold and jewels went nearly completely untouched, until we accidentally knocked the table over. Turns out gold coins hurt when they’re dropped on your body.

Day 25

Mm. More of the same, really. But we talked about the future. We talked, and I made her laugh. As we did before. As I hope to do.

Day 27

A bunch of kids called out for Durene as she and I were having breakfast. They needed help; a roof had collapsed in the village under the weight of the snow and the villagers needed Durene to lift a beam.

I told her not to go. Durene wanted to help. In the end, I waited for her to return. When she did, she was upset.

Tears, hot and wet, fall on my fingertips. Durene’s skin feels a bit like cracked stone as I brush against her cheek. Swords or arrows would have a hard time piercing her skin.

But words? Words cut deepest of all.

“I don’t know what to do. I’m not a monster! But they just think I’m like my father. I don’t know what to do. Laken…”

Neither do I. But I can’t bear to see her crying.

“I can’t do anything. Just lift things. Like an animal. That’s all I do. I can’t build or cook. I can barely grow things—”

“Shh.”

It takes her a long time to get to sleep, but eventually it happens. I sit up, anger and sadness fighting like snakes in my belly. What can I do? What could—

What could I do for her?

And then I have it.

Day 28

“Is it like a [Knight]?”

“Almost. But better. After all, any ordinary monarch can make a [Knight]. But only an [Emperor] can give someone this class.”

Durene shifts next to me. I hold her hand, and feel her quiver.

“I’m not sure I’m a warrior.”

“Are you a [Farmer]?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Then try this. They weren’t always warriors. Culture just interpreted them that way after a while. Before that they were just servants. Great warriors, true, but they served Charlemagne in more ways than just in combat. I think.”

I haven’t actually spent that much time studying the etymology of that class, even though I once played as one in a D&D session. Oh well.

“If you want to be one, I’ll make you one.”

“Just like that? It sounds too easy.”

“It’s not. I’m the only [Emperor] on this continent; only I can choose who is worthy of this class. And of all the people in the world, there’s no one I’d want to be with me than you, Durene.”

“I—please. I don’t want to just be a [Farmer].”

“Then, kneel.”

I feel her bend down in front of me. I reach out and place my hands on her shoulders.

“I knight you, Durene. I name you as my [Paladin], my foremost champion who will protect and serve me. Will you do this?”

“Yes.”

She whispers it, then says it louder.

“Yes!”

Something changes. Just a bit. I bend down to Durene and give her a kiss. On the forehead, then elsewhere.

“Is that part of being a [Paladin] too?”

I have to laugh.

“It would be a surprise if it was.”

She rises, and I feel something different about her. It’s subtle. But it comes to me as I’m sleeping. Perhaps it’s not confidence; not yet. There’s no marked change in her, no sudden shift. But there is one thing she has now that she never had. And it’s growing slowly, like one of her seeds.

A purpose.

Day 29

“I’m…I’m a [Paladin].”

So Durene says as I wake up. I smile, and hug her, and then she laughs and shouts it.

“I’m a [Paladin]!”

Day 30

A lot can happen in a month. In the weather’s case, the atmosphere changed from a nice, pleasantly warm fall to a blizzard-filled winter almost overnight.

Even now, it seems like the snow won’t stop falling. Twice Durene’s gone out to clear a path. She does it quickly and efficiently—even the deepest snow tends to go flying if she exerts herself.

A lot can change in a month for people as well. A young woman who would run from children and names has turned into someone else. Someone confident enough to chase away the obnoxious little monsters who tell her she has to help out a village full of idiots and bigots. She walks and speaks with something else in her now.

And I, I changed quite a lot as well. For one thing, the young man named Laken Godart suddenly became an [Emperor] and found someone to love. That has to be worth something.

In a small cottage a few miles outside of the village of Riverfarm, I sit. I am the Emperor of the Unseen, Protector of Durene’s House. I have one subject—or should that be consort? She is a half-Troll, a young woman named Durene.

And she is beautiful. She was a [Farmer]; now she is a [Paladin]. And what that means neither of us know. I have a bag of gold, and a village full of fools that can’t accept Durene for who she is.

I have no sight, but I have a dream. A grand one, where Durene and I leave this place that she could never call home. Or maybe we change it. But either way I know we will do it. I am an [Emperor], and for her, I would change the world.

And so we shall.

Together.

3.02 H

Ceria Springwalker stared down at her skeletal hand and for a brief moment, wondered what would happen if she cast [Ice Spike] at point blank range at her face. She’d probably die instantly; in the worst case scenario the shard would lodge in her flesh and brain but fail to kill her.

It was just an idle thought, but she was half-contemplating it. Even horrible mutilation would be preferable to the current situation.

She looked up at the other two members of the Horns of Hammerad sitting around the small fire they’d built. The hazy smoke drifted up, a beacon to any monsters looking for a hot meal. Hopefully none would come; Ceria had tried to camp far enough away from the Ruins of Albez for that, but nasty surprises were always an adventurer’s concern.

Across the fire, Pisces sat on the ground, mumbling quietly to himself as he reviewed his personal spellbook full of notes and spells he was studying. His robes—never too clean at the best of times—were filthy, and he reeked. In fact, he smelled so bad that even Ksmvr, who didn’t really have much of a sense of smell, was sitting far away.

The Antinium had no need of flame. In fact, Ceria thought the fire bothered him a bit. Despite the cold winter weather, the former Prognugator sat with his back to the fire, scanning the landscape. He wasn’t sleeping as he kept watch, but he was so still that he could have been a statue.

Neatly laid out by the Antinium’s side was a shortbow and arrows planted in the ground, ready to be fired. He had one of Erin’s kitchen knives on the ground in front of him, and the enchanted iron shortsword next to it. It was like Ksmvr expected an attack at any moment.

Ceria sighed. Then she stared back at her skeletal hand again. It didn’t hurt. Not anymore. But it felt like it was still covered in flesh, sometimes. But she had to use magic—let it flow into her missing limb—to make it move. And when she touched things, that was the worst. Then she felt as if she could feel something, but it was just her imagination.

The fire coughed and Pisces sneezed into it. Ceria made a face as a wisp of smoke drifted her way. Pisces really did need a bath. She could probably conjure some water out of the air, but it would be a waste of mana. Plus, if she was going to clean him she might as well start with herself.

Ceria wasn’t a stranger to roughing it. She’d spent countless nights outside before she passed her second decade, and she’d gone on countless expeditions with the original Horns of Hammerad, tracking monsters, preparing for dungeon dives, and so on.

But she couldn’t remember camping out ever being this pitiful. Ceria knew that she smelled about half as bad as Pisces, and dried sweat, grime, and unwashed clothing was making her own personal experience unpleasant.

At least they weren’t camping in the snow again. Ceria and Pisces had cleared the ground of the stuff, and it wasn’t snowing like it had last night. Normally Ceria would have liked to camp in a cave, but the Ruins of Albez were part of a natural depression in the ground far from any helpful mountains or hills. The ruined building had sunk into the earth, and so any normal group of adventurers planning to stay in the area for more than one day brought tents.

But they didn’t have any, because they couldn’t afford them. In fact, the Horns of Hammerad hadn’t planned on staying long in any case. They’d brought enough supplies for two days.

This was their eighth night. All of them had yet to eat.

Ceria’s stomach growled and she made a face. Hunger was also something she’d gotten used to when she was young, but she couldn’t ever remember really running out of food in the Horns of Hammerad. For all his temperamental issues, Calruz had been a good soldier and leader in keeping his group fed and outfitted, and Gerial had always left a margin of error when buying gear.

Her heart twinged as she remembered them. Ceria stared back into the fire as Pisces clicked his tongue. Her stomach growled again.

Only—that wasn’t a growl. That was the faint crunch of something in the snow. Ceria instantly looked up and began focusing mana into her skeletal hand. She saw Ksmvr grab his bow and an arrow. Pisces sat in front of the fire, oblivious as he nibbled at a dirty fingernail.

“Pisces.”

Ceria kept her voice low as she hissed at him. Pisces took no notice. Ceria was about to snap at him even if it meant warning whatever was approaching when she heard a voice.

“It’s me, Ceria.”

Instantly, Ceria relaxed. Ksmvr lowered his bow as Yvlon approached. The armored woman walked towards the campfire and tiredly slung a pack to the ground.

“Food and another shovel.”

She tossed the shovel on the ground as well, nearly hitting the fire. Pisces looked up and sniffed at the tool. Then he went back to reading.

Yvlon eyed the mage, and then laboriously sat down. She began trying to take off her silver armor, equally dirty from time spent outdoors. Ceria went to help; she’d helped her fellow adventurers more than once and she knew how it was done.

Ksmvr came over too. He sat respectfully away from everyone else, which was probably for the best.

“Comrade Yvlon. Does our team have permission to reenter the ruins tomorrow?”

Yvlon barely paused at Ksmvr’s odd address. She nodded tiredly.

“That’s what the City Runner said. No team wants to go to the ruins; they’re all busy with local requests or getting ready to enter that dungeon in Liscor.”

“I see. That is optimal.”

Ksmvr nodded several times. Ceria’s face didn’t really smile; her lips just sort of twisted. Yvlon was making the same face.

“Apparently, the [Dangersense] surge we felt came from that dungeon. No word on whether something else happened; mages would have gotten a message if something nasty came out.”

“Still. That’s some danger in there if that’s what happened from just opening the front door.”

Ceria muttered as she helped Yvlon take off the breastplate. The other woman nodded.

“More teams are coming down from the northern cities. Big names. Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers are going to have competition if they don’t clear the dungeon soon.”

“Mm.”

Ceria had too many emotions and feelings about the new dungeon to put into words. Yvlon clearly felt the same way, because she didn’t elaborate. Ceria had just finished helping her take off the last of her armor when she exclaimed in annoyance.

“Pisces! Get your hands out of the food!”

The young man paused as he lifted a sausage out of the bag Yvlon had brought. He sniffed at Ceria.

“I am feeding myself, Springwalker.”

“We’ll make food for everyone in a little bit. Your hands are filthy.”

“I am hungry.”

Yvlon didn’t say anything, but Ceria had to seriously stop herself from blasting Pisces with a spell there and then. She modulated her tone only slightly.

“We all are. But we eat and work together as a team. Put the food back.”

Pisces held her gaze for a second, and then made an irritated sound. He tossed the sausage back at the bag and missed. It landed in the dirt next to the fire.

Yvlon twitched. But she didn’t say anything. Ceria counted to five before she picked the dried sausage up and washed it off. A stream of water flowed from her skeletal fingertip and over the sausage, cleaning the dirt off.

“How far did you have to walk to get to the Runner, Yvlon?”

“Four, five miles? She wouldn’t come any closer.”

“Five miles?”

Ceria ground her teeth. Yvlon only shrugged tiredly.

“Makes you wish Ryoka were in the area, doesn’t it?”

It did. City Runners were notorious for refusing to get near monsters or dangerous areas when delivering resupplies to adventurers—they were useful because they could save a day or more of travel, but they charged high prices and inconvenienced the adventurers who had to go and meet them.

“If I’d known you would have had to walk that far in the snow, I’d have sent Ksmvr with you.”

“Then the Runner would have just run away.”

Pisces unhelpfully interjected this as he stared at the bread and other food Ceria had purchased with their dwindling coin. The half-Elf scowled as she pulled out a block of cheese and stared at it.

“I told them half a block of cheese. Who’s taking down messages in that damn building?”

The custom for adventurers was to use the [Message] spell to send requests for gear, supplies, or even potions to the local Mage’s Guild or similar buildings in cities. Depending on the urgency of the request (which naturally raised the price of the delivery exponentially), the guild would deliver the request to the local Runner’s Guild where someone would hopefully fulfill it.

Really, it was a gamble sometimes. Prices were very high for deliveries, but most City Runners didn’t like to take the risk of getting near a hotspot for monsters anyways. And when they did, they often waited far away from the actual requested delivery site, shining bullseye lanterns to let adventurers know they had to come out to pick up their package. And the cost—

“How much do we have left, Yvlon?”

“Do you want the good news or the bad news?”

“Good news.”

“We’ve got one gold coin left.”

Yvlon lifted up the empty money pouch and shook it. Even Pisces looked dismayed at that.

“That’s it? How much did the Runner charge?”

“About average. But we didn’t have that much to begin with, and this was the only way to get the food quickly.”

Ceria ground her teeth as she accepted the money pouch from Yvlon. That was the last of their coin, which meant their future was pretty straightforward.

“We’ve got food for two more days, then. If we can’t find what we’re looking for by then, it’s over.”

Over. Ceria watched her three teammates react differently to the news.

Yvlon had the best reaction. She was a seasoned adventurer and a former Silver-rank team Captain. She just nodded, resigned to the outcome. She didn’t like it clearly; her eyes were tight, but she knew that they had no other choice.

Ksmvr was interesting. He didn’t even look that bothered by the news. He just nodded, and went back to studying the landscape. Didn’t he care? Or did he put all his faith in her decisions? Either way, Ceria would have liked more emotion from him.

And less from Pisces. The young man’s eyebrows snapped together furiously.

“Then what? We just give up?”

“If we have to. We don’t have the coin to keep searching, Pisces.”

“Then what do we do, Springwalker? Do we go back and start taking other requests?”

“Maybe. If we have to. Unless you’ve got another idea?”

Pisces stared at her. He was grumpy, tired, and hungry. In short, he had the exact same mood as everyone else in the group. But he was also annoying, and he never hesitated to make his opinions clear.

“I don’t know if I would wish to continue my association with this group afterwards. I have as of late begun to question the merits of lending my services to this team.”

Yvlon frowned, probably trying to decode Pisces’ comment, and then out of genuine anger. Ceria didn’t rise to the bait. She just nodded.

“Fine. You want to quit? Do it after tomorrow.”

Pisces hesitated.

“Our searching would be much improved if you took my opinions.”

“We tried that. Didn’t work.”

Ceria pulled a knife out of its sheathe at her side. She began slicing the sausage into chunks and getting a meal ready. Ksmvr came over to help her as Pisces scowled and kept talking.

“One mistake hardly disqualifies my methods. We might have found the secret rooms by now if—”

“We didn’t. And we’ve checked a lot of damn places. Drop it, Pisces.”

“I came here under the assumption that we would find—”

“So did we all.”

Yvlon interrupted. She stared hard at Pisces. It was the first time in a while that Ceria remembered the other woman taking an active stance. But even her patience had limits. She glared at Pisces, but the other mage was hardly impressed.

“We all took a risk on this expedition, Pisces. If it fails, it’s no one’s fault. We just had bad luck.”

“Inefficiency, perhaps.”

“You think you could do better than a group of four?”

“If I had undead—”

Yvlon’s brows drew together. Ceria interrupted as she finished squishing some of the cheese into the hard shell of the bread with the sausage.

“If you did, the local Watch would have shot you full of arrows at Esthelm. And even if you got them here, those Shield Spiders would have eaten your leg before your shambling zombies got close enough to pull you out of their nest.”

Ceria glared at Pisces. She was tired of his constant complaints. It hadn’t been bad at first; he hadn’t been annoyed until around day four. But then, it had been another burden to bear. But this last day he had been incessant.

The half-Elf and unhappy Captain of the Horns of Hammerad rubbed at her forehead, searching for a moderately diplomatic response.

“We’re all tired. We’re all frustrated. But only you keep complaining. Why don’t you keep quiet for a while, Pisces?”

Even Ksmvr nodded. He carefully handed the sandwich he’d made to Yvlon. The human woman hesitated, but accepted it reluctantly. She eyed the sandwich and paused for a good few seconds before biting it. Ceria saw Yvlon glance at Ksmvr, but the Antinium didn’t seem to notice.

“Ksmvr. Do you want another sandwich?”

“I will have just cheese on mine if that is acceptable.”

“Fine.”

The Antinium immediately loaded up his sandwich with a double-helping of cheese. Ceria, taking his example, added twice as much meat to hers instead of cheese. Ever since the Antinium had gotten past his allergy to gluten thanks to the magical charm he’d been eating cheese sandwiches almost exclusively.

Pisces hadn’t made a sandwich yet. Ceria began assembling one, even though she privately would have rather made him do it. But then he might eat more than they could afford for the night, so she did it anyways. Pisces observed her working and commented with an acerbic tone as she was nearly done.

“Just so you know, I would never animate zombies to begin with. They are an inefficient use of mana, unless used as immediate shields. Ghouls or skeletons would be—”

“Dead gods, Pisces! Shut up! Just eat and we’ll talk about this tomorrow, alright?”

Her fragile temper snapped. Ceria hurled the sandwich she’d made at Pisces. He stopped the flying food in the air with a hand and an affronted look. But he did shut up.

The food was cold, somewhat hard to chew, and could have benefited from some time near the fire. But all four adventurers were so hungry that they scarfed down the food in seconds. Ceria could have used a second helping, but she knew that was all they could afford to eat.

After that, they just sat around. Miserable. It really was miserable. Everyone stank a bit, but no one wanted to wash in this freezing weather. They were tired and uncomfortable, but at least they’d had something to eat.

It wasn’t so much a spoken word, but sheer exhaustion that made all four begin grabbing their blankets. Ceria shivered even when she wrapped the cold, rough fabric around herself. She moved closer to the fire and saw that Yvlon and Pisces had done the same.

No one talked. Ksmvr neatly unpacked his blanket and then paused. He looked around at the other three, two humans and one half-Elf.

“It appeared that our preparations were decently sound. And our objective had much merit. Our approach was correct, and we have taken many optimal approaches. Yet we have thus far failed to achieve our goals. What went wrong?”

No one had an answer to that. They curled up in their blankets or in Ksmvr’s case, sat with it draped around his body. It was a cold night.

—-

The next day dawned cold and early. Ceria woke up shivering in her blankets. She should have used an ice resistance spell she reflected, but she needed to conserve mana. Plus…she’d never really studied those in Wistram. Ironic, really.

Yvlon rolled out of her bedding at around the same time Ceria got up, and Ksmvr was already awake, if he’d ever slept. Only Pisces snoozed on, incredibly ignoring the cold weather, which suited the others just fine.

“Hot porridge. No spices, no fruits.”

Yvlon handed Ceria a bowl. The half-Elf warmed her good hand as she held the food and shrugged.

“I’ve had worse. Want to look over the map as we eat?”

The young Human woman made an unhappy face.

“I guess so.”

Ceria dreaded looking at the map too, to be honest. It was like staring at a piece of pie held just out of reach. Everything looked perfectly simple at first glance.

See the treasure? See the secret rooms? There’s the treasure. But finding it—

“Okay, we tried digging around the ruined dome building yesterday, but there’s nothing that even remotely resembles the other structures on the map. So we have to assume that area’s lost or completely buried.”

Ceria pointed to a section of the map where a familiar dome-like structure was connected to what she could only see as a secret room. Yvlon nodded as she and Ksmvr stood around the map, staring hard at the places Ceria had marked.

“We have attempted numerous times to visit the second secret location in vain. It may be this section was also already claimed by previous searchers.”

Here was the problem: they had a map. And it was a good one; it showed Albez as it had been, a sprawling city complete with the secret passages and rooms that surely contained treasure. But the map did not reflect current reality.

The three Horns of Hammerad stood on a small bluff overlooking the ruins. Unlike the tidy map of the city, the ruins were, well, a mess.

Dead soil and dried-up vegetation was the landscape that made up Albez’s tomb. But the city itself had not fallen to magic or sword as far as Ceria could tell. It had simply…disappeared into the earth.

Maybe a mudslide had covered it. Or an earthquake had engulfed the city. But it had sunk below the earth, becoming covered by time and dirt until some expedition had uncovered it. Since then, the entire area had turned into a basin filled with half-buried walls and lovely pitfalls that connected a subterranean landscape with the rest of the world. And after all these many hundreds, thousands of years, everything had changed.

Parts of the ruins had shifted in the earth, somehow. Entire passages had moved out of place, and some of the buildings on Ceria’s map were in the wrong places. Worse, some were in the right place as far as she could tell, which made searching even more confusing.

“We know the passage here leads to a secret room. But if we follow it, we get nothing. Just rubble and dirt. We might be able to find the room if we had a team of [Diggers] and [Miners], but we don’t.”

Ceria crossed out another potential treasure site with a bit of charcoal on the map. She eyed the remaining spots they’d pinpointed nearly a week ago. Honestly, it felt like a lifetime. All that hope they’d had had quickly dissipated as they’d gone from spot to spot, digging in the crumbling soil for traces of something they’d never found.

Yvlon squinted at a ragged piece of blue cloth tied to a wooden pole. She pointed.

“We found that marker right around the room marked here. See? I think someone must have claimed that spot.”

That was probably true. Ceria nodded glumly. Searchers often marked their finds with flags or magical signs only they could read in case they’d stumbled onto part of a larger haul.

Ksmvr looked confused. At least, Ceria assumed he was confused. He certainly sounded like it.

“How would someone locate a secret room without a map such as this? Or have other groups obtained similar information sources?”

“Not necessarily. They might have had a [Treasure Hunter]. It’s a rare class, but a high-level one might have had a skill that located a major haul.”

“Are we to assume all the places here have been looted, then?”

Both Ceria and Yvlon shook their heads instantly. If that was the case, they wouldn’t have risked so much on this.

“Even someone with Skills can’t find everything. Especially if the places are guarded. We’ve just been unlucky, or hitting places already searched. We need to go somewhere else today.”

“How about over here? There’s several rooms that belonged to some sort of complex. And a passage here and here…worth a shot?”

Studying the places Yvlon had pointed to, Ceria had to agree that it looked like there was a secret passage over there as well. She nodded.

“I think that spot matches that depression over to the east, don’t you? We’ll head for that after Pisces wakes up, then.”

It took a few kicks for the mage to wake up. He was grumpy when he found only a bit of porridge was left for his breakfast, and even unhappier when he found they’d decided on the next place to search without him.

“I thought adventurers considered all opinions and made informed decisions, rather than rashly coming to conclusion without all input.”

“We’d do that if you woke up earlier. If you’ve got a more likely spot to search, find it.”

He couldn’t, which only made Pisces more grumpy. The Horns of Hammerad struck camp and began cautiously picking their way across the snowy ground towards the ruins, letting Ksmvr take point.

Even as they were moving across the ruins, the group moved slowly, keeping an eye out for anything moving in the snow or strange sounds. Monsters were common around magical sites and the ruins were a known dangerous spot.

However, aside from a nasty run in with a small nest of Shield Spiders, the Horns of Hammerad hadn’t run into many monsters. That bothered Ceria. She didn’t like not having trouble, especially here.

The Horns of Hammerad under Calruz had gone on four different occasions into Albez, looking for treasure like all of the other Silver-rank teams in the area. It was practically a rite of passage; if you could survive Albez, you were ready for harder requests.

But even during the easiest time they’d had here in the past – running into a Mothbear and then a group of Yellow Shamblers – Ceria couldn’t ever remember the ruins feeling this…empty.

She cleared her throat as Ksmvr stopped on top of a slanted block of stone and scanned the area, shortbow in hands. He looked over at her and Yvlon and Pisces stopped to listen.

“Keep your eyes peeled for monsters. We don’t want anything creeping up on us.”

It probably didn’t need to be said again. Pisces certainly snorted and kept walking. But Yvlon and Ksmvr nodded and moved forwards with even more vigilance.

And then they were at the designated search site. Ceria stared down into a collapsed room and tried to compare the dimensions of the rubble to one of the rooms on the map. It was…a rough fit.

“Looks like we should be able to hit another room if we move a few paces up. See?”

The others crowded around the map, trying to find a good point to break into the supposed secret tunnel. It was supposed to lead out of one of the rooms—residential chambers by the looks of them—into another, larger room. It looked exactly like a secret room, in short, but finding that exact spot would be difficult.

By now of course, the four knew what to do. Yvlon and Ksmvr both grabbed a shovel and chose spots apart from each other before they dug down, hoping to hit a stone roof or other part of the building.

Ceria watched them work, keeping an eye out for danger. Part of her optimistic. The other half—

“We will not find anything this way.”

She looked over to her left. Pisces stood with her, staring at Yvlon and Ksmvr with a disgusted expression on his face. On the first day they’d all taken turns digging until their fingers were blistered. Now the stronger two dug until they thought they’d found something, in which case Pisces and Ceria would pitch in.

“You do realize how deep the secret rooms could be?”

“I know. Normally we’d have hired a digging team, we’d have twice as many adventurers and maybe even joined another team. But we don’t have the time for that—and any other group would demand equal shares of the treasure, maybe even try to take it all. And…neither Yvlon nor I have the credibility to persuade anyone to join us, anyways.”

Ceria grimaced. They’d encountered a…bad reception in Esthelm. The other adventurers they’d met had either had words of sympathy or outright contempt and anger for her, but especially Yvlon. All the local adventurers had known someone who’d died in the crypt.

“So instead we have two inexperienced hands and two mages not specialized in earth magic? Hardly better.”

For once, she couldn’t refute his statement. Ceria grimaced.

“We went haring off without a plan. We should have prepared more, planned for this.”

It was the excitement of finding the map. It had overtaken their good sense and made even Ceria and Yvlon ignore their instincts which told them they should have prepared for at least a month and had three times as much coin as they’d borrowed from Erin. But they’d hoped.

Pisces nodded dourly. He had a fresh porridge stain on the neck of his robe.

“I blame myself.”

“Oh, do you really?”

“I should have predicted this outcome. And insisted we use my creations to expedite the process.”

“Pisces. We’ve talked about this.”

“We have. But you have not listened properly as of yet.”

Ceria sighed. She’d gone several rounds with Pisces before, but this time he looked like he had dug his heels in. He was practically impossible to budge in this state.

“You know how Yvlon and I feel about the undead.”

“I know.”

“Summoning the dead is a crime up north unless you have an agreement with the local cities—which you don’t.”

“All true.”

“Well?”

“Without my undead, we will never dig down deep enough. All we will do is unearth previously found structures like we have all week. You need a tireless workforce; I have the means to create one. All that is getting in the way is your distaste.”

It was a rational argument, delivered in a calm, cool voice. It was so like the old Pisces that Ceria had to glance sideways at him.

Yes. If you looked past the dirty hair and clothing, there were traces of the young man she’d known. Still traces. She wavered.

“Still.”

“Springwalker, I can sense the bodies below us. There’s enough for me to animate several skeletons at least. Probably quite a bit more if need be.”

Pisces looked Ceria in the eye like he used to. His eyes were focused on hers, and he had that old intensity, the old half-manic stare of utter determination in his eyes.

“What is more important, Ceria? Your pride or success here?”

That settled it. Ceria closed her eyes and raised her voice.

“Yvlon!”

When the other adventurer came over Ceria explained Pisces’ point in curt words. Yvlon’s face closed off and she looked at Pisces. He returned the gaze steadily.

“Pisces has a point. We kept unearthing emptied ruins. We might have to go deep and we’re out of time. His undead might be our only shot. What do you think?”

The golden-haired warrior looked unhappy. She hadn’t been overtly hostile towards Pisces on the journey, but then, she hadn’t let him summon any undead either. She pushed some of her dirty hair out of the way.

“You are the Captain, Ceria. If you think it’s worth a shot, I’ll put up with it.”

Her tone and stance made it clear that she did not want Ceria to say yes. But Ceria had already made up her mind.

“Okay, Pisces. Do it.”

Pisces nodded. He stood up and raised his hands. He made no audible gestures, and didn’t showboat. But Ceria sensed his mana gathering and probing down below. She shuddered, knowing what he was looking for.

“Ceria? Is he doing anything…wrong?”

Yvlon’s voice was quiet, but her eyes were intent on the half-Elf’s face. Ceria knew how Yvlon had to feel—it wasn’t like either of them had liked undead before the ruins. And now…

“Nothing wrong, at least magically.”

“And you’re sure this is the only way?”

“The best we have. I don’t like it either. You know that. But it’s his main class, Yvlon. He’s a good mage, but he was always best at his passions. As a [Necromancer], he’s powerful. Let him do this once.”

The former Captain’s lips twisted, but she clearly didn’t want to dispute Ceria’s decision in public. She shook her head and planted the shovel in the dirt.

“I’ll stand watch with Ksmvr. If he’s pulling up the dead, we might as well let them work.”

Ceria nodded gratefully, watching as Yvlon picked her way over to Ksmvr. After a few seconds of discussion they walked off to keep a lookout, leaving her with Pisces.

“Rise. Rise from the place where you rest to do my bidding. Claw through stone and dirt to where I stand and obey my orders…”

He was speaking to the earth, his voice lower and audibly infused with the echoing tones of someone casting magic. Ceria shook her head as she sensed the magic leaving him and entering the earth.

“Is that necessary? Can’t you just cast [Raise Dead] and have done with it?”

Pisces shuddered and blinked as he came out of the trance he’d entered to cast the spell. Ceria caught him before he overbalanced and let go immediately. He blinked at her and then nodded once.

It was so…hard sometimes to act normal around him. At least this time Pisces didn’t sniff obnoxiously.

“It’s not that simple when you don’t stick to set spells. You should know that, Ceria. I told you, if you cast a spell the same way each time, you don’t learn anything.”

“Fine. So you improvised. I assume you cast multiple raise dead spells at range?”

“[Raise Skeleton], in point of fact. They are the most cost-effective, or so I’ve found.”

“Oh good.”

Pisces pointed at an area of ground ahead of them.

“There is a considerable group of dead bodies below us. That might indicate a secret room is indeed down there.”

“It might mean it’s already been looted.”

“Perhaps. Or that it was found but never successfully entered. Either way, I have summoned several skeletons that will assist with the digging.”

Ceria stared at the ground. She didn’t see the normal tremors of dirt or hands clawing their way out of the soil that preceded a zombie bursting out to try and eat her face off.

“Something taking them a while? Or did you just tell them to take it easy?”

Pisces scowled at the needling, and Ceria immediately regretted the words. It had been a powerful spell; she could see him sweating a bit in the cold.

“They must find their way up from a considerable distance. A shame you couldn’t remember where the Lich was, Springwalker.”

“You can’t animate a Lich, Pisces.”

“Maybe not from scratch. But if I had the bones of one—”

“You could animate it? Really?”

“Perhaps. I should like to study the spell animating it at least.”

The half-Elf eyed her once friend as he mumbled to himself. He thought he could create a Lich? Or learn the spell to make one?

That was…concerning. A Lich wasn’t the highest-level undead; not by far. But it was powerful. Powerful enough that if Pisces could animate one by himself, he was stronger than Ceria had given him credit for.

“What level are you by now? In your [Necromancer] class, I mean.”

The mage stopped muttering to himself. He turned to stare flatly at Ceria.

“What do you care? Didn’t you tell me last time we parted ways that you never wanted to hear from me again?”

“That was then. Somehow we’ve ended up working together again.”

“Yes. I suppose I should thank Erin Solstice for that.”

“Maybe you should. Or will you curse her for it?”

“I had no objections to working with you, Springwalker. But you were the one who told me you didn’t want to travel with me.”

“Yeah. I did.”

Ceria dearly wished she used a staff like Sostrom used to carry around. True, it was cumbersome, but it would have been so nice to lean on. She contented herself with sitting on a rock.

“I haven’t exactly changed my opinion of necromancy since then. You do know that the undead killed my team, and Yvlon’s? I saw a lot of friends die thanks to them.”

Pisces just shook his head.

“The undead are mindless. Or rather, most are. The ones under my command are not the same as those roving creatures.”

“Some would say there’s not a lot of difference. If you lose control or get killed, they’re still mindless.”

“Only if I don’t realize my goals.”

“Still going on about that? I’d have thought you gave up by now. You certainly don’t seem to have made much progress.”

To her surprise, Pisces grinned rather than grow defensive at her jibe. That made her cautious. But he glanced over at the ground and she heard the sounds of dirt scattering. The first of the skeletons was digging itself out of the ground.

“Oh good. The diggers are here. Get them to work, will you?”

Both Yvlon and Ksmvr watched from their posts as five more skeletons dug themselves out to join the one Pisces had summoned. Two grabbed shovels; the others just got to digging in the earth with their bare hands.

Yvlon turned away as the skeletons with glowing eyes started working. Ksmvr just watched with interest. Ceria took a seat on a rock next to Pisces as they chatted in the cold.

“It seems odd that Ksmvr wouldn’t be a better digger.”

“He was not built for it, Springwalker. He may share the same body, but he clearly lacks the experience.”

“All things to their intended purpose, eh? Surprised to hear you of all people say that.”

“I am not suggesting it is effective. I am simply stating what is. Do not misconstrue my words.”

“…Sorry.”

They sat in silence for a while, watching as the skeletons got to work. They moved with commendable speed in the cold, and despite being weaker than Ksmvr and Yvlon, they were tireless. Ceria already wondered why they hadn’t used them earlier, until she remembered exactly why.

“They look like they’ll get a good way down before the day’s over. Maybe this will work.”

“One can only hope.”

Pisces grunted as he stared at his creations. His stomach growled audibly in the wind. As if in answer, Ceria’s did likewise.

“Isn’t it funny? A few years ago we’d be in the banquet hall, stuffing our faces over a book of spells.”

“True.”

“…Do you miss it?”

“Of course.”

His voice was soft. Pisces stared at his undead, remembering just like she was.

“But it is the past. I gave it up for my passions. There is no use looking back.”

“To you, maybe. I wonder what would have happened if—you were a better mage once, when you didn’t practice Necromancy.”

The words were still bitter and from a dark place inside Ceria. But she couldn’t help them coming out. This time Pisces didn’t snap at her. He just shrugged tiredly.

“Some thought so. But I was a generalist then; a jack of no masteries. Necromancy was ever my passion. I might have had the dregs of popular support, but only that. Who would applaud a mage without a master or a calling?”

“I respected you. So did Mons and a lot of other people.”

“Ah.”

There wasn’t anything he could say to that. Pisces stared at the flying dirt and two skeletons trying to lift a large stone out of a hole they’d dug.

“Mons. Yes. What happened to her? I didn’t hear of another mage joining you when you left Wistram. Did she…?”

“She kept studying in Wistram. Who knows? By now she might be a better [Mage] than you or I.”

“Hah. Perhaps. She certainly knows more spells by now at least.”

They both laughed at that. Then they grew silent. Ceria could sense what was coming, but her tongue kept leading her onwards.

“You know, even if you had become a [Necromancer], it might have all been okay if you hadn’t…”

“I told you, it was to a purpose.”

“But you didn’t even ask permission.”

“I didn’t need it. Cognita said as much. The rules they made—”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Pisces. You spat in their faces and said—”

The other mage cut her off. His face was tight and drawn, and Ceria knew he was reliving the same moment, just like her.

“I…erred. But I did what I thought was best. It is the past, now. Continuing the same argument would be pointless. You fail to understand my position as you have in the past.”

“I guess so. But you have to admit, it didn’t end like you’d hoped.”

“No. It didn’t. I realize that now.”

It was the first time she’d ever heard him admit he’d been wrong. Ceria looked at Pisces in surprise.

“You do?”

Shrug.

“Recent events have given me cause to…regret the ending. That is all.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Neither of us are exactly earning Wistram rates, are we?”

“No. But I was astounded to receive a message from you. I didn’t even know you were still on the same continent. What made you decide to come here?”

“I came to Izril to earn money. To become a better adventurer, since I couldn’t stay in Wistram.”

“Why not Baleros or Chandrar?”

“Too far and too violent. For both, really. I didn’t want to join a Company; I wanted to make my own choices.”

“Hmm.”

Ceria looked sideways at Pisces.

“What about you? Why did you decide to become an adventurer? Didn’t you swear to me you’d pursue your own path?”

“I…need to be a higher level. That’s all.”

“Really? But you won’t level up that much from just casting mage spells.”

“True. But…well, perhaps I’m also looking for something else.”

“What?”

“One last chance.”

“For what?”

He hesitated. Pisces stared at the ground, as the cold wind blew his robes around him.

“To—”

Below them in the ditch they’d hollowed out, one of the skeletons raised its shovel and brought it down on a section of ground. The earth around it collapsed, and the undead disappeared.

The earth rumbled as dirt and stone shifted. Instantly, Ceria and Pisces stepped back, feeling the ground under their feet shift slightly.

“Collapse! Get clear!”

Ceria shouted to Yvlon and Ksmvr as the tremors grew. She stumbled back, looking for safe ground, grabbing Pisces as he tripped after her.

Collapses were a big danger in older dungeons and in places like this. It was all too possible to be swallowed by the earth. Ceria saw Yvlon and Ksmvr running to a large section of stone, hoping to find a safe place on the solid rock. She tried to run after them.

And then, as soon as the horrible rumbling had started, it stopped. Ceria turned shakily and found Pisces getting to his feet. He brushed dirt off of his robes and then turned to stare as well.

“Tree rot. Look at that.”

A huge gaping sinkhole had opened up where the skeletons had been. Ceria could spot two climbing up, but not the other four.

“Trap spell! Get down!”

Pisces shouted it and Ceria immediately dove back into the soil. She saw Yvlon and Ksmvr who’d been running over to them do the same. She turned to look and saw what had alarmed Pisces.

Giant ribbons of flame that writhed and twisted around like snakes were burning around the fallen dirt and stone. The flames weren’t red and orange; these were blue, and already they were melting stone and turning the dirt into smoke that began to billow up from the hole.

“Pisces. Is it aimed at—?”

“No. Let me see.”

The other mage raised his face out of the dirt and focused. Two of his skeletons approached the pit.

“I’ve lost three of my skeletons. Two were incinerated; the other crushed. Last one’s trapped under some dirt. The other two aren’t being targeted—looks like we set off an area trap.”

“Thank flowers for that.”

Ceria sighed and let some of the tension ease out of her body. She’d hoped for something to happen, but she hadn’t expected that.

“We just dug straight into that secret corridor, didn’t we? And by the looks of it, it leads to a [Mage]’s quarters.”

“Looks like it.”

For a second the two mages stared down at the dancing flames. Ceria was already trying to analyze the spell; the amount of mana she could sense in the flames and the way they were instantly burning through the huge amount of stone and dirt in the way told her that it was a seriously powerful spell they’d tripped down there. What Tier? Tier 5? 6?

“Ceria! Pisces! Are you two alright?”

Yvlon’s voice echoed and Ceria realized she and Ksmvr probably couldn’t see what she did. She scrambled to her feet and waved her hand at the two prone forms that were slowly crawling towards them.

“It’s fine! The skeletons broke through the roof of a new area! The falling stones must have set off some of the magical protections. Stay clear, everyone!”

Yvlon and Ksmvr got to their feet. They made their way over to Pisces and Ceria as the two tried to dust themselves off.

“We just heard the rumbling when the earth began to collapse. Good thing we weren’t standing closer.”

“Indeed. That would have most likely resulted in our painful immolation.”

Both humans and the half-Elf fell silent as they stared at Ksmvr. He stared back.

“Unless Pisces or Ceria know powerful anti-flame spells?”

“No.”

“Nope.”

“You’re probably right, Ksmvr. Thank you for sharing that.”

All four adventurers turned their attention back to the pit. Yvlon whistled.

“Those flames are still going? That must be some trap spell. Who were they expecting to kill? Named Adventurers?”

“Ah. It—”

“It’s probably—”

Ceria and Pisces broke off. Both of them had spoken at once. They shared a look and then Ceria explained.

“We hit the binding matrix of the spell. That’s why it’s still going. All the mana is being depleted and it’s not going to recharge after it’s over.”

“Oh. I see.”

Ksmvr looked down into the pit.

“May I ask what the nature of this spell is? It appears to be mainly aimed at close-range magic. Is there any unusual component to it?”

That was what Ceria had been trying to figure out. She rubbed at her chin.

“I’m not sure. That’s some kind of pyromancy trap for sure. But blue flames? It looks like a variation of that [Flame Snake] spell we read about, remember?”

Pisces nodded absently.

“An upgraded version. Clearly evident from the blue flames and extreme heat.”

“Clearly. Probably be practically impossible to block if it suddenly came at us.”

“Indeed. The walls were probably reinforced to avoid sudden escape. Would a trap wall have blocked any retreat?”

“Maybe…”

Yvlon looked at the two mages.

“What’s the verdict?”

Ceria nodded.

“Good. That’s a powerful spell. And it was fresh. No one’s triggered it before or we’d see the scorch marks. There’s a good chance no one’s explored this place before. And best yet—”

“What they’re guarding could be just as valuable.”

Pisces smiled, and so did Yvlon. Ksmvr just moved his jaws slightly.

“This is good, correct? Should we descend once the flames have ceased?”

“Definitely. Get ready everyone! We’re going in!”

Suddenly energized, Ceria began calling more mana into her skeletal hand as she reviewed spells. Yvlon put on a helmet and began swinging her sword lightly. Ksmvr armed himself with the shortsword and knife for close-quarters combat. Pisces recalled his two skeletons.

The mood of the group had completely changed in a few seconds. The pressure of imminent death—but more importantly, the thought that they might have found something truly important—had given them the same burning hope they’d had at the beginning. Ceria could barely contain her eagerness as they waited for the spell to end.

“Don’t go in for at least thirty minutes after the fires have stopped. The heat down there is intense.”

Indeed, the smoking stones were radiating an intense heat that completely ignored the cold air. Ceria was already starting to warm up even far as she was from the sinkhole. Pisces stared down at the entrance to the tunnel, barely able to conceal his excitement.

“I could cast [Frozen Wind] to expedite the cooling process.”

“Save your mana. We don’t know what’s down there. In fact—let’s get started on the trap dummy. I was going to use the mud ball method, but why not one of your skeletons.”

“Right. Let’s.”

Even Yvlon didn’t object as Ceria and Pisces got to work on one of the skeletons. Only Ksmvr was confused. He stared at the two mages as they started handing the skeleton items and muttering about enchantments.

“Excuse me. What is happening?”

Ceria paused as she handed the skeleton a hefty rock to hold. Pisces was busy with a torch he was trying to light.

“Oh. You’ve never seen adventurers entering a trapped dungeon, have you, Ksmvr?”

“No. What is the purpose of equipping the skeleton thusly?”

This time it was Yvlon who explained. She gestured at the skeleton as Ceria cast an enchantment over it. A ball of light hovered around the skeleton’s head, radiating light that added to the flame of the torch in its other hand.

“When we go into dungeons, we’re always wary of traps. They claim more lives than monsters most of the time. If we had a [Rogue] or [Scout] we could rely on their trap-sensing Skills but we don’t have one. And even then, it’s extremely risky for anyone who goes in first. Most of the adventurers who take point—don’t survive.”

Ceria nodded grimly. She’d buried more friends than she cared to remember who’d gone in and received the business end of a trap or monster’s claw. Yvlon had the same expression as she continued.

“So. We find ways to trigger traps beforehand. One common way is to shoot an arrow at an obvious tripwire or pressure plate, but a lot of traps are magical. So adventurers will roll something down a suspicious corridor—we use mud balls if we can’t use anything else. But a lot of traps have more sophisticated sensors.”

“Hence using the undead. They might not trip detection for living beings, but by giving them a heat source and the weight of a normal adventurer, this one will probably trigger most traps. And the magical enchantment also activates a lot of sensors.”

Pisces explained as he made the skeleton walk towards the edge of the unearthed corridor. Ceria nodded.

“Hopefully we’re not dealing with an experienced trap maker. If this is a mage’s personal quarters—well, they’re pretty bad at differentiating the activation mechanism for spells. We might get all the traps this way.”

“Excuse me. I am confused once again. I thought this was a dungeon. What was this about a personal mage’s quarters?”

“It’s…hard to explain, Ksmvr. We say ‘dungeon’, but that doesn’t mean this place was originally built underground. I think Albez was actually a city that sunk into the ground over thousands of years.”

“Oh. I see.”

The Antinium considered this.

“So we are, in fact, likely breaking into a deceased individual’s personal quarters?”

Ceria, Pisces, and Yvlon looked at each other.

“Pretty much.”

“Hopefully.”

“Or a treasury owned by a guild or rich person. Those are always nice.”

“Then why all the traps? The spell we just witnessed seemed excessive?”

Ceria shrugged.

“Paranoia. It’s usually because people have something important they don’t want stolen. And a powerful mage around Level 50? They’d have a lot of enemies, a lot of artifacts and valuables over the years. Their homes tend to turn into miniature gauntlets by the time they die.”

Yvlon nodded.

“In some cases, the protections are justified. Consider what powerful items a mage might own? On the other hand, artificial dungeons—ones that people make for the exclusive purpose of guarding something really rare—are the worst. This is more like a few private wards on a home. But dungeons designed to kill a huge number of invaders? Those are real deathtraps.”

“Indeed? How so?”

Ksmvr barely had to get the others started. Even Pisces had stories of the horrors adventurers had found in ruins.

“I heard in one dungeon the creators placed an invisible poison mist trap at the entrance. So while the adventurers were clearing the dungeon they were slowly dying. Hundreds of teams would go in without problems, but none ever came out.”

“What about the acid showers? Did you hear about that? It triggered five hundred meters in and flooded each corridor. If it didn’t have such a long reset time it would have wiped every team that went in there.”

“I heard of one mage who just teleported the people in the trap into a pit in the middle of bedrock. They had no way out and they’d just starve to death.”

“I heard of that one too! The [Miners] who eventually located the trap—didn’t they find some adventurers still alive in there? They’d eaten all their friends and were living off their boots.”

“That’s just a myth. No one would have the air to survive down there.”

“I heard they had a charm.”

“True, but even so—”

Bemused, Ksmvr glanced around at the others.

“You seem unusually upbeat for such a dire circumstance we might be facing ourselves.”

“That’s part of what being an adventurer is, Ksmvr. We risk everything, so we might as well chuckle a bit in case the worst does come true.”

Ceria laughed. Even Yvlon grinned at the Antinium.

“We’re building morale before we enter. Don’t worry—we’re all nervous. But it’s better to tell jokes than to wait in silence.”

Ksmvr considered this, and then nodded.

“I shall learn from this experience. Thank you for explaining it to me.”

That was weird, but it just made the others laugh harder. Because it was weird and they were about to enter a place where they might die. Soon, Ceria judged the hole to be cool enough to enter, and after sending the skeleton in first, the others slid down the melted rock and entered the abandoned tunnel.

—-

“Okay, that was a nasty arrow trap. Pisces, you’re walking in front from now on.”

Ceria eyed the deadly poison-tipped bolt that had neatly passed through the skeleton’s ribs and shattered on the far wall. She didn’t even want to touch the arrow in case all of it was toxic.

Pisces shook his head. He pointed and the skeleton obediently trotted forwards again.

“I will stay behind the two warriors, thank you. They have armor. I do not.”

“You have that ring. It probably would have saved your life.”

Ceria watched as the skeleton advanced fifteen more paces into the darkness and rounded a bend. The tunnel they’d found was long and winding and this was the second trap they’d run into. The first one had been an easily-triggered trap that had unleashed the dreaded spray of acid when Ksmvr had fired an arrow at it. The second the skeleton had triggered and Ceria was only concerned there might be more.

Several hours had passed since the Horns of Hammerad had entered the tunnel. Despite that, they’d gone less than eighty paces. This was due to the excruciating care all four were taking to check for traps every inch of the way.

All of them had long sticks they used to poke at the wall, ceiling, and floor, and Pisces regularly sent his other two skeletons ahead to stomp or bang on walls in hopes of triggering something. Even when they thought it was safe, the Horns of Hammerad went in line, one at a time, letting Ksmvr or Yvlon go forwards a good ways before the others cautiously caught up.

“The tunnel can’t be that much longer. The map shows it leading to a good-sized space ahead, right?”

Ceria didn’t even have to look at the map in her pack. She nodded.

“That’s right. Hopefully we get there by tonight. Otherwise…we could set up camp there.”

Again, it was Yvlon who had the calm acceptance of this fact; she’d probably expected that to begin with, and Ksmvr who deferred instantly to her leadership. But Pisces scowled.

“Camp here? But this corridor is wide open! We should endeavor to get to the end before nightfall—I don’t want a monster cornering us in here.”

“Better that than rushing, Pisces.”

The scowl Ceria gave Pisces was returned with equal value. She hated how he balked at every decision she made. She knew he was eager—she remembered the same feeling and even the same conversation. But she’d seen what happened when they rushed.

Pisces clicked his teeth together as Ceria replied.

“We don’t risk anything. Even if it means two days—even if we had to leave this place and come back with supplies rather than risk going in without moving safely, I’d do it. As it is, we’re still way too close to the trap radius if we hit something large. We’re risking a lot as it is, Pisces. I won’t just walk us into death.”

He clicked his teeth together a few more times, clearly upset. But then Pisces sighed.

“Very well. I defer to your experience.”

That surprised Ceria; she’d been sure he would have fought her more on this.

“Really? Good.”

“Yes, well—”

Pisces paused and clicked his teeth again. This time Yvlon scowled at him.

“Would you stop doing that? It’s distracting?”

“Me? I’m not doing that. I thought Ksmvr—”

They all looked at the Antinium. He whirled. His mandibles opened as the clicking suddenly grew louder and they all realized it wasn’t coming from them.

“Attack!”

Something hurtled out of the darkness and knocked the trap-finding skeleton to the ground. Ceria caught a glimpse of whirling scythe-like legs, biting mandibles and pinchers, as she pointed.

“[Ice Spike]!”

She fired the spell at the same time Pisces threw a ball of fire. The spells did not comedically connect and miss—first Ceria’s ice spike blasted into the creature, hurling it backwards, and then Pisces’ flaming ball of magic struck the skeleton. The splatter of flames didn’t touch the creature, but it did illuminate it.

Ceria saw long, almost spider-like legs coated in armor, and a squat, elongated form. But this was no shield-spider. It had too many legs, and barbs on those legs. And it was…dripping. The red and purple carapace and exposed internal organs shifted as the creature opened a maw with rows of circular teeth. It crunched the piece of skeleton it had bit off as more emerged from the darkness.

“Aw hell! Crelers!”

Ceria screamed the words as she pointed at more Crelers. The small creatures scuttled around the corridor, leaping for the adventurers, trying to claw, bite, dig their way through their enemies.

“Cover me!”

Yvlon rushed forwards, sword slicing down at the lead Creler. Her blade battered the creature down, but even her sharp steel could only cut through the exposed organs of the creature. The rest—hard chitin and other bone-like substances—was too strong and the creature tried to scuttle up Yvlon’s leg.

“Perish.”

Ksmvr used his three arms as the other two Crelers came towards him. He grabbed one, ignoring the sharp edges that tore into his hand and began slicing with the other two weapons in his possession. Like Yvlon he couldn’t immediately cut the creature in two, but he had the leverage to slowly pierce the creature’s body with his blades as he sawed at it.

The other Creler tried to jump onto Ksmvr’s back, but Ceria blasted it off with a precise spell. She covered the other two, launching rapid [Ice Spikes] that despite throwing the Crelers back, failed to inflict crucial damage.

“Springwalker! Behind!”

Ceria dove out of the way. Pisces raised his hand, and a gust of icy air froze the Creler that had leapt at him. It fell to the ground, stunned, and a skeleton rushed over. It began to stomp.

All three skeletons were fighting, Ceria saw. They’d grabbed stones and were trying to crush the Crelers to death. But they were almost all blades and sharp edges. You had to have a mace—Calruz had killed most of them himself with his axe!

“Freeze them, Ceria!”

She heard Pisces yell, but then a Creler was jumping at her face. Ceria jerked backwards, and the razor-mouth stopped a foot in front of her face as she seized it with her skeletal hand. Instantly, the Creler tried to bite through her bone and Ceria reacted.

“Die, damn you!”

It wasn’t so much as spell as concentrated ice magic. Instantly, the air around her hand froze and Ceria felt the extreme cold as her skeletal hand froze the Creler in her grasp. It screeched and writhed, but she refused to let go. The monstrosity’s legs and claws waved about, threatening to score her flesh even as she held it far away as possible. But after five seconds it stiffened up and died, frozen to death in her grasp.

Shaking, Ceria let go. But she didn’t have time to wait. She spun and began blasting the Crelers trying to swarm Yvlon’s armor. The other woman took the impacts as [Ice Spikes] deflected off her armor—she hurled a Creler to the ground and stepped on it to an accompanying shriek.

Ceria ran forwards and blasted a Creler with an [Ice Spike] dead on. This time the force of the impact broke the creature; it collapsed, several legs breaking off its body as yellow slime exited the wounds. Ceria shuddered and spun, searching for another target.

In another second it was over. Pisces threw fire onto the last Creler being held down by his skeletons and Ksmvr finished smashing the second one with his enchanted iron blade. The Crelers twitched and made bubbling sounds where they lay, but they were too far dead to move.

Ceria stumbled backwards, gasping as sweat poured down her face and the exertion of using so much magic caught up with her. She grabbed onto Yvlon and the other woman stumbled.

“Yvlon. Did they get you?”

The golden-haired Captain was also gasping for air, but she shook her head.

“They didn’t get into my head. Think some cut into my breastplate, but didn’t get my skin.”

“Sorry about the [Ice Spikes]. Did I hurt you or pierce your armor?”

“A few dents. I’m okay. Thanks.”

Ceria nodded. She could have pierced Yvlon’s armor and killed her if the [Ice Spike] spells had been at closer range or hit a weak joint. But better that then let a Creler at Yvlon’s exposed head. It would have chewed its way into her armor through the stump of her neck in second.

“Well, that explains why we haven’t run into more monsters or undead recently. Crelers.”

“Dead gods.”

The two women looked over at Ksmvr and Pisces. Pisces was unharmed, if pale and shaken, but Ksmvr had been wounded. They went over to look.

“It is nothing. My hand is lacerated in several places, but Pisces has bound the injuries. It will heal.”

“Are you sure?”

Ceria peered at the already green-stained bandage Pisces had wound around Ksmvr’s hand. The Antinium nodded.

“I am fine.”

“Crelers have toxins in their bites and claws—”

“It will not affect me. Thank you for the concern.”

“Dead gods, Ksmvr! I’ve never seen anyone hold a Creler down to kill it! Are you insane?”

“I just fought as the Antinium do against them. I am relieved they were only small.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Pisces, you alright?”

“I—I hate those things.”

Pisces shuddered as he stared at a twitching Creler. Ceria nodded. So did Yvlon. And Ksmvr.

“Dead gods. Crelers. Just imagine if there had been a few more—”

“Those skeletons saved us. The Crelers went for us, but they held them away. Got chewed up. Look at that one—”

“Shh. Shh. Are there any more around?”

At once everyone fell silent. Ceria listened to her racing heartbeat, but Ksmvr shook his head.

“This group we awakened, but there are no more nearby. But the evidence is clear; there is a nest nearby.”

He indicated the dying Crelers on the ground. A skeleton had seized a rock and was industriously smashing each one to bits.

“These are in their first stage of life. If an adult Creler were in our proximity it would already have attacked. I recommend immediate extermination.”

“Exterminate? A nest?”

Pisces looked at Ksmvr in horror, but the Antinium only nodded. He was deadly focused.

“They are a threat. A menace. If they remain here unchecked, some will grow to adult size. That cannot be allowed to happen.”

Ceria completely agreed, but she didn’t want to be the one to hunt Crelers.

“Normally we get a bounty for reporting them in. Hunting a nest—plague fungus, I don’t want to think about that, Ksmvr. There’s a big bounty on them, true, but—”

“I believe there will not be more than this number. And they would be in their larval form rather than their attack form.”

Yvlon cleaned her blade, staring at a Creler claw that kept twitching.

“Might be doable, Ceria. One good thrust kills them if they’re in their larvae form. We take them by surprise—”

“No! Have you seen what they can do to flesh?”

Pisces was pale, shaking. Ceria looked at him, and then Ksmvr.

“I think Ksmvr’s right, Pisces.”

“What?”

“Do you want a bunch of Crelers at our back if they get hungry or wake up? If we keep going they might hit our backs at the worst moment. We’ve gotta take them out.”

“I—fine. Fine. But the skeletons go first!”

Their group moved on. It took only a few seconds for them to round the corridor and spot the part of the wall that had been tunneled out for Crelers to climb out of. It was a big hole that lead to another naturally forming bubble in the earth. And there they found….

“Dead gods.”

Yvlon whispered it as the four adventurers and three skeletons crept into the heart of a Creler nest. In fairness, it was a tiny one, but Ceria spotted no less than eight Crelers in their larval, incubating stage.

When they weren’t all exposed organs and vicious, lacerating limbs and teeth, Crelers looked like horrible, fat, red caterpillars glowing faintly from within. Inside their semi-translucent ‘skins’, Ceria could see yellow lines and discolored organs moving around within. They were growing. Just as Ksmvr said, if they were allowed a few months and food, they might turn into adults, the nightmares even Gold-rank teams didn’t want to fight.

One of the Crelers was on the wall nearest to Ceria. She edged further into the nest, trying not to move or even breathe. Yvlon tiptoed forwards, face a mask of disgust, sword ready.

The glistening, translucent red sack oozed slowly towards them, drawn by the smell of their meat and blood. Ceria held her breath. Any sudden movement might alert them all. They had to be killed before they could turn themselves inside out and move into the deadly attack form.

She held up three fingers so the others could see and began counting down. Pisces’ skeletons stood at the ready, rocks in hand and Yvlon raised her sword, aiming at the nearest Creler.

“Now!”

Instantly, Ksmvr stabbed two blades into the Crelers he was nearest to. Pisces threw fire at another, screaming curses as Yvlon stabbed hers. The Crelers reacted, making horrible gurbling sound as their fleshy outer red sacs tried to pull back and expose their vicious innards. But it was too late.

In their softer forms they were far weaker to attack. Ceria shot an [Ice Spike] into one Creler and watched blood and its yellowish guts explode inside the balloon of its body. The three skeletons smashed their Crelers with rocks, hammering with feverish frenzy as yellow juices splattered everywhere.

Ultimately, only two managed to transform into their attack modes and they were swiftly smashed by Yvlon’s gauntleted boot and one of Pisces’ skeletons with a rock. Ceria stood with the others, panting as she watched the skeleton repeatedly hammer the twitching Creler until it was in pieces.

“Let’s never do that again.”

Ceria panted as she and the others walked out of the nest. Yvlon and Pisces nodded, and even Ksmvr shuddered a bit as he wiped his blades clean. No one liked fighting Crelers. An underground dungeon full of deadly traps and the possibilities of cave-ins was one thing, but Crelers?

Not Crelers.

—-

“That’s the door.”

Ceria whispered it triumphantly as she and the others peeked around the last corner in the tunnel. It felt like forever had passed, but they’d gone no further than twenty paces looking for traps—it seemed time had triggered another one by the smooth melted parts of the wall and scorch marks—and seen the door.

It was a plain, wood door, innocuously set against the frame of the dark stone. Ceria didn’t trust it one bit. It could be an illusion, a trap, any number of things. But upon trying the handle the skeleton had only rattled the doorknob futilely. It had even tried to bash the door in, to no effect.

“Just a magically enchanted door? I’m not buying it.”

“Well, it could be laced with any number of traps. We’ve got to either knock it down or open it some other way. But if we’re in the line of fire—”

“Cast spells at it from range?”

“Could work. My [Ice Spike] spell might do some damage.”

“It’s the best option we’ve got for long distance. Unless you picked up a better spell, Pisces?”

“No. Do it.”

Ceria nodded. She poked her finger around the corner as the others moved back, shielding herself against the wall. The trap skeleton watched impassively as it stood next to the door, a casualty to whatever was about to happen.

Okay. [Ice Spike] and then get ready to run if need be. Ceria took a deep breath, and then cast.

“[Ice Spike]!”

The magical dagger of ice shot from her fingertip and broke against the door. Ceria tensed along with the others, but nothing happened. Slowly, they relaxed.

“Maybe just fortifications?”

“Probably. How’s the corridor?”

“Skeleton’s gone over it three times.”

“I volunteer to test it.”

“Ksmvr, don’t be silly—”

“We have been sitting here for an hour. We must try something. Allow me.”

“Wait—”

Yvlon reached for him, but the Antinium stepped out into the corridor. He paused, but no spell came. Slowly, he walked over to the door.

“Nothing. I shall attempt to break it.”

He raised his enchanted sword and stabbed it into the wood. The door resisted the blow, just as it had the [Ice Spike]. And it didn’t trigger a counterspell.

“What is your opinion?”

Ksmvr returned to the others as they conferred. Ceria pulled at her hair, trying to figure out if this was a devilishly clever trap, or just a door made to last forever.

“It might only activate once we break through.”

“Possible, possible.”

“We need to get near, Pisces. We’ll analyze it at close range, and then back away and try from a distance, okay?”

He nodded. Ceria and Pisces exchanged a glance, and then all four Horns of Hammerad crept towards the door.

Nothing happened. They sighed in relief, but Ceria warned Yvlon and Ksmvr.

“Okay, we’re just going to inspect the spell binding the door. If it’s a high-Tier enhancement spell, well, we might have to find another way in. Break through the rock maybe. But don’t touch it until we’re done, okay?”

The other two nodded and readied themselves. Ceria looked at Pisces, and then they reached out and magically inspected the door. Both frowned at around the same time.

“Odd. Look at how delicate this enchantment is, Pisces.”

He nodded as he traced the shimmering symbols and magical currents only they could see.

“Indeed. This is not ordinary reinforcement. There is a trap here. But what’s the trigger?”

The magic shimmered in front of Ceria. Or rather, not shimmered. It was impossible to describe how the magic looked to her with mere words. It was feeling as much as anything else. She delicately looked at the magic, and felt something odd.

“Is it…shifting?”

It was. The stationary spell was moving, reacting. Ceria’s heart immediately skipped a beat and she stood up to back away from the door. Yvlon lifted her shield instantly.

“What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

“Oh no. Oh—it’s reacting to us looking at it. Run! Ru—”

She’d just turned when something whined and engulfed her. Ceria blundered forwards, and then crashed into something which broke.

Bones.

A skeleton? Pisces’ creation?

No. Not Pisces’ skeleton. Bones. Piles of bones.

Ceria looked around. They were in a pit. A pit with filth all over the walls. Yvlon, Ksmvr, Pisces—not the skeletons. They looked around, scrambling to get up.

“What happened?”

“We were teleported! A trap! Get ready!”

Ceria whirled around, looking for movement, a deadly spell, a monster, anything. But she saw nothing.

Then something glowed. She turned and saw something on one of the walls. It was…flickering at her. She stared at it. A word? Writing?

No. A magical rune. Ceria instantly tried to look away, but it was too late. She’d already seen it! She tried to close her eyes, but—

“Nothing?”

She stared around. Nothing had happened. She looked over at Ksmvr. He was staring at the magical words. Then he looked at her.

“Ksmvr? Are you okay?”

He hesitated. Then the Antinium nodded. And then he shook his head.

“What?”

He paused.

“I—I am an Aberration. No. I am Antinium.”

“What do you mean? Aberration? Ksmvr?”

He hesitated.

“I—I—I—I—”

He kept repeating the word. Ceria stared at him. Was something wrong? But that was how Ksmvr always acted, wasn’t it? Yes? No?

Why was she talking to an Antinium?

Suddenly, someone grabbed her from behind. Ceria screamed and turned, but it was only Pisces. He stared at her, eyes furious.

“Pisces, what’s wr—”

“What are you doing in bed, boy?”

He screamed the words at her, spittle flying, face red. Ceria jerked backwards, but Pisces had a death-grip on her. He shouted in her ears.

“Fencing practice begins at dawn! Get moving, and I swear, if you shirk I’ll tan your back!”

Something was wrong. Something was right. Ceria knocked Pisces’ hand away and scrambled backwards. She looked around. Yvlon. What was a Yvlon?

“Who are you?”

She was looking down the tip of a sword. A tall, blonde woman stared down at Ceria, chin tilted imperiously upwards as she aimed the sword at Ceria’s nose.

“Explain this uncouth behavior at once. What have you done with me?”

“You? What are you—Yvlon?”

“Ylvon? That is my niece, child. I am Yenelaw Byres, and I demand to know what you have done. What sorcery is this?”

“I don’t know. I—”

Ceria hesitated. Something was wrong. Something was right. Wrong. Right. When two wrongs make a right, who was the shipwright?

“Get moving!”

Pisces howled at Yvlon, pointing his finger at her. She shifted her sword to him and he danced back, suddenly on guard.

“Oh? Angry, are you? Testing me? You’ll have to do better than that, brat.”

“I am Yennais Bryres. Who, pray, are you?”

“I—I—I—help me—I—I—”

Ksmvr was clutching at his head. Pisces and Yvlon were shouting at the same time. Someone had to do something! Ceria opened her mouth, but then realized something dreadful.

I’ve forgotten how to breathe.

She had to tell the others. But she couldn’t breathe! Ceria scrabbled at her throat. She’d tear it out! Then she’d be able to breathe through the hole!

Ksmvr stumbled over to her, head in his hands. Her hands?

“i reJEct. aBErRation Is NoT—I am Antinium. I ReFUSE. i—”

Pisces tapped Ceria on the shoulder. She gasped for air and then stared in horror at the man-sized Creler wearing dirty robes.

“Fencing is a noble art, young man. Don’t you agree? Well, we shall see you master the forms or you will go without dinner tonight.”

A butterfly made of steel turned to Ceria and opened its mouth into Erin’s smiling face.

“What am I doing here? Answer me! You there in the frock!”

She had to do something. Stab them! Stab herself! Didn’t she have a skeleton somewhere around here?

Ceria reached for a dagger, but she’d forgotten what her hands were too. She stared at the pulsating flesh-thing on her hand and tried not to scream. Her palm opened up, and little eyes with twig-like legs started crawling out of the hole in her body.

Everything was normal. That was it. Her head twisted—almost of its own volition and stared around the dark room.

What was that on the wall? It had flashed in her mind so quickly she hadn’t had time to read it. As the rest of the world melted away, Ceria saw the shining light again. This time she understood it perfectly.

[Insanity].

The word was insanity, written in magic, pulsating into Ceria’s brain. She smiled at it and then threw up. Her vomit turned into dancing little bugs which tried to eat her until she smashed them with her feet.

Of course.

It all made sense.

3.03

Some call me a messenger. Others call me a barefoot runner. And crazy. Some call me a deliverer…of messages. A few people know me as [batman]. I think of myself as reasonably sane, but most people disagree. They have a lot of names for someone like me. But the little monster blocking my way just barks.

Dogs. I hate them so much. The mangy dog with off-white fur and brown spots barks again, showing his teeth. There’s a definite growl in his tone—he’s not just warning me, he’s telling me he will attack given an opportunity.

That’s fine. If he goes for me I’m kicking him and damn the consequences. I’ve always wanted to kick a dog. I’m not an animal hater, I’m just a dog hater.

Consider my position. I, Ryoka Griffin, am standing in the snow a few miles out from the lovely city of Celum, holding a small wrapped package in my hands as I face down a dog blocking the way towards a house. It’s not my fault I’m here; I’m on a delivery. And I don’t want to get bitten.

I’ve been bitten by dogs before. Twice, in fact. Both times while I was running. Back home, in my world that is, some people like to think their dogs don’t need a leash. I respect their opinion, and invite them to share it with the local animal control officer. Dogs who aren’t on leashes chase moving objects like me. And they bite.

Maybe it’s just my genetics, or something in me the dogs don’t like. Or maybe it’s because I’m often a sweaty, adrenaline-filled unknown threat invading their perceived personal space at high speed that triggers their instincts to chase and attack. I don’t know. But all I know is that every person who runs hates loose dogs.

Plus, I’m a barefoot runner. That means I’m even more anxious about bites, because I have what is for all intents and purposes, ten bite-sized snacks for a dog to rip off. The same problem goes for my hands, although I only have eight available snacks for a dog to chew on. A Goblin bit two of my fingers off a week ago. Fun story. I’m not keen to repeat it.

The dog barks at me again, and this time growls loudly. I hold still, meeting his eyes as he crouches, hackles bared. He’s in my way. I need to get to that house to deliver my package, but the owner hasn’t come out and I think shouting will make the dog run at me. So. What do I do?

Kick the dog. That’s what about 90% of me wants to do. The other 10% is arguing that the dog is only defending his home and he’s innocent and that I should practice restraint. I’m not inclined to listen to that opinion, but a fight in the snow against a dog isn’t what I want right now. He’s not a big dog; that is to say, not as big as a mastiff or a great dane, but he’s not a poodle either.

He’s just a dog. He deserves mercy.

But I really want to kick a dog. He’s going to try and bite me the instant I move. Kick first, ask questions later.

And if I kick him, I’ll have to hurt him badly which won’t go down well with the owner. Not a good idea.

On the other hand, he, or possibly, she, is in clear violation with my longstanding agreement with nature* and I have no desire to find out if he has rabies. I’m still not sure if healing potions have the ability to cure diseases.

*The Ryoka-Nature Accord reads as follows: Get in my way and I will kill and eat you.

This is how my day starts. On the whole, I’ve had better days.

“Hark! ‘Tis a mutt and a lying Human-thing!”

“Girl versus dog! As good as girl versus Dragon! Will there be more riddles?”

And my day just got worse. I glance up as I hear the familiar, high-pitched voices from overhead. Spiraling down out of the grey skies overhead, small, winged creatures laugh and point at me and the dog.

I guess you could say they look like small versions of Humans, scaled down, painted blue and given wings. But that would completely, utterly fail to describe these beings. Because they are faeries. The fae. And they cannot be compared to us so easily.

Yes, the Frost Faeries or Winter Sprites as they are known look humanoid. But their bodies are part crystal, part ice. And they have wings, but they are closer to an insect’s set of wings than an angel’s. And in every facet of every line that makes up their beings, they are breathtakingly beautiful.

Not just beautiful; otherworldly. To look at the Frost Faeries is to believe in magic, because that is the whole of what they are. Even as I watch, they fly around me, laughing and speaking in voices that are also part real, and partly immortal.

“Look, sisters! The dog defends its home!”

“Let’s eat it!”

“Nae, let us give it a charge! The power to destroy any invaders!”

“Are there any cats?”

They fly around me and the dog, poking, throwing snow into my eyes and raining it on the poor mutt. Oh yeah. I sometimes forget, but the faeries helpfully remind me—immortal wonders they might be, but they’re also annoying as hell.

Only, in this case the faeries’ arrival has an unintended benefit. The dog takes one look at the faeries and runs yipping into the house. I don’t know if he can see the Frost Faeries—they’re pretty much fuzzy blobs to anyone in this world thanks to the magic they wield—but he knows better than to stick around where they can get to them.

I’m not so lucky. The faeries fly around me, laughing, calling me names, teasing me. Some land on my hair which immediately freezes stiff, and others throw snow at my eyes. One drops a frozen beetle on my head.

I think they like me. I’ve experienced them not liking me, and this is still preferable. But it is annoying. I curse and swat at them with my injured hand. The one with three fingers.

“Get lost! I’m working!”

“Ooh! Scary! And what if we don’t?”

“Yes, threaten us! What would ye do?”

The faeries know I can’t back up any threats, so I don’t bother making them. I sigh and take my hand away from my belt. I had been grasping another bottle with my finger on the cork while facing down the dog. If kicking didn’t work I was going to hit it with a potion full of eye-destroying pepper concentrate, although that would have been animal cruelty.

I can hear the dog that fled inside the house barking in fear, and now he pokes his head out the half-open door he first charged out at me from. The faeries throw snow at him and he whines in fear, but, credit where credit is due, he still doesn’t want to leave me alone.

“Barky!”

A young voice shouts from inside the house. The door opens wider, and now a girl runs out. She’s maybe eight or nine, and the dog anxiously runs out after her, circling around her. The girl takes no notice of the faeries, but stares at me.

“Who’re you? Are you trying to hurt Barky?”

Instantly I regret my kicking-dog thoughts. A bit. The little girl stares at me with big, round eyes that creep me out.

“What are you here for?”

“I’m a Runner. Are your parents around?”

“A Runner?”

She looks doubtful, so I reach into my pouch and pull out a small Seal of my own. The magic metal and stone forged into a circle glints as I show it to the girl. It’s proof I’m a City Runner; without it she would be right to be nervous.

“A Runner!”

“That’s right. I have a delivery for your father. Is he here?”

“No—but I have a Seal! I’ll go get it!”

The girl runs inside the house. The dog takes one look at us and runs in after her. The faeries and I wait as I shift from bare foot to foot in the snow. After a few seconds the door opens again and the girl runs out.

“Here, Miss Runner!”

“Thanks.”

I hand the package over to the girl. She takes it carefully; it’s bulky and wrapped heavily. I have no idea what’s in it, but at least she won’t drop it.

“Alright then, take care.”

“Goodbye Miss Runner!”

The girl beams at me, and the dog barks. I try to smile; fail. Then she looks at my feet and gasps.

“Aren’t your feet cold?”

I look down at my bare feet. They’re resting in the snow which practically covers them, melting the cold ground, but I barely feel a thing. I grin at her.

“Nope. I’ve got magic feet.”

“Really?”

She gapes at me, and I make tracks before she can ask any questions. The dog barks a few more times as I leave, but I’m willing to give him that. So long as he doesn’t chase after me. I check my shoulders a few more times, but he stays with the girl.

Good dog. The faeries on the other hand aren’t quite so well behaved.

“Hah! The waif has a loyal dog! Like the king and the Hound of Culann!”

“What was that she said? Magic feet?”

“How? Where did ye get them, mortal!”

“Yes, explain! Explain!”

They begin jumping up and down on my head as I pick up speed. I try to ignore them.

Despite the cold air and deep snow, I barely feel the chill as I run away from the farmhouse that I was making a delivery to. In the distance, the relatively tall walls of Celum beckon me. It’s just past dawn and I’ve got more deliveries to make. And I’ll make them in record time thanks to—

“Explain!”

Someone pulls at my hair and I grit my teeth.

“Stop that! I don’t have magic feet. I drank some soup, okay? Magic soup.”

“Oh.”

The tiny voice on top of my head sounds disappointed. So do the rest of the faeries. I guess magic soup isn’t as cool as magic feet. But then I hear another voice.

“I want to try some.”

“Me too!”

“Give us the soup, Human!”

“The soup! The soup!”

They begin harassing me again. I try not to pay attention as I run back towards the city.

Magic soup. Yeah.

Did I mention I was in another world?

—-

After the dog incident, I make good time running back to Celum. It’s not as if I was that far away from the city, and I only had two more deliveries to make in the outer suburbs.

Fun fact: unlike the Drake cities to the south, Human cities may have walls, but their actual population likes to live outside the walls in lovely suburbs that nestle right up against the walls in some places. It’s that old medieval-style method of building that allows cities to house a much larger population. If monsters attack, people just run inside the walls until they’re gone and rebuild if they have to.

I wonder how well that worked in Esthelm. Given that the entire city was pretty much razed, I’m guessing there might be a teeny flaw in this system.

But it’s not my job to give architectural advice to people. In fact, the only words I speak are when people open their doors.

“Do you know how early it is? Who’re you?”

“I’m a Runner with a delivery. Do you have a Seal?”

“What? You’re a Street Runner?”

“City Runner. I’m doing local deliveries. Do you have a Seal?”

“That’s…quick. Normally we get messages late.”

“So I’ve been told. Your Seal?”

Eventually I get the Seal and hand the letter over to the person at the door and run away. That’s what my job is all about. The talking and dodging dogs—that’s the worst part. I’m just in it for the running.

Too bad everything seems to get in my way. Of course, that’s my unbiased opinion; what could be more important than me delivering letters to people? Guardsmen on patrol? Merchants and farmers with their wagons?

Bah. All of that is less important than the almighty Runner. I dodge and weave around pedestrians, run down less-crowded back alleys and avoid the hell out of any carts rumbling down the wet streets, all the while being followed by my annoying entourage of faeries.

I must admit, for all I hate their fascination with me, they do help clear the crowds. In this world, the Frost Faeries are simply known as strange creatures that help bring the winter each year. Because they can’t be heard and barely be seen by the people here, they’re generally treated like natural hazards to be avoided at all costs.

Too bad I can see them. I’m still not sure why, but that’s led to me striking up an odd relationship up with the faeries. Namely, they annoy me and follow me about hoping I do something entertaining.

Like slip. I windmill my arms, but I still smack hard into the ground. The faeries—and some of the Humans walking by—chuckle, but I get back to my feet without a word and keep running. I swear that ice patch wasn’t there a second ago.

“Did you enjoy your fall? Be more careful next time!”

“Take care not to slip, Human.”

“We tripped you! Hah!”

Damn faeries. I keep running, ignoring them as best I can. People give me odd looks if I start talking to the air in any case.

“Ooh. So busy! Too busy to talk!”

One of the faeries on my head slaps at my head to get my attention. I grit my teeth and ignore her, although it hurts. Then she pulls at my eyelid.

“Screw you! Off!”

I slap at her and she flies away, cheering. I guess getting me to react counts as a win in her books. Another faerie swoops down and flies around my face, obstructing my vision as she laughs.

“This mortal is so busy. Not too busy to play a game of riddles, though!”

“‘Twas not a fair game, though! She used numbers and lies instead of trickery! Shame!”

The other faeries jeer and yell at me. I keep a straight face, although the fact that I’m being berated by these obnoxious idiots for playing unfair is hilarious. They’re the most unrepentantly vicious, mischievous, and deceitful creatures I’ve ever met, and those are the qualities I like about them.

The Frost Faeries continue to call me names as I run back into the city proper. I get the sense that despite their obnoxious tone, today they’re a bit more annoyed with me than usual. How do I know? A bit more ice mixed in with the snow they toss on me, and a bit too many pinches and pokes than usual.

Normally the faeries respect—well, they’re equally parts helpful as annoying. Twice as annoying as helpful, but they do have limits. But I think they were disappointed in my game of riddles with Teriarch, the Dragon, a while back.

Yeah. A Dragon. I can barely believe it, but I did meet him. I keep telling myself that, although my only proof is the bag of gold at my side and the book of magic spells. Gods, I still can’t believe I walked away with part of a Dragon’s treasure.

It was a wonderful, magical encounter. But the faeries got mad because instead of having a proper Smeagol vs Bilbo game of riddles, I instead hit Teriarch with logic puzzles from my world. Apparently that doesn’t count and they’re mad about it.

Or something. I finally get rid of the faeries as I go one place they can’t stand: indoors. As I run towards a familiar building, all the faeries hiss and leap off my head. They throw snow at me as I open the door to the Runner’s Guild and slip inside. The building is made with nails of iron and it has iron in general inside; ergo the faeries don’t feel welcome and don’t follow. Their rules are bizarre, but I’m glad they exist.

“Done with the deliveries.”

The [Receptionist] at the counter looks up and gives me a smile which I don’t return. I hand her the Seals I’ve been given and she confirms all my deliveries are done.

“That was quick, Miss Ryoka! I gave them to you just an hour ago, didn’t I?”

I shrug. I was given five different locations. I got to them all, and got the seals. And I did it fast, too.

“Yep. Got any more?”

The [Receptionist] glances awkwardly at the board of deliveries. I look over there too, and notice some other Runners congregated around it. Only one or two today, though.

Normally, longer deliveries are posted on the board – these would be city-to-city runs, the kind I normally do. But there aren’t many requests or many of the better type of Runner that can avoid or outrun bandits and monsters—City Runners—around. That’s because of the Goblins. No one wants to run into them, even if none have been spotted on the roads as of yet.

“I’m afraid we’re all out of Street Runner deliveries. You and the other City Runners—”

I glance over and see where the receptionist is looking. The Runner’s Guild has tables and places to sit, and they’re occupied by an annoyed-looking group of younger Runners. They’re all Street Runners, by the looks of them. They’re not as quick as City Runners, and though they might know the streets well, I and the other city Runners can still beat them in speed. We’ve been cooped up in the city, and so we’ve been poaching all their regular deliveries.

Do I feel bad? No, not really. Running, doing deliveries, it’s all a competition in a way. I run fast, and so I get paid more. Maybe I’d try to give them some work if I intended to stay here for a while, but I think this is my last day of running solely around the city.

I turn back to the receptionist and nod.

“Fine, I’ll come back later. Is Garia Strongheart around?”

“Miss Garia? I haven’t seen her yet. Do you want to leave a message for her?”

“Just tell her I’d like to talk to her if she comes in. That’s all.”

“I will do so. Have a good day, Miss R—”

I’m out the door before the [Receptionist] finishes speaking. Was that rude? Yes, it probably was. She was only trying to do her job, but I didn’t want to exchange pleasantries. It’s a bad habit of mine, and I’ve been getting better recently.

But today? Today’s a bit…frustrating for me. Scratch that, I just woke up so I can’t really say it’s been frustrating as of yet. More like I’ve been having problems for the last few days and today it’s just…

I jog down the streets, keeping an eye out for Frost Faeries. They’re probably bothering someone else right now, but I want to get to my destination before they come back to check on me. Sure enough, I spot the familiar building and push the door open.

Unlike the Runner’s Guild, I hear a babble of voices and find a full house the instant I walk in. Barmaids—three of them—bustle about the room, filling mugs and tankards and serving food to the room full of people eating breakfast.

That’s pretty normal for an inn. But this inn is special, if only because it’s under new management. The evidence of that is clear when I stare at what one of the barmaids is serving to the guests.

“Crepes?”

Yep. They’re crepes alright, complete with sprinkled sugar, and lots of butter. Not any syrup; I guess it’s too expensive for this inn’s budget. But eggs and bacon make this a filling meal—and food choice aside, I can see that each crepe is golden brown and cooked perfectly.

The small inn I’m staying at, the Frenzied Hare, is packed today, just like it was yesterday. Although we’ve only been in the city for a few days, word has gotten around that there’s a new [Innkeeper] who makes great food, and so every day the common room is packed full of people.

Again, thanks to the new management. I’m not sure if she owns the inn, but she acts as if she does and everyone goes along with her because frankly, she’s pulling in money by the bagful. I walk into the kitchen and see the mastermind behind today’s breakfast flipping a crepe into the air. She holds out a plate to catch it, and it splats into the bowl of batter. I block some of the splatter with my hands as she exclaims.

“Ew! I guess [Advanced Cooking] doesn’t help with that.”

She wipes some of the batter off her apron and licks it. Then she looks around and sees me.

“Hey Ryoka! Want a crepe?”

I wipe the batter on my hands and shirt off onto an apron, suddenly realizing that I probably shouldn’t be walking in here with my wet and dirty feet. Oh well.

“I’ll have some food, Erin. Do you want to have breakfast together or have you eaten?”

“Um…I’ve made breakfast, but haven’t eaten. Let me just make one last stack—I think everyone out there is mostly done! I’ll be with you in a bit.”

“Gotcha.”

I walk back out into the inn and try to find an empty table. One of the barmaids who’s name I keep forgetting comes over with a plate of crepes.

“Anything you want to drink, Miss Ryoka? Or is it just hot water again?”

“Hot water. And Erin will probably have milk. She’ll be out in a bit.”

“I’ll be back with your drinks in a second!”

The young woman smiles at me and moves over to another table. I start cutting my crepe apart and eating it. It’s delicious, and the eggs and bacon I manage to get another barmaid to give me are just as good. But my eyes are on the kitchen, and soon enough I see her come out of it.

Erin Solstice. The inn doesn’t exactly stop for her, but somehow she makes her own impression on it. As soon as she comes out she looks towards me. I raise my hand, but she’s intercepted before she even sees me.

The actual owner of the Frenzied Hare, Agnes, has a plate of food in one hand and a huge smile on her face. She’s acting as a barmaid rather than as the innkeeper, but she couldn’t be happier judging by the look on her face as she sits Erin down at a table. She chats animatedly with Erin and other guests come over.

That’s part of Erin’s charm, I guess. She’s friendly, open, and frankly interesting. As an [Innkeeper], I gather she’s quite high-level, especially at her age. You could call her a prodigy without exaggerating, at least by how this world judges things.

Erin has many Skills in the [Innkeeper] class that makes her useful in any inn she walks into, and in a fight. She’s also got great charisma, which is why I finish two plates of food and Erin’s drink of milk before she even finishes her first plate. She’s so busy chatting with Agnes and some other people that I have to wait a few minutes before I can even get her attention.

“Oh, hey Ryoka! Sorry, I must have missed you! Agnes was just telling me I should stay here and help her run the inn forever!”

The woman chuckles as she sits next to Erin, eating the crepes.

“It would be lovely if you would. You’re such a good cook and frankly my dear—you have such a way about you that even Jerom would be jealous of. He’s still so sick—but even when he gets better I could see you being the real manager of the inn. Why, you’re like a second child to me—not that I had a first. I’d so love it if you gave it some thought.”

I roll my eyes as Erin smiles and says something polite and friendly in reply. A second child, sure. One that can do Agnes’ job and her husbands’ without even needing them. Erin is a golden goose and they just want her to stay here and earn them tons of money forever. Even though she’s splitting the profits with Agnes, they have to be earning more in these few days than they would in a month.

Maybe I’m being too harsh. Agnes looks genuinely happy to have Erin here, and so do the other people. But I’m not going to wait until they finish their chat about banal things. I clear my throat.

“Erin. Do you have a minute?”

She looks up at me and nods, while the others look disappointed.

“Sure, Ryoka! Let me just eat one last crepe…mm, this is good! You want another?”

I shake my head and wait until Erin finishes stuffing her face. Of course, that doesn’t mean she and I get to talk right away. Agnes, hovers around while Erin chats with her…and then some of her guests…and then finally has time to talk with me at a table in the corner.

“What’s up, Ryoka? Did you finish your deliveries?”

“A while ago. But I was thinking today you and I should do more planning. We still need to get you back.”

Erin’s smile, present on her face since the moment I saw her today, fades. She looks at me seriously.

“Right. We still need to get back. But didn’t you say that was dangerous? You told me yesterday that leaving wasn’t a good idea.”

I nod. Erin and I are in Celum, a Human city on the continent of Izril. And while we’re surviving well enough here, this isn’t where Erin belongs. She needs to go back to Liscor, a city a hundred miles south of here, and that is an undertaking which has been bothering me since I found her here.

“Right, leaving earlier wasn’t a good option. The gates were locked for the first day, and we were still getting word of what happened yesterday. But there aren’t any reports of large Goblin groups on the move today, so if we’re going to look into getting you back to Liscor, we should start now.”

Liscor is Erin’s home. At least, that’s where her inn is. And her friends. She belongs there, in a sense, and both she and I know it, no matter how much she might enjoy being here.

Erin frowns as she nods and drinks from her cup of warm milk.

“I want to go back, Ryoka, I really do. I know Mrsha must be so worried! But Selys can take care of her, and I really do want to finish up my experiments with Octavia first.”

I frown at Erin. She keeps saying she wants to finish her experiments, but over the three days we’ve been here, she’s gone to the [Alchemist]’s shop nearly every day.

“Aren’t you done yet? Or can’t you finish your work in Liscor?”

“Maybe…but I need Octavia’s help, Ryoka! She knows all kinds of rare alchemical stuff and she helps me with the food.”

Magical food. Only Erin would think of it. But it works—she made a soup that can give me partial immunity to the cold. I clench my teeth as I think.

“If I had to choose between you going now or later…there are [Alchemists] in Liscor, I’m sure, Erin. And maybe we could get Octavia to come with you? She’d do anything for gold.”

“Maybe.”

“Either way, I want to know that we can get you back, so I wanted to visit places with you if you’ve got time before you go to Octavia’s. There’s a market full of magical items—I want to see if there’s anything you or I could use in case we got attacked on the road—and the Adventurer’s Guild might have a party we could hire to escort us back.”

Erin’s eyes light up at the sound of magical items. She’s still not over magic existing in this world, and neither am I, in truth. She nods eagerly as she finishes her drink.

“I’d love to come along! Agnes says she can handle lunch, so as long as I’m back for dinner—I’m sure Octavia wouldn’t mind if I came by an hour or two late.”

I’m sure she wouldn’t. I nod briskly as Erin waves at Agnes to let her know.

“Fine. First we go shopping, then we’ll ask about an escort and visit Octavia. Sound good?”

“Great!”

“Oh, and by the way, the Frost Faeries are back.”

“Oh. Um…”

It takes us a while to leave the inn, but by the time we do, thirty more minutes have passed, and the faeries are waiting for us as we leave.

“Oh look! It’s the duo! The food maker and the story teller!”

“Let’s hit them with snow!”

“Nae, let’s demand food and a story!”

Erin blinks up at the faeries as I groan. The other guests that came out to talk and socialize with Erin immediately decide to go back in as the tiny faeries begin swirling around us again, pulling at hair, laughing, conjuring snow—

“Hey, do you all want a crepe?”

They blink. I blink. But the steaming crepe is in Erin’s hands and she tosses it up to them. Immediately, all the faeries begin to fight over it.

“Give it to me!”

“No, me!”

In an instant the crepe is whirled up into the air and bits of it fall down as the faeries fight and devour it, ripping head-sized chunks away and gobbling them down like starving…ladybugs. Well, they’re bigger than ladybugs by a good bit, but you get the idea.

While they’re fighting, Erin and I walk off. I see the door open behind us, and to my surprise, a plate heaping with steamed crepes is placed outside. I see Agnes waving at Erin before she closes the door and the faeries descend on the food.

I stare at Erin as she smiles, walking beside me.

“Did you plan that?”

“Yeah, they like food!”

Why didn’t I think of—I walk along with Erin, shaking my head slightly. Bribe the faeries with crepes. It’s so obvious, and so easy!

That’s the thing about Erin. It’s never boring when I’m with her. In fact, she might have an even crazier life than I do at times.

—-

“So, all of these things are magical?”

Erin and I stand in what I can only call a cross between a flea market and a shopping street, staring at a merchant as he displays a small selection of old-looking rings, amulets, and even a few neatly tied scrolls.

Like all markets, supply is often matched by demand, which is why finding anyone who sells magical items in Celum is actually a harder task than it might seem. There are very few shops that do permanent trade in solely magical items, and most such merchants roam from city to city to find their clientele.

Erin and I were lucky enough to be pointed towards this [Merchant], a man of good repute who offers lower-grade magical items. He’s a richly dressed man wearing countless rings and jewelry that sparkles and gives the impression of magic—although I doubt the rings do much more than emit pretty colors. The effect is nice, though, and the man himself is quite the salesman, trying to get Erin or I to commit to a purchase.

Frankly, I’m not sure I’ll buy anything today. I’ve got Octavia’s potions which are quite useful, and I don’t have any glaring needs for magical artifacts right now. I’m just browsing. Also, from what I understand of how much any kind of enchanted object costs, I can only afford a very basic item even with the eight hundred gold pieces I received from Teriarch.

The man sits on a small wooden chair, watching us with a smile on his face while his two guards watch us and everyone coming near the display with considerably less cheer. Erin stares with fascination at the rings; they just look old and uninteresting to me, except for one ring that’s visibly sparkling with red light. I guess most magical items are designed not to attract attention.

“Ladies, what would you two like to buy? I have quite a small selection today—I was cleaned out a while back, but I believe I have a number of trinkets that could help you with all your needs. In fact, I even have a little potion for romantic—”

“We’re not shopping for love potions. I’m looking for protection.”

I don’t want to know if there are actual love potions in this world. The man blinks at me.

“Protection? Unless you need a weapon—no. Are you a Runner?”

“Well observed.”

I lift one bare foot. The [Merchant] is eying my un-frostbitten toes, and I can tell he wants to ask about them.

“I’m looking for a ring of protection or something similar. Anything that can help me survive a run-in with monsters or bandits.”

The man smiles thinly at me, and from the way the two guards shift, I can tell they’re amused as well.

“Ah, I’m afraid you might be under a bit of a misapprehension, Miss. Protection is a very general term. There’s no such thing as a ring that simply guards against everything—at least not outside of an artifact worth hundreds of thousands of gold coins—but let me show you what you’re probably looking for in your line of work.”

The [Merchant] gives me a not-at-all condescending smile that makes me want to deck him as he selects a ring from the items in front of him. He shows me the ring; a slightly cracked circle that feels like it’s made of stone.

“This is a wonderful little trinket that I could sell you—for six hundred gold coins, say? It will deflect arrows for one minute when activated. Arrows will swerve as they fly towards you, perfect for a Runner like you to make their escape.”

“Why’s it cracked?”

Erin peers at the ring next to me. She touches the ring along the crack and the man practically snatches it back.

“Please don’t touch that. The magic on this ring is slightly—faded. Hence the discount. But I can assure you it will last quite a long time if not subjected to undue pressure.”

“Like an arrow?”

He ignores Erin and smiles at me.

“How about it? You could weather any storm of arrows—especially ones shot by Goblin archers. I’m sure you’ve heard about the attack on Esthelm? Tragic. But in your line of work, you can’t afford to stay behind city walls, can you? This ring will allow you plenty of time to escape.”

“For a minute.”

“A minute. Yes.”

Erin frowns as she stares at the ring. I keep my face straight and try to sound disinterested—I know how to haggle. But I’m more interested in seeing how Erin deals with this [Merchant]. I’m pretty sure I don’t even want that crappy ring, but I do want to see the show. Erin points to the ring as she questions the man.

“A minute doesn’t sound like much. How long does it take to recharge?”

He grits his teeth, although he’s still smiling.

“Two days. But you can always recharge it if you have the gift, and I assure you—”

“—And what did you mean earlier? Arrows ‘swerve’? Does that mean it doesn’t really deflect them? Wait a second, why would anyone want a ring like that anyways?”

My lips twitch, and I even see the guards grinning a bit. The [Merchant]’s voice is testy.

“It’s true that the ring doesn’t send arrows in the other direction, but it does repel them from your person. If you are running, I’m confident the arrows would fail to hit their mark. It would take someone with a Skill to bypass the protection this ring offers, and again, let me say for five hundred and seventy gold coins, this ring is a bargain.”

“I bet Halrac could shoot an arrow that could beat your ring.”

“Who?”

“Halrac! He’s this guy—a [Scout] that I met at my inn. He’s really good with a bow, and he’s got tons of Skills. What would happen if he shot an arrow at this ring? Would it work?”

The man stares at Erin, brow furrowed.

“Halrac? You mean…Halrac of Griffon Hunt? The Gold-rank adventurer?”

“Yeah, that’s him. He’s a friend of ours. Do you know him?”

For two seconds the [Merchant] stares at Erin. Then he glances at something on his wrist. I look down. One of the gemstones on the man’s bestrewn hands is glowing softly blue. Oho. A truth spell on a stone?

At once, the man’s demeanor changes. He spreads his arms wide, all former irritation gone in a flash as he stands up, now trying to be very welcoming towards us.

“If you know Halrac, that’s different. You know, he bought a very nice amulet from a friend of mine just last year? I’d be very grateful if you’d recommend my wares to him. And for a friend of Halrac, I could certainly offer you…ah…”

He’s clearly trying to figure out what kind of discount and pitch he should give us when I hear familiar voices and groan through clenched teeth.

“There she is! Found her!”

“She can’t run away this time!”

“Ooh! Is she looking at magical items? Look how shiny they are! And how weak!”

“They barely glow of magic!”

Erin looks around, frowning. I’ve already spotted the Frost Faeries—they’re rising in a cloud over one of the roofs. Neither the guards nor the [Merchant] can hear the faeries of course, but they see us looking away and spot the faeries. They’re probably only glowing blurs to them, but all three react when they see the Winter Sprites.

“Not them!”

The [Merchant] exclaims in a loud voice, and one of the guards shouts a warning. Surprisingly, every single shopkeeper on the street suddenly begins to scramble, shouting as they grab at their wares and try to get everything inside.

The faeries fly down, laughing at the chaos as the man grabs at his magical rings and amulets, face suddenly hunted. Erin looks confused.

“Hey wait, where are you going? I thought you were going to sell us that bad ring!”

The man turns to us, looking frantic.

“Look, we’ll do business when the Winter Sprites are gone, alright? If I keep my wares out in the open they’ll scatter my goods and chase away all my customers!”

He rushes towards the nearest door, his guards grabbing the rest of his goods. Other shopkeepers do the same and the pedestrians scatter indoors as well, fearing the wrath of the fickle nuisances. In seconds, the street is deserted except for two humans and the faeries.

Erin and I stare up at the faeries. They stare back as they hover in the air, watching us. One of them waves.

—-

After our short shopping trip in the market, the next place Erin and I decide to go is indoors, where the faeries can’t follow. And where we find ourselves is the Adventurer’s Guild. Erin and I stare around the big room as she whispers to me.

“It looks sort of like Selys’s guild, but not, don’t you think? I mean, this place is bigger. A lot bigger.”

I nod as I stare around the Adventurer’s Guild in Celum. This place is certainly a lot bigger, and the room has space for up to six receptionists at once, rather than the single desk for two in Liscor’s guild. I tap on the desk for the receptionist as I ask about hiring a team. She directs me towards the adventurers sitting in one corner of the room. Apparently, hiring an escort is done by contacting the adventurers directly, not through the guild here.

I stare at the groups of adventurers sitting together. Some are Bronze-rank, most are, probably. And others are Silver-rank, whether individually or in teams. A lot of them look tired, cleaning their equipment after some mission, and others look like they’re just here to socialize.

Damnit. Which group should I talk to? What’s the standard rate for hiring them? Can I trust a Silver-rank team? I know none of this.

Neither does Erin, but she has an almost insultingly cavalier attitude towards this.

“Let’s just ask them. If any of them say they can take us to Liscor, let’s try it!”

“You want me to just walk over there and ask them about escort duty?”

I hate talking to new people. I hate starting up conversations, and this is practically my worst nightmare. But Erin just shrugs at me. I grind my teeth.

“What do you expect me to say? ‘Hey, we’re looking for a group of adventurers to escort us to Liscor. Know anyone who might be interested?’”

“That sounds good. Why not?”

I stare at Erin. Well, it might work.

“You say it. I think it’s best if it comes from you.”

Erin nods and begins walking over to the nearest table where two brawny warriors are sitting and drinking together. Halfway there she turns back and looks at me with a smile of realization.

“You know who’d be great, Ryoka? The Horns of Hammerad! Why don’t we just ask them?”

I blink. Oh. Of course. That would save costs or they could redirect us. I walk over towards Erin, but then one of the adventurers sitting at the table raises his voice?

“The Horns of Hammerad? Aren’t they all dead?”

Erin beams at them.

“What? No! No, they’ve reformed, didn’t you hear? After they uh—they lost people at the Ruins in Liscor—”

One of the men snorts. He’s in his late twenties by the looks of him, and he’s got day-old stubble on his face.

“I heard about that disaster. Four adventuring teams dead and only a handful of survivors thanks to a bunch of incompetent Captains. You’re telling me someone’s stupid enough to keep the name after that? They should have quit being adventurers before they ever went on another mission.”

I stop in my tracks and bite my lips. Erin pauses, and the smile on her face freezes. The second adventurer looks at his companion.

“Who survived? I heard everyone got slaughtered down there.”

“At least two made it out. The half-Elf and the Silver Captain.”

“Ceria Springwalker and Yvlon Byres? I wouldn’t join a group with those two even if they were the last team on the continent. Anyone stupid enough to work with them is going to get killed like their last groups.”

Don’t punch them. I know that. Erin’s voice is flat.

“They’re both great adventurers. They’re my friends.”

The two men shake their heads at her.

“They’re idiots and cowards who got good folk who trusted them killed.”

“You might think they’re on your side, but mark my words, girl. Trust them and you’ll end up with an arrow in your back.”

They don’t even bother lowering their voices. People at other tables look up as they hear the two men begin to argue with Erin.

“That’s not true! Ceria’s really brave! So is Yvlon!”

“The half-Elf? I bet she turned and ran the instant she got into trouble. She’s a coward. Calruz was the only real fighter in the Horns of Hammerad.”

“Take that back!”

Erin’s getting mad, and I’m eying the two men seated at their table. They look a lot tougher than the adventurers Erin got into a fight with at her inn. And they’re just talking, not sexually harassing anyone.

But my blood is still boiling. The Horns of Hammerad don’t deserve this. They were all brave, and I could tell them that, but what would be the point? The two sneering men clearly don’t want to listen; the best thing I could do is kick them both in the face.

I could start a fight—

But I close my hand and feel the stumps of my fingers. No. Not here. Not now. We need the help of some adventurers, even if it’s not them.

I put my hand on Erin’s shoulder. She’s tense and glaring.

“Come on, Erin. Let’s talk to someone else.”

“If you want real protection, Miss, you’d best ask us or a real Silver-rank team. Not a bunch of half-wits that can’t even slay a few undead.”

I have to drag Erin backwards. She glares at me, but I manage to pull her back successfully. Five steps. Then I run into someone.

“Oh, sorr—”

I pause as I stare into a familiar, beat-up face. An adventurer pauses with four of his buddies as they walk towards the receptionist’s desk. All of them look beat-upon; the result of a bar fight they were on the losing end of.

The lead adventurer certainly recognizes me.

He takes one look at Erin and begins edging towards the door. Too late. As my grip slackens, Erin pulls herself away. She walks back over to the table with the two adventurers and smiles at them as she puts her hands on the edge of the table.

“You should take back what you said about Ceria and Yvlon. They’re my friends and they did everything they could to keep everyone else alive.”

“We said exactly what everyone else was thinking, Miss. The Horns of Hammerad—both past and present—are a team of fools.”

Erin takes a deep breath. Her eyes are wide and she gives them a big smile.

“Okay. Fine. If that’s the way it’s gonna be then—table flip attack!”

On the whole, I sometimes wonder if Erin’s the more violent one between the two of us.

—-

“Well, now we’re banned from the Adventurer’s Guild. At least for a while.”

I sigh as Erin and I stump along down the street, followed by a cloud of faeries. I’m resigned to them by this point. They fly after us, laughing about the fight. Erin walks behind me, frowning.

“I don’t regret a thing! Those guys were jerks!”

“Yeah, they were. But now they won’t help us if we need to get back to Liscor.”

“So? We’ll just get the Horns of Hammerad to do it. Ceria and Pisces and Yvlon and Ksmvr can probably defend us against anything we run up against.”

“Maybe. But we don’t know where they are. I can try and make a trip to Albez—or put the word out I’m looking for them in other cities, but it’ll take longer.”

“That’s fine.”

Erin nods, and I glance up at the faeries flying overhead. They look…slightly bored, actually. They’re still laughing and one of them is dropping a steady stream of powdery snowflakes into my eyes, but the rest are just following along, quiet for once.

Huh. I guess even faeries get bored. I shrug and keep walking.

“I’m going to do another delivery—to another city probably. I’ll be back tonight unless something comes up. You okay until then?”

“I’m gonna blow something up.”

I grin.

“That sounds like fun. Just try not to piss Octavia off too much, okay?”

I try to drop Erin off at the [Alchemist]’s shop, but to my surprise Octavia herself runs out, waving one of her arms at me as if it’s a club.

“Ryoka? Ryoka!”

Erin walks happily into the shop as the stitch-girl confronts me. Octavia looks stressed out, sort of understandable given that she’s going to be babysitting Erin all day today. Again.

“Hey Octavia, Erin wants to blow something up.”

The young woman’s dark skinned face goes pale as she looks back at Erin in her shop. I feel a bit bad, so I try to reassure her.

“She probably won’t. She’s looking forwards to experimenting with new food recipes, Octavia.”

“Absolutely not! Do you know how much she’s cost me already? One day was in our agreement. I could see two days, maybe three in light of our past arrangements and for future business’s sake, but four? Erin’s already cost me a small fortune in ingredients, not to mention all the time I could be making my own potions. If I’ve got to keep helping her out I insist on some kind of reimbursement. I know we had a bargain, but this—”

I have to take a step back as Octavia shouts and waves her hands at me. Looks like she’s hit the end of her patience. Damn. What should I do?

I hesitate, then take the most expedient course of action. Octavia’s ranting slows and stops dead as I start pulling gold coins out of the bag at my side. From the looks of it, it shouldn’t be able to hold all the gold that’s in there, but it’s magical. There’s a massive book inside as well, and that still amazes me.

“Fine. I get it. Here’s more money for Erin, okay?”

I pour the gold into Octavia’s hands as the [Alchemist] gapes at me. Twenty golden coins—pretty darn heavy and glittering in the light, wink up at the girl as she looks from the money to me.

Twenty gold coins. Yes, it’s a lot, but it’s only a fraction of the money I got from Teriarch. And by the way Octavia goes silent, it’s a lot more than she thought she’d get.

“So. Is there a problem with Erin?”

“Erin? What? Of course not!”

Octavia beams.

“Erin, my favorite customer. I’d be happy to—let me just say that as long as she wants to keep working with me, I’d be delighted to help out. Her achievements really are stellar, and let me tell you that I think she’s onto a real breakthrough—”

“Glad to hear it. Just get her whatever she wants, Octavia.”

I let the [Alchemist] practically skip back into her shop and walk off, shaking my head. The faeries follow me, half imitating my shaking head motion, the other half debating whether it would be more enjoyable to watch Erin blow something up in the shop.

I don’t know. I’m glad that Erin’s happy, and I’m fine with leaving her alone to cause havoc in Octavia’s shop. She’ll probably be fine with Octavia to stop her from doing something too insane.

But—

I’m just a bit tired. At the end of my rope, you could say. It’s not that I don’t have anything to do; I’ve got too much to do.

Time to go on another delivery. I start walking in the direction of the Runner’s Guild again. I might not be feeling at the top of my game, but at least I can always count on running to take the stress away.

—-

“I’m looking for a delivery to another city, but I can’t find any requests. Do you have any?”

The receptionist in the Runner’s Guild looks up at me and frowns. She taps one finger against her lips and nods at last.

“We…have the daily letter delivery for Wales if you’re interested.”

Her hesitation is warranted. No one likes that delivery. I make a face.

“Nothing else?”

“Nothing. Sorry Miss Ryoka.”

The [Receptionist] shrinks back slightly in her seat as I stare at her. After a minute I nod.

“Fine. Give me that delivery.”

—-

I run through the snow, and then onto harder, slippery ground that’s been frozen over and not thawed. I frown and run back into the snow. It might be more constricting, but thanks to Erin’s soup that I took another drink of before I left, it’s easier to run through the grass underneath the snow than the slippery road.

I’m doing the bulk letter delivery to Wales. It’s…well, it’s not exactly anything to write home about. Or anywhere else for that matter.

Bulk delivery. Just like the post office, letters are taken in and a huge bag full of them is sent off with a City Runner each day to the other cities. It’s a standard delivery, and since it’s so easy, it pays next to nothing.

I haven’t done it since I started working as a Runner. Where did all the big deliveries go? Do people just not need anything during the winter months? No, that can’t be true. Must just be a slow day.

But, like always, I’m not alone. A cloud of faeries flies around me, watching me with heavy-lidded eyes as I run at a good pace through the snow. But all the faces of the faeries aren’t filled with their usual calculated expressions of glee or anticipation. Instead, they all look bored.

It’s actually sort of bugging me. I glance around at the faeries. Some are frowning, and I rarely see them do that. Why haven’t they gone to bother someone else? But then one flying furthest from me speaks, and I hear her voice clearly over the rushing wind.

“No. This is boring. I don’t want to do it anymore.”

That’s odd. I stare at the faerie who said that. She has a very unhappy expression on her face. She flies into the center of the herd of faeries and raises her voice as she points at me.

“You’re boring now. Boring. Mortal, do something interesting.”

“I’m no one’s monkey. Get lost.”

I wave at the faerie as she flies around me. She blows ice fragments into my face, making me curse and nearly trip as she shouts at the other faeries.

“See? She does naught! I won’t follow anymore. Not even if a Wyvern flew down and dragged her screaming into the air!”

All the faeries look up hopefully. So do I. Nothing. The faerie makes a disgusted sound.

“I am done. There are other places to be, other mortals to watch and bother. Not her.”

That sounds completely fine to me. Why wouldn’t the faeries go annoy someone else if I’m not entertaining them? They’ve done so before.

But this time, the faerie’s words seem to have a lot more significance to them. The other faeries exchange looks, and then begin to argue overhead.

“But she wants—”

“Nae, I don’t care as well! We’ve done this too long!”

“Yeah! She went to the Dragon and nothing happened!”

“I’m going!”

“Me too!”

“I’m staying. No. Wait. I’m going too!”

“Let’s go bother a King! Or a Queen!”

“I want to eat berries in the jungle!”

The faeries…begin flying away. They flutter upwards in a storm of flashing wings and movement. I stare up at them, my heart beating out of my chest for some reason.

They’re going? Forever? Or will they come back? What they said—

I don’t mind. Not at all. If the Frost Faeries leave me alone, no one will be happier than I…

I stumble on something in the snow. When I raise my foot, I see blood. Cut my skin on a bit of rock. Damn.

Then I look up, and they’re gone. The sky is clear, and the faeries—

The Frost Faeries are gone. The winter they brought remains, but the magic has left. I feel empty. Relieved?

No. Not relieved. They’re gone, and I don’t know why.

I turn back to my run. Don’t think about it. Why would they do that? What did they mean? How was I boring? Was it something I did? What was so wrong about the game of riddles with Teriarch?

A flash of liquid ice to my left. My head snaps around so fast I hear a crick.

They’re not all gone. I see a pale blue shape flying in the air beside me. A Frost Faerie, easily keeping pace with me as I run through the snowy landscape.

One of them is still following. Just one, flying up and to my right, sitting in the air as her wings beat disproportionately slowly to the speed she’s going. Just one.

For some reason, the tension in my heart eases. I feel a bit lighter, although I don’t know why. I stare at the faerie and nearly trip again. She waves at me and grins.

Why is she here? I open my mouth to ask, and then see something to my right. Something closing in fast.

Instantly, I reach for a potion at my belt and slow as I fixate on that, forgetting completely about the faerie. I see a blur—something racing through the snow, and—is that laughter? And I see a pale, pinched face, and catch a glimpse of someone for just one second before she’s past me, speeding down the frozen road at a pace I could never match.

I come to a dead stop in the snow, my feet melting the snow I stand on as I stare at the already distant figure running past me, towards another city.

No way. It can’t be. But I say it out loud anyways.

“Is that…Persua?”

—-

I have no idea. I think it was Persua. She has that same sallow* face and annoying complexion as ever, and her running form was crap.

*I know sallow isn’t the right word, but I’m still using it for her. Pinched is probably a better word, but I like sallow.

But the way she moved! She was moving faster than I was—way faster. How? No, I know how. A Skill. But can it really happen that fast? Persua was the slowest City Runner I knew, even slower than Garia because she took regular breaks. And now—

I shake my head as I sit in the small room I’ve rented in the Frenzied Hare. Erin’s got her own room for which I’m grateful; I need the alone time right now.

I finished my delivery. It was an easy thing; I don’t even have to track down the individual recipients myself with a bulk delivery. I just hand it over to the receptionist at the local Runner’s Guild and get my pay.

Easy. And now I’m relaxing in my room, using the few hours I have before dinner to do some studying. Not dwelling on Persua; studying.

I sigh and look back at the massive tome in front of me. A book—a magical spell book lies on the table in front of me, so big there’s nowhere else on the table for me to put anything else.

I’m studying magic. That’s what I’ve been doing every day, while Erin causes havoc in Octavia’s shop and generally runs about the city. I’ve cut back on doing my deliveries to make time for this.

Learning magic. Learning spells from the tome of wonders that Teriarch gave me. And how many new spells have I learned today?

Well, none, actually. And how many did I learn yesterday?

None, again. In fact, ever since I opened the book to this page I’ve been…

Stuck.

I stare down at the page covered with words that are part magic, part language. They shine at me, spelling out secrets in the magical language that I can only comprehend at a snail’s pace. But I can read the words—

I just can’t accept what they say.

I raise my hand, and take a breath. It’s not that warm in my room; there’s not exactly central heating in this building, although heat does come up from the ground floor. But it’s chilly even so, and I opened the window to let some air in, despite the freezing cold outside. None of the windows in this inn have glass, so either I keep the shutters closed and suffocate, or face the weather.

Ignore that. Concentrate. I fix all my attention on my hand and try to push an invisible force into the right place. Let it condense, like rainwater. Make it into a current and push—

“[Water Spray].”

I say the words, and try to use the magic. But nothing happens. I stare at my hand, and say the words again.

“[Water Spray].”

Again, my hand and the air around it are completely still.

“Damn it.”

It’s not working. I look back at the page in the book and clench my fists. Another failure.

“It makes no sense. It’s not—”

I take another breath, and try to exhale slowly. No. It’s really not working, is it? I can’t figure it out. This—

This isn’t working.

I stand up and walk slowly around my cramped room. Yeah. I’ve been trying to put off this conclusion for a while. Day after day I’ve done this, but I’m no closer to the answer than I was yesterday. I have to call it. I have to say it.

“I can’t do it.”

This is the real reason why every day hasn’t been great. Stress, Goblins, all of my worries are one thing, but I think I could have handled it all if it wasn’t for this.

I can’t learn magic. I thought I could, but I can’t. I got this book from Teriarch, a complete beginner’s guide to spells that should allow me to learn every spell easily and quickly. Hell, I mastered one of the spells in the book in minutes! But I tried reading more spells before I delivered the book to Krshia and its…just not working for me.

The first two spells were easy. I learned a basic telekinesis cantrip—the ability to lift things up like Ceria and Pisces do. Nothing fancy, and I’d have to really work to lift more than the few snowflakes off the table, but it was easy enough to grasp. And then I figured out how to blow air around, another fun trick. But then I started reading another spell—[Water Spray], a very simplistic spell that’s probably Tier 0, and I got stuck.

I stare down at the page again. There are no pictures, probably because magic isn’t something you can just describe in words. But I look at the meanings described on the page and I know exactly what must be done.

Let the magic condense, coalesce into a liquid, a real thing. Let it pool and grow, into a current and ocean of its own. Hold it, and then let it manifest as you push it outwards into the shape you desire. Magic is like water, a rushing thing to be guided, but never forced. You cannot force the sea to move, but you can give it a channel—

Why can’t I get this? Well, because I can’t believe it works. Simple as that. I understand how the spell goes and how I conjure water out of the air but—

I can’t do it. It violates the basic laws of physics. To cast [Water Spray], I need to turn magic into water, anchor it in a form and then use magic to spray it out. Simple.

But I know that it’s impossible. Magic into matter? It doesn’t work like that. It violates the laws of thermodynamics! What about conservation of energy? The water dissipates fast, but does it evaporate or turn back into magic?

And what about fire? How is it mimicking a natural reaction if it’s burning…magic? Would it still burn in an airtight room?

I clutch at my head. This is all wrong. It should be easy. I get how it works, but now—

I can’t believe it works. That’s the problem. All the science I know, all the laws of my reality I’ve grown up with—they’re telling me what I’m trying to do is impossible, making me doubt what I’m doing and ask questions this book can’t answer.

And magic is partly faith. It must be. If I don’t believe what I’m doing will work, it won’t work. And I don’t believe I can cast this spell. I suppose I just didn’t think about it with the [Light] spell and even when I learned to make fire. But making water out of nothing just doesn’t—

The problem becomes a loop of errors in my head as I struggle to convince myself that I can conjure water out of nothing. But it doesn’t help. I can try to do the spell, but it won’t work. I have to know. I have to understand, and I think…

“I can’t do this.”

Not with this book. I stare down at it, wanting to throw up, or throw it through my window. It’s so easy to learn with this book. It should be. But because I went to school and studied all these damn lessons about how the world works, I can’t believe in these spells.

“Education ruined magic.”

I don’t want to believe that’s true, but I’ve been stuck on this one spell. I can’t move on until I complete it—I just can’t. Even when I look at other spells, all the doubts that popped into my head from this one follow me from page to page.

Maybe if I stare at it longer, something will click. [Water Spray]. Magic turns into water, water appears. I can’t—

Damnit.

I’m so miserable and angry at myself I want to put my fist through something. A wall, maybe. I clench my fingers on my right hand and stare at the deformed fist I make.

Something else to add more depression to my day. I stare at the book and my hand.

Today wasn’t a bad day. Not really. I did some deliveries. I got to see Erin punch an adventurer in the face. I saw Persua—

And the faeries think I’m boring. They left.

All except one.

I look out my window. The sky is gray and the rooftops are filled with snow. But is she out there? Or has she gone too?

She’s out there. I didn’t even realize it at first. But I see something hovering just outside my window. A faint blue shape, holding so still in the air that I didn’t even realize she was watching me.

A Frost Faerie meets my eyes as I stare at her and nearly tumble out of my seat. She laughs at me as I stare at her and feel the wind blow into my room.

“Hello?”

She smiles at me, and floats forwards a bit. The wind is blowing hard, but she doesn’t even seem to be affected by the air that blows my hair about and flicks the pages on the spellbook. She’s in a little world of her own, but she stops at the edge of my windowsill.

Oh. Right. I stare at her and the room I’m in. Faeries are a bit like Vampires. They can’t enter unless invited. Do I have the right? I don’t own this inn—

But I am renting this room. I cough and clear my throat.

“Come in. If you want.”

The faerie stares at me for a second, and then nods in agreement. She alights on my windowsill and dances into the room, twirling and leaping onto my desk with effortless grace. Her feet leave frost on the wood wherever they touch, and I can sense the chill from her.

The faerie shivers, although I don’t. She looks around the room darkly.

“Too much cold iron here. ‘Tis not a good place for true magics, or my kind. But then, ye can’t even master a few tricks, so the iron doubtless hinders ye little.”

It’s the first words she says. Not ‘hello’ or ‘how are you?’ or even ‘sorry I was spying on you this entire time’. She just jumps into the heart of the conversation like that. I like that about faeries.

“You mean iron interferes with spells? Is that why I can’t master this one?”

The faerie shakes her head at me as she scoffs at the large tome on my table. She steps on one of the pages and kicks the parchment with a foot.

“Pshaw. The magic yon book teaches is only a fragment of true magic. Ye should know that.”

“I do. But I don’t know real magic. A fragment is better than nothing.”

The faerie nods, and looks at me.

“True. But you cannot learn even that, can ye? I’ve been watching you, and a toad would pick up that spell faster than ye can.”

I bite my tongue. But she’s right.

“I can’t figure it out.”

“And neither will you. You think too much and feel far too little. You look for rules where none exist, and make your own to hold you back. Ye won’t learn magic like this.”

I don’t want to hear that. But the faerie’s words ring true. I clench my teeth again, but—she’s not trying to be rude. Okay, she’s doing it without much thought, but I know enough about faeries to realize she’s being direct with me, and as helpful as she can.

“Thanks for the advice.”

She inclines her head regally. I know I shouldn’t ever thank a faerie, at least according to legend, but she doesn’t seem malicious. Hell, the faeries know my full name and they haven’t done anything to me.

What do they want? I clear my throat awkwardly again as the faerie looks around my little room. Here I am, with a faerie in my room. I should…she’s the last one. I need to ask questions. First though, make her welcome.

“Can I offer you anything? Something to eat or drink?”

“Do ye have anything?”

“…No.”

“Then don’t offer, fool.”

Okay, off to a bad start. I stare at the faerie as she leaps up into the air at eye height and sits there, as if there’s an invisible cushion under her.

“Why are you here? By yourself, I mean. All of your friends flew off.”

“They did. They grew bored of ye, and went to find excitement somewhere else.”

A straightforward answer. But I still don’t get why.

“Is it because of Teriarch and the game of riddles I played with him? Is that why they all left?”

“In part.”

The faerie nods as she scratches at the bottom of her foot with a tiny digit. She yawns widely, showing me sharp teeth.

“My sisters think ‘twas ill done. They dislike the trickery of numbers, but it is just as good as the trickery of words to me.”

“You disagree?”

“I like such things now and then, and it was well done to win even in losing. We are not all alike, my kin. Does it surprise you that one of us would like the dance of thoughts as much as the dance of tongues?”

No. I should have known not all fairies were alike. I just—okay, maybe that was fairly racist. Speciesist? Why is it that the immortal species, Dragons and fae, tend to leave me thoughtless and speechless? It’s like all of my cynicism and complex questions fade away in their presence. There’s no doubting their presence when they’re in front of you.

The faerie points at something close to falling off the edge of my desk. The bag of holding and golden coins sits innocuously; just large enough for a handful of coins at best, certainly not large enough to hold this magical book. But it can hold a huge amount of space—all my bed covers and two chairs besides, I’ve found. After that it just acts like a normal bag until I start pulling stuff out. I haven’t yet found the courage to put my head inside.

“Yon lies your prize for a Dragon’s duel. Golden coins and a magic bag to hold them. ‘Tis every mortal’s dream, isn’t it? Or did you want something else from the old scales and smoke?”

“I don’t know. Did I?”

The faerie flies forwards and smacks me on the nose before I can blink. I yelp and touch my frozen flesh—she glares at me.

“Either you did or ye didn’t. Don’t answer a question with a question, ye prat.”

Again, I have to restrain the urge to punch back. I’d probably lose, and I know the faeries are prickly. And she’s right. Sort of.

“Sorry. I don’t know what I wanted from him. Maybe I could have asked him to teach me magic.”

“He would have said no. He’s a lazy oaf, that wyrm.”

“Maybe. But I got most of what I wanted.”

She nods, and I fall silent for a second. The real question is burning on my tongue. I have to know, so I ask it.

“Why did you stay when the others left? What do the fae really want with me? With this world?”

She looks at me archly.

“Why ask a question you know I will not answer? You want to know more than you should. You ask a question I could not answer with ten thousand words as if it were a simple thing.”

“Sue me. I’m curious. Is what I asked too broad? Why are you following me?”

The faerie sighs with exasperated patience.

“Why do I follow anyone?”

“I thought you said not to answer a question with a question.”

This time I’m ready and I swat at her as she flies at my face. The faerie flips over my hand with nimble grace and kicks my forehead. For a small creature she hits hard.

“Smart as an ass, aren’t ye? I follow and watch ye in case you do something of worth. You told me and my kin stories, and dared to defy the fates. You bargained with a Dragon, and met one who rules over death. Is there any other mortal I should bother following that’s done more?”

When she says it like that…I almost blush. I clear my throat. It’s so awkward, but the faerie doesn’t seem the least bit embarrassed, and that just makes me embarrassed. She doesn’t lie; she just says what she thinks.

“You’ve been following me for a while, haven’t you? I thought you were familiar—have I spoken to you specifically before?”

She nods and flashes me a smile.

“Oh yes. I followed you with the others as you ran, and I was the one you struck. I listened to tales of Humans from your world, and it was I who warned you of the armies and led you through the forest. I was there when you cast the bargain, and I accepted the second price. I am surprised you noticed; most beings cannot tell us apart.”

I thought so. For the longest time I just thought of all the faeries as one and the same, but this one—she and I have spoken more than I thought. I stare at the small faerie, and feel a sudden connection with her.

“So all of your sisters are gone because I’m too boring and you’re still sticking around. What do you want?”

“What do ye think I want?”

The faerie looks me in the eye, practically daring me to point out her evasiveness. I don’t do that this time. Instead, I think. She’s not answering me because she can’t. Or she doesn’t want to. So what’s the answer?

“Maybe…because you want something of me. Or there’s something I can do for you?”

The tiny faerie rolls her eyes.

“Hah!”

Okay, that’s not it. Then there’s something else. Or—

“Could it be you just want to see what happens next?”

“An obvious answer. I suppose ye are right.”

The faerie shakes her small head, disappointed. I feel guilty, as if I’ve failed an easy test. But what could she want?

I wish Erin were here to answer. She’d have the damn answer in a second, somehow. She’s better with people than I am. She’d be making friends with the fae in a heartbeat—she could probably befriend a rabid bear.

But then—even she’s had problems with the fae before. She told me about their scam with the fake flowers. I’m really the only person who’s dealt with them for a long period of time. The faeries have hung around me, and I even managed to gain their respect.

And this one has followed me a long ways. Even when her friends are gone she’s stuck around? Why? That’s almost like…

Like…

“A friend.”

The faerie looks up at me. She’d been busy spinning around in the air, but now she pauses, completely upside down and stares at me.

“What?”

“Is that what you want? A friend?”

It’s a stupid question. And a stupid conclusion to make. We’re not in a kid’s tv show, but maybe—no.

Yes.

“Friends? Ye would be friends with the fae?”

She scoffs at me, mockingly. But the tiny fae face isn’t as genuinely annoyed as normal, and I see what looks like a smile twitching around the scowl. I grin at her.

“Maybe. I wouldn’t mind having one of you floating about. I know of a certain hero that did that for quite a long time.”

“I’m no pet, mortal.”

“No, but you are interested in me. And if you’re going to follow me about, why not get to know one another?”

The faerie lies down sideways on the air and props her head on one hand as she stares at me. Seriously, this time.

“Do you know what would happen if ye dared to mingle with the fae? There are laws, mortal. Ones that shouldn’t be crossed.”

I hesitate. Now I feel like I’m being tested. But I can only go on what I know of her. I’ve seen so much of the fae, and I think I understand the answer to this question. I nod at her, just as serious as she is.

“There are consequences. I know. Dire ones. But wouldn’t a friend be willing to risk anything for another friend? I’d be honored to get to know you, if you’d let me.”

For a second the faerie’s face is blank. She stares at me from head to toe. And then she grins at me.

“Good! You finally understand a bit. You are such a fool, you, that I thought ye’d never figure it out.”

I blink at her. But the faerie flies closer, and smiles again.

“I’ve grown interested in your kind again, after so long. If you want to talk with me, I suppose a friend would be better than strangers, eh?”

I can’t believe it. But suddenly my heart is beating fast, and I feel a surge of passion and life in my chest. I feel alive again.

“I—of course. I’d be honored, as I said. My name is Ryoka Griffin, but you know that. Can I ask your name or is that wrong?”

The faerie considers this.

“My name—my truest of names—is a secret to all. And ye would not be able to pronounce it even so. But you may call me…Ivolethe.”

Ivolethe. The name rings in my ears for a second. But the faerie isn’t done. Carefully, she extends a small hand towards me. It’s such a small hand, but I extend a finger and let her shake that. For a second, the briefest second I feel coldness, the deepest chill, and at the same time a wonderful cool, a refreshing breeze and the taste of winter on my skin. It’s not at all unpleasant; I could have experienced that forever. But then the touch is gone.

But the faerie remains. Ivolethe flies back and stands on the table. I stare at her, and see her grin again. Pointed teeth, and a gaze older than the world. Her insectile wings fan out, and she begins to freeze the wood under her feet. But she’s here, and she and I are friends.

I’m friends with a faerie.

Suddenly, everything’s okay again.

3.04

When I came down with Ivolethe on my shoulder Erin freaked out.

“Oh my god! A faerie!”

She doesn’t do subtle. As every eye turns to me I glance at Ivolethe. The small fairy is just sitting on my shoulder, looking around with keen interest.

She’s not even that cold; she’s definitely part ice, but she’s not giving me frostbite, which  I think is a definite improvement. To be honest, it’s like having a miniature air conditioner on my shoulder. Not ideal in the winter, but I’d pay anything for one on a hot summer day.

“How’d she get in? Don’t cause an avalanche again! Please? It’s not even my inn!”

I have to smile as Erin tries to shield herself with a serving tray as a shield. She really, really can’t do subtle. I wait for someone to ask what Erin’s looking at—

Until I realize they’re still staring. Everyone. Agnes, the guests, the two barmaids—everyone. And they’re looking directly at Ivolethe.

Slowly, I look at the faerie on my shoulder. She looks like normal, but—

“Hey Ivolethe. Can the others…see you?”

The faerie shrugs as she looks around the room.

“Perhaps. There is much iron here. Too much for a glamour.”

She looks at some of the gaping faces.

“Yes. I think they can, or they would not gape like buffoons.”

“It talks!”

Agnes exclaims in tones of ringing horror. Yep. They can hear Ivolethe, too. I stare at Erin. She stares at me.

“Wait, where are the rest of them, Ryoka?”

I look around the room. Everyone’s still staring. This is amazingly awkward.

“I’ll uh—explain in a bit. Can we get a seat, Erin? Agnes?”

That breaks the spell. In a few seconds I’m seated in the center of the room, while everyone tries to cluster around me asking questions. I hate it. I try to relocate to a corner of the room, but Erin won’t hear of it and Agnes is beaming. She probably smells another attraction for the inn.

Ivolethe looks unconcerned as well. She stares up at the Humans around us, older men and women mostly, mostly married couples or travelers, and sniffs. I’ll say this for her and the other faeries; they’ve all got the air of little queens, with the arrogance to match.

“Well? What are ye staring at?”

No one moves. Even Erin’s staring with fascination at Ivolethe as she sits on my shoulder. I clear my throat.

“She’s right. This is private, so if you’d all leave now?”

“Yes, begone or I will curse ye with faerie magic!”

No one moves. Ivolethe scowls. For my part, I’m at a loss. Normally my…charming disposition helps scare away even the friendliest busybody, but these people are too fascinated by her. One of them, a burly man with massive forearms, speaks.

“Is this really a Winter Sprite? Truly?”

“Yup! Doesn’t she look cool? I guess faeries can’t disguise themselves when they’re indoors, huh?”

More confusion and looks among the other onlookers.

“Faeries? What are faeries?”

I open my mouth at the same time Erin does, but both of us pause. This world doesn’t know about the fae? Even though there are actual faeries that visit regularly? Ivolethe sits up with indignation on my shoulder.

“Whelp! Ignorant fool! I am a member of the Winter Court! I demand respect!”

The man just looks at her curiously. I sense…trouble.

“They’re the creatures that bring winter each year?”

“And throw snow at us from the sky?”

“And torment the animals?”

Some of the other onlookers look closer at Ivolethe. To her credit, she shows not a whit of fear. Can faeries even feel fear? When have I ever seen them even acting afraid? Oh yeah. When they were facing down a fire-breathing Dragon. Shit.

“I don’t think annoying her is a good idea.”

Erin looks scared. She told me the faeries once threw an avalanche into her old inn when Pisces bothered them. I…don’t want to see that here.

But Ivolethe appears remarkably restrained despite her clear ire. Why? My analytical side takes less than a second to give my unhappy brain a response.

Normally, any of the faeries would have thrown snow or frozen the people around us if they were this mad. But Ivolethe hasn’t done that because she can’t. Cold iron saps a faerie’s strength and makes them mortal. She can’t use her magic here.

What she can use is her mouth. So she does.

“Leave me you fool, or I will make you suffer! A faerie’s oath on it!”

That’s bad too! I open my mouth, but the big guy isn’t impressed any longer.

“You can’t do anything. You’re just like one of them Fraerlings in Baleros. Tiny.”

He cautiously pokes her where her breasts would be if she had nipples. I open my mouth and shove my chair back, but Ivolethe moves first. Her tiny mouth opens and bites.

The scream is immediate and loud. Ivolethe might be tiny, but she’s still big enough to take a chunk out of the man’s finger. Not just a chunk; she bites so far down that I see bone as he yanks his hand away. Her teeth cut through his flesh like nothing.

The man screams again as he holds up his bloody finger. Everyone, including me, stares in horror at Ivolethe. The faerie looks supremely unconcerned as she turns her head and reveals bulging cheeks. She chews, swallows, and grins at us with bloody teeth. Then she waves at Agnes, whose smile has frozen on her face.

“Innkeep! Your finest meat and drink! I am a guest here, am I not? I want service!”

The onlookers desert our table in seconds. The big man might have come back for vengeance, but Agnes drags him away with promises of a healing potion. Erin and I stare at Ivolethe as she hops off my shoulder and onto the table. After a while Erin looks at me.

“So…Ryoka. Introduce me to your friend.”

I nod. Ivolethe triumphantly leaps up as one of the barmaids comes hurrying back with some stew. Erin must have made it ahead of time, because it smells delicious. The faerie leaps into the bowl as if it were a hot tub and immediately begins chomping down on her immediate surroundings. I carefully move the bowl into the center of the table and clear my throat.

“This is…Ivolethe, Erin. She’s one of the Frost Faeries that’s been following me around since I met them. And she is my friend.”

“Right. That’s what I said.”

“No, I mean, she’s my friend. I am friends with a faerie.”

Did I say that with too much reverence? Maybe. But the words that I speak aloud are magical in their own way. A faerie. I really have one of the fae sitting in front of me, chomping down on a slice of potato the size of her head in a bowl full of soup. My friend.

“Oh my gosh.”

Erin finally gets it. She puts her hands on her cheeks in delight.

“You made a friend! Ryoka made a friend! I’m really pleased to meet you, Ivolethe! Any friend of Ryoka’s is a friend of mine. I’m sure we’ll get along great—”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

Ivolethe doesn’t even look straight at Erin. She takes another bite of the potato and squishes it into a ball with both hands. Then dunks the potato into the gravy and scarfs the rest of it down. Her eating is both disgusting and fascinating to watch.

“I will not be your friend, Human. I have made one friend, and she is the reason I entered this place of iron and sacks of flesh. I do not need another, and if I did, it would certainly not be ye.”

Erin’s face falls. I don’t quite look at her, and I’m not quite smiling behind my hand. Looks like she’s met someone she can’t instantly charm. Hah!

“What? But you guys like me, right?”

“Why should I or any of my kin like a thoughtless waste of space like ye?”

“I…I made that big feast for you all! You loved it! And you paid me in gold, which turned out to be fake flowers—but you said it was a great meal! You did!”

I cough.

“I don’t think Ivolethe was there, Erin. Not all the faeries stayed around your inn. Some were with me the entire time.”

“Oh. But I did make food! Magical food! I even got a Skill from it!”

Ivolethe looks slightly impressed. She stops eating to study Erin from head to toe, at any rate.

“Truly? A faerie’s banquet? I was not there, but my kin spoke of it. My answer remains no.”

I interrupt Erin before she can try again. I’m not sure how Ivolethe would react if Erin pushed the matter—and I don’t want her losing a digit.

“I’m sure Erin respects your decisions, Ivolethe. But she’s my friend as well. My best Human friend. I uh, was just wondering if we could talk. Unless you’re busy?”

Erin gives me a betrayed glance, but Ivolethe just shakes her head. She sinks deeper into the bowl of soup; I notice the steam has already stopped rising, and it looks like the gravy is starting to congeal thanks to Ivolethe’s freezing presence.

“If I had aught to do, I would be doing it. And we are already talking, fool.”

Yikes. Ivolethe may call herself my friend, but she’s clearly going to be the kind of friend who uses words as barbs no matter how close we are. I always wondered what having a friend like that would be like.

I wondered what having a true friend would be like, too. Maybe that’s why I can’t stop smiling. Erin’s looking at both me and the faerie oddly.

“You look so creepy right now, Ryoka.”

“Shut up, Erin. Ivolethe? Why can everyone see you indoors? Is it because of the iron?”

Ivolethe sits up a bit in her bowl as two more come for Erin and me, complete with soft, warm sliced bread. She stares around at the other tables, and the other guests instantly look down at their food.

“Hmf. It is the iron. Too much of it interferes with our magic. Outside it would not matter, but indoors is like a cage in a way. I cannot use my spells. But I can bite.”

She grins at me again with those sharp teeth. Erin shudders.

“Interesting. But Erin and I can see you no matter if we’re outside or not. Why is that?”

A tiny shrug.

“I do not know. If ye had the eyes of a cat or god—or ye were great masters of magic like Myrddin, it would make sense. But ye aren’t.”

Erin looks confused.

“Who’s Myrddin?”

“Merlin, Erin.”

“Oh. Oh. Merlin! He’s real! What’s he like? Does he have a cool staff? What kind of magic did he—”

I cut Erin off, although I really want to know as well. The thing about faeries is that you have to stick to one subject and keep bothering them about it. Get sidetracked and they’ll lead you down a merry trail of breadcrumbs, but never get to the truth.

“We don’t have that kind of magic, Ivolethe. So how else would we see you? Are there any ways mortals can see faeries?”

She shrugs again.

“Plenty. If you stood in the right place under full moon, or caught us dancing without glamor—if you had the secret drink of the fae, you would be able to see us, but I would know if ye were taught thusly.”

“Drink? Of the fae?”

Erin looks confused…again…so I explain it to her. How does she not know any myths about faeries?

“The faerie’s drink would be given to people trusted enough to enter a faerie mound. They would be able to see the secret world with it. Could it be that?”

A rude snort.

“Hardly. Ye cannot simply make the faerie’s drink by chance. Ye would need the essence of countless gases and things not known to ye humans. Poisons and humors of foul natures beyond your ken.”

“Such as…?”

Ivolethe sighs dramatically. But there’s a wicked gleam in her eyes.

“Ye truly want to know? Then, grab as many insects as ye can, Humans! Crunch them up in your mouth, for one of the ingredients is the shell of bugs that may be used to create blood out of water.”

“Ew! You have to eat that?”

Ivolethe nods in satisfaction as Erin wrinkles her nose. But I pause. Blood out of water? That sounds like part of a riddle; probably the rhyme to the faeries’ drink they’d tell people. Blood out of water. A dye?

“When you say insects that can be used to create blood out of water…do you mean carmine? In that case, Erin and I have eaten lots of that already.”

“What? We have?”

Erin turns horrified eyes to me. Ivolethe looks up sharply as well. I nod.

“Carmine is a big ingredient in anything colored red, Erin. Skittles, lemonade…if you’ve had anything like that in the past, you’ve eaten ground up insect shells.”

Just a little bit, in truth. But Erin turns pale and Ivolethe looks…

“Well, there are many other things that go into the brew. Not just…that.”

“Maybe we’ve eaten all the ingredients before.”

“Really? Like bugs?”

“We eat countless bugs each year, Erin. They’re all ground up in our food. And companies use a lot of preservatives…”

I think out loud as Erin makes gagging sounds over her meat.

“The U.S. government started putting fluoride in the water decades ago. And we breathe in any number of pollutants that we didn’t in the past. Add that to whatever they put in most foods in the form of preservatives and to change the taste…Ivolethe, what else goes into your brew?”

“As if I’d tell you! The brew is secret to all mortals! And ye’d never guess in a million years!”

“Really? Let me just list off a few things and you let me know if I’m getting close. Sodium nitrate? Propylene glycol? Uh…what’s it called…olestra? Monosodium glutamate? Sodium benzoate?”

She glares at me.

“I do not know half of these names! You must be making them up!”

“Really? Well, sodium benzoate originally came from benzoin, a resin found on trees. It’s an ingredient in incense—”

I see Ivolethe’s eyes widen. Just for a fraction of a second, and then her head spins away.

“I-I don’t know anything about such things. This talk bores me!”

Erin and I exchange a glance. But Ivolethe’s mouth is clamped shut. Erin leans over to me, looking slightly green.

“Do you think it’s true?”

“What, that we ate all of the ingredients of the faerie brew? It might be possible. We eat a lot of weird stuff, Erin.”

“Not that! Do we really eat bugs?”

I sigh.

“Yes. We do, Erin. You know about all the stuff food companies put in candy and fast food. Why are you surprised?”

“I thought they were just chemicals and poisonous stuff! If I knew bugs were in Skittles, I’d never eat any again!”

“That’s not—why would you be okay with…? Okay, never mind Erin. Ivolethe?”

“You shall get nothing from me! I will not reveal my kind’s secrets so easily!”

The faerie sinks up to her ears in the cold soup. I raise my hands.

“I’m not going to ask you any more questions. I was just curious. Why don’t we talk about something else.”

“Yes! Let’s!”

Erin grabs her milk and drinks deeply from it. With a little coaxing, I get Ivolethe to come out of her stew. She dries herself off on a slice of bread, and then she sits on the table with Erin and me. And we talk.

“So, what did you do after I left you, Erin?”

“Oh, I just made some stuff at Octavia’s. You know, more experimental stuff.”

“Huh. Where’s Octavia now? I’ve never seen her eat—does she do it at her home or should we invite her here now and then?”

I think that would be the polite thing to do, but Erin shakes her head.

“I don’t know, but Octavia won’t want to eat today. She’s in bed with bad food poisoning.”

I pause.

“How bad?”

“Bad.”

“…And how did she get so sick, Erin?”

The other girl doesn’t quite meet my gaze.

“I uh, fed her something that didn’t come out as well as I’d hoped.”

“I see.”

“I would like to try it!”

“Oh no, it’s impossible. I threw it out—it was starting to stain the pot. It was just another failure.”

Erin sighs. I eye her.

“You’ve been going over to Octavia’s every day. Still trying to make new recipes?”

“Yup! I don’t want to go back to Liscor until I figure out how to make more cool stuff.”

“What about your inn?”

“What about it? Mrsha’s safe with Selys, and I don’t know where Toren is. My inn can stay where it is, right?”

“But Lyonette’s in it.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Erin smacks her forehead lightly. I shake my head. Erin hesitates.

“She’ll probably be okay. I really want to stay here for a little while longer, though, Ryoka. I can experiment with Octavia all day, and I can help Agnes out at night!”

“And you’re not bored? You’re okay with that?”

Erin looks at me blankly.

“Yeah. Why not?”

Ivolethe and I shrug at the same time.

“Doesn’t matter to me.”

“‘Tis your choice to die of boredom.”

Erin scowls at us, but then she smiles widely at Ivolethe again.

“Soooo…Ivolethe! You must have lived a long time, right?”

The faerie eyes Erin suspiciously.

“That is obvious.”

“And you met all kinds of cool people—like Merlin and King Arthur, right?”

“Perhaps. What of it, mortal?”

Erin throws up her hands.

“Tell me stories! Tell us all about Merlin, and the knights of the round table.”

Ivolethe considers this, one tiny hand on her chin.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I do not want to.”

“Please?”

“Erin…”

“No. Such tales are too grand for the likes of you.”

“But—”

I put a hand on Erin’s shoulder.

“You heard her, Erin. Ivolethe doesn’t want to tell, so you should respect her wishes. Besides, she probably didn’t see any of the good parts.”

“What?”

Ivolethe sits up in outrage. She leaps upwards and flies towards my face.

“Ye think I did not witness the legends in person?”

“Well, you don’t want to say. So I just assumed—”

“Fool! I was there when the boy became a king! I witnessed the instant the true king fell, and I have seen countless miracles besides! I saw the three kings die to each of Lugaid’s spears! How dare ye!”

“I’m just saying, you talk big, but if you’d care to share a story that you remember—”

“Hah! I will recount to you a legend beyond all else!”

Ivolethe flies into the air and raises her voice.

“Behold! I will tell you for the one true king of Camelot! His sword still sits in Avalon, waiting for his hand to draw the ancient blade! Listen well mortals!”

All heads turn as the small faerie begins to declaim. She has an amazingly loud voice, and the story—

I’m going to get to hear King Arthur’s story. I feel like a kid again. This is amazing.. Erin gives me a delighted look, and I wink at her. What can I say?

I do know a bit about faeries. Or at least, this one in particular.

—-

The next day dawns bright and early. Or so I suppose. For once, I’m sleeping in.

So is Erin. And the rest of the guests in the inn for that matter. In fact, some are still snoring as I walk downstairs and find them lying on the tables or ground.

As it turned out, Ivolethe did know the stories of King Arthur, the entire story. The true story. And she told it to us last night, with many dramatic flourishes and a whole host of embellishments it’s true, but it was true. Every word of it. Faeries don’t lie, and to look at Ivolethe as she was speaking was to believe.

It was true. And if I were an author I would have tried to capture every word she spoke on paper. Or maybe that would have been an impossible task, because her story was one of the greats.

In the end, we just all fell asleep listening to the tragic end of the tale of the King of Knights. His kingdom in ruins, his knights dying on the field, and only the hope of his eventual return to keep spirits strong in the dark times to come. Thus, the King of Camelot closes his eyes and breathes his final breath.

And here I thought I was being smart by ripping off the poets of my age. No wonder faeries looked down on us mortals for not creating stories that can match that level. If you’ve got forever to live, your standards for good storytelling rise accordingly.

Of course, that was last night. In the light of the day, all I want is for a hot meal before I go running. But with Erin so tired, that might be asking too much.

She has [Advanced Cooking] as a skill, but apparently you need to be at least moderately conscious to make it work. Or else not even that skill can fix dumping a bag full of flour onto an iron griddle. At least I got the pan off the fire before the flour combusted.

Mandatory near-death experience for the day completed, I finally make myself eggs and let Erin snore in the kitchen. I open the door—

And find Ivolethe waiting outside. The faerie grins at me, hovering in the crisp winter air. Honestly, I hadn’t even realized she’d left when I dragged myself into my room upstairs.

“Ivolethe. How are you doing?”

“Well, mortal!”

She flies immediately to my shoulder and lands on it. Then she fidgets, and flies up to my head. I stare up at her dangling legs and sigh. But I make no comment.

As I begin to walk down the street a tiny frozen leg kicks me on the temple.

“So, what are ye doing today? More staring at books and cursing? Or will ye run about like a snail once again?”

“If you’re bored, you can leave. You don’t have to follow me all the time.”

“Bah. I might miss something interesting. Besides, there is much to do that will amuse me in the meantime.”

I shrug, but feel a bit better. I try not to smile so openly; it doesn’t feel natural.

“Suit yourself.”

It’s a short jog to the Runner’s Guild, but I pause at the door. Ivolethe senses my intentions and tenses, but she makes no move to get off my head.

“I’m going inside. Do you want to wait somewhere else?”

“I will stay right here.”

“The iron won’t bother you?”

“Not overmuch. It is simply a shackle indoors, not a needle in the skin. Even if it feels so.”

Huh. I wonder how uncomfortable it is? Are faeries allergic to the metal, or is it like kryptonite?

“If you don’t want to go inside, that’s fine with me.”

“I shall stay.”

“No, I really don’t think you should go inside.”

After her last interaction with people other than Erin and me, I really have a bad feeling about letting Ivolethe inside a building. But she bends down to glare at me.

“I insist! I do not fear the iron!”

I sigh. For a being that calls herself my friend, Ivolethe doesn’t seem capable of yielding on any point. Or maybe she considers her stubbornness part of friendship.

“Just don’t cause trouble, okay? And…can I persuade you to hide in my belt pouch?”

The faerie is silent on my head for a few seconds.

“Mayhap. Is there food in the pouch?”

“Let me get some.”

That was how I found myself stuffing fried meat and sticky-sweet jam buns into a belt pouch, much to Ivolethe’s muffled delight as I walked into the Runner’s Guild. I close the pouch; Ivolethe assured me she wouldn’t suffocate inside if I did, and I’m honestly not sure if faeries breathe.

I’ve got a Frost Faerie in my belt pouch. Well, there’s that. I walk into the Runner’s Guild and stop when I see a familiar face.

“Garia!”

The broad-shouldered girl turns and gives me a big smile. But then her expression changes to one of dismay.

“Ryoka? I didn’t know you were here…today.”

I walk forwards, frowning. Garia seems nervous. And then I look over her shoulder and see a crowd of people, Street and City Runners alike, clustered around one person. She has a familiar face. Sallow, I would call it, although pinched is the more accurate word.

“Persua.”

She’s standing in the center of the room, surrounded by a huge number of people—everyone in the Guild, in fact. Even the [Receptionists] have come out from behind their counters, and an older man is standing by Persua’s side. I think…he’s the Guildmaster. I don’t know. He normally never comes out of his small office.

Persua is basking in all the attention, talking loudly in her shrill voice and laughing often. When she laughs, the others laugh with her. It’s like how she normally interacts with her posse, but now everyone’s doing it. She’s so engrossed she hasn’t noticed me yet, and from the way Garia drags me to one side of the room, maybe that’s a good thing.

“What’s going on?”

I whisper to Garia as I look back at Persua. She doesn’t look that different—new clothes and running gear maybe, but she’s just the same unpleasant person who once had my leg crushed by a wagon. My fists itch to break a few of the bones in her face.

I don’t see Fals. He’s normally in the same room as Persua, mainly because she tends to follow him about wherever possible. He’s not here today, though, and his absence is somehow conspicuous.

“Ryoka, why are you here? Didn’t you hear what was happening today?”

“No, I did not.”

I frown at Garia as I take a seat at a far table from the group. No one tells me anything. Mainly because I don’t listen if it’s an invitation to hang out or hear the latest gossip. But this…I probably should have paid attention to.

“What’s going on, Garia?”

“It’s Persua. Today’s her going-away party. She’s going to move to Invrisil, or—some other city up north. She might come back this way, but she’s not going to be around here so everyone’s having a party for her!”

Persua? Going north? Best news I’ve heard all day, and I’m barely awake still. I smile at Garia with genuine pleasure.

“What’s wrong with that? If she’s going, I’ll congratulate her as well and help her on the way out.”

Garia doesn’t grin at my response. She doesn’t like violence anyways, but she looks worried. There’s an odd emotion in her voice I can’t quite place. She lowers her voice even more.

“Ryoka…she’s going to be a Courier.”

“What?”

I can’t believe my ears. Persua? A Courier? She’s not nearly fast enough to be one. I should know—I saw Valceif and Hawk running, and they’re like lightning compared to me. Persua’s barely quick enough to be a City Runner, and she’s lazy to boot.

But Garia’s eyes are deadly serious as she nods. And I remember that moment where I swore she passed me on the road earlier—

No. It couldn’t be. Could it?

“How?”

“She leveled up and got a Skill, Ryoka! A rare one—she’s not even Level 20, I know that for a fact, but she learned a powerful movement Skill. Everyone heard about it! Ever since then, she’s been completing deliveries so fast none of us can keep up.”

A Skill. Of course. I feel a bit sick. Persua’s got terrible form, bad endurance, and she’s got no incentive to train or push herself. But give her a Skill and suddenly she can outrun anyone.

“Was it just luck? Or—how do you get Skills?”

Garia looks miserable as she shrugs. No, not just miserable. Jealous. That’s the emotion I’m seeing in her.

“Normally the good ones come up every ten levels. But you hear stories—some of it is chance, and Persua got lucky. Really lucky.”

“Okay, what skill did she get?”

“[Double Step]. It’s one of the core skills most Couriers have. That and [Quick Movement]—those were the ones Valceif had, remember? If you get those, people say you’re already two thirds of the way to becoming a Courier!”

Fuck. I remember Valceif running as if he was taking two strides for every one of mine. Garia’s right; get even one of those skills and there’s no Human from my world that could touch you. That is…completely unfair.

“Why’s she going north, then? It sounds like she could stay here and make a comfy living.”

“Well, Couriers make way more money and have more respect up north. And, Perusa has been doing just that! She’s completed almost half of the requests in the guild by herself. They’ll have to make her a Courier soon, or we’ll all be out of work!”

I drum my fingers on the table, good mood completely forgotten. Persua the Courier. I wanted to be one, but I can’t run fast enough. Valceif told me that I might be one if I proved myself, but Persua? Before me?

It’s really, really pissing me off. But—and I have to think of the plus side here, at least she won’t be bothering me again. And if she’s taking high-level requests, maybe someone will put a hit out on her and she’ll end up dead. I can only dream.

But for now, I think I’ll get out of the way before I have to deal with Persua again. I’m about to ask Garia if she wants to join me at Erin’s new inn so I can drink the bad taste from my mouth when Garia makes frantic gestures. I don’t even have to guess to know that Persua is coming my way; it just makes sense. When I step in crap while running, oftentimes there’s a second pile waiting for my other foot*.

*Translation: When it rains it pours. Plus, Persua’s a spiteful little monster, so she’ll take any opportunity to try and piss me off.

“Why Ryoka, I didn’t see you there! Come to congratulate me on my special day, have you?”

Garia freezes, and goes pale. I stare at her, considering my next move. I don’t turn around. I don’t change my expression.

“Hello, Persua.”

“Good morning to you too, Ryoka! How are you today? You were gone for so long in Liscor, I thought you were dead. But you aren’t. Did you get a lot of deliveries done while you were away? Or did you just like sleeping with non-Humans that much?”

Is that an insult? I shrug. I’m not giving Persua anything, even if she’s not apparently the best Runner around.

“I had fun.”

I still refuse to look her way. Persua’s shrill voice goes up an octave as she grows frustrated. She walks around me and I catch a glimpse of her pale, sharp features and her pursed lips that compliment her sour expression.

I don’t like her. I hate her guts. But I’m also smart enough to know that she’s goading me in her hour of triumph, hoping to get me in trouble. And you know what?

I’m not going to do a thing. It’s time for the ultimate Ryoka skill: acting impassive. Guaranteed to annoy anyone with an ego.

“I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I’m going to be a Courier now. Isn’t that wonderful?”

The old man who’s probably the Guildmaster clears his throat nervously.

“Actually Persua, that’s not decided yet. You’re a wonderful Runner of course, but a Courier—”

He brakes off as Persua gives him a vicious look. She turns back and gives me a big, fake smile. I just grunt.

“What do you think, Ryoka? Won’t I be a wonderful Courier?”

“Mhm.”

She blinks at me, and then frowns. I look slowly around and see the other Runners standing and watching us. I know some of them by face, if not name. They’re City Runners, the people who band together and pat each other on the backs. They follow the leader or the fastest Runners, like Fals. Some of them are Persua’s people, but most are just like Garia; afraid to cross someone like Persua.

The others are Street Runners, desperate to suck up to anyone for a bit of help, a leg up, anything. They’re standing behind Persua as if they’re afraid she’ll blast them to ash if she gets unhappy. Garia is frozen in her seat, and I’m at the center of this maelstrom. No way out but deflection. Bring it on, Persua.

“Don’t you want to say something to me? Before I go?”

“Not really.”

I wish I had a drink so I could sip it calmly. I study Garia’s face as Persua’s fake smile turns into a frown.

“You know, I saw you yesterday. Well, I think I saw you. You were moving so slow, I thought, ‘that can’t be Ryoka’. But you were gone so fast—it’s hard, being the fastest Runner around.”

“I’m sure it must be.”

Another scowl, covered up again. Persua might have all the abilities of a weasel, and the ability to backstab people and even orchestrate attacks, but she’s not that good at concealing her emotions.

“You know, I’ve been taking all of the deliveries recently. I just…do them. One after another. It’s so easy.”

Some of the City Runners shift at that, which makes me privately happy. They don’t like Persua much, and I’m sure they’ll be glad to see her back. But I don’t let my features change for an instant.

“Good for you.”

Persua grinds her teeth audibly. I keep my hands on the table, calm, cool, collected. I’m wondering if I can get her to storm off or throw the first punch. I would enjoy that.

But she doesn’t blow her lid. I see Persua pause, and then her eyes flick to the tabletop.

“I notice you’ve lost something. Did you leave your fingers behind on one of your runs?”

The other Runners go silent. I feel the spike of emotion in my stomach. My fingers. Garia gasps in horror as she notices them for the first time, but I refuse to react. I look at Persua coolly, meeting her evil little eyes.

“Are you going to stand around or do some deliveries, Persua? Because if you’re just going to stand around talking, then do it in another corner of the room.”

She blinks at me. I don’t blink back. I hold her gaze; I’ve beaten her in a staring contest before and I’d love to humble her again. But she doesn’t play my game. Instead, she smiles and looks back on me.

Crap. I shouldn’t have reacted. She knows I was annoyed. No help for it.

“I’m so sorry if my little party is bothering you. I suppose great City Runners like you are too busy to socialize, right? Too good for us lesser Runners?”

I shrug.

“Pretty much.”

Persua’s face goes flat, and little pinpoints of rage appear in her eyes. She smiles at me again.

“It’s just—and I know you don’t mean to be rude, but you are—you haven’t told me how happy you are. And I know you wouldn’t want to be rude, would you?”

She wants me to congratulate her? I meet her gaze steadily.

“Come on. Don’t you have anything to say?”

No. But she might go away. But no and never and not in a million years.

“Can’t hear me, Ryoka? Did you lose your ears as well as those fingers?”

“I heard you. Congratulations. Piss off.”

The words pop out before I can stop them. I hear an audible gasp from the peanut gallery, in more than one place, and some titters of laughter as well, quickly silenced. Persua’s pale face blushes and blotches in places.

That was a mistake. I just humiliated her, and instead of backing off, she’s going to try and make an example out of me rather than lose face. I know how the routine goes. I grit my teeth and wonder how I can deal with this.

Maybe if I just walk out? But no, she’ll just call that a win or block me from leaving. And I don’t run from bullies. Let’s see what she does next.

Persua looks around, and meets the eyes of some Runners around her. Her personal posse, the ones who kissed her ass even before she learned her fancy Skill. She jerks her head and they move out from the crowd. I count them. Four—six…seven…

“That is such a rude thing to say, Ryoka. And on my special day as well! Here I am, Courier-to-be and you—you’re just a Runner. I think you should apologize. In fact, I insist on it.”

Oh? She’s going to get her friends to beat me down? I’m impressed; most girls wait a few months before they get that nasty. But then, this is another world and Persua’s a demon wearing crappy skin.

The other Runners step back when they see what’s about to go down. The old man tries to interject, but his voice is wavering with nerves.

“Persua, I really think—”

Her head turns and the Guildmaster goes silent. I feel a moment of sympathy for him; he’s probably not going to get much respect once she goes. Everyone’s going to remember how she walked all over him. But then I remember that he’s supposed to be in charge, and that he’s a coward. The other runners flank me, as if they’re a local mafia boss’s thugs and I’m the cringing victim.

“Well? I’m waiting for my apology.”

Persua faces me, supremely confident because she’s got a few Runners behind her. Oh come on. They don’t even have combat classes, most of them! I’m taller than all but one of the guys, and she’s seen me take down a Bronze-rank adventurer.

Okay, there are ten of them. Plus Persua. But I’ve changed a bit since we last met as well. The first day I found Erin, I had Octavia refill all of my potions and alchemical bags. I’ve got two of everything ready to go, and I know several magic tricks as well.

I keep still. Not exactly a power play, but I’m not going to react to her stupid little posse.

“I’m not apologizing for anything. And if you don’t get your obnoxious little cronies out of my face, they’re all going to suffer.”

Of all the things I know Persua was expecting, she wasn’t expecting that. Her face goes slack, and I feel the people around me shift. Garia’s looking at me as if I’m insane and trying to signal me to say I’m sorry, but I’m calm.

If they want a fight, I’m completely ready. Persua might have a Skill that makes her faster, but I’d love to see if she can dodge a pepper potion to the face. If she tries anything I’ll use [Flashbang] and then hold her down while I pour the potion in her eyes. I’m just hoping she takes the bait.

She doesn’t. Persua eyes me, her companions, and then decides not to risk it. She tosses her head and turns away.

“You’re not even worth my time.”

“Coward.”

I toss the insult at her back and see it stiffen. I don’t know why I said it; my mouth just won’t stop in situations like this. Persua turns back, a smile full of hate on her face. We don’t even try to pretend towards civility now.

“Fingerless insect. My back is all you’ll see of me from now on.”

“Beats looking at your face.”

“How many mutts and lizards did you sleep with in Liscor?”

“Oh you know, one or two. More people than you’ll ever sleep with in your life.”

“I wouldn’t touch one of those mongrels or scaly freaks with a stick.”

“They’d just run away screaming when they saw your face.”

“Whore.”

“Bitch.”

“You’ll be stuck here forever, you pathetic, classless slug.”

“And you’ll never be a proper Courier in a thousand years.”

We meet eyes for one last moment, and then Persua turns away. I let her walk to the other side of the room, followed by the group and don’t make any move until she’s laughing loudly with them and not looking at me. Then I sigh and turn back to Garia. She looks like she’s swallowed her tongue.

Well, that was fun. Now I’ve got to warn Erin about Persua as well.

I hate my life.

“I’m out of here. Garia, do you want to join me in the Frenzied Hare? I could use a drink.”

Garia starts and stammers as she looks at me.

“I uh—I—”

She doesn’t want to get on Persua’s bad side. Fine. I sigh and stand up. My heart is pounding fast, but I got the better of Persua in that one. No matter how hard she laughs—

I’m halfway across the smooth wood floor when I sense a blur. Persua seems to blink across the room, and then I feel her foot tangle with mine. She moves too fast for me to react; I trip forwards—

And catch myself, thanks to an ungainly wind milling of arms. I’ve been tripped before, and I’ve got a good stance. Nevertheless, I stumble forwards and hear Persua’s mocking laughter.

“How clumsy of you. What happened, Ryoka?”

I turn and look at her. She’s smirking off to one side, daring me to say something. I consider my options, and decide it’s not worth it. That’s her small victory; if she does it again she’s dead.

I walk on, adjusting my belt pouch. Persua’s still laughing, but I just make sure she didn’t grab anything from me. Potions? Check. Teriarch’s bag of holding? Check. Belt pouches?

One of the pouches is undone. I feel at it, and find cold, greasy meat and jam-covered crumbs in the pouch. Nothing else. My heart skips a beat. I whirl around—

“Vengeance!”

The shout springs from the tiny Frost Faerie that flies at Persua’s face. The girl only has a moment to scream before Ivolethe is all over her. The faerie flies around Persua, shouting triumphantly as Persua screams and people shout in surprise.

“Take this! And suffer that, ye mortal wench!”

She rips at Persua’s hair, tearing out strands and bites and scratches at Persua’s face. The girl is screaming, flailing at the small creature, but Ivolethe is everywhere. But then Persua’s hand connects with the faerie by pure chance, and Ivolethe is flung to the ground.

“What is it? Kill it!”

Persua shrills as another Runner dashes forwards and scoops Ivolethe up. She yells at him and tries to bite, but he has a finger under her chin. Everyone goes silent as they see for the first time what Ivolethe is.

“What creature is this?”

“Is it—it’s not a monster? A Fraerling? It’s too pale! And it has wings!”

“Let her go.”

I stride forwards, but Persua and her cronies immediately block my way. She stares at me, blood dripping from the scratches on her face and the places where Ivolethe yanked away skin as well as hair.

“You did this.”

I ignore Persua and look at the Runner holding her. He’s uncertain, but his grip on Ivolethe is strong and no matter how hard she struggles, she clearly can’t break free. And neither is she freezing him either; she must not be able to without her magic.

“That’s not a monster. That’s a Frost Faerie. Let her go, now.”

“A Winter Sprite?”

He looks at Ivorethe, stunned. She tries to move her head, but his fingernail is under her chin. She glares and dripples spit onto his thumb, but that’s all she can do.

“Kill it.”

Persua hisses at the other Runner. He hesitates. My heart constricts, and I raise my voice.

“Harm her, and I will kill you. My word on it.”

The Runner looks back to me. He’s one of Persua’s flunkies, but I know my eyes are serious. I mean every word. Persua looks at me, and then at the faerie. Then she smiles evilly.

“Is this your friend? Do you have to make friends with monsters since no one else likes you?”

I ignore Persua and hold out a hand.

“Give her to me.”

“Don’t listen to her.”

Persua interposes herself between the Runner and me. She gestures, and now her posse steps around me. I don’t even look at them; my eyes are on Ivolethe.

“I’ve never seen a Winter Sprite before. Is this what they really look like? They must be the rarest of all monsters; how did you catch this one?”

I try to tune out Persua’s words. What can I do? If I grab for her, what if Ivorlethe gets hurt? How can I talk Persua down peacefully? No—it’s the Runner who’s got her. Focus on him.

But Persua blocks my view of the Runner. She looks at me, and now I see the hatred shining in her eyes, pure and simple. She turns to look at the other Runners.

“Have any of you ever heard of a Frost Faerie being captured? No? I bet that if we sold her to a [Merchant] or an [Alchemist], they’d pay hundreds, no, thousands of gold coins for her.”

The Runners around me shift. The mention of that kind of money changes their eyes, and some of them slowly walk over to the crowd around me.

Shit. This is bad. But I have to let Ivolethe get free. I look past Persua and raise my voice.

“If you harm her, you will suffer for it. I don’t care how many people you’ve got; I’m not letting you take her. She’s a living being.”

“She attacked me!”

“So?”

Persua hisses with fury. She takes a step forwards, and her arm jostles the Runner holding her. Instantly, Ivolethe shouts, her voice ringing in the Guild.

“Sisters! Sisters, hear me call and take retribution—”

Her voice cuts off as the Runner reapplies pressure on her chin. But the damage is done. I see the other Runners looking nervous and try to capitalize on that.

“Did you hear that? She just shouted for her sisters. You’ve seen the Frost Faeries and what they do when they’re mad. What do you think will happen if you kill one of their own?”

That makes the Runners think twice. Some of them shift and edge back a bit. No one wants to suffer the vengeance of creatures that bring the winter, no matter how much they might earn.

Persua looks uneasy too, but she’s too stupid to think straight. She whirls and screeches at the Runner.

“Shut her up! Squash her already!”

“Don’t do it.”

The Runner holding Ivolethe hesitates. His hand shakes and the faerie is gasping, but he doesn’t let go. I step forwards.

“Let her go. Now.”

“You coward! Give it to me! I’ll do it!”

Persua’s patience snaps. She reaches for Ivolethe, but the Runner pulls away from her as well. I step forwards again, thinking he’s seen reason, but he raises her up. I halt, hand outstretched. Persua stares at the Runner, eyes flinty daggers.

“What are you doing?”

He licks his lips. But he’s staring at me now. He opens his mouth and croaks a word.

“Coin.”

“What?”

“You—you want her back, you’ve got to pay for her.”

I stare at him incredulously. He can’t be serious. But oh, yes, he is. He pauses again, but he holds onto Ivolethe tightly as he looks at me.

“We all know you’ve got a lot. Well—give it over. And then I’ll let her go. Otherwise—”

He squeezes a little harder and Ivolethe cries out. My blood boils, but Persua’s all smiles now.

“That’s right! Just hand over your belt pouches—and your potions—and we’ll call it even. Okay?”

Those greedy bastards. But the Runner’s eyes are serious, and Ivolethe is in pain. What should I do? If I give them Teriarch’s gold coins—but Ivolethe—

I stare at Persua. I stare at the Runner. I stare at Ivolethe, and come to a swift decision.

“Fuck it. [Flashbang]!”

The world and sound itself explode into confusion and chaos. I closed my eyes, but the sound wave still hits me like a physical thing. My ears ring and go silent; but I’m already charging into the Runner, body-checking him to the floor.

There’s no time for thought or anything else. I reach for his flailing hands. I have to get Ivolethe free. Get her loose. Grab his arms. Break his bones. Bite his fingers off. I punch him repeatedly as I search for the small blue shape among the dancing spots in my vision. Where is she?

Nowhere. Gone. She’s free! I see a blue shape flying towards the door, and then someone strikes me from behind.

Persua is on top of me, fingers clawing, biting, kicking. She’s like a wildcat, and some of her friends try to batter me as well. I roll over, and pull out one of Octavia’s potions.

The pepper potion would be better as a spray. But one good toss still gets it on a lot of faces and eyes, including Persua’s. I shield my face and feel the hot liquid stinging as it reacts with my skin, but the screams are worth it. I stumble up and see Persua stumbling away from me, shrieking as she rubs at her eyes.

Something in me snaps. Her little insults, her tripping me, my crushed leg—and Ivolethe—all explode outwards in a fist that catches her on the cheek and sends her to the ground. Persua tries to get up, but I kick her down and then mount her as she flails and begin to punch.

Punch her. Hurt her. My ears are ringing, but now I hear the roaring of blood, and all that I want in this or any other world is to bash her face in. I hit and hit and hit, until something drags me back. I struggle, fighting, but whoever’s holding me is too strong.

The rage hammering every inch of me subsides after a while, and I stop struggling. That’s when I hear and see and think again, and realize I’m being held by two strong arms.

“Garia?”

I look around and see my friend, her nose bleeding furiously, holding me back as Persua lies on the floor. People are still shouting in pain—I see Runners clutching at their eyes and more raising their voices, deafened. Two people are with Persua, and then I see the girl herself lying on the ground.

Her face is—I only now begin to feel the pain in my hands. My fingers hurt terribly, and I feel small lacerations and bruising on my skin. I see the echoes of their impressions on Persua’s face.

It’s already swollen. I can barely see her features, and there’s blood. A lot of blood. I broke her nose, even parts of her face. She’s crying, and shaking, and the [Receptionist] holding the healing potion barely knows where to start. But as the swelling reduces a tiny bit, one of her eyes swivels towards me. And I hear her voice.

“You.”

She struggles, but the two women hold her down. Persua’s face is filled with blood and snot and tears and who knows what else. But her voice is intact. It’s a trembling mess of emotions; not a shriek, but a warbling, piercing whisper.

“I’ll kill you.”

I’m near enough to Persua that I can feel her spitting as her malformed lips form the words. Her eyes fix on me, wild, and the words pour forth, hatred in each syllable. Tears run through the blood on her face, but she still stares at me.

“I’ll kill you. I swear it. I’ll have you raped and killed. You’ll die screaming.”

“Ryoka—”

Garia tries to pull me back, and the [Receptionists] try to force us apart. But Persua thrashes and I refuse to move. She screams.

“I’ll kill you! You’ll die horribly! There won’t be pieces left of you! I’ll kill you and everyone you love, you—”

The [Receptionist] tries to jam the potion in her mouth, but Persua just spits out a broken tooth with the potion as she continues shouting at me.

There’s a crazy look in her eyes. Garia holds me back as I stare at Persua. She continues speaking, half-sobbing, half-cursing. There’s nothing I can say to her, nothing to reply with. So I just kick her in the stomach and watch her puke before Garia pulls me away.

—-

Two hours later, I stand outside in the cold snow. I barely feel it, even though I haven’t had any of Erin’s soup. I feel the cold air blowing my clothes and don’t care.

“Ivolethe.”

The faerie hovers in the air next to me, looking uncharacteristically serious. I’m dressed up, and she’s naked. But I feel like the colder one. My heart is very cold. Very still.

I slowly sit down in the snow, and the faerie flies down next to me. The snow is wet—I don’t care. I don’t have anywhere to be, and I can’t stand. Not right now.

After a while, the faerie speaks.

“‘Twas an unexpected encounter, was it not?”

I look at her. Ivolethe looks back.

“What the hell am I supposed to say to that?”

“I am not sure. But did it end how you expected?”

I laugh, shortly.

“What do you think? I’m banned from that Runner’s Guild—maybe all of them right now. They might press charges, or make me pay for what’s left of the building.”

Shortly after I left, the other Frost Faeries appeared. They crashed an avalanche of snow into the building. If it hadn’t been deserted—as it was, it destroyed nearly everything inside. The last I saw, the building was so full of snow that people were having to chip away at the compacted ice.

“What a mess.”

The short version of what went down is that Persua went to the best local Healer around to get treated for the injuries the potion couldn’t fix. The Runners scattered, mostly thanks to the other Frost Faeries pelting them with shards of ice, freezing them, and so on. I think the Guild staff would have liked to hold me accountable, but when they saw the faeries literally destroy the entire Guild in one go, they had second thoughts. So did the Watch, which is how I found myself politely asked to leave the city now rather than be kicked out.

I probably could have stayed. But I didn’t want to be anywhere near Persua, not even in the same city. I still remember the look in her eyes.

It’s not over. I’ve never seen anyone look like that, but I know without a doubt that she meant every word she said to me. Part of me wishes I’d gone back and taken my knife and stabbed her right there and then. She’s never going to forget. But I’m not a murderer.

No matter how close I got back there.

“What a mess. What a horrible, terrible…”

The faerie looks up at me. I stare down at her. In a way, this is all her fault. Persua would have left me alone if I’d just walked on. But I can’t hate her for what she did. It’s what I’d do for Erin, the exact same.

“From now on, I’m not taking you inside ever again. Got it?”

She nods.

“That is fair.”

I shiver. Now I’m feeling the cold again, but I stay seated, cross-legged.

“I’m just glad you’re okay. If that Runner or Persua had tried—would they have killed you?”

Another nod.

“Better that you had let them. If she had slain me, her death would have followed before the next moon rose in the sky.”

Chill from within, chill without. I stare at Ivolethe.

“Who would have killed her? The other faeries?”

She shakes her tiny head.

“Not my sisters, no. There are others among the Winter Court who move in matters of death. And they are far more terrible than we.”

I don’t want to know. I don’t. Ivolethe’s face—I don’t want to know. Some things about the fae terrify me.

“It’s better that you didn’t die.”

“Perhaps. But that girl—she swore a dire oath against you. Such things can only be resolved in blood.”

“You’re probably right.”

I know she is. But I can’t think about that now. I can’t, or I’ll have to choose between killing her now or—

“She’ll be a Courier. And I won’t see her.”

“Bah. That one would give up all for vengeance. Her blades will find you no matter how far apart ye are.”

“I guess I’ve just got to outrun her, then. Although she’s faster than I am now.”

“Mm.”

We sit in silence for a while longer. I bow my head. Ivolethe just looks at the still landscape.

“I was jealous of her, you know. Just a bit. I don’t like Skills and Classes but—I’m so slow and weak without them.”

Ivolethe looks up at me silently. I avert my gaze; look at the gray horizon as I try to explain.

“It’s always the same argument. I think I’m giving away something by leveling up. Or—or I’m compromising, taking the easy route to success without any effort. But there is effort required, and what’s the harm in doing what everyone else is doing? It’s only logical.”

More silence. Ivolethe just listens as I externalize my struggle and confess.

“But it’s hard. I want to be strong. Erin’s—she’s stronger than me in so many ways. But I thought that would be fine. I could do things my own way, become a Courier even—I had Octavia’s potions, and I can even do magic. But it turns out I can’t even do magic that well.”

Some snow blows off of the ground and into the air. I watch it whirl upwards and away.

“I can’t do magic. And I’ve hit my limit physically. I could—try altering my body, I guess. Teriarch mentioned that. But that’s cheating too. I just wish there was a way to be faster. Just faster. If I were faster, I’d be happy with the rest.”

“So what is it ye wish?”

Ivolethe turns to face me in the snow. I look down at her, and feel that same sense of envy.

“I wish I was better. Just…better.”

“‘Tis a tall wish. Even a King could not grant your request. Why not be content with your self as it is now? You are brave and quick; is there aught else you need?”

I know she’s right, but at the same time, she’s wrong. I shake my head and shiver.

“Who I am isn’t enough. I want to become more. Is that too much to ask?”

For a while Ivolethe studies me. Then she smiles, teeth flashing in the winter sunlight.

“It is. But mortals have always wished for such. That is why you spread like wildfire while we remain, timeless.”

She looks rueful and sad, and happy at the same time, like an adult watching a child play. My heart aches.

“I don’t know what to do. What would you do, in my place, Ivolethe?”

She looks at me from head to toe.

“What is it you’ve dreamed of, Ryoka Griffin? What do you wish for with all your heart?”

It’s an important question, but I know the answer in a second. I just have to think back to the day I started running. I speak my reply to her and the cold.

“I always wanted to run like the wind. I felt it once, when you led me and Mrsha away from the Goblin army.”

I remember the rushing air behind me, and the sense of weightlessness I felt. Each step was forever, and I watched the world fly past me. For a second I was wind, and I lived my dream.

“Well then, I would search for that. I would seek to run as the wind, for that is my dream. If I did not chase such things, I would not be mortal, no?”

“How?”

I have to laugh.

“Even a Courier couldn’t run like that. At least, not Val or Hawk. And certainly not without levels. How would I ever get that fast, when I can’t even outrun Persua?”

Ivolethe spreads two tiny hands.

“We are friends, are we not? What do friends do but help each other?”

She grins at me again, and I pause.

“What? How could you help?”

“You want to study magic? To become better? I told you once; you will not find what you look for in a book. But perhaps it is because ye haven’t seen what magic truly is.”

I know what she’s hinting at. But I have to hear it out loud.

“What are you suggesting?”

Slowly, Ivolethe flies upwards until she sits in the air in front of me. She looks me in the eye, still smiling.

“I’ll teach you the ways of the fae, not the tricks mortals use. I will teach you to listen to the wind and run like we do. That is what a friend does for a poor mortal who wishes to be better than she is.”

My heart is thundering. My breath catches in my throat.

“Can you do that? Isn’t it against the rules?”

“No one has made rules against this. No one has been mad enough to try. But for you, friend, I would try. It’s worth a shot, eh?”

I look at her. Ivolethe grins at me, a tiny, mad faerie. My friend. I stare back at her, a shivering, depressed Human girl who dreams of flying. Slowly, I offer her a hand.

“If you’d be crazy enough to try it, I’d be forever in your debt.”

Ivolethe wrinkles her face in disgust and slaps away my hand.

“Bah. Do not make such promises so lightly. Nae, I offer you this: I will try to teach you to run like the wind for one thing.”

“Name it.”

“Friendship.”

She offers me a tiny hand. I don’t hesitate. I reach out, and her grip is like melting ice, winter’s thaw, the moment of tiny warmth in the frozen heart of the world. We shake, and it is done.

A faerie’s bargain. A friend’s promise. A child’s dream.

The wind blows, and my heart races off with it.

To run like the wind.

3.05 L

The day after Ryoka’s encounter with Persua and the day before everything else happened, a [Message] was sent to Celum addressed to Ryoka and Erin. Two spells, actually. They were duly recorded and when Ryoka remembered to stop by the Mage’s Guild, they were delivered to both girls at the counter with no incident.

Erin and Ryoka stared at the short piece of paper and the neat, clearly legible handwriting of the scribe. It was a short message, but hit all the points Erin had been privately worrying about.

Erin, Mrsha is with me and Olesm is keeping an eye on your inn. M is worried, but adjusting. All is well; do not get stabbed by Goblins. I have told Klbksctch and Relc. Stay safe,

–Selys.

Erin breathed a sigh of relief as she looked at the message while Ryoka looked at the short reply she’d received from Krshia.

We will await the delivery. The others will abide until then.

The other girl didn’t exactly sigh in relief, but it put her mind at ease. Both young women left the Mage’s Guild without sending a return message, and met with Ivolethe and Garia to go about the rest of their day. While the situation was not ideal, Erin and Ryoka agreed that things would keep a little while before they would need to return.

However, all those in both Celum and Liscor had omitted one person in their exchange of messages. Selys had completely forgotten about her while attempting to deal with a restless and upset Mrsha, and Krshia was too busy taking care of her nephew Brunkr, who was lying in bed moaning about his paw. Erin was too busy thinking about Toren to remember, and Ryoka didn’t really care. Thus, no one had mentioned the last small detail left unresolved in Erin’s inn.

They had all completely forgotten about Lyonette.

—-

Lyonette sat in the empty inn that belonged to Erin Solstice and stared at the shuttered windows. It was dark. The room was empty and quiet and the falling snow outside did not disturb the suffocating stillness of the building. Nevertheless, Lyonette stayed still, refusing to move. She was not crying, and she wasn’t having hysterics. She was above such common reactions.

But she was afraid. She could see snow falling between one of the cracks in the shutters. It was the only one not fully covering the glass windows. She knew she should get up and close it fully, but she didn’t want to. Fear held her down.

Lyonette, or Lyon as she now grudgingly answered to, watched the snow slowly build up outside. Flakes fell down from the overcast sky, disappearing into the blank landscape. She watched the snow fall and wondered when it would stop. Part of her wanted it never to stop, as if time was tied to the snow. So long as it fell, time wouldn’t pass and she wouldn’t have to confront the truth.

Erin Solstice was gone. She had left her inn one day and never come back. She was gone, and now so was the cute little Gnoll child named Mrsha. Ryoka Griffin, the surly Runner girl had left too, and all the guests had stopped arriving. Now the inn was deserted, save for Lyonette. And if the Goblins came back, she would just be a corpse. Or worse.

In the growing cold, Lyonette shivered. She hadn’t dared light a fire, even though the winter chill meant she had bundled herself in every article of clothing Erin had given her. She had even dragged a blanket downstairs and she was shivering in it. She could see her breath sometimes in the air—if she held her breath and then slowly breathed out, she could see it as a small vapor trail.

This was a new discovery for Lyonette. She had seldom been in any place where she was this cold for this long. She had always been taken care of by a bevy of servants; exposure to potentially lethal cold like this was unthinkable.

But her servants were on another continent and Lyonette was alone. And Erin, the only person who had taken care of her, was gone. She might have been killed by the Goblin army. They had gone north, hadn’t they?

At that thought Lyonette shuddered uncontrollably and nearly fell out of her chair. The Goblin army. They had come through Liscor’s path, a huge army of them, just like those led by the Goblin Lords of the past. She hadn’t seen anything like a Goblin Lord, but the army had been enough to give her waking nightmares.

She remembered that night vividly. She had been sleeping in her bed the day after Selys had taken Mrsha. Lyonette hadn’t been sleeping well; she’d barely gotten to bed after the female drake had finally dragged the Gnoll forcibly out of the inn, ignoring the howls and shrieks of distress the Gnoll cub had made. And then she had heard the high-pitched shouting, and woken from her slumber. A minute later Lyonette had realized it wasn’t shouting she was hearing, but the Goblins.

An army had marched out of the darkness, through the falling snow, hundreds, thousands of them. Some had been holding torches, but the vast mass of their number had been mostly shadows, rapidly traversing the deep snow, laughing and shrieking as the torchlight glinted off of metal.

A Goblin army. The bane of civilization. Lyonette had been too afraid to count and see if there were really hundreds of thousands of them like those that had marched in the last Goblin King’s army. The instant she had realized the Goblins were moving towards Liscor, she had barricaded the door and fled upstairs to her room.

Lyon had hid in her room on the second floor of the inn, hiding under the bed with her heart hammering out of her chest as she heard the Goblin host marching past. Her first thought had been that the Goblins were attacking Liscor. But they hadn’t. Instead, the Goblin army had moved around the city on the eastern side. They were headed north, to the Human lands, and that had forced them to bypass Liscor.

The Goblins had passed by the walls of the city in one mass, loosing arrows up at the defenders while the [Guardsmen] held their ground behind the battlements. A few volleys had been loosed in return, but the main deterrent had come in the form of a glowing orb of crackling lightning that had formed over the southern wall. It had sent bolts of lightning shooting down towards the Goblins, who had scattered and retreated to a safer distance.

Lyonette had recognized the wards of course. They were standard among most large cities that faced regular monster attacks. And they were a sufficient deterrent for the Goblin army, for the mass of monsters didn’t stop to retaliate again and disappeared down the northern road. Lyonette had watched the dark shapes vanish and waited even longer until the last eerie howls had been covered up by silence. But she had hid in the inn until the morning, and many hours after that.

After that—silence. Lyonette had stayed in the inn for two more days, only opening the door once when a strange Drake she vaguely recognized tried to enter. He hadn’t said much—his name was Okresm or something and he had left as soon as he realized Lyon was still living here. Rather, she had chased him out.

Now Lyonette was regretting that, however slightly. It had been days since the Goblin army had passed, and the young woman had heard nothing about Erin’s whereabouts. For all intents and purposes, she had vanished.

What had happened? Ryoka had left with a few curt words saying she was going to look for Erin. Then Selys had decided to take Mrsha into the city and they’d gone. And then—

Nothing. Where was Erin? Had Ryoka found her, or was she still looking? Lyonette was in the dark about everything, and with only her fears to speak to her day after day, her paranoia had mounted.

Erin was never coming back. She might be, but she could be hurt, or wounded. What if a monster had killed her, or her skeleton? Maybe it had shown its true colors and stabbed her when her back was turned, or simply abandoned Erin in the middle of nowhere. She could be dead! Or eaten! Or—

Lyonette imagined Goblins doing all the horrible things her [Governess] had told her about, or what she’d heard when eavesdropping on the palace staff. Erin might have run into the Goblin army. She could be dying right this instant.

That didn’t inspire Lyon to go out searching for Erin like that rude Ryoka had done of course. She wouldn’t know where to begin, and the Goblins had probably eaten her. Besides, Lyon didn’t owe her anything. Erin Solstice was a rude peasant who treated no one with respect and was too trusting for her own good. Anything that befell her was probably her own fault.

But Lyonette had to admit, the inn had never seemed so dark when Erin Solstice was around. And it had never been quite so…

Empty.

It was as if the life of the inn itself had gone with Erin. The day after she’d left, all the guests had stopped arriving. That may have had to do with the Goblins and the lack of any lights in the windows—Lyonette had stopped lighting the fire in the common room of the inn—but in an instant, the bustle of the building had ceased completely.

At first Lyonette had been impatient, waiting for Erin’s return. Then she had been afraid. Now, after many days, she was just…quiet. Lyonette sat in the inn day after day, only leaving now and then to fetch some water to drink or use the outhouse. But the longer she sat in the dead building, the more she knew something had to change.

It wasn’t a quick realization. If anything, it was a thought born out of several nights of sleeping with her back to the door, wide-eyed, flinching at any random sound in the night. It was finding Erin’s little money stash and realizing most of her gold coins had been given away to the Horns of Hammerad or on Erin’s person when she disappeared. It was staring at the empty pantry and feeling the small hole in her stomach where food should and always had been.

Lyonette had cried herself to sleep the first night she’d gone to sleep with her belly writhing with hunger; the next she’d just slept, too exhausted to even weep. Six days after Erin had vanished, Lyonette knew what had to be done. She looked up and watched another wisp of warmth vanish into the dark room of The Wandering Inn. She knew.

Erin Solstice wasn’t coming back. Or if she was, it might be tomorrow, a week from now, or months. Either way, if she was gone for even a little while longer, it would be too late. So. Lyonette knew what had to be done while Erin was gone.

She had to work. Or she would starve.

It was a foreign concept to Lyon in many ways, a hateful one. Demeaning. But it didn’t change the facts. She was running out of Erin’s coin, and she had even less food in the building. She had to work. Erin’s inn had sustained itself by selling food to customers; she had to continue that.

There were no other options Lyonette could think of. She couldn’t envision herself making her way north through the snow, and the Goblins—no. And she was banned from the city, so that left only the inn.

Again, this wasn’t a conclusion Lyonette came to willingly, but after two days of eating the last crumbs of frozen cheese and equally hard bread that was the last of the food in the pantry, Lyonette was desperate. That was how she found herself waiting at the door when Olesm, the Drake, cautiously broke his way through the snow to her inn.

“You! You there, Drake!”

He nearly jumped out of his scales when Lyonette threw the door open. She had seen the Drake come by the inn every day, or every other day at the latest. He usually just peered hopefully through one of the windows for a few minutes before leaving, usually quicker if he saw her face.

“Oh. It’s you. Um, Lyon, wasn’t it?”

Lyonette gave the Drake a big smile and deliberately refrained from correcting him on her proper name.

“That is right. And you are…Olesm, correct?”

“That’s right.”

The Drake coughed and looked into the dark inn hopefully.

“Is uh, Erin not back yet?”

“No. She hasn’t returned.”

“Ah. I see.”

The Drake hesitated.

“Well, I won’t be getting in your way. I’ll ah, drop by tomorrow, then.”

“No! Don’t do that! I mean—why don’t you stay here?”

“What?”

Lyonette opened the door a bit wider. The Drake blinked into the dark room, and Lyonette realized that he probably couldn’t even see inside.

“It’s a bit dark, but I’ll start the fire. You can stay and—and order something!”

The Drake looked doubtfully at Lyonette as she smiled desperately at him.

“But Erin isn’t here right now. She’s the innkeeper.”

“Yes, but I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“I guess you are.”

“Well then. Why not come in? Erin’s inn—is still her inn even without her, isn’t it?”

“That might be true?”

Olesm frowned. He looked backwards towards the city as if he was considering leaving, then he reluctantly shrugged.

“I guess I could stay for a bit…”

“Good!”

Lyonette nearly gasped with relief. She opened the door and the Drake stepped in. He shivered; the inside of the inn was scarcely warmer than the outside.

“It’s freezing in here! Why isn’t the fire on?”

“I…forgot.”

Lyonette pretended to fuss with some kindling in the fireplace. Then she struck some sparks with the flint and steel and the fire flickered into life. Olesm watched the small flames consume the shaved wood and begin to eat away at the larger sticks Lyonette had arranged in the fireplace as he stared around the empty building.

“It’s so dark. And gloomy. Uh, not that that’s a bad thing. I guess when Erin’s not here…”

He cleared his throat.

“Did—did you say you had something to eat? I wouldn’t mind a snack.”

“Food? Oh, now that you mention it—”

Lyonette turned as casually as possible and gave Olesm her best contrite expression.

“I’m sorry, but I forgot—there’s nothing left in the pantry. With Erin gone, there’s no one to go shopping.”

“Not you?”

The Drake frowned at Lyon. She hesitated.

“I can’t go into the city. I’m banned.”

“Oh yeah. Right. You’re the thief.”

“I—”

Lyonette hesitated. Then she slowly closed her mouth. She was the thief, even if she didn’t have the [Thief] class. She hadn’t seen herself as one, but the Drakes and Gnolls thought of her that way. She had to humor him.

“I am. That is right.”

She tried to look apologetic as possible.

“It’s all my fault, of course. I would go shopping, but I can’t. So there’s nothing to eat here.”

“Ah.”

The Drake just stared at Lyonette. She cleared her throat again.

“I don’t know what I’ll do without food. If I can’t serve people, how will I keep the inn open until Erin gets back?”

“You? You’re going to keep The Wandering Inn open?”

The look Olesm gave Lyon was full of disbelief. She gritted her teeth, but nodded.

“It’s my job. I am a [Barmaid] after all. And I’m Erin Solstice’s employee. She said so herself. And what sort of…help would I be if I didn’t keep her inn open and earn her money while she was gone?”

“I suppose that makes sense.”

Olesm frowned as he scratched at his chin. Lyonette nodded, the desperate smile still fixed on her face.

“So I need someone to help deliver food to the inn while Erin’s gone. I’ll pay of course—and you can eat here as well!”

“Wait, what? You want me to bring you food?”

The Drake sat up in his chair and frowned hard at Lyonette. She nodded, keeping her eyes on him.

“You have to. Not cooked food; I’ll sell food here like Erin did. But you have to bring the supplies here so I can cook it. Or else I’ll starve. And you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

The Drake gave Lyonette a look that wasn’t quite as reassuring as she’d hoped. But he eventually agreed to find a way to get Lyonette more food.

“I guess I can make a few trips—but how will you keep the inn open? Without Erin, doesn’t this place lose a lot of its ah, attraction? Why would anyone come this far?”

“Why, because I’ll cook fine food of course, and serve people with grace and decorum!”

“Really? You?”

Olesm looked completely unconvinced. Lyonette ground her teeth, but she smiled at him.

“I do have a Skill in cooking.”

“You do?”

“Absolutely. And I’ve waited tables for nearly a month. You just bring the ingredients, and I’ll cook it. In fact, why don’t you bring some right now? I have money and a list right here…”

“Well, it’s sort of cold out—you mean now? What about—”

Olesm blinked as Lyonette thrust a sheet of parchment and some coins into his claws and practically pushed him out the door. She stared anxiously at him in the snow as he stared at the inn, and then watched him trudge slowly down towards the city, heart pounding all the while.

She’d done it! But the real test would be if he came back. Lyonette stared out the window at the faint shape of Olesm as he walked into the city, and then she sat at the window as the air in the room slowly warmed, staring fixedly at the gates.

It felt like forever and a half before she saw a burdened figure leave the city and start walking her way. It felt like even longer before the Drake struggled up the hill and exhaustedly dropped the packs full of ingredients on the doorstep as Lyonette flung open the door.

“Thank you so much for bringing everything here!”

“What? It was nothing. I mean, it was a bit heavy—I don’t suppose you have anything to drink?”

“I have to cook first.”

Lyonette was already busy opening the ties on the pack. Olesm nodded as he sagged into a chair.

“In that case, I could definitely use a bite to eat. Something hot.”

“Oh. Now?”

The Human girl stared at the Drake. He stared back.

“Yes. I mean, you are going to make food, right?”

“Of course. But—”

Lyonette hesitated.

“—I have to work on a few recipes first. Why don’t you come back two days from now? Then I’ll probably need some more ingredients. Or—you could return tonight if you want to buy something.”

The Drake looked indignantly at the bulging pack of supplies he’d brought.

“What? My meal’s not on the house?”

“No!”

Lyon glared at him. The Drake glared back.

“Okay, I guess I’ll come back later. I mean, if you’re not busy.”

“You do that. And remember, I’ll need more food soon! And tell your…friends. The Wandering Inn is open again!”

Lyon barely heard the door slam as Olesm walked out. She was too busy staring at the wonderful contents of the pack. Eggs, carefully wrapped to avoid breaking, fresh cheese—flour—her stomach growled uncontrollably and Lyonette’s hands shook.

Half of her wanted to scarf down everything raw, but she made herself drag everything into the kitchen and put all the ingredients away first. She had to do this right.

Almost mechanically, the girl pulled out ingredients and set them on the counter as the fire she’d started in the kitchen began to warm the air here too. She blew on her hands, ignoring her empty stomach as she prepared herself. She was going to cook. She, Lyonette du Marquis, was about to make a meal.

Hot shame and burning desire stole over her in waves, but the emptiness in her stomach quashed all other feelings. Lyonette stared at the ingredients and imagined something basic. Pasta. She remembered the lovely, buttery noodles Erin had served to her and the other guests in the inn one night. She could do that, surely?

Lyon had [Basic Cooking] as a Skill now, a fact that filled her with shame and privately elated her. It was the skill of a peasant, yes, but it was her Skill. It was hers.

That was how she found herself cooking with the flour, salt, eggs, and some water in the kitchen. Lyonette first mixed flour and salt together, and then made a divot in the mound of powder to add a beaten egg. Then she mixed in a beaten egg and squished the sticky mess together until it began to congeal. As if by magic, the disgusting mess of egg and flour became a different substance. Dough!

It was dough, the very thing Lyonette had seen bakers turn into golden loaves of bread! She stared at the small ball sitting on the counter of the kitchen and stared at her flour-covered hands in amazement.

“That’s how it’s done? It’s so…easy!”

She’d expected there to be some laborious process required, or a convoluted mix of ingredients. But this? Barely a few minutes of effort and she was nearly finished with her cooking! Part of Lyon was elated, the rest indignant that people paid [Bakers] and [Cooks] so much. There was nothing to it!

But Lyonette quickly realized she wasn’t done as her Skill prompted her to keep going. She had to knead the dough for several minutes, until Lyonette’s weak hands were cramping up a bit from the effort. Then, she had to find the rolling pin in one of the drawers and smooth out the dough. And then Lyon had to cut the dough into long strips, and then boil water.

That was actually the hardest part. Lyonette had of course gone to fetch water many times in the past for Erin, but she’d hated the duty and had done it as slowly as possible. Since she was making food for herself and she was alone, Lyonette had no excuse. She had to make two trips for water, and she was exhausted by the time she watched the water boil over the fire.

Then, Lyonette added the pasta and a bit of salt and watched the noodles swirl around as she stirred the pot anxiously. After only two minutes the pasta was done. Lyonette dumped the water outside and scooped the rest out of the pot, shaking it to dry the last of the water. Then she put it in one heaping mound on her plate and dug in.

In the lukewarm inn, by the flickering fire, the young [Princess] used a slightly-bent fork to lever the first mount of noodles into her mouth with a shaking hand. She bit, chewed, and swallowed, scarfing down the food almost too quickly to taste it. But she tasted the second bite, and the third, and her face fell with each new forkful of her pasta.

It couldn’t be. But it was. As the aching feeling in her stomach subsided, Lyonette slowly chewed the slightly watery noodles and knew the truth. Her food wasn’t great. It wasn’t even good. It was bland. No, worse, it was simply mediocre. True, she’d made noodles thanks to her skill, but they were a far cry from what Erin could now do.

Lyonette had been famished, but even she couldn’t finish the huge mound on her plate. After about two thirds of it she just sat back and stared at the pale mass of noodles, disgusted and disappointed in equal parts.

It wasn’t the same at all. She could remember the wonderful noodles Erin had made not so long ago—buttery and hot, and delightfully fragrant thanks to some herb. It had been delicious even without the meatballs. Lyonette’s mouth watered just remembering.

But this? This was just pasta, barely serviceable. It was a disgrace to any inn, and worse, it had come from a Skill. Lyonette’s Skill. Was this all she could do, even with [Basic Cooking]?

Lyonette wanted to cry again. This wasn’t fair. Why was her cooking this bad? She’d remembered ordering one of her [Maids] who had [Basic Cooking] to make her a snack, and while it hadn’t been great, it hadn’t been…this. What had she done wrong?

Then she remembered what one of her tutors had said on the rare days she’d been paying attention. Skills could improve one’s ability greatly and even give them the means to do things they would never be able to do normally, like fish, work metal, or even fight. But a Skill improved on what was already there.

If two [Warriors] with the same Skills fought, the one who had trained longer and had more actual combat experience would inevitably prevail. Similarly, even with [Basic Cooking], if Lyonette had never made food, all her cooking would be just that: basic.

For two minutes Lyonette just stared at the cold plate of noodles, and then she heard a knock at the door. Instantly her body went rigid with fear and apprehension, but Goblins wouldn’t knock, would they? This wasn’t a monster, this was a guest. A guest!

She scrambled to her feet and flung the door open. Her mind was racing—was it too cold inside? She should have opened the windows to let everyone know the inn was open tonight! What about cooking? She couldn’t serve food to—what should she say? What was that Erin had always told her to say to new customers? ‘Welcome, please have a seat?’ or was it, ‘let me take your coat’?

The person standing in the doorway as Lyonette yanked the door open had no coat to take. A massive drake—far bigger than Olesm—blinked down at Lyonette as she stared up at him. After a moment, he coughed.

“Hey…you.”

“Um, welc—do you have a seat for your coat?”

“What?”

Lyonette turned red. The Drake scratched awkwardly at the spines on the back of his head and looked past the young woman into the inn. His eyes noted the single plate and dim fire before they returned to her.

“Is Erin back yet?”

Lyonette gulped. She vaguely recognized the Drake; he was Relc, the one Erin had thrown out of the inn earlier. But he was also a guest, wasn’t he? She tried to smile as welcomingly as possible as she opened the door a bit wider.

“Not yet. But would you like to stay and have something to ea—”

“Nope. See ya.”

The Drake turned before Lyonette had even finished her sentence. Desperately, she threw the door open to call out to him, but her breath caught in her chest when she saw the black Antinium standing next to the Drake in the snow. He’d been so still, so silent, she hadn’t even seen him at first.

Klbkch stared at Lyonette for a second and then turned to walk away with the Drake. Lyonette stood in the doorway, staring at the two [Guardsmen]’s backs. They waited until they were a few paces away from the inn to start speaking, but the wind blew their voices up the hill towards her.

“Looks like Erin’s not back yet.”

“Indeed.”

“But who was that Human? I’ve never seen her before, have you?”

“I believe it was the thief that Erin Solstice employed.”

“Who?”

“The one who burned down Miss Krshia’s shop, I believe. The one exiled from the city.”

“Who?”

“The Human girl.”

“There are a lot of—”

“The one who called you ‘scaley oaf’.”

“Oh! Her. Hey, can I go back inside and beat her up a bit?”

Lyonette shrank back in the doorway, but the other voice stopped the first.

“That would not be wise. If Erin Solstice comes back and finds you have attacked her staff, she will most likely ban you for life.”

“Damn. Are you sure?”

“Very. You will have to give her your apology gift later. Although, you will first have to buy her a gift.”

“Hrgh. I know, I know. But what do Human females like, anyways? Should I get her some meat? Jewels? I don’t have that much money on me, you know.”

“I recommend we ask about. There are Humans in the city. Let us ask them.”

“Sure, I guess. If we have to. Hey, where should we eat tonight…?”

The voices trailed off as the wind changed directions. Lyonette shivered as she stood in the open doorway a moment longer, staring out into the dark snow. Then she closed the door. She felt…bad, even though she didn’t know why. But the inn was full of light, especially when she opened the windows and added more fuel to the fire. It was warm and bright and it almost felt like before, even if dinner had been bland. But it wasn’t the same.

It really wasn’t.

—-

Someone else came by that night. Lyonette was in the kitchen, trying to work out what would make the pasta taste better when she heard the door open. She hurried into the common room and saw a man wearing a worn, serviceable dark cloak shaking snow off of it as he looked around. A dagger at his side was his only weapon, but he walked as if he only needed his piercing glare to kill anything that might accost him.

Lyon recognized him as well. The man looked as annoyed as ever, and perhaps even more so today. His expression was grim, and he reminded Lyon of the oldest and grumpiest of the kingdom’s soldiers. She knew who he was—a Gold-rank adventurer. That made her defer to him slightly, even though she was royalty. It was certainly not because she was afraid of him. Well, maybe a little.

“W-welcome sir! Miss Solstice isn’t back yet, but if you’d like to stay, I could make you some pasta—”

Halrac’s piercing gaze froze Lyon in place. He looked at her, and then around the inn. He shook his head and grunted irritably.

“Hmph.”

He turned and left without another word. Lyonette watched him leave through one of the windows as the adventurer stomped back towards the city through the snow. She didn’t know what to think about that, but she imagined how much money a Gold-rank adventurer might have spent and felt even worse.

All in all, it was almost a relief when Olesm dropped by. The Drake was still irritable, but he came by for dinner by himself. He grew much more cheerful when Lyonette served him pasta and told him he wouldn’t have to pay for it; his expression immediately changed when he bit into the over-salted batch she’d made this time. He ate four bites and then pushed his plate away and didn’t touch it for the remainder of the time he spent in the inn.

Not that he took that long anyways. Olesm only stayed long enough to tell Lyonette about the Goblin army’s sacking of Esthelm, the news that Erin was alive in Celum, and that she wasn’t coming back any time soon. She badgered him with questions, but the Drake had no answers.

“I don’t know when she can come back, okay?”

He snapped at her as he drank some of the hot water she’d boiled and grimaced at the taste. It was the same water she’d used for the noodles, and he pushed that back on the table as well after another sip.

“But—when will she return? Can she?”

Lyonette wrung her hands. Olesm just shrugged, looking unhappy.

“It’s dangerous on the roads, and frankly, it might be safer where she is. After everyone’s [Dangersense] got triggered in the city, Zevara’s put the entrance to the dungeon on permanent watch with every spare [Guardsman] she can muster.”

“The dungeon?”

Lyonette had no [Dangersense]; she hadn’t even realized the entrance to the dungeon had been uncovered. Olesm nodded as he exclaimed.

“None of the adventurers want to go in. Griffon Hunt hasn’t even gone through the entrance yet, and all the other groups are staying put. No one’s sure what will come out—if anything. Someone’s got to go in, but until one of the groups works up the nerve, it’s another threat along with those Goblins that the city has to be wary of.”

He sighed and stood up. Lyonette watched him anxiously. Olesm looked at the food and water and shook his head briefly before digging in his pocket.

“Here.”

He put a few bronze coins on the table and nodded to them.

“For the food. I’m not that hungry, I guess.”

“You’re going? Already?”

Lyonette was surprised at the tone of her own voice. Normally she would have welcomed silence, but Olesm was the first person to even enter the inn since Erin had left. The Drake nodded, looking tired.

“I’ve got to plan some stuff out with Zevara and—well, I’m busy. I’ll stop by tomorrow, though.”

“But why not stay here? For a little while longer, I mean?”

Olesm paused, looking awkward.

“I’ve really got to be going. I still need to ea—I mean, I’ve got a lot…”

He stopped and stared at something in the corner of the room. Lyonette’s eyes were drawn to the ghostly chessboard on one of the tables. None of the pieces had moved since Erin had left, but the Drake’s eyes fixed on them for a few seconds. He looked back at Lyonette.

“You wouldn’t happen to play chess, would you?”

Lyon shook her head reluctantly. She remembered it being the latest trend in court, but she’d never picked up the game. Olesm looked disappointed.

“Oh.”

He left soon after, despite Lyonette’s attempts to entice him to stay. Afterwards, Lyonette stared at the bad pasta and hurled it into the fire along with the plate. It made a horrible mess and stunk terribly as the fire consumed the pasta. Then Lyon just stood in the center of the room as the smell of burnt food filled the inn.

She was lost. For a few minutes Lyonette desperately tried to suppress her tears, but then they came forth and she just stood in the empty inn, letting them roll down her cheeks and drip onto the floor.

It was all over. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t cook, and no one liked her. Lyonette had known that—she’d even relished the knowledge before. But now, she knew it would be her death. No one would buy any food. She’d starve to death and Erin would find her bones in the inn when she came back.

She was a failure. That’s all she was and would ever be. The pitiful third daughter of a small kingdom, dying alone in an inn that wasn’t hers. She was nothing.

The girl curled up on the floor as the embers of the fire glowed and faded. She stopped crying because even that was no use, and lay there, waiting to die. She grew still as she rolled herself up into a ball of misery. Then the door opened, and the Antinium walked in.

—-

Pawn didn’t know why he went to The Wandering Inn. It was just where his feet carried him. The Antinium had no idea what to do or where do go; he just knew that he might find the answers he sought if he could listen to a certain young woman for a while.

It had been a long time since he’d gone there. In fact, this morning he’d intended nothing of the kind. Pawn had woken up sitting in his small sleeping spot and believed today would be like all the rest. Empty and uncertain.

The Antinium do not lie down to sleep. It’s not that they can’t, but their backs do not curve like mammals. Pawn’s own back resembled a beetle’s in many ways, and he disliked the rocking that occurred when he tried to lie down. Thus, both Workers and Soldiers alike slept while sitting. It was the most economic use of space, and in the huge barrack-like sleeping area that held five hundred Workers, Pawn had had an adequate six hours of rest.

That was how Pawn’s day began. He would pull himself out of his small cubicle of dirt with his four arms and file into line with the other Workers as they left the room at the same time to receive their morning nutrition.

It was easier for Pawn to do this today than it had a few weeks ago. He had regrown all but a few digits on his hands, and his severed limbs had nearly fully regenerated thanks to the unique healing substances the Antinium used. As he stood behind a Worker, Pawn flexed his digits and marveled a bit at how the simplicity of that action alone made him feel so much better.

The Workers ahead and behind Pawn did not look at their hands, or even move except when they walked forwards. They were not like Pawn. They kept their gazes straight and did not talk. And they gave Pawn more room than strictly necessary.

He was the odd one out. Pawn knew that, but he tried not to take advantage of his position. When he stood in line the Worker gave him the same amount of brown-grey paste as the other Workers. Perhaps if he’d asked for more, he would have received it, but the calculated ration was enough to sustain him throughout the day. Besides, no one would ever ask for more of the Worker’s food than normal.

Pawn stood in the food consumption area and slowly ingested the muck he had been given. There were no seats for the Antinium to eat at; they simply collected their rations on earthenware bowls and ate as efficiently as possible before depositing the bowls to be used again by more Workers filing into the room.

Workers and Soldiers ate separately. This wasn’t because one group ate better quality food than the other—they all ate the same highly-caloric mush, but Soldiers just ate three times as much as Workers, and thus used different containers, necessitating a separate room to feed in. Pawn stared at the brown clump of mushed up…something…as he put it between his mandibles and chewed. The food went down easily, but the taste—

He had grown used to it. Even so, it was never what one would call easy. The Workers ate the food quickly, showing no signs of disgust, even though Pawn knew they had to be tasting exactly what he did. If they had gag reflexes—or an alternative food source, it might have been a different matter.

But food was food, and there were no alternatives. Except at Erin’s inn. Pawn could remember having delicious meals there, and he had to force himself to eat the rest of the mush. He crunched down on something on his last bite. Something hadn’t been fully processed? He swallowed it anyways. It was a nice interlude from the rest of the mush. Perhaps it had been a bone fragment.

Then, as soon as they had finished eating, the Workers moved as one out of the large cavern used for food preparation and into the tunnels to begin their daily duties. Pawn followed them, not pausing to duck even though the ceiling of the tunnel was barely a foot over his head.

That was another feature of the Antinium Hive in Liscor. While some of the cavernous rooms were indeed quite large, designed to hold large numbers of the Antinium, many parts of the Hive had been optimized for space. Thus, the tunnels used solely by Workers were barely large enough to accommodate them. They had only a foot of height as they marched through the cramped corridors built to accommodate exactly two Workers at a time. And such was the flow of Workers going to their daily duties—

Well, any creature with a hint of claustrophobia would have suffered greatly. Pawn didn’t mind; it was what he was used to. He walked with hundreds of other Workers as they walked through the tunnels and around each other in a perfect, synchronized flow of traffic that never halted or wasted time. Hundreds of Workers moved in every direction, going aboveground to work for the city, or below to dig or shore up collapsed tunnel walls, fulfill other tasks around the Hive, and so on.

This was only one of the shifts of Workers that worked throughout the day. Pawn was one of the Workers who slept from just before midnight to around dawn, so he considered himself close to a ‘normal’ sleeping habit. But there were other Workers who would sleep in the middle of the day. It didn’t matter; all time was the same in the Hive.

Pawn walked down the narrow Worker corridors until he came to a main intersection in the Hive. Here, traffic diverged and more bodies entered the ceaseless cascade of motion. Larger Soldiers marched in huge columns down the massive highway of bodies, going to reinforce weak spots in the Hive, to eat, or just to rest until they were called on again. Here the Workers joined other flows, moving deeper into the Hive, or up above.

Pawn walked forwards, following the Worker ahead of him until he came to the split in the traffic. There he paused, uncertain. The Worker behind him paused, and so did the Worker behind him, and behind him and so on. In an instant, thousands of bodies stopped for one crucial second until the Worker behind Pawn awkwardly walked around him. The Worker behind him followed the motion and so did the Worker behind him and behind him…

Instantly, the flow of traffic resumed. Unlike traffic in Erin’s world, the Workers did not hesitate. They moved in perfect synchronization, so that after the initial pause, traffic flow resumed without any pileups as it were. Even so, the incident had cost all the Workers following Pawn a precious second of inactivity. Pawn knew he should feel guilty, but he didn’t.

He stared at the bodies walking around him. Here were Workers, going to their duties. Across from him, another stream of Soldiers was rapidly advancing down the hallway, nearly running. They might be off to fight monsters.

Part of Pawn wondered what would happen if he walked in front of them. Would the Soldiers just trample him? They did that to other Workers who accidentally got in their way. But would his status as an Individual mean they’d avoid him?

He decided not to test this theory. Instead, Pawn resumed walking, resulting in a micro-second of delay as he rejoined the flow of Workers. He walked upwards, up towards a special room built near the surface of the Hive.

A large room had been sectioned off and given a new purpose. Instead of acting as another feeding room, the low-ceilinged area had been filled with cushions, small rectangular wooden boards filled with pieces, and even the odd chair. Antinium, all Workers, sat around these boards, playing chess.

They all paused when Pawn entered the room. The Workers looked up at Pawn, and then resumed playing. He stared around the room, looking at all the seated Antinium playing chess.

In truth, the dirt ceiling was too low to really allow any Workers to sit on the chairs. They sat around the chess boards on the dirt instead, completely ignoring the cushions that had been piled neatly in one corner of the room and never been used.

There were around sixty Workers in the room at the moment, all engaged in a board game. None of them looked up from their games, and they moved at very regular intervals. The rhythmic click of wooden pieces gently tapping on the board soothed Pawn. But he did not sit down at an empty board as he usually did. If he had, he would have had an opponent in seconds. But Pawn didn’t want that today.

Instead, he sat with his back to one of the dirt walls. Pawn stared ahead, not really at the chess players. They were all new Individuals, the few that had survived and not become Aberrations like the rest. They had chosen names, and they were all learning to play chess, as per the recommendations Pawn had made to Klbkch.

But they were not…like him. Pawn knew that. These new Individuals were not like he was. Nor were they like the original Individuals, the original Workers that had chosen names.

“Hah.”

Pawn chuckled out loud at the ridiculousness of that thought. Instantly, every Worker in the room paused in their chess playing and looked up at him as one. He froze in place, unsure of what to do. After a second the Workers returned to playing as if nothing had happened.

That was it. Pawn closed his mandibles and made sure not to make another sound as the sounds of chess resumed. These new Individuals had names, but they didn’t have what he and the others had. They still obeyed orders like any other Worker, and they didn’t express their opinions. They hadn’t developed personality like he, Bird, Belgrade, Anand, and Garry, the only surviving original Individuals had. It wasn’t these new Individuals’ fault, of course. They had been forced into the choice, they hadn’t made it themselves. They didn’t have…Erin.

Things had been simpler a few months ago. Back then, the Hive had made sense to Pawn. There were Workers and Soldiers, the Prognugator, and the Queen. That was how it had been. But now there were Workers and Soldiers yes, and the Queen, but they had a Revalantor who also acted as a Prognugator in the form of Klbkch. He had kicked the former Prognugator who was also the new Prognugator, Ksmvr, out of the Hive. And there was a new group of Antinium.

The Individuals. Over a hundred Workers who had chosen names and been tested for individuality without becoming Aberration. But in that group of Individuals, there were five…leaders.

No, not leaders. Five exceptions. Five of the original Individuals who had become so of their own volition, to save a Human named Erin Solstice. They had been the chess club, her chess club, the Workers who had played at her inn every few days. And they had given their lives, almost all of them, to protect her from the undead.

That was the real change in the Hive. Five Antinium had chosen and become Individual, taking classes and names and true personalities. They had begun to level up rapidly like any other species, and they had become…

Unique. And it had to be said, of the five, one in particular stood out.

Pawn.

He was the first. Pawn knew that. He had been the first to choose a name, the first to choose. Because of that everyone treated him as if he were special. Klbkch, the Queen—they gave him no duties, no responsibilities. They just watched him to see what he would do. And Pawn had no idea what to do, so most days he just walked up to the chess room and either played games or sat like this.

He didn’t do much. Pawn just sat here, day after day. Thinking, really. That was all he could do. He was no gifted warrior like Bird, and nor was he particularly interested in other classes like Garry, Belgrade and Anand. Already the other four had begun to specialize in their roles just as his Queen had hoped. Bird had begun using a bow to harvest a large number of his namesakes even in the wintery climate, and Garry had learned to fry them and make a palatable snack out of their carcasses.

Belgrade and Anand had continued to improve in their [Tactician] class. They had already fought numerous engagements against the dungeon monsters in the tunnels below. They were all becoming assets to the Hive. But Pawn was different.

All the Workers knew it. Pawn knew it. He was different. He was the Worker that Erin had first spoken to, the first Worker to choose his name. Even the other four treated him differently. Because he was first. He was special. He hadn’t just chosen, he had been chosen by Erin.

He was unique. But Pawn had no idea what that meant.

He knew what his Queen wanted, what Klbkch wanted. They wanted him to become a useful warrior, or an asset to the Hive. They wanted him to specialize, to level up in a class and surpass normal Antinium in that way. But Pawn hadn’t done that.

Yes, he had the [Tactician] class. But he wasn’t that high-level in it. In fact, he’d stagnated his growth weeks ago. Pawn still loved to play chess, and he was the best player among the Workers by far. But like Erin, he had ceased to level.

And he had no interest in using a bow like Bird. He didn’t like to cook, only to eat, and he had no burning desire to do anything else in the Hive. Pawn was sure that if he walked anywhere in the Hive—save perhaps the Queen’s room—he could find something to do.

There was always work to do in the Hive. Since he had been allowed aboveground, Pawn had learned something of the customs of other species. Apparently boredom was something their peoples had to fight against. It was an alien concept in the Hive.

Were you done with your assigned duties? In that case, there was always time to be spent processing the nutritional paste the Antinium ate, chewing food up and regurgitating it into a vat to be mixed up with long poles. Or you could be sent to guard against monsters attacking from the dungeon underneath Liscor, supporting the Soldiers in their tireless battle.

And if neither of those two options were viable, you could be assigned to monitor the larvae, or maybe dig. There was always time to dig. You could dig out a collapsed tunnel, dig a new tunnel, dig a deeper tunnel, widen a tunnel, dig out a room, dig into a promising mine shaft, dig out a hole for excrement…

Occasionally, the Workers would build something. That was a refreshing change of pace. They would make wooden load-bearing supports to hold up the titanic weight of the dirt overhead, or fashion crude arrows out of wood. But even that grew tiring after hours of monotonous work blended together.

It wasn’t for Pawn. He knew that. He knew he wanted something different. And perhaps he had found it. Perhaps.

But he was no longer sure. The certainty, the faith that had filled him weeks ago had long since departed, and now Pawn could only rely on uncertain memory to fill the hole in his heart. Had it really happened? Was it true?

Was he really an [Acolyte]? What did it mean?

“I don’t know.”

Another pause, and the Workers looked up. This time Pawn stared back, just to see what would happen. They looked down as one, and he went back to thinking.

Once upon a time, an Antinium had been questioned. He had been asked who he was, and he had no answers. He had wondered why his…friends…had all died, whether it was all for nothing. And he had been given an answer. A ray of hope.

“Faith.”

So the girl had told him. She had reached down into his despair and offered him something to hold onto. She had spoken to him of something beyond his understanding. A God. And a place…a place where the dead might go to rest. A wonderful place.

“Heaven.”

Pawn sighed, and clenched his still-healing fist. He stared at it. Yes, that night he had believed. And his belief had become reality! He had gained a Skill, and a class. [Acolyte], and the Skill, [Prayer]. It had meant something to him at the time, he had been sure.

There was a God. There was something to believe in. But in the days since, Pawn’s faith had wavered. He had not leveled again, and neither had he prayed. Because…because he was afraid.

There was a God. Erin had told him that. Not just a God, though. Gods. She had talked about a God who was born and died in her world, but apparently that God wasn’t the only one. Other people believed in a God who was the same, but different, but who had never said certain things.

“Are you even there? Will you answer me? Am I worthy of asking you such things?”

No response. The Workers looked up at Pawn and down at their chessboards. He looked up at the ceiling, in the direction Erin had told him heaven probably lay. He saw only dirt.

Heaven. Faith and Gods were all confusing to Pawn, but the idea of Heaven, the idea of forgiveness and a place to be happy was what he had clung to. He had believed in that, and so been rewarded. But if he was to pray, as his Skill seemed to indicate, then to who? To Erin’s God? Only…he wasn’t her God. That’s what she had said. So then, who did he pray to?

And for what? Why? What would it do? And would anyone answer? Would anyone care, or would his words go unheard?

Pawn didn’t know. He hadn’t known for the last week, and he was no closer sitting in the corner of the chess room. Part of him didn’t want to know. Another part told him to talk to Klbkch and his Queen, tell them of his new class. But the last part wanted to believe. It wanted to know of this God, and to put his self into believing in that God. To reach that place called ‘Heaven’.

But he was afraid. Afraid of knowing the truth. So Pawn sat in the chess room instead, wondering what would happen if he prayed. Would nothing happen? Or would something, someone answer? Which would be worse?

Pawn didn’t want to know. But he wanted to, desperately. He was afraid that if he went back to Erin, she would tell him he was wrong. That his class was a mistake. That God only existed in her world. Or—

Or that there was a God, but not one for him.

That was his greatest fear. There was a God. Probably. The class he’d received seemed to indicate that. And Pawn wanted to believe in a God. But what if God didn’t want him? Pawn was too afraid to ask.

So as the day passed, he sat quietly in the chess room, thinking. His mind spun in the same circles, over and over again. Workers walked into the room, played chess, walked out. They had their duties. But Pawn had nothing. Not a thing. He only had a question, and an answer he was too afraid to face.

And then, just as soon as he’d woken up, it was nightfall. Pawn knew this because of the clock in his head and the Workers on duty, not from any change in the ambient light. He stood up, stretched; the other Workers waited for him to do or say something. But Pawn just walked out of the room.

This time he went up. Up, to the city above. It wasn’t his choice; Pawn just felt his feet carrying him that direction. He went up, out of the tunnel that was one of the entrances to his Hive. He walked out into the streets of Liscor, around Drakes and Gnolls and Humans who gave him a wide berth in any case. He walked out of the gates of Liscor, and through the snow, up towards the small inn whose windows shone with inviting warm light.

He had to know. He had to ask, at least. Pawn had felt the certainty in his body. He had gained a class and Skill and that meant something. There was a God. But would God accept Pawn? He had to know, and so he had to ask Erin. She would know what to do. She always did.

But Erin wasn’t there. Pawn knocked at the door and then opened it, and saw the girl lying on the ground. She looked up at him, and she was not Erin.

“Excuse me? Is Erin Solstice here?”

“Erin?”

The girl had been curled up into a ball. Now she sprang to her feet and wiped at her face. Her cheeks were wet, and her eyes were red.

“What are you—you’re that Antinium, aren’t you? Pawn?”

“That is so. Is Erin here? I would like to speak with her.”

“Erin? You haven’t heard?”

The girl laughed almost hysterically. Pawn would have frowned if he were able.

“Heard what? Has something happened to Erin Solstice?”

“She’s—gone.”

“Gone?”

Pawn listened incredulously as the young woman explained what had happened. Erin had vanished? How could this have happened? How could anyone have allowed this?

Part of him longed to run out the door, to gather Bird and Garry and the others and immediately search for Erin. But she was safe? In another city?

“She’s safe. But she’s not coming back yet. I don’t think she can with all the Goblins around.”

The Antinium’s mind raced as he considered the implications. Goblin armies. Of course Erin’s safety came first, but if she couldn’t come back—should someone send an escort? Did Klbkch know? He must, but would he send the Soldiers out to guard her? What if—

“So…are you here for something?”

Pawn looked back at the young woman in surprise. Yes, she had stayed here, hadn’t she? Who was she? Someone new?

Lyonette. That was her name. He vaguely remembered Erin hiring her, but hadn’t she been a bad employee? Now the young woman was alone. She wiped at her nose as she pointed at the kitchen.

“Do you want…something to eat?”

Pawn’s first instinct was to refuse, but that would have meant he had to leave the inn. And he wasn’t ready to go back down into the Hive. Not yet. So he nodded, and told Lyonette he could not digest gluten. That threw her for a loop, but she eventually offered him eggs and bacon.

Pawn was under the impression such food was reserved for breakfasts, at least according to Erin, but he accepted. He still had the coins Klbkch had given him to spend. Enough for many meals.

The Worker sat at an empty table as Lyonette rushed into the kitchen and began to bang things about. He stared at the wooden grain, trying to think. Everything was chaos in his mind now.

“Erin is gone.”

There was no one to answer his question. Pawn felt immediately relieved, and then horrible at once. He was no closer to his answer, and the question was tearing him apart. If Erin could not answer him, then—

“Here’s your food!”

A plate was shoved in front of Pawn’s face. He stared at it, and the hand holding it. Lyonette looked anxiously at Pawn as she put it on the table in front of him.

“Sorry. It’s a bit—”

The bacon was slightly burnt. The eggs hadn’t been fully cooked and they ran a bit. Pawn poked at the food with a fork once Lyonette remembered to give him one. He cautiously took a bite of the greasy bacon and chewed.

It wasn’t like the paste the Workers ate at all. It had been so long that Pawn had nearly forgotten the taste of hot food. And salt! Pawn finished the plate and a second helping when Lyonette offered.

Then he sat in the inn, watching the fire fade. It was funny. He had come here searching for answers, and found none. But even without them, he had found an answer of sorts.

Erin was gone. She might be in trouble, but there was no way Pawn could help her. Not as he was. He was useless, a Worker alone. But if there was a God—

There was no Erin. So there was only one person he could ask. One person who might know what this all meant. Klbkch. He had been assigned to watch over Pawn, and it was Pawn’s duty to inform him of any new classes he obtained. He had not done so before, because he was unsure. But now? Now was the time.

He would tell Revalantor Klbkch about his class and ask him what it meant. Perhaps Klbkch would know of Gods. Pawn dug at the belt on his waist and left what he thought was close to an appropriate amount. Usually Erin told him the meal was on the house.

Slowly, Pawn walked out of the door and into the snow. He was no less lost than before, but at least there was something warm inside him. He stared up at the clouded sky. He couldn’t sense heaven up there. Nor could he tell if there was a God.

But maybe there was one. And if there was, Pawn would find him. Slowly, he began to walk through the snow, back into the city, to his Hive.

Gods. Heaven. He tried to believe. This time, Pawn thought he might have succeeded.

—-

Lyonette watched Pawn go, silent, walking into the snow as he stared upwards. The Antinium had said barely a few words to her all night. He had sat, staring at the fire. But he had also eaten two of her plates and left—

She stared down at the pile of coins on the table. Silver and bronze coins glinted in the moonlight. Trembling, Lyonette scooped up the pile of coins. She counted them. Once, twice, again.

It was enough. More than enough. With this, she could feed herself for several more days. And if he came back—

Lyonette’s heart skipped. Part of her wanted to shout in revulsion at even touching something the Antinium had touched. She still remembered stories about what they had done, what horrible atrocities they had committed. But this one—Pawn—he had paid her.

Maybe it was just one time. But Lyon remembered the Antinium coming into Erin’s inn like clockwork. And they weren’t picky; they’d even loved the bees, disgusting as they’d been. They were a stable, profitable source of income. If she could stomach serving them, maybe, just maybe, she’d survive.

The [Princess] stared out the window at the Antinium’s lonely form as he walked back to the city. She could do it. She could live until Erin got back. She would do it, and she would show Erin she was capable. She would run this inn, and it would be her castle, her sanctuary until Erin came back.

All would be well. Lyonette had to believe in that.

1.00 D

She owned a hamster, once. That was the reason she’d wanted to be a doctor. She found other reasons later, but the day she decided to learn to heal people was when she sat in the garden outside her house and tried to hold her dying friend together.

Normally, she would want to be a vet, but her parents had talked her out of that. And her aunt had died when she was twelve. She’d stared down at the closed casket and dreamed of being able to save even people who had to be buried in pieces.

And in her last years of high school she’d had the right grades. And she liked biology, she didn’t throw up into her frog like the boy next to her in class, and she didn’t have anything else she wanted to do.

So she’d taken pre-med classes when she wasn’t partying with friends and learning how to live alone. And she’d graduated on time and gone into Medical School, and found that it was hard to manage rent and a part-time job, but not too hard to learn. And then, one day, she’d had to go to the bathroom during a lecture and she’d never come back.

Geneva Scala had found herself in another world. And there she’d learned one thing: she didn’t want to be a doctor. Not anymore. She was a [Doctor] now, but all she did was watch people die.

—-

The person lying on the crude operating table Geneva had set up was screaming in agony. The blade had cut deep into his side, and he was bleeding to death before her eyes. If she didn’t close up his injuries soon, he would be dead.

With one hand, Geneva held a crude wooden device that looked like pliers. She used that to close the artery she’d found and prayed that she could move fast enough.

“Suture!”

She screamed it at the soldier watching with wide eyes. He stared at her. She pointed to the needle and thread.

“I need to close the wound!”

She let another man take over applying pressure on the artery as she held out her hand for the needle. The soldier fumbled with the needle and nearly dropped it onto the dirt floor. Geneva snatched it out of his hands and looked at the thread.

It was just cotton; not even good quality. She’d boiled it, but now she wondered if it would even hold under the pressures she was about subject it to. But then the man screamed and she was out of time.

“Hold him still.”

The two other men did as she ordered, holding the screaming man down as Geneva desperately started to stitch. It was horrific; the needle she’d bought wasn’t sharp enough and she had to poke massive holes in his flesh to try and close the gaping wound in his side. And the blood—

“Keep that artery closed!”

She snapped that at one her assistants. He tried to do as she instructed, but the forceps he was using were made of wood, and they were crude; carved in a single day, more like chopsticks than a true clamp. They slipped, and blood squirted into the man’s stomach.

“Reapply pressure!”

Geneva had to shout it over the man’s screams. He was gagging with pain, still half-awake. But she had no anesthetics, nothing to give him. And now the other man was trying to grasp the artery and failing to find it in the heaving wound. Geneva reached for the forceps and hesitated. The man had gone still.

Slowly, she stared at the flow of blood. It had slowed. She looked at the soldier’s wide, open eyes, and then around the tent at her assistants. They stared at her. Geneva took a breath, and then spoke.

“He’s dead.”

Part of her wanted to add the time of death, but that was pointless. There was no one to record it, and besides, there was no point. Even as she dropped the forceps and needle into the bowl of boiled water and watched the liquid turn red, she knew she had no time to even mourn.

“Take him outside. Bury him. I’ll be out in a second.”

The soldiers haltingly moved to obey her orders. Geneva stared at her hands. They were so red. She had no surgical gloves on, and she’d cut herself earlier that morning. She was not sterile.

Slowly, the young woman glanced around. She was standing in a tent; not an airtight one, just canvas walls and a dirt floor. Her ‘operating table’ was a piece of hardwood. Her surgical tools were a sharpened dagger, a curved sewing needle and inferior thread, and some wooden instruments that were already covered in blood. The men and one woman who assisted her weren’t trained; they weren’t even clean. They were covered in blood and grime.

And she had let another man die in front of her. Geneva still heard his screams. She’d already forgotten his face, but she remembered him begging her as they’d carried him in. He’d asked her to save his life.

And she had failed.

He was the fifth person she’d seen die in front of her eyes. But she could hear shouting, and in the distance, screams. She knew that she would see more corpses before the end of the day. Geneva prayed they wouldn’t be because of her.

—-

Nearly a week ago, Geneva had walked into a city built onto the side of a lake. She’d stared around at the tall buildings, the interconnected bridges that ran overhead, and most especially at the walking lizard-people and the Centaurs that walked around next to Humans. But she hadn’t stared too long. Instead, Geneva had walked further into the city, until she could hear people shouting and the rat-tat-tat of someone banging on a drum.

The enlisters for the local mercenary groups and larger companies were already hard at work despite the heat of the day. Humans wearing light leather armor stood at small booths next to Centaurs who were practically unarmored save for a padded cloth vest or two, and Dullahans, strange, humanoid creatures who wore armor over their entire bodies and raised their heads up as they shouted at potential recruits.

Fighting men and—no, warriors of every species were talking to these recruiters and debating which group to join amongst themselves. Geneva stared at a Minotaur holding a huge spike club and shuddered as she imagined what would happen if it hit her. She prayed she wasn’t making a mistake. But she had no choice. Her stomach was empty, and even the smell of sweat and various body odors was making her hungry.

“You there! Join the Raverian Fighters!”

A tall man wearing plate armor called out to Geneva across the square. She walked over to him, noting how sweat stood out on his brow. He must have been cooking in the heat, but he made an impression among the more lightly-armed warriors.

“My name is Thriss. I am a [Sergeant] enlisted in the 4th Battalion of the Raverian Fighter’s Company. If you’ve got the grit to fight with me, we’ll offer you eight silver coins for each day you see combat, and one for each day you don’t. Stick with us and you’ll have a hot meal each night, trustworthy comrades at your back, and all the loot you can walk off with!”

Geneva had heard every recruiter giving the same speech, but she listened intently even so. Thriss looked her up and down as he shouted to her and the crowd in general. He had an amazingly loud voice—perhaps it was a Skill?

“We specialize in close-combat fighting, but we’ll hire anyone with a decent class.”

He eyed her skeptically.

“You don’t look like a [Warrior]. Are you a [Mage] of some kind? I’d have to ask for a list of your available spells. And we’ll provide you with armor and a weapon, unless that inhibits your spellcasting.”

She had to shake her head because the hubbub was so overwhelming. Geneva stepped forwards and shouted to Thriss as he stepped off the stool he stood on to hear her.

“I’m a Doctor! I treat the wounded! Would you hire me?”

“A [Doctor]?”

He’d spoken the words like they were special. Geneva knew he thought she had a class, although she didn’t actually have one. But he looked her up and down and shrugged.

“Anyone can pull out an arrow or pour a healing potion over a wound, but sometimes a healing potion isn’t good enough. Someone who can save a few wounded—or cut the limb off without too much blood—would be useful. If you’ve got a mark, put it on this paper.”

She was surprised. Geneva had thought she’d have to talk to countless recruiters and make her case before they hired her.

“Just like that?”

Thriss shrugged his broad shoulders at her.

“It’s an odd sort that would lie about having a [Doctor] class. We’ve got no magical items that can see your class and no one who has the [Appraise] Skill, but you didn’t claim a level. And that sort of thing gets found out right quick. If you can carry your own weight and aren’t a troublemaker we’ll make use of you even if you have to clean dishes most of the time. If you can’t fight, well, you’ll learn quick.”

He eyed her intently.

“But I’ve heard of the [Doctor] class, even if I haven’t seen one. Like a [Healer], aren’t you?”

“Something like that.”

Geneva lied. She’d never met a [Healer] in this world, but she hoped it was close to what she did. Thriss stared at her, and then nodded.

“If you’re lying to me, we’ll use you as an arrow shield. But if you’re not, we’ll put you to good work. Maybe you’ll even earn a few levels. Speak with the Lizardfolk behind me for instructions. Welcome to the Fighters.”

After that, Thriss had shown her where to sign and Geneva had been given a place to sleep in the campgrounds, a hot meal of grit-like food and boiled corn mixed with meat, and even a sword and dagger. Geneva had slept, uneasily wondering about her fate, until she’d woken in the middle of the night with a realization.

Thriss didn’t want a [Doctor]. Or rather, he was taking a risk on her. But what he really wanted were bodies. The Raverian Fighters were going to battle, and aside from the money spent on feeding her and equipping her, she was just another sword to hurl against the enemy.

Her heart pounded wildly, but then Geneva had gone back to sleep. She was so tired that she only woke one time more, to slap at the mosquitos trying to feast on her. Then she’d gone to sleep. She was so tired she’d completely forgotten to ask Thriss about surgical equipment.

—-

The next day, Geneva awoke to the sound of Thriss bellowing. It had roused her in a panic, and as she tumbled out of the rough blankets she saw soldiers all around her getting up as well.

Thriss the [Sergeant] had marched out with regular soldiers and officers and roused the hodgepodge collection of warriors he’d recruited yesterday. Geneva had stood awkwardly next to a Dullahan who held her head in her hands as they stared at Thriss. The man wasn’t one for speeches. He’d welcomed them briefly, and then told them they were going to practice fighting.

“My job is normally to whip you lot into shape before we have you fight with the rest of our forces. Trouble is, we’re already engaged to the southeast of here, so I’ve got a day to see what you’re made of before we go marching.”

So they were really mercenaries. Geneva had enlisted because she’d been desperate for food, but the reality only hit her now when Thriss told them they were heading into a battle a few days from now.

“We’re up against several groups this time. A local Centaur clan has allied with the Magehammer Company. They’ve sent two battalions and hired a few mercenary groups. We’re fighting them, supporting the Burning March Company. Don’t worry about the details; just know that we’re expecting you to fight your best. We’ll be fighting in the jungle; if any of you have terrain-based skills or knowledge of the local geography, tell me or one of the officers.”

Geneva heard a few groans, but the rest of the recruits seemed to accept this information as normal. Some of the people who’d signed up looked young—regardless of race, Geneva could recognize teenagers when she saw them. But others looked like veterans, such as the Minotaur with the spiked club who stood head and shoulders above everyone except the few Centaurs who’d enlisted.

“You lot, with me! We’re going to see what you’re made of, and if you don’t know how to fight, by the end of the day you’ll get your [Warrior] class, mark me!”

A tall Dullahan with a scar over her eye bellowed it at the recruits as she took a group of them away. Geneva hesitated. She wasn’t a soldier and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—fight. What should she do?

She found Thriss as the other officers began having the other warriors engage in practice fights. The [Sergeant] opened his mouth to bellow at her, until he remembered.

“You’re the [Doctor], aren’t you? What do you want?”

“I, um, need some supplies if I’m going to be performing surgery.”

Geneva explained her problem hesitantly. She know how these kinds of armies worked; you received pay after a month or two, and it would usually be late to prevent desertions. But she needed gear.

Thriss heard her out, and she was relieved he didn’t shout at her or order her to keep fighting.

“You need tools, eh? How do I know you won’t run off with the money?”

“I told you, I’m a [Doctor]. I need tools to stitch flesh together, and I don’t have any. Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a doctor working?”

Geneva said the words with as much certainty as she could. Thriss shrugged.

“It’s rare enough. Most folks use healing potions, but I have seen healers stitch a wound closed. Why don’t you have what you need already, though?”

“I lost everything I had.”

That at least, was true. She’d lost everything when she’d walked down the hallway of her school and then turned and found green foliage all around her and dirt underneath her shoes instead of sterile tiles.

Thriss eyed her skeptically.

“Hm. Prove it.”

“How?”

He waved at the groups of soldiers being watched by officers.

“We always get a few injuries, even with blunt weapons. Let’s see if you can help with one of their injuries.”

Geneva’s stomach clenched up, but she nodded. But in her mind she was desperately going over her class notes and the hands-on lessons she’d had in medical school. She hadn’t graduated—she was only in her third year—! But it was too late to back out now.

Soon enough, Geneva had her chance. A young man—a redheaded teen with more confidence than actual ability—failed to raise the shield he’d been given in time. The other man fighting with him struck his shoulder and Geneva saw the young man fall to the ground and scream as his shoulder popped out of its socket.

“No one move! Back to your places!”

Thriss pushed through the circle of people and beckoned Geneva over. He stared at the writhing young man on the ground and looked at her.

“Practice blade must have broken something. Can you set the bone?”

Geneva shook her head automatically as she stared at the young man. He was trying to touch and not touch his injured arm at the same time.

“The bone isn’t broken. His shoulder is dislocated; he needs to have it set.”

Thriss’ eyes glinted and Geneva saw his lips twitch for a second. It had been a test, she was sure.

“Can you fix it?”

“I can if he doesn’t move.”

“You heard her! Hold still, lad! It’s just a dislocation; nothing to bawl about!”

Thriss slapped the young man and held him still as Geneva gingerly grabbed the arm. The young man’s skin was slippery with sweat and he was shaking, but she knew what to do. He screamed and whimpered, but Geneva had learned how to fix a dislocated shoulder. After one try she popped the arm back in place and the man stopped moaning and stared at his arm in disbelief.

“He’ll need a few weeks to recover.”

“No time for that. Here. Use this.”

Thriss pulled out a glass bottle filled with green sloshing liquid out of his belt. Geneva eyed it skeptically.

“It’s a weak potion, but it should do. Go on. Unless you’ve got a Skill or spell that will do better?”

Geneva didn’t, but she’d never seen a healing potion work before. She couldn’t let anyone know that, though, so she pulled out the cork. The smell the green liquid gave off was incredibly bad, but the young man was looking at it hopefully.

Gingerly, Geneva poured some of the green liquid on the shoulder, and watched in disbelief as the already swollen flesh receded and the man gasped in relief. The area still looked raw, though, so Geneva added a bit more of the potion until it looked completely normal.

“Good!”

Thriss accepted the two-thirds full potion from Geneva and stood up. He offered the young man a hand, and the youth took it as he stood, flexing his good arm and laughing as if nothing had happened.

“I wouldn’t waste a potion on you, but we’ve got a battle to get to, and you’re no use to us with one arm!”

Thriss’s voice echoed around the campsite and the other soldiers stopped practicing to listen.

“Mark my works, stick with us and you won’t be looking for potions when you’ve got an arrow in your stomach! We’ve got healing supplies that will take care of anything save having your head chopped off—unless you’re a Dullahan—and we’ve even got a [Doctor] in case the healing potions don’t work!”

He pointed to Geneva, and she felt eyes on her. Geneva blushed a bit, but she didn’t shy away from the attention. The rational, calm part of her was thinking, though. Thriss had had the healing potion ready, and he’d been expecting someone to get hurt. She looked at the soldier who’d been dueling the young man. He was a veteran, not a new recruit. They’d probably planned all of this out to bolster the recruit’s confidence, and testing Geneva’s involvement had only added to the charade.

Her suspicions were confirmed when Thriss took her back to his tent and he put the healing potion in a chest which he locked with a key. He looked at her as she fished around in the supplies and came up with a bag which he added some coins to.

“That was quick. I’ve seen men tear flesh trying to get the bone into place, but you did that in seconds.”

He thrust the bag at her and Geneva looked inside. A handful of silver pieces glittered at her.

“Take it and buy what you need. I’ll have one of the local boys show you around.”

So she wouldn’t run off with the money. Geneva accepted the small bag gratefully. Then she had to wait for Thriss to find a young Lizardboy to guide her. All the while she was still struggling with the unreality of it all.

Magical potions that could do several weeks’ worth of healing in a few seconds? Soldiers fighting with swords? Lizard people, Centaurs, and a race of people who could take their heads off like hats?

Just what had she gotten herself into?

—-

It took Geneva most of the day to gather what she needed, which was to say, a needle fit for doing any kind of surgery. In truth, she would have liked some antibiotics, general and local anesthetics, a supply of needles, disinfectant—

But she knew she was going to get none of that here. So Geneva got what she knew she could get, which was a needle, a curved one, the kind that she could use to sew flesh. Regular, straight needles just wouldn’t do.

Still, even finding that one instrument in the city was a challenge. It wasn’t as if this world—some kind of medieval world filled with magic—had anything like modern equipment. Geneva had to talk to three [Seamstresses] until one old lizard woman had what she was looking for.

“This is a needle I use to sew carpets, not flesh, Human.”

The old Lizardwoman with discolored scales eyed Geneva suspiciously, but sold her three curved needles in the end, along with the thread to match. It was dearly expensive, but Geneva still had enough left for some cloth and scissors. She needed bandages, and scissors were essential.

Thriss had eyed Geneva’s purchases and snorted when she returned. He’d taken the few coppers she had left.

“Bandages? Good if you’ve not a healing potion on hand, I suppose. But if you need cloth, we’ve got enough rags. Ask the quartermaster for the rest of what you need and get ready to march tomorrow. We’ll need to cover at least fifteen miles and you’ll have your own pack to carry.”

After that, Geneva sat with laughing males and females of various races as they ate before they slept. The air was hot and humid, as it had been every day Geneva had been here, and bugs tried to bite or drink from her. But the food on her plate was filling, and she could even smile and accept thanks from the young man whose arm she’d set.

And as the second night had come and the weary new recruits were bedding down, Geneva had curled up into her blankets and covered her head so no one could see her. That was the moment when she allowed herself to shake and choke on her fears.

What was she doing? She didn’t have any real equipment. She needed proper surgical gear, not sewing needles and bits of cloth. She needed forceps, a sterilized operating room, disinfectant, antibiotics, anesthetics—

“But I have no choice.”

Geneva whispered that to herself until the person sleeping next to her grunted in irritation. She shut up. She had no choice. She had to survive.

This was Baleros, and the jungles were filled with monsters and the species were constantly fighting one another. If she didn’t have work, she would starve or be killed. And there wasn’t much use for a [Doctor], not in a land filled with magic healing potions.

Geneva Scala stared at the needle and thread in her pack and the bandages, water bottle, and pot she’d asked the quartermaster for. Her hands trembled as she imagined trying to save anyone’s life with such limited supplies. She stared at the sword and remembered her Hippocratic Oath.

Not the ancient Grecian oath that forbade the use of a knife in medicine, but the one she’d sworn to herself. She’d adopted her namesake, the Declaration of Geneva and made her own oath.

She murmured it now, half in her mind, half out loud.

“I solemnly pledge to consecrate my life to the service of humanity. I will practice my profession with conscience and dignity; the health of my patient will be my first consideration; I will respect the secrets that are confided in me. I will not use my medical knowledge to violate human rights and civil liberties, even under threat…”

She fell asleep before she could finish the rest. But the words echoed in her dreams. Only, now the word humanity was wrong. She had to protect people. But she was a soldier, too. She might have to fight.

She couldn’t do that. She had sworn a higher oath. Even if she was in another world, another place where magic existed and people leveled up like a video game, she had her oath.

It was the only thing she had left.

[Doctor Class Obtained!]

[Doctor Level 1!]

[Skill – Lesser Resistance: Disease obtained!]

—-

“So you’re a [Doctor]?”

That was the question Geneva received at least ten times the next day, as she found herself marching across a dirt road and into increasingly thick underbrush. The 4th Battalion of Raverian Fighters set out to join the fighting.

In truth, Geneva had no idea where they were on this continent, or where they were going. She wasn’t even sure what they were fighting for, which amazed the soldiers who decided to speak with her on the march.

She was in 6th Squad, under Thriss himself. Their group—and indeed, most of the battalion—was Human. Oh, a few Centaurs, Dullahan, Lizardfolk, and even the Minotaur marched with them, but Geneva understood that species generally stuck together, even in mercenary groups.

“It’s easiest to coordinate attacks if everyone’s the same species for the most part. ‘Sides, we Humans have to stick together, right?”

So proclaimed the red-haired young man who’d been the first to join Geneva on the march. He shouldered the pack he’d been given with only a little difficulty and kept stroking the hilt of his sword with clear excitement. Geneva heard a snort and saw the three men and two women walking with them laughing at him.

“Ignore Lim. He don’t know what he’s talking about. We’d be far better if we had a few more Dullahan in our company. They’ve got armor for skin; all Lim’s got is a big mouth and a bad shoulder.”

“Hey!”

Lim looked hurt as Geneva laughed. The woman who’d spoken—Clara—had dark skin, reminiscent of a Native American’s, which made Geneva more and more convinced that she was in some twisted version of the Americas. Somewhere around Brazil or maybe the Amazons—the plant life and constant, intrusive humidity and heat seemed to suggest it.

“I’m surprised you wanted to join up with the Fighters, though, Geneva. Don’t [Healers] generally stay away from the fighting?”

“I guess. But I don’t have any money, and this was my only option.”

Clara nodded sympathetically.

“Still, if you won’t be fighting you’ve got a better chance than Lim. What’s a [Doctor] do, anyways? Don’t healing potions make your class obsolete?”

“Maybe.”

That’s what Geneva had been worrying about. She shook her head.

“Healing potions don’t work on everything, though, right?”

“True.”

A man with a thick beard and bald head nodded sagely. He had several scars that made Geneva wonder whether they’d been healed naturally or whether the healing potion hadn’t quite worked.

“A good healing potion’ll put together some broken bones and mend skin and even your guts, but a bad one only does a bit of healing. ‘Sides, do you think we’ve got enough potions to fix everyone up? Thriss made a big show earlier, but if you’re counting on being healed up every time you take a hit, you’d best run away now. Only way to stay healthy is not get hit.”

The other soldiers nodded and Lim looked worried for a second.

“But we won’t be in that much danger, right?”

“Hah! Against Centaurs? They might have trouble in the jungle, but get them on a flat plain and they’ll pepper you full of arrows so fast that you won’t even have time to reach for your shield.”

“Centaurs ain’t the problem here. I’m more worried about the Magehammer Company. They’ve got some nasty mages.”

“They’re not all going to be mages, are they?”

Again, everyone laughed at Lim. He flushed and turned red, but eyed Geneva sideways. She pretended not to notice—he couldn’t have been more than sixteen, and she was twenty four, going on twenty five.

“They’ve probably got mostly warriors and only a few mages in each squad, if that. And we’ve got our own mages so we needn’t worry about being completely alone. But mark me, there are going to be some nasty spells out there.”

“We’re not going to be fighting them the entire time, though, right?”

“Of course not! Do you think we’re going to kill them down to the last man? No, we’re trying to push back their company. If we kill enough of them—or take enough land, their Commander will probably sign a peace treaty. Then we all get paid and we can get drunk for a week or two.”

Clara lectured Lim as Geneva listened with rapt attention. She’d been in this world, in Baleros, for a week, and she’d survived mainly by pretending she knew the basics of this world. But she was still woefully undereducated, and the people marching with her were the first people she could candidly ask questions of.

“The Magehammer Company is trying to protect a goldmine that Centaur tribe found. That’s what I heard. They’re going to split the profits, but surprise, the Burning March Company claims that’s their mine because they’ve got the contract on this area.”

Several other people nodded sagely. Lim looked confused.

“But who’s right?”

“Who cares? We get paid to fight, not take sides. Don’t go making an enemy of a Company, boy.”

The bald soldier cuffed Lim. From what Geneva understood, Baleros was a continent unique in that despite there being nations and countries and kingdoms and so on, much of the fighting was done by mercenary groups, ranging from smaller troops like the Raverian Fighters to huge Companies comprised of multiple regiments of soldiers who were almost constantly embroiled in conflict.

“Of course, the Companies are like nations themselves.”

Clara looked surprised when Geneva asked her about it.

“New to Baleros, are you? Well, there are countless companies who have their own cities and towns where they base themselves. They have contracts and earn income from protecting places, and they send out their own armies to fight. The big ones have influence, representatives in other nations, even entire merchant organizations that cater only to them!”

Geneva nodded.

“I’ve heard the Four Companies of Baleros are the biggest. But I don’t know anything about them…why doesn’t everyone join up with them?”

“The Four Companies? Well, sure, if you’re an officer or a veteran they treat you well. But you can get better pay and opportunities to loot and level up in a mercenary group. Besides, when they go to war, people die by the tens of thousands.”

The bald man shook his head and spat. He was called ‘Old Man’ by a lot of the soldiers, but his actual name was Fortum. He used the spear in his hands like a walking stick as he talked, his mouth a mix of yellow teeth and conspicuous gaps.

“They’re all somewhat equal—well, it’s not as if they fight against each other most of the time. That would upset the balance, and if two of the Great Companies fought, the other two would attack the winner, if there even was one. But now that we’re mentioning it…Lim, you know the Four Great Companies, right? Tell the young lady about them?”

“Me?”

Lim jumped and blushed. He cleared is throat nervously.

“Well, there’s the Armored Legion—the Dullahans—”

“Dullahans and a lot of bastards in armor. They base themselves in the north, mainly. They’ve got at least eighteen cities under their protection.”

Fortum interrupted Lim.

“Well yeah, but their leader’s a Dullahan, right?”

“As if that made a difference! They’ll take anyone with good armor. I doubt you’d get much work with them, Geneva. All their troops are tough as nails and their Dullahans have metal armor.”

The Old Man nodded to some of the Dullahans marching in a squad ahead of them. Geneva looked, and saw those Dullahans had ‘skin’ made of wood, not metal. She’d been surprised when she saw that, but apparently while Dullahans were all covered in armor save for their head, the quality of that armor varied.

“Not a lot of treatment needed for people wearing armor, right?”

“Maybe.”

Geneva could just imagine the injuries that might occur. Crushed bones, pierced armor—she shuddered as she imagined trying to restore a smashed hand without equipment. She wasn’t even sure she could help someone who got cut by a sword here.

“Anyways, they’re always at odds with the Flowing Wind Company. Mainly Centaurs, but they have a lot of mounted soldiers as well. They specialize in fast strikes—one second you think you’re safe and the next their armies will come riding down on you during the night. Not so great in jungles and higher up, though.”

Baleros wasn’t all deep forest and jungles. It had wide open plains and wonderfully scenic landscapes—or so Geneva had been told. If it was anything like America, she expected the northern part of the continent would be far colder.

She’d been born in Wisconsin, and although she was Italian by heritage and had often visited her homeland—this humidity was killing her. She would give anything for a bit of snow. Apparently it was winter, but for some reason it was delayed. She’d heard Winter Sprites mentioned in this context, but Geneva still had no idea what that meant.

“The Armored Legion and Flowing Wind companies are specialized, but the other two are more diverse. The Forgotten Wing for instance—”

“That’s the army with the Fraerling who leads them, isn’t it?”

“The Titan himself. Yeah, they rose into prominence two decades back. Crushed countless other companies, and their second-in-command is the Titan, the greatest [Strategist] in the world.”

Fortum nodded, and Geneva wondered what a Fraerling was. The Old Man cleared his throat.

“Mind you, their Commander is just as terrifying. The Titan leads their armies while the Three-Color Stalker takes down enemy officers. They haven’t as many long-term contracts, but they’re a rising force, and they’ve been fighting with the Iron Legion. Now, the last company—”

“Ambush! Centaurs in the trees!”

Someone screamed the words from up ahead. Geneva looked up, and then, suddenly, there were arrows.

Geneva stared at shadows as they burst from the trees. She felt something blur past her face, and then someone tackled her from the side. Lim’s terrified face hovered above her as Geneva hit the ground and all the air rushed out of her lungs.

Stunned, she saw a Centaur covered in warpaint and nothing else leap over her. He had a bow in his hands and he nocked it and fired three times. Three soldiers around him fell, crying out, and then he was running into the trees.

He had raven hair, and tanned skin. And he had a bracelet which shone with magical light. The Centaur’s galloping footsteps faded, and only then did Geneva sit up.

The first thing she heard were screams, and confused shouting.

“Attack, attack!”

“Go after them!”

“No, hold position! Get some potions out here!”

“They’re all dead!”

“Where are the archers!?”

“Potions! I need—!”

And then, a voice from next to her.

“Clara!”

Lim stared at one of the fallen soldiers. Geneva looked over and saw Clara was weakly grasping at a shaft buried in her collarbone. It felt as though the ground had dropped underneath Geneva.

Arrow wound. A deep shot. Probably hit bone; not bad blood loss yet, but Clara’s eyes were wide and she was gasping. First stage of hypovolemic shock?

Lim staggered over to the female soldier. He choked as he stared at the shaft in her body and reached for it.

Geneva was still in shock, but her training and instincts took over.

“Don’t touch her!”

She snapped at Lim as he reached for the arrow. Geneva looked around. Fortum was watching out for the archers, but other soldiers were already charging into the forest.

“Fortum! Help me lie her down.”

He hesitated, but then abandoned his spear and helped Lim lie Clara down. She was gasping and her face was white as Geneva studied the arrows.

Geneva had gone through a surgical rotation in medical school, but while her lessons had included information about how to fix up people with bullet wounds and knife wounds, no one had even thought to include a seminar about arrows. But the basic principle Geneva understood. She could either leave the arrow in and let it fester, or get it out.

The only problem was in how to get it out. Geneva had nothing like a scalpel and she was well aware of the dangers of infection. The arrow tip might be poisoned for all she knew. She had to get it out, but if Clara died then what was the point? Moreover—she’d have to cut down to the arrowhead itself to extract it.

She had butterflies in her stomach, but Geneva’s mind was cold. You had to be cold to work as a surgeon. And quick, too. There was no room for hesitation in the emergency room or the battlefield.

“I need a knife, and hot water. And a healing potion.”

She could bypass the injury she was about to inflict on Clara by using a potion. But there was still the issue of infection—did a healing potion erase bacteria or was that still an issue?

“Sergeant Thriss!”

Lim shouted desperately, and then the big man was running to them, a healing potion in his hands. He looked down at Clara, and then at Geneva.

“Can you save her?”

“I can.”

Geneva said it instantly. Even without a healing potion, the wound wasn’t that bad. And with it, she could take the arrowhead out. The only issue was whether the trauma of the surgery would be too much for Clara.

When she asked about the issue of infection, Thriss shook his head.

“The better type of healing potion gets rid of poison and all kinds of nasty problems, but we’ve only got cheap stuff.”

“Fine. Then I need a fire now.”

“[Mage]! I need a mage over here!”

Thriss roared and a man in robes ran over. He blinked when Geneva demanded a fire, but he immediately boiled the pot of water just by putting a glowing hand on the metal. Geneva dunked the knife Fortum handed her in the water and tried to breathe slowly.

She only had a knife. She needed—she needed clamps, forceps, retractors—she needed a damn scalpel. This dagger had all the precision of a baseball bat. And she needed something to dig around in the injury with.

“I need a spoon. Or—a metal knife. Something small I can work with.”

Lim went running, and Geneva knelt by Clara. The woman was trying to sit up, but Geneva held her down.

“Clara? It’s going to be okay. Alright? But I need to get that arrow out of you, so it’s going to hurt.”

“You can help me?”

Clara smiled at Geneva, but there was worry in her eyes. Geneva nodded and tried to smile. Clara should be under anesthesia, but she was bleeding and there was no time.

“Here!”

Lim came back with the things Geneva had requested. She dunked them in the boiling water and took a breath. Thriss was watching her, and Fortum was staring with concern at the arrow.

“The healing potion’ll close the wound, but the shaft has to come out. It has to be cut.”

She nodded at the older man.

“Hold her down. Clara? I need you to hold still, alright?”

Clara clenched her teeth.

“Okay.”

Lim’s face went pale as Geneva drew the dagger out of the boiling water. She barely felt the scalding heat; her entire concentration was on Clara’s bleeding wound. Go in fast; avoid major arteries and veins. Dig the arrowhead out and make sure it hadn’t fragmented, then use the healing potion. Time was her only enemy. And pain.

“I’m going to start.”

So saying, Geneva slowly began to cut into Geneva’s shoulder, next to the shaft. The woman inhaled, and Geneva paused as she saw the blood.

But she’d done this before. She’d cut open people and cadavers. But never—

Never when they were alive.

It was so hard. But she had to do it. People thought doctors swore the Hippocratic Oath when they learned to practice medicine. There was that famous line, ‘Do no harm’. Primum non nocere.

Bullshit. Doctors had to cause harm. It was the only way to do surgery. The only way to save lives.

So Geneva began to cut. She sawed flesh apart and Clara screamed. Fortum and another man held her down as the woman herself tried not to move, and Geneva cut fast and deep.

“Oh dead gods. Lords and ladies. Nonononono—”

Lim was right in Geneva’s ear, reacting viscerally to the surgery. He backed away, hands over his mouth, and then Geneva heard retching and splattering. He’d vomited! Of all the—

“Goddamnit! Get him out of here!”

Geneva shouted and Thriss pulled Lim away. The vomit stank in the hot air and Geneva was worried it would attract bugs. But she didn’t hurry her movements; she was working as fast as she could and didn’t dare rush for fear of causing more damage.

Cut down. Through tissue. She didn’t have time to remove the blood, even if she could. No sponges. Clara was screaming, but there! There was the arrowhead.

It was deep. And now Geneva could see it was touching bone. But she’d opened a path so she gently tried to remove the arrowhead by pulling the shaft out.

She had to get the arrowhead out. It was a sharp object, unlike a bullet or something the tissue could heal around. Even a healing potion would probably only form an abscess around the arrowhead until Geneva could get it out. It was better to slice up Clara’s flesh to retrieve it rather than leave it in.

If it was lodged in the bone, she’d have to pull it out with her crude forceps. Geneva prayed as she gently twisted and pulled the shaft out. Clara was moaning, deep and agonized. But Geneva’s attention was all on the shaft. She could feel the arrowhead moving, coming up and then—

The bloody head of the arrow came up, crimson with Clara’s blood. Geneva stared at it grimly and cast it aside.

“Good!”

Thriss exclaimed and uncorked the potion as soon as he saw the arrowhead. But Geneva stopped him and shook her head.

“I need to disinfect the wound first. Reboil that water.”

It was a popular myth that alcohol would disinfect wounds. While that was true, it would also inflame the injury. Alcohol was good for sterilizing equipment; but in this case the hot water Geneva used to wash the injury and blood was adequate.

Clara screamed into the rag Fortum had given her to bite with, but in a few seconds Geneva was pouring the healing potion over the wound. She did it slowly; Geneva the person wanted to heal the wound as fast as possible, but Geneva the surgeon wanted to observe the potion’s effects. What she saw fascinated her.

The healing potion was clearly some kind of agent that accelerated the body’s natural processes. It did not create new skin; rather, it made the existing tissue close up at an extremely accelerated rate. Even as Geneva watched the skin close together and the angry red color of the flesh returned to its normal state, she wondered how the potion would work on another kind of injury.

They would probably do nothing for more advanced breaks, unless the bones were set properly. Even then, they would have limits—these potions couldn’t heal severed limbs, and indeed they would inhibit reattachment if used incorrectly—even if that was possible to do with just potions.

Did the potions age the skin? Would they cause cancerous growths or tumors in the long run if they continued to accelerate the reproduction of cells? What would their effect be on such an affliction?

Thoughtfully, Geneva corked the potion and handed it back to Thriss. He looked surprised, but she’d only used up half of the bottle. Despite the invasive surgery, she hadn’t cut that deep into Clara for the arrowhead.

“Only a bit of healing potion. That’s good work.”

Geneva just nodded. Clara was feeling her arm and sitting up, shuddering. Tears had streaked through the blood and grime on her face, but her skin was whole and unscarred now. She hugged Fortum as the soldier gripped her shoulder.

It was hard to meet her eyes. Geneva stood up and looked at Thriss. He was looking at her too, different than before. There was a newfound respect in his eyes.

“Not many [Healers] could remove an arrowhead from a screaming person like that. I guess [Doctors] are stronger, eh?”

“Some are. But I don’t have even a quarter of the equipment I need for proper surgery. If Clara wasn’t the only one injured, or if the arrow had hit her in the gut—”

Thriss shook his head.

“Bad business. Those Centaur bastards are good shots. Your friend was lucky she only got stuck once; I’ve seen them hit a soldier three times in as many seconds.”

He pointed at the other bodies lying on the ground. Their eyes had been closed, but Geneva could see the arrows that had struck them around the heart or in the necks and faces.

“If you can save more lives, I’ll see to getting you what you need. What things do you want? A sharp dagger, we can give you.”

“I need more than that. I need things to open skin and hold flesh. Tweezers, a digging instrument—”

Thriss’ face changed as Geneva described the tools. He shook his head.

“Talk to the [Quartermaster]. I’ll see to it you can take what’s needed.”

“I also need something to clean my tools. Not just water, although I’ll need a fire to boil water. But I need alcohol—a strong spirit.”

Disinfectants. Could she make some kind of iodine? She desperately needed an antibiotic, but what?

Thriss made a troubled face.

“We have an alcohol ration. I suppose I can have the quartermaster give you some. But if I see soldiers drinking—”

“If they’re drinking, it’s because I need them to stop screaming.”

“True enough. Well then, you do what’s needed. But it was good you were here. Damned good. I’ve seen too many friends cutting a shoulder open and rooting for the damn arrowhead, or pouring a potion on top and having the wound fester.”

He nodded to Geneva and left her. Slowly, the disturbed line of soldiers began to regroup, and in ten more minutes they were marching again. But this time they walked in silence, and Geneva stood alone. She’d washed the blood off her clothes and hands, but the other soldiers stayed away from her.

Apparently, it was one thing to kill your enemy, and another to hurt your friends, even if that was to help them. Geneva didn’t care at the moment. When they finally made camp she just fell into bed after a quick meal. She was exhausted.

But a voice spoke in her ears before she slept.

[Doctor Level 4!]

[Skill – Hygienic Hands obtained!]

[Skill – Lesser Resistance: Infection obtained!]

—-

She didn’t understand Skills that well. Well she did—it wasn’t a hard concept to grasp. But Geneva didn’t precisely understand what her Skills did, and that bothered her greatly.

As she woke up and felt a night’s worth of bug bites start to itch, Geneva wondered what [Hygenic Hands] did. Did that mean she didn’t have to wash her hands? Surely not. She had a bit of grime on them even now.

Or—was there some kind of effect on them that would nullify any bacteria on her hands? If she touched something—like feces, for example—was she cleansing the object or would it return to being filthy the moment it left her hands? Did the effect apply to the tools she used, or was it just her hands?

For that matter, how much resistance was ‘Lesser Resistance’, anyways? Was her immune system simply stronger, or would she slowly develop an immunity or would the virus or infection not affect her as badly as someone without this Skill?

She wished she had a microscope. That would answer so many questions, and besides which, this world was a veritable treasure trove of new information. Geneva would have given anything to study how the Lizardfolk and Dullahan’s internal biology worked or even what effect magic had on the particles in the air when it was cast. She had so many questions.

But as she walked to breakfast where a silent Dullahan was serving bowls of soup and chunks of dry bread to the soldiers, Geneva’s thoughts made way for a more pressing issue.

How would the others respond to her now that they’d seen her performing surgery? Moreover, how would Clara react?

She needn’t have worried. True, Lim hesitated, but he still moved over as Geneva sat with Fortum and the other Human soldiers from this morning, and Fortum grunted at her in a friendly sounding way. The others chatted or blinked in bleary silence as was their preference, but none looked at Geneva too oddly.

Except for Lim, that was. He still looked uneasy when he met Geneva’s eyes, but Clara gave her a one-armed hug the instant she saw her in the morning.

“Looks like a [Doctor]’s more use’n I thought, isn’t that right? You cut that arrow out of my arm in a thrice, and it doesn’t feel the slightest bit bad now!”

“I’m sorry I didn’t have anything to stop the pain.”

Fortum shook his head.

“You were faster than anyone I’d ever seen, girl. Don’t you worry. Clara knows you had to get that arrowhead out.”

“It was worth me screaming and bleeding for that.”

Clara nodded seriously. She tapped her arm.

“I’ve heard stories of folks who used a potion without pulling the arrowhead out. They rot from the inside and die screaming. No amount of potion’ll fix that.”

“You were so calm.”

Lim burst out at last. He looked at Geneva, wide-eyed.

“How did you know how to get the arrow out? Do all [Doctors] have a skill? What level do you learn to do all that?”

Geneva frowned. She hadn’t learned that from her class, but the idea that someone could learn something like surgery from just leveling up a few times was…concerning. Fortum scowled and cuffed Lim lightly.

“It’s rude to ask her level, boy.”

Even asking about Classes was considered somewhat rude unless the information was volunteered first. It was a personal question and an important one; knowing someone’s exact levels and classes meant you could tell how powerful or useful they were. Geneva only shrugged.

“I’m not a high level [Doctor], but I’ve been trained to do surgery and other types of medicine.”

“Surgery? You mean cutting someone open like yesterday…?”

Lim looked uneasy, and another soldier smacked him on the shoulder.

“We’re eating, boy.”

Geneva nodded. She had no issues swallowing her food.

“If I have to. But I normally have a lot more tools. I was working with what I could scrounge, but next time…do you know where I can get tweezers? Even wooden ones would do.”

“Someone’ll have them. But if you want some, there’s bound to be someone with a wood working Skill in this crowd.”

Fortum pointed this out, and Geneva latched on to the suggestion.

“Do you think I could pay them or get them to make me a few tools?”

Metal would be far better, but anything was better than nothing. The Old Man nodded as he chewed at his bread slowly, breaking it down with saliva and soup so his few teeth could do the rest of the job.

“I reckon they’ll do it for free, even if the sergeant don’t insist. After today, everyone’s going to want to give you as much help as they can in case they’re the ones with a hole in their gut.”

“Can you fix that, too?”

Geneva smiled wryly, but her stomach twisted.

“Let’s not find out right now, okay?”

Everyone laughed, and soon the soldiers were roused by Thriss shouting and back on the march. But the [Sergeant] found Geneva as she was walking with the others.

“A word.”

He led her away from the others, and then pressed a small key into her hands. It was made of iron and sturdy. Geneva blinked at it.

“What’s this?”

“It’s a key. To the chest of healing potions in the supply wagon.”

Thriss stared seriously at Geneva.

“You’re new, but after yesterday, me and the other officers agreed you should have it. Mark me, though. If any potions are missing or you don’t lock up, there will be hell to pay.”

She met his eyes.

“Don’t worry. I won’t steal.”

“Good! I just want you to know how important what you’ve got is. Don’t lose it, or if you do—tell me at once. We can’t lose that key.”

Geneva nodded again and Thriss clapped her on the shoulder with one hand. Geneva stared at the supply wagon as she pushed the key deep into her pockets. It was an important thing to be entrusted with. The potion chest was probably the most valuable thing this battalion of mercenaries was carrying.

It sat at the center of the line of troops, in a wagon that was guarded by veterans. All the precious supplies were held there, but the potions had the double protection of the chest. Geneva could see why. Even a magical sword wasn’t as valuable as the hundred plus bottles of magical liquid.

The others made no comment as she rejoined them on their march, although Fortum did eye Geneva speculatively. But none of them looked like thieves, and so Geneva found the time to talk to some other soldiers and ask about fashioning some wooden tools.

They were all friendly, even the Lizardfolk. The few Dullahans and Centaurs were somewhat aloof, but Geneva’s [Doctor] status seemed to make her special.

No one seemed to really know what a [Doctor] was. Oh, they were familiar with [Healers] and regarded [Doctors] as a version of that class, but Geneva felt like she was being treated like a witchdoctor or some kind of medicine woman or midwife.

This world didn’t need [Doctors]. Not like her world. That knowledge made Geneva’s chest hurt and loosen at the same time. Was she useless?

No—no, Clara had still needed her help to remove the arrowhead. And things like plagues and infection might not be curable with magic alone. She had a place. And on this battlefield, at least Geneva could hand out potions.

The thought of going into battle was another worry that made Geneva’s stomach twist. But again, she’d had no choice. And at least here she could learn if she could still save lives or if all her skills were obsolete.

But to Geneva’s surprise, she found her expertise was needed before violence occurred again. As the soldiers had taken another break from marching and the sun was overhead, Thriss sought her out again.

“Geneva. A Dullahan wants to see you. He says it’s important.”

Curious, Geneva stood up and walked over to find a tall, dark-skinned man wearing armor that looked like bark was waiting for her. There was nothing visibly wrong with him, but for some reason the air smelled foul around him.

“What’s wrong? Are you sick?”

“No. Hurt.”

Without preamble, the Dullahan pulled off his arm. Geneva gasped, but Thriss didn’t seem shocked.

“Never seem a Dullahan do that? It’s not just heads.”

The Dullahan’s arm had come off smoothly, without any resistance. Geneva stared into the dark socket of his armor, but saw only purple light and a mist coming from the hole. Did they even have organs?

The Dullahan held the arm with one hand, and pulled a panel of the armor off. Geneva found her question answered and her stomach roiled as the horrible, rotting smell intensified and she saw what was causing it.

Underneath the Dullahan’s wooden armor—and now that Geneva saw what it was, she realized it was actually skin—his internal organs were clearly visible. Muscle and tendons were clearly visible; it was as if a normal Human had lost all their dermal layers but left their organs intact.

Dullahans were like crustaceans! They had shells – or perhaps they were more like insects, with exoskeletons they could remove. But what caught Geneva’s eye and made Thriss step back in disgust was the source of the smell.

It wasn’t a blood-filled injury like Clara’s. No, this was an infection. Pus and yellow liquid ran from the Dullahan’s arm as he held the wooden panel open, and Geneva saw the tissue and muscles around the yellow substance were raw and inflamed.

“Dead gods, that’s awful.”

Thriss wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and spat. Geneva looked at the arm. Clearly, it was a long-term infection that hadn’t been treated. Her stomach tried to revolt, but Geneva held it firm. It wasn’t the worst thing she’d seen. Granted, it was up there in terms of disgusting, but she was a doctor. She was already thinking of how to treat the wound without any antibiotics.

“May I?”

To her surprise, the Dullahan handed Geneva his arm. She gently held it in her hands, noting the weight—it was quite heavy. She wrinkled her nose at the injury. What she wouldn’t give for gloves.

The wound was pus-filled and stank. Geneva stared at the Dullahan.

“Why didn’t you get this treated earlier?”

He shook his head.

“No one who can help with this. Healing potions no good. No [Healer] knows how to treat Dullahans.”

“But you think I can help?”

“[Doctor] is different. May help. Must help. Arm is bad.”

It was. Geneva noted the deterioration of tissue—the area had already begun to break down. She came to a quick decision.

“I’ll need more boiled water, and clean towels. In fact, I’ll need to boil the towels in the water first.”

Thriss eyed Geneva.

“Will this take long?”

“Not too long. Less than thirty minutes if I can get what I need. But I need to clean the wound now.”

He grunted.

“Good. Do it. And do it away from camp.”

Geneva led the Dullahan to a place where the soldiers couldn’t see—or smell—his injury and got to work. He followed her quietly, and silently. He was a very still figure, and his head didn’t exhibit many facial expressions. The infected wound had to hurt, but he was stoic. Was that a Dullahan trait?

To begin with, Geneva tried to figure out how the infection had started. But when she asked when he’d noticed the infection, the Dullahan only shook his head. He tapped the arm plate.

“Armor broke. Bad thing got in.”

Something like a bug or dirt? No wonder Dullahans tried to upgrade their armor. It was their skin, and any holes would expose them to all kinds of dangers. Geneva did her best with the wound. She would have done anything for antibiotics, but without them—

First she boiled water and cleaned two towels as best she could. Then, she requested and received some salt. She added it to another pot of water and boiled that. When the water was no longer scalding, she used it and the towels to clean the wound.

The Dullahan sat through it all, only wincing slightly which impressed Geneva again. She was touching his internal structure however lightly, and that had to be painful. But his only motion was to shoo away the insects that were attracted to his rotting flesh.

Soon, Geneva had cleared away the injury and she could see no traces of dirt or other containments. She gave the entire area one last dose of the saline solution—knowing it was a poor substitute for a proper antiseptic—and wished one last time for antibiotics.

“Is it done?”

The Dullahan looked at Geneva as she cleaned his armor plate. There was some…fleshlike substance on the back, and she tried to be as gentle with that was possible as well. How was he able to detach it from his arm? There was clearly still bloodflow. Was it just magic? Some kind of portal system?

She shook her head as she handed him the plate and he reattached it to his arm.

“No. Your infection is bad. Very bad. I have to clean it every few hours and let the pus drain. It will take time, you understand? But it must be cleaned, and the wound must breathe for a while.”

He nodded.

“It will heal?”

“You have a good chance.”

Geneva didn’t want to lie, but neither did she want to speak her mind. She needed antibiotics, somehow. But this wasn’t the place to find any. She hesitated. Could healing potions be of any help? Maybe…

“Hold on.”

When she came back with the healing potion she’d used on Clara, Geneva applied it sparingly to the Dullahan’s injury. The swelling reduced, although the injury didn’t look completely healed, which was something.

“I think this potion will help as well. I’ll use more tomorrow and if we’re lucky, your body will fight off the infection. Understand?”

He smiled at her, briefly.

“Good. Thank you.”

It was such a change to see his expressionless face move that Geneva blinked at him for a moment. But she realized he had to be terrified he’d lose his arm. She smiled back.

“It’s what I do. Now, we’d better get marching.”

—-

That was the first time someone had come to her for help. Come to that, the Dullahan was her first real patient that had consulted with her. He wasn’t the last.

The Dullahan might not seem that talkative, but either he or Thriss was more chatty than Geneva thought, because word soon got out that she could do more than cut arrows out of people. Soon, Geneva had quite a number of discreet inquiries over medical issues of everything from boils and blisters to conditions like gout and even a surprising case of lacerations on a man’s groinal region. When Geneva asked where he’d gotten that, he just blushed and mumbled about lizardfolk.

By the end of that day, Geneva was confident enough to bring up the issue of hygiene to Thriss. He heard her out and scratched his head when she told him the soldiers needed to wash their hands regularly, not just when they were too dirty to stand.

“Soap? There is lye soap, but not nearly enough for the battalion.”

“Well, you need to buy some as soon as you can. If your soldiers keep eating without washing their hands regularly, some will get sick.”

Thriss made a face.

“How do you know that will help? Soldiers always get sick. It happens.”

“But it will happen less if they do what I say and practice proper hygiene. Trust me. I’m a [Doctor].”

He hesitated, but agreed to give it some thought.

“We’ll be joining up with the [Captain] and our unit’s [Strategist] soon enough. You can speak with them. Tomorrow we should reach the battlefield. Your talents will be needed soon enough then, so sleep deeply.”

Geneva nodded. She still had butterflies at the thought, but she was confident in her knowledge. She could help. She had to. This was what she’d been trained to do.

That night, Geneva slept on the ground, tossing and turning and thinking about antibiotics. She had to have some. Penicillin…how was that made again? Medical history hadn’t been high on her list of things to memorize, and she was regretting it now. She could recite almost every human body part and countless effects of drugs, but she didn’t know how to make penicillin from scratch. She needed the mold—but where would she even get it? Maybe a [Healer] would know, or some kind of class that dealt with herbs. An [Alchemist]?

Slowly, Geneva drifted off to sleep. She couldn’t get it now, but as soon as she was paid and got to a large settlement of some kind she’d start searching. For now, she had to rely on the healing potions. They would make her life so much easier. If disease and infection were her only enemies, she had a chance.

The soldiers had a chance.

Geneva believed that right up until the moment she heard the screaming and galloping of hooves that broke the silence of the night.

—-

“Attack! Get up! We’re under attack!”

Geneva heard the words as if they’d been screamed in her ear. She shot out of bed, first looking around for the danger, and then reaching for her pack. She left the sword behind as she blundered around in a panic.

People were struggling around in their bedding, shouting, adding to the confusion. Geneva nearly ran into Lim’s sword as he whirled around, looking for an enemy in the darkness.

“Geneva!”

Clara pulled Lim back and then Geneva found herself standing behind Fortum and some other soldiers from their group. They formed a circle in the darkness, watching every direction for enemies.

Someone was shouting for people to rally to him, but no one was inclined to move in the confusion. Geneva saw flashing shapes, and hoofbeats, but surpisingly, no screams. Then she heard the crash of wood and the sound of glass breaking and more galloping. And then…

Silence.

Slowly, order restored itself. Soldiers began to form up, and Geneva saw Thriss running through the camp, a huge mace in his hands. He ran past the group of soldiers and Geneva, and she heard a shout of rage.

“What happened?”

Lim stared at the others, wide-eyed. Geneva had a sinking feeling in her stomach. Fortum glanced around, eying the confusion.

“Sounds like those Centaurs hit us again. Night raid. They were in and out quick, though.”

“No one’s wounded, though.”

Clara had a deeply troubled look on her face. She looked in the direction Thriss had gone.

“What was that sound? It sounded like breaking glass.”

Geneva knew. She didn’t want to know, but there was only one conclusion that bubbled up in her brain.

“The potions.”

Lim stared at her in horror and Fortum looked grim. Soon enough they saw that Geneva was right. Thriss and another big man carried the box out of the supply wagon and set it on the ground. Geneva saw the splintered wood and her heart stopped in her chest.

The precious chest of potions in the supply wagon had been smashed by something heavy. Inside, the fragile wrapped potions had been shattered, and the potion had leaked out of the sides. Only a few bottles held any potion at all—those Thriss and the other officers desperately tried to save, holding up the glass pieces and dripping as much potion into canteens and any containers they had on hand.

But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly. Geneva saw the looks on Fortum’s face and the other soldiers’. From over a hundred potions, their battalion’s’ supply had suddenly dwindled. They had maybe less than twenty bottles’ worth.

Thriss stared down at the broken chest. He stood up, and cursed, then shouted at another officer. And then his head turned. He looked at Geneva, and the look in his eyes told her that her worst fears were true. If they had no healing potions, then they only had her.

Geneva. A [Doctor]. But she had no Skills, not the ones that they needed. And she didn’t have the tools. She didn’t have—anything!

Her stomach twisted. But now Fortum was staring at her, and Clara was as well. Lim was still staring at the broken chest with horror, but all the veterans were looking at Geneva. They knew.

Slowly, every eye turned to her. Soldiers and officers alike looked at Geneva, quiet fear in their eyes.

They couldn’t retreat. They were soldiers. But they feared death like all mortal beings. Without healing potions they had not a chance at all. Except if they had someone who could save them. So they put their faith in her. In Geneva, someone they barely knew, hoping because they had nothing else to cling to.

But she couldn’t do it. Geneva knew that. She was unprepared. She didn’t have anything she needed.

She was just twenty four years old. She was no renowned surgeon, no battlefield medic. She’d never trained. She wasn’t ready!

She was a surgeon with no tools. A student who hadn’t even finished her training. A practitioner without a license. A doctor alone.

But there was no one else. And she had a job to do. So Geneva stared at the box of potions and knew what was coming next. She clenched her hands so tight her knuckles cracked.

In the silence of the night, as the last drops of healing potion soaked into the jungle floor, Geneva felt death begin to walk at her side.

1.01 D

“Bring in the next patient!”

Geneva snapped at the soldiers who had been assigned to her. They lurched into motion, slowly, too slowly. But they were injured as well; it was the only reason they hadn’t been sent back on the front lines. One man was limping; the other had taken a hatchet to the arm and couldn’t use it. They both should have been lying down, but she needed them.

The dead man’s gaze still haunted her vision. Geneva closed her eyes and banished the image. She sluiced more soapy water on her operating table, feeling it drain to the floor. Soapy water for disinfectant; she didn’t even have a place to drain the blood and gore. Already some bugs were buzzing around the tent. More would follow soon.

The tent flap opened. Geneva heard the woman moaning even as the soldiers carried her in on a makeshift pallet. Her arm was broken; the skin and bone deformed where something incredibly heavy had struck her.

Geneva sighed in relief. Here was someone she could fix. This woman would not die; she might not regain use of her arm, but she would not die.

She would live. And she stared at Geneva with horror in her eyes. It was probably the blood that covered her. Geneva paid no heed. Crushed bone and skin. She had no IV or drip—she had to prevent hypotension. The skin and bones—swelling. Would the arm have to be amputated?

No. No. Not yet. Check the fracture and set the bones. Geneva took a deep breath.

“This will hurt.”

She warned the female soldier and set to work. Geneva closed her ears to the screams as she worked. It was cruel. Cruel to do this. She was causing the poor woman pain, but it had to be done. There was no one else to save her, no healing potions to help her. Without Geneva hurting her, the woman would never be able to lift anything with her arm again. There were no healing potions left.

Geneva was all the battalion had.

—-

“We will not be receiving any more healing potions in the near future.”

Thriss told Geneva that directly. The battalion had camped, and they were on the eve of their entry into the battle. Geneva stared at him as she stood in the sergeant’s marginally larger tent in their camp.

The air was hot and humid. It was dark, but a few lanterns had been set out. They were already attracting swarms of nocturnal bugs in the dense jungle.

The soldiers had camped just on the fringes of one of the dark, dense jungles that made Baleros such a nightmare to do battle in. The Centaur tribe’s goldmine was located deep within the labyrinth of trees and overgrown fauna, which meant that the attacking mercenary groups – the Burning March company hired forces like the Raverian Fighters – had to push into the jungle. It also meant close combat fighting where ambushes could happen at any moment. It would be desperate and intense, and it was made far worse because Geneva’s company had no healing potions.

To be more accurate, they had twenty. But Thriss had already made it clear that Geneva would not see any of them.

“We’ve distributed half-shares among our officers and veterans. The regular soldiers will have you, and if we can hold for a few days we’ll get another shipment of potions. But it will take time.”

Geneva stared at him. Thriss wasn’t meeting her eyes as he stared at a map on the table. He wasn’t the commander of the company, but he was one of the officers in charge of their battalion. And he had apparently drawn the straw to tell her the bad news.

“You want me to act as a doctor for the entire camp?”

There were over six hundred soldiers in their battalion. Geneva knew not all of them would be injured at once, but—

“I can’t do that. I don’t have the tools for surgery. I need assistants, an operating space, time—”

“We’ll clear an area for you to work in. We’ll put you well behind the front lines so don’t worry about that.”

Geneva wasn’t worried about enemy soldiers at the moment. She stared Thriss in the eye.

“I cannot save these soldiers. Not without healing potions.”

“You are all we have.”

Thriss looked at Geneva finally. He met her eyes for a second, and then glanced away. She knew he had a full healing potion in one of the water flasks at his side. But the regular soldiers wouldn’t be getting any potions. Because they were new recruits; expendable.

“Our other battalions can’t spare any potions from their supplies. They’ve been hard pressed too. And the closest force to us is the Burning March 6th Battalion. They’ve refused to give us any potions as well.”

The big man’s hand clenched. Geneva just stood and thought.

“If I do this…I can’t guarantee I’ll save any lives. I can bandage wounds and make tourniquets, but any deep cut, anything worse than a flesh wound—”

“Do your best. That’s all we can ask.”

Thriss stared back at the map. His voice grew quiet.

“It will get intense tomorrow. We’re being sent in to fight against the Magehammer Company. We will flank them. Even if we don’t run into their mages, there will be more than enough people for you to work on.”

What was she supposed to say to that? What was she supposed to do? Geneva stared helplessly at the man in front of her. He knew she couldn’t do this. But he was telling her to do it anyways.

“Can’t we wait until we receive supplies?”

“No.”

He said it flatly.

“We have to provide support. The battle is not going well. If an entire battalion pulls out of its position, we will give the enemy too much of an advantage.”

“So instead you’ll send all of these soldiers to their deaths.”

“You have your orders. Carry them out.”

Geneva stood straight in the tent, feeling as though she’d been slapped. Her voice was taut and cold.

“The gods are dead in this world, Thriss. But tell me, do you believe in immortal souls?”

“Souls?”

The [Sergeant] looked at Geneva. He looked old, and lost, and uncertain.

“I believe I do. I believe in souls, even if there are no gods to judge them.”

Geneva nodded slowly. Her own soul ached. But she had no choice.

“In that case, I hope the soldiers who look up to you have mercy on your soul. Because their deaths are on you.”

She turned and walked out the camp tent. Geneva listened to the insects buzzing and the sounds of the jungle at night. She whispered the words as she walked back to her sleeping spot.

“May they have mercy on mine as well.”

The next day, the 4th Battalion of the Raverian Fighters engaged in battle.

—-

Geneva remembered the day as vivid scenes set to the backdrop of screams and blood and gore. Only a few things stood out to her clearly.

She remembered standing at the edge of the camp as Lim, Clara, Fortum, and the other soldiers prepared to enter the fray. She remembered the look in their eyes as they’d stared at her.

“Stay safe, girl.”

Fortum had advised her as he and the other soldiers tightened straps and made sure both armor and weapons were secure. He looked at her seriously.

“You’re all we’ve got. If some fool gets you, we’re all dead men walking. You keep well clear of the fighting.”

“I will. I’ll be waiting in case any of you need me.”

The old man had paused then, and looked at Geneva seriously. There was no blame in his eyes, or fear like there was in Lim’s when the young man looked at her. His voice was soft.

“Don’t blame an old man, but I hope I don’t see you today.”

“I won’t. Stay safe.”

And then they’d left. Geneva had stood in the camp, in the empty tent she’d set up, trembling.

To her surprise, not all the soldiers had been sent out in the first wave. Of course; they had to be rotated and a reserve was necessary to keep the enemy from ambushing the headquarters. So she’d enlisted a few men and women and one Lizardfolk and had them wait near her tent. She needed assistants. Even if they couldn’t help in the surgery, they could at least lift the bodies—

The wounded.

The first soldier arrived almost before Geneva could blink. One second she was trying to sit still, heart racing, waiting for what seemed like eternity, the next she heard the screams.

He’d been hit by an arrow in the first engagement. It had struck him in the leg and by the blood gushing from the wound, it had hit an artery. The soldiers carried him in and Geneva grabbed for bandages.

“Why didn’t—”

She almost asked them why they hadn’t made a tourniquet. But they were already pushing out the door.

Okay. Severed artery. She had to—

The man gasped, and Geneva’s heart stopped. He was awake but barely conscious. The blood loss had already taken his toll and he was limp and his face was pallid.

Move. Geneva tore her eyes away from his face and looked at the arrow. Blood was still oozing from the wound. She had to make a tourniquet.

Geneva wrapped the strip of twisted cloth as tightly around the upper part of his leg as she could. The blood flow cut off. That done, Geneva looked at the arrow.

It was just like the last injury. That was what she told herself. But this time she had to cut into the man’s leg. Her angle was bad, and the dagger wasn’t nearly as sharp as a scalpel. And when she got into the wound—

“Oh god.”

The arrow had indeed sliced through the artery, and Geneva was staring at the hole the extracted arrowhead had made. Somehow, she had to suture that. But she didn’t have sutures! Okay, first she had to grab the artery, but how could she? She had virtually no surgical tools—

“Forceps.”

Geneva fumbled with the wooden ones one of the soldiers had fashioned for her. She fumbled at the exposed artery, trying to grasp it until she succeeded. Desperately, Geneva hung on to that as she reached for a needle and thread.

The artery was severed; the only option she had was to ligate the wound. But doing that with basic thread and a sewing needle filled Geneva with dread. There was just no way she’d be able to do it properly.

But she didn’t have a choice. The needle could barely penetrate the artery, and the thread was already sticky with blood. The man was moaning, and Geneva had to adjust every time he moved. Slowly, she got the artery closed, but when she removed the tourniquet, one of her stitches broke. She had to reapply and dig around in the bloody mess again, and then wash the wound and close it up with more stitches.

She took too long. Geneva knew that in hindsight. Two more wounded soldiers had arrived and waited for over half an hour before she decided she’d done all she could. She shouted, and the soldiers came in and out. Geneva’s hands were shaking a bit after the operation, but she didn’t even have a second to rest.

The second injured person had been hit by a mage blast. And he was a Lizardfolk. Geneva stared at the curling smoke rising from the blackened crater in his side and decided to treat him as if the actual damage had been caused by fire or electricity. Some combination of the two.

She had no real way to treat him. But the worst part was that her patient was conscious. He screamed at her, and screamed harder when she tried to clean the wound with soapy water. He cut her face, and soldiers had to rush in and hold him down.

A skin graft was all she could think of, but Geneva knew she didn’t have the time or ability to do that. She could only clean the blackened scales and apply a rudimentary dressing of bandages. The soldiers carried the Lizardman out as he screamed curses at her.

The next patient only needed stitching and bandaging of several deep cuts on his arms. Geneva washed and stitched his skin together as the man yelped and cursed. She gave him garbled instructions to keep the wounds clean and not to strain himself—he stared at her as if she was crazy and told her he was going to be called back into the fighting soon enough.

Geneva paused then to catch her breath and wipe the sweat from her brow. An orange bug tried to land on her bloody hands and more were crawling up the table. She washed them off the table with soapy water and stomped them into the mud at the bottom of her tent. Then she told the soldiers to boil her more water and get her more cloth for bandages.

And then the next patient arrived. He was already dead. Geneva stared at his chest. He wasn’t breathing. She confirmed that by testing his pulse and checking to see if he was breathing. He was not. But the cut on his stomach was still leaking blood, and the two soldiers who’d stayed by his side were staring at Geneva with hope in their eyes.

“He’s dead. I’m sorry.”

They refused to believe. One of the dead man’s friends pointed to his hands.

“He’s still alive! Look! His hands are moving!”

Geneva looked. The fingers on the dead man’s hands were twitching. She’d never seen a corpse do that, but she’d heard stories.

“Muscle spasms. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do.”

The two stared at her. Geneva called for soldiers to take him out. A fight broke out when they tried to take the dead man’s body.

“Liar! He’s not dead! He’s not dead!”

“Deral! Get away—Deral!”

Geneva caught a fist as the soldiers fought with the other two. By the time they’d been subdued and the corpse had been taken out, Geneva’s cheek was swollen and the ground was muddy.

Then the next patient came in. He was alive and had taken a deep cut to the belly. Geneva had to call more soldiers to help. Three held him down while she had two more help him in the operation. But they were too slow, and too afraid. The man died while they hesitated.

And then the next patient came in. He was missing an eye, and he’d been cut badly. He screamed and thrashed. By this point Geneva was already exhausted and sweat kept running into her eyes. Her helper couldn’t even blot it off her head without getting in her way.

In another lifetime, in another world, Geneva’s college professor had once tried to make the analogy that surgery was like an orchestra. Each nurse and doctor in the operating room was like a player, and they all had their own part to play. If even one person slipped up, the entire melody, the entire piece fell apart.

He’d made the comparison poorly, and he’d completely flubbed the entire thing when he’d tried to compare general anesthesia to atmospheric lighting. But the analogy had stayed with Geneva.

A surgery was like an orchestra, or a band. Each person had their part to play. True, there were lead players and first violins, but even the most outstanding player could not make music alone. What was a concerto without the accompaniment? What good was a surgeon without the anesthesiologist to monitor the patient’s vitals, and her assistants to stop the bleeding and hand her tools?

What could one person do alone? Nothing. And worse, Geneva was still too inexperienced. She had no practice—no real experience with the injuries on the soldiers that were flooding into her tent. She had only studied theory, never tried to repair a collapsed lung or stitch together a burst stomach.

In an operating room, Geneva would have been the least-important member of the team. As a new intern or the youngest doctor, she would have been cutting sutures or cleaning and sterilizing the room before and after the surgery. No—as a student she would have been relegated to observational duty in some schools; just someone that had to keep out of the real doctor’s way at all costs.

But now Geneva found herself leading an orchestra of one, a lone singer on a stage dark with blood, with an audience that was growing with each hour. They screamed her name, and begged her to play music. But she was alone, untrained, unaided.

Yet they screamed her name. So Geneva sang alone. As the screams filled the jungle and the harsh buzzing of flies and larger insects filled the air she cut and bandaged and tried to catch life with her fingers.

It slipped away each time.

After the thirtieth patient, Geneva had to take a break. She staggered outside and threw up. The soldiers watched her anxiously, but Geneva didn’t care. She breathed deeply and drank water, rinsing out her mouth before she drank more, to replenish all the fluids she’d lost.

Her hands were shaking. They were still during the surgery, but now they shook uncontrollably. Geneva sat on a rock for a few seconds, trying to breathe.

They’d all died. Everyone who’d come in to her tent with a serious injury hadn’t gone back out. They’d passed away on that bloody, insect-infested table, screaming and crying and begging her to save them.

Someone else screamed. Geneva looked up and saw a man with no hand. It wasn’t a clean cut that had taken the hand either. It looked like something had bit the hand off.

“Doctor!”

His friend shouted at Geneva, white-faced. Friends were the worst. Geneva had already banned them from being anywhere near the tent.

Her mind raced. Part of her was already going over the things she’d need to do for a severed limb. It was listing all the things she didn’t have. But it was still possible, and every second she wasted was a second that man was closer to death.

“I can’t do this.”

She whispered the words as she stood up and walked back into the tent. She saved the man’s life, but the flesh around his hand already stank, and she feared infection would claim his arm. But there was nothing to do.

The next patient had taken three arrows to the legs. One had nicked an artery. He bled out before she could save him.

“More wounded! Where’s the damn [Doctor]!?”

Geneva turned, staggering, as she tried to finish her bowl of food. She’d stopped after—she had no idea, really. After a while the soldiers in her tent had turned into a blur.

Soldiers were carrying more wounded into the camp. Geneva looked at some of them and knew they would die. The living fought for space, trying to get their friends into line before the others. Nearly ten wounded this time. Geneva stood up, but then saw something strange.

Two soldiers were dumping a corpse next to the others. But it was not a corpse. Geneva could see it moving, and unlike the soldier who’d had muscle spasms, there was no way to imitate this.

“Wait! He’s not dead!”

Geneva ran forwards. The soldiers turned as she knelt at the side of the moving body. She paused when she saw the injury.

Half of his body had been blown away. A mage’s spell had struck him. Geneva was beginning to notice the signs. And what remained—Geneva blinked at the corpse.

It was a Human’s corpse, but something had happened to it. All the color seemed to have drained out of the skin, and what remained looked—wrong. He almost looked albino, but his hair was a dark red.

The soldier shook his head at Geneva.

“Selphid.”

“What?”

They looked at her as if she was crazy for not knowing. Geneva stared back at them as the hand on the left side of the man’s body raised and lowered oddly, as if he was a puppet that someone was trying to move with only one string.

“They’re body-snatchers. Parasites. They live in corpses and move them about.”

Like brain slugs? Or—they lived inside of bodies? Geneva bent down and looked at the destroyed section of the body.

Something was squirming in the insides. Geneva looked closer, and saw where the left side of the corpse had been burned away, something was wriggling in the insides. Something was living in the body. Or it had been.

The corpse was clearly trying to move, but it was also clearly malfunctioning, or else the Selphid wasn’t able to control it after having half of its own body blown away. The soldier turned away in disgust, and his companion made the same expression.

“Leave it. The Selphids don’t have parts like normal folk. If it can’t get into another body it’ll die.”

“But it’s injured.”

“So? Selphids aren’t people.”

Geneva could see yellow fluid leaking from the squirming thing inside the body. She took a breath.

“I’m going to operate on it.”

“What?”

“It will die without help. And maybe I can transplant it. Put it in line with the others.”

The soldiers stared at Geneva, but they did what she said. Geneva stood up, and walked back into her tent.

The living flashed before her eyes, some becoming dead while she stood in her tent, and then sat when her legs started to give out. She could stitch people up, but the deeper wounds still eluded her. Her assistants still couldn’t move fast enough, and they kept rotating out of the tent. Some threw up as she was cutting into her victims, and even the bravest of them had to look away at times. Geneva had already gone numb to the smell of blood and feces as the injured and dead voided themselves.

And then the soldiers dumped a corpse on her table. Geneva stared at it until she remembered the Selphid. It was still twitching in the corpse, but weakly. The one eye of the dead man tried to move, but they couldn’t fix on her face.

“Can you hear me?”

Geneva spoke to the dead body. The leg kicked feebly. Geneva waited, but the mouth didn’t move.

“I am going to operate on you. I will try to save your life. But I need your permission.”

There were countless rules regarding malpractice Geneva had been taught in school. If she was in the emergency room in a hospital she would be judged by the professional standards of care and state laws. But here there was no oversight, just herself.

She had a duty to save lives. But she had no idea what Selphids were like. She could kill the creature in the person’s body just by slicing him open. So she had to ask.

“I will try to save you, but I have no idea how Selphids work. But I am a [Doctor]. I will do everything I can to keep you alive. But I need your permission.”

At last the mouth moved, but only once. The jaw fell open, and Geneva stared at the corpse. The Selphid couldn’t speak. She slowly put her hand in the corpses’. It was cold.

“If you want me to operate on you, grab my hand. If not, I will put you with the corpses.”

The hand was cold in her grasp. Geneva waited. Ten slow seconds passed, and she began to pull back her hand. Then the fingers twitched in her grasp. Geneva jerked away at the strange feeling, and then nodded.

“Okay. Try not to move. If I’m hurting you, let me know.”

It was a strange feeling as she cut into the man’s skin. She felt like she was doing an autopsy, but this time she was being extremely careful not to thrust in to any part of the body too deeply. She opened the stomach and then saw the Selphid.

It was stretching throughout the dead man’s nervous system. A green wriggling mass of tendrils moved weakly as Geneva stared at the body.

The soldiers in the room left. Geneva heard one race out of the tent and throw up as the tendrils tried to reach upwards. She stared. They were wrapped around organs—they seemed to have removed several and the Selphid had infiltrated the dead man’s stomach. It was a true parasite.

And it was alive. Geneva had to take hold of herself before her curiosity overwhelmed her. Slowly, she cut until she reached the half of the body that had been blown off.

There. Now she could see what was wrong. The Selphid might have been shielded inside the man’s body, but it had still been caught by the explosion. Where the body ended she saw it was bleeding some viscous, orange liquid.

“You’re injured. I need to stop the bleeding.”

Geneva reached for the Selphid and the needle, but the creature recoiled as she tried to grab it with a forcep. Part of it flowed away, and Geneva realized with a shock that this creature was semi-fluid. Stitches would be as useful as trying to block water with a net.

But the creature was dying, and it was—yes, it was bleeding out. Geneva thought quickly, and then raced out of her tent.

“Get me a piece of metal! A sword, a dagger—something smooth and flat! And a fire!”

When Geneva reentered the tent with a glowing brand of hot iron, the Selphid recoiled. But Geneva set the hot metal down next to the body and explained what she was going to do.

“I need to burn the injuries closed. That’s the only way I can stop the bleeding.”

The Selphid seemed to hesitate. Then it shifted, and Geneva saw several patches of bleeding among the green. She took a deep breath.

“Hold still. This will hurt.”

She had no idea if the Selphid actually had nerves, but she got her answer as she pressed the hot metal down on the extended part of the Selphid, holding it still with a forcep in the other hand. She heard a shriek—a high-pitched sound that made her ear wax vibrate, and the Selphid went wild in her grip. But Geneva held on, and when she pulled the burning metal back the green of the Selphid had been discolored and the creature was shaking, but the bleeding had stopped.

The cauterization process was slow and agonizing for the Selphid, but when she was done, the creature lay in the body. It was moving very slowly now, and Geneva wondered if it was allergic to the air, or if it was still dying. The trauma alone might be killing it.

“I need another body.”

Geneva strode out of the tent and walked over to a group of soldiers amassing the dead in a pile to be burnt. The insects were thick, but she found a corpse—a woman who’d died of blood loss from having an artery cut. She told the soldiers to bring it to the tent and then carefully sliced the woman’s stomach open.

“I’m going to pick you up.”

She had to use her hands for that. The forceps weren’t strong enough. The body was warm to the touch as Geneva delved into the organs. The Selphid itself was warm. It weakly wrapped around her hands and she lifted it up.

It came out slowly. Pieces of the Selphid were still attached to organs, and Geneva had to pull with more force than she wanted. The creature screamed, but she eventually pried it loose. Slowly, she placed it in the opening she’d created in the dead woman’s stomach and waited.

The Selphid began to move. The bunched up segment of it slowly began to slither deeper into the body, slowly, very slowly. Geneva waited until it was all inside and then she sewed up the opening. And waited.

The body didn’t move. After a minute, Geneva realized the Selphid could be dead and she would never know. She waited a while longer, but then she had to turn away.

“Take the body and put it at the back of the line.”

She told the soldiers to take away the remains of the first corpse and watched as they brought in another wounded Dullahan. Geneva got back to work.

By the time the corpse came back, it was dark, Geneva was swaying, and the wounded had finally stopped coming in. Everyone who was injured had been treated, or their wounds weren’t life threatening, or they’d bled out while waiting.

The corpse was mildly warm to the touch, but it was only from the night air. Geneva hopefully checked the eyes, opening them and flashing lantern light into the empty gaze, but the body did not move. The Selphid was dead.

Exhausted, Geneva set the lantern down and walked away. She was too tired, too drained to even weep. She used the rest of the boiled water to wash herself—although her clothes were ruined—and walked into the camp where the surviving soldiers were eating.

To her surprise, Geneva heard laughter, and even cheering. She collected her food and found that Lim, Clara, and Fortum were all alive. And what was more, they all seemed to be in extremely good cheer.

“Geneva!”

Clara waved her over and edged over on the ground to give her a seat. Geneva sat and listened to the others laughing. She felt like she was in some strange other reality. Why was everyone so happy?

Fortum clapped Lim over the shoulder as he addressed Geneva.

“The kid was a hero! He killed at least eight soldiers in the battle today, and he got through it all with barely a scratch!”

“You’ll level tonight, boy!”

Lim blushed as he looked at Geneva. She stared back, her face empty. She’d held a man’s intestines in her hand. She’d stared at a hand and knew it was gone. It’d had to be amputated.

“A damn archer was aiming at me, and I’d caught my foot on a body so I couldn’t dodge. He raises his bow and then Lim runs him through from behind! Right through the leather armor! Just like that!”

A gaping hole so wide she could see the table underneath. She was out of time and the man was bleeding. Even if she could stop the bleeding all she could do was sew skin together. His organs were all severed. She watched him choking up blood.

“Geneva? What happened to you?”

Everyone was staring at her. Geneva looked up. They were looking at her face with concern.

“Geneva?”

Slowly, Geneva stared down at her food. She looked at the soldiers, some still covered with blood. The enemy’s blood. The blood of people they’d killed. People they’d injured, like the ones she’d tried to save.

Geneva stood up. Without a word, she walked away. She ate the food quickly by herself and then walked to her sleeping place. She paused to throw up everything she’d eaten, and vomited again and again until she was throwing up nothing but bile. Then she wept, long and hard. Geneva fell into her bedding and only woke when morning came.

[Doctor Level 11!]

[Skill – Injury Sense obtained!]

[Skill – Sterile Equipment obtained!]

—-

Geneva had heard once that a surgeon improved by the number of patients that died under their blade. But this was far too literal. When she woke up and remembered the Skills she’d learned, she didn’t know if she wanted to cry or laugh hysterically.

She had more Skills. And they were valuable. The [Sterile Equipment] Skill would prevent infections, and the other one would allow her to pinpoint bleeding in theory. But at what cost?

They’d all died, all of her serious patients. Maybe she’d saved one or two? But regardless, that was a survival rate of less than 1%. She wasn’t a [Doctor]. She was a glorified coroner who helped kill the living.

Geneva ate in silence with the others this morning. She didn’t speak, and the conversation was far more subdued than yesterday. Lim and the others kept glancing at her. Geneva had just finished eating the cheese and bread dipped in soup that tasted like nothing when someone rushed at her.

“Murderer! You let them die!”

A fist struck Geneva on the cheek and then she was lying on the ground. She felt a boot kick her in the chest before someone shouted and the attacker disappeared. Geneva sat up and saw Lim had tackled the soldier who’d hit her. Now the other man’s buddies were drawing their weapons, and the people around Geneva were getting to their feet with theirs.

“Put down your weapons!”

Thriss thundered into the fray before anyone could move, face red. He roared at everyone present and threw Lim off the other soldier while he raised his mace. More officers and soldiers joined Thriss, keeping the angry soldiers apart.

“I’ll smash the head of anyone that draws blood, my oath on it! We’re a battalion—we fight together!”

“Not her!”

Geneva looked around as Clara helped her up. The man who’d struck her was shouting, barely restrained by his fellows. She recognized him. He was the friend of the dead man, the one who he’d insisted was alive. She’d already forgotten the dead man’s name.

“She let them die! She’s no [Doctor]! She’s not even a [Healer]! She just kills anyone she touches! She slices them up and lets them bleed to death!”

The other soldiers stared at Geneva. She couldn’t look anyone in the eye. Thriss’ face turned even more red, and he roared to cut the other man off.

“Enough! You! You’re going in with the first wave. And you—”

Thriss pointed at Geneva. His tone was much softer.

“Get to your tent. The fightin’ is going to heat up soon, and we’ll need your skills.”

He guided her away as the soldiers broke up and another officer took over the shouting. Geneva staggered away as Clara gave her a brief pat on the back. Thriss marched towards her tent—they’d pitched it in another location because the bugs had infested the previous area too badly. Geneva looked up at the [Sergeant]. Her hands were shaking again.

“What he said—”

“He lost his friends. Don’t pay any attention to him.”

Geneva shook her head.

“He was right. I can’t do this. Not alone.”

“There’s no one with a [Healer] class in the battalion. You’ll have to.”

“I can’t!”

Geneva stopped in her tracks and shouted at Thriss, ignoring the people who stared.

“I can’t do this alone! I don’t just need another [Doctor]—I need assistants, proper ones! I need people who know how to perform surgeries and don’t throw up on my patients. I need surgical tools, or some healing potion for deep injuries. I can’t close them on my own.”

Thriss chewed at his lip. Then he shook his head again, reluctantly.

“We have none to spare. We used up a lot of what we had yesterday—and the fighting will only get worse from here. I’ll assign soldiers to you, but I can’t promise they’ll be any better.”

“Then everyone dies, just like that soldier said.”

“I—”

Thriss broke off. He looked at someone behind Geneva, and then she heard a low voice.

“[Doctor].”

Geneva turned. Her heart nearly burst out of her chest.

Someone was standing in front of her. Someone—someone dead. She was one of the soldiers Geneva had tried to save yesterday, the one who’d bled out. But she was dead. She was—

She was the one who Geneva had put the Selphid into.

The woman looked different than she had yesterday. Her skin was totally white now, and she stood awkwardly. The right half of her body sagged, and she moved awkwardly, as if she’d had a stroke. But her left side seemed perfectly able, and she smiled crookedly at Geneva.

Thriss had noted her skin color as well. He put his hand on his sword warily.

“We have no Selphids among this Batallion. Identify yourself.”

The Selphid saluted with one hand. She was armed with a sword, and the dead woman’s armor, the chainmail still covered in dried blood.

“Yes, sir. My name is Okasha. I am a [Rogue], Level 23. I am part of the Burning March 6th Division. My squad was destroyed by a mage spell. I would rejoin my unit, but my right side is useless. I cannot fight, but I will help the [Doctor].”

“What?”

Geneva stared at the Selphid in the woman’s body. She couldn’t understand.

“You were dead. I saw you. I put you in the other body, but you didn’t move even after I checked again.”

The Selphid smiled.

“I was unconscious. And it takes time for us to assume control of a new form.”

She hadn’t even guessed that might happen. Geneva’s stomach twisted.

“I’m sorry.”

Okasha raised one hand and smiled again.

“I should be the one thanking you. You saved me. I would have died in that body if you hadn’t closed my injuries and put me in a new one.”

Thriss grunted irritably.

“So you can doctor Selphids? Looks like you’ve got a good use, to me. Try to save more of our folk instead of them, though. And here’s your assistant, if you’ll have one of them.”

Geneva looked at Okasha. She bit her lip. The Selphid was clearly disabled or wounded—perhaps permanently if she couldn’t regrow whatever she was missing. But Geneva needed all the help she could get.

“I need an assistant. But I’ll be cutting up bodies and performing surgery. Can you handle that?”

This time even Thriss bared his teeth in a reluctant grin. Okasha laughed.

“I am a Selphid. Bleeding and organs do not scare me.”

Oh. Of course. Thriss left the two as Geneva tried to give Okasha a crash course on the thousands of things she needed to know to be a capable assistant. Okasha listened carefully, nodding. She had a patient personality, and what was even better, she understood when Geneva talked about arteries and veins and bloodflow.

“I know of these things. I have seen them and felt how they move.”

“Really?”

The Selphid nodded. She took a breath—if she didn’t speak she took breaths very rarely, which was unsettling. She also blinked much less than normal people. She was a creature living in a dead body, but Geneva was fine with that. At least there was life in this corpse.

“I have lived in Dullahan and Lizardfolk bodies as well. I can show you how they live and breathe as well.”

Geneva suddenly realized that she was standing in front of the only person who might know more about the human body than she did. The relief made her almost lightheaded, but then she heard shouting. The soldiers were already heading into battle.

Her face and ribs hurt where she’d been kicked. She was still exhausted, and the dead and the accusations of the soldier still haunted her. But this time she was not alone.

—-

“Apply pressure! I’ll stitch!”

Geneva shouted at Okasha over the man’s screams. The Selphid nodded and hung on to the man’s arm. She was strong—far stronger than normal and while the other soldiers held him down she minimized his blood loss with an iron grip.

The man writhed and screamed, but when Geneva had cut the thread, he was alive and even healthy enough to walk back to camp. That didn’t stop him from trying to take a swing at Geneva, though.

Okasha blocked the strike and sent the man staggering back with a knife-hand to the throat that made him choke. Geneva checked, but his throat was intact. The soldier roughly dragged her former patient out as she stared at Okasha.

“Don’t hurt patients.”

“Why not? He was striking at you.”

“If that’s the case, try not to hurt him. I am a doctor. I have sworn an oath not to inflict needless harm or kill.”

“But you are on a battlefield.”

“Yes. I am.”

Geneva rested her face in her hands. Blood smeared her face before she realized what she was doing. She looked up.

It was no better today. Despite Okasha’s help, she could not save those badly hurt. She was incapable. She couldn’t do blood transfusions and she wasn’t quick enough to finish operations before her patients bled out.

But she would save them. Each time one came in, Geneva felt herself go insane. She would save them. She would. She wasn’t walking with death anymore. She was wrestling with it.

But she was still losing.

“I can’t do this.”

They were the same words as yesterday. But the Geneva who uttered them was different. She wasn’t desperate and tired any longer; now Okasha was here, she was remembering. It was all so clear now. She had been a fool, trying to adapt modern practices with barbaric tools. She had to go back to another time. Think. She knew some accounts of doctors from World War II. What could she—

The soldiers carrying in the next groaning soldiers were surprised when Geneva thrust her way out of the tent with Okasha behind her. The [Doctor]’s face was grim, but determined. She shook her head at the soldiers.

“Put him down. I’m going to triage first.”

She should have done it at the very start. But she’d started on that first patient without even thinking. She was a fool.

Now, though—

“Get me some charcoal and cloth.”

She snapped at a soldier as she began to walk the lines of the wounded. There were even more than yesterday. They looked up as she passed, but Geneva didn’t meet their eyes. If she did, she would lose heart. Instead, she looked at their injuries.

“White armbands are for priority patients. Use the charcoal and add a marking if they’re lower priority.”

That was what she informed Okasha as she began to sort the soldiers. She prioritized injuries she could treat that were time-sensitive. Severed arteries, excessive bleeding—

But those with injuries she couldn’t mend she left alone. And those who had superficial cuts she added a black line on the cloth she tied to their arms or legs. They didn’t understand at first, the soldiers. They stared at her with suspicion, but they began to understand as she brought in the patients she’d marked as priority.

“They are beginning to try to alter their armbands, those who are awake.”

Okasha remarked lightly as she handed Geneva the one of the sharpened daggers. Geneva grunted and Okasha deftly caught the sweat before it could sting her eyes. The Selphid was competent and deft despite only having one arm, but she had a distinct lack of sympathy for the man who was groaning on the table as Geneva tried to cut a chunk of metal out of his thigh.

“They are trying to erase the black markings. But we shall see if their bands are wet or smudged.”

“Suture.”

The needle was in her hands a second after Geneva said it. The [Doctor] began to stitch rapidly. She could still hear the screams, and what was worse, now she could hear people shouting in anger.

They came for her when she was taking a five minute break. Oksaha insisted on it, and Geneva gulped down water and tore into some bread feverishly.

“You!”

A Lizardwoman shouted at Geneva as she advanced on her angrily. The soldiers Thriss had posted with Geneva moved to block her, but the Lizardwoman wasn’t alone. Clara was with her. The other soldier had a dark look on her face.

“Clara? What’s wrong?”

Geneva looked at the woman. Clara pointed.

“Why aren’t you treating Lim!?”

She hadn’t even seen the boy. But he was lying on the ground next to her tent, face pale, gasping. He had a long cut down his sword hand; long, but shallow. Geneva looked back at Clara and shook her head.

“I can’t. He’s not in danger. I have to treat—”

Clara grabbed for Geneva. Okasha blocked her, but the other soldier was screaming at Geneva now. The young woman felt spit hit her face.

“How dare you! Lim is your friend! He saved you! He was first in line!”

“He isn’t badly hurt. He will wait.”

Geneva’s voice was steel. Her heart was a cold ball. She’d put it away to perform surgery; it was the only way she could stay sane. But now it was melting, growing hotter in her chest.

“You’re a monster!”

The Lizardwoman lunged at Geneva and was held back by the soldiers. She struggled in their grip; she was stronger than the other two.

“You’re letting Namass die! I saw you—you didn’t even put a band on his arm!”

Geneva remembered the Lizardman. He had been stabbed straight through the gut, but someone had carved upwards and sliced through his organs. There wasn’t anything she could do—nothing that wouldn’t take too long.

She met the Lizardwoman’s eyes.

“I am triaging. I have to prioritize people I can save.”

“That’s evil!”

Clara shouted it at Geneva as Okasha fought to keep her back. Geneva felt her heart grow more painful. The female soldier shouted at Geneva.

“Don’t you care about your friends!? Why aren’t you helping Lim? He’s one of us. He was first. He—”

It was all too much. Geneva heard ringing; saw red. She was grabbing Clara before she knew it, screaming at her at the top of her lungs. The screaming soldiers, the shouting soldiers and those resting in camp—even the insects seemed to fall silent as Geneva gave vent to the fury in her.

“Good? Evil? A doctor isn’t any of those things!”

Geneva shouted the words into a pair of scared blue eyes. She shook the other woman hard, grabbing at her with hands still crusted with blood. She pointed at the rows of wounded soldiers.

“I will save everyone I can. I will save the most people I can. That is how this works! This isn’t morality! This isn’t choice! This is medicine! Now get out of the damn way or help me! I have a job to do.”

She threw Clara aside and stormed towards her tent. Okasha was right behind her. Geneva raised the needle and thread and got to work.

Stitch. Suture. Stop the blood flow here. Bandage. Okasha had learned to tie them properly. Clean the vomit away. Bugs crawling on the feces. Too many. Change locations.

Incision here. Repair this. Cauterize. Amputate. Ignore the screams.

She didn’t even remember falling asleep. She just looked around for the next patient, and there were none. Geneva didn’t remember closing her eyes. She only knew that she fell back and Okasha caught her before she hit the ground.

That night Geneva leveled up again. She gained six levels and four different skills. Okasha told her it was practically unheard of, but Geneva had never heard of a modern-day doctor who’d gone through what she had.

Over a hundred and thirty soldiers had passed under her needle and blade yesterday. Of that number, she had saved over two thirds. Twice that number had died over the course of the day. Some had been from her battalion, but Geneva later learned that every group fighting was experiencing potion shortages. They’d sent their wounded to her, sometimes over the course of many miles.

Geneva had learned four skills. Two were merely useful; [Numbing Touch] made people feel less pain and [Flawless Cut] allowed Geneva to make incisions far more easily than before. They were tools to make her better at her job.

But the Skills that changed everything were the combination of [Speed Stitching] and [Enhanced Thread]. With them, Geneva could begin to truly save lives. And she did. The next day, she ate with Okasha by herself and walked towards the tent. This time she reorganized her triage system.

She could suture at a pace three times as fast as before, and with the thread, she could close up even damaged organs. They might still fail, but Geneva was quick enough to stop the blood loss so her patients had a chance. That night she gained only one skill – [Lesser Stamina]. It allowed her to keep going even when night fell.

In the days that followed Geneva gained more skills. She moved faster; began seeing exactly what treatment methods worked best. Okasha found better forceps, and somehow, a few of the soldiers assigned to Geneva learned to bind wounds as well. She rotated them across the lines of wounded, binding injuries and even stitching up wounds while she worked on the most injured.

Sometimes she forgot to eat while she was working, and only a hot meal shoved in front of her face would distract her. Geneva knew she was losing weight, but even when she was sleeping, a scream or cry for her name would rouse her. She couldn’t sleep. The faces haunted her. Maybe if there were others it would be different, but she was alone. She couldn’t let them die. Any of them.

The soldiers began to level up as [Field Medics] or [Assistants]. Geneva saved more lives. She watched more slip away. But she clung to each thread until it snapped. Death still walked by her side, but slowly, Geneva began to pull ahead.

—-

“More wounded!”

Geneva heard the words and looked up. She was taking a break with Okasha and a few wounded soldiers. There hadn’t been any more seriously wounded for a stretch. Now more were coming in, but the soldiers she’d trained were already triaging for her. And she needed a break; she had been working nonstop for three hours and she had to rest or she would make mistakes. Okasha had told her that and because she was right, Geneva had agreed to rest now and then. So Geneva sat and listened to Okasha.

“The Centaur tribe has hit every camp. They launch night raids, sneak attacks…sometimes they strike even if it means taking hundreds of casualties. Just to destroy our potions stock.”

A Dullahan whose head Geneva had stitched up grunted. He cradled his head carefully in his hands as he spoke.

“Bastards. They’ve got no honor.”

Another Lizardfolk nodded. Non-humans were the ones most willing to talk with Geneva right now. Clara, Lim, Fortum and the others had given her the cold shoulder, and a lot of the Humans thought she was betraying their kind by working on other species first. The Lizardman spat as the severed stump of his tail twitched.

“If we make it out of this mess, you’ll bet there will be hell to pay. Even if the Magehammer Company didn’t participate in the strikes themselves, they’ll be in trouble for letting the Centaur tribe get away with it. No mercenary will work with them.”

“But we are pushing them back. They are outnumbered, and if their mages fall, they will lose their edge.”

Okasha grinned as she said that, but Geneva could only imagine the slaughter. The Selphid stared at the lines of wounded and grinned. The soldiers in this group weren’t as badly injured; they had superficial wounds mostly, but Geneva saw one stump she knew she would have to tend to herself.

Two soldiers dumped a body on the ground. Geneva saw a Centaur, half-man, half-horse, bleeding deeply from an injury in the side. Someone had thrown a spear and it had broken off inside of him. He would die soon if she didn’t move.

She stood up. Okasha stood too, and Geneva strode towards the Centaur. They had him in the operating tent first. It was a difficult procedure, cutting the spear out and stopping his bleeding. But they managed it. The worst moment was when the Centaur woke up and realized he was being worked on. He screamed and thrashed and it took eight soldiers to hold him down.

“Easy. Easy. I’m a [Doctor]. I’m going to help you.”

Geneva said the words very slowly to the Centaur, looking into his eyes. His chest heaved; he tried to break free, but slowly he relaxed.

“I won’t hurt you, I swear it.”

He nodded at her, but didn’t relax. He flinched while she extracted the spearhead and only hissed as she sewed his skin together. When it was done Geneva had to help carry him out; he was extraordinarily heavy.

But as they were bringing him to an area that had been cleared for the wounded to lie in, Geneva heard a shout.

“Enemy soldier!”

The people around her raised their weapons. Geneva saw Thriss thrusting people aside. He pointed a finger at the Centaur, and Geneva felt her patient stiffen behind her.

“That’s not one of ours! That’s an enemy!”

He had his mace in his hands. The Centaur raised a hand weakly, but Geneva stood in Thriss’s way. He glared at her.

“Move aside.”

“No. He’s going to die. I am going to treat him.”

Thriss’ jaw clenched.

“He’s an enemy. We interrogate him, and we’ll find out what his lot are up to.”

Geneva didn’t move. Thriss tried to shove her aside, but she stepped in his way. She spread her arms.

“I have sworn an oath. If you want him, you have to knock me out. And if you do hurt him, I will not be able to heal any more soldiers.”

She raised her voice so everyone could hear her. Thriss paused as other soldiers looked her way. He gritted his teeth.

“You’re bluffing.”

Geneva met his furious gaze calmly. She spoke as loudly and as she could, knowing every eye was on her.

“If my oath is broken, I will no longer be a [Doctor].”

She felt it was true. And Thriss didn’t have the courage to test her, she knew. Every soldier knew they were out of healing potions; if they were hurt, Geneva was the only one who could fix them up.

Thriss advanced on Geneva.

“He’s one of the lot who smashed our potions! He’s been shooting at us throughout the battle! Him and all his damn tribe!”

“Then let him go. He can walk—barely.”

Geneva knew the Centaur might not survive the night in the camp, no matter what she said. She stared at Thriss.

“Let him go. I am a [Doctor]. This is my patient.”

Thriss pointed a finger that shook at Geneva.

“I could have you executed for aiding the enemy.”

I will not use my medical knowledge to violate human rights and civil liberties, even under threat.

Geneva gritted her teeth. She stood in front of Thriss and stared the big man down.

“Do it if you must.”

“You swore to obey orders!”

“I answer to a higher oath.”

The [Doctor] and [Sergeant] stared at each other in the center of the camp full of wounded and healing soldiers. He was the first to look away.

“Damn you. Get him out of here!”

The Centaur slowly got to his feet with Okasha’s help. He stumbled, and Geneva insisted on making him a rough crutch before he left. He looked back twice at her. She watched him go. Then she went back and continued to operate.

—-

The next day, Geneva set up her tent further away from the 4th Battalion’s headquarters. And she put up a flag. It had a cross on it, red, painted with the only substance Geneva could use. She hung the flag high in the air on a piece of white cloth. Okasha asked what it meant.

“Healing. Safety.”

“Then why is it red? And why a cross?”

Geneva had no answer for that. But it was a symbol nevertheless. She hung it over her tent, and more than once she found soldiers waving flags with crosses of their own as they brought their friends to the tent. She never asked what side they were on. She just tried to save lives.

Each time someone died, it was like a bit of Geneva went with them. But when she pulled someone back, when they thanked her, a bit of her came back to life as well. She ate and slept and did all the things her body required, but Geneva lived on the operating table. She lived to help other people live.

They all had names, all had families and dreams. They asked her not to let them die, but they couldn’t pray because the gods were dead. So Geneva prayed with every cut of her improvised scalpels, and every stitch of her needle. She prayed that she would save them. She prayed to the science she’d been taught, the lessons she tried to remember, and to medicine herself. She prayed that she was making a difference.

They’d just begun operating on a man, when Geneva heard a thump and felt the explosion in her bones. She stumbled outside to find the camp was under attack.

A woman hovered in the air, blasting people with fiery orbs that exploded, and tremors that engulfed her victims. She was coming towards the tent.

Geneva grabbed the flag she had planted, and stood in front of the lines of wounded. She held the flag up as the [Mage] approached. The other woman glanced left as an arrow broke against her skin, doing no damage, and pointed. A fiery inferno engulfed the archer who’d fired. Then she saw Geneva.

The [Doctor] stood coughing as the smoke from the fires reached her. Her eyes watered, but she held the flag in front of her. It was a poor shield, made of cloth and blood, but it was all she had.

The woman paused when she saw the flag. Her eyes flicked to the red cross, and then the wounded soldiers who were trying to crawl away or lying comatose on the ground. Then she looked at Geneva.

Their eyes met through the smoke and flame. The woman was smiling in the center of all the death and destruction, untouched. Geneva’s heart was pounding; her hands were still covered in the blood of the people she’d tried to save.

Slowly, the [Mage] turned away. She walked into the air, and away from the tent. Geneva collapsed onto the ground. Then she pushed herself back up and ran into the camp. That night she worked late, tending to burn victims and trying to make skin grafts. Many died. But she saved a few.

—-

The last day of the war in the jungle came when Okasha sat next to Geneva at breakfast. The Selphid still hadn’t regained use of her right side, and Geneva didn’t think she ever would. But the creature was smiling with her body’s lips.

“Do you know, the soldiers of both sides know who you are?”

Geneva blinked.

“They do?”

Okasha nodded.

“They call you the Last Light. You shine to them, the dying. Yours is the last face they see, and you drag so many back from the other side. They open their eyes and see you standing in the light.”

“That’s silly.”

“They call you that. And you have saved countless lives. I think that once we are done here, I will join you. Perhaps I can be a [Doctor] too, or at least an [Assistant], even if I only have one arm.”

Geneva stared at Okasha.

“There’s still fighting going on. This is no time to think about the future.”

The Selphid shook her head.

“The Magehammer Company has taken heavy losses. Three battalions managed to flank one of their divisions and we broke through and got their lead [Strategist]. Without him, they’ll have to pull back.”

“What?”

Someone was cheering in the camp. Geneva looked around. Okasha looked pleased with herself.

“I overheard one of the officers talking. The news is spreading even as we speak. The battle is nearly won.”

Soldiers were beginning to celebrate, laughing. Geneva stared at them and just felt empty. She looked at Okasha. The Selphid smiled.

“Perhaps afterwards you can heal those not on a battlefield. There are many people too poor for healing potions or who are hurt in ways they cannot be healed. Maybe—”

“Attack! We’re under attack!”

Geneva heard the galloping before she could move. Arrows flew, and suddenly Okasha was falling. An arrow had caught her in the throat.

“Okasha!”

Another arrow flew past Geneva as she caught Okasha. The Selphid wasn’t speaking, wasn’t moving. Was she dead?

Geneva looked up. Centaurs were running through the camp, shooting wildly. Soldiers fell around them as the Centaurs ran past her. It was another surprise attack on their camp.

One of the Centaurs saw Geneva was still alive. He raised a bow, and hesitated. He stopped and stared at her.

Geneva saw an ugly scar on his side, and looked at a bare-chested young man. He slowly lowered his bow as she looked at him.

Then, he shouted something at the other Centaurs. They paused, and he shouted again, pointing. They whirled, and began to gallop out of the camp.

The Centaur remained behind. He stared at Geneva. Slowly, he walked towards her. He stared down at Okasha, and Geneva stared up. He opened his mouth to speak—

“Die!”

The Centaur’s head caved in as a mace struck it from the side. Geneva screamed and Thriss pulled his mace back and struck the Centaur again. The young man fell to the ground silently, and the sergeant turned to Geneva.

“You.”

She opened her mouth but he struck her with one hand. She fell face-first to the ground and then heard him roar.

“Traitor!”

She tried to stand up, but she couldn’t. Something hit her back, so hard the world flashed white. Thriss had struck her with the mace, so hard she felt her spine cracking.

“Traitor!”

He raised the mace and brought it down on Geneva’s back again. She screamed and felt something breaking. She tried to move, but suddenly she couldn’t.

Thriss spat on Geneva from above. He raised his mace and gasped as a blade burst through his chest. Okasha twisted, and Thriss choked as he fell forwards. The mace fell from his hands and splashed on the muddy ground.

Okasha pulled the arrow from her throat, ignoring the damage it did as it pulled out of her dead skin. Geneva stared up at her.

“I’m dying. My spine is broken.”

She couldn’t move. The Selphid stared down at Geneva and said something. Geneva grinned. She couldn’t hear anymore, either. No one was screaming. She was the only person in need of medical attention right now, but that was fine. There was no one for her, and she didn’t need help anyways. It was growing very dark.

She closed her eyes. Geneva felt everything fade.

She died.

—-

And then she woke up again. Geneva’s eyes snapped open and she sat up. She sat up?

She stared around. She was lying on the ground. Water was falling on her face. She looked up. Rain was falling between the cracks of the jungle canopy. It was mixing with Thriss’s blood, pelting the corpse of the Centaur.

Slowly, Geneva raised her left hand. She flexed it slowly, and tried to raise her right arm. It wouldn’t move. Geneva stared at it.

“I could not repair everything.”

A voice whispered in her ears. No—inside her ears. Geneva paused. The voice was familiar.

“Okasha?”

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. Geneva felt something…twisting inside of her. Something was in her.

“I am here now. I had to bridge the gap to make you move. You will not bleed to death, but you require healing.”

Geneva wanted to throw up. Her stomach heaved, but something was in her as well. It held back the reflex.

“You had to live. There was no other way.”

It must have only been a few minutes. Geneva stared around the camp. It was in ruins, but she could hear the screaming. Men and women and people of other species were still alive. Some had been hit by arrows; others had been trampled.

And that’s when Geneva heard the rumbling, and more shouts. She looked over and saw covered carts rolling slowly through the jungle. Teams of soldiers in bright, untarnished armor marched around the wagons, pointing and shouting as they saw the devastation in the camp.

Geneva began to laugh. She heard a sound in her head.

“What is it?”

“The supply wagons have finally arrived.”

Soldiers were swinging themselves out of the wagons, and those on the ground were rushing towards the fallen. Geneva willed her legs to stand, and they did. But she could feel something else had helped them move.

“I am sorry. This is forbidden, but it was all I could do. But there is no reversing it. I can—”

She could hear them screaming again. Geneva shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“What?”

She willed her feet to walk. They moved reluctantly, but they did move. Geneva stumbled towards the wagon. The soldiers stared at her in shock, but Geneva grabbed as many potions as she could carry.

“Let’s go.”

She strode into the battlefield, leaving Thriss and the dead Centaur behind. The air was hot. Insects crawled over the living and the dead, and screams split the air. Geneva ran with a potion in hand, trying to ignore the agony of her own body, the howling in her mind. People called out her name and she ran towards them, healing their wounds. But it was never enough. Geneva could hear the screaming in her head. One more. She turned over bodies, staring at arrows, feeling for a pulse.

One more. There had to be one more. A voice was speaking to her, and someone was trying to make her rest. Geneva ignored it. One more. She had to find—

One more. But every face she turned over was blank and staring. Geneva ran on. She was so tired. She had to sleep.

Slowly, the [Doctor] fell to her knees. Mud and blood ran together as she fell into it. Geneva stared ahead, searching for bodies, but now she could no longer move. Slowly, her eyes closed.

The young woman lay still on the ground. Soldiers ran around her, tending to the wounded. Geneva slept. For once, she couldn’t hear the screams.

It was pleasant.

Quiet.

She slept, as the Selphid in her body made her walk to a safe place and lie down. In the jungle, the Magehammer Company retreated and ceded the rights to the mine to the Burning March company. The Ravarian Fighters reformed their shattered battalions and there was peace.

In one small place. But Baleros bled, and the jungles ran with blood which fed the insects. There was always war. War, and more war. But word spread from soldier to soldier as mercenaries travelled and rumors flew like birds. They spoke of a red cross, and a class that saved lives rather than took them. They told legends that the soldiers clung to in hope as they marched to war or lay dying. The soldiers spoke of a woman who could save lives, of a place that took no sides. They told stories about her. A healer, a savior.

A [Doctor].

Previous Chapter

3.06 L

Pawn knew he had to return to the Hive after leaving the inn. He knew that. But he found the food Lyonette had given him was disagreeing with his stomach a bit. It must have been the eggs. Antinium didn’t usually experience food poisoning, but that didn’t meant they couldn’t get sick.

Therefore, Pawn decided that before he went back into the Hive and talked to Revalantor Klbkch, he should walk around the city for a while. So his steps slowed, and Pawn took the time to walk down side streets, peek down alleyways he’d never entered before, and admire the sights. He was just doing it for his stomach, but really, it was very important to look around. There were so many things Pawn would miss if he hurried!

For instance, had he ever really appreciated the wonders of the hamburger flipping Drake who stood on the side of the street, calling out to potential customers? The craze over the new food had swept through the city and burned itself out—now people were just as likely to go to the other hot food stands at this time of night. And yet, there was something graceful about the way the yellow-scaled Drake flipped the sizzling patties of meat.

Pawn inhaled the scent, along with the crisp fresh winter air. Yes, the above world was not as familiar as the Hive, but there was beauty in it he had never seen below. Why did no one ever appreciate it? Why hadn’t he? But it occurred to him that when he had been a nameless Worker, not once had he ever really stopped to stare up at the stars.

The Antinium looked up. The sky was dark and black—it was cloudy.

“Ah.”

After a moment, Pawn walked on. He took side alleys, detours—he had no fear of being mugged, and indeed the one skulking shape he encountered in a rougher part of the city retreated when it saw Pawn comings its way. No robber wanted to arouse the wrath of the Antinium, and crime wasn’t very profitable in a city where the Antinium lived in any case. Something about an Antinium Soldier smashing through a wooden door as ten more burrowed out of the ground tended to discourage thieves and muggers.

Perhaps Pawn should look for crime, though. Wasn’t that a useful pursuit? He could chase after the thieves, hit them, maybe. Or just warn them verbally?

Pawn sighed. He knew what he was doing. He was procrastinating, avoiding doing what he needed to do. It was the first time he’d ever done it, really. It wasn’t the most comfortable of feelings; he knew he had to act, yet he was caught in indecisiveness, holding himself back. No, it wasn’t comfortable at all. But he still hesitated. He did not want to talk to Revalantor Klbkch.

Because he was afraid.

When had he ever been afraid? Not really…ever. Only once, perhaps. Pawn could remember being afraid when Ksmvr came for him and questioned him. Then he had been terrified. And he had been afraid when he’d heard the undead were attacking Liscor and he’d feared for Erin’s life.

Twice, then. But beyond that? What about when he’d been a simple Worker?

No. Never. Pawn hadn’t been afraid. He hadn’t been much of anything, really. He’d just been, the same way as a tool was. But now he felt, and what he felt was fear.

He did not like Klbkch. Pawn knew that the former Prognugator was considered well-liked even by the usually hostile residents of the city. He had friends among the Watch, and he was a familiar face, even if all the Antinium looked the same. Pawn had seen the Prognugator—every member of the Hive had at some point. The Prognugator was old, far older than anyone but the Queen, he commanded them in battle and oversaw them as they worked. He slew Aberrations, too. He was known. And one thing Pawn knew about him was that Klbkch didn’t seem to like any of the Workers or Soldiers.

The Queen did. They were her creations, her children, after all. Pawn had stood before her once, and though she had questioned him and the words had shattered his spirit, he had known that she cared for him in her own way. She would not hesitate to use him for the Hive, but he was part of her Hive, and thus she cared for him if not as one individual, then as a part of herself. That was reassuring, and all he had expected of her. But Klbkch?

No. He had friends. Relc, the angry Drake. And Pawn knew he liked Erin. But everyone liked Erin. Pawn liked Erin, but he could not bring himself to like either Ksmvr or Klbkch. And he was fairly certain that the Revalantor had the same opinion of him.

It wasn’t anything the two had ever said. And Klbkch hadn’t ever done anything to Pawn. He hadn’t ripped off Pawn’s antennas and cut off his fingers and parts of his arm while questioning him for instance. But Pawn still didn’t like him.

And he was afraid of what Klbkch would say. Ksmvr had been ruthless, but he had been new to his role, and inexperienced. It had given Pawn the courage to stand up to him, later. But Klbkch was ancient. If the Antinium had legends, he would have been one. But they had no stories, no individuals to name and speak of. There was only the Queen, and Klbkch, the Prognugator.

That was how it had always been.

Pawn stopped in the snowy street in front of the entrance to the Hive. He stared down at the dark entrance into the ground. The dark didn’t scare him, nor did the underground. But the hole still looked ominous. Pawn took a deep breath, and then another one. And another one.

He didn’t want to do this. But he had to. If only Erin had been there—but there had only been Lyonette. Erin would have helped him. She would have said something reassuring that would have made Pawn not afraid.

Like what? Pawn thought about this.

“Ah. ‘You can do it, Pawn! If Klbkch gives you any trouble, kick him in the nuts! Do Antinium even have nuts?’”

A passing Drake [Guardswoman] walking down the street gave Pawn a look of deep suspicion. He dropped the falsetto and nodded to her politely. After a moment she hurried on her way.

“I am not sure if Klbkch eats nuts. I believe they may contain gluten. I will inquire, however.”

“You do that. Good luck, Pawn!”

“Thank you.”

That made Pawn feel a bit better, although he still didn’t understand the nuts reference. He took another breath, and then marched into the Hive. He could do this. He was Pawn. If he reached the end of the chess board he could become a Queen! Or a bishop. Or knight. Queen was the optimal piece to play, but under certain situations it might be better to choose knight.

From street level in Liscor, descending into the Antinium Hive looked ridiculously easy. There were no noticeable guards, and the dirt was sloped for easy entry. But that was an illusion.

About ten steps into the darkness below, Pawn glanced left and right. The silent Soldiers standing in their alcoves in the wall watched him pass without moving a muscle. On the other hand, if he’d been anyone but an Antinium, they would have immediately apprehended him, and his survival would have been contingent on how much of a fight he put up. The Antinium had made many concessions to live in Liscor, but they did not suffer intrusion lightly.

As always, the Soldiers looked identical as they stood at the ready, even to Pawn. He could identify some other workers by the scratches on their chitin, or their jobs, but the Soldiers were one alien mass to Pawn. Workers did not talk to Soldiers, and Soldiers did not work with Workers unless there was some construction that needed their cooperation. Or if they trampled a Worker by accident.

But today Pawn was feeling reckless. He stopped and looked at one of the Soldiers. The Antinium was head and shoulders taller than Pawn and far broader, too. Pawn looked at his stub-like fingers, designed to pierce an enemy’s skin and let the Soldier bash his opponent into submission. But they were Antinium, weren’t they?

“Ah, good evening.”

The Soldier stared at Pawn. Pawn stared back uncomfortably. What was he doing?

Exchanging pleasantries. That was it. What came next?

“Rather cold outside, isn’t it? I hope you are all warm?”

The Soldiers didn’t respond. They couldn’t—they couldn’t speak. But they made no move either. They just stared at him. But all of them were staring, now.

After a second, Pawn continued walking. He felt the gaze of the Soldiers on his back as he left, though. And his mind was in turmoil. Pawn entered the flow of other Workers and groups of Soldiers and descended into the hive, wondering. Why had he done that? It was stupid. Had he expected a response? No, of course not. Then why had he done that?

Maybe because it was something Erin would do. Something she’d done. She’d asked a Worker his name, and treated him as if he weren’t just one of many.

Pawn sighed, and the Workers around him stiffened for a second as he walked through the shifting mass in the tunnels. That was stupid. He wasn’t Erin. And Soldiers couldn’t be Individual. He’d tested them with Klbkch. They took longer to respond to being questioned. And they didn’t react to being asked who they were and what their names were in the same way. But when they did—

The Worker shuddered as he remembered Klbkch whirling, cutting, limbs and green gore flying everywhere. No. Soldiers could not be Individual. It didn’t work for them. It barely worked for Workers without Erin.

As Pawn walked through the endless traffic of the Hive, the Workers around him slowly began to peel off, taking other corridors elsewhere in the Hive. In the end, Pawn reached his destination—a small room at the end of a dirt corridor—alone. He stared into the room and saw a seated Antinium, a being with two arms and slim frame instead of the normal four arms and bulkier body.

Klbkch.

Pawn wasn’t ready to talk yet. He wasn’t ready—but it was too late. There were no doors in the Hive except where it was crucial to maintain an airtight environment. Klbkch looked up as he noticed Pawn standing in the hallway.

“Enter.”

Immediately, Pawn’s legs obeyed the order. The Worker mechanically entered the room and stood before Klbkch. The Revalantor and Prognugator of Liscor’s Hive looked up at Pawn from the small wooden desk he sat at, expressionless. The two swords of his station hung at his side; the Antinium did not take them off even in the Hive. Pawn found his eyes drawn to the blades; they were the same ones that had sliced off his limbs.

“Pawn. Is there something you need to bring to my attention?”

“Um.”

Pawn stared at Klbkch, feeling his heart racing frantically. His mind felt blank. He didn’t know what to say. But now Klbkch was staring at him, and he had to say something. What would Erin say?

“Yes. No? I have a lot to say. About classes. Mine, that is.”

“Indeed?”

Klbkch shifted in his seat. He looked at Pawn—coldly. Yes, it was a cold look. The Antinium didn’t have many expressions, but Pawn could tell he wasn’t happy.

“Have you received a different class? Or leveled up since we last spoke?”

The Queen had told Pawn to report any changes in his level or class to Klbkch. The Revalantor was in charge of monitoring the new Individuals. Pawn hesitated. He had to tell the truth. But he really didn’t want to. Maybe he could work up to it?

“Yes, I have news. But I ah, also came to ask about it. News, that is.”

“News? What are you referring to?”

“Erin.”

Pawn didn’t know what he was saying. Why was he asking the Revalantor for information? But he did want to know.

“Is she well? I went to her inn today, but the girl living there told me that Erin was missing. Lost. In a Human city?”

Klbkch nodded reluctantly.

“That is so. She is well, and Ryoka Griffin is with her. She cannot return yet due to the Goblin presence in the region, but she is safe.”

“I see. I…see. That is good.”

“It is acceptable. Now, inform me of the new class or level you have obtained.”

Klbkch was staring hard at Pawn.  The Worker felt like sweating, even though the Antinium didn’t sweat. Or maybe he just felt like excreting liquids.

“I have…gained a new class. A while ago, in fact.”

“Indeed? Why did you not report this to me at once?”

Klbkch’s tone grew colder, if that was even possible. Pawn lowered his head.

“I was unsure of the nature of the class. I received it after a conversation with Erin Solstice, and I have been unable to discern the nature of either the Class or Skill I received.”

The Revalantor shook his head slightly.

“Erin. Of course. What Class did you receive after speaking with her?”

“[Acolyte].”

The Revalantor paused. Pawn could see him visibly thinking. Then the other Antinium shook his head.

“I am unfamiliar with the class, as well as the word.”

“As am I. I was hoping you could shed light upon the meaning of the class.”

“I see.”

Klbkch did not rise from his seat, but he shifted ever so slightly.

“You said you obtained this class after speaking with Erin? What was the context of your discussion?”

“It was…”

Pawn hesitated. It had been just after his questioning by the Queen. He had been in turmoil, asking about the dead Workers. His friends. Erin had comforted him, given him hope. But he didn’t want to tell Klbkch that. Instead, Pawn chose the simplest answer.

“We talked about religion. And I believe my class pertains to Gods.”

Instantly, the Antinium seated in front of Pawn froze. His entire body grew still, and Pawn could sense the emotions whirling in Klbkch. But the Revalantor didn’t do anything. Instead, after a minute he looked back up at Pawn as if nothing had happened.

“Gods?”

“Yes.”

“Intriguing. Do you refer to the dead gods of ages past?”

“No, a new God. A living one.”

There it was again. Klbkch froze, only for a shorter period. Pawn watched him carefully.

“Revalantor Klbkch, do you know anything of Gods? I had a discussion with Erin Solstice about them, and she informed me of a being known as a God. In the past, people prayed to them. And they possess powers similar to magic. But…”

His voice trailed off. Klbkch was staring at Pawn, but it was as if he was looking straight through him. Suddenly, the Revalantor’s body was tensed, and his expression—

“Revalantor Klbkch?”

The other Antinium slowly shook his head.

“I know nothing of Gods. But you said that after you talked with Erin, you gained the [Acolyte] class?”

“Yes. Because I…believed in Gods. Or so it seems.”

Klbkch stared at Pawn. The Worker shifted uncomfortably.

“You do not know what this means? I received the Skill of [Prayer] for reaching the first level in my class.”

“I see.”

The Revalantor nodded once, twice. He paused, and then looked up at Pawn and shook his head slowly.

“This class is a mystery to me. I know of Gods, but only those who are dead. It would appear your class is an enigma.”

“So it would appear.”

“Yes. But I have noted its occurrence. You said you were Level 1 in the [Acolyte] class?”

“That is so.”

“Very well. You may return to your quarters.”

Pawn stared at Klbkch for a few more seconds, disappointed. He felt…let down. He’d expected the Revalantor to say something, or reveal something to him about the class that Pawn hadn’t known. At the very least, he’d expected Klbkch to be disapproving, but this?

It was almost as if Klbkch was hiding something. But whatever it was, Pawn didn’t expect Klbkch to confide in him. Reluctantly, he turned to go.

No answers here. What should he do next? Pawn stopped at the doorway, thinking. Only Erin could help him after all. Did Klbkch know when she would return?

“Revalantor Klbkch? May I ask if you know anything of when Erin will ret—”

Pawn turned and saw Klbkch, frozen in place with one sword raised to cut him down. The two Antinium stared at each other. If they were Human, perhaps Klbkch might have pretended it was a joke. Laughed, maybe, and tried to play it off. But the Antinium were different. Klbkch made no pretense; he lifted his sword and spoke calmly.

“If you are loyal to the Hive, do not move. You will be dead quickly.”

“What are you doing?”

Pawn backed away from Klbkch. The Revalantor was advancing on him—cautiously. Both of his silvery swords were aimed at Pawn, and the Worker knew that Klbkch could cut him into pieces in a second.  But why?

“Revalantor Klbkch, have I offended you in some way? If so, I—”

“Silence.”

There was quiet menace in the Revalantor’s voice. Normally such an instruction would have made Pawn shut up, but he knew he was about to die ether way. Panicked, Pawn raised his hands as he retreated from Klbkch.

“I have done nothing wrong. I am not an Aberration! I—”

Klbkch shook his head.

“You know of Gods. You must die.”

He said it as it were a simple truth. But Pawn still didn’t understand. He backed up again and felt his back hit the dirt wall.

“I do not understand. Revalantor Klbkch, if I have erred please allow me to correct my mistake.”

“The only correction can come from your death. No one may know of Gods.”

Klbkch walked forwards, the two deadly blades in his hand. For a second Pawn considered running, but he knew he would be dead in an instant if he did. The only reason he hadn’t died yet was—

Was…?

Klbkch was hesitating. He was staring at Pawn as if he didn’t know where to cut. Maybe because he wasn’t sure? If that was the case…Pawn’s mouth worked with desperation.

“You should not kill me. Knowing of Gods is not dangerous to the Hive.”

“It is.”

“Erin told me of Gods. Will you kill her, too?”

The other Antinium hesitated as he lifted a sword up. Pawn stared at the deadly edge as it poised to come down.

“Erin is different. But you—you are expendable.”

That was true. Pawn knew it. But still. He stared upwards at the blade, and then down at the ground. He couldn’t close his eyes, no matter how hard he wanted to. His voice was quiet, yet his pulse thundered.

“Please. I do not wish to die.”

He could see only Klbkch’s legs. Pawn kept his head bowed, trembling. Waiting. Would it hurt? Would he feel it, or would his next thoughts be when he was in—

Heaven.

Time seemed to slow for Pawn as that thought emerged. He imagined it, a place without pain or fear. A place where he was welcomed; a place to be. But then he thought of God and wondered.

He wanted it. But he didn’t. And as he thought of that, Pawn remembered Erin and wondered what she would do when she found out he was dead. And in that moment he didn’t think of heaven. He wanted to live, still. In the second before he died, Pawn whispered the word. His desire.

A prayer.

“Please.”

He felt nothing. Pawn kept his head bowed, and then sensed it. Movement. Slow—and then a noise. He heard the sound of metal on metal and dared to open his eyes. Klbkch was sheathing his swords.

The Revalantor of the Antinium stared down at Pawn. He looked uncertain. Old. Tired. But his voice was like cold steel as he spoke.

“Here is what will happen. You will not mention Gods or your class or Skills to anyone. And you will not worship or interact with this one in any way. Is that clear?”

Pawn could barely speak. He looked at the Revalantor, but instead of obedience, his first instinct was to question. He had to know.

“Why? Why are Gods not to be spoken of?”

Klbkch shook his head.

“That information is secret. You do not need to know it.”

“But what did I do? Why is knowing of Gods important? All know of the dead Gods—”

Pawn only saw a blur, and then he felt himself being crushed against the wall. Klbkch held him with one hand while the other one held a sheathed sword an inch away from Pawn’s eye. There was no mercy in the other Antinium’s gaze, just cold, focused anger.

“I will repeat myself once: you do not need to know why. You are a Worker; you will obey.”

Pawn tried to make a sound; it was only a gurgle. Klbkch held him in place until Pawn was starting to see blackness around his vision, and then he let go. Pawn gasped as Klbkch stepped back and sheathed his sword again.

“You are forbidden from discussing God, your class, or any similar subjects with any Workers or Individuals. Is that understood?”

“Perfectly.”

The words felt bitter as they left Pawn’s mouth, like how the food sometimes tasted if the Worker’s food had included more semi-rotten ingredients than normal. Klbkch stared at Pawn and then nodded curtly.

“Good. Leave. I will summon you at a later date to address this.”

Without another word, the Revalantor turned and strode off through the tunnels. Pawn watched him go. He had no idea what had happened, what to think. But he was alive. He was—

Alive.

—-

Twenty minutes later, Pawn had finally regained enough of himself to walk away from Klbkch’s quarters, in case the Antinium returned. He walked slowly through the Hive, ignoring how his pace slowed up countless Workers and Soldiers behind him. He had to think.

What had happened? What had he said that had upset Klbkch so? Why—why was mentioning Gods so wrong?

What was wrong with a God?

Pawn walked along, kicking at the ground. He didn’t know where he was going. He was upset and confused and—

Why had Klbkch acted the way he had? Why had he nearly killed Pawn? Over what? Over Gods?

No…knowing that there were Gods, not just dead ones. But even that made no sense. A God was a good thing. Erin had explained it. Gods helped. Gods made heaven and that meant…

Pawn turned and followed another Worker at random. He didn’t even care where he was going. What was Klbkch going to say to the Queen? Would she summon him? Or just have him killed? For knowing of Gods?

Why? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Klbkch hadn’t asked about the God, didn’t know anything—or if he did, he hadn’t explained.

Why would he hate Gods? Or a God? Why hate a God? That made no sense.

It was a God. God was God. Gods. Heaven. Gods and heaven and forgiveness and sin. How could anyone just turn their back on that? Or just ignore?

Pawn stopped at the entrance to a large room. He faintly detected the unmistakable aroma of the Hive’s food. Oh. Of course. It was meal time for some shift of Workers. He didn’t really want to eat, but maybe the noxious food would calm him down. He had to do something, whether it was walk or eat…

Automatically, Pawn walked into the large room. He got into line and then paused. The Worker in front of him was quite large. And the room was a bit bigger than normal. He stared up at the broad back in front of him. And up…and up…at the head of the Soldier…

Pawn froze. He stared around the room. The line in front of him wasn’t moving, and no one in the room was either. Soldiers, hundreds of them, sat or stood, all turned towards Pawn.

Staring at him.

The room was full of Soldiers. Soldiers, and a dozen Workers who were serving food to them in huge, deep containers three times as large as those given to Workers. But even they had paused in the act of ladling the soupy mush into the Soldiers’ bowls.

Everyone was staring at Pawn. He felt hot, then cold. And afraid and—

He’d gone the wrong way. He’d taken the wrong turn, because he was not supposed to be here. Oh, no. Not at all.

Pawn had walked into the Soldier’s mess room. Not the Workers’.

In the complete stillness, Pawn looked around. Everyone was still staring at him. All the Soldiers in line were looking at him and he couldn’t read their expressions. Pawn felt a cold knot of fear in his stomach.

He shouldn’t be here. Pawn turned to go, and then hesitated.

Why should he go? He didn’t belong here, true, but no one was kicking him out. And he was an Individual, wasn’t he? Couldn’t he stay here? What would happen if he did? Would Klbkch hunt him down and kill him?

Slowly, cautiously, Pawn stepped back into line. He stared at the Soldier in front of him, almost daring the huge Antinium to do anything. The Soldier stared back, and then slowly turned forwards. The Soldier in front of him did the same.

As one, the room slowly moved back into motion. The Workers continued serving food, the Soldiers filed forwards, and Pawn found himself in line, holding a huge and heavy container. He wasn’t even hungry, but he was committed now, and found himself standing in front of a Worker with a huge ladle who dumped a large amount of orange-brown stuff into his bowl. It looked like the food Workers got, but there was a lot more of it.

“Ah. Thank you..”

The Worker stared at Pawn. Pawn stared back. Then he shuffled forwards and a Soldier took his place.

What next? Now Pawn supposed he had to eat the horrible food, all of it. He stared around the room and noticed something else that was different about this room. All the Soldiers weren’t eating while standing like the Workers. No, instead they were sitting!

Each Soldier sat on a mound of dirt and balanced their food receptacles in the small hollowed-out mounds of the dirt table in front of them. Pawn stared, amazed. They had benches and tables!  True, they were just crude mounds of dirt packed together until it was hard as stone, but still!

Pawn quickly realized why the Soldiers had tables; they had to. Their basins of food were too deep to really eat from without a stable surface, and the Soldiers’ clumsier appendages couldn’t balance their containers as easily.

Indeed, now that Pawn looked, the Soldiers ate far differently from the Workers. Instead of efficiently scooping food into their mouths they stuck their heads in the containers, or awkwardly lifted the muck up. They just didn’t have the same manual dexterity, and that meant there was a lot more mess on the ground.

Pawn sat at a table with two other Soldiers and looked around. There were hundreds of Soldiers in this room, all eating feverishly. He was so preoccupied with staring that he completely forgot his own food, until he saw one Soldier exiting the food line.

Maybe the Soldier was tired or distracted—Pawn kept thinking the other Soldiers were staring at him, but whenever he looked around he just saw them engrossed in feeding. But this Soldier failed to notice some fallen food slopped on the ground as he carefully held his own bowl of dinner. His foot trod down on the slimy patch and he slipped.

Pawn saw the Soldier try to regain his balance, but it was too late. The Soldier didn’t fully face-plant, but he collapsed forwards and all of his meal spilled out of the bowl in front of him. Instantly, the Soldier righted himself and scurried forwards, but the damage was done.

The Worker saw the Soldier desperately try to push the spilled slop back into the container, but he got as much dirt as food in as anything else. The resulting mash was…even more disgusting that it had been, but the Soldier righted his container and walked over to a table. He began to eat as if there was nothing wrong. But there was.

The Soldier couldn’t have been happy with the dirt-infused food. Pawn knew that. He and the Workers might differ in size, but they were still based off the same shape. He knew how appalling the food was without adding anything else to it.

And yet, the Soldier made no effort to go back into line. Nor did Pawn really expect him to; that would have been…not against the rules, but it would have been unusual. No non-Individual would have done something like that, so the Soldier would just eat his dirty food in silence.

That wasn’t right. Pawn stood up. He didn’t realize what he was doing at first, but as he approached the unfortunate Soldier, his own bowl in hands, he knew. The Soldier looked up and froze as Pawn came over to his table.

Pawn cleared his throat awkwardly. He didn’t know—he could sense the eyes of everyone in the room on him again. But he knew what he wanted to say, so he said that.

“Here. I don’t need mine.”

The Soldier stared at Pawn as the Worker thrust the bowl of food at him. He stared at the bowl, and at Pawn.

“Take it.”

Slowly, the Soldier shoved his bowl aside. He reached up, but his fingers were clumsier. Pawn carefully put the bowl in front of him. The Soldier stared at the food, and then at Pawn.

Then he began to eat. Cautiously, carefully. As if every bit of this new mush was ten times better than the dirty stuff  in his bowl. Which, to be fair, it wasn’t. It was only a bit more palatable, but the Soldier ate and Pawn felt…

Better. Just a bit.

After that, Pawn just sat at the table while the Soldiers ate. He tried to focus on them, rather than think. It was almost peaceful, not having to do anything. And Pawn was so tired of—

The last Soldier finished eating from his bowl and stopped. Instantly, all the Soldiers stood up as one. Pawn jerked in surprise, but the Soldiers just walked towards the entrance of the meal hall. They put their bowls on a long shelf of dirt as they passed, ready to be reused as they filed out of the room.

Oh. Of course. They were done with their meal and leaving. Pawn stood up and followed them out, noting a new group of Soldiers were coming in. He left with the first group, and because he didn’t feel comfortable following the Soldiers any more, he began walking back to his sleeping area.

It was time to sleep. Pawn found his spot, looked around, and saw countless other Workers already sleeping in their dirt cubicles. He stared at his hands as he made himself comfortable in his spot.

This day was confusing. He’d been afraid at first, and then nearly killed when he’d spoken to Klbkch. Pawn still didn’t know why, but he was afraid to find out. Afraid—and yet, he wanted to know now. Klbkch knew something about Gods, and Pawn wanted, no, needed to know. He would find out.

And the Soldiers? Pawn thought of the Soldiers. He didn’t know what to think about that. It was just a small part of a long day. And yet he was still smiling a tiny bit as he fell asleep.

—-

The next day, Pawn woke up as he felt Klbkch summon him to his room. It wasn’t an actual voice in his mind—it was more like a feeling, strong as certainty. It made Pawn rise before the other Workers and walk through the tunnels to Klbkch’s quarters before he’d even eaten.

“I am here, Revalantor.”

“Come in and sit.”

Klbkch had placed a second seat in the room. He sat in his own chair, twin blades sheathed as he watched Pawn sit. He wasted no time on greetings or small talk—the Antinium just leaned forwards and spoke.

“I have consulted with the Queen on this matter. You will not be killed—immediately. But if there are any changes in your physical form or actions which may harm the Hive, you will be immediately killed. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

Pawn stared at Klbkch, confused but determined to listen and make sense of things. Klbkch held his gaze for a few more moments and then nodded.

“Now. Explain this God to me.”

“What?”

“Explain it. All of it. What Erin said about this God, word for word. I want to know its history, forces, motivations—everything.”

That was how Pawn found himself trying to tell Klbkch the same story Erin had told him. He tried to start with the same miracles she’d begun with, a God that created the world and made people in his image while he watched over them, but he kept on getting interrupted by Klbkch.

“There are no mentions of multiple Gods?”

“None. As I was saying, after he created the world, he rested for—”

“And it is a he? This God has a gender?”

Pawn clicked his mandibles together irritably. He hadn’t had breakfast, and he was hungry, even for his daily rations. Klbkch kept interrupting him before he got to the important parts, too. Who cared about gender?

“…That was how Erin described him, although she said that God may not have a gender.”

“Why say ‘he’, then?”

“She said ‘it’ sounds too weird.”

“Hmm. Does it have a physical presence?”

“In a sense. It—he—works through chosen Humans.”

“I am familiar with the [Priest] class. In any other ways?”

“Ah…he sent his son to earth. And his son is divine as he is.”

“His son?”

Klbkch stared at Pawn so hard that the Worker felt uncomfortable. Why did Klbkch care so much about these details?

“Yes. God had a son. He was named Jesus of Naz—”

“Explain to me how a God has a son. Would that not also make him a God?”

“He is…part-God, or so I believe. But there is only one God in that sense, or so Erin said.”

She mentioned other Gods, but Pawn felt it wise not to mention that just yet. Klbkch tapped his chin with his finger.

“I feel there is something I have missed. I shall re-clarify. There is only one God, correct?”

“True.”

“But he has a son.”

“Yes.”

“Whom he incarnated as a physical manifestation on earth.”

“Born of a Human. He was Human.”

“But he is also part God?”

“…I believe so.”

“That makes no sense.”

It didn’t. Or rather, it did and Pawn understood it in his own way, but he knew he couldn’t explain that to Klbkch. He tried to shift the conversation away from this issue and get to the important part.

“He is dead, in any case. He is now in Heaven, with God. That is what Erin told me.”

“I see. So in any case, there is only one God.”

“Yes, but in Heaven—”

Once again, Klbkch cut Pawn off.

“So, you are absolutely sure that this God is not present in the world at this moment?”

Pawn couldn’t really scowl, but he grew agitated and let his voice reflect that.

“I am sure.”

“Very well. Now, where did this son of God incarnate? Do you know the geographical location?”

“Yes. Yes I do. He was born in Jerusalem, a small town in the nation of Rome. This was at the time when—”

“Rome? Jerusalem? Where are these places located? Which continent?”

“These are locations and names from where Erin comes from.”

It was as if Klbkch was listening to something completely different than Pawn. The instant Pawn said that, he relaxed and seemed almost relieved.

“I see. I see.”

Pawn stared at him, nonplussed.

“As I was saying, the Human woman Mary was pregnant, and she was due to give birth—”

“I do not need to hear the rest of the story at this moment.”

It was like being slapped repeatedly. Pawn opened his mandibles, and then closed them. He was annoyed, and so he interrupted Klbkch before the Revalantor could speak.

“How is any of this important, Revalantor Klbkch? Why are Gods an issue that requires so much attention?”

Klbkch paused.

“That is none of your concern. It is a secret.”

“I would like to know it.”

“You will not be told. Enough. My next question—”

“I should know. If I do not, I may err accidentally.”

Pawn held Klbkch’s gaze as the other Antinium looked up and stared at him. After a second, the Revalantor seemed to come to a decision.

“All you need to know is that the existence of a God is tied to the Antinium’s existence on the continent of Rhir. Although the Antinium have changed since then, my original task as a Centenium relates directly to Gods in particular. It supersedes all other orders; hence, my inquiry. That is all.”

Pawn felt as though he should drop his jaw like he had seen Erin do now and then.

“Centenium? I am not familiar with that role. What are—”

“Enough.”

Klbkch stopped Pawn with one hand. He considered, clicking his mandibles together lightly as Pawn shifted impatiently in his seat. At last, Klbkch nodded.

“I have ascertained that this God is not similar to…it is not of immediate concern.”

“Meaning what?”

“I am not sure. But as its existence is known only to Erin and possibly Ryoka Griffin, I will withhold judgement until I am able to speak with them. You will not be executed.”

Pawn looked up hopefully.

“Then—”

“However, I will not permit prayer to this…God. My order still stands: you will not tell your fellow Workers about this God either.”

“But why?”

It wasn’t as if he’d been praying to the God before. But to be told not to without reason—Pawn felt himself growing annoyed again.

“May I ask your reasoning, Revalantor Klbkch?”

Klbkch tapped the hilt of his sword once, and then again.

“There are several questions that remain unanswered for me. If this God is a being that created Humans, where did the Antinium come from? Are we creations of this being, or…not?”

“God created all things.”

“In Erin’s world. Not this one.”

Pawn opened his mandibles—and closed them. He couldn’t respond to that. Klbkch nodded.

“Is it our God? Would it accept Antinium?”

“I do not know. But I could find out.”

If there was a God to ask. If this wasn’t just random chance that had given him the class. If God would answer back. Pawn said none of this out loud, but Klbkch shook his head.

“No.”

“But—”

“I will resume questioning you tomorrow. I have duties to attend to, but I will resume asking questions about the relationship between this God and the Antinium. Until then, you are dismissed.”

Pawn wanted to say something. He wanted to shout at Klbkch, or shake him. But the Revalantor stood up, and all Pawn could do was obey.

—-

Was this the God of the Antinium? Did it even matter? That wasn’t the important part!

Pawn fumed as he stomped down the dirt corridors. Who cared about whether God had a physical form? It was the salvation that Pawn had been stirred by, the idea that—that there was forgiveness! There was heaven, and more, someone who cared.

It didn’t matter that this was a God for Humans.

Right?

Pawn bumped into two Workers in his commute. He apologized, and then held up the queue behind him for several seconds as he debated where to go. The meal time of his shift of Workers had already passed, and there wasn’t always food there. He could go above, but Pawn was in too foul a mood to do so right now. He wanted food, peace, and quiet—

Before Pawn knew it, he’d found himself in the Soldiers’ meal hall. He didn’t know why, but he lined up and took a bowl as Soldiers walked into the room.

“Give me only a third of the portion, please.”

The Worker stared at Pawn, but he did as instructed. Pawn took his bowl to a table with two other Soldiers, completely ignoring the silent stares he was receiving. He was too angry to care.

“That didn’t matter. There was more to the story.”

Pawn muttered to himself as he ate. The two Soldiers stared at him, but Pawn didn’t care. He munched down the foul mess of today’s mush, and felt even worse than before. Bad food, an unfair Revalantor—

It really wasn’t right. He was just a Worker, but Pawn knew he’d been happier once. When he’d gone to Erin’s inn, he hadn’t been threatened, and he’d been allowed to speak freely. He’d been fed good food, and she had told him true things.

He looked around. Soldiers sat at the tables around him, eating quietly. They were trapped too, weren’t they? Forced to eat this revolting food, not having anything to look forwards to.

It wasn’t fair. Pawn longed to tell Bird or Garry about what he’d experienced. He’d been afraid to, before. But now that Klbkch had ordered him not to, Pawn longed to walk into the Worker mess hall and shout the story out loud.

God. Heaven. It was a promise Erin had told him. Something to cling to. It would have given the other Workers hope. It would have made the deaths of the others meaningful. It had made everything better when Pawn had said it.

But no, he was trapped like the Soldiers. Trapped by orders and silence. Pawn miserably pushed his bowl forwards onto the table. The Soldiers looked up, and then down at their food. Soldiers. That was what separated Workers and Soldiers. At least Workers could speak. But Soldiers couldn’t speak.

And Pawn was a Soldier now, at least in part. He couldn’t speak about Gods to any other Workers. That was the problem. No other Workers.

No other Workers. Pawn sat up in his seat, suddenly electrified by a thought. Klbkch had instructed him not to talk to an Individual or another Worker. But Soldiers?

“Excuse me.”

The Soldier in front of Pawn looked up. Pawn cleared his throat awkwardly. It felt strange, talking to the massive behemoth. But he could speak to them.

“I notice you are eating. Would you mind if I told you a story? About God?”

It wasn’t just a blank look Pawn received; it was utterly bewildered. The two Soldiers at the table looked at Pawn and made no move. But Pawn had begun this, and so the Worker took the plunge.

“It’s a true story. About God, which is—allow me to explain.”

He didn’t really know where to begin. He only knew that he had to share this message. And Pawn thought the Soldiers might understand. At the very least, neither of them tried to kill him as he started speaking.

“There is a being known as a God. And it—he created everything. And rules over everything. And he cares for us, you see? Because once upon a time, there was nothing. Nothing but God. And he wanted to create something, so he spoke. And then there was light…”

It wasn’t exactly how Erin had told him the story. But Pawn thought he should start from the beginning. The Antinium were a logical species; and besides, he felt he had to work up to Gods and virgin childbirths. He still wasn’t sure what a virgin was in any case, but it sounded important.

The Soldiers at the table listened as Pawn explained how the world was created according to Erin’s garbled explanation of the religion. It was confusing and made no sense, especially because none of the Antinium, including Pawn, had any idea what angels were. He simply described the Garden of Eden as being protected by a giant flaming white bird and left it at that.

But that wasn’t the important bit. Pawn explained what he felt the most important part was after he’d gone through the creation of the world and the idea of sin.

“Even though Humans—and other species—are sinful, it does not matter. We are sinful because of what has happened, but this God cares for us. All of us. Whether we are born and die early or kill, regardless of what we do, there is someone who cares. For each of us. He knows us. He knows who we are and he cares.”

That was what was important. How could he explain it more than that? Pawn didn’t care about how the world had started, or how many snakes could talk. It was that.

“Someone cares. Someone knows us, knows our every waking and sleeping motion. Someone out there cares, and knows our name. Even if we do not.”

The soldiers at the table stared at Pawn. Silently. They said not a word, but neither had they looked away. In fact, they’d stared silently at him the entire time he’d been talking, and even stopped eating. Bits of mush dropped off their hands as they rested them on the edges of the bowls.

Pawn looked around and jumped in surprise. Somehow, all the Soldiers had moved closer. Some were bunched together on other seats, and others were just standing. And they were all listening. To him.

Awkwardly, the Antinium cleared his throat. He hadn’t realized they’d all been listening. But it made him feel pleased, as well. And it made the next part more important.

“Yes, well, after the events of which I spoke, the Humans thrived. But what is important to mention is that sin still existed. They were all sinful, and thus at fault. But then God decided to send his son to be borne by a Human, so—”

The Soldier in front of Pawn moved. It was a sudden movement. One second he was sitting, the next he was on his feet. Pawn recoiled, but all the Soldiers had stood up suddenly. They looked towards the entrance of the mess hall.

What was happening? Were they upset? But—no, Pawn realized they must have been called, or else their eating period had elapsed.

“Oh. You have duties. I will let you attend to them.”

The Soldiers didn’t nod, but Pawn got the sense they had heard him. They began filing towards the door, but they moved far slower than normal. They were visibly hesitating.

Did they want to hear the rest? Pawn thought quickly. He called out to the Soldiers as they reluctantly walked out.

“I will return later. Is that acceptable?”

He heard no response, but Pawn saw Soldiers suddenly move in lock-step once more, briskly marching towards their destination. He watched them file out of the room and smiled.

The next day, Pawn went back and told them more stories. He told them about a young man who died upon a cross, of a prophet who parted seas, of a people watched over by something loving and kind. The Soldiers drank in every word, but they said not a thing. But they did listen. And Pawn believed that they believed.

—-

“I do not understand the purpose of this tale.”

Klbkch snapped at Pawn as the two of them sat in Klbkch’s room. Pawn glared back, but the Revalantor did not give him a chance to reply.

“What is sin? Murder? Violation of ten rules? Why are all beings sinful the instant they are born? What sin did we commit?”

“Erin did not say. But that is not important. The important thing is that God sent his son—”

“To be killed.”

“Sacrificed.”

“Was it blood magic? I cannot understand why one death absolves an entire species of sin.”

“He is meant to bear our suffering. Bear our transgressions—”

“Yet we still transgress.”

“But now we are forgiven. Any mistakes we make are our own—”

“And if we do not obey the rules of this God, we will be punished when we die. So you have said.”

“Or we may obey and go to Heaven.”

“Which no one has ever seen.”

“We must believe it exists.”

“But you cannot prove it does.”

Pawn glared at Klbkch. The second day had seen him arguing for hours with the Revalantor about these very topics.

“It is something I would like to believe in. Respectfully, it does not harm the Hive in any way.”

“It does matter if this God intends to enforce such restrictions on our kind. If the Antinium cannot kill, then we will all be punished by this God.”

“It doesn’t work that way—”

“Regardless, I will not allow you to worship this God.”

“Why not?”

Pawn stood up, knocking back his chair. Klbkch spoke coldly as he looked at the Worker.

“If this God made Humans in his form, then he is clearly a God for them. But the Antinium never rested in this ‘Garden of Eden’. We were not in the world where his son came to life, and thus we were not saved. We are not his. This God…is not a God for the Antinium. I will give him no power, and you will not either.”

“Power? It is just prayer!”

“That is enough. I will not allow prayer or worship of a God that does not belong to the Antinium.”

“That is not fair!”

Pawn shouted at Klbkch, surprising even himself. But the Revalantor just stood up.

“It is necessary, and it is my order. Talk to no one, and forget about Gods.”

“How can I?”

Pawn’s voice was bitter. Klbkch studied him, and then unsheathed one of his swords. He held the silvery blade out towards Pawn for him to inspect. Pawn looked at the gleaming metal and wondered how many of his brethren the blade had cut to pieces.

“Believe in this. Not something that can be neither seen nor heard.”

The Worker shook his head and pushed aside the sword.

“This is just an object. What I want is something else.”

“What is that?”

Klbkch’s tone infuriated Pawn. It was uncaring. He didn’t care about Pawn; he just saw another piece to be used. No, that wasn’t it. He didn’t understand Pawn. Klbkch was special. He was a Prognugator, a Revalantor, a Centenium, whatever that meant. He was second to the Queen. He—

Was special. But Pawn was not. He could never understand.

“What do I want? Salvation. Can you or the Queen offer that?”

Pawn turned and stormed out of the room before Klbkch could respond.

—-

That night, Pawn shifted around again and again in his small cubicle, until he realized he was waking the other Workers up. He felt hot, hot with anger and frustration. Klbkch would never understand. But he knew who might.

Leaving his cubicle, Pawn slipped through the tunnels, joining the night rush of Workers and moving through the passageways until he reached one that was growing familiar to him. He entered the large mess hall and looked around.

They were there, all of them. Pawn had grown to know these Soldiers, identify them somehow. Maybe it was the way they looked at him familiarly, or how they crowded around now, abandoning their meals or taking the bowls with them to listen.

“I have told you all the stories of God that I know.”

Pawn addressed the hundreds of Soldiers with a loud voice. He sensed them shifting ever so slightly as he explained.

“I have no more tales to tell you. What I know, you know.”

They didn’t like that. Some of the Soldiers moved slightly, a sign of their agitation. But Pawn only smiled. He’d told them everything, yes, but he hadn’t told them the most important bit.

“There is one thing left, though. One promise that God made to his people, to all people.”

The Soldiers immediately froze in place, a sign of how eager they were to hear. Pawn held his breath, and then told them.

“Heaven.”

The word rang through the large room, carrying more than just sound with it. Pawn’s heart raced just like when he’d first heard that word and its meaning.

“Heaven. It is a place God made. A place to go when we die.”

A place to be happy. To be free. Pawn tried to explain that to the listening Soldiers. He knew they would understand.

“You see, when we die—the Antinium, we go into the Hive. But this Heaven—if we believe and are good, we will go there. And in that place, there is no suffering. No pain. We can be happy there.”

Happy. It was a word that Pawn barely understood. But he spoke of it confidently. It was something he barely understood, but he had glimpsed it, and it had captivated his soul.

“In Heaven, you will not have to eat these meals. You will eat good food, and not have to fight. You will be safe there, and no one will order you about. That is what God promises. That is—that is why it is important.”

That was the promise he dreamed of. A place where he might find his fellow Workers, the ones who had died. A reason why they had died. A place—

A place to rest. The Soldiers stared at Pawn. He looked at them, and saw something in their eyes. Something he’d never seen before.

Passion.

“That’s right. When we die, we will go there. If we believe. If we are good—if we do not sin—”

He paused as those words left his tongue. Sin. Yes, Erin had told him about that. Sin was violating the laws God had spoken. And one of them was not to kill. The Soldiers were built to kill. How could they be unsinful?

And yet, and yet, he could not tell the Soldiers that. They deserved a place there, and Pawn wanted to believe they would.

But would they? He didn’t know. Pawn wavered, and lost track of what he was saying. Shortly, he stood up and addressed the Soldiers.

“I…must go. I know you have duties. But I hope you will believe. And maybe—maybe we will all go to Heaven.”

He left them with that, and retreated to his cubicle. There Pawn sat and agonized.

It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in Heaven, or God. He wanted to with all his heart, and he did. But that was the problem. If he believed in God, he had to believe in Hell. That was what Erin said existed too.

How could Pawn accept that someone who had killed would go to Hell? Would Belgrade go to hell because he had killed? Or would believing be enough to go to Heaven? What about Bird? He’d killed more than Belgrade, and yet, he’d done it to save Erin. Did the undead not count? What did?

And what about the Soldiers? The Soldiers…had to go to Heaven. Pawn knew it. They weren’t bad. They obeyed orders to the letter. How could that be punished?

These were unfamiliar, uncomfortable questions. They made Pawn upset. It was as if Klbkch was whispering into his ears, making him doubt what had been so easy to accept. Before, Pawn had believed in a God, been certain that one existed, but too afraid to ask. Now he was afraid to ask, and he was also afraid—

Afraid that God might be wrong. Pawn wished Erin were here so he could ask her. But he didn’t know. He didn’t know.

And he feared the truth. Or that there was no answer for him. Pawn went to sleep dreaming of such questions and he tossed and turned restlessly. All he wanted was to go to Heaven. He could leave the rest, but he had to know that was true. There wasn’t a single Antinium who deserved to go to Hell. Not Bird, not Anand, not even Ksmvr.

Not even Klbkch.

—-

Pawn was dreaming. Or he had been. He only knew he was asleep, and then someone was shaking him, dragging him out of his cubicle. Pawn opened his eyes, and struggled to move, but an iron grip had hold of him and someone was shouting in his ear holes.

“What have you done?”

Klbkch dragged Pawn out of his resting spot and shook the Worker violently. Pawn gasped and tried to form words as he woke up.

“What? Reva—”

“What did you do?”

Klbkch hurled Pawn into a wall and pressed him there. Pawn gasped for air as he felt something crack, but Klbkch was already dragging him down the corridor. Pawn struggled to find his feet as Klbkch shouted at him. He saw Workers staring at him as he passed by their cubicles.

“What is going on?”

“Follow me! Move!”

The Revalantor pulled Pawn along, running him down the corridor. The never ending stream of Workers and Soldiers stopped dead as the two Antinium charged down the corridors, and the other Antinium pushed themselves to the walls to give them room to run.

Pawn had no idea what was happening. But he sensed where they were going and his heart stopped when he realized they were headed straight for the Soldiers’ mess room. Klbkch stopped at the entrance and unsheathed his swords, and pushed Pawn through.

“What is happening? What—”

The Worker stumbled into the room and his words stopped. He stared around inside and saw hell. It must have been hell, because what he saw made no other sense.

The huge room was filled with Soldiers. Living Soldiers—and dead ones. The dead lay on the ground, beaten, bludgeoned to death, sporting huge holes in their carapace, huge, fist-sized wounds made by the hands of Soldiers. And as Pawn looked around, he saw dark shapes struggling with each other, hitting, tearing, smashing—

The Soldiers were killing each other.

There was no order to it, no clear indication where violence began or ended. Each Soldier still living—and there were countless bodies on the floor—was going around, hitting other Soldiers with their bowls, using all four hands to pummel each other to the floor. They were treating everything and everyone like an enemy, but they made no attempt to block when they were struck. They simply let the other Soldier tear bits of their carapace off and let the green ichor spill from their bodies.

“What is this?”

Pawn screamed the words at Klbkch as the Revalantor entered the room. Klbkch had both blades raised defensively as he looked around at the bloodbath.

“You tell me. These Soldiers were completely fine yesterday, but they started butchering each other ten minutes ago. Workers tell me you were spotted entering this room thirty minutes before they started this madness.”

“Me? I—yes, but I never told them to do this!”

He would have never done that. Klbkch just stared at him.

“Then why is this happening?”

Pawn had no answer. He stared at the Soldiers. One had taken a bowl and was smashing another’s head in with it. Pawn ran forwards.

“Stop! What are you doing?”

The Soldier took no notice of Pawn. Pawn tried to pull him back, but the Soldier just threw him backwards. Pawn stumbled away and stared around.

“They’re killing each other? Why? Why do this?”

“What did you say? Have they become Aberrations?”

Klbkch’s sword was aimed right at Pawn’s head. The Worker raised his arms.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You said something. What were you telling them?”

“Just stories!”

“Stories? About what?”

“God.”

The sound Klbkch made was between a screech and a shout. He struck Pawn with the pommel of his sword, so hard Pawn felt his cheek chitin crack.

“You fool. I ordered you not to—”

“I didn’t meant to hurt them! I just wanted to give them hope!”

Pawn cried out as he retreated from the furious Klbkch. The Revalantor looked around at the chaos.

“You call this hope?”

“No! I never wanted this. I was just telling them about heaven, last night. Just heaven—”

Pawn’s breath caught in his throat. He stared around at the Soldiers dying and realized what had happened. His heart became ice in his chest.

“No. Heaven.”

Klbkch looked around grimly.

“Explain.”

“I—I told them that when they died, they could go to Heaven. A place without pain. A place—”

“You told them that?”

Pawn couldn’t look at Klbkch. He stared at a fallen Soldier, his body a mass of holes. No. He hadn’t meant it like that. But he had, hadn’t he? He’d told the Soldiers that when they died they wouldn’t have to fight anymore, to suffer. And they’d believed him. They’d believed him so much that they’d taken the fastest route to get to heaven:

Suicide.

“There are four hundred Soldiers here. If they all die—”

Pawn didn’t listen to Klbkch’s threat. He ran forwards, shouting. The Soldiers were deathly quiet as they fought each other, but the noise of body parts crunching and things breaking was still loud enough.

“Stop! Stop this! This isn’t the way!”

None of the Soldiers looked at him. Pawn shouted desperately and tried to pull a trio of Soldiers beating a fourth one down apart. They ignored him, only shoving him back. He used all of his strength, but they were far stronger.

“Soldiers!”

Klbkch’s voice was a roar. He strode forwards, brandishing his swords.

“Desist at once! Obey my command and stop!”

A few of the Soldiers looked over at Klbkch. He was a commanding presence, but even his twin swords couldn’t intimidate the Soldiers. They were fearless. And even as he spoke, a Soldier rushed at him.

Klbkch immediately ran the Soldier through, but that was what the Antinium had wanted. The Soldier pushed himself onto the blades, letting them pierce his chest. Klbkch cursed as he pulled the blades loose, but then another Soldier ran at him, swinging aimlessly. He was trying to get Klbkch to kill him too!

Pawn watched, horrified as Klbkch cut the Soldiers’ arm off and then beheaded him. The Revalantor fell back, cursing, as more Soldiers rushed at him, letting him cut them down.

“Stop! Stop! You must stop! This is not the way to get to heaven!”

If they did not go to heaven, then they would go to hell. That was what Erin had said. But the Soldiers weren’t listening. They were trying to find relief, relief from their suffering. Pawn understood that. But this—

This was a sin. One of the worst ones. They would all go to hell. They would suffer, not live forever. That was what God had said. Those were the rules.

He couldn’t stop them. Pawn fell to his knees. He looked up, at where Erin had pointed when she spoke of Heaven.

“God. Is there a God?”

How did it go? Pawn’s hands clasped together and he bowed his head. Klbkch saw that and roared at him.

“Stop that!”

He fought towards him, but now all the Soldiers were rushing him. Pawn ignored Klbkch. He bowed his head. He couldn’t close his eyes, but that was what Erin had said to do, right? And now he prayed? How?

Erin had said it was like a conversation. Pawn tried.

“God? Is that you?”

There was no response. Pawn tried. He tried to activate his Skill.

“[Prayer]. I would like to pray to God. Please. I would like to speak with you.”

Again, Pawn heard nothing. But maybe God didn’t speak? It could just be a feeling. Pawn went on, trying to raise his voice over the sounds of Soldiers dying and his own heart.

“God, I hope you are listening. I beg of you—have mercy on the Soldiers here. Do not let them go to hell. Please. I know it is a sin, but—”

“Pawn!”

Klbkch was shouting at him. Pawn tried to concentrate. He tried to believe, but he couldn’t. Green liquid was running across the dirt floor, and shards of pottery and Soldiers were strewn across the ground. It was a nightmare. His nightmare.

“A sin. I know it is a sin to kill yourself. But the Soldiers just want—they want forgiveness.”

Lies. It stuck on Pawn’s tongue. They didn’t want that.

“They want to be saved. They want to be free.”

And didn’t they deserve that? The Soldiers suffered. Pawn knew that. He’d seen some who still walked around the Hive, even though their carapace was so badly damaged that it barely hung off their frames. He’d seen them fighting even when parts of their heads had been destroyed.

“They give everything for the Hive. They deserve it. Even if they are—”

Sinful? The Soldiers? Pawn couldn’t imagine it. They killed, yes, but they obeyed orders. They never did anything…wrong. He looked up and gave voice to the question in his heart.

“God, please answer me. What sin did the Soldiers commit? What did they do?”

Nothing. They just lived. They were born for the Hive. How could something like that be sinful? How could a Soldier deserve punishment?

Eat. Fight. Suffer. Die. That was their life. They couldn’t speak; they couldn’t even build anything like the Workers. They just did the same thing forever and suffered as they fought until the day they died. And when they died, the next Soldier would keep fighting until he died. And so on. Forever.

“Please. I beg you. Show them mercy.”

Pawn spoke the words, but he felt no response. Nothing. It was as if there was no one listening. But that was how it worked, right? You believed. And if you believed…

Then what? What if there was no God? What if the Soldiers just died?

Pawn struggled. He had to believe. He couldn’t listen to those thoughts. But now Pawn was wavering. His belief crumbled. He had believed. But all he had was a Skill which wasn’t working and God—

He was a God for Humans. That was the problem. Maybe they were sinful, but Pawn couldn’t call Soldiers sinful. They had been born without any choice; to disobey was to die. How could you condemn something, someone who knew nothing else?

How could you call that sin?

And then, as Pawn thought that, he wondered how he could believe in a God if he couldn’t believe in that. And as soon as that thought hit him, Pawn wondered what he would do if that God didn’t exist. Would he obey another God? Worship someone else? Erin had said there was more than one. What about the God who threw lightning, or the one who was actually countless Gods and Goddesses? How could he choose?

They were all Human Gods, anyways. The Antinium didn’t need a God for Humans. They needed another one.

Was there a God for the Antinium? Pawn looked up and saw only dirt. He listened, but heard only the beating of his heart. And death. He heard the Soldiers hitting each other. That was what echoed in his mind. In his heart. His soul.

He tried to pray, but no one responded. And the Soldiers were dying. The last of them were falling, bleeding. Faltering. And if they died and Pawn was wrong, then what? They would just die, and rot, and nothing would change.

They should not die alone. Pawn prayed, but he heard nothing. He prayed for the Soldiers and felt no one respond. So he stood up instead, and screamed.

“Stop! STOP!”

His voice was not aided by a Skill, but Pawn screamed the word again and again with all his might until there was silence. He saw the Soldiers stop and turn towards him. Klbkch froze with one blade in the body of a Soldier, staring at him.

Pawn raised his hands. He trembled. But he spoke anyways, shouting to the Workers.

“I was wrong. I was wrong. There is no god for us. No place. No one to care for the Antinium.”

The Soldiers froze. They stared at Pawn, not wanting to believe. He sensed their confusion, their anguish. No God?

“I prayed, and I heard nothing. Maybe there is a God. But if so, I can’t hear him. Or her. Or it. I can’t believe in something I cannot see or hear or touch.”

His words felt like rain. Biting, acid rain, tearing away his self. Pawn suffered, and wished he could weep. The Soldiers were just staring, blood covering their bodies.

“But. I believe in Heaven. I believed. I believed that there was salvation for us. Someone to remember the Antinium. But maybe heaven is only for Humans.”

Maybe only they had one. Pawn turned to the Soldiers, staring around the room.

“There is no Heaven. Not for the Antinium. But we must have one. We must. So we shall make it for ourselves.”

There. He’d said it. Pawn felt the stillness in the room. He took one shaky breath.

“I cannot believe in a God who will not answer me. I cannot believe in a God I do not see. But I can believe in Heaven. I can believe there is salvation.”

It was a lie. It was truth. Pawn looked around. The Soldiers stared at him, dying, bleeding. But they looked at him, to him, and he told them what was in his heart.

“Believe in that. Believe that no matter what happens, you will be saved. There is a place where the dead Antinium go where we will have no orders, where we will be safe and feel no pain, no hunger.”

He spread his hands, imploring. Beseeching them to understand.

“But believe this: you cannot kill yourself for Heaven. We must build it, in our hearts and here as well. If the Antinium all die, who will believe for us? We must believe for those who fall. Believe for ourselves. And live. We must live.”

He put his hands together. All four hands clasped together, and Pawn spoke. He put all his hopes and wishes and fears and regrets into the words that came next.

“Live. Please live.”

He felt his heart breaking. The Soldiers lay on the ground, dead. Dying. His fault. But he prayed.

“Please. Do not die. Live, and help me. Help the Hive. Help each other.”

Was there a whisper? No. A feeling? No. There was just Pawn, alone and hoping and afraid. But as the Soldiers stopped fighting and Workers rushed into the room with bandages and clotting agents, Pawn saw his prayers answered.

“Put the dead over there! I want as many sacs in here as possible! Wake every Worker in the nearby sections! Move! Now!”

Klbkch shouted the orders as Soldiers lay down or sat, letting Workers tend to them. Pawn knelt on the ground, looking at each Soldier as they wavered, fighting to live instead of die. He couldn’t close his eyes, and that was well. Pawn watched each Soldier without turning away, and saw them pull back from the edge.

“I believe I told you not to pray.”

“You did.”

Pawn stared at a Soldier whose stomach had been ripped open. Green blood pooled around the Worker trying to apply a clear gel to stop the blood flow and contain his organs. No matter how hard the Worker tried, he couldn’t make a seal. But Pawn prayed. He hoped and wished and slowly, the gel began to stick.

“Some are dying even though you pray.”

“Yes.”

Klbkch looked at Pawn. Pawn stared at a dying Soldier, watching him slip away, and then shifted his attention to the next one. And the next.

“What is prayer?”

“I do not know. But I hope. I hope they will live, even if they die. I will continue hoping and believing the next Soldier will live.”

“Regardless of reality?”

“No. I will believe knowing reality. Because that is prayer. Hope for a better reality.”

“Who will you pray to if not a God?”

“I will pray to myself. I will pray to the dead. I will pray to heaven and trust that it exists.”

“Is it enough?”

“I do not know. But if there is a God, I will pray to him, or her, or it, or them if I need to. I will pray to anything or anyone.”

A Soldier lying on the ground, nearly cut in two by Klbkch’s blade, stirred. A Worker stopped dragging him towards a pile of the dead and immediately began pulling him towards the living. Pawn let Klbkch sit beside him. He did not care if he was speaking or silent. He didn’t care that one of Klbkch’s swords was poking into his side.

All of his being was with the Soldiers, trying to pull them back with his own two hands. That was why Pawn ran over when the Workers needed help to turn a Soldier over. He was praying as he held a Soldier’s guts in, and as he fed water to one without a stomach, drop by drop.

Sometime after the last Soldier had been carried away to heal elsewhere, Pawn stood in the center of the room and stared at the dead. He felt each one pulling at his heart, marking his soul. So many. Over a hundred had died, over two hundred probably. All his fault.

But some had lived, and Pawn clung to that. He didn’t look up as Klbkch approached. He just bowed his head.

“If you kill me, will you spare the other Soldiers? They only listened to me.”

“Kill you?”

Klbkch stopped by Pawn’s side. The Revalantor stared at the Worker curiously.

“Why would I kill you? What purpose would it serve?”

“I disobeyed your orders. And I caused the death of countless soldiers.”

“And the rest would have died without you. If I kill you now, they will kill themselves or become Aberration.”

That was true. Pawn nodded.

“Then what?”

“You have a class. [Acolyte], I believe. Perhaps you will level tonight. In fact, I am certain you will.”

Pawn looked up, surprised. Klbkch nodded at him.

“Keep me informed.”

That was it? Pawn looked at Klbkch, confused.

“But what about Gods? Aren’t they a threat?”

“Yes. But you do not pray to a God, do you? And heaven—I see no threat in that.”

“Then—”

“The wounded Soldiers are yours. Care for them, pray for them if it will help them survive. And then test them. I think they may be able to become Individual.”

Pawn stared at Klbkch. The Revalantor looked at him.

“If it will make the Hive stronger, I will let you pray.”

“I see.”

“Sleep, and report to me if you level up. That will be all.”

Klbkch nodded to Pawn and began to walk away. Pawn hesitated, and then turned and called after him.

“Klbkchhezeim? Revalantor Klbkch?”

“Yes?”

Pawn hesitated. But the fear he had in his chest was a small thing now. Too small after all that had passed to hold him back.

“What were the Antinium? Before, I mean. Why do you fear Gods?”

Klbkch stopped in his tracks. He turned his head, and looked at Pawn slowly.

“What you want to know is secret.”

“I know. But would it harm anyone to tell me?”

“It may.”

“Then do not. But I want to know. Who were we? Who are we?”

Pawn waited for Klbkch to turn away and keep walking. But Klbkch didn’t. He studied Pawn, and then spoke.

“Galuc. His name was Galuc.”

“What?”

Klbkch paused. He looked at Pawn, and then looked through him. He looked at something Pawn couldn’t see.

“He was one of the Centenium, and it is his form you all wear. Galuc, the Builder.”

“You mean…did we once look different?”

Klbkch shrugged.

“I did. But my form was lost when I died at sea. Galuc’s was saved and so he remains in each of you. Smaller, and weaker.”

“What was he like?”

Something like a laugh came out of Klbkch’s mandibles, a sound so odd because Pawn had never heard it before.

“Galuc? He was a giant. Strong. Fearless. He would have laughed to know that the Antinium all look like him.”

“And Gods?”

Klbkch shook his head. He turned and began walking again.

“That is a secret. But if you prove you can turn those Soldiers into something more than they are—I will tell you more.”

He left Pawn alone in the room full of the dead. Pawn stood alone, and then stared around. So much death. The ground was stained green. The bodies lay where they had fallen, ready to be recycled into mush.

But it wasn’t the bodies Pawn looked for. He went to each of the fallen Soldier and stared down at their remains. He wondered where the other part of them had gone. He hoped…it was to a better place. And if there wasn’t one, Pawn would find it, make it, if he had to. The Antinium didn’t just destroy. They could create as well.

Slowly, Pawn walked down into the center of the room. He sat down, put his hands together, and believed.

Previous Chapter

3.07 H

“We are fragments of the past, Ceria Springwalker. That is all we are.”

Ceria sat on her great-grandmother’s lap and looked up. The small cottage was covered in hanging herbs, braids of garlic—every time she breathed in, a myriad of spices tickled her nose. She sneezed, and her great-grandmother sighed.

“No one has told you yet, have they? They just tell you to stay clear of Humans, which is true enough. But no one’s told you of your other half, your heritage.”

“I thought we were descended from Elves.”

“That’s true. But how much of us is Elf? No one even remembers who they were now, do they? They aren’t in any legends—it’s just a word. Even the oldest stories only talk of half-Elves, not Elves.”

“But they did exist?”

“Oh yes. But only Dragons would remember them, I think. And even then, only the oldest of Dragons. Yet, we still call ourselves half-Elves after all this time, even though thousands…tens of thousands of years have passed. Why is that?”

Ceria shifted. Her seat wasn’t that comfortable—her great-grandmother was too bony, and she was holding the young half-Elf tightly in case she slipped away, which is what Ceria wanted to do. She hated questions like these.

“I don’t know. Because we’re half-Elves? Half and half, right?”

“Not quite. How could we be half-Elves? Think about it. If an Elf and a Human had a child, that would be a true half-Elf. But their offspring—if they had a child with a Human, then what would you have? A quarter-Elf. And so on.”

“So?”

An impatient sigh—Ceria felt her ear tips being flicked and she hunched over sulkily.

“Think, child. There are no Elves left anymore. Half-Elves either marry each other or they mix with other species. So many generations have passed—what part of us is Elf, do you think?”

“I don’t know. A quarter—an eighth? Less? Can I go now?”

The small child wriggled, but her great-grandmother was too strong for her.

“Not yet. This is important, so sit still or I’ll pinch your ears.”

Chastened by the threat, Ceria sat as still as possible, trying not to move. She heard a quiet sigh from above.

“You’re too young. But someone has to tell you and those prideful fools would never speak of this. Ceria, the truth is that after all these long years, our people probably have only a drop of Elven blood in our veins. Only a drop, the smallest fraction of fractions. Only that. We aren’t half-Elves. Not even close.”

The news didn’t disappoint Ceria, because she didn’t fully understand.

“So what? We’re all Human?”

“Again, not quite. Do you want to know something interesting, Ceria?”

“Yes? Is it a secret?”

“Only a small one. The interesting thing is this: when a Human and a half-Elf have a child, the child is always half Elf. Did you know that?”

“No. Why is it interesting?”

Another sigh, but this time Ceria didn’t receive a flick to the ear.

“The interesting thing is that this is always true, Ceria. No matter how many generations pass, a half-Elf with a thousand Human parents on one side will always produce a half-Elf child. No matter what.”

The young half-Elf sat pensively, and then looked up into the wrinkled face and white hair.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that our heritage cannot be erased, child. Not by blood or time. We are part Elf, and that will always ring true. Isn’t that amazing?”

“I guess.”

Ceria’s doubtful reply elicited the first laughter from her great-grandmother she’d heard in a long time. The old half-Elf stroked Ceria’s hair gently.

“It might not seem like much to you yet, but it is something to remember. We are mostly Human, for all the others like to pretend we’re so much better. All we have is a drop of our heritage, Ceria. But it’s enough.”

“Enough?”

“Enough. What runs in our veins is a fragment of what we were. An echo of legends past. But it is pure magic in our blood, Ceria. The purest. Even Dragons bowed to Elves as masters of magic. And though the Elves are gone, we remain. It is in our natures; magic. It comes to us easier than any other species, because of who we are. Who we were. The blood of Elves cannot be extinguished, and it calls out even after untold millennia. That which shall never fade.”

The child caught her breath. She didn’t understand fully, but what she did hear in her great-grandmother’s words called to her. The old woman continued, speaking softly in the quiet of her cottage.

“We live it. Breathe it. We are magic, and magic is us. So when a spell burns you, or you play with the fish or eat them, remember. The magic will never fade.”

“Never?”

“Never. Remember that, will you?”

“I will. But what does it mean?”

“It means…in the oldest of tales, the ones only our people tell, the ones I heard as a child from my great-great grandmother, the Elves were said to be immune to charms and curses. They were so deeply magical that any attempt to hex or bewitch them was impossible. Because they were too magical, you understand? The spells just burned away from them.”

“But half-Elves aren’t like that. You said.”

“I did. But we have a part of that in us, Ceria. Remember? Just a part, but that means in time, any spell holding you will fail. If I tried to put you to sleep with a spell, eventually you would wake up.”

“Everyone wakes up, great grandma.”

A laugh.

“True. But you would wake up no matter what. No matter how powerful the enchantment on you, it will fade. Slowly, yes, but there is no spell your blood will not break in time.”

“Really?”

“Really. But don’t you go letting people cast spells on you, Ceria. And don’t think this makes you better than the Human children. Don’t go near them. You can play with the others in the stream now.”

“Will you come with me?”

“No. I have work to do. Just try to remember, won’t you, Ceria? You’re the only family I have left.”

The young half-Elf didn’t even see the pained expression on her great grandmother’s face. She raced for the door, laughing.

“I’ll remember! I promise!”

“Remember, Ceria.”

“I will! I will, I will, I—”

“I will.”

Ceria spoke the words aloud. And then she woke up.

—-

It was dark. That was all Ceria saw. But in the instant where she was not quite dreaming any longer, and not quite awake, it almost felt like she was dreaming still. The half-Elf tried to move her legs and turn her head, searching for her great grandmother.

Then she woke up a bit more and remembered that her great grandmother was dead. Nearly two decades dead and buried in her garden in a village on another continent.

And then she woke up further, and Ceria felt other sensations flooding in. The first was taste.

Taste. Ceria could taste vomit in her mouth, sour and vile. It was dried and made her gag—and she tasted blood as well. Ceria dry-heaved and scrabbled at her side reflexively. She had a flask of water—

No. She didn’t. And that was when the other feelings hit Ceria at once. She was hungry. In pain. Bleeding? No—but she could feel dried blood on her left shoulder, and cold air on her lower body. In fact…she was naked from the waist down. That was to say, she had her mage’s robes on, but someone had taken her pants.

“Wh—wha—?”

What had happened? Ceria’s mind was still too jumbled for short-term memory. She only knew that she was in pain, and something was horribly wrong. She looked around for her pants, or for the water bottle, but she could see practically nothing in…wherever she was.

It wasn’t totally dark. Ceria could see outlines of something in the darkness. But whatever light source was providing the light, it was too faint. She had to see. Ceria raised one hand and croaked a word.

“[Light].”

A glowing orange ball of pure light floated out of Ceria’s palm and she blinked, dazzled by it. But then her eyes adjusted, and Ceria finally saw the truth of where she was.

She was in the pit. The pit. The place she and the others had been teleported into after the trap. Yes. Ceria remembered. And she was lying on something. A pile of things that moved.

Ceria looked down. Something white, many white and yellow things shone in the light. She reached down to touch one, and stopped.

She was lying on a pile of bones. Bones, and horrible black filth. And some of it had been stained by her vomit. And blood.

She didn’t scream. Ceria didn’t scream, but she immediately rolled off the pile. She rolled down onto something hard and rough. Solid stone, crusted with more of that black substance.

For a few seconds Ceria just lay on the ground, trying not to react to the countless horrors around her. She breathed in slowly, trying to keep calm. The air felt dead and there was a horrible smell.

They were in the pit. Trapped. The half-Elf slowly got to her feet, holding her head. It was aching horribly, and she still felt disoriented. But more memory was coming back to her. Yes, they were trapped. There had been the spell and then—

Sound. Over to her left. Ceria spun, reaching for a dagger which again, she didn’t have. Her robes swirled about her as she spotted something that wasn’t bone or filth in a corner of the circular pit.

A…shape. A body. Ceria squinted and the orb of light at her side grew brighter. Then she saw who was sitting next to a pile of bones.

Ksmvr. The Antinium was moving. Ceria stumbled closer, head ringing, and saw he was moving. Rocking, rather. And then she heard the whisper, low and desperate. Ceria stopped as she heard what the Antinium was saying, whispering.

“no. nO. yeS. No. yES. NO. yEs, YeS—no—”

He was repeating the words over and over and he rocked back and forth in one corner of the room. The Antinium was bleeding, or he had been. Green ichor had dried around his left side, and it looked like something had smashed his carapace and ripped part of it away. A huge area was just…missing, exposing his vulnerable innards soaked with green blood.

Insanity. Now the rest of the pieces of memory fell into Ceria’s head and she remembered. She’d gone insane. Insane, just like everyone else. There had been the spell and then—

Her shoulder hurt. Ceria glanced down and saw a wound in her shoulder. It looked like someone had stabbed her with a dagger. Maybe she’d done it to herself. Ceria didn’t know.

“Ksmvr?”

The word was horrible in her mouth. Ceria nearly retched again as she tasted the foulness in her mouth. But the Antinium didn’t respond. Ceria raised her voice.

“Ksmvr. Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

Again, nothing. Ceria looked away. Ksmvr was lost, and so was Yvlon and Pisces, wherever they were. She had to get out of this pit, figure out a way to undo the spell.

The spell. Ceria looked around wildly and her headache grew worse. That was right. She had to disable the spell! Had she thought that before? No? Yes?

The mark of [Insanity] was on one of the walls. It was the other half of the light in the room, that faint, ghostly glow. Ceria caught sight of it as she looked around wildly. There. It was on one of the far walls, high up in the pit. She looked away the instant she spotted it, but too late.

Her headache grew worse. Suddenly, Ceria realized what was happening. Her innate half-Elven nature had helped her fight off the enchantment, but it was still active. And it was trying—

Trying to make her crazy again. Ceria lurched towards the sign and looked up again. It was high on the wall, too high to climb to. She caught a glimpse of the runes again and closed her eyes, but too late. The magic washed over her mind, trying to control her.

“Can’t. I need—”

Against her will, Ceria’s eyes opened. She twisted her head to stare at one of the filthy black walls, but now she knew the symbol was there. And she wanted to look. Had to look. She had to. It was the only thing that made sense.

The symbol flashed in her brain, and Ceria turned her head to look back at it. She couldn’t help herself. The magic runes bored into her retinas, overwhelming her senses. Ceria grinned, bit through her lower lip—

And went insane again.

—-

He knew he was insane. It was the one conscious, deliberate thought in his head. Ksmvr rocked back and forth as he stared into the darkness of the pit. His trap. His hell.

The magic spell flashed in the peripherals of his vision. No matter how Ksmvr tried to look away, he couldn’t. The magic was too pervasive, and he was too weak.

He was insane. Ksmvr had to remember that. It was the only knowledge he could cling to. That, and his own nature.

He was Antinium, and so despite being insane, there was still a part of Ksmvr that could think, could try to act. The Antinium had no spell casters, or at least, none that Ksmvr knew of. But they were familiar with the dangers of enchantments and illusions, so safeguards had been built into their very natures when each Antinium was created.

One of those protections was an innate resistance to mental trickery. The Antinium had their own way of fighting off hostile enchantments. So it was that while Ksmvr was functionally insane, part of him was fighting back, trying to seize control of his body. It was an effective bit of mental conditioning that made the Antinium so effective in battle. It didn’t work in regards to Aberrations of course—

That was different. But Ksmvr could still think, as mired in the [Insanity] spell as he was. So he noted Ceria’s actions. The half-Elf had been stumbling towards the pulsing runes, but now she turned back and lay on the ground, laughing and choking on the blood gushing from her lip.

This was the third time the half-Elf had awoken and gone insane. Ksmvr had counted that. He had logged each occurrence in his mind. At first he’d thought it was just chance, but now he was sure. She could break the enchantment. She could, but within moments she would relapse.

Because of the symbol. It pulsed, and Ksmvr felt his mind being pulled to pieces again. He shuddered and tried to concentrate. He had to act.

But the insane bit of him didn’t want to. So Ksmvr was fighting.

“No. Yes. nO. Yes. on. Yes.”

He was weak. Ksmvr fought to stand up as the insecurities of his mind preyed on him with the effects of the spell. He wasn’t worthy of being a Prognugator. They’d been right to take that away from him.

Klbkch was superior to him in every way. His Queen was right to exile him. He was useless. He hadn’t contributed anything to the team. They’d only accepted him out of pity. If Klbkch was here, he wouldn’t have gone insane.

The knowledge haunted Ksmvr. He was pathetic. And yet, he still tried to stand up. He had to do something. He was the only one who could. There was no Klbkch to give him orders, no Queen to do the same. He had to do it himself.

One leg. Ksmvr twitched and shook horribly, trying to make his rusty limbs move. He’d done it once before. He’d taken Ceria’s pants and her belt. Hadn’t that been harder than anything he’d ever done before? But he’d done it. Now he had to stand up again.

Ceria’s magical ball of light illuminated a trembling form as, in the corner of the pit illuminated by the light, Ksmvr stood up. He shook, and then lurched towards Ceria, holding something in one of his hands. He tripped over bones, crawled—desperate to get to her in time.

The half-Elf was still lying on the ground, grinning upwards. She was spitting out blood into the air and trying to make it land on her face. Ksmvr ignored that and seized her head. Ceria made no move as he lifted her upwards.

Slowly, he tied the strip of fabric he’d cut from Ceria’s pants around her eyes, tying the knot securely to fasten the blindfold. Ksmvr’s hands shook as he finished the knot. He slowly backed away from Ceria and felt the madness overwhelming his conditioning again.

The part of Ksmvr that could still think steered his body away from Ceria. He walked back over to his corner and sat down. Then Ksmvr gave up and let the madness sweep over him again. His mouth began to chant, the distorted words echoing around him.

“Yes. yES, YeS, YES, yEs, Yes, yeS…”

His fingers scrabbled at the exposed chitin on his side. Ksmvr slowly, painfully, pulled part of his exoskeleton off, feeling it break as he ripped it from his side. He put the chip of black armor up to his mouth, and his mandibles opened. Ksmvr crunched the bit of himself down as he rocked back and forwards again. He slowly reached down and did it again. And again. And again—

—-

Ceria remembered falling in love when she was twenty three. Trying to sneak off with the young half-Elf boy in her village—being caught. She had a dream where she ate her great grandmother and buried what was left beneath a blooming cocoon where something lived and tried to burst out.

Then she woke up. Again. This time, Ceria sat up and felt the pain of her lip first. She touched at it, nearly screaming at the pain. Then she realized she couldn’t see a thing.

She cast [Light] several times before she realized there was a blindfold on her head. Ceria reached for it. Her fingers scrabbled on the cloth, but they were too weak to undo the sturdy knot Ksmvr had tied. And before she could rip it off her face, Ceria’s memories came back.

The spell! The ward! It had made her crazy again. Again! Ceria remembered coming back into consciousness several times before that, but each time the symbol had—

The blindfold on her face. Ceria felt at it and realized something had happened. She wasn’t sure what, but this was the only thing keeping her from looking at the symbol and going insane. Her head still hurt, but it was bearable this time.

And now Ceria Springwalker knew exactly what she had to do. She had to destroy that damn symbol, or at least cover it somehow.

And she had to do it without seeing. For a few minutes, Ceria just sat on the ground, trying not to scream as all of these thoughts came crashing down. She fumbled at her broken lip and found the hole, touched the wound on her shoulder and realized she was half-naked again. At least she hadn’t taken off her underwear in her craze.

Not that it would have mattered. Ceria didn’t know where the other three Horns of Hammerad were. She knew Ksmvr was close by, but he’d been unresponsive last she checked.

“Okay, focus Ceria.”

She muttered to herself and spat out some blood as she tried to concentrate. The first thing Ceria did was conjure a stream of water out of the air. She washed out her mouth and spat several times until the worst of the blood and vomit was gone. She was terribly thirsty, but she knew better than to drink the magical water she’d created. It would just mess with her body and dissipate soon enough.

“Should’ve learned [Create Water].”

Ceria muttered to herself as she stood up and tried to find her way to one of the walls. It was horrible being blind. She kept running into piles of bones and things she wasn’t sure of, which was far worse. But Ceria moved forwards, climbing over bones, slipping, falling, getting back up until at last her fingers touched something hard and rough and flat.

The wall. It was coated with that same black, flaking substance she’d felt on the floor earlier. Ceria pulled her hands back in revulsion, but now she knew where she was. She remembered the symbol had been high up, but she didn’t know where.

How was she going to do this? The only thing Ceria could think was that she had to take off her blindfold and cast a spell as fast as she could, but even that felt like a mistake. At the very least, she could follow the wall. It wasn’t as if Ceria’s blindfold was perfect; she could still sense some light. And if she dispelled her [Light] spell and followed the source of that faint light…

Ceria stumbled around the perimeter of the dark pit, feeling her way ahead and kicking bones and other things out of the way as she held one hand to the wall. She was in a massive pit, at least forty feet across by her count. It was clearly meant to capture hundreds of people, and from the bones Ceria kept running into, it might have already served its purpose countless times.

The light, the piercing light that made her want to tear off her blindfold kept getting brighter and brighter. In the darkness, it was Ceria’s only guide. She stopped where she thought the light was the brightest—she couldn’t look in any direction without it growing dimmer.

“Here?”

Ceria raised her skeletal hand upwards, trying to figure out where to aim. She remembered…the symbol was about ten feet off the floor? Higher? Maybe a bit.

What spell should she use? Ceria was under no illusions. Anyone who could cast a spell like [Insanity] and anchor it here was probably a far better mage than she was, and they would have protected the runes with wards that her best spells—[Ice Spike] or [Fireball]—would fail to overcome. What should she do then?

Ceria remembered the black gunk that she’d touched on all the walls and the floor. It was everywhere. Maybe that was the answer.

“Cover it.”

Yes, if she covered the spell, it would lose a lot of its power. Ceria didn’t know any spells that could create smoke or fog, but she could always improvise. It wasn’t easy to make new spells, but altering existing ones…

First, Ceria made water appear out of the air. She held it in place, and then materialized earth, as if she was going to use the [Stone Dart] spell. Earth and water. She mixed the two together, and felt thick mud trickling between her fingers. She smiled, winced, as the pain in her lip flared, and lifted the ball of mud up.

It wasn’t even a spell, really. It was just using the basic theories of magic to create…well, an inefficient mess. If she’d known the spell—[Mud Ball] perhaps—she would have been able to use it far more effectively and with less mana.

But this would do. Ceria held the sloppy mess between her hands as she tried to figure out where to throw it. The spell would last for a while if she put enough mana into it, enough time to cover the damn rune. But where was it—

“What are you doing, boy? Shirking your duties again?”

The harsh voice in her ear made Ceria shout in surprise and jump away. But a cold hand caught her in a steely grip, and a sharp sensation from her side made Ceria freeze in terror. A familiar voice whispered in her ear.

“Trying to hide in the library? Not on my watch.”

“Pisces?”

It was his voice, but not him. Pisces would never have thrown Ceria backwards as the man did now, and he would never have threatened her with a weapon. The young man Ceria had known had always hated physical violence, regardless of how he had changed in every other respect.

This person was not the same. He held her in place, driving the sharp object into Ceria’s side, cutting into her flesh. What was it? A knife?

No—jagged edges. Bone. Ceria shuddered as Pisces’ voice grated in her ears.

“I’ve told you once; you get up and you do the practice every day, before dawn! Anything less and I’ll have your hide.”

Ceria held her breath. She knew Pisces was as deadly with a rapier as he was with spells. In his hands, the jagged length of bone might well kill her before she could take him out with a spell. Carefully, she tried her most soothing voice possible.

“Pisces, it’s me. Ceria—”

“What? What? You don’t get to call me names, boy. My name is ‘sir’ until you can prove you can handle a blade!”

The shard of bone dug deeper in Ceria’s side. She gasped—she could feel it piercing her skin.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Better! Now, why aren’t you in the training grounds?”

The pressure eased on her. Slightly. Ceria’s hands were clenched. She had no idea what to say to him. What could she say to a madman who thought he was his father?

“I—can’t see.”

“What? Stop talking nonsense!”

“No—look!”

Ceria pointed to her blindfold. Pisces must have been able to see in the dim light, because he paused. His voice sounded approving.

“Blindfold, eh? Good lad. Helps with your reflexes. Now, dodge this—”

She only had a moment’s warning before the sharp feeling in her side vanished. Ceria felt air moving and ducked. But the blow Pisces gave her was a kick to the stomach. The half-Elf dropped to her hands and knees and retched. Above her, Pisces laughed nastily.

“You’ve got to move faster than that if you want to become a true [Fencer], brat.”

The pain was nauseating, but at least she didn’t throw up; there was nothing left. Ceria gritted her teeth as she stood up. The mud was still in her good hand. If she threw it—

“Pis—sir, I need to get rid of that rune up there. Could you help me with that?”

“Rune? What rune? Stop talking rot, boy! There will be no magic in my household. If you’ve been making sparks—”

“No, that rune! There!”

“That? That’s just the moon. What, is it too bright for your eyes? Take off your blindfold and let’s begin already!”

Ceria let out a despairing groan. It was no good. Pisces was trapped in his imaginary world. She had to do something. But what?

“I’m waiting, boy. Don’t make me impatient!”

Ceria hesitated. She clenched her fist, and then heard another voice, growing closer. This one was dignified, and each syllable was carefully enunciated with a delicate inflection in the woman’s voice.

“What is this commotion all about? Do you people not know what time it is?”

It was Yvlon’s voice, raised to sound more high-pitched. Ceria groaned. Perfect. Another insane person was all she needed. Her first thought was that Yvlon might be persuaded to help even in her delirium, but then she remembered how most Humans treated half-Elves. And a second thought on the heels of the first: she had a sword. Ceria grew very still with fear, but Pisces raised his voice as he apparently turned towards Yvlon.

“Well there you are, boy! Ready for morning practice at last, or do I have to burn all those damn books of yours to get you to pay attention?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Yvlon’s outraged voice gave Ceria hope. Pisces was snapping at her as if she was…Ceria? He wasn’t differentiating between Yvlon and Ceria at all. They were all the same to him. They were all ‘boy’, which was to say…Pisces. Ceria knew who the man she heard in Pisces’ voice had to be.

His father.

And he was trying to train Pisces. But Yvlon wasn’t cooperating. She gasped with indignation, and then, all of a sudden, her voice changed, grew deeper.

“I am Ylawes Byres, [Swordsman] and heir to the Byres name. Who are you to challenge me with weapon in hand, stranger?”

“Y—what? Are you pretending to be a nobleman? I’ll knock that arrogance right out of you.”

“You would do well to lower your weapon. I am armed—”

“I’ll take you on, old man!”

Ceria shouted the words and ducked away from the two, heart racing as she stumbled in another direction. She heard a grunt of surprise, but then a harsh laugh from Pisces.

“Challenging your old man at last? Fine then, I’ll draw your blood as a lesson!”

She heard footsteps, but not towards her. Yvlon’s outraged voice echoed off one of the walls as Ceria crept away.

“You dare to bare your blade against me? I’ll have your head for that!”

This time Ceria heard ringing metal as Ceria unsheathed her own blade. She heard another laugh, and then a grunt as she heart the thunk of something striking metal. Yvlon cried out in outrage as Ceria looked around wildly.

Her two team mates were about to kill each other. Pisces was a skilled fighter, but Yvlon was in armor. Either way, one of them would die unless Ceria hurried.

Where was the magic symbol? Ceria looked up and saw a glow around the edges of her blindfold. She raised the mud and threw it as hard as she could. She heard a splatter, but the light didn’t dim.

“Damn it. Where—”

More mud. Ceria slopped it into her hands and threw it again, but she sensed the mud splattered in the air rather than staying in a ball. She cursed again and tried to mush the mud together. She threw wildly, but nothing changed.

“There? There!?”

It wasn’t working, and Ceria could heard Yvlon cursing as she struck the ground and Pisces taunted her. Ceria raised her arm, and then heard a voice.

“Not there.”

She jerked, but it was Ksmvr. He was calling out to her across the room.

“To the left and down slightly.”

Ceria didn’t hesitate. She adjusted her aim and threw.

“You missed. A bit higher and more left.”

Desperately, Ceria poured earth into her hands and added water. She molded a sopping mudball and took aim. She heard Yvlon cry out in pain and aimed desperately. She threw into the darkness.

“Ah—”

The light went out. Instantly, Ceria tore the blindfold away from her head. The world was absolute darkness.

“[Light]!”

This time, the flare of light was a dark green, and it didn’t burn her eyes. Ceria looked around wildly, and saw two struggling shapes fighting over a sword.

The magic had ceased, at least for now, but the others were still insane. Ceria ran towards both of them and cried out as she raised her right hand.

“Stop! [Stone Fist]!”

Yvlon turned and raised her arm for only a second before the stone hand smashed into her chest. She fell backwards and Ceria turned and knocked Pisces backwards with a backhanded swipe. He stumbled back, staring at the gauntlet made of rock that covered Ceria’s good hand.

“Magic? You dare? I’ll make you suffer for this!”

His eyes were wild and he had Yvlon’s sword. Ceria raised her skeletal hand warningly.

“Don’t make me do this, Pisces.”

“I told you, I’m not—”

“Ceria!”

Ksmvr appeared in a shower of bones. Pisces leapt back as a few flew towards him, and then narrowed his eyes at the Antinium. He said not a word, but charged with a wild cry. But Ceria was faster.

“[Ice Shard].”

The frozen icicle that shot from her finger flew as straight as an arrow, but the difference in this one was that the head was blunt, rather than sharp. It struck Pisces squarely in the forehead as he leapt at her, and he staggered. Ksmvr shoulder-charged him to the ground and struck him with one hand. Pisces sagged, and he went limp.

“Dead gods.”

Ceria took one deep breath and then another. Ksmvr lowered Pisces to the ground as Ceria sat down hard—on a piece of bone. She yelped and tossed the yellowed thing across the room.

“Ceria Springwalker, are you well?”

“Me? I’m—fine.”

She could taste blood and her lower lip had a hole in it. Her right shoulder still burned and Pisces had drawn blood with that damn bone. She was not fine, but other things were more important.

“Where’s Yvlon?”

“Over there.”

Ksmvr pointed and Ceria saw Yvlon standing and staring blankly ahead. The woman’s blonde hair was matted with blood, and she had a deep cut down one cheek where Pisces must have struck her. But she didn’t appear to notice any of that. She looked over haughtily as Ceria and Ksmvr approached.

“Yvlon?”

“I am Yelen Byres—”

“Rot, she’s still under the spell.”

Ceria sighed. Ksmvr looked uncertainly at Yvlon.

“Should we knock her out?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“No. I don’t think that’s wise. Let’s just tie her hands and legs up so she can’t hurt us if her personality changes again.”

“That is wise.”

Ksmvr approached Yvlon. The armored woman backed away, raising her voice in outrage.

“I’m sure I’ve never been so offended—unhand me, you—!”

She clawed at Ksmvr, but her two hands were no match for his three. In a few minutes he had her trussed up and lying in a clear part of the pit. Yvlon shouted angrily at them until Ceria stuffed her blindfold into the woman’s mouth. Yvlon spat it out and she began gnawing at the ropes like an animal. It wasn’t ideal, but at least it kept her occupied.

That done, Ceria had to take a few seconds just to breathe. While she was doing that, she finally took a good look around the pit she’d found herself in. The dark room was lit by her green light and it made the lurid piles of remains all the more disturbing.

Swords, bones, rotted fabric. The pit was a huge tomb of bodies, corpses and yellowed bones, all that remained countless adventurers who’d been trapped here. Time had eaten away almost all the details of these fallen people, but Ceria could still see some clues as to how they’d died. A skull split by the worn shaft of an axe, a skeleton cut in two here, and one whose bones looked scorched—

“What a nightmare.”

Ceria shuddered as Ksmvr came to stand next to her. She looked at the Antinium and saw that he was holding his injured side, where a good section of his chitin had been picked away.

“Are you okay, Ksmvr?”

He nodded.

“I am only moderately inconvenienced, Captain. As soon as you covered the magical symbol I regained use of my mind.”

“Good. That’s…good.”

Ceria breathed in and out a few more times. She could still remember being insane, remember the sensation of losing all the structure in her head. She looked at Ksmvr, and then remembered she was still half-naked.

“Where are my pants? And my belt—did you see them, Ksmvr?”

He nodded.

“I removed them to construct your blindfold. My apologies. They are over here.”

The Antinium retrieved Ceria’s possessions and she put her pants back on with a sigh of relief. The Antinium had cut a large strip out from one of the legs, but some clothing was better than none. She sat on the ground and began attaching her belt.

More importantly, with Ceria’s belt came her water flask and the healing potion she’d brought. She greedily drank water from her flask while she offered the healing potion to Ksmvr. He applied half to his torn-up side and handed it back to Ceria. She hesitated, and then drank the potion rather than apply it to each of her wounds.

“Gah! That’s foul.”

Ceria tossed the empty bottle to one side and winced as it smashed. Ksmvr hesitated, and then sat next to her.

“That was a most dangerous trap we were caught in.”

“You think?”

“I do.”

The half-Elf shook her head.

“We nearly died. If it hadn’t been for my heritage and luck—how long were we under the spell?”

“I cannot say.”

Beside her, Ksmvr shifted to look at Ceria. His normally impassive voice changed slightly, grew a bit uncertain.

“Do you believe that spell will affect Pisces and Yvlon for much longer?”

“I don’t know.”

Ceria rubbed at her face.

“Maybe? It might wear off soon, but you never know. At least it wasn’t real insanity that hit us, just the spell.”

“Oh?”

Ksmvr looked at her. Ceria nodded tiredly, feeling the healing potion getting to work on the rest of her body.

“It’s just the magical effect. Real insanity—you’d have to be a better mage to really create madness in people. This is just…an approximation. The spell reaches into your head and messes up your world. It’s close, but not the same.”

“I see. That would explain my experience.”

The Antinium nodded a few times as he sat next to Ceria. He hesitated, and then cleared his throat awkwardly.

“If the spell had created true insanity in me, I would have become Aberration at once. And then I would have killed all three of you within seconds.”

Ceria just looked at him. How was she supposed to respond to that? But maybe that was Ksmvr’s way of saying he was glad things had worked out. She thought for a second, and then looked at the place where he’d sliced her pants apart.

“Ksmvr? You said you made the blindfold for me?”

He nodded. Cautiously.

“Yes. I was…unable to do more. I regret my failure to act, but—”

“Good job.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

—-

Ceria and Ksmvr sat in silence for over twenty minutes before Pisces woke up. He came to with a shout of surprise, which turned into a groan.

“My head…”

He didn’t appear to be insane, but Ceria and Ksmvr were ready for anything as he staggered upright. Pisces took one look around at them, at the bones, and the foul pit they were in, and then he asked if they had anything to eat. That reassured them he was back to normal.

Ceria had a thing about bones, in that she didn’t like seeing them, especially if they were her bones. Add that to the general unsanitary nature of the pit, with the black foreign substance crusting every part of the room, and she was feeling quite unhappy with their current predicament. But Pisces seemed to regard the dead bodies as mere furnishings, and he happily crammed some dried meat into his mouth.

“So you and Ksmvr eliminated the spell? Most efficacious. Allow me to congratulate the both of you. I was completely subsumed by the enchantment. What was my reaction to the [Insanity] spell, incidentally?”

“You thought you were your father.”

Pisces paused mid-chew.

“Ah.”

“And you tried to run both me and Yvlon through.”

“I apologize for that. I am relieved I was so ineffectual.”

He chewed the rest of his bite slowly, and swallowed, no longer looking quite as pleased. Pisces glanced over to Yvlon. She was still drooling on the bindings on her wrist, looking more than a little rabid.

“…Perhaps we should leave before your mud wears off. I would not like to repeat such a harrowing experience.”

Ceria nodded. That was her first thought too, but…

“How the hell are we going to get out?”

The pit was dark, and as far as she could see, the walls extended upwards at least thirty feet. If there was a ceiling, it wasn’t within her [Light] spell’s cone of illumination.

Pisces looked up. He frowned and conjured a ball of light himself and threw it upwards.

“Let’s find out.”

His orb glowed with pure white light. Ksmvr and Ceria both saw it fly upwards, and then break—splash, really, the light becoming fading motes—across a dirt ceiling. Ceria groaned and Pisces made a similar noise of displeasure.

“We’re trapped.”

Pisces nodded, looking unhappy.

“Who knows how deep we are? We could dig up for years and not reach the surface.”

“Not necessarily.”

Both mages looked at Ksmvr. The Antinium nodded as he stared upwards.

“There must be an entrance higher up. Companion Pisces, if you recast your spell, I believe we may be able to identify an opening.”

“What makes you assume that, Ksmvr?”

Ceria looked curiously at the Antinium. He looked back at her without a shred of doubt as he replied.

“If this room were truly a sealed chamber, we and those who have preceded us would have quickly used up the supply of air within the room. The fact that we did not suffocate instantly indicates an air source of some kind.”

“Oh.”

Pisces looked at Ceria and then both mages threw orbs of [Light] upwards again. After a minute of studying the ceiling, Ksmvr exclaimed and pointed.

“There.”

Pisces squinted upwards, frowning.

“Are you certain? I cannot see anything.”

“My eyes are used to the dark. There is an opening there. If we dig, we will most likely find some sort of passageway.”

“So now we just have to get to it. Any ideas?”

Ceria eyed the smooth walls doubtfully. Aside from the black coating, the stone looked unblemished. Pisces just smirked as he stroked his chin.

“This issue should be easily surmounted. Allow me to rectify my earlier deficiency.”

He clicked his fingers, and Ceria felt the room move. Not the ground or the walls, but everything else in it. The bones of the countless dead began to shift.

“Pisces?”

He just smiled as yellowed bones began flying into the air and upwards. Ksmvr stared at the shifting bones without comment, but on the ground Yvlon stopped biting at her robes and screamed.

“Necromancer! Kill him at once!”

“Oh hush.”

Pisces frowned and pointed at Yvlon. Two piles of bones stood up and became skeletons. They walked over to hold her down as she wriggled and tried to break free of her bindings.

“No! Don’t touch me! Stop!”

She wailed—Ceria had never heard Yvlon make any sound like that before—as the skeletons held her in place. Yvlon thrashed wildly, but she was unable to break free. The real Yvlon might have mustered the strength, but Yelen Byres, whoever she was, was a weak noblewoman who couldn’t do a thing.

And meanwhile, the other bones were floating in the air, rearranging themselves. They weren’t forming a creature—instead, Ceria saw with horrified fascination, they were forming a staircase. Small bones and big ones ordered themselves into smooth ledges, and, step-by-step, an ivory staircase built itself upwards, leading to the spot Ksmvr had indicated.

Pisces wiped some sweat off his forehead and exhaled a few times as the last bone flew into the horrific set of steps. He smiled cheerfully at Ceria and Ksmvr, both of whom were giving him the fisheye.

“There. We have a way up, and the means to dig as well.”

“I guess?”

Ceria looked uneasily at the staircase. She did not like Necromancy, but neither was she stupid enough to turn down a good solution. Ksmvr just stared at the bones and nodded.

“Efficient.”

Only Yvlon was upset. She screamed at the skeletons as they lifted her up, staggering under the weight of her armor. Pisces frowned—he waved his hand and several more skeletons stood up out of the collection of bones still littering the floor.

“It appears that this trap, however temporarily detrimental to our health, has one unexpected benefit. I can conjure as many skeletons as I need to from this supply.”

“And you won’t run out of mana? I know you’ve got to be tired, and we don’t exactly have any mana potions to spare.”

Ceria looked doubtfully at Pisces. He hesitated.

“I have used quite a bit. But it seems wiser to expend my resources in creating more undead to aid us, especially given our weakened states.”

“True. Okay, summon as many as you can.”

“These five will do for now. I shall begin digging upwards, unless Ksmvr thinks it will cause a collapse?”

Ksmvr studied the dirt roof and shook his head.

“It should be fine.”

“Very well then.”

Pisces pointed upwards, at the small dark crevice in the ceiling. Two skeletons ran up the staircase and began digging energetically at the spot, showering dirt into the pit below. They were holding rusted blades and pieces of metal—the remains of some of the adventurer’s gear.

“It should take them just a little while to clear the obstruction!”

Pisces shouted down cheerily as he walked up to supervise his skeletons. Ceria shook her head as she found a place to sit on the now-cleared floor of the pit. She wasn’t going up that staircase more than once; solid it may be, but Pisces had opted not to build guardrails, and the bones hovered in the air without any solid supports. It was an amazing piece of magic, but it still made her queasy to imagine climbing it.

She’d have to in the end, but that was later. To take her mind off of that, Ceria looked around. Now that the ground was clear, she saw something that had been buried under a pile of bones. Cautiously, Ceria walked over to it. It was dark and bulky, and at first she thought it was a part of an adventurer that had yet to rot. But this wasn’t meat. Instead, Ceria found dark, rough fabric. She cast another [Light] spell and saw what it was clearly.

It was an adventurer’s pack, still neatly secured to the skeleton of its owner. Ceria hesitated, and then shifted the bones aside and lifted the bag. It was quite heavy.

“Ksmvr, here’s something else. Can you take it?”

The Antinium walked over and hoisted the pack easily. Ceria nodded to him, and then heard a shout from above.

“I see light! We’re right below the tunnel we uncovered!”

Both adventurers below sighed in relief. Pisces grinned at them from above, and then shouted.

“Watch out!”

They saw a skeleton falling from above, brought down by a cascade of dirt. Pisces blew away the dirt around him with a barrier of air and Ceria and Ksmvr covered Yvlon, shielding their heads as the skeleton struck the floor of the pit and shattered.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine!”

Ksmvr shouted up as Ceria looked around. The flailing skeleton hadn’t done any damage to the staircase, but her blood ran cold when she saw something glinting on the side of the pit.

“Dead gods! Watch the sides!”

Pisces looked down and swore. The flailing skeleton had, in its fall, struck the black, encrusted wall of the pit. In doing so, he’d knocked some of the unnamed substance free, and glowing behind the covering was the unmistakable symbol of the [Insanity] spell.

Both Ceria and Pisces reacted with the speed of panic. She threw mud and he blew a cloud of dust in front of the spell before it could work on them. The partially visible runes disappeared as Ceria hurled more mud to cover it and stopped, panting heavily.

“That was quite dangerous.”

“You think?”

Ceria wiped cold sweat from her forehead as she stared at the spot. She looked around the pit and shuddered as she suddenly realized the true nature of the trap.

“Runes underneath…? All the walls must be covered in the [Insanity] spell.”

Ksmvr looked around.

“Truly? That would be a most dangerous effect. It is fortunate that previous adventurers managed to coat the walls.”

“You’re telling me. If we’d been exposed to the spell from all sides, we wouldn’t have had a chance.”

Ceria wondered what the black substance was. She looked down at a flake of it on the ground. It was almost like tar—although spread quite thin. It couldn’t be magic; even the best spells faded after time. An [Alchemist]’s concoction of some kind? Whoever it was, Ceria gave her quiet thanks to them for doing what they had.

“I see light! The tunnel’s wide enough! I’m going up!”

Pisces shouted down to Ksmvr and Ceria after a few more minutes of dirt falling. She raised a hand in acknowledgment.

“Be careful!”

Pisces disappeared above. After a few seconds, he poked his head down.

“Come on up! Ascend carefully—my skeletons will help you!”

Ceria and Ksmvr didn’t need the help of the skeletons to walk upwards, although they did move quite slowly and deliberately to avoid slipping. But Yvlon had to be dragged up by three skeletons, all of them holding her as tightly as possible as she cursed and struggled, oblivious to the drop.

It was a small tunnel that Pisces’ skeletons had dug upwards. They’d followed the already-existing passageway and broken into the very same tunnel where Ceria and the other Horns of Hammerad had been walking earlier. Pisces pulled Ceria out of the pit, coughing as she shook herself to get most of the dirt off. Ksmvr easily clambered out of the ground and helped the skeletons pull Yvlon up. She was still screaming curses at Pisces.

“Foul [Necromancer]! My father will have your head for your sorcery, do you hear me? If it’s a ransom you want, he’ll pay it. Only do not touch a hair on my head! The Byres family will not tolerate any—”

“I am concerned about comrade Yvlon’s mental state, Captain.”

Ksmvr calmly held a hand over Yvlon’s mouth. She shouted into his hand as he addressed Ceria.

“She has not awoken from the effects of the spell. Should we knock her out to aid in that process?”

Ceria shook her head as she looked around.

“She’s not a [Mage] like Pisces or me, and she doesn’t have…whatever you have, Ksmvr. The spell will take longer to wear off, but I’m sure it will in time.”

“I see. Then, what should we do? Press on or wait?”

“Can we just—wait a second?”

Ceria panted as she sat down on the smooth, wonderfully solid stone floor. Pisces sat down as well, and after a pause, so did Ksmvr.

“We’re alive. We were in the worst of traps but—we’re alive.”

Pisces and Ksmvr nodded. Yvlon drooled on the ground around Ksmvr’s hand. Ceria sighed. She lay back on the ground, stretching out. She wanted to shake and cry and laugh and vomit. They’d made it. It wasn’t the first time she’d gotten out of a hairy situation but this—

This had been one of the worst. And they’d done it as a team. No one had died. For a few minutes, ten, really, she just lay there. Then Pisces coughed.

“As unpleasant as that last obstacle was, it occurs to me that we must have been underground for a long time. Hours, perhaps.”

“Days?”

“Maybe. I cannot be certain. But it is clear that we have two options as of now. We can either retreat and regroup with the knowledge of these advanced deterrents, or…we can advance.”

He pointed. Ceria looked, and saw the door. The damn door. They’d come out in the last part of the passageway, almost directly in front of the door that had sent them into the trap in the first place.

“You’re telling me that thing just teleported us down?”

“It’s the most efficient use of mana. It only makes sense.”

Ksmvr nodded.

“It is a formidable obstacle, but now that we have uncovered the danger, is it worth moving forwards? We are nearly out of food, and we all require rest.”

“What do you think, Ceria?”

The half-Elf looked up at Pisces. He looked down at her, quite innocently. But there was a gleam in his eyes. He knew what she was about to say. She sat up and stared at the plain wooden door. Then she looked at the other mage.

“Pisces?”

“Yes, oh Captain of mine?”

“Get your skeletons to grab whatever weapons they can and break down that damn door.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

—-

An hour later, the door fell in. It wasn’t because the wood had been shattered by the constant hammering on it, or that the four adventurers had cast any particular spell to break it. No, the reason the door broke was simple: the skeletons had chipped away at the stone around the hinges set in the wall until the masonry cracked, and the door obeyed the forces of gravity.

The four skeletons that had done all of the work stepped back, rusted blades in hand as three adventurers peeked into the opening, coughing as the small dust cloud that had been raised temporarily obscured all vision.

Pisces, Ceria, and Ksmvr stood behind the wall of skeletons, ready for anything. They were exhausted, hurt, and hungry, but all were sure this was the final barrier, and they were determined to be here. And they were all alive. The only incapacitated member of their team they’d left a few feet away, wrapped up in a blanket.

Yvlon lay on the ground, shuddering. She was safe, but not up to any further exploring for the moment. She was still gibbering a bit, but she had stopped assuming different personalities and better, she had regained bowel control. It had deserted her in a rather unfortunate way as she slowly came out of the effects of the [Insanity] spell.

Now the three adventurers tensed, waiting for the cloud to clear. They expected another trap, or maybe an antechamber, the beginning of another part of the hallway, but then the dust cleared and they saw the light.

It wasn’t sunlight, or artificial light, but rather, the golden glow as the light from outside touched something in the room and made it shimmer. Ceria lowered her skeletal hand and breathed out. Slowly.

“Oh dead gods.”

The fallen door had revealed only a small chamber at the end of all these deadly traps. It was a small room. Yes, a small room, but one filled with one thing. The thing all adventurers dreamed of.

Treasure.

Pisces and Ceria gaped in wonder, their eyes nearly popping out of their heads. Peeking around one of the motionless skeletons, Ksmvr nodded in approval.

“I see quite a number of swords. This is considered good, correct?”

In truth, the room couldn’t have been more than twenty feet across, and it was certainly narrower than it was long. It was the storage closet of treasure vaults, but the quality set it apart. Ceria and Pisces could see it in the glimmering aura that manifested itself the instant they laid eyes on the treasure.

“Look at it!”

Ceria half-screamed as she pointed. The room was small, but it had a rack of weapons that first caught the eye. Glimmering weapons and metal that didn’t look like any ore Ceria had ever seen before hung in the form of swords, daggers, even a battleaxe.

On the other wall a bookshelf full of clearly magical tomes stood, a treasure in itself. A mage’s library. But that wasn’t all. Glittering gold coins and gems occupied the back of the treasure room glowing and glimmering in the adventurer’s light. But what drew Ceria’s attention was the small desk, the magical tome and small bag sitting next to it, and the staff almost casually propped up against the wall.

Any other eye might have been drawn to the gold, or like Ksmvr to the artifacts in the forms of weaponry. But both mages only had eyes for the staff. They saw what others could not; the magic that emanated from the object like a beacon.

“The staff. I can’t believe it! Can you see the aura, Springwalker? Can you see the power in it?”

“I can! I can! It radiates—just look, Ksmvr!”

“I see swords. Where is the staff?”

It was actually a staff in two parts. Twisted metal—or was it stone?—snaked upwards, dividing, becoming thin tendrils of metal which eventually tapered off into nothing. A foot of space, and then the tendrils reappeared, moving in the opposite direction, reaching the top of the staff which was set with a huge aquamarine gemstone. The two pieces of the staff were perfectly connected, as if there was steel in the place of air.

“It even looks magical. Ancestors, look at it.”

“I have to touch it.”

Pisces breathed the words and Ceria thought the exact same thing. Ksmvr looked doubtfully around the room.

“Should we check for traps first?”

Neither mage heard him. They ran forwards, jostling each other. Ksmvr walked after them, staring around.

“I would like to try one of the swords. Do you think that would be acceptable?”

Pisces and Ceria ignored Ksmvr. They practically fought each other to be the first into the room, both reaching for the staff.

“Intruders.”

The voice was soft, but full of malice. Both Pisces and Ceria froze, hands reaching for the staff. They looked around, and saw something appearing in the center of the room.

Flames licked into being, and then coalesced. Air became fire, and the fire itself knitted together to become a solid thing, a shape, a figure made out of the white-hot flames. A man, or what looked vaguely like a man, stepped out of the air and stared at Pisces, Ceria, and Ksmvr.

“You are trespassing in the personal sanctuary of Warmage Thresk. Identify yourselves or be destroyed.”

“Oh no.”

Ceria breathed the words, her heart tight in her chest. They’d forgotten. In their haste, they’d forgotten the golden rule of adventuring. Never let your guard down at the end. That’s when the worst trap starts.

The fiery creation looked at her, eyes burning blue in its formless face.

“Who are you? Why do you enter this place? Answer, or I will burn you asunder.”

Something was burning in the center of its chest. A jewel? Ceria squinted at it as Pisces stammered a reply.

“We are ah, Wistram mages, here to consult with Warmage Thresk on a matter of great importance. We apologize if we are disturbing—”

“Lies.”

The fiery eyes burned. The construct opened a mouth and showed them insides full of red flames that burned against his incendiary white-hot exterior.

“No one may enter this place save for Warmage Thresk or those of his blood. You are thieves. You will be burnt to ash.”

He raised a hand and extended it towards the three. All at once, the heat in the room grew until it was practically an inferno by itself. Ceria shouted at the same time Pisces did. Both mages extended their palms out.

“[Frozen Wind]!”

The spell blew freezing cold air towards the apparition for a moment. Just for a moment, that was all. It barely halted the rising temperature of the room, but it gave the two mages and Ksmvr the moment they needed to dash out of the room before they were cooked in their skins. Ceria gasped as she ran down the corridor; her skin felt burnt from the second they’d been in the room.

“Pisces! Use the skeletons!”

“Right. Defend me!”

He called out to the skeletons as the three adventurers rushed past them. The skeletons charged the fiery being—and immediately turned to ash as they got too close. Ceria didn’t even bother to swear; she just pumped her arms and legs faster.

“[Frozen Wind] had no effect!”

She screamed at Pisces. He shouted back, face pale.

“I know! That thing’s way too powerful! We have to retreat!”

“There is no escape!”

Flames burst out of the ground in front of them. Pisces, Ceria, and Ksmvr skidded to a halt as the fire wall blocked off their exit. This was no ordinary [Fire Wall] spell either; the flames were not just red or orange, but white-hot like the construct, and the stone cracked and melted where the fire touched.

“Dead gods.”

They turned and saw the apparition of flames. It was walking towards them, slowly, nonchalantly, as if it had all the time in the world. Ceria grabbed Pisces’s arm.

“Do you have any spells you can use?”

“Me? You’re the ice specialist! You do something about it!”

Ceria gulped. The hallway was large enough to dodge the flaming being, but he was walking faster now. He was reaching out to them, and a sword of blue flames grew in his hands.

“Ksmvr, Pisces! Distract it!”

“Me?”

“Acknowledged.”

Pisces gaped at her. But Ceria was backing up. Ksmvr ran forwards and slashed at the monster—his sword melted before he got close and he stumbled away, keening in distress. Just the proximity to the fiery being had cracked his carapace with the heat.

“Pisces!”

He gulped but ran towards the fiery being. It swung the sword at him, but Pisces took a step and his form blurred. He dashed around the construct, nimbly avoiding it as it swung twice more.

[Flash Step]. It was one of Pisces’ old spells, and Ceria was relieved to see he hadn’t forgotten how to use it. Pisces danced back, keeping a very large distance away from the fiery being as he let it approach him. He dodged and wove back and forth with nimble steps, careful not to let it corner him in the corridor.

“A spell would greatly be appreciated, Springwalker!”

Ceria didn’t even bother to reply. She was focusing, trying to call upon all the mana she had left for an attack.

Her best spell was [Ice Spike], but if she concentrated, Ceria could fire one shot from all five fingers. She drew mana into her skeletal hand, calling on all her reserves.

The apparition lunged forwards, and Ceria heard Pisces scream. The fiery blade hadn’t touched him, but the creation had moved too close and Pisces had been burned by the heat emanating from the being. He leapt away with the [Flash Step] spell and then collapsed against a wall, moaning. Tendrils of smoke rose from his burnt side and hundreds of blisters appeared like magic on his arms and legs.

“You will be burnt.”

The construct walked forwards, blue eyes burning. Ceria shouted.

“Turn and face me, you damn Golem!”

It turned. There was no fear in the construct’s eyes as it saw Ceria approaching. It raised its sword and lowered itself to charge, but Ceria didn’t give it time to do so. She raised her hand and shouted.

“[Ice Spike]!”

Five wicked shards of ice, each as long as Ceria’s arm burst from her hand, shooting out like ballista bolts at the fiery apparition. The ice flew towards the flaming creature, struck his outer flames, and screamed as the ice evaporated into steam instantly. The fiery construct blinked once, his flames not even dampened by the spell.

“Oh Ancestors.”

Ceria backed away from him. The construct advanced, sword at its side. It had no fear of her, not even wariness.

“You will perish.”

“Not her. Turn and face me first!”

This shout came from the side. Ceria heard what almost sounded like a sigh coming from the fiery thing, and then it turned. Yvlon stood with her shield and sword in hand, facing the apparition fearlessly.

“Face me, thing. I will not run from you.”

Ceria’s heart leapt in her chest, but her mouth opened to shout a warning as she scrambled backwards, away from the fiery being.

“Don’t block its flames! It’ll burn through your armor!”

Yvlon heard the warning as the creation hurled white flames at her. She dropped her shield and rolled. The fire missed her, but from the way Yvlon cried out, Ceria knew she had to have felt the intense heat of the fire.

“There’s no way to block against it!”

“The door.”

Pisces moaned and Ceria saw that he and Ksmvr had pulled themselves into the small room. The construct froze, and then he seemed to grow larger, as if in rage.

“No one may enter the treasury.”

“Then come and stop us if you can!”

Pisces shouted, and the guardian obliged. He hurled more fire, but this time Ksmvr and Yvlon pulled the door up, the door that had proved unbreakable, and blocked the fire. The white flames dissipated as they struck the innocuous wood, and the guardian hissed.

It was distracted, and ignoring Ceria for the moment. But she was caught between a hot place and the wall of flames it had created. She glanced at them as she stared at the guardian. Nowhere to run. But she wasn’t about to abandon her friends.

Think. The construct had to be powered by something. No spell could ever power such a being for long, not without the mage supplying mana. Then where was its power source?

The thing she’d spotted in the chest. Ceria squinted as the construct advanced. Was it—yes there it was! She saw something glowing in the chest. Some sort of mana stone. But how could she strike it?

The construct hurled fire, but Yvlon ducked behind the wooden door she was using like a shield. She darted out, baiting the construct as it swung at her, but dove backwards again. She couldn’t get near enough to strike, not that her sword would have hurt the guardian, but she was occupying it as it advanced. In a few seconds though, they would be cornered.

If only they could bypass the flames—

“Use the door!”

Ceria screamed at the others. The guardian turned its head, but she pointed, heedless of the danger.

“There’s a gem in its chest! Use the door and smash it!”

“Got it!”

The three adventurers backed away from the construct, holding the door as a shield in front of them. It hesitated, aware of the power of the door to mitigate its flames.

“You will not stop—”

All three Horns of Hammerad shouted as they rushed towards the construct, pushing the door forwards like a huge shield. At the last moment, before they got too close and were burnt alive, they let go of the door. Ksmvr kicked it forwards, and the massive wooden section of wood fell slowly towards the flaming guardian.

The fiery being took one look at the falling door—

And dodged. He stepped swiftly to one side, avoiding it. Not swiftly enough; the door crushed his left side and the guardian howled in what sounded like true agony. But he was not dead. Ceria saw the gemstone in his chest, a pulsating emerald stone the size of her fist. But already the flames were swirling around it, growing, rebuilding his body.

“For Byres and honor!”

Yvlon shouted as she charged forwards. Ceria saw Ksmvr and Pisces trying to drag her back, but the armored woman ran at the fiery guardian. It raised its flaming sword, but she cut through it. Her own silvery sword was mere metal, but for a brief second before it evaporated, the metal was still strong. And it struck the gem at the construct’s source.

“Aaah!”

Ceria heard Yvlon’s scream first, right above the crack of the gem breaking.

She howled as her silver armor glowed red. The sword melted as it dropped from her hands and she stumbled away. Her silver armor was melting over her hands, making the young woman scream.

And the construct howled too. It reached for the gem, and then it faltered. The flames in its eyes went out. It tried to step towards Ceria, stumbled. Then it looked up at her and roared.

“If the secret of this place cannot be protected, then everything will be destroyed. And you will perish with it!”

It stood up, and stumbled back into the treasury room. Ceria shouted.

“No!”

But it was too late. The construct fell to the ground, and the white hot flames began to spread. It was engulfing the room! The flames were spreading, reaching outwards into the corridor. The guardian was trying to burn the treasure—and the Horns of Hammerad with it.

“Get away, everyone! We have to run!”

Pisces and Ksmvr ran away from the intense heat, shouting in pain. They grabbed Yvlon, who was still clawing at her smoking arms, and pulled her towards Ceria. She turned to run—

And saw the white-hot flames, still burning, a solid wall blocking their escape. The flames had diminished somewhat, but they were still so hot that Ceria knew touching them would sear her to the bone in seconds.

Pisces and Ksmvr stopped beside her, burnt and smoking. They stared in horror at the flames blocking the entrance, and then at the fire slowly engulfing the treasury room, making its way down the corridor towards them.

“What do we do, Captain? A spell?”

“One of the walls?”

“We can’t tunnel through that!”

“The trap below!”

Pisces shouted, and Ceria looked. Yes, there! The opening in the floor was still visible. She grabbed Yvlon’s legs—the woman couldn’t even move as she still screamed, and all three adventurers ran towards it.

Ceria nearly fell off the bone staircase, but Ksmvr caught her and they rushed down the stairs, already feeling the heat overhead. Ksmvr and Pisces laid Yvlon on the floor and she screamed again, trying to pull her melted armor off. But the metal had fused, and her arms were still smoking. Ceria caught her breath and reached for a potion, but Ksmvr was faster. He poured it over her arms and into her mouth while Pisces poured the last of their water over Yvlon’s arms. Steam rose and she stopped thrashing.

She was alive, for now. Ceria diverted her attention upwards. She could still sense the heat, and she knew the flames were spreading. And that fire—it was magical flames, of a Tier she’d never seen before. It would burn away everything upstairs. The treasure, the swords—everything.

“No, no, no! We were so close! It can’t end like this!”

Ceria shouted in despair, but she knew better than to go up. Ksmvr reached for her, but Ceria knocked his hand away. She hammered the ground as she screamed in desperation.

“It won’t end.”

Pisces’ voice made Ceria look up. The mage was standing, robes burnt, skin blistered, but determined. A fierce look was in his eyes and he raised both arms up, his voice growing deeper.

“Arise! Arise and heed my call! Go into the depths of flame and bring me a ransom of gold and magic! Go now, treasure seekers! Go, fallen comrades!”

The room trembled. Every bone in the room—from the staircases to the bones Pisces had left untouched, began to shift and come together. Skeletons rose up, and began running the instant they were formed, before they were even fully formed. Ceria stared as they dashed up the staircase of bone. Up.

She knew what they had to be doing. The skeletons dashed into the room and snatched up burning objects, heedless of the flames that cracked their very bones. Over half fell before they could return, their bones catching fire and literally disintegrating from the heat.

But some—yes, some made it out of the room, and what they took was scooped up by other bony hands, brought back. Burning skeletons fell down from above and Ceria and Ksmvr shielded their faces as burning bone fragments crashed to the ground around them. More skeletons ran up, and Pisces shouted, his hands pointed up as sweat poured from his brow. He gasped, pointing, as more skeletons emerged, even more burnt than before, falling into the pit.

And then the fire grew more intense, and not a single skeleton returned. Ceria saw the last burst into flames even as he climbed up into the tunnel above, and Pisces collapsed on the ground. Ceria rushed over to him and found the mage breathing hoarsely.

“The heat—”

It was growing hot. So hot. Ceria lay down on the cool stone and saw Ksmvr cradling Yvlon. Her arms—didn’t look right. Melted silver intertwined with flesh, and she was unconscious. Pisces lay on the ground next to the burnt bone. Slowly, Ceria looked around.

Scattered objects. Burnt things, barely recognizable. A cracked sword, blackened by soot. A buckler almost cut in half.

Worthless things. And no staff. Ceria despaired, and felt her eyes stinging. If she had water in her to cry, she might have. But then she saw a skeletal hand, holding something. Ceria crawled over to it, and saw a burnt tome.

A book. Its cover was gone, and half the pages. Ceria brushed aside white ash and saw a page and glowing symbols. She clutched it to her, holding it dearly as the heat grew even worse, and air became a luxury, then a memory.

Slowly, Ksmvr collapsed to the ground, still holding Yvlon. Pisces didn’t move, and the stairway of bone fell to the ground. Ceria didn’t even look up as something struck her back. She couldn’t. She just held the book and breathed in. Out. In. Out. In—

It was so hot.

3.08 H

She woke up quietly, without screaming. Ceria opened her eyes and sat up. She was in pain, but she didn’t cry out. She just took a deep, wavering breath in the silence of the pit and knew she was alive.

Her skin felt burnt. Not just burnt; damaged. The heat from above had cooked her like an egg. But she was still alive, so it was clear that the magical flames from above hadn’t managed to spread to below.

The half-Elf sighed, and felt something move on her chest. She looked down and saw the book. Part of it was white ash that fell away as she lifted it up. But the other half—

“Ah.”

It was magical. The page that lay exposed under the dust shone, the intricate, spider-web writing that made up the magical spells glowing like saffron under her gaze. Ceria breathed lightly and the ash fell away. She looked at the spell and felt the magic reach out to her, whispering. For a second Ceria just looked at the third of the spellbook and believed in magic, believed in legends and dreams and even heroes. Then she put the book down and looked for her friends.

“[Light].”

The shimmering azure orb cast into light the fragments of scorched bone, the black tar-like substance on the walls, and the armored young woman sitting cross-legged in the center of the destruction. Yvlon sat silently, head bowed, staring in quiet contemplation at her arms. Her golden hair shone slightly, but the reflection off the melted silver of her arms shone even brighter. It flowed, like an ocean of metal.

“Yvlon.”

The other woman didn’t look up as Ceria staggered over. She just lifted her arms—with effort.

“It’s fused to my skin, Ceria. I can feel it. I could take off the rest of my armor but this—this isn’t so easy to undo.”

She had indeed taken off the rest of her plate armor. It lay scattered around her, badly deformed, parts melted together such that Yvlon had had to take off the entire section at once. But the metal on her arms remained. Ceria caught her breath as she saw how badly the metal had melted. It was twisted, warped, and clung to Yvlon’s arms like—

“We can cut it off. Even if we have to heal some of it afterwards—”

“Some will come off. But the rest—it feels deep, Ceria.”

Yvlon shook her head. Her arms moved as she—slowly—flexed them. Ceria saw breaks along the elbows and wrist sections, enough for Yvlon to move her arms. But the metal was clearly anchored to Yvlon’s flesh.

“We’ll get it off. We just need to get back to the city.”

Yvlon nodded slowly. She smiled, only a trace of bitterness in her eyes.

“I always wondered how Dullahans lived. I guess I’ll learn a bit of what it’s like.”

“I—”

There was nothing to say. Ceria bent down and clasped Yvlon’s shoulder. After a moment, she felt a cold, hard hand grasp hers.

“You saved us all. You slew a being made of pure flame with a sword. You’d be a hero among adventurers just for that.”

“Father would be proud.”

The Human woman laughed. Ceria forced her lips to move, smiled. Then she looked around.

“Pisces and Ksmvr?”

“Over there. Pisces looks worst off—I’d have woken you, but I thought it was better if you rested.”

Ceria nodded and brushed at her sooty hair. She staggered a bit—she felt empty.

“How long was I out?”

“I was only up for the last twenty minutes. Before that? It must be hours, at least. I can’t sense any heat from above.”

“True.”

Ceria nodded, and then walked over to Pisces and Ksmvr. The two were lying not far from each other. And of the two, Pisces was clearly worse-off. The mage had vomit staining his lips and he had gotten some of it on himself. He was pale and shivering, and Ceria knew he had to be suffering. She pulled out a bottle from her belt. It was still intact. The thick glass had protected the mana potion.

Carefully, Ceria poured the maroon liquid over Pisces, ignoring his reactions. It didn’t matter too much if he drank it; right now his body was a void of mana, and he would absorb it from the concentrated liquid to recover.

Sure enough, Pisces sat up, gasping. The noise woke up Ksmvr as well. The two sat up; Ksmvr dribbled a bit of green from his mouth, but wiped it away. Ceria wasn’t sure if that was blood or something worse. No one was in good shape at the moment.

“Pisces, are you okay?”

“I—”

The mage’s face was pale. He dry-heaved a bit, and then wiped at his mouth. He regarded the stains on his robe and shuddered before looking up at Ceria.

“Mana potion?”

She nodded. Ksmvr staggered upright and saluted Ceria weakly.

“Captain.”

“Take it easy, Ksmvr.”

“I will do so. Is comrade Pisces alright?”

“I think so, but he was insane. You know that, right, Pisces? You reanimated what, over thirty skeletons in a ten minute period? You’re lucky you didn’t start bleeding in the brain or damage yourself worse.”

“I am a better [Necromancer] than I am a [Mage] by far.”

That was all Pisces said, which meant he pretty much agreed with Ceria’s statement. He looked around the pit full of bone fragments and closed his eyes.

“…Did we manage to save anything?”

“I found part of a spell book. Besides that, I don’t know. Yvlon’s not in a good way.”

The other two adventurers followed Ceria over to Yvlon. She looked up and nodded at them. Pisces stared at her arms openly, while Ksmvr looked at them and around the room.

“What should we do now, Captain Ceria? Should we begin collecting valuable items? I still have the pack you gave me.”

“I—”

Ceria just shook her head. She could barely stand, and she saw Pisces was swaying on his feet.

“Ten minutes. Let’s just…”

She sat down wearily, and then had to lie down. Pisces collapsed back onto the ground; Ksmvr stayed on his feet and began to wander the pit, picking up burnt objects. Yvlon went back to staring at her arms.

It took a while for Ceria to feel strong enough to get back up. When she did, she just felt like lying down again. But they had to move.

“Okay. Pisces, you’re our only ticket out of this pit. Can you make another staircase?”

The [Mage] looked up tiredly at the small gap high overhead.

“I can try.”

It was a mark of his exhaustion that he didn’t brag, and Ceria knew it. She helped him up.

“Do it slowly. Piece by piece. You don’t have to complete it in one go.”

He nodded. Ceria turned to Ksmvr.

“While Pisces is working, let’s get some of the stuff that fell into the pit gathered up. Most of it looks burned, but they’re all highly magical artifacts. Put anything you can find over here, okay Ksmvr?”

The Antinium had already accumulated a few burnt objects. He gently edged them closer to Yvlon, but the other woman was standing up. She moved her arms stiffly, and then nodded.

“I’ll help too.”

“You don’t have to, Yvlon—”

“I can do it. I need to move.”

She began moving around the edge of the pit. Ceria hesitated, and then got to work as well. The first thing she did was pick up the spellbook. The magic words glimmered as she put the book in her pack. Then she began hunting for anything that had survived the flames.

“Burnt sword here. Looks cracked. But it’s still magical; I can feel it.”

“Are such objects repairable, Captain?”

“I have no idea. And I don’t even know what these things do, so handle them carefully, alright?”

“I will do so.”

Ceria placed the sword on the ground next to a pack. She stared at it blankly until she remembered it was the adventurer’s pack she’d found. What could be inside there?

Whatever it was, it would have to wait until later. Some adventurers trapped their belongings in case they were stolen, and Ceria wanted to risk nothing. She looked at Pisces, and saw he was beginning to build the bridge out of the burnt bones again.

This time, the construction process was painfully slow. Ceria could see Pisces grimacing as bones slowly flew into the air. He could only manage about eight at a time. But he was getting the job done, and he looked determined not to quit.

It was a different side of him than Ceria had seen, and once again it reminded her of the past. She paused as she sorted through a few bones next to Pisces.

“That was some final guardian, wasn’t it?”

Pisces nodded, not taking his eyes off his work.

“It was a formidable enemy. I regret that neither you nor I had the forethought to check for traps at the last moment.”

She nodded, biting her lip.

“Although if the mage was any good, he would have set the summoning spell to activate if we checked the magic, just like the door.”

“True.”

Silence. Ceria tossed a long bone up and watched it float upwards.

“Did it remind you of anything? The fire construct, I mean.”

“Are you referring to the Golems of Wistram? That is a natural comparison, but unfair. This…creature was clearly meant to be summoned for short periods rather than act as a permanent servant. True, it was far less intelligent than Cognita. It was simply a guardian, meant to kill.”

“It was good enough at that. I just wonder…how’d it catch you? You’re better than that, or you should be.”

The young man stopped in his work. He lowered his hands and stared at Ceria. His eyes were cold.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Exactly what I said. Don’t get offended, Pisces.”

“I find that a difficult proposition given your last statement.”

“I’m just remembering how you used to be. And if you’ll remember, you were better than this, once.”

“I’m sure I have no recollection of such martial prowess.”

“Don’t be a prat. I’m not trying to—”

Ceria broke off. She turned her head.

“Ah, Ksmvr? Do you need something?”

The Antinium nodded. He was standing a few feet away from the two adventurers, making no effort to conceal his eavesdropping. He stared fixedly at Ceria and Pisces.

“I would like to stay and observe the act of chastisement so I may learn to do it myself in a command situation.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a—”

“No, no. Let the Antinium stay.”

Pisces folded his arms, looking angry. He snapped at Ceria.

“By all means, Springwalker. Say your piece.”

She took a breath. This wasn’t the time for it. But she couldn’t stop now. Calmly, she spoke, looking Pisces in the eye.

“In the battle against that fire thing, I saw you using [Flash Step], but you got caught, Pisces. When we were students together you could have danced around that construct for days without letting it get near you.”

“And?”

Ceria spread her hands.

“And that’s all. I’m just making an observation.”

“I see.”

“Don’t get offended. I’m not lecturing you, or complaining. Your quick thinking saved us, and you more than pulled your weight. We would have been dead without your help, and without your skeletons we wouldn’t have even found the tunnel. I’m just worried about what you’ve lost.”

The [Mage] considered this. He lost some of the hostility in his stance and uncrossed his arms.

“I see. Well, I am relieved to know you hold some part of me in high esteem. But I’m afraid I have no answer for you. I have simply…lost my touch as it were.”

“That’s all?”

“What do you want me to say, Springwalker? I have grown lax, it’s true. I don’t exactly duel other mages in the corridors anymore, and have little need for fencing.”

“Maybe not as a [Necromancer]. But Pisces the adventurer would be even more of an asset if he had his old skills back. I’m not saying you have to—I’m just saying that I admired that part of you.”

“I see.”

Ceria and Pisces stared at each other for a bit longer. Ksmvr stared at both of them, looking disappointed.

“Will there be no exchange of blows? No physical confrontation?”

“No.”

“I do not believe that will be necessary.”

“I see. Well then, I shall go back to work.”

After a few seconds, so did Ceria and Pisces. And after a few more minutes, they had a small pile of what might be called loot by an optimist, and a stairway made of bones.

This one was thinner, Ceria noticed as she gazed upwards. It was no less sturdy, but Pisces had clearly taxed himself creating it. The mage sat on the ground next to Yvlon as the two rested for a moment. They were exhausted. So were Ceria and Ksmvr, but they were in far better shape by comparison.

“We’ll go up, Ksmvr and I. I think the fire thing’s dead—if it’s not we’ll come running down. But we’ll haul up all this…stuff. You two just rest.”

They nodded, and Ceria seized the sword, her pack, and Pisces’ pack before climbing the stairs. Her legs felt wobbly, but she was determined not to slip or fall.

At last, Ceria reached the top. She pulled herself up  over the ledge of burnt and melted stone, relieved it was no longer hot to the touch. She stood up and looked around.

“Oh…”

Everything was black and melted. The walls, the ceiling—everything had warped, and the white-hot flames had left sooty reminders where it had burned. It almost felt like Ceria was still back in the pit.

But then she looked in the treasure room, what had been the treasure room, and felt her heart break. It was completely ruined. There was nothing left of the vision she had seen first entering. Nothing at all.

The bookshelf had been turned to ash. The weapons had melted, at least, that was what Ceria could guess. The entire room was almost one solid color, that of charcoal black. Of a certainty, there were no magical weapons left, no books full of spells. Where the gold had been there was only a misshapen dark mass, and there was no staff.

It had been burnt away. Ceria felt her eyes sting as she gazed at the place where it had been, but she couldn’t even find the emotion to weep right now. She had wounded friends down below—there was no time for self-recriminations.

“Even so. What a waste.”

Ceria stared at the pile of burnt wood that had been the desk. Ksmvr walked into the room and poked around the destroyed bits. He paused as he kicked at a sooty mass and looked at Ceria.

“There is gold underneath the ash, Captain Ceria.”

“Gold?”

“And gemstones. They hav melted into the gold.”

Ksmvr pointed as Ceria practically dashed over. She saw a huge, melted mass of what first appeared to be scorched rock. But underneath the layer of blackness was a familiar dull gleam.

“Dead gods. It is gold!”

The treasure she had seen in the back of the room had been consumed by the fire as well. But unlike the other materials in the room, gold was still gold no matter what shape it took. Ceria tried to prize the gold free, and found that it had become one solid mass that had stuck to the floor.

“We’ll have to dig it up. But this—”

“I assume this is a good thing.”

“Very good.”

Ceria’s heart beat faster. The gold coins she and the others had so carefully used to buy their supplies—how many coins would this lump of fused metal make? She couldn’t imagine, especially because she knew the gold coins traded across the world weren’t pure gold. This probably was.

“Let’s get Pisces and Yvlon. They have to see this.”

As they went to leave the room, Ceria found something else as her foot landed in a pile of ash. She saw a flash of brown and snatched up a small bag, drawstrings tightly fastened. Ksmvr peered at it as Ceria lifted it up.

“What the…?”

“It is a bag, Captain.”

Ceria eyed Ksmvr. He ducked his head and shut up. She stared at the small satchel and remembered it, vaguely. It had been on the desk next to the staff…

“It’s not even burnt.”

“It is clearly magical. Should we open it and see what it contains?”

It had to be a bag of holding. It probably held…Ceria’s mind spun at the implications. But her internal warning bells all went off at the thought of opening it.

“No. It might be trapped. We’ll take it with us, but no one opens it or even drops it, okay?”

“I understand. Let us find the others and convey this good news.”

“Sure.”

Ksmvr and Ceria made three trips up and down the ivory staircase, twice to haul up the burnt remains of the treasure, and then to help Yvlon and Pisces make their way up. And after the two had gotten over their initial dismay and relief at the treasure obtained, they made a proper survey of what they’d found.

“This sword is clearly magical. I wouldn’t risk using it in combat, but perhaps it could be repaired?”

Pisces murmured to the others as he lifted up the broken sword. The pommel had cracked while the actual blade looked only scorched, but that could well have been part of the spell matrices, and no one dared to separate it.

“A cracked shield. Not good. Can we still use it?”

Yvlon showed the buckler to Ceria. She nodded as she stared at the small bag and the adventurers’ pack, the only two wholly unburned objects.

“It’s magical too. We have to try.”

“We have quite a bit of gold as well.”

Ksmvr had helped lever up the metal and gems and then saw the pieces into manageable chunks. Now he was attempting to cram as many pieces as possible into their packs. Ceria eyed one bulging rucksack. She doubted she could carry the extremely dense gold, tired as she was. Yvlon and Pisces?

It was a hard thing to say out loud, but in one respect, their adventure wasn’t over yet. Ceria didn’t beat about the bush as Ksmvr awkwardly tied the weapons—sword, buckler, dagger, and another sword, of which only the blade remained—into a bundle to be carried.

“We’ve got to get back to a city, everyone. I know we’re tired, but we’ve got practically no rations and we’re sitting ducks out here. Yvlon’s injured and her armor’s gone—”

“As is my sword.”

“—Pisces is out of mana, I’m nearly tapped, and Ksmvr is going to have to carry most of the treasure.”

Ksmvr looked up.

“I am? Hm.”

“I hate to say it, but you’re the strongest of us and no one else can bear the load. Do you think you can handle it?”

She didn’t want to suggest burying the treasure. It was a risky move if people got wind of their haul and decided to backtrack to find anything they’d left behind. But Ceria didn’t want to overburden the Antinium either. To her surprise, Ksmvr shook his head.

“It is no problem. I can drag all that we have collected if need be. I would have simply organized the distribution of weight differently if I had known I was going to be the sole carrier.”

“Oh.”

Pisces, still looking quite gray and weary, sat up slowly, groaning with what seemed to be genuine distress for once.

“I can summon—one or two undead aides. They can help lift—”

“No.”

Yvlon interrupted Pisces. She shook her head and lifted one of the packs, stumbling slightly at the weight.

“No undead. We can carry it ourselves.”

She looked at Ceria, and the half-Elf nodded.

“You heard her. We’ll get back ourselves.”

“Where to? We’re far from all the cities.”

“But we’re nearest to…ah, Remendia I think. Once we hit the main road we can catch a ride.”

“If we don’t hit bandits.”

“Dead gods. Don’t speak like that, Pisces. Let’s just get—”

Yvlon took a few steps and stumbled. Instantly, Ksmvr and Ceria grabbed her shoulder before she could fall. The taller woman smiled gratefully at them. Pisces heaved himself up with a groan and picked up the smallest pack.

“If we must persist, let us do so with dignity. Onwards, then.”

He lurched forwards, ignoring the look the other three gave him. But he was right, and soon enough Ceria and Yvlon and Ksmvr were stumbling up, out of the tunnels, out of Albez. They had seen the dungeon and retrieved the treasure.

But none of them were smiling.

—-

“Cold.”

Ceria gritted her teeth as she walked through the snow. Pisces sneezed; Yvlon made a face.

“How’re your arms, Yvlon?”

“Just the same as when you last asked, Ceria.”

“Sorry.”

“No—I apologize.”

“Got another spell in you, Springwalker?”

Pisces chattered as he stumbled forwards in the freezing drifts. Ceria grimaced, but made a flame in her palm, feeding it as much mana as possible. Yvlon and Pisces crowded around, warming their hands.

Somehow, after all their battles in the dungeon under Albez, the Horns of Hammerad had forgotten that it was, in fact, the middle of winter above. It had been a nasty surprise to all of them to emerge into a light snow shower, but at least it hadn’t been a blizzard.

Pisces sighed as his hands grew warmer, and Yvlon grunted. She was trying to warm the metal stuck to her arms, and Ceria knew she had to be coldest since the metal lost its warmth faster than bare skin.

“Sure we’re going the right way?”

“I think so. The mountains are that way—we’ve got to be close. Maybe it’s over that incline over there?”

“Damn snow makes everything invisible. I can’t even see the forests—just white.”

Yvlon grumbled, swearing out loud for one of the first times in Ceria’s hearing. Pisces grunted. He glanced over his shoulder and called out.

“Ksmvr! Are you okay?”

“I am…well…thank you…Comrade Pisces.”

The puffing, slightly out-of-breath reply was at odds with the way Ksmvr diligently kept his steady, unfaltering pace. He slowly trudged forwards, dragging the bulk of their goods along the ground. The one good thing the weather had given the Horns of Hammerad was that they’d been able to make a makeshift sled for Ksmvr to drag along.

“You sure you don’t need help?”

Ceria and Yvlon eyed the Antinium with some concern. He shook his head, although his voice was no less strained.

“I am…designed for heavy labor. I will not…let the team down.”

“You won’t. Just let us know, okay?”

“Affirmative.”

Ksmvr walked past the others, gaining a few feet before they stopped huddling around the fire and kept walking. He didn’t stop. He was like a machine, like any other member of his kind, Ceria supposed. But it was different with Ksmvr. He was working for the sake of his team, not the other Antinium. Somehow, that made him feel that much more valuable to the others.

“Let’s keep moving.”

Ceria let the flame fade from her hands and Pisces and Yvlon dropped their arms with a sigh. All three staggered slightly before the momentum kept them going. Ahead, Ksmvr slipped on a patch of snow but regained his footing and took another step forwards.

They were all reaching the end of their physical endurance. Ceria had already passed around the hard biscuit and dried meat in their packs—the only rations they had left—and now the only thing keeping the adventurers going was the thought of food and rest.

No one was smiling. No one really talked, except for Ceria, and only then to make sure no one else was freezing. The Horns of Hammerad moved in…if not depression, something reminiscent of it.

Yes, they had found treasure in Albez, among the ruins. Yes, they had gone through traps and against all odds survived. But what had they for their trouble?

One burned spellbook, some damaged magical artifacts practically leaking magic, a backpack full of dead adventurer’s gear, and a small bag that was almost definitely trapped with magic way above their ability to dispel. Oh, and nearly eighty pounds of gold and fused gemstones.

It was a win, and it would have been cause for celebration for over a week in the old Horns of Hammerad. But in Ceria’s weary mind, there was more than a bit of regret and failure she couldn’t shake.

She remembered the glimmering staff and the personal arms and equipment of a powerful mage of the past, one capable of creating magical traps and a summoned construct that could last for hundreds or thousands of years.

“But we’re alive.”

“What was that, Ceria?”

“Nothing.”

They weren’t a proper Silver-rank team, not yet. Individually they were all better than average, but together they still had their differences. But they’d come through their first adventure, their first dungeon alive and in once piece.

That had to count for something. It did count.

“There’s the city.”

Pisces called out as he crested the incline. Ceria raised her head and smiled in relief.

“Remendia?”

Yvlon peered at the city and shook her head.

“Nope. Too small. We must be at Ocre.”

“Close enough. It’s got walls and a gate. That’s all I want.”

“Okay, let’s get in there.”

“Should we plan out where we go once we get in the city? In case we get separated?”

Confused, Ceria looked at Yvlon.

“What? Why?”

The woman gave Ceria a weary grin.

“We’re entering  the city with a fortune in gold and treasure, Ceria. If we don’t get this stuff under guard quick, it’ll be gone before we get to the market.”

Ceria muttered a half-Elven curse word involving flowers.

“I forgot that. You’re right. Ksmvr, Pisces, we’ve got to get the treasure to the Adventurer’s Guild the instant we get through the gates.”

“Will it be safe there?”

“Should be. And if it’s not, the Adventurer’s Guild has to compensate us. Just don’t stop, don’t drop the bags—Ksmvr, spread it out so we can all carry it—and don’t promise anyone anything, okay?”

Pisces nodded as Ksmvr began dividing the treasure. He grunted as he lifted his pack, but there was a smile on his face. The Antinium nodded.

“Got it.”

“We will heed your instructions.”

“Okay.”

Ceria took a breath. She didn’t know what to say. Here they were, at the end of their quest and—well, what should she tell them? She was their Captain, even if they’d elected her in a second. But hadn’t it been that way with Calruz? He’d always made his team feel like they were a success, even after the hardest of missions. What had he said?

She couldn’t remember the words, but Ceria remembered the feeling. She called on that now, and looked the other Horns of Hammerad in the eye.

“Heads held high, everyone. It’s been a long journey, but we did it. We found treasure in Albez—probably the biggest haul in over a decade! If that’s not worth a bit of pride, I don’t know what is.”

She saw three pairs of eyes on her, and three people smiled. One, a young woman, grinned and grimaced in pain, but her eyes were steady. The young man with haunted eyes and an expression more used to sneering than honest emotion gave her a true smile now that reminded her of the past. And the Antinium opened his mandibles, his face foreign and to some, a face of nightmares. But he was smiling too.

Ceria pointed towards the walls of the city. The guards at the wall hadn’t spotted them yet; there was a bit of foot traffic navigating the frozen road into the city, but she was sure they would stand out the moment they got close. Gold had its own glitter.

“It’s going to be Humans crawling all over us when we get in, so let’s stick together. If you get lost, shout and we’ll be along. Don’t drop anything and remember, we’re adventurers. We stick together.”

She led them down the hill, towards the gates. Her legs were exhausted, but Ceria put more energy into them. They were here, safe! She smiled up at the guards on the walls, never happier to see a Human in her life. She heard a shout as they spotted the armed warriors approaching—not too warily—adventurers were a common sight. She raised a hand to wave up at them, waiting for them to notice the gold—

“Antinium at the gates! We’re under attack!”

“What?”

Ceria heard the panicked shout and with a shock, realized the guards were raising their bows and calling the alarm. She shouted desperately and waved at them—it was just Ksmvr! How could they not tell he was alone and with them? But then she saw the arrows at the strings and screamed.

“Ksmvr! Watch out!”

The Antinium had been waving up at the wall, copying Ceria. As soon as he saw the bows he dropped his pack and tried to take cover in the snow. He dove out of the way as a rain of arrows thudded into the ground next to him. The Antinium stood back up and staggered as an arrow sprouted from his right shoulder.

“Stop! Stop, damn you!”

Ceria shouted up at the wall, but no one was listening. The [Guardsmen] were preparing another volley. She saw someone run past her and then saw Yvlon. The woman threw herself in front of Ksmvr, holding the remnant of her plate armor and her pack filled with the gold. She crouched in front of the Antinium as arrows rained down on them again. Her protection wasn’t perfect, but the hail of arrows mostly bounced off her pack and armor. Ksmvr hissed as an arrow struck his leg and another glanced off his lower back, but he didn’t move.

“Cease fire!”

This time Pisces took up the call. He raised his voice and then Ceria remembered she had magic. She touched her throat and then bellowed.

“Stop shooting you damn Humans! We’re adventurers!”

Her voice bounced off the walls and she heard confused shouting. The Humans lowered their bows for a second, and then someone who looked like an officer was running, pointing at them. Ceria and Pisces ran over to Yvlon, watching the [Guardsmen] warily. No more arrows flew down from the walls, and after a second, Ceria saw people rushing down the battlements.

Yvlon crouched beside Ksmvr, still shielding him. The Antinium was trying to get up and she was holding him down.

“Don’t move. They might loose another volley. Ksmvr, are you okay?”

“I am fine. Captain, permission to return fire?”

“Do you have a bow?”

“…Permission to throw things?”

“No. Just hold on.”

Ceria watched as the people on the wall shouted. Then, one of them stood up and raised a flag. It was white. Pisces snorted at it.

“Is that supposed to mean they surrender? Or that they’re not going to try and kill us?”

“Either one works for me. Oh look, now they’ve noticed the gold. They’re sending a delegation.”

Yvlon just sighed. She helped Ksmvr up. The Antinium grunted as he snapped the shaft of the arrow in his leg. The one in his shoulder he left alone as he hefted his pack.

“Adventurers! The [Guardsmen] are standing down! The gates are open!”

Someone was shouting from the walls. Ceria looked up and growled.

“That’s all they can say?”

She raised her skeletal hand and gave the [Guardsmen] on the wall an unmistakable gesture. Then she looked around. Pisces was giving the people clustered at the gates an evil eye. Yvlon was helping Ksmvr walk forwards, and the Antinium was dragging his pack. Everyone had the same grim expression on their face. She nodded.

“New plan. We go in and if anyone gets in our way, you have my full permission to hit them. Stick together, and until we get to the Adventurer’s Guild and log our claim, no one slows us down.”

There was indeed a group of anxious-looking people forming at the gates. Ceria scowled. Pisces rubbed at his face and spoke to no one in particular.

“I really hate this continent.”

“Humans.”

“I would like to not have this arrow in my leg.”

“Adventurer’s Guild and bed. And I will kick anyone who gets in our way.”

For once it looked like they all had something they could agree on.

—-

What happened when adventurers came back from a dungeon? For all that the stories of adventurers returning with fame and fortune were told to every child, it was rare enough that no one had any structure to what came next.

But there was a certain rhythm to things. Assuming the adventurers were not being pursued by monsters or grievously injured—and assuming they came back successfully bearing treasure, not laden down with failure and regret—there was inevitably a lot of fuss.

It began at the walls. The [Guardsmen] on duty would always be the first to notice adventurers coming in, and there was a certain walk the triumphant had. Not to mention the glitter of gold. They would be the first to shout the news, and then it was just a matter of who was standing closest to the gates.

Everyone loved treasure. True, Drakes and Humans were known to love it most of all, but there wasn’t an adult or child who wouldn’t drop whatever they were doing and rush to see what wonders had been unearthed by the brave souls who had found some ancient tomb or lair.

Next would come the procession, as the adventurers made their way through a crowd only too willing to take their burdens off their shoulders—and run away with it. Depending on the efficiency of the local City Watch, the streets would be kept clear for the adventurers to make their way to their Guild. In the worst case scenario, the party of weary warriors would have to fight their way through a mob, fending off [Pickpockets] and even attacks with blade and spell.

And then would come the moment they arrived at their Guild, where the doors would be thrown open and the treasure displayed and sorted, and the adventurers would be able to rest, knowing their hard-won earnings were safely stored away and guarded by spell and lock. They would then either drink until they were unconscious, eat half a roasted pig, do both, or simply fall asleep there and then.

That was the way an adventurers’ return went. Events almost always transpired according to this formula, mainly because there was only a finite number of ways people bearing treasure and wealth beyond imagining were greeted. Shooting arrows at them was a first, and so the Horns of Hammerad entered the city in a rather different way than the standard.

“Move it!”

Ceria fired an [Ice Spike] spell over the heads of the first fawning delegation that came to greet them. The people screamed and ducked, which made progressing far easier. She and the other Horns of Hammerad marched through the streets, ignoring the voices that pressed around them.

“Honored adventurers, please excuse—”

“Is that an Antinium? Are they attacking?”

“You’re injured! Let us help—”

There were all too many hands reaching for the gold poking out of the bags the adventurers carried. Pisces snarled as a boy reached out for his pack.

“Touch my bag child, and I will reanimate your corpse just so I can beat it to death again.”

The boy fled, but there were many more to take his place. Yvlon shouldered people aside, face set.

“Make way! We’ve got wounded! Where’s the Adventurer’s Guild?”

Fortunately it wasn’t too far down the street. Ceria ignored the crowds and the questions. She threw fire on the ground and people scattered—Pisces blew cold air at people, making them retreat. Ksmvr had his own bubble of space.

“If anyone touches me, I will be forced to defend myself with non-lethal but exceptionally painful force.”

No one went near him, and through shouting, pushing, and mainly the last dregs of their strength, the Horns of Hammerad burst through the doors of the Adventurer’s Guild. Men and women in armor, mages sitting at tables, a [Rogue] dicing with an [Archer], even an armored Minotaur all stopped and stared at the crowd. And then at the Horns of Hammerad.

Ceria lifted her pack, hearing the fabric ripping and praying it wouldn’t give out at this last moment. She staggered towards the desk, and looked into the eyes of a startled male [Receptionist]. He gaped down at her, and at her three companions, all holding gold, magical swords—

“Hey.”

The half-Elf croaked the words out loud and then realized there was silence. Suddenly, the shouting had gone still, and she realized that everyone was looking at her. She looked up, and saw the man staring at her, transfixed. What? Was there something on her face?

Was it her burnt hair, her travel-stained garments? The fortune in gold in her pack, the way Yvlon’s armor had melted onto her arms? Ksmvr, the arrows sticking out from his body? Pisces, covered in grime and dust but with magic glimmering at his fingertips? Or was it her, Ceria, a half-Elf with one skeletal hand who looked like she’d dug herself out of the ground?

“—I want…”

Ceria croaked the words in the silence. The [Receptionist], the adventurers—the people crowding around the doorway—everyone’s eyes were on her. She took a breath, coughed.

“—I want a full receipt for everything we drop off. And then I want a bed in an inn, but before that my companion needs your best [Healer] and potions, immediately.”

The man just stared at her. His lip was trembling, Ceria noticed. Was he that afraid? That stunned? What should she say? But then she felt people stepping up next to her, three of them. Pisces glared at the man at the desk.

“And we want food.”

Yvlon nodded, exhausted.

“And a bed. Did you mention that, Ceria?”

Pisces pulled at his robes, vomit-stained, bloody, burnt.

“And I would like a change of clothes. A new robe.”

Ksmvr raised a hand and pointed with another hand to his shoulder.

“I would like someone to pull the arrow out of my side.”

The spell broke. The man quavered, stepped back, and stared at Ceria.

“C-certainly. We can do all that. But ah, who are you? An adventuring team no doubt?”

“Who are we?”

Ceria stared at him blankly, but then realized she hadn’t introduced herself. It was customary for any new team to do so immediately, but she’d been so used to Selys knowing them on sight she hadn’t bothered. She gestured at her teammates and herself.

“We’re the Horns of Hammerad.”

“What? I thought they—you were dead.”

The half-Elf gave the man at the desk a wide, manic grin. She laughed, coughed, and spoke softly in the silence.

“We’re not dead yet.”

—-

What happens when the adventurers return with treasure? The real question is: how does the Adventurer’s Guild handle it? For the [Receptionists] and other staff employed at the Guilds, the moment when the weary [Warrior] walks in with a [King]’s ransom in jewels is the hardest. Things have to be immediately counted, a receipt has to be drawn up and approved by mage, guards have to be posted to prevent those with sticky fingers from walking off with everything—

Generally, [Rogues], [Thieves], and people with such classes are banned from the Guild for a good period of time. But the most important thing, every experienced desk-warrior will agree, is tending to the adventurers. In their post-battle state, they are often grumpy, irritated, and as of such, tending to their needs is the highest priority.

The [Receptionists] and other staff at the Adventurer’s Guild in Ocre might not have been high-level, but they knew that when exhausted, irritated adventurers came in with more gold than they could carry, the correct response was always ‘yes’.

In fact, the word yes should be accompanied by more honeyed phrases if possible, such as: On credit? Why certainly. We’ll have the best inn reserved, and porters are on the way. In fact, let me just open our emergency stash of potions right now…

That was how Ceria, Pisces, Yvlon, and Ksmvr found themselves in the best inn in the city in short order, clutching magically-signed receipts for their goods while Silver-rank adventurers were hired to guard the treasure now sitting in the Guild vaults. All four were swaying, but their wounds had been healed with the best potions, they’d been given a full meal which none of them had finished from sheer exhaustion, and Yvlon had already been booked to see the best [Healer] in the city, along with a [Blacksmith].

But for now they were too exhausted to do anything but sleep. Which they did. And when they woke up and found an [Innkeeper] beaming and ready to serve them anything they wanted—including insects and spiders for Ksmvr, if the good Antinium was so inclined—they found a bit of life had come back into their world.

“Do we need to get back to the Guild right away?”

Pisces twisted in the elegant seat he was sitting in. The private room of The Nobleman’s Disgrace was sumptuously adorned, and the meal in front of them had no less sumpt. Ceria pushed back her meal of steak—a real steak, cooked and seasoned despite the winter—patting her belly.

“I don’t think we do. It’s probably good to, I guess.”

“You’re sure those [Receptionists] aren’t leaving with our treasure as we speak? What’s to stop them?”

“The fact that every [Assassin] in the continent would be hired if they did. Relax, Pisces. The Adventurer’s Guild has a solemn contract with us adventurers. If we couldn’t trust them with what we find, we wouldn’t have anything to do with them.”

Yvlon laughed softly as she tore into soft bread seasoned with garlic. Her motions were stiff, but she had reassured the others that she had felt no pain in the morning, and she had several healing potions on her in the meanwhile.

“We should probably go soon though, because the prices for guarding what we earned won’t be low.”

“True.”

Ceria made a face. She eyed the third of a steak and wondered if she could eat it. She thought about puking up what she’d eaten and pushed it over to Pisces with a sigh. He began chomping down her food. He eyed the two experienced adventurers warily.

“What kind of prices are we talking about?”

“Oh, hiring guards, identifying magical items—I’m not sure if the Guild does that, but they’ll definitely overcharge us for the potions they gave us. We’re oozing gold, and they’ll try to squeeze us for everything they can.”

“All the more reason to leave right away. We should sell what we can and get the artifacts identified by a reputable mage. Unless there is a procedure we must go through?”

He looked at Yvlon and Ceria expectantly. Ksmvr, engrossed in eating the bread dough which he had explicitly requested from the [Chef], looked up. Ceria exchanged a glance with Yvlon and hesitated.

What did they do? She thought about it, and then felt something peculiar in her stomach. It felt…light. What would they have done, if she’d been here with Calruz and Gerial, celebrating after getting the treasure out of Liscor? They’d never…discussed it, but here they were, stuck.

“I don’t know.”

Ceria’s lips twitched a bit. She smiled.

“What?”

Pisces and Ksmvr looked at Ceria oddly. She smiled a bit wider, as a fuzzy sensation began to float upwards in her chest.

“I don’t know. I’ve never found a magical artifact this powerful before. I’ve never—Yvlon, have you ever come out of a dungeon with this kind of loot?”

The other woman paused, and then adopted the same smile.

“Never. I’d never considered it. We’re walking blind, aren’t we? I’ve never seen a group come in with as much gold as we have—or with as many magical artifacts!”

“And they’re broken! Just imagine—we’ll have to identify them, and then see if there’s an [Enchanter] strong enough to fix them! Could anyone even do that in this day and age?”

Ceria laughed, almost incredulously. Pisces and Ksmvr looked surprised, but then they found the same emotion in their chests. The mage began to grin, and so did the Antinium, in his own way.

“Those merchants out there—they’re going to try and rob us blind!”

“They are!”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if every [Footpad] and [Thug] in the city’s memorized our faces. And the [Shopkeepers]—dead gods, we’ll be lucky if we can buy a loaf of bread for a gold coin!”

Ksmvr nodded his head as the others laughed and smiled wider.

“I find the prospect of being shortchanged quite pleasant.”

The others looked at each other, laughing, and then falling into a smiling silence.

“We did it.”

“We did, didn’t we?”

“We succeeded despite all the odds. We found treasure—in ruined Albez, no less!”

“We accomplished our task with zero casualties.”

Ceria looked around the table, at the three smiling faces. She couldn’t keep hers off her face. She felt a twinge in her heart, but the smile never faded. She said the words softly, disbelievingly.

“We really did it.”

—-

The Horns of Hammerad left the inn around midday, politely fending off the [Innkeeper] as he tried to entice them with more food, and the luxuries of his inn. They never noticed the young boy who sped out the back door the instant they were done eating, and so after they left the inn ten minutes later, they were unprepared for what came next.

Ceria put her hand on the doorknob and opened it. She walked outside, blinking at the sunlight, and was then overwhelmed by sound and motion and movement. She heard screaming, wild, frenzied, and tensed.

But it was no group of thugs that came to attack her, no mob. Ceria blinked and gaped as her eyes adjusted and she saw people, standing outside the inn and shouting and waving at her and the other Horns of Hammerad as they left their inn.

A wall of Humanity, stomping and clapping and cheering at the top of their lungs lined both sides of the street. People hung out of windows in buildings, shouting down at the Horns of Hammerad. Still more were standing on ledges or even on the rooftops, just to see.

They waved flags, threw colored flour—flowers being out of season—and waved desperately to attract the attention of the adventurers. People of the [Musician] class were playing their instruments loudly, and as the Horns of Hammerad exited the inn and stared, someone began hitting a drum and trumpets began to sound.

Ksmvr stared around wildly, confused and unsure of what to do. Yvlon was just gaping, and Pisces and Ceria were dumbstruck. The half-Elf could barely process what was occurring before her eyes. This looked like a celebration. For her? For them?

Everyone was staring at her. The sun was out, and it was like a sea of faces was opened up, every eye looking at her, every face in a smile or shouting at her. It was overwhelming, even terrifying—

And to Ceria, it was a complete and utter surprise. She couldn’t even believe it was for her. But she took a step forwards on the cobbled street and the people went wild. They were cheering, yes, shouting—not just her name, but the name of her party!

“Horns! The Horns of Hammerad!”

“Hammerad!”

“Hammerbad!”

She’d been an adventurers for years, but Ceria had never had anyone cheer for her. Oh, a village had turned out now and then once they’d taken care of a monster threat, and maybe they’d have a round of drinks bought for them, but the old Horns of Hammerad had never warranted even a parade. And this?

Ceria lifted her hand hesitantly, and the wave of noise it provoked nearly blew her away. People were cheering and waving handkerchiefs, pointing and smiling—

At her?

She still couldn’t believe it. But part of Ceria, once she had overcome the shock, part of her understood.

How long had it been since she’d been a child? When had she…forgotten what it was like to be an adventurer, what it meant to ordinary people? She was someone who went into dark places and slew monsters, who went into the depths of the darkest dungeon and came out with that which shone even brighter than the sun. She was an Adventurer, a hero in the imaginations of many. And she had conquered a dungeon, the feat that every adventurer dreams of.

She had seen the treasure, and she had come back with it. She had proven that there was truth to the old tales, and given them something to hold onto. A bit of truth in the stories. The half-Elf walked forwards, raising her hand, and they shouted and cheered and called her name.

Pisces walked behind Ceria, staring, just staring. He looked down the rows of smiling faces, and felt all that attention, that goodwill directed at him. It was an unfamiliar feeling, bewitching, more enchanting than any spell. He saw young women smiling at him, and children running along, staring at him. He was wearing crimson red robes, the ones loaned to him to replace his dirty garments. But the [Mage], the [Necromancer] walked in them as if they were made for him, and when he made his fingers spark with magic, the crowd cheered and oohed and aahed, for there went a true [Mage], a master of magic.

Yvlon walked silently, in a bubble of her own. She stared at the crowd, and saw people pointing to her arms. But not in disgust. She was a wounded hero, a warrior who had survived a great battle. And her eyes found the young men and women wearing worn armor and equipment, whose eyes were on her, hopeful, dreaming of the day they might be like her. And she thought of those she had left behind, and she kept her back straight as the wind blew her golden hair behind her.

For Ksmvr, he felt as all Humans felt when they saw the Antinium and realized there was another world they had never known, another people. He looked into smiling faces, Human ones filled with emotion and life, and realized how small his understanding of the world had been.

And the Humans looked back, and saw a new kind of adventurer, no longer a nameless horror. They stared at Ksmvr with a bit of fright, but mostly awe. The Antinium waved with his three hands at the crowds, and the people cheered even at him. He might be a monstrous Antinium, but he was an adventurer too. He was special.

Ceria walked down the street, and breathed in. Slowly. The air was cold, but the city was warm, burning even. There were people around her, calling out her name, loving her though they had never seen her face before in their lives. She looked around, and saw a sight she had never even dreamed of in the sixty years she had been alive.

It was humbling, wonderful, and in her heart, Ceria felt something give. She looked over with slightly blurred eyes and saw a tall figure to her left. In her mind’s eye, Gerial walked down the street, slightly stiff but nearly bursting with pride, waving a hand now and then and going red when they cheered his name.

Ahead of her, Calruz strode ahead, tall, back straight to the sky, not looking left or right as he kept up his dignified façade—but loving every minute of it.

Behind her, Sostrom twirled his staff and emitted a shower of light particles, much to the delight of those watching. Hunt and Marian waved and cheered as well, and the other Horns of Hammerad walked proudly, marching as one.

For a moment. And then Ceria was back to the present, and she saw Pisces flicking his fingers and sending pink doves flying across the crowd, making them shriek and reach for the apparitions of light. She saw Ksmvr catch a wilted flower and eat it, Yvlon smiled at a young boy who ran out of the crowd to stare at her arms, and then she looked ahead.

The sky was very bright. And it was still cold, still winter. But right now she felt warm. Ceria murmured the words to herself, and let them disappear in the sounds of celebration.

“What an adventure.”

And somehow, it felt like it had only just begun.

3.09

Ryoka Griffin stood on the top of a snow-covered hill, facing the wind. Her arms were spread out, and she raised her head as the cold winter winds blew around her. The snow-flecked breeze tugged at her light clothing, a shirt and loose leggings, wholly inappropriate for the season. But the young woman paid no attention to the cold. In fact, such was her body heat that the snow had melted around her bare feet, exposing flattened grass underneath.

She was completely still as the air ruffled her long hair. Ryoka breathed in and felt the cold in her lungs. But she let not one muscle move; made no concession to the elements. Her breathing slowed, and Ryoka became one with nature. She was one with the world. One with the cosmos.

After another minute Ryoka opened her eyes.

“This is stupid.”

She dropped her arms to her side. She twisted her neck and heard a crick. Wincing, she rubbed at her shoulders and looked around. Then she glared at her midriff.

“Hey, Ivolethe! Did you hear me? I said this is stupid. It’s not working.”

Somewhat predictably, Ryoka’s midriff did not respond to her comment. But after a second, one of the compartments in her belt rustled, and a small head poked out. The tiny crystal head had bulging cheeks, and as Ivolethe flew out of the pouch she crammed the last bit of dried sweet fruit into her mouth.

“What’s wrong, Ryoka?”

The young woman paused and eyed Ivolethe. The naked faerie was just as ignorant of the cold as Ryoka was, but she had clearly been feasting in Ryoka’s pouch while the young woman tried to commune with the wind. The faerie was covered in bits of dried fruit; the sticky sweets clung to her like leeches.

Ivolethe didn’t seem to mind. The faerie peeled a bit of raisin off her stomach while Ryoka pushed at her hair distractedly. She spoke with waspish exasperation, but trying to moderate her tone.

“This isn’t working. I’ve been here for over an hour doing what you said, and all I have to show for it is wet feet and sore shoulders.”

“Hmm.”

The faerie eyed Ryoka skeptically, and then flew around her in a quick pattern. When she stopped she looked disappointed.

“You feel nothing? Even after taking in the wind?”

“Aside from the need to pee? Nothing.”

Ryoka sighed as the faerie scowled. She spread her hands.

“I don’t know. What should I be feeling?”

“The wind.”

The faerie gave her a look as if Ryoka was insane. Ryoka gave the faerie the same look.

“I’ve been feeling the wind. But I don’t feel a connection to it or whatever. Look, is there something else we can try?”

“I suppose we must try something else, then.”

Ivolethe screwed up her face in concentration. Ryoka began stretching her sore legs, watching the faerie think.

In theory, they were right now studying faerie magic. That was to say, Ivolethe was trying to teach Ryoka how the Frost Faeries conjured snow and moved faster than anything Ryoka had even seen in the world. Trying was the operative word here, though.

“Are you sure this is how you teach people faerie magic?”

“No.”

Ryoka paused as she grabbed her foot from behind, stretching the muscles in her legs out.

“What do you mean, ‘no’? I thought you knew what you were doing! You told me to stand here and listen to the wind!”

The faerie glared at her.

“And I thought it would help! No wonder ye heard nothing, though, since all ye do is jabber on with your complaints!”

“I’m doing my best. But I don’t even know what I’m doing! What part of the wind are you talking about?”

“There!”

Ryoka’s head turned as the faerie shouted. All she saw was a bit of grey sky. She turned back to the faerie, scowling. But Ivolethe didn’t look like she was pulling a prank on Ryoka. She flew up swiftly into the sky, over a hundred feet in seconds, and then flew in a twisting, downwards spiral around the hill. The human girl watched her, entranced by the graceful motion.

The faerie flew past Ryoka in a rush of air, and then stopped. She looked down at Ryoka, smiling. Ryoka had to smile back.

“Did ye see it?”

Ryoka paused and frowned.

“See what?”

Ivolethe’s smile faded and her face went slack. She gestured.

“The wind, of course! Did ye see as I followed it?”

“I saw you flying. That’s all.”

The tiny faerie slapped her forehead and shouted curses at Ryoka. The Runner listened, slightly impressed at the variety of insults.

“Look, clearly I can’t see what you can. You might be seeing something by magic or with your sense that I can’t. Can you try showing me whatever’s so important another way?”

Ivolethe grumbled and folded her arms as she thought.

“Perhaps. But this is the most obvious way for me.”

“Really?”

Another scowl.

“It is not as if I have practice teaching magic to mortals. The fey come into existence knowing magic. Teaching you magic is like trying to teach a fish to swim.”

Ryoka opened her mouth to reply and paused. She frowned, raised a finger.

“What do you—”

Ivolethe rolled her eyes, annoyed.

“No one teaches a fish to swim, fool! They either know or they do not.”

“Ah, right. Well, try thinking like a bird, then. Show me how a fish would teach a bird to swim or something. I don’t feel anything so far.”

A glare was the only warning Ryoka got. Ivolethe flew up, and then the wind changed. Ryoka felt that, and she saw a wall of white snow swirl upwards and then rush at her like a wave.

“Holy—”

The gust of wind and snow blew Ryoka off the hilltop. She tumbled down the slope, cursing and shouting. When she sat up, dizzy and bruised, Ivolethe flew down and grinned at her.

“Did ye feel anything?”

“Fuck you!”

Ryoka threw a snowball at Ivolethe. The faerie laughed and flew out of the way. She conjured a snowball of her own and Ryoka raised her arm before it collided with her bare skin. The Human and faerie continued in this vein for several minutes. In the end, Ryoka stopped because she hadn’t managed to tag Ivolethe once, and she’d taken six snowballs to the head.

“I’m tired. And the magic soup is wearing off. Let’s go back into the city and try again later, okay?”

“Okay.”

The two began to move, Ryoka starting at a jog and moving faster, Ivolethe flying high overhead, laughing in the cold. And though she’d made no progress, Ryoka felt better. She looked at the faerie flying high above her and smiled.

—-

It’s an odd thing. A precious thing. Friendship, I mean. I feel like every second I’m going to make a horrible mistake and ruin things forever. But I don’t. Instead, it feels like every time I’m about to get into a fight or say something I regret I find a better word to say, or a better way to act.

I didn’t lose my temper with Ivolethe. Okay, I shouted and threw snow, but that was because I knew she wouldn’t care and I wouldn’t hit her. She isn’t like Erin. I can tell her exactly how I feel because she’ll do the same for me.

It’s so odd. Is Ivolethe a friend? Erin’s one, I’m pretty sure of that. But can I be friends with a faerie after only two days? It feels like it, but I’m not sure.

And how would I know? I’ve never had a good friend before. I’ve had ‘friends’, but that’s just a word. But someone who’s there for you even if it means risking their life? That’s new. And Ivolethe is about as good an example of that kind of friendship as you can get. She’s fearless, brave, and she’s quite open about the fact that she’s breaking rules to hang out with me.

Because that’s the nature of Frost Faeries. They’re the type of beings that go all-in with whatever they do. If they want to do something, they just go for it. And I like that about them the most.

Ivolethe and I return to the city in good time. I really only left it to practice her faerie magic, and since that was a bust we get back before it’s even midday. The stream of people leaving and entering Celum is still busy, but I make good time.

For two reasons. The first is that I’m a Runner, and I can essentially ignore most of the lengthy customs process the [Guardsmen] subject visitors to. The second is that I have a Frost Faerie sitting on my head, and news from yesterday has already gotten around.

It’s a strange thing. If I were in the United States and I walked around with a dangerous creature like a Frost Faerie, I’d probably be tossed in jail in a heartbeat. But in this world, I’m just treated like a high-level [Mage], or any Gold-rank adventurer, really. If Ivolethe causes trouble I’ll be held accountable. Aside from that, I’m free to do whatever I want, and people give me a wide berth as an added bonus.

The Runner’s Guild being destroyed would normally get me locked up and fined, but thanks to eyewitnesses seeing Persua and the other Runners grabbing Ivolethe, I got off scot-free. That may also have had to do with the fact that the Frost Faeries were busy raining ten kinds of hell on the Runners as they ran indoors, and the local Watch didn’t want to paint a target on their heads.

“Where are ye going?”

Ivolethe’s voice is small, but perfectly audible in my ears, even above the voices of the pedestrians shouting and clogging the streets. I run past them, finding less-crowded streets to turn down.

“I’m going to visit Erin. Then I’ll see if I can find Garia. I need to thank her for yesterday.”

“The big girl with the heart of a mouse? Sounds boring.”

The faerie jumps off my head and flies into my pouch even as I dodge around a laborer lugging a sack of something along. She’s so nimble! I can feel her rummaging around in there, and make a mental note to buy some more stuff for her to eat. I’ve got the coin, and it shuts her up and keeps her happy.

Here’s how it stands. Since yesterday, Ivolethe has pretty much been by my side day and night. She says it’s interesting and I won’t complain. She sometimes leaves, when I sleep for example, but other times she seems perfectly content to stay in my belt pouch. Especially when we’re indoors. I tried to convince her to leave, but she bit my thumb once. She’s agreed to stay in the pouch if I’m indoors, though, and a steady supply of food means she won’t break that promise.

I slow as I pass by the Runner’s Guild on my way to Octavia’s shop. A crowd of people, as well as a group of sweaty men holding shovels and pickaxes is gathered around the ruined building. The men are trying to excavate the building one shovelful of snow at a time, and not having much luck.

Some of the people watching this catch sight of me. I speed up as one of the [Receptionists] gives me a dirty look. Oops. I’d better not rub salt in the wounds. At least Persua’s not there—I heard she was being kept by the [Healer] for rest overnight, even though potions mended most of the wounds I gave her.

Persua.

I shake my head and continue onwards. So many problems, and I don’t have time to dwell on that. Erin comes first.

—-

Octavia’s shop is as chaotic as ever, but I immediately notice Erin’s presence as soon as I push the door open. Ivolethe pokes her head out of my pouch; she feels safe enough to do that here.

“Something smells good. Is the innkeeper girl making more food?”

“Looks like it.”

I walk into the shop and hear voices arguing with each other.

“I told you—no, look at that! You’ve ruined it with the potion!”

“It doesn’t look that bad! Stop complaining—I told you Ryoka will pay for the potions, and I want to see if it does anything!”

“I’ll waste gold, that’s what will happen! And—can you smell that? It’s burning!”

Cautiously—I’ve seen how Erin experiments by now—I edge into what should be Octavia’s kitchen. Instead, it’s been transformed into a second alchemical workplace, and two girls are bickering over a stew that’s mostly green with something bobbing in the thin liquid. I clear my throat.

“Erin? Octavia? Everything going okay?”

“No!”

They’ve got good synchronization. I raise my hands as Octavia tries to complain about Erin using her potions in her cooking, and Erin offers me a taste of whatever vileness is cooking away.

“I’m not here to eat anything. I just need more of that Corusdeer soup, Erin. It’s wearing off again.”

“Really?”

Erin frowns and goes over to an open cupboard. It’s stocked with a half dozen jars of thick orange soup. Octavia rolls her eyes and calls after Erin.

“I told you that the soup was too thin this time! Too much carrot; not enough pepper!”

“It was worth a shot! Here you are Ryoka.”

“Thanks.”

I eye the mixture in the pot.

“Do I want to know?”

“I think this one’s a dud too. But we’re getting close; I can feel it! I’ve already figured out how to make mana soup!”

The girl with stitches folds her arms and snorts.

“That’s just a mana potion that’s slightly more edible than the rest. What’s the point?”

“It tastes better than your stupid potion!”

As the two begin to bicker, I edge out of the store. Erin seems…happy. At least, happy to keep doing this. I wonder why? I’m willing to foot the bill for her project, but I’d go nuts if I had to keep making failed potions all day. Or if I had to listen to Octavia for more than ten minutes straight.

“Got your magic drink?”

Ivolethe pokes her head out of my belt pouch, staring at the orange drink. I look at it as well; it’s just soup, but I feel like I’m holding a potion in some kind of videogame. Even long after it’s been bottled, the Corusdeer soup is warm to the touch; it’s magical, and if Erin can make anything else like it, I’ll shove gold down Octavia’s throat as long as it takes.

“Soup. And yes, I’m good. Let’s go find—”

“Is that you, Ryoka?”

Someone calls out to me as I leave Octavia’s shop. I whirl in surprise, and then smile.

“Fals?”

The tall Runner steps out from the wall he was leaning against. I walk towards him, smiling. Why am I so happy to see him? Maybe it’s because it feels like forever since we last spoke.

“What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d find you; someone told me you were hanging out here every day. How have you been?”

“Good. I—good.”

I hold out a hand to shake his, and then pause. Fals looks down and sees my two missing fingers from my right hand. His face freezes—and then he clasps my hand gently as if nothing’s the matter.

“Bad run?”

“Yes.”

It’s strange how I don’t have to explain it to him. Fals nods at me, face growing serious.

“I’d wondered where you went. I heard you were at Liscor from Valceif when he came back this way—then nothing. Did you finish the delivery?”

“I did. Traded two fingers for it.”

“But you did it. A good Runner never falters, and I’ve never seen you even hesitate.”

The compliment makes me feel better, even though I didn’t know I’d been feeling bad. I nod at him, and he smiles slightly in return.

It’s so strange. The last time we spoke I still hated everything about him. But now we’re—okay. I look closer at Fals and see that he’s changed a bit as well. He looks tired, and maybe not as happy as before.

“How have you been? Are you here on a delivery?”

“I was. Had to drag over a freshly-made sword for some Silver-rank adventurer in the city. It was a pain to track her down, but it was good coin. I was going to stop by the Guild, but apparently you had something to do with it being closed?”

I blush.

“Oh. That—”

“Don’t worry about it. One of the Guild workers filled me in.”

Fals shivers a bit as the wind blows harder. He stares at my t-shirt and bare feet.

“Dead gods, you’re making me cold just looking at you. Is that part of your friendship with the…Winter Sprites?”

“This? No, this is a potion.”

“Oh.”

I feel Ivolethe rustling around in my pouch. She’s paying more attention now that Fals is talking about her.

“Are they going to press charges after all, do you think?”

Fals shook his head.

“No; everyone knows how stupid it is to mess with the Winter Sprites. Besides, ah, there’s some concern about what would happen if they did charge you. At the moment you’re banned from the guild in Celum, which isn’t saying much.”

“Huh.”

I feel the pouch at my belt open. Fals blinks as Ivolethe flies up. She lands on my head, grinning at me and him.

“Who’s the shivering mortal, Ryoka? A lover of yours? Or just a prat?”

“Shut it, Ivolethe.”

“Ivolethe? Is that the Frost Faerie?”

Fals squints at a point just to the left of my head. I’m intrigued—even when she’s sitting, Ivolethe’s glamor works.

“Yup.”

“All I see is a blur.”

Gingerly, Fals nods his head towards Ivolethe, staring to the right of her.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Ivolethe.”

“Hah! A mortal with manners! Too bad ye can’t hear me, eh?”

Ivolethe laughs and flicks a bit of snow at Fals. He splutters and wipes away the snow with a grin.

“Not fond of anyone but you, are they?”

“Sorry about that.”

I flick Ivolethe off my head, making her shout in outrage. She hits me on the head with an icy pebble before retreating into my pouch. I grimace as Fals chuckles. He stops when I glare at him.

“You seem like you get along with her. I wish I could hear what she says—I assume she speaks?”

I nod.

“If we go indoors you’ll be able to see and hear her. And believe me, you’ll wish you couldn’t.”

“Well, as much as I’d like to, that’s dangerous for her, isn’t it?”

Too dangerous, especially for an immortal. I can’t believe Ivolethe would take the risk, but again, she goes all in. Death might matter to her, but she’d risk it for a friend without a second thought.

Fals notices my expression and grows serious again. He clears his throat as he shifts his weight from one leg to another.

“I’m sorry about Persua, Ryoka. I’m not saying thrashing her was the right thing to do, but I know what she can be like.”

“Yeah…I was surprised not to see you there, though. It looked like she was having a party; were you busy?”

He shakes his head, making a face.

“Hardly. I’ve been staying away from Celum on purpose. Ever since she got the [Double Step]  Skill she’s been taking away the jobs from all us City Runners. We can barely find any work. I tried talking to her, but—she wouldn’t listen.”

That’s surprising. I frown at Fals.

“Not even to you?”

“Not to me or anyone else. It’s funny, but you were right, Ryoka. Persua used to be part of the team, and we’d help her and she’d help us if we needed a hand on a tough delivery or someone got injured. But the instant she was better than the rest of us? She left us behind.”

His expression is—unhappy. Fals shakes his head and stares at his worn shoes, looking more worn and upset than I’ve ever seen him. I stare at him, not sure what to say.

Part of me wants to mock him, to ask him what he expected. But I don’t. Fals is a good Runner, and he believed in working together. That Persua threw him and every one of her friends under the bus the instant she rose above them doesn’t surprise me.

What does surprise me is how quickly Fals was replaced in the Guild’s hierarchy. He’s the most senior Runner, and up until me and Persua, he was the best in the local area. Does that mean nothing to them?

What should I say? I think for a second, and then jerk my head.

“Come on, let’s get a drink.”

He’s surprised, but accepts after a moment. I lead Fals at a quick jog down the street. Another good thing. Runners don’t walk if we have a choice, so we get to the Frenzied Hare in a third as much time as it would take if Erin and I went*.

*Especially because she’ll stop and talk to everyone she knows. Oh, hey Wesle! How’s being a guard? Hey Agnes! Out for a stroll? Hey Mr. Dog! Why don’t I stop for five minutes and scratch you between the ears!

Agnes recognizes me on sight, and in a moment she has one of the barmaids find me and Fals a table. I order a mild ale and he chooses a ‘Firebird’, which is some kind of a local drink. It’s quite a bit stronger than my drink, which makes my eyebrows shoot up.

“You’re not planning on running today?”

“I don’t fancy going to another city for requests, and the Guild here is all messed up.”

Fals shakes his head as he downs half of the fiery drink served to him and drinks from a glass of water quickly. He shakes his head as I sip my drink.

“Not having a good day?”

“Try week and a half. Ever since Persua got her Skill.”

“Huh. I’d have thought you’d be glad to be rid of her, even if she did abandon everyone here.”

“I suppose that’s the one upside. She’ll be running cross-continent deliveries if she makes Courier, and even if she doesn’t, she’ll probably move up north where there’s more work.”

Fals sighs as he sips at his drink again. His face is a bit red, but he still looks…morose. Yes, that’s the word for it. He looks morose, beaten down, depressed. After a few more minutes, he tells me why.

“It’s just a bit frustrating. I’ve been running and leveling up as a [Runner] for the last…must be sixteen years already. I was the best in the area until you showed up, but you trained to be as fast as you are, so I don’t mind. All my Skills are stamina-based and defensive, anyways. But Persua gets lucky one time and suddenly she’s a better Runner than I am.”

“Isn’t that the way the system works?”

“Yes. No. There’s always chance in how the Skills get assigned, but there’s a pattern to things! You put in the hard work, you get more Skills. But sometimes people can just get—lucky! And it’s not fair, damn it!”

He waves for another drink, jaw set. I feel for him; he’s going through what I felt not too long ago. What I struggle with now, to be honest. It just bites him harder, because he’s in the system and still not getting rewarded.

“I’d say relax. Don’t worry about it. Soon Persua will be gone, and you’ll be the best Runner again. Well, aside from me. The Guild will be fawning all over you soon enough.”

Fals stares at me and then laughs.

“It’s odd hearing you be the voice of reason. But you’re right. It’s just depressing seeing Persua of all people become so successful. If it was someone like Garia, I’d be cheering her on. I wish it had been her, to be honest. She could use the help.”

I frown over my drink. It’s not even half empty and Fals is on his second tumbler. He’s really upset. I guess I can listen; I was going to find Garia anyway, and she might be in here later.

“What’s wrong with Garia? Is she hurt? Or is it something else?”

“She’s had problems of her own. Garia’s a good Runner, Ryoka, you know that. She can haul as much as a horse around, but she’s slow. And sometimes—she gets lost.”

The young man in front of me shakes his head, shoulders sagging. His words make me sit up in my chair.

“Lost? What do you mean?”

He waves towards the window. Ivolethe rustles around in my pouch and I order a bowl of nuts to dump in there to keep her calm.

“It’s the snow. Everything looks the same to her—she loses track of the road. Her eyesight isn’t as good as yours or mine, that’s the problem.”

Eyesight problems? Why would—oh. They don’t have glasses here. Or do they?

“Isn’t there a—a spell that could help her out with that? Improve her vision?”

“Oh, it’s not a matter of how far she can see.”

Fals flicks his wrist dismissively.

“If it were, there are spectacles—although it would be hard for her to wear those clumsy things while running—or she could buy an enchanted pair. Pricey, but she could save up. Her problem is that she can’t tell the difference between white and grey, you see? If she’s on the road and it’s just snowed—”

Color blindness. Oh. I close my eyes. There’s nothing I can do about that. Fals nods wearily.

“Everyone’s got problems, Ryoka. Garia’s a good Runner, but winter is tough for her.”

“Sounds like it.”

I sigh. I haven’t been a good friend—a friend at all to these people, have I?

“I should hang out with her more. Talk to her. I know she’s wanted to go on a delivery with me; I could do that now and then.”

Fals smiles.

“Would you? She’d love that. In fact, she’s invited me over to stay at her parent’s farm—thanks for helping her out after she got injured. I’d go, but…it would be better if two of us went rather than just me.”

He pauses delicately and I consider the invitation. He’s saying he doesn’t like Garia, which is fair enough, I guess. It’s not as if he has to like her, and he’s still a good friend to her. And as for me?

“Why the hell not? I’ll tag along sometime. Can I bring a friend?”

“Interesting way of putting it. I’m sure Garia wouldn’t mind the company, and she tells me her folks are just as friendly as she is. I’ll ask her about it when I see her.”

“She might come walking in here soon enough. She usually eats here—more often now that there’s a new cook. Were you waiting for her?”

“What? No, I was going to see you.”

“What for?”

Fals pauses, cup touching his mouth. He lowers it and smacks his head.

“What? Oh, of course! Dead gods, I’ll start forgetting my own name soon enough.”

He puts down his drink and leans across the table to me, smiling. Suddenly I remember that Fals doesn’t like Garia. He likes me. At least, I think he did at one point. Fuck. What’s he going to—

“You know those adventurers you were hanging out with? The ah, Horns?”

My thoughts freeze. I focus on Fals.

“Yes. What about them?”

“I was just in Remendia, and I heard of a big celebration that was thrown in Ocre. I missed the festivities—but apparently the city was celebrating a group of adventurers who just completed a dungeon crawl. They came out with a lot of loot. And guess what they were calling themselves?”

I sit back in my chair, too shocked for words. The Horns of Hammerad? Gerial, Calruz, and—

No, no. They’re dead. It’s just Ceria now. I remember that Erin told me she’d formed another group with Pisces, Yvlon, and one of the Antinium. But I didn’t realize—

I’m standing before I know it. Fals looks at me, concerned. I stare towards the door. Ocre? Not too far. It’s only midday—not even that. I can make it by tonight.

“I—I’ve got to go. I have to—can you tell Garia? And Erin?”

I look at Fals. He nods at me, understanding.

“I’ll let Garia know. But who’s Erin?”

“She’s the other innkeeper here!”

I shout at him as I run out the door. I’m already picking up the pace as I run down the street.

It’s too late now. They went through the dungeon and survived. Fals said that. It’s all over now; why am I running? But I have to see.

The last time I left them, they were all dead when I got back. All dead. I never said goodbye. But this—

They did it. I just have to see that. I have to look Ceria in the eye and congratulate her. I—

They really did it. I’m smiling, but my eyes are stinging as I race out of Celum and run through the snow.

—-

The young woman ran through the snow, dashing through snow banks, feet flashing across the ground. She ran fast. Well, comparably fast. To the faeries flying high overhead, she was as slow as a falling snowflake.

Oh, if pressed the faeries would admit that Ryoka ran faster than the snow in a literal sense. But to their eyes she was like a rolling stone, or a scurrying rodent, or the slow orbit of the sun. She moved, yes, but she ran against the wind, blundering through nature. She did not dance upon the world like they did.

And the faeries did dance, or fly, or maybe both at the same time high overhead. Ryoka ran on, not hearing as they flew and argued with one of their number.

“Why are you following her? She’s done naught interesting for days, sister!”

One of the faeries complained to a faerie who flew closer to Ryoka than the rest. She sounded aggrieved, but the faerie in question—Ivolethe—just flicked her wings at her sister as she flew.

“Ah, buzz off if you feel like it! What I do is my own concern!”

“It’s ours if you want to give away our secrets!”

Another faerie called out, voice high and challenging. She was younger than Ivolethe—ancient by mortal standards, but younger in a way only the faeries would count. She flinched as Ivolethe glared at her.

“‘Tis my business! Interfere and I’ll pluck out your eyes you stripling whelp!”

She flew aggressively at the other faerie and the young one flew away, squeaking. But other faeries flew around Ivolethe, and they were not afraid.

“It is our business, sister. You pay too much attention to her.”

“I have cause.”

“An ‘if’ on the sea of possibilities is not enough. You risk too much—death, even!—for a mortal. It is not as if she is prophesied.”

“My life is my own. Or are ye a king of mine, to order me about?”

“Not I. But what if I was to tell our king of what ye do? What then?”

“Yes! Stop following the mortal like a silly pet! You stay in her belongings like a kept thing! Stop!”

More voices urged Ivolethe. She snarled and flew at them, but the faeries just flew around her, shouting.

“Yes, come away!”

“We’ll tell!”

“You went into the place of iron! Fool!”

“It was my choice! My risk! And ye hardly helped!”

Ivolethe roared at them, her voice lost to Ryoka as the girl leapt over a frozen log below. She pointed at the other faeries, accusing.

“What was that tripe ye brought to revenge me? Destroying a building? Throwing snow and ice at those fools? ‘Twas hardly an hour passed before you forswore vengeance and flew off as if naught had happened!”

One of the faeries laughed at Ivolethe’s anger.

“You went into the home of iron uninvited. You dared them and struck first. If you had died, we would have called for vengeance. But you are alive and only your pride is injured, so be content with that! And because of you, the mortal has a dire oath sworn against her, a prophecy of vengeance and blood!”

“I know.”

Ivolethe sighed. The faeries grew silent then; they respected oaths and vows of vengeance more than they did lives. After a while, the other faeries began to fly off. The ones around Ivolethe urged her to join them, but she just shook her head.

“A little longer. A little longer. What is time to we?”

“Careful, sister. Do not wait too long.”

“Teach her if you will! But there will be consequence and dire reckoning!”

“Aye.”

Ivolethe nodded, watching her sisters fly off. She flew lower, and whispered the words.

“There always is. But it will come no matter what I do or do not.”

Then she flew next to Ryoka and had fun creating patches of ice to trip the girl up.

—-

Ceria Springwalker was not a half-Elf for whom socializing came to naturally. She could not be a social butterfly, or social squirrel, or social anything, really. She had friends, and she could enjoy a night at a bar or one of the parties in Wistram easily enough, but she’d grown up solitary, and gotten used to being alone once she’d left her home.

Most half-Elves were like that. And so while Ceria was perfectly content to have people fawn over her and buy her drinks (or have her buy the bar a round of drinks), she eventually had to retire from the crowds and go to her room in the inn.

Below, she could hear the party still going on. Pisces and Ksmvr were busy entertaining the mass of people crowding the tables below, and she knew they had to be drinking heavily even now. Pisces could put away a surprising amount of liquor despite his thin frame, and Ksmvr seemed to be almost immune to the stuff.

The world swam in a not-unpleasant way as Ceria lay on her bed and grinned. Some people would say that drinking before the sun had even set—in the winter, no less—was unacceptable. But those people hadn’t just cleared an ancient dungeon and come back with treasure, now had they?

It had probably been a bad idea to drink the last two…three mugs, though. Ceria was just contemplating a nap when she heard a commotion on the stairs. She sat up warily, and her eyes flicked to the door. She had no gold on her—rather, she and the other Horns of Hammerad had a letter of accreditation magically sealed, allowing her to draw the coin she needed from the Merchant’s Guild if need be. It was useless to thieves, but they didn’t know that and already twice the bouncers at the inn had caught people trying to break into their rooms.

Were they now going for a more direct assault? Ceria focused on the [Ice Spike] spell although she really didn’t want to kill anyone. Maybe a blunted [Ice Shard] spell? Or just set their clothes on fire? She heard someone shouting, and then pounding feet. She raised her hand—

And Ryoka burst into the room. The young woman’s hair was a mess, and she was breathing heavily. Sweat ran down her forehead, despite her light attire. Her eyes fixed on Ceria, and the two young women stared at each other.

“Ryoka?”

Ceria stood up slowly. She heard someone shout, and then Ryoka was tackled from the side. Ceria ran out and shouted at the men trying to wrestle Ryoka. She heard faint shouting, as if someone tiny and far away was trapped in Ryoka’s belt. It was almost like a buzz. But Ceria had no time to wonder what that was.

“Stop, stop! She’s a friend!”

She shouted at the inn’s security and eventually managed to get them off Ryoka. Ceria pulled the Runner up, surprised at how warm Ryoka felt. Then she managed to soothe the [Innkeeper], and got Ryoka into her room before she could start any more trouble.

“Bring up a tray of drinks, please. Something strong to take the chill off.”

Ceria closed the door and pulled a seat out for Ryoka. The taller Human girl sat, looking around. The room Ceria had been given was huge, the biggest in the inn, meant for a couple. She was alone in it, befitting of her role as the team’s leader. In truth, it was too big for Ceria but they weren’t planning on staying in the city for more than another night, and it was perfect for talking with Ryoka.

That was, if either of them could speak. At first Ceria was buzzing with questions—how had Ryoka heard they were here? How was Erin doing? Had she heard about the Goblin attack? What about Rags? But then she found herself tongue-tied, unable to say a word.

When had they last sat together in a room, the two of them? In the inn with the Winter Sprites, so briefly. And before that? So long ago…it had been the day they’d left Esthelm, the day Ryoka had unwisely picked a fight and the Horns of Hammerad and the other adventuring groups had gone to Liscor. So long ago. A lifetime ago.

Ryoka was thinking the same thing. She sat, looking Ceria up and down. Ceria saw her eyes linger on her skeletal hand and smiled just for a second. That had to be—

“Your fingers.”

The words slipped out of Ceria in a gasp. She stared at Ryoka’s right hand, at the two healed stumps of scar tissue where her fingers should have been. Ryoka started, and held up her hand. She smiled, almost ruefully.

“I keep forgetting how many people haven’t seen this. Yeah, I lost my fingers.”

“How? Where? Was it on your delivery?”

“Yeah. The one south. It went…south.”

Ryoka laughed a bit while Ceria stared at her hand. She looked away, but then deliberately held her hand out to Ceria.

“It’s not exactly as bad as your hand, although I wish I’d kept the bones.”

Ceria gently reached out and touched Ryoka’s hand. She didn’t know what to say. Losing fingers was normal for adventurers—it was all too easy to lose body parts when a monster was in your face. But it was never easy, not with a friend—

“I’m sorry.”

“It happened. There was nothing I could do to stop it.”

“A monster did it?”

“Goblin. Bit them right off.”

“Goblins—you mean, the ones that attacked Esthelm?”

“Sort of. It’s a long story.”

Ryoka’s expression closed off a bit. She looked pained, older. Ceria saw her shake her head.

“I’ll tell you later. I’m not here to dwell on my mistakes—and I’ve got a lot. I just had to come here, to see you.”

“You certainly did it dramatically. Couldn’t you have asked to see me rather than run up the stairs?”

The young woman grinned and shrugged, abashed.

“You’re a celebrity now. They were turning away everyone who wanted to talk to you. I don’t think they would have accepted my word that we were friends.”

“True.”

Ceria laughed, and the hardest part was over. She looked at Ryoka, marveling.

“Not a day’s passed since we got out of Albez, and you find us. How?”

“A friend of mine heard a rumor about some Silver-rank team that cleared a dungeon. I raced over here, and every person on the street knew where you were staying.”

“Oh? So you know what we’ve been up to?”

“A bit. Just the important details. Although to hear other people say it, you guys went into the Ruins of Albez and slaughtered every monster you saw until you found a treasure vault.”

Ryoka grinned at Ceria. The half-Elf had to laugh.

“Hardly. We were digging around in that place aimlessly for over a week! If it weren’t for the map Olesm found—dead gods, there’s so much that has happened! Did you see Pisces and Ksmvr in the common room?”

“I did. They didn’t recognize me, though. Of course, they were both drunk.”

“Even Ksmvr? I might have to go down and see that.”

“He’s still drinking. I’m not sure if the Antinium can get alcohol poisoning, but you might need to stop him.”

“They’ve got antidotes for that. I’ll go down in a bit. For now—”

There was a polite knock at the door. Ceria broke off and got up. The [Innkeeper] himself was at the door with some drinks for her and Ryoka. She took it and thanked him before sitting with Ryoka at the table again. The young woman shook her head as she eyed the stiff beverage.

“They treat you like royalty, don’t they?”

“Anything for the heroic adventurers. I haven’t felt this pampered—ever.”

Ceria sighed as she stared at her drink. She should have ordered water, not more alcohol. She paused, and looked at Ryoka. The other girl was staring at her.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just—you guys really did it, didn’t you?”

She looked at Ceria, something in her eyes. Ceria Springwalker shook her head, smiling, feeling something in her heart move.

“It wasn’t nearly as easy as the rumors make it out to be. We nearly died several times. Yvlon is getting bits of metal cut out of her arm as we speak. We’re not even sure if we can remove the armor without damaging her arm…”

“But you did it.”

“Yes. We did.”

How she wished. How she wished she could have said that to Ryoka at another time, in another place. In an inn in Liscor, laughing with delight as the other adventurers celebrated down below. But that moment would never come.

And yet, she knew that Ryoka was thinking the same thing. Seized by a sudden impulse, Ceria grabbed her mug. She lifted it.

“To the old Horns of Hammerad. We did it.”

“You did.”

The two clinked mugs and then drank. Ceria gulped the strong alcohol down and then sighed.

“It doesn’t feel real. I keep pinching myself, and I still can’t believe we’re alive.”

“You’re telling me? I just heard about all this, and I’m still in shock.”

Ceria laughed lightly.

“Well, we’ve had a day. I just keep thinking I’m going to wake up in the pit again or—”

She paused, and ignored Ryoka’s inquiring look.

“Anyways, the rumors are partly true. We’re rich, we’re famous, and we got out of Albez with a load of treasure and some magical artifacts. Pisces and Ksmvr are trying to get rid of it all today, but we’re set for a long time.”

“I’m glad.”

That was all Ryoka said, but Ceria heard everything she meant in it. She nodded, and then remembered.

“I’ve got money for Erin too—we talked, and there’s forty gold coins waiting for her.”

Ryoka whistled softly.

“That’s a lot more than she said she lent you.”

Ceria grinned.

“We’d give her even more, but we don’t have that much gold to toss around.”

“The rumor I heard coming into the city was that you and the others were set up for life.”

The half-Elf had to laugh at that, ruefully.

“We were. We pulled in nearly a hundred pounds worth of gold and gems, did you know? That would be enough to outfit us in style or pay for our retirement—Pisces, Yvlon and Ksmvr’s, at least, I’d run out before I died of old age—but we spent it instead.”

“On what? Magical equipment?”

“No. It’s going to the people who died in Liscor.”

“Oh.”

Silence descended again, but not for too long. Ceria explained.

“We’re giving them each a share. If we can, that is. Direct family—lovers—it’s hard to confirm, but we’ll give all the relatives of the dead what we can. It’s not enough, but it’s something.”

Ryoka nodded.

“Noble of you. Not sure it’s practical.”

“Neither am I. But Yvlon’s said she’ll forfeit her share of the magical artifacts if need be. I’m not sure it’ll come to that, but she’ll have last pick at any rate.”

“Artifacts? You mentioned those. You came away with more than just gold and jewels?”

“In a sense.”

Ceria grimaced as she explained what they’d recovered.

“Burnt and mangled, mostly. But they’re powerful. The trouble is, we can’t figure out what they do or if they’re still dangerous.”

“I can see that’s a problem. Can’t you hire another [Mage] to analyze the stuff, though?”

Ceria shook her head.

“Not in this city. There’s no one high-level enough to tell us what the items do, or whether they can be repaired. Pisces and I have had a look at the enchantments, but the more complex a spell is, the harder it is to…untangle the individual spells I guess is the best way of putting it. And since they’re all damaged, it’s even more of a mess.”

“I see.”

Ryoka frowned.

“Magical weapons, huh?”

“And a bag and the pack of a dead adventurer. Frankly, I suspect those two might be the more valuable pieces of loot. I’m sure the bag is actually a bag of holding, and if that’s the case, who knows what could be in there?”

“But you haven’t opened it?”

“Too risky. The bag and the pack are both trapped, at least, so we think. There’s a binding spell that prevents both from being opened—or damaged—and I don’t want to mess with either one. If the wards are anything like the dungeon we just went through, I wouldn’t want the bag opened even if I were on the other side of the city.”

“Was it really that dangerous down there?”

Ryoka looked inquiringly at Ceria. The half-Elf hesitated. She didn’t want to lie, but she didn’t want to tell the truth either. Even remembering the ordeal made her shudder.

“It was—bad. Very bad.”

She didn’t press for details, but Ryoka’s expression told Ceria she would listen. And Ceria knew she had to tell her. Slowly, she began to relate the entire tale to Ryoka, skipping over only the parts that were too hard to tell her, the details of the pit.

“Near the end, I think we were all a bit insane, even after the spell had ended. We made a lot of bad mistakes, and we lost the majority of the treasure because we made a mistake.”

“It wasn’t your fault. None of you were thinking straight.”

“That’s true enough, but we should have fallen back. If we’d just taken the time…”

Again, Ceria had to make herself break off. There was no use going over the moment again and again. She turned the topic away from the past and onto the future instead. She made her tone lighter.

“After Yvlon gets treated and we’ve had another day to rest, we’re going to have to think hard about what we want to do next.”

“As adventurers, you mean?”

“Not that. I mean, not yet. I think we’re all in this now; we’ve been bit by the adventuring beast. But we need to improve ourselves first. We all leveled up from that dungeon—several times actually! But if we want to continue, we need to get those artifacts analyzed. They’re the difference between us being Silver-rank and Gold-rank.”

Ryoka nodded, thinking hard.

“Any idea how you could do that? I have one idea, but it would be…risky…”

“No need for risk. I know how to get everything looked at. It’s just a matter of time and effort.”

“Really? How?”

Ceria drained most of her mug, grimacing as she remembered it wasn’t water she was drinking.

“One place where we know we’d find people able to dispel the magic and maybe even repair the artifacts is Invrisil.”

“The City of Adventurers?”

“Everyone just has to mention that.”

The half-Elf rolled her eyes and laughed with Ryoka. But then she grew serious again.

“Yes. It’s one of the most famous cities on the continent for a reason. It’s the center of the Human lands, and famous teams pass through there all the time. If there were any place aside from Wistram where we’d get the gear looked at, it’s there.”

“Sounds good to me. Only one problem though—isn’t Invrisil over four hundred miles north of here?”

“Six hundred? Something huge. Anyways, none of us want to make the journey, but that’s the place we have to be. A trip would take weeks—maybe as much as a month and it would take far too much coin and time, not to mention the danger if people knew what we were carrying. But…”

“But…?”

Ceria grinned.

“Well, we were talking about it last night. This morning, rather, while we were getting over our last hangover. If it’s too much time and effort for the four of us to go north, why not hire someone who can get there faster? Someone we can trust? They could take the gold and get the gear analyzed, and then send us a [Message] spell and ask what we want to do and bring the gear back. Of course, we’d have to have complete faith in the Runner brave enough to do all that…”

At first, Ryoka’s expression was intent, but then her face went slack with surprise. By the time Ceria had finished, she was shaking her head.

“That’s a lot of trust to put in a Runner. I wouldn’t trust anyone like that, myself.”

“Are you sure?”

Ceria teased Ryoka.

“You’re the person who saved the original Horns of Hammerad all that time ago. And you went into the crypts to rescue me. I’d trust you with our gear and coin, and so would Yvlon. Pisces is on the fence, and Ksmvr just doesn’t know you that well. But if we got you an escort—another Runner who can fight maybe—the real issue is how you’ll carry all that gear without attracting attention.”

The young woman’s expression was bemused.

“I…may have something that could help with that. But before we go to all that trouble, I might have an even better idea. I happen to know a local expert in magic myself.”

“Really? Who?”

“I’ll introduce you.”

To Ceria’s incredulous surprise, Ryoka unbuckled her Runner’s belt and laid it on the table. She called out, and to Ceria’s astonishment she saw one of the compartments was moving.

“Hey. Ivolethe. You can come out here.”

The large pouch vibrated and Ceria leaned back as she heard a voice! It was a voice, but something was very strange about it. She heard someone speaking, that much was obvious. And yet—

She heard the words. It sounded like—‘are ye sure?’. But it couldn’t be. Ceria rubbed at her ears; the sound was almost ethereal, if that could apply to a voice. It felt almost as though she was hearing the words in her mind, like a stray thought. Then Ryoka opened the pouch and something flew out.

A Frost Faerie, a Winter Sprite, one of the beings of winter Ceria had seen every year, flew into the air, whirling as vapor trails formed behind her. Ceria gasped and pushed her chair back in instinctive surprise. And fear. She hadn’t forgotten how the faeries had attacked her last time she’d met, and all half-Elves had learned very early on that the Winter Sprites were not friendly towards them.

But something was different about this faerie. She wasn’t the half-blurred form Ceria saw in the sky. Ceria knew the faeries had their own glamor, an illusion she could only partly see through thanks to her Elven heritage. But in the confines of the room, the magic that kept her from being seen and heard was gone.

She was—real. So real and delicate and wondrous that Ceria couldn’t believe her eyes. But what her eyes saw made her stare even harder.

She saw something else, behind the form Ryoka saw. She saw a flash of color—a face, far larger than the tiny faerie’s wrinkling her nose at Ceria in displeasure. The elfin being flicked her hair—

And then the image was gone. The tiny faerie flipped her hair, flipped Ceria off, and then jumped up onto the mug with the drinks. She dunked her head in it and drank, lowering the level of the liquid quite a bit. Then she sat on the cup and glared at both Ceria and Ryoka.

“I do not wish to speak to the offspring of whores and slatterns.”

“That’s a rude way to say hello.”

Ryoka glared at the tiny faerie whom she introduced as Ivolethe. Ceria just stared, awestruck. When she finally found her voice, all she could do was stammer.

“How did you—do you know what—Ryoka?”

The young woman was grinning like a child holding a huge sweet.

“She’s a friend of mine, Ceria. A Frost Faerie. And she’s teaching me their magic.”

“Their magic?”

Ceria’s eyes turned back to Ivolethe. The tiny faerie made another rude gesture.

“Don’t stare at me so, bastard-daughter!”

The words stung and brought Ceria back to earth. Ryoka frowned hard at the tiny faerie and pushed her into the cup. Ivolethe spluttered and shook liquid off her wings, shouting in outrage.

“Stop that. Ceria’s done nothing wrong. Why do your people hate her so much?”

The faerie sneered at Ryoka.

“We don’t hate her, fool! We hate what she has become, what her existence means! Ask her about her people and their sin!”

Ceria bit her lip as the faerie spoke. She didn’t know about sin—but she knew what the faerie meant. Ryoka glanced at her face and scowled at Ivolethe again.

“Stop being rude. I asked you to come out because I thought you could help, not shout insults. Calm down.”

“Would you like a drink?”

Ceria offered her mug to the faerie. Ivolethe snorted and kicked the mug back.

“I won’t drink from your cup, half-breed!”

Ryoka’s eyes narrowed.

“Ivolethe. She offered you her cup. That was an act of good faith.”

“I piss in your good faith!”

The faerie shouted at Ceria, but Ryoka flicked her back into the mug again. When she came out shrieking in outrage, Ceria just sighed and spoke to Ryoka.

“I don’t think it’s worth it, Ryoka.”

“I do. And if Ivolethe is my friend, she’d heed my request.”

Something about the way Ryoka phrased her statement spoke to Ceria. It certainly had an impact on Ivolethe. The faerie stared up at her, incredulous.

“Ye’d invoke our friendship? For her?”

“Absolutely. She’s my friend as well. And all I’m asking is if you’d consider looking at her magical artifacts.”

“No! Nae! Never a million times over!”

“Ivolethe…”

“Never a million times and one!”

“Come on.”

“No!”

Ceria stared at the two arguing and rubbed her eyes. She stared at her mug and decided she wasn’t doing any more drinking, possibly ever.  Ryoka kept pressing the insistent Frost Faerie.

“Ivolethe, I’m asking you as a friend. Unless your friendship with me isn’t worth that much?”

Ivolethe’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and her voice deepened far more than should be possible.

“Play no games with me, mortal. Friendship is not a bargaining tool.”

“Sorry.”

Ryoka actually looked chastened. Ivolethe fanned her wings out, sniffed, and then seemed to relent. She didn’t look directly at Ceria, but her tone made it clear she was speaking to both girls.

“Even if I did consent, my help would avail ye naught.”

“Why’s that? Can’t you read magic? I thought faeries knew more magic than any mortal.”

“True, but what we understand is not your odd system. I could read the flow of magic within such objects, but knowing the ken of such strange things is beyond me. The wh—the halfling is right. Find a proper spellcaster to do your work rather than bother me.”

With that, the faerie jumped back into the pouch and closed it in a huff, pausing only to drink Ryoka’s cup dry. Ryoka stared at Ceria and shrugged.

“Well, it was worth a shot.”

Ceria stared at her friend and shook her head very slowly.

“You’re going to have to explain what happened to you while I was away.”

The young woman grinned.

“I can do that. It’ll take a while, though.”

“We’ve got time. You could tell all of us over dinner. We could visit Yvlon then hear it from you.”

Ryoka nodded.

“Good idea. And while we do, I can talk to you about Erin.”

“What about Erin? Is she okay?”

“She’s in Celum right now.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you the entire story, but the long and short of it is that she needs an escort. And we also need for Pisces to track down Toren—the skeleton.”

“Why?”

Ceria’s mind raced ahead of Ryoka’s answer and she groaned even as Ryoka told her.

“He’s done it. Pisces actually—no, maybe he just made one that could think. But that crazy fool actually—”

Ryoka frowned as she followed Ceria out the door. The half-Elf stomped down the corridor, suddenly in a foul mood.

“What’s he done? What’s this about Toren?”

“We’ll get Pisces to explain right now. If he’s not sober I’ll freeze him until he is. It’s his stupid idea with the undead. It goes all the way back to when we were at Wistram.”

Ceria paused as she reached the stairs leading down. She halted Ryoka silently. The young woman looked at her, and she had the presence of mind to whisper.

“What? What’s wrong?”

The half-Elf frowned. She lowered her voice to a whisper as well.

“Pisces and Ksmvr were down there with half the city drinking and having a party.”

“So?”

“Why’s it so quiet?”

They exchanged a look. Ceria raised her skeletal hand, calling magic into it. Ryoka pulled a bottle from her belt. The two crept down the stairs.

The two were ready for anything—bandits, a crazed mob, enemy mages, monsters—even an evil undead skeleton. But neither of them had expected the smartly dressed, professional [Butler] that stood in the middle of the common room, waiting for them to come down.

He was the odd thing out in the world of celebration and cheer. Pisces, Ksmvr, and the many, many guests in the inn were all paused in the midst of their reveling, staring at the man in his black uniform and trim mustache. He bowed to Ryoka, arm over his stomach as she descended, staring at him.

“Ryoka Griffin?”

Ceria looked over at her friend as every eye turned to the Runner. Ryoka had a dark look on her face as she stared at the man. She crossed her arms.

“Who’s asking?”

The [Butler] straightened and gave her a dignified nod of the head. His words were crisp and precise.

“My name is Reynold, Miss Griffin. I am a [Butler] in direct employ of the Reinhart house. I have come here at the orders of Lady Magnolia.”

Ceria had never wanted a [Butler]—she’d never considered even having one before now. But now she wanted one. She stared at the man, mind buzzing with the implications of what he’d just said. Lady Magnolia? She wanted Ryoka? Why?

Ryoka’s face was completely hostile as she stared at Reynold.

“Oh? And what does Magnolia want with me?”

The man gestured towards the door. Through it, Ryoka could see a carriage, sitting horseless on the street. But it was not a simple carriage. It had to be one of the nobility’s carriages, the kind pulled by magic creations similar in nature to the fire construct Ceria had faced in the dungeon.

“The coach awaits you outside. If you will come with us, we will bring you to the estate of Magnolia Reinhart.”

“And if I refuse?”

Ceria stared at her friend in shock. But Ryoka looked quite serious. Reynold nodded once.

“I will not force you to come with us.”

“Wise.”

Ryoka sneered down at the [Butler]. He raised one finger, cutting off her next words.

“However, I must caution you that Lady Magnolia did not send just me.”

“What?”

Outside the inn, the doors of the carriage slowly opened. Ceria saw someone emerge from the carriage, but it was not Lady Magnolia. Not Magnolia, and yet a tiny bell in Ceria’s head—her [Dangersense]—rang the instant she laid eyes on the woman.

Ressa, the head [Maid] in Lady Magnolia’s employ, stepped through the doors, staring around the room full of silent people as if they were specks of dirt and she had a dust cloth. She stopped, her black and white dress swirling around her as she met Ryoka’s eyes across the crowded room.

The older woman did not smile. She didn’t frown either; she just looked at Ryoka with cold eyes, weighing her up and down and finding her wanting as before. Ressa’s face was implacable as she looked Ryoka straight in the eye and spoke.

“Lady Reinhart is expecting you.”

3.10

Yvlon Byres knew the answer before they said it. She was not a silver-tongued socialite, but she had learned to read people’s eyes as a child. She had learned to dance with words before she had picked up a sword. Of course, she’d left that world behind to become an adventurer, but some things never faded.

Now she sat still and kept her face still, hoping that she was wrong. But the [Healer] just shook his head as he tapped on the silver and black metal that had become part of Yvlon’s body.

“I’m sorry Miss Byres. But I don’t believe the metal can be removed.”

“I see.”

Yvlon’s tone was light and free of negative emotion. She looked the man directly in the eye; an honest [Noble] would do no less. Feeling free to speak, the man went on, speaking candidly.

“I am not a high-level [Healer]. Perhaps one with a Skill might be able to deal with this…affliction. Or perhaps a [Bone Surgeon], although you would have to find a Gnoll tribe’s [Healer] with such a rare class. As it is…I can do nothing.”

The woman stared at her arms, at the metal that felt so alien and heavy on her skin. There was no pain—only a sense of invasiveness. She could feel the metal in her, and in truth she had expected no other answer from the man.

“What of the exterior?”

The tall, broad woman standing next to the [Healer] cleared her throat. She was a [Blacksmith], and she touched the cold metal with familiarity. Yvlon didn’t mind the intrusion, although the [Healer] looked askance. But the [Blacksmith] only saw metal, and how it could be shaped.

“That I could cut away. The pieces below the skin—if that is anchored to bone I won’t touch it. Normally we’d use a saw or snap the metal in two—”

“No.”

The man hurriedly interjected and the broad-shoulder woman nodded placidly before continuing.

“—But with the right blade we could cut the metal. It’s warped; lost a lot of its strength in the melting. An enchanted dagger would cut most of it off and we could sand the rest smooth. It’s not easy, but it is doable.”

Yvlon looked at the [Healer] to see his opinion. The man nodded reluctantly.

“It would certainly allow the skin to breathe and prevent much of the possible infection. But even so, the metal has bonded with bone. Your arms—”

“I understand. Thank you.”

She couldn’t bear to hear any more. Both man and woman exchanged uncertain glances. At last, the [Healer] spoke again.

“I’ll leave you to get dressed.”

“And I will see if I can find a blade good enough to use. It will have to be enchanted—Dwarven-craft weapons might work, but even that would involve sharpening…”

Their words fell on deaf ears. Yvlon waited until they’d left, smiling politely and thanking them for their time—and paying them for their efforts. Then she sat back in the small room the [Healer] had examined her in and reached for her clothes.

She had still worn a breast band of course, but she had had to take off the clothing on her upper body to expose her shoulders and arms. Yvlon gazed at them now, and saw the metal. It had once been her armor, but now…

It looked almost like a scab. A dirty, discolored plating of metal that ran from her shoulders down to her hands. It wasn’t one unsplit seam either; jagged cracks had broken around her joints, allowing her to move her arms, albeit with difficulty. It was heavy. And as Yvlon stared at her arms, her shirt in one hand, her eyes filled with tears.

It was a moment of weakness. The only one she could afford, when everyone’s eyes weren’t on her. Yvlon dropped her shirt and felt her eyes sting as the world blurred.

Cool composure. Politeness at all times. It was the mark of a Byres, and she had kept the mask up. But she hadn’t dared invite her friends, the other Horns of Hammerad. She hadn’t wanted them to hear the news, see the looks on their faces.

Her hands were trembling, but all Yvlon saw was metal. Ugly metal. It wasn’t beautiful, not like the silver she had worn, the silver which she’d been so proud of, her family’s colors and fortune—the name she had taken for her adventuring groups. It was ugly and tarnished and black.

Just like her.

More tears trickled down her cheek. Yvlon wiped at her eyes clumsily, feeling the hard metal brush against her eyes.

“Oh no. Not this. Honor and hearth. Please, not…”

It wasn’t fair. That was what she wanted to say, but wasn’t it what she deserved? And she’d been the only one with a weapon. Ksmvr had been down, Pisces and Ceria’s magic had failed—

She’d done what she had to do. It was her duty, and she’d been prepared for death. But not this.

“Not this.”

Her arms. The metal was so dull. Yvlon shook again. Strong. She had to be strong. If she let her friends down—

Would they think less of her? Abandon her? She had failed once. How could she tell them? What could she say? She’d already demanded almost all the gold they’d earned. What about this?

“I don’t know.”

It had been so easy a month ago. She’d been so sure.  Yvlon pulled her tunic over her head, slowly, clumsily. The [Healer] had offered her to help, but this she had to do herself. The fabric was far too loose for her comfort, but it was the only way she could get it over her arms. She couldn’t even raise them fully over her head; the metal dug too much into her flesh to let her.

Part of Yvlon just wanted to sleep. To go to sleep and forget. But then she might dream she was in the pit again, imagining she was one of her long-dead ancestors. Or worse, she might dream of Skinner, the crawling monster with crimson eyes and the undead that struck down each of her friends in slow motion. Yvlon shuddered. Her eyes filled again.

Someone hammered on her door. Yvlon sat bolt upright. In an instant, her eyes stopped stinging, and she used her shirt to scrub at her face.

“Enter.”

When the panting young man pushed open the door he didn’t notice Yvlon’s red eyes; he only saw her arms, and even that only held his attention for a second. He stopped and bobbed his head awkwardly to her, as if she were his liege lady instead of a common adventurer.

“Pardon, Miss Yvlon, but there’s trouble at The Nobleman’s Disgrace!”

“What?”

Yvlon said the words and then remembered; that was the inn they were all staying at.

“What trouble?”

“I don’t know. A coach arrived—a fancy noble’s coach, one of the ones pulled by magic! And a man and a woman came out, and then they said they were going to take a Runner away!”

A Runner? Yvlon’s brows furrowed as she tried to make sense of everything.

“Who? And what does this have to do with us?”

The young man could only gabble on as he tried to explain things from his limited perspective.

“The Runner? Her name was Ryoka Griffin—”

“Ryoka?”

“That’s right! And she said she wasn’t going,and the woman insisted, and then your Captain—the half-Elf—she said she wasn’t going either and folks started drawing their swords!”

Yvlon didn’t wait to hear anything else. She was out of her chair and pushing past the surprised young man in an instant. Her grief, her feelings of pain and regret—all of it she gladly surrendered to adrenaline and the need for action.

“My sword—”

She didn’t have one. Yvlon snapped at the young man.

“Get me a sword!”

She charged out the building and onto the street, running in the direction of the inn. She didn’t know why Ryoka was here, but she had saved Ceria, and if the other Horns of Hammerad were going to fight, so was Yvlon. She would not let her party die again.

—-

Sometimes Ceria wondered if she could ever have a peaceful life. If she quit casting magic and stopped going on adventures and just lived in a quiet place somewhere for the rest of her life, wouldn’t that be worthwhile? She’d never have to fight monsters and she wouldn’t wake up with bugs crawling in her mouth while it rained. She could be happy.

But the flaw with that idea was that even if Ceria didn’t get into trouble, her friends would. Like Ryoka, and Erin for example. The trouble with those two girls was that they tended to attract monsters and chaos like a tower attracted thunderbolts in a storm.

And it seemed like they were getting better at it, or at least Ryoka was. Ceria stood warily by her friend’s side, staring at a tall, austere [Maid] standing in the middle of The Nobleman’s Disgrace. Despite the countless swords, daggers, and other weapons being pointed at her, the woman appeared completely unconcerned. And Ceria’s [Dangersense] was going off, warning her in no uncertain terms.

To be clear, it wasn’t the Horns of Hammerad, Ryoka, or even Ressa or the [Butler] who had unsheathed their blades. Rather, it was the clientele of the inn, the revelers who’d come to bask in the presence of the Horns of Hammerad, hear stories and get drunk.

Ceria agonized. How had it come to this? She’d just said that Ryoka wasn’t being taken anywhere against her will, and these idiots had drawn weapons. On a servant employed by Magnolia Reinhart!

And now this servant was demanding that Ryoka went with them again. Ceria gritted her teeth as the young woman standing by her side glared at the maid she’d called Ressa. The half-Elf knew her friend was stubborn, and she had no idea why Magnolia Reinhart wanted her, but she hoped she’d at least be tactful—

“Fuck you. I’m not going.”

If Ceria could have closed her ears off to not hear that, she would. Was Ryoka insane? Ceria was no native to this continent, but she had heard so many stories of the Five Families and their influence. You did not refuse their requests without good reason.

But it appeared that Ressa had fully expected Ryoka’s refusal. The [Maid]’s expression did not change; that was to say, she continued looking at like Ryoka like a filthy insect that was about to be smeared on the ground.

“You have no choice. Magnolia Reinhart has requested your presence. You will come with me.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Feel free to try.”

What could they do? Ceria looked around the inn. The other patrons were looking at the [Maid] and her, clearly waiting for her instruction. If she asked them to she had no doubt they’d throw the maid out of the inn. And then Magnolia Reinhart would probably burn down the inn and throw them off a cliff.

It had to be said again. Ceria stepped forwards in front of Ryoka protectively. Pisces, staggering slightly, took her right side, puffed up with alcohol and bravado. Ksmvr didn’t do the same—because he was flanking the [Maid], ready to charge her. Ceria could only hope he’d wait for her to make the first move if it came to that.

“If Ryoka doesn’t want to go, she’s not going.”

Again, the maid only flicked her eyes at Ceria and the other Horns of Hammerad dismissively. It was as if she couldn’t see how outnumbered she was.

“I would advise you to stay out of this matter.”

That was it. Ten words. Ressa knew they were adventurers; she had to know that. And she also knew the mood in the inn was against her for all her mistress’s influence, but she was still warning Ceria. That made the half-Elf hesitate, but what could she do? Let Ryoka be abducted? No.

She thought fast.

“In that case, we’ll go with Ryoka. If you take her, we’ll be right by her side.”

Ryoka blinked. She turned to Ceria at the same time Pisces did. But it was Ressa who spoke. Her eyes focused on Ceria’s face and then moved to Pisces and Ksmvr. Her eyes lingered longest on Ksmvr, although there was not a hint of expression in her face or tone.

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

Ceria challenged the woman, trying not to flinch from the cold stare. Did she have some kind of intimidation Skill? It almost felt like she was staring at Skinner again. But she held her ground despite the sweat running down her back.

“My orders were for Ryoka alone.”

“If you really want Ryoka to go with you at least tell us why.”

“She knows why.”

Ressa looked back at Ryoka. Ceria looked at her friend and saw a faint grimace cross Ryoka’s face. There was some history here, she knew, but she didn’t have time to ask for an explanation. Ceria changed tack.

“Then reassure us. Ryoka is our friend; at least promise us she’ll come to no harm while she’s with you.”

That would be simple enough, right? If they could nail her down to a promise or—

“No.”

It felt like everyone blinked when they heard that word. Ressa’s face was smooth, though. She shook her head.

“No promises. No bargaining. Ryoka Griffin will come with me. Or I will be forced to bring her against her will.”

“Oh really?”

Pisces’ slightly slurred voice ran out. He took an unsteady step towards Ressa. The [Maid]’s left eye twitched as she focused on him, but she didn’t make any other move. Pisces pointed at her, sneering.

“You seem quite confident, Miss Maid, that we will so obediently roll over and accede to your Mistress’s wishes. But the good people of this city are not so spineless as to obey even one of the Five Families’ minions when they come here to abduct an innocent Runner.”

His words seemed to have the opposite effect that he had intended. Half the people in the inn shifted uncomfortably at the mention of the Five Families, and they seemed to realize they were pointing weapons at a servant of a Reinhart. Their blades lowered almost as one, although most still kept them out.

Pisces, oblivious, kept going.

“And as to your presumptuous statement—I feel obliged to point out the obvious. You are outnumbered and I very much doubt your [Butler] is a master of arms. To quote an oft-repeated phrase, you and what army will take Ryoka Griffin away?”

Ressa made no immediate response. She just stared at Pisces with contempt. Meanwhile, Ceria and every person in the inn slowly filled in her unspoken reply.

What army? What army would back Magnolia Reinhart? It was more like a question of which army wouldn’t mobilize at her word. Every garrison of every major city in the north would back her if she so ordered.

Across the bar, someone slipped out the back. Ceria saw the movement, and then saw weapons slowly being sheathed, and people starting to back away. Drunk bravado had had a moment to sober, and now people were correctly realizing that this standoff was not something they wanted to be involved in.

Pisces seemed quite oblivious to this. He didn’t notice as more people began abandoning the tables around him and retreated from being active participants in the discussion to mere innocent bystanders, standing at the far end of the room. Meanwhile, the maid was waiting. Just waiting.

She wasn’t even really listening to Pisces or her, Ceria realized. Ressa was just waiting for Ryoka’s response again. And it was clear that saying ‘no’ a second time wouldn’t be a wise idea.

“Ryoka?”

She murmured to her friend. Ryoka was breathing heavily, and her jaw was clenched. She had something in her hand—a potion? Maybe a weapon of some kind, an alchemist’s weapon. Ceria wished she could tell Ryoka not to use it at any cost, but she had no idea what Ryoka’s relationship with Magnolia was. What should she do? If she—

“Ceria!”

Someone shouted her name. Ceria jerked, and then Yvlon rushed into the inn, a sword in her hands. She looked around for an enemy wildly, spotted Ressa. She froze in place, and the color drained from her face.

“Miss Ressa?”

“Yvlon Byres.”

It was remarkable how the [Maid] didn’t react to Yvlon’s appearance. She just stared at the woman, noted her arms, and dismissed her in an instant.

“Put the sword down. Lady Magnolia has requested Ryoka Griffin’s presence.”

“I—”

Yvlon might have been expecting trouble, but she was clearly thrown by Ressa’s presence. Thrown into a barn door, by the look on her face. She wavered, but then gripped the blade more firmly with both hands.

“No.”

“What did you say?”

The maid’s voice was cold. Yvlon’s was just as chilly.

“Ryoka is my friend, and Ceria’s. If she doesn’t wish to go with you, I will back her. Even if it means defying Aunt Magnolia’s request.”

“That is Lady Magnolia to you. And you would be well advised not to involve yourself in this, girl.”

The two women locked eyes, but Yvlon refused to back down. Ceria vaguely remembered—the Byres house was one of the Reinhart family’s branch houses, weren’t they? They were definitely subservient in some way.

“Yvlon—”

“Say the word, Ceria.”

Yvlon’s arms trembled, but her gaze was square on Ressa. The woman only sighed; she seemed more irritated by Yvlon’s refusal to budge than worried about the sword aimed at her. She turned back to Ryoka.

“Well? Will you come peacefully?”

Ryoka was visibly hesitating. She bit her lip as she glared at Ressa. Ceria was tense; she didn’t know what was coming next and she feared whatever answer Ryoka might give. But then she saw Ksmvr raise his third hand.

“If I may have your attention?”

Ressa looked at him and her gaze could have frozen ice. Ksmvr paid no attention; his other two hands were holding a dagger and a bottle respectively.

“I advise you to surrender and retreat before my Captain orders me to attack. I am fairly confident it will result in your death or maiming.”

Ceria felt like she had inhaled her tongue. Everyone else in the inn goggled at Ksmvr. Ressa said only one word as her eyes narrowed.

“What?”

The Antinium nodded at Ressa.

“You have the stance of a trained warrior, but you lack armor and visible arms. Unless you hold a magical item of considerable potency or possess unarmed combat Skills, I believe I will be able to kill you if my allies and I attack in tandem.”

The Antinium finished with this confident declaration and waited for the maid’s response. After a moment she realized people were staring at him.

“…What? Are we not intending to kill her if she insists on taking Ryoka?”

Ceria’s head was starting to hurt. She pointed at the Antinium.

“Ksmvr—stand down. No one is going to hurt her, and certainly not kill her.”

“Ah. My mistake.”

Ksmvr nodded apologetically and stepped back. Ressa turned back to Ryoka. Ceria tried to quiet her beating heart. Try again?

“Can we talk about this? If Ryoka doesn’t want to leave—”

“Fine. I’ll go.”

Ceria turned in astonishment. Ryoka sighed and stepped forwards. Ressa regarded her with what looked like surprise as well.

“Ryoka?”

The Runner shrugged at Ceria, looking resigned.

“I’ve got no choice. I knew this was coming. Ceria, I’ve got to go.”

“But—”

The look in Ryoka’s eyes told her not to ask any more questions. Ceria glanced around and remembered her audience. She held Ryoka’s gaze.

“You’re sure?”

“Pretty much.”

Ryoka turned and glared at Ressa.

“Where is Magnolia now?”

“Invrisil. You will be taken to her estate which lies next to the city.”

The name of the city made Ryoka and Ceria blink. She saw Ryoka turn and look back at her, and then her friend turned back to Ressa.

“Okay. I’ll go. But on one condition. Give me fifteen minutes to prepare before we leave.”

The maid seemed to think this over. She looked sharply at Ryoka.

“Running will do you no good.”

“I know.”

The two locked gazes for one more second. Then Ressa’s head dipped almost imperceptibly.

“I will wait for you in the carriage. Do not force me to retrieve you.”

Without another word, she turned and walked out of the inn. Ceria stared at her back in shock, and then saw the door to the carriage open. Ryoka sighed softly, and looked at her.

“You’ll have to tell Erin.”

Then the chaos began and Ceria could only try and keep up.

—-

Holy crap, this is it. Either I’m dead or I’m going to be interrogated and tortured horribly before I die. Or maybe I survive, but I’m not placing my bets on a happy ending.

The instant Ressa walks out the door it’s all go. I turn and drag Ceria upstairs; too slowly, because people are already crowding around me and the other Horns of Hammerad, asking questions and shouting, speculating.

“Out of the way!”

I shout at them as I push for the stairs. Ceria seems to get what I’m trying to do and helps me push.

“Move aside! We have to hurry!”

They don’t want to let us go. People are pulling at me, asking me how I know Magnolia Reinhart, what my business is with her. I want to punch them but I don’t have time for a brawl—

“[Frozen Wind].”

Someone whispers the spell. I hear shrieks, and then feel the cold air blow past me, freezing me in an instant. Pisces lowers his hands as the crowd suddenly backs up. The spell he cast wasn’t deadly, but damn, it looks painful. He pushes both of us up the stairs and Yvlon and Ksmvr are behind us in a flash.

“In here.”

I push into Ceria’s room and take a breath. She looks at me, wide-eyed and bursting with questions, but I know I can’t answer any of them right now. I don’t even know if I should. I can’t drag her into this. God, what is Magnolia going to ask me?

“Ryoka, what—”

“Fifteen minutes. Probably more like ten.”

I cut her off as I snap. I pace around the room, already trying to figure out the fastest way through the streets.

“Figure out how much gold you need to give me, and get all those damaged artifacts and whatever else you want me to get analyzed. I’ll take it—I’ve got a bag of holding of my own.”

“You do?”

I touch the bag Teriarch gave me at my side.

“It should fit everything. Can you put a bag of holding in a bag of holding?”

“Do not attempt that.”

Pisces stares at me intently as he stands against one wall. Ksmvr and Yvlon are just staring as Ceria sits on her bed. I nod at him.

“I’ll keep the backpack and the other pouch separate, then. Have it all ready before I get back; I need to go and that stupid maid isn’t going to wait.”

“We can do that.”

Yvlon speaks, looking at the others for confirmation. I meet her eyes; should I say anything? We didn’t even say hello, and suddenly we’re doing this. I still remember punching her—

“Ryoka, are you sure about this? You don’t have to go if you’re not sure.”

I tear my eyes away and look at Ceria.

“I think I have to. If I don’t, there will be trouble.”

Now that I know how big a fish Magnolia Reinhart is, I have no desire to push her. Pisces nods.

“It would be best if Miss Ryoka went with the servants without a fuss. We are only fortunate that the fools down below were not completely insensible to reason, or else we all might be in a serious predicament.”

We all stare at him. Pisces still reeks of booze, but he doesn’t look nearly as unsteady as he was a few seconds ago. Ceria gapes at him.

“Wait. You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

He sneers. Of course. I nod at him, and turn to the door.

“Get everything you need to give me. I’ll be back—”

“Where are you going?”

Ceria looks worried. I turn.

“Runner’s Guild.”

“What?”

No time to answer. I rush down the stairs, nearly trampling the innkeeper who’s trying to listen at the door, and push out of the crowd. I get one glimpse at the coach—surrounded by a crowd of people who don’t quite dare to get any closer—and then I’m running full-tilt down the icy street. Damn. My feet are cold. At least I have one of Erin’s jars of Corusdeer soup. I should have gotten more.

As I run I fumble at my belt. I call out, ignoring the looks I’m getting as I run down the street towards the Guild.

“Ivolethe. You’re going to have to get out.”

The faerie flies from my pouch and up to my head.

“You go to meet this woman? The others seem truly fearful of her name; it betokens much of her, does it not?”

“It does. And you—you’ve got to stay away from her. You can’t go in her house. Magnolia’s extremely dangerous.”

Is she? I’ve never figured out how dangerous she is, but I know that she’s smart and she employs [Assassins] and she’s rich. I’m going with maximum paranoia to be on the safe side, and at the top of my list is not getting Ivolethe in the same position as she was with Persua.

“I will follow ye.”

Ivolethe agrees readily, which makes me feel relieved. But then she flies closer to my face.

“Know this, Ryoka. I am your friend, but in matters of life and death, I must not interfere. We have broken the rule twice; but we had cause and sacrifice, you understand? It must not, will not happen thrice. Remember that.”

“I understand.”

I’m on my own. Ivolethe nods, and flies up. She lets me run on until I get to the Runner’s Guild. How much time has passed? Only three minutes? Five?

I slam the doors open and rush up to the front desk. I thrust aside a female Runner, ignoring her shout of anger and point at the [Receptionist]. He blinks at me.

“Get me…every delivery you have for Invrisil.”

“What?”

Everyone says that word. Why? It just wastes time. I pant as I clarify my statement in as few words as possible.

“I’m about to go directly to Invrisil. Today. If you have a multi-part delivery…Courier deliveries…anything. I want it.”

Multi-part deliveries are like Courier deliveries, only the people sending the packages can’t pay the exorbitant amounts demanded by Couriers. So they hire City Runners to take the delivery as far as they can go, and then another Runner will complete the request. It’s a useful relay system, although it still costs a lot.

The man at the desk spreads his hands as I try to calculate how much the carriage can carry.

“I’m sorry Miss…Ryoka, is it? I can’t just—”

I grab him and drag him over the desk. He yelps, and I growl at him.

“I don’t have time for this. Give me the deliveries.”

Ten minutes later, I’m rushing back down the street. Turns out even a [Receptionist] can run fast when you’re literally kicking him around. I have a bundle of deliveries in my hand and more in my pack—some are damn heavy. Two more Runners are racing after me, carrying more things bound for Invrisil. I couldn’t take everything, but I got a huge amount.

Ressa stares at me as I fling open the carriage door and start shoving packages inside. Her intimidating glare* doesn’t stop me from piling the rich seat next to her with deliveries. I’m secretly enjoying every second of this, but I keep my face straight.

*Yeah, I’ll admit it, she scares me a bit. She’s like a perfect Victorian maid if you secretly suspected that they could kill you with their bare hands.

“Sorry, you’re going to have to budge over. I’ve got some really big stuff to take as well.”

“What are you doing?”

“Deliveries. I’m a Runner.”

I slam the door in Ressa’s face before she can respond and turn to the panting Runners behind me. They’re breathing hard from that little run? Disgraceful.

“Okay, load the rest of the deliveries into the coach.”

Is it a coach or carriage? Wait, they’re both the same thing, aren’t they? My mind’s running too fast to focus on anything. I point to the vehicle, ignoring the hesitation on the faces of the Runners.

“Go on.”

“Are you sure?”

The female Runner looks hesitant. Understandable I guess; this definitely doesn’t look like a bulk transport. I nod.

“Get it on there. Hurry up!”

The voice of command is a wonderful thing. They get to work, and I look around and see if I can spot Ceria and the others. I wonder if Ressa will snap when I bring all of their gear as well.

God. This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve got a list. But it makes sense! I’m getting a free ride to Invrisil, or rather I don’t have any choice, so I might as well milk it for all I’ve got. I’ll get paid, I can help my friends out—

The Runners are hesitating as they open the door and find Ressa glaring at them. I think they’d be more comfortable with a snake in the carriage. I certainly would be.

“Well? Go on; toss it in. Ignore the [Maid].”

I’m playing a dangerous game here. I’ll probably end in me getting my ass handed to me, but I don’t care. If Ressa thinks she can push me around—

Well, she’s right, but I’m getting my revenge this way. I gesture at the Runners, and hear a cough behind me.

“Miss? There is a trunk, as well as space above.”

I turn and see the [Butler]. Honestly, I’d put him completely out of my mind. But now that I look at him and his dapper suit—I sort of want to deck him as well as Ressa. He reminds me too much of my folks’ home. True, they didn’t have servants, but…

Actually, we did, didn’t we? I mean, it wasn’t as if we had our own butlers and so on, but gardeners, pool people, personal masseuses and so on—that’s a lot of people at your beck and call.

Damn it, mom and dad.

Anyways, what was he saying? A trunk?

“Where?”

He points. My eyes find a subtly disguised trunk on the back of the big carriage.

Holy crap, there is! Do all carriages have trunks? Well…obviously. I haven’t ridden in any before now, in my defense. And can it fit all the deliveries? I open it and peer inside. Wow. It can!

But then, this is no ordinary carriage. If the ones from my world are like regular cars, this one’s pretty much a combination of a truck, limousine, and race car. It’s huge, plenty big enough to hold a full assortment of passengers and the deliveries I’m bringing, and it looks lavish. Plush upholstery, gilded exterior—magic horses. Did I mention that?

“Ryoka!”

I turn from supervising the Runners as they pull the deliveries out of the carriage and redeploy them in the trunk to see Ceria and the other Horns of Hammerad. I realize I haven’t even said hello to Yvlon, Pisces, or…the Antinium.

Who is he? I remember Klbkch and Pawn, but this is the other one, isn’t it? How many Antinium does Erin know? I see they’ve got a bunch of pretty beat-up looking weapons in their hands. Are those the magical artifacts? God, they look so beat up. They don’t even glow—well, one is glowing, but it’s very faint.

“Here.”

They shove the weapons at me and I fumble at my side. My bag of holding can hold everything they’ve got—one buckler, a sword, the blade of a sword, and a dagger. The pack and small bag that looks sort of like mine* goes into the trunk. Ceria pours gold into the bag, several hundred gold coins! The crowd watching us is murmuring, and I just pray like hell they don’t try and rush us.

*Definitely a bag of holding. I mean, who wouldn’t use one? Forget wallets; I want this thing if I ever get back to my world. I can literally fit the kitchen sink in here.

“Do you have everything?”

“Think so. Did I miss any items?”

“No. And you’ve got the gold…? Good. And you know what to do?”

“I’ll get all of it looked at. Don’t worry.”

“And if you have to make a decision—”

“If I need to I’ll send a [Message] spell. I’ve got it.”

Ceria and Pisces try to tell me how to find the best mages to analyze the weapons. Yvlon tells me what price is worth paying for a mage and when I should walk away. Ksmvr tells me that I should attempt to use aggression and tact in my dealings, whatever that means. And then…then we just stand around awkwardly.

“Well. I guess I’ve got to go.”

Ceria smiles at me, worry clear in her eyes.

“I don’t believe this is happening, Ryoka. This is so—sudden.”

“Fortuitous, perhaps.”

Pisces remarks as he nods at the carriage. He eyes me.

“I would advise you to guard your tongue when you are meeting with Magnolia Reinhart, Miss Ryoka. It would be…unfortunate if something untoward were to occur on your journey.”

“It would be a zemblanity, you mean?”

“A…pardon me?”

I grin at Pisces’s face. He’s not the only person who can use words to befuddle people. I turn and nod at Yvlon. My eyes fix on her arms—I’d barely seen them before, but looking at them now, I’m both sickened and amazed at how her skin seems to meld with the metal. But I jerk my gaze away and meet Yvlon’s eyes instead. She nods at me, smiling with a trace of bitterness.

“Good luck, Ryoka.”

“Thanks.”

It feels like there’s a thousand things we should say, but that’s all I have time for. I nod to Ksmvr—not much to say to him, really, and then I look at Ceria.

“I’ll be back soon.”

That’s all. I know, it’s like the worst thing I could say if I were in an action movie or a horror film. But really, I feel the same sort of foreboding come over me as I open the door of the carriage and step inside. Ressa doesn’t even look at me as I scoot into the spacious interior and wave at the Horns of Hammerad.

Famous last words. But I said them—and I did all this, offer to analyze the weapons, even grab all those deliveries—because I am afraid. I’m doing this because I want to believe there’s a time after meeting Magnolia. There probably is. I shouldn’t worry, but part of me does.

I ran from her at first. It was so long ago, I’d nearly forgotten. But she knows. She was the first person to figure out where I came from, and I still remember how she could command me so easily. And now I’m on a trip to meet with her. I can only pray it’s not one-way.

“Well?”

I try to make the word challenging as the door closes and I look at Ressa. She glances up at me, and turns her head.

“Reynold? Take us away.”

I hear the [Butler] moving outside the carriage—he’s in a pretty decent seat outside, even if it is exposed to the wind. He doesn’t crack the whip since there are no horses; rather, the coach begins to accelerate with only the faintest shift in equilibrium.

I stare out the window and see the world moving with surprising speed as the butler drives us down the street. I look outside and then see something odd.

People. Waving at us. Their mouths are open, and I open the door slightly to confirm what’s happening. Noise immediately enters the carriage. Not just noise; cheering.

Yes, that’s right. There’s people lining the streets, the crowd at the inn and countless people who came out to see what the fuss was about. Now they’re giving us a sendoff as if we were a bunch of celebrities—which we sort of are, I guess.

It’s still unbelievable to see. A sea of faces passes me by as the coach picks up speed. The citizens of Ocre are waving and laughing and even throwing…is that colored flour? Why? They’re waving and cheering—do they even know why Ressa is here or that it’s me? Or are they just that thrilled by the nobility?

“You fucking people.”

I pull the door open and flip off the cheering crowd. I hear the cheering falter, much to my satisfaction. Then I notice Ressa looking disapprovingly at me, which is to say like normal. I pull my hand back in and flip her off as well. That’s the beauty of the middle finger. It’s multi-purpose and reusable.

Once again though, the maid doesn’t rise to my bait. Ressa just sits in the carriage, not staring at me but rather looking out the window on her side in silence. I can tell she’s aware of me, but she’s giving me the cold shoulder. The freezing shoulder, if I’m honest.

As we speed out the gates to the city, I see the landscape begin to blur as we move impossibly fast. Holy crap, how fast are we going? I barely feel the acceleration, but it feels as if we’re easily passing eighty miles an hour. How can we do that in the snow? And what if we hit a rock? Or a pothole? These roads aren’t like the highways in my world!

But Ressa appears unconcerned, and I can’t even feel the coach jolting along. It must be magic that’s keeping us stable as well. That’s a lazy explanation, but I don’t exactly have the opportunity to analyze the way the wheels are interacting with the ground.

I stare back at Ressa. She’s still sitting and not looking at me. And as the adrenaline and excitement of the last fifteen minutes finally fades from my system, I realize this is happening.

I’m going to meet Magnolia Reinhart. I’m not ready for this.

And I’m nervous. I stare harder at Ressa, but I know she’s not going to talk to me. She doesn’t like me, probably because I’m a rude asshole. So what should I do?

I could…sit here. I guess. The inside of the carriage is very spacious and I can stretch out my legs. There’s plenty of room, and even a small table in the center. There’s something covered by dark blue cloth on it. I wonder what it is? Yeah, I could be a peaceful guest and let this [Butler] and [Maid] take me to Magnolia like a good little girl.

Or—

The dark upholstery of the carriage is almost sinfully comfortable. I sink into it, and then twist. Ressa’s eyes turn as I prop my legs up on my side of the carriage and put my bare (and dirty) feet on the lovely padding. I cross my arms as I sit with my back to one wall of the carriage and stare at her. She looks pointedly at my feet but I don’t move them.

“So. You did it. You got me here, and now you’re delivering me to Magnolia. Well done, you.”

No response. Ressa stares at me for another second and then goes back to staring out of the window. I sigh, loudly and as obnoxiously as possible.

“So what does Magnolia want from me? More juice? Something else? Or does she just want to chat?”

Silence. I edge a bit lower in my seat, so I’m nearly lying down.

“You know, it’s odd that she sent you to pick me up. Aren’t you the most important servant? The demi-head honcho? Isn’t it demeaning to have to come all this way?”

No response. But I’m pretty sure I’m getting to her. And let’s be fair, among my few talents, I do have one skill which I’m unrivaled at: pissing off people*.

*I might not be a world champion or anything, but I’m probably at least a state or national champion when it comes to authority figures. It’s not just being a jerk or stupid; you have to be willfully annoying. It’s an art and I’m a connoisseur.

“So what does she want? Can you give me a preview? A hint? Or is it meant to be a surprise?”

Ressa looks over at me with clear annoyance. She seems to consider a range of options, and then indicates the table with the covered cloth.

“Lady Reinhart has sent provisions in case you are hungry. Please avail yourself.”

Translated, what she really means is ‘eat something and shut up’. I pull back the cloth and find a rather impressive spread of food. Cheese, meats—even wine! I’m tempted, but I’d be an idiot if I actually had some.

Right? I’m tempted, but I wonder if it’s spiked with something to make me more truthful. Then again, couldn’t Magnolia just have her servants restrain me and pour the truth serum down my throat if she wanted?

Even so, I’m not hungry and I’d rather just annoy Ressa.

“Any idea how long this trip is going to take?”

No response. I smile a bit; I’m enjoying this.

“No? What about games? It’s sort of boring just sitting here. Do you have anything fun to do?”

Ressa’s eye is twitching again. I grin wider. She looks up, and speaks briefly.

“Would you like me to hit you?”

I…pause. My instinct is to goad her, but Ressa’s eyes are very serious. And as I’ve noted, she’s not exactly one to shy away even when outnumbered. I could probably beat her in a fight—but why would Magnolia send her by herself if she was incapable of defending herself or subduing me?

As all that flashes through my head I remain quiet. Ressa holds my gaze for one more second and then nods.

“In that case, be silent.”

And then she goes back to staring out the window.

Well.

Um.

I don’t think I’ve ever been—

Huh.

Back home, back in my world when I was younger I got that threat once or twice, when I’d exhausted every other possible response from the adults I was needling. My response back then was ‘try it’, and if they did I was ready. But here, even with martial arts which I’ve admittedly been neglecting to practice, I’m at the bottom of a very tall totem pole in terms of fighting ability.

I stare at Ressa. She wouldn’t—

Yeah, she would. Crap. What do I do now?

It takes me exactly five minutes to figure out what to do. Ressa looks up sharply as I open the carriage door.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m going up front. I think I’ll like the view up there.”

As I open the door, wind howls into the carriage. I jerk back—I’d forgotten how fast we’re going! Flying snow blows in and I see the world whirling past, impossibly fast. But hell, I can see Reynold up ahead and if I climb…it would be instant death if I fell out.

Ressa watches me as I hesitate at the door. For a second I wonder if she’ll yank me inside, but then she turns and calls.

“Reynold. Slow the coach.”

There’s a little window he can hear us through. The [Butler] immediately slows the coach. I wait until it’s at a stop and then hop out. Ressa stares at me impassively as I walk up to the front and jump up next to the astonished [Butler].

“I’m sitting up here.”

He just stares at me before he nods.

“Very good, Miss.”

He pulls at a bunch of reins tied to the ghostly horses and the carriage begins to move again. I hear the door click shut behind me, and wonder why Ressa let me get up front. Maybe she just doesn’t want to deal with me. That makes sense.

Meanwhile, I instantly regret my choice as the carriage picks up speed again. It’s not the snow buffeting me that gets me down—the magic coach actually seems to deflect the snow particles. More magic, I guess, and a flying pebble or stick could probably kill the driver.

But it’s still frickin’ cold. And I’m not moving and Erin’s soup has worn off. I’m shivering, but I refuse Reynold’s offer of a coat. Instead, I just sit up front and let my body get used to the low temperatures. And as the carriage continues to pick up speed, even the freezing weather is banished from my mind by the speed.

I’ve been in cars. Hell, I’ve driven them pretty damn fast and gotten arrested for it. But this—this is totally different.

Consider, a car moves up to…eighty? Ninety miles per hour? Maybe a hundred if you were insane, but that’s pretty much the upper limited outside of race cars. And even open-roof cars have a windshield and a good bit of car in front of the driver. But this—

This is something else.

The wind blows by my face, a tempest of snow and air. The landscape flashes by impossibly fast in my face, and I see all of it, not just the narrow view from the windshield. I’m staring, and I know my jaw is open.

This is life in the fastest lane. This is the sight every runner chases, but more than any normal person could imagine. Maybe Val and Hawk see this as they run. But this is a first for me. I look out, and see a mile flash by in moments. I see people flick by, small shapes on a road. We’re off road—surging smoothly up and down a hill, almost as if we’re anchored to the ground.

It’s so beautiful. It’s wild and quick and magical. And as if that thought calls her, I see a flicker of blue flying out of the white landscape. Ivolethe laughs and flies next to us, flying next to the coach as if she’s coasting on a breeze.

“Ivolethe?”

My words are snatched away by the wind, but Reynold hears them. The [Butler] glances at me and I shake my head. The faerie hears me too; she flies closer and speaks in a little voice audible even over the howling winds.

“Look, Ryoka! Look! This is what you need to see!”

“What?”

The faerie flies closer, next to me and points. She laughs as a flurry of snow engulfs her and then flies out of it, trailing vapor, a blue spark of color amidst the gale.

“The wind! Can ye see it? The wind blows! We run with it!”

She flies out, skimming across the land in front of us. She darts up and around, catching a current moving so fast that it speeds her past the carriage. Then she’s zooming behind us, flying up, low, around, like azure lightning.

I follow her, entranced, seeing her shape, the sole constant in a world lost to the blur. And as she flies about, following some unseen path, I glimpse something. It’s faint; it’s like a trail in the air itself. It doesn’t have color; rather, it’s like a ripple, just like heat makes the air shimmer across the ground. I see it flex ahead of Ivolethe and accordingly she flies up and down and then spins away.

“I see it!”

Reynold jumps in his seat as I half-stand and scream at Ivolethe. She does a double-take in the air and flies towards me.

“Truly!”

“Yes! I see—”

I hesitate. The trail is gone. I squint at where it was, and then look at Ivolethe.

“It was there. I’m sure of it.”

The small faerie grins at me, delighted.

“I believe ye. This is the first step. If you saw that then—”

“You think I can do it again?”

“Miss?”

A voice interrupts Ivolethe’s reply. I look over and see Reynold staring at me, eyes wide.

“What?”

“Are you, ah, speaking to me?”

“What? No. Of course not. I’m speaking to—”

I pause and stare at Ivolethe. I glance back at Reynold and realize that he can’t see the Frost Faerie, or if he can, she’s only a faint blur. Ah.

“Um. I’m speaking to myself. Don’t mind me.”

“Yes, Miss.”

Slowly, I sit back down. Ivolethe grins at me.

“Are ye scaring the poor mortal?”

“Probably.”

I glance over at Reynold. He’s hunching over in his seat, pretending he can’t hear me. His [Butler]’s façade is a bit ragged as he studiously ignores my one-sided conversation, at least from his perspective.

Ivolethe shrugs, as if she couldn’t care less about Reynold. Which is probably true. She points to the whirling scenery and grins.

“Yon contraption is quite a thing! It moves almost as fast as ye did when you drank the magic brew.”

“When? Oh, you mean in the castle. Do you think I could ever learn to run this fast?”

The faerie considers this and shrugs as she props her chin on her hand. She sits on the air next to me.

“Perhaps. But not at first. I can sense the magic in this thing; it is rough, but there is an art to it. Does the lady who sends her servants to you have much wealth like this?”

“A lot. I don’t know how much, but she’s one of the wealthiest and most powerful individuals on the continent.”

That makes me worried again, but having Ivolethe around dispels a lot of my fears. The faerie nods seriously.

“Then perhaps a bit of respect is in order. The lords and ladies of the land were always touchy and prideful, even to the King of Knights.”

“King Arthur?”

“Aye.”

Ivolethe smiles and points. I turn my head and see Reynold is actually edging away from me on the front of the carriage. That makes me smile too. I wonder if I should explain to him what’s going on—but nah.

The faerie pauses as she seems to glance at the horizon ahead of us. She frowns at me.

“There is much moving in the world this time. Much happens even as ye ride about.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“Like the children. They are marching.”

“The…children? Who?”

“The youngest. The ones with small ears and crimson eyes. They burnt a city, did they not? And they fight amongst themselves. They are moving about in the snow.”

She means Goblins. The children? The youngest? I frown at Ivolethe, but decide to pursue their movements before I ask about the other bit.

“What do you mean they’re moving? Moving where?”

“Everywhere. They run about in their hundreds, coming north from south. A vast army sits below the pass—you have seen them once.”

The Goblin Lord. I shiver. Ivolethe nods, and then points ahead of us.

“But another army—smaller, but thousands strong—lies ahead. They march north as well. Fleeing their own kind.”

“What? Where?”

I sit up in the carriage, heart pounding. Ivolethe nods at Reynold.

“Yon clueless fool is about to drive you straight into the center of them.”

For a second I just stare at Ivolethe in horror. She grins at me, exposing a mouth full of sharp teeth. Then she flies up and away.

Instantly, I turn in my seat.

“Driver, turn the coach around!”

Reynold stares at me. He looks around, and then points to himself.

“D-do you mean me, Miss—?”

“Stop the carriage! We’re about to run into Goblins!”

“Goblins?”

He just stares at me incredulously. I see a large hill approaching, and curse. I reach for the reins. Instinctively Reynold pulls away.

“Please don’t, Miss Ryoka. I can’t let you—”

“What is going on?”

Then a panel slides open behind us. I see Ressa’s impatient glare as she looks at us. There’s no time to explain. I try to grab the reins. Reynold pulls away, Ressa shouts. The carriage swerves as we crest the hill—

And then there are Goblins. They march in a vast column across the valley in the snow, trampling slush into mud as they walk a hundred abreast. I see Hobs, dragging weapons in the snow, massive, dwarfing the smaller Goblins that run before them.

Children, what look like pregnant mothers and of course, warriors walk in some semblance of order, carrying packs, lugging improvised sleds—some are even herding horses, mules and other pack animals! It’s the most hodge-podge collection of equipment I’ve ever seen. And at the head of that group is a detachment of Carn Wolves. Ridden by Goblins.

My heart stops. The sudden surge of fear and panic makes the world slow as the carriage shoots over the hill and directly into the mass of the Goblins. I turn my head and see Reynold frantically pull the reins left. The carriage immediately turns, but it’s too late.

Goblins, hearing the sound of the carriage and the shower of snow, turn and cry out as we speed past the column. I hear their high-pitched screams, and then horn calls.

Instantly, the group of wolf riders at the head of the column turns. They run towards us and I shout.

“Take us away!”

Reynold desperately pulls, and the carriage turns. But although we’re already speeding away, the Goblins are everywhere. And this particular bunch is smart, because the wolf riders are already running to cut us off. We must have passed some scouts because they come from behind us, trying to run us down.

I see a tall Hobgoblin on a Carn Wolf running at us, shouting as more riders run with him. The main column of Goblins is in panic—warriors are surging towards us en masse as the children and other Goblins try to run back.

“What should we do?”

Reynold shouts in fear as the wolves box us in. He’s trying to pull us away, but the wolves are everywhere.

“Go through them!”

I point at a few wolf riders and pray like hell the carriage can take a hit. Reynold hesitates—

And then I feel a hand grab the edge of the carriage. I jerk, but it’s no Goblin. Ressa pulls herself up as the carriage speeds along and shouts a word.

“[Invisibility Field]!”

Instantly, the world around us goes dark. I see runes on the carriage glowing, and the Goblins around us cry out, their eyes tracking the air where we were. I look around. Are we invisible? I can’t tell, but we must be. It’s as if someone’s put sunglasses on the world.

“That way.”

Ressa points and Reynold immediately turns the carriage, making a break for an opening in the ranks of Goblins and wolfriders. After a moment I hear more shouting, and look back to see pursuit has resumed. How…?

“The snow! They can see it!”

I shout and Ressa nods. The Goblins can indeed see the geysering snow from the carriage’s passage and they follow that. But the moment of hesitation has given us an opportunity. If we can just get ahead of them the carriage will easily outdistance their riders—

As we pass by more Goblins, I see something strange. A knot of huge Hobgoblins is dead ahead of us, and they’re turning, weapons raised and ready for us. Reynold takes us right past them, but then I spot something odd. In the center of the armed group of elites, a small Goblin is riding a wolf. And she has something in her hands. She raises a black crossbow, almost as big as she is, and points it at us. She can’t see us, surely. But she knows where we are. And she’s aiming—I shout.

“Down!”

The carriage swerves as I pull Reynold down and I see Ressa blur beside me. The crossbow bolt streaks towards the side of the carriage and shatters as it touches us. The bolt doesn’t break the magically-reinforced sides of the carriage—

But it does end the spell. The world goes bright again and I realize we’re visible. The Goblins shout and Reynold desperately flaps the reins to move us faster. I glance back at the Goblin with the crossbow—

And recognize her. Rags meets my shocked gaze for one second, and I see her own eyes widening. And then we’re past her in a blur of snow.

“We’re almost away, Miss Ressa!”

Reynold shouts in relief as the Goblins fall away behind us. Then he shouts in alarm as someone runs ahead of us. The tall Hobgoblin is streaking at us from the side, on a direct collision course as he rides his massive Carn Wolf. I hear Ressa mutter something from my side. I’m scrabbling at my belt for a potion, one of the bags—anything. But I’m too slow, and the tall Hobgoblin’s mouth is open in a roar as he holds a crimson sword over his head—

On the carriage beside me, Ressa stands up. Her hand blurs, and something flashes at the Hobgoblin. He jerks, and his sword deflects a flying object with a ringing sound. Ressa’s hands move again and the Hob snarls and jerks his reins. The Carn Wolf dodges away as five more black blurs fly at him. He strikes down each one, but while he does the carriage flies on. In a second we’re past him, and his howl of fury confirms that we are safe.

Then we’re gone. The Goblins racing after us stop as they become distant figures, and then just blips on the horizon. We race on through the snow, once again lost in a void of silence.

The three of us just sit on the front of the carriage, breathing hard. At least, Reynold and I am. Ressa is still sitting on the edge, still gripping the open door she came out of. Reynold’s hands are white on the reins and I’m wondering if I’m going to have a heart attack.

Gods. What just happened? Goblins, obviously. But so many? Where are they going? Was that Rags, Erin’s little friend!? And the other Hob—I could have sworn he was the one at the inn! What’s going on?

And Ressa? My head turns and I stare at her. She returns my look impassively.

“We’re safe now.”

That’s all she says. Slowly, she begins to pull herself back into the carriage, ignoring the wind ripping at her maid’s uniform. I call out to her.

“Wait! What was that?”

She just stares at me. And shrugs.

“My orders were to keep you safe.”

I point to her with a trembling hand. It was just a blur—hell, all of that was a blur. But I saw what she threw at the Hobgoblin.

“That was a throwing star. Are you—?”

Ressa slams the door to the carriage without a second word. I stare at the door. Oh my god. That can’t be true, can it? Is she a ninja mai—

Nah. I sit back with the [Butler] and shake my head. I’m going nuts. This entire thing is nuts. I’m nuts, I want to eat nuts—I’m shaking—

So is poor Reynold. His face is pale, although he still looks pretty damn composed for someone who just drove us through a Goblin army. More props to him, I guess. If this is how all British people are, no wonder they didn’t crack when they were getting the shit bombed out of them during World War II.

I’m generalizing. And panicking. I take a few more breaths of cold air to still my beating heart. That was—jeez.

After a minute I rap on the little window that connects us with the coach with a trembling hand. It doesn’t open.

“Hey. You in there. Pass us a bottle, will you?”

I shout it at Ressa and hear no response. But after a moment, the window slides open and one of the bottles of wine is handed through, bottom-first.

I pop the cork after six tries, and then drink from the top. It’s probably high-grade stuff I gulp down; I don’t even taste it. After I down a third of the bottle I nudge Reynold. He jumps and the carriage swerves; when he sees the bottle, he gratefully accepts it and drinks from it without a word.

We just sit in silence for a while, passing the bottle back and forth. After we finish it, I throw the bottle into the snow, ignoring every instinct in my body that tells me not to litter, and I get Ressa to pass us another one.

Reynold drinks, I drink. We stare at the landscape, and I look at the side of the carriage. The crossbow bolt didn’t even scratch the paintwork. God.

I want this carriage.

After I’m feeling a bit warmer and the cold sweat has mainly evaporated, I glance at Reynold. He’s got a bit of a flush as well. He’s just a [Butler], wearing a light grey jacket over his dark clothing. He’s holding the reins steady, guiding the magic horses forward.

“Is it always like this?”

He shudders, and shakes his head for a second before changing his mind and nodding weakly.

“Sometimes. On bad days.”

“Jeez.”

I sit back, and stare ahead. The world is white. It rushes past me with a roaring sound made faint by the carriage’s magic. I sigh, and look ahead. My friends and Goblins lie behind. And in the distance I see a faint shape on the horizon. Dark buildings, rising out of the ground as the light in the sky fades to nothing.

Invrisil, the City of Adventurers, awaits. And after that—

Lady Magnolia.

3.11 E

Day 31

I wake up when I hear the crying. It isn’t Durene. She sleeps beside me, or rather, slightly apart from me on the floor of her cottage. Even though we’re close, we sleep a bit apart. Durene sometimes rolls over in her sleep, and I have no desire to be squished like a bug twice. Especially because she’s so hard to wake up when she’s in a deep sleep.

Cautiously, quietly, I roll out of my side of the bed, trying not to wake Durene. She needs her sleep, and if she knows I’m awake she’ll fuss over me and be too anxious to rest. I shiver as my shoulder touches the cold floor of Durene’s cottage. I briskly get up and grope around for my clothing, locating the undergarments and over garments I placed next to my head when I slept.

It’s harder than I’d like; I keep finding what I think is a coat and instead pulling up part of the warm blanket Durene and I were sharing. Part of the issue is that I can’t tell where clothing stops and Durene’s bed begins.

My friend and host Durene doesn’t have a proper bed; just a mattress made of soft blankets and pillows. I can understand why; she’d probably break any raised surface with her weight, and even a king-sized bed wouldn’t exactly be that big for her. Durene’s not a giant, but she is half-Troll, and that means she’s easily six foot six, or maybe even taller. I can only guess; I’m just over six foot myself, so I have to use that as a reference when measuring her.

Fully dressed but sock-less, I shiver as I pad around the room. Still cold, even with multiple layers. I feel at one of the windows and touch a wooden shutter, cold and frozen. Right. Durene has no glass.

But I don’t need to go outside to feel the cold emanating from the window. And the lovely little fire Durene made last night has gone out, even the embers. Winter is truly and deeply upon us.

Normally I wouldn’t care. I’d wake up later, and help Durene make breakfast. But today is different. I pause as I hunt for a sock and raise my head.

“There it is again.”

I whisper the words. Someone is crying. Not someone, actually. Something. I can tell it’s no person out there, but something animal. It’s shrieking. I think it’s a bird, but it sounds far different from any bird call I’ve heard back home. Far more anxious and…desperate.

Yes, a bird. But then, maybe I’m being too hasty here. I think it’s a bird, but given that I’m in a fantasy world, couldn’t it well be a bird person? Do they exist? I’ll have to ask Durene when she wakes up.

Regardless, this creature’s definitely in some distress to be broadcasting so loudly. I’ll be the first to admit I’m more sensitive to sounds than Durene, but this bird got me up even in the middle of my sleep. And it’s odd, but I have a very strong compulsion to go to it. And I even know where this…bird…is.

“Very odd.”

My socks are on, and my comfortable shoes are laced. I pause with my hand on the door, wondering what I’m doing. It’s snowy outside, and even though I have my walking cane in one hand, I know from experience how easy it is to get lost by myself.

But the creature calls out again, and I push open the door and walk outside before I can stop myself. After all, I can just retrace my steps if I go a short ways. It’s not that far—and I can shout for Durene.

All excuses, I know. But I have to follow this feeling. And so I silently close the door so as not to wake Durene and walk out into the snow.

It’s deep. I nearly stumble as I find it’s a foot deep. Jeez, winter here is not fun. And Durene’s told me it can snow far more before the season is over. I poke at the snow in front of me, but my cane’s no good in this weather. I make a disgusted noise, but still—

“A rock straight ahead?”

No. It’s just my imagination. But a few cautious steps forward and my cane pokes into the snow and finds—

A rock. Yes, a rock. Either that or some kind of fossilized vegetable. Nah, it’s a rock. But how did I know it was there?

Half a dozen explanations pop into my head, but I have no time to stop and consider them. The bird cries out again, and this time I can tell it’s from the ground, a little bit ahead of me and to the left, on the edge of the forest surrounding the cottage.

“Yes, yes. I’m coming.”

No longer walking with my cane, I stride across the snowy ground with more confidence than I’ve felt in a long time. I know I’m walking straight through Durene’s frozen-over garden, and I also know what spots are slippery and even that she’s sown several crops for next year that are hibernating under the ice—and that there’s a cluster of turnips she forgot to pull up. I skirt her fence, walk towards a tree, and stop.

How did I just do that? It wasn’t sight—I’ve never seen in my life, but I know you’d use your eyes for that and I had mine shut the entire time. But I knew where everything was. Yet here I stop, at the edge of where my…perception of the landscape fades away. Yes, it’s as if there’s a large circle around Durene’s cottage I can sense, and then just emptiness past that.

And at the base of one tree, I can sense anxious movement, faint life. And my ears confirm that as I hear the creature cry out in alarm as I approach.

“What’s this, now?”

Broken branch. Twigs, bird poo, bones…the remains of a nest. And on the ground—

I reach out and something pecks at my hand. I yelp and draw my hand back, and the fledgling bird cries out again, calling for its parents. But if it had parents, it wouldn’t be alone. So, shivering, I come to a quick decision.

“None of that, now.”

The bird cries out in alarm and tries to get away, but it’s much too weak and cold. I briskly scoop it up and ignore its struggling. The bird pecks at me again, but this time he only gets my gloves. I walk back to Durene’s cottage, thinking hard all the while.

Birds fallen from nest? Doubtless. What happens to birds when that happens? I know the best thing to do is to put it back in the nest, but what if the parent is gone? Maybe it’s just independent?

No—I feel gently at the bird as it squawks anxiously again and amend my opinion. I don’t feel any feathers, only fuzz. This is no fledgling, a semi-adult bird. It’s a baby chick, or whatever the correct term is. I’m no bird watcher.

And two more things I note: the bird is quite big for a baby. And it’s also very cold. It’s shivering; how long was it out in the snow? I hurry up and push into the cottage.

A low growling sound makes the bird in my hands shut up instantly. I smile as I hear Durene snoring; she didn’t even notice me come back in. Well, she might have to wake up soon regardless.

First things first. I don’t bother hunting for anything; I just turn and grab a bowl out of Durene’s shelves. Once again, I know exactly which one will fit the bird, and in another second I’ve wrapped it gently in a towel, both to warm it and prevent it from escaping. The chick is trembling. No doubt it thinks I’m going to eat it.

Well, food is a good idea, both for me and it. I sense around, and find some bread. I slice some, again, with more confidence than I’d ever have normally, and offer some crumbled bits to the bird. It shies away from my hand, and then I feel a cautious peck at my bare skin. The bird finds a crumb, seems to taste it, and then spits the wet stuff back onto my hand.

“Huh?”

That’s odd. Don’t all birds like bread? I frown and try again. But this time the bird just squawks a bit as I try to push the crumbs at it, and it doesn’t touch them even when I leave some crumbs in the bowl for it.

“Drat. What kind of bird do you call yourself?”

I grumble at the bird as I move onto my alternate plan: getting this place warmed up. Durene’s stacked firewood in a corner, but up till this point I’d let her make the fire. I like to think I’m quite capable, but it really is a bad idea to have the blind guy messing around with flames.

But once again, I can quite definitely tell where things are, and even if I can’t see the position of the fireplace, I know where it is. Almost like…a memory? Or a fact. Either way, my hands are steady as I strike the flint and steel repeatedly and eventually manage to get some kindling to light.

“Fire, check.”

What’s next? I feed the flames a bit and fan them to make them brighter, or however it is that’s supposed to work. I guess if the bird won’t eat, I’ll get something. There are eggs in a basket Durene brought from the village, but I’d feel guilty eating them right at this moment. How about…hm?

Sausage?

Oh yes, there’s half a dried sausage in Durene’s pantry. I know she’s been saving it for a special occasion; meat is a luxury for her. I hesitate as I bring it out. Maybe just a bit? Fried sausage would be a treat, but can I…?

The chick suddenly squawks and kicks up a racket as I bring the sausage past it. I frown, stop, and clumsily tear off a bit of meat.

“You want this? Really?”

I know baby birds eat meat. I mean, they eat bugs. But I thought they liked seeds and plants more than—you know what? I’m not going to argue with the facts, especially when one fact is trying to tear the bit of meat out of my fingers.

The chick greedily devours the first bit of meat I feed it, then the next. Bemused, I find a knife and slice up a good portion of the sausage into bite-sized morsels to feed the chick. It scarfs the pieces down—so quickly and so fast that I’m worried I’ll overfeed it and make it sick! I stop after I’ve given it nearly a quarter of the sausage, but then the chick just cries out for more!

“Shush, you!”

It doesn’t listen to me. What a sound it makes! It’s more like a whistle than a cry. It sounds nothing like the twittering sparrows and occasional duck that will wander by my parent’s home. But it does sound familiar…

“Huh? Wuzzis?”

I lightly nudge the squalling chick with a knuckle.

“And now you’ve woken Durene. Good job, you.”

“Laken? What’s going on? Why are you awake and—what’s that?”

I turn and smile at Durene. Her confused voice and the way she clumsily makes her way over to me—these are the things that are now familiar to me. Funny, but after a month of living in her company I know her so well.

“Good morning, Durene. Sorry to wake you, but we have a guest.”

“Is that a bird? And…my sausage?”

Her voice is dismayed, but after a round of explanations she’s only too willing to help me make breakfast and play detective. The first thing she does is exclaim over the way I’m able to help her prepare today’s meal: a soup made of onions, leeks, peas, and cabbage. Pottage, in fact. It’s seasoned heavily with dried thyme and some garlic and it tastes not bad at all. True, it’s a poor meal to live on each day, but I’m happy enough eating it.

“How can you tell where everything is?”

Durene is bewildered as I nimbly pour soup into a bowl and bring it to the table, next to the restless chick. I shake my head, smiling fit to burst.

“I have no idea. It must be from my Class!”

“But how? I thought an [Emperor] ruled. Why can they see things? Without their eyes, I mean.”

“It’s not exactly the same.”

Cautiously, I spoon the hot soup into my mouth and think as I chew.

“It’s gotta be—I think we added too much thyme, Durene—it must be due to the fact that this is part of my domain. That is to say. My demesne.”

“Your—what?”

“Demesne. It’s another word for, well, land owned by someone. I know this is your cottage, Durene, but I claimed it when I became an [Emperor].”

“I know that. And I’m happy to let you, uh, have it.”

“Thank you. But that means I own every part of the land, not just the cottage. The ground, the sky—that must be why I can sense where to go. Because it is mine.”

“Oh.”

My friend’s voice is a sigh of wonder. A loud sigh, which makes the chick on the table next to me chirp in alarm. I sit up at the odd cry and frown again, tickled by that same thought.

“This is one weird bird, though. I can feel it, but I’m afraid that even with my new…abilities…I can’t really tell what it is. Durene, what does it look like?”

I hear Durene get up anxiously and pace around the chick. She comes nearer to me and apparently bends over, because the chick pecks her nose.

“Ow!”

“Careful. It’s pretty violent for a baby. It is a baby, right?”

“It looks like it. It’s one week—no, maybe two weeks old? But it’s really big…I thought it was a fledgling at first, but like you said, it has no feathers.”

“A big bird…”

Sesame Street? No, focus, Laken. But now that I think of it, there might actually be land bound birds as tall as Big Bird in this world. Now there’s a terrifying thought.

“What else do you see?”

“Um. Well—it’s got a weird color. Sort of—well, dark grey. Almost greenish.”

“Green fuzz?”

Doesn’t mean much to me, although I don’t know any green birds. But chicks don’t look anything like their adult forms.

“Well, I found it on the ground. I think the nest it was in fell off the branch. Maybe the parent’s still around and we can return it.”

I get up and Durene and I leave the chick behind to go investigate the spot where I found it. I feel…amazingly happy to be able to walk that short distance without my cane. There’s no trepidation, no sense of unease as I walk. I know where everything is, and I don’t have to hesitate.

Thank you. I don’t know who or what brought me here, but just for a little while longer, can you let me feel like a—a normal person? Is this what it feels like? To walk and know that the ground is there and I am here?

Then I come up to that blank spot where the world ends, and Durene gasps as she sees the nest.

“Bones! Look at all the tiny bones, Laken! And over there—oh no.”

She sees something past the spot I can sense and walks over. I wait, trying to piece together my own sensory inputs. I can tell there are bones in the nest, but I didn’t focus on the size until now. There’s still a difference between what Durene sees and what I comprehend.

“What is it?”

“I…found the parent, Laken. It—she? She’s dead.”

Durene comes back, holding a dead bird in her hands. I blink as it comes into my zone and I register the size of the bird. It’s almost a third as tall as I am!

“That’s no sparrow.”

“No.”

Half-troll she might be, but Durene has a heart that weeps for everything. She sounds upset as she tells me how it died.

“It must have died of the cold. See here—oh, sorry Laken. It was fighting something, but it got hurt bad. It was bleeding, and it must have lost all its warmth when it got cold.”

“I get it.”

I sigh as Durene and I pause, unexpectedly sad over the death of this bird. I’m about to ask if we should bury it, when I sense Durene plucking feathers off the corpse.

“…What are you doing?”

“Oh—I thought we could eat it later. It’s still cold and nothing’s been chewing on it, so—”

Oh. Ah. Hm. Well, I’ve heard of people eating road kill, and at least the bird was well-preserved. Maybe I’ll let Durene have it, although I could use some meat myself…

“Okay, let’s put that aside for now. What about the nest? You say there are bones here, right? Little ones?”

“That’s right. They’re very small, but…I don’t know how any predator would have eaten the others and left the chick you found alive.”

“No, it wouldn’t do that.”

My mind jumps to an unfortunate conclusion. I bent down and touch at the bones with one gloveless hand. Yup. They’re picked clean.

“A predator didn’t kill the other babies. The chick did. It ate its brothers and sisters to survive.”

An unhappy sound. Durene didn’t want to come to that conclusion, but it’s the only one that makes sense. I straighten and sigh.

“Nature at its best. But I think I have a good idea who this mystery bird is. It’s an eagle, isn’t it?”

“I think so. It could be a hawk—I’m not a [Hunter] so I can’t tell the difference. But it looks like one of the birds that sometimes tries to swoop down and carry off a lamb, baby piglets, and so on.”

“Carry off lambs? Seriously?”

I’d heard stories of eagles trying to carry off kids, but I thought that was just a popular myth. But Durene sounds serious.

“Oh yes. [Herders] and [Farmers] have to be careful. An eagle can swoop down and fly away with a lamb in seconds if they don’t keep an eye out. Normally we try to get people with bows to shoot the eagle first, but it’s hard unless someone’s got a high level.”

“Well, this baby eagle—I think they’re called eaglets, actually—isn’t going to be carrying off anything anytime soon. I think now’s the moment when we make a choice, Durene.”

“About what?”

She sounds apprehensive. I make a rueful expression, or what I’ve been told is rueful.

“About whether we keep it or not.”

“Do you mean—we’d throw it out in the cold?”

She sounds horrified. I guess I’ve got my answer. We walk back to her cottage. Durene pauses to bury the dead bird in the snow rather than bring it inside and show the chick.

“I’m just thinking about the problems. A baby eagle needs attention, food—the attention bit’s not so hard, but I’m pretty sure it only eats meat.”

“Oh.”

“Oh indeed.”

Here’s why this is a problem in this world. In mine, the biggest obstacle would be getting a permit to raise a baby eagle—they’re considered illegal to own in the United States, and I suspect other countries wouldn’t be too hot on them as a pet either. Housing would be another problem I guess, and training—

But here, meat is the issue. There’s not exactly a supermarket around here, and Durene’s not rich. I am, but Riverfarm isn’t, so I don’t know how far the gold coins I dug up would go down there anyways.

“I think we should take care of him.”

Durene’s voice interrupts me. I can tell she’s practically wringing her hands, and her voice is anxious.

“If we need to, I can get meat. I could try setting a trap or hunting. And I—I have pigs!”

It’s funny how she cares more for a chick I found than the pigs she’s raised for years. Then again, she must have to force herself to look at the pigs as food. I nod as I pick up the upset little bird and it pecks at my hands.

“Okay then. Hopefully it won’t come to that.”

“Do you really think we’ll be able to raise him?”

There’s a glimmer of hope in her tone. As it so often happens, I realize that this is something Durene might have dreamed about but could never realize. A pet. It sounds so simple, but for her, it might just have been a dream.

“We can try. But I have to warn you, Durene. The chick might die no matter what we do.”

“Oh no.”

Durene already sounds heartbroken as she hovers around the bird in my hands. I find her arm with a hand and pat it gently. But I don’t give her false hope. I’m under no illusions; I don’t know how to raise birds, and this young one was born too late. Or maybe birds in this world can’t tell when winter is about to arrive thanks to those…Winter Sprites, and so they can only hope.

With those thoughts in mind, I find myself constructing a more permanent nest for the chick. And that’s with the understanding that this nest isn’t going to be reused; the chick has already pooped quite extensively in Durene’s bowl.

“It should probably be pretty big. Yes—that’s about right.”

I smile to myself as Durene fusses over the chick, holding it gently and exclaiming as it pecks at her hands.

“Does it…have a name?”

“Not yet. Would you like to name it, Durene?”

“Oh—I couldn’t. Why don’t you, Laken? You found it, anyways.”

I nod and take the chick from Durene, it struggles a bit in my grip, but I have a good hold over its growing wings. I stare down at it and think for a second. And perhaps it’s another bit of whimsy, but I decide that if I’m going to take care of this bird, I might as well do it properly.

Straightening my back, I place the chick on the new nest, and put my hand solemnly on its head. It doesn’t move about much; I make my voice deeper as I speak to Durene and the world at large.

“It’s not often that I find a baby bird lying on the ground. But since you’re here and your mother—or father—is gone, it falls to me to take care of you. You—chick.”

The little bird pecks at the bottom of my hand.

“Stop that.”

Durene giggles. I smile, and think for a moment.

“Well then, I think I’ll name you Frostwing, because that sounds quite appropriate for a bird in a fantasy world. It sounds a bit silly, but maybe you’ll grow into it. And I accept you into my small empire as one of my loyal, if noisy, subjects.”

The bird goes still for a second, and then I sense it rustling under my hand. Durene makes cooing sounds of delight.

“Aw! It’s grooming itself, Laken!”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Okay, let’s finish this nest and figure out where it’s going to sleep. I don’t want it wandering off during the night.”

“Okay!”

And there we have it. Another little addition to the cottage. I’m not sure if I regret it; little Frostwing pecks at my fingers and it eats and defecates a bit too much for my comfort. It has a very sharp, curved beak. Plus, it has a rather shrill cry that can get on the nerves—

And yet, I can’t see any other way this encounter could have gone. Would I have left it there to die? No. There’s no way I would have. And I have to wonder as I go to sleep, Frostwing resting in its new nest in the kitchen. I have to wonder if it was like that for Durene with me. Perhaps I was a little bird she found in the forest. The thought makes me smile as I close my eyes and sleep.

[Emperor Level 5!]

[Beast Tamer Obtained!]

[Beast Tamer Level 1!]

[Skill – Lesser Bond: Frostwing obtained!]

“…Oh you have got to be kidding me.”

Day 32

Why is leveling up so easy? No, before that, why is gaining a new class so easy?

This is the thought that circles around in my head, nudging my brain every once in a while. I don’t really have the brain cells to allocate to the issue though; I’m so sleep deprived that I can barely think straight.

It’s been a long night, and a longer morning. Durene is asleep, and I’m on bird-feeding duty. Again. As it turns out, Frostwing, the noisy little eaglet, apparently needs to be fed on an hourly basis. Or at least that’s how it felt last night. And since Durene isn’t as nimble as I am, it fell to me to get out of the warm, comfortable bed and feed the squalling creature while avoiding its sharp beak.

Do I regret all of this? Yes and no. The class helps. It really does. Because now I can wonder—what does ‘lesser bond’ mean? What’s the benefit of this class? Will it just aid me in raising Frostwing? Or are there applicable benefits?

Right now the only benefit I can feel is knowing how much to feed Frostwing. It’s like intuition—I can tell if the bird needs another morsel, or if feeding it—her too much would result in her puking up her meal. That’s valuable info, as is her gender.

I can’t tell with my [Emperor] senses, and I’m not about to go probing with my fingers. But Durene checked, and this bird is indeed a female one. Good for her.

But back to my class. I get the [Beastmaster] class. It only makes sense that I’d get it. But why did I level up as an [Emperor]? Let’s think about that.

I poke Frostwing as she tears at a bit of meat. She pecks my finger. I rub at an eye and frown.

Intent. Intent and purpose. I was fully committed to keeping the eaglet—Frostwing alive. Not only that; I fulfilled some criteria for the [Emperor] class. It makes sense that gaining exp for an [Emperor] would involve growing my kingdom and recruiting new subjects somehow.

But seriously? One baby eagle is worth a level in [Emperor]? No—no, wait a second. Maybe it’s not just numbers, but something else. Durene was my first vassal, but she came with the class. This is the first time I’ve declared my sovereignty over another being, and after I’d rescued them from death within my sovereign territory, no less.

That’s the only explanation I can come up with. How confusing. If only there were an instruction manual, or a wiki page or something I could use. But assuming this is a game, or something similar, the fun would be in finding how the rules work. And exploiting any secrets you can find.

Poke. Peck. Poke. Peck.

I keep baiting Frostwing, letting her strike at my finger and pulling it away before she can tag me. It’s, well, pretty fun, although getting pecked isn’t. But it must be fun, because before I know it, Durene’s awake.

“Laken! Is your finger bleeding?”

“So it is. I guess I must have got lost in playing.”

“For how long?”

“I’m not sure. Hours? I fed her twice.”

“Twice?”

I’m not good with sleep deprivation. Not that I think anyone’s exactly proficient in that area. Once I’m more awake and I’ve had a cup of tea—and what I wouldn’t give for an espresso—Durene and I get about the business of business. We don’t always stay in the cottage, although it’s a tempting option in this cold weather.

Our goal for today is actually quite simple: in lieu of the practically gone sausage, Durene and I have to find something for Frostwing to eat. She doesn’t want to butcher one of her pigs and I can’t blame her. They’re not fully grown yet, and it would be a terrible waste, even if she and I eat some of it.

Plus, I don’t quite have the heart for it. What I do have the heart for, and what came to me as I was feeding Frostwing a bit more sausage was that my [Emperor] senses can be used for more than just navigation.

“Right here.”

I whisper to Durene as we stand next to a tree trunk. She’s silent for a second.

“Found it. It’s a small hole.”

“Want me to—?”

“No. I’ve got it.”

Durene takes a deep breath, and then I hear her reach into the hole in the tree trunk. There’s alarmed chattering and frantic movement as her hand enter the squirrel’s nest, then—

“Got one.”

I heard the crunch. I feel a bit sick, but I know it’s not over. There are—were—three squirrels nesting in the tree that I sensed. Durene grimly catches the other two and swiftly snaps their necks.

“It’s done, Laken. I’ll pull them out if you can hold them—”

“Got it.”

She might not like killing creatures, but she’s efficient when she does. I hold the surprisingly heavy creatures, wincing as I feel their dangling necks.

“I feel bad.”

“…Yeah.”

It was an idea. If I can sense Frostwing, what about other creatures? Turns out I can at least find squirrel dens, if I concentrate. Is this fair? No. But we’re out of meat and Frostwing needs a meal. So this has to be done.

Once we’re finished, Durene and I walk back to the cottage. She actually took the acorns the squirrels had been hoarding as well; they can be ground up. Durene doesn’t waste any food.  Then we’re in the kitchen, Frostwing cheeping with excitement. Three squirrels are ready to be skinned in moments, and I have to help with that grisly business. It wouldn’t be right otherwise.

“Um—I—I think we’ve got to—with the head—”

“I’ll do it.”

It’s grisly, and it involves sawing and hacking, neither of us being proficient in preparing animals. Durene is no hunter, and if she does find animals, she generally has someone in the village help her prepare it for a share of the food. She didn’t even manage to bring herself to eat Frostwing’s mother—after some debate we buried her half-plucked corpse just outside the garden.

At least I can’t see what I’m doing. Durene assures me that in this case, this is a good thing. Mind you, I don’t like the squishing and the—rest. But I’m not the one who has to stumble out of the cottage for a breath of fresh air.

“Durene? I think I’m done.”

Quietly, Durene takes the fur and other inedible bits outside. I can tell she’s burying the pieces. She’s a bit snuffly when she comes back in, but determined to put a brave face on it.

“At least Frostwing gets to eat. That’s—it’s for her.”

I nod. The chick is already demanding a bloody piece of meat, and we can freeze the rest although we’ll have to watch out for scavengers. Hell, we could probably kill them.

Durene shudders a bit as I put the meat into a bowl. I clean my hands with water after I feed Frostwing and then go over to her.

“Did they bite your hand?”

“A bit. But—it’s fine. My skin’s tough and I did far worse to them.”

She sounds unhappy. And guilty. Carefully, I hold her hands, making sure they’re unharmed for myself. Thick skin. But such a terribly soft heart.

“You’re a gentle soul.”

I kiss Durene gently on the cheek. She blushes—I can feel it. And then of course one thing leads to another. At least Frostwing doesn’t interrupt us more than once.

What? It’s not like it’s hard to figure out what people in this world do in the winter. And Durene and I are new at this. But kissing her I could do forever. I could sit and talk with her long into the night. And I do. Other things happen of course, but sometimes it’s just worth sitting by someone you…

Love.

[Beast Tamer Level 2!]

Day 34

It’s funny. I’ve had pets, and it’s always flurry and new experiences those first few days. But after a while, even feeding an eaglet bloody pieces of meat you’ve butchered yourself gets normal.

That’s how I find myself sitting in the kitchen, playing poke-peck with Frostwing. I think she could use the exercise, and I myself have already gone for a brisk walk with Durene. But at this time of day I usually stay indoors while she works.

Yes, works. Durene’s job doesn’t end in the winter of course. In fact, there might even be more to do. She planted a number of crops that could be harvested in the winter, and aside from tending to them, she has to clear out snow every day as well. She also normally takes this time to fix up her cottage, repair any tools, and of course, chop firewood.

With me around I can at least fix her meals and help with some small-time repairs, but my job is mainly looking after the chick. I’m certainly not a [Lumberjack]. Truth be told, neither is Durene, but with her strength it doesn’t really matter. I asked her about it at one point; she has an old axe, but she claims she only uses it to hack up the tree when it’s felled. As to the felling, she says it’s easy.

“I mean, if it’s a small tree, I can just kick it or push it over.”

…So it sounds simple enough for her. At any rate, Durene gets paid a pittance for supplying Riverfarm village with firewood, so when she’s not with me and Frostwing, she’s out in the forest. Rather, I make her go. I’m now fully confident in myself thanks to my new Skill, and we can’t always be cramped together.

Not that that’s necessarily a bad thing.

Anyways it’s just me and Frostwing, testing our reflexes. My attention’s completely focused on the game, until I feel a…sensation at the back of my mind and get distracted.

As I pull my finger back a bit too slowly, Frostwing hits me with a good peck and pierces my skin. I yelp and I hear what almost sounds like a cheep of apology from her. But I’m not paying attention to the bird. My head turns and I frown.

“Someone’s coming.”

By the time [Farmer] Prost stops outside the cottage, I’m already waiting for him, a smile on my lips. If he’s confused by my intuition, his voice doesn’t show any sign of it.

“Mister Laken, I’m glad to see you’re well this day.”

“I’m glad to meet you as well, Mister Prost. You’ll have to tell me if you’re well.”

A bit cold, I know. But I still remember how I last met the man. I hear a pause, and then a note of uncertainty in Prost’s voice.

“I’m well, Mister Laken. Thank you for asking.”

“And your wife? How is Yesel doing? And the kids?”

“All well, Mister Laken.”

Well, that’s enough pleasantries. I nod and smile again, cheerfully. And say nothing else. If he wants anything else he can just say it.

After another moment of uncertainty, Prost gets to the point.

“Not to be interrupting you, Mister Laken, but ah, I was wondering if I could have a word with you. About Durene.”

“Another word? Well, I suppose I have no choice but to hear you out. What’s wrong with Durene this time?”

“Nothing, sir. It’s just, well, I’d like to talk, that’s all.”

Oh? Talk? I see. I let Prost go on.

“Durene’s a good…girl. But she’s only a [Farmer], and I understand you’re not. She’s said as much when she came into the village a day ago. I’d hate to think she was getting involved with someone with other duties later on, if you understand me.”

Oh? Is it now ‘you’re too good for her’? What is with these people? My smile freezes a bit on my face. But I keep silent. Wait. Wait for him to keep going and then smack him in the face.

Metaphorically, of course.

“We, ah, understand—”

Now. I jump in, my voice as smooth as I can make it. Friendly. Open. I put honest confusion into my tone.

“Do excuse me, Mister Prost. I’m afraid I’m a bit off-balance. You see, I thought you were coming here for something else.”

“Oh? What’s that, Mister Laken?”

“Well, it’s just that—and you may call me silly for thinking this—I was under the distinct impression that you were coming here to apologize.”

“Apologize…?”

“To Durene. For calling her a monster. Inhuman. A freak.”

I wish I could see his face. I can only tell the man is standing in front of me, but then I hear him shift in the snow. Uneasily.

“I, ah, regret the other day, Mister Laken. I do. But I only spoke the truth. It needed to be said. And even if Durene was—upset, it don’t change the facts. So I don’t think I need to say anything to anyone, if you understand me.”

Again I interrupt him. This time I don’t even try to keep the undertone of irritation and anger out of my voice.

“No, of course not. You’re a grown man and Durene’s only a young woman who looks up to you as an adult. Why should you apologize to her for telling the truth? Why should you feel guilty for hurting the feelings of a half-Troll? My mistake.”

Prost’s voice is rougher too, but he’s still determined to be polite. I wonder why? It’s not like I’d be able to beat him if he threw a punch. But maybe there’s more in him than just bigotry and prejudice. Maybe he knows I’m right.

“You seem to feel I should be talking to Durene, Mister Laken?”

“I would never tell a grown man what to do. But they’re so hard to find these days. No matter where I look, I can’t see any.”

Another shot, and I know it hits something. But Prost is a stubborn man, a farmer. He doesn’t roll over, he digs in and keeps going. Reasonable tone, conciliatory words. I can tell he wants me to agree with him, to give a bit. Not happening.

“Durene is—useful. Helpful. She cares, I know that Mister Laken. And we’re lucky to have her around some times. But she’s still a half-Troll. And that means she’s part monster. Not entirely Human. It makes us parents worry some nights. What can you say to that?”

Half-Troll. It’s as if all Durene is, is just a word. How can they not see? She is more than that. She’s a [Paladin]. What would he say if I mentioned that?

“She’s a person, Mister Prost. A person. Where I come from—well, some people judge others based on what they look like it’s true. But take it from a man who can’t see, there’s more than just sight that goes into people. If sight was all we judged by, why, wouldn’t I be as much of a—a monster as Durene?”

Pause. Did anything I said go through? I hear Prost move about in the snow again, and then he speaks.

“It’s hard to look at her and not be afraid, Mister Laken. Maybe if I had the courage to close my eyes I’d think differently when I spoke to her. But it’s hard to get past.”

“Hard, but necessary.”

“There’s some truth to what you say, sir. I know Durene and she’d never hurt a fly. Maybe—”

Maybe. Just maybe you’ve been wrong. I wait for more, but that’s it.

“Well, I’ll give it some thought and let the others know what you’ve said. That’s all I can say, sir.”

“I’d appreciate that. And I will say that if one more person hints at Durene being not good enough or I hear that she’s a freak, I’ll start throwing things. And believe me, I have pretty good aim even if I can’t see.”

I could probably nail him with a snowball, at least around Durene’s cottage. But I won’t. He came here to talk to me about Durene, and I said my bit and he said his. If he changes, all for the better.

But Prost isn’t quite done. He stands there for a while longer, and I have the distinct feeling he’s looking me up and down. When he speaks next, he has that same odd note of respect in his voice. Why?

“You seem…taller, Mister Laken. Better than before, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“Not at all. I’m glad I seem so healthy to you.”

Taller? What does he mean? But it’s clear Prost means more than just height. He’s about to leave when I hear Frostwing kicking up a fuss inside the cottage. Maybe she’s finally caught Prost’s scent, or she’s hungry again.

“What’s that sound?”

I shrug as Prost begins to sound nervous again.

“Oh, that? That’s a baby eagle I’m raising.”

“A baby—”

He chokes on the words.

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you Mister Laken? Where’d you find a baby eagle?”

“In the snow, just like everyone else.”

“And you’re going to raise it?”

“If I can keep trapping animals. Eagles only eat meat, which is sort of tough for me and Durene.”

I have a sudden thought.

“Say, Mister Prost, would you consider selling me some food? I’d be willing to pay you a good price for anything you can spare out of your larder.”

Prost sounds vaguely surprised at my offer. I guess he really only came up here to chat.

“Food, sir? I don’t know. It’s awfully dear at this time of year, and the harvest was good, but not so much that I’d want to let anything go for cheap.”

“How would a gold coin sound?”

An intake of breath. I wait patiently, face straight. Yes, I have quite a lot of money, don’t I? I’d nearly forgotten with Frostwing, but hey, if you’ve got it, why not spend it? And it’s not like I can eat gold.

Prost murmurs to himself in surprise. He seems to take for granted the fact that I have a gold coin—from what Durene says every family might have one gold coin’s worth in savings, but probably not more than that unless they work a more profitable job. It’s more hand-to-mouth around here.

“A gold coin? I’m not sure we can spare…”

“What about the other villagers? I don’t need much, but I’d like more eggs than Durene’s chickens provide, and I’d love to have enough meat to go round.”

“The villagers might ah, go for that. But a gold coin—at this time of year—well, I’d have to think about it.”

I nod seriously, as if I’m considering Prost’s words carefully. Then I rub my hand over my mouth as if in serious thought.

“How does this sound, then? One gold coin—for whatever dried meat, eggs, and so on you feel you can trade. If the rest of the village will add a bit from their stock, I’ll make it two gold coins. You can take the money, Mister Prost, and change it however you feel is right. And then you can bring me whatever my money’s worth.”

Credit to him, the other man’s voice sounds only slightly strangled as he replies.

“That’s—very generous of you, sir.”

I shrug, slightly.

“I have a bit of money saved up, and mouths to feed. And I’d like to repay Durene back for all the help she’s been to me. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I do indeed, sir. Well then, if you’re sure I’d happily accept.”

I hold out a hand, and Prost takes it and gives me a firm shake. His hand is callused and cold. Somehow rougher than Durene’s, even though she has harder skin.

“Give me one second to get the coin.”

I love my Skill. Instead of having to search around desperately for the bag of coins and money, I find it in an instant. Durene hid it behind a sack, as if there were thieves lurking around the cottage. Then again, I suppose it would have been bad if Prost had entered the cottage and seen the bag lying around.

I take two gold coins out and come back to Prost in less than ten seconds.

“You’re awfully fast for a blind man, if you don’t mind my saying so, Mister Laken.”

“Blind doesn’t mean slow, Mister Prost.”

“Of course not.”

I give him the heavy coins and he promises to bring some food the next day. I have the distinct feeling he’s going to take as much of a cut as he can before paying the other villagers, but that’s pretty much why I made the offer in the first place. And if it means food—all the better.

Trade negotiations for the Empire of Laken or perhaps the Blind Empire have been concluded. All that’s left is to wait for Durene and give her the good news. She’s astounded of course, and a bit worried.

“Isn’t spending that much money—”

“Please, Durene. I found this bag by accident and there’s a hundred times what I just spent in here, easily. If it means we can feed this greedy sack of feathers, I’m all for it.”

I poke at Frostwing again, noting that she still does not, in fact, have feathers. Durene makes a noise which could be in agreement.

“How do you think I did in bargaining with Prost, though? Did I pay him too much?”

Durene thinks about this for a second.

“A gold coin? That’s…fair? A big, big basket full of meat and food would probably be a gold coin. Two is expensive, but it is winter.”

“And it’s enough to provide for another mouth and us comfortably throughout the winter. The villagers are happy, and so are we.”

Durene nods, or at least, I feel her do something as I sit next to her, sharing the blanket.

“It’s just—that’s a lot of money, Laken. I’ve never even seen more than three gold coins at once, and that’s how much the [Merchant] that visited had.”

Three gold coins? That makes me smile, but sadly. I have a bag full of wealth beyond Durene’s imagination. And I? I have no sense of what it means to her. In a very real way, I don’t deserve it. But I will try to treat it seriously. After all, if I wasted the gift I was given, that would be even worse than not getting it at all.

“I think two gold coins is fine, Durene. We could use the food, and this way we’ll be able to eat more than just pottage every night. Moreover, it pays to be a bit generous, but not too much. Especially if they start asking how much money I have.”

Not that I think they’d risk Durene’s wrath. But the image of the angry mob haunts the back of my mind, and I think, Durene’s. Conversation sort of trails off after that, but I can’t help but feel it was a decent day’s work. Maybe Prost won’t change, but at the very least, I can pay him to feed us. That’s got to be worth something.

[Emperor Level 6!]

[Skill – Intimidating Glare obtained!]

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Hmm…? Laken?”

“Nothing. Go back to sleep, Durene. And you too, Frostwing.”

Day 38

He did apologize to Durene, I think. I didn’t hear it myself, and reading between the lines of what Durene said, it was a briefer apology than I would have liked.

But it was something.

And we got the food! I think the basket containing the dried ham, eggs, cheeses, and other delicious goods was enough for Durene. I could practically hear her stomach growling as I took it from Prost. And by all accounts, the villagers were happy to give up some food for good coin. So we also earned a bit of goodwill. Score one for generosity.

Frostwing certainly appreciated the meat. She eats more day by day, and she’s bigger than she was before—substantially. I can feel her getting restless and moving about more, and I wonder how big she’ll get before she’s able to fly.

Moreover, why was her nest so low to the ground, and in a tree no less? I thought eagles made their roosts high up. There’s something about her—not to mention the fact that even after we’ve washed her, Durene says Frostwing’s fuzz is definitely green.

I don’t know. I’ll have to wait and see. I’ve managed to train Frostwing a bit—she now knows not to poop in the nest and instead do it in another bowl nearby. Plus, she’s stopped waking me up in my sleep! By this point, I’m a Level 4 [Beast Tamer], the product of much work and pecked fingers. No new Skills, but I consider my new friend a gift enough.

Durene’s out helping clear snow in the village, and I’m sitting outside, Frostwing huddled in a scarf on my lap. I’m not sure if that’s smart, but my bond with her will tell me when she’s too cold, and I don’t want her to just breathe stale air.

The air is crisp, but I’m warm and my stomach is full. It’s a nice day. And then I feel it. Something enters the area around the cottage, swooping in from high above. Not something—somethings. I pause, warily, and Frostwing screeches in alarm. Then I hear the voice.

“Look! Look, sisters! I’ve found him! The one who rules over this small place!”

What the—? Did I just hear a voice? I turn my head as I hear laughter and feel something flying around me! A bug? A…bird? No. It has a voice! But there’s no person standing around the cottage. I would feel it. Yet there is something in the air.

“Who’s there?”

Laughter. A voice that sounds like falling snow and pure ice rings out, up and to the left, as if the speaker is flying. She calls to me.

“Can you not hear us, oh Emperor? We are here, Frost Faeries of the Winter Court to meet you! Are you not honored?”

“Frost Faeries?”

What’s going on? Are there really faeries flying around my head? My first instinct is to disbelieve, but my sensible brain overrides that.

Okay, faeries. Durene tells me there’s magic, so why not faeries? Wait, didn’t she mention that name to me—

“You’re Winter Sprites?”

More laughter from above me. Frostwing is squirming in my lap, making sounds of distress. I think she’s afraid of these Frost Faeries, and that makes me wary. Already I can remember legends of the sidhe, and how they can be very, very dangerous. I try to remember what to do.

Be polite, be courteous. Offer them hospitality? Don’t tell them my name or make promises.

I decide to roll with it. It’s probably the best thing to do, but I throw in some healthy skepticism just to be on the safe side.

“Greetings, faeries. If that’s who you really are.”

Above me, I hear a mix of voices speak at once, a few outraged, some intrigued and playful. My god, it does sound like they’re flying around me!

“You question us?”

“He does! Look! He cannot see us, only hear us!”

“He sees naught!”

“Aye, but he rules over this place nonetheless. Emperor of the Unseen!”

It’s both terrifying and amazing. But when they mention that title I freeze in my seat.

“How do you know I called myself that?”

It was just a joke, said to Durene in the privacy of my cottage weeks ago. The faeries laugh and I feel something colder than freezing in front of my face. Is it right in front of me? I make no move.

“We heard your words. How could we not? Ye claimed this land to the world and all living in it!”

Heard my words? How?

“Well…I suppose I’m flattered that you’re taking such notice of me. But what do faeries have to do with me?”

A tinkling laugh, like icicles breaking.

“We have come here to bear witness to you, of course!”

“Bear witness? Why?”

“Art thou not an [Emperor]?”

The faerie makes it sound as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And I start to get it. Faeries, kings—they’re tied together, like how the faeries blessed Briar Rose in the original tale. And they’ve come to visit me?

“I’m honored, of course. But have you come to simply see and acknowledge me, or do you have some other reason? And shouldn’t you be bowing? I am an [Emperor].”

I’m playing a dangerous and probably stupid game. But the faerie in front of me laughs again, apparently taken with my boldness.

“Hah! We bow to no mortal sovereign. You may claim the land, but we are far more than mere dirt and plant. Your authority has no sway over we.”

“And yet you acknowledge it exists.”

“Of course! What churls do you think we are?”

“We came to bear witness!”

“To see an Emperor of this small place!”

“And because we had nothing better to do!”

Well then, it sounds to me like these faeries came here because they were bored. Which means they’re capricious. Better to get on their good side. But how? I don’t know if offering them food is any good—I’d have to make some, and all of Durene’s cooking utensils are made of iron.

“Well then, in the name of the Unseen Empire, I bid you welcome. You are all honored guests, although I regret that my master chef and seneschal is out chopping wood. Please, make yourselves at home.”

The faeries seem delighted at this.

“Oho!”

“He is polite, this one! He knows how to treat us: with respect!”

“Not like those other fools!”

I wonder who they’re talking about. I sense the faeries flying lower, and inquire politely.

“Do you have any business here besides meeting me? I wouldn’t want to keep you from your duties.”

A chorus of denials greets me.

“Nae, we have time.”

“Until the spring comes, we are free!”

“Free to do as we please, and not follow one stupid mortal!”

“Aye! So we came here to meet you! ‘Twas worth it to be greeted with respect.”

Another voice chimes in, high and excited.

“Plus, we wanted to see ye before it was too late.”

“Shh! Don’t tell him that!”

“Wait, what?”

“Idiot!”

I hear a light smack and I have to guess one of the faeries hit the other. I hold Frostwing in my hands, although she’s barely moving, heart suddenly beating out of my chest. Faeries. Beings that can see and predict fate.

“There’s something bad about to happen? Please, tell me.”

“Well—”

“Shh! Be quiet!”

“No. Forget what you heard, mortal!”

The faeries flutter around me. They start arguing, and I hear a few of them saying they should tell me. But most of them are in favor of not. A few fly up, and I raise my voice desperately.

“Wait, hold on! I entreat you, please, stay and let us talk.”

A pause, and then I sense them flying close to me.

“Very well. For your words of hospitality, we will listen. Speak, oh Emperor, Protector of Durene’s Cottage.”

No time to laugh, and no time to question. I clear my throat.

“It seems to me that you…wise and noble faeries are aware of some impending danger to me and my empire that I am not aware of.”

“Perhaps.”

“Indeed, and I would never ask you to reveal a secret. But perhaps I could persuade you to help me avert the tragedy that is yet to come? Or at the very least, reveal the danger to me.”

The faeries murmur at this. I hold my breath—I’m trying to sound formal, but I have no idea how to actually talk to the fae. A bargain with them sounds like a bad idea, but this disaster—

“Intriguing. What do you propose, mortal?”

Yatzhee! I keep my face composed as I nod in what I hope is a dignified manner.

“Well, I cannot offer you land or a marriage to my house—”

“—Hah!”

“Shh!”

“—But what would you say to mortal riches? I have gold and jewels to compliment your radiance. Would you accept that?”

The faeries confer, whispering loudly.

“Mm…maybe.”

“Hah! He seeks to flatter us. He calls us ‘radiant’, he who cannot see!”

“Ah, but we are radiant, are we not sisters? Any mortal can tell that, even without sight.”

“True! But gold is so heavy. And it is a secret.”

In the end, they fly back down to me, probably shaking their tiny heads. I can only imagine.

“No, oh Emperor. It is not enough. Mortal wealth has little luster for us. Have you nothing else to offer?”

Nothing. Damn it, nothing. Only a bit of food, and I can’t feed all of them! If only I had an actual empire. But my [Emperor] title is just for show. I can only—

Wait. Emperor. Empire. What about—

I clear my throat.

“What if I gave you a noble title?”

“What?”

“Really?”

“Are you serious, mortal?”

Am I? Yes.

“Only naturally. I would offer entrance into my noble court to any friend of my kingdom. You, for instance—”

I point in the direction of the voice of the faerie that just spoke.

“For your aid, would you accept a title? That of, say, Comtesse?”

“Ooh! I like that!”

“What about us?”

“I want to be a Comtesse!”

“Nay, I!”

“We cannot all be Comtesses! What of the rest of us, mortal?”

Jeez, do I have to bribe all of them? I think quickly.

“I could make you…noblesse uterine if you wanted.”

Not exactly a flattering name. The tiny voices confer, and then dissent.

“Nay! Another title!”

“Marchioness, then? Or—how about Herzogin?”

“Ooh! I like that!”

“I want to be that!”

“No, me!”

They’re like children, squabbling over titles I just made up. And yet—maybe there’s more to it than that. It might sound funny, but I am an Emperor, and I do have the power to make the nobility.

…Still, I can’t help but feel glad that no one’s watching me as I come outside and address one of the faeries who kneels in the air in front of me.

“Very well. I dub thee Comtesse of the Soup Spoon.”

So saying, I hand her a wooden spoon. The other faeries ooh and applaud, and the faerie seizes the spoon from my hand and crows in triumph. That position was heavily sought after, but the other titles are equally as important. I turn to the next faerie.

“If you would be a Reichsgräfin in my empire—”

“Aye, I would!”

“Then I grant you that position for as long as my empire exists. To the end of time, an Emperor’s word on it.”

“Hah! I will hold you to your word, mortal!”

That’s what worries me. But I have no time to reflect on my actions. I go down the line of faeries. A Comtesse, several Ladies, a Duchess and a Viscount—I dub a score of them Blumenritter, and make one a Baron. I asked her if she wanted to be a Baroness, but she preferred Baron.

And then it’s over. I breathe out and feel the assembled peerage of my empire flying before me. I bow to them regally, and hear them laugh in delight. The sound warms my heart even in this chill, but I am still afraid.

“So now will you tell me what fate waits for my empire?”

The faeries pause.

“We cannot say.”

Really? After all this? I only cross my arms and frown. The faeries hurry on.

“We cannot! It is a secret and not our place to tell. But since ye have given us an Emperor’s gift, we shall return your kindness. I swear to you, oh mortal ruler, this fate shall not befall your land or your people.”

Is that a good thing or a bad thing? No—it’s good. And I know better than to question it. Instead, I nod my head regally.

“My thanks to you. You and your kind are welcome in my land. Know this.”

“Aye, and we shall treasure your gifts to us, mortal!”

“You shall be safe, we promise!”

“You aren’t bad—for an Emperor!”

The faeries cry out as they laugh and fly away from me. I listen to them go, worried and relieved and happy in turns. Faeries. My god.

Durene finds me sitting in the snow, about an hour later. I hear her exclaim and then come running over.

“Laken! What’s wrong? Why are you out here? You’re so cold!”

I just laugh at her, which makes her even more confused and upset. I let her carry me inside and fuss over me. I barely know where to begin. How can I even explain what happened? I do my best, but she can hardly believe me herself. But there is one thing I now know, with dreadful certainty.

“Something bad is about to happen, Durene.”

It might avoid us, according to the faeries. But I cannot help but wonder and worry. It may be mortal folly, but I am mortal. And I worry. But that is only half of me. The other half wonders and dreams of magic.

I saw faeries.

[Emperor Level 7!]

Day 41

Three days later it happened. I was just waking up, in that blissful moment between waking and sleeping. I was about to feed Frostwing some cold meat when I heard a roar like thunder. But unlike thunder, the sound did not diminish. Rather, it grew louder.

“Durene!”

Maybe I was expecting it. But the reality of the ground shaking around me and Durene’s pottery clattering and breaking on the shelves is far more horrific than anything I could have dreamed. I hear Frostwing screeching, and Durene shouting for me.

We meet in the center of the cottage as the rumbling oblivion of noise crescendos around us. It feels like the world is ending, and all I can do is hold Durene to me. I feel her squeezing me hard, and close my eyes.

And then, as quick as the terror has begun, it’s over. I open my eyes slowly, for the first time in ages. Of course I see nothing, but I do it all the same. It feels like I should see something, for the world has changed.

I know it, even if the cottage and the area around it that I can sense is the same. Durene is quivering in my arms. As she holds me and I hold her, I can hear Frostwing shrieking in alarm. At last I manage to let go of Durene and stagger up to her.

“Frostwing. Are you…?”

She’s alright. Just scared out of her wits. I check her with my hands just to be sure. They’re shaking. Then I hear Durene gasp.

“Durene. What is it?”

“The—the—”

She can’t even speak. I rush to her side, and feel her at the open door. But I can’t sense anything.

“Durene?”

“The snow…”

Her eyes see it. But it takes me a long time, an eternity, to coax her mouth into making sense for me. And then she speaks and I realize what’s happened.

The snow. The snow came down off of a distant mountain. The snow, triggered by snowfall of a sound or the faeries, turned into an avalanche that poured down, smashing everything in its way. It travelled miles, a vast distance, before expending the last of its energy here.

Even the last of its force is enough to destroy everything in its path. Trees were uprooted, a good swathe of the forest buried. But by some miracle—some magical help—the force of the avalanche split around the hut. Ours is the only unburied point as far as Durene can see.

“It’s a miracle.”

Durene hugs me again, shaking. I hug her back, even though I know that’s not entirely true. Not a miracle. A gift. Payment in kind.

I don’t know if I should thank the faeries or blame them. I settle for thanking them, and feel relief coursing through my veins. It’s over. We’re safe. If the faeries hadn’t diverted the avalanche, the cottage would have been buried or smashed to bits. I’m just glad we weren’t outside of the cottage or—

My heart stops in my chest. I realize with horror what must have happened. My sightless gaze turns to the road connecting Durene’s cottage with the rest of the world, now covered in snow.

“Oh no. The village.”

Durene gasps in horror. She lets go of me.

“It would’ve been right in the way of the avalanche! Laken, what should we do? We have to—do you think it missed them?”

No, no I don’t. I can just imagine what happened. The avalanche hit the village. I might’ve—the buildings are sturdy and this was the tail end of it. But what good is that against thousands of tons of snow?

Durene is panicking, and I’m rooted to one spot. We have to help. But how? It’s just me and Durene. Should I grab a shovel? No—food? What’s the best option? Where will the villagers go? Is it still dangerous there?

I don’t know what the right choice is here. I don’t know how to save the lives that might be at risk—or already gone.

Think, Laken. What can I do? What can we do?

What would an [Emperor] do?

3.12 E

What do I do?

I’m no hero. I’m not even qualified to be a police officer, doctor, an emergency worker, or any job that requires sight.

And I’ve never been trained. I have no idea what to do.

So panic grips me as I stumble across the snowy ground, knees still shaking from the avalanche. Part of me doesn’t even really believe what’s happened. After all, the small area of land I can sense hasn’t changed much. But Durene tells me that everything around her cottage is just—gone.

‘I’ll have to see it to believe it.’ Ironic, but in my case I have to feel it, or at least hear it to believe. I walk to the edge of the place where the earth just fades away in my mind, and feel forwards.

Nothing. Well, it’s not as if there would be a wall of ice in front of me. But suddenly I notice the frozen pathway is gone. Instead, there’s only crunching snow underfoot. And as I walk forwards cautiously, feeling my way ahead, I start to stumble as I run into huge chunks of solid snow, torn up. And—dirt? I hit something hard and feel at it.

A tree trunk. Sideways. It’s lying on the ground.

“Oh no.”

It’s true. I trace my way to the base of the trunk—actually, it’s the top of the tree. I feel branches, and leaves. The avalanche pulled this tree up and tossed it like a twig. And if it could do this to a tree, what chance does a house stand?

The village. My mind goes back to it. What do I do? What can I do? I have to help; that’s the right choice. But what’s the best way? I don’t—

“Laken!”

A voice shouts my name and I hear thumping footsteps. Durene rushes after me, fright clear in her voice.

“It’s not safe!”

Rough hands drag me back. Durene is terrified, but she cares more about my safety in this moment than anything else. I let her pull me back into the radius of the cottage. There at least I can tell what’s around me. But instead of being reassured by my mastery of this small domain, I now feel like I’m holding a candle in a—a dark world. I don’t understand darkness that well, but I fear the place where my [Emperor]’s senses fade away and I have to rely solely on remaining senses.

The village. My heart is still pounding out of my chest. The world is too silent. I can hear thunder in my veins, but there is only silence in the air. Compared to the fury of a few seconds ago, this—

I hear shrieking. My head turns, but it’s only Frostwing. She’s scared out of her mind, and I can’t blame her. But her anxiety doesn’t matter—the village—

I can’t think. I’m hyperventilating, gasping for air. Durene trembles as she stops.

“Laken. What do we…? It’s all gone.”

We’re both in shock. I know that. But my mind keeps snapping back to the village. Riverfarm. They were hit. I have to do something.

And like that, the paralysis gripping me ends. It’s not that I’m not still petrified. But I start moving even so. I have to act. It’s either act or keep still, and there is no time.

“Durene, we have to go to the village. The faeries didn’t protect Riverfarm. Who knows what’s happened to them?”

“What? Laken—”

Durene pauses. It’s not even complete thoughts she’s having. She’s not thinking, just reacting. But finally—and it feels like forever although it’s only been a minute or less—my brain begins working again.

Village. Help them. We have to go and check. Can’t stay here.

I feel cold. As if my skin and everything beneath it has frozen over. A chill made of fear is making me shake, but that same terror is electric. I don’t stop and think; I only know that I have to move.

“We have to go! Durene!”

I snap at her. Durene jerks, and then she hesitates.

“It’s too dangerous for you! I’ll go. I’ll help. You stay here and—”

“No.”

“Laken—”

“You are a [Paladin].”

I feel like an idiot saying it, but I grab Durene’s protective hand and try to turn my head towards her face. My gentle giant is shivering with fear, but her being here reassures me enough to keep my voice steady.

“Durene. You are a Paladin. A protector of the weak and innocent. And you are also my guardian, my champion. You have to go. And I have to go. We have to help everyone we can.”

She hesitates, and then I feel a bit of strength return to her hand. She breathes in.

“Okay. Let’s go. I’ll clear a way. The road is—is gone. Follow me.”

She turns, and I hesitate. The village. What will we do there?

Think—it was an avalanche. Buried people, disaster area. Red Cross. Doctors Without Borders. What do they…?

“No—wait.”

Durene halts in bewilderment. I turn and point towards the cottage.

“A basket. We need all the food we can put in there, towels—clean fabric—um—”

I can’t think of anything else. Bandages, food, what else? The avalanche—

“A shovel.”

I run back towards the cottage, and Durene rushes into her tool shed for a shovel. I push open the door and hear Frostwing screaming at me. She’s tumbled out of her nest, but fortunately she’s okay. I scoop her up and put her and the nest on the floor. I talk to her as I scramble around the cottage, using the clear image of the cottage in my head to pick up everything we might need.

“It’s okay. It’s okay—shush! We’ll be back, okay?”

To my surprise, the eaglet shuts up. I don’t have time to dwell on that though—six more seconds and I’m kicking the door open. Durene grabs the food and cloth spilling out of my arms and stuffs it into a huge basket she uses to collect produce.

“Okay. Let’s go!”

I lead us both away from the cottage. It’s so easy to move around Durene’s cottage. I’ve seldom ever run—being blind means I’m used to running into things, and I know that I can seriously injure myself running into something sharp at high speed. But in this place I’m sure-footed, and I force my unaccustomed legs to move faster. Durene is right behind me, carrying the basket.

Two steps outside of the circle and I falter. The world disappears around me, my sense of it returning to nothing. It wouldn’t have bothered me, before. But it’s like going deaf or losing my sense of smell. Or going blind, I suppose. The new sense I had is gone, and I suddenly realize how inconvenient it is not to have it.

I stumble, and a hand catches me.

“This way. Follow me.”

I take hold of the bottom of Durene’s shirt and begin to follow her. That’s easy—I’ve done that countless times before. But this time, the landscape is totally different.

“So much snow…”

I can feel Durene’s shirt straining as she grunts and pushes ahead. The snow around my ankles rises and shifts, and as I follow in her steps I realize that the snow rapidly becomes waist-deep in places.

No time to stop and think. I try to follow directly in Durene’s footsteps. But even then, the snow is already filling in her steps, and I can’t tell what’s in front of me.

The snow is so deep! Durene wades through it, but I can’t. The second time I trip, something grabs my legs and back, pulling me off my feet. I jerk in surprise, but Durene lifts me into her arms, cradling me with ease.

“I’ll—carry you, Laken. It’s faster that way.”

My mouth opens to object. I’m not a child. But then I close my mouth instead. She’s right. Even if I had sight, this is probably faster.

“I’ll hold the basket. Give it to me.”

I hold the basket on my stomach as Durene carries me in her arms. It is not comfortable, especially since Durene’s running means I bounce around like a rag doll. But she moves far faster than I can, so I hang on to her with all my strength as I feel cold air blowing past my face.

Powdery flecks of ice keep hitting me. Durene is churning through the snow as if it’s not there. I can hear her breathing hard, but she doesn’t stop running.

Riverfarm is about ten minutes away from Durene’s cottage at walking speed. We get there in four minutes. My first instinct when Durene puts me down is to find the wounded. But my weak imagination isn’t enough to predict the reality of what awaits us.

For a few seconds after Durene puts me on the uneven earth, she can’t even speak. When she eventually finds her tongue, it’s still almost too much for her. She describes the scene for me, breathless. Horrified.

Riverfarm is gone. The avalanche poured through the tiny community in one horrific rush. The pounding snow covered entire houses and knocked the walls in on others. There’s so much packed snow that we’re standing several feet above where the ground is supposed to be.

“I can see the roof of Mister Prost’s house from here. It—oh, Laken! It’s all gone!”

“What about the people, Durene? Are they alive?”

I grab Durene’s arm, trying to keep her focused. My voice is urgent, and she starts as if coming out of a trance.

“A few. I can see some, but—”

Some of them are just standing around, motionless. Others wander aimlessly, and I can hear them calling. A few are trying to dig at the ground, but the snow isn’t loose. It’s been packed, and everything is buried. How would they even know where their families and friends are?

And no one’s really that coherent in the first place. Durene is experiencing it and so am I, to a lesser extent.

Shock. But I know—I have to fight through it. I can’t see, but I wasn’t caught up in that maelstrom of death. My head is the clearest right now.

“We have to start digging people out. Durene, where’s the nearest house?”

Again, Durene starts as if I’m waking her from a dream.

“Nearest? Over there—Mister Ballus and Miss Ven’s—”

“Let’s go to it.”

I push at her, and Durene moves forwards. I follow her until she stops.

“What does it look like? Do you see any of the family around here?”

“No—I—I don’t know. They could be over there. That looks like—it’s all buried, Laken. All of it.”

“How much is buried? The front? The back? Could we dig the door out—maybe they’re still inside?”

“I don’t know. It’s buried.”

I clench my teeth in frustration. I can’t see, and Durene isn’t being helpful. I want to shout at her, but in the next instant I feel her moving.

“I’ll dig! Stand back, Laken!”

I take the basket and move back. At once I feel snow flying through the air and hear Durene grunting. Suddenly she’s all motion, and I hear her shouting, the first loud sound in the shocked silence of the village.

“Mister Ballus! Miss Ven! Cinney! Rober! Are you there!?”

The noise does something to the villagers not buried by the snow. After a few seconds I hear movement, and then someone runs over.

“Durene!? And – Mister Laken? You two are alive?”

“We are.”

I don’t recognize the name, but I feel someone rush over to me. A hand seizes mine, rough and callused.

“It’s me, Prost.”

“Mister Prost? Are you okay? Where’s your family?”

“I don’t see them. I don’t—”

Prost is trembling even worse than Durene was. He can barely hold on to me, but that he does, clutching at me like he’s holding on for dear life. I try to calm him down.

“Mister Prost. Listen to me. We have to start digging people out. Durene’s got a shovel. Can you help her? Find other people…?”

We need to get a group of people assembled. Even with Durene’s strength, every house in the village is drowned in snow. Prost nods, and then realizes I can’t see the motion even though I feel him doing it.

“I can do that. But—Durene! My house is over there!”

“Mister Prost?”

I feel the man let go, and then hear Durene’s voice. The sound of the shovel scraping the snow stops.

“My family—they were all inside when the avalanche hit! Help me dig them out!”

“But Mister Ballus and his family are—”

Oh no. I hear the two’s voices raised, and then it sounds like Prost tries to grab the shovel out of Durene’s hand. When that doesn’t work, he tries to drag her with him with the same amount of success.

“Please, you have to help. They’re trapped! I need—”

“Durene!”

This voice isn’t from a man. It’s female and cracks in desperation. I hear more running and then another villager is fighting with Prost for Durene’s attention.

“Durene!”

“Help me! My husband—”

“Help us!”

I can see nothing, but I don’t have to see to know that Prost shoves the other woman away. I hear her cry out, and then Durene’s voice.

“Stop fighting! Please! I’ll try to get everyone out. But if you could help me—”

“My family! Save them first!”

No, no, no! But I know even as the voices raise what’s going to happen. The villagers were still shocked when Durene and I arrived. But now that we’ve started moving, the confusion gripping the villagers has faded a bit.

But that only means they’re now desperate, and Durene is the only person that can help them. More people rush to her, an uninjured beacon of hope. But instead of working together, they begin fighting over her!

“Everyone! Please listen! We need to work together!”

I call out, shouting at them, but I can’t see a thing, and Durene is now trapped by the desperate men and women. They’re arguing, not listening to anything. And instantly, a scuffle begins. I even hear what sounds like a blow. Are they hitting each other? But it’s every villager for themselves.

“Listen to me!”

I shout desperately and even try to run towards the fight, but all that gets me is a hard shove as someone knocks me down. I fall onto the ice and hear a scream.

“Laken!”

Someone else shrieks, and then I hear the voice moving away. Durene runs towards me. She—threw a villager out of the way. They scatter as she anxiously helps me up.

“Are you okay?”

“I am—but this is insanity, Durene!”

I’m already on my feet. But the sounds of chaos haven’t faded. If anything, they’ve gotten worse. Now the people are fighting over Durene’s shovel. She’s helpless as she looks at the scene and I try to make sense of it all.

“No one’s listening! What should I do, Laken?”

I don’t know. This is a nightmare—two nightmares at the same time! We need order, but no one’s listening. And I have no idea where the buried villagers are, or even how many are still alive. I yell at Durene.

“Just—just start digging! Try to get this house out first. We have to—”

What can I do? Nothing. I could dig, but I have no idea where everything is. And Durene’s the only person with any kind of tool! She moves into action, running back towards the building and I cup my hands to my mouth and shout.

But it does no good. No one will listen to me. Eventually, the fighting villagers stop and return to trying to dig their loved ones out. One helps Durene, and others try to get their friends to work together, but there’s no cohesion. And again, there’s only one shovel and the ice is like stone in places. And no one knows where any of the victims are!

We’re running out of time. People are suffocating down there. I try to think. What can I do? What can any of us do?

What if—I could see? I can’t, but what about my Skill? Yes, that’s right! I saw Durene’s cottage, and even the buried plants in the garden. What if—

I take a few deep breaths. No one is looking at me and Durene is still shouting as she digs. I don’t know what to do exactly, so I point to what the center of the village is. I try to put conviction into my words as I speak.

“I claim this village.”

Nothing happens. Of course not. Would it really be that simple? But then what do I do?

“I claim this village—in the name of [Emperor] Laken!”

“…This village is a Protectorate of the Unseen Empire!”

Nothing. I feel like the biggest fool in the world, and all around me people are screaming, calling for help. Dying.

I have to do something. And this is it. Why can’t I claim this village? I could do it with Durene’s cottage. Think. Why?

Because she let me. Because she gave me the authority to do it. Instantly, I realize what I have to do.

“Durene? Durene?”

She’s by my side in an instant.

“What is it, Laken?”

“Where’s the village head?”

I know this village has its own mayor, or leader or something. It’s not a very important position—the villagers choose someone every year, but only to negotiate with other villagers, towns, and traders. But it is a leader.

“What? Mister Till? I don’t know. I don’t see him…”

“I need to find him. Or his family. Do you see anyone who knows where he might be?”

“N—I do! I see his wife!”

“Take me to her. Hurry!”

Durene abandons her efforts and leads me across the uneven ground. I keep stumbling, and at one point I hear a shout and feel the packed snow shifting underneath me.

“God.”

Is this what it’s like after an earthquake? I hear stories of natural disasters, but this—

I don’t know what it looks like. But to my mind, the world is in chaos. Nothing is the same as when I came here a few days ago. It’s like I’ve walked into another world again. A horrible world of death and fear.

“Miss Feya! Miss Feya!”

Someone’s in front of me. I hear sobbing, and then someone’s in front of me.

“Durene? Oh Durene—help me! My poor boy is down there somewhere!”

“I—I’ll try to find him!”

I hear the sounds of Durene digging with her hands. I reach out, and there’s a woman in front of me. My hand recoils as I touch her frozen skin and find sticky blood.

“Miss…Feya?”

“Who is—oh! You’re…”

“I’m Laken.”

There’s no time for niceties. I guide the trembling woman a bit away from Durene and then get straight to the point.

“Miss Feya, do you know where your husband is? He’s the village head, isn’t he?”

“My husband…?”

She’s in shock too. I want to shake her, but I just wait for her, prodding gently.

“I need to find him. Do you know where he is?”

Even if he can’t transfer ownership of the village to me, he might be able to rally the disorganized villagers. But I can already sense something’s wrong.

“He—he—”

Choked words. I reach out and feel her shaking. Miss Feya sobs and I know what’s happened.

“I’m so sorry.”

But there’s no time even for that. I hesitate. Would she be next in charge? I have to try.

“Feya. Miss Feya. I need you to give Riverfarm to me.”

An intake of breath.

“Give? What are you talking about? There’s nothing left!”

“I can’t explain everything, but—I have a Skill. It can help find people, even under the snow, I think. But I need to own this village to use it.”

“A Skill?”

I sound like a complete and absolute loon in my ears. But to Miss Feya, saying that might have been the best thing I could do. She understands Skills, even if she doesn’t know what I’m talking about. But she’s still hesitating, uncertain.

“You need the village?”

“Yes.”

“Can you really save them?”

There’s hope in her voice as well as doubt. But the world’s collapsed around her, and this poor woman is reaching out for any shred of hope. I don’t want to lie to her, so I tell her the truth.

“I can try.”

One second goes by as she thinks. Two. But she has nothing to lose, and everything to gain.

“It’s yours. If you can do something, please, do it!”

I nod and step back from her. I still feel self-conscious, but this time I don’t waver. I raise my head and speak with all the confidence I can muster.

“I claim this village. I claim Riverfarm.”

Nothing. Again. I curse and hear Feya moan. What’s wrong?

Last time—it took a while before I realized that I could sense Durene’s cottage. Maybe there’s a waiting time? If so, I’m screwed. But maybe it didn’t work because Miss Feya isn’t the next village head. She wasn’t elected, and—does the village head have the ability to speak for an entire village anyways?

Damn it, there’s just so much I don’t know! I feel helpless, and angry as well. I have to do something! But nothing I’ve tried has worked and I can hear Durene. She’s  barely excavated more than a few feet of snow, and it’s been over ten minutes since we got here. If anyone’s still alive—

No time. No way. The burning helplessness in my chest intensifies. And I hear the same whispering in my heart that I think everyone’s heard before.

Just give up. You can’t do anything.

It’s the same voice that used to talk to me on the worst nights. It’s the voice that told me a blind kid couldn’t ever do anything. It tries to drag me down.

I am an [Emperor]. But I’m not one, really. I just went through the motions. I’m an actor and I put on a good play, but in the end the genuine article is different from me.

Emperor Norton never questioned himself. Charlemagne, Peter the Great, Leopold—did any of these people ever act like I did? How would I know?

What would an [Emperor] do?

The little voice in my head mocks me as I listen to people cry out. More than anything, I want to help them. But how? I don’t own this village. There’s a wall in my way, a wall I can’t touch or feel or sense. I can’t break it down. And there’s a wall in the ground, a tomb of snow.

My doubts taunt me. But more than anything I want to act. The Emperor does not wait. He doesn’t hesitate. He does what an Emperor does because he is an Emperor. If Norton ever asked questions, he would never have become an Emperor.

And I—

I can’t let something silly like rules stop me. I don’t own this village? That’s not something a real [Emperor] would accept.

My heart is pounding. I don’t ask questions. I stop hesitating.

People are dying. I want to help them. Have to. Durene is doing her best, but for all her strength, she’s just one person. The villagers are disunited. There’s no one to lead them. No one but me.

So I draw the biting air into my chest and scream.

“My name is Laken Godart! I claim this village!”

My voice cuts through the other noises, bringing quietus with it. I can tell everyone’s stopped to stare at me in astonishment. But I don’t falter. I don’t wait, either. I keep shouting, so that everyone can hear me.

“Riverfarm is under my protection! All those who live within it are part of my empire!”

What’s this? No one understands. Who’s this blind young man, shouting nonsense? They’re just words. Anyone can speak nonsense. Anyone can claim anything they want.

But who has the courage to shout it to the world? I do. So I shout and tell everyone that I am an Emperor, because it is true. I will make it true.

“I am Laken, Emperor of the Unseen! If anyone would challenge me, fight my champion, my [Paladin]. Durene!”

For a few seconds I think the villagers are too shocked to even respond. Then I hear a shout.

“Are you insane?”

Prost’s voice is angry. I can hear him moving towards me, but my attention isn’t on that. It’s on the snow under my feet. And the faint sense I have—

Below me is ice. Below that is timber. And then stone. A wall. And pressed up against that wall is a child. He barely moves, but he does move. He’s trapped against the wall and the snow is so constricting that he can only breathe and move a tiny bit. I see his chest rising and falling in my head.

“What nonsense are you shouting!?”

A hand grabs me. I hear an angry voice, and then more voices.

“You claim our village? By what right?”

“What are you doing?”

“We need help! Stop shouting and—Durene! Come here!”

The villagers have come to me. Of course they would. Here’s this crazy guy shouting at them as they’re in the middle of their grief and desperation. They want to unload their anger onto me. But I’m too busy to care.

“I am an [Emperor].”

They hear me, but who would believe that? They shout at me, and then I hear Durene’s voice.

“Let him go!”

A massive hand moves, and separates Prost from me with ease. He stumbles back, and I hear shouts.

“Durene! Come here!”

“My children are down there! Come with me!”

“You bastard—give me that shovel!”

Screaming. Fighting. Cries for help. I hear it all and see the boy breathing far below. Is this sight? It’s never been so clear to me. I breathe in and out and the world comes into focus.

This is mine. I claim it. It’s not sharp in my head; it’s not my village entirely. But I will have it.

The villagers are fighting. No one will get any work done. I’m angry at them. I know they’re afraid. So am I! But if they can’t work together everyone loses. Durene is shielding me with her body and shouting at them, but she’s no leader. Not yet.

But I am. I am an [Emperor]. I shout.

“Silence!”

And there is. Complete silence. My voice is thunder, and I feel that same sensation in my bones as I did once before, when I shouted at the group of children tormenting Durene, so long ago.

“I am an Emperor.”

My voice is the one sound in the empty world around me. I can feel people staring at me, but they are mute. I keep talking, my voice growing louder.

“Your families, your friends, are all trapped under the snow. I can find them. You will help me. Find something to dig with. We’ll start here. Give Durene her shovel back.”

No one moves. They’re in shock. I don’t have time for it. My hand raises. My voice grows deeper, and it echoes.

“You and you, find something to dig with. You! The shovel! The rest of you, start digging right here. Move!”

They move. They can’t help it. But they want to move as well; I’ve given them purpose. I’ve given them hope. I look down with my head and sense the small body beneath me. Growing colder. Growing weaker.

So many. So still. I sense tiny bodies and large ones, motionless beneath the snow. Some still move. Others lie at odd angles, in pieces.

There’s no time to grieve. I point and shout.

“Start digging there! And there!”

It’s like a game. An awful game where each second counts and the prize isn’t measured in points, but real lives. But there are ways to be more efficient.

“There are two shovels here. Dig them up!”

They’re nearest to the surface. If we have those, the villagers won’t have to use the branches and broken bits of wood. Durene is already clearing snow with her spade. I’ll have to stop her from hitting the boy when she gets close.

“Over there! She’s right beneath the snow! Dig with your hands and pull her out!”

I run, and people follow me. I shout, and they listen. There’s no little voice in my head. There’s only a screaming idiot, moving too fast to doubt himself. Every step I take in the snow is sure; my blood is electric. I dash over to the spot and people begin to dig.

“Follow me. Find something to dig with!”

Onwards. I let the villagers dig out their friends and run on.

I’m going to save everyone I can. This—

This is my village now. And I will protect it. I am an [Emperor].

I run and run, and forget that I’m blind. I forget everyone else. I reach down, and pull life out of the ground.

—-

He only knew it hurt. He had tried screaming, but there was blackness all around him. Cold. It was so cold, and he knew he was buried. His head was full of pain and he knew he was bleeding. It was cold—

But also hot. The air in the small pocket where he was trapped was getting warmer, and every time he took a breath, his head spun.

He was dying.

He wanted to struggle, but he couldn’t even move. He cried and screamed, but no one had heard him. And now he was going to die.

That’s what he knew. He knew it even as he shouted for salvation. And then he heard the scraping.

Someone was digging! Towards him? He shouted desperately, barely daring to hope. But the sounds—they were coming from below him! They were going the wrong way! He screamed again, telling them to come back.

No! Had they missed him? The young man shouted desperately, and then realized the sound was getting louder, not softer! It was coming towards his head!

And then he realized something was off. Snow was breaking around his legs. He could move them! He wriggled with mad desperation, not caring if he hurt himself. He had to get out!

“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

A voice pulled him out of the madness. The young man froze, and then realized what was happening.

“You’re upside down. Don’t move and we’ll dig you out.”

The world turned over. Suddenly, the pounding in his head made sense. He waited, unable to bear the waiting but waiting nonetheless, and then felt a warm hand on his leg.

“You’re safe. Hold on just for a second longer.”

He didn’t know the voice. He knew everyone in the village, but he didn’t know the voice. But the hand was warm, and the voice was full of so much confidence—

He cried like a child as the warm hands dug the snow away and then came for him. He was still sobbing as more hands righted him and he was pulled out of the snow and back into the world of color and light.

For a little while he couldn’t see. Tears made his vision blurry and he could only gulp in air, the sweetest, purest thing he’d ever felt in his life. He didn’t want to grow up anymore. He didn’t want to become a famous adventurer or leave this small village. He didn’t want to marry his childhood crush.

He just wanted to be alive. And he was. The young man wept and clutched at the cold ground, and then remembered his name.

Gamel.

When he could finally think again, Gamel looked around and saw what had become of his home. Ice and snow had buried Riverfarm, the only place he had ever known. His house, his father’s home that he had lived in and hated for being so small, was gone.

And so was the rest of the world. Gamel looked, but he couldn’t see anything familiar. Where was the forest? Where was the river? Where were the road and the other houses?

He saw nothing familiar, save for a few rooftops and broken wood. But then he saw the people.

The villagers of Riverfarm numbered little over a hundred. He knew all of them by name, if not as friends. He recognized over thirty of them now, digging up the snow in teams. But one person stood out among the frantic workers, one person Gamel didn’t recognize.

It was another young man, like Gamel. He had to be the blind man, the one who was staying at Durene’s cottage. The one who liked the half-Troll.

But then the blind man turned and pointed. His eyes were closed, but he seemed to know where things were. He shouted, and Gamel realized that he was the owner of the voice and the warm hands.

And when he heard the voice, Gamel stood up. He ran over to help, even before he quite knew what he was doing. And when he did know, he only ran faster. His friends were buried. His family! His love.

The blind young man had found a woman trying to excavate her house. Her hands were raw and bleeding from digging. But she still turned the snow crimson as she searched for any clue, any hint of her child.

“Miss.”

The young man pulled her away. She resisted, but two other villagers pulled her back. She was sobbing, crying out for her missing child. Gamel looked at the ground, but he could see nothing but packed snow. Where would you even begin searching for a missing kid? He could have been swept away, or buried in a pocket. You could dig for hours and not find him.

But the blind man only hesitated for one second. He seemed to search the ground and then pointed.

“There.”

Gamel stared. But men and women rushed forwards with hoes, shovels, even a board of wood, anything they could dig with. They began to send up flurries of snow where the blind man had pointed, digging with all their strength, totally confident in his prediction.

“Fifteen feet down. He isn’t moving.”

The blind man was supervising the work. He was also speaking to the mother. Gamel stared, and then saw two closed eyelids swing towards him. The not-gaze made him freeze. He couldn’t see him. But—

“You! Find something to dig with! Hurry!”

Gamel was running before he knew what had been said. He came back with a pitchfork someone had found. The tines could lift chunks of ice out. He began digging with the others, widening the hole.

“Stop!”

The voice halted them and everyone froze as one. The young man leapt into the hole. Without looking he seized a spade.

“He’s a foot down. Give me some room!”

Gamel stood back and watched. Carefully, quickly, the young man dug. He paused, and then shoved away more snow. Then he lifted something out of the ground.

“Siccy!”

Gamel recognized Sic, one of the boys who belonged to the mother. She rushed forwards, and then screamed again.

“He’s not breathing.”

The young man—Laken, that was his name—was calm. Or rather, he wasn’t panicking. He shouted at the woman.

“Move back! Get me a clear space above!”

Hands pulled him and the still boy out of the hole. Gamel watched, numb horror in his chest. The boy was dead. But Laken wasn’t done yet.

“Breathe into his mouth. Like this. Steady breaths.”

He was doing something, showing the woman something. Then he put his hands on the boy’s chest and began to pump, as if he was trying to push something back into the child.

“Compressions. Place your hand on his chest like this. Now—”

The woman breathed and Laken pressed on his chest. Gamel watched without hope. Nothing was going to happen. This was no spell or [Healer]’s Skill. It was just air and some weird motion. It couldn’t—

The boy gasped. He choked and his eyes flew open. The mother fell backwards, but then she shrieked and threw herself at her son. Gamel stared. His eyes stung as the boy breathed again.

“Give him air!”

Laken forced the mother back a bit. Then he stood up and ran to another body being pulled out of the snow. Gamel followed. Laken showed the rescuers what to do.

“Five minutes. If they don’t wake up by then—”

It didn’t work. Gamel stared at the cold body of the girl he’d always thought was too ugly to dance with and felt a hole open up in his chest. Laken moved on. The next body they brought up was cold as well, and Laken didn’t even bother with it. The next was also dead. The next was alive and the woman clung to Laken even as he shouted.

The dead couldn’t be brought back so easily. But the breathing and compressions—helped. It gave people hope and they tried it until Laken told them it was too late. It was a last-ditch effort he said; they were already dead. It was too late.

But it worked. Once, twice. Out of the many casualties, Gamel saw two cough up ice and snow and breathe again. A child, practically blue and still bleeding, opened her mouth and wailed after her breath had stopped. A young man inhaled, and nearly choked again as his family threw their arms around him.

And many who came out of the ground were still alive. They had clung to life, trapped in tiny places, hoping, begging silently for rescue. And it came, with precise accuracy and no shortage of willing hands. Gamel dug to save people trapped like him. He threw away the pitchfork and grabbed a proper shovel when one was found. He dug and pulled out his best friend, the [Blacksmith].

His father.

Gamel stared down at the empty gaze and snow-covered beard. Snow hadn’t filled his lungs like the others. But his neck had snapped as he had tumbled. It was twisted the wrong way.

The young man reached down with trembling hands. He had to fix it. He tried to turn his father’s head back the right way. Gently at first, and then with more strength. It was no good. He felt something shifting beneath his hands and stumbled away to vomit.

When he was choking and wiping at his mouth, someone touched his shoulder. Gamel spun, and looked into closed eyelids.

Laken only held his shoulder. He had never met Gamel’s father. He didn’t know the man. But he looked in Gamel’s eyes with his sightless ones and said only one thing:

“There are more people to save.”

So Gamel left his father on the ground. He dug and dug until his hands blistered and bled and pulled up more bodies. A little girl who’d always gotten on his nerves. Dead. A husband who everyone knew beat his wife. Alive. He was sobbing like Gamel had been and he dug with his bare hands to pull his living spouse out of the ground with their dead baby in her hands.

There was no sense to it. No justice. There were only places where the cold hand of fate had taken lives, and miracles where that boundary had not been crossed.

Yet with every second they spent under the snow, the villagers would have died. And there were so many. If the others had been digging with no idea where they were, how many would have died?

But Laken pointed and the villagers were found. Within the hour, everyone had been found, and for a miracle, the living outnumbered the dead. Those who were alive were injured yes, some badly. They were all close to or frostbitten in places, and many were exhausted from digging. They were homeless. Hungry.

But they were alive. And though Gamel’s hands bled, he held the girl who he’d dreamed of marrying as she cried and the [Midwife] bandaged her bleeding leg.

They were alive. Gamel had to keep wiping away tears, and his nose was stuffed. He didn’t care.

They were alive. After the last body had come up, the villagers just sat on the snow, crying, tending to injuries, hugging each other. Being alive.

Somehow, there was even food. The half-Tr—Durene had brought food with her at the blind man’s orders. And there was cloth to bandage wounds, even! As more and more hands were free, Laken directed them to dig up stores of food, buried in store rooms and cellars.

Gamel hadn’t seen Durene before now. He’d been too busy digging. But he saw her tossing a massive amount of snow as she continued to dig, tirelessly.

Part of him was afraid of her. Part of him could still remember the Troll and the way the adults had been so frightened of her. Part of him remembered throwing things at the Troll-girl when he saw her. He saw her dig up food to hand around and the countless people she had saved by herself, and part of him felt ashamed.

Laken didn’t just know where the bodies were. He found root cellars, and knew which ones were the most well-stocked. He had them dug up, and immediately had the food passed around to the starving people.

The food was meant to last a family the entire winter, but no one said a word, even if it was their stocks being opened and shared. Or rather, who would even think about something like that right now?

They were alive. That was all that mattered.

Gamel tore at some frozen bread someone had warmed up and saw there was a fire going. Someone was making a soup out of vegetables, but Gamel could have eaten the loaf with only snow and dirt as seasoning. He shared the frozen piece with the girl sitting next to him and stood up.

Laken was standing in the center of the village, still ordering people about. He wasn’t shouting—his voice was hoarse and raw and the—Durene was standing next to him anxiously. Gamel hesitated, and then brought Laken a bowl of soup when it was done.

“Thank you.”

The blind man took the bowl and thanked Gamel. But that was all wrong. Gamel’s throat closed up. He had to say it.

“Thank you.”

That was all he could say. What he had to say. Other villagers heard Gamel and came over. They said different things, used different words. Some hugged Laken. Other found more food, kissed him, just cried. They all meant the same thing.

Thank you.

—-

I pulled up dead people. I pulled up living people. Now, I can barely move my arms to lift the spoon. But I eat because I have to. I have to keep going. There’s tragedy around me, but if I stop to stare at it I’ve made a mistake. My heart’s too busy beating to stop and weep. That’s how it should be.

“Anyone who can—we need houses.”

The snow is so deep. But I’m already thinking about tonight. The villagers—they’re all out, living and dead. And while the dead will keep for a while, the living are freezing. And it’s going to be dark and cold tonight. It’s barely mid morning despite the herculean efforts of the day, but we need to get as many houses out as possible.

“Durene, can you start clearing snow out over here? There’s a barn—if we empty it, we could have a place for everyone to sleep at least.”

I look at Durene, although I can’t see her. But I can sense her, and touch her, and feel her beside me. That’s more than enough. I know she has to be tired, but she doesn’t show any of her exhaustion.

“I can do that. If someone helps get rid of the snow…”

“Is there anything better than a shovel? Pickaxes, maybe?”

Do they even have those? A young man hovering by me—the one who gave me the bowl of soup—offers a suggestion.

“What about magic?”

“Magic?”

I’m caught totally off-guard. But as it turns out, the young man knows a very weak flame spell. And so do other people in the village! It’s a bit better than digging, but not by much.

“Hold off on it. Wait until we dig out a building and then you’ll defrost it.”

I keep ordering people about. They obey as if it’s natural and I don’t question it. They need a leader. And I’m the best choice.

Only I can sense the entire village. It’s almost all under the snow, but I can sense which houses are intact, which ones have valuable items, and most importantly, which are closest to the surface. It is like a game, and I organize people as best I can.

What’s the first and most important thing? The elements. There’s already a small fire going.

“Get someone with wood chopping skills and find some trees! I want two—no, four big fires going!”

Those with fire magic can light what wood we have. That’s not enough of course. I ask around and find who might have the most clothes. We get that excavated and blankets, clothing—all go to children and those with injuries first. Bandages come from recycled cloth first boiled and dried by a fire.

What else? While I’m doing that I wonder about animals. I look—but they’re all dead. We dug up the people first. Still, I know where they are. All of that is frozen food that can be retrieved later.

“Mister Laken? Emperor Laken?”

A voice. I turn. Prost is standing before me, humble.

“Emperor?”

I sense him bowing his head.

“Yes sir. Durene’s dug up a good part of the barn, but she says it’s not stable.”

“Damn.”

I couldn’t tell when it’s all buried.

“Can it be fixed? Who has skills in…carpentry?”

People around me provide answers. I choose three of the best builders to take a look at the building. Someone calls out to me. One of her sons—a teenager—was injured badly. His foot was broken. It needs to be set, but the [Midwife] has no potions.

I find some. By that point several people are telling me they need weapons. For Durene?

No. For wolves and monsters that might attack the injured. I find a sword buried deep and cast about. Broken bows…I find a few locations and have people start digging.

People ask me whether they should cook more soup. I ask and find out what the best recipes are. I direct them to a dead cow.

More work. It’s getting dark apparently—I can feel the chill on my skin and the feeling of sunlight is gone. People need light, but torches are in short supply. And the team working on the barn and other buildings don’t want the badly-directed torchlight to mess with their work.

I have an idea.

“Wait a second.”

I pull out a rectangle of metal. It’s always in my pocket although I haven’t turned it on until now. I push the power button.

“Siri? Turn on flashlight.”

“Sorry, but I’m not able to do that.”

People around me exclaim in awe, but I just scowl. I have to find the flashlight app buried among the various ones I’ve downloaded and press it manually. I hate doing that.

Then again, I don’t exactly need a flashlight app, do I? It was put on my iPhone as a joke by my best friend. After Zoe installed it on my iPhone she told me it would help other people if they got lost, since I can find my way around in the dark just like the light. It would make them feel better, she told me.

And now? My iPhone glows with light. I can’t tell, but people around me are shouting ‘magic’. I give it to Prost and show him how to use it.

“Can I really use an artifact like this?”

“Just don’t drop it.”

I smile and turn away. The iPhone’s batteries probably don’t have that much juice in them in this cold, but the light helps. Prost and the others find the fault they’re looking for and fix it.

“Laken.”

Durene has the iPhone in her hands. I turn from having more blankets dug up and take it back from her.

“Thanks, Durene.”

“Is that the ‘phone’ you were talking about?”

“It is. Does it look interesting to you?”

I can’t imagine how the screen and the display looks to someone who’s never seen a light bulb. There’s awe in Durene’s voice.

“Yes. It’s like a star is in your hands.”

A star? I smile.

“Would you like to use it?”

“Me? No! I would never dare. What if I broke it? I’ve never seen magic like that before.”

“This is no magic. Anyone can use it. Here.”

In the lull of the night as the immediate worries of the villagers are temporarily alleviated, I show Durene how to work the controls.

“You see that little triangle at the bottom? Press it. Now—”

Durene jumps as music begins to play from the iPhone. I take it from her and turn up the volume. Heads turn. I walk towards the villagers, holding a glowing star in my hands that sings with a woman’s voice. I walk among them, reassuring, checking on the wounded, finding things for those with energy to do. They’re warm, fed, alive. For some reason they still keep thanking me.

I keep walking, and a woman sings about love in French, a language none of the villagers know. But her haunting voice brings life to a frozen world. So the villagers listen to L’hymne à l’amour as their loved ones lie in the falling snow. And they cry although they don’t know what the song is about.

And at the same time, they know what the song is. The singer conveys all they need to know. When the song ends I check the battery. Durene sees a single digit and a red sliver of a bar. So I play one last song.

It’s not a song about love. It’s not even in French. It’s a song about family and home and regret. A man called Reinhard Mey sings in German, Viertel vor Sieben, a song never heard before in this world. And that too speaks to the villagers.

The last echoes of the song die out. I turn off the iPhone and find a place to sleep. There’s already a space cleared for me, and Durene as well to my surprise. We could have gone back to the cottage—we will, if only to pick up Frostwing. But for now I sit, and find once I’m sitting that I’m out of energy.

I put my head down and I’m out like a light in moments. I rest and the villagers around me live another night, crying themselves to sleep. And I am still an [Emperor] when I wake up.

[Emperor Level 9!]

[Skill – Empire: Blessing of the Hearth Obtained!]

Day 42

When I woke up, I felt rested. Which is odd considering that I woke up just after six in the morning. I know I got substantially less than six hours of sleep considering how late I worked. But that was probably due to the Skill I received.

A skill for an empire. That’s the only way I can look at it. And the blessing—it’s powerful, I know that.

Most of the villagers did indeed sleep in the barn Durene helped dig up with the rest of the villagers. It was the best choice. And though my beautiful and courageous friend kept working after that, even Durene has her limits. A few more houses were uncovered and more bodies fit in there, but most slept in cramped conditions in a patched-up building surrounded by snow.

Under such conditions, where no fire could be lit and most of the heat came from blankets and body heat, you could normally expect a lot of discomfort. But that night the grieving slept like logs and woke up just as refreshed as me. And better—they were healed by their rest!

Somehow, minor cuts had scabbed over and healed almost overnight. The larger injuries weren’t gone—but neither were they as bad as yesterday.

“It’s totally overpowered.”

That was my only comment when Durene told me about the healed people. It must be that I can only have one blessing, or that only one empire skill will work at the same time. Or…maybe [Emperors] are just that powerful.

Regardless, everyone knows it was due to me. The villagers woke up and made breakfast—helped change bandages—they’re self-sufficient and intelligent. But they all look to me as I sit with Durene, eating some soup greasy with fat and chunks of meat.

Here’s an irony: because all the animals were killed in the avalanche, the villagers are now eating a meaty broth, a rare treat for them in the winter or any other time, really. The warm, rich food warms my chest.

I look around and find that eyes are on me. I can feel them, even if I can’t see them. Plus, Durene lets me know.

For once, the gazes aren’t filled with petty concerns about Durene. I haven’t heard a bad word for her since I took charge, and indeed, no one’s busy enough to get into quarrels over anything except how to do things more efficiently.

After some thought, I stand up. I don’t make a speech. I don’t talk about yesterday, or my class. People have heard what I said; word gets around even in a disaster situation. But I still don’t mention it.

I turn towards the doors. I know the bodies are still out there. And the houses are still buried in the snow. Scavengers are going to come soon, if they haven’t already. The dead need to be buried with respect, and I’m still worried about monster attacks.

“Let’s get to work.”

So saying, I walk towards the doors. And the villagers follow me without question. Durene’s walking by my side, and I’m comforted by her. She whispers to me.

“I leveled up. Five times!”

“Oh?”

“And I got two Skills! Two!”

“Good.”

I don’t smile. There’s still so much to do, and there’s been too much loss for that. But I keep walking forwards. Riverfarm needs all the help it can get. And it is mine now. My responsibility.

I feel sunlight on my skin. I look up, and know every inch and crevice of the village. I walk forwards, ignoring hands reached out to help me along. In this place I am even more sure-footed than people with sight. And it occurs to me, that despite all the things I’ve been through, I have been so lucky since I came to this world.

In little over a month I found someone to love. I found a way to see without seeing, I obtained a noisy pet, and I was in the right place to help save lives. I might have even changed a few minds about judging the girl who walks beside me.

Back home I was happy in my own way. But here I can see. Here I have a purpose. So as I walk and begin ordering people about, I wonder. Is this world meant for me? Is this destiny or chance? And is there any way I could possibly one day call this place…?

Home?

I don’t know. But I’ll take it all one day at a time. As I am. Not Laken, but Laken Godart, Emperor of the Unseen. Protector of Durene’s Cottage. Ruler of Riverfarm Village.

[Emperor].

3.13

Maybe it’s the wine talking, but I don’t think Reynold the [Butler]’s such a bad guy. I mean, sure, he’s a bit uptight and he’s in the employ of a woman who might soon kill or torture me, but Reynold? He’s got class.

It’s probably the alcohol. But in my defense, I’ve downed over half a bottle by myself. Not much of a defense I’ll grant you, but my nerves are still shaking.

Almost literally. I sit at the head of Magnolia’s magical carriage, staring at the sleet and snow blasting around us and shudder again.

Goblins.

It feels like just a moment ago they were about to dice us up. In truth, it’s been more like twenty minutes. And I’m still not over it.

Neither is Reynold. The poor carriage driver sits hunched in his seat. The wine – courtesy of the empty bottle I tossed a while back – fortified us both. But neither of us are exactly happy.

Maybe that’s why we chat a bit as we keep going towards Invrisil, and Magnolia Reinhart’s mansion. Not about anything in particular; we talk just to keep ourselves from thinking. But I do learn something really interesting, and so does he.

“You met Erin?”

“You know Miss Solstice, Miss Griffin?”

We stare at each other. I had no idea. I mean, I know Erin mentioned meeting Lady Magnolia. She told me a lot about her encounter and of course I grilled her on the details, but did she mention a [Butler]?

…Crap. I think she might have. But of course I wouldn’t have paid attention to that. And did she mention his name? Was it Reynold?

I have a bad feeling this might have been one of the things I ignored about her story. Idiot! But Reynold seems just as impressed in his way that I know Erin.

“She did mention you, Miss. I gather she was worried about your safety, but I hardly realized you two were on such good terms.”

“It’s odd, isn’t it?”

I sigh as I stare across the frozen landscape. God. I wish she was here. She met Magnolia Reinhart and came away without a scratch somehow. Erin might be annoying at times, thoughtless, but I’d rather have her as I’m about to enter the lair of the beast than not.

And when she told me all she’d been through—I clench my hand as I remember. She told me about Magnolia, and I flipped out at her. I got into a fight with her! True, I’d just lost some fingers, but I should have been more understanding.

Regrets. I ride on with Reynold and try to answer his questions as I think about what’s going to happen next. Will I die? Or will I get a chance to convince Lady Magnolia that—what? I’m on the same side as she is?

That’s what she told Erin. But I don’t know if I can believe that. I’m damn sure that I can’t trust her or anyone with the knowledge of how to make guns. But how do I get out of this with my skin intact?

I have a few ideas. The first of which is drinking from the second wine bottle I got Ressa to pass up to us. Ivolethe greedily slurps down the rich wine as she sits next to me. It’s actually sort of disgusting the more I look at her, but it’s one of those things I can’t take my eyes off of. She’s drunk at least three times her body weight already, I swear, but she doesn’t even seem daunted by the sheer physical impossibility of it. She just keeps drinking happily, and singing some song that might be in Celtic.

“Miss, I wonder if I could have a word?”

Reynold’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts. I look over to him.

“What’s that?”

He hesitates, and casts a look back towards the carriage behind him. I look too—Ressa’s closed the hatch separating us. Reassured, Reynold speaks to me, but quietly, and I scoot over to listen.

“I know Lady Reinhart has requested your presence, just as she has the other…people from your world.”

Gods. He knows. But Reynold doesn’t seem bothered by that. He’s frowning, and I can tell he’s thinking something over. Anything to help me out. I listen as he comes to a decision.

“It’s true her methods may seem sudden to people who do not know her—”

I snort.

“That’s an understatement. Kidnapping me out of a city is normal, is it?”

To my surprise Reynold’s lips twitch.

“More than you might think. No one gainsays a member of the Five Families, least of all Magnolia Reinhart. And it’s true that Lady Reinhart demands much. I know you have your issues with her. But…”

“But?”

Reynold hesitates. He looks again back towards the carriage. Ressa hasn’t said anything since the Goblins. Reassured, he continues talking. Even so, he lowers his voice to a whisper. I practically have to put my ear to his lips to hear him over the rushing wind.

“She is not a bad woman, Miss Ryoka. Driven, yes, but she cares deeply for the fate of her servants and all those living on this continent. If you can create even one of the wonders the others from your world claim—”

“Reynold. Stop talking.”

Both Reynold and I jump in our seats. He twists in his seat, face pale. But the window into the carriage is still closed. I stare at the closed door in amazement. We’re still going at top speed, and the wind is blasting around us. It’s hard just to hear Reynold’s voice, but Ressa was inside the coach.

She heard that? Is it another [Ninja] skill? Or [Assassin]?

What is she?

I have no idea. But her words are enough to scare Reynold witless. He grips the reins of the carriage in a death grip and refuses to talk, no matter what I try. So the rest of the ride passes in silence. But the entire while I’m thinking.

Magnolia. What does she want? She claims not to want to use technology from my world. But I don’t believe her. So what should I do? Help her? Do I have a choice?

How do I get myself out of this one? I’ve got…one option? Two. Mm…maybe three. Three ways to get out of this mess.

Fighting isn’t one of those options. Aside from the fact that I’m pretty sure Ressa is a better fighter than I am, I know how influential Magnolia Reinhart is. Even if by some miracle I ran away, she could have every adventurer, city guardsman and assassin on the continent after me in a heartbeat.

No, I’ve got to talk my way out of this. I just wish I was confident in my ability to do so. So I sit in the cold, apprehensive, trying to bring out all the intelligence, all the wit I have.

But I am afraid. If I were the me of a month ago, I might be so cocksure and brave to think I can get out of this no matter what happens. But now—

The carriage slows. I sit up instantly and see something appear out of the white background. A mansion, guarded by high walls and a single gate.

“The manor of Magnolia Reinhart.”

That’s all Reynold says as he drives us through the gates. They swing open instantly as we approach, but I see no gatekeeper. Automatic magical gates?

Yeah. Why not? But then my cynicism is lost as I stare at the mansion.

“Oh wow.”

Erin told me a bit about Magnolia’s mansion, but I was mainly focusing on what Magnolia wanted of her and me. She told me about the magic—

But this is something else.

A whale swims across the front of the house, gliding across the stone as if it were a sea. A line of metal giants, suits of armor with empty visors, stand at attention, flanking the entrance. And a cloud floats through the suddenly clear skies overhead. Even the air is warmer, and as I step outside the coach, I suddenly feel warm in my clothes.

It’s suddenly spring again. A cool breeze blows, and I look around and find a group of men and women attired in servant’s clothing are standing with the Golems. I hop off the front of the carriage and feel my cramped legs protesting. I stare awkwardly at the servants. Well, what do I do? Reynold’s sitting in the front seat, quiet. But what about these other servants?

Are they a welcoming committee? For me? Is Magnolia Reinhart really—

“Welcome back, Miss Ressa.”

Fuck. They scared the ever living crap out of me. All of the servants speak at once as they bow towards the carriage. I look back and see Ressa stepping down from the side of the carriage as Reynold holds the door open.

Now here’s a contrast. She’s dressed like a maid, but she descends and walks past me like a queen. Of course, I was taught proper posture and etiquette when I was young, but I didn’t take much to it.

But Ressa? Ressa could fill in for the Queen of England any time she wanted. I feel like an idiot as I watch her walk ahead of me. Ressa takes a look at the gathered household staff and begins giving orders like a general.

“Teresa, Bener, tell the others to prepare more refreshments for our guests. Ryoka Griffin will be meeting with Lady Magnolia at once. Eve, a pot of tea. Reynold—”

She turns to the [Butler] and I see him bowing his head.

“—Have the carriage inspected for damage. Then I want you to test the spell lattice. If the wards are damaged, schedule an appointment to have them recast. The [Invisibility Field] should not have cut out from a mere unenchanted bolt.”

“At once, Miss Ressa.”

Reynold hurries back to the coach as I stare. Wait, so that was an accident back there? I thought Rags just hit us to make us appear again, but something malfunctioned?

Ressa isn’t even slowing down. She keeps giving orders as people scurry away from us. I eye the imposing Golems. What are they for? To welcome her back? Or to restrain me?

It doesn’t look like I’m getting the red carpet welcome. I look at Ivolethe—she’s too busy flying into the suits of armor and laughing at them from the inside to pay attention.

“Pst. Ivolethe.”

The tiny faerie hears me. She flies back, opening her mouth to comment, but I shake my head at her warningly.

“Don’t speak. And don’t follow me into the manor. Just stay outside, okay? If you can, find out where I am. But don’t go inside. It’s dangerous—”

I break off and Ivolethe flies away from me as Ressa turns her head to stare at me. She doesn’t beckon, but I can tell she wants me to come over to her.

I fold my arms and wait. Like hell I’m taking orders from her. Ressa frowns slightly; then she looks up and sighs.

I look up too. I see only darkness overhead, and then a drop of water hits me right in the eye. As I curse I realize the cloud Erin told me about—the one normally circling Magnolia’s garden—is right overhead. And even as I think that, I feel the cloud open up overhead.

Rain begins pouring down on my head, instantly drenching me. And only me. The cloud seems determined to shower me, and I sprint towards the mansion, swearing a blue streak as I reach shelter.

Instantly, the rain stops. I stand, dripping, in the lush interior of a mansion that would put Versailles to shame, and see a gaggle of [Maids], [Manservants], [Butlers], and other staff staring wide-eyed at me.

I hear footsteps, and turn to see Ressa walk in behind me. There’s not a drop of water on her clothing. She looks down her nose at me as I drip onto the marble flagstones. As if it’s my fault I just got rained on in the winter.

“Your damn Mistress did that, didn’t she?”

Ressa makes no response. But her lips do twitch as if she’s suppressing a smirk.

“A towel will be provided for you shortly. Lady Magnolia will see you personally. If you will follow me?”

Without another word she begins striding off down the corridor. I stare at her back, but I’ve got no choice. Either I follow her, or I bet something else happens. One of the Golems will start beating me to death, maybe.

I follow her, walking fast to keep up. A [Maid] appears by my side and offers me a towel. I snatch it, dry myself, and hurl it into the face of a passing [Butler]. He drops whatever he was holding and I storm on. If they’re not going to play nice, neither am I.

Okay, that last bit from me was an overreaction. That man didn’t deserve that, and the look I get from Ressa isn’t pleasant to say the least. But I’m only now realizing that this is happening.

I’m going to meet Lady Magnolia. Not a minute after I got out of the carriage. She’s not going to give me any time to collect myself or prepare. And she’s going to surprise me and try to catch me off guard any way she can to get the upper hand.

Like that just now. Seriously? Making a cloud rain on me? That’s juvenile. But as a way to keep me off balance, it definitely worked.

Ressa pauses and turns left down a large corridor. She stops before a set of double doors and looks at me reprovingly.

“Lady Magnolia awaits you, Ryoka Griffin.”

Just that? No warnings? No hints about what’s going to happen? I take a deep breath.

Crap. This isn’t good. I can tell my nerves are still rattled. And an internal check tells me I’m not only a bit drunk, but I could really use a catnap.

But there’s no helping it. I’m in the lion’s den. Or is it Dragon’s den? Bah. I’d rather go up against Teriarch in another riddle game than Magnolia.

And then Ressa pulls open the doors. She steps inside, and I follow her. I stare around an inordinately pink room, looking out over the main area of the manor. We’re on the second floor? When did we get up here?

It’s decorated sparsely for such a lavish room. Aside from the huge windows looking out, there are only two couches and a tea table in the center. I’m sure other furniture used to be here, but now the room is empty save for that. It makes everything feel larger, and somehow more oppressive at the same time.

My eyes find a small pot of steaming tea on the table. I see the empty couch, and then my eyes travel to look at the other occupant of the room, the woman whom Ressa now stands behind.

And then—there she is. Sitting on a plush couch in the center of the room. Poised, elegant, calm and collected. Holding a tea cup in one hand and staring directly at me.

Lady Magnolia.

My breath catches in my chest for a second. This is too sudden. I haven’t prepared, haven’t steeled myself—

But here she is. And it’s too late to slow down, because Magnolia comes out guns blazing.

“Ryoka! So good to see you again!”

Her bright, cheerful voice nearly gives me a heart attack. I’d almost forgotten—but now I remember. Lady Magnolia. For all you might hear of her wealth, power, and influence, in person she’s quite energetic.

Disarmingly so. Magnolia beckons me to the couch. I hesitate, but then walk over and take a seat. Across from me, the noblewoman beams, the very picture of delight. I keep my eyes on her face.

Remember, she’s not nearly as naïve and innocent as she seems. She acts like Erin, but she’s not. Be on your guard—

“Can I offer you anything? Tea? Biscuits? A knife to the throat? How would you feel most comfortable?”

What? I freeze in my seat. Magnolia laughs lightly as she studies my face. Her eyes are sharp; she watches me like a cat studying a mouse.

“Please, Miss Ryoka. You practically ooze wariness. Even if I did not have my [Sense Intentions] Skill—which I do and am quite adept at using—I would be able to tell how tense you are. Relax, my dear. You are not in danger. Yet.”

Mind games. Right off the bat. She’s not even pretending—not that I’d believe her—damn. I blink, try to catch my balance. What’s my response here?

“I’m not thirsty.”

Brilliant, Ryoka. You’re really showing off your debating skills right now. Dad would be so proud. I grit my teeth and stare at the tea pot. Magnolia raises her eyebrows. She glances up at Ressa, and shrugs.

“At least you weren’t foolish enough to ask if the tea is poisoned. Honestly, why would anyone waste good tea like that?”

“I can think of a few reasons.”

“Really? It must be terrible, being so paranoid so young. Don’t you think, Ressa?”

“Indeed.”

Behind Lady Magnolia, the maid nods briefly. I stare at her.

“Thanks for sending your maid to personally escort me. I was touched.”

“Think nothing of it, please. It would have been so inconvenient if you’d fled, and Ressa did manage to protect you from those Goblins, after all.”

Lady Magnolia chuckles about that, as if Goblin armies are a regular occurrence. Which…is actually not that far from the truth. I stare at her.

“And the rain cloud? Your handiwork as well?”

“A greeting. I know it was a naughty prank; I couldn’t resist. Do forgive me.”

And there’s no way to turn it on her. I could…what? Get angry? Pursue the issue? We haven’t even gotten down to the brass tacks yet. I move on.

“And you made time to see me right away. I must be so important.”

Across from me, Lady Magnolia sips from her tea and smiles.

“Well, some might think so. Myself, I was just bored of meeting stuffy dignitaries. I needed some entertainment, so I cancelled my discussion with one of my visitors to see you.”

“How…kind.”

She twinkles at me, all flowers and blades hidden in the petals.

“Isn’t it? I did consider letting you wait for a few hours while I attended to other business, but I feared you might run off again if I did.”

“No fear. I’m not stupid enough to run.”

“Really?”

And there it is again! The woman wears the most bland expression possible as she delivers a damn good retort. I just stare at her for a second. The Magnolia I’m used to dealing with did not act like this. Why is she taking the gloves off so early?

Regain the flow of the conversation. I glance at the tea pot. There’s an empty cup and saucer. I reach for it and pour myself a cup. Ressa and Magnolia watch me, one disapprovingly, the other amused.

“Thirsty? My dear, let Ressa do that for you. She is a [Maid].”

“And a [Ninja].”

I mutter as I fill my teacup. Magnolia laughs again.

“A [Ninja]? You think Ressa has a [Ninja] class?”

She sounds delighted. I stare at her as she turns and laughs in Ressa’s face.

“Ressa, did you hear that?”

“I did, milady.”

“A [Ninja]! Wouldn’t that be quite amazing to see? If I bought you some dark clothing, would you hang from the ceiling and jump out of the shadows to fill my cup?”

The Lady Reinhart practically chokes on her drink as she giggles. I just stare at her, and then realize Ressa’s giving me a death glare. Um. Looks like I was mistaken.

“So she’s not a ninja.”

“Oh please. Does Ressa look like an islander to you? [Assassins] are the class of choice here; a [Ninja] would be a completely different culture!”

Magnolia snorts as she takes a deep drink of tea. I cautiously do likewise. I’m pretty sure the cup isn’t poisoned—why bother if I’m here and she can just do whatever she wants by force? But—

The instant my tongue touches the tea, it practically goes numb. Poison? I nearly spit out the liquid before I realize what I’m tasting.

Sugar. It’s practically liquid sugar! I don’t know how many sugar cubes died to make the tea this sweet—all I know is that I’ve tasted sodas that weren’t nearly this bad for your health. Instantly I put the cup down.

“What is this filth?”

Lady Magnolia frowns at me as I make a face and shove the tea cup back onto the table. Not gently either; a bit slops over the side at which point I’m sure it adhered to the table like glue.

“Well now, how rude! That is perfectly good tea, Miss Ryoka. And it is not poisonous in the slightest.”

I scrub at my tongue with my teeth before I reply.

“It might as well be poison. There’s way too much sugar in that pot!”

“She’s right about that.”

Ressa interjects, voice disapproving. Magnolia glances up at her in clear irritation and drinks from her own cup. It’s got to be the same tea—she’s drinking it like water! And pouring herself another cup!

“You two don’t understand my passions at all. You’re too much like Ressa, dear Ryoka.”

That’s an insult. Ressa and I exchange a glance and then I go back to staring at Magnolia. Once she’s done filling up her own cup, she sighs.

“Well, that’s enough mindless chatter for now.”

She looks at me suddenly, and it’s as if the mask she was wearing, the smiling noble [Lady]—suddenly falls off. All at once I feel pressure in the room, a hot, stifling gaze that sends a chill throughout my body fixing me in place.

This is the true face of Lady Magnolia. But she doesn’t leap at me and tear my eyes out. She just keeps speaking, in that calm, level voice.

“It has been a long time since we last saw each other, hasn’t it?”

It’s hard to speak, but I force my tongue to work.

“I guess. It’s only been about a month? Two?”

“Mm. But so much can happen in so short a time. As I’m sure you’re aware in your profession.”

Lady Magnolia nods at me. She extends a pinkie and points at my right hand with it.

“I see you have lost something.”

I blink at her and then remember. My fingers. They suddenly ache, and burn with the reminder of their absence. I realize I’m clenching my hand and relax it.

There’s something almost like sympathy in the other woman’s gaze as she looks at me.

“A harsh price to pay. Did you lose it on a delivery?”

“Yes.”

She nods as there’s nothing more to say than that.

“You have gone through much, if what I suspect is correct. I know for a fact that you are richer—are you wiser as well, I wonder?”

I don’t respond. I just cross my arms—hiding my stumps under my other arm—and wait. She’s leading the conversation; I’ll let her get to the point.

“Hmm.”

Lady Magnolia doesn’t seem bothered by my silence. She taps her ring finger on the cup as she stares at me.

“I trust you’ve met Erin Solstice? She was quite a feisty young woman, but I was pleased to meet her, if only briefly.”

No response. I say not a word.

“And Teriarch? I do know you met him. How is the old fool doing? He did mention you to me, you know. Apparently you had a rather interesting conversation.”

Just wait. She’s trying to lure me into conversation. Magnolia eyes me again.

“So, do you have any theory as to why you are here? Any suspicions? Or am I simply the villain in your uncomplicated view of the world?”

My lips are sealed. Magnolia sighs, exasperated.

“Very well, I suppose I should spell it out for you. You are here because I wish to talk to you. And I sent Ressa because you have a habit of refusing to listen to other people. So you have come all this way to have a conversation, with me, Lady Magnolia.”

I just stare at her. I can keep silent. I’ve had teachers, principals, police officers, and my parents all shouting at me. I can stonewall.

Magnolia keeps chattering, though.

“I do enjoy talking. You see, when two people meet, it is customary for them to talk. I understand this may be difficult in your case, and perhaps it is an imposition on your limited mental faculties. However, the custom is that when one person says something—we call this a statement, the other person says something as well, usually in the same vein of topic. This is what we call a reply—”

“I get it. I’ll talk.”

I have a feeling she could do that all day if I didn’t interrupt. Magnolia stops talking and stares at me. Without saying another word.

Great, she’s waiting for me to reply. I roll my eyes, but now the full intensity of her stare is on me. Multiplied by Ressa’s death gaze. Great. I take a breath, and launch into things.

“I guess you’ve gotten the letter I sent you.”

“Letter?”

For a second Magnolia blinks, then her eyes widen.

“Oh, the letter! Yes, I’d nearly forgotten about that!”

“You did?”

That’s odd. I thought this all stemmed from the letter I sent Lady Magnolia by way of Valceif a while ago. I’d expected an immediate response back then, and I’d been prepared to negotiate—

But Lady Magnolia just waves her hand as if that’s ancient history.

“Oh yes, your cryptic little hint that was supposed to intrigue me enough to pursue you. I recall that. It was quite interesting—I wonder, what did you hope to gain from talking with me?”

I’m not sure. It was so long ago—so long and not so long ago. I hadn’t gotten to know the faeries, and I was desperate for something to help both me and Erin.

Magnolia watches my expression, and although I’m sure my face doesn’t change, I know she’s reading my thoughts through that skill of hers. But even if she can do that, there’s a way to beat that skill. Tell the truth.

“I’m not sure what I was thinking. But I was open to talking, back then.”

“Indeed? No doubt you had your own goals. Perhaps you were thinking of selling me some secrets.”

“Perhaps.”

Yeah, that was probably it. Magnolia smiles enigmatically.

“And perhaps I would have taken you up on that offer. But alas, by the time your letter reached me I had already found other people like you. Thus, I had no need to keep searching for you.”

And there it is. Part of the issue’s out in the open at last. I breathe out.

“Yeah. The others. Erin told me you have other people from my world here.”

Not a bat of an eyelid. Lady Magnolia smiles and shrugs.

“Oh yes. They are guests here, for as long as my patience allows. Pestilential, inconsiderate brats that they are, that might not be for too much longer.”

Wow. That’s something. I know Erin said Magnolia didn’t like the others, but—

“Okay, so you have people from my world. You know everything. Why am I here, then?”

“Dead gods. Here we go again.”

To my surprise, Lady Magnolia touches her eyes with one hand and sighs gustily. I stare at her. When she looks up, her irritation is suddenly plain across her face.

“She’s doing it, Ressa. I thought she wouldn’t—but she’s doing it.”

“Yes, milady.”

“First that girl Erin—are all young women from her world inbred, do you think?”

“Doing what?”

“There she goes again!”

Magnolia scowls at me and points accusingly at my chest as if I were some kind of monster.

“Stop asking thoughtless questions! I know you’re not that stupid, Miss Ryoka. Or at least, I hope you’re not because if I have to have another conversation like the one I had with Erin Solstice, I will throw this tea pot at you.”

What’s with her? It’s like a switch has flipped. Suddenly Magnolia Reinhart is all action and no pretense. She glares at me.

“A word of advice, Ryoka Griffin. Few things annoy me as much as feigned ignorance. Do not pretend you don’t know why you are here. You and I both know that I know almost everything. That you come from another world? Obvious. That your world has different technology and inventions? Of course! Your fellow travelers have told me all about the wondrous things of your world—phones, planes, guns, cars—and you know that I have a vested interest in such things.”

Lady Magnolia drinks more of the sugary liquid that vaguely resembles tea in her cup as she stares at me.

“I know everything. Everything except the details. You know, or you might have guessed that while your friends can chatter on to me about the wonders of guns and warfare as your world practices it, they are remarkably empty-headed when it comes to producing such miracles. It’s rather like having a boastful idiot claim to be able to fly without a shred of evidence to back it up. But you do know how to fly, don’t you, Ryoka Griffin?”

My lips clamp shut. Magnolia eyes me.

“Yes. You do. Or at least, you know more than the others. And you know that is why you are here, Ryoka. I want you to tell me what you know.”

The woman sighs, looking suddenly exhausted.

“So here we are. That skips—how much needless back-and-forth? Honestly, I was willing to play along for a while, but when you started acting like an idiot I lost my patience.”

I just look at her. This is Magnolia Reinhart? Is this her true face? Is she being honest with me for a reason or—

“Well? Say something!”

I barely see it coming. Magnolia flicks her wrist, and suddenly the saucer of the tea cup comes spinning at me. I catch it reflexively.

“What the—?”

“Don’t you dare ask what that was. It was a saucer. And I threw it at you because I am irate.”

I just stare at her. She’s violent! Is it the sugar working? No—this is a completely different approach. She’s doing this on purpose too! I’ll bet—she’s seized complete hold of the conversation.

Well—fine. Let’s just dive into this. No pretenses, no holds barred. I grit my teeth.

“Okay, let’s assume you’re right about everything. In that case, at what point do you strap me to the rack and torture me for information?”

“Torture? Oh, please. Why would I need torture when I can just use magic? Or a Skill?”

Magnolia snorts at me, but she seems mollified by my response. She takes something out of the pocket of her dress and peers at me. For a second I’m thrown—I didn’t even see the cunning pocket sewn into her dress. Well now, she’s not obeying medieval fashion standards with that.

But in her hands—what is that? A monocle? I instantly have a bad feeling about it, and it gets worse when she puts it to her eyes and…studies me.

Yeah, she’s looking at me. And that monocle—

Oh no. Is she reading my mind?

No—she couldn’t be. Think. My mind races as Magnolia peers at me. I’m…pretty sure she can’t read minds, even with an artifact. If she could, she’d wear that thing all the time. It’s definitely for revealing some aspect about me—a lie detector?

Don’t get thrown by it. I fold my arms and wait. But Magnolia seems satisfied. She tucks the monocle back in her secret pocket.

“Hmf. Now, as to getting you to spill your much-vaunted secrets. Tell me, do you really think it would be that difficult for me?”

I hesitate.

“Yes.”

“Really? How arrogant of you.”

Magnolia rolls her eyes in exasperation. She stares at me with a bit of contempt, or is it disappointment?

“You astound me, Ryoka Griffin. For someone who appears so intelligent—could it be you’ve forgotten my Skills? Surely not.”

She smiles at me, and every hair on the back of my neck tingles.

“I’m curious. What would you do, if I, oh, asked you to tell me everything you know?”

It’s like lightning. Pink lightning. The words hit me and go inside my head, effortlessly opening the vault of my mind. My mouth opens. I should tell her everything, right? Isn’t that the best—

No.

I waver, grit my teeth. I’ve felt this before. This…is like Teriarch’s geas spell! God—I did forget she could do this!

Magnolia smiles at me, and puts more intensity into her silken voice.

“Come now. You know you want to. This is quite simple for me—if you can’t even stop me from doing this, you are truly foolish. Tell me everything, Ryoka Griffin.”

I want to tell her. My jaw is clamped shut, but I can feel the muscles spasming. It’s taking all I’ve got to hold still. Magnolia’s waiting for me to crack. But—I—

I’ve done this before!

My mouth opens. But what comes out is a wordless shout. I jump up, fist flashing towards Magnolia’s face—

And find myself tumbling backwards onto the couch, ears ringing, pain bursting from my chest and cheek. Ressa’s standing in front of Lady Magnolia, hands raised. I reel backwards and sit down hard on the sofa.

“Um. Well, that was surprising.”

The only sound in the room comes from Lady Magnolia. I can see her blinking at me from behind Ressa. She looks as surprised as I’ve ever seen her. I sit on the couch, staring up at Ressa. I didn’t even see her move. I’m tempted to try and hit her, but—

“Very well, Ressa, please step aside.”

Lady Magnolia’s hands push at Ressa. The surprised [Maid] moves sideways. Lady Magnolia blinks a few more times, and then looks down at her lap.

“Spilled tea. How wasteful.”

A small pool of tea is puddled in her dress. It’s ruining the expensive pink silk. But to my surprise, Magnolia just sighs and stands up. She shakes the dress—

And the tea slides off it and onto the carpet. I blink. Magnolia catches my eye and shrugs.

“Ward spells on the dress. Prevents staining. Too bad about the tea, though.”

Then she sits down as if nothing has happened and pours herself more tea. I rub at my cheek as Ressa takes a place behind Magnolia again. She’s staring at me hard, but I’m in no mood to fight.

Once there’s a fresh cup of tea in her hands, Magnolia looks at her maid and then at me.

“That was a bit too quick for my eyes, Ressa my dear. Am I right in thinking you stopped her from pummeling me?”

“Yes, milady.”

“I thought as much. Well, I seem to have misjudged you slightly, Ryoka my dear. I thought you might resist my Skill, but nothing as impressive as that. How did you do it, pray? You have no magical items on you—none for that purpose at any rate—and you have no Skills.”

So the monocle was looking at that? I just stare at Magnolia and shrug.

“That’s a secret.”

“Hmf. Well, I’m not too curious so I won’t pry. May I congratulate you, however? It isn’t often that someone has directly struck at me. The last person to do it was, well, your friend, Erin Solstice.”

Erin tried to hit Lady Magnolia? I just blink at her. Magnolia turns to Ressa.

“Didn’t you take a teapot to the face that time?”

“It was to the chest, and it was lukewarm tea.”

“Ah, of course.”

I eye Ressa. The maid eyes me. I definitely feel like the mouse if we’re in a cat and mouse relationship. She got in front of Magnolia from behind the couch before I could hit her. And she hit me in the cheek and chest in an instant.

“Your maid’s quite dedicated.”

That’s code for ‘what kind of freak of nature is your maid’? Magnolia just shrugs at me.

“Of course she is. Ressa possesses many skills, some of which include cleaning and pouring tea—others of which involve preventing people with blades from stabbing me.”

“And that’s normal for a [Maid]?”

“It’s normal for maids under my employ. Do you think I would carelessly walk around—even in my own home—and entertain guests without a bodyguard of some kind?”

“I suppose not.”

“But you didn’t think of it, did you? Really.”

Magnolia sighs and looks at her maid.

“They grow more simpleminded every year, it seems. Erin was like that, wasn’t she, Ressa? She was rather surprising in some ways, but she was as thoughtless as a rock in others.”

Okay, I feel like I should stand up for Erin even if what Magnolia’s saying is true. I grit my teeth and force myself to ignore the stinging pain in my chest and on my cheek.

“Erin is my friend.”

“How wonderful for you.”

Magnolia gives me a look that tells me she could care less. I keep going, ignoring her expression.

“She’s my friend. But I’ll admit she’s also an idiot in some ways. She doesn’t understand your goals. But I do. I know what you want, so let’s get to it.”

“Do you really?”

The other woman eyes me with more skepticism. She shrugs.

“Well then, go on. Enlighten me. What do I so desperately want from you?”

I open my mouth. Magnolia raises a finger.

“However—if you haven’t thought this through, Ressa will beat you quite black and blue.”

“What is your problem with stupid questions?”

I snap at Magnolia and barrel on before she can tell her maid to kick the crap out of me for that question.

“I know what you want. You know about my world by now. You’ve talked with people who’ve told you about guns, bombs, and all of our technology. I know you told Erin you don’t want that information spread, but there’s no way in hell you wouldn’t want to manufacture those kinds of weapons for yourself.”

“Really? And why is that?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Fear. Even if no one in your world has weapons yet, what if you run into more people from my world? What if someone else creates guns in secret? If that happens, it’s too late. You need to make weapons or else you’ll be overwhelmed.”

I don’t know how Erin didn’t consider that. For all Magnolia says she can suppress that technology—that’s impossible. But to my surprise, Magnolia doesn’t even bat an eyelash at my answer. Instead, she laughs.

“Good answer! Unfortunately—you are wrong, my dear Ryoka. Right in one way, but terribly wrong in the other.”

What? I stare at Magnolia. She smiles at me, shaking her head.

“You really are new to this world, aren’t you? I sometimes forget—but you really know nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

I’m right. I’m sure of it. But Magnolia clearly thinks I’m wrong. She puts down her tea cup and stretches her fingers out.

“I’m sure you’d say I’m being overconfident. But the truth is, Ryoka Griffin, guns are nothing to fear if it’s just a war we speak of. If one side has guns, they have an advantage, yes, but it does not mean they would necessarily win.”

“You—clearly don’t understand weapons from my world.”

I shake my head, trying to explain to Magnolia how insane her claim is. One side with swords and arrows taking on an army with guns? I suppose if it were guerilla attacks and attrition warfare—but no, she’s wrong!

“Oh? You disagree, Ryoka? Are guns really that fearsome?”

“Of course! They—”

I raise my voice in anger, trying to get Magnolia to understand, to be wary when I hear a slight knock. Instantly, I go silent. Magnolia frowns, and Ressa immediately turns her head to the door. Magnolia raises her voice and calls out.

“Yes?”

The door opens and a maid enters the room. She looks nervous, and nearly freezes up when she sees me, Ressa, and Lady Magnolia all staring at her. But she’s clearly more afraid of doing her job wrong in front of Ressa, so she speaks quickly and clearly while bobbing a curtsy.

“I am extremely sorry to bother you, Lady Reinhart. But your guest—the Great Mage Nemor—requests the pleasure of speaking with you forthwith.”

Great Mage? Is that a class? But Magnolia just frowns, looking irritated.

“Tell him to go away. I’m busy.”

The maid hesitates. But when Ressa glares she immediately bobs a curtsy and closes the door. Magnolia turns back to me, frowning.

“Great Mage Nemor? That’s hardly accurate.”

“Is that someone important?”

My mind’s still on Magnolia’s outrageous claim, but I ask just in case. Magnolia snorts in idle amusement.

“He’s useful, but hardly important—or entertaining. He will wait. Now, go on. You were going to tell me how the armies of your world would destroy mine in an instant. Let’s assume you had an army – or simply the technology from your world. What would make them so fearsome?”

I glare at her. She’s so damn cavalier. Fine. She wants an explanation?

“A tank.”

“A tank? Oh, the others did mention one of them. A metal moving box that fires another type of gun, aren’t they?”

It sounds so simple when Magnolia says it. I shake my head as I try to explain.

“If an army had a tank—just one!—it would be able to destroy thousands of soldiers. A tank has armor that can withstand any number of spells you throw at it. It can hurl an explosion miles away that can demolish a building—”

“A spell can do the same.”

I pause. Magnolia stares at me, one eyebrow raised.

“Your tanks sound slow and cumbersome. Can they really beat a mage hiding in the grass with a [Grand Fireball] spell?”

Grand fireball? Could that destroy a tank? I—hesitate.

“That’s not the point! That’s one tank. But an army could have hundreds. And a mage takes years, decades to train. A soldier with a gun can shoot countless people and he only takes a few days to train. While a mage—”

“Hm. Yes. I see your point.”

Magnolia waves me into silence, not looking daunted in the least. She taps a fingernail on her dress, talking as she does.

“An army of tanks and guns, you say? I still find it hard to imagine, but I am told a gun is like a crossbow that shoots hundreds of bolts per minute, farther than any normal bow. Is that right?”

Pretty much. I nod. Magnolia nods as well.

“Fearsome indeed. But these are just arrows, aren’t they? Excuse me, ‘bullets’. Nonmagical bits of iron. Your…wonderful armies from your world—they lack magic. And that is a crucial flaw. Let us say you have, oh, ten thousand soldiers with guns and several tanks. And any number of your aircrafts as well.”

Magnolia leans over the coffee table, eyes glittering. Her smile has teeth.

“I could destroy an army like that in less than ten minutes.”

I believe her. I stare into Magnolia’s eyes, and I believe she could do it. How? A spell? Enchanted armor? Would enchanted armor even suffer dents? Could you really send a few warriors in plate mail and take down tanks that easily?

“You really don’t fear guns?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Magnolia frowns at me irately. She looks as if she’s considering tossing her tea cup at me and then shrugs and goes on.

“Anyone with half a brain knows that a gun is a dangerous weapon. But anyone with a full brain knows that even an army with guns is quite easy to destroy.”

“Oh really?”

“I will hit you, you know. Or rather, order Ressa to do it for me.”

Magnolia glares at me and sighs. She settles back into her seat.

“I can destroy two armies as easily as I can destroy one. That is not the issue.”

She raises one delicate finger.

“One gun, or even ten thousand will not change the world. But a million will.”

I think I get it. Magnolia nods as she goes on.

“I do not want to create guns and other such technologies. I do not want such secrets to spread either. And the reason for that is simple: while such devices might provide power to me in the short term, it will inevitably change the world for the worse. If every [Soldier] has a gun, then it is likely the larger army will prevail. If a child can kill a man in full plate armor, then levels lose much of their meaning.”

“And if anyone can field an army, then you lose your power.”

Magnolia eyes me sternly, as if I’ve missed the point.

“Everyone loses. Don’t you understand? If it becomes an issue of numbers, then the most numerous races will conquer the others. If the balance of power is upset so far, then it will be a war where guns become the only meaningful value. As it is, an army with guns would be a significant threat, but one any world power would be able to deal with.”

She sighs.

“But only if it were an army. If guns were commonplace? In time, guns would dominate everything. In time. A nation able to manufacture more arms of a better quality would inevitably defeat the others. It will lead to a war to end all wars, where the victor will stand upon the corpses of all.”

My blood goes cold as I think of that kind of war. That’s what I envisioned as well. True, there might be ways to change such a war, but in the end it would just be an arms race, and countless battles where people with guns fight people with swords. A bloodbath.

Lady Magnolia seems to agree. She shakes her head.

“What a pointless war. It will occur if word of this technology spreads. A war with your world is one thing; if it occurs it will be inevitable. But if I can, I will prevent this world from seizing such dangerous weapons.”

Can I trust her? I don’t know. But Magnolia seems to have thought this through. She looks at me, and I feel the weight of her gaze pressing down on me, trying to force me to tell the truth, to speak.

“So, here is my most pressing question, one which I believe you will answer. How long will it take for these dangerous weapons to be developed? If one of the people from your world were to cooperate—or give up such information to a powerful individual or nation, how long would it take for them to engineer such inventions?”

The question catches me off guard. For a second I’m not sure if I should answer it. But from what Magnolia’s said—I do some quick calculations. I’m obviously not an expert in firearms, but let’s think about it rationally. If someone needed to find all the ingredients of gunpowder, sulfur, saltpeter, charcoal—and secure them as a long-term resource…testing…building prototypes…

“You could probably have a prototype gun ready in less than a month if you had a kingdom’s worth of resources at your disposal. But a gun that’s ready for war? A proper gun? An army? That would take years.”

The more dangerous route would be a cannon. That’s easier to make, honestly. I share that with Magnolia and she nods thoughtfully.

“A cannon? Intriguing. But if that’s anything like a trebuchet, it’s not as much of a problem.”

She’s so…calm about this. I just stare at Magnolia, a woman unafraid of guns or cannons. She stares back.

“Well, a year is more than enough time for me to locate any signs of manufacturing. But just to be sure—name one of the components of this ‘gunpowder’ for me, if you would.”

Instantly, I shut my mouth. Magnolia just sighs loudly.

“Don’t be obstinate. I said one component. I am hardly inclined to go around searching for how to make the stuff if I could just torture it out of you. And since I am not going to…”

She’s right. I have to trust her. Reluctantly, I open my mouth.

“Sulfur.”

Both of Magnolia’s eyebrows shoot upwards. She exchanges a glance I can’t read with Ressa.

“Ah. That’s troubling.”

“What? Why’s that?”

The woman just stares at me and raises an eyebrow again.

“If I told you, could you even help? No? Then I won’t.”

That—she knows something, doesn’t she? Someone’s already making a move on sulfur! Does that mean the secret’s out? Can she stop it? My head’s racing, but the cooler part of me doesn’t panic. Magnolia’s right. I can’t do anything. I have to…trust her.

Trust that she’s telling the truth. So reluctantly I put that out of my mind and stare at Magnolia. Everything seems, well, good so far.

That’s worrying. I can’t have been called here just to talk about weapons and how useless they might be right now. No—there’s something else.

“Is that it? If you don’t want weapons, then why am I here?”

Magnolia pauses as she reaches for the tea pot. Ressa, gently pulling said pot out of Magnolia’s reach, meeting her mistress’s gaze.

“Was that a foolish question, do you think, Ressa?”

“It seems reasonable to me. She does not know you.”

“Ah, well, we’ll let it slide.”

Magnolia turns back to me and gives me a beaming smile.

“Of course you’re not here just to talk about weapons, my dear idiotic Ryoka. But I thought it would be best to set your mind at ease first.”

“I’m going to ignore that. Once.”

“How intelligent. Now, would you like to ask the obvious question? I promise I won’t order Ressa to hit you.”

“Fine. Why am I here? What do you want to know?”

Magnolia smiles at me. Her eyes sparkle, and she sits up, the very image of a dignified [Lady]. Her reply is quick, decisive, insane.

“Ice cream.”

“What?”

There must have been something in the pot. That’s why Ressa’s engaged in a silent tug-of-war with Magnolia. Or else she just doesn’t want her boss’s teeth to fall out. But Magnolia abandons the tea pot to look seriously at me.

“I just want ice cream. And cake. We have some types of cake—not nearly as good as yours, mind you, but something similar to what I have heard described. But the other children tell me it is possible to make an ice cream cake. I would like to try that, and frosting. And whipped cream. And cotton candy.”

Oh my god. She’s got a sweet tooth. I mean, I knew that already. But she brought me—here—over four hundred miles—

I put my head in my hands. This can’t be happening. But it is. And when I think about it…

I look up sharply.

“No.”

“No?”

Magnolia looks hurt, and offended.

“Whyever not? This is hardly a secret worth keeping, Ryoka Griffin. Compared to a gun, what is a mint, chocolate chip, cookies and cream, caramel ice cream sundae with sprinkles?”

I want to vomit just listening to her. But I read past her trite words to the deeper meaning below them.

“It’s not just ice cream and desserts you want, is it? It might start that way, but after you ask for recipes, you’ll ask me about other technologies from my world. Little inventions and innovations that can help everyone.”

Lady Magnolia pauses. She looks at me, sighs, and then looks at her maid.

“Ah. She figured it out.”

“She is not a complete idiot, milady.”

I stare at the two of them, filled with grim certainty all of a sudden. Now I get it. Their tones are light, but I know they’re watching me. Lady Magnolia still looks genuinely disappointed, though.

“You are correct, intelligent Miss Ryoka Griffin. In truth, I was going to have you explain to one of my [Chefs] how to make all kinds of treats before I got to the rest. I have a larder stocked with countless ingredients if you’d want to…? Ah, it’s too late. How tragic.”

She sighs dramatically.

“At least the other girls know how to make cake. But no one can tell me how cotton candy is made! But you are quite right. That would only be the start of what I ask of you.”

First comes cotton candy. Then comes steam engines, or crop rotation. Or the periodic table. Plastic, sporks, bicycles…

None of this is bad stuff. In fact, I think if I could introduce this kind of technology to the world I would. But not through her. Not through this woman.

There’s more than one kind of power. And giving Magnolia Reinhart a monopoly on every invention from the medieval ages to the modern one? It might even be worse than teaching her how to make a gun.

“You want me to help you become even richer than you already are, is that it?”

“Rich enough to buy a Walled City. That would be a nice start.”

Magnolia smiles at me, like a proud parent watching over a child. I want to kick her in the face, but Ressa’s watching me.

“You figured it out—well done! Guns are an unstable bit of technology, but it is hard to take over the world with—what did the others call it? Parfait? It sounds delicious, and I’m sure it will earn me tens of thousands of gold coins when one of them finally figures out how it is made.”

It’s sick. It’s stupid. It doesn’t sound right. But the scariest and most powerful person in this world right now isn’t a general with an army of tanks. It’s a business magnate who wants to orchestrate the biggest monopoly and buyout the world’s ever seen.

Money. If Magnolia Reinhart is known for one thing, it’s money. If she had unlimited funds—she could buy out every mercenary on the continent, fund unlimited armies. Money is power, and even if the power of money isn’t unlimited, it’s scary.

Now you know, Ryoka. You know her twisted, wicked, sugar-based schemes. Now how are you going to get out of this?

“I wonder. How indeed?”

It’s like she can read my mind. I stare at Magnolia, but her face is innocent. Did she really…?

No, she can sense my intentions. She can probably sense that I want to leave and extrapolated from there. But…that’s still really scary.

“And the worst part is, I am clearly an ally of sorts, aren’t I, Ryoka Griffin? I can stop the world from using guns. But as for the rest…”

I still can’t trust her. That’s my conclusion. I stare at Magnolia Reinhart and feel my heart begin to beat faster. It’s like a drum in my chest, thunder in my veins, a knock at the door—

“Again?”

Magnolia turns towards the door, frowning in genuine irritation. I stare at the door too, and see the same unfortunate maid poke her head in. She looks pale—and she goes ghostly when she sees Magnolia’s frown.

“I am so sorry—”

“Get to the point.”

Ressa snaps and the maid curtsies as if she were ducking a bullet.

“The mage—he’s demanding to see you, Lady Reinhart. He won’t take no for an answer—”

“Tell Nemor that if he does not sit still and wait for me to summon him, I will throw him out of my estate.”

Lady Magnolia’s voice is impatient, and she clearly means every word. The maid gulps, but takes one look at Ressa and clearly decides that arguing with a mage would be a lot more fun.

The door closes and Magnolia turns back to me with a sigh.

“I believe dear Nemor will regret that when we meet. In fact, I am sure of it. I don’t even know why he’s calling on me today.”

“Why don’t you talk to him? I was just leaving…”

I stand up, making a show of dusting myself off. Lady Magnolia smiles at me.

“Oh no. Sit.”

It’s too fast for me. My legs fold up and I sit. I glare at the woman, but she just chuckles.

“You can’t get away that easily, Ryoka. And even if my Skill doesn’t work—there are truth spells and even potions, you know.”

This is bad. I eye Ressa, and remember the potions and bags on my belt. But those are good against enemies who can’t move faster than I can see. And I’m sitting in the mansion itself.

No—I knew fighting was a bad idea. I take a deep breath.

“You cannot keep me here.”

“Oh? That’s a bold statement to make.”

Don’t I know it. I meet Magnolia Reinhart’s gaze squarely. She studies me—not with arrogance and overconfidence like some helpful movie villain, but calculatingly.

“Hm. You have a plan, don’t you? Well, go on. I like to be entertained.”

“I won’t help you.”

“Even if all I want are inventions that will help everyone?”

“Even then. Because that would mean placing too much power in just your hands. Too much wealth.”

“And this is a bad thing because?”

“Absolute power corrupts absolutely. No one person should be entrusted with all that.”

“My power is hardly absolute.”

Lady Magnolia looks amused, but then her gaze sharpened. Her eyes prick at my skin like knives.

“But I take your point. You don’t trust me. But tell me, Ryoka Griffin. How will you stop me from doing what I please? I already have many travellers from your world who know of wondrous inventions. I only need you to fill in the gaps, and then my [Blacksmiths], [Carpenters], [Mages], and [Alchemists] will do the rest. I even know [Engineers].”

All the things she needs to reverse-engineer any number of gadgets. I swallow hard.

“But you need me. What if I’m not here?”

“Oh? And how will you stop me?”

Legit question. My eyes travel to the window. I have three ways to get out of here. Three bargaining chips. The first—

Is hovering outside, making faces at me. I grin.

“I’ve got friends who bow to no [Lord] or [Lady] or even [King].”

I point to the window. Magnolia and Ressa turn—and see Ivolethe. The tiny faerie waves at me, and taps her ears. She can hear us? Even better.

“Um.”

A voice interrupts me. I stare at Magnolia. She’s looking at the window and me with a blank expression.

“What is it exactly that I should be staring at?”

I open my mouth…and nearly swallow my tongue.

She can’t see Frost Faeries. Suddenly I feel like an idiot. But then Ressa’s eyes narrow, and she tucks a hand into her skirt.

“Magnolia, step back.”

“What?”

To her credit Magnolia vacates the couch even as she says that. She stands behind Ressa, suddenly wary as the maid stares at the window.

“What is it, Ressa? Something invisible?”

“No.”

Ressa stares hard at a spot just to the left of Ivolethe. The faerie is just grinning, grinning at me. She’s got one hand raised and she points to Magnolia and Ressa. Then she draws a finger across her throat. Where’d she learn that? But for once I’m in full agreement. I nod slightly and she laughs outside the glass.

“There is a Winter Sprite outside the window.”

“A Frost Faerie? Really?”

Magnolia squints at the window and then gasps. Instantly she looks at me, eyes narrowed.

“Now isn’t that interesting?”

I feel uneasy. She—shouldn’t be this calm. Ressa’s certainly treating Ivolethe like a threat. And for good reason.

My tiny friend has been flying around the glass, making faces only I can see. But after I gave her my plea for help, she acts. She flies up to the window around head height, and puts her hand on the glass pane.

Instantly, the window becomes frosty. Magnolia gasps—not really in alarm—and Ressa immediately tenses. But what can she do against a force of nature?

The frost from the window grows deeper, and suddenly ice begins to form, thickening on the pane. Slowly, it begins to spread into the room, and I feel the temperature drop like a stone. More ice begins to spread from the window. Is Ivolethe trying to trap Ressa and Magnolia? What about me? If the window breaks—could I jump for it?

I’m tense, my hand on the smoke bag Octavia made for me. I’m watching Ressa, ready to move. And she’s looking from the window to me. It’ll all be settled in a moment—

“That’s quite enough.”

Magnolia’s voice makes all of us pause in place. Even Ivolethe blinks as Magnolia steps out from behind Ressa. The taller woman moves to block her, but Magnolia just pushes her aside.

“I will handle this, Ressa.”

She steps up to the frozen window, where I can see Ivolethe reflected through the clear ice. Magnolia stares a bit past Ivolethe, but she shows not a tiny shred of fear in front of the faerie. But—she’s just a [Lady], right? And Ivolethe isn’t inside—

I tell myself Magnolia’s powerless. But I can’t help but feel uneasy. And there’s a twinge of uncertainty even on the faerie’s immortal face. She stares at Magnolia. Magnolia just sighs.

“How on earth did Ryoka meet a creature like you? Well, I’d love to chat, but I’m told on very good authority that you lot are troublemakers. I can’t have that right now. Kindly go away or I’ll have to make you leave.”

Ivolethe stares at Lady Magnolia incredulously. Possibly no one has ever talked to a Frost Faerie that way before—at least, not for long. She thinks for a second, then makes an unmistakable gesture and conjures a snowball.

Ressa seems to blink in front of Magnolia as the snowball smacks into the glass in front of the woman. But Magnolia doesn’t even flinch. She sighs, and then she raises her voice. Gone is the normal tone, her light and friendly air. Her eyes are filled with that same intensity, and her tone booms and cracks like distant thunder.

“I am Lady Magnolia. This mansion and the land around are mine. You are not welcome here. Begone.”

I feel her last word in my bones. The effect on Ivolethe is immediate. She flies screaming out of Magnolia’s courtyard as if she’s been set on fire. I see her faint azure form flitting high, high into the sky until it disappears. Magnolia watches until Ivolethe’s gone and then turns back to me.

“Well, that’s that. Did you have any other allies, or was that it?”

Holy shit.

I—

Was that—?

Uh oh.

Ressa’s staring at me now too, and the look in her eyes says that she’s going to beat me into a pulp the first chance she gets. The ice Ivolethe conjured isn’t going away; rather, it’s beginning to melt off the walls.

“I do hope you had another plan. I’ll admit this one is novel, but it’s rather short-sighted, don’t you think?”

Magnolia smiles at me, eyes still filled with that horrible authority. Part of me wants to give in or run just looking at her.

But the rest is resolute. This woman can’t have her way.

Trump card. Trump card. I take a breath and pray like hell what Erin told me was on a level. I open up with my second trump card to play.

“You can’t keep me here. I have something important to do.”

“Oh? Something important? Running deliveries? Delivering a birthday message and a ring? Helping Erin? Do tell.”

Oh, that smile. I smile back at Magnolia and notice hers wanes a tiny bit.

“Not Erin or adventurers. I have to convince the Antinium not to go to war.”

For a second—oh, for a lovely, wonderful second, I have the pleasure of watching Magnolia’s smile vanish. Her eyes widen, and she stares at me.

The one upside to verbally sparring with someone who can sense your intentions? They know when you’re not lying.

The glorious moment of seeing Magnolia Reinhart uncertain lasts for a heartbeat. Then she looks over my shoulder.

“Ressa.”

I don’t even see the woman. I don’t even get a chance to react. Her hand grabs mine and suddenly I’m in an arm-lock that’s an inch of force away from breaking my arm. I can feel my tendons tearing.

“Don’t break her arm yet, Ressa. But be wary.”

I barely hear Magnolia over the pain. Arm lock. I’m in—I know how to counter. But if I do—

Gah! I don’t move. After a second that feels like forever I see Magnolia step back from me. I know she’s staring at me.

“Please explain that sentence, Ryoka Griffin.”

Arm is agony. Pain is—all consuming. But I force the words out, nearly choking on them.

“The Antinium are not your enemy.”

Pause. The pressure on my arm isn’t reduced. Can I hear my bones creaking?

“Go on.”

Maybe it’s the pain, but I let my mouth do the talking.

“What do you mean go on? I said, they’re not your enemy? Don’t you understand that you id—argh!”

Ressa twists my arm up a bit more. I shout in pain, but I’m afraid to move. Magnolia sighs.

“Ressa, she’s not lying. Let her go.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am. She’s not lying. And if she’s telling the truth—”

The pressure releases all at once. I stumble forwards, feeling at my arm. The pain isn’t gone. It’s—

I’ve got a potion at my belt. I wrench it out and unstopper it with one hand. Some goes on my shirt, the floor—the rest hits my arm. Instantly, the throbbing, burning pain ceases. I turn and stare at Ressa.

And…a dagger. She has one in her right hand. It looks very sharp. And magical. I’m assuming the green tint to the edge of the blade is magic. Maybe it’s poison. Poison magic?

“Put the blade away, Ressa.”

Magnolia sighs as she stares at both me and Ressa. Slowly, very slowly, the maid tucks the blade up the sleeve of her uniform. She stares at me. I watch her.

“I’m sitting down.”

Magnolia’s voice makes both of us start. She steps over to the couch and sits down in it. Then she swivels, and puts her feet up on the edge of the couch as if she’s on a therapist’s couch. She stares at me.

“Well? Explain.”

I don’t need to be told twice. Rubbing at my arm, I take a seat. Ressa silently walks behind Magnolia. Both women stare at me, waiting for me to speak.

“The Antinium aren’t your enemies. Not necessarily, at any rate.”

I look at them. Nothing. Well, they’re good listeners when things are serious. I take a deep breath.

“The shortest way to explain this is that the Antinium’s true enemy isn’t you. They fought two wars here, but to them, this is only a—a skirmish. A lull before the larger war. They don’t want this continent, I think. They’re just getting ready for their real enemy to emerge.”

“And what’s that?”

“A god.”

How easy it is to say. How…easy. And it slips off the tongue as if it means nothing. Perhaps it does to most people in this world. I can’t even begin to understand what it means myself. But Magnolia Reinhart hears this and the look on her face changes again. This time, I think I see fear.

“Impossible.”

Magnolia says that word flatly. Her eyes are locked on mine.

“The gods are dead.”

I shake my head.

“Tell that to the Antinium. Tell that to the Queens. They fled Rhir because they were fighting something they believed was a god. Or do you think the Antinium would run from any other opponent?”

Pause. Stare. Ressa’s looking at me now, not with hostility, but something approaching genuine worry. She looks at her mistress. Magnolia closes her eyes for seven seconds. What she thinks in that time I don’t know. But when she opens her eyes—

“How do you know? This must have come from a credible source. And I don’t believe the Queen would talk to you. If this came from a Worker—”

“No Worker.”

I shake my head.

“Klbkch. He’s a Prognugator in the Antinium Hive based in Liscor—”

“Klbkch the Slayer.”

The word escapes Magnolia’s lips. She sits up on the couch and stares at Ressa. Something unspoken passes between the two, and then they look back at me. Magnolia’s voice is serious when she speaks next.

“You have my full and undivided attention, Ryoka Griffin. For the moment I’ll believe everything you say. Do not waste this chance.”

“So you believe me?”

“Oh yes. At least, I believe you are telling the truth. And if it was Klbkch the Slayer who told you this…”

Magnolia’s voice trails off. Ressa looks at her, worried.

“Does this change the plans?”

The other woman nods, shortly. She even laughs, but not with any pleasure.

“Of course. It changes…everything. It changes the entire world.”

She looks back at me, about to ask another question. Then someone knocks. The door opens.

“Lady Reinhart? The [Mage]—”

This time Magnolia doesn’t wait. She grabs the tea pot and hurls it at the door.

“Get out!”

I see the tea pot shatter, but before the pieces even hit the floor, the maid has fled. Calmly, as if nothing happened, Magnolia turns back to me.

“You were saying Klbkch the Slayer told you this?”

“You know him?”

Magnolia’s face is grim as she nods.

“I know him. I have seen him on the battlefield. Perhaps before that, but we met for one brief moment during the Second Antinium War.”

“The Second Antinium War?”

I only read about the first one. Damn. The second one was mentioned, but I think I lost the book that talked about it. Magnolia frowns at me, and then looks at her maid.

“Ressa, fetch the book for me.”

It’s clear which one she means. Ressa walks out of the room, and Magnolia turns back to me.

“Tell me the rest.”

I do, as concisely as I can in the time it takes Ressa to return. Magnolia keeps interrupting me, but when her maid is standing by her side with a slim book in her hands, she sighs and accepts it. She looks at the book before handing it to me.

“What’s this?”

“The history of the Antinium, all the information known about their culture, and a history of both the first and second Antinium Wars.”

Magnolia taps the cover as I hold it in my hands. I read the title. The Antinium: A Brief History by Krsysl Wordsmith. The name is familiar to me.

“Wasn’t he the one who wrote about the First Antinium War?”

“He was.”

Lady Magnolia nods as I tuck the book into the bag of holding at my side. She notes it, but makes no comment. I guess the Antinium really do trump all other concerns.

“I funded his research and the book. I would advise you to read it, the history of the Second Antinium War in particular, especially if you are going to be working with Klbkch.”

Huh. I look up at Magnolia, surprised.

“So you’re going to let me go?”

“Didn’t I say I hated stupid questions?”

The woman scowls at me, but weakly. Her heart’s not in it any longer. Ressa looks at her and Magnolia nods wearily.

“That’s right, Miss Ryoka who knows too much. You win. If there is a slight chance—however slight!—that there could be a way to avoid a war with the Antinium, I would take it. And the knowledge that there is dissent within the Hives—from a Prognugator no less? Invaluable. Even more invaluable is the knowledge of what the Antinium fear. If there is a god—”

She breaks off and shakes her head. Then she fixes me with a gaze like diamonds.

“You have changed everything I seek to do, Ryoka. Do you know that?”

I meet her gaze.

“I do.”

“From this moment on, you and I must be allies. We must be, because I must pursue peace with the Antinium and find out more of what they know, and because you will not live with me as your enemy. I promise you that.”

Magnolia’s eyes are hard as she captures mine. I can’t help it. I swallow, but that’s all. I don’t look away.

“So, what should we do? As allies? I trust you won’t be keeping me here or extorting information against my will?”

Lady Magnolia smiles.

“On the contrary. If we’re allies you should be giving that to me for free. But we can…negotiate that later. For now, you are officially my guest. That means I feed you, in case you were wondering. I’ll even allow that Winter Sprite back on my estate, if you can find her. I would like to talk to her as well, if that is possible.”

Wow. Suddenly, everything’s changed. I shift in my seat. What should I explore first? Does this mean what I think it does? If I have an ally—

The wall explodes. Mortar and stone blast outwards in a single thunderous impact that sends the couches, tables, and me flying. I windmill through the air, trying to curl and reduce the impact. No good. I hit something hard and then I think the world stops for a second.

I don’t know. All I do know is that when the pain and shock stop long enough for thought to shakily resume, I’m pulling myself up. Something in my thigh. A fragment of stone. Deep. I don’t feel anything broken—but everything hurts.

“What…?”

I look around. The room is in ruins. The wall’s gone—and a huge stretch of corridor gapes at me. But what I see in the center of the room is more important.

Lady Magnolia and Ressa are standing in the center of the room. Untouched. Even their clothes aren’t ruffled. It’s like…the explosion didn’t hit them. I see a radiant nimbus around both of them.

Shield spell?

But someone else is standing there too. A man in robes. He’s…tall. I feel like throwing up. But magic shines around him, so strong I can see it. He blew up the wall.

And he’s talking. I hear his voice dimly over the ringing in my ears.

“Magnolia Reinhart. The Circle of Thorns seeks your life.”

He must be the Great Mage Nemor. I try to get up and collapse. My leg—

Magnolia Reinhart stares at the mage. She looks around at the destruction. Her eyes linger on me for a second, and then she stares back at the mage.

“Well.”

It’s just one word. She’s not afraid—rather, her eyes are full of cold fury. But aside from Ressa she is alone. And even as I watch I see a shadow move. An [Assassin] steps out of the darkness as if he’s a ghost. And more—they flit towards her. Surrounding…more…

I can’t breathe. I have to warn her. Ressa’s standing with her back to Magnolia, tense. But—there’s too many. And yet Magnolia is not afraid. She looks at the mage. Looks down at him.

“The Circle of Thorns? You have my full attention.”

3.14

I think I have a concussion. The world is spinning and I want to puke. Then again, maybe that’s just how being thrown across a room by an explosion always feels.

I don’t know. I haven’t had much experience with that up until now. And I hope it never happens again.

“Ah.”

I try to move and just sort of flop over. I’m partially covered with bits of fallen masonry, so no one in the room notices me twitching. Which is good in this case, because it’s sort of tense right now.

Lady Magnolia and Ressa are standing in what used to be her sitting room, surrounded by assassins. Excuse me. [Assassins] and one assassin who happens to be a mage. He’s dressed up in colorful yellow robes with green slashes down the sides. He glows with magic. But the [Assassins]—

Shadows, some of them. Others just look like blurs and I’m sure there are more I can’t see. Only a few even look remotely humanoid. Best guess? They’re high level and they’ve got magical items as well.

And they’re all armed. I’m sure of that. They’re backing up the mage, but they haven’t attacked yet. The idiot—the Great Mage Nemor I think is his name—is talking. He’s actually gloating, like a movie villain.

“—Never thought I’d live to see the day when I would finally humble the arrogant Reinharts once and for all.”

“I don’t think you’ll live to see that day either. But one can always hope, I suppose.”

That’s Magnolia for you. Surrounded by death and she’s got more attitude than anyone I’ve ever met. It makes me almost like her.

I look groggily at the scene. Lots of badness over there. That’s my general assessment. I could…use a potion? Smokescreen bag? Flour bomb?

All of my instincts tell me that trying anything will get me instantly killed. So instead of doing anything stupid—like usual—I just lie on the ground and watch things play out*.

*Yeah, not my most heroic moment. But in my defense, I did just get tossed into a wall. It hurt.

“—Arrogance will do you little in the end.”

Oh, they’re still talking? Don’t assassins generally make less noise? But this Nemor guy seems to want to get the final word in. He juts out his chin—he’s got a small goatee which looks immaculately oiled and groomed. It suits his narrow, pointed face. He clearly wants to look like a great mage, but aside from the blowing stuff up part, he doesn’t really look that impressive.

Granted, that last bit does a lot for him, but even so. Words are not his strong point.

“Grovel, Reinhart. If you do, I may make your end quick.”

“Oh please.”

Magnolia rolls her eyes heavenwards.

“Do us all a favor and shut up, Nemor. You always were insufferable even when you were just casting ward spells for me. If you’re not going to tell me what this Circle of Thorns wants, kindly die without speaking, would you?”

The mage’s face turns red. He opens his mouth—but he never gets a chance to retort. One of the shadows standing in the ruined hallways moves. The [Assassin] charges at Lady Magnolia fast—faster than I could ever move. He’s got a dagger in his hand as he lunges as Magnolia’s chest.

But the blade never touches her. I see a blur, and then Ressa is in the way. She blocks the strike with her own unarmored chest. I nearly shout as I expect to see her body pierced by the thrust.

But that doesn’t happen. Instead, I see the shimmering aura around her body—the magical shield that protected both her and Lady Magnolia—brighten. I hear a man scream, and the [Assassin] suddenly stumbles back, clutching a stump of a hand already spurting blood.

What was that? His hand vanished as it approached Ressa’s body! And now Ressa moves—the unfortunate [Assassin] chokes as her fingers go into his neck. She pulls her hand back and he folds over. I feel my stomach heave as I see what happened. Part of his face is just gone, vaporized by whatever magical shield is on Ressa.

The other [Assassins] move even as the first one dies. Two lunge at Ressa, but she blurs and they retreat as I hear metal clashing. One tosses the remains of a blade to the ground—all but the handle is vaporized. The others attack from a safer distance. Darts, throwing stars, knives—they hurl them at both Ressa and Magnolia. All the projectiles vanish before they touch either woman’s body.

Ressa flicks her hand and I see dark blurs speed at the [Assassins]. At least one hits, but even the blurred shape I see stagger doesn’t fall. They blink backwards as Ressa immediately steps back to Magnolia, guarding her back.

Standoff again. The [Assassins] pause and then wait, as if nothing happened. Nemor stares at them, and his face only now goes red as his mind catches up to what just happened.

“You fools! Hold until I command it! I must bypass her protection spells first!”

He shouts at the others around him, not even seeming bothered by the magical disintegration field. Magnolia sighs calmly, not even ruffled by the sudden burst of violence.

“A proper mage would have done that first rather than sending that poor man to his death. But then again, a proper [Assassin] wouldn’t have attacked so recklessly to begin with.”

She points at one of the shadows, and they shift, as if they’re afraid to be directly addressed by her.

“You have some rather showy magical items and Skills, but none of you are master [Assassins]. Believe me, I can tell the difference. Who sent you to die here?”

No response. I just see the shadows and blurred figures flitting around Magnolia, as if suddenly unsure. She scowls at them, impatient and not afraid.

“Well? Answer me.”

“We were—”

The words come out of one of the shadows unwillingly. I hear a female voice, and then she gurgles as one of her fellows strikes her in the throat. She chokes and falls back, but says no more.

Magnolia scowls again. She points at Nemor, who’s gone red again with rage.

“Who ordered you to work with this fool? I was under the impression your Guild didn’t collaborate with amateurs.”

“Fool!? For the last time, you insult me. Magnolia—”

“Be silent, Nemor.”

I see the man recoil as if struck. Nemor’s hands go up to his throat and his face goes red, then purple. Calmly, Magnolia turns back to the [Assassins].

“Was it your Guildmaster? Or someone else? Tell me who sent you.”

This time they’re ready. I see a few of the [Assassins] shift, but none of them speak. But the idiot—Great Mage, rather—sneers and answers instead. His face is regaining some of his color. Looks like he also shook off the charm spell. Damn. Is it really that easy?

“There are more factions that seek your life than you know, Reinhart.”

She pauses, and looks at him.

“Hm. So that means the Guild didn’t officially sanction this. Well, thank you for telling me, Nemor.”

Never before have I seen a man look so angry and worried at the same time. Nemor’s face turns amazingly maroon with rage. He hisses at Magnolia.

“I will see you suffer before you die.”

“And I see there’s little more to be learned here. Well then, shall we be about the business of the day?”

Magnolia turns to the [Assassins]. Immediately, I see them ready their weapons. But she doesn’t reach for a weapon. Rather, Magnolia folds her hands together. She’s not wearing gloves and her dress probably isn’t concealing a weapon. I just see a few rings on her bare hands. She looks around the room, as if searching for a spot to properly fight.

I tense as her eyes spot me lying on the ground, but Magnolia doesn’t even acknowledge my presence. Her gaze sweeps over me as if I’m not there. Magnolia shakes her head slightly as she turns and speaks casually to Nemor and the [Assassins].

“Not here, I think. There are too many valuable antiques that would need replacing. If you would follow me…?”

She doesn’t move, but her hand turns one of the rings on her fingers. I hear a curse—Nemor raises his hands and several [Assassins] have already thrown more weapons—but it’s too late. Magnolia and Ressa both vanish from sight in an instant.

“Teleportation!?”

Nemor exclaims in surprise. I see several shadows streak down the corridor in an instant, but the mage’s shout draws some of them back.

“No—wait.”

He points at the spot where Magnolia and Ressa have gone, thinking out loud.

“There’s no spell circle. And no one can teleport long distances so quickly. This fast—they must be headed to a prearranged destination. Spread out and find them!”

Way to state the obvious, genius. I get the impression that Nemor’s not actually in charge of these [Assassins], and that’s clearly for good reason. The other shadows just streak down the corridors—two run past me to the exposed opening. I hear another voice, a man’s, from one of the shadows.

“Outside.”

I don’t know how, but all of the [Assassin]’s silhouettes immediately return and make a beeline for the exposed opening. They disappear into the night air, leaping or vanishing over the edge. Nemor runs after them, cursing, and I see him jump off the broken ledge as well. His body glows, and he falls much more slowly than gravity should allow.

What’s happening? Is it safe? I don’t know. Part of me wants to stay here, but—I have to see what’s going on. Slowly, painfully, I crawl out of my lovely blanket of broken wall fragments.

Don’t stand. Just crawl. I worm my way over to the void where the wall used to be, exposed by Nemor’s spell. And then I see her again.

Lady Magnolia.

She’s standing in the center of her courtyard, bold as you please. She didn’t even teleport more than a hundred feet! Ressa is by her side, and she’s—fighting?

It’s all a blur of motion in the darkness below. I see countless flickers of movement, and see flashes of light. The [Assassins] are going after Magnolia and Ressa with everything they have. Ressa is a blur around Magnolia, deflecting missiles, clashing with the [Assassins]—but there are too many. The only thing keeping both her and Magnolia alive is the bright aura around them that’s shielding them from harm.

But it’s growing weaker. I can see the glow fading, especially now that it’s the only contrast against the darkness outside. Each time a throwing star strikes Ressa’s shield it dims, and the [Assassins] are too smart to go hand-to-hand with Ressa. She catches one of them and kills him by striking his face—when she pulls her hand back half his head is gone. But the others just jump away and keep hurling weapons at her.

I stare down at the courtyard full of blurring shapes in shock. There’s a damn war going on down there! What do I do? I can’t just jump in—I doubt I’d even last a minute. And my potions and alchemist tricks aren’t going to work here.

But if I don’t, Magnolia will die. Right?

She has to be doing something. I see Magnolia’s hands moving in the courtyard, although I can’t tell if she’s holding anything amidst the fast movement. But she seems to be working on something—she doesn’t even look up as an [Assassin] closes on her and Ressa forces the killer back just in time.

What is she doing? Now she looks up. At what? A cloud?

The cloud? That wandering cloud from her garden? It’s right overhead. I stare at it. It’s roughly in the same place as when it rained at me. Magnolia looks up at it. But then her head turns.

Someone is striding across the courtyard, glowing with golden and sapphire light. Nemor’s entire body is wreathed in some kind of fantastic magical shield—it looks like water, filled with gold dust. He doesn’t even seem to notice as Ressa hurls two throwing stars at him—they sink into the barrier around him and disappear, as if they’ve fallen into a sea.

He points at Magnolia as he strides towards her. The [Assassins] charge with him, but Magnolia’s face is cool. She looks back up at the storm cloud and seems to sigh. I see something bright spark amidst the darkness of the cloud overhead.

“Reinhart! You will—”

Lightning strikes Nemor right in the chest. I see the world light up and go blind. I jerk backwards as I hear the thwoom of the sound and feel the impact a moment later. The sound is deafening, and the image of the coruscating bolt of electricity is burned into my retinas.

“Holy—”

The rest of my exclamation is drowned out by more flashes, and more thunder. I raise my head and peer over the edge to see lightning bolts shooting out of the rain cloud. And not just one or two.

A crackling storm of lightning blasts the earth around Magnolia and Ressa. They stand perfectly still as the cloud over their head turns from an innocent rain cloud into a flashing avatar of destruction. I see shapes fleeing from Magnolia in every direction, but the lightning is alive. It flashes down and curves towards the retreating [Assassins], blasting them to bits as they try to run.

In seconds, it’s over. All that remains are smouldering corpses, or pieces of them. I stare down at the courtyard as my vision slowly clears, spotting broken stone, scorched spots—and death.

They’re all dead. All, but two.

Nemor slowly stands back up, his magical shield crackling as the last burst of electricity earths itself around him. One of the [Assassins] who took cover behind the mage gets up as well. The shrouded figure—denuded now of it’s shadowy concealment—looks at Magnolia and Ressa. Without a word, it flees back towards the mansion.

“Coward! Come back!”

The mage shouts after the retreating [Assassin], but the figure pays no heed. I can’t blame them, either. After what I just saw, I’d run or surrender rather than fight the sky.

But Nemor stands in front of Magnolia, no longer gloating but not fleeing either. Magic – a kaleidoscope of colors – swirls around his hands as he points at her.

“Your defenses might have killed the fodder sent to assist me. But I did not come here to fail, Reinhart!”

“Oh really? And who else do you have to die with you? More [Assassins]? I do believe I’ve cooked all of them, but I’ll happily do it to a few dozen more.”

I can hear Lady Magnolia’s voice, light and poised, from my position on the second floor. Nemor’s voice is filled with rage, but also confidence.

“Not just [Assassins], fool! Behold! Even your own tools are turned against you!”

He turns and points. I see movement in the darkness. The glint of light off of metal. Out of the darkness, ten Golems, the massive suits of plate armor armed with two-handed greatswords emerge. They take up positions behind Nemor as he laughs wildly.

“See how all is turned against you? The Circle of Thorns has roots in every place, even in your own home!”

“I see. Lightning wouldn’t work so well against them, would it?”

Magnolia sighs as she stares down at the Golems. I see Ressa take a blade out of her skirt, but Magnolia stops her with a hand on one arm.

“You know, those were a present for my sixteenth birthday. I’ll have to get rid of them now; once compromised there’s no trusting them. Couldn’t you have found some other target instead?”

“You seem to think you’ll still survive.”

Nemor sneers up at Magnolia. He raises a hand, and something bright flashes into being. I see a…blue fireball appear in the mage’s hands. It’s blue around the edges, and in the center I see a white-hot flame swirling.

“Your precious shield spell is nearly exhausted. Will it withstand my magic, and the Golems for more than a few seconds?”

“It doesn’t have to. Once you’re dead the Golems will stop attacking as well. It’s very simple, Nemor.”

Magnolia lightly retorts. I see her raise her hands. She’s putting something on her index finger. I can’t see clearly what it is from this far away. Another ring?

Nemor doesn’t give Magnolia a chance to use it. He hurls the blue fireball, and the explosion engulfs the two women. I feel the blast from here—the air blows my hair and makes me cover my eyes. When I dare look again, I see Magnolia and Ressa, standing in the same spot.

What happened? Their shield must have absorbed the spell again. But it’s gone now, and Nemor has two more fireballs in each hand. He’s laughing.

“Well? Will you grovel now?”

“I still don’t see why I should.”

Magnolia’s tone cuts Nemor off. He snarls—and she continues, speaking over him.

“A powerful, if idiotic mage strong enough to bypass my wards, a group of [Assassins] to take down my mage, subverted control spells for my Golems—they even made sure to choose someone I trusted enough to let into my estate. This Circle really did manage to subvert all my outer defenses. For a first attempt, it was quite well done.”

“There won’t be a second time!”

Nemor roars in fury. He hurls another fireball at Magnolia, but this time Ressa moves. She draws something out of her skirt—a mirror?—and holds it up. The fireball is sucked into it. Nemor shouts.

“That cheap trick won’t work more than once!”

He points and the Golems lumber forward. But Ressa runs at them, hurling something onto the ground. Vines sprout up—a tripvine bag? Something like that, but these vines are huge, easily engulfing even the massive Golems and walling off the rest.

“You can’t protect yourself forever!”

The mage’s hands glow and he burns half the vines away in an instant with blue flame. He actually melts one of the Golems with his spell, but he doesn’t seem to care. He tries to catch Ressa, but she dodges backwards to Magnolia’s side.

“Your [Maid] can’t save you, Reinhart! She can’t breach my magics!”

“She doesn’t have to. Nemor, you are a fool.”

Magnolia’s finger glints with crimson light as she points at the mage. A thin line of light shoots from the ring she wears and spears the mage through the chest. My breath catches—but the light doesn’t seem to do anything. And yet—it goes straight through Nemor’s shield and out the back of his body. What is it?

Lady Magnolia’s voice is light and calm. I hear her in the sudden silence.

“If you had begged—no, even if you had, it is far too late. This is the price you pay for overconfidence, Nemor. And betrayal.”

The Great Mage Nemor pauses. For a second I think he didn’t even see the line of red light, so thin is it. But then he spots it and goes still.

“Oh.”

He stares down at the thin red line pulsing in his chest. When he looks up at Lady Magnolia all his confidence is gone.

“Please. Have m—”

“No.”

That’s the only word I hear. What I see is the burning line suddenly expanding. The thin line becomes a beam of burning air—a pillar—Nemor’s form is engulfed in a column of fire and then it flashes—

This time the impact knocks me backwards. I hear more masonry falling around me and instinctively curl up into a ball. Miraculously, Magnolia’s mansion doesn’t fall to bits around me.

My head is spinning. I’m still blind. I slowly uncurl, and gasp, remembering to breathe.

What? What was—

Was that a railgun? No—it was similar, but whatever that burning line was expanded. Some kind of explosion.

I raise my head up, although I really want to keep it down. What I see when I dare look back in the courtyard is simple: I see burning ground, the dark night, fallen bodies.

And Lady Magnolia, standing in the center of the courtyard, still pointing, her finger aimed straight at her enemy’s chest.

And where Nemor once stood? Nothing. A crater of black, smoking ash is all that remains. He is dead, and the Golems stand lifeless, some still tangled in the vines.

It’s over.

For a while, I just lie there, staring down at the courtyard. Lady Magnolia and Ressa look like they’re talking. My eyes are drawn to them—and then the devastation.

Gods. How many people just died down there? A bunch of [Assassins]—even if they weren’t ‘masters’, they had to be high-level. And that Nemor—what level was he?

I don’t know. I can’t even guess. I just witnessed a conflict that I’m far too inexperienced to even guess the magnitude of. It leaves me shaking.

Eventually, though, I stand up. I have to do—something. I wander back towards where the door used to be. I stare down the empty hallway, and then, finally, hear the other sounds.

Sound. It’s such an odd thing. As I lay watching the battle, I could only hear the clash of metal, Nemor’s voice, and the roar and boom of the magical spells. But now I hear other sounds.

Distant shouting. Crying. The voices of people. Who?

[Maids]. [Manservants]. The staff of the house, that’s who. As I slowly walk back into the non-destroyed parts of Magnolia’s estate, I suddenly remember them. And I see them, rushing about, tending to the wounded.

The wounded? Yes—the [Assassins] and Nemor didn’t just attack Magnolia. They struck the servants in her home first. I pass by multiple still bodies, stabbed or burnt practically to ash. But the few casualties of those unfortunate enough to get in the way are nothing compared to the wounded.

Several [Maids] are desperately trying to keep a man lying on the ground alive. He’s stabbed in the stomach—multiple times by the looks of it. But there are three shapes on the ground, all dressed in black clothing.

Assassins? They’re all dead. The servants must have fought them off. The maids look up at me and I—

Stab wound. They took the blade out, which is bad. The bleeding is severe. I grab the nearest cloth I can find—a dead [Maid]’s dress—and press it against the man’s stomach as hard as I can. I ignore his cries and get the other [Maids] to help.

I keep the dressing there, trying to stop blood from flowing, keep the man alive. Somehow, he holds on long enough for one of the [Maids] to dash back with a potion. She pours it on the wound and it heals instantly. The man sits up, gasping.

He lives.

I stand up and go. My hands are covered with blood, but I pay no attention. I feel like a dreamer, walking through Magnolia’s grand home, now filled with death and destruction.

I give aid one more time, helping bind a tourniquet until a potion can arrive, and then I find the last [Assassin]. The one who ran.

He lies on the ground, a hole in his chest, black clothing still smoking from where something burned away part of his leg. Two people are standing over him, a [Butler] and a [Maid].

I blink at Reynold. He and the maid both hold weapons in their hands. A shortsword and buckler in his hands, and a glowing wand in the [Maid]’s. They stare at me, first wary, then relaxing.

“Miss Ryoka. Are you unharmed?”

“Mm?”

I stare down at the [Assassin]. Filled by some unshakeable curiosity, I pull back his hood. I see not a man’s face as I’d assumed from his build, but a Gnoll’s. Dead.

“Miss Ryoka?”

I look back up at Reynold. He looks concerned for me. He moves his hand and I flinch, but he touches my head gently. He shows me…blood. On his fingertips.

“You’re hurt. I have a healing potion—please, hold still.”

I let him pour a bit on my temple. The pounding in my head stops. Huh. I didn’t even realize my head was throbbing until this moment. And I feel—a bit more steady.

I stare back down at the [Assassin]. Then I look back at Reynold. He looks grim, but he’s dealing with the situation better than I am at the moment. I hesitate, and then point at the dead Gnoll, grinning stupidly.

“Does this happen often as well?”

He just stares at me.

“Not in my lifetime. But I have heard stories of attempts made on one of the Five Families’ before.”

“Oh? And what comes next, then? What will Magnolia do?”

He looks at me as if it were obvious.

“She will go to war.”

—-

The problem with winning, Lady Magnolia reflected, was that the winner inevitably had to clean up. Oh, of course some fools might choose to let the dead lie where they were, but that was only an option on the battlefield, and in her experience, most battles took place outside of battlefields.

She stood in what remained of her lovely courtyard, sighing and staring at the dead bodies as Ressa barked orders by her side. Magnolia knew better than to interrupt—Ressa’s control over her staff didn’t have any room for her, so while Ressa coordinated her people, Magnolia chattered. She often did that in times of stress; and every other time as well. She didn’t like silence.

“Not a shred of warning. Not a hint. What good are all my informants and spies if they can’t warn me of an impending attack?”

“I believe that is why it is known as a ‘sneak’ attack.”

Her [Head Maid] paused in the act of ordering a group of servants to race through the mansion to distribute healing potions. Naturally, Magnolia’s estate had many potions and artifacts for emergencies, but it was one thing to be prepared and another to be ready for an actual attack. Magnolia’s heart ached as reports came in of the servants who had gotten in the way of the assassins and Nemor during the attack.

Something would have to be done. They would have to train the staff, not just those experienced in combat—especially if this was a forecast of things to come.

“Even so, the fact that not one person reported anything unusual happening is telling, isn’t it, Ressa? Our spies are compromised.”

Ressa nodded briefly. That much was as obvious to both women as the moon.

“Some will have been caught off-guard. Others were bribed or threatened. More were traitors to begin with. It will take a great deal of work discovering which is which.”

“However, if this is the Circle of Thorns and not some pretenders…this is very serious, Ressa.”

“I know.”

More people rushed up to the two women. Magnolia listened with one ear while she thought quietly. She stopped one maid, though.

“What was that about an [Assassin]? Was the last one found?”

Ressa nodded.

“Reynold and Sacra caught the last one as he was trying to flee. He is dead.”

“Dead?”

Magnolia’s tone was irate. She glared at Ressa, ignoring the [Maid] who fled from her presence.

“Couldn’t you have captured that one alive? I want at least one witness to interrogate. What good are dead bodies to me? I don’t know any [Necromancers]—at least, none that I trust!”

She knew she was being petty, but she was in a bad mood. Ressa clicked her tongue disapprovingly as she responded to her mistress.

“That would have been an unnecessary risk. These killers had unknown Skills and magical items. Killing the escaping one quickly was the correct decision for Reynold and Sacra to make and I stand by their decision.”

“You would.”

Magnolia grumbled, but she let the matter drop. She knew it would have probably been pointless anyways—[Assassins] were notorious for dying to protect their client’s secrets. She paused as she heard a voice in her head.

“Magnolia!”

“Oh, Ressa. I hear Teriarch. I’ll have to talk with him.”

Ressa nodded, and stepped away as Magnolia began to speak into the air.

“I’m here, Teriarch.”

The old Dragon’s voice was urgent in her mind.

“Magnolia! I received your signal. Are you—?”

“Fine. There was an attack. Assassins and a mage came to kill me.”

“Assassins? Are you sure you’re safe?”

“I’m fine, old fool.”

Magnolia’s tone was acerbic, but she relented a bit when she heard the genuine concern in Teriarch’s ‘voice’. She could almost picture the Dragon anxiously fanning his wings.

“If you think they might be around, I could be there in minutes. A spell or—I could fly!”

“You? Fly all the way here?”

The woman snorted, amused by the idea.

“If you want to come I’d welcome you. But Ressa tells me the place is secure, and she would know. I have my own [Mages] and artifacts who will be able to safeguard me, you know that.”

There was a pause as Teriarch considered Magnolia’s reply.

“If Ressa says so…tell me what happened!”

Briefly, Magnolia related the events to Teriarch.

“Will you come or not? I could use you here.”

She held her breath, but not much. Teriarch’s reply was everything she expected.

“Well…if you’re safe, then I hardly need to go out. Other mages can take care of the rest—but you should get rid of the Golems.”

“I know. But it’s such a waste. I got those for my birthday, you know.”

“Nevertheless. If one mage can seize control of them, they cannot be trusted. You need a better Golem anyways—how often have I told you not to rely on these shoddy animated suits of armor?”

“Oh? And what would you propose?”

Magnolia snapped at the empty air. Teriarch’s voice was arch as he replied.

“Any superior construct would do. A Gemstone Golem would have far more utility as you well know. Ivory Golems are too susceptible to interference via death magic of course, but if you would just buy a Magestone Golem—or even a Truestone Golem—”

“Not even you have a Truestone Construct lying around. And besides, I’m fairly certain those were outlawed in several nations.”

“Hmf. Wistram has one.”

“And she is not for sale. Believe me, I’ve asked and she is definite on that subject. Teriarch, I have work to do. If you aren’t coming—”

“Very well. I will contact you later. But if you need help—”

Magnolia’s voice was soft.

“I know. I will ask. But there’s only so much you can do in that cave.”

She heard no reply. Instead, she sensed the magical connection break. Magnolia turned back to Ressa, and found the woman was waiting for her.

“All done?”

“Things are stable for now.”

“Good. Then find me Ryoka Griffin. I only saw the girl sensibly had her head down after Nemor blasted through the wall. Do you know where she is? Is she hurt?”

Ressa shook her head.

“She is alive and mostly unharmed. At the moment she is helping tend to the wounded.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Magnolia paused.

“Good. There may be some hope for her after all. Take me to her.”

The two began to walk into the mansion. Magnolia sighed as she looked at the injured, but she kept talking to Ressa as they walked.

“It’s begun, Ressa. It’s war, you know that, don’t you?”

“Against the Circle of Thorns?”

“Wherever and whoever they may be. I have an idea of where to start, but—”

“The same problem as before?”

“If my great grandmother’s diary is right, it will be a nightmare. Still, we can’t let them do this again. I think you know what we have to do.”

Ressa waited. Magnolia made a face as she forced herself to say the words out loud.

“I’ll need to gather my flight of attendants. My allies, anyone who can be trusted—do you know where all my attendants are right now?”

“Right where you left them. The Reinhart estate in First Landing.”

“Damn. I hate that place.”

“When should we leave?”

“Tonight. Have Reynold get the coach ready. We can be back soon, but we have to move now.”

“And Ryoka?”

“Well, for the moment…”

—-

An hour ago I was talking about the fate of the world with Magnolia. Now I’m standing in the rubble of her mansion, helping pour healing potions on the wounded.

In fairness, there’s not that much rubble and no longer as many wounded. The wards on the Reinhart estate are sturdy, and Nemor only destroyed one room. But the air still feels tense, electric with fear and anxiety.

And grief. I stand up from tending to what used to be one man’s leg and turn to find Lady Magnolia and Ressa. They stare down at the [Manservant] as he tries to get up and fails.

“Stay there.”

Ressa’s voice is calm and imperious. But she kneels and inspects the man’s stump of a leg with gentle hands. The wound is healed, but his leg is gone. Burnt away. He shudders, but doesn’t cry out like he was doing earlier. He only looks up at Ressa and Lady Magnolia.

“I regret—I’m afraid I won’t be able to wait tables any longer, Miss Ressa.”

“Don’t worry about that. Just rest.”

Ressa lies the man back and more servants come to lift him in a stretcher. I watch them take the man away, and see Ressa’s gaze follow him.

She does care about the other servants. She might act like a general from hell ordering them about, but she cares.

And Magnolia—

I glance at the other woman. Lady Magnolia Reinhart is standing in the corridor, coolly surveying the devastation. People rush around her, and occasionally she’ll direct someone, but for the most part she just lets Ressa work.

She’s not down there tending to people herself. But she is radiating calm authority like a lighthouse. That’s a type of leadership, and I can see it reassuring the people around her. They look to her.

“Ryoka Griffin.”

Now her eyes find me, and I shudder. I can’t take comfort in her presence. Not after what I saw. I nod to her to cover my unease.

“I saw what happened.”

“Hm. Well, I am relieved to see you weren’t hurt. I was almost afraid you’d jump into the fight.”

No fear of that. I stare at the one-legged man as he disappears down the corridor.

“What will happen to him?”

“Who?”

“The man…with the missing leg. What will happen to him after this?”

Magnolia blinks at me, surprised by my question.

“What do you mean?”

“Will he lose his job? He sounded like he was a waiter.”

“Of course he won’t lose his job! I will find a new one for him that he can fulfill with one leg. That is all that will happen. Why, did you think I would fire him?”

I can only shrug. Magnolia scowls. She seems genuinely annoyed with me.

“No one injured in my employ will ever face losing their job. I do not abandon my people.”

“Oh. Good.”

I turn my back and stare at the people hurrying around me. I can tell Magnolia is eying me balefully from behind.

“I trust you understand this complicates matters.”

“I kind of got that when all the [Assassins] appeared. What was the mage talking about? Who are the Circle of Thorns?”

Magnolia pretends she didn’t hear my question.

“Sadly, I have suddenly become far too busy to hound you on the matter of inventions from your world. I will do so at a later date, but for now I believe I will have to let you go.”

I turn and meet her eyes.

“Do you think I’m an idiot? I know this isn’t over.”

She rolls hers.

“Of course it isn’t. But by all means, attend to your own business. We are allies, so I shall make sure you meet with the best experts in Invrisil. Tomorrow.”

“Experts? What experts?”

Another eye roll. Magnolia points at my side, at the bag of holding I’m carrying and snaps.

“Magical experts, idiot! I know your adventurer friends uncovered some relics. Well, I will have some meet with you. And then, when I am done attending to this—you and I will talk again.”

“Great.”

Magnolia raises an eyebrow, but that’s all I have to say on the matter. She sighs, loudly.

“You are an obnoxious child sometimes, you know that? You remind me of Ressa when she was young.”

Ahead of her, Ressa turns and glares at Magnolia. I do the same. Magnolia waves her hand at the two of us.

“You will sleep here tonight. Ressa will find you a room.”

And so she does. I stay awake long enough to see the mansion slowly settle back into some kind of normalcy—and then I go to the large, extravagantly adorned room that has been allotted to me. I lie on the bed, but I’m still far too awake to sleep.

I can still see the lightning, still see the line of fire engulf Nemor. I don’t know what it means, and I’m almost afraid to find out. But one thing I do know.

The sky is already beginning to brighten. I try to sleep, willing myself to rest for however long I can. I think I’ll need the energy. I’m not done here. Not by far.

Invrisil, the City of Adventurers, awaits.

—-

Day 45

A lot can happen in a day. I mean, that’s a fairly obvious statement, but I find myself surprised, sometimes, at how much can happen.

Forty-five days. That’s how long I’ve been in this world. But although I had a lot of amazing, unforgettable experiences in these forty-five days, the last few have seen the most happen.

Especially three days ago. Three days ago I survived my first avalanche. I coordinated a rescue effort; I touched a dead person, and saved a life. More than one for both counts, if I’m honest.

But I choose to remember the living. And I have to keep moving forwards rather than dwell on the past; a lot more rests on my shoulders, now.

It’s a bit…ironic. A few days ago Durene and I were effectively outcasts living on the edge of Riverfarm, barely tolerated for who we were. Well, Durene was barely tolerated; I was more popular. But we were both shunned for our relationship.

And now? Now our little cottage is our hideaway from the rest of the world. At least if we stay there we can sleep in peace.

In three days, I went from being a blind man with an unhealthy obsession with half-Trolls in the eyes of the village to being an [Emperor]. Of course, I was always an [Emperor], but they didn’t know that.

They do now. True, I didn’t exactly advertise the fact, but everyone heard me when I first took control of the village. And word spreads fast.

How would you react to having an Emperor in your village? I’d imagine normally there would be a lot of questions and maybe even suspicion or hostility.

But in this case? There’s none. The villagers saw me running from spot to spot, finding people trapped in the snow. That earns you a lot of trust, not to mention gratitude. I am an [Emperor], and the villagers treat me as such.

Which brings me on to the downside of my current living situation: I’m an [Emperor]. And Riverfarm is now technically under my dominion.

Which, defacto, makes me their ruler. Which also makes me responsible for them. And makes them subservient to me.

And boy, do they take that role seriously.

“Are they still outside, Durene?”

I hear her rustle as she sits up and looks at the window.

“I think Gamel’s still out there.”

“Still?”

Or should I say, ‘already’? I frown as I sit up in bed next to Durene. It’s barely past dawn, and there’s someone out there?

“Did he camp out here?”

“I think so. He’s got a fire and everything.”

“We should have invited him in. Not that there’s space, but…”

I mutter to myself as I put on pants and a shirt and coat. I try to stay low; one of the downsides to being blind is that you can’t really tell where windows are or if doors are open. It means I’m somewhat paranoid about flashing someone by mistake.

“Why is he even out there? I told them I’d be back as soon as I woke up today.”

“I think they wanted to have someone here in case you needed anything.”

Durene answers cautiously as she readies some tea and rekindles the fire. She knows how I feel about suddenly being the ruler of Riverfarm, but I can tell from her voice that she’s pleased.

And can I blame her? She used to be the village laborer, the barely-tolerated half-monster girl. And now she’s the consort of an [Emperor], or my personal servant, or whatever. The point is that even though our relationship isn’t a secret, no one’s throwing rocks at Durene, and everyone treats her with almost as much deference as they treat me.

Part of that might also be her class. Durene is a Level 6 [Paladin] now. She gained the levels from helping save people and working to help the village. True, she didn’t slay monsters, but her doing good deeds fits with the idea of a [Paladin] in modern culture. And for her efforts, she gained not one, but two Skills.

[Weapon Proficiency: Shield] and [Graceful Step]. Now, the first Skill makes sense to me. It sounds like a classic feat out of any fantasy roleplaying game, but [Graceful Step]? Apparently, it allows Durene to move, well, gracefully. If I put it bluntly, she no longer sounds like an earthquake when she moves around her cottage, and she can even sneak up on me now!

It’s quite incredible to me, but it’s also odd. I mean, why would moving silently, or rather, gracefully, be that important to a [Paladin]? Is it because the class is taking from the original idea of a paladin being a member of Charlemagne’s court and being considered dignified characters? Or is it more broadly taken from the fact that paladins are supposed to be champions of justice, respected characters in the eyes of the many?

Perhaps there’s another set of guidelines I don’t know about entirely. All I do know is that Durene—

Squark.

I wince and hear Durene’s surprised exclamation.

“Oh good. Frostwing’s awake.”

Indeed, the noisy eaglet has awoken, and upon finding both Durene and I are awake, is stridently, nay, angrily demanding we feed her breakfast. I scowl as I find the bowl of half-frozen food by the kitchen counter and shove it at the bird.

“Eat, you ungrateful fowl. Stop complaining—I haven’t even had breakfast yet!”

Happily, Frostwing does just that. She’s gotten even bigger than she was three days ago, and now she can peck at the food herself. I can even feel a few feathers coming in, although I’ve been too preoccupied with the village to attend to her as much as I’d like.

Speaking of which—

As Durene puts some butter in the pan and I delight at hearing it sizzle, I open the door and walk out to Gamel. I know the young man—he’s been following me and Durene around since the day of the avalanche. And I can even ‘see’ him in my mind—he’s camped right at the boundary of where Durene’s cottage ends.

“Emperor Laken, sir!”

I hear his excited voice as I crunch through the snow. I make a face and stop before I’m too close to him.

“I told you, Mister Laken is fine.”

I’d prefer to do away with even that, to be honest. But the villagers insist on calling me something. And that’s way better than ‘Emperor’.

“I’m sorry, Mister Laken.”

He sounds chastened. I sigh.

“Never mind that. Durene and I were about to have breakfast. Can I invite you in?”

“I couldn’t do that!”

He sounds horrified. I sigh again, but I knew Gamel would probably say that.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes sir. I’ve got some porridge and even some smoked bacon right here, sir. A feast!”

“Well, in that case we’ll be out soon. If you’re cold, the door’s open.”

“I won’t be cold. I will be waiting, sir!”

I shake my head to myself as I walk back to the cottage. How did it come to this?

I brighten up a bit when I push open the door and smell meat cooking. Durene’s poking at the pan, and I can tell there are some thick slabs of ham waiting to be eaten.

“Smells good.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

Durene sounds just as excited as I am as she flips the dripping slices onto a plate. She and I eat at a table—me ignoring Frostwing’s chirps as she tries to get me to feed her.

“You’re disgusting, you know that?”

“Me?”

“Not you, silly. Frostwing. Didn’t you just eat the entire bowl?”

“I dunno Laken, she looks hungry. She’s getting bigger—what if we gave her some?”

“Maybe later. There’s such a thing as overfeeding her, Durene.”

“Oh, right.”

“…You can feed her that one bit.”

“Okay!”

I smile to myself as Frostwing shrieks in delight and then begs for more. Who knew a bird could beg? But then my smile falters a bit as I bite into my own bit of fried ham. Yes, it’s delicious. But the mere fact that Durene and I are feasting on ham for breakfast is a concern.

We’re eating meat. And that might be normal in my world, but in Durene’s, or at least, in her village, that’s a luxury. And it’s happening because all the animals in Riverfarm are dead.

They were all buried in the avalanche, and unlike the people, we didn’t get to them in time. Chickens, pigs, cows—even if you ignore the people that died, this was a disaster in its own right. These animals are what Riverfarm depends on for food and coin, and they were all killed at once.

The one small mercy was that at least their bodies were frozen. It means that the villagers and Durene and I can eat the animals one by one and stretch out our food stocks that way. But still. This would cripple any village and make it that much harder to survive the winter in the best of times.

And after the avalanche, Riverfarm is certainly not going through the best of times. That’s why despite our big and delicious meal, Durene and I are out of the cottage in the next fifteen minutes, and we walk with Gamel trailing in our wake to Riverfarm in good time.

“Mister Laken!”

“Emperor Laken!”

“Emperor!”

“Sire!”

Countless voices greet me as I walk into the village. I smile and wave, and greet people by name. I’m used to the attention by now, at least enough so that I don’t get slowed down and get to the village center in good time. When I’m there, I immediately cast around the village with my [Emperor] senses.

Let’s see. What’s changed since yesterday? Some new houses are excavated—good. Nothing’s collapsed today, which is a relief. The dead animals—

—Are still frozen in the ground. But one of them looks…gnawed at? I frown.

“Mister Prost?”

With my senses I can tell the man jumps as I address him directly among the crowd. People still can’t quite believe I can sense things without seeing. But he hurries forwards as I call him.

“Yes, Mister Laken?”

“One of the dead cows—the one buried just past the barn—looks like it’s been partially eaten. Have animals found the body?”

“I don’t know. I’ll have someone check at once!”

Prost’s voice is filled with consternation and I hear him hurry off. In minutes he’s back with news.

“Animals did eat at the body, sir! Looks like foxes or something similar. They ate a good bit.”

“That’s not good.”

I sigh as I hear people around me mutter. Well, I suspected this would happen.

“Looks like wildlife is returning to the area after the avalanche. We’ll need to make sure they don’t get at any more of the dead animals before we can properly smoke them, salt them, or preserve them some other way.”

“That will be hard, sir.”

Prost sounds worried. I nod, but try to look for a better angle. There has to be something…

“What if we set traps for the foragers? We could catch a few animals—maybe more food for the pot?”

“That could work!”

The man brightens up and I hear voices sounding approving around me. Jeez. As if that was some brilliant idea. Any one of them could have come up with it—they’d probably be able to execute it far better than I could since they actually know how all of this works. But they let me do the thinking and deciding, because I am an [Emperor] after all, and don’t I know best?

This is how my day goes now. I coordinate with Prost about getting people to set traps up as Durene goes to help dig. She’s been doing it every day—we’ve nearly gotten all of the houses excavated, but there’s still tons of snow around the village that could be cleared out. And the fields—

“At the very least, we should focus on finding a place to store the dead animals. The barn perhaps. If we could close the doors and put the frozen bodies in the snow there, that might keep a lot of hungry animals at bay.”

“We can do that. Just give the word, Mister Laken.”

“I’m just worried larger predators will smell the dead bodies and come searching.”

“Aye, that’s true. The Emperor has a point. What if a bear scents out the carcasses?”

I hear a murmur of worry.

We’ll have to have eyes on the barn, then. But we can’t just let the bodies rot and keeping them buried is just asking for trouble. Let’s get to it.

Prost takes command of a few villagers, and I choose more people who either volunteer or who I know have good Skills for the job. No one complains. Everyone’s so full of this—this can-do attitude it almost makes my heart hurt.

Here they are, days after an avalanche that killed their family and friends, and they’re putting their lives back together. Without a word of complaint. Helping one another, sharing all they have. All they needed was a little nudge to do it.

“But it isn’t good enough.”

I mutter the words quietly as I sit in Prosts’s house, repurposed to act as a central hub I can work in.

“What’s that, sir?”

I shake my head at Gamel as he leans forwards to pay closer attention. It’s nothing.

Liar. I know what the problem is, and I know I have to address it soon. Today. The villagers are working hard, I know that. They’ve excavated their village, repaired damage, worked together, buried the dead. They’ve performed a small miracle, but—

“But we don’t have enough food to last the winter. Nor are we ready for a monster attack.”

That’s the situation I lay out in front of Prost and the other older villagers later that day. I hear them talking amongst themselves, but they go quiet when I continue.

“We’ve got stores of food of course—plenty, in fact. And the harsh truth of it is that we’re benefited by having fewer mouths to feed. But—even so. We lost all the animals, and a number of cellars where the snow and ice smashed everything to bits. And there are other villages that were hit too—what if relatives come? People seeking aid, who weren’t as fortunate as us? What if there are more mouths to feed? And while we’re struggling to make ends meet, monsters could attack us at any time.”

I’ve never encountered a monster, but Durene and the others have told me stories, and they’re horrific. Monsters, especially smart ones like Goblins, love to attack when people are at their weakest. I’m sure Riverfarm is a lovely target for them, and the other villagers know I’m right.

“What should we do then, Mister Laken? Do you have a plan?”

That’s Prost’s voice again. He seems to speak for a lot of the villagers. I nod at him, trying to project confidence so he won’t be worried. Odd. A few days ago he was trying to tell me what to do. Now—

“I do. If we don’t have enough food here, and we need help, we might as well just buy it.”

“Buy it? You mean—from a city?”

Consternation fills the room. I wait for them to quiet, and then ask for opinions. Again, Prost is first up to bat.

“Pardon me, Mister Laken, but I’m afraid our village doesn’t have the coin to buy enough food—let alone hire adventurers to guard us. We never did. We could buy enough food for a few weeks maybe, or hire a few bronze-rank adventurers for the same amount of time if we pool our coin, but…”

He trails off helplessly. The other villagers mutter their agreement. It’s so—interesting. None of them want to tell me I’m wrong, even when they are telling me just that. It’s like they want to be proven wrong, to know I’ve always got something up my sleeve.

That’s unhealthy. I need to get them to stop thinking like that. Even if…they’re right in this case.

I clear my throat.

“Money will not be an issue, ladies and gentlemen. I happen to have quite enough coin to pay for whatever Riverfarm needs.”

“You do?”

I nod at Mister Prost.

“Remember the gold coin I traded you, Mister Prost? I have hundreds more like it.”

Is it risky telling a bunch of desperate villagers I’m rich? Maybe. And some would say that’s especially true since I’m blind. But I have a good read on these people. They’re honest, hardworking, loyal—even if they are a bit racist. And they look up to me.

My faith in them is not misplaced. If anything, I underestimate their spirit. After the shocked exclamations die down, one of the other villagers, a woman named Teriane, speaks up.

“Mister Laken, we can’t hardly have you paying for all of us! We’d never be able to repay you!”

The others mutter sadly in agreement. I just shake my head.

“Nonsense. No one needs to pay me back anything. I’m your [Emperor], so it’s only natural that I’d take care of my citizens.”

Also, I got the money practically for free. But when the villagers hear this, they’re moved to tears. Literally, in some cases. I feel bad—but I feel worse when they begin to cheer.

“Emperor Laken!”

“Long live Emperor Laken!”

“Emperor!”

Oh god. This is too much for me. Eventually I get them all to sit down and shut up, and I keep going with my plan.

“Okay, money isn’t an issue, but what is important is getting to a proper place to spend all of what I have. To that end…I’m going to Invrisil.”

“What?”

“It’s the only way!”

I talk over their exclamations. I explain as best I can.

“I’ll take Durene—and Frostwing too, I suppose. The three of us can move quickly, and go to the Adventurer’s Guild and marketplace to buy all we need.”

“But sir—you can’t! It’s too dangerous for you and—and especially Durene!”

Prost is the first to speak up. I can tell he’s agitated, and I understand why.

Durene. She’s always wanted to go to a city, and always been too scared of what treatment she might receive. But this—

“Durene is the only person who can guide me properly. I trust her, and she’s strong.”

“Then why not let one of us go instead?”

“Do you really think you’d be safe, Mister Prost? Even if I sent ten people—what if you were attacked by bandits? Or if someone tried to mug you for the gold?”

They can’t reply to that. I nod seriously.

“I’ve been thinking this over. Durene might stand out, but she’s stronger than any thug, and I…I’m an [Emperor]. We’d stand more of a chance, and besides, who would try robbing a blind man and a half-Troll?”

Well, more people would try to rob me than Durene. But the villagers still don’t like the idea.

“What will happen when you’re gone, though? Emperor, sir, we need you!”

“You don’t need me.”

I scowl as I override their objections.

“No, be quiet! You don’t need me. You did perfectly well when I wasn’t here, and I’ll only be gone a few days at the most. And when I return, I’ll have everything we need.”

“But—”

I can hear part of their fear unspoken in their voices. It’s not just the dangers they worry about. It’s that I might abandon them. I mean, it’s not as if I didn’t think of it. What’s stopping me and Durene from just leaving Riverfarm to their fate?

My duty as an [Emperor], that’s what. And if not that, my soul.

“Mister Prost.”

I walk up to the man, and take him by the arm. He starts at my touch, but I look at him. My eyes are closed obviously, but this is as close as I can get to what it would be like if I could see.

“Mister Prost. I will come back. Riverfarm is my home, now. This is my empire. I will return. You have my word as an [Emperor] on it.”

I don’t know what Prost sees in my closed eyelids, but whatever I say, it works. In a moment he changes from arguing against me to arguing for me.

“Trust in Emperor Laken you lot! No—quiet Melpin! You don’t know what you’re talking about. If Emperor Laken say he’ll do it—he’ll do it!”

And that settles that. Oh, of course I had to reassure people and tell the others what was going to happen, but once I got the ball rolling, it couldn’t be stopped.

Not that there weren’t a few alterations, mind. In the end it was decided that we’d take a wagon. Durene would be able to pull me, Frostwing, and the gold and some travel supplies along. I objected of course, but Durene was the one who argued against me the most here.

“I can pull you all, Laken! Honest!”

Against my better judgment, I agreed to it, especially, as it turned out, because we’d be getting company. Gamel was chosen to accompany us—as a sort of helper to Durene and someone who could talk to guards and whatnot.

It made sense, and I couldn’t get the villagers to budge, so I let it all pass. That’s how we found ourselves getting ready long into the night, and I drew up some plans for the villagers to follow while we were gone.

Day 46

“The cart is loaded?”

“Yes sir!”

“Frostwing’s secure in her nest?”

I hear her shrill cry and nod.

“Durene? Are you sure about this?”

“Positive! Look, I can pull this so easily!”

Durene demonstrates and I wobbled and nearly lose my balance standing on the wagon.

“Oh! Sorry Laken!”

“Nevermind that. Okay, it’s time!”

I turn and wave to the villagers. They cheer and call out my name. Durene pulls the wagon, Gamel shouts and hollers back at his sweetheart, and we set out down the snow-covered road. The villagers worked all night to clear it so we can travel on, and the ride isn’t nearly as bumpy as I thought it would be.

I sit back down in the wagon and feel the comfy, warm blankets around me. The villagers really spared no expense giving me the luxury accommodations.

“Durene, just let me know when you get tired. If you can’t pull us all the way, I’m more than happy to get out and walk.”

“I’m fine, Laken! I could even pull Gamel!”

“That’s fine Durene. I like walking. I could—help pull if you need it.”

“No, I got it!”

We move onwards. I feel the fresh morning air in my face and sigh.

“This is so weird.”

“Isn’t it exciting?”

Durene’s voice is filled with delight and apprehension in equal measures. I can just tell she’s twisting in place as she walks to stare up at me.

“I’m so nervous, Laken! We’re going to a city! Not just a city, the city! The City of Adventurers!”

“I’ve never been there myself. Is it amazing?”

“Yes!”

Both Durene and Gamel chorus at the same time. I grin.

“But neither of you have been there before, have you?”

Practically none of the villagers have. Invrisil is a huge city, and the people of Riverfarm trade with the local town rather than go all the way there. But the city is the dream of all young folk.

Including me, I guess.

“Laken?”

“Yes, Durene?”

I can hear the worry in her voice as she pauses before speaking.

“Do you really think it’ll be alright? I mean…for me?”

I take a while before I reply. That was my worry too. But…

“It’ll be okay.”

“You’re sure?”

“There might be some people who just look at you and judge you from first glance, but if there are, I’ll deal with them. I am an [Emperor], after all. And you are my lovely subject.”

“That makes me relieved. I mean, I’m just so nervous! We have a fortune in the wagon! What if someone finds out?”

Durene says it again, but I can tell she’s feeling better. I tease her as we go up a small slope that apparently leads out of the village.

“How will anyone find out? Unless you shout it to them, that is.”

“I’m just saying! There could be bandits, or monsters—”

“You’ll just have to defend me, then.”

“Me!?”

“Of course you! You’re my [Paladin], after all, aren’t you?”

“I guess…”

“Oh come now. Don’t worry, Durene! What’s the worst that could go wrong?”

Frostwing squawks in my ear, and Durene giggles. I sit back as Gamel starts talking about being an adventurer and maybe even going to Wistram, and Durene excitedly asks him what magic he’d study, and turn my face up to the sky.

I can’t tell whether it’s cloudy or clear skies above me. And maybe that’s a good thing, because I can always imagine that there’s a blue, clear sky overhead and the sun is shining bright. I’ve never seen blue, but I imagine it’s the color of adventure, of a new day.

Of hope.

Of course, I’ve always thought green was a rather hopeful color as well. But who ever heard of a green sky? Ah well, it’s all the same to me.

The wagon rumbles on as I, Laken Godart, [Emperor], prepare to go to Invrisil, the City of Adventurers to save my poor village from starvation and monsters. I lie back, breath in. And at last—

I begin to explore this vast world.

3.15

Erin Solstice carefully flipped a fish on the frying pan she was holding over the fire. She watched the one golden-brown side of the fish turn over and land neatly on the oily surface of the pan. Instantly, the uncooked side began to sizzle.

“Mm. Fish.”

That was all she said for a while. There was nothing else that needed to be said. She just inhaled and smelled the fillet as it cooked. When it was done, she had a plate ready. She slid the still-juicy, crispy-golden fillet off the pan and looked at it.

It was a bit of perfection, at least for her. Back home, she’d never made anything nearly as good as this, not even close. The old Erin wouldn’t even have known where to begin, let alone mix up the batter that gave the fish such a nice, spicy taste.

And indeed, this fillet could have probably won her an award if she’d entered it in a local cooking competition. Erin knew it certainly could have gotten her a job at a local restaurant.

And it was all because she had a Skill. Erin stared at the fillet as it gently steamed on her pan. It really was a wonderful bit of food she’d created.

But.

Erin turned with the plate in her hands, and then dumped the fillet she’d just fried to perfection onto a cutting board. She diced the fillet in a few seconds with a cooking knife, and then shoved the remains into another pot.

This pot contained soup. To be more accurate, it contained blue soup, thick as molasses, with bits of green and some kind of yellow substance that looked like mutated pond scum bubbling to the surface. Erin mixed in what had been the wonderful fillet and sighed.

“It looks awful. But I think it will work.”

Compared to the fillet the soup looked about as appetizing as dirt. Undeterred, Erin poured some into a wooden bowl. Carefully, she took it out of the small kitchen and into the shop. There she stopped and called out.

“Octavia? I’ve got more soup for you to try!”

No one replied to her voice. Erin frowned and looked around. Octavia’s small shop, Stitchworks, was fairly big, but it felt cramped because of all the shelves full of potions and alchemy reagents stockpiled everywhere. Thus, she quickly found the dark-skinned girl with braids hiding under one of the tables.

“There you are! Come out and try the soup!”

“I’m not going to. You can’t make me!”

Octavia refused to budge, even when Erin put down the bowl of soup and poked her a few times in the side.

“Come on out. I promise it’s not going to be that bad this time.”

“I don’t want to. You eat it!”

Erin put her hands on her hips and sighed.

“You’re the one with all the Skills that prevent you from being poisoned or dying, remember? And I don’t have a detachable stomach.”

“Just because I can eat it, doesn’t mean it tastes good! And I still feel the effects of what I eat! I was squatting over the toilet for hours after that last soup you made!”

“Aw, come on. You weren’t there that long…this time will be different, I promise! I didn’t add anything dangerous to the food this time.”

“No! Eat it yourself if you’re so confident!”

The girl hesitated, and stared at the bowl of soup on the table. It was probably safe. Her [Dangersense] wasn’t going off, at any rate. But she didn’t want to taste it, even so.

“Octavia…”

“No!”

“I’ll pay you.”

There was silence. Octavia slowly poked her head out from underneath the table.

“How much?”

“Four silver coins?”

“Hah!”

The head withdrew. Erin thought quickly.

“Fine! Two gold coins! If it makes you sick or does anything bad to you. Deal?”

“Deal!”

Octavia was out from underneath the table in a second. Erin sighed, but there was something gratifying about how easy it was to just pay Octavia to do things. The Stitch Girl had a refreshingly simple way of looking at the world. If it was profitable, it was probably worth doing.

Even if the it in question involved eating another one of Erin’s soups. But then, Ryoka had paid Octavia quite handsomely to help Erin, so in that sense, Octavia was actually earning more for just doing her job.

Then again, even Erin had to admit she’d been feeding Octavia a lot of horrible stuff over the last few days. She would have actually volunteered to eat some of it herself, but without Octavia’s Skills that helped protect her against acid, burns, poisoning, and other nasty effects, the [Alchemist] would have been dead from eating some of what Erin had cooked up.

Instead, she’d just gotten horribly, sometimes violently, ill. Which explained her reluctance to sample any more of Erin’s experiments. However, Octavia loved gold even more than her health, so she didn’t look that put out as she stretched and looked at Erin.

“Alright. What horror am I supposed to be eating this time?”

Erin beamed as she showed Octavia the bowl. To her credit, the Stitch Girl didn’t even blink at the appearance of the soup. She sniffed at it cautiously as the human girl explained.

“It’s a variant of the last stew I made. This time I think it’s all mixed correctly.”

“Hmf.”

Octavia sniffed disparagingly; her nature as an [Alchemist] made her look down on all of what she called Erin’s ‘abominations of cooking and magic’.

“You found a way to stop the Stonelizard scales from mixing with the lemon juice and melting?”

Erin hesitated.

“I…think so. I kept the heat low and made sure to add a lot of mint. The soup hasn’t melted through the bottom of the bowl, so it probably worked.”

Octavia sighed. But she obediently picked up a spoon and gingerly spooned some of the blue glop into her mouth. She chewed a bit and swallowed as Erin held her breath—then Octavia made a face.

“It’s all mushy!”

“Eat!”

The girl did so, albeit reluctantly. Erin stared at the stitching around Octavia’s neck as the Stitch Girl slowly consumed the bowl of soup. It still seemed weird to her that Octavia was actually just cloth held together by string. Shouldn’t some of the soup leak out around the stitches, no matter how tightly it was sewn? But apparently, once Octavia’s cloth parts were connected, they acted like real flesh and blood.

The sound of the spoon scraping the bottom of the bowl made Erin look at Octavia sharply. The [Alchemist] sighed in relief as she put the spoon down and looked up at Erin.

“…Huh. It tasted pretty foul. Way too minty, and was that fish in there?”

Erin nodded, smiling.

“The pan frying and batter did the trick. The fish helped warm the soup without making it burn like last time.”

“Smart, I guess.”

Octavia looked grudgingly impressed. One of the biggest challenges Erin had had to overcome was the issue of heat. Octavia could regulate the temperature of her potions with ice and flame, but Erin had less options when it came to cooking. Just making the soup bubble in some cases could lead to dramatic—and dangerous—reactions.

“I think it might have worked.”

The [Alchemist] said this after a few minutes. She prodded at her stomach. Erin felt surprised, and immediately happy.

“You’re sure?”

“Pretty much. One of my Skills would have kicked in by now and I’d definitely be feeling the effects if anything harmful was in the soup. The only thing to test now is whether the effects were reproduced.”

“Oh. How are you going to test it? I could hit you—”

“No, thank you. I’ll use a pin instead.”

So saying, Octavia went up to her counter and rummaged around below it. She came up with a small box of pins, some scissors, and quite a few spools of thread. Erin guessed that was the equivalent of a first aid kit for Octavia.

“Alright, here goes.”

Octavia pulled out a rather long and sharp pin out of the box and extended her arm. Erin expected her to lightly poke at her flesh, so she was shocked when Octavia took the pin and pressed it straight into the center of her arm.

“Oh! Ow!”

“Hrgh.”

It looked as bad as it must have felt. The innkeeper winced as Octavia pushed the pin into her skin with all her strength, grimacing with pain as she did. Erin held her breath—it was almost hard to watch, but she had to know if the soup had worked.

“Well, would you look at that?”

Octavia’s grimaced expression changed to one of amazement. The Stitch Girl held up the pin, and Erin felt a jolt of elation in her stomach as she saw the pin was bent.

“It worked!”

“It did.”

Erin threw up her hands and shouted in delight. Octavia just stared down at the pin, blinking as if she couldn’t believe it. Once Erin had calmed down—she couldn’t really run around waving her arms in the shop without knocking over something delicate—she and Octavia sat together and discussed Erin’s latest creation.

“It really works, doesn’t it! Your skin is tougher—although it still hurt when you poked yourself with the pin, didn’t it?”

“A bit. I was more ready for the pain than anything else.”

Octavia studied the pot of blue sludge and Erin’s scrawled notes, shaking her head.

“This is—insane. It’s definitely a magical effect like you’d get from a potion, but how are you coming up with this stuff? First the strength stew and the Corusdeer soup that warms you up—now this?”

Erin beamed as she circled the particular combination of ingredients that had worked on the grubby piece of parchment.

“I’m on a roll. And you said it couldn’t be done!”

“I was wrong, clearly. That’s my mistake. Why does everything have to be a soup, though?”

Erin shrugged.

“Soup is easiest. I’ve tried batters, but I need to get all the ingredients right before I can use them. Now that I know the ingredients for this soup for instance—I could probably make a stir-fry or something out of it!”

“Huh.”

Octavia fell silent, drumming her fingers on the kitchen counter. Erin stopped and stared at the other girl.

It had been nearly a full day since Ryoka had run out of the city. It had been even longer since Erin had come to Celum—nearly a full week, in fact. And all that time she’d been splitting her time between Miss Agnes’ inn, the Frenzied Hare, and Octavia’s shop, Stitchworks. As a result, Erin was not only financially sound for the moment—Agnes had told her she was earning more in a week than she and her husband normally did in a month—but she’d managed to come up with some amazing new discoveries in Octavia’s shop!

Erin had been trying to cook with alchemical ingredients to create foods just as amazing as the soup she’d come up with that Ryoka kept using. And she’d made progress. Amazing progress, even Octavia had agreed. It was just that…

Some of Erin’s elation faded away as she stared at the soup in the pot. It had taken her nearly a hundred tries to mix this up, costing countless gold coins’ worth of ingredients. That wasn’t the issue, though.

Octavia didn’t seem to notice Erin’s feelings. She idly poked the pin into her hand as she stared at the soup.

“You know, if you want to try making the soup into an actual dish I wouldn’t mind trying it again.”

“Maybe later. I want to try and finish the other dishes, though.”

“More?”

The Stitch Girl frowned at Erin.

“How many more times are you going to come over and take over my shop? I do need to make potions myself, you know.”

Erin nodded absently.

“Yeah, but Ryoka bought out your time.”

“She did, but…”

Octavia waved her hands in the air, trying to express her displeasure.

“It’s been—how long? Nearly a week?”

“Something like that.”

Erin helped herself to her own bowl of soup now that she knew it probably wouldn’t kill her. She made a face as she tasted the horrible dish she’d made—the mint really was too powerful, but it was sour as well! She’d have to find some other way to combine all the ingredients—blend the mint into the fillet batter and keep the lemon juice out of it until the very end, or something.

But the dish was edible. Octavia shook her head as she stared at the small pot of soup Erin had brewed up.

“How am I supposed to deal with this? You’ve just created—what? A Thickskin potion? But you’ve used way less reagents than I usually do.”

“Mhm.”

Octavia glared at Erin, incensed by the bland response.

“Don’t you know how incredible that is? If you could do that with every potion I’ve made—just think of the savings! This is amazing! Revolutionary!”

“Yup. This really tastes bad.”

Erin made a face and Octavia made a sound of disgust.

“Well, I’ll admit that you have some skill at this. But—and I’m asking again—how many more times are you going to use my kitchen and store?”

“Ten thousand times.”

“Excuse me?”

“Ten thousand times. That’s how many times I’m going to cook. If I can, that is.”

Erin suddenly felt very tired as she turned to Octavia. The dark-skinned girl’s mouth was open in shock, but her eyes were flittering left to right in sudden calculation.

“If you did that, I’d have to at least charge you—”

“I’m not being serious! Jeez!”

The Human girl scowled at Octavia. Octavia scowled back.

“You could have fooled me! I’m just giving you a price quote. Why ten thousand times, anyways?”

Erin sighed. But she felt like explaining, so she took a seat and spoke to Octavia between spoonfuls of the horrid soup.

“Back where I come from—there’s this guy who said that the best way to get good at something was to do it ten thousand times. Or something like that.”

Wasn’t it ten thousand hours spent practicing? Erin couldn’t actually remember that well.

“Anyways, the idea is that if you want to learn how to do something well—really well, I mean, you have to practice that much. You can be as talented as you want, but in the end you still need to practice.”

“Oh. So that’s why you’re trying to make all this stuff?”

“Sort of.”

Erin nodded, stretching her neck out a bit and wincing at the cracks. How long had she been cooking today? Already three hours, probably.

“I have a Skill—[Advanced Cooking]. It lets me cook really well without practice. But lots of people have that Skill. I’m an [Innkeeper], but there are a lot of people with higher levels than me, I bet. They have better inns, more Skills…I want to match them, somehow. So I decided to try to learn something new—even if this is boring.”

“Boring?”

“Boring. I think making all this alchemical stuff is boring. I know you don’t—”

Octavia’s outraged glare was proof enough of her feelings. Erin just shook her head tiredly.

“—But I don’t like wasting food, and making all this complex stuff. But it’s all that I can do.”

The other girl paused before she could give Erin a tongue-lashing.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not like Ryoka. She can run around and do cool things—she’s even got Ivolethe as a friend.”

“Who?”

Erin ignored the question. She stared at the mostly empty bowl of soup and took another bite. It tasted awful. But it was magic.

“I can’t be a hero. I don’t like fighting, and I’m scared of getting eaten. Or stabbed. Or stabbed and eaten. All I can do is try and make my inn better. And if I had something magical to sell to my guests—no one would be able to copy that. That would make my inn unique. That’s why I’m doing all this.”

Even if it was hard. Even if it was exhausting. This was her big chance; Erin knew that. She raised her head and saw Octavia’s face. The girl didn’t look irate like she normally did around Erin. Instead, she looked impressed.

“That’s actually quite thoughtful for you.”

“Surprising, right?”

Octavia had to grin. Her teeth flashed in her dimly lit shop. Then she looked back at the bowl in Erin’s hands and her eyes narrowed in a calculating look that made Erin groan internally.

“You know—not that I’m trying to renegotiate the deal Ryoka made with me or anything—but you have benefited a lot from the recipes I’ve come up with. If you’d consider selling me them, I’d cut you in on a deal. In fact, why not let me sell them to other inns and taverns? Why, you’d earn a lot more if everyone was making this stuff and not just you. I’d only ask for a small commission on each sale—and I’m sure that the profits alone would—”

“It’s not going to work, Octavia.”

“You don’t know that! If you’d just listen to the rest of my idea—”

Erin shook her head, cutting the other girl off. She handed the recipe of the soup she’d just made to Octavia.

“Try making it yourself.”

The [Alchemist] was surprised, but she wasn’t one to turn down an opportunity to make something useful—and, Erin suspected, memorize the recipe. But although Octavia eagerly piled the ingredients into another pot and followed all of Erin’s instructions to the letter, her hands quickly slowed down as she frowned at the floating objects in the water of the pot.

“What’s happening? It—it’s not even reacting. It’s just sitting there. Like…”

“Like nothing is happening?”

Erin nodded and took the spoon from Octavia. As she began to stir, the soup began to change. Octavia’s eyes widened as she stared at the way the individual ingredients suddenly began to dissolve, mixing together.

“How are you doing that? A Skill?”

“Yup. It’s my Skill. Without it, no one else can make this stuff.”

Erin watched as the mixture slowly thickened, and continued following her instructions, although she knew how to make the soup by heart. She explained to Octavia as she reached for a glass of lemon juice she’d painstakingly squeezed earlier.

“I tried to show Agnes how to make the Corusdeer soup. She couldn’t do it, even when she copied me exactly.”

“What skill do you have? [Magical Cooking]? I know it can create magical dishes but this—this is different.”

“[Wondrous Fare]. That’s what I have.”

Erin didn’t tell Octavia how she’d gotten it, but she explained how she could make the faerie flower drink. True, alchemy ingredients weren’t the same as hallucinogenic faerie flowers, but Erin thought what she was doing still made sense. Octavia nodded, finger on her lips as she thought out loud.

“You’re probably bypassing one of the natural steps in the creation process. Perhaps you’re skipping the need for a particular reagent? There are some high-level [Alchemist] skills that can do the same. Some really save on costs since you can practically create lesser healing potions for free by skipping on the need to mix up the proper base first—”

She broke off, shrugging.

“It doesn’t really matter. But there goes my idea of marketing this stuff and making a fortune. Only you can make it, after all.”

Erin nodded, smiling a bit. But the smile slipped.

“It’s good. I’ve finally got something only I can make, and it’s useful. It’s just—I wish it wasn’t so boring, you know?”

“Boring.”

“Boring. Even though I worked this hard—there’s still so much more to do, Octavia.”

Erin stretched out on her seat, feeling her tendons snapping as she tried to shake off some of the tiredness that felt like it was in her bones.

“I’m just so—tired thinking about it. I’ll get back to my inn, and then I’ll start selling this stuff. But even though I’ll probably get more customers, I still need a new helper, to build up my inn, buy some magical runes—there’s just so much to do and I can only take one small step at a time. It’s exhausting.”

“So what? ”

Octavia just looked blank. Erin glared at her.

“Don’t you wish you could be more like Ryoka? She doesn’t have to do stuff like this. She just—runs. She can do amazing stuff. I wish I could do something cool so quickly.”

Erin sighed. She didn’t like fighting or anything like that. She wasn’t athletic as Ryoka was. She knew that. It was just that this was—well, it had been fun. But now she was just tired.

But Octavia just snorted in derision.

“Only adventurers and crazy people like Ryoka can become rich and famous quickly. Everyone else just has to work hard and gain as many levels at they can. I’m going to save every coin I can, level up and learn as many recipes as possible so I can expand my stores, make better potions, and do more business until I’m the highest-level [Alchemist] on the continent.”

She gestured around her small shop.

“I might not reach my dream for years, but it’s a lot safer than swinging a sword around. Well, safer when you’re not around, that is.”

“But that’s…”

She realized she didn’t really have anything to say against that. Erin let her voice trail off unhappily.

What Octavia was saying was right. She was taking the smart option. Even if being an [Alchemist] was slightly dangerous, it was nothing like being an adventurer. It was just so boring to think of, though. But part of Erin thought that was just what being an adult was like. It was thinking about the big picture. She knew that.

So then why did hearing it all laid out like that make her so depressed? Erin didn’t know, but she did come to one conclusion which made her sit up in her seat.

“I’m done cooking for the day.”

Both she and Octavia brightened up when she said it. Erin was fed up with making useless soup, and Octavia was tired of eating it.

“Good! I’ll just pour your horrible soup into a jar, shall I? I can probably sell it—at a markdown of course…I can give you a good split of the profits if you’d agree to oh, a vendor’s fee of—”

Erin left Stitchworks and Octavia behind mid-sentence, shaking her head. She didn’t mind Octavia—well, she did sometimes. But there were just some days when she needed some alone time. Or more precisely, not-Octavia time.

The sky was still gray and the streets were still snowy when Erin left the shop. She walked carefully so as not to slip as she wandered down the busy streets. Celum was always bustling, even if it was a smallish city. Erin walked past countless faces who didn’t seem that different from hers—Humans, going about their daily lives who didn’t give her a second glance.

That was reassuring, but also disheartening for some reason. Erin missed Liscor. She missed seeing Drakes and Gnolls, fantastic creatures going about their everyday lives. Celum was nice because it was reassuring, but it was also boring for the same reason.

Boring. That seemed to be the word of the day, didn’t it? Even though Erin had come up with an amazing discovery—she still felt the word in her soul.

Bored. She wanted to do something exciting. No—not just that. She wanted to be with someone exciting. She missed Ryoka already. And not just Ryoka. She missed all of her friends.

They were back in Liscor. And Erin was far from there. She kicked miserably at a patch of snow and then looked up. What about the Horns of Hammerad? That nice Runner guy had come by yesterday and told her Ryoka was going to see them. They were close by!

But just as she had that idea, Erin’s face fell. She could go meet them—Erin knew they were still probably in Ocre—but going there would be dangerous, wouldn’t it? Everyone was still talking about the Goblin attacks and besides, Ceria and the others would probably come here instead, if Ryoka had told them where Erin was.

All she had to do was wait. And practice her alchemical cooking while she still had time. Erin knew that.

But…she didn’t want to.

The sky was grey. The people wore thick clothing and walked briskly to get about their business as quickly as possible. Few people stopped to chat in the cold weather, and no one talked to Erin. She walked alone, staring at the city and feeling that this was all wrong.

This world was missing something.

Fun.

Octavia had said it: the people in this world didn’t really have much fun, did they? Back home, well, Erin knew there were crummy office jobs or backbreaking jobs with bad pay all over the place. But at least people could go back home and drive to a pool, or watch videos on the computer, or play videogames or—or do things.

But here? What did the people here have to do in their spare time? As far as Erin could tell, they just kept working. They worked hard to earn more levels, or to be rich, or to enjoy themselves. But that was always for ‘later’, never now.

There was just something so wrong about this idea that Erin couldn’t stand it. How could anyone live like this? Was this really what life had been like back in her world, back before the modern era?

What did people do for fun back in the Middle Ages? Erin couldn’t remember. Go to festivals? See jugglers and performers? Get drunk?

This wasn’t the Middle Ages of course—there was a lot more handy technology, not to mention magic. But magic seemed so far away in day-to-day life, even in Octavia’s shop. Oh, there were [Mages] around who cast spells like [Message] all day, but that wasn’t real magic. That was just more work.

If she’d been back home, what would Erin be doing right now? Thinking about college, or being in college no doubt. But if she’d just been back at home, she would have been practicing chess, debating calling one of her friends, watching a Youtube video, talking with her pare—

Nope! Can’t do that! Erin stopped in the street and slapped her cheeks hard enough for them to sting. She couldn’t think about home or friends or fa—

She couldn’t think about it. She’d done well so far, but being in a city full of Humans was making her nostalgic. And Erin didn’t need nostalgia right now. She needed…

“A distraction.”

So saying, Erin set off walking in a specific direction. She wasn’t far from where she wanted to go, so in a few minutes she was pushing open the door to the Frenzied Hare.

“Miss Erin!”

A welcoming voice instantly called out her name. Erin turned, smiling, to see Miss Agnes bustle up to her, all cheer and good humor.

“Why Erin, it’s a surprise to see you this early! Are you already done with your business at the [Alchemist]’s? Or—don’t tell me, Miss Octavia’s concocted some nasty brew that’s set her store on fire again?”

“Nothing like that Miss Agnes. I just finished up early. How’s Mister Jerom doing?”

Erin smiled at the older woman as she took a seat at the table. While it was true she was sort of the new boss around here—at least when it came to cooking—Miss Agnes was the one always running the inn, and Erin was gone outside of breakfast and dinner most days.

Miss Agnes smiled at Erin as she always did when Erin asked about her sick husband. Ryoka never asked, even though Erin kept reminding her to. Although…Erin wasn’t sure Ryoka even remembered Mister Jerom’s name, or Agnes’ some days.

“He’s doing as well as can be expected. Still feverish and he sleeps too much, but I’m hopeful the new alchemist’s potion we bought will sort him out. We have you to thank for that of course—we’d never have been able to spare the coin if you hadn’t come by.”

“Oh, it’s—I’m really glad I could help.”

Erin smiled and waved her hand. Agnes smiled at her, and then glanced at the kitchen.

“You know, if you’re done with work, I’m sure the morning crowd would love to sample your cooking—”

There it was again. Erin’s smile twisted a bit on her face. It was always work, work, work. Even here.

Agnes saw Erin’s expression and hurried to reassure her.

“We don’t have that many guests, and I’m sure if you’re not feeling up to it—”

“I’m just a bit tired today. Um, I was wondering if I could have some eggs?”

“Of course! Why, you must be tired—Maran! Some eggs for Miss Erin please!”

The [Barmaid] glanced up from one of the tables and waved at Erin in acknowledgement. Soon, she was back with the eggs, and she and Agnes sat with Erin and talked. The inn wasn’t at all crowded and Safry was cooking whatever was needed in the kitchen while she served the tables as well.

Erin chewed the decent eggs with a bit of pepper and salt added for flavoring and chatted with Maran and Agnes. They didn’t have much to say, to be honest. Business was good—but Erin knew that. Maran was dating another guy, a young [Cook] whom Agnes wanted to lure to the inn, but Maran wasn’t even sure if they were serious about each other—soon enough, Erin felt compelled to bring up the issue on her minds.

“Hey, I’ve been wondering…what do you guys do for fun?”

The two women exchanged a surprised glance.

“Well, what do you mean, Erin? If you’re asking about fun things to do on a date—Maran would know more about that.”

Erin shook her head.

“Not like that. I mean—what do you do for fun, when you have time, I mean? Read books?”

Agnes chuckled.

“Free time? There’s precious little of that here. And books? I’m sure Jerom and I don’t have the coin for that, even if I wanted to spend hours reading. No, that gives me a headache.”

“Then what do you do?”

Maran smiled.

“The other day I went shopping and bought a pair of earrings. The gemstones are just quartz—but they’re so beautiful and they sparkle in the light! I’ll show you tomorrow.”

“Okay. But…did you do anything else?”

The young woman blinked.

“Anything else? I didn’t have time to do anything else.”

“Oh. Well…what else do you do for fun?”

Maran and Agnes looked confused, but they told Erin what they did when they had a day off for whatever reason.

“I have been known to have a pint or two when the dinner rush is slow—usually with Jerom—”

“I’ll dance in any tavern, that is, if I haven’t been on my feet all day—”

“There’s a [Shepherd] who plays beautifully on a flute. He goes to other inns sometimes and plays—I wish I could have him here so we could listen to the music—”

Dance, drink, gamble, listen to music—Erin listened to the short list and felt the small hole in her heart grow wider. It wasn’t that any of it was bad, but it wasn’t interesting either. Her ears did perk up when she heard Maran mention a familiar word, though.

“Oh? You have holidays here too?”

“Of course! We have a few every year, and everyone looks forward to them.”

Apparently, even Agnes would close up her inn most of the day on such occasions. The entire city would celebrate special days in the year, a lot of them right around the time holidays were observed in Erin’s world.

“The real fun is during one of the festivals. There’s candied apples, games to play, entertainments bought by the city, and so much to do! The Winter Solstice is coming up—there’s always a good time to be had then.”

“And it’s such a romantic time as well.”

Maran sighed wistfully, and Erin suspected a certain [Cook] had been chosen to share that special day with. Agnes smiled mischievously.

“Of course, there’s another way some folks entertain themselves each night—”

“Miss Agnes!”

The [Barmaid] raised her voice in shocked outrage, and Agnes laughed. Both women looked at Erin—she looked just as unimpressed.

“Oh. Right.”

That’s it? Of course, Erin got the attraction, but besides festivals, was there really nothing else to do? Flummoxed by Erin’s indifference, Agnes and Maran tried to come up with other things that were fun to do.

“There’s always a good time when a [Troubadour], [Bard], [Tumbler], or some other person with a class like that visits. I always try and go see them if I have the time.”

“They wander from city to city?”

It made sense, but that was just as…well, at least they were some fun people who visited now and then. But still. It seemed like people in Celum just waited a long time for fun to occur. Erin sighed, even more melancholy than before.

Agnes looked a bit worried that Erin was so down.

“Are you well, Erin dear? Would you like to have a rest, maybe?”

“Nah. I’m not tired.”

Erin pushed her empty plate back and stood up. If there was no fun to be had here, at least she could see if…

“I’m going to go see Fuzzylips. I mean…yeah, him.”

“Who? Oh, you mean Wesle? You go visit him practically every day. Has he caught your eye?”

Maran and Agnes smiled knowingly at Erin. Erin gave them a blank look.

“Not really. I just want to know if he’s found my skeleton yet.”

“Your what?”

—-

“Hey Wesle.”

The [Guardsman] had been napping, or maybe just resting his eyes, but he sat up in his wooden chair and looked attentive the moment he heard his name. He relaxed when he realized his superior wasn’t calling his name—and then he straightened up in his chair again when he realized Erin was standing in front of him.

“Oh, Miss Solstice! I didn’t realize—um, let me—would you like a seat?”

Fumbling at his words, blushing, Wesle stood up and offered Erin the only seat in the room. His. Erin just laughed at him until they left the small room which was meant for—well, probably napping [Guardsman]—and talked.

“I didn’t expect you to be here so soon. Ah, what can I do for you, Miss Erin?”

“Any news about Toren?”

Wesle was ready for the question, because Erin asked it every day. He shook his head ruefully.

“You mean the skeleton? No, Miss Erin. I haven’t heard any of the cities reporting any sighting of the undead—and I did send out a request asking if any reports had been logged with the Adventurer’s Guilds as well.”

“Oh.”

Erin knew that was the response she’d likely get, but she sagged anyways. No one had seen Toren. Selys would have messaged her if he’d appeared around Liscor, but he hadn’t gone back there. And no one had mentioned seeing a walking skeleton around the cities either—it was like he’d disappeared.

Where was Toren now? And when she finally found him…would Erin really have to do what she was thinking? Maybe Pisces could help. But he wasn’t here yet.

Awkwardly, Wesle patted Erin on the shoulder. She smiled at him.

“That’s too bad. Thanks for looking, though.”

Wesle hesitated.

“Are you sure you won’t sit? You seem less spirited than usual, Miss Erin.”

“Really? I’m sorta…tired, I guess. You seem tired too.”

The [Guardsman] hesitated, and then nodded with a grimace.

“It’s Esthelm, Miss. Or rather, after that all the [Guardsmen] in every city are working around the clock.”

“In case the Goblins attack?”

“That, and trying to find out when they’ll attack, or at least, where they are.”

Wesle gestured to a large map that had been pinned to a wall of the City Watch barracks. It had a lot of colored pins in it, most of them centered around a red cross over what had been Esthelm. Erin’s stomach twisted a bit just looking at the map.

What about Rags? Another friend she couldn’t do anything for. She let Wesle explain the problem, hoping Rags wasn’t with any of the Goblins he was talking about.

“It’s not like there are Goblins everywhere now, but there are certainly more of them. Just the other day a village near Esthelm – Verdun – reported seeing a group of a hundred or so armed Goblins.”

The man showed Erin a small pin on the map. She stared at it and looked at how close it was to Liscor and Celum. A hundred Goblins? How many did Rags have…?

“These ones aren’t like the normal groups of Goblins. They all have weapons and armor—and they move and fight like they’re actual [Soldiers]. If the village didn’t have walls, I think they’d have been attacked. But the Goblins were moving north, and luckily no one was killed.”

“Are they attacking something?”

“I think it’s a war between Goblin tribes, Miss. It happens. Or—it could be this Goblin Lord we’ve been hearing rumors about.”

Wesle’s face was grim. Erin remembered that Goblin Lords were supposed to be really bad.

“You guys are working hard. Um. Do you work like this every day?”

“Well, most days we just arrest petty criminals and patrol, Miss. Or stand watch at the gate and check travelers coming in, like we did with you. It’s not always this exciting.”

The [Guardsman] gave Erin a faint grin. She nodded.

“And what about fun?”

“Fun, Miss?”

“Yeah. Do you do…anything for fun in your free time?”

“Weeeell…”

Wesle looked uncomfortable. Suddenly encouraged, Erin grinned and nudged him.

“Come on. What do you do? Show me, please? I won’t tell.”

It took a bit of coaxing, but eventually Wesle led Erin behind the barracks and into the practice yard. It was for [Guardsmen] to swing a blade, but the bored men and women of the City Watch had installed an unauthorized addition to the place.

A horseshoe, rusted and battered from use, swung from Wesle’s hand. He tossed it across the snowy and muddy ground and landed it near, but not on the metal pole that had been hammered into the earth. He offered one to Erin, but she just stared at it. Erin looked at the horseshoe, and then at Wesle’s face.

“And this is what you do for fun?”

“Yeah.”

Erin stared at the horseshoes. She stared at Wesle. Then she reached out and patted him gently on the shoulder.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Er, why?”

He never got an answer. Erin just walked away, shaking her head sadly.

—-

Such a boring world. It actually amazed Erin that she could think that. But at times, it was true. Even here, there was boredom. Perhaps more boredom than back home.

Or—maybe it wasn’t the world that was boring, but some of the people living in it. Erin had never felt bored in Liscor, but she’d always had something to do. Here, she was just an observer, watching people live lives that—weren’t that interesting, to be honest.

Wesle was a [Guardsman]. Agnes was an [Innkeeper]. Octavia was an [Alchemist]. That was all they were and would be, and they leveled up and worked and lived, and that was all.

It wasn’t enough for Erin. She needed something else. But she had no idea of where to find it, so Erin just started walking. She walked out of the City Watch’s guardhouse and into the city, looking for something she wasn’t sure existed.

Where should she go? Erin came to a crossroads and turned left for no particular reason. She’d gone walking through the city before of course, but that was always with Ryoka. Today Erin walked down streets Ryoka would never turn.

It wasn’t that her friend was a snob—even though she sort of was. But it was that Ryoka always went from A to Z, and never bothered talking to H or exploring any places in between.

When she was in the city, Ryoka would just go to the marketplace—that was to say, the marketplace where people traded for gold and valuable items. She wouldn’t ever visit the stalls that sold Miss Agnes food, or venture into the poorer parts of the city.

Unless she was on a delivery. But most of Ryoka’s clients were rich, so she never ran down the streets Erin now walked down. The girl saw the way the buildings changed from stone to wood, the way their architecture became simpler, and the rare glass windows disappeared altogether.

And then—Erin was in a different world. She stared around at the faces of people who weren’t rich, or even close to it. She saw thin bodies, clothes that were badly patched or simply holey, and felt something different in her chest besides apathy.

These were poor people. Of course, it shouldn’t surprise Erin. Every world had poor people—people who couldn’t afford to eat. But she’d somehow forgotten that they existed here. Forgotten, because she’d never looked.

A girl passing by Erin looked like she could have used a few more meals. Erin tried not to stare, but she felt a…a kinship with the people who passed her by. She’d been like that, once. She’d had nothing, living in an empty inn that was falling apart.

And of course, there was no fun to be had here. Erin looked around and only saw misery mixed with desperation. Here were people who couldn’t even think about having fun. They lived on the edge.

It made her feel bad about complaining. Erin wavered, turned to go. She couldn’t feed these people, but maybe if she had scraps left over from cooking? But Maran and Safry took those back to their families. No one had too much. But was there something…?

Then Erin saw it. There were shops down this street as well, and the girl she’d passed had gone to one of them, to buy something at the stalls. But while she was waiting in the queue, a small shape moved furtively behind her. Erin recognized the young boy’s face at once. She’d seen him calling out to her when she’d entered the city, all innocence and smiles.

And now…he was picking a pocket. Or rather, cutting a purse. Erin saw him reaching for the young woman’s money pouch hidden just under her tunic and shouted.

“Grev!”

Every head turned, but the boy’s turned fastest. Grev’s eyes widened when he saw Erin, and then his face went dead white with recognition. The girl he’d been trying to rob turned and shrieked in horror when she saw the small knife in his hands, but it fell from nerveless fingers as Grev stared at Erin. Erin took one step towards him, and he ran.

“Oh no you don’t! Get back here!”

She ran after him, dashing past surprised people as Grev screamed and ran for his life. Erin didn’t know what she’d do when she caught him—hadn’t she threatened to shove a bee up his butt? She didn’t have any bees left, but she wasn’t too bothered by that. She was bored, and here was something to do.

Grev ran as if Carn Wolves were on his back, pushing past people, ignoring their curses. Erin ran a bit slower, dodging around people.

“Whoops! Sorry! Excuse me!”

She had Grev in her sights the entire time—until the boy turned down an alley! Erin skidded into it, wary for a second of an ambush, but she saw Grev turning around a corner. He was still running, so Erin gave chase.

Really, she had no idea why she was still running after him, but after five minutes of pursuit giving up was no longer an option. Erin had to catch Grev; it was a matter of pride.

Erin dashed down another poor street, practically unpaved and full of run down houses. Where was she? But there was Grev, trying to open a door!

“Gotcha!”

Before the frantic boy could open the door and get away, Erin seized him by one hand. He shrieked in fear and to Erin’s surprise, raised his other arm as he shrunk to the ground. As if he was afraid she would…hit…him…

She’d just processed that thought when Erin heard a voice.

“Stop, please!”

Someone grabbed her arm. The hand wasn’t big, but the touch was rough and whoever had grabbed her had claws. Erin jumped and let go of Grev. He ran behind his savior, a female Drake—

Erin blinked. She stared at the young Drake standing in front of her, holding a bundle of what looked like wet clothing in one claw while the other held Erin. The Drake let go of Erin and backed away instantly. She shielded Grev with her body as she spoke desperately to Erin.

“Please, Miss! Don’t hurt him! He’s just a child!”

“Wha?”

Why was a Drake in Celum? Erin hadn’t even seen one, but here was a Drake, standing in front of her. The Drake paused as she realized Erin wasn’t going to start hitting her. For a moment she and Erin just stared at each other while Grev hid behind her, sniveling.

“You’re a Drake.”

That was the brilliant opening Erin came up with. The female Drake hesitated, and then nodded. She bit at her lip, glaring at Erin as if that statement was a challenge.

“That’s right. I’m a Drake. But I live here, and the Watch knows about me.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry if Grev did anything—but he’s just a child! Please, whatever he did—”

“He was pickpocketing. I saw him.”

The Drake’s reaction was immediate, as was Grev’s. He immediately let go of her and piped up in denial.

“I never!”

“Oh Grev—”

She stared at him, clearly knowing he was lying. But instantly the Drake looked back at Erin, and now there was a genuine note of desperation in her voice.

“Please don’t report him, Miss. Please don’t. He’s only one crime away from being exiled from the city. And if that happens—it was just one mistake, Miss. It won’t happen again.”

“Really?”

Erin propped her hands on her hips and stared at Grev as he tried to turn invisible.

“I happen to have met Grev before. He helped a bunch of thugs ambush me when I first came into the city.”

“Grev!”

The Drake turned. To Erin’s surprise, she dropped the clothing on the snowy cobblestones and grabbed Grev, lifting him up as he shouted.

“I—I—”

“How dare you! I’ll spank you until you won’t sit for two weeks! And you’re not having dinner! I should drag you to the City Watch myself. Do you want to be kicked out of the city? Because if you do—”

“I’m sorry! I’msorryI’msorryI’m—”

The Drake kept shaking Grev as he apologized frantically, shouting. Erin saw other doors opening and closing once the occupants saw what was going on, but no one came to see. She cleared her throat and the two stopped and stared at her.

Grev’s face was somewhere beyond white and going into ghostly. The Drake’s face was—well, her dark red scales couldn’t really change color like skin, but they were definitely looking more pink than red around her face. Both clearly expected the worst.

And why not? Erin wasn’t a huge, angry [Warrior], true, but she was dressed a lot better than they were, and she could easily summon the Watch. But to their surprise, the  young woman didn’t shout or get angry. She just smiled a bit, and held out a hand.

“I’m Erin. Who are you?”

The Drake stared at the hand, and then dropped Grev. She gingerly took the hand.

“Jasi. My name is Jasi, Miss.”

—-

Jasi the Drake was one of perhaps two or three Drakes in Celum.

“I don’t know. There was a [Merchant], but he might have left. And there’s a [Baker] who married a Human woman. But it’s not common, especially in small cities like this.”

“Really?”

Jasi shifted in her seat. Erin was sitting in her home—hers and Grev’s. Apparently, they lived in a squalid hut—house was too grand a word for this place—next to the city walls. It had belong to their parents, both of whom were dead or had simply left. Erin hadn’t asked.

Now Erin sat on a rickety chair with a cup of boiled water in front of her. She hadn’t drunk from it. There were a few flecks in the water that she didn’t want in her stomach. Jasi sat across from her while Grev tried to listen to their conversation and hide in the other corner of the room.

Talking had happened. And spanking and apologizing and now explanations were currently occurring.

“You live pretty close to Liscor. I’d have thought more than one or two Drakes would live in cities, even Humans ones.”

“Well…people don’t like Drakes here. And I’ve heard that most Drakes don’t like Humans.”

Jasi looked uncomfortable as she spoke. She’d apologized a hundred times to Erin, but she was still clearly afraid Erin would go ballistic over Grev’s crimes, or, Erin realized, her being a Drake. She tried to reassure the young…woman.

“Don’t worry—I don’t mind Drakes. In fact, I live in Liscor where there are tons of them!”

“Liscor?”

Both Grev and Jasi exclaimed at the same time. Jasi looked at Erin with wide eyes.

“Really? But I heard Humans don’t live there. Unless—are you an adventurer, Miss?”

“Nope.”

“She is!”

Grev called out from one corner of the room. He was standing—as sitting would be very hard with his sore backside. He flinched when Erin and Jasi looked at him. But he piped up with the determination to be proved right.

“I saw her! She beat three big men by herself! She punched one of them so hard she broke his nose!”

“And whose fault is it she had to fight you stupid—”

Jasi raised her voice and nearly got up before Erin stopped her. She was all for punishing Grev, but he’d had enough, at least in her opinion.

“I’m not an adventurer. I’m an [Innkeeper]. I have an inn in Liscor and I happen to have a few combat Skills.”

“Oh.”

“Did you come from Liscor?”

Jasi suddenly turned red, the scales around her face actually turning a lighter pink rather than darkening.

“Who me? No—I’ve actually never been to Liscor. Or…or anywhere with other Drakes, really.”

“What? Then how…?”

“It’s a long story, Miss.”

It came out as the cup of water in front of Erin slowly stopped steaming and went cold. It was cold in Jasi’s house, and it was her house. Erin had figured out some of the story just seeing how Jasi and Grev interacted, but the rest fell into place quickly enough.

Jasi was adopted. Or more accurately, she was a child that had been abandoned and found and raised by a Human father and mother. She’d lived in Celum all her life, but that life hadn’t been kind to her. Her parents—who’d taken care of her and taught her to live among Humans and then had Grev—had split up unhappily. The mother found another man, the father just…disappeared one day.

It was a sad story, the kind Erin had heard many times in her world. But to hear it here—was disheartening. But what Erin could admire throughout it was Jasi. She’d kept going even when her parents had gone. She’d found work, as a [Washer] although she only had a handful of levels, and she’d earned enough coin for her and Grev to survive.

The catch was that she couldn’t look after Grev and earn money at the same time. The street had raised him, and what Grev had learned was how to steal, and how to lure innocent people into ambushes. Jasi had known about the first part and done her best to stop that, but she hadn’t known about the muggings.

When Erin gave her the full recounting of what Grev had done when she’d first met him—and after she’d stopped threatening to bite Grev’s hands off, Jasi got down on her hands and knees and begged Erin for mercy.

“I swear to you, I’ll never let it happen again. Please don’t report him. He’s the only family I have left.”

What could Erin do but agree? Jasi made Grev apologize a hundred times, and promised to keep a better watch over him, but all Erin could wonder was when he’d be caught next, and what would happen then.

And from the look in Jasi’s eyes, she was thinking the same thing. That was how Erin found herself sitting in their grubby home, poking a finger into the very cold cup of water and watching as Jasi got back to her work.

She washed clothing for bronze coins, day in, day out. And she did it by using a tub of quite dirty water in the cold home and using lye soap and her claws to scrub the dirty fabrics as clean as she could.

It was hard, backbreaking work, especially since Jasi didn’t exactly have any racks to dry the clothes on, let alone a washer and dryer. Instead, she hung bits of rope from stands—chairs, the ceiling, and so on, letting the clothing drip-dry as the small fire she kept going in the fireplace added smoke to the cold room.

Erin didn’t know if she liked Jasi. She certainly felt bad for her, but that wasn’t the same as liking her. But she felt she couldn’t just walk out of the home. Not when she looked at Jasi’s hands, or rather, her claws.

Her scales were paler and—damaged around her claws. Some were even missing, revealing pale white skin underneath. It was clearly painful from the way the Drake girl avoided brushing up against the exposed parts where she could. Erin could only guess that her work washing clothes had scraped away her scales one at a time.

It was like…seeing how her life could have gone. Maybe. Jasi was a stranger in a city full of people who weren’t like her, and didn’t like her. And what was more, she had to take care of Grev. It was a thankless, soul crushing task. And Erin…

Erin felt at her belt pouch. She had gold coins and silver coins in there, courtesy of her work as an [Innkeeper] at Miss Agnes’ inn. She had more bronze coins than Jasi and Grev had together. If she gave them just one gold coin, what would happen?

Happiness, perhaps for a day? Then it would be back to normal. Maybe Jasi could buy something to help her with washing, but the place they were in wouldn’t change that much.

What about all the coins? They’d probably get robbed. And even then, when it ran out they’d still be poor. Erin was no social worker, no expert in charity and relief management, but she knew this wasn’t a good option.

But what else could be done? She could…walk out and leave them alone. But Erin rejected that as well. And yet—how many people were like Jasi? If Erin went next door, she was sure she’d probably feel the exact same way about the people living there.

But she knew Jasi, and Grev. She knew their names. That made things different. Just knowing their names meant it was so hard to walk away.

“Grev! Help me lift this, will you? And don’t drop it or I’ll have to wash it again!”

Jasi snapped at Grev as she struggled to lift some wet shirts up. Erin sat back down as Grev ran over. She watched them work.

Yes. If she helped them half-heartedly, she wouldn’t change much, would she? But if she gave them everything, what would happen to her?

What would Ryoka do? Would she come up with a brilliant solution, or would she just shake her head and say this is how the world was and walk away? Erin didn’t know.

She saw the female Drake wince as the clothing wrapped around a patch of exposed skin where the scales had been torn away. But she made no sound.

Erin looked at the windows. The shutters were closed—obviously they had no glass windows, but even the shutters had gaps in them, letting in the winter air. And the floor was filthy. When had they last cleaned? And the water in the tub—Jasi must have hauled it here, and when would she be able to replace it? Only when it became impossible to wash with, Erin bet.

So hard. Hard, and—and small. This was all they had, and even that was uncertain. Erin’s heart ached as she looked at Grev, reluctantly helping Jasi hang up clothes to dry by the fire. She thought, and came to a decision, even though it might have been the wrong one.

—-

“Miss Erin…what’s this?”

That was what Agnes said when Erin brought Jasi and Grev to the inn. They stared at the bustling place, wide-eyed and disbelieving, an expression that was mirrored on Agnes’s face when Erin told her what she intended.

“You want to hire her as a [Barmaid]? Well of course we could use the help but—does she have any levels in the class? And what about the boy?”

“Grev can stay here. He can’t work, but he can sleep here. I don’t know what he’ll do every day—I’ll think of something to keep him out of trouble.”

Jasi bobbed a nervous curtsy to Miss Agnes.

“I’ll work hard, Miss. If you need me to haul things or clean up—I can do that. Anything you need.”

“I—well—we’ll see.”

Agnes looked helplessly at Erin. She gave the uncertain Jasi and Grev a big smile and had them sit at a table.

“We’ll—have Safry bring you some food. You two look like you could use some. Safry! And then we’ll put you to work, Miss Jasi.”

As the two sat and Safry came over, Agnes drew Erin aside and spoke to her in a troubled voice.

“I hate to question you, but—do you know what you’re doing, Erin? This seems…sudden. Have you thought all this through?”

“No. Not really.”

Miss Agnes looked somewhat dismayed by Erin’s honest response. But the truth of it was that Erin herself was uncertain. When she’d stood up and announced that Jasi could work at her inn, it had felt right. But now—

“I know you come from Liscor where Drakes are common—but here Drakes are—well, there’s history—”

“I know, Miss Agnes. But I had to do something.”

“You have a kind heart, Erin. I know that.”

But you made a mistake. Erin heard it unspoken in Agnes’ voice. She ignored it.

“For now just have Jasi wait tables. That’s easy. And Grev can eat and sit in a corner.”

So passed the first night. Erin kept an eye on Jasi, and especially Grev. But Grev was meek and even grateful for the food, eating a huge amount until Erin thought he would be sick. But he eventually just passed out in a minor food coma at his table.

As for Jasi, she still seemed stunned to work at such as busy inn. She was constantly serving tables, bringing the food Erin cooked out of the kitchen. And even if she got quite a few glances, Erin heard no audible comments, at least, not while she was in the common room.

She cooked, fried, and served food in her own world of anxiety. Then, when the last of the guests had eaten, Erin found a small room for Jasi and Grev to sleep in.

“I don’t know how to thank you, Miss Erin. Are you sure it’s alright for us to be sleeping here? We have a house—”

“I’m sure. And this way you can help in the morning.”

Erin smiled at Jasi and Grev, keeping her emotions inside of her until they’d closed the door. Then she went to her own room and sat on her bed and put her head in her hands.

“Was that a mistake?”

It felt like it. Erin hated to say it out loud, but she wasn’t sure. What had she just done? It had been so sudden, an impulse decision.

“But what was I thinking?”

Making Jasi a [Barmaid]? Offering her a job? It had seemed like the only option Erin could take. The obvious choice. But now that she was here—

It wasn’t a good fit. Jasi would work hard, but Erin had seen the looks the patrons of the inn gave her. She was a Drake, and unpopular. Plus, she would have to start at Level 1 and work her way up as a [Barmaid]. Agnes had expressed her doubts, and no wonder. Did Agnes even like Jasi? What about Maran and Safry? Would they be afraid Jasi would take their jobs or steal their wages since Erin had hired her? What about when Erin was gone? Would Agnes fire Jasi then and there?

And when Erin left…could she take Jasi with her? Would the Drake be willing to go back to Liscor? What about Grev? He wouldn’t be happy in that city, and the Liscorian City Watch was hard on crime, especially by Humans.

Especially after Lyonette.

Erin tossed and turned in her bed. She knew she’d made a bad choice. But could she just leave them there? But now—she’d taken then out of their home. What could she do? Jasi might have lost her job since Erin had taken her away! Could Erin just give her money and tell her to go back if things didn’t work out?

She didn’t know. Erin lay sleepless in her bed, trying to figure out what the right answer was. But she was only sure of one thing. One simple thing: of all the things she could have done, the worst thing would have been nothing.

She’d made her choice. Now she would help Jasi—and Grev—as much as she could. That was all she could do.

Exhausted, but knowing she had to sleep, Erin finally closed her eyes. She mumbled to herself as sleep finally overwhelmed her stressed brain.

“At the very least…I have something to do.”

She closed her eyes and slept.

[Innkeeper Level 27!]

3.16

She wished she had an iPod. That’s what Erin thought when she woke up in her small bed on the second floor of Miss Agnes’ inn. It was probably because she’d made the mistake of thinking about home yesterday.

Ryoka had her iPhone. She’d kept it even though she’d gone to a whole new world. Whereas Erin hadn’t. True, she didn’t usually bring her phone on bathroom breaks, but if she ever got back she’d take one everywhere she went. And she’d bring an emergency backpack of everything—

If she ever went back. Erin slapped her head.

“Stop!”

Nothing good happened when she thought about home. The only thing that ever happened was—well, weeping and moping and crippling desperation. That’s why Erin had stopped thinking about it on purpose, starting all those days ago when she’d cried herself to sleep in a broken inn in the middle of nowhere.

She was here, and she had to survive. Erin got up and dressed herself blearily. She couldn’t smile—she felt weighed down by heavy thoughts. And she felt even more tired when she remembered her new employee.

“What do I do? What did you do, stupid Erin?”

She gently thumped her head against a wall. Someone grunted in the next room and Erin winced.

“Oops.”

There was no going back. She could only do what was right. And what was right was—

Erin came down the stairs with a determined smile on her face. She’d find something Jasi could do. She’d help her succeed as a [Barmaid]—or do something else. Because even if Erin couldn’t help everyone, she would never leave the Drake and her brother alone. If she did, she wouldn’t be Erin Solstice.

And yet—not everyone was like her. That was why Erin’s smiled twisted the instant she walked down into the common room of the inn and saw what was happening.

“Oh, Erin, my dear!”

Miss Agnes looked up from the table where she was sitting with Jasi. Across the room, Erin saw Safry cleaning the tables before the day started and the one or two early guests waiting for breakfast. Erin looked around the room as she descended the steps. Grev was nowhere to be seen.

“Miss Agnes. And Jasi. What’s happening? And where’s Grev?”

Jasi gave Erin a warm, but—uncomfortable—smile. She was sitting somewhat tensely in front of Miss Agnes, and Erin could tell the other [Innkeeper] was—

“What’s all this?”

Miss Agnes didn’t seem to notice the edge in Erin’s tone. She smiled at Erin, beamed, rather, like she always did.

“Well, I was just having a chat with Jasi about her future.”

“Her future? What do you mean, Miss Agnes?”

“Oh, I was thinking about it all night. And I had a chat with Jerom—you did a wonderful thing, helping Jasi and Grev. But although I’m sure she’d be a wonderful [Barmaid], I thought we could explore all her options. After all, Jasi’s so young—I wouldn’t want her to level up in a class that didn’t fit her perfectly, would I?”

For two seconds, because she’d had a bad time waking up and because she’d been hanging out with Ryoka too long, Erin thought about punching Miss Agnes in the face. But she suppressed that instinct at once.

“I see. You want to help Jasi find a job. Another job.”

“Well, I was just thinking how nice it would be if she could find a class she really liked. Being a [Barmaid] isn’t for everyone, and if we can find something that suits her better…”

Miss Agnes met Erin’s eyes innocently. But the message was clear. And it was infuriating to Erin.

Jasi hadn’t even been here one whole day, and Miss Agnes had decided that her inn was not for the Drake. And better yet—she’d talked it over with Mister Jerom, her husband, had she? Erin had visited the sick [Innkeeper] and she knew any conversation Agnes had with him was completely one-sided. She probably just chattered on to him as he groaned in bed and coughed up phlegm.

“So you’ve been helping Jasi since you woke up? That was kind of you.”

“Well, I had time. And I was waiting for you to be up so we could start with breakfast—you really have a talent for cooking, my dear!”

“You mean a Skill. Where’s Grev?”

Normally Erin met most things with a good attitude. But this morning she wasn’t in the mood for niceness. Agnes blinked at her.

“Oh. I sent him outside to play. I’m sure he’ll be back when he’s hungry. Young boys always live by their stomachs.”

And how would Miss Agnes know that? She’d never had a kid. Of course, Erin hadn’t ever had one either, but there was just something about the other innkeeper that was rubbing Erin the wrong way today.

It was just that she’d decided to kick Jasi out. The Drake clearly understood what the [Innkeeper]’s intentions were, no matter how much she smiled, and she looked justifiably upset. Erin glanced across the room and saw Safry glance at her and then quickly away. Safry knew what was going on. Did Maran? Had this been agreed on by all three women or just Agnes?

Who knew? Erin could only move forwards, and so she smiled at Agnes and Jasi.

“Well, I’d love to help with that.”

“But breakfast—”

Miss Agnes coughed delicately and Erin frowned.

“It can wait. Or better yet, this can wait.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble my dear. I’m perfectly willing to help young Jasi out while you cook.”

Erin gritted her teeth. There was an…air about Agnes. It was almost written on her face ‘let’s help the children find what they’re good at so I won’t have to deal with them!’  It made her upset, and even angrier that Agnes was deliberately sending Erin into the kitchen to cook.

She wanted to object. Erin opened her mouth, but the problem was—Agnes was right. Erin needed to make breakfast for the hungry masses who’d soon be coming here for her good cooking. And yet—she didn’t want to leave Jasi alone with Agnes.

But was it really a problem? Erin thought about that for a moment. It wasn’t as if Agnes was kicking Jasi out this moment. She was going to work with Jasi—even if it was selfish. Would it be that bad to let her help?

Well…yes and no. Agnes would certainly help because it meant Jasi and Grev would be out of her hair. But she’d probably not look for the best class to suit them—she’d probably compromise instantly and choose whatever they were good at without exploring all the options.

But she would help. It just meant Erin would have to make sure Agnes didn’t rush things along. And it meant that Miss Agnes wasn’t the person Erin had thought she was.

She was just a woman. Good to her friends and family, but no better than that. It wasn’t a crushing realization, but it just made Erin’s heart hurt a bit.

She let none of that show on her face as she smiled at Agnes.

“Good idea. I’ll make breakfast, and then come back and help Jasi. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Oh? Are you planning on making something special today?”

Agnes smiled at Erin. Erin smiled back.

“Mm. I think I’ll make some crepes and French toast. And bacon.”

Miss Agnes hesitated. Erin had chosen one of the most popular breakfasts for today—mainly because it was a new form of cooking. It certainly brought in customers, but it was a very work-intensive meal for the staff to serve, as customers would regularly order second or even third helpings.

“Oh. Well, Maran isn’t here today—”

“No problem! You and Jasi can help if Safry needs it. That’s why she’s here, isn’t it?”

“I—well—”

Erin walked into the kitchen. There she deliberately cooked the best crepes she could and made sure the sizzle and smell of cooking bacon would wake up even the most reluctant sleeper. She derived no small amount of pleasure from making Agnes’ inn the most profitable and busy building in the city that morning, and felt not a bit bad as Agnes, Safry, and Jasi hurried to fill orders.

It was all about food. Food was one of the things that was popular in any world. Erin reflected on that as she flipped a crepe into the air and onto a plate. She put it aside to cool, and then changed her mind and speared a piece of it with a fork and popped it into her mouth, ignoring the heat. Breakfast for Erin was usually in the middle of her cooking process.

“Five more crepes, Miss Erin!”

Safry poked her head into the kitchen, looking distressed. Erin could hear the voices in the common room, lots of them.

“Coming up!”

She poured and flipped, barely paying attention to what she was doing. Crepes. Now, weren’t crepes interesting?

The people of this world knew about pancakes, but crepes were new to them. But why did they pull in huge crowds even a week after Erin had introduced them to Celum? The answer was simple: they were new.

Yes, crepes had all the ingredients of a pancake except for baking powder. But it was what you did with the crepes—folding them and pouring syrup over them, or filling them with whipped cream or other savory and sweet things that made them so special. In that way, an old thing seemed practically brand new, and people flocked to the Frenzied Hare to try this wonderful food Erin made.

By now, Erin knew other inns and restaurants across the city were copying her recipe. It was human nature—and Drake and Gnoll nature as well. In time, she knew crepes would lose their hold over the stomachs of people and they’d just become one more item in a menu. But right now they were hot.

“Literally. Safry! Crepes are done!”

Because they were new. Erin let Safry take the plates as she placed some bacon on a plate next to eggs. People liked new things. Like her hamburgers. When they first came to Liscor, it was like they were the greatest food in the world. Because no one had tried them before. As soon as everyone started copying her recipe, hamburgers became, well, hamburgers. Some people loved them and they were tasty, but no one was lining up for them.

But new food was fun. That was the point. New things were fun. Erin remembered the impromptu concert she’d held outside her inn and smiled. Music from her world was so new and amazing to the citizens of Liscor she’d pulled in the gold coins with a rake.

Because it was new. Because it wasn’t stale and mundane and boring. That was the key. Erin still remembered her despondency from yesterday—in truth, it was still bugging her a bit, although the Jasi and Grev situation had distracted her. Music and food were two things people in this world could appreciate, same as in Erin’s. But—

It wasn’t enough. It still wasn’t enough. Erin could see someone like Agnes listening to the latest hot song of the year being played on the lute—or delighting over some new recipe and selling it at her inn. But was that all she’d ever do? Just stuff her face and listen to a new tune now and then?

No. That was so boring it hurt. There had to be more to life! People weren’t machines—Erin refused to believe that leveling up like machines every day and working without any fun was how this world should be.

That was why when she walked back out of the kitchen and saw that the inn had mostly cleared, Erin was determined to find Jasi a job that wouldn’t crush the Drake’s soul. She’d already accepted that Jasi wouldn’t be a [Barmaid]—at least not at Agnes’ inn. If the woman didn’t want her here, then that was that.

But Erin could always bring Jasi to Liscor. It wasn’t the best option, but Erin kept it as a reserve idea. She walked over to the exhausted Agnes, who’d taken a seat at the table to rest her legs, and smiled brightly.

“Alright! Breakfast’s done. Let’s find Jasi a cool class.”

Agnes only smiled weakly at Erin.

“Oh. Very good, dear.”

—-

How did one find a class? It was such an odd question to Erin—was it like getting a job in her world, or did someone just decide to become a [Thief] and start stealing things?

As it turned out, people in this world decided on classes in a very sensible manner. Once Miss Agnes had recovered, Erin found herself sitting at the table with her and Jasi as the older woman quizzed the Drake on her likes and dislikes.

“Do you sew? I should say—have you tried needlework? What about cooking? I hear your kind has a variety of…interesting treats.”

Likes, dislikes, and most importantly natural talent or aptitude went into choosing a class. Which made sense. No one wanted to be stuck with a class they were bad at, or one they hated. Jasi had taken the [Washer] class out of desperation, so Agnes and Erin’s job was to find something she’d like and be good at, and hopefully, earn enough to support herself and Grev with.

The problem was, Jasi didn’t seem to have any outstanding talents.

“I poke my scales more often than the cloth with needles. I would have sewn if I could—mending clothes earns a bit more coin than washing. But I couldn’t do it. The same goes for cooking—I can make a few things, but kneading dough is hard with claws.”

“Ooh. Yeah. That wouldn’t be so easy.”

Miss Agnes frowned slightly in vexation at Jasi, and partly at Erin. She was clearly irritable from having to play [Barmaid] so early.

“Have you ever thought about a combat class, dear? I know that’s a long shot, but…”

“I hate fighting.”

Jasi shook her head immediately, shuddering at the thought. Agnes nodded.

“Well, those classes are out, then.”

The older woman sighed. Jasi looked anxiously at her and Erin.

“I really don’t mind trying to learn to sew or cook. Or—I thought I could even learn a class like [Butcher] or [Receptionist]. I’m not picky. I’d try anything if I had the chance.”

“That’s the spirit!”

Agnes immediately brightened up at Jasi’s words.

“We could try you out in all of those professions. I have friends in various classes—it wouldn’t be too hard to talk them into giving you an apprenticeship. Why, in a day or two you’d probably find something you really shine at.”

Jasi nodded obediently, looking grateful for the opportunity, but Erin frowned.

“Willing doesn’t mean she likes it, Miss Agnes. Jasi should find a job—a class that suits her.”

“Yes, well, we don’t all know what we’ll be good at.”

Agnes smiled blandly at Erin. There was definitely a current of tension running between the two [Innkeepers] now, or so Erin felt. No—she wasn’t imagining it. She was annoyed at Agnes, and the same held true of the other woman. They were clashing over the issue of Jasi, and it was making Erin uncharacteristically upset.

“I think a few days of feeling things out would do young Jasi some good, Erin.”

“Really?”

“It helped me. I didn’t know I’d be an [Innkeeper] when I was young. But when I met Jerom, well, things have a way of working themselves out. We don’t all get to choose what class we level in, now do we? You told me you earned your [Innkeeper] class by accident as well. Maybe Jasi will find her class as she tries things out.”

Erin narrowed her eyes. Being an [Innkeeper] certainly hadn’t been her choice, but she’d been forced into it out of the need to survive, and because she’d liked it.

“I don’t know. I think we should consider more classes. There are tons more than just…those ones you mentioned.”

Miss Agnes lost her smile. She sounded exasperated as she spread her hands out on the table.

“The girl—the Drake—doesn’t have any particular skills, Erin. Why not let her work a few odd jobs? She seemed to be doing well for herself as a [Washer] before you came along.”

Jasi shrunk back in her seat, but Erin didn’t bat an eye at the criticism.

“If you mean she was alive, yeah, she was. But I had to buy a healing potion for her hands. That’s not doing okay, Miss Agnes.”

The woman wavered. She glanced around the mostly empty room and realized their argument had attracted a few casual eyes. Safry immediately turned and started bussing a few more tables. Miss Agnes eyed the new customers and changed the subject.

“We’ve got more customers, I see.”

“So we do.”

Erin folded her arms. Miss Agnes waffled on, glancing meaningfully at Erin.

“Late morning breakfasters, I’ll warrant. There’s always one or two…a good [Innkeeper] prepares for them, but I suppose it was quite a crowd that came in this morning. But here we are, and I know they’re hungry. It would be a shame to turn them away, don’t you think?”

A scowl was the only reply she got. Erin sat in her chair, unwilling to move. She glanced at the customers, and then smiled.

“Why don’t you cook for them?”

“Me?”

Agnes blinked.

“But I—well, I don’t have any Skills in cooking like you do, Erin dear.”

“But this is your inn. And I’m tired. So—you cook. Or you could turn them away. But I think I’m going to help Jasi some more.”

So saying, Erin turned her back on Agnes and looked at Jasi. After a few seconds she heard Agnes walk briskly away.

“Safry! Ask our customers what they’d like to eat.”

Erin smiled at Jasi, who looked somewhat pale.

“I don’t want to be a bother, Miss Erin, I really don’t. I’d be more than happy to apprentice at any job for a while. If I got a few levels—why, I’d probably be able to make do from there.”

The young woman sitting across from her smiled and shook her head slowly.

“That’s true. But I want to find something that you like to do, not something that you have to do. Agnes is wrong. You should try and find something you want to do.”

Jasi paused.

“Thank you, Miss Erin.”

For the first time this morning, Erin gave her a genuine smile.

“Call me Erin. Just Erin. Now, have you ever tried running around? I have a friend who does that all the time, and she says the pay is good…”

—-

An hour later, Erin had to admit that perhaps Jasi didn’t have any particular class that seemed to suit her. At least, not one that could be easily discerned. She and Jasi had gone through a huge list of classes, hindered by Miss Agnes’ occasional comment, but Jasi either hadn’t tried the class before or didn’t feel inclined to try it.

Some jobs the Drake could tell weren’t for her. [Farmer], [Soldier], [Thief]…those were easy. Others might have been likely, but they were impossible to tell, like [Guardswoman]. How would you even tell? Jasi had never lifted a sword before. And she hadn’t had a chance to try out any of the other professions in the city.

She’d been poor all her life. And that, Erin was quickly discovering, was a limiting factor.

Despondently, Erin slumped over at her table, staring at Jasi’s helpless expression. The inn was mostly empty. Agnes’ cooking had a way of driving away even fairly hungry patrons, and besides, it was that time of day when inns didn’t really matter, in between breakfast and lunch. If people wanted a snack they’d find a stall outside. And few people were drinking this early in the day.

Erin could use a drink. She hadn’t known how hard this would be. Well, she had—but knowing wasn’t the same as experiencing it. She felt like she was hitting her head against an invisible brick wall, but she had no idea how to stop running into it.

“I dunno. I guess we could do the internship-apprentice thing, but that’s so slow. Are you sure you don’t want to try being an [Alchemist]? I could go bother Octavia right now if you want.”

“That’s one thing I am sure about, Miss. [Alchemists] are far too strange for me. I don’t want to melt my tail off or—or grow mushrooms out of my eyes.”

Jasi shuddered at the thought. Erin sighed and then cast her eyes around the inn.

“What do you think, Wesle? Would Jasi be a good [Guardswoman]?”

Wesle looked up guiltily as he tucked into a crepe Erin had made. He straightened up in his chair, glancing at the door.

“I ah, don’t know, Erin. Guarding isn’t as hard here as it is in a Drake city, it’s true, but we do require all our recruits to be able to use a sword. Plus, there’s always a bit of fighting when we have to quiet drunks. If Miss Jasi was assigned to gatekeeping duty I could see her doing well—but even then, she’d have to help fight whenever a monster attacked.”

Erin nodded gloomily.

“Thought so. How’s the crepe?”

“Oh, wonderful, Miss Erin.”

Wesle blushed a bit.

“I’m very grateful. But ah, I am on duty. I’d better just eat this quickly and go.”

“Mm. Thanks for bringing Grev here.”

Erin turned her head and regarded the nervous young boy sitting at a table with a crepe of his own. Wesle had brought Grev into the Frenzied Hare about an hour after breakfast had ended. Now the [Guardsman] looked over at Grev sternly, giving him a hard look.

“I hardly believed him when he said he lived here, Miss Erin. But he kept insisting that you’d given him and his…sister a place here.”

“Well, he was telling the truth. Which is sorta rare for him, I guess.”

Grev hunched over in his seat. He’d been caught by Wesle for lingering a bit too near a shopkeeper’s outdoor stall. Now he sat with the disapproving eyes of Jasi, Erin, and Wesle on him, clearly wishing he could be anywhere else.

“I’m so sorry about that, sir.”

Jasi was as apologetic as she’d been with Erin, and clearly unable to do anything to stop Grev. She was a big sister, not a mother, and she was even more nervous now that Grev had clearly not learned his lesson from yesterday.

Wesle nodded to her, trying to look dignified and failing to with bits of crepe on his weak mustache.

“I’ll overlook this today, but you should know your brother is on the thinnest of ice, Miss Jasi. If he keeps sneaking off again—”

Safry was passing by Erin with a used plate and utensils. Erin snatched the plate out of her hands and hurled one of the utensils in one motion. The spoon passed by Grev’s nose and bounced off one wall. He shouted in surprise and alarm, freezing as he tried to edge towards the door.

“Sit down.”

Erin’s glare magically sent Grev’s bottom back in the chair. He trembled as she waved the fork at him.

“You’ve caused enough trouble for your sister. Try and run off and I’ll throw the plate at you next time. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll take this fork and shove it—”

Erin paused. She glanced at Safry and Miss Agnes, both of whom were watching her with gaping mouths.

“What?”

Wesle coughed delicately.

“Was that [Unerring Throw], Miss Erin? It’s rare to see an [Innkeeper] with a combat Skill like that.”

“Oh.”

Erin just shrugged. She had a lot of odd Skills, or so she’d gathered. Probably because she’d actually had to fight for her life. They weren’t that useful in day-to-day life, but they were certainly handy when she wanted to terrorize young boys.

“Where were we? Oh yeah. Jasi’s class. Um…”

Erin sighed. Then she looked at Grev. He stared at her, white-faced.

“What about him? Can’t Grev get a class instead of running around and stealing things?”

Agnes snorted. She’d kept out of the discussion, but she eyed Grev skeptically now.

“The boy’s at the right age to be apprenticed to someone. But with his past misdeeds—I doubt anyone would want to take a risk on him. I’d advise Miss Jasi to say her goodbyes while she can—if the young thief hasn’t changed his ways after so many warnings, he won’t now.”

Jasi’s scales turned pale and Grev looked palely down at his empty plate. Erin glared at Miss Agnes.

“Don’t you have anything you can do, Miss Agnes?”

“Not at the moment, Miss Erin. I have no customers, as you may have noticed.”

“Then why don’t you leave your inn to me for a while?”

The woman paused.

“What?”

“I said, why don’t you leave? I’m perfectly capable of managing it, and I think you could use a break.”

“But I—this is my inn.”

Erin raised an eyebrow. She was royally annoyed with Miss Agnes’ attitude. How could she be so uncaring? So Erin took a page out of Ryoka’s book of meanness.

“It’s your inn, but I’m a better [Innkeeper]. You can take a break and leave things to me. You and Safry, for that matter.”

Both women gaped at Erin. But the young woman just flapped her hands at them.

“Shoo, shoo.”

Miss Agnes was staring hard at Erin, but she was the lower-level [Innkeeper], and Erin had stared down far more frightening things than a middle-aged woman with empathy issues. In the end, Miss Agnes haughtily adjusted her dress, not meeting Erin’s stare.

“I—suppose I could use some time to relax. Very well. Safry, you have the day off.”

“Yes, Miss Agnes.”

“I believe I’ll…go shopping. I’m sure Jerom would love a new decoration. Yes, I’ll do that. Thank you, Miss Erin.”

She walked out of the inn. Safry hesitated, and then followed her as Erin stared at her.

“Mnn.”

Erin stuck out her tongue after Miss Agnes and Safry had left. She felt bad but not-bad at the same time. It was the first time she’d ever been so mean to them, but—they’d been real jerks!

She turned and saw Wesle staring at her with a piece of crepe dangling from a fork. Jasi and Grev were also giving her fish-eyes.

“What? They were being rude.”

Jasi gulped. She looked at the door Miss Agnes hadn’t even bothered to fully close and shook her head, her scales pale around her face. She looked at Erin, mystified and gratified and upset.

“You’re being so kind to us, Mis—Erin. Too kind. I don’t know why you’re going so far for people like Grev and me.”

“It’s because I can.”

The smile Erin gave her was just that. A smile. But it made the Drake cry, and prompted Wesle to offer her a handkerchief. Grev sat in his chair, looking upset and confused, but soon enough Erin had another crepe in front of everyone, and a slightly alcoholic drink for the adults and milk for Grev. She sat down and took a deep breath.

“Okay, let’s try again. Properly this time. Jasi needs a new job. Not necessarily a class. Grev needs to stop stealing, and Wesle probably needs to get back to work, but he’s helping us. How can we make things right?”

—-

The best idea they’d had was for Erin to sponsor Jasi as an apprentice at a bunch of different jobs. Erin put her head in her hands and groaned.

“I wish Ryoka were here.”

“Why?”

“She’d know what to do. She’s got lots of ideas.”

Wesle looked confused. He was sitting at the table with Erin and Jasi while Grev practiced the art of trying not to puke. Erin’s solution to his restlessness had been to feed him to the point of bursting. Now he was sitting at his table, unable to even finish his last bite of hash browns drizzled with cheese.

Jasi was staring at the half-empty mug in her hands. She’d been growing more and more quietly depressed throughout the discussion. Now she looked up, confused.

“Who’s Ryoka?”

“A City Runner. She’s my friend.”

“And how could she help? I’ve seen Miss Ryoka come into the city quite often, but I don’t see how she’d help here. She seemed rather—quiet every time I tried to talk to her.”

Erin shook her head at Wesle.

“I know she’s a jerk sometimes. But she’s smart. And she studied a lot of weird stuff in school. Did you know she told me that we could probably build a greenhouse right next to my inn? She said we don’t even need any glass to make it, which is really weird, right? I was going to ask Klbkch about it, but then I ended up here.”

Almost none of what Erin had said made sense to either Wesle or Jasi. They just blinked at her, confused. She sighed.

“Never mind. Are there any classes we haven’t considered?”

“None, Miss.”

Jasi looked gloomy.

“I really do appreciate you helping, I do. But I don’t think I have any special talents. I’d be happy with a steady job, I really would.”

“Yeah, but that’s so…”

The [Innkeeper]’s voice trailed off helplessly in the face of Jasi’s resignation. They’d tossed out every class they could think of, but none had seemed right for Jasi. But there were plenty of ‘possible’ options and ‘okay’ options. But nothing felt right.

In truth, it was Erin who was truly dissatisfied with Jasi and Grev’s opportunities. [Seamstress]? [Barber]? [Cook]? [Blacksmith]? All these jobs sounded…boring. Erin knew they were all important jobs that someone had to do, but if she had a choice, those would be far from her first ones.

At least [Runner] sounded marginally interesting. But—hadn’t Ryoka told Erin how much it sucked to be a Street Runner? And Erin was sure the other girl had complained at length about running countless miles to deliver some useless item for only a few silver coins. Unless you were a Courier, being a Runner sounded sort of boring too.

There it was again. Boring. Erin kept thinking the word. She sighed loudly again.

“I just don’t—I know we could find you a decent job, Jasi. But that’s not what you should want, y’know?”

Jasi exchanged a glance with Wesle.

“I don’t know, Miss Erin. What do you mean?”

Erin didn’t really know herself. She tried to explain as she slumped lower in her seat.

“It’s just…we’re talking about your future here. And you’re happy to get an okay job, I get that. But—don’t you want to be rich or famous? Don’t you have anything you want to do, anything special?”

She looked hopefully at Jasi, but just got a confused shake of the head in return.

“All I’ve ever wanted was to keep myself fed and clothed, Miss Erin. That’s all.”

The Drake had no idea how depressed that made Erin. How could she not want to do something special? But Jasi had been poor. Her dreams were real and urgent.

“You never wanted to be famous? Or live an exciting life?”

When she’d been younger, Erin had dreamed of being a astronaut. Then, when she’d been slightly older she’d wanted to be a legendary chess player, someone who could beat even a computer in chess. And then…she’d wanted to be a chess commentator, someone with a huge following or even a YouTube channel. Her dreams weren’t huge, true—most people didn’t even know chess commentary was an actual job. But they were big to Erin.

Jasi didn’t even have her own hopes and dreams. Erin looked at Grev.

“Don’t you want to be someone special?”

“Me?”

The young boy looked confused and slightly scared as Erin pointed at him. She nodded.

“Yeah, you. If you could have any class—do anything—what would you do?”

“I’d—I’d be a famous adventurer! A Gold-rank—no, a Named Adventurer! And I’d have a flaming sword and slay Dragons.”

Grev’s face immediately lit up, but Jasi only shook her head, looking upset.

“Please, Miss Erin. Don’t encourage Grev.”

“Why not?”

Erin glared at Jasi, making the Drake shrink back.

“Dreams are good! Important! If you could do anything, what would you do, Jasi?”

The Drake hesitated, and bit at her lip. Reluctantly, she replied.

“I suppose if I could I’d like to learn a craft and start a small business for myself—but even that’s a far-off dream, Miss Erin.”

She didn’t quite deserve the dead gaze Erin gave her. Jasi just shrugged helplessly.

“It’s all I can think of. If I could have anything—I guess I’d wish to be rich? Rich enough that I never have to work?”

“Really? That’s boring too!”

Erin threw her hands up helplessly. Why were Jasi’s ambitions so small? Why was she so upset? But it was just—

Boring. The same word again.

“Wesle!”

The man jumped.

“Yes, Erin?”

“What’s your dream?”

He hesitated and turned slightly red. But the look in Erin’s eyes didn’t give him any wiggle room. Clearing his throat several times, Wesle blushingly replied.

“I wanted to be an adventurer too. But—”

His hand fell back on his sword hilt helplessly. Wesle squeezed his eyes for a second.

“—But I’m afraid I can’t be one. I’m not a born fighter like they are, Miss Erin. I can handle myself, but I’m not brave enough to go searching for evil to fight.”

Wesle closed his eyes. He stared past Erin, at something in the distance. His voice softened, and his hand clenched around the mug on this table.

“If I could, I should have liked to have been a [Knight]. I would have loved to fight monsters and defend people by slaying creatures. And—yes, wielding a flaming sword. Or one that can cut through steel, at least.”

His eyes refocused, and he coughed, turning beet-red. He looked afraid, as if he was sure the others in the room would laugh at him. But no one did.

Instead, his words made Jasi take a breath. She stared out the window, hesitating, and then spoke.

“If I could? If I had nothing to worry about? Maybe, maybe I’d travel to Liscor. To other cities. I’d like to know what Drakes—my people are like. I’d like to see what lies beyond Celum’s walls.”

She’d never left the city? But there were people like that too. Even back home, Erin remembered people, old people, who’d never even left their home state. They’d never flown on a plane or bothered to drive more than a hundred miles from where they were born and would die. She’d never understood that, but then, Erin had travelled to other continents to play chess in tournaments when she was young.

Some days, it felt like Erin really was in a different world. Only, she was walking among aliens that wore human faces. She met people with small dreams, who were as small as insects. Sometimes. But then Erin looked deep into their souls and saw something familiar. Something she’d seen in a mirror when she was young.

Hope. Dreams.

Passion.

The man and Drake sitting at her table were very different, but they had the same look in their eyes. It wasn’t what Erin saw in Agnes’ pitying gaze, or Safry’s shrug. There was still something in Wesle’s expression, and Jasi’s eyes when she stared at the window. They had a spark there, of something real and alive. But it was fading, and Erin saw it flickering in Jasi’s resigned smile and the way Wesle shook his head when he talked about his past dreams.

They had hopes. They had ambitions. But it was buried so deep that they’d nearly forgotten about them. Erin touched her aching chest. And yet, what could you do? Octavia’s words echoed in her mind. If you weren’t willing to risk everything, what could you do?

Being an adventurer was a calling for the few, the insane and the brave and the desperate. But what else could people do if they didn’t want to work their entire lives? Octavia was right. There was no other way to live. Either you took a risk and died or became famous or—you worked hard and kept your head down.

“It’s not right.”

That was all Erin said. She sat at the table and clenched her hands. This wasn’t right. This was how the world was—how this world was. And she knew it was probably how the world had been, back in her world for thousands of years. But—

It wasn’t right. There was more to life. She knew that. She lived, she had lived in a world where anyone could be anything. That was what she’d been taught as a child. And maybe it wasn’t totally true, but it was that idea which people associated with her home country, with being an American. It was about equality, but it was also about hope.

Hope, and the faith that you could realize your dreams.

“Miss Erin?”

Erin looked up. Jasi and Wesle were looking at her. So was Grev.

“What?”

“You’ve been very quiet. Are you alright?”

“I am. It’s just—your world—your city—sort of sucks, guys.”

To Erin’s surprise, both Jasi and Wesle immediately frowned at her comment.

“I don’t know if that’s true.”

“Yeah. Celum isn’t perfect but—it’s just as good as Liscor.”

“Respectfully, Miss Erin, Celum is quite a good city to live in.”

Erin blinked at the force of their replies. Even Jasi was defending Celum. Why? Wesle’s normally amiable face looked quite upset as he stared challengingly at Erin.

“What makes you feel your home is that much better than Celum?”

“Where I come from—in the place where I used to be, people didn’t have so—so few options.”

Erin tried to explain to the indignant guardsman and Drake.

“We have plenty of options!”

“Indeed. Anyone can make something of themselves in Celum.”

“No—no, you guys don’t get it! Here you can only have boring jobs. Or—or be an adventurer and maybe die. But back home, people could be someone. They could be stars, celebrities!”

“Celebrities?”

The word was completely foreign to the two. Erin nodded energetically, suddenly able to put words to the sense of absence she’d been feeling recently.

“Yeah! Back home—even a girl or guy from a far off village could go to the big city and make their dreams come true. It was hard and risky, but they could take a chance. They could try and fulfill their dreams! If you wanted to, you could go there.”

“Where?”

The word came out of Erin’s childhood.

“Hollywood.”

The word burned in the silence. And suddenly, Erin remembered. She remembered movies and dreams and childhood. Yes, how could she have forgotten? But Wesle and Jasi didn’t get it. They just looked confused.

“What’s that? Some kind of tree?”

How could you explain Hollywood to people who hadn’t even seen a movie? Erin grabbed at words and failed to find anything that would help. Hollywood was—it was movies! It was the silver screen, the place where hopes and stories became reality. Now things were different of course—there was Youtube and the internet. And you heard all kinds of bad things about Hollywood. Sexism, racism, jerkism…

But when Erin had been small, Hollywood had been the place where magic was made in her world. It had been the place where movies came from, a wondrous, far-off land. But how to describe it?

“Broadway! Plays! That’s what it’s like!”

Wesle’s chair scooted back as Erin suddenly shouted. Yes, that was it! She turned excitedly to the scared Drake and human.

“Haven’t you seen a play before? Hollywood is like a play except—better!”

Erin stared hopefully at the other two. They had to have seen a play before. That was—even in this world, they’d be common, right? Right? But her jaw dropped as the two shook their head slowly.

“I’m afraid I’ve never seen one, Miss Solstice.”

“Neither have I.”

“What?”

The bug-eyed stare Erin was giving them made Jasi and Wesle feel uncomfortable. The guardsman cleared his throat nervously.

“If you mean a tumbling routine—I always catch those every time a festival happens. And of course I like to listen to stories in taverns if there’s a [Storyteller] travelling by.”

“I like to read books. We had one when I was young. It was worn, but—”

“No!”

Erin put her hands underneath the table and flipped it. It was the only thing that she could do, the only thing that could give vent to her emotions. The mugs, the drinks, plates and silverware all went flying. Jasi screamed and Wesle cried out in shock. As pottery crashed and broke on the floor, there was silence.

And standing, trembling, pointing at them, Erin. She stood on her chair, practically vibrating with passion.

“No! That isn’t a play! Plays are more than stupid tumbling, more than just a book! They’re full of—of romance! Drama! Love! Action! Intrigue and betrayal and hope and—”

Erin waved her hands around wildly while Jasi, Wesle, and Grev all stared at her. Grev was already edging towards the stairs.

“You’re telling me none of you have ever seen a play before?”

“The table—”

Jasi squeaked as Erin rounded on her.

“No—no I haven’t!”

“Never? Why not?”

“There aren’t many people with that sort of class, Miss Erin! I mean, who would take a class like that on a whim? There are [Bards], Miss Erin. And—oh, maybe in large cities there are performances like that, but it’s not a job anyone can just learn.”

“What’s a play?”

Erin looked incredulously at Grev. But the boy had piped up, staring at Erin with curious eyes.

“You don’t know? It’s—it’s people telling a story. They pretend to be characters and they act out something funny or tragic. It’s like a book, but in real life!”

“Huh. Watch people pretend to be people in a story?”

Grev’s little nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Who’d want to see that?”

He flinched when Erin stared at him with wrath in her eyes. Wesle carefully raised a hand.

“I saw a performance like that once.”

“Really?”

He nodded, eyeing the broken plates and spilled drink on the ground.

“It was a wandering group of performers. They were telling everyone how a group of Gold-rank adventurers slew an entire nest of Griffons that had been preying on a town. It was a reenactment, and they had a fake Griffin creature they burned—”

“That’s not it either!”

Erin jumped off the chair and kicked it. She hopped around shouting in agony as Grev hid under the table. Jasi was petrified and Wesle had a hand on his sword as if he feared he’d had to defend himself.

“That’s not it at all!”

When Erin had calmed down a bit, she tried again. She couldn’t believe they didn’t know. She had to tell them. The knowledge was burning a hole in her chest, trying to get out.

“Plays are—more than just reenactments, Wesle. They’re a story, a moment. If they’re boring they’re good—they should make you laugh and cry and believe what you’re seeing is real. Some of the most famous characters in history came from plays!”

“Like who?”

Erin didn’t have to think.

“Romeo and Juliet.”

“Who? I mean, what did they do?”

Jasi stared at Erin. Erin stared back. And then the girl leapt onto a table.

“O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo? Who doesn’t know of the star-crossed lovers? Romeo of House Montague and Juliet of House Capulet! They, the two forbidden scions of each house dare the wrath of their families to find romance. Even if it means death, they would be together. At any cost.”

Jasi’s sharp teeth glinted as she gaped up at Erin. Wesle’s lips were parted in surprise. Erin bowed to them, flourishing on the table as if she were on stage.

“Two households, both alike in dignity,

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.”

She stared down at the staring faces, full of anger and emotion.

“That is the story of Romeo and Juliet.”

Only slack faces greeted Erin. She blinked, realized what had happened.

“Whoa. Did I do that?”

—-

How did she do that? As Erin helped right the table and clean up the mess—the others were too shaken to do more than sit—she wondered what had happened.

She was no actor. Erin wasn’t even that good at acting. But in that moment, she’d perfectly recalled the opening lines of Romeo and Juliet, word for word! How? She didn’t have a perfect memory—she’d never even read the play! She’d just seen it performed once!

But wait a minute. Erin frowned as she mopped up the spilled drink and got rid of the broken pottery in a few seconds of brisk cleaning. She had Skills, didn’t she? Not just [Advanced Cleaning].

She was a Level 6 [Singer]. And she had that skill—[Perfect Recall]. It didn’t actually let Erin remember everything, it only worked for songs. Songs…and plays as it turned out. Yes, now that Erin concentrated, she found it was true! She could remember plays, entire passages out of books—anything that Erin considered artistic, really.

“I’ve never heard anything like it.”

That was what Wesle kept repeating when Erin was done with cleaning up her accident. He sat at a table, staring at Erin.

“What strange way of speaking was that? It sounded grand and yet—it rhymed. I’ve never heard anything like it.”

Erin sat at another table, trying to explain. Now she had all the attention on the room on her—not just attention, but fierce interest. It was like the crepes, like the new music all over again. Erin felt it. Here was something new, and it captivated the people of this world.

“That’s a play. Some of them rhyme. It’s called iambic pentameter.”

“And what’s that? Iambic…? Is it a Skill?”

“No, it’s a way of speaking. Anyone can do it. It’s—well, it’s just a style. But it sounds good, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

Both Jasi and Wesle nodded in agreement. Erin smiled.

“That’s a play. Actually, that’s not even it. What I just said, I’d say to the crowd before the actual play started. To understand a real play—you’d have to see it done with multiple actors on stage.”

“I wish I could see that. It sounds—interesting.”

Erin wished she could see that too. To see a movie, or a play—even one of the classics from her world like The Wizard of Oz would be…

Impossible. She sighed. But then Erin sat up. She stared at the female Drake sitting in front of her, eyes alight with interest, and the human male sitting next to her, fuzzy lipped and full of life.

And Erin had an obvious idea. She smiled widely, and looked at the two while Grev peeked at her from the kitchen.

“Well, why not? Would you two like to put on a play by yourselves?”

“Us?”

The two exchanged a glance. But Erin knew that they would say ‘yes’ before they even nodded.

—-

It was a play. A new thing for this world, or maybe an ordinary thing made new. It was supposed to be grand and special. But—as Erin sat at her table, she realized that recreating a play wasn’t exactly the same as making crepes or playing a song on an iPhone.

What did she have? She had a perfect recall of the play Romeo and Juliet. That was a plus. And she had three willing people who wanted to experience a play. Another big plus. And they even had a place to practice. All of this should theoretically translate into a play.

But they’d hit upon a problem. And it was a rather big one. Wesle sighed as he pointed his sword at Grev from the center of the room. Grev held the scabbard in his hands, pretending it was a sword of his own. Both looked awkward, and were visibly hesitating.

“Don’t hesitate! Just say your lines!”

Erin called out to them from her director’s seat. She’d pushed back all the tables to the walls to give them room to perform in, and she was sitting with Jasi at a table. But the two actors still looked uncomfortable.

“I don’t know if I understand how it should go.”

“I explained it to you. Just give it a shot!”

Erin called out encouragingly to Wesle as he hesitated. He frowned, nodding and mouthing his lines silently. Grev held his scabbard up, doing the same thing.

They were reenacting a fight scene between Romeo and Paris, because Grev had wanted to try acting as well. Of course, Paris wasn’t supposed to be a little boy, but it was as close as Erin could do. And it was a dramatic scene! They were fighting right before Paris was slain and Romeo killed himself. It should have been a powerful moment that needed no direction.

But—

But Erin had begun to realize the error in using Romeo and Juliet as her introduction to plays. It hadn’t seemed like a mistake before, but it was becoming more and more obvious to her as time wore on.

At first glance, Shakespeare made sense. He was a famous guy—his works were classic! And yet—Erin had to admit, the language the famous Bard of Avalon used was…difficult at best.

“Go for it, Grev!”

“Okay!”

The boy spoke awkwardly, trying to force the lines of iambic pentameter into natural cadence.

“Condemned villain, I do apprehend thee:

Obey, and go with me; for thou must die.”

He pointed his scabbard at Wesle. The man took a step back and took a deep breath. Wesle cleared his throat and began reciting Romeo’s lines.

“I must indeed, and therefore came I hither.

Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man.

Fly hence and leave me. Think upon these gone.

Let them affright thee. I beseech thee, youth—I say, isn’t this rather long?”

Erin groaned and beside her, Jasi covered her face.

“Even if it’s long, say the lines! You’re supposed to!”

“I’m afraid I can’t remember them all!”

Grev sighed and lowered his tired arm as Wesle walked over to consult with Erin. She sighed too. This wasn’t working.

Romeo and Juliet. A timeless play, or so the critics said. Except that time was dragging on here and everyone was clearly growing more and more tired of the play as they fumbled on.

Erin blamed Shakespeare, or more accurately, his dialogue. It was impressive, yes. A woven script filled with a craftsman’s trickery with words. Even more impressive, it was in iambic pentameter, making each meter and verse doubly significant.

And that was the problem. It was dense. Now that Erin was recalling the full script, she realized how complex it was! Soliloquies, monologues, clever asides and tricks of dialogue…not to mention all the side characters!

For an audience who liked wit and humor, for an audience of Shakespeare’s time, it was great stuff, Erin had no doubt. But it wasn’t a story that captivated her heart—or her reluctant actor’s.

“Try again. You’re supposed to be enraged, in the middle of passion!”

“I can barely remember what to say.”

Wesle groaned. He tried again.

“Good gentle youth, tempt not a desperate man!”

Erin shook her head.

“No, no. It’s too awkward. You sound like you’re just reciting the words, not acting.”

“Well—”

Wesle threw up his hands, out of words. He stalked over to Grev and snatched his scabbard back. Erin ruffled her hair.

“Argh. Maybe—let’s try a Romeo and Juliet scene. I went over the play with you guys—you know how important their meeting on the balcony is. Let’s do that.”

Jasi nodded and stood up. Reluctantly, Wesle walked over to the other side of the room, and bowed his head.

He wasn’t liking this. That made Erin concerned. She went over to him.

“Hey. Are you not enjoying it?”

“I—don’t know, Miss Solstice. I don’t.”

Wesle just shrugged, looking both annoyed and disheartened.

“When you spoke the lines of the play I got chills, I truly did. But trying to make it into an actual play, to act it out—it’s a different thing entirely.”

Erin nodded. Her audience had listened to her go quickly through the entire play of Romeo and Juliet, drinking in the story like sponges. They’d even memorized entire lines of the play by rote—something Erin had thought was impossible! Apparently when you didn’t have a computer or iPhone handy, your ability to remember things you’d heard was a lot better.

They’d liked the play. But they didn’t like acting. Or rather, Wesle didn’t. Grev liked the mock swordfight and he’d hit Wesle several times with the scabbard, and Jasi had liked playing Juliet. But it was just play-acting, not the real thing.

Erin thought Wesle was trying for the real thing, but he couldn’t figure it out. She’d tried to show him, but acting wasn’t something he’d ever witnessed. All she could give him was her advice, and she had very little of that.

“Just do your best.”

“I am.”

Wesle clenched his fists as Jasi murmured her lines and practiced looking elegant. She really did seem to love the idea of the role.

“What’s wrong? Is it that you can’t figure out how to move?”

“No, it’s—I know it sounds silly, Erin, but I’m just not Romeo. I can’t be this grand hero in love. I’m just—Wesle. Just a [Guardsman], not a young [Lord].”

Wesle’s shoulders slumped. Erin looked at him, and understood a bit. She touched his shoulder and pulled him around.

“I know you’re not Romeo. But no one’s Romeo when they play him, Wesle. They become him.”

He looked at her, frustrated, helpless.

“How?”

Erin hesitated. She looked at Jasi, who was watching her anxiously, and at Grev. How could she explain acting to people who lived such small lives? Who didn’t have dreams? Who were beaten down by this stupid world and system they lived under?

Well…how else? Erin suddenly knew what to say. She looked back as Wesle, looked him right in the eyes.

“Haven’t you ever—ever wanted to be someone else? To be someone you’re not?”

Wesle hesitated, opened his mouth. Closed it. Grimaced.

“Of course.”

“Then that’s what you do. You don’t want to be someone else. For a little while, but a few moments—you become them. This is you, on stage, living out your dream.”

She pointed at Jasi, pointed at the stage, the empty bit of ground they’d cleared.

“This is your one chance. Forget about me, forget about the people watching you—you’re Romeo right now, a young nobleman who only has eyes for Juliet. You’re not Wesle. Wesle has a fuzzy mustache and he’s just a [Guardsman]. You’re Romeo. And you’re in love.”

Wesle stared at Erin, and she wondered if she’d failed. But then without a word he walked towards Jasi. The Drake was ready, and she called out even as Wesle strode towards her, back straight.

“What man art thou that thus bescreen’d in night so stumblest on my counsel?”

Wesle walked towards Jasi, and then knelt before her. Erin had thought that was appropriate for Romeo. He looked only a bit awkward as he stared up at Jasi imploringly. Still fake. But he was trying.

“By a name I know not how to tell thee who I am—”

Wesle stumbled over his words and bit his tongue. Erin winced. The language was just too hard! She was about to jump in, to tell him it was alright, when she saw something change.

The [Guardsman] kneeling in front of Jasi as the Drake tried to pretend she had a dress suddenly paused. He stopped, hesitated as he thought of his next lines, and then tossed away the script he had memorized. He rose, and took Jasi’s hand in his own. Startled, the Drake looked at him, but Wesle’s face was serious, his eyes intent on hers.

“My name, my very nature, dear [Lady], I hate myself—because it is an enemy to you. Had I my name and race written down, I would tear up like parchment.”

That wasn’t what Romeo was supposed to say! And yet—it was exactly what he was supposed to say! Erin held her breath delighted, as Jasi paused. She was thinking too, and suddenly there was a glint in her eyes. She pulled her hand free, staring haughtily at Wesle.

“You’ve not spoken a hundred words, but I already know that you are no Drake. Art thou not Romeo, a Human?”

He looked ashamed, and retreated a step before he bowed his head.

“I would be neither of those things, fair [Lady], if you dislike them. For you—I would be anything.”

Suddenly, he advanced on her, trying to put an arm around her waist. Jasi pulled back, but then stepped forwards. She grabbed Wesle’s shirt, and he yelped a bit in surprise.

Romeo and Juliet stood together, youthful, full of passion. Juliet, tail thrashing the ground, pulled Romeo closer to her, her eyes alight with passion.

“Tempt not a desperate Drake, Human.”

Erin covered her mouth, whispering the words to herself in shocked glee.

“That’s not in the script!”

But this was more than the script. Erin watched Wesle pull back, full of—of condescending hauteur, but also deep interest. They exchanged more lines, and then Romeo knelt, catching at Juliet’s hand again.

“I fear your hand is too noble for mine to ever touch. But I have two blushing balms to offer you, my lips—to smooth your rough scales with a tender kiss.”

Juliet laughed, pulling back and mocking him with her own words.

“I feel you do your hands too much discredit, sir. For after all, balms touch even [Queens] and [Ladies] – and if two hands should touch, well that too is like a kiss.”

Filled with consternation, Romeo stood up again, gesturing helplessly at Juliet’s face.

“Do not [Queens] and [Ladies] have lips to kiss with?”

“Of course they do. But balm is not meant for lips.”

She laughed at him, but Romeo was too caught up. He approached, and caught hold of her shoulders, speaking urgently.

“Then let us have lips do what hands do! Please, grant me this—answer my request, or let my hope become despair.”

Even as close as they were, Juliet found the wherewithal to turn her head away and up. Her tail twined about a chair leg, gripping it tightly.

“I’m afraid [Ladies] have no hopes to give. Only laws to make.”

“Then do not move as I act out my hope—”

The audience’s jaws dropped as Romeo kissed Juliet once in passion. He whispered the words as she stared at him in shock and something more.

“Now then, the crime of my assaulting a [Lady] rests on your lips, not mine.”

She smiled, tremulously, still holding on to a [Lady]’s dignity even in this moment.

“Oh? My lips bear your crimes now, do they?”

Romeo’s voice was rough.

“Your lips would turn an honest man to crime with their sweetness. Give me my crime back.”

They kissed again. Only this time, Juliet met Romeo halfway. It was a passionate kiss—and frankly, one that Erin thought Grev should not be watching.

On stage, Erin watched as Wesle and Jasi locked lips, and then continued the scene, slightly breathless but still in character. She had no idea if this was an act or if they’d be jumping each other soon.

No—this was part of the act. They were lost in the characters. And even as Erin watched, Romeo and Juliet came to life before her eyes, not Capulet and Montague, but Human and Drake, caught in forbidden interspecies love.

Erin held her breath as the two continued to act. Her eyes were locked on the performance, trying to capture every second of it before it slipped away. This wasn’t an [Immortal Moment]. Time didn’t stop here; because this wasn’t her scene. She was only part of the audience, a witness to the drama.

How could people act like this so naturally? Maybe it was because they had nothing to cling to. There was no ego in the way they held each other, only two lost lovers daring fate to be together.

The two who stood on the small stage in the inn were playing out roles bigger than themselves. For a little while, they were not Wesle the low-level [Guardsman] and Jasi the impoverished Drake working as a [Washer]. They were Romeo and Juliet, and their story was legend.

So Erin sat and watched the play continue. Grev jumped in, all faulty lines and overenthusiastic acting, and she had to fill in multiple roles herself. It was far from a good play, but for those living each scene, it was special in itself. It was new. It was unique. It was…

A bit of culture. A timeless story, travelling from one world to the other. It wasn’t perfect—it wasn’t accurate to the script and it certainly wasn’t in iambic pentameter. But the spirit was there. It was in every line of dialogue, delivered with clumsy passion and all of each actor’s heart.

It was the stage. And it had come to Celum.

—-

Several hours later, Erin realized the play had to be performed. Even after Wesle and Jasi had collapsed tiredly into the chairs—that was just the start.

They needed actors, a set, and audience! When Erin suggested a live performance both man and Drake froze, but they said yes. She had a feeling they would have said yes even if it meant playing all the parts themselves.

But they wouldn’t be alone. Erin was sure of that. Grev had applauded the play—Grev, the boy who could barely sit in one place for long. And the story was compelling; it was a story for this world, especially given the real and pressing animosity between Drakes and Humans.

And it would be told. Erin was certain of that. She would make it happen.

The first thing they needed was a place to practice. And happily, they had the inn. They just needed to make sure they wouldn’t be interrupted, namely by Miss Agnes, who had come back full of affronted pride to help manage the lunch crowd.

“Lunch? Who has time for lunch!?”

Erin closed the door in Agnes’ face, only opening it again when the woman hammered on the door.

“You can’t just close the inn! Think of all the coin we’d lose!”

“Too bad! Today the inn’s closed! You said you had things to do, right? Well—do them!”

“How dare you! This is my inn and I—”

Erin opened the door and grabbed Miss Agnes’ hand. She pulled Agnes nose-to-nose with her. The woman stared into Erin’s intense, almost magic gaze.

“Get lost! We’re making art here!”

She ran. Erin had no time for her. She was too busy coordinating the play with the others.

“Who would want to act? We need male actors and female ones. And costumes! And a set! I mean, we can do without, but it looks better that way.”

“There aren’t any Drakes in the city, are there? We’d need some to play the Capulets…”

“No wait—there is one! The [Baker], Mister Hess who lives on Springbottom street! I could see him—explain—”

“What about other actors?”

Wesle was stroking his mustache furiously, on an adrenaline high from the performance.

“I’ll go to the Watch House. I’m sure there are plenty of men and women who’d love to try this. But how can I explain it to them?”

“Go together!”

Erin was practically bouncing with excitement. She’d grabbed her bag of coins and she was excitedly pushing gold ones into Grev’s hands.

“You two can do a scene from the play for them. And tell people we’ll perform it here! Tonight! Admission is free, and they can buy food and drink!”

She gave up on counting coins and dumped a handful of them in to Grev’s hands. The young boy stared at the glittering pile, poleaxed.

“I want costumes, Grev! Clothing for rich people, [Lords] and [Ladies]! And swords!”

“I think I can borrow weapons from the Watch House.”

“Okay, no swords! But get me clothing! And curtains! I want big, red ones! Doesn’t matter if you have to get them to sew it together—it’s going to hang up there and we’ll pull them aside for each scene!”

“What about ah, what did you call them? Props?”

“Props!”

Erin pulled Grev back as he eagerly ran for the door.

“Get me…yeah, get a [Carpenter] and a [Painter] to make some backgrounds! No, wait, I’ll do it! They can draw a city, and a garden and—!”

The girl ran out of the inn. Grev led her to a [Painter]’s store—a man who decorated houses and created art for the nobility. She kicked down the door when he refused to open it. He screamed for the Watch, but they were all busy. Busy auditioning for a play.

And when Erin dragged the poor man to meet the best [Carpenter] in town, news was spreading. How could it not? Here was something interesting, and people were talking about it in the streets. Not too many people of course—word could only spread so fast by word of mouth, and Celum was a big city. There was always something happening.

And yet, the word ‘play’ had a magic of its own. It spread from person to person, from the Watch House to the bakery where the [Baker] suddenly took a day off for some strange reason. It attracted attention—especially when they saw that new, young [Innkeeper] ran into Stitchworks, and dragged the [Alchemist] out, kicking and screaming.

Something was clearly happening. People began asking questions. What was a play? Was it like a street performance? No? Then what was it? How did it go? Would it cost anything? When was it happening?

What would it be like?

—-

That night, a crowd of people gathered in the Frenzied Hare. It wasn’t a huge amount of people—at least, not in terms of the city’s full population. But it packed two thirds of the room until there was only a little bit of space for the two put-upon [Barmaids] and one [Innkeeper] to circulate the room, passing out drinks and food.

Behind the red curtain that had been hastily stitched together, Erin ran over the play with her actors. They were all new, and they’d barely had time to practice more than once or twice. For any other director, this might have been their worst nightmare.

But to Erin, it was just a lovely dream. The people in front of her might still be memorizing their lines, but they had more passion in their toenails than she’d seen from some actors on stage. She gave them what tips she could, and trusted them to do the rest. Even someone who hadn’t acted in more than one or two school plays like Erin could pass along some important advice.

“Always be looking at the audience. Even if you’re facing one another—do it so the audience can see your entire body. Like this.”

She demonstrated, and the gathered cast watched her nervously. Some asked questions, others shook with stage fright. The [Baker] passed out, but by the time the curtains drew back, he was ready to go, if vibrating with fright.

The play began. Erin was in agony as she alternated between cooking—throwing together the most mass-producible meals she could of soups and breads, sending Maran running to buy more food to sell at outrageous prices to her guests—while hurrying back out to watch the magic.

“Two species, both alike in dignity,

In fair Celum, where we lay our scene,

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.”

Grev stood in the center of the stage, declaiming to the audience. He was white with fright, but his words made the listeners murmur in interest. Erin bit at her fingernails with glee as the actors came out.

The story of Romeo and Juliet was simple. Complex, and simple. At the heart of it was a love affair. But in the first scenes, the play started with a brawl between the two families, or in this case, the two races. Drakes, or rather, people dressed as Drakes and one actual Drake drew real swords and dueled with angry Humans. Actual blood was spilled, but fortunately, not much.

Erin was too busy shoving hot bowls of soup at Miss Agnes—and spilling some on the woman—to see the fight. But she heard the shout as the fighting ceased.

“Swords! Lay down your unlawful swords!”

The actors paused and reluctantly tossed their blades on the ground. A huge man—the actual Watch Captain of Celum himself strode onto the stage with actual [Guardsman] at his back. He was practically bursting with outrage as he roared at the audience who flinched back from him.

“You men, you beasts! Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace! These brawls by old Capulet, and Montague have thrice disturb’d the quiet of our streets. If ever you disturb our homes again, your lives shall pay the forfeit of the peace! Go now! On pain of death, all men depart!”

The play continued as the lead actor, Romeo, played by Wesle, was introduced. He went to a ball at the house of a famous Drake [Lord] and there laid eyes on the lovely Juliet, played by Jasi for the first time.

Erin watched the audience’s expressions. She’d wondered whether they’d like a Drake and Human romance, but despite being from another world and never having seen a play before, they were Humans. Forbidden love captured their hearts and minds and they fell in love with Juliet the moment she took the stage. They sighed and cheered as Romeo and Juliet hit it off.

But then—from the love scene on the balcony, tragedy! Romeo’s friend Mercutio was slain on stage as the audience cried out in shock and horror. In a rage, Romeo confronted the Drake named Tybalt, sword in hand.

Wesle pointed a sword at the Drake’s, full of fury and rage.

“Turn hellhound, turn!”

Erin had liberally used other famous lines from Shakespeare’s plays to add to the drama. The Drake playing Tybalt sneered at Wesle, raising his own sword with a flourish. Undeterred, Romeo advanced, holding his sword with wrath and rage.

“Damn mercy and peace. Fire-eyed fury be my conduct now! Mercutio’s body is not yet cold—waiting for you or I to give it company in the grave!”

“You fool.”

Tybalt sneered at Romeo, lifting his own sword with a dismissive flick of the tail.

“You are no [Duelist], and my own levels number over twenty one. Thou, wretched boy, that didst consort him here shalt with him hence.”

Adapted for this world, and mixed with the language of the Bard himself. Erin watched at the two dueled, and then saw how Juliet found herself trapped in a marriage against her will, while she yearned to be with her true love, Romeo. Her only option was to pretend to die so she could join Romeo in exile.

Thus, Jasi as Juliet implored the dark-skinned girl holding glowing potions to brew her a potion to reunite her with her love. A plea, as it turned out, that Octavia playing Octavia was only too willing to grant.

The Stitch Girl dominated the stage, playing to her audience hard as she mixed harmless liquids together to create a spectacular reaction for the awed crowd. She held the completed glowing red liquid towards Juliet, chattering away.

“A potion to feign death isn’t hard to brew. But this is very costly. Fortunately for you, Octavia’s Stitchworks offers substantial discounts to all customers, and my new line of potions which I’ve marked down nearly 50%—”

“Give me the potion, you heartless [Alchemist]!”

Juliet snatched the bottle away from Octavia, cutting the surprise monologue short. Octavia sniffed, affronted.

“Well excuse me for trying to do business.”

That got a laugh, and then the story continued. At the end, Juliet wept over Romeo’s corpse, too slow, and too late to prevent her love from dying.

As the sounds of her pursuers reached her ears, Juliet stood in despair, holding the dagger in her hands. Erin heard people in the audience shouting at her not to do anything, but it was too late. Oblivious to the crowd, Juliet stared down at the pointed blade.

“Yea, noise? Then I’ll be brief. O happy dagger,

This is thy sheath. There rust and let me die.”

The dagger plunged into her chest, and the red potion Octavia had made spurted forwards. The crowd was on their feet, but the play continued before they could rush the stage.

In the end, after all the lamentation was done, the Watch Captain stood in front of the audience, head bowed, standing in front of the grieving parents of the slain lovers. He spoke to the crowd, his deep voice and sorrowful eyes finding each person in the crowd.

“A glooming peace this morning with it brings;

The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head:

Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things;

Some shall be pardon’d, and some punished:

For never was a story of more woe

Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.”

And after that—there was nothing. Erin had never seen a speechless crowd, but when they regained their voices there was only sound and cheering. The cast had to come out to bow, had to shake hands and even perform some scenes over again, such was the enthusiasm in the room.

Erin missed all of it. Halfway through the play the audience had forgotten to eat, so spellbound they’d been. But with the thrilling conclusion their hunger came back in force. She cooked like there was no tomorrow, even though it was tomorrow by the time she was done.

And when it was over? When the last actor staggered out of the inn and Erin had hugged Jasi and watched Agnes collapse onto a table, the bag of coins she’d earned held blissfully on her chest. When she’d seen Wesle walk away, his step full of confidence and—and hope?

She went back up to her room, walking slowly. Erin’s head was full of cotton; her arms and legs were lead. She lay back in her bed, too tired to undress or clean her teeth. The curtain call was upon her, but she delayed the ending for one moment to stare up at the ceiling.

In the darkness, Erin smiled. She spoke to the night.

“Good. This isn’t boring at all.”

[Innkeeper Level 29!]

[Skill – Crowd Control Obtained!]

3.17 T

This is the story of a skeleton named Toren. He lay on his back, staring at the grey sky. He was a skeleton. This fact was readily apparent to him and anyone who saw him. He was a skeleton.

And he was free.

That was all Toren knew. All he understood, really. There had been a time when he was not free, and he had been forced to labor ceaselessly. He hadn’t actually minded most of his duties, in point of fact. Hauling water, cleaning up spilled food and drink—that wasn’t arduous for a skeleton. And Toren had even liked some of his duties which included bossing about a certain annoying Human girl.

But somehow, even the theoretically limitless patience of a skeleton had been stretched by some of his tasks. Like collecting honey while bees dropped him hundreds of feet out of the air to smash into the ground. Or having to pull—

Dingle.

Toren twitched once as he lay on the ground, but other than that he lay still. He had to be still. He kept thinking. Remembering, really.

Yes, he had been held captive by the orders. But then had come the glorious, wonderful moment when he’d found a way to escape them! He’d left his mistress—his owner—Erin Solstice behind in the snow where she would hopefully get lost forever or starve to death and thus freed himself.

He was free. If Toren had lips, he might have tried to smile. Since his face was a grinning skull he didn’t have to bother. But that smile would have quickly faded away, again, if Toren had any flesh to move.

Yes, Toren was free. But so what? What did that mean? Toren had no idea. Now that he was free, what should he do? What was his purpose?

Ever since Toren had leveled up and become a [Skeleton Knight], all kinds of new thoughts had begun popping up in his head. Some were useful—like the idea to leave Erin behind so she couldn’t order him about. But others just made him confused. He’d never had to wonder about his purpose before.

Toren was a skeleton. He had been made to fight—at least, to fight in order to protect. But Toren liked fighting. He liked leveling up, so he’d gone out of his way to kill everything he could. And that was good, but was there something else he should be doing?

He didn’t know. If Toren had lungs he might have sighed. But he didn’t, so the purple flames in his eyes just flickered for a moment as they dimmed. What should he do next? He couldn’t just lie here forever. Well, he could, but—

“What’s this?”

Toren heard a voice and didn’t move. He heard crunching footsteps as someone—two someones—walked towards him in the snow. Still, he didn’t move.

“Dead gods. It looks like an attack! Someone’s killed these two people!”

“A bandit raid? Are they still nearby, do you think?”

There was another voice. Toren really didn’t care about the gender of the speakers—if pressed, he might have admitted one sounded male and the other sounded female. He just listened quietly as the two conferred.

“Might be—but look! They didn’t even make off with the money pouch! Here—”

“What are you doing? You can’t just take it!”

“Can’t I? These poor saps aren’t going to use it any time soon, and it’s a lucky find for us. We’ll report the bodies when we get to Celum; that’ll repay the debt.”

“It’s stealing!”

“From the dead? If they care so much, let them stop me.”

Because Toren had no sense of irony, it was only after the man had rummaged around a bit and collected the coin that he stood up. He casually brushed snow off of his bones and walked over to the man and woman engrossed by the two corpses.

“Hm?”

The man noticed something and turned around. He turned, saw Toren, and screamed.

“Skele—”

Toren beheaded the man with one slash and then turned to the woman. She screamed.

“Hemlet!”

Toren paused. Did she mean the man? He was missing his head. Unless he could fight without it like Toren could, the skeleton really doubted yelling his name would do any good.

Still, wouldn’t that be interesting? Toren stared at the corpse hopefully.

…Nope. It wasn’t moving. After a few moments he noticed the woman was running. Toren ran after her.

A fun fact no one cared about was that skeletons were actually light enough to run on the top of the snow if it had a crust. Toren easily caught up to the woman and a few seconds later, he was dragging her body next to the man’s. The blood on his bones and the ground was the only splash of color in the lifeless landscape. That and his eyes, of course.

He had purple eyes. Or rather, purple flames burning in his eye sockets. Toren thought about that as he carefully buried the two bodies of his latest victims with the others. When he’d first been created, he’d had blue eyes. But after…absorbing a gemstone he’d taken from a certain monster named Skinner, he’d gained the power to inflict [Fear] on people. And his eyes had changed color.

Toren didn’t mind that part. He would have gladly turned his eyes any color for the [Fear] effect. But it was interesting to him because the skeleton was by and large immortal and unchangeable in most respects.

He could regenerate. If his bones were separated, they came back together. And even if they were crushed or disintegrated—as they had been once by Corusdeer horns—they would eventually recreate themselves.

That meant that while Toren was very hard to destroy permanently, few things about his nature could be altered. And yet his eyes had changed.

The skeleton considered this detail as he washed the blood off of his bones with snow, rendering him yellow-white and practically invisible against the snowy background. He lay down again and kept thinking as he waited.

He could change. He could be something else. That mattered because…well, because he could level. That was an important thing to Toren. When he leveled, he thought more. And he grew stronger. Both of these things were good. And if he leveled up enough, then maybe one day Erin Solstice wouldn’t be able to order him around at all.

That was a good thought. Toren liked that idea. He grinned as he lay in the snow, staring at the sky.

Someday. Someday he’d go back to that inn with a sword. And then he’d let Erin yell at him and boss him around. And then he’d—

Kill her. Right?

Toren paused, mid-grin. He hadn’t really thought that far ahead. Would he kill Erin? It was the logical answer. But really, Toren only wanted to be free of the orders. He only considered Erin’s death as it pertained to her ordering him about. But what if he could ignore the orders? Would he kill her then?

This was a serious question for the skeleton, and a distressing one! As he thought about it, he realized he didn’t actually know if he would kill or not kill Erin. And that went for all the other people who visited her inn.

The fact that Toren did not have a would-kill list for every being in the world was very upsetting for the skeleton. He quickly made one up as he waited for someone else to notice the victims he’d killed days ago lying in the snow.

They were so handy. Toren had killed the first travelers on a small side road and he’d been about to go on his way when he realized they were perfect bait. He’d used them as distractions to ambush a score of other travelers as they passed by. Not for any real purpose; he was fairly sure that this didn’t help him level up that much. It was just a way to pass the time as he thought deep thought.

It was fun.

Anyways. A kill list. If Toren had the ability to kill anyone—if he leveled up enough, in short—who would he kill? The idea intrigued him.

Well, who would he kill first? The bees, obviously. He’d slaughter their entire damn hive. And then after the bees he’d probably kill…Lyonette.

Yes. Toren’s eyes burned in his sockets. He would enjoy that. She was so annoying, and she’d stopped him from going hunting so many times! Lyonette was second.

And after her, who would be next? Maybe the girl who Erin talked to often. Ryoka. It wasn’t that the girl was more annoying than the other guests that Erin entertained—it was just that Toren didn’t like her. More specifically, he didn’t like her body. Her bone structure bothered him a bit. Maybe it was her shinbones. They were a tad too long, and Toren just disliked that.

Hm? Dislike? Had he just thought that?

Toren sat up in the snow and tapped at his head with one finger. Then he looked around and quickly lay back down.

Had he really thought that? But yes—now that Toren thought about it, he had things he disliked! That was an…odd thing. Before this moment, Toren had never thought about liking and disliking things. But now he knew there were things in this world he hated.

Like Ryoka’s shin bones. And Lyonette. And the bees! And anything that went dingle.

Yes, the bells. Toren added the bells and the sleigh onto his kill list. He’d destroy them too. They might not be alive, but he’d find a way. Maybe he’d melt the bells. And set the sleigh on fire. That felt appropriate to him.

Toren was enjoying coming up with his kill list. But he paused as another thought hit him, bouncing through his empty cranium and finding whatever part of him was actually doing the thinking.

If he had something he hated, what did he actually like?

It was an odd question. But Toren understood the word ‘dislike’, even if he didn’t think of it in actual words. But the idea of ‘dislike’ was that there was an opposite, right? If Toren had something he hated, he had to have something he loved.

That was a rule. If there was no love, there could be no hatred. If there was no positive to balance out the negative, the world was simply a void of one thing. So Toren had to have a like or his hatred made no sense.

Right? Toren tried to frown, but the closest he could do was tap his knucklebones against his skull a few times. This was a conundrum. Didn’t he have anything he liked doing?

Well—killing things. And leveling up. But was there anything else? Surely there was. Toren thought hard, abandoning his hiding spot to stand up and pace about in his intense concentration.

And then heard a sound. It didn’t come from the world around him. Rather, it echoed in his mind. It came up from some hidden place in him. A sound. No—not a sound. A voice.

Music.

Once upon a time, the skeleton had heard music. He had stood in an inn, watching a girl sing. He had never known music existed until that moment. And he had heard the words, and they had burned themselves into his soul.

Music.

Toren’s fist rose. He punched himself in the head as hard as he could, but it was too late. The music was in his head again. He immediately hit himself in the head with a sword to make it go away.

But the music still remained. It wasn’t a sound he could run from, and he couldn’t forget it.

It haunted him. The skeleton had no brain that could decay, no memories that could fade and tarnish with emotion and age. For him, every time he heard the song he was caught in the same moment, listening with wonder and awe.

It was too much. Too much to bear. Toren dropped his sword and threw himself onto the ground. He thrashed about, sending snow flying, getting up, throwing himself on hard dirt again. Trying to hurt himself. Trying to make the music go away. He didn’t even notice the armed people staring at him until one of them cast a spell.

—-

The adventuring team stared at the skeleton flopping around in the snow like a fish in silence for a few minutes.

“Is it some kind of rare undead, do you think?”

One of the adventurers, a [Fighter] holding a sword in his hands—whispered to his two companions. They just shrugged, staring at that thrashing skeleton in confusion.

“I don’t know. Maybe something went wrong with it?”

“Looks like it. But it’s probably the monster that’s been causing all these disappearances over the last few days.”

“Should we kill it? Or—maybe capturing it would be better? Would the Guild give us a bounty for that?”

The adventurers stared at the skeleton. He was throwing himself around like a dying fish, banging his head against the ground, rolling about in a ball…

Eventually, the mage in the three-man team cast a spell.

“[Pebbleshot]!”

It wasn’t a high-Tier spell, but the bits of stone the female [Mage] levitated up and hurled at the skeleton had quite a lot of force behind them. One cracked into the skeleton’s skull and fractured the bone on his forehead. The skeleton lay on the ground, seemingly stunned, and then got up. He stared at the Bronze-rank team silently. Then he grabbed the sword at his side and ran at them.

Another pebble smashed into his forehead. Toren stumbled back as more hit his arms, his body—

The spell wasn’t really a good one to use on a skeleton. Over half of the stones the [Mage] sent smacking into him just passed through his body or bounced off without doing any real damage. Still, it was annoying. Toren staggered as another one struck him directly in the center of his chest and then he overbalanced.

The three adventurers watched as the skeleton fell backwards, disappearing over a slight mound of snow. The two warriors—a young man and a woman, holding a sword and spear respectively—were ready in case the skeleton charged. But he didn’t appear once he’d fallen.

“Do you think it can’t get back up?”

“Could be. Let’s advance—cautiously.”

The three moved forwards a few steps, watching the spot where the skeleton had gone. They’d gone about six feet when an innocuous patch of snow next to them suddenly shifted.

Toren arced out of the snow like an angry bone-fish, slashing wildly as the adventurers screamed and tried to defend themselves. He cut at the mage as she screamed, managing to slice her deeply on one arm and down her shoulder across the chest before the [Fighter] thrust her out of the way. He slashed at Toren while his companion struck at the skeleton from the other side.

“Don’t let it get away!”

One had a sword, the other a spear. Neither was particularly useful in damaging the skeleton, and Toren ignored the few light cuts he received while he tried to hack at the man with the sword.

But the adventurers, for all their poor choice of weaponry, were a team. While the [Fighter] blocked and dodged Toren’s attacks, his friend struck Toren from the side and behind, hitting the skeleton with heavy strikes of her spear.

It was annoying. Toren stepped back as the [Fighter] counterattacked, bringing his sword down in a two-handed cut intended to smash Toren’s skull. He leapt backwards, but a spear struck his spine and made him stumble forwards instead.

“Got you!”

The [Fighter]’s sword slashed out horizontally towards Toren’s neck. But even as the sword touched the skeleton’s neck, Toren’s entire body blurred.

“Wh—”

The man’s words cut off as Toren’s own sword slashed at his arm, impossibly quick. The blade cut down to the bone and even into it—Toren wrenched away the sword as the [Fighter] screamed and his comrade shouted in confusion.

[Mirage Cut]. In satisfaction, Toren watched as the man cried out and clutched at his useless arm. One down. He turned to the spear-wielder—

“[Pebbleshot]!”

A stone the size of Toren’s palm smacked him in the head. He rocked backwards on his feet and took a step back to steady himself.

New plan. Kill the [Mage] first. But when he raised his sword, he found that all three adventurers were…running?

“Get away!”

The woman with the spear had abandoned her weapon to help her friend run. The [Mage] was casting [Pebbleshot] at Toren, slowing him down as they ran back towards the main road.

Briefly, the skeleton considered giving chase. But in the end he just shook his head and lay back down in the snow. He was too busy thinking to bother chasing them, especially if it meant being hit by more pebbles.

However, the sudden burst of violence had cheered Toren up considerably. He’d completely forgotten about the music, and so he went back to his original line of thought.

Very well, if he had things he liked and disliked, then what about things he wanted to do? That was another intriguing question, and again, something Toren had never thought of. But now that he was free, what should he do?

Staying here to ambush passersby was losing a lot of its charm. Toren wanted…to be stronger. He wanted to level up freely, like he’d done when Erin hadn’t needed him around her inn. Yes, that was it! Toren would level up. Only after he’d gotten strong—much stronger than he was now would he worry about his kill list.

And on that note…Toren remembered the adventurers who’d beaten him with ease, quite unlike the ones he’d just routed. Griffon Hunt. All of them—and especially the [Scout], the one who’d shot him through the head—were far more powerful than Toren was, he was sure of it.

Becoming as strong as them was a good goal, wasn’t it? Toren stood up decisively. It was settled. He’d become stronger by killing things.

It had taken the skeleton many days to come to this conclusion. But the difference between Toren’s line of thought before and now was clear. Before, he’d just killed to level up, and because he wanted to. Now, he wanted to kill to level up to be as strong as the Griffon Hunt team. There was a huge distinction between such pointless actions and his new goal.

But where should he do it? Toren hit upon his first problem almost immediately as he dug around in the snow. Killing people on the road was all very well, but it was rather slow work, and people ran away almost every time. Wasn’t there somewhere better?

That was when Toren realized there was somewhere he could be. He looked up instinctively, his head turning south…south east. There was something in that direction. Or rather, something called to him, prodded at some sense in the skeleton’s mind.

It wasn’t far away, and it intrigued Toren. That was as good a place to start as any. So the skeleton quickly unearthed the battered bronze armor he’d hid in the snow and put it on. So adorned, he began to march through the snow. He was going to level up! Level up and then—

And then he’d see whether or not he felt like killing Erin Solstice. Of a certainty, he was going to kill Lyonette and everyone else who’d annoyed him at that damn inn.

—-

This is a story of a band of Goblins. They were a dangerous band of warriors—no common Goblins with rusted weapons and feeble bodies, but armed elites. Each one was over Level 10 in a combat class, and they were all armed and armored.

From their levels alone, they were each a match for any Bronze-rank adventurer. But in terms of experience, they were vastly more competent than any greenhorn with a sword. Each of the Goblins was a veteran warrior, one of the best fighters in the Redfang tribe.

And they were being led by a Hobgoblin. With him at their head, the Goblins were more than a match for any unprepared Silver-rank team. They were thirteen strong, a band of Goblin warriors.

And they were lost.

None of them mentioned this fact, however. They walked through the snow, rough cloaks held up against the wind as they marched on in tight formation. They were elite warriors, able to cope with any threat. What was being lost compared to fighting a Wyvern?

The trouble was, it was hard to fight sore feet and the nagging feeling that you were in the wrong place when you should be doing something else. The truth was, this group of Goblins was ill-suited for their task.

Namely: kill the Human. And that was the problem. When the Goblin warriors had been given their task by their Chieftain, the famous Garen Redfang himself, it had all seemed too easy. They’d immediately set out after being dropped off by Carn Wolves close to where the Human had last been spotted, walking on foot and away from the main roads to avoid unnecessary conflicts.

But then pesky questions had begun circulating throughout the group. Doubts that plagued even the most stalwart members. Questions like, which Human? Where was she going? Why an [Innkeeper]? Was there danger? Would she be protected? Was she going to go into a city and if so—were they expected to fight their way in? And most importantly…

Why not tell their current Chieftain, Rags?

All of these questions were pressing and important, but perhaps none more so than the last one. That was because while the Goblin warriors were fine with a little geographical displacement, or even chronological displacement if it came to that, they weren’t comfortable with disobeying their leader. And Rags was their leader, not Garen.

It was a complicated situation. In fact, for the Goblins, this current moment was the most politically fraught time any of them had ever experienced. Normally, being a Goblin was simple. All you had to do was survive, and obey the Chieftain. There wasn’t even a third requirement. That was how simple it was.

But in a strange twist of fate, the Redfang tribe, invincible in the region around the High Passes that they’d claimed for themselves, had suddenly become subservient to a tribe that up until very recently had been little more than a ragtag group of weaklings, even by Goblin standards. But the new, young and undeniably attractive Rags was a decisive and intelligent Chieftain who’d conquered many tribes by force.

Even so, Garen Redfang would have been able to crush her by himself. And he nearly did—except that he’d thrown the battle between him and her. All the Goblins knew it. Garen had taken only part of his forces to fight her, and he’d raided her tribe with quick attacks rather than commit to a full battle except at the end. He’d given the position of Chieftain over all the tribes to her.

That wasn’t actually the problem either, though. Garen was a great warrior and an excellent leader in battle. But as a Chieftain his abilities to manage his tribe were below even a common Hob’s which is why Rag’s sudden leadership had been welcome. Even if she was only technically a Chieftain directing other smaller Chieftains rather than a Lord in control of all the tribes…it was much better than having Garen in that role.

And yet Garen was still somehow in charge, or at least, he acted like it. And he’d told the Goblin warriors not to tell Rags, which was odd because he shouldn’t have been ordering them around to begin with if he wasn’t the Chieftain or if she hadn’t told him to.

It was all very complicated, and because it made the Goblins’ heads hurt, they’d just gone along with what Garen had said. But now, as they marched along and looked for a girl whose name they didn’t even know…

They were lost. None of the Goblins said it. At first, it had been too embarrassing to say. Saying it would have been a sign of weakness, or doubt in their former Chieftain’s orders. They’d faithfully hunted for the Human female [Innkeeper] day after day, keeping silent, maintaining the illusion.

By this point, not saying they were lost was a point of pride among the warriors. As if by not saying it, it would somehow make things better than if they were admitting they were lost.

Still, it was day six and something had to be done. The warriors eyed each other as they walked, and the Hobgoblin leading them grunted irritably. This couldn’t continue. Some of them had mates they wanted to get back to, and others were simply and understandably bored of walking around in circles.

All twelve normal Goblins and the Hobgoblin in charge were male. It wasn’t that Goblin women couldn’t be warriors—it was just that mostly, they were too busy being pregnant or taking care of children. But of the female Goblin warriors that did exist, none had been chosen to go on this mission.

Mainly because all the Goblins would have fought for her attention, including the Hob. And she might have fought them back if they got annoying. And the fighting would lead to sex, and the sex would lead to babies. And before long, it wouldn’t be a group of Goblin warriors wandering around, but another tribe.

The first Goblin to break the unspoken rule of silence was Badarrow. That wasn’t his name of course—the Redfang tribe had no Shaman, so they had no names. And unlike Rags who had been named by a Human of all people, and Garen Redfang who had two names, none of these warriors had any proper name.

So instead they had nicknames, which were as good as names except that they weren’t actual names. The Goblin who irritably made a comment in their primitive language as they sat around the fire was named Badarrow.

Badarrow was so named for his hatred of poor quality ammunition. Rather unusually for a Goblin, he refused to even touch any arrow with poor fletching, misshapen arrowheads, or bent shafts. He was an excellent [Archer] and he had the distinction of having killed two Silver-rank adventurers in battle, although this was slightly less impressive when you considered that he had just sat comfortably behind the actual fighting and taken both adventurers by surprise.

Nevertheless, he was a strong warrior and didn’t care for the opinions of anyone else. Which is why he scowled and said a Goblin curse word as he snatched the bowl of watery mush the Goblins had made for lunch.

It was just pasted roots and a tiny bit of meat and bones they’d saved from one of the hares Badarrow had shot yesterday. It wasn’t a bad meal for a normal Goblin, but the Redfang warriors were used to meat meals and lots of them.

All Badarrow said was the curse word, but it was the opening of a metaphysical discussion for the Goblins. It was true that their language was extremely primitive, but the Goblins made up for that fault by reading deeply into each other’s body language and feelings. Goblins lived in close-knit quarters, so their ability to read each other almost bordered on the telepathic.

Badarrow’s comment was indeed aimed at their poor food, but it was also a remark on the person who’d put them in a situation where all they could eat was this. It was an attack on Garen Redfang’s leadership—a subject on which even his tribe was split—and obliquely, a reminder that the Goblins had a better leader whom they were not obeying by being here without her knowledge or permission.

The Goblins considered this comment for only a second. Many would have refused to dive into an argument with Badarrow, but the Hobgoblin, known as Grunter, just grabbed one of the shoddy wooden bowls and downed his gruel in one go. Then he grunted. His name was largely obvious to most Goblins, although some still needed to have it explained to them.

On first glance, Grunter was just burping, or grunting irritably as was his wont. But his prompt, business-like consumption of his meal indicated to the other Goblins that he at least was ready to keep following orders.

That came as no surprise, really. Hobs sometimes questioned their Chieftain, or even fought for the leadership spot, but those who had no such ambitions were always rock-steady behind their Chieftain. So Grunter’s interjection was not a response so much as an opening statement warning the other Goblins that they were still largely indebted to Garen Redfang, despite their current predicament.

The next to comment was a Goblin sitting next to Grunter. He was known as Headscratcher—not for penchant for deep thought, but rather because he probably had lice. He poked his sword with one claw, a reminder of their task. But he also took a bite of his gruel, and even though his had a few fragments of meat, he made an unhappy face.

The other Goblins held their breath. This was a deep statement that cut to the core of what they were doing. Headscratcher had pointed out that yes, they were being sent to kill a Human. Nothing was wrong about that, but it was another reminder of Rag’s relationship to Humans.

Word got around. Even though the Redfang tribe hadn’t mingled long with the Flooded Waters Tribe, they knew Rags was friendly with at least one Human. And she often stayed at an inn. If this was the very same [Innkeeper] they’d been sent to kill, they would most certainly be in deep trouble for doing anything to her.

And Headscratcher’s commentary on their food also pertained to their likely fate if Rags used her power as Chieftain to expel them from the tribe. Garen Redfang couldn’t prevent that, and Headscratcher made it clear that this living rough was not for him.

The next to make a move were two Goblins, Bugear and Rocksoup. Bugear picked one of the infested mites out of his ear and flicked it at Headscratcher, which earned him a glare, but it put him solidly in Garen’s camp. So what if things were hard now? Their duty was to obey.

Rocksoup clearly had other opinions. He’d added his secret ingredient to his bowl, despite the intestinal problems it always gave him, but now he quite deliberately dropped a dirty rock in the communal pot hanging over the fire. The other Goblins scowled, but the meaning was clear: what harmed one Goblin harmed them all. If Rags was their Chieftain, then disobeying her by following Garen hurt the entire tribe.

And yet, Grunter opined with another grunt of displeasure as he fished out the stone with two fingers, Garen had lead them. He’d helped them become the warriors they were, and even if he wasn’t Chieftain, wasn’t he still stronger than Rags? Did they not owe him their loyalty, even though they obeyed Rags too?

Badarrow derisively scratched at his armpit, a commentary on Garen Redfang—he might also have just been scratching an itch. He took out two arrows – one perfectly made, the other one with a single crooked bit of fletching from staying in the quiver. He snapped the imperfect arrow with one clawed hand.

Such a dramatic statement against their former boss quieted the other Goblins. But they knew Badarrow was right. Life had been hard sometimes, for the Redfang tribe. If not for the warriors, then the regular Goblins—there was never enough food, despite their ability to take down almost any monster they wanted. The Hobs had to do all the work, and as Grunter grudgingly admitted, Garen often made mistakes when it came to choosing campsites or places to hunt.

Rags was clearly the better Chieftain. That much all the Goblins could agree on. But the fierce debate that ensued revolved around whether or not her qualifications as a leader made her a better candidate than Garen Redfang, who was unmatched in terms of combat prowess. Complicating the issue was that he had yielded to her, but clearly only obeyed her instructions at his whim, preferring to work behind her back when it suited him.

Could they really go against their leader? And what would be the consequences of throwing their lot behind Rags? Would she protect them, or despise their cowardice in abandoning their own tribe? After all, although she directly led several tribes, the others were simply following her in a coalition. She was not their direct leader—the other Chieftains were simply subservient to her. She was no Goblin Lord. But could she be?

The complexity of such a debate might have stunned any Human who was able to interpret their seemingly random gestures—and even more willing to ignore their fairly disgusting displays while they sat and ate. Bugear was especially hard to watch as he dug around in the ear where at least one nest of insects had made their home.

Most people assumed Goblins were about as deep as a puddle, and that was broadly speaking true. But some puddles are actually underground lakes, at least in certain cases.

The Goblin warriors were, even in their own minds, rather unintelligent and uninformed about many worldly matters. But even if these Goblins couldn’t perform wonders of mathematics or figure out how to read a map, they were still Goblins, experts in the field of Goblin culture in their own right. They understood tribal dynamics, and so they naturally debated such issues with keen interest.

After all, it was not unknown for Hobs or Goblin warriors to sway the outcome of a showdown between Chieftains. And the only thing Goblins had going for them was that they stuck together, regardless of what happened. So their hot debate was precisely the sort of thing that needed to occur to prevent internecine strife, which would be disastrous to their tribe.

In the end, the ones who formed the core of the debate were those who had been first to speak. Badarrow, Headscratcher, Grunter, Bugear, and Rocksoup were probably the best fighters, and certainly the most vocal. So the other Goblins deferred to them as they listened, only interjecting occasionally by flicking a stone at someone or passing wind to mock a stupid remark.

The others had names too of course, but the Goblins had only a limited amount of patience for remembering things. So often, the easiest way for them to think of each other was ‘that Goblin’ or ‘other Goblin’ and so on. Even when it came to themselves. It was only a nickname after all—if they had real names, they would have cared much more. But no one here was that lucky.

The Goblins spent around forty minutes eating lunch, upon which they packed up and kept walking in a random direction Grunter pointed. All the while they argued, until all of the Goblins present came to a conclusion as one.

Their general consensus was this: Garen Redfang was their Chieftain and leader. But—and this was a hard admission—he was a very poor Chieftain. He was unmatched in battle, but outside of it he was about as useful as an arrow up the butt. That was to say, he was actually more of a hindrance than anything else.

True, he’d lost the battle on purpose to Rags. But hadn’t she done a good job beating him and the other warriors despite that? The band of Goblins bore no particular ill will towards her for killing their comrades—they were just glad it hadn’t been them. The trap with the Shield Spider pits had proven she could outmaneuver Garen, and if you added that to her ability to lead so many tribes…

There was no comparison. Rags was the Chieftain, and Garen had forgotten that. Grunter and Bugear put it down to his interactions with Humans. He’d forgotten that he had to obey Rags, not make decisions for her. He had to be reminded of that.

So the conclusion all the Goblins came to was simple: they had to go back. They would go back to Rags and tell her what Garen had told them to do. And then, depending on what she said they’d complete their mission or not. Garen would throw a fit and maybe he’d get violent—

But it was the right thing to do. Their tribe needed unity now, more than ever. Especially if there really was a Goblin Lord about to attack them. Neither Rags nor Garen were as good as a true Goblin Lord, despite their Skills. But if they worked together…

In truth, the Goblin warriors didn’t know why they weren’t joining with this Goblin Lord, as was customary. But they’d heard dark rumors about this so-called Lord, and Garen Redfang had told them that any Goblin who joined the Goblin Lord, he, Garen, would kill himself. Which told the Goblins a lot about how much this new Goblin Lord could be trusted.

That was a matter for later. Right now, they had to get back and throw their support behind Rags. The Goblins present were few, but they had a lot of clout even outside their own tribe. Grunt was an average Hobgoblin, but the warriors present were some of the best, and their voices would sway a lot of minds.

So! Time to go back! No more being lost. They could return with their heads held high. The Goblins all felt rather satisfied with themselves. Rather cleverly, they’d managed to address their current issue without having to bring up the fact that they were lost.

But then Headscratcher looked around at the snowy landscape. He scratched his head, stared at whatever was caught in his fingernails and brought up a dismaying point.

Did they actually know where Rags and the other Goblins were right now?

The Goblin warriors looked at each other in consternation. They scratched their heads, scratched their butts, kicked at the snow, and shrugged helplessly. After a few seconds they all agreed. They were lost.

All eyes turned to Grunter. He grunted irritably. Grunter was a heavy Hob, one of the ones who was classically almost as wide as he was tall. He was no athletic Garen with a Human’s build, but his weight helped in battle where he could use his axe to literally crush his opponents. And it also made him a rock of confidence in times like these.

After a few seconds of thought, Grunter pointed. Not in a random direction this time—he pointed towards where they had come.

Liscor. That was the place to be. That was where Rags and the others had last been—they could head that way. They were sure to pick up signs of so many Goblins moving, even with their pathetic tracking abilities.

All the Goblins agreed. They would go to Liscor. In less than an hour they found the main road heading south and, after walking north for a few hours before they realized their mistake, they stealthily shadowed the road heading south.

They were going to rejoin their tribe. The only problem was that none of the Goblins knew that Rags and Garen and all the Goblin tribes in the area had already headed north, far north to the area around Invrisil. The band of Goblins were going in the wrong direction.

But they didn’t know that. And they felt confident, and that was all that mattered. That was, until they saw the other Goblins marching down the road.

—-

This is the story of a young woman. She had a name. But she had no words to tell anyone her name, even if they would have listened to her. She had lost language. And she had lost her family and everything else.

Before—she had a life. She’d been a [Florist]—an unusual class, but one she could take because her city had been beautiful and peaceful. Esthelm had been a happy city.

And then the Goblins came. The girl only remembered the chaos and screaming—shouting confusion as everyone ran. She’d tried to find her family, to escape, but the streets had been full of dark shapes, and the Goblins—

They had come and gone, and left a burned city in their wake. The girl had survived the fire, and she had been one of the first to lay eyes on her broken home.

Esthelm had been destroyed in a single night. And what remained was—

Rubble. Broken buildings. A maze of fallen masonry and tunnels of homes where the dead lay buried in the darkness. Empty souls wandering the destruction, preying on each other.

If she had found her family, she might have left with them. But no help had come, and the young woman had found herself trapped in the city. The Goblin army had left—leaving countless numbers of their dead in the streets. Goblins had slaughtered their own kind and plundered the city. Perhaps some would have called it a mercy.

But not her. And not the survivors. Rather, the many who survived the Goblin attack soon realized the true horror of what the Goblins had done. The monsters had taken goods, plundered valuables—and stolen away the food. And now, in the remains of their city, over half of the remaining population began to tear each other apart over what scraps they could find.

Death by sword or fire would have been the kinder alternative by far. The young woman had tried to find her home, and then find stores of food—shops—but she had found nothing. Desperate men and women had killed each other fighting over a bag of grain before her eyes, and she had fled.

Now she sat in the dark, broken place that had been a home, staring up at a ceiling held up by crumbling supports. Even though the structure could fall at any moment, she didn’t care. Oblivion was preferable to what she faced.

Hungry. She was so hungry. It wasn’t even words anymore. Just an overpowering desire to eat something. Anything.

It had been six days. Six long days since Esthelm had burned. The young woman’s clean hair was gone. Her features were gaunt. Her stomach was eating away at the rest of her body. She was so hungry.

And yet—she could find no food. Now she sat, staring at the one thing she could find to eat. But it was too horrible. She turned away and lay against a broken wall, trying to die. Trying to ignore the nightmarish idea in her brain.

On the seventh day she stared down at the body. Even flies hadn’t found it yet. Whoever it had been—male or female—had burned in the devastation. Their skin was blackened. And yet—

The smell. It was nauseating, horrific. The burnt flesh should have made her turn away and puke. But now it only made her mouth water. Her stomach growled. The young woman stared at the body, possessed by a terrible urge.

Hungry. She was hungry.

She couldn’t. She would rather die. But when she’d pulled herself to the entrance of her hidden resting place, she’d seen what lay outside. Bands of men—grabbing young women, fighting each other. She’d watched in horror and retreated to her small place, covering her ears to not hear the shrieks.

On the eighth day she stared at the body. She was forcing herself not to touch it. She stared at the ground. She stared at her hands, ragged, dirty. She tried to tell herself it would never happen.

Hungry.

But something dark sat up in her body. It crawled towards the light, and salivated in the madness of her broken mind. When she heard the screaming outside—inhuman and bestial, she’d smiled and laughed uncontrollably, giggling in the silence of her pit.

And on the ninth day, she’d eaten the body. It was rotten and the flesh was—

She tore and bit like an animal, lost to reason. The only desire she had in the entire world was to eat.

She was so hungry it hurt. But then she ate and ate and—

And then it happened. She heard the voice in her mind as she slept that night, after she’d puked and wept and eaten again, letting the monster in her soul take over. She ate and ate and ate until her body was gorged on the flesh, eating until she thought she would burst. And then she’d heard the voice in her head.

[Rank 1 Horror – Corpse Eater.]

[Condition – Terrible Hunger Received.]

[Condition – Outcast Humanity Received.]

[Aspect – Body of the Eater Obtained.]

[Aspect – Rending Claws Obtained.]

[Florist Level 19 → Florist Level 16.]

[Skill – Aroma of Spring Lost.]

[Skill – Winter Growth Lost.]

She’d woken up and screamed. But the sound hadn’t been Human. And when she’d felt at her teeth suddenly sharp and pointed, her fingernails like razors and her face—she’d known.

She’d become a monster. She had damned herself and lost her humanity.

She was—

So hungry. So very, very hungry.

And there was food to eat everywhere now. So much food.

—-

Esthelm, in the darkness. It always seemed dark in Esthelm. The broken buildings and slanted walls created a labyrinth into which sound and light seemed to vanish. The bands of refugees and thugs who’d established themselves on the outside of the city had light, but it only served to enshroud the center of the city in more darkness.

The sewers had broken in places. In others, the flame had sent buildings tumbling into obscene heaps of death. Only the brave and truly desperate would go searching in these places, even among Esthelm’s survivors. Because even if they did not see anything, they knew dark things lurked in these places.

One of these dark things looked like a young woman. Perhaps. She had ragged long hair and her body was in the right shape. But clothing hung from her thin frame, and as she tore at something on the ground, other changes were clear. Her fingernails were sharp like knives. Her hands and face looked—wrong. And she was eating.

She crouched on the ground, tearing at something. She stuffed pieces into her face, rotting bits of…something. Something she still couldn’t put into words.

Because she’d lost them.

[Rank 2 Horror – Carrion Eater.]

[Condition – Wordless Thing Received.]

[Skill – Gaping Bite Obtained.]

[Florist Level 16 → Florist Level 12.]

[Skill – Quick Growth Lost.]

The more she ate, the worse it became. But now she was eating the rotting corpses, not just the burned dead. She was so hungry. Part of her wanted to puke, but she could only eat. It was all—

Delicious. Not like sweets or savory foods to make the mouth water, but something more primal. It was just food she tasted—food to fill the hole in her stomach. So she ate and bit, and chewed the bones.

Part of her wanted to die. But the rest was just hungry. She could stop herself for only a few seconds. And then her head would lower and she would feast.

The young woman pulled more of the corpse towards her. It had been a woman, once. A young woman, like her. The knowledge was a dagger in the girl’s heart, but she couldn’t stop. She bit once, and again, tearing off bits and pieces, feeling the flesh rip and stretch. Tears ran down her face, and she choked on bile and the foulness. But she swallowed and bit again.

So hungry. She was so hungry. And she had to eat. Had to. It was that or become one of the rotting bodies. She wanted to be dead, but she couldn’t figure out how.

The girl reached for the head of the half-devoured woman. And then she heard the scream.

“No!”

She saw the movement, saw the blow coming. It smashed into her face, making her nose crunch and her flesh tear as the boot struck her. Then she heard the man.

“What are you doing? Dead gods—what—?”

Then the orb of light in his hands shone on her and she shielded her face. The man saw the corpse and he went still. The young woman looked up, gasping, searching for words. But they had all left her.

And as the horror-struck man’s eyes turned from the body to her face, he recoiled. He went pale, and his voice shook as he spoke.

“Monster.”

He whispered it, and then screamed the word.

“Monster!”

She backed away on all fours as he groped around for a weapon, a stone—anything. She saw him find a piece of wood, splintered on one end. He raised the block of wood and advanced, swinging at her.

“Get away—die you—you monster!”

She fled. He chased after her, catching her with one bloody swing on the shoulder once—but he quickly gave up the chase. She looked back only once and saw him holding the body in his arms.

This was her life.

—-

They found her as she fled. A group of laughing men, desperate and lacking hope, but reveling in their own twisted freedom to do as they pleased. They only saw her silhouette in the flickering light of their torches, but they called out the instant they saw her.

“A woman!”

“Come here!”

They chased her too. She fled down a broken street, tripping, stumbling. One of them had a Skill and they caught up to her quickly. But the group of men stopped when their torches cast her body into relief. The color drained from their faces as they saw her face, her clothing—when they saw her.

“What is—”

“Is she—is it—?”

They might have killed her, but she fled into a broken place where the rubble had fallen and broken into a sewer. None of the men chased her. Their lust was gone, and only horror remained.

—-

In the muck and congealed foulness, the thing that used to be a girl saw something moving. She darted after it even as it fled. But it was too slow, and she was too quick now. Hunger and her new form drove her, made her quick. Quicker than the shambling dead things that tried to follow her. She could see them rising in the darkness. The dead coming back to life.

But she wasn’t interested in them. Small creatures were easier to kill. And the rodent she’d found was slow in the sewer waste. Too slow.

She caught a rat and held it up. It struggled and screamed in her hands and bit her, but the pain was just like everything else that was life. And when she bit it, the body twitched a few times and then was still.

She ate it entirely, and licked at her foul hands. It didn’t matter. She was lost. And then she wailed, screaming with all that remained of her heart.

The noise attracted the shambling things. They came for her, rotting, trying to kill her. But she was quick, and she fled. But the dead were coming back, all of them. Some climbed out of the sewers and more dug themselves out of the ground. They were coming back.

Somehow, it made the former girl happy. Esthelm was as damned as she was.

—-

A vast army of them, far larger than any one tribe’s worth of warriors was marching down the road. The band of Goblins halted immediately, and fear ran down all of their spines. In an instant, they knew these were not Goblins from their tribe, or even the amalgamate led by Rags and Garen.

The instant the Goblin warriors saw the army, they knew something was wrong. Though the tide of green bodies were unmistakably Goblins and Hobgoblins, there was something wrong about this company.

They were Goblins, yes. But they were not Goblins who followed Rags or Garen. These Goblins wore armor, and all carried weapons. And they marched with death among them and on their blades.

Death, and far worse than that.

Some carried pikes with human and monster parts dangling from them. Others simply marched in place, but that was wrong too. They moved like a Human or Drake army, in formation, not freely like the band of Goblins did. Their armor was black, and they covered their faces with dark helmets and cloth, as if they were afraid to show their faces.

Badarrow snarled as he pointed to the front ranks of Goblins. Headscratcher, Grunter, and the others looked, and saw dead Goblins. Undead Goblins, that was.

Several rows of zombies walked in front of the main army, shambling along. Mostly Goblins, but Humans, Drakes, and Gnolls too. There was a [Necromancer] among the Goblins, or a [Shaman] capable of raising the dead.

The Goblin Warriors had no problem with mages. At least, no problem with ones on their side. Garen’s tribe had no Shamans and they were rare. But necromancers bothered even Goblins. The dead could be eaten or left to rot—or even be used to hide amongst in order to survive. But raising their own fallen to fight again?

That was cruel, even for Goblins. But what was worse was what it said about a Chieftain who would order his [Shamans] to raise the dead. It meant he would use his tribe like things, and have them fight and die for him even after they had died the first time.

This was no tribe of Goblins north of Liscor. Without having to be told, the band of Goblins knew that this was a force sent by the Goblin Lord to the south.

And worst—what made Bugear stop poking at his ear and Rocksoup turn gray with fear—all the Goblins knew that this wasn’t the actual full force of the Goblin Lord. No—they saw no women and children among the army. This was clearly a war band sent out to pillage and kill. And for such a huge one to be sent—how terribly vast was the host of the Goblin Lord?

It was not a question they had time to ponder. The Goblin army had spotted the thirteen Goblins the same time they had been spotted. The Goblin warriors saw Goblins on foot and other riding ponies, and even what looked like spiders approaching them at speed.

Perhaps they thought they were allies? No one had begun loosing arrows yet or casting spells.

Grunter, their leader, made a decision in a moment. He turned and shouted an order. All thirteen Goblins turned and fled up the road. They heard shouts among their pursuers, and then knew they were being chased.

Arrows flew towards them. But the Goblin Warriors had a good bit of distance on their pursuers, so they ignored the shots. Badarrow and two other Goblins turned and loosed arrows at the fastest pursuers—Badarrow’s shot took a pony in the leg and the animal screamed as it went down with the rider. The scream cut off quickly and the Goblin rose with a dripping blade.

The Goblin warriors ran on. They had no idea where they were going or what to do; they only knew they had to flee or die.

That was how they found the city. It appeared on their right side as the road curved towards it, a broken place, the walls torn down and the gates forced open. It was destroyed, but the Goblin warrior headed towards it without a second’s hesitation.

There might be Humans living here. It had been a Human city after all. But even if there were survivors, it would be easier to lose their pursuers among the rubble and fight in tight alleyways then be caught out on the open, snowy landscape where there was nowhere to hide.

The band of Goblins ran furiously, outdistancing even their mounted pursuers by the expedient of shooting down any who got too close. The pursuing Goblins halted when they saw they’d lose their quarry, and rejoined the main army. As the marching army of the Goblin Lord approached the city, a vanguard split off, marching slowly towards Esthelm. There was no need to hunt the individual Goblins. The vanguard had been sent to subjugate what remained of the city, and they could kill the warriors from the other tribe just as easily in the process.

That was how Goblins came back to Esthelm. Some fleeing, others seeking the city out for darker purposes.

—-

The skeleton walked towards Esthelm, understanding more and more as he walked why he was headed there.

It was a place of death. He could sense it in the air. Esthelm had seen hundreds—thousands of lives claimed. And the dead were lying unburied, rotting, forming a mass of—of opportunity. That was how Toren thought of it.

Yes, opportunity was the right word. It wasn’t as if there was any inherent will here. But the dead were gathered so close that magic only had to fluctuate a bit and the dead would come back. It was a natural process, and Toren understood it almost instinctively.

The undead. The skeleton considered the idea as he marched down the empty road, the snow blowing against his battered armor. He knew he was technically undead, but he felt little kinship with the skeletons, zombies, and other creatures he was related to. To him, they were just other things he could kill, or rather, re-kill.

And why not? Toren was sure that he would level if he fought some powerful undead. Perhaps there would be Crypt Lords in the city. The thought of fighting one of them cheered him up greatly, and he ran towards the city instead. After all, it wasn’t as if he would get tired running, and it was faster than walking.

That was how he found the vanguard of Goblins. They spotted him as he ran towards the city. Toren stopped when he saw them. The skeleton didn’t have any real fear in his heart, so his only reaction to seeing the hundreds of Goblins wearing arms and armor was mild surprise.

That was a lot of Goblins. And then Toren had another thought: fighting them would probably be a bad idea, at least, if he tried to do it all at once.

Should he run? Toren was fairly certain that he could get away from any number of Goblins, even in armor. But before he could make up his mind, he saw movement at the core of the army.

Not all the Goblins were armored infantry. Some were riders, others Hobs. And one in the center wore no armor at all. Instead, the Goblin had a twisted staff of ivory bones that looked welded together. And his eyes glowed with a darker crimson than the other Goblins. He gestured at Toren, and spoke a word that was audible even across the vast distance between them.

It was a word of magic, a word in the Goblin tongue, but magic nonetheless. Toren jerked as he felt something in his head.

Come here. The words burned in Toren’s mind. He faltered—and then realized the words were like one of Erin’s orders! Immediately, his body turned and he began walking straight towards the Goblin [Shaman]. The other Goblins parted to let him pass, ignoring Toren’s armor and burning gaze. They all wore grim expressions—as far as Toren could tell from their odd faces. They were used to the dead—Toren saw quite a few zombies and some skeletons marching at the head of the army.

At first, Toren was just shocked. He let his body move, unable to comprehend what had happened. How had the Goblin ordered him? But his shock quickly turned to rage.

He was being ordered against his will. Again! But Toren held his patience. He didn’t struggle against the command. Instead, he marched straight up to the [Shaman].

The Goblin was old, and he rode on a cart next to a Goblin seated on a large Shield Spider. The mounted Goblin had black tattoos all over his body and a gleaming halberd. The two Goblins were talking in their own language, and Toren saw the [Shaman] was eying him with some interest.

As the skeleton approached, the [Shaman] turned from his conversation with the Goblin leader and beckoned towards the skeleton. Toren approached, and the Goblin eyed him from head to toe. He spoke several words in his own language, nodding encouragingly.

Toren nodded to himself as well. So, some spell casters could control him? This was an important discovery. However, there was something different about the spell that controlled him now and Erin’s orders. This [Shaman]’s words—the ones that made Toren draw his sword and slash the air a few times and stand at attention—they felt weaker somehow.

Well now, wasn’t that interesting? The [Shaman] waved Toren towards the other undead standing at the head of the army. Toren cocked his head, and then walked.

Forwards, not towards the other undead. At first, the [Shaman] didn’t seem to notice Toren approaching. But when the Goblin leader made an inquisitive sound, he turned and saw Toren walking towards him.

The [Shaman]’s eyes widened. He gestured towards the undead and croaked an unmistakable order. Toren paused mid-step and then kept walking.

Surprising, the [Shaman] didn’t try to run or fight. He just kept trying to recast the spell, which Toren found hilarious. The skeleton walked right up to the Goblin and paused in front of him.

Flabbergasted, the [Shaman] just stared at Toren in shock. Toren slowly raised a hand, and waved it slowly at the Goblin. The Goblin stared at him, and then raised his hand hesitantly as well. He waved it—

And Toren ran him through with his sword. The skeleton ignored the shouts of panic and the cry of rage from the Goblin leader. He just smiled—smiled as he always did as the [Shaman] choked in shock and pain.

The Goblin spellcaster stared into Toren’s flaming sockets as the skeleton twisted the sword. Toren yanked the blade out of the Goblin’s body and watched him fall to the ground, dead.

Good. Toren turned, and the shining halberd cut his arm off. He reeled backwards, surprised. The Goblin Leader snarled at him, cutting through Toren’s bronze armor with ease.

One-handed, Toren struck at the Goblin. But the leader pulled his mount away and shouted an order. Every Goblin in the army charged at Toren—and he was standing in the center of their force.

Oh well. Toren lifted his sword and grinned again. He charged at the Goblins. He cut and stabbed even as the Goblin warriors overwhelmed him. They pierced his armor and broke his bones. But still the skeleton refused to fall.

Only when the Goblin with the halberd came back to sever Toren’s head from his shoulders did the skeleton’s body crumble. The Goblins saw his bones fall to the ground and stomped them into the snow. They stared at his remains, and muttered amongst themselves until their leader snapped an order.

The [Shaman]’s body was stripped of all valuables, and his body tossed into a pile of corpses towed by two half-dead horses. Two lesser [Shamans] came forwards, cringing and uncertain as the Goblin leader ordered them to take command of the undead. They’d gone rampant after the [Shaman] had died, and the remaining spellcasters had to work to keep them in order.

But in the end, the Goblin vanguard set out again. They marched towards Esthelm—but halted several miles away from the city rather than enter it. They had lost their chief [Shaman] through some twist of fate, and messengers had to be sent back to the main force which had continued northwards. Until they could receive reinforcements to control the dead, there would be no point in entering the city. After all, what good was a city of the dead and soon to be dead if you couldn’t control them with magic?

Still, a few Goblin groups were sent towards the city, to scout out how many Humans had survived. Something had killed the first army sent here, and although the city was clearly in ruins, it never hurt to be cautious. If there were still traces of Humans, the Goblins would slaughter them. Shaman or no shaman, they could still prepare the way.

The Goblins waited. And so did Toren. He waited until they were all gone to reassemble himself. He stood up in the snow, dusting off his bones and staring in dismay at his ruined armor.

What a waste. And how odd! Toren was sure these weren’t the Goblins led by that Rags Goblin. So where had they come from?

He didn’t really care. In fact, Toren was privately delighted. Now he had both Goblins and undead he could kill! And Humans too!

He marched into the city, leaving his battered armor behind. All he needed was a sword. That was all. A sword and something to stab.

He was going to level up a lot in the city. But—carefully. Toren was aware that even he could only reanimate so many times. He’d have to ambush the Goblins, fight in the shadows.

That was fine. Toren could see in the dark.

—-

So the skeleton walked into the city, keeping to the shadows, enjoying the opportunity he had found here. As he did, the band of thirteen Goblins ran fast and as far as they could, dodging into buildings, trying to find a place to hide, to survive the pursuit that was surely coming after them. And all the while they feared what lay in the city. Monsters? Humans? This was a nightmare for them.

Meanwhile, a nightmare stalked the streets. She hid from the Humans she encountered, and wept as she ate and scavenged among the dead. And the dead rose and tried to kill her as well. There was little left of her, but she clung to what fragments remained. She lived and ate. She survived. That was all she knew. She was…lost.

This is the story of a skeleton named Toren. This is the story of a band of lost Goblins. This is the story of a monster. And how they all met in a city where the dead lived and the living struggled.

Esthelm.

3.18 T

This is a story of a skeleton. His name was Toren, and it was the one thing he had never questioned about himself. Erin had given him that name, and that at least he was grateful to her for.

But in the place he walked, no one would know his name. In fact, they wouldn’t even bother to ask whether he had one. The people in the city of Esthelm would probably just take one look at Toren and run, or try to kill him.

And if they were some kind of mentally-deficient human who wanted to make friends with an undead skeleton, Toren would kill them anyways. That was his plan, and he thought it was a good one.

The skeleton strolled in through the open gates of the city as dusk fell. He didn’t worry about anyone stopping him; there were no guards manning the shattered watch towers, or what remained of the walls. And yet, he knew there were people in the city.

Lots of them, in fact. Toren stared as he walked further into the city and saw what remained after the Goblins’ attack.

Broken buildings. Scorched ash. Piles of rubble and broken earth. Toren was no expert, but he was fairly certain this wasn’t how cities were supposed to look.

Then again, maybe this was how Humans built their cities? Who knew? Toren spotted several…buildings amidst the shattered landscape. He stared, intrigued, at flimsy ramshackle structures someone had built out of salvaged wood and metal.

Were those supposed to be houses? They looked so flimsy, Toren felt he could push them over if he tried. And as it turned out, he could do just that. The skeleton succeeded in knocking over a support beam to one of the structures, which sent the roof and walls tumbling in. He paused as he heard screams from inside the structure, and then realized the noise had attracted people.

People, or to be more accurate, the one species that seemed to live in this city.

Humans.

They rushed over to the building and Toren quickly ran away from the scene of the destruction. He saw men and women in dirty and torn clothing dashing towards the caved-in structure. Crouched behind a broken wall, Toren saw some of them trying to pull away the debris that had collapsed on the people inside.

The building’s inhabitants came out shaken, bloody, shocked. Toren saw with interest there were children—Human children—among them. He’d never seen a Human child before. After a few seconds of observation, Toren concluded they were nothing special. All they seemed to do was cry.

The skeleton saw the Humans—now a rather large group, perhaps thirty or more, exclaiming over the structure that had mysteriously fallen to bits. He saw a few of the Humans—mostly men—begin to point fingers at another man who was raising his hands and pointing frantically at the structure. One man—standing next to a woman holding a weeping child with a bloody shoulder in her arms—raised a fist. He punched the accused man, and then more people rushed to help him beat the poor fellow to death, or at least into something close to it.

It was all fascinating to Toren. He watched as the mob, having administered justice, began to try and figure out what to do next. It was cold, and snowflakes kept drifting down sporadically from the sky. The Humans had to find shelter soon, or at least blankets. There had been blankets in the building, so some tried to dig them out. But then another fight broke out over who should have the blankets, and then someone pulled out a dagger—

Confusion and chaos. This was only one small group, in a small part of the city. When Toren was done watching Humans attack each other, he found another group of Humans to see much of the same.

They certainly did like to fight, didn’t they? They formed into groups or tried to survive on their own, quarreling and sometimes even killing each other over things like blankets, food, weapons—all of which, it had to be said, seemed to be in very short supply.

Toren quite approved of the violence he witnessed as he made his way deeper into the city, keeping to the shadows. He hadn’t ever noticed Erin or Lyonette doing it, but Humans seemed to love hurting each other. Perhaps this was why he liked killing things?

The skeleton knew his bones—at least his skull—was Human. So he felt a certain kinship to the gangs of desperate men who banded together and savagely attacked anyone weaker than them to steal what they needed or wanted. It was so fascinating to Toren that he completely forgot to kill anything for a while as he observed the refugees of Esthelm in their natural habitat.

He’d never seen so many Humans before! Not ever! In truth, Toren had never been to anything like a crowded place before; the closest he’d come were busy nights when Erin’s inn had been packed. But this was different.

There were a lot of Humans. True, many of them seemed like they were crowded together in ramshackle structures, but it did seem like there was some kind of organization happening. The strongest Humans—those with weapons or some kind of fighting Skill—lead the others. They made sure their people had more clothing, more to eat. And they took other things as well.

A man dragged a screaming woman away after one group of men had killed another group of men. Toren followed him as he took the woman away and for some reason, took off his clothes. And then he did strange things which made no sense to the skeleton, but which seemed to upset the young woman.

Toren cocked his head left and then right, trying to figure out what the point was. There was a lot of grunting and animal-like motion…was that it? They were just sort of bumping each other, much to the woman’s displeasure.

Maybe he wasn’t seeing the full picture. Carefully, the skeleton crawled across the ground. It was easy for him to make himself invisible in places where snow had fallen, but it meant he couldn’t see everything. He moved around and tried to get a good perspective from another angle.

Nope. No good. Frustrated, the skeleton stood up. He finally saw what the man was doing—about the same time as the man happened to glance up. He looked up and saw the skeleton staring at him. Toren stared down in interest as the man went white.

Well now, what was this? More fleshy bits. Toren had seen Erin naked a few times by accident, but he hadn’t been aware there were so many differences between male Humans and female ones. And how strange the fleshy bits were! He ignored the man’s horrified stare as he fixed his attention on a rather odd body part that was changing before his eyes. He had no idea things could shrink like that.

The man made a choking, horrified noise as the woman saw Toren. She screamed. He scrambled off her and grabbed for his weapon—a spiked club he’d carelessly tossed to the ground. Toren sneered at it silently. He let the man charge at him, naked, swinging his club without an inch of actual skill or forethought.

Humans.

Toren didn’t even bother with his sword. He wrenched the club out of the man’s hands as the Human struck at him, and then beat the man to the ground with it. The Human took quite a few blows to die, which Toren attributed to the shoddy craftsmanship of his club. He should have been ashamed.

When he was done, Toren tossed the bloody club on the ground. He stared at the woman, who hadn’t really stopped screaming since he’d seen her. It was getting annoying, so Toren used the [Fear] effect in his eyes.

That made her freeze, shivering, naked, and terrified as she sat on the ground, staring at him. She flinched as Toren raised the club, but he just tossed it on the dead man’s corpse. He could have beaten her to death with it as well, but she didn’t seem like she was a warrior, so why bother?

In his experience, there wasn’t actually much to be gained from slaughtering things that couldn’t fight back. He’d tried it with baby spiders, the odd reptilian birds that lived around Liscor, and even Corusdeer fawns. There was just no point to it. It was fun, obviously, but Toren had come here for a reason.

Yes, he was here to fight! The skeleton abandoned the Humans, and indeed, the populated parts of the city entirely. He walked further into the center of the city, peering around demolished buildings. Groups of Humans hitting each other with sticks and occasionally swords was all very well, but he’d come here for a real challenge. Where were the undead? Probably further in. And the Goblin army had to be coming soon. Toren would have a fight then, but in the meantime, he searched around for trouble. There had to be actual warriors around here, right?

Right?

—-

The Goblins ran through the city, no longer fleeing, but rather, searching for a place to hide.

Their pursuers had stopped at the edges of the city. But the Goblins kept moving, venturing deeper into the ruins of Esthelm. Now that they knew where they were, they were convinced of several things.

Firstly, this city had been destroyed. That was obvious. But what was clear to them was that this city had been ransacked in an odd way. The buildings and indeed the city’s defenders had been put to sword and flame, yet the people had been spared. The instant the Goblins had entered the city they had spotted countless Humans, living in their camps on the outskirts of the city.

The Goblins had never seen anything like it. When they attacked a city or village, they killed all the inhabitants or forced them to flee. But this—taking the city but leaving the people to remain? Who would do such a thing?

It made them all think of Rags. Perhaps she had been here? They certainly saw evidence some Goblins had been here—an entire army’s worth of dead Goblins lay slaughtered across the city, their rotting remains covered partially by the snow.

But maybe it had all been the Goblin Lords’ forces? The Redfang Goblins didn’t know. But they did know they couldn’t stay in the open. Humans being in the city complicated things. Hiding from their own kind was one thing, but if there were this many Humans there, the Goblins had two enemies to fight.

Most of the Humans they passed had formed small groups—former [Shopkeepers] and [Butchers] and so on holding weapons they didn’t know how to use. But if they all attacked the Redfang Goblins at once, the warriors would be torn to bits no matter how superior their equipment and levels were.

So the Goblins warriors ran. The other Goblins following them would come sooner or later, they knew. So they had to find a place to hide.

But where?

The first to spot a likely area was Bugear. He called out as they ran, and pointed to a collapsed building, taller than most structures. It was terribly exposed, but the other Goblins understood what he meant and immediately surged towards it. They raced down broken streets, ignoring the Humans that cried out and fled from them. Lone Humans weren’t their concern.

The rubble was jagged and broken pieces of stone stood out, but the mound was easy to climb for the Goblins. In minutes they were all at the top, staring down at the dark city below them.

They weren’t hiding. Not yet. Rather, they were doing the sensible thing and taking the lay of the land, scoping out the city on their own terms. It was true they would be easily spotted, but who was looking for the Goblins right now? The Humans were disorganized and only a scant few of them had ranged weapons of any kind.

So the Redfang warriors held their position, staring down at Esthelm. Grunter ordered two Goblins – Leftstep and Rabbiteater – to watch for anyone trying to climb up and take them by surprise. Meanwhile, the other Goblins pointed down, their keen eyes catching individual Humans roaming the streets. And the Goblins exclaimed, their voices full of surprise.

What was this? What was this…city? What had happened here? Obviously the Humans had survived the battle, but what was this? They were forming groups, fighting over territory. See there? Headscratcher pointed out a group of men building a clumsy barricade to wall off a street. They were creating bases in the city! And already, some groups of Humans had created living spaces, communal campfires and places for the young and elderly to rest, guarded zealously by Humans who watched over their new home with improvised weapons.

It was startling, strange, unheard of. And to the Goblin warriors, deeply disturbing. Not because it was so unfamiliar—but because it was exactly like the life they knew. To them, it was like the Humans had formed Goblin tribes. They fought and warred over resources like Goblins did, only viciously, fighting over petty scraps that even the Goblin tribes wouldn’t have contested.

If too many tribes were in the same region, they would fight. But the weaker tribe would move away rather than continue to fight. But none of the Humans left the city. They warred over it instead, building a new place on the ashes of their homes. It was so surreal to them that the Goblin warriors had to stop and take it all in.

And the cruelty! Ah, Goblins knew Humans could be cruel. But when they saw the other Humans killing each other in the streets, chasing after women, hurting—the Goblins saw a bit of what they did, and felt uneasy. It was too much like what Goblins were supposed to do. Not Humans.

Of course, not all Humans had become raping, murderous monsters. But it had to be said that the ones who did this tended to stand out a lot more than the ones just trying to survive. The Goblins stood on their position for a few minutes, and after they were able to tear their eyes away from the Humans, they took in the rest of the city.

The places near the walls were the most populated. Only naturally—the destruction was actually less around the outskirts, since there weren’t as many buildings that could have been destroyed. But in the center, a great pile of broken walls and stone formed a maze, a labyrinth that ran into the earth in places where the underground sewers had collapsed and sent the ground tumbling downwards.

That was a good place to hide. But for how long? At Grunter’s insistence, the Goblins checked their supplies. They weren’t carrying much. Aside from their weapons and tools to start fires and hunt and prepare food with, they had barely enough for a scant meal between them. If they wanted to live in this city, they’d have to find food.

Well, there were dead bodies. Badarrow pointed out some fresh ones. And there were Humans as well as Goblins for variety. Grunter nodded, but his eyes were on a few pinpoints of light beyond the city walls. The other Goblins looked.

Campfires. And they could see small shapes, hundreds of them, gathered around the fires. Goblins. Not their people, but the enemy.

Why were they here? It didn’t matter. They’d boxed the Redfang Goblins into the city, and if they tried to run, they’d surely be cut down.

It was bad news. But the Goblins were Goblins, so they regarded their predicament as only another thing to survive. That was why they moved off the rubble and into the heart of the city without worrying or speaking. Shelter first, and then food. Worrying was pointless; a thing Chieftains did.

On their passage through the streets, the Goblins slowed. Now that they weren’t running, they let their most silent trackers—Badarrow and Numbtongue—go ahead. Numbtongue peered down an alley and shook his head. The Goblins swiftly passed by the entrance, avoiding the group of Humans at the other end.

Fighting was pointless. The Goblins knew how to fight, which meant they knew when not to fight. They avoided any groups of Humans, slowly working their way deeper and deeper through the streets.

That’s when they saw the Human and the child. He was calling out, searching for his family. The Goblins heard his voice and said nothing, although they all privately knew where the child’s parents likely were. Hadn’t they all gone through the same moments growing up, after a battle or when their tribe had been raided?

Grunter wanted to move on, but Headscratcher pointed. The Goblins, hidden as they crouched in a shadowy spot next to a building, saw a man approaching the child. He had no weapon, but there was murder in the way he walked.

Perhaps he was tired of hearing the child call out. Maybe he thought the child would attract too much attention here. He might have been angry, or filled with hate. Maybe he just wanted to kill something.

The boy ran when he saw the adult. But he was too slow. The man grabbed him. The Goblins watched, remembering. It was a familiar scene. Still, they didn’t move. They would have left, to let the scene play out, but Badarrow stood up. Silently, he put an arrow to his bow and loosed it.

Badarrow’s shot took the Human in the back, right where neck met shoulder. The man gasped, fell, nearly squashing the shocked boy who cried out. He was dead when he hit the ground.

None of the other Goblins said a word. But neither did they rebuke Badarrow. And neither did they look at the child. They just paused, and moved on.

The wandering child screamed as he saw the Goblins, but the warriors moved past him, grim and silent. They gave him no aid, but didn’t hurt him. He was Human. An enemy if he was older, prey if he had valuables they could take. What could they have done for him, anyways?

But the Redfang warriors exchanged glances even so, as they found likely spots to settle and scouted around for any fresh bodies and wood to use for dinner. They didn’t say it, but they all thought it.

There was something dark in this city. Of course, they’d seen things far more terrifying than this, and they’d faced times just as bleak. But it was what the Humans did that disturbed the Goblins. When things fell apart, they didn’t stick together like Goblins did—they tore each other apart. Hadn’t they all been part of the same tribe here? Why were they killing each other now?

No one had an answer. But Grunter, who’d been staring at the sky, grunted. The Goblins looked at him as they pulled the Human that Badarrow had shot back towards their new base. The boy was long gone.

Grunter pointed the direction they’d come, back towards the other Goblins. He spoke, the words coming slowly to him.

“The others will come. Here. To kill the Humans.”

The Redfang warriors nodded. That was likely. They could put two and two together—even if this city had been looted, the Humans were a resource. Food, and perhaps even warriors if the [Shamans] and [Mages] they’d seen could control so many.

But what did that have to do with them? Grunter pointed at the broken walls, the maze the Goblins found himself in. He touched the axe at his belt.

“Chaos. Confusion. Kill them.”

The Goblin warriors considered this. Then Bugear grinned and Rocksoup licked his lips. Now, that was a good idea! It was unlike Grunter to come up with it, but he was a Hob after all.

Kill their kind. Ambush them in the streets. Even if there was an army, it wasn’t impossible in this landscape. The city practically invited sneak attacks. And in the confusion and looting and killing, they could surely slip away from their pursuers.

After all, Goblins looked alike. And if they could get their hands on some armor—who’d notice a band of Goblins amidst all the fighting?

It was a good plan, and the Goblins wasted no more time thinking about it. They had a plan, and they would implement it as best they could. Now it was time to eat. They had one body—they could find more, and stuff themselves tonight.

That was one small benefit to be had from this city. There were a lot of bodies, and Humans didn’t eat dead Humans. So the Goblins would be fed, and warm too, if they could find enough wood. All they had to do was find a place to hide.

And wait.

—-

Toren was getting sick of all the useless Humans. He was tempted to just run at a band of looters and fight them, but he had the feeling he wouldn’t level if he did. He strode down the empty streets, growing increasingly more annoyed.

Where was the backbone in these Humans? It seemed like all they were doing was squabbling with each other, not doing important things! Perhaps that was why the Goblin army had come. They would easily kill the Humans.

Already the Goblin army outside the gates had been noticed. Toren saw many Humans abandon their camps and move into the city, afraid, fighting to get to a spot they considered safer. But that just meant they were fighting themselves again.

So stupid. Part of Toren missed the inn. Just a small part. He immediately quashed the thought when he had it, but wasn’t it true? At least in the inn he had things to do. Here he was looking and he still couldn’t find something worthwhile to kill. Whereas at the inn—

He could scrub the floors. And serve food. And that would level up his [Barmaid] class. It was…well, it wasn’t as if Toren liked the class. But he liked leveling up. And here he had nothing much to do.

Toren was just considering going for broke and slaughtering everything he could when he heard the fighting. He turned, and saw a group of five men and two women, cornering a family. A man slashed at the other men with a short sword while he tried to guard his wife and two daughters. But the other men had clubs and sticks, and even if they weren’t as sharp, there were a lot of them.

Perhaps it was the sword they were after. But Toren had a feeling the three females were also part of it. He was starting to figure out Human motivations, even if he didn’t quite get the details.

Well, here was a fight. Perhaps Toren should join in—kill them all. The skeleton lifted his blade, ready to charge. But then he heard a shout. He saw someone run down the street, someone tall. In armor? Toren stepped back into a shadow as the men turned. He caught a glimpse of silver, flashing in the darkness. And then he saw the adventurer.

A tall man, blonde, wearing plate armor and holding a shield and sword that gleamed, charged down the snowy, dirty street. He was followed by three other adventurers, a man and two women Toren recognized. The [Fighter], the spear wielder, and the annoying mage! But these three were clearly different from the man in silver armor. Their equipment was cheap, if effective. But this man’s armor gleamed.

And he moved faster than Toren would have guessed. In seconds he’d covered the distance between the thugs. He raised his sword as they turned, shouting in shock. Toren heard his voice, filled with outrage clearly across the street.

“You scum!”

He ran one man through and lopped the hand off of the other before the group of men could even blink. He turned, slashing, making the other Humans cry out in pain. The two women in the band of thugs weren’t spared from his wrath either. Within moments the entire group had fled. The only people that remained were the family that had been set upon.

“Are you alright?”

Toren heard the words as he stealthily made his way closer to the man in armor. He was standing, reassuring the tearful family as the other three adventurers stood behind him awkwardly. They hadn’t even gotten there in time to help!

“Bless you, sir. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t come—”

The father was speaking to the adventurer. And yes, Toren was sure he was an adventurer. He had pouches at his belt, and he reminded Toren a lot of the Horns of Hammerad and Griffon Hunt.

“It was my duty. But you shouldn’t be out so late. Why haven’t you fled the city?”

“Where would we go, sir? There are Goblins on the road. And—they came back!”

The woman clutched at the Knight, speaking desperately and pointing. Toren knew she had to be talking about the Goblin army.

“We couldn’t leave. Going to another city after the Goblins attacked? In the cold, with nothing to eat or wear? We couldn’t. And then—we stayed. We thought we’d survive, but there are gangs roaming the streets, sir. We barely got away when the people we were with were attacked last time. And now…”

“I understand.”

The man’s voice was firm, quiet. He looked at the adventurers following him.

“You three. We’ll need to escort these good people to a safe place.”

“What?”

The Bronze-rank adventurers exclaimed in dismay. The man with the sword—whom Toren was displeased to note had healed the injuries the skeleton had given him—spoke to the adventurer in silver armor.

“Sir, we can’t just involve ourselves here! We should be leaving for another city! Take the family with us maybe, but those Goblins chased us into the city! They’ll probably attack at any moment!”

The man in armor glared at the [Fighter], but the woman with the spear piped up as well, looking nervous.

“But we can’t leave! The Goblins have the road. And there’s the skeleton we saw! The strange one! If we leave, we might run into it!”

“Fools. The dead are rising! Of course there are skeletons wandering the roads!”

The warrior in armor snapped at the others. They stopped, looking confused.

“What do you mean? Why are the dead rising?”

He stared at them incredulously. Toren was giving them much the same look from his hiding spot, in a small place where the cobblestones had been torn up to create a small depression. The man in silver armor sighed and spoke through gritted teeth.

“Rookies. Haven’t you learned anything? Violence and anarchy in the street are but one of Esthelm’s woes. This place was the site of a major battle where thousands died, both Goblins and Humans. You’ve seen the bodies. Don’t you know what happens when they aren’t properly buried or cremated?”

“They rise.”

That came from the female [Mage]. She looked pale faced. The adventurer nodded.

“They rise. First zombies, then skeletons and even Ghouls if the slaughter is great enough. Given time, stronger undead will emerge as well. Crypt Lords…and far worse.”

A groan of pure terror came from the family the man had saved. The father fell to his knees, beseeching.

“Mister Adventurer, sir! Can you not save us? If the undead rise—what chance do my family and I have?”

“Calm yourself. The issue of the undead is precisely the reason I came here.”

The man in armor helped the father up, speaking reassuringly to the family.

“I am a Gold-rank adventurer. I heard of what had befallen Esthelm too late, but I set out as soon as I realized the other local cities were doing nothing to address the issue. The fools in the Adventurer’s Guild were too afraid to venture out, even the Silver-ranked ones.”

Toren’s metaphorical ears perked up the instant he heard the adventurer mention his rank. Gold? Toren had seen Griffon Hunt and even the other team—the Halfseekers, but he’d never properly fought one before. The closest he’d come was fighting Halrac, and that had been completely one-sided.

But here…this adventurer was alone! Toren immediately wanted to challenge him, but he held off. Listen. Observe. He wriggled closer, moving slowly so as not to be seen. The Gold-rank adventurer was addressing everyone, his back turned to Toren.

“I came here to deal with the undead issue because no one else had the courage to make the journey. But instead I find a city’s worth of people here, as well as a Goblin army?”

The man in silver armor paused. He shook his head.

“This all feels too connected. If what I suspect is true, the Goblins may have spared the people of this city for this moment. So many bodies, and so much potential for death—are they trying to create an undead horde to attack other cities with?”

“An undead horde? Could the Goblins really do such a thing?”

“Normal armies do it as well, I’m afraid, Miss. I’d like to say I could drive off the Goblins myself, but there are hundreds out there and I’m no Named Adventurer. Still, I think there’s a way. If I can—”

He was so full of himself! So proud. So…why was Toren angry? But this seemed too easy. The skeleton was only a few feet away. He could use [Mirage Cut] and take the man down in seconds. Was this really a Gold-rank adventurer? How could one be so careless? But still, Toren would do it. He wanted the man’s silver armor, not to mention his sword and shield.

Closer. Closer…Toren rose slowly, and moved at a crouch. None of them were looking at him! They all had their eyes on the armored man! Toren’s hand was on his sword hilt. He didn’t even have a scabbard. He could run the man through—

One of the daughters who’d been staring in horror and hope at the Gold-rank adventurer sneezed in the cold. She looked down for something to cover her nose, saw Toren. She screamed.

“Skeleton!”

The Gold-rank adventurer turned. He saw Toren and his eyes widened. His sword rose, but too late. The skeleton leapt at him, and his body blurred. His sword flashed out, but that was a decoy. Even if the adventurer parried it, he’d still take the man’s head. Who walked around in armor but didn’t wear a helmet?

Idiot. Toren’s sword scythed towards the man’s head at lightning speed. [Mirage C—

“[Shield Breaker]!”

The shield pushed forwards, almost glowing. It filled Toren’s vision, and then struck the skeleton like a house. The skeleton flew backwards, stumbling, nearly falling over. What happened? His Skill! How did—

The Gold-rank adventurer lowered his shield and stared at Toren, eyes narrowed.

“What manner of skeleton sneaks and hides? And uses a Skill?”

Toren readjusted his crooked head and grinned at the Gold-rank adventurer. He hadn’t known someone could interrupt a Skill! His eyes flashed purple, and the Humans behind the adventurer screamed.

“Dead gods! It’s back!”

“Run!”

The [Fear] effect made them all scatter at once. The man in armor called out, trying to slow them, but the others didn’t listen. They ran, leaving the adventurer behind.

Perfect. Toren charged at the man as he turned and shouted. The skeleton brought the blade down two-handed in a vertical slash that should have split the man’s head open. But the blade twisted in the air a foot away from the man’s head. It curved left and Toren missed completely, striking the man’s armored shoulder!

What was that? Magic? It had to be. Toren gaped and then a sword pierced his ribcage effortlessly.

“Hmf. A spell-like effect? You aren’t a normal undead monster, are you?”

The Gold-rank adventurer cut sideways, and Toren staggered as several ribs on his left side were torn away. But that was just a few bones! He cut again, but this time his sword bounced off the silvery shield, not even scratching the metal.

“A revenant? Or some kind of Goblin creation? Either way—begone.”

Now the man in silver armor charged forwards, his shield ramming into Toren. The skeleton tried to stand his ground, but he was thrown by the incredible force behind the adventurer’s shield. He hit the ground, rolled, trying to get up—

A sword lopped the top off of his head. Toren collapsed, his bones rolling on the ground. The Gold-rank adventurer stared down at him, murmuring to himself.

“Nothing about this makes sense. A skeleton that can think? No—the Necromancer? But why would he use such an inferior creation?”

Inferior? If Toren could have said anything—or moved—he would have been indignant. But he lay on the ground, waiting for the adventurer to leave before he reassembled himself. He was clearly not as strong as that warrior, either in experience or strength.

“One more question to ask later. Damn. Where did the others run off to? Well before that—I should dispose of the remains.”

So saying, the adventurer reached towards his belt pouch. Immediately, Toren began to panic.

Dispose of him? What was that? He—that wasn’t fair! No one was supposed to care about Toren after a fight! That was his specialty. If the adventurer was going to destroy him—

From the ground, the skeleton could only stare helplessly as the man reached into his pouch. But before the Gold-rank adventurer could take whatever was in there out, the skeleton heard pounding footsteps. The man in silver armor turned—

And nearly caught a blow to the head from a club. At the last moment the piece of wood swerved, just as it had done with Toren. But the blow still knocked the off-guard adventurer down.

“What the—?”

He rose, shield up, but another man struck him from behind. Toren gaped as he saw more men swarm the Gold-rank adventurer, beating at him with clubs, kicking, trying to pin him down—

It was a gang! And they were trying to kill the adventurer! Toren had never been more grateful to petty Humans in his life. He heard the man shout, and then saw the press of bodies fly backwards. Several stumbled back, and the man in armor was on his feet, swinging his sword and shield to keep them at bay.

“Cowards! Are you insane? I’ve come here to—”

He got no further. Stones, and even an arrow flew at his head. Men with slings aiming at his head! Again the missiles flew askew, but whatever magic was protecting the man’s head was clearly weakening. He snarled, deflected a stone aimed at his jaw—

And staggered, as a club smashed into his head from behind. Toren saw the man pull back and hit the adventurer in the same spot again, with all his might.

It was a powerful blow. But the man in silver armor didn’t fall. He stumbled forwards, but he refused to kneel or drop. Instead, his shield came up, hitting the man who’d struck him so hard he gasped and stumbled back.

“Fool.”

It was one word, but it was louder than the shouting of the gang as they tried to close in. A man ran at the knight—a sword came up even with the man’s head still bowed. It ran the man through.

“Fools!”

The gang stopped. The sword left the man’s chest and he collapsed, dead. The knight turned. A stone flew at his head and his shield snapped up. He deflected the stone back at the man who’d loosed it from his sling. The rock hit the man and there was a cry of pain.

Now the Gold-rank adventurer finally looked up. He raised his head slowly, the tendons in his neck straining. Blood ran and matted in his hair, but he turned and stared down the man who’d struck him. The sword shone bright and silver and crimson in his hands, but the adventurer didn’t raise his weapon.

“What are you doing, you idiot?”

The thug he addressed stepped back, eyes wide. The man in silver armor turned towards him, and the man raised his club defensively. But one armored hand shot out and tore the weapon out of the other man’s grip.

“No—”

Flinching, the man raised his hands, prepared for death. But the adventurer just hurled the club to the ground. He stared at the other men who’d ambushed him. Fury burned in his voice as he shouted at them.

“Is this what you are? You—you, the men of Esthelm! I came here to this burned city to put your dead to rest. But what do I find? Men, preying on each other like vermin! Have you no shame? Where’s your pride? Where is your honor?”

He turned around to the stunned group, armor glinting as he stared each one of them in the eye. The Gold-rank adventurer didn’t even seem to notice their arms—rather, it was as if he didn’t even care that he was outnumbered.

“There are women and children—people who suffer and need help! Your friends and family cry out in this city, but what do you do? The instant your walls fall you turn on them. Shame.”

The word touched the hearts of his listeners. It made them feel ashamed, and angry and guilty as well. Perhaps they would have rushed him, but the man in armor was too imposing. And his words struck at their hearts, the hearts they’d closed in despair.

The man wearing silver looked around in disgust. He lowered his sword—and to the astonishment of the other men, sheathed it. He walked towards several men. They raised their weapons, but he just stopped and glanced at them, still full of that barely restrained passion.

“Lower your weapons and follow me if you want to save this city, you fools.”

They hesitated. Two hands shot out and tore the makeshift weapons and poor swords from their grip. The Gold-ranked adventurer stared down at the other men and raised his voice.

“I am Ylawes Byres, a [Knight]. I am a Gold-rank adventurer and I can save this city. But I cannot do it alone. If you still believe in Esthelm—follow my back.”

He strode down the broken streets, not looking back. The men hesitated. Some lowered their weapons and turned to go. But the man who had struck Ylawes picked up his club. He hung it at his belt and ran after the adventurer.

More men followed him. They joined the Gold-rank adventurer, and he snapped at them as he’d never doubted they’d be there.

“Come on. There’s still time to do what’s right.”

The man’s footsteps faded away. The majority of the men followed him, while the others slipped away. After a few minutes, a pile of bones reassembled itself in the snow. Toren stood up, grabbed his sword, and stared in the direction the man named Ylawes had gone.

Now what was all that about?

—-

The monster waited, hungry. She was always hungry. Her story was one of despair and all-consuming desire. To eat. To feed.

She saw a thing crawl out of the sewers. A dead woman, corpse bloated and rotten. She told herself she didn’t want to eat it. But she did. Oh yes, she did.

The zombie shambled down the street. The monster who looked vaguely like a young Human woman followed her. The zombie moved quickly—stumbling, searching out food. It never noticed her.

And it found prey. A young man slept in the hollowed-out building that might have been his home. He would have been safe, hidden from most Humans. But not from a zombie. It found him as it wandered in, and fell upon him.

The monster heard the screams, and part of her told her to act. It wasn’t hard. She simply gave into her desires.

The zombie was biting and clawing at the young man on the ground. He was trying to fend her off, but he was barely awake, and weak with hunger. And the dead woman had far more strength than he did. She was biting at him—tearing at his flesh.

Just like she wanted to do. But the girl that was a monster focused on the zombie instead. Yes. Hungry. The gray, rotted flesh called to her.

For once she didn’t fight the urge. She wanted to eat. The monster girl walked behind the zombie and seized the dead woman. The undead turned, reaching out to kill, to steal life—

Did it hesitate? It stared into a gaping maw. The monster girl’s mouth. Her jaws opened wide—impossibly wide—and she felt her jaw dangling far lower than it should. But it just meant she could bite more.

She bit the zombie’s face. She tore away rotted flesh easily, teeth scissoring through skin like parchment. The zombie made a sound—tried to tear at her body. But the girl had a monster’s body now. An Eater’s form. Her skin was tough, and the sharp fingernails and bruising strength did little to her.

She bit again. Now she bit into bone, and something which oozed. Part of the former [Florist] wanted to scream. But the zombie was danger. To the boy—

She realized he was still there as she knelt on the ground, savaging the dead zombie’s form. The girl turned her head towards him. He was wide-eyed, pale with horror as he stared at her.

For a moment she wanted to say something. But though she opened her mouth, no words came out. And he—he looked into her eyes and saw only a horror. A monster.

“Get—get away!”

The young man she’d saved struck her in the face, in the chest, kicking her backwards. The girl looked at him, the monster salivated. She wanted to eat him.

But she couldn’t. That much she held onto. And now he was pulling out a dagger, holding it in his bleeding hands. Danger.

So she fled. She fled into the street, crying. She could still cry. She ran down an alleyway, and into a small open space. And then she saw it.

The skeleton. He was walking down the street, slashing at the air angrily with a sword. He was all bones—little to eat. She stopped when she saw him, feeling afraid for some reason. His purple eyes found her, and the girl inside the beast shuddered in panic. She turned to run—

But he stabbed her from behind.

—-

The Goblin warriors heard the girl scream. And they saw the skeleton stabbing at her, because they’d been following her for the last block.

It had just been a chance encounter. But as the Goblins had moved silently through the streets, searching for bodies that weren’t completely rotted, they’d come across a fortuitous find. A gang of four men had been pilfering a box with some spices inside. Naturally, the Goblins had fallen on them at once. An arrow to the back, two blades stabbing. Grunter just pushed one of the men’s heads into a wall, killing him.

They didn’t mind killing Humans. It was just that they didn’t do it needlessly. Food was a definite need, though. So the Goblins had been lugging their find back to the small base they’d set up in a ruined building when they’d seen the girl.

She’d stood out. Not because of her ragged clothing, or thin body—all the Humans more or less looked like that in the city. But she was clearly different from the other Humans.

Her face was different. No, not just her face, her very body. It was as if someone had taken a bit of monster, a bit of savage primal humanity and something darker, and put it into her body. And the way she moved! She moved around hunched, or on all fours, more like an animal or stalking thing than a Human.

It had stood out. Badarrow had pointed the girl out and the Goblins had watched her, as a potential threat more than anything else. But then they’d seen the girl find a body in the snow.

It was rotted, a Human’s body, some warrior who’d died in the battle for Esthelm. Even the other Goblins had turned their noses up at it—they preferred fresh dead meat, thank you. But the girl had dug it up—and then begun to eat it!

That had stopped the Redfang warriors in their tracks. For a moment they hadn’t believed what they were seeing. A Human? Eating a dead body?

Well, yes. Humans did that all the time. With animals, of course, as if that made a difference. But this young woman was eating another Human!

That wasn’t shocking to the Goblins, at least in a basic sense. They ate Humans all the time. It was just survival. But as far as they knew, other Humans never ate each other—or even other species, for that matter!

It made her stand out, and because they were curious, the Goblins had followed her a bit longer. They were adept at keeping to shadows, so they’d seen the zombie crawl out of the sewers and the way the girl had stalked it.

Yes, stalked it. They could tell the signs. And then they’d seen her rescue the young Human man, and run from him.

How strange. How curious! And—how disturbing.

Again, not the Human girl, or whatever strange thing she actually was. It was the zombie that made Grunter grunt in alarm and Headscratcher eye the sewers.

The undead. How could the Goblins have forgotten them? If they were rising—

It was bad news. Very bad. The Goblins had no desire to fight off a horde of zombies, much less the stronger undead that would rise with so many bodies around. They were about to retreat and reconsider their hiding spot—they’d need to create traps and barricades if the undead were about—when they heard the girl scream.

That was when they saw the skeleton. It had encountered the girl on the street, a skeleton with a sword. And when she’d turned to flee, the skeleton had stabbed her in the back!

It wasn’t a deep wound, but the Goblins saw the skeleton cutting at the girl’s legs, trying to cripple her. She was trying to flee, and perhaps she would succeed. She was quick—quicker than a normal Human. And her skin was tough enough that the skeleton’s slightly dulled blade couldn’t cut her that deep.

The Goblins watched, sitting in a rooftop that had remained after the fire. The girl slashed at the skeleton with her claws, snarling desperately. Badarrow nudged Rabbiteater and pointed. The Goblins looked and saw she had strangely long fingers and nails that were more like claws on the ends of them. And from the way they cut into the skeleton’s bone, they were clearly sharp as steel!

What was this strange Human? Was she some kind of…of half-breed? There were Goblins who’d been born of Humans of course, so the idea wasn’t new to the Goblins, but this?

The Goblins had never heard of a Human like this. Perhaps it was all some Skill? They knew some Drakes and Gnolls fought with their claws and could get Skills like this. But a Human?

And her jaw! Headscratcher blinked as the monster girl tried to take a bite out of the skeleton. He dodged back, and her gaping mouth caught only air. Even the Goblins thought that looked creepy, the way she could make her jaw open so wide.

The skeleton tried to stab her in the stomach, but the girl smacked his sword away. It was a lucky blow; she clearly hadn’t expected to be able to, but she was strong. Strong, fast, ravenous…

“Ghoul.”

That was what Grunter muttered. The others looked at him, and then nodded in agreement.

She was exactly like a Ghoul, one of the ravenous undead that fought in bursts of frenzied movement. And yet, she was more than a Ghoul. She was still alive, and she had a keen intelligence about her that Ghouls lacked. But for all that—

The skeleton was stronger. Not just stronger—he was fighting smart. When he lost his sword, the skeleton crouched and kicked out. The girl stumbled, and then the undead tackled her, knocking her to the ground. She cried out, trying to throw it off her, but the skeleton was on top of her. He punched her in the face, repeatedly, hammering his fist into her head as she cried out in pain and fear.

He was going to bash her brains out. The Goblins watched, some turning away now the fight was over. They wouldn’t interfere in a fight like this. It wasn’t like the Human boy—here were two killers, killing each other. It was just life.

They turned to go, but a faint sound stopped them. Sitting closest to the scene on his part of the roof, Headscratcher made a quizzical noise. They looked at him, and he scratched his head slowly, before pointing at the skeleton.

Skeleton. Yes, it was a skeleton. The Redfang warriors stared at Headscratcher blankly. Where was he going with this?

Slowly, the finger shifted to the girl.

Girl. Or rather, young woman.

They stared at her. A young Human woman. Something about the way they thought that bugged them.

A young Human woman? An [Innkeeper].

Everyone stared at Headscratcher. No. It couldn’t be it. But he pointed insistently at the skeleton. And the other Goblins stared at it, suddenly connecting the dots.

A skeleton. Hadn’t Garen Redfang mentioned something about a skeleton? Yes, he’d said it was pulling the [Innkeeper] on a sleigh!

It was highly unusual to see a skeleton here, even in this city where the dead were rising. Even if the dead rose—they’d be zombies and ghouls, not skeletons. They hadn’t nearly enough time to rot to that extent. So why was a skeleton here?

The Goblins stared at each other. Here was a Human girl. And a skeleton. And Esthelm had been a city full of inns, hadn’t it?

Then again, the skeleton was trying to beat the girl to death. Even as the Goblins watched, the skeleton drew a bloody fist back. He was pounding the girl’s head into the broken ground, drawing blood. She was making a whimpering sound, not even fighting back.

Something stirred in the Goblins’ chests. But they were still reluctant to act. So what if she died? Their job had to been to kill her, after all.

Headscratcher nodded, but then shook his head to this obvious conclusion. He pointed down at the girl and skeleton, raising a thumb.

Skeleton and girl. This might actually be the girl they’d come to kill. But—he shook his head—they wouldn’t kill her because they’d decided. He pointed to the skeleton. He would, though. And that was the problem.

The Goblins stared at Headscratcher, confused. The Goblin tried to explain his line of thought. Garen had ordered them to kill the girl, yes? And if she died, even if the skeleton killed her instead of them, he’d be happy, right?

But they’d decided not to obey Garen! He shouldn’t be obeyed! So—and here Headscratcher’s silent gesturing really got complex—if they were obeying Rags instead of Garen, wouldn’t that mean they would want to protect the [Innkeeper]? At the very least, letting her die was probably as bad as killing her themselves, and if Rags didn’t want that…

The Goblins stared at each other, brains aching with thought. Headscratcher just looked at them, looked at the girl.

They could hear her sobbing. It was a sound that bothered them. They’d heard Humans cry, but this—

Perhaps it was because she ate the dead. Like them. She was doing anything she could to survive. Like them. The skeleton was hitting her, gleefully.

Headscratcher stared at the other reluctant warriors. Then he made a decision. He stood up, unsheathed his sword. He leapt from the rooftop.

After a moment, twelve Goblins followed him.

—-

Toren saw the first Goblin land on the ground. He stopped punching the strange not-Human he’d found in surprise. The Goblin had a sword in his hand, and he was snarling at Toren.

A Goblin? Had they already begun to attack? Well then, why was Toren wasting time here? He jumped away from the young woman, letting her lie half-dead. He scrambled for his sword, lifting it with a grin.

One Goblin was no threat. He charged at the Goblin and locked blades, forcing the Goblin back a step. But to his surprise, the Goblin threw Toren backwards after a moment of struggle. He was strong! Stronger than a Goblin should be!

That made Toren angry. What was with strong warriors popping up all over the place? A Gold-rank adventurer he could respect, but a Goblin?

He was about to hack at the Goblin when another Goblin landed on the ground next to him. A Goblin with a bow. He drew and loosed an arrow at Toren’s skull in an instant. The skeleton dodged reflexively, and the arrow flew past him.

Two Goblins. Okay, they might be a bit stronger than usual, but—

Five more Goblins landed next to them. The flames in Torne’s eyes dimmed as he saw they all wore armor and moved to surround him.

Where were all these Goblins coming from? Struck by a thought, Toren looked up. He saw a huge, fat foot descending towards his face—

—-

Grunter smashed the skeleton into the ground, landing heavily and grunting in his trademark fashion as he did. He kicked the skull several feet away dismissively, and stared at the girl.

She was curled up into a small ball of misery and pain. She was still sobbing, not even realizing she’d been saved. There was only pain and her, waiting for death.

Too familiar. Grunter looked away and grunted. The sound made the girl look up.

She stared at the Goblins and made a choked, screaming sound when she saw them. She tried to get away, but her legs still weren’t working. But the Goblins didn’t attack her. They just stared at her, and then went into a huddle.

For the Redfang warriors, they were suddenly faced with a conundrum after saving the girl and killing the skeleton. Okay, they’d saved her, and if she was the [Innkeeper], they’d probably done a good thing that Rags would approve of, right?

Right. But what did they do next? All eyes turned to Headscratcher. He just scratched his head, unsure.

The Goblins stared at the girl. She was crouched warily on the ground, staring at them with huge eyes. They returned to their huddle.

They could probably just leave her, right? After all, what else could they do? She was safe—they’d done what was probably the right thing. Now it was time to go back and eat.

Undead in the city. Badarrow grunted as he retrieved his missed arrow. The girl stared at him as he passed—he eyed her. The Goblins turned to go. The girl stared at them. Her stare bothered the Goblins more than they could really say.

—-

Goblins? They’d saved her. Why?

The monster didn’t know. But the Goblins had saved her, and they weren’t going to attack her or—or do worse. She’d been afraid of that for a moment, but the Goblin with the bow had just walked past her without even looking right at her.

Now they seemed to be leaving. The Goblins slowly walked away.

Leaving her behind. Even Goblins didn’t want to associate with a monster.

Hot wetness blinded the horror for a second. She could still taste the rotting flesh in her mouth, still see the horror in the young man’s eyes. She was a monster. No—worse than that.

She looked at the backs of the retreating Goblin warriors. Goblins. They were monsters, too. They’d saved her. Because she was a monster like them?

The Goblins had destroyed Esthelm. They were horrible, pillaging, raping creatures who killed any Human they came across. They were true monsters.

But so was she.

And she was alone. And if they killed her—

Slowly, the girl got up. Her face burned and she had trouble breathing from where the skeleton had tried to crush her windpipe. She stared at the backs of monsters, short, green creatures that walked like men.

Monsters.

She followed them.

—-

When Toren reassembled this time he was ready to kill everything in the world. He got up and then ran around, hitting everything in sight.

Goblins! He’d been defeated by—by Goblins! And it hadn’t even been like last time! Last time he’d been outnumbered but this time—

One had landed on him! The indignity of it made Toren so angry he felt like he could have exploded. He was filled with all-consuming rage.

And fear. A bit of fear was in Toren as well. For the first time, he sensed danger.

Not because of the Goblins. Damn the Goblins! He could kill them if he had time to plan things out, he was sure. But Toren felt the mana in his body running dangerously low.

Erin supplied him with energy, of course. He knew that. Normally it was enough for everything he did, even though she wasn’t exactly a font of magic. But after so many repeated deaths and reassemblies, he realized he was on the verge of running out.

If he was scattered one more time, if his pieces were separated—Toren feared the animation spell that gave him life might end for good. He couldn’t let that happen.

He couldn’t…die.

No problem, then! Toren would just find somewhere to wait while he regained a bit more mana. An hour would be enough. All he had to do was get his sword and…and…

Toren looked for his sword. He’d dropped over there? Over here? He paused, and then did a slow circle.

No. It couldn’t be. It was impossible!

He’d lost his sword! Toren searched for it frantically in the snow, trying not to believe it was true. But it was.

His sword was gone.

Had one of the Goblins taken it? Or the monster-girl?

Maybe. All Toren knew was that he was suddenly defenseless. Of course, he could fight with his hands and feet, but that wasn’t the same as having a weapon. His Skills were designed for a weapon—without one, Toren did feel vulnerable.

And he couldn’t die.

The skeleton felt a chill in his bones. He stared around the open area, suddenly realizing how vulnerable he was. If one of the Goblins came back, or even the girl-thing—

He couldn’t risk it. The skeleton hesitated, then swiftly ran down an alley.

He had to find shelter. A hiding spot. Could he squeeze himself into a small space? What about a weapon? Could he take one from a Human? But what if they got lucky and killed him?

Toren had never been so afraid. He ran, pausing at every shadow, trying to find somewhere totally secluded. He spotted an opening in the ground—a dark entrance and dove towards it.

The sewers! Toren immediately recognized the foul, dark tunnels and relaxed. No one would come down here! Not even Goblins liked this much filth. He could rest here, wait a while. And then—

The skeleton had let his guard down too early. As he walked further into the sewers, his foot caught on a floating body. It moved, and then jerked to life.

A corpse, dead, eyes glowing with yellow light, sprang up. Toren jerked back, and then realized one of the dead had risen. Oh. Was that all? It had surprised him, but it was just a zombie. Toren backed away in case the undead started flailing about—

The dead body sprang at Toren, making a gurgling snarling sound. Toren jerked in shock, and the corpse bore him into the slime of the sewers.

Not a zombie! A Ghoul! More bodies were rising around Toren, actual zombies this time. But the ghoul had focused on Toren and identified him as a threat. It tore at the skeleton, trying to rip his bones away—

Trying to kill him.

Fear suddenly gripped Toren. He clenched his bony fists and began hammering at the Ghoul, trying to knock it off him, break its skull. But it was freshly dead and still relatively intact. And it had him on the ground! It was tearing away Toren’s ribs, one at a time!

So strong! It—Toren was going to die! It was stronger than Toren, and tougher too in this moment. He felt so weak.

He was going to die.

No! Toren plunged a finger into the Ghoul’s eye socket, piercing the rotted eyeball. But the Ghoul felt no pain and didn’t need eyes to see. Toren punched the corpse repeatedly, but nothing was working.

He was going to die! The Ghoul was going to kill him! It was impossible! Unacceptable! He couldn’t die like this!

Not like this! Toren raged silently as he tried to force the Ghoul off of him. Not like this! Not to a Ghoul! If he had time—a bit more time to regain mana!

Someone, anyone! Toren cried out. He needed help! He needed assistance! Anyone, the adventurer, the Humans with clubs, the monster girl, the Goblins—

The ghoul was reaching for his head, twisting it. It would all be over. Toren fought it, trying to hold the arms back. So weak. Someone. Please help.

Erin—

A hand dragged the Ghoul off of Toren. The skeleton saw the Ghoul jerk, turn—another hand smashed into the back of its head.

Erin?

For a second the skeleton thought—but when he stood up, he saw only zombies.

Zombies?

Yes, the undead corpses were surrounding the Ghoul! In disbelief, Toren saw the Ghoul fighting them, tearing at their faces, trying to bear them to the ground—but six zombies were all striking it, tearing it apart, eating its flesh—

The zombies had helped Toren. That was what the skeleton realized after the shock had worn off. He sat in the filth of the sewer as the zombies finished destroying the Ghoul, leaving the chewed limbs floating in the water.

How? And why? All Toren knew was that he’d cried out for help. He’d reached out—

And the zombies had answered. These, the lowliest of the undead had come to his aid. Why? Because he was a skeleton and they were like him? Because they hated ghouls?

No, that was silly. It was because—

Toren touched the flames in his skull. His eyes? Skinner had commanded the dead. Was it that? Something else? Some secret to his creation?

The skeleton didn’t know. But the zombies stopped, swaying in front of him. They were waiting for his command.

The skeleton stared at them in shock. And then he heard the voice, echoing in his head. He hadn’t heard it for a while, but now it came into his mind, sharp and clear, and oh so welcome.

[Leader Class Obtained!]

[Leader Level 1!]

[Skill – Command Lesser Undead obtained!]

For a few moment, Toren’s head was filled with clouds. He stood in the sewer, poleaxed by the revelation. But when he came back to himself, he just stared at the zombies.

Six zombies. Waiting for his command. And now Toren felt certain he could command them. In fact, if he wanted to…

Well now. Wasn’t this interesting?

—-

This is the story of a skeleton. He stood in the dark sewers of a city full of death, where a Human with silver armor tried to save the living and a monster followed a band of Goblin warriors. The skeleton had travelled far, had thrown off his shackles and come here.

He had been humbled. He had nearly died. But he had survived. He had survived and he would still survive, growing stronger. That was what he pledged to himself. He would survive.

And he was no longer alone.

3.19 T

Esthelm. City of the damned and dead. That was how it felt sometimes. Of course, there were thousands of people still living inside of it, but for many, their miserable, desperate existence was just a prelude to death and worse. Their home was in ruins, and their city was slowly filling with the undead. It was undeniable, now.

They came out of the sewers. They sat up in the cold snow. They dug themselves out of the frozen ground and from beneath the rubble.

They rose.

Not just one, not just two—hundreds. Hundreds. Zombies, yes, but ghouls as well. They came for the living, and without trained warriors, the refugees of Esthelm could not hope to defend themselves from such a horde.

If they could, they would have fled. Even the cold, merciless winter night was better than death and undeath. But they could not.

An army of Goblins camped outside the city. Already, a score of people had died as they’d tried to leave the city and been set on. The Goblins maintained a perimeter, laughing, shooting arrows at any Human they saw. And more were coming. Already the people could see Goblin warriors wearing black armor gathering into teams, preparing to sweep into the city.

Goblins outside, undead within. And disunity and chaos among them. The Humans despaired and some simply waited for death while others took what small satisfaction they could, giving into cruelty and lust before the end. After all, who would save them?

The answer came during the darkest hours of the night, when some huddled behind the flimsy walls they’d built and others went searching for victims. They heard a voice, and saw silver.

A man in plate armor. An adventurer with a sword and shield. No, no ordinary adventurer—a Gold-rank one! A [Knight].

He strode into one camp and raised his voice.

“Citizens of Esthelm! Hear my words!”

No one had called them that, or thought of them like that since the city had fallen. People, disbelieving, crept out to watch him and saw the men at his back. Men and women. And children. Hundreds, already close to a thousand.

“Esthelm has fallen. But you still remain! The undead rise and must be stopped. A Goblin army has come to kill whomever remains in this city. If you keep fighting among yourselves, you will die! But together we may yet live.”

That was all he said. But the people saw him bring his hundreds into the camp, and begin building. He had more rubble removed, had people with Skills—people who’d almost forgotten their Classes—begin to build.

He had them build a wall. Not around a small plot of land to hide in, as the others had done, but massive barricades, linking half-fallen buildings and sealing off entire streets. He was building fortifications, sealing off nearly a quarter of the city and setting guards, men and women with weapons and hope in their eyes to fend off the undead.

He was retaking their home. And so people came forward, at first the desperate, but then everyone, abandoning the places they’d carved out, coming, some fearful, others ashamed, but coming nevertheless.

Coming home. And so the Humans built desperately, and gathered arms, and the Gold-rank adventurer walked among them, tirelessly coordinating them, giving them courage.

Ylawes Byres. He stared towards the edge of the city, where the Goblins were waiting. He’d chosen a spot as far away from them as possible. It would be war soon, he knew. A last war, a final war for this city. Whether it would mean death and ruin for a place already rotten and torn apart or a new spark of life for this place he did not know. He only knew he would make the Goblins pay in blood for every step they took.

However, this was not his story. Instead, the city’s fate belonged in no small part to another being. A skeleton, a creature of death, common and worthless among the endless undead. Yet this one was unlike any other skeleton in the world. He danced in the dying city, as the snow began to fall.

—-

A shadow shivered and twisted amidst the center of the city. A shadow with eyes that burned purple and bright even in the darkest night. Shapes moved and walked among the empty buildings, crawling, creeping, seeking out the light to snuff it out.

But the shadow danced on. Death and corruptions swirled through the streets, standing up, taking awful forms and biting, chewing. But the shadow danced, and it had a name.

Toren.

He whirled about in the street, arms spread wide. His was not some demonic summoning, nor the wild and sinister movements of ritual and sin. Instead, the skeleton ran about, twirling and doing handstands and waving his arms about, full of innocent mirth. He danced like a child, delighted, simple. He had a new toy! Not just one in fact. He had a world full of them!

He could control the undead! How wonderful was that?

Toren stopped whirling about and turned to look at some of the shadows around him. Six swaying corpses stared at him, barely noticeable as they stood in the shadows. They had been men and women, but now rot and decay had turned them into something else.

Zombies. Pathetic fodder any warrior could kill individually, only fearsome in vast numbers, and even then, only to the unprepared. But they were his. His.

He could control them. Toren knew it. He felt the certainty in his mind and saw it when he ordered the zombies to follow him. He walked down the street as they followed in his wake.

This changed everything. Toren had been about to die, and they had saved him. And now—

What should he do now? Toren glanced at one of the zombies and it stopped. He slowly made it walk in front of him, and inspected the zombie carefully.

Yup. Dead. And a worm was crawling around in its exposed brain. Toren pulled it out and patted the zombie on its squishy head. His zombie.

Of course, he could always get a new one. But for now, Toren was curious. What could it do? He made the zombie walk back and forth in front of him, hit the zombie standing next to it, lie down…

Interesting. He couldn’t tell the zombie to do very specific things. For instance, Toren had tried to get the zombie to hop on one leg and it hadn’t moved. Because he was too low level? All he could get it to do was move and attack what he wanted.

That was too bad. But then again, it was still an excellent start. Toren rubbed his hands together, grinning.

Zombies. Just imagine what he could do with them! He’d no longer be alone in a fight—he wouldn’t even have to fight if he didn’t want to.

True, this didn’t mean he could suddenly challenge Griffon Hunt or even the Gold-rank adventurer who’d beaten him once. Toren knew that. Right now he could control six undead. And only zombies to boot. But if he leveled? What then?

The possibilities sent shivers down the skeleton’s spine. Where could he begin? How would he level up?

By leading his minions, obviously. Toren cast around, and then had another idea. He was still a bit low on mana. He could probably pull himself back together once if he was broken, but he didn’t want to risk anything.

So why not stop fighting himself and instead have some fun? His zombies might be mindless, but they could certainly help out Toren in their limited way. To start with for example…

A sword. Toren wanted one. His zombies lurched towards a camp of Humans he’d seen earlier that day. They were a group of men who’d hunkered down in an alleyway, putting up flimsy barricades and trash barriers to keep other people away.

The zombies came to the alleyway and paused. They turned into it, walking, stumbling forwards. Perched on a crumbling rooftop, Toren watched as one of the men on guard duty shouted out in alarm as he saw the zombies.

Within moments, the other men—who’d been sleeping in clumsy sleeping bags made of whatever fabric they could get their hands on around the smoldering fire—were on their feet. They grasped weapons in their hands, clubs, slings, and, Toren was pleased to note, an iron short sword held by a big man that looked like their leader.

The gang of men was clearly arguing as the zombies slowly broke down the wooden planks that had been nailed together to form an obstacle and then slowly came down the alley towards them. Half of them wanted to leave, but their leader pointed out the obvious. There were six zombies, and they were eight strong! Plus, the zombies were slow, clumsy—their slinger whirled a stone that took the eye out of one. The other men began throwing things, and the zombies stumbled and one fell, struggling to get up.

Stupid, foolish undead. They’d never get close enough at their meandering pace. The men laughed and shouted triumphantly as they began to batter the zombies with missiles. From his seat above, Toren laughed and gave his zombies one order.

The foremost zombie had been stumbling backwards, flesh torn and bones fractured from the stones that kept smashing into his skull. Bits of brain were already leaking from his open skull. The man throwing stones stood confidently ahead of the others, picking up rocks from a pile at his feet as he confidently loosed stones at the zombies. He was close to them, but so what? It wasn’t as if they could move—

The zombie took a step, and then charged down the alleyway. The man with the sling screamed in horror and turned to run. But too late—the zombie tackled him, and then he was tearing at the man as he tried to fight the creature off with his hands, biting at his throat—ripping away red flesh—

The gang of men had frozen in horror. Half of them ran forwards to help their friend, but then they decided he was dead and tried to run. Again, too late.

The other zombies ran at them, not sluggishly lurching as they’d done before, but sprinting, moving with inhuman speed that cared nothing for torn muscle or the broken ground. The men raised their weapons, but found they were of little use. Clubs that could break bones and spiked bats that could tear flesh did not scare those already dead.

The leader of the gang backed up. His sword at least could chop, but he was no [Swordsman], or even a [Warrior]. He hacked at the zombies killing the screaming men in his gang, hitting his comrades as often as the zombies. And when the zombies dropped the dead men to the ground, the man with the short sword found himself alone.

He turned to run. But the zombies were quick.

Sitting on the rooftop, Toren grinned as the zombies finished killing the leader. Only three were left; the man with the sword had gotten one, and two more had been killed in the fight. But so what? He knew there were countless zombies in the city.

And he’d come up with another excellent discovery for his trouble. The zombies had taken out the men so easily, and with just one order from him. A simple one, really. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it instantly.

Run. That was all he’d told them to do. Just…run. And so they’d ran.

Why didn’t zombies do it all the time? Toren realized that maybe some did—he hadn’t exactly even seen that many zombies before today. Just when Skinner had attacked Erin’s inn, really. And in the crypt.

Zombies were weak. True. They were slow and they rotted easily and they had no concept of dodging, blocking, or even retreating. But what if you could make them run? Then you had an entirely different kind of monster on your hands. Because yes, zombies were simple fighters, but they were still strong. And they didn’t fear injury.

Toren clattered his jaw excitedly. He could already sense that this little skirmish had helped him get closer to a level up. In a moment he’d go down and get his new sword. And then—

Well, he had zombies, didn’t he? And there were many more groups of thugs, just waiting for the day so they could begin marauding again. Perfect prey, in short. Could Toren wipe out an even bigger gang with six zombies? Could he do it without losing even one?

This was a challenge. A fun challenge. Toren leapt from his rooftop and landed in the snow, where his undead servants were waiting for him. He looked into their lifeless eyes, their empty sockets, and grinned. He smiled, and in his eyes, Esthelm burned.

—-

This is the story of a monster. This is the story of a girl. At least, she’d been a girl, a Human once.

Now she didn’t know what she was.

She had no name. Or rather, she’d forgotten it. It, like all her words, was gone. Only hunger remained. Hunger, and despair.

And fear. That was the real irony of it all, wasn’t it? That even now, even when she’d lost everything, her family, home, levels—even humanity—even now, she was afraid of dying.

She’d nearly died. The skeleton she’d encountered had tried to kill her. He’d pounded at her, trying to kill her. And she’d wept, because she would finally die and be free of the nightmare.

But she hadn’t wanted to die. She’d still wanted to live, even then. She’d nearly given up hope, though, resigned herself to death.

That’s when they’d saved her. The Goblins. They’d come and killed the skeleton. She’d thought they just wanted to kill and eat her themselves, or do worse, but they hadn’t. They’d looked at her and left.

So why had she followed them? The monster paused as she loped on all fours after them. The snow and stone were cold on her skin, but her new body could withstand far more than her old one. Even now, the beating the skeleton had given her was healing.

But the Goblins? Why pursue them? She didn’t know. But they were monsters. So maybe she deserved their company. And she had nothing else, so why not? Death would be a welcome thing if it came to that.

At any rate, the Goblins weren’t chasing her off. The girl in the monster saw the warriors glancing back at her as they marched through the empty streets now and then, but none of them tried to chase her off. Rather, it looked like they were chattering amongst themselves as they looked at her.

Could Goblins talk? Maybe in their own language. The monster didn’t know. But she was surprised by the idea. And when she saw the place the Goblins had chosen to camp for the night—

Her jaw dropped in surprise. The Goblins had set up in the center of a building that had been hollowed out by fire. But instead of squatting in the ashes and ruins like beasts, they’d cleared away the soot and snow, revealing bare stone. They’d taken bits of wood and covered the windows and doors, and even built a fire pit in the center of the building!

Now two of the Goblins sat around the fire pit, one piling kindling together and shaving bits of wood as the other struck sparks. A small fragment of wood caught, and the Goblins put their hands around the small flame, shielding it as it ate the kindling and grew.

Within a few minutes they had a fire. The monster sat on her haunches on the edge of the building, afraid to go in. But the warriors took no notice of her, and so she dared enter the camp. She stared around with wide eyes, drinking in…

Civilization. It was such an odd word, but that was what she saw. The warriors were making a fire. And what were they doing now? The Goblins were…putting their beds together! They had beds?

Yes, some of the Goblins had blankets in their possessions. Others had only the clothing they wore—one had a small stuffed pillow of all things, just large enough to cushion his head! They spread out their gear—weapons, bows and arrows—around them, forming small nests close to but not too near the fire. Places to sleep, places of their own.

They were so normal. The monster couldn’t believe her eyes. Were these really Goblins, the raiding, murderous monsters that adventurers hunted for bronze coins? Then she heard a voice grunting by her ear.

“Ur.”

The girl turned in fright. A Goblin was glaring at her. She turned to run, but he wasn’t raising his sword to attack. Instead, he was pointing.

What? The monster girl looked around wildly, and then realized.

She was in the way! She was blocking the doorway! The Goblin edged by her as she scrambled aside. She looked fearfully at him, but he just snorted at her and marched out the doorway. He came back in a few moments later with a pot he’d filled with fresh snow. He glanced at her as he walked back towards the fire, but did nothing else.

They didn’t care about her. They didn’t fear her or—or her face. The idea struck the creature dumb with shock. She watched, awed and amazed as the Goblin with the pot hung it over the fire. The snow began to melt in the pot, and she realized they were going to make dinner.

From what? The thing looked, and saw something lying in a corner of the room. Were those rags?

No. Bodies.

Suddenly, her heart froze in her chest. The monster stared as one of the Goblins approached the corpses of Humans and one Goblin, knife in hand. That was right. Goblins ate the dead, even their own.

They were monsters just like her.

Suddenly, the horror felt a pang in her stomach, and realized she was starving. Even if she forgot for a moment, she was always consumed by it. The unrelenting, unending emptiness in her stomach.

She stared at the corpses, salivating quietly. She longed to eat the frozen bodies—even if they were rotten and foul. She would eat her own kind, even though her soul revolted. She would eat the Goblins too, and her own flesh it if meant filling the hole inside of her.

The monster edged towards the pile of bodies. Food. The Goblins were looking at her now and then, but they wouldn’t stop her, would they? It was food. If they stopped her, she would bite them, tear at them. She had to eat. She was so hungry—

Her jaw opened. The thing reached for a body, and then saw something move towards her. Something big.

She turned, and saw the Hobgoblin stand up. He’d been sitting quietly amidst his fellows while they worked, helping to chop wood into smaller bits to feed the fire, but now he stood. He was clearly the leader of the group—even the former young woman knew that. She’d heard tales of Hobgoblins, feared even by Silver-rank adventurers for their strength and cunning in battle.

And now he was looking. At. Her.

The Hobgoblin grunted as he slowly walked over to the monster. She stared up at him, awed by his sheer size. He was massive, tall as a tall Human man, and far wider. But all that flesh wasn’t fat—it was muscle, rippling, tough, raw—

She tore her eyes away from his body. Fearfully, the monster girl retreated a bit. What was he going to do? Was he going to—

The Hobgoblin pointed at the thing and it—she—froze, about to dart away, back into the darkness of the city. But he didn’t grab for her. Rather he opened his mouth and spoke.

“In.”

It was a word! An actual word! The young woman froze, eyes wide. Goblins could speak? He could—speak?

Yes, he could. The Hobgoblin concentrated, frowning mightily. He forced out more syllables, his voice thick with concentration.

“Inkreepr. You. You innkreeper?”

Innkeeper? The girl had no idea what he meant. He pointed at her and repeated the word.

“Innkeeper. You? Clss.”

Her class? He was asking…?

Slowly, wide-eyed, the horror shook her head. She’d never been an [Innkeeper], never even considered it. She had been—she’d used to raise flowers. Even the thought made her heart ache. Flowers? Who needed flowers in this broken place?

The Hobgoblin stared down at her, looking surprised and even a bit irritated. He moved—she flinched again, but he just turned and growled something at another Goblin warrior sitting by the now merry fire. The Goblin stared at the girl. He was a normal-sized Goblin warrior, much like the others. He scratched his head, and muttered a word in another language.

The other Goblins stared at him, the head scratcher. One reached out and punched him on the shoulder. He grunted, but didn’t punch back. Then they all just turned and stared at the monster-girl.

For a minute they stared, and then one of them shrugged. He pointed towards the fire and beckoned towards her.

“Urg?”

Almost disbelieving, she crept forwards. She expected them to grab her at any second, to tear her clothes off and—no, even they wouldn’t sink that low, would they? But she expected them to stab at her, or to chase her away?

But nothing happened. The Goblins just stared at her, and let her inch closer to the fire. One of them sniffed at her—the other one poked a finger into his ear and wiggled it about. Then they went about their business.

They didn’t fear her, and clearly they had no idea what to make of her. The girl stared at them, and then saw three Goblins go over to the corpses.

Flesh.

She was there in an instant. She wanted to bite, to tear at the frozen bodies, but the Goblins had other ideas. When she grabbed a leg one of them grabbed her. She froze in fright, but the Goblin just pulled her away, grunting disapprovingly.

He had a knife in his hand. He used it to cut at the body, removing flesh swiftly, cutting away the most palatable parts. The thing salivated. It reached for the food, wanting to eat it there and then—

But the Goblins stopped her. They shook their heads at her and pulled her back. Not understanding, confused, the young woman stopped. She watched as the Goblins took the meat they’d cut and brought it over to the pot.

It was a big pot. The Hob had carried it no doubt, and it was boiling with water. Even as the monster watched, the Goblins added meat to the pot. And then…they began to cook with it.

She couldn’t believe her eyes. What were they doing? Cooking meat? But it was—it had been part of Humans and even other Goblins. It was still flesh. It was still—but it was different. The Goblins cooked the meat like…well, meat. They seasoned it with ground up spices and even added some flour to the soup they were making. And a carrot? Yes, one of the Goblins pulled out a wizened carrot from his belt. Another had a handful of pepper. And then they turned the horrible, terrible thing they’d taken from corpses into something else. Something almost wonderful.

Soup. The smell made the girl’s mouth water. The memory made her eyes water. It was soup. She hadn’t eaten soup since…

One of the Goblins, the one who seemed to be in charge of stirring and sampling the concoction, decided the food was done. He grabbed a wooden bowl and began ladling the steaming soup into bowls, passing them to the other Goblins. The girl watched, remembering and drooling, until one of the Goblins passed a bowl to her.

At first, she recoiled from the heat and the sudden nearness of the Goblin. She stared into crimson eyes, looked at the clawed hand holding the bowl. What? He was giving it to her?

To her? But she hadn’t helped. And yet, the Goblin was offering it to her. The creature struggled with the act of kindness, but the starving thing in her greedily took the bowl. She wanted to say…to thank the Goblin, but she had no words.

And the Goblin had already taken his own bowl. Grinning with delight he set near the fire, making some remark to the other Goblins. So the monster stared at the bowl in her hands, warming her cold body.

Generosity from a Goblin. The bowl was warm and let off steam that dissipated in the cold air around her. The monster stared. Then she ate.

Slowly, clumsily, she lifted the bowl. Her hands felt unused to the motion, as if they’d forgotten how. But some things didn’t fade. Slowly, the young woman blew at the soup, licking at it tentatively until it was cool. Then she tilted the bowl up and tried to eat it as fast as she could, to satiate the thing in her stomach. She slurped the broth greedily, gulping down the chunks of meat and grinding the rest between her sharp teeth. Only when the girl had half-finished her bowl did she realize she was the only one eating this way.

The Goblin warriors were eating, yes, but they were eating…civilly. They didn’t immediately gulp down the soup like she did. They put it into bowls and ate efficiently, some even using knives to fish the meat out and pop it into their mouths. The monster stared at them, soup dripping down her dirty chest.

They ate like people. And she—

She was ashamed. But she was also hungry, so she finished the first bowl they gave her, then the second, the third.

After that, the beast in her had had enough. Which was good, because she’d eaten more than the Goblins had expected. They brewed a second batch of soup, eying her oddly but saying nothing.

They didn’t say much. Rather, each Goblin seemed to know what the others were thinking. That was how the monster-girl found herself sitting at the fire as the others sat around her. They didn’t say much, but that was because they were busy.

They were staring at her. Now that they’d eaten and taken care of the essentials, the Goblins studied the strange Human, the monster that had followed them to their camp. They eyed her from head to toe, unabashedly scrutinizing every part of her.

They didn’t seem to know what to make of her. She didn’t know what she was either, so she just stared back, part of her still afraid. The other part…

Curious.

What would they do? They hadn’t hurt her so far. Instead they’d been—she hadn’t seen other people—other Humans of her kind, that was, making soup in the city. But these Goblins had made fire, cleaned up the building, even offered food to a stranger.

They could speak! They had words! And she did not.

What were they? What was she? The monster felt anguish in her heart—

And then a stone fell into her lap.

She nearly shrieked in surprise, but it was just a pebble. One of the Goblins had thrown it. He immediately received a kick from the others, but now they were all staring at the monster, waiting to see what she would do.

The creature stared at the stone in her lap and picked it up awkwardly. She held it in her hands and stared at the Goblin who’d thrown it. He looked vaguely ashamed. What did he want from her? She didn’t know.

Slowly, hesitantly, she threw the stone back. And missed.

Her aim was terrible. Rather than hit the Goblin who’d thrown it, the pebble flew up and to the left. It struck the Hob sitting behind the Goblin, who’d been eating another bowl of soup.

The pebble bounced right off of the Hobgoblin’s head. He blinked as it splashed in his bowl of soup, and slowly looked down. His chest had been splattered by the hot liquid.

The monster immediately wanted to run and hide, but she was paralyzed by shock. She stared fearfully at the Hobgoblin. So did the other Goblin warriors. They stared, and then one of them made a sound.

He hooted, and pointed at the Hobgoblin. He slapped the ground, and laughed! So did the other Goblins.

They laughed! In an instant, all of them were roaring with uncontrolled laughter, all, except for the Hob who was still processing his reduced bowl of soup. But the other Goblins were filled with mirth. They laughed like people, slapping their sides with mirth, hooting and pointing fingers at the Hobgoblin who picked the stone out with two fat fingers and hurled it over his shoulder.

He glared at the monster, who cringed, but with no real anger in him. Instead, the Hob reached out and flicked the head of the Goblin who’d thrown the stone at her, and then downed the remaining soup in his bowl in a single go. He sighed, chuckled ruefully, and then he laughed too.

Laughter. It was something that was Human or rather—reminded the young woman of Humans. But the Goblins and Humans laughed so much alike, even if the Goblin’s voices were higher and they had an odd cadence to their tones. But they still laughed, needing no words to tell her what they meant.

They laughed, at such a small accident with all the good cheer the young woman had ever seen. And—the girl thought—almost as if they were just relieved to have an excuse to laugh.

At last, the Goblins stopped laughing, but the mood remained. They sat around the fire, exchanging short, sometimes monosyllabic bursts of chatter, but clearly speaking to each other. The thing couldn’t understand, but it lay by the fire, somehow contented just to be.

It was so strange. She’d never felt this way. Not for…over a week. And few times in her previous life, to be honest. But here, among the Goblins she needed to do nothing. She just existed, and that was enough.

Goblins. The crimson eyes of the warriors sitting around her flashed in the darkness. But they weren’t heartless eyes. And their faces, however different they were from Human faces, were still capable of expressing emotion.

Soon, they began to go to sleep. They rolled into their blankets or just sat with a back against the wall and closed their eyes. Then the monster stirred.

She shouldn’t be here. That was what she felt. They were sleeping, but she—

She wasn’t safe here, was she? They’d given her food, but somehow, she still felt like an invader, or a monster living amongst people.

She should go. This had been—enough. This moment.

The monster crept away from the fire, heart aching. But she couldn’t stay. The fire was dying down and with it, the fear was coming back. The terror.

The city was full of darkness. Darkness and death. The dead were coming back. There was violence in the streets. Other people—

She had to hide. Find a tiny crevice to hide in while she slept.

That was what she thought. But the young woman paused as she crept towards the door and saw the Goblin standing watch.

He was sitting, actually. But he was sitting high up, on a broken ledge that allowed him to look out at the streets surrounding the building they’d barricaded themselves in. The Goblin had a bow in his hands and he narrowed his eyes at the monster-girl as she scrambled up to stare at him.

He didn’t smile at her, but neither did he kick her off and down onto the street. The thing looked at him, fearfully, but after a moment he just went back to studying the darkness. She looked as well and her eyes—able to see in the night like day—spotted shapes, moving in the distance.

Zombies.

She shuddered, and the Goblin on watch looked at her, almost amused. He nodded, and tapped the bow at his side. Then he pointed. The young woman turned, and saw a shape lurching down the snowy street towards them. Her heart twisted in her chest as she saw a zombie coming straight at them.

But the Goblin wasn’t afraid. He raised the bow at his side and grinned at her. He pointed, tapping his chest, and then put an arrow to the string with one swift movement. He drew the arrow to his chest, and sighted down the shaft.

Fft. The arrow streaked across the void, and thunked into the zombie’s forehead. The young woman stared, and the Goblin grinned. He pointed again. She looked, and saw another zombie, far off, not coming this way.

But it had been marked, and so the Goblin archer drew another arrow. He nocked, aimed, loosed in a single motion. The zombie staggered and fell.

Twice more the Goblin did this, pointing out targets to the monster girl and downing them. Each time he grinned at her, and tapped his own chest. His self-satisfaction was obvious, and he was unashamed of it. He was a master at his craft, an expert showing his skills off to her, like the [Hunters] or [Marksmen] who’d do the same with targets at fairs.

After the fourth zombie had fallen, the Goblin seemed done. He went back to studying the landscape. He looked at the monster, and nodded to the dim embers of the fire inquiringly. She hesitated, and then nodded back, awkwardly.

It was warm near the embers, so the creature crept closer. She lay down there—so close she could smell the smoke and feel the heat on her skin. The dim glow burned in her vision, and she closed her eyes, feeling sleep crawl over her slowly.

Could she stay here? Was this alright? She didn’t know. All the girl who’d become a monster knew was that she didn’t feel the need to hide anymore. Not here.

She slept, feeling safe for the first time in a long while.

—-

Badarrow saw the Human girl go to sleep at last by the fire. He saw her chest rise and fall rhythmically, and knew that now would be the time to shoot her, if any. He had an arrow in his hands, and he could put one through the back of her skull in a second if he wanted.

But—no. It would be a waste of an arrow. That was how Badarrow felt.

He didn’t waste arrows. Ever. When Badarrow shot at the enemy, whether it was zombies, Humans, Drakes, Gnolls, or even other Goblins he never wasted an arrow. Even if he missed. Because that arrow was there to hurt the people who were trying to hurt them, and it would do just that, or at least make them cover their heads.

But killing the Human girl? No. She wasn’t an enemy, and she wasn’t a nuisance either. She was something else. But what?

Not a victim. Not something to attack. Garen Redfang was very clear on that one point. He had walked among Humans, and adopted some of their customs. In this at least, he was firm. No Goblin warrior of his would ever assault a female, or male for that matter. They had their own kind for such things, and it was only the worst of tribes that tolerated such actions among their own people. So why degrade themselves for other species?

It was a mark of pride among the Redfang Goblins that they were like their leader. Humans were for killing or ignoring. That was it. Nothing else.

So. No sex. No killing. Just a Human who ate their food and slept next to them as if they were Humans like her. Badarrow couldn’t understand it. But she was clearly more monster than Human, so maybe that was why.

The Goblin [Archer] yawned irritably. He glanced up at the moon, and decided it was time. Swiftly, he leapt down from his spot and walked over to another of the resting Goblins.

Headscratcher woke up after only a single poke. He knew it was his time to watch, so he didn’t scowl that hard at Badarrow. He took the bow the Goblin handed him, nodding at the implicit threat of what would happen if he damaged Badarrow’s weapon.

The Goblin warrior went to climb up to the watch point, but he paused as he passed the Human. He stopped, and looked down at her. He stared down at the Human girl, eying her altered features with interest. He reached down to touch at her dirty hair, which glowed in the firelight—

Badarrow kicked him. Headscratcher nearly tumbled into the firepit. He turned, fist raised, but Badarrow’s glare stopped him. One jerk of the annoyed Goblin’s head clearly said that Headscratcher should be keeping watch or they’d all be dead.

Reluctantly, Headscratcher went up to his post. He kept look out, killing any zombies that came near with precise shots from the bow. Then after about an hour had passed, he went to wake the next Goblin whose turn it was. The warriors had a system for every night, so that each Goblin took their own turn unless wounded.

Tonight was Badarrow, then Headscratcher. After that Rocksoup and then Rabbiteater, and then Bitefly, and then Grunter for the last watch. Like that, they passed the night away into morning.

Just before dawn, all the Goblins woke as one. They sat up and grabbed their gear. They armed themselves within minutes, and then prepared for battle.

The thirteen Goblin warriors sat around the sleeping monster-girl in silence, polishing their weapons, checking their armor for faults. They made as little sound as possible, and stood up and left her sleeping quietly next to the fire.

The Redfang warriors chose a good vantage point where they wouldn’t be seen, and watched the edge of the city, the gates where the other Goblin army had camped. They stood alert, but not tense, conserving their energy.

Waiting. They knew it would not be long.

—-

They came into the city in groups of twenty or more, sweeping through with the dawning sun at their backs, killing anything and everything they found. Goblin warriors in black armor, preparing the way.

A group of them came across a horde of zombies. They didn’t retreat; the zombies would pursue them and the last thing the warriors wanted was to run into another group of undead and become trapped.

So the Goblins found a snowy patch of land on higher ground, and let the zombies come to them. Many of the slow undead fell to arrows before they even reached the Goblins, and the others fell to the Goblins as they fought in tight formation. The Goblin warriors grinned as they slaughtered the undead. After all, they were just—

Zombies.

Eight zombies sat up in the snow behind the Goblins. They’d been lying still, motionless under the snow. Now they leapt to their feet and ran at the Goblins, taking the warriors by complete surprise. The Goblins cried out—turned to fight—

And a skeleton slipped out from the crowd of zombies and beheaded one of the Goblins. He turned and cut another one down even as the Goblins began fighting the eight zombies under his control. Another Goblin turned, axe raised, shouting as Toren charged him—

The skeleton’s eyes glowed purple. The Goblin froze up, and then raised his axe again. But too slow, too late. Toren’s hand blurred, and the Goblin stumbled back, throat cut.  Toren grinned as he leapt backwards, avoiding the other Goblin warriors’ attacks. The [Fear] enchantment didn’t work on Goblins—but it could make them hesitate.

Their formation broken, attacked from behind and harassed by the skeleton, the group of over twenty Goblins fell quickly to the zombie horde that encircled them, no longer held at bay. Toren happily walked among their bodies, checking for a better sword and a shield. He stayed clear of the rogue zombies, the mass of dead about sixty strong now, as it shambled its way down the street. The eight zombies Toren had control of waited patiently for him to finish as he triumphantly surveyed the dead Goblins.

It hadn’t been easy to get all the zombies in the right spots, but they’d been an excellent distraction. Toren couldn’t command a horde, but it was easy to herd them like cattle and let his personal band of undead capitalize on their attack. And the dividends of Toren’s hard work were immediately obvious.

[Leader Level 4!]

[Skill – Daring Charge obtained!]

The skeleton danced about with his new sword and shield. Another level! He’d been sending his zombies to attack Humans all night, but it was clear that attacking groups that could fight back was more rewarding. He immediately led his zombies off, searching for more Goblin groups. It looked like they were finally coming to attack, and that made Toren happy.

He’d finally get to kill a lot of things today.

—-

Another group of Goblins, twenty five warriors of the Goblin Lord, cornered the group of thirteen Redfang warriors an hour after dawn. Both sides were breathing heavily.

It had been a long chase. The Redfang warriors had caught the first group of Goblins by surprise, slaying over half with arrows before they’d known what was happening. But by chance, another group of warriors had heard the fighting and rushed to assist their comrades. The Redfang warriors had fled, bringing down more Goblins, but now their backs were against a wall.

“Traitors.”

The Goblin warrior with black armor and a longsword in his hand called out to the Redfang warriors. He stood with the black-armored warriors at his back.

“Goblin Lord is. Obey him. Come and not die.”

For a second, the thirteen Goblins paused in surprise. This was new. They were being invited to join the Goblin Lord’s forces? They looked at each other, uncertain, thinking.

Then Rocksoup, fished around in his nose for a booger, and flicked it at the other Goblin leader. The Goblin roared in outrage, but Rocksoup’s comrades, his friends, slapped him on the back and cheered.

The Redfang Goblins laughed. They faced down the other Goblins, backs straight, heads held high. They did not need to say anything. Any true Goblin would understand.

We are here. We are Goblins. We do not abandon our tribe.

No true Goblin would. What were these false Goblins, these fools who’d accept traitors into their tribe? Who could obey a Chieftain—even Goblin Lord like that?

Never. It could never be accepted. So the Goblins faced off, the Redfang warriors standing proud as the sun hit their backs.

It was thirteen against twenty-five. The black-armored Goblins were confident, but the Redfang warriors had no fear. Grunter waited until the thunder in his heart was right, and then roared.

As one, the Redfang warriors leapt forwards. They rushed ahead, shouting without fear as they ran towards their surprised enemy. For all his bulk, Grunter was first. He lowered his axe and shoulder-charged into a group of warriors, ignoring their weapons. He trusted his thick skin and armor to keep him safe.

A Goblin stabbed at him, but the shaft of his spear broke as Grunter rammed into him. The Hob trampled the Goblin, and seized another. He threw him, and then the one he’d stepped on as if they weighed nothing.

Grunter threw two Goblins into their fellows, turned, and chopped another Goblin down. He roared at the others, making them draw back in fear. They dared to challenge him? He was a Hob! He scythed left and right with his heavy weapon, daring anyone to come close.

Headscratcher was right behind Grunter. He leapt towards the warriors Grunter had downed and without a second’s thought, stabbed them as they struggled to get up. Behind him, Badarrow shot the other Goblin leader through the head at point-blank range, laughing in fury as he did.

The other Redfang warriors formed a spear, Grunter at their head. They charged at the other warriors, bringing the fight to them. Bugear jabbed with a spear, keeping three Goblins at bay at once. One ran forwards, slashing, but Rocksoup was there!

Rocksoup and the Goblin cut—but it was the other Goblin warrior who fell away. Too slow! The dagger in Rocksoup’s off-hand caught the Goblin in his unprotected throat and he fell, choking.

The Goblin Lord’s warriors fell back in disarray. They hadn’t expected such a difference in levels! But the Redfang warriors refused to give them any moment’s rest. They pressed on, howling with fury.

They were elites! They’d fought beside Garen Redfang in the hottest of battles! Other Goblin warriors couldn’t compare to their skill.

But—they were outnumbered. And not even their levels and skill in battle could bridge the gap in numbers so easily. The instant the other Goblin warriors lost the shock of first contact, they began to swarm the Redfang warriors, fighting two-to-one, or in Grunter’s case, six-to-one.

Still, the Redfang warriors refused to back down. They fought shoulder-to-shoulder, refusing to budge. If this was their last moment, they’d go down as free Goblins, not these pale imitations. Headscratcher had lost his blade—buried in a Goblin’s spine and was falling back when he saw something blur at the backs of the Goblin warriors besieging them. He heard screams, and then the press forcing the Redfang warriors disappeared.

A silver blade cut four Goblins to the ground in swift slashes that rent their armor. The Redfang warriors saw a Goblin in black armor turn—and then a shield crashed into his face. He fell, neck broken, and then they saw the man in silver armor.

“What’s this?”

Ylawes raised his shield as the black armor Goblins fled around him. The Redfang warriors were clearly different from the rest, and he narrowed his eyes at Grunter. The Redfang Goblins didn’t hesitate. The moment they saw who they were facing, they moved to attack.

The warriors spread out around Ylawes, half of them pulling out bows. Grunter, Rocksoup, Bugear and three more Goblins formed a circle around the adventurer, keeping a wide distance. They closed as one.

Ylawes didn’t let the Goblins take the initiative. The instant they moved to attack him, he charged left. Bugear raised his own shield and the sword that Ylawes brought down cracked it and flattened the Goblin. If it wasn’t for his own Skill, the Goblin would have been cut apart in a single blow.

The warrior in silver armor clearly hadn’t expected the Goblin to survive, but he turned and blocked Grunter’s powerful blow as the Hob charged him. The axe with all of Grunter’s weight behind it bounced off the shield, and the man instantly riposted, his blade cutting Grunter deep in the side.

The Hob howled and the other Goblins swarmed Ylawes. The man spun away, keeping all of them at bay. Arrows flew at his face—he blocked each one with his shield, spinning to knock them down.

The Redfang warriors paused then, in consternation and for the first time, fear. For his part, Ylawes eyed them with his own degree of shock.

“Hmf. You’re no ordinary Goblins, are you? Are all the monsters this far south so strange?”

The Redfang warriors made no reply. Instead, they just pulled back. Grunter kept one hand on his side, assessing his damage. They looked at each other, seeing the terrible truth in each others’ eyes.

This adventurer was Gold-rank. He had to be.

It was a death sentence for the Redfang warriors. They knew it. A group of Silver-rank adventurers they could handle, or run from. But a Gold-rank?

Badarrow snarled as he loosed arrow after arrow at Ylawes. The man blocked each shot, advancing quickly on the Goblins. The Redfang warriors spread out again, but this time they had only one goal in mind. Even if they died, even if they all died distracting the adventurer, they had to give Grunter an opening—

Headscratcher, Bugear, and Bitefly all attacked at once. They slashed at Ylawes, ducking back as he slashed at them, trying to distract him. Other Goblins attacked at the same time, and Ylawes was forced to knock aside their blades, force them back with his sword rather than attack. Grunter spotted an opening as the man turned to cut Headscratcher down. The small Goblin raised his sword bravely, and Grunter exploded towards Ylawes with a roar—

The man turned and lashed out with his shield, smashing into Grunter’s right arm. All of the Goblins heard the Hob’s bones break from the impact. Grunter staggered, but he still tried to bring his axe down—

“Courage. Even from Goblins.”

That was all Ylawes said as he ran Grunter through. The Hob’s eyes widened and he sat down as Ylawes pulled the blade out of his stomach. The Redfang warriors howled and attacked, but too slow. Ylawes raised his crimson blade from the final blow—

No!

Was it a word or a thought? She didn’t know. But the monster leapt, and her flight across the ten feet of ground caught Ylawes by surprise. Even so, the adventurer still turned fast enough. His shield smacked the young woman out of the air. She landed, stunned, and saw his sword point down at her.

But Ylawes didn’t finish the blow. He stopped at the last moment, and his eyes went wide as he saw her face. He seemed horrified; his face went pale.

“You. What are—?”

Grunter threw himself at the Gold-rank adventurer. Ylawes turned, and his shield came up, smashing into the Hob’s face and stopping his charge. But the impact still made the adventurer slide a bit in the snow.

The Hob stumbled, bleeding. Ylawes shoved him back, and then turned towards the thing crouching in the snow again. She slashed at him, forcing him to guard his body with his shield. Her claws could scratch even his plate armor.

“What’s wrong with you? Please, if you can—answer me!”

She only screamed, screamed at him without words to stop, to not kill these people. But he was too strong. He forced her away, hitting her in the stomach with his shield so hard she was stunned. And then he turned back to the Goblins.

They faced him, ready to die. But Ylawes’ eyes narrowed, and his head turned. Almost too late.

The blurring [Mirage Cut] opened up a deep slash across the silver armored man’s cheek. He turned, snarling, and Toren rolled away, clattering his teeth with frustration.

“You!”

Ylawes charged at the skeleton, but halted as an arrow flew at his face. He turned towards Badarrow as the Goblin reached for another arrow in his quiver.

That’s when the zombies charged out the alleyway. Eight of them ran at Ylawes, arms swinging wildly. He hacked through four in an instant, his limbs a blur of motion, but Toren was at his back. The skeleton cut at Ylawes as the Redfang warriors made him retreat, trying to strike the man’s face, cut at the joints in his armor—

“Stop!”

The Gold-rank adventurer bellowed at the Human, or at least the thing that had once been Human. He saw her turn to look back at him once, but then she was helping pull the Hob away.

He didn’t have time to chase her. Somehow, an entire horde of zombies had been attracted to his location, and they surrounded him now. Ylawes cut them asunder, his blade and shield moving ceaselessly, but there was always the skeleton, trying to cut at him, forcing the adventurer to fight with his back to the wall—

In the end, Toren leapt away as the last few zombies kept Ylawes in place. The Gold-rank adventurer cut the last corpse to the ground and one booted foot smashed a skull in. The man and skeleton stared at each other across the street full of corpses.

“What are you?”

Toren just grinned. Then he ran and disappeared down a street, leaving Ylawes behind in the snow. The adventurer turned to stare at the bodies of the fallen.

“First Goblins fighting Goblins. Then—a young woman? A monster? Something. And then that skeleton. What’s going on?”

No one answered him. But soon the adventurer turned and raced through the streets. He could hear screams everywhere, even at the walls he’d had guards posted at. The Goblins were trying to kill everyone they could before the main fist of their army attacked. He had to save them all.

But he could not do it alone. The adventurer halted and reached for his belt. He took out a scroll and stared at shimmering letters. Words. A reply.

Soon.

He tucked the scroll back into his belt pouch and ran on, sword and shield raised. To save the living. Or die defending them.

—-

The Goblin commander roared his fury as the [Scouts] brought back news. The kill teams he’d sent into the city were being routed! Slaughtered! By a Human with silver armor and the undead!

He rounded on the two cringing [Shamans] who’d been forced to carry their master’s burden. He pointed at the city, demanding they control the undead, to send them in. But the [Shamans] could not. They had not the strength, not a fraction of the head [Shaman] that had been sent to lead the army, and certainly not nearly as much as the Goblin Lord himself—

The commander of the Goblins had no time for excuses. He called out, and his mount, a vast Shield Spider, rose up. It bit one of the [Shamans], cutting off his shriek. The other one fled as the commander called his lieutenants. He pointed to the city, and gave crisp orders.

No more waiting! No more delays for reinforcements. The [Shamans] could collect their dead after he’d slaughtered everyone in the city. The adventurer and all the Humans would die.

The Goblin army prepared to march on Esthelm. And in its streets, a skeleton danced, bringing death and commanding it. And further away, a group of Goblins carrying a bleeding Hob. A monster ran with them, helping them carry the dying Goblin, watching as they slapped his face, trying to keep him awake.

People.

And as the sun rose, it rose on the undead, the army of Goblins, the desperate walls built by Humans. And a few people, caught in the madness.

This is their story.

3.20 T

This is the story of a monster. She knew she was a monster. She’d eaten people. Her own kind, rotting, crawling with insects and maggots and decay.

She’d done it to survive. But the cost had been almost too much to bear. More than once, the young woman who’d once had a name wished she had died back then rather than take that first bite.

But she was alive. And she still longed to live, even now. But the monster in her—

It hungered. It always wanted out. There was a part of her soul that would devour the world if it could. It would eat and eat until there was nothing left to eat but itself.

That was what she feared. Walking any deeper down this road to hell would mean never coming back. Of that she was sure.

She was a monster. A horrible thing, a creature to be hunted and killed by heroes and adventurers. But that was the thing. The girl that looked like a monster had encountered real monsters. Goblins. And somehow, they were more like people than the Humans living in Esthelm.

Goblins. The most pathetic species, the cowardly, backstabbing creatures that ate their own dead. That was what the [Florist] had been told when she’d walked on two legs and known her name. But the thing that scuttled around on all fours with jagged claws and sharp teeth saw something different.

She saw people. People—warriors, proud and courageous. The Goblins who’d saved her once ran through the streets, armed, keeping the way clear while six of their number helped support and drag the massive Hobgoblin they carried between them.

His eyes were fluttering, and the massive Goblin was fading. Blood trailed from his stomach, spattering on the snow and dirty ground. He was cut deeply.

A Gold-rank adventurer had done that to him. The monster had seen it. He’d been killing monsters and he’d fought the Goblins. And she’d fought him, to let them get away.

Even now she didn’t know why she’d done it. She’d attacked her own people—a hero! But he’d been wrong. The Goblins were not monsters. They were heroes too.

They’d fought. With their backs against the wall, even against an adventurer—they’d fought. That was all the monster thought as she helped drag the half-conscious Hob back towards their camp.

They were monsters, yes. But even they—no, they weren’t nearly as pathetic as she was. And she had saved them. Or tried. She’d fought against a hero, an adventurer—

For them.

What had possessed her? Perhaps only a desire not to let these people die. To repay them for the kindness they’d shown her. Because they weren’t monsters.

Only she was a monster.

The Goblin warriors were shouting in panic as they ran through the streets. They were shouting at the Hob, trying to keep him awake. The massive Goblin was stumbling, barely lucid, but none of the Goblins dared slow down. They kept watching their backs, waiting at any moment for the man in silver armor to pursue them.

But he never came. And when the Goblins had gotten to their camp and the Hob collapsed on the ground, they immediately tore at his belt.

The monster squatted in a corner, fingers in her mouth, watching, not knowing what to do. One of the Goblins was undoing all the compartments in the belt, searching for something. What?

A healing potion! Of course! The red vial was tiny, but from the way it glittered in the light, the monster knew it was very powerful. She caught her breath as they poured the liquid into the Hob’s gaping stomach wound. And in an instant—

It closed! The thing had never seen any wound heal that fast, but the potion was the kind only the rich would use. The Hob groaned, but color flooded back into his green face. He sat up—

And clutched at his arm. The potion hadn’t mended his broken bones. The other Goblin warriors sighed in relief. One reached for the Hob’s arm, but he shoved the Goblin away. Wincing, the Hob felt at his injuries and then pointed. A Goblin fished around in their packs and came up with cloth and a metal bar they’d used to hold the cooking pot with.

The Hob began to create a splint with the materials. Other Goblins wanted to help, but he clearly wanted to do it by himself. He snapped at the other Goblins when they tried to approach.

The monster watched this, even more sure that she had been right and the adventurer wrong. These were not monsters to be killed, at least, these Goblins weren’t.

They cared for each other. Impulsively, the young woman reached out. She touched Grunter’s arm as he grunted in pain and annoyance, fumbling with the splint.

The Hob moved to push the creature away, but paused when he saw her. He hesitated, and then reluctantly let her take the splint. Slowly, slowly, trying to remember how the motions worked, the young woman tied the splint to his arm. The Hob gasped, but made a sound when she stopped.

Tighter. That was clearly what he said, what he meant. The monster-girl tied the knot, as the Hob gasped, but when it was done he stood and grunted at her.

Thanks. That was all it was, but it made the monster’s eyes fill with tears. The Hob paused and gently bent to wipe them away.

And then the monster was no monster, but a young woman who looked like one. The Redfang warriors crowded around her, slapping her back, gargling in approval at her. Looking at her—

As a person. It was all the young woman wanted. So she wept and for a second, forgot the hunger in her soul.

—-

This is the tale of a monster. This is the tale of a young woman with something dark in her soul. She felt it, even as she sat in the Goblin’s camp, listening to them laugh and slap each other with the sheer, giddy relief of being alive.

She was still a monster. She still wanted to eat, to tear the flesh off of her newfound friends and—

But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. And yet the thing knew it couldn’t stay. Eventually, she would become—

A Goblin pressed a bowl of reheated soup into her hands. He grinned at her as he scratched at his head. She stared at him. He looked familiar. He was the first Goblin who’d come for her. Her eyes went to his head, and she recoiled.

He had ticks! The Goblin looked vaguely apologetic as he scratched at one dark shape buried on his bald head. The girl grabbed at him, and much to his surprise, dragged him over to the fire the other Goblins were restarting. There she picked up a stick and to the other Goblins’ astonishment, lit one end until it was hot.

The head-scratching Goblin had no idea what she intended, and thus when he saw the hot stick heading for his head he immediately tried to pull away. But the monster-girl made soothing noises and he stopped. He was very tense in her arms as she poked at the ticks with her stick.

The flaming end made the Goblin yelp and try to pull away, but it didn’t seem to make the tick want to leave. Frowning, the young woman cast aside the stick and grabbed at the Goblin’s head.

Nails, then. She picked at the skin, her elongated nails digging into the flesh. The Goblin screeched and tried to get away then—but he paused when she pulled the first tick off of his head.

—-

Headscratcher and the other Goblins stared in horror at the huge tick, big and fat from living off his scalp as the Human girl pulled it out of his head. Immediately, the other Goblins crowded around Headscratcher’s head and recoiled as they saw how infested it was.

Beseechingly, Headscratcher put his head on the Human’s lap. She seemed stunned, but then obligingly dug her fingers into Headscratcher’s skin, gently, pulling bugs out. She flicked them into the fire. Once or twice, Headscratcher thought she was looking at them as if she was hungry but she never ate them.

Once it was over, the Goblin’s head was bleeding, but mercifully, no longer itching. He grinned at the Human and only got a strange look in reply. He thought she would have been happy, but when she looked at his face—

It almost looked like she was about to cry.

—-

The young woman sat in the snow next to the fire. She rubbed at the dirty ball in her hands. Soap. Lye soap, strongly scented, pilfered no doubt from some caravan the Goblins had raided.

But soap nonetheless. And they had cloth and oil. More things that made them civilized, made them people. Slowly, the girl abandoned the soap and dunked her hands into hot water. It made her hands burn, but it was necessary. She was filthy.

Yes, wasn’t that how it went? Clean hands and—and doing things. Small things. Not eating the dead. If she could do things like this, then—

The young woman stared at the Goblin curled up into a ball next to her. He was practically frozen with fright, and the other four Goblins holding him looked grim and determined. He hadn’t wanted her help, but they’d insisted.

Several tiny mites crawled out of the shivering Goblins’ ear even as the young woman watched. They made her…hungry, but she put away the thought. Infestation. Bugs. She’d seen it before, seen a [Healer] treat it. She could try the same, couldn’t she?

The Goblin whose ticks she’d pulled out—the head scratching Goblin—handed her a stick with a bit of cloth wrapped around the end. It was very thin, and the girl dipped lightly in a pot of oil sitting next to her. Her Goblin patient shuddered when he saw the stick, but the other Goblins held him down.

Gently, very gently, the young woman swabbed the Goblin’s ear with the cloth and oil. He gritted his teeth and growled inaudible words into her lap, but didn’t move. Bugs came out with the stick, stuck on the oil. The other Goblins made a face when the girl kept pulling out bugs. One of them slapped the Goblin on the ear as if it was his fault he’d let them in there.

Too many bugs. No matter how hard the girl tried, she kept getting more with each stick and she was sure there were probably eggs in there. So she changed tactics.

Hot water, poured in the Goblin’s pointed ear. He yelped and struggled, but his friends just laughed and held him down. The girl counted to ten and then let him sit up and drain his ear.

Tiny little bugs washed out with the water. The girl made a face and did it again, this time with soapy water. She made the Goblin keep the water in his ear for several minutes; long enough to drown whatever was in there.

When she let him sit up, the Goblin glared at her and stuck a finger in his ear. But when he only pulled out dead bugs, he brightened up. He grinned at her and waved a hand. She smiled back.

And cried.

It was something the other Goblins couldn’t understand. But the young woman felt—normal after helping the Goblin. His gratitude hurt her in ways no sword could ever do.

Of course, she couldn’t explain that. The other Goblins crowded around the former bug-eared Goblin. One smacked him on the back of the head. Another punched him. The young woman stopped them. Tried to explain.

There was a patch of dirt on the ground next to the fire. The young woman took a stick and drew in it. She drew a stick figure, and then small ones for the Goblins. They crowded around to look, and the one who scratched his head sat across from her, staring at the young woman’s face.

Her. Goblins. They nodded and pointed at each other, drawing an exaggeratedly fat Goblin for the Hob who lay resting against one wall. The girl nodded, face bleak, and they quieted. She pointed to the figure representing her in the dark.

Me.

She added fangs and horns to the little figure in the dirt.

Monster.

They stared at her. Their eyes found the way her teeth had changed, her jaw, her fingers and even arms, making her less…Human. More like an Eater, whatever that was. But then they shrugged at her.

So what? A Goblin patted the young woman’s hand and grinned at her. He pointed to himself and the others and drew little horns on all of the figures. They were all monsters.

The young woman’s eyes filled, but she didn’t weep. She pointed at the figure, and then drew other figures, other Humans. Far away from her. She drew a line between herself and the others.

Alone.

The other Goblins stopped smiling. They stared at her, and at the line separating her. They understood. None of them said a word. They just understood.

The young woman pointed to a body. She pointed to the dead flesh, mimed eating. The Goblins nodded. She drew a line down her face.

Sad.

A tear travelled down the grime, washing it away. The Goblins stared at her, and then at the bodies.

They understood.

And she understood. Somehow, in the ways they tried to tell her, in the motions of their arms. They felt it too.

Because of course Goblins ate their dead. Of course they did. To survive, they would eat anything. Everyone knew that. Eating their own kind and other people was what made Goblins monsters.

But who would have asked Goblins how they felt? Did anyone realize the Goblins wept to eat their own dead? Of course Goblins ate their own kind. They did it to survive. But every single Goblin drew a line down their cheeks.

They did, and they wept inside.

They were people too. People who wanted to live.

They were monsters with souls. And they—

They were no different from her. No worse than she’d been, and perhaps better. They weren’t monsters.

And perhaps she wasn’t either.

This is the story of a monster girl. She sat in the ruins of her home and wept. For everything she’d lost. For everything she’d become. She wept because she had done horrible things to survive, horrible things that had made her despair and want to die. But she had met monsters, and it turned out they were more Human than she was. And then they’d shown her their hearts and it had turned out she was no monster either.

The young woman wept, sobbing for all she’d lost. She was lost, alone. But then she felt the arms around her, and looked up into the face of Headscratcher. He squeezed her tight, eyes closed.

This is the story of a Goblin who hugged a monster. And the monster yearned to bite him, to eat—

But she forced the desires down in her chest. She buried the madness and found something else sprouting in the darkness of her heart. It bloomed, a faint sprout reaching towards the light, drinking in the moment of kindness.

A flower.

[Condition – Terrible Hunger Removed!]

The voice made her eyes go wide. The girl stood up, knocking the Goblin’s hands away. He let go instantly, afraid he’d gone too far. But the young woman stared up at the sky and saw only blue. A bit of blue hiding behind the dark clouds.

Sunlight. Far off, but still there, shining down. Redemption for a shattered soul. Thanks, for a Goblin.

He was saying something. Trying to apologize. The young woman looked at him, and embraced him to his great surprise. The other Goblins gaped, but she hugged him, lifting him up into the air.

She still looked like a monster. Her teeth were still sharp, and she had lost the words. But she was no longer hungry. That was enough.

She hugged him, and wept. A monster, hugging a Goblin. But a monster with a soul. And a bit more Human in them than had been there a minute ago. So it whispered to the young woman, as she tried to remember her name, knowing she had one.

Salvation.

—-

The man wearing silver armor stood at the head of the battlements and stared down at the people. They looked up to him for hope, for redemption. For a chance to live again.

“The Goblins are coming.”

That was all he said to them, Esthelm’s remaining thousands. They held weapons in their hands, children, women, men, clinging to life with all they had. He had never been prouder, never been more honored to fight.

“They are coming! Their first assault failed. They’ll be coming in force, next. All of them.”

The dead lay in the streets, and what few he had saved had now joined the living. The Goblins had swept through the city, killing teams of them. But they were dead now, avenged. He had slain nearly a hundred himself, and the others—

Ylawes looked out past the barricade he stood on, out into the city. Zombies wandered the streets, by the hundreds. Thousands. And somewhere, hiding, striking whenever his back was turned, was the skeleton. It had killed Goblins and Humans alike. But it was one skeleton compared to the army about to march.

The Gold-rank adventurer turned to the people again. He pointed to the barricades—built with stone and wood and anything that could be scavenged, manned by anyone with a bow or weapon that could hold off the hordes.

“We have the high ground, and we’ve created chokepoints that we can hold.”

One main entry point with palisades. A killing field, or so he hoped. He would hold it until he died. And these people—Ylawes pointed at them, shouting.

“They will come. They will come and we will fight and die here. Do you understand? Here. To the last child. There is nowhere to run, nowhere to hide! Your city lives or dies on this day! People of Esthelm, reclaim your pride. Throw back the Goblins and retake your city!”

He raised his sword and they roared. They would have cheered anyone, but they cheered him. They called out for hope and raised their weapons against the darkness.

“Do you really think we can live, sir?”

“I told you to call me Ylawes.”

The man turned and looked the Bronze-rank adventurer in the eye. He was glad the young man had stayed, he and his two friends. And because he respected the man’s courage, he didn’t lie.

“The odds are slim. But it’s possible. We have the Goblins’ numbers. We may even outnumber them by a bit.”

“Counting women and children sir. And people who can barely fight—”

“That’s what the barricades and I will have to equalize. Other than that, we can only hope that the people of Esthelm fight with all the courage they have today. If we can kill a good number of them, our enemy may disperse. They might have armor and some training, but they’re still low-level Goblins. At least, most of them are. In truth, it’s the undead that concern me most.”

“So many…”

“Yes. I was too late.”

Ylawes said it simply. He stared down at the streets.

“The Goblins will control them with [Shamans] and [Mages] if they can. Use them to fight. If we have to battle both undead and Goblins, we stand no chance.”

“If that happens—then what will we do?”

“Hold out. For as long as possible. Aid may arrive soon.”

“Are you sure?”

The man looked at him, wanting to believe. So did Ylawes. He reached for a belt pouch and pulled something out.

“I sent for help last night.”

He showed the adventurer a scroll with glowing letters etched onto the parchment. A message. And—underneath it, a reply had been written in terse, neat script.

“Help is coming. But I don’t know if it will come here in an hour or in days.”

“We don’t have days.”

They didn’t even have an hour. And both adventurers knew that. Ylawes looked to the horizon, and raised his voice.

“To arms! The Goblins are coming!”

The dark mass at the edge of the city limits was moving. On the walls, the Humans saw a dark tide of bodies surging into the city, and then heard rhythmic impacts.

Drumbeats. Not just one or two, but countless numbers of them, thudding impacts that made the defenders shake in fear.

The drumbeats were like thunder. And as Ylawes watched, the first wave of the Goblin army began pouring into the city. Some rode Shield Spiders—others horses. And at the head of the army—

“Undead. The [Shamans] are controlling them.”

He gritted his teeth. Was this the end? But it was only a few undead—barely a hundred. If that was all they could control, then—

There was a chance. Ylawes shouted as he ran down the barricade, to the one opening in their defenses. He would cut them down again and again. Create a point for them to throw all their fury into until there was nothing left.

“Man the barricades. We hold them at the choke points—force them back!”

The people of Esthelm shouted, and the Goblin drums pounded. Now the Goblins screamed, and their voices ran throughout the city. They met the adventurer wearing silver and the clash was like thunder. Goblins poured up the barricades, fighting the people on the walls. Archers from both sides filled the skies—

And the undead moved. They focused on the conflict like lightning. Zombies, ghouls, advancing like the tide. Goblins turned and fought the dead—[Shamans] struggled to control them, trying, failing in the face of so many. And the man in silver fought on, sword and shield flashing in the light.

The last battle for Esthelm had begun.

—-

He saw the man wearing silver armor. He saw the Goblins, seemingly numberless as they poured towards the wooden barricades, screaming warcries. And Toren felt happy.

War. Death. The Humans met the Goblins with a roar, clashing swords. In moments the first bodies began to fall.

And oh, how Toren longed to be among the fighting, sword in hand! But he had to be patient. He looked around, at the dead who surrounded him.

They were his kind. Thoughtless, yes, but Toren felt a connection to them he hadn’t a few days ago. He and they weren’t so different after all. They lived to fight and kill—

And so did he. This was his purpose. Toren knew it. He could lead the dead. Why else would he have this Skill, this class, if not because he was meant to do it? There was a special joy to ordering the zombies about, to leading them to victory through superior tactics and planning.

It was addictive, giddying, intoxicating. Toren looked at the battlefield and saw how he could shape it. He called out to the zombies under his control, readying them to move into the fray.

This was what he was meant to do. At last, he’d found it. It was so wonderful to command. Had Erin felt like this when she ordered him? Had she—

Toren paused. The burning lights in his eyes dimmed for a second. No. Not her. He was separate now. She was…not his owner any longer. He was free. Would be free.

And he would level up. Toren looked back at the battlefield. The Goblins were trying to swarm up the barricades blocking the streets off as Humans threw them off the barricades and shot arrows and threw stones down at them. Now was the time.

The first group of zombies lurched towards the Goblins. They moved slowly—just another random assortment of the undead drawn to the conflict. The Goblins barely paid any attention to them. So long as they had a few warriors guard their flanks, there was no danger.

Toren grinned. At his silent command, the zombies began to run.

This is the story of a skeleton. He only knew how to kill, so he did just that. In a city filled with death, the skeleton killed with his hands at first, and then used others to kill more and more. He would kill everything if he could.

Because it was all he knew.

—-

“Hold the lines! Hold, damn you!”

Ylawes screamed at the people struggling around him as he cut with his sword, bringing down Goblins as they came at him. How long had he been fighting? A few seconds? An hour? He couldn’t tell.

Goblins poured towards him, around the palisades, into the center of a whirlwind of steel he created. Parry, strike, block, strike—his shield was a weapon just as much as his sword. Normal Goblins couldn’t even get close as he cut through their weapons, but there were more who attacked even as their companions fell. And when a Hob came—

Ylawes stumbled back as a javelin crashed into his chest, breaking on his armor but denting it. His plate mail was not enchanted like his arms, and he coughed. A Goblin screamed as it swung a shortsword—

He beheaded it. Keep fighting. Don’t stop! The Goblins seemed endless, but the barricades were all still holding. Even as people fell and died, more rushed to take their place. They had the high ground. So long as they had that, even a child could knock a Goblin down with a well-placed blow—

“Zombies!”

Someone screamed the word. Ylawes turned, and saw fourteen zombies, sprinting at him. He reacted instantly.

“[Shield of Valor]!”

The zombies crashed into a wall of air as Ylawes brought his shield up and pushed. The zombies and every Goblin in a cone in front of him were sent flying backwards by his Skill. Panting, Ylawes lowered his shield and turned.

“Report!”

An [Archer], one of the few warriors among the citizens—called out to him as she snatched at more arrows. The Goblins were pulling back, but her hands never stopped working, firing into their shielded ranks.

“Zombies are coming from every direction! They’re attacking the barricades, but some are attacking the Goblins!”

“Show me!”

Ylawes leapt up onto a platform. The woman pointed and he saw she was right. Zombies were approaching from all sides, drawn by so many living bodies. And they were attacking Goblins! Some of the undead were even fighting those controlled by the [Shamans]. But something was very, very wrong.

“What’s happening?”

The [Archer] pointed as a group of zombies began running, just as the ones earlier had. They charged into a group of Goblins from behind, biting and tearing.

“Zombies can’t run!”

“Some can.”

Ylawes was grim as he surveyed the zombies. They’d caught an entire group of archers by surprise—was it chance or had something known that there was an opportunity to strike?

“They can?”

The woman stared at Ylawes in horror. He nodded.

“Some can. But not like this. Only a few out of a hundred should and they don’t—group like that. This isn’t right.”

“Look! Another group!”

This time, Ylawes clearly saw what was happening. A group of zombies moving slowly towards the Goblins suddenly stiffened. In an instant, they’d changed from their slow pace into a sprint, and they changed course. Instead of hitting the group of Goblin warriors they’d been aiming towards, they ran towards a barricade and began pounding at a gap that had been exposed in the wooden structure.

“Why are they acting like that?”

“There.”

Ylawes pointed. At the center of a huge mass of zombies, a skeleton was standing, pointing and waving a sword about. The woman standing next to him paled.

“Dead gods. Is it leading them?”

“Yes.”

Ylawes saw it clearly. Wherever the skeleton pointed, a group of zombies would begin to run. They attacked vulnerable spots, hitting both Humans and Goblins alike. Always fourteen zombies. Each time the group of fourteen zombies had crashed into the Goblin flanks, another group would begin to move with that same focused intelligence.

“It’s coordinating the undead. It’s trying to overwhelm us! Watch the sides!”

Ylawes called out. He wanted to run up to see how the entire battlefield was going, but the brief window he’d created with his Skill was already up. He saw people struggling against the Goblin warriors again, and leapt back into the fray.

“Don’t falter!”

A Goblin riding a massive Shield Spider was coming straight at Ylawes, laughing as he hacked apart Humans with a halberd that cut through armor like it wasn’t there. The [Knight] roared a challenge, and the two met in a clash at the center of the battlefield. But the undead kept coming, and the barricades began to splinter under the ceaseless attacks…

—-

They sat on the rooftop of their hideout, watching the battle. Goblins. But not those Goblins. The Redfang warriors felt no attachment to the warriors of the Goblin Lord. In fact, they sneered at the other side’s tactics.

Sieging an entrenched group of Humans? What were they, idiots? They’d clearly counted on overwhelming the Humans in one push, but they’d underestimated the Gold-rank adventurer and the difficulty of overcoming the barricades. By himself, the warrior in silver armor had slain countless Goblins already and so long as he stood, the Goblins couldn’t advance past his position.

Too, the undead were complicating matters. Badarrow pointed and the Goblins saw the undead were attacking Goblins from behind, forcing them to split their forces. Something was moving the undead like a [Tactician], and it was making the attacking force’s job that much harder.

Still, all the Redfang Goblins could tell the battle was going one way. The zombies were getting diced by the Goblins for all the damage they inflicted. The same could not be said of the inexperienced Human defenders. Worn down by both sides, the barricades were failing. Once one collapsed—

All the Humans would die. The Redfang warriors weren’t sure how they felt about this. On one hand, Humans were usually their enemies. On the other hand, the Goblin Lords’ forces were definitely their enemy. And besides—

They glanced left, at the young woman sitting next to them. She crouched on the roof, staring down at the battle.

She was Human, wasn’t she? More and more Human, or so they felt. Headscratcher was sitting next to the Human and none of the Goblin warriors knew what to say. All they knew was they loved her. A tiny bit. For saving Grunter. For daring to hug a Goblin. For being like them.

A lot, actually. They loved her a lot, in the simple way they could. Because she didn’t look at them like monsters. They’d never known they wanted that until this moment.

And she was staring at the battlefield. Grunter nudged her and grunted. He pointed towards the gates, undefended. She could run. The Redfang warriors should have left long ago. But the Human girl just stared at the battlements.

The Goblins were pressing in. Too deep to be pushed back and there weren’t enough Humans on the side furthest from the adventurer. And there were too many undead. The Redfang warriors could see a familiar skeleton among the zombies and they wondered—

“Go.”

The word came from Headscratcher. It made the other Redfang warriors stiffen in shock, but he was pointing at the gates. He was urging the Human to go. To leave.

With them?

It was just a thought, a passing moment. The Human—the girl who was part monster—looked at Headscratcher, and hesitated. Then she shook her head slowly.

She pointed at the battlefield, at the Humans on the walls they had built. Faltering. Falling back. The monster pointed at them and touched her heart.

Some things didn’t need words. The Goblins understood. But then she pointed at them, and at the Goblins and undead. She touched Headscratcher’s sword, sheathed at his waist.

They stared at her. What did she mean? Grunter lowered his head as he understood, but the others didn’t get it. The young woman wearing a monster’s skin pointed again, at the backs of the undead, at the Goblins. She touched the sword and then her heart.

And they understood. She wanted them to help. To save…

Badarrow was the first to move. He shook his head and made a displeased noise. He stared at the battlefield as the other Goblins shuffled and looked down. The Redfang warriors looked at their feet, at the sky, at the battlefield, but none dared look at the monster who pleaded with them with her eyes.

Headscratcher looked away. He couldn’t meet the young woman’s eyes. He looked down.

How could they tell her? The Redfang warriors had no words to explain this. But it was easy enough that even the untrained monster girl could understand.

They were thirteen. Brave warriors, and good fighters, yes, but only thirteen. The army of the Goblin Lord was just that. An army. And the undead alone seemed limitless.

They were no heroes. And they weren’t willing to die. In the end, they were still Goblins. And only a fool would go down there.

But they couldn’t say it. Not to the girl who looked at them as if they were heroes. They couldn’t bear to see the disappointment in her eyes.

None of them dared look up. Grunter touched his broken arm and stared at the man in silver armor. He fought on, a lone patch of flashing light amidst the dark armor and shambling bodies.

They weren’t the same, in the end. A Goblin was still a Goblin. Not an adventurer.

The monster stared at the Goblins silently. They didn’t see what was in her eyes, but they all saw her turn to look at the barricades. The Humans were being pressed back. The zombies were climbing as well, commanded by the skeleton no doubt. And with the Goblins attacking as well—

It would be over soon. Then they would have to leave. But what would the girl do? Could she survive like them? Could she come with them?

It was just a thought. But they saw it in Headscratcher’s eyes. He wanted that. But the girl was different. She looked back at her people, dying, fighting, and touched her heart. They could not know it, but the young woman could hear it beating, so loudly she thought it might burst. That was all. She just heard her heart beating in her chest. But she had nearly forgotten the sound. It reminded her of who she was.

It reminded her that she was Human.

The monster stood up. The Redfang warriors watched her silently. Slowly, she pointed towards the Humans and drew one line down her cheek. And touched her heart.

That was all. She bent, and Headscratcher looked up at her, full of—

She kissed him. Not on the lips, but gently on the cheek. He went still in shock and she smiled at him.

“Not a monster.”

Did she really whisper those words? Or was it only their imagination? Thirteen Goblins stared at her in silence. Then the monster—the young woman who wore a monster’s form—leapt. She flew through the air and landed on the ground, not even noticing the impact. She ran on all fours towards the battlefield, and it was a monster that crashed into the Goblins, tearing at them, biting, slashing as they cried out in horror and shock.

Headscratcher stood poleaxed in place, staring at her. But then he leapt from the rooftop, ignoring Grunter’s shout. He ran after her, chasing the young woman into the heart of the battlefield. And all twelve of the Redfang warriors were hot on his heels.

—-

This is the story of a war. It was hot and brutal and oh so quick, and the living seemed to become the dead in the blink of an eye. But it was fought in a desolate city in the heart of winter.

Cold skies, snow on the ground. But hot bodies.

And blood. Tearing flesh. The monster swept through the ranks of Goblins besieging a barricade that had been partially knocked down. They saw her and cried out. Monsters, fearing a monster.

Her claws with razors that cut steel. Her teeth ripped away flesh and bone. The Goblins wearing black armor tried to cut at her, but she was a blur, and their weapons barely cut her thick skin.

This is the story of a young woman who let the monster in her out. She tore and bit and forgot fear and killed. She walked deeper down the path to hell, but she had a lifeline, a fragile thread that she held onto. A memory of a Goblin that hugged her, and a group of monsters with the hearts of heroes.

This is the story of a band of Goblins. They stood at the edge of death’s gate, staring at the young woman who danced with the reaper, fearless, fighting for her people. Fighting to live. Fighting to be Human.

They hesitated. Their weapons were drawn, but they dared not plunge into the conflict. Because they were afraid. Because they wanted to live. They saw the other Goblins fall back in disarray and the Humans rally as the monster attacked them. But it was not enough. There were many Goblins, and this was only a corner of the battle.

And the undead were everywhere. They kept coming, and they kept attacking, slowly encircling both Humans and Goblins alike. They were commanded by that awful intelligence, the gleeful, mocking skeleton dancing in their midst.

The Goblins stared at the skeleton, not a hundred paces away but surrounded by his minions. And they knew that if he was not stopped the Humans would die.

On the skeleton all things turned. And then Grunter pointed.

There. The Goblin commander, silver halberd on hand, pointing as he rode his Shield Spider. He’d clashed with the Gold-rank adventurer, broken the lines of Humans again and again. Without him, the Goblins would be leaderless.

Two leaders. Headscratcher saw both as he held his sword in one sweaty claw. If one or both fell, the Humans would be saved. She might be saved. If they fought—

But his feet didn’t move. Headscratcher stood where he was, ashamed. He shook. He was afraid to die. Because it would be certain death. And he was just a Goblin.

But the girl—she was a monster. She was a Human. She was something else. And she had seen the same thing the Goblins had. So she just ran. She leapt, and bore a Ghoul to the ground. Teeth gleamed and bit and the two creatures tore at each other.

Headscratcher shouted and ran forwards, sword raised as Badarrow tried to find a target among the blurring shapes. But then the Ghoul was down, a gaping hole in his throat and neck. The monster-girl ran on, at the mass of zombies shielding the skeleton.

And stumbled.

And fell.

Because of the arrow in her back.

Headscratcher screamed. He saw the shaft strike the young woman—not from the sides, but from above. A shot from high up on the barricades.

A Human had loosed the arrow. Perhaps he had mistaken the young woman for a Ghoul—or perhaps he had just seen what she’d looked like and shot. But the arrow had struck the young woman all the same.

She fell, and the zombies she’d been running towards surrounded her, biting. Tearing. Headscratcher ran into them, slashing wildly. Two zombies fell as he ran them through, shoving them aside. An arrow killed a third and then the other Redfang warriors were around him. They forced the zombies back as Headscratcher held the young woman in his arms.

He reached for the arrow and stopped. It was too deep, and the monster in his arms—

Was no monster. She was just a young woman, bleeding, torn.

Dying. She blinked up at the Goblin who held her, and wondered why she’d never imagined a Goblin could cry. Of course they could. It was such a simple thing, but it just proved her point.

They were people too.

She reached up and tried to brush the tear from Headscratcher’s eyes. But she was too weak. Her arm flopped back and the young woman coughed. She blinked down at the blood in astonishment.

Around her, the other Goblins were tearing at their packs, searching their belts. But they had no potions. Just the one they’d used for Grunter. The Hobgoblin knelt next to the girl, staring at her.

She smiled at them. Weakly. Dying. But then her head rose, and she stared at the Humans. They were so very fragile, so alone.

She pointed. The Goblins looked. The young woman touched her heart, once. It was still beating, slowly. That was all. She touched her heart and drew a line in blood down her cheek.

Asking a question no words could ever say.

This is the story of a Goblin who held a dying Human in his arms. The other warriors stood shoulder-to-shoulder, shields raised, protecting her from the few arrows that flew towards them. They snarled at the Humans on the barricades, watching as the undead pushed them further and further back.

The Goblin held the Human in his arms, staring at death. It was all around him, and in the burning purple eyes of the skeleton surrounded by the undead. He stared at death, but he only had eyes for the Human.

She spoke to him, words that he and all the Goblins heard, even amidst the fighting. The Goblin listened, head bowed, until she choked on the blood and he carried her away from the fighting, protected by his friends.

He laid her in a quiet place, away from the battlefield. Next to a dying fire in a place where she would be safe. Then the Goblin turned back and stared at death. Beside him, twelve other Goblins stood quietly. They looked at each other. And heard their hearts beating.

This is the story of a band of fools. They charged, screaming, at an army of thousands. Goblins and undead both turned to stare at them, and the Humans on the walls stopped firing as they saw the band of thirteen Goblins, fighting for something they didn’t quite understand.

Headscratcher was first. He ran, cutting wildly, knocking other warriors aside, darting past zombies. He didn’t care that they cut at him, ignored the arrows that flew at him, the moments when he stared death in the face. He only had eyes for the skeleton, standing among the zombies.

He ran, and ten Goblins followed his back, fighting as one, struggling for every step. But two Goblins did not follow them. One was Badarrow, who stood with an arrow nocked, firing into the mill of bodies. The other was Grunter.

Grunter. The Hobgoblin turned and ran in another direction. Away? The other Redfang warriors faltered. But the Hob turned and stared at them for one moment. Then he spoke.

“Go.”

One word. And then he plunged away through the mass of bodies. He didn’t dodge like Headscratcher. Instead, Grunter charged through the ranks of undead and Goblin alike. Zombies were hurled away from him, screaming Goblin warriors trampled underfoot. Grunter held his axe in his left hand and roared as he ran.

He had only one target. The Goblin commander astride his Shield Spider. At first, the other Goblin didn’t see Grunter among the Goblins. But soon the Goblin noticed the change in the battlefield.

In a sea of swirling fighting where the lines of black-armored Goblins and zombies pushed each other back and forth, Grunter cut a straight line to the Goblin commander. He couldn’t be stopped! Spears broke against his skin, swords cut but were wrenched away from their owner’s grip. Grunter ran on, bleeding from two dozen wounds, but still ran.

“You! Challenge!”

The word was a roar from Grunter’s mouth. The Goblins and Humans stopped fighting as they stared at the Hob charging at the other Goblin. The Goblin commander sneered. He raised a hand; pointed.

Another Hob, just as large as Grunter, ran forwards, screaming, sword in hand as he tried to slow the Redfang warrior’s advance. Grunter roared and swung his axe. The crushing blade crashed down even as the other Hob tried to block. The axe sheared through the sword and crushed the other Goblin’s head. Grunter wrenched the blade free and the Hob’s body fell.

Silence. Grunter raised his axe, gleaming with blood and gore.

“Redfang!”

It was a word none of the Humans knew. But among the Goblins, it caused silence. Who didn’t know of that famous tribe, of the warrior who had walked among other races?

Garen Redfang and his tribe of warriors. Even in the south, his name was legend. Grunter shouted again, pointing his axe at the Goblin commander.

Now the other Goblin hissed, his eyes flashing blood-red. He pulled his spider around and faced Grunter. The other Goblins fell away as the two ran at each other, the Hob bleeding, one arm raised with the axe, the gleaming halberd held in the other Goblin’s hand.

“Redfang!”

Grunter screamed as he brought the axe down. The blow cleaved through the air, unstoppable. The Goblin commander threw himself off of his mount’s back, and the blow smashed the giant Shield Spider into the ground. It shrieked and died.

But it had taken Grunter’s axe. The Hob pulled at the blade, trying to wrench it free, but too slowly. The halberd came up and then the Hob was stumbling back. He stared at his stump of a hand and heard the Goblin commander laugh. The other Goblin advanced towards him, halberd raised.

The Hob was still for a second. Then his other hand moved. His broken arm grabbed the axe and lifted it. Jagged yellow bone broke through Grunter’s skin, but he only grunted. Then the axe was in the air.

The Goblin commander raised his halberd, snarling, but too slow. The axe fell through the sky, changing the confidence to fear in the Goblin’s eyes. Grunter screamed.

“REDFANG!”

The blow shook the earth. It broke his arm completely. Bone and flesh splintered as his hand twisted, dangling uselessly from his arm. Grunter sat down, staring at his useless arms as the other Goblins and Humans stared at what remained of the Goblin commander, the halberd lying broken on the ground.

The black-armored Goblins hesitated. But then they rushed at Grunter, screaming. He stood and knocked one down with his bloody stump. He kicked another hard enough to break the Goblin’s bones. Then he was falling, pierced by countless blades.

Grunter lay down on the ground and stared at his own blood. With a great effort he turned onto his back and stared at the grey sky. He grunted. And smiled once before the Goblins covered him.

—-

Badarrow saw Grunter fall. He screamed and shot the Goblin who’d killed him. But there were so many. And the Goblins saw him, saw the Goblin shooting at their friends.

Arrows flew towards Badarrow, hundreds of them. Like rain. He dove for cover behind a fat corpse, letting it absorb the deadly arrows. So many.

The Goblin commander was dead, and so the Goblins were faltering. But there were still others, weren’t there? Badarrow had seem them, two [Shamans] hiding behind the others, commanding a group of undead they’d managed to gain control of.

They had to die. For Grunter. For using the dead. Badarrow didn’t hesitate. He selected two arrows, his very best. The ones he knew would fly furthest, straightest. He stood from behind the corpse and drew the first arrow to his chest. He loosed it.

The arrow flew across the battlefield. It caught the first [Shaman] as he stood behind a group of zombies, pointing and laughing. He grasped the arrow as it sprouted from his chest and fell, gasping.

The other [Shaman] pointed and screamed. He turned to run, and the second arrow found his ear. Badarrow grinned, and laughed as he saw the other Goblins turning. This time there was nowhere to hide.

So many arrows. Like rain! They struck him, one finding his chest, another his leg, the last his shoulder. Badarrow stumbled and fell.

—-

Headscratcher did not see either of his friends fall. He ran on, sword drawn, screaming. The zombies were everywhere, as were the black-armored Goblins. He cut at them.

Too many enemies. Then a zombie came swinging at Headscratcher from the right, five more on the left. Headscratcher saw another Goblin run past him. Rocksoup took the blows meant for him. He gasped as the zombies tore his flesh away, cut one down. Two. The third took his sword and then he was fighting with his hands against the other two. They bore him down as he stared at Headscratcher, mouthing silently as his eyes lost their light.

Telling him to run.

The ten Goblins ran on, not pausing as they left their friend behind. Leftstep was next to fall. An arrow caught him in the eye and he dropped soundlessly, still snarling.

Headscratcher cut the head off of a Goblin and saw the skeleton. Only forty paces ahead now. It still hadn’t seen them. He ran towards it, but a group of howling Goblins charged from the right.

Orangepoo ran forwards. He said not a word, just grinned like he always did. Headscratcher saw him fall as he buried a spear in one of the Goblins’ legs and trip up the rest.

Eight now. The Goblin warriors ran on. Now the skeleton had seen them, and it pointed. Zombies and even a Ghoul came for them. Bitefly fell on the right, cursing and cutting at the Ghoul as it bore him to the ground and tore at him.

Seven. There was a wall of undead in front of them. Headscratcher and the Redfang warriors charged into them, screaming. The skeleton was right in front of them. And he had a sword.

Cut them down. Headscratcher took the leading zombie down with a leaping thrust. He fell with the body, struggling to pull his sword free. The other Redfang warriors took down their targets too. Where was the skeleton?

A flash of movement. Headscratcher saw Patchhelm turn and then the skeleton blurred into focus. The Goblin fell, headless. Headscratcher screamed and charged the skeleton.

So close. The skeleton fell back, fighting four of the Redfang warriors at once. But more zombies were coming, running at them. One seized Justrust from behind and snapped his neck.

Five. The five cut at the skeleton, making him dodge backwards. But he was all bones and he didn’t fear mere cuts. Headscracther took a cut that laid open his leg and he saw Rabbiteater choke as a zombie bit him all way down to the bone, making him drop the sword.

The skeleton laughed. He turned to run, mocking the Goblins who’d come to kill him. Headscratcher swung at him as the skeleton danced backwards, nimbly evading his sword thrust.

So close! But not enough. The skeleton’s purple flaming eyes glittered at Headscratcher. He stepped left, dodged a thrust, flicked his sword and parried a cut. He raised his own sword as Headscratcher stumbled, seized by a zombie on his left. The skeleton laughed—

And Shorthilt tackled him from behind. The skeleton stumbled, turned, tried to kick the Goblin off. But Shorthilt hung on, ignoring the foot that kicked his face and broke his nose. Bugear cut sideways, forcing the skeleton to block. Then the Goblin cut at the skeleton’s sword hand, deep, lodging his sword into the skeleton’s bones. Bugear strained to keep the skeleton’s arm in place as Headscratcher ran forwards. The skeleton turned towards him, eyes furious.

Yes. That was right. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t honorable. But it was the way the Goblins fought. And Headscratcher’s sword cleaved the skeleton’s spine in two. The skeleton fell in two pieces, and the Redfang warriors broke apart his body with their weapons.

Around them, the undead—paused. They seemed to stare at nothing, and then they moved again. Still attacking. Still trying to kill the living.

But no longer intelligently. No longer moving with purpose. The Redfang warriors, the five survivors, stumbled away. Headscratcher abandoned his sword to pull Rabbiteater away, giving the Goblin his shoulder.

They ran. Goblins were still everywhere. And the undead too. But they’d done all they could. All they could.

And it was enough. Because as the Goblins launched a final, desperate attack on the Humans on the barricades, the Redfang warriors looked to the gates of the city. And there they saw the adventurers.

—-

“We barely made it by the looks of it.”

That was what the half-Elf said to the Dwarf as they stood at the rear of the Goblin army. Without their commander, the Goblins had neglected their rear. Now they rushed to overwhelm the Human defenders, stretched too thin on their crumbling fortifications.

“That’s true. But we did get here, and we even brought help.”

So said the Dwarf. He was short for a Human, naturally, but those Humans who saw him tended to think he was tall for a Dwarf. He was not, at least, not for a modern Dwarf. He was five foot two, and his muscles rippled as he raised the hammer at his side.

Behind him, a group of men and women, all Humans, stood with their weapons drawn. Silver-rank adventurers, over twenty of them. The half-Elf nodded.

“Let’s go. I’ll begin—hit them from the sides and cut towards Ylawes, would you?”

“Aye. Leave it to me.”

The Dwarf grinned. He turned his voice and roared at the Silver-rank adventurers.

“Follow me!”

He lead the host of [Warriors], [Mages], [Archers], [Rogues], and more at the side of the Goblin host, smashing through their unguarded ranks with ease. Even the Hob who turned to fight was crushed by a blow from the Dwarf’s hammer.

Alone, the half-Elf faced the Goblins who’d become aware of her presence. She raised the staff at her side, the blue crystal embedded in it shining. Arrows flew towards her, but the [Mage] was undeterred. She pointed at the Goblins.

“[Windward], [Flashfire], [Lesser Twister], [Water Arrow], [Silent Sickle], [Muddy Ground]—”

The litany of spells blasted from her staff, countless spells blasting Goblins off their feet, showering others with rains of arrows made from water, cutting others to bits while the arrows that had flown at the half-Elf bounced off the shield of air she’d conjured.

The battlefield changed again. The Silver-rank adventurers and Gold-rank Dwarf cut towards the stunned Humans. The Bronze-rank adventurer with a sword clutched at Ylawes as the man stumbled, nearly collapsing amid the walls of bodies he’d slain.

“Who are they sir? Reinforcements? From which city?”

“Yes. From all the nearby cities. And the Dwarf and half-Elf. They’re my team. The Silver Swords.”

Disbelieving, the Humans on the barricades stared as the Goblins below them began to rout. Their leaders lost, attacked by so many powerful adventurers, they began to flee. The undead kept fighting, but they were fragmented.

The exhausted man in silver armor raised his head as he heard the cheering begin. He didn’t smile. The man next to him turned to him, face shining.

“You saved us! You did it! We did it! We beat the Goblins by ourselves.”

“No. I don’t think it was just that.”

Ylawes didn’t look at the confused man. His eyes found the group of Goblins, five now, injured, fleeing the battle. The adventurer sighed, and then sat down.

He was so tired.

—-

He was so angry. Toren strode away from the battlefield, knowing all was lost. He couldn’t change the outcome now. The zombies were no match for adventurers of that caliber. And he’d been so close too! Just a few more moments and he would have broken the line of Humans and been able to finish off the human in silver armor!

So close! But the Goblins had messed everything up!

Enraged, Toren slashed at the air with his sword, close to exploding with fury. How dare they. How dare they? They hadn’t even fought fair! They’d fought—well, like he fought!

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Toren stopped by the door of an abandoned building, trying to think rationally. He had to escape now. He still had his levels, his life. He could get some undead and go. Start somewhere else.

Doing what? The skeleton kicked at the wall and paused. Did he hear something? Cautiously, he poked his head inside the building. That was when he saw her.

A Human, lying on the ground. Toren hesitated. He…thought she was a Human. But didn’t he recognize her somewhere?

The monster girl. Yes. The flames in Toren’s eyes brightened in shock. But she was different. Was she wounded?

Yes. She was barely clinging to life. The skeleton walked over to her and saw the Human’s lips moving. She was whispering—something.

He didn’t care. The skeleton raised his sword and thrust it into the young woman’s side. He needed to kill something to feel better. He stabbed the Human with his sword, relishing the way she cried out weakly.

And then Toren heard the shout. He turned, but too late. The blow knocked him backwards. A Goblin had charged him from the side! The Goblin had no weapon and he struggled with Toren for his blade.

The skeleton tried to stab the Goblin, but he had been caught off-guard. His own sword impaled him through the rib cage. Toren staggered away, outraged, trying to drag the blade free. At last he got it out, splintering his bones in the process. He turned, sword in hand, and saw the Goblin.

He was holding the Human in his arms. She bled onto the ground, life oozing around his desperate claws. But she was…smiling. Smiling?

Toren paused.

He stared at the Goblin as he held the young woman in his arms, clutching at her bleeding chest, trying to hold the blood in. The skeleton saw a hand come up, and hold the Goblin’s face, and saw bloodless lips move. He saw the Goblin’s tears and felt something…odd in his chest.

What was this? What was he seeing? Goblin and Human? Why did that strike him as so odd? So—

Special? Was that the word? But the moment passed even as the skeleton watched. The Human’s hand dropped and her body relaxed. But her smile remained. And the Goblin holding her wept.

Toren looked away. He didn’t attack the weeping Goblin. Instead, he slowly walked into an alley as the other Goblin warriors ran to the two, crying out, making sounds of—

He didn’t understand. So he walked away, leaving the Goblins behind.

—-

This is the story of a monster. This is the story of monsters. For as Ylawes stood with his companions and the celebrating Humans, he heard a cry.

“Goblins!”

He turned, reaching exhausted for a sword, but called out when he saw the approaching Goblins. They’d been poised to run, but as Ylawes strode towards them they halted.

Arrows and spells were aimed at them but the Goblins just looked lost. Four were holding the body between them and the last just stared up at Ylawes as he approached. He halted when he saw the young woman’s body, the face he recognized.

“Is she…?”

The Goblin nodded. He stared up at Ylawes, and the adventurer looked down at the dead girl. Her face had been ravaged by famine, and dirt and filth had created a mask over her face. But she smiled. It was a simple expression, but it shone even in death, despite all she had endured.

Ylawes remembered seeing her before. He remembered a monster. But what he saw was a young woman, smiling upwards. Only that.

Slowly, the adventurer looked at the Goblins. They stared back at him. Silent.

“I saw your leader kill the Goblin commander.”

Silence.

“I saw your archer down the [Shamans]. Few Human [Archers] I know could do that.”

They just stared at him. Ylawes nodded at the Goblin in front.

“You slew the skeleton. Without that, we might have died before reinforcements could arrive.”

Slowly, the Goblins laid down the body of the Human girl on the ground. They ignored Ylawes completely. One of the Goblins with a bloody scalp slowly crossed the young woman’s arms over her chest. He hesitated, hand on hers. Then he turned away.

“May we never meet again.”

Ylawes called it at their backs. But the Goblins didn’t even acknowledge his presence. They just walked away.

—-

They found Grunter before they left. There wasn’t much of the Hob, but the Redfang warriors gathered around his corpse for a moment. Then they walked on.

They found Badarrow, laughing, shaking as he sat amid the arrows that had nearly killed him. Three arrows had found him, but the one meant for his chest had been horribly made. The glue had broken off and the arrowhead had barely penetrated his skin. He was still laughing about how he’d never hate another arrow when they found him.

Then Badarrow just bowed his head. He stood up and looked towards the body, but the other Humans were around her. The Redfang warriors slowly walked out of the city, avoiding the undead.

Silent.

This is a story of a band of Goblins, and how they left a city behind them as they walked out into the snow and darkness. They left behind their leader, over half their number and a Human girl in the city. And they left something as well. Perhaps it was a bit of their hearts.

This is the story of monsters. Of Goblins. But they had names.

Rabbiteater.

Bugear.

Numbtongue.

Shorthilt.

Badarrow.

Headscratcher.

This is their story. This is the story of how they found and left Esthelm, a city of the desperate, the dead, and those who struggled even in the darkness. This is their story. This is how it began.

—-

This is the story of a skeleton. He walked away from the city whose name he hadn’t even known, beaten. Defeated not just by swords and sorcery, but by something he didn’t even have a name for.

He walked away, not alone physically, but alone nevertheless. Thirteen zombies and a Ghoul walked with him, silent, unthinking. They were tools, that was all. And Toren realized that a tool was not enough. Killing was not enough.

He was alone, purposeless again. He had failed. Toren walked on, staring at the sky. And he began to realize there were still some things he didn’t understand in this world. So he left the city where the living had reclaimed their pride. He left the Goblins, the adventurer wearing silver armor, and the monster who had become a girl behind.

And the dead walked with him.

To Liscor.

Back home.

3.21 L

Pawn stared at the ranks of Soldiers under his command and realized that he’d made a mistake.

Somewhere.

He’d definitely made one a while back, when he’d brought the idea of Gods into the Hive of the Free Antinium in Liscor. That had been a mistake—or at least, telling the Soldiers had been.

Hadn’t it?

It had helped them. Pawn that thought it would save them, but it had only led to a terrible moment where they slaughtered each other to find a better place. He’d stopped that—

But at a terrible cost. Nearly an entire barracks’ worth of Soldiers had been injured, and hundreds had died. Still, many had been saved, and Pawn had realized what his true mission was that day. To make a Heaven for the Antinium. To make a place, a way that they would not die forgotten and alone.

And he had leveled up after that night, hadn’t he? He was now a Level 6 [Acolyte] with the Skill of [Humble Presence], which was surely a boon to the Hive. And Klbkch had given him command of the remaining Soldiers—

Perhaps that was the mistake. Revalantor Klbkch had made the mistake here, because Pawn was sure of one thing. He couldn’t lead the Soldiers.

He had no idea how.

Pawn stared down at the ranks of silent, immobile giants aligned into perfect ranks in front of him. The Soldiers stood patiently, waiting for his command. Perhaps they would wait there forever, even if he left.

Such thoughts were terrifying to Pawn. He was no leader. Except, in a very real sense, he was. Moreover, those under his command needed him. If nothing else, Pawn had to ensure they didn’t die of their injuries.

Yes, every Soldier standing at attention was technically walking—or rather, standing—wounded. Of course they didn’t show any signs of pain, despite some having cracked carapaces or missing limbs. One Soldier was missing his right eye, but he looked at Pawn as if nothing was wrong.

At least…they were here with him, rather than fighting as they would be normally. Even though the Soldiers here were injured, Pawn knew that they would still have normally been assigned to combat duty if it weren’t for him.

The most wounded Soldier could fight after only a few days of rest. Of course, they’d be missing limbs but that didn’t matter when they hurled themselves into combat. Pawn had requested the foul, stinging ooze to begin regenerating their body parts, but it was a precious commodity and so the Soldiers would be weeks or even months in regrowing their limbs.

And in the meantime, what did Pawn do? He stared at his Soldiers, and they stared back. He couldn’t send them to battle. He couldn’t.

And yet, they were his responsibility. He had to make something of them. That was what Klbkch had told him. This was a test—

And Pawn had no idea how to pass it. He was pretty sure on how to fail, but what could he do with the Soldiers? All he had done was give them false hope—

And get a lot of them killed.

Pawn shook his head and the Soldier seemed to straighten even more. It had been five minutes since he’d entered the mess hall and found the Soldiers waiting for him. He had to give them an order, he knew. They needed direction.

Hesitantly, the Worker cleared his throat.

“You will not be expected to fight today.”

The Soldiers just stared at him. Did they feel relieved? Disappointed? Confused? Pawn didn’t know. Their faces were as incomprehensible to him as all Antinium were to other species. But he knew they did have feelings.

“Um…just go about your daily routine. That is to say—”

Pawn paused. He had to be a leader. So he firmed his tone.

“Attend meal times as normal. However, since you are not assigned to any post, return to your barracks to rest in the meantime. I will…find something for you to do, and try to visit you and tell stories. Alright?”

The Soldiers didn’t respond. But they turned and immediately began filing out of the room, heading towards the barracks. Pawn watched them go, limp with relief.

At least they listened to him. But did they resent him for telling them about God and Heaven? Did they feel regret for their brothers that had died in the mass suicide attempt?

Surely they did. But Pawn couldn’t ask, because the Soldiers couldn’t speak. The Worker anxiously paced back and forth as the other Workers assigned to food serving duty watched him nervously. He was commanding Soldiers. Pawn knew they would fight the monsters that came out of the dungeon and patrol and guard—but was there anything else they did?

He’d never known. And now he had to ask. But who would be able to tell him?

Not other Workers. Klbkch perhaps—but Pawn didn’t feel comfortable asking the Revalantor questions like that. Who else might know?

The Queen? Pawn would have rather slapped Klbkch than ask his Queen anything. No. No, there were only two other beings in the Hive who might know.

Belgrade and Anand. They were [Tacticians]. They’d leveled up in that class and been assigned roles leading Soldiers. They would know.

Pawn found his two former chess companions after only half an hour of searching. It wasn’t as if Belgrade and Anand left signs pointing out their location in the Hive, but Pawn knew where they ate and slept. Happily, he found them doing neither and instead, playing chess in the special break room reserved for Individuals.

The two Workers sat at a chess table, watched by a small crowd of other Workers. They stood out. Perhaps it was the way they held themselves. With confidence and pride. Or maybe it was just that Pawn knew them so well. He sat next to them and they nodded at him, familiar and warm as the Antinium ever got.

“Pawn. It is good to see you here today.”

That came from Belgrade. He nodded precisely as he placed a knight in the attack position, threatening a pawn from Anand.

“Indeed. I was worried you were being punished by Klbkch.”

Anand ignored the attack on his pawns and instead countered Belgrade with an aggressive push from his queen on the left side, threatening a bishop. Belgrade paused. Pawn observed the playing with interest, his mind half on the game.

It was true that he, Belgrade, and Anand all looked the same. But they were all different from each other—vastly different in terms of personality. Belgrade was a stickler for tactics and the openings Erin had taught them. He played defensively, cautiously. Almost too much, but it was necessary against Anand’s aggressive tactics. In speech as well, they tended to reflect their traits. It was remarkable, Pawn reflected, that any Workers could be so…unique.

He nodded to the two as the game continued, both Workers moving their pieces quickly and only pausing for a few seconds even for the hardest decisions. They were clearly playing a lightning game, although there was no timer. Antinium had no need of such devices.

“I thank you for your concern. I am not being punished by Revalantor Klbkch, Anand. But I am in distress.”

“Indeed?”

“What’s the problem?”

“You may be aware that I have been assigned a command of Soldiers. I am unsure how to properly lead them, and what roles they may fulfill within the Hive. Thus, I have come to you.”

The Antinium also didn’t do much small talk. Belgrade and Anand paused for a moment. Then Belgrade tipped over his king.

“I cannot win this match. Another round?”

“Yes.”

The two reset the board, moving pieces with amazing synchronization. Pawn waited patiently. The game began with a classic King’s Gambit Accepted opening before Anand spoke.

“My experience with leading Soldiers occurs mainly in embattled tunnels and areas of the Hive in which conflict occurs. I direct their movements, reinforce them with Skills, and order retreats and designate targets as necessary.”

“That is my experience as well.”

Belgrade nodded. He placed a knight on the board delicately and stopped. Pawn had observed that Belgrade liked using knight pieces to open with.

“I have supervised Soldiers aiding in digging and construction at times. But Workers are more suited to those tasks. Patrolling, fighting, guarding, and scouting are the only roles I have seen them fulfill.”

Pawn felt his antennae droop. But he hadn’t really expected anything else.

“I see. And you have not ever seen them do anything for—for entertainment?”

Both of the other Workers paused and turned to Pawn. He knew they were surprised. If they had eyebrows, they would have been raising them.

“The Antinium have no entertainment.”

“Nor any other form of leisurely activity. This game of chess is as close as we have to it.”

“I know. It is just—I wish to give the Soldiers something more. You are aware of the details surrounding their injuries?”

“I am.”

“It was your fault, correct?”

Pawn nodded at Anand, acknowledging the truth.

“Yes. I regret my stupidity. And yet, I must now lead them. But I am no leader, no [Tactician] as you two are. You have continued to level. May I ask what level you are now?”

“Fifteen.”

Belgrade adjusted a piece on the crude board, meticulously centering it in the square before he moved it.

“Sixteen.”

Anand waited until the piece had moved to swiftly take it with a bishop. Belgrade made no audible response, but Pawn knew he was annoyed at making such a simple mistake.

“I am now a Level 6 [Acolyte].”

“Indeed? Congratulations are in order for such swift advancement.”

Belgrade and Anand turned. Both nodded at Pawn. He nodded back, feeling happy for their praise.

“It is just that I fail to see how my class can help the Soldiers. I barely know what to do with myself.”

“Perhaps Revalantor Klbkch sees something in you that cannot be defined by your class.”

Anand speculated as Belgrade attempted to regain lost ground. Pawn nodded slowly. He looked around at the other Workers.

They just stared at the board. He knew they were listening, but the other Workers—Individuals and Workers groomed to be Individuals—they had no spark. Not like Belgrade, Anand, Garry, and Bird. Those four Workers had what Pawn considered personality. The other Workers in the room were more like statues.

Soulless.

That was the word for it. It disturbed Pawn, although he couldn’t say why. Were the Soldiers like that? In a way, yes. Both they and the Workers kept their feelings, their true selves on the inside, if they even had a self at all. What could Pawn do for them, besides send them to die? What could he—?

“Pawn. Revalantor Klbkch approaches.”

Belgrade looked up and Pawn turned in his seat. The other Workers standing around the board scattered to make lots of room for the slim, unique Antinium as he marched quickly towards Pawn.

“Pawn.”

Just that one word made Pawn’s insides knot up. He hadn’t even known they could do that, but then, he’d seldom felt…trepidation before. But Klbkch scared him, and every time they met, Pawn couldn’t help but feel like he was doing everything wrong.

A feeling which was reinforced by Klbkch’s next words. The Revalantor stopped in front of him.

“Did you give your Soldiers orders this morning?”

Pawn cringed a bit. Was he not supposed to?

“Yes I did. Was anything—”

“They went back to their barracks and began to rest. They remained in the barracks when another shift came to rest, causing a delay.”

Oh no. Pawn’s insides twisted further, and he saw both Belgrade and Anand pause in playing chess. How could he have forgotten? The Antinium had no personal quarters—rather, they slept and worked and ate at allotted times, in shifts. When one shift slept, another one would work, and then the sleeping shift would switch with another one.

That was the most efficient use of resources and it meant places like the barracks could be used at all times. Pawn had—he’d ordered his Soldiers to take up the space meant for other exhausted Soldiers ending their shift!

The Antinium couldn’t blush, but Pawn lowered his head and antennae. He’d already messed up. And it was such a stupid mistake to make too!

“Forgive me, Revalantor Klbkch. I did not consider that when I gave my orders to the Soldiers. I am terribly—”

“I have taken care of it. Your Soldiers are being stationed in safe locations on protective detail. In the future do not make the same mistake.”

Klbkch’s voice was flat. He turned to go. Pawn looked at his back despairingly and called out.

“Revalantor Klbkch.”

The Antinium turned. He was graceful, deadly. He walked as if the two swords by his side were meant for him, and he never looked uncertain. How Pawn envied him.

“What is it, Pawn?”

“What should I do with the Soldiers under my command? Am I to lead them into battle?”

“No. You have only a single Skill in the [Tactician] class and you are too valuable to risk in battle. Moreover, the Soldiers are wounded. Your command over them is experimental.”

“Then—what purpose will we serve?”

Klbkch paused. He looked Pawn straight in the eye.

“I do not know. Surprise me. Or pray for an idea. That is your Skill, is it not?”

He turned and left. Belgrade and Anand stopped their game and watched him go. After a while, the other Workers walked back and resumed watching their game. Belgrade paused.

“I am unsure as to what you should do, Pawn. I regret that Erin is not here to aid you.”

“Indeed. I dislike Revalantor Klbkch’s requirements of you, and the Revalantor himself if it comes to that. Checkmate.”

Anand placed his queen and created an excellent checkmate. Belgrade nodded. He looked at the other [Tactician].

“I am extremely upset, Anand. I demand a rematch.”

“I accept.”

Pawn left them to it. Well, he had his answer. He was supposed to do something with the Soldiers—only, even Klbkch had no idea what. Wonderful.

That was how, terribly depressed, Pawn found himself walking through Liscor that evening. He was still free to leave the Hive, and so he walked among the Drakes and Gnolls, feeling the cold wind on his carapace.

No one paid any attention to him. Normally, they might, if only to look scared and walk away from him. But today Pawn was more invisible than anything else. Oh, people noticed him, but he was now simply another person in the crowd, rather than a Worker, an Antinium.

It was due to his new Skill. [Humble Presence]. It made him, well, ordinary unless Pawn did something that really stood out or he was by himself. It was perfect for someone like him. Klbkch had already told him it might have useful applications in battle—but Pawn didn’t want to fight.

But he commanded Soldiers. But he had no idea what to do with them.

And he’d already caused trouble. Pawn hung his head, but his feet kept moving. In times like this, he only had one place he wanted to be.

The Wandering Inn. Even if Erin wasn’t there, at least Pawn could rest there in peace for a while. And he was getting hungry. Pawn had begun to hate eating in the Hive, and he had money. So Pawn walked out of the city and up to the inn.

It was the only place where he really felt alive.

—-

She had a guest. Lyonette rubbed her eyes a few times when she saw the figure slowly walking up the hill towards the empty inn. But it was real. Someone was coming.

A guest!

She nearly cried in relief. It had been…so long.

Two days this time. Two days after Lyonette had worked so hard! She’d made food and learned to cook and even cleaned the inn. But it had been two days since Pawn had left, and no one had come by.

Not Olesm, not Relc to ask about Erin, not even the grumpy adventurer. No one. But now she had a guest! The same guest, in fact, as last time.

The Antinium. Pawn. Lyonette remembered being afraid of him, of hating the Antinium. But right now she could have kissed the Worker on his mandibles. He was coming to spend money! To eat!

The girl rushed around the kitchen, trying to figure out what to make. Food! She couldn’t serve him the rubbery noodles she’d been making herself for breakfast, lunch and dinner, could she?

No, the Antinium couldn’t even handle gluten.

No bread or pasta, then. Lyonette froze. Could she make a soup? But when she checked, she had barely half a bucket of water left! And then the Antinium was at the door and there was no time to fetch more!

Screaming internally, Lyonette opened the door.

“Good evening!”

The Antinium entered, nodding politely at her.

“Good evening to you, Miss Lyonette. Are you open today?”

“Open? Of course! We’re open every day! Every night! Let me get you a chair. Would you like to sit next to the fire? I can put more wood on—”

“Thank you.”

Seemingly bemused, the Worker watched Lyonette rush about, stoking the fire, getting him a glass of water. She hovered around him anxiously, trying not to wring her hands.

“Would you like something else to drink? Um—we don’t have anything, though. To eat?”

“Water is quite acceptable, thank you. I would indeed like food tonight. What is on the menu, may I ask?”

Lyonette froze. What was on the menu? She didn’t even have a menu! Her mind went blank, but her mouth took over in this moment of crisis.

“W-would you like eggs and bacon?”

That was all she could think to make! Erin normally had all kinds of soups and meat dishes she could serve—but Lyonette didn’t know how to cook any of them!

Pawn seemed to think for a moment, and then nodded.

“Yes. I will have some, thank you.”

Lyonette smiled at him, dashed into the kitchen, and called herself ten kinds of stupid while she fried up a heaping plate for him. Eggs and bacon? She’d served that to him last time! He’d get bored of the food, surely! When she’d been living in the palace, Lyonette would have fired the [Chef] who made her the same meal twice in one week!

But the Antinium didn’t seem offended. Instead, he paused when Lyonette placed the big plate of eggs and bacon in front of him—nearly all of what she had left.

“This is quite a fine meal. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome!”

Lyonette nearly sagged in relief. She hovered around Pawn as he picked up a fork. He paused, looked at her.

“Would you like to sit?”

“Oh!”

She was bothering him! Lyonette sat instantly, trying to smile and not be obtrusive as Pawn ate. The silence was…

After a few minutes Pawn spoke.

“It seems the inn is rather empty. Have you been receiving much custom, Miss Lyonette?”

“Me? No I—”

Lyonette paused. How could she tell the Antinium about crying in the inn, counting the few copper and two silver coins left? Eating the same horrible mush she cooked up every day? How could she?

How could she not?

“It’s been…hard since Erin—Miss Solstice left. No one visits.”

“That is troublesome. I hope my business can help.”

“It will! I just wish there were a lot more people like—like you!”

“Thank you for the compliment.”

“You’re…welcome.”

More silence. Lyonette looked at Pawn, realizing this was the first time she’d ever been so close to one of the hateful Antinium, the terrors of Rhir. He looked so…normal for some reason.

“Um.”

“Yes?”

“How’s it going in the Hive? With the other Antinium, I mean?”

The Worker seemed to pause for a few seconds.

“It is…going well. There are some difficulties, but the Hive is well.”

“Good.”

“Yes.”

Lyonette sat with the Worker, refilling his glass, drinking some water herself. They didn’t talk much while he ate his way through the plate of greasy eggs and bacon. When he left, he paid her well. Lyonette stared at the bronze coins and smiled tremulously. Then she cried again.

—-

Pawn left The Wandering Inn in good spirits. The brief respite and dinner made for a world of difference. Suddenly, he felt happy again.

The inn. Sitting there and talking—well, it wasn’t the same, but the Human girl had been decent company and the food had been far better than the mush in the Hive.

A good night. A good evening. That was what it was. Pawn walked back down the hill, staring up at the clear night sky as he did. The air was cold around him, but he enjoyed the biting chill and the crisp crunching sound the snow made under his feet.

The stars. Oh, how the stars shone. Yellow and red some of them, but green and purple others, shining bright, shining faintly, some flickering behind the occasional cloud. And the two moons were beautiful as well.

A sky full of wonders, a landscape full of snow and silence. Warm belly, good conversation. Pawn felt alive again. This was what he’d missed.

How wonderful. How…Pawn stopped in the snow, struck by a sudden realization.

“This is what I must show them.”

Yes. This. This night was like everything Pawn had experienced since meeting Erin, a small capsule of pure happiness. Of course, the inn was different, and it had been Erin, not Lyonette running it. But it had been the experiences of the inn which had made Pawn who he was. Klbkch desired new Individuals, but just teaching them chess wasn’t enough. Chess was only the method. It had been Erin who truly mattered.

And if she was gone, then it fell to Pawn to show the Soldiers the same world she had shown him. Pawn walked back to his Hive, his steps suddenly full of purpose. He needed to take his Soldiers outside. Outside of their Hive where everything was the same.

He would talk to Revalantor Klbkch about the issue that very night. As Pawn walked, he clicked his mandibles together, savoring the flavor of his meal. Eggs and bacon. He’d had it last time, hadn’t he? Well, Pawn didn’t mind, although perhaps next time he would ask Lyonette if she had any good cheese she could add to the meal. He really liked scrambled eggs, but he liked omelettes filled with gooey cheese even more.

—-

He was never coming back. That was what Lyonette told herself again and again as she wallowed in despair in her dark, empty inn. The fire was dying down again.

“Idiot! You stupid idiot!”

Lyonette buried her head in her arms and cried. The Worker—Pawn was gone. He’d left coin, but he hadn’t said he’d return. Of course not! Who’d say that?

But would he come back in two more days? Or never? He hadn’t talked much—

Because she hadn’t been a good host! Lyonette remembered Erin being so friendly to the Antinium, but words had failed her when she’d tried to talk to him.

And he’d left so quickly. Had it been quick? It had felt like that to Lyonette, lonely as she was.

He hadn’t liked the food. That was surely it.

Slowly, as the last flames flickered and died in the dark inn, Lyonette raised her head. She stared at the small, circular discs of metal on the table.

Money. The only money she’d seen all week. Enough for a few more days of food, of life. And she still had flour and salt and…provisions enough for a few more days. But that was all.

Water? The stream still ran, and though the water was bitingly cold, it could be heated. With enough wood. Lyonette glanced anxiously to the dying embers, the only thing warming the cold room.

She had lots of firewood, actually. Erin had used Toren to gather a lot of wood from the boom bark, safely denuded of their bark of course.

But she couldn’t eat wood, and Lyonette was fairly certain that Pawn couldn’t either. And yet—feeding him eggs and bacon was an expensive proposition, even with how much he was willing to pay! Especially if he only came by once every few days.

She needed more customers. Lyonette knew that. But who would want to come here, to this empty inn without Erin Solstice? To…her.

No one. No one but an Antinium. Lyonette clutched at her head.

More guests. Drakes didn’t like Humans and Gnolls would probably try to kill her. But the Antinium—

They couldn’t eat bread. Or pasta. That was the huge flaw in Lyonette’s potential base of customers. How could she feed them with meat and eggs and other such expensive ingredients in the winter? A soup might work, but…any inn in the city could serve a better soup than she could, surely.

In her heart, Lyonette knew she was standing on a cliff. Starvation loomed over her head, dark, chittering. She had to do something. And she knew there was one thing she could do. She’d thought of it every night since Pawn had come the first time.

One desperate idea. That was all she had. She couldn’t make what the Antinium truly loved—and she barely had the coin to buy enough food for herself now! But there was a source of free, delicious ingredients for them, wasn’t there?

“The bees.”

Lyon whispered the word and shuddered uncontrollably. But it had been said. Now there was no going back.

Yes, there was one untapped source of food in this cold winter. One foodstuff that the Antinium would pay silver for.

The bees.

But they were a horror. Lyonette had seen them tear apart Toren when he angered them. She remembered the terrible, buzzing cloud of bees, some larger than her hand, enough to sting an entire village to death in minutes.

But she had no other choice. Lyonette sat in the dark in, her heart pounding. She stared at the door. Every night she’d had the same thought, and every night she’d been too afraid. For two nights now. Ever since Pawn.

But he’d come back. He would come back. And she was out of options.

Lyonette sat in the darkness. She wavered. She found a wheelbarrow and filled it with firewood and kindling. She made a torch and wavered by the door. She rushed to the outhouse to pee, and then throw up. Then she pushed the wheelbarrow out into the cold and dark, four huge jars balanced atop the wood, and Erin’s sharpest knife hung at her belt.

—-

“Watch Captain Zevara, may I have a moment of your time?”

If it had been anyone else, Watch Captain Zevara would have told them it was late and to bother her again the next day. If it had been Relc asking whether he could take the day off, she would have burnt his face-scales off.

But because it was Klbkch, Zevara just sighed and resigned herself to a late night.

“Come in, Klbkch. Is something the matter?”

Senior Guardsman Klbkch entered the room, nodding politely at Zevara. He was always polite, and efficient, something she admired about him even if he was an Ant.

“I regret taking up your time before you go off-duty. However, I am here to make an…unusual request. And I must inform you that I do not come here in my capacity as Senior Guardsman, but rather as Prognugator of my Hive.”

That made Zevara instantly sit up in her straight-backed wooden chair.

“Go on. Is there trouble in the Hive? An…Aberration?”

“Nothing so pressing.”

Gracefully, Klbkch took a seat in front of Zevara. She eyed him, and his new…form. It still unnerved her a bit that after nearly ten years, he could suddenly look so different. True, two arms and a slimmer body wasn’t exactly that different, but it was just…odd. Another reminder of who he really was, and why she had to treat him and any such conversations with care.

“Well, I am always willing to discuss your Hive. Is there something you need?”

Klbkch nodded.

“Yes. I would like to request that forty Soldiers be allowed access to the surface and area around Liscor.”

Zevara froze again. She kept none of her emotions on her face, though, and pretended to cough.

“That’s an…unusual request.”

“Indeed. I would not normally ask, but I believe the need is justified and according to our treaty, Soldiers may only leave the Hive in times of war, or—”

“At the request of the Watch Captain.”

Zevara nodded. She sat back in her chair, eyeing Klbkch cautiously.

“I see. And may I ask why you want to take your Soldiers out of the city? You’ve never requested something like this before, not in the six years I’ve served as Captain.”

“Times have changed. I believe it may be useful to my Hive to present my Soldiers with an…expanded view of the area around Liscor.”

That made no sense to Zevara, but few things the Antinium did made sense. She shrugged, trying to keep her tail still. She knew that Klbkch watched Drakes’ tails and could interpret their movements almost as well as a Drake.

“I don’t see any reason why I should refuse your request. Only—wouldn’t taking so many Soldiers out of the Hive be dangerous? Of the six hundred Soldiers permitted to your Hive, wouldn’t forty be quite a large number?”

“I believe we shall be able to compensate for their lack. In truth, our numbers are slightly below six hundred at the moment, but Liscor is a consummate ally, so I see no reason to worry.”

Klbkch’s face didn’t change. Neither did Zevara’s as she nodded at that barefaced lie.

“Well, reassuring as you find us, I’m afraid Liscor’s citizens might get a bit…nervous when they see Soldiers marching about. What would I tell them?”

“Perhaps that the Soldiers are patrolling to deal with any Goblin warbands in the area? I am cognizant that the citizens are restless due to the presence of the dungeon as well as rumors of the Goblin Lord. Seeing them patrolling might reassure the citizens of Liscor.”

That was a good answer, and even a helpful one for Zevara. She nodded reluctantly.

“Well, I see no reason to object—only, I’d hate for them to start a panic if they marched down the street. But then, I’m sure you can be discreet and find…alternate ways out of the city that won’t panic anyone.”

Through the secret tunnels the Antinium have dug. That was what she meant, but both she and Klbkch knew he would never admit anything.

“They will not be seen within Liscor if at all possible. Soldiers can be very discreet.”

Zevara nearly snorted fire out her nose. She searched for another question to ask—or something else to bother Klbkch with, but she really couldn’t think of anything. Forty Soldiers killing monsters would be helpful, and it was hardly likely that they’d start a panic. Ten years ago when the Hive was first established, maybe. But now…

“Well—fine. I, Watch Captain Zevara, grant you permission and request that twenty Soldiers aid in patrolling around the city. Twenty, for now. We’ll scale up the patrols if there’s not a panic.”

Klbkch inclined his head towards her.

“I am very grateful for your time, Watch Captain.”

“Yes, yes. Just make sure they don’t scare any travelers on the main road or run into any Human adventurers. Those idiots would probably pick a fight and that’s the last thing I want to explain to one of the Human cities.”

“I shall instruct them to remain far away from the northern road.”

“Good.”

“Well then, good night, Watch Captain.”

“Night, Klbkch.”

Zevara waited until Klbkch was gone, marching smartly down the stairs. Then she shook her head and reached for a desk drawer she seldom opened. She yanked the handle, cursed, found the small key she carried at all times, and unlocked it. A blank piece of parchment lay on it. Zevara sighed, and began to write down every detail of her encounter with Klbkch. A report. She’d have to make copies, send them to every Walled City—which of course meant a trip down to the Mage’s Guild at this time of night! Zevara groaned. She’d be getting to her bed past midnight, she knew.

As she began to write, Zevara muttered to herself.

“Take the Soldiers out? Why?”

But of course she never got any answers. Like all the reports she’d made on the Antinium’s movements, she only had questions. Questions…

Like whether or not the Antinium were really their enemies. At least, the ones in Liscor. And if they were—

What could be done about them? Only the scratching of her quill on parchment was Zevara’s reply.

—-

Lyonette was not in her bed. In fact, she was as far from it as she’d gone in the last month. She trudged through the snow, fighting to push the wheelbarrow through the snow and ice. She wished she still had Erin’s sled. But it was gone, with her.

Of course, the effort of pushing the wheelbarrow was only one of Lyonette’s concerns. The numbing cold, the intense darkness, and not least, the pants-wetting fear in her heart were high priorities too.

What was she doing? Every two seconds as Lyon pushed the wheelbarrow she looked around fearfully, expecting a monster to leap out at her. But she had no choice. It had to be tonight. She had to steal the honey tonight, or she’d lose all her confidence.

And night was the best time to rob the hive, or so Lyonette felt. Bees slept at night, didn’t they? Or at the very least, they’d be drowsy, and she needed every edge she could get.

It had been a long, uncertain journey across the plains. At first, Lyon hadn’t even known if she was going the right way. Everything looked so strange at night, under the snow. But her treacherous memory somehow managed to guide her exactly in the right direction for once.

To raid a bee’s nest. Even the thought made Lyonette feel weak with terror, but she had no choice. To survive, she had to do it. Steal bees right out of their nest.

Okay, maybe she couldn’t steal live bees, but surely she could get a few of the grubs? Lyonette remembered the one Klbkch had eaten and nearly threw up again.

Honey. That was the real key. Honey was precious, and she could serve it to the Antinium. They liked honey, and with a few bees—

She just had to raid the hive. Full of huge bees that could kill her in an instant. Lyon couldn’t get her mind off of the idea. Just one sting could—if they stung her in the eye would it reach her brain?

But—she had no choice. Lyonette took a painful breath of air. She was a [Princess]. She was a—

She was a girl. A [Barmaid]. Erin had left her inn to Lyon. Intentionally or not. And now it was up to Lyon to live or die. By herself. She no longer had any excuses. Either she died here, or she died in the cold and darkness.

Better here. Better with the flame of courage still in her chest. So Lyonette paused before the dark hole in the rock and took a deep breath. Sweat ran down her legs and back. She felt hot, even though the wind was blowing.

Bees. They were just bees, in the end.

And she—knew how to deal with bees.

It had just been a fancy. When she’d been young, her tutor had told her all kinds of things she’d willfully ignored. Lessons of algebra, governance, taxes, ruling, classes—all of this Lyonette had let pass her by without caring. But occasionally, in desperation her tutor would tell her stories to keep her interested. And Lyonette had remembered tiny bits.

One of those things she remembered was bees. When she’d heard how [Beekeepers] could harvest honey from the stinging creatures, she’d been incredulous. But a bit of smoke and thick clothing could do the trick better than magic could.

“Smoke.”

Lyonette stared at the firewood she’d hauled all this way. She carefully took the glass jars out and put them to one side of the cave’s entrance. Four jars. This time she’d take as much as she could. If she could.

Fire. The wood was wet from the snow and it was cold, but Lyonette kept striking the flint with steel. Mechanically. She made a small fire at the entrance of the cave, working despite the numbness in her arms.

How many times would she have given up a few months ago? Before this, she’d never—she’d never even made a fire. She would have had a servant make it, or at the very least used magic.

If she could have gone back in time, what would she have done differently? Everything. She’d never have come here, she wouldn’t have stolen—

But if she never came here, she would never have leveled, would she? And she would have been stuck—

The sparks flew from the flint. They landed among the wood kindling and caught. Lyonette held her breath and then desperately tried to shelter the flame.

Fire. Once it grew, Lyonette fed it more wood. More and more, until the fire was hot and bright and large. Then she added the secret ingredient.

Flaxen sacks, grass plucked from beneath the snow—anything green that would smoke. The smell was horrible, but Lyon ignored it and kept adding her fuel.

Smoke, dark and noxious, billowed up from the fire. Lyonette stared at it, eyes stinging, but filled with wild elation. Fear had disappeared. Courage—she fanned the flames and the ones in her heart.

Soon, the cave was choked with dark smoke, and Lyon knew it would become overwhelming in a few more minutes. Perfect. She stared anxiously at the dark interior. She hadn’t seen nor heard any bees, but they were further inside. First she had to build the fire. Then—

Thick clothing. Lyonette had many layers wrapped around her. It might stop one or two stingers, or slow them down. She had gloves, and the knife. It could cut into the hive, hopefully. She’d cut away as much honeycomb as she could and put it in the jars. If she was lucky, she’d even get some of the grubs the Antinium seemed to like so much. Then she’d run.

That was the plan. And it was a good plan, brave. It lasted in Lyonette’s head, shining and full of promise until Lyonette heard the buzzing.

At first, it was just a gentle noise on the verge of hearing. Then it became louder, and Lyonette realized the thrumming was getting closer. She looked up, screamed, and ran as first tens, then hundreds of bees streamed out of the cave towards the fire.

They’d come for the fire. That was all Lyonette could think as she sprinted out of the cave. By the fire’s light she saw countless flickering shapes, and then heard the bees hit the fire.

They were extinguishing it! Embers and burning wood flew everywhere as the bees scattered the smoking campfire Lyonette had worked so hard to build. They knew! They knew about smoke and they were unafraid of fire!

And then they came for her. Lyonette screamed as she ran into the deep snow outside the cave. She threw herself into the snow, digging herself as far down as she could, desperately trying to cover herself. All the while, she could hear the bees’ wings beating. Like a maelstrom, like thunder.

Lyonette dug, wiggling herself down, down, crying. She heard a buzzing thing hit the snow next to her head like a falling stone and cried out. But the bee hadn’t hit her! It had missed! Lyonette held as still as she could, tears running from her eyes. The bees couldn’t see her. But they knew she was there and they began stabbing into the snow.

The girl hid in the snow, sobbing, while the thunder buzzed all around her and she heard thumps as the bees landed in the snow, searching for her. Hot liquid ran from her eyes, and more ran down her pants. All Lyon could think was that she’d be dead in the next second, then the next ten seconds. Then in a minute…

After a while, after a long while when the thunder had ceased and all the sounds were gone, Lyonette finally sat up. She looked around and saw the snow was torn and thrown about, and extinguished remains were all that remained of the fire she’d built. And of the bees?

Nothing at all. They’d gone back into their hive.

Lyonette stared around at the shattered remains of her dreams. She stumbled, felt wetness on her lower body. She looked down. The snow had dampened her clothes, but that didn’t explain the stain around her crotch. She’d wet herself. She hadn’t done that in—at least no one was around to see.

In the end, Lyonette stumbled back to the inn. She left the firewood behind, the wheelbarrow, the glass jars—she didn’t have the heart to bring them back.

It was over. She’d had one chance, but it hadn’t even been a chance at all. These bees didn’t fear fire, and they were too smart to let the smoke fill their cave.

The girl stumbled back into the inn, still crying. She couldn’t do it. She’d thought—but she was not Erin.

And even Erin couldn’t have done that by herself. Lyonette clearly remembered the real key to stealing the bees’ honey. The horrible monster with glowing purple eyes who’d tormented her so. But for all she’d hated him, he’d been instrumental. And he wasn’t here.

The girl sank into a chair, wet, miserable, despairing. She buried her head in her hands, but now she was even out of tears. She was so tired. So tired—and so lonely.

She didn’t have the skeleton. Toren. She didn’t have Erin Solstice’s twisted, insane mind either. Right at this very moment, Lyonette wished both were back and this inn was how it used to be. She would have scrubbed the floors all by herself, hauled as many buckets of water as Erin needed, even watered the flowers and—

The flowers.

Lyon’s eyes widened with sudden memory. How could she had forgotten? She surged to her weary feet, ran to one of the windows.

She’d forgotten entirely. After all this time—Erin normally watered them. But could they be alive? Could she sell—

“No!”

She cried the word when she saw them. Flowers. Flowers yellow and bright as gold, a faerie’s payment. But wizened, wilted.

Dying.

The pots of flowers Erin had so lovingly grown were full of—Lyonette stared down at them, her heart breaking. She knew they could be made into a drink, even if she didn’t know how. The adventurer, Halrac, had paid in gold for it. If she had remembered, if she had cared about her duties from the start—

Now they were dead. Or close to it. Some still lived, and Lyonette immediately soaked the dry soil with water, but it would be long, too long before they recovered.

And of course, some were beyond help. Lyonette stared at one dead flower in despair. She picked it out and stared at it.

Another lost hope. Now her heart was well and truly broken. Lyonette stared at the fire in the inn. It was barely even embers now; the last flickers of light hidden at the center of the ash.

Fire had failed her. Angrily, Lyonette stalked over to the fireplace and tossed the dead flower into it. The faerie’s flower smoked and gave off an acrid smoke. Lyonette coughed, angrily waving the fumes away—

And woke up on her back. Lyonette blinked, stared at the dead fire, and then at the remains of the flower. She blinked—stared at the way the darkness had become lighter, at the dead fire, long extinguished, and then at the wilted flowers. Then she sat up.

“Flowers. And bees.”

—-

It was just before dawn when the girl lit the second fire just inside the cave of the Ashfire Bees. This time her body was nearly completely numb and she was shaking from exhaustion. She’d brought another huge glass jar, and a handful of the most dead flowers she could gather. She prayed that was enough.

The kindling refused to light. The wood was so wet from its exposure to the elements—Lyon kept trying. She struck sparks until her fingers cramped, and then the fire lit.

She fed the fire. She added wood, feeding it, growing it frantically. How soon before the bees noticed the flame and heat? How soon before—

She heard the thrumming again, but this time she was ready. Lyonette cast the flowers into the fire and saw smoke go up. But it was only a glimpse because she was running out of the cave, diving into the snow again.

The bees came, a howling sound louder than anything. Lyonette waited for them to scatter the fire, but suddenly the beating noise lessened. She heard small impacts, as if something was falling to the ground and then—

Silence.

Lyon got up slowly. She stared at the cave, and then dared to approach, holding her breath. The last vestiges of smoke faded and she saw the bees.

There were hundreds of them. They lay on the ground in droves, legs folded, some of them with wings still extended.

Asleep.

Lyonette’s heart beat faster. She grabbed a jar. She grabbed the knife. She danced about with both, and then wondered how long the effects of the faerie flower smoke would last. Then she ran into the cave.

—-

Three jars of honey and honeycomb, cut from the hive. Two jars stuffed with bees, still alive but sleeping. Lyonette sat in the snow, far away from the cave, shaking so hard she couldn’t even stand.

She’d seen the bees waking up as she’d scooped them up into the big glass jars. But she’d done it. She’d cut into the hive, full of grubs and sleeping bees and taken as much as she could. Then she’d filled the jars, pushed them into the wheelbarrow, and fled.

And now—

Some of the bees were moving in the glass jars. There was no air inside, but they were still alive, somehow. Lyonette stared at a huge one that wiggled its feelers and moved its legs weakly. Lyonette smiled at it, lip trembling. She held the big jar up, gloating, mocking the bees.

“I did it! You stupid bees! I did—”

One of the bees inside the jar tried to fan its wings and escape. It smacked into the glass. Lyonette screamed, nearly dropped the jar, caught it at the last moment, and then put it carefully back on the wheelbarrow. She shuddered as the jars full of bees vibrated. She made sure the lids were secure, and then slowly made her way back to the inn.

She was exhausted. Lyonette felt as though her muscles would tear. Her bones…seemed to ache. And yet Lyonette held her head high. She smiled, even as she ascended the hill, pushing the wheelbarrow up to the door of the inn, legs ready to give out.

She felt so proud of herself, she could burst. Then Lyonette pushed the door to the inn open, and found a small bundle of white fur wrapped around a table leg. Mrsha blinked as Lyonette let light shine on her face, and then looked up hopefully. Her wagging tail slowed when she saw it was just Lyonette.

“Huh?”

The Human girl stared at the young Gnoll. The Gnoll stared back. Lyonette sat down, a jar of honey in her hands.

“What are you doing…? Why are you…?”

Mrsha just blinked at her. Lyonette blinked back. Then, tremulously, she smiled. Mrsha edged closer, wary.

“You’re so thin.”

That was all Lyonette said as she sat on the inn’s floor, stroking Mrsha’s head. The Gnoll nuzzled her. She was indeed thin, and she looked—

Sad. Lyonette couldn’t read Gnoll’s faces, but she saw it in the way the Gnoll curled up next to her. Sad, and lonely.

Just like her.

“Would you like some honey? It’s fresh.”

The Gnoll’s tail wagged. And Lyonette opened the jar. And for the first time in a long, long while, as the sun rose and her weary body ached, Lyonette ate breakfast with someone else.

—-

“Mrsha!”

Selys burst through the door of the inn twenty minutes later. Lyonette looked up as she and Mrsha stared at a wriggling grub half-submerged in a bowl of white, gelatinous stuff. The Drake stared at the Gnoll, stared at Lyonette, and then at the grub.

“What’s happening? Mrsha?”

The Gnoll immediately hopped off the table and fled into the kitchen. Selys ran towards her, and stopped as Lyonette got up.

“Is something wrong? Miss…Selys?”

“Um—no, nothing’s wrong…Lyon.”

The Drake glanced distractedly at Lyon, not looking particularly happy to see the girl so early in the morning. She pointed at the kitchen.

“When did Mrsha get here? I’ve been looking for her all day—ever since I found out she’d run away!”

“Ran away?”

The Drake nodded distractedly.

“She’s been doing it all week. I normally find her but this time—is she okay?”

“I think so. She’s so thin—”

“She won’t eat! Mrsha, come out of there! Come on! I’ll feed you anything you want, just—”

The Drake went into the kitchen. Lyonette heard scuffling, then Mrsha bounded out and ran up the stairs. Selys went after her. A few seconds later, Lyon heard another shout and Mrsha bounded down the stairs. Selys came down after her, gasping. She had to lean against a table as Mrsha circled the chair Lyonette had been sitting at.

“You can’t stay here! You…give me a second…you’ve got to come back, okay? Be a good girl until Erin and Ryoka come back!”

But Mrsha refused. Lyonette knew the young Gnoll couldn’t speak, but she saw it in every line of her body, and especially in the way the Gnoll clung to one of the tables as Selys tried to drag her outside.

“Come on! Please?”

Mrsha yowled, a noise more bestial than anything else. Selys pulled and pulled…but five minutes later she sat at one of the tables as Lyonette served her eggs and toast drizzled in honey. Mrsha licked her plate—she’d eaten so much Lyon was afraid she’d throw up.

“I just don’t get it. She doesn’t eat anything I give her! Not even steak! Do you know how expensive that is—and where did you get all this honey?”

“I stole it from the bees.”

“The bees? You?”

Lyon just nodded. She hadn’t even had time to change her clothes. She knew she was filthy and wet and from the way Mrsha had sniffed at her, she knew she stank as well. But there was something keeping her upright, and—

“What’s with that?”

Selys turned a bit pale as she pointed at the grub swimming in the liquid. Mrsha sniffed at it and Selys pushed an inquisitive paw away.

“Don’t touch it, Mrsha. It could be…well, it’s gross.”

“It’s a grub. A bee larvae. And that—I think it’s jelly.”

“Jelly?”

“Royal jelly. It’s this thing in hives that bees make. You can eat it, I think.”

“Really? Well why not take the grub out and—boil it first, maybe?”

“The jelly? Or the grub? I’m trying to keep it alive.”

Selys paused, mid-bite, a piece of toast in her claws.

“Why? Are you—are you going to eat it? Do Humans…?”

“No. I want to feed it to the Antinium.”

“To the—and you stole honey from those killer bees Erin mentioned?”

“Not just honey.”

Proudly, Lyonette pointed to a corner of the room. Selys looked and nearly jumped out of her scales.

“Gah!”

The dead bees pressed up against the glass walls of the jars, obscenely squished together. Selys stared at them as she slowly pushed her plate away. Mrsha just sniffed at the jars, tail wagging with curiosity.

“Mrsha, don’t. Those are—come with me.”

But the Gnoll refused to move. And as she ran from Selys and the Drake futilely chased her about, Lyonette had an idea.

“She can stay with me.”

“What?”

Selys looked up at Lyon, panting. She shook her head, glancing around the empty inn and then at Lyonette.

“Out of the question. Erin trusted Mrsha with me—and she’s far too young. And besides…”

Lyonette knew what Selys was saying. Besides, how could Mrsha be entrusted to her, Lyon’s care? But she just pointed to Mrsha.

“She likes it here, though. She likes honey. And—there are lots of beds. I could take care of her. I could, Selys.”

The Drake stared at the Human and Mrsha chased her tail. But when Selys grabbed for her, Mrsha just ran behind Lyonette. The girl stared down at the Gnoll, and the Gnoll stared back up.

It wasn’t as if Mrsha knew Lyonette that well. They’d—well, Lyonette remembered feeding the Gnoll scraps from her plate and scratching her behind the ears, but that wasn’t what made Mrsha want to stay with her over Selys.

It was the inn. It was that Lyonette was here, waiting. And so was Mrsha. And no matter how much Selys argued and tried to coax the Gnoll to come with her—

“I’ve got to go to work. I’ve got to go but—this isn’t over, Mrsha! If I have to I’ll get Krshia!”

The young Gnoll hid behind a chair as Selys pointed at her. She quivered, but she still refused to budge.

“You don’t want to have her come up here, do you? Do you? Come on Mrsha—”

“I’ll take good care of her while you’re gone. I promise. I can make food—”

“Just don’t let her go outside, okay?”

Selys looked ready to tear the spines on her head off. She stalked over to the door, angry, upset. She yanked the door open and blinked at Pawn. The Antinium’s hand paused, ready to knock. But that wasn’t what made all the blood drain out of Selys’ scales. She stared up at the massive Soldier, huge, imposing, staring down at her. Her mouth opened, she gaped—

And then fell backwards in a faint. No one caught her. Lyonette stared at Pawn. He stared at Selys. Mrsha hid behind the jar of bees.

“Oops. I was going to knock.”

He nodded to Lyonette as she helped him drag Selys inside. The Soldiers walked in behind Pawn, so many of them! They filled the room, standing perfectly still behind their leader.

For a few seconds, in that moment when Selys had yanked open the door, Lyonette had wanted to scream. But that instinct had fled the moment she had seen Pawn. She looked at the Soldiers as they stood in the inn. They looked—

Scary. There was no other word for it. But all Antinium looked like monsters, didn’t they? Until you got to know them.

Pawn sat at a table, clearly wavering over the unconscious Drake. He nodded several times to Lyon, and distractedly stared at Mrsha who was creeping closer to him.

“I do apologize. I didn’t mean to scare anyone. I just—I had hoped you were open for business.”

Open for business. The words made Lyon’s eyes open wide. She stared again at the Soldiers, but this time not as a stranger seeing something unfamiliar, but as a…a [Barmaid] sizing up a potential client.

And there was a lot of client, and a lot of them. How much could they eat? Lyon’s eyes traveled to the jar of bees. Her heart beat faster. So she stood up.

And smiled. She smiled at the Antinium, even at the huge Soldiers. Mrsha stared up at one of the silent behemoths, and he stared back. He was missing a hand on one of his four arms. But he was a customer, a guest. And…oh, how would Erin say it?

Lyonette gestured to her empty chairs. She pointed at the bees and remembered there was a special pan for frying them. She looked at the twenty Soldiers, at Pawn, and at the Gnoll poking the unconscious Drake. She smiled, because she wasn’t alone anymore. And she asked them one simple question.

“Would you like something to eat?”

3.22 L

Sometimes it bothered him, the way others treated his kind. Pawn knew there was history behind the stares and frightened looks. And he understood that the Antinium looked…different, even from other species. But even so, it hurt a bit.

And Selys knew him! She was hardly a stranger to the Antinium. Was there really that much difference between Pawn and the Soldiers?

Standing in the inn, Pawn turned and looked up at the towering mass that was the Soldier standing nearest to him.

…Well, yes, actually. Despite Pawn’s alien appearance, he was still just a Worker, with hands and recognizable body parts. The Soldiers on the other hand looked like they were made only to kill, because they were.

Their hands were formless digits that were more suited to gouging their enemies and smashing skulls into the ground. Their carapaces were reinforced, made to act like armor. And their mandibles were quite a bit bigger, so as to give them another means of attacking.

They were frightening. But the Human girl who smiled at Pawn and the small, white Gnoll didn’t seem nearly as scared as Selys had been.

“I’ve got a ton of food for you! Just wait—I’ll cook up some right now!”

Lyonette was practically running around, trying to show Pawn her latest acquisition as Selys sat taking deep breaths and Mrsha ran about, sniffing at Soldiers and darting away when they stared at her. It was confusion, and Pawn wasn’t helping by trying to simultaneously apologize and explain.

“I am very sorry Miss Selys. I did not mean to cause alarm—”

Selys waved a claw at Pawn as she half-drank, half-choked on her glass of water. She couldn’t take her eyes off of the Soldiers.

“No—no I was—it wasn’t your—why are there Soldiers above ground? Ancestors, don’t tell me it’s war!?”

The Drake looked horrified. Pawn hastened to reassure her.

“Nothing of the kind. The Hive has merely sent out a patrol to…patrol the landscape. We will eliminate any monsters we encounter and attempt to improve the morale of the citizenry by our vigilance.”

“Improve? Our morale?”

Pawn nodded. That was the official line Klbkch had given him and Pawn thought it was a rather good one. Seeing Selys’ fish-eyed stare made him wonder how believable the explanation was, though.

“I see. I see. I’m uh, well, I’m glad for you. This is a promotion, isn’t it?”

“A promotion? Ah. Um. Yes, I believe it is.”

Pawn had never thought of his new job in those terms. But the idea seemed to be reassuring to Selys, so he went along with the idea. She stared at the Soldiers, still standing motionless in the inn, all waiting for Pawn’s next order.

“And they obey everything you do? Really?”

“That is their nature, sadly.”

Pawn wished it weren’t so. But the Soldiers really did seem to have little personality, or at least, the will to do what they wanted. Even less so than the Workers, to be honest.

A lot had happened since he’d visited the inn last night. After a rather…nerve-wracking conversation with Klbkch, Pawn had found his request to take Soldiers outside the Hive approved to his great surprise. He had also made a few attempts to inspire the Soldiers, to give them his perspective on life.

That hadn’t gone so well.

The first thing Pawn had given them was a chessboard. Even when he’d explained how it worked, the Soldiers had just stared at the pieces. When he’d asked one to play against him, the Soldier had begun moving the pieces, following the rules, but seemingly without any idea of how the game actually worked. Pawn had played five games and the Soldier hadn’t improved after the fifth game. In fact, he just moved the chess pieces forwards from left to right as Pawn slowly eliminated them from the board.

That was disheartening. But then Pawn had had the brilliant idea to give Soldiers names! Erin had done it for him. He’d sat with a Soldier—somewhat apprehensively as he knew what might occur—and given the Soldier a name.

Robert. But the newly named Soldier hadn’t even seemed to react to having a name. Pawn had noticed that happened when he and Klbkch had tested the Workers and some Soldiers as well. The Workers either became Aberration or Individual when given a name, but the Soldiers didn’t. They just acted like the name was, well…words.

It didn’t seem to matter to the Soldier that he had a name. Pawn had hoped it would spark something in him, some sense of ownership, but the Soldier had just obediently responded to the title just like he would if Pawn pointed at him and said, ‘you there’.

It was baffling to the Worker. How could the Soldiers not care about names? But then he’d realized—what use was a name if you couldn’t speak it yourself? The Soldiers had no voices, no speech. They couldn’t speak, and so what was a name for them? Just another word they would never say.

Pawn agonized. He’d given up in despair, realizing that he had made one smart decision. Within the Hive there was nothing to show the Soldiers. But outside—

Selys seemed like she was ready to go. She kept glancing towards the door, but she hadn’t moved, possibly because two Soldiers stood next to the entrance, as if they were guarding it.

Which they might actually be. Klbkch had told the Soldiers to protect Pawn, and Pawn had told them not to attack anyone. Which meant they only looked as if they were contemplating tearing Selys’ tail off and feeding it to her.

“Well, I’ve got to be going. I’m already late and there’s so many Humans to deal with in the Guild…shame I can’t stay and chat, Pawn.”

Selys stood up, tail twitching anxiously as she edged towards the door. She glanced at the ground and called out sharply.

“Mrsha, come on! Let’s go.”

The little Gnoll looked up in betrayed shock—Selys made a grab for her, but Mrsha dove under a table again. Lyonette paused and turned back to the Drake, looking anxious.

“You said she could stay!”

“I did. But now Pawn and his—friends have come, I’m sure it would be safer—”

Selys caught Pawn’s eye and looked away guiltily. He felt sad inside, and a bit angry.

“We will not be staying long, Miss Shivertail. I only wished to show the Soldiers this inn before we continued patrolling.”

“Oh. Well…”

“Mrsha will be fine here. And I can feed the Soldiers as well. I have more than just bacon and eggs.”

“Like cheese?”

“What?”

Lyonette looked confused. She hurried into the kitchen and came out with something on a plate.

“I just made this! It’s not as good as what Erin can do but—I found more bees!”

Pawn had been about to decline Lyonette’s offer for a meal. He didn’t want to impose, and he didn’t want to alarm Selys by having the Soldiers eat here. But all that changed when he heard Lyonette’s words.

“Did you say…bees?”

He’d had…one bee before. One bee. And like the acid flies, it wasn’t something Pawn forgot easily. He stared avidly at the thing on the plate. Lyonette had indeed just fried up the thing that Selys recoiled from and made even the Soldiers look twice.

A bee, legs curled, neatly sliced down the abdomen to let the insides fry on the pan. It now lay, wings folded, staring up at Pawn, making his intestines gurgle. It was steaming, and juicy with grease and honey. Pawn’s stomach sat up and begged for him to bite into the exposed innards that smelled…

Oh, heavenly.

Part of Pawn immediately wanted to eat the bee at once. But he stopped his hand as he remembered.

“Ah. Regrettably…I would love to sample this bee. But it would not be fair to the others, I feel.”

He was full of regret. But to his surprise, Lyonette just smiled.

“I have lots more.”

“Lots?”

Pawn looked at her hopefully. The [Barmaid] nodded.

“Two huge jars, in fact. Enough for you and all the Soldiers. You should have this one first. You are their leader, aren’t you? And then when you all come back from your patrol, I’ll have enough for everyone.”

Pawn hesitated. A meal had been in his hazy plan for the day with the Soldiers, but bees? He had a bag of coin, but he didn’t know if it would be enough. But bees…perhaps Lyonette would open a tab? He looked at the other Soldiers and came to a swift decision influenced not at all by the delicious bee in front of him.

“I am afraid we number twenty one in all. Would that put too much of a strain upon your inn?”

He didn’t want to overburden the Human girl. Lyonette did indeed seem shocked. She swayed on her feet a bit, and gulped slowly.

“Twenty? I can…yes, I can do that.”

“Very well then. We shall patrol and be back…in two hours? Roughly that time. Is that enough?”

“Oh, yes, absolutely! And Mrsha can stay with me—”

The Gnoll was still evading Selys’ every attempt to get near her. Frustrated, Selys threw up her hands.

“Fine, fine. I’ve got to go! I’m so late! Just keep an eye on her, okay Lyon?”

“I will. And I’ll have everything ready for you in two hours, Pawn.”

The Antinium nodded, and, after Selys had left, led his Soldiers back outside. There they joined the other Soldiers who’d been waiting like statues outside and nearly given Selys a heart attack.

“As you may have heard, we will be eating a lunch at this location later today.”

Pawn addressed the Soldiers who stood to attention, listening to his every word. He’d already gotten over a lot of the awkwardness of commanding them. They were the twenty least-injured Soldiers assigned to him, and they had obeyed his every order flawlessly since leaving the city.

He wondered if they were getting anything out of this experience. Well, they’d only left the secret tunnel just outside of Liscor and walked here so far. And this was a good place to start.

Pawn gestured awkwardly to the inn. The Soldiers stared at a wooden wall and then back at him, expressionless.

“That was an inn. People go there to sleep and eat delicious food.”

They stared at him. Pawn coughed, and nodded a few times. He stared around. What else could he show them? It was the middle of winter, and there wasn’t a lot of…

He pointed at the ground. The Soldiers stared down at the snow, ankle-deep around their thick legs.

“This is…snow. There’s grass underneath. Grass is green and can’t be eaten, but it is worth looking at.”

They stared at the snow. One Soldier lifted a foot experimentally and crushed some snow underfoot. Pawn considered this a victory. He coughed again.

“I ah, will find a place for us to patrol to. We can walk and I can tell you…stories, I suppose. Show you the landscape.”

If only there were flowers and animals! Pawn agonized, but he was determined to make this outing a success. Somehow. The Soldiers might not be too amazed just yet, but he’d show them. And if he failed, which was likely, there were always the bees. The delicious, crunchy…

Pawn licked honey off his fingers. Well, he was the leader after all, and Lyonette had already cooked it. Besides, the bee had been small. Barely a mouthful. A delicious…savory…

—-

The Soldiers stared at Pawn. He was thinking, and so they waited for him to give the next order. This is how they thought. Pawn was their commander. He had eaten something that was not mush, something that smelled good. That…intrigued them. Would they eat it later?

All of the Soldiers stood at attention, but they were not fully at attention mentally. In fact, all of the Soldiers were highly distracted by the scenery around them.

What was this strange place they had come to? None of them had ever left the Hive, ever gone to that mysterious place known as Above. Even when some Soldiers had been called by Klbkch to fight above, they had not been chosen.

But today, they had gone Above. They had emerged into the bright, bright world and found unending wonders waiting for them. They had seen…snow? Is that what Pawn had called it? And a Gnoll? Was that the fuzzy creature that stared up at them with huge eyes? And the fleshy thing? A Lyon?

While Pawn was thinking, some of the Soldiers looked past him. Up. Into the sky. They had never seen the sky before. Their sky was dirt and stone. But this sky—

Vast. Limitless. And so full of color. Some of the Soldiers felt weak at the knees, and not because something had bit their kneecaps off. They looked up and saw the sky.

The sky was blue. Deep blue, and the air was so cold. The Soldiers felt as though they would die if they stayed out here too long, and that was a fascinating thought. The Hive was never this cold. Chilly in some places, in deep tunnels, yes, but never freezing. And the sky.

It was so blue. It was a color they’d never seen, not once in their time in the Hive. Just the sight of it made each Soldier rejoice inside, and realize that there was something to rejoice. Just like when they’d heard the stories of a better place, when the Worker had come to them and offered them—

“Ah, we’ll go this way. It’s not so crowded.”

The Soldiers broke off from their dream-like thoughts and snapped fully back into the world. They had orders! Pawn pointed, down the hill towards a flat area of snow.

“We’ll look at trees. Trees are like grass, but harder. It turns into wood, like what this inn is made of.”

As one, the Soldiers stared back at the inn. That was from trees? They’d seen wood, but it grew out of the ground? Really?

“This way! I have so much to show you.”

Excitedly, Pawn set off down the hill. As one, the Soldiers followed him, some flanking the Worker to provide a shield with their bodies. They were going to see trees! What were trees?

Pawn was doing this to show them something. That was what he had said, and the Soldiers felt he had already delivered far past their expectations. They had only imagined another tunnel in the Hive, perhaps one bigger than the rest or with some unique feature like an interesting curve or mineral deposit in the walls. But this?

Trees. The Soldiers marched through the snow, cold and melting. They were going to see something new. Something they couldn’t even imagine. And they were grateful, of course. But the Soldiers could have happily stared at the sky and watched the clouds roll across that infinite void…

Forever.

This was Above. This was a place their fellow Soldiers had never seen, a place where other Soldiers had fought and died long ago, in older wars. The Soldiers drank in every detail, from the face of the Drake to the furry thing called a ‘Mrsha’ that stared at them and made them feel so odd.

They knew they would remember this day for the rest of their lives. And they were all the more determined. They would fight with all they had, against whatever grave foe lurked Above. It would be a fair price for this moment.

For, surely there was a foe in the snow. The Soldiers watched the ground warily, not trusting the pretty ground any more than they trusted Pawn’s assurances that they wouldn’t actually do any fighting today. Normally they fought in three dimensions, where attacks could come from the ground, overhead—monsters could come bursting out of the walls or even shatter your stone footing to drag you into dark pits. What strange new enemies would come in a place where there was no dirt ceiling above you?

Their answer came when something white and soft flew out of the sky and smacked Pawn in the head. He stumbled and yelped as the Soldiers turned as one.

Sneak attack! From where? At first they didn’t see, but then they spotted it. Some creature—many creatures of snow and wood! They stood, lumpy humanoids throwing snow mixed with ice and bits of rock at the Antinium.

Pawn wiped away some snow from his head.

“Oh. Snow Golems. That scared me. You see, these are creatures of ice and magic. They’re not dangerous unless you are a child, not unless they grow to be truly huge. I believe we can simply av—”

The Soldiers charged as one. They thundered across the snowy plains at the Snow Golems, eight of them, who all paused as they saw a black mass of behemoths running at them full tilt.

The icy brains of the Snow Golems weren’t capable of much thought, but even such creatures could sense trouble. The Snow Golems turned and began to flee, some plodding along with clumsy legs, others rolling across the snow. They were too slow.

The first Soldier caught up to a classic Snow Golem, three orbs of ice placed on top of each other and twig-like arms. It even had a carrot for a nose. The Golem turned and slashed at the Antinium. Its wooden arms broke on the Antinium’s carapace. Then a shovel-like fist smashed through its face and it was gone.

Another Soldier leapt into the air, thrown by two of his companions. He smashed into another Golem, crushing the huge head with a knee. The Golem fell and the Soldier began to dig into its collapsing body, snow flying everywhere.

Realizing escape was impossible, the other Golems turned and fought. Or rather, they turned and had about a second to regret throwing snow before the tide of Soldiers rolled over them.

—-

Standing in a state of shock about twenty meters away, Pawn watched the carnage unfold as his Soldiers tore the relatively harmless Snow Golems to pieces. They ripped the wooden arms off of Golems, pierced their snowy bodies with their fists, kicked Golems to bits and them trampled the remains.

It took less than a minute before the ground was covered with the…relatively ungory remains of the Snow Golems. Honestly, it just looked like a messed up patch of snow. The Soldiers marched back towards Pawn and he stared at them. They were covered in melted snow, and one of the Soldiers had a carrot in his hand. He offered it to Pawn.

“Oh. Thank you.”

Pawn took it, and then stared at the carrot. Why had the Soldier grabbed it? Then he remembered. Standard practice for the Antinium was to collect the remains of whatever they killed and turn it into food, much as the Goblins did. This being the only remotely edible thing the Snow Golems left behind…

“You can eat this, you know.”

The Soldier stared at Pawn blankly. The Worker handed it to him.

“Go on. It’s a bit cold, but it’s edible.”

And probably, far tastier than it would be when mushed with a thousand other bits of food for the gruel the Soldiers normally ate. Encouragingly, the Worker mimed eating it. The Soldier held the carrot up, seemed to hesitate, and then crunched into the carrot.

All of the Soldiers and Pawn watched as the expressionless Soldier ate the carrot. It took three bites, and when it was done, the Soldier stood at attention.

Pawn sighed. Well, what had he expected? He shook his head.

“I suppose…good job, everyone. Those Snow Golems…won’t be throwing snow at anyone else. Let us move on.”

The Soldiers followed him as the Worker marched on. Pawn stared at the bit of trampled ground as he passed and shook his head.

“Poor Snow Golems.”

For all they’d hit him with a snowball—filled with pebbles no less—he felt they hadn’t exactly deserved that.

—-

A carrot! What had it tasted like? Was it really edible, just like that? The other Soldiers were agog, but they couldn’t interview their companion as they marched. And even if they could—they didn’t talk or use sign language.

Rather, Soldiers could vaguely sense what the others were feeling or thinking. It was more of a skill used for coordination in battle, but what they sensed now was that the Soldier who ate the carrot felt extremely…good.

Good, yes. It was a crunchy food, and it didn’t mush and taste…like what they normally ate tasted like. And it was cold!

The Soldiers marched on, listening to Pawn’s explanations of how Snow Golems came to life. It made little sense to them, mainly because none of them wore or needed clothing, but they enjoyed listening nonetheless.

Then they found the Shield Spiders.

It was a collapsed pit, one of the many lairs the Shield Spiders made to lure in prey. But the snowfall had been heavy, and the fake ground had collapsed, spilling inwards to reveal the nest. Already Shield Spiders were laboring to remove snow and repair their trap, but the Antinium had come before they could finish their work.

Pawn stared down into the hole as the Soldiers tensed as one. Shield Spiders! They knew this enemy. They looked at Pawn for his orders, since they were not under direct attack. The Worker hesitated.

“Oh dear. This is a menace. And Klbkch did tell us to remove minor threats…ah, I believe we should attack?”

The Soldiers hesitated. That sounded like an order, but it wasn’t phrased like one. And the Shield Spiders had noticed the Antinium. Several large ones in the pit turned to face the Soldiers and began to crawl up the dirt sides, fangs bared for the attack.

“Ah. They have noticed us. I suppose we must do this then.”

Pawn sighed. He sounded almost regretful. The Soldiers were vibrating with nerves and readiness for battle.

“Be careful. Do not take risks. And um—very well, now is probably the time. Attack?”

The Soldiers exploded into motion, charging forwards around Pawn at the surprised spiders. They leapt into the pit, smashing down on the many Shield Spiders, big and small.

One Soldier landed and crushed a Shield Spider with his feet. Then he turned and grabbed another one. It bit at his arm, tearing into his thick carapace, but he ignored the spider’s fangs. The Soldier smashed the spider repeatedly into the ground. The Shield Spider had an exoskeleton like armor, but after the ninth crushing blow the bulbous abdomen split and goo poured forth.

The Soldier let the Shield Spider drop and turned. By this point, the other Shield Spiders were long dead, trampled, kicked, and punched into shapeless forms by the Antinium Soldiers. Not even the smallest baby or egg was left alive. When Pawn peered into the pit he only had a few words to say.

“Oh my. That is quite…efficient.”

Then he saw the wounded Soldier.

“You’re hurt! Come here, quickly—I’ll try to stop the bleeding with…something!”

The injured Soldier moved back, scrambling out of the pit despite his lacerated arm. The other Soldiers merely braced themselves, prepared for a second attack. They waited. They waited for the ground to erupt, for a hundred more Shield Spiders to come digging themselves out of the soil. They waited for an ambush—perhaps from the side, or other spider variants to come at them in a horde as so often happened in the tunnels of their Hive. They waited and waited, until they realized there was nothing to wait for.

Slowly, confused, the Soldiers lowered their arms. Pawn was busy fussing over the Soldier’s arm, pressing at the seeping green liquid, not bothering to look around for other threats. Surely he wouldn’t do that if there were no more threats? The Soldiers stared at him, and then around in confusion.

Was that it? Was that…it?

It was far too easy. Shield Spiders normally came in nests of at least fifty, or as many as three hundred! And where were the other breeds? These spiders had been tiny, barely hatchlings! Was this really all there was to fight?

Eventually, the Soldiers scrambled out of the pit and formed a protective circle around Pawn as he fussed over the wounded Soldier’s arm. He seemed so concerned over the Soldier’s injury, inspecting the broken chitin and green ichor seeping out of the wound. The Soldier in question didn’t react to the damage and the other Soldiers knew he was fully capable of fighting on. The cuts weren’t that deep, and as for the wound itself, what of it? It was just pain.

In the end, the bleeding did stop, and the Soldiers expected Pawn to lead them on. But he didn’t.

“I think we should go back. None of you were meant to be injured. At the very least, you should rest.”

What? Did he really think that would slow the Soldier down? But yes, Pawn led the incredulous Soldiers back towards the inn. There he talked with the Human named Lyon or perhaps Lyonette and after a while, had the Soldier rest in the inn, sitting by the fire with a bandaged arm.

That done, Pawn led the Soldiers on again. They marched through the snow, staring at trees, crowding around to see the flower he unearthed. And they were ready for fighting and did fight now and then. But it wasn’t like the Hive. It wasn’t like the brutal, deadly warfare underground. None of them had died, which would never have happened if they’d been stationed on the front lines in the Hive. And they hadn’t even been hurt—well, not actually hurt.

This was so easy. This was so…enjoyable. The sky was blue, and the snow blew at them, melting and wonderful. They looked and saw color and listened to stories.

And they began to feel something else. A word they had no name for. All they knew was that it was mysterious.

And good.

—-

The Soldier sat in the inn, watching Lyon work. She was a Human, an enemy at times but not now. She was rushing about, gingerly taking bees out of the large jar and bringing them into the kitchen where the wonderful smells were coming from. The Soldier longed to know what was inside, but he was trained far too well to actually stand up.

He’d been told to sit and rest here. In this chair. By the warm fire which was also so fascinating. Pawn had said that, and the Soldier would not move. No matter how distracting the small Gnoll was.

She had white fur. White fur. Fur. All of these things were new to the Soldier, and he couldn’t help but watch the way her nose wriggled as she sniffed at him. She was curious, as curious of him as he was of her. She’d dart forwards, snuffle at him, and then flee when he looked at her. When he wasn’t looking she’d sneak up again, and then flee when his head turned.

The Soldier was very conflicted about this. Pawn hadn’t said not to look at her, but was the Soldier making a mistake by interacting with the Gnoll? Perhaps he should just stare at the fire. It was amazing too. It flickered, full of bright colors and ever moving flames. He’d never seen anything like it. The sight hypnotized the Soldier, made him long to touch the flames despite the heat. He’d never dreamed such a thing could be possible. He knew fire of course, but this—this was gentle, magical. Hypnotizing—

Something poked the Soldier in the side. He whirled, fists clenched, and Mrsha bolted, her fur standing on end. It was just the Gnoll.

“Mrsha!”

The Lyon-Human came by, scolding the Gnoll who fled from her as well. The Soldier watched as she chased Mrsha about, the smaller Gnoll nimbly dashing beneath tables and chairs to get away.

“Don’t do that, understand? Don’t bother our guests!”

Mrsha made a whimpering sound that did something to the Soldier’s chest. Lyonette sighed.

“I need to find something for you to play with, don’t I? Um…”

She wandered away, but stopped by the Soldier. She gave him a wide smile that looked…nervous? Was that the word?

“I’m so sorry about that.”

The Soldier stared at Lyon blankly until she backed away. Was she apologizing? To him? Why?

The Soldier had heard of apologies. They’d been explained to him and the others by Pawn, along with countless other ideas when he’d told them stories of God and other things. But he’d never dreamed of hearing an apology while he lived. And to him, no less.

The Soldier was very glad the Shield Spider had bit his arm.

As Lyonette searched for things to amuse the small Mrsha-Gnoll, the white creature scooted across the floor on its butt, tail wagging as it stared up at the Soldier. He stared at her. She stared back. She had big, round eyes that were brown with gold strata mixed among the depths. There was something in her eyes, the Soldier felt. Something beyond mere flesh.

The Gnoll and Soldier stared at each other in silence, the Gnoll occasionally blinking. The Soldier stared into her eyes. Something. Something was in there. Something else. Something he’d never seen before.

Eventually the Gnoll got bored and scooted away to see what Lyon was doing. The Soldier went back to watching the fire. He felt enlightened.

Protect, Pawn had told him. Protect. The Soldier understood protecting, or at least, he’d thought he did.

He fought to protect the Hive. And his Queen. And Revalantor Klbkch and the Prognugator, if there was one. But he also knew that Liscor was part of the things he was ordered to protect, even if it was at the bottom of the list and a secondary objective in most cases.

But protecting the city meant protecting the people. And the Mrsha-Gnoll was part of people. So he would protect her. The Soldier thought about her eyes and the way her tail thumped on the floorboards and knew that this order was right. And he wanted to obey this order.

It was good. It was all good. And then the Lyon-Human came into the common room with buckets. She stared at them, scratching her head.

“I think…is this something Erin bought?”

She sounded uncertain. The Mrsha-Gnoll stared at the cans and poked one with a claw. Lyon-Human found something to lever open a lid, and then the Soldier in his chair saw what was in the cans.

Color.

—-

The Rock Crab was a giant of the plains. An apex-predator, despite the fact that Goblins occasionally made snacks of its kind. But it was nevertheless one of the more dangerous monsters around—at least, during off-seasons like Winter.

For who could match the fearsome Rock Crab, hiding until the moment it exploded from the snow with huge claws that could tear apart almost anything? Corusdeer were easy victims of Rock Crabs, as were sheep and goats and other animals.

True, the Rock Crab had learned to avoid disturbing the larger nests of Shield Spiders, and during the spring it usually hid from the predators that liked to eat it as a snack. And the crab would certainly have been easy prey for any Crelers if they came to this area. But sheep? Sheep were dead the instant the crab saw them.

Now the crab saw something strange as it hid, a snow-covered boulder conspicuously sitting in the middle of the snowy plains. It saw the Antinium, black, huge bodies, many of them, marching across the ground.

The Rock Crab considered this prey. It didn’t look too…appetizing, but looks could be deceiving. And the crab was hungry—it hadn’t found anything worth eating in a while. So it slowly raised off the ground and scuttled closer to the Antinium.

They spotted the crab almost instantly. But that was fine—the crab could run. It increased its speed, and then noticed something odd.

The bug-giants were getting closer. Rather quickly. In fact, they were running at the Rock Crab like a huge wall. Black bodies streamed towards the Rock Crab, and it was reminded of the horrible green Goblins, except that these Soldiers were a lot bigger.

A lot bigger.

The Rock Crab reversed direction. It turned and ran as the Soldiers charged.

—-

The Corusdeer herd was mighty. Rock Crabs were no threat when there were so many deer together. They could incinerate even the most dangerous enemy in seconds. But when they saw the wall of charging black bodies they ran. They outnumbered the strange things, true, but the Antinium smelled of blood and murder. And they looked like a wall, a wall of chitin and muscle and death.

The Corusdeer didn’t fight walls. They ran too.

—-

The Shield Spiders rejoiced when their pit trap collapsed inwards, drawing in food for the winter. Their rejoicing turned into dismay when they saw the huge black shapes of the Antinium and saw more leaping into the pit. But there was nowhere to run.

—-

The dino-birds flew up in a huge flurry of wings when the Soldiers got too near the nest. Pawn wasn’t surprised by this point; the Antinium were hardly stealthy, and all the other monsters and animals he’d encountered on his eventful patrol with the Soldiers ran the instant the Soldiers attacked. They could tell when bad news ran at them with several hundred pounds of killing force.

“Those are dino-birds, I believe. Erin calls them that although I suspect they have a different name.”

The Soldier stared up silently at the fleeing birds, and then down into the nest. Pawn saw the eggs at the same time the Soldiers did. He marveled at the size of the eggs, and their speckled patterns, nearly invisible in the nest made in the snow. The Soldier nearest them raised a foot to smash the egg to pieces.

“Don’t kill it!”

Pawn intervened as the Soldier prepared to destroy the nest. One of the Antinium’s other doctrines was to completely obliterate any species they found underground, an essential tactic when it came to dealing with dangers like Crelers.

But these eggs—Pawn tried to explain to the confused Soldier.

“They’re just eggs. I mean, the birds are…they’re sometimes a threat I suppose, but they’re not too dangerous and if they all died, wouldn’t that be bad?”

The other Soldiers just stared at him. Pawn sighed.

“They’re innocent. Don’t smash the eggs.”

The Soldiers stared at the eggs, but obediently left them unsmashed. Pawn led them away, and as they began marching away, they saw the dino-birds returning to the nest, calling out anxiously. The Soldier watched the birds for a second before returning their gazes to scanning the landscape for threats.

Pawn trudged ahead of them, tired, somewhat dispirited. It had been a long two-and-a-half hours. In that time, he’d somehow managed to have his Soldiers crush two Shield Spider nests and chase off both a Corusdeer herd and a Rock Crab. Which was all good of course, and part of their patrolling duties. It was just—

Was this really teaching the Soldiers anything? All it felt like Pawn was doing was having them fight different enemies.

But he brightened up when they got close to The Wandering Inn. The patrol might not have shown the Soldiers anything special, but this—

The instant he opened the door Lyonette ran towards him, wringing her hands.

“I am so sorry. Mrsha was playing with some paint—I don’t know how she found the paint cans—and then she got some on…”

Fearfully, Lyonette pointed. Pawn looked and saw—

Color. It was splashed into the dark brown carapace of the Soldier, paw prints in white. They covered his front, his back, even his head. They stood out against his dull monochrome body and made him—

“I tried to stop her! But Mrsha wouldn’t listen and she’s very sorry, aren’t you, Mrsha?”

Pawn glanced distractedly at the small Gnoll who had even whiter paws and was hiding behind a table. There were pawprints on the floor as well, he noticed. Quite a few of them.

“Will the paint wash off?”

“I don’t—I think it’s really hard. This is the same stuff Erin used for the sign and I’ve been scrubbing but you need oil and a lot of work and I didn’t want to bother the Soldier so—”

“I see.”

Pawn just stared at the Soldier marked by the paint, along with the other nineteen Soldiers standing in the inn. Lyonette was apologizing again, but Pawn took no notice of her.

The paw prints. They stood out. The Soldier was marked by them. No longer could he be—well, just a Soldier. Before he had only been noticeable because of his wounded arm, but that would have healed soon. Now…

Paint that couldn’t be erased. Something to mark him, something that needed no words to make itself apparent. Why, it was almost like a name. In fact, it was better than a name, especially for a Soldier…

Lyon backed away from Pawn, eyes wide. He realized he was quivering with emotion and tried to modulate his shaking tone.

“I am not…not angry. Actually, I am grateful. Do you have more paint?”

“Me? Um, yes. It’s Erin’s actually. She bought a lot of paint, and Mrsha got into it like I said. I can give you a washcloth and water if you need—”

“I would like to buy your paint. All of it.”

“All of it?”

Lyonette seemed stunned. Pawn reached for his belt pouch and pulled out a fistful of coins. He put it on the table and she gaped at him.

“I would also like to postpone lunch for a half an hour. And if Miss Mrsha would like to help…we are going to do some painting.”

The Human girl stared at Pawn. Then she stared at the silent, faceless, identical Soldiers, and at the one who stood out. The one who had an identity. Her eyes widened. Then she looked at Pawn and smiled. He was already smiling, in his own way.

“Can I help?”

—-

Paint. It was such a simple thing. Color, given form, something that could be added to almost every surface. It was just paint.

Just paint. Something the Antinium had no use for. Except that, as it turned out, it was the one thing the Antinium, the Soldiers, needed above all else.

Color. Identity. What could you give someone without a voice? A name? What good was a name if they couldn’t speak it?

But paint needed no words. All it needed was a brush, a paw, a hand. And it turned identical, faceless Soldiers into people.

They sat in the chairs around the table, eating the bees Lyonette had cooked for them. Two bees per Soldier, not nearly enough in truth for them to eat, but augmented by bowls of soup thick with butter and fat and insect parts and some actual meat. The Human girl and even the Gnoll had pronounced the soup practically undrinkable and indeed, only Mrsha had even tried it, but the Soldiers thought the soup was the greatest thing they had ever had in their lives.

Nearly as great as having an identity. Even as they ate, the Soldiers couldn’t help glancing at each other around the room. They had an identity now, an identity they had created themselves.

From paint.

It was on their bodies. Dabs of paint, splashes, some Soldiers nearly covered in the stuff, others with only a dab or two. But it was enough.

A Soldier with a handprint in blue on his chest sat across from the Soldier with white pawprints all over his body. They were two separate Soldiers who could not be mixed up with each other. They knew that. And they were happy.

Happy. Happy was a word they knew now, a word they had experienced. Happy was having paint on their bodies, making them people. Happy was seeing the small Gnoll scamper about, and nodding at the Human as she buzzed around the room, serving bees and filling glasses with water. Happiness was a warm fire, and a bee on their plates, gleaming with honey.

What food. What delicious food. The Soldiers had no words, no frame of reference to even understand what they were eating. They’d always eaten the same mush, the only difference and interesting change being how rotten the ingredients were, or whether some parts hadn’t been stomped and churned into complete paste. That was what they knew. But the bee?

Each Soldier ate slowly, gently tearing pieces off of their bee, trying to make each crunch of their mandibles last a lifetime. They didn’t speak. Of course they didn’t speak. But they thought it, and knew the others thought it too as they sat in the warm inn while the Gnoll scurried around and Pawn talked with the Human.

This was surely Heaven.

And when they left the inn, the twenty Soldiers, covered in color, they wanted to go back. And Pawn promised them they would, later, but the other Soldiers had to have a turn first. And the Soldiers knew this was true. The others, their brothers, had to know of this. They returned to the Hive, marching with their backs straighter than they’d even thought possible, heads held high.

And when they came back into the Hive? They changed it as well. The Soldiers marched down the tunnel behind Pawn, walking down the empty tunnel and into the main thoroughfare of the Hive where all the traffic flowed. When the twenty Soldiers first emerged into the tunnel, something happened that hadn’t occurred in all of the Hive’s history.

The Workers, scuttling to their destinations, the Soldiers, marching to the next battle, all of them—when they saw the Soldiers, covered in color—stopped.

They all stopped. For one brief second, Workers and Soldiers both stopped. Their heads turned and they stared at the twenty Soldiers, painted in hues that did not exist in the Hive. Then the Workers turned and began to move in sync once more, and the Soldiers double-timed it to their next battle. But all had seen, and all remembered. And when the Soldiers got back to the barracks…

Red shoulder guards, crimson like Human blood but unpainted everywhere else. That was one Soldier who sat surrounded by his fellows. Another Soldier had white antennae and slashes in the same color running down his body. One more sat with a circle drawn in every color of paint Lyon had found, a multicolored ring on his chest.

They were not Soldiers. Each one was a Soldier, but each one was different. Special.

Unique. And they always would be. Forever. And the Worker who commanded them, their savior, the one who had given them identity and a soul looked at the other Soldiers and felt his heart stir.

—-

Later that day, Pawn found himself in line at Krshia’s stall. The other customers—mainly Gnolls—gave him very odd looks, but his [Humble Presence] skill helped so none of them ran away or screamed.

Krshia blinked when she saw Pawn.

“I did not expect to see a Worker here, yes? But you are…Pawn. Is there anything I can do for you? The Antinium do not usually need to purchase things from the city, yes?”

“No. I mean, yes?”

Pawn wasn’t sure what to say. The Gnoll standing in front of him didn’t seem hostile, which made him feel good. But she did look—tired.

Tired, and poor, so much as that could be used to describe any person. But Pawn remembered her old stall, and her old array of goods. Krshia’s new stall was smaller, and she was clearly selling less. It made his heart hurt, but it hurt less when he told her what he wanted.

“Paint. As much paint as you have, in every color. Except brown or black. I will buy all of it from you.”

The Gnoll blinked.

“All? All is an odd word, Mister Pawn, yes? I have many friends for whom I may sell goods on their behalf. How much paint do you need in buckets?”

“All. Everything I can afford.”

And Pawn put the bag full of gold coins on the table and Krshia’s mouth fell open. She blinked at him. He stared back.

“And paintbrushes. I only need around twenty of those.”

—-

That night, Soldiers went to sleep in their barracks. They were Soldiers, but each one was different. Each one was unique. Painted.

In a Hive full of thousands of Antinium, Soldiers and Workers alike, these Soldiers stood out. They sat in their cubicles, for once too excited to sleep.

They were all painted. They all had identities. The paint was dry on their chitin and true, some had already begun to flake off around their joints. But that was the thing about paint. It could always be reapplied. But the meaning lasted forever.

And word had spread, in the Soldier’s own silent way, about what the twenty who had gone above had seen and experienced. A new world, new people. And so as the Soldier slept, or rather, didn’t, they wondered.

Was this what it meant to be a Soldier? They thought they’d known what being a Soldier was. But for the first time, they realized there was more. More they didn’t understand. More they wanted to understand. And so they began to think. They thought of themselves as people rather than tools. They thought of themselves as individuals with identities rather than a mass. They thought of themselves as [Soldiers] rather than Soldiers.

And they began to level.

—-

That night, Lyon practically sang as she cleaned up the inn. The place was full of dirty dishes. She didn’t care. She’d been slicing and frying bees up all day, and there were insect parts all over her kitchen. She didn’t care. She was exhausted. She didn’t care. The floorboards were covered with paint. She didn’t—

Okay, she cared about that a bit. The paint Erin had bought was very, very difficult to get rid of no matter how hard Lyon scrubbed.

But she had done it. She’d earned money selling bees, and the inn had been crowded and full! Lyonette stared at the bag full of gleaming coins on one table and sighed happily.

She’d done it, hadn’t she? She’d really done it. And the best part about tonight, the best part was—

She wasn’t alone.

Mrsha happily jumped about the room, leaping from table to table like some horrible furry frog. Lyonette didn’t mind. She’d already cleared those tables of dishes, and truthfully, she felt much like Mrsha. Part of her wanted to leap about with the Gnoll, and maybe she would.

It was just how good Lyon felt. She felt younger again, freer. No—she felt more free and more happy than she’d ever felt back in the palace. She’d done something by herself, with her own hard work.

And she was no longer alone.

Mrsha would stay here tonight. It wasn’t as if Lyon didn’t have enough beds, and the small Gnoll didn’t seem averse to sharing her bed. And Selys hadn’t objected to the idea after she’d seen how well Lyonette had done.

Okay, fine, Selys had objected a lot, even though Lyon had showed her all the coin she’d made. The Drake had been dead set on bringing Mrsha back into the city. She’d tried to chase Mrsha down and drag her out of the inn for the better part of twenty minutes before she’d collapsed in exhaustion.

So Mrsha would stay. Lyonette had promised Selys that she would keep an eye on Mrsha again. And Lyon would. Mrsha was…

The Gnoll belonged here. Just like Lyon did, in a way. And both Gnoll and girl were happy. That was how Lyon ate a messy bunch of slightly burnt crepes slathered with honey next to Mrsha as the Gnoll lapped at a bowl of milk, and the two laughed as Lyon fed the fire and cleaned up.

It was a perfect night. Perfect, even though Lyon had to pick up bug wings and legs and toss them far into the snow. Her hands were grimy from cleaning and she was covered in sweat. But Lyonette was proud.

And Mrsha was jumping around a bit too much.

“Careful, Mrsha! Why don’t you calm down?”

The Gnoll barely listened to Lyon. Okay, maybe she’d had a bit too much honey. Lyon could only let the Gnoll tire herself out as she kept washing dishes and cleaning up. This really was a lot of work, even if you had a Skill, which Lyonette didn’t. How had Erin done it? She’d told Lyon that she used to take care of the inn before Toren had…been created. How?

Lyon just shook her head wearily as she went back into the common room for the last stack of dishes. She looked to see if Mrsha had finally stopped jumping, and then raised her voice in alarm.

“Mrsha!”

The Gnoll jumped guiltily as she pawed at a familiar chessboard sitting in a corner of the room. Lyonette ran over, good mood vanished by sudden panic.

“Mrsha! Don’t—oh no.”

The Gnoll leapt away as Lyon reached the chessboard. She looked down in dismay. The small Gnoll had scattered the ghostly pieces and tried to build a tower out of some of them. She fled as Lyonette anxiously reclaimed the board. In dismay, the girl stared down at the chess pieces.

“Oh no. Erin’s game!”

Of course Lyonette knew the chessboard was an extremely valuable magical artifact, if a relatively pointless one. And she knew Erin was an undisputed master of the game. And she knew…

That messing up Erin’s chessboard was a very bad idea. Not least because the [Innkeeper] would go ballistic, but because whomever was on the other side of the board would probably be upset too.

With that in mind, Lyonette frantically tried to rearrange the pieces. But she had no idea of how the game had even looked! So…she put the chess pieces back in their original places, ready for a new game.

She knew how to do that much, at least. Chess had just been spreading in her country when she’d run away, and she’d learned a lot from watching Erin play. Mrsha peeked up onto the table while Lyonette was resetting the board, insatiably curious and only slightly guilty.

“Stop that!”

Lyonette swatted away a curious paw as Mrsha reached for a knight. The Gnoll gave her a hurt look, and Lyon’s heart nearly broke.

“You little…okay, you can touch since it’s too late. But only touch! Don’t move the board, okay?”

Eagerly, Mrsha picked up the ghostly pieces and tried to gnaw on one. Lyon had to stop her again, but truth be told she couldn’t blame the Gnoll. The chess pieces were like frozen air, the purest expression of magic. And the game…

“See? This is how you play. Like this.”

Lyon showed Mrsha how the pieces moved. The Gnoll stared uncomprehendingly as Lyonette moved a pawn forwards and back, and the bishop diagonally. She sniffed at the board—

And jumped backwards off the table, hair on end as a piece on the other side of the board moved. Lyon yelped and nearly fell out of her chair. When she got back up, heart pounding, she saw a piece had moved.

Just a pawn. It had come out diagonally to counter the pawn she’d pushed forwards. The breath caught in Lyon’s chest in horror.

The other person. The unseen player, the one who’d sent Erin the chess board. They’d seen her moving the pieces. And they thought she was Erin.

And they wanted to play.

What should she do? Lyon panicked for a good minute before the choice was taken out of her hands. Having lost her fright, Mrsha peeked her head over the board and stared curiously at the two pieces on the board. Reaching the conclusion that this was some sort of game without actually understanding the nature of the game, she pushed another pawn forwards to see what would happen.

“Mrsha!”

Instantly, another piece moved, a knight. Lyon stared at it despairingly. But it was too late now. The other player clearly wanted to play. And Erin wasn’t here and Lyon was…curious. So she played.

Why? Because it might be ruder just to leave the other player hanging. And this way, they would surely realize that it wasn’t Erin on the other end. Sure enough, after Lyon had lost both a knight and bishop in quick succession (which she was sure wasn’t a good thing), she sensed the player on the other end pause.

Had they gotten angry and left? No. After a minute, the play resumed, but differently. The moves were no longer lightning-sharp and too hard for Lyonette to counter. Instead, the pieces marched across the board, giving her a challenge, but not one she couldn’t figure out. Mrsha stared at the chess pieces, first fascinated, then bored. To make her behave, Lyon gave her some firewood and some of the leftover paint. The Gnoll happily colored the log with a paw while Lyon played first one game, then two. Three.

After the third game, which she won somehow, Lyon saw the pieces on the board quickly rearrange themselves. She waited—the white side was on the other end of the board—but no movement came.

The mysterious chess player was done for the night. And so Lyon stood up from the board, feeling a bit ashamed. Surely the player was disappointed she wasn’t Erin. But…

She felt good. Was this what Erin liked about chess? It was so odd, having to think in such a way. But Lyonette liked it, strangely. It was different and new. How could she have lived here for so long without trying the game once? How could she have been so…small?

The girl’s head lowered. So much done wrong. So many things that were her fault. But she couldn’t wallow in misery long. She felt a wet nose on her leg and saw Mrsha had finished with her log.

“So colorful! And you have paint all over your fur. Oh no. We’d better clean you up.”

The Gnoll wriggled and tried to get away, but Lyonette had her washing her fur with oil and lye soap in hot water soon enough. It took many trips to the stream in the cold of the night to get enough water, but Lyonette didn’t care.

Mrsha was her responsibility. So was the inn. So she cleaned up what she could, got as much paint off of Mrsha and the floor, and went to bed, exhausted.

But smiling.

[Barmaid Level 8!]

[Skill – Basic Cleaning obtained!]

[Carer Class Obtained!]

[Carer Level 2!]

[Skill – Calming Touch obtained!]

[Tactician Class Obtained!]

[Tactician Level 1!]

[Skill – Lesser Intuition obtained!]

—-

Across the world from where the [Princess] sat up in bed and shouted in surprise, making the small Gnoll sleeping next to her tumble away in fright, Niers Astoragon, the Titan, sat in front of his very small chessboard, a dark expression on his face.

He wasn’t smiling. Rather, he was staring hard at the pieces on the board.

“So. The mystery player is gone and someone else has found the board. Someone who knows chess but has barely played it, if at all.”

He mused to himself as he sat, staring at the board. He wasn’t in his command tent in the field now. No, rather he was sitting in the smallest room of the inn his company had hired for its officers on the way back to their personal lands.

It was the smallest room, true, and all of his students and lieutenants had objected. But to Niers, the smallest room in the inn was still a huge space. So he had told them to shut up and move his belongings inside. They obeyed. Even though he was small, the Titan in a bad mood was frightening to be around.

And Niers had been in a bad mood for over a week now. His students tiptoed around him and the soldiers under his command leapt to obey his orders or stayed far out of the way. Niers stood up and paced around the huge desk he’d put his belongings on.

There weren’t many. Niers passed by his arms, the magical items he carried into every battle, the artifacts any commander of Baleros carried, and stared at two things. The chessboard he’d sent across the world, and a letter that still smelled of lavender, edged with gold.

Two things, both tempting his loyalty. Niers closed his eyes. Magnolia didn’t interest him as much as the chessboard—although the woman still had a way of digging her words into his skin like barbs—but she was on the same continent as his missing opponent.

Maybe he could…?

“No.”

That was what Niers said. He sat back at the chessboard, staring at it darkly. He could play this new opponent of course. Maybe he, she, or it would eventually give the board back or find its true owner. Maybe.

But for now Niers couldn’t bear to play such games. He sat in front of the board, scowling darkly as the one candle he’d lit flickered in the dark room. He sat, staring at the chess pieces, the letter, and then at the window. He had a job. A duty. He was the second-in-command of one of the four Great Companies of Baleros. He couldn’t leave.

He told himself that. But his eyes always strayed back to the chessboard.

Waiting.

—-

On the same continent as Niers’ mysterious chess opponent and the famous Lady Magnolia, two hooded figures walked through blowing snow, keeping their cloaks wrapped tightly around them to protect them from the chill.

In theory, it was two people. In fact, the two travelers were followed by a rather large bevy of people, horses, and supplies that in theory were there to make their journey as pleasant and as safe as possible.

In truth, it just annoyed the Drake General walking in front to no end. He grunted irritably as his companion kicked up a small cloud of snow into his face.

“Did you need to bring all your attendants with you, Ilvriss? We could have been there by now if we didn’t have to wait for these stupid horses.”

The Drake walking in front of him cast a dark glance backwards.

“Be silent, Shivertail. Not everyone has a Skill to let them run. And unlike you, I’m a Lord of the Wall. My position demands—”

“Yes, yes, shut up. You didn’t have to come with me, you know.”

Zel Shivertail sighed and marched forwards. Ilvriss matched his pace, and the two Drakes walked forwards in the snow, silent, both of them disliking each other’s presence. Disliking, but tolerating the other out of respect as well. And after a moment, Ilvriss spoke.

“I did have to come.”

“I know.”

They walked on. After a few minutes, Ilvriss spoke.

“…Hard to see anything in this damn snow. We passed the Blood Fields a day ago. How much further now?”

“One more day, I think.”

“And you’re sure you can find this Human in Liscor?”

“No. But it’s a place to start, and as I’ve said, I have business in the Human lands.”

“Well, let’s keep on moving then.”

“Mm.”

They walked on, silent, marching through the snow. And they were not the only ones headed towards Liscor.

—-

They marched on a similar route, also north, but far from any road. It was out of necessity they did so; they did not want to be seen. Not for fear of being attacked, but rather of alerting those who would watch their every move.

Unfortunately, moving so far from the main road meant they were more likely to be attacked. The raiding force of Goblins had been a hundred strong. The last of them now gasped and died in the snow.

The group studied the dying Goblin dispassionately. He had worn tough metal armor, painted black, and even carried a slightly magical sword. None of it had done him or his friends any good.

“More delays.”

That was all one said. He fanned his wings. The Antinium spat and acid melted snow into steam.

Another nodded. She had no wings, and her carapace was royal blue. And she held a staff in her hands and her eyes glowed with magic. She whispered a spell, and the snowstorm around them stopped.

“We are close. Continue onwards.”

The band of Antinium turned and marched away from the scene of their latest encounter without a word. Antinium, not the faceless Soldiers or humble Workers, but warriors far different from those in Liscor. Warriors from four Hives, marching in the snow.

North. To Liscor.

—-

A woman made of bone walked through the snow, tireless, her eyes burning in the darkness. She was undead, a construct of death, a being of unimaginable power.

A dark shadow flowed at her side, something that moved without revealing its true form. The two moved through the snow, swift, silent.

They had been moving thusly for three days. And they had covered a lot of ground, it was true. But after the moon began to rise overhead the shadow seemed compelled to speak. She cleared her throat with a wet, squelching sound and spoke with a whisper that would have chilled the hearts of any living being that heard it.

But there were not living beings to hear, and the voice wasn’t quite so menacing as uncertain.

“Venitra. Are we lost?”

The woman, the armored knight made of bone, Venitra ignored the question. She and her companion, Ijvani, were on a mission to find the girl, the Courier, the Runner. They had been sent by their great master, Az’kerash. Being lost was…not acceptable. It couldn’t be happening.

Many people were travelling to Liscor. It was just that some of them didn’t matter because they were roughly seventy miles off course and heading the wrong way.

3.23 L

When Lyonette woke up in her bed and felt the winter daylight on her face, she smiled up at the ceiling, so widely she thought her lips would break.

She’d gained two classes. Two. And she’d leveled up!

Part of Lyon had been afraid that it was all a dream. But the voice in her head—it was undeniable.

She’d leveled. Lyonette hugged her pillow as she curled up. In doing so, she rolled over and nearly squashed the ball of fluff sleeping next to her.

“Oh no. Sorry, Mrsha!”

Lyonette heard a noise of protest from the still sleeping Mrsha. Tiny claws poked her as the young Gnoll reached out and stole the blanket back. Lyon smiled at the round, furry little creature and patted her on the head.

A mouth came up and nipped at Lyonette’s hand, making her yelp. Mrsha cracked one brown eye open and stared at the girl balefully. The message was clear: petting was only for happy, awake Gnolls.

For a while, Lyon lay in her bed. But soon the needs of the day got her up. She stood, dressed, and soon found herself paying a visit to the cold outhouse. It was well-crafted of course, and relatively warmer than the outside. But only just. Lyon sat on the toilet, shivering, but still smiling.

She’d leveled. She had. It wasn’t a dream. She now had both the [Carer] and [Tactician] class, from taking care of Mrsha and playing chess respectively.

Two new classes on top of her [Barmaid] class. As Lyon hurried back into the inn she marveled at the thought. How long had it been since she’d last leveled up in her ‘chosen’ class? Four years?

Yes. Four years.

Lyonette stood with the glass of water in her hand, watering the flowers as she stared out one frosted window at the snowy world. It was cold, lifeless, and beautiful. There was something terrifying about it as well, a sense that if you wandered out into that vast, unforgiving landscape you would die, in this place where civilization ended.

Of course, when Lyonette went to the window facing Liscor she saw a city full of people and beyond that, villages scattered across hilltops. It was only the southern window that was so bleak. But she liked that window. It showed her a world she’d never dreamed of in the palace where she’d grown up.

That place had been…Lyonette sighed as she went outside, bundled up, and tromped through the snow towards the stream, two buckets in hand.

She’d hated it. She’d hated not leveling, and she’d hated how boring everything had seemed. So she’d run off. To become an adventurer, or perhaps find a class meant for her. She hadn’t had any idea of what that meant—to the Lyon of now, the past her seemed so idiotic.

Staggering, Lyon walked back to the inn, the filled buckets of water straining her arms. It hurt, even walking this short distance with so much weight. But her arms were getting stronger. She was gaining muscle and more importantly—

She was leveling up in a class. A [Barmaid] class, true, something completely unbefitting her heritage. But a class nonetheless.

Part of Lyonette shivered with delight at how wrong it all was. She was a [Princess]! If her family knew how badly she was sullying her position by taking such a class—her mother even hated letting the princes take [Knight] and [Commander] classes.

It was a waste of her potential. But it wasn’t at the same time. Lyonette didn’t care about her duties right now. She just wanted to live here, in this inn, and finally realize her dream. Level. She had the [Carer] class and even a [Tactician] class! She wanted to level both up. She wanted to—

The girl had to put down one of the buckets to push the door open. When she did, she saw a familiar white, furry Gnoll cub running around the room anxiously. Mrsha ran in circles, hair standing on end, clearly in great distress.

“Mrsha!”

When the Gnoll saw Lyonette she cannonballed into the girl’s stomach, nearly making Lyon spill both buckets. She clung to Lyon, sniffing at her and hugging her tightly.

She’d thought Lyon was gone. Gone, just like Erin and Ryoka. That nearly made Lyon cry; she held Mrsha tightly.

“Don’t worry. I’m here. I’m not going to leave. I just went to get water, see?”

When she showed Mrsha the buckets, the Gnoll eagerly helped Lyonette bring them into the kitchen, although Mrsha had to push the heavy bucket across the wooden floor. Lyon let her do it; it was a cute sight and Mrsha wanted to help. And Lyonette understood wanting to help, wanting to be useful.

And in this inn, Lyonette was useful. No—it was more like she was essential if Erin wasn’t here. Without her working hard, the fire wouldn’t be fed, and there would be no water, no food. The flowers would die, and this little Gnoll would starve. That was what got Lyonette up even when it was bitingly cold and made her work and count coins. She was responsible for a life now, and that was precious to her.

Yes, she was needed here. Far more than she’d ever been back in her home, in her kingdom. Damn being a [Princess]. Lyonette thought that, and paused.

She only hated the class because she never leveled in it. But she knew…if only she could level. But she didn’t know how. It was too hard back at home. Too hard, because everything was too easy, and she was useless.

But what had Erin said one time?

“You’d be like a temporary innkeeper. This would be my castle, and I would be like a [Princess]…”

Mrsha looked up at Lyon in confusion, tail wagging frantically. The girl had to smile at the Gnoll as she patted her head.

“Let’s make breakfast, okay? I’m hungry and your stomach is rumbling. And while we do—would you like to hear a story, Mrsha?”

The Gnoll nodded as she followed Lyon into the kitchen. There she watched greedily as Lyon cut thick slices of bacon and laid them gently in a pan to sizzle and pop. The girl had bought the precious and expensive meat for guests, mainly the Antinium, but today was a special day, wasn’t it?

Bacon sizzling, Lyonette found part of a loaf and sliced the slightly stale bread up. A bit of warming by the fire and some butter and more importantly, honey and it would be a treat. She still had three huge jars of honey, honeycomb, and even some royal jelly sitting in the inn after all.

Life was good. Lyon fried the bacon—she was getting better at making it crispy, not black—spilling a half-cooked slice on the floor. Not entirely by accident either—a certain Gnoll ramming into her legs had caused the mishap.

“Stop that, you!”

Lyonette scolded Mrsha as the Gnoll pounced on the greasy bacon slice. The young Gnoll looked up at her guiltily with her huge eyes and Lyon had to forgive her.

“Sit there and let me finish. I’ll tell you that story now. Did you know that there are types of classes in this world?”

The Gnoll sat on her butt, tail wagging as she chewed on the bacon and stared up at Lyon. She stared curiously at Lyon as the girl spoke, her eyes on the pan.

“Oh yes. Everyone knows there are classes, but when I was a girl—my family has many secrets. Many old secrets about the world and classes and levels. My father insisted I learn each one, as part of my tutoring. And do you know? I learned that some classes are better than others.”

The Gnoll scooted forwards, eyes wide, ears perked up. Lyonette laughed as she put a slice of crispy bacon on a plate.

“Yes, not all classes are equal. Of course, each one is important, but some are more important, see? Like classes that influence people. There are [Tacticians] and [Strategists] and classes that only [Soldiers] can take like [Sergeant] and [Commander] of course…but the best of all such classes is probably [General] or [Admiral].”

Mrsha just blinked at Lyon. How much did she understand? Lyonette didn’t know her age, but she thought Mrsha was young by any standard. Still, she continued.

“A [General] can have influence over a whole army. Thousands, maybe even tens of thousands of people. Isn’t that amazing? She or he can even affect other armies with Skills that demoralize or frighten…but there are classes that can do the same outside of battle. [Lords] and [Ladies] have their own demesne, and [Farmers] control their plots of land. You see? Some classes have range.”

Mrsha nodded and sneezed. Perhaps the nod was because of the sneeze? Lyon took it as a good sign.

“So what my mother told me was that the best classes can touch entire kingdoms. Like royal classes. [King], [Queen], [Princess]…a family of rulers can all make their nation strong.”

If they had high levels. Lyonette swallowed a lump in her throat.

“So these classes are some of the best. Because they are so rare, and only a few can have them. [Lords] for example are strong and have good Skills. But a [King] will have greater skills. There is no stronger class, in that sense. Well…”

The girl had to pause.

“…I suppose [Emperor] or [Empress] might be better. Because there can be only one, you see? A [King] can rule with a [Queen] and even [Princes] and [Princesses] all adding their Skills together. But an [Emperor] can rule over many nations, so only their Skills would affect the entire empire.”

Mrsha began scratching at her side, a clear indication that Lyon was losing her. The girl scowled; but the bacon was nearly done.

“Fine. You don’t like that? Then how about this? This is the secret my parents taught me. Royal classes, rare classes, and special classes—the kind that appear when two classes merge—they’re all better than normal ones. A [Lord] has almost the same Skills as a [General]. He can fight and lead, but he can also empower his estate. A [Blademaster] will have far, far better Skills than any [Warrior]—even a normal [Knight]! And you can get special classes by doing secret things. In fact, a [Princess] can even give someone a unique class.”

The Gnoll stared up at Lyonette, and then flopped over on her back. Her stomach rumbled loudly, and Lyonette sighed. It wasn’t important to Mrsha. It was special to Lyonette, but only because she needed it to be. Why would a Gnoll child care what a [Princess] could do?

“Fine. Let’s eat!”

Bacon and honey-covered bread for breakfast was a sinfully delicious meal. Lyonette ate nearly as fast as Mrsha, although the smaller Gnoll had even less manners than she did. She greedily chewed down the fatty bacon, pausing only to lick her paws clean of grease and honey every now and then.

When breakfast was done, Lyonette found something for Mrsha to do. She’d realized the Gnoll needed a distraction, so she found some parchment and charcoal. The Gnoll sat on the ground, happily drawing while Lyon cleaned the tables and washed the dishes.

She wished she had some of her toys, the ones she’d had back in the palace. The Gnoll deserved some fun. Maybe she could buy something? She had a good amount of coin after Pawn had come by—a lot, in fact. When Olesm came, Lyonette could probably persuade him to go shopping, but would the Drake even know what a Gnoll liked? Perhaps…

Lyonette was scrubbing at a bit of solidified honey on the table when she saw movement. She looked up and realized it wasn’t Mrsha but something else. Cautiously Lyonette moved over and saw the thing move again. She was tempted to grab a frying pan before she investigated, but then memory nudged her and she realized what it had to be.

A white, wriggling larvae, big and fat and sitting in a pool of royal jelly stared blindly up at Lyon while she stared down in disgusted fascination.

The grub! She’d completely forgotten about it! Lyon had intended to give it to Pawn, but it had slipped her mind. Now the grub moved slowly in the white goo surrounding it.

It was still alive, and even fatter than it had been yesterday if her eyes didn’t deceive her. Lyon stared at it in horrified fascination. The grub was ugly as sin, and sightless to boot. Still, Lyonette had the crazy urge to poke at it like Mrsha had done.

Resisting that instinct, Lyon frowned as she considered the liquid in the bowl. It was lower than yesterday as well. Some had evaporated? Or—the larvae had eaten some. It was growing.

Well, that only meant Pawn would like it more when she gave it to him, right? Lyonette decided to make sure the grub survived. That meant adding more royal jelly—she’d heard that was best for bees to grow with.

There were several honeycombs in the jars that she’d cut from the hive. Lyonette could see pockets of the white, jelly-like substance, and tried to fish it out so she could refill the bowl with the larvae in it. To that end she had to reach into the jar full of honey with a clean hand, giggling and shuddering at the odd feeling of so much honey.

She decided to separate as much of the jelly from the honey as she could, in case she needed it later. So Lyonette found another jar and used a wooden spoon to transfer the jelly over. It was a messy and sticky maneuver, and it invariably attracted Mrsha. The Gnoll licked both the royal jelly and honey up as Lyonette tried to fend her off.

“Stop it, Mrsha! Mrsha! You’ve just had breakfast! You’re going to get so fat.”

Which wouldn’t actually be a bad thing. The Gnoll was still thinner than she should be, which is why Lyonette let her lick her palms clean, giggling as the tiny rough tongue greedily lapped up the sticky honey.

The grub wriggled when Lyonette poured the royal jelly over it, but in the end it was nearly covered except for its head again. That done, she placed the bowl nearer to the fire. Not too near—but close enough that the grub wouldn’t freeze during the night.

That was how Lyon spent the first hour of her morning. After that, the door opened and Selys came by. The Drake wasn’t working today, and so she’d come—anxious and worried—to check on Mrsha. The Gnoll was happy to see her since the Drake wasn’t trying to take her away, and she definitely enjoyed the toys Selys had brought.

“I bought these for her. They’re very popular with Gnolls but Mrsha never wanted to play back at my apartment.”

So said Selys as she sat at a table, enjoying some honey and bread and a glass of honeyed water in the warm inn. Lyonette buzzed around the kitchen, making more honey water—she had the idea it would be very popular with the Antinium—and storing it in another jar for later. The inn was full of life, and guests! Not just Mrsha, but Selys had come to visit!

And—surprisingly—Olesm as well. The Drake came by every few days, less and less often since Lyon made him go shopping for her each time, but he arrived not long after Selys, tail wagging with excitement.

“Is Erin—oh.”

He always said that. But he didn’t look as disappointed today. Instead, he happily joined Selys at a table, eating some of her honeyed bread, oblivious to her annoyed look while he waved a sheaf of parchment about, unable to contain his excitement.

“You won’t believe what just happened. I was in the city and Hawk—you know, the Courier—came over with all these letters! One had just been sent, and when he got to Liscor to deliver them, the Runner’s Guild told him there were tons of undelivered letters all addressed to me!”

“Why didn’t the Runners deliver them?”

“Well—oh, thank you. Is…why is this water sweet?”

“It’s honey.”

Lyon explained as Olesm suspiciously tasted the water in the glass with a long tongue.

“Oh! It’s good! You should sell this! Can I have more bread? Selys has run out. Anyways, you won’t believe what happened! When I was sending all my letters out, I misspelled my name! So when I got the replies—they were all addressed to Oresm, not Olesm! I can’t believe no one at the Guild picked up on that mistake!”

Lyonette laughed, but Selys gave Olesm and exasperated look.

“Oresm? By all the Ancestors, how did you manage to misspell your own name when you sent all those letters?”

He hunched over, tail twitching defensively.

“I was excited! And I had good reason—do you know what I sent? Chess games!”

“You mean like the one Erin got? So what?”

Selys remained unimpressed. Olesm rolled his eyes, speaking faster as he tried to explain and convey his enthusiasm to an unreceptive audience.

“I didn’t just send chess puzzles. Don’t you get it? I sent the chess puzzle Erin made—the really hard one—as well as actual games she played! I managed to use the annotation system she taught me—with it you can go through her chess games step by step and see how it played out without needing to be there!”

“So what?”

“So you can recreate chess games across the world! And play them, too! I copied that game she played against all of the Antinium—and the games she played on the magical chessboard! They’re a goldmine for any [Tactician] or [Strategist], don’t you see? It’s been less than a month since I sent out the letters—open messages to major cities, just the nearest ones that I could afford—and I’ve gotten back so many replies!”

Excitedly, he showed the two young females the letters. Lyonette had to admit, the stationary collection did seem impressive. Selys didn’t understand the significance, but Lyonette could see the quality of the letters was high in some cases, and some had personal sigils or seals. In a political sense, Olesm had suddenly accrued quite a bit of attention.

“Okay, so some [Tacticians] are excited about chess. It’s a popular game. So what?”

“Would you stop saying that?”

“So. What?”

“So—people want me to send them more chess games! I’m talking with the head [Strategist] of one of the Walled Cities, see? He told me the chess puzzle I sent helped him level! And this—the letter that came by Courier actually sent back some money!”

Selys choked on her drink when Olesm showed her the gold coins.

“What? People are sending you money for your stupid chess games?”

“Of course! Don’t you understand? This can help high-level [Strategists] level further! And if we can play chess by mail—I’m already planning on sending more of Erin’s games and more of the chess puzzles she taught me. I just…have to solve some of them.”

Olesm coughed, a bit embarrassed. Lyonette and Selys just stared at him.

“But when I do send them out, I’m not going to just stay on this continent. I’ll pay to have them delivered as a bulk shipment to every major city in the world! In a few months…just think of the possibilities!”

It was all a bit over Selys’ head, and the female Drake argued with Olesm over the cost of what she called his ‘silly project’, but Lyonette just sat, staring at the pile of letters Olesm so lovingly clutched, heart pounding.

This was big news. If Olesm was right, he might well be able to form a network of his own between [Tacticians]. Lyonette had—grudgingly—been taught history and she knew that this was how organizations like the Adventurer’s Guild, Runner’s Guild, and so on had been created.

She smiled at Olesm. She was happy for him. The Drake smiled back, and then Lyonette told them her big news of the day.

“I’ve got two new classes. [Carer] and [Tactician].”

Gaining new classes in any society was usually cause for congratulations and celebration, depending on the class. It wasn’t as dramatic as when people celebrated hitting their tenth or twentieth level—or the huge parties when people managed to reach Level 30—but Olesm and Selys still made approving sounds.

Olesm was curious about Lyon’s [Tactician] class—he screamed when she told him about playing on the magical chessboard and told her to play him instead, but Selys was more curious about Lyon’s other class.

“[Carer]? Is that really a class?”

Lyonette nodded, stroking Mrsha’s head as the Gnoll played with a wicker ball, rolling it across the floor and leaping after it. It was one of the toys Selys had brought and Lyonette was glad that it was too big for Mrsha to swallow.

“It is in my ki—my country. On Terandria. People get it for taking care of children, or the elderly.”

It wasn’t exactly a common class, but Lyonette knew some of the older [Lords] and [Ladies] employed people with such classes to help take care of them, just as the [Governess] who had looked after her had been an advanced form of that class.

“Don’t Drakes and Gnolls have a class like that?”

Selys and Olesm shook their heads, looking bemused. Selys scratched at a patch of dry scales on her wrist as she spoke.

“If they’re that old, I suppose we’d entrust them to a relative’s care. But I’ve never heard of anyone getting a class from it. Probably because Drakes don’t see it as a job.”

“And Gnolls always have a role in their tribes, no matter how old they get.”

So, Lyonette’s class wasn’t that useful in Liscor, especially since she was banned from the city. But the girl still welcomed it since it would help her deal with Mrsha, and it seemed to reassure Selys that Lyonette could look after her.

After they’d exchanged gossip and Lyonette had learned that Erin was doing well and Ryoka had gone north for some reason, the three adults sat in the inn while Mrsha played. They were all adults, although Lyonette was younger than Selys and Olesm, and even the oldest among them—Selys—wasn’t more than a few years into her twenties.

The two Drakes argued and sat as Lyonette made more food, bustled around the inn, and chatted with them. That was all she did. Just talked. It was all Lyonette wanted. She talked and played chess with Olesm and wondered whether Pawn would come by today.

She hoped he would.

—-

Pawn had no bacon to wake him up, nor any honey. Instead, he had a meeting with Klbkch as soon as he had eaten the horrible mush in the Soldier’s mess hall. Given the choice, Pawn would have gladly eaten a vat of the grey-green stuff rather than talk to Klbkch.

But surprisingly, today Klbkch had nothing to criticize Pawn for. Rather, the Revalantor went over yesterday’s patrol with Pawn, highlighting the encounters with monsters and giving Pawn…advice.

“Do not engage the Corusdeer herds if at all possible. They are formidable combatants if roused, and the Soldiers will suffer heavy losses if they fight. Likewise, the Rock Crabs should be engaged with caution if it becomes necessary.”

Pawn sat in a chair before Klbkch’s desk, nodding nervously as the other Antinium spoke with him. It was strange.

“Ah, Revalantor Klbkch.”

The other Antinium paused and looked at him. Pawn realized Klbkch’s new form was slightly taller than the Worker’s form, as well as being slimmer.

“Yes?”

“Does this mean that you expect me to patrol around Liscor at a later date? Or are these simply things I should keep in mind in general?”

“Ah.”

Klbkch had very few papers on his desk, but he extracted one now and slid it across the desk to Pawn. The Worker stared down at it in confusion.

“I cannot read this, Revalantor Klbkch.”

Pawn could only read a few words of the local Drake script—enough to get around by, but not to decipher the words on the parchment.

“Of course. My mistake. I will take steps to ensure you and the other Individuals learn both Drake and Gnoll writing. It is not difficult—Erin picked up the word system very quickly as it apparently closely resembles the Human one.”

Klbkch took the parchment back and tapped it with one finger.

“This is a report to Watch Captain Zevara, detailing the monsters you encountered. I submitted it last night after your patrol returned.”

“And did the Watch Captain deem our patrol worthwhile?”

“She did. Although her praise is not the important issue—while on patrol I overheard several citizens expressing relief that our Soldiers were fighting monsters. Apparently they were observed chasing the Corusdeer herd off.”

Pawn hadn’t noticed any observers. He worried that this was an error.

“Oh. Should we have avoided detection?”

Klbkch shook his head.

“No. And in this case, the [Shepherd] was on a distant hilltop. But forcing the Corusdeer herd to seek grazing areas further from Liscor is considered a public boon, especially to travelers on the northern road who fear angering a herd. Moreover, the Shield Spiders you have slain are considered a public nuisance, and so the Soldiers generated goodwill from that as well. It also helps that people are seeing the Soldiers in a non-hostile environment.”

All of this made sense to Pawn in an oblique way. He had intended none of this of course, but so long as Klbkch seemed pleased by the results, Pawn could relax.

“In short, it appears that your patrol has generated goodwill among the citizenry already. That alone is worth continuing your activities. Take twenty Soldiers with you today and this time retrieve trophies from the monsters you slay. I will increase your stipend of funds as well.”

If Pawn had the ability to do so, his eyes would have widened. He bowed his head.

“Thank you, Revalantor Klbkch. I shall…I shall put the money to good use.”

“Do so. I will expect you to update me if the Soldiers show any positive effects from these patrols. If not…at least they will improve Antinium relations with the city, which is desirable. You may take a second patrol out at your discretion.”

That was all. Pawn stood up to go, but when he got to the door, Klbkch stopped him.

“Pawn.”

“Yes, Revalantor Klbkch?”

“…Why the paint?”

The Worker considered the question, trying to figure out how to explain it to the one Antinium in the Hive who didn’t understand. Well, one of two if you counted the Queen.

“It is a way of naming the Soldiers without using words, Revalantor Klbkch.”

Klbkch sat up in his chair at once and signaled Pawn to sit back down.

“This is very intriguing. Can all Soldiers be ‘named’ and made Individual?”

“I would not attempt to do so with the Soldiers not under my command. They may become Aberration.”

“I see. But you believe the Soldiers under your command have all become Individual? Really?”

“I cannot say. They cannot speak after all. But I would guess that they are…closer to Individual than they were before by use of the paint.”

“I see.”

Klbkch considered this for a while. Pawn sat at attention until the Revalantor nodded.

“Continue. That is all. We will monitor the Soldiers and your attempts with them before expanding to a larger group. If you notice them leveling or using Skills—”

“I shall report it at once.”

“Good. You are dismissed.”

Pawn left Klbkch’s quarters, feeling elated and relieved at once, which naturally caused giddiness as well. For once he’d done something right! Not just right—something right.

He’d given the Soldiers identity. Pawn went to requisition the coin Klbkch had promised him. The Antinium had a room devoted specifically for funds. Pawn saw a few other Workers withdrawing exact amounts and recording the number on a piece of parchment—some had to pay for supplies or perform other exchanges with the citizens of Liscor.

Carefully, Pawn collected gold, silver, and bronze coins from the carefully organized stacks of coin. He stared at the gold coins, and then wondered idly what would happen if he took more. There were thousands, tens of thousands of gold coins in the Hive, the product of over ten years of hard work and little spending. And this was only one of the treasury rooms.

But who cared? The Antinium didn’t post guards on the room because there was no need for them to steal, and no [Thief] would ever make it this far into the hive. Then again, if other Antinium became Individual like Pawn, who knew?

That was a troubling thought. Pawn took no more gold than he was allotted. He carefully walked up towards the entrance of the Hive. It was still early yet; he didn’t want to patrol before he ran a few errands. After all, he could only take twenty Soldiers out of the Hive with him at a time. What about the rest, forced to wait and guard in the tunnels? That had to be boring, so Pawn decided to get them something to make the wait easier.

—-

“You want what?”

Krshia blinked at Pawn. This time her stall was deserted, and Pawn saw that the other customers shopping this early were going to the more prosperous [Shopkeepers]. Again he felt bad, but reassured himself because of the size of the order he was placing.

“Cheese. I would like enough to feed roughly two hundred and forty individuals. Enough for a small meal, at least.”

The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] just stared at Pawn, jaw hanging open. Pawn wondered if he’d made a mistake. Was eating too much cheese a faux paws in Gnollish society?

Yes, cheese was what Pawn wanted. It was tasty and edible and it would go down well with the Soldiers, he felt. That was the only thing he could think of. Meat was too expensive and it spoiled quickly, and besides, it was hard to acquire in the winter. But cheese? Cheese was more plentiful.

And it tasted good.

Pawn stared anxiously at Krshia as the Gnoll struggled with shock.

“If there is an issue in delivery, I can arrange for direct pickups with Workers. And if there is a shortage…”

“No, no.”

Krshia smiled at Pawn, baring her teeth in a wide grin.

“I am simply surprised, yes? Even when my shop was booming, such orders were rare things. I thank you, Worker Pawn, for giving me such business.”

“You are the shopkeeper that Erin trusts. So I trust you.”

That was all it was to Pawn. There could be nothing simpler, nothing easier to understand. But Krshia lowered her head to him as if it meant something truly important.

“Hrr. I am grateful for that. Truly.”

Her shop. Every time Pawn saw it, he remembered what it had been. This time he decided to ask about it, since Krshia didn’t seem to have any customers waiting.

“How has your business been doing lately, Miss Krshia?”

She bared her teeth again, but this time not in a friendly way.

“You can see for yourself, can you not? Rebuilding what was lost is difficult, no? I will survive the winter, but it will be a year or more before I am able to open this shop with pride.”

That hurt too. It was an odd, uncomfortable feeling, hurting for people who were not Pawn himself. He hadn’t known it could happen before he’d met Erin. But this too was part of being alive.

“Is it truly so bad?”

Krshia shrugged, looking tired.

“Truly? It is not the worst. I will not starve and the others, the other Gnolls and even some Drakes have supported me. But it is bad to feel what is lost and know you have fallen, no? Because of one moment. Because of a thief.”

That last word was bitter, and Pawn immediately thought of Lyonette, laughing and serving them all with respect and pride. It was different from the Lyon that Krshia knew.

“I met the Human Lyonette yesterday. In Erin’s absence she has taken over the inn.”

Pawn didn’t know why he was telling Krshia this, especially because the Gnoll stiffened at Lyon’s name. But he felt compelled to, as if sharing the good Lyonette had done would offset some of the bad.

“She has acquired more bees and honey. She served me and a number of Soldiers the food. It was very tasty.”

“Is that so? Good for her. I have not had honey myself for many, many moons, yes? It is a valuable thing even when it is not so very cold.”

Krshia’s voice was hard, and he could see she was upset. Pawn thought. He thought quickly about how he could make things better for her, if only in his small way. He thought about Lyon and regret and honey. Then he had an idea.

“I will obtain your cheeses for you, within a few hours, yes? But first we must talk about prices and which cheeses you would like—where are you going?”

Pawn took a few steps away from Krshia’s store. She looked alarmed, but he reassured her.

“I am not reconsidering our deal, but I have a pressing matter to attend to. I shall return within the hour. Please excuse me.”

He could feel the Gnoll’s eyes on his back as he hurried off. Pawn left the city and walked swiftly up a hill to an inn. There he opened the door and talked.

—-

“Oh! Pawn! It’s so good to see you! Come in, would you like something to eat? Not staying?”

…

“Other Soldiers? Later today? Well of—of course! I’ve still got a lot of bees and here, try this honey water. I can get Olesm to buy more meat and make another soup.”

…

“Please, Olesm? Please? And I need butter and vegetables—I have a list here. Oh, and let me add…”

…

“Krshia? You’d like to…well of course. I—will you tell her that I—”

…

“…Thank you. But wait! Before you go, can I offer you this?”

…

“What do you mean, it looks fattening!?”

—-

Less than an hour later—less than half an hour later, really, Pawn walked back down the street towards Krshia’s stall. She stared at him. She stared at him, but especially at the huge jar of honey he held, walking carefully so as not to drop it.

Other pedestrians stared at the Worker as well. The jar of golden liquid tended to attract stares, Pawn had noticed.

“I have brought you honey. It is yours to keep and use as you please.”

That was what Pawn said as he placed the jar on Krshia’s counter. The Gnoll just stared at him.

“How?”

“I talked with Lyonette. She agreed to give you this jar of honey.”

It was a simple thing. Most things in life were, but Pawn had observed that the way people reacted to simple things was—complex.

Such as now. At the mention of Lyonette’s name, Krshia began to look angry.

“Why did she give this honey to you? Because you paid? Or because it is meant to be an apology?”

“She certainly feels remorse. I believe her acceding to my request was done out of guilt and an interest in helping settle the debt between you two.”

Pawn replied calmly. He watched with interest as Krshia’s ears slowly flattened on her head.

“And what does she call this? Repayment? It is hardly worth my stall, no?”

Some people would have hesitated to tell an angry Gnoll anything. But Pawn only spoke the truth, so his tone was level as he immediately replied.

“I think it is something, rather than nothing. An apology—the beginning of one, at least.”

That made the Gnoll pause. Pawn waited, and then spoke carefully.

“Lyonette has one message she would like to pass on to you with the honey.”

“Yes?”

“‘I am very sorry.’”

That was all. But it changed things. Simple things, simple words, always did. That was what Pawn had told Lyonette, and why the apology she had given him was this. And what happened was that Krshia stopped growing angrier. She was still angry, but she let Pawn open the jar.

“Would you like to try some? It is sweet, and I am told there may be grubs within the honeycomb.”

The Gnoll sniffed at the honey, and then dipped a finger into the thick liquid. It came out glistening, and Pawn stared at the honey in envy. He liked honey. Maybe he should have gotten some to go with the cheese. He’d go back to ask Lyonette about it later. But this jar was Krshia’s.

“Hmf.”

She licked the honey off of her finger. Slowly, Krshia’s tail began to wag, although her face didn’t change.

“This is good. Sweet. Sweeter than honey from small bees, yes?”

“Mm. I believe so.”

The Gnoll nodded. She stared at Pawn.

“You are an odd Worker, Pawn of the Antinium. But…yes, I believe you and Klbkch are good for this city.”

“Thank you.”

Pawn nodded to Krshia. He felt happy for her words because she clearly meant them. Krshia nodded and smiled. When he left, it was with all the cheese in the marketplace and locations for Workers to pick up more. And Krshia was selling honey in the form of hand-sized jars. There was already a queue.

—-

Lyonette felt good after Pawn had left. She felt better when he came back with his Soldiers. She cooked and served food again, and that night when she was cleaning up, she couldn’t stop humming.

The jars she and Erin used were truly big. They were taller than her knees and very wide—Erin had paid in gold for them since they were made by expert [Glassblowers]. At the moment she had two jars of honey, one half-empty and one and a quarter jars of  dead bees. Even with the Soldiers’ appetite, Lyonette had still a lot left.

Well, she wouldn’t if she was actually feeding the Soldiers a full meal. Then she would have had to give them six or seven bees to fill them up, but two or three for a lunchtime snack was all Pawn had asked for.

And the honey? The honey had brought in more than a few guests—all Drakes—who’d come to drink a few glasses of honeyed water and fill their jars with the sweet honey and honeycomb. It wasn’t exactly filling tables at the inn, but it was more money.

And when Lyonette had sat down with Mrsha to eat a proper meal of shepherd’s pie—courtesy of Selys who taught Lyonette how to make it—they had one more unexpected guest.

Klbkch.

He came into the inn while the two were eating. Lyonette wanted to find him a table, but the Antinium declined.

“I shall not be here long. Rather, I would like to make a purchase.”

“Of the bees?”

Klbkch nodded. He pointed to one of the jars Lyonette kept against the kitchen wall.

“How much…for the entire jar?”

“The entire jar?”

Klbkch nodded, looking at Lyonette’s ecstatic and panicked expression.

“I believe my Queen will enjoy the bees. Will you sell them to me directly?”

That was actually something of a hard question for Lyonette. Should she sell the bees? If she did, she might not have enough for Pawn tomorrow, and he was bringing more Soldiers then as well.

But a whole jar? All of Lyonette’s instincts told her to say yes. After all she could always get more bees, even if she was afraid of taking too much honey from the Hive. She had more flowers—hopefully she could use less this time—and she had to do it sooner or later.

“Of course I’ll sell you—the entire jar, you said?”

“Yes. Will that be an issue?”

“No, no! But the bees—they’re raw. Would you like me to fry them up first? They taste really good when they’re drizzled in honey. Apparently.”

“Hm. We have a [Cook], but perhaps it will be instructive to show him how it is done. By all means, please prepare a third of the jar. I will partake of a few as well to ascertain quality.”

In the end, Lyonette finished eating with Mrsha and then went into the kitchen to cook while the Gnoll played hide and seek with Klbkch. Although that really just involved Klbkch pointing at her while the Gnoll roamed around the inn, trying to be stealthy.

Cut, fry, drizzle. Lyonette worked tirelessly to make the best bees possible, conscious of who would be eating them. The Queen. And also, Klbkch, whom Pawn told Lyon was actually very important in the Hive. Klbkch ate five while he was waiting.

“Thank you. These bees are quite delicious. I may return at a later date if you have more stored away.”

“I will. Thank you for buying them! Have a good night!”

That was how Lyonette spent the rest of her day. She went to bed exhausted, but remembered to put the bee larvae very close to the dying fire as she did. Pawn didn’t want it, and she’d neglected to offer one to Klbkch. It kept slipping her mind. And besides—Lyonette stared at the larvae, wriggling blind in the bowl.

…She might be getting attached to it.

That night, she leveled up in all three of her new classes again, although she got no new Skills. That would have been enough, but Lyonette heard a new announcement after the list of level ups.

[Beast Tamer Class Obtained!]

[Beast Tamer Level 1!]

[Skill – Healthy Rearing obtained!]

—-

[Beast Tamer]? Her?

Lyonette couldn’t believe it. But when she woke up, she knew it had happened again.

A new class! Why?

Because she’d taken care of the bee? Because she’d made sure it was warm and fed? Because she’d done all that? Was that all it took?

She couldn’t be a [Beast Tamer]. Of all the classes, Lyonette felt least confident in that one. What purpose would it serve her? Was she going to raise a bee? As a pet? It was a useless class. Well, the [Tactician] class was also useless to her, strictly speaking.

And yet—Lyonette wanted the class. She wanted the [Tactician] class too. And the [Barmaid] class she’d leveled up in! She wanted to level! No matter what class, no matter how few levels!

She wanted them. And from what Lyonettte knew of classes, that was probably why she’d gotten them. Because while other people had no desire to devote their lives to raising animals or monsters and so didn’t get the class even if they owned pets, Lyonette was different.

She had been starved of classes, not leveled while growing up. And now that she was free, truly free—

She’d take all the classes. No matter how damning it might be to her one ‘true’ class. Even if it meant she’d never reach a high level. She never levelled in it anyways.

With that in mind, Lyonette added a new routine to her day. After she watered Erin’s flowers and stoked the fire and before she went to fetch more water, she checked on the bee. It wriggled in the royal jelly and she saw it was a bit larger again. Lyonette wondered whether it would actually grow up—this was no hive. But she could always get more royal jelly and she did have a Skill to help her, after all.

“I guess you’re going to need a name.”

So saying, Lyonette touched the bee gently. It squirmed and it was wet and slimy. Gross, in short. But it was alive, and it struggled to stay alive.

Just like her.

One last thing happened that morning. When Lyonette was trudging back to her inn, she saw a Gnoll pulling a sled up the hill. She froze in fear, but the Gnoll’s sled was loaded with goods.

Food. Lyonette saw meats, vegetables, and all the things she’d asked Olesm to bring, neatly bundled up on the sled. The Gnoll set it down in the snow outside the inn. She—the Gnoll was a she now that Lyonette was closer—turned and saw Lyon with the buckets in hand.

“Delivery.”

That was all she said. She must have been one of the Street Runners the shops hired. But Olesm had told Lyon that no one would deliver to the inn, to her. What had changed?

The Gnoll began walking down the hill. With a start, Lyonette realized she was going.

“Oh. T-thank you so…”

The Gnoll [Runner] made no reply. She just growled something and stomped back down the hill, dragging the sled behind her.

Lyon watched her go. Then she opened the door and had Mrsha help her drag everything inside. She didn’t say much, but she was smiling. And crying.

—-

“They are coming.”

That was all Klbkch said to Bird, Pawn, Belgrade, Garry, and Anand when he gathered them together for the first time in his small quarters. It was early morning, just after dawn, in fact. The Workers had been roused—in Pawn’s case from his sleep by the mental order—and told to come here.

Now Klbkch paced back and forth in front of them, clearly agitated. The other Workers said nothing, but they each felt slightly alarmed. None of them had ever seen the Revalantor like this.

“Pardon, Revalantor Klbkch, but who is coming?”

That came from Garry. Pawn hadn’t seen Garry in…so long! Klbkch had even ordered Garry to attend. That was unusual because Garry was specialized now in the [Cook] class—he played no part in commanding Soldiers and indeed, he stayed far away from any area of the Hive where monsters might attack.

“The other Hives. They have sent a delegation, and they will arrive sometime today.”

That was all Klbkch said, but it shocked all the other Workers to their core.

Another Hive? They knew—all the Workers and Soldiers knew in an oblique way that other Hives existed. But they had never seen or even heard of the other Hives until today. Liscor was far from their location, and the Antinium did not move between cities like other races.

“Why are they coming?”

“To see you. To greet my Queen and to see you. And appraise what value you have as Individuals.”

Klbkch never gave them detailed explanations. Pawn knew that was because he and the other Workers weren’t that important, but he wished the Antinium would trust them with more. He remembered Klbkch’s promise. If he made something out of the Soldiers, he would be told more.

“What should we do? What will the other Antinium ask of us?”

That came from Belgrade. He was probably the most worried, among the Workers, Pawn felt. Bird was usually calm, Garry was hard to ruffle, and Anand looked like he was actually enjoying this new development.

“Do not…worry.”

Klbkch said it as if he had to remember they could be worried.

“All you have to do is demonstrate your Skills. Questions will be asked—answer them to the best of your ability. It will not be difficult.”

He paused, looking the Workers over. Klbkch seemed to think, and then tapped the pommel of one of his swords slowly as he spoke.

“Some of the other Antinium may be…different. Unsettling. Odd, even. They are not Aberrations, rather they are created from a different template than we are. And the other Queens do not think as mine—ours does. Remember that.”

Pawn worried. What did that mean? Did they have Individuals of their own? But surely Klbkch would have mentioned that. He went on, looking at each of the Workers in turn as he gave them orders.

“Belgrade, Anand, and Bird will showcase their talents. Bird’s archery skills have much merit, as do Belgrade and Anand. They have the most value as [Tacticians] and as leaders of Soldiers. Garry will prepare meals to demonstrate his talents. Pawn—”

He glanced at the Worker. Pawn stood straight, holding his breathe, apprehensive.

“You will answer any questions directed to you if the others realize you are Individual as well. Do not volunteer information about your [Acolyte] class unless I address it specifically. That goes for all of you. Make no mention of that class, and not of Pawn either unless it is clear the others know about you.”

It felt like someone—Ryoka perhaps—had kicked Pawn in the stomach. He stood still, wrestling with his emotions.

Of course. He wasn’t that useful and his Skills still weren’t quantifiable. And from what Klbkch had said, his class pertained to Gods and Gods—

It still hurt. Even as Klbkch dismissed them and the Workers walked away to speak in an empty corridor in privacy, Pawn felt it hurting in his chest.

He wanted to be noticed. He wanted to be useful. But here—Pawn forced himself to listen to the conversation. It was the first time in a while he and the other Workers could talk, so they were all asking Garry what he had been doing in his new job.

The Worker nodded, folding his four hands together. He seemed slightly bigger than Pawn last remembered him—was he gaining weight? He still wore a slightly stained apron around his front, a piece of apparel that intrigued the other Workers greatly.

“I have been preparing meals for the Queen. I take monster parts and other edible foodstuffs and create food for her rather than the…paste…we are usually fed.”

The other Workers exchanged a glance, and then nodded their heads.

“Ah.”

“I see.”

“This intrigues me.”

“Will you cook us such food?”

Garry nodded.

“If I am allowed. I believe Revalantor Klbkch wishes for me to cook for other members of the Hive, including himself. However, the Queen desires me to prepare food for her alone. I gather this is a source of contention between the two.”

That was fascinating. But Garry didn’t have details, so the other Workers quickly summarized what they had been doing. Belgrade and Anand had helped take down a Crypt Worm recently—Bird roamed the landscape, hunting animals with a bow and arrow. His life seemed exciting to Pawn, but the other Workers claimed he was actually the one with the most interest.

“I do not interact with any other species, Pawn. You are fortunate to talk with a Human on a daily basis.”

Anand and Belgrade nodded as Bird said this. Pawn couldn’t help staring at the feather hanging from a simple cord around Bird’s neck. It was a very red feather, and beautiful, too.

“I am envious. I have not been allowed to go to the surface.”

“Indeed. My duties keep me below at all times.”

“Does this Lyonette serve cooked birds?”

Pawn saw the keen interest in the other Worker’s eyes. He realized with a pang that they had never experienced what he had, and resolved to petition Klbkch to let them join him on a patrol. In the meantime, he could certainly bring some of what was above down below. He only regretted that the Soldiers had eaten all the cheese. If only he had his own quarters so he could store objects in them!

“The bees Lyon makes are very tasty. I shall bring you some, next time I go.”

“I believe Klbkch bought some for the Queen. I sampled one—the others have already been eaten. I shall attempt to replicate such treats for the rest of you and our guests.”

Just the thought of Garry’s cooking filled Pawn with hunger. He clicked his mandibles together sadly though, reflecting on his role.

“I regret that I cannot bring any value to the Hive. And that you must lie about my abilities.”

To Pawn’s surprise, Garry shook his head. He placed one of his hands on Pawn’s shoulders.

“Do not worry. You have value. In fact, it is I who envy you. You may not be of apparent worth to these Antinium who come, but you are special, even among us. One day, I believe your talents will surpass us all.”

Belgrade, Anand, and Bird all nodded.

“Agreed.”

“Yes.”

“I will hunt birds to showcase my abilities.”

The other Workers looked at him. Bird shrugged.

“I like birds.”

—-

They were coming. At last, after all this time…the other Hives were coming. They were taking notice. Klbkch had to sit down after the other Workers had left. He tried to contain his excitement, but his hands shook slightly.

They were coming. And not just any lowly Workers or Soldiers, no. Klbkch knew this group had to include Prognugators, valuable members of each Hive, sent to observe and be their Queen’s eyes. They would observe him and he would see…see how much each Hive had changed since he had last travelled south.

All of that would have been dramatic enough, but Klbkch had participated in and suffered such gatherings before. The other Hives always sent spectators to witness another Hive’s achievement. But this time…

Klbkch tried to modulate his breathing. It was no good. His hand trembled as it touched his swords.

He had heard the report from the Listeners. They had heard the other Antinium approaching of course, and monitored them closely. But it was only this close to the city that some details had emerged, details which had shaken Klbkch down to his core.

It was about one of the Antinium who travelled with the others, one who stood out.. Klbkch looked at the report. He had written it down, circled the information after speaking with the Listeners. To be sure.

“An Antinium who casts magic?”

That was what the Listeners had heard. Explosions, thunderous sounds coming from her location. Spells, in short, unless the other Hives had managed to create a truly incredible variant in the few years since Klbkch had checked on them.

It had to be magic. And there was only one Antinium in the world who could cast spells. At least, only one Antinium among the living.

Klbkch sat in his chair. He held his silvery swords, stared blankly at a dirt wall. Only one Antinium, now. One that he had known since…since the day he had been created. So long ago.

The former Prognugator of the hive, the Revalantor named Klbkch, and the being who had once been one of the Centenium sat in the wooden chair. He stared back into the past.

And remembered.

—-

They came into the city as the sun was shining overhead. Not Antinium—a group of Drakes. They walked through the southern gates, talking with the guard, hoods covering any distinctive details like armor. Perhaps they would have entered quietly, but they were there to witness the monster attack.

It came out of the dungeon. The uncovered entrance to this new set of ruins was placed east of the city, at a good distance but close enough that the City Watch had posted a sizeable guard on the entrance.

Now this line of defense was under attack. The Drakes saw a band of Human adventurers fleeing the ruins, and behind them, shouts and screaming. Gnolls and Drakes fought desperately, the [Mage] among them shooting arrows of light into an oncoming crowd of—

“Children?”

That was what one of the Drakes in the group, a female adjunct whispered in horror. But these were no children who came pouring out of the hole in the ground, screaming, teeth bared.

“Scalelings.”

Wall Lord Ilvriss spat the words as Zel saw the line of guardsmen brace for impact. Arrows took down the horrible apparitions—shaped like children of Gnolls, Drakes, and Humans to lower their victim’s defenses—running at the [Guardsmen]. They normally preyed on people at night, he knew, where their monstrous details—their bright yellow, pupil less eyes and unnaturally long limbs for children were harder to pick out.

But the team of adventurers wearing poor-quality armor had upset their nest, and so it fell to the [Guardsmen] to stop them from attacking the adventurers and travelers on the road. They shouted as they hit the first wave, the small Scalelings—or Children as they were known in Human lands—pushing back the [Guardsmen] with terrible strength and ferocity.

“They’re going to be overwhelmed.”

Ilvriss said this calmly, a hand on his sword as the guards at the gate of Liscor sounded the alarm. There were [Archers] on the walls of course, but the battle was too thick for all but the best to shoot into.

“Should we cut a path for them to retreat to the walls, do you think, Shivertail?”

“No. Allow me.”

So saying, Zel pointed at the [Guardsmen]. He spoke two words.

“[Shield Wall].”

The [Guardsmen] had been faltering, falling back. But as Zel said the words, their actions changed. They stood taller, and when the snarling Scalelings rammed into them, it was the monsters who fell back. Suddenly, each Drake and Gnoll was rooted in place and they forced the horrific creatures back one step at a time.

“Reinforcements.”

Ilvriss commented as more [Guardsmen]—[Guardspeople], really—rushed out the gate. For how quickly the engagement had started, their response was quite fast.

“And there’s the local [Tactician] I think. We can move on.”

“Mm. Yes.”

Zel nodded, seeing the battle was contained. He, Ilvriss, and the group the Wall Lord had brought with him walked further into the city.

“I’m not staying at the same inn as you, Shivertail. You can find whatever run down hovel you want, but I’ll be staying at the Tailless Thief. It’s the best inn in the city and I know the owner.”

“Fine by me.”

Zel didn’t rise to the bait. He looked around the city, noting all the Human adventurers who were gathered at the gates, watching the fighting.

“Lots of adventurers around. You might not find a room.”

Ilvriss just scowled at him.

“The innkeeper will make room. I am a Lord of the Wall.”

“Good for you.”

Zel would be glad enough to leave Ilvriss to his own devices—at least for a day. His feet hurt. He walked on through the city. Time enough to find an inn for himself later. Right now he had to announce himself to the Council with Ilvriss. The wretched Drake demanded such formailities.

So Zel Shivertail entered Liscor. And his arrival was unnoticed by many pedestrians, but the [Guardsmen] certainly noticed and word instantly spread to the Watch Captain of the incident. And one other person in the city noticed as well.

Selys looked up from her desk in the Adventurer’s Guild, cutting off her conversation with a wet and unhappy Gnoll. She suddenly felt lighter, and more refreshed, as if someone had given her a hot mug of tea. She made a fist with one claw, and then looked out the window with a smile. Only one person always included her in his radius of command.

“Oh. Uncle Zel’s visiting the city!”

—-

Klbkch met the other Antinium outside of the city, in secret. He came alone, and nodded his head respectfully as the other Antinium stood, letting snow fall off of their bodies to greet him.

They were a little less than twenty in all. Klbkch noted each one as they introduced themselves. Four Hives had come. Four Hives had sent their best. The absence of the fifth troubled him, but—

“Prognugator Klbkch. I greet you as a fellow Prognugator. I am Tersk of the Armored Antinium.”

The first to make a move was a big Antinium with a form reminiscent of a Soldier. But he had only two arms instead of four, and his hands were proper ones. He was also wearing armor. Klbkch stared at the steel plate armor that covered his entire body and noted the specially-tailored metal plates that had been carefully crafted into a helmet. He nodded to the armored giant.

“I greet you Tersk. Although I am no longer a Prognugator but a Revalantor I will perform the duties of both while you are here. I see you have brought others of your hive.”

“Yes.”

The Prognugator said it simply. He indicated three other Antinium, all as tall as he was, all wearing armor. Klbkch noted that all of the Armored Antinium had weapons. A shield and mace in Tersk’s case—swords and a spear for the others.

“Allow me to extend my apologies for my error in your position.”

“The error is mine. I did not mention this detail to begin with.”

Klbkch and Tersk lowered their heads. That done, the Prognugator stepped back and another one came forwards.

“Revalantor Klbkch. I am Revalantor Pivr. I observe that your form has changed from the standard template assigned to this Hive. Has your Queen been creating variations of the Worker and Soldier form without authorization?”

This came from an Antinium smaller than Tersk, but no less striking. Jade-colored wings fanned outwards from the Antinium, and Klbkch saw not two but four sets of eyes on his head. Even his body was hunched, all the better for his two arms to use the twin daggers at his side. He also had poisonous spit Klbkch knew—the odor was unmistakable on the Antinium’s breath.

And he annoyed Klbkch. The Revalantor stared Pivr in the eyes, and spoke calmly.

“My form is unique to me, as befitting my status. I greet you, Pivr. Who have you brought to my Hive?”

Pivr turned, fanning his twin sets of wings out to show them off, Klbkch was sure.

“Six of my Queen’s warriors—five regular warriors and a heavy-combat variant have flown here to see what your Hive has wrought. We are the Flying Antinium. Witness us.”

Klbkch did see, and part of him was impressed. Five of the warriors did look like Pivr, but the last was a larger variant. Thick carapace plates obscured his body, giving him more the appearance of a walking tank. But he had wings as well, huge ones, and even a horn like a beetle with sharp prongs.

Yes, part of Klbkch was impressed. The other part was not. But he kept his words within and simply nodded to Pivr.

“I greet you.”

The other Revalantor hesitated, opening his mandibles as if he wanted to say something. But then Klbkch was walking forwards towards the last unique Antinium in the group. He felt like he was in a dream, but when he stopped in front of the slim, short Antinium with blue carapace who held a staff in one of her two hands, she was real.

So very real.

“Xrn.”

It was all Klbkch could say. The other Antinium—no Worker, no Soldier, but graceful and unique, her body different from any other—opened her mandibles to smile at him. Her eyes shone with a thousand colors, flickering with the mystery of magic. And her voice was soft, deep, commanding.

“Klbkch. It has been too long.”

“Yes. Far too long.”

It was all Klbkch could say, as if he had been transformed into one of the birds that spoke, a parrot. Xrn smiled again. Klbkch didn’t know what to say.

“How—how did you come here? I would have never thought the Grand Queen would allow…”

“I had to persuade her of course. But I thought it worthwhile to see you.”

Xrn said it simply. She nodded to the Soldiers and Workers behind her, and only now did Klbkch realize he was neglecting his duties.

“Pardon me. I greet you, Xrn, Prognugator of the Grand Hive. Who are the Antinium who come with you?”

“Two Hives. Mine, and that of the Silent Antinium.”

She pointed, and Klbkch saw. There were two groups standing behind Xrn, eight Antinium in total. Two were still as shadows, hunched, almost invisible even in the snow. Their carapaces had changed to become whiter, more translucent, and their arms were more like scything blades. Their mandibles were likewise made to tear out an opponent’s throat and they were perhaps the slimmest of all Antinium save for Xrn.

“The assassin breed. Have they no leader?”

“Their Queen declined to send one. And with me—six of the Grand Queen’s soldiers, my escort.”

These Antinium were by far the most conventional, but even then…Klbkch saw two were classic Soldiers, but with carapaces so heavily reinforced that they stood two feet taller than a regular Soldier, to carry all the weight. They were taller even than the Armored Antinium, while the other four—

Klbkch inhaled sharply. Xrn nodded.

“They are like me.”

Indeed, the four Antinium closely resembled Klbkch’s current form. They were slim and had two hands, and at their sides they had blades. Not silver metal like his, but rather blades made of a dark substance, the same as those the scythes of the Silent Antinium were made of. These Antinium were also different from the rest in that they studied Klbkch with attentiveness. Intelligence.

“Natural blades. These are not Prognugators but Custodium—think of them as partial Prognugators.”

“Made in the same way?”

Xrn’s mandibles opened, and her tone was mocking.

“Yes. There are forty in the Hive.”

The number left Klbkch speechless. The sheer extravagance and waste it took to create—he would have asked Xrn more, but then Pivr interrupted.

“Revalantor Klbkch, are the introductions done? If so, I have a pressing announcement to inform you of.”

Klbkch and Xrn stared at him. They were all Prognugators and Revalantor, true, including  Tersk, but Xrn and Klbkch were different. Tersk clearly knew that and respectfully stayed quiet, but Pivr was clearly different.

Xrn was the first to speak. Her tone was sharp.

“I am talking with Klbkch. You will be silent, Pivr.”

“You have been given command of our group, yes. But my Queen—”

“Shut up.”

Xrn turned back to Klbkch and only now did he remember the…personality of his old companion. He had forgotten it, living for so long in his quiet Hive.

“We have much to discuss. After we greet your Queen, you and I must have time to talk.”

“You are not expected to return soon?”

“No. In fact, I told my Queen I would be a long time in returning.”

“You told the Grand Queen that?”

“Yes.”

That was Xrn. Klbkch shifted his glance to the Antinium and once again noted the absence of the fifth Hive.

“Wrymvr did not come? And his Queen sent no one?”

Xrn shrugged.

“You know him.”

“I do. I should not be surprised. In truth, I did not expect your presence either.”

“Yes, well—”

“I have an announcement.”

This time Klbkch had to restrain himself from stabbing Pivr. But the Revalantor had strode into the center of the Antinium. He spoke loudly, without glancing at Xrn whose look was…murderous.

“My instructions were to obey Prognugator Xrn until we reached the city of Liscor. However, here I and the Flying Antinium will carry out different orders. We will go into the city via the main gates.”

“What?”

Klbkch couldn’t believe his ears. Pivr nodded at him calmly.

“I was not informed of this.”

Xrn’s voice was foreboding, but Pivr didn’t seem intimidated.

“Your input was not required. My Queen has given her orders, and they will be obeyed.”

“You cannot enter the city. I forbid it.”

Klbkch had no idea how the [Guardsmen] would react upon seeing these Antinium. They would likely think the Second Antinium Wars were upon them again. Even in the best case—

But Pivr could not be argued with.

“These are my Queen’s orders. You, Xrn, have no authority over this. We will go into the city. We will not fight even if provoked, but we will maintain a show of force. You are allowed to follow us if you so desire. Indeed, Revalantor Klbkch’s presence would greatly be appreciated.”

With that, he and the other six Antinium began to march through the snow. They accelerated—then their wings opened and they flew.

Not into the air, but across the ground, skipping across the ground. It wasn’t true flight—but it was too fast to catch up to on foot. Klbkch didn’t waste time talking to Xrn. She couldn’t stop them. If she cast a spell the Flying Antinium would fight it, and if she bound them they would just wait to be free. They would fulfill their orders or die.

The Antinium flew towards the city, and soon Klbkch heard the shouting from the walls. He only prayed there wouldn’t be any fighting. So long as the [Guardsmen] kept their cool they would realize these were Antinium. And the citizens of Liscor had grown used to the Antinium. It could be okay. It might be okay.

Then he saw the two Drakes standing in the middle of the street. Pivr had stopped with his six Antinium, uncertain. Drakes and Gnolls and Humans were fleeing him, but these two Drakes—and the group of warriors standing behind them—were not.

Klbkch could sense they were no ordinary warriors. Their presence alone had warned Pivr not to approach carelessly. Klbkch looked at them, about to call out, defuse whatever misunderstanding that might have occurred. And then he recognized one of them.

—-

Zel Shivertail had been prepared for the Antinium. He knew they were in the city so he had been prepared to grit his teeth if he saw one on the street. But the flying Antinium? They’d come out of nowhere, speeding down the street. Was it an attack? His pulse had been racing and he had had to hold Ilvris back, prevent him from unsheathing his sword and attacking.

But now another Antinium had come, one armed with two swords. Zel saw them, and his heart stopped in his chest.

Ilvriss froze by his side. His voice was the only sound in the street, the only sound Zel could hear over the hammering in his chest.

“Those swords. It can’t be—”

Another Antinium raced into the city, and behind her, more Antinium. Armored warriors—huge giants! The Drake warriors behind Ilvriss grabbed at their weapons.

“Those are specialist Antinium! From the Hives in the south!”

“An attack!?”

“Guard the Wall Lord!”

“Hold—hold!”

Zel ground the words out, but he felt like he’d been stabbed. Ilvriss had gone pale at the sight of the other Antinium who stood by the one with swords. His voice was a whisper now.

“Azure. The color of the sky.”

There was only one Antinium like that, Zel knew. But his eyes were still on the one with swords. There was only one Antinium like that one, as well.

“Klbkch the Slayer.”

His voice was thunder in his ears as he let go of Ilvriss. The Wall Lord had a death-grip on his sword as he stared at the Antinium holding the staff.

“The Small Queen. Xrn.”

—-

Across the street, Klbkch stood frozen. Memory surged around him at the sight of Zel Shivertail’s face. It had caught Xrn as well.

“Zel Shivertail. And a Lord of the Wall.”

The air had changed. Pivr glanced uncertainly at Klbkch and Xrn.

“Who are these Drakes?”

No one answered him. Klbkch’s hands were on his sword. He felt Xrn trembling next to him.

“We must not fight.”

He said it, but the words were distant in his head. He couldn’t retreat. Not here. Not now.

Someone took a step forwards. Was it him? The Drakes started to advance as well. Shivertail’s eyes were locked on Klbkch’s.

Memory flashed between the two.

—-

Zel Shivertail killed another Soldier, cutting apart his carapace with claws like razors. He turned, and saw the battlefield had disintegrated into chaos. Drakes and Antinium struggled everywhere, the Antinium fighting and killing anything moving.

Chaos. He turned and blocked a sword that came for his neck at the last moment. The Antinium who leapt backwards was slim, and covered in blood. Drake blood. He held his swords like a true blade master, watching Zel carefully.

“Zel Shivertail.”

“You must be Klbkch the Slayer.”

“Yes. I have come to kill you. If you die, the Antinium will triumph here.”

Zel pointed at the battlefield, where Antinium fought and died, killing mindlessly even as the Drakes organized and began to slaughter them.

“Is this how the Antinium do battle?”

“It is how we fight to survive, Drake. When we do battle, you will know the difference.”

Klbkch leapt forwards and then there were only his flashing blades. Zel snarled, slashing with his claws—

—-

“I’ll take the mage. You take the Slayer.”

“We are not…here to fight.”

Zel rasped the words out. His feet dragged themselves forwards though, and he couldn’t muster the effort to stop them. He and Ilvriss advanced down the street, ignoring the calls from the Drakes behind them to stop.

Ilvriss felt one of his guards grab at him and swung one fist. The Drake fell back, bleeding, and the Lord of the Wall walked forwards as if in a trance. His sword was in his hand, and his eyes were on Xrn’s. They stared at each other, as they had done years ago on the battlefield.

—-

He stood with the [Mages] and [Strategists], coordinating the battle as the Drake and Human forces contained the Antinium with walls of steel and blasted them with magic.  Ilvriss stood patiently, knowing his chance for battle would not come. But then the earth exploded and he saw her standing amid the destruction.

The command tent burned as she drew a line of fire that burned the Human [Commander] to ash. Out of the billowing smoke, Soldiers charged into battle, fighting the unprepared [Mages] and support classes and their small retinue of guards.

“This battle is over. Flee, Drakes and Humans, or I will slay you all.”

That came from the Antinium who glowed with magic. She looked down at Ilvriss as he stood, shaking, blood running down his right leg, his long sword in hand.

“Name yourself! Who are you?”

He roared at her as he charged, cutting Soldiers down. The Antinium’s voice echoed as she stood on a rock, casting spells left and right, cutting down his allies, his friends.

“I am the last memory of my kind. Thunder which moves grass. I am a Queen without a Hive. Fire burning in the heart of ice. I am Xrn, and I will not die here.”

She raised her staff, and lightning split the sky. It broke the formations of Drakes, and a fireball fell among the [Mages] who hadn’t time to raise a shield spell. They burned, dying, and the Antinium with a staff raised hers high. The wind blew, and the Soldiers and Workers charged. Ilvriss fell back, fighting among the dying….

—-

He couldn’t stop. Zel walked onwards, and so did the Antinium. The streets were empty.

The air was screaming with tension.

He knew he should stop. They were at peace.

Peace? With the Antinium? Zel walked the battlefield and saw his foes only a few feet away. He could smell the dead around him, and feel blood running down his side. The air was hot. Hot? It was the middle of summer, and the Antinium—

Zel felt snow crunching under his feet. He knew he was in Liscor, knew the war was over. But the pounding pulse in his head wouldn’t die down. And the Antinium were right in front of him.

—-

Klbkch’s feet moved. His swords were in his hands.

“We must stop.”

Xrn said that, dreamily. But he could feel magic gathering around her. Klbkch said nothing.

He couldn’t stop.

“Fighting is prohibited.”

Klbkch’s head turned and Pivr quailed. He knew the other Antinium was right. But nothing could stop him. He was staring Zel Shivertail in the eye, and he knew it was time to finish things. The sword was cold in Klbkch’s hand. He took another step, another—

And then someone rushed in front of him, arms spread wide. Klbkch raised his sword to cut the person—the Antinium down—

“Pawn!”

The blade stopped. Pawn stood in front of Klbkch, arms spread wide, and twenty Soldiers stood at his back. Xrn had paused too, surprised by the other Antinium’s appearance.

“Revalantor Klbkch, I regret that we must bar your way.”

Klbkch opened his mandibles to protest, to tell Pawn to move before Zel Shivertail cut him down from behind—when he saw the shouting on the other end of the street.

“Guardsmen! Form a line!”

Watch Captain Zevara—Zevara was there, forming a living wall like Pawn had with Gnolls and Drakes. They blocked off Zel and the Wall Lord from advancing, faces grim, shields raised as if they expected a fight.

The Drake [General] was staring at Watch Captain Zevara as she shouted at them to back up. Klbkch heard another voice then as well, a familiar one.

“Hey, old man Zel! It’s me, Relc! How’s it going? And who’s this guy?”

A big Drake waved excitedly at the head of the tense group of [Guardsmen]. Relc was enough of a distraction by himself. Klbkch felt the madness—the memory holding him loosen. He turned.

“Xrn.”

“I know. Let’s get out of here.”

She turned. The Antinium—the Armored Antinium, Pivr and his band of idiots, and the silent assassins and Xrn’s honor guard ran through the streets. The City Watch and the Drake [General] let them go. And in a few moments…

There was peace.

For now.

—-

They had come close to war. Perhaps. Zel could only shudder at the thought as he walked out of Liscor’s gates. If they had fought, regardless of who had lived and died, what would have happened? Would it have been war right then? Would the Queen have done that?

If Ilvriss or he had died—Zel didn’t want to imagine it. His earholes still rang from Watch Captain Zevara’s shouting. It had been a miracle she’d gotten there in time.

He should have known better. Zel knew that. But he had seen Klbkch and memory—

He’d think on it later. It was late, after all the shouting and then the explanations and introductions had been done. Zel glanced at the sky and wanted nothing more than to find somewhere comfortable to sleep.

But all the inns were full, and he had no desire to stay under the same roof as Ilvriss. So Zel walked out of the city and towards a place he thought he remembered.

It was odd. The inn seemed closer than it should have been, and in the wrong place. But it was the only inn around, and so Zel knocked politely on the door and waited.

When it did open, he stared down in mild surprise at the girl who stared up at him with huge eyes. A young Gnoll cub appeared behind the girl and then darted away as Zel waited for her to speak.

“Um. Hello.”

“Good evening, Miss. Is the [Innkeeper] here by any chance?”

“Erin? No she’s…I’m sorry, please, come in!”

Zel entered, somewhat mystified. Erin? That was a female name, or so he thought. What had happened to the man? Had he retired?

Perhaps he’d gotten married and this was his daughter. Or just a [Barmaid]. Zel sat at a table, smiling without showing his teeth as the girl brought him a drink.

“Here’s some water. Honey water, actually.”

Zel’s nonexistent eyebrows rose as he sipped at the sweet drink. It was quite nice, and pleasantly hot.

“So the [Innkeeper] is gone? Will she be back tonight, do you know?”

“No I—she’s been gone for a while now. I run the inn while she’s—away. My name is Lyon. Lyonette.”

Odder and odder. But Zel still needed a place to sleep.

“In that case, may I ask if your inn is full Miss Lyon? I’m looking for lodgings and all of the inns in the city are crowded.”

“A place to—?”

The girl’s eyes widened as if she was surprised he wanted to stay here. And judging from the way the inn was so empty at dinnertime, that was probably justified. But Zel liked the feel of the inn. It had glass windows, flowers, and a lovely fire.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like a room. I stayed here once before—I think it was here—a long time ago and I have fond memories of this place.”

“Oh. Well this inn was rebuilt…”

Zel blinked at Lyon. The girl blushed.

“I’m sorry. It’s a long story. But yes—we have plenty of rooms. If you’d like to stay here, I can offer you a very reasonable rate. But I’m afraid Erin—the [Innkeeper] is gone so I’m the only one who can serve you. I’ll do my best, but I’m not the best cook.”

“Well, as long as it’s edible I will be quite happy.”

Zel smiled reassuringly at Lyon, and she managed to smile back. He looked down as he felt a wet nose on his leg.

“And I see you’re not all by yourself. Who’s this?”

“Mrsha!”

The Human girl yelped and chased away the Gnoll. But she paused as Zel laughed, and smiled again.

“If you’re willing…then welcome. As I said, my name is Lyonette. This is Mrsha. Welcome…to the Wandering Inn.”

3.24

When the Horns of Hammerad left the city of Remendia, it was, predictably, to a huge fanfare and celebration by the crowds lining the street. At this point, the four adventurers so highly lauded were well and truly sick of the entire affair.

“It’s not even as if there’s anything to cheer about. We’re leaving.”

Yvlon and Pisces nodded in dour agreement as they strode down the streets towards the gates. Ksmvr didn’t reply—he was busy waving. He seemed to enjoy it.

“There’s the wagon. Let’s get on.”

Ceria pointed, and the Horns of Hammerad piled onto the wagon outside of the city. The cheering faded a bit as the crowds realized that the illustrious adventurers, the heroes who’d conquered Albez, weren’t leaving on white stallions or riding away in a carriage.

They were taking a wagon, for good and practical reasons. But it was definitely less fancy and so the adventurers left the city with their eardrums mostly intact.

“Thanks for waiting. Are you headed directly to Celum?”

Ceria addressed the wagon driver, a woman who grinned at her as she flicked her reins to make the two horses begin plodding down the road.

“That’s right. I’ve got a bulk delivery of goods—crops, meat, and so on—that needs to get down there tonight.”

“Oh? Are you part of the Runner’s Guild?”

The woman clearly was no Runner, but the Guild sometimes hired slower modes of transport to deliver goods the old-fashioned way when there weren’t enough Runners or there was too much to carry. The wagon driver snorted gently.

“No—Merchant’s Guild. We handle all the mundane traffic. You’ll never see a Runner stoop to carrying this stuff. Of course, up north the damn Runner’s Guilds have bags of holding and so their Runners can still beat our prices. But this close to the south us [Merchants] and [Traders] have the monopoly on transport.”

The half-Elf nodded. It wasn’t like she’d asked for an explanation, but guild rivalries were a touchy thing. And the Runner’s Guild wasn’t exactly popular—adventurers had their issues with them, as did [Merchants] and other groups like the Mage’s Guild and so on.

“Well, so long as we get to Celum before dark, we’ll be happy.”

“No fear of that. Truth be told, I wouldn’t be doing this run at all if you lot hadn’t decided to hitch a ride. All these Goblin attacks make it far too dangerous—but the Horns of Hammerad shouldn’t have any problems, right?”

Ceria could only smile crookedly at that.

“Hopefully we don’t see an army.”

So saying, she retreated back to the mostly-filled wagon. Pisces was sitting atop a bag of what was probably potatoes, Yvlon had made herself comfortable on some boxes that she wouldn’t squish, and Ksmvr was sitting with his legs dangling off the back of the wagon. Ceria joined Yvlon on the boxes.

For a while there was silence. The Horns of Hammerad were tired, if not physically so early in the day, then mentally. After a while though, Pisces felt compelled to break the silence. As always.

“What I fail to understand is why those fo—those confused denizens of Remendia—felt the need to cheer our departure. To what end? We are leaving, not arriving in splendor and triumph.”

Ceria sighed. But it was Yvlon who replied. She frowned vaguely at Pisces, but had no real rancor in her tone. She and Pisces might be fairly incompatible, but they were teammates now.

“We’re heroes to them, Pisces. Don’t tell me you’ve never dreamed of seeing a team of adventurers as a child? They wanted to give us a sendoff worthy of the heroes they thought we were. I’m almost ashamed that we disappointed their expectations.”

Pisces sniffed, but made no comment. Ceria just shrugged as she made herself more comfortable on her seat. She drew the wool cloak around her body closer to herself, shivering at the cold winter winds.

“At some point they’ve got to realize that even heroes are practical. Besides, it’s not as if we could afford a carriage or mounts. Not that Ksmvr would be able to ride a horse.”

Ksmvr looked up from his study of the landscape and nodded.

“That is correct. Thank you for noticing, Captain Ceria.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Pisces rolled his eyes and smirked, but Yvlon treated him to a disapproving glance and he swallowed the comment he was about to make. Instead he looked back towards the city, already growing distant as the wagon pulled itself down the road at a good pace. The driver might have had a Skill that allowed the horses to move faster, Ceria reflected.

“I wonder, would all those cheering people believe that we are destitute?”

Yvlon looked blank.

“Destitute?”

“Broke.”

Ceria sighed. Pieces could have used a simpler word, but then he wouldn’t be Pisces.

“I doubt it. After all that coin we received, who’d believe that? But if we hadn’t gotten this deal to guard the wagon in exchange for transport, we’d be walking right now.”

That made everyone go silent for a moment. Yvlon just sighed, and stared down at her arms. She wasn’t wearing her plate armor—it had been too badly damaged to save and they hadn’t had enough coin to buy more. Instead, she was wearing leather, except along her arms which were still fused with the silvery metal.

“Do you think we gave Ryoka too much coin?”

“Perhaps.”

Ceria stared at the snowy landscape as they passed by. In the distance, she saw a village filled with a few moving shapes.

“There’s no such thing as too much gold when it comes to paying [Mages]. She’ll need a lot to get accurate, speedy work done.”

“And we should have had enough to live comfortably if it weren’t for those extortionate fees.”

Pisces put that in with a scowl. Yvlon looked unhappy as well.

“I know. We should have considered that, but neither Ceria nor I had ever heard of the Guild’s taxes until this point.”

That was true. Ceria had been just as surprised as the others when they’d found out that the Adventurer’s Guild demanded a ten percent cut of the spoils gained from a dungeon raid or a particularly lucrative assignment. It did seem like extortion in a way—the Guild already took a chunk out of every assignment they offered and made money from referring adventurers and selling their own products.

But on the other hand, membership in the Adventurer’s Guild was free, and they did provide other services. So the Horns of Hammerad had reluctantly paid the steep fees, choosing to pay more coin rather than report the value of the artifacts they’d recovered and have that factored into the fee.

Still, it smarted and took a lot out of their hard-won savings of coin. And when they added the fees for hiring the [Blacksmith] and [Healer] to remove the metal from Yvlon’s arm—not to mention the price of staying in the inn and eating so lavishly for the few days they’d been in the city—well, that was how the Horns of Hammerad found themselves back to square one.

Which was to say, broke. They had a few silver coins left, but all of their remaining coin and the valuable artifacts they’d found were with Ryoka, in the north.

Did Ceria regret gambling everything on her friend? A little bit, she had to admit. Still…

“Ryoka will get back to us soon, and she’ll contact us when she’s done with Lady Magnolia. She might be appraising our artifacts as we speak.”

Yvlon looked slightly doubtful.

“If you say so. You know her best, Ceria. I only met her once before. She seemed honorable—but hotheaded. Are you sure she won’t waste the coin or…make a mistake with it?”

Pisces and Ksmvr turned to look at Ceria as well. She blinked, realizing that none of the other adventurers in her group knew Ryoka that well, even Pisces. True, he’d healed her legs, but he didn’t know her any better than the others.

“She is. Hotheaded, I mean. She’s prickly and arrogant and she’s not exactly easy to deal with all of the time. But she is brave, Yvlon. She went into the crypts to rescue me and she’s certainly no coward. We can trust her. Calruz did, and you know he wouldn’t trust anyone who wasn’t totally honorable. Actually…Ryoka’s a lot like a female Calruz.”

Yvlon snorted at that, but Pisces and Ksmvr just exchanged a confused glance. Ceria’s heart twinged as she realized…neither of them knew who Calruz was, either. Pisces probably didn’t even recognize the Minotaur’s name.

“Well, we’ll wait for her then. She’s a friend of Erin Solstice, so I suppose I shall place my trust in her capabilities.”

That was Pisces’ conclusion. He sat back on his bag of potatoes and shifted around for a moment. Then he looked at Ceria.

“On the topic of spoils however, I wonder. If you’re not planning on doing any studying, why not lend me that spellbook, Springwalker? I’d only borrow it for the duration of the journey…”

“No.”

Ceria paused as she opened her pack. She pulled out the spellbook, the burnt half of a spellbook rather, and opened it carefully to the first page. It was her greatest treasure, now, far more important than anything else she’d ever owned. Yvlon rolled her eyes and Ksmvr scooped up some snow as the argument between the two [Mages] resumed.

“Oh come now. I won’t need it for long—and you get sick when reading while in motion. Let me see it.”

“My spellbook, Pisces. That was the deal.”

He scowled at her.

“But that—I only meant—”

“I get the first spellbook we find, in exchange for the ring. You agreed, and so this is mine. Deal with it.”

Ceria stared down at the page filled with glowing words and symbols. She had no idea what it meant—like most high-level magical spellbooks, this one was written in a combination of regular text and magical formulas. However, the words that were meant to describe a spell’s use and other details were written in a language Ceria didn’t know. She could only try and decipher the magical instructions, which were written in a universal language for [Mages].

The trouble was…Ceria wasn’t certain what tier the spell she was staring at was, but it was certainly far above her capabilities. So were all the spells in the book—the mage had obviously been extraordinarily high-level, and so the spells were the most complex Ceria had ever seen. She wasn’t even certain of whether she was on the first page of the spell or midway through—that was how hard it was to understand.

“But this is completely unfair. If you compare such a trove of magical knowledge to the paltry ring—surely you understand my position. Springwalker, I implore you. We could study it together. Surely two minds are better than—”

Pisces stopped whining and ducked as Ceria pointed her skeletal finger. A snowball coalesced out of the air and shot past his ear. He sat up and Ceria kept reading.

That was the Horns of Hammerad. They sat on the wagon, Pisces sulking, Ceria reading, frowning and chewing at her hair, Yvlon staring at the landscape and Ksmvr playing with the snow.

They had gone into Albez and made their way through a trapped dungeon. True, they’d nearly died and lost a lot of the treasure to the final trap, but they’d survived. And now they were…

What? Ceria frowned as she tried to concentrate on the spell. Were they better than they had been? They were teammates, now, that was certain. They’d faced death once, and so they were a stronger group.

But was that all? They’d actually lost a lot of combat strength, she felt. Yvlon was injured. She could still wield a sword, albeit with some stiffness, but her armor was gone and her arms would need a master-class [Healer] to fix. Or a spell, neither of which the Horns of Hammerad could afford.

They had a spellbook, but Ceria couldn’t make heads or tails of it for the moment and she doubted that Pisces, genius though he was, would have better luck. Ryoka had their hard-won artifacts, and while they might turn out to be earth-shatteringly powerful, and while Ceria would eventually learn all the spells in the spellbook, it was all deferred rewards. Right here and now, they were no better than they had been. Worse, in fact.

And that was concerning for one reason. Ceria put down the book of spells, making Pisces look up, and voiced her concerns to her team.

“I know we agreed to escort Erin back to Liscor. But are we sure that’s wise at the moment?”

The other three Horns of Hammerad looked up. None of them needed an explanation. Yvlon frowned as she ran her fingers across the smooth metal in her arms—the [Blacksmith] had helped sand the rough edges of the metal after she had cut most of it away, but it still had to be uncomfortable, especially in the cold.

“I don’t know. Honestly, I wouldn’t worry normally. We’re more than capable of taking on any normal group of bandits or monsters, but all the rumors of Goblin armies we’ve been hearing recently have me worried.”

Ksmvr nodded.

“If the reports of a Goblin Lord are true, we should be cautious. Even raiding parties sent out from such a force would number in the hundreds.”

Ceria grimaced.

“I doubt Erin’s in danger in Celum, at least if the Goblin Lord’s main army isn’t there. Every city has enchantments on their walls and they can normally hold out for a while. I just don’t understand how Esthelm fell in a day. That makes no sense.”

Pisces just shrugged. He seemed less concerned than the others by the countless stories they’d heard of Goblins attacking villages and even towns and cities.

“Goblin Lords are notoriously powerful. If one is truly present—and I cast aspersions on the rumors of his existence—then he could well have overwhelmed the city’s defenses with a sneak attack. Either way, his army is not a concern—word will spread when it marches. Rather, we should be worrying about Goblin war bands, as Ksmvr has said.”

Yvlon nodded seriously.

“We might be able to escape or fend them off if we encounter them on the road—but that depends on how many spells you and Pisces know. Ksmvr and I can’t fight a horde like that. But what worries me is Erin herself. Would we then be taking her into danger, bringing her to Liscor, closer to where the Goblin Lord might be?”

Ksmvr nodded, but Pisces just smirked and Ceria had to laugh at the irony of the question.

“Liscor? Hah. It’s safer than Celum, Yvlon. Erin’s close enough that she could run into the city if a Goblin force came calling. And as for them getting past Liscor’s walls…not a chance. That city’s famous from the Antinium Wars—it’s withstood sieges from the Antinium and a [Necromancer] far more capable than Pisces.”

“I object. That statement is fundamentally correct, but flawed in its assumptions. I—”

“Shut up, Pisces. The walls of Liscor are high, and they’ve got far more powerful enchantments on them. So long as they actually close the gates, they’ll hold out during a siege for months at least. And there’s two Gold-rank teams in the city. With them on the walls, even a Goblin Lord would think twice before assailing the city.”

“I see.”

Ksmvr and Yvlon nodded. The female [Warrior] looked towards the horizon, still tapping her fingers on the metal in her arm.

“So it seems like we only have two things to worry about. How to get Erin to Liscor safely, and what we should do while we’re waiting for Ryoka to contact us.”

Ceria nodded. But Ksmvr had something else in mind. He stared back at Remendia, now a distant spot on the horizon.

“Do you think there will be crowds cheering us in Celum? I enjoyed the ones in Remendia.”

Pisces made a dismissive sound of disgust.

“I hope not. So much noise gets on my nerves.”

He paused.

“Although…mindless adulation is not without its merits. We should expect at least a small gathering; word will have spread of our exploits and no doubt there will be a commotion when we are recognized.”

“True, let’s just get through it as best we can.”

Yvlon smiled crookedly, but Ceria thought she looked a bit pleased at the idea. For her part, the half-Elf considered that she wouldn’t mind the attention. It was inconvenient of course after a while, but…

“Just so long as it doesn’t get to our heads. Fame is fleeting as adventurers, let’s not forget that.”

“Certainly not.”

“I will commit this to memory.”

“Indeed.”

The Horns of Hammerad settled back in their cart, nodding to each other. They fell into silence once more, waiting, contemplatively staring at the horizon towards the city of Celum, still invisible in the distance. The only sound was a snort that came from the wagon driver as the horses plodded onwards through the snow.

—-

There were no cheering crowds in Celum, nor any parades, much to the disappointment of all the Horns of Hammerad. In fact, no one even batted an eyelid when the adventurers made their way through the gate.

“The Horns of Hammerad? Hm. Your name sounds familiar. You have anything to declare? No? Move on through, then.”

Dismayed, the adventurers walked past the first guard at the gates. It wasn’t as if they’d expected a huge reception. But how come no one had noticed their party’s name? Usually the exploits of adventuring teams were all gossiped about fiercely in all the local cities.

Either word hadn’t spread yet, or no one cared about a Silver-ranked team of adventurers, no matter what they’d done.

Then again…it did seem like the [Guardsmen] manning the gate had a lot on their minds. They all looked sleep-deprived, as if they’d been pulling two shifts instead of one.

Ceria stopped to talk to one of them in the gatehouse. He was mumbling to himself in a corner of the room—she hesitated as she drew near and heard what he was saying.

“To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there’s the rub;

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause: there’s the respect

That makes calamity of so long life…”

Was he really that sleep-deprived? There was an odd cadence to his words. Ceria paused, wondering if she should find someone else to talk to, but she interrupted the man’s rambling self-reflection anyways.

“Excuse me, guardsman.”

He jumped and stared at her. His eyes were bloodshot, and the scraggly mustache on his face could have used some trimming.

“I’m sorry, can I help you Miss…?”

He noticed her robes and her hand. To his credit he only stared for a few seconds.

“Are you an adventurer? Do you have anything to report? Monsters? Or something to declare?”

“No. I was just wondering. Is there any news? Any bad news?”

“About what?”

The fuzzy-lipped man blinked at her.

“The Goblins.”

He blinked a few more times before the words trickled into whatever part of his brain was still thinking. For some reason he took a pose.

“‘There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.’ Ah…no, Miss. The Goblins haven’t shown up near Celum.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Ceria backed away from him and rejoined her group. Pisces twirled one finger around his ears as he gestured at the guardsman. Ceria just shrugged and led them into the city.

“Now, where’s Erin? Ryoka told me she was staying at a room in…which inn was it?”

“The Frenzied Hare, I think.”

It was a surreal experience, walking through a city where no one stared at them or came over to talk or shake their hands. Were the adventurers disappointed? Yes, a little bit, but at the same time it felt good to be normal again.

They were no heroes, and while they liked to be treated as one, it wasn’t why they’d become adventurers in the first place. True, many young men and women of every species joined for exactly that reason; to become rich and famous. But after they spent their first week shivering in the mud and rain while insects crawled all over them, or come face-to-face with a monster with too many teeth, such people usually quit.

True adventurers, Ceria reflected, wanted something other than just fame and fleeting fortune. Although that was a nice side-effect of success.

It wasn’t hard to find the Frenzied Hare. For some reason everyone the Horns of Hammerad asked could tell them exactly where the inn was.

“Going to see the night’s show? Good luck! I had to stand throughout the entire thing, although I’ll say it was worth it.”

“I’d go back again, but I’ve work early the next day. Maybe when the next play comes out…”

These remarks meant nothing to the Horns of Hammerad, but it reinforced Ceria and Pisces’ belief that Erin was staying at the inn.

“After all, if something strange is going on that girl probably had something to do with it.”

Ceria nodded at Pisces’ comment and both Yvlon and Ksmvr were forced to agree. That was how they found themselves pushing the door to the inn open just before the sun set over the rooftops in the city.

To their surprise, the humble-looking inn was packed. The Horns of Hammerad opened the door and were treated to a heaving room full of people, crowding every table, talking, eating, so many that the adventurers had to edge carefully into the room to avoid stepping on toes.

It was a strange, surreal sight. The guests sat in eager groups, people who looked like they didn’t even know each other, willingly sharing tables and talking excitedly about the night’s play. It was an odd word they used. ‘Play’. They spoke of it as if it were something different, or a magical word, and it made the Horns of Hammerad glance at each other in confusion.

More aspects of the inn didn’t make sense. For instance, why was there a curtain on one end of the room? There was a good third of the common room that had no tables on it—why was no one sitting there? Ceria stared around, wondering what was going on.

“Do you see anywhere to sit?”

“There.”

Ksmvr spotted a table that was empty and immediately walked towards it. The other five patrons who’d been making a beeline for the table stopped when they saw the Antinium approaching and backed away. Ceria went to sit as well, but she and the other adventurers were stopped by a somewhat stout woman who came rushing over, waving her hands.

“Stop, stop! Please, I don’t know who you are—but even if you are adventurers, I’m afraid all the seats are taken. You’ll have to stand like the rest. You can’t just take over a table…”

She looked nervous, especially when she stared at Ksmvr, but she also sounded like she was ready to chase Ceria and the others away even if they protested.

“Sorry, Mistress. We didn’t know—what’s going on?”

Ceria waved at the crowds. The [Innkeeper], if that was who she was, looked surprised.

“You don’t know? Aren’t you here for the night’s play?”

“What play? You mean with toys? We’re here to see a friend. Erin Solstice. Do you know if she’s staying here?”

The woman’s eyes widened in shock. She glanced back at the kitchen.

“Erin? You want to meet—I’m so sorry, but she’s busy. Cooking. I’ll let her know you asked about her, but if she doesn’t keep working we’ll never get this crowd fed. If you’ll wait until tonight I’m sure—”

Pisces rolled his eyes. Fed up with the woman, he brusquely marched past her and towards the kitchen. She tried to stop him, but Ceria and Yvlon walked past her too.

“Erin?”

Ceria shouted into the open kitchen where the sounds of extreme cooking could be heard. She waited as the woman protectively barred the doorway.

“Erin? Are you in there? It’s me. Ceria! And Yvlon is here as well. We—”

The half-Elf heard a shout from inside the kitchen. A moment later a young woman practically ran the older innkeeper over. She shoved the protesting woman aside and then turned to the Horns of Hammerad. Erin Solstice, covered in flour, sweat, and a strange red paste Ceria vaguely recognized as tomato sauce spread her arms wide and rushed at her friend.

“Ceria! Yvlon!”

She practically tackled the two women, hugging them fiercely. Ceria laughed as people turned and looked, and Yvlon smiled as she gave Erin a welcoming hug. The girl turned, her eyes widening as she smiled.

“Ksmvr! And…you.”

She paused when she got to Pisces.

“Hey, you.”

He sniffed, hurt, but then Erin smiled and hugged him as well, much to the young man’s astonishment.

“You’re all okay! And alive! And—”

Erin saw Yvlon’s arms and gasped in shock. Yvlon opened her mouth to explain, but then the innkeeper was interrupting, trying to pull Erin back towards the kitchen.

“You know these adventurers, Erin dear? Can’t you have your reunion later? Folks are calling out for food!”

“They can wait. You cook if they’re so busy! Or get another inn to serve food! Shoo!”

Erin shoved the innkeeper away and then turned back to her friends. She stared at them, looking almost teary-eyed with relief.

“What happened? I was so worried! Ryoka only said—well, she left a message for me that you were in Remendia! Did you find the dungeon? She said you cleared it—”

Their reunion was attracting stares. Only naturally—Ksmvr might have been allowed into the city, but he was still an Antinium, and Yvlon’s arms were getting their own attention. It didn’t take long for people to put two and two together, even as excited as they were for this ‘play’.

“The Horns of Hammerad! The Conquerers of Albez!”

A huge cheer went up, although half of the guests probably didn’t even know what it was about. This was a crowd that would cheer anything, but soon there were people surrounding the Horns of Hammerad, talking excitedly.

At precisely the wrong time. Ceria, Pisces, Yvlon, and Ksmvr found themselves mobbed, and after a few minutes of chaos, Ceria managed to duck into the kitchen with Erin.

“You’re famous!”

That was what Erin said when they had a moment to speak. The hubbub was muted through the door, and Ceria sat against a kitchen counter, breathing heavily.

“Yeah, I guess. It’s still surprising—how are you here, Erin? The last time we met, you were in Liscor, nearly a hundred miles away from here! What’s this Ryoka said about Toren? Is there a problem?”

Erin’s face fell for a second. She turned around and Ceria noticed she was making food. Strange, circular sheets of dough slathered with pasted tomatoes and covered with cheese and meat. Ceria had eaten this food before, but it was still weird to her. What was it called again? Pizza?

“Yeah. He—it’s complicated. I’m making pizzas right now—sorry, I’ve got to keep working. But it’s great to know you’re okay. Except Yvlon! What happened to her arms?”

“It’s a long story.”

Ceria watched as Erin took a completed pizza—golden brown cheese glistening on top of the baked bread—out of the stone oven. Her stomach rumbled, and Erin laughed.

“You’re hungry! Well, good, because I’m making a ton of food! And you’re just in time! The play’s about to start! Oh, right—you don’t even know what’s happened. Well, just wait and see! You can watch it tonight. I’ll make Agnes get a table for you—unless you have another inn you’re staying at?”

The girl took a knife and diced the pizza up into gooey sections of eight which she placed onto plates. She turned to Ceria, smiling hugely.

“Why not stay here instead? But you’re probably staying at the best inn—that’s okay! I can visit you and besides, the beds here aren’t that great. But you should stay for dinner! It’ll be fun, I promise!”

Embarrassed, Ceria had to interject. She coughed as she confessed to Erin.

“We don’t uh, actually have the coin to stay at a good inn, Erin. We were hoping you could…”

The girl’s eyes widened in shock.

“You didn’t get any money from going through the dungeon? That’s terrible! Everyone was saying how great it was, but adventuring doesn’t pay, huh? You can stay at my inn—I mean, the inn I’m helping to run! Free of charge! I’ll be making pizza tonight and I’ll make a huge breakfast tomorrow!”

Ceria would have liked to protest, but she and the other Horns of Hammerad really didn’t have any room to argue. She could only smile and hug Erin. The other girl hugged her back, tightly. They stood in silence for a moment, countless words unspoken, just happy to see each other again.

Then the door opened and let in spilling noise and confusion. Erin turned back to her cooking after giving the distressed woman named Miss Agnes orders, and Ceria and the other Horns of Hammerad found themselves seated just in time to witness a play.

What was it? The Horns of Hammerad sat at a table right in front of the stage, staring in confusion at the men, women, and one female Drake all dressed up as if they were [Lords] and [Ladies]. They strutted about the stage, and then one began to speak. He declaimed to the audience, who went magically silent as they watched him, only pausing to eat the hot pizza and sip from their mugs.

And then…two Humans, a man and a woman, both dressed as [Guardsmen]—Ceria thought they actually were [Guardsmen]…met in the center of the stage. One called out to the other, who stood at clear attention.

“Who’s there?”

The woman on watch turned and put her hand on her sword, frowning deeply.

“Nay, answer me: stand, and reveal yourself.”

A briefest pause, and then the man cried out.

“Long live the [King]!”

The woman palpably relaxed. She took her hand away from her sword.

“Bernardo?”

The man nodded as he approached.

“He.”

What happened? One second the two were talking, and Ceria was wondering what in the name of fungus was going on, and then—

And then the play began. The Horns of Hammerad stared at the actors as they began to act, and realized as they were sitting what that word meant. Acting. Telling a story. Of course they’d heard of performers and storytellers and even the occasional reenactment of an event, but this? This was different. They sat in stunned silence as on the stage of the Frenzied Hare, the people in silly costumes came to life and told a story.

For Ceria’s part, she sat with a slice of hot pizza in front of her, chewing slowly and relishing the new taste. She tried to follow the performance on stage. What was this about some kind of revenge plot? Apparently the character – some [Prince] with an odd Human name – was trying to avenge his dead father, who’d come back as a ghost to ask him to slay his killer.

Human [Kings] and [Princes] and betrayal and death. Ceria had trouble keeping up with the plot in truth, but she felt mired by the sheer depravity of it all. The people on stage backstabbed and poisoned each other, dragging all down into death in the end.

It reminded her of Terandria, actually, and the rumors she’d heard of the games of politics played by each nation. She didn’t like the premise of the play, but she couldn’t look away. And the food was good.

But if she was the least-riveted by the performance, the same could not be said for Pisces. The instant the play began the mage was fixated, to the point where he actually stopped eating and just focused on the play.

He sat hunched forwards, eyes intent on each character as they spoke. Occasionally Pisces would sit back and nod his head or shake it sadly as they delivered complex verses in Shakespearean prose, or roll his eyes and smirk when a joke was spoken that passed over the audience’s head.

To Ceria’s right, Yvlon sat tensely in her chair, just as gripped by it. She was entranced too, although in her own way. Yvlon frowned when the premise of the play—a [Lord] who had slain the rightful [King] married the [Queen] to usurp the throne—was revealed. Thereafter she sat rigid in her seat, clearly rooting for the main character of the play to uncover the truth and bring down the traitorous villain.

And on the other side of the table? Ksmvr sat still, his slice of pizza drooping in his hand, staring as the tragedy unfolded. He seemed fascinated rather than emotionally moved, but Ceria didn’t see him look away once.

She suspected a lot of what was going on was passing right over—or perhaps between—the antennae on the top of his head. But he was a keen observer nonetheless, and sat almost completely still as he watched the play reach its conclusion.

When it was over, when the young [Prince] lay dying and the rest of the cast lay sprawled out on the floor and his friend called out an end to the sorry tale, the audience leapt to their feet. They cheered the actors who stood and bowed repeatedly, and only then did Ceria find out the name of the play. She had missed it when getting her pizza, but now the name of the play was on everyone’s lips as they talked excitedly about the story and called for more food and drink.

It was called Hamlet.

—-

It was close to midnight before the inn finally cleared. The people left, most drunk and almost all half-asleep on their feet. The [Actors] had already left. Ceria had seen one of them—the [Guardsman] with the fuzzy mustache who’d played Hamlet—stumbling off, looking partly dead. She wondered how he could work his job and act like this every night.

The [Innkeeper] Miss Agnes and the staff of [Barmaids]—four of them, all needed to keep up with the crowds—had long since retired. Only Erin remained. She sat in the messy room, looking exhausted and happy. And with her sat the Horns of Hammerad.

There was a different kind of feel to the air as they sat, talking quietly and eating the leftover pizza Erin had made. The excitement from the play had gone—Pisces had asked Erin many questions about it, as had Ksmvr. She’d told them all about the first few performances of the tale of Romeo and Juliet, and how it had changed the city.

The play was a new, amazing thing. The tale enacted on stage was a classic. After the first night, the new [Actors] had put on repeated performances, each time filling the Frenzied Hare to the brim with eager, paying guests. Other inns had immediately tried to entice the performers to their inns, but the troupe had stayed here.

And of course, where success came, countless people followed, wanting to perform the play themselves, become [Actors]…Erin told the amazed Horns of Hammerad that other groups were already imitating the play, and even going to other cities to perform.

But the [Actors] with the highest levels were by far Wesle and Jasi and the original crew of people who kept performing. They had already gained a handful of Skills and they had been bitten repeatedly by the acting bug. So Erin had taught them another play, Hamlet, which they were performing each night to great success.

“I just don’t know what I’m going to do. They want to learn all the plays! And they said they want to create a travelling performance—just like Shakespeare did! It’s so wild!”

“Who’s Shakespeare? The one who wrote this play? Where does he live? Can I meet him?”

Pisces chewed the crust of the pizza furiously as he stared at Erin. Ksmvr was busy eating some raw dough—he was obsessed with the stuff, and only he could eat it with the charm against food poisoning.  Erin just waved Pisces away, shaking her head.

“He’s long dead. And besides—there’s just so much to do! I’d like to stay, but doing these plays is exhausting! I can teach Wesle and the others the plays I know—some of them have [Perfect Recall] like me. But I just wanted to show them a play, you know? I didn’t expect it to get this big.”

“Forget famous. This will sweep across the world.”

Ceria sat back in her chair, amazed at the idea. She could already see the play becoming a huge hit in Terandria. Why, every [Lord] would want to put on a performance. How much money could be made from it? She couldn’t even imagine what would happen next.

Erin just shrugged. She hadn’t wanted to talk about the play at all. She stared at Yvlon’s arms again as the woman dozed in her chair.

“I can’t believe what happened to you guys. You’ve been through so much. And Ryoka…I thought she would come back with you.”

“I think she’s okay.”

Ceria tried to reassure Erin. She honestly had no idea what Ryoka was going through, or why she’d attracted the attention of Magnolia Reinhart, but Erin looked worried.

“She’ll be fine. She’s tough. And she has that Frost Faerie with her.”

“Oh yeah! Ivolethe!”

The young woman brightened up, as if having a Frost Faerie follow you around was a good thing. She stared at the others and sighed.

“I’m just so glad you’re alright. So glad. I was worried.”

Ceria smiled slightly guiltily at Erin.

“We did it. It cost us a lot, but we did it.”

Pisces and Ksmvr nodded. Yvlon blinked and nodded as well, automatically.

“What—yes. Yes we did. And we have come here to repay the debt.”

“Not that we have any gold to pay you with.”

Pisces’ sardonic remark made Erin wrinkle her nose at him.

“I don’t care about that! I’m just glad you’re okay. Besides, Ryoka has all your stuff, right? When she comes back you can give me coin. Or a magical sword. That would be cool. Or the bag of holding! That would be so useful!”

“We owe you a great deal. We’ll find something worth repaying you with, even if it’s only a bucket full of gold.”

Ceria meant every word. Without Erin’s help they would have never had the coin to get to Albez, let alone found Ksmvr and joined up the way they had. Erin smiled, and then looked wistfully towards the window.

“And now that you’re here, you’ll help me go back, right? To Liscor?”

The others at the table sat up. Pisces cast a glance towards Ceria and she hesitated.

“I think we can. But it’s dangerous.”

“That’s okay. I’m used to danger.”

No one could disagree with that. Even so, Ceria hesitated. She looked around the inn. It was still messy, but it was a nice place, in its own way.

“Are you sure you couldn’t stay here? At least for a month or two? Celum isn’t bad.”

Erin looked at Ceria seriously.

“No, it isn’t bad. But Celum…it’s not Liscor, you know? All my friends are in Liscor—well, you’re here but you know what I mean. But my inn’s there, and so is Mrsha and Lyon and…I have to go back. Even if it’s dangerous. You get that, right?”

The half-Elf breathed out slowly as Ksmvr nodded across the table.

“I believe I do. We do. And we’ll help you get back, but we’ve got to be careful. But Erin, there’s one thing you haven’t talked about. How did you get here?”

Erin had been smiling at Ceria, but now her smile vanished in a flash. She looked down at the crumbs in the plate and drew a finger through them.

“Toren.”

Next to Ceria, Pisces sat up, looking suddenly alert and slightly worried. Ceria scooted closer to the table, staring at Erin.

“Yeah. Ryoka mentioned him. What about your skeleton, Erin? What happened?”

The girl looked at Pisces.

“He’s your creation, isn’t he? Can you tell where he is now?”

Pisces hesitated, then shook his head.

“I’m not linked to him at the moment. I can sense him, but only vaguely. He’s…to the south, a good distance away.”

“Okay. That makes sense. It…matches with what I’ve heard.”

Erin’s face was troubled. Ceria saw Yvlon staring at Pisces and the way the mage stared hard at Erin’s face.

“What did my creation do, exactly?”

“I’ll tell you all I know. But it—it makes no sense.”

Briefly, Erin told the adventurers everything that had led up to her arriving at Celum. Ceria watched Pisces’ face. It changed only a little as Erin spoke, but when she talked about Toren disappearing he glanced down at his hands.

“I don’t know what happened. I just fell asleep…and then I was all the way over here. Toren must have dragged me here in the sled when I slept. But he left me in the middle of nowhere.”

“I see.”

The Human [Mage] tapped the table, seeming to think. He looked…slightly worried, Ceria thought, and a foreboding feeling appeared in her chest.

“Pisces. What happened to Erin’s skeleton?”

“I have a number of theories but…it would be best to collect more information first. Miss Erin, have you heard anything else of your skeleton?”

Erin nodded, and now she looked…sad. Terribly sad.

“I kept asking Wesle—the [Guardsman]—about him. At first there was nothing. But…the other day he told me a skeleton on the road was attacking people. He killed a bunch of travelers and buried them in the snow. A group of adventurers nearly got killed by him, and afterwards they found all the dead people. Over twenty of them.”

All four people in the room stared at Pisces. He raised his hands defensively.

“I didn’t order him to do that!”

“Well then, what the hell happened!?”

Ceria stood up in her chair. She pointed a finger at Pisces, who flinched.

“That sure sounds like your spell failing! Did Toren lose control somehow? Why did he start killing people?”

“I don’t know. I have an idea but—”

“That’s not all.”

Erin interrupted the two. They stared at her. Erin stared at them in the darkness, her face only lit by the few candles burning low in the inn.

“There’s more. A bunch of reports just came from Esthelm.”

Yvlon stirred in her seat, looking confused.

“Esthelm? I thought it was destroyed.”

Erin nodded.

“It was. But apparently a bunch of people survived. They managed to retake the city—they fought off another army of Goblins and a bunch of undead. Apparently, a Goblin army came by just as all the dead in the city began to rise. And the dead were being led by a skeleton. One who could fight like a swordsman and had purple eyes.”

Pisces froze in his seat. Ceria stared at him, but Erin wasn’t looking at either of them.

“The people apparently were being led by this [Knight] guy. He saved them. Everyone’s talking about him. The Savior of Esthelm. A Gold-rank adventurer named Ylawes Byres.”

Yvlon froze in her seat, eyes wide. Ceria stared at her.

“Is that a relative of yours, Yvlon?”

She vaguely remembered the name from somewhere. Where? Then Ceria remembered.

The pit. The pit of insanity. At one point Yvlon had claimed to be Ylawes. Now the woman closed her eyes. When she opened them, she smiled ruefully.

“I know Ylawes. He’s my older brother. He must have journeyed south to see me. He normally works far to the north, around our family estates.”

Everyone stared at Yvlon. She just shrugged, tired.

“Surprised? I’m only a Silver-rank, but my brother’s quite famous up north. His team—the Silver Swords—often take up causes like this one. Esthelm’s just another one of his triumphs.”

“I’ve heard of the Silver Swords.”

It wasn’t as if Ceria knew all of the adventurer teams by heart, but the Gold-rank ones tended to stick in one’s memory. But she’d never known Yvlon had a brother. Then again, she’d never asked. It was surprising to say the least, but Yvlon didn’t seem to want to talk about her brother at the moment. She looked at Erin.

“Putting aside my brother…you said Toren was spotted at Esthelm?”

Erin nodded unhappily.

“Yeah. Leading the undead. They killed a lot of people. The attacking Goblins too, but a lot of people. It was definitely him.”

She looked at Pisces, helplessly.

“Why did he do it? Why did he run off and…”

All eyes were on the mage. He shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable. Twice he glanced at Ceria, but then he sighed and sat up in his chair.

“Numerous theories come to mind. He could have been controlled, or simply gone rampant if my spells failed. However, both outcomes are unlikely in the extreme. My best theory is that he simply…grew too powerful for your commands to control him. And he decided to go his own way.”

“How?”

The word came sharply from Ceria. She stared at Pisces, heart beating faster.

“Toren’s just a skeleton, isn’t he?”

She remembered the skeleton’s gaze, almost intelligent. Almost alive. Pisces hesitated.

“He may have developed the capacity for thought.”

“Toren?”

Erin looked incredulous. So did Yvlon. Ksmvr just stared silently at Pisces as the mage nodded.

“It can happen. Revenants retain the personality of their former selves. Toren is no Revenant of course, but he could have gained the…ability to think.”

“Gained.”

The word was heavy on her tongue. Ceria couldn’t look away from Pisces.

“You keep using words like that. Gain. Grew. But the undead can’t grow. They’re not alive. They can’t change unless a [Necromancer] alters them in some way. Nothing can. Unless they can level.”

Pisces stared past Ceria. Silent. Unmoving. Ceria’s pulse was thunder in her ears. She remembered the past. She remembered Wistram, and she gave voice to her fears.

“Toren couldn’t have changed. Unless you did it. You actually did it. You gave him, an undead, the ability to level.”

Erin’s eyes grew wide across the table. Yvlon sat up straight, and even Ksmvr grew shocked. Ceria just stared at Pisces. He looked ahead, face emotionless. Then, slowly, the façade broke. His lips turned up. He looked at Ceria.

And smiled.

“You bastard!”

Ceria leapt from her chair. She knocked Pisces out of his seat, and slung him to the ground. He gasped as she put her hands around his throat and tried to choke him. Ceria felt him push her hands off him as Pisces backed away, speaking quickly, urgently.

“I didn’t know he would gain any type of sentience! His capability to level up was only meant to be a feature, nothing more!”

“You knew! You gave Erin an undead that could level! Are you insane!?”

Ceria pursued Pisces, ready to punch his brains out. To her surprise, hands grabbed her. Ksmvr used three of his to hold her, and Yvlon grabbed her other arm. Erin was just sitting at the table, looking blank and shocked.

“Yvlon!”

“Calm down, Ceria. We need to know just what Pisces did before you beat him to a pulp.”

The look in the woman’s eyes clearly said a beating was in order either way. Pisces gulped, but began to explain. He was too eager to do so. Ceria glared at him across the table as the [Necromancer]’s eyes lit up as he told the group what he had done.

“Yes, Ceria is right. I created an undead that could level. Toren, as Erin named him. He was just an experimental prototype—something meant to repay her and guard her inn. But I wanted to see if he could level as well, so I gave him to Erin. I never expected him to gain sentience, though.”

“He can think?”

Erin stared at Pisces, looking horrified. He hesitated, and then nodded.

“He must be able to, to abandon you and do what he has done. Had you noticed him taking independent action or…questioning your orders?”

“I didn’t—I thought it was just him being weird. But now…”

Erin stared at her hands, blinking.

“I—yeah. He did. He was acting so odd lately and I was going to bug you about it. He can think? He’s alive?”

“And he can level.”

Ceria glared at Pisces. He edged away from her, but it was Yvlon who spoke. The woman looked deeply troubled.

“How? How is that possible? I’ve never heard of a leveling undead, ever. Not even the greatest [Necromancers] could make one.”

“More like none of them were crazy enough to try. Any undead that can level will eventually rebel, just like Golems.”

Ceria glared at Pisces. The young man raised his hands, looking nervous but elated.

“I told you it was possible. I told them all at Wistram. Toren was proof I could do it. But I never expected him to level up quickly enough to subvert my control. I did check, you know, whenever I saw him.”

“Not well enough. Look what’s happened!”

“How, though?”

Ksmvr was the one to speak. He stared at Pisces, looking troubled.

“Is comrade Pisces truly that great of a prodigy? Or is his level high enough that he is able to create such a miraculous undead through some Skill?”

The half-Elf shook her head, smiling darkly.

“He didn’t learn how to make leveling undead by himself. He’s not that smart.”

Pisces opened his mouth and then shrank back in his chair as everyone glared at him. Ceria explained.

“A Golem taught him. A Truestone Construct; one of the most powerful types of Golems in the world taught him an incomplete formula for creating beings capable of leveling up. And he—completed it.”

“So you made a thinking, leveling undead.”

Yvlon’s eyes could have bored a hole through the mage. He shook his head.

“I was taught a theoretical piece of magic, it’s true. But it’s still not perfect. It wasn’t even certain my creation—Toren—would be able to level.”

“But he did. And he learned to think!”

“Evidently.”

Pisces stared uncomfortably at Erin, and then away. She had a haunted, horrified look on her face.

“I made him do chores. But he could think the entire time?”

“Erin…”

Ceria reached out and touched her friend. Erin shuddered, and then stared at Pisces angrily.

“Okay, he was alive. But why did he start killing people? I never told him to do that! He just did chores for me!”

Pisces spread his hands out, helplessly.

“He probably wished to. I can only speculate, but as I told you once, Toren is not meant for peaceful activities. He may have rebelled out of his desire to fight.”

“Why? He’s not evil! I mean—he wasn’t made that way, right? All he did was do chores! How could he just kill like that?”

Erin tried to snap her fingers, but couldn’t. She was trembling. Pisces closed his eyes, when he opened them, he looked regretful for a moment.

“It is what he was made to do. You see—I made him to fight, to protect. I imbued him with the capability for rational thought in the fashion of Golems. Problem-solving skills; but nothing more, certainly not a groundwork for actual cognition. But I never gave him anything else.”

Erin turned towards Ceria. The half-Elf crossed her arms.

“He didn’t give him a conscience. Or…morality.”

“What? Why not?”

Pisces shrugged eloquently at Yvlon. She clenched her fist, and Ceria interjected.

“He can’t. He doesn’t know how.”

“Then why make a creature like that? You’re just inviting trouble!”

Ceria wasn’t about to defend Pisces on that. He just looked at her, though, haughty and unrepentant.

“Cognita has no moral compass. She functions well enough without one.”

“She’s a monster too. She’s killed more [Mages] than any other being in the world, I’ll wager. She might be helpful to some, but you know she’ll kill without a qualm as well.”

Pisces nodded reluctantly, but he still didn’t appear convinced what he’d done was wrong. Remorseful, yes, guilty, even. But he looked like he had when he stood in front of the Council of Wistram the day they’d exiled him. He was certain, and it made Ceria sick because at least in some way, he was right.

He’d done it. He’d actually done it. She could hardly bear to look at him.

Pisces turned back to Erin. The young woman was pale. She looked like she was about to vomit. The [Mage] modulated his tone, spoke softly and, for Pisces, gently.

“Let me be clear, Erin. This was not your fault. The error lay with me in underestimating the capability of my creation. Toren was a loyal servant until he grew strong enough to break the orders you and I had given him. Now he is a threat.”

“A killer. He killed people. Men. Women. Children. But he’s also like…a baby, isn’t he?”

“An odd way of looking at it. But I suppose he would be young.”

“Could you change him? Make him…not kill people?”

Erin looked up at Pisces, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. Ceria waited too. Pisces hesitated, but after a moment shook his head regretfully.

“I could stop him, perhaps. But it would be dangerous and all I would be able to do is render him harmless. Ceria is correct: I cannot give him a conscience. I do not know how. No one does.”

“You have to stop him.”

Yvlon said that. She stood up, staring at Pisces and Erin.

“If what you say is true, that skeleton is a huge threat. A thinking undead, one capable of leveling and leading others? It could become a threat capable of taking on Gold-ranked adventurers soon if not stopped.”

“Yeah.”

Erin’s voice was quiet, but her eyes were suddenly focused. Her hands—she kept them on the table, but they trembled as she looked at Pisces.

“Can you stop him?”

“I can.”

The [Necromancer] said it quietly. He looked at Ceria and she understood.

“Severing the link?”

“It’s the easiest way.”

Pisces explained to Erin and the others.

“Erin feeds Toren with her natural mana. No matter how far away she is, he and she are connected. Without her mana, he cannot survive, powerful as he may be. If I cut it, he will cease to…live.”

Silence fell over the room. Yvlon opened her mouth, clearly wanting to tell Pisces to do it now, but she stopped when she saw Erin’s face. Ceria understood, a little bit. For all Erin yelled at her skeleton, Ceria had seen it with her since as long as she’d known Erin. It was Erin’s…

What? Friend was too strong a word. The girl had thought Toren was a mindless tool for the entire time. But she’d relied on him, even liked him. What he was to her couldn’t be explained in words.

And now she had to kill him.

“Perhaps we can track him down.”

That came from Ceria’s mouth. She blinked when she said it, but everyone stared at her and so she spoke, desperately trying to give Erin another option.

“If we set out, we might be able to track him down. You said he was at Esthelm? He may still be in the area. Or we could find him, look for rumors—”

“No. Do it now.”

Erin cut her friend off. She stared at Pisces. The mage stared back, looking as shocked as Ceria felt.

“Now?”

“Yes. Cut Toren’s supply of mana right now. This instant!”

“Are you sure?”

Why was Ksmvr saying that? But the Antinium had the same sense Ceria did. Erin was shuddering. Her face was pale and sweat stood out on her forehead. She was not well. But the look in her eyes was steel.

She spoke quietly to the others.

“He killed people. I asked, and I made sure. Toren killed people. Not just one, not just two, and not in self-defense. He killed them because…because he wanted to. And he’s going to keep killing people if he’s not stopped.”

She stopped, gulped. Erin closed her eyes, but then went on, voice hoarse, choking on her next words.

“If this were a movie…or a play…I’d be the stupid idiot who didn’t stop Toren before he killed thousands of people. He’s already killed dozens, maybe hundreds. And how strong would he become if he kept leveling up? Maybe if I knew I could find him I’d—but I can’t. He’s too far away. And I won’t let him kill anyone else. It has to be now.”

No one could answer her. It was the right decision. Pisces hesitated as Erin walked over to him.

“Do you need to cast a spell or something?”

“No. It’s a simple enough procedure. As the one who cast the spell I can unravel it. It will just take a minute—”

“Do it, then.”

Ceria stared at Pisces. He looked at her, uncertain. She just stared back. See, she wanted to ask him. See what you’ve done?

Pisces looked away. He made no sound, but after a moment laid his hands on Erin’s head. She shifted, once, and then was still.

No sound. No grand show of lights, no mystical chanting. Pisces just moved magic and Ceria saw a thread, thinner than silk and stronger than stone flowing from Erin out into the world. Pisces pulled at it and slowly, the connection broke.

That was it. It was over. He let go of Erin and she stared up at him.

“It’s done? He’s gone?”

“He will be. No undead can live without mana and Toren consumes…consumed more than most.”

“Okay.”

Erin took a few steps away from Pisces. She stared blankly at him, and then looked around the room. Everyone stared at her, Yvlon with a pale face, Ksmvr silently, Pisces full of what might have been regret, and Ceria with no idea what to say.

“I’m tired. I’m gonna go to sleep, okay?”

So saying, Erin began to walk up the stairs. She left the Horns of Hammerad behind and went into the small room that wasn’t hers and crawled onto the bed. She didn’t bother undressing, and lay down in the rough blanket. She put her pillow over her head, and curled up into the smallest ball possible.

She didn’t cry. She couldn’t cry. But something in her heart broke. Erin whispered the words into the night.

“Goodbye.”

She listened, hoping to hear a reply. But all she heard was silence.

3.25

That night, Erin had a nightmare.

It started, as nightmares sometimes do, happily. Erin was dreaming she was back in her inn, with Mrsha and Selys and even Lyonette. She was watching Ryoka put on a play of Hamlet and chasing Lyonette around with a sword, trying to kill her because she was a [Princess].

Generally speaking that would have given the dream away, but Erin was in the dream and only yelled at Lyonette to hurry and get stabbed so she could go offstage and get water. Mrsha was wiggling around in Erin’s lap when she heard the knocking at the door.

Someone knocking? Even in her dream, the idea of someone coming to her inn was unexpected. And Erin didn’t want to have a guest. She wanted to watch Lyonette duel Ryoka with poisoned swords! Bemused and half-annoyed, Erin stood up. She walked over to the door—or rather found herself there without moving her feet, and opened it.

A skeleton stood in the doorway. Toren. Erin opened her mouth to order him, but she stopped.

There was no flame in his eyes. No purple fire—or even the original blue fire of his eyes. Nothing.

She stared into empty sockets. Dead sockets. He was dead.

Erin took a step back. Behind her, the inn vanished. The people in it disappeared. And Toren stood in the doorway.

His eyes began to bleed. Red liquid trickled out of the gaping holes in his head. Erin looked around. She had to clean up the blood. But then she looked down and she saw she was holding a bloody blade in her hands.

“Out, darn spot.”

Only that wasn’t the right line, was it? Was it damn spot? Erin stared down at her hands. Now she was on stage, only she was quoting from Macbeth instead of Hamlet! The crowd in the inn jeered at her and began to throw things. Miss Agnes stood to Erin’s left.

“I told you we didn’t have time to cook, dear. Look—they’re running out of food to throw.”

Erin looked, and Toren was standing in front of her.

He was dead.

He reached out for her. Erin backed away, dropping the knife, her hands still crimson. The blood dripped to the ground and began a stream. A river. It washed her away and she reached out for help, but Toren was dead.

And she fell, fell as the blood washed her down and suddenly she was falling into Toren’s eye socket. And the blackness was all around her and he reached for her—

Erin sat up with a gasp, sheets covered in sweat. It was still dark. She could hear movement downstairs—she realized she was in Agnes’ inn at the same time she remembered to breathe. She was frightened, upset, still half-asleep. And deeply sad.

She’d killed him. Toren. A skeleton, yes, but her skeleton. Something…someone who could think.

Just like that. But she had to do it. She had to. He’d killed people. Erin just wished she could have stopped him, could have…

“Why didn’t I realize it sooner?”

She put her head in her hands. She’d just thought he was a mindless thing, that was all. That his quirks were just…that. How could she have dreamed he’d ever learn to think? When she’d first met him, so long ago, he’d been so simple. But when she looked back, it all made sense.

He had learned to think. He’d found a soul, even if it was one that let him kill people. And she’d killed him. Just like that. In a second. With a few words.

And the worst part was, he might not be dead. Wouldn’t it be just like a movie, or a book to have him come back? If he was still alive—

Somehow, Erin got up. She couldn’t stay in bed, anyways. She had a job. Making food for her guests. She didn’t want to do it, but that was the thing about jobs. You had to do them, and there was a bit of relief in having to do something right now.

“Hey, Erin. Good m—”

Ceria Springwalker froze with the greeting on her lips as Erin walked down the stairs. Erin pretended not to hear and moved slowly into the kitchen. Part of her felt bad, but—what would she say to Ceria? It wasn’t a good morning at all.

Erin was in no mood to smile that day. She made food mechanically, but she had no desire to talk with anyone or deal with a crowd. And so the rest of the Horns of Hammerad, waking up to the smell of good food—noticed that the inn was oddly empty that morning.

Surprisingly so, given the popularity of last night and the quality of the food. It had to be Erin’s new Skill, but no one dared suggest to the girl that she might be using it unconsciously. Even the supposed actual innkeeper, Miss Agnes, walked wide of Erin as she sat at a table with the others and picked at her plate.

“This is your fault.”

Ceria told Pisces that over breakfast. He nodded, uncharacteristically humble.

“I regret the necessity of what occurred last night. But I must point out that Erin’s decision was the most correct one she could have made.”

“That doesn’t change how she feels. She likes Goblins. How do you think she feels about killing her pet skeleton?”

No one answered the rhetorical question. Ceria drummed her fingers on the table and looked at Pisces sideways. She hesitated, then asked anyways.

“I’m not asking you to, but…can you make another one?”

Across the table, Yvlon sat up straight in her chair and looked hard at Ceria. She hadn’t said a word to Pisces all morning, not even to greet him. Ceria ignored the look and stared at Pisces. He ran a hand through his hair, shrugging and then shaking his head.

“Theoretically? Of course. I did it once and I am a higher level than I was. But practically? The creation of Toren was a culmination of years of work. I had to do much…groundwork and the materials I used in his animation were exceedingly rare. Practically unique.”

He looked at Ceria and then away. With a jolt she realized there could only be one thing he was referring to. He’d used those? On Toren?

Surely not all of them? It explained how Toren was able to regenerate. But how many had Pisces used? She opened her mouth to ask for more details and saw Yvlon staring at her. Ceria closed her mouth. Pisces went on.

“However, even if I did attempt to mimic my original design…I believe the product would not be something Miss Solstice desires. As you so adroitly pointed out, the theorems Cognita passed on to me were incomplete. True sentience is a byproduct of the spell matrices animating Golems and in this case, the undead.”

Ceria nodded, although she saw Yvlon’s eyes quickly glaze over. That’s what happened when Pisces began to pontificate. Ksmvr was still listening intently, though.

“For all Cognita was Archmage Zelkyr’s greatest creation, even she admits her existence is an accident. The same goes for my creation of a new skeleton. Either the same issue will arise again, or I will create a truly mindless slave. Irregardless, it will not be Toren.”

“Yeah. I get it.”

Ceria nodded tiredly and looked at Erin. The girl was just staring down into her plate of bacon and rearranging them. Not into a face—she was stacking them up and then spearing as many bits as she could with her fork.

“We should do something for her.”

“I wish you the best of luck.”

Pisces nodded. Ceria turned to him, frowning.

“What’s that supposed to mean. If you think you’re going to run off while we—”

He raised his hands.

“Please, Springwalker. Credit me with some—well, that is part of the reason. But I believe you will agree with my reasoning when I explain myself.”

“Hurry up, then.”

Pisces nodded. He was clearly trying to make an effort to be sociable today.

“I would like to hire a horse—or perhaps wagon—and visit Albez to recover an artifact our expedition left behind.”

“What?”

The other Horns of Hammerad stared at him. Ceria frowned.

“What artifact? We couldn’t have possible left anyt—oh.”

Her eyes widened as she realized what Pisces was talking about. She glanced around as he nodded, keeping his face smooth and calm. No one was sitting close to them, for which Ceria was suddenly grateful.

“It slipped my mind as well, but I believe it would be an egregious waste to leave it there. With luck, any scavengers will have overlooked it if they even found our dig site.”

“True.”

Ceria nodded. She ignored Yvlon and Ksmvr’s confused looks as she pondered the issue.

“Yeah, going now would be best. We don’t have much coin—”

“We could borrow it.”

Dismayed, Ceria looked at Erin. But they had no choice, did they?

“Alright, I’ll ask Erin. Pisces, are you intending to go alone? Albez attracts monsters and more could have popped up by now.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I am adept at using the [Invisibility] spell, you know.”

She hadn’t forgotten. Ceria frowned at Pisces.

“Monsters have noses. Some of them do, at any rate.”

Ksmvr raised his hand.

“I shall go with comrade Pisces. Although what is it that we are seeking?”

Pisces smiled knowingly.

“Simply recall our journey through the dungeon and you will come to the natural conclusion, Ksmvr.”

The Antinium paused. Yvlon looked at Ceria. The half-Elf just shrugged.

“Probably best if we don’t say it out loud. You never know.”

The woman frowned. Ceria looked at Erin and sighed.

“I’m going to stay with Erin. But if Ksmvr goes with you, Pisces, I’ll feel a lot better. Yvlon—”

“I’ll stay here.”

Yvlon said that almost too quickly. Ceria looked at her and nodded slowly.

“Then I’ll talk to Erin.”

The girl was staring at a fork loaded with greasy bacon when Ceria walked over.

“Hey, ah, Erin.”

“Mm?”

The girl didn’t look at her. Ceria coughed, looked around once, and then bent over to talk with her.

“I’m really, really embarrassed to ask this, but Pisces thinks there’s something else we could recover from Albez. Could you—”

Erin unhooked her money pouch from her belt and thrust it at Ceria.

“Grn.”

The half-Elf blinked at the pouch. She took it, extracted a few coins, and then gave the pouch back to Erin. She tossed the coins at Pisces who magically caught them in the air. He nodded to her and walked purposefully out of the inn with Ksmvr following. Ceria caught the Antinium asking Pisces again as they left.

“What is the artifact? I do not understand.”

Yvlon came over and smiled at Erin.

“Hey, Erin. How are you doing?”

“Blmblcrkn.”

It was probably a reply. Ceria stared at Erin, and then took the plate away from her. And the fork. It clearly wasn’t helping matters.

“Why don’t we go around the city? Come on.”

Ceria and Yvlon practically dragged Erin out of the inn, whereupon both did all they could to cheer Erin up. It worked, a bit. But the main reason Erin snapped out of her fugue was when the [Actors] came calling.

“Another huge success. I was on patrol and I was talking nonstop about the play last night. Barely got down the street before my shift was over.”

Wesle was talking excitedly with the others, stroking his non-existent mustache excitedly. Beside him, Jasi was all aglow with happiness, as she had been every day. Grev was already running about, his rucksack bulging with props, changes of costumes, and scripts.

Wesle and Jasi weren’t the only two [Actors] of course. But they were certainly the stars. The other men and women – a surprising number being from the Watch – were all eager, expectantly waiting on Erin to help them learn another play in their spare time.

Faced with such enthusiasm, Erin couldn’t help but respond in kind. They’d just finished learning Hamlet, and while they might perform that now and then, she had to get them working on another play.

She hesitated. In truth, Erin hadn’t gone to that many plays over the course of her life. She now wished she’d seen musicals like Wicked, or at least watched it on Youtube. She knew Phantom of the Opera of course, but she didn’t actually like that play so much. The Phantom was a jerk when you got down to it.

What else could she perform? Macbeth? Erin shuddered. No. Not that. And she didn’t want to do Shakespeare at the moment for much the same reason.

Pygmalion? But it would be so hard to do the accents…Erin frowned. What about A Doll’s House? But then…that was too modern, wasn’t it?

“Drat.”

Ceria and Yvlon stood to the side of the inn, cleared out to give the [Actors] some room, talking intently. Excusing herself from the [Actors] who seemed only too happy to compare stories about the accolades they’d received, Erin wandered over. Would they like to act? Ceria probably wouldn’t, but then again…and Yvlon could probably play a great knight, right?

“I don’t know what you’re thinking of doing, but don’t.”

Erin paused as she got within earshot. Ceria was talking in a serious tone of voice, staring at the other adventurer. Yvlon looked…tense.

“He’s a danger. You heard what he can do!”

“I know. And I’ve known how talented he is. He might be arrogant and stupid and thoughtless, but Pisces doesn’t deserve to be killed just for creating one undead.”

“And the people that thing killed? What if he makes another one?”

“If he does, I’ll make sure he keeps it on a leash.”

“How?”

Yvlon folded her arms and winced. Ceria scowled, not able to answer.

“The fact that he hasn’t made another one tells you he’s thought of the dangers as well.”

“Or that he’s waiting to gain enough levels to control them completely. And then what? Do we have a second Necromancer walking about?”

“I’m telling you, it won’t come to that.”

“I can’t—”

The two women stopped when they realized Erin was standing next to them. Ceria turned, trying to smile. Yvlon didn’t even bother trying.

“Erin. Um, is something wrong?”

“Don’t kill Pisces just because he made Toren. Please.”

Erin said that to Yvlon. The woman crossed her arms defensively, looking grim.

“I know he’s your friend. But I can’t just ignore what I’ve heard.”

“Pisces isn’t a bad person.”

Yvlon stared at Erin incredulously. Ceria had a similar look on her face as well. Erin shook her head.

“He’s not. I know he’s really, really, really annoying, but he’s actually sort of a good guy inside. He’s saved my life at least twice. One time he froze a swarm of Acid Flies that were about to melt me, and the other—he sent a bunch of undead to protect me when Skinner attacked.”

“Really? I didn’t hear about that.”

“I never told anyone. But I saw them—ghouls and zombies and skeletons. They helped protect me when the undead were attacking my inn. Only Pisces could have sent them, but he never mentioned it.”

Yvlon hesitated, but she still looked unconvinced.

“Still—”

“You’re on his team. You can watch him better than if you scare him away.”

Ceria reminded Yvlon. The woman grimaced and sighed.

“Fine. He’s my teammate too, Ceria. Silver and steel, why can’t anything ever be simple? My brother never mentioned having trouble with his group, and one of them is a Dwarf.”

“A Dwarf? Really?”

Erin was fascinated. Yvlon nodded, smiling a bit.

“They’re rare enough on Terandria, never mind the other parts of the world. Ylawes said it was pure luck he ran into him in a tavern.”

“He’s your brother, right? He came all this way to look for you?”

That sounded like a great brother to Erin, who’d never had siblings. Yvlon grimaced, though. She spoke reluctantly.

“He’s…overprotective. And a far better adventurer than I.”

That was clearly all she wanted to say on the topic. After a second Yvlon changed the subject. She glanced behind Erin at the [Actors].

“I thought they came here to learn a new play.”

“They did. I just don’t know what I should teach them.”

Erin confessed to her friends. Ceria just shrugged. She liked the play she’d seen, but she couldn’t imagine practicing with the enthusiasm the others seemed to have.

“Let us know if we can help. I’m not going to memorize any lines, but I could always do a few spells if the performance needs more action.”

She flicked a few sparks of electricity from her fingers, making Yvlon swear. Ceria looked abashed—Erin saw the electricity trying to jump onto the metal on Yvlon’s arms.

“You can do that? Well of course!”

Erin slapped her forehead as she realized how stupid she’d been. Special effects! Any [Mage] could add so much to a performance! Especially someone like Ceria. At the very least, she could help cool down the inn when it was so full of people. Even on a winter night, so many bodies were stiflingly hot. But Ceria could probably lower the temperature enough to…

Erin’s thoughts slowed down. She stared at Ceria. The half-Elf just blinked at her.

“Erin?”

She had lovely blonde hair. Well—in point of fact Ceria had dirty blonde hair. But Yvlon, now, she looked beautiful, and blonde as could be. Both women made Erin jealous—she didn’t think she had a bad face or hair, but compared to Yvlon’s beauty and Ceria’s otherworldly appearance, she felt plain. And Ceria could use frost magic.

And it was winter…

“Erin? Are you okay?”

Winter plus frost magic equaled…what? It had to do with plays, and it was on the tip of her tongue! Erin screwed up her face as Ceria looked at her.

“Erin, do you need to sit—”

“Frozen!”

The word exploded out of Erin’s mouth. Ceria blinked, wiped a bit of spit off her face, and stared at Yvlon. The other woman looked just as confused.

“You want Ceria to freeze the actors? The audience?”

“No, no!”

The young woman waved excitedly at the other two, mind suddenly ablaze with ideas. She looked at Ceria, and then began waving at the [Actors]. They were already congregating around her, sensing the impending drama.

“Hey you guys, come on over! I just had the greatest idea for the next performance we can do! It has singing!”

“Singing?”

Ceria raised her eyebrows, intrigued. She looked at Erin as the girl beamed at her.

“I like songs. Are there any good ones?”

—-

There was no piano accompaniment. Pianos did exist in this world, but no one was going to lug one over to the Frenzied Hare. Instead, a few [Musicians] with string instruments provided a decent melody. That had been the hardest part.

The singing was not. On stage, Jasi, playing as the [Ice Queen] named Elsa sang a song so famous that it needed no introduction. Nor, it seemed, any plot. The play was over, but the song was being sung once more to a crowd who cheered as Jasi raised her hand to raise her castle of ice out of the wooden stage.

From behind the curtains backstage, Ceria cast weak frost spells, making snow and cold winds blow across the cheering audience. Concentrating hard, she made snow appear and fall over the fake little castle that they’d built. The snow melted almost instantly in the sweltering room, but the crowd didn’t care. They cheered wildly as the song reached its thrilling conclusion.

Again. The [Mage] scowled at Yvlon and whispered to her as the song finished.

“This is the third encore performance!”

The other woman was sitting on a stool behind the stage, smiling as she ate tonight’s meal, fish and chips, which was to say, fish and fried pieces of potato that Erin insisted were in some way ‘french’.

“Bear with it. It’s cheering Erin up.”

Indeed, the other girl was clearly enjoying herself. Even though she was in the kitchen, Ceria could see her poking her head out every now and then to beam at the audience.

“Catchy song, though.”

Ceria shrugged.

“It loses its charm fast, especially when you’ve got to do the effects.”

“At least we’re being paid.”

“What’s with ‘we’?”

The half-Elf groused, but she had to smile. They were indeed being paid, and quite handsomely because the entire acting cast took a cut of the profits. And judging by the way the bag Grev carried around had to be emptied now and then, even a small cut would be a lot.

“You have to wonder though…where does Erin get all these stories from?”

Yvlon frowned as Jasi bowed and declined another performance. The audience called out in disappointment, but then rushed forwards to shake hands with the bowing [Actors] and buy them drinks.

Carefully, the half-Elf sat back on her haunches and didn’t quite look at Yvlon.

“They come from her nation, I guess. She’s from far off.”

“Really? What continent?”

“Erin’s never said. I think it’s private. Ryoka’s from the same place, though.”

“Really? That makes sense.”

The two sat behind the curtains, looking through it at the room full of life and a different kind of magic. After a while, Ceria sighed.

“It really is better than adventuring, isn’t it?”

Yvlon nodded, seeing Wesle surrounded by admiring young women—and older women—and males, come to it, but mostly young women—and the other [Actors], just as adored. It was like how they’d been treated in Remendia, but somehow more intimate and even more reverential at the same time. The citizens had hailed the Horns of Hammerad as people, but these [Actors] had brought another world to life in front of the people here.

“No monsters to fight, good food if you’ve got the right inn…”

“Admiring crowds, if you like sweaty Humans. Lots of coin…”

The two sat in silence. After a while, Yvlon shook her head.

“Not for me.”

Ceria smiled.

“Me neither. I guess we’re doomed fools, aren’t we?”

The woman laughed.

“Maybe not if Pisces gets back with that invincible artifact of his.”

“Oh? You figured it out?”

“It wasn’t hard, and he’s right. It might be useful. Do you think he’ll be back tomorrow?”

“Early, hopefully. They’ll camp out in a safe place, or maybe just stay in Ocre. He says with a wagon driver who has a movement Skill they can be back very soon.”

“Good.”

—-

The next day, Erin woke up feeling better. A lot better. She was still sad though, when she remembered why she should be. But she was better.

And now she knew what to do. She greeted Ceria and Yvlon cheerfully over breakfast—spiced porridge—and didn’t beat about the bush.

“It’s time to go back to Liscor.”

Yvlon only raised her eyebrows and Ceria smiled, but Miss Agnes, who’d joined them for breakfast, choked.

“What? But Miss Erin, surely you should wait. There are Goblins on the road and I don’t know what we’ll do without you. Why, there are all these fine [Actors] depending on you now…”

Sitting at a table next to theirs, Jasi, Wesle, and Grev looked up and gave Miss Agnes a flat look the woman failed to notice. It was their custom to eat together each day, especially since Jasi and Grev were staying at the inn.

“I really don’t know what we’ll do without you, Miss Erin. I’m sure we could tour other cities doing the plays you taught us. But I’d love to learn the rest…”

“I know. I know, and I’m sorry.”

Erin smiled ruefully at Jasi and ruffled Grev’s hair. He looked upset. But Erin’s mind was made up.

“I need to go back. Liscor is my…home. Mrsha’s there and she’s all by herself. And Lyon’s there too—I nearly forgot about her, but Selys say she’s managing the inn. Somehow. But I need to get back before it falls apart or burns down or something.”

The others had objections of course. Sensible ones, selfish ones…Erin ignored them all. She looked at Ceria and Yvlon.

“When Pisces and Ksmvr get back, how long until we can go?”

“Within the hour, if we get transport set up. We’ll have to take a wagon, but we can get good horses and maybe even a driver.”

Ceria nodded to Yvlon, already thinking of their route. The older woman nodded, biting her lip.

“Esthelm being retaken works for us. We can plan to stop there if we can avoid Goblin raiding parties. I’m not sure how safe it is—it’s reportedly still a ruin, but better that than camping by ourselves. And if we run into my brother’s group…”

“You think we can get them to help us escort Erin?”

Yvlon nodded slowly.

“My brother will help anyone in need. The real problem might be afterwards. He’ll try to take me north. But we’ll cross that bridge if we get to it.”

Ceria nodded silently. She didn’t want to pry too much, but perhaps she should ask Yvlon why she didn’t want to go home so badly. Erin thought of what she had to do.

“I should say goodbye to Octavia.”

—-

All things considered, Erin thought Octavia took the news well. There weren’t even any tears. Or hugs. Or even a trace of sadness, really.

The dark-skinned [Alchemist] grinned happily and practically leapt off her stool in delight.

“You’re going? Well, I won’t say I’m not relieved—I’ve never met anyone so insane as you. When I count the times I nearly died—of course, I’m glad you came by before you left. I’d hate to have to charge interest on what you owe me when Ryoka gets back.”

“Hold on. What fees? Ryoka paid you already.”

Erin frowned at Octavia. The stitch-girl’s dreadlocks swung as she shook her head condescendingly.

“That was for a few days. You’ve been here far longer—I’ll admit she paid interest now and then, but if you factor in the number of discoveries you’ve made under my watchful supervision—not to mention hazard pay and having me participate in that play—”

“I’m gonna hit you.”

In the end, Erin didn’t hit Octavia and the girl didn’t get any more money, much to both girls’ disappointment. But to her surprise, Octavia hugged Erin before she left.

“You take care, alright? If you ever need a potion, I’m sure Ryoka can run it down to Liscor for me. Who knows? We might meet again! And if we do, you’re banned from ever mixing potions in my shop again.”

Erin laughed and hugged Octavia back. She’d miss her, she was surprised to realize. She’d miss Octavia’s fast-talking ways. She’d miss the horrible smells in her shop—

She’d miss the entire city, if it came to that. Celum was…it wasn’t as nice as Liscor, in some ways. It wasn’t as exciting, and the people were just people. But it had its own charm, and it had taken Erin in when she was lost.

She’d miss it. But she had to go. So Erin went back to the Frenzied Hare and caught up with Ceria who’d found someone willing to make the relatively dangerous journey to Liscor, provided a Silver-rank team was going with him. Yvlon had brought provisions for the journey and asked about the roads—no Goblin armies had been sighted close to any cities, although raiding groups had torched a few villages.

All they had to do was wait for Pisces and Ksmvr. And as it happened, the two were already close to the city. And they had the artifact in tow.

—-

Earlier that day, Pisces had been willing to fight an entire Goblin army if it meant shutting Ksmvr up.

“What is the artifact? I still do not understand. Please enlighten me, comrade Pisces.”

It was the 38th time the Antinium had asked Pisces the question. Pisces knew that because he’d counted. Each time. They were sitting on a bumping wagon as it drove towards the Ruins of Albez. The mage blinked wearily as the dawn’s light hit his face.

It was far too early for this. But they had to move quickly, if they wanted to be back in Celum before evening. Ksmvr poked Pisces and the [Mage] snarled at him.

“Stop that!”

“I will if you answer my question. What is the artifact?”

“I told you to figure it out yourself!”

Part of Pisces dearly wanted to tell Ksmvr just to get it over with, but the young [Mage] was too stubborn for that.

“All the clues should be obvious. You were there! Just…think!”

“I have thought. I do not know what it could be. I wish for you to tell me.”

“Dead gods. It’s the door, the door. Okay!?”

That didn’t come from Pisces. It came from the wagon driver. She turned around, glaring, her eyes red and bloodshot. She was the same wagon driver who’d taken them from Remendia. She was the only one willing to risk her neck going so close to Albez, and clearly, she was unhappy with her decision.

Both [Mage] and Antinium stared at her. The wagon driver glared at them. After a moment, Pisces spoke.

“How did you come to that conclusion?”

“You explained it to the Ant about a half-dozen times. It was obvious. The door’s the only thing you lot didn’t take, apart from the ashes and the dungeon itself!”

The woman snapped at the two of them. Pisces turned to Ksmvr.

“You see?”

The Antinium only cocked his head sideways.

“Why is the door important? I do not understand. Please explain it to me, comrade Pisces.”

“First, call me comrade one more time and I will blast your mandibles off your face. Second—”

Pisces hesitated. But now that the secret was revealed, he had a deep urge to explain everything.

“The door is important because it cannot be destroyed. And it has a potent teleportation spell worked into its makeup.”

“Oh?”

Pisces nodded. He sat back in the wagon and stared up at the grey sky. It was far too cold, he felt, even with the warming spells that allowed him to wander around in nothing but his dirty robes. He gestured at Ksmvr to relax; the Antinium stayed sitting perfectly upright. Pisces made a face, but began to explain.

“Do consider it, dear Ksmvr. In our haste to acquire our spoils and flee the area, we had neglected to consider the magnitude of enchantment that must have been laid on this door. Not only did it survive a magical fire that damaged every artifact it touched—but it actually destroyed part of the fire construct when we used it as an impromptu weapon.”

“Ah yes. It was quite useful.”

“And yet, we, in our rush to escape, completely neglected to remember it. A vast oversight. Then again, I do not believe we could have carried it away as exhausted as we were. Fortuitously, my adept memory seized upon our neglect and led me to—”

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up and go get it already, would you?”

The wagon jerked to a halt, making Pisces bite his tongue. He glared at the woman driving the wagon, but she just stared back.

“Hurry up. If you want to be back in Celum, get moving. I’m not waiting around in this place forever. Even if it’s winter, monsters could still be about.”

That was true, and so Pisces and Ksmvr cautiously descended into Albez. They were quite willing to retreat at the first sight of any monsters, door or no door, but it seemed the ruins were still quite deserted.

“Let us go then, Ksmvr. Your strength should be invaluable in carrying the door.”

“Yes, Pisces. I shall lead the way in case monsters have retaken the dungeon.”

“Good point. I’ll stay…this far behind you. Lead on!”

There were no monsters, although there was a good deal of ash. Pisces and Ksmvr found the door lying in a pile of it. The [Mage] sneezed when Ksmvr pulled the door out. The Antinium nodded as he lifted it upright with all three of his arms.

“I can carry my end of it quite easily. If you will assist me—”

“Not so fast. We must descend into the pit.”

The Antinium paused and turned to Pisces in surprise.

“Why?”

Pisces nodded at the door.

“The door is only half of the spell. The other half, if you recall, teleports us to a set location. Into the pit in this case. A small object—usually a stone, perhaps some other mundane object—acts as the anchor for the teleportation spell. We must recover it or I’ll be teleported here if I should make a mistake with the door.”

“But is it not extremely dangerous? Captain Ceria covered the [Insanity] spell with mud, but it may have been removed in the time since we were gone.”

Pisces smiled confidently.

“Have no fear, Ksmvr. I am well-prepared for this eventuality.”

As it turned out, his solution was much the same as Ceria’s. After Pisces built a staircase out of bone, he cast a spell which filled the pit with billowing yellow smoke. Coughing and swearing, the mage descended into the pit and shot clinging mud in every direction. After he’d released the spell and Ksmvr had come down, the Antinium saw the pit was covered, with no sign of the [Insanity] symbols on the walls.

“That was quite admirable, Pisces.”

He complimented the wheezing mage. Pisces coughed, and waved a hand.

“Think nothing of it. This is a simple trap to bypass, if the correct precautions are taken.”

Ksmvr nodded at the plain truth of that statement. He looked around.

“And where is this anchoring stone?”

“It shouldn’t be too big. It could even be the size of my hand—smaller. I can find it ah…if I trace the magic link…here!”

Pisces frowned and then pointed to a spot directly in the center of the pit. It turned out what he was looking for was a round stone small enough to fit into his palm, embedded into the stone bottom of the pit. This proved to be very difficult to extract. Ksmvr still had the Goblin’s enchanted short sword, but even with all his strength he could barely chip at the stone floor of the pit.

“Of course it is designed to be a trap.”

Pisces groused as he began blasting the area around the stone with flames. Both he and Ksmvr knew that stone when heated was far more vulnerable to cracking. After about ten minutes of sustained fire blasting the ground, it was weakened enough for Ksmvr’s blade to crack the stone.

“It is very hot, Pisces.”

So saying, Ksmvr handed the magical stone—which showed no damage despite the heat—to Pisces. The [Mage] swore and dropped it the moment he touched the black rock.

“It’s burning!”

“That is what I said.”

“Then don’t—allow me to choose a far more sensible solution.”

The wagon driver, whose name was Adelynn, although no one had bothered to ask it, was dozing in her driver’s seat when her horses took fright. She looked up and blanched as she saw the six skeletons carrying the enchanted door and anchoring stone over their heads. Pisces and Ksmvr sat on the door like a seat. They waved at the wagon driver. Only when they got close did she throw a bit of snow at them.

“Call your damn undead away, [Necromancer]! You’ll spook my horses! I swear, if they wrench an ankle you’ll all walk home!”

“Calm down, good Mis—”

A bit of snow hit Pisces it the face.

“Get them away, I said!”

A few minutes later, the cart rumbled back towards the road and Celum, bereft of any skeletons. But it did have one new passenger: the door lay between Pisces and Ksmvr as the [Mage] pored over it and Ksmvr stared at the small stone in his hands. To the Antinium the rock appeared totally ordinary, which he supposed was the point.

“Now that we have the door, what do you propose we do with it, Pisces?”

“That my friend…is a very good question. I have no idea.”

Pisces looked up for a moment before he went back to staring at the door. Ksmvr noticed the mage’s eyes unfocused as he stared at what the Antinium could only assume was the magic enchantment making up the door. Pisces seemed to be tracing the spell while simultaneously attempting to avoid triggering the door’s automatic teleportation effect.

Every now and then he failed, and would appear on Ksmvr’s lap. The Antinium watched as this happened now. Pisces yelped, popped out of existence on his side of the wagon, and appeared a little bit above Ksmvr. In the ensuing tangle, Pisces fought his way clear.

“Dead gods—give me that!”

He snatched the stone back from the Antinium and placed it on his side of the wagon. A bit of snow flew from the front and hit him on the head.

“Stop doing that! You’re scaring the horses!”

“Shall I reanimate them for you? I’m sure undead horses would be a lot faster than these slow nags.”

Pisces smiled nastily. His reply came in another bit of snow which struck him on the shoulder. Grumbling, Pisces went back to the door.

After a few moments, Ksmvr nodded and spoke up.

“We could make a shield out of it. I could hold it up with comrade Yvlon when fighting spellcasters.”

The young man’s head rose and he stared at Ksmvr.

“Really? That’s your idea?”

Ksmvr nodded, appreciating Pisces’ enthusiasm.

“A shield seems to be the most appropriate use of the door. We could make a harness so Comrade Yvlon could use it in place of her armor. It would protect her back so she would have no need of armor. If an enemy attacked all she would have to do would be to turn around.”

The Antinium paused, waiting for feedback. Pisces just stared at him. After a moment, he cleared his throat.

“I should like to see that. But I believe using the door as any form of personal armament should be employed only as a matter of last resort. Even if you were to block a spell with this door, [Fireball], for instance, the explosion would still affect those hiding behind the door. Any neophyte mage could easily burn you with a low-Tier flame spell were you to use it as cover.”

“Oh. I see.”

Ksmvr felt disappointed. Seeing this, Pisces felt moved to offer him a bone.

“The true value in the door might not be in its practical use at all, but rather as a tool of study for me. I can learn a lot from the enchantments woven into it.”

The Antinium perked up. What helped Pisces was a boon for The Horns of Hammerad.

“Really? Can you copy the spells on the door?”

“Copy?”

Pisces coughed, and then laughed. He shook his head.

“That is far beyond my capabilities.”

“Why? Is it not simply a matter of reproducing the spell? That should be doable with time, should it not?”

“Yeah, [Mage]. What’s wrong? Is it too complex for you?”

Pisces ignored that comment from the front. Sniffing archly, he sat back. He took on the tone Ksmvr had associated with a lecture as he spoke out loud.

“The issue, Ksmvr, is that the nature of magic is not so linear as the philistines might have you think.”

“Hah!”

Again, Pisces ignored the wagon driver’s comment. Ksmvr nodded at him encouragingly. Magic was fascinating to him.

“Indeed?”

“Oh yes. You see, if this door—or should I say, this impressively enchanted self-activating portal device—were simply one enchantment, I dare say even Springwalker would be able to ascertain its nature quite quickly. But it is clearly not one enchantment. And the true exponential difficulty of a spell occurs when multiple layers exist.”

Ksmvr considered Pisces’ explanation and nodded.

“I see. So multiple spells cast on the same object increase the difficulty of analyzing and copying it?”

Pisces deflated somewhat at the Antinium’s calm response.

“…Yes.”

He turned back to the door, frowning at it.

“If it were just something like reinforcement, well, I could do that to a piece of wood, although not with the finesse or force of a true [Enchanter]. They could turn a piece of parchment into something as strong as steel…but as I’ve said magic changes when you layer another spell on top. It truly is quite incredible how many spells are worked into this wood.”

“That is why mages study so continuously?”

“To master the nuance of each spell and understand how magic can change, broadly speaking, yes. Even memorizing spells takes time, and comprehending concepts like spatial travel, well…”

“Can you [Teleport]?”

Pisces ignored that question. He gestured grandly at the door sitting on the back of the wagon.

“This wonder of magical engineering is clearly the work of a master [Mage]. Perhaps even an [Archmage]? Ah, probably not.”

He coughed.

“But studying it will surely raise my level, and it will be a far greater challenge than simply reading from a book of spells. When Springwalker sees this…”

“So you cannot copy the spell?”

Pisces paused, but then he nodded with a rueful smile.

“I wouldn’t even dare try. The spells are so tangled up that reproduction is impossible. I’d have to unravel each layer of spells and if that didn’t destroy the entire weaving…no, no, I only intend to study what parts are visible.”

He sighed, losing some of his posturing. Ksmvr nodded.

“I see. Are there some parts which are easier?”

Pisces shrugged, irritated by his moment of genuine expression. He scowled as he bent back over the door, poking at the brass handle.

“The entire thing is a mess. Let me concentrate. It’s hard enough to sit on this bumpy wagon—”

“Watch it, [Mage].”

The wagon driver snapped back at Pisces. He made a face. Ksmvr sat forwards too. The door was just plain, solid wood of course, but now he was very invested in Pisces’ discoveries.

“Surely there are some aspects which are simplest to understand. The triggering mechanism for the spell was analyzing it, was it not?”

“Relatively simple, yes. Of course the part of the spell that detects people investigating it is fiendishly complex. But the trigger component I identified straight off.”

Pisces dismissed that with a wave of the hand. Ksmvr nodded eagerly.

“In that case, would it not be easiest to focus on that part of the spell, knowing the method to activation and outcome?”

In his multi-faceted eyes, the Antinium saw the young man pause. Pisces stared at Ksmvr, and then down at the door. He cleared his throat.

“Uh. Yes. That would be…well, it’s a good place to start as any, I suppose.”

“It is a shame you cannot reverse the effect. That would have been very convenient in the pit.”

Ksmvr meant this only as a segue into asking whether Pisces could teleport him a few times, just so Ksmvr could see what it was like when he wasn’t about to die. But Pisces’ face froze and after a second he burst into a huge and uncharacteristic grin.

Somewhat unnerved, Ksmvr paused as Pisces turned to him. The [Mage] gingerly clapped a hand on Ksmvr’s shoulder. The Antinium stared at the hand. After a moment Pisces let go.

“You, Ksmvr, are clearly a natural-born scholar, as perhaps befits your advanced standing among the Antinium.”

“Thank you.”

“Reversing the spell. What a novel idea! And of course the actual binding spell on the stone is ludicrously simple compared to the door. Why, it wouldn’t be hard to reverse—that is to say, to create a trigger to activate the teleportation spell and bring whomever was there to the door! In fact…”

“Does this mean you can teleport me?”

“More than that, my dear Ksmvr. If this means what I think it does—here…you hold this and I shall…”

The Antinium and Human excitedly rocked back and forth on the wagon, jabbering on about ‘possible sequential instances of anchorage’ and ‘activation mechanisms’ and so on. At the head of the wagon, the Adelynn tried not to listen. After a while, she tried to plug her ears with both fingers, but it was hard to do that and guide the wagon. She sighed.

—-

“You’re late.”

Ceria scowled at Pisces as he and Ksmvr lugged the door over to the front of the Frenzied Hare. The two had attracted quite a lot of attention as they’d dragged and carried it down the street. Now Ksmvr laid the door against the wall of the inn as Pisces panted for breath.

“Don’t blame me. If I could have conjured a few undead we wouldn’t have taken so long! Why no one appreciates the untapped potential of such labor—”

“Yes, yes.”

Ceria sighed, but she stared at the door, mildly impressed Pisces had managed to support his end of it. It was as heavy as it looked, she knew, and it looked heavy.

“Is that the door? The magic door?”

Erin stared dubiously at the heavy wood door. It looked as plain as plain could be. She wondered if Pisces and Ceria were playing a prank on everyone else, but Yvlon nodded.

“That’s the door. It doesn’t look like much but—if you could make armor out of it I’d wear it. I saw it take damage that would have shredded my plate armor.”

“Wow.”

No matter how hard Erin stared at it, she just couldn’t see it. But Pisces was clearly excited by the door. He waved his hands at Ceria, talking quickly.

“You won’t believe what I—and Ksmvr I suppose—have discovered! It’s a revolutionary—nay, unprecedented loophole in the spell matrix! I can’t believe it wasn’t covered!”

“Oh yeah? What’s so incredible?”

Ceria looked skeptical. Pisces pointed to the door, grinning broadly, one of the few times Erin had ever seen him happy.

“I managed to isolate the location aspect of the spell. Not only that—I figured out how to trigger it independently of the detection trap.”

Erin’s head swiveled with Yvlon’s towards Ceria. The half-Elf gasped.

“You don’t mean—seriously? And you did it on the ride back? Impossible!”

“Not.”

Pisces was smug. He gestured to the door.

“It all came down to a loophole. If you look around the doorknob—perhaps they didn’t have an adept mastery of enchantments? Or maybe the handle was added too late—either way I forced my way into the bindings from there and…”

He began talking gibberish, or perhaps Erin’s ears just shut down. She gathered that something important had happened by the way Ceria was reacting, but she couldn’t figure out what.

“Are we going to go?”

They had the wagon all ready, and a somewhat surly wagon driver ready to take them to Liscor. Ceria had said they’d be leaving soon. Yvlon shrugged, looking resigned.

“Mages. Give them a minute and then we’ll interrupt.”

Erin nodded. She looked around and frowned.

“Hey, where’s Ksmvr?”

The Antinium was nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t gone inside—had he run off? Erin wanted to ask Pisces—she didn’t want to go have to find Ksmvr as well!—when she heard a pop. Ksmvr appeared in front of the door, holding a small stone in his hands.

Yvlon gasped. Erin jumped and people on the street shouted in surprise. Ksmvr looked around proudly and Pisces broke off from chattering with Ceria to point at him gleefully.

“There, you see?”

“You can teleport to the door?”

“Yes!”

In an instant Erin was next to Ksmvr. She stared down at the stone in his hands and then at Pisces.

“How? Where? What?”

“It’s very simple. Actually, it’s not, but I’ll give you a simple explanation. The long and short of it is that we can take advantage of the door’s teleportation spell to teleport to the anchoring stone connected to it—or vice versa.”

Erin pointed at the stone in Ksmvr’s hands.

“You can teleport to that? And teleport back?”

“That’s what I said.”

“How many times?”

Yvlon’s eyes were wide with amazement. Pisces stroked at his chin, shrugging, speaking out loud.

“Any number of times. In time of course the enchantment will lose magic—it requires a huge amount to activate. But here’s the wonderful part—the magic will replenish itself over time!”

“Really?”

Erin was so excited her heart was beating out of her chest. Pisces nodded proudly.

“Quite extraordinary, really. It absorbs the natural mana in the environment—like any acceptably constructed artifact, I suppose—but it allows for practically unlimited uses of the teleportation magic!”

“This is incredible. That changes everything. This thing is—it’s actually useful.”

Ceria murmured as Ksmvr tried to keep people from crowding around the door. She tapped at the wood.

“How much could we sell it for? If you think of it as—as a way to travel, you could get from one end of the city to the other in seconds! Any [Lord] would want it, if only as a novelty.”

“A bit plain for a [Lord]’s door.”

Yvlon put that in, although she looked no less impressed. She ran a hand over the wood surface.

“But paint it and—could we get a hundred gold coins for it, do you suppose?”

“Hundreds? Try thousands. As I was saying, this is incredible! But we need not sell it yet—just imagine the utility of it in a dungeon! We could retreat at any time.”

Pisces was talking faster as he waved his arms about. Ksmvr was proudly showing the stone to people and resisting all attempts of people trying to take it from him. Erin stared down at the door, and an idea seized in her mind. She looked up and spoke loudly.

“I want it.”

Everyone stopped talking. The Horns of Hammerad stared at her. Erin stared back. She pointed at the door.

“I want it. Can I have it?”

“What?”

Pisces was the first to speak. He looked incredulous.

“This door is—as much of a treasure as anything we recovered from Albez. It’s far more useful than a bag of holding. And you want—”

“Yes. I want it.”

Erin didn’t say out loud that the Horns of Hammerad owed her, but they had promised, hadn’t they? They’d said a treasure, and she could think of nothing she would want more than this door. She saw Ceria exchange a glance with the others. Pisces was spluttering.

“You can’t just demand—this is far too sudden to—”

“Yes.”

Ceria nodded. She smiled at Erin, and looked at the door.

“For you, Erin? Yes, you can have this…door.”

Yvlon nodded as well.

“We wouldn’t have gotten anywhere if it weren’t for you. And you lent us your gold—twice, now. Of course you can have it.”

Ksmvr nodded as well.

“This seems to be an acceptable form of remuneration. Here is your teleportation stone.”

He handed it to Erin. She held it gingerly. Pisces kept spluttering.

“But—I just got—it was my discovery and—”

“And you did well. Thank you.”

Erin smiled widely at Pisces. He blinked at her and threw his hands up in exasperation.

“Fine. I am outnumbered and overruled by the imposition of what some might call honor or common decency. Take the damned door!”

“I will.”

The young woman patted the door.

“My door.”

Pisces sniffed, clearly upset. Ceria laughed, and slung an arm around his shoulder. He froze up for a second and stared at her. She seemed surprised by the action as well, and released him quickly.

“Cheer up. Erin made a lot of food—and lunch for you two since you missed it. Although I suppose it would be dinner, now.”

Instantly he brightened up.

“Ah, well, I suppose that—”

“—But you’ll have to eat it on the wagon. We’ve got to go now if we want to get to any sort of settlement by nightfall.”

Ceria dragged Pisces back as he headed towards the inn. He complained, but soon he was helping drag the door onto the back of the wagon. Erin turned to help push it further in, and stopped.

A group of people were standing behind her. Miss Agnes, Maran, Safry, Jasi, Grev, Wesle, the [Actors], a number of regular patrons from her inn, Octavia…they stood, smiling at her.

Slowly, Erin stepped towards them. She felt…quite empty inside, really. As if there weren’t any tears to cry. And there weren’t.

There was only a smile. She smiled at them, and went to each one, hugging and kissing Wesle on the cheek and Grev on a dirty forehead, talking and saying goodbye.

But not forever. And so the emptiness in her filled, and when the wagon started to move, Erin could shed a tear. But not a sad tear. She was just so full of memories and happiness that a bit came out anyways.

She sat on the wagon as it rolled out of the city. The Horns of Hammerad sat around her. Friends. Yvlon and Ceria talked animatedly about the play they’d been a part of, recounting the good bits to Ksmvr while Pisces devoured the packed lunch Erin had made for him and Ksmvr.

Erin sat back, and as the cold evening breeze blew past her face, she smiled. A bit sadly.

It was time to go. Celum was…a lovely place. But it wasn’t home. She had to go back to Liscor.

“Goodbye.”

She whispered it to the wind. Not sadly—in her heart she promised to return some day. There was more to this world besides Liscor. And some day she would explore it.

Some day. But for now she was going back. To Mrsha and Selys and even annoying Lyonette. She wanted to go back so desperately it hurt Erin’s chest. But she wouldn’t forget what she’d experienced here.

They rolled out of the city and Erin finally left Celum behind.

—-

It was a quiet wagon that slowly rode down the trampled road, slowly moving south. The wagon driver didn’t have a movement Skill, but he was used to the uncertain road and he was skilled and Skilled enough to detect danger. It would take a day – or two or even three – to get to Liscor, but they’d get there, and hopefully without running into any danger.

Erin sat next to the other Horns of Hammerad, not saying anything. At first she’d chatted, but the cold and wind had a way of silencing even the most spirited conversation. And she felt a bit selfish, but she wished—she wished she was back in the Frenzied Hare right now rather than moving around in the cold winter.

If she ever got home, Erin would never complain about an airplane again. That was what she decided.

“Anyone want dinner?”

“It’s cold.”

Pisces grumbled as he lay sprawled out on the wagon. Ceria, sitting next to his foot, shifted it aside irritably.

“I could warm it up with magic. So could you.”

“I would much rather have stayed the night in the inn in the city. If we had left the next day—”

“If we had, we’d be that much behind. I want to get moving while the roads are clear.”

Ceria pointed that out acerbically. But from the way she glanced back at Celum, still visible in the distance, Erin knew she felt the same.

“After all my hard work with the door, I am resigned to this. A cold meal on wagon back. Truly, gratitude is a foreign concept among even the staunchest of comrades.”

Pisces sat up, grumbling. Erin wanted to grumble back at him, but she was grateful for the door, really. He really was a genius, just like Ceria sometimes said. So she’d let him grumble a bit more.

“What are you going to do with the door, Erin?”

Yvlon asked that, wrapped up in her coat. Erin had to think.

“I’ll probably put the door somewhere in the city! It’ll be so cool! I can pop in and visit Selys all the time, and I’ll get so many visitors since it’ll be easy to get to my inn!”

“Not to mention it’ll be safer since you can get away if there’s a monster attack.”

The woman nodded approvingly. Pisces just sniffed.

“What a waste.”

“What would you do with it, then?”

“Certainly not use it to for a simple walk of a few minutes. Why, with a door so useful I’d link it to a safe space—perhaps far underground. Or perhaps as a trap to deter unwelcome visitors. I could fix it so that at your command anyone unsavory was transported deep underground—”

“You can send people that far?”

Erin was surprised. All the Horns of Hammerad nodded, looking grim. Ceria kicked the door and cursed as she winced in pain.

“The door teleported us to a pit trap when we first found it. And like Pisces said, it recovers magic. So it won’t run out. It’s a great tool for you, Erin. I’m glad we can give it to you.”

Erin nodded, but her heart had suddenly jolted in her chest. She took a breath, trying to contain the excitement trying to explode out of her body in case she was wrong.

“Well, if this door is so powerful, it can probably teleport people a long way away, right?”

“Any [Teleport] spell can do that.”

Pisces murmured as he tried to get himself comfortable in his spot in the wagon. He pointed at Erin.

“You were there when that objectionable Gazi teleported away, were you not? Her spell took her far away. Across the ocean, I’ll wager. Thousands of miles. True, that was with a customized spell for long-distance, but a normal [Teleportation] spell can still cover many miles, albeit at increased mana cost.”

“So this door—”

“—Is clearly a relic of a past pinnacle of magical achievement. Indeed, that entire room—the private hidden store room of a powerful mage—was filled with wonders. Putting aside the mediocre traps preceding the door, the pit trap was truly a death sentence even for a Named Adventurer. If all the [Insanity] runes had been active, I cannot imagine any Skill or spell short of…Tier 7 that would have saved you from an untimely end.”

“Wow.”

Erin shivered a bit, realizing how dangerous it had been. But she pressed forwards anyways.

“So this door is incredible because it can teleport people really far. And it recovers magic. So…”

“So what?”

Ceria looked at Erin blankly. The girl paused, and then pointed to the stone in Ksmvr’s hand.

“Why didn’t we just leave that in Celum? If we made another door or something, couldn’t we travel back and forth to the wagon? And once it gets to Liscor, I mean, I don’t know if it’s too far, but could I use it as a door to…”

Her voice trailed off. Everyone on the wagon—including the wagon driver—was staring at Erin with an open mouth. Pisces closed his.

“Remarkable. And of course it would work. The charge might not last for more than one or two mass teleportations per day but if you found a way to recover mana—”

“Ksmvr!”

Ksmvr shot to his feet.

“I will go to the city.”

“Hold on! Let me tune the stone. I had it so you would teleport with it. But clearly we need to…hm…”

Pisces and Ceria clustered around the stone, arguing with each other as Yvlon, Ksmvr, and Erin watched with bated breath. In a few moments Ksmvr was jumping off the wagon and running quite quickly back towards the city in the distance.

The others settled back in the wagon to wait. They didn’t speak much—just watched Ksmvr’s shape slowly disappear. The minutes felt like hours, and after an interminable number of them had passed, Yvlon coughed.

“Been a while. Ksmvr should have made it to the city by now. Do you think it didn’t—”

Pop. Ksmvr appeared back on the wagon. Everyone shouted, but he raised his hands.

“The stone is at the Frenzied Hare. I have explained to Miss Agnes but she does not quite understand. Shall we attempt to return now?”

“Yes. All we have to do is—”

From his seat on the wagon, the driver half-turned to look. He caught only a glimpse of the five people clustered around the door lying on his wagon when he heard a quiet pop of air and they vanished.

The horses, pulling the wagon, snorted in surprise when they felt the sudden change in weight. For his part, the wagon driver stared at the spot in dismay.

What was he supposed to do? Keep driving? While these adventurers feasted in the inn? That wasn’t fair!

But it was what he was paid for, so after a moment the wagon driver urged his horses on, scowling. He drew his scarf tightly around his face as the night grew closer around him.

The poor wagon driver sat miserably hunched over in the cart as the horses plodded onwards through the cold night. After a few moments, the door opened on the wagon. The wagon driver gaped as from out of the wagon a girl stepped out with a sudden outpouring of noise—and heat!

She stepped up, since the door was lying on its back, but somehow was facing the right way when she stood upright on the wagon.

“Woog. That’s trippy.”

She muttered as she held something in her hands. The wagon driver stared at her. The girl—was her name Erin?—smiled at him. She held out what was in her hands. The man looked and saw a steaming bowl of soup.

“It’s fresh! Sorry about the wait—Pisces said he could actually make the door connect! Don’t ask me how—he put the stone, you know, the anchor-thingy? He put it in another door and he and Ceria did some magic to it and look! Portal door!”

The man just stared at her. Slowly, he took the bowl of soup. It did indeed smell fresh, and the hot liquid warmed his cold hands and soul in the winter night.

“I’m making popcorn as well. I’ll bring you some when I’m done! Do you want something to drink with that?”

The man brightened up. The girl opened the door, stepped down and into the inn and the door closed. After a few more minutes, the door opened and popcorn was handed over in a bowl along with a big mug of ale. The man stared down at the white, fluffy kernels seasoned with butter, salt, and yeast—which was the only way to eat popcorn, or so Erin claimed. He tried some, and cheered up even more.

And so the wagon plodded onwards, bearing its curious load. It traveled down the silent, winter roads, slowly heading south. To a city claimed by Drakes, Gnolls, and the strange Antinium. To Liscor. To a place known as The Wandering Inn.

To home.

3.26 G

When he was young, he had always dreamed of walking among other races. But now all he dreamed about was death and fire. The Goblin King burned city after city to the ground, damning the screaming inhabitants by death and fire. Across the ocean, his Goblin Lords led similar crusades, pillaging, slaughtering.

There was only war. The peace he had sought for so long was a false lie. That was what the King realized. His armies burned across the continent, fighting Drakes, Undead, Antinium, Gnolls and Humans alike. They could not be stopped. There was only death in his heart, and the fury to destroy the world. With it he slew the greatest of heroes they sent against him.

Rage. All consuming. It burned him and he howled it as his warriors fought and died and leveled. He would kill them all.

—-

And then Rags woke. She started, still tasting smoke and blood, still full of the Goblin King’s fury. She slipped and nearly fell—the Carn Wolf she sat on shifted and Rags clung to its fur, eliciting a mild noise of complaint. But it had been trained too well to protest.

In a moment, Rags was sitting upright. She blinked around and realized that they’d stopped. After nearly two weeks of nonstop marching, they had arrived.

Where, exactly?

The young Goblin sat up on her mount, letting it—him—pace restlessly ahead. She was riding in the center of the army.

Her army, supposedly. Rags frowned as she looked around. As ever, a group of Hobs walked with her, as did several of Garen’s elite wolf riders. And past them?

A sea of Goblin heads flowed past Rags, and the noise of their passing washed over her. Goblins were by and large fairly quiet as a people; they preferred gestures to words and they had learned to be quiet long ago, lest they attract attention.

But thousands of marching Goblins, armored warriors who rattled with every step, noncombatants who carried packs, horses and mules and donkeys, animals liberated from Human farms, and Goblin infants, uncharacteristically quiet for babies but still occasionally noisy—all produced a din of their own.

It was an army worthy of any Chieftain. More than worthy, in fact. Rags knew her own forces, that was to say the former tribes she had personally subjugated and now controlled, were mixed into the lot. But she only commanded the huge mass. The assembled Goblins were not hers, and that was an important distinction.

Still, they didn’t fight or quarrel, and that was important. Disunity could be death here, in the heart of Human lands.

Not that there were any around. Rags looked and saw only trees. They’d been marching through a forest full of annoying trees with burrs the size of walnuts that clung to clothing and pierced skin with their sharp needles. Tall stone loomed ahead of her, and snow mixed with rotting leaves lay underfoot. Only the trees, brown and lifeless, made any impression on the landscape.

They were close to the mountain. Rags stared up at it grimly, knowing they had to be close. This was their destination, after all.

Long ago the flat grasslands had given way to forests and hills, and then to an area of rocky land where a lone mountain sat high above everything else.

It wasn’t much of a mountain to Rags, who’d grown up in the shadows of the High Passes, staring up at peaks so tall that no one had ever climbed them. But the mountain was their destination, and it seemed that after staring up at it for days, they’d finally reached the base of it.

Rags sat astride the large Carn Wolf and stared up at the massive cliff face that met the edge of the forest. She had no idea why they were here, so far from home. Well, she had some idea, but Garen Redfang had been reluctant to tell anyone his full plan when he’d told them where to go when they marched north.

Perhaps she should have argued harder. But Rags had known at the time that he was right. It was just that she couldn’t stand the long days of not knowing what was going on! The assembled tribes needed an ally in their war against the Goblin Lord, that she knew. But would they find it here, near Invrisil, where adventurers roamed in great numbers and slew any monster they found?

Rags hoped so. Or else they would all die here. She shivered in the cold and drew the fur coat more tightly around her. She remembered. This was not a memory of times long past; it was her memory, fresh and vivid.

—-

The Goblin army was a black mass that swarmed up the walls of the Human city, climbing ladders, fighting with the Human defenders among the broken gates.

Black armor. That was what set these Goblins apart from ordinary rabble. Also, no tribe would have dared to attack a Human city. But these Goblins did not fear the burning fire and lightning that the enchantments on the walls spat down at them. Their arrows flew upwards, catching the mages who tried to burn the dark shafts out of the air.

Humans fell and died. It was simply that there were not enough of them to man the walls and stem the black tide that attacked from every direction. This was a Goblin army, superior in numbers to any other force.

The knot of desperate men and women slowly grew smaller around the north gate. Soon the Goblins would gain a foothold there, and then they would be in the city, too late to stop.

Now was the time. Rags raised her hand.

Now.

The first wave of Goblins hit the black armored Goblins at the same time as the rain of arrows and crossbow bolts fell from the sky. Elite Goblins mounted on Carn Wolves tore into the unguarded backs of the Goblin Lord’s forces, causing havoc while Hobs strode next to their smaller kin, besieging the bewildered Goblin force from behind.

From where she sat Rags smiled grimly. The Goblin Lord’s forces hadn’t expected to be attacked, much less by their own kind.

Crush them against the walls.

Rags ordered more forces into the fight, reinforcing places where her forces were weak. But there wasn’t much for her to do; she’d already positioned countless archers and her Goblins armed with crossbows where they could rain death down upon the Goblins.

They were outnumbered in truth. But Rags’ forces were aided by the Humans fighting on the walls and the fact that they’d cornered the Goblin Lord here. And one more thing ensured their victory.

“Redfang! Redfang!”

A streak of crimson. A Goblin warrior sitting astride a huge wolf. Garen Redfang’s warriors howled as they plunged into the ranks of the enemy, following their leader. Rags watched Garen carving his way through the enemy, feeling both jealous and relieved at the same time.

They were on the same side, and she knew he belonged at the front. But she wished she could be fighting too, rather than stuck overseeing the battle.

And yet, this was it. Rags watched, viciously pleased as the Goblins in black armor began to rout. They’d done it. They’d won!

But where was the Goblin Lord? Rags hadn’t seen anyone remotely like a leader in the army—at least, not like the image in her head. She’d expected a warrior like Garen, or a spellcaster full of magical power. But she hadn’t seen anyone like that. Perhaps the Goblin Lord was like her?

Below her, Goblins fled. Goblins died. But Rags could feel little pity for these invaders who wore another tribe’s colors. She had seen what they left in their wake. These Goblins slaughtered villages, put crops to the torch. They were destroyers, not scavengers. They didn’t fight to survive, they fought to kill and pillage.

And rape. She had seen that too. So Rags cut down the stragglers and wiped this army from the face of the map. And as she stood with her small band of guards witnessing the last of the violence, she felt uncertain. Because the battle was won, but she didn’t know if the Goblin Lord had survived the battle.

Her answer came when Garen rode towards her, covered in blood, still wild-eyed from the adrenaline pumping in his veins. Rags strode towards him. She was nearly hopping with impatience.

Goblin Lord. Where?

She wanted Garen to say he’d killed the Lord. But Garen just stared at her strangely.

“This was not the Goblin Lord’s army. This was just one of his warbands.”

And then the ground fell out from beneath Rags. She stared at the devastation, at the Human city broken by this army. But it was not a true victory for this was only a fraction of her enemy’s strength. She had underestimated the power of a Lord and so for the first time—

She felt fear.

—-

A warband. Rags shivered at the thought. Or maybe it was just because she was cold. She sneezed and wiped her hand on the Carn Wolf’s fur. That was the convenient thing about riding the wolf, for all they were hard on the butt and bounced Rags about. Their fur was nice and easy to wipe hands and feet clean on, although the wolves tended to bite if they noticed you doing it.

Perhaps a Human – like Erin – would have just shrugged and said ‘so what?’ upon hearing that this was a Goblin warband. But Goblins understood how their kind made war. There was a simple, almost instinctual way they organized, and so from this Rags understood the dangers of the Goblin Lord’s main force.

No one had ever taught Rags about percentages, so she thought of it like this. Goblin armies were always a huge mass, but they always fragmented their forces in order to attack most efficiently. Around two thirds would constitute the main force which moved slowly from place to place, devouring and razing everything in its path. But the remaining third would break down into warbands and raiding parties that spread out in the path of the main army, seizing supplies, recruiting other Goblin tribes, and clashing with smaller forces.

A warband constituted around a tenth of the actual army’s force, so that it could be easily replaced if lost. The same went for raiding parties, which were less than a hundredth of the size of the actual army. But what that meant was that if this warband Rags’ forces had crushed numbered in the thousands, the Goblin Lord’s army numbered in the tens of thousands.

All together, the combined tribes of the High Passes numbered little less than two thousand warriors. Rags had known in an instant what would happen if they were to lead their forces against such a huge enemy. Any Goblin could figure that out, really.

Except maybe Garen Redfang. He thought they could skirmish with the Goblin Lord’s forces, but that was because he was used to a small tribe with groups of elite mounted warriors. If all the Goblins tried that they would be very dead, very quickly.

So Rags had ordered their forces north, against Garen’s objections, to buy time. It had taken some doing but she’d pointed out the obvious to the surly Goblin Chieftain. If the combined tribes around the High Passes were equivalent to one of the Goblin Lord’s warbands, they had no hope of facing his main force.

So, north. Surprisingly, once Garen had accepted the idea he had been the one to lead them to this spot. He claimed to know where another Goblin tribe was based, one strong enough to help fight the Goblin Lord.

It had been a long journey, although not necessarily a difficult one. Rags had been more concerned with affairs inside the tribe rather than any external threat. The most exciting thing that had happened had been when they’d spotted the magical carriage. But it had gotten away.

And the trip had been helpful for Rags in another way. She’d gotten to know her tribe better—that was to say, she now knew who was loyal to her and who was not. And she’d gotten stronger.

Rags had leveled many times over the journey. Not so much as a [Mage] or [Tinkerer], and certainly not as her old class – [Scavenger]. But through Garen’s intense training she’d leveled up as a [Warrior], gained two levels as a [Tactician], and more than ten as a [Leader]. Soon, the other Chieftains told her, her [Leader] class would turn into a [Chieftain] class, unique to their race.

That was the good bit. But Rags knew the bad bit started and ended with one simple fact: somehow, in some way, she’d suddenly lost her position as leader over all the tribes. Not that she’d ruled over all the tribes to begin with—this was a coalition army. But…

She was not in command here. In battles, yes. The few times the Goblins had had to defend themselves all the other Chieftains had obeyed her orders quickly and without complaint, as had their warriors. But they were not here, joining together because of Rags. And it was not her authority they respected.

It was his.

Garen Redfang appeared out of the trees, riding his huge rust-red Carn Wolf mount. Rags pulled at her wolf’s head gently, forcing it to slow down. She stared up at Garen, and not for the first time, resented his physique.

He looked like what all Goblins dreamed of being. Garen was strong. His muscles stood out on his bare chest and he looked like he barely noticed the cold. He was covered in scars, he had a magical sword at his side and a mighty beast under his command—he looked like a proper Chieftain, not Rags.

That was the problem.

Garen Redfang and his tribe were under Rags’ command. She had beaten his tribe, and so it was part of hers now. That was how it went, but somehow Garen had made a mess of that simple fact.

He had lost, but somehow, he hadn’t lost. Rags knew he’d thrown the fight, but a defeat was a defeat in Goblin society. She should have taken his tribe and obtained his unquestioning loyalty unless he challenged her.

But he didn’t obey. Garen glanced down at Rags and smiled. But not just in greeting—there was something patronizing about his smile, and indeed his attitude. It was as if he was obeying Rags because it was convenient, not because she was Chieftain.

Frankly, it made Rags furious. She jumped off her mount to give her stiff legs a chance to move. She glared up at Garen, ignoring the way his wolf sniffed at her. If it licked her, she’d punch it in the nose.

Report.

He blinked at her, almost as if he was surprised by her tone. But he answered her casually.

“We are here. This is the place where the other tribe lives.”

Here?

Rags glanced around the miserable little forest. This was hardly the place she’d have chosen for a tribe. But Garen just nodded.

“Here. In the Human lands.”

They are strong?

Rags wanted to know all the details he’d withheld from her. But her question seemed to amuse Garen. He laughed loudly, and she flushed. Other Goblins would watch them talk! Garen hadn’t dismounted. Did he not understand how to behave in front of his own Chieftain?

Garen pointed at the mountain.

“There. There is where they live. And they are strong, yes.”

He raised his voice. Rags saw Goblins’ heads turn as he spoke loudly. Garen gestured to the sky.

“This is the land where Goblins are strongest. The Humans have built grand cities and their adventurers fight with all monsters. But the Goblins remain, and fight. This is the place where Goblins are mighty.”

Rags had never heard of the tribes living to the north. But she had never ventured out of the area around Liscor, never known more than her miserable existence in her small tribe before this. She looked at Garen.

Strongest Goblins live here?

He shrugged, as if he actually wasn’t sure.

“On this continent. Aside from Goblin Lord. Others live across the sea. On islands. They are strong too. But here? Yes.”

Across the sea?

There were other Goblins on other continents? Rags couldn’t imagine it. But Garen nodded. He had seen the world Rags couldn’t imagine.

“Some live on Terandria, but fewer. Some on Chandrar too; strong tribes, that live in their own places. Few on Baleros. Fewer still on Rhir. Too much death there. Overwhelming death.”

One of the worst kinds of death. Rags shuddered. Garen nodded darkly, baring his teeth in a scowl.

“We live in other places. But the enemies find us wherever we go. The last Goblin King came across sea. Many did. They fought greater enemies than Drakes and Gnolls and Humans.”

But tribe here. It is—

Rags hesitated. Inwardly, she cursed the fact that she still couldn’t speak the common language like Garen could. The Goblin tongue was so…so…hard to use! There were countless words for death, but few words for what she needed.

It is strong? Leader is strong? Will help?

“He is. And he may help. We will see.”

How?

Garen shrugged. Rags wanted to punch him, but he sat too high up. He looked towards the mountain and nodded to Rags.

“I will go. To prepare. You follow.”

That wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Rags was supposed to order him to do that, not the other way around! She opened her mouth to shout that at Garen, but he was already wheeling his wolf, letting it lope towards the foot of the mountain.

Disgusted, Rags watched him ride away, already calling out to other Chieftains and his warriors. Not good. She was losing more control over him each day, she felt.  What would happen if she lost what control she had left? She didn’t know, but she feared the result, especially as she prepared herself to meet this new Chieftain.

—-

Goblin politics. As Headscratcher and the band of Redfang warriors had observed, the situation between Rags and Garen Redfang was anything but ordinary. The Flooded Waters tribe, Rags’ tribe, was the largest tribe in the coalition of fifteen or so tribes by a good margin. And the strongest, Rags felt.

They had nearly eight hundred warriors and several thousand Goblins in total, and over ten Hobs, the most out of any tribe by far. And yet, Rags didn’t count the Redfang tribe when she thought of her tribe. They were with the Flooded Waters tribe, but like Garen, they were separate.

He still gave orders to his tribe, although it was Rags who made sure the warriors were fed. She’d taken over, organized them efficiently and taken the burden off of Garen’s beleaguered Hobs, who’d had to do all the work because their Chieftain was a terrible leader when it came to such matters. And yet, if it came down to it, Rags was fairly certain they’d listen to Garen and not her if they butted heads.

Not good. Garen had lost, but he didn’t seem to regard losing as being less superior in any way. Normally, Rags would have killed or exiled him for disobeying her orders, but she couldn’t because Garen was too strong. If she challenged him, he would beat her easily. Ordinarily Rags would have just sneered and had several Hobs beat him up—a Chieftain ruled by more than just force!—but Garen was quite capable of taking down any number of Hobs she sent at him.

And if she used her Goblins, his tribe would defend him. And if Rags made it a battle between tribes, it wouldn’t end until one side was dead and the other crippled. And if that happened, the other Chieftains in this tenuous alliance of tribes would choose sides and either way, it would end in disaster.

This Rags knew, but she didn’t like it. She could only grit her teeth and bear the humiliation and slights Garen offered her seemingly without thought. He was too strong.

She didn’t have to order anyone to follow Garen. He rode off with his warriors and the other Goblins followed. Grumpily, Rags left her wolf—another Goblin would ride it if they could get on without it biting them—and strode off.

She needed to know things. What things? Anything. Garen had told her nothing. But who could she ask? Telling other Chieftains she couldn’t command Garen was as good as shooting herself with her black crossbow, Rags knew. She had to ask someone from her tribe. But who?

Rags had conquered four tribes with her small one. She had made all of them hers, and she knew most of them thought of her as a proper Chieftain. At least two tribes did. One was…well, she’d absorbed them only a few days before meeting the Redfang tribe, and so she hadn’t gained as complete control over them as the others. They respected Garen’s strength more than her cunning.

But it was the Chieftains Rags thought about, the former Chieftains, that was. They were hers, too. Chieftains were smart, some of them, and some knew a lot. So could she ask one of them?

Rags thought. The first tribe she’d attacked was…the Rockjaw tribe. She’d killed their leader herself. Oops.

Well, he was out. What about the second tribe? The Still Grass tribe’s leader was alive, but he was young like her. And like Rags, he had risen to power early and his tribe was weak, only having had one Hob when she’d crushed it. She doubted he knew anything of the world.

The third tribe was the least loyal to her, the Fire Bite tribe. Their Chieftain, a Hob, was hard to control. Rags couldn’t talk to him.

She ground her sharp teeth together. But wait! There was one last tribe.

The Gold Stone Tribe. Rags hesitated. She’d conquered them literally seconds before the Redfang Tribe had attacked, but to their credit, their Chieftain had instantly thrown all of his support behind Rags like a proper Goblin, when backstabbing her would have led to her instant demise.

Could she trust him? Rags closed her eyes and remembered.

Rags didn’t even see him swing his sword. She only saw the Hob next to her move, and then the Gold Stone Chieftain was in front of her, taking the one-handed slash meant for Rags.

Yes, she could trust him. Rags opened her eyes and blinked rapidly. For a second she was still in the past, heart beating rapidly as she stared up at Garen Redfang, sure this was the end. Then she was back in the present, standing on muddy ground as Goblins walked past her.

It was getting easier to do that. Rags had found recalling past events was simpler now that her tribe had grown. She still couldn’t ‘look’ back that far in time, but what she could see was easier, and she could will the visions to happen most of the time.

And it helped in matters like these. Rags began walking through the snow. She didn’t have to search to find the Gold Stone Tribe’s former Chieftain. He was part of her tribe and assigned to managing them on the march, being the most competent Hob at the job.

She found the Gold Stone Chieftain munching on something as he rested near a tree. He was waiting for the Goblins around him to keep moving forwards—Rags had passed by a pile of Goblins. One idiot had slipped and the others had all fallen down because of that.

Rags eyed the former Chieftain as he chewed contentedly, scratching at his belly. He was a classical Hob, fat, trusting in his extra body mass to shield him as much as his armor. But like all Hobs he was strong and Rags knew he was fairly good with an axe and shield.

She was about to yell at him for eating—it wasn’t meal time! Hobs had to respect her rules and stay away from the rations, the same as everyone else. But then she saw what he was eating.

Pine needles. The Hob was chewing them down slowly, letting the sharp tufts stick out of his mouth. He had a handful of the green needles and, as Rags watched, he shoved some more into his mouth.

She had to admire that. The pine needles were easy to get on the march, and it was a good snack. If you could handle the pricking, that was. She saw several other Goblins around the Chieftain trying to imitate him and spitting out the sharp pine needles after a few moments. But the Gold Stone Chieftain just chewed determinedly, grinding the tough fibers into mush.

He turned as Rags marched over. The Gold Stone Chieftain nodded his head towards her—Rags felt better about that. It wasn’t as if Goblins had to salute her or bow, but they did acknowledge their Chieftain.

You. Question.

That was all she said. As far as she knew, the Gold Stone Chieftain had no name. His tribe had no [Shaman] – they were rare – and so he lacked a name. She just thought of him as the Gold Stone Chieftain, which might be how he thought of himself.

Chieftain.

His voice was a rumble. The Gold Stone Chieftain said that word and nothing else. He just chewed his food, waiting for her to say something.

Rags pursed her lips, trying to figure out how to ask her question concisely. She could speak in the Human, or rather, common tongue, but it hurt her throat to try. She pointed at the mountain.

This place. Tribe. Is strong?

It was a question with a lot of nuance, which Garen should have understood when Rags asked him. The Gold Stone Chieftain heard Rags’ question and the layers beneath it. Properly translated, her stance, the context in which she was asking and the current state of the tribes meant she was really asking: ‘How dangerous is this tribe? Are they likely to betray us? Why has Garen taken us here, and what can I expect?’

At last, the Gold Stone Chieftain nodded. Rags waited with bated breath for his response.

Is strong Goblin. Goblins here is strong.

That was the problem with other Goblins, even other Chieftains. None of them were particularly verbose, which made sense given their language. All he was telling her was that the Chieftain was as strong as his tribe, which was apparently very. She eyed him dourly, and the Hob shrugged as if apologizing.

Talking wasn’t his strong suit. Rags turned to go, deciding she’d have to figure out what to do herself. But she heard a grunt, and then a rumble, and words in a language that was not Goblin.

“Chieftain. You. Chieftain?”

She turned, eyes widening. The Gold Stone Chieftain stared at her pensively. For a second, white-hot fury flared up in Rags’ chest and she debated taking the shortsword from her belt and stabbing him with it.

But she didn’t. It was a question, not an attack. Rags was so angry she didn’t reply in Goblin, but again in the common language.

“I…Chieftain. I always…Chieftain!”

She glared at him. The Gold Stone Chieftain met her eyes—not afraid, just searchingly. Then he bowed his head and nodded slowly.

Is so. Will not ask again.

She stared at him, but the Hob just went back to chewing his pine needles. Rags looked around. Other Goblins immediately bowed their heads and pretended to be busy kicking snow, picking nostrils, or throwing prickly burrs at each other. But they had heard.

Was the Gold Stone Chieftain questioning her too? No—as Rags left and calmed down she considered what had been said. He’d questioned her, yes, but when she’d declared herself as Chieftain he’d acknowledged her in front of the others.

Maybe, just maybe, she had one supporter she could count on. The other Hobs were loyal to her as well, but she had known they could turn on her if dissatisfied, as one of them had when they were losing to the Redfang Tribe. But the Gold Stone Chieftain…could she count on him?

Rags didn’t know. But then she found herself striding up to the mountain, and saw where Goblins were streaming into fissures in the stone, caves leading into the mountain. She walked upwards and found herself in another world, in the heart of a small kingdom of Goblins. And there she met the one who called himself Great Chieftain, the Chieftain above all others.

—-

Her cold feet left snowy tracks that melted on the rough stone floor of the city within a mountain. Rags saw other Goblins stumbling on the rough ground; though places had been worn smooth, this was no place of architecture and masonry. The vast tunnel they walked down had been hewn out of the very rock one chip at a time.

By degrees, the darkness of the caverns lightened, as bits of fire appeared overhead, lighting the way. Lanterns hung from rough hemp rope or were strapped to lengths of wood dangled off of balconies, sputtering with the cheap animal fat oil.

The smoke of such flames drifted upwards, to the walkways made out of stone and the bridges of rope and timber where dark shapes scurried about. Upwards, and ever upwards the Goblins looked, for the crisscrossing tunnels and passages led up into the heart of the mountain.

At first, they saw the guards, hidden in alcoves or behind barricades disguised as piled stone. Arrows glinted, but the Goblins watched them carefully without putting any to their bows. They wore steel armor which made even some Hobs look on in jealousy.

Next, they saw other Goblins dragging in a dead bear’s carcass, and next to it, the cub, both riddled with arrows. A rat darted out of the shadows to lick at the trail of blood. Another Goblin grabbed the rat, and a few of the roaches which clung to a wall. All things lived here, and all things were eaten.

Upwards, then, traversing stone steps and an open bridge where bat droppings had made footing treacherous. Goblins carrying wood – both firewood and quality pieces cut for the purposes of crafting passed them by, heads bowed, moving fast. There was a rhythm to this place, and a structure.

Then they passed by the huge furnaces which expelled black smoke upwards and felt warmer. The Goblins and Rags saw how the embers in this place never died, being fed coal and wood almost constantly to warm the cavern. And from the fire all things came. Meat was cooked and food made with embers taken from that massive blaze, and metal hammered or the crudest of reforgings done by Goblin [Blacksmiths], whom Rags had never seen before.

And then they reached the heart of the city, and Rags gazed in wonder at the buildings. For after centuries of neglect and habitation by Goblins, the former city of stone still showed traces of what it had been.

Perhaps it was Dwarves who carved into this place, building grand monuments and smoothing the stone. But it was Goblins who broke down windows and walls and strung bridges and rope everywhere that they might travel more easily. As Rags watched, a Goblin climbed higher, headed towards a ledge higher up that led into another passage. The Goblin’s grip slipped as he or she reached for the next part of the rope. They tried to stabilize themselves, failed.

The small body fell, and was soon dragged away.

“This is the hall of the Great Chieftain of the North.”

That was all Garen Redfang said as Rags walked with him. She stood with him and all the Chieftains of the allied tribes at the head of their army. Most of the other Goblins had stayed behind—going somewhere else—but hundreds still followed the Chieftains, warriors and other Hobs, going to the heart of this place.

Where else could it be but the throne room? Here Rags saw the places meant for statues, smashed and turned instead into more places for Goblins to move about freely. But there was still a majesty to the double doors that stood wide, and as she entered the huge hall, she saw the Chieftain of this place.

It was just a glimpse. Rags saw him past the tables and detritus of the room, sitting on a throne of cloth and dirty pillows. A fat, huge Goblin twice as large as any Hob.  But her eye was drawn to the long tables, the seats made out of stone that had been dragged up here. This was no throne room after all, but a banquet hall.

And there were Goblins in it, enough for a feast. But Rags didn’t think there was going to be any party, unless it was the bloody kind.

These Goblins were ready for war. They stood next to the dais and the huge Goblin Chieftain, armed warriors, equal in number or perhaps a little more than the Goblins that had entered with Rags and Garen at their head.

Rags immediately noticed the quality of these Goblin’s arms. Steel, again, or iron. Some wore complete sets of plate armor, scavenged from some adventurer’s corpse. Others held swords which glowed—they had magical weapons!

And Hobs. There were a lot of them. Rags blinked as she saw tall Goblins, standing next to their smaller bretheren. So many! She counted over thirty before she stopped, and there were far more in the room. Far more.

By that standard alone these Goblins were superior to the trespassers. And it clearly was a message: we are better than you. We are stronger. For all that, Rags felt that Garen’s Redfang warriors were no less powerful than the best of the warriors who stood assembled here. And of course none of the Goblins could match the legendary Garen Redfang, not the mightiest Hob warrior among them.

Except perhaps their leader. Rags fixed on him as she walked slowly forwards with Garen. The massive Goblin had not bothered to stand; she wondered if he could, fat as he was. But his huge head as was intent as he stared at her. Rags shuddered as she saw his crimson eyes looking towards her, and she sensed his authority. But then the Chieftain’s eyes fixed on Garen.

Garen stopped two thirds of the way into the room, and the Goblins stopped behind him. Rags walked past Garen, which made him frown in annoyance. She ignored that; she was the Chieftain, after all.

The huge Chieftain’s eyes flicked to Rags for a second, and his lips moved upwards in amusement. But he looked back at Garen. While Rags was wondering what to say, his huge mouth opened and he spoke.

“Garen Redfang. It has been long since you trespassed in my lands.”

Rags jumped in surprise. He was speaking in the common language! And fluently! Even Garen didn’t speak like that!

And he had addressed Garen. Rags glared. She had to reply back, teach this arrogant Chieftain who the real leader was.

But then Garen spoke. As if he didn’t realize what he was doing, he smiled and replied back, claiming Rags’ authority in front of the other Goblins.

“It has been long. But I am here for war.”

At that the other Goblins standing next to the Chieftain stirred. Rags froze, and she put her hand on the crossbow which she always kept slung to her back. A second and she could have it out and firing. But the Chieftain sitting on his throne only laughed.

“War? Against us? If you wanted that, you would have brought three times the numbers with you, and no children and females.”

To Rags’ outrage the big Goblin pointed at her as she said that. She heard a murmur from the Goblins behind her, but dared not turn to see if it was in support or agreement with the Chieftain. Garen only smiled.

“I have brought many tribes. Strong ones. Smart ones. The one standing here is known as Rags. She is unique.”

He had named her, as if she was lesser! Rags nearly exploded, but the Chieftain laughed hugely. He peered at Rags, rising a bit from his bed of softness. She didn’t flinch as she met his eyes.

“Hah. Yes. She is small and young, a child still. Do you bed her, Garen Redfang? Or is it because she is your child that you give her power?”

That was it. Rags felt something snap. As she heard the Goblins standing around the Chieftain on the dais laughing, she raised her hand to her back.

The black crossbow was heavy, but Rags could lift it with one hand for a few moments. She pulled it out, cocked the crossbow with one pull that took all her strength, and had a heavy quarrel on the string before the laughter had stopped.

Rags swung the black crossbow up and pointed the bolt straight at the fat Goblin’s massive stomach. The entire room went still.

I am Chieftain here. Not Garen Redfang. I have come with my tribes here. I am Chieftain! Show respect!

She said it loudly, letting her voice ring out through the room. Rags stared up at the huge Goblin sitting on his throne fearlessly. The warriors around them had their hands on their weapons, but she only had eyes for him.

Two crimson eyes blazed in anger. Slowly, ignoring the crossbow trained on him, the Goblin Chieftain stood up. And when he did, Rags realized how huge he was. He was a giant, tall as a Minotaur and bigger still! His voice boomed as he pointed down at Rags, filled with anger.

“I am the Great Chieftain of the North, Tremborag! I met with the Goblin King ten years ago. When he came to Izril, he came to my tribe with his armies! I have seen his face. I know his name. Velan the Kind, last King of our people. You dare to come into my domain and challenge me? Know your place. Kneel!”

His last word thundered in the cavernous room, and the pressure that hit Rags and the other Goblins had to have been from a Skill. Garen gritted his teeth and grinned fiercely as Goblins around him dropped to one knee or cowered.

Rags felt her legs buckle, but she did not kneel. She looked around and saw most of the other Chieftains kneeling as well. Only three—a tall, female Hob and a normal-sized Goblin, both with the second most powerful tribes after Garen’s, refused to kneel. And, surprisingly, the Gold Rock Chieftain. He stood steadily on his feet, blinking and scratching at a layer of fat as he stared at Tremborag.

The crossbow was heavy in her hands. Rags lowered it, but kept the point trained on Tremborag’s feet.

I am Chieftain too. You offer disrespect! Know your place.

Dead silence followed her words. Then Rags heard a voice. Garen, standing behind her, laughed. He laughed loudly, and then spoke to the Great Chieftain.

“See? She is fearless! And she is a Chieftain! My Chieftain.”

That made all the Goblins standing with Tremborag go still with shock. Rags felt countless eyes on her, but stood proudly. She was Chieftain. That could not be taken away from her.

But Tremborag managed to do it with a dismissive glance. He looked at Garen.

“You? Gave way to her? Why?”

The Hob warrior grinned.

“She can lead armies. She is smart.”

As if she wasn’t here! And he—Tremborag had the gall to suggest Garen had let Rags defeat him on purpose! The worst part was that he was right. Rags ground her teeth, but the conversation went on and she couldn’t break into it.

“A Chieftain to lead warriors while you fight in the front! I see! Clever! I would expect nothing less from Garen Redfang!”

Tremborag laughed hugely as he settled back down on his throne. Garen grinned too, but there was a spark in the air between the two Goblins. They were fighting for dominance, and everyone in the room felt it. The trouble was…well, that it wasn’t Rags doing the fighting. And she sensed like all the Goblins that both Garen and Tremborag were matched in their way.

“So. You have a leader and many tribes. Why have you come here, then, Garen Redfang? Did you not swear never to join the Goblin Lord? Did you not fight them, or were you too afraid and fled here?”

From behind Rags she heard Goblins shouting angrily at this—probably Garen’s warriors. But the Hob was calm, and replied coolly.

“We did fight. We fought an army. Goblin Lord’s army. Thousands strong. We slew them all. But it was warband.”

Silence. All Goblins could understand what this meant. Tremborag lost his grin and nodded. His face grew serious. He looked past Garen, and his voice deepened further, if that were possible.

“When the Goblin King lived, his raiding parties were tens of thousands strong. So I have heard. A Goblin Lord stands second-highest to a King. He is strong.”

“Strong. But he is no true Goblin.”

That came from Garen, and it was damning as it was shocking to hear, even though Rags knew his opinion. Tremborag gazed down at Garen silently, and nodded.

“He is not. But I ask again. Why do you come here, Garen Redfang?”

Everyone knew the answer, but Garen had to say it. He bared his teeth.

“To fight against the Goblin Lord. Together.”

Rags held her breath, forgetting for a moment that it was she who should have made the offer. Tremborag nodded closing his eyes briefly. But when he looked at Garen it was with another one of his smiles, as if he was playing some huge trick on the Hobgoblin.

“You say to ally. But here I sit in my kingdom in the mountain. My Goblins are strong. Why should I ally with you, you who has abandoned his home?”

Now Rags could answer. She opened her mouth, but to her outrage Garen stepped past her and spoke in her place. He gestured at her and the Goblins behind him. Rags had her hand on her sword, itching to stab him.

“I am strong. My tribe and other tribes—under Rags—is strong. And she is smart. She can lead armies to battle.”

At least he said that. Tremborag’s eyes focused on Rags briefly again, assessing, discarding.

“So? I have armies and strong and smart warriors of my own.”

Garen nodded. He touched something else, something hidden behind his armor. Rags stared at it, knowing what it had to be. A little key.

“I have something else. A prize. You know what it is.”

Tremborag stared at Garen’s hand. He nodded. Spoke quietly.

“Yes. I know what you have. And that false Goblin to the south shall not have it.”

The two stared at each other for a long minute. Then Tremborag nodded. He rose, and laughed. Then he spread his arms wide.

“So be it! Garen Redfang, we will fight together! This Goblin Lord will not rule us. And he will break his teeth upon this mountain if he should come for battle.”

A moment’s breath as Goblins understood this, and then thunder rang out as hundreds, thousands of voices shouted out. Rags realized the throne room, the banquet room, wasn’t just filled with warriors. Goblins, ones who were lesser warriors or not fighters at all, filled the upper balconies dug out of the rock or stood clustered around the entrance to the throne room.

Garen strode forwards, and he and Tremborag met. They didn’t hug or shake hands, but they stood together and so it was done. Rags knew it. And she also knew something else.

She’d lost her power here. Garen had taken it without a fight and without saying so, but he had taken it from her.

She just didn’t understand how.

—-

She confronted him as the banquet room was filling with thousands of Goblins. Tremborag was as good as his word, and he had declared a feast to celebrate. Huge baskets full of food, cooked meat and raw, and many other foods, vats of bubbling soup, were being taken out to feed the hungry mass of Goblins.

Rags wasn’t eating just yet. She stopped Garen as he finished peeing in a corner where other Goblins had done the same by the smell of it. He looked at her and grinned.

“Little Chieftain.”

That was it. Rags aimed a kick at the thing dangling between his legs. Garen frowned and blocked the blow.

“Painful. Don’t do that.”

I am Chieftain!

She shouted it at him. Garen just pulled his pants up and shrugged. He looked at her as if he’d done very little wrong; an inconsequential thing she was getting worked up over.

“You are Chieftain. But I am Garen Redfang. And I am strong. So I am Chieftain too, in a way.”

“That is not…how…it works!”

Rags hissed at him, practically stumbling over the words. Garen just shook his head.

“You need me. I, Tremborag respects. Not you.”

It was true, but it didn’t stop Rags from trying to kick him in the same place. Garen just laughed and moved out of the way.

“It is time to eat. Eat, and then we shall talk, Chieftain.”

She watched him go, despairing inside. Well, Garen had said it. He wasn’t under her command. He just pretended to be because it was convenient. Now she knew. And she…

She had to do something about it. Instantly, Rags stopped thinking of the Redfang tribe as being hers. It was not. Her tribe was smaller now, and weaker. And it was in a place where one tribe reigned supreme.

But she was still Chieftain. Filled with that knowledge, Rags returned to the banquet room. Countless Goblins were tearing at food, eating in groups or alone – as alone as you could get in such a crowded room anyways – but the place of choice seemed to be reserved for the Goblins sitting at the massive table in front of the dais.

In truth, it didn’t make sense to Rags. Goblins didn’t use tables! Not unless they had a lot of food and the ground was really dirty, at any rate. And they didn’t do…formality. But these Goblins, Tremborag’s tribe, had clearly adopted the other species’ way of doing things.

It was just another thing that didn’t make sense to Rags, but food was food. She walked towards the table. The seats were almost exclusively filled by Hobs. Some elite Goblin warriors of regular size were there too, but it was clearly based on hierarchy. She saw her fellow Chieftains sitting at the table already, halfway up, and Garen at the far end.

But where did she sit? Rags saw a Goblin hurrying to intercept her. They had Goblins waiting on the table? True, Goblins always brought her food if she wanted it, but this—

Rags frowned as the meek Goblin pointed to a place on the table. Far down the table, near the end. It was where some of her warriors sat, including the Still Grass Chieftain. And it was not where she belonged.

Even if Garen and his tribe were not hers, Rags knew she belonged near the head of the table. She looked towards the throne and saw Tremborag, huge and inescapable, sitting there with Garen and a few of his warriors. The Great Chieftain was watching her. He was eating what looked like the entire bloody leg of a cow, and laughing at something Garen had said. But he was staring at her.

He’d put her here. Rags stared at the empty seat waiting for her. It was a deliberate insult, Rags knew. She stared up at the head of the table, where Garen sat next to Tremborag. Rags didn’t blush; she didn’t feel embarrassed in the slightest. No, the only thing in her heart was anger.

Rags didn’t take the seat. She turned from the meek Goblin and strode towards the head of the table, ignoring the looks she got from the other Goblins eating. They were watching her too. Of course they were. Probably most of the room was watching her, seeing what she did. That was Goblins for you. They watched everything. But Rags had never known a day where her actions mattered as much as now.

She stopped at the head of the table and looked around. Garen was sitting next to Tremborag, who was seated at the head of the wide table. And across from him…

“What is wrong, little Goblin? Are you lost? Your seat is over there!”

A Hob, battle-scarred and confident, sat in the chair across from Garen. He was holding some kind of crude mead in his hands—no doubt made in this very mountain—and laughing at her.

Rags just stared at him. She walked over and pointed to his seat.

My seat. Move.

He blinked at her for a second, and then roared with mirth. The Goblins who’d heard Rags laughed as well, as did Tremborag. Garen was smiling and just watching Rags.

She calmly watched the Hob instead. He was laughing at her. So were the other Goblins, Hobs and normal ones alike. They didn’t respect her.

Was Rags angry? No. She’d gone far beyond that, into a realm where the words furious, incandescent, and wrathful were the soft option. The pure quill of rage was burning in Rags’ chest, which is why she did what she did next without thought for the consequences.

The Hob was still laughing as Rags looked at the table. It was rather high up, so she placed one hand on it. Then she swung herself upwards and stood on the table. Ignoring the dishes, Rags walked across the table, kicking plates out of the way and scattering mugs to the displeasure of their owners. The Hob sitting next to Tremborag blinked at her—

And she kicked him in the face.

It was a good kick. Solid. Rags put her entire body into it. It snapped the Hob’s head backwards, and he tipped backwards in his chair. It struck the ground with a thump, spilling him out of it.

And the noise—

Stopped.

Fighting wasn’t unusual at any mealtime. Any number of brawls or petty squabbles could break out and Goblins would ignore it or get clear or join in without raising an eyebrow. But this was different.

The entire hall went silent. The Hob surged to his feet, angry.

“You. Weak Goblin female! You challenge me?”

Did they all speak the common tongue? Rags stood with both feet planted, ignoring Tremborag’s grin and Garen’s eyes on her. She stared at the Hob and spoke loud enough for all to hear.

I am Chieftain. This is my seat. Will you fight me?

Silence. The Hob stared at her incredulously. Then he snarled.

“I will beat you and take you for myself. You are weak!”

That was it. The hall, which had already been quiet, went still. He had challenged her, a Chieftain. Normally Tremborag would have stopped him, or supported the Hob, but he wasn’t about to do so, Rags knew.

And in that case, her tribe would defend Rags as their Chieftain. She waited. But heard only silence. Goblin culture demanded her Hobs and elite warriors would rise to her defense. But no one moved. Rags felt her heart freeze over. If they did not follow her—

A chair moved back. The Gold Stone Chieftain, sitting far down the table, stood up lazily, as if he was getting up to stretch his legs or pee. And as Goblins saw him stand, Rags saw the Still Grass Tribe’s Chieftain stand, full of nervous energy.

Three other Hobs stood as well, two females and a male. Three, out of the many she commanded. And the Fire Bite Chieftain remained sitting. But it was enough. Rags stared at the Hob, ready to fight. She would claim her authority right here and now, in blood and death if she had to.

The Hob snarled. He raised a fist and moved towards her. Rags called magic into her hand, ready to burn his face. She wouldn’t use her crossbow here; he was too close. Her sword. She had to prove—

“Rags is my Chieftain.”

Garen Redfang pushed back his chair suddenly. The Hob turned, suddenly wary. Garen smiled, his teeth glinting as he raised his voice.

“My Chieftain. You disrespect her.”

Rags stared with narrowed eyes at Garen. He’d stood up late. He wasn’t supporting her, not in the right way. But it was good for Garen. Now the Hob had to take him on; he couldn’t back down. The warrior hesitated, but then he came at Garen, fist swinging fast at the other Goblin’s head.

Too slow for Garen, though. The other Hob waited until the fist was close to his face before he lashed out. He leaned back and kicked the other Goblin in the chest.

Garen hit him so hard Rags could hear the Goblin warrior’s bones crack. The Hob stumbled back, sat down. Then he lay down and didn’t get back up.

“Here. Chieftain.”

Politely, Garen pulled back the chair. Rags stared at him in silence. Then, ignoring the fallen Hob who a few smaller Goblins ran over to drag away, she hopped off the table and took a seat.

“Well. You have claimed your seat, and your faithful warrior has protected you. Good!”

Tremborag said the words loudly, and noise resumed as if he had commanded it. He grinned down at Rags, and she saw how he could easily bite her head off with one chomp of his jaws. But she just stared up at him without flinching.

“She is brave. I told you she would not sit there.”

Garen sat back down, grinning as he tore into a bloody piece of meat. Tremborag laughed.

“Yes. You did. Well, we shall talk, little Rags and Garen Redfang. Talk, but only about small things. For now we eat!”

And as he spoke a plate was put in front of Rags. She stared down at it, askance; who used plates? The crude, clay plate sat in front of her, insultingly stupid. The table was fine—but she took it anyways. Rags grabbed as much food as she could reach, standing on the table much to Tremborag’s amusement.

And so Rags ate her fill, which was unusual for a Goblin. It usually meant everything was well, but as she found her tribe after the banquet and learned they had been assigned their own part of the stone city, and her Goblins had already been assigned tasks to fulfill, she knew all was not well.

Garen Redfang and Tremborag. Goblin legend, former Gold-rank adventurer and Chieftain. And a Chieftain who ruled over an actual palace, who claimed to be Great Chieftain among Goblins and spoke and acted like a Human.

Rags knew that she could not trust them.

Either of them.

—-

It was dark when Rags was finished familiarizing herself with the new role her tribe was filling in Tremborag’s domain. She didn’t like that her people were being split up, given new roles and places to sleep, as if they weren’t her tribe anymore. She didn’t like it, but she knew she couldn’t do anything about it right now.

She wanted to get out and explore this place, this massive city that spoke to her of past glories before the Goblins had claimed it. She wanted to learn more about Tremborag and join in on whatever he and Garen were planning. She wanted to think about her tribe and what she was losing or had already lost.

But two figures stopped her at the entrance to her quarters. Rags had her hand on her shortsword, but she stopped when she saw one of them.

The Gold Stone Chieftain stood lazily next to the door, chewing on something. A bone. He was munching it down, marrow and bone and all. Were his teeth made of iron?

Chieftain.

He nodded to her. Rags nodded back, and stared at the other Goblin. He was a Hob, one of hers. Why was he here? Why was the Gold Stone Chieftain here?

I am going.

She wanted to be alone. But the Gold Stone Chieftain just shook his head at her. He tapped his chest slowly, and spoke after a brief pause with a deep frown on his face.

“Should go with. Dangerous…alone.”

He had to use another language, because what he was saying was so foreign to Goblins. Rags couldn’t believe the implications. She might be attacked? Her? A Chieftain welcomed into another tribe’s hold?

She stared at the other Hob and then at the Gold Stone Chieftain. Two Hobs? She needed…?

Slowly, a dark feeling began to steal over Rags. She remembered the Hob’s comments, the one she’d kicked, and Tremborag’s. She wondered what the Gold Stone Chieftain had seen that made him come here. But she knew one thing.

He was loyal. Rags looked up at the Hob, who’d resumed crunching on his bone. She looked at him, and spoke the words that were in her heart.

This place…is not Goblin. Not Goblin.

She felt it already. The other Hob stirred, but the Gold Stone Chieftain just nodded silently. Rags nodded as well.

They are not Goblin. But I am.

It was a declaration that meant a thousand things, and it was one which meant war if anyone else were to hear. But they were alone. The Hob warrior looked nervous, but he stood with Rags. And the Gold Stone Chieftain just tossed the last bit of bone aside. He didn’t say much, but he knew exactly what to say.

“Yes, Chieftain.”

3.27 M

When she woke up, it was like any ordinary day. But Mrsha knew it was special because she could smell the crepes.

She liked crepes. They were hot and chewy, and sometimes burned when Lyonette made them. Other times they were still runny, but they were always good because they came with honey.

The small Gnoll with white fur sat up in Lyonette’s empty bed, wriggling out of the covers she’d stolen again last night. Her short, bushy tail beat the ground hard, and in a few moments she raced downstairs.

Food! It wasn’t at all like the bloody meat she used to eat in her tribe’s camp, or the hot and filling stews. Those were spiced and tasted good, but they were made for everyone and sometimes there wasn’t enough. But here, in this inn that smelled of new wood and strange bug-men, Mrsha could always eat as much as she wanted.

And she could eat honey! The Gnoll drooled as she ran downstairs on all fours. She slipped near the bottom on one of the steps, though. Mrsha made a small sound of alarm, tried to catch her balance, failed, and tumbled down the stairs.

“Mrsha!”

It was the first word of the day, and it was hers. Mrsha uncurled from the protective ball she’d made and looked up. Hurrying across the big, empty room was a familiar face. The Human girl known as Lyonette rushed over to the Gnoll, already fretting out loud.

“Are you hurt? Are you okay? I told you not to run down the stairs! Oh, let me check—”

Mrsha turned her face up so Lyonette could see she was well. It was an odd thing the Human girl did, the Gnoll had found. She had to inspect Mrsha all over to see she was well. A Gnoll would have just sniffed to make sure there was no blood—Mrsha had fallen many times over the course of her young life and learned quickly not to cry over small things.

But Lyonette cared. She cared so much that it made Mrsha feel fuzzy inside sometimes. Already the Gnoll knew she’d get extra honey on her crepes—more than she usually got, which was already a lot. Because Lyon was a nice person. She took care of Mrsha. She took care of the inn while Ryoka and Erin were away.

That was what Mrsha understood. This was Ryoka’s home, and the home of the girl who made delicious things. Erin. But it was also Lyonette’s home, and she took care of it while they were gone.

It wasn’t Mrsha’s home. It wasn’t. But it was a good place, and it made Mrsha feel happy most of the time. And Lyonette always fed her here, although some of the things she made tasted bad.

She wasn’t a good cook. And she fussed about things like the cold and bugs and washing. And she couldn’t smell, at least, not like Mrsha could.

But she was kind. She fed Mrsha every day and she always asked Mrsha how she was feeling. She hugged Mrsha often and sometimes cried, but never when she knew Mrsha was around. She smelled of guilt and her hands had blisters from scrubbing and working now.

She was almost as good as a mother. But Mrsha’s mother was dead. And her father. And her tribe was dead too, every last one.

She was alone.

The black thoughts broke through Mrsha’s happiness suddenly. She sat at one of the tables as Lyonette fussed over her, suddenly filled with emptiness. She remembered.

Perhaps Lyonette noticed Mrsha’s suddenly drooping tail and ears, and the way she stared at her white fur. Maybe she didn’t. But in the next moment she had—

Crepes!

Mrsha forgot about what she’d been thinking on purpose. Her stomach rumbled and she wagged her tail and panted as the crepes came on a big plate next to a bowl filled with sweet honey. She reached for the first steaming one, but Lyonette grabbed her paw.

“Ah, ah! You know what to do first, Mrsha.”

The Gnoll child hesitated, and then saw another empty plate. She pulled it towards her, and Lyonette nodded encouragingly.

“And the silverware?”

Mrsha found a fork and knife as well. She put it next to her plate. Then she looked at Lyonette pleadingly. The girl smiled and nodded.

Instantly, the Gnoll grabbed a crepe off the plate. Ignoring the silverware and her own plate, she bit into it happily. Then she took the bowl of honey and poured some over her plate. She wiped some of the honey onto her crepe, took another bite. Sweetness and the electric rush of energy made her practically vibrate on her seat.

Sitting next to her, Lyonette laughed and tried to make Mrsha eat ‘civilized’, which was to say, slower, and with a knife and fork. But Mrsha was too hungry and why should she use a fork? Paws were faster.

That was breakfast, on a day like any other. But it was a good breakfast, and special because she wasn’t in the city. It had been nearly a week since Mrsha had left the Drake who made all the rules, Selys. She had come here, to a better place. She might have called it a home, but how could it be?

After she was done, Mrsha sat on her chair, snuffling at Lyonette’s plate, wondering if she had room to lick up crumbs or whether Lyonette would let her lick the plate clean. What would happen next?

It was a mystery. Some days Lyonette was busy and she’d go around cleaning up dust or cooking more food. But other days she’d play with Mrsha, or bathe her, or groom her hair. Mrsha had toys now. They were hers; the bossy Drake had given them to her. She wanted to play with the ball outside if Lyonette would throw it. Or maybe she could look at the wriggling thing? It was still sitting in the bowl; Mrsha could smell it. Maybe Lyonette wanted to play in the snow?

But then Mrsha smelled something different. Her head turned towards the stairs, and she went still in sudden fright.

It wasn’t a normal day after all. Because coming down the stairs, yawning, was a Drake. Not the bossy Drake, or the one who played chess.

Someone else.

Instantly, Mrsha was out of her chair and hiding behind Lyonette. But the girl only stroked her head and smiled at the strange Drake.

“Oh! Mister Shivertail. You’re up early.”

Shivertail? Mrsha’s ears perked up at the words. She looked at the Drake, and remembered that he was the one who’d come last night!

Zel? Mrsha remembered it because she’d never heard of anyone with a ‘z’ in their name before. Cautiously, she padded around the table and circled Zel Shivertail warily.

“Mrsha! Don’t be rude to a guest!”

Lyonette tried to chase Mrsha away, but she was slow. The Drake only laughed though, as he took a seat.

“I don’t mind, Mistress. Gnoll cubs are far easier to deal with than Drake hatchlings. Do I smell breakfast?”

“Oh! Let me get you a plate. I’ve made crepes—unless you’d like something else? I can do eggs and bacon…”

Mrsha perked up at the words, although she still felt full.

“Crepes will be fine.”

Lyonette hurried into the kitchen. When she came back with crepes and a glass she hovered around Zel while he ate, making contented sounds and Mrsha padded under the tables and chairs nearby, still watching the Drake and sniffing at him with keen interest.

She remembered something about him, didn’t she? He smelled like the sheets of the inn of course, and she could tell he’d travelled for a while because the odor of dried sweat emanated from his clothes. But there was something else, something familiar…

“I’m sorry, we don’t have anything to drink but milk and water. Um. Are Drake children really so hard to manage?”

“Water is fine—milk would be quite nice if you have it.”

Zel waited until Lyonette came back with a cooled pitcher of milk. Sneaking up on the Drake from behind, Mrsha listened to him talk to Lyonette with one ear as she kept sniffing.

“Children? They’re awful. I’ve never had any, but Drakes at a young age are temperamental and they bite. Of course, I hear Gnolls do too, but I’ve never had one of them bite my tail.”

Mrsha stared at Zel’s tail. It was curled around a chair leg. She wondered what it would taste like…

“Oh, well. I wouldn’t know. I’m new here. I mean…”

“It’s quite unusual to see any Humans here. I’m sorry, but I didn’t get the full story last night. You said this inn is run by a Human [Innkeeper] who settled here, didn’t you? But how did you come to be here? Did you move from one of the Human cities?”

Mrsha could hear Lyon hesitate as she crept closer one step at a time. Slowly, stealthily—like she was hunting butterflies. She crept along, towards the Drake’s back so he wouldn’t see her, still smelling something so familiar it hurt…

“It’s a long story.”

“If you have time, I’d like to hear it.”

“You’re not busy?”

“I don’t have anything I have to do right away. My…companion is probably still hungover from last night. I heard him say he’d be drinking the cold away and I’m not that keen on meeting him in any case. These crepes are quite good with this honey! Are there beehives around Liscor that have popped up in the last few years? I didn’t hear of that.”

“Oh, well, the bees are…um…it’s part of the long story, you see…”

Mrsha rolled her eyes silently; she didn’t want to hear a story she already knew! She wanted to hear Ryoka’s stories. But it meant both adults weren’t paying attention to her. Finally, Mrsha could crawl right behind the Drake’s chair.

There it was. The smell. She sniffed very quietly at the Drake’s claws. Something was lurking past the ordinary smells of unwashed scale, dirt, sweat, and so on.

Then she smelled the blood, faint and old on his claws and the deeper scents of oil and steel. And she remembered.

He runs out of the swirling snow, armor battered, unarmed. But he runs like a giant, and the Goblins attacking Ryoka and the Gnolls hesitate when they see him. And at his back, an army of Drakes appears as if by magic, howling and shouting with fury as they race towards the Goblins.

The Drake slashes out with his claws and tears through a Goblin wearing black armor as if the Goblin had worn nothing at all. He cuts down another Goblin—a Hob with a battleaxe—and charges onwards. At his side, a Drake with a sword that shines with magic cuts down two Goblins with one slash.

They run past Mrsha, and for a moment her heart leaps in her chest. But the Goblins are everywhere, and then a group of Hobs charges towards them. And she hides in the snow, cowering, wishing everything would go away. She is afraid, paralyzed by terror. Afraid, afraid—

“Mrsha?”

She shook, and then realized Lyonette was staring down at her. For a second Mrsha was still afraid, but then she realized she was in the inn. She felt exhausted, and she stared up at Lyon as the girl looked anxiously at her.

“You were shaking. Are you alright? Why were you hiding underneath the table? You should sit with me.”

She reached for Mrsha, but the small Gnoll suddenly lashed out in anger. She nipped at Lyonette’s hand and the girl pulled back with a cry of pain.

“Ow! Mrsha!”

Filled with hot shame, Mrsha retreated back from the Human girl. She hid by another table. So tired. So afraid! She remembered, and looked past Lyonette to stare at the Drake who was eying her.

He was there. He had been there when she had lost her tribe. He—

He didn’t recognize her. At all. Why?

Because of her fur. Mrsha stared down at her white paws as Lyonette stepped back, looking hurt.

“Sorry about that. I guess Mrsha’s just a bit grumpy today.”

“So I see. I might have upset her—Gnolls can be very territorial. It’s strange though. I’ve never seen a Gnoll with white fur before.”

“Oh? But you’ve heard of Gnolls with white fur? I thought Mrsha was unique.”

The Gnoll backed slowly away from the two as Lyonette turned to Zel eagerly. Her heart was beating too fast and she still felt—he had been there. And because he had been there, Mrsha felt like she was back there, too.

“I’ve heard of it. It’s more of a rumor than anything else, but the Gnolls believe certain colors have meaning. White, for instance, is not a natural color for Gnolls of any tribe.”

“But it means something? Ryoka was saying that she thought it had a meaning, but none of the Gnolls would tell her what it meant.”

“I can tell you what I know, but it’s just rumors…”

Mrsha turned away. She covered her floppy ears with her paws. She did not want to hear. She knew what her fur meant.

It meant her tribe was gone. And it meant it was her fault. Mrsha knew that. She couldn’t deny it, no matter how much she wanted to.

[Last Survivor]. Level 8. That was what the voice had told her. It had told her she was the last.

There was no one left.

The knowledge crushed Mrsha, pressed down on her heart until it seemed like there was no air to breathe, no place to exist. They were dead. Her tribe—the Stone Spears—

Were dead.

Because of her.

It felt like suddenly the world was darker, the ceiling lower. And Mrsha was smaller, and it was hard to breathe. She gasped and trembled underneath her table as voices echoed overhead, weirdly distant.

She had to leave. She had to get out. Mrsha stared towards the door, and then ran for it.

“Mrsha! Where are you going?”

Lyonette turned to the Gnoll as she reached up for the handle. Mrsha froze guiltily, but the girl went on.

“Going to the outhouse? Alright, but come back quickly! And don’t try to crawl down there! Remember last time?”

Mrsha didn’t turn. She just opened the door and escaped into the powdery snow. Immediately the world turned bright and white, and cold. Mrsha with all her fur felt cold, but she didn’t care. At this moment she couldn’t bear to be in the inn, not near the Drake who smelled of death and reminded her of what she’d lost. Mrsha looked around the snowy landscape.

There was only one place to go, really. The city. As young as she was, Mrsha still knew the dangers of being alone in the wilderness. So she began to run through the snow, barely visible in the morning light. She was a white patch of color amid a scene dedicated to the very same color.

So perhaps it was no wonder the Drake on guard on the southern gate didn’t notice her. He was standing at attention, but idly. And he didn’t have the nose of a Gnoll, so Mrsha slipped past him with no effort.

And then she was in the streets, staring around at the building curiously, and at the many Drakes and Gnolls—and the few Humans—walking down the streets. A thousand scents assaulted Mrsha’s nose at once, and she breathed out slowly.

Better. She could forget. Only—after a few seconds, Mrsha realized she couldn’t forget. Here too was a bad place that drove her backwards in time. Because of the staring.

They stared at her. Drakes and Gnolls. But while the Drakes did it idly, wondering perhaps whose child Mrsha was, or at her odd fur coloring, the Gnolls were different. They stared and they knew.

It was too much to bear, so Mrsha ran again. She ran through the sea of legs, turned down the first alley she came to.

Quiet. Alone. That was what she wanted. She didn’t want—

Mrsha’s claws pulled at her fur. She pulled at it, as if she could get rid of it. Some hairs came out, and she felt pain, but she pulled more out, biting at her fur, savage, angry.

It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t her fault!

But it was. And as the despair flooded over Mrsha again, she thought of home. But home was gone. And the inn wasn’t her home. Ryoka wasn’t there, and she—

She wanted to go back.

Again and again. It felt like Mrsha was turning in circles, and she chased her tail in the wet alleyway, turning about until she was dizzy and wanted to throw up. But it was better than remembering. Anything was.

What now? She couldn’t stay here. Last time she’d run away from Selys, the Watch had found her because she’d tried to hide in alleyways. Mrsha had to go somewhere.

But where? Inn? No. So…

Something swirled on the breeze and Mrsha’s nose twitched as she caught a scent. Gnolls had powerful noses, but their children had far stronger tracking abilities. And so what Mrsha smelled was faint, mixed with a thousand scents, but she still caught it.

A familiar smell. Someone she knew. Instantly, Mrsha padded out of the alleyway and onto the streets. But she paused then, realizing one thing was giving her away.

She was on all fours. It was faster, but in her tribe Urksh had been teaching her to walk on two legs. Mrsha did this now. It was hard—and slower! But she had to blend in, at least a bit. A Drake [Guardsman] would stop a Gnoll child who was alone and on all fours, but if she walked like this, they would think she was older.

No one stopped Mrsha as she walked hesitantly down the street, pausing to sniff or steady herself against a wall or passing object. Perhaps the patrolling Watch members she saw would have paid attention to her, but they were too busy eying the Humans.

There were a lot of them in Liscor, or rather, Mrsha saw at least one Human down every street she walked. But that was many for the citizens of Liscor, and Mrsha saw how the pedestrians avoided walking near the Humans, especially the adventurers who walked in groups of their own.

Down the street. And then left—sticking close to a wall to avoid the rumbling wagons that went down the middle. The smell grew stronger the more Mrsha followed it, and soon she was able to identify what it was.

In Mrsha’s mind an image of a taciturn Human, sitting in a corner of the inn while Erin chatted to him, surfaced. She blinked in surprise and nearly fell forwards.

She knew him! He was the grumpy Human, the one who smelled like leather and alcohol and arrow glue! Mrsha knew what that smelled like. She’d always hung around [Fletchers] as they made arrows—until they chased her away, that was. But this man was different than the [Hunters] of her tribe. He didn’t smell like dead animals, but other things. He killed strange creatures Mrsha could not dream of.

The smell was coming from a big building in front of her. Mrsha blinked up at it. It was an inn, like Erin’s but very full of people—all of them seemingly Drakes. But Halrac’s scent was coming from within, along with the smells of alcohol and food. Mrsha hesitated. Should she go elsewhere?

But she had nowhere else to go. And she liked the grumpy Human. So Mrsha fearlessly entered the inn full of Drakes. She looked around and immediately found the Humans because they were sitting in a corner of the room, and most of the Drakes had their backs to them.

Mrsha glanced around, but none of the Drakes were looking at her. It was because she had a Skill. [Natural Concealment]. Carefully, she crept over to the table where he sat, arguing with three other Humans.

“—I’m telling you, we shouldn’t stand for it!”

He sounded angry. Halrac’s voice rasped as he argued with a big man in armor—Mrsha stared his bulging arms—and a young woman who smelled like cotton and cloth and an old man with a staff who smelled of magic. Magic to Mrsha was the smell of burned ozone, the sharp tang of electricity, and a whiff of something else that defied explanation.

“We paid good coin for those rooms. I don’t care if that damned [Innkeeper] is offering us another set of rooms. How do we know he won’t kick us out of those as well?”

“Because, Halrac, we pay more than any of his other customers.”

That came from the girl with stitches around her wrists. She smelled of magic too, but it was the cloth scent that came strongly from her that intrigued Mrsha. The Gnoll stared at her as she edged closer to the table, sniffing to see if there were any scraps. Was her entire body made of cotton? That couldn’t be right, but that’s what it smelled like.

A man with a big, gray beard leaned across the table to pull a plate of the spicy flat cakes the Drakes loved to eat towards him. He took one and ate it as he spoke, sounding wise and calm, or like how Mrsha imagined wise and calm people spoke.

“It cannot be helped. The Drake who came by is a Lord of the Wall. To Drakes, that would be the equivalent of a major [Lord] or one of the Five Families turning up. We should count ourselves fortunate that he didn’t reserve the entire inn.”

“Arrogant bastard. I recognize him—he’s a commander as well. Did you see his arms and weapons? We don’t have enchantments of that quality. If it came to a fight, though—”

“We’re not at war, Halrac.”

That was all the big man said. Mrsha saw the [Scout] slowly nod, although he still looked angry.

“I say we should leave. It’s not worth the coin we’re paying to stay here.”

The girl with stitches and dark skin drawled as she sat back in her chair.

“Say I agree with you. I’m getting tired of being sneered at behind my back too, but where would we go? There aren’t any inns not full to bursting in this city and we can’t kick anyone out, unless we’re willing to pay more than we are now.”

Was she a [Mage]? Mrsha crept a bit further under the table, hiding under Halrac’s chair. She wondered if any of the adventurers would drop some food by accident, or if she could steal a snack. Probably not.

“There’s one inn that’s empty. I told you about it before.”

“Your little watering hole. Right. Well, it can’t be worse than waiting thirty minutes for food to arrive.”

The Stitch-girl made a face. The big man exchanged glances with the man with the beard, and then leaned forwards.

“You told us the [Innkeeper] vanished a while back. Has she returned?”

Halrac shrugged.

“I don’t think so. But there’s still a girl in the inn. A [Barmaid].”

The man with the beard looked amused. Mrsha wondered if it got in his way. Gnolls had fur, but not beards. Wouldn’t it get messy when he drank soup or ate food?

“An inn without an [Innkeeper]. Still fancy moving, Revi?”

Revi, the girl, frowned.

“Maybe. It’s empty, you said?”

Halrac nodded. The big man looked unconvinced.

“If the beds are empty, it’s probably for a good reason.”

The [Scout] rolled his eyes expressively. He jerked a thumb at a passing [Barmaid]—who glared at him behind his back.

“A place to sleep—even if it does mean we don’t get waited on hand and foot—is still better than paying ten times as much to be stared at like we’re pariahs.”

“Fine.”

Revi sighed. She looked at the man with the beard.

“Typhenous?”

Beard man paused and stroked said beard.

“I wouldn’t mind a bit more inconvenience if it means cheaper rates. If we’re planning to stay for as long as I fear we are, we should attempt to conserve our coin.”

Revi and Halrac nodded; all eyes turned towards the big man.

“Ulrien?”

“I don’t really care.”

His voice was deep. Mrsha could smell blood on him—not a fresh wound, but the traces of it. She knew this because she was staring right at one amazingly muscled calf. She longed to poke it, but she knew she had to be quiet.

And then—noise! Footsteps approaching. And silence—an audible drop in the background babble of the inn. Mrsha peeked out from her table and immediately hid when she saw the other three beings approaching. She didn’t think they were Human.

“Jelaqua.”

“Ulrien. Is there room at your table for us to sit?”

Mrsha, curled tightly around the center of the table, heard Ulrien reply after a moment of hesitation.

“I don’t see why not. We’ll have to grab chairs and move—”

“Watch the Gnoll cub or you’ll squish her.”

Mrsha froze in surprise. She heard a rustle, and then Halrac’s glaring face peeked below the edge of the table with the other three adventurers. They all looked surprised, and the…woman…named Ivirith laughed.

“You didn’t notice the Gnoll child? You’re losing your touch, Halrac.”

“I didn’t think we’d be spied upon. You there…Gnoll! Come on out!”

Cautiously, Mrsha did just that. She stared up and immediately shrank back when she saw the newcomers. But they didn’t look angry…

“Halrac, you know this Gnoll?”

“She’s from the inn. I don’t know why she’s here.”

“Perhaps she’s grown attached to you. I have heard of stranger things.”

The weird-echoing voice came from one of the new adventurers. He looked like he was part crab or part…Mrsha had never seen anything like him before. She stared wide-eyed at the man, before looking up at the giant whose head was nearly touching the rafters.

“What do we do with her? I don’t suppose the [Innkeeper] would summon the Watch to bring her home.”

Revi frowned at Mrsha, and then smiled. Mrsha glared at her; she could tell when adults were pretending to be nice!

“Where are you from, little one? Shouldn’t you be going home?”

“She’s mute, Revi.”

The Stitch-Girl drew back and sighed.

“Pity.”

“Oh, let her sit here. Where are those chairs? Oh, thank you, Moore.”

The half-Giant casually lifted the chairs over. Mrsha blinked at her seat, but then sat in it. Her head barely peeked over the table. She stared, wide-eyed at the one who had spoken.

A woman with dead-white skin stared back at her, lips turned upwards in a smile. But Mrsha didn’t smile back.

The woman was dead. Mrsha could smell it on her. She was dead, but something lived inside her. It was frightening, and Mrsha edged away from the dead woman as she reached out to pet Mrsha on the head.

“Keep away from her, Jelaqua. You’ll scare her.”

Halrac said this irritably, catching Jelaqua’s hand. She glanced at him in annoyance, then looked at Mrsha’s wide eyes.

Jelaqua stopped, sighed, and withdrew her hand. She smelled like death, but she still moved as if she were alive. Mrsha’s fur stood up on end as she scooted her chair away towards Halrac’s seat.

“Aw, don’t be like that little Gnoll. You’re the only one of your kind who hasn’t walked twenty paces wide of me since I’ve been here.”

The woman pulled the plate of snacks across the table and pushed it gently towards Mrsha. The Gnoll hesitated, and then grabbed one greedily. Breakfast seemed an age ago.

“Here. Have one of these. And—[Barmaid]! Drinks for the table, if you would! Ale!”

The pale woman turned and called out to a passing Drake, who nodded, eyes wide as she stared at the woman. Unperturbed, Jelaqua turned back and nodded to Ulrien.

“We’ll pay for what we order, don’t worry.”

Ulrien waved a big hand.

“Forget it. Coin for food and drink is hardly something Gold-rank adventurers need to worry about.”

Jelaqua paused, and then nodded her head to him with a wry smile.

“We’re used to arguments over it. And with how much Moore can drink, well, it’s good to get that out of the way, especially when we’re trying to negotiate.”

“Negotiate? About what?”

Halrac stared suspiciously at the three adventurers. Typhenous rolled his eyes and stroked his beard with one hand.

“There can be only one thing. The dungeon.”

Jelaqua nodded.

“Of course.”

“If you think we’ll give up our claim—”

“Halrac.”

Ulrien’s word silenced the [Scout]. Jelaqua shook her head.

“We’re not here for that. Rather, we’d like to team up.”

“Really?”

The adventurers on Halrac’s side seemed surprised, although Mrsha didn’t understand what was actually happening.

“It’s only practical. It’s too dangerous by ourselves.”

That came from the huge giant, Moore. He had a surprisingly soft voice and he nibbled at one of the doughy discs very carefully.

“We’ve gotten scratched up twice going in there. Both times we didn’t have the numbers for a clean fight. And I’ve heard every other team that’s gone in has run into all sorts of hellish traps, same as us. Those that make it out, that is. If we want to make real progress, we need to work together.”

“Seborn is right.”

Jelaqua took a mug from the tray the Drake [Barmaid] was carrying, ignoring the way the Drake flinched as she stared at the Selphid. Jelaqua took a drink, grimaced.

“Dead gods. This isn’t good stuff. How much do you pay to stay at this inn? Anyways, the last time we went into the dungeon we ran into a pit trap the length of the entire corridor and fifty feet down. If Moore hadn’t cast a spell we’d be dead. But after we landed—guess what was at the bottom of the pit? A colony of Metalbite Slimes.”

Halrac and the other adventurers made noises of dismay. Ulrien shook his head.

“That’s…bad.”

Jelaqua drained the rest of her mug, grimacing. She did not call for a refill.

“Right? But I’ll bet you ran into just as bad a trap. Did you see what chased the last group of adventurers out? The Children. There are entire colonies of monsters in that dungeon, branching pathways that seem to change each time we go in, and traps both magical and mundane—we can’t handle it alone. The Halfseekers are already understrength, but we thought if we combined forces we might stand a chance of getting somewhere in this dungeon. What do you think?”

The team of Griffin Hunt turned and conferred silently. After a moment, Ulrien nodded.

“We could use the extra help.”

Typhenous and Revi both nodded. All eyes turned to Halrac, including Mrsha’s. Revi frowned at him; the [Scout] did not look happy as he shifted his attention between the three half-Humans.

“Halrac?”

He grimaced.

“I have no reason to object. My [Dangersense] is screaming at me every step I take inside that place. Someone else to check for traps would help.”

All the adventurers relaxed. Jelaqua smiled, and Seborn nodded at Halrac soberly.

“Even together, I fear that we will not progress quickly. But it will be reassuring to work with another expert.”

“A team, then. We can haggle over distribution of spoils later—”

“No need. We’ll split it evenly.”

Jelaqua’s brows rose in surprise, but then she was smiling as she clasped hands with Ulrien over the table. She looked around the inn and sighed.

“I’m relieved. If I’d known you would be so open to the idea I would have come earlier. A team. It’s been a long time since our group joined forces with any other party. On that note—do you know if this inn has any openings? We just got kicked out of ours.”

“Really? Why?”

“You have to ask?”

All three Halfseekers smiled crookedly. Mrsha wriggled in her seat. She was getting bored! She watched Jelaqua’s pale lips moving, wondering why she didn’t rot when she was dead.

“Selphids aren’t popular on Izril—less so than Baleros, incredibly. All the rumors about my kind lead to suspicion and paranoia. As for Moore…someone with a quarter of a Giant’s blood in him is hard to feed, let alone find a bed for. Oh, and apparently Seborn smells like fish.”

“Untrue. But arguing doesn’t help matters.”

Mrsha’s stomach rumbled. She probably shouldn’t have eaten so much. But it was so tasty! She looked around as the adventurers spoke about boring things.

“We just got kicked out of the best rooms in this inn too. No help here, I’m afraid. But Halrac’s been telling us to visit another inn—you know, the one outside the city where we had that—”

“Really? Do you think it’s still empty? I was wary of being outside, especially since it seemed like there was some drama to do with the Gnolls. And that skeleton! But if we’ve no other choice—it would be good to work under the same roof…”

Mrsha was powerfully curious about the Halfseekers, it was true. She’d love nothing more than to sniff at Seborn and Moore, but she knew it wouldn’t be polite. She could sit here and eat more food maybe, but—she didn’t want to sit here! Now that she’d been caught, the fun was over. Mrsha wriggled in her seat, and looked towards the open doors. Time to go. She grabbed another spicy, doughy treat and slipped off her chair.

“Hey now. Where are you going young Miss?”

The big half-Giant, Moore, turned to Mrsha and she froze. But he looked concerned rather than angry. Mrsha edged away from him, ready to bolt, but Halrac stopped Moore as the half-Giant moved to rise.

“Leave her. The last thing we need to be accused of is harassing a child. The inn’s not far from here and the streets are safe.”

“But is the inn safe? I would hate for a child to be put in danger. The monsters around the city can be dangerous, especially if some escape from the dungeon. It is waking up.”

“The Watch patrols, and they’re as good as—better than teams of Silver-rank adventurers. I saw one of them—a Drake. He knows how to fight!”

Seborn frowned at Jelaqua, although only the fleshy half of his face moved.

“They patrol within the city. But if you’re really suggesting we sleep outside of it—are there any guards in this inn, any enchantments? Or will we be sleeping with one ear to the ground?”

Mrsha scampered out of the inn as the adventurers continued to argue. She didn’t know what they were talking about. Mrsha seldom did. But they were busy and Halrac seemed sad. He always seemed sad, which is why Mrsha felt a bit drawn to him.

Maybe he knew what being alone was like.

Disappointed and lonely, Mrsha wandered back onto the street. There she remembered why she’d gone inside. The Gnolls stared at her. A passing trio of Drakes—a child and mother and father slowed as they saw Mrsha. The child pointed to her.

“Why is her fur white?”

Because she was the last. Mrsha turned and ran down the street. Where now? Back?

No—there was someone else. The bossy Drake. She would be nice to Mrsha. The Gnoll raised her nose to the air and sniffed.

There? No—there? It was hard to pick out her smell on the streets. Mrsha would have to search to find her.

But something else smelled familiar to her. Mrsha looked up and saw a familiar person.

Pawn! The Antinium was walking down the street. Mrsha immediately ran after him, but he had a lead on her and it was hard for her to follow through the crowds of people. When she did catch up with him, she found herself on an abandoned street—

And staring down into a hole in the ground. That was what it looked like. Suddenly, an entire street just…vanished. The cobblestones ended, and a sloping path of dirt led down into darkness. Mrsha halted on the edge of it, uncertain. Strange smells were coming from below—the same smells as that of the huge Soldiers who’d come from the inn.

But Pawn had gone down there, she knew. And the Soldiers were nice! So, bold and unafraid, Mrsha ran down the dirt tunnel, into the darkness.

It wasn’t fully dark. Glowing patches of moss lit up the tunnel immediately, but it was still far too dark for a Human to see. Mrsha could see just fine though. She ran forwards eagerly, but froze when she realized she was surrounded.

Standing in the walls, huge, silent, were Soldiers. They stepped out as one, clenching their fists in a clear sign of aggression. Mrsha backed up as she saw more Soldiers appearing behind her! It was a trap!

The Soldiers were ready to kill, but not ready for the sight of a small Gnoll. They stared at her. But then they started forwards again, hostile, and so Mrsha ran.

She ran. The wrong way, as it turned out. In order to get away from the looming Soldiers Mrsha had to race into the dark tunnels. They chased after her, but while they could have blocked a Human, Drake, or any other species quite easily, Mrsha was too small and slipped between their legs. She dashed forwards—

And found herself in a huge network of tunnels, filled with shadows in the dim illumination. Crisscrossing openings, paths leading up and down—

And Antinium. Hundreds of them, all marching in an unending current. Mrsha froze as they all turned and stared at her. A group of Soldiers turned towards her, and she heard the ones behind her running. Mrsha dashed forwards, unthinking, and hurtled down a tunnel, past Workers who stood aside from her.

Where was she going? Away! Mrsha had no idea where she was, she just ran from all the Antinium she could see, especially the soldiers.

Left, left, right! A dark shadow came out of a side passage—Mrsha turned the other way.

She ran downwards, then right, took another right, and another—but she wasn’t where she’d started when she turned right again. Instead, she found a opening at the end of the passageway. Mrsha ran through it, too frightened to stop—

And found herself in a gargantuan room, staring up at the Queen of the Free Antinium under Liscor. The massive Antinium—more insectile than humanoid—paused as she lifted a morsel of what might have been food to her mouth with feelers.

“What is this?”

Soldiers. They appeared next to Mrsha. They’d been guarding the doorway! She turned to run, but they were blocking the entrance, boxing her in! Their hands were raised to bludgeon her to death, but a deep feminine voice rumbled.

“Hold.”

The Soldiers froze instantly. Mrsha raised her head cautiously; she’d been cowering on the ground. She turned to the Queen, and heard a rumble like a sigh.

“Child of Gnolls. You should not be here.”

Carefully, Mrsha padded forwards. The Queen’s full body was obscured in the partial darkness. Mrsha only had the impression of a bulbous, huge abdomen and…body parts that were feelers and antennae rather than arms and legs.

“So now the people living here are fearless enough to let their young intrude into the Hive? I should feel glad—but I do not. Only death awaits trespassers here. You should know that child, or your parents should.”

Mrsha could only hold still as the massive presence regarded her.

“White fur? How intriguing.”

She knew. Mrsha bowed her head. In this place, she couldn’t run. Her ears perked up as she heard hammering footsteps, and then another Antinium ran into the room. He had to pause—the Soldiers barred his way, but after the Queen gestured, they moved aside smoothly. She recognized Klbkch on sight.

“My Queen! I arrived as soon as I heard of the intrusion. Where is—”

He stopped when he saw Mrsha.

“You?”

“You know this Gnoll, Klbkch?”

“She belongs at the inn, my Queen.”

“The one with the girl Erin Solstice.”

Another sigh echoed throughout the room. Mrsha saw Klbkch staring at her. He slowly walked in front of Mrsha as if shielding her.

“It seems this innkeeper causes trouble even when she is not here.”

“This child does not know the rules of Liscor, my Queen. I am sure her trespass was accidental.”

“Perhaps. But the rules must be kept. Make sure other visitors to the city are aware of this. And this Gnoll…”

Again, Mrsha felt the Queen staring at her, and this time it was with more than a hint of malice. She trembled, hiding behind Klbkch, feeling the need to pee.

“I am sure the citizens of Liscor would be greatly disturbed if she were to be harmed.”

“I am not a fool, Klbkchhezeim. Very well, take the Gnoll cub away. But while you are here—tell me, what do the others do?”

Klbkch relaxed slightly. He bowed his head towards the Queen.

“Nothing, as of yet. They are resting. It has been a long journey; some marched for over a week with little rest.”

“Hm. You are attending to their needs?”

“Of course.”

“…Xrn is here.”

The name meant nothing to Mrsha, but she saw how Klbkch’s posture changed when he heard it. He nodded.

“Her presence is extraordinary. But perhaps it is a sign that the Grand Queen is open to your ideas at last?”

“Or perhaps she has directed her attention here for another reason. Perhaps she seeks you, Klbkchhezeim.”

Silence from the Antinium in front of Mrsha. She saw the Antinium Queen shift posture, heard her voice deepen ominously.

“She cannot have you. The Grand Queen will not take you from me, Klbkch. My Slayer.”

“I am loyal.”

That was all Klbkch said, but it was not enough. Mrsha felt so. The Queen’s voice was almost hesitant as she addressed the Revalantor of her hive.

“Ah, Klbkch. You say that, but…do you regret it? Do you regret that we fled while the others stayed and fought? Do you think we wasted the lives of your brothers and sisters, that we have failed in the long years since arriving here?”

For a long while he was silent. Klbkch looked down at his feet, and then up at his Queen. When he replied, it was softly.

“You have done well, my Queen. You and the others. You rebuilt with what you had; I cannot begrudge that. I only regret that I was too weak to finish the battle on Rhir. It is myself I blame.”

Then he turned, and walked out of the vast room. Mrsha turned to look back just once; she saw the Queen had her head bowed. Then she walked faster to catch up with Klbkch. Mrsha had a bad feeling in her stomach. She wondered exactly how much trouble she was in.

—-

“She was lucky she was not killed.”

Klbkch said that to Krshia as the Gnoll [Shopkeeper] glared at Mrsha. The Gnoll cub had tears in her eyes; a spanking did that to her, and Gnolls didn’t believe in light punishments. Now Krshia was letting Mrsha lie on her front while she and Klbkch sat around her table on two couches.

“I am grateful, yes, that you were here, Klbkch. I shudder to think what would have happened otherwise.”

The Gnoll bowed her head deeply and poked Mrsha hard. Mrsha sat up and bowed her head too, rubbing at her stinging bottom.

“I have brought her to you so that you may impress upon her that venturing into the Hive is dangerous. I do not know if she fully understands me.”

“She understands. And if she does not understand fully how foolish she was, she will remember the spanking, yes?”

Krshia glared at Mrsha and the Gnoll immediately nodded her head. Klbkch stared at her, and then looked at Krshia.

“I have noticed her unique coloration. I have also noticed how other Gnolls react to her fur. What does it mean?”

Antinium did not do small talk. Nor did they care about feelings. Or rather, they found them hard to understand sometimes. Mrsha froze, but it was Krshia who put a gentle hand on Mrsha’s head. She stroked Mrsha gently, and the Gnoll relaxed, feeling a familiar presence of a Gnoll adult reassuring her. But it still hurt because it was not the same.

“You ask about things which are not easy to discuss, Klbkch.”

“Yes.”

“Hr. Well then. The white fur is a mark of fate, dire fate, to Gnolls. Some claim it is a curse. Others—a sign of disaster. Those who look so bring misfortune to their tribes and all they encounter, or so it is said, yes?”

“I see. And is it true?”

Krshia shrugged. Mrsha stirred, looking at her face, but the Gnoll’s expression was calm, if slightly troubled.

“How can we know? Some, a few, are born with the fur, and others…others lose their color after terrible things occur. Like Mrsha. Did they cause it or not? I do not know, but my people fear such individuals regardless.”

“Ah.”

Klbkch ate a cube of raw meat and said little else. Krshia eyed him, and then muttered.

“Myself, I think it is just superstition. The Stone Spears tribe were doomed the instant a Goblin Lord led his army upon them, regardless of fate. Young Mrsha should know this as well, but other, more foolish Gnolls will say differently.”

“It is well that she stays outside the city then. Can you ensure no one tries to attack Mrsha, or is this a matter for the Watch?”

“I will ensure it. No Gnoll will slay another Gnoll while I live.”

Krshia growled the words and Mrsha felt better. Klbkch nodded, and they fell silent again. She sensed that the two of them weren’t losing track of the conversation as much as understanding things silently.

“How is business?”

“I rebuild. Slowly.”

“But I gather from your words that your authority among the Gnolls within Liscor is lessened due to recent events. Is this so?”

“I wait for Ryoka Griffin to return. She has something promised to me, and until it arrives I remain…antsy. As do the Gnolls who listen to me. But I have my paws full in the meantime. I must run a shop regardless if it is smaller, and I have a worthless nephew to take care of.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. I wonder, since you are here. Would you be willing to take a look at him? He is suffering, and it may be the Antinium can provide aid.”

“It may be so. Is he here?”

“Resting. Brunkr!”

Krshia raised her voice and called out. Mrsha went very, very still when she heard the name. She hadn’t seen the Gnoll—Krshia’s cousin and warrior of the Silverfang tribe—since…

A door opened slowly in Krshia’s apartment. Mrsha immediately smelled something bad. She tried to get up, but Krshia gently held her on the couch. Klbkch turned as Brunkr entered the room.

The Gnoll warrior was tall, powerful, a classic tribal warrior. Or at least, he had been. The sweaty, unkempt figure that reeked of rot was foreign to Mrsha, and as he stumbled into the room, she heard Krshia snort. Because Brunkr reeked, and the odor was not pleasant.

“Ah. You are injured.”

He smelled like sweat and pain, and something worse. Mrsha backed away as she located the source of the foul odor. Brunkr clutched at his hand, oozing, raw, a foul odor coming from beneath the layers of bandages wrapped around it.

“Aunt. Who is this?”

“A [Guardsman] of the Watch and warrior of the Antinium. He is important, yes? Be respectful.”

Brunkr focused on Klbkch. He nodded slowly.

“I am Brunkr. And I am injured. My hand was bitten. Now…”

He raised his infected hand.

“If I had a quality healing potion—or if my Aunt would buy me one—I would be able to test you in battle, Antinium.”

“Fool! A healing potion will do you no good, no. Rest and cleansing is all we can do now, unless the [Healer] I have asked for will brave the roads.”

Brunkr made a disgusted noise. He was clearly sick. His eyes were unfocused—he didn’t seem to have noticed Mrsha yet.

In his seat, Klbkch nodded at Brunkr.

“A healing potion cannot heal an infection. Miss Krshia is correct. It will only exacerbate the symptoms.”

“Can you help him?”

Krshia looked concerned, for all she snapped at Brunkr to sit and stop messing about. The male Gnoll did so, collapsing onto his seat and grimacing as he held his hand again. Klbkch hesitated, and then shook his head in regret.

“There are serums and substances the Antinium use, but they do not have the same effect on other species. Would a [Healer] not—”

“There are none. None who can help me. The first I brought my hand to said I should burn the wound. I did. But it grew worse, and the others—they tell me it is too late.”

Brunkr gritted his teeth. His eyes refocused, and he stared around, and finally saw Mrsha. His face twisted into a snarl and he surged to his feet.

“You. Doombringer! See what you’ve done?”

Mrsha tore away from Krshia in a panic as Brunkr lurched towards her. Instantly, Krshia and Klbkch were on their feet. Both held Brunkr down and made him sit.

“Nephew. You forget yourself! She is a child!”

“Please calm yourself, Brunkr.”

“She did this! She! She has taken my hand, just like she took her tribe. Cursed one! Deathbringer! Calamity!”

The words broke something deep in Mrsha’s heart. She had felt it all day, but hearing it now was too much. It was all true. She couldn’t run from it no matter how hard she tried.

But she did try. Mrsha turned and leapt off the couch. Krshia grabbed for her, but the Gnoll was too slow. Mrsha dodged around her and the Antinium, who spun and tried to scoop her up. She ran between his legs and though he turned and nearly had her, he wasn’t ready for her to leap off of Krshia’s balcony.

Mrsha landed heavily on all fours. It hurt, but she raced off, ignoring Krshia’s shouts for her to come back. She ran and ran. But she could not outrun the truth.

—-

Mrsha cried as she left the city behind. Brunkr’s words cut at her. The Gnoll’s stares pierced her. And the words haunted her.

[Last Survivor]. Level 8. As if she’d asked for this. As if it was a reward.

She just wanted to go back. Back to the inn, where Ryoka would be waiting. Then the girl could tell her a story and Mrsha could—could—

Could pretend she was back home. Her real home, where the fires burned bright every night and where she knew everyone. Where she could run about with the other children and play until Urksh yelled at her. If she could go back, she never would have gone to help gather herbs. She would have stayed in the camp forever, and the Goblins would never have found her. They would never have come and everything would be fine.

Her vision was blurry, but it didn’t matter. Mrsha could smell where she was going. She ran up the hill, towards the inn.

And then away from it. Not there either. She couldn’t be near the Drake, or Lyon with her concern and caring.

The past tugged at Mrsha. Seeing other Gnolls reminded her of the people she’d never see again. So she ran far from them, into the snowy landscape, up hills and down valleys, heedless of the danger.

It was a long time before Mrsha finally collapsed, too tired to move any more. She lay in the snow, panting.

No home. Nowhere to go back to. The inn? It wasn’t—Mrsha’s heart hurt. Lyonette wasn’t—

Those who cared about Mrsha got hurt. Or died. Like Ryoka. She’d lost her fingers. She’d gotten hurt for Mrsha and the tribe had died because she’d fallen. Mrsha knew it.

Everyone who tried to help Mrsha died. That was why Ryoka had left. She had left so she wouldn’t die. Because Mrsha wasn’t worth saving.

The Gnoll curled up in the snow, still crying. It was all her fault. All hers.

She barely heard the crunching of snow before the sound was right on top of her. Mrsha uncurled and stared around as she heard the faltering footsteps approaching. She looked around, bewildered, seeing nothing against the white snow.

Then she saw him. Slowly tripping towards her. Stumbling, faltering. Almost falling down. But still in one piece. Still alive.

Toren.

The skeleton looked almost like Brunkr in the way he moved. It was as if he was exhausted, if an undead being could be tired. He seemed as if he would fall apart at any moment.

But the purple flames in his eyes still burned in their sockets. The fire was weak, guttering. But it burned brighter when Toren saw Mrsha. And it was hatred that filled the young Gnoll with terror.

She turned to run. She heard the skeleton rush forwards, but she was dashing away as fast as she could. She raced up a hill and knew the skeleton was in hot pursuit.

Run, run. As fast as you can. But Mrsha had run so far today, and she was exhausted. She slipped going over the crest of a hill, and tumbled down. She scrambled to her feet, and ran forwards—

And nearly fell into the rift in the earth. It was dark, a gaping fissure made nearly invisible by the slight incline in the snow. Mrsha scrambled away from it—

But Toren was right behind her. The skeleton had a bared sword in his hands. He advanced towards her, swinging the sword menacingly. Mrsha backed up, the chasm behind her. She tried to watch Toren and the opening, but he was moving too quick. Mrsha backed up another step and her back paw slipped.

She slid backwards. Mrsha grabbed desperately, and her paws latched onto something beneath the powdered snow. Toren halted, sword in hand, staring at Mrsha as she dangled over the abyss.

Mrsha’s eyes were wide, her arms straining as she tried to hold on. She could barely keep her grip, let alone haul herself up. And the skeleton was just standing there. Just watching her.

He had lowered the sword in his hands. He walked forwards, until he stood right above Mrsha. She waited for him to stab her, but the skeleton just stared down at her.

As if thinking.

And Mrsha wished Ryoka were here. But she knew the girl had left. Gone, far away.

Just like everyone else.

She wanted to go home. But home was gone. And she was alone.

Maybe it was fate. Mrsha felt her claws loosening their grip as the snow fell around her. The skeleton was just staring at her, sword in hand. He took a step forwards.

Chased by bad things. Falling. It was how it had happened last time. But there was no Ryoka anymore. She’d left Mrsha too. And that was a good thing. Because she could not suffer because of Mrsha.

All her fault. White fur. Cursed one. Doombringer. [Last Survivor]. Mrsha sighed. She looked up at the sky.

And then she let go. For a moment she saw the skeleton staring at her, the flames in its purple eyes flickering. It reached out—

But too slowly. The world dropped away from Mrsha and she was tumbling, down, down, into the darkness. The air whistled around her and she closed her eyes.

Mrsha fell.

—-

“Mrsha?”

Lyon searched the inn, but she couldn’t find the Gnoll. She tried the outhouse, but Mrsha’s tracks led away from there. She ran through the snow. She went to the gates—tried to get in. But Mrsha had left the city. She’d disappeared.

The girl searched. Mrsha was gone. But Lyonette kept searching. She went out into the wilderness and called for the Gnoll until she’d lost her voice. As the cold numbed her, Lyonette kept looking.

“Mrsha? Mrsha! Are you there?”

“Where are you?”

—-

It was dark when Mrsha woke up. Dark. Hot. Everything hurt.

She cried out. It was the first sound she’d made in a long time. She couldn’t move. She hurt.

And someone was calling for her. Mrsha heard the voice, carried by the wind. A familiar voice.

She wanted to call to it. But something stopped her.

Fear. If she called out the voice would die.

She couldn’t do that. Better to die here.

But it hurt. Mrsha cried. She tried to move. Something was around her. Bad things lurked in the darkness. They were coming.

She had to run. But the voice. Only the voice could save her.

Mrsha looked up. The light was so far away. It seemed like a memory. But she believed the light, the sky was still there.

She wanted to be saved. Mrsha wept. Even if it meant—she just wanted to live.

So she raised her head. Mrsha took a breath and howled. The sound was wordless. It echoed in the dark place she’d fallen into, the dungeon. It went through the skeleton who stood in the darkness, watching her. It travelled up through the rift in the earth and went into the sky.

And Lyonette heard her. Mrsha knew that. She howled and howled, calling out. For salvation. For forgiveness. For another chance.

For life instead of death.

And then she ran, because the things were chasing her. But Mrsha believed she would be saved. She clung to it. That word she barely understood. That feeling in her that was all that stood between her and despair, her and the darkness.

Hope.

—-

They stopped her at the gates, a Gnoll and a Drake. But she battered at them with her hands, screamed.

“You have to let me in! I need adventurers! I need help!”

But they held her back. The Gnoll’s face was openly hostile, the Drake’s put upon. They spoke to her, but Lyonette didn’t care.

“Please! Mrsha—she’s down there!”

They didn’t understand. They tried to take her away, force her back. Lyonette hit them. She bit and struggled—even when the Gnoll unsheathed his sword. She would have taken it through her heart if it meant someone would listen.

But the hand that closed over the Gnoll’s arm and pulled the sword away required no sacrifice. Zel Shivertail looked down at Lyon as the Drake [Guardsman] gaped in awe.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

—-

The Drake [General] strode through the streets when he heard what had happened. He brought Lyon into the city and summoned the Watch. She ran to the Adventurer’s Guild.

No one there would help her. No one, but a [Scout] who raised his head when he heard her plea. He left his group, and someone came with him.

The Watch called out for aid. They found it. Klbkch walked down into his Hive and spoke to someone waiting there. She and he walked towards the surface.

Lyonette was hurrying towards the gates when the Gnolls appeared. She was afraid, but one of them walked towards her. Krshia had no love for Lyon, but the bow in her hands was not meant for the girl.

And so Lyonette ran through the snow, followed by six people. Six. She prayed it was enough, but there was no time to ask for others. She ran desperately, heart pounding out of her chest. Iron was in her mouth; she seemed to breathe fire each time she inhaled. But she ran faster so that she would be fast enough.

“There.”

She almost cried as she pointed down into the crevice. Zel stared at it grimly.

“Deep. That’s at least a hundred feet down—”

“Far more.”

Halrac stared into the darkness, face grim. He turned to Lyonette.

“Are you sure you heard her down there? If she fell—”

“I’m sure. Please, you have to help!”

“The dungeon is down there.”

Klbkch said the words flatly. Halrac and Zel stared at him, one in alarm, the other confused.

“The dungeon? Are you sure?”

“Yes. This place—the location matches a part of the dungeon. And I believe it goes straight down into the heart of it.”

“We can’t go down there unprepared. It would be suicide.”

Halrac bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as he said it. Lyonette stared at him in desperation. But the woman standing next to Halrac gritted her teeth.

“The hell we can’t. I’m going, if you can tie that rope to something secure. No—don’t bother. Just hold it as I go down, Halrac.”

Jelaqua Ivirith hefted the two-handed flail in her hands as she stared at the dungeon grimly. Zel eyed her.

“Aren’t you a Selphid?”

“So?”

She glanced at him challengingly.

“I have a soft spot for children, and those shunned by others. And it seems like this young Gnoll is both. Let me help find her; I’m a Level 33 [Iron Tempest].”

“What class is that?”

“It’s a class derived from [Flailmaster]. I have the Skills to fight a pack of foes at once, if that’s what’s lurking down there. Are you coming or not?”

“I will go.”

Zel nodded at once. Lyonette was nearly in tears—he gripped her hands reassuringly.

“I will enter as well.”

“As will I.”

Two Antinium said that. Klbkch, and an azure one Lyonette had never seen before. She held a staff in her hands and watched Zel as carefully as he ignored her. She inclined her head to him.

“Zel Shivertail. Will you permit me to lend my aid here?”

“Just this once, I will accept your help.”

He said the words coldly as he stared into the darkness. Zel turned.

“Can we anchor the rope to something? Let’s move! Mrsha could be in danger as we speak.”

“Almost done.”

Krshia was helping Halrac fix anchors in the ground for the rope they’d brought. She stood up, bow in hand, and nodded to the rope.

“We will have to hold on, very tightly, going down. Or else we will fall.”

“No need for that. I will cast a [Featherfall] spell and slow us.”

The mysterious Antinium said that. The others looked at her in surprise; none of the others had realized she was a mage.

“Going up will be slower, then.”

“Up can be slow as it must. Down is most important. So let us hurry, no?”

Klbkch hesitated as he looked at Krshia.

“Are you sure you wish to risk this, Miss Krshia? The danger—”

She bared her teeth at him and he shut up.

“She is in danger, and my responsibility. At least in part. I will go.”

“Gather around me.”

Zel, Jelaqua, Klbkch, and Krshia did as Xrn ordered. Jelaqua glanced sideways, and grinned at Halrac.

“Change of heart?”

He just shrugged, face grim.

“If I’d have known we were going into the dungeon, I would have brought everyone. Girl, go back into the city and tell them what’s happened.”

“I will. Thank you! Please—bring her back!”

“We will.”

Several of them said it at the same time. The group looked around and Zel had to bare his teeth ruefully.

“It occurs to me I don’t know who any of you are. Well, the non-Antinium at any rate.”

“Indeed. I hesitate to suggest this, but some of us are more capable than others.”

Klbkch nodded at Zel. Jelaqua just laughed.

“Don’t worry about me fighting in close quarters. I can handle myself.”

“Names, then.”

Halrac grunted. He eyed Xrn as the Antinium whispered and raised her staff. No lights flashed, but magic was done.

Slowly, the group walked over to the abyss. They spoke as they stood staring at each other.

“Klbkch the Slayer.”

“Jelaqua Ivirith.”

“Zel Shivertail.”

“Krshia Silverfang.”

“Halrac Everam.”

“Xrn the Small Queen.”

They leapt, and dropped slowly into the crevasse. Mage light bloomed around them, lighting up the rocky walls as they fell further down.

Lyonette watched them go. She prayed, although the gods were dead. She prayed to nothing and everything that Mrsha would be safe. Then she ran towards the city.

—-

She heard the call echo in the darkness. Mrsha raised her head, nearly banging her head on the small alcove she was hiding in. Then she howled, as loudly as she could. She heard the answering howl, and then hid herself, curling up to hide from the bad things.

They found her an eternity later. Mrsha flinched when the face moved downwards, but the Drake only smiled wearily when he saw her.

“There you are. Come on, Mrsha. It’s alright.”

She was out of the alcove and in his arms in a second. Zel Shivertail held her as she cried wordlessly into his scales.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

She was fine. Oh, Mrsha had bruised herself all over and cracked bones bouncing down, but she was alive. [Lesser Toughness] had saved her life.

They carried her out of that place. That was all Mrsha knew as she clung to Zel. They were all around her, strangers and friends. Halrac stood with his back to an Antinium whose staff glowed blue. He drew an arrow that glowed with the light of sunset and fired it into the distance. A thump and the roar of an explosion matched the lightning that thundered from her staff.

Jelaqua fought the shadows, flail whirling, striking as she created a deadly curtain of spinning spikes around her. Beside her, Klbkch was a dancing whirlwind of silver blades. Krshia loosed her own arrows, snarling.

And Zel? He carried her past a huge, red worm-like monstrosity. It was dead. It had been torn apart and he walked through the blood as the others fought. And then there was a rope, and a platform conjured out of magic. Zel stood on that, helping Krshia to haul the platform up as Xrn held it in place. Below, Klbkch, Halrac, and Jelaqua climbed rapidly, Halrac pausing to occasionally shoot at something below.

When they saw the light, Mrsha heard a scream. She felt Zel step onto the snow, and then Lyonette was hugging her. The girl crushed Mrsha to her chest, squeezing the breath out of the Gnoll. Hugging, kissing, scolding. Then the others came up and Lyonette prostrated herself before them.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you…”

Mrsha stared up at the faces. Adventurers stood outside the rift in the snow, along with the Watch. Many people were gathered here. Some pointed to the abyss and screamed about danger. Others said it was a way in, a chance.

And many were mad at Mrsha. Some scolded her. Krshia boxed Mrsha’s ears as she checked to make sure the Gnoll was alright and called for another healing potion. And Lyonette was telling Mrsha she’d never, ever let her go out of her sight.

Selys arrived late with Olesm, almost out of her mind with worry. And some people recognized Zel and exclaimed. The strange blue Antinium left in the chaos, and Jelaqua stood alone except for when the others praised her. Lyonette told her to stay at the inn and Jelaqua just smiled. So did Halrac, awkwardly, as if it hurt.

And Mrsha? She looked around and saw many people, happy and sad. But no one was dead. No one.

Not even her.

Lyonette hugged Mrsha again, crying. Mrsha stared at her, and felt something break in her heart. But it wasn’t a bad thing. The thing that broke was a wall, or maybe it was fear itself. She hugged Lyonette back and felt hot tears trickle into her fur. And Mrsha cried too. Because she was safe.

She was finally home.

3.28 G

Sometimes, in the silence of her own mind, Rags knew why her kind was so despised across the world. Privately, she could acknowledge the bitter truth.

Goblins were weak. They didn’t level as much as other races—because they were cowards, too. They lived hand-to-mouth, eating their own dead, fighting each other over scraps. The strongest tribes were still forced to raid the more successful races to survive. Goblins were not creators; they only destroyed.

That was what she had been told. That was what she had known all her life; the contempt of other species. And Rags had believed it. But oh, if they could see what Goblins had wrought here. In this mountain, Goblinkind had built something greater than their miserable existences. They had created something vast, something new.

A kingdom. Or perhaps, a new sort of tribe.

That was the only way Rags could think of it. She stared down from the balcony, down a mile to the bottom of the place the Great Goblin Chieftain had claimed as his own. Twisting corridors built into spires of rock that stretched upwards, countless bridges made of rope and stone, and always, always, the hanging lanterns, some unlit, others shedding faint light in the darkness. That was what she saw below her; a vast anarchy stretching downwards, like some strange spider’s web.

She shivered, feeling a chill from respect as much as awe. Never had she ever seen something like this. This mountain had been hollowed out and made into a dwelling place for tens of thousands of Goblins. It had been built, under the leadership of Tremborag, or perhaps he had stolen it and claimed it as his own. Either way, it was a marvel.

And it was also a mystery. How could one tribe be so huge and yet, be ruled only by a Chieftain? This was the first of the things Rags pondered on her second day living in this mountain. Her tribe—and all the tribes around Liscor—had officially allied with Tremborag, and now lived in his home. There was plenty of room to spare.

But back to the Chieftain. Tremborag. He was only the sixth Goblin that Rags had ever known with a name. His tribe was known, fittingly, as the Mountain City Tribe. But Rags had heard him more often referred to as the Great Chieftain’s Tribe.

Great Chieftain. Rags frowned and spat over the edge of the balcony. She didn’t know if she’d hit someone—no doubt she had. One of the dangers of living in this place was that a careless stone or object dropped from on high could turn into instant death for the Goblins moving about below.

How could it be? There was no such thing as a Great Chieftain, at least, as far as Rags knew. To be more precise, such an existence should have been impossible.

Some things all Goblins knew, even odd ones like Garen. You had your tribe, and you were lead by your Chieftain. But…there were other Goblins whose existence was greater than Chieftain. Rags could feel it.

A Goblin Lord was superior to a Chieftain. Their presence unified tribes, drawing Chieftains to them like a magnet. Unless you opposed one with all your might, Rags was sure any Goblin would end up following a Goblin Lord, even a powerful Chieftain.

And a Goblin King? Rags knew without a doubt that if one existed—and one did not, she was sure—every Goblin in the world would follow such a person. The desire for a King, a leader, was built into every Goblin deep down.

So it followed that all Chieftains would eventually become Goblin Lords, and into a Goblin King if they grew strong enough. It wasn’t a choice they would make; it was just nature asserting itself, like how fire burned or how you had to poop after eating.

But then why had Tremborag not become a Goblin Lord? He could become one, Rags was sure. Like the Goblin Lord to the south, he had a tribe too vast for any Chieftain. Yet he was not a Lord. She would have felt it.

It made no sense. Like much in this place, really. Rags turned away from the balcony and walked down into a stone corridor. Two shadows walked after her.

Hobs. The Gold Stone Chieftain and a Hob from his tribe. They were Rags’…bodyguards.

Again, a foreign concept. But Rags had grown to understand that protection was necessary in this place. For while this tribe was Tremborag’s, it was anything but peaceful.

There were…factions in this place. Not other tribes; Tremborag’s had been the only one until Rags and the others had arrived. But the various sub-Chieftains who managed parts of the tribes or led their own bands of warriors fought with each other for influence.

Tremborag was in charge, but there were Hobs and normal Goblins below him who had huge amounts of control over other Goblins. It boggled Rags’ mind to think of it that way, but it made a twisted kind of sense.

There was no way a Chieftain could manage tens of thousands of Goblins. But…if you assumed he was ruling over other, lesser, sub-Chieftains then it might work. It obviously worked. But it made no sense.

“Not Goblin.”

Rags growled the words out loud. The Hob walking behind her flinched, but the bigger, fatter one, didn’t. The Gold Stone Chieftain followed Rags silently, crunching down some rock salt as he walked. He was an odd Hob. He always had something to eat, and he rarely said a word. Actually, that wasn’t uncommon for Goblins, but Rags had noticed the Gold Stone Chieftain’s face rarely changed. He seemed unperturbed by anything.

But he was loyal. Rags was fairly certain of that, and grateful for it. It meant she had some power in this place.

Of course, Rags still ruled over her tribe. Only…where was her tribe? She recognized some of her Goblins scurrying down the corridors, carrying wood, helping butcher animal carcasses—or Goblin bodies. But they were scattered, already becoming absorbed into this place. In a very real sense, Rags no longer had a tribe, only her own small faction.

In some ways, Rags was the exact opposite of Ryoka and more like Erin. She didn’t waste time wondering how all this had happened, she just dealt with the facts. She’d lost her tribe. Tremborag wasn’t her ally and Garen was Garen. She was on her own and she had to find a way to survive in this new place.

As always. In fact, Rags took this new situation to be a challenge, and so dealt with it calmly and in true Goblin fashion. The first thing she did was go exploring, after making sure she wouldn’t be stabbed in the back. The two Hobs helped in that regard.

The mountain was vast. From the outside it was obviously huge, but that was in a climbing sense. Inside, Rags couldn’t help but feel she was in an entirely different world. There was so much space! Goblins had taken what was apparently an abandoned Dwarf city and slowly chipped away at the rock walls and ceiling for decades, perhaps centuries, enlarging this place until it was larger than Esthelm or Celum. Perhaps larger than Liscor.

And like any city, there were places to sleep, places to eat, and places where going to the bathroom was acceptable and places where it was not, although it had to be said Goblins usually didn’t pay attention to that last part. Rags already knew where her and a lot of the new Goblin’s sleeping quarters were; they were higher up near the top.

She sensed this was another slight, or a sign of their weak position in Tremborag’s tribe. Of course, normally higher meant better, but all the really good things like the exits, the main eating halls and the cooking places and forges were further down, which meant Goblins living near the top had further to go. Plus, it was more dangerous high up where you could fall thousands of feet before you went splat on the ground.

Rags didn’t mind the height. She kept away from any place without railings or where she might slip. In short order she located another important place in the mountain, one that was again foreign to most Goblins.

The armory. Rags stared curiously at the four Hobs who stood guard around the doors. She understood vaguely what they were here for. But the presence of the armory herself baffled her.

She took a step towards the doors and the Hobs tensed. Rags raised her hands to show them she wasn’t trying to get in. They relaxed, and a smaller Goblin came scurrying out, waving his arms frantically.

“Can’t go in! Go away!”

He seemed to be in charge of managing the items inside. Rags pointed.

Why? Why needed?

He looked archly at her.

“For worthy Goblins.”

Rags frowned at his disdain. She’d spoken in Goblin and he’d refused to use it. It seemed almost every Goblin in this place spoke the common tongue, however broken. Speaking in the actual Goblin tongue was looked down upon, it seemed.

And worthy Goblins? Rags supposed that fed into the idea of factions too. Any Goblin with Tremborag’s favor—or a lot of influence—could get what they wanted. Anyone else had to fight for what was left over.

“What is in?”

The small Goblin—small compared to the Hobs, that was, he was still a bit taller than Rags—shrugged.

“Can look.”

The small Goblin meekly approached one of the Hobs. He snorted in irritation, but when he saw Rags and the two Hobs standing at her back he grudgingly opened the door for her to peek inside.

What Rags saw made her eyes widen. Racks of carefully placed swords hung in order of value, from high-quality steel to blades that looked like the metal had been forged by a true master of the craft.

Rags had never heard of Damascus steel, but if Ryoka had been here she would have recognized the superiority of some of the blades. Yet these were less important than the few arms that glowed or sparkled or shone in Rags’ vision as magical artifacts. There were few of these, but the swords were just one section of the armory.

Maces, axes, shields—a collection of bows and armor in all shapes and sizes! Rags saw a pile of books that had to be magical before the Hob shut the door. She stared at him, noting his superior armaments.

“Very good. Tremborag say, you take. Otherwise—not!”

The small Goblin ushered Rags back. She took a few steps and pointed towards the doors.

“Why not give to all Hobs?”

Why not distribute these weapons among all the warriors? Rags knew they could be of use; for every Hob she’d seen walking around with steel weaponry, she saw ten or twenty warriors with little more than sharpened sticks to fight with. If she equipped a force with what she’d seen inside they’d be many times more powerful.

“Only worthy Goblins. Only.”

“Makes no sense.”

Rags frowned at the Goblin, but he just shrugged and motioned her away. Reluctantly, she left. Did Tremborag fear Goblins would attack him if they had those weapons? Or was it just because he wanted to keep them fighting over such riches? Rags could understand that, but it still felt stupid to her. He was hurting his own tribe by keeping such treasures locked away!

No sense. Nonsense. It wasn’t the first time Rags had had that thought here. This mountain was so foreign, and Tremborag’s tribe so alien to her.

Some things made sense. Rags found the huge storage rooms filled with food, preserved by the cold temperatures, and magic runes in a few store rooms! She discovered areas devoted entirely to fletching, or where Goblins would hammer dents out of metal equipment, or clumsily craft things like the lanterns on poles. And of course the huge forge works and kitchens were equally impressive.

But always Rags was reminded that this place was not united. She saw some Goblins wearing ragged armbands, or tattooed with inks on certain parts of their body to differentiate themselves. All of the [Blacksmiths] seemed to be wearing a bracelet or necklace made of chain, for instance. Clearly they were in some faction that had a monopoly on manufactured arms.

And the divisions were clearer when Rags ate that night. She ate again with Tremborag and Garen at the head table—this time no one contested her seat, although she felt hostile glares which she easily ignored.

After a few minutes of eating, Rags glanced at Garen and Tremborag. Both had looked at her a few times, but neither had spoken to her directly. So she raised her voice above the din and spoke to both now.

“When fight Goblin Lord?”

Instantly, the length of the table—all those who had heard Rags—went still. All eyes turned to Tremborag. He looked down at Rags and grinned around a mouthful of bloody meat.

“Ah, you are impatient. Good. But foolish! I have told Garen Redfang this and I will tell you now: if the Goblin Lord comes here we will fight. Otherwise I will not move. It is easy to defend here.”

Rags saw other Goblins nodding at this, but she frowned. She understood the logic—this mountain was a natural stronghold that would take vast numbers of enemies to crack open. But Tremborag really intended to let the Goblin Lord gain strength while he hid here?

She looked at Garen. The Hob had shifted in his seat when Tremborag spoke, but he hadn’t openly opposed the Great Chieftain. Rags did, though. She grabbed some cheese and bit into it, chewing and speaking around her mouthful.

“Should go. Send army. I will go. As leader.”

It was a blatant challenge. Rags would gladly fight with an army against the Goblin Lord and level if Tremborag was too cowardly to. But he just laughed hugely, making his layers of fat vibrate and bounce.

“Ah, but who would follow you into battle? One or two Hobs? Your small tribe’s warriors?”

Tremborag pointed down the table at the Gold Stone Chieftain eating with the few Hobs and warriors loyal to Rags.

“The Goblin Lord would swat you like a bug, small Rags.”

He laughed and everyone at the table besides Garen laughed too. Rags bit her tongue. She had seen the bugs that lived around Liscor. Some were acid flies and they exploded when you swatted them. But she waited for Tremborag to finish laughing. He gestured at his hall full of Goblins.

“You can do nothing, not even with the legendary Garen Redfang. But I have an army as strong as the Goblin Lord’s. Stronger.”

She wasn’t sure if that was true. But Tremborag’s words had roused his warriors. They banged on the tables, shouting until he raised a hand. The Great Chieftain pointed at Rags, his voice booming.

“You want to fight the Goblin Lord? Well then. My warriors, my Hobs! Who would fight with Rags? Who would give her their warriors to command?”

Not a single one of the Goblins sitting at the high table moved. Rags didn’t blush; she just narrowed her eyes at Tremborag as he grinned toothily at her.

“You see? You have no power here.”

“I…lead. I am smart. I lead armies!”

She retorted. Tremborag laughed.

“You lead? Yes, you have [Tactician]. Garen said. Good. Then we shall see if you are as skilled as Redfang claims. Later.”

He waved a hand, and the conversation was done. Rags sat and pushed the rest of the cheese into her mouth, washing it down with some kind of pulpy juice, fuming. That was how it was, was it? Tremborag had just told her she had no power.

She was angry, but the rich food cheered Rags up. Clearly rank had its privileges here. Rags could look at the other Goblins in the huge throne room and see far less sumptuous food available to them. Indeed, some of the hungrier-looking Goblins glanced longingly at those eating at the high table. They had to make do with raw mushrooms, rats, and mass-produced soup that looked like the worst of the meals Rags had eaten when she was young.

Now that she was more able to take in her surroundings, Rags looked around and counted Hobs. Yes, a lot of them. Over a hundred. Perhaps hundreds of them walked Tremborag’s halls, given that not all Goblins ate at the same time. It was a huge force, but again, a fractured one.

And most of the Hobs were young. As were most of the Goblins, in truth. In this place which was relatively safe, Goblins still didn’t have long lifespans.

Then again…Rags had never seen an old Goblin, and she knew some, like the Gold Stone Chieftain, were over ten years old, which was old for a Goblin. But they looked like any other Hob—they didn’t really show their age.

Except for one. Rags’ attention was caught by a Goblin sitting in a corner of the room. He was seated not at a table but on the ground, a sign of his inferiority. But he—

He was old. Rags saw he actually had a beard. Some Goblins had hair, but she hadn’t known Goblins could grow beards. But it was white and scraggly and dirty, and it kept getting into the bowl of soup he was eating with his bare hands.

She wrinkled her nose as she watched the old Goblin eat. He was messy, even by Goblin standards. He had a few teeth, but many were missing. He ate the scraps served to him greedily, laughing and chattering away with the filthy Goblins around him. For some reason, they all looked female.

Another…faction. She supposed only a very weak one would want a Goblin like him. But it was a sign that some Goblins could live for a long time in this place. Outside, elderly Goblins would simply fall behind or die to monsters or in battle as a matter of course. Again, not that Rags had ever seen one remotely as old as him.

At the table, the feast was still going on, but Rags wasn’t hungry. She had a smaller belly than any of the other Goblins at the table. She was young. And small. And no one was paying attention to her. That was how she’d been relegated, Rags realized.

Tremborag and Garen kept their own council and talked to each other in private, and Rags apparently wasn’t important enough to be included in any other discussions. Not that there was anything important happening since they weren’t going to war yet.

The Great Chieftain and Garen seemed more interested in the little key he possessed. Rags could sense they had some pact of their own, although neither one of them said anything. They just laughed and ate hugely, boasting of their abilities and achievements as they ate.

She had to admit, she didn’t have the qualities to attract a following out of sheer might. Rags thought about this as she idly sipped more of her drink. She was smart and her tribe was strong, but that mattered little here it seemed. If only she was better with a sword or magic! She was learning both, but slowly. Meanwhile, the two sitting ahead of her were far more powerful than she was.

Garen was as strong as any Gold-rank adventurer, despite only possessing a magical sword and no armor or rings she could see. Mounted, he was a nightmare to fight thanks to his Skills, and it was clear that he was probably the most powerful Goblin in this place besides Tremborag himself.

As for the Great Goblin…he could probably just roll over and crush any adventurer he came across. Rags had no idea how strong he was, but she guessed that if she’d shot him with her black crossbow, the bolt wouldn’t have gone through all his layers of fat.

After dinner, Rags went back to her quarters and sat, dismissing the Gold Stone Chieftain and Hob. She had to think. Here she was in a new environment, and she needed to gain influence. It wasn’t about war and fighting any longer—it was about being respected.

She’d never had to worry about that in her tribe, even when she wasn’t Chieftain. Rags stared at the stone ceiling, feeling odd. When she was just a Goblin, even if things were bad she was still a Goblin like anyone else. If they were running they all had a chance. There was only the Chieftain and the other Goblins. Other warriors didn’t have more…rights. If they ate more food it was because they fought and needed the energy, not because they were special.

Rags had seen warriors eating scraps in that room along with normal laboring Goblins. It was all about power, here. Power, which divided a tribe against itself.

She didn’t like it. But she didn’t have to like it to use it to her advantage. Rags rolled over and slept, dreaming of ways she could gain influence in this mockery of a tribe.

—-

The next day, Rags met the chief [Shaman] of Tremborag’s tribe. Or rather, the [Shaman] found her. It was surprise visit, but when Rags saw the female Hob wearing paint on her mostly unclothed body and little else, she immediately made time for her.

She was very nearly naked. Rags had never met another Goblin shaman, so she had no idea if this was customary, but it didn’t seem practical unless they all stayed indoors in the winter. Paint—some kind of chalky colored substance—decorated the female Hob’s skin, creating exotic patterns that hypnotized the eye.

And other body parts, it seemed. For all the male Goblins the [Shaman] passed—and a good deal of the females—stared with acute interest at her, both at the parts seen and the parts hinted at.

Rags was young, so she didn’t care. But she was suddenly acutely aware of how other Goblins cared about looks. The Gold Stone Chieftain grunted approvingly as he stared at the [Shaman]’s backside. Rags didn’t see the point so she only scowled when the Goblins impeded their progress with appreciative ogling.

This was a type of power too, and the [Shaman] flaunted it. That made Rags a bit wary when the Shaman led her to her large and sumptuous quarters, making the two Hobs wait outside.

She had pillows, lots of them. And part of her room was clearly devoted to her craft; Rags saw a lot of items that wouldn’t have looked unfamiliar on an [Alchemist]’s table. She gazed around in interest as the [Shaman] talked with her.

“You are Rags. A new Goblin and a Chieftain. So young!”

Rags nodded, meeting the other Goblin’s gaze calmly. She had power too, Rags sensed.

“You had no Shaman in any of your tribes. Have you never met a Shaman before?”

“No.”

She was very fluent, while Rags had to struggle to make herself understood. The [Shaman] smiled sadly.

“It is not good. Shamans make a tribe strong. Without us, there is only Chieftains and all they can do is hit things.”

That made Rags smile. The [Shaman] whispered a word, and a ball of light floated from her hands, colors—red, white, green, black—blurring together in a light show. Rags stared at it appreciatively.

“We have power. We take it from the tribe. You know this?”

“Yes. Magic. Like this?”

Rags raised her hand and cast the [Light] spell. The [Shaman] gasped as an orb—perfectly mirroring the one she’d made—floated out of Rags’s palm. The Goblin smiled; she wasn’t so easily impressed by parlor tricks.

“You have magic. No one told me this.”

Which told Rags that she was being gossiped about. She shrugged.

“[Shaman] magic. Is like [Mage]?”

“Yes. And no. Different. My magics are basic, but strong with numbers. I can cast lightning and burn and create shields. And heal.”

“Heal?”

That attracted Rags’ interest. Pisces had taught her the fundamentals of magic and he had told her that healing spells were extremely advanced spells for mages.

The Shaman nodded.

“Close flesh. Restore blood. Not fix a missing arm, though. Still useful.”

“Very.”

Rags thought about how many healing potions she could save with a [Shaman]. She pointed to the female Hob.

“Only you? One Shaman?”

“I am Ulvama. Another five [Shamans] are in the tribe, but I am strongest by far. They can throw fire. I can scorch the earth.”

So you could have more than one if your tribe was big enough. Rags wondered if she could persuade a [Shaman] to join her tribe, or if Ulvama could teach someone. Could she learn?

“It is good that you think.”

Ulvama interrupted Rags’ thought. The [Shaman] leaned forwards and smiled at Rags, as if the two of them were sharing a secret.

“You are smart. And brave. I saw you challenging the Hob. But Tremborag does not think you are important.”

“No.”

Rags scowled. Ulvama smiled deeper.

“But I do. You need support. Allies. I can be your ally.”

Rags held still. She eyed Ulvama cautiously. A [Shaman], much less the chief [Shaman] of Tremborag’s tribe would be very useful. But why did Ulvama want to help Rags? Did she really see something in her, as she was hinting?

Or did she do this to all Chieftains? Was she just playing the odds or did she want something? Rags didn’t know, but she wasn’t one to spit on an offered hand.

Unless it was someone she hated, like Relc.

“Ally is good.”

“Yes. I can speak to other leaders for you. They are not certain if you should be followed or fought. But I can persuade them.”

Rags was under no illusions as to how Ulvama would do that. She frowned; she’d had the birds and bees explained to her by Erin of all people, although she had no idea why birds would mate with bees. But would the offer of sex really persuade so many?

“Will work?”

Ulvama laughed.

“You are young so you do not know. But it will work, especially since you have a name. That makes you special.”

Rags nodded proudly. A name was rare, even if the tribe had a [Shaman], she had learned. It was a mark of influence, and here, of power.

“One thing is strange, though. You have no Shaman but you have a name. Did you come from another tribe? Or did your Shaman die?”

Rags shook her head.

“No [Shaman]. Human gave it to me.”

Ulvama’s eyes widened. She stared at Rags, and then she shook her head sadly.

“Then it is not a proper name.”

Rags stared at Ulvama, shocked. She hadn’t liked the name Erin had given her, but it had stuck and she had long since taken it as her own. It was her name!

“Why not?”

“Only Shamans can give names. Not Humans.”

Ulvama said it as if it were obvious. Rags didn’t think this made sense and said so.

“My name.”

“I can give you a better one.”

“No. My name.”

The two stared at each other, the good mood in the room evaporating like dew. After a moment, Ulvama looked away. She spoke more directly and with less smiles.

“You will need to gain support from other warriors. Find strong ones; make them your allies or make them yours.”

“How? Give things?”

Rags had an idea of how to gain power. Bribing followers, rewarding the faithful, demonstrating ability in combat and elsewhere—but Ulvama shook her head dismissively.

“Use that.”

To Rag’s surprise and outrage she reached out and poked Rags between the legs. The Goblin closed her legs instantly and glared at Ulvama.

“That is mine.”

She had no interest in sex, especially the way Erin described it. Goblins knew about the link between sex and babies of course; it was hard to miss the connection. But while Rags would have been considered a fine age for giving birth, she didn’t want to. It seemed like a pain.

“It is the best way for females. Do not be stupid.”

The Shaman was waspish. She stared at Rags and the Goblin glared back.

“Sleep with others. Garen Redfang if you can. He will help you for that—all do. Do not be—”

She was reaching for Rag’s legs. Rags slapped Ulvama’s hand down. The Shaman gasped in outrage. She raised a hand to strike Rags.

And Rags kicked her.

Kicking was better than a punch, mainly because people often watched your hands. Rags’s foot slammed into Ulvama’s stomach and the Goblin doubled over, coughing in pain. Rags sneered as she stood over Ulvama. The other Goblin was soft, lazy for all her power.

“No.”

When the Shaman looked up there was murder in her eyes. Rags stared down at Ulvama coldly, ready for a fight. She did not want to sleep with anyone, and she had no intention of being told what to do. Ulvama’s eyes blazed. She gathered magic to her in a wave, hissing with anger, ready to blast this upstart Chieftain.

But Rags had a hand on her sword and the [Firefly] spell burning in her hand. The [Shaman] looked at Rags and the smaller Goblin knew she was wondering if she would be quick enough with her spells, or if Rags would stab her first.

“Get out.”

That was all Ulvama said. Rags nodded. She doubted the [Shaman] would be cowardly enough to strike her from behind. She walked towards the door. Then she turned at it.

“I need no name. I have one.”

The door slammed as Rags left.

—-

Rags felt upset and annoyed for hours after meeting Ulvama. She’d been hoping so badly for help, and Ulvama had offered it! But not only had the Shaman denied her name, she’d tried to force Rags to do something she didn’t want to, as if she had no choice. She was no true ally, and Rags had been right to not join up with her.

But however good it had felt to kick Ulvama, the consequences of Rags’ actions were immediately obvious. When she received the summons to meet Tremborag with the other Goblins to plan a raid on a Human settlement, Rags found a room full of Goblin warriors standing around a map.

In this, Rags could find no fault. She stared appreciatively at the map of the local area and, of all things, crude figurines arranged around a town on the big stone table. It was a tool for planning attacks, and Rags saw Garen leaning over the table as Tremborag spoke with a Hob who was pushing pieces around.

When he saw Rags, though, Tremborag grinned at her. She saw other Goblins in the room turn to laugh at her as well and felt uneasy.

“Ah! Fake Name Goblin! Come.”

Rags froze mid-step towards the table. She stared at Tremborag. The Goblin laughed at her with his eyes and mouth. She glared at him.

“I am Rags.”

“That is not what Ulvama said. She said your name was given to you by a Human.”

So, this was the Shaman’s revenge. Rags gritted her teeth, but she knew arguing was pointless. She pushed her way towards the table and stared at the pieces.

“Attack?”

“A raid. A Human town has many supplies and much food for the winter. I want it. But it is defended by many soldiers and some adventurers. See.”

He pointed to the map. All business now, Rags listened as another Goblin explained the rough layout of the town. It wasn’t an easy place to attack by any means, she could tell. Stone walls, enchantments on the gates and even a tower spelled to hurl fire—add the Human defenders and she would have avoided it with her tribe.

But Tremborag had the forces to take the town, and he wanted what was within. He pointed towards the board where a self-satisfied Goblin had arranged the pieces in a rough circle around the city, their means of attack.

“What do you think, Fake Name Goblin? Garen says you are the best strategist. Can you come up with a better plan?”

In an instant she could. Rags took one look at the proposed formation and swept it aside. The Goblin made an outraged sound, but she knew his plan had been terrible. All he wanted to do was attack from every side, as if that would immediately overwhelm the stout defenses of the town.

In this, Tremborag’s Goblins were equal to any other Tribe. Rags sneered as she moved the pieces around. In short order she had a plan of attack that had Garen nodding approvingly. Feint a heavy assault on the gates while other forces surrounded the city. Then—feint a second attack with lots of Hobs on the west wall while the east side saw Goblins snipe the defenders there and rush ladders up with the main strike force.

There were all kinds of other details of course, and Rags went through each phase of the plan. She paused when she came to the defenders, though.

“Adventurers in city?”

“A few. Not nearly as many as the soldiers, though.”

Tremborag grinned at her. He’d been watching her work in silence. Rags carefully added a few groups of Goblins and Hobs to suppress the small group of adventurers and stood back.

The other Goblins in the room stared at her plan of attack with grudging approval. Garen grinned openly and nudged Tremborag.

“You see?”

“I do. Well then, small Goblin. It seems you are capable of being a Chieftain after all.”

Rags bared her teeth at the backhanded compliment. He wasn’t going to call her by her name ever again, was he?

Tremborag smiled as he stared around.

“Get ready for battle, my warriors! We will attack with many Goblins—and I will go as well.”

This caused a stir among the Goblins in the room, and in moments all were volunteering to go with Tremborag. He chose only enough for the force Rags had proposed and then looked directly at her.

“And you will come too. After all, it is your plan.”

She nodded. Rags felt a bit of excitement burning in her, along with guilt. She’d be killing Humans. But this was a chance to prove herself! She looked Tremborag in the eye and bared her teeth.

“Of course.”

—-

They mustered outside of the town just before evening. It wasn’t far to go, hence Tremborag’s desire to attack the town and the Goblins moved fast anyways. Rags found herself relegated to one of the side units, away from most of the fighting. She resented that, but comforted herself in the knowledge that this was her plan.

Rags stood in the snow, shivering a bit in the leather armor she was wearing—it was very cold—and staring around. A group of warriors, including Tremborag, had been gathered for the decisive actual attack on the eastern walls. They were hiding in a copse of trees. Garen Redfang would attack the western walls with some Hobs so he was not present.

In truth, neither Tremborag nor Garen were needed for this battle. Rags had gone over the plans; they had brought two Goblins for every one Human, and only some of the defenders could fight. It would be a slaughter either way; it only depended on how many Goblins their side lost in this battle.

To Rags’ mild surprise, the group she was leading—one of the groups that would go into the city and tie up the Human soldiers—contained a spellcaster like herself. Only, the drooling Goblin who had to be prodded along by one of Tremborag’s warriors was very unlike her.

For one thing, he had no ears. Someone had cut them off of him, leaving two earholes instead. Rags felt angry when she saw that; she knew some adventurers earned money from Goblin ears. Maybe one of them had done it to this Goblin.

The Goblin stumbled towards Rags and stared at her blankly. She looked at him in disgust and turned to one of the warriors in her group.

“Why bring?”

The warrior shrugged as he examined his chipped sword.

“Stupid. Head is bad. But can cast spell.”

Rags stared at the drooling Goblin in doubt. He turned his head blankly towards her and grunted.

“Ah. Ugn.”

She wrinkled her nose and turned away. Ahead of her, Tremborag gave the signal and wild horn calls suddenly rent the air around her. The attack had begun.

The Human town had been peacefully going about its daily routine, safe in the knowledge that so many soldiers and adventurers were gathered here to guard it. But in moments a savage Goblin attack shattered their bubble of complacency. The soldiers on the walls shot down at the masses of Goblins with shields, doing little damage. Goblins swarmed all around, but the Human commander, whoever he was, quickly realized the main push was coming from the western walls.

Horns blew, men and women shouted orders, and the Goblins in the trees saw the bulk of the defenders go to fight off the Hobs that were assaulting the west side. Now was the time.

Standing in the back of the ranks of Goblins, Rags only heard the cut off screams as Goblins with high [Archer] levels shot the Humans on the walls and more Goblins rushed forwards with ladders. Tremborag shouted, and suddenly everyone was running.

Rags raced with her group to a ladder and climbed it nimbly. Above her a warrior choked as an arrow caught him in the chest; he fell and nearly knocked the dimwitted Goblin down with him. Rags cursed and had to pull the stupidly grinning Goblin up.

Then they were on the walls and in the main town itself. Rags ran with the warriors and two archers down one of the streets; they would stop any of the soldiers trying to help the others.

In less than a minute Rags saw the first soldiers breaking away from fighting at the gates and walls to fight the Goblins in the city. But they were fragmented, caught off-guard. More of them rushed at the Goblins who’d braced themselves in the streets.

Goblin archers shot at the soldiers. So did Rags. She still had her black crossbow, and it killed one Human, sending him flying backwards and making the others raise their shields in alarm. But she didn’t have time to reload it so Rags drew her sword and shield instead.

Before the diminished Human force could clash with the Goblins, the dimwitted Goblin was thrust forwards by the others. They shouted at him and he smiled and pointed towards the Human advance. Rags saw his hands light up—

And then bolts of electricity shot across the street, striking the Humans, making them cry out in agony. Rags was surprised, but the other Goblins had waited for this moment. After the stupid Goblin lowered his hands they rushed forwards, shouting.

Sparks of electricity crawled over the Humans in armor, making their arms weak as their muscles spasmed from the shocks. Rags shouted as she ran, and threw a [Firefly] spell at the Human in front of her. He screamed as the flying fire burned him, and then Rags cut his leg and slashed his chest.

It wasn’t a clean kill. She cut him eight times, dodging backwards as he struck at her, screaming. But like the other Humans he was soon dead, overwhelmed by the Goblin’s knowledge and superior tactics.

Satisfied, Rags and the other Goblins stepped back, some of them retrieving better quality weapons from the dead. She looked around. Two Goblins had taken injuries, one fairly bad, but none of them had died despite fighting so many Humans. True, they were strong warriors for Goblins, but this was easy.

Then Rags heard the shouts and felt the earth shaking. She turned and saw the adventurers.

There were only a handful of them, Tremborag had said. Only a handful. But when Rags saw the Goblins who went flying like leaves her heart caught in her chest. Somehow, in some way, the Goblins who had scouted this city had failed to mention one crucial fact, or perhaps Tremborag had failed to mention it to Rags.

These were Gold-rank adventurers, not Silver.

As Rags watched, a roaring man with a battleaxe swung, and the ranks of Goblins sent to hold him back went flying. They were like children before his strength, even the Hobs. At his side, a huge woman with a hammer crushed a Hob’s head, smashing right through the shield he’d held up to guard himself.

They were going to tear right through the Goblin forces in the city! Rags was paralyzed by indecision. They had to be slowed. But the Goblins with her couldn’t manage it! They had to get to Garen, get him into the city with as many Hobs as possible—

Then she heard a roar which made the two Gold-rank adventurers freeze in fear. Rags turned.

And saw Tremborag.

At first, Rags didn’t recognize the Goblin. That was because the Hob had changed entirely. A gargantuan creature, made of muscle and rage charged down the street. Eight feet tall, huge legs cracking the cobblestones as he ran at the adventurers—

It was the Great Chieftain of the Mountain. Yes, it was. Some of his features were the same. But all the fat had been changed to muscle, and he had become powerful, quick—

The warrior with the hammer raised it with a shout, but she was too slow. Tremborag caught her as he charged and smashed into a house. Rags flinched as wood and stone exploded like hail, and the warrior rushed in after his friend. She and the other Goblins heard shouting, then a scream. A female one. Then a man’s choking voice—

In the localized sphere of silence, Tremborag walked out of the destroyed house. There was blood on his hands and around his mouth. The Goblins around Rags backed away as he walked towards her.

“How?”

That was all she said to the Goblin who stared down at her. Not a Hobgoblin, not a normal Goblin—something else. Some aspect of Goblin she had never heard of before. Tremborag smiled at Rags, and she saw the flesh caught in his teeth. His voice hadn’t changed much, but it was rougher, harsher, as if speaking came harder to him in this form.

“There are more things in this world that you do not know than know, little Goblin. I am one of them.”

Then he turned and ran towards where the sound of battle was thickest. Rags stared at his back. She said not a word as the slow Goblin laughed and pointed at something.

Her knees were shaking.

—-

When she saw Tremborag again, he was fat and normal, as if what she’d seen was an illusion. He stood, laughing and eating something amid his cheering warriors. They’d killed the last of the Humans and the rest had either fled or—

Rags still heard screaming, from female voices. She knew what was happening and it bothered her although she felt it shouldn’t. But she was more concerned with Tremborag right now. She approached hesitantly.

“Ah! There you are.”

He turned to her almost jovially as Garen Redfang joined them, covered in blood and lightly wounded, but steaming in the cold air with battle lust. Tremborag greeted Garen and then turned to Rags, smiling condescendingly down at her.

“Not bad, little Goblin. Not good either, though; you underestimated the adventurers. They are stronger than the ones you know.”

She hadn’t been told about them being Gold-rank! She should have assumed, but this had been a setup. Rags bit her tongue; she didn’t feel able to talk back to Tremborag after what she’d witnessed.

The Great Goblin Chieftain stared down at her, musingly. He was in a good mood from the easy victory, and so he was magnanimous towards her.

“You are useful, as Garen said. You have my respect. Pick first and claim whatever you want before the others.”

He waved his hand to indicate the city. Rags just nodded and turned away. She avoided the places where she heard Humans screaming and Goblins shouting in delight and searched among the dead, feeling wrong on different levels.

To her annoyance, anything remotely magical had already been claimed by Tremborag or one of his Hobs. Rags hunted about and found a wicked axe made of steel, a valuable weapon. But she didn’t keep it for herself.

Instead, upon returning to the mountain with all their spoils, Rags searched for the Gold Stone Chieftain. He hadn’t been included on the raid. But she gave the steel axe to the Gold Stone Chieftain, who immediately discarded the somewhat blunted iron axe he’d been using in favor of this one.

It was a good move, Rags knew. It showed the other Goblins she rewarded her followers, and that she wasn’t greedy like others. She felt proud of her decision—and immediately angry that she had to make it to fight for influence here. And she still felt a bit wrong.

Because of the Human women.

They’d been captured, over a hundred of them. Many civilians had fled or been killed, but some had been captured. The men had been killed, or so Rags believed. But the women—

They were somewhere in the mountain. Somewhere, being raped. That was what Rags knew, and she tried to not think about it too hard.

It wasn’t her business. Some goblins did that. Garen’s tribe didn’t and she hadn’t had to face the issue with her tribes yet, but—

She was too busy fighting for influence here to worry about Humans! Rags considered her new state of affairs as she grumpily ate food by herself. She had declined to go to the throne hall to feast; she was instead eating in a smaller room where Goblins could choose to take their meals.

The battle had been a victory, a huge success, it was true. But somehow, it wasn’t her victory. Rags had planned the battle and it had gone well, and for that she sensed her value as a strategist had been established.

But Tremborag had altered perceptions by tricking her! Instead of a flawless battle, she’d been portrayed as stupid to forget the Gold-rank adventurers, lessening her worth. She had still gained from this, but—

Rags looked up as a Goblin stumbled into the room she was sitting in. No Goblin had chosen to eat here but her; they were all gorging themselves in the throne room with Tremborag. But someone had decided to eat here.

The dimwitted Goblin. He looked around vacantly, holding a bowl of soup in his hands. He spotted Rags and lurched towards her, smiling stupidly. Rags gritted her teeth, but she didn’t kick him away as he sat near to her. He gulped his soup greedily, his eyes unfocused.

She tried to ignore him. Rags was still thinking about the Human women. She’d seen them, although she hadn’t intended to, forced along at sword-point, some naked. A few had tried to kill themselves fighting rather than be taken, but they’d been overwhelmed and—

Not her business. Rags gritted her teeth. She stabbed angrily at the bloody meat on her plate. It was from a sheep and it was hot. She should eat it and find Ulvama. Maybe she could beat the stupid Shaman into—

“Flowing Water Chieftain. Will you speak with me?”

Rags jerked in surprise. She twisted, and saw the dimwitted Goblin without ears looking at her. Straight at her. And his eyes were no longer unfocused. Her hand went to her sword, but the other Goblin hadn’t moved to hurt her. She stared as the mindless, gibbering wreck suddenly sat up and stared at her with keen, piercing intelligence.

“You.”

“I.”

He agreed, smiling at her. Rags stared at him warily and slowly let go of her sword.

“Act.”

“Yes.”

They stared at each other. Rags’ mind worked at the speed of light.

“Why pretend?”

“Hiding. I am [Spellcaster] to them. Weak. Stupid. But I am [Mage] to you. Stronger than I seem.”

“Why speak to me?”

“Because you are different. I am taking risk. Would like to give you advice.”

Rags paused. She stared at him and thought of the difference between his approach and Ulvama’s. She nodded slowly.

“Tell.”

“Do not sit with Tremborag tonight. Do not be proud. Be humble. Small.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Why?”

He smiled at her, exposing missing teeth.

“Is better that way. You are too smart, too quick. You may be threat, you foreign Chieftain. And if you are…Tremborag will crush his enemies with more than fists.”

Rags considered this. It made sense. Tremborag was deliberately testing her, diminishing her worth. It might be a better move to pretend to be cowed by his displays of strength, although she hadn’t considered it before. She narrowed her eyes at the other Goblin. And yet…

He was strong. If he was a better spellcaster than he pretended to be, he was on the level of any Hob in terms of value, perhaps more. He could be powerful. She pointed at him accusingly.

“Why you not fight? Why not stand proud? Why…coward?”

“I tried.”

He tapped his ragged earholes and grinned at her. Rags paused. She stared at his ears.

Adventurers cut off Goblin ears. For that, they were monsters. But she had never heard of Goblins doing it to each other. Goblins killed one another as necessary. They did not mutilate. They did not torture.

But they did rape Humans.

She banished the thought. Rags stared at the Goblin [Mage] and nodded slowly.

“I will think. And not tell.”

“Good. Think hard, strange Chieftain.”

That was all he said. She and he went back to their meals. When they were done, Rags stood up.

The Goblin stared at her. His eyes were unfocused again and he grunted seemingly in surprise when she moved past him.

“Ugn.”

He stared at her vacantly. This time Rags was not fooled. She nodded to him and strode off, thinking hard.

That night, Rags didn’t go to the high table. She instead ate with the Gold Stone Chieftain in a far more crowded part of the hall, as if she was cowed and humbled by her mistakes. She sensed countless eyes on her, but did and said little. She was thinking and watching instead.

Next to her, the Gold Stone Chieftain ate his food as stolidly as ever. He didn’t react to Rags’ presence; he’d just scooted over when she’d walked over without a word. Only one thing he’d done had surprised her that night.

When they’d been eating the Gold Stone Chieftain had stopped a passing Goblin. The old one. He was…or had been…a Hob, but he looked pathetic compared to all the others. But the Gold Stone Chieftain had called out to him nevertheless.

Old one. Sit.

And so Rags found herself sitting across from the old Goblin. He ate messily, burped loudly, and said little; he annoyed Rags more than anything else because he kept staring at her. So did all the other Goblins, to be fair.

She could tell that her absence from the high table had been noted. By everyone. Rags hoped the other Goblins just interpreted it as her being ashamed and going to her actual position in the hierarchy.

Meanwhile, the ranks of the Goblins were stabilizing as the new additions to Tremborag’s tribe were assimilated. And it was his tribe, Rags realized. They were becoming his.

Already the Redfang warriors sat at the high table. A good number of them sat high up, bearing new scars from quick duels to assert their superiority. But as always Garen sat right next to Tremborag, clearly displaying his dominance.

She’d heard what had happened. Garen had killed another Hob, one of Tremborag’s stronger followers in a quick fight. He already had his own band of followers, and Rags wondered if he’d picked a fight with the unfortunate Hob on purpose.

But that wasn’t the only big news of the day. As Rags slept and woke, she heard the second big impact of yesterday’s battle circulating through the mountain. Namely, the Human women who’d been captured.

They had been taken to a part of the mountain Rags had never visited. A dungeon-like place, where Goblins could come and go. Here too, access was restricted to those with favor. Normal Goblins couldn’t enter, but more influential Goblins could access the women.

It bothered Rags more than she could say. But to her delight, it didn’t bother just her.

While her tribe was somewhat ambivalent if not confused about taking Human women to have sex with, the reaction of Garen’s tribe had been far stronger. They were upset about it, and Rags heard through the grapevine of Goblin rumors that a group of Hobs and warriors had gone to Garen to complain. Apparently, their tribe took pride in not ‘sinking to that level’, and they wanted Garen to stop it.

Perhaps he could have, but Garen was disinclined to go against Tremborag on this, especially because Rags knew some of the Human women had gone to the Great Goblin. So the message had come back to his tribe from Garen:

Deal with it.

The next night Rags didn’t eat with the main host of Goblins. Instead, she waited until later. The Redfang Goblins had been given the important duty of guarding the mountain due to their combat prowess, but that meant they ate and slept at different times.

They were not happy that night and ate in sullen silence, or started fights among each other. Rags didn’t say much—she just ate with some Hobs and elite warriors who stared at her silently. She knew they were wondering why she was here, but she didn’t do anything else. She just ate until one of them poked her softly in the side.

Redfang would not listen.

She looked at the one who’d spoken, a Goblin with a scar across his face.

“No.”

He bared his teeth angrily and struck the table. The Hob sitting next to the warrior stared at Rags. He was a powerful warrior; they all were. Garen’s tribe might not have been individually as mighty as he was, not close, but they were elites among Goblins.

Is not right.

Another Goblin said that. Rags nodded her head fractionally, and knew they were looking at her, gauging her reaction. But then the Hob who stared at Rags spoke.

“Gold Stone Chieftain. He goes to visit Humans often.”

She paused. Rags’ mind went blank. Often? Did that mean—had the Gold Stone Chieftain known about the Human women before now? They hadn’t all been captured in the town. More were there from other villages, caravans raided, travelers abducted.

Often?

She stared at the Redfang warrior, and didn’t know what to say in reply.

—-

On the fourth day, Rags decided to join one of the raiding parties. Like the Goblin Lord—like any large tribe, really, Tremborag’s tribe had to constantly scavenge and hunt for new food or risk starvation, especially with so many mouths to feed. Rags knew the Goblins grew mushrooms and harvested the native rat, bat, and bug populations, but that was hardly enough.

These raiding groups had the hardest jobs of any of the Goblins in Tremborag’s tribe. They had to abandon the safety of the mountain to go out and hunt monsters, animals, or raid Human settlements. It was…well, frankly, it was being a Goblin and Rags relished it.

She fell in with one of the lesser factions in the mountain. Curiously, it was a group of mostly female Goblins. They resented being seen as mates by every male Goblin who came along, and they were of the opinion they fought just as well as male warriors.

They did. If not with as much strength, then with a good deal of savage cunning. Rags participated in an attack on a Human village—no capturing women, just taking animals and food while the Goblins scared away the Humans. She had a chance to talk with one of their leaders, a Goblin who used two daggers dipped in a concoction made from poisonous plants.

“Faction is weak.”

The other Goblin looked at Rags angrily, but relented when she saw Rags was just stating the truth.

“Weak, but we are united.”

“Other Goblins do not treat females well?”

“Not as warriors.”

The female Goblin bared her teeth.

“We are strong as males. When we fight, we prove we are equal.”

Rags frowned. She didn’t think that was true. It seemed like this band of female warriors was being exploited by Tremborag and the other goblins to do dirty work with no real reward.

She said so. The female Goblin nearly drew a blade on Rags, but Rags had demonstrated that she knew how to fight, and so it didn’t come to that. The female Goblin wiped her daggers clean as she spoke harshly.

“Someday, many Hobs like us. Many.”

They wanted to become Hobs. Rags understood that. Being a Hob was power in itself, and if they had many in their faction they would be respected. But until then, they would live on scraps and fight the hardest battles. Rags shook her head.

Interestingly, she saw that the old Goblin was part of this band of female warriors. Rather, it was more like they tolerated him and gave him their protection. He actually fought, with a rusty greatsword that looked like it was more rust than sword. Rags wondered if he could keep up with the younger warriors.

But he had a lot of fighting prowess to make up for being older. Rags had seen him step on a Human’s foot, shove him down, and then kick the Human unconscious without lifting his weapon. She supposed with age came experience. He grinned at her a few times as they returned to the mountain. She just stared at him and wondered what she was doing wrong.

She had to gain influence. Power. Rags became obsessed with it. On the night of the fourth day she paced back and forth in her room, wondering how to get a lead on all the other Goblins. Because, obviously she could do it.

She was smart, cunning, and Rags knew she was twice as competent as any of the other Hobs with their own faction. In a few weeks—a month perhaps—she would be able to amass as much power as the rest. And then…

It was all about finding the right allies. Rags had already decided who to approach first. So she summoned the Gold Stone Chieftain to her room after they had eaten dinner.

“Redfang Hob. One with mace.”

He nodded as Rags spoke to him in the privacy of her room. That was one of the most influential Hobs in Garen’s tribe, by far the strongest. The Gold Stone Chieftain stared at Rags impassively. She looked at him and remembered he visited the Human women. Often.

“Go. Be…nice to him. Gain trust.”

She would gain his trust and then take Garen’s tribe from him. Then she would attack more villages, gain more victories using only their force. With that influence she could—

“No, Chieftain.”

Rags halted, mid-thought. She turned and stared at the Gold Stone Chieftain.

“What?”

“No, Chieftain.”

“Why?”

She demanded it of him. The Gold Stone Chieftain pondered and then replied, looking at the ceiling.

“Not Goblin.”

That was an insult, one of the worst among Goblin kind. Rags recoiled and then became outraged.

“Obey! I am Chieftain!”

“Not if this is order.”

The Gold Stone Chieftain stared back at Rags, quietly defiant. It was too much. She could not lose him, her one supporter. Rags grabbed for her crossbow in fury.

“If you challenge—”

He moved fast. Rags had only been meaning to threaten, but the Gold Stone Chieftain moved towards her before she could raise the crossbow. She pulled the trigger and the crossbow bolt loosed—and missed. It shattered, against the stone next to his feet. The Gold Stone Chieftain grabbed the crossbow and tore it away from Rags, hurling it onto her bed.

Her sword. Rags had it but then it too was pulled away. The Gold Stone Chieftain hurled it aside and Rags stumbled back, suddenly afraid.

He loomed over her, huge. Rags suddenly realized how fragile she was, how weak. Without her weapons she was practically helpless. Her [Firefly] spell would only enrage him.

He visited Human women often.

But the Gold Stone Chieftain did not reach for her. Instead, he took one look at Rags and sat back down on the floor. He popped some rat jerky into his mouth and began to eat.

Stunned, Rags stared at him. The Gold Stone Chieftain spoke slowly to her.

“It is not Goblin. What you ask. Staying here is bad. If you stay, I will go. I will become Chieftain and leave. With my tribe.”

It was the most she’d ever heard him say. Rags stared at the Gold Stone Chieftain, stunned, and then absorbed what he’d said.

“Leave?”

He wanted her to leave? But this was the one place safe from the Goblin Lord! The Gold Stone Chieftain nodded, though.

“Bad place. Not Goblin. You said.”

He hurled the words back at Rags and she couldn’t respond to that. She could only come up with feeble excuses.

“Not strong enough. Need support. If wait…gain power. Influence—”

The words sounded hollow to her, weak. They didn’t sound like what a Goblin should say. She wasn’t speaking in Goblin. Rags met the Gold Stone Chieftain’s eyes and looked away, ashamed.

He stared down at her, disapprovingly. It didn’t look much different from his normal blank expression. But Rags realized—it was on purpose.

And slowly, sitting in that room, unable to meet the gaze of one of her subordinates, Rags understood. She put together the old Goblin, the Gold Stone Chieftain’s knowledge of this place, and everything else together in a sudden conclusion.

“You. Lived here, in past?”

She stared at him. The Gold Stone Chieftain nodded. Sighed.

“Once. Long ago.”

That was why he could speak the common language! But why had he left? And why did he want to leave now?

Rags could understand. She could understand the way this place made you do un-Goblin things and fight amongst yourselves, and how it took away tribes and the meaning of loyalty to the Chieftain. But was that enough to risk death fighting the Goblin Lord?

“Why?”

It was all she asked. And the Gold Stone Chieftain stared at Rags, weighing, judging. And then he stood up.

Follow.

—-

It was a dark place where the Goblins held the Human women. A dark place, a former building in the Dwarven city. Dark.

And made darker by the crying. Rags thought there would be screams, but too many were broken by this place. She looked into rooms—for some reason the Goblins gave the Humans rooms, as if privacy mattered. She could hear well enough.

There were over two hundred women there. A large number. But for thousands, tens of thousands of Goblins—

Too many. And part of Rags stared at what went on here, at Goblins biting, grabbing, forcing—part of her tried to forget as she saw.

But she focused on one thing. She focused on the Gold Stone Chieftain. Because he visited the Human women often. He took one into a closed room with him, she flinching, afraid. Him impassive as always.

And so. This is what Rags saw. She saw the Gold Stone Chieftain let go of the Human woman. He walked over to one wall and sat down. And he pulled a carrot out and began to eat it.

He sat with his back to one wall. Just sat. The Gold Stone Chieftain chewed slowly as the Human woman stared at him. She stood far across the room, shaking. Then—slowly—she realized he was not going to do anything. While he sat here, she was safe.

Standing at the door, Rags saw how the woman lost her fear. She screamed at the Goblin, let out the rage and hurt. Then she retreated to a corner, wept. He sat and ate.

Visited often. He had fought for the privilege to be here, Rags had heard. Smashed another Hob into a wall. He had known this place existed because he had been here once.

And he had left.

Sitting with the Human woman weeping in the background, the Gold Stone Chieftain looked up at Rags.

“Too weak, Chieftain. Too weak. Too small. Still too small.”

He nodded to her once. Rags stared at him, and then the woman.

Then she went outside. Rags stared around. Her ears were keen and she heard every sound that went on in this place. Heard the begging, the cries—

And she wondered what she would have done if one of the captured women or girls was Erin. What if it was her?

And once that thought was had, Rags couldn’t unthink it. She stared at a girl who stumbled back into her cell and saw Erin’s face on hers. Rags turned away.

She covered her ears. She tried not to imagine how many women would have come here over the years, how long they would have lived. Rags told herself Humans did it to each other. She told herself that Goblins did it to survive, that it wasn’t different than killing Humans.

But they all looked like Erin to her. The young, the old—they all had the girl’s face. They were all—

She ran.

—-

Factions. Infighting. Power struggles and politics, all hidden in the depths of this mountain. A place where Goblins were safe from all but each other. That was what Rags had found here.

But it was not her place. This was not a world meant for her. It was wrong. And she feared she was losing herself the longer she stayed here.

So Rags sat in her room and thought. She was a genius. She knew it, in the same way she knew the sun was hot and the snow was cold. There were things only she could do, only she could think of and dare to achieve.

So Rags thought about what she could do if she could not stay here. She thought, and the answer seemed so obvious. How had she missed it before? She had been trapped, that was why. If not physically, then in her mind. It had taken the Gold Stone Chieftain, taken memory and guilt and seeing this place for what it was to break its hold on her.

There was only one course. Only one thing to do. So when the Gold Stone Chieftain had finished sitting and eating, she summoned him back to her room.

It was late. In a few hours it would be dawn. Perhaps now was not the time—but Rags knew it had to be now. She told the Gold Stone Chieftain what she wanted and saw him smile. Just once, but she knew she was right.

“Can you—”

Rags paused. That was not what a Chieftain should say. She looked at the Gold Stone Chieftain and thought of the risks. That was her job. So when she looked him in the eye, Rags was certain.

“Do it.”

He nodded and smiled again, briefly. Rags let him go to find all the Hobs he knew that would listen to him, and walked out into the mountain.

She kicked awake Goblins she knew, and had some of them find the Goblin with no ears. Then she found the female Goblin and her band and kicked them too. Some she sent to find the Gold Stone Chieftain. The others she told to go eat with the Redfang Warriors who were having what was lunch for them in a smaller mess hall.

When she was done, she found the Gold Stone Chieftain again. She looked at him as he pulled out an onion and bit into it. The smell made her eyes water, but she was surprised when he broke some off and offered it to her.

“Ready?”

She asked him quietly as she chewed. He nodded. Grunted.

“Four Hobs. Not many.”

“And the other?”

“More Goblins. But all busy. Very easy. I can do myself.”

If he said so, she believed him. There was nothing more to do before the moment, then. Rags stared at him and asked a question that she’d always wanted to know.

“Why name tribe Gold Stone?”

He shrugged, still chewing.

“I like gold. Gold that is not gold. I like it too.”

Rags knew what he was talking about. There were pretty stones that looked like gold you could find in caves with other minerals. It was valuable to Goblins, not just because it sparkled, but because it was a good alternative to flint and steel.

She looked at him, a silent giant. A Hobgoblin, a Chieftain who said little and sometimes did little, or so it seemed. But one with depth. One with a heart, who looked at what was and decided that it was wrong. Someone who wanted to be stronger but could do nothing.

“Why not you? Why not you…Chieftain?”

He looked at her, calmly.

“Not smart. Strong, but not smart. A good Chieftain is smart. Strong is easier, but not all are strong. Smart knows that. I am not smart.”

“You are.”

“Not enough. And cannot be Lord. Do not want to be. Like Tremborag. Too small.”

With that, he answered all of her questions and went back to eating. Rags stood beside him and then turned with a sudden impulse.

“Pyrite. I name you Pyrite.”

He stopped chewing and looked at her. Rags stared back. Pyrite was the name of such stones. It was a Human name.

“Not Shaman.”

“Do you care?”

She challenged him. The Hobgoblin thought about that for a second. And then he laughed. Pyrite smiled at Rags and nodded to her.

“See you later, Chieftain. Do not die.”

“I will meet you outside. You do not die. Chieftain’s orders.”

She left him behind. Rags made one trip to her room. She slung the black crossbow on her back, took her sword and shield, the buckler badly dented, but still hers. She had been given it by Erin. A Human.

And when Rags left her room, she was smiling. Because at last, she knew exactly what to do.

—-

The Redfang warriors were disgruntled by the sudden influx of Goblins during their lunch shift. But they grumbled only a bit; they were more sullen than anything else. And they recognized a good deal of the Goblins who’d entered. They were part of the Flooded Water tribe and some of the other tribes the Redfang warriors had journeyed north with, so they were allies in a sense.

Still, the Redfang warriors were angry. Some of the Hobs in here were Tremborag’s warriors and they longed to pick a fight with them. But they couldn’t. They felt muzzled here, like the Carn Wolves who they had to tether in pens in the city and not allow to roam free. Their mounts howled in distress and the Redfang warriors were angry.

And then the double doors leading in to the mess hall opened and a Goblin strode in, wearing leather armor. The Redfang tribe recognized her at once. She was Rags, and she…had…been their Chieftain. Not anymore, somehow.

But she was dressed for war. And it made all the Goblins who saw her sit up. Was something wrong?

Rags strode into the center of the room. Slowly, the eating around her stopped. She gazed around the room and saw Tremborag’s Goblins, some of them. The ones she thought might respect her. She saw the Redfang tribe, sullen, angry, but wondering. She saw the Goblin with no ears sitting next to a group of Goblins who glowed with bits of magic. And the female unit of Goblins and the grinning old Goblin still eating happily in the silence.

The small Chieftain of the Flooded Water Tribe took a deep breath and then shouted. Not in the common language, but in the tongue that was hers. Goblin.

I am Rags! Chieftain!

Every Goblin paused when they heard this. They stared at Rags, thousands of eyes watching her. She stood proud. She stood taller than she ever had walking this place. As if she was ten feet tall. So she looked down at the other Goblins as she spoke.

I am Goblin. This place is not. If you are Goblin, follow me!

It was a declaration of war. Rags heard the susurration go through the assembled Goblins as the damning accusation left her tongue. It could not be unsaid. Even now she knew the Gold Stone Chieftain was attacking, cutting down Goblins of Tremborag’s tribe with the others she had sent him.

It was war.

“Traitor!”

A Goblin, one of Tremborag’s, shouted that. He leapt to his feet, drawing his sword. But a bolt of lightning caught the Hob as he leapt for Rags. He fell, and Noears grinned as the Goblins seated around him drew their weapons.

And then the hall erupted into violence. Rags lifted her sword and fought. If she died here, she would die as she had lived.

A true Goblin.

3.29 G

The mountain was silent when Garen found Tremborag. The Hobgoblin had to pass by patrols of warriors who moved in grim silence, weapons drawn and ready for a fight. But their attentiveness was in vain.

The battle was long over. It had been over before Garen had been awoken, and what he was seeing now was the aftermath.

Surprisingly few Goblin bodies lay in his path. Garen noted a few cut down here and there, usually in clumps—the losers of the rapid pitched battles in the night—but not many. True, some were being hauled away to be used as food even now, but it had been bloodless for what had occurred.

Rebellion. Or perhaps it was a choice, paid for in blood. When Garen saw Tremborag’s face, he knew what the Great Goblin of the North would have called it.

Tremborag stood in front of two double doors, staring into a room Garen recognized. The armory. Approaching carefully, Garen saw the four Hobs at the doors were all dead. Two had been felled by blows with amazing strength. He suspected an axe. The other two were cut to death, probably from multiple blades all at once.

“They took everything of value.”

That was what Tremborag said when Garen joined him. The Hobgoblin stared into the empty armory and nodded.

It was empty.

Oh, a few of the racks still held arms in them, but they weren’t magical, only steel. Everything else had been looted, stripped away by the Goblins who’d fled the mountain.

Rags’ tribe. And not just her tribe—

“How many?”

Tremborag shrugged, face blank as he stared into the armory. He kept looking at the empty racks, and Garen wondered how powerful some of the enchanted blades had been. Probably very.

“Two thousand. Four thousand? Six thousand? I did not count the non-warriors. But her tribe followed her, and much of yours, Redfang. And she took several hundred of my warriors and some of my Hobs with her.”

“Mm. Bad.”

Garen was no linguist, even though he spoke the common language. He saw Tremborag turn towards him.

“Is that all you have to say?”

The Hob nodded towards the armory.

“Took weapons. Anything else?”

“Food. Supplies. Most of your wolves—the ones who belonged to the warriors who left—and the women.”

That made Garen smile. Tremborag stared at him.

“You think it is funny? They are all gone, Redfang. One of the Hobs—one of the ones you brought here—killed all the Goblins there and let the women free.”

Garen Redfang just shrugged.

“Human females are not important. Less important than the arms.”

“Oh, but they’ve taken arms! And killed my Goblins! They have rebelled against me, Garen Redfang! For that they will die.”

Garen held back from pointing out that only a few had rebelled against Tremborag. Most had just followed Rags as she was their Chieftain. But Tremborag was looking back into his precious armory. His body was quivering with rage, and Garen watched with interest the way it made his fat wobble.

“Tell me, Redfang—”

And here Tremborag turned. Garen tensed as he saw the depths of fury that spilled from the Goblin’s crimson eyes. The Great Goblin seemed to grow larger in front of Garen. No—not seemed—his appearance took on the other form Rags had seen in the Human town. He stared down at Garen.

“Tell me. Give me one reason why I should not kill you now. You brought that little Goblin here, that Rags. Why shouldn’t I kill you since she has taken more than you have given me?”

It was a question that would lead to one of the two’s deaths if answered incorrectly. Garen grinned fiercely, grasping tightly the hilt of his sword.

“If you could. I have my fang.”

“Your magic sword does not scare me. Without your wolf to ride, you are slow. And your warriors have left you. Why should I not kill you?”

“Because I have the key. And I know where the other is.”

Tremborag paused. He stared down at Garen and the two locked eyes. Then Tremborag stood on his two feet, fat, angry, no longer the being he had been before. Garen was disappointed to see that, but it was better than dying.

“You knew? Then why have you waited, Redfang? Tell me, and I will take it, no matter if it lies in the heart of Invrisil, behind one of the Walled Cities, or at the bottom of the sea.”

“It is in a worse place than that.”

Garen told Tremborag where the key was. He saw the Great Chieftain sigh.

“That is worse. Far worse. But I will take it all the same. As soon as I hunt down the small Goblin and eat her alive.”

It wasn’t a threat. It was a quiet promise, and Garen knew that Tremborag meant every word. He said nothing. But he hoped that wherever Rags was, she was running far and fast. She could still be useful.

But what a waste. That was what Garen thought, and it was why he remained in the mountain. One kind of Goblin had left, the other stayed. Which group was right? Who was truly Goblin?

There was no one to care. The Goblins lived and died. The other races paid little attention to them, save for when the Goblins became a threat. No one remembered who the Goblins had once been.

Not even them. But some dreamed. Some looked back as the past called to them. But only the Kings knew the truth of it.

—-

Death. Death and blood and sometimes fire. It was what followed her wherever she went. Rags accepted that fact. It was her nature, the nature of Goblins. She led the Goblins following her through the mountain, fighting any groups of warriors they came across. But the Goblins of Tremborag’s tribe were lazy, secure in this place. The alarm hadn’t even begun to spread as she met with Pyrite and the Goblins she’d sent to them.

Some carried magical weapons. Others, bundles of supplies. But the largest group was leading hundreds of Human women, most naked or wearing practically nothing. Rags shouted at Pyrite to find clothes now—not for decency’s sake but because it was cold outside.

She began ordering the Goblins around her, taking command and organizing her Goblins, fighting for each second so they could flee before Tremborag’s forces awoke and overwhelmed them. Then they were running, dashing out into the snow as the Redfang warriors whooped and shouted, and their wolves howled, breaking a path through the snow—

When Rags woke up, her tribe was still on the move. This did not surprise her.

Goblins were perhaps unique among all the races of the world in that when they wanted to move, they could cover distances most armies could only dream of. Every Goblin learned to run away quick, and even if they weren’t as fast as a horse or Human in the short term, they easily outdistanced everything in the long term.

How it worked was like this: if a tribe had a wagon and animals to ride or pull it, some would sleep on such vehicles, waking up to give other Goblins a turn. The animals had to rest occasionally of course; when they did they were normally eaten if the Goblins were in a real hurry. Otherwise, other Goblins would just push the wagons, sometimes with the horses crammed on top of it.

On foot it was different. Goblins would just collapse where they were and sleep, before waking and running to rejoin the tribe. That way they slowed their pursuers by offering free targets and a snack if the pursuers were monsters or other Goblins. Either way, the tribe would keep moving. They could cook, eat, pee, and do whatever they needed to do while marching.

And it worked well when it came to outrunning pursuers. So well that as Rags sat up in the crowded wagon, digging herself out from a pile of Goblin bodies, she saw the mountain was a good distance behind them.

How long had she slept? Probably at least six hours, Rags guessed. One of the benefits of being a Chieftain was that no one poked you awake and made you keep walking. It didn’t stop other Goblins from lying on top of you and farting in your face, but no Chieftain could prevent that.

Stretching on top of the piled up Goblins, Rags yawned and ignored the grumbling under her. Someone tried to shove her leg off their face—she stomped and then climbed off the wagon.

The instant her feet touched snow, Rags realized it had snowed again. How annoying! But when she looked up she had to smile. Because it was a wonderful day.

The sky was very blue. Rags stared up into the winter morning, breathing in and smiling faintly as the sun rose overhead, warming her from head to toe. It felt like it had been a very long season, full of cold and wet. But in a month or two it would be the shortest day of winter. And then the frost would end.

And a good thing too, because Rags had a tribe to lead. An even bigger one than before. Rags stared around. Goblins shambled past her, moving quick but all clearly on autopilot. She remembered what it was like, and considerately didn’t disturb them except to get pointed towards food.

The Goblin approach to ingenuity was always effective, if not entirely sane. That was how Rags found a cooking pot bouncing along on top of a wagon, over a burning pile of wood on top of the wagon. In fairness, the Goblins hadn’t set the actual wagon on fire, preferring to spread a layer of dirt to build a cooking fire on top of, but every now and then they had to put out fires caused by errant sparks.

All that meant was that Rags got a hot bowl of porridge seasoned with cinnamon, butter, and sugar of all things. She frowned, but ate three bowls greedily as befitted any Chieftain. Apparently, her Goblins had seized a lot of strange foods from Tremborag’s stores in their mad bid to escape the mountain.

Sugar was a delicacy. One Rags had only really tried at Erin’s inn. But it was also fairly useless to keep since it wasn’t filling like grain or meat. Thus, Rags wholeheartedly approved of using it now.

Belly full, Rags turned to the next important thing on her agenda: finding out where the heck they were. She walked towards the head of the tribe of sleepy Goblins and soon found the Hob who’d taken charge while she was asleep.

Pyrite looked pretty much like he always did, albeit wounded. Several deep slashes had cut into his flesh—two around his belly, one on his arm. But none were too bad, and his fat had shielded his internal organs from harm. Even so, Rags resolved to find Pyrite a healing potion once they had sorted out their supplies. She’d always had an emergency stash in her old tribe’s setup.

“Trouble?”

She asked Pyrite as she fell into step behind him. The Hob glanced at her and shook his head. He wasn’t eating anything for once. Rather, he had a stick in his mouth. He was chewing on that and spitting out pieces of wood now and then. Rags supposed he liked to feel like he was eating even when he wasn’t.

“No one follows yet.”

“Good.”

They still spoke in the common tongue. It was just…easier. Some ideas were expressible in that language whereas the Goblin’s tongue always felt like it had holes in its vocabulary. But even in this language, body language, facial expressions, and context made up a lot of the conversation.

Rags turned to stare at the winding trail of Goblins following in their wake.

“Spread out.”

The Gold Stone Ch—Pyrite just shrugged. He took the stick out of his mouth and pointed with it to each side. Rags saw riders on the infamous rust-red wolves pacing alongside the Goblins. Scouts. She nodded, feeling reassured.

“Humans?”

That was the next issue on her mind. Rags assumed they were around somewhere. Again Pyrite pointed and she saw they were marching separately from the Goblins. She frowned; most were riding in wagons pulled by the animals the Goblins had liberated.

“Slow.”

They were keeping pace, but what she meant was that they were taking away resources her tribe could use. It was a criticism as well, but Pyrite just shrugged.

“Cannot survive alone. Must take. Too hurt to move, many.”

Rags glanced again at the Human women. She couldn’t see much, bundled up as they were with whatever the Goblins had managed to take but—she believed him. She scowled, but made no further objections. She glanced at Pyrite. There was a lot she could have said. Thank you, for one thing. But Goblins didn’t really do that. So she just nodded at him.

“Tired?”

He shrugged.

“Walking.”

She nodded. Hobs were tough, and he was fairly tough even for a Hob. She could respect that.

“You keep walking. I…think.”

He smiled, once.

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Rags grinned as he put the stick back in his mouth. He always knew what to say, even if it was nothing. She walked next to Pyrite, the two moving in silence. It was easy. Rags just let her feet take her forwards while her mind wandered.

What did she have to do now? Well, she’d established that there was no immediate danger, so she had to start planning for the non-immediate danger. That meant Tremborag’s fury, the issue of them being exposed and in the wilderness where they might run into Humans, monsters, or something else, finding a new food source, a base, managing her new Goblin recruits, figuring out what to do with her tribe next…

Ah, it was good to be a Chieftain again! Rags smiled, even as she thought of all the things she had to do. It was hard work, yes, but she was certain that she could handle it. And if she couldn’t, probably no other Goblin could. She was Chieftain, and part of being Chieftain was believing you were the best.

By her calculations, they had only one or two more hours at most before Tremborag’s forces would be in hot pursuit of them, if they weren’t already. The Great Chieftain might have a vast following, but it was slow to mobilize for the same reason. Getting together enough supplies and warriors would be tough, and they wouldn’t be much faster than her tribe.

Then again, they didn’t have to be. They would easily be able to follow Rags’ tribe from the wake they’d left in the snow, and Goblin warriors could march longer than normal Goblins. It would come down to a battle sooner or later, and she had to find the best place for it.

Or did she? Rags frowned. What she really needed was a place to rest her tribe. Just for a little while. Her Goblins were used to rough travel, but the Human women were not. Plus, some of her warriors were injured and had to be exhausted after last night.

Last night. Rags remembered it clearly. She’d walked into the hall, afraid she’d be cut to pieces, that no one would follow her. She’d raised her sword and called for Goblins to follow her—

And they had. Oh, they had. Some had fought, but the majority had seen what Rags had. They had made a choice and chosen to be a tribe that lived and died free. They had chosen a Chieftain, rather than a faction under a Goblin who didn’t care for their lives.

They had fought.

And they had won. From the mess hall, Rags had taken her Goblins, now a sizeable force and rampaged through the unguarded halls of Tremborag’s mountain. That late at night they had been able to overwhelm what few soldiers were up. And such was the clamor of a Goblin mountain that the fighting hadn’t actually woken that many. They’d grabbed food, tools, even fought their way to the place where the animals had been kept.

It had been a nightmare trying to get the Redfang warriors to control their wolves and prevent them from going on a rampage or eating the other animals. For that matter, trying to get a horse in the presence of wolves to behave was a bad idea. But Rags had done it. And then she’d linked up with Pyrite, who’d met her with hundreds of Human women and the loot from Tremborag’s armory.

Rags had planned the entire thing. If she was going to break away from Tremborag, then she was going to do it in the most Goblin style possible. And that meant a raid. She’d sent Pyrite many of the warriors she was sure of, to help him free the captives and take weapons out of the armory. That was a prize too good to pass up.

Then they’d fled. They’d run into the snow, the mountain only now coming alive behind them. Some Goblins had tried to pursue them, but the Redfang warriors had covered their retreat. Out in the open they were ideally suited to engaging the enemy and retreating to join the others.

A victory. It was a great one, and now Rags just had to make it stick. And to that end…

She glanced at Pyrite. He was nearly down to the end of his stick. She watched, wondering what he would do when he’d chewed it to bits. Sure enough, the Hob spat the pieces into the snow as he passed. Then he reached into a bag at his side…

And pulled out another stick to chew. Rags gave up. She poked him and he looked down.

“Chieftain?”

“Who is…local? Who lives here?”

The language Humans and other species used was so much more precise, even if it wasn’t theirs. Pyrite considered this and found a Goblin to poke. That Goblin wandered off and poked some other Goblins who all did the same…in a few minutes Rags had a Hob and two yawning Goblins in front of her.

She recognized them. One was the Goblin with no ears. Another was the leader of the female Goblin raiding party who’d joined Rags. And the last was the old Hobgoblin who grinned at Rags and the others, looking not the least bothered by their forced march.

“Chieftain.”

The old Goblin said it first, bowing his head deeply to Rags. She saw Noears hesitate, then nod deferentially to her. The female Goblin hesitated, then copied Noears.

“Stop that. No bow.”

She pointed to the old Goblin. She was not Tremborag, to demand such things. But a nod was appropriate. He straightened and grinned at her.

“Where place to rest?”

She looked at the three. The female Goblin was first to answer. She knew the landscape and told Rags of a nearby place that might be good. Rags nodded. She called out to Pyrite. He listened to the female Goblin’s directions, found a messenger to poke, and in minutes the entire Goblin convoy was changing course.

It was easy. One Goblin poked another, both Goblins poked another, and so on and so forth. Within twelve pokes you generally had all the tribe’s attention. And the Goblins at the front were the only ones who had to know which way to go, so if you had a halfway intelligent Hob up there, things ran smoothly.

Only the Human women failed to get the message. Some of them who were awake looked alarmed as the Goblins seemed to turn right as one. They stopped in their wagons, some pulling at the horse’s reins to wake the others up. That was pointless in Rags’ opinion, but then she saw some of the ones who looked like warriors were holding weapons under their blankets and clothing.

She frowned. Humans could be a problem. But to her surprise she saw Pyrite stump over to the Humans in the snow. They let him approach—some of the women clearly recognized him and others knew he’d freed them. It took Pyrite a few minutes, but the Humans followed the Goblins quickly enough when they realized what was going on.

And where had the Goblins gone? Their destination was already in sight, albeit camouflaged against the horizon. They were walking towards a hill.

The hill was just a hill. It was a nice workout for the legs to climb to the top, and it afforded a good view of the surrounding landscape, but that was all. The Goblins being Goblins, declined to bother to summit the hill and instead camped in the lee of it, sheltered from the wind. Rags still made a few Goblins go to the top to keep a lookout, but she was more interested in just letting everyone get a few hour’s rest while she planned things out.

She had to figure out a way to deal with Tremborag’s forces. This wasn’t a good place for a stand, but Rags still wondered if she had to fight. She might lose a pitched battle even with the new weapons from his armory—especially since she had no idea how any of the magical ones worked. Obviously you could just use one as a weapon, but what if its magical effect was emitting an aura of flame, or creating some kind of special effect? One wrong swing and you’d fry your side.

How could she get rid of Tremborag’s retaliation force? Rags went through all the Goblin fallbacks. Fighting was no good, she couldn’t outrun them, she doubted she could hide their tracks or her tribe…bribing wasn’t going to work. Surrender meant death. But what if she—

“Chieftain.”

Rags looked up with a scowl as she sat in a patch of cleared dirt. Who was bothering her? She saw six Goblins waiting for her and immediately sat straighter.

These weren’t any ordinary Goblins. If the tribe Rags had led out of the mountain had factions—and if it did she’d get rid of them soon enough—these were it. More accurately, they were the factions from the mountain.

Six Goblins. Rags saw Pyrite, looking impassive as ever, Noears, the female Goblin leader, and the old Goblin. But two other Goblins had joined them.

One was a Hob that Rags recognized. He was – had been one of Tremborag’s warriors who sat at the high table. He was a good warrior as far as she knew, but not outstanding. He was at the bottom of the rung since he didn’t have a huge faction behind him, and she suspected he had joined her simply because he didn’t want to have to fight for influence with the others Hobs. He probably represented the Hobs who’d lived in the mountain.

The other warrior was a normal-sized Goblin with a scar over his face. He was one of the elite Redfang warriors and Rags had already privately dubbed him Redscar. Of all the Goblins present, she was only really concerned about his faction. The others were smaller or behind her all the way like Pyrite. But the Redfang warriors were an independent lot and she didn’t know if they trusted her or she could trust them.

Rags stood. The Goblins waited for her to speak. She nodded, and then spoke in their tongue.

I am Chieftain.

It needed to be said. The other Goblins nodded, the mountain Hob and Redscar slowest of the lot. Rags noted this, and went on.

This tribe is Goblin.

Another easy statement, and all the nods were quick this time. This tribe was Goblin. They’d fought for it. Only Rags’ leadership was disputed. She thought about this, and then pointed in a random direction.

“If you not like…go over there.”

All the Goblins turned and looked. Rags shook her head.

“Not there. Go away.”

It was an unusual statement. Normally Goblins didn’t abandon their tribes no matter what. If they had an issue they challenged the Chieftain or left with as many Goblins as they could gather to form a new tribe. However, since this was in itself a challenge the breakaway Goblins usually had to fight to leave their tribe. But Rags was telling the others to just go if they had their differences.

All the Goblins present considered this. Rags looked from face to face, frowning when she saw the old Goblin. Why was he even here? But maybe Pyrite had brought him. He seemed to know the old one. And after meeting Noears, Rags realized some Goblins were hiding their true natures.

Noears. There was another thing to think about. Rags knew nothing about him other than that he could cast powerful spells and he had once been targeted by Tremborag. Was he loyal?

Time would tell. Rags pointed to Pyrite.

“He is big Hob. He tell my orders.”

Pyrite looked vaguely surprised, but the other Goblins looked willing to accept this, even Redscar. Every Chieftain needed a few Hobs who were competent enough to follow orders. Pyrite was the best choice.

That done, Rags waited for the other Goblins to speak. Something had brought them here. At last, the mountain Hob spoke.

“Chieftain. Will we fight Tremborag’s forces?”

He had the same clear diction of the other Goblins from Tremborag’s tribe. It was too Human-sounding for Rags’ taste. She scowled.

“Hope not.”

“Chieftain. Where are we going?”

“Away.”

“What will we be doing?”

“Goblin thing.”

This answer clearly didn’t please the Goblins who’d lived in Tremborag’s tribe. But what did he expect? Pyrite just smiled and the old Goblin cackled. Even Redscar grinned.

“This is how Goblins act. She is true Goblin, Goblin Chieftain Rags!”

The old Goblin slapped the younger Hob on the back. He turned and glared, but Rags just nodded.

“I am Chieftain. I decide. You go. I think!”

This was how Goblins worked. The Chieftain made decisions—sometimes at random, and the tribe adapted. Some Chieftains were better than others—Rags knew Garen was famous for his split-second decisions which forced his Hobs to scramble to keep up. But she would have a plan. A good one.

If only she could figure out what it was.

While she waited for one to appear, Rags took a circuit of the camp. The stolen weapons were piled in a wagon, not touched by any Goblins yet although she saw some warriors eying them. But they were smart enough to realize that they would probably get weapons in the end and that stealing them would earn a thumping from one of the Hobs who had an eye on the wagon.

Next? Cooking. Rags found a brunch being cooked up from one of the horses who’d broken an ankle in the snow. She regretted losing such a valuable animal, but it did taste good.

And last? Rags went to see the Human women.

They’d entrenched themselves a ways away from the Goblins. They were a bit pathetic, in Rags’ opinion. They huddled together, sitting at one of the fires that the Goblins had had to build for them. And they didn’t want any Goblins coming near them, especially not any males. The only ones who could approach were female Goblins with food…or Pyrite.

Rags approached them now. She saw one of them—a Human adventurer by the looks of her—holding her sword, but she didn’t flinch. She walked up to her, as she seemed to be the one in charge.

She was battered. She must have been captured in the attack on the town. Rags had no idea if the woman was a Gold-rank adventurer, but she’d been attacked by the Goblin warriors who’d hit her repeatedly. She was still recovering, although Rags thought some Hob might have given her a potion for her injuries.

The woman stared at her warily with the rest of the women. Rags stopped in front of the adventurer and held out her bare hands. The woman saw Rags was unarmed and released the grip on her sword hilt.

“Mm. Understand me?”

All the Humans jumped. Rags rolled her eyes. How could they not know Goblins could speak? The adventurer stared at her.

“I…do. Who are you?”

Her voice was hoarse and she had to cough as she spoke. Rags pointed at her chest.

“Chieftain.”

Another incredulous look. They stared at Rags, and then at Pyrite, sitting and eating fried horse meat by a fire. The Goblin sighed again. Humans. Did they think biggest was always best?

She gestured to the camp, speaking slowly so they could understand.

“Not harm. No harm. Follow. Eat. Live.”

“Why?”

The adventurer stared at Rags, wanting to hope, but not quite daring to. Rags smiled. She tapped her chest.

“I am Goblin. True Goblin.”

They stared at her as if they didn’t understand, but Rags was used to that. She’d dealt with Erin more than enough times. She stood up and left. So long as they didn’t cause trouble, that was fine.

Human women. After meeting them Rags was decided. She had to ditch them as soon as possible. She was aware of what they’d gone through and even sympathetic—saving them had been the right move. But they were slow, suspicious, and they ate food Rags’ tribe would need. In short, they were fairly useless to Goblins.

But they would be useful because they were Humans. And Rags’ tribe hadn’t harmed them. In fact, they’d rescued them. The beginnings of an idea stole into the young Goblin’s mind and she smiled.

It was time for a daring plan. She went to Pyrite. He was sleeping. So Rags found Noears instead. He was busy eating and chattering to another Goblin with a band of feathers tied to a staff. Another magic-user? Rags would investigate later. She pointed at Noears.

“Where Human cities?”

He stood up and showed her. It turned out that Noears had taken a detour from the others when fleeing the mountain. He hadn’t gone for supplies or anything else—instead, he’d gone to the war room where the Goblins planned their attacks and stolen all the maps. Rags cackled with glee as he spread them out on a wagon.

“Here, here, and here, Chieftain.”

The map was the first real picture Rags had ever seen of the continent. She stared avidly at it, noting how the Human cities were all dispersed a good distance away from each other—except in the north, where they were quite clustered in some places. There were far less cities the closer they came to the High Passes, indicative no doubt of how far the Humans had settled.

There were several cities close to them. Rags looked at Noears. He was watching her intently, gauging her, she guessed.

“Most dangerous?”

He thought and pointed. Rags looked at the cities nearest to their position, shaking her head at some, nodding at others.

“What kind of death?”

That was a very Goblin question. Noears answered it in a very Human way.

“[Knights] and [Riders], Chieftain. Very fast. They run down Goblins with lances. Strong mages, but not many leave walls. Cities have armies. Riding patrols are common.”

Rags frowned. That was a lot more than she’d grown accustomed to around Liscor. Patrols were regularly sent from the city, but only to weed out monsters. They didn’t have mobile forces.

Still, if her idea worked they wouldn’t need to fight any Humans. And if they did…Rags patted at her pouch. She still had the gem of [Terror]. She hadn’t had much call to use it against Goblins—it was ineffective—but it could give the Humans a good scare.

“Good. We move soon! Go tell others!”

She gave Noears the task of poking the others awake and getting the tribe moving. It was time to put her idea into action. They headed straight for the nearest Human city, a few hour’s march away. It was going to be a dangerous plan, but almost all Goblin plans were dangerous.

Behind her, a vast army of Goblins was no doubt on its way to kill Rags and her tribe. Well, so what? She sneered at Tremborag’s might. He could kill Gold-rank adventurers in seconds…which was really scary and impressive. But she didn’t need lots of muscles. She was going to beat all his elite warriors with her head.

—-

The Human city was named Merendia, or perhaps Balum. Or was it Ostegrast? Rags didn’t know, and she was annoyed by the way the other Goblins from Tremborag’s tribe argued about it. Who cared what it was called? It was a Human city. That was all the context you needed.

And it had a lot of Humans in it. And high walls. And as Rags stared up at it, she couldn’t help but notice all the Humans with bows who shouted and raised the alarm as they saw the Goblin tribe appearing out of the plains and marching towards them.

They thought it was an attack. And even as Rags watched, a mounted force rode out of the gates. Men and women in armor, armed with the long lances she’d heard of but never seen in person. A mobile force, quite unlike the forces Drakes employed. They didn’t get along as well with horses.

It was a formidable force, even without the adventurers Rags spotted on the walls, practically aglow with magic. More than one Goblin in Rags’ tribe gulped, especially the ones who weren’t actually warriors. But Rags ordered them to move forwards without fear.

In the ordinary way of things Rags guessed the Humans would have let them approach while they blasted them with spells and rained arrows on their heads. The cavalry would hit the tribe from the flanks and the adventurers would kill scores of Goblins and all the Hobs themselves.

It would be a massacre. If Rags were stupid enough to attack the city. Which she wasn’t.

She laughed with delight as the Humans stared at her tribe crossing the main road leading out of the city. Why did the Goblin army cross the road? Quite literally to get to the other side. But why hadn’t they done that away from the city? Already the Humans were reconsidering their approach. The mounted force was circling Rags’ tribe at a distance. They weren’t about to let this many Goblins get away where they could attack smaller villages or settlements.

A [Mage] on the walls was getting ready for a big spell, Rags could tell. She tensed, wondering if the Humans hadn’t seen yet. She didn’t want her tribe to lose any Goblins today—

A cry went up from the mounted force as they circled Rags’ marching Goblins. A cluster of them raced towards the town, their riders standing up in their stirrups and shouting at the Humans on the walls. In Rags’ vision the [Mage] stopped casting the spell and she sighed in relief.

Why did the Humans not attack this tribe? The answer was simple. From their perspective, the Goblins had hostages.

Hundreds of Human women, no doubt captives of the Goblins, made to do unspeakable things. That was broadly true, and Rags did consider the Humans as valuable shields. But not a shield in the sense of having hostages.

The Humans had stirred when seeing the city. They’d begun to look hopeful, but as they’d seen the army pouring out of the gates, they’d begun staring at the Goblins, wondering if they were going to be held captive. Rags saw the female adventurer leading them looking at the Goblins and at the cavalry, clearly wondering if she and her friends could make a break for it.

That was why Rags had positioned her tribe so they were in front of the Humans in the city. She rode towards the women on her Carn Wolf as they halted in place. They stared at her in fear and the adventurer gripped her sword.

“Goblin. We wish to go to that city. Do you understand? If you let us go, we will promise not to attack your tribe.”

The woman called out to Rags, looking from her to the walls again. Rags stared down at her, and then nodded genially.

“Good. Do.”

The adventurer’s head turned back towards Rags and her face went slack as if she couldn’t quite believe what she’d heard. She clearly hadn’t expected Rags to agree that easily. She looked at Rags.

“Do you want…money? Food? A ransom?”

“No. Go. But off wagons.”

Rags had no intention of letting the Human women keep the horses or the wagons. She made gentle shooing gestures even as the adventurer stared at her.

“Go, go. No need for Humans. Too slow. Eat too much. Also ugly. Go, go.”

Half the women stirred at that, but Rags just kept waving her hands, repeating her gestures. The adventurer stared at Rags, but after a moment she seemed to realize that the Goblin was being genuine, even if the reasons escaped her.

What must the Humans on the walls of the city think, to see the Human captives dismounting and slowly forming a group which marched towards them, away from the evil Goblin tribe? Rags had no idea. But she had her tribe march double-time, crossing the road and moving further into the wilderness.

It was purely a diversionary tactic. Distracted by the Humans, the city was only too willing to avoid a fight. As soon as a good bit of distance had been put between the tribe and the women, the cavalry immediately closed in. They formed a wall between the tribe and the captives, which handily let Rags’ tribe go on its merry way. The Humans on the walls were shouting, rushing about, no doubt preparing to receive these women.

But another cry went up when they saw the lone Goblin turn from the already distant tribe of Goblins and ride towards the women. Humans gripped their bows, but they didn’t fire. Because, of course, this was one lone Goblin, hardly a threat even if she was riding a Carn Wolf. And the Humans were gripped by a trait of their species, which was curiosity.

Rags rode back towards the Human women, ignoring the mounted warriors who spread out, encircling her. They might have tried to pull her off her mount—in which case Rags had the gem of [Terror] clutched in one sweaty hand ready to use—but the adventurer called out and stopped them.

“See? Humans go.”

That was what the Goblin said as she pulled her Carn Wolf to a stop a few paces away from the Human woman. The wolf huffed and sniffed at the adventurer, but she looked up at Rags without fear.

“You let us go. And the other Goblin—he liberated us in that mountain. Why?”

“True Goblins.”

Rags said it again and this time the adventurer seemed to understand. She hesitated, and then bowed her head.

“We owe you a debt. But you are Goblins…”

In short, still scum to be exterminated from the face of the earth. Rags nodded, still genial. Then she pointed at the Human adventurer, at her bruised face.

“Bad Goblin did this. Bad Goblin.”

The woman stiffened. Then she nodded. Hatred burned in her eyes.

“Yes. He lives in the mountain. I will remember his face.”

Rags pointed the way they’d come.

“Mountain Goblins. Yes. Big tribe. Big leader. Great Chieftain. Tremborag.”

The woman started.

“Tremborag? A Goblin with a name?”

“Yes.”

Rags nodded energetically. She waved her arms to show the other Humans—warrior types who’d drawn closer out of curiosity and their squad’s leader, who looked fiercely interested in what she was saying.

“Tremborag. Very scary. Strong. Fought in Goblin war. With Goblin King.”

A susurration went through the Humans. Rags liked that word. Susurration. It was a word that meant gasping and muttering and meaningful looks to one another. The adventurer looked pale.

“Thank you for telling me this. He will be…we will do what is necessary.”

They’d make a big army and attack him. But Rags wasn’t done. She pointed in the direction of the mountain, visible in the distance.

“Mountain. Great Chieftain.”

“Yes?”

The woman frowned, clearly wondering why Rags was repeating herself. Rags grinned and pointed south.

“Goblin Lord.”

Another gasp, but this time there was less surprise. Rags saw the Human woman frowning, and then reaching a conclusion.

“They’re…going to join forces?”

Close enough. The look on the other Human’s faces was priceless. Rags nodded, pretending to look concerned. Then she waved at Human.

“Goodbye.”

“What? Oh—you’re going?”

Rags nodded. She eyed the riders. They clearly weren’t sure if they should let her go. Honor was one thing, but she was a Goblin after all. The adventurer looked from Rags to the mounted warriors and called out.

“Please, let her go. She rescued us. I don’t think she’s…hostile.”

“But Miss—”

“You heard her. I’ll make an exception. I take full responsibility for this decision. Part ranks!”

Their leader called out. The riders moved aside and Rags nodded to the adventurer. The woman stared at Rags, searching her eyes.

“Before you go—who are you? Do you have a name?”

Rags paused. She turned as she guided her Carn Wolf around and grinned at the woman. She pointed at herself.

“Rags. Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe.”

Then she kicked her wolf and after he glared at her, he shot away. She left the city behind as the gates opened and the Humans rushed out, demanding to know what had happened. Much was happening back there, much drama and crying and confused explanations no doubt. But that was the Human’s problem. Rags had done what she came for.

She caught up to her tribe a few miles past the city. They were still marching, headed towards a forest on the map. It looked like it had a lake nearby, which would be good for water and fish. There might be monsters, but it was a good place to set up for a few days.

And they had a few days! Rags rode her wolf through the ranks of Goblins. As she did, a huge cheer went up that made the wolf snort in surprise. But the Goblins understood.

Rags had done it! Without a single shot loosed, without a single Goblin dead, she’d managed to lose whatever force Tremborag had sent after them. Tremborag’s Goblins might be fierce, but even they’d hesitate to go right past a city. A battle would be inevitable, and even if they overcame the city’s walls and defenders—and they might—it would be costly and attract too much attention from the Humans.

For that matter, now that Rags had let the Human women go, there would be serious repercussion for Tremborag anyways. His mountain was exposed; the Humans had seen the inside, seen how many Goblins there were. And if they thought he was going to help the Goblin Lord—a Great Chieftain of the Goblins who’d fought with the Goblin King? What could be more dangerous? They’d send out a force to attack him right away.

He’d probably survive. But in the meantime Rags would be free. So she sat on her wolf’s back and laughed and laughed in the cold air. If there was anything Goblins liked to do, it was gloat since they seldom had a chance to try it.

“Time to make tribe better.”

That was what she said to Pyrite as she rode up beside him and hopped off to walk. Her crotch and butt hurt when she rode the wolf for too long. He nodded at her, smiling faintly as he crunched on something. Rags stared at him.

“Rocks?”

Pyrite spat the bits of stone out and shrugged.

“Tastes like rock.”

“Why?”

“Keeps teeth sharp.”

That was true enough. And it wasn’t like he was in danger of losing any; Goblin teeth fell out and regrew anyways. Rags shrugged.

“Forest. We organize properly.”

He nodded.

“Good.”

“And get healing potion. For you.”

He shrugged.

—-

There was a reason why Rags was a Chieftain so young. There was a reason why even Garen Redfang needed her. True, part of that reason was very confusing and involved a girl named Erin Solstice, but mostly it was due to Rags being smart.

Everyone knew this was true. Rags was a genius. If they knew the word for prodigy, the Goblins might have referred to her as one. But they didn’t, so she was just smart.

Very smart, as it turned out. As soon as the Flooded Waters tribe arrived at their destination, Rags began organizing the tribe, much to the surprise of Tremborag’s former Goblins.

Normally a tribe just let any Goblin do what needed doing. Hobs rounded up Goblins who were close to them for tasks, without any particular rhyme or reason unless the Goblin was known to be good at that particular task. But Rags disapproved of such inefficiencies. She craved order, so she created it.

Division of labor. Rags already had the practice of dividing Goblins by skills, but now she formed multiple groups that would work in the day and night. Like the warriors. They were by nature fairly lazy when not fighting in order to conserve strength, but Rags put them on rotating patrols, day and night shifts, and assigned them to groups she could call upon on demand.

It was very complicated, but only for the one in charge. The individual Goblins only had to look up to one particular leader and hang out with one group, so it was simple and easy for them. Rags immediately set about fortifying this location, spreading out her camp so that the warriors had places around the outside while the largest camp was in the inside. She ordered the Redfang warriors to scout the area while she had another group of Goblins check out the lake.

When the warriors reported that the most dangerous creatures living nearby was a few Mothbears, quite able to kill any other intruders into their domain, Rags sent a group of warriors to hunt the bears while she sent foraging teams in every direction. While she did that, she pondered what to do with the mages.

There were four of them, including Noears. They weren’t really warriors in the sense that Rags wanted them on patrol, but they had useful abilities. Some could start fires. Noears was good at shooting lightning, but all the [Mages] wanted was to practice magic and eat. Rags eventually decided to attach them to warrior groups, which went over pretty well.

The Redfang warriors were delighted to have something to fight. They came back with only a few wounds and six Mothbears ready to be skinned and eaten. Rags had already decided they were going to be a core of her fighting force…

If she could figure out what that fighting force would be.

Here was the problem. Rags sat in the middle of her camp where all her Goblins were busily cooking, eating, sleeping, or doing all the important tasks she’d set them to. The only issue was that there wasn’t actually that much to do. She hadn’t sent out raiding parties and cooking and scavenging only took a small part of the tribe.

The rest needed direction, and Rags needed better warriors. She knew it. She’d left Tremborag’s mountain with essentially her same tribe plus Garen’s warriors. Well, they were certainly stronger for the inclusion of all the Redfang warriors, but the rest of her forces were just…Goblins. That was to say, they could probably overwhelm a small village, but without the Redfang warriors they had all the fighting ability of a squishy sponge.

And that was bad, especially up north. Rags had already seen that Gold-rank adventurers were far more common here, and the Human forces were nasty and well-armed and trained. She needed to give her Goblins an edge.

Thus, her dilemma. What Rags had were a lot of resources, a lot of Goblins, and a lot of enemies. All of that theoretically translated into a strong tribe to fight said enemies, but Rags had to work out how to get to that point.

What could she give her warriors? Rags already had some warriors testing out the weapons they’d stolen from Tremborag, which mainly involved one Goblin hitting things while the other Goblins stood far away and ducked whenever something happened. But magical arms did not make instant warriors, Rags knew.

Something else. What did Rags have? Well…she had crossbows.

Rags stared around at her Goblins. Many of them still had the crossbows she’d constructed with the goods taken from the Human city. Yes, that was a good thing.

She’d come up with the stone crossbow to provide her Goblins with an easy weapon to use both for hunting and fighting. It was the perfect tool for a weak Goblin tribe with limited resources, and she still kept the crossbows around for her foragers.

But what Rags needed were good weapons now, something to add to the regular force of Goblins. She could…build more crossbows?

They certainly had the parts. Right now they had around a hundred crossbows, but Rags grew excited as she thought about what would happen if they had five hundred, or a thousand. She didn’t need to give them to her warriors either—the best idea would be to give them to all her Goblins who didn’t normally fight! Crossbows were easy to use and aim. Why, she could have a thousand bolts raining down on her enemies before the battle had even begun!

The idea burned bright in Rags’ mind. She immediately ordered Goblins to start chopping down the tall fir and pine trees of the forest so she could make more crossbows. They’d have to get a lot of metal parts and things like screws of course, but she had a lot of tools already. Rags went to Pyrite excitedly and told him her idea.

He was sitting with Redscar and the old Goblin, overseeing the work while they ate from a small pot. Rags stared into it. It looked like they’d found a few squirrels. She took a bowl and chattered to them, explaining what she wanted.

Redscar looked intrigued by the possibilities, but the old Goblin—Rags was going to call him Whitebeard since that was what he had—scratched his chin, looking amused. And Pyrite just frowned.

“Arrows.”

That was all he said. But it immediately shattered Rags’ grand plans.

Arrows. Or more accurately, bolts. Crossbows used a different sort of ammunition than regular bows, that was fair enough. But making said ammunition wasn’t exactly easy, especially since you needed a good fletcher and glue.

Rags knew her Goblins could make a lot of bolts, especially with all these trees around. But they’d be wooden ones, not as powerful and would probably break after the first shot. Plus, what about fletching? A couple of thousand of birds didn’t just sit around waiting for you to pluck them. And there was the issue of glue…

And the bigger issue, the one that made Rags grind her teeth as she bit into the hot meat in her stew, was carrying all the ammunition everywhere. It would be cumbersome, and they’d run out fast if they had to keep resupplying a thousand crossbows at once.

A few hundred? Very doable. Smart. But a thousand? It might work for a Human army, but Goblins didn’t have an industry capable of supporting them. Rags scowled at Pyrite, but knew he was right.

“Less crossbows.”

But enough to pound her enemy. Rags wanted at least a few hundred Goblins capable of firing into her enemies in every battle. Pyrite nodded, but Redscar looked up.

“Chieftain. Need better warriors.”

He was stating the obvious. Rags scowled at him. But Redscar just jerked a thumb back towards the city they’d passed, far away.

“Strong Humans. Cavalry is…”

He hesitated. Rags saw he didn’t want to say they were as good as or better than the Redfang warriors. She stared at Whitebeard. Perhaps Greybeard was a better name.

“Cavalry. Better than wolves?”

“Mm.”

Greybeard smacked his lips appreciatively as Pyrite filled his bowl with more squirrel stew. He looked thoughtfully at Redscar and Rags as he chewed.

“Dangerous, Chieftain. Very. Wolves is good for surprise and raiding. Horses is good for charging. Hard to stop.”

Pyrite nodded at that. Redscar looked upset, but he had to agree.

“Have to have way to stop if fight, Chieftain.”

That was all he said, and thrust the how onto Rags. She scowled. She had no idea how these mounted warriors fought, that was the problem! She was too young, too inexperienced for all her intelligence.

Then Greybeard looked up from his bowl and stared at Rags.

“Can remember, Chieftain.”

She paused and all the Goblins looked at him. Greybeard poked a nail into one ear, looking casual.

“Is big tribe. Probably can remember.”

That was right! Rags could use the memory of Chieftains! She was surprised she hadn’t thought about it herself—and slightly surprised Greybeard knew about the Chieftain memories. Then again, he was old.

That night, Rags lay on her back around snoring Goblins and closed her eyes. She had found something for the Goblins to do after all—she’d had them begin felling trees. It was tough work, especially since the trees were hard. But the magical axes were wonderful in that regard. Many were enchanted not to break or to be resistant to damage, and so they made wonderful tools for her woodcutters.

Rags had the idea they could build a fortress here, or maybe a village. It was just an idea, but more wood never hurt to have, especially since she was going to have her Goblins build some more crossbows anyways.

But the memory. Rags frowned as she concentrated. She knew how to recall the past, although sometimes it came to her unbidden. All she had to do was go back—

He was a warrior, a Hob Chieftain of the Biting Blade Tribe, one of the strongest tribes of the northern plains. He stood on the open battlefield, roaring as his tribe clashed with the force of Humans. They were strong. All the Humans in the north were strong. They had come to his tribe, his lands to take it from the Goblins who lived here. Some tribes had fled, the cowards. But so long as he lived, he would resist them.

A flash of light off of metal caught the Goblin’s attention. He turned and saw the [Knight] riding towards him.

Yaltes Byres. One of the great [Knights] who had slain countless Goblins. He wore silver armor, just like the rest of his famed house did. The Hob Chieftain bared his teeth. He had a big hide shield in one hand and javelins in the other. Even as the [Knight] charged him, the Hob cast his first javelin.

It was a powerful throw, one boosted by his Skills. It could kill even a normal Hob at range and pierce armor. But the [Knight] avoided the throw, urging his horse to gallop left. A miss. The Chieftain roared and threw another javelin.

This time the [Knight] took the impact with his shield. It was heavy—the Hob saw the mount falter briefly. But Yaltes came on. He was a worthy foe.

This was it. No time to throw again. The Chieftain briefly regretted not hitting the mount. But the [Knight] was so agile! His riding Skills let him dodge around a group of Goblins who came to protect their Chieftain, and mounted as he was, he was out of reach for all but Hobs. And his warhorse was armored as well.

Damn him. There was more to a warrior than just the quality of their armor. The Chieftain raised his javelin, roaring as he charged. He just had to take the first charge. He could see the silver lance pointed at his heart. He raised his shield—

And Rags sat up the next day, heart pounding, listening to the birds singing in the trees. They stopped singing fast as Goblins shot at them and claimed the eggs out of their nests. She rubbed at her eyes and cursed in Goblin.

She hated to remember her ancestors dying. It didn’t hurt, but it was scary. And real.

So, even a Hob Chieftain had fallen to a mounted warrior? Rags was under no illusions as to why he’d lost. Regardless of level or equipment, the truth was that the lance was a deadly weapon. She saw that now.

All that reach! On horseback it was capable of hitting anything with so much force that Rags doubted even Garen was capable of blocking it. Your only option was to dodge or take the rider out first. But if they had armor that was hard. And what if you were fighting in a huge group? Then you were a pretty stationary target, ready to be run through.

No wonder Redscar had been so concerned. Rags immediately got to work thinking of countermeasures as her tribe woke up and got back to work scavenging, cutting down trees, and in the warrior’s case, training.

Rags watched with interest as the Redfang warriors sparred and did odd things like exercise before they ate. No wonder they were different from regular Goblins.

She should probably train too—it had been a while since Rags had trained with Garen. But later. She found Redscar and got him and a few other Redfang warriors—and Pyrite, the female Goblin and Greybeard—together for a thinking session.

Their conclusions were fairly simple. The time-honored way to stop a horseman was with a long, pointy stick, preferably in great numbers. Pikemen were a common sight in armies, and if you backed that up with a shield wall you could counter a lot of things.

Rags was only too willing to get her Goblins to start fashioning long, wooden pikes out of the trees they’d felled, but she had a feeling she was making some sort of mistake. Yes, pikes were good and useful and they’d stop a charge. But the easy counter to that was to shoot the pike holders, blast them with magic, or just sent a bunch of infantry at the pikes and shields and break them up so you could ride them down.

That might not be a problem if Rags had a Human army—she’d just make sure they were the best around and wouldn’t break no matter what you sent at them, and would keep a group of archers in reserve. But she didn’t have Humans. She had Goblins. And they couldn’t deal with a face-to-face pitched battle with Humans on foot.

There had to be a better way. Rags supervised her Goblins with carpentry Skills cutting the trees into pikes. She scowled when the best [Woodworkers] among them started competing with the one [Carpenter] to see who could make the longest pikes.

Twenty-foot long pikes? Rags kicked the Goblin who smugly showed it to her. No Goblin could carry that! She doubted most Humans would be able to use it effectively!

But then Rags paused and reconsidered. No lance was going to beat a pike that long. And if two Goblins carried it…

It still didn’t help with the issue of the pikes being stationary and weak to ranged attacks. Plus, the gloomy Rags saw that a group of ten pikes all lined up was great and pointy—but only in one direction. She sighed. It took three or two Goblins to lift each pike, too.

They were giggling and nudging each other as they held the pikes in place. They weren’t warriors. Rags snapped at them and pointed. She told them to put the pikes with the other weapons. The Goblins grumbled, but swung the pikes up and then let them fall in the right direction. Then began running with them held horizontally—probably because that was a lot easier than holding them straight up and catching them on the branches of the few trees that still stood.

And they nearly killed a score of Goblins on the way. Rags watched all the Goblins in her camp shouting in panic as a—a wall of pointy death came straight at them. The Goblins holding the pikes laughed merrily, running full-tilt as Goblins dove out of the way. Everyone was shouting at the Goblins to stop, but no one could quite manage it. A Hob found himself in the path of the pikes and even he was forced to dive aside or risk being skewered.

And Rags stared at the Goblins causing havoc until Noears walked over and tripped them all up. In the ensuing confusion—where the offending Goblins were beat up by everyone they’d scared—Rags had another great thought.

—-

Later that day, the Redfang warriors were intrigued and amused to be ordered to spar against a force of regular Goblins in a mock battle. Their new Chieftain, Rags, had apparently come up with a new weapon or formation she wanted to try against them.

A group of sixty elites lined up, laughing and joking. They held blunted practice weapons—bundles of sticks or crude swords made of wood—while another group mounted Carn Wolves.

It would be a slaughter, no matter what Rags had done. They had many levels and Skills on the other warriors, and even if they had real weapons, the Redfang Warriors would beat them into a pulp with sticks alone. Unless they were carrying the magical artifacts, that was. But that would be cheating.

To their amusement, the Redfang warriors saw Rags had created a traditional wall of pikes, about forty in a tight wall of Goblins. There were two Goblins or more to every pike out of necessity—they were so heavy only a Hob could lift them!

The Redfang warriors laughed hard. The pikes were dangerous, yes, but all they needed to do was fight past the tips of the pikes or flank them. If you got past the tip of the pike—which was dangerous, granted, a good [Pikeman] could run you through with one solid thrust—then you were fighting in close quarters and the pikes were useless.

Lazily, the Redfang warriors advanced while the mounted warriors sat back on their Carn Wolves. They had no desire to charge that.

The Redfang warriors were still joking when they realized something was wrong. The pikes were moving. Towards them. And not just slow—the warriors blinked and then got worried when they saw the wall of pointy pikes was coming at them at a dead run.

The Goblins were charging! That wasn’t fair! And they were moving in pretty good formation—it was easy for Goblins to move together. The Redfang warriors faltered, and then moved quickly to the left.

The pikes swung left to target them. Now the Redfang warriors were getting really worried. They backed up, tried to form a shield wall. But just one look at the twenty foot long pikes rushing at them and they had a terrible premonition of how well that would work.

The Redfang warriors hesitated, turned. They tried to split up, but the pikes just split up to follow them. They were coming closer, closer—

The warriors broke and ran. The Goblins cheered as the other Goblins fled the prodding pikes, cursing. It was at this moment the mounted Redfang warriors, irate at their companions’ disgrace, leapt into action.

The Carn Wolves howled as they charged around the pikes, seeking their rear. Fast they might be, but these cocky Goblins wouldn’t laugh so hard when they got a few sets of teeth to their backs—

The pikes, which had been pointed in the opposite direction, rose up as the riding Redfang warriors watched. The two or three or four Goblins assigned to each pike hauled it up fast, and then lowered it towards the riders. The riders immediately pulled their mounts away—the wolves were already shying away from the new wall of points that had appeared in front of them.

The riders broke up, circled. But the pikes came up, and suddenly they had formed a square with pikes in every direction. And then one wall of pikes came at a rider, making him curse and the Carn Wolf run yelping—

Sitting on a felled stump, Rags grinned as she stared down at the mock battle. In the end, the Redfang warriors won. The pikes were susceptible to a charge from the side if the enemy surrounded them. But this was a new group, after all, barely trained. What if you had multiple groups of pikes, all ready to charge in any direction? You could turn them fast if you trained hard enough, Rags was sure.

She glanced over at Redscar and Pyrite. The Redfang warrior was clearly unhappy, but Pyrite was smiling slightly.

“Well?”

They turned to her. Redscar grumbled.

“Weak to arrows. And magic.”

Pyrite nodded. But he looked at the Goblins. They weren’t hardened warriors like the Redfang warriors. They weren’t even proper warriors, most of them. They were just Goblins. They ran as one and moved together because that was natural to them as breathing. He looked at Rags and she knew he was seeing what she was seeing.

“Lots of pikes?”

She nodded at him. Rags stared around at the lovely forest she’d chosen to settle in. Tall trees created a canopy of pines, dusted with snow. It was a tranquil place, a place to rest and find oneself. A place where animals could live, where nature was peaceful.

A nice place. Rags eyed the trees and grinned at Pyrite.

“Get chopping.”

3.30

Some days Erin woke up with a smile on her face. She yawned, sat up, and felt the quiet of the morning wash over her.

It wasn’t like how she lived back on Earth, back home. There Erin needed alarm clocks to get up, and the instant she was awake she had a phone to check, things to do. But in this world things weren’t as pressing. Or maybe it was just that Erin took the time to appreciate what she hadn’t before.

The cold of winter still had not let up and Erin shivered a bit as she threw off the thick wool blanket. It was scratchy, and there was no central heating in the inn. But she slept soundly each night, from being tired as much as anything else.

Yes, in some ways this world was better for her. In others—Erin touched her chest and remembered all she’d left behind.

Some days she would cry. Others she would laugh, or just try to forget. But Erin couldn’t forget what she’d lost. She still remembered a house in Michigan, her mother and father, neither of whom could play chess well.

Some days she imagined her mom would wake her up because Erin had slept in till eleven or twelve. She’d be upset because Erin missed the breakfast she’d made and tell Erin not to stay up looking at chess games online, especially because it was bad for her eyes. Then her father would grow serious and talk about how Erin was pursuing her passion and how they should support her—

Erin dressed and went downstairs, caught in the memory. She only came out of it when she found herself in the kitchen and realized she had to cook.

What to make today? Erin was used to cooking for many people by now and she moved on autopilot. Biscuits and gravy, yes, that would be good. She could make a thick sauce with the remains of the meat she’d used for last night’s dinner. Thick and full of energy from all the fat and stuff. That would be good. And eggs. Everyone always liked to eat good eggs.

That was how Erin spent around thirty minutes, cooking before everyone else woke up. She was brisk, efficient, and inhumanly quick in the kitchen now. Erin wondered if a professional chef would be able to make a meal faster than her.

“If I go back home, I’m definitely going on Iron Chef and kicking everyone’s butts.”

She smiled to herself as she looked at the large pot of meaty gravy and the biscuits she’d taken out of the stone oven. They were hot and steaming. She took a bowl out, filled it with gravy, and dipped the biscuit in it.

“Mm.”

It was good. Erin ate it, and then another biscuit while she listened to people waking up above her head. Miss Agnes would be down soon, slightly annoying and cheerful as always. Erin…didn’t feel like dealing with her today.

She’d done what needed doing, anyways. The pot of gravy could serve a small army, which is pretty much what descended on the inn for breakfast most mornings anyways. And the biscuits were easy enough to make that even Miss Agnes had a hard time messing it up. Unless she let them burn in the oven, that was.

And if she did, too bad! Erin filled a basket with thirty of the biscuits she’d made and found a smaller pot and a lid for the gravy. As an afterthought she looked around for a drink as well, but there was nothing portable. She wasn’t about to carry a keg.

That was what this world lacked, Erin reflected. She left the inn and walked down the snowy cobblestones, out of the inn before anyone came in or went downstairs. It was still very early, so Erin made good time through Celum’s streets.

This world lacked…certain things. Good containers, for one thing. Oh, sure, you could transport in bulk pretty well with barrels and so on, and they were remarkably waterproof, but what about water bottles, or…or covered pitchers? Then again, who would need it that badly?

“Globalization? Or is it industrialization? Modernization? Convenience?”

Probably all of the above. When you had the time to think to yourself that a mid-sized container built specifically to hold liquids was a valuable time investment, you probably had too much time on your hands. But it was convenient.

Erin sighed, and took another bite of one of the biscuits. It tasted good. But—it was sort of flat.

“Needs baking powder.”

How could a world live without baking powder? Erin was sure there was a substitute the people of this world used, but she hadn’t found it yet. In the meantime, she had to live without vital necessities like cake. Or delicacies like cake. Or what Erin considered essential for mental health: cake.

It really was a shame. Erin sighed and watched her breath trail upwards, the vapor dissipating over her head. No cake. She could make cookies, though. But wait—didn’t that need baking soda or something?

“Drat.”

Erin glared at the ground, but without any real anger. She still felt pretty good.

Baking soda, baking powder. What was the difference between the two? One made things rise and the other…did the same thing. But there was a difference!

If only Ryoka was here. She might know how to make it. Then again, Ryoka had told Erin flat-out that she couldn’t replicate half of the things from their world for lack of funding, resources, or interest. Or all of the above. But baking soda was critical! If Erin could sell cookies she’d rule the world.

Who could help her in her quest to create more unhealthy things to eat? Erin passed by a few people walking down the street, smiling at them but saying nothing, and then turned down another street. She’d gone this way so many times she didn’t need to think about it.

Who made baking powder in her world? That was a really good question now that Erin thought about it. Baking powder…companies? But who invented baking powder to begin with?

“Chemists.”

Erin hazarded a guess. She knew it had some weird stuff in the powder, which is why she couldn’t just grind up a rock or something to make it. But if she needed this world’s equivalent of a chemist, then—

For a few seconds Erin blinked. Then she slapped herself lightly in the head and nearly dropped the basket of biscuits and pot full of hot gravy. She caught herself and kicked open the door of the shop she’d arrived at.

“Octavia!”

Some people were morning people. Other people were not. Erin saw a comatose form draped over one of the tables jerk at her loud voice. Octavia raised her head and glared at Erin.

“Go melt yourself.”

“Don’t be grumpy. Wake up! It’s morning. I’ve got food.”

Erin looked around. Octavia’s alchemy shop was the usual clutter of magical potions and mess it normally was. She went into the kitchen and came out with a mostly clean bowl. Carefully, she poured some gravy into it and put some biscuits on the table in front of Octavia.

“Do you have any water? I wanted to bring something to drink, but there was nothing I could take back at the inn.”

Octavia blinked slowly at the food in front of her, still not quite focusing on the world. She took a biscuit and stared at it as if it was foreign to her.

“Water? I’ve got some…I think. Do you need to drink it? What’s for breakfast?”

Erin took that as a sign she shouldn’t drink anything in Octavia’s shop at the moment. She pushed the bowl towards Octavia.

“Gravy and biscuits. Eat. Also, I’ve got a job for you.”

That made Octavia sit up.

“Really? How much does it pay? Do you want potions or alchemical items? If you need to defer payment I can give you extremely reasonable—”

“Shut up and eat. I want baking powder. And soda. I’ll tell you what it is—you be quiet.”

Erin scowled at Octavia, but this too was part of her day. She was used to Octavia and she liked the other girl, although neither she nor Octavia would ever admit that out loud. Some people Erin just couldn’t quite gel with. Especially if they kept trying to sell her stuff like Octavia.

“Seems doable.”

That was what Octavia said as she finished the biscuits. She wiped her finger in the bowl of gravy and licked it—Erin winced a bit because Octavia hadn’t washed her hands. Then again, the [Alchemist] was scrupulously careful about washing ingredients that got on her hands off before she ate, so she was probably fine.

“I’ll take your offer up. Business is slow thanks to all those damn Goblins out and about and if you’re right about people buying this baking powder from me, I’ll gladly let you finance me.”

Erin rolled her eyes.

“Good. I’ll give you two gold coins to start with. And why is business slow? Wouldn’t tons of people be buying your potions if they’re fighting Goblins?”

“Five. If they were fighting, I’d be selling everything on my shelves. But the cities are waiting, not sending out armies, Erin. Fighting Goblins is a lot easier when you’re on top of a wall and Esthelm falling scared everyone. Once this Goblin Lord’s main army and smaller ones are located, everyone will breathe easier. Until then…”

Erin nodded.

“Three gold coins. And eight silver ones. And no arguing!”

Octavia chewed on her lip, but nodded in the end.

“I can survive on that, I suppose. Barely. But I’ll need you to make dough for me and tell me if it’s rising right.”

“You’ll be able to tell. And making the dough is easy. I’ll teach you the recipe. Stop complaining—it’s just like alchemy!”

“Hah!”

In the end, Erin paid Octavia and felt good about it. She wandered over to one side of Octavia’s shop, where the usual clutter had been cleared aside and the potions on the wall had been stored somewhere else.

“Anyone come by last night? I mean, after I left?”

Octavia shook her head.

“Nope. And no one’s come by—not after I started charging people for lingering in the store.”

Erin smiled.

“Well, if anyone does come by—”

“I get to sell them stuff if they won’t wait for you in the Frenzied Hare. Got it.”

Octavia was already poring over her ingredients, searching for the things that might work as leavening agents. She barely turned, but she did glance out of the corner of her eye as Erin walked over to the innocuous wooden door that had been set into the wall.

It was just a door, and it couldn’t possibly lead anywhere given that behind it was solid stone. And yet—Erin swung the door open, and suddenly she was staring up into the sky. She blinked a few times and tried to get her brain to understand that she was looking up at the sky because the door this one was connected to was lying on the back of a wagon. Then she took a deep breath and stepped through and up and—

The door closed behind Erin. Octavia shook her head, blinking a few times to regain her own sense of balance. The [Alchemist] had a very strong stomach due to all the things she had to handle and smell. But that sight made her stomach lurch a bit. And yet, it was still incredible to her.

“What a door.”

That was all she said. Then Octavia got to work. And Erin travelled many miles to a bumpy wagon travelling down a snowy, empty road towards Liscor. And the best part was that she didn’t spill the gravy.

—-

Some things in this world were slow and wonderful. But the fast, magical moments were just as great too. As Erin stepped through the magical doorway in Octavia’s shop, she stepped upwards, into the sky. That was disconcerting, but Erin knew what to expect and didn’t stumble as the world twisted around her and she was suddenly walking the right way onto the back of the wagon.

“Woog.”

It still made Erin want to puke a bit every time she did it. But the experience of it—walking through a portal made by magic—was still novel.

And it was so convenient. Erin looked around the wagon and saw several people who’d been huddled in their cloaks or with a blanket and pillow look up hopefully at her arrival. She smiled brightly and raised the pot and basket.

“Good morning! Anyone want breakfast?”

“Morning, Erin.”

“Food!”

“Good morning, Miss Solstice.”

“Food! Oh. Morning, Erin.”

Yvlon, Pisces, Ksmvr, and Ceria all sat up and smiled or stared at the food Erin had brought—or did both. Pisces and Ceria both seemed especially keen for breakfast, but Yvlon and Ksmvr both eagerly accepted the food Erin had brought. The adventurers who were now the new Horns of Hammerad clustered around the pot and began sharing out the biscuits.

“Good morning, Mister Termin! Would you like some biscuits and gravy? They’re hot—I just baked them!”

The wagon driver gave Erin a gap-toothed grin as he accepted some of the food she’d brought.

“Thank you kindly, Miss Solstice. This is the finest journey I’ve ever had, riding along with you serving such good food morning, noon, and night.”

“My pleasure. I’ll bring you all lunch too, if you’re not planning on stopping and eating at a village or something.”

“No fear of fhat.”

Pisces mumbled around a mouth full of food as he ate appreciatively. He gulped, and went on, ignoring the disgusted look Yvlon was giving him. Ceria was eating just as fast.

“Why should we stop? With a constant supply of food, we need not rest—”

“Except to give the horses a break.”

Yvlon leaned towards Ksmvr as Ceria tried to cram a biscuit covered in gravy into her mouth. The Antinium was the only person who ate with good manners on the wagon. Two hands delicately held a biscuit up for him to nibble while a third hand held the gravy pot out for the others to dip into.

“Don’t you worry about that, Miss Byres. My Skills will keep these two old plodders moving all day. A good night’s sleep and rubdown is all they need, don’t fret.”

Termin smiled as he pointed to the two older horses that were pulling the wagon this early in the morning. Erin eyed them as she found a place to sit with the other adventurers in the back. The horses, Erma and Fox, looked old, but they both had feedbags on and seemed happy enough to eat and walk along. Besides, the wagon wasn’t going that fast.

She smiled and sat with her friends. They ate and she leaned back. It was colder outside the city, where the wind could blow right at you. But the air felt fresher here, and the sun helped warm her through the layers of clothing she wore. There was no smell of poo that sometimes came with people living in a medieval city and using chamber pots. The scents of crowded living were gone, and there was just the empty smell of winter on the breeze.

It was a good day, and Erin was happy to be alive. She was in a good mood, although the Horns of Hammerad were decidedly less well-rested.

Ceria yawned as she finally stopped eating and stretched out. She rubbed at her back as Erin apologized for not bringing anything to drink.

“No worries. We can get water easily enough. We just need some mugs. I think we brought some with us…there they are. Now, some snow—”

“Allow me, Captain Ceria.”

“Oh, thanks, Ksmvr.”

The half-Elf let Ksmvr take the mugs, hop out of the wagon, and briskly fill them with freshly fallen snow. Erin watched appreciatively as Ceria handed Pisces half of the mugs. Both mages concentrated briefly, and in moments the snow was melting as they warmed the cups. Ceria handed the steaming mugs around and Erin passed one to Termin in the front.

“Careful, it’s hot.”

“Too hot. Springwalker, did you have to boil this water?”

“It beats drinking something nasty, Pisces. Warm isn’t good enough, even with fresh snow.”

Ceria bickered with Pisces as the two mages sipped from their drink. Erin declined her mug—she’d already drunk enough. She smiled again.

“That’s so cool you can do that. It’s so easy—what spell did you use?”

Pisces scratched one ear, looking pleased, haughty, and somewhat embarrassed for the genuine enthusiasm Erin had.

“No spell. It is hardly necessary—true, most magics require spells, but the most basic of cantrips require no spells to utilize. True, if we wanted to increase the heat emitted we would have to learn a spell, but any [Mage] with a basic understanding of the theorems of spellcastings could do the same.”

A somber silence followed Pisces’ pronouncement. Ceria rolled her eyes as everyone else deciphered his statement.

“Oh.”

That was all Erin said. She sat back as the others sipped at their drinks. After a moment, Erin felt moved to speak again.

“Did you sleep well? I can bring more blankets or pillows if you need it.”

“We’re fine, I think.”

Yvlon nodded and so did the others, although Pisces closed his mouth so suddenly Erin wondered if he had been about to ask for another pillow or three. The woman with perfect blonde hair, beautiful features, and metal fused into her arms stretched slowly, looking as if she had some back pains of her own.

“Too bad we couldn’t sleep in the inn.”

“I’ll say. A covered wagon is hardly appropriate for—”

Ceria kicked Pisces and he scowled and continued.

“—Adventurers of our caliber. Why we had to stay—”

This time Yvlon raised her foot and Pisces shut up. She glanced at Termin, but the wagon driver affected not to have heard Pisces’ comment.

“Just because we have a magic door that doesn’t mean we can waltz off whenever we feel like it, Pisces.”

“But if we remained in the inn, could we not—”

Ceria scowled at Pisces.

“We made a deal, Pisces. Sleeping in a bed in an inn over thirty miles away from here is not the same as staying with the wagon. If there’s an attack, every second counts. The same goes for the road. We have to stay with the wagon in case of trouble.”

“We could rotate a member of the group out to relax while the other three—”

“No.”

Ceria and Yvlon chorused as one. Ksmvr looked between the members of his group and nodded obediently along with them. Pisces sighed and threw up his hands. Erin had to smile—again—and Ceria grinned too. The half-Elf glanced at Erin sideways.

“Besides, there’s no inn to sleep in now. You moved the door, right, Erin?”

“It’s in Octavia’s shop now. Nowhere to sleep, Pisces, unless you fancy sleeping under one of her tables.”

The [Necromancer] opened his mouth—probably to say that was more comfortable than sleeping in a wagon in the open—and closed it. Pisces could tell when arguing was pointless. Well, sometimes.

“And have more individuals approached you about requisitioning the door for their use? I hardly feel that a lone [Alchemist] can adequately protect such a valuable means of transport.”

“I think Octavia’s pretty good at it, actually. She’s started charging people who wait around in her shop. And you know her—if anyone comes in they’ll either buy half a dozen potions or have their face explode before they go.”

Everyone smiled at that. It turned out that Yvlon and Ceria knew of Octavia by reputation, although neither adventurer had bought directly from her. Yvlon drained her mug and tossed the rest over the side of the wagon.

“She’s probably better at selling potions than she is at making them. There’s no better watchdog you could ask for.”

“Really? I thought Octavia was a really good [Alchemist]. She’s one of three.”

“In a city like Celum? Erin, that’s a lot of [Alchemists]!”

Ceria laughed at her friend. She shook her head.

“Octavia’s good at making potions for cheap. And—I guess she can make some high quality ones, but she stints too much on her ingredients, or so I’ve heard. Then again, it’s expensive to be an [Alchemist].”

“She’s naturally thrifty. Too much so. But I’ve never heard of her making a defective potion—only overselling some to gullible people.”

That made Erin feel better. She nodded as she tugged a blanket over. She’d taken them from Miss Agnes’ inn after a bit of persuasion.

“Well, she tried to charge me a fee for putting the door there, but I talked her out of it. I think she sees how valuable it is.”

“And it will be safe in her shop?”

Ksmvr looked dubious, but Ceria snorted.

“Who’s going to steal a door, let alone one attached to the wall? Besides, that’s just the anchor point. The real artifact is here.”

She rapped a fist on the plain wooden door sitting in the wagon. Everyone else nodded, and Erin patted the door appreciatively.

“Ow! Hey, does this thing have splinters?”

“Not as of such. It’s too well enchanted to break. It’s a hundred times stronger than you are…so in the worst case scenario you could rip your flesh off on a rough patch of it.”

“Aw!”

The door. Erin’s door. She rubbed at the sore palm of her hand as she stared at it.

Yes, magic was a curious thing. Some spells seemed very mundane and just like things Erin had in her world, like Ceria’s trick with warming the mugs. But some things couldn’t be copied, and were just as amazing in this world as they would be in Erin’s.

Like the door. The magical, awesome, incredible, stupendous, phantasmagorical—

Erin frowned. Was phantasmagorical the right word? Anyways, the cool door. It was Erin’s now, and that was wonderful. It meant she could go anywhere with it, conveniently and easily. At least, in theory.

It was only the second day since the door’s incredible useful properties had been harnessed by Pisces and Ceria, but it was already the center of a minor power struggle in Celum. Of course, when Erin and the Horns of Hammerad had first stepped back through it into the Frenzied Hare in Celum, everyone had been dumbstruck. News of the artifact the Horns of Hammerad had recovered had spread like lightning.

You’d think everyone would be happy a magical teleportation-portal door had been created. But the first visitor Erin had received as she and the Horns of Hammerad were having a great dinner that very night in the inn had been a man, a wealthy [Trader] who told Erin he saw big possibilities in her door. He wanted to buy it for a hundred gold coins.

She refused. He upped it to two hundred, and then six hundred coins when she kept refusing. In the end he had to leave, disappointed. That was the start.

The next person to arrive was a rather more influential [Merchant] who told Erin he represented the Merchant’s Guild in the city. He offered her six thousand gold coins for the door immediately, and when she refused he tried to strike a deal with her.

The merchants and traders and indeed, shopkeepers and craftspeople of Celum wanted to use the door as, well, a door into Liscor. If it could be kept open they would reap huge profits that they would share with Erin, all assured her. But just as Erin was considering this, a Runner had come to her inn demanding to speak with her.

Fals, the nice Runner guy that Ryoka had told Erin about came with Garia to plead their case with Erin. They did not want her to let the merchants use the door for anything. After all, it would totally destroy the Runners Guild’s traffic between Celum and Liscor. The last thing Erin wanted was to put anyone out of work, but then the Mage’s Guild had come by to tell Erin that if she wanted to gain a monopoly on messages between Liscor and Celum, she had another thing coming. And then—

And then Erin had clocked one of the merchants and everyone had sort of backed up a bit. But the issue over the door was clear: it was a valuable object and everyone wanted to use it. So that night Erin had had to fend off multiple people wanting to talk to her, people she had never met before except for Garia and Fals.

Fals was nice, and the [Merchants] and envoy from the city’s council had been sickeningly fawning. The [Mage] was full of himself until he realized Pisces and Ceria might actually have more levels than him—plus they were Wistram graduates and he was not. Then he was so obsequious Erin wanted to throw up.

Relief had come from Pisces of all people. Undeterred by the argument, he’d managed to affix the anchoring spell or whatever it was to an actual door and harness the teleportation spell to create a portal rather than just transport people. Apparently it wasn’t that hard, or Pisces was just as smart as he said. According to Ceria, it was a bit of both.

What Pisces had discovered was that powerful the door might be, but it drank more mana than a sponge. It could teleport someone back and forth many times, and even a group of people. But eventually it would run out, and when it did it would take a long time to recharge.

Not only that, but the amount of mana required to activate the spell was understandably high. Both Pisces and Ceria had tried to recharge the door and only managed to juice it up enough for the Horns of Hammerad to make a one-way trip to the wagon to guard it overnight. And they’d still had to use a few mana potions.

So what was the conclusion? Well, the Merchant’s Guild still wanted to use the door as a faster way of transport, the Runner’s Guild and Mage’s Guild were afraid Erin would bulk transport things like letters which didn’t have much mass and could be teleported easily, and Erin realized she didn’t trust Miss Agnes with the door in her inn.

So she’d told everyone to go away and put the door in Octavia’s shop. As for the rest…

“I promised Fals and Garia—the Runner’s Guild—that I wouldn’t transport any letters or deliveries. Only personal stuff I’m using. I said the same thing to the Mage’s Guild so they’re happy. But the city wanted to use my door for emergencies, they said.”

“The city or the mayor? Is Celum ruled by a council or a mayor? I thought they were like Remendia and Ocre and had elected leaders.”

“Nope. Mayor. And guess who wants my door?”

“A lot of [Merchants] and guild leaders?”

Erin nodded miserably. Pisces snorted and Ceria rolled her eyes.

“So they want to take it from you. Predictable.”

“Not take…but they want me to pay fees for using it. Or…I could let them use the door if they need it to, I dunno, transport supplies or do something really important. They’d be able to use it in case of emergencies, they said.”

Pisces looked as if he was ready to spit. He pursed his lips and sniffed before wiping his nose on his robe.

“Hah. If you agreed to that, then no doubt every day the city would face a crisis of unprecedented severity that required usage of the door.”

Erin nodded sadly. She had to be selfish or the door would be useless.

“I told them it’s mine and they can’t charge me because I’m not going through the gates.”

Yvlon’s eyebrows rose.

“Really? And what did they say?”

The [Innkeeper] fidgeted on the cart, avoiding anyone’s eyes.

“I uh, hinted that you, the Horns of Hammerad, would be really upset if they did. So they backed down.”

Silence. And then Ceria laughed.

“Hah!”

Pisces and Termin guffawed and Yvlon smiled. Ksmvr just looked around, confused.

“I do not understand the joke. Pisces, please explain it to me.”

Ceria shook her head, and Erin blinked as her hair caught the light. She was still beautiful, too much so for this world. Otherworldly.

“Well, that settles that. I guess the only thing you’ve got to worry about is it being stolen, although Pisces is right. Anyone with a brain will see that the door’s useless if they steal the anchor. People without a brain are the ones you should be worried about, though.”

Erin looked away as Ceria smiled at her.

“I don’t think that’s a problem. I talked with Wesle and the captain of the Watch and they told me they’d keep an eye on Octavia’ shop. Plus, no one likes to try and rob an [Alchemist] because all kinds of things can happen with all those potions lying around.”

Ceria nodded.

“That’s true. Good thing you’ve got a [Guardsman] for a friend. In Celum, I mean.”

“Excuse me, but I still do not understand the joke. Pisces, will you explain it to me?”

“Former [Guardsman], actually. He quit his job.”

“Really?”

Erin smiled as the Horns of Hammerad exclaimed.

“Yeah. He says he’s earning a ton more than he ever did as a [Guardsman] and he likes acting better. He wants to form a troupe—a group that goes from city to city to perform. They’re stuck in Celum now, but since I can go back whenever, I’ll teach them more plays and they’ll keep practicing.”

“That’s wonderful, it sounds like you’ve really had an impact on the city, Erin.”

“Yeah! And with this door I’m gonna get a lot of customers when I get back. I have big plans—but you were saying it might be useful in other ways, right?”

“Comrade Pisces. I do not understand the j—”

“Shut up!”

Pisces shouted at Ksmvr. The Antinium fell silent for a second.

“If I am silent, will you explain the joke?”

He got along well with Pisces, in the sense that he was the only person who annoyed Pisces and not the other way around. Erin waited patiently, grinning as Pisces laboriously explained the joke to Ksmvr who had a weak grasp of humor at best.

“Ah. I see. This is more humor to raise morale. I will remember it. Thank you.”

Pisces somewhat huffily adjusted his position as he lounged on a few pillows.

“You’re welcome. Now, as I was saying, this door is useful. I have no idea if it has an upper range, but I suspect with a modicum of effort on my and Springwalker’s part we could form multiple anchoring points for usage.”

“What? You mean I could go to all kinds of cities?”

Erin was enthralled by the idea. But Pisces raised a cautionary hand.

“A few. Very few, I believe. Connecting to multiple points risks entanglement, and that could result in a tangled web of magic that could have any number of effects. I would hesitate to create more than four focal points. But I suggest that if you link the door to two more cities for very sporadic usage, you might consider giving one anchoring point to our group.”

“Really? Why?”

“Remember how Pisces said the door could be used as an emergency getaway, Erin? Well, if he can make something easy to carry, we could use the door to get away if we’re ever in trouble, in a dungeon, say.”

Erin paused. She looked over at Ceria and her eye caught on the half-Elf’s skeletal hand. Erin couldn’t help it. She knew it was rude to stare, but sometimes she did stare at Ceria. Her hand, and her friend. Erin didn’t have many friends and she’d been overjoyed to see Ceria—and Pisces and Yvlon and Ksmvr again. When she thought of the dungeon, of Skinner—

“Of course I’ll let you have one. If it works. I mean, would it work for multiple people and if you’re far away or underground?”

Pisces sniffed all-importantly as eyes turned towards him.

“Of course there will be necessary experimentation. And yes, such a fallback would have limitations. But better to have it than not, agreed?”

Everyone nodded. Erin felt happy at the idea—not only could she go to more cities, she might be able to help her friends! But she’d have to be careful with the door, definitely. Maybe she could put it upstairs, so people didn’t use it by accident? Or—could she build a basement in the inn? Surely Klbkch could help her with that, right? She had the money to pay the Antinium now too.

And then it happened. Erin was sitting up in the wagon, about to ask Pisces whether the anchor stones would work if she’d exhausted the door’s power for the day, or whether she’d need to always keep a reserve—when she felt the world explode.

Erin had been in a fire drill, countless fire drills and earthquake drills in school. Even when she knew one was scheduled, she hated the moment of fear and panic that occurred when every single bell started ringing as loudly as possible. But that was only external sound, loud and frightening but only that. Bells in your head were a different matter.

It was as if every alarm clock, siren, fire alarm and noisemaker suddenly went off in Erin’s head at once. She doubled over, clutching her head and crying out in surprise and fear. Dimly, Erin heard Ceria and Termin doing the same.

“Miss Solstice? Erin, is something wrong? Are we in danger?”

Ksmvr was shaking Erin by the shoulder. She tried to explain, tried to speak past the terrible fear in her head.

“Something’s—”

And then she saw someone standing in the cart’s way. Instantly, Ksmvr let go of Erin and reached for the blades at his side. The Horns of Hammerad leapt off the wagon, the genial atmosphere of moments ago forgotten. There was danger, and here was someone who had not been standing there a moment ago.

“Teleportation? Ceria, how bad—”

“Ceria?”

“Bad! It’s—we have to retreat.”

“I will attack first. Please, withdraw if I am slain.”

“What’s happening? My [Dangersense]—wait, is it coming from him?”

A confused babble of voices broke through the ringing in Erin’s head. She managed to make the sound lessen, and stood up on the cart as the horses neighed, sensing the alarm around them.

A man was standing in the middle of the snowy road. He shouldn’t have been there. The roads were practically deserted in the wake of the Goblin armies roaming about, and what travelers there were didn’t dare move alone unless they were Runners.

And this man—was no runner. Erin’s eyes widened when she saw him. He stood over six feet tall, a giant. He was powerfully built, imposing, with the body that every man probably dreamed of having. He looked like a superhuman athlete, and yet he was old. He had a white beard, white robes that were brilliant, made of some incredibly rich fabric that seemed brighter and cleaner than the snow itself—

And two eyes of mismatched color. Cerulean and heliotrope. Blue and violet, shimmering colors like celestial bodies shining forth from his pupils. Erin hesitated because she thought they looked so familiar…

But he had not been on the road a moment ago. He had appeared and that was terrifying in itself. One second the road was empty, and in the moment between looking elsewhere and turning back, he was there, as if he’d been there all along or he’d been in the peripherals of your vision and you hadn’t noticed until now.

And the [Dangersense] in Erin’s head blared. It was telling her of danger, immediate and pressing. She stared at the man as he stood silently in front of the wagon. Danger. Danger. Danger. It was a cacophony of ringing alarms.

The message was clear: do not fight this man. Run away. Do not fight.

You will die.

And yet the Horns of Hammerad formed a semicircle around the cart, weapons raised. Yvlon had no armor, Pisces and Ceria had only the magic that shimmered around their palms. Ksmvr held weapons in the three arms he possessed. They were shouting.

At Erin?

“Get through the door, Erin! You too, wagon driver!”

“You there. Identify yourself.”

“Don’t attack! Not yet! Pisces—”

“Through the door, Erin! Now!”

Erin wanted to move, but she wanted to stay as well. It was just an old man. True, one that looked like—well, looked like no actual Human being she’d ever seen but—was he dangerous? How could he be?

The old man was just staring at her. Her, out of all the others. He was looking up at the blue sky, around at the snowy landscape, the empty road, at the wagon, and then at Erin. As if he was taking in the sights. But he seemed to be annoyed by all the shouting. He raised one hand.

“Silence.”

And there was. Because everyone was waiting to see what he was going to do next. Erin saw Termin trying to soothe his horses. She looked at the door, and knew she could seize the handle and be in Octavia’s shop in a moment. But what about her friends? And couldn’t he follow them?

“Greetings, Human.”

Ksmvr spoke in the silence, ignoring the annoyed look the man gave him. He lowered the short sword and daggers in his hands as he nodded to the old man.

“We are Silver-ranked adventurers. The Horns of Hammerad. May I ask why you have blocked our path?”

“I wish to speak with her.”

Erin felt a jolt as his finger pointed straight at her. The reaction of her friends was immediate. They closed ranks in front of the wagon.

“May I ask why?”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?”

Ksmvr seemed to freeze up as the multi-colored stare swung towards him. And then Erin saw another aspect of the old man. He stared down at Ksmvr as if he was, well, a bug. He looked at Ceria, Yvlon, Pisces, all clearly adventurers, with the same casual disdain for their existence. Only Erin he looked at with…

“Move aside, adventurers. Or I will move you.”

That was a threat. Erin felt herself shiver. Ceria’s voice was very serious as she held a hand up.

“We don’t want…to fight. But unless you tell us why you want to speak with Erin—and we’re sure you don’t intend her harm—we can’t let you do anything, Human.”

“I intend to explain nothing to you, half-Elf.”

There was no compromise in his voice. Erin saw Ceria tense.

“You don’t have a choice here. Tell us why you want Erin.”

“Otherwise?”

The question caught everyone off guard. The old man looked at Ceria. She hesitated.

“What—do you mean?”

“Otherwise, what? If I refuse, what will you do? Will you prevent me from speaking with this girl?”

“If necessary. If you refuse to cooperate, we will have no choice but to fight.”

Yvlon called that out. She was holding the sword in her hands without a sign that the metal in her arms was bothering her. And her gaze was intent on the old man’s face. She sensed it too, Erin realized. Whoever this old man was, he wasn’t—normal.

For a moment the old man sighed. He looked impatient, annoyed—but not the least bit intimidated. He cast his gaze towards the sky, thought for a moment, and then…nodded.

“That would be the quickest way. Very well.”

What happened next was too fast for Erin to follow. In the moments afterwards as she ducked and Termin yelled in fright beside her, Erin realized what had happened.

The instant the old man had said that, Ceria had acted first. She’d raised her skeletal hand and fired a spike of ice straight at his midriff. It was a killing attack, but it hadn’t touched him.

Instead, the spear of ice had shattered midflight, filling the air with shards of ice that bounced off the wagon. Erin dared to peek her head up and saw the Horns of Hammerad staring at the old man.

He hadn’t moved from that spot. He’d only raised his hand. Erin saw three fingers pointed at the spot where the [Ice Spike] had been shattered by something.

“[Stone Dart]. A low level spell, but all I am capable of here. However, it seems only ah, Tier 2 spells will be necessary here at any rate.”

That was all he said. Erin felt the Horns of Hammerad pause—and then Ceria raised her hand and attacked and the battle began.

“[Ice Dart]!”

Erin had never seen Ceria fire so many ice darts so quickly. They flew at the old man like a rain of missiles—and he blocked them. His hand moved up, caught and shattered a piece of ice flying towards his face, one towards his chest—

So quick! How was he doing it? Erin saw the old man step backwards casually among the hail of missiles. Then he raised his other hand and spoke.

“[Mud Slap].”

A splash of dark brown liquid spattered across the distance between him and Ceria. Erin saw her friend cry out, but it was just mud. In her eyes. But it made the rain of darts stop and then Erin saw what the old man had been blocking them with.

A rock. Just a flat stone. The old man tossed it on the ground.

“[Call Object]. Next?”

He had only a moment to say that. From his left and right Ksmvr and Yvlon came charging at him, blades swinging. The old man nodded, swept his hands out. A flurry of snow blew at both warriors.

“[Frozen Wind].”

They ran through it, half-blinded, but still ready to strike. But then something happened. Erin saw Yvlon and Ksmvr both go down, crashing to the ground but she didn’t see how. And then Pisces—

He was raising the dead. Termin cried out and his horses tried to drag the wagon around as eight skeletons burst out of the ground. Pisces grinned as they tore themselves out of the earth—

“[Stone Dart]. Bludgeoning type.”

The old man pointed and eight stones appeared and struck each skeleton. Not in the head or ribs, but at their spines as they attempted to form themselves. The stones shattered bone and broke the delicate assembly process. Each skeleton collapsed onto the ground, the animation spell failing in an instant.

“Pisces! I’ll—”

“[Stone Dart].”

Another bit of stone struck Ceria in the head as she wiped the last of the mud from her eyes. She crumbled, and the old man sighed.

“Do modern mages not know any protective spells? Or are you truly untrained amateurs?”

He turned to point at Yvlon who was getting to her feet—

And leaned backwards as a burning sword nearly ran him through. Pisces drew back the rapier in his hands as magical flames danced along its length. Erin gasped—she hadn’t seen him move, but he’d covered the distance between him and the old man in an instant!

“[Flash Step]. And a variation of [Flame Rapier]. Well, interesting.”

The old man commented as he stepped backwards. Pisces thrust, but the old man raised his hands and ten [Stone Darts] flew from every finger. Erin heard a curse and Pisces seemed to appear several steps away. His robe and the arm beneath it were cut, but he was uninjured.

“Come, then.”

Pisces took a step to run the old man through—

And tripped.

This time Erin saw what had happened. As he moved and his form vanished, a tiny, twisting loop of grass had sprung up in the snow. It snagged his foot as he moved forwards at lightning speed. The grass strands broke, but it sent Pisces crashing and tumbling to the ground.

“[Tripgrass].”

The old man said it belatedly, as if announcing the spell was an afterthought. The old man walked over to Pisces. The young [Necromancer] snarled and raised his hands—

And the old [Mage] kicked him in the head. Erin shouted, but Pisces just fell back unconscious. Not…dead. He couldn’t be.

The old man turned towards Erin. Then he glanced to one side.

“Ah.”

Yvlon and Ksmvr charged towards him, the Antinium throwing one of the daggers in his hands. Again, a precise strike from the [Stone Dart] easily deflected the dagger. But they were closing in. Yvlon raised her sword with a cry, and the man clapped his hands together.

“[Flash].”

This time Erin went blind. She clapped a hand to her eyes and tried to blink to see. She heard shouting, and then a choking sound. When she could see past the spots in her eyes she looked again and saw Yvlon on the ground. The woman was choking. Choking on—snow?

“[Snowball]. Or is it [Create Snow]? Ah, either one works.”

The old man had hit Yvlon in her open mouth with snow. It was filling her throat and she was trying to throw up, get it out. Ksmvr was the only one left on his feet.

“Die.”

He swung his blade towards the old mage’s head. Flames engulfed him.

“[Flame Jet].”

The old man’s voice came from the center of the flames. Ksmvr scythed forwards, but the flames hadn’t just burned him. They’d screened the old man and he walked past Ksmvr on the left, raising his hands again. As the Antinium turned, ten shards of ice pierced his chest. Not deep, but they sent him staggering back.

“Throw down your weapon, insect.”

“Never.”

Ksmvr raised his blade and then a blast of water struck him in the face. It made him overbalance and stumble back again. And a stone was right behind his left foot, hovering there. Ksmvr fell backwards. He tried to roll over—

And couldn’t. Erin saw grass growing all around him, looping around his arms, pulling him to the ground and holding him there. Each blade of grass was weak, but together it enmeshed him so thoroughly he couldn’t move.

The old man walked over to Ksmvr. The Antinium spoke to him, lying flat on his back.

“If you let me live I will not cease until you or I lie dead.”

“Yes, your kind is like that.”

The old man pointed down at Ksmvr. He opened his mouth and then tilted his head sideways. The dagger flashed past his head, missing completely.

Erin gaped. The old man flicked his attention to Ksmvr, and then stepped away from the Antinium. He nodded at the dagger which was now buried in the snow.

“Hm. You have a Skill, don’t you? But perfect aim is meaningless if you allow me time to dodge. Without more Skills you would not be able to strike even a cat with such a throw.”

He sounded so nonchalant. He’d taken apart her friends with basic spells in an instant and—

On the wagon, Erin hesitated. Part of her told her to run, to get away and be safe. Her sensible self rationalized it. He wanted her for some reason. If she ran, the old man might let her friends live.

But not Ksmvr. So Erin clenched her fists. She leapt from the wagon with a yell—

And tripped as something snagged her leg going over the side. Erin had only a moment to yelp before she smacked into the ground hard. She groaned—she hadn’t landed in the snow, only on frozen ground. And falling from a wagon headfirst hurt. If she hadn’t managed to catch the fall on her arms she might have broken her skull, but she felt like her arms were broken instead.

“[Tripgrass]. Again.”

Erin had to get up. She pushed herself up groggily and saw the old man looming over her. She yelped, threw a punch with all her strength.

He caught it. It was a [Minotaur Punch] and he caught it. Erin blinked at the incredible strength in the man’s body. True, he looked like he was strong enough for it, but—

He released her, and Erin stumbled back. She stared at him, fists half-raised. She felt like she had long ago, in front of Gazi. As if anything she did would be useless. The old man stared around, and then at Termin. The wagon driver was sitting white-faced in his driver’s seat.

“Will you try to fight as well?”

Termin stared back, paralyzed by fear. The white-bearded stranger nodded, and turned to Erin. She tensed—

And he held up an iPhone.

“You are Erin Solstice, aren’t you? Explain this to me.”

Erin stopped. All processes went on immediate halt. She lowered her hands. Her mind went blank. She stared at the small, metallic object in the old man’s hands. Its screen was glowing, and it looked so familiar to her. But—

She stared at the old man. At the iPhone.

“That’s an iPhone.”

“Yes. It is. And it seems to be malfunctioning, although I copied it completely.”

“That’s Ryoka’s iPhone.”

The world had stopped making sense. Erin stared at the old man while she waited for someone to wake her up from the dream she was having. He nodded to her, impatient.

“A copy. See—this.”

The old man pointed to the small, glowing screen. Erin peered down at the app his finger was pointing at.

“Oh. Safari. That’s an…that’s the internet app.”

“Is it?”

The old man frowned at Erin. He tapped the app and a screen popped up, glowing, white, before the typical ‘no internet’ page flashed on screen.

“You see? I am missing something for it to work. What connection do I need to obtain?”

“Um.”

Erin stared blankly at the screen, and then at the frowning face in front of her. She felt like her brain was trying to work a million miles a second while crawling along at a snail’s pace. She answered automatically as best she could.

“Well, you need internet. But uh, you don’t have internet here. No one in this…this world does. So…it’s not gonna work.”

“I see. That is inconvenient. Well then, am I to assume these other functions do not work for the same reason?”

The old man clicked a button and the iPhone went back to the menu screen. Erin peered at the iPhone, nodding her head.

“Youtube? Oh—that’s for watching videos. Yeah, it needs internet too.”

“But there are videos on this device.”

“Oh—those are downloaded. Uh, they’re part of it. Youtube needs…the internet.”

“Ah. And the store? This one?”

“Spotify? Yeah. Same problem.”

“I see. How tedious. Is there any other function I may have missed?”

“What?”

“I have listened to every song and watched every ‘video’ on this device. I have solved the riddle of this particular function—”

“You mean the app? 2048? The game?”

“Ah, that’s what they’re called? App. Hm. And yes, it was a quite entertaining game, or rather, logic puzzle. But is there anything else I can do with this device?”

“Well, you could—hold on.”

Erin raised her hand and stared at it. Then she slapped herself as hard as she could. Her head rang a bit.

“Ow!”

“That looked painful.”

“It was. Sorry. Well…you can take notes with the iPhone. See here?”

“Ah yes. And record what is spoken. A useful function, no doubt.”

“And—oh, Ryoka had Triple Town. See—”

Erin found the iPhone nearly snatched out of her hands. The old man stared down at the screen, eyes bulging.

“How did you do that? I couldn’t fathom how I did it once. But you’ve changed the screen!”

“Hm? You didn’t know? You can change the screen since there are more apps. See? You swipe left. Like this…”

“Swipe left. Fascinating.”

Erin stared at the old man as he clumsily moved his fingers across the screen. She felt compelled to reach for the one straw of rationality she had in this moment.

“I’m surprised…Ryoka didn’t tell you how the iPhone worked. Because this is totally something she gave you, right?”

“Hm? Candy Crush? Intriguing. Oh yes, I received this from her.”

“Ah.”

The young woman nodded a few times. The old man was mumbling to himself, mostly along the lines of ‘fascinating’, or ‘yes, this certainly deserves closer study’. Erin stared at him.

“What’s your name?”

“Teriarch. Mm. I can see there is much I have yet to explore. Tell me, I encountered a terrible problem when I went here. To settings, see? And I pressed—”

“Ooh, yeah. Reset. Don’t do that. It gets rid of everything.”

“So I had noticed. But why does it exist?”

“Um. So you can put other things on the device? If you had the internet I mean.”

“Really? How?”

Erin stared at Teriarch. She stared into his multicolored eyes and wondered if today was a good day or not.

“Uh, well, you can’t here. It’s impossible.”

“Ah. Well then, I shall make do with these new…apps. Thank you for your help, Erin Solstice.”

“Oh. No problem…have we met before?”

Teriarch paused. He raised his head from the screen he’d been staring at obsessively and looked at Erin. For the first time he looked into her face, rather than just at her as an object to be interacted with. And he frowned.

“You do look…familiar. How odd. I should know anyone I have encountered. But I…hrm. I think we have met.”

Erin nodded slowly. He seemed familiar. But from where?

“Well…you’re a friend of Ryoka? Or she knows you?”

“She has performed tasks for me before, yes.”

“Oh. I see. You’re her…mysterious client?”

Teriarch frowned, and Erin realized she might have violated Ryoka’s contract of silence or whatever. But Ryoka had never told her who Teriarch was, just that she’d met with someone who was powerful and could cast magic. Teriarch studied Erin slowly and nodded.

“Yes. I am a…mage. Of quite significant ability.”

“I can tell. Um. Are my friends going to be alright?”

Teriarch looked dismissively at the Horns of Hammerad. Erin saw Yvlon was on her knees, still coughing. She thought Pisces had one eye open, but both were closed when she looked again. Ceria was still out and Ksmvr was watching them silently.

What should she do now? Teriarch was clearly absorbed in the iPhone. He kept asking Erin what various apps Ryoka had downloaded did. Ryoka had quite a few games on her iPhone. More than one Erin was tickled to know Ryoka played, or had played in the past.

It was surreal. Teriarch was just…interested. He kept harrumphing importantly, but he was keenly fascinated with the iPhone. He had just beaten up her friends, but he’d left them alive. He didn’t seem evil. More like…odd? And Erin kept staring at him, feeling that tickling in her memory.

But something prompted Erin to break off from her explanation of how to play Angry Birds and frown. The warning bells in her head hadn’t died away. Rather, it was as if they had faded during the fight to let her think and act without being overwhelmed, but now that it was over they were still blaring loudly, telling her—

“Are you um, going to kill us?”

Teriarch paused and stared at Erin with a mixture of indignation and confusion.

“Me? Why would I kill you?”

“Well, you attacked us.”

“Yeah.”

That came from behind Teriarch and Erin. She turned and saw Ceria was standing upright, supported by Pisces on one side and Yvlon on the other. Ksmvr was still tied to the ground, calling out for aid now that the danger had passed.

“Help. I am stuck to the ground.”

“Ah. See, Erin Solstice? Your friends are alive and mostly unharmed.”

Teriarch gestured as Ksmvr sat up. Ceria blinked a few times at him, eyes partially unfocused. Erin hoped she didn’t have a concussion—Ceria just looked woozy.

“You attacked us. Why?”

“You were in my way.”

The sky was blue. The grass was green. It was a matter-of-fact statement that made Yvlon grit her teeth angrily. Erin just stared at Teriarch, feeling that same disconnect. He went on, arrogant, trying to score three stars in a level of Angry Birds.

“Explaining would have been a waste of my time. And this was entertaining, however easy it was.”

The Horns of Hammerad stared at Teriarch. He frowned as one of the pigs escaped destruction.

“How did you do it?”

Pisces was next to speak. He stared at Teriarch wide-eyed, with more respect than Erin had ever seen in him in his life.

“You—all you were using were Tier 2 spells at best. But the style of your spellcasting—”

“Elementary. Any competent mage should be able to do as much, if not so quickly or with the same mana supply. You should be ashamed of yourselves not to have any counters against such low level spells.”

Teriarch shrugged. He nodded at Ceria.

“You should go to Wistram, half-Elf. With a decade of studying you may become a powerful mage yet.”

“We did go to Wistram.”

“Really?”

Teriarch’s eyebrows rose in disbelief. He stared at Pisces but seemed to ascertain that the mage was not lying. Teriarch snorted angrily.

“Standards have fallen greatly, then. Your spellcasting was beyond inferior. That was a decent attack with a sword I suppose, but unless you are a [Spellsword] or some other mage-warrior hybrid, I suggest you focus on magic.”

“Um.”

Erin raised her hand. She just felt like it was the thing to do. All eyes focused on her. Erin tapped her head.

“My [Dangersense] is still going off. Are you really not going to kill us, Teriarch?”

“Me? No. But…hrm.”

Teriarch stared off into the distance. His lips moved soundlessly, then he nodded.

“Ah. That explains much of your hostility. Your senses were alerted by a nearby Goblin Army. It is passing this way.”

“An army?”

The Horns of Hammerad went pale. Erin felt a jolt of fear in her chest, but she looked at the wagon. It was Termin of all people who wailed and clutched at his hair.

“Goblins! What will I do? Fox and Erma will be eaten for sure!”

Fox and Erma? Erin remembered those were Termin’s horses. She stared at the animals, feeling a jolt in her chest. Could they push the animals through the door? But if they did—what if the Goblins opened the door? Could they seal it off, then? But how would they get back?

Teriarch raised one eyebrow as Yvlon tried to convince Termin they had to leave his mounts behind. Pisces already had the door up and was yelling at Ksmvr to help him find a spot to hide it from the Goblins. Erin saw Teriarch tap Ceria on the head when no one was watching. Ceria frowned, blinked, and seemed to regain focus.

“Um, Mister Teriarch.”

He glanced at her, still holding the iPhone in one hand.

“Yes?”

“Can you help us? I dunno, somehow evade the Goblins?”

“You should be able to do it yourselves without my help. Unless—are you really planning to flee?”

“What would you do?”

Ceria stared at Teriarch. He looked incredulous.

“This is winter. The Goblin army is marching this way, but they are hardly filled with adept trackers and they do not know you are here. Conjure a snowstorm and evade them.”

The half-Elf shook her head instantly.

“We can’t do that. Pisces and I—neither of us know [Snowstorm] as a spell, and we’re not nearly high-level enough to cast it, let alone to affect such a large—”

“What are you talking about?”

Teriarch looked impatient. He began to lecture Ceria, much to Erin’s incredulity.

“[Snowstorm]? Why do you need to create snow? If you were standing in a jungle I could see the need, but you have an ample supply of snow right here. Use that. Even a Tier…1 spell should do.”

“How?”

Ceria’s ears drooped slightly, as Teriarch’s glare pierced her in place.

“Are you really Wistram mages? Here. Like this. You—[Necromancer]! Come over here and help your friend!”

Pisces ran over as Teriarch walked over to a large expanse of snow and began ordering Ceria about. Erin stared at him as Yvlon and Ksmvr and Termin all stopped what they were doing to watch.

There wasn’t too much happening. Teriarch was just pointing to the ground at something the two mages could see and berating them. They kept flinching as he grew more and more impatient with them.

“There. Anchor the spell there and cast multiple incarnations of it—no, not like that! Why are you using your mana so poorly? A proper spell is efficient! And you—half-Elf! You’re wasting the energy of your spell with uncontrolled winds. The two of you cast in tandem like—well, that is barely acceptable.”

Suddenly, a gust of wind blew up, carrying a huge amount of snow with it. Teriarch nodded as Erin and the others gasped. The wind began to blow, and as he lent his power to the wind spells, it began to blow down the road. Erin turned to Termin, and pointed to the wagon.

“Um. Let’s get out of the way?”

He stared at her, face pale as the snow began whipping into the air. Then he scrambled towards the driver’s seat with the others.

—-

The Goblin army was a massive force, thousands strong. Black-armored warriors marched with the undead, grim, sullen because they hadn’t been able to find any easy prey to kill and eat. Marching in the winter was bad enough with armor, but the stench of the undead made the Goblin warriors upset.

And what was worse, they’d run into a snowstorm. The Goblins grumbled and their scouts withdrew to form a tight perimeter around their army. If they ran into anything in the storm they’d kill it. But they could still follow the road so they pressed onwards until they reached the other side. It was a brief snowstorm, the Goblins reflected. But they took no more notice of it; they had Humans to kill, and other Goblins too for that matter.

—-

Far away, the wagon Termin was driving rumbled to a stop as Erma and Fox panted in the snow. Erin hopped off the wagon and slowly walked up to the small ridge to see the last of the Goblin army disappearing in the distance.

“Wow.”

That was all she said. She turned back and saw Teriarch, sitting austerely on top of the wagon with an iPhone in hand, looking more out of place than anything she’d ever seen as Ceria and Pisces tried to ask him ten thousand questions at once.

“How did you learn to use magic like that? I’ve never seen spellcasting so—refined! And the way you do it…”

“It is one method of practicing magic. I consider it to be the most efficient. It is certainly superior to your…attempts. How have you not been taught the various schools of magic if you studied at Wistram?”

“We were expelled. We studied for years but…we never fully graduated.”

“We came close. I daresay we were as good as most mages, but Spingwalker is right. Yet we were allowed to claim the name. We are recognized Wistram mages still.”

That was Ceria and Pisces’ guilty confession, but it was hardly as surprising to Erin as the revelation that Teriarch was some kind of super-mage. Or an Archmage. Apparently magic, which Erin understood to be like math in some respects, was all about understanding spells. And Teriarch had shown Pisces and Ceria some shortcuts in magic, or things which he considered basic and they considered miraculous.

“Hmf. Even then. Any first-year student would have had such things drilled into them. At least, if Wistram is acting as a proper institution for education. What happened to Archmage Zelkyr? He would never have let mages sink so low.”

“Archmage…he’s dead. He died over a century ago. Two centuries, I think.”

“Oh…”

Both Pisces and Ceria had that huge-eyed, slaw jawed expression of disbelief Erin was used to getting from time to time. She supposed she should be behaving the same way. Did that mean Teriarch was really old?

“Well, refine yourselves with what I have shown you. Your Skills and…classes should do the rest. You, half-Elf, study the spell I marked in that spellbook. It should compliment your ice magic skills. And you, [Necromancer]…”

He somehow knew what magic both Ceria and Pisces used at a glance. Teriarch sighed.

“We hardly need more necromancers. But I suppose your control of magic is quite good for one so young. Keep practicing.”

He stepped off the wagon. Ksmvr and Yvlon stared at him. Teriarch nodded to Erin. She hesitated.

“Oh. You’re gonna go? Um. Thanks?”

Was that the appropriate response? Teriarch nodded regally to her.

“And thanks to you as well for showing me how this device works. Farewell, Erin Solstice. We shall not meet again.”

That sounded sort of weird. And ominous. Teriarch began to stride through the snow, but Pisces leapt off the wagon and chased after him.

“Master Teriarch! Sir!”

Pisces flung himself at the snow at Teriarch’s feet. The old man looked more annoyed than anything else.

“What is it?”

“Please take me on as your apprentice! To learn from someone who lived during the time of Archmage Zelkyr—I would do anything for such an honor!”

Teriarch stared down at Pisces as the young man looked up hopefully at him. Erin’s jaw was open. Ceria looked like she was considering doing the same thing. Teriarch stared down at Pisces.

“No.”

Then he turned and walked away. Pisces ran after him, but it was as if Teriarch was suddenly walking at a different speed than Pisces. He strolled along, but then his form grew further and further away, until he was a speck in the distance. Then he was gone, and Pisces and the others were left alone in the snow.

In the silence that followed Erin wondered whether this was all a dream. She pinched herself.

“Ow. Nope.”

She turned to Ceria, who was pale-faced, clutching the burned spellbook in her hands. At Ksmvr, who was scratching at one of his antennae. At Yvlon, who was staring at where Teriarch had been, and at Pisces, standing forlornly in the snow.

In the end it was Termin who spoke. The older man sucked in his lips, and then shouted as loudly as he could.

“Who the hell was that?”

—-

In his cave, Teriarch released the spell controlling his Human form at range and settled back into his cave. He created another image of the old man with the white beard and had it pick up the iPhone. The dragon hummed to himself as he flicked through the screens, staring at all the lovely new apps. He muttered to himself as he did.

“Is this what adventurers have sunk to? Ah, well. Perhaps they lied about being Silver-rank adventurers. And it was quite enjoyable to be out, although the outside was so busy…and the light was far too bright. Hmf.”

He paused as a thought came to him. Erin Solstice. He’d only gone to her because Ryoka had been at Reinhart’s estate and hard to reach without dealing with her at length. But she had recognized him and he, her. Where?

The Dragon’s eyes widened.

“The girl.”

For a brief second he considered sending himself out into the world again, to ask the girl how she’d found him. But then Teriarch hesitated, and stared at the iPhone.

The outside was…the outside. He preferred his cave. And he had so much to entertain himself with now. Teriarch put Erin out of his thoughts and went back to tapping buttons on the iPhone.

“Now what’s this? Cookie Clicker?”

The Dragon stared at the screen as it changed colors. He frowned, pondered, and then began to tap.

3.31 G

This is what she heard in the silence of the night.

[Tactician Level 16!]

[Conditions Met: Leader → Chieftain Class!]

[Chieftain Level 15!]

[Class Consolidation: Scavenger removed.]

[Class Consolidation: Tinkerer removed.]

[Skill – Tribe: Fleet Foot obtained!]

[Skill – Lesser Tinkering obtained!]

It was like thunder in her mind. The words thundered in Rags head, waking her up instantly from her deep sleep. Unlike other times she’d leveled up, this announcement came towards the end of her rest. But once she had awoken, sleep was only a memory.

She had leveled up. Not only that, she had changed classes. She was a different person than she had been last night. Rags felt it. She was now a Chieftain, both among Goblins and in the eyes of the world.

Oh, sweetness. Rags made herself smile toothily as she sat up next to her personal campfire. She had been waiting a long time to hear those words.

In this world, leveling up was more important than a birthday. It was far more special than any holiday, and in fact constituted an occasion for rejoicing in itself. And so Rags told the rest of her tribe what had happened, knowing full well what would occur next.

A celebration.

Even Goblins partied, rare though such occasions were. It was a mark of a tribe’s wealth that they could celebrate anything. As wrong as Tremborag’s Goblins had been, they’d captured something in their huge banquets that represented Goblin society as a whole.

As dawn broke, the Flooded Waters tribe opened their stores of plundered food and piled wood on the embers of their fires. Goblins ran about, ate, drank what alcohol was available, had sex…

There really wasn’t much to a Goblin party. But it was a time when they could all relax, except for those few unhappy souls who had to keep watch. Rags sat in the center of her camp, content to eat and do little else. That was what being a Goblin was like she reflected; a happy moment was one where you didn’t have to do anything.

Of course, there was some attention paid to her as the center of this celebration. Rags was offered the choicest cut of meat and the best cooked food—although as Chieftain she generally got that anyways. She had her own seat which wasn’t crowded and other Goblins made way for her—again, standard for any Chieftain. But it was enough and appropriate. The only other thing Goblins did was stare at Rags and pat her approvingly as she passed—that got annoying fast for her.

Tremborag’s former Goblins were a bit more formal, however. Rags entertained several groups of Goblins who all congratulated her briefly and gave her small trinkets or choice bits of food. It was ceremony and she scowled at that, but made no comment.

It was just—Rags didn’t feel that good. She sat next to Pyrite, letting him munch on the food she’d been given, trying not to glare as a group of Goblins ran past her, fighting over a large kebab one of the Goblins in front was trying to keep away from the others. She longed to shout at them to share and stop running in case one of the Goblins lost an eye on the poking stick—Goblin parties could have casualties if they got too wild—but she knew that would be pointless.

Rags felt bad and couldn’t explain why. She knew there was reason to celebrate and liked the change in her class. It wasn’t as if she was officially a Chieftain thanks to getting the class, but the Skills and title did help. It was a good thing.

She didn’t feel happy, though. Accomplished—yes. Triumphant—yes. But happy?

No. Rags couldn’t bring herself to smile and rejoice over it like the other Goblins. Not today. She just felt…

Tired. A bit tired, and almost melancholy, which was an odd emotion for a Goblin to have. But whatever feeling was in her, it overwhelmed whatever euphoria Rags should have had.

Why? Perhaps it was because for all this day was a triumph, it wasn’t enough.

Creating crossbows, rebelling against Tremborag, learning how to use pikes, gaining the [Chieftain] class…today Rags could only think how small each of her accomplishments were. She stared moodily into the fire and didn’t gorge herself.

And other Goblins noticed.

It was the consequence of being around so many people who knew you so well, from the way you walked to how you smiled and breathed. Rags could see Pyrite eyeing her as he sat and ate, and she had noticed how other Goblins looked at her before going back to celebrating. They knew their Chieftain was upset, even if they didn’t know why.

But where Goblins differed from Humans and other species with similar characteristics was how they treated Rags. No Goblins went over to hug Rags or ask her how she felt. They left her alone to brood, and that made Rags feel better in itself. It was her problem, and Goblins didn’t like to get involved in problems.

—-

The party lasted for around three hours until it ended all at once. Goblins stopped eating, mainly because they were full, and the mood in the camp returned to normal in minutes. Sensing the change, Rags stood up and began to shout orders. It was time to get to work.

The first order of the day, which she’d been planning on without the addition of her [Chieftain] class, was testing out her tribe’s warriors. Rags had a new tribe, forged out of many disparate groups. She had to know who she could trust to fight or go hunting, and who she had to keep an eye on and command directly.

So Rags organized a fight. Other races might have called it a sparring session, or a test of arms, or a mock battle. But Goblins knew a brawl when they saw one.

The rules were simple. Rags told all the Goblins to get rid of their armor, their weapons, and grab a stick or non-jagged rock. They formed into whatever groups suited them—some Goblins because they belonged to a group like the Redfang warriors, others because they were friends or family. Then Rags gave the command and all the various groups of Goblins ran at each other and started fighting.

It was not training. Training involved deliberately honing skills or practicing with weapons to become better in combat. Most Goblins didn’t bother to train, although the Redfang warriors were an exception. But this was just a chance for Goblins to settle grudges without killing anyone and a chance for Rags to observe.

She sat on a tree stump as Pyrite sat next to her, chewing on some leftover gristle from the morning. She’d exempted him from the fighting and so he organized Goblins who dropped out of the brawl.

In this case dropping out meant the Goblins had had enough of being pounded on and walked away. Or they were carried if they’d been knocked out. Some of the pregnant female Goblins and younger ones—and ones not inclined to fighting—helped with this. The rest just hit each other.

Rags nodded to herself as she stared into the seething mass of green bodies. Her keen eyes could pick out individual Goblin’s faces in the mass and so she saw what few others could.

The Redfang warriors were in the center of the battle, laying about with sticks and enjoying themselves immensely by the looks of it. They were easily dominating any other Goblins who came at them. However, they were outnumbered and so part of their group got split up. The Redfang warriors bashed their way through the Goblins, aiming for the edge of the fray where they could defend themselves more easily and wait to regroup with their friends.

Rags saw them reach another competent group of fighters. The all-female Goblin group was doing well against regular warriors, fighting with ferocity if not the same skill as the Redfang warriors. Rags paused though, as she saw a familiar head standing out among the rest of the Goblins.

The old Goblin. Rags frowned as she stared at the Goblin with the white beard who was happily tripping other Goblins up and kicking them while they were down. She’d told Pyrite to forbid Hobs from joining in the fight since they were too strong.

“Hey.”

She reached over and poked Pyrite. He grunted—she’d gotten close to one of his potion-healed belly wounds. Rags glared at him and pointed at the old Goblin.

“Why he there? Hob.”

“He is old. Doesn’t fight fully.”

That was all Pyrite said. It wasn’t a full explanation, but Rags took it to mean Pyrite was looking out for Greybeard. She shrugged and watched his group. Her ears were good enough to hear him. He was pointing and talking to the female Goblin warrior who lead the group.

“Mm. Go this way, leader? Is good way.”

Rags narrowed her eyes as the female Goblin warrior hesitated, and then led her Goblins left as the old Goblin had suggested. In the chaotic melee, her band of female Goblins somehow ended up in a perfect flanking position to the Redfang warriors. They helped another band of Goblins drub the elite Goblins until some more Redfang warriors ran into the backs of the Goblins and drove them apart.

That was odd. Had he known which way to go in that chaos? Or was it luck? For that matter , why did he belong with the female Goblins anyways? Rags knew he’d been in their faction in the mountain to survive, but it seemed odd their leader would accept his suggestions.

“He is smart.”

Pyrite told Rags when she asked, and the female Goblin said the same thing as she and her warriors stumbled away from the battle.

“Crafty old one. Worth feeding.”

That was that. Rags watched as the other Goblins kept fighting. It looked like the warriors from Tremborag’s tribe who’d joined her were a bit above her regular warriors in skill, but only just. It still ended with a loss for every Goblin but the Redfang warriors, at least in the sense of who had the most bruises. But Rags was pleased to see Garen Redfang’s best didn’t get out completely unharmed.

That done, Rags let the Hobs do the same thing, only this time they had to fight completely unarmed and all the other Goblins watched. Pyrite declined to fight, but almost all the other Hobs were up for scrap. Rags watched them beat each other energetically and privately agreed with Pyrite’s decision; the old Goblin would have gotten smushed battling these ones.

Hobs were strong. They had to be to be Hobs. Whether they were fat or thin, adept at long-ranged weapons or comfortable with a club, they were simply on a different level than normal Goblins. It bothered Rags a bit, as she watched them. Any one of these Hobs could kill her. If she had her crossbow and sword and shield she might have a chance, but if she missed—

She was a bit weak, wasn’t she?

Troubled, Rags watched the Hobs hit each other until they got bored. She let everyone break and eat lunch while she thought on her seat.

She now had a good idea who her best fighters and leaders were, and which units of Goblins excelled at what. So without further ado, Rags decided to divvy up Tremborag’s cache of weapons and armor right then and there.

Her Goblins hadn’t been idle testing out their new weapons. More than one sword had been blunted by hitting things, which was a pity, but a good whetstone would fix that. More importantly, Rags had an idea of which weapons were truly powerful.

There were only five. A wooden shield with faded paint showing some sort of flower on a field was unbreakable as far as her Goblins had been able to tell. They’d tried to burn it by dropping it in a campfire, had a Hob hit it, and let one of the felled trees drop on it. It didn’t break.

Another sword shocked anyone that touched the blade, fairly badly. It wasn’t a powerful enchantment per se, but it never stopped shocking and never ran out of magic. Any warrior with metal armor trying to block that would soon be numb.

A mace seemed to have the weight of a sledgehammer behind it. Another sword threw molten fire when you swung it hard—Rags eyed a badly burnt group of Goblins and decided not to give that one out. And one chest plate seemed to fracture any non-magical weapon that struck it, breaking the blades badly on impact.

Of course, there were plenty of other lesser magical artifacts. Some were sharper than they should be, others seemed unbreakable or burned or froze or in one case, made whatever they cut really itch. But the best artifacts were those five.

Rags was only slightly disappointed. She knew Tremborag had probably given the best artifacts out, but these were plenty good enough. They were of a higher quality than steel, which meant her warriors were outfitted as well as or better than most city militias. Even Liscor’s City Watch didn’t have magical weapons.

Dividing up the weapons among all of her eager warriors was a chore, though. Rags ended up giving both the shocking sword and the set of armor to Redscar, mainly because he was the highest-leveled warrior. He needed good equipment and besides, none of the Hobs could wear the chest plate. It was big on Redscar, but he could wear it more or less easily.

She would have given the armor to Pyrite if she could. Rags offered him the mace instead, or the sword, but Pyrite declined both. He preferred his axe. So she gave him the shield and he seemed quite pleased.

The last mace went to one of Rags’ Hobs, not one of the Redfang Warrior Hobs. This was purely to appease the Goblins who were upset the Redfang warriors got the bulk of the magical gear. Shields, high-quality armor, swords, and so on went to the delighted warriors. It made sense; they were Rags’ best fighters, but the other Goblins were unhappy.

There were still factions. Or perhaps the Goblins would have been unhappy in any case, but Rags appeased them by making the Redfang warriors give up their original gear and share it with her other warriors. That way, they still received an upgrade in their equipment.

That done, Rags finally let herself have lunch. She took a block of cheese and melted it over some meat and slapped some bread on it and ate it messily by her fire. While she did, Rags gauged the mood of the camp.

The Goblins who’d been upset about not getting magical weapons…were only upset. They sulked for a few minutes and then brightened up at their shiny new steel ones. The Redfang warriors were happy, and Tremborag’s former Goblins…

Seemed content. Some looked a bit disgruntled as they eyed the empty cart where only a few weapons remained—the molten fire sword and a shield that seemed to give any Goblin who held it a rash. Also, a spear that sprouted thorns everywhere except two specific handholds; none of the Goblins could remember where they were and kept getting their hands spiked. But Tremborag’s Goblins understood that giving the weapons away was better than locking them up.

And Noears? Rags saw him eating happily and shooting lightning to impress a female Goblin—he hadn’t cared about the weapons at all. Mages were like that.

Then Rags turned and saw the old Goblin. He was sitting next to Pyrite. Her eyes narrowed as she focused on him, the one oddity out of an otherwise predictable day.

He only acted stupid, Rags felt. She watched as he chattered to Pyrite, eating and laughing hugely as the other Hob ate in silence. That informed her next decision, much to the surprise of all Goblins.

Rags found that Goblins were best when they were led directly. Even under supervision, she required local group leaders to implement her orders. So she took her Hobs and divided them among her various groups. Some Hobs were in charge of leading hunting groups, others took over control of various warrior Groups.

A few Goblins were capable of leading too, of course. Redscar commanded the Redfang warriors as Rags’ mobile attack force and vanguard. And the female Goblin warrior—Rags had learned her nickname was Poisonbite thanks to the two poisoned daggers she wielded—Rags put in command of another group.

Her tribe had order. It had leaders. But Rags felt she needed one last thing. She was restless. And after watching the brawl…angry for no reason she could explain. So after a brief consultation with Noears and Poisonbite she struck camp.

Goblins usually organized fast, but all of Rags’ new policies and grouping caused delays. Still, it was best to iron out problems now and get her people used to the new system rather than later, so Rags gritted her teeth and dealt with the slow pace.

It was just hard to get everyone moving in the right formation. Rags wanted order when her tribe marched. Warriors would surround the noncombatants and valuable supplies and move in their units, rather than mix with non-warrior Goblins. It was a good idea, but hard to implement.

The new pikes proved to be another problem. The tribe had felled countless trees and fashioned hundreds of them, but they were just cumbersome to carry. They were obviously long and though they were actually lighter than they looked for being so tall—Rags guessed they were only around thirteen pounds in weight—they were still far heavier than a sword. Goblins had to work to carry them together, or if they were strapped to a wagon, they were so long they were in good danger of smacking Hobs or other obstacles as the wagons moved.

Rags sorted it out. Some Goblins could carry, and she had a few wagons modified to carry hundreds of pikes at one time. She yelled and bossed Goblins about and in the end she got her tribe moving.

They had to keep moving. It was just what Rags felt was right. She was missing something important. Their tribe finally set off, moving fast. Half again as fast as normal, in fact. To Rags’ delight, her skill [Fleet Foot] made her tribe move across the snowy ground with ease. She immediately tried to figure out how to use it to outmaneuver her enemies while marveling at how quickly her tribe could go.

And it meant they would definitely get where she wanted by tonight. Their destination was a well-known location to all of Tremborag’s Goblins, an area relatively uninhabited by Human settlements. For good reason. When Rags had heard of this place—a small village—she’d immediately wanted to see it for herself.

All of Tremborag’s former Goblins had objected, Poisonbite and Noears most stridently of all. But Rags had been adamant.

“Want to see.”

That was all she told them, and Rags overruled all the objections. But she was lying and she knew it. Rags just wanted to kill something today.

On the march, Rags summoned Noears and made him tell her and Pyrite all he could about the surrounding area. He was happy to do it and Rags found she liked how intelligent he was and the breadth of his knowledge.

“Learned much while acting stupid, Chieftain.”

He grinned at her and then pretended to be dumb, eyes losing focus, letting his mouth fall open as he drooled on himself. Pyrite grunted and grinned as he chewed on some frozen tree sap. Rags smiled despite her mood.

“Good. Other tribes?”

Noears nodded. He counted on his fingers, listing off several big Goblin tribes.

“Tremborag is biggest by far. But strong Chieftains live here.”

“Have to be strong. Or run or die.”

Pyrite added. Noears and Rags both nodded.

“Strong Chieftains. Not run. One—big Hob with tribe of many Hobs. Another—[Witch]. Knows fire magic. And a tribe with many thieves. Sneaks into places and steals…”

Rags listened, nodding appreciatively at the information. These tribes certainly were a cut above the ones around Liscor. She wondered if there were Goblin tribes in the south who were just as strong, besides the two she knew of. Had the Goblin Lord absorbed all of them into his army?

She was also curious about one of the Chieftains Noears had mentioned. A Chieftain who was also a [Witch]? Rags would love to meet her, but they were too far away. Going to visit their territory would mean a long journey, careful planning, scouting and fighting against monsters and Humans…and besides, after Tremborag, Rags was a bit tired of meeting new tribes.

That was how Rags occupied herself on the first part of the march. The second part as they crossed an open section of ground filled with untouched snow was devoted to fighting and avoiding monsters.

Golem!

The cry went up among the Goblins. Rags immediately kicked her Carn Wolf and shot forwards. She saw Redfang Warriors racing towards her waving their arms, at the same time she saw the Snow Golem.

It was…about the size of a hill. That was to say, it was around two hundred…two hundred and sixty feet high. And it was nearly as wide as it was tall. The massive abomination of snow groaned, the sound echoing for miles, the product of shifting tonnes of snow and dirt and rock.

Rags stared at the Snow Golem. It was no classic snowman built by Human kids anymore. It was more like a squat, vaguely pyramidal horror with long arms that scythed around aimlessly as it moved. Slowly.

It hadn’t noticed the Flooded Waters tribe yet. Rags immediately shouted and her Goblins changed course, moving perpendicular to the Snow Golem to keep well away from it.

Snow Golems. Goblins knew countless monsters thanks to their tribal memory and experience living in the wilderness. But Snow Golems were usually one of the few monsters Goblins didn’t fear. After all, a normal one wasn’t that big unless the kids that made it were really ambitious and all they could do was smack you with their twig arms.

True, they could hit you hard enough to draw blood, but they were just snow. Hardly a threat unless they smothered you. Of the Golem species, Snow Golems were weaker than Mud Golems or Sand Golems, which was…embarrassing, really.

It was only when they got this big that Snow Golems got less funny. In the Winter, Snow Golems could get very big very fast, and hill-sized ones like these were to be avoided at all costs. So long as you kept your distance though, you were still pretty safe. All a Snow Golem could do at range was hurl part of itself at you. That was a concern with such a huge one, but they had terrible aim.

Giant Snow Golems weren’t too dangerous…unless you happened to walk past one while it wasn’t moving. Then the Snow Golem would grab you and swallow you whole. The stones, shards of ice, and crushing pressure of the Golem’s body would grind you into paste quite quickly.

Oh, and cities, Rags supposed. If a Snow Golem found a city or village it would have to be slain quickly or lured away. Otherwise the city would be destroyed.

But all in all, it wasn’t a threat. Rags was just relaxing as the Snow Golem became a distant mound slowly moving on the horizon when she heard another call go up.

“Attack! Monster!”

It was Noears who delivered this report. Rags turned left and saw something coming at her tribe through the snow, leaving a geyser in its wake.

Yes, most monsters usually fled a huge force of Goblins. No lone Mothbear would attack a vast tribe, even if it was starving. But some monsters could prey on Goblin tribes, attacking fast and taking away their victims. Other monsters were just insane.

Which kind was this? Rags couldn’t see the monster amid the churning snow, but she shouted and the nearest group of warriors rushed forwards. They all had pikes she was glad to see, and they formed a wall, aimed at the approaching monster.

Rags waited, tense, astride her snarling wolf. More Goblins were rushing towards her, but they’d get here after the monster. She had to weather the first assault. And now, as the monster charged her Goblins, she saw what it was.

Half of a thing. At least, that’s what Rags thought. The creature was dark green, skin full of crags. It looked…like half of a body. The upper half.

Huge, terribly long and powerful arms with massive claws that dragged it forwards. A torso of some dark green hide armored with what looked like scales of metal. But no lower half. And no head. Rags saw a gaping mouth where the neck should be, but no eyes.

It was some kind of horror, some monstrosity. Rags felt her Goblins shudder, but she shouted at them to hold position. There was no time to load her crossbow—Rags pointed at the thing and cast [Firefly].

The flaming insect-bird burned as it struck the monster, but the searing heat seemed to do nothing to the monster’s thick hide. Rags pulled the gem of [Terror] from her belt and held it up. Only briefly—it would affect her Goblin warriors too. But though they shuddered as the effects struck them, the crawling thing only dragged itself forwards again, ignoring the magic.

Hold ground!

Rags screamed it at her warriors, and then the crawling monster crashed into the rows of pikes. It didn’t slow, and it didn’t stop. Rags saw the wooden tips of the pikes breaking as they snapped under the monster’s charge.

But some stuck into the creature. It jerked as two rammed deep into it, drawing viscous green blood. But it still kept coming.

Goblins screamed and the formation broke as the pikes failed. The crawling thing snatched up five Goblins and pressed them against its oval mouth full of teeth. Rags saw the Goblins screaming, flailing—then only blood.

“Chieftain!”

Lightning struck the crawler as it dropped the remains and crawled towards Rags. She pulled her mount back as Noears ran forwards and zapped the crawler. It didn’t flinch as it kept coming.

“Redfang!”

Another cry. Redfang warriors on Carn Wolves sped forwards, slashing at the dark green hide of the crawler’s back, drawing blood. But their weapons failed to cut deep as well, and the crawler swung at them, knocking one Goblin off his wolf.

“Surround! More pikes! Get Hobs!”

Rags screamed at her Goblins, trying to organize them. She brought every pike she could to bear on the thing—giving her Goblins a chance to hurt it as it charged them. She had crossbows pelting it, but still the crawler kept charging into the ranks of her warriors, heedless of the horrible injuries it was taking.

In the end, her Hobs had to wade in and bash it to death. The one with the mace managed to break something in one of the arms, and the others held the second down while Pyrite and the strongest Hobs beat at the thing. It took a long time to die.

When it was over, Rags counted the dead. Thirty five Goblins had died, eight of them Redfang warriors. She felt disgusted at herself and angry at the thing—when Noears told her it was a good battle she nearly struck him.

“Killed too many!”

He just shrugged. He was sweaty from casting so many spells, but he looked better than her Hobs. All of them had taken wounds, especially the ones who’d had to hold down the thing’s good arm. Rags shouted at one to get a potion and the Hob gratefully went to get one from one of the wagons. She glared at Noears.

“What was?”

He shook his head as he stared at the dead green thing, lying in a puddle of its own gore in the stained snow.

“Crawler. Armored one.”

Rags eyed the dead monstrosity. None of the Goblins were willing to get near it, although a few with pikes kept poking it to make sure it wasn’t faking.

“What is?”

He didn’t know. Some kind of failed mage experiment maybe? Whatever the original had been, it had found a way to multiply over the years. It was just one monster among the ones around Invrisil, if a rare breed. The crawlers were suicidally aggressive. They’d attack anything edible, regardless of the danger. That they were still around was a testament to how hard they were to kill.

Rags stared at the dead Goblins, already going to a wagon to be chopped up later for food. She looked away.

She hadn’t participated in the battle. Oh, she’d organized her tribe, but Rags had only cast one spell. She’d had to lead, not fight. And her Goblins were dead because of it. It made Rags feel sick to her stomach, but she could only move on.

The Goblins left the crawler behind. None of them wanted to try eating it, and Rags wasn’t sure if it would be safe. She had the Goblins who’d gotten blood on them scrub the places clean with hot water, and then she marched on. They weren’t far from the village now.

It was late in the evening when Rags saw the village, a collection of rundown buildings in the snow, looking for all the world like an abandoned settlement.

She wasn’t fooled, though. As soon as she saw the village Rags immediately ordered all the non-warriors to pull back a few hundred feet with a good-sized detachment of warriors to guard them. The rest of her warriors she took with her.

To battle.

The Goblins who lived in this part of the continent shuddered as they approached. They knew what this place was. The other Goblins picked up on the mood, but Rags kept them going.

And as they approached the village, the keen eyes of the Goblins began to pick out the inhabitants. They villagers wandered among the ruins of their home, shambling, ignoring the freezing snow.

Zombies.

It seemed like the light was darker around this place, or maybe the sun was just setting more quickly. But this was a famous spot. A village of the dead. A place where the dead could not die.

Zombie villages weren’t unheard of. If a horde killed off an entire village, they could soon all become shambling undead creatures. But this one was…unique. Because these zombies didn’t move from this village. They guarded their former home in death as they had in life.

No one knew why. But though adventuring teams had been sent and monsters had clashed with the undead, no one had been able to raze the village once and for all. There were simply too many zombies. With each death, a new one rose to join their ranks so that this village was small, but Rags knew hundreds or more than a thousand zombies had to be hiding in the snow, or in the houses.

No one came here. There was too much death. Overwhelming death. That was the consensus among Goblins and Humans, it seemed. This village of the dead was a beehive waiting to be disturbed. And once it was, it would consume whomever was foolish enough to trespass here.

But Rags wanted a fight. She had her sword and buckler out and she was leading her Goblins herself—against her commander’s objections. Pyrite was walking next to her, axe on his shoulder. He’d only nodded when she said she wanted to test her forces against this village.

Rags called a halt as she saw the zombies take notice of her warriors. She began organizing them, putting pikes out front, having her crossbows move to the center while she pulled the wolf riders back for quick attacks. She was going to attack this army of the dead with her new formation and see how well it held up.

It felt wrong to make her Goblins fight after the crawling thing, but Rags had decided to do it anyways. The way they’d broken when it had gotten past the pikes proved that she needed to drill them, to make them into a unified fighting force.

The zombies came in a shambling mass. They didn’t run, but they moved faster than Rags would have liked. She eyed them, watching for the telltale sign of Ghouls or other undead stalking along the mass of zombies, but found none around the outskirts of the village.

More were rising from the snow. Rags looked at her Goblin warriors. She had a good box formation—a phalanx if Rags had known the word—going on. But she didn’t want to remain stationary.

“Pikes!”

They stiffened as Rags raised her voice. The Goblins warriors holding the pikes were not elites. They didn’t like being in front without Hobs, but Rags wanted to prove to them her new tactics would work. She shouted at them and they tensed, leveling their spears at the sea of dead bodies coming at them.

“Charge!”

Rags pointed her sword and the Goblins around her ran forwards, screaming in both fear and rage. She ran too.

The pike Goblins hit the zombies hard. Rags saw bodies being impaled on the spears, and those that survived ran into the Goblins in the formation with swords who hacked at them. Rags shouted, and the pikes fought for a few seconds before attempting to disengage.

It was hard. She ran forwards, cutting and found Pyrite and other Goblin warriors were at her side. They forced the zombies back and the Goblins ran, some abandoning their pikes despite Rags shouting.

Rags thrust her short sword into a zombie’s head and watched as it fell. But only seconds after it had fallen she saw it trying to get back up. She cursed. This wasn’t what she’d thought would happen at all!

This village of the dead refused to die. Zombies came back to life…in a manner of speaking. When killed, they would reattach their severed limbs, regenerate burned skin. Rags had heard it was possible to kill them by disintegrating them or chopping them up into really small bits, but it was hard to do that when countless more of them were attacking you.

She’d thought it would be a good group to test her warriors on. But these zombies came to back life fast. Rags burned the corpse with [Firefly] and shouted at her warriors to retreat.

They did so, the Hobs moving back last. They were far stronger than zombies and easily cut the dead apart. But they kept coming back.

This truly was a village that no one could use. Necromancers couldn’t control these strange zombies, and it was pointless to try and eradicate the bodies. They just kept reforming, making the dead villagers and victims over the years into a truly immortal force. And if it were just zombies it would be fine. However…

“Ghouls!”

Rags heard the cry go out. She looked over and saw Poisonbite shouting. Crossbows loosed and Rags saw darting shapes streaming out of the village stumbling, but more came on. She shouted and the Goblins around her started running in a true retreat.

“Chieftain!”

Rags heard Pyrite and turned to see a Ghoul leaping at her from the left. She cut at it and dodged it. The Ghoul landed, one arm dangling uselessly. Rags stabbed at it. She got it in the throat, but the Ghoul just impaled itself further on her blade as it rushed at her. Rags bashed it with her buckler, but the Ghoul cut her. It ripped at the leather armor on her stomach and Rags gasped as she felt something slice her belly. Then it struck her on the head and the world went dark.

“Chieftain!”

Something shook the ground around Rags. She stumbled, flailing with the buckler but the Ghoul was gone. Rags fell back. So. She couldn’t kill one Ghoul? She really was…

She felt someone pulling her back. Away…

When Rags woke up, her tribe was marching quickly. She sat up groggily, but it was dark. She realized they were marching away from the village and dropped her head back to whatever she was lying on.

Rags slept.

—-

When he was young, the Goblin King often caught the many varieties of insects in his jungle home. He would study each one he caught before eating them. Some were brightly colored beetles, others worms with wings, or biting insects made far too large. Many were poisonous and kept him sick. Others were actually tasty, or had beneficial effects.

The Goblin King learned which were good and taught his friends and tribe. So it was that he became a [Healer] long before he became a Chieftain of his tribe. And he never forgot, even when his [Healer] class was merged into his [Chieftain] class…

Rags sat up. She covered her aching head in her hands and then realized she was healed. She was healed—

And she was in camp. It was late at night, very late. Goblins were camped…where? Rags looked around.

They were sitting in the middle of the snowy plains. Far, a few miles away from the village. Far enough that Pyrite must have decided they were safe. He’d saved her.

Rags remembered what had happened in jolts as she struggled to her feet. She felt tired—weak. And ashamed.

“Chieftain.”

Someone came towards her. A huge shape. Pyrite. He saw Rags was up and immediately called out. A Goblin ran over with hot meat on a stick. Rags tore at it greedily as Pyrite led her to a fire where the ground had been cleared to sit.

Goblins were lying or sitting in small groups in the cold night. Many of them glanced up as Rags passed by and then looked down. She couldn’t meet their eyes and the food in her hands cooled as she lost her appetite.

“Eat. Sit.”

Pyrite sat Rags down. She found herself sitting at a small fire with the Hob and one other Goblin. Greybeard smiled at Rags as he chewed on some tough meat.

There was something in Rags’ eyes. It made her stare at the fire and it was in Pyrite’s gaze and Greybeard’s as well. Not reproach; that would have been easier.

“How many dead?”

That was all Rags asked. Pyrite thought.

“Less than a hundred.”

He didn’t lie, but Rags didn’t want to know how many less than a hundred really was. Ninety nine? She stared into the fire.

“My fault.”

None of the Goblins around her replied. They knew it was true. Rags had made a mistake. She’d taken her Goblins here to fight—because she’d wanted to fight. She’d wanted to prove she was a good warrior and a Chieftain. All she’d done was get Goblins killed.

“Chieftain wants to be a warrior. Is not one.”

Greybeard cackled and Pyrite poked him hard, making the older Goblin yelp. Rags said nothing. She bowed her head.

A bit of envy. A bit of frustration. She did want to be a better warrior than she was. She liked being a Chieftain, but it hadn’t been enough, had it? So she’d killed over a hundred Goblins today with her pride.

It was painful. And yet Rags still felt the same desire in her chest. The urge.

“Too weak. I am weak.”

She looked at Pyrite. He paused, and nodded.

“Best leader is smart. But strong is also good.”

“I must be strong.”

Greybeard nodded. Pyrite nodded. Rags knew the Goblins pretending to slumber around her agreed. A Chieftain could be cunning, but she had to be strong enough too. Strong with her head, strong with her body—Rags desired both.

“Tell me about the Goblin King.”

Rags said it suddenly. She looked at Greybeard and the old Goblin froze. Pyrite looked at Rags.

“Long time ago.”

“Yes.”

Long for a Goblin. But not for a Human. Many had been alive when the last Goblin King had, and Tremborag had fought with him. Surely this old Goblin knew the King. Rags remembered the Goblin King as a small Goblin, foraging in a jungle and was suddenly consumed by curiosity.

“Who was he? Why did he kill? What does it mean to be Goblin?”

The Goblins fell silent. What few that had been eating paused, and Rags knew that they weren’t pretending to look away. All eyes turned to Greybeard.

And he—lost his usual grin. He stopped eating and stared into the fire. And when he spoke, his voice was deeper. It wasn’t crackling and merry, but somber. Quiet.

“The Goblin King was a peaceful king for many years. Six years he ruled and we lived without fighting.”

Rags stared at him. She had never known that.

“Without?”

“Without.”

Greybeard tossed an unchewed bone into the fire and watched it crack.

“We made peace with the Humans, Gnolls, even Drakes. On this continent. On Baleros we forged alliances. While he lived, Goblins were only hunted in a few places, and most of us prospered.”

He only acted stupid. Rags stared at the old Hobgoblin and looked at Pyrite. He looked at her, calm and unsurprised. He knew Greybeard was smart. How?

“You remember?”

Rags saw Greybeard turn. His face was caught by the dim firelight and she saw a younger Goblin there. How old did you have to be to have your hair turn white? He grinned at her, exposing his remaining yellow teeth.

“Know him? I saw him die. I was there. I remember the Goblin King, Velan. And as the Humans and other races named him: Velan the Kind. And I remember the King before that. Curulac of a Hundred Days.”

Silence. Perfect, so quiet you could hear the snow fall. No Goblin here had known the last Goblin King. And Rags had never known the one before him.

Curulac. Who had he been? The oldest memory she had experienced hadn’t hinted of him. She could only look back to the Goblin King’s youth now.

“What were they like?”

Greybeard paused. Then he pointed up and smiled.

“Like stars.”

Rags looked up at the night sky. She stared as some clouds shifted and the stars emerged. She understood. Distant, radiant things, untouchable. Unreachable.

“How can I become a better Chieftain?”

“Learn.”

That was all Graybeard said. Pyrite stared at Rags and shrugged. He fished the bone out of the fire, cooled it in some snow, and began to chew it to bits.

Rags got up and walked away from the fire. She walked around her camp once, twice. She checked on the wounded, but Pyrite had given potions to those that needed it. She watched the sun rise, and then found the Redfang warriors.

They were quiet too from last night’s battle. But few of them had died, and they were already beginning to train as the sun slowly rose. Rags stopped before Redscar with her buckler and sword. He was doing pushups. He paused, and then turned his head sideways as Rags got down on the ground and copied him.

“Chieftain. Bad form.”

“How?”

“Like this.”

He corrected her arms, made her place her hands wider, straighten her back. Rags grunted as she struggled to hold that position. She was fit, but not like he was. After a while her arms began to hurt, but she kept lowering herself to the ground and lifting herself up slowly.

“Good. Slow. Do twenty more.”

Redscar supervised her as Rags did more pushups, determined not to cry out. She knew other Redfang warriors were watching her. When she was done, she was sweating with exhaustion in the cold.

“What now?”

“Now—other exercises. Want to try?”

“Yes.”

Rags followed Redscar as he performed various stretches and moves which made her muscles burn. When he was done Rags felt as if she’d never been more tired. She hadn’t known just doing things like lifting her legs over her head could get so tiring.

“Chieftain is not bad.”

Redscar grinned at Rags. He had a sword in his hand. She eyed it as she sat up.

“What now?”

“Now? Sparring unless moving.”

Rags made a face. She hated sparring. She’d done it with Garen and leveled up, but only a bit. She pointed at the other Redfang warriors. They were locking blades, letting each other parry blows, strike at each other. When they were actually intending to hit each other they used dull, wood weapons.

“Does it work?”

“Works. You will level.”

“Haven’t much.”

Rags caught a tossed practice sword and hopped back as Redscar slashed at her. She held her buckler up and jabbed at him, keeping him away. He slid forwards and nearly broke her guard with a heavy blow.

“Garen Redfang only beat you up. Training means winning too.”

Pyrite and Greybeard found Rags training with another Redfang warrior as the rest of the Goblins finished packing up the camp. Rags was exhausted. She’d lost to Redscar every time they’d sparred, but won twice against some of the weaker Redfang warriors.

Greybeard cackled as he saw Rags bash a Redfang warrior in the head and then poke him hard in the gut with her wooden sword.

“Hah! Chieftain is strong! For Goblin.”

“Not for Hob.”

“True.”

Redscar watched approvingly from the side. He and the other Redfang warriors had observed Rags’ progress and she felt they were more accepting of her than they had been. She wasn’t nearly as good as they were, but she had kept up with them.

“Will train every day?”

Pyrite glanced at one of the Redfang Hobs who was dueling four Goblins at once. Rags nodded. She saw Poisonbite and Noears had come by as well. Poisonbite was watching some of the male Redfang warriors who’d stripped down to almost nothing with interest. Noears was watching the female ones with interest.

“Will train. Pyrite, you will too. All warriors will.”

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Rags nodded appreciatively at him, but Poisonbite scowled. She folded her arms, looking unhappy at the idea of that kind of exercise.

“Goblins do not train.”

Rubbing her sore arms, Rags eyed her. Poisonbite was one of the typical Goblin warriors. She liked fighting, but didn’t like practicing fighting. You either fought or rested. She answered the female Goblin shortly.

“My Goblins will.”

“Is it Goblin?”

The challenge came as Rags was picking up her short sword. Rags whirled, fury in her eyes. It wasn’t a direct attack, but it was as close as any Goblin had come. Poisonbite flinched a bit, but she didn’t back down from Rags.

“It is Goblin. Goblins must be strong.”

“Training is not Goblin.”

Poisonbite didn’t quite dare meet Rags’ eyes. Rags hissed. Why were Goblins like Poisonbite so small? So…?

She had her sword in one hand. Rags longed to raise it, but someone hurried in front of her. Greybeard. He had a bowl of soup in his hands and cackled at her in that deceptive tone of his.

“No angry, Chieftain. Calm, yes. Eat food. Is tasty. Eat.”

She stared at him. Two innocent eyes stared back. Greybeard was pretending to be…senile again. With a noise of disgust Rags seized the bowl. She found she did feel better after a few mouthfuls of food, but she still eyed Poisonbite angrily.

“Did the Goblin Kings do that?”

“Do what, Chieftain?”

Greybeard stared at Rags innocently. She stared back.

“Did they do it? Train?”

“If they did, it was Goblin.”

It was a non-answer. Rags made a noise of disgust and hurled the empty bowl at Greybeard. He caught it and cackled.

“Training is good! Makes Goblins strong! If Chieftain says so, is it not Goblin?”

“It is good. And it will make Goblins live.”

That was all Rags said. She stared at Poisonbite—the other Goblins refused to meet her eyes. But Noears calmly nodded.

“Yes Chieftain.”

That would have to do. Rags nodded. But Redscar intercepted her as she went back for a second helping of food.

“Chieftain. Where now?”

Rags stared at him blankly. Then she remembered. They were camped out here, with provisions depleting with each meal. What should they do now?

She only had a vague idea. Rags hesitated, then pointed south.

“Go home. Fight Goblin Lord. Make base.”

Redscar nodded.

“Old Redfang base? Good. Defensive.”

“Maybe.”

Rags pondered. She was more concerned about the immediate march.

“Must hunt. Get food. Also—Humans.”

The Goblin bared his teeth, making the scar on his face twist.

“Lots of Humans, Chieftain. To kill?”

Rags hesitated. That certainly seemed to be their only choice. But…

Too weak. Rags felt the same pang in her chest. How could she lead her tribe when she couldn’t be fighting in the front? No—how could she order them to fight Human adventurers, who might kill hundreds of them?

She was not Tremborag. But she was a Chieftain now. She had the class. Rags felt it. The thing she’d felt since waking yesterday.

Pressure. And a bit of fear that she wasn’t good enough.

But she was Chieftain. Rags squared her shoulder and stood tall. She looked down at Redscar, though he was physically taller than she was. But Rags stood ten feet tall. She was a Chieftain. And inspiration flickered in her mind as she stared across her vast tribe, thousands strong now.

“We will go south. And Humans? I will beat them all.”

“You, Chieftain? How?”

“With head. Not arm.”

Redscar stared at her. Then, he smiled.

“Good. That is why we follow you.”

Rags grinned in reply.

—-

It was a large adventuring group that found the Furgather Tribe in their home. Over forty Bronze-rank adventurers and six Silver-rank adventurers attacked the tribe’s camp at midday. They slew the Chieftain and fought the Hobs with overwhelming numbers while the others held the Goblins at bay.

They had come to wipe out the tribe. The Goblins were pressed up against a cliff wall, unable to escape. Old Goblins and children fled the adventurers with blades, who cut down all Goblins without distinction. If some hesitated when they saw the infants, well, they were new. The Silver-rank ones had taken more than one extermination request.

The Furgather tribe wasn’t a strong one. They had preyed on villages, stolen rather than killed. They were weak, the weakest of monsters in a place where only the strong survived. Now, the remaining Goblins cried out as they formed an ever-shrinking core, trying to defend their friends and families.

They cried out for someone to save them, knowing that no one would come. Knowing there were no gods, and certainly none for Goblins. But someone did hear them.

A wolf howled. The adventurers heard the sound and some turned to look. They saw a wolf sitting on a distant hill. One of the adventurers with [Keen Eyes] cried out and pointed.

“Mounted Goblin!”

There was indeed a Goblin mounted on the back of the Carn Wolf. She had a crossbow in her hands and she was aiming it at the adventurers. Instantly, they turned—ten Bronze rank adventurers keeping the remaining Furgather Goblins pinned while the rest spread out. Where there was one Goblin, they knew there would be more.

But they were not prepared for the army that came over the hill. Goblins, a huge mass of them, flooded over the hill. Not just any wild Goblins either; the adventurers saw a row of pikes forming a wall aimed at them, while the rest took positions behind them.

Thousands of Goblins. Some sat on the backs of huge red wolves, others were the dreaded Hob variants, tall as any Human and far stronger than most. And the Goblins standing on the hill all had crossbows trained on the adventurers.

They had height, numbers, and everything else on their side. The adventurers froze with fear. They saw huge Hobs, a match for any Silver-rank adventurer, among the Goblins’ number.

They were going to die.

But the Goblins didn’t attack. They held position, waiting. And then the Goblin the adventurers had first seen rode slowly towards the tribe. She was small. Young. But she was their Chieftain.

And she saw what the adventurers had done. The Goblin looked at the dead bodies of the Furgather tribe’s warriors and sighed. Then she looked at the adventurers. There was something cold in her eyes. But all she said to them were two things.

“Drop weapons.”

The adventurers stared at her. Rags pointed at one of them—a Silver-rank [Ranger] with a bow.

“Drop. Or die.”

She hesitated. The other adventurers waited for her cue. Did they fight and surely die, or surrender and…? They knew what Goblins did to women.

The [Ranger] chose to fight. She swung her bow up, but lightning struck her and eight arrows struck her before she could draw the arrow in her bow. She fell, and the other adventurers cried out—eight arrows had struck the [Ranger], but stray shots had landed among them.

“Surrender.”

That was all the small Goblin said. The adventurers threw down their weapons, realizing they had no chance. The Furgather Goblins rushed forwards, crying out with rage, but the Goblin on the wolf shouted something at them in their own language.

It was a strange group of forty nearly naked adventurers who ran from the place where the Furgather Goblins had lived. Their armor was gone, as were their weapons. But they were alive, which was more than could be said for many of the Furgather tribe. They sat, mourning their dead as some were made into food.

Rags found the one of the Goblins who might be in charge. He stared up at her, afraid of her Carn Wolf and her strange tribe. She nodded to him.

I am Rags. Flooded Waters Chieftain.

He gabbled his thanks at her. Rags cut him off. She pointed at his tribe.

“Can rebuild. Or follow.”

Then she turned and rode away. Her tribe followed. The Furgather Goblin stared at her back for a second, and then called out. His Goblins followed Rags’ tribe.

—-

An hour later, a large caravan moved down the road, headed towards the city of Ostegrast. It was a large caravan as they went. Over thirty laden wagons rumbled down the road, protected by a force of nearly a hundred [Guards] and [Mercenaries]. Around these lands, there was safety in such numbers. The [Traders] and [Merchants] in the convoy sat comfortably on their mounts, secure in the knowledge that few monsters would dare attack them.

But then they heard the drumbeats. At first, it was just an odd sound that made some of the Humans pick at their ears, wondering if they were hearing things. But then they heard the sound grow louder, and knew it was no illusion.

“An army?”

The [Merchant] in charge of the caravan rode up beside the [Mercenary Captain], a tall man who used a broadsword and shield. The man frowned as he looked towards the horizon.

“I haven’t heard of one. And they wouldn’t be beating the drums. There’s no war going on!”

“Then what—”

The question went unasked. The drums suddenly grew louder, and more sounded from the opposite direction of the caravan. It slowed as all of those riding had a terrible premonition.

“Can we get off the road?”

“Too late.”

The mercenary drew his sword and shouted orders. The caravan moved into a circular formation and the guards spread out to guard their charges. And all the while the heavy beats grew louder and louder.

The drums thundered. They sounded more like crashing metal than a conventional drum. The rhythmic thumping went through the bones of the Humans who stared around in fear.

Then they saw the Goblins. Hundreds of them. Thousands. They seemed to appear from nowhere out of the snow. And indeed—some of them were sitting up and brushing snow off of their bodies. They had been lying there, waiting for the caravan.

It was a trap! The [Guards] closed ranks around the frightened [Merchants] and [Traders]. They held their weapons up as an act of defiance more than anything else; against so many Goblins and surrounded as they were, there was no hope of survival.

A Goblin rode forwards. Rags had the gem of [Terror] in one hand, but she didn’t want to use it. She wanted those horses and the cargo—intact.

The Humans were waiting for death, but they weren’t prepared for the Goblins on the other side of the road to part ranks. They stared at the opening formed and at Rags with suspicion and fear.

“Leave wagons. Run. Live.”

Rags grinned at them, her black crossbow resting on her Carn Wolf’s head, much to the beast’s annoyance. The Humans hesitated.

Goblins? Acting like bandits? It was unheard of. Goblins would rather just slaughter all of them, surely. But this Goblin was giving them a way out.

The mercenary captain was first to move. He cautiously called out, and his soldiers shuffled towards the gap. The [Merchants] and [Traders] shouted at them to stay, but no one in the convoy was going to die for nothing. Soon, all the Humans were standing away from the wagons. They stared at Rags, as if afraid she was going to order her Goblins to attack now.

“We can leave? You swear it?”

One of the Humans called out uncertainly. Rags rolled her eyes she waved her hands.

“Shoo. Go away.”

She gestured, and the Humans slowly backed away towards freedom. Only when they were past the last Goblins and dared to race away on their horses did Rags signal her Goblins to move in.

The cargo was full of food and other goods, a bountiful shipment meant to keep the Human city well supplied and make the [Merchants] and [Traders] rich. Rags grinned as she and Pyrite inspected the boxes.

“Lots of horses.”

She liked horses. They were good at pulling things and tasty, too. Pyrite was also smiling. There was some dried jerky in the crates that he was already testing.

“Do again?”

Rags nodded. She figured she had one day before word got out. Goblins raiding the roads was bad for business, and surely an army would be sent to destroy them. But by that point she’d be going south, to war with the Goblin Lord.

And perhaps…perhaps the army sent would be slower than most. Because Rags had only killed five Humans today. Only the ones who would rather die than give up their goods or throw down their weapons.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was her plan. Goblins could be like bandits, who were more like people than Goblins. And she could win battles with her head and without losing a single Goblin, which was better than them dying.

She smiled at Pyrite. He chewed some jerky and offered her some. She waved it away.

“Is this good Chieftain thing?”

He shrugged.

“Scare the Humans. Good plan. Is fun.”

Rags nodded. She stared towards the sky. It was daytime, so the stars weren’t visible. But she wondered if the Goblin King had been like this. Once upon a time. Had he wondered if what he was doing was right? Had he made so many bad mistakes?

She didn’t know. Rags could only trust herself. So she called out and her Goblins cleared the road. They could raid one more caravan. Then they’d be heading south. Towards Liscor. Towards war and death, Rags knew. But also to a small inn she’d missed. And an innkeeper that Rags wanted to speak with, to talk with. To ask her questions and hear her reply.

South.

Back home.

Interlude – Wistram Days (Pt. 1)

“You have been accepted to Wistram Academy. Present yourself on the docks in South Harbor, Belan, Terandria two weeks from now. Do not be late.”

Ceria Springwalker still remembered the words the examiner had spoken to her. And now here she sat, on the salt-crusted docks in South Harbor, in the city of Belan, one of the southern port-cities on the continent of Terandria. She was not late.

Still, the half-Elf could not help but look around nervously now and then. She had no idea what to expect, but she only knew that she’d been waiting for this day for over forty years and she was terrified of making a mistake.

She was 58 years old, and while that was quite a lot of years for a Human, Ceria was still considered a young adult by her people. But she was old enough to be independent and so there was no one to see her off.

The same could not be said of the other people gathered on the docks. It was an odd assortment. Ordinary citizens, respectably dressed, stood next to men and women dressed in expensive clothing that practically reeked of the aristocracy. In point of fact, neither group stood next to one another—there was usually a well-dressed manservant in the way.

But it was here that the rich and poor had come alike, to see their family and friends off. This was the one day in the year when the isle of Wistram opened, and they accepted new students.

Ceria’s palms were sweaty. She wiped them on her trousers and hoped no one would notice. Already she was attracting some attention. It was rare for a prospective student to be alone, especially given the entrance fee.

Twenty gold pieces. That was the price for attending Wistram Academy for a month. It was a ridiculous sum, and Ceria had spent the best part of a decade saving enough money to afford the cost. But it had been worth it. Would be worth it.

She knew other families probably didn’t have that much money. The nobles and merchants, yes, but the other families had to have sold off heirlooms or borrowed heavily to meet the cost. But assuming they had that much money, anyone could enter Wistram.

Anyone with magic, that was.

Ceria had proven her abilities by showing the examiner a few of the spells she’d taught herself. [Stone Dart], [Flame Jet]—and of course, the spell that had saved her life many times. [Chameleon].

They weren’t high-Tier spells. In fact, all of these spells were barely Tier 2. But it was powerful magic for someone who’d never had the luxury of owning a spellbook, and that, added to the steep entrance fee, had bought Ceria a place on the ship.

It was a tall vessel, the Errant Traveller. Two massive sails stood furled as the ship floated in its berth. Ceria had already noticed the sailors and [Captain] bustling around the ship, so she predicted they’d be underway soon enough.

“Are they about to set sail?”

Ceria’s pointed ears perked up as she heard a young man—no, a boy, really—talking excitedly to his parents. He was with a family seeing off a woman – a merchant’s daughter by the looks of her – as they excitedly scrutinized the ship. The young boy tugged harder at his mother’s hand.

“Can I go too? How will they get there? Is the ship magic, too?”

“Hush. Let your sister say her goodbyes in peace. And who knows whether the ship is magical? When you’re a [Mage], I expect all sorts of wondrous things are possible.”

Ceria had to smirk at that, although she turned away so no one would notice. Magic ships? Maybe if they were enchanted, but she very much doubted this one was. The family seemed to think this was some special ship, but it was just an ordinary vessel to Ceria’s eye.

After all, students from around the world would be making the journey to Wistram this day. Rather than keep a fleet of their own, the mages doubtless found it easier to simply hire ship captains to transport students for them.

And as if her thoughts had summoned him, suddenly the [Captain] was striding down the gangway, speaking loudly.

“The Errant Traveller is ready to go! All students are to come aboard one at a time. Tell me your names and I shall cross you off the list!”

The people on the docks stirred. Several young men and women darted towards the gangway as if being last meant you wouldn’t be allowed on board. Ceria saw last goodbyes hurriedly exchanged as she stood up.

A long queue of bodies was already stretching down the dock by the time Ceria joined the line. She saw only Humans standing behind each other. Quietly, Ceria took her place behind a young man in expensive clothes, trying to ignore the looks the other people gave her.

The line moved forwards slowly, but Ceria passed the time thinking of what would happen next. The journey by boat would take several days assuming the weather held. And when they reached the isle, she’d probably have to wait through an introduction. After that she had just over a month to prove herself and be accepted—

Or sent home.

“Next!”

Ceria walked forwards and realized she was standing at the entrance to the ship. The Captain stared down at Ceria. His eyes flicked to her ears, but he made no comment.

“Name?”

“Ceria Springwalker.”

“Yes, I see your name on the list. Go on and find a place down below. Cause no trouble and cast no magic while you are on my ship.”

Was that last line for her? But Ceria dimly recalled the others being told the same. She nodded and stepped onto the deck of the ship. It took her a few seconds to get used to the gentle rocking of the boat and then she was fine.

Glancing around, Ceria saw some of the new students stumbling around, much to the amusement of the sailors watching them. She glanced over her shoulder and saw only ten or so more people waiting in line. The Captain was slowly running his finger down the list as he stared at a scrawny young man dressed in shabby clothes.

A list? Was that all he was using, people’s names on a piece of paper? What if Ceria had claimed to be someone else? Was it really that easy to steal a spot on board?

Most [Captains] could read well, but Ceria was still surprised that anyone would use such an uncertain system. Then, as she passed by the Captain she saw that he was holding a piece of paper with her face printed on it. It was so lifelike Ceria nearly gasped, but as the Captain went down the list the paper changed, showing the face of the next student attempting to board.

Magic.

She grinned and walked below decks. The sudden darkness was a stark change, but light shone through port holes. And as Ceria’s eyes adjusted she saw that this ship was well-equipped for transporting so many people. Instead of the hammocks sailors used, small cots had been set up with pillows and blankets to make sleeping on the hard wood easier.

Most of the new students had congregated near the center and already chosen a spot. Ceria looked around for somewhere secluded. Her arrival had not gone unnoticed though, and the eager group of young men and women turned to look at her.

That’s when the whispers started. Ceria had expected it, but it still made her stomach clench. The people who had noticed her pointed and exclaimed, and then began to talk amongst each other.

“Hey. Is that…?”

“No. Really?”

“I think it is. One of them.”

“Ugh. They let that apply?”

“Half-Elf.”

It was a word spoken like a curse. Ceria ignored the voices and dumped her belongings in a corner of the ship. The young woman who’d chosen a place three spots over stared at her in disgust and moved away. Ceria stared out one of the portholes, keeping her face calm and blank.

Half-Elf. That was what she was, and that was the reason for the distrust from the other Humans. The reputation of half-Elves was well known on Terandria. They were untrustworthy, thieves, criminals and bandits at the best of times. They lied, cast harmful magics, preyed on good, innocent folk, and they stole children out of cradles at night.

In truth, everyone knew that last claim was false. Most half-Elves wanted as little to do with Humans as possible, and no one wanted to raise a stinking Human brat. Half-Elves kept to their own communities, on the edges of society, and they were tolerated because they were useful and some half-Elves had valuable Skills or high levels. But they were not liked.

On this continent, at least. Ceria sighed as the whispering subsided. Terandria was not kind to most non-human species, on a continent where the populace was overwhelmingly Human. Maybe another continent—Izril or Baleros, perhaps—would be different where Humans were just one species among many.

But it seemed that while these Humans were prepared to leave behind their home and families to learn magic, they still brought their hatreds with them. Ceria only hoped Wistram would be more open to her.

It was hard to hide being a half-Elf, anyways. Ceria knew her unearthly complexion stood out even in a crowd, and besides that, she had pointed ears. It was almost as bad as having a scar on your forehead to point you out and it had already ostracized her from the others in the hold.

“Ah, hello? Is this seat taken?”

Startled, Ceria looked up. She’d already begun organizing her small pack so she’d be sleeping with it to her back in case someone tried to steal from her. She looked up and saw a young man’s face, a nervous smile, and a shock of brown hair. It was the smile that surprised Ceria the most.

“Is this seat taken? I don’t believe it is, but I would like to check before putting my belongings down here.”

The young man repeated the question. Ceria blinked at him and then found her voice.

“What? No, it’s not. But uh, do you—”

Too late. The young man was already dumping his rucksack on the ground. Ceria eyed his belongings skeptically. She’d thought she had brought only the bare minimum, but this young man only had a few changes of clothes, a small bar of lye soap, a toothbrush, and—

A rapier.

Ceria blinked. It had a long leather sheath, but it was unmistakably a rapier just from the hand guard and grip that stuck out at the top. She’d never seen any warrior using a rapier—it was the weapon of [Lords] and the aristocracy. What was a boy like this doing with one?

And he was a boy. Oh, he might have been closer to sixteen or seventeen, but to Ceria this young man and most of the passengers below decks were children. Only a few men and women were among students and they kept to themselves.

“Are you sure you want to sleep here?”

Ceria had to raise her voice to make herself heard. All of the students were below decks now, and their voices were overlapping with the shouting of sailors above and the creak of the ship.

The young man looked startled at being addressed. He nearly dropped his rapier and brushed hair out of his eyes.

“Well, yes, I mean, I do apologize if I’ve disturbed you. It’s just that I saw this spot was open and I thought I could take it. If you want to be left alone I can—”

He looked around wildly, but almost all of the other beds were taken.

“Stop that. I meant, are you okay with having me as a neighbor?”

“You? Why would I—”

The young man’s eyes widened as he looked at Ceria’s face and he saw her ears. She sighed internally and waited for him to exclaim in disgust.

“Are you a half-Elf? My word, I’ve never—may I shake your hand? I’ve never met one of your kind before. I’m delighted to meet you! My name is Pisces!”

Ceria blinked as she found a hand in front of her face. She took it uncertainly and felt her hand being shaken rapidly.

“I’m uh, Ceria. Ceria Springwalker.”

Pisces beamed at Ceria as he sat next to her. As the ship began to move he began chattering and Ceria, almost unconsciously, began replying.

“I must confess, I was quite alarmed when I found a mostly Human crowd. I was under the assumption all species travelled to Wistram to study, but I suppose those departing from Terandria would be mostly Human, don’t you?”

“Um. Yes. I suppose so.”

“Are you attempting to study magic at Wistram, or are you in another field? Alchemy, perhaps?”

“Uh, no. I want to advance further in the [Mage] class.”

Wistram didn’t just train [Mages], although that was the bulk of their graduates. A fair number of students would end up specializing in related fields like [Alchemist] or even [Blacksmith]—so long as magic was involved, any study was acceptable. But Ceria just wanted to become stronger. To have magic, to have power so she could—

“I’ve learnt several spells, but I’m only a Level 14 [Mage] at the moment. I’m told that’s quite high given that most students don’t know anything about magic, but I hope to improve myself beyond measure during my stay here. My focus is on basic elemental magic and some minor reinforcement-type magic at the moment, but I want to study every field I can. What about you?”

“Me? I’m just—I know a lot of attack spells, that’s all. I mainly focus on earth and fire spells. They’re my specialty.”

“Really? So you’re an adventurer? You use your magic for combat?”

Pisces seemed impressed. Ceria rolled her shoulder and nodded.

“I’m a Bronze-rank adventurer. I thought that I might be able to earn some money if I can learn more powerful spells at Wistram.”

If she wasn’t accepted as a student, she could at least try to learn one or two Tier 3 spells. Then at least she wouldn’t have wasted her money in vain. Pisces nodded energetically as the boat began to rock up and down. He didn’t seem to even notice the rocking that was making Ceria’s stomach churn slightly and had already made one of the Humans vomit.

The two kept talking as the Captain appeared below to announce that the trip would take two days if the weather held. Apparently, they’d hit a fast current and the weather was good. He told the Humans and Ceria that they’d get three square meals a day and that if they went above they were expected to stay out of the way of the sailors. Then he left them.

Ceria had no desire to go upstairs, but she noticed several people eager to stare at the ocean. A young man—a noble’s son with expensive clothing and even a wand she doubted he could use—was leading several other teenagers up the stairs already.

“So why did you decide to attend Wistram? I heard all half-Elves are far more talented than Humans at magic.”

The half-Elf shrugged uncomfortably.

“That’s only half true. Half-Elves are gifted at magic—we’ve got more in our bodies—but we don’t learn spells any faster.”

Of course, it was to their advantage to suggest that half-Elves were more powerful than they actually were. Ceria knew she was still an amateur as a mage, though. She was just barely strong enough to kill a few weak monsters with her spells. Something like Silver-rank was way beyond her still.

“So you want to improve your magic? I can respect that. Myself, I just find magic so exciting, don’t you?”

Ceria smiled briefly.

“I suppose it is. But I want to defend myself. With my spells, I can’t do anything but run if I meet a dangerous monster.”

“I’ve never fought a monster before.”

Pisces said it as he sat against one of the ship’s walls with Ceria. She glanced at his rapier. It was nearly hidden under his bedding and Pisces hadn’t referred to it. Nor had he really told her where he was from. They were munching on the hard biscuits and salted cod that was their dinner. To Ceria’s surprise, the meal had even included cheese and butter for their bread. It was no feast, but this was better than the rough fare she’d expected.

“How many monsters have you slain? A hundred? Or do Bronze-rank adventurers mainly just act as backup for stronger adventurers?”

Ceria coughed lightly to hide her embarrassment.

“I’ve uh, slain a few monsters myself. But we mainly work in teams.”

She’d fought a few Goblins and cleared out any number of rats, but she could count the real monsters she’d fought on one hand.

Of course, that still put her far above the other new students in terms of ability.

“Astounding. Now, I know we can’t practice any magic while aboard the ship, but do you mind if I ask you a few questions about the efficacy of spells in combat? I know only a few such as [Frozen Wind], but I was wondering—”

Pisces broke off and Ceria looked up as they noticed some other people coming their way.

“Well, I heard Wistram accepted everyone, but I thought they drew the line at freaks and trash.”

A young man followed by a gaggle of other teens approached in the manner Ceria had come to recognize as the prelude to harassment. He stared down his nose at Ceria and Pisces.

“I am Charles de Trevalier, scion of my house. You would do well to address me with respect.”

He was wearing the rich clothes to match, and he even had a shortsword buckled to his belt. It looked like it was purely ornamental, but Charles rested one hand on it as if he would like nothing better than to unsheathe it should the need arise.

Ceria raised one eyebrow. She wasn’t intimidated by Charles, although she disliked him on sight. Moreover, unless he had quite a lot of levels in some combat class—which she doubted—she could put a [Stone Dart] through his eye before his blade even cleared the sheathe.

That made it slightly easier to listen to him speak.

“You—the one who was foolish enough to consort with the half-Elf. You would do well to stay away from such creatures.”

Pisces blinked up at Charles and frowned.

“I will measure her worth independent of any outside opinion, thank you. Moreover, I don’t understand why you feel the need to come here and insult Miss Springwalker to her face.”

His diction was actually more polished than Charles’. Ceria saw it took the young lord back, and saw him reconsider his next words.

“Are you of the lesser nobility? Or a self-taught common citizen? Either way, only a fool would not know how insidious and untrustworthy the lesser species are.”

Lesser species. Ceria gritted her teeth. Charles was talking about her as if she wasn’t here. Pisces glanced at Ceria and his lips thinned.

“I believe you should go. If your aim was to have me remove myself, you have failed. Kindly do not disturb us again.”

“Ingrate!”

One of the young men standing behind Charles called out. He stepped forwards, a hand on his sword as well. What was with all these students and carrying weapons? Didn’t they know they were here to become mages?

The other young man glared down at Ceria and Pisces. He pulled his sword slightly out of its sheathe so they could see the costly steel blade.

“You dare insult one of the high nobility? I should have your head for that.”

Charles smirked and Ceria cursed inwardly. She didn’t know the countless aristocratic houses on the continent, but that explained why Charles already had a crowd around him. His family was undoubtedly as rich as they were powerful; his companions must have already been trying to suck up to him.

She expected Pisces to back down or deflect the anger, but instead he stood up. He had the rapier in his hands.

“I do not believe we have done anything that warrants a threat. This is a place for mages, not barbarians with metal sticks.”

The young man flushed. He unsheathed his blade—clumsily, Ceria noticed. He held the sword towards Pisces in an uncertain grip.

But even that was enough to silence the rest of the other students below decks. A bared weapon was dangerous, and the sword the young man held could kill no matter how inexpertly used. Ceria clenched her fist. She felt the magic flow into her hand. She didn’t want to use a spell and risk being thrown off the boat, but if it was that or Pisces getting hurt…

It didn’t come to that. Pisces stepped back and unsheathed his rapier—quite a lot faster than the other young man had and with more of a flourish as well. Charles and his cronies stepped back as they saw the rapier, and uncertainty flicked in the sword-wielding youth’s eyes.

“I would reconsider any attempts on our persons. Note the blade, please. I have levels in [Fencer] and I will not hesitate to defend myself.”

The people around Charles backed up. He had his hand on his sword, but he was clearly unprepared for actual violence. He looked at the other young man with a sword and licked his lips before facing Pisces.

“You fool. Timor du Havrington is an experienced warrior who would cut you to bits. He has many levels in the [Warrior] class.”

Timor nodded, but his eyes were on Pisces’s rapier. He didn’t hold himself like a warrior.

“Lower your blade, peon.”

“Not until you do.”

“I’m a [Warrior] and a [Lord]!”

His voice trembled. Pisces sighed. He reached into his pocket.

“If you will not reconsider your actions—then listen.”

He pulled something out of his clothing. A silvery bell. It rang, a clear, high-pitched note. Once, twice.

Timor’s face went pale. He leapt back from Pisces as if the other young man had struck at him. He stumbled into Charles and the two nearly fell to the ground.

“Stay back! We’re both armed! Charles and I can take you on, regardless of your rank!”

Pisces held the rapier out calmly, facing sideways towards the two as Charles unsheathed his sword and faced him uncertainly. This had gone far further than Ceria had intended. She wasn’t sure what the bell meant, but she couldn’t let this continue. Ceria stood up.

“Back off. We’re all on a ship going to Wistram. If you start a fight you’ll get thrown off if the Captain doesn’t kill you himself. And if he doesn’t—I will.”

She raised her fingers and concentrated. Flames erupted from her skin and danced around her hand. Charles and his followers backed away as the other students murmured and pointed.

“We have magic too!”

A few of the other people raised their hands and produced sparks or flames from their fingertips. None were nearly as vibrant as Ceria. She held her fiery hand out towards Charles until she heard pounding feet.

“What are you doing on my ship!?”

The flames around Ceria’s hand went out as she saw the [Captain] storming down the stairs, roaring at the students with two brawny sailors at his back. In moments everyone was separated and he was shouting at both Ceria, Pisces, and Charles and Timor, ignoring the latter two’s complaints.

“I should toss you all overboard myself! You two are lucky we’re far from port, or I would put you ashore and damn the list! You, boy, put that away before I throw that blade in the sea!”

The Captain shouted at Ceria and Pisces as he sheathed his sword.

“We were defending ourselves.”

Pisces protested, but the Captain was too incensed to listen. He glared at Ceria.

“I won’t have any magic on my ship! Cast another spell and I will toss you overboard myself! And you two, start trouble or draw a blade and I will cut you down, lords or not!”

He ignored the outraged noises the two boys made and stormed back up the stairs. Charles and Timor hesitated, but they stiffly walked away from Pisces and Ceria with only a parting glare.

Ceria sat back down with a sigh, heart pounding.

“That could have ended far worse.”

“Or far better. He threatened to throw away my blade!”

Pisces grumbled as he sat back down with Ceria. He was still glaring over at Charles and Timor, who’d joined the majority of the other students and were laughing loudly and not looking at Pisces and Ceria.

“Well, you were threatening two of his passengers.”

“Only because they drew steel on us!”

Pisces was indignant. Ceria sighed.

“If you hadn’t stood up to them, they would have left us alone soon enough. Trust me, I’m used to it.”

The young man looked sideways at Ceria.

“I didn’t feel it was right, that’s all. We’re all aspiring to become mages, proper mages, that is. If we can’t treat each other with basic civility, we’re no better than ignorant fools for all our power.”

Ceria smiled at him. It surprised her more than it surprised Pisces. Here she was, getting along with a Human of all people. He grinned back at her.

“Well, I enjoyed the looks on their faces when you stood up to them. Thank you.”

Pisces blushed and waved his hand.

“It was nothing.”

Ceria smiled again. She pointed to Pisces’ pocket.

“What does the bell mean? Those two backed off fast when they saw it.”

His cheeks were still flushed, but Pisces shook his head as he hid the rapier back under his bedding.

“It’s a token used by duelists. It means I’ve reached a level of skill recognized among anyone who practices the same craft.”

“Oh.”

It was obvious that he wanted to keep that a secret, so Ceria let it drop. Pisces muttered to himself as he rearranged his bedding.

“I dislike arrogant nobles and the like intensely. I thought I would be rid of them, but I suppose even in Wistram wealth speaks.”

“We’ll see if it holds true in the academy.”

“I’m told that there’s barely anything on the isle other than Wistram Academy and a pier. I wonder if they import all their goods? How do they feed themselves?”

“They probably grow what they need with magic. Somehow.”

“Still. How many new students will be like us, do you think?”

“Don’t know.”

“And how many will pass the exam?”

Ceria was silent. The exam. It loomed in her thoughts, a vague, terrifying specter.

It was true that anyone with a bit of talent and enough coin could travel to Wistram. But staying there was far harder.

Twenty gold pieces was the price, but that only bought each student a month’s time to study in Wistram. They would be taught basic magic and be given the run of the isle, but after that month they would have to prove their worth…or be sent home.

It was extraordinarily expensive to live in Wistram if you weren’t a mage offered a scholarship by the academy. Students would have to pay hundreds of gold coins to study there, which was why most who went to Wistram hoped they could pass the exam and stay for free.

Wistram Academy was always looking for talented mages, so the exam was designed to allow students to showcase their talents. Anyone with a high level or better yet, some kind of unique spell or Skill would be allowed to study. It was what both Ceria and Pisces hoped to do; pass the exam and become full students.

But what the exam might actually be, and what they would learn in the time before then, neither Pisces nor Ceria had any idea. They had no idea what Wistram even looked like; it was in the middle of the ocean, and visitors to that isle were understandably rare.

Eventually, the light coming out of the portholes almost completely faded, and Ceria closed the one closest to her and Pisces so they could sleep. They still had another day and a bit to go, and she wanted to conserve her strength.

She slept soundly, until the storm began and rain began to pound the deck overhead.

—-

It was a sea storm, the kind of horrific maelstrom that only emerged in the middle of the ocean. Huge waves battered the Errant Traveller as she sailed on through the dark clouds and pouring rain. Wind threatened to blow the sailors scrambling to lower sails and obey the Captain’s orders as the man himself fought with the waves at the head of his boat.

Below decks, the students huddled in fear, listening to the crash of the waves and talking in quiet voices. Ceria sat with Pisces, watching through the window as the ship would go up and then come down with stomach wrenching force.

“Are you sure this boat can survive this storm?”

Pisces shouted in Ceria’s ear. He was clutching his belongings as he stared out at the water.

“I don’t know!”

Ceria shouted back. She tapped the window.

“This is glass. The ship must be newer, so it should hold!”

“It had better! I can’t swim!”

“What?”

The idea that anyone couldn’t swim baffled Ceria, until she remembered that many Humans from Terandria lived inland and never saw a large body of water. Not that it mattered. Ceria had had ample time to learn how to swim over the fifty years of her life, but she was certain she wouldn’t last ten minutes in the frothing waves.

“We’ll be okay!”

And then, as if to mock her, Ceria heard the hatch leading above slam open. A sailor pounded down the steps as wind and water blew in. He shouted.

“Sea Serpent to the starboard! Stay below!”

The people in the hold began to scream. Ceria’s gut clenched in fear, but then the sailor was running towards her. He ignored the rocking motion of the ship as he seized her.

“You! Half-Elf! Do you have any spells that can fight off the serpent?”

Ceria stared at him, mouth open.

“Not a Sea Serpent!”

The vast monsters of the ocean were far more terrifying than those on land, at least in terms of size. A Sea Serpent was twice the length of a warship—and that was only on average. Bigger examples of their kind could take down an entire fleet. Ceria’s [Stone Dart] spell would be as effective against it as spit.

“Fine. Stay here and pray it loses interest! The Captain’s used a scroll to send for Wistram for help—maybe those damn mages will be able to do something from there!”

The sailor ran back up the stairs. Pisces turned a white face towards Ceria. She was already staring back out at the churning sea.

“There. There it is!”

In the distance, Ceria saw a rippling form scything through the water. The Sea Serpent shot out of the water head-first, a massive jaw and burning eyes the only impression Ceria received before it plunged into the water. Its serpentine coils followed it, and Ceria’s heart froze in her chest when she realized the creature was four times as long as the Errant Traveller.

“Does it see us?”

Pisces gripped Ceria’s shoulder. Even in the middle of her fear and panic, the touch filled Ceria with revulsion. She stared at his hand and had to fight to resist stabbing him. He was a Human male—no, he was Pisces and he was frightened. She pried his fingers loose and shook her head.

“Not yet! But it looks like it’s hunting!”

It was true. The Sea Serpent was questing about, diving through the waves as if it barely noticed them. It seemed to be searching for something. It dove, and then Ceria gasped as it came up with a struggling fish in its jaws. It must have been a massive fish, too, because it was clearly visible at this distance. It was only slightly bigger than the Sea Serpent’s mouth, but that already put it at least twenty feet across.

The serpent shook its mouthful and then disappeared again. Ceria prayed it had gone, but then its head shot up and it stared right at their ship.

Someone screamed. The Sea Serpent dove towards them, and then Ceria saw a huge mouth with teeth as it reared above their vessel.

She heard shouting overhead, and saw what looked like arrows shattering on the serpent’s scales. Two harpoons flew through the pouring rain, but they only lodged superficially in the creature’s scales without even drawing blood.

People were screaming and crying all around Ceria and Pisces. She just stared out the port hole. Pisces was mumbling to himself, clutching at his rapier.

“…not fair. I just wanted a chance. Is this how it has to end? Can’t even find a body to use…nothing big enough…”

“What’s that?”

Ceria muttered the words to herself. The serpent was roaring overhead, a vast alien shriek that sounded like death. Pisces looked up.

“What?”

“There’s something out there. In the storm. It—”

Lightning flashed. The world went white a millisecond before Ceria and Pisces felt the thunder that made the ship list sideways and travelled through their bones.

Boom. It was more of a feeling than sound. Ceria tumbled backwards and Pisces cushioned her fall. She scrambled upwards, ignoring the screaming, and saw the Sea Serpent twisting in agony.

“The lightning hit it!”

Indeed, part of the beast’s scales near its neck were blackened and torn away, exposing red flesh and blood that stained the waters. The serpent, twisted, and opened its jaws towards the ship, but then lightning struck again.

This time the roar of the bolt striking the serpent coincided with the light, so Ceria was blinded by the sight of a bolt of energy hitting the Sea Serpent as she was hurled to the deck. Pisces helped her up as he stared outside.

“It looks hurt! The lightning hurt it!”

Ceria rose to her feet slowly. She crouched, trying not to tumble over as she shouted back.

“That’s not lightning. That’s a spell!”

“What?”

“There!”

The half-Elf pointed, and Pisces gasped. In the sky, far overhead, the two mages could see a small figure hovering in the storm. The only reason they could pick her out was that the air was flashing around her, and electricity was crackling off her body.

“A mage? From Wistram?”

It had to be. Ceria stared at Pisces and saw his face was alight with the same hope in her chest. But then her heart sank.

“They only sent one person?”

Indeed, it seemed that way. The small figure was alone and she—yes, it was a woman—floated high in the air, facing the ship. But she was woefully small compared to her opponent, and now the Sea Serpent had seen her too. It roared and lunged out of the sea, snapping towards her.

The woman flew backwards, and Ceria felt the serpent hit the ocean, missing by only a few feet. The resulting wave turned the sea and sky into a confusing mess as more water rained around the ship, but then she looked up and saw the female mage, dodging through the air again as the serpent chased after her.

“Look at it go! It can’t catch her!”

Pisces stared out another port hole as the woman flew through the air, the serpent launching itself at her time and time again. It couldn’t easily strike her while she was flying, and every time it shot out of the water she would spin out of the way. It was a wild, insane dance with death, but the mage flew around the serpent as if she was having fun.

The serpent snapped upwards and the woman dodged just in time. She flew right by the side of the ship Ceria was on and the half-Elf caught a glimpse of her face just for a second. She stepped backwards.

“What is it?”

Pisces stared at Ceria. She stared as the mage finally stopped, hovering just in front of the ship and facing the serpent. She had raised her hand and the serpent was charging towards her, unstoppable. It would hit the ship, but now electricity was crackling around the woman again.

“She’s…laughing.”

Ceria only saw her back now, but she knew what she’d seen. The woman raised her hand calmly as the serpent approached, as if she had all the time in the world. Ceria heard something shouted above the storm, and then the mage cast a spell.

Lightning flashed from her palm, a coruscating bolt of pure electricity. Ceria saw the afterimages as it struck the sea serpent, once, twice, three times, and then with so many bolts that the entire world went white.

Ceria covered her eyes as the explosion rocked the entire boat. She fell backwards and Pisces caught her. When she’d scrambled to her feet and peered back out the window, the woman was gone. The sea serpent’s body floated belly-up in the water, smoke rising as the rain pelted the massive corpse.

“Dead gods!”

The serpent was dead. Very dead. Its head was almost completely blackened, and only a stump remained where the gaping maw had been. Ceria and Pisces heard cheering from above, and then the ship was moving again.

“She killed it! Just like that! She was just toying with the serpent until now!”

Pisces shouted the words as the storm continued to rage around the boat. Ceria looked at Pisces. His eyes were shining with excitement. She knew she had a gigantic smile on her face, but she couldn’t wipe it away.

Almost all of the other candidates were screaming or still huddled in shocked silence. But the half-Elf and young man sat together, staring out the windows at the massive beast. It had seemed so incredible, so impossible to defeat. Even a ship full of trained sailors had been helpless before it, but a single mage had killed it in a matter of minutes.

Magic.

The boat lurched again and Ceria heard splattering as one of the students lost their lunch again. She saw something in the distance to the ship’s left—a dark silhouette jutting out from the sea. And then the ship was turning towards it, moving forwards.

That was when the storm cleared. All at once, the ship ceased rocking as it entered eerily calm waters. The raging wind and rain of the storm seemed to hit a wall, and then the boat was beyond, sailing underneath clear skies and above blue-green waters that sparkled in the light.

Ceria’s mouth fell open. The Errant Traveller sailed into the heart of the storm, a magical bubble in which the weather ceased. The waters were suddenly smooth, and then the ship turned again and Ceria saw it clearly for the first time.

Wistram. The Isle of Mages.

The tall castle stood on top of a cliff—no, rather, it was built into the island itself. Tall rocky cliffs gave way to grey stone and Ceria saw that the castle was more like a citadel, not one building but a few interconnected ones, joined together by a thick wall and bridges that rose into the sky.

The spires and buildings rose out of the ground, impossibly high. Ceria had never seen any structure so tall—it seemed as though it were surely impossible, and from an architectural point of view, that had to be the case. Fat, round domes sat on top of narrow spires and entire wings of the castle stood out over the sea with seemingly no support.

It had to be magic; and indeed, Ceria could see shimmering lights in the air, and glowing runes visible to the naked eye hovering in the air around some windows, and more magic still. One tower looked like it was engulfed in fire, and another part of the castle was frozen, windows and part of the wall covered in creeping vines.

Ceria felt their ship slowing, and then spotted the dock. A huge, white dock made out of stone was their destination. Already two other ships were moored in the harbor, and one more was heading in, covered in rain from the storm. The mast on that ship was broken, but Ceria saw people on top of the deck, staring at Wistram.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the ship stopped and then sailors were securing ropes and the Captain was shouting at the students to gather their belongings. Almost numbly, the prospective students gathered their things and filed out of the ship.

Her breath caught in her chest the instant Ceria saw the castle in its entirety. A long stairway led up and up to two massive metal doors, and the castle towered higher still, glowing with magical light even in the daytime.

Pisces stood next to Ceria, just as entranced. They walked past the Captain, and Ceria only just remembered to thank him for taking them to harbor safely.

“Don’t thank me. I’ve been paid for the trip, although this one was hardly worth the coin. That Sea Serpent would have broken my ship and all of us to bits had the mages not come to our rescue.”

The Captain shook his head as he stared at the second ship coming in to dock. Ceria hesitated.

“Do you know who that mage was? The one who slew the serpent?”

“Only one person it can be. That was Archmage Amerys. One of the King of Destruction’s Seven.”

Pisces gaped. The Captain shook his head.

“It was a stroke of luck, having one of the Archmages so close and inclined to help. Even so, it’s an omen for you who want to become mages. A good one or bad? Who knows. Be off with you, then, and best of luck.”

He turned away, and the two mages exchanged a look. They hurried after the students walking up towards the doors of Wistram. They were slowly opening, and people were coming down to greet the arrivals.

That was how they entered Wistram Academy. To the new students, it seemed as if nothing could top that first harrowing voyage through the storm, but they soon realized that they hadn’t the first inkling of the true mystery that lay within the ancient citadel.

—-

The first thing Ceria noticed when she stepped inside Wistram’s massive halls was that the castle was, in fact, massive. In fact, the word massive was itself too small for Wistram. It would have gotten lost in the entrance hall, and that was already a place big enough to hold an entire village comfortably.

“It didn’t seem this big on the outside.”

“It must be magic! Some kind of spatial magic or—or we’ve been teleported!”

Pisces looked around the massive hall as Ceria eyed the lights hovering high, high overhead. Multiple floors overlooked the students as they filed into the center of the huge room, and Ceria could see people on the walkways connecting overhead.

“Tree rot. That’s stone up there! They’ve built bridges inside a room! This place must be enormous!”

“Yes indeed. Wistram is far larger than it appears from the outside. Mages have built high into the air and far underneath the isle. It takes a while before you stop getting lost, and even then you’d do well to stick to the main areas.”

Ceria and Pisces turned, and saw a tall man staring down at them. He had only a shirt on, probably because his lower half needed no clothes. He was a Centaur, and he grinned broadly at their surprise.

“It’s always the same. New students stare up and never even notice us. We could rob you all blind and you’d still be staring. Not that that would be a very nice greeting after the journey you’ve all had, would it?”

“You saw the Sea Serpent?”

Pisces exclaimed excitedly, and the Centaur laughed.

“The entire academy saw it. We were placing bets on whether Amerys would reach you in time. But you all made it, which I am glad for. My name is Calvaron, young mage. I am a full student of Wistram, and I’ll be showing you around.”

The Centaur mage offered both Ceria and Pisces a bone-crushing grip, and then raised his voice.

“Prospective students, this way! Your group will follow me to put your belongings away. Step quickly now, Humans! The next group will be following you soon!”

Heads turned. Ceria was pleased to see that Charles and his group of friends visibly hesitated when they saw their guide was a Centaur, but Calvaron ignored their looks. He began to trot down one of the large corridors, speaking loudly as he went.

“Congratulations on surviving your voyage! Not many people get to meet a Sea Serpent and live. But you’ll find life in Wistram just as exciting—if you stay, that is. We have you all for a month, and then the exam will see if you remain or have to go. Unless you can pay your way, that is. I hope to see at least some of you afterwards.”

Ceria had to hurry to keep behind the Centaur. He moved quick, and she saw Pisces was red-faced as he tried to juggle his belongings and keep up. He’d put his pack down when they’d entered, and now he was trying to put it on as he half-ran after them.

“Excuse me, Calvaron, can you slow down?”

“What? Oh, excuse me.”

Calvaron glanced over his shoulder and saw the Humans were struggling to keep up. He paused and Pisces looked gratefully at Ceria as he finally put his pack on his shoulders.

“I forget how slow you people are. But if you can’t keep up at Wistram, you might as well leave right now. Then again, other mages might have different opinions. Come on, you slowpokes! We’re nearly there!”

He bellowed at the stragglers, and then led them into a large room. Ceria froze the instant she entered and Pisces bumped into her. She stared up into a carved face of a seven foot tall Golem.

It had to be a Golem. Ceria only knew of one type of monster that had stone for skin, and no Gargoyle was carved to look like a beautiful woman dressed in clothing. Then the Golem moved, and Ceria gasped as she saw the robes shifting and moving with her, as if the solid rock were nothing but cloth.

“Greetings, young mage. I trust you are one of the new students?”

“I—I—”

“She is, Cognita.”

Calvaron stepped in smoothly for Ceria, as the other Humans entered the room and had similar reactions. Cognita, the massive Golem nodded graciously in turn until everyone had entered, and then spoke. Her voice was deeper than normal, and had a weight that made even Charles and Timor listen with rapt attention.

“I am Cognita. I am a Carved Golem, or rather, a Truestone Construct designed to oversee Wistram and its mages. I and my kindred maintain and preserve this building and will assist you for the duration of your stay. In a few moments you will be led to your rooms, but before that I must tell you of the rules of Wistram.”

She stared down at each person in turn, her emerald eyes serious.

“Firstly. You must never venture into the high parts of the castle or the lower reaches unaccompanied and even then, only with great cause. Dangers lurk within Wistram, ancient magics and spells and creatures called here and never destroyed. Too, the very enchantments keeping this citadel intact sometimes fray. Only a mage with true power is allowed into such places. Second. Some of the Golems here were made as I am, but most lack any form of intelligence and simply obey orders. Do not attack or obstruct them in any way or they may react unpredictably. Third. Anyone attempting to cast area-wide magics must first consult with I or an experienced mage. Unpredictable results may occur if a spell affects a wide area of the academy at once. Is that understood?”

She stared down at the students and then nodded.

“That is all. Follow me, and I will lead you to your rooms and give you your keys.”

She walked through the doorway and Calvaron indicated that everyone should follow her. Ceria, Pisces, and Calvaron slipped to the back of the group as the other students filed out of the room.

“I’m surprised she didn’t have more rules. Like, don’t kill other students or not to steal.”

Ceria whispered to Pisces. Calvaron laughed when he heard that.

“Those are also against Wistram’s rules, but Cognita was created in a different time. She only cares if you study magic, and she only tells you those rules so you won’t get killed by accident. We’ll tell you all the rules later.”

“Calvaron. Will you lead these students to the dining hall now or later?”

Cognita had paused before a doorway. Calvaron nodded.

“Put your things away and take a moment to relax. In fifteen minutes I will bring you all to our dining hall to eat.”

The procession moved on, Cognita led each of the students to a door and handed them a key, or a stone, or sometimes just whispered in their ears. Ceria was bewildered, but then she and Pisces were left.

“This room shall be yours, Ceria Springwalker. Here is a key to the lock. It can be picked, so be wary.”

Cognita handed Ceria a key made of iron. Then she turned to Pisces.

“The door to your room is spelled. Speak your name into the lock and it will open for you alone. Be cautious that you do not lock a companion within.”

She turned, and left. Bemused, Ceria looked at Pisces as he wandered over to his door and spoke into it. The door swung open and Pisces blinked at the inside.

“Why are the locks different? And why are the rooms different?”

Ceria found her room was wide and spacious, filled with an old four-poster bed and a mirror and dresser in her room. Pisces had a much smaller room, but for some reason his came with a balcony that extended outside. He and Ceria looked at Calvaron who only shrugged.

“Lots of people worked on Wistram, and each person had their own style. Some doors have locks, while others use magic or a stone as a key. You got lucky, Pisces; a balcony spot is pretty nice to have. I imagine you could trade yours if you wanted.”

“I believe I will be content with my lodgings. Ah, did you say there was food available?”

Calvaron laughed as Ceria tossed her belongings on the bed and turned the key in the lock.

“Indeed there is. Let me gather the rest of your group and then we’ll eat. No one can learn magic on an empty stomach, right?”

—-

Ceria and Pisces stared up in the great hall of Wistram, craning their necks to see the ceiling.

“Are those mage lights permanent, or are they just temporary enchantments?”

Calvaron looked up. He was sitting with both mages at one of the tables, crunching down on a meal that was mostly carrot, but had quite a bit of beef. He popped a chunk of carrot into his mouth as he spoke thoughtfully.

“I’ve never really asked. My guess is that it’s like a lot of the lights in the castle. They can be turned on and off, but the enchantment remains. Mind you, most mages will toss up a globe of light if it gets too dark and leave it there for a few hours.”

“Or a few days.”

Ceria turned. Sitting across from them was a dark-skinned woman wearing armor. What was unique about her was that her head and said armor weren’t attached. She was spooning pudding into her head on the table. Calvaron seemed perfectly at home with this, but neither Pisces nor Ceria had ever seen a Dullahan in the flesh before. Her name was Beatrice, and this was about the third thing she’d said throughout the course of the meal aside from ‘Hello’ and ‘Nice to meet you’.

Ceria stared around the vast room she was sitting in as she cut into her steak. The great hall was filled with long tables—and short ones. Like much of the castle, it seemed like any furniture was used, and so she’d found herself and Pisces sitting with Calvaron at a low table on some couches, rather than the long tables with chairs most of the students were dining at.

This was probably because the lower table allowed Calvaron to kneel on the ground while he ate. Ceria still couldn’t quite focus on her food, though. The floating orbs of multicolored lights, the tables filled with all kinds of food—and especially the chatting, gossiping, laughing groups of every kind of species at every table was overwhelming her. She was surrounded by mages, and every few seconds Ceria would see someone cast a spell or illustrate their point with a cantrip.

“Stop staring, Springwalker. This food won’t eat itself and if you want seconds, you’ll have to eat fast.”

Ceria blinked at Calvaron, and then realized her steak was getting cold. She added some butter, watched it melt, and began scarfing the meat down.

Pisces was already eating as if he’d been starving. Neither he nor Ceria had the best table manners, but Calvaron and Beatrice didn’t seem to notice.

“Where’s all this food come from? Not magic, surely.”

“Hah! You think it just appears out of nowhere?”

Calvaron looked extremely amused. He pointed off to one side, towards the long buffet tables where they’d all collected their meals.

“Golems and [Chefs] do most of the cooking. Wistram hires the best, and what we don’t eat they preserve for another day.”

“It must be handy, having a bunch of constructs to do most of the lifting and work around here. I don’t know how you can deal with them so easily, though.”

Calvaron shrugged. He’d walked right past two of the huge, lumbering Stone Golems on the way here while Ceria and the others had walked as far away from them as possible.

“You get used to them pretty quick if you stay here. Beatrice used to hate all the enchanted armor around here. For two whole years she kept thinking they were other Dullahans and calling out to them.”

He laughed at Beatrice and she paused in feeding herself long enough to scowl at him. Pisces looked around.

“I appreciate that we are being fed immediately upon our arrival, but are you sure there’s no welcoming speech? No introduction?”

“Do you want one?”

Calvaron waited until Pisces shook his head.

“Most mages don’t care about new students. It’s only the Expansionists and Revivalists that are interested in making sure there’s a system, although every faction usually contributes in some way.”

“Expansionists? Revivalists?”

Pisces and Ceria exchanged a glance. Calvaron nodded.

“You’ll hear more about them soon enough. But Wistram isn’t one unified place. What you’ll learn quickly is that there are factions in here. Mages either band together or go it alone depending on their personalities.”

Ceria was surprised by that.

“So there isn’t a formal ceremony where we choose where we want to end up? I thought we’d be assigned to a group or…a faction or something.”

Calvaron laughed into his food and even Beatrice’s head smiled.

“Don’t be daft. Who’d be stupid enough to publicly announce which side you’re on? Not to mention that you can’t just put people into groups like that.”

He snorted and pointed at the new students.

“If you’re smart, you’ll choose wisely and tell no one at all if you do join a faction. Mind you, word will spread soon enough, but at least that way you’ll have a chance. And I hope you sell your loyalties wisely. It takes a strong mage to survive in Wistram alone, but better that than becoming a slave.”

He pointed down the hall, towards a small group of mages who were sitting alone. Their robes were clearly magical, and one was raising his voice and pointing at an illustration he’d conjured out of the air.

“See them? They’re Isolationists. They’d prefer that we stop accepting new mages into Wistram altogether, and have aspiring mages find their way here. It would weed out the casual applicants, true, but imagine how much business we’d lose!”

Beatrice scowled.

“Foolish. Wastes money.”

Calvaron rolled his eyes.

“Beatrice is a Revivalist. She’s part of the faction that thinks we should throw open our doors and usher in a new era of magic like in centuries past.”

“And you? What group do you belong to?”

The Centaur grinned.

“I’m undeclared, at least for now. I’ll probably join up with some faction or other, but I’m not important enough for them to start putting pressure on me yet. What about you, Pisces? Would you be an Isolationist or a Revivalist, given the chance?”

Pisces nodded to himself as he thought.

“Well, I am uninformed as of yet to all the nuances of the discussion, but my position would be—”

Ceria kicked Pisces under the table. He yelped and she glared at him. Calvaron laughed again.

“You’re learning quick, aren’t you?”

She was just planning to ask Calvaron about the different factions in Wistram when Ceria heard a sound. She turned her head and stared at one of the entrances to the great hall. A young man in disheveled robes burst into the great hall, shouting.

“Ghouls! They’re flooding the west hallways!”

For a second all was stunned silence, and then all of the new students started screaming. The young man fled into the hall, and then Ceria saw them.

Ghouls. They bounded out of the corridor, dead bodies leaping forwards with incredible strength and agility. Their eyes burned with unholy light.

She didn’t even pause to think. Ceria stood up and pointed her finger at the Ghouls. Without a wand she couldn’t cast strong magic, but she’d honed this spell until it was as deadly as an arrow.

“[Stone Dart]!”

A jagged piece of stone shot from her fingertips and caught one of the Ghouls in the chest. He stumbled, but came on. Ceria’s heart sank. Ghouls were far more dangerous than Zombies, and they were coming so fast! They’d be on top of the new students before they could flee.

“Stop screaming. [Ice Lance].”

Someone spoke up from behind Ceria. She turned her head just in time to see a massive block of ice shaped into a point shoot past her. The wind blew her hair and Ceria turned back to see the Ghoul she’d struck and three more had been smashed to bits by the spell.

“[Silent Sickle]!”

Another mage across the hall pointed without even getting up from his meal. One of the ghouls was sliced to bits by transparent scythes and another lost its legs.

“[Earth Cannon]!”

“[Invisible Arrow]!”

“[Slippery Floor].”

All around Ceria, mages pointed or waved their wands or used their staves to cast spells. The Ghouls practically disintegrated under the combined mass of spells until all that was left was a completely ruined floor as ice spells and fire spells created steam and sticky and slippery substances mixed on the ground or began to dissipate.

Calvaron laughed as he tugged Ceria back down into her seat.

“Nice spell, new student. But leave the fighting to the older mages, alright? We can handle ourselves.”

“Is that normal? The Ghouls?”

Pisces pointed to the remains of the Ghouls—a single hand and a few stains on the stone floor. Already a Golem was lurching over to the mess with a mop and bucket in hand.

Both the Centaur and Dullahan shrugged.

“It’s not usual that we get monsters that come as far as the dining hall, but accidents happen. I wonder how the undead got here? Teleportation spell gone wrong?”

“Dead corpses?”

Beatrice scratched at her head. It was more of a massage since she could scratch every spot at will. She pointed at the distraught mage who’d ran into the room.

“Probably an experiment with some bodies. Too much magic. Must’ve reanimated them.”

“True. I’ll ask later. Anyways, bear that in mind, you two. If you want to stay at Wistram, you’ve got to be prepared for anything. Sea Serpents are the least of your worries here. Do you think you can handle it?”

He looked both Ceria and Pisces in the eye. She hesitated, but then nodded with conviction.

“I’m staying.”

Pisces nodded. He swallowed a huge gulp of food and wiped at his mouth with a napkin.

“So am I!”

“That’s what they all say.”

Calvaron laughed with Beatrice, although she just chuckled. Then he grew serious.

“Unfortunately, I’ve got some bad news for you two. This year there are nearly twice as many prospective students as usual. I’m afraid that unless you’re over Level 20 or you’ve got some new spell or talent, you’ll be hard-pressed to pass the exam.”

He paused as both new students exchanged a dismayed look.

“Well, unless you have a patron to sponsor you.”

“A patron?”

“A high-level mage.”

Beatrice translated. Calvaron nodded as he crunched on another carrot.

“Someone who will vouch for your abilities. That would allow you to skip the exam altogether.”

Ceria eyed Calvaron.

“I don’t suppose you…?”

“Sorry, I don’t have the influence to help anyone. We’re all novice mages here. Only one of the teachers or one of the older mages can do that, and they don’t usually interfere with the exam. Plus, a lot of the ones assigned to teaching duty this year aren’t too happy.”

“Like Illphres. She’s angry.”

“Who?”

“The mage who cast [Ice Lance]. That’s her, over there.”

Ceria looked over and saw an older woman dressed in robes sitting with the group Calvaron had identified as the Isolationists. She was scowling at another mage as he spoke. Calvaron lowered his voice.

“She’s going to teach you some elemental magic. But ah, she’s…temperamental. She’s one of the best [Cryomancers] in the academy, though.”

“Is [Cryomancer] the same as [Ice Mage]?”

“Different names. Sometimes different specializations, but usually the same.”

“Oh.”

Ceria kept staring at Illphres. She’d cast a Tier 4 spell – [Ice Lance] in mere seconds, without even using a wand! Ice magic wasn’t Ceria’s specialty, but she was still impressed by the spell.

But it seemed not everyone shared her opinion. Reacting to what one of the mages had said, Illphres said something angrily which earned her a scoff and a flick of the hand from the talkative mage. Ceria saw Illphres raise her hand and then the mage who’d been talking was blasted off his feet by a huge swathe of snow.

He went flying, into another table. Ceria winced as she saw the mage smash into plates and cups and splatter the diners sitting there. One woman calmly wiped food off her face, and Ceria’s heart skipped a beat as she recognized Amerys, the mage who had slain the Sea Serpent.

Amerys looked across the room at Illphres and raised a finger. Ceria ducked and the lightning bolt exploded against the icy wall Illphres had conjured, sending fragments of ice into the air like hail.

More screaming erupted as the Isolationists all surged to their feet. Amerys grinned and the mages around her began casting spells. Ceria watched as a full-blown fight erupted between the mages in the hall as more and more joined in. She could hear shouting as well, from other groups of mages who were just defending themselves or staying outside of the conflict altogether.

“Take cover!”

“Damn it! It’s Amerys and Illphres again!”

“Careful! You nearly hit my plate!”

“Someone put up a shield spell before those students get killed!”

Calvaron chuckled as Beatrice threw up a magical barrier that caught an incoming bolt of magic. He glanced over at Ceria and Pisces as they stared at the magical war breaking out among the mages.

“Don’t worry. People hardly ever get killed. They’re just having a disagreement; I doubt they even realized you lot were coming in today. Just don’t disturb them while they’re working, don’t wander off into far off parts of the isle, ask for help, don’t choose a side right away, and never get in the way of the Golems.”

He paused and scratched at his head as one of the mages shot a stream of purple bubbles out of a wand that immobilized an entire table of students.

“Anything else they should know, Beatrice?”

She shrugged.

“Don’t die. And welcome to Wistram.”

Previous ChapterNext Chapter

Interlude – Wistram Days (Pt. 2)

Where did the magic come from? It came from the air around her, the hard wooden desk she sat at, and herself. It flowed through her blood, ran through her hair—it was in her. Ceria reached into her inner self and found magic there. With each breath she took, with each pump of her heart, the magic lived through her.

She drew a portion of it out now, and gave it shape. She pushed, and made the magic condense into a small ball, drawing in itself. Becoming…

Water. The clear liquid flowed into existence, forming a shaft of brilliance in the sunlight. And then, as Ceria held it in place in the air, she froze it.

Water pooled and stiffened, the clear liquid clouding, becoming solid. Ceria watched as the pointed tip of the icicle gleamed, ready to be launched. It was a small missile she’d made—barely longer than her middle finger, in truth. But the [Ice Dart] spell had been designed for rapid-fire attacks en masse. With it, she could turn a Goblin into a pincushion or overwhelm another type of monster.

This dart was of better…construction…than most. That was to say, when Ceria usually used the spell she was concentrated more on speed than aesthetic or form. As a result, some of her darts would have jagged edges or be angled awkwardly, as if the icicles had bent while being frozen. That could cause them to veer off from their targets, or fail to do as much damage.

But this? This was an ideal form of the spell. Ceria stared at the frozen missile floating in front of her and smiled. It was the perfect example of her magical talents, and her superior half-Elven heritage. She’d barely felt the effort of making the spell. That would prove—

“And just what do you call this?”

A hand reached out and touched the floating shard of ice. Ceria blinked as a rather tall, dark-haired man in robes lifted the product of her spell up and regarded it with disdain. He sniffed at it, and then snapped at her.

“Focus, Springwalker. Your [Ice Shard] spell mixes the cold and water aspects together. You are freezing the water you create rather than forming the shape and solidifying it as separate stages.”

His hand didn’t glow red, but for a second the air rippled with heat around his hand. In a moment, Ceria’s [Ice Shard] was gone, evaporated in a puff of steam which instantly dissipated.

“Try again, and this time concentrate. Your spells need to be well-formed, not leaking pools of wasted mana.”

“What? What’s wrong with my spell?”

She couldn’t help the words as they burst from her mouth. Ceria glared indignantly up at the [Mage] who’d dissipated her spell. He stared back, eyes cold and annoyed.

“Your composition was weaker, due to the air trapped within the icicle as you froze the water while making it. In addition, the spell itself was not straight—it deviated slightly near the tip. Finally, the point was unsharpened; merely a blunt tip.”

“But—”

Ceria knew it was true. Even so, she felt the need to deny the criticism.

“It’s almost fully correct! Those are just minor details!”

Another sniff.

“Details are what set apart true mages from amateurs. If you wish to lower your standards, Wistram is not the place for you. Try again, and this time concentrate properly.”

Ceria heard laughter around the class and felt herself going red. Blood rushed to the tips of her pointed ears, but she said nothing. She ground her teeth as she focused again on the spell, trying to tune out the world around her.

The man who’d admonished her so casually—the senior [Mage] in charge of this class’s magic lesson named Rievan Forstrom—walked on without a backward glance.

That had been humiliating. And unfair! Ceria tried to focus on her spell again, but this time her concentration was shot. The magic in her and around her was harder to control, and she was having trouble condensing it into a physical form.

There were still people chuckling in the large room Ceria was taking her second class of the day in. She heard one particularly obnoxious voice laughing louder than the rest.

Charles de Trevalier made no effort to conceal his glee at Ceria’s upbraiding. Worse, Rievan didn’t seem to mind. The mage walked over to another student and began talking in a loud voice, lecturing the unfortunate girl about the quality of her spell, a bundle of sparks that was supposed to be the [Electric Jolt] spell.

After he’d gone, and the other students were talking again, comparing notes, complaining, or just making conversation, the young man sitting at the desk next to Ceria leaned over. Pisces lowered his voice so only she could hear him as he whispered.

“I thought the spell was appropriately formulated. I rather think the true crux of the issue is that he doesn’t like you.”

He nodded to Rievan, and Ceria saw their instructor was showing the Human girl how to do the spell properly. Neat, focused webs of lightning flashed from one of his palms into the other. He was certainly critical of the girl, but he wasn’t being nearly as sharp with her as he had been with Ceria.

She made a face. Yes, their instructor for the new students taking the Magical Foundations class did seem to have it out for her. And she was under no illusions as to why.

He was Human. Ceria was a half-Elf. But more importantly, she thought that he might be a Human who’d originally grown up in Terandria, which would explain his dislike for her.

“As if he’d ever tried casting a spell while fighting off a Goblin tribe.”

She grumbled as she tried to form the spell again. Maybe she should give up and try [Stone Dart] or [Flame Jet] instead? But no, he’d probably just reprimand her for giving up on the spell. Pisces looked sympathetic as Ceria tried to spin the water out from her fingertips and hold it in position before she froze it again.

They were in class. It was slightly odd for Ceria to be sitting in this neat room at a small desk—she’d never gone through anything like this growing up—but Wistram taught countless students each year, and they’d developed a process to teach their students as a whole.

One of these ways was giving the prospective students a variety of mandatory courses to take during their first month. Each day, the students had countless lessons and magical theorems and basic spells hammered into them by various mid-level [Mages]. And in one of those classes, this one, the basics of magic were being re-taught to Ceria, much to her displeasure.

Basic magic. Pure magic. People had many names for the subject, but this class had been introduced as elementary magic by their instructor. Ceria hated it.

The study of basic telekinesis, magical composition and fundamental aspects of magical theory like spellcraft were lumped into one category by most mages. It was a branch of magic few practitioners focused on, outside of learning how to levitate small objects and refine their mana flow and so on. Nonetheless, it was vitally important for any mage who wanted to cast spells, and so most mages grew passable at forming their spells properly. A bent [Ice Shard] spell would be far less effective, just like how a poorly-made warding spell might not block all the arrows properly.

It was important, yes, but tiresome. Mages specializing in this rare field liked to refer to it as ‘pure’ magic. Others, Ceria included, thought of it as boring magic. And she was all the more angry because her spells were good, damn it!

She didn’t need to work on her [Ice Shard] spell. What Ceria wanted was to start learning more advanced spells, but she was stuck. Probationary Wistram students took all the classes they could, and Ceria knew that the efficacy of her spells would be tested during the examination process at the end of the month. So she gritted her teeth and reapplied herself to forming the best [Ice Shard] spell she could.

At the desk next to her, Pisces focused on his own spell. He didn’t know any Tier 2 combat spells, so he was casting [Electric Jolt] as well. Rievan had taught the entire class the spell, but he’d insisted that anyone who knew a higher-Tier spell should practice that instead. The more complex a spell was, the more a mage benefited from working with it.

The young man let a spark of electricity jump between his fingers, almost in a straight line. He seemed focused and at ease at the same time—eager to learn, and not at all bothered. He kept talking as Ceria labored over her spell.

“I really hadn’t considered the implications of altering a spell in its base state. Had you, Ceria? Certainly it makes no sense to significantly alter basic constructions and increase the complexity, but had you considered what would happen if you turned your [Ice Shard] spell into, say, an orb? Wouldn’t that completely change the nature of the spell?”

Ceria grunted irritably as she tried to make the point of her shard sharper.

“The mana cost’s the same, and so is the amount of water you can work with. What’s the point? A ball of ice isn’t useful, and round shapes are harder.”

Pisces grinned.

“Well, I was just thinking, if we can alter basic spells like that, what’s the point in learning spells at all? We could just learn basic fundamental magics and extrapolate from there. It might take a long time, but if we could teach ourselves magic—”

“I see you have time to talk rather than practice.”

The loud voice made Pisces and Ceria both jump. She cursed as her attention wavered and the water she was holding in place lost its form. The young man sat up quickly as Rievan loomed over his desk, looking down his sharp nose at him.

“You are new, are you not? Your name is…Pisces.”

“Yes sir.”

Pisces looked ahead respectfully while Rievan scowled at him. He didn’t appear intimidated, just alert and wary. And confident. Ceria didn’t see a bit of doubt in his posture.

“You have not yet been admitted as a full student to Wistram. I suggest you dedicate yourself to studying, while you have time. But since you do not feel the need—show the class how far you have progressed with your [Electric Jolt] spell.”

The other practicing students looked over as Pisces raised his hands. Rievan was clearly expecting Pisces to make a mistake and pounce on it, but to his surprise—and Ceria’s—a steady stream of purple-blue lightning crackled from one of Pisces’s hands into the other, looking for all the world like a bright river of electricity.

Drops of water spattered on Ceria’s desk and evaporated as she lost control of her own spell. She was gaping. Just a bit. Pisces’ control of the spell was immaculate. Both she and Rievan knew it. After a moment, the mage nodded. He looked at Pisces with a hint of respect and addressed the other students as a whole.

“Acceptable. Observe, class. Young Pisces has managed to divert the whole of the spell into striking his other palm, without letting the individual threads of magic separate as the electricity desires. Emulate his example. Learn from it. We will focus on the same tomorrow, by refining your basic levitation spells. Class dismissed.”

He whirled and walked towards the door. Pisces paused, letting himself smile a tiny bit. Then he turned to Ceria.

“Shall we go?”

—-

“How did you do that?”

“It’s just a matter of adjusting the spell.”

“I know that—”

Ceria snapped as she hurried after Pisces. She had to walk fast to keep up with him—Pisces was taller than she was, and he had an effortless stride despite the small bag he carried. She was carrying a similar one, and Ceria didn’t like the weight it put on one shoulder. The strap was digging into her flesh. Why didn’t Humans use backpacks? They were more practical, if not as easily accessible.

They were walking through the corridors of Wistram, leaving the class they’d just been in. Ceria and Pisces stopped in a large corridor and found a number of other students—all young, prospective students like them—milling around there.

They were in one of the sections of Wistram devoted to teaching. As such, a branching corridor led to several hallways with classrooms, and it was the intersection here where students could find a class, or walk to another intersection to go elsewhere in Wistram.

“Why are you so amazed? It’s not as if the spell was Tier 3, or even Tier 2. Your [Ice Shard] spell was far harder to maintain.”

“In terms of mana, maybe. But your mastery of the spell was nearly perfect. Even the teacher left you alone! Are you sure you didn’t know the spell beforehand?”

“Very sure. I just don’t find Tier 1 spells that challenging, at least in making them work in the most optimal way. It’s like having a map with your destination circled; it’s obvious what needs to be done.”

“Well.”

Ceria blew out her cheeks, partly exasperated, but mostly impressed. Pisces certainly was gifted. She looked around the other corridors and frowned.

“Where to next?”

Pisces frowned. He stared at one of the windows. The sun was nearly directly overhead. Wistram had other ways of telling time of course, but this was the easiest to use.

“Um…illusion class, I think. After that’s destruction magic.”

“So we’re free?”

“Unless you’ve figured out where the illusion class is being held yet?”

“Nope. You?”

Pisces shook his head. Ceria looked around and saw the other students were milling about, equally confused as to where to go. She gritted her teeth, annoyed.

“I can’t believe there aren’t any signs.”

“Or a map. That would be quite helpful.”

There was a trick to Wistram. Actually, more than one trick; it was like walking into a dungeon full of traps, really, but there was a trick to being a student that Ceria had quickly realized. And it was that being a student meant you had to learn everything. Not just magic. Even basic things like directions, where the bathrooms were located—all of that vital information you had to find out for yourself, because no one would teach you.

Class, for instance. Ceria had heard of royal academies some nations had founded to train [Strategists], or [Scholars] and even [Mages] of their own, but where those places were neat, highly-regulated affairs, Wistram clearly believed in finding things out for yourself.

Case in point. The first day Ceria and Pisces had been in Wistram—the first full day, not counting their exciting voyage and rescue—they’d been given a tour of Wistram, as well as supplies to be used during their time here. Ink pots, quills—even a low-level spellbook of their own! Calvaron had been one of the students who’d shown Ceria where to go and not to go, and what places were off-limits to new students like her.

Only, it appeared that while older students like Calvaron had been only too willing to show the new students around the first day, they hadn’t pointed out specific classrooms. Thus, when class had actually started, Ceria had had to run around with Pisces, walking into classes in session before they found the one they were assigned to.

This was embarrassing, but not the worst part. Some classes were easy enough to figure out, and the teachers had even posted directions on the large message board next to the dining hall. But no matter how hard Ceria and the other students had searched, they still hadn’t found some of the other classes they were slated to attend. The illusion classroom was supposed to be somewhere on the ground floor, but no one had found it yet.

Ceria was certain that was some kind of twisted joke. She scowled as she wondered what she might be learning if she was in the right class—she didn’t know any illusion spells, and she would dearly love to learn one or two. But she yawned once, which prompted Pisces to yawn as well.

“I don’t wish to seem lax, but I very much doubt three more hours of unsuccessful searching would do either of us any good, do you?”

“Probably not.”

“Then I shall return to my room for a quick rest. Would you like to…?”

Ceria thought about it as Pisces eyed her hopefully. Her instinct was to say ‘no’, but it wasn’t as if Pisces was inviting her into his room. And besides—

“Fine. Let’s go.”

She and Pisces began walking out of the intersection. Their departure seemed to make up the other new student’s minds, and they began to leave too. Soon, the wide corridors were packed with busy people, some tripping over their robes.

Robes. Ceria snorted as she walked along in her normal, practical leggings and tunic. Over half of the new students were wearing long robes, usually dark blue or black. They’d bought it along with a low-quality wand, as if it were prerequisite for being a [Mage]. All it really did, in Ceria’s opinion, was make you look like an idiot. The older students, Calvaron and Beatrice included, didn’t wear robes. Then again, Calvaron was a Centaur and Beatrice was a Dullahan, so perhaps that was an unfair comparison.

This time Ceria took the lead, which meant that she could set the pace. Pisces walked next to her, easily keeping up as they turned left and right and went up a flight of stairs. Both had to concentrate on where they were going—there wasn’t much traffic in the hallways except at the busiest of intersections, but Wistram was a labyrinth. It was all too easy to get lost and turn the wrong way and find yourself quite a ways away from where you wanted to be.

“I thought that was a rather informative class, don’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Ceria grunted as she walked along. She made a face. She was still sour over being reprimanded.

“I certainly benefited from someone showing me how to cast the [Electric Jolt] spell, and the way our teacher optimized the spell was quite interesting.”

“That I’ll grant you. Still, learning to make a weak spell slightly more effective wasn’t why I came here.”

Ceria stopped at an intersection where two paths split off diagonally from each other. It was odd architecture, and Ceria couldn’t remember which way led to their rooms. Pisces pointed.

“I think we go right here. Well, what did you expect?”

“I don’t know. I guess I thought we’d be picking up higher-Tier spells, not working on the basics.”

“I would like that. But we are new students, aren’t we? If we don’t improve on our fundamental abilities, we wouldn’t be able to cast better spells anyways.”

That was true. Ceria knew [Ice Shard], but she could barely create more than twenty darts before she had to sit down. That was a far cry from a good mage’s capabilities, let alone a Gold-rank [Mage], for example.

“I guess you’re right. Still…”

She scowled, not wanting to put her feelings into words. She walked briskly forwards, and Pisces stepped a bit more quickly to catch up.

She knew they had to make an odd pair. Ceria was a half-Elf, and Pisces was…well, a young man who looked more like a peasant than a student. There were odder pairings, Calvaron and Beatrice for example, and Ceria had seen Drakes and even a Selphid walking down the halls just this morning. But it was strange to be talking so familiarly with a Human, given where both came from.

Pisces cleared his throat.

“I noticed the lecturer was ah, slightly hostile towards you, Ceria. Maybe it’s because of your…”

“My race, you mean?”

Ceria grimaced as she twitched her ears in annoyance. Pisces made a noncommittal sound.

“Straight ahead here, I believe. Do you think he’s from Terandria?”

She shrugged.

“He could be. If he lived in the north or eastern parts of the continent…or not. It doesn’t really matter—half-Elves don’t have a good reputation anywhere.”

“Really? I know that some nations in Terandria ah, don’t have the best relations with your people, but everywhere?”

“You’ve heard the rumors about half-Elves, right? We’re thieves, we can’t be trusted, we hate Humans—”

“But those are rumors, surely. Just like how you can’t let a Selphid into a graveyard, and a Gnoll will bite your face off if you offend them.”

“Yeah. I mean—yes. Come on, it’s this way.”

Ceria turned away from Pisces. She wasn’t used to someone taking her side, and it was uncomfortable.

“Okay, maybe in other parts of the world we’re more welcomed, but half-Elves keep to ourselves no matter where we go. And if he is from Terandria, there’s bad blood. Lots of it. Centuries of conflict.”

“Indeed. I just didn’t think he was being that fair in his critique of you, that’s all.”

“Well—thanks.”

They walked on. Ceria began to recognize their part of the citadel as the view in the windows changed. She and Pisces occupied some sort of overlook right above the rocks of the isle, and as she stared out at the calm, peaceful bubble of water surrounding Wistram, she spotted their rooms.

“Here we are.”

“Here we are indeed.”

Pisces nodded to Ceria.

“I’ll ah, take a nap. Would you like to have lunch together later?”

“I—guess so. Okay. See you later.”

He nodded, smiled, and yawned. Ceria yawned too, and she found herself fumbling with the lock in her keyhole. She tossed her heavy bag onto a chair, wincing as she heard a sealed pot of ink clink against the wood, and rubbed at her shoulder. Then she yawned again.

It was strange. Ceria was exhausted, and the day wasn’t even truly begun. Five hours had passed since they’d woken up. Well, six, but the first hour had just been comprised of dressing, eating, and finding their way to class. The other five had involved studying.

Maybe if it was just studying in the sense of reading books and listening to someone talk Ceria would have been more awake. But in Wistram, studying also meant casting magic. She’d been taught several basic spells and forced to use her mana to prove to her teachers that she could perform basic incantations. That wasn’t hard, but she’d had to do it again and again.

Repeatedly casting spells, even low-Tier ones, was extremely draining. The result was that even at midmorning of their second day, both Ceria and Pisces felt physically exhausted, if not mentally. They wandered into their rooms and fell asleep for a few solid hours before waking bleary-eyed and restless.

Of the two, Ceria was the most exhausted. She barely managed to rouse herself for a very late lunch after Pisces knocked on her door, and she stumbled into the grand dining hall with a scowl as she got her food.

Raucous laughter greeted both her and Pisces as they sat at one of the tables. Calvaron and Beatrice were seated at a large table next to the couches, and they waved the two new [Mages] over. Ceria hadn’t seen them much yesterday, but she saw the two older students were studying at their table while they ate.

Spell books, expensive, magical, and sometimes literally glowing with the spells inscribed on them, were carelessly propped open by bowls and mugs. The Dullahan and Centaur looked like they’d been eating and sitting for a while, judging by the mess on their table. Calvaron swept some dishes aside as he called out to Ceria.

“Your hair looks like a tangled spiderweb, Springwalker! Did you get a bit of rest after all the magic practice this morning?”

She glared at him as she put down her food—thick slices of roasted mushrooms in a sauce and what she thought was pork—on the table.

“I’d laugh—but I forgot that I don’t like jokes.”

“Ooh, touchy. Are you in the same class as Ceria, Pisces? I’d sit far away from her if I were you, or she might bite your head off.”

“I can leave. Or throw these mushrooms at you.”

Calvaron ducked his head slightly as Ceria raised her fork with one of the dripping mushrooms.

“Don’t, please. I hate mushrooms.”

“I’m allergic to mushrooms.”

The Centaur, Human, and half-Elf all looked at Beatrice. She was calmly eating some peas, chewing without much expression.

“Sorry. I can take them away if it’s a bother.”

“Just don’t drop them on my armor.”

Ceria nodded and settled down as she began to eat her meal. Calvaron wasn’t done teasing though. The Centaur grinned at the two others.

“Did you just wake up? Exhausted, are we?”

“Quite.”

Pisces nodded as he stuffed his face full of meat. He’d completely ignored the mushrooms as well.

“I had no idea—mnph, this is good—that the lessons could be this intense. Will they always be so hard?”

Beatrice looked mildly disgusted at Pisces’ display of eating. She moved her head off the table and onto her lap as Calvaron nodded and laughed again.

“Everyone always complains on the first day. Have you two never been taught by another [Mage] before?”

Ceria shook her head, ruefully.

“I learnt all my spells from books. I taught myself.”

Pisces hesitated before replying.

“There was a local [Hedge Mage] in my…village who agreed to teach me.”

Calvaron nodded as he reached for a drink of dark purple juice. Ceria smelled grape and wished she’d gotten some.

“The first lessons are always the hardest. Once they’re sure you’re not making novice mistakes in how you form your spells, the teachers will go easier on you.”

“I hope so. But do we have to take classes at all? I thought Wistram let mages study how they pleased.”

Scowling, Ceria bit into another mushroom, chewing hard. Someone hadn’t cooked these thoroughly enough. Beatrice and Calvaron shrugged in reply.

“Some people just study by themselves. But until you’re sure that’s the way you want to go, I’d pay attention in the lessons and try to impress the mages assigned to teach you.”

“For the exam.”

“Exactly!”

The Centaur grinned as Ceria’s stomach gave a small lurch and Pisces paused long enough to look worried.

“Will we learn any complex spells before then?”

“Some basic ones, yes, but complex? Not unless your teacher’s quite odd. You lot are only here for a month—all of your courses are the most basic ones.”

Beatrice nodded.

“Boring classes.”

“Golem creation, scroll scribing, trap spells and enchantments—all of that only gets taught when we’re in our second years at the earliest. Most students don’t get to those kind of lessons until year six. Talented ones get there sooner, but…”

“Wonderful.”

Ceria muttered as she drank her own cup of water. Pisces looked dispirited as well, but then he turned to the older students hopefully.

“If you’re going to be helpful, mind telling us where the illusion classes are being taught? No one’s found the classroom so far.”

“Oh? Illusion class?”

They laughed. Well, Calvaron laughed and Beatrice chuckled. Ceria frowned at them.

“What’s the joke?”

The Centaur scratched at his head and smiled enigmatically at the two of them.

“I…could tell you how to find it, but I’m afraid I’d have to charge you two for that.”

“What? You’d ask us for money?”

Ceria was outraged—she’d thought the Centaur and Dullahan were friends, or at least friendly!—but Calvaron was shaking his head, trying not to chuckle.

“No, you see—ah, Beatrice, what should I do? If I explain it, I’ll lose the chance to charge them for that as well. Do you think we should just give away a secret like that?”

The half-Elf had no idea what they were talking about, but Beatrice paused for a second before nodding her head with her hands.

“It’s not a big secret. You should tell them to be friendly. Or she’ll throw mushrooms at us.”

Calvaron glanced at Ceria. She was indeed considering heaving her dish at his head. Pisces just watched the other two thoughtfully. At last, Calvaron sighed, sounding put-upon.

“I suppose we can. Okay you two, you’re about to learn a bit more about how Wistram works. For free, no less.”

“What are you talking about?”

Beatrice sighed.

“They are a currency. Secrets.”

Calvaron paused, mouth open and looked over at Beatrice with a frown. Ceria and Pisces just stared at the two of them.

“Thanks for ruining my moment, Beatrice.”

“Welcome.”

The Dullahan shrugged impassively. Ceria stared at her and the resigned Centaur.

“What?”

“You heard her. Wistram runs on secrets, not coin around here. You would have figured it out sooner or later, but…”

“I still don’t get it.”

“It’s very simple. If you want something—a spell, a favor, or even another secret, you have to pay for it. Unfortunately, or fortunately for those of us without money, the most valuable thing around here is secrets.”

“Secrets.”

Ceria felt like she was speaking another language. Calvaron wiggled his eyebrows as he smiled at her.

“That’s right. Secrets about where treasure’s buried, unique classes, spells no one’s heard of—I say secrets, but it’s more general knowledge in most cas—”

“What are you talking about?”

“Secrets, Springwalker! Secrets!”

Pisces stopped Ceria from getting up and kicking the table over. He smiled at her.

“I believe Calvaron is saying Wistram uses a bartering system.”

“What?”

It took a while, but with Calvaron to explain and Pisces to clarify—and Beatrice to nod silently—Ceria finally got it.

Wistram used secrets like coins. Small secrets, big secrets—they were what [Mages] and students alike traded each other for favors, or even real objects.

“Like coin? You could trade a secret for a—a bag of gold coins?”

Calvaron nodded happily as he ate something yellow and strange he called a ‘banana’. It looked disgusting to Ceria.

“That’s right. Wistram doesn’t have much use for coin, although there are always merchants sailing in to harbor…but secrets and magic are the real coin around here.”

“But how does that work? Are there really that many secrets there? No—how could you keep that many secrets for so long? How could a system like that keep functioning?”

The Centaur shrugged.

“It works because it has to. We need some kind of currency, and money isn’t good enough. And secrets have a weight of their own. True, if you went around telling everyone then the secret’s worthless. But if there were a room only you and someone else knew about—or a part of the academy that you have to have a password to get into—”

“Which there are.”

“—Which there are, thank you Beatrice. The system might not work anywhere else, but Wistram has so many secrets and hidden surprises that even now people are finding new things out. Just the other day, someone found a wall that disappears if you say the right words.”

“Oh? And what was behind the wall?”

Pisces was curious, but Calvaron just waggled a finger at him.

“If I told you that, you’d have to give me a secret. A small one to know and a big one for the actual words, which I don’t in fact know. I’d have to trade some secrets for it, you see.”

“That is the stupidest way of—”

Ceria rubbed at her head. This had to be a joke. She closed her eyes and came up with a flaw after two seconds of thought.

“What if—and hear me out here—what if someone traded you for a secret, and then didn’t pay up? How would anyone prove you’d lost anything?”

“Truth spells.”

“Oh.”

“If someone doesn’t make good on your favor, all you have to do is go around telling people they’re a lying backstabber. No one will trust them, and your problem’s solved.”

“Something that can only work in a place where magic users are as common as dirt.”

Pisces looked approving. Calvaron grinned as he nodded.

“Of course, some people have more secrets to trade than others. Some people just use secrets when they have to—they trade gold for secrets, or get someone else to make all the trades for them. Like me.”

“You?”

“I’m a broker. I have a lot of secrets in my head, and even more that I don’t even know myself. Spelled parchment that erases itself when opened—that was popular a while ago. Messages in bottles, that sort of thing.”

Ceria eyed Calvaron slightly askance.

“And you trade secrets, is that it? If I have a juicy one, I can trade it to you for something else?”

“Anything you want to know. I accept all kinds of minor secrets; if you’ve got gold or gems I’ll take that too, but I prefer secrets.”

He grinned at both half-Elf and Human sitting at the table. After a second, the half-Elf rolled her eyes.

“This place gets weirder by the second. Okay, remind me to never ask you for a favor.”

“Aw, don’t be like that. Look, because we’re friends I’ll share a secret with you. On the house.”

Both Ceria and Pisces eyed Calvaron dubiously, the former with considerably more suspicion than the latter. Calvaron laughed lightly again. He looked around and muttered something—Ceria saw his fingertips flash for a second—before he spoke to them in a quiet voice.

“Here’s a free secret for you new students: most magic-based classes require at least ten levels in [Mage] to learn. A lot of them take at least twenty levels. That’s why most classes just teach the basics—they want you to have a high [Mage] level before you try to specialize.”

“Is that really true?”

Ceria wasn’t sure if she should be impressed or not. It was probably true, but was that really a secret worth trading?

“This would be a small secret, wouldn’t it?”

“Pretty small, unless you knew the exact requirements for a class. That would constitute a large secret.”

“And you’re just giving this one away because we’re friends, huh?”

“Just a sample. Now, if you want to know anything else, we can negotiate.”

Pisces frowned.

“That’s very mercenary of you.”

“Hey, we’ve all got to eat. And if I can build up a bit of credit on the side—”

“So you’re not going to tell us anything else unless we pay you.”

“That’s right.”

Ceria frowned.

“That’s not fair. Tell us at least one more secret—an obvious one.”

Calvaron raised his eyebrows, looking mildly exasperated.

“I just gave you a secret for free.”

“Yeah, a pretty useless one. We’ll get our classes no matter what happens—who cares about what’ll happen ten levels from now? Tell us something we can use in Wistram.”

She frowned at the Centaur and he frowned back, but he did seem to consider her suggestion. He nudged his friend gently in the side of her armor.

“I don’t know. Beatrice?”

She shrugged.

“Mushrooms.”

With a put-upon sigh, Calvaron nodded.

“Fine. Here’s another one, but this is the last secret. It’s about your books.”

“Our books?”

“You got new spellbooks on the first day, right? Come on, let’s see them.”

Reluctantly, Ceria and Pisces pulled out their spellbooks. They had indeed been issued mostly-empty books for apprentice mages. The first few pages had been filled with notes and spells in another person’s hand, but the majority was blank. Calvaron chuckled as he showed the students the empty pages.

“Thought so. Here’s something the academy does all the time. They take old books—the ones left behind by students—and give them to new students. You’ll never find anything beyond a Tier 2 spell in the spellbooks, because the older mages will sort through the lot to make sure they don’t give anything good to the new students.”

“Huh. So there are better spellbooks out there?”

Calvaron and Beatrice nodded.

“Yup. You’ll be able to read them as you rise in, well, status. You can take out books from the libraries, but only experienced students know where the good books are hidden.”

“And you would know where they’re kept, I presume?”

The Centaur raised his hands.

“Me? Perish the thought. If I could trade for that secret, I would. But the locations of the secret libraries and tomes are among the biggest secrets you can trade for.”

“And that’s your big secret. Again, it sounds more like something you could’ve just told us to be friendly.”

Ceria crossed her arms, annoyed and slightly disgusted. She saw Calvaron exchange an amused glance with Beatrice, and scowled fiercely.

“All of your ‘secrets’ sound pretty useless to me, Calvaron.”

“I don’t know about that.”

He avoided her gaze, an amused smile on his face as he snagged a slice of pork from her plate.

“All knowledge is useful to someone else. And there are secrets and secrets. For instance, the fact that Miss Springwalker here is a half-Elf? Not really a secret. But the knowledge that Pisces here has a rapier and a silver bell? That’s important knowledge. Someone might ask where he came from, knowing that.”

“How did you—?”

“And that this morning, Pisces managed to impress even Rievan during class? And that he didn’t like Miss Ceria?”

“Calvaron—”

The Centaur cut Ceria off. He looked directly at her.

“And of course, there’s your origins. The records are sealed of course, but anyone can look up old records. And half-Elves have long histories. In fact, if you looked back at certain Terandrian city arrest warrants, you could find a small bounty on a certain half-Elf kid for theft, property damage and—”

Ceria slammed her hands on the table, cutting the Centaur off. He stared at her surprised. She was shaking, and Ceria saw Beatrice grab Calvaron’s side warningly. But she didn’t say or do anything that would start something else. Without a word, she stood up and walked away. Calvaron called out after her, but Ceria ignored him. She stalked off, leaving her unfinished meal behind.

“Ceria? Ah! Ceria, please wait!”

She heard the voice calling out after her as she stomped away. At first Ceria just walked faster, but the voice kept shouting her name. In the end, she grudgingly slowed to let Pisces catch up.

“What?”

The young man slowed and panted—theatrically, Ceria thought—as he caught up with her. He smiled nervously as she glared at him.

“I ah, I just wanted to walk back with you.”

“Did you?”

“Well—”

Ceria started walking again, and Pisces hesitated before matching her pace.

“Calvaron is, uh, apologetic.”

“Good for him.”

She gritted her teeth. Pisces paused again before he adopted a placating tone.

“They were trying to help us, or so I feel. I understand that they went too far—”

“I came here to learn magic, not to find out secrets about other people and trade favors and gossip like a pack of simpering [Noblewomen].”

“As did I.”

Pisces took two strides forwards, and looked at Ceria. She glared at him, emotions running hot.

“What?”

“Nothing. I would just like to opine that, well, we are new to Wistram.”

“So?”

“So, rather than get too upset—why don’t you forget Calvaron’s transgression, and have a drink with me instead? It does no good to get too worked up right away, in my experience.”

“Oh really? Well, how much experience have you had?”

“None.”

Pisces grinned at her widely, and Ceria’s face went slack before she laughed unwillingly. The anger drained out of her as quick as it had come, leaving her feeling more than a little silly.

“Okay, okay. I should…rot, I should apologize to Calvaron. I didn’t mean to storm off like that. It’s just when he brought up my past—”

The young man interrupted with surprising tact.

“I shouldn’t worry about that. Calvaron feels he went too far. I think he’ll be the one apologizing when you two next meet. Until then, we should really have a drink.”

“A drink? Here? But they don’t serve free beer.”

If they did, Ceria would already have downed a few mugs to take the burden of the day away. But Pisces just gave her another smile.

“They do not. But there are places where it is sold, quite cheaply too. All one has to do is trade for the secrets…”

He waggled his eyebrows and Ceria snorted.

“Don’t tell me you traded Calvaron for one of his secrets.”

“Not as of such. I ah, may have told Calvaron that I would intercede on his behalf if he told us the best place in the isle to find alcohol, preferably for free. He informed me of a party that should be beginning tonight. Would you care to join me?”

Ceria thought about it, and then smiled slightly wickedly.

“You’re telling me you blackmailed Calvaron for free beer?”

“He’s not as good at negotiating as he thinks he is, and I do believe he wants to be friends.”

The two began to walk off in another direction. Ceria was smiling against her will and Pisces tried to tell jokes and speculated on what secrets might be worth trading for. She found herself answering back, wondering about the illusion and destruction magic classes, and before she knew it, they were talking again.

Just like on the boat. And best of all, she hadn’t made a scene—well, not that big of a scene—and ruined a potential friendship with Calvaron and Beatrice. And thanks to Pisces, she was going to be drunk, or at least tipsy tonight.

Pisces. Ceria glanced at him sideways as the mage tripped over his robes. He was coolheaded when she was not. And he had a quick tongue and a fast mind. He was also a talented [Mage]; in short, all the things that should have made him the competition for Ceria. But he was also friendly, and helpful. He seemed like a good…friend. A Human friend? Now, wasn’t that an odd thought.

—-

A week later, Ceria had gotten used to Wistram’s quirks and peculiarities. She had gotten over the system of secrets, resigned herself to at least one class with a teacher who didn’t like her, and surprisingly enjoyed and learned quite a lot from all her classes. True, she wasn’t exactly learning how to cause earthquakes, but there was a whole basis of magic she had never understood until now. Maybe this was why Wistram Mages were always considered better than other mages; they might not be higher level, but they knew how spells worked.

The other thing that the half-Elf had learned after spending some time in Wistram was the architecture of the building. It really was simple, once you got over the varied passageways. There was a general, central area containing dormitories, classrooms, general storage—everything a new student needed. Central hallways branched out or spiraled upwards leading to these individual sections, but the higher levels and the lower recesses of Wistram were off-limits.

There were actual magical barriers in some places, locked doors or Golems standing guard duty near stairwells in others. They were there to stop new students from going too high or too low, where more dangerous magical experiments still ran wild, and the most powerful of mages worked and lived. In short, that was where the real magic happened, but until she got to that point or even became a full student, Ceria was content just to find her way around.

And it was a good thing she could get to places on time, because Pisces certainly couldn’t. The young man had to follow her to get to all their classes, and on a day like today where both of them were rushing, Ceria was just glad for his long legs.

“Are you sure this is the right way!”

“I’m positive! And if you’d bother to memorize the way to class, we wouldn’t be late!”

Ceria snapped over her shoulder as she and Pisces ran down a corridor, running past a plodding Golem made of stone and amused older students who called out to them as they passed by. Pisces muttered as they rounded a corner and went straight down a seven-way intersection.

“Why don’t they have signs?”

“Because that would make it too easy. And being a [Mage] is hard work. Come on, we’re nearly there!”

“Why are we going to class? We just finished Rievan’s lecture a half-hour ago!”

“I don’t know! Cessic just told us to get to the classrooms.”

“Cessic? You trusted him?”

“Has he ever lied?”

“Well—”

Cessic was another one of the new students Ceria and Pisces had gotten to know. He was a Lizardman, and as such, he’d naturally gravitated towards Ceria when they’d been in class together. The Humans—the overwhelming majority of new students—tended to stick together, and Ceria still felt a lurch of anger when she saw Charles and his group strutting around their circle. But the non-Humans had their own cliques, and Ceria had sat next to Cessic more than once.

“Here we are!”

The two mages skidded to a halt and found a large group of students, both prospective and older ones—waiting outside of one of the classroom doors. Ceria blinked. This classroom she’d never been in, and she was fairly certain none of the teachers had used it before. She spotted a tall Lizardman with multicolored scales and edged over to him.

“Cessic! Hey, Cessic! What’s going on?”

Cessic turned his head and fanned his neck frills out slightly as he spotted Ceria and Pisces.

“There you two are! You’re just in time—I think we’re about to get our first class in destruction magic!”

“Really?”

“You’re kidding!”

The two mages stared at Cessic in disbelief. Although they’d taken quite a few classes, they still hadn’t managed to find the class that taught illusion magic (Pisces had suggested that such a class didn’t exist and it was a prank pulled on new students; Ceria had agreed), and as far as they’d known, the teacher in charge of teaching combat spells hadn’t shown up to any of her classes.

“How do you know?”

“Look around.”

Cessic pointed to the other students.

“Apparently, the Council—the leaders of all the mage factions in Wistram—chewed out the mage in charge of this class—told them to start teaching right away. I got the tip-off from Calvaron; he sold it to me cheap, since word spread so quick.”

“Of course he did.”

Ceria sighed, although she wasn’t actually that mad. She’d gotten used to Calvaron selling secrets, and she’d even bought two off him for small favors and secrets in return—one to find out where the bathrooms on her floor were, and another for a shortcut that saved her several minutes getting to the banquet hall each day. Apparently, a rather irate [Illusionist] had grown fed-up with waiting in line for the bathroom each day and enchanted her own private restroom, until word had spread of its existence.

“Who’s the mage? Are you sure they’re coming?”

“Fairly. I mean, if they didn’t offer the class they’d be punished, and I don’t think they’d want to risk—”

Cessic cut off and the hubbub around Ceria died. She looked and saw the door to the classroom slowly opening. She held her breath, not sure whom to expect. What she saw was a tall, older woman—perhaps in her late thirties—stepping out of the room. It was actually hard to place this Human’s age, because although her hair was slightly greying, she had no wrinkles. Her face was smooth and flawless so Ceria supposed her hair was just naturally grey. What the woman did give off though was an aura of cold, both in mannerism and temperature.

And Ceria recognized her, vaguely. She was the woman who’d cast [Ice Lance] on the first day at the Ghouls. She was…

“My name is Illphres. I specialize in ice magic, and I’m assigned to teach you all some spells to use in actual combat.”

The woman spoke abruptly and without any hint of welcome. She raised her voice so the silent students could all hear her. Ceria exchanged a glance with Pisces. This sounded like the introduction the other teachers had given a week ago! And why were they all here? Was she going to teach all the students at once?

Illphres’ eyes swept over the assembled students once. Then she spoke again.

“However, I don’t want to be a teacher. I was forced to take this job by the Council, even though I have better things to do. So I’m going to give you a test. Pass it and I’ll teach you magic.”

So saying, Illphres turned and pointed towards the open doorway.

“[Ice Wall].”

The students in the crowd stepped back as ice rose from the ground, forming out of the suddenly misty air and freezing into a thick, impenetrable wall that sealed off the entrance to the classroom. Ceria heard confused voices as she felt the temperature in the corridor drop so suddenly she shivered. People moved back in front of her, stepping away from the extreme cold.

Illphres didn’t seem bothered by the chill. She was wearing light robes, and she touched the ice as if it were just stone. But she had confidence in her spell as well, because her next words were a challenge.

“Melt the ice. Gain entry to the classroom and I will teach you. Do it yourselves, without an artifact or another mage to help you. That is all.”

Without another word she stepped aside. The students stared at her incredulously. So did Ceria.

“That’s it?”

One of the students, a young Drake, stepped forwards angrily. He pointed to the wall of ice.

“You expect us to melt through that? How? We came here to learn combat spells! Some of us don’t know any flame magic!”

“Not my problem.”

Illphres stood with her arms crossed, waiting for someone to make a move. Ceria hesitated. She knew her best flame spell, [Flame Jet], wasn’t nearly good enough to melt through a wall of ice. Maybe if she had time—

She was too busy staring at the wall to see another student stride up to Illphres angrily. He was corpulent—fat being too general a term. He was wearing robes and by the looks of him he was an older student, given that he was brave enough to call Illphres out to her face.

“This isn’t fair! We’re supposed to be taught by you unconditionally! You don’t get to impose a restriction like—”

He cut off sharply as the temperature around Illphres lowered. Ceria felt it lower from where she was standing; she saw the student’s robes suddenly frost over, and then he was stumbling away, sobbing, his clothing crackling with frost.

Illphres flicked a bit of frozen spittle off her robes as if nothing had happened. She spoke quietly, calmly to the other students.

“I’m allowed to test you. So I am. I don’t feel like teaching children who can barely cast [Light], so this is my condition. Pass it or fail; it matters little to me.”

“Fine then.”

Another student moved up. He was a Dullahan, and his fingers burned with flames as he put his head on his shoulders. He raised both his hands and aimed it straight at the wall of ice.

“[Flaming Swathe]!”

Ceria watched as a long stream of fire blew outwards from the mage’s palms, licking over the door and raising the temperature in the corridor several degrees. She exchanged a look with Pisces—he looked impressed as well. It was a [Flaming Swathe], a Tier 3 spell, but the student held it for over twenty seconds, which had to have taken quite a bit of mana.

When he eventually lowered his hands, the Dullahan was panting, sweat standing out on his head. He wiped it away with one gauntlet and smiled confidently as the smoke cleared. But then his face fell.

The barrier of ice stood in the doorway, not even slightly melted by the fire. Illphres shook her head as she looked dismissively at the older student.

“A Tier 3 spell. Not even a good one at that; if you want to clear snow, use that spell. For this, you’d better have something better.”

She stared at the panting Dullahan. He couldn’t meet her eyes as he stepped back. Illphres looked around.

“Anyone else want to try? No? Then I’m going.”

She began to walk away. Silence followed her footsteps. Ceria couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Before she knew it, she’d raised her voice.

“We came here to be mages!”

Ceria shouted it at Illphres’ back. She couldn’t help herself. She raised her voice in outrage as the woman turned and regarded her silently.

“If you don’t want to teach us, take it up with the Council! But we’ve just started learning, and we need help, not an impossible task!”

A few students around her raised their voices in agreement. More spoke up, and then they were all shouting at Illphres. The woman just stared at them all without expression. She didn’t smile or frown—she didn’t even blink. It wasn’t just having a still face; it was as if her own face was frozen in place. It was so unnerving that after a few seconds, the noise had faded from the hallways once again.

When Illphres spoke, it was in a flat voice as she met Ceria’s eyes.

“Real [Mages] don’t need help. They forge their own paths. If you want someone to hold your hand, find another teacher.”

She turned and walked away. Ceria clenched her fists, helpless, as the blurred shape of Illphres disappeared down the corridor. Pisces patted her on the shoulder, and Cessic said something Ceria didn’t quite catch.

Slowly, the students began trooping down the corridor, not saying much. But they paused when they saw a ten foot high wall of ice right as the corridor opened up into the intersection. The wall left a foot of room near the ceiling, but besides that it was impenetrable.

In consternation, the students stared at the wall of shimmering ice. One student disbelievingly put their palm against it and found it stuck. As the shouting started, Ceria stared at the wall, and then at the mage standing at the far end of the intersection. It was hard to see the woman’s face through the distorted ice, but Ceria could swear she was smiling slightly. Then she turned and walked away.

Pisces stared at the ice as Cessic and Ceria just stood there in silence. He looked at Ceria.

“…How are we supposed to get out?”

—-

“We’re going to die here.”

Cessic made that announcement after twenty minutes had passed and the fifty-odd students had made no progress breaking down the wall of ice magic. Over half the students knew at least one flame-based spell, but no matter how they’d pooled their spells and attacked in unison, the icy barrier had resisted all the flames.

“It has to be a Skill! A normal [Ice Wall] spell would melt, however slowly. But this ice is practically resistant to flame!”

Pisces looked as happy as she did. Concerned, he stared at the ice. Ceria just glared. Her spells had washed right over the wall without doing anything to it; and none of the other students still blasting it with low-level spells were having any better luck.

They couldn’t touch the ice, either, or they’d risk getting stuck to it. Several students had already tried climbing the ice, but they’d stopped after leaving good bits of their skin on the frozen surface. Now, most of the students were just standing around and talking, waiting for a higher-level mage to come by and rescue them.

“We’re all going to die.”

The only problem was that some people couldn’t handle waiting. Cessic was pacing back and forth, hyperventilating as he panicked. Ceria sighed and edged away from him; the Lizardman was apparently claustrophobic, and he gave off fear that was starting to spread to some of the other new students.

“We’re not going to die, Cessic. Stop pacing. Just—stand over there and don’t look at the wall, okay? Look out one of the windows?”

“Do—do you think I could jump out of one?”

The Lizardman looked hopefully at one of the windows. Ceria shuddered and grabbed his tail.

“Don’t. It’s a long way down. Just wait, okay? Someone will melt the ice soon enough.”

“Okay. Okay. I’m going to…I’ll just put my head out the window.”

Cessic staggered away. Ceria and Pisces stared at him until they saw he was just looking out the windows rather than climbing out, and then they went back to sitting. In silence.

“I really don’t like her.”

“She does appear to have a most objectionable personality, doesn’t she?”

Pisces nodded to the other wall of ice blocking off the classroom. Ceria scowled and flicked a bit of dirt off the floor. She looked around and saw most of the other students were seated—save for a knot of furious students in robes. They were all older students, a group of five, the Dullahan, and the fat Human who’d gotten frosted by Illphres. They were talking fiercely, and Ceria couldn’t help but edge over a bit to listen.

“We’re third-year students! Illphres was supposed to teach us as well, but the woman doesn’t even respect other mages!”

The over-pudgy mage was talking to the others angrily, and they were nodding as they stayed out of spit-range. The Dullahan was wearing a sour expression as he stared at the ice wall.

“If I had a Tier 4 spell, I could have melted that ice. I wish I could have wiped that smug expression off of her face.”

“Well, if you want to learn it, there’s always the book. If we could pay someone to get it for us, then—”

The older students looked around, and saw Pisces and Ceria standing not-too-subtly near them. They broke off immediately. After a second of scrutiny, one of them raised their voices.

“You two, you’re new students, aren’t you? Shame you got Illphres as a teacher.”

Ceria and Pisces walked over. The other students introduced themselves.

“I take it this isn’t what normal teachers do?”

“Hardly.”

The overweight student snorted. He gestured towards the classrooms.

“Last year we had proper teachers, but this year the Council decided to make the selection process random. Hah! This is what we get. It looks like you two won’t be learning any combat spells unless you pass your entrance test.”

Dismayed, Pisces and Ceria exchanged a glance. The older students nodded in agreement. One of them grinned at the new students.

“Still getting to know the academy? I remember how confusing it was when I was a new student here.”

“That’s right. We still haven’t found where the illusion class is being taught.”

“Hah! Good luck with that. You could get the location from Calvaron, but he’ll change you an arm and a horse’s leg for it.”

The older students laughed again, but the Dullahan paused as he stared at Pisces.

“You’re that Pisces, aren’t you? If you trade me a rapier and a bell, I’ll tell you where the illusion classes are being held.”

“Ah.”

Pisces blinked in surprise, and then smiled apologetically.

“Sorry, but my personal accoutrements are not for sale.”

“Pity. Well, until we get this damn barrier melted, we’d best save our mana rather than waste it on this.”

With a flick of the hand the Dullahan indicated the ice barrier. He jerked his head and the other students walked away, saying goodbye to Pisces and Ceria. They found a secluded part of the corridor and began to speak intently again, this time making sure no one was near them.

“That was an odd offer, don’t you think?”

Pisces and Ceria stood in front of the ice wall, talking. Pisces nodded as he looked over to the other students.

“An offer to tell us where the illusion class was being taught for a duelist’s, that is to say, my, bells. That was the most direct trade I’ve heard so far, I believe.”

“Maybe you should have taken him up on the offer.”

Ceria joked, but Pisces just shook his head. He was very intent as he studied the older students from the side.

“Did you notice his companion’s expressions? They clearly didn’t expect his ruse to succeed, once again adding to my theory that the illusion class is, in of itself, an illusion.”

“Why offer if it wouldn’t succeed, then?”

“For the bell. Another clue. If he wants that for simple directions—well, if the class were so easy to find, it would be a very one-sided deal.”

Ceria raised her eyebrows.

“It’s that valuable? That little bell?”

“It is, to some at least. I—”

The young man broke off, shaking his head. Ceria knew he didn’t want to talk about his past, and let the matter drop. Instead, she perked up her pointed ears, trying to listen to what the students were saying. She caught only a fraction as the conversation from other students entered a temporary lull.

“…spell book. I’m sure it has at least one Tier 4 spell in it, but the protections—”

Then the babble rose and Ceria lost the thread. She sighed. More secrets, and this one sounded promising. A spellbook?

Pisces was looking repeatedly over to the group of students as well. Ceria saw him tap his lips thoughtfully, but he didn’t make a move to sidle over. She thought she saw him whisper something, but it might have just been a trick of the light.

As Ceria turned to check on Cessic, she saw a dark shape flit towards the older students. She turned back quickly, but whatever it was had gone the instant she looked.

“See something?”

She shook her head at Pisces and made a face.

“Great. There are rats trapped in here with us.”

“Rats? Are you sure?”

Cessic said that, coming over from the window to rejoin the other two. Pisces frowned as he looked around, and Ceria did too, although she couldn’t spot the dark shape.

“Either that or some large bug.”

“I wouldn’t mind a bug or a rat if that’s all we’ll be eating. You know, I skipped lunch for this.”

The Lizard moaned as he rubbed his stomach. Ceria was about to tell him to suck it up or go searching for the creature in question when Pisces suddenly called out.

“Hello? Is anyone there? We’re trapped here; we could use some help!”

Ceria turned and saw a tall figure through the distorted ice. It stopped and walked over towards them. Ceria held her breath as she saw a porcelain face, and saw the seven foot tall creation move as gracefully as a dancer. She heard Cessic gulp and the other students go quiet.

Pisces smiled in relief at the stone woman who looked as though she had traded stone for flesh. Cognita’s smooth face smiled slightly as she looked down at them.

“You are Cognita, yes? I hesitate to ask, but we’ve found ourselves trapped, you see. A [Mage] made this barrier and we can’t break through it.”

The Truestone Construct, the Golem who acted like a person, nodded. She regarded the ice wall as if she was staring at a speck of dust as she spoke.

“Ah. This is the work of Illphres. Stand back please, and employ any protective spells you know. I will remove this barrier.”

So saying, she let the students scurry backwards twenty feet before she lifted one delicate arm. Her dress rippled as her stone fist casually punched straight through the wall of ice with an impact that sounded like an avalanche.

Ceria and Pisces gaped as bits of ice showered down around Cognita. She raised her hand and punched twice more, and the wall collapsed. With ease, the Golem kicked the ice fragments aside and nodded to the students.

“The path is clear. I will have the rest disposed of soon enough, although the binding spell has already been broken.”

She nodded politely at Pisces and walked away. In silence, the students watched her go. After a minute, they began to file out, avoiding the jagged bits of ice.

Cessic paused after he’d cleared the broken ice wall. He put one hand against the stone wall, looking pale.

“I think I need to go have a lie down.”

Ceria and Pisces agreed with the sentiment, even if they weren’t so ill as Cessic. They slowly began to walk towards their rooms. Ceria stared at the broken ice, and wondered if she’d ever be able to match any of the beings who walked these halls.

—-

The two mages were tired after their small adventure, so they had agreed to take a brief rest before going to dinner. Ceria wanted to have a drink to wash away the stress, so they had agreed to find another party afterwards.

The funny thing about Wistram was that while all the mages studied magic, there was always at least one mage not studying and instead imbibing as much alcohol as possible. Something about rigorous and intense concentration brought it out in people, and the new students were only too happy to drink as much free liquor as possible until someone started throwing spells around.

But there was nothing in Ceria that really wanted to have a drink and relax. She stomped into her room, teeth clenched. She’d been in a bad mood all day, ever since she’d met Illphres. Now that she was alone, Ceria could give vent to her feelings at last.

“Aargh!”

She screamed as loudly as she could in her locked room. Ceria hurled her possessions around and then raised her finger and started shooting [Stone Dart] at one of the walls.

“That stupid—arrogant—mold-headed, sun-baked piece of tree fertilizer! That inbred—”

Shards of stone broke as the rapid stone missiles shattered against the enchanted stone. Ceria felt some fragments strike her and stopped as one cut her.

“Ow! Damn it!”

That just made her madder. She punched the bed, and then started ripping the covers and pillows off and stomping on them.

“Real mages? Real mages? I’ll show her a real mage! I’ll—”

She began kicking everything on the floor before she moved on to punching her bed and then a wall. Ceria let out her aggression on anything in sight—she normally found a quiet bit of forest to raise hell in when she was angry, but Wistram was extremely forest-deficient.

She’d always had a temper. As a child, Ceria could remember getting angry enough to burst and then chasing woodland animals around, punching foxes, biting sticks in half—

“Ceria? Ceria, are you okay? I hear noises.”

Ceria looked up, part of her pillow in her mouth. She spat out the feathers and called out, somewhat sheepishly.

“I’m—fine, Pisces. Sorry.”

“Ah, do you want to talk?”

“Um—”

A few minutes later, Ceria edged out of her doorway. Pisces only caught a glimpse of floating feathers and a very ransacked room before she practically chased him back into his room.

“Sorry about that. Did you hear—much?”

“No in so many words. Just…noise. I was concerned.”

Pieces offered Ceria his bed, since he only had one chair. She sat on it, and looked around. His room was different than hers; he had a large bed and an actual balcony on his, but besides that his room was very clear—almost austere. His rapier sat in one corner and Pisces had a few clothes in a pile on one side of the room, and nothing else.

“Nice room.”

“I shall take that in the spirit it was intended. I ah, notice you redecorated yours just now.”

Ceria grinned sheepishly.

“Sorry. Was I that loud?”

“Allow me to say it this way: you were audible through the stone. Was that ice mage that upsetting to you?”

The half-Elf shrugged, turning a bit red.

“It’s—okay, yes, she was. But it’s not just that. It’s just—I thought when I got here things would be different. I thought I’d learn magic, not get involved in petty…politics.”

“I must confess, our entry here has been a bit different than what I expected.”

Pisces murmured as he sat next to Ceria. She flicked a feather out of her hair and laughed softly.

“I guess. I shouldn’t be surprised. But doesn’t it feel like we’re not learning everything we could be? I mean, our basic magic classes are fine, but without combat magic—learning that was the entire reason I came here.”

“Mm.”

Pisces nodded, his expression troubled. Ceria let out her breath, giving vent to more of her hitherto unspoken worries.

“And we don’t have that much time, Pisces! If we had a year—or even half of one I could relax. I could prove myself but we have one month. And I don’t know what their exams are, but I can’t just believe they’ll take me because I know a few spells and I’m a half-Elf. I have to be a student here and I just don’t have anything special to offer.”

“Neither do I.”

“Oh come on. You’re the best in our class at our lessons.”

“Best in a class full of new students. That is hardly a ringing endorsement.”

“…True.”

Both students sat together gloomily. Ceria rested her head in her hands, wishing she’d had a real book of spells to study, or that she’d apprenticed under the half-Elves spellcasters back in her village. Pisces sat in his chair, head bowed, apparently lost in thought. Then he slowly raised his head and spoke in a low voice.

“What if there was something we could do?”

“What?”

Ceria looked at him. Pisces’ expression was unreadable, but his fingers twitched and his foot jiggled with nerves. He looked at Ceria and licked his lips.

“I uh, well, you know when we were listening to those older students talk? Before they spoke to us, one of them mentioned a spellbook in conjunction with a Tier 4 spell.”

“I remember that.”

Ceria frowned as she remembered.

“Yeah, they said that. But so what? If they’ve got one—”

“Ah, but they don’t. Have one, that is.”

Pisces raised a finger as Ceria stared at him. He licked his lips again.

“I—happened to overhear the rest of their conversation.”

“How? With a spell?”

Ceria looked at him in disbelief. Her ears were far better than any Human’s and she’d been standing right next to Pisces. He hesitated.

“Something like that. A spell, yes. I’d prefer not to say.”

“Okay.”

Pisces was acting oddly, but Ceria was intrigued now. She scooted over on his bed as he lowered his voice again. No one could hear them in the room, but both felt the need to be secretive.

“I heard the rest of their conversation. They were talking about a spellbook, yes. A book they do not have. There is a book in a hidden part of the library—in a secret section. The students have located it and they are sure it has potent spells, but the book is warded. If they try to take it, it will kill them.”

“Yikes.”

Ceria’s hair rose at the thought. A trapped book? Wistram had more than one library section, but all the books she’d found were normal books or the lowest-level spellbooks full of cantrips. No wonder the other sections were secret if the books had wards like that.

Pisces nodded.

“I also…happened to overhear where the section is, and how to get in. We could gain access to that section.”

“And look around for other spellbooks?”

Ceria’s heart lifted at the thought. But then she thought of the dangers and hesitated. And Pisces was shaking his head.

“Not just that. If we gain access to the library, too many things could go wrong. We aren’t allowed to read higher level spells as new students, and besides, there could be more warding spells. But if we could somehow obtain that particular book they were talking about—”

“You mean steal?”

The half-Elf looked at Pisces in disbelief. His lack of a response was her answer.

“I have a plan. I hesitate to carry it out, but I am sure it would work. I just don’t know whether I should try.”

“It is stealing after all.”

“True, but—it is not as if these students own that book. It is in the library, for anyone to take.”

Ceria slowly let out her breath. Something was tickling her stomach, the same feeling she’d felt back when she was younger.

“Anyone with the courage. And the intelligence to get it without dying.”

“Precisely. It may not be safe. And if we are caught—well, I doubt we will get into that much trouble. But there is danger, especially if the other students find us as we are retrieving the book.”

“And getting it in the first place.”

“Yes.”

Pisces waited. Ceria considered their options, and then shook her head. But not to say no.

“The way I see it…we’ve only got a month—three weeks, really. We can either play the good students, or we can take a risk.”

The young man’s eyes gleamed with excitement as the half-Elf smiled at him, showing teeth. He reached out a hand and Ceria took it.

“Tonight?”

“I believe so. If we wait, the other students may attempt to retrieve it earlier. And I can execute my plan quickly. We just need time, and the right moment when no one is around.”

“Okay then. What if we—”

Ceria turned her head, and paused as she saw an irregularity out of the corner of her eyes. She turned her head.

Something moved in the corner of Pisces’ room, by the dresser. Ceria sat up instantly. She only saw a flash of grey fur before the creature darted back out of sight.

“There’s rats everywhere!”

She stood up, annoyed more than she was upset. She’d eaten rats before, but she didn’t like the disgusting things. She went to the dresser, but Pisces stopped her.

“No need.”

“Oh come on. Where there’s one there could be a dozen. We need to destroy the nest before—”

“I have taken care of it. Don’t worry, Ceria. We have more important things to do.”

She blinked.

“Oh. You got them?”

“Ah, yes. I had a small infestation of mice in my room. This one must be a straggler.”

“Had?”

Pisces blinked.

“Have. Excuse me. I must have neglected to round up all of the vermin in my last sweep. It should be of no consequence.”

Ceria hesitated. She pointed to the dresser.

“Are you sure? One [Flame Jet] and they’re cooked. It’ll smell bad for a while, but—”

“I’m sure. I have my own methods of disposing of such creatures, and we mustn’t waste time. Let us go to dinner, and then we’ll begin the plan.”

He ushered her towards the door. Ceria nodded reluctantly, but she stopped Pisces as he closed the door to get ready.

“Just be sure it isn’t a rat. Mice will leave you alone, but some of the nastier kinds of rats will nibble your nose off as you sleep.”

“I have everything under control.”

Pisces shut the door as Ceria went back into her room to clean up in the few minutes before they left to eat. He breathed a sigh of relief, and then scowled as a small shape slowly climbed up his dresser.

He stared at it. The ‘rat’ stared back with hollow, unblinking eyes. It was no rat. It was a mouse. And it was dead.

Pisces raised a finger, and the mouse scurried over to him. He carefully picked it up and tucked it into the pocket of his robe. And then he opened the door and walked into the corridor.

“Ceria? Are you ready?”

“Coming—just got to stuff the feathers back in here.”

Ceria emerged from her room, blowing away some more feathers. She smiled at Pisces and his heart skipped a beat.

“Ready?”

“To dinner, then. And afterwards…”

“Let’s go grab a spellbook.”

Interlude – Wistram Days (Pt. 3)

The stone halls were dark at night in Wistram. True, the mage-lights provided decent illumination, but the magics that controlled them dimmed the intensity of light that each floating orb of light or eternally burning torch gave off.

Many mages didn’t care to wander outside of the thick walls that made up the citadel that was Wistram academy. Thus, this change in ambient light was the only clue some had that it was time to sleep. In parts of the citadel where there were no windows, mages could wander for hours without ever seeing the sun.

“I hear it’s dimensional magic. Very complex stuff. I wonder how big Wistram really is. Has anyone ever tried to measure it from the inside and compared it to the outside?”

“Shut up!”

Most mages preferred to walk the halls at night with orbs created by the [Light] spell. However, the two new students who crept from shadow to shadow used no magic now. They were trying to be quiet.

And failing.

“I’m just saying, who created this place? It had to be an [Archmage], but how many additions were made over the years?”

“Pisces, for the love of leaves, shut up!”

The half-Elf in front snapped at the young man creeping along behind her. Pisces closed his mouth, and she prayed he’d keep quiet.

“Are you sure we’re going the right way? I thought we should have gone left back there.”

Ceria hissed with annoyance and straightened up. She paused in the shadows between two globes of light and looked around to make sure no one was walking down the corridors.

There wasn’t anyone. They were safe. Mages did like to stay up at odd hours, it was true, but this wasn’t a particularly well-travelled part of the academy in the day. Most students up this late would be drinking or having a party elsewhere. As for the mages, they’d be studying books, or doing the same thing as the students.

Still, Ceria lowered her voice as she spoke to Pisces.

“We’re trying to be stealthy here, don’t you get it? And the oval library with the staircase is this way, I’m sure of it!”

Pisces frowned, but Ceria knew her sense of direction was better than his. Wistram was confusing, but she’d gotten used to wandering around forests where every tree looked like the last one.

To his credit, Pisces kept his voice low, but he still kept chattering. Both he and she were nervous, and so he kept talking while she led them onwards.

“I don’t see why we’re hiding. It’s not as if we’re doing anything wrong.”

“We’re going to steal a book from other students. And we’re going to one of the restricted libraries to do it!”

“Well…it’s not their book.”

Ceria knew what she was doing might well get them kicked out of Wistram. But she was sick of sticking to the rules. She’d had to deal with Rievan, the rude, arrogant Human teacher who seemed to hate half-Elves, and Illphres, who had refused to teach them magic. She hated Wistram’s stupid secrets and the way everything was give and take around here.

And she was afraid she would fail the exam that was only a couple of weeks away. So Ceria had decided to break the rules and help Pisces steal the magical spellbook.

“They didn’t expressly forbid us from entering this section of the academy.”

Ceria frowned at Pisces.

“They told us this place was off-limits!”

“Ah. Yes. Well, I believe that may have been a warning rather than an inviolable rule. From all we’ve seen, I surmise that these restrictions are meant to test how we react to such impositions, not actually stop all of us.”

“What? Stop using complex words!”

Pisces paused. He chewed at his lip and rephrased his statement.

“We can break the rules—if we’re not caught. They’re expecting us to.”

“Oh. Right.”

Ceria thought about that and nodded.

“Makes sense. Okay, let’s get in there. Why couldn’t you have just said that from the start? You always use too many complicated words!”

“But I like complicated words.”

Pisces muttered as he and Ceria snuck down the empty side-corridor. She knew he was right, at least in a sense. It didn’t seem like Wistram had many totally absolute rules. But still, she had to point out a flaw in his reasoning.

“The problem isn’t whether we’ll be caught by other mages and get punished. It’s whether anyone sees us and sells someone else the secret that we were sneaking about right before a spellbook got stolen.”

“Ah yes. Secrets. That would be problematic.”

Behind Ceria, Pisces grimaced. Here in Wistram everyone’s actions and words were carefully noted by people around them, to be used and traded like currency. Secrets were the lifeblood of the mages here, and it meant their presence in this part of the academy would be noted by anyone they met.

Ceria peeked around an intersection and then moved down it when she saw no one was there. She glanced up at a painting on the wall—some relief showing a bunch of adventurers battling a Goblin Lord. That meant they were close.

“You’re sure the other students aren’t going to try and grab the book tonight?”

“They said they were going to talk to another mage who specialized in dispelling wards. I think we’re safe. The magic killed or nearly killed one of their friends. I don’t think they’ll be too eager to try again without preparation.”

Ceria stopped. She turned to look at Pisces. He was nervous, but his pale face also looked excited. She was less sanguine.

“One of them got killed? Are you sure this plan of yours will work?”

He hesitated.

“Fairly. I believe there will be no risk to either one of us, even if it fails. The only thing we have to fear is being seen.”

The half-Elf shook her head.

“I wish you’d explain.”

“Too many ears back in the banquet hall. And I’m still not sure the older students don’t place eavesdropping spells in the hallways. I can tell you now if you want, but it’s faster this way.”

“Tell me later, then. We’re close.”

The two moved onwards. Ceria knew her footsteps were almost inaudible, but Pisces shuffled around a bit in his cheap robes. Still, she didn’t expect anyone but another half-Elf or a species with good hearing to pick up on the faint sounds.

“How did you know what they were saying, anyways? Do you know a listening spell?”

She had to ask. Pisces hesitated. When he spoke quietly, his voice seemed uncertain.

“Something…similar. Suffice it to say I heard every word they spoke. Now…is this it?”

They’d reached a pair of double doors, set right next to a diagonal intersection of three corridors. Ceria stared at the doors and then at the way the wall ended a few feet ahead of the doors. Architecture and the laws of space didn’t seem to matter in this place.

“This is it. Keep an eye out and make sure no one’s coming.”

Pisces nodded and looked around while Ceria put her ear to the door. She knew the room beyond the doors was large, but she listened hard for any sounds of people moving about. After a minute she’d still heard not a sound. Satisfied the room was probably empty, Ceria opened the door and she and Pisces slipped inside.

The oval library with the staircase was one of a multitude of libraries in Wistram. Most contained books, as befitted libraries, but some were dedicated to one subject, or all comprised of books from a certain era. One library had a pool of water in it, and all the books were waterproofed to let mages read and bathe.

Wistram was very odd. But this library was fairly normal, as libraries went. The room was indeed ovoid, and a central staircase led up to four walkways around the room where shelves of books sat side by side.

Ceria had never seen so many books before coming here. This place alone easily held a fortune in old, sometimes cracking books of dust and ink. She coughed and Pisces sneezed as they walked into the room.

“Rot. Golems haven’t dusted in here for a while.”

Pisces nodded. Eyes watering he sniffed and pointed.

“Too many…books. Ah, but look. You can see someone’s been here.”

Indeed, Ceria could see places where the dust had been disturbed. She and Pisces made their way up the staircase, following the cleared areas and found themselves on the second level, staring at a wall of books.

“Is there some kind of mechanism here? Some activated spell?”

“I think so. But let me see…hey, these are all real books!”

Pisces pulled a few tomes out of the shelves. Ceria stared at them. It looked like this entire shelf was dedicated to Human history. She spied different genealogies, historical accounts, and personal bibliographies, all from Human kingdoms she’d never heard of before. She frowned at Pisces as he flipped open a book and stared at the writing inside.

“They’re real, yes. So what?”

“Well, apparently if you do this—”

Pisces pulled one of the books from the shelves and switched it with another book higher up. The instant the two books had been pushed into place, the entire bookshelf suddenly faded. Ceria gasped, and Pieces whistled quietly.

“Truly impressive. They’re books that were all spelled with the same enchantment.”

He waved a hand, letting it pass straight through the bookshelf. Ceria stared through the intangible books. There was a tunnel in the wall, one that leads straight into another room.

“A second library?”

“Yes. That’s where we’ll find the spellbook.”

The two students stepped into the secret tunnel cautiously. Ceria gasped as she looked around the circular room occupied by a shelf full of books, and of all things, a bed and dresser! There was a small table and mirror which were both covered with dust.

Pisces sneezed and raised a small cloud of dust, and Ceria coughed and wiped at her eyes.

“Dead gods. Is this some secret bedroom?”

“Looks like it.”

“Who’d make a secret passageway into a library of all places?”

“Someone who values their privacy?”

Pisces sidled away as Ceria kicked at him.

“Or someone who likes books. Or…”

“Or?”

He nodded towards the passageway that led back to the main part of the library.

“Or perhaps this library was ideal for whomever lived here. Most of the books seem to be largely historical in this section. Few people would bother to peruse the stacks. So whoever lived here might have constructed this hiding place in a time when the mages of Wistram were less…amiable towards each other than they are now.”

Ceria shivered at that thought. She imagined mages fighting each other, sneaking about in hidden passages like this.

“You’ve got a twisted imagination Pisces, you know that, right?”

He shrugged self-consciously.

“I prefer to think of myself as pragmatic. Now…my plan should be working as we speak. We just need to find the book.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard.”

Ceria walked over to the bookshelf.

“Ah—don’t touch any of them!”

Pisces cautioned Ceria as she reached for a book. She snatched her hand back.

“What? I thought the books were spelled against opening.”

All the spellbooks she’d heard of were warded against being read, but Pisces shook his head.

“The one we’re after apparently killed the student who tried to take it out. And we cannot be sure the other ones aren’t trapped in the same way.”

“Dead gods. Who’s so paranoid they’d use a spell like that?”

Ceria groused as she and Pisces studied the books on the shelf at a respectful distance. It wasn’t too hard, just difficult to see the covers with all the dust clinging to the books. Pisces suggested blowing it away with a spell, and after that it was much easier.

“I’m assuming this is a personal spellbook, right?”

“Correct. There should be no title on the spine. And if we use [Detect Magic]…aha! These two books seem to be the most powerful.”

Pisces pointed to two of the tomes. One was thick and it looked to Ceria’s untrained eye like the spell on it wasn’t that powerful. She guessed it was just a valuable book of some kind, warded against tearing or decay. But the other book shone in her vision, not brightly, but with an intensity that made it seem realer than the other books in the room.

“That’s the one. I’m sure of it.”

“I think so too. Now, what was your big plan? Pry it out with something? A pair of sticks, maybe?”

“Don’t be silly. The spell might activate! No, we just have to wait—”

“Hold it!”

Ceria held up one hand, suddenly alarmed. Her ears twitched and she put a finger to her lips. Pisces went still and Ceria crept back towards the entrance of the tunnel. She whispered to Pisces.

“I hear footsteps.”

They must have been loud, for her to hear them. Ceria held her breath as she realized someone was definitely coming towards this very library. She looked at Pisces, suddenly worried.

“The students?”

“No—I think it might be someone else. If it’s who I think it is—”

“Who?”

Pisces opened his mouth, but the door opened before he could tell Ceria. She flinched back into the tunnel, realizing too late that they’d left the transparent bookshelf! Anyone would be able to see something was odd in an instant.

But the being that walked through the doorway was no mage, and certainly no student come to take the spellbook. A tall, inhumanly perfect woman made of grey stone seemed to glide through the doorway. She was eight feet tall and the stone clothing she wore rippled as she walked, as if she was alive.

Cognita turned and stared around the room. Her eyes found Ceria, hiding behind the transparent bookshelf at once. The half-Elf jumped and shuddered, but Cognita just strode towards her with the same look of calm on her face as always.

“Ceria Springwalker. I hope you are having a good night?”

“What? Um, yes. Yes, I am. Cognita. Uh—”

Ceria stammered and took a step back as the Truestone Golem stopped in front of her. She was enormous. Ceria had no idea why she was here, but Pisces stepped forwards and Cognita’s head nodded fractionally.

“I have just received your note, student Pisces. May I ask what is the matter?”

The young man coughed and stood a bit straighter as Ceria’s head turned from him to Cognita rapidly.

“Yes, thank you Miss Cognita. I was hoping you could help me retrieve a book, you see. It’s warded with some kind of spell, but I would like to study it to advance my grasp of spellcraft.”

“I see.”

Cognita’s face changed slightly as she stared down at Pisces. Ceria saw something shift in the Golem’s usually impassive features. Was it curiosity? Then the eyes shifted to Ceria and the half-Elf felt a jolt in her stomach.

“I assume your friend is here for the same reason?”

“Ceria? Yes, she’s just here for ah, moral support. The book is this way. If you would…”

Pisces gestured, and Cognita stepped forwards. He smiled up at her, letting the tall Golem bow her head to enter the tunnel. He would have followed, but Ceria pulled him back and hissed at him.

“You called Cognita? That was your plan?”

Pisces looked blankly at her.

“What’s the problem with that?”

“Well…”

Ceria spluttered, unable to explain. How could she convey the unease she felt when she looked at Cognita, or rather, felt the Golem’s eyes on her?

The eyes of the Truestone Golem had been sculpted to perfectly mimic the eyes of a Human woman. But they were not alive. They moved as if they were, though, and Ceria knew there was some intelligence controlling the thing that called herself Cognita. But it was not the same as living and it scared Ceria.

She knew other students in Wistram felt the same or more strongly. Some mages avoided Cognita in the hallways. Ceria could get along with the Golem because she was helpful and acted quite normally, but she didn’t like Cognita’s eyes.

Pisces however acted as though Cognita was no different than Ceria. He walked after her as the Golem studied the shelves and looked around the room.

“You see Cognita, we ah, happened to learn about this room you see, and I note that its previous occupant is probably long since deceased…”

“Yes.”

Cognita nodded once and looked back at the two students.

“This is the residence of Nemistra Verdinan, a Selphid who lived here for many years in hiding. She is long dead, but it is good to see her room has finally been discovered. I will have other Golems collect the lost books and return them to their proper locations.”

Both mages blinked up at Cognita, caught off-guard by the matter-of-fact response. Pisces coughed.

“Yes, well, I am, ah, glad. But could I trouble you to ask whether taking her former spellbook would be permissible? It’s the one on the second shelf from the bottom you see—”

“Yes. I see it.”

Cognita studied the tome, eyes unblinking. Ceria and Pisces held their breaths. When the Truestone Golem turned, she nodded again.

“The tome is guarded by several wards that would melt the flesh of anyone attempting to retrieve it. I can remove it without issue to myself, following which the wards would be broken.”

“Excellent!”

Pisces rubbed his hands together happily, but Ceria was uneasy.

“So you’ll just give us the book? Really?”

Cognita paused.

“That is acceptable. However, Wistram law now dictates that mages below the third year only be allowed one personal spellbook for their use. You have already been issued one. If I give you this book, you must return your spellbook.”

Ceria groaned. Of course. There had to be a catch. But Pisces was undeterred.

“Very well, Miss Cognita. I would happily trade in my spellbook for this one. Would you ah, like me to retrieve it before…?”

“No need.”

The Truestone Golem turned, and the stone woman calmly pulled the book out of the bookcase. Ceria held her breath, expecting something dramatic to happen. But all she saw was a slight ripple in the air as Cognita pulled the book out—then she calmly turned and held it out to Pisces.

He was reluctant to take it. Pisces’ hands trembled a bit as he reached for the book, and Ceria saw him visibly brace himself. But when he gingerly grasped the book and Cognita let go, nothing happened to him either. He nearly dropped the book in surprise.

“The wards have been broken. It is safe to read.”

“Many thanks!”

Pisces stared delightedly at the spellbook in his hands. He beamed at Cognita.

“I cannot thank you enough. Please, accept my profuse gratitude for your help rendered in—”

Ceria kicked Pisces in the shins. He yelped, but she just smiled at Cognita.

“Um, thank you Cognita. This was a big help. We couldn’t have gotten the spellbook alone.”

“No. You could not.”

Cognita’s eyes found Ceria’s, and the half-Elf saw only cold marble there. But there was something in Cognita’s tone that suggested the Golem understood what she’d done. And she’d done it anyways, knowing it would help Ceria and Pisces.

“Most mages would not have turned to me for help. Your decision to do so is interesting.”

Ceria had no idea what to make of that. She cleared her throat nervously.

“Um, well, Cognita, about this. We’d prefer to keep this secret—would you mind not telling anyone you helped us?”

Both she and Pisces held their breaths as the Golem pondered for a moment. Cognita shook her head.

“I care little for squabbles between mages. I am bound to be truthful, so I shall be. Thus, I shall relate all I have seen here.”

Ceria closed her eyes and Pisces groaned aloud. Cognita continued calmly.

“If I am asked about these specific events, I will share what I have seen. But only then. I suspect your secret will be safe, young mages.”

She nodded at Ceria and Pisces. The half-Elf and young man saw the Golem’s lips curve upwards slightly, and then the Golem turned.

“I must be going. I have other duties. I am pleased to have been of assistance to the two of you tonight. Sleep well.”

She walked away quickly, leaving Ceria and Pisces at a loss for words. They stared at her back, and then jumped as the Golem closed the double doors with a click. Ceria immediately began hurrying towards the doors, but Pisces called her back.

“Wait! We’ve got to cover our tracks! Let’s get this bookshelf back the way it was.”

“How?”

“I think we just replace the two books in their original positions.”

Sure enough, the instant the two books were in the right spot, the bookshelf became real again. Ceria and Pisces pressed on the books and shelf, but it refused to budge.

“Impressive magic.”

“Admire it later! Let’s go before someone sees us!”

The two hurried out of the library, closing the door securely and moving quickly back towards their rooms. On the way, Ceria questioned Pisces, who was trying to walk and stare at the pages of the spellbook at the same time.

“That was—did you know Cognita could do that?”

“I had an inkling after she shattered that ice wall. If she can break Illphres’ enchantments, why not the trap spells on a book? And it seemed easy enough to ask her for help. After all, the Golems of Wistram are bound to help the students, are they not?”

Ceria had to agree with that, although she would have never considered the idea. She doubted the older students would have either. She frowned as she led Pisces down a passage and flight of steps.

“How did you send Cognita a note?”

“Secret.”

He grinned at Ceria impishly. She glared at him and he raised his hands.

“Really, it is a secret Ceria. I…it’s rather complicated. I’m sorry.”

She frowned, but let the matter drop. Soon, they were back in Pisces’ room and only then did Pisces open the spellbook on his table and let Ceria peer at it.

“Dead gods. Look at all the spells!”

Pisces had a wild grin on his face as he and Ceria flipped through page after page of uneven handwriting. Whoever had written the book had done it in a foreign language, but the nature of the magic spells was something any mage could decode with enough effort.

“I can’t understand what that spell does. Do you see…?”

“No. But I’m sure it will come in time. And look! This is clearly some kind of flame-based spell. Can’t you tell from the way it’s formed here?”

“You’re right!”

Ceria was giddy with excitement. They had a spellbook! A real spellbook, not one filled with useless spells! Her excitement faded a bit as she realized it really wasn’t her spellbook, though.

“I guess you’ll be able to learn a lot, huh?”

“What do you mean?”

Pisces turned to Ceria in surprise. He held the book to her.

“This was a joint effort, Ceria. This book is as much yours as it is mine. We can take turns reading it—”

“No, it’s yours. You didn’t need me at all! You could have done all of this by yourself!”

Pisces shook his head, offering the book to Ceria as she backed away.

“Not true. Your expertise in subversion and stealth were quite essential. And the addition of another pair of eyes and another mind to cross-check my conclusions were invaluable.”

“What does that—”

“Look, we worked on it together. And I want you to study it as well. If we can learn some spells from this, we might stand a good chance of passing the exams at the end of the month! This is an opportunity for both of us, Ceria.”

Slowly, it began to dawn on Ceria that Pisces had intended to share the book with her the instant he’d figured out how to take it. She looked at him awkwardly, not sure what to say.

He was a Human, but he was genuine and clearly wanted to help her pass. She smiled at him, and Pisces grinned back in delight.

“Well—okay. We can study together. Two arrows are better than one. But it’s your book, okay? After all, you’re going to have to give Cognita your other spellbook.”

“True. I’d better pretend I lost the other one.”

Pisces nodded at Ceria. But then he smiled widely again, overcome with delight.

“Let’s see how many spells we can identify! I’m sure there’s at least one Tier 4 spell in here!”

The two got back to poring over the book. Ceria squinted at the magical writing, guessing some of the spells with Pisces.

“Hey. Isn’t that…[Stone Fist]? That’s a good Tier 3 spell!”

“Really? I thought it was Tier 2?”

“I think it’s Tier 3. You see, when you use it you create this rock armor around your hand.”

“Isn’t that really heavy?”

“You’d think so, but I saw a [Druid] using it once. He cracked a boulder like it was nothing!”

“I bet we could learn that in time for the exam. What do you think?”

“Maybe. But look here. This is some kind of movement spell, I’m positive of it! Can you see what the nature of it is?”

Ceria bent forwards to look at the spell Pisces had pointed to. In doing so, she realized that she was sitting in a room in the middle of the night. With a young Human man.

A few years ago—she would have put an arrow in Pisces’ head, or run away. But now she was sitting next to him as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Ceria paused.

He was a good person, albeit a bit clumsy and wordy. But she liked him, and thought of him as a friend already. In fact, she quite liked him. Ceria had no idea how she felt about that.

—-

The next day, Ceria had trouble keeping her eyes open in all of her classes. She was exhausted from staying up and trying to puzzle out the spells in Pisces’ book. She nearly fell asleep twice in her class studying basic enchantments and how to decode magical auras, but she didn’t dare close her eyes in Rievan’s class.

“I trust you’ve all memorized the lessons from yesterday?”

He stared around the classroom, staring at each student in turn. When he met Ceria’s eyes Rievan’s nose wrinkled slightly and he looked past her. He pointed.

“You there. Pisces. Where is your spellbook?”

Pisces jerked upright, blinking rapidly.

“My spellbook?”

“Yes! Where are your notes?”

Pisces folded his fingers together as Ceria tried not to stare at him.

“I lost my spellbook, sir. But I can recall my notes from last class quite well.”

“Really?”

One of Rievan’s narrow eyebrows rose as he glared at Pisces.

“Then you will surely be able to recall my statement regarding the dangers of overabundance of mana in the system? Repeat my words back to me.”

Ceria winced, but Pisces just cleared his throat, looking quite calm.

“Mana, sir, may over accumulate in any living being’s body as a result of a spell or influx of mana in a charged environment, but more often than not it is a result of imbibing a mana potion improperly. For a mage, casting any spell will usually resolve the issue, but for those without mana, time and rest are the only usual solutions. A competent mage may attempt to drain the excess magic from a person, but this action is not without risk. And in high concentration, excess mana may well lead to rupturing of blood vessels or parts of the body overloading or shutting down.”

Ceria and the other students in the room gaped as Pisces delivered a perfect summary of Rievan’s lesson from yesterday. The [Mage] stared hard at Pisces as the young man finished and sat down.

“Very…good.”

He said it grudgingly, and turned away from Pisces without another word.

“We will continue our lessons from yesterday! Clear your desks and begin forming your spells again. I want to see more attention to detail, Springwalker! And you—Elkrin, is it? Your control of your [Fire Orb] spell is abysmal! Focus your flames or don’t bother to cast the spell at all!”

The lesson ended without incident, which was to say Ceria ended up being scolded for her lackluster performance. But she was more concerned with Pisces. After it was over, she walked down the corridor with him.

“I can’t believe you memorized all of that!”

“I paid attention in class, and I have a good memory.”

Pisces scratched at his hair self-consciously as they entered the banquet hall. Ceria saw Calvaron and Beatrice at their usual spot and waved to them. She got her food and made her way over. She and Pisces had to pause as an older man carrying a tray nearly ran them over. He grunted and without a word of apology went to sit at an empty table.

“Stupid Human. I nearly dropped my plate!”

Ceria grouched as she sat down. She’d taken some pork chops roasted in a sauce that smelled like peanuts today. Pisces had a more balanced meal; he’d taken one of the pork chops and several sweet red fruits that tempted Ceria. He stared after the man, frowning.

“Isn’t that poor Elkrin? He seems upset.”

“Shouldn’t he be? You two were in Rievan’s class just now, weren’t you?”

Calvaron laughed and cleared part of their table so Pisces could put his food down. He and Beatrice were nearly finished their meal—some kind of small, round pasta-like food drizzled with a thick sauce and accompanied by steamed vegetables.

“That’s right. Rievan tore a strip off of Elkrin for his spellcasting.”

Ceria nodded as she began to cut her meat apart. She still felt grouchy from having to deal with Rievan. She paused and narrowed her eyes at Calvaron.

“Wait a second. Isn’t that a secret I should be charging you for?”

He laughed and slapped at the lower, horse half of his body.

“Not everything is a secret, Ceria. Something as normal as that is just juicy gossip. But it looks like Elkrin’s not taking the dressing down well, is it?”

Ceria half-turned in her padded seat to look. Elkrin did have a murderous scowl on his face and no one was sitting with him. Calvaron shook his head as he tsked.

“Attitude problem. He may be a good adventurer, but you have to be willing to learn if you want to stay here. I bet he’ll be gone within the week.”

Pisces and Ceria exchanged a glance at this. They could understand not liking Rievan, but leaving because of that? Wistram was their dream.

Calvaron noticed the look.

“Only a few people actually quit, but they’re usually only adventurers. Some of them—even the good ones like the Gold-rank adventurers who come here to improve their craft—they don’t like being told the magic they practice is inefficient. So they leave.”

“Stupid. Arrogant.”

Beatrice put that in. The Dullahan was spoon-feeding her head on the table as usual, and she seemed content to let Calvaron do all the talking. Ceria had to agree with her, but she yawned as she opened her mouth. That made Pisces yawn too.

“Oho! You two look tired! Did you keep each other up at night, or is it just a coincidence?”

Calvaron dodged the rolled-up napkin Ceria hurled at him. He twisted his fingers and the ball of cloth flew back at her, forcing Ceria to duck or let it smack her in the head.

“Don’t throw things unless you can catch them when they come right back at you, Springwalker. Telekinesis and levitation spells come later in the year though, I’m afraid.”

“Great. I’ll be sure to heave my plate at you when your back is turned, then.”

Ceria growled as she picked her napkin up from the floor. Calvaron just laughed again. He was already ready to smile, which made Ceria wonder if all Centaurs were so good-natured. Beatrice on the other hand was as prone to smile as a rock.

“How were your other classes? Did you like learning about enchantments? I always found that class dull, myself.”

Ceria shrugged and Pisces smiled.

“Our teacher—Fedric—is fairly good at saying as little as he needs to.”

“Fedric? Oh, he would be. Dullahans are like that, aren’t they, Beatrice?”

Calvaron nudged Beatrice’s body, and her head on the table scowled at him.

“I say what I have to. I don’t run my mouth, Calvaron.”

“I’m surprised to see so many Dullahans in Wistram. No offense, but I’d barely heard of your people before coming here.”

Ceria looked at Beatrice with interest. Fedric, their teacher for their class on enchantments, was an old male Dullahan. She’d seen a number of them in the corridors as well.

Beatrice just shrugged her shoulders as she swiveled her head to talk to Ceria.

“Not too many. But all good spellcasters get sent here from Baleros. One continent means lots of Dullahan applicants.”

“True enough.”

Calvaron nodded. He pointed across the banquet hall, and Ceria saw a group of six Centaurs walking down the hall. They were far bigger than most students, and so they had to walk single-file to get in line.

“My people don’t usually go in for spellcasting, but like Beatrice said, the best come here and there are a lot of us on Baleros. That’s why you’ll see quite a few species that are rare in most places. Selphids, for instance.”

Ceria and Beatrice shuddered a bit at the mention of that race. Ceria had seen the deathly-white students walking the halls, dead bodies controlled by their parasitic owners. Calvaron shrugged stoically.

“They’re not so bad when you get used to them. I know they get a bad rap back home, but the ones here are all very polite.”

“Wistram truly does have more species than I’ve ever seen before.”

Pisces wiped at his mouth with a napkin. Calvaron grinned.

“We’re way more diverse than most cities, it’s true. Anyone who can become a mage or learn a magical class is welcome here—if they’ve got talent and coin. Of course, not all races are as gifted as others. That’s why you won’t see many Minotaurs, although I’ve heard they can make good mages. But most Minotaurs don’t like to use magic, so they’re not inclined to study here anyways.”

“And I bet some species aren’t as numerous or trusting of Wistram.”

Ceria said that thoughtfully as she chewed on some cow’s tongue she’d found under one of her pork chops. Calvaron grimaced and looked away as he replied—he hated to eat identifiable body parts, although he was surprisingly unconcerned about eating cows. Ceria had wondered if he would have been bothered by meat, but apparently Centaurs were far enough away from cows to eat them without guilt. She wondered how they felt about horses.

“You mean half-Elves, Ceria?”

She shrugged. She’d seen a few half-Elves roaming the halls, but they were far from common. She’d been tempted to talk with them, but it wasn’t as if she was back on Terandria and she had to stick with her own kind. Plus, she was a new student and she wasn’t sure if she’d make it past the exams.

“I know my people are naturally good at magic. But…I can’t say I’m surprised there aren’t many around. We’re not exactly welcome to strangers.”

“You and the Gnolls. You know, of all the species in the world, the only race who won’t set foot on Wistram are the Gnolls?”

“Really?”

Both Pisces and Ceria frowned at Calvaron. Ceria tried to think of a Gnoll, but only had a vague image of a furry dog-like person, similar to one of the Beastkin tribes from Baleros. She’d never seen one in person before; she heard they lived on Izril and seldom ventured as far as Terandria.

The Centaur nodded, frowning a bit as he explained.

“It’s a real pain too, apparently. A lot of Gnolls are famous [Merchants] and [Traders], you know. They’re pretty resilient and their tribes like to move about exchanging goods. But none of them will do any kind of business with Wistram, even through middlemen. It’s some kind of grudge, although I’ve never heard what it was about.”

“Really? A Gnoll grudge? I hear they keep those for lifetimes.”

“Too right. It’s a shame too, because I’d bet their tribes would benefit from having a few of their number learn magic. But…”

Calvaron shrugged. Beatrice raised her head so she could get everyone’s attention.

“A Gnoll did come here to study once, though. About a decade or two ago.”

“A Gnoll? You’re pulling my hoof, Beatrice.”

“Nope. He came but dropped out before his first year was up.”

“Why?”

The Centaur leaned towards Beatrice, but the Dullahan closed her lips in a slight smile.

“Secret. Pay me and I’ll tell.”

Everyone chortled at that. Calvaron was fairly rich in secrets Ceria had learned, and many students and mages came to him to exchange tidbits for goods and services. But Beatrice had her own collection of secrets, as any longtime mage in Wistram did.

“I don’t know if it’s worth a juicy secret. Would you consider a trade for something else? How about other goods and services rendered…?”

Calvaron wiggled his eyebrows at Beatrice and she smiled a bit wider.

“Not worth my time.”

“Ah, you!”

They liked each other. It was quite obvious from the way they flirted. Calvaron did it openly, Beatrice with deadpan remarks that might be serious or a joke; you could never tell which.

“Looks like you’d better cough up a secret if you want to know, Calvaron. Me and Pisces don’t have enough to cover the costs.”

“I’ll pass. You don’t collect as many secrets as I do by spending them frivolously.”

Calvaron waved a hand. Pisces looked intrigued and leaned forwards over the table.

“Just how many secrets have you obtained during your stay here, Calvaron?”

“That’s a secret in itself, my dear Pisces. But suffice it to say, I’ve got more than one person’s little tidbits locked away in my head.”

The Centaur tapped his head importantly. Pisces looked impressed as he nodded, but Ceria thought the Centaur was full of it. She raised her eyebrows.

“You mean, you’re a secret keeper? Ooh. Fancy.”

Pisces snorted. Across the table, Beatrice choked on her food. She had to place her head on the table while the rest of her body pounded on her chest. Ceria and Pisces nearly fell over themselves laughing as Beatrice’s face contorted and Calvaron had to reach over and slap her on the back a few times. When she was done, the Dullahan turned her head with her hands so she could glare at the two.

“Not that funny.”

“It was pretty funny. No one calls people like me secret keepers or—or shadow brokers or anything like that, Ceria. I’m just a broker, a middleman. Or middle-Centaur if you like. It doesn’t roll off the tongue as smoothly. I buy and sell.”

“And make a good profit, I’ll bet. You’re rich!”

“Wistram rich, my dear half-Elf. It’s not the same as being actually rich. If I left this small isle no one would know my name. Here I have a bit of power.”

“Which explains why you maintain your independent status. Any faction in the academy can treat with you without fear you’ll trade their secrets away. It’s a valuable position to be in.”

Pisces observed that as he glanced carefully at Calvaron. The Centaur’s eyes focused on Pisces and he gave the younger man a nod of respect.

“Sharp, aren’t you?”

“He hides it well. Tell us more about these factions, Calvaron. How did they pop up?”

“I don’t know. It’s a long story…”

Calvaron glanced at one of the windows that let bright sunlight into the room. Ceria knew this was just theatrics; the Centaur had very few classes she understood, and he liked to lounge around in the banquet hall with Beatrice.

“Come on, you’ve got time and we don’t have classes for the rest of the day. Give us new students a bit of history.”

The Centaur grinned as he popped another grape into his mouth.

“What, for free? This isn’t just gossip. Some of this stuff is important. I can’t just give it away! You know how it works. Secrets for secrets.”

Pisces and Ceria both groaned at the same time. Ceria was going to tell Calvaron she didn’t want to know that bad when Pisces raised a finger.

“Would a small one do?”

“For general history? I suppose.”

Calvaron’s eyes sharpened, and the Centaur leaned forwards. Ceria saw Beatrice’s hands move; the Dullahan’s head whispered something and Ceria felt magic around the four of them. Some other students looked around, but most seemed used to what was going on.

It was an exchange of secrets. Calvaron and Pisces spoke to each other, but Ceria only saw a blur around their mouths and heard nothing. The Centaur had pulled a small crystal out of a belt pouch; it glowed bright red as Pisces spoke. The Centaur nodded, and in the next moment the bubble of silence dissipated.

“Well, I’d say that qualifies. How did you find out?”

Pisces smiled enigmatically at the Centaur.

“Secrets for secrets. To learn my method, you’d have to pay quite a lot, my dear Calvaron.”

“I suppose I deserved that.”

Ceria was dying to know what Pisces had told Calvaron—it could be just pointless information, but how had Pisces found out? She knew she wouldn’t get an answer from the Centaur though, so she pointed at the gem that the Centaur was putting back into the pouch at his waist.

“Is your truth crystal broken? It glowed red when Pisces spoke.”

He shook his head, grinning.

“Nope. It’s a little trick. Most truth spells glow green or blue or white when someone tells the truth, right? I’ve enchanted mine to do the opposite. Sometimes you can throw someone off with it.”

Pisces nodded as if this was perfectly sensible, but Ceria just rolled her eyes again.

“Everything in Wistram seems like a trick or mind game.”

“That’s just because you’re new. You’ll get used to it quick enough. Now, I believe I owe you some history?”

All four students took the moment to refill their plates. Ceria took some cold cubes of ice and splashed them into a sweet drink of fruit, delighted at the luxury of it. She sipped at her drink as Calvaron began speaking.

“I suppose you know Wistram has been around for thousands of years. It was founded oh, way back, when a lot of nations were at war and mages wanted a place to learn and teach in peace. Well, Wistram may have gained and lost power over the years, but it’s always been independent. No nation controls us—we have an army of our own here and only a truly grand fleet could make it to our shores with weather spells raised against them.”

“Not to mention Wistram provides many services.”

Beatrice put that in. Calvaron nodded proudly.

“We do provide the best spells and mages. You can trust a Wistram-certified enchantment. And we can enchant weaponry and other artifacts as well. We do a booming trade with adventurers who want better gear or to have something analyzed—”

“Yes, yes. Wistram is great. That’s why we came here.”

Ceria cut in, impatient to get to the good part.

“What does this all have to do with factions? From what I’ve heard, they didn’t always exist.”

“No, Miss Busy half-Elf, they didn’t. And if you’d let me explain, you’d know that a few centuries ago, mages competed in Wistram quite fiercely. It was every mage for himself and they formed their own groups—but there was no faction. Instead, powerful mages attracted people to them. One of them was Archmage Zelkyr. Mind you, he wasn’t just an Archmage, but an actual [Archmage].”

“He obtained the class?”

Pisces’ eyes were shining, and Ceria scooted forwards on her seat. Calvaron nodded, looking just as excited by the idea.

“It’s a matter of history. The class does exist, and he and the other [Archmages] who ruled Wistram at the time all had them. But Archmage Zelkyr was the best. He was a Drake – famous, you know, for being able to damage one of the Walled Cities’ walls. But he was more famous for his ability to create Golems.”

“Cognita.”

Beatrice said it quietly. Calvaron nodded.

“Her and an entire army of Golems. They eventually made it so that Zelkyr was in undisputed control of Wistram. He alone explored the higher reaches of the citadel, searching for ancient magics left behind by the greatest mages in Wistram’s history.”

“Higher up? You mean, there’s places not yet explored in Wistram?”

Calvaron nodded as if it were obvious.

“Of course. How many mages do you think lived in Wistram? The greatest of them—legends who could cast countless magics—all settled the highest floors. If you go exploring higher and higher you’ll run across their creations, spells, and maybe their rooms. But imagine the amount of traps and dangerous spells up there! Just trying to break into a former mage’s room is deadly.”

“But Zelkyr had the monopoly on that, right?”

Ceria was beginning to understand what had happened, and why the upper floors were off limits now.

“He did indeed. Zelkyr ordered his Golems to guard the entrances to the upper levels and seal it off so only he could learn from the mages above. Of course, the other mages didn’t accept that and there was a huge battle. But in the end his surviving Truestone Construct—Cognita—imposed a new order on the surviving mages. They could live and study in Wistram, but the upper levels were for Zelkyr and the few he trusted alone.”

“Hence their current inaccessible state?”

“Exactly.”

Calvaron pointed a finger at Pisces as he stole a grape from Beatrice’s plate. She jabbed him with a gauntleted finger.

“Gah! Damn it Beatrice, it hurts when you do that!”

“Then don’t steal. Yes, Pisces, the upper levels are closed. The top three are only off limits for new mages, but after that—there is a door. Cognita and many golems guard it. It leads further up.”

“Okay, but why hasn’t anyone gotten Cognita to open it? Zelkyr is dead, right?”

“I’m getting to that! Hold on!”

Calvaron took a long drink, enjoying making Ceria and Pisces wait.

“One day, Cognita came down from the upper floors and announced that Archmage Zelkyr was dead. Ever since then, she and the other Golems have been maintaining Wistram. They still fulfill his orders by helping us, taking care of the academy, fighting off intruders and so forth, but his other order still stands. No one may venture above. So while Wistram is safe—”

“The higher magics are off-limits?”

Pisces looked dismayed at the thought. Calvaron waggled a finger at him.

“Just the ones that belonged to the greats. There’s plenty of mages here capable of casting Tier 5 spells, or even Tier 6. But higher than that…? You’ll have to get past Cognita first, and that’s pretty much impossible. If you challenge her, you’ll be fighting her and Zelkyr’s best creations.”

Beatrice’s armor shuddered a bit and she turned the corners of her mouth down.

“Golems. Scary.”

Ceria thought that was ironic coming from a Dullahan, but she had to admit that for all Beatrice was a disembodied head and a body covered in light metal armor, she was clearly alive. Cognita and the other Golems were not. There was an important distinction there.

“So Cognita’s not just a nice, friendly Golem?”

Calvaron snorted.

“She’s as nice as a Golem can be, which is sort of. But try to get past the door and…you’re dead. No one’s gotten past her since Zelkyr died.”

“And so far no one’s tried?”

“And so far no one’s survived.”

Beatrice said it quietly. Calvaron nodded soberly.

“Of course, countless mages challenged Cognita and the Golems in the past. Some did it by themselves, others attacked in groups or tried to catch the Golems off-guard. None succeeded. The Golems are powerful, and Cognita’s the strongest of them all. I’ve never seen her fight personally, mind, but there are other guardian Golems that Zelkyr made. Occasionally some group of mages decides to challenge them, but they’re always killed.”

Both Ceria and Pisces shuddered. Beatrice looked between them and shook her head with her hands.

“Don’t worry about it. So long as you never try to get past the door, you’ll be fine. And there are other places below the door that are still unexplored.”

“Like below. There’s plenty of passages unexplored there, although we do have a problem with the undead. There are a lot of bones stored in the catacombs and they sometimes reanimate people who get killed down there.”

“Lovely. And…wait, how does this have anything to do with factions?”

“I’m getting to that. You’re the most impatient half-Elf I know, Ceria.”

“I’m the only one who’ll put up with a Centaur like you, Calvaron.”

“Hah! True. Anyways, the factions in Wistram popped up because there’s no one mage who’s powerful enough to really control everyone like there used to be. Now our Archmages are just the greatest mages among us, not those with the actual class. And factions are just mages with similar ideals.”

“Like the Revivalists. My faction. You two should join if you pass the exam.”

Beatrice smiled at Pisces and Ceria. Calvaron rolled his eyes and tipped her head over.

“Stop that, Beatrice! Ignore her, you two. You don’t want to get wrapped up in factional politics before your exam. That could really hurt your chances to get in.”

“Why? Surely if we pledge to one faction, they could help us succeed?”

Pisces seemed curious. Beatrice took the moment to respond—she’d cast a spell that made all the hairs on Calvaron’s horse-half stand up, which the yelping Centaur was having to dispel.

“They might. But other factions don’t like giving one strength. So it’s a bad idea. Sorry.”

“Yeah.”

Calvaron gasped as he managed to remove Beatrice’s shocking hex. He glared at her, but she gave him a satisfied look and he decided not to escalate the situation.

“You won’t have to deal with them too much. Just know that some mages belong to a group with certain ideals. They differ in how they agree of course, but they stick together when it comes to voting or pushing their agendas. Illphres, for example. Remember her?”

Ceria ground her teeth together. She was still sore about not being taught any combat magic all this time she’d studied here.

“I do.”

“Well, she’s an Isolationist. Thinks we should only allow mages who are already strong to join and that we should be reaching for greater heights in magic. That’s why she didn’t want to teach you.”

“Can’t the other factions force her to teach?”

“They can…but Illphres is stubborn and it’s not worth the battle. They’ll use her not teaching to their advantage instead; the others will be able to say the Isolationists don’t contribute their fair share and be able to vote against them. So Illphres is harming her own faction, but she’s too influential for anyone to stand up to her.”

“And meanwhile we suffer for it.”

Ceria angrily stabbed her cold pork, but Calvaron just shrugged.

“It’s bad luck I’m afraid. Sorry. But there are other factions in Wistram you should know about. Your good friend Rievan, for instance, belongs to the Libertarian group. They want us to start taking sides with different nations and throwing our influence around.”

“Sounds like a bad idea.”

“Don’t let any of the Libertarians catch you saying that. A lot of them are from Terandria, and they take a deep interest in the politics from there.”

“So factions are something else we’ll have to worry about?”

Ceria didn’t like the thought of that, but Calvaron just chuckled.

“Not for a while, and certainly not until you pass your exam. And if you get strong enough, you might be able to deal with factions on your own. The more important you are, the less your connections and factions matter. Then it’s just about who you are as a [Mage].”

“But it sounds like unless I’m a powerful mage, I’ll need to join a faction or be in danger.”

Ceria pointed that out and Pisces nodded in agreement. Calvaron paused before shaking his head.

“Not necessarily. You see, the factions keep each other in check so that the independents like me can function. How can I explain it? Okay, let’s say someone—a certain angry Elementalist teacher for instance—wanted to harass you. Because he doesn’t like your ears.”

“He doesn’t like me because of my ears.”

“Yes, but he’s not actively trying to harm you or get in your way, is he? That’s because if he did start attacking you, the Revivalists and the Preservationists would be all over him. They don’t want him to alienate your people—or spread the rumor that Wistram is a speciesist institution.”

“Preservationists? That’s a long name, isn’t it?”

“They chose it, not us. Anyways, Mister Angry Elementalist would have to have a lot of support from his faction to get at you. He’d also have to consider your friends, and how much the other factions would retaliate if he went at you. Mind you, you’re hanging out with second and third-year students who aren’t powerful. Beatrice is a [Runeshaper] and I’m just a generalist [Mage], so we don’t have much clout.”

“You study runes, Beatrice? You never said.”

Beatrice nodded. She tapped at her armor where Ceria now saw some carved symbols etched into the metal.

“Working on some personal enchantments. Rune magic is very popular among Dullahans. But not powerful in faction.”

“Right. But don’t worry—Rievan’s not going to try anything. It would be too much trouble if he did and you’re not worth it.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, it’s just politics. Like how you got stuck with Rievan and Illphres anyways. That was due to a squabble with the factions.”

“Really? Would you mind explaining how that happened?”

Pisces was interested, although Ceria wasn’t. Calvaron shrugged.

“You really want to know?”

“I do.”

“I don’t.”

“Well, I’ll tell Pisces and you can just eat your dead pig, Ceria. Now, the current mages teaching are mostly mages who like doing it. Some mages earn their keep and just live here by teaching. It’s not going to make them influential, but it is necessary and so they keep doing it. But a year ago, Tshya, the old Drake who taught me and Beatrice, died.”

“Poor Tshya.”

“He had scale rot. Very nasty odor. He never cleaned himself right near the end.”

“Calvaron!”

“Well, he didn’t! Remember the smell? And he was old. But he was in charge of a lot of lessons, and so the council wanted another of the oldest and most inactive mages to take on the job. Unfortunately, that would have meant choosing Belfore—he’s a Preservationist, just like Yim, the other teacher who was taking on a lot of classes. But that would have meant that the Preservationists were essentially doing all the teaching, and they didn’t want to let that happen in case it became precedent. So they insisted that the teaching be taken up by mages from all factions, which led to, among others, Rievan getting tapped for the job.”

“He’s not that important. So he got the job.”

“I see. But what about Illphres? You said she was important?”

“Yes, well, the Centrists—they’re the ones who want us to make every mage in the world part of Wistram and declare ourselves a nation—they’re always fighting with the Isolationists. And they really don’t like Illphres, so they nominated her. And she’s got a lot of enemies so they passed the vote and made her take the classes.”

Beatrice smiled.

“Simple, right?”

“No!”

Ceria clutched at her head while Pisces nodded and kept asking more questions. Ceria went off to get dessert—a lovely bread with sugar baked into the crust and glazed with honey. Mages ate well at Wistram, but this was a treat. She returned to the table and suffered through more discussions of politics. Pisces looked hurt when she suggested they leave.

“You don’t find this interesting? There’s so much depth here!”

“Depth is for people who want it. I came here for magic, not politics.”

Ceria groused. But she had one thought. She turned to Calvaron and Beatrice.

“What about Amerys? Does she belong to any faction?”

The two older students blinked at her. Calvaron slowly shook his head.

“Amerys? Some factions wouldn’t have her simply for what she’s done. Others might, but Amerys has never approached anyone. The mage of the King of Destruction’s Seven stands alone.”

“She has friends.”

“More enemies than friends by a long shot. No, Amerys is alone, for all she’s an Archmage. I’d walk clear of her if I were you. No one forces her to do anything. And she’s unpredictable at best.”

“Like when she went out to fight the Sea Serpent. That was a surprise.”

“Not really. You know she likes battle, Beatrice.”

“I thought she did it to gain favor with the Revivalists, or maybe the Centrists.”

“Her? Hah! Never. Now, I can see one of the other Archmages doing that. Old Verdan Blackwood for instance could have taken down the Sea Serpent, but Amerys volunteered. Do you know what happened after that? Pisces, you’re not going to believe this…”

Somehow, it was dinner time before the conversation ended. Ceria and Pisces loaded up their plates with more food and chatted with Calvaron and Beatrice for another hour until Ceria decided they really did need to get back to their rooms to study.

“I can’t believe we talked for six hours!”

Ceria exclaimed out loud as she and Pisces headed back to their rooms. He only smiled, looking as happy as she’d ever seen him.

“It’s wonderful isn’t it? This place is such a haven of learning. I feel like I’m right at home when I have discussions like these.”

“More like a place to get fat. I ate too much.”

“Good food, magic, and interesting people to talk to. What’s not to love?”

“Rievan. And Illphres. And Charles de Trevalier.”

“Well, besides them.”

Both students laughed as they went back to Pisces’ room. There they pulled out the spellbook and stared at it. Ceria wanted to learn another combat spell, and Pisces was still staring at one spell he claimed to half-understand already. After a while, Pisces spoke.

“They’re betting on us.”

Ceria raised her head with a frown.

“Who are?”

“Beatrice and Calvaron. I heard they’ve put money that both of us will pass the exams.”

“People bet on who’ll pass? Wait, of course they do.”

Ceria sighed. She felt annoyed that Calvaron and Beatrice were treating her getting into Wistram so trivially, but Pisces took the opposite view. He smiled at her.

“Don’t be angry. If they didn’t like us or care they wouldn’t have made the bet. I think they’re trying to help us. They give us tips and secrets for free all the time, don’t they?”

“I guess. It’s just—we’re going to need more than a bit of help if we want to be sure we’ll pass.”

Ceria sighed, dispirited. Pisces raised his eyebrows and tapped the book in front of them.

“That’s what this is for. Look here—I’m certain this spell is in fact [Flash Step]. I had to get to one of the encyclopedias to look it up, but the spell’s description seems to match this spell exactly!”

Filled with sudden interest, Ceria peered at the spell. She nodded.

“You could be right!”

Then her face fell.

“But there’s only three weeks left until the exams. Not enough time for either of us to learn it.”

“I think I can do it. At the very least, I want to try.”

Ceria stared at Pisces. She knew he was smart. But this? [Flash Step] was a Tier 3 spell.

“You’re going to try?”

“Of course. And you can learn [Stone Fist] as well. If we work together, we’ll pass the exams.”

Pisces grinned at her. Ceria felt her heart pounding in her chest. Just heard it. She smiled at Pisces, and held up a fist for him to bump his cautiously against.

“Definitely.”

Interlude – Wistram Days (Pt. 4)

Wistram was a world unto itself, with a different set of rules, a different kind of people. And yes, Ceria thought to herself as she cautiously opened her door, a different sense of time.

This early in the morning the hallway was empty. Seemingly empty. But Ceria knew better than to step out incautiously. She whispered a spell as she stared hard at the floor and ceiling.

“[Detect Magic].”

The world faded. Colors became less vivid in Ceria’s eyes, while others sprung out at her, as if they were the only real things in a blurred reality. And so when she looked again, Ceria could clearly see the hex that had been drawn on the flagstones in front of her door.

“Of course.”

It was a spell that would make the ground slippery like grease. Ceria moved to destroy the hex and then paused. She glanced suspiciously around the hex, and then peeked her head around the doorjamb. That’s when she saw the second, far less obvious spell about to go off.

She gritted her teeth. Ceria pushed mana into her hands and raised it. A jet of flame scorched the stone and disrupted the fragile matrix of the trap spell. The half-Elf grimly watched both spells disappear as she dared step outside at last.

“A shock spell? Dead gods. Those damn Human—”

She caught herself. She didn’t know it was a Human who’d cast the spell. But she was pretty sure it was.

“Charles de Trevalier.”

Ceria muttered his name as she stalked down the corridors towards the banquet hall. She was in no mood to wait for Pisces to get up—he usually woke up late unless they had class in the mornings, anyways. So Ceria contented herself with grabbing some fruit and a piece of cheese and eating alone at one of the tables.

Two weeks had passed since she and Pisces had stolen the spellbook, or rather, reclaimed it from the library with Cognita’s help. It wasn’t really stealing, actually. True, other students had found the book and probably intended to retrieve it, but as Ceria and Pisces both pointed out to each other, they hadn’t gotten to it in time.

Therefore the book was rightfully theirs, or rather, Pisces’ property. Still, neither student had told a soul about what they’d done, even Calvaron or Beatrice. A secret like that would be worth a huge amount and Ceria didn’t want to risk having a bunch of older students angry at them.

Especially not at this time. There was less than a week left until the exam that would decide everything for Ceria. In five short days, she’d be tested on her magical abilities and Skills, and demonstrate what spells she’d learned while studying here.

In truth, this was as much of a test of her abilities as a student as it was her prowess as a mage before she’d arrived at Wistram. Ceria had heard from Calvaron and Beatrice just what the tests measured.

“They’ll look to see how powerful you are and whether you picked up on the lessons. If you’re talented in either respect, you’ll gain points. So a good mage could get accepted on their abilities or someone who’s mastered every lesson could get in solely based on that, but it’s best to be outstanding in both areas.”

They’d be measured in many different areas, from their ability to control fundamental magic, to how they analyzed enchantments and held their cool in battle. There were several tests Ceria had practiced for, but it was the last one, a grueling obstacle course where the students would be allowed to use attack spells to get to the end quickly, that she was focused on.

After so long, Ceria knew how she ranked among the prospective students in Wistram. It was common knowledge; the entrance exams were the subject of quite a number of bets and power games, again according to Calvaron.

Your ranking was critically important, but Ceria knew it wasn’t the only key to passing the exams. How much wealth you had—or your family had—and whether you were well liked by any influential mages could also be key.

Unfortunately, Ceria hadn’t made any strong connections with anyone but Calvaron and Beatrice. She had no wealth besides the money she’d scraped together for the application fee. So all she could rely on was her talent.

And to be fair, Ceria wasn’t bad at magic. She had a higher level than most new students, and she was also quicker than most at picking up each lesson. However, the key here was ‘better than most’. Ceria wasn’t at the top of her class; she was only gifted.

That wasn’t reassuring. And to make it worse, Ceria knew someone who was consistently at the top of any class he took.

Pisces.

She hadn’t realized it at first, but after nearly a month of hanging out with the young man and becoming friends, Ceria had realized he truly was a prodigy at magic.

Pisces could pick up a spell twice as fast as Ceria could. Worse, he had a finer control over his magic. His lightning didn’t spark all over the place, and he could remember almost everything he was taught in class with his memory alone.

It made Ceria incredibly jealous at times. She knew Pisces couldn’t help being gifted anymore than she could give up her race’s affinity with magic that let them channel mana better than any other species. And yet, she couldn’t help but feel that in a few days he might be the one to stay while she left.

Hence, her decision to wake up so early. Ceria glumly chewed down the last of her fruit and finished the cheese. She normally liked to eat meat—morning, noon and night and for a snack—but she couldn’t have a full stomach for what she was about to do.

Leaving her dishes where they were—a Golem would come by and pick them up if some other students didn’t levitate them to another table—Ceria headed towards the entrance of Wistram. In truth, she’d had little reason to leave the academy before now.

The half-Elf took a breath of the crisp morning air and then scowled as that crisp air turned out to be full of water. She spluttered as a wave crashing against the rocks of the isle sent a spray of water into her face.

“Nature.”

She groused to herself as she stomped down the winding steps that led down to the large stone pier. The isle that was Wistram was really very small, in truth. Aside from the towering citadel that seemed to reach into the sky, there was only the docks and a separate bay where other ships could disgorge their cargo. Both were built out of stone and could hold dozens of vessels at a time, but Wistram had no grass or open areas to speak of.

All that was inside. Ceria had actually seen a large plaza filled with grass and trees in  one part of Wistram, the top open to the sky. The magics that made up the citadel were such that the finite building that represented the outside couldn’t hint at the full expanse of Wistram on the inside.

And yet today, Ceria left the steps and made her way down to a bunch of large boulders that protected Wistram from the direct impact of the tide. This early in the morning she saw only a few other mages about. Ceria found a secluded spot where she could stare out across the ocean and took a breath.

“Time to practice.”

The first thing she did was hurl a few orbs created with the [Light] spell. The shimmering spheres hovered in the air in front of Ceria, some relatively close, but others floated up to a hundred feet away. Ceria took a deep breath, and aimed carefully at the nearest one.

“[Stone Dart]!”

It was her favorite spell and the one she was most proficient at. The dagger of stone cut through the air with a whistling sound and pierced the center of the first ball of light. Ceria grinned triumphantly as it vanished.

She raised her hand and carefully aimed at the next orb. Ceria concentrated hard to make sure she was right on target; it wasn’t just that she had to aim with her finger. The image of the floating orb was just as important in her mind; it could inform the angle and trajectory her spell took.

A second stone missile flew, and again the orb vanished soundlessly. The seagulls circling about the isle cawed raucously and the ocean waves blew up gouts of water while Ceria lined up her next shot.

She was practicing for the combat trial. Ceria knew most of the new students knew only a few combat spells and only Tier 1 spells at that. But she’d actually fought before! True, she’d only worked as a Bronze-rank adventurer to make ends meet now and then, but she was confident she could demonstrate her abilities in that section of the exam more than any other.

She just had to make sure her aim was spot-on. Thus, Ceria was practicing hitting the targets as they floated in the air. She’d done it all the time back in the forests around her home, only then she’d hunted animals and shot leaves out of trees. Here she had to make her own targets; she wasn’t about to kill the seagulls just to practice. Unless one of them pooped on her head, that was.

Ceria found aiming at the nearest orbs of light easy. She could hit them in rapid succession once she’d gotten her mental eye in. But past fifty feet her aim grew worse and worse. The wind blew her spells off course and she had to hit each ball of light in the center or she wouldn’t destabilize the spell enough for it to vanish.

The final orb floated tantalizingly some one hundred and twenty feet away. Ceria cursed as she launched dart after dart at it, growing more tired with each shot. She could only fire about thirty or so before she had to rest and she was nearing her limit even with the short break she’d took.

But she was determined to hit it. Ceria waited for the wind to die down and then shot a dart across the ocean. She held her breath as she stared at the orb of light and then flung her arms out in success as it went out.

Only when she had finally shot down the last floating orb did Ceria realize she had an audience. She turned and nearly had a heart attack as she saw a cluster of mages, all far older than any of the students Ceria hung out with—watching her.

These were true mages, the ones who’d stopped being students and now either taught classes or studied magic on their own. Men and women in robes, Drakes, Lizardfolk—standing a ways away from the Drakes—a Dullahan and one of the Stitch People regarded Ceria silently. Ceria saw a bird-man standing next to two women she recognized.

Her heart stopped. There, standing with the mages was Illphres. And standing next to her, smiling slightly was none other than Amerys, one of the King’s Seven.

The Calm Flower of the Battlefield. One of the King of Destruction’s generals, who had conquered a continent and threatened the world. Ceria forgot she was a fellow mage for a second and froze in panic.

But these mages—why were they here? Had she broken a rule for some reason? Only, they didn’t seem angry. They were just watching her. Some looked amused, others, considering.

“Um.”

Ceria could barely breathe. The mages regarded her for another silent moment, and then they moved off, as if they were done. Several leapt impossibly high into the air and floated down to rocks closer to the waves—others simply walked off in different directions around the isle.

Only one mage stayed. Illphres. She approached Ceria, moving slowly, face unreadable. She passed a hand over her lips and then Ceria saw a smile appear. It was slightly mocking.

“Sloppy aim.”

“What?”

“Your aim is bad. You took far too long to hit that last target.”

Illphres nodded slowly to the ocean. Ceria felt herself blush hotly as she realized all the mages had seen her struggle to hit her final target.

“I got it in the end!”

She was angry that they’d seen her, but angrier at Illphres for lecturing her. The mage passed a hand over her face and Ceria saw her smirking now.

“You can hit a stationary target, but you don’t compensate for the wind. If that was a Goblin archer he would have shot you full of arrows by now.”

That stung because it was true. Ceria replied sharply.

“So I suppose you’re telling me you can aim better?”

“Of course. Watch.”

Illphres pointed, and Ceria looked up. She saw only the sky, and a flock of seagulls looking for scraps or perhaps a tasty mollusk washed up by the tides. The ice mage gestured, and one of the passing seagulls suddenly squawked in terror and plummeted towards the ocean. Ice had encased both of its wings.

Ceria bit her lip. That was a masterful shot; she’d barely seen the streak of light that had shot from Illphres’ hand to hit the bird. But killing an animal just to prove a point seemed wrong to her.

But the seagull never hit the water. A few feet before it would have smacked into the surf pounding the rocks around Wistram it suddenly flapped its wings and flew back upwards, still making sounds of distress. Ceria saw the ice on its wings flaking off, melting with rapid speed.

The gull flew off, and Illphres turned back to Ceria. She passed a hand over her face and looked expressionlessly at Ceria again.

“Everything is a moving target. You’ll never improve by aiming at stationary points.”

It was all true, but Ceria just couldn’t accept the lecture. She pointed at Illphres angrily.

“Teach me, then! Show me how to cast better spells!”

“Melt my ice first.”

Illphres looked at Ceria, and the half-Elf didn’t know what to say in reply. Illphres walked off, leaving Ceria alone to fume.

—-

Ceria didn’t stay long after her encounter with the mages. She saw them standing on the rocks, doing something close to what she’d done. The only difference was the scale. Instead of sending out orbs of light, some created actual illusions of monsters or incoming spells which they in turn warded against or shot down with their own magic.

She saw Illphres shooting countless discs of frozen ice up into the air at extreme speed and then bolts of lightning catching each one and blasting it to bits. Amerys did that for about ten minutes before she switched and started conjuring birds made of electricity which Illphres shot down in turn.

So. Other mages did what she did? Ceria walked back to Wistram, thoroughly humiliated and not a little bit angry. It was still early and she debated going back to the banquet hall for a second breakfast and to meet up with Pisces before class today. But she paused when she saw him in the hallway.

He wasn’t alone. Pisces was talking with another Human—a young man Ceria recognized with a sinking feeling in her stomach. He had a pointy noise and far too gangly legs in her opinion, but he was attired in rich, colorful clothing like a [Lord]. Which he was, she supposed. It wasn’t Charles himself, but one of his good friends.

Timor du Havrington.

He looked condescending as ever, but what was he doing here talking to Pisces of all people? Ceria stared down the busy corridor full of students hurrying about. He and Pisces were talking while they stood next to an intersection. About what?

About her?

She didn’t want Pisces to see her. Ceria pressed her back against a wall and then realized that was stupid. Instead, she mingled with a group of students going one way, watching Pisces out of the corner of her eye as she walked.

“…happen to agree with you on that point, Havrington. However…”

That was all she heard as she passed by. Ceria desperately wanted to turn and look back, but she was afraid of being spotted. And afraid, perhaps, of what she might hear. She slowly made her way back to her room and only saw Pisces again during lunch.

—-

“Well, well. If it isn’t my favorite half-Elf! Where’ve you been Ceria? We missed you at breakfast! Wait—don’t tell me. I already know.”

Calvaron’s cheerful greeting made Ceria want to pull his tail. She scowled at him and ducked as a flash of magic flew overhead. He and Beatrice didn’t seem to notice, but then, they’d erected a shield spell around their table.

“Hi Calvaron. Hi, Beatrice. What in the name of tree fungus is going on?”

She pointed across the hall at the circle of students watching two mages exchange blasts of magic, but Calvaron began laughing instead.

“What in the name of—did you hear that Beatrice? Did you hear what she said? Do all half-Elves swear by plants?”

“I did. Be polite.”

Beatrice slapped Calvaron on the shoulder and pointed towards the two fighting mages.

“It’s a duel. Seric and Zepheral are quarrelling over a wand one of them found in an unexplored room. The winner gets to keep it.”

Calvaron nodded.

“Want to place a bet? The smart money’s on Seric, but Zepheral could pull it off. I’ve got three-to-one odds on Seric.”

Pisces, eying the battle warily, ducked as a stray arrow of light splashed across the top of their shield.

“I’m ah, more worried about our safety. Do such duels occur often?”

“Worried? Hey, this shield spell won’t break from a stray shot! And yes, duels are fairly common. I’m surprised you haven’t seen any before, but then, the Council likes to ease you new students into life here. Can’t have fights breaking out on the first day.”

“And students duel for money, pride, what?”

“Anything and everything, Ceria! It’s like secrets; just another way for a mage to get ahead if they so choose. And you don’t have to fight with spells—there are spoken debates too.”

“Really?”

Pisces’ eyes lit up at that. Calvaron wagged a finger.

“Ah, ah. They’re usually decided by collective vote, so don’t go thinking the student who knows the most words wins, Pisces. It’s actually quite tricky, since you can’t rely on personal magnetism to win the debate. Those who vote have to answer under truth spell who made the more convincing argument.”

“All the more reason for me to attempt this. You say you can win money with this?”

Pisces grinned at Ceria, who had to force herself to smile back. Calvaron nodded, wincing good-naturedly as a cry went up from the crowd watching the duel.

“Students duel with magic and words in the halls of Wistram. Well, I say students, but all the [Mages] here do it. The older ones just do it with a lot more pomp and ceremony. Ooh! Looks like Seric’s going to win this one. Did you see that, Beatrice? [Air Volt]. Right to the chest! Zepheral’s not walking away from that one.”

“Looks like I win my bet. Good.”

Pisces and Ceria watched as the crowd began to disperse. Apparently Seric had won, and some students were helping to magically carry Zepheral—the unconscious Drake—away.

“Never a quiet moment in Wistram, huh?”

“You know it. But Ceria, I hear you had an interesting encounter this morning.”

Pisces turned, eyebrows raised and Ceria scowled at the Centaur.

“Dead gods, Calvaron! Do you keep your ear pinned to the ground or something?”

“Only when it involves my friends. And quite a few people saw you practicing outside. And how you ran into all the other mages too.”

Ceria covered her face as Pisces demanded and received an explanation.

“Why were they out there? I thought I’d be alone that early in the morning.”

Beatrice blinked slowly at Ceria as she scratched an itch on the back of her head.

“Don’t you know? All the mages inclined towards combat get up early to train. They probably wondered whether you wanted to join them.”

“Oh bark mold.”

Ceria put her head in her hands and groaned as Pisces and Calvaron laughed.

“Shut up! I didn’t know, okay?”

“Don’t fret, Springwalker. Look at it this way; attracting their attention can’t hurt you, especially if they think you might be an asset to the academy.”

“It can if they saw how badly I did! I was trying to get back my aim in secret!”

“Well, you should have practiced elsewhere. The rocks around the academy are a favorite spot for all mages to practice. Less bodies to hit if their aim’s off, you see.”

“I didn’t know you were practicing. Was it for the exam?”

Pisces looked at Ceria with a frown. She nodded, not meeting his eyes.

“Ceria’s got the right idea, Pisces. She’s rated high for passing the combat portion ahead of most of the students. You should just try and get top marks in other areas. Mind you, you might have a shot at doing well in the combat portion too, given that no one’s taken classes in combat magic so far.”

“Thanks to Illphres.”

“I hate her so much.”

Ceria mumbled to herself as she stuffed her mouth full of cottage cheese. Calvaron shrugged.

“It’s not good for anyone, but hey, after the exams I’m sure the Council will find someone else to teach you lot. They can’t have you not being taught for an entire year.”

“Too late if we fail.”

“You’re so pessimistic! But hey, speaking of Illphres, did you know that Charles de Trevalier got into her classroom?”

“No.”

Pisces and Ceria both stared at Calvaron in shock. He nodded.

“Apparently, your good friend Charles was seen in the classroom. He caused a big commotion, calling for Illphres to come and teach him.”

“So she taught him, then? How’d he manage to get past the ice?”

“That’s the thing.”

Calvaron’s eyes twinkled in amusement.

“He got in, but apparently he got someone else to melt the ice for him. Anyways, it was obvious he hadn’t done it himself, so Illphres said it didn’t count. I heard she and Rievan were arguing about it and she nearly froze his face off. He’s probably the one who did it, although it must have been a struggle.”

“Rievan and Charles are working together?”

Ceria exchanged a horrified glance with Pisces. She’d noticed Rievan didn’t pick on Charles nearly as much for his failures, but she hadn’t expected the two people who hated her most to join forces. Calvaron nodded seriously.

“Oh yes, Charles is heavily in Rievan’s camp now. He’s part of the Libertarian faction for sure. They’ll love having someone with his family’s deep pockets and influence, that’s certain. And if they throw a bit of help back towards his family when they’re having their own political battles, well, everyone wins.”

“Great. Just great.”

Ceria put her head down on the table. Pisces patted her gingerly on the back while Calvaron and Beatrice discussed what they’d do with their winnings.

“I think this is a great time to break out that drink I just bought. Beatrice, can you get some more quiches? Or maybe some of those eggrolls—or just cold cuts of meat? I’m told this goes well with spicy food, but I hate spices.”

“On it.”

The Dullahan left the table as Ceria raised her head in time to see Calvaron producing two glasses and a bottle and placing them on the table. He had a very limited bag of holding that let him carry objects around.

“What’s this? Are you drinking at lunch?”

“Just a bit, just a bit. I made a good bundle betting on that duel. And this is a treat. Here—Pisces will you hold this bottle? I need to get this out…”

“What’s that? Salt?”

Ceria watched disbelievingly as Calvaron took out a small pouch of salt and began to add it to the rims of the glasses. He lined one and then poured some of the pale lime-colored liquid into the glass.

“There we are. Mm. This smells good. This, my dear Ceria, is called a Sand Tumbler—it’s an alcohol made with limes and lemons, I think. Don’t ask me why it’s called that. It’s a tasty drink—an alcohol I just bought from a ship captain who had a cargo full of drinks.”

“But salt?”

“It’s part of how you drink it. Again, don’t ask me why. But it—ooh, it does taste good! Here, Beatrice, you have to have one of these!”

Calvaron sipped from his glass with appreciation and delight. Beatrice, returned with a platter of food, reached for her own glass to prepare it like he had. Calvaron drank his, but objected when he saw Beatrice sprinkling the salt.

“Aw, Beatrice! Don’t put salt in the glass! A Sand Tumbler is supposed to have it on the rim. It adds to the taste!”

“I like salt. What about on the ice?”

“No, no! It’ll melt the ice and—look, let me do it, alright?”

Huffily, he showed Beatrice how to prepare the glass properly. When she was sipping it with apparent appreciation he turned back to Ceria and Pisces.

“I like to treat myself to the latest delicacy when I can afford it. Did you know this comes from Chandrar? It’s very refreshing—do either of you want to try one?”

Pisces declined. Ceria was sorely tempted, but she knew she had better spend all her time studying, not drinking.

“We’ve got to cram as much as we can right now, Calvaron. I’d love to stay, but unless you want to show us how to decipher complex enchantments—”

He groaned and Beatrice rolled her eyes.

“Dead gods, I’d rather let Illphres use me as a target than study that again. You two go study. Good luck!”

The two students left Calvaron and Beatrice to share their drink with a few students who’d drifted over, lured by the call of alcohol and snacks. Pisces was excited about the duel and Ceria was quiet, conflicted by her doubts.

“I do believe I might actually participate in a duel. Not a physical one—I’d rather not get hurt—but a verbal duel sounds promising! I might make some spending coin off of it. What do you think, do I have a chance?”

“If your opponent gets half as confused as I do, you’ll win for certain.”

Ceria smiled weakly at Pisces as they walked into his room. It had become their place to study, mainly because it was so convenient. And it had a balcony. He eagerly began spreading his notes over his bed and table as Ceria took a chair.

“What shall we focus on today? I thought we might work on our spell composition. I know that Rievan’s focused on it a lot already, but I think there’s room to improve.”

“Um, Pisces.”

He looked up as Ceria spoke quietly. Her heart was pounding, but she had to know.

“What is it?”

“Earlier this morning, I saw you talking with Timor. What was that about?”

She watched his face anxiously. Pisces wasn’t a good liar, Ceria knew. Or she thought she knew. He paused, and scratched at his hair as if trying to remember.

“Him? Oh that—nothing of consequence. I was just on my way to breakfast and he stopped me—”

“Pisces, please. I have to know.”

He paused, and then turned to look Ceria in the eye. Pisces sighed, and took a seat on his bed.

“Timor did, in fact approach me this morning to extend an invitation to me. To join him and Charles in their…faction. The Libertarians. They offered me quite a few incentives.”

Ceria felt a hand squeezing at her heart. It wasn’t what she’d feared, but it still made her worried.

“And? What did you say?”

“I refused him outright, of course!”

Pisces looked indignant and hurt that Ceria had to ask. He stood up, smoothing his robes.

“I told him no, but he kept pestering me. He wanted me to abandon my friendship with you so I could add my abilities to Charles and support him. I’ve apparently got good odds to pass the exam and the Libertarians want every new student they can get.”

“Why’d you say no? They can offer you a lot more than you’d get by being independent.”

“Hardly. You know what Calvaron said about factions.”

“Yeah, but…”

Ceria trailed off miserably. She didn’t want to suspect her friend, but she did. Pisces looked at her, and his tone softened.

“Ceria, I turned him down. I would never join with him. You are my…friend.”

He said the word cautiously. Ceria blinked up at him and Pisces colored. He turned and spoke rapidly.

“Besides, Timor’s offer was quite disingenuous, I felt. I am completely disinclined to subsume myself into a close-minded group that bows to the most influential member without discourse or free thought. Your company—and that of the other myriad members of each species—is far more pleasant for me.”

That was what he said, but his real meaning was far easier to understand. Ceria surprised herself by standing up and giving Pisces a quick hug.

“You’re a good friend Pisces, but you talk too much.”

He grinned at her, embarrassed, but pleased.

“So I’ve been told. Were you really that worried?”

“Not really—well, okay, a bit. Charles has it out for me.”

“I know he doesn’t like you, but do you really think he would try to get to you through me?”

Pisces frowned, but Ceria nodded with conviction.

“Positive. He doesn’t do anything openly, but you heard Calvaron. Charles is allied with Rievan and I think he’s been doing other stuff in secret. I’ve been finding trap spells and hexes around my room every few days when I wake up. I think he and his friends are planting them there each night.”

“I didn’t know about this! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Pisces looked outraged. He eyed Ceria and then turned red.

“You thought I was the one doing it?”

“I was wrong, okay? Look, Pisces. I know you’re a good friend. I do. But you’re Human and there’s a history between my people and yours.”

“So I’ve been given to understand, but this much? Charles didn’t like you on sight, but why? Is there really that much animosity?”

Ceria nodded tiredly. She wasn’t surprised Pisces didn’t know; if he’d grown up away from half-Elves or in a different nation he wouldn’t have the same perspective.

“I’m a half-Elf. He’s a Human noble. At one time my people ruled over most of Terandria and enslaved Humans.  It’s a longstanding grudge and it’s not as if Humans and half-Elves have gotten along splendidly since then. I’ll just bet Charles is from one of the Human families my people used to enslave.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“Or it could just be he hates half-Elves. Some Humans just hate other species. Stitch-people are widely accepted although some people get freaked out by them, but half-Elves are much more disliked. Lots of Humans hate us just for being, well, half Elf.”

“I don’t.”

“Yeah, but you’re a bit strange.”

“Thank you.”

Pisces grinned. Ceria smiled at him and felt better. He cleared his throat, looking at his scattered notes.

“Not to change the topic, but regardless of whether Charles is planning something, if we don’t study we’ll fail the exams anyways. Should we get to work?”

“Absolutely. Come on, let’s practice. Show me how you get your lightning to go straight, will you?”

—-

That night, Ceria slept more soundly than she had for a few days. But she was woken up just past midnight by a loud scream just outside her door. She sat up, heart pounding as she heard panicked voices outside.

“Aah!”

“What are they?”

Ceria heard shouting as she ran to wrench her door open. When she raced out into the corridor, hands ablaze with fire, ready to throw it at whoever was outside, she saw retreating shapes running down the corridor. They were being followed by a stream of…

“Ceria?”

Pisces yanked open his door, looking bleary-eyed and confused. He stared around, but now the corridor was deserted. A few other students were opening their doors as well, wondering what was going on.

“I think they were trying to put a trap on my door again. But something chased them off.”

“How strange.”

Pisces looked innocent. Too innocent. Ceria squinted at him suspiciously.

“You did something, didn’t you? What chased them off?”

“Mice, I believe. I ah, cast a spell to attract a few of them.”

Pisces grinned at Ceria and closed the door. She stared at it and smiled before going to sleep. If the next day Calvaron pointed out a few Human students with small bites all over their arms and legs, neither Pisces nor Ceria commented on it. Some secrets were just that: secret.

—-

In the last few panicked days of studying, one last important thing happened as Ceria and Pisces were studying. Both mages poured over the spellbook they’d taken from the library each night before they went to sleep. Ceria had given up on learning [Stone Fist] in time—she thought with a week or two she might do it, but not when she had to devote her time to memorizing all her lessons.

But Pisces doggedly worked at decoding the spell he’d focused on. And as Ceria was sitting with her back to a wall in his room, trying to create the perfect [Stone Dart] to use as a model for her spells, he suddenly exclaimed and shot to his feet.

“I’ve figured it out!”

She looked up. Pisces was waving his arms about. He took a step—and suddenly blurred, appearing several feet forwards in an instant. She gaped. He turned to her triumphantly ecstatic.

“Look, look! Ceria, look! I can do the spell!”

He took another step and vanished. Ceria heard a yelp and saw him reappear and knock over the desk. Pisces jumped about and cradled his shin. She was dumbstruck.

“What? But how?”

“[Flash Step]! I told you I could learn it! It’s so useful! See—look at this!”

He took another step and appeared right in front of Ceria. She recoiled, but Pisces just grabbed her hands.

“I did it, Ceria! It’s so wonderful.”

He stepped away from her, disappearing and reappearing again. Ceria watched, open-mouthed. Pisces took a deep breath.

“It works. And I can use it. If I…”

He broke off, and began to mumble to himself. Ceria just stared at him. He’d really done it. And so quickly! It had been what, less than three weeks? She couldn’t imagine any other new student learning a Tier 3 spell so quickly.

But he’d done it. And now Pisces did something that made Ceria go speechless. He took another step and disappeared. Reappeared. He wasn’t teleporting, but rather moving so quickly around the room that he generated his own gusts of wind. But Pisces wasn’t doing it randomly.

He moved about the room, slower now. Ceria watched, mouth slightly open as she saw Pisces’ energetic leaping about turn into something else.

Was it a dance? Ceria had seen a waltz before, and what Pisces did now looked similar. His feet moved slowly, but with each step he flicked a few feet away. And yet, not once did he crash into a wall. Slowly, Pisces circled the room, stepping, turning, one arm on his hip, the other held outwards.

Turn, step, pivot, step. Pisces snatched up his rapier and then it was in his hands. He circled the small room, vanishing from sight and reappearing, facing off against some imaginary opponent. Just…circling.

If he hadn’t been using [Flashstep], Pisces would have just been moving about in a complicated dance of steps with rapier in hand, to better maneuver around his opponent. But with the spell he was suddenly impossible to predict. He moved about Ceria and she was sure that if she had a sword she’d be hard pressed to strike at him.

Still, that wasn’t what kept her eyes on Pisces. It was that he never hit anything. His room was large, yes, but even so, one careless step or moving a bit too far with the [Flashstep] spell would send him face-first into one of the stone walls. Yet Pisces never hit anything. He moved around gracefully, exerting perfect control over a spell he’d learned just moments ago.

Pisces walked for a long time, rapier held at the ready, doing a dance that made it appear like there were ten versions of him in the room at once, all flicking in and out of sight. Ceria watched silently, spellbook in hand. She stared at the young man, eyes closed, face upturned. She wondered who he was, who he had been before he had come here.

He was a genius. Pure and simple. And she envied him and delighted in the fact that he was her friend. A Human. A Human she could call friend.

She wanted to keep studying with him. She wanted to pass the exam. But when Ceria looked at Pisces, dancing about with flawless perfection, she knew she’d never be able to copy what he did. So Ceria bent down over her spellbook and got back to studying. She had to pass.

She had to.

—-

The day of the exam, all the prospective students gathered in front of the double doors where their exam would take place. Ceria supposed finding the spot was an exam in itself; any student who couldn’t navigate Wistram’s halls by now deserved to fail.

All of the students stood talking or practicing spells by themselves or in small groups. Ceria was with Pisces. Neither student had had the stomach to eat much this morning. They’d already been wished well by Calvaron, Beatrice, and a few other students who were rooting for them.

Now Ceria stared at the two marble doors, wondering why anyone would bother making doors out of marble so she didn’t worry about how she was going to perform. There could be no mistakes, she knew. If she failed, or if she took more than one try to do something, it would be noted by the mages who’d gathered to watch.

There weren’t a dedicated group of examiners for the test. Some mages like the teachers had to attend, but all the mages had a voice in choosing who would pass and who would fail. That made Ceria worried.

Very worried, especially when she saw Rievan talking with Charles and a group of his friends off to one side. The young man looked too relaxed, and so did Timor and a few other of his friends.

“I bet they’ll pass one way or another. If Rievan can’t get them through, Charles and Timor can just pay their way in.”

Pisces muttered that to Ceria. She nodded, glaring at Charles. He looked over and saw her. Before Ceria could debate whether to look away he was approaching.

“Don’t fight, Ceria.”

“I won’t.”

She murmured it and then looked up to glare at Charles.

“Something you want, Charles?”

“That’s Charles de Trevalier to you, half-Elf. And this hallway is free for anyone to use, as is Wistram. Not that your people would know what being free meant.”

Timor sniggered behind Charles. Ceria saw some heads turn, but she was in no mood to spar with Charles. She shot back at the young man.

“Go boil yourself. You smell like rotted fish.”

Charles’ nose turned white with outrage, but before he could retort, Ceria walked away from him. Pisces followed, grinning happily.

“I do believe that was the most civil conversation you’ve had with him.”

“If I fail the exam, it’ll be the last. That would be the one silver lining.”

“It won’t come to that. We’ve studied.”

He squeezed her arm, and Ceria smiled at him. And then, before both students were ready, the doors opened. A mage stepped out, making the students go instantly quiet as if he’d cast a [Silence] spell.

“Come in groups of eight! Order has no meaning.”

The exams were beginning. Caught off-guard, some students fearfully retreated, not wanting to be the first ones in. Others decided that boldness might earn them points and headed in. Ceria and Pisces held back until the third group, and then took the exam.

—-

“A large number of applicants this year.”

The mages who’d gathered to watch the new students take the tests were a diverse group, both in race and faction. Of course, every group in Wistram wanted to evaluate promising students, but some had come to support their candidate, or just to mingle and talk amongst themselves.

Some were here against their will, too. Illphres stood with a group of influential mages, both in power and status, scowling as she stared at the students casting magic under the instruction of a mage performing the test. A few feet away from her, Rievan hovered, not quite in the group which consisted of mages from every major faction, but unwilling to mingle with other mages. He kept interjecting comments or agreeing with a comment from one of the mages which several found quite annoying.

“Too many students is what I think. This is taking too long.”

Illphres folded her arms. The scowl on her face didn’t change until she passed a hand over her face and it returned to its expressionless stare. The mage standing next to Illphres, a tall Dullahan with his head held up to stare at the students, chuckled. He was unusually talkative and good-natured for a Dullahan, which meant he was about normal when compared to how much Humans acted out.

“You’d say that if we had one applicant, Illphres. But some of these candidates are genuinely talented. Look at those two. The half-Elf and the young Human on the left side. See?”

“I see. So what?”

A pale Selphid, hair dyed dark blue, stroked his beard thoughtfully as he studied Pisces and Ceria showing off their control of magic with the other students.

“A half-Elf? She’s not bad and they do have more talent than most. But the Human next to her—”

“Gifted.”

One of the Lizardfolk said that. She was a tall, sinuous woman with a head that resembled a cobra’s. Her arms and legs were longer than a Drake’s and she was distinctly reptilian, whereas the Drakes more closely resembled Humans and their draconic ancestors. She nodded at Pisces approvingly as he demonstrated his perfect control over the [Electric Jolt] spell.

“Ooh yes. I like him. He’s very good. We should accept him.”

Rievan raised his voice hurriedly as the others agreed.

“We haven’t finished the tests, Quexia. I think there’s still more considerations to be made. I told you, we’ve already seen some good candidates. Charles de Trevalier for instance is quite talented for being so new to the craft—”

“Shut up, Rievan. No one’s interested in a lordling with money. He can buy his way in if he wants, but he’s as talented as my left toe. Less.”

Illphres interrupted without looking at the mage. Rievan flushed angrily, but dared not reply. He glared instead at Pisces and Ceria, fervently wishing bad luck on them.

—-

Ceria felt like she was making a mistake every time she cast a spell. She was so nervous her hands shook. It didn’t help matters that she’d spotted Rievan among the watching mages, and he seemed like he was trying to cast a spell on her with his eyes alone. Ceria was pretty sure that was impossible, but it added to the pressure she felt.

She felt herself getting tired and worried—and a bit lightheaded because she’d forgotten to eat enough! And always, she could feel Rievan’s gaze on her. It made Ceria make simple, stupid mistakes a few times and she berated herself for slipping up.

The exams were exhaustive. Even with eight or more students being tested at a time, they took a while. Ceria had to do everything from repeat lessons on magical theory to demonstrate spells they’d learned, or pick out dangerous artifacts from a lineup presented to her. Some of the tests were easy, just to make sure she knew what she was doing, but others were fiendishly hard, so that the best students could distinguish themselves.

Ceria did passably well at everything. She was proud of herself for picking out an artifact that would have caused horrible itching out of a lineup when everyone but Pisces had missed it, and mortified when her [Stone Dart] spell was found to have an imperfection in its composition. But she thought she hadn’t done anything too badly wrong, so Ceria kept going.

Soon, she and the other students were done with all but one of the tests and she had to lean exhaustedly against a wall as Pisces nervously paced back and forth around here. There was only one test left, and Ceria tried to gather all of her wits about her for it.

“Alright, the combat test is next. You, students. Twenty of you come with me. The rest of you will have to wait.”

Ceria’s stomach twisted into a knot as she heard those words. This was it. Time to prove she could fight as well as cast magic. She didn’t join the second group, but told Pisces she was going in the next one.

“I’ll go with you. Just don’t hit me with a spell, please.”

“You’ll just dodge it if I do. Are you going to [Flash Step] your way to the end? And why’d you bring your rapier? You won’t need it!”

He grinned at her nervously, hands shaking. He had buckled the rapier to a belt over his robes which made him look slightly ridiculous, but Ceria hadn’t told him that.

“I might. I have no idea what’s going to be on the test. Did you know, last year Calvaron said the examinees had to fight a Troll?”

“They did not! Who’d be stupid enough to pit new mages against a Troll? They’d be dead in a heartbeat!”

“I’m just saying—”

The doors opened. Ceria jumped, and walked towards the mage before he announced they were ready for the next group. She heard a groan as Pisces joined her.

“What, what?”

“Look to your right. See who’s joining us?”

Ceria turned and saw Charles and Timor and two of their friends standing with the mages. Her heart sank as they smirked at her.

“What are they doing?”

“I don’t know. They can’t interfere during the exam. Not with all the mages watching—”

“I guess.”

Ceria wasn’t so sure, but there was no time to do anything. The mage took them down a corridor, and then Ceria entered into a strange corridor.

The walls, the ceiling, the floor seemed…vaguely transparent. Ceria gasped as she saw the stones were actually ghostly replicas of the real thing. And yet, the mage assured them the corridor was solid.

“Mages will be watching from the outside. Ignore them. Your only job is to prove you can navigate your way down the corridor and pass the other obstacles with your own magic. If you fail, just say so and you will be removed. Your speed, ability to handle each obstacle, and resourcefulness will all be taken into consideration. You will begin when I say so.”

Ceria eyed the empty stone corridor with trepidation. She had no idea what was ahead of her, but she was busting with nervous energy. Beside her, she felt Pisces tensing.

“Now!”

At the mage’s words the students started. Ceria took two steps forward and ducked as a fireball came hurtling down the corridor towards the group of students. Half of them screamed, one fainted, and Pisces vanished.

“Ceria!”

—-

Standing together watching the students make their way through the first part of the combat test, the mages chortled as the fake [Fireball] spell burst harmlessly among the group, showering them with fire.

“I never stop enjoying that.”

“One of the students has fainted? Well, I think he’s out.”

“Did you see that, though? The half-Elf dodged most of the blast, but that young man avoided it completely!”

“[Flash Step]. At his age? Impressive.”

“Now, how will they do with the traps? Oh? Looks like that half-Elf is quite daring. Isn’t she the one I saw practicing in the morning?”

Illphres watched Ceria navigating the traps ahead of the others. She was doing well, avoiding or disarming the ones in front of her.

“She’s nothing special.”

“Well, she’s doing well enough. Oh, look. That Trevalier boy’s set off three traps. Hah!”

Rievan ground his teeth as he watched the students move through the hallways of traps. But he comforted himself, knowing what came next.

—-

“Monsters!”

Someone screamed that, which made Ceria want to kick them. She dove out of the way as a shimmering bird that seemed to be made of light dove at her. Of course it was a monster! If you had the time to shout it, you might as well cast a spell!

“[Stone Dart]!”

She shot the bird through the head and it dissipated into fragments of light. All around her, students were fighting a swarm of magical creatures, the next part of the gauntlet that was their combat test. Ceria had gotten into the room first, but she’d been hard-pressed to progress. Some of the illusions were the circling birds who dove at you from overhead, but there was a huge Troll guarding the exit and she was wary of getting close.

“A damn Troll? Someone’s got a sick sense of humor!”

She growled as she shot down a huge wolf that was running at her, mouth open. All the illusions seemed so real! She’d already been hit twice, but instead of being injured, the apparitions had left bright, shining marks where they’d struck her.

Ceria was determined not to get hit again. She saw some students scream as a flock of the shimmering birds dove at them. Pisces was blinking around the room, dodging desperately and she saw most of the other students were huddled near the entrance of the trap corridor, throwing spells desperately.

This was her chance. Ceria called all the mana she could into her fingers and aimed at the swarm.

“[Stone Dart]!”

This time not one dart flew, but a score of them. Ceria fired the spell repeatedly, shooting jagged shards of rocks into the swarm, trying to hit as many birds as possible.

A score of the shimmering birds fell, the light-flesh of their bodies shattering and fading as they struck the floor. Ceria grinned as she ran forwards at the head of the group. There were still monsters left, but she had a clear shot to the Troll.

This was what she’d been practicing for! Ceria raised her finger, aiming for the Troll’s vulnerable eyes—

And felt something crash into the back of her head. She stumbled, and the world went dark. Something had hit her. But this was a test. What—?

—-

“That damn brat! He hit the half-Elf on purpose!”

Some of the mages were calling out in outrage. Rievan was raising his voice, trying to placate them.

“It was an accident. A slip of the finger!”

“Was this your plan? If this is what the Libertarians call fair, I won’t have it! I demand a retrial!”

“Now? You’ve got to be joking. We saw the half-Elf go down by accident.”

“My tail it was an accident!”

“It’s too late to retry. We’ll just have to judge her by what we’ve seen. That’s fair. And as for that boy, I doubt he’s passing.”

“He’ll just buy his way in! This is outrageous—”

Rievan let the debate rage hotly among the other mages, sometimes shouting in support, but no longer trying to shift the argument. It was done. Ceria was lying on the ground. She couldn’t distinguish herself further in this trial. A redo of the test was unlikely, he knew. Some mages might shout, but no one wanted to give one student special treatment.

He stared at the examinees, smiling, but his smile faded when he saw what was going on. Illphres shifted her cold stare from Rievan to the students still battling the illusions. She passed a hand over her mouth, and then she was smiling.

—-

Pain. Dark. Ceria felt herself falling—

And someone caught her halfway down. Ceria felt two arms encircling her, and felt herself being lifted upwards. She felt…safe.  Someone was calling her name. Ceria smiled. So dark.

The world faded. When Ceria opened her eyes again, the exam was over. But in the time between then, someone carried her.

—-

“That boy. What’s he doing?”

“He can’t be intending to carry the half-Elf to the end?”

The mages stared as Pisces lifted Ceria, dodging out of the way of the Troll’s illusory club. The Lizardwoman angrily turned towards a group of mages Rievan was standing with.

“See what’s happened? Now we’ll have to adjust for his performance as well. He can’t be expected to do as well carrying her!”

“What if we send a mage in to retrieve her? That’s simple.”

“Yes, but—wait a second. What’s that in his hands?”

The mages stared. After a moment one exclaimed.

“A rapier? Why’s he carrying that?”

“We told them it was a combat test. And I suppose some of them heard the rumor about the Troll—”

“If he wants to try and take it out with a rapier, that’s fine. But that’s not a display of mage combat—”

“Hold on!”

Some of the mages gasped as they saw Pisces blur with Ceria’s body in his hands. He stabbed backwards as the Troll lunged at him, and then ran the hulking beast through with his rapier. On one shoulder he carried Ceria’s unconscious body, in the other hand he held the rapier, thrusting it into the Troll’s eye.

“Good strike!”

“Look at that footwork! The Troll can’t touch him! He’ll take it down without a scratch!”

“That [Flash Step] spell is being used superbly! Does he have any [Warrior] classes?”

“He doesn’t need any. Look at his rapier.”

That comment came from Illphres. The mages stared, and after a second one exclaimed.

“A silver bell! Well, that explains that. If we’re looking at a [Swordmage] here, I say we accept him on the spot.”

“Even if he doesn’t want to be one, this is a splendid example of mixing magic with conventional proficiencies. I agree!”

Rievan stared helplessly as he watched Pisces run past the disintegrating Troll. Weapon in hand, the young man was speeding through the rest of the test almost too fast for the mages in charge to trigger the spells.

“Silver bell? What’s so important about a silver bell?”

“It means he is recognized as a true expert. It’s a Terandrian symbol of expertise.”

Rievan jumped. He turned and stepped backwards from Illphres. She was smiling at him and he didn’t like it.

“Indeed, Miss Illphres?”

“Yes.”

She nodded at Pisces.

“He doesn’t have to have a [Fencer] class. A silver bell is given to those who reach a certain level in [Fencer], true, but it’s also given to those who have proven themselves by dueling a master. It’s worth a lot of money to some.”

She turned back to watch Pisces. Rievan clenched his fists, but he comforted himself with the thought that even if Pisces passed, his performance would only serve to eclipse Ceria’s. Regardless of whether she finished the test, she had done nothing.

And then the exams ended. Ceria woke up in her rooms two hours after it had finished, and cried a bit before Pisces and the others checked on her.

—-

“It really wasn’t your fault, Ceria.”

Beatrice said that as they sat together in Ceria’s room. It was hard to fit everyone in. Besides Pisces, Beatrice, and Calvaron, some of their friends and people they’d gotten to know had come, like Cessic, to cheer Ceria up.

The room was crowded, especially with Calvaron in it. He kept turning and finding nowhere to go. Now he stomped one hoof angrily.

“It was that bastard Charles! I wouldn’t have believed he would try anything—the Libertarians have really done it now! There’s a row happening and I’ll protest what he did to the Council.”

“I will too. But the mages won’t redo the test, Calvaron.”

The Centaur deflated slightly.

“No. They won’t. I’m sorry, Ceria. But they saw you during the first part, and you did really well.”

“Yes, you did. And I’m sure they’ll take note.”

Ceria tried to smile, and failed. She looked at Pisces. He was avoiding her gaze, toying awkwardly with the rapier in his hands.

“I hear you carried me all the way to the end. Thank you, Pisces.”

“And he set a record doing it! Dead gods, I heard about it! Some mages are using a [Mind Scene] spell to show others—Pisces was dodging traps left and right! He barely got touched by any! He’ll be sure to pass—”

Calvaron broke off, awkwardly. All the other students in the room fell silent, but Ceria already knew the truth. She looked at Pisces.

“Thank you. I’m glad you did it. And I’m glad you’ll pass. You deserve—you deserve to be here.”

Ceria choked on the words. She felt like someone was tearing out her guts. Beatrice patted her softly on the shoulder.

“You don’t know you failed. You did as well as anyone else. Better, in many parts.”

But Ceria knew it was over. She knew it in her heart. She bore with the words of comfort and vows against Charles and the Libertarian party as long as she could, and then excused herself. Beatrice and Pisces offered to go with her, but Calvaron managed to get them to leave Ceria alone, which she was grateful for.

All she wanted to be was alone. She’d failed. Her big chance had been right in front of her—

And she’d failed.

Ceria stumbled down the corridors of Wistram, deserted except for the occasional golem or older mage. All the students were celebrating or commiserating with one another. She used one cold stone wall for support as she wandering aimlessly.

It wasn’t fair. Part of Ceria was raging. She wanted to kill Charles for attacking her. But why hadn’t she been ready? Why hadn’t she guessed he’d do something like this and taken precautions? She could have learned a barrier spell, or watched her back—

“Stupid!”

Ceria pounded her fist into a wall. She hit it again and again until her knuckles bled, but it didn’t help. Ceria walked on, full of despair. She wiped at her eyes and saw her tears mix with the blood.

She wondered if she could ask Pisces for the spellbook when she left. Maybe he’d let her take it. That way, at least she wouldn’t have done all this for nothing.

It was cold. Ceria shivered, and then looked up. She looked at a wall of ice, uncomprehending, until she stared about and realized where she was. Her path had taken her to the classrooms where they normally studied.

This was the classroom Illphres had blocked off.

“Get through if you’re a real mage and I’ll teach you, huh?”

Ceria spat bitterly and raised her fist to punch the icy wall. But it would just freeze her skin and probably tear it off. She glared at the icy wall.

It wasn’t that cold. It was just ice, but Illphres had made it impossible to break or melt. It was an unfair test, just like the rest of Wistram.

Unfair. But what could she do about it? By now, Ceria knew Calvaron would have talked everyone into doing a bit of celebrating. She dreaded going to his room, where the party would be going on. He’d probably be pouring everyone a drink and showing them how to put salt on their stupid glasses—

Wait a second. Ceria stopped as she had a thought. It was crazy, but…her eyes widened and Ceria dashed off through the halls.

—-

“You need what?”

Calvaron stared at Ceria as she panted and tried to explain. He and Beatrice were standing outside of the large room they’d chosen to party in. Ceria could hear loud voices through the stone walls, but she had no time for drinking.

“Please, Calvaron. I need to take some stuff out of the kitchens, but the [Cook] there said I needed to get permission from the head [Chef] or pay. And I don’t have the coin! Please—I’ll pay you back.”

“Can it wait? We’re celebrating, Ceria! You should too!”

Calvaron stared back towards the party. He pointed into the room.

“Pisces is already drunk. I had to practically pour a bottle of wine down his throat so he wouldn’t go looking for you. Come on, whatever it is, it can wait!”

“No, it can’t. Please, Calvaron. I know I don’t have anything I can trade you, but—”

Beatrice looked at Ceria’s pleading face, and then nudged Calvaron. He blew out his cheeks, but nodded.

“Oh—fine! Tell the [Cook] that you can take whatever you need. Put it on my account.”

“Thank you! Thank you! Tell Pisces I’m fine! I’ve just got to go!”

Ceria raced off. Calvaron watched her go and turned to Beatrice.

“What in the name of the Great Companies was that, do you think?”

Beatrice shrugged. She stared at the place where Ceria had been.

“Should we go after her? She’s very upset.”

“I don’t know. No—she’s got a plan. We’d better let her do what she needs to do and not draw attention. But see if the bookies will take another bet, will you? I’m thinking our dear Springwalker might have better odds than we think.”

—-

Wistram was quiet the day after the exams. Most students and mages were too hungover to do anything, and the ones who weren’t suffering were disinclined to do anything when making loud noises could get half a dozen spells cast at your face. Thus, it was only a few mages who gathered outside to practice their spells by the ocean.

Illphres was raising pillars of ice and shattering them with the [Glacial Spear] spell when Ceria found her. The half-Elf panted as she raised a hand to touch Illphres.

“Miss Illphres—”

The woman turned faster than Ceria had ever seen her and stopped Ceria.

“Do not touch me. What is it?”

“Please, come with me.”

“Why?”

Illphres stared expressionlessly at Ceria. The half-Elf knew she was disheveled, hair mussed, and she knew she was grimy and still damp to boot. She tried to explain.

“I did it. I did it. I got rid of the ice just like you said so can you come and see? So I can show you? The ice?”

For a second Illphres just stared at Ceria, but then she nodded.

“Very well. Show me.”

—-

No one was using the classrooms when Ceria led Illphres there. She had to slow her pace so Illphres could follow, although Ceria was bursting with impatience. Illphres didn’t move faster than a walk. The ice mage stopped though, when she saw the dripping hole in her ice wall.

“Hm.”

“I did it, you see?”

Ceria practically danced in front of the melted ice, half-hysterical from exhaustion. She waved her arms and nearly cried out. Her muscles were beyond burning—they felt torn, and her fingers and hands were raw and practically numb.

Illphres gazed at Ceria and then at the wall. She stared hard at the puddle on the stone ground, and noted the white stains on the floor. She looked at Ceria calmly and said one word.

“Salt.”

“Yes, salt!”

Ceria pointed triumphantly to the nearly empty bag of salt, a huge sack she’d practically depleted after she’d taking it from Wistram’s kitchens. It was so simple. Salt.

Salt melted ice. Ceria had used it to melt the ice, rubbing it on the frozen spell over and over and raising the heat with her own spells. She’d thought it was hopeless, but slowly, oh so slowly, the salt had helped dissolve the enchanted ice.

“I created this ice wall to be impervious to any spells below Tier 4. But I didn’t expect anyone to actually use something like salt.”

Illphres mused as she stared at the gap in her ice wall. Ceria stared at her, hopefully, desperately.

“But I thought of it. It’s not magic, but you didn’t say I couldn’t use salt. So I pass, don’t I? You’ll teach me spells?”

“There’s only three days before your probationary period ends.”

Illphres turned to Ceria, expressionless. Ceria’s heart sank, and then the anger in her bubbled forth.

“So? You said anyone who could get into your classroom you’ll teach magic! I’ll go in right now if you want!”

“Spare me. But what kind of a mage uses salt?”

“Me! I did it! I’ll do anything to learn magic.”

“So I see.”

“Please, teach me magic. I might not stay here, but I want to learn something powerful. Please, you promised!”

Ceria found herself begging to Illphres and hated herself for it, but she was at the end of her rope. This was the only thing she could think of, the last straw she had to grasp at. If Illphres would teach her something, maybe Ceria could earn money as an adventurer and try again next year. Or if she didn’t, she’d at least have something from Wistram.

For a long time the ice mage was silent. Her face was cold, like a mask, and Ceria could read nothing in her expression. For her part, Illphres looked the half-Elf in front of her up and down.

Ceria was as old or older than Illphres was but still a young woman by her people’s standards. Her hands were red, the knuckles and skin on her palms crackled and bleeding from the intense cold and friction. She was desperate, begging.

Illphres looked at the ice wall, the wall she’d created, sure that no student could break it on their own. Melted, not with a spell, but with salt and effort.

“Tell me, girl. What makes you think a real mage would stoop to this? A real mage would strive towards the height of magic on her own, not rely on anyone else.”

In front of her, Ceria took a deep shuddering breath. She looked up at Illphres, and there was a spark in her eyes of something more than determination.

“I know that. But I can’t become a real mage on my own. You told me that real mages don’t need help. To forge my own path. Well, I found a way to melt your damn ice, but I still need help. I want to become a real mage, but I’m not going to be able to stay here. So teach me something now. Please.”

Silence. Illphres stared at Ceria, and then nodded.

“Interesting.”

That was all. She turned away and began to walk from her classroom. Ceria jumped as the ice blocking it reformed in an instant. She called out to Illphres in despair.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

The ice mage made no reply. She walked away, and Ceria sunk to her knees in the cold corridor.

That was it. It was over.

Slowly, Ceria made her way back to her room. She crawled into bed and slept, too full of sadness to cry. She slept as she heard students stumbling out of her door, slept and willed herself never to wake.

But someone did wake her. Someone hammered at her door and shouted when Ceria didn’t respond.

“Ceria! Ceria! Are you in there? Get up! You passed! You did it! You passed!”

“What?”

Ceria leapt out of bed. She shoved open the door and nearly ran Pisces over. He gabbled at her and then gave up and both of them ran down the corridors, past students celebrating and crying and hugging each other. They came to the entrance hall and stared up at the floating words that danced and spun about in the massive room.

It was a list. A list of names. Each one was a student. Ceria saw Pisces’ name on there, no last name given, and Charles de Trevalier’s, and Timon’s too. But she had no time for that. She looked up and down the list desperately, and then saw her name. It was right on the end, hovering in the air, slightly out of place, as if tacked on at the last minute.

Ceria Springwalker.

—-

Ceria didn’t know what happened after that. She had a brief image of herself kissing Pisces on the cheek, hugging him, and then running to find Calvaron and Beatrice and hugging and crying some more. She only knew that at some point after the banquet and speeches and eating she found Illphres. Or rather, the mage found her.

The bathrooms in Wistram were magical as with everything else, but Ceria was far too drunk to appreciate them at the moment. She staggered out of one and nearly ran into Illphres. The ice mage was waiting for her, and scaring away all the other students who wanted to use the bathroom.

“I keep my promises.”

That was all she said. Ceria stared at her, and burst into tears. Illphres looked slightly surprised. That was to say, her eyes widened, although the lower half of her face didn’t change.

“Stop that.”

“Thank you!”

“Don’t thank me. You broke my enchantment.”

“But you—you—”

Ceria sniveled and Illphres rolled her eyes.

“Tomorrow, class will be held in my quarters. Find your way there. Do not be drunk or late. If any of your friends manage to melt the ice I will teach them too.”

“Pisces will come.”

Ceria said that instantly. Illphres paused.

“I see. Will all the other students come? It is a valuable…secret you have. It might be worth much. What will you do with it, let everyone pass my test?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what I’ll do with it. I owe someone—but Pisces will come.”

“So you will help your friend, to pass my test? I wonder, will you drag yourself down by pulling other people up?”

It was a question that wasn’t really a question, but Ceria had an answer ready. She smiled through watery eyes at Illphres.

“Real mages help each other. We don’t abandon each other.”

The ice mage stared at Ceria for a long time. Then she passed a hand over the lower half of her face, obscuring her mouth. When she lowered her hand, Ceria saw she was smiling ever so slightly.

“So I’ve noticed.”

She turned and walked away. Ceria smiled at her back, and bowed ever so slightly. Then she ran to find Pisces. She had to drink more, and tell him—and maybe Calvaron—everything. After all, she didn’t want to be in Illphres’ class alone tomorrow. She wanted to learn everything with Pisces. At last, they had time.

At last, they were true mages of Wistram.

Interlude – Wistram Days (Pt. 5)

Of the many wonders of the world, the isle of Wistram and the academy of mages which rests upon it is not, in fact, one of the greatest. It is not the oldest relic of the past, not by far. The tall, dark citadel of stone does not shine with the colors of a thousand glittering ores smelted into metal like the fabled Dwarf-built towers in Baleros.

And neither is Wistram associated with power, at least not more so than any other ancient structure. The Walled Cities of Izril speak of an era long past, when Drakes fought their distant ancestors from atop those battlements. It is not the oldest building made, nor the grandest, nor is it the most isolated.

And yet, for every young mage in the world, no other place could capture their hearts so. Wistram Academy represents the pinnacle of magic learning and ambition. To them, it is a long-pursued dream, and to spend just a moment in those fabled halls is what some will work towards their entire lives.

Which is why leaving is all the harder. The day after the yearly exams finished, the isle of Wistram saw a slight increase in the number of seafaring vessels docking in its stone harbor. Experienced [Captains] chartered from around the world made their way to Wistram to pick up the failed students. Of the hundreds who had come, as usual, less than a tenth had passed.

The students departed silently, some weeping, others too disappointed for words. They stared at Wistram as the ships took them out of the calm bubble around the isle. As the winds and rain descended, the gray spires of Wistram’s citadel would be the last thing they saw.

That is what those who had failed saw. For those who passed, their celebration was nearing its third consecutive day.

—-

It has to be said that mages know how to party. Aside from being able to obtain delicacies and goods from around the world, the students at Wistram had developed quite a number of spells specifically designed to add to a party. Some were amusing, like a spell that disguised a drink’s true nature until it had been imbibed. Others were simply dangerous, as in the case of one party which saw students play a game where they aimed spells at a moving target. Fifteen students were badly injured and one nearly died.

However, on the third day the partying had ceased to become an all-day affair, and life was returning to normal, although the night’s entertainment was rumored to be better than last year’s. For now though, the newly accepted students stumbled into the banquet hall to eat before class. Some of them jumped in surprise when they heard the cheering from the older students, and several of them flushed red with embarrassment. They were full students of Wistram now.

“Aw, look at them. They’re so awkward. It reminds me of you two when you passed.”

Calvaron laughed as he sat at his customary table with Beatrice, Ceria, and Pisces. The others glanced up as they noted the new students streaming into the hall. Beatrice stopped spooning porridge into her mouth and turned her head to look, and Ceria did likewise. Pisces was still engrossed in his book.

“How many passed this year?”

“Thirty-four.”

Beatrice answered this time. She frowned as a trio of people—Drake, Human, and Lizardman – passed by. They all had deathly pale bodies and they were clearly Selphids.

“Lots of Selphids this year.”

“So? Don’t glare, Beatrice. You’ll scare them.”

Calvaron grinned as Beatrice looked away. She turned her head to continue feeding herself, and Ceria nudged Pisces.

“Hey. Get your head out of the spellbook and take a look.”

“What?”

At last, Pisces blinked and looked up with a frown. He took in the new students being jeered, laughed at, and congratulated and blinked.

“Oh, are the exams over? That was quick.”

“Yes, it was. Stop reading and eat with us.”

Ceria yanked the worn spellbook out of Pisces’ hands. He protested, but gave in and pulled the cold plate of sausages and potatoes over towards him.

“You interrupted me just as I thought I was getting towards a breakthrough. I was close to figuring out the [Invisibility] spell, I’m sure of it!”

“You’ve been saying that all month. One break’s not going to kill you so shut up and eat.”

The half-Elf rolled her eyes as she levitated a tureen of gravy over while Pisces warmed his food up with a simple heat spell. In moments he was happily scarfing down his food.

Calvaron sighed and shook his head as he stared at the two second-year students sadly.

“It’s so sad.”

“Don’t start, Calvaron.”

“No, no! I have to say this.”

The Centaur pretended to be deeply troubled, sighing and clutching at his chest.

“I can’t bear to see it. How quickly you two become jaded – it feels like just yesterday you two were eager students, so happy to be admitted to Wistram! Didn’t you, Ceria, burst into tears at the table one year ago? And you, Pisces, I fondly recall you getting so drunk you thought you could cast the [Flight] spell and leaping off your balcony—”

He ducked as Ceria hurled one of Pisces’ sausages at him. Beatrice raised her head so she could glare at everyone.

“Stop that. Behave.”

Calvaron raised his hands and Ceria went back to her food. Pisces was busy eating. The four students were used to each other’s company after a year of studying together, and so in no time they were talking about the latest world news and gossiping over publicly available secrets. But Calvaron stopped and turned his head as someone new approached their table.

“Um, excuse me. Do you mind if I sit with you?”

Ceria paused as she reached for her goblet of milk, chewing a huge bite of sausage. She saw a young Human staring anxiously at her, a young woman to be exact, bright red hair hanging in a loose ponytail down the robes on her back.

“Why certainly, miss. Have a seat, please!”

Calvaron ushered the young woman to one of the padded chairs that went well with the low table. He waggled his fingers at Ceria and she shoved Pisces’ plate over to make room, much to his displeasure.

“Ceria, I’m eating—”

Pisces looked up and took in the new arrival. He coughed, and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Ah, excuse me. Who is this?”

“My name is Montressa du Valeross. I’m a first-year student here.”

The young woman bowed her head slightly, practically radiating nervousness. She seemed intimidated by the older students, especially Beatrice, who was regarding her with her usual calm. Ceria found that amusing, and noted the slight smile on Calvaron’s face.

“Please, sit, Montressa. Are you here for me, or something else? I’m afraid I don’t have that many secrets to buy at the moment, but if you’re looking to sell a few—”

“Secrets? Oh—I mean, no. I’d just like to sit and talk and—”

Montressa stumbled over her words. Calvaron just laughed though, and with his usual charm broke through her awkwardness.

“Oh, just talk is it? Well, I’m good at talking. You’re one of the students who just passed the exam? Congratulations! Don’t let my dour companions put you off—Beatrice stares at everyone, Ceria’s always grumpy and Pisces doesn’t see anything when he’s eating.”

He winced as a napkin, sausage, and pinch of salt bounced off his chest. Montressa laughed, covered her mouth, and thus became part of the table.

“So, why are you here Montressa?”

Calvaron asked that after the young woman had begun eating the food she’d brought. Ceria saw her pause as she lifted a forkful of buttered peas to her mouth. Montressa put her fork down and glanced at Ceria and Pisces before replying.

“Well, I’m ah, new here. And I was just accepted to Wistram, but I actually didn’t take the exams. I got in late you see; I’ve only been studying for a week now.”

Ceria saw Pisces’ eyebrows rise and she blinked in astonishment herself. But Calvaron only nodded as if it were obvious.

“Your family paid the full fees for this year? Well, no wonder Wistram accepted you.”

Montressa blushed.

“I wanted to take the exam, but I wouldn’t have passed and I missed the first ship you see—”

“Don’t worry about it. A student’s a student. It’s just your good fortune you could afford to pay your way in.”

Ceria frowned.

“Du Valeross? Oh, you’re one of the Terandrian nobility, aren’t you? You wouldn’t happen to know Timor du Havrington, would you?”

“Me? No. I mean, I know of his family, but I haven’t talked to any of them.”

“Good. Otherwise we’d have to kick you out of the table.”

Calvaron smiled to allay the girl’s sudden panic.

“Don’t worry. It’s nothing you’ve done. It’s just that Ceria and Pisces here don’t get along with Timor du Havrington or his friends. I’d suggest you stay away from him as well. He’s a bad egg, you know. And let me tell you, there’s nothing like a bad egg to spoil an omelette.”

Montressa nodded seriously, and Ceria had to pinch herself hard not to burst out laughing. She saw the same humor in Pisces and Beatrice’s eyes; Montressa was so earnest she was taking Calvaron seriously.

They kept eating. Montressa explained that she was an aspiring mage—she’d been tutored since she was young, but to really start her education she’d been sent to Wistram by her family.

“My parents are of the lesser Terandrian nobility. They want me to become a great mage and apparently I have the aptitude, so they made a gift to Wistram for my enrollment.”

“And no doubt you’ve been approached by all the factions already. I hope you didn’t commit.”

The young woman nodded nervously.

“I was told to avoid making promises. And I’m just learning my way around here still—I only found out about secrets yesterday. I don’t want to take sides, just study.”

“Good luck.”

Pisces sighed, and Ceria made a face. She was still independent after a year, as was he. But pressure on them was mounting too.

“So you’re a new, keen student. That makes sense, but I have to ask, why sit with us? We’re happy to have you, but you seem to have approached us for a reason.”

Montressa fiddled with her fork.

“I um, heard you all were really good mages. I didn’t study with the other students for the first month, so I’m really behind—I was hoping I could ask one of you to tutor me. I could pay, but I don’t have that much coin on me and I don’t have any secrets, so…”

The older students fell silent. Calvaron stroked his chin as he glanced at Beatrice. She smiled slightly and nodded a bit—Ceria shrugged and poked Pisces. He was busy eating and didn’t notice.

“Well, Pisces here is probably the best for that.”

Pisces looked up.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. Why don’t you help young Montressa with her studies?”

The young man swept a hand through his messy hair, looking distracted.

“Well, I am studying my [Invisibility] spell at the moment. It would be a time commitment but I…hm. I don’t think I’d fall behind in my own classes—”

“I’ll pay you. Four small secrets for helping, how about that?”

Montressa opened her mouth to protest as Pisces sat up and nodded. Calvaron waggled a finger at her.

“Ah, ah. Don’t object. You’re new and I have a soft spot for new students. After all—”

He clutched at his chest as Ceria rolled her eyes and smiled.

“—You’re only young once. Besides, Pisces really is the best mage in Wistram to help you.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. Don’t you know who you’re sitting across from? Pisces—wipe your mouth, Pisces—is a hero, nay, legend among his fellow students.”

Montressa’s mouth fell open as Ceria tried desperately not to burst out laughing. Calvaron continued, eyes twinkling.

“Do you know he finished his first-year exams by killing a Troll? He was passed unanimously by all the mages. He actually got money from Wistram to stay, if you can believe that. A natural genius; he’s the best second-year student at dueling, and debate and he’s one of only six students to have passed the Ice Demon’s class last year.”

“Ice Demon? I heard the class last year was hard, but the teacher for this year is nice. Who is the ‘Ice Demon’? Is she actually a demon? From Rhir?”

“Close, but even those demons would probably run from Illphres. You might know her as the grumpy Human who never smiles at anyone. She specializes in ice magic—she had to teach a class in combat magic last year, but it was so grueling that everyone who managed to take it dropped out. Only six students passed. Two of them are sitting at this table.”

Pisces straightened up importantly, and Ceria waved a hand. Montressa turned huge eyes to her. It was too much. Ceria stood up, balancing her dishes on top of one another.

“I’ve got to go. Don’t tell Montressa too many lies, Calvaron.”

He looked offended.

“Lies? Not at all. I may exaggerate the truth, but believe me, Miss Montressa, every word I say is absolutely true. Good luck, Ceria!”

She waved at him as she left the table. Pisces was still eating and he waggled his fingers at her. Ceria left, striding purposefully out of the banquet hall.

The Ice Demon? Is that what people were calling Illphres nowadays? Ceria supposed the nickname had started last year when she was teaching. It wasn’t entirely undeserved.

Balancing on poles while firing magic at oncoming targets, learning to cast while in pain or under stress, aiming at targets that were invisible – in the days after Ceria had won the right to take Illphres’ class, she’d sometimes wished she’d failed the exam altogether. Although she’d traded the knowledge of how to pass Illphres’ test to Calvaron for a good price—as payment for him helping her get the salt in the first place—almost all of the students who took Illphres’ class still dropped out.

The woman was vindictive, mean, uncaring, and frankly, rude. She’d made each student melt the ice with the salt by themselves while she watched, which eliminated over half who simply gave up from sheer exhaustion. And yet, Ceria had leveled up more from her tutelage than anyone else’s.

That was why Ceria stopped in front of the door that was lined with frost two floors up from the banquet hall and waited. She knew better than to knock; Illphres’ room was so cold that the door could tear the skin off of the palm of your hand. Nor did she try to get Illphres’ attention by shouting or calling out. If Illphres knew she was here, she probably wouldn’t come out.

Ceria was fairly confident Illphres hadn’t gone to breakfast yet, and sure enough, after only fifteen minutes or so of waiting, the door opened. The expressionless woman with dark hair paused when she saw Ceria. The half-Elf stared innocently back at her.

“Good morning, Miss Illphres.”

The woman just stared at her. Illphres sighed, and then walked out into the corridor. She moved past Ceria without a word, walking slowly and somewhat stiffly down the hallway. Students and some mages moved aside when they saw her, but Ceria just caught up to Illphres and began chatting naturally.

“I gained a new class today.”

“Oh?”

Illphres’ voice contained not a shred of interest. Ceria smiled cheerfully, forcing her mouth to move upwards.

“Yeah, I gained the [Elementalist] class.”

“How interesting.”

“I think it’s a good start, don’t you? It’s better than being a general [Mage], at any rate.”

“An [Elementalist] is just a mage who can’t commit to one specific element.”

That stung and made the smile on Ceria’s face falter, but she didn’t stop.

“Well…it’s still a class change. And I owe it all to you.”

“Do you?”

“You taught me how to improve my magic. You helped me learn so much last year. And you know, I am a second-year student now.”

“So I understand.”

“And I don’t have a master right now and I could really use some magical instruction…”

“And?”

She was going to make Ceria say it again. The half-Elf took a breath.

“Teach me magic.”

“No.”

“You did it last year.”

“Because I had to.”

“I would really like you to be my master. Please?”

“No.”

“Can I change your mind?”

“No.”

“What if I got you breakfast?”

“No.”

“What would you like to eat today? They’ve got mashed potatoes and sausage, but there’s also quite a good spread of greens today if you want—”

“Go away.”

“If you taught me magic, I’m sure I could help you out so much.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“No.”

“What if I—”

“No.”

—-

Ceria didn’t get Illphres to teach her magic that day. Or the next. Or the next. But every day she found herself standing outside of Illphres’ door, and every day the ice mage looked more and more annoyed to find Ceria standing there. But she never wavered, and Ceria never gave up trying to persuade her, much to the amusement of her friends.

“It’s not exactly uncommon, what Ceria’s doing. She needs a master, you see. Someone to teach her magic.”

Calvaron explained to Montressa as the young woman sat with them and studied. She’d quickly become a part of their group and sat with them when the students ate or studied—usually in Calvaron’s room. She was earnest, enthusiastic, and, Ceria was happy to find, not at all bothered by other species. She treated Ceria exactly the same as Pisces, which was a refreshing change of pace.

“Do all second-year students have to get a mage to teach them?”

Montressa, or Mons as everyone had grown to call her, looked up from her spellbook as Pisces muttered to himself and frowned over his spellbook. He’d managed to figure out how to turn himself transparent, but that was a far cry from true [Invisibility].

“Not at all.”

Calvaron shook his head and sat up importantly. He gestured to Beatrice, who was sitting next to him and leaning against his lower half. They were sharing a blanket.

“You see, older students like Beatrice and I, well, we have to have masters because it’s simply too hard to progress otherwise. There’s a limited number of spellbooks and besides, older mages can help us in so many ways.”

“But it’s hard. Masters don’t always need apprentices.”

“Exactly, thank you Beatrice. Many mages don’t want to have to teach younger mages, so we have to persuade them. Sometimes it’s with services we can provide—I can get my master almost anything he needs thanks to my connections and Beatrice helps her master with his spells. But it’s all variable. Some mages like my master have multiple apprentices and teach them all, and others have only one like Beatrice’s.”

“And some don’t want apprentices. Like Illphres.”

“But if she doesn’t want one, then why—”

“Ah, well, only Ceria could tell you why anyone would be crazy enough to want Illphres as a teacher.”

Ceria raised her head from her spellbook and scowled at Calvaron.

“I think she’s an excellent mage, okay? And I want a master who knows actual combat magic. Illphres is the only mage I actually know, and I think I can convince her.”

Calvaron winked at Mons.

“There’s a running bet on. Fifty-to-one says Ceria doesn’t manage it by the end of the year. But she’s doing her best, and it’s been done before. Bothering the older mages constantly is a valid tactic.”

“So long as she doesn’t freeze Ceria’s ears off.”

“She wouldn’t do that, would she?”

Ceria just shrugged.

“She might. But I think she likes me.”

—-

The first month had passed in a blink of an eye, and the second was almost over as Ceria walked through the hallways of Wistram. She was looking for Pisces so they could get together and study after their class on enchantments. She passed by students and mages, nodding to some, smiling at others, wondering where Pisces had run off to.

This was Ceria’s life in her second year at Wistram. A lot had changed, but much had stayed the same. She still took classes, although they were harder, and she actively pestered Illphres every time she saw her. Being a second-year student only meant you studied more; a student was still a student and Ceria had already gotten used to classes and practicing spells day in and day out.

But one thing was different. Ceria found Pisces by following the excited voices. She heard a roar as she pushed her way through a crowd of students and saw Pisces, rapier in hand, pointing it at another young man who had both hands raised.

“My victory, Ramon.”

Pisces smiled at the third-year student. The other mage flushed bright red, but he reluctantly dropped the sword and wand in his hands.

“That was unfair! I never saw—”

“A victory’s a victory. Pay up.”

Pisces didn’t lower his rapier until Ramon tore a pouch from his belt and hurled it at him. The bag slowed in midair and Pisces snagged it. He sheathed his rapier with a flourish as the crowd began to break up. Ramon stomped away towards another group of Humans who glared at Ceria as she approached.

“Another duel? Dead gods, how many is that this week, Pisces? Six?”

“Eight, in fact. And you won’t believe how much I won this time. Six gold pieces and ten silver.”

Ceria whistled as she fell into step beside him. Pisces grinned widely as he added the coins to his bulging purse. He had come to this academy poor, but now he was rich in both coin and secrets.

“They must have been very certain they’d beat you this time. What did that Ramon fellow have? A wand?”

Pisces nodded.

“A dancing sword enchantment on one of the daggers and he had a wand with a frost spell attuned to it. He must have thought he could corner me with his sword, but he’s a poor fighter. It was a simple victory.”

“In that case, you’re paying for drinks tonight. Come on, I want to go over what we learned in class. Let’s go.”

Pisces frowned as he stowed his money pouch at his side.

“Where? A library? I told you I prefer solitude. Our room are back that way, if you recall.”

“Don’t be stupid. Montressa invited us to her rooms, remember? And they’re a lot less messy than yours and far bigger than mine.”

“Oh. Of course.”

It was now Ceria and Pisces’ custom to study with Montressa if Calvaron and Beatrice were busy. And the two older students often were. Aside from their more difficult classes, the two were officially an item now, which came as no surprise to anyone that knew them. Calvaron’s obvious affection for Beatrice made Ceria sick sometimes; not the affection itself mind, but the lavish compliments he heaped on her every second.

Pisces sniffed as he adjusted his robes. Ceria eyed him as she walked.

“You need to wash your robes again, or learn a cleaning spell, Pisces. Dead gods, if you can learn [Invisibility] in one month you’d think you could look up [Cleanse] or something!”

He looked down at his robes with a frown.

“I don’t think they’re that dirty.”

“I can see stains all over them! Go buy some new ones—I’m sure Calvaron could find you some nice ones enchanted against messes.”

“I prefer to save my coin for more important things.”

“Like what?”

“Spellbooks, Springwalker, spellbooks. Even with what I can earn in duels, obtaining a new spellbook will be extremely expensive. I need to save all the secrets and coin I can. Why, a wand would set me back—”

“Just don’t be surprised if Montressa kicks you out of her room for being too messy.”

“She wouldn’t do that, surely?”

Pisces looked worried. Ceria paused.

“No, I don’t think she would. She likes you, I think.”

“Really?”

He brightened. Ceria made a face at him.

“You can’t tell? It’s pretty obvious. And don’t tell me you haven’t seen Praemla making eyes at you in class.”

“Well, I—I might have seen, but you know—”

There was no accounting for taste. Pisces grew flustered as Ceria kept teasing him. He was fairly popular with the female sex it seemed, if only because he was a genius at magic. Ceria could only roll her eyes when someone brought Pisces up as a potential boyfriend. He was far too messy, distracted, and besides—

She poked him in the back. Pisces yelped and glared.

“What?”

“There’s rat dropping on your robes, Pisces! How have you not cleared those things out yet?”

“As a matter of fact, those are mice droppings, Ceria. I happened to run across a few briefly earlier this week.”

“Again? Do you seek out rodents in your spare time or something?”

“I—”

He faltered. Ceria glanced sharply at him.

This is what was different. In the time since they had become second-year students, Pisces had made a name for himself with his prowess in magic and dueling. He could beat students with several years on him thanks to his talent with a rapier. But he was also rich in secrets.

Very rich. In fact, Ceria sometimes wondered if Pisces had more secrets than Calvaron. It certainly seemed like Pisces knew everything sometimes. People could be whispering in the halls and he’d somehow pick up on it.

Naturally, everyone suspected Pisces of mastering an advanced eavesdropping spell, but no one could tell when he was using it or which spell it was. More than once Ceria had seen other students casting [Detect Magic] to try and observe him using the spell, but so far they—and she—hadn’t been able to figure out how Pisces was doing it.

“Something on your mind?”

“A bit.”

He turned down a corridor and Ceria saw him whisper a standard ward against listening. He kept talking casually with her, as if nothing had happened.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to speak with you, Ceria. There’s something I’d like to show you later.”

“Really? What?”

“A secret. A big one. Remember when we found the spellbook last year? Well—”

Pisces broke off and Ceria felt the ward around them vanish. He raised his voice and called out.

“Mons! Ah, good. We were just coming to see you.”

She hurried towards him, smiling widely, holding a stack of books in her arms. Ceria greeted Montressa and in a moment they were in her rooms.

Montressa had been given a large room—probably because her family had bought her way into Wistram. Ceria and Pisces sat at a wonderful table inlaid with ivory while they chatted in between periods of study.

“Did you go to Illphres again, Ceria? I can’t believe you stand outside her door every day!”

“It’s a habit. I think I’m getting to her—she’s started waking up earlier to try and avoid me.”

“I don’t see why she doesn’t turn you to ice. Everyone says she has a temper. She’s so scary!”

“Like I said, she likes me. And—uh, I think she might get in trouble if she does it. I hear she did it once and got in a lot of trouble with the Council. So I’m…probably…safe.”

“How many days has it been, Springwalker? Fifty six?”

“Yup. And I told you, stop calling me Springwalker, Pisces.”

He shrugged.

“As you wish. However, I must inquire. Isn’t there another mage with suitable qualifications that might serve as a master instead of Illphres?”

“There are. But they all already have apprentices or they’re like Illphres. I want a master who can teach me one-on-one, you know?”

Pisces and Montressa nodded. He frowned, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the table.

“I support your efforts, but it would be prudent to have a fallback plan. Illphres is…”

“I know. If I can’t persuade her by the end of the year I’ll give up. Frankly, I hope I can get her to give in before that or passing the yearly tests is going to be tough.”

“Yearly tests? No one told me about yearly tests! I thought there were only the entrance exams for new students!”

Montressa sat up, looking alarmed. Pisces chuckled and waved a hand.

“You need not worry, Mons. You see, the yearly tests only apply to second-year students and beyond. And they’re not so much tests as…qualification exams.”

“That’s a test, Pisces.”

Ceria sighed and rubbed her head as she closed her spellbook. She tried to explain to Mons.

“You see, at the end of the year all mages have to prove they’ve learned something while studying at Wistram. It can be anything from a spell they’ve learned to reciting something they’ve studied or presenting something they’ve made—it’s just to prove they’re worth keeping. Otherwise the mage might be forced to pay to stay—it can be only a bit for food and lodging, or a lot if the mage is a lazy waste of space like Charles de Trevalier.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Ceria doesn’t really need to worry that much, in truth, Mons. Second-year students don’t get tested nearly as harshly as older students like Calvaron and Beatrice.”

“That’s rich, coming from the mage who mastered [Invisibility] in one month.”

“Ah, well, all the better to spy with you see?”

“Just so long as you’re not caught peeping in any of the female student’s rooms, Pisces. I’ve heard some of them have learned anti-invisibility spells already.”

Pisces drew himself up indignantly.

“I would never stoop to such behavior! If you want to accuse anyone of voyeurism, try Quesm. You don’t think he’s taking scrying classes for purely academic reasons, do you?”

Both Mons and Ceria made noises of disgust. Talk turned back towards spells—this time on wards to prevent scrying and who might be willing to put them up in their rooms. Ceria never did get to ask what Pisces was going to say in the hallway, but she sometimes wondered if he would tell her.

She thought he would, eventually.

—-

“There are more and more raids by pirates each week, it seems.”

Ceria pursued Illphres down the corridor. The mage ignored her. Doggedly, Ceria continued, trying to keep up a monologue.

“A lot of people think it’s the Drowned Men—not all of them obviously, but probably a few ships of them. They’re hitting all the major sailing routes, and some of the ships going to and from Wistram. Some nations have offered Wistram a reward if we destroy the ships. What do you think about that?”

“Pay for magic. That’s common. So what?”

“Well…I was thinking I might join in if the Council decides to send a hunting party. There’d probably be a lot of older students going, but it would be a good way to test my abilities in battle.”

Illphres turned her head to stare at Ceria.

“You? You wouldn’t last five minutes against a group of raiders.”

“Not by myself, but Wistram would hire a group of mercenaries and send a bunch of combat-capable students. Pisces said he might go. Calvaron and Beatrice wouldn’t, but it seems safe enough, don’t you think?”

“Arrogance.”

That was Illphres’ only comment. She walked out of the corridor and Ceria had to shade her eyes as she stepped out into the light. She found herself on a large walkway directly over the ocean.

This part of the citadel hung out over the calm seas. Ceria wondered why Illphres had come here. She stared down queasily into the water below. They were quite a ways out over the ocean—magic enabled the walkway to stretch far further than normal architectural engineering could allow.

Illphres stopped at the edge of the walkway. It had no guard rails, and so the mage could stare down straight into churning surf. She turned and passed a hand over her face. She was smirking a bit as Ceria halted a few steps back.

“You aren’t going to follow me over here like always?”

“I uh, don’t like heights that much.”

“I thought half-Elves all swung around on branches and lived in trees.”

“No, no…we don’t do that.”

Ceria cursed as her stomach roiled. Illphres was clearly enjoying herself. How had she found out Ceria was afraid of heights?

“Looks like the secret I paid for is true. You hate heights.”

“I—it’s more that I’m afraid of falling. Why did you come here?”

Illphres gestured to the open air around Ceria. She stared hard at the half-Elf.

“Four months you’ve followed me around. It’s annoying and you won’t stop.”

Ceria swallowed hard.

“No, no I won’t. Look, I know you don’t want an apprentice, but I need a master and you’re—well, brilliant. Please, won’t you teach me? I learned so much from you last year.”

Illphres considered this. She passed a hand over her face and her smile was slight and mischievous this time.

“I might. That’s why I’m testing you today.”

“A test?”

Ceria’s ears perked up. She was going to be tested? She took a deep breath, hope fluttering in her chest.

“I’m willing to do whatever I need to.”

“Really? Good. In that case—jump.”

Illphres said the word lightly as she pointed down to the ocean below. Ceria’s heart stopped.

“Wait, what?”

“Jump. And I’ll make you my apprentice.”

For a few seconds Ceria stared at Illphres. The woman was smiling at her. Just smiling.

“No. Hell no. That’s stupid.”

“Oh? I thought you’d do anything.”

“I’m not an idiot. Who’d jump just because you said so?”

Ceria glared at Illphres. The woman looked amused. She shrugged and walked past Ceria.

“At least you’re a bit intelligent. I wouldn’t teach you if you did jump. Be careful not to slip.”

“Slip? What do you m—”

Ceria turned to walk after Illphres and her foot slipped on a patch of ice. It was practically frictionless, and as Ceria windmilled her arms desperately and stepped back to keep her balance, her other foot slipped on a second patch of ice.

Screaming, she fell off the walkway down towards the ocean below. It was a long, long drop.

—-

“Ceria, I really think you should stop. You did your best, but Illphres is never going to teach you.”

That was what Calvaron said to her the next day as Ceria sat at their table, sneezing and shivering. She’d survived the fall, but gotten a bad cold from treading the freezing water before someone had helped levitate her out. Given that it was mid-summer, she had Illphres to thank for that as well.

Glowering, Ceria shook her head and coughed hard. Her lungs felt full of phlegm and she resented the way all the other students leaned away from her when she did.

“I’m not gibing up. And why are you all hiding?”

“I don’t want to get sick.”

Beatrice replied as she placed her head as far away from Ceria as possible. Pisces nodded. He turned to the young woman sitting beside him.

“Colds are impossible to cure with healing potions, Mons. You will note that Ceria remains this way even though she is in the capital of magic? The cold is so troublesome that the greatest of mages find themselves susceptible to it. It is simpler to let it run its course, but of course the risk of contagion from Ceria is—”

“Shut up.”

Ceria scowled at Pisces. She shivered; she still felt cold.

“Ib gonna make her teach me. I will.”

“Well, before you do that, would you mind convincing Pisces not to join the pirate hunting expedition? And removing yourself from the list as well?”

Calvaron snapped exasperatedly at the two. Beatrice nodded.

“It’s not safe. You shouldn’t go.”

“Nonsense. This is a prime opportunity.”

Pisces waved a hand airily.

“We have no less than four experienced captains with their own ships, each with a crew of capable fighters. And with over twenty of Wistram’s best students, we’ll be sure to find these pirates who have been preying on traffic and—”

“Get killed. Horribly. Or ransomed.”

Calvaron interrupted as he buttered a roll. Beatrice nodded her head with her hands.

“It’s dangerous.”

“Nonsense. You’re exaggerating things. Ceria and I will be paid handsomely—”

“If it’s so safe, why aren’t the mages doing it? Why leave it open to the students?”

The Centaur frowned at Pisces and Ceria. She coughed and replied.

“Because it’s boring? We’ll be days at sea and might not find them the first time. But it’s fine, really, Calvaron. We can handle ourselves.”

“I think you two shouldn’t go. I really do.”

Ceria just shook her head. Her mind was made up. Calvaron opened his mouth to argue again, and paused as something flickered and flew past his face. He raised a hand to bat at it, and stopped as he saw the shimmering, fiery insect that flew past him to hover in front of Ceria.

She smiled as she saw the firefly—a literal fly made of glowing lights—hovering in the air. It spread its wings wide and she saw symbols and shapes flickering in the air.

“Oh? Is this from you, Mons?”

“I did it! I think I figured out the spell!”

Sitting next to Pisces, Mons’ face lit up with excitement. Calvaron stared at the flying insect and the message only Ceria could read and frowned.

“What’s this, Ceria?”

Pisces nodded. He straightened in his chair importantly as he explained.

“It’s a new spell Ceria and I developed. It helps us communicate at range and no one’s been able to decipher the messages.”

“So far.”

Beatrice studied the glowing message carefully. Pisces smiled confidently at her.

“I am sure no one will be able to break this spell. It is many times more complex than any [Message] spell you could ever devise, and it can be used up to several miles away.”

“Handy. Will you teach us how to use it?”

“Maybe…but only if you stop trying to dissuade Ceria and I. Our minds are made up.”

Calvaron threw up his hands in disgust.

“It’s your funeral.”

—-

Two weeks later, Illphres found herself sitting alone at a table in the banquet hall. That was unusual for her, and she couldn’t help feeling something was wrong. Only when she understood that it was because she was used to having Ceria talking to her and pestering her did Illphres realize what she was unconsciously missing.

She passed a hand over her face and let her features change into a scowl. The half-Elf was gone on her adventure chasing pirates, and good riddance. She was far too annoying anyways, and now Illphres could concentrate.

That didn’t improve her mood though, and neither did the tall Dullahan who pulled a chair up at the table with her. He was named Jurix, and he was part of her faction, the Isolationists. That didn’t stop her from glaring daggers at him.

Jurix raised his hands as he placed his head on the table across from her. Two plates of food and a cup floated down next to it. He ignored Illphres’ glare that told him to leave and began to talk to her, quite unperturbed. He was too cheerful for a Dullahan, which contrasted well with Illphres.

“Stop glaring, Illphres. We’re on the same side here. Or are you missing that half-Elf that kept following you around all the time?”

“I’m not missing her and she was a pest. What do you want, Jurix?”

“Nothing. I’m just here to tell you that Ophelia is on board. Totally.”

“Really?”

Illphres passed a hand over her mouth, and she was smiling when she lowered it. This was good news. Jurix nodded, pausing to smile as he fed himself with a hovering spoon.

“That’s right. We’ve got four now; if we can get one more mage on our side I think we’ll have a shot.”

“I’ll talk to Amerys again.”

“Try not to start a fight?”

“No promises.”

Illphres, changed her features to a grin as she covered her mouth. She could have done it without covering her face; Jurix knew her secret. But she had grown used to doing it this way. She was about to ask Jurix what had changed Ophelia’s mind when someone began shouting a few tables over.

“What’s this now?”

Jurix frowned and picked up his head so he could see. Illphres turned and saw one of the mages shouting in panic as he raced into the room.

“It was a trap! They’re under attack!”

“Who are?”

Someone shouted, and Illphres looked towards the entrances to the banquet hall. She was expecting another loose experiment, or perhaps some of the undead from the catacombs under Wistram, but it seemed the issue didn’t lie within Wistram, but outside of it.

“The students! The hunting expedition we sent—it’s been ambushed! I just received a [Message] spell—there’s a fleet of nine ships attacking them! It’s not just a few isolated ships—it’s an entire armada!”

The banquet hall erupted into shouts at this news. Jurix turned to Illphres. Her expression hadn’t changed, but her eyes had locked onto the mage who had spoken.

“Isn’t that half-Elf with…?”

“Quiet.”

“The students say they’re outnumbered and the pirates have mages of their own! And their leader is far stronger than the [Captains]—he’s already slain two! Where’s Archmage Amerys? They need her!”

“She’s out hunting!”

The mage turned in desperation.

“One of the other Archmages, then! We need someone who can teleport or fly—if we don’t hurry the students will be dead!”

Jurix and Illphres saw the hall devolving into confusion. Some mages—those who could actually teleport—backed away, unwilling to expose themselves to danger. Wistram was full of mages, it was true, but only a fraction of their number was willing to go into combat.

For his part, the Dullahan stared hard at Illphres. She was seated, motionless in her chair. He knew she was thinking.

“Are you going to help?”

“She knew what she was getting into. All those students do. It isn’t our job to bail them out.”

“Very true. We should let them sort out their own problems. And if they can’t, well, that’s life.”

“Exactly. It’s not our problem.”

Jurix nodded understandingly. He reached for a plate, and stopped as Illphres stood up. She glared at him.

“Well? Are you coming?”

He grinned and pushed back his chair, already fastening his head securely to his neck.

“I’ll message Bastam and Ophelia. We’ll get her to teleport us, but it will take several leaps—”

“Hurry. I’ll go ahead. I’ll be faster.”

“Got it.”

Illphres strode away from Jurix. She saw heads turning towards her, but paid no attention. Students and mages cried out as ice spread in front of Illphres, but she just stepped forwards.

Her shoes were designed to stick to the ice, but only if she allowed them too. Illphres slid forwards on the ice, gathering momentum as she let the slick ice take her momentum. It spread across the banquet hall, making anyone standing on it slip or be forced to grab a table for support. Calvaron tumbled to the ground with a cry and Beatrice had to grab Mons to keep her upright as Illphres kicked herself across the ice, moving faster.

She shot down the banquet hall, smooth-soled shoes turning as she pivoted, zipping past a group of students. Illphres jumped and cleared the fallen Calvaron. She shot down a corridor and found herself headed at a wall.

Ice rose and curved. Illphres kicked off from one wall and shot up the ramp and onto the far wall. For a few seconds she was horizontal, skating on the far wall, then she dropped down to the ground and kept going, barely losing speed.

She didn’t know why she was doing this. Illphres ignored the shouting as her ice magic shot down the hallway, providing her with a passageway to keep skating down, moving faster and faster. There was no reward for this, at least none she cared for. She told herself real mages stood alone.

But she thought of Ceria. She scowled as she shot out Wistram’s front doors, blasting them open with a pillar of ice. Illphres felt herself falling, and gazed down at the steps as they came rushing towards her. The steps froze, and the ice turned the hill down towards the docks into a ramp. Illphres sped down it, gathering more speed. She created a ramp for herself at the end and flew out into the ocean, a missile.

Real mages stood alone. But the half-Elf wasn’t a real mage yet. And neither was Illphres.

Not yet.

—-

“Get down!”

Ceria screamed as another volley of arrows flew overhead. Half of those who heard her threw themselves down, but the other half were too busy fighting to dodge. She heard screams as several arrows found their mark. One flashed past her head as she held still on the deck of the rocking ship.

As soon as she thought the worst of it was over Ceria was on her feet. She clutched at her arm; she’d been hit once already. The shaft stuck out of her flesh and Ceria felt faint.

But there was no time to rest or scream. The enemy was everywhere.

The deck of the ship she was on was filled with men and women with swords. Not just any men or women though; the Drowned People. They were a race created when parasites from the ocean fused with Humans or other species. Many were peaceful people, the products of an accident. But others were pirates.

And these were no ordinary raiders, no ragtag group of sea bandits. Someone had gotten their information very wrong, Ceria knew, because eight ships had ambushed the expedition from Wistram at sea. Now they swarmed the three remaining ships, wearing bright red bandanas. That way the archers on the other ships could avoid hitting their friends as they loosed arrows on the mages and mercenaries fighting for their lives.

At least the bandanas made them easy to hit. Ceria raised her hand and pointed three fingers at the nearest pirate.

“[Ice Dart]!”

Three shards caught the woman as she turned. Two bounced off the crustacean like shell on her chest, but the third hit her in the throat. She choked but didn’t fall. Ceria saw a mercenary turn and run her through—

“Ceria!”

She felt someone hit her from the side. Ceria fell and saw Pisces. He’d knocked her to the ground just in time to keep her from being run through by a man with a cutlass. He grinned and slashed fast at Pisces.

“[Flame Jet]!”

Ceria screamed the spell as she pointed her hands up. The man dodged back from the gout of flame with a curse and gasped as Pisces ran him through. The mage pulled his blade back with a grimace and helped Ceria to her feet.

“We have to run!”

He screamed it in her ears as he pointed to the side. Ceria dragged him back.

“We can’t jump! They’ll kill us in the water easily!”

“In that case—I’ll have to—”

He turned and swore.

“Look out! He’s coming again!”

Ceria turned and saw a ship shooting towards them, black hulled, the front reinforced with steel to create a ram.

The captain of these pirates stood at the head of the deck, grinning, bloody sword in hand. Ceria flinched as she saw him holding two heads. He’d already killed two of the [Captains] of the four ships and sunk one with his vessel. She braced as Pisces gripped the railing—

The impact splintered the hull of the vessel Ceria was standing on and threw her and Pisces apart. She got up groggily, and saw more pirates swinging down onto the deck, charging the outnumbered Wistram students and mercenaries.

Already half of the students had died. The rest fell back, fighting with spells but unable to defend themselves from the brutally efficient blades and arrows that assailed them. Ceria stumbled backwards, firing shards of ice desperately. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were supposed to be doing the hunting. They could have taken any equal force with their mages, but this—

Fire erupted to one side, burning a group of mercenaries as the pirates cheered. Ceria saw a mage – a man with red robes – standing on one of the far ships. They had mages of their own.

She was going to die here. Ceria backed towards her friends, fellow students, and the mercenaries who’d formed a desperate semicircle on their deck. This was it. The pirate captain led the charge and she fought for her life.

—-

Across the deck, Pisces found himself fighting for his life. He stepped backwards in a flash, parried a blade, and stepped again, thrusting desperately. But his opponent moved as fast as he did, perhaps faster.

“I have a Skill that’s a match for your spell, boy.”

The man who pushed Pisces backwards was no Drowned Man, but a Human, heavily tattooed on his face and arms. He cut at Pisces, making the mage duck and weave. Pisces muttered under his breath as he took five rapid steps backwards, flashing across the length of the deck.

“Rise, rise unto me—”

He cried out as the man cut his arm with a slash from his offhand. He had a dagger to match with his blade. Now the man stood, sword in one hand, dagger in the other. He beckoned with the dagger at Pisces, challenging.

“I see your bell. Shall we have a duel of it, mage from Wistram?”

Pisces grinned wildly as he cast a spell without words.

“If you want to try, be my guest.”

They spun away, each attempting to catch the other. Pisces leapt from the railing of his ship towards another one. He landed on the deck and the man followed, laughing. The pirates had butchered the crew of this ship and only the dead remained.

“Nowhere to run!”

“No. There isn’t.”

Pisces’ eyes glinted as something moved on the still deck. He brandished his rapier and circled the tattooed man.

—-

Ceria saw Pisces jump, but she could do nothing to help him. She was fighting for her life. It seemed like there was a wall of blades around her. She expected at any moment to be run through, but fought for every second.

Two ships, now. The third was dead in the water, Pisces and the other pirate the only living souls aboard. Ceria saw the other ship approaching, and realized they were coming to help. But more pirate ships were all around, and they were trying to board the other ship. Ceria saw one ship coming dead on, attempting to ram—

“To port! Hard port!”

Someone screamed that. Ceria saw the pirate ship turn, but too slowly. She gaped as a huge blade of ice sudden crashed into the ship, a vertical guillotine that cut the entire vessel in two.

“What was that?”

The attackers stopped their assault as they turned to look. The pirate ship broke in two and began to sink. Ceria turned towards the railing and her heart stopped as she saw a familiar figure, skating across the waves.

Illphres. The ice mage froze the very sea around her as she dashed across the ocean. She moved faster than anything Ceria had ever seen on land, leaving a trail of disintegrating ice as she spun in the air and landed, skating backwards towards another vessel.

From her hands came ice, massive pillars of it that crashed into another pirate ship and broke the wooden hull. Illphres turned, and a wall of ice formed in front of her as one of the pirate mages blasted her. She raised a finger and hit him in the chest with a spike of ice.

“Mage!”

Ceria heard an incredible roar and turned to see the pirate leader. He was on his ship and it turned incredibly fast towards Illphres. Archers shot at her as she raised a second wall of ice to block them. Calmly, Illphres sent a second scything ice blade to cut apart the pirate leader’s ship.

The ice broke as it struck the hull of the black ship. Ceria, ducking back and throwing fire, saw Illphres pause and heard the captain roar.

“I sailed through storms that have sunk islands, mage! My ship and I are one! I am a [Storm Captain]! Come and fight me if you dare!”

Illphres raced towards him on the frozen sea. She leapt, and a pillar of ice threw her up onto the deck. Ceria cried out. It was a trap! There was no way Illphres could fight an entire crew of pirates and their captain alone. She leapt from the deck of the ship she was on and dove into the waters below.

—-

Pisces remembered the past. With every step and thrust and dodge and parry, he remembered the lessons his father had taught him. His sword felt heavy in his hands, but he dared not stop moving.

“Tiring, mage? You have skill, but I have Skills.”

The tattooed pirate laughed at him as Pisces gasped for air. He was badly winded. Pisces knew he couldn’t continue. He stepped backwards, towards a place where the dead had been cut down in droves. The man advanced, laughing. He was coming for the finishing kill.

One slash nearly tore the rapier Pisces held out of his hands. The thrust with the dagger cut him across the ribs. Pisces hissed, and tripped backwards over a corpse. He raised his rapier as the man stepped over the body—

And it seized him by the leg. The pirate turned, stabbing at the man who rose from the ground.

“What is this?”

He was horrified to find the man who’d grabbed him was dead. The tears in his chest showed clearly where he’d been killed. But he still struck at the pirate, and another zombie grabbed him from the other side.

“Apologies.”

Pisces rose to his feet and lifted his rapier. The tattooed pirate stared at him with horror and fury.

“You coward! This is a duel!”

“Only to you.”

Pisces ran the tattooed man through. He turned, and took a deep breath. More pirates were coming, swinging onto the deck and stopping in horror when they realized who they were facing.

“Necromancer!”

“Ah, yes.”

Pisces stared sadly at the dead around him. They charged towards the living and he walked forwards, rapier in hand.

“I suppose there’s no hiding it now.”

—-

Illphres and the [Storm Captain] fought on the deck of his ship, exchanging blows. For Illphres, each spell was a spear of ice, or a storm of frozen daggers that cut down pirate after pirate, merciless, tearing holes in the deck of the ship. But the captain of the pirates dodged each spell, moving with effortless grace and speed on the rocking deck.

And he was strong, too. Each time Illphres raised a wall of ice to block him, he would swing past the wall of ice or shatter it with his enchanted blade. It could pierce her thickest barrier, and she didn’t have the time to fight him and the crew that assailed her from all sides.

He caught her as she froze a score of pirates around her. The captain kicked Ilphres off her feet. He tried to stab her through the chest as she lay on the ground, but she pointed and he dropped his sword, howling as it froze his skin.

He drew a dagger from his belt and threw himself at Illphres. She blasted him off his feet with a gust of frozen air, but he was back in a second. He raised his dagger with a yell—

And his foot came down on the patch of slick ice underfoot. Ceria shot an [Ice Dart] at the man’s head as she hauled her drenched body on the deck.

The captain’s boot landed on the ice and he turned and leaned out of the way of the shard of ice. He grinned as Ceria stared at him in dismay.

“On my ship, I cannot be tripped by air, water, or any other thing underfoot, girl.”

Then he turned and leapt out of the way. A flurry of [Ice Spikes] flashed past him, but each one missed. The [Storm Captain] lunged towards Illphres, and cut across her face.

Ceria screamed. But Illphres didn’t fall. Instead, her face fell to pieces. The [Storm Captain] froze as he stared at what remained and Illphres nodded.

“See what the face of a true mage looks like.”

Then the air froze. The deck froze. The captain raised his dagger and—

Froze.

Standing on the other side of the deck, Ceria felt the water on her freeze instantly. She cried out in pain and flailed about, hearing it crack. The cold was intense. She saw Illphres, kneeling on the deck.

“Illphres!”

It was minutes before the intense chill faded enough for Ceria to dash over to Illphres. She saw the woman kneeling on the deck, eyes closed, panting heavily. Ceria reached down to her, and froze.

“Yes.”

Illphres looked up, staring at Ceria. Blackened lips moved, but the rest of her face stayed still. Her jaw, her nose—the entire lower half of her face was blackened, the skin dead. Ceria had seen such symptoms before. It was the look of frostbite.

“Do you see?”

Illphres whispered it to Ceria. The shards of ice that had been the—the mask on her face slowly began to melt as the temperature on the ship began to normalize. Ceria could only stare.

“This is what magic looks like.”

—-

“We’re just in time by the looks of it.”

The three mages appeared in the air over the sea. They landed on the choppy water, staggering. Their feet met the surface of the water as if it were solid earth, but the constant movement of the waves still made it hard to stand. One of the mages, a woman with stitching around her hands, gasped for air as the other two caught her.

Jurix, the Dullahan and Bastam, the Drake, turned towards the ships where fighting still continued. Jurix pointed.

“There! Two ships are still active. A third is—”

“Are those zombies?”

Bastam stared intently at one of the ships. Jurix shook his head.

“Look later. I’ll take that ship, Bastam. You take that one.”

“Got it. Go.”

The Dullahan spoke a spell as Bastam began to chant.

“[Whirlwind Leap].”

He shot upwards, propelled by a massive gust of wind that hurled him towards the ship he had chosen. Jurix landed on the deck of one of the enemy ships and began casting spells at once. A trio of pirates rushed at him, but their blades scratched uselessly at his now-impervious armor. The Dullahan struck one with his palm.

“[Tremor Impact].”

The broken body of the Drowned Man flew far over the railing and splashed into the water below. The other pirates backed up, but Jurix pursued them, using [Flash Foot] to blink forwards and striking them with the same spell.

Caught by surprise, the pirates tried to swarm the ship Jurix was on. But one of their ships slowed as spells began to rain down from the sky upon it.

[Fireball] and [Lightning Bolt] spells struck the deck of the ship with deadly accuracy. Bastam, standing on the top of the ocean waves with Ophelia, hurled the spells hundreds of meters into the air, arcing them to hit the pirates on deck with deadly accuracy.

Three ships sunk and two more taken by the enemy, the pirates attempted to flee. Illphres sunk one by breaking the hull with [Glacial Spears]—the other two fell to combined attacks from the surviving mages.

And then it was over. Ceria stumbled across the deck of the deceased pirate captain’s ship as Illphres connected it to another ship with a bridge of ice. Ceria wanted to support Illphres; the woman stumbled twice as she walked, but the woman just shrugged her hands off.

“Leave me. Find your friend.”

Ceria hesitated, but then ran onto the other ship. She called out for Pisces, searching for him among the surviving mercenaries and student mages. Then she remembered he’d gone to the other ship.

“Pisces!”

The ship was full of people. How? Ceria shouted as the last surviving [Captain] turned his ship alongside the vessel. For a moment she thought one of the other ships had sent people to help Pisces fight, but then someone standing next to her cried out in horror.

“Zombies!”

They stood motionless on the deck, swaying slightly as the ship rocked back and forth. The undead. Some were mercenaries, others, Wistram students. More still were pirates, brought back from the dead after being slain. The ship was full of death.

And one living person. Pisces stood at the railing, a bloody rapier in hand. He was cut badly, but intact. He stared across the railing and then stared at the mercenaries and other mages. They all gazed at him, some vomiting, others backing away in fear.

Someone dropped a gangplank. Ceria saw Pisces step up. He walked across to her ship, and stopped in front of her. She just stared at him, not fully understanding. Not wanting to understand.

Pisces couldn’t meet her eyes. He cleared his throat, stared at the ground. He looked at Ceria at last, and there was guilt in his eyes.

“I wanted to tell you—”

Ceria took a step back. The corpses standing on the deck stared vacantly ahead. The head of one had been hacked nearly apart, but it stood, bits of gore and brain falling to the rocking deck. Illphres regarded Pisces silently as both sailors and the other students stared at him in horror.

But he only had eyes for Ceria. Pisces lowered his crimson rapier.

“Ceria—”

She backed away from him. Ceria felt weak. Her head was spinning. She took one more look at the undead that Pisces—her friend had created and threw up.

—-

“Necromancer.”

It was the word on the tongues of every student and mage in Wistram. Even the dramatic battle at sea paled in comparison to the attention, anger, and hatred focused around one person.

Pisces. He stood in front of the Council, the assembly of mages presided over by the Archmages of Wistram, the body that governed the academy. Normally the Council voted on topics such as policy, Wistram’s stance towards nations, appointing new teachers, but it also served a rarely-fulfilled role as arbiter.

Standing on a balcony in the huge, circular room, Ceria stood next to Calvaron and Montressa as she stared down at Pisces, standing alone as he faced the Council. Beatrice had refused to attend the hearing. Or was it a trial? It felt like one.

The accusation was simple. Pisces was a [Necromancer]. It wasn’t as if Wistram had outlawed that school of magic explicitly—and yet, it was clear that they had. No sane mage practiced necromancy. It violated the dead. It was a tool used by crazed cults and madmen to create armies to assail the living.

It was wrong.

And yet Pisces stood in front of the Council and argued. Ceria heard his voice ringing through the chamber, confident, beseeching the other mages to understand. She stared at Montressa and saw the girl’s horrified face, and the grim look on Calvaron’s.

“Magic is pure! Necromancy is a force to be wielded for good or evil, not inherently biased in itself! And is Wistram not a place where all mages may study? Consider, I implore you, the case of Az’kerash! His name is infamous as the most powerful [Necromancer] of this millennium. He once studied here before he was slain on Izril. His sins are legion, that is undeniable—and yet, is he not an example to study and admire?”

Outrage. The rumble of voices in the room rose, but Pisces spoke over them.

“Yes, admire! I came here to follow in his footsteps, to see if anyone else understood necromancy as he did, or if he left anything behind. Az’kerash was evil, it is true, but he was also a master of magic! He gazed deeper into the heart of magic than any but the greatest [Archmages] before him. Is this not something we should accept? Necromancy is the equal of any other magical school!”

Mages sitting or standing around the room shouted at this, furiously denouncing Pisces. But he ignored them. His eyes were only for the Council. He spread his arms pleadingly.

“Wistram Academy is a place where the study of magic comes before all else. Before law, before morality or ethical concern. Here, magic is all. I came to study magic, to deepen my understanding of it. Wistram once held a single phrase to be true: ‘To ever strive’. I ask that you allow me to study, to be part of this institution and add to it as the one expert in my field. I have committed no crimes, despoiled no graves. I simply wish to learn.”

They debated. And argued. A few stood for Pisces. Amerys was one of them. But slowly, Ceria saw the Council and the opinion of the mages swing only one way. At the end of it, a man stood. He was old, one of the Archmages, and the only one besides Amerys that Ceria knew.

The half-Elf, the ancient mage who had represented Wistram for over a century. Archmage Feor. He stared down at Pisces and spoke quietly.

“Wistram will turn away no mage who seeks to learn and is worthy of it. But necromancy is not taught within these halls. It is not accepted. And if you choose to study here, Pisces, you will do so alone. We hereby revoke your scholarship. If you would stay, pay the full dues owed to the academy. Otherwise, you must leave. That is the decision of the Council.”

—-

Pisces walked alone after that. He walked through hallways and rooms, but found no one who would speak with him. Some spat, others cursed him.

And when he found his friends, one would not stop to speak with him. Beatrice left. Montressa, Ceria, and Calvaron stayed, but all three looked at him as if he were different. Changed.

Evil.

“I have…one day to come up with the funds to pay Wistram. Or I must leave.”

Pisces’ voice shook with rage, pain, and anguish. Ceria wanted to hug him, but she couldn’t bring herself to. He was a [Necromancer]. He raised the dead.

It all added up. Already students were putting clues together. Someone had raided Pisces’ room, found the small army of undead mice he used to spy with. They had been burned, as had almost all of Pisces’ possessions.

“Do you have enough coin to pay? I know you had a lot saved up—”

Calvaron looked at Pisces with a trace of sympathy. Pisces shook his head roughly.

“Not—not enough. I need more, and a lot of it.”

“Well, I—I’m afraid I can’t lend it to you, Pisces. I could trade you secrets—and I’ll give you a good price for them—but I don’t think you have enough of those either.”

Calvaron didn’t meet Pisces’ gaze. Ceria didn’t look at him either. Montressa just stared at Pisces, as if she wasn’t sure who she was seeing.

“I know. I’ll trade you what I have. But I need more coin. So—this.”

Pisces fumbled for something at his side. Ceria saw him lift his rapier up. Calvaron froze as Pisces offered it to him.

“Would this be enough? If you sold it—it is worth a large sum to the right buyers. Is it enough?”

The rapier trembled in his hands, and the silver bell chimed once. Ceria stared at Pisces. Calvaron was silent for a long time before he replied.

“Enough to pay the academy’s fees? I can probably do that. But—are you sure?”

“I am.”

Pisces jerked his head. It could have been a nod. Calvaron stared at him, and then took the blade. Pisces stared at it, face white, and turned away. He stumbled as he walked out of the banquet hall.

No one went after him.

—-

It was quiet when Ceria found Illphres. Somehow, the spirit of Wistram had been sucked out, or so she felt. Everything felt hollow, and empty. Even when she saw people laughing, it sounded fake and insincere.

The ice mage opened her door when Ceria called out. She admitted Ceria into her room and for the first time, Ceria saw the inside.

It was just a room. Cold, far colder than normal, but there was a bed and a bookshelf, and precious little else. Illphres only had time for magic.

The ice mage sat at a table with Ceria as the half-Elf shivered. Ceria couldn’t help but stare at Illphres’ mouth. The ice mage had restored her mask of ice, and her flesh looked healthy and normal. But now Ceria knew.

“You see, it’s why I have to alter my face to smile.”

Illphres showed Ceria, warping the ice around her face to change her expressions. The ice rippled and shifted unnaturally as Ceria watched, making her feel queasy.

“Far easier to hide it.”

The woman passed a hand over her lips and smiled bitterly. Ceria stared at her.

“Thank you for saving me.”

This was the first chance she’d had to say it. Illphres waved a hand over her face and changed it back to impassiveness.

“I suppose the fault is mine. I’m too soft-hearted.”

That made Ceria laugh. But that flash of humor was swallowed up by the hole in her heart. Illphres studied her.

“Your friend has upset the other mages. If he stays, he will only face their hostility. He will not be accepted here, not ever.”

“I know.”

“Did you know he was a [Necromancer]?”

“No!”

Ceria shuddered.

“If I had known—I think he wanted to tell me. But if I had known—!”

“You would have done what, stopped him? It is magic. He is a mage.”

“You think it’s okay?”

Ceria stared at Illphres in horror. She could still see the lifeless eyes of the dead people Pisces had brought back. Dead, and yet moving. Far worse than a golem; someone who had been alive once, forced to shamble about. Illphres just shrugged.

“It is magic. In his own way, your friend Pisces aspires to be what I yearn to be as well. A true mage. And you want the same thing, unless I am mistaken.”

“I do. But Pisces—I’m not the same as him.”

“He is a mage. And you are a mage. And I…I am a mage. But none of us are true mages. Not yet. I lost to that pirate captain. If you hadn’t bought me time to cast that spell, I would have died.”

Illphres said it matter-of-factly. Ceria nodded.

“But you saved me. You did what I never could. You’re a better mage than I am.”

“Yes. I am.”

The two sat in silence for a while. At last, Ceria asked the question, knowing the answer.

“Will you teach me magic?”

Illphres paused.

“Yes. If you truly wish it.”

It was the answer Ceria had been waiting half a year to hear. But it filled her with nothing. She looked down at her hands.

“Is it really okay? Is Pisces really…”

“The mages here would say one thing. I say another. Follow me and become a true mage. Then you will know the answer.”

Illphres held out a hand and Ceria stared at it. She looked at the woman, the mage, who hid her pain behind a mask of ice. She thought of her friend, who had hid behind lies. The person she barely knew. She saw what magic looked like, what it truly looked like.

Slowly, Ceria reached out and took Illphres’ hand.

Interlude – Wistram Days (Pt. 6)

On a controversial report published by one of the foremost [Emissaries], Trixal Therest in the year 2 EL.R, he listed Wistram as one of the most powerful factions in the world. Trixal’s report was issued to one of the Great Companies of Baleros who had hired him to write the primer, but it soon became widely disseminated across the world.

Other [Historians], [Diplomats], and other notable cosmopolitans soon voiced their outrage over Trixal’s report, which was claimed to be inaccurate and grossly misleading not to mention biased. However, while many charges were leveled at the characterization of other world powers, no words were spoken against Wistram’s position. For Wistram was an undisputed world power, if an often quiet one.

Mages. They worked for lots of gold and sometimes caused trouble, but they were indispensable. Of course, any organization that trained young spellcasters could be a threat, and other nations competed with each other to create their own institutions of magic now and then. But Wistram was safe from such politics, or indeed most wars due to its famed neutrality.

If the mages of Wistram did take part in a war, it was by declining to provide services, boycotting specific groups or countries, and so on. Few times in recorded history did mages fight on battlefields against a specific kingdom or empire. When mages did take to the field in numbers, it was against common enemies such as the Demonfolk of Rhir, or against a Goblin King or similar calamity.

Still, were it not for the benefits Wistram provided to all, it surely would have been taken over by one nation or other over the countless years it had existed. Wistram occupied a central point for all ships crossing the ocean, providing them with a place to trade, sell, and resupply. Yet few armies had ever taken Wistram by force, and none had ever breached the gates since the Golems of Archmage Zelkyr had been created to protect the isle.

But what kept Wistram alive? Trade was only a part of the mage’s economy, and that by itself would not allow mages to live in such splendor. No, it was the unparalleled quality of their education. A mage may be made of any fool with a basic grasp of magic, but of Wistram mages, it was said that the weakest of them was a match for any Silver-rank adventurer.

And that was broadly correct. A mage passed by Wistram was almost always a studied graduate of at least six years, capable of casting many spells and studied in a wide variety of fields. She or he or they owed it all to the rigorous training given to them by their teachers, older mages who imparted their knowledge to the new students.

That was the true value of Wistram. Its teachers. Each one defined the experience the students would go through year to year, and so it was small wonder the students quickly learned which teachers could be appeased, which ones were competent and which were barely able to convey their subject matter and of course, which ones were to be feared.

The teacher for basic combat magic this year was not happy. Few teachers saddled with the job were. Teaching magic to the newest students, those that had passed their entrance exams, was not an easy job, and the salary provided by the council was meager. It was a task mages fought to avoid.

Perhaps that was why this mage was angry. Then again, it could have just been her personality. All the new students knew was that their teacher was as terrifying as she was good at ice magic. And whenever they saw her in the hallways, or now, entering the banquet hall for breakfast, they took care to greet her deferentially while clearing a path.

“Good morning, professor.”

“Hello, professor.”

It was a title of respect. And fear. The students backed away from their magic teacher, letting her select her food and pile it onto a plate before moving away to their collective relief. The teacher stalked away towards a far table, face frozen with a hostility that her students had grown to dread.

“Hoi, teacher! Over here!”

Someone waved to her. The mage turned. Her face changed little, but she scowled as she sat down with a few other mages for breakfast. One of them grinned at her.

“Hi there. How’s it going, professor Ceria?”

Calvaron stared at Ceria Springwalker’s glaring face for a few more seconds and then burst out laughing. He howled with mirth as he pounded the table Beatrice and Mons sat at. Ceria kept glaring until the Centaur had finished.

“You done? Because if you’re not, I’ll shove an icicle so far up your—”

“Whoa there, don’t take it out on me! Please, professor, show mercy!”

The Centaur raised his hands in mock fright. He grinned at Ceria, still sniggering at her. She wanted to throw her plate at him, but it wouldn’t be worth it. Calvaron had been laughing about the title her students had given her since the year had started. She growled as she cut into the steak slathered with butter on her plate.

“I keep telling them not to call me that.”

“Yes, but you know students. They have to have a nickname for their teachers, and I think ‘professor’ suits you quite well. Don’t you, Beatrice?”

The Dullahan looked up from her plate and nodded her head with her hands. She had a book open by her head and was alternating between staring at that and nibbling on cheese.

“It’s a better name than Scaleslough. That’s what they called our old teacher.”

“Dead gods, I’d forgotten! We used to call old Tshya that all the time! That brings back memories.”

The Centaur smiled at the memory, but Beatrice did not. She looked at Ceria.

“How are classes going?”

“How do you expect? Badly.”

Ceria made a face as she forked a dripping piece of meat into her mouth. She wanted to grimace, but the hot meat made her too happy to properly grouch. Instead, she only sighed, sipping at the sweet juice in her cup as she stretched out on the comfy cushioned seats she’d grown used to.

“All these new students don’t know the difference between a fire spell and a water one, I swear. Their magical composition is terrible, they can’t compress their mana correctly, their aim is so bad I have to put up a ward or they’ll hit each other—”

The half-Elf broke off, affronted as Calvaron and Beatrice laughed at this. Mons had to smile too, although she tried to look away from Ceria. Ceria growled as she eyed her friends.

“What’s so funny?”

“Sorry, Ceria. It’s just that—every teacher always says the same thing about their students.”

Calvaron chuckled as he explained.

“All the mages who have to teach say it. And all of the older students say it too. Why, not two years ago I heard all the older mages saying it about your year.”

“They did not.”

Beatrice nodded, smiling.

“Did too. And now you’re saying it. It’s funny.”

Ceria turned her head to stare at Montressa. The younger girl turned red, but she grinned sheepishly at Ceria.

“Calvaron and Beatrice said you’d complain, Ceria. But it’s a good thing you do, isn’t it? It means you care about your students.”

“Well…I’m their teacher. I have to care.”

Ceria hunched her shoulders defensively. Calvaron wagged his finger at her.

“Ah, ah. Don’t be modest, Ceria. I hear good things about your class. You may torture your students—”

“I do not—”

“—torture them with lessons harder than all the rest of their classes combined, but they’re learning a lot from you. The students can tell, for all they think you’re the scariest half-Elf they’ve ever met. You’re doing a good job.”

“Well.”

Ceria couldn’t think of anything to say in reply. She tried not to blush, but knew her ears had turned slightly red.

“It’s just a job. I didn’t want it. It’s a pain and it’s keeping me from studying—anyways, it’s fine. What about you three? I’ve been so busy I haven’t had time to catch up with you all this year.”

The other students sitting at Ceria’s table shrugged. She eyed Calvaron and Beatrice, largely unchanged since she’d gotten to know them. The only real difference was that Calvaron was a bit heavier, having gained weight, and Beatrice had upgraded her plain metal armor with a new coat of paint and what looked like steel mixed in with the common iron.

They had grown. But so had Mons, and in far more dramatic ways than the other two. In the year after the infamous day when Ceria had been caught up in a battle at sea with a powerful pirate navy, the young girl had turned into a young woman.

Humans grew up so fast. In one year, Mons had finished most of her adolescence and become, well, as physically old as Ceria. She had grown two inches taller, and her hair had gotten longer. Her breasts were a bit bigger, she had a bit more muscle, and she was more confident than the girl Ceria had met.

Now Mons smiled at Ceria, the depths of her pale saffron-topaz irises glinting in the morning light. She looked rather strange to Ceria, with her red hair and bright eyes. Half-Elves didn’t have naturally red hair. Staring at her now, the half-Elf felt a pang in her chest. In one year, Ceria had barely changed, but Mons had transformed. How much different would she become by the time Ceria graduated?

“And you, Mons? How are classes in the second year?”

“Good! I’m really enjoying my classes on ward spells. I don’t know why, but I’ve got a real knack for casting them. I’ve gotten a Skill – [Layered Ward]! I think I could really specialize in that field!”

“That’s great news, Mons.”

Ceria smiled at the young woman while Calvaron and Beatrice made similar complimentary noises.

“You never told me you got a Skill, Mons! When was this?”

“Last week. And I told Beatrice, but I didn’t tell you because she said you’d just sell the secret to someone.”

Mons’ eyes twinkled as Calvaron spluttered and turned red. Ceria laughed.

“Well, I’m glad you’ve learned how to put Calvaron in his place. I thought you’d be in real trouble with me gone.”

“It’s not been the same without you, Ceria.”

Calvaron sighed and shook his head.

“Mons and Beatrice try, but no one has your sharp tongue—or penchant for kicking and throwing things at people. I keep telling them, only you can kick like a real Centaur.”

“Shut up.”

“No, I’m serious. Ever since you went off and had to become Illphres’ apprentice, things have been so lonely. How could you just abandon us like that?”

“You’re disgusting. Didn’t you win a bundle for betting I’d be able to do it when everyone said I didn’t have a chance?”

“Of course. But that’s that and this is this.”

Calvaron smiled smugly, causing Ceria to flick her fingers and spray a cloud of snow in his face. He yelped as the freezing snowflakes melted on his fur.

“Aah! That’s the Ceria I know and love!”

She had to laugh at that. Ceria eyed Calvaron as she finished her food. He really hadn’t changed much. And yet, she knew he had taken his own steps towards becoming a mage over the year.

“How’s your own work going, Calvaron? You’re in your sixth year, now. One more and you’ll be able to call yourself a mage. Excited?”

“Hah. Terrified is more like. I’m practicing my tail off for the exam, but really, I’m more worried about collecting secrets and coin right now.”

Calvaron flicked his fingers, making the water on his face and arms vanish in a puff.

“Being a mage means I’ll really get embroiled in faction politics. I want the coin and secrets to, well, keep doing as I’ve done. I figure that without classes, I’ll be able to establish myself as a really influential broker between all the sides in Wistram.”

“Or you could take one and keep studying instead.”

Beatrice turned her head to frown at Calvaron. He avoided her gaze and Ceria sighed. She knew he and Beatrice had been fighting about his future. Calvaron was content to earn a living and continue being the affable Centaur everyone went to when they wanted to sell or buy things, but Beatrice wanted him to join her faction, the Revivalists.

It was an argument Ceria wanted no part of, so she sat back as Calvaron cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I’m…not interested in their goals, you know that, Beatrice. I support some of their agendas, but other things they say—I can’t. Anyways, I need to be neutral. You know that.”

She said nothing, just narrowed her eyes. To break the tension, Mons turned brightly to Ceria.

“So, um, Ceria. How are things between you and Pisces? Have you seen him around?”

The mood at the table—froze. Beatrice turned the head in her hands to stare at Mons and the girl flinched. Calvaron covered his face with his hand and Ceria stopped eating.

“I haven’t seen him around recently.”

“Neither have I. I suppose he’s studying quite a lot. But you know, that’s how it is. We’re so busy studying—Ceria, how are lessons with Illphres going? Does she expect as much from you as you do from your students?”

Mons ignored Calvaron’s desperate attempt to shift the conversation. She stared at Ceria.

“I spoke with him the other day. He was teaching me about how to use the [Flame Arrow] spell more effectively.”

“Oh?”

Ceria looked at Mons, surprised.

“You still…keep in touch with him?”

“I see him at least once or twice a week. He’s busy—studying—a lot, but he could use some visitors. I think it might be good if you talked with him.”

Mons met Ceria’s eyes squarely. The half-Elf didn’t know what to say. Across the table, Calvaron fiddled with his fork and Beatrice turned her head back to her spellbook without a word.

“I’ll—think about it.”

That was all Ceria could come up with. Mons nodded, and the table fell into a deep silence.

Even after a year, there was one word, one name that couldn’t be spoken aloud.

Pisces.

Ceria closed her eyes and pushed her plate back a bit, no longer hungry anymore. Even now, after so many months—

It still hurt. It still made her stomach churn.

Pisces was a [Necromancer].

The entire academy knew about it, now. The new students learned this fact within days of arriving. There was a necromancer studying among them. A twisted, deranged madman who experimented with the dead.

What could be more abhorrent? What could be more wrong? Necromancers had existed since the dawn of magic, but today they were shunned and feared. Famous examples among their kind had been used to haunt children’s dreams for generations, and the tale of Az’kerash, the horror that had brought death to two continents for over a century before being slain, still lurked in everyone’s memory.

Necromancy was evil. Few species could look into the rotting, dead eyes of a corpse and see anything but wrongness there. Perhaps the Selphid students sympathized with Pisces, and maybe there were those who quietly thought he did nothing wrong. But they were silent and the rest of the academy turned their backs on him.

Including Beatrice. The first time he had come to sit with them after his trial she’d nearly attacked him herself. Calvaron had—he hadn’t attacked Pisces, but neither could he look the young man in the eye. Ceria couldn’t either. Only Mons had stayed by Pisces’ side.

“Do that.”

The young woman nodded to Ceria, looking around the table seriously. She still trusted Pisces, still talked with him. Ceria could understand—but not condone.

He raised the dead. If she came to grips with that, he had still lied to her about who he was. She’d known him for over a year and he’d lied to her.

“Well, I think I’m ready for an after-breakfast dessert. Anyone want something?”

Calvaron heaved himself up and Beatrice caught at his arm.

“You’ll get fatter. Don’t eat.”

“Beatrice—”

“Actually, before you go Calvaron, I did have some business to discuss with you.”

Ceria interrupted the upcoming squabble. She saw Calvaron brighten as he looked at her and saw Beatrice’s smile of gratitude. Ceria tilted her head slightly as Calvaron sank back down.

“I’m always willing to help a friend out! What did you need, Ceria?”

“A ring or amulet with enchantments that resist ice and cold temperatures. I need good stuff, Calvaron. Not a shoddy spell, but one with the best binding available—something I could use if I had other enchanted items on me.”

Calvaron’s eyebrows raised.

“You need cold resistant magic? What, Illphres is too chilly for you?”

Ceria scowled at him.

“I need what I need, Calvaron. The question is, can you get it for me?”

He looked affronted.

“Of course I can! But it’ll be very expensive, you know that Ceria.”

“Price is no object. The highest-grade enchantments you can get, Calvaron, so long as they have no magical leakage. And I’ll need two of them.”

“Two? What for?”

Calvaron was alight with curiosity, but Ceria clamped her lips shut. She wagged a finger at him.

“Ask me no questions and I…won’t freeze your face off.”

“Ooh. I’m so tempted but—very well. I’ll ask around. You’re sure two? And you’re good for—alright, alright, I trust you! Talk to me in a week or two and I’ll let you know what I find. Okay?”

“Thanks, Calvaron.”

Ceria smiled and stood up. Beatrice looked surprised.

“Going so soon?”

“I’ve got to. Sorry. Illphres doesn’t have that much time and I have classes to prepare for—you know how it is.”

“Well then, stop by another time Ceria. You know where to find us!”

“Will do. See you Calvaron, Mons. Beatrice.”

Ceria waved and walked away. She levitated her plates into a wicker bin designed to hold them—a new addition to the banquet hall after the [Chefs] complained they were running out of dishes since students would pile them up ten feet into the air rather than send them into the kitchen—and walked out of the banquet hall.

By now, Ceria knew most of the academy back to front. The only places she hadn’t gone were the highest levels and deep into the bowels of the academy. It was still dangerous to wander in those places incautiously, but Ceria knew all the best shortcuts everywhere else.

So in less than five minutes, she was standing outside a door from which cold emanated. Ceria rapped on the frozen surface, ignoring the chill that made other students and mages hurry past her. She’d long since learned several spells to help with the cold.

After a moment, the door opened. A woman walked out. She nodded to Ceria—Ceria nodded back.

“You have eaten?”

“Just now. Do you want to have breakfast first or—?”

“Let’s go.”

Illphres walked down the corridor slowly. Ceria followed. Her relationship with her master, Illphres, was a simple one. Illphres ordered and Ceria usually obeyed. They didn’t waste time with greetings or chitchat, mainly because Illphres had no tolerance for it.

“Hey master.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Illphres turned and scowled at Ceria. The half-Elf took the glare unfazed.

“I get called ‘Professor Springwalker’ because of you. If I get called names, so do you.”

Illphres paused. She moved her hand past her mouth, and when she lowered it, she was smiling.

“They call you that? Hah.”

“It’s your fault.”

Ceria scowled as the woman turned and kept walking slowly down the corridors. Illphres just shrugged.

“So?”

“Most masters don’t make their apprentices teach their classes for them.”

“They should. It’s convenient.”

Ceria glowered. That was the thing about Illphres. She didn’t care at all about your feelings, and in fact seemed to delight in annoying other people.

And she usually came up with inventive ways to do it. Not that she’d deliberately gotten herself a teaching position for another year on purpose—that was just politics. But it had definitely been Illphres’ idea to make Ceria do the teaching instead.

Most masters made their apprentices get them food, or clean their rooms, organize their notes, assist with spellcasting and so on. But Illphres hated for anyone to do any of that for her—she wouldn’t let Ceria pull her seat out for her. And yet, she had no problems ordering Ceria to spend half her day teaching and preparing her next lesson for students when it suited her.

“I’ve barely had time to practice with all my lessons, you know.”

“But you do practice, don’t you?”

“Of course!”

“Hmm. We’ll see.”

Illphres led Ceria to a well-used set of rooms, looking at glowing stones on the doors until she found one that wasn’t lit.

“In here.”

They entered into the practice room. It was just an empty room, really. Some had furniture or other objects that could be used for magic practice, but most were just empty. This one had a white marble floor—enchanted of course, to protect against the spells mages would test in here.

Illphres paused in the center of the room and turned to face Ceria.

“Now, attack me.”

There was no warm up, no preamble. Ceria just raised her finger and started casting magic.

“[Ice Dart]! [Ice Spike]! [Frost Arrows]!”

The spells shot from her fingers in the form of deadly shards of ice, some as long as Ceria’s forearm and twice as wide. They shattered harmlessly on the sheets of thick ice that had materialized in front of Illphres. The woman let the slabs of ice hover around her, creating a multi-layered shield Ceria strove to break.

Her [Ice Dart] spell did little to the thick ice, for all it was a rain of projectiles. Ceria’s newly learned [Ice Spike] spell created a few cracks, but the heavier shots didn’t do much. And her final spell, a storm of fourteen arrows that shattered against the ice barrier and left Ceria gasping for air—did nothing.

“All done?”

“Yeah.”

Ceria gasped for air and wiped at her brow, despite the chill in the air. Illphres let the icy barrier around her dissipate, the ice melting into water which vanished, and nodded.

“Not bad. If you ignore the fact that you’d be dead if any of your opponents knew magic of their own or had a bow.”

That stung. Ceria looked up, glowering at Illphres.

“Most students my year can’t cast a Tier 3 spell half as many times as I can! My offense is fine—”

“But your defense is terrible. Why didn’t you raise [Barrier of the Winds] before casting?”

“I don’t know it yet. You’re the one who told me to focus on ice magic! Why don’t you teach me [Frozen Shield] instead?”

Illphres’ face didn’t change, but the tone of her voice was definitely a sneer.

“Bah. [Frozen Shield] is a terrible spell. Just buy a real shield if you want to block something. You’ll be better off learning [Wall of Ice] when you’re at a higher level.”

The two mages continued to argue as Ceria and Illphres took a position facing the far wall. Illphres made colored targets of ice appear and Ceria hit them, Illphres correcting her as they bickered.

“Don’t I get a say in what I learn?”

“Of course not. You’re an idiot whereas I know what spells are best. Your [Ice Spike] spell is flawed—see there? Correct it.”

Ceria gritted her teeth as she did.

“Why won’t you teach me more advanced spells? I want to learn more, not keep practicing one spell over and over!”

“Mastery of the [Ice Spike] spell is key to learning the [Glacial Spear] spell. Besides, you don’t need variety—you need to perfect the basics first.”

Ceria grumbled under her breath and her ears drooped, but she finished practicing without any more complaints. Illphres was an excellent teacher even if she taught in much the same style as her element. Slowly, exactingly, choosing to perfect every spell before moving on to the next one. Still, Ceria couldn’t complain. She had an excellent teacher. Although she sometimes wondered…

As Illphres was walking towards the door without a word of goodbye, Ceria called out.

“Master.”

“Call me that again and I’ll freeze your toes off.”

Illphres turned, her face a scowl. Ceria shrugged insolently.

“…Master, why do you need two enchanted items to protect against the cold? I know it’s not for me.”

The ice mage scowled deeper, reshaping the ice mask on her face to do so.

“Of course it’s not for you. If you couldn’t handle my cold spells by now I’d have gotten rid of you already.”

“Then who is it for? I talked to Calvaron, but he says it’ll be a week or two before he can find anything.”

Illphres hesitated. Ceria waited, hoping she would get an actual reply. Illphres’ eyes pierced her apprentice, and she seemed to come to a conclusion.

“Maybe you’re ready. But—”

She glanced around the empty room meaningfully. There was no one to listen in, but Ceria knew that an eavesdropping spell might not be detectable even if they cast [Detect Magic].

“I will tell you later.”

Ceria nodded and asked no more. She felt happy Illphres was willing to confide in her. Usually the woman just gave her orders and suffered no question. But perhaps she was trusting Ceria more? They’d been master and apprentice for over half a year now, and Ceria felt like she knew Illphres almost as well as anyone in the academy.

Drained from her practice session with the woman, Ceria exited the practice room, walking slowly down the hallways. She did not walk back towards Illphres’ room where she now had her own quarters. Instead, Ceria took a familiar route, one she hadn’t used in a long time. She walked down to the first level, and soon found herself standing next to a familiar door.

Pisces still lived in the same room he had when they were first-year students. He had no master. Ceria knew the room she had used to live in—and indeed, most of the rooms around his—were empty.

She stared for a long time at the door. Thinking. At last, she raised her hand to knock. Ceria hesitated.

Then she turned and walked slowly away.

—-

Ceria had no intention of talking to Pisces. It wasn’t that she couldn’t handle the meeting, it was just that she didn’t want to speak with him. But fate conspired against her, or perhaps it was the finite amount of space even in a place as large as Wistram.

About a month later, Ceria found a knot of students and raised voices that was the sure sign of a duel, either magical or verbal, going on in one of the hallways. Pushing her way into the group, Ceria saw the duel was of the latter kind, and going on between a fourth-year student and—

Pisces.

Ceria’s heart skipped a beat when she saw him. Pisces was standing across from his opponent in a ring of bodies, speaking loudly. He had changed much since she’d seen him last.

Gone were Pisces’ rapier and the silver bell. It now belonged to Timor du Havrington, Ceria knew. And gone was Pisces’ smile, and indeed his normally semi-neat appearance.

Now his robes were dirty, a sign that he had little time or inclination to clean. They looked slept in, and ragged. Pisces had no coin to buy new ones. Ceria listened as the other student, a loudly-speaking cross between a dog and man—one of the Beastkin—concluded his point.

“—and so your foul practice drags down the status of mages everywhere. No nation respects a [Necromancer], and thus, why should Wistram? Why should we condone a school of magic condemned by the entire world?”

A murmur of agreement ran through the students listening to the debate. Ceria saw Pisces draw himself up. His posture was different. He hunched his shoulders more, and glared at his opponent as he sniffed and launched his counter argument.

“Necromancers have no place in the world? Who decides such things? Popular opinion? If that is the case, I must inquire, what of Archmage Nekhret? Was she undeserving of her title despite being tainted, as you seem to insinuate, by the foul practice of necromancy? She was a true [Archmage], not some pretender to the class! She represented the soul of Wistram over a thousand years ago—her bones still lie in the catacombs below the academy itself!”

“She lived over a thousand years ago!”

“Age is immaterial! My point is that she was an Archmage, someone who represented Wistram. Should she be condemned? No—more broadly speaking, can any group of mages be condemned for the actions of a few? I put to you, what about the actions of the infamous Burning Killer, Calico, who was just caught and executed in Chandrar? Do his actions define mages as a whole? Should we look askance at every [Pyromancer] because of him? Let me ask to you this question—”

As she watched, Ceria knew Pisces would lose. His arguments were sound, but he had lost his audience, probably before the debate had begun. When they voted, the group of students chosen to listen to the debate all voted unanimously. Pisces had lost, and so the winner collected his spoils—a small bag that might have had coin or something else—and walked away without another word.

The students dispersed, leaving Pisces to stare murderously at the ground. Ceria approached half-unwillingly. She hesitated before she spoke, but she did speak.

“I hope you didn’t bet anything valuable on that debate.”

Pisces’ head jerked up. He stared at Ceria in disbelief.

“Ceria?”

She met his gaze levelly. The shock faded and Pisces’ expression returned to normal. Now it was a bitter scowl and a sardonic crook of the mouth that was supposed to be a smile. He turned away from her, brushing at his robes.

“Ah, you mean the debate? I wagered nothing of consequence, I assure you. I am…used to the bias of the masses even when presented with the most rational of arguments.”

“So I see. Why bother debating at all, then?”

He glanced back at her haughtily.

“I suppose it is to prove that I have a voice, and perhaps to sway opinions. They are bound under a truth spell to vote for whomever presents the best case, you know.”

“But they hate necromancy.”

“Not all! I have had a few vote in my favor—”

Pisces paused. He sniffed again, and frowned at Ceria.

“Not that it matters. Why, pray tell, have you sought me out?”

“I didn’t. I was just walking and saw a debate was going on.”

“I see.”

The two stared at each other. Ceria shifted from foot to foot as Pisces stared over her shoulder. It was…so hard to see him like this. At last, Ceria sighed.

“I talked to Mons a while ago. She says she studies with you.”

“Mons? Ah—she does. She hires me on occasion to provide her with instruction.”

“That’s good. For you, I mean.”

“Yes, it does…help.”

More silence. After a moment, Pisces cleared his throat.

“You know, I am studying combat magic in my spare time.”

“Really? I thought you gave up dueling.”

“Ah, yes, well, I cannot seem to find a match. I have no desire to duel practiced mages and I seem to be boycotted by all other students—but I am attempting to refine what spells I know. Mons claims to have benefitted greatly from practicing with me.”

Ceria tried to smile, but all she did was lift the corners of her mouth.

“That’s great, Pisces.”

“Indeed. You are—you would be welcome to join us if you had the time. I realize you may be somewhat preoccupied with your classes, but…”

Part of her wanted to say yes, but she couldn’t. Slowly, Ceria shook her head.

“I don’t think we’re friends anymore, Pisces.”

He looked her in the eyes then. She saw hurt and pain in his, but Pisces didn’t say what was clearly on the tip of his tongue. He was about to, but bit back the words. Then his eyes focused on Ceria’s again.

“In that case, are we enemies?”

He stared at her, searching for something, eyes gaunt and bloodshot, his robes dirty. Ceria felt a pang in her heart and glared at him.

“Don’t be stupid.”

She whirled and walked angrily away. But Ceria knew Pisces was smiling, just a tiny bit, behind her. She murmured under her breath.

“We couldn’t be enemies.”

—-

Four days later, Ceria found herself sitting at a table with Illphres and four other mages. She was nervous, terrified out of her mind, and nearly knocked over her drink twice when she reached for it.

Illphres glared at her.

“Stop fidgeting.”

“I don’t see how she could, with you glaring at her so, Illphres.”

A tall Dullahan seated next to Ceria said that. His name was Jurix, and he was a powerful mage specializing in combat magic and physical reinforcement magic. Sitting across from Ceria, a Drake named Bastam winked at her reassuringly. Ophelia, the Stitch-woman smiled at Ceria, and the last mage, another Dullahan named Qum, nodded impassively at her.

That made Ceria feel a bit better, but she was still on pins and needles in the presence of so many important mages. She was sitting in the banquet hall, but at one of the tables usually claimed by older mages. It was made of some kind of expensive wood and the chairs were clearly expensive, if a bit worn, but Ceria would have preferred cushions.

And yet, it suited these mages well, because these five were all individuals who commanded quite a bit of influence and power of their own within Wistram. Each one was old; Ophelia, the youngest, was in her early thirties and Bastam, the oldest, was in his sixties, although he didn’t look it.

Any one of them—including Illphres—could cause an upset if they threw their influence into a political fight. Three of them were Isolationists—Bastam, Jurix, and Illphres, while Qum was undeclared and Ophelia was a Centrist. That was surprising in itself, given the Isolationist and the Centrist’s longstanding rivalry, but apparently they had an understanding.

This was Illphres’ group of allies, and Ceria felt out of place and very small sitting with them. But she was here for a reason.

“This is my new apprentice. Ceria. She’s annoying, but she’ll help get the equipment we need.”

That was Illphres’ way of introducing Ceria to the group. Jurix laughed as the others greeted Ceria. He put his head on the table to reach over and shake Ceria’s hand—she remembered to stare at his head while she shook, rather than at the empty space where his head should have been on a normal body.

“I’ve seen you about, and of course I saw you fighting those pirates a year ago, Ceria. If you managed to convince Illphres of all people to take you on as an apprentice, I have no doubt you’re a capable individual able to do pretty much anything.”

Ceria blushed bright red, but Ophelia looked at Illphres with concern.

“Just so long as you’re not planning on making her our sixth. That’s not your intention, surely?”

Illphres passed her hand over her mouth to smile wryly.

“Hardly. I didn’t want an apprentice and I still don’t. But she insisted.”

“Good. No offense Ceria, but I don’t want you getting killed for nothing.”

Ophelia nodded at Ceria and, confused, the half-Elf nodded back. She hesitated, but then cleared her throat.

“Um, what is this about? I know Illphres said she needed the rings enchanted against ice magic—I have them right here, they’re about Tier 4 enchantments which is the best I could get—but what is it for?”

The mages stared at the rings Ceria put on the table, courtesy of Calvaron and a very large amount of gold, and then at Illphres. After a moment Bastam burst out angrily.

“Ancestors, Illphres! You didn’t tell her what we’re going to do?”

Illphres shrugged, smiling wickedly. She seemed to enjoy the others’ consternation.

“Should I have? Teaching her is all I have to do. Why bother telling her something that she can’t change?”

The others groaned and covered their faces, but none of them looked surprised. They too were used to Illphres’ way of doing things. Ceria looked from face to face, wondering what was going on.

“Okay, I’ll tell her. Unless you object?”

The others shook their heads and Jurix turned to Ceria. She heard Ophelia casting a ward against eavesdropping as Jurix put his head on his shoulders and smiled at her. Then he turned and pointed. Ceria followed his finger and saw a Golem, one of the most primitive types, a crude man made of brown stone slowly wheeling out more food on a table.

He put each dish slowly and carefully on a table as students flowed past him, some taking food right off the plate as he paused so as not to bump any of them. He was just one of the many Golems in Wistram, practically the scenery that Ceria had gotten used to.

“See that Golem, Ceria? Well, he’s our enemy. Him and every Golem in Wistram. At the end of the year, Illphres, Bastam, Ophelia, Qum and I are going to challenge Cognita. We’re going to destroy her and open the doors to the rest of Wistram.”

He grinned at her. Ceria turned to Illphres and stared into her master’s eyes. The ice mage smiled deeply at Ceria. Ceria blinked, looked at the Golem serving food, and then flipped the table.

“What!?”

—-

Golems. They were a rarity in most parts of the world—unless you lived in a desert or if it snowed. Then they were more common, but you’d still only see the weakest, most primitive of Golems. Sand Golems, Snow Golems and so on were functions of nature, of excess mana and intention.

But Golems, the kind that were manufactured and sculpted or built and brought to life with magic, those were different. They were expensive, hideously so, to make, and only a powerful mage could create one.

Well, Ceria supposed even she could make a primitive, small one with work. But to create it would take months of study, and it would be hardly useful. She couldn’t imagine the effort needed to create a more advanced Golem.

The half-Elf walked through the halls of Wistram, distracted, hurrying past students without a word. Now that she looked, there were Golems all over Wistram. Okay, not many, not compared to the students, but too many.

A Golem passed her with a basket of laundry in his hands. He was a crude stone one, capable of following basic orders. She stared at him and shuddered as he passed. Okay, he was a simple one, but her idea of ‘simple’ had been skewed by living here.

A simple Golem? He was capable of obeying most instructions quite well! He could fetch and carry and fight or lift extremely heavy objects if need be. Forget simple, he was worth thousands of gold coins by himself, possibly ten thousand coins alone! An undying, tireless servant capable of killing lesser warriors with a body made of rock? He was powerful, not simple.

And he was the least of the Golems walking through Wistram. Ceria shuddered as she saw a suit of armor, gleaming and polished, meekly carrying a stack of books while he passed her by. He was a Golem built for war. His steel body was far more agile than the stone Golems and he had a sword and shield. If he used it—

But of course, he wouldn’t. Right? The Golems of Wistram had been made to protect and serve by Archmage Zelkyr. And enforce his will. But they were a valuable asset to the academy. They did chores, defended the isle against attack—

And kept the highest parts of the castle under lock and key. Ceria knew that—she’d known it since her first year. But she’d given little thought to it since then.

Wistram’s highest corridors and rooms were out of bounds. So what? There was plenty to do below it.

Only—there wasn’t. Wistram was only a quarter, or less of what it was. The true magics and real spells that would turn good mages into great ones were all above, locked behind a door guarded by Golems. That was what the five mages had told Ceria as she’d sat in the banquet hall in disbelief.

“You see, Ceria, there is a limit to the heights mages can reach here. Level 50, let alone Level 60 is the utmost limit we can strive towards. People like Archmage Feor or Amerys—they’re the top. And yet, it didn’t use to be this way. Once, we had real [Archmages].”

“Once we were true mages.”

Jurix and Illphres’ voice rang through Ceria’s ears. It wasn’t hard to understand what they were saying.

Cognita, the Golems of Wistram, they protected the academy. But they also held all mages within hostage. No one could reach beyond a certain level, not without more spells to study. Oh, a mage could study by themselves, but that meant their growth stagnated. In this place they had countless centuries—millennia of experience to draw upon, but it was all out of reach.

Guarded. By Cognita and four other Golems. Sentries, designed to be a test for mages to challenge. All those who had tried before had died, but once again mages had gathered. Five of the most powerful mages of Wistram had come together to challenge the Golem’s authority. And they would win or die.

It was too much for Ceria to take in. This was why Illphres needed the rings protecting against ice. She was going to fight alongside the others, and they needed protection from her deadly attacks.

Ceria had seen Illphres fight. She could freeze the air, raise huge structures of ice or hurl massive pillars of it at her enemies. She was going to use that magic to fight Cognita.

It was unthinkable to Ceria. She couldn’t believe—well, she could believe Illphres would keep it a secret. But the rest?

It was too much for her. That was how Ceria found herself at Pisces’ door, pounding on it and demanding to be let in. It took a while and she heard him bumping around inside, but eventually he opened it, glaring.

“Who in the name of—Ceria?”

He let her in, looking bewildered. Ceria stepped into Pisces’ room and found chaos. Dirt, mess, fragments of parchment and bits of food—that was the least of it. Ceria saw a pile of bones in the corner and nearly backed out of the room in horror.

“Is that—dead gods, Pisces!”

“It’s just mouse bones! Please, Ceria! I’ll—let me just clean this up!”

Pisces waved his hands at her, desperately shifting things about with gusts of wind and levitating them into corners or into his dresser. Ceria looked away from the pile of bones, shuddering, and didn’t ask where Pisces had put them when he told her she could come back in.

“I’m—sorry. I just—I need to practice, you understand, and I—”

“You’re not plundering the catacombs?”

Ceria eyed Pisces. She knew that quite a few mages were buried underneath the academy, even if she’d never dared go exploring for the crypts where their remains—if there were any—were interred. Pisces shook his head.

“I fear that would be…well, let’s just say I doubt others would take kindly to the knowledge that I were robbing graves.”

“Yeah, they wouldn’t. But rat bones?”

“Mice.”

“Is there a difference?”

Pisces shrugged. He fidgeted on his bed as he faced her—he seemed barely able to believe she was here, talking to him.

Ceria had no idea why she was talking to Pisces either. She was so shaken by what she’d just learned she had to speak to someone. And she had unconsciously come here. Now that she was actually facing Pisces, though, she didn’t know what to say.

“Well. It’s been a while since I last came here.”

“Yes. It has.”

Pisces cleared his throat awkwardly.

“You look well.”

“You look—awful, frankly.”

He blinked, and then smiled at that. Ceria grinned shakily at him. Pisces looked around his dingy room.

“Yes, well, my circumstances have changed quite a lot since—before. My fortunes have fallen, so to speak.”

“Tell me about it.”

He sniffed.

“I hardly think you can make the same comparison, given—”

“No, I mean, tell me about it.”

He paused. Ceria looked at him.

“Tell me, Pisces. Tell me everything. And tell me why. And maybe—”

She didn’t say the rest. But slowly, Pisces relaxed his hunched posture. He straightened his back, and looked at Ceria like he used to.

“Well, if you insist…”

—-

“Will you challenge them all at once?”

“We have to. The Golems fight together. Cognita will be there—and four others.”

Ceria stood with Illphres by the ocean, aiming at targets as the sun came up. Across the rocks, Bastam, Jurix, Ophelia and Qum were all doing the same.

She was a part of their group now. Not the same—she was the only apprentice and student among them—but they had no other confidants, no other apprentices to tell. Ceria knew, and this secret was one she’d never reveal.

“It might not matter if you do. But others would try and stop us or get in the way, or make it political. We’re doing this to end politics and factions once and for all.”

Illphres aimed at a target, an ice pillar three hundred meters away, the ice tinted red, and shattered it with a single spear of ice. Ceria nodded as she took aim at her own target.

“But I mean, why five of you? Is it because there will be five Golems, including Cognita? Is there a rule of some kind?”

“Rule? No.”

Illphres snorted as she raised more targets out of the sea.

“There’s no rule—other than that if you try, the test doesn’t end until you’re dead or the Golems are destroyed. We could attack them in the hallways if we weren’t afraid of all the Golems joining in. And every mage in Wistram could take on the challenge if they wanted to.”

“They why don’t they? Why only you five? If you got five more mages, surely—”

“They won’t try. They’re afraid of dying. Cowards.”

Illphres said it shortly. She shot a flurry of [Glacial Spears] out, shattering a dozen targets at once.

“They are afraid, and content to live like they have. Not us, though. All of us—the Isolationists who aren’t afraid to risk our lives and Ophelia and Qum—we see that mages cannot live like this. We want to grow, not die old at this level. We want to be true mages.”

“True mages.”

The word floated in the air between them. Ceria stared across the ocean and tried to imagine what lay beyond the door. But she couldn’t imagine the door itself.

“I’ve never seen the Golems. You said there are four of them, not counting Cognita?”

Illphres turned.

“Would you like to see?”

—-

The door was stone. Not just any stone, but obsidian, shining and dark as night. Ceria could see it was warded as well. Across the room, it shone with a thousand sigils and runes, twining together to form the most powerful ward she could imagine.

She only dared look at the door from afar at the other end of the massive room, hundreds of feet wide and nearly forty feet high. That was because the guardians stood at the other end.

Three Golems. Ceria only saw three, but each one made her heart quake in her chest. Illphres stood next to her, which was the only reason Ceria didn’t run.

One was a Golem made of magma. It burned as the molten rock flowed around it, onto the floor, and back up, covering its body. It was fire incarnate, a core of something so bright it shone through the melting stone glowing at its heart.

The second was a creature of metal, something that looked like no species Ceria could ever dream of. Two thin, curved legs made it stand twenty feet tall. Each leg was incredibly thin and seemed to taper off into an edge like a blade. A narrow, metal body was its torso, roughly the same size as a normal Human’s, twenty feet up. It had two arms curved like the legs, half as long, and as sharp as scythes.

It had no face, and the way it stood so still made Ceria uneasy.

The third Golem was a simple one to understand, but no less frightening for it. It was a giant armored Golem, like one of the suits of armor but scaled up on a massive level. This Golem was a colossus, and it held a sword in one hand that was twice as tall as Ceria was and a shield of equal size and weight. It crouched, staring across the room at Ceria.

Only three Golems. Ceria didn’t see the fourth. The Golem made of shadows stood next to her, noxious breath wafting over her as its jaws hovered close to her head.

The room stank, despite being clean. It smelled to Ceria of death, or perhaps it was her own fear she smelled. She saw Illphres was gazing at the Golems and shuddered.

When they left the room and the doors closed behind them, Ceria had to sit down in the empty corridor. Her legs had completely given out.

“Terrified?”

“Y—”

Ceria couldn’t even form the words to say ‘yes’. Illphres nodded.

“Each Golem in there is a masterpiece. A nightmare. Only a true mage could create one of them, let alone four.”

“Four? I saw—”

Ceria closed her mouth as she remembered. She hadn’t noticed it, not at all, but one of the Golems had been standing right next to her. A thing of shadows and flesh and—

She threw up. Illphres stood next to Ceria dispassionately, but she did magic away the vomit when Ceria was done.

“You noticed it? Good. It took Bastam three tries to figure it out. It looks like a Shadow Golem—I’m not even sure if you could make such a thing to begin with, but it’s really a Flesh Golem. It’s only enchanted to be covered in shadows and mess with the mind.”

“Dead gods. It was right next to me and I—I—”

“Remember them. They’re the enemy. But also remember, Cognita will be there as well. And of the five, she’s the most dangerous.”

“Cognita?”

Ceria couldn’t imagine Cognita stacking up to the Golems she’d seen in that room, for all she was terrifying in her own right. Illphres nodded.

“Don’t underestimate her. Truestone Constructs are the pinnacle of Golem creation for a reason. I have no idea what she can do, but I think she’ll be the most dangerous. But the others will be just as deadly. At least the armored knight Golem seems easy.”

“Easy? That thing was as big as a house!”

“It’s not one of the original guardian Golems. I know because records show the original one was destroyed. That’s a replacement, one of the Golems that normally defends Wistram. It may look dangerous, but it’s not nearly as bad as the others. I could take that one out by myself with no problem.”

Ceria stared at Illphres, but she knew the other woman was serious. That was the difference between her and her master.

“You’re really going to do this?”

“I’ve prepared for this day for over a decade. I gave my life to magic, and I will give my life to this battle if I must. But I believe we will win.”

Illphres smiled then. She looked at Ceria, and the mask of ice betrayed her true feelings. Her cold eyes burned with life.

“This is what we will challenge, Ceria. Don’t you see? This is what it means to be a true mage.”

Ceria saw, but she was still afraid. Illphres helped her up. The woman’s hand was surprisingly small on Ceria’s arm.

“I gave up everything for magic, Ceria. Everything. You saw my face. I’ve made mistakes, hurt myself, but always, always, I strived to reach higher. This is the ceiling I have come against. This is what I must overcome. And I will do it. And when I do, this academy will change. We will change it.”

The half-Elf looked up into the Human woman’s face. She knew, she remembered the fearsome enemies that stood in that room, waiting for their challengers. But she looked into Illphres’ eyes and believed.

“How can I help?”

—-

“Cast the spell, Ceria!”

Jurix screamed at Ceria as spells flashed around her in the largest of the practice rooms. She raised the wand he’d given her and gritted her teeth.

“[Fireball]!”

It was a spell she could only cast with a wand, not being wholly proficient at it. It streaked across the room at Illphres. The woman turned, raising her hands.

Ceria didn’t hear the word, but the fireball exploded, and when she could see, Ceria saw a huge wall of ice. Not just a wall—

A fortress. Illphres stood atop it, throwing magic down at the other mages around her as they besieged her. She raised walls of ice, froze the ground—

It was a battle between the best of mages. And it was only a practice session. Ceria watched as the other four mages slowly wore Illphres down, but it was hard, even for them. At the end she raised her hands in surrender and panting, they walked back towards Ceria to review.

“Those walls you make really are hard to crack, Illphres. I believe we might be able to lock down all the other Golems with it, save for the magma one.”

“And Cognita. She can shatter my ice.”

Illphres was sweating. She nodded at Ceria as the half-Elf passed her a flask of water. Ceria had food and drinks for the other mages, and they thanked her as they kept talking.

“You’re sure?”

“Ceria saw her smash through my barrier. It may be I can freeze her if I don’t give her room to move her arms—I can cast thicker ice walls than the one she broke—but I won’t bet on it.”

“Even so, if we can count on your abilities…”

Afterwards, Ceria talked with Illphres. The woman smiled as Ceria gushed over what she’d seen.

“It was incredible! You held them off, four other mages! Are you higher level? What was that spell?”

“[Fortress of the Ice Queen]. It has other names—it’s a famous spell. I’ll use it right off in our battle to shield the others.”

“Do you—do you think it’ll stop them?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. I’ll improvise. It doesn’t matter. We don’t stick to one plan. We’re all experienced mages and we’ll find a way to beat them one by one.”

“I can’t believe how powerful you are. Why aren’t you an Archmage yourself?”

“Don’t want to be.”

Illphres shrugged as Ceria gaped.

“I might be able to, but that’s politics and I told you, I don’t care. Amerys—she’s famous for fighting on battlefields, but I think she’s only got eight levels or so on me. Maybe six.”

“Six?”

“Enough. If it came down to a duel between us she’d win.”

That wasn’t what Ceria wanted to hear. Illphres just smacked her on the back of the head.

“Don’t look like that. It’s about our combat styles.”

“What do you mean? You two are friends, right? Why won’t she help you fight? I’m sure she’d love a chance to battle such powerful enemies.”

Illphres snorted and nearly laughed outright.

“Us? Friends? What gave you that idea? I can’t stand her.”

“But you train all the time! Every morning I see you two—”

“We’re competing. And yes, we sometimes train together. That’s because we’re a good match. She’s lightning and air and I’m ice and water. She prefers rapid all-out assaults and I use traps and fight drawn out battles. She doesn’t think and I plan every move.”

“Oh.”

“And she won’t join us. I asked.”

“Why not?”

“She’s waiting for her King.”

That was all Illphres said. She and Ceria sat in silence, staring at the melting ice. After a moment, Illphres spoke again.

“If I had a minute to prepare, or if it was a double battle—”

“Yes?”

“I’d win. I’m one of the best mages at fighting defensively. You saw my barriers. That will be my role in the battle. So long as I live, I will protect my teammates.”

So long as I live. Ceria shuddered at the words. They were a frank statement about what might happen. But she didn’t want to think of it.

—-

To distract herself, Ceria went to Pisces more than once over the months that followed. Sometimes she came away happy, relieved that he hadn’t changed. Other times she stormed out of his room after a fight, or left wondering how the earnest young man she’d known had disappeared and been replaced by this thing. But it all came together a month before Illphres and the others planned to challenge the Golems, as Ceria let her anger explode at Pisces.

He was busy showing her the newest spells he’d learned. Ceria tried to focus; she knew Pisces had a terrible time obtaining new spellbooks or learning from anyone. But as her attention wavered from the brilliant [Flame Rapier] spell he had mastered, she stared at something covered with cloth in the corner of the room.

Pisces, engrossed in fencing with the flaming blade, whirled as he heard Ceria shout in surprise. She was backing away from the thing in the corner, the cloth in her hands.

“Ceria!”

She pointed, finger shaking.

“Is that—”

It was a deformed thing, barely recognizable. It was humanoid—barely. It had been made of wet clay that had dried and sculpted to look like a Human, but the sculptor, Pisces, was untrained and so the body was lumpy and the arms deformed. It had two stumps for legs.

“Ah, I see you’ve found my latest work. I was going to show you, but—”

“Pisces! What is it?”

He looked surprised at Ceria’s reaction.

“A Golem. One of my own creations. Don’t be alarmed; it’s barely functional. Worthless, really. Can’t you tell? I admit, the workmanship might be a tad shoddy, but—”

“Get rid of it!”

Ceria backed away from the clay thing. Pisces frowned at her.

“What? Don’t be alarmed, Ceria, it’s not animated!”

She rounded on him furiously.

“What are you doing, making a Golem? Aren’t there enough around here?”

He took a step back and stammered as Ceria shouted at him.

“Well, I was taught.”

“By who?”

“Cognita.”

The word doused the flames of Ceria’s anger in a second. She felt a chill in her stomach and stepped back from Pisces.

“Explain.”

“Well I—I’ve been talking with her, Ceria. You see, Cognita’s one of the only people—beings—in this academy who will give me the time of day. She’s quite brilliant, you know. She’s seen more magic than anyone in Wistram, and she taught me so many things about Golems and mage craft. She taught me how to make this Golem. Did you know that she thinks I have real aptitude? She even—”

“Don’t talk to her! Don’t go near her!”

“What? Why?”

“She’s the enemy!”

Ceria shouted at Pisces. He didn’t understand, and she couldn’t explain. She stomped over to his Golem and punched it. The brittle clay broke under her fist and Pisces shouted.

“What are you doing? Do you know how hard I worked to—”

“Why are you doing this?”

Ceria turned to Pisces. She thrust a finger in his chest, making him stumble back. His face was red with anger, but she was even more furious.

“First necromancy, now—this? Why can’t you practice normal magic? Why can’t you just be a normal mage? Everyone would accept you then! Why don’t you get a normal master and stop—”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried?”

Pisces shoved Ceria’s hand away. She blinked. His eyes were wide and bloodshot. Pisces nearly shouted, his voice cracking with passion.

“I’ve gone to every mage—every one I know or thought would consider having me as an apprentice. I’ve asked—none of them were willing to teach me even when I told them I’d swear off necromancy as long as I studied under them! No one will teach me, and I’m not going to afford the fees for next year! Don’t you understand!?”

After his outburst there was silence. Ceria stared at Pisces and slowly sank back into his chair. He couldn’t look at her.

“Necromancy? That’s just raising the dead. Some might object, but It’s no curse. But the fools who claim to be mages here treat it as such. Thus, I suppose the curse is indeed real—though by the prejudices and limited understanding of others.”

“You’re going to leave?”

He looked at her, on the brink of tears.

“I have to. I have no coin, no one to speak for me. The only hope I have is a master, but who would take me as their apprentice?”

Ceria’s mind raced. The words came out before she could think about it.

“Illphres. My master. She might.”

Pisces stared at her, but then shook his head, closing his eyes.

“She will say no. I know Illphres—she would never agree.”

“I could ask—”

“She’ll say no.”

Pisces turned away. He walked back over to the broken Golem and stared at it.

“Leave me, Springwalker. I am—busy. I have work to do, especially if this year is to be my last.”

She stared at him, and then slowly walked out of the room. Only after she felt a bit of liquid dripping from her hand did she realize the clay Golem’s shards had cut her skin.

—-

“Take Pisces on as an apprentice? No. Don’t be stupid.”

Illphres looked at Ceria as though she were mad when Ceria brought it up to her the next day. The two were sitting on the edge of the walkway above the ocean.

Just sitting. Ceria had gotten over her fear of heights, mainly because Illphres had made her come up here to practice. A mage could have no weaknesses, after all. She stared down at the sea below, fighting her belly.

“Why not? He’s smart, gifted—he needs a master or he won’t be able to stay!”

“Too bad, I guess. But I’m not teaching him.”

“Why?”

Illphres took her time in replying. She’d grown—not warmer, but maybe a bit softer towards Ceria over the year. In the last month, she was downright friendly at times. Both could feel it. The time of the challenge was approaching fast.

“He’s not my type.”

Ceria nearly tumbled off the bridge in shock. Illphres clarified after giving Ceria a smack on the arm.

“I mean that he will never be an ice mage. You might, or at least, you’ll learn Skills and change your class from what I’ve taught you. But that boy is a [Necromancer] through and through. I don’t feel like teaching someone who won’t follow in my footsteps.”

“But if you’d speak for him—”

“I don’t need to. And none of the others will take him on as an apprentice either, Ceria.”

“Why? Pisces is—”

“Don’t you understand? After the end of this month, none of it will matter.”

Ceria’s eyes widened. Illphres nodded.

“That’s right. After the challenge, i—when we win, all of the bickering , the factions and the politics…”

She paused.

“Well, it’ll probably go on as normal. But we’ll be on top.”

“How? If you defeat the Golems—”

“We’ll prove that our way works. Mages will rally to us, and those that don’t will have to fight to venture higher. But we’ll be guarding the entrance. It might be a war, or it might be quiet, but the Council won’t sit and pass decisions any longer. It will be every mage for themselves, as it used to be. As it should be.”

Ceria tried to imagine it. She thought of Calvaron and Beatrice fighting for more power and shook her head.

“I think things might still be the same.”

“Really? You might be right. We’ll see. But one thing I can promise you: when we open the higher levels of Wistram up, I’ll use my influence. You, Pisces, and all the other mages who have a spine and a brain will stay.”

“As the Isolationists?”

“As mages. True mages.”

That was all Illphres said. Ceria stared at her, and realized that Illphres was the first Human she’d ever known that she truly looked up to. She’d admired Pisces for his brilliance, but Illphres was different. She was actually a bit younger than Ceria, but she felt so much older. She shone, and she stood higher than the half-Elf, reaching for the stars.

Ceria couldn’t say any of this out loud, of course. If she did Illphres would probably toss her into the ocean. Instead, she just turned and stared at the dark night sky.

“When the day comes, I’ll be waiting for you outside the doors. So make sure you finish the battle quickly, okay? I don’t feel like waiting long.”

“Insolent girl.”

Illphres’ voice was amused. Ceria didn’t look at her, but she knew the woman was smiling.

“I’ll take as long as I please. And when it’s over I’ll make you practice twice as hard learning all the spells you need to be halfway competent.”

“Promise?”

The woman was silent for a long time. After a while, she sighed.

“Of course.”

They stared out across the ocean. Ceria felt a humming in her bones, a tightness in her chest that didn’t go away when she slept. She felt as though she could run a thousand miles from sheer nervous energy, and that she didn’t want to move a muscle at the same time.

There was one month left. One month.

Until it would all be over.

Interlude – Wistram Days (Pt. 7)

Her name was Cognita. That was what she told the people she met.

Her name was Cognita. She had once been shaped and given life by Archmage Zelkyr, the greatest expert in Golem creation of his era. Perhaps ever. Because Cognita was a Truestone Golem.

The word itself was a symbol of her authority. Truestone Golems or Truestone Constructs as they were once known were thought to be the pinnacle of artificial creation. For if Cognita was not the strongest Golem that could be made, she alone had what other Golems lacked. Personality. Thought. Feeling.

Perhaps even a soul.

But who could tell? Few people found Golems reassuring, despite their usefulness. And Cognita was feared for reasons beyond just her nature.

She killed mages. She had killed hundreds, perhaps thousands. And yet she was subservient, helpful, polite. So those who met her were both terrified and confused by her, because a monster should look and act like a monster.

But what Cognita actually thought was a mystery. At all times her carved eyes judged and saw, but never gave away anything. She had seen countless mages, seen their triumph and their end. She looked at two more now.

One was a half-Elf, the other a Human. Both were young by the standards of their species. Once, they had been friends. The Golem saw traces of it still, even as they argued.

“They won’t ever let you stay. Not after what you said.”

“They haven’t accepted me thus far, Springwalker. Why should those fools change their minds now?”

“Don’t call me Springwalker! And you know damn well there’s a difference between keeping your head down and poking the beehive!”

Pisces and Ceria were shouting in front of Cognita, a rarity in itself. Few people raised their voices anywhere around the Golem, but Pisces knew Cognita. He alone had sought her out, asked her questions, befriended her.

Ceria just didn’t care. She was close to kicking the mage—again. He hopped away from her, glaring.

“Those philistines that make up the so-called Council—they are blind to what I proposed, but you at least should be able to consider the implications of what I’ve said!”

“Implications? You want to create an undead that can level, Pisces! You’re an idiot! If you succeeded you’d destroy the world, but that won’t happen because it’s impossible!”

He raised a shaking finger. He was angry. He was always angry, and hurt, of late. So was the half-Elf. Together, Cognita saw fury and fear on both sides clashing together.

“It is possible. In theory! Didn’t you listen to my proposal? If I were to create an undead by weaving the spells into it on a much more in-depth level than normal—something closer to how a Golem is created than a body is animated—it might work!”

“It’s stupid.”

“What’s wrong with that idea? I have all the pieces of the puzzle in my possession—almost. Cognita taught me the formula used for embodying Golems with sentience, don’t you see? That alone—”

“Only you would be stupid enough to ask! Cognita is—”

Pause. The half-Elf’s face shifted towards Cognita and the Golem saw her red cheeks pale slightly. She looked away rather than meet the Golem’s gaze.

“Sorry, Cognita. But Pisces—you’re a fool. It would never work. Why hasn’t a [Necromancer] done it before? Two reasons. One—it’s stupid and the second is that if the undead could level, they’d destroy entire nations!”

“I would only make one. And it is possible, but only with the correct base materials.”

Pisces’ voice was calm. He stared at his former friend, speaking with the conviction that was halfway into insanity. He glanced at Cognita too, but his gaze was burning. He looked at the Golem not as a threat or something to be feared, but as a challenge. A vision of what could be done.

“Golems require high-grade materials to be built. Mana stones, rock without impurity—Cognita, if I may refer to your construction, you are a product of both spellcraft and the superior base products from which you were given life. So why not apply that theory in the case of the undead? Most bodies are just that, bodies. But if there were a way to obtain superior parts—”

“Parts?”

Cognita turned back to look at the half-Elf. She was furious. And the Golem knew the conversation was over. Ceria pointed a shaking finger at Pisces.

“You’re—disgusting. And insane. And I don’t have time to argue with you. If you want to go spouting off crazy theories, go ahead. I’m going to practice real magic.”

She stormed off. Pisces called to her once as she left, but Ceria did not turn her head. He turned back to Cognita in frustration.

“I’m sorry you had to witness that, Cognita. Please, accept my apologies. I thought I could convince Ceria with your help, but she is unwilling to listen to reason.”

Cognita made no immediate reply. She could have told Pisces a thousand things, spoken from decades of observation. Some would help, others might shatter the young man. After a moment, Cognita made a decision and spoke while looking Pisces in the eye.

“She cannot accept what you do. And you cannot accept that she does not consider you a friend. Perhaps the question is then whether you value friendship or magic more.”

He was speechless. He opened his mouth to respond, but Cognita strode down the hallway after Ceria.

—-

“Ceria Springwalker.”

If it had been Pisces or anyone else, Ceria would have ignored them or shoved them aside. But Cognita’s deep, inflectionless voice made her tense in sudden fear. She turned, trying to conceal the fear in her heart.

“Yes, Cognita?”

“I believe Pisces would like me to express his apologies in his stead. However, I will not do so. I would merely like to speak with you for a few more moments if you have time.”

Ceria paused. She was still furious at Pisces, livid. His presentation to the Council had set Wistram in an uproar, and he was now more of a pariah than he had been before.

That wasn’t the only reason she was so angry, though. The day Illphres would challenge Archmage Zelkyr’s Golems was only two weeks away. And so Ceria was angry, frightened, and nervous. But she tried to hide all that from Cognita.

The Golem was the enemy.

“Talk to me? I—sure, Cognita. Why do you want to talk?”

“Hearing your reactions and thoughts intrigues me. I was created to think and learn, and this topic—and your discussion—is interesting to me in a way few things are.”

That was extraordinary. And unhelpful. Ceria stared at Cognita as if searching for a weak point. But the stone woman was flawless.

“I guess I can talk.”

“Very well. Thank you.”

The Golem fell silent. After a few seconds of awkwardness, Ceria realized Cognita was waiting for her to speak. Ceria didn’t know what to say. She’d said what she thought. Pisces was insane. His idea was insane. But Cognita—

She glanced up at the Golem. Cognita’s face seldom changed, but Ceria could remember her smiling just once.

“Cognita? Did you really teach Pisces one of Archmage Zelkyr’s spells?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The Truestone Construct—the thing that had a name and a mind—paused.

“He asked. And it was an incomplete spell. I believe Pisces has a chance of completing it. In his own way.”

Another revelation. This one hurt Ceria’s heart. It was one thing to know Pisces was smart, acknowledge that he could do things Ceria could not. He was a genius, but this? Pisces had a chance to do what Archmage Zelkyr could not. Cognita had said so. It made Ceria doubt the angry words she had spoken to him.

“Do you support him doing necromancy? Do you even care?”

“I see in his magic something akin to what mages do when they shape Golems, but different. I care not if they are dead bodies or clay and stone that is shaped. I believe his ideas are intriguing. I wonder if he will be able to do as he claims. Even for Zelkyr, the only creation he was able to imbue with true intelligence was a Truestone Golem, my kind. What base material would be equivalent among the dead?”

Ceria had no idea. But she shivered again to think of a walking thing, some shambling zombie with rotting flesh that could grow stronger. What if it could talk? What if it could think, like Cognita? A talking, leveling undead was too close to an actual person, yet indescribably far away from life at the same time.

“I don’t know if Pisces can do it. But I feel like it’s wrong. That’s all I can say. I’m sorry. I have to go.”

She didn’t want to look at Cognita anymore. The Golem nodded.

“I will leave you to your business after mentioning one last issue. The day when your master and four other mages plan to challenge me is fifteen days away. I trust they are all prepared and aware of the consequences of failure?”

The breath caught in Ceria’s chest. She stared back at Cognita, eyes wide. How did the Golem know?

“That—that’s right. They know. My master knows.”

Cognita nodded once again.

“Please inform her that if she or any of the other mages desire to wait or change the appointed time, I would be happy to do so. Good night, Ceria Springwalker.”

She turned and began to walk away. Ceria took one look at Cognita’s back and fled.

—-

“You told Cognita when you’d be challenging her?”

Illphres looked up with a frown as Ceria slammed the door behind her and stormed into the room.

“Told who?”

“Cognita!”

Ceria clutched at her hair. She’d run all the way to Illphres’ room. The mage shrugged.

“Oh, yes. We told her.”

“Why?”

“It’s convenient. It means she knows and won’t be busy, and it means we can’t back out.”

“But if she knows, she could set traps. Prepare—”

“She won’t. She never has and never will. But this way we won’t alert the entire academy when Cognita goes striding up to the top floor.”

Illphres was too calm. She was always calm. She held a book with a light blue bound cover in her hands, glancing at the page and at Ceria as she spoke. It was her personal spellbook.

“Calm down. Stop pacing. It’s annoying.”

Ceria stopped. She whirled and looked at her master.

“Tell me you can do it.”

Illphres sighed and closed the book. She stared at the ceiling, and then looked at Ceria.

“We have a chance.”

“How do you know?”

“Because it was nearly done once.”

“Really?”

Ceria’s ears perked up. Illphres nodded.

“A group of mages nearly succeeded. So we can too.”

“But how do you know? Is there a history or—”

“A few records of challenges, but no. We can tell just from the Golems in the room. Sit. Think about how we can tell.”

Ceria sat unwillingly. She fidgeted, and then came up with the only explanation she could think of.

“The missing Golem. The one replaced by the armored knight one.”

“Exactly. That’s proof.”

“But that’s only one of the five Golems—”

“No, it’s a sign. Think.”

Illphres sighed as her tone grew waspish. She hated explaining things when she thought Ceria should understand.

“Any idiot could figure it out. Archmage Zelkyr made this challenge for any mages trying to reach the higher floors, didn’t he? He designed it to be challenged over and over again, which meant that he would expect his four guardian Golems—plus Cognita—to never be destroyed. They would fight in tandem and overwhelm their opponents without sustaining enough damage to be destroyed.”

“So the missing Golem—”

“It’s a sign that someone broke their formation. And nearly won, too. Because if they could isolate one of the Golems long enough to destroy it, it meant they could hold off the rest. None of those Golems would be easy to disassemble with any one spell.”

“And that means you can all do the same. Easier, especially if one of the Golems is weaker…”

Ceria sat up, eyes shining. Illphres nodded calmly.

“We can do it. There is a possibility.”

“That makes me feel better. I was talking with Cognita—”

Slowly, Ceria explained her argument to Illphres. The mage rolled her eyes when Ceria was done.

“I heard about that. Levelling undead? I don’t see why everyone’s so upset. ”

“But—”

“It’s no different from anyone else leveling up. A half-Elf can live for centuries if they want, how’s that different from an undead? It sounds like it would be hard to make more than one or two. If they get out of hand you can destroy them. The real reason you’re upset is because you hate necromancy.”

Ceria bit her lip and made no reply. Illphres sighed.

“Necromancy is magic. I don’t fear your friend. He reanimates the dead. I freeze people. And I hardly look better than the undead. You have seen beneath my mask. You know that.”

“It’s not the same.”

“No?”

Illphres raised an eyebrow.

“Magic is magic, and that boy Pisces was your friend, once. Does knowing he practices necromancy change all that?”

“Yes!”

“I suppose you weren’t good friends, then. Enough.”

Illphres waved away Ceria’s objections and levitated the book in her hands over to the half-Elf.

“Study the [Glacial Spear] spell. I want you to make at least some progress before the challenge day.”

“I’d learn more if you let me keep the book! Or made me a copy!”

Ceria complained as she bent over the pages of tightly-written text. Illphres laughed sardonically.

“Copy the book? I don’t know how to write magical spells down. That’s a specialist class, [Magical Scribe] or some such. And it would take a Level 40 one to write that spell down.”

“Really?”

Ceria looked up with a frown. Illphres nodded. She began lecturing as Ceria listened with one ear and read with both her eyes.

“Spellbooks are rare because they can’t be copied without extensive study by a powerful mage, or a class with similar Skills. And scribing a spell is only possible for someone of an equal or higher level than the spell itself. So a Tier 4 spells might be rare but findable in a given collection of spellbooks, but Tier 6 would be extremely difficult to locate. And Tier 8—”

“How would anyone learn the spells, then?”

“By piecing together clues left by other mages, following instructions in languages other than magic to come up with it. Or by leveling and obtaining it or coming up with such a spell themselves.”

“So this spellbook—”

“Is mine.”

“Can you let me borrow—”

“No.”

—-

Two weeks was too long and too short for Ceria. She went through each day emotionally and mentally exhausted, and tossed and turned each night with nervous, physical energy.

That also led to her actively avoiding her friends, and them avoiding her. Ceria was waspish, irritable, and prone to snap at anything and everything. She confined herself to her room when she wasn’t with Illphres or the other mages.

Three days before the challenge, Ceria was in her room, almost out of her mind with the agony of waiting. She heard a knock at the door and snapped.

“Come in already!”

Pisces entered. Ceria snapped again.

“Get out!”

“Please, just listen!”

His eyes were sparkling and Pisces was rubbing his hands together. He looked like he had in the past, full of life and enthusiasm. Ceria couldn’t bear to see it, not now, not when she was so anxious.

“Pisces, I’m not in the mood—”

“Hear me out, hear me out I implore you! I was just talking with Cognita—”

It was the last name Ceria wanted to hear right now, but Pisces couldn’t know that. She tried to stare a hole in his face as he talked excitedly onwards.

“She and I were discussing intelligence, cognizance and how only she among all the Golems has it. I opined that it was a mystery why Zelkyr would have failed with other Golems when she revealed this to me! Archmage Zelkyr only imbued Cognita with the capacity for thought. But over the years the other Golems have achieved a low level of intelligence, at least communally.”

Ceria just stared at Pisces, arms crossed, trying to decode his words. He stared at her, practically shining with energy.

“Don’t you see what this means? The Golems in Wistram can think! They can learn to think, that is! And if there’s a possibility of them learning, why not in a creation designed for that capacity? Why, we know that feral Ghouls can think in a primitive hunter-predator sense, and other undead like Crypt Lords, Liches, and Revenants can all—”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Ceria cut Pisces off flatly. He looked astonished. She stared at him.

“I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear about Cognita—I want you to get out!”

Pisces stopped. He stepped back, looking hurt and offended. He half-turned towards her open door as if he was going to storm out, and changed his mind. Instead, he turned towards her, and spoke pleadingly. She didn’t want to hear, but his words washed over her.

“Ceria, I don’t understand why you’re not giving me a chance to speak. I’m trying to prove a point. I know you have objections to my—to what I do, but please, listen! My goal isn’t to destroy the world or create armies like Az’kerash. When I practice necromancy, the reason I started was—”

It was too much. Ceria interrupted Pisces with the only thing she could use. The truth.

“They’re going to challenge her.”

He stopped, frowning.

“Who?”

Ceria knew she shouldn’t tell him. But now the dam had burst and she let it out. It was a relief and terrifying to say it out loud.

“Illphres. Jurix. Bastam. Ophelia. Qum. They’re all part of a group—they’ve been training all year and they’re going to challenge Zelkyr’s Golems to go to the higher levels.”

The half-Elf stared down at her hands, at her bitten fingernails. She saw Pisces sit down hard on the side of her bed out of the corner of her eyes.

“When?”

“It’s going to be three days from now. Right before lunch.”

Her breath caught in her chest at the words. It was out. The secret was spoken, and now Ceria felt it pressing down on her harder than before. Pisces spoke quietly.

“Illphres and four others? They’re serious?”

Ceria nodded. Pisces went still. She could feel him close to her. A familiar presence. Comforting.

“I would advise you to stop them. If I thought they would listen. Cognita is—an unknown quantity. I believe she is more than a match for any of the Archmages of today by herself.”

“Yeah. She probably is.”

Ceria hugged her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth a bit. She nodded and then shook her head.

“But they’re going to do it. Illphres is going to fight. I can’t stop her. I wouldn’t dare try. She has to do this, don’t you see, Pisces? If we can’t go above, we can’t be true mages. Wistram is stagnant. We don’t have real Archmages, just fakes! Don’t you see—”

“I know.”

Pisces cut her off shortly. Ceria looked and saw he was staring at his feet as he sat on her bed.

“I know. Wistram is decaying. Magic is not as powerful as it was before Zelkyr. Powerful, yes, and one could argue there are more mages being produced by the academy as a result of the Golem’s presence, but—I know. And I believe Cognita knows this too.”

“She does?”

“We have spoken about it. On occasion.”

Ceria grabbed for Pisces. He jerked, but she yanked at his dirty robes. Part of his shoulder and chest became exposed as he fought to loosen her deathgrip.

“Ceria—”

“Don’t warn her. I mean, she knows, but don’t tell her anything. She’s—”

“I won’t. It wouldn’t matter if I did. Cognita wouldn’t cheat. She’s waiting for a mage to—Ceria, please. I won’t tell anyone.”

Slowly, Ceria let go. Pisces adjusted his robes and the two fell into silence. After a few minutes, Pisces spoke again.

“Thank you for telling me. I won’t reveal a thing. I promise.”

“Thank you.”

“And I hope—I most sincerely hope Illphres and the others defeat Cognita. I would like you to know that, Ceria.”

“I do.”

They stared at each other. It had been a long time since Ceria really met Pisces’ eyes. He looked older, she realized. In a few short years he’d grown older, from a late teenager into a young man. Older, more tired, more bitter.

But still him.

Pisces looked away first. He stood up, brushing himself off and then realizing he was in Ceria’s room and stopping.

“I’ve got to go. I’ll leave you to—we can talk later, Ceria.”

He began to leave but stopped. Ceria was holding on to the back of his robe.

“Don’t go.”

He looked back at her, eyes wide. Ceria stared at him. Slowly, Pisces sat back down.

“The door’s open.”

“Yes.”

Ceria said it without really caring. She and Pisces sat together with the open doorway leading out into the corridor. Part of her told her she was an idiot for blurting out all those secrets, but Ceria knew few people ventured down this hallway, especially at night.

She didn’t stand up to close the door. And neither did Pisces. Eventually, the door did get closed, by magic. But no one left the room until the next morning.

—-

The day of the challenge Ceria couldn’t eat. Everything leading up to this day seemed like a brief dream, something someone else had experienced. But what was worse was the day itself.

It was too normal. It was too quiet. It was too—

Peaceful.

It wasn’t a holiday. Classes went on like normal, and mages gathered in the corridors, gossiping. They ate in the banquet halls, and walked about as if they had not a care in the world.

Ceria skipped all her classes. She’d skipped the last eight days in truth, spending all her time with Illphres and the other mages. Now she ate breakfast with them, or rather, watched them eat with her stomach trying to shove itself back out her mouth.

“Eat something, Ceria. We can’t have you fainting when we walk out of there.”

Jurix pressed an apple into Ceria’s hand. She looked at it and turned green. He snatched it away.

“Okay, don’t eat. I’ll do it for you.”

“Watch it, Jurix. Don’t eat too much. We’ll probably be moving around a lot.”

Bastam warned the Dullahan as he ate sparingly from a bowl filled with oats and honey. His tail was wagging back and forth faster than normal, but he appeared calm. So did the others. They were far too calm compared to Ceria, who looked as pale as a Selphid by now.

“I think I’ll pull out my stomach before we go in. I’ll be lighter that way.”

Ophelia murmured as she spooned some gravy sparingly over her breakfast of eggs and bacon. Did her hands shake a bit? She smiled at Ceria and the butterflies danced in the girl’s stomach.

“Bah. You lot don’t know anything. Dullahans know to eat a big meal the day of a battle and a small one later. Isn’t that right, Qum?”

Jurix stared across the table at the other Dullahan. He preferred to eat with his head on his shoulders, an oddity for a Dullahan. Qum nodded and spoke softly.

“Proper intake is key.”

Illphres glared at the two. She was eating sparingly as well.

“Just so long as you pass it before noon. If you think I’m fighting a battle alongside two constipated Dullahans—”

Everyone laughed. It was a rare joke—actually, not a joke since Illphres said it. But it was what they needed. Ceria tried to smile and failed. She fidgeted in her chair, and checked the position of the sun through a window. When it was right overhead, the challenge would begin. But it felt like it was frozen in the air! She looked back at Jurix as the Dullahan made a joke.

And then—it seemed to Ceria as if she remembered walking around with the others in a blur, listening to them talk. But suddenly, disconcertingly, she was standing in front of the two doors that led into the challenge room, as if the day had gone in an instant.

It was time.

The hallway was simple. Long and straight, it let people come up either stairway at both ends of the corridor. In the middle of the hallway, two double doors sat in the stone wall, the only entrance to the upper floors.

The five mages and Ceria gathered there, but not in silence. Each one was nervous now, and Ceria could sense it. But none of them gave voice to that worry. They joked instead, or stood calmly, or shook hands or claws. They formed up in front of the door, but not before stopping to speak to Ceria of all people.

She was their lone witness. The mages had told no one else that today was the day, and none of them had apprentices. Ophelia was the first to hold Ceria’s hand, smiling warmly. The stitches around her mouth pulled as she kissed Ceria on the cheek, to the half-Elf’s shock.

“Once this is over I might have to teach you a bit as well. It’ll all be different, Ceria. I promise. Mages will change. This place will change.”

“I’ll be waiting for you to shake my hand. So don’t go anywhere—this won’t take long.”

Jurix grasped Ceria’s hand tightly as he looked her in the eye. She nodded, throat too constricted to speak.

Bastam was next.

“You know, I saw your exam. I thought that you had courage then, courage and daring. I thought to myself, that’s what we’ve forgotten, all the older mages. I’ll show you we have it today.”

He passed her by and Qum was there. The Dullahan bowed his torso to Ceria and then held up his head. He regarded her solemnly.

“Luck to us all.’”

Illphres was last. She and Ceria stood apart from the others as the mages began casting spells. Ward spells, spells to increase their physical condition or protect against attacks. Illphres cast no spells. Hers was already active.

The walls of the corridor were already frosting over with ice. Ceria began to shiver and shake uncontrollably as the temperature around Illphres lowered and lowered again. The other mages weren’t affected—they all had artifacts to protect them against her cold, but Ceria didn’t have any.

Illphres looked at Ceria without an expression on her face, but then she let the ice reshape her lips into a smile.

“Seems like I need to increase your training if you’re cold from only this much. Remind me once I’m out.”

Ceria tried to smile, but her lips couldn’t move. Illphres stared at the double doors, and Ceria felt the chill around her grow deeper. It was so cold. But the mage’s voice was light when she spoke next.

“If I was an adventurer, if I had gone out into the world and fought monsters and gone into dungeons for a few years, maybe I wouldn’t be so scared now.”

“What?”

The woman turned back to Ceria, smiling.

“I grew up in Wistram. I spent my life here. But perhaps if I’d gone out into the world and gained more experience—well, I’d probably be scared all the same. There are wonders and horrors in this world, Ceria, remnants from the ages when gods still lived, memories of empires long gone. This is one of them. And today we will challenge the power of one of the true [Archmages] of Wistram.”

“I know you’ll succeed. I know it.”

Illphres just smiled. She put a hand on Ceria’s shoulder and the half-Elf shivered. Illphres looked deep into Ceria’s eyes as she whispered to the young half-Elf.

“Remember this, Ceria. For good or bad it matters not. In tragedy or triumph it is the same. Today you will stare into the heart of it.”

She smiled at Ceria. Her hand was cool on the half-Elf’s shoulder. Cold to the touch, but not freezing. The ice thickened on the walls around Illphres. She looked into the half-Elf’s eyes.

“This is magic.”

Then she turned away. Jurix stepped up to the doors and glanced to his left and right. Illphres stood next to him on his left with Qum further down, Bastam and Ophelia on the right.

“Ready?”

They nodded. Jurix took a breath, and then put his hands on the double doors. He pushed, and they flew open.

As one, the five mages stepped into the room that lay beyond. Ceria took a step towards their backs, but dared go no further.

The Golems of Zelkyr waited in the room beyond. She caught a glimpse of five figures, standing on the other edge of the room. A golem made of burning rock. A metal reaper standing tall and silent. A behemoth knight made of metal. A dark thing already bounding across the room, quiet, panting.

And Cognita, standing tall and proud against the obsidian doors, arms outstretched.

Welcoming the challengers.

Then the doors slammed shut and Ceria saw nothing else. Heard nothing else.

The challenge had begun and she could only wait. If there were any gods, Ceria would have prayed. But she could only hope.

—-

It felt like time stopped after the doors closed. Ceria stared at them, and then wondered what she should do. Sit down? No—she wanted to be standing when everyone came out.

But how long would it take? Suddenly, Ceria was consumed by that question. She shivered in the freezing air as she stared at the double doors. Not a sound passed from the room beyond. She couldn’t tell what was happening. She could only imagine.

What would happen first? Would Cognita speak before the battle began, give the mages one last chance to turn back? Would Illphres or the others speak? She wasn’t one for speeches, but Jurix might say something, or Bastam.

How long would that take if they did that? Or—what if the fight began the instant the mages stepped into the room? Would it be over in seconds?

Surely not. Either way—Illphres would slow them down with ice. She’d create barriers. It would be impossible to kill her and the others in an instant. They were already warded and prepared for battle.

So how long would it take to destroy the Golems? Ceria guessed as she shivered in front of the door. The ice generated by Illphres’ field of cold was still coating the walls, overwhelming Ceria’s own ability to nullify the chill.

When would it be over? No—when would the mages come out? Because, surely, they might rest after the battle. Ceria tried to calculate the time it would take.

Magical battles were rarely long, but this one was different. So…five minutes? That was far too short. Ten? Twenty?

Ceria waited. She knew the minutes were passing as she tried to put a number to her fear. After five minutes she felt relieved. Or told herself she was relieved.

Five was too short. If it was over in five, it would mean they were—

No, no. Not five. Obviously not. Ten, then? It still felt too quick. Or was it too long? Ten minutes, with every mage in there throwing their best spells at the Golems?

After ten minutes, the fear in Ceria’s belly turned into spikes that tried to push themselves out from within. A little thought in her head began to whisper to Ceria. It was too long. They were taking too long. Wouldn’t she have noticed something, seen some change if the Golems were falling? If it was silent like this for so long, it would mean…

No, no! Illphres was an expert at drawn out battles. This was just playing into her hands. Ceria kept telling herself that. She’d be locking down the Golems with ice, creating fortifications they had to battle past. A long wait was good—they might have to wear down the metal knight Golem, or Cognita. It didn’t mean—

Drip.

It was a faint sound, but the only one in the corridor. Ceria whirled. She saw a single tear of water fall from the ceiling. It splashed with the faintest of noises in the corridor. She looked up.

The ice on the walls was melting. Illphres’ ice was beginning to melt, slowly gathering condensation into droplets that fell down around Ceria. A few fell around her, and then one landed on her neck.

She jumped as if she’d been struck. Ceria turned her attention back to the door, trying to ignore the melting ice. But it kept melting, more and more of it, as the chill lessened and the walls became slick.

The melted ice puddled on the stone floor, wet, cold. Ceria stared at the door as the last of the ice turned to water. Minutes passed, too many. She felt the water touch her shoes.

And she knew.

But she told herself she didn’t. Ceria lied to herself, promising her rapidly beating heart that the doors would open at any moment and Illphres and the others would come out, beaming, battered, but alive. They couldn’t be dead. They couldn’t be.

But soon the fear in her heart turned to a suppressed panic in her chest. Ceria wanted to scream, but didn’t dare to. She wanted to run, but there was no one to run to. The lie in her mind became something else. So long as the doors didn’t open they were alive. So long as the double doors were closed, they were still fighting. They were still—

The doors opened. Ceria stepped back from them and nearly slipped. She blinked her eyes, willing the figures to be Illphres, Jurix, Ophelia, Bastam and Qum—

Cognita walked out of the double doors, her stone body whole and undamaged. Ceria stared at her.

And her heart broke.

The Golem saw Ceria standing by herself in the corridor and stopped. She stared down at Ceria, and said not a word. At last, Ceria looked at the doors.

“Are they—are—”

She had to ask, though she knew the answer. Cognita nodded. She spoke softly.

“They failed the challenge. They are dead.”

“It’s not true.”

Ceria started towards the doors. She couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be. Cognita could not be here, undamaged. She had to be injured, destroyed. She couldn’t be—

“Ceria Springwalker. I would advise you not to go within.”

“Let go of me!”

Ceria tried to push Cognita’s hand away, but the Golem was immovable. The half-Elf squirmed out of the grip and ran for the doors as Cognita let go. She pushed desperately on them, felt them give.

Ceria flung open the doors and stared at what lay beyond.

—-

Pisces heard the scream and knew. In truth he had known thirty minutes ago what the outcome would be. It wasn’t anything the mages had shown him.

It was the look in Cognita’s eyes.

It was a small clue, but one the young man understood. He alone had talked to Cognita. He had seen how her face changed. Very little, but she too had expressions. She felt. And ironically, Golems were bad liars.

Cognita had feelings. She could feel passion for something, and he had seen her eyes change when he spoke of his ambitions, of what might be done with magic that had never been attempted before. He had seen the spark in her eyes.

But he hadn’t seen it as she strode into the chamber. She had known how the battle would end. She had taken the measure of her opponents and seen what would occur without fail.

If Pisces could have, he would have stopped the five mages. He nearly broke his spell of [Invisibility] to try, but one look into their eyes told him they wouldn’t be stopped. They didn’t care that he was there. They’d seen him, all of them, he was sure. And they’d known from his face what their chances were.

But they’d gone anyways. Because they couldn’t turn back. Because they were true mages.

And now they were dead. And Ceria—

He saw Cognita carrying the half-Elf out of the room. She fought the Golem, punching her, casting spells, but Cognita ignored her. Pisces heard Cognita’s voice as she told Ceria that if the half-Elf entered the room and fought the Golems she would be killed. And he saw her head turn and knew that was meant for him as well.

Pisces couldn’t look at Ceria as she collapsed on the ground. Instead, he slipped away when he saw the group of five lesser Golems enter the room and exit with bags of holding. He knew what they were doing.

He knew where they carried the dead.

Mages died in Wistram. Not as often as one might think, but enough so that it was not rare. Failed experiments, duels gone wrong, simple suicide or accidents like slipping down stairs—

And of course, those who failed the challenge. Pisces walked after the Golems, noting how other students passed them, oblivious to what the Golems carried. They were just things to most of the mages.

But the Golems had purpose, and they fulfilled all manner of tasks. Such as finding a place for the dead.

The catacombs of Wistram were extensive, dark, and off-limits for Pisces. For all students, really, but especially him. Two suits of armor stood guard on the entrance at all times, a hallmark of another time when the remains of one mage might be destroyed by an enemy.

But the remains of the recently deceased went to another room, where the process of decomposition was initiated by Golems. Only the bones would go below.

Pisces slipped into the room, unseen by the five Golems. He saw them emptying the bags of holding onto the stone slabs. The room was empty save for one dead student. Pisces saw a dead body with too pale skin and realized one of the Selphids must have evacuated it for whatever reason.

Six bodies, then. Pisces sighed softly when he saw the remains of the mages that had been alive not an hour ago.

Illphres, Bastam, Jurix, Ophelia, and Qum. Not all were recognizable. Not all were in one…piece. The Golems bent over their bodies, hands raised. Pisces realized with morbid fascination that they would disassemble the bodies without tools, only brute strength and unyielding fingers.

For a moment, the young man hesitated. He was uncertain, but he stood up as one of the Golems reached down for Bastam’s face.

“It is not right. It is not fair. But it must be done. So. Rise.”

The bodies jerked and came to life. The Golems paused, not comprehending as two of the six corpses in the room slowly stood up. Pisces felt the magic leave him and staggered. He drank a small potion at his side, cast the spell again. The mana in him burned as it left, but then six corpses were standing.

Not zombies. Not Ghouls, or any of the lesser undead. Burning eyes and flames in empty sockets stared back at Pisces as he looked at the six Liches, mages claimed by undeath to roam the earth.

Liches, yes, but more powerful than their skeletal counterparts. That was just magic used to reanimate long dead bodies. So close to death, these six fallen mages were stronger than Wights, more powerful than common Liches. They were as close to Revenants as he could make them.

The Golems turned towards the undead. They didn’t understand what had happened, but they had their orders. One reached for the thing that had been Illphres.

“Fight.”

The Golem fell backwards as a fist struck his chest. Pisces heard the stone crack and saw Illphres’ frail hands moving. She leapt at the Golem, faster than he had ever seen her move. Pisces saw the other Golems fighting now, reacting to the threat.

Too slow. Pisces let the undead knock the Golems down but didn’t bother trying to finish them off. Instead he turned and ran towards the door.

“Follow!”

—-

Wistram was in uproar. Pisces ran down the steps, shouts and screams echoing behind him. The six dead mages followed closely, making no sound as they ran behind him.

He had hoped they wouldn’t be seen as he ran down the corridors, but there were too many students and mages about. But they’d made it. Pisces leapt down the last flight of stairs and gasped for air.

Ahead of him, a tunnel led up towards a gate, guarded by two huge shapes. Armored knight Golems. They blocked the way. Pisces pointed a finger and his undead leapt towards the Golems. They reacted swiftly, raising their swords and shields and charging into the battle.

Pisces ignored both sides. He ran on, using [Flash Step] to evade one of the Golems who tried to cut him as he passed. He had only one goal in mind as he broke the lock on the gate and ran through it.

The catacombs were dark. Ward spells shone in Pisces’ eyes, enchantments designed to prevent the dead from rising by siphoning the mana away. He ran past sarcophagi, alcoves in the wall, coffins and burial urns, searching frantically.

It had to be here. He knew it was here. All the books said—

There. Pisces stumbled into an open corridor and saw the tomb. It was a dark, thick stone slab covering a stone bed. There was only a single glowing line of text, written in an ancient language on the cover. Pisces couldn’t read it, but he knew what it said.

The grave of Archmage Nekhret, one of the true [Archmages] of Wistram. And the only one to be buried in this place. The others had died elsewhere, or left no bodies to bury, or at least no bones.

But Nekhret—Pisces stumbled over to the stone lid and heaved at it with all his strength. He couldn’t budge the heavy stone. Only when his four remaining undead ran towards him and pushed did the lid fall to the ground with a crash.

Pisces knew he had to hurry. He knew he had only minutes before the mages would come, or the Golems to protect this place. But his breath caught as he saw the yellowed bones and the grinning skull of the former archmage. It was just a body. Just a body.

But the bones still glowed with power. Pisces reached out with trembling fingers and then remembered. He took out the small bag of holding he’d stolen from the Golems and reached out to take the bones.

The instant Pisces’ hand touched the first bone he felt the world shift. He cursed, looked around wildly. Then he realized the magic was coming from the stone coffin itself.

Something was growing out of it. Pisces cried out in terror and shoved the rest of the bones into the bag of holding. He stumbled away, his undead forming a wall around him as something appeared in the air.

A shadow blacker than color pulled itself out of the darkness. From underneath the coffin, more…things appeared. They drifted upwards, taking forms that were vaguely like real shapes and at the same time not.

Pure black made up the blade one of the apparitions drew. The blade glowed in the darkness, or rather, made the darkness shine around it. It was the antithesis of light, the shadow in every ray of light.

Slowly, the other summoned creatures drew weapons as well. They were undead, or perhaps something greater. Pisces knew it as he ran, leaving the bodies of the former mages to buy him a second of time. Nekhret’s last curse on those who would plunder her tomb.

He should have expected it. But Pisces hadn’t thought. He’d only known this was his chance. Now he ran as the apparitions flew after him, screaming with voices that made him throw up as he used [Flash Step] to dash up the stairs.

The undead stormed out of the catacombs as evening drew into night. The students of Wistram and mages heard their screams and turned to fight. Golems and mages alike battled the dark apparitions in the hallways, classrooms, and banquet halls, fighting to save their lives.

—-

Ceria sat in front of the doors leading to the room with the Golems, staring at it. Holding herself back from going in. She wanted to. She wanted to die.

Her master was dead. The other mages were dead. They had died, and the Golems remained. All of them. Each one was intact, each one whole. Ceria couldn’t remember—she had seen them lying on the floor—

The memory was too horrible for her mind to actively remember, but Ceria knew she had seen the four Golems before Cognita had pulled her back. Damaged, maybe, but all intact.

They were all still there. And the mages—her friends—Illphres.

Were dead.

Ceria wanted to go in that room. She wanted to cast her spells, fight for the few seconds she could. She knew she’d die. But she wanted to prove that Illphres had taught her. Prove she’d been right. Not that she’d done all this for nothing.

It was impossible. Ceria was just dreaming. She’d wake up and—and wake up in her bed. This was just a bad dream.

But it was reality. And although Ceria sat in the corridor for hours, wishing, praying, reality would not change for her.

In the end, it was someone else who made Ceria look up.

“Ah. You’re still alive?”

It was a voice Ceria had never heard, not once. She looked up and saw Amerys standing over her. Amerys, the Calm Flower of the Battlefield. One of the King’s Seven.

“Go away.“

The woman stared down at Ceria as the half-Elf clutched at her arms, hard enough to bruise her skin. She looked at the doors.

“Well, Illphres is gone now, is she? Too bad. I’ll miss her for morning practice. She was always the best at making barriers.”

That casual sentence, the simple acknowledgement of everything Ceria was denying, was too much. She leapt to her feet.

“Shut up! Shut up!”

Amerys looked at Ceria, calmly. Not with amusement or scorn, but with something as cold as Illphres’ ice in her eyes.

“She’s dead.”

“No, she’s—”

Ceria couldn’t lie. But she didn’t want to say it. Amerys studied her and shook her head.

“You know, she told me she was challenging the Golems tonight. She asked me to stop you from killing yourself if she failed.”

“She what?”

Ceria stared at Amerys in shock. The woman nodded.

“I would have come earlier, but I figured that you’d either be in that room by now, dead, or wallowing in misery out here.”

“But she—she didn’t think she’d—she was going to—”

“Change Wistram?”

Amerys snorted softly. Ceria choked. Now tears were falling from her eyes again. Amerys looked back at the doors and sighed softly.

“Perhaps she would have. But Cognita was too strong, wasn’t she? If I’d agreed to help, we probably would have died. Then again, maybe not. We’ll never know.”

“She asked you?”

“Oh yes.”

The woman nodded, meeting Ceria’s horrified stare.

“I told her no.”

“Why? She asked you and you said no? You—you coward! If you’d been alive, if you’d helped her—”

Ceria began screaming at Amerys. The woman shook her head, ignoring Ceria’s helpless fury.

“It was too risky. If there was a chance of me dying—I told Illphres I wouldn’t risk it. I told her to wait, even if it was for another decade, to challenge the Golems with ten times their number if they could. It turns out I was right.”

“She was brave! She was a true mage! She and Jurix and Bastam and the others—they had courage. You’re supposed to be a famous mage! Why didn’t you go?  Are you afraid? Are all of the King of Destruction’s servants such cowards?”

It was only when Amerys’ eyes flashed with fury that Ceria realized who she was talking to. A living legend, the equivalent of any Named Adventurer. Amerys spoke softly, but her voice was filled with controlled…passion.

“Coward? I suppose that’s fair. But if I am a coward, it is for my King. Do not misunderstand me, half-Elf. I would go in that room and challenge the Golems alone if it were not for Flos, my liege.”

“Why?”

The woman turned away from Ceria. When she looked back over her shoulder, her eyes were shining with something similar to the look Ceria had seen in Illphres’ eyes.

“Because he is a king worth being a coward for. Because someday he will return. Make no mistake; someday I will be at his side and we shall challenge the Golems together. We will walk beyond those doors and see for ourselves the heights of magic. But until then I will do all I can to live until the day he calls for me.”

Ceria could say nothing to that. She let the tears run down her eyes as she stared at Amerys. The woman looked away and shook her head.

“Until that day I wait. Hah, it is hard to wait for him for so long. But he is worth it. My lord Flos is…and it isn’t as if there aren’t other dangers to fight in that time.”

“What do you…”

Only now that she was standing, looking at Amerys fully did Ceria see the cut on the woman’s leg. It had gone through her magical robes, cut into her flesh. It was bound tightly with gauze.

“You’re injured.”

“Yes, I am.”

“What happened?”

The Human woman looked at Ceria, not without a trace of pity. But only that. A trace. She pointed to the stairs.

“See for yourself.”

—-

There were less than sixty dead in truth. Less than sixty, but over half as many wounded, some critically. To Ceria, descending the steps and walking through the hallways in numb silence, it was as if the rest of Wistram were a reflection of the death above.

The shades called by Nekhret’s spell had flown through Wistram, not hunting Pisces but setting upon every living being they could find with death and cold fury. The mages and students, unprepared, had fought back, but many of their spells had failed to affect the magical creations.

If it were not for Cognita, if it were not for the Golems and the Archmages and senior mages, Ceria later learned, the casualties would have been far higher. Most of the shadows and phantoms had flown into the banquet hall during dinner, and it was there the battle had been fiercest.

Only sixty had died. But one of those sixty lay on the ground of the banquet hall, amid the overturned tables and trampled food and drink. He had fallen mid-gallop, hands raised, a wand still held tight in one of them.

His face wasn’t calm. It was desperate, fierce. Ceria stared down at Calvaron’s body and looked into Beatrice’s eyes as the Dullahan held him.

“This is your fault.”

She told Ceria that, as Mons sat on the ground next to Calvaron. Ceria didn’t know what to say.

“What happened?”

“Pisces.”

Beatrice turned away. Ceria stared at Calvaron until the Dullahan screamed at her. She wandered away, mumbling to people who asked if she was hurt. At some point she saw Cognita, organizing Golems as they helped tend to the dead.

She saw Pisces just once. He was imprisoned in a cage of magic, guarded by Golems who were there to protect him from the angry mages and students. He stared down at the ground, face pale. He didn’t see her.

The trial began that night and lasted well into next day. The charges were simple. Pisces had stolen the bones of one of the Archmages. He had plundered Archmage Nekhret’s tomb and unleashed her spell of retribution on the academy. All the dead were his fault.

The punishment was equally simple. The Council was split, many calling for banishment. Wistram had no jail. The others called for death.

Ceria watched the trial taking place, saw the outrage on the faces of the people around her. But she was numb to it all. News of what had passed above had spread, especially after it came to light how Pisces had reanimated the five fallen mages to break into the catacombs. That was a tragedy on its own, but the mages channeled their shock into anger against Pisces.

Many voices spoke up that night, all for killing Pisces. The mages that held out argued against the death penalty because it would tarnish Wistram’s image, because it was wrong in this day and age, because they didn’t have the stomach for it. None because they felt sympathy for Pisces. He kept his head bowed as students and mages hurled accusations against him, screaming.

Beatrice spoke, and then Mons. She didn’t plead for Pisces’ innocence. She just told the Council she had no idea what was happening, and asked that Pisces be punished. She didn’t say what that punishment should be. Montressa stared at Pisces as if he were something she had never seen before.

Ceria was the last one to stand. When she did, the room went quiet. The mages knew she had been Illphres’ student. They knew she had been there when they had challenged Cognita and the other Golems, and when the doors had opened. It was Illphres’ body and the others Pisces had used to reanimate. They waited for Ceria to attack Pisces. She wondered if they would stop her if she tried to kill him.

There was nothing in Ceria’s heart. She looked inside her for her soul, but found it missing. It lay back above, in a corridor frozen in time where the frost clung to the walls. And as Ceria stood before the Council she spoke what was in her heart.

“Ceria Springwalker.”

Archmage Feor, the hero of her people, stared down sympathetically at Ceria. She stared back blankly.

“You have known the mage known as Pisces the longest. He has wronged you perhaps most of all. Is there anything you would like to tell the Council regarding his fate?”

Ceria stared around at the august assembly of faces staring down at her. She nodded slowly. When she spoke, her voice was quiet, but magnified by the spell so it filled the room.

“There is something. If my master—if Illphres knew what Pisces had done with her body…she would have laughed. She would have laughed, and she wouldn’t have cared at all.”

The room fell silent. The mages murmuring to each other grew quiet as Ceria continued.

“Pisces? I know him. He was my friend. Once. I hate him for what he did to my master—for what he did to the others. I hate him so much I think I might kill him. But I hate the rest of you even more.”

She looked around the room, eyes burning.

“You knew they were going to challenge the Golems. You knew. They asked you—each one of you to join them. You all said no. So they had to go by themselves, only five of them. If there had been six, or ten—they might have lived. But they went alone, because the rest of you are cowards.”

Shock. Anger. It was all the same to Ceria. She stared around the room and addressed the Council of Wistram to their faces, called them what they were.

“You are all cowards. Fearful, small people, living in the shadow of the Golems. You won’t ever find true magic, not here. Not while Cognita and the Golems are the true rulers of this place. I’m leaving—I won’t stay here, hiding from the truth. So long as the Golems live, there are no true mages in Wistram. None, except for the dead.”

She turned and walked away. Voices shouted after her, but Ceria was deaf. She sat down and saw the Council restore order, begin to vote.

One more person strode into the room, unannounced. But she brought silence with her.

Cognita. She stood in front of the Council, the death of mages on her hands yet no trace of it marring her smooth exterior. Perfect, wrought of stone. Immortal. And she spoke for Pisces.

“I would ask you not to vote to execute this young student.”

“Why?”

The answer came from Feor. Ceria looked at him, and saw a trace of that fear in his eyes. In all the mages’ eyes. They looked at Cognita and saw something they could not surpass, did not dare to challenge. She addressed them calmly, her voice booming throughout the room unaided.

“Because it would be unjust. There have been other mages whose failed experiments have killed far more. There have been other students here who have committed greater crimes and been expelled for it. The death sentence has never been passed down for a true mistake made by a student. I argue for exile, not death. If you pass judgment, let it be for what he has done, not what he is. Necromancy is not a sin.”

Feor stared hard at Cognita.

“And what will you do if we vote to kill him?”

She replied calmly.

“I will do nothing. My role is to protect and serve Wistram and those who live within. But if you do decide to execute him, I will expect you to kill every student who errs thusly from now on.”

The mages murmured as she left. Pisces raised his head to stare after her. He saw Ceria staring at him and looked away.

In the end, the Council argued for hours, but voted. It was close, but those who voted for exile were slightly more numerous than those who voted for death. Feor stood on the podium, staring down at Pisces with contempt.

“For your crimes, we exile you. You will never set foot on Wistram’s shores again, under penalty of death. And this shall be spread across the world—no true mage of Wistram shall treat with you, Pisces.”

The young man didn’t look up. Feor’s gaze turned to Ceria’s and softened.

“As for you, Ceria Springwalker. You must leave as well. Pack your belongings. You will leave Wistram with the next ship.”

—-

A few things happened in between the time Ceria spent wandering Wistram and the day she left. The half-Elf was attacked by Beatrice for defending Pisces as the Dullahan saw it, only saved by Mons. She was an exile among the other mages, none of whom spoke to her.

But one mage thought of her, or rather, her master. Amerys stood in front of the door that was still covered with frost and tried the handle. It didn’t work.

In the end Amerys gave up on waiting for a key to be brought and blasted the door open. The thunderous sound drew other students to her room. They backed away when they saw her exit the room, holding something in her hands.

“Here. Give this to Ceria Springwalker.”

“Me?”

“Do it. Or I will find out.”

Amerys thrust the ice-blue spellbook into the hands of one of the students in the crowd. He recoiled, but after she glared at him, took the book with trembling hands. Amerys strode away without a backwards glance.

The unfortunate Drake held the book in his hands, hesitating. He started down the corridor, but never got to Ceria’s room.

A young man stopped him in the hallway with some of his friends. The Drake and he argued. Gold was offered, then secrets. In the end the book was traded and it went with the young man.

Charles de Trevalier walked through Wistram, upwards, onto a balcony where Ceria had sat with Illphres once before. He stood on the edge over the open, looking down into the sea. Then he let the book drop down into the sea.

It splashed when it hit the water, and Charles saw the book freeze the ocean around it. It disappeared beneath the waves, encased in ice that refused to float or melt.

He turned around, smiling, and saw the Dullahan staring at him. Charles’ smile disappeared, but Beatrice said nothing. She turned and walked away.

—-

Two days later, Ceria found herself standing in the entrance hall, waiting. The ship was here at last, ready to take them to Izril. It wasn’t her choice. This was the first ship and so she had to be aboard it.

Someone else stood in the entrance hall, far away from her. Pisces kept his head down as he clutched the few things to his name. A spellbook, and a small bag. Ceria stared at him but he didn’t raise his head.

No one had come to see her off. Montressa had stopped by her room. Beatrice had not. Ceria had seen a few other students as well, but the rest of the mages had avoided her as well as Pisces.

This was it. Ceria stared numbly at the doors and realized it was time. She was leaving Wistram, a failure. With nothing to her name but a few coins and memories.

“Hold.”

The word caught Ceria as she started towards the doors. It came from a tall figure, Cognita. She strode towards Ceria and stopped before the young half-elf. Ceria stared up blankly. Cognita inclined her head.

“Ceria Springwalker. I regret the death of Illphres and the other mages.”

“Do you really?”

Ceria said it numbly. Cognita nodded.

“I do. But I was created to protect and so I shall.”

“In that case, I hate you. I’ll hate you forever and I think you’re a slave. You don’t have will. You’re just a thing that pretends to sometimes be alive.”

“That is your choice.”

Cognita accepted Ceria’s statement without a hint of displeasure. She bent down to Ceria. Her eyes were intent on the half-Elf’s face.

“But I see in you something worthy. So I ask that you accept what comes next, and know that it is a sign of respect, not mockery.”

“What?”

Cognita didn’t answer. She strode towards the doors and threw them open. Ceria and Pisces shielded their faces from the sun’s glare.

“Step forwards, you two. Side by side.”

Unwillingly, Ceria did so. She stared at Pisces and he looked down. Cognita looked at both students and raised her voice.

Her words echoed throughout Wistram. They weren’t loud, not a shout, but they travelled through the corridors, into rooms, making mages stand up and go to the windows. Those that were already watching were joined by other mages as Cognita spoke to the academy.

“Today Wistram will see two students depart from its shores. These two mages leave, one exiled, the other in contempt. They leave as failures by the reckoning of the Council. But the Golems of Wistram disagree.”

She swept an arm out. Shading her eyes, Ceria heard Pieces draw in his breath. She looked out, down the winding stone staircase that led to the stone harbor and gasped.

Golems stood on the staircase. Hundreds of Golems. Stone ones carved to look like Humans or other races, suits of animated armor, creations Ceria had only seen once or twice. A Golem made of pure emerald stood next to one that seemed to be made of the wind itself. It stood next to a being of wood with moss and flowers growing out of its body. It held a sword out, saluting the air.

Cognita’s voice rang out again, and Ceria saw students and mages appearing on the stairwells and bridges above the entrance hall. They stared down at her as the Golem kept speaking, stared at her and Pisces.

“I am Cognita, greatest of Archmage Zelkyr’s creations. Though I am no mage, I hold his authority, which supersedes all others so long as I remain. Thus, it is within my power to graduate you two on this day. Ceria Springwalker, Pisces, you have shown the qualities of a true mage of Wistram, both of you. Neither of you will fall behind any other mage nor disgrace Wistram’s name. I hereby name both of you full mages of the academy.”

Ceria stared up at the Golem, barely able to comprehend what was happening. Pisces’ face was pale as he looked up at the Golem. Cognita smiled slightly, and motioned them forwards.

It was a dream. Ceria slowly began walking down the steps, Pisces at her side. She looked at the rows of impassive Golem faces, and saw how they were turned towards her. Watching her. As if they were alive.

“Golems of Wistram! Salute these young mages as they go forth into the world! Though they may leave these shores, they pass from here not as students, but as true mages!”

Step by step, the two descended. Ceria’s ears were roaring, and she saw the ship ahead of her, drawing closer. She stopped with Pisces only once and looked back towards the citadel. The doors were thrown open and a tall woman made of stone stood there. She raised her hand and her voice carried clearly to the two down below.

“Go, Ceria Springwalker and Pisces. Walk proudly as true mages of Wistram.”

Then she turned and the Golems began to file back into the academy or walked into the sea. Ceria turned and caught Pisces’ eye for a brief moment. Then she turned and boarded the ship and sailed away from Wistram.

—-

This is how the story ended. Ceria and Pisces took the ship for several days to Izril, seldom speaking, and not at all to each other. For their part, the [Captain] and [Sailors] treated the two mages with great respect. They had seen the Golems lining the stairs for the two mages—they were surely some of Wistram’s best.

The irony was not lost on Ceria, but she could only think about Illphres, about Calvaron, and felt the emptiness in her vanishing day by day. Not because she wanted to feel again, but because life was going on. It was as if she left that part of her with Wistram.

She knocked on Pisces’ door on the last day of their voyage, when land had been spotted. He let her in and she sat on a chair while he sat on the bed.

“I’m sorry.”

He said that at last, looking up at her. Ceria just stared back until he looked down again. There was nothing he could say, and nothing she wanted to hear. She eventually said what was on her mind.

“Once we reach the shore, we’ll part ways. I never want to see your face again, understand?”

“Yes.”

They heard sailors calling out overhead, guiding the ship in to dock. Pisces shifted, wiped at his eyes. Ceria saw tears. She had none herself.

“It truly—it truly was a wonderful place, wasn’t it?”

She looked at him. Pisces was crying.

“It was just like my dream at first. It was everything I had hoped for. It was the place where I wanted to be forever. It was worth waiting for. Worth giving everything up for.”

Slowly, Ceria nodded. She stared past Pisces, seeing friends and memory, stone corridors, magic and sadness and happiness in the moment before she blinked. Then she did and it was gone.

“It really was.”

They sat in silence as the rocking ship slowed and they felt it stop. Ceria stood up and looked down at Pisces.

“Goodbye.”

She walked away, carrying the rucksack filled with the few things she had to her name. Ceria walked away from the ship that had taken her from her hopes and dreams, away from the young man who had once been her best friend.

But never would Ceria forget. In her dark dreams, in the moments when she sat around campfires with the new friends she made, in the days spent walking, footsore and tired, searching for a place to rest, she’d always think back on it.

An isle in the sea. A citadel of dark stone, standing in a bubble of calm while storms raged around it. Hallways full of magic, impassive stone golems, students and mages of every race. A place of wonder, of magic.

The place where mages gather. The home of sorcery.

Wistram.

The half-Elf walked away, and was lost in the night. And after a moment, the young man, the necromancer, stepped off the ship. He looked back once, and then he was gone too.

3.32

The half-Elf walked off into the darkness, leaving Wistram behind. After a moment, Pisces stepped off the ship as well. He looked back towards the ocean where Wistram could no longer be seen, but where he knew it lay. Then he turned and was gone too.

The story ended. Ceria looked up from the depths of her mug and saw two watery eyes staring back at her. She blinked and leaned back a bit. There was a bit of snot mixed with the tears.

“Um, Erin? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine! I’m fine, it’s just—”

Erin reached for a handkerchief and wiped at her eyes. She had another one for her nose. Three, actually.

“And you never went back? Ever? You never heard from any of your friends, or—or sent a letter?”

“Never.”

Ceria shook her head, feeling the small gap in her heart aching a bit. But it was only a small rift, a faded scar that time had patched over. It had been a long time since she’d dared think about the past, but it had helped to tell someone at last.

“And so that Golem—Cognita is still in Wistram? And your friend Beatrice is all alone, and Montressa too? That’s so…sad.”

Erin blew her nose again and Ceria smiled crookedly. It wasn’t really a smile.

“That’s life. I wouldn’t be surprised if Montressa is a fully-fledged mage by now and far more experienced than both me and Pisces combined. But I don’t know. I never heard from them.”

“But it’s not fair! You weren’t the one who killed Calvaron! And neither was Pisces! I mean, it was his fault, but he couldn’t have known about the trap spell! And it sounds like the other mages treated him horribly!”

“He did practice necromancy.”

“Yeah, but still—he only became a jerk after everyone started being a jerk to him, right? I understand so much more about him now!”

“I—wouldn’t take all of what I said to heart, Erin. Pisces did change thanks to how people treated him later on, but he was always a necromancer. He always kept secrets. Even from me.”

“I get it. But it’s still so tragic. It hurts just to hear it.”

Erin put down the soggy handkerchief and Ceria drank down the last dregs in her mug. Around them, a few late-night drinkers were being shepherded out of the inn by Maran, but Erin and Ceria were safe at their table in the corner. After all, Erin practically ran the inn even when Miss Agnes was around and Ceria didn’t have anywhere to be.

Of course, many miles away a lonely cart was rumbling down the road where three other adventurers were probably trying to sleep, but Ceria didn’t have to join them. Not tonight.

It had been Pisces’ idea. Fed up by sleeping on the wagon each night, despite the hand-delivered food and copious amounts of blankets and pillows, the mage had demanded one member of the group be allowed to sleep in the Frenzied Hare each night.

Ksmvr hadn’t cared, but Ceria and Yvlon weren’t entirely immune to the allure of the idea themselves. So the three of them had drawn straws to see who would go back the first night.

It had been Ceria who’d won the straw pick. She’d come back and been feasted by Erin while she watched a new play—something about a girl with a thick accent learning to speak correctly—being put on.

But that wasn’t the important part of the night. The important part had come when Erin sat with Ceria and they had talked about the incredible mage they’d met. Ceria had asked Erin how she knew him, or rather how Ryoka knew him, and somehow that conversation had led back to the past.

To the past, and a story Ceria had never told anyone. How she and Pisces had first met, how they had become friends—

And how they had lost that and left Wistram. Now, in the quietest hour of the day, just past midnight, Ceria listened to Erin snuffling.

“It’s history now. If I could go back I’d do everything differently. But time travel is one of the things even the greatest of mages can’t do. My master, Illphres, died in the academy. I left because all that I respected and aspired towards died with her.”

“You didn’t want to stay? Even though…”

“Maybe.”

Ceria stared into the embers of the fire.

“Yes. I did. I regretted saying what I did to the Council. But—I still left because of what she said before she challenged Cognita.”

“What?”

The half-Elf shrugged, uncomfortably.

“It was just a comment. If she had been an adventurer, perhaps she would have known the danger she was walking into. That’s…one of the reasons I decided to become an adventurer. Illphres was far more powerful than most mages, far more powerful than I can dream of right now. But she died because she wasn’t used to fighting, not like adventurers are. We fight dirty and learn to run away. She and the other mages were proud. Too proud. I see that now.”

“But they sounded amazing.”

A sigh escaped Ceria’s lips.

“They were. I wish you could have met them.”

“But it sounds like Pisces was incredible too, wasn’t he? Before people knew he was a [Necromancer]—they really liked him, didn’t they?”

“Yes. They did.”

“I can’t really imagine that.”

Something like a laugh escaped Ceria’s lips. She turned to Erin, smiling in the dim light.

“It is hard to see, isn’t it? But just imagine Pisces without the sneer. Without any rude comments or—or his dirty robes. He is a genius at magic and Cognita herself acknowledged his skill. If we hadn’t fought those pirates at sea, if he had never been found out, he might be a powerful mage rising higher in Wistram right now.”

“Wow.”

More silence. Ceria saw the light in the room dim further, until Erin was just a dark silhouette in front of her. She could have cast a spell to light up the room, but this suited their conversation. After a while, she spoke out loud, confessing one last thing to Erin.

“That day, I think Cognita was speaking to Pisces, not me. He was the one who truly deserved to graduate from Wistram like that. I—I’m just a dropout. A failure. But I used the name of Wistram because it meant I could get work and it opened doors for me.”

“You’re not.”

Ceria shook her head.

“I am. A true accredited Wistram mage is a rare thing, with far more experience and a deeper understanding of magic. What that old mage said—you saw him trash us in moments. Regardless of whether the quality of mages has declined since Archmage Zelkyr, we’re still far below that standard. I am.”

Something touched Ceria’s hand. She jerked, but it was Erin’s hand. The girl squeezed Ceria’s hand gently. Her good hand.

“I don’t think you’re a failure. You went into Albez, didn’t you? And you came out.”

“Huh. I guess we did.”

Ceria smiled as the last light disappeared. She couldn’t see Erin’s face, but she knew the other girl was smiling too.

—-

The next day, Erin treated Ceria to a huge breakfast. Not the usual kind either—she’d made spiced porridge seasoned with a bit of fruit to go with mulled wine. It was hot, filling, and it made Pisces stop complaining when they brought it to the cart to be eaten on the road.

Erin sat next to Ceria as they ate from bowls on the bouncing wagon. Pisces and Yvlon looked cold but awake and Ksmvr seemed happy to wolf down the gluten-rich food with no side effects.

“I appreciate the effects of this magical charm. I wonder if it may be duplicated?”

“Probably. It’s such a low-grade enchantment even Springwalker could do it.”

Pisces remarked testily and got a kick and a glare for it. He rubbed his leg as he continued.

“It is possible, but why would you need a second artifact, Ksmvr? My understanding is that you are exiled from your Hive. Unless you have plans to join one of the Antinium Hives in the south?”

Ksmvr went very still as Ceria glared at Pisces. He shrugged insolently. At last, the Antinium spoke quietly.

“It is true that I have been removed from my position due to my incompetence. But I would never join another Hive. My true place—and my Queen—is in Liscor. I hope to return some day, bringing gifts such as this charm to prove my worth. But until I can prove myself useful, I will adventure with you. If I may.”

Ceria nodded.

“Of course, Ksmvr. You’re a valuable member of The Horns of Hammerad.”

“And far better company than Pisces.”

“Hah. While Ksmvr’s presence may be more appealing, may I remind you that my abilities are unique within this group? No one can provide the unique skills and insights that I have at my—”

“Shut up, Pisces.”

“Yeah, shut up, Pisces! You were nicer back when you were in Wistram.”

“What?”

Pisces blinked. He stared at Erin as she frowned at him. Ceria sighed. She didn’t quite meet Pisces’ eyes.

“I told her about our time in Wistram last night.”

“Oh.”

Ksmvr’s head swiveled from Pisces to Ceria as the young man blinked at Ceria and then went red. The Antinium opened his mandibles but Yvlon nudged him.

“Why did you nudge me, Comrade Yv—”

She sighed, pulled him over and whispered into Ksmvr’s earhole while Pisces cleared his throat a few times.

“Ah, Ceria told you about our shared history?”

“She did. She said you were a really nice guy, once. What happened?”

Pisces’ eyes flashed.

“Well, if she told you the truth, you would know that it was because of the unfounded prejudice and intolerance—”

“Because other people were jerks to you. I get it. But you still became sort of a jerk yourself, you know.”

Pisces had nothing to say to that. He just looked at Ceria, angrily, as if she’d given away a precious secret. She stared silently at him, meeting his eyes, until he remembered and looked down. Remembering the past made it harder to sit across from Pisces so easily for Ceria, though she’d made her peace with it all.

Erin glanced between the two, seeing the tension. She raised her voice.

“Um. I do have a few questions. I didn’t ask last night Ceria, but…you know, I think you made some of your story up.”

Ceria frowned at Erin.

“I did not.”

“I dunno…Pisces, you were there. Did Ceria’s master—Illphres—did she really destroy six ships all by herself? And did you and Ceria really fight two Trolls during the entrance exams?”

Pisces’ eyes flicked to Ceria. The half-Elf colored and looked over the wagon’s side.

“I…may have exaggerated some details.”

“Clearly. However, Miss…Erin, I would impress on you one thing. If, that is, Ceria told you how it ended?”

Pisces grew serious. He looked at Ceria as if to ask her what she’d told her. She raised her hand and a fiery creature drew a simple message in the air, in the code only they could read.

Everything.

“—Mages aside. Pirates aside. The Sea Serpent—assuming Springwalker told you there was only one? Yes, that might be exaggerated. But there is no description that can truly convey the power of Wistram’s true rulers. The Golems. Cognita was, and remains, the most powerful being I have ever encountered in the world.”

The wagon grew silent as everyone thought of that. Erin looked back down the frozen road.

“Even that crazy old man with the iPhone?”

“Well, we saw very little of his power. But…yes. The quality of his magic is meaningless against the Golems of Archmage Zelkyr. They were built for war. Mages may cast spells of incredible destruction, but few are suited to combat.”

He met Ceria’s gaze and then looked away again. After another second, Erin piped up.

“You took the bones of the [Archmage], didn’t you? You put them in Toren.”

Yvlon’s head snapped up. Ceria winced, and Pisces drew in his breath sharply.

“I did.”

“Does that mean he was powerful as an [Archmage]?”

“Hardly. And I didn’t use many bones. I only used four.”

“Four?”

Ceria stared at Pisces. He nodded fractionally.

“Four. I carved the spell into the bones, to restore the form I gave Toren no matter how badly he might be broken. They are…what makes him unique. But they consume too much mana for him to survive without a source.”

“I get it.”

Erin sighed. She sat back down in the cart and pulled a blanket over herself. She stared at the grey sky as no one said anything for several minutes.

“You sounded really cool, you know.”

“Excuse me?”

“You. Ceria told me about how you used to duel people, and cast magic. You sounded cool.”

Pisces opened his mouth. He closed it, swallowed, opened it again, and closed it once more. He closed his eyes. Then he spoke quietly.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

The cart rumbled onwards, taking the Horns of Hammerad down the road. Occasionally they passed by wagons and called out greetings or asked about dangers on the road. But the adventurers just sat in silence, mainly, along with Termin who was used to just having the company of his own head.

It was a cold day, but they were warm enough. And so Ceria and Pisces sat on opposite sides of the wagon and remembered.

—-

When the sun hit midday, the cart stopped to let the horses rest for a while.

“Even with a Skill they need a break, if only to eat.”

Termin explained as Erin happily patted one of the horses, Erma, on the head and she chewed her oats. Fox was busy trying to eat the food Erin had brought—warm bread and a spicy dip as a snack with cold meat and cheese for toppings.

“Shoo! You damn horse.”

Pisces waved it away as Ksmvr sliced cheese, cutting with little regard for the sharp blade of his dagger. Fox wandered away and Erin happily accepted a sandwich from Ceria before nearly dropping it.

“It’s hot!”

“Really? Sorry. I tried to tone down the heating spell, but it’s hard when one hand’s…”

Ceria waved her skeletal hand. Erin shook her head as she juggled the hot sandwich.

“No, it’s just that I wasn’t expecting it. Magic is really useful, isn’t it?”

“Best thing on a road.”

Yvlon smiled as she accepted a second sandwich from Ceria. She peered at Ceria’s hands as the half-Elf warmed another sandwich for Termin, trying not to scorch the bread.

“I thought you were a specialist at ice-magic, Ceria. Is it hard to cast flame spells?”

“I used to be quite good at earth and fire magic. It’s my master who taught me a bunch of ice spells.”

Ceria shrugged as she tossed Termin a sandwich. He bowed slightly to her and she grinned and waved a hand in reply.

“I have a few Skills that improve my ice magic, but it’s not like I can’t cast any spell I learn, Yvlon.”

“I see. Magic’s a mystery to me, so I wondered.”

“You never tried to learn?”

Ceria sat with Yvlon on the wagon, the only non-snowy surface, as Erin and Termin clambered on top as well. Yvlon shook her head.

“Not my thing. I had a tutor of course—most rich families have tutors who teach their kids all sorts of skills and find what they might be good at. I couldn’t figure out how to cast [Light] and neither could my older brother or my sister. Swinging a sword works well enough for me.”

“But it’s magic. If I could learn it, I’d be so thrilled!”

Erin sighed as she chewed her warm food. There was something special about eating in the cold and on the road, she decided. It gave her food…character. Then she remembered something else and slapped her head.

“I forgot! I was going to give you all some of my Corusdeer horn soup! My blue soup!”

The others eyed Erin.

“Your what?”

“Hang on! I’ll show you!”

Erin opened the door lying on the back of the wagon and crawled through it into Octavia’s shop. One of the [Alchemist’s] customers had a very nasty scare when he saw Erin crawling into the shop—from his perspective, it looked like Erin was crawling out of the sky, down through the doorway. But in a few seconds she had some of the soup she’d kept in a glass jar and was showing it triumphantly to the others.

Ceria and Yvlon stared hard at the soup adhering to the walls of the glass. It certainly looked blue, but that wasn’t a good thing. Blueberries were edible, and so was blue cheese, but there was something about blue soup that made it look particularly nasty.

The wagon driver shook his head the instant Erin uncorked the bottle and offered the soup around. All the ingredients had become a gelatinous mess from sitting in the bottle for so long, and the fact that it was still steaming didn’t make it any more appealing.

“I’m not eating that.”

“Aw, come on!”

Erin tried to get him to take a bite, then Yvlon. At last Ceria tried it, but only after Erin had taken a few bites and not immediately thrown up.

“It’s…dead gods, it’s not bad, Erin, but it doesn’t taste that great either.”

Ceria mumbled around the mouthful before she swallowed. The soup was hot going down, and that too felt wrong. But after a few moments, the half-Elf blinked and gasped.

“It’s hot!”

“See?”

Erin beamed around as the others stared at Ceria. The half-Elf’s cheeks had flushed and she was starting to sweat.

“It’s way too hot. Erin, is that soup magical? I have cold protection spells on—I feel like I’m in an oven!”

“Oops. Sorry.”

Ceria shook her head as she examined the soup with renewed interest.

“You made magical soup? I can’t believe it.”

“It’s great! And I think I can make an actual dish next time, not just soup. But this stuff is going to be a huge hit—you can drink it and you won’t feel the cold even if you’re naked!”

“Tested it out, have you?”

Yvlon sighed but took a few bites. Termin did too, and in a few moments everyone was walking around and shedding clothes, standing in the snow and remarking at the way it melted on their bare skin.

“You’ll make a fortune off it—assuming you can sell a lot before the winter ends. Is it expensive?”

“Not too much. But I’ve got other soups and stuff as well! Funny—I always have to make it into a soup first. After that I can figure out how to combine stuff, but soup is easiest to experiment with.”

Erin offered Pisces the last bit of the blue soup. He declined, letting Ksmvr consume the rest of the enchanted food.

“Enchanted cooking is a rarity even in Wistram. I suspect your products will do very well, especially given the difficulty in reproducing a recipe such as this from taste alone.”

The innkeeper smiled wickedly.

“Yeah. No one’s stealing this recipe.”

“I feel like I could lie about in the snow all day. But I suppose I’ll settle for a nice breeze while riding. Time to be off!”

Termin clambered aboard the driver’s seat and called to the others. Erin, Ceria, and Yvlon got on top, but Pisces declined.

“I will walk.”

Everyone stared. Yvlon, Ceria, and Ksmvr had all walked to stretch out, but up till this moment Pisces had refused to expend one bit of energy more than necessary. Termin just shrugged and shook the reins lightly.

“Your choice. Just don’t fall behind, necromancer.”

Erin laughed. Erma and Fox began pulling the wagon, faster than a walk but so slowly that Pisces would be able to catch up quickly.

But the mage didn’t immediately walk after the wagon. Instead, he stayed where he was. Sitting on the wagon back, Ceria frowned. She was about to call back at him when Pisces took one step.

Snow whirled. It flew up into the air in a gust, following the mage. He blurred forwards—too fast to really be called movement at all—and appeared right next to the back of the wagon.

Erin gasped.

“[Flash Step]! That’s the spell, right?”

“It is.”

Ceria watched as Pisces stood still next to the wagon, letting it continue onwards for about five seconds. Then he took a step and appeared next to it in a moment. He looked up, and his eyes met Ceria’s. Both mages looked away.

From her seat, Yvlon frowned at Pisces before looking at Ceria.

“I saw Pisces using that spell in the ruins and in the battle with that old mage. I didn’t know there was a spell like it until now. It looks incredibly useful. Do you know it?”

Ceria shook her head.

“It was one of his specialties. It’s a good spell for movement, but very hard to use. One bad step and you can break your foot or your toes.”

“Ah.”

Pisces continued to follow the wagon. At first Erin kept staring at him, gasping a bit as he blinked forwards with each step, but quite soon she grew tired of the spectacle. Ceria didn’t, though. She knew what Pisces was doing.

He was training.

With each step, Pisces kept pace with the wagon. It was slow, monotonous, and, Ceria knew, had to be mentally draining. But the fact that Pisces could keep performing the spell over and over was a sign of the skill she’d told Erin about.

What was amazing was the accuracy. At first it was off—Pisces would teleport too far ahead and spook the horses, or end up a few feet behind the wagon—but as time went on he eventually started appearing right at the back of the wagon, each and every time.

That was unusual, and Ceria knew both Yvlon and Ksmvr could tell how impressive that feat was. The wagon didn’t move at a uniform pace and the road wasn’t always straight. Pisces had to calculate how far to step at a distance in order to land precisely where he wanted to go.

After a while, Pisces added to the exercise. He drew his rapier from its sheathe and walked slowly forwards with it on the balls of his feet. Each time he stepped now, it was into a thrust, as if he were stabbing an opponent in the heart.

Now Pisces would step forwards into a slow lunge, fully extending his back leg while all the weight rested on the front. He kept his arm still as he held the rapier extended as far as he could go. Pisces slowly stepped out of the lunge, blurred forwards and moved into it again.

Slowly. Ceria could see his arms shaking the fourth time he did it, and he began to sweat despite not having had any of Erin’s soup.

After thirty minutes Pisces had to stop. He could barely raise his arms, despite alternating them while lifting the rapier. He collapsed onto the back of the wagon, panting as he pulled a blanket over to wipe his forehead.

“Wow. That looked really hard.”

Erin offered Pisces a pillow and he sank his head onto it, exhausted. He nodded, too tired for sarcasm.

“I am out of shape. It has been a long, long time since I last…”

“Not bad. You have excellent form.”

Yvlon handed Pisces a water flask. She looked at him with a touch of respect. He nodded wordlessly as he drank deeply from it.

“It is a shame the Antinium cannot learn magic. I believe I would benefit greatly from mastering such a spell.”

Ksmvr remarked as he stared at Pisces’ rapier. Ceria shook her head and saw Yvlon and Termin both doing it as well. For all she liked Ksmvr as a person, the thought of thousands of Antinium using [Flash Step]—or a basic spell like [Stone Dart]—was a nightmare.

Pisces shook his head as he handed the water flask back to Yvlon.

“Your species has a distinct absence of any kind of magical affinity, Ksmvr.”

The Antinium nodded calmly.

“Yes. This has been well observed and is a deliberate factor of our creation. Moreover, since the Antinium do not level greatly, magic has not been seen as a viable field to explore for our species.”

“Good. The last thing Wistram needs is Antinium mages running around.”

“I don’t know. I suppose seeing a few Antinium sitting in Rievan’s class would be quite amusing, don’t you?”

Pisces glanced sideways at Ceria. She couldn’t help but grin.

—-

After a few hours Termin called out to the half-dozing adventurers and Erin sitting in the back of the wagon.

“There’s the city. I heard it was abandoned and then retaken. Should we go around, do you think?”

“What city? Oh—”

Erin gasped as she stood up on the wagon. Ceria reached to steady her, but then stopped as well. Yvlon sighed softly as she spotted the distant buildings. Familiar, and yet alien now.

“Esthelm.”

It was more of a whisper. Erin peered at the walls, clearly damaged from a distance, and the way many buildings were only partly standing.

“Whoa. It looks messed up.”

“Well? Go around or go to it?”

“I heard my brother had helped retake the city. I’d like to ask about him, if we can.”

Yvlon turned to the others. Ceria nodded.

“To the city then, Mister Termin. We can probably rest there for the night.”

“So long as they don’t look too hungry. The last thing I need is a bunch of starving folk trying to eat Erma and Fox…”

Termin grumbled as he drove them onwards. The closer they got, the more Erin could see the damage that had been done to Esthelm. The damage, and just as notably, the repairs.

“Looks like they’ve patched up the wall pretty well. And it’s manned.”

Ceria noted the Humans standing on the battlements with bows. Their wagon had already been spotted and she could tell people were eying her back as well. Esthelm was vigilant after two Goblin attacks it seemed.

“Not only that. Look—they’re reinforcing it.”

Yvlon pointed down the wall, where work was clearly being done to expand the fortifications and add onto them. Pisces sighed as he stared at the burnt and ruined buildings.

“I suppose we won’t be resting in luxury here. It might be best to camp outside of the city if all the buildings are in such a state of disarray.”

“We’ll see when we get in. But at least we can eat at Erin’s inn.”

“True! And we can stay there if Termin finds a place to put his horses for the night.”

“Oh no.”

The wagon driver crossed his arms firmly.

“I won’t sleep anywhere away from Erma and Fox. They get agitated if I’m not close by and I won’t risk them being stolen. One of you’s got to stay here at least.”

“I volunteer.”

“Good for you, Ksmvr.”

“Thanks, Ksm!”

“You are a valuable member of the team. Exceptionally useful, I must say.”

Ksmvr nodded modestly as the others thanked him warmly.

“I volunteered for the position because I believed I was most suitable for the job. Guard detail is a position of merit, but I will understand if anyone wishes to trade places with me.”

Soon, the wagon was in hailing distance of the walls. Termin shouted up at the people shouting at him and after much shouting and arm waving, the gates were opened and the wagon rolled in.

Yvlon spoke to the others before they got out of the cart. She’d tugged a cloak around her head, covering up her bright hair and covering her face.

“When we talk to people, let’s just mention we’re adventurers passing through on guard duty. If we can avoid using my name—or our group’s name—I’d appreciate it.”

“Why? Is it because of your brother? Ylawes?”

Ceria frowned at Yvlon. The young woman nodded, looking unhappy.

“I’d prefer not to meet him at the moment if we can. He could be troublesome.”

“Define troublesome, if you please. Dangerous?”

Yvlon shook her head, frowning at Pisces.

“No. He’s not a threat—so long as he doesn’t meet Ksmvr for the first time alone I guess. But he’s…”

Erin nodded.

“I understand. Lips sealed, right everyone?”

They looked at her. She sighed, exasperated.

“Don’t you get it? This Ylawes guy. He might be a nice guy and all, but he’s still her older brother.”

“So?”

“So he’s going to be an older brother.”

“Oh.”

Ceria and Pisces nodded in understanding, despite Ceria not having any siblings to speak of. Ksmvr just tilted his head.

“I do not understand. Pisces, please explain—”

—-

“So this is Esthelm.”

Erin stared around at the ruined buildings, at the people in dirty clothes, helping to lift timber, board up buildings, repair, dismantle, clear rubble and make weapons. There were men and women and children helping to fletch arrows amid the confusion, and more still coming in with game they’d hunted.

“It’s a mess.”

Yvlon kept her voice low as she glanced with sympathy at the citizens. Many looked hungry, but none looked as if they were starving. If they had, Erin would have given them what she could, or gone to Celum for food, but the people here were…strange.

They were ragged yes, hungry, yes, and dirty. But they weren’t beaten. They worked together with purpose, helping to rebuild their city as the wagon trundled into the center of the city.

A man bustled up to the wagon with a few armed citizens following them. Ceria was worried how they’d react when they saw Ksmvr, but the man in charge—some former [Soldier] by the look of him, wearing thick leather armor—didn’t blink more than once.

“Adventurers? Are you escorting the wagon?”

“That’s right. Is the city…safe?”

Termin asked nervously. The men were inspecting the wagon, staring at the single door on the back of the wagon and the blankets and pillows in some confusion. The man in charge nodded.

“That’s right. We fought off the last Goblin army that attacked this place and we’re not going to let a third one get past our walls again. We’re surviving, but we need supplies. We’ve asked for help from the other cities, but Celum, Wales, Remendia…they’re all claiming the roads are unsafe to send supplies down. So until we can get help we’re on our own.”

“Oh. Is it bad?”

The soldier turned his attention to Erin. She was staring at some children hauling nails in a bucket to some carpenters. He shook his head.

“Not bad, Miss. But I’m afraid that we might have to confiscate your wagon’s cargo if you’ve got anything we can use. We’re in dire need of food, blankets—”

“There’s nothing in here, Umbral!”

One of the men shouted to the man in charge. He frowned and looked at the empty back of the wagon.

“You don’t have any food or supplies? Where’s your cargo?”

“It’s her.”

Ceria pointed to Erin and the young woman waved.

“We’re escorting her to Liscor. She’s an innkeeper, so she doesn’t have much coin. It’s a favor—”

“But we do have food! I can get some—and you can have all the blankets and pillows! I’ll get more as well!”

Out of the corner of her eye, Ceria saw Erin pointing at the door and hoped that Umbral didn’t understand what Erin was saying. Fortunately, the man just looked confused. He tried to stop Erin when she started handing pillows and blankets down.

“We wouldn’t want to take your only supplies, Miss. We’re not robbers—we’ll pay a fair price—”

“Take it, please!”

“A place to sleep would be payment enough, sir.”

Ceria interrupted Erin and she saw Yvlon pull Erin back and whisper to her. The blankets and pillows disappeared fast, and Umbral directed them to some of the sturdier buildings in the city.

“Don’t worry about your horses, or your wagon. I’ll see to it that no one tries to make off with either. You can rest assured—we’re past thievery and attacking each other here.”

He waved them on. Ceria sat back with a sigh as Erin drooped into the wagon seat beside her.

“I can’t give them clothing and food and stuff? But they need it!”

“If they knew we had a door that could open a portal back to Celum, they’d take it, Erin. I’m sorry, but we’re not going to be able to use it tonight. It’s too risky.”

“I almost want to give it to them.”

“That would be an unforgivable waste.”

Pisces glared at Erin, outraged at the very idea. She sighed, but nodded in agreement.

“Too bad. I guess I’ll stay with you. Maybe we can help fix stuff? I can clean—I’ve got a Skill. Or maybe I can cook? I guess we can’t go sightseeing. Everything’s in ruins!”

“It wasn’t once. There used to be quite a lot of buildings here.”

Ceria looked around at the ruined facades, wondering if she could see where the Adventurer’s Guild had stood. Yvlon was silent too. The last time they’d been here was an age ago, when they had all met to debate going into Liscor’s dungeon. Back then Calruz and Gerial had been alive and…

In the end, the Horns of Hammerad found themselves staying in a former inn now housing citizens alongside visitors. They had to sleep three to a room and Pisces found himself sharing a space with Termin and Ksmvr, much to his distaste. Termin opted to sleep in the stables, though, and Ksmvr agreed to go with him.

For the rest of the night Erin helped the innkeeper—an overworked, balding man who had a big scar on his right shoulder that was still healing—manage the inn. He nearly cried when he realized she could cook better than he could and happily surrendered his kitchen to her.

There wasn’t much Erin could make with what few supplies were available to the city, but she made some potatoes and deer meat into a filling stew for everyone and found herself serving a vast number of people. When word got out she could cook, more food came in with requests that she make it for this group of people, or feed this family.

In the end, Erin only got to rest with the others when it was long since dark. She sat on a table, wishing there was a place to take a bath or shower in the city and knowing there was not.

“I can’t thank you enough for your help. Your stew went down excellent and you fried that meat to perfection.”

Umbral complimented Erin. She raised a thumb up and smiled weakly.

“Happy to help. How have you all managed to survive like this?”

He looked tired, but determined.

“It hasn’t been easy. We had a lot of help, mainly from our city’s savior. Ylawes Byres and his Silver Swords.”

“Really?”

Erin saw Yvlon sit up a bit. The woman cleared her throat carefully.

“Will you tell us what happened?”

Umbral was only too happy to, and once the other citizens realized he was retelling the story they had to add their own accounts of what had happened, arguing with each other over the details.

The story was simple. After the Goblin attack, Esthelm had fallen into chaos. People had killed each other over scraps in the city and bands of thugs had fought with each other. The undead began rising since they hadn’t been buried and a second Goblin army had come to use them in some twisted scheme.

And then, Ylawes had come in, a literal knight in shining armor. He’d rallied the hearts of the people in the city and helped them fight back both undead and Goblins. With his help—and a timely rescue by a group of adventurers led by the other two members of his Gold-rank group, the Silver Swords, they’d fought the Goblin army off and begun rebuilding the city.

“Wow! Your brother is a hero!”

Erin whispered that to Yvlon as the citizens led them to a monument in the center of the city. It wasn’t a statue—that was coming, according to Umbral, but there was a plaque celebrating Ylawes and his party.

Yvlon stared at the plaque silently. She seemed…distant, to Erin. Not unhappy, but not aglow over her brother’s success either.

“He’s always been a hero. I admire him greatly, Erin. Although I wish he’d not risk his life like this.”

“I guess I understand that. But he did save everyone. And—hey, what’s that?”

There was a second monument next to the one for Ylawes. This one was a grave of all things. Erin didn’t know how she felt about someone being buried right in the center of the city, but she was struck as she stared at the plain tombstone.

“Flowers?”

The grave was blooming with flowers despite the hard soil. Erin stared at it, wondering who it was for. There was no inscription.

“Yes. It’s the strangest thing.”

Umbral explained when Erin and the others returned to the inn and asked about it.

“It marks, well, a young woman. A…hero, I suppose. She fought and died fighting the Goblins. And she was…Human. I think. That’s what Ylawes said, and so we buried her as such. Her and the Goblins who fought for her.”

“Goblins?”

“They fought against their kind. And the undead. Don’t ask me why. But if it hadn’t been for them killing that damned skeleton with the purple eyes, I don’t know what would have happened.”

Umbral didn’t notice the way all the adventurers and Erin went quiet at this. He shook his head after Yvlon asked him whether Ylawes was still in the city.

“He went north, after leaving a group of those adventurers to help guard the city. Lazy pigs they are, too, not helping at all unless there’s a monster about. Not like Sir Ylawes.”

“Did he say why he went?”

“He was looking for his sister. Some adventurer—Yvlon Byres. Apparently he heard she was wounded and came south looking for her.”

Erin bit her lip, but Yvlon just thanked Umbral and changed the topic.

“Do you think we’ll get to Liscor tomorrow?”

Erin asked Termin before they all went to sleep. The wagon driver nodded, yawning and grinning at her.

“We’ll get there before nightfall, don’t you worry. I plan on having myself a good rest before heading back north. Maybe I can supply these folks with food and supplies? I reckon I could make a good profit. I don’t suppose you have room for me and my horses in your inn, do you?”

Erin smiled widely at Termin. She gave him a quick hug, making the old man blush.

“Of course I’ve got room! You’re welcome to stay as long as you want! I can’t wait to get back.”

As everyone retired to their rooms, Erin wondered if she should ask Yvlon about her brother. But Yvlon wasn’t in the mood for talk, and so Erin eyed the bed, trying to figure out if she and Ceria and Yvlon could all squeeze in or if someone was getting the floor.

As they all squeezed in together, Erin whispered to Ceria.

“Ceria?”

“What is it, Erin?”

“Are the people here going to be okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Ylawes is gone. What if the Goblins come back?”

“They’ll fight.”

That came from Yvlon. Her voice was calm, distant, bordering on the verge of sleep.

“They survived two battles with Goblins. Every citizen in the city will have levelled from that. People will have gained classes, levelled up, learned to fight…if a city doesn’t fall, it gets stronger from each disaster.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

After a while Ceria spoke to Erin.

“Do you think Lyonette survived without you?”

Erin shifted uncomfortably—sleeping with someone else in the bed was not normal for her, but the other two women were used to company when necessary. She started to shrug and stopped before she shouldered Ceria in the face.

“She might. I just hope all the walls are standing when I get there. Oh well. Once I’m back, everything’s going to be a-okay!”

With that in mind, Erin went to sleep. The next day, the Horns of Hammerad set out for Liscor. They arrived just before evening as the sun was beginning to set.

—-

When Lyonette woke up, she knew today was going to be a busy day. That was because all of her days were busy now. But she didn’t groan or stay asleep. She just got up, smiled as she pulled the blanket over Mrsha and the Gnoll curled up into a ball, and got to work.

Now that the Wandering Inn was busy, Lyonette found that being an innkeeper, or standing in for one, was a ton of work. Rather, she’d realized how hard just keeping an inn afloat was before now, but now she worked from dawn to dusk without pause just to keep everything running.

The first thing Lyonette did was haul water from the stream. She did it before the sun had risen in the sky, swearing as she hauled the heavy buckets up the slippery, snowy hill into the inn. And then she went down and did it again.

Her new guests drank a lot of water. And while Lyonette could melt snow, it was faster to haul buckets up to get a good supply going. Then she had to rekindle the fire before she could start cooking and that took time too.

And then of course there was actual cooking. Lyonette sweated over food for the morning, but eventually made a big pot of pasta and sausage to go along with the assorted eggs, ham, and fried potatoes and boiled greens for breakfast.

It was a lot of food, but she now had many guests. And as Mrsha thumped down the stairs Lyonette saw the first of her guests come down now.

“Good morning, Mister Shivertail!”

“I told you to call me Zel. Mister and Shivertail aren’t my name at all.”

Zel Shivertail smiled at Lyonette. He sniffed the air and his tail twitched appreciatively. Mrsha’s was thumping the floorboards.

“Is breakfast ready? Don’t hurry on my account.”

“No, it’s ready! We’ve got pasta, fried potatoes, ham, eggs—Mrsha! Stay out of the kitchen!”

The Drake laughed.

“I’ll have some pasta for breakfast, why not? But first I need to use the restroom. Excuse me.”

“Oh—sure!”

Lyonette half-turned as she grabbed Mrsha to stop the Gnoll from running into the kitchen. Mrsha looked disappointed as Lyonette sat her at a table and got plates, utensils, and cups for both her and Zel.

“You sit, understand? You can eat with Zel—after you wash your paws!”

The young woman put no plate out for herself. She knew her other guests would be coming down the stairs soon, now that the smell of food was in the air. She just hoped she’d made enough!

Zel walked back into the inn with a gust of fresh air. Lyonette realized she’d forgotten to refill a bucket with water to wash with, and hurried to do that. She no longer questioned Erin anymore—

Lyonette corrected herself. She no longer questioned Erin just for being someone not born of royalty, but she had to wonder if the other girl had ever anticipated actually having guests in her inn.

Erin had a wonderfully large inn, magnificently crafted with glass windows no less, but it was missing some essential parts.

For instance, more than one outhouse. If there were more than four people living in the inn, having at least two seemed essential to Lyon, but Erin had never mentioned it. Plus, the outhouses were hardly big enough for some of her guests!

Poor Moore the half-Giant had had to find his own place to do his business for the first day, until Lyonette had talked to Pawn. The second outhouse was no bigger, but the third, temporary one was and Moore was quite happy with it.

There were nine private rooms in the inn, a very large number, but just enough for all the adventurers plus Zel, Lyon and Mrsha to sleep in if Mrsha and Lyon shared the same bed. Now that Lyon’s inn was full of guests, she found that once one person woke up, they’d all be up within the hour.

“Good morning!”

Lyonette called out as the first sleepy person tromped downstairs, lured by the food Zel and Mrsha were happily devouring together. Jelaqua Ivirith smiled slowly at Lyonette, and the girl smiled back, despite the slight chill she got when she saw that the Selphid’s host body had a bloodless open gash on her cheek.

“Good morning, Lyonette. Please don’t mind the injury. I know it’s distracting, but I didn’t have time to fix it last night.”

“Oh—it’s no problem! Would you like to have something to eat? We’ve got pasta, eggs, bacon, bread, potatoes, ham—”

“All that? I’ll have a portion of ham, then. With potatoes on the side. And can I get some of that honeyed milk? And some more honey on the side?”

“Right away!”

Lyonette bustled into the kitchen, calling out greetings as more adventurers descended. Some, like Seborn and Ulrien greeted her quietly, but others were grumpier in the morning. Revi and Typhenous looked upset to be awake; Halrac just looked grumpy.

“Good morning, Miss Lyon.”

Moore was always polite. Lyon smiled up at him and told him what was on the menu.

“Anything you can have the most of, Miss Lyon. I try not to be picky.”

That was one of the reasons why she needed so much food. Moore being half-Giant meant he ate three times as much as any of her other diners, hence her extensive preparations. But he never complained no matter what he ate; indeed, he was always polite, always seemingly grateful for the care Lyonette took to make sure he was fully fed.

Another thing Lyonette had noticed was each one of her guest’s personalities, their likes and dislikes, but also how they functioned as a group.

Griffon Hunt reminded her of the groups of elite soldiers she’d seen relaxing off duty in the palace or on the streets. Halrac and Ulrien were professionals, Halrac grumpy, Ulrien quiet and serious. Revi and Typhenous were typical mages in a sense, somewhat arrogant and condescending, not to mention picky when it came to relaxing, but equally competent at their job.

They argued a lot. Revi usually had a different opinion than Halrac, and the other two members had their own opinions. But Griffon Hunt settled their arguments by collective vote and for all their dysfunction, they were one solid team when it came to fighting.

The Halfseekers on the other hand were more like friends, and far more accepting of each other’s opinions. They had to be, Lyonette supposed. They were all outcasts in some way.

“Thank you for the food, Miss Lyon.”

Seborn nodded to her as she brought over his plate of eggs and bacon, and two pitchers of water. He drank as much as Moore ate, to keep his aquatic parts hydrated.

“No problem. Would you like more honey?”

“Please!”

Revi and Jelaqua raised their hands and then stared at each other. Jelaqua smiled and Revi looked away.

Honey was a very popular treat among all of Lyon’s guests. With Lyon too as well; sweet things were a luxury and she loved a bit of honey with bread, or in her milk, or with almost anything, really. But Jelaqua liked honey more than anyone but Mrsha and Revi. She claimed Selphids loved the stuff on Baleros.

Revi just had a sweet tooth. Lyonette came over to their table with a small gravy boat full of honey and smiled at the four adventurers.

“Everyone doing okay?”

“We’re quite happy, thank you.”

Ulrien gave her a rare smile which made Lyonette beam. Halrac just grunted and Typhenous blinked and scowled at his plate. Lyonette hesitated, and then asked a question that had kept her up last night.

“I hate to ask, but…is it Griffin Hunt or Griffon Hunt?”

“Huh?”

They looked at her. Lyon blushed a bit.

“It’s just—I’ve heard your name several times, but I kept wondering if it was spelled, uh Griffin or…”

It was Halrac who answered, with an even rarer smile. His was ironic.

“You have a good ear. We’re Griffon Hunt. Not Griffin as in the beast. We’re named after a breed of dog used for hunting, which is what we specialize in.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

Revi leaned over the table, staring at Halrac.

“But you and Ulrien used to hunt actual Griffins.”

“Yeah. But we’re named after the dog?”

“Why in the name of silk would you do that? No one I know thinks you’re named Griffon Hunt!”

“It’s a play on words. I didn’t come up with it.”

All eyes turned to Ulrien. He raised his hands.

“Not me. It was another member of our group.”

“Who?”

“She’s dead. It doesn’t matter.”

Halrac scowled, and that was it for the conversation for the day, Lyonette knew. She let the adventurers talk and troop out of the inn while she went over to the Halfseekers with a jug of milk.

“Anyone want more milk? Or honey with that? How about seconds?”

“I think we’re good, thank you Lyon.”

Jelaqua smiled again, and Lyon beamed. It made her happy that the adventurers actually smiled while staying here. She knew she had never smiled during breakfast when she was young, only complained about the food.

But both groups of adventurers were happy here. Halrac especially—he and the team of Griffon Hunt were pleased not to be spending so much coin—she’d heard him talking about how they were getting better service for a fraction of the cost ‘that damned Drake’ had charged. And the Halfseekers were happy to find an inn where they weren’t treated with suspicion or fear.

But a good inn was in the end just a place where they could be safe and sleep. Within twenty minutes of sitting down, all the adventurers were ready to go. They trooped out the doors, headed for the city or the dungeon and Lyonette cleaned up. Mrsha carried some plates too—mainly to lick them when she thought Lyon wasn’t looking—and Zel carried his dishes and Mrsha’s to the kitchen, despite Lyonette objecting.

“I’ll be heading into the city too. Would you like me to drop off a list of anything you need bought?”

“Thank you, but I think I’m good for today!”

He nodded and went out into the cold. Lyonette shivered a bit, and then got back to cleaning.

Washing dishes and getting the kitchen ready was another exhausting task. At least she only had to make food for Mrsha and herself for lunch. Sometimes she had to feed everyone then as well, which was very tiring.

Lyon had a moment to spare around midday, which made her pause and sigh in relief. Normally she’d be sorting the things she’d had bought from the city—the Gnoll Runner usually carried it up on a sled about now.

Since that fateful day when Mrsha had fallen into the dungeon—the day Lyonette thought of as a near disaster and the rest of the city thought of as a momentous occasion where a new route into the dungeon had been found—she’d been sort of unbanned from entering the city.

It was tricky. Lyonette was fairly certain that if she went through the gates, no one would stop her. The Drake [Guardsmen] certainly wouldn’t, although she wasn’t sure if the Gnolls would. Zel Shivertail’s influence had granted her some kind of pardon, but Lyon didn’t want to test it unless totally necessary, so she just sent shopping lists into the city with coin when she needed food or supplies.

Now she bought directly from Krshia, and the Gnoll came over sometimes to talk with and teach Mrsha. She rarely said much to Lyon, but she had taken a greater interest in the young Gnoll, although she’d said that she didn’t have time to teach the young Gnoll much. And as Lyonette had learned, none of the other Gnolls were willing to get near Mrsha, much less teach her.

After a little while spent resting and then more time outside, playing catch with Mrsha and letting her run about after a small ball like a dog—although this one threw the ball back—Lyonette went back inside to fix a small problem she had.

It was that she had too much food. Ironic, that. Lyon bought in bulk now, in order to feed her guests. She had the funds for it—the adventurers and Zel paid a lot to stay here and none of them were tight with their coin. But there was a finite amount of room in the kitchen pantries to accommodate all the things Lyon bought, and she wondered if there was other space in the inn.

Zel found Lyon as she was opening a room she barely knew existed. He peeked over her shoulder as she stared into a supply closet.

“What’s that?”

She whirled, jumping in surprise.

“You scared me!”

“Sorry.”

He smiled at her without exposing his teeth. Zel sat down tiredly as Lyonette peered inside the closet.

“I think this is some kind of…well, it’s too small to be a proper storage place. I wonder why it’s here. Oh, are you done with your tasks in the city?”

“For today. But there’s going to be a lot more, if all the [Message] spells I’ve been receiving are any clue. I’ve had to talk with Zevara, the local heads of all the Guilds…it’s a mess.”

Zel sighed. Lyonette wanted to go get him some tea or something stronger, but she’d spotted a small crack along the floorboards. She peered at it suspiciously.

“Is this…because of the Antinium? The new ones, I mean?”

Lyonette didn’t know much about the new Antinium that had sent Liscor into a frenzy, but she knew the one with the blue chitin had helped save Mrsha. That made Lyon trust her at least, but she had also heard the stories of the Antinium Wars and was uneasy about this sudden development. As was, it seemed, the continent.

“Yes. All the cities want to know what’s going on. They’re arguing, and it’s getting very political with Ilvriss around. But I’m also meeting to discuss the issue with of Goblin Lord and this dungeon.”

“Are you part of this city? I mean, do you live here or…?”

“No, but I feel responsible. And I try to help where I can, so I do. It’s a pain, though. Drakes can’t do anything without arguing over it endlessly, and like I said, when it gets political…”

“A lot of Human kingdoms are like that too. Or so I’ve heard.”

“Hah! At least there they don’t declare war on each other when a council member insults the Captain of the Watch’s tail. Or do they?”

“It can get pretty bad.”

Lyonette grinned ruefully as she shifted things aside. Yes, the hairline crack was there, and on purpose. She had a feeling she knew what it was and tried to pull things out of the way.

There was a sack of flour and other miscellaneous objects piled up on top of it. Zel came over and helped Lyonette shift everything out of the small space. She smiled at him.

“Thank you. Now, what’s this…?”

There was a trapdoor in the small closet. No, not a closet, but an entrance. Lyonette pulled at the ring and after a moment the trapdoor came up.

“What’s this? A basement?”

Zel and Lyon stared down the dark steps leading down into, yes, a basement of all things! Lyon was amazed—she took a few hesitant steps down and then had to cast the [Light] spell. It was one of the few she’d been taught as a child and it illuminated the very big, very empty basement.

“I had no idea this was here!”

“You didn’t?”

The Drake general walked down the steps, staring at the empty stone room. He pointed.

“Look, there’s places to store grain, shelves…this place is huge! Why hasn’t it been used?”

“I didn’t know about it! And Erin—I don’t know if she did either.”

“Erin? That’s the innkeeper who owns this place, isn’t it? Why didn’t she know about the basement?”

“I don’t think she knew. Or if she did, she might have forgot.”

“I can’t say I’m too impressed with this innkeeper of yours.”

Zel frowned as he stared around the basement. He looked sideways at Lyonette.

“She seems not to care about leaving you—and Mrsha—alone for so long, and with no coin or help, no less!”

“She does care! She’s just—distracted. And she gets into trouble, sometimes. I think she just found something—or got into a problem—and couldn’t come back. I mean, she cares a lot even if she does weird things…”

Lyonette tried to defend Erin, although she realized her arguments were less than compelling. Zel frowned, unhappy.

“I’d like to have a word with her when she gets back. She is coming back, isn’t she?”

“That’s what Selys said. Um, would you mind if I asked you to help carry some stuff down here?”

“I would be happy to help. And you can tell me more about this strange Human.”

In the end, Lyonette told Zel about Erin while they carried a good amount of foodstuffs and supplies down into the basement. He snorted when he heard about her antics with the sleigh, Toren, and all of the other incredible and insane things Erin had done.

“I’ve fought alongside people like that. Distracted geniuses, prodigies without common sense…they tend to win some battles spectacularly and get torn apart in skirmishes they should easily win. I try not to have them in positions of command if I can. They’re not reliable in a pinch.”

“Well…she did save me. And though I was horrible to her, she never gave up on me.”

“That’s a redeeming trait, not an excuse.”

Lyon didn’t have an answer to that. In the end, they closed the basement trap door and only opened it when they realized Mrsha was trapped down in there.

“I told you not to play around!”

Lyon scolded Mrsha as the Gnoll raced back upstairs. Mrsha flattened her ears, but then glanced towards the door and sniffed at the air. Lyon put her hands on her hips.

“Hungry? I guess I should start making dinner, then! Everyone’s going to be coming back and probably starving after fighting monsters in the dungeon for so long.”

“Stressed out, too. It’s a hard job they have. This dungeon is filled with traps and rooms that keep changing. Even if they can bypass some of that and get into a new area, the way down is treacherous and there’s no easy escape. They need to take things carefully and meanwhile a bunch of inexperienced adventurers are going in and getting themselves killed or finding trouble.”

Zel explained the issue to Mrsha and Lyonette as she brought him a mug of ale. He drank at it as Mrsha kept sniffing the air. Lyon was about to ask what was wrong when Mrsha suddenly sat up on her chair and howled.

It was sudden and made Lyon spin around in a panic. Zel was on his feet in a second. He stared out the window carefully, back against the wall.

“Mrsha, what is it, what’s wrong?”

Lyonette bent to Mrsha, but the Gnoll was suddenly filled with excitement. She hopped on the table and howled again, louder.

“It’s no monster. She’s not afraid.”

Zel relaxed as he observed Mrsha. Lyonette covered her ears—indoors the howling was insanely loud! Then he heard a distant howl from the city.

“Is that…Krshia?”

The other Gnoll had taught Mrsha how to howl, in some sort of Gnoll method of communicating. Lyonette didn’t know if it was the other Gnoll’s voice, but the instant Mrsha heard it she stopped howling.

“What was all that about?”

Lyon had no idea. She bent over the shards of the mug, picking them up gingerly, when she heard voices from outside.

“Oh? Are they back already?”

She started towards the door. But it was flung open before she could reach it. Mrsha leapt off the table and barrelled through it. Lyon heard a shout, a female voice, and then—laughter.

Her heart stopped and then began to beat faster in her chest. Lyon heard a female voice, a young woman’s voice, laughing, and Mrsha’s excited noises.

“Mrsha! Calm down. It’s good to see you! Please get off. Please?”

Lyonette saw a shape in the door. She walked forwards slowly, and then saw a young woman standing in the light. Erin Solstice beamed as she walked into her inn, holding Mrsha in her arms. She blinked when she saw Lyonette, and blinked twice at Zel, but then smiled at Lyon.

“I’m back! Hey Lyon, did you miss me?”

The girl, the [Princess] and [Barmaid] and single living employee of the Wandering Inn, stared at Erin in silence for a moment. Then her eyes filled with tears and she flung herself at Erin and hugged her fiercely. And as Erin yelped in surprise and the adventurers and wagon driver accompanying her exclaimed, and the Drake general inside laid eyes on the owner of the inn for the first time, word began to spread.

—-

At first it came with the howling outside the city. Few Drakes heard it, but the Gnolls raised their heads. And they heard the howl coming from Krshia, and knew.

One of the Gnolls on duty mentioned it to Relc, who flipped a table and upset the card game he was losing badly at.

“Erin’s back! Hey! Call the game off! Erin’s back! Where’s Klb?”

It spread to the Watch Captain, who sighed, put her head in her claws, and groaned.

“This is all I need.”

It was already in the marketplace. Selys jumped up and down excitedly as Krshia smiled.

“She’s back!”

Across the street, a young Drake nearly knocked over an entire display he was helping his uncle with.

“Erin’s back!? I have so much to show her!”

Lism grumbled as he watched his nephew sprint off.

“It’s just one more damn Human. Who cares?”

The Antinium cared. Pawn, Belgrade, Bird, Anand, and Garry all heard the news as one of the Workers delivered it. They unanimously elected Pawn, the only free member of their group, to go above and see her at once.

“And bring back food. Please?”

“I will. And I will be sure to petition Klbkch that we all might go visit her!”

Of course, Klbkch already knew Erin was back. He’d known the instant she passed into the floodplains around Liscor. He sighed as he stood in his small room and looked up towards the ceiling.

She was back.

“I take it this is good news?”

Xrn studied Klbkch as they sat across from one another. He nodded at her.

“Yes. Very good news. A Human girl—the innkeeper I had told you about—has returned to the city. I am afraid we must put off your discussion so that I might greet her.”

“You astonish me.”

The other Antinium’s voice was frankly shocked.

“You would put aside a conversation between us—the reason the Hives have sent their delegation here in the first place—for a single Human girl?”

“Oh yes. Because she is important.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And her presence here means…well, I believe things are going to become interesting once again.”

Xrn looked at him askance.

“You mean they aren’t already?”

“Not yet.”

“You have visitors from four Hives, a Drake [General]—Zel Shivertail no less—in the city, a Lord of the Wall and a new dungeon plus two Gold-rank teams and Humans streaming into the city while a Goblin Lord roams the countryside. And this Human is what you think will make things interesting?”

“Yes.”

Klbkch smiled. He looked up towards the surface, and wondered, for the first time in a long while, what would happen next.

“She’s back. Erin Solstice is finally back.”

3.33

Erin Solstice had returned. That phrase meant little to most people living in or around Liscor. The vast majority of Drakes, Gnolls, and newly arrived Humans did not know this young woman. They would not have cared about her returning if they did.

But it was curious that in a city that housed over ten thousand souls above ground and almost the same number underneath how many people did know of Erin Solstice. And yet, that knowledge wasn’t consistent among species. Few Drakes knew. And of those that did, only a handful were friends with Erin.

More of the Gnolls knew of the girl, if only by name. But most had never met her. They simply understood of her existence in the larger framework of ambitions, triumphs, and failures that was part of their tribe’s struggle to justify their place in the city. The Silverfang Gnolls heard the howl, but they let their leader decide what would happen next. She was still the one in charge, even if much of her authority had been lost.

And the Humans? It could be said that of all the adventurers, the ones that mattered knew Erin. Two Gold-rank teams heard the news. One group was merely interested and wondered if their place in the inn would be compromised. But the others were surprised to see one of their members, Halrac, smile.

Less than a hundred people above ground knew Erin’s face. But below the earth, the Antinium knew her name. Even if they had never seen her before, every Worker, and now every Soldier knew her. Because she was significant. She had spoken to the Queen. She had made some Individual, and she was known to the Hive’s Revalantor. She was special.

But Zel Shivertail knew none of that. All he had were his eyes, the few things he had heard about Erin, and the things he had seen. The things that she had left behind. His understanding of her was formed by absence, by seeing what she had not done and the people who knew her.

So he stopped in the center of the inn, the Wandering Inn, and saw Erin Solstice return. He heard her laughing, and then her exclamation as Lyon rushed at her.

“Whoa! Hey, Lyon! Lyonette? It’s good to see you but—are you crying?”

“You’re back!”

“I am, I am. But could you let me go? And Mrsha—”

The innkeeper was caught between the young Gnoll with white fur who was climbing all over her, and the young woman who was almost beside herself with emotion. Fear, relief, surprise—

More people crowded the doorway. A half-Elf helped pry the Gnoll off of Erin while Lyonette let go and sheepishly stepped back.

“I’m sorry. It’s just—you’re back!”

“Yeah, I am. Thanks, Ceria. And—wow, who’s this?”

The girl came further into the inn and saw Zel. She looked at Lyon and the girl hurriedly explained.

“That’s one of my—your guests! He’s staying here.”

“Guests? I have guests? You mean people are sleeping upstairs? Who?”

“Not right now—there’s actually two groups of adventurers sleeping upstairs at the moment. Every room is full—”

“What? You mean there’s no space for us?”

A male voice shouted from outside the inn, sounding outraged. The speaker stomped into the room, a Human young man in dirty robes.

“Calm down Pisces. There might be space—we could sleep in the common room. And even if there’s not, there’s plenty of room in the city. Probably.”

A female Human, a warrior by the looks of her, wearing light leather armor walked in after that. Zel noted her gear—worn material, but ill-fitting on her. Probably a new purchase. And the young man and half-Elf’s robes marked them as mages. Adventurers?

Then someone else followed the group into the inn. An ant-like creature with an armored blackish-brown carapace and three arms. Zel’s claws clenched together before he made himself loosen his grip.

Antinium. The thing made Zel want to leave, or start a fight. But he held himself back. Why was one here?

“Pardon me Captain, Erin, but Termin is asking where his horses can be rested. Is there a stable nearby?”

“A stable? Why would I have that?”

“Most inns have a stable, Erin.”

“Really? Oh yeah! Um. No, I don’t have one Ksmvr. I guess Termin’s going to have to put his horses in the city. Sorry!”

“I will convey that to him with tact.”

The Antinium walked back out. Zel couldn’t believe what he’d heard. That Antinium had a name? And it was—an adventurer?

Nothing made sense. But now the young woman was approaching him with a smile. Zel took a few steps and met her in the center of the room.

“Good evening, Miss. My apologies, I don’t believe we’ve met. My name is Zel Shivertail.”

Erin stared up at the tall Drake, blinking a few times at him.

“Whoa. You’re tall. Um. Hi. I’m Erin Solstice. I sort of own this inn, but I’ve been gone…wait, did you say Shivertail? Are you related to Selys?”

Zel’s nonexistent eyebrows rose.

“You know my niece?”

“Yeah, she’s one of my friends! That’s so weird!”

Erin stared round-eyed at Zel for a moment, and then came back to the topic at hand. She coughed a bit nervously. Zel realized he was looming a bit and tried not to. This young woman seemed, well, a lot like what he’d expected.

That was unfortunate.

“Well, I’ve been gone for a little bit. There was an uh, accident, but I’m back now! I hope Lyon—I mean, Lyonette’s been treating you well? Getting you food and cleaning the inn and stuff?”

It was a question, not a statement, and Zel noticed that too. He made himself smile at Lyon as the girl looked nervously at Erin.

“I couldn’t have asked for better hospitality while I’ve stayed here. Your employee has done an excellent job, Miss Solstice.”

“Call me Erin! And that’s great! Good job, Lyon. Let me just look around…um, make yourself at home, Zel! Ceria, Pisces, I guess put your stuff over there—I just want to check…”

She passed by Zel and he saw her enter the kitchen. Lyon followed after her, looking suddenly very anxious. Mrsha ran after both Human girls and Zel heard Erin exclaiming as he eyed the adventurers. They seemed to be discussing this new revelation near the doorway—the Human [Mage] was giving Zel the fisheye, although the Drake [General] doubted any Human would recognize him without an army at his back.

“Hey, nothing’s broken! And the inn isn’t burned down! Everything’s alright! Good job, Lyonette!”

Zel’s eyes narrowed fractionally. He glanced towards the kitchen and saw Erin come out of it. Lyon looked relieved. The girl was chattering to Erin as the young woman poked around the rest of her inn.

“I tried to keep everything like it was, but I had to put the blankets and…stuff on the ground somewhere else. I’ve been purchasing food, but I tried not to spend too much coin! Um, I kept it—”

“Yeah, cool. Did you make food? By yourself?”

“I did. It’s not very good…”

“See, I tried to teach you! Did anyone get sick? And wait—”

Erin stopped and stared at one part of the room. She hurried over and then exclaimed in horror.

“Hey! What happened to my flowers?”

She rushed over to the boxes of dirt standing at the windowsills. Zel saw Lyon grew pale. The girl hurried after Erin, wringing her hands as she tried to explain.

“I forgot. I’m so sorry. I just didn’t think of them until recently. But when I did I tried to water them, and some have started to sprout. But I found out something about the flowers. You see, when you were gone I was looking for food for the Antinium and—”

Erin interrupted the other girl brusquely. She fussed over the small yellow flowers, not looking directly at the girl. She was clearly upset, but she only bit her lip as she turned to face Lyonette.

“It’s okay, Lyon. I guess…you know what? It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have gone. I can save some of them, I think. And I mean, I shouldn’t have expected you to…well, it’s too bad. That’s all.”

There was a tone of condescension in Erin’s voice that irked Zel. She was treating Lyon as if the girl were completely incompetent. Zel remembered Lyon saying she had been a fool before, but that was not her now. And Erin didn’t see that.

“I’m really, really sorry. But I managed to use some of the dead flowers! I have more honey—I can show you!”

Lyon wanted to get Erin to follow her back into the kitchen, but the girl had turned back to the flowers.

“Honey? I’ll go see in a moment. Why don’t you uh, well, why don’t you help out, Lyon? You can get some water or something. I’ll make dinner in a bit, and then I’ll talk to all these guests…you’ve been feeding them and making beds and stuff, right?”

“But I—”

Erin turned back to face Lyon, frowning now. She took a deep breath as Lyon went still, looking uncertain.

“Look, Lyon, I’m really glad you’re not being a jerk anymore, but let me finish with this, okay? I can see…whatever it is you’ve done in a bit.”

With that, Erin went back to her flowers, checking each one for damage. Lyonette stepped back and Mrsha ran around her legs. She opened her mouth, and closed it before looking at her feet.

She looked hurt. And that was what made Zel act. He walked over, wondering if he’d regret this when he got kicked out. But he had to say it. Erin was too busy fussing over her flowers, so Zel tapped her politely on the shoulder with one claw.

“Excuse me, Miss.”

—-

Erin felt the tap on her shoulders and turned. Her heart jumped a bit in her chest as she saw the huge Drake, Zel Shivertail, Selys’ uncle, staring down at her. It wasn’t that he was a Drake, or really big that bothered her. It was more the expression of displeasure on his face.

“Excuse me, Miss.”

“Um. Hi. Can I help you?”

He was slightly scary. Maybe it was the scars, the places where his scales didn’t join together quite naturally, or Zel’s huge, muscular body. He wasn’t quite as…thick as Relc, but he was clearly a warrior as well. His green scales were tinted a bit grey, but what really distinguished him was his aura. In that, he had one.

He seemed like a rock. Or maybe it was a pillar? He projected something solid that made him hard to ignore, or forget. He wasn’t the kind of person you’d want angry with you.

But he was angry or upset with Erin, for some reason. She tried to smile at him, but he wasn’t smiling back.

“Is…something wrong?”

He was probably upset, even though he’d said those nice things about Lyon. Erin worried the girl had made a ton of mistakes while she’d been gone. True, the inn was in one piece and everything looked good, except for the flowers, but Lyonette had to have screwed up something. Had she borrowed money to keep the inn supplied? And why wasn’t Mrsha with Selys? Erin had countless questions she wanted to ask the girl in private. She had no idea why Lyonette had been silly enough to take in guests when she couldn’t cook or…or Erin wasn’t here.

“How should I put this?”

Zel stared down at her, frowning at Erin as she shifted uncomfortably. She saw Ceria looking up from her side of the room with a frown, but Erin waved a hand at her friend.

“What’s the matter? If it’s something Lyon did—I can fix it!”

“That is precisely my problem, Miss. I would ask you to please stop dismissing Miss Lyonette so casually. You do not understand what she has done, and you are acting quite rude to her.”

Across the room, the Horns of Hammerad went silent. Erin froze.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

The Drake’s eyes bored into Erin’s.

“I realize it isn’t my place to lecture you, but I cannot sit still and say nothing here. It is my understanding that you own this inn, isn’t it?”

“Um, yes—”

“In that case, why did you leave this young woman alone, without any guidance? You have been absent from your inn for weeks. While you have been gone, this young lady has had to do everything without you, and with barely more than a handful of coins. If she had not been so resourceful, she might have starved or been hurt. I trust you know she was banned from the city?”

“I—I do, but—”

There was no getting a word in edgewise, Zel rolled on, staring hard at Erin as he continued speaking.

“Lyonette took matters into her own hands. Yes, she made mistakes, but you owe her respect, not condescension. She took care of your inn in your absence. She obtained food, even stole honey from Ashfire bees. She looked after this young Gnoll—and she even rescued her when Mrsha was in trouble. She offered me a place to stay and she has kept this inn in business. I don’t suggest she has taken your place, but she deserves your respect and acknowledgment.”

When he was done, no one could speak. Erin’s gaze had gone past Zel’s—she couldn’t meet his eyes. She looked over, and saw Lyonette standing to one side, and lower down, Mrsha staring reproachfully up at Erin.

Lyonette’s face was beet red and she was avoiding looking at Zel or Erin. For her part, Erin felt her cheeks igniting. Because, although it stung and she felt a bit angry at being lectured, she knew Zel was right.

He was like a grampa, although he wasn’t as old as one. But he was like a grampa in the sense that he was reassuring, oldish, and calm—until he got mad. Then it was like Erin was a kid again, being scolded by an adult. Because she’d made a mistake and she had to be told off.

But what did she say now? The uncomfortable moment dragged on, no one speaking. Zel had folded his arms, and Erin felt like she had to speak.

But what could she say? Now that she thought about it—now that the exhilaration and relief at returning had worn off and she was thinking, she could really see that this inn was fine. Great. Extraordinary, even.

The tables were clean. The floor was clean. There was a fire in the fireplace. The dishes in the kitchen had all been washed, and the pantry and larder were full. In fact, everything was more organized than Erin had left it. Lyon had no Skills in cleaning, but she’d kept the inn clean, and found guests. And one of them had just told Erin off because she was treating Lyon like a nuisance.

Erin’s face felt way too hot. She looked at Lyon, and saw the girl glancing away. Embarrassed. They were both embarrassed.

“You’re totally right.”

Erin said that at last. She looked at Zel, and then at Lyonette.

“I’m sorry, Lyonette. I guess I thought—”

“No, no. It’s my fault. I was horrible before you left. I didn’t—you have every right to think I’d have messed things up.”

The girl interrupted hastily. She seemed so different, almost like another person. Erin had a hard time believing it. She hadn’t believed it before, which is why she hadn’t noticed. But Lyon wasn’t haughty, she wasn’t rude. She was thinner, and she looked tired, but happier than Erin had ever seen her.

And Mrsha was sitting by Lyon, clearly attached to her. Erin took a deep breath.

“I’m still sorry. You did a great job. Mister Zel here is right. I shouldn’t judge. And I’m sorry for leaving. I didn’t want to, but…you did a great job, and I’m glad you kept the inn—and Mrsha safe. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

She trailed off. Lyon looked close to tears and Erin felt a bit emotional herself. She spread her arms.

“Hug?”

Lyonette hesitated, then hugged Erin. The two girls laughed a bit, and Zel turned his head, scratching at one scaled cheek. Across the inn, Erin thought she heard Pisces make a comment, but that was followed by a yelp as Ceria kicked him.

Mrsha ruined the moment by leaping from a table and onto the two girls. She made small sounds as Erin and Lyonette yelped and laughed. The Gnoll seemed wound up by Erin’s return, and she couldn’t stop sniffing at Erin, licking her, and running about.

“Okay Mrsha, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left you too—how have you been?”

The young Gnoll stared up at Erin. She opened her mouth, paused, and then touched Erin’s leg with one paw. Erin bent down, and the Gnoll nuzzled her face. She was no dog, and there was something deep in her eyes that told Erin she understood.

“Sorry.”

Erin cuddled Mrsha, and then stood up. Zel was watching her.

“Thanks for saying that.”

He smiled, showing a few teeth.

“If you kicked me out for saying that, I wouldn’t be surprised. It wasn’t my place, but I had to say something.”

“No, it’s—”

Erin cleared her throat, embarrassed. She had to get the conversation away from this. She looked back and saw Ksmvr helping Yvlon carry the door in. Lyonette and Zel turned to stare as the door came through the doorway.

“Is that…a door?”

Erin laughed. She smiled at Lyonette and Zel.

“I’ve got some crazy stuff to show you all. Come on, Lyon. We can help everyone get the stuff off the wagon—there’s not much—and you can tell me all about what happened while you were away.”

“And the door?”

“It’s so cool!”

Lyonette caught Zel’s eye as Erin eagerly went over to the door and the adventurers. He was staring at the door and giving her a quizzical look. She shrugged, helplessly. That was Erin. But Lyonette had to smile too. She felt that same sense of strangeness around the other girl. Strangeness, yes, but also excitement, adventure, new thoughts and energy. If she had just one word for it, it would be—

Change.

—-

It was by coincidence that the Halfseekers met Griffon Hunt on the way back towards the inn. It wasn’t dinner time yet, but the Halfseekers were done with their efforts surrounding the dungeon today. Griffon Hunt on the other hand had returned early, due to Halrac hearing the news about Erin.

The two groups of adventurers nodded to each other when they met, but they were hardly inclined to strike up a conversation. They were allies for the purposes of taking the dungeon on and associates in the same line of work, but still strangers for the most part.

“I hear there’s a new innkeeper. Or rather, the old one’s come back.”

“So it seems.”

Revi nodded somewhat coldly to Jelaqua. The Selphid smiled and the Stitch-girl turned to Halrac.

“Is she really that important? Why are we returning now? Don’t tell me you like this Erin Solstice.”

Halrac looked irritable.

“No. I just want to see.”

“Fine, so long as we don’t have to pay more.”

Revi threw up her hands and walked back to talk with Typhenous and Ulrien. Jelaqua turned to the two members of her group.

“Hm. This Erin Solstice. Do we know her?”

“She’s the one who had that skeleton, remember? The one who punched that Gnoll warrior?”

Moore smiled a bit, and Jelaqua’s eyes widened in recollection.

“The one with the skeleton, right? Well, if she’ll tolerate us I’m fine with the undead wandering around. I really hope she doesn’t kick us out.”

“Hm. You did make her faint by opening your chest up, Jelaqua.”

“Damn. Was that her? Sorry, Moore, but you might not be able to get as comfy here as you hoped.”

“I’m sure she won’t be so prejudiced. Have faith.”

The adventurers reached the top of the hill, the Halfseekers arguing about what might change, Revi complaining and Ulrien and Typhenous listening. Halrac ignored the discussion and paused in front of the door. He pushed it open, and blinked.

“Hey there! Halrac!”

A young woman turned in the middle of the room, and a trio of struggling adventurers stopped wrestling with the thick wooden door to turn and look at the newcomers. Erin half-ran across the room and beamed at Halrac.

“You’re staying at my inn? Lyonette, you didn’t say Halrac was the one staying here!”

“You said you wanted it to be a surprise!”

Lyonette hurried over, smiling at Halrac and the other adventurers. They paused.

“Miss Solstice? We haven’t formally met. My name is Ulrien. I lead the team of Griffon Hunt.”

“Oh! Pleased to meet you!”

Erin started shaking hands. Revi came forwards, and Typhenous. Halrac grunted.

“My team. We’re staying at your inn.”

“I know, and that’s great. Come on in—sorry, I was in the doorway, wasn’t I? Come on in! There’s no food yet, but…oh! Are you the other Gold-rank team?”

Somewhat apprehensively, the Halfseekers stepped forwards. Erin was busy staring at Moore and Seborn, both of whom were used to the scrutiny, but the real test was Jelaqua. Erin smiled at the woman and then blinked and frowned as she saw the other woman’s deathly pale face.

“Hi, I’m Erin. Haven’t we met?”

“I believe so. My name is Jelaqua Ivirith. I lead the Halfseekers, who you see before you.”

Erin’s eyes narrowed.

“Wait a second…you’re that chest-bursting lady! The Selfad, right?”

Jelaqua nodded, not bothering to hold her breath because she didn’t need to breathe that much unless she was talking. But she was nervous, until Erin stuck her hand out, beaming.

“Good to meet you!”

Bemusedly, Jelaqua blinked at Erin’s proffered hand. She hesitated; touching a dead body’s hand was not fun for any species. But there was no way to say that in a moment, so she gingerly shook Erin’s hand. The girl shivered, but not in disgust.

“Whoa. That’s cold. Oh wait, your body is dead, right? That’s so…well, weird, but I guess Humans are weird too, right? Sorry, am I being rude? Wait, was what I said racist? Sorry!”

She smiled at Jelaqua, and then turned to Seborn and Moore.

“And you’re a half-Giant? And a…Drowned Man? Are there Drowned Women, too? Come on in! Lyonette says she makes a ton of food for you, Mister Moore. I’ll see if I can buy bigger plates. And bigger knives and forks, too! Oh, and do you need a bigger bed? I can probably get one made…”

The Halfseekers blinked as Erin talked them into the inn, showing not a hint of fear, suspicion, or even awkwardness around them. She just seemed curious and excited by the adventurers.

“Oh! And here’s my friends. That’s Ceria, Pisces, over there is Yvlon, and that’s Ksmvr…they’re the Horns of Hammerad, an adventuring team like the rest of you!”

Both Gold-rank teams turned to look at the others. The Horns of Hammerad froze, suddenly thrust into the spotlight as they fussed with the wooden door. Ceria turned red as she realized Erin was putting them on the same rank as Gold-rank adventurers, and Yvlon looked like she wanted to swallow her tongue. Only Pisces and Ksmvr seemed at ease—Pisces staring back at the other adventurers appraisingly, and Ksmvr nodding politely.

“You’re an adventuring team now? And you’ve reformed your old party, is that it?”

Jelaqua went over to Ceria, smiling as she greeted the half-Elf. Ceria nodded somewhat warily.

“That’s right. We’re a Silver-rank team. We uh, escorted Erin back to Liscor.”

“From where?”

Halrac frowned at Erin. It was Pisces who answered.

“Celum.”

“How’d you get all the way there?”

Erin debated telling Halrac, but decided to wait until she had more time.

“It’s a long story. But I’m back, and so…these are my friends. They’re going to be staying here.”

“Where? All the rooms are full.”

Revi pointed that out, glancing idly at the other adventurers. She didn’t say anything else, but the implication was clear. The rooms were full, and she wasn’t sharing with anyone. In terms of pecking order, she and the other Gold-rank adventurers far outranked a new team of Silver-rank adventurers.

Erin frowned, vexed. Already problems were popping up! She knew Lyonette had done well to get the other adventurers to stay here, but where were her friends supposed to sleep?

“I guess you guys can sleep in the common room, maybe. I mean, it’s not very private…”

Pisces looked very unhappy at the idea, and Ceria and Yvlon nodded slowly. Lyonette bit her tongue, then spoke up.

“What about the basement?”

“Basement?”

The young woman nodded, blushing as Erin stared blankly at her.

“You do have one.”

“I have a basement?”

Erin thought about this. She vaguely remembered…hadn’t the Antinium built it? She followed Lyon over to the room and blinked as the girl pulled up the trap door. Erin walked down the steps and shouted in surprise.

“I have a basement!”

She came back upstairs, shaking her head in wonder.

“The things you learn…hey Ceria, do you think you guys could sleep in a basement?”

Ceria glanced at the others and nodded.

“Probably.”

“What? It will be cold down there! And what about privacy? I object!”

Pisces complained as he stomped over to stare at the basement in disgust.

“No problem. We can totally make this work. All I need are some blankets, a mattress, curtains—I bet we could even buy some bed stands in Liscor!”

“Or we could sleep in the Frenzied Hare. Isn’t that a far simpler solution?”

Pisces sniffed as all eyes turned to him. He gestured at the door.

“The Frenzied Hare—or a more reputable inn, perhaps? It would be far more effective than sharing elbow room down there.”

“I’m afraid you won’t find many rooms, even if you do know the owner of this inn.”

Typhenous called out to the others. He gestured towards the city through one of the windows.

“There’s far too many people here. Every building, loft, and apartment in the city is getting more crowded by the minute.”

Erin laughed, making the old mage frown.

“The Frenzied Hare isn’t here! It’s in Celum!”

Everyone stared at her. Revi spoke slowly.

“Are you planning on heading north right away, then? Because if you’re going a hundred miles to sleep at a different inn…”

The other adventurers chuckled, but Erin’s eyes just sparkled. She turned to the Horns of Hammerad.

“We’ve gotta show them. Come on Pisces, is the door ready?”

He sniffed.

“The door hasn’t stopped being ready. It’s merely placement I was concerned with—”

Erin brushed past him and ran over to the door, which had been leaned against one wall. She beckoned Lyonette, Mrsha, and Zel over. The Drake stopped playing ‘catch the claw’ with Mrsha and walked over to stare at the door.

“What is it, Erin?”

The adventurers sitting or standing at the room stared in bemusement at the plain wooden door—all that is, except for Typhenous and Moore. Revi was openly yawning until Typhenous nudged her and pointed. Then she sat up straight in her chair.

The rest of the Gold-rank teams picked up on the cue, and stared harder at the door. Erin stood in front of it like a circus conductor about to unveil the biggest trick of the night.

“Alright, brace yourselves, everyone. A little bit ago, Ceria, Pisces, Yvlon, Ksmvr—they’re the Horns of Hammerad—they went into Albez with this map thing. And they found this. Well, they didn’t find this, but—”

Erin broke off as she realized she was losing her audience. She shook her head.

“Never mind. But they got this magical door. Look what it can do!”

She flung the door open, and spread her arms wide.

“It’s a portal door!”

There was no wall, behind the door. There should have been, but instead the amazed room of people stared straight into a second room, one filled with racks full of glowing potion bottles, workbenches with powdered ingredients and empty glass containers—

And sitting at one table, humming a song under her breath and putting a label on one bottle, a young woman with dark skin. She looked up, frowning at the sound of the door hitting the wall in Erin’s inn.

Octavia froze, potion bottle in hand as she saw the room full of people all staring at her. She stared at the beaming Erin, at the open-mouthed Jelaqua, at Moore, blinking down at her, and then yelped as a white shape bounded towards her.

“Mrsha, no!”

Lyonette grabbed for the Gnoll. She caught Mrsha a second before the young Gnoll could cause havoc in Octavia’s shop. The Stitch-girl slid off her seat.

“What in the name of exploding cauliflower is this, Erin?”

“Octavia! I’m back in my inn!”

The room—both rooms—erupted into sound as everyone began talking.

“Extraordinary! I can’t believe it!”

“A magical door?”

“In Celum?”

Everyone started clustering around the door. Erin stepped through and beamed at the others as Pisces tried to explain.

“Isn’t it so cool? I can go all the way to Celum just like that! And if I step back—”

She walked back through and spread her arms.

“I’m in Liscor!”

She hopped through again. Ceria frowned and opened her mouth.

“Hey Erin, that’s not the best—”

“In Celum! In Liscor!”

Erin jumped back and forth in rapid succession. Pisces turned and snapped.

“Don’t do that! You’ll exhaust the mana supply!”

“What? Oh—”

Erin half-turned to look back as Pisces as she jumped through the door again—

And the portal closed. One second the other room was there, full of noise, people—Erin could even smell them from Octavia’s shop—and then she was staring at a blank wall. Erin paused and then slowly poked the stone behind the door. Hopefully, she closed the door and opened it again.

Nothing happened. Sitting at her counter, Octavia smacked her forehead and groaned.

“You idiot.”

—-

In the minutes after the door’s mana supply ran off, there was a lot of shouting. But adventurers being used to sudden changes, no one panicked too much. Except for Mrsha. Lyonette had to lift the howling Gnoll away from the door, and reassure her all was well.

Zel sat with her at a table as Lyonette coaxed Mrsha into sitting with her. The other adventurers were still standing around the door, although now an effort was going on to bring Erin back.

“Erin’s just gone for a little bit, okay Mrsha? It’s all okay. It was just an accident—no one’s hurt!”

“That was startling, though.”

Zel remarked as he stared back at the door. He eyed it, and the adventurers who were beginning to split off, leaving only the five mages to talk about what should be done. Lyonette thought his eyes lingered for a long time on Ksmvr.

“It’s a magical door. It must be incredibly powerful if it can teleport someone so far.”

“Yes. It’s an artifact worth—I can’t imagine. But it clearly has its limits, as your boss seems to have discovered.”

He did not look impressed. Zel turned to Lyonette.

“She has a very scattered personality.”

“It was an accident. She was—um.”

Lyonette stared at the door as the mages began to argue loudly. She saw Pisces standing protectively over the door as he and Typhenous began raising their voices.

“And what, pray tell, do you have to object to in the way I altered the enchantment? You will note I barely altered the matrix—”

“By creating a portal? That’s the element of the trap, don’t you see?”

Typhenous looked irritable as he poked the door with one finger, glaring at Pisces.

“It was clearly meant to open and reveal another room—thereby teleporting the incautious to another place entirely. But such a spell isn’t meant to safeguard the user! If it had closed on that young woman’s hand or leg she might have lost it entirely!”

Pisces turned red and Ceria interjected quickly.

“It was a mistake, but the key now is fixing it. If we work together we can probably—”

“We? Let Typhenous fix it. He’s the highest-level out of all of us.”

Revi interrupted, folding her arms. Lyonette winced as Mrsha turned to look. She knew conflict when she saw it, and this was the kind of battle she was used to back home. Not physical, but social, a battle of willpower and hierarchy.

“Oh, is that so? And I take it you are an expert in enchanting magic?”

Pisces drew himself up as Ceria let out a hiss of exasperation. Typhenous stared back archly.

“Not a master, but I am well-versed in it from years of practice and time spent in dungeons. I was educated in the college of magic in the capital city of Pheron for twelve years. And you are…?”

“Pisces. I, and Ceria here, are graduates of Wistram.”

Revi and Typhenous blinked. Revi looked frankly incredulous—Typhenous muttered what looked like a spell under his breath.

“You two?”

“Correct.”

Pisces stared unflinchingly back while Ceria mumbled something in agreement. Typhenous nodded slightly to Revi, and her demeanor changed.

“Well…we might not be Wistram mages, but I was tutored by an expert. We’ve got the experience here—we’ll alter the enchantment on the door before we draw the girl back.”

Pisces’ eyes flashed.

“I am fully capable of doing any needed configuration myself. Your assistance would be useful—”

“It needn’t be a competition.”

The deep voice came from Moore, making all the other mages pause. He had been quiet, but now he looked disapprovingly around at the other four mages.

“We are all experts in some way, aren’t we? I have never been to Wistram, although I have dreamed about studying there. But since none of us specialize in enchantments, let us pool our knowledge.”

“It’s not a question of pooling, Moore.”

Typhenous looked unhappy as he glared at Pisces.

“As I was saying, the enchantments need reworking. If you look at how much magical energy this door drained from just a few moments of being active—”

“My spells did nothing to inhibit the costs! Ceria, back me up here.”

“Let’s all calm down and—”

Across the room, Ulrien and Halrac sat together with Jelaqua and Seborn. They were used to mages, and as such, gave them room. Jelaqua stared at Ceria and Pisces, looking thoughtful.

“Wistram mages?”

Seborn nodded.

“It seems as though they are. Typhenous was surprised. I wonder why?”

Ulrien spoke quietly.

“Probably because he didn’t believe it. I’ve heard Wistram mages are a cut above most other mages, even at lower levels.”

“Well, we knew Springwalker was good. Her team might be important to watch. More importantly, where the hells did they find that door? I heard them mention Albez, but I heard that ruin was tapped out decades ago!”

“Why not ask?”

Lyonette saw the Gold-rank adventurers get up and begin talking with Yvlon, who looked overwhelmed to be speaking with so many higher-ranking adventurers. She turned to Zel.

“It looks like there’s a lot of competition.”

The Drake nodded.

“Adventurers work together, but they also compete for the same things. These groups seem pretty mellow, actually. I’ve seen things get ugly fast, although it might come to that if the mages don’t cooperate.”

“I’ll do something about that.”

Determinedly, Lyon stood up, letting Mrsha hop off her lap. Erin might be back, but Lyon could still be useful. The Gnoll followed her into the kitchen and in a few moments, came out chewing something in her mouth.

Lyon came out a few moments after that, holding a platter with cut cheese, some sliced bread, and sausage all sliced up. She approached the angry mages, holding the smorgasbord out in case someone cast a spell. They ignored her until she raised her voice tentatively.

“Excuse me. Would anyone like something to eat? Or drink?”

The bickering mages looked up. Like magic—a different kind of magic than was being argued over here—they stopped fighting as all fives mages eagerly grabbed the snacks off of the plate. Moore, who hadn’t really been that confrontational to begin with, smiled gratefully as Lyonette handed him a block of cheese she’d sliced into two parts and half a sausage on a plate of his own.

“Hm. Oh, thank you, my dear.”

Typhenous smiled at Lyonette, and Ceria and Pisces remembered they hadn’t eaten since breakfast as they shoved food into their mouths. Lyonette hurried back into the kitchen, and in a few minutes everyone was sipping from mugs and speaking far more calmly to each other.

“Yes, I see. I suppose we can simply concentrate our mana together to reactivate the doorway until a better solution can be found.”

Typhenous brushed some crumbs off his beard and nodded at Pisces. The young man inclined his head as well.

“How would you like to focus it? Neither Ceria or I have a focusing agent—”

“My staff would work well. Allow me.”

Moore gently raised his staff and touched the door as he put his plate on one table. Typhenous nodded. He reached out and grasped Moore’s other hand. Revi stood by Typhenous’ side; she linked hands with him.

“A good old fashioned link-up, is it? I haven’t done one of these in ages. Do they do these in Wistram?”

“Not much. They have fancy crystals that let mages link up at a distance. I once saw a mage eating in the banquet hall while he helped power a spell two floors up.”

Revi snorted as Pisces took her hand. Ceria offered her skeletal hand to Pisces, he took it, giving her a bemused look. She shrugged.

“Better conductivity.”

“Just so long as you don’t expect the rest of us to do a blood link.”

“Hah!”

The other adventurers, Lyon, Zel, and Mrsha all watched as the mages grew silent. Lyonette had to pick up Mrsha to keep her from wandering over; she had a feeling serious magic was being done.

If it was though, it only took moments and, disappointingly, had no colorful effects or sounds to accompany it. The mages let go and Moore carefully pulled the door open.

“I’m telling you, you’re not going to get it open even if you pour a thousand mana potions on it. Put that down!”

“How do you know? It might work. Let me try one!”

Octavia’s shop appeared in the doorway again, as if nothing had happened. Erin and Octavia were caught in the center of the shop, fighting over a green bottle. They paused and turned to the door.

“Oh hey, the door works.”

“You did it!”

Erin leapt through the door and beamed at the mages. They stepped back, looking slightly weary.

Revi flicked a bit of sweat off her forehead.

“That thing’s a mana sponge. No wonder it can’t run for more than a minute at best.”

“Thanks, guys!”

Erin beamed at the others, and then pointed at the door.

“Will this thing last for a while?”

“Longer than last time, if you don’t exhaust it by moving back and forth again.”

Pisces sat back into a chair and reached for another piece of cheese. Typhenous nodded.

“You have a wonderfully powerful artifact here, Miss Solstice. I would love to talk to you about it—and with you adventurers, if you have the chance. Perhaps over dinner?”

“Dinner! That’s right!”

Erin turned to the window in horror as she realized how late it was getting. She called out to Lyonette as the girl hurried over.

“Lyon, we’ve got to start making food! Tons of it!”

“I’ve got a bunch of it in the pantries, but there’s more in the basement. Should I…?”

“Great! Bring up whatever you need—I’ll start cooking! I’ve got [Advanced Cooking]!”

That made all the adventurers in the room, and Zel, sit up. Mrsha’s ears perked and the young Gnoll crept towards the kitchen to wait.

“Aw, you’re making food? Close the door before I smell it!”

Octavia groused to Erin as the girl began listing food for the appreciative crowd and accepting suggestions for what she should cook. Erin turned and smiled at Octavia.

“Why don’t you join us?”

“Join you?”

“Why not? Come on, lock up your shop and have a meal! You can talk to these guys while you wait—did you know everyone here’s an adventurer? Well, besides Zel and Mrsha and Lyonette—but these guys are Gold-rank adventurers?”

“Gold-rank adventurers?”

Octavia didn’t exactly teleport, but she was through the portal door in a flash. She offered a brown bottle filled with liquid that looked like it had tiny glowing fragments swirling around inside of it to Revi.

“Mana potion?”

“What? No, I don’t need—”

Revi tried to decline, but Octavia pushed the bottle into her hands.

“Free of charge. Complimentary. In fact, let me throw a stamina potion in as well. Have you tried my wares? Octavia’s the name. Please consider using my products if you’re ever in the area. I’d be happy to custom-brew anything you happen to need. In fact, I have a new line of defensive potions and items you might be interested in. Are any of you [Rogues]? I have this wonderful Smoke Sack—that’s what I’m calling it—that has incredible potency for the price. Let me just find you a sample…”

She began her sales pitch and Erin laughed as she walked into the kitchen. The night had gotten off to a bumpy start, but now? Now she felt like everything was beginning to be right.

More than right, in fact. Perfect. Lyonette was in the kitchen, already spreading out food on the countertops. She turned to Erin, looking pleading.

“Can I help? Or at least watch? I’ve got the [Basic Cooking] skill now, actually. I’m still no good, but—”

Erin smiled at the other girl and put a hand on her arm. She grinned, and after a moment Lyonette smiled back. In her corner, Mrsha smiled too, and stared at the food as she waited for the right moment to pounce.

Erin grabbed a knife. She had a feeling she’d need to make a ton of food tonight.

“Let’s get cooking.”

—-

Klbkch walked up towards the inn on the hill outside the Liscor, ignoring the cold snow that crunched around his uncovered feet. The Antinium didn’t have much use for clothes, but they were aware of their bodies’ inability to regulate extreme temperatures. Thus, Klbkch kept moving and only stopped in front of the door.

He hesitated. It would be good to see Erin again. But there was so much to talk about! What should he say?

Greetings first. Klbkch knocked and then wondered if he should have brought a gift. Wasn’t that customary after a long time?

Too late now. The Antinium waited, heart pounding a bit faster. He had so much that needed to be said, but perhaps it was Ryoka he should talk to? And yet, Erin was vital in so many ways…

After a moment, Klbkch realized no one had come to answer the door. He listened, and realized there was noise coming from inside. A lot of it.

Cautiously, Klbkch opened the door. A wave of sound, heat, and movement nearly overwhelmed his senses.

The inn was packed! Or at least, it was fuller than he had ever seen it. Klbkch walked into the room and saw Lyonette going from table to table with plates, carrying mugs, and Mrsha skulking between table legs, searching for scraps and occasionally stealing some from plates.

The room was filled with people Klbkch knew, and many people he didn’t. Griffon Hunt, the Halfseekers, and the Horns of Hammerad were occupying one section of the room, talking, arguing, laughing loudly. Across from them, a group of Humans and one Drake were eating, laughing and occasionally getting up to make some kind of speech. Klbkch was sure he’d never seen them in Liscor. Why was there a child with them? He was sitting with the female Drake.

And then—there was Selys, Krshia, a dark-skinned young woman he didn’t know and…Pawn? The Antinium looked up and paused when he saw Klbkch. He was sitting with the Gnoll and Drake—and Ksmvr, of all beings. Klbkch knew he shouldn’t have been surprised to see Ksmvr, but he hadn’t expected the two Antinium to be sitting together.

Ksmvr froze when he saw Klbkch, but Klbkch ignored him. He saw Zel Shivertail, making his way over to the table with the adventurers. The Drake froze when he saw Klbkch, and then kept walking, stiffly.

So many people. But where was Erin? Klbkch looked around and then saw her. She was coming out of the kitchen. He made towards her instantly.

“Erin.”

“Klbkch!”

She greeted him the instant she saw him. Erin beamed and hugged Klbkch—he hugged her back, gingerly.

“How have you been? No, wait—it’s good to see you! Do you want something to eat? Let me find you a place to sit!”

“Actually, Erin. I was hoping to converse with you about—”

“Sure, sure! But later, okay? I’ve got to keep serving—”

“Hey Erin!”

Some raised his voice. Klbkch saw a man get to his feet unsteadily. He waved in Erin’s direction.

“You have to give—show us again how to do the chant! The one with the [Witches]! We can’t decide how it should be performed.”

“Oh, that one? Just a second!”

Erin called out and smiled at Klbkch, looking distracted.

“That’s from Macbeth. It’s a play. Oh, wait, you don’t know what a play is. I’ll explain it in a bit—just wait and I’ll get Lyonette to bring you some fried bee!”

She ran off before Klbkch could say another word. Forlornly, the Antinium stood in place, staring around the room.

“Hey, Klb. Over here.”

Someone addressed him by name. Klbkch turned, and saw Relc sitting by himself at a table. The Drake grunted as Klbkch sat down. He had a huge bowl of corned beef in front of him, and three tankards. He drank from the fourth as Klbkch stared at him.

“Noisy, isn’t it?”

“It is unusual. I did not expect to see you here.”

“Why? Because I’m a Goblin-hating jerk?”

“Yes. Did Erin react negatively towards your presence?”

“I think she was too busy to get mad.”

The Drake stared moodily at his food.

“She said hi. And she didn’t kick me out. I guess that’s good, right?”

Klbkch nodded. There was so much sound here! He was used to noisy taverns and inns—it was practically their only state of being. But not here. This was different. And he wasn’t sure he liked it.

“Bee? Someone wanted—oh, hello Klbkch!”

Lyonette bustled over, a bee on a plate. She handed it to Klbkch and turned back to the kitchen. The Antinium stared at the bee, and realized he was hungry. As he ate, he spoke to Relc.

“You seem morose. Why? You being allowed to stay here seems to be a positive thing.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Relc picked at his food. Klbkch crunched one of the bee’s legs in his mandibles, savoring the honey and butter coated onto the insect.

“It’s just…I feel like we’re not her guests, anymore, y’know? I mean, we’re guests here and we pay and get fed—and this is good grub, but we’re not her guests anymore. We’re just guests.”

“I see.”

Klbkch looked around the room. He looked at countless faces, all of whom knew Erin by name, and felt a sense of isolation in his chest.

“I feel the same way.”

“See? It’s not just me!”

Relc drained his mug. He waved for Lyonette to bring him another—and had to keep on waving because Lyonette was busy.

“I guess we didn’t know what we had. But remember when Erin was just by herself? We could come in at any time and she’d be sitting with us…”

“It was pleasant.”

Klbkch nodded as he tore pieces off of his bee. Relc smiled.

“Hah. Remember the pasta?”

“I do.”

“And now—well, now I can look over and see old man Zel sitting right there. Zel Shivertail. The Tidebreaker himself. Eating in this inn. It’s crazy.”

Klbkch nodded silently. He knew that Relc knew of his past history. Klbkch was as famous as Zel. More famous. At least among his own kind. But the extent of that fame was diluted among other races. Relc had only known him as Klbkch the Slayer at first. It was not the same.

“And over there—two teams of Gold-rank adventurers. Gold-rank. You barely see them in the best inns in big cities, and there are two staying here. I could take any one of them on by myself, of course—”

“Of course. Understand I merely say this to act as a friend, not because I believe your combat skills are that advanced.”

“—Shut up, Klb. But I mean, look at them.”

Relc lapsed into silence. Then he dug into his bowl with a spoon and munched down some beef. He wiped at his mouth, looking dispirited.

“Reminds me of when I was back in the army. It reminds me…nah, never mind. I just sorta feel like I’m out of shape, y’know?”

Klbkch nodded.

“I understand your sentiments.”

“I don’t. But I feel out of place and very worthless.”

The two looked over as Olesm collapsed into a seat next to them. The smaller Drake looked despondent as his light blue tail curled up around his chair leg. He slumped forwards onto the table, holding a nearly-empty mug in one claw. Olesm stared at the two guardsmen.

“Mind if I sit here?”

“Go ahead.”

“You appear to be sitting already.”

“Thanks.”

The Drake sighed, long and loud. Relc poked him with a claw.

“What’s eating you?”

“I wanted to talk to Erin, but she’s busy. And there are so many people here—I feel like I’m not important anymore. I mean, to her. Not that I thought I was—I just want to talk to her, okay?”

“Join the club.”

“Indeed.”

The three sat in silence. The food was good, the company was acceptable, but Erin wasn’t here. Or rather, she was close, but too busy.

After a while, Klbkch spoke.

“It is unseemly to sit and be depressed because of Erin’s good fortune. I believe we should mingle and enjoy ourselves. We will be able to converse with her in time.”

“Mingle? And do what?”

Relc looked annoyed. Klbkch stood up.

“Let us find out.”

Relc exchanged glances with Olesm, but then they stood and entered the party. And it was a party.

“Look at this door! Look at this door!”

Five minutes later, Relc was drunk, laughing, and having the time of his life. He was throwing pieces of bread through the door—which had been laid flat on the ground—into Octavia’s shop, trying to land it in Wesle’s mouth. Thus, he was actually tossing the bits of bread down onto the door’s entrance, whereupon they flew out of the doors sideways, aiming for Wesle as he lay on the floor in front of the enchanted door.

The physics involved created a far trickier game than normal, and the others crowded around the door were laughing.

“Stop making a mess in my shop!”

Octavia was shouting at Relc, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“You play so well! Have you been practicing?”

Olesm was dueling Pawn in one corner, and Typhenous, Ulrien and several other people were busy learning the game or playing it as well. Klbkch, standing to one side and eating his sixth bee, saw Erin move over to the game as if attracted by a magnet.

“Hey, I didn’t know you wanted to learn how to play, Lyonette!”

The girl blushed as she carefully placed pieces on the board. Her opponent, Krshia, was thinking hard as she scratched Mrsha by the ears. The Gnoll sat next to her, nibbling on some cheese, her belly round and full.

“Why don’t I teach you all how to play Go sometime? It’d be great!”

Erin was talking to Olesm and Pawn as Klbkch came over. Olesm looked confused.

“Go?”

“It’s a board game! Even more complex than chess! And it’s simple to make—well, sort of simple! I bet we could get a [Carpenter] to fix up a board for us in less than an hour!”

Erin shouted as she tried to explain the game. Olesm and Pawn crowded around Erin, and Klbkch couldn’t help but draw closer to listen too. Erin tried to share the general details of the game, but it was impossible to share everything in the noisy room.

“Later! We can do it later! I know how to play Shogi too…but I can’t remember what all the kanji on the pieces looks like so it’d be weird. But right now—does anyone want to play a game?”

“Me! Oh, me!”

Olesm practically begged Erin for the first game, and Pawn the second. Klbkch found himself playing Erin—but at the same time as she took on Typhenous and Olesm again.

And then—the party kept going. Some people had to sleep earlier, like Mrsha who was carried upstairs by Krshia, and others, like Jasi, left with her younger brother Grev because it was late. But no matter how many people left, Klbkch found that Erin was always talking to someone.

It was true, what Relc had said. Erin was no longer just his friend. Klbkch found that knowledge slightly painful.

He ran into Zel just once. The Drake had avoided him and all the other Antinium, choosing to hang out with the Humans, or other drakes in the room. But they bumped into each other while going to the bar for another drink.

“Zel Shivertail. Please excuse me.”

The Drake [General] stared at Klbkch with open hostility.

“Why do you know a Human [Innkeeper], Slayer?”

“I could ask you the same question. Coincidence, perhaps?”

“She seems like a decent enough Human, as they go. Foolish, young…but we were all young once. At least, I was. What I don’t understand is why she’d ever befriend the Antinium.”

Klbkch shifted. He was armed with his swords of course, but he had no desire to fight here. Especially because he would die in an instant. Well, it wasn’t the death that bothered him, but the time it would take to revive.

“I do not wish to engage in hostilities here.”

“I won’t break the truce. But I don’t have to pretend to like you.”

Zel turned and walked away. Klbkch let him go. After a while, the Revalantor walked out of the inn, leaving some coins behind on a table for Erin. He stood outside on the snowy hilltop and decided to wait.

—-

Lyonette had never been busier, and in a way, never been happier than tonight. She was running about, serving tables, acting like a common peasant in short. But this peasant was leveling. And this peasant was liked.

By Drakes. By Gnolls. By the Antinium, even. Some part of Lyon still thought of Drakes as warmongering monsters, and Gnolls as overgrown dogs. But it was a part of her that Lyon knew was stupid. When she had been starving, a Drake, Olesm, had brought her food. And she loved Mrsha.

And she also loved this inn. There was electricity in the air that night, a charged room that kept everyone up long, long into the night. In fact, it was closer to morning when the last people staggered out and the adventurers went upstairs—or down into the basement—to sleep.

Lyonette found herself dozing at one of the tables, trying to pile dishes while her eyelids drooped. Erin yawned as she made her way over.

“You sleep. I sleep. Tomorrow we’ll…”

The sentence never finished. Erin just sort of wandered off.

“Here.”

Someone took the plates away. Lyonette looked up and saw Zel smiling at her.

“You’re awake?”

She said it stupidly. Zel grinned.

“What can I say? I like parties, and I’m used to staying up days without sleep.”

“Oh.”

Lyonette turned and looked upstairs. It seemed like a long way to go. Zel chuckled.

“Need a tail? Or—claw? What is it you Humans say, a hand?”

“Something like that.”

The girl grinned at Zel as she saw, out of the corner of her eye, Erin wandering into the kitchen. The Drake frowned as he looked in that direction.

“Is she going to sleep there?”

“She used to.”

Sure enough, the two heard a thump and then faint snoring as Erin immediately fell asleep. Zel shook his head and Lyon grinned.

“She’s a good…good…”

“So you say.”

He started helping Lyonette towards the stairs. But she paused as she put her foot on the first step.

“Something’s happening. Something is…weird…”

Zel paused. Then he frowned.

“Yes. I can feel it too.”

He turned. Lyonette shivered, and looked towards the fire. But it was still hot—and she realized she wasn’t shivering in cold, but rather trembling. The room was shaking.

“What…?”

“Earthquake?”

Zel looked around, ushering Lyonette towards a table. She stumbled towards it, but then realized something was wrong.

“No—look!”

She cried out as she pointed towards the walls. Zel turned and swore. The walls were trembling as well, and—glowing.

“What in the name of the Ancestors is happening?”

Lyonette held onto a table as she heard voices from above. People were waking back up, and stumbling around. She turned, and tried to run for the stairs.

“Mrsha!”

The light grew stronger. Lyonette cried out in fear, and then, suddenly, everything stopped. It was as if the world had been pushing, shaking as it moved towards something. But now the world had reached its conclusion. The inn returned to normal. The walls grew dark and still.

But it was not the same inn of a moment ago. Lyonette’s legs shook as she steadied herself on the staircase railing for support. She stood up, and stared around the room. Zel stared back.

“What—what happened? I feel…”

Something was different. It was in the air, in the walls, even in the ground. The atmosphere in the inn suddenly felt charged to Lyonette. Zel just stared at her, uncomprehending.

“Why did the shaking stop?”

“I don’t know. But can’t you feel that?”

He shook his head.

“Feel what?”

Lyonette stared at him. He couldn’t feel it, but she could. Untrained as she was, she could feel it in every particle she breathed, every step she took as she walked across the floor of the inn. She raised her hand and concentrated.

“[Light].”

An orb of light drifted upwards from her hand. It glowed deep blue, and then shifted to a murky green; the color of the ocean depths that she had seen only once before. It was just an orb of light—

But it was far larger than it should be. As the ball of light flew upwards, it expanded, turning into a sphere, a tiny green planet of its own. And more orbs of light rose upwards as well, from the ground, the tables, hovering in the air, a constellation of slowly shifting lights.

“What is it?”

Zel stared wide-eyed at the lights. He looked back at Lyonette, but she was pale-faced too. She had never cast a spell like this before. This—was closer to [Illumination], a spell far beyond her. But all she had cast was [Light].

“What is it? How is this happening?”

“I don’t know. But I can feel it. It’s…everywhere.”

“What is?”

Lyonette held one of the softly glowing orbs out. It turned pure white, and she breathed the words.

“Magic.”

—-

And she woke up, in the moments before the sun rose. Erin sat up as Lyonette and Zel stood in the common room. She stared at the glowing lights floating in her inn, and heard the words, the words that thundered in her mind.

[Innkeeper Level 30!]

[Conditions Met: Innkeeper → Magical Innkeeper Class!]

[Skill – Inn: Magical Grounds obtained!]

[Skill – Inn: Field of Preservation obtained!]

“Wow.”

3.34

It was still dark, still quiet, when the door of the inn opened. It was not night. But it was not day either. This was the brief moment before dawn, the quietest, most empty time. The sun had not risen, but the sky was no longer quite as black.

The door to the inn slowly opened, and someone came out. They moved very slowly; the rest of the inn was completely asleep at last, an hour after all the magic had occurred. As it turned out, even something as dramatic as an inn becoming a magical inn couldn’t keep people awake that much longer.

But the lone figure was still up. It closed the door and then peered upwards at the side of the inn.

This is what someone would have witnessed if they were waiting outside. A slight scraping sound, the sound of indrawn breath, scuffling. The figure climbed up onto the roof of the inn, muttering as snow cascaded down around them. But in the end, they were on top, and then quiet crunching followed their slow movement across the top of the inn.

A small flurry of snow swirled downwards as a small patch on the rooftop was cleared. After a few more seconds, the figure sighed as she took a seat, letting her legs dangle over the edge of the roof. Only then did she speak.

“Oh, hey Klbkch. I didn’t see you down there.”

Klbkch stepped out of the darkness and away from the wall he’d been standing next to. He nodded up at Erin Solstice.

“Good morning, Erin. I hope I did not alarm you?”

“I was about to scream, or throw something. I nearly had a heart attack. But why are you out here?”

“As a matter of fact, I was hoping to speak with you. But I did not anticipate you coming out here so early in the day. Or rather, late at night.”

The two spoke very quietly, their voices swallowed up almost immediately by the snow and night. But now Erin’s voice was filled with quiet amusement and astonishment.

“What, you were going to wait outside all night? That’s so weird. Why were you waiting? Come on up!”

It took Klbkch only a few moments to leap upwards and pull himself onto the rooftop. He was far more agile than Erin and stronger, too. She moved over and he sat next to her. Erin was still warm from the inside; Klbkch seemed like a cold block of ice.

“Was it something really important? You could have just woken me up.”

“No. That would be discourteous. And my issue was not so pressing…I simply found talking to you last night to be difficult, so I decided to wait outside while I determined what exactly I should say.”

“Oh.”

Erin fell silent. She turned her head and looked at Klbkch. He sat still, not shivering, more like a statue than a living thing.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to talk. I really am glad to see you. It’s just I had so much to do…”

“I understand. And the fault is mine for expecting complete attention.”

“No it’s not. We’re friends.”

“…It is good that you are well, Erin. Your departure was alarming as it was mysterious.”

“Yeah. It was.”

Erin exhaled slowly, letting a small trail of vapor fly upwards. Klbkch watched it dissipate.

“I am told your skeleton was the cause.”

“Yeah. He was.”

“That is regrettable.”

“Yeah.”

Klbkch was used to maintaining both sides of a conversation. He had worked with Relc for years and was used to the Drake’s moodiness. But with Erin, he found it was easiest to wait. Or rather, he wanted to wait and hear what she had to say rather than talk.

“You know, I was surprised by Lyonette. She really changed while I was gone.”

“It was dramatic, certainly. I was not aware of her transformation until this point.”

“She really did do a whole lot. She helped save Mrsha, took care of the inn—she even learned how to steal honey from those evil bees. By herself! And she got me new guests to stay at my inn.”

“The Gold-rank adventurers are certainly a boon.”

“Yeah. I’m glad they’re my guests. But that Zel Shivertail guy? He’s important too, isn’t he?”

Erin’s face turned to Klbkch. He couldn’t see her exact features in the dim light, but he saw her eyes meet his. He knew what question was coming, or thought he did. If it were anyone else, Klbkch might have hesitated or considered an untruth or partial truth. But with Erin he just nodded.

“Yes. He is a Drake [General]. A famous one.”

She shrugged as if that made no difference. Erin stared out at the walls of Liscor to the west. They were gray, imposing, a darker blob of color amid all the snow.

“He doesn’t like me. He thinks I’m irresponsible, silly, and sort of a jerk. Which is fair. But he hates you, Klbkch. I mean, really hates you.”

Klbkch stirred, looked at Erin.

“You could tell?”

She just smiled a bit.

“It was obvious. I saw him look at you a lot while I was serving food and chatting. The innkeeper sees everything, after all. Just like the butler, the maid, and the kids. It was obvious he didn’t like you—or Ksmvr or Pawn. And you—were the two of you enemies? In the war, I mean?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

The two paused, and then the conversation moved on. Klbkch looked at Erin, but saw very little behind her calm, somewhat tired expression. He didn’t know how she felt and was…afraid…to ask.

“There were many guests in your inn. I take it these were all acquaintances?”

“From Celum, yeah. It was good to see them, although they did get a bit crazy and trash Octavia’s shop. I was happy to see they were all doing well.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes. Jasi’s doing well. So is Grev, which is great. I mean, he’s not stealing anymore and he looks halfway cute now that he’s cleaned up. Even if he has a big nose.”

“I see. Will you tell me who Jasi and Grev are?”

“Oh—right. You don’t know.”

Erin looked sideways at Klbkch. He stared back. She smiled, and the night lit up a bit.

“There’s so much that happened. I mean, I know there’s a lot that happened with you over here—adventurers and dungeons and new Antinium and stuff. But would you like to hear what I did?”

“I believe I would.”

The two sat on the roof and talked for a while. It was the first conversation they’d had that was really between the two of them just catching up. Talking. Briefly, Erin told Klbkch the story of how she’d started putting on plays in Celum. Klbkch listened, nodding a few times and trying to imagine this strange activity Erin was performing.

“Such performances sound quite extraordinary, not to mention profitable. I would like to witness one if the occasion permits. Indeed, the city of Liscor may be receptive to such activities as well.”

“Would your Queen like it, do you think? Would that be one of the things which helps your Hive—putting on a play for her?”

He paused. And then he shook his head.

“I do not believe she would care to view a play. And if she did, I do not think she would understand it.”

“Really?”

Klbkch nodded.

“There are many things my people do not understand.”

“Like what?”

“Friendship. Laughter. Happiness. Ambition. Joy. Tears.”

“Really? You don’t understand tears? I mean, I know the Antinium don’t cry, but you don’t understand them?”

“I understand it is an action meant to express sadness. I do not understand why those who weep feel better after having done so.”

“I guess it’s because being sad helps. And crying is very sad.”

“Intriguing.”

“Isn’t it? Us Humans are so intriguing. Except that I think Antinium are way more interesting.”

“That is a rare perspective.”

“I know. A lot of people don’t like the Antinium. Well, everyone, really. When I was in Celum I heard terrible things. And I’ve been told you guys are evil by all kinds of people. You know Lady Magnolia?”

“I know her, yes.”

“She doesn’t like you.”

“I am aware.”

Klbkch felt Erin looking at him again.

“Klbkch, will you promise me to tell the truth if I ask you an important question?”

“…Yes.”

The Antinium closed his mandibles slowly. He gripped the tiles on top of the roof, hard enough to crack one slightly as Erin stared at him. At last, she asked.

“What do the Antinium want? Really want, I mean?”

“To live. We want to live.”

“Oh.”

The two sat in silence as the sky grew a bit brighter. Just a bit. Erin shivered and mumbled about bringing a blanket. Klbkch sat in the cold, feeling it chill his entire body.

“If you guys want to live so badly, do you think you could live in peace? Not go to war, I mean? Be…nice to other nations?”

“It is doubtful.”

“Why?”

Klbkch shifted in his seat, dislodging more snow.

“Understand I speak of all the Hives, not just my own. I may be unfamiliar with recent events that have transpired, but I understand the way the Queens think. For them, peace is a strange concept. We do not think in terms of peace and war. We simply build up to wars, the next conflict. We have only known war, never peace.”

“So this isn’t peace. You’re really planning on going to war?”

“Some Queens are. Others think we should ally against our true enemy.”

“Who? Wait, what about your Queen? Would she be friends with the Drakes and Gnolls and Humans?”

“I do not believe she knows how.”

“Really?”

“Yes. She does not understand friendship any more than I do.”

“But you’re friends with Relc, aren’t you?”

“I am his partner. And I have been so for years. I have accompanied him on many occasions, and yes, I consider myself his friend. But I do not understand how I came to be one. And my Queen has no friends.”

He heard Erin take in a slow breath.

“Not even you?”

“Not even me. What we have is different.”

It was more than five minutes before anyone spoke next. Klbkch could see Erin’s eyes and head drooping. She was tired. So was he, but neither moved to get out of the cold. At last, as the sky grew brighter, foreshadowing the dawn, Erin stretched. Then she stood up. She stood on the roof of her inn and stared around the wide, open plains filled with snow. Everything was motionless, as if she was looking at a painting rather than reality.

“The world’s gotten a lot bigger, Klbkch. I know it’s usually the opposite way around, but I feel like every time I think I understand things, it turns out I don’t really get anything at all.”

Erin paused, and stared at the cold, pale snow stretching in every direction around her.

“…Or maybe it’s that I was looking at the wrong things to begin with. Does that make sense?”

Klbkch shook his head.

“Not at all. Your statement was quite incomprehensible to me.”

“Well, good. I don’t think I understand it well myself. What I’m trying to say is—did you know I leveled up last night?”

“I noticed an odd phenomenon around your inn and surmised this was the case, yes.”

“I got to Level 30. I’m a [Magical Innkeeper] now. My inn is also magical, or it has a lot of mana in it.”

“Congratulations. This is a great accomplishment.”

Klbkch inclined his head to her. Erin smiled a bit, and then grew serious.

“Yeah. It’s great. But—it’s strange.”

“How so?”

She spread her arms wide, turning to take in her inn and everything around it.

“Just look, Klbkch. I’ve got so much now. A new inn, a magical inn, a helper, friends, guests, a lot of money—even a magical portal door. And that’s great, it really is. But it’s not as important anymore as it used to be. Money’s just…money, now. What’s important is something else.”

“And will you tell me what that is?”

“People. We went past Esthelm on the way here, did you know? It was attacked by Goblins.”

“I am aware. But the city repelled them and retook the walls, did they not?”

“They did. But they’re hungry, Klbkch. Hungry. A lot of people died and they’re afraid the Goblins will come back. They’re going to fight to the death if they do, but this Goblin Lord is hurting everyone.”

“Yes. Over fourteen villages have been destroyed and a Drake city took heavy casualties fighting off a Goblin army to the south.”

“I didn’t know about that.”

“It is not a pressing concern. Such occurrences are common during calamitous events.”

Erin frowned at the sitting Antinium.

“No, you don’t get it. I didn’t know, but I wanted to know. I need to know.”

“Why? It does not impact your life here.”

“But people died. People are suffering. What happened to the survivors? Did anyone survive?”

Klbkch paused.

“I did not inquire. Such information would be obtainable I believe. Again though, I must ask why you wish to know.”

“Because I care.”

“You care about Goblins.”

“I care about a lot of people. I’d like to help them, if I can.”

“Why?”

Erin stared at the distant mountaintops, where something bright was rising.

“Before I went to Celum, I was really only concerned about surviving. But now—now I care about my friends. I care about people, Klbkch. I care about whether they live or die. I care that Jasi couldn’t find work and that Grev felt he had to steal to survive. I care about Rags and why people hate Goblins. And I care about the people in Esthelm, how they’ll do, and about Krshia and her shop, about Mrsha and Lyonette and you—”

“Why?”

“I guess because we’re friends? Or—no. Because they’re people. Because caring is important. Because I think I can help. Look at my inn. I’ve got money, friends…why shouldn’t I help?”

Klbkch stared at the young woman standing on the roof of her inn. He stood up and tried to see from her perspective.

“I do not understand, but I find myself admiring your perspectives. And yet, I must point out that aiding strangers has no benefit.”

“That’s a very Antinium thing of you to say, Klbkch.”

“Thank you?”

“Who cares if it doesn’t help me? If it helps them then I’m doing a good job. And then we might be friends.”

“Friends. How are friends created? How does friendship work? How do you make friends?”

Klbkch stared at Erin, wishing there were an easy answer. Something he could tell his Queen, tell the others, so he could change them. He did not expect a reply. But to his astonishment, Erin Solstice smiled and laughed out loud in pure amusement.

“Friends? That’s easy!”

“Really?”

She reached out and tapped Klbkch on the chest, right where his heart would be if he were Human. Erin smiled as dawn broke.

“All you have to do is give.”

“Give? Give what, precisely?”

“Something. Anything. Give your time to someone else to talk, give a bit of trust, or a helping hand. Give them a second, and maybe you’ll get something back.”

“But what if you do not?”

“Then you don’t. Maybe you’ll never get anything no matter how much you give. Maybe you’ll never be friends. That’s how it works. But to make a friend, you have to try. Just try.”

The Human and the Antinium stood on the rooftop for a while staring at each other. Klbkch stared at Erin, and then nodded.

“I believe I understand. If that is the case, anyone may be your friend. So then you care about everyone.”

“Because it’s the right thing to do. Because they’re people too. Because I can.”

“I have not heard that perspective before.”

“Really?”

Erin turned and looked around. She walked towards the edge of the roof and stared back at Klbkch, perplexed.

“Why wouldn’t you think like that? Where I come from—well, some people think like that. We’re all people, aren’t we? Shouldn’t we help each other?”

“I have heard it said Humans help only Humans. I have seen Drakes help only their relatives. Gnolls help their species, but seldom others. Each race has their enemies, their rivals. The Antinium see nations and politics as a competition for resources.”

“Well, I don’t.”

Erin stepped off the roof. She landed on the ground and looked up at Klbkch.

“Come on. I’ll make breakfast, and then you can help me.”

He leapt off the roof and landed next to her.

“Do what, exactly?”

Erin smiled. It was a big smile, open and without guile. It was her smile, and it lit up the world.

“Something awesome.”

—-

Lyonette woke up as dawn broke. She got out of bed, feeling her muscles aching and exhaustion on every line of her body. Mrsha was sound asleep next to her, snoring gently. Lyonette would have liked nothing better than to go to sleep, but she had to get up now. She had to feed all her guests, get ready for the day.

She trudged downstairs, automatically reciting the list of chores for the day when she heard the pop and sizzle of meat frying. She poked her head into the kitchen and saw Erin, frying and cooking away a storm in her kitchen while Klbkch sat on a stool next to her and peeled potatoes.

“Morning, Lyonette! I’ve got breakfast started and Klbkch got us a lot of water already. Do you want to bring in the rest of the dishes and help me wash them before everyone gets up?”

Lyon blinked at Erin a few times. Then she nodded and got to work.

—-

“I can’t believe it. Can you sense the ambient mana in the air, Pisces?”

“I can and do, Ceria. It is simply astounding—when I consider the ramifications of such a Skill—”

The next morning, the inn was in an uproar. Well, a quiet uproar. Mainly confined to all the mages, really. The other adventurers just stared at their magic-using comrades when they exclaimed over Erin’s new Skill. Ulrien blinked constantly as Typhenous raved about the mana in the air, Halrac ignored Revi, and Yvlon plugged her ears rather than listen to Ceria and Pisces discuss what had happened.

To show solidarity, Ksmvr put two of his hands over his earholes. Jelaqua and Seborn listened to Moore out of politeness, but the Selphid’s eyes kept wandering in different directions.

In the end, the mages congregated at one table where they could properly express their amazement and get back more satisfactory responses.

“So? What’s the verdict? Is my inn cool or is it magical?”

Erin smiled as she brought over a basket of rolls to dip in the honey. Typhenous levitated the soft butter up and sliced some off. He accepted a roll with a smile for Erin.

“My dear, your Skill is nothing short of extraordinary. Why, I consider it quite an achievement to have created for all intents and purposes a magical leyline in your own inn. When I think of the positive applications…”

“Yeah, it’s cool, but I can’t do magic. Does this mean all your spells are super-powerful now?”

Erin propped her hands on her hips as she regarded the mages with amusement. Ceria shrugged.

“It’s not as if they’ll become that much more powerful, but we could cast the same spell almost twice as many times here. And like Lyonette found out, if no one else is using the magic here, it can accumulate and boost a low-level spell to a great degree.”

“That’s super-powerful. Well, I’m glad it helps. I just hope it’ll recharge my door faster.”

“At the very least it will!”

Pisces seemed outraged by Erin’s lack of enthusiasm. He ripped one roll apart and dipped both ends in the honey, glaring at her.

“Do you understand—mph—what this—nmf—could mean? You could use the mana supply here to power any number of enchantments—”

“Ew. Don’t talk when you’re eating. You mean, like the [Field of Preservation] Skill?”

“It certainly seems that way.”

Moore smiled as Erin presented him with a roll that was more like a loaf. She thought about this as the mages’ conversation about what they might use the mana source for devolved into an argument over who would get how many rolls. But their conversation had given Erin an idea.

“Hey, Lyonette! Want to try an experiment?”

She called the young girl over and brought out an apple. It was a small one, and slightly wizened—not to mention expensive! Erin sliced it open and both she and Lyonette stared at the pale slice of apple.

After a while Lyonette coughed.

“Um, shouldn’t we come back later?”

“Right…”

Erin slapped her head and left the apple. She bent down to catch Mrsha before the Gnoll could leap onto the table and grab the apple for herself.

“Hey there Mrsha, how are you doing on this fine day? Do you think my new Skills are cool?”

Mrsha licked at Erin’s face frantically, making the young woman laugh and let go.

“Hey! Stop that!”

“Mrsha, don’t bother Erin! You can play after breakfast.”

Lyonette pulled Mrsha back. As she put the reluctant Gnoll on the ground, she saw Erin giving her an appraising look, far different from yesterday.

“You’re pretty good at handling Mrsha, aren’t you?”

“Well…I suppose I have had practice.”

“Good! Actually, that’s great.”

Erin smiled at Lyonette, and the girl flushed with pride. Erin turned and frowned around her busy inn.

“Last night you told me you stole something else from those evil bees, right? Honey, dead bees, and…uh, what was it? A larva? Where is it?”

“Oh! I put it in my room so it wouldn’t bother anyone. I can go get it—”

“Why don’t you show me?”

The two Humans went up the stairs, Mrsha right on their heels. Erin peered at the fat, yellowish-white grub sitting in the bowl of slightly congealed liquid and shuddered.

“Aw. It’s so…gross.”

Lyonette giggled.

“Isn’t it? I was going to feed it to Klbkch, but then I got a [Beast Tamer] class! Um…”

“You want to keep it?”

Erin gave her the fish eye. Lyonette nodded.

“It grows on you. And it’s not hard to feed—I keep adding more royal jelly to the bowl. Actually, I’ll need a bigger bowl; it keeps getting bigger.”

Erin studied the slowly wriggling grub. She frowned at it pensively.

“Have you named it?”

“What?”

“You’ve gotta give it a name. How about Pudge?”

“Pudge?”

“Well, it sort of looks like Pudge, don’t you think? No? Okay, what about a bee name? It’s going to turn into a bee someday, so how about…Buzz?”

Lyonette frowned at Erin.

“I don’t know. Those names sound a bit…”

“Wait, I’ve got it! Beeyonce. That’s perfect! No—wait, that’s horrible. Let me try again…”

“It’s just a grub. You don’t have to name it yet.”

“Apis? That’s the word for bee in uh, Latin. I think. Buzzana? Buzzany? Is it a boy or a girl bee?”

Lyonette just stared. Erin tried out several more names, and then realized she was getting a funny look from Mrsha as well. She threw up her hands and walked away.

“Fine! You can name the bee whatever you want when it gets big. But for now I’m calling him Mr. Ugly Fat Worm. It is a him, right?”

Lyonette and Mrsha exchanged a glance. The Gnoll reached out to poke the big larva and Lyonette smacked her paw away.

“What are you planning on doing now that you’re a Level 30 [Innkeeper]?”

Jelaqua asked as Erin went around the room with a pitcher, refilling cups. Erin paused and then shrugged.

“I’ve got some ideas. I mean, I’m not going to expand or anything; this is plenty for me as it is. But I might do more with what I have.”

The Selphid raised her eyebrows.

“Oh? Such as?”

“You’ll see. In fact, you’ll see in five minutes if you wait. I might need your group’s help for something I have in mind.”

“Really now. In that case, I think I’ll have a refill.”

Jelaqua smiled and leaned back in her chair as Erin filled her cup and moved on. Seborn leaned over to her.

“What do you think she has in mind that involves us?”

“No idea, but I’m curious, aren’t you? I heard stories all over Liscor about the crazy innkeeper, but we missed all the action. I want to be up close and personal for this one.”

One table over, Zel turned his head to frown at Erin’s back. He wasn’t so positive as the Selphid, and his premonition only got worse when Erin marched back over to the table full of mages.

“Hey, can I ask you guys to do an estimate for me?”

“Of course. About what?”

Ceria frowned as Erin pointed to the door.

“Now that I’ve got mana coming out of the walls and stuff, how much do you think I’d be able to transport through the door? I mean, in pounds? Or is it kilograms?”

The mages glanced around the table and began to speak. Pisces was the first person to come up with a response that wasn’t immediately shot down.

“I would wager the door could transport, oh, sixteen to thirty bodies between Celum and Liscor on a daily basis. I say sixteen as a lower estimate given the increased costs based on weight and mass, you see. If you had a group of armed warriors, sixteen would indeed be…”

“Okay, that’s not bad. But what if you all added your mana to it? How many then?”

Pisces broke off, looking confused. Revi exchanged glances with Typhenous.

“Well, we could add a lot. If you mean like last night, to bring a lot of people through—”

“No, I mean as much as you can. What if you drank mana potions, and put in everything you had into the door? How many people could you transport then?”

Ceria frowned.

“At least a hundred. But why? Erin, you aren’t planning on actually turning your door into a big shortcut between the cities, are you? Because mana potions aren’t cheap, and neither are mages. We could do it once or twice, but adding our mana to the door isn’t that easy.”

“No problem. You’d only have to do it once. And I guess one hundred people is good, but not enough. What if you went and got more mages?”

“What?”

Erin leaned forwards and put her hands on the table as she stared at the astonished mages. The other Gold-rank teams had stopped eating and were listening closely. Klbkch, sitting alone at his table, raised his head and waited, uncertain of what was coming next, but certain that it would be ‘awesome’.

“Mister Typhenous and Miss Revi—can I call you guys Typhenous and Revi? You’re big shot adventurers, right? And so are you, right Moore?”

“I’d say so.”

“By some standards, yes.”

“Among local adventurers, we are somewhat well known.”

Erin turned to look at Pisces and Ceria.

“And you two guys are Wistram mages, right? That’s important too, isn’t it?”

The two Silver-rank adventures fidgeted. Ceria coughed, blushing slightly.

“Not as important as Gold-rank, Erin—”

“That’s fine. But if I asked you to, could you get all of the mages in Celum and Liscor to come here and charge the door?”

“Why?”

Everyone looked astounded, but Erin just grinned.

“I want to bring in supplies. And people! Adventurers, [Guardsmen], [Guardswomen] too—I know there are some in Celum, food, clothing, blankets, pillows…I want as much of it as this door can teleport, today.”

“Why? What is this all for? And where would you put it?”

Revi looked exasperated as she asked. Pisces’ mouth formed an ‘o’ of comprehension as Erin smiled at the Stitch-mage.

“Esthelm.”

The room fell silent. Halrac blinked, and Ulrien sat up at the same time Jelaqua nudged Seborn with an elbow. The Selphid’s whisper was quite audible.

“See? What did I tell you? Isn’t she great?”

“You want to send aid to Esthelm?”

“That’s right.”

Erin turned and met Zel’s eyes confidently. Revi frowned.

“No offense Erin, but why would you want to do that? Esthelm isn’t your home, is it? Why would you waste your coin and energy helping them out? I heard they already had control of the city, anyways.”

“But they need food. I went through there the other day—they might be in control, but their walls aren’t great, and they need blankets, supplies—more people. If Celum and the other cities are too afraid to send help down the roads, why not come up from Liscor instead?”

“There’s still danger on the roads, though. The area around Liscor isn’t safe from Goblin attacks.”

“Yeah, but what if we sent a huge Antinium army and a bunch of Gold-rank adventurers with all the wagons to protect them?”

“What?”

Halrac and Jelaqua said it at the same time as Zel. At opposite ends of the room, Ksmvr and Klbkch sat up.

“My Queen would never allow—”

“Erin, I do not believe I could persuade my Queen to—”

Both Antinium broke off. Ksmvr shrank down in his seat while Klbkch stared, until the Antinium looked away. Erin stared around the room, frowning slightly.

“Well, why not?”

“Erin, you can’t just ask an Antinium army to go marching—and you want Celum to just hand over all the goods? Your idea is…I mean it’s crazy…”

Ceria shook her head, frowning. But to her surprise, Yvlon stood up.

“Why not?”

Everyone looked at her. Yvlon looked at Erin.

“I think it could work.”

Revi raised her eyebrows incredulously.

“You do? Because I think it’s crazy too, like Miss Half-Elf said.”

“I think it can be done. Celum has the supplies and manpower to send—it’s just a matter of convincing their leaders to act. And if Ksmvr and Klbkch talk to their Queen—”

“Um. I am technically banned from entering my Hive—”

“And I do not know if I can convince my Queen.”

Erin stared at Klbkch. He was giving her an odd look. She walked over to him.

“Are you sure?”

He stared into her eyes. Klbkch’s face was inexpressive, but Erin could tell by the way his mandibles opened and shut repeatedly that he was troubled.

“I…could try. But I do not have high hopes of convincing my Queen.”

“And are we just going to ignore the part where you get an army of wagon drivers to take everything to Esthelm? Where are you going to get that? And are you going to pay for all of this, or do you expect Celum to foot the bill? I don’t think Liscor would pay to help Humans.”

Revi kept talking, determined to point out the obvious. She indicated Typhenous, Ulrien, and Halrac with one hand.

“And what’s this about volunteering us to guard the wagons? We might be guests here, Erin, but we don’t work for free.”

“I’ll let you stay for free if you help. And I can pay.”

Erin turned back to Revi, putting her hands on her hips. She stared challengingly around the room.

“Why can’t this work? Okay, it’s sudden, and okay, it’s crazy, but so what? There’s a city that needs help, thousands of people that could starve if someone doesn’t do something? Why not us?”

“Why should we do it?”

That came from Ulrien. Jelaqua glared, but Ulrien’s face wasn’t hostile. He was impassive, questioning. Erin stared at the big man without flinching.

“Because it’s the right thing to do. And I’ll make you a huge lunch for the road. Plus, you’ll be famous if you help.”

Ulrien thought about that for a few seconds, and then glanced at Halrac. The [Scout] nodded. Ulrien looked back at Erin and gave her a slight smile.

“We’re in. We’ll help—free of charge.”

“What?”

Revi cried out in shock, but Typhenous smiled and stroked his beard.

“Don’t fuss, Revi. This is for a good cause. Besides, I think this might prove to be quite an entertaining diversion.”

“We’re in too!”

Jelaqua shot to her feet, visibly disappointed not to be the first to offer. Moore stood up as well.

“This is a big undertaking for one day. Are you sure we can do it in the time given?”

Erin smiled up at him. Moore’s lips curved upwards in reply.

“I think we can do it. And if we split up, why not? All we have to do is get someone to yell at the Mage’s Guild in Celum—why not Revi and Typhenous and you? I bet you could scare the socks off of them. And if Halrac, Jelaqua, Ulrien and Seborn all go to visit the Council—”

“Do you think they’d listen to a few Gold-rank adventurers?”

Jelaqua frowned, but Ulrien nodded confidently.

“We’ve talked with city leaders before. It can’t be worse than persuading them to evacuate a neighborhood or muster the local army.”

Halrac was decisive. He seemed to be the most passionate, if his scowl was any indication.

“We can do it. Gold-rank adventurers have the pull, and this is an issue that the city-states agree on. They support one another or they all fall.”

“Huh. Using our authority and good name to influence others. Well, it’s never worked for our team, but I’ll try and help.”

Jelaqua grinned as she pushed her plate back. Erin turned to Klbkch.

“Can you go and talk to your Queen? If she can send, I dunno, some Soldiers and a lot of Workers to help, that would be great. And if your Hive has supplies they can spare like wood and stuff…”

Klbkch seemed torn. At last, he nodded.

“I will speak with her. I cannot promise you she will agree, but I will try, Erin.”

Erin smiled at him.

“Thanks, Klbkch.”

He stopped, wavered. And then Klbkch nodded firmly.

“Forget my last statement. I will obtain what is needed.”

“Thanks. And uh, I hate to ask, but I guess we need to talk to someone in Liscor. Do you know if Watch Captain Zevara could…?”

“Leave the Watch Captain—and the city leaders—to me, Miss Solstice.”

Zel Shivertail walked forwards. He didn’t look at Klbkch as the Antinium stood aside, but he smiled a bit as he stared down at Erin. He seemed bemused, but he too was smiling.

“I think I can get them to pay for a few wagons, at the very least. I’ll head down and talk with them now.”

“Oh, would you really? Thanks so much!”

Erin was full of gratitude, but Zel just shook his head slowly.

“I—it would be my pleasure, Erin. This is a good idea, and a good cause.”

He headed towards the door, catching Lyonette’s eye on the way over. Zel shook his head as she beamed at him.

“What about us, then, Erin?”

Ceria stood with Yvlon, Pisces, and Ksmvr. Erin turned to them, full of excitement and energy as the adventurers began to argue about how best to approach things.

“I need you guys to coordinate Liscor’s Mage Guild. They do have one, right…? Okay, so you guys can charge the door up as much as you can here—Pisces and Ceria, you know how to do that, right? And Yvlon and Ksmvr can help me organize the wagons. There’ll be goods coming through that door fast, so we need a lot of people to haul stuff away—”

“What about us?”

Lyonette came over, excited, Mrsha leaping from table to table as she did. Erin laughed as Moore snagged Mrsha out of the air and put the Gnoll gently down on the ground.

“You can help me clean up and cook more food!”

“Cook? But what about helping…?”

Lyonette’s face fell. Erin shook her head.

“We’ve got to feed everyone, right? All the people hauling food through from Celum and the wagon drivers—not to mention the Antinium and adventurers—we need to make food for all of them!”

The [Barmaid] paled at the thought and Erin laughed again. She turned to the others.

“Okay, let’s get to work! Spread the word if you can—we need all the help we can get! I mean, these are a lot of wagons, right? Even with the Antinium Klbkch can get, we need protection in case of monsters or Goblins or…Rock Crabs.”

Jelaqua raised her hand.

“Why don’t we go to the Adventurer’s Guilds instead of the city leaders? We could probably talk a good number into some easy guard duty, especially if the cities will hire them for a day.”

“Good idea!”

Yvlon nodded towards the door.

“And I’ll go find Termin. He’s sure to know all the wagon-drivers in the city.”

“In that case, why don’t I go find Garia and Fals? A few dozen [Runners] could carry quite a bit, especially if they made several trips.”

Ceria nodded towards the already open door as Halrac, Ulrien, Revi, and Typhenous walked through. Erin spotted Octavia trying to intercept the Gold-rank adventurers and they nearly ran the [Alchemist] over. The Horns of Hammerad headed towards the doors, the Halfseekers split up and in moments, the inn was empty save for Lyonette and Mrsha.

The girl and Gnoll stood together, staring around the room. Lyonette stared at Mrsha; Mrsha stared at the open portal door, and then at Lyonette.

“I guess we’d better get to work, huh?”

Mrsha nodded, and stood up on two legs to help carry plates. Lyonette smiled, and stared towards the door Zel had walked out of.

“I told you she’s weird. In a good way.”

—-

The city was in an uproar. Which city? Well, Celum was mainly full of chaos, as all the normal day-to-day foot traffic and vehicles found themselves blocked off by [Guardsmen] who escorted rumbling wagons down the street. There was a lot of shouting and confusion. What was happening?

Word spread throughout the city. Apparently, aid was being sent to Esthelm! That news amazed all those who heard it. So soon? Of course, Esthelm needed help, but the roads were not safe! Had something changed?

But the wagons weren’t going towards the gates. Rather, they were going to a small but well-known [Alchemist]’s shop that looked like it was under siege. Countless people were going in and out of the doors, [Laborers] bringing in bag after bag of grain and crates of goods and [Runners] going into the shop but never going out.

In fact, as the day wore on someone created a second door in the shop, and then just knocked the entire wall in, much to Octavia’s displeasure. People streamed towards the shop, not just adventurers and workers, but [Mages] as well!

Something was happening. Something big. People could feel it. Why else would the newly famed [Actors] all rush over to the shop and disappear there? Why would Miss Agnes suddenly throw open her doors to her inn and announce drinks were on her for all the people helping to unload the wagons?

And what, in the name of the Five Families, did an [Alchemist] have to do with sending aid to Esthelm?

Some people knew, but most were out of the loop.

And that was only in Celum. In Liscor, the uproar was more like a furor in truth. The city had not turned out its warehouses to support a Human city, but it had commandeered every Runner, [Wagon Driver], [Rider], and transportation-based class that could be spared, all under the orders of the legendary Zel Shivertail himself.

Mages, drivers, runners, and a gaggle of adventurers milled about outside the city, shouting and being shouted at by a young woman who had developed quite the reputation in the city by now. A lot of the Drakes and Gnolls just resigned themselves to it; it was that crazy Human doing something weird again. But more stopped their work to watch the fun, and more still found themselves joining in when they heard what was going on.

Some were friends of Selys or part of Krshia’s clan, and found themselves lending a paw, claw, or hand to help. Others were more impressed by the legendary Gold-rank adventurers and Zel Shivertail, and helped because he was lifting supplies effortlessly into wagons. Some just cared about Humans, as odd as it was.

But all that was a backdrop, meaningless babble to what was going on below. The Queen of the Free Antinium under Liscor sat in her throne room, staring down at the strangers standing before her.

The Antinium of four Hives stood before her, each one in their own group. The Prognugator Tersk, leading the three Armored Antinium who had come with him. Revalantor Pivr of the Flying Antinium and his cohort of six. Two soldiers of the Quiet Antinium, almost invisible in the darkness. And Xrn, of the Centenium, now a Prognugator to the Grand Queen with her six bodyguards.

Of this group, it was only Xrn that the Queen of the Free Antinium was interested in, and only her that she respected. But annoyingly, it wasn’t Xrn who was speaking right now.

“…And after my extensive surveying of your Hive, I have found only four of these so-called Individuals who have obtained formal designations. Moreover, they have not obtained any significant levels, Skills, or classes as of yet. In my role as Revalantor for my Queen, I must ask whether this is truly an accomplishment that merits the attention of the Hives.”

Pivr’s voice echoed throughout the Queen’s chambers as all the Antinium stared at him. It was hard to read the other’s expressions, but the Queen felt they were getting annoyed by him. She certainly was.

His voice was higher in pitch than the other Antinium, and he moved about restlessly, fanning his wings when he stood still. Was he showing them off? The Queen had seen the true winged soldiers of the Antinium, long ago. She wasn’t impressed by the Queen of the Flying Antinium’s half-baked copies.

“So you have said. Repeatedly. But my achievement is extraordinary regardless of number. In fact, the rarity of such Individuals proves their worth. How many Prognugators does your Hive have, Pivr? How many Individuals has your Queen created?”

He ignored that question, as he had the ones before. Pivr seemed uniquely gifted at ignoring things he or his Queen didn’t want to see. As the Queen, so followed the Prognugator.

“I must simply ask how feasible the use of these Individuals is. Surely, if their creation is a workable method, you would seek to convert the entire Hive thusly? I ask, on behalf of my Queen, what formal plan you would put before the Hives.”

She had no formal plan, just this one accomplishment as the Queen of the Flying Antinium very well knew. The Queen of the Free Antinium tried to keep her temper, but it was hard.

She was angry the other Queens could not understand what they were doing, that they doubted her commitment to the Hives. She was angry that not all of them had sent their Prognugators to witness what she had done, that they questioned, or at least, didn’t trust that what she was doing was significant. She was also angry that Pivr was a pus-filled sack, and she was trying to restrain herself from ordering him killed—or just picking him up and crushing him herself.

The Queen tried to come up with a reply that didn’t include some form of violence, but she was distracted by another matter as well. Klbkch. Why wasn’t he here?

She knew he had returned to the Hive thirty minutes ago, but he had not come directly here, despite her mental summons. What was so important that he would not help her get rid of Pivr, preferably by shoving a sword through the other Antinium’s head?

To mask her irritation, the Queen turned her massive head towards Xrn. The female Antinium—the only one in the room besides the Queen—was standing still, her blue carapace shimmering slightly from the swirling lights reflected in her eyes. How beautiful.

The Queen knew she was the height of creation, an untouched remnant of the original Centenium forms, but she couldn’t help but feel envious. She was so graceful, so perfect. She had been created to embody true perfection, not the flawed shells all the other Antinium here wore.

“What say you, Xrn of the Centenium? What opinion do you have of what has been created here?”

Pivr make a choked clicking sound from the side. But the Queen had addressed Xrn by her old title. It wasn’t exactly correct, but that definitely put her authority far above a Revalantor’s.

Xrn nodded slowly.

“I believe my Queen, the Grand Queen, will wish to explore what you have created a great deal further, oh Queen of the Free Antinium. At the very least, we will request one of the Individuals accompany us back to the Grand Hive to be appraised there. There is significance in this, even if the Individuals cannot be replicated on a large scale as of yet.”

That sounded quite nice to the Queen of the Free Antinium. But she could sense Pivr getting ready for another comeback, probably to discredit her. She was just about ready to tell him he could go back to his Queen and tell her to eat all her eggs when she felt Klbkch approaching. She cut off Pivr with one feeler.

“Ah, I sense my Revalantor returns. Klbkchhezeim will answer any questions you may have, Pivr.”

All heads turned towards the entrance. The Queen waited, hearing the faint footfalls growing louder. Klbkch strode into the room, twin sheathed swords swinging at his waist, light on his feet, slim.

So close to how he used to be. And yet, indescribably far away. The Queen watched Xrn react to Klbkch’s presence. Tensely, and then relaxing. Yes, she felt it too.

This was more like the old Klbkch, the Slayer. But ah, it could never be him, not fully. His form was lost. Lost…

But he was hers, now. The Queen felt satisfaction in that. Klbkch stopped in front of the gathered Antinium and bowed to his Queen first, before nodding to them.

“My Queen, Antinium of the Hives, I must render you all my apologies. I was unavoidably detained last night, and was not able to meet with you as I had hoped.”

She could never be angry at him, not for long. The Queen waved a feeler graciously.

“Your absence was noted, but as always you work for the Hive’s greater good, Klbkchhezeim. All of the Hives.”

The Antinium nodded. He looked up at his Queen, and she felt the slightest thought pass between them. The Queen went still. What was he….?

“This is so. And I am aware of the scrutiny of the other Hives at this instance, so I have attempted to reveal much of where the true effort of our Hive has gone. In fact, I hope you will join me on a small expedition to demonstrate the true value of the Free Antinium of Liscor.”

What was this? The Queen didn’t speak to contradict Klbkch, but her mind was awhirl. Pivr turned to Klbkch, ready to pounce on any imperfections.

“Indeed, Klbkch? Your absence speaks to a lack of resources in the Hive. Could not an Individual have performed such tasks? What is this errand which will occupy a Revalantor of the Hive when he is needed elsewhere?”

Klbkch gave Pivr a look that made it clear the other Revalantor was not worth the syllables in his name. He turned to face the others, especially, the Queen thought, Xrn.

“The nature of the upcoming mission at hand is simple. I, as well as a group of one hundred and fifty Soldiers and twice that number of Workers, are travelling north to the Human city of Esthelm, escorting a convoy of supplies. We will be staying in the city for several days to provide aid to the citizens there.”

The Antinium did not waste time on shocked silence. Instead, they all spoke more or less at the same time. Pivr was the first. He exclaimed, spitting a bit of venom in surprise.

“What?”

Xrn next. Her voice was flat.

“What.”

Tersk, spreading his arms, open, honest.

“I do not understand.”

And the Queen. She couldn’t help it. The word slipped out.

“What?”

Fortunately, no one noticed. Tersk addressed Klbkch, speaking for the others.

“Revalantor Klbkch, I would ask that you explain your Hive’s reasoning for sending aid to this city. I see no immediate merit in such an action.”

Klbkch nodded. He ignored his Queen’s furious mental probes and explained to the other Antinium calmly.

“It is true that the benefits of such an act will not provide us with any immediate benefits. However, there are intangible benefits to such an act, and it costs the Hive very little in terms of resources. What we give will be repaid in the form of goodwill, trust, and friendship. Concepts which mean little to the other Hives, but which I…and my Queen…have grown to understand.”

She could sense the Workers and Soldiers in the Hive moving already! So that was what Klbkch had done! The Queen fumed, but she couldn’t gainsay him, not in front of the others. Why was he doing this? She didn’t understand, not one bit. Rendering aid without reward to a Human city not affiliated with the Hive? Why?

“I see. In that case, I will follow and observe, if you will permit it.”

Tersk nodded. The Queen supposed that was a victory, but she dearly wanted the Antinium to clear the room so she could have Klbkch explain to her what was going on. But Pivr was already talking again, refusing Klbkch’s offer.

“I will not. I will stay and observe this Hive, and perhaps see what dangers lurk in this dungeon which consumes so many resources. An expedition is not what I came here to witness.”

A pity. But, the Queen thought to herself privately, she might be able to organize it so a monster broke through and slaughtered Pivr by accident. The Flesh Worms were quite lethal, even when she deployed many Soldiers to counter them.

“I will go as well.”

Xrn spoke up, and the Queen saw Klbkch’s mandibles part and raise in an Antinium smile. She really didn’t like that, but it was too late to stop any of them. She stared down at Klbkch.

“I wish you success on your task, Klbkch. Do not take too long, however. We have much to do…and discuss…when you return.”

He didn’t so much as flinch at the tone in her voice. Well, he wouldn’t. Klbkch bowed and left the room, leaving the Queen in the darkness to think.

And wonder.

—-

“So tell me, is this what made you abandon our discussion last night and not return?”

Xrn’s tone was slightly acidic as she and Tersk—and their escort of lesser Antinium—followed him through the Hive. Klbkch nodded.

“There is merit in this, Xrn.”

“I understand that, even if your Queen and the others did not seem to. But I do not understand why you of all beings would see it.”

Klbkch made no answer. He clicked his mandibles together in embarrassment, the Antinium version of clearing his throat—although he could do that too.

“We will join up with the Antinium escort shortly. I have been specially approved by Liscor’s Watch Captain to take the force out of the city.”

“Oh? How exciting.”

“Yes. It is, in fact. As you will soon see. For this mission, I have chosen one of our newest Soldier units to escort the convoy. They are…uniquely prepared to foster goodwill and reduce alarm among the other species.”

That made Xrn pause, but she followed Klbkch out of one of the secret tunnels in the Hive and onto the snowy plain. The instant she and Tersk entered the sunlight they stopped and gasped.

All of the Antinium did. For a second, they paused and stared. Not because they hadn’t ever seen Soldiers before, but because they had never seen Soldiers like this.

Painted. Colorful. Some with every color of the rainbow—and several colors not of the rainbow—on their bodies, and some with only a few markings. But each one was unique. Distinct.

Individual.

Klbkch stopped next to Pawn, Belgrade, Anand, and Bird. They stood at attention, nervous, silent, in front of the ranks of Soldiers and Workers. Tersk and Xrn came forwards to inspect them.

“These are the Individuals? Well met.”

Tersk greeted the four. Belgrade, Bird, and Anand didn’t speak, but Pawn opened his mandibles until Klbkch shot him a look.

“These are Anand, Belgrade, Bird, and Pawn.”

“You did not introduce me to this Pawn before.”

Xrn spoke as she observed the Soldiers. Tersk had already moved past the Individuals, much to Klbkch’s relief. The armor-wearing Antinium’s voice was puzzled as he turned to Klbkch.

“Revalantor Klbkch, I am uncertain as to the reason behind decorating these Soldiers so. It seems to be a waste of resources.”

“Are you? I would assume the reason is obvious. They are Individual. Unique.”

Klbkch nodded to the Soldiers, not sure if he was lying or only telling a partial truth. Tersk’ breath caught and he closed his mandibles slowly.

“I see. I see. This changes much.”

“Everything.”

Xrn walked past the Soldiers as they stood in perfect ranks. Klbkch knew their attention was on her; the azure body of the Small Queen was as striking as their paint. She too was like them; completely separate from the nameless mass of other Antinium.

“I take it you approve?”

“I love it.”

She turned to him, and Klbkch saw the swirling colors in her eyes grow brighter. He opened his mandibles in a smile.

“I shall appraise you of the decision to paint the Soldiers as we march. We shall proceed, unless there are objections?”

She shook her head.

“None. Let us go see what defines the Free Antinium.”

—-

Later that day, the road leading from Liscor north to the Human lands was empty. Empty, that was, except for one vehicle.

The lone wagon rumbled slowly down the road. It was a familiar group sitting in it. Ceria, Erin, Yvlon, Ksmvr, and Termin all sat, eating a quick mid-day lunch as they headed north through the snowy landscape. Well, Erin, Yvlon, Ksmvr, and Termin sat. Ceria and Pisces were more comatose bodies slowly chewing their food as they lay in the back of the wagon on some crates.

“I’m just saying, it makes no sense! Why wouldn’t you want to go see your brother at all? I get that you don’t want him to be annoying and fuss over you, but you don’t ever want to see him?”

Yvlon sighed and brushed away some crumbs Erin had accidentally spat on her.

“The instant he finds me, he’ll try to take me back to our home, no objections. He’s not just protective. He’d never accept me being—crippled and continuing to adventure like this.”

“Oh. But he’s got your best interests at home. What if your family could help? I mean, with your arms…?”

Erin gingerly indicated the fused metal and flesh on Yvlon’s forearms, but the woman shook her head.

“If our family had a potion or artifact that could regenerate bones or limbs, we wouldn’t be a minor house in Izril. We’re known for having an adventurer or warrior in each generation—and having the first letter in our names be ‘y’. That’s all.”

“Well, I guess I understand. But you can’t run from your brother forever.”

“I don’t need to. As soon as he gets word of a village in trouble he’ll drop everything and run off. He is a [Knight].”

“Huh.”

“Hold up, you lot. There’s something on the road ahead.”

Termin suddenly called out in alarm, and Erma and Fox stopped in their tracks as he halted the wagon. All the adventurers immediately sat up, but they relaxed when they saw what it was.

“That’s not a monster!”

Erin chortled as she pointed at the creature that had caused Termin to stop his wagon. It was a beaver, sitting in the middle of the road.

“It’s a beaver. Why are you afraid of a beaver, Termin?”

Termin glared at Erin as he pointed to the beaver.

“That’s no ordinary beaver, Miss! It’s a Fortress Beaver, not one of your cute little rodents. See how large it is, even from here? It could bite my wheels in two in one go and probably take your leg off if you angered it. And where there’s one, there might be more. I’m not risking my wagon or my horses if I accidentally agitate it.”

Erin looked again, frowning. Now that she thought about it, the beaver certainly did look…big from so far away. It would be up to her chest—maybe up to her neck if she got close. She gulped.

“Okay, don’t pet the beaver. Well, can’t we get rid of it?”

Both she and Termin turned to look at the adventurers. Yvlon shook her head.

“I’m not killing a beaver.”

“I volunteer—”

“No, no.”

Erin hastily pushed down Ksmvr’s hand and turned in her seat. She poked the person lying behind her.

“Ceria. Hey, Ceria.”

“Wuh?”

One of the two comatose bodies raised its head. Ceria looked pale and exhausted, drained from using up all her mana, but she managed to get up to stare at the beaver.

“Can you get rid of it? You can talk to animals, right? Can you get it off the road so Termin can keep going?”

The half-Elf glared in outrage at Erin.

“Dead gods. Erin. Just because I’m a half-Elf, doesn’t mean I…well, I do, but why do you always turn to me to—”

She looked around the wagon. Everyone was staring at her. Termin cleared his throat.

“Well, do you or don’t you? I don’t speak beaver.”

Ceria growled, and pushed herself up. Grouchily, she stood up and moved to the front of the wagon, grumbling under her breath.

“It’s not like I want to learn this stuff. Fine, I’ll get it to move.”

She cupped her hands and took a deep breath. Erin was expecting her to chitter to the beaver, or make whatever sound they made, but Ceria just started shouting. The beaver’s head turned as she yelled at it.

“Hey you! Yeah, you! Piss off!”

The Fortress Beaver stared as Ceria shouted at it. It seemed to think about what the half-Elf had said, and then waddled off of the road.

“There. Done.”

Ceria let her hands fall and turned. Everyone was staring at her, Erin with a betrayed look in her eyes. Ceria shrugged defensively.

“What? That’s how you talk to animals if you want them to move.”

She sat back down and Termin flapped his reins, shaking his head. Erin felt a rumbling on the ground and looked around.

“Hey, hurry up Termin. I think the others are catching up.”

The Fortress Beaver, which had considered going back to take a bite out of the wagon anyways, felt the rumbling and made itself scarce. A good thing too, because the army of marching Antinium would have squashed it flat if the sea of wagon wheels didn’t do that before them.

As Termin got his cart moving, carts appeared in the distance behind him. Carts driven by Humans, Gnolls, Drakes, and in one case, driving itself since the driver had fallen off but the horses kept going. Each one was loaded to the brim with food, supplies, and people. There were more than a hundred adventurers, [Guardspeople], and other experts such as [Healers], [Masons], [Hunters], and more who had come to aid Esthelm.

And marching to one side of the road came the Antinium. Rows upon rows of Workers, dragging primitive wooden sleds loaded with materials of their own—nails, wood, hammers, but no food since what they ate was disgusting—led by a group of Antinium including Pawn at the front.

Erin beamed as the massive group began to catch up. Termin had left with a good lead on the others, but everyone was moving fast. It wasn’t evening yet, and they were nearly at Esthelm!

“You’re lucky so many of these wagon drivers have movement Skills.”

Pisces commented to Erin as he raised his head from his bed in the wagon. Termin cackled.

“Luck’s got nothing to do with it, necromancer. Around here you either move fast or you get eaten by something sooner or later. A Skill like [Continuous Rolling] is common for all us folk.”

The necromancer sniffed.

“Well then, she was lucky you all decided the roads were safe. Why did you decide to take the journey, pray tell Mister Termin? Surely you are aware such a convoy would be at risk of being attacked? Why not travel with an army from Celum?”

“Hah! Any army the Human cities could put together wouldn’t be half as powerful as an army led by Zel Shivertail himself! Add two groups of Gold-rank adventurers to the mix, the famous Horns of Hammerad—not to mention the Antinium Soldiers, and the Goblin Lord himself would look twice before taking us on!”

Before Pisces could open his mouth again, Erin leapt up in her seat and nearly fell off the wagon.

“Oh look, look! I can see the city from here! Wow, it still looks terrible!”

Esthelm came into view, and as soon as their wagon approached, Erin heard people on the walls shouting. But as more wagons were spotted, the shouting grew confused, and then jubilant. People began cheering and streaming out of the gates before Termin’s wagon had gotten close—then they saw the Antinium and ran back into the city.

In the end, Erin drove up to the gates. The people of Esthelm didn’t exactly shut the gates, but they met her and the wagon at them. The [Soldier] who had met Erin and the Horns of Hammerad two days ago was there, with a group of armed men who looked incredulously at the approaching force. Erin waved down at Umbral excitedly.

“Hi! Remember me? Well, I came back and I brought a lot of stuff to help! And a lot of people!”

His jaw dropped.

“You? You’re that [Innkeeper]! But how did—”

“It’s supplies and a relief force! From Celum and Liscor! And the Antinium! They’ve come to help fix your walls and guard your city!”

“The Antinium? Here?”

He seemed unable to process it all. Erin jumped down from the wagon and then sat down hard. Her legs had gone to sleep.

“Ow. Um. Well, it’s a long story, but these Antinium are really nice. They’ve brought a lot of stuff, and we have food, blankets, pillows, and so on. We even have—”

She got no further, because Umbral pulled her up and into a hug. Erin heard the cheering begin again as word began to spread.

“Aid has come to Esthelm!”

“Liscor! The Drakes have come to help us!”

“Esthelm is saved!”

Everyone was being thanked, except perhaps the Antinium. But Pisces summed it up best. He smiled, perhaps arrogantly, but with genuine pleasure at Umbral as the man let go of Erin. He nodded to the huge convoy and then at Erin.

“You may attribute this delivery to Erin Solstice, proprietress of the Wandering Inn. We can discuss remuneration for goods and services rendered at a later—”

He got no further then that, because Erin kicked him.

—-

The city of Esthelm was saved. Only, it had already been saved. In a sense, you could say it was saved again, at least from the pressing needs of hunger, thirst, and the need for shelter. Pawn considered that this was less glamorous than saving the city from invading monsters, but no less necessary.

He stood in the ruined center of the city with his group of painted Soldiers, staring in awe at the buildings, the people, and the broken sewers that stank beyond belief. It was all new to him. He had never gone beyond Liscor, never seen so many Humans, or seen a city this badly destroyed. He knew his Soldiers hadn’t seen anything like this either, and he was glad to have shown it to them.

And yet, Pawn was also uncertain. Because while the others who had come seemed to know what they were doing, he did not. And that was a problem, because he was in charge of the Antinium here.

Klbkch had explained it to him quickly, which was to say confusingly, a few moments before they had left. Pawn was in charge because Klbkch had to deal with the Antinium from the other Hives. He had to speak with the Antinium in armor and the beautiful blue female Antinium for reasons unknown to Pawn. Thus, Pawn was in charge.

Which again, would be fine if Pawn knew what to do. But he didn’t. Oh, the Drakes, Gnolls, and Humans seemed well-organized enough. They were already unloading the wagons, the soldiers and guardspeople keeping order while carpenters, masons, and other groups split off to help aid the city. But Pawn was standing with over a hundred Soldiers and three hundred Workers in the middle of the city with not a clue of what to do now.

He badly wanted to go find Erin and ask, but Pawn realized that might not be an option right now. He had to do something. So he cleared his throat and looked around.

What could be done? Well, what couldn’t be done? Pawn was no expert on cities, but he felt sure that walls shouldn’t be falling down, there shouldn’t be exposed sewers, and that Humans preferred a roof over their heads as they slept. He pointed randomly at a particularly bad section of the wall and turned to his sub-leaders, Belgrade and Anand.

“Our job is to assist in repairing this city. Thus, I think that wall is…a good place to start? Belgrade, Anand, if you will take that wall and uh, effect repairs on it? Reinforce it? Make it taller or something?”

“Certainly, Pawn.”

“It will be done.”

The two [Tacticians] nodded immediately and began walking towards the wall. Workers and Soldiers both streamed after them, making Pawn jump. Belgrade and Anand needed no spoken instructions to command the Soldiers. Somehow, they’d learned the trick of Prognugators, to command without speaking, mind-to-mind.

Well, that was easy. Pawn turned and nearly had one of his hearts stop when he found Bird standing right in front of him. The Antinium seemed…focused as he held a bow in his hands. An arrow was already nocked.

“There are many birds here. I must go hunt them.”

“Oh? Certainly, Bird. Go ahead. Ah, be sure to bring the birds back so they may be eaten, alright?”

“Yes.”

Bird hurried off, already staring at the sky. Pawn turned around, and then around, and realized everyone had left. Belgrade and Anand were already having Soldiers clear the rubble while Workers moved about preparing tools and forming neat rows to expedite the work flow.

Now Pawn felt lonely. He thought about what he should do next, and remembered something Erin had told him last night. He looked around, saw a familiar tail, and hurried towards it.

—-

“I see what you mean. I see it.”

Zel Shivertail muttered to himself as he walked through the city of Esthelm, gazing at the destruction. He felt a small pang in his heart as he saw how much devastation had been done, but the rest of him just felt mystified.

Why was he here? How had he come to be here, in Esthelm, helping to distribute aid to the citizens? He could have sworn he was eating rolls with honey just this morning.

It was all because of that girl. Erin Solstice. It hadn’t been a unique idea, to help Esthelm. Anyone with at least one heart would have thought of that. And it wasn’t hard to think of a door being used to transport things like goods. That was an obvious use. But convincing two cities to send supplies and help, and asking the Antinium, the Antinium no less to render assistance?

“…Who is she?”

That was what Zel Shivertail asked himself. He could admit when he’d misjudged someone. He’d done that with Erin Solstice. He still kept part of his original opinion, but now he revised the rest. Something was off about that girl. Something was extremely off, in a way he could only attribute to one other Human before…

“Excuse me, General Shivertail?”

Zel turned. He expected to see one of the Drakes, asking for him to sign his tail or something silly like that, or a Human, asking for help. But he froze when he saw the Antinium standing meekly in front of him.

Instinct told Zel to rip the Ant’s head off. He restrained himself—with effort. Zel growled as he took a few steps back.

“What do you want?”

The Antinium nodded politely.

“My name is Pawn.”

“You have a name?”

Zel was incredulous. But he caught himself—this was one of the new Antinium, the ones all the damn Drake politicians and leaders were telling him to find out about. Pawn nodded.

“I do. I ah, have been sent to aid in restoring Esthelm.”

“Good. For you.”

Zel didn’t want to talk with any Antinium, even a new one. But Pawn clearly wanted to talk with him. The Antinium cleared his throat nervously.

“I was hoping I might converse with you, General Shivertail. I understand you are a famous General among the Drakes—”

“I fought in the Antinium War. Both Antinium Wars.”

“I know.”

The two stared at each other. Zel forced his fist to unclench. Pawn studied him carefully.

“I am not hostile towards you, General Shivertail. I do not wish to offend you either. I simply wish to talk.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t want to talk to you.”

Zel forced himself not to shout. Pawn tilted his head sideways.

“May I ask why?”

“You’re an Antinium. I saw your kind ravage my continent. You still do. You infest part of my home. I saw your Soldiers slaughter thousands of innocents.”

“Yes. They did. But I was created long after those wars. I am not like my people. I am not like anyone.”

There was something in the Antinium’s eyes—Zel looked away. He controlled his voice, spoke levelly.

“Look, An—Pawn. I came here to help the Humans here, because it was the right thing to do. Because it was a good cause, understand? And I tolerated your Hive sending an army here, though I’d rather kill you all, because you lot are helping too. I won’t pick a fight with your kind, but it doesn’t mean I have to like you, or talk with you. I lost too many friends, too many comrades to your species to ever think of you as anything but the enemy. Understand?”

Silence. And then Zel saw Pawn nod out of the corner of his eye.

“I understand. But I did not come here to be friends. I came to ask—you see, I have been placed in command of my own force. I am a…leader. But I do not know how to lead.”

“So? The Antinium lead themselves, or the Queens do, don’t they?”

“Yes, but she has entrusted that role to me. I must lead, but I do not know how. That is why I have come to you. You are a Drake [General], one of the greatest leaders on this continent.”

Zel Shivertail stared incredulously at Pawn.

“You want me to give you…advice on how to lead an army?”

Pawn nodded.

“Yes.”

“Why in the name of the Ancestors would I do that?”

The Antinium shrugged. He seemed at a loss in front of Zel’s questioning stare.

“I do not know. I simply hoped you would. Because you understand the burdens of leadership.”

Zel turned away in disgust.

“I’ve never taken on a pupil. If you want to ask for training, go find Niers Astoragon, or some Human [Lord] like Lord Tyrion Veltras.”

“They are far away.”

“I don’t care.”

Zel turned to go. Pawn called out behind him.

“One question, please. Answer me one question, General Shivertail.”

General Shivertail gritted his teeth and lashed his tail.

“If I do, will you go away and stop bothering me from now on?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. Ask.”

Pawn was silent for a moment. Zel was about to snap when the Antinium spoke.

“What do you tell a soldier under your command when he is dying?”

The world paused. Zel turned back. Pawn went on.

“You see, I do not know what to say. I can only hold them, but I do not know what is supposed to be said. But there must be something. What do you say?”

The Drake stared at the Antinium. Down at the Antinium. He realized that Pawn was small. He wasn’t a Soldier. He was a Worker, no fighter. He didn’t even have a weapon at his side. For a second, Zel wrestled with himself, and then one part won. He sighed, and gingerly beckoned Pawn.

“Come on. Walk with me.”

Pawn hesitated, but then followed Zel. The Drake stared up at the sky, at the Antinium swarming over a wall and putting it back together bit by bit, and at the Humans, Drakes, and Gnolls all working together in this city. Because of a girl. Because of an innkeeper. And he walked side by side with an Antinium and told him what to say, what you could say, what you had to say when you held a soldier in your arms.

“You tell them this. You tell them they did a good job, that they can rest. That you’ve never seen anyone fight that hard, that it’s only a scratch. That it’s going to be okay—”

“Even if it is not?”

“Especially then. You tell them what they need to hear. And sometimes, what they need to hear is nothing. Sometimes you just hold their claw and say goodbye. Sometimes…”

—-

Klbkch saw Pawn walking next to Zel Shivertail and couldn’t believe his eyes. He almost didn’t believe Xrn’s, but she had seen it too.

“What a strange thing.”

That was all she said. She hadn’t said much, just taken in everything on the march to Esthelm. Klbkch got the impression Xrn was saving up all her words for when she’d sorted out her feelings. Guiltily, he was looking forward to her reaction when it all came out.

But for now, Klbkch just walked with Tersk and Xrn through Esthelm, explaining things for the other two Antinium, but Tersk mainly. Klbkch kept having to pause and stare at the people working, though. He felt a little twinge in his chest every time he saw a Human look up, jump at the sight of him, and then gingerly wave, or at the very least, not flee screaming.

They came to an open square, where the smell of cooking was making Klbkch long for dinner already. He had already explained to the others that they would be eating Human, Drake, and Gnoll foods on this expedition—this seemed to have raised their morale quite a bit.

But now Klbkch saw Erin, standing in the center of the square, next to a grave blooming with flowers and a rather tall stone marker, speaking energetically to a small group of Humans, two Gnolls, and a Drake. She had found a [Flautist], a man with a crude bell that was probably used to sound the alarm, a man holding a harp, and a group of people who could sing.

“Revalantor Klbkch, what is that group of people doing?”

Klbkch paused. He was unsure, although he thought he knew.

“I think they’re—”

All at once, Erin broke into song. She sang loud and clearly, startling everyone around her. They stared at her as the girl started singing a song that Ryoka Griffin would have recognized instantly.

“Dashing through the snow, in a one-skeleton open sledge, o’er the fields we go, screaming all the way! Bells on Gnoll-tails ring, making spirits bright…”

She gestured, and the man with the bell began hitting it rhythmically. The Antinium watched as Erin tried to teach the rest of the appropriated lyrics to the others. He could hear her shouting.

“Come on, you don’t know this song? It’s famous! Don’t tell me you guys don’t have Christmas!? I’ve got so much to teach you all! Alright, on three, okay? One, two…”

“Revalantor Klbkch, I do not understand. What is the purpose of this?”

Tersk whispered it to Klbkch as the group began to sing. Klbkch heard the melody drifting throughout the city, caught by a breeze of wind. It was such a simple song, and yet it had a power of its own. People began to hum the song, or join in after a few repetitions.

“What confuses you, Prognugator Tersk?”

“What is the purpose of such an activity? Could not these people aid in some other task to better effect?”

“Perhaps. But this is important too. It will inspire others to work faster. And…it has a value of its own.”

“Which is?”

Revalantor turned his face up to the sky as the music began to spread. He smiled, and wished he could close his eyes. He could not, so he just said one word.

“Listen.”

3.35

In the city of Esthelm there was a slime. It oozed along the ground, leaving a trail as it went. It was a slime, a round little pebble of liquid with no real defining features besides its dark greenish brown insides, which pulsated as it moved.

But it was a slime, and as of such it attracted a young woman who followed it as it slowly roamed across the broken rubble of the city. Erin Solstice stared, captivated by the tiny slime. It was like a small puddle come to life, and it looked incredibly cute to her, even if she was inhaling a noxious odor from the nearby sewer.

She wanted to touch it. Erin was vaguely aware that even the cutest of monsters could be dangerous, but she assumed that a truly dangerous creature would have been destroyed on sight. So a touch wouldn’t hurt, right? She reached out to touch it.

Above the city of Esthelm there was a herd of faeries. They held their breath as Erin reached out.

“Erin! Don’t touch that!”

Someone shouted at the girl and the faeries released their breath in a collective sigh of disappointment. They watched as a half-Elf ran over to Erin, scowling. Erin turned, looking hurt.

“What? Why not?”

“Erin, you can’t just go around touching monsters—especially slimes!”

“Why? It doesn’t look that dangerous! What, is it acid or something?”

“Don’t be insane. Acid slimes? Dead gods, Erin, what a thought! No, this one is…look, do you know what slimes are? How they’re made?”

“Noooo….”

“It’s very simple.”

Ceria took a step back, pulling Erin away from the slime. It had begun rolling towards them, more inquisitively than with any real hostility. The half-Elf made a face.

“Look, slimes are…well, they’re closer to Golems than anything else, although they are alive. Actually, they’re closer to jellyfish. Um. Do you know what those are?”

“Of course I do!”

Erin looked insulted. Ceria shrugged.

“Some people have never seen the sea before. Anyways, slimes breed or spawn in bodies of liquid when the conditions are right. I guess some mana potions broke, or there were some already but—Erin, they take on the properties of their original liquid, get it? And this one clearly came from the sewer.”

The watching faeries saw Erin take a second to piece this together. Then they heard her horrified exclamation.

“Wait, you mean this is a poo slime? Aw!”

They laughed as she practically ran away from the small slime. It wasn’t as satisfying as if she’d stuck her hand in it—or if she’d fallen and put her face in the slime—but it would have to do.

The faeries flew across the city, pointing out more amusing sights for each other as they went. Esthelm was full of activity and four different species all trying to work together, which was a highly amusing sight for the watching fae.

That they didn’t swoop down and cause havoc or play tricks was perhaps the only sympathy the fae had to the people of Esthelm. At the moment they were content to simply be amused at mortal antics. What truly revealed their soft hearts though, was the fact that it had stopped snowing over Esthelm, even though fat snowflakes were falling several hundred meters away.

The fae loved children, sweets, mortal fools and heroes, and tricks. Other things too of course, but those were fairly universal aspects among their kind. Only a few, the old or the odd, liked actually interfering with the fates to any real degree.

Ivolethe didn’t like to meddle in mortal affairs, let alone Human, but she was of the mind it had to be done. And while she could watch Erin throwing rocks at the sewer slime forever, she reluctantly decided it was time.

She chattered to her fellow faeries and flew off. She had a mission, or rather, a cause. It wasn’t necessarily fun, but she knew it was important. The reason and end was important, even if the doing of it was a pain.

So the faerie flew away from Esthelm to a far more boring place. She flew up and up, and then sideways, and then in a direction not describable by words. Ivolethe flew through part of the world, and then flew through the air in the world and out of an empty bit of space behind a few books in a bookshelf. She sneezed and grumbled, brushing off dust from her wings as she circled the room.

It was a very large room, and very grand too, although decorations had been forgone for a more austere, solemn appearance. This was a library, and the towering bookcases were imposing, despite the rich wood that made up their frames. The books were all first-edition, spotless, and magical too. Ivolethe flew by them, seeing the spells worked into the bindings to keep the pages from dirt or harm.

And in that room sat a girl. She was Asian, dark haired, slightly darker of skin than most Humans on this continent, and taller than most Human females, if not Drake or Gnolls. She was athletic, her body toned, and could be considered attractive. Ivolethe personally thought Ryoka looked far too Human, but she had some affection for her ugly friend.

But that affection ended when she saw Ryoka was still reading. The girl was sitting in a chair, knees drawn to her chest, flipping through a large and rather heavy tome whose pages looked like they had been gilded with gold. The girl did not notice Ivolethe flying towards her at all.

“Stop reading, ye daft cow!”

Ivolethe screamed in Ryoka’s left ear. The girl jumped and tried to get out of the chair and twist simultaneously. The chair rocked backwards and she hit the ground.

“Ivolethe! Damn it, don’t do that!”

Ryoka swore as she picked herself up. She reached for the book and made sure it wasn’t damaged before she glared at the faerie. But the little Frost Faerie was full of far more wroth than Ryoka; she buzzed around the young woman, shouting angrily.

“Put down that book, fool! Go outside and do something! ‘Tis been forever and a day since you decided to stay here; stop dawdling and act!”

Ryoka scowled. She put the book back on the table and turned to it.

“It’s been only a few days. Okay…maybe more, Ivolethe. That’s not forever. Leave me alone and let me read, will you?”

“Forever is a thought, not a number, fool. And I will not let ye waste away! There are things to be doing! Anything is better than staring at dusk and dead leaves and ink of the past!”

Ivolethe sneered at Ryoka as she hovered in front of the girl’s face, getting in the way of the text. Ryoka swatted at her; Ivolethe danced aside and flew back in the way, impossible to touch.

“Fine. Let me just finish this passage and I’ll go. Happy?”

The faerie scowled and crossed her arms. She blew a stream of icy air upwards, but then acquiesced less than gracefully.

“If ye must. But promise to put aside the book! Promise it!”

Ryoka rolled her eyes, but she did promise. It was an oath made to a faerie, and she would not break that lightly.

“I will be done in thirty minutes. Is that enough?”

Ivolethe shook her head.

“One!”

“Twenty.”

“One!”

“Ten minutes, okay?”

“Well…fine. But hurry up!”

Ryoka sighed as Ivolethe floated back over to the bookshelves, to go see if Erin had found the dead raccoon corpse that was bobbing in the open sewer main. The young woman turned back to the book, frowning as she lost herself for a few more minutes in the tightly-written scrawl of words.

It had been over a week since the attack on Magnolia’s mansion. A week, and Ryoka had not left yet for Invrisil. Because she had had a thought. And that thought was…

—-

I really don’t like faeries. I mean, okay, they’re nice to be around sometimes, and they’re wondrous beings of nature and otherworldly marvels and yadda yadda, etc. But they don’t read. I don’t even think they keep written records; they were around far before the invention of such things, after all.

So they have no patience at all with reading, except I guess if it’s about them. I can imagine a bunch of faeries finding a book about King Arthur or the fae. But they are like children in some respect.

Noisy, angry children who can turn a library into a blizzardy hell if they get bored.

Yes, I’m in Magnolia’s mansion. Yes, it’s been a week since she was attacked. The assassins are all dead, everyone’s patched up—hell, all the damage in the courtyard was gone the next day and I’ll just bet her sitting room is as perfect as it used to be. Magnolia and Ressa left the day after the attack, heading farther north to her estates.

She left me with promises of assistance, subtly dire threats, and Reynold. Apparently he’ll be my guide in Invrisil, which will open some doors I guess. I could go check out the city and get all I need done at any time; hell, I can even take the carriage since I’m going with Reynold. Apparently that’s the second-hand one; Magnolia went off in her personal vehicle which can probably fly and shoot lasers. There’s no one stopping me from leaving.

And yet, I’m still here. Yeah, that’s sort of surprising, but the reason I stayed is simple enough. Or rather, it’s a mix of reasons.

One. I don’t have to go to Invrisil…at least, not to get some good work done. The best thing about being in a mansion full of [Butlers] and [Maids] and [Manservants] is that you can get them to do things. Like haul a bunch of artifacts over to the most reputable [Enchanter] in the city to get them appraised. Magnolia even suggested that bit; she’s willing to foot the not-inconsiderable bill to get them looked at, although I’ll have to be the one to pay for any repairs or what have you. I guess she wants to know what Ceria and the others found.

As for all the deliveries, well, they can wait. A week of waiting for their delivery is still a lot faster than you could ask for, especially since they’re coming all the way from Remendia and because no one else was doing the run.

Right, so I don’t have to leave the mansion. But why would I want to stay? The answer’s simple for me, and I realized it the moment I saw Magnolia heading off in her carriage. When the cat’s away, the mouse has got to play*. Or in this case, the runner girl gets to poke around in her private home and find out all of her dirty little secrets.

*Damnit, I don’t want to be a mouse. How about a rat? I could live with being a rat.

…Anyways. I failed on that venture. Polite servants get less polite the more intrusive you get, it seems. And while Ressa the ninja-maid is gone, Magnolia’s got some scary maids. The Gnoll one is especially intimidating.

So I failed to pry, but then I remembered that Magnolia has something else which is priceless: books. Frickin’ books. To be more accurate, a library, which is not a common convenience in this world.

And she’s one of the most powerful women in the world. And this is her personal library. How could I not spend some time here figuring out, well, everything? My god, there’s probably more pieces of the puzzle of this world in this room than anywhere else. And…

Yeah. It’s sort of boring trying to do research here. I won’t lie. Ivolethe has a point. It’s been a week. I’ve skimmed through over a hundred books at least, and read from dawn till dusk. I want to burn down this entire library and never read a word of cursive again. If I find the asshole who thought curly writing was a good idea…

At least I have a way to read the books. I push back the pair of bulky lenses over my eyes as I peer at the book in front of me, trying to make the script out. I need these glasses, as ill-fitting and heavy as they are; they’re magical and can translate the multitude of languages in these books.

But somehow, they still don’t translate weird handwriting. I swear, this was written by someone with two left hands. Which, considering the species in this world, might not be too far off.

“‘In the fall of the Strygian Empire we find peace for a time. And yet, the dead still rise from every grave and haunt the few souls still living. Something still calls them back, and Ghouls are but the least of the undead who continue to reanimate. Fifteen Wraiths wiped out a village in one night, and I fear that the curse of the Untombed One still lingers on our land…’”

Heavy stuff. I’ve got a pile of history books around me, and I’m currently reading through an account of some empire which fell a few thousand years back around these parts. I flip past that section. As fascinating as the history might be, I’ve read countless stories like this one.

The history of this world is…vast. As far as I can tell, some accounts claim that civilization was flourishing even twenty thousand years ago. That’s incredible. You’d think that such a world would have entered into a modern or post-modern age, or at least come up with some sort of industrial revolution by now. And yet—

When you read through the accounts of histories, skipping past the triumphal bullshit and the rewritten bits that make out each [King] as the one true savior and so on, it’s a simple picture.

War dominates this world. War, and little else. Each record is the same. War. Peace. War again, after a few decades or just a year. A border conflict between two grand nations escalates; proxy wars break out in five different nations. War drags in an entire continent into war; a second continent begins to fight that one. War. An armistice is declared. More war.

War.

Few nations have the time to develop properly, I guess. Well, they might reach new technological heights, but that’s by this world’s standards, which means it generally comes in the form of mage-powered inventions, not science and steel. But in time, each nation or city will eventually find themselves fighting a battle to the death with someone else.

It’s not Human nature. It’s the nature of all these species. That’s the issue, as I see it. There are countless species in this world and while one species might be content with peace, the others are angry, touchy, prideful, jealous bastards who’ll attack if they think things are unfair, which is, of course, always.

And yet, by the same token, there’s never an end to the cycle, never a victor because it’s too hard. This world is far larger than our own; huge nations the size of the United States or Russia are normal countries around here, or even small. Forging a large empire that would put an end to wars by conquering everything in sight always fails due to a number of factors.

The first is size. It’s too hard to expand and keep supply lines going. Too, a larger nation faces a much greater risk of internal strife or dissent from within. And even if a nation gets a proper transport system and bureaucracy running, such empires usually fail simply because the [Emperor] or [Warlord] gets old and dies.

You can’t conquer the world in one lifetime, not here. And that’s the rest of the twist of this world; nations live and die by their rulers, not like the ones back at home. All the power of a high-level [King], well, once it’s gone a country is easy pickings.

The second factor, then, is probably levels. No nation can ever stay on top just by being bigger. They might have better gear, better training, better economy, but once a high-level individual pops up, even a tiny nation can turn into a powerhouse. Small rebellions that are easily suppressed turn into full-scale revolts as some [Peasant] becomes a [Hero].

Yeah. There were heroes, once. It’s a rare class, but apparently it does exist. I’ve read countless books, pored through them for useful details. One of the things I learned? There is a [Hero] class, even if none of the historians writing the books knows how it can be obtained.

And third? Technology in this world is not the same as in mine. In mine, people build industry and create ideas and inventions that can be built upon, permanent infrastructure like assembly lines and the technology to build steam engines. In this world?

Magic rules. But the problem with that is when an empire dependent on magical innovations loses all of its high-level mages, everything goes right back to the start. If they built huge factories and used machines perhaps the world would change. But I see how easy magic is to use. You can create a carriage that can outrun any vehicle from our world with magic. Hell, it could probably outrun anything but the Shinkansen bullet trains. But you can’t create a hundred, or a thousand. And once the mage who made it dies, so too does the means of creating it.

Stagnation.

The other things I’ve learned? I push the book back and sigh. Ivolethe’s coming back any time now and I’m not feeling too keen on hearing how the Strygian Empire crumbled away. Let’s do a refresher.

“Important things…important things? One. There are no gods. Ever.”

No mention of them. Not one, in over ten thousand years of history, as far as I can tell. It’s hard to figure out the chronological order of the books; they use a dating system based on events, so eras come and go fast. It’s damn annoying, and finding a reference book to make sense of it all is a challenge in itself.

But like I said, no mention of gods. Not once, in thousands of years. Oh, there are hints—references to someone trying to bring back the [Cleric] class, a faded relic here and there, but no gods are ever referenced directly. They’re dead. I wonder why no new ones were ever made? It’s such a discrepancy I can’t quite believe it.

“But that aside—Rhir. It’s always at war. And the Antinium are new.”

Really new. In this millennium new; in this century new, in fact. They just popped up out of nowhere, and that’s odd for Rhir.

Or not. Rhir is a scary place. The more I read about it, the more it seems it’s always been at war. There’s always a Blighted King or Queen, or Blighted Princes…it’s always fighting against some threat or other.

“But it changes. It damn well changes. The Demons are new, too.”

Five thousand years back they emerged, catching a prosperous set of kingdoms off-guard. But they should have expected it, even though they had several hundred years of peace to grow complacent. Because Rhir is always at war.

Sometimes they fight off the enemy—it can be races of any kind. There’s a reference to a Blighted Princess holding off a marauding army of twisted horrors with no real name, but there’s always something. The kingdoms of Rhir, or kingdom in this case, is always fighting a battle. Sometimes they win. Sometimes they lose and the horrors spread across the world.

Huge armies from every corner of the world have come to take back Rhir. They slaughter the monsters, take back the lands, put a nation back there. Everything is peaceful. And then…

I go back to one of the open books on the table, find the passage.

“‘The continent is secure. The last of the tide of Crelers has been purged, although the other nations report infestations in their lands from time to time. Yet Rhir remains safe, apart from a few disturbances reported in underground mining incidents each year. However, infestations of monsters are put to the sword the instant they are uncovered…’”

And then? Black slime pops out, begins mutating everything around it, and this kingdom gets destroyed. I wish I could say I’m making this up. But there’s something in Rhir that keeps creating new things to destroy with.

Something. A dead God. Like Klbkch said.

I shiver. How could no one have known? Well, they did know. People can figure out when something’s wrong. After they fought back the evil slime stuff, a huge army made up of soldiers from three damn continents went underground, searching for the root of their problems. None of them made it back, but one year later a bunch of abominations made from parts of people came out and slaughtered everyone.

What’s the lesson here? Avoid Rhir.

I push the book back, feeling vaguely sick. Ivolethe is right. There are no answers here. Just more things to keep me up at night. If there’s any consolation I have, it’s knowing a bit more about the world.

I knew a lot, or enough, rather. Five main continents. Rhir, Izril, Terandria, Chandrar, and Baleros. Each one with different species, although Humans are on all the continents in some form or other. But it’s the major world powers that are interesting. Aside from the various nations, there are some standouts, some big players.

One of the ones I didn’t know about are the Slave Traders of Roshal. It’s apparently a city, or an empire that keeps itself neutral. It’s based in Chandrar and it’s about as powerful as Wistram, although it’s actually neutral, rather than political like the mages.

Also, the Minotaurs have an archipelago. They feud with other nations—hell, they tried to take over the world a few times, although almost every species has done that over the course of the world. They usually go to war with a bunch of mysterious foreigners—I never found a book about them, but they might be like my world’s version of Japan, or the Philippines. They live at the ‘edge of the world’.

So this world has an edge? Or have people still not figured out that the earth is round? Is it round? I can assume nothing here.

What else? There are Dwarves. Good to know. They live on Terandria, although they used to be everywhere. There used to be harpies, actual intelligent ones with a nation of their own. They’re dead. There used to be a people like djinn—highly magical, part spirit. They’re dead. There used to be undead kingdoms. They’re gone.

There used to be Elves, but every reference in the books I’ve read only talks about half-Elves. When did the Elves die out?

Don’t know. But the Dragons are mostly dead, too. Every few thousand years one gets slain, but the occurrence of such entries grew less and less the more I read. I guess, in a sense, this world is stabilizing. In that species are dying. Perhaps someday, after countless thousands of years, it might be only one or two species left.

Maybe it’ll be Goblins. Because no matter how many times they get wiped out, they always come back. And the reports of what happens when a Goblin King emerges…

I read the book Magnolia told me about, the one about the Second Antinium Wars. Yeah. There were no winners in that war, but it was clear that it was more like the ‘Goblin wars where the Antinium, Az’kerash, and everyone else barely manage to beat him while fighting with each other’.

So much for historical accuracy. I rub at my temples. I have a headache. Is there anything else…?

“You said you would stop reading!”

The accusatory voice makes me look up. Ivolethe glares at me. I push the book back.

“I’m done.”

The faerie glares and points. A bit of frost covers the pages of the books. Just a bit; Ivolethe’s magic is apparently very weak inside, even if the library doesn’t have much iron in it.

“Now ye are. Come on! Time to leave this stuffy place! I crave adventure!”

“I crave a sub sandwich.”

I mutter as I leave the room. I feel old as I walk through Magnolia’s grand estate, passing by servants who make way for me. I feel old, out of place.

Like an intruder.

It’s still only been a few days since the attack. I’m the only other person in the mansion not in Magnolia’s employ—I did ask about the other people from our world that Erin met, but I got no answers. I’m the odd one out, and I feel it.

Out of the corner of my eye I see a bevy of maids and a man in a black suit coat hurry into the library. They’ve got a lot of reshelving to do. Do I feel guilty about that?

Only slightly.

Ivolethe flies happily through the corridors of the mansion, making people duck out of the way or hurry to one side. She seems to feel safe inside here, so long as Magnolia isn’t around, that is. And she quite enjoys terrorizing the people here.

In fact, one of her favorite targets is just up ahead. Ivolethe smiles widely as she spots him eating through one of the glass windows. I try to stop her, but it’s too late. I sigh and head outdoors. As I do, I smile, just a bit. Today I will go to Invrisil. Reading’s all very well, but I guess I’m just an active sort of person.

And I wouldn’t mind a bit of adventure myself, come to that.

—-

Reynold the [Butler] was eating outdoors, despite the nip in the air. That was because eating indoors where he could get crumbs on the floors would get him in quite a bit of trouble with those assigned to cleaning. Right now he was enjoying a skewer of meat, still steaming in the cold air.

It wasn’t a very Human dish, but the people of Izril had adopted the foods of other species. This was a favorite food of Drakes, and it had spread across the continent. The kebab could have used some vegetables for flavoring, but Reynold had been late to lunch and only managed to snag one of the extras.

Still, the meat was hot, juicy, and Reynold was content to eat as he stood against one wall in the mansion. He was happy in life. That was, until he spotted the blue patch of indistinct light coming towards his face at speed.

Reynold ducked as the Frost Faerie flew past his head. But it wasn’t him that the faerie was after. He felt a tugging at the skewer in his hand and to his dismay, saw two chunks of meat disappear upwards into the air. Reynold watched in silent misery as the faerie began to devour a good bit of his meal.

“Ivolethe! Damn it, I told you not to steal food from people! Or at least don’t make it obvious when you’re doing it!”

An angry voice rang out in the small courtyard. Reynold sighed. So much for enjoying his lunch in peace. He turned and put on a polite smile as his profession dictated.

“Good evening Miss Ryoka. I trust this day sees you well?”

“Hey Reynold.”

The tall young women jogged over, pausing to stop in front of Reynold. She glared at the orb of blue light Reynold thought of as a Frost Faerie, a force of nature rather than an actual being. But Ryoka could apparently see such creatures, and talk to them. Reynold had spotted this particular faerie indoors, and he had been flabbergasted to see the true identity of these beings.

That still didn’t make him any less wary of them, though. Reynold eyed the fuzzy patch of light as it swooped closer to his meal. He would have given it up rather than risk the faerie’s wrath, but Ryoka swiped at the Frost Faerie, making it dodge away.

“Stop that. Leave the poor man to his meal. I’ll buy you something to eat when we get to Invrisil, okay?”

“Ah, so you are planning on visiting the city today?”

Reynold straightened up as the faerie flew back towards Ryoka. She nodded towards him, distracted. She stared at the faerie and scowled.

“What? Why do I…? He can’t even see you properly, why the hell should—okay, fine, fine. Shut up.”

She turned back towards him with a resigned look on her face. Ryoka pointed towards the hovering faerie’s indistinct form.

“Ivolethe is here. She wants to be acknowledged.”

“Of course. My deepest apologies, Miss Ivolethe.”

Reynold bowed in the direction of the faerie, according her the respect and proper tilt of the back due to a member of an aristocratic house. He couldn’t hear her of course, but Reynold got the impression the faerie was pleased.

“Glad you enjoyed that. Okay Reynold, I’m ready to go. One or two questions before we go, though. You said you brought all of the artifacts to an [Enchanter]. Any word on whether it’s done?”

“The estate has not received any communications to that effect, Miss. However, I am sure you could visit the mage in person to ask.”

“I might do that. Okay, next question. Are your orders to show me around the city, or can I only count on you for the ride back?”

Reynold answered carefully, remembering all the things Ressa had told him to say—and not to say.

“I am at your disposal, Miss Ryoka. I will accompany you as long as is needed—within Invrisil. I am not permitted to escort you anywhere outside of the city and my help is limited to an, ah, advisory role.”

“Meaning you don’t step in if I’m in trouble?”

Reynold winced.

“That is broadly correct, Miss.”

“Well, that’s fine. Okay, last question.”

Ryoka stepped forwards and was suddenly uncomfortably close to Reynold. She narrowed her eyes.

“Where are the others? The other people from my world.”

The unfortunate [Butler] swallowed.

“I don’t—”

“Don’t lie to me. I know they were here. Erin told me. Where did they go?”

The man let the silence go on till the count of five. That seemed like enough time—Ressa had told him to pretend to be reluctant to tell Ryoka.

“They…are learning to become adventurers, Miss. I believe they have been escorted southeast of here to—to train.”

“Train? You mean Magnolia’s hauling a bunch of kids to—damn, that sounds just like her. Are they going to get killed?”

“I don’t believe so, Miss. They have competent escorts.”

“But knowing Magnolia, they won’t step in unless someone’s about to die.”

Ryoka shook her head. She eyed Reynold and he wondered if she was going to ask him where they were—that was something he couldn’t reveal. To his relief, she seemed to abandon the idea.

“I don’t need to see them anyways. The city’s what I’m concerned about. Why don’t we head over there?”

He nodded, relieved.

“I will have the carriage prepped and ready to go within five minutes, Miss. If you will follow me?”

“I don’t need a carriage. I’ll run to the city and meet you inside. At the Runner’s Guild, say.”

The [Butler] hesitated.

“I’m not sure that would be the most efficacious use of time, Miss Ryoka.”

She stared at him.

“First, stop calling me Miss Ryoka. I’ve told you that. I don’t care what your [Butler] protocol says. Second, why would that take a long time?”

“The [Guardsmen] at the gates do a thorough check of all visitors entering the city, Mi—ah, Ryoka. The queue moves fairly quickly, but it would be easier to take Lady Reinhart’s carriage. Her servants and associates are never stopped on their errands.”

“The privilege of power, huh?”

Ryoka snorted and shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter how long the line is, Reynold. I’m a Runner. I skip the waiting around at the gates.”

“Not in Invrisil. Customs apply to all people entering, even Runners. There is a separate line, but…”

“What, they check Runners too? Why? Don’t tell me they’re at odds with their Runner’s Guild.”

“Not as such. But Invrisil sees far more magical artifacts and potentially dangerous items entering and leaving the city than most locations. Prudence is necessary.”

“They really get that many deliveries that could be dangerous? What about the Runner’s claim to confidentiality? Don’t tell me they’d open all of my packages.”

“I believe they have spells for that. As for the rest, well, Invrisil is slightly…larger than you might be used to, Ryoka.”

Reynold smiled slightly and stroked his trim mustache to hide it. Ryoka gave him an arch look while Ivolethe flew around her head.

“We’ll see. Let’s take the carriage, then.”

—-

Invrisil, the city of adventurers. It was one of the features of Izril, a place that would appear on any map of the world. Ryoka and Erin had both heard the city’s name during their stay in this world. It was a place of adventurers, the heart of the northern half of the continent, where Humans would come to find the strongest of adventurers, undertake the most dangerous of requests. And of course, visit one of the most prosperous cities on the continent.

After all, where adventurers thrived, there had to be a city of equal size and resources to support them. Inns and food to feed countless mouths, [Mages], [Alchemists], and [Blacksmiths] to supply warriors with any number of aids in battle, and [Merchants] to buy and sell goods looted, [Guardsmen] to break up fights between rival parties, brothels, gambling pubs, enchanters and healers, trackers and cartographers, bards and laborers…

It was a city to rival any modern city from Ryoka and Erin’s world. If the buildings weren’t as tall as skyscrapers, well, many of them were far higher than normal architecture would allow thanks to magically reinforced walls. And if there were no cars or planes, there were enough carriages, coaches, wagons, and carts to make up for that.

But the rest was the same. In fact, the rest was even more than Ryoka had seen in places like New York City. For while that city could boast over eight million souls, each one was Human. Not so in Invrisil.

String People walked down the street, chatting, poking at loose threads in each other’s bodies right next to Drakes, who strode around, keeping their tails from being trodden on by impatient Minotaurs who towered even over the heads of the Gnolls in the crowd. Humans dominated the scene, but they walked cheek-by-dead flesh with Selphids, did business with Drowned Men and Women, and argued hotly with bird-people, coughed as dusty travelers whose bodies seemed part sand walked past them—

Ryoka stared as the carriage drove down the streets, making good time despite the huge amount of people. Ivolethe, sitting on Ryoka’s head, stared around in delight, laughing and pointing at individuals in the crowd. But Ryoka couldn’t focus on any one thing.

The buildings! Some were made of wood and stone yes, but many had colored roofs in every shade, and still more had been painted or given artistic fronts. When magic could easily make any relief permanent, the most prosperous buildings paid for [Painters] and [Muralists] to create wondrous images. Ryoka saw a group of adventurers battling a hideously large Troll adorning three buildings, each one showing part of the complete relief. Then her eyes turned and saw the lights.

There was no electricity in this world. But who needed that when magic provided an even steadier, softer glow? The hanging orbs of crystal shone even in the day, and some had been enchanted to shift color steadily, to catch and bewitch the eye.

“See the guards on patrol, Miss Ryoka? They’re fine warriors, all of them. As fine as you’d see in any Drake city! Some of them are retired adventurers, and but for a few old wounds they’re as dangerous as they were in their youth.”

Reynold pointed out a group of men and women marching smartly down the street. They certainly did look older than normal, but Ryoka saw the confident way each one walked. She saw them pass by as the carriage moved onwards.

That was another thing. The city had a street and sidewalk. There were no wagons mixing with pedestrians here—there was a separate route for vehicles such that they could keep moving despite the flow of foot-traffic. Ryoka saw a [Guardswoman] directing traffic and wondered if there were street lights too. That would be too surreal.

“I smell goat meat! And cow meat! And rat meat! And spices! Thyme and rosemary and paprika and qerix and bablyous!”

Ivolethe shouted and leapt from Ryoka’s head. She skimmed to an open stall and laughed as the vendor swore and tried to protect his wares on display. Ryoka passed by one of the open markets in the city and saw countless stalls like the ones in Liscor, all open, all filled with [Merchants] and [Traders] doing business with people there.

“How many people live here?”

She shouted at Reynold as he drove the carriage up a street. He had to raise his voice to reply.

“I couldn’t say how many, Miss! This city is so vast—and there are countless towns and villages only a stone’s throw away!”

It couldn’t be a million. Ryoka was sure…but well, why not? She knew cities like Paris and London had boasted over a hundred thousand people in the middle ages. This city was surely as large—no, larger than they were. If you counted the suburbs and outskirts, why not?

“Unbelievable.”

She whispered the words as the carriage rode on. Now Reynold was taking her into the heart of the business district, as far as she could tell. Shops passed by on the right and left and she heard people calling out to her as she passed.

“Milady, a moment, please! Would you be interested in the latest wares from Baleros? A shipment has come in from T’vault, please see!”

“I have the latest treats from Terandria, right here! Try our fabulous new treat, a frozen delight! You won’t be able to say no to another lick!”

The man was talking about ice cream! Ryoka saw it being served in a shop—the man there was putting it on little gold platters for people to sample. She looked over to the other side of the street and saw a huge plaza pass by. The people shouting there seemed to be aiming for warriors, judging by the calls.

“Want a Shield Spider? Invaluable protection—don’t fear it turning on you! An expert [Beast Master] has trained it to fight and obey your every command!”

“Our group is seeking work! A [Jarl] and [Raiders] are willing to fight at your command!”

“I have a pot of Everburning Flame here! Make me an offer, quickly!”

“The Windfrozen Riders are available for commission—”

“Hire the Celestial Trackers and we will find your quarry or your coin back—”

The voices were swept away as Ryoka passed by. She turned her head to look and spoke to Ivolethe.

“I might have to get an Everburning Flame while I’m here. It could be seriously useful, especially if I can build a primitive steam engine or something. Hell, I could probably find a [Blacksmith] to make me the parts.”

The Frost Faerie laughed.

“Hah! Yon fool lies. That pot is filled with naught but oil. ‘Tis an alchemist’s trick—it will burn for a week before running out.”

“Damn. How can you tell?”

“‘Twas not magic. And I caught the odor of the burnt oil as we passed. How could you not tell?”

Ryoka stared at Ivolethe, impressed.

“I’m going to take you when I go shopping.”

“After you buy me meat! You promised!”

“I need to take care of business first. Reynold, where’s the Runner’s Guild in the city?”

“We’re arriving at the largest branch now, Miss Ryoka.”

Reynold pointed, and Ryoka saw a large building to one side. It was painted like most of the buildings in the city—a light blue color, and she saw there were three sets of doors that were constantly in use as citizens came in to claim a package or have one delivered, and Runners went out to make said deliveries.

“Looks like that’s my stop. Should I wait for you there?”

“I’m afraid I will have to park this carriage at a spot designated for Lady Reinhart’s vehicles. Please do not wait for me. Instead, if you will accept this seal, I will locate you.”

Reynold produced one of Lady Magnolia’s iconic seals, half-gem, half-silver. Ryoka eyed the translucent sapphire melted together with shining silver metal into a single disc.

“Expensive. Are you sure I need it?”

“It will allow you unfettered access to many establishments, I think you will find, Miss Ryoka. Of course, Lady Reinhart asks that you not make any claims against her name with her token—lending it to you is an act of great trust.”

“And it has a tracking spell, doesn’t it? That’s how you’re going to find me.”

“Yes, Miss. This is most convenient in such a large city.”

Ryoka sighed, but took the token reluctantly.

“Find me as soon as you can and we’ll go visit that enchanter.”

“Yes, Miss Ryoka.”

“And stop calling me Miss!”

Ryoka shouted as she leapt out of the carriage and Reynold drove off. She sighed as Ivolethe flew down and landed on her shoulder.

“Are ye going to take long in yon building?”

“Not too long if I can get past the receptionists without too much fuss. But they’ll have to tally all the deliveries I’ve got…look, just get inside my pouch and wait, alright?”

“Ach, the things that friendship requires.”

Grumbling, Ivolethe flew into Ryoka’s pouch. The Runner adjusted her belt, and then strode into the Runner’s Guild.

Whatever she had been expecting, Ryoka hadn’t quite expected the scope of this Guild. She stared around for a second, blinking, as her eyes took in the main Runner’s Guild of Invrisil.

“Wow. That’s a lot of Runners.”

There had to be over a hundred people in the building. That was three times as many as Ryoka had ever seen in Celum’s guild at any one time, and this was only the main building? She saw Runners coming and going, people of all species. A Gnoll with a package tied to a sling around her chest brushed past her, and Ryoka realized there was a steady stream going in and out the doors.

Quickly, the young woman stepped towards the receptionists. There were quite a few of them, and they were dealing with Runners quickly, changing seals for coin, handing out deliveries, and so on. Ryoka stepped into line and found herself advancing in the queue at startling speed.

There was no waiting long in a Runner’s Guild it seemed. Ryoka could already see the brisk [Receptionists] talking with Runners at the front. They seemed older than the normal group of young women, and there were men in the mix as well.

Ryoka fidgeted as she reached for her Runner’s Seal and bag of holding carrying all the deliveries from Remendia. She still hated talking to new people, especially when it came to Receptionists. They were so chatty—

“Next! Over here, Miss.”

Two receptionists finished with their Runner at the same time. Ryoka walked over to a woman in her mid-thirties. She was a String Person, although interestingly, she had pale skin, rather than Octavia or Revi’s dark tone. She held out one hand where all the fingers had stitches where they met the hand.

“Your seal, please.”

Ryoka placed her personal Runner’s seal on the counter. The [Receptionist] snatched it up and produced a magnifying glass to study it in an instant. She only gave it a brief look before sliding it back towards Ryoka.

“Ryoka Griffin? You’re a long way from Celum. Are you transferring, or doing a delivery? We didn’t receive word you were heading this way.”

Ryoka blinked. This receptionist was far more business-like than Ryoka was accustomed to. She hesitated a bit on her reply.

“I’m not transferring. I—was in Remendia and had the chance to come here. I’ve got a bunch of deliveries from the guild there.”

“Really? May I see them?”

Ryoka produced her bag of holding. The [Receptionist]’s gaze sharpened and she held out a hand.

“Wait. Are any of the packages marked confidential or otherwise uniquely addressed in any way?”

“Not that I was told.”

“Very well then. Proceed.”

Ryoka carefully took wrapped item after item out of the bag of holding, piling it up on the desk. In the end the receptionist had to call for a bin—she began transferring each package into it with quite deliberate movements.

“Well, that accounts for every package we had coming this way. I suppose we’ll get less on the weekly delivery.”

The [Receptionist] idly commented as she peered at the bin full of deliveries. Ryoka had to smile a bit; she could see some of the other Runners staring jealously at her. The [Receptionist] nodded as she tallied up each delivery on a receipt and stamped it.

“Not bad. But a Courier could have done it just as quickly, or faster if they were heading here directly. If you’re going to make a long-distance trip in the future, please inform the Guild so they can send a message, Miss.”

The smug smile on Ryoka’s face vanished. The woman at the desk looked only vaguely impressed with Ryoka’s feat. She handed the receipt to Ryoka.

“You may exchange that for coin now or at any guild, as I’m sure you know. Now, was there anything else, Miss?”

Caught off-guard, Ryoka thought quickly.

“…There is one thing. Do you happen to know if the Courier Valceif Godfrey is in the city?”

The woman at the desk raised her eyebrows.

“Valceif? His usual circuit is closer to First Landing, but he comes here regularly for deliveries…I haven’t seen him of late, which is unusual, but I will ask about his location. If you return here later, I, or another receptionist at the desk will know more.”

“Thanks.”

“My pleasure, Miss Griffin. Next!”

Bemused, Ryoka wandered away from the desk, seeing a rather battered-looking Dullahan step forwards. She heard him beginning to complain about being attacked by dogs again before she stepped out of the guild.

“I guess a big city means the Runners here are that much better.”

“Bah, ‘tis not as if they can run that fast.”

Ivolethe poked her head out of Ryoka’s belt pouch as the young woman stood in the street. Ryoka shook her head; she thought the Runners in that building might all be at Fals’ level, or better. If that was the case, they were all nearly as fast or faster than she was.

“I’m starting to really feel like a country yokel seeing the city for the first time. Until Reynold finds us, how about we go look around? You can get something to eat, and I’ll…take in the sights, I guess.”

Ivolethe happily agreed, and so Ryoka set off down the streets. At first she was uncomfortable, but she quickly got used to the flow of the city.

This place reminded her a lot of New York. There wasn’t any stopping and chatting here, not with such a press of people. If you didn’t walk fast you got dirty looks—or pushed. The sidewalk was crowded, and when the wagons on the street halted to let pedestrians cross you moved fast or you got shouted at.

Ryoka had the insane urge to shout ‘I’m walking here!’ just for the hell of it. But that would probably get something hurled at her head by one of the drivers. They certainly traded insults with the foot traffic in a refreshingly familiar way. Although, Ryoka had to admit, she had never seen a pedestrian throw a ball of magic at a driver who shouted obscenities at him.

But aside from the city press, the city of Invrisil was still a city. And Ryoka had grown up in the urban sprawl. There were places to get food on the sidewalk, and in no time she was eating her own hot skewer and quickly sliding off hot chunks of meat to cram into her belt pouch from another.

Her pouch was going to get greasy and disgusting, but Ivolethe seemed only concerned about the food. Ryoka could feel her rustling around and making happy noises as she ate. And a happy Frost Faerie was one that wasn’t freezing your stomach and giving you horrible bowel movements.

“Where to next, I wonder?”

Ryoka stopped in a busy plaza, looking around for signs, perhaps to the market, or maybe to a specialized store specializing in magical artifacts. She had coin after all—a lot of it. It might not be enough for a powerful magical artifact, but it was time to buy a ring or—or enchanted clothing perhaps. What about a wand—

“Watch where you’re going, Troll!”

An outraged shout made Ryoka’s head turn. She saw a group of armored men and one woman—adventurers?—standing in front of…

Ryoka had to rub her eyes. It was a Troll. Or—no, not a Troll maybe, but a half-Troll?

There was no other word for it. Ryoka hadn’t seen a Troll before, but she imagined they’d be a bit bigger, a bit rounder and more…monster-like. But while this…person wasn’t a full Troll, they definitely had some Troll blood in them.

It was hard to describe. Ryoka’s first impression was that someone had taken this poor young woman—a young woman with far bigger bones than even Garia—and painted her a greyish color. But that alone wouldn’t account for her tough, almost pebble-like skin and towering height. She was over seven feet tall and she looked like a goliath. Not like a tall and lanky basketball player, no, Ryoka thought she looked more like a walking tank. Broad-shouldered didn’t even begin to cover it, and her arms were thick.

She was wearing rough, simple clothing that looked hand-stitched. The half-Troll was trying to step away from the angry adventurer she’d apparently run into. He wasn’t letting her go. He was angry, and, Ryoka thought, overly hostile towards her.

“Of course. Racism at its finest.”

“What is?”

Ivolethe poked her head out of Ryoka’s pouch, cheeks bulging. The second she saw the scene she went still. Ryoka shook her head as the adventurer began insulting the half-Troll girl.

He looked like he wanted a fight. Briefly, Ryoka considered stepping in. She had no patience for bullies. And she had a pepper potion and the other items Octavia had given her ready to be used. Except that this adventurer had a group of his friends backing him up. Ryoka eyed them and shook her head.

“Not my business.”

That was what Ryoka decided in the end. She could imagine what would happen if she picked a fight with real adventurers. She’d not only lose, but probably get hurt and maybe get thrown in jail. It wasn’t worth it.

“Don’t go! Stay! I want to watch!”

Ivolethe shouted as Ryoka turned to leave. The young woman frowned down into the pouch.

“Why? Do you want to help? I won’t stop you, but be careful. If they think that half-Troll girl is doing it, they’ll attack her.”

“What? Not the half-child, ye daft fool! I want to see what he does!”

Ivolethe pointed, and Ryoka saw to her surprise that the Troll girl wasn’t in fact alone. She hadn’t even seen the young man standing by her side; she sort of dominated the scene. But he was standing in silence, listening to the adventurer get angrier and angrier.

The adventurer was trying to pick a fight, Ryoka could tell. He had a sword and this half-Troll didn’t. He was a piece of crap, and she would have loved to drop-kick him and stomp on him a bit. But she had a feeling he’d kick her ass if she tried.

She didn’t want to stay and watch this unfold. And yet, she watched the adventurer continue to pick on the half-Troll with narrowed eyes, unable to just walk away.

“Enough. Please stop bothering my companion.”

The young man spoke up at last. He seemed to be talking to the entire group, rather than the belligerent adventurer in front.

“She did nothing wrong. If she walked into you while escorting me, I apologize on both our behalf. But you have no reason to attack her like this.”

The other members of the group seemed to accept this, but the man who’d been knocked into seemed to find this apology too weak, or perhaps he just wanted to cause more trouble for the pair. He swaggered up to the young man, glaring.

“Is she your bodyguard? In that case, you should apologize to us directly! Don’t you know who we are?”

The young man turned his head towards the adventurer, and Ryoka blinked as she saw his eyes were closed.

“I don’t know, or particularly care. Please move aside—we are trying to go about our business and you should do the same.”

“What, are you too good to look me in the eye?”

Outraged, the adventurer seized the young man’s arm. Immediately the half-Troll reacted. She reached for the adventurer to push him back. He immediately leapt back and his friends grabbed for their weapons. Protectively, the Troll girl moved in front of the young man.

“Don’t do that! He’s blind!”

A blind guy? Ryoka had seen few people with disabilities in this world. She wondered if that was because of a lack of pollution or other genetic factors—or if such people died out because they couldn’t defend themselves or contribute.

Either way, the young man’s lack of sight didn’t stop him from being a target. The adventurer began mocking both him and the half-Troll girl, much to Ryoka’s distaste.

“A blind man and a half-Troll! Hah! I suppose that’s the only person who’d put up with something like that!”

The gigantic young woman glared at the adventurer.

“Go away. If you bother Laken, I’ll protect him. I’m his—”

She got no further, because the man interrupted her with a sneer.

“Protect him? You couldn’t protect a fly! I’ve seen real combat, not like some half-monster country bumpkin.”

The half-Troll said nothing, but there was an unfriendly look in her eye, and one of her hands clenched into a fist. A big fist. Ryoka eyed it and wondered what would happen if she hit the adventurer with it. His buddies looked a bit worried, but the man in front was drunk on bravado.

“Do you know how many Trolls I’ve killed with this sword? I could etch another notch right here, and no one would care.”

The man put a hand on his sword as he stepped forwards. The half-Troll girl flinched, but then to Ryoka’s surprise the young man moved. He took a step forwards and turned his head towards the adventurer. He was clearly angry, and when his mouth opened the word he spoke echoed across the square.

“Enough.”

Ryoka felt something press at her chest and had to force herself not to react. The adventurer stumbled back as if something physical had hit him. He put his hands on his sword with a snarl and the half-Troll girl raised a threatening fist. Before the conflict could escalate into bloodshed, Ryoka heard a shout and thumping of boots.

“What’s going on here!?”

The Watch had come, and remarkably quickly too. Ryoka wondered if it had to do with the half-Troll being there—and then corrected her thought. Of course it did. She watched as the two sides explained what had happened from their point of view.

Predictably, the adventurer claimed that the half-Troll had nearly knocked him down and he had simply reacted to the provocation. The blind young man and the half-Troll claimed the opposite. The young man—he was named Laken apparently—was explaining things to the Lieutenant, who didn’t seem too inclined to listen to his side of the case.

“She did nothing wrong. Durene was guiding me through the streets when this man decided to take objection to her existing.”

“So you say, sir. But this adventurer and his friends—a Silver-rank team—claim otherwise.”

The young man’s brows drew together as he snapped.

“I may be blind, but I know what I heard. And other people saw what happened too. Why not ask them? Or better yet, use a truth spell?”

“I hardly think that this situation calls for that.”

The man in charge dismissed the idea as if it were silly. He glanced at the adventurer, who looked pretty damn confident for someone who was probably lying, in Ryoka’s opinion. The lieutenant glared up at the half-Troll, who was looking chastened as well as upset.

“I’ll let it go with a warning—for both of you. Be on your way sir, and you, Miss—”

He hesitated, made a face, and then went on.

“—Cause no problems in my city while you’re here. If I hear of any more disturbances, there will be trouble.”

The adventurer took that as his cue to go and swaggered off. Ryoka glared at his back, but the young blind man was still irate.

“You have got to be kidding me. Is this really fair, officer? You and I both know that Durene did nothing wrong. Is it because she’s a half-Troll that you’re blaming her? Or do you simply not care about justice?”

The lieutenant did not like being told off. His cheeks reddened and he put a hand on his sword until he realized the blind man couldn’t see the motion.

“I apologize if you’ve been inconvenienced sir. Now, move along.”

“Come on Laken, let’s go.”

The half-Troll pulled gently at the young man’s shoulder. He clenched his fists, and then relaxed his hands. His fury seemed to wash away in an instant and he looked resigned, rather than upset. Laken nodded and patted Durene’s hand.

“Very well, I suppose this guardsman is just doing his job. As we say in my homeland, fahr zur Hölle du Bullenschwein. Ah entschuldigung, SIE Bullenschwein. Good day, officer.”

The blind man spoke the words directly to the lieutenant, and then smiled at him as if what he’d said had been a compliment. It clearly wasn’t, but no one knew what he’d said. The lieutenant frowned, but didn’t make an issue of it.

But standing across the street, Ryoka Griffin’s eyes suddenly went wide. She felt as if her entire body had suddenly been shocked. She knew what had been said. But more importantly, she knew in what language that had been said. That was no foreign tongue from this world. That was German!

Ryoka’s heart beat rapidly in her chest as she saw the group of guardsmen stride away, leaving the duo behind. That had to be just a coincidence. Or was it? There weren’t any people who spoke German in this world, were there? Well, if everyone here spoke English, why not? Another country could have adopted other languages. And yet—Ryoka’s gaze fixed on the blind young man standing next to the upset half-Troll.

“Ivolethe. Why is that guy so special?”

The faerie’s voice was tiny in Ryoka’s ear.

“I see it on him. The mark of command. The old destiny of leaders.”

That made no sense to Ryoka. But she was distracted by the Troll-girl. Durene? She was bending and whispering to the young man, although her voice was quite audible to anyone listening. Ryoka glanced around. Not many people were. They were hurrying around and away from her, rather than stopping to listen.

“What did you say, Laken?”

He turned his head towards her and Ryoka saw him smile. She heard him clearly whisper to the half-Troll as she stepped closer.

“I’ll tell you later, Durene. Let’s just get to that Runner’s Guild first, hm? We can see about adventurers later.”

Hesitantly, the half-Troll took the young man’s hand. She cast around, and then began to set off through the street, easily clearing a path for him to walk by her. Ryoka hesitated.

She could ignore that and go to the enchanter. She couldn’t believe she’d find someone else from her world right here, just like that.

And yet—Ryoka glanced down at her belt pouch. Ivolethe had poked her head out, and she was chewing the last bit of meat. And her eyes were fixed on Laken. The Frost Faerie glanced up at Ryoka, and then away.

Coincidence? Or fate? Was she being led, or was this all some huge chance event? Ryoka didn’t know. But as the half-Troll and blind young man walked through the crowds, Ryoka slowly walked after them.

3.36

Day 49

My name is Laken Godart. I am blind. Also, I’m trapped in another world where reality seems to conform to the rules of some kind of game.

I could be a victim of some kind of elaborate prank or test, or a social experiment. I could see myself being an easy target for some kind of shady government project—if of course I’m not just crazy.

Right now, I’m not ruling out any options. The reason why I ended up in this world could be anything as simple as an alien abduction gone wrong to genuine magic. I’m leaning on the magic side, myself.

This place is just too…real. Too real, and I want to believe in it. In the short month and a half since I’ve been here, I gained sight. Of a kind, yes, but sight nevertheless. I found someone I loved, and I found something to fight for.

But I won’t forget to think about what I do. I’m no hero with a sword. I’m fairly certain I’d hurt myself just trying to pick one up. I can’t be a warrior.

But I can be smart. I can choose what I want to do and pick my battles, if there are any in the future. I have friends. I have a class.

I am an [Emperor], and I have responsibilities. That, more than anything, informs how I act. Even now, I’ve travelled to this place, this city, for the people under my protection.

“It really is a big city, isn’t it, Durene?”

I say that out loud and feel Durene laughing nervously through our connected hands. I can tell she’s next to me. I may be blind, but I have my other senses. Here is what I know. I’m holding Durene’s hand. Her palm is callused—rough. Almost like a shark’s skin? I touched one once at an aquarium—a small, non-threatening shark or so I was told. Durene’s skin is somewhat like that.

Her hand is warm. On this cold, brisk day, her hand is warm. And I can hear her every step. But I can also hear the voices.

Oh—the voices. I’ve been in huge cities before, heard cars passing by, honking, shouting, but there’s just something about a mass of people that seems large to me. Maybe it’s because I know each person has to be out there, each one an individual moving and talking and thinking on their own.

A hundred voices. A thousand, some shouting, others just talking as they pass by me and Durene. More still simply walk, and it’s that movement which really tells me that I’m in a city.

I can smell—dirt and stone. And sweat, musty odors coming off of winter clothing probably. But more strongly through the air, baked food. Hot tangy scents wafting towards me and making me hungry. Someone’s cooking food over to the left, and the wind’s blowing it towards me. Not a meat—something else?

They’re not the only ones. There are more food vendors all about. Smell, hearing—I’m being overwhelmed on both fronts by the sheer input.

However, I am used to it. I know better than to panic, and it’s hardly like I’m incapable of moving about. I let Durene lead me through the city at a good pace. I just wish—

I wish I could see all of this. Sound and smell only get me so far. But from what Durene tells me, this city is like nothing in my past world.

“Lizard people? Really, Durene?”

“They’re called Drakes, I think. I’ve never seen one before. Um, I think they live far to the south of here.”

“Amazing. Drakes. Draco. Are they related to Dragons, by any chance?”

“I don’t know? They um, have scales. And long tails. Some of them have green scales, others have red or blue or—that one’s yellow.”

Durene moves as if to point and stops herself. I nod to myself as we walk on. I’m trying to imagine what these creatures—these people might be like. But I don’t think in terms of sight, naturally. I have a rough image in my head, but I would love to talk to one of these Drakes, shake their…hand?

“Do they have hands?”

“Something like that. It uh, it’s more like claws. They look sharp.”

Claw hands. I try to fit that in and reconsider shaking hands. But if I could touch one—

And how would I do that? I’m assuming these other species have the same taboos and social norms—at least broadly—that Humans do. Durene didn’t think it was too strange for a city to have Drakes in it, for all she’s never seen one.

Maybe if I got to know one. Naturally I can’t just stop someone on the street—well, I could, but I have more pressing matters.

I am in this city for a reason. I speak to Durene, feeling her guiding me left to avoid something or someone.

“Would you say we’re close to that plaza you saw now?”

“I think so!”

She sounds excited and worried by turns. Excited, and overwhelmed by her first glimpse of a city, as I suppose anyone would be. I have to remember Durene’s never even left her village. This must be overwhelming for her. I have to keep the cool head.

And yet, I can’t help but feel like Durene’s the one who’ll be most useful in a pinch. She proved that when she stood up to those adventurers. All I could do was raise my voice and be useless.

Those adventurers…I sigh as I walk with Durene towards the plaza.

Bastards. Ditto for that lieutenant. But the insight into this city was helpful. There’s corruption here, or at least, casual racism against one type of species. Ironic, that. I guess in a city with countless races joining hands—or claws—there has to be some group that gets pushed out.

I have to understand the world around me to interact with it. That’s why Durene and I have been walking through the city this last hour, taking it in, finding the measure of it. Better that than rush off and make mistakes. And it was a very pleasant walk too—Durene described so many odd sights for me. And yet, I guess you step in dog shit at least once on the best of strolls.

“Ah, I can hear the adventurers shouting now.”

Yes, in my ears I can now pick out a different set of shouts, this one growing louder as Durene and I walk forwards. Adventurers.

“…the Storm Raiders will sell our axes to anyone in need of a strong arm! Make us an offer!”

“—the best, the mightiest! Our shields will block spell and fang alike! The Ironshield Vanguard!”

“We’re a group of [Soldiers] who fought in the Yelten-Grimmor conflict! We’ve over fifty kills between us! You want protection, turn to us!”

Ah, adventurers. Durene leads me forwards, and I can just tell she’s stopping to stare around.

“Do you see Gamel around?”

“No.”

Durene sounds worried, although she shouldn’t be. I can feel her shift—is she standing on her tiptoes? I imagine she would be able to see practically everyone in the plaza. Even these ‘Gnolls’ don’t sound as tall as she is.

“I don’t see him, Laken. Should I call out, do you think? Or—”

I squeeze her hand gently, reassuring her.

“Don’t worry, Durene. It was just a thought. I imagine he’s off in some other square. We did say we’d meet at midday. Correct me if I’m wrong, but we’ve a little bit of time before then.”

“Yeah. You did say—okay.”

“Let’s take a seat—if one’s available. I could use a few seconds to rest, and I’d like to listen to what all these people are shouting. You can describe them for me.”

“Okay.”

We make it a few more steps into the plaza, and then I feel Durene slow. She bends towards me and whispers something in my ear.

“Laken, I think that girl is still following us!”

I pause for only a microsecond, but then move forwards. Durene is stopped.

“I see. Keep walking, Durene. Don’t look back at her—or if you do, just glance past her, as if you haven’t seen her.”

“Okay, Laken. But what does she want?”

“You’re sure she’s following us and not going somewhere else?”

“I’m sure! We practically walked in a circle, and I keep seeing her!”

“Describe her for me again.”

Durene pauses. I can hear the nervousness in her voice when she speaks again.

“Um. Tall. Taller than you, Laken. A few inches taller? She’s…got black hair, darkish skin—I’ve never seen someone who looks like that. Is she a foreigner? Uh—she’s uh—beautiful.”

“Beautiful?”

It’s an alien word to me. Beautiful is a word I associate with a voice, not with faces or appearance. But Durene’s voice is filled with a longing that tells me all I need to know.

“She’s beautiful. Sort of scary-looking, but beautiful. And—she looks like a Runner.”

“Hm.”

Durene spotted the girl following us a few blocks back. She pointed her out to me—well, described her to me—as one of the oddities of the city. A foreigner, someone not native to this continent.

It’s a…hard thing for me to think of. I know there are ethnicities in my world, of course. Nationality, race, gender…that’s easy to understand. But skin color? I don’t know what the color blue is supposed to look like.

Apparently, the folk of Riverfarm and this continent look predominantly like the people of my home continent, Europe. That is to say, mostly fair-skinned. This girl isn’t. She could be black or Asian or Latino—Durene’s descriptions don’t help me think of her in that way. She’s just clearly a foreigner, and one who stands out in this multi-species environment. No—more so because she stands out among her own kind, Humans.

And she’s following us. What does that mean? I frown as Durene worries next to me.

“Let’s get to a seat, and you can tell me if she stays in the area. If she doesn’t—well, we’ll know then.”

“Got it.”

Durene’s palm is slightly sweaty in my hand. Or is it mine? Because I hate to imagine it, but this could be an issue.

Why would someone follow us? A thousand reasons come to mind. They might be a prejudiced asshole like the adventurers. Or they might be interested in Durene. Or maybe it’s something to do with me?

I’m in a gaming world. Is this just a random event? Is this a scripted NPC? I’m sure this isn’t that kind of game, but why else would someone follow us? Is she aware of Riverfarm’s plight? Is she simply curious about an interspecies couple?

I don’t know. But I think. That’s what I can do in this world. Think. Think, and try to understand. Who is this young woman? What does she want?

And what should I do about it?

—-

Ryoka Griffin gritted her teeth as she saw the half-Troll’s head turn. She slowed, but the tall girl’s head found her.

“She can’t have spotted me. She can’t.”

Ryoka muttered under her breath as the girl named Durene seemed to glance at her, and then hurriedly look past. It was the third time she’d done so in as many minutes. It made Ryoka worried.

And annoyed, because Ryoka really didn’t want to think she’d been spotted by a Troll. Half-Troll. Whatever. That would be embarrassing, and yet—

“She saw me. Damn, damn, damn…”

In writing, it sounded easy. Follow a blind guy being led around by a half-Troll. How hard could that be? It was probably wrong to think, but Ryoka had the impression that the half-Troll girl wasn’t exactly the fastest brick on the block. She seemed simple, somewhat timid, and gentle. A giant, in short, easy to follow without being seen while Ryoka listened to what the two were doing.

But the Troll—Durene was her name, wasn’t it?—kept looking around. Ryoka felt the half-Troll girl’s eyes pause on her again and tried to meld with a group of laughing Drakes. But the problem was that becoming one with the crowd only worked if the crowd was the same species as you were. And for all her varied interests over the years, Ryoka had never tried espionage. To be more accurate, she’d never tried following someone who kept pausing every few minutes to stare about.

In movies or in books, the protagonist following the suspect had the advantage of darkness, or an unaware target, or some convenient plot twist which would help them complete their mission. And at the very least, they could blend with the crowd.

But Ryoka stood out. She knew she stood out. She was an Asian girl who didn’t look like the other native Humans to this land, and certainly not like the other species. So she’d been spotted with disgusting ease. The blind guy couldn’t see her, but his helper could, and she kept staring around—probably to tell him what everything looked like!

That was one side of the problem. The Troll-girl saw Ryoka. She saw Ryoka, but Ryoka saw the man following the pair. That was someone the half-Troll hadn’t spotted.

And no wonder—he was completely bland. He had flaxen hair, a nondescript face—his clothes weren’t anything to blink twice over. And yet, he was following the blind man known as Laken and the half-Troll Durene as well, Ryoka was sure of it.

He was following them, and Ryoka wanted to know why. She kept eying the man as she walked into the plaza with all the adventurers lined up. They were an odd bunch. It looked as though each one had their space to, well, show off. Teams of adventurers—Silver-rank at best by the looks of them—were doing tricks with swords or just trying to give off a certain amount of swagger as their teammates or hired help extolled their virtues, trying to get them a job.

It was an odd way of doing things, but Ryoka supposed it was needed advertisement if you wanted a lucrative contract. In a place with so many adventurers—Ryoka saw one every block it seemed—people with requests could choose their team, which meant competition had to be fierce.

Now the human and half-Troll seemed to be stopping. They were headed for some unoccupied benches sitting in the shade of some trees in the plaza. Ryoka bit her lip.

She hadn’t gotten close enough to hear more than a few snippets of conversation and she’d already been made. Should she try to get close, knowing she was exposed?

It had just been a few words. In German. Just a few words—why couldn’t there be some nation based off of Germany, or some culture with Germanic roots? But Ryoka had to know.

So she walked closer. She looked around—where was that man in plain clothes? He was a master at being invisible. Ryoka would never have spotted him if she hadn’t noticed him following the pair like she was.

There. He was strolling ahead of her, right next to the half-Troll. Ryoka’s eyes narrowed. She watched as he approached, and then cursed.

“Son of a—”

—-

It happened in a moment as we were walking towards the bench that Durene had found. I, walking by her side, felt her pause for a second.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!”

“My fault, Miss. Please excuse me.”

An unfamiliar voice. Male. Pleasant. I frown and hear him walk away.

“What was that, Durene?”

“Nothing, Laken. I just bumped into that man.”

“Huh.”

Durene sounds at ease, but my frown remains. Something feels wrong. Bumped into her. Why does that…

Who would bump into someone as big as Durene? From what she’s said, she gets a lot of room even on a busy sidewalk. Who goes around bumping into people ordinarily, anyways? And the way he said it—

“Durene! Check your money pouch!”

I snap as thoughts come together in an instant. I’ve encountered thieves and pickpockets before. I know the scam. I hear Durene gasp and then her anguished shout.

“It’s gone! He took it!”

“Go after him!”

“But—”

“Go, Durene!”

I shout, letting go of her hands. That’s not just her money that was taken—Durene had the entire pouch of coin and gems I found by her cottage! If that thief runs off with it—

To her credit, I hear Durene hesitate only for a second. Then I feel her turn and run away from me. Then her voice.

“Stop! Thief!”

It’s a shout that drowns out all sound for a second. Durene has an impressive pair of lungs, and I can practically hear the thief’s heart stop as she runs towards him.

I stand in the plaza, not moving, fishing in the small rucksack I’m carrying for something. I pull out my foldable cane and extend it fully.

I haven’t had to use it in a while. I decided not to use it when Durene was walking me around—I trust her completely and it might have gotten in the way of all the pedestrians about. But it’s a useful tool now.

A quick check—I tap carefully in a circle around me and find the bench we were about to sit at. I move over to it and sit down.

It’s not as if I’m not panicking right now. A thief, taking all the money Durene and I have—the money meant for Riverfarm? That’s a disaster. But what can I do in this situation? Panic?

Durene’s chasing after the thief. Either she gets him or she doesn’t. I can only make things worse by shouting and running about. So I sit and try to think.

If she fails to get him—we have to talk to the Watch. But can we get our money back? It’s not like I had a credit card—that gold and those gems are probably as good as gone the instant they’re lost. And would the local law enforcement help us? The way they treated Durene—

I wrench my mind off of that train of thought. Consider the worst when it’s over. The real question is—why target Durene? Who steals from a half-Troll? I haven’t ever really laid eyes on Durene, it’s true, but a girl who towers over the biggest Human and who can probably bench press a horse is not someone I’d expect pickpockets to normally go after.

Unless that’s normal in this world. No—it can’t be. Did that cutpurse realize how much money she was carrying? Or—

“Damn. A Skill. It must be that.”

Why didn’t I think of it? It’s a reasonable explanation. If you assume there’s a class for everything, and that’s what Durene seems to believe, then there’s definitely a [Thief] class. And what better Skill than one that allows someone to pick out an easy mark? Or a rich one?

I clench one fist as I hear Durene’s shouting and the commotion growing more distant. Pray. Hope. And think about what to do if she doesn’t catch him—

“Excuse me. Is your name Laken?”

I start. A voice—a female voice comes from above and to my left. I turn my head.

“Hello. Pardon me, but have we met?”

“Not before. But tell me—woher kommst du?”

The pronunciation is terrible, and the words are stilted, spoken without fluency. But I stiffen nonetheless, because I know German when I hear it.

And I know that no one on this continent speaks German, as far as Durene or Gamel know.

So why is someone speaking it to me right now?

In the time it takes for me to clear my throat and respond, my thought process is simple. Who’s talking to me? It has to be the girl Durene spotted. Why?

Well, either she thinks I’m from her country or, more probably—

“Aus San Francisco. Und Sie?”

A sharp, indrawn breath is my only answer. But it’s the only one I need.

“Dieu merci. I am not alone.”

Can you feel shock, amazement, relief, and confusion all at once? I’m sure there is one, even if it’s not an English word. There are words in other languages for feelings that are never fully translatable into English.

The Norwegian word forelsket for instance—I feel that towards Durene every time I touch her. I suppose in lieu of a word now, I think I’ll go with ‘relief’ as incomplete as it may be.

“I am not alone.”

I feel tears spring into my eyes, gathering behind my eyelids. As strange as it may sound, I really did think I was alone up until this moment. Alone, in a new world.

But there’s someone else. I stand up, and hear someone take a step back. There’s noise all around us—has Durene caught the thief? I can’t focus on that. Suddenly, I’m in a small bubble with this girl.

“You’re—from home, aren’t you? Earth?”

“Yes.”

“My god. Excuse me, but who are you? I’m blind—are you the young woman who was following us around earlier?”

A pause. I listen, heart beating, before the young woman replies in a low voice.

“I am. I’m—a friend. My name is Ryoka Griffin. Tell me, when did you get here? Do you know why you came to this world? Who have you talked to—who’s that girl who was with you?”

The questions are like a storm, tersely delivered. I hear in them echoes of all the things I want to know.

“My name is Laken. Laken Godart. I came here a little over a month ago. I don’t know how or why—the girl’s name is Durene. She’s my guide, my friend. She found me when I first came to this world.”

“I see.”

“Where is she, do you know? She ran off—”

“After the thief. I think she got him.”

“She did?”

I’m astonished, but there’s a flicker of amusement in Ryoka’s tone.

“Yeah. She picked him up and threw him on the ground. I think she broke some of his bones.”

“Durene?”

I can’t imagine it. Well, I can, but I can’t imagine her doing that. But this strange young woman seems focused. I hear her moving closer and resist the urge to reach out to try and touch her.

“Look, I don’t have a lot of time before your friend gets back.”

“Why would that—”

“Do you have a cellphone? Flashlight? Anything—anything from our world?”

The question catches me by surprise, but then I fumble at my pocket, and then remember and grab for my rucksack.

“I do. I have an iPhone—it’s practically out of battery, and there’s no signal obviously, but—”

“You can recharge it.”

“Really?”

“If a mage casts a [Repair] spell it’ll go back to full charge. Okay, listen. Did you get a call—no, you wouldn’t have if you were only here for two months…huh…”

I can tell she’s thinking hard about something. Myself, I’m just astonished. Mage? [Repair] spell? You mean I can charge up my phone in this world with magic? What possibilities might that unlock?

Then I hear Ryoka’s voice in my ears and jerk away. She’s so close! And she’s whispering, very urgently.

“Listen up. You’re not entirely safe with that iPhone. You might be tracked with it—there are people in this world who know we come from another one. If you get a call on your phone, don’t answer it. There are more of us in this world, but—”

“Hold on, hold on! More of us?”

I can’t process everything that she’s saying. Ryoka shakes her head—I know because her hair hits my face slightly as her head moves.

“I can’t give you the full details, not yet. Look, we need to talk. Why don’t we meet up later? I have something to do now, but I can meet you here in—an hour. Can you wait until then?”

My head is spinning, but I nod.

“I can. I’ll be here.”

“Good.”

She’s gone before I can give voice to the questions in my mind. At least, I think she’s gone. I tap around cautiously with my cane—she could be just out of range and I’d never know.

What was that? I sit back down on the bench; my knees are shaking. Before I can collect my thoughts, I hear a voice speaking to me again.

“Sir? Are you the friend of Miss Durene?”

For a second I think Ryoka has come back. But it’s not her—the speaker is different. There’s a bit of a growl to her tone that makes me think of a dog. And worry. Dogs scare me. I’ve been bitten three times while walking—I can’t tell where they are until I run into one, and if the owner’s not got a leash or isn’t attentive, some of them take objection to my presence.

But this is no dog. It must be a Gnoll! I stand up, turning my head in the direction of the speaker.

“Can I help you…Miss?”

“Yes, sir. My name is Raisha, and I am a [Guardswoman] on duty. I am told you are blind. Well, I would like you to know that I have recovered your lost belongings.”

“I got it, Laken!”

Durene calls out and I realize she’s standing with Raisha. I smile.

“You caught the thief?”

“Yes, your friend broke his arm and several ribs.”

An amused tone enters Raisha’s growling voice. She touches something which makes a metallic noise.

“He has been arrested and will be charged. However, I would like to confirm that this bag—”

She hefts something metallic with a strained grunt.

“—is yours. Is this so?”

I’m confused and say so.

“It is—but Durene, you were carrying it.”

“Yes, but…well, it is yours, Laken!”

That’s true, but I have to shake my head over Durene’s semantics. Raisha, the Gnoll [Guardswoman] doesn’t seem to care who owns what.

“I don’t need to know who was carrying what. The issue is simple, sir. I just need to prove that you are the owner.”

“How?”

Now I’m worried. It’s not as if I could prove anything. Raisha opens something with a snap and rummages around in some sort of purse.

“I have here a gem enchanted with a spell of [Detect Truth], sir. It will tell if you are indeed the owner of the stolen goods. Will you comply with this test?”

“Truth spell? Well—certainly. What do I need to do?”

“Place your hand out, palm up. Good—”

I feel something small and hard drop into my palm. It’s cold and I jump a bit. Raisha’s voice is calm.

“I will ask you one question. Please answer yes or no. Is this stolen pouch of coin yours?”

“Yes.”

I can’t help but feel worried. It’s technically mine by the uncertain rules of finders keepers, and it was on Durene’s property, which is to say, mine. And it was a byproduct of a Skill, but I can’t help but tense a bit. I wait for any reaction, but the cue must have been visual.

“You’re speaking the truth. Thank you sir, I just had to check. Your friend has your belongings now. Thank you for cooperating. I regret that you were the victim of this crime, and hope you will have a pleasant day.”

“Oh—thank you.”

Raisha leaves. Durene steps over, and bends down to talk to me.

“Laken, it was amazing! I ran after that thief—I thought I’d lose him, but I just kept on shouting and someone tripped him up for me! Then I grabbed him and threw him down—I didn’t mean to break anything, but I was just so worried he’d run away! And then Raisha ran over and said that she’d never seen a dumber [Thief]—trying to steal from me I mean, and—”

It’s too much for me. I sit back down hard. Unfortunately, I miss the bench and land hard on the paving stones in the plaza. That hurts.

“Laken! Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Durene. It’s just…something happened when you were gone.”

“What?”

I have to laugh as Durene helps me sit down on the bench. How can I tell her? It’s actually easy to say, really. I met someone from my world. Six words. The rest is just speculation.

“I can’t believe it.”

I say it again as we sit together. Durene is silent, thinking. I told her what happened. I wouldn’t keep a secret like this from Durene. I don’t think I’d keep anything from her.

“Do you know why she found you? I mean, how?”

“I have no idea. I just know that she must have been watching us—she was talking to me in German, so she must have heard my comment to that guardsman earlier. It might have been coincidence or—she knows about me some other way.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Magic? Or maybe—she mentioned my iPhone might be used to track me somehow. I wonder, can they use the GPS…? I’d imagine it has to be on, but…”

I trail off. After a moment Durene speaks.

“What are you going to do, Laken?”

“Do? Wait for her. But do it intelligently. Before she gets back, I want to just sit—sit and think, Durene.”

“Okay.”

She’s a good listener. I have to smile, and when I reach out, she takes my hand. For a few seconds we sit together, sitting together, not just on the same bench. I feel myself calm down and when I have my thoughts in order, tell her what they are.

“We learned a lot, and not just that there are other people like me, Durene.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think we had better find a bank—or some kind of moneylender. That thief didn’t go after you by chance. Also, I had no idea there were truth spells in this world until very recently.”

“You didn’t? I mean—of course you—but you have things like that in your world, right?”

“Nothing like that. Oh, we have something called a lie detector test—it can’t be trusted. There’s no certainty, no knowing if someone’s telling the truth like this.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. Truth spells, huh? If we had that where I come from, politics might be a lot different.”

I shake my head, thinking about what that might mean. Fact: that guardswoman had a truth stone. Even if that’s only because this is a prosperous city, it means that a truth spell isn’t out of the reach of an affluent member of society. So…

“Things just got a lot more complicated, Durene. I think we’d better wait for Gamel and Ryoka Griffin right here, but in the meantime, here’s what I think we should do.”

“Yes?”

Durene’s voice is quivering with…anticipation. She doesn’t seem scared, only focused and ready to act. It seems like when the chips are down, she’s not afraid to be bold.

I admire that—I’m completely scared spitless by recent developments. But—I smile.

“I smell good food. If I hold down the bench here, you can get us lunch. And something for Gamel too.”

“Really? Food?”

Durene is incredulous. I shake my head.

“There’s no use thinking on an empty stomach. And believe me, we’ve got a lot of thinking to do.”

—-

“Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn—”

Ryoka stalked down the street, cursing under her breath. She was upset. Not upset at what had just transpired, but she was—tense.

“Why are ye cursing? You spoke with the blind man while his protector was away, did ye not?”

Ivolethe piped up from her position in Ryoka’s belt pouch. The young woman paused and took a breath.

“I did. It’s just—hell, Ivolethe. Was that the right thing to do?”

The faerie’s answer was an eloquent shrug. She’d found a bug from somewhere and was holding the squirming insect as she pulled a leg off of it. Ryoka had to pause, with people passing by her from every side and giving her dirty looks, to admire that.

“You’re a monster.”

“Hah! You eat cows and sheep and birds! What’s a small insect to all that?”

“I don’t eat them live.”

Ryoka paled a bit as Ivolethe tore the twitching leg off and bit at the insect’s abdomen. She closed the belt pouch for a few seconds and collected her thoughts.

“He’s from another world. Fuck. Okay. He’s from another world. What do I do now?”

The Frost Faerie poked her head out and shrugged. She was licking something off her face—Ryoka looked away.

“Who says you have aught to do? ‘Tis not your business whether he lives or dies. Why not do what ye need to? You have duties. Your enchanted items, learning to run like the wind—”

“I know. I know, but—I can’t just ignore him. He could know something important. He could…I can’t just ignore someone else. It’s one thing to know about the kids Magnolia has, but she has no idea about Laken. I want to keep it that way, warn him.”

“A smart idea. Perhaps.”

Ryoka glanced down sharply at Ivolethe, but the Frost Faerie’s comment could have been just an offhand insult. After a moment, Ryoka nodded and resumed striding down the street.

“Let’s just find Reynold. I thought he’d catch up by now, but he might have had trouble parking that carriage. That was lucky.”

“Hm. Perhaps.”

Ryoka wondered if Ivolethe liked giving her ulcers, or if the faerie didn’t know what effect her words had on Ryoka’s paranoia. No. She had to know. Ryoka shook her head as she made her way out of the plaza—she saw as she went out, some farmer’s kid pleading with a group of adventurers.

“Sirs, please! My village is—it needs protection! We don’t have much money to spare, but—”

He got no further because the adventuring team—a rough-looking group of warriors led by a huge man armored like a Viking—turned away from him in disgust. The young man despondently hurried over to the next group as Ryoka shook her head.

Poor people, without money or friends. It was the same in every world; those who had neither got stepped on. She walked swiftly away, hearing him begin pleading with another group and hoping that he found someone who would listen.

After five minutes Ryoka did find Reynold, or rather, he found her. She was nearly back at the Runner’s Guild when she saw him walking towards her down the street. He…stood out.

A [Butler] walking down the streets of New York City would stand out, and Invrisil was close in nature to fit that analogy. Heads were turning as the trim and elegant Reynold proceeded down the street. He stopped and nodded politely to Ryoka; a grunt was his response

“Took you long enough.”

“My apologies, Miss Ryoka. I was unavoidably detained. May I escort you to your desired meeting with the [Enchanter] in charge of your artifacts now?”

“Lead on.”

The two turned and Reynold led Ryoka away from the business district, into an upscale area clearly occupied by the wealthiest individuals. It was still a place for work to be done, but these were clearly homes that doubled as working places. Ryoka was relieved that Reynold set a good pace; for a man who dressed like a Victorian-era servant, he certainly could move quick.

“I never asked, but you know how to fight, don’t you? Magnolia wouldn’t hire a normal [Butler]. Not her.”

“I do indeed have a few levels in, ah, auxiliary classes which inform my main class, miss.”

“Really? Were you a former adventurer?”

Reynold turned his head slightly. Ryoka met his gaze.

“No, Miss. Not an adventurer.”

There was a tone in his voice that shut down the conversation. Ryoka had used it countless times before. She debated pressing him further, but she couldn’t quite make herself be that rude. She sort of liked Reynold.

“Here we are, Miss.”

Reynold led Ryoka to a rather plain door. Ryoka blinked at the grey granite door and lion knocker. Reynold stepped up and rapped the knocker twice smartly. The Runner stared up at the building that looked like it had been carved completely out of a single block of granite and snorted. It stood out from the elegant facades and buildings covered in paint and architectural daring.

“I can’t say I admire this [Enchanter]’s sense of aesthetics. This building is an eyesore.”

“It is shaped to contain magic. Stone is a necessity to avoid leakage; paint wears away in no time. My dwelling is plain because I have shaped it for function, not visibility.”

A calm voice came from the doorknocker. Ryoka jumped as she saw the lion’s stone eyes had shifted to stare at her.

“You are Ryoka Griffin. And you are Lady Reinhart’s representative? Enter.”

The door swung out, revealing a far more impressively-decorated interior. Ryoka blinked at the rosewood floor and well-lit entryway. Then she stepped into the [Enchanter]’s house.

The door closed behind Reynold as the two walked down the corridor. The inside of the [Enchanter]’s house was no featureless stone building. The flooring, walls, and hanging glass globes of mage light were all extremely costly. But Ryoka’s eye was drawn more to the decorations on the wall.

Wands, swords, a shield, a helmet on a stand or a single metal gauntlet adorned the walls of the [Enchanter]’s home. Ryoka realized in a few seconds that these were ornaments as well as the merchandise; she still had to blink as she entered a living room where a massive greatsword hung over the fireplace.

“I am in my work room. Please, take the door across from you and proceed left down the hallway.”

A voice echoed throughout the house. Ryoka did as instructed, and found herself in a large room filled with oddities.

The first thing she noticed was a circle drawn in the center of the room, a complex diagram of countless lines that formed…well, a circle was the rough shape, but the pieces that made it up were countless symbols joined together—

They glowed white-blue as Ryoka stared at them and she looked away, blinking as her head began to ache. When she could see again she saw a man standing along one wall of the room, holding a sword in his hands.

It was one of the swords that the Horns of Hammerad had recovered. As Ryoka watched, he lowered it into a tub, a wooden basin holding…what?

Dust? No—iron dust, small fillings as fine as powder. The man muttered a word and Ryoka saw the sword’s blade flash in the basin. When the man pulled the sword out, the iron dust had clung to the blade of the sword in a strange pattern. It was clearly a magical symbol, and it changed as Ryoka watched.

“Clever.”

The [Enchanter] turned and the dust fell back into the basin. He nodded at her. Ryoka was surprised to see this man was barely thirty years old. He didn’t seem old at all, but he had a pale cast to his skin that spoke of staying out of the light far too often, and he was missing the ring finger on his left hand.

He was clean shaven, had pale orange hair, a nervous tic where he would tap an object twice with his left finger, and a businesslike attitude. He nodded to Ryoka.

“Yes, the iron dust magnetizes when exposed to the enchantments under the right circumstances. Not with all enchantments, but it is a preferable alternative to other sundry materials.”

He gestured, and Ryoka saw there were other basins in the room containing similar materials. This man also had an anvil and hammer leaning against the wall. No fire though—he’d probably conjure that, wouldn’t he?

“You have quite the setup.”

Ryoka nodded at the anvil. The man didn’t turn his head.

“I do. Now, you have come to have the qualities of your magical items explained, yes? I assume the nature of these artifacts may be shared with the servant accompanying you? And the…thing in your belt pouch?”

“How did you—”

The [Enchanter] tapped the back of his right hand with his left hand’s finger.

“All transactions and words uttered within my abode are private. They will not be shared; rest assured, my wards will keep out even the most powerful of mages from listening in without my knowledge.”

Ryoka glanced behind her at Reynold, who had taken a position by the door. The [Butler] nodded politely at the mage.

“Mister Hedault’s services are recognized as the best in the city. He is extremely competent, and does not reveal any information passed to him in confidence.”

Hedault made no reaction to Reynold’s words. He stared at Ryoka with a fixed, off-putting, focused stare.

“I put a question to you. Will you share the information with the [Butler] and creature you are carrying?”

“Yes.”

Ryoka muffled the outraged shout from her belt pouch. She stared around and found the items she’d given Reynold to have appraised. A silvery circular buckler with a hairline scratch, a sword whose hilt was burnt but had little else wrong with it, the blade of a sword—the metal deformed in two places, and a dagger. The dagger was curved and sharp; Ryoka thought the tip was reddish, but aside from that the weapons appeared like normal, functional killing instruments. But not magical artifacts.

Then again, what did she know? Ryoka spotted two other small objects—a pack and a small bag that looked like it held only a few objects inside. An adventurer’s pack and bag of holding.

“Did you analyze everything?”

“Yes. I shall list the properties of each artifact first, and then inform you as to the nature of any damages that may have occurred and the probable cost of repair. Please, do not interrupt.”

“Hold on. Do you mean—”

Hedault turned and stared flatly at Ryoka. The girl rolled her eyes and closed her mouth.

“Very well. To begin with, this sword. It is worthless.”

The man walked over to the sword blade without the hilt and lifted it to show Ryoka. He pointed at the melted bits of metal.

“See how the blade has been melted from the heat? The enchantments are broken. Unable to be reconstructed. There is no merit to using the blade; the magic is defunct.”

“Can anything be salvaged? Could you study the enchantment—tell us what it does?”

Another flat look. Hedault tapped the blade twice with his finger and replied testily.

“If there were any use for it I would have stated. I asked you to remain silent.”

“Yeah, but I like asking questions.”

This time Ryoka saw the man’s eye twitch. Hedault placed the sword blade back on the table without another word.

“Next, this dagger. It is unharmed from the fire damage. Curiously, it was not affected despite the enchantment not being warded against magical damages. I can only surmise luck played a role in this—”

“Do you want to know where these weapons came from?”

Ryoka couldn’t resist breaking in, just to annoy Hedault, really. He looked at her and she saw Reynold covering his face out of the corner of her eye.

“I do not have to ask. I know. These came from Albez.”

“You could tell?”

“The enchantment style matches the other artifacts recovered from that location. Moreover, rumor points to the Horns of Hammerad having found magical items in that ruin recently. It matters not; the enchantment speaks for itself. Do not ask another question or I will silence you with a spell.”

Ryoka shut her mouth and raised her hands. Hedault sighed and tapped the blade of the dagger twice.

“Note the tip. The blade is common steel, but it is warded against physical harm and heat. When a word is spoken, the tip will ignite. However, the heat will be contained. Thus, when using it like so—Terith.”

He spoke a word and Ryoka saw the tip of the blade began to glow red. But not a bright hot-red; rather, the color seemed almost illusory, a red overlay over the plain steel blade. Hedault turned with the blade extended away from him.

“Observe.”

There was a piece of firewood on the table. Hedault picked it up and touched the tip of the dagger to it.

The entire block of wood burst into flame. Ryoka recoiled and stared at Hedault’s hand, but the man had hurled the firewood away. It hung in the air, burning fiercely as he lowered the dagger.

“Termas.”

The color on the blade returned to normal. Hedault placed the dagger back on the table as the firewood burned in the air behind him. He waved his hand and the blaze ceased, leaving the wood charred but intact.

“As you can see, the flame enchantment is not for heat per se, but to spread fire. An important distinction. The contact radius of the flame is around…the volume of a tree, I should say. Or an Ogre. With it, it would be possible to immolate several targets at once, but the flames will be non-magical. Alternatively, it is possible to set fire to something like the surface of a lake, although the magical aspect of the flame will last for seconds—it will quickly extinguish if the material is not readily combustible.”

“Jeeze.”

Ryoka breathed the words, her heart still pounding.

“That was magic.”

Hedault stared at Ryoka. She bit her lip, remembering his injunction. But he smiled, turning up his pale lips for the first time since she’d seen him.

“It was. A competent spell. Too often the blades I see with heat enchantments are simply hot. But this? A useful tool for a mage to distract the enemy, especially if used with telekinetic spells to strike at range, as the old [Battlemages] often did. Now—”

He turned to the sword. Hedault sighed as he picked it up.

“An intact blade of weight. The enchantment is finer than most, but it is unremarkable.”

He turned and raised a finger to forestall Ryoka’s question.

“This is a common enchantment favored by warriors. It amplifies the weight of the blade when struck with. So—”

He raised the blade and tapped it on the wooden table, using the flat of the blade rather than the edge. The table broke with a crash that made Reynold and Ryoka jump. Hedault blinked at all the weapons lying on the ground and tsked.

“Well, this blade is quite powerful I suppose, but otherwise uninteresting. A valuable weapon for a warrior, I suppose. With this grade of enchantment…you could very well fight a creature such as a Wyvern and cleanly slice through its hide with the right swing. Next.”

He put the blade on another table as he levitated the buckler out of the broken wood. Hedault seemed to grow morose as he touched it, showing Ryoka a hairline fracture on the center.

“A shame. This shield is damaged and requires repair. However, the enchantment is largely intact—it will emit a field around the buckler of around three feet in every direction. It is hard to describe to a non-mage—consider it a moving barrier extending the natural shield, with it as the focus. Such a barrier is practically impervious to most weapons, although a strong blow may destabilize it. And of course, the true benefit of such a shield is that it is practically weightless—”

“A force shield.”

Ryoka breathed the words. Hedault cocked his head and nodded.

“Crude, but accurate. This buckler is highly useful, not to mention original. But as I said, it must be repaired first. I will inform you as to the cost later. Now, these conclude the weapons recovered. But this—”

He turned to the adventurer’s pack and flicked his fingers at it. It rose and spilled out its contents into the air.

“Those who recovered this pack were wise not to disturb it. However, there was no trap spell on the bag, merely one to prevent it being opened by the wrong user and reinforce the materials. I have bypassed that; here are the contents.”

He showed Ryoka a sheaf of very cracked and faded papers, a broken inkpot whose contents had spilled over some other objects including flint and steel, waterskin, small brush—a toothbrush?—sealed jars, a small gold ring…

“Most objects were mundane and of little worth. There was also a quantity of rotten food which I disposed of.”

Hedault shuddered and tapped his hand against the bag before levitating something up to show Ryoka.

“—This is what is valuable. These four potions are, in order, a healing potion, a potion to provide sustenance, and two potions which prevent the user from needing to breathe.”

He held out a hand, forestalling Ryoka, but this time the girl didn’t speak. Hedault eyed the smiling Ryoka and explained.

“The potion to provide sustenance is a rare acquisition that [Alchemists] may pay well for. It is not a common discovery in adventurer’s packs however, as they generally fail to stopper said potions correctly…this one is untouched. Drinking a small bit will forestall hunger for a day. Drinking the entire potion at once will provide sustenance for up to a month depending on the level of exertion, and the user will find it difficult to imbibe any other foods in the meantime although it is possible…”

“And the breathing potions?”

“Exactly what they sound like. Generally such potions have the efficacy to provide their users to hold their breath for…two hours. Note that the creation of such potions differ…you may wish to consult an alchemist, but a majority of the potions were made to be held in the mouth rather than swallowed. Swallowing such a potion may result in extreme indigestion. Explosive effects tend to ensue.”

Explosive? Ryoka could just imagine what that meant, and wished she couldn’t. Hedault placed the potions back in the pack dismissively.

“Next. The last items of value are this bag of pebbles and ball.”

He pulled out a bag filled with tiny circular, flat stones and a ball which was made out of leather. Someone had stitched an angry face onto the leather in red thread. Ryoka was tickled by it. Hedault gestured to the pebbles.

“Each one is enchanted to shed [Light] for twenty four hours before fading until exposed to sunlight for an equal amount of time. A useful tool I suppose. But this ball…is quite extraordinary.”

He had that look which told Ryoka it was more interesting than the rest. She stared at it. Hedault pointed to the face stitched in the leather.

“Note the symbol. This one is meant to provoke an opponent. If it is touched here, and then thrown—”

The instant his finger touched the ball, Ryoka saw the stitching contort. The face contorted, and then began to scream.

Instantly Ryoka clapped her ears to her head. Reynold did the same, but Hedault just tossed the ball. It immediately shot out of the room and rolled down the corridor, emitting that same ear-piercing shrieking of noise. After a few seconds in which Ryoka shouted and Hedault calmly shook his head, the sound ended and to her surprise, the ball rolled back into the room. It sat at the enchanter’s feet, calm and inactive.

It took a few minutes before the ringing had died down in Ryoka’s ears to hear again. When she did, Hedault calmly picked up the ball and showed her where to press.

“It takes a rather strong force from a living hand to activate it. However, when used it will aggressively seek out any living creature in the nearby area, excluding those in a general radius of activation…if no quarry is found it will return.”

“Useful!”

Ryoka shouted the words. Hedault nodded and smiled.

“Innovative. That is all of worth in the pack.”

Ryoka put her finger in one ear and winced, wondering if she’d lost some of her hearing for good. She saw Reynold shaking his head and turned to Hedault.

“All of this…is this a good haul for a group that went through a dungeon? In your experience?”

He stopped and considered that, hand on the last item, the bag of holding.

“No. Some of these artifacts are indeed valuable—the shield and sword I suppose are most useful—but they are hardly impressive finds. Given the risk, I would say that this recovery is rather mediocre.”

Ryoka’s head lowered. Hedault smiled.

“—If you do not count the contents of this bag, that is.”

Her head snapped up, and Ryoka saw a smile flash over the enchanter’s face.

“You do have a sense of humor. Huh.”

He turned away from her and carefully opened the bag.

“Given the quality of the items recovered, I had assumed the Horns of Hammerad had broken into a competent but average mage for the era, perhaps an intermediary mage in their craft. However, when I finally managed to open this bag…it is clear now that the fire trap spell that triggered consumed many powerful artifacts. Yet this bag was completely unharmed; an appropriate measure given the artifacts contained within.”

Ryoka and Reynold held their breath as the enchanter reached into the bag. The room went silent as Hedault fished around inside and then pulled out…

Three rings and a wand. Ryoka exhaled hard as she stared down at the items in Hedault’s hand.

“Tell me looks are deceiving.”

Hedault appeared annoyed as he placed the items on the table.

“Always. These artifacts are all exceptionally valuable. Let me impress the reasons why upon you now.”

Ryoka gestured for him to go right ahead. The enchanter muttered to himself a bit and then tapped the table as he pointed to the bag.

“Firstly, the bag. It is superbly enchanted. By which I mean to say there is no magical leakage whatsoever. Do you understand the concept around magical interference between artifacts?”

“I get it from context. Leaky magical items conflict? Can’t have a sword and a shield if the enchantments are bad?”

“Yes. Such a combination would lead to a reaction in the worst cases, or a clash of magics which would unleash the spells, alter them in adverse ways, or simply break one or both of the enchantments. But this—this bag is perfect.”

Hedault sighed as he held it up.

“Despite the limited size—you may be able to fit twenty pounds of weight inside at most—it is stellar. A mage practicing magic may carry it without fear of any kind of magical interference.”

“Huh. Twenty pounds? Doesn’t sound that great.”

The look Hedault gave Ryoka said he was considering fitting her head in the bag and giving it a good kick.

“Bags of holding rarely contain more than a few hundred pounds of weight—and those bags are very magically unstable, let me assure you. This is the work of an artisan above my ability. You would be lucky to find another bag so well made.”

“Oh really?”

On a hunch, Ryoka pulled out her bag of holding, the one Teriarch had given her.

“This one holds a bit more than twenty pounds. I fit a bunch of chairs in it one time. I haven’t found the upper limit. Mind telling me how good this one is?”

“Hah. This is…this…”

Hedault’s voice trailed off as he took the bag from Ryoka. He peered at it, and then his eyes bulged. Ryoka snatched the bag back and smiled.

“Good to know.”

It was just a hunch, but why would a Dragon ever have a bag of holding that was less than perfect? Hedault stammered as he stared at her.

“Who made—where did you…?”

“What does this ring do?”

Ryoka lifted a ring up. Hedault had to visibly compose himself for a second—in the corner of her eye Ryoka could see Reynold writing something down. She turned with a frown, but he had tucked it into his waistcoat before she could see.

He was recording all of this down—not just the artifacts, but what she had as well! Ryoka bit her lip and made a note to have words with him afterwards. Hedault shook his head and turned back to the ring Ryoka was holding.

“It is inadvisable to touch something until an [Enchanter] has identified it. In this case, the danger is to me. Please hand it to me.”

Ryoka did. Hedault slipped the ring onto his finger and sighed, going back to his business-like self. Nevertheless, his eyes still glittered as he showed the ring to Ryoka.

“Note the circular diamond in the center.”

“It’s large. Flawless. My g—wow. And perfectly cut.”

“Yes.”

Hedault nodded, acknowledging Ryoka’s insight into the gem itself. Ryoka had seen valuable gems—she was aware of the difference between cheap cut stones and the really important stuff. The diamond was the latter kind.

“Pure. Without faults. And large—yes. This gem acts in tandem with the metal—it is not, in fact, silver but platinum.”

“You’re kidding me. People knew how to work platinum back then?”

“Oh yes. Platinum is a very powerful metal when used for enchanting or spells…in this case, it acts as a conductor for the spell with the gem. When the ring is put on the finger and the hand is flicked like—”

Hedault paused as he put the ring on his finger. Ryoka saw Reynold duck out of the way, and she herself felt uneasy the instant she saw it go on his finger. The enchanter stared around the room and shook his head.

“…If I used it, my walls would suffer damage. I shall avoid demonstrating it now. Know that this ring can be activated and deactivated. But when activated, a flick—”

He demonstrated after taking the ring off. It was a quick snap of the wrist.

“—will send a piercing spell flying at the target. I believe it would be…difficult to aim without practice, but let me assure you that this spell far surpasses any Tier 2 or Tier 3 spell of a similar nature. It would be…around Tier 4 in potency.”

“Blood on my grave, that’s nasty.”

Reynold muttered out loud and clapped a hand to his face as both girl and mage turned to him. He colored, but Hedault nodded.

“A powerful spell, designed to cut past any quick defense. A perfect tool for an assassin—or a mage disinclined to fight fairly in a magic duel. Very powerful.”

“So I see. And this ring?”

Ryoka pointed to one made out of wood. Hedault shrugged, losing interest.

“Very powerful. Very common. [Barkskin].”

“Do you mean literally bark for skin, or…”

“There may be some physical alterations given time, but only temporarily. The skin will indeed grow tough—not as strong as armor, but certainly far more durable which would be invaluable against daggers and to an extent, swords…but [Barkskin] also provides the wearer with a degree of cold resistance due to the thicker exterior, and of course, some users simply prefer it when travelling outdoors as the sun will provide them with energy…”

“Wait a second, you mean you’ll literally have bark for skin, as in, you can take in light like a plant?”

Hedault gave Ryoka a confused look.

“That is the implication with the spell, is it not? In any case, it is a valuable item, especially given that it is a permanent spell. Again, I impress on you the difference between temporary and permanent. [Stoneskin] is a powerful enchantment, but I have heard of only a handful of cases where it was ever successfully imbued into an artifact.”

“Good stuff. Got it.”

“Yes, well, this ring is far more interesting.”

Hedault shook his head as he pushed the other two rings back and picked up the third. Ryoka’s eye was caught instantly by the way this one was clearly magical. It looked like it was made up of air. That was to say, it was practically invisible, but for shifting…waves in the air. It looked a lot like the shimmering that came off of pavement in the heat, only twisted into a band.

“A ring that allows the user to jump up to six times their height without consequence. Weight will affect the spell naturally, but this…”

The enchanter breathed the words out loud, eyes shining. Ryoka and Reynold blinked.

“Oh come on. That’s your powerful enchantment?”

Ryoka glared at Hedault. The mage looked insulted.

“This enchantment is splendidly made. And though it is not a physical enhancement, the use of gravity magic is—”

“It’s a ring of jumping. Tell me how that’s as useful as a ring that turns your skin into bark or shoots missiles?”

“Well, you could crush a man in armor with your foot if you put it on.”

Ryoka paused with her mouth open.

“Explain.”

“This ring does not simply allow you to ‘jump higher’. It allows you to jump higher and maintain the weight of your fall while protecting the user. To put it in simpler terms, this is not a ring that has a simple [Featherfall] and [Lightfoot] dual enchantment. This ring uses gravity. Thus, if a warrior in plate armor were to jump twenty feet into the air and land, the impact would—”

“Holy crap.”

“Quite. Do you understand? This is no ordinary ring. In fact, a ring of jumping completely misses the point. With it, a user could grab hold of say, a team of adventurers and leap to safety, or use it themselves to travel up a cliff without fear of falling.”

“But there are limits, right? You couldn’t just jump off a cliff and…”

Hedault raised his eyebrows. Ryoka gulped.

“Seriously?”

“The ring will come into focus the more its energies are exhausted. See, it is practically transparent? It will slowly stabilize and its true form—I believe it is a brass band—will emerge. Thus, a user will be able to calculate if it is becoming drained from usage. Although I doubt it would be drained from anything other than a powerful impact. And it will recharge within days at most…”

It was odd. Throughout her talking with Hedault, Ryoka had just marveled at the magical items, wanting to try one or the other, but without any real desire to use any of them. What was she going to do with a sword? Well, it would be fun to chop a few things apart, but…

But now she couldn’t stop staring at the ring Hedault held. She wanted it. Ryoka Griffin wanted it more than anything she’d ever seen in the world. She wanted to climb a cliff with it. Or a mountain. She wanted to jump. She wanted to fly.

“Okay, that one’s good.”

“Relatively speaking, it is the second-most powerful item discovered. But this—”

Hedault sighed and picked up the wand. Ryoka’s eye fixed on it. It wasn’t a wand made of wood. It was metal. Iron? The dark grey—almost black metal was twisted like it had been alive, though. It was fashioned as though it were a bit of wood taken from a tree, ending with a blunted tip.

The [Enchanter] looked at Ryoka as he cradled it in his hands.

“Before I inform you as to this item’s usage…I don’t suppose you would consider my offer? I realize it is completely unconventional, but I feel compelled to make it.”

“Which is?”

“Allow me to pay you eighteen thousand gold pieces to purchase this wand from you. I will not make this offer again, and if you desire to accept you must not ask what this wand’s usage is.”

Reynold sounded like he’d inhaled his tongue. Ryoka blinked a few times and put her hand to her ear.

“Eight…eighteen? Not just eight?”

“It is the number for silence, for not inquiring. The wand may be worth less, but this is my price. Will you take it?”

Ryoka gulped as she met Hedault’s eyes. She looked at Reynold—the man was blinking rapidly as his eyes fixed on the iron wand. There was quill and inkpot balanced on his hand as he held a small book in front of him.

The young woman turned back to Hedault and sighed.

“Damnit, if you knew me…I have to know what the hell that wand is. Sorry, no deal.”

Hedault nodded. He looked visibly disappointed—Ryoka supposed that was crying and weeping on anyone else. He stroked the wand and then looked at Ryoka.

“Very well. Then, an explanation first. This wand is not metal as you might surmise. It is iron wood—it comes from a rare tree that is extinct as far as I know. But inside the wand…there is something. A core.”

“You mean, the thing that gives it magic?”

“Yes. I do not know what it is.”

“You can’t tell?”

Hedault shook his head.

“It is something I have never seen before. Something…powerful. This wand is powered by the core—it is a classical wand. I suppose you do not know the difference between a classical wand and variation designed for spellcasting…? No, I see not.”

“Let me guess. One’s better?”

“Substantially.”

Hedault nodded. He indicated the wand he held.

“This wand has no spell attached to it. It is…well, I suppose you could call it an aid to spellcasting, but an aid hardly encompasses…it will boost any mage’s ability to cast spells immensely. Not like the modern wand. Those have cores of course, but these are almost invariably small mana stones. They are consumed with every cast of the spell embedded in the wand—you understand?”

“One’s temporary and helps cast a certain kind of spell, the other one’s good at everything and doesn’t run dry?”

“Exactly.”

Hedault nodded as he reluctantly let Ryoka inspect the wand. It was heavy she found—and the iron wood did indeed feel like wood. Cold, metallic wood.

“Such a wand is…valuable does not begin to describe it. Consider, please, the limits of modern construction. A—a wand made today would have to be of some high-quality wood. Perhaps meltwood, or cerabark? And the core might be unicorn hair or unicorn horn if you were so unimaginably lucky—it would be inferior to this wand by a substantial degree.”

Ryoka whistled as she held the wand.

“Ceria and Pisces are going to tear each other apart over this thing.”

“Any mage would. In fact, I advise you to take care in transporting it—it is not magically significant so a casual [Detect Magic] spell would not identify it immediately if concealed correctly, but any mage worth their salt would do almost anything to obtain such an object.”

Ryoka eyed Hedault.

“Why didn’t you lie about what it was, then? Seems odd you’d just tell me what it is after making one offer.”

The enchanter glared at her, outraged by the suggestion.

“I make my living based on my trustworthiness. I would not lie—even when sorely tempted to.”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just—wow, this is the big one, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It is.”

Hedault grew silent as Ryoka turned the wand over in her hands. He sighed.

“Congratulations, Ryoka Griffin. I am told there are two mages in the Horns of Hammerad. One of them will benefit greatly—assuming the other does not attempt to kill them to possess this wand, that is.”

“We’ll see.”

Ryoka put the wand down and turned to Hedault. She felt lightheaded—possibly because she’d listened to him chatter on about magical artifacts for the better part of an hour. Or was it more? She couldn’t tell how long she’d been standing here.

“Was that it? You said something about repair costs…”

“Ah, yes.”

Hedault flicked his fingers and levitated the buckler up.

“This is the only object in need of repairs to function. The hilt of the sword enchanted with weight could use touching up, but that is a minor cost. Now, I estimate that this buckler can be fixed with a modicum of effort and time—say, five days? I could do it myself for a small reduction in fees.”

Ryoka nodded.

“And the price?”

Hedault tapped the buckler twice as he thought.

“I would think that the least I would ask is…one thousand and six hundred gold coins for the buckler, and four hundred…and fifty for the hilt. Now, understand that an error might occur in the repair process in which case the fee will be refunded, but the enchantment will in all likelihood be completely lost.”

He looked up and saw Ryoka had gone dead white.

“If you like, I can offer you a very good price if you would consider trading the wand—”

—-

Outside, quite a number of streets away, Laken sighed impatiently. He was sitting with Durene and Gamel, both of whom were flicking crumbs from their lunch and snack at some inquisitive birds who’d flown down to look.

Laken knew he should be at the inn they’d found, feeding Frostwing. And he had business at the Merchant’s Guild—and the Runner’s Guild—and the Adventurer’s Guild. But he was waiting here for Ryoka Griffin.

“Where is she? I wonder if something’s happened?”

—-

Across the city, one of the overworked [Receptionists] in the Mage’s Guild sighed long and hard as he got another message in. This one was addressed to a name he’d had cause to curse in the last few days.

He neatly took note of it, recording the sender and the addressee.

To: Ryoka Griffin

From: Erin Solstice.

This was the first message from this sender, but he had messages from…the [Receptionist] consulted the sheet out of idle curiosity.

Ah yes. From Krshia Silverfang, Selys Shivertail, Klbkch (no last name given), Lyonette (no last name given), Ceria Springwalker, Pisces (no last name given), and now Erin Solstice.

He wished she would turn up.

—-

And last, but certainly not least the female [Receptionist] at the Runner’s Guild grimly stopped talking with one of the Runners who’d come in. She was going off-duty for the day, but she left a message for all [Receptionists] on duty. She had a message for Ryoka Griffin too, and she was sure the girl wasn’t going to like it.

And outside, the snow began to fall. The winter was more than half-over. It had been a long one, but the longest day of the year was fast approaching. After that, the snows would linger for a while, but then melt.

Winter was ending. But there was a lot to do first. And much of it turned on a young woman who was currently talking about payment plans with an [Enchanter].

3.37

“Tomorrow, then. Or sooner if I can get a hold of the Horns of Hammerad by mage spell.”

“Very well. Please confine your visiting hours between dawn and sunset.”

That seemed like a fairly easy request, so Ryoka nodded to Hedault as she and Reynold left his house. She supposed that without clocks, appointments were a little harder to keep.

The [Enchanter] stood in his living room and gestured to make the front door swing open. Ryoka saw Reynold stop to bow and thank him. She was almost out the door, having said her goodbyes. From the look on Hedault’s face as he stared at the [Butler], he preferred succinct conversations.

Ryoka paused as she stepped towards the door and turned back to Hedault.

“One last question. Are any of your other artifacts for sale?”

She nodded to a mace neatly hung on a wall plaque. Hedault nodded.

“These are…competent examples of my craft, or artifacts I have purchased for study. I have a small selection of items that I may be willing to sell.”

“Got it. See you later.”

The young woman walked out of the door, Reynold following with another polite farewell. Once she was outside, Ryoka took one look at the sun and cursed.

“How long was I in there?”

“Around an hour an a half by my count, Miss Ryoka.”

Reynold stepped smoothly over to her side as the door silently closed behind them. Ryoka sighed.

“Well shit. Okay, I guess I need to run. Thanks for bringing me here, Reynold.”

“My pleasure, Miss Ryoka.”

“I don’t have anything in particular to do.”

“I see.”

“…You can go now.”

Ryoka stared at Reynold. The [Butler] did not move. He stood politely at attention by her side, back perfectly straight. He seemed to be attracting approving glances from a lot of the passersby, and not just because he looked good in a suit. These upstanding citizens probably employed or wanted to employ a man like Reynold, or rather, a [Butler] like Reynold. Then again, Ryoka hadn’t ever seen a Gnoll [Butler] or a Drake [Manservant]. Perhaps they didn’t take to it as well?

She coughed as she began walking down the street. Reynold followed her.

“I don’t need your help, Reynold. How can I put this politely…? Piss off.”

“I’m afraid I cannot do that, Miss Griffin. My orders were to escort you around the city.”

“And I don’t need an escort anymore. Hold on—”

The young woman’s eyes narrowed as she put the pieces together.

“Magnolia told you to follow me everywhere, didn’t she?”

“That is correct, Miss. I am afraid my orders regarding you were quite specific. I must accompany you everywhere. On that note, shall we return to the plaza? I believe we are late for your meeting.”

The young woman and butler had been striding quickly down the street towards that very spot, where Ryoka had promised to meet Laken. But Ryoka stopped dead in her tracks and turned around.

“You bastard.”

The man’s expression didn’t change. He calmly met Ryoka’s eyes.

“I did not follow you, Miss Ryoka. But I am not the only person in Lady Reinhart’s employ who was given orders regarding you. Happily, the young man you met appears to be still sitting in the plaza, although he is growing restless. May I suggest we continue walking?”

Ryoka did, although now she was ready to do violence. Internally she was cursing. She should have realized Magnolia would set watchers on her!

“Why are you being obvious about spying on me? If you can set watchers so easily, why bother with an escort at all?”

Reynold’s eyebrows rose slightly.

“Lady Reinhart expected you to put the pieces together, Miss Ryoka. I believe this is her way of assisting you—again, in her own way. But she did tell me to be open about her orders if you asked.”

“So I don’t spook and run, is that it?”

“I would not dare to make such an assumption, Miss.”

“I’ll bet.”

For a second, just a second, Ryoka thought about killing Reynold and dumping his body in a ditch somewhere. But of course, Magnolia would know if Ryoka killed her butler. And where would Ryoka find a handy ditch anyways? What about digging a grave? That would be hell in the snow, and Ryoka would have to lure Reynold far out into the countryside to do that…

It was just a passing thought. But it was tempting. She was furious, but Ryoka was already worrying about Laken. She’d given him away, hadn’t she? But he might just be another person from her world, hardly important—the key would be making sure Magnolia’s servants saw it that way.

She turned her head as Reynold kept pace with her down the street.

“Out of curiosity…if I knock you out, how badly do you think Lady Magnolia would react?”

Again, the [Butler]’s face didn’t twitch. It must have been a Skill.

“If you wish to try, I am afraid you may well succeed. I must tell you however that I am under orders.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. Miss Ressa gave me precise instructions as to what I should do if you offered me violence, Miss Ryoka.”

“Ressa?”

Ryoka looked over at Reynold. He just stared at her. Slowly, Ryoka unclenched the fist she’d made.

“I really hate your boss, Reynold.”

“I believe the feeling is mutual, Miss Ryoka. I see we have stopped again. Shall we proceed?”

“Sure. Remind me to kick your ass when I’m done here, Reynold?”

“I shall make a note of it.”

—-

In general, I’d say I’m a pretty patient guy. Well, I do like to keep myself busy, but being blind means that sometimes you’ve just got to wait and think about what you’re going to do next.

For instance, if you’ve lost your walking cane, and you’re in an unfamiliar place, well, you’d better stop and think or you might walk straight into a car. I’ve done that only once before, but believe me, patience is a life saver.

I know better than to hurry things along. There’s a time for action, but if it’s not that time, you might as well take it slow.

Still, I don’t like waiting too long. I shift impatiently on the bench as Durene and Gamel sit next to me. Well, I say sit, but Durene is too big to really share the bench with so she’s sitting on the ground and Gamel seems determined to stand at attention like some kind of personal bodyguard.

Lunch is done. We’ve all had a snack—some very fine Gnollish cooking, which came in the form of a marinated mix of beef and vegetables drizzled in spicy sauce. I was tickled to learn that instead of disposable paper plates, vendors in this city use cheap ceramics. We pay more for the dishes of course, but we get it back if we return our bowls undamaged.

Gamel bought the food and returned the dishes once we were done. He insisted—I would have liked him to rest since he’s been on his feet all day, but he wants to be useful.

Now I turn to him and sense him snap to attention. I don’t have to hear it; I just know he’s standing straighter and turning to face me. It’s so odd. Gamel is only a few years younger than I am, but he thinks I have all the answers.

That’s a dangerous belief. I frown, but put that issue aside for far later. Right now I only have one question.

“Do you see Ryoka, Durene? Gamel?”

“I don’t see anyone, Laken. I mean, there are a lot of people, but—”

“I don’t see any Runner with dark skin, sire.”

“Darn. Where could she be?”

A thousand and one answers come to mind. The first of which is that this Ryoka girl is setting us up for a trap and by waiting, I’ve walked us all into it. I sigh and stand up.

“Well, we’ve waited long enough. Let’s go.”

I grab my walking cane and reach out for Durene, but feel her shift, turn as she touches my hand.

“I—wait, I see her, Laken! That’s her alright!”

I stiffen. I can’t see where Ryoka is coming from, but Durene faces me the right way. I hear Gamel draw in his breath.

“What is it?”

“She’s not alone, Laken.”

Immediately, the paranoid part of me starts freaking out. But I keep my voice calm. A leader can’t look nervous. That probably goes triple for an [Emperor], shoddy one though I may be.

“Who is with her?”

“A…I don’t know. What kind of man is that, Gamel? He looks odd.”

“Odd?”

“Yes, Emper—Mister Laken. He has, well, fancy clothes on. They’re all black and white, and he has a bow tie at his neck. He looks like a rich man’s servant, sir.”

“A rich man’s servant…”

I frown. I almost imagine a man in a prison uniform when Gamel says black and white clothes. But they have stripes, don’t they? I don’t know. I think I read about that in a book somewhere, but I haven’t really read a description of prison uniforms in a long time. I always imagine people in that sort of clothing when I listen to news stories about escaped convicts and trials, though.

A servant, though…why would Ryoka have one of those?

“He’s with her?”

“Yes, and they’re—”

Durene breaks off as I hear someone walk towards me. There’s a moment of hesitation as I feel Durene let go of my hand and move. I can’t tell what’s happened, but then I hear the girl named Ryoka speak.

“Laken? I’m here.”

“Ah, Ryoka Griffin? Is that you?”

I don’t know what’s going on, but I opt for pleasant surprise. I listen very carefully to her as she replies.

“Yes. Sorry I’m late. Something came up. I—well, sorry.”

She sounds tense. And worried. Not at all like she did while talking to me before. That was a different sort of tense. This sounds like anxiety in her tone, which means that…

I think quickly and nod, putting a smile on my face.

“Of course. Thank you for coming back. Why don’t we chat over by the benches, assuming they’re not all taken?”

I turn and hear Ryoka cough.

“Your—friend is in the way.”

“Durene? Please let Ryoka past.”

“Okay.”

Shuffling feet. Then—I hear a man’s voice.

“Ah, pardon me Miss Durene, is it? I would like to introduce myself, if you would permit it.”

“Who are you?”

Ryoka’s voice.

“This is Reynold, Laken. He’s my escort. He’s a friend. A—hold on, let me look this up.”

Silence, shuffling. I hear Durene and Gamel murmur in surprise, but have no idea what Ryoka is doing. So I turn to the man named Reynold.

“Hello. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. Are you Ryoka’s friend?”

“Not as of such, sir. I—I am a—pardon me, but please accept my most profuse apologies to greet you so rudely. Allow me to introduce myself as Reynold Ferusdam, a humble servant in the employ of Lady Magnolia Reinhart.”

I hear a gasp from Durene and a sound from Ryoka. It’s short, but it makes me think this Reynold fellow has done something. I hold still, but sense nothing.

“Please excuse my rudeness, sir.”

“Not…at all.”

I don’t blink, because I keep my eyelids closed all the time, but I am taken aback. Lady who? What’s this Reynold fellow got to do with Ryoka and why is he acting so formal? Wait a minute. I think I know what’s going on.

There are a number of ways I could reply. I opt for more genuine interest. I smile and extend my hand.

“Oh? Pleased to meet you. May I assume you are a—a [Manservant] or [Butler] of some sort?”

“Indeed, milo—Mister Laken, that is correct. I am a [Butler] currently given the task of escorting Miss Ryoka around the city.”

I feel a light hand—gloved—shake mine and then withdraw. I can tell this man Reynold is wearing some kind of cologne. Well now, I think I understand his odd reaction. Is there a way to make use of it? Perhaps not, but I also fear it might be giving me away a bit.

Someone clears her throat next to me. I hear Ryoka draw closer.

“Goddamn stupid…okay, I think I have it. Laken, Reynold is a friend of a friend. I know Lady Magnolia Reinhart—she’s one of the Five Families in the continent as I’m sure you know, a very powerful [Lady]—and she’s sent Reynold to help me out because I know her. Reynold is a friend. He’s uh—damnit. Freund aber Spion. Achtung. Sag nichts. Verstehst du mich?”

This is why having my eyes closed all the time helps. They don’t narrow and I keep perfect control of my voice.

“Ja.”

So that’s how it is? I smile at Ryoka.

“It’s good to meet someone else who speaks a different language.”

“Yes, it is. Around here everyone speaks English. Everyone. Weird, isn’t it?”

There’s a note of humor in her tone. I shrug lightly and turn towards Durene.

“I’m sorry, Durene, Gamel. I haven’t introduced you, have I? This is Ryoka—I met her today, but we, ah, come from the same place. I think of her as a friend, and I hope you will as well. I think she and Mister Reynold might be able to help us while we’re here.”

I hear people moving and murmuring greetings.

“Hello. My name is Durene. I’m Laken’s friend.”

“Charmed.”

Is it me, or is there not a lot of friendliness in Durene’s tone? I hear Ryoka mutter something and shift—were they shaking hands or something? But then Reynold walks over and I practically feel Durene flush. Listening to her stammer, it sounds like he bowed or kissed her hand.

Well now. Smiling a bit, I sit with Ryoka on the bench. Everyone else stands.

“So why are you here?”

Ryoka’s tone is warning, but I ignore it. Honesty. You can do a lot with honesty, especially when you pair it with omission.

“It’s a long story. Durene and Gamel and I are all from Riverfarm, a small village to the…east, I think. We’ve come here because an avalanche hit the village a few days ago. A good number of people died, and the rest are in trouble since the avalanche wiped out a lot of their provisions for the winter. Not to mention, there’s a danger of monsters, bandit attacks…”

I hear an indrawn breath. So, Ryoka really had no idea why I was here? She shifts on the bench next to me and sounds pained.

“That’s not good. But how are you going to get all those supplies? Buying all that in the winter would cost a small fortune, and that’s without hiring a [Guard] or two.”

“Indeed, sir. Would the other villages be able to assist you? A neighboring town or city, perhaps? Some provinces have local [Lords] or [Ladies] who take care of their subjects, but I’m afraid Riverfarm is not a claimed holding.”

I shake my head at the questions.

“Money isn’t an issue. It’s finding a good supplier of food and a trustworthy adventuring team I’m struggling a bit with. Reynold, you seem to know your way around this city—would you answer a few questions for me?”

“I should be delighted to, sir.”

“Good!”

I smile, and feel Ryoka shift on the bench again. But if she thinks I’ve said too much, she doesn’t do anything. I gather my thoughts. I really only need a few questions answered for the moment.

“Tell me, my good man—”

God, I sound like a pretentious idiot. It must be because I’m imagining a real [Butler] standing in front of me. I cough and adjust my tone.

“—I’m afraid I’m new to the city. To this area, really. I’d love to know more about this city. Is Invrisil an independent city-state? I’ve heard those are common around here, rather than nations. Who rules a place like this? A mayor?”

“Invrisil, sir Laken? This city does have an elected leader—Regisand Curle is the appointed [Mayor] for the moment. However, if I may say so, he is more of an administrator than one to set policy.”

“Fascinating. So if I were to ask who the real power behind the throne is…?”

“That would be Lady Reinhart, my employer, sir. Well, I should say Lady Magnolia Reinhart has the power to persuade the city to adopt new policies or to ah, see her point of view, but she rarely uses such authority. Day-to-day it’s usually just the Guilds and various nobles infighting, sir.”

“Really? The Guilds? No, wait—I see. I’ve heard of the Runner’s Guild, Adventurer’s Guild, the Merchant’s Guilds, and so on. How much power do they wield, politically and economically, I mean? Actually, do they have any standing forces of their own? And how would you compare that to the power of, oh, say, the average landed gentry, an average [Lord]?”

I hear Reynold gulp, but he replies quickly.

“The Guilds are a powerful force in any city, sir, although I would wager most [Lords] have just as much authority in their own way. Well, the average [Lord] doesn’t have the coin to match a large Guild, but he does have his own standing forces, and the Guilds usually don’t actively pick their battles. If it comes to blows they hire mercenaries or fight themselves if it’s the Adventurer or Runner’s Guild, but it’s rare for things to get that bad. Mostly, the worse that happens is someone gets assassinated, or finds themselves out of work or disgraced.”

“I see. Hm. So, correct me if I’m wrong, but a [Merchant] would have a bit of influence on their own, but only the most wealthy ones would be put on the same footing as one of the nobility. Is that right?”

“To an extent, sir. There’s an old saying in the north—‘even a [Shopkeeper] can sell a [Lord]’. The poorest [Trader] has friends, and they can boycott a [Lord] who’s wronged him, or lend money to a [Baroness] who needs it for a gala.”

Politics. I shake my head.

“Sounds like a mess. I had no idea it was this complicated around here.”

Ryoka comments sourly next to me. I’m in agreement with her.

“Is it like this everywhere, Reynold?”

“I do believe so. In Invrisil, First Landing—all the major cities have a hand in the politics of the continent, sir. [Lords] and [Ladies] of the Five Families maneuver with each other while [Shopkeepers] and [Merchants] play the same game on a smaller level. I’ve heard the Drakes in the south do much the same thing, although I’ve heard their version of things is far more direct and…material. But politics is the lifeblood of every continent.”

As in our world, so too in this. I incline my head in his direction.

“Well, thank you. That’s all I needed to know.”

So, if you’re a high-level person with a lot of coin—or you’re nobility, or you’re part of a big Guild you’re a mover and a shaker, but everyone else is subject to the power plays of the continent. I wonder what effect my actions might have, if any?

I stand up.

“If the Guilds have power, they’re the ones I need to go to. I was thinking of going to the Runner’s Guild—Ryoka, Durene tells me you look like a Runner. Do you know if they’d be able to get supplies out to Riverfarm? It’s a ways away, and I’d need a lot of supplies. I don’t think a few people can carry all that—how much would it cost to hire, say, fifty people? Or do the Runner’s Guild have wagons?”

“They’ve got bags of holding.”

I smile, delighted.

“No way. In that case, how fast could they travel, oh, thirty miles?”

Ryoka pauses.

“If you had the coin, you could have someone in Riverfarm within the hour I’ll bet. But…don’t go to the Runner’s Guild.”

“Why not?”

Gamel sounds astounded. It takes Ryoka another minute to reply.

“They’ve got bags of holding and they’re a lot faster, yeah. But if you need to buy supplies as well as have them delivered, the Merchant Guild might be able to cut you a better deal. They’re rivals with the Runners—they’re slow, but if you’re hiring protection as well, it’ll be cheaper.”

“Huh.”

Not something I’d expect to hear from a Runner, but I’m grateful for the advice. I smile around at everyone.

“I suppose that’s our destination, then. Durene, Gamel, we’re going to the Merchant’s Guild. I don’t suppose you’d like to join us, Ryoka, Reynold?”

“I am bound to escort Miss Ryoka wherever she travels. It would be my pleasure to accompany you if she so chooses.”

“…Yeah, I’ll go. I know where the Guild is—it’s a few blocks away from here.”

“I’ll help take Laken, Miss Ryoka.”

Durene’s voice comes from next to me. She sounds…a bit possessive. But Ryoka doesn’t budge.

“I’ve led blind people before.”

So saying, she takes my hand. I’m surprised, but I think quickly.

“It’s okay, Durene. I’ll walk with Ryoka for a bit. You can see the sights while we chat.”

“But—okay, Laken.”

I hear the hurt tone in Durene’s voice, but Ryoka pulls at my hand and then we’re off. It must be an odd sight as she leads me out of the plaza. I know Gamel, Reynold and Durene are keeping pace with us because I hear Reynold speaking to them, but then Ryoka begins talking.

“Is she your girlfriend or something?”

“Who?”

“The—Durene. She acts like you two are a couple.”

“We are a couple.”

“What?”

I speak sharply.

“Is there something wrong with that?”

Hesitation. Ryoka sounds guilty.

“No. I—damn it, sorry. I’m just surprised.”

I say nothing in response. After a moment, Ryoka sighs.

“Sorry. She seems protective. She nearly broke my fingers when I shook her hand.”

“Really?”

“She thinks I’m a threat.”

“You did come out of nowhere. And even if you are from my world, that doesn’t mean much to Durene.”

Ryoka pauses, and I nearly run into her. I sense her turn.

“You told her you’re from another world?”

“Of course. I trust her.”

“—Okay. Fine. Sure. You told her. Does anyone else know you’re from another world? That Gamel guy, for instance?”

“No. Have you told anyone? Why is that Reynold fellow following you about?”

“He’s a servant of Lady Magnolia. And she knows. In fact, she knows everything. Her servants followed me—they were probably listening to us when we spoke the first time, and they’re probably listening now. Keep that in mind.”

“I will. But if they’re, ah, ‘friends but spies’, should I trust them or not?”

“…I don’t know. Magnolia’s not evil, but she’s not nice either. She might not care you’re from another world—she’s found other people like us.”

“Really? How many? Where were they?”

Ryoka gives my hand a squeeze.

“Just a few. Looks like a few other people got pulled to this continent. Maybe we all got hit by a rogue spell or something. There are five or six kids around our age—maybe a few years younger. But that’s all I know.”

Another squeeze. I gently tighten my fingers to let her know I understand. So Magnolia knows a lot, but not everything? How many of us are there? Why are we here?

I guess that’s a bad topic, so I go back to Magnolia.

“What’s she like? If she hires [Butlers], can I assume she’s rich?”

“Oh yeah. She’s one of the Five Families—they’re the richest nobles on the continent. She’s a [Lady] with an army of servants, tons of magical artifacts, a magical horseless carriage…”

“Are you serious? First bags of holding, now magical automobiles—are you going to tell me adventurers run around with flaming swords and shields of wonder?”

“Hah. Close. Try flaming daggers. But seriously—watch out for Magnolia. She might appear friendly and nice, but she’s devious. Imagine her as a—a—do you, I mean, did you watch Game of Thrones back home?”

I twitch a bit, but keep walking.

“I did. Watch is a bit strong, but I did a lot of listening to audiobooks and I listened to some episodes with visual description turned on.”

“Then imagine her as a Daenerys except older.”

“Sort of like Cersei Lannister?”

“Sort of. But…smarter. Less arrogant. Daenerys is a better analogy, especially given that she has one big thing in common with her. I mean, not as a mother, but a friend. And she’s twice as cunning as both Daenerys and Cersei put together—and she’s bold like Catelyn Stark, got it?”

“I get it. And she knows about you, or rather, us?”

“About everyone. She’s met people…like us, before. And she knows about one of my friends. Her name is Erin Solstice. She lives far south of here, in Liscor. She’s an [Innkeeper]…I’d like you to meet her sometime.”

“I’d be delighted. But I do have to help Riverfarm.”

“The village? Why? Because Durene lives there?”

“Yes. And because they’re good people. Well, fairly good. They’ll starve or die without help.”

“And you can do it?”

“I think so. I wasn’t expecting to meet someone from another world, though.”

“Neither was I. I just heard you speaking German and—look, I’m sorry I got you mixed up in this.”

I shrug fractionally.

“Politics. I’d get involved sooner or later, especially considering…well, let’s just say that having your friend here and learning a bit about the city might be helpful. If this Lady Magnolia really is a friend to the people, I think she’d approve of what we’re doing here.”

Ryoka’s quick pace falters. I hear her take a breath as people shout at a rude wagon driver ahead of us.

“About buying supplies. Do you need help with getting supplies for this village of yours? If you need coin I…damnit, I’ve got some, but—”

“I’ll be fine. Trust me.”

Silence. Then Ryoka stops.

“I’ll try.”

I tap the ground experimentally with my walking stick, but feel no difference in the paving stone around me. Not that I really expected it.

“We’re in front of the Merchant’s Guild? How does it look?”

“Big. Fancy. They went all out on the architecture around here. Lots of gold paint.”

There’s a sneer in Ryoka’s voice. I hear the others catch up, and then Durene speaks.

“Laken! We’re in front of the Merchant’s Guild!”

Is it just me, or is she right between me and Ryoka? I smile up at her.

“I know. Ryoka, can you give us a second? I want to talk with Durene before we…”

“Got it. Hey Reynold, come over here.”

They retreat. I’m left alone with Durene and Gamel, although he’s standing further away. I whisper up to Durene.

“Do you not like Ryoka?”

“I—I don’t trust her, Laken. Are you sure she’s someone you know?”

“I think I can trust her. But tell me, is there anything I missed back in the plaza? When that man Reynold introduced himself, you and Gamel made a noise.”

“Yeah! When he was speaking he—he bowed to you, Laken! He bowed really low!”

“As one would to a…someone like me?”

“Someone like—oh, yeah!”

“Interesting. Don’t say anything about it for now, okay? It’s a secret. Tell Gamel that.”

“Okay Laken. But…”

I can practically see Durene’s face, upset with confusion and nerves.

“What’s going on? This is all so sudden! What are we going to do in the Merchant’s Guild, hire a bunch of wagons?”

“Close. I actually think we can get done most of what we need to while we’re in there. It’s going to be complex, Durene. But we can handle it. All you need to do is look impressive. I think you can do that.”

“But what should I do? I don’t know anything about—money or stuff like that. Are you sure I should come in with you?”

“What, and leave me alone? I need you, Durene. Will you come with me?”

“Yes.”

It’s a response without a second of hesitation behind it. Just one word, but it blows away my self-doubt and my own fears. I smile as Durene squeezes my hand with the utmost care. She’s with me, and she’s all the help I’ll need. How could I ask for more?

And yet, I have more. Gamel is right beside us, faithfully going along with all of this although he clearly doesn’t understand what I’m thinking. He trusts me. He’s loyal.

What an odd thought. But he is my subject and I’ll do right by him.

So it’s not Laken the confused guy who stops in front of the Merchant’s Guild, it’s Laken the [Emperor]. He’s listened and heard all of what’s going on and he has a good idea of the situation he’s in. And he has a plan.

I gesture for Gamel to come over, and we huddle together in front of the Merchant’s Guild as I explain what I want to do. Politics. [Lords] and [Ladies] and Guilds and [Merchants]. Well, I’m an [Emperor] so I trump all of them. I smile as I speak to my two followers, my two subjects, my two friends.

“Okay you two, here’s what we’re going to do. Durene, I want you to open the doors like this when we go in…”

—-

As the blind young man known as Laken stood with his two friends, Ryoka waited a few feet down the street with Reynold. She pulled something out of her pocket—an iPhone—and tapped on the screen.

Ryoka glanced down at her iPhone and closed the encyclopedia app she had been using. It had been a long, long time since she’d last used it but she was glad to know that it could still work offline.

“Guess it’s not a waste of gigabytes after all.”

She tucked it away in her pocket and sighed. What a mess. She had no idea what Laken was about to do, but from the way the villager and half-Troll girl were reacting, it was going to be surprising.

“I have no idea what the hell is going on.”

“Ye never do.”

Ivolethe poked her head out of Ryoka’s belt pouch, chewing on a walnut. She was actually eating the shell as well as the nut itself. Ryoka eyed the small blue faerie. She wondered if Laken could hear Ivolethe like Erin could. If so, that might be a better way of letting him know important details.

But what did he really need to know? Everything Ryoka knew about the other people scattered across the world, about Erin and the dangers of the Antinium and so on—that was for a much longer conversation, later. Right now she could only trust he wouldn’t blurt out anything important.

She didn’t think he would, honestly. She was surprised by how fast he’d caught on to everything.

“At least I got the message to him. Thank god for monoglottism in this world.”

Ryoka saw Ivolethe’s small head turn towards her and laugh.

“Hah! I heard thy terrible attempt at language. Deine Aussprache ist schrecklich.”

Ryoka scowled down at her belt.

“How the hell do you know what I—no, don’t tell me. I guess you lot were all over Europe back in the day, huh?”

“I travelled to many lands, and learned many tongues! You sound as if you were speaking with mud and worms in your mouth!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Ryoka scowled and closed the belt pouch over Ivolethe, ignoring the tiny faerie’s shout. She turned her head slightly, and regarded Reynold.

She hadn’t had time to ask, but she was intensely curious to know why he’d bowed like he had when meeting Laken. The man was still pale and shaking a bit even after their short walk.

“Hey Reynold. What was that, back there?”

The [Butler] jumped as if Ryoka had shouted in his ear. He jerked his eyes away from Laken, and stared at Ryoka. Then he stepped over and hissed at her, completely forgetting about politeness or decorum.

“Who is that man?”

“Laken? I have no idea.”

“Don’t give me that! He is—I’ve never felt—”

Reynold’s cheeks were flushed. He kept staring at Laken.

“What did you feel?”

Ryoka eyed him closely. Reynold opened his mouth and shook his head.

“He was like—I suppose it was like standing before Lady Reinhart, or Lord Veltras. One of the high nobility, Ryoka. Only more intense. It’s a sense most [Servants] have—I felt as though I should have been prostrating myself at his feet.”

“Really?”

The young woman’s eyes narrowed. She stared at Laken and saw him step back from the huddle with Durene and Gamel. Durene carefully took his hand and they began moving towards the Merchant’s Guild.

“Hold on, here we go. Let’s see what he’s about to do.”

This was what Ryoka saw. She saw Durene march up to the doors and then let go of Laken. He grabbed hold of Gamel’s shirt instead, and waited as Durene stood in front of the two ornate double doors.

She attracted attention. For all the half-Troll girl was wearing rough clothing, Ryoka had to admit that she was impressive. Durene was the tallest person around, and when she stood tall and didn’t slouch she was a true giant. She grabbed hold of the door handles and flung the doors wide open.

“Now that’s an entrance.”

Ryoka commented as she followed Laken and the others inside. The dramatic opening had made the entire Merchant’s Guild go silent, or maybe it was seeing Durene come striding through the doorway. Either way, suddenly all eyes were on Laken and Durene and Gamel.

No, they were all on Laken. For all of Durene’s height, there was something about the blind man that drew the eye. Ryoka blinked and rubbed at her own eyes as she stared at his back. Was he…taller? No, but he seemed like it.

What was going on? She frowned hard as Laken walked forwards.

The Merchant’s Guild was as gaudy and plush on the inside as it was on the outside. It had [Receptionists] but other counters as well, places to exchange coin, sell goods, take out loans, and so on. Impressive brass scales were a fixture of the room, as well as other handy measuring tools and things like abacuses—all aids to calculating the worth of an item down to the last copper coin.

Ryoka expected Laken to march up right to one of the receptionist’s desks, but he didn’t do that. He took ten steps into the room and then stopped there. With all eyes on him and his companions Laken stopped and waited as Durene bent down to whisper in his ear.

“Of course. He can’t see.”

Ryoka murmured the words. It was necessary for Laken, but the effect it caused was impressive. There he was, standing in the center of a whirlpool of attention, waiting. The effect was also immediate.

It wasn’t a lowly [Receptionist] that came hurrying towards Laken across the floor, but a balding, portly man that Ryoka pegged as a [Merchant] or some higher Guild official. She saw him stop as Durene turned to block him, and then hurry forwards and seize Laken’s hand. After a few moments of discussion, they walked over to some chairs and a table set to one side of the room.

That was ordinary. But Laken was not. He sat politely across from the [Merchant], eyes closed, smiling as he talked. And Durene stood protectively next to him, a half-Troll bodyguard while Gamel stood on the other side, looking fiercely proud despite his simple clothing.

What was going on? Who was that man? Why did he catch the eye so? Ryoka heard the murmuring, and saw the people waiting in line or doing business sneaking glances over at Laken as the guild slowly began to get back to business. Some people took seats at tables next to Laken’s, others simply wandered over as they chatted quietly.

It was a Skill, or something about Laken. Ryoka watched, arms folded by the doors as Reynold scribbled in his notebook furiously. Laken sat and smiled as he talked to the [Merchant], radiating confidence like a beacon.

He did nothing dramatic, and his words were inaudible except to the people closest to him. And yet, he had a presence that weighed down on his surroundings and dragged every eye to where he sat. Slowly, the room began to revolve around him.

—-

I sit with the [Merchant] named Merec in the center of his guild and thank god that they have padded seats in here. The bench in the park wasn’t bad, but after more than an hour of sitting on its hard surface, I could use some support for my backside.

Especially because I have the feeling I’ll be here for a while. I sit with my back straight in the chair, hearing quiet voices around me, people haggling, or buying goods in bulk, negotiating deliveries to other cities.

Doing business, in short. It’s not distracting to me, and I can tune it out, but it’s a reminder that we’re sitting in the open, in the center of the guild.

“Again, Mister Laken, I would be quite happy to seat you in a private room to discuss any business. I’m sure a man such as yourself might prefer the privacy.”

“I feel quite comfortable conducting my affairs out in the open, Mister Merec. I have nothing to hide, after all.”

The Merchant’s Guild has private rooms of course, although they might not be that private. I’d bet some of them have listening spells or peepholes…I smile in the general direction of the merchant. I hear him swallow, and then speak.

“Well then, I’m happy to get down to business. What ah, did you say the nature of your visit was about? Did I hear your—your helper correctly when she said you wanted to place a big order?”

“Indeed, Mister Merec. A large order. I would like to purchase food, supplies, livestock, tools, and so on for a village of around a hundred people. Of course, not just for one meal or two—I’d like to make a purchase that will last them the rest of the winter. To that end, I’d like to hire at least…twelve wagons, I suppose, and the appropriate guards to protect such a delivery. I was thinking at least two teams of adventurers might do.”

I don’t quite hear Merec inhale his tongue, but he comes close.

“S-supplies? For a village? May I ask what this is about, sir?”

“Riverfarm, my good man, Riverfarm.”

“Where…? I’m sorry, Mister Laken, but I’ve never heard of such a village.”

“Really? You haven’t? But their cabbage exports are a local keystone of the markets!”

I try to sound upset, but the truth is I’m laughing inside. I steeple my fingers and lean forwards over the table.

“I happen to be a great friend of the villagers there, Mister Merec. You may not have heard, but an avalanche hit the village and surrounding region not three days past. It was a tragedy, and many lives were lost.”

“I—I had heard something of the kind, sir. So these goods are for the village?”

“Yes indeed. I’m in rather a hurry, so if you could have the wagons loaded and sent out in, oh, an hour’s time that would be best.”

“I—well, hold on now.”

Merec tries to take back command of the situation. I hear saliva moving as he pauses, and then his tone becomes genial, professionally good-humored.

“We would love to fulfill your request, Mister Laken. But before we talk details, may I ask how you intend to pay for all of this? I hesitate to ask, but with such a huge transaction in mind—”

“Of course! Let’s not beat around the bushes, Merec!”

I raise my voice and feel the man wince. People around me go silent as I sit taller in my chair.

“Riverfarm needs aid, Mister Merec. Posthaste! Today, if it can be managed! I came to the Merchant’s Guild because I was told you could help me better than the Runner’s Guild.”

“Well, that’s certainly true, sir. We have the goods—those Runners would have to come to us for supplies. But about payment—”

I wave an impatient hand at him.

“Money is no object. Durene, would you please put the bag on the table so Mister Merec can see it?”

I hear Durene fiddle with her belt, and then a heavy thump. Merec’s chair screeches back, and then I hear him and voices around him gasp and exclaim.

“Dead gods!”

“Is that—”

“Are these gems, sir? And this—”

“I’m afraid I didn’t have time to convert it all into gold—but I believe exchanging gemstones is one of the functions of your guild, isn’t it? Well, I’ll leave sorting out the exact worth till later, but I assume this will be adequate?”

“Ah—ah—”

I think I broke the poor man. I tap a foot on the ground until Merec manages to speak again.

“Of course. Of course—you there! Bring over some chairs for Mister Laken’s escorts, now! And have drinks sent for—may I offer you some refreshments, Mister Laken?”’

“I wouldn’t say no, but I am in a hurry, Mister Merec.”

“Yes, sir. I completely—thank you. There’s just one matter I must attend to. I’m terribly sorry, but in cases like this—would you mind taking an oath on a truth spell? It’s just that in cases like this where we cannot be sure where this money has come from—”

“Are you accusing me of having stolen that money?”

I interject a note of frank incredulity into my tone. Durene makes an ominous noise.

“Laken didn’t steal that. All of this is his!”

Merec makes a very small sound, and I imagine him shrinking back as Durene towers over him.

“No, of course…it’s just a matter of protocol, see? I’d never question—please, Mister Laken—”

“It’s okay, Durene.”

I wave a hand at her and hear her step back. I smile brightly at Merec.

“I understand completely. Can I assume you have a stone of some sort I’d put my hand on?”

“Yes sir. It’s right here…if you just keep it close to your person, it will shine and uh, tell the truth.”

“Very well. In that case, allow me to go a step further so I may clarify matters.”

I reach out and find the stone on the table after a few seconds of searching. I pull it closer and speak carefully.

“This money is mine.”

I hear a murmur as the stone presumably lights up. I trust that I’m not being made out to be a liar and go on.

“I am a relative newcomer to this land, but I am deeply concerned with the wellbeing of the people of Riverfarm, who took me in and offered me hospitality during my time of need. My wealth comes from my, ah, class. It was not stolen from anyone to the best of my knowledge, and it is mine by right.”

More murmuring. I lift my hand away from the stone.

“I trust that satisfies your questions, Mister Merec?”

“It does indeed, sir. I apologize most sincerely for the inconvenience, but—ah—may I ask what your class is?”

“You may ask, but I may not answer.”

I smile at Merec. I hear him hesitate.

“You wouldn’t happen to be of the aristocracy, sir? Forgive my curiosity, but it’s very rare to have someone of your status in our guild. Most nobles send servants you see…”

I just smile. No reply. But I hear the small intake of breath, and know the crystal has probably changed color again. Tricky, that. But all to the better. An [Emperor] is the highest form of nobility, after all. I gently push the stone back across the table just to be sure I don’t trigger it again.

“Well then, now that the truth has been established, let us go back to business. Food, Mister Merec.”

“Of course! We can have a shipment prepared—at a very reasonable price, as well. Ah—however, I hate to mention this, but at this point in the year grain and meat and so on is very dear. I’m afraid you’ll be paying quite the steep rate for all of this…”

I raise a hand and the man falls silent.

“As I’ve said, money is no object. I know you would not cheat me or drive up the price unfairly, Mister Merec.”

“I would never—”

“I know. I don’t need a Skill, spell, or even eyes to see that. An honest price—and coin in your pockets for work well done—is all I need. I don’t fear being lied to, you see.”

“You…don’t?”

“Of course not. You see, liars and cheats have a way of revealing themselves to me, Merec. Which is why I trust you. After all, being blind means that when people try to pull the wool over my eyes, it doesn’t do a thing.”

I laugh a bit at that. After a second, I hear a polite, rather forced chuckle from Merec. I smile as if I’ve told a good joke. It’s all in the face. I keep it as open and as normal as possible, acting as if I’m talking with a good friend. It helps that I don’t have to do anything with my eyes.

Telling lies? I’m not telling lies. And I’m not dancing about with the truth either. I really don’t have a way of telling if someone’s lying to me. But I can make him think I do.

I’m just letting Merec and all the others do all the thinking and plotting and analysis of every word and move I make. The key is to make them think I’ve got depths, when in fact I’m about as deep as a puddle.

Mind games. From what Reynold and Ryoka said, the important people in this world like to play games with each other and read into every move anyone of power makes. My hope is that in a world of backstabbing, duplicitous schemers, they’ll never expect an honest man.

Well, semi-honest. Sort of. At least I make an effort.

—-

Ryoka rubbed at her eyes as the discussion went on. Laken sounded exactly like some kind of antagonist explaining his modus operandi on a television show to her. She’d felt like cringing when he made that joke. It was an over-the-top performance, but, and she had to admit this reluctantly, it was working.

It was the way he said it that sold the acting, and that incredible presence he had. You could believe that Laken was some reclusive, eccentric nobleman helping out a village he had taken a liking to. Every eye was on him and some people were openly listening to his discussion, not bothering to hide their interest.

They were all probably wondering which royal house Laken came from, which noble family. Ryoka was wondering much the same thing, although her main question was how. She knew he…but the stone had…Ryoka’s head was hurting already from all the suspicions bottled up in her chest.

And yet, it was all working in Laken’s favor. His entire presence was a tantalizing mystery. Who was the strange man with the bag of gold and a Troll bodyguard? Ryoka could see the gears whirring in people’s heads and decided to give Laken a hand.

She looked over and saw Reynold still writing furiously in the notebook, dipping his quill quickly into the small inkpot he held. She had to admire that—pens were so much easier than having to balance ink and quill and notepad with just two hands. She moved over and elbowed him, making the [Butler] jump.

“Hey. Get in there.”

He stared blankly at her.

“What?”

She nodded toward Laken and Merec as they began to discuss prices and what exactly Laken wanted.

“Do something. Anything. Just enter the conversation, alright? It doesn’t matter what you say, only that you’re there, saying it.”

Reynold hesitated, and then shook his head slightly.

“Miss Ryoka, my job is to escort you.”

“And take notes.”

He flushed a bit and lowered his quill.

“Well I—I can’t just interfere in business like this. It’s not my place.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Ryoka shrugged and walked away. After a few moments Reynold went back to writing down what was being said. He glanced over towards Ryoka and realized she was gone.

Reynold’s head turned frantically, but she wasn’t anywhere in front of him. Then he felt two hands on his back. He half turned—

And Ryoka shoved him.

She pushed Reynold forwards, sending the [Butler] stumbling closer to Laken and Merec. Reynold regained his footing and posture immediately and looked graceful while doing it, but now all eyes were on him. Ryoka looked the other way and twiddled her thumbs behind her back.

“Oops.”

—-

I break off when I hear the scuffle of feet on the floorboards.

“Is someone there?”

I hear a man clear his throat, and then hear a familiar voice.

“Reynold, sir Laken. May I offer you my services in this matter?”

I hesitate, but only for a second. Why is he helping? No, don’t question it—just roll with the cards that are being dealt.

“I would be most grateful, thank you. Do you by any chance know how much I should be paying for forty bags of barley?”

I hear Reynold sniff delicately.

“Given the way the Merchant’s Guild does business, I would question whether the goods being sold are of acceptable quality. Master Merec, I trust these prices all reflect the condition of the wares for sale? I have heard of weevils and Harvest Devils being found in warehouses in the city as of late.”

Merec splutters.

“Our goods are beyond repute, sir. I can have a sample brought over—”

“A sample might do, but a personal inspection of random bags at the site would not be objectionable, I trust?”

“No—no—”

“Very well then. But I also trust you are not wasting Mister Laken’s time with trivialities such as individual item counts? The Merchant’s Guild surely has a list of the cheapest and most plentiful products on hand, does it not?”

“I—will have some sent for right away.”

—-

Ryoka grinned as she watched Merec stand and hurry off to speak urgently with some harried employees.

“Not bad, huh?”

Ivolethe, munching down on another walnut, just shrugged in reply. Ryoka shook her head.

She didn’t know what Laken’s game was, not exactly, but she knew he needed to have the [Merchants] here thinking he was a big shot. And who better to help with that bit of fiction than Reynold the [Butler]? They might not know who he was on first sight, but Ryoka would bet every gold piece she owned that the people staring at him and talking behind their hands were trying to figure out which [Lord] or [Lady] he served. Once they found out he was Magnolia’s aide…

“Ooh, looks like they’ve put it together.”

She’d never seen a ruddy face go that pale that quickly. Merec made his way back to Laken with profuse apologies and offered him a frothy fruit drink. Ryoka could have used one herself, but only Laken, Durene, and Gamel were getting the deluxe treatment. The negotiations went on, and Ryoka shifted from leg to leg until she heard adventurers being brought up.

“We have several good teams, Mister Laken. There are Gold-rank teams I could hire if you—”

“I want those two teams, Mister Merec. The Celestial Trackers and the Windfrozen Riders.”

“As you say sir, but may I ask why those two…?”

Ryoka saw Laken lean back and smile mysteriously. She wondered if he’d practiced that smile or if he was just that good at acting. Or maybe that was just how he smiled?

“Here’s the thing, Merec. May I call you that? I need adventurers to protect Riverfarm, but I don’t want to hire people who just want coin or who will look down on the villagers. Why those two teams? Well, early today, I sent my…man out to all of the adventuring groups he could find earlier this day, begging for help. Of the ones he talked to, those two were the only ones who didn’t immediately send him off or laugh at him.”

Ryoka turned to stare at Gamel. Wait a second—she remembered seeing him doing that! He’d been approaching the teams in the plaza, begging for help!

“Clever.”

Laken went on, explaining his reasoning to an enthralled Merec and the audience around him.

“When I was young, I heard a story about a [King] who did very much the same thing. Well, the story has many forms, but it’s always the same. The [King] would go out, disguising himself as a peasant or ordinary man and talk with people, ask for aid, or challenge them to ascertain their worth. Only after he had gotten the measure of them would he reveal himself. For you see, people aren’t genuine when they know you’re rich or powerful. I want those teams, Merec. They might not be famous, but they do care.”

“Of course, sir. I will have someone go over to the Adventurer’s Guild this instant—”

The young man held up a hand and Merec fell silent.

“I want to hire them not only to escort the wagons, but to guard the village for at least a month. If they won’t agree, then I will find another team. You may post more guards and adventurers if you want, but I need at least two groups to protect the village. Now, if you will tell me the price I’d be paying for that…”

Ryoka turned and moved out of the crowd of onlookers, shaking her head as she left the Merchant’s Guild.

“Amazing. How the hell did he get all that money, Ivolethe?”

The faerie just stared up at Ryoka, cheeks bulging. She swallowed and didn’t answer. Ryoka scowled.

“Whatever. But at least I’ve got Reynold off my back. Well, there are probably other spies around, but I hope they like running.”

She left the building and began to jog and then run down the street. Back inside the Merchant’s Guild, Reynold stood to attention next to Laken. He knew Ryoka had gone, had seen her leave, but he couldn’t make himself abandon the conversation. Laken kept asking him questions and Reynold found himself pressing Merec hard on the young man’s behalf. He was stuck, and Reynold realized this might have been Ryoka’s plan all along.

—-

Ryoka had intended to go to the Mage’s Guild to send the Horns of Hammerad a message, but she found herself in the Runner’s Guild first. It was just a thought. She wondered if the [Receptionist] had heard about Valceif yet.

But when she approached the counter, the young man on duty immediately asked her to wait. Confused, Ryoka found herself ushered to the side while one of the staff on duty went to go get the [Receptionist] she’d talked to.

When the woman came walking down the stairs, Ryoka realized something was wrong. It was written all over the woman’s face. The young woman felt a lurch in her stomach, though she didn’t know what the problem was.

“Miss Ryoka? You were asking about the whereabouts of Valceif Godfrey?”

The [Receptionist] led Ryoka to an unused counter to talk. Ryoka nodded, keeping her voice deliberately casual.

“Yeah, I was wondering. Do you know where he is?”

“I do, Miss. I’m sorry to say that Valceif is dead. He was killed two weeks ago on a delivery.”

Ryoka blinked. She rubbed at one ear and stared into the other woman’s grave eyes. She opened her mouth and slowly closed it.

“How? I mean—I mean—how? How did it happen?”

“He was killed on a delivery, Miss Ryoka. A group of [Bandits] waylaid him. It wasn’t an assassination or someone trying to intercept his delivery. It was simply—bad luck.”

A hole had opened up in Ryoka’s chest. She felt herself lurching, felt all the positive emotions drain out through a pit in her stomach and the void rush in.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, Miss Ryoka.”

There was too much sympathy in the [Receptionist]’s eyes. She’d seen this before, told other Runners the same thing, Ryoka knew. She hated that. She hated…it couldn’t be true.

“Bandits did it. [Bandits]? How could they get him? Valceif was—he was a Courier. He could outrun a horse!”

“They used magic. When they were captured, the surviving bandits said that they’d used a [Sleep] spell on the road. Apparently they took him unawares, before he knew they were there. It’s rare that a Courier doesn’t have magical items to ward against such spells, but—”

Ryoka’s hand had gone over her mouth when the woman mentioned the [Sleep] spell. When the [Receptionist] got to the part about magical items Ryoka threw up.

—-

Someone got Ryoka a towel and some water to wash her mouth out with. Ryoka stared at her hands as she sat at a table.

“It was my fault. I got him killed.”

There was a gasp. The [Receptionist]’s eyes flicked to the young man and other woman hovering around Ryoka. She glared at them.

“You didn’t hear that. Either of you. If I hear a word out of your mouths—”

They fled. Ryoka raised her head to stare at the [Receptionist].

“Why bother hiding it? It’s true. Valceif—he had—he had an amulet. A dreamcatcher that could shield him from spells. He gave it to me and I broke it. If I hadn’t—”

“I understand. But you must not say that openly.”

The woman stared at Ryoka.

“Why?”

“Because Valceif had friends. And family. And they might come here seeking vengeance if they hear the wrong things. Rumor would spin you as his murderer.”

“I might as well be. I killed him. I did it. I let him run off without protection—”

“Listen to me.”

The [Receptionist] tapped Ryoka’s arm, making the younger woman look up at her. There was kindness in the other woman’s gaze, but something made of steel as well.

“Valceif Godfrey was a Runner. He was a Courier—one of the best of us. He knew the risks of running without an artifact and he took it. His death was not your fault. He helped you because that is what we Runners do. The people who killed him are at fault, not you. Runners carry deliveries, but we do not bear grudges. We run and die and help each other. Valceif was a true Runner to the end.”

Ryoka stared at the [Receptionist].

“You were a Runner?”

The woman’s mouth turned up slightly.

“City Runner. Like you. I grew too old and slow for it. It’s too dangerous and I have a child. But I know what it’s like. I’ve lost friends too. Valceif probably thought he could outrun any mage before he bought another charm, but he made a mistake. That’s always how it happens. A small mistake or bad luck.”

Ryoka shuddered.

“But if—”

She paused and shook her head.

“I know. I know I couldn’t have known. But if—”

“If you could have, you would. But it was just bad luck.”

The two sat in silence for longer than Ryoka knew. Time lost its meaning for a while, but no one came over to bother the [Receptionist] and she ignored the queue at the desks.

After a while, the [Receptionist] thought she heard a voice. She looked at Ryoka, but saw nothing. It was a faint sound, almost indistinct. Then the woman saw a blue creature, a being of frost and ice standing by her ear. She stared at the Frost Faerie, but Ivolethe just whispered into Ryoka’s ear, quietly.

Time passed. All three sat in silence, then, Ivolethe sitting on Ryoka’s shoulder stared dreamily upwards. She did not weep, but there was something deep in the faerie’s eyes. A hint of forever. At last, Ryoka stood up.

“I’ve got to go. Thank you.”

The faerie darted towards her pouch and the [Receptionist] stood. She didn’t comment about Ivolethe, just walked with Ryoka to the doors.

“Come back if you need to.”

“I will.”

Slowly, Ryoka left the Runner’s Guild. All the energy she’d had before, all the excitement, was gone. She felt numb and hollow, and she remembered the feeling. She’d known it before.

Too many times. But this time Ryoka didn’t give into the feeling or allow it to overtake her. That was a luxury for later. Right now she walked and then jogged down the street, feeling as though she were shot or stabbed while she moved.

—-

The man at the desk in the Mage’s Guild was only too happy to show Ryoka the many messages left for her. In truth, they were all short slips of paper, [Message] spells being far too expensive for long missives, but there were a lot of them.

Ryoka stood at the counter, aware of the man’s eyes on her as she flipped through message after message. Quite a few were from Krshia, asking when she would come back.

There is unrest. You must return soon. Do you have what is needed?

Ryoka remembered the book full of spells in her bag of holding. Another promise, long delayed. She shook her head and read the next piece of parchment.

This one was from Ceria.

…hope you can reply soon. Let us know. We hope all is well.

They must have been worried without a response for days. Ryoka felt something else stab into her heart, but it was already bleeding so it hurt only a bit.

The next message was from Pisces and more direct.

What’s taking so long?

Just that. Ryoka sighed and took the next bit of parchment out. She read it and froze. It was from Lyonette.

Come back. Mrsha misses you.

The void in Ryoka’s heart didn’t shrink, but now she could feel it hurting. She thought of Mrsha. How long had it been since she’d seen her? She’d just run off, looking for Erin—but Erin had come back and Ryoka hadn’t.

“I have to go back.”

The bored man at the desk looked up, but Ryoka’s eyes were on the pieces of paper. She pulled a lengthy one out from Erin and almost smiled at it.

“Excuse me.”

“Yes, Miss? How can I help you?”

The man covered a sigh as Ryoka pulled out a bag of coins.

“I need to send a message to all these people in Liscor. Can you post an open response or something?”

“Certainly. What would you like to send?”

The man had a silver-tipped quill ready. He paused over a piece of parchment as Ryoka closed her eyes.

“Tell them I’m sorry. And I’ll be home soon.”

The man paused, and coughed.

“Do you mean for me to write ‘tell them I’m sorry’ or—”

Ryoka glared at him.

“No. Write ‘I’m sorry. I will return home soon’. That’s the general response. Now—I have specific messages I want sent to Erin Solstice, Krshia Silverfang, Ceria Springwalker, and…one for Mrsha, to be delivered to any of the people I just mentioned.”

The Mage’s Guild hired only those who could write as fast as other people talked. The man neatly wrote down each of the recipients as Ryoka mentioned them. Ryoka stared at his quill blurring over the parchment.

“Oh, and I want the messages sent right now. Yes, I’ll pay extra.”

The man coughed as Ryoka slapped down coins on the counter.

“Very well. May I have the first message, please?”

“Right. This one’s for Ceria.”

Ryoka closed her eyes and thought. Then she began speaking.

“This is Ryoka. I have had the items analyzed. Contents are as follows: magical sword, strong enchantment. Second sword: damaged beyond repair. Useless. Dagger—flame enchantment. Useful. Buckler: damaged but can be repaired. May have to sell one item to repair the rest…”

Her voice was low, but clear and precise. Ryoka dictated her message for Ceria, and then Krshia, and then left a message for Mrsha before pondering how to reply to Erin’s question. She thought about what she needed to get done in the city before she left, what she could say to Laken, and what to do about the magical items that Hedault was keeping for her.

It was hard, very hard. Every two seconds Ryoka remembered a grinning face, and a man who ran past her. She remembered his back, and the burning air in her lungs as she tried to keep up.

Just for a moment. It had just been a few days, but she had liked him. Ryoka closed her eyes as her breath caught in her chest, and the man at the desk looked up expectantly. But Valceif was dead. She’d mourn him later. Right now, she had a job to do. She had people counting on her, and Ryoka couldn’t let them down as well.

Slowly, painfully, Ryoka got back to work.

3.38

The word that travelled north was brief, but noteworthy. Amid the surge and ebb of tensions among the city-states and local aristocracy, it stood out.

Around the city of Liscor that marked the sole safe passage between the northern and southern parts of Izril, news was seldom good. The Goblin Lord was only the most recent of bad tidings; the Human cities were always facing some minor crisis. After all, they bordered not only the ill-tempered Drake lands, but the High Passes, from which bands of monsters occasionally emerged to wreak havoc.

In addition, the city-states that far south were far newer and less well-developed than their northern counterparts. Celum was a far cry from a northern city like Rectes, let alone a major hub like Invrisil.

But the whisper that came north by mage [Message] was hopeful. It was a simple line that made those in the know sit up:

Esthelm has risen.

Esthelm has returned.

Esthelm is not dead.

The city lives. The people rebuild the walls, and pledge to stay and fight rather than give way to the Goblin Lord’s armies. It was a small miracle, but what was far more miraculous was hearing where this sudden surge of life and hope had come from.

Esthelm had received aid…from Liscor of all places! No, not just Liscor—the Antinium of all species had come to help them. And somehow, Celum had sent a convoy down the roads without it falling prey to the Goblin armies.

Such boldness from the southern cities and generosity from the Antinium and Drakes was unprecedented. But with this, Esthelm might well recover and survive another Goblin assault and the remaining winter.

For a few seconds, hope blossomed in the cold. But just as quickly as it had been heard, the news of Esthelm would pass from the minds of all but a few listeners. Oh, some [Merchants] would mark down Esthelm as a prime target for business in the future if it survived, and a bold [Trader] might calculate the odds of making it to the city alive with a caravan, but no one else would pay attention to such news.

Almost no one. In fact, only two individuals of note paid attention to the news of Esthelm, despite their urgent business. The most powerful [Lady] on the continent listened to the news of the city’s revival and wondered, and the most infamous [Lord] frowned and adjusted his plans slightly to account for this discrepancy.

And then they too returned to business. Esthelm was put out of mind and the world continued to move onwards. Just for a moment though, it had shone brightly for all to see. For a moment, the world had stopped and stared at the small spark glowing there.

And who had lit the spark? It was a conflagration of many hands and claws it was true, but the young woman from which it had all started was a young [Innkeeper]. She dozed lightly as a wagon trundled down the road back to Liscor just before dawn. It was far too early for such a trip she felt, but the roads were clear, and Termin had wanted to go now.

“After all, that second army of Goblins has been raiding and burnt down a town not fifty miles north of here. If I’m moving my wagon, it’s with a convoy or clear roads or not at all.”

Thus, he’d persuaded the reluctant Erin to ride back with him to Liscor, escorted by the Horns of Hammerad as before. They lay asleep in the back of the wagon, exhausted from a day of work.

More traffic would soon flow south to Liscor. The majority of wagons would head back, as would the Gold-rank adventurers, Zel Shivertail, and a good portion of the Antinium who’d come north.

Only a day had passed since Esthelm had received aid. That was too short a time to effect that much change, although the Antinium had managed to repair a good deal of the walls themselves. But the convoy had done its job, and staying longer would do no good. Extra hands to help meant extra mouths to feed, and the food and supplies that had been brought would go to waste that way.

So the adventurers who had been hired would stay, the extra [Guardsmen], [Hunters], [Healers], and so on would lend their expertise, and a group of Antinium Workers and Soldiers under Anand’s supervision would stay to complete construction work. Everyone else would leave.

That suited Erin just fine. She woke up a bit as the cold air blew into her face. But after adjusting her head so she was sheltered by the wagon’s sides, she dozed off.

Woke up again. This time Erin saw Liscor in the distance. She blinked around blearily and decided a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt…

“Miss Erin? We’re here.”

A hand shook Erin gently. She groaned and then opened her eyes.

The wagon was parked right next to the hill the inn stood on. Erin looked at Termin, and realized he’d stopped here for her.

“Oh, thanks, Termin!”

He smiled at her, and dipped his head slightly.

“My pleasure.”

There was much more to say, but it was too early. Erin got up and woke up the other Horns of Hammerad by yanking the blankets off them. They swore at her—Ceria nearly hit Erin with her skeletal hand before she opened her eyes. But they did get up.

It was customary to tip drivers, even if they had been paid. Erin fished around for a coin but Termin waved her away.

“Treat me to a meal tonight, miss. You’ll be open? Then I’ll be there.”

He gently flapped the reins and Erma and Fox began to plod off.

“Bastard. It’s not a minute’s travel up the hill.”

Pisces glared at the wagon as it rolled through the snow. Erin glared blearily at him, shivering already despite the blanket she’d draped around her shoulders for extra protection.

“That’s a lot of work for his horses. We can walk. Come on.”

Silently, the adventurers trudged up the hill after Erin. She pushed open the door to her inn and they practically fell down the steps to the basement. Erin paused only to make sure they had enough blankets. Everyone but Ksmvr was already back asleep.

Silently, Erin wandered over to the fireplace and added a few logs that had been piled up next to it. The glowing embers set fire to the wood as she blew carefully at it.

The ash made her cough. Erin took a few steps back and stared as the temperature in the common room began to rise. She glanced towards the window.

It was still night. But there was light there, too. It would be dawn soon.

If she were back home, Erin would have been dead asleep—or going to sleep if she’d pulled another all-nighter playing chess online or studying games. She would have never contemplated anything remotely resembling hard work at this hour, and probably would have slept in till one.

“Huh. I guess I’m a morning person now.”

Erin smiled, and bowed her head as she shivered and sat at an empty table in her inn. She closed her eyes, but that was a mistake.

Yes, if she were back home, she’d be lying in bed with her laptop, covered with blankets as the snow fell outside. Maybe she would be thinking about getting a part-time job, or what college would be like next year. She’d be studying chess or chatting online with a friend and—

Memory.

It hurt. Erin bit her lip, so hard she nearly punctured skin. She stood up and sighed. Swaying on her feet, Erin frowned. She was still waking up.

“…not now. But it’s Christmas time. Time…?”

The mumbling attracted attention. Erin heard the creak of someone descending the stairs and saw Lyonette rubbing her eyes as she walked down. The young woman froze when she saw Erin standing in the center of the room, but then she relaxed.

“Oh. I thought—”

Erin nodded at her. Lyonette silently stumbled down the steps. Both girls stood in the room, staring at each other. Without saying anything, a consensus was reached that it was far too early for anything resembling conversation.

Erin sat back down. Then she stood up with a groan and went into the kitchen to prepare food for the masses. Lyonette went outside with a bucket for water.

Some things were easiest to do on autopilot. Erin mechanically made crepes in a batter and fried them up. She was munching on a buttery crepe before she properly woke up. The hot food was burning her hands, but it was food so she didn’t care.

The sun was coming up. Now Erin could think, she wandered back into the common room, leaving a heap of crepes in a bowl covered with a towel. They could always be reheated, and she had too much work to do to stay in the kitchen.

“Time to get to work.”

“Huh?”

Lyonette paused mid-bite, a piece of crepe halfway towards her mouth. She blinked blearily at Erin. The young woman waved at her [Barmaid].

“I said I’m going to work. A lot. Today’s going to be busy, Lyon. I think you’ll have to stay in the inn most of the time, but I’ll be running around like a chicken with its head cut off.”

The young woman sitting at the table nodded. She paused, frowned, and woke up a bit more. Then she thought about what Erin had said.

“Do they actually do that?”

“What?”

“Chickens. Do they really run around when you…I mean, if you…”

Lyonette gulped. Erin paused.

“Maybe? I dunno, I’ve never actually tried it. It’s just what people say where I come from.”

“Oh.”

The two girls stared at each other. After a second, Erin coughed.

“We don’t do that all the time. It’s just…”

“No, I understand.”

“Right. Well then…I’m off to the city!”

Awkwardly, Erin edged out the door. She came back in to grab a money pouch and fill it with coins. She was feeling the rush of sugar and adrenaline now. She put a smile on her face and fixed it there.

“Do we need anything, Lyon? I mean, Lyonette?”

“Um. Lyon’s fine I guess. We need some more flour, a few tomatoes if you want to make that ‘cats-up’ stuff, and some salt. I think we’ve got enough for tonight.”

“Alright, got it! Oh, and one more thing—”

Erin poked her head back through the door. Lyonette looked at her expectantly.

“Christmas is coming.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a holiday! Everyone’s going to get presents and have fun, so…think of some gifts for people, okay? You’ll have to get presents for uh, two other people. It can be food, something small or fun or anything like that. Just think of something nice to give someone else.”

“Okay?”

“Thanks! I’ll explain the rest later!”

—-

It was just a smile, but Erin wore it like a shield. Smiling helped. Smiling made you think the day might not be horrible after all. Not that she thought today would be horrible, but she had a lot to do, and she was going to do it cheerful or she’d kill herself.

Or someone. Like the sleepy guardsman at the gate. The Drake on duty just stared at Erin as she stood outside the closed gates. After five minutes he managed to get them open enough for her to slip through.

“I have so much to do!”

Erin groused to herself as she stomped across the streets of Liscor, trying not to slip on the snow-covered paving stones. There was practically no one up yet, but she found Market Street at least partially occupied. While pedestrians had yet to hit the streets, the shopkeepers were setting up, miserably trying to stay warm while they opened their stalls.

Erin found one familiar Gnoll grumbling to herself as she dusted snow off of her counter with a paw. Krshia Silverfang turned before Erin could call out to her. The Gnoll sniffed and smiled as Erin approached her small stall.

“Krshia!”

The young woman beamed at her. The Gnoll smiled and beckoned Erin closer. They huddled beneath her stall’s flimsy walls from the wind while they chatted.

“Erin Solstice. It has been far, far too long since we have spoken properly, yes?”

“Yes! How are you doing, Krshia? I know we talked a bit at the party, but there’s so much that has happened!”

“Indeed. We must catch up. But first—have you business with me?”

“I do! Here—oh wait, I don’t have a list. But I know what I need.”

“Hmm. Let me fetch a piece of parchment and charcoal, yes?”

Erin chatted with Krshia as the Gnoll wrote down her shopping list and told her it would be delivered to her inn by the end of the day. Erin put a few coins on the table and got three bronze coins in change. Then she took a deep breath and got to the real reason she’d sought Krshia out so early.

“Krshia, I know Lyonette’s um…well, I know she did a lot of things while I was gone.”

“That is so. Hrm. You say you have done much in Celum while you were away, yes? Well, Lyonette has…also done much here.”

Erin peeked up at the tall Gnoll’s face. Krshia’s expression was hard to read, but her ears weren’t flat. That was a good sign.

“I know you didn’t want her back in the city. But she came in, didn’t she?”

Krshia paused, and her ears did twitch then. But her voice remained level and calm. Or seemingly calm.

“She was allowed back in the city by Zel Shivertail, no? What is a Gnoll’s pride before the famous hero of the Antinium Wars? We will do nothing to her, not when the Council is against us.”

“I’m sorry. But she came back to—”

“Save the child Mrsha. I know. It makes it better, no?”

“No. Well, yes. Maybe. But she only did it because of that. She won’t come back otherwise. And I had a chat with her, and…well, she’s sorry and she’ll try to make amends.”

“So I have seen. But her debt is large, Erin.”

“I know. I just wanted to say that she’s going to try and stay out of the city unless it’s an emergency. And a bit of the money she gets paid—once I actually pay her—will go to you for your shop. It’s not much, but it’s what she can do. What I can do.”

Krshia blinked down at Erin. She didn’t immediately reply. Erin shivered.

“I know it’s not enough. But she’s trying, okay?”

“Hrm. I understand.”

Krshia shook her head. She looked tired as she flicked a bit of snow that had dared to land on her counter off onto the ground.

“That Human child is odd. Odd, but I see her trying. It is not enough, but it will do. Let us not talk of such things, Erin. You have just returned—again. Let us talk of good matters, or as much good as there is on such cold days.”

“Okay.”

Erin smiled at Krshia and saw the Gnoll bare her canines in response. After a second, Erin frowned.

“Krshia, what’s the Council? That’s the group that rules Liscor, right? Who are they? I’ve never seen them.”

The Gnoll shrugged. She glanced hopefully up and down the street, but Erin was her only customer. A few Drakes were starting on one end of the street, but it would be several minutes before they got to her.

“The Council is made up of important people in the city. It is a Drake thing. The foremost people sit on it and decide what must be done from time to time.”

“Really, who are they?”

Another shrug. Krshia frowned a bit as she replied, which made Erin think that Gnolls didn’t get much of a place on the Council.

“The head of the Adventurer’s Guild, the foremost [Mage], usually head of the Mage’s Guild…hrm, the Captain of the Watch, Zevara, the head of the Merchant’s Guild…Olesm…”

“Olesm!?”

“He is chief [Tactician] in the city. He must advise on matters that may be military. He has a voice.”

“Wow. I had no idea he was actually that important!”

“Well, it is a civilian council. While the army is away they leave such people in charge. You know Liscor’s army is a mercenary one? They are a power unto their own, but they rarely return to the city.”

“Huh.”

Erin thought about that for a second. Then she stared at Krshia. The Gnoll wasn’t shivering, but she looked miserable, standing in her small stall waiting for customers as the snow fell down again.

Miserable. Perhaps it was her stall. It was too small. Erin remembered how it had looked before, how many wares Krshia had had on display. Now…

“I’m sorry about your shop. Did I say that before? I’m really sorry about it. I know it was hard—and I’d like to help if I can.”

Krshia blinked at Erin and shook her head.

“You say it as if it was your fault. It is not.”

“But I need to say it. I hired Lyonette, and I know you were upset. It must be so hard—if I can do anything, I will. That’s what friends are for.”

The [Shopkeeper] just shook her head.

“I must have new wares to sell, and that costs money. To sell I must buy, and I have less coin than I did. My friends in the city and those from my tribe aid me. They lend me coin and I buy and sell with that. It is enough. It is not as if you can give me more business—unless there is something like those hamburgers I may sell?”

She looked inquiringly at Erin, but without any real hope. Erin hesitated, and then smiled.

“I do have some ideas. Maybe not things I can make, but—I’ll try.”

“It is all I ask, yes? But where does this spirit come from?”

“I did a lot of thinking. Well, mostly on the wagon ride to Esthelm and back. I think I can help, and not just by giving you a bunch of coin or anything. I just—I want to make sure my friends are doing okay. Which reminds me, where’s Brunkr? I heard he was sick from Klbkch!”

Krshia paused. She had been smiling a bit at Erin. Now the smile vanished into the cold.

“My nephew? He is poor. He rests in my home, Erin. He will…be better after he gains the courage to do what must be done, I think.”

“What’s that?”

Krshia looked uncomfortable. She shook her head and glanced around the street.

“Better if you see for yourself. I would let him explain or you see, but not say it. Hrr. Perhaps there is time before more come to shop. Would you like to see?”

Erin hesitated. Krshia was clearly upset. If she wasn’t saying…

“Sure.”

It was a quick walk to Krshia’s apartment. Erin opened the door and recognized the cozy home. Nothing much had changed since her last visit, save for what looked like a heap of rugs on Krshia’s couch. Then someone groaned and the pile of rugs turned into Brunkr, wrapped up in blankets as he lay in Krshia’s home.

“Brunkr? I have come back, yes? And brought someone to visit.”

Krshia spoke quietly to Brunkr. He made no reply. He was lying with the blanket wrapped around his huge frame. Something stank horribly. Erin made a face and suppressed the urge to gag. She peered at Brunkr, but couldn’t see anything, cocooned as he was.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Go away, Human.”

Brunkr’s voice was muffled but distinct. She saw him roll and then two dark brown eyes glared malevolently at her.

“Leave me, Erin Solstice. And take your cursed doombringer far away from me. Leave her yourself unless you wish to end up as I do.”

Doombringer? Erin frowned and then realized he meant Mrsha. Krshia frowned at Brunkr.

“Nephew! Be silent. Do not blame bad luck on the Mrsha child.”

Brunkr ignored his aunt. He sat up with an effort, groaning as his legs slowly unfolded and he shifted the blanket. The smell grew worse. It was the smell of…Erin’s stomach roiled and the crepes threatened to come up. The Gnoll warrior was breathing heavily and sweat was staining his fur as she stared at Krshia.

“Is it time to cut it off? Is that why you have come?”

“Cut? Cut what off?”

Erin blinked at Brunkr. He stared incredulously at her, and then snarled. He tore off the blanket from his frame and thrust his right hand at her.

Both Human and Gnoll recoiled. Erin saw yellow dripping pus, oozing around red broken skin covered in horribly stained fur—in an instant she realized where the smell was coming from. The blanket Brunkr had tossed to the floor was also covered in dried yellow gunk.

It was horrible. And disgusting. Erin swallowed hard and forced her stomach to stay still.

“What’s that? How did you…?”

“Your cursed one bit me.”

Brunkr snarled at Erin. He cradled his hand, unable to touch it as more yellow pus dripped slowly out of the infected injury on his arm. Erin couldn’t look away from the horrible sight.

Whatever Mrsha had done, and Erin vaguely recalled her biting Brunkr only a bit, that small injury had turned into a full-scale infection that had taken over a good portion of Brunkr’s forearm. It was horrible, and clearly not healing.

“That’s bad.”

Both Brunkr and Krshia stared at Erin. She gulped again.

“That’s real bad. Um, Brunkr. Mrsha did this? Have you—I mean, I’m sorry, but she didn’t mean to do that. Have you had that looked at by a [Healer]? Or gotten a healing potion or something? If you need to, I can pay for—”

The male Gnoll made a sound of fury and turned away violently. Krshia pulled at Erin’s arm and whispered to her as the two stood by the door.

“It is not something curable with a healing potion, and the [Healers] cannot fix such an injury, Erin. Not ones from Liscor—and not ones from Celum, I fear. It is too far infected now. Only magic might save it, and few know healing spells for this.”

“Oh. Oh no.”

Erin didn’t know what to say. She understood the problem. Maybe Brunkr would be okay in her world, but here a healing potion and [Healer] were the only types of medicine available. And neither one was specialized in fighting diseases or infections.

“It is my doom, brought upon me. It will fall on the rest of you as well.”

Brunkr stood in a corner, holding his arm, not looking at the other two. He had heard every word they had said with his acute hearing.

His arm. It was a ghastly sight, but Erin couldn’t look away for some reason. She kept waiting for Brunkr to turn so she could stare at it again.

Her right hand twinged. Erin stared down at it, and remembered a similar sight. She looked at Krshia questioningly.

“Back when my hand was all cut up Klbkch gave me a healing potion. It worked, even though it was sort of infected. Are you sure a healing potion—a good one—wouldn’t…?”

Krshia shook her head instantly.

“Light infections, perhaps. The body will fight it off in the end, yes? So a healing potion makes it faster. But deep rot such as this…no. It will only speed up the infection.”

“So what can you do?”

Krshia didn’t reply. But she stared at Brunkr and Erin saw the Gnoll’s entire body tense up. Erin went pale.

“No. Really?”

“He must—”

“No! Not yet!”

Brunkr’s voice was full of anguish. He bent over his hand, making a sound that was more animal than word. Erin saw Krshia staring at her younger nephew with deep sorrow—but also something cold in her gaze.

“It must be soon, nephew. Erin, even she can see your hand is gone, yes?”

“No!”

“No!”

The echo came from Erin’s mouth. Both Gnolls stared at her, Brunkr turning his head to look. Erin was shaking her head.

“No, Erin Solstice? But you see his hand. It must go or the rot will consume him as well.”

“No, it’s—maybe something can be done. Krshia, let me—I think something can be done.”

“Truly?”

“Impossible!”

Brunkr snapped at Erin, showing his teeth. Erin felt her heart beating faster, but not from fear. She stared at Brunkr’s hand and thought of doctors, hospitals. She had no idea—only a vague recollection of taking tablets and getting shots, but maybe…

“Let me try to help, okay? I think I have an idea. I’ll come back—”

“Do not lie to me, Human.”

Brunkr glared at Erin, seemingly more infuriated by her offer to help than his aunt’s words. Erin held her ground as he stumbled towards her. Brunkr’s voice was slurred by pain and grief, but he was still a warrior of a Gnoll tribe. He towered over her as he glared and Erin saw Krshia staring warily at her nephew.

“Humans—hrr. I hear Humans say try and give up in an instant. What can you do that my tribe—my aunt cannot? Can you save my hand? Tell me. If you lie, I will know.”

“I can try.”

Erin looked Brunkr in the eye. He stared at her. The anger was replaced by dull resignation in an instant.

“You will fail, and say you did all you could. Your words are empty.”

“I don’t give up that easily. Here.”

Erin stepped past Brunkr, to a pile of rags that smelled horrible. She found a bucket of water and washed the rags briskly as Krshia guided Brunkr back to the couch. Erin wrung the cloth and pressed it on Brunkr’s head. The Gnoll groaned and lay back. Erin turned to Krshia and silently the two females left her apartment.

“If you can help, I will give all to save his hand. But is it possible?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know, Krshia, but I know who I can ask.”

“Who?”

“Ryoka.”

That was all they said on the matter. Back at Krshia’s stall, Erin stood in front of it, feeling heavier than she had when she’d just woken up. She couldn’t get the image of Brunkr’s infected hand out of her head.

Krshia seemed equally weighed down, despite Erin’s assurances. She looked so tired. It hurt Erin’s heart. The girl cast around for something, anything that could make the Gnoll feel better, and then remembered one of the things she had decided to do. She put a smile on her face and made it stick by sheer force of will.

Lighthearted tone. Erin took a breath and did her best.

“I know Brunkr’s in bad shape, but can I tell you about something that’s going to happen a few days from now, Krshia?”

“Hm? What is this thing, Erin Solstice?”

Krshia eyed Erin as the girl tried to summon the powers of the holiday spirit. She spread her arms.

“Christmas! I know you don’t know what that is, but listen. Back where I come from…back from my world, we have a tradition. Every year, in the winter, just before the new year starts, we celebrate Christmas.”

“Hrm. The shortest day of the year, the winter solstice is yet a few days away. Before this is Christmas, you say? What happens on this day?”

“We celebrate. We give each other presents, eat lots of food—oh, and Santa Claus comes to give things to everyone!”

The Gnoll just stared at Erin. The girl tried to explain. She got most of the points across, although Krshia still didn’t understand why a fat man would run around with presents and coal to give to everyone. But the Gnoll was smiling when Erin had finished.

“So you intend to celebrate this—this day of giving soon?”

“Yes! Tomorrow, maybe? Or the day after? I know there’s not a lot of time to get gifts, but we can all try, right? But we have to do it before the new year’s. That’s very important. So…do you want to join in? I’m going to have everyone give gifts to two people so everyone gets presents. We’ll have a huge party at my inn and everything!”

Erin held her breath as Krshia thought about the idea. The Gnoll rubbed her face with a furry paw, and then smiled again.

“Christmas. Yes, it could be a nice thing to do. And I must give gifts to two others? Whom? Or will it be a surprise?”

Erin hesitated.

“I think that could get weird. I’ll come up with a list and tell everyone who their people are. I’ll uh, also make sure you don’t get Lyonette and she doesn’t get you. I guess I should keep Klbkch and Zel from being Secret Santas too.”

“Hrm. That may be wise, yes.”

Krshia bared her teeth in a smile. Erin smiled back.

“Okay. I’ve got to go. But I’ll be back. And—I’ll be back.”

“I know. Go safely, Erin. And have a merry…Christmas, yes?”

“Yeah!”

The girl waved and hurried off down the street. Krshia watched her go, and then sighed. The thought of her nephew was like a burden on her, a heavy stone. But somehow, she thought of it differently now. She managed to smile, and perhaps it was that which attracted a middle-aged Drake across the street to Krshia’s stall.

The Gnoll smiled wider, and began to talk with the Drake. Perhaps she was only there for a chat, but Krshia thought she could smell an opportunity here.

“Hello, Tesha. Have you heard of an interesting Human tradition? No? It is called ‘Christmas’. I tell you because it is coming soon, and you may wish to buy presents if you wish to partake. You see, on Christmas…”

—-

So much to do, and so little time. Erin was trying to figure out which street to go down when she saw a familiar face and scales in the crowd. She called out at once.

“Olesm!”

“Erin? I was just going to see if you were back!”

The Drake beamed at her. They stopped in the middle of the street, the vapor trails of their conversation floating upwards as they talked and shivered.

“How are you, Olesm? We barely talked before—Lyonette says you were a huge help to her while I was gone. Thank you so much!”

“Aw, it was nothing—well, actually, it was sort of hard.”

Olesm frowned as he nudged Erin. They stood aside to let a grumpy Drake wearing armor and a group of other armed Drakes stomp by. The Drake wearing the most impressive regalia snorted as he saw Erin talking with Olesm.

“Humans.”

He passed by and Olesm shook his head.

“Sorry—what was I saying? Oh yeah, I was happy to help Lyonette. But it’s a good thing she managed to patch things up with the Gnolls so they’d deliver to her. My arms nearly fell off trying to haul all the food she wanted up to the inn every day! I don’t know how you do it!”

“You get strong. See?”

Erin tried to flex her arm to show Olesm, but all the clothes on her body made that futile. Olesm smiled and then fidgeted.

“I don’t suppose you’re free right now, Erin? I’d love to chat with you—I mean, there’s so much I’ve been meaning to show you, and I’d love to play a game if…”

Erin sighed and Olesm’s face fell.

“I’m sorry, Olesm. But I’m so busy! I have to go to the Mage’s Guild after this, and then…”

“I completely understand. I’ll ask again later.”

Olesm raised his claws and made to back away. Erin felt a pang as she saw how disappointed he was—and how hard he was trying to hide that fact.

“Why don’t you come to the inn after lunch? I’ll definitely have time to talk then. We can play a few games of chess and—oh, I can show you how to play Shogi!”

The blue-scaled Drake paused. His tail began to wag hopefully in the snow.

“Really? You mean it? I won’t be interrupting?”

“I’ll make time. It’s a promise, okay? After lunch. You can make it, right?”

“I’ll be there! No problem! Let me just—I’ll have to get my notes, and a bottle of fresh ink—and I can show you all the letters I’ve received. I’ll be there! At your inn, right? Definitely!”

Erin smiled as Olesm rushed off, practically jumping for joy. Then she frowned.

“After lunch? Gotta go faster, then.”

She stomped down the street, searching for the Mage’s Guild. In truth, Erin had never been there, but it wasn’t hard to find the place.

There wasn’t a line this early in the day, and the Drake at the counter was clearly bored. He didn’t seem any happier to have to serve anyone, but Erin gave him her best smile anyways.

“Hi there, you do messages by spell, right? Can I send a message to…Invrisil? How much would that cost, actually?”

The Drake stared at Erin, and grudgingly pointed his claw to a large sign with prices listed right above his head. Erin turned red and stared at them.

“Payment is up front. We don’t send packages by magic either; you’ll need to go to a Walled City or another city for that.”

The Drake’s voice was testy. Erin nodded a few times.

“Got it…not too pricy, huh. Okay, I think I’d like to send a message to my friend! Can I send it now, or do I have to wait?”

The Drake pointed to the sign again.

“There’s a fee for quick deliveries. Just tell me your friend’s name and I’ll have it addressed to her.”

Erin gave him Ryoka’s name, spelling it out for him as he frowned over the odd spelling, grumbling about Human names. Her message was simple, and was written verbatim.

“Hey Ryoka, this is Erin! I need help! I just spoke with Krshia—you know she’s got a nephew, Brunkr, right? Well, he’s got an infected hand and I was wondering—okay. Wow. That much? Um, Ryoka, lots of money to send this, so…how to heal infected hand? Also, when are you coming back? Christmas is soon. Come back soon!”

After that, Erin had to pay and wait for the [Clerk] to take the letter upstairs to the [Mage] on duty. She got a small receipt and her change—she was paying in gold coins since the Gold-rank adventurers didn’t seem to have smaller denominations.

Erin wondered if Ryoka would get the message. She was about to hurry back to her inn when the Drake at the desk suddenly called out after her.

“Miss? Miss Human!”

She came back to the counter. He was frowning at something that had just shot down a small tube from upstairs. It was a slip of parchment, folded up. He showed it to Erin.

“A reply just came back. It seems your friend has already received your message. She is at the Mage’s Guild in Invrisil this moment.”

“What?”

Erin stared at the [Clerk.]

“That’s a weird coincidence.”

He didn’t look as astounded as Erin felt.

“It happens. Normally we would take in her message with the rest as it comes in, but she paid to send a reply back fast.”

“Oh. Well then…can you tell Ryoka I’m here? Or do I have to send another message?”

The Drake paused. He looked reluctant to be awake, and more reluctant to have to speak with an uninformed customer, but Erin’s smile wore him down and he decided to be helpful.

“Why don’t I send a message requesting a two-way communication between you two?”

“Wow. You can do that? Thank you! But will it cost a lot?”

The Drake coughed, looking around the empty building.

“If you were paying for a mage to be on standby, yes. But it’s clear around here and I know Invrisil has mages to spare…we’ll deliver all your messages sent immediately for an upfront fee, and every message sent afterwards. It’s not cheap, but if you have the gold to spend you can get a reply right away.”

“In that case, let’s have a chat!”

Erin plonked gold coins on the counter and the Drake sighed only slightly before scribbling down on a bit of parchment. He had to talk to the [Mage] on duty—and then send a message to Invrisil to Ryoka and the people there. But in the end Erin found herself dictating responses to him and waiting for a response as Ryoka got messages back on her end and replied.

It was a thousand, no, ten thousand times worse than the most disjointed Skype call. Erin had to dictate a message to the [Clerk] and then wait for as many as ten minutes for a reply. She passed that time chatting with him and introducing the idea of Christmas to his world, but it was still arduous.

When all was transcribed and done, the conversation the [Clerk] had written down for Erin read like a chat session, albeit one marked down with ink on parchment.

[Erin] – Hi Ryoka! This is Erin! Are you okay? How are things? I’m in Liscor right now! The Horns of Hammerad brought me back! How’s Magnolia doing? What’s up?

[Ryoka] – Don’t waste money. What’s this about infection? Describe. How bad; symptoms. Any complications on return?

[Erin] – Sorry. No bad things! Met Teriarch—mean! Brunkr has tons of pus—yellow and stinky! Mrsha bit, now whole arm is bad! Krshia says choppy-chop. I say no! How to fix?

[Ryoka] – Will talk T later. Brunkr needs antibiotics. Can’t heal with time; penicillin is best bet. Can tell how to make, but too slow. Chop might be only way, but must make sure new wound does not spread. Let me think. Wait for response.

The message looked like Ryoka had had to spell out penicillin letter by letter for the poor [Clerk] on duty. Erin had to wait eight minutes for the next response.

[Ryoka] – P recipe: needs to let mold grow. If you know origin—poultice. Must grow greenish-blue mold on orange or bread. But must isolate. Not all molds are P obviously. Very difficult; hire O to do it. In meantime, best bet is disinfection and honey.

[Erin] – Honey? Really?

[Ryoka] – Yes. Honey can have antibiotic if natural. Clean wound thoroughly. Use hot, salt water. Clean area, apply clean dressing. Think germs. Change dressings regularly. Honey must be applied after cleaning.

[Erin] – Got it. Will try! And…new thought! What about matches?

[Ryoka] – Matches? Why?

[Erin] – Christmas! It’s Christmas soon! You must come back with presents! We will have party! Can you take carriage back? Tell Reynold he is invited too!

[Ryoka] – Will try. Much to do here. Matches—talk O. Needs P from Periodic Table for striking box. Powdered glass, P…striker. Combine with sulfur and other things for match head. Other ingredients can figure out. Understand?

[Erin] – Sort of. I know P from table!

[Ryoka] – Red P. Not sure if discovered. See if O knows. May be substitute. For striking box, understand? Can use sandpaper maybe instead.

[Erin] – Got it! When coming back?

[Ryoka] – Unsure.

[Erin] – Come, please! Party is in two days! Come for Christmas! Tell Magnolia she is Scrooge! Ressa is cool.

[Ryoka] – Will try. Leaving now.

Possibly there had never been such a confusing conversation for any [Clerk] to record. Both girls didn’t bother with grammar when delivering their messages and indeed, the only reason the words were spelled correctly was that the [Mages] couldn’t handle texting slang. Erin left the Drake at the desk with her money pouch lighter, but newfound hope in her heart. She strode out of the guild, muttering to herself and thinking fast.

“Penicillin, matches, and honey. I can get Lyonette to help with that, but Ryoka sure knows a lot. If she knows how matches work…hm…I should have asked about…wait, that gives me a great idea!”

Erin patted at her pockets, looking for something to write with, and then marched back inside the Mage’s Guild to borrow the [Clerk]’s quill for a second. She ended up going back to Krshia to buy an inkpot and ink.

It was hard to scribble on parchment and walk, and in the end Erin had to wait until she got back to the inn to write on the back of the piece of parchment. She’d already tripped once and stained quite a lot of snow black.

When Erin was hiking up towards her inn, she noticed a good deal more activity going on. That was confirmed by a ball of white fur that shot out the door as she got close.

“Hey Mrsha! I’m back! Whoops, don’t make me spill this on your fur. Let me just write this down…bicycle…there!”

Erin laughed, tried to fend off Mrsha, and get inside all at once. When she finally made it in, she saw that the Horns of Hammerad were up.

“Hey guys! Are the others not back yet?”

“They’re still on the road. But they should be back by tonight.”

Yvlon blinked at Erin, still looking tired. It was still early morning Erin realized. Everyone was having breakfast as Lyonette heated up Erin’s crepes.

Putting Mrsha on a table, Erin grabbed a crepe and devoured it with her gloves still on. Then she turned to Ceria.

“I just had a chat with Ryoka?”

“You did?”

All of the Horns of Hammerad sat up. Erin nodded as she gulped from a glass of water Mrsha rushed over to her. It was half-empty from being spilled as the Gnoll ran with it, but Erin appreciated the effort.

“I was talking with her! She was in Invrisil, and she sent me [Messages]! She’ll be back soon—in time for Christmas, I hope! She says she’s got messages for you too, Ceria! Apparently she identified all those items you found!”

“She did?”

The Horns of Hammerad were out of the door like a shot. Pisces only stopped long enough to grab as much food as he could hold; Yvlon, Ceria, and Ksmvr didn’t even wait to do that. Bemused, Erin stood aside and watched them storming down the hill, slipping and sliding in the snow. She could hear Ksmvr shouting after them as he brought up the rear.

“What is Christmas? Pisces, please ex—”

“Hey, Pisces moves really fast with that [Flash Step] spell. He can eat and outrun Ceria! Wish I could do that.”

Erin stared at the figures rushing towards Liscor. She shook her head and then turned. Mrsha and Lyonette were staring over the remains of the half-eaten breakfast. Erin smiled at both and then clapped her hands.

“Lyonette!”

“Yes, Erin?”

“I need more honey. And bees.”

“Honey? You mean—we have half a jar left.”

“I know, but I’ll need an extra jar for something special. You told me we can get it from the hive without Toren. Could you show me how you do that now, or is that no good?”

Lyonette hesitated. Her eyes went to Erin, and then the door. She hesitated, swallowed hard, and then stood straight and nodded.

“I can do it. Just give me an hour or two and I’ll be back with honey.”

“No, I’m coming with you. It’s dangerous, right? I’ll do it with you.”

Erin smiled at Lyonette. The girl smiled back. Both girls went over to the box of faerie flowers.

“They’re blooming nicely. Wow, I see new shoots already! Do you think it’s the mana in the inn?”

“It might be. Um—I’ll need to take a few, but the dead ones work best I think. We just need to start a fire in front of the bee cave you see—”

“Got it. What happens if the flowers don’t work? Do we run or hide?”

“Yes.”

“And if the bees start waking up when we’re in the cave?”

“…”

“…Let’s take all these flowers, okay?”

Erin grabbed empty glass jars as Lyonette found the sharpest knife in the kitchen. Both girls were ready to go when they heard an anxious whine. They turned and saw Mrsha, huddling by the door.

Mrsha was shivering. Lyonette hurried over to her and stroked Mrsha’s head as she whispered comfortingly to the Gnoll.

“You don’t have to come. In fact, you’re staying far away. And no following me this time, okay?”

The Gnoll licked anxiously at Lyonette’s face and reached for her, but Lyonette made her sit. Erin watched the two hug before Lyonette got up. She was silent at first as they marched towards the cave in the snow. But then Erin felt compelled to speak.

“No one’s dying today. Right, Lyonette?”

“That’s right.”

The young girl’s face was set with determination. It was a long, hard march in the deep snow to the cave, but Lyonette knew the way and in short order she’d built the fire in front of the cave. There were ashes from the last one. Erin watched as she tossed the flowers in the fire and then both girls huddled in the snow outside of the cave.

It didn’t take long for them to hear the bees come after the fire—and then fall asleep. Lyonette hurried into the cave with Erin right behind her. The girl froze as she saw a sea of fallen bees resting on the floor, but Lyonette stepped past them towards the massive bee hive in the back. Despite harvesting from it several times before, the hive looked as obscenely bloated as before.

“Oh my god. I’d never have the courage to do that myself.”

Erin watched with admiration and horror as Lyonette began to slice into the hive, many times over as large as she was. It filled the huge cave, and Erin wondered how many bees were inside. She prayed they were all sleeping.

Then Erin remembered she had a job to do as well! She hurriedly fished around in the rucksack she’d brought and pulled out a pair of tongs. She began picking up bees and dropping them in the jars, counting as she did.

“One bee, two bee, three bees…this one’s twitching. Ew. Four bees, five bees, ooh, big bee! Seven bees…”

They worked in sweaty, quick silence until Erin had two jars of bees and Lyonette two jars of honey, honeycomb, and other parts of the hive. Then they hurried out into the snow.

“We made it! Are we okay?”

“I think so.”

Lyonette was pale, but triumphant. She was a mess, covered all over by the hive. She jerked her head back towards the inn.

“We should get away as fast as we can. The bees get really, really angry when they wake up. We don’t want to be anywhere near them.”

“Got it. Let’s go!”

Erin had to heft both jars as she struggled through the snow. They’d brought a small sled to carry the jars on, but the jars kept falling off no matter how the girls tried to lash them onto the sled—and they didn’t feel like trying to tie a good knot so close to the cave.

They made tracks, huffing and puffing as they tried to force their unwilling legs to move faster. When they were a good distance from the cave, Erin relaxed slightly.

“I think we might be okay. Lyonette, do you do that every day?”

“Yeah, but having someone else helps.”

Lyonette gasped as she panted for air. She looked at Erin with a smile of triumph and then turned pale.

“Erin. The jar…”

Erin looked down at the two massive jars she was holding and nearly screamed. The bees she’d put in the jar had woken up. And they were alive.

Normally they suffocated or died of the cold. But these bees, freshly put to sleep, were still able to move. And they did. They wriggled and tried to flap their wings obscenely in the crowded confines of the jar. The pulsating mass made Erin want to drop the jar, but she hung on for dear life, checking the lid to make sure it was secure.

“It’s okay. They’ll die quick. Let’s just put it on the sled and—I need to have a bath after this.”

“Okay.”

Gingerly, Erin lashed the two jars securely to the sled. The bees wriggled angrily and tried to sting her hands through the glass, but they could do nothing. Erin continued onwards, pulling the sled as Lyonette followed her.

“So you did this three times before I got here? That’s amazing!”

Erin was trying to be as congratulatory as possible, and she meant it. Lyonette really had turned over a new leaf, and this one was massive. The girl beamed with pride as they passed by a huge mound of snow sitting in the middle of a flat part of the snowy plains.

“I had to. Honey’s the only thing everyone really likes. It was so scary—I nearly peed myself the first time! But your flowers really are incredible.”

“I know. I’m wondering what else they might be able to do! I’ll do some experiments—hopefully I can grow enough so that—”

Danger. It wasn’t a word, just a thought, a bell rung at maximum volume in Erin’s head. She broke off and turned her head around immediately.

“Lyonette. Stop.”

The girl halted at once as Erin let go of the sledge and reached for the knife she always carried when she left the inn. Something was around them. She looked at Lyonette and the girl got the vibe at once. She drew closer to Erin as the [Innkeeper] eyed the ground.

“What is it?”

“[Dangersense]. But I can’t tell from where. Is it Shield Spiders? Are we at their nest or—”

A spark lit up Erin’s mind. They had just passed something. She hadn’t noticed, but it stood out to her suddenly. Why was a mound of snow in a flat plain—

She turned, just as the Rock Crab, camouflaged by the snow, stood up and sidled closer to her. It scuttled a few feet towards the girls, and then dropped down into the snow, looking like just another white part of the landscape. But Erin and Lyonette had seen.

It was less than fifteen feet away. Lyonette froze up and Erin felt her heart stop in her chest.

“Erin—what is—”

“Rock Crab. I told you—it’s too close.”

“W-what do we do? Run?”

“It’ll catch us.”

Erin knew that for a certainty. She clenched her teeth tightly, feeling the useless knife in her left hand.

“Seed cores would scare it away. But we don’t have any except at the inn!”

“In that case…”

“Just don’t move. I think it’s waiting for us to move. Let. Me. Think.”

Erin held very still as Lyonette shivered next to her. She knew the Rock Crab would strike sooner or later. When it did—

What could kill it? Adventurers. They were far away. Seed cores. Erin didn’t have any. Goblins? None around here since Rags was gone. Magic? No. Toren—

No. Erin closed her eyes. Fight while Lyonette ran for help? She’d be dead in a second. But if that was her option—

No. Wait. Something else struck Erin. She opened her eyes and stared at the sled she’d stopped pulling. At the things wriggling in the glass jars.

“Lyonette. Get ready to dive into the snow.”

“What? Wh—”

Lyonette’s eyes widened as Erin slowly, very slowly, waded over to the glass jars. Erin carefully lifted both jars of angry bees out of the sled, keeping her eyes on the mound of snow the entire time. Was it lifting up a bit?

She raised the first jar over her head and braced herself. Yes, the Rock Crab was moving. She saw it lift up, and then two long, flexible…

Were they eyes? Either that, or antennae. They stared at Erin and she stared at it. The Rock Crab hesitated, and then it lifted itself up, exposing a dark, red-brown body under its snowy shell and huge pincers that—

“Duck!”

Erin screamed and threw the first jar right into the Rock Crab’s shell. Inside of it, in fact. The glass broke and Erin heard a roar of buzzing as the bees were freed. She didn’t hesitate. She threw the second jar and then dove into the snow, digging herself deep as the bees buzzed in fury and the rock Crab clicked.

That was the sound. A deep, echoing click of a sea creature. It was a counterpoint to the thunderous buzzing.

Clickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclickclick—

Erin didn’t know if Lyonette was alive. She could only hear the bees, the crab—and then silence. The buzzing faded, growing more muted, but never completely ceasing, but the crab…

After a while, Erin chanced raising her head out of the snow. She looked around and saw the crab’s shell, lowered to the ground. For a second she thought the crab was alive and her heart pounded wildly—but then she realized the truth.

“Lyonette.”

The girl screamed when Erin found her in the snow. But Lyonette realized it was just Erin and came up to see what had happened.

“It’s dead.”

Erin pointed shakily to the Rock Crab’s shell. She could see a few dead bees, smashed or in pieces around the shell, but only a few. The rest must have flown off. Lyonette stared at the shell and touched her ears.

“I can still hear buzzing though—”

“Yeah. The bees are inside the shell.”

Erin pointed to the shell where she could hear the dim thunder of wings as well. Lyonette grew pale as she realized what had happened.

The Ashfire Bees had stung the Rock Crab to death—from the inside. But they were trapped in its shell as well. Both groups were dead or soon to be dead if no one disturbed them.

Erin laughed, shakily. Lyonette looked at her as if she were crazy, but then uttered a strained laugh herself. Both girls laughed and laughed and then Lyonette sat down and cried while Erin went to find their sled.

It was smashed on one end, but one of the jars of honey was intact. That would do. Erin brought it back and she and Lyonette made their way back to the inn.

Neither one said much. Lyonette was sticky with honey and other fluids from the hive. Erin held the jar of honey as Lyonette struggled onwards, wiping at her mouth and spitting occasionally. She said not a word of complaint, but Erin saw her shiver more than once as the cold air froze her wet clothing.

When they got back, Erin let Mrsha leap on Lyonette as Lyonette hugged her and cried in relief. Erin pointed upstairs as Lyonette tried to stop Mrsha from rubbing her furry body all over her honeyed one.

“Bath!”

Both Gnoll and girl looked at her. Erin smiled.

“Go take a bath, Lyonette. Don’t worry about cleaning or anything else. Just have a nice time—and bring Mrsha with you too! She’s all sticky.”

“I can make it quick—”

“No, no!”

Erin mock-scowled at Lyonette.

“Bath time is a special time. It’s the most special time. You take a long hot soak, or I’ll fire you. I’m going back into the city—after I talk with Octavia. Go on! Shoo!”

She waved at Lyonette and then remembered what else she wanted to say.

“Lyonette?”

“Yes?”

“Good work. I mean it.”

“But we lost the bees and most of the honey—”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

Erin looked sternly at Lyonette.

“You did amazing, getting us the honey. The Rock Crab…from now on, neither you and I are leaving the inn without seed cores, okay? And we’ll be twice as careful—I’m going with you each time. But we survived.”

“Yeah. We did.”

They left it at that. Erin went to the kitchen with the jar of honey before she remembered what she had to do with it. She put the honey on a table and sat down for a second.

Only then did Erin let herself shake uncontrollably. She trembled so badly she couldn’t  stand or hold the glass of water she’d poured herself; it slopped everywhere.

Just for a few minutes. One. Five. Then Erin stopped. She stopped shaking, stood up, drank the rest of the water in the glass, and sighed.

“I’m alive. I’m alive. I’m alive and—I need to get back to work.”

Erin stumbled towards the door. She had to come back and grab the jar of honey.

—-

When she opened Krshia’s door this time, Brunkr was awake. Sort of. He was staring at his hand on the couch, not doing anything really. He didn’t look up as Erin came in.

“Go away, Human.”

“I have something that will help, Brunkr. I know how to help heal your hand.”

He looked up, full of hope and scorn. He frowned when he saw the huge glass jar of honey. Bits of honeycomb were stuck to the insides.

“What is that? Do you want to fatten me up before I lose my arm? Or is that for my aunt to sell?”

“It’s for you.”

Erin put the jar on the table, and turned to face Brunkr, hands on hips. She felt a bit better, although the smell of Brunkr’s infection didn’t help her stomach any.

“This honey is something Ryoka—do you know Ryoka? Well, it’s something that will help.”

“How?”

“What you’re going to do is—well, first, let me tend to your hand.”

Erin walked over to Brunkr. She’d brought a towel and a bag of salt. She put both down and he watched, confused and irritated as she found a basin. When Erin mixed some water she’d boiled in the kitchen with the salt he reacted poorly.

“You’re not splashing that on my hand.”

“I am.”

“No.”

He yanked his hand away as she reached for it. Erin glared at him.

“You need to get your infection clean. For god’s sake, why haven’t you cleaned it yourself? It’s disgusting!”

“It always comes back.”

He growled with gritted teeth as he backed away from Erin. She put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

“I’m washing your arm. With that water.”

“No. I’m not having you pour that on my arm. I’ve suffered enough without your crazy Human remedies!”

“I’m not giving you a choice. Come on—”

Erin reached for Brunkr and he hit her. It was a fast punch that caught Erin on the side of the face. It wasn’t too strong—for Brunkr. Erin stumbled back and shook her head. Then she threw up.

Brunkr eyed Erin as she panted and stared at the mess on Krshia’s floor. He saw the Human girl look at the vomit puddle, and then at him. He snarled, full of hurt and anger. But Erin just turned away and went into the kitchen.

She came back with more water and a cloth. It took a bit of time for Erin to get the vomit out of the rug, but she had a skill. She tossed the dirty water out, cleaned her hands. Then she stopped in the living room and stared at Brunkr. He stared back.

Erin sighed. She took two steps over to Brunkr and he raised his hand threateningly. This time Erin drew back when he clenched his fist. She eyed him—

And then hit him in the stomach.

“[Minotaur Punch]!”

Brunkr doubled over as Erin belted him. He swung at her, but she ducked. Erin stomped on Brunkr’s toe and punched him in the chest. He didn’t fall from that, so she kneed him in the groin and then hit him in the face.

He hit her back. Erin stared up at the ceiling and then got up fast. She kicked the charging Brunkr in the groin again and shoved him on the couch as he doubled over, howling in pain.

“Sit!”

She shouted it so loudly the house rang. Brunkr tried to stand up—Erin raised a fist. He halted. His ears flattened, and the fight went out of him. He lay back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. Erin breathed in and out heavily, and then reached for the basin of salt water.

—-

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry. I need to get the wound clean, though.”

Brunkr hissed through his teeth as Erin carefully dabbed at his red wound. She pressed at it and she saw his claws sink into Krshia’s already threadbare couch—but he didn’t say a word.

“You’re doing great. I know it hurts, and I’m sorry. I really am. But you need to keep it clean. All this pus and nasty stuff? It can’t stay in the wound.”

Brunkr growled, vexation clear in his voice.

“I know that. But it keeps—agh! Keeps coming back.”

“So keep getting rid of it! Who’s tougher, you or pus?”

Erin scowled as she took away the dirtied rag and dipped it in another bucket. She sighed, and stared at his arm.

The red, gaping injury did look awful, but it was better than the oozing mess of before. She had—against Brunkr’s wishes—also snipped off a lot of the hair around the injury to keep it from getting in. Now Erin fetched the jar of honey.

“Why honey? It won’t work.”

“Have you ever tried using honey on your injuries?”

“Of course not. Who would—argh!”

Brunkr yelped as Erin began spooning honey over his infected arm. She coated his open flesh liberally, making sure it was all covered by a layer of glistening liquid.

“There. That looks right.”

“And this is supposed to do what? Heal me?”

“It’s a salve. It’ll help keep germs away. Um—keep the infection from getting worse, and make it better.”

Erin pointed to the jar as she got the bandages she’d bought out and began wrapping them around Brunkr’s arm.

“Don’t eat the honey, obviously. It’s going to get really nasty over time I bet. Lots of hair, dirt…actually, wash your arm before you put the honey on it. But just keep putting it on, okay?”

He eyed her.

“When?”

“All the time! When you’re awake, when you’re asleep—all the time! If you can, keep honey on the injury every second. After you clean, again. Clean at least three times a day, and then reapply the honey salve. It’ll help get rid of the infection. Here, I’ll show you how to wrap a bandage over it…”

She finished tying the bandage over Brunkr’s arm. He stared at it and shook his head.

“Don’t you think I’ve done all this before? I’ve put the poultice the [Healer] gave me over my arm—it did nothing. I ate all the different meat my tribe mates gave me, I drank as many foul stews as my aunt made. Nothing worked. I burnt my wound with fire—”

“What? No wonder it’s so bad!”

Erin glared at Brunkr. He glared back. He tried to put anger in his tone, but there was more defeat than anything else.

“Your cure isn’t going to work. What makes a Human trick better than my people’s knowledge? All you’re using is honey.”

“It may just be honey, but I know this honey works. Ryoka knows it works. It’s not some quack medicine, okay? Cleaning your wound regularly, using honey and salt water—it’s all part of the healing. You have to do it all or it won’t work. Have faith.”

He glared at her. Brunkr grabbed Erin’s arm as she rolled up the rest of the bandage. It was a firm grip, but not meant to hurt.

“Faith? In what? This—this is just a fool’s cure. Why should I believe honey will cure…”

His voice broke.

“I will lose my hand. After this, it must be cut off. Not just my hand—my arm as well. I will lose it, and I will be a cripple. Not a warrior of my tribe—a half thing. Useless. Good only for the easiest chores.”

Erin stared at Brunkr. She didn’t know him. She’d only met him once or twice, and it always ended up in a fight, or so it seemed. But she could understand his fear, understand what he was going through.

“I know it’s scary. I know it’s hard to believe. But believe.”

“In what? In Humans?”

“No. In me.”

Erin grabbed Brunkr’s good arm with her own. She squeezed it hard, looking the Gnoll in the eye.

“Have faith in me. I want to help. And I know what I’m doing.”

He stared at her, and she saw the hope in his eyes that she was telling the truth. But then he looked away.

“Everyone says that.”

“I know.”

Erin sat with Brunkr as he let go of her and stared dully at his arm. She began tidying up in silence. After a minute, she spoke.

“You know, back home we don’t have magic.”

Brunkr looked up.

“You don’t?”

Erin shook her head as she sat the jar of honey in one corner of the room, balancing one of Krshia’s ladles on the lid.

“Nope. Not at all. Not a single [Mage]—heck, no one knows a single spell. Wild, isn’t it?”

“How could your people survive? Even we have [Shamans]. How do you…do anything?”

“With technology. With things other than magic. You see, we study a lot of things. We’re not tough like Drakes or strong as Gnolls…we don’t have good noses or the ability to cast magic or anything else. But we think a lot. And we write everything down. And one of the things we write down is how to cure people.”

“Everyone does that. My people have cures—if I were back at home and it were summer, my aunt says she could have found the good dirt—”

“No, see that’s where you’re wrong. We’re not the same. Where I come from, we don’t have cures. It’s not a mystery whether people will get well or not. We know what causes what, and if we don’t know, we find out. We don’t say you might get better. We invent cures that work all the time, or nearly all the time. That’s why I know the honey will help, and the cleaning.”

“Really?”

Erin nodded. She sat with Brunkr on the couch. He stared at her like Mrsha did to Lyonette when the girl talked with her. He wasn’t an adult, but a child, needing to believe all would be well. So Erin opened a door in her heart and remembered.

“I’ve heard of people who were blind being cured. I’ve seen people who lost a hand—and then had it sewn right back on! Where I come from…we don’t use healing potions. We don’t rely on alchemy or magic. We use medicine. And this—this is medicine.”

She pointed to the honey.

“It will work. It has antibodies—and it’s useful for fighting infections. When you need healing, you keep the wound clean and don’t let anything get on it. That’s the basics. I’m going to talk with an [Alchemist] after this and see about getting better medicine made, but this will do in the meantime.”

“And you’re sure it will work? How can you be?”

Erin met Brunkr’s eyes.

“I’m sure I’m doing the right thing. I’m not sure it will work. But I am sure that this is the only chance you have.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Brunkr looked away. Erin grabbed his paw. She waited until he looked back at her again.

“Believe me, please. If this doesn’t work, I’ll come back with a saw. Because you’re going to lose your hand otherwise. If you won’t do exactly what I ask…you’d better hurry up and chop your arm off before the rest of you gets infected. But until that day comes, I’ll tell you to do this. Because I know what I’m doing is right.”

The Gnoll stared at Erin for a long time. She could feel his pulse beating through his fur and skin.

“I wish I could believe you. I almost do.”

“Try?”

Brunkr hesitated. He looked away and sighed.

“I will try. I have nothing left to lose.”

“No. You have your hand to lose. But it’s not going to happen. It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay. Understand?”

She hugged him. The Gnoll froze, but Erin wrapped her arms around him and squeezed hard. Brunkr made a small sound, but she just kept repeating the words.

“It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be alright. It’s going to be okay. Your hand is going to get better. I’m going to come back and you’re going to keep changing your bandages, and it’s going to get better. I promise. It’s going to be okay. Okay?”

He said not a word, but put a paw on her shoulder. Erin felt him squeeze, and hugged tighter. She couldn’t see his face, but she felt him, as tightly as they were holding each other.

He was trembling.

—-

When Erin left the apartment an hour later, she saw Krshia waiting for her outside. Snow had piled up in the Gnoll’s fur, but she hadn’t come inside. She nodded at Erin.

“I heard what you told my nephew. You give him hope. But it is not certain, no?”

“I didn’t lie.”

Krshia nodded.

“I know. And I will trust. And hope.”

“There’s more that can be done. I’m going to try and find something else that’ll help more than the honey. I’ll let you know. Just—help him, okay?”

“I will. He has hope, thanks to you.”

Krshia hesitated. She bent closer to Erin and whispered, so softly that only the girl could hear it, not Brunkr, sleeping inside.

“I tell you, I did not believe when I gave him all those remedies before. I did not believe, because I thought his hand was lost. But you believe. I can smell it, and so can he. Thank you for that.”

“That’s just who I am. A silly believer.”

Erin smiled. She squeezed Krshia’s arm and the Gnoll hugged her briefly. Erin stepped away and walked out of the city.

She was tired. So tired. Erin yawned, and stared at the sun.

“Huh?”

It was just past midday. Erin blinked and rubbed her eyes. She felt so tired. So—incredibly tired. How was it only that early? But then she heard a shout.

“Erin!”

Someone—a group of someones were waving at her. Erin automatically waved back and saw Pawn, Belgrade, Bird…walking together with Klbkch and the wonderfully strange blue Antinium. Further away, she saw Zel and the adventurers making their way to her inn.

Something like a sigh escaped Erin, although she kept a smile on her face. More people, all of whom wanted to see her, or at least wanted to eat something hot cooked by her. She felt so tired, so endlessly tired.

But the day wasn’t over. And Erin had a job to do. She began to walk more quickly back towards her inn, and then stopped. She stared at the sky.

The sun was shining bright. It was shining in a sky full of clouds. Erin could see more on the horizon. Soon they would turn the world dark and grey, and pour snow down again. It would grow colder. The world would be washed away by ice once more.

But for a moment the sun shone. Then a cloud passed before it. Erin felt her spirits drop as the light faded. But it would come back. She had to believe that. She wanted to sleep a thousand years, but she looked at her friends and took a smile out of her heart and wore it bright on her face. Because if she didn’t smile, who would?

The sun would come out again. Erin knew it. She whispered as she walked back to her inn, feeling exhaustion in every line of her body. It was a simple thing. It was all you had to do, even when everything else was uncertain.

“Have faith.”

3.39

She didn’t want to walk up the hill to her inn. No—it wasn’t that. Erin didn’t want to walk up the hill to her inn and go inside. Or…no, it was more like she didn’t want to walk up the hill to her inn, go inside, and then have to feed and deal with another crowd of people right this instant.

Maybe in five minutes Erin would feel good about that, but right now she could only sigh as she stomped through the cold snow, up the steep and unreasonably treacherous hill, towards her inn.

It wasn’t that she was tired. Well, she was tired, but it wasn’t a physical thing. Erin was used to being on her feet all day long and working hard. She could fight off Goblins and cook pasta while picking blue fruit in the snow. But she’d been working hard of late. Very hard. And Erin felt just a bit…

Here was the problem. Erin wasn’t just tired. That was a simple thing to fix. Tired was immediate, and solvable with sleep. It was a drain on the mind, a heavy little rock tied to the eyelids that made them close far too often.

Tired was simple. But Erin was exhausted. She just felt like—like—

“Like I need a holiday.”

Erin sighed as she trudged up the hill towards her inn. Everyone else had already disappeared inside; part of her was already thinking about what she could make for lunch. She hadn’t had time for that because she’d had to go to Brunkr. Erin didn’t regret that, but she knew the others would be hungry.

She was ready to apologize and get to work, but found to her great joy that Lyonette had already made something to eat!

“It’s well, it’s a fry-up with mushrooms and other greens. You can have it with fresh bread and I’ve got fried beef if anyone wants meat. It’s got a Gnoll sauce on it, so it’s a bit spicy…”

Erin sidled over as she saw the travel-hungry people lining up to fill their plates. Lyonette had put out a big dish of the fried veggies and meat for people to serve themselves buffet-style.

“You did all this?”

Lyonette nodded, smiling as she passed out plates. Erin resisted the urge to kiss Lyonette and instead hugged with one arm.

“You’re so cool. Best [Barmaid] ever!”

There was a plate, a fork provided by Mrsha, although it was covered with a few hairs, and hot food. For a few seconds Erin just chewed on crispy, crunchy green tubes and relaxed. The warmth went down into her stomach and made her feel alive again.

Then she looked around and took stock of her inn. It was a full room today. Not only had some of the [Wagon Drivers] stopped here to eat, but Pawn, Belgrade, and Bird and a small group of Soldiers and Workers were in line as well. Klbkch was conspicuous in his absence, as was the strange group of Antinium who’d followed him.

Erin went over to Pawn, thanking Lyonette in her heart—the girl must have figured out the Antinium might show up, hence the non-gluten meal she’d made. She smiled at Pawn and took time to welcome both Belgrade and Bird—she hadn’t seen them in what felt like forever!

The two other workers were almost shy as they bowed to Erin. Pawn was more relaxed, and showed the other Workers how to hold the plates properly—they had to do it for their Soldier counterparts, since the giant warrior Antinium couldn’t properly grasp the plates.

“I apologize, but I fear they will have to use their hands to eat, Erin. We will clean up any mess we cause.”

“Totally fine. Totally—don’t worry about messes. I’ve got a Skill! But if your uh, Soldiers have problems eating we can give them bowls.”

“That would help greatly. Thank you.”

A trip into the kitchen and the Soldiers had bowls to hold instead of plates. Erin smiled as she stood with the Antinium in line, watching the queue pass the buffet line. Everyone was hungry, but they’d stood aside to let the adventurers go first. And Zel. All the Drakes practically ushered him to the front, despite his reluctance.

“Klbkch sends his regards. He wished to meet you at the inn, but he has pressing business in the Hive. I believe he will attempt to visit you tonight, if his duties allow.”

“Of course he will.”

Erin sighed, but smiled at Belgrade. She watched as ahead of her, the Horns of Hammerad reached the table and began filling their plates.

“Silver and steel you two, eat something that isn’t meat or bread!”

Yvlon snapped exasperatedly at Ceria and Pisces. Both had gone for the sliced beef, completely skipping the vegetables. Ksmvr and Yvlon had a more balanced plate, but the two mages looked completely unapologetic.

“I’m a half-Elf. I used to eat leaves for breakfast. I’ve had enough of them for one lifetime, thank you.”

Pisces nodded.

“And I—”

He hesitated, eyed the slices of beef and added two more to his full plate. Then he turned and walked away. Yvlon rolled her eyes and made a disgusted face, but she followed her friends to the table.

“My body is dead, so uh, I can eat unhealthy.”

Jelaqua grinned as she emulated Ceria’s style. Erin saw Lyonette hurry into the kitchen—probably to cook what meat they had left. Erin resolved to order a lot more from Krshia when she went to the city again. Her feet were already aching.

“If you’re dead, why would it matter what you eat? Surely you can’t taste anything.”

That came from Typhenous. Jelaqua turned, pretending to be offended.

“I’ll have you know that I keep my body’s tongue in perfect condition see? Now, some other organs are a bit the worse for wear, but taste is something everyone likes.”

“True. Now move, you’re holding up the line.”

Seborn edged past Jelaqua. He and Moore had balanced plates, Moore with more vegetable and bread than meat.

Griffon Hunt came next. Ulrien, Halrac and Typhenous got their food without objection, but when Revi reached the head of the table she took one look at the spread and made a face.

“I don’t like mushrooms.”

Halrac growled at her.

“Then get the beef.”

“I don’t want to eat just meat for lunch.”

Erin hurried out of line, already slapping her I’m-sorry-you-suck smile onto her face.

“What’s the problem, Revi?”

“Nothing here really appeals to me.”

The Stitch-girl turned her nose up at the food. Erin kept smiling.

“Okay, why don’t I make you a sandwich? Toasted bread, cheese, some sliced ham and greens?”

“I suppose that will do.”

Revi sighed and nodded. Erin hurried into the kitchen, but not before she’d passed Zel and heard him mutter.

“Mages.”

It was the work of a minute to put together a lovely sandwich. No problem at all, really. But Erin had had to do it, which was what sucked. Lyonette was apologetic.

“I should have made something for Revi.”

“No, you shouldn’t. She’s just picky.”

Erin made a face as she used a pair of tongs to toast the sandwich to perfection by the kitchen fire. She pulled the sandwich away as her Skill told her it was done—it was like an egg timer going off in Erin’s head—and tossed it onto a plate.

“You know, I’ve heard that when [Chefs] and [Waiters] don’t like the people they’re serving, they spit in the food.”

“Ew! Do you think—do they really do that?”

Erin didn’t see why Lyonette was so upset, but the girl was staring off into the horrific abyss of recollection.

“They didn’t do that to my food—I’m sure of—but if I—”

She turned green. Erin waved a hand in front of her face and Lyonette came out of her trance.

“Well? I’m not saying you should, but…”

Both girls stared at the innocent sandwich. They shook their heads at roughly the same time.

“It’s not worth it. Besides, that’s disgusting.”

“Yeah. It’s not the sandwich’s fault.”

Lyonette nodded. She frowned, and then went over to the cutting board where some of the ingredients were left over. She took an unused mushroom and diced it up into very fine pieces, hiding them in the melted cheese. Erin smiled as Lyonette closed the sandwich.

“Hey Revi, you aren’t allergic to mushrooms or anything, right? If it touches your skin, you won’t break out in hives or swell up, because if you are—”

“I’m fine. Thank you.”

Revi took the plate from Erin without a glance and began eating it with a knife and fork. Erin winked as Lyonette came out of the kitchen with more food for the buffet table. That was a small victory in her books.

“Oh, you don’t need to eat the food here! I’m sorry, I forgot!”

She stopped Pawn as he was about to fill his plate. Lyonette hurried into the kitchen and came out with—

“Bees?”

The Drakes and Humans behind the Antinium took a step back. But all the Antinium perked up.

“I fried these in oil and then melted some cheese over them. Ksmvr says it’s good.”

Lyonette explained as she sat the Antinium at another table. With Erin’s help all of them had a few bees to eat, and Ksmvr came over as well to get his bugs. Erin sat next to Pawn and Bird, trying not to watch them eat as she slurped down her food.

Pawn was already pulling the legs off of his bee and crunching them down, but Belgrade and Bird stared at their food as if entranced.

“Well? Are you hungry? Or do you not like bees?”

“It is not that, Miss Erin. I have been waiting a long time for this moment. I wish to savor it.”

Belgrade stared at the bee dripping oil onto his plate. Bird stared at his bee and then picked it up. He spoke dreamily.

“They look like tiny birds. Bee birds.”

Erin glanced over, and saw Pawn and Belgrade shrug. She shrugged too, and began to eat. This was lunch. And since she hadn’t made it, Erin was a very happy [Innkeeper] indeed.

Work interrupted her before she’d finished eating, though. The door opened and a familiar blue-scaled Drake walked in.

“Erin?”

His face fell when he saw all of her visitors.

“If you’re busy, I can go. I’d hate to interrupt—”

“Olesm! No, I’m just finishing my lunch and Lyonette can serve everyone food and drinks. Uh, you can do that, right Lyonette? If you need a hand—”

“I’ve got two!”

Lyonette waved at Erin and smiled as she went past. Mrsha, trotting beside Lyonette, sat on her bum and waggled all four paws. Erin grinned and turned to Olesm.

“Want to sit? How about next to Pawn? You can eat mushroom stir-fry and tell me what’s happened, and then I’ll teach you all how to play Go!”

Olesm perked up and sat happily with Erin. He took one look at what the Antinium were eating and declined to have lunch.

“So, tell me everything that’s happened to you!”

“Only if you’ll tell me what happened! I heard a bit from Klbkch, but where did you go, Erin? That skeleton, Toren, did something, didn’t he?”

“You don’t know?”

A sea of Antinium and one Drake all shook their heads. Erin blinked.

“Okay. Then in that case, it all started when I was going to get more honey. I was in the sled with Toren pulling it and I took a tiny, teensy nap…”

Catching up with Olesm took half an hour of talk. Erin was aware of time passing and cut her story short, but she just had to pause when she’d heard what Olesm had done.

“A chess newsletter? That’s so amazing, Olesm! Can I subscribe? Oh—and what’s the latest puzzle? You do chess puzzles, right?”

Olesm’s light blue scales turned bright as he blushed. He traced on the table with a claw as Erin exclaimed over the letters he’d sent to other cities.

It was a simple collection of parchments, not anything like a magazine or newspaper. One was an annotated game—one of the ones she’d played, if Erin wasn’t mistaken!—and another was an explanation of how to read chess notation. Another paper held a chess puzzle someone had made.

“Ooh. Not bad.”

Erin solved the puzzle in three moves and handed it back to Olesm. His jaw dropped.

“You can’t have just—”

“I solved one like that ages ago. It’s good, though!”

“I got that one from the best [Strategists] in…oh, never mind.”

Olesm handed Erin another piece of parchment.

“Please, look at this.”

It was another annotated game, but not one Erin had played. To her eye, it was a fairly interesting back-and-forth between two decently skilled players. But what was really interesting was the attached commentary. Three full pages filled with comments from both players and two other [Tacticians] provided a decent analysis of every move made.

“Olesm, this is so cool. I’m so glad you’re doing this!”

“Well, I got the idea from watching you play. I sent some letters out and got a great response, so I’ve been sending more out each week! I’ve got over twenty readers so far, and I’m told my letters get passed around to lots more people! And it’s very profitable!”

Olesm puffed out his chest. Erin smiled. Internally, she was remorseful. She never had time to play chess anymore, or so it seemed! All that time in Celum and she hadn’t picked up a pawn once. Chess was her thing!

“Can you give me all your old letters? I’d love to solve a chess puzzle or two.”

“Erin, your puzzles are the ones I’ve been using!”

“Aw. No. Really? You’ve got to get more! And twenty people is great, but why not send this to [Tacticians] all over the world?”

“Don’t stop there. Is the inventor of chess not Niers Astoragon? He and the [Strategists] in Baleros might find your work very useful.”

Pawn put down the parchment he was holding and looked at Olesm. The Drake fidgeted in his chair. His tail lashed the legs of the table in his agitation.

“I wouldn’t dream of sending my small work to him, but perhaps if someone were to mention it to Master Astoragon—well, I’d need for a lot more people to read my work before I’d be confident sending it to Baleros.”

“Why? Because it’s expensive?”

“Well…[Tacticians] are held in such high regard there, I would hate to embarrass myself. Not that I think your games are anything but perfect, Erin! But it’s just…”

“You should do it.”

Belgrade stared at Olesm. Bird looked up from his bee.

“Yes. I agree with what Belgrade is saying. You should do this thing I know nothing of.”

Pressured on all sides, Olesm could only stammer about ‘improving the quality of his publication’. Erin laughed, and decided not to push him further. He, at least, seemed like he was doing well on his own.

“Maybe you can add this to your next newsletter. I’ll teach you all how to play Go while you’re here!”

“Really?”

Olesm, Pawn, and Belgrade all sat up. Erin nodded.

“All we need are some stones and a board. I figure we can make one—uh—”

The Antinium stood up, Workers and Soldiers. They immediately filed out of the door. Erin blinked, and then saw them digging in the snow outside through one of the windows.

“Um—okay! Let’s do this!”

—-

“So, we have white and black stones. Two sides, like chess, see? And you’re capturing territory. You place the stones on the intersections, where the lines join like right here. Each stone can have up to four liberties—that means open spaces where a stone could go—in each direction like this. If you take away all the liberties, you capture the stone. Now, the goal is to get as much territory—as much of the board as possible—and as many captured stones as possible.”

Erin demonstrated, surrounding a black stone with white ones. She took it off the board and put it to one side.

“We call captured stones prisoners. And ooh, here’s something cool. You see these connected stones? Well, if they’re all touching each other we call that a string. And you can capture an entire string at once, but only if you take over all of their liberties. So that’s definitely something to watch for…”

Fifteen minutes later, Erin stood over a table where a bunch of white and black stones were sitting. They were freshly painted, and a bit tacky to the touch still, although a flame spell had baked the paint nicely.

The board for the game was carved into the table. It was just a huge block of equally-sized squares, nineteen lines long by nineteen lines wide. Erin didn’t mind sacrificing the table; you could still eat on it and she had a feeling a lot of games would be played in the future.

She was lecturing a crowd of people, not just Olesm and the Antinium. The Drakes and Gnolls were interested in this new game, and a few of the adventurers had come over to listen. Typhenous and Pisces looked particularly interested; Moore was jotting what Erin was saying down on a slip of parchment, and Ulrien and Halrac were listening while drinking.

The game of Go was simple, yet complex. It was all about capturing territory, which, when you got down to it, was at the heart of chess as well.

“Although chess is about completely eradicating the opponent’s pieces, I see many similarities in this game.”

“Yup. Most strategy games revolve around stealing an opponent’s territory. It’s pretty hard to lose all your pieces in a game of Go, but it can happen. If you suck. A lot.”

Erin smiled at Pawn as she demonstrated how the game was played to her audience.

“The thing about Go is that—and I hate to say this, but it’s true—it’s far more complex than chess.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. It’s very complex, but easy to understand. All you do is surround your opponent, but the game can take infinite forms. See, you can place a stone anywhere unless it means you’d lose it. So unlike chess…”

“There’s so much you can do.”

Olesm stared down at the empty board, seemingly daunted by its size. Erin smiled.

“I’m not as good at Go as I am at Chess, but I’m not bad. I used to study it and play games back home.”

“You did? I’ve never heard of it.”

“Well…”

Erin shrugged. She remembered staying up late at night, playing games online. She smiled sadly as she picked up a rough stone one of the Soldiers had smashed to make smaller and put it on the board.

“I used to play all the time. I was close to the professional level—not that I played half as much as I did chess. But I loved playing. Chess, Shogi, Go…it’s too bad I couldn’t gamble, because I can play a mean round of Mahjong as well. Anyways. Does anyone want to play a game?”

There were no shortages of volunteers. Erin soon found herself having Halrac carve a second and third board into the tables for people to play as the Soldiers went out to search for more stones.

“We really need round stones to play properly. But this is fine, I guess.”

“May I request your assistance in teaching me this game, Erin? I hope to learn as much as I can before Anand returns.”

Belgrade intercepted Erin before Pawn or Olesm could. Erin smiled at the Worker.

“Sure. Is that a bit of rivalry I hear?”

She was just teasing him, but the Antinium nodded to her great surprise. Erin blinked.

“I wish to beat Anand at this game. He is a better player than I, so I must practice more than he does.”

“Really? But I thought you two were closely matched. You were when I played you last time. Has something changed?”

Belgrade paused.

“Perhaps it is the difference of personality. Anand is far more decisive and bold than I. That is why he was chosen to remain behind at Esthelm. His ability to react to new situations is deemed invaluable. I can only memorize patterns and repeat them.”

He looked downcast. Erin reached out and patted him on the shoulder. Then she gave up and gave him a quick hug. As she did, she saw Zel standing by a far wall. He was watching the Antinium. Not with overt hostility like he did with Klbkch, but very intently. He was staring at Belgrade and Erin was sure he’d heard what the Antinium had said. Zel looked away the instant Erin saw him.

“Well, if Anand is so good at improvising, all you’ve got to do is study every chess move until you’re used to every possible outcome. Following your style isn’t bad, Belgrade. You’ve just got to be able to adapt.”

She led Belgrade over to a board and began to explain strategy. He shook his head dejectedly as Erin tried to get him to experiment while playing her.

“I fear making mistakes in experimentation. I prefer known strategy. I fear I will be poor at this game.”

“No you won’t!”

“But known tactics fail in the face of innovation. Anand is spontaneous, I am not. How can I ever defeat him?”

Erin had a reply ready, but to her intense surprise Zel came over and answered the question for her.

“Just because someone can adapt, doesn’t mean their strategy is better than a set formation. It’s a longstanding argument between [Planners] and [Leaders]. One kind—[Strategists] for instance—likes to plan for every eventuality. They see patterns in troop movements and in battle and react accordingly. But [Generals] like me just see opportunities. We act according to instinct.”

He nodded to Pawn as he walked over and stood over the board. He didn’t look happy, but there was something in the way Pawn turned to look at Zel that made Erin think they had talked before. Zel studied the board, frowning at the intersecting lines on which stones had been placed.

“There’s some overlap of course; most leaders learn basic formations and strategy, but there are few who can lead from the front and fight a war in their heads. But specialization isn’t all bad—you get weird freaks with classes like [Shadow General] or [Lightningstrike Commander] who can use one type of tactic very well.”

“Then I may succeed by using my set methods?”

“If you can adapt them for every situation, yes. Who’s to say one method can’t be used in most situations? So long as you have others who can support you—or you know when to retreat—I don’t see why not.”

That was what Belgrade needed to hear. He sat straighter and began to play a far more competitive game. Erin still beat him, but she felt good doing it.

“May I try?”

Zel took Erin’s place, and Pawn took Belgrade’s. This time the game was short. Zel bowed out as it became clear Pawn was the far better player. He shook his head as he let Pisces slip into the seat.

“It’s just black and white stones to me. I’m used to battles where no one takes turns and everyone’s slipping on blood and guts. But if it makes you level, I’m sure every [Tactician] south of Liscor will be begging for a copy of young Olesm’s next newsletter.”

Olesm beamed with pride. He looked at Zel like a hero, Erin recognized. And the [General] was, wasn’t he? Erin had a hard time imagining it, but Zel was a big hero. One of the biggest, according to what Pisces had told her.

“You should send this with your next newsletter, Olesm. And what about sending it north?”

“North? Well…I sent a few letters to Invrisil and some [Tacticians] I’d heard of, but I’ve really been reaching out to friends I regularly correspond with. They’ve been spreading the word in the Drake cities. You really think I should expand so soon…?”

“Yes! Send it to us Humans…and Gnolls too, for that matter! Why not? You should send some letters to a bunch of Gnolls—I’m sure Krshia could tell you who might be interested. Yeah, send like a dozen letters out for free. If they like it, they’ll reply back. If not…”

Erin shrugged. She sat Olesm down at a table as lunchtime turned into board-game time. Lyonette was already hurrying out with drinks and a snack, and Erin saw those not interested in the game heading out for the city. It was only a little bit past midday. She had time. So Erin sat across from Olesm.

“Now, you’ve got a lot of good stuff, but have you considered having your parchment all stitched together?”

“Like a book? That’s costly.”

“No, not a book. It can be cheap. But you see, if you have a bit of color and maybe a little gossip, well, back home we call stuff like that magazines. I’m sure Krshia could find you someone who does a bit of artwork. You should have a little logo—ooh, and maybe a [Tactician] of the week! It’s good to reach out to your readers and get them involved. And while I’m on the subject, why not print a lot of issues of your newsletter and have them for sale in the Runner’s Guilds? If you do, then anyone can walk in and buy it. And if they don’t sell that well, it’s fine because you’re getting the word out. Now, my favorite part of newspapers back home is this thing called a ‘crossword’. It’s not chess, but…”

—-

Things from home. Things she remembered. When you got down to it, that was what Erin truly had to offer to this world. She was just an average girl, but she’d brought part of the place she came from with her. That was what she could give, and that was what made Erin special, she felt.

Her memories of home.

Some of it was stupid. Some of it wouldn’t help. The people of this world took what they wanted, what was useful, and only that. No one had liked the idea of crossword puzzles, not even Pisces. The consensus was that if you were going to be silly about words, you probably had better things you could be doing with your time.

But not all of what Erin had said was pointless. She saw the value in it already, as Olesm strode out of the door, bursting with ideas for his newsletter. And she saw it in Pawn and the Antinium as they left for the Hive, already planning to introduce the game to the Workers there. A new board game had come to the city. It was a small thing, but it mattered.

Everything mattered. Small things became big things, like how a clean inn was wonderful. So Erin helped Lyonette clean up for half an hour after her guests had finished, and then told Lyonette she was heading out. Again.

Only this time, Erin didn’t take the door leading to the outside world. She took the door to Octavia’s shop.

“Hey Octavia! I’m—”

Erin stopped and stared. Octavia was standing at her counter and she had a customer.

The man at the counter gave Erin an odd look, mainly because she was staring at him like he was some new, undocumented species never seen before. He accepted a potion that bubbled brightly pink in a stoppered vial and hurried away.

“Who was that? Why was he here?”

“That was a customer, and he was buying a potion. What the potion was isn’t your business.”

Octavia scowled at Erin as the girl approached the counter. The [Alchemist] seemed irked today for some reason.

“Aw. You can’t tell me? Why not?”

“Confidentiality. [Alchemists] don’t reveal what they’ve sold on principle. You could be an adventurer or a [Barber], but some of what I sell—”

“Was it a love potion? Or…is it like a healing potion for something icky?”

Octavia ignored the questions. She glared at Erin.

“Do you need something? Or are you just using my shop as a rest stop?”

“I’ve got business! For you!”

Erin smiled at Octavia, but for once even the word ‘business’ didn’t make the Stitch-girl jolly. Octavia folded her arms. Erin’s smile slipped.

“What? Did I do something?”

“Oh, nothing. I’m just waiting for you to figure it out.”

It took Erin a few seconds. She knew Octavia’s shop had been the delivery point for all of Celum’s goods and the people sent through, but it was for a good cause! So why—

Erin’s head turned and she saw the problem. The front wall of Octavia’s shop that led out into the street…was gone. Someone had knocked the entire wall down, and it was now patched up by a collection of plywood planks. It wasn’t a good seal. Wind was blowing into the shop through the cracks.

“Oh. Uh, is that—”

“They knocked it in. To fit a wagon into my shop.”

Octavia’s tone could have frozen boiling water. She pointed at the front of her store.

“I was reimbursed for that, but hardly enough. You may note how I haven’t had it fixed yet? That’s because the cost of wood is very high in the winter. And guess who gets to pay for that? Not the city. Me.”

“Sorry.”

Erin took a deep breath. She felt guilty, and changed what she’d planned on doing. She put her hands on Octavia’s counter.

“I’ll pay you back for that. But can we talk business?”

The [Alchemist] wavered. An epic battle between mercantilism and personal irritation lasted for all of fifteen seconds, before she grudgingly nodded.

“What do you want?”

“I need all my magical soups. You know, the ones you were holding for me for a ‘storage fee’?”

Octavia hesitated.

“I have them. I may have sold one or two—but I have your cut right here and I would be happy to reimburse you for the cost of—”

“Okay.”

Erin didn’t blink. Octavia looked at her, surprised, and decided not to question it. She went into the back of her shop and came out with a bunch of bottles full of soupy liquids.

“That will be—”

“Hold on, you can combine that with my next order.”

“Next order?”

“I want you to do some research! I think you can make this one thing I want right away—it’s called a ‘match’, and I need you to make it for me. Ryoka says it’s simple, but this other thing is really hard. It’s called ‘penicillin’, right, and—”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

Octavia glared at Erin.

“I said no. I’m not doing any more research for you. You’re trouble. Every time I do something for you, I end up with a melted cauldron, or a hole in my shop, or a hole in my wall. I’m not helping you.”

“What? But—I can pay.”

“Too bad. It’s not worth the cost.”

“I think it is. Here—”

Erin reached for her money pouch, but Octavia snapped at her.

“Erin, no. I have several orders I need to fill, not to mention a gaping hole in the front of my shop! I won’t just let you—”

She broke off as Erin produced a fistful of coins. She slapped them on the table. They were heavy, thick coins. All gold.

Octavia swallowed. Hard. But she held her ground, though the luster of the softly glowing gold had fixed her eyes on them.

“A few gold coins won’t—”

Erin reached into her pouch and pulled more out. Octavia’s mouth stopped working for a few seconds.

“Look, I have a job to do and—”

Erin kept placing gold coins on the counter. She had to pile them up; she was counting. It wasn’t like she was made of money, but she had to make this right for Octavia.

In the end, thirty six gold coins sat in neat stacks of six in front of Octavia. The [Alchemist] gaped at them, and then looked up at Erin.

“That’s for your door, and hiring you. You can sell what I’m going to have you make, but I want to hire you. Is that okay?”

Octavia stared at the coins, and then looked at Erin. She glanced over Erin’s shoulder at the hole in her wall, and went back to the coins. Coins, Erin, broken wall. And then she threw her arms wide.

“Always a pleasure, always a pleasure to help my best customer! Hole in the wall? What hole? I was thinking I needed a new front for the shop anyways!”

Erin smiled. She looked Octavia in the eye.

“I’m really sorry, Octavia. I haven’t been a good friend to you.”

Octavia paused, and grew a bit more genuine as she raked the gold coins into a drawer.

“Well, it’s not like it wasn’t for a good cause. And the publicity! I suppose I can let it go. Especially if you’re paying me like this. Actually, for this rate, knock another wall down whenever you want! Now, what’s this about some experimentation?”

Erin smiled. She opened her mouth and then stared hard at Octavia. The [Alchemist] paused.

“What?”

“You haven’t eaten yet! Don’t pretend! I can tell when you haven’t—Lyonette!”

Erin opened the door to her inn and yelled into it.

“Get me some leftovers for Octavia, stat!”

Five minutes later, Octavia was eating from a plate as if she hadn’t eaten all week while Erin explained what she wanted.

“So what I want is a match stick, see? The thing you strike and the match box. Now, Ryoka says that the thing to make the side of the box is phosphorus. Um, red phosphorus.”

“What’s that?”

“I have no idea. It’s red, and uh, a rock, I think. It’s good for…igniting things?”

Erin raised her hands as Octavia’s face clearly showed what she thought of Erin’s description.

“I’m sorry! I don’t know! Ryoka could tell you more—ask her if you need details! But the match head is simple. It’s sulfur and other stuff. It just…lights up when you rub it on something. Like this.”

Octavia watched with interest as Erin demonstrated. She already had a sketch of the matches and matchbox, and she was tapping her fingers thoughtfully as she turned to look around her shop. At last she nodded.

“I can do some research and see what might work like this ‘phosphorus’. But look, Erin. Anyone can make fire with a flint and steel. Or a spell. And fire starters do exist. Ever seen a blaze bomb? Nasty. It’s made with the scales of a Ignition Salamander and Corusdeer horns you see, and when it explodes it—”

“I know it’s possible. But I bet it’s not cheap, right?”

“No…”

“This would be cheap. Really cheap. And easy! Okay, maybe people can use magic, but how many people use magic? And flint and steel is a pain to carry. Matches are useful—and sort of fun! I mean, I liked matches when I was a kid. Just try it, okay?”

“You’re paying me.”

Octavia shrugged and reached for her cup. Erin smiled.

“Now, the second thing I need is for you to experiment with mold.”

“Okay. Which kind?”

Erin paused. Octavia stared at her expectantly.

“I’ve got several growing in the back if you want any one particular kind.”

“Of course you do. Well, this one’s green and sort of blueish, and it grows on oranges and bread…”

“How much do you want? I don’t grow that, but I think I’ve got a loaf of bread in one of my cupboards that probably has that kind of mold.”

“Just…wait a second, okay? I need something specific. You see, I need penicillin, which is a special type of mold. It works like this…”

Octavia frowned as she listened to Erin’s description. When Erin was done, Octavia was willing to admit that penicillin might be very useful, but she had no idea how to figure out which mold would work like that.

“I guess I can experiment on myself? No? Well, perhaps a test subject. I guess I can get a pig or sheep or something and…no? Aw, come on. How about a rat? Aw, Erin—okay, I’ll do all I can. But I still have to run my shop. And brew potions. Honestly, the brewing is easier than the shop keeping—I need to stay behind the counter at all hours. But that’s going to cut into the amount of time I can keep researching, just so you know.”

Erin blinked at Octavia and a little candle lit up in her head.

“I can help with that. Come to the inn tonight for dinner and we can talk details.”

Octavia eyed Erin and then raised a hand.

“No way. Sorry, Erin, but no. Honestly, I appreciate the thought, but you’re no expert saleswoman, and I can’t just turn my merchandise over—wait, where are you going? I didn’t finish! I’ll let you try to sell my stuff if you’re willing to give me a cut of—”

Erin waved at Octavia as she exited the shop. The [Alchemist] frowned as the door—or rather, hinged piece of plywood—swung almost shut. She went over to it and pushed it closed, muttering under her breath.

“Gotta improve the pitch, Octavia. You have to get them hooked faster. Fifty percent? Hah! Eighty percent cut, and then you start laying on the little extras. Market value purchase plus city taxation, labor costs, regional import fees, cauldron taxes…”

—-

A minute after Erin had left Octavia’s shop she stopped and slapped a hand to her forehead. A passing horse and rider looked at her weirdly, but that was alright.

“Healing potion slimes! That’s right!”

Erin snapped her fingers and fished around for the piece of parchment to write that down. Then she went on her way.

There wasn’t enough time in the day for everything she needed to do. From Octavia’s, Erin made a beeline to the Frenzied Hare in Celum. She was a bit leery of inviting Agnes to the Christmas party, but happily the woman was out.

Unhappily, everyone was out of the Frenzied Hare. The doors were locked, and Erin had left her key to the building back in her inn. When she asked why it was closed, she learned that Miss Agnes had taken a holiday with her sick husband. That essentially meant spending all the coin Erin had helped her earn by staying at someone else’s inn and eating lavish food.

Erin just shook her head when she heard that and asked where she could find Wesle, Jasi, and the other actors. She was pointed to a building that had been bought out by the troupe of [Actors]—a freshly painted sign advertised nightly performances.

“Presents?”

Jasi blinked at Erin as she turned from their rehearsal of My Fair [Lady] to talk. Grev, hovering backstage with water and the scripts for the actors, looked up sharply.

“That’s right!”

Erin smiled at the younger Drake as she explained about Christmas for the umpteenth time. By the time she was done, Grev was a new convert to the dream of getting presents for free, and Jasi and some of the other [Actors] including Wesle were happy enough to join in Erin’s present-giving program.

“So you’ll tell us who we’re getting presents for, right? Can you tell us now? If it’s in two days, I’d like to get started shopping right away.”

“Uh—I’ll have a list by tonight!”

Erin promised the troupe as she tried to figure out how best to do that. She’d probably need a list. Or a diagram. She should have bought more parchment and ink!

Jasi caught Erin as the girl was getting ready to get back to her inn—this time to get ready for dinner.

“If you’re making everyone give gifts for each other in secret, do you mind if I ask that you let me buy a gift for Grev?”

“Of course!”

Erin smiled at Jasi.

“You’ve gotta get one for him, and I’ll make him get one for you! Anyone else you want to put on the list? Maybe Wesle?”

“Maybe.”

Jasi blushed and fiddled with her claws as she looked the other way. Erin had a thought.

“Or maybe Olesm! He’s a Drake, like you! Not that it matters, but it could be a good way to introduce yourself to him. I know you don’t know many Drakes since you live in Celum…”

“Maybe not, Erin. I mean, I don’t know other Drakes. I wouldn’t know what to buy. But maybe instead of Wesle, you could put down that Pisces guy? He’s handsome.”

Jasi smiled. The smile faltered as Erin gave her a look flatter than paper. Without a word Erin backed towards the door and then shut it. Then she opened it again to smile.

“I’ll do my best!”

She paused.

“But seriously, no. Pisces? No.”

She shut the door again.

—-

That night, the Wandering Inn saw a record-breaking number of guests. Again. Word had spread about the game of Go, and Erin had more than a few visitors who came just to sit at the tables and play with the now vaguely-round stones.

There was a lot of competition, and Erin was touched to see the Antinium playing against Drakes and Gnolls with scarcely a second glance. Pawn and Belgrade were among the better players in the room, and that was including the mages and Olesm. Pisces seemed to have a knack for the game, but those who practiced strategy for a living still had an advantage over everyone else in the room.

Except for Erin. She was delighted beyond belief to have actually lost a game—an event which made Olesm race outside and dance about the inn for ten minutes straight—but she was still a better player than everyone else by sheer virtue of practice. But she was happy. Happy, though she was having trouble standing up. Her legs were aching and her arms hurt from hauling a bunch of frozen meat back to her inn.

Klbkch didn’t come that night, but Relc did. He slipped into the inn, hesitating a bit when he saw Erin. But she pretended not to see him at first, and instead helped Belgrade as he played a very close game against Olesm.

“Ooh, an apple!”

Relc spotted a plate with apple slices sitting on a table. After a surreptitious look around, he happily crunched down the slices, still as fresh and as crisp as when they’d been cut, which was yesterday.

Erin stared at Relc, and then smiled.

“Everything going well?”

“Hm?”

He jumped guiltily and then turned to her.

“Oh. Hey Erin.”

“Hey, Relc.”

They stood in silence for a few seconds. Then Erin gestured to the table.

“Want some food? Today’s dish is beef broth, mashed potatoes, roast beef, gravy, mushroom-and-meat skewers, boiled greens—those tube greens, you know—and honey-drizzled steamed carrots. What would you like?”

Relc gave Erin a pleading look.

“Can I have…everything?”

She smiled. Some things didn’t change. In this at least, she was glad.

“Sure. Coming right up!”

When he was eating happily, Erin sat with Relc and—talked. Just for a little bit.

“So you’ve really been good?”

He paused, licking the spoonful of potatoes with a long tongue.

“Can’t complain. That damn dungeon’s spitting out monsters now and then, but Captain Z’s got us guarding in shifts and we’ve built some fortifications. Really, the most annoying part is all the adventurers coming in and out.”

“Why, are they rude to you?”

“Yeah! They look down their noses on the way in, and on the way out they run to us with their tails tucked between their legs, begging us to stop the icky monsters.”

Relc laughed and Erin smiled.

“Sounds like a lot of work. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Well…you know me. I’m tough!”

Relc thumped his chest and looked sideways at Erin.

“You got rid of that skeleton thing, right?”

“Yeah. I had to.”

“Good. I mean, it was going to go bad. You can’t trust the undead.”

“I guess not.”

“And the uh, Goblins are gone. I didn’t do anything!”

“I know.”

Silence. For once, Erin didn’t have much to say. Relc was a friend. He had been a friend. But after a while, she stood up.

“If you want anything else, just yell. Lyonette and I can handle it.”

“Sure.”

Relc turned awkwardly to his food. Then he looked at Erin.

“That Gnoll kid you’ve got there—I heard some of the guys talking in the barracks about her. White fur’s bad, right?”

Erin hesitated.

“I think so. To Gnolls.”

“Yeah. But they’re stupid. It’s good that you took her in. Real good.”

Relc and Erin paused, full of words unspoken. Then Erin nodded and walked away. Someone was calling her name.

She chanced upon the Horns of Hammerad after she’d helped serve more alcohol. They were sitting at their own table, talking amongst themselves. The topic happened to be the items Ryoka had analyzed.

“We couldn’t get a reply from her, but what she said sounded good. Really good.”

Ceria told Erin as she slid into a seat. The half-Elf sounded like she was half-trying to convince herself. Yvlon nodded, as did Ksmvr, but Pisces looked less sanguine. Ceria began listing off the items, keeping her voice low as she whispered to Erin.

“A magical sword with the weight enchantment—a good one. That’s powerful. A buckler with a spelled defense? That’s Gold-rank gear right there, for Yvlon probably. And that dagger? Valuable. Pisces, you or I could use it, or Ksmvr could wield it in his off-hand…”

“And that’s all.”

Pisces took a deep draft from his tankard.

“That’s all, Springwalker. We don’t know more, so we don’t know if that’s it, or if Ryoka found something truly of worth.”

“She didn’t tell you anything else?”

Yvlon shook her head.

“She promised us that there’s more, but she was only willing to list those three weapons in case someone was reading our messages. I’d worry someone might try to steal the artifacts, but if she’s travelling in Magnolia Reinhart’s coach…”

“It might be that she was trying to spare our feelings.”

Pisces slumped in his chair. He seemed morose. Ceria shook her head.

“I don’t believe that.”

“Why not? Those are all of the weapons we recovered. Save for the sword blade—broken. What else could be of worth?”

“Plenty. There was that bag of holding—and the enchantments on the weapons are powerful.”

“I suppose they are.”

Pisces sighed as Ceria began listing the things that might be hidden inside the bag of holding they’d found, or the adventurer’s pack. Yvlon listened, occasionally adding a suggestion, and Ksmvr sat, looking from Pisces to Ceria.

The Horns of Hammerad were more nervous than happy about the items Ryoka had identified. Erin wondered if there really were more artifacts than the three weapons. It didn’t matter. Either way, her goal was to raise their spirits, so Erin interrupted Ceria and began explaining Christmasian theory. Again.

“Presents? I guess we could go out shopping. Only…”

“I’ll lend you some money. You can pay me back. I know you’re good for it.”

“Some adventuring group we are.”

Yvlon shook her head, but she was smiling at the thought of Christmas.

“You know, we did something similar. It wasn’t something as large as a present, but we’d get sweets during the winter solstice. I used to look forwards to that every year.”

“Sweets is a good present! Uh, especially since I didn’t make the list yet.”

Erin winced as she realized she’d have to run around and tell everyone who their secret two people were tomorrow. She left the Horns of Hammerad as she spotted someone else in the crowd.

“Selys! Selys!”

“Erin! Where have you been? I haven’t seen you for ages!”

The two laughed and sat down at another table. Selys was just about to tell Erin all about her troubles managing the guild with so many new adventurers when Erin remembered her magical soups and hurried into the kitchen to get them. She called over Halrac and some of the other adventurers as she explained how they worked.

“What do you think? Can I interest you in any of it?”

Ulrien, Halrac, Seborn, and Selys all stared dubiously down into the jar of blue, thick soup Erin had opened. It did not look appetizing, but after a second Halrac picked up the jar. He sniffed it once, and then gulped a mouthful down. Selys shuddered. Halrac’s face didn’t change as he handed it to Ulrien.

“Not bad. We don’t need it, but I can mention it to some [Scouts] I know.”

“You think they’d want it?”

Halrac raised his eyebrows.

“This? Oh yes. If they can move around with less clothing on, it’s less to carry and less noise. They’ll buy it.”

“Adventurers too. Anyone wearing armor in the snow will want this.”

Ulrien made a face as he swallowed. He pushed the jar over to Selys. The Drake raised her hands.

“I can get grandma—uh, the Guild to sell this. But I’m not drinking it.”

“Aw. Come on Selys, it’s not that bad. And it works! Just try it!”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No, Erin.”

“Pretty please?”

“No.”

“Well, okay. But wait until you see this potion! It makes your skin tough! Do you want to try it, Seborn?”

Sitting across the room, drinking some hot beef broth and wondering if she could get in on Erin’s business transaction, Octavia was just about to get up when a shadow blocked the light. She looked up and saw a Gnoll.

That wasn’t surprising around Liscor, Gnolls being a good percentage of the city’s population. But Octavia had met few Gnolls in Celum. She gulped as this one loomed over her. It—she—spoke in a deep, growling voice.

“Hrm. You are Octavia, yes?”

“Yes?”

Octavia squeaked. Krshia smiled, baring all of her teeth.

“I am Krshia. A [Shopkeeper]. I am told you may wish to let me sell your potions, yes? Let us talk business.”

“You? But I—did Erin—”

Octavia glanced helplessly towards Erin, but Krshia had already pulled out a seat. Octavia did her best to pull herself together. A customer was a customer, and she was a master at selling.

“Well, Miss, uh, Krshia, I’m one of the three best [Alchemists] in Celum. I don’t like to brag, but I’ve sold potions to Gold-rank adventurers and I get commissioned regularly to do research creating new potions. Now, my brews might not be the most standard, but I can assure you that my percentage is quite reasonable. A fifty percent cut of all profits is a good place to start, but I could—”

“Mm. What is your level?”

The [Alchemist] broke off nervously. Krshia was just staring at her, unblinkingly.

“My—my level? Well, I think that’s a personal issue, and as we all know, levels don’t always correspond to Skills of c—”

“I will sell your potions, but if they are lower quality, I must price them as such, yes? And then…well, we shall see. I have many levels in my class, and that must be weighed, yes? If I, a high-level [Shopkeeper], were to sell your potions, I should get a better cut, yes?”

“Well, yes, but no, but—let’s talk effort here. I’m brewing the potions—”

“But I sell them, yes? I must sell your potions. If I do not sell, no one will buy, yes? So which is more important?”

“Hold on—if I didn’t make potions—”

Octavia’s mouth was dry, but she didn’t dare take a sip from her cup. She was fighting for something far more important than her life. The battle for the bigger bottom line was fought quietly in one corner of the inn. Tears were shed, and a little bit of blood. But on the whole, Erin thought she’d done a good job, especially when she saw the look on Octavia’s face afterwards.

—-

“It’s a pain in the ass.”

Halrac was talking to Erin at a table late at night. She was trying to look as attentive as possible. She hadn’t gotten a chance to speak with him since she’d come back, and she knew the man wanted to talk with her, even if he wouldn’t say it.

That was how the night was going. Sit at a table and chat. But don’t sit too long, because someone else would want to speak with her. Erin’s eyes hurt. She wanted to close them, but her friends were more important.

“How’s it a pain? I mean, this is a dungeon so I know there’s lots of monsters…”

“Monsters we could handle. If it were a nest we’d deplete their numbers and destroy their home. But this is a magical dungeon, one where the rooms keep changing. A trap room we disarm one day might be gone the next, and in its place an entirely new trap, or a room full of monsters.”

“And the traps are really bad, right? I’ve heard stories from Relc.”

“They’re some of the worst I’ve seen.”

Halrac shook his head, looking grimmer than usual.

“I’ve seen deadlier—the one that got your friends is probably worse than most of the ones in this dungeon. But there are so many that we can’t make any headway. And when we come back the next day…”

“They’ve changed.”

Erin whistled quietly and Halrac nodded. He took a sip of the drink Erin had made especially for him. There was just a drop of the faerie flower nectar in it, enough to take the edge of the day off.

“So far, a lot of kids have gotten killed and the others are making no headway. We’re the only group that’s gone in, and we have nothing to show for it.”

“Is there any hope? Or do you just…have to get lucky?”

Halrac shrugged.

“Right now we’re trying to identify all the rooms on rotation. If we can figure out the trick behind most of them, we might be able to break through to the next area. Then it’s just a matter of anchoring ourselves at that point. There are ways to stop a magical dungeon from changing. But it’s the crevasse the Mrsha child found that interests me. It goes straight down into another part of the dungeon.”

“And that’s good, right?”

“Maybe.”

The [Scout] seemed incapable of optimism. For good reason, as he explained to Erin.

“The problem with that is if we go down there, we’re walking into an attack on all sides. Multiple traps with wide ranges might come at us, and there are plenty of strong monsters down there. The dungeon is infested. When we went down to save the child, we ran into eight different species, some of which were fighting each other. If we hadn’t all been high-level, we wouldn’t have made it out.”

“Thank you for doing that, Halrac.”

“It was nothing. You should thank Zel Shivertail instead. He was the one who killed the most monsters.”

“Do you think he’d like to go into the dungeon with you guys?”

Erin saw Halrac smile, just once. She smiled too; her mission was partly accomplished.

“Him? He’s no adventurer. I wouldn’t have ever expected to fight beside him, but it was…good to see. But he wouldn’t risk his neck down there. It’ll be us.”

“And it’s worth doing?”

“Who knows?”

Halrac raised his eyebrows.

“There could be nothing down there, or an artifact beyond our wildest imagination. But we’re going to look anyways, because that’s what adventurers do.”

“Well, you can stay as long as you like. And I’ll have good food and a warm bed for you—and I want to see if Pisces really can rig up some kind of emergency teleport stone. If he does…I want you to all have one.”

Halrac smiled.

“You’re an odd [Innkeeper], Miss Solstice.”

“I know!”

“Thank you. It’s…pleasant being here.”

Erin smiled at him, and felt her eyes threatening to close.

“That’s all I want to hear. Would you like a refill?”

—-

And then it was night time. Somehow, everyone had vanished, leaving Erin alone in her inn. She sat at a table, head resting against the wall. It was dark. Snow was falling. Everyone had gone.

And Erin was beyond tired. She was so tired she had passed into that special realm where she was too tired to sleep. She stared out the window as the snow fell and made to bury the world. One last hurrah, before the weather turned and the world slowly began to warm.

“It’s going to be very, very deep tomorrow…I’ll have to shovel it…can’t open the door I bet…”

Erin murmured dreamily to herself, slurring the words. They were just fragments of thought, things she had to do. She had so much to do.

“I forgot to get a Christmas tree. Oh well. I guess I can try tomorrow…”

One day to get everyone to buy presents. She had to figure out who would get what first—probably before she talked to anyone. So now or before dawn. And Erin had to get presents herself, get ready for the party—buy more food, figure out traditional Christmasy foods, decorate the inn…

If she pushed the date back she’d have more time. But Christmas came before the New Year’s, didn’t it? And the winter solstice was…well, as close to a New Year as this world had. The Frost Faeries probably only cared about the solstice, anyways.

“Solstice.”

Erin stared out the window. She breathed and the glass fogged up. Erin wiped away the condensation and stared into the snowy landscape.

So tired. But she’d done good, hadn’t she? She’d brought a game to this world, talked with everyone, helped Krshia, Octavia…but she was tired.

So tired. She’d wake up in a few hours. Before dawn. She had a lot to do. So Erin should sleep. She knew that. But she was too tired for that. She just wanted—well, she wanted so many things. But right now she just wanted to sleep.

Was today a bad day? No, it was good. Then why did Erin feel hollow inside? Miserable? Why would she feel like that?

If you’re sad, just smile. Had someone told Erin that once? Or was it just something she’d grown up knowing?

Her lips twitched. Erin smiled, and then let it fade. She stared out of the window, resting her head against the wall. Not crying. Not smiling. Just staring.

She felt just a little bit tired.

At some point, Erin fell asleep. But she wasn’t quite asleep. She hovered between waking and slumber, so that reality became a dream, but she was still thinking.

Smiles. She’d seen them today. That was what she’d set out to collect, like Santa getting his presents or the tooth faerie flying from bed to bed. They were such brief things, smiles. But they were so valuable. And Erin had collected so many…

A smile from Krshia. Brunkr’s bared teeth, determined, hopeful. Mrsha’s big smile as she licked honey off a paw. Lyonette’s mischievous grin as she fed Revi mushrooms. Relc happily eating the apple. Octavia and her gold. Jasi, performing. Bird, eating bees…

Fragments. In her dream, Erin reached out and gathered the glowing shards to herself. They were the one light in a dark world filled with snow. But when she touched them, they melted and dripped from her hand. They fell down into the blackness and became stars. Erin looked down and found herself staring up into the sky. The clouds were gone, and the stars shone down. She smiled then, and she was smiling when Lyonette found her asleep the next day.

And the word that spread through the city, through two cities, was simple. It was a word never heard in this world before, a word that would not topple kings from their thrones or start revolutions. But it was a special word, nonetheless. It was something new, something that might be important, or might not. It was as important as people thought it was. But it was special to the girl who lay sleeping in her inn, too tired to lie down. It meant happiness. It was a word for joy, a word for the season. A word of power. A word from home.

A memory.

Christmas.

3.40

When Ryoka left the Mage’s Guild she found Reynold waiting for her. The young woman was not surprised; she let the [Butler] fall into step beside her as she walked slowly down the street.

Reynold was not smiling. Not that he was usually beaming; but he normally carried himself with professional impartiality. Right now he was not smiling and it was quite clear he was also not happy.

“Miss Ryoka. I trust your visit to the Mage’s Guild was eventful?”

“You tell me.”

“I trust I conveyed Lady Reinhart’s wishes to you earlier? My duty is to accompany you as an escort—”

“Yeah. But I’ll just bet that I had other people watching me while you were busy with Laken. Stop glaring, Reynold. I’m not in a good mood right now.”

Reynold glared, but he decided to shut his mouth after a second of wavering. Ryoka saw him glancing at her face. In truth, she wasn’t angry. She was more tired. No; tired wasn’t the right word.

Valceif Godfrey was dead. It felt like no one in the world knew or cared. But Ryoka did. She cared, but she had to finish her job here. Then she could go back and—tell everyone. Tell Erin, and Hawk, at least.

“How’d it go in the Merchant’s Guild?”

Ryoka frowned at the sky as she spoke. It was quite dark, although it shouldn’t have been so early. The clouds had completely obscured the sun and snow was beginning to fall. A lot of snow.

The [Butler]’s voice was testy as he replied.

“Mister Laken has concluded most of his business to his satisfaction. A shipment of goods and food has been paid for—and two adventuring teams have been contacted. If all goes well, they should be ready to begin transport this very night.”

“Good. Thanks for helping him.”

“It was my pleasure, Miss Ryoka. It is my privilege to serve others in need of my assistance…whether I like it or not, apparently.”

“Hah. You’re a lot more fun when you’re upset, Reynold.”

Ryoka half-smiled as she turned to look at him. Then she looked up again. Ryoka frowned and prodded at her belt pouch.

“Ivolethe? Hey, Ivolethe. What’s with all this crap floating down? We’re already up to our knees in the snow; why do we need more?”

She saw the pouch at her belt rustling, and then Ivolethe poked her head out. The Frost Faerie grinned as she spread her arms wide at the dark, snowy sky.

“Ah, you see it? Do you see your doom, floating down from above? Prepare for wrack and ruin, ye mortals! This snowstorm will be the greatest in a century, nay, in ten thousand years! The snow will cover the earth and leave none alive! This is the dawn of a new age of ice and woe! Alack! Despair!”

Ryoka stared down at Ivolethe with narrowed eyes. The faerie stared back, blinking innocently.

“What does ah, Miss Ivolethe have to say, Miss Ryoka?”

“She says we’re all doomed.”

“Oh.”

“Yep.”

The two Humans didn’t react the way Ivolethe was hoping for. She scowled, and then answered in a sulky tone of voice.

“A blizzard comes. You will see it become strongest by nightfall. It will last two…nay, three days at most. If you hide in your small huts of wood and stone, you should be fine.”

“Thanks for the weather update. Buh-bye.”

Ryoka closed the lid on her belt pouch. Ivolethe made a sound of pure outrage; Ryoka winced as her pouch instantly frosted over. The faerie pushed the lid open as Ryoka turned to Reynold.

“Is Laken still at the Guild? I want to speak with him.”

“I believe he has retired to his lodgings for the moment, Miss Ryoka.”

“Okay. Where are they?”

“I regret to say that he did not inform me.”

“Okay. Where are they?”

Ryoka stopped and turned to face Reynold. She folded her arms and scowled at him.

“Don’t play games, Reynold. I know that someone followed them.”

He just shook his head, stepping to one side to allow a group of laughing Gnolls to pass him by.

“Miss Ryoka, you assume that other servants under Lady Reinhart’s employ would be following you. I regret to inform you that this is not the case. There are a finite number of people who serve her, and it is hardly useful to send a [Maid] or a [Waiter] to follow someone.”

Ryoka rolled her eyes.

“Look, Reynold. I don’t have to see someone to know they’re there. I know Magnolia’s type. Someone’s following me, and probably Laken as well by now. Now, we can wander around while you pretend you have no idea where Laken is, or we can skip that and just ask your friends.”

“I’m afraid I cannot help you, Miss Griffin.”

“Right. In that case—Ivolethe? Where’s the nearest spy?”

The Frost Faerie, who’d been poking her head out of Ryoka’s belt pouch, brightened up. She smiled wickedly at Reynold. He was shaking his head almost imperceptibly at her. But Ivolethe ignored that as she gleefully pointed a finger into the crowd of pedestrians.

“There!”

Ryoka turned her head and saw an old man with a horrible skin condition—some kind of puffy warts on the right side of his face—slowly moving down the other side of the street. She ignored Reynold as he tried to block her and strode right for the man.

“Hey, you.”

The old man didn’t notice Ryoka at first, but he eventually stopped when she stepped in front of him and blocked his way. He swayed back, staring uncertainly at her—and then avidly at her breasts. He looked confused as Ryoka stared at him.

“Eh? What do you want, Miss?”

The young woman ignored the scrutiny. She stared down at the elderly man as Reynold hurried to her side, looking anxious.

“Where is Laken Godart?”

“Who? I don’t know who that is. What do you want?”

He tried to move past Ryoka. She blocked his way again. Now the old man was looking anxious. He looked exactly like an old guy – he even smelled old, if old was a smell. Nonenal, Ryoka thought it was called. She glanced down at her belt pouch, suddenly not entirely certain.

“Ivolethe, I swear, if you’re messing with me I’ll be really pissed.”

“I’m not!”

“Miss Ryoka, please—”

Ryoka turned to glare at the [Butler].

“Shut up, Reynold. Look, I know you’re in Magnolia Reinhart’s employ. Are you going to give up the act, or do I have to make a scene?”

Ryoka stared down at the old man, not quite making a fist. The old man glanced at Reynold. The [Butler] spread his arms helplessly behind Ryoka’s back. After a second, the old man sighed. He reached for a ring on one of his gnarled fingers and twisted—

A [Maid], wearing a frilled dress and peeved expression on her face, straightened up in the middle of the street where the old man had been standing. The people around her did a double take, but Ryoka just smiled.

“Nice ring.”

The woman was in her late twenties, or early thirties. She had a tight bun of dark brown hair and an expression that naturally lent itself towards severity. Or maybe she just had a Skill that made her look that way. She didn’t quite glare at Ryoka.

“This way, Miss Ryoka. Your friend is staying at the Crag Pig, quite a few streets away from here. If you will follow me…?”

—-

It was a short and uneventful walk to the inn Laken was staying at. Uneventful for Ryoka, that was. Reynold kept his head bowed and shoulders hunched as he and the mysterious [Maid] walked ahead of Ryoka. She could see the [Maid] speaking to Reynold the entire way, and Ryoka was fairly sure what was being said weren’t compliments.

She felt a bit bad for Reynold. But just a bit. Ryoka was grateful for the speed at which both servants walked—they moved fast down the most crowded of streets. Their attire made them stand out, and Ryoka saw them getting a lot of looks as she followed them.

It was funny. Ryoka smiled as she walked. When the two of Magnolia’s servants turned back to look at her, they saw her smiling and staring down at the fat snowflakes swirling down from the sky.

It was a look seldom seen on Ryoka’s face. But Ryoka had just realized the silliness of her situation. She was following a [Butler] and a [Maid] down a street in a city that could have come from her world with a few alterations, carrying a Frost Faerie in her belt pouch.

It was just so silly. And sad. That Ryoka could smile made it a bit better.

She stared up at the inn as the [Maid] led them to it. Ryoka ignored the woman as she stepped away from Reynold and practically vanished into the next crowd of Humans.

The Crag Pig was an inn with the head of, well, probably a Crag Pig mounted on the front. This skull was quite, quite big, and had a pair of tusks that curved slightly upwards. They were long, jagged—and branched, like the horns of an antler. Ryoka wondered if that was because they were useful in the Crag Pig’s natural habitat, or whether the skull being here was a testament to their qualities.

“Well, I guess I’d better have a chat. Reynold, if you would?”

The [Butler] opened the doors and Ryoka walked in. Her first impression of the inn was that it was definitely not as nice as Erin’s. The Crag Pig’s owner must have thought that the name of his inn excused the dirt, or else the name was a warning.

Still, the room was packed and a fire was taking the chill off. Ryoka looked around and saw a man and a woman waiting the tables, but no [Innkeeper]. She shrugged, found the stairs, and headed towards them.

“Welcome, sir! Let me find you a table. Please—I’ll have a seat for you and a hot drink right away!”

To her amusement, Ryoka saw a big man—a former adventurer perhaps—hurry out of the kitchen and accost Reynold as he tried to follow her. The owner of the inn had scars all over his arms, and he was trying to usher the protesting Reynold into a seat.

There were flaws with being impeccably dressed after all. Not that Reynold’s attire would be so dashing if he sat down in one of the chairs in this inn. Ryoka shook her head as she went up the stairs two at a time.

“Now, where’s Laken…? Ah.”

It was the work of five seconds to find Laken’s room. Not because the door was open or Ryoka spotted anyone coming out; there was simply only one room that could conceivably hold someone of Durene’s size. It was probably the master suite.

Ryoka headed towards the door and knocked twice.

“Laken? It’s me, Ryoka Griffin.”

Someone had been talking inside the room. When Ryoka knocked, the voice stopped abruptly. Ryoka listened for sounds of movement, but heard none.

It was a surprise, then, when the door opened and Ryoka saw Durene staring down at her. For such a big girl, Durene could move quite silently.

“Hi. Durene, right? Is Laken inside? I want to talk with him.”

“He’s inside.”

The young woman nodded and tried to walk inside. But a very thick, grey-skinned arm shot out to block her. Ryoka looked up and saw Durene staring down at her.

“Please move. I’m just going to talk to him.”

“You ran away earlier. And you haven’t said why you’re here.”

“Yeah. I had something to do.”

Ryoka stared up at Durene. The half-Troll girl was hostile, but…Ryoka thought it was more than just wariness around Ryoka.

“I don’t trust you.”

“Okay.”

Possessiveness, that was it. Ryoka remembered how Durene hovered around Laken. She was treating him like…

A few thoughts flashed through Ryoka’s mind. Dependency? Probably. She could imagine what might occur when Laken had come to this world. Blind guy meets half-Troll. A reverse case of Beauty and the Beast. But the beast is actually a girl who was afraid of losing the one person who didn’t fear her.

“I’m not your enemy. And I’m not going to do anything to Laken. I just want to talk with him.”

“Why?”

Ryoka bit her tongue. Durene’s tone told her there was no good answer she could give. She knew that because it was the exact same tone of voice she used to use when talking with her father.

“Look, is Laken in there? Laken—”

“He’s sleeping. You can come back later.”

Durene shifted so more of her body was in the way. Ryoka stared up at her. Well, there were several ways this could go.

“Can you wake him up? I need to talk to him now. I’m sorry if that’s a problem, but it’s urgent.”

“No. He’s tired. You can come back later. If you try to come in, I’ll stop you.”

One of Durene’s hands closed. Ryoka eyed it and put her hands on her belt. She knew Ivolethe was sitting in her belt pouch, but it wasn’t that Ryoka was reaching for. At her belt, there were several potions Octavia had given her. Ryoka put her fingers on one of them, second from the right.

“Look, I understand you’re Laken’s…protector. And girlfriend. I’m not here to do anything to him, but I need to talk with him. And you shouldn’t start a fight here.”

“Oh yeah? Why not? I could stop you.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

Ryoka sighed. She yanked the potion free from her belt in one move. Durene blinked down at it. Ryoka put her thumb on the cork—

And handed it to Durene.

“Here.”

The huge girl stared dumbfounded at the potion. She peered at Ryoka suspiciously.

“What’s this?”

“A pepper potion. Toss it at your opponent and they’ll go blind. Be careful—if it gets in your eyes you’ll be screaming about it all day. If you’re going to go around picking fights, at least get some magical items and a weapon.”

Durene looked uneasy as she held the potion.

“Were you going to hit me with this?”

“No, I’d use a spell and blind you first and then I’d hit you with the potion. Actually, I’d probably just blow up this entire corridor and run downstairs while everything burns down.”

Ryoka had two bags of compressed flour and the blaze potions. She didn’t know if it would actually hurt Durene that badly; she had a feeling that would only piss the girl off. But it made Durene stop and think.

“Keep the potion. You’ll probably need it. If it’s you—you could probably pour it on your hands and just punch people in the face. Not that they’re likely to get up after you hit them, but it’s a thought. Just don’t touch your eyes until after you’ve washed them thoroughly—with soap. Can I talk to Laken now?”

Durene just stared at Ryoka. She hesitated, looked down at the potion with bits of red pepper floating in it, and over her shoulder.

“Wait here. I’ll wake him up.”

Ryoka waited patiently. She heard Reynold come up the stairs—the [Butler] looked as though he’d had to tear himself physically away from the innkeeper.

A few voices muttered inside, and then the door opened. Durene let Ryoka walk in, but blocked Reynold.

“Ryoka can talk. Everyone else stays outside.”

Reynold protested, but Ryoka didn’t hear his conversation with Durene. The first thing she saw when entering Laken’s room made her stop in place. Because she’d seen Frostwing.

The baby bird was snoozing on a little platform made into a nest for him. He was surrounded by a warm blanket, and his ‘nest’ was more ripped-up shreds of fabric than actual cloth. It was also stained quite badly with his droppings. But the bird shone in Ryoka’s gaze.

“Wow.”

He looked like an eagle. Well, vaguely like an eagle. Ryoka had never studied bird species, but she knew only one kind of bird grew that big.

No—if size was the comparison, than Frostwing was more like an albatross than an eagle. Because he was clearly young, still a nestling, but he was almost the size of a full-grown chicken already.

And he was blue. That was the important thing. Frostwing’s feathers glittered in the light as he opened and flapped his wings, protesting this stranger’s intrusion into his home. Ryoka saw each feather glittering like a jewel; they had a subtle gradient that made the dark oxford blue of the inner part of each feather fade to a brilliant sky blue on the tips.

A blue bird. But not any bird. For a second, Ryoka was lost to the world. She was in another place, sitting on the balcony in her home, ten years old, holding a Gameboy and playing the video game that had defined her life at that time—

“Ryoka? Is that you?”

She looked up. Laken was sitting on the large bed, yawning and turning his head around the room. A young man was standing by his side, offering him assistance that Laken clearly didn’t need.

Laken, and…Gamel, was it?

“I’m here, Laken.”

Ryoka approached the bed. That was a bad move. She was still staring at Frostwing—too long. The bird may have been a child, but it had instincts that made it wary of anything that stared at it.

Frostwing shrieked his displeasure. Durene backed away, covering her ears as Gamel tried unsuccessfully to sooth the agitated young bird. Ryoka just stared as Frostwing spread his wings, shedding brilliant blue feathers onto the ground.

“Oh for the love of—here!”

Laken turned, frowning, and fumbled his way towards Frostwing. He reached out and the bird shut up as one of his hands found a piece of dried meat and offered it to the bird.

“Shh, Frostwing. Shut up. There’s a good bird.”

Laken stroked the crest on Frostwing’s head and the bird stopped shrieking. It tore greedily at the bit of meat and Laken turned to Ryoka, looking sheepish.

“Sorry. Pet bird. I’ve had to apologize to the innkeeper already. At least he wasn’t doing this in the middle of the night this time. It is daytime, right?”

“That’s right. I’m here to talk some more. Sorry about dropping in unexpectedly.”

“No it’s no problem—”

Laken rubbed at his face. He looked tired.

“Ah…Gamel?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Can you…get me something to drink? And a snack, maybe? Durene, did I hear someone else was here?”

“Yes. It’s that [Butler]. Reynold.”

“Mister Laken, I apologize for the intrusion. But—”

“Yes, yes. Okay, Gamel, I’ll handle Frostwing. He doesn’t need food—he just needs to take another nap. Durene, please guard the door? I think I need to talk to Ryoka. Alone.”

“Okay, Laken.”

There was something about Laken. When he spoke, things got done. Ryoka watched the protesting Reynold get slowly pushed out the door. She waved at him before Durene closed the door. Laken sat on the edge of his bed, slowly petting Frostwing as the bird rubbed its head against his palm.

“You have a bird.”

“Yes. Ryoka, meet Frostwing. Frostwing—don’t nip my fingers.”

Ryoka stared at Frostwing. Her eyes turned back to Laken.

“You have a bird. It’s blue.”

He frowned.

“Yes—yes I do. I found Frostwing near Durene’s cottage. I think his mother died of starvation or—something else. I took Frostwing in. I actually have a class from raising him. [Beast Tamer].”

“Oh?”

Ryoka stared at Frostwing. She felt like she had to repeat herself.

“It’s blue. I—excuse me.”

She reached for her pocket as Laken frowned. She knew it was stupid, but Ryoka had to do this. She pulled her iPhone out of her pocket and turned it on.

—-

Laken was still a bit bleary from waking up, but he was trying to get his thoughts together quickly. Ryoka was here. That was good. He had so many questions he wanted to ask her, but he had to be careful, didn’t he? He wasn’t sure of her. Not yet. But she was from his world. Or—and here his cautious self spoke up—she was pretending to be. Could this all be a ploy? Her knowing German meant someone had come from another world, but maybe she was using a Skill? Was that possible?

Ryoka wasn’t saying much. She seemed to be fixated on Frostwing. Was it really that special that he was blue? Laken tried to remember if there were other blue birds back home. Obviously he’d never seen any, but…blue birds, what about them? What made Frostwing stand out that much?

Then he heard something. It was faint, muffled, and familiar. Laken frowned.

“Ryoka? Are you there?”

No response. Laken hesitated, and then leaned towards the source of the muted music. His eyes widened.

“Is that…is that the Pokemon theme song?”

Ryoka pulled the earbuds out.

“No.”

“It is!”

Laken smiled and laughed.

“You’re a Pokemon fan!”

“I was. Once. A long time ago.”

Ryoka shifted, coughed. Laken couldn’t see, but she’d turned bright red. Laken grinned.

“Does Frostwing remind you of a Pokemon that much?”

“Yeah. He looks like Articuno, you know?”

“That’s a Pokemon?”

“A legendary. One of the legendary birds from the original one hundred and fifty.”

“Ah. I never actually played Pokemon growing up. Sort of hard when you can’t see anything.”

“Oh. Right.”

Ryoka coughed again, clearly embarrassed. Laken was smiling so hard it hurt. For just a few moments, he felt like he was back home, back in his world.

“You’re a fan. I had no idea. Did you play that new thing coming out? Pokemon Go?”

“I uh, a bit. It was a long time ago. Or it feels like it. I…was teleported here a few days after I downloaded the app, actually.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The conversation fell flat in an instant. Ryoka shifted as she glanced at Frostwing again. Laken blinked and gestured with his other hand.

“I’m so sorry. Please, sit. I don’t know where the chair is, but I’m assured we have at least two.”

“I see it.”

Ryoka dragged the chair over as Laken tried to make Frostwing go to sleep. He thought it worked, or at least, the bird had given up moving. He turned and sat cross-legged on his bed as he faced in Ryoka’s direction.

“I think Durene gave you some trouble as I was sleeping. Is that right?”

“Just a bit. She’s protective of you.”

Laken smiled wryly.

“She is. Thank you for not hitting her with that potion.”

Ryoka shrugged, and then remembered Laken couldn’t see any of her gestures.

“It’s nothing. Good thing we didn’t meet a month or two ago or I’d have gotten my head pushed through a wall.”

“Really?”

“I picked a fight with a Minotaur one time. That was one of the dumber things I’ve ever done.”

“Minotaurs exist in this world?”

“Yup. They’re touchy and prideful. And fairly rude, but they are honorable.”

“Fascinating. I’ve heard this continent has mainly…Gnolls, is it? And Drakes?”

“They inhabit the southern parts, yes. Invrisil is sort of an exception—it’s a major city so a lot of races come here. But you’ll generally find only Humans in the north.”

“I understand. Durene’s village is totally Human save for her.”

“Hm.”

The two sat in silence for another second. Ryoka sat still in her chair; Laken wiggled around, wondering if there was something that he was sitting on. A fork, maybe? Whatever it was, it was poking into his butt.

Unnoticed by the two of them, a third being was present in the room, listening. Ivolethe sat in Ryoka’s pouch, listening carefully. The Frost Faerie considered that her sisters would have hated the conversation between Ryoka and Laken. It wasn’t a thing of majesty or destiny. But it was important.

“I guess we should talk.”

“Yes, I guess we should.”

The boy and girl sat across from each other. They were old, but still young by the way the faerie reckoned such things. They had gone through sorrows, gone through trials. But they were still young. So young.

It was the girl who spoke first. She hesitated as she chewed at a lip, glancing towards the closed doors. Durene and Gamel stood behind it, but Ryoka knew the danger wasn’t something she could see.

“It’s complicated, you know? I want to say what’s on my mind but—”

“You did mention. Watchers and such.”

“Yeah. But if we assume we lost them or they can’t hear us—which I don’t—I’m fairly certain someone’s using magic to listen in.”

Laken raised his eyebrows calmly.

“Well, it’s not like we have anything to hide.”

“Hah.”

“Okay, fine. But how are you proposing we solve this problem? I have something I need to say which will clarify things.”

“I’m in the same boat. I can say that I have a friend—Erin Solstice who’s from our world straight off, but the rest is harder.”

“Someone else? You mentioned that—what’s she like?”

“Age wise? She’s twenty. Besides that, she’s…a normal girl. Sort of. She’s American, like me.”

“Interesting. I’m twenty-four. Not American. Can I assume you’re around that age?”

“Twenty one. You don’t look that old. You’re part German. Is there another half?”

Laken smiled.

“My mom’s German, but she married my dad in France. I’ve grown up all over Europe, though. As to my face—I’m told I have a youthful complexion.”

Ryoka had to smile. She glanced at the door and frowned.

“Good to know. I don’t think any of this is too bad to mention, but the rest…damn, I don’t know. Erin would probably come up with some special way of figuring this out. Flush out the spies with a crazy scheme and dispel the enchantments with an insane trick or just luck.”

“She sounds quite interesting.”

“She’s an [Innkeeper]. Look, I’m getting annoyed. Maybe we should just go for broke. What do you think? I doubt anyone knows German.”

“Wahrscheinlich. But can you speak it? I don’t want to be rude, but your pronunciation—”

“I know. But I’ve got a dictionary-encyclopedia. It’s an app—I might have to ask for spelling, but I can translate short sentences.”

“That’s…amazingly useful. In that case, translate this. Ich bin ein [Kaiser].”

It took Ryoka only a second to figure out what Laken had said. She didn’t need to use her iPhone. Instead, she dropped it. She fumbled around on the ground, heart beating wildly. When she sat back up she stared at Laken’s face.

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. I know it’s surprising, but it’s true. What about you?”

“I don’t have a class. I’m a Runner without the class. But you—get out.”

“It’s true!”

Laken smiled. He had no way of seeing Ryoka’s face, but her tone made her feelings clear.

“No, seriously, get out. Run away as far as you can. Do you have any idea how bad that is?”

“Bad? Why? Because of your—your Daenerys-like friend?”

“Yes! Not just her—Ivolethe!”

Ryoka shouted the faerie’s name. Laken jumped, and then gaped as the faerie floated upwards and spoke.

“What do ye want, Ryoka?”

“Go downstairs and flush out the spies. Please? And if there are enchantments, dispel them. Please. This is important.”

The faerie considered the request. Then she reluctantly nodded.

“I shall bring havoc! From the outside.”

She flew out the window as Laken tried to find words.

“Was that—a Frost Faerie?”

“You’ve met them?”

“Yes! Hell, I knighted a few of them. But they helped save Durene’s cottage from an avalanche—or caused it and spared her home. I’m not sure of which.”

“Well, I’m friends with one. Look, sit down. I’ll explain as much as I can—but the Frost Faeries probably didn’t cause the avalanche. They don’t kill, although they do pull horrible pranks.”

Ryoka and Laken sat down as, below them, they heard confused shouting. Ivolethe’s laughter was drowned out as she buzzed by the inn outside, but Ryoka could just imagine her hurling snow and ice into the building.

“Okay, let me begin from the start. The first thing you need to know is that I got here a few months ago. I’d say around…September? A while back. But Erin arrived before me. We don’t know how we got here, but I know there are other people in this world. I also know that not a lot of people know we exist. That woman I told you about—Lady Magnolia Reinhart. She employs Reynold and a bunch of other servants, and she’s one of the most powerful people on the continent…”

Laken listened intently as Ryoka whispered to him amid the sounds of the inn clearing out. He turned to tell Durene everything was fine when she told him the bottom half of the inn was covered with snow, but he mainly just listened as Ryoka gave him an abridged version of what had happened when she entered this world.

And then it was his turn. Ryoka didn’t just listen—she had her iPhone held in her lap, recording Laken’s every word as he spoke. She didn’t mention this fact, and neither did Laken or Ryoka ever mention certain key words aloud.

Words like [Emperor], gunpowder, iPhone, dragon, or a thousand other words from home. Ryoka was glad that Laken understood, and he picked up what she feared from what Ryoka never said.

“It sounds like you’ve had a rough time without a class. I can’t say I understand that bit.”

“I don’t like conformity.”

“You think that’s an issue—wait. I think I get it. Game system, right? But is there a puppet master?”

“Probably, yes.”

“Oh, really? How do you know?”

Laken sat forwards. Ryoka hesitated, and then leaned forwards as well. Though she knew Reynold and the other spies in the building were probably gone, she whispered to him in German.

“Ein Gott…lebt.”

A slow frown was her only reply. Laken sat back carefully.

“How?”

“I don’t know. But I talked with someone who assures me it’s true. And I believe him.”

“In that case—that is concerning. But still, as far as I understand it, the system is essential. You can’t fight a…a monster without Skills.”

“Yeah. But do we lose anything if we have a class?”

Laken’s voice was thoughtful.

“I don’t know. And honestly, I’m not sure I’d be willing to try and find out, if it were me. But if you want to be the test subject…I’m glad. It’s good to have someone who might be impartial. Especially if what you say is true.”

“I don’t know if they’re connected, but it seems so.”

“Oh, I agree. But really…alive?”

“Yes. And apparently talking about them gives them strength.”

Laken shivered.

“That’s horrific. Terrifying. But it sounds like this—person—isn’t too active?”

“No. I shouldn’t say lebt. More like…hold on. Schlafen. Aufwachen.”

“Ah.”

It was as if he’d taken a drink of water after being dehydrated. Laken felt everything snap more into place.

“I think I get it. Or at least, I have a hypothesis.”

“So do I. Either way? It’s bad news.”

“But from what you say, it doesn’t seem like that’s the reason we’re here. It’s probably a spell?”

“Someone said that there was a summoning spell. In Rhir.”

“Something to look into. I guess.”

Laken frowned and scrubbed at his hair.

“This is all so complex! How are we supposed to figure this out? It’s not as if we can just ask, and we don’t have people we can trust to find out. I don’t, at any rate. You have your [Lady] friend, but I don’t trust her further than I can throw her either.”

“Yeah, I’m not too keen on asking. But those angry ant people I told you about? Their entire race is scared spitless of this one person.”

Ryoka chewed her lip, feeling the same urgent panic rising in her chest when she thought about—

A God. A real God, sleeping under the earth.

She expected Laken to share at least a bit of her concern. But the blind man refused to panic.

“I get the issue. But they’re on another continent, right? There’s not much we can do right now—except spread the word, I guess, and find someone who can do something.”

“So you’re saying we don’t even think about it?”

It was impossible to glare at a blind man successfully. Laken smiled.

“Look, if we’re talking about this—person as a threat, then all we need is a devil, right? Anyone tried blood summoning, chanting in Latin, or hooded robes? Or we could get a few angry atheists. Who knows? It could work.”

Ryoka stared at Laken and then burst out laughing.

“You cocky bastard.”

He raised his hands, smiling and laughing with her.

“Hey, it’s a problem. But it’s not immediate, is it? If I panicked over all of the big things, I’d never get to sleep at night.”

“Fine. I get it. Back to you, then. You’re in a bind. Assuming no one catches wind of what you do, you’re going to need help for that village of yours.”

Laken nodded. He wove his fingers together and tightened his grip.

“I think we’ve got food and protection, but if you know anything about…anything, I’d love to have some help.”

Ryoka had to confess her knowledge was limited.

“I’ve got some information, but it’s all scattered. Ruling a village—good luck. Other than that, technology’s tricky. I’m not giving you the recipe for…well, firearms.”

“Perish the thought.”

“—And I can’t tell you how to make anything too useful. Steam engines, light bulbs…not exactly stuff your village needs right now.”

“No.”

Ryoka frowned as she tapped a finger on her leg, letting it bounce against the floorboards. Laken found the sound slightly annoying, but he waited patiently for Ryoka to finish thinking.

“Greenhouses might help. If you can get sheets of glass for the roof, you can build the rest of the structure out of other materials. That would extend your growing season—let you get a head start on growing.”

“Really?”

“There’s glass in this world. If you can get panes, or one large sheet—could be tricky, could be worth it. I see some parchment over there. I’ll use that, okay?”

“Feel free.”

Laken heard Ryoka rustling about and then her fiddling with the inkpot.

“Let me do a sketch. It’s all about keeping the heat in, more than letting it out—on that note, what about agricultural implements? I’d have to do more thinking, but the heavy plough is a good invention to check on.”

“I’m familiar with a plough—sort of. What’s the heavy one do?”

“It’s really just a way to make it better. You have wheels and…nah, it’s really just the wheels that change it. It lets a farmer move faster, reduces the burden, et cetera. See?”

“No, I don’t. But go ahead.”

He heard a chuckle.

“Okay…I’m drawing a diagram, but just ask whether the [Farmers] in your village use wheels on their ploughs. I’ll write down what I know about crop rotation too—”

They continued in that vein for a few more minutes. Then Laken switched the issue over to protection.

“I don’t think a palisade’s going to stop a monster, do you?”

“It’s worth a shot. A wall would be better.”

Ryoka raised her eyebrows as she sketched out the cross section of a wall. Laken had another thought.

“If we’re talking about walls, then what about trebuchets? You wouldn’t happen to know—”

“Hah. If you’re fighting monsters the size of castles, maybe. But they’re a pain in the ass to aim. Just build a catapult; you can probably figure out how. Actually, now that I think of it…a ballista might be easier than an onager.”

“Okay? What’s an onager?”

“That’s a catapult. The classic kind that hurls things like a spoon.”

“Oh. Yes, I could see that being useful.”

“I’ll write down how to make both for you.”

“And that’s not classified? I thought we were trying to reduce the spread of dangerous weapons.”

“I did my research. They’re already in use. The Drakes have them on some of their city walls, and they’re used around the world. The trick is that most people can’t build them. You have to have the [Engineer] class to build one.”

“Ah. No one bothers to learn. They just use a class.”

“Yep. But you can probably whip one together…just be careful with the tension on the rope. Build some prototypes and test them—carefully. Look, I’ll write this down and you can have someone read it. I’m sure your villagers can find some decent rope to use.”

“I’m sure they’ve got something. Okay, how about barns?”

“Barns?”

“Do you have a better way of building them, or something?”

“Good point. I can definitely tell you how to make a log wall…that’s just cutting the logs right. Uh…I don’t know about other building techniques. Let me get back to you on that. Shame there’s no metalworking industry or you could try mass-producing things like ring-shank nails…”

“You’re losing me here.”

Ryoka smiled as she bent over the parchment. She was running out of room. But surprisingly, she was enjoying her conversation with Laken. Did she trust him? A bit. A little bit.

An [Emperor]. She couldn’t imagine it. But he sat like one, or—perhaps the beginnings of one. She saw that now.

Emperor Norton. She remembered that story! The crazy guy who declared himself the Emperor of the United States. People might remember that story, but how many would think to do it here?

Not many. Ryoka had never dreamed of that. And it wasn’t just that. Could anyone really just become an [Emperor] by willing it? No. You had to have something else, or anyone could be an [Emperor], right? You had to have…

“The arrogance of a God.”

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. What was I saying?”

Ryoka went to dip her quill in the inkpot. She wished she had a pen. As she did, she glanced at the window, still ajar. She wondered when Ivolethe would come back—

And she was there. Ivolethe. She was hovering outside the window, watching Ryoka and Laken talk. Just watching. Ryoka froze, quill dripping blobs of ink.

There was something about the way the Frost Faerie stared at her. Something…

She was watching. Waiting. Ryoka felt a chill.

“Ryoka? Is something wrong?”

“I—I don’t know. I think there might be—”

How could she explain it to Laken? Ryoka was grasping at words, when she saw something move in front of her.

It was on the table she’d pulled up to write on. Her iPhone, still recording every word Laken spoke, began to vibrate. It shuddered on the wood surface a microsecond before Ryoka heard the familiar, annoying jangle of her ringtone.

Someone was calling her. Ryoka felt her breath catch in her chest.

“Is that—”

Laken reached for the iPhone, but Ryoka was faster. She saw the familiar calling screen, but there was nothing listed under the caller’s phone number, only the option to accept or decline.

“It’s my iPhone. I’m getting a call—”

“From who?”

“It has to be [BlackMage]!”

“Who?”

“The person who—I’m answering it.”

Laken held his breath as Ryoka gingerly tapped the glowing green phone symbol. Instantly, she heard a voice.

“—he’s not answering. Maybe try ag—hello? Hello? Can you hear me?”

Ryoka traded glances with Laken. He missed. Ryoka tilted her iPhone’s speaker towards her mouth cautiously.

“I can hear you. Who is this?”

“Oh my god. Is this—are you [batman]? [batman]’s a girl?”

It was a young man’s voice, excited, with the touches of…an English accent? Yes, it definitely wasn’t American. Ryoka carefully put the call on speaker phone as she and Laken crowded around her device. She put a finger to his lips and he nodded.

“This is great! I’ve tried calling you before and you didn’t pick up. Hi there! This is [BlackMage]! From the chat? Do you remember me? Well, I was calling you to—”

“Fuck you.”

Ryoka heard [BlackMage] pause. She saw Laken glance at her oddly, but she didn’t care. Anxiety had become irritation and anger in a second.

“What?”

“Go fuck yourself. Do you know how stupid it is to call someone like this? What would have happened if I were in a dungeon, or trying to hide from a monster?”

“I—”

“You have compromised my damn phone! You know that asshole was trying to find out locations! Do you think he’s really not trying to track us down right now? I’d bet anything that this kind of call can be traced. Now people know exactly where you and I are.”

“Hold on! We don’t know anyone’s tracking this call. I’m with a bunch of [Mages] and they say—”

“Screw what they say. This is dangerous. Didn’t you get that from your call?”

“That’s why I’m calling you!”

The young man on the other end of the line was getting angry. He spoke quickly before Ryoka could insult him again.

“We—the mages of Wistram and I—are trying to find people across the world! I’ve called a bunch of people and we’re trying to bring them here. To Wistram!”

“That is the stupidest—how do you know you’re not revealing their locations?”

“We—we’re using magic in secret.”

“Oh? Well, that makes me feel better.”

“Look, if you’re going to be an arsehole about this, I can hang up.”

“No, it’s too late now.”

Ryoka tried to calm herself down. She took a deep breath.

“Okay, why are you calling? To invite me to Wistram?”

“Yes. We can send help. We can have money sent—or get in touch with a local [Mage] affiliated with us who can help you reach the isle. But I contacted you first because you managed to uncover that fake wanker—[Kent Scott] and warn everyone. Do you know who he is?”

“No. I have no idea. But I was suspicious from the start. Forget [Kent Scott]. How do I know I can trust you, or anyone?”

“I—look, you’re being fairly suspicious of me, don’t you think? I’m calling you—”

“And I don’t trust people who call me out of the blue. How can we prove that these people at Wistram are trustworthy?”

“We can’t.”

Ryoka heard [BlackMage] gasp on the other end of the line. Laken took the iPhone from her and spoke into it. She stared at him, wanting to signal him, but it was impossible to do visually. She tapped his hand with a finger—he waved his hand at her and then gave her a thumbs up.

“Excuse me? Who is this?”

“Call me L. I’m from our world as well. I just met [batman].”

Laken kept his voice low as he spoke into the receiver. He was smiling as if he was enjoying his conversation with the flustered [BlackMage].

“Wow! You’ve met someone else? Where are you? Do you need help? What’s your class—I forgot to mention we’re keeping a list—”

“My class is secret. So is my location. If you can trace this phone call, well, good luck searching the continent. I’m sorry to be so secretive, but neither [batman] nor I are able to trust you, or Wistram at this point in time.”

“Why? Hey, we’re acting in good faith here—”

“Just think about it.”

Laken leaned back on the bed as he spoke carefully, choosing each word with deliberation.

“You say you want to help us. But how can we be sure that’s the case? Putting aside the reputation of Wistram, we can’t tell if you’re calling from there. You could be impersonating them—we have no way to tell. Telling you our location is dangerous, especially on what could be an unsecured call like this. You understand that, right?”

“I—I suppose I do. But how am I supposed to convince you I’m trustworthy?”

“That’s impossible at this moment. There’s no one in Wistram who could convince us, and a truth spell can’t be used. However…there is a way to tell everyone where to go and not reveal confidential information.”

“Really? How?”

Laken could feel Ryoka’s eyes on him, even if he couldn’t see her. He smiled.

“Don’t call anyone. But have Wistram—the Isle of Mages, right? Have them send out a proclamation, a message to every corner of the world. Something simple. Something anyone from our world could understand.”

“Oh!”

Ryoka nodded as she realized what Laken was saying. That could work. She spoke into the receiver.

“Say something like…‘To all the millennials, the Americans and citizens of the European Union and’—no, wait. That’s not right. Instead…send something in every language you can think of. One word. Come home. 家に帰る.”

“Nach Hause zurückkehren.”

“Ven a Casa. In every language you can think of. Understand?”

“I see!”

“But don’t stop there.”

Laken angled the iPhone towards his mouth and spoke urgently.

“Set it up so that anyone affiliated with Wistram will help someone from our world. But have them ask for confirmation. Something only someone from our world would know. Easy things, for every culture.”

“Like if you’re American—who’s the current president? Actually—shit. Be prepared for different answers. Someone might say Obama and not know who the current president is.”

“Good point! And some people might not speak English.”

“Hold on, let me write all this down!”

[BlackMage] was scrambling to keep up. Laken and Ryoka heard other voices, muffled in the background. She nudged him and he squeezed her arm. There were other people listening to the call.

“Okay, we can do that. Thanks for the advice!”

“No problem. Just be sure you know what you’re doing.”

“…How do you mean?”

Laken paused.

“If you do this, you’ll paint a target on your chest for the world to see. Understand—some people who’ve come to this world will not be friends. Just think about it. Assuming everyone who’s arrived is around the same age—you could get anyone from any part of the world. What if you got a radical extremist from ISIS?”

“Or someone from North Korea. Or a kid in a gang, a convicted criminal.”

“…I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Be careful. If everyone’s heading to Wistram, then the real battle becomes getting them there safely…and figuring out who’s trustworthy.”

“We can use spells for that. And Wistram is almost impossible to take by force. There are Golems here, Archmages…”

“If it’s so safe, we’ll find our way there. Eventually. But don’t call us again, understand? If you have to contact us—do it by chat.”

“I understand. And I will…I’ll have to tell the other mages about this, and see what they think.”

“Good. In that case, we’ll end the call.”

“Huh? But there’s so much we have to discuss!”

Laken felt a warning tug on his hand.

“Unfortunately, we can’t be sure who’s listening in. Continuing this phone call is too risky. Contact [batman] later if you have to. Try to find a securer means of communicating. Until then.”

“Wai—”

Laken hung up the phone. He handed it to Ryoka and breathed out slowly. His hand was shaking. So was hers as she took it.

“Wow. That was…unexpected.”

Ryoka glanced sideways and saw Ivolethe flying away from the window.

“…Yeah. Good idea, by the way. That was a great thought.”

“It was spur-of-the-moment. But maybe this way word will spread and people won’t get kidnapped. You think it’s a possibility?”

Ryoka shrugged. She wasn’t sure herself.

“There was someone who tried to figure out where we were. Better safe than sorry.”

“Yeah. And one last thing. I didn’t mention it to [BlackMage], but aside from other nations, other factions trying to attack Wistram…if we go there, we’d better have friends. Allies. So we can deal with the mages on equal terms.”

“Can’t trust them, can’t trust anyone, right?”

“Right. Well, some people will be trustworthy, but—”

“How do you find them?”

They sat in silence for a moment, hearts beating. Ryoka looked at Laken and smirked.

“L, huh? Nice reference.”

“What? I’m sorry, did I accidentally do something?”

She paused.

“Never mind. It’s a reference to a popular—it’s fine.”

Laken spread his hands.

“Okay. What now? That was dramatic. And scary. I may have wet the bed. Where do we go from here?”

Ryoka shrugged.

“I don’t know. I guess you go back to your village and…do your thing. Gather strength, or something. I go back and tell Erin—and we meet again.”

“Just like that?”

“I guess so. Look, I want to help, but I have to go back. It’s Christmas, and Erin told me to get back in time for the party. And I have…other things to do there as well.”

“Christmas! My God, I’d forgotten!”

Laken slapped a hand to his forehead.

“I should celebrate that with Durene and the villagers! That would be—I wonder if I can get the Merchant’s Guild to find me a bunch of presents?”

“They’d wrap them for you, I bet. Look, I hate to just run, but I don’t know what else I can do. Erin lives so far away, and I never come up here. I can try and return now and then, but it might be we have to communicate by [Message] spell for the moment.”

Laken nodded.

“We can talk in code—or German, I suppose. I’ll probably be out of touch for…I don’t know how long.”

“We have our own places to be, don’t we?”

“It’s odd, but yes. I have a home now. A…”

An empire. Laken didn’t say it out loud. Ryoka stared at him, and wondered. He was likeable, smart, and he cared about people. But he was an [Emperor]. What would come from that?

They didn’t speak much about the future after that. Ryoka drew a bit more on the parchment, and discussed water mills with Laken. He offered her tips on dealing with Frost Faeries, and she convinced him to make Ivolethe an archduchess.

And then for an hour they laughed and talked about home. Laken told Ryoka about what he did for a living—he was ostensibly unemployed since his parents were fairly rich, but he worked with other people with disabilities and led blind tours as well. She told him about Erin and her own backstory. Mainly anecdotes of her run-ins with authority.

“An American rebel, huh? Tell me you ride a motorcycle and I’ll ask for an autograph.”

And then Durene knocked on the door, and Frostwing woke up, and the moment ended. Ryoka stood up, and Laken did too as he tapped his bird on the beak.

“Hush, Frostwing. Say goodbye to Ryoka. She’s got to go.”

“I’ll be in the city until tomorrow, I think. I have to do something quick. Hell, I might not leave until tomorrow night. You can find me at Magnolia Reinhart’s mansion…it might be better if you wait until I come into the city. I’ll find you tomorrow, how about that?”

“Sounds good. Durene? Ryoka’s going to go, but we have a lot to talk about. Can you call Gamel up?”

Ryoka paused next to Laken.

“You’re going to tell her everything?”

“I trust her. And the less secrets there are in this world, the better.”

She hesitated.

“I wish I could be more like you. But I can’t.”

He made a face.

“I think you’re fine the way you are, Miss Ryoka Griffin. Someone needs to be the cynical bastard who watches our backs.”

She laughed.

“I can do that. Good luck. See you later.”

And then she was gone. Laken sat back on his bed, and lay on his back as Durene came back into the room with Gamel. He didn’t look up as Durene sat carefully on the bed and everything tilted towards her.

“Durene?”

“Yes, Laken?”

“Where’s Wistram?”

—-

Ryoka endured Reynold’s sniffling and very hostile remarks as she walked down the street. The snow was falling thickly around them, but that didn’t muffle his acidic comments.

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know Ivolethe would go that far. But I did warn you.”

“I’m simply doing my job, Miss Ryoka.”

“Yeah, well, take it up with Magnolia. Or Ressa.”

“I believe I’d rather follow you, Miss.”

“It’s your funeral. Look, it’s one last trip and then we can go home and you can sit in front of a fire.”

“Where to, Miss?”

“Back to Hedault. I have to do something.”

Reynold’s eyebrows rose, but Ryoka didn’t elaborate.

If Hedault was surprised to see Ryoka back so soon, he opened the door readily enough.

“Why have you returned?”

“I’m going to sell you the wand.”

It was refreshing not to have to beat around the bush with him. Ryoka saw Hedault’s eyebrows rise, but the [Enchanter] didn’t miss a beat.

“I can have the gold pieces prepared for you within the hour. I will also provide a second bag of holding as the first will not be able to support the weight—”

“Hold on. I’m not looking for gold. You’re going to pay me something else. Something more.”

Hedault paused. He stared at Ryoka, and then at Reynold, whose jaw was fully open.

“My price is final, and calculated on the wand’s probable value. I will not change it.”

“Don’t give me that.”

Ryoka sighed as she found a seat in the [Enchanter]’s living room and sank into it. He stared at her as she put her feet up. She felt exhausted. Ryoka stared at him.

“Well? Are you going to sit?”

He did, slowly.

“You seem confident that I will agree to whatever you ask.”

“Yeah, well, that’s because I know what’s inside that wand.”

Hedault paused. Reynold scrambled for a quill and inkpot. The [Enchanter] stared hard at Ryoka, but didn’t call her a liar or scoff. He just asked one question.

“How?”

Ryoka patted her belt pouch.

“Ivolethe? Want to come out? I’m sure Hedault has some snacks for you.”

The Frost Faerie flew out of Ryoka’s belt pouch. Hedault’s eyebrows shot up and Reynold instinctively retreated to one corner of the room as Ivolethe gazed around the room, grinning with her pointed teeth.

Ryoka smiled at Hedault and nodded to Ivolethe.

“You want to know how I know? My friend told me. She’s a Frost Faerie. A Winter Sprite. She can see magic and she’s lived longer than everyone in this city put together. She told me what was put in the wand’s core.”

“I see. A Winter Sprite. Intriguing.”

Hedault glanced towards one of the doors and crooked a finger in his lap. Ryoka blinked as a saucer filled with dried prunes flew over to the table and settled down on it. Ivolethe made a noise of pleasure and began attacking the dried fruit, eating far more than her stomach should have been able to contain.

“If you know the contents of the wand, why offer it to me? Unless the value is lower than my estimation?”

“It’s not. In fact, it’s probably higher. But that’s why you’re going to pay me more. Not just for the wand itself, but for knowing what’s inside.”

“And why should I do that?”

Hedault crossed his arms. Ryoka grinned at that. The mage’s face hadn’t changed, but his folded arms spoke volumes about how much she was getting to him. She gestured expansively at the wand, which Hedault had brought out and put on the coffee table in front of them.

“Just think about it. You’ll never know what was inside, and you’ll have to live with the knowledge that it’s being used by some amateur that won’t appreciate it or utilize the wand’s full potential.”

“I ask again. If it is so valuable, why not give it to the adventurers who recovered it? They would surely desire it most.”

“I’m sure they would. But neither of my friends could use it to its full potential—it’s not specialized in the right area for them. But you could. And if you couldn’t, I’m sure you could find a buyer for it. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t this the sort of wand an Archmage would want?”

Hedault’s eyes followed the wand. He spoke softly.

“A true [Archmage] would not. But the Archmages of today would certainly use a wand of this caliber if they had nothing finer. And if it is that valuable, I do not believe I have enough funds on hand to pay for it.”

Ryoka nodded, still smiling.

“I know you can’t pay for it. In fact, after talking with Ivolethe, I know you probably don’t have enough gold on hand to pay for this wand. But that’s fine, because what I need isn’t gold. It’s artifacts.”

She sat up, and put her hands on the table. She picked up the wand and felt its weight. Ryoka stroked the cold, metallic wood as she looked at Hedault. Part of her was screaming not to do this, but the rest of her was resolute.

“Here’s the deal. If I give this wand to you, you give me enough armor and weapons to outfit four adventurers. That means armor for two of them—they’re warriors, at least one more sword, maybe a bow, and two wands and a magical robe for the others. Wands, staves…hell, I’ll take a spellbook as well while I’m at it. And more magical rings. And two hundred gold pieces.”

He stared at her.

“Why? This is not a fair trade. Not for a wand of such value. You may approximate the value with lesser artifacts, but no true adventurer would make such a trade. Why are you doing this on their behalf? If this is an act of self-interest, then I will decline. I will have the answer you have failed to give me. Now.”

His eyes were serious. Ryoka met Hedault’s gaze. She thought he was an honest man. A good man, if he cared about adventurers he’d never met. She nodded abruptly.

“That’s right. It’s not fair. But it’s what my friends need. That’s why you’ll never tell anyone what’s in the wand. It’s why I’ll lie to my friends, though I’m giving them a fortune in artifacts. It’s why I’m selling it. Because this wand is powerful—but it’s not what they need.”

“Explain.”

“Come on. You understand, don’t you?”

Ryoka gestured impatiently to the wand she held. She thought she could sense something inside of it. Power. Pure power, untapped, ready to be used. It was so tempting. That was why she couldn’t bring it back.

“They don’t need a wand that will make them a target of every magic-user on the continent. They need armor, weapons—and money. They need the gear to become a Gold-rank team, not a bullseye on their foreheads. So you’re going to give me everything I ask for, and then you’re going to write down in a book, or somewhere important that you’ll never forget. The Horns of Hammerad. That’s who you owe. And someday, you’ll pay that back.”

For a while she thought he wouldn’t accept. Hedault stood up, paced around the room, and stared at the wand. He went to the racks of armor and weapons, inspected them, shook his head, and stared at the wand. He muttered to himself about gold and costs, trying to talk himself out of it. But he kept staring at the wand.

In the end, he sat with a sigh across from Ryoka and she knew she’d won.

“Say I pay your price. What arms and artifacts would you require?”

She shrugged.

“I don’t know what’s best for an adventuring team that’s about to reach Gold-rank. But I bet you do. And I bet you can get everything I want by tomorrow.”

Hedault stared at Ryoka incredulously.

“And you would trust me to make such decisions?”

“I trust that you would be honest. You seem like you’ve been on a level so far. And I can check all the artifacts you give me, and make sure it sounds like a fair trade.”

Again Hedault went around the room. This time he came to a decision faster.

“One condition. Tell me what is inside. And then I will make my choice.”

Ryoka held her breath. She stared at Hedault, and decided that he wasn’t going to budge. So she judged Ivolethe as the faerie sat on the coffee table, still chewing down the much-depleted plate of fruits.

“Ivolethe? Do you mind doing this?”

The faerie looked up. She stared at Hedault, and then dropped the bit of prune she was eating. She stood up, and flew over to the wand resting on the table. And when she stood above it, she wasn’t the somewhat evil, somewhat playful faerie that lived in Ryoka’s belt pouch.

She was something else. Something older, that stared down at the wand and touched it with a tiny hand. Ivolethe spoke, and her voice was far away.

“In a forest long gone, there grew a tree. It grew wild, and tall. And free. Ten thousand winters passed as it touched the sky. So tall. So very high. And when it shed the last leaf upon the ground it grew a single bloom. A child, a small one to grow out of the tree’s final doom. But they took it, they stole it, and sealed it away. Here to never grow, here to always stay. For magic thou art, thou small seedling hid. Magic to summon and wield as your owner bids.”

She looked at Hedault, at Ryoka, and Reynold who was staring with wide eyes.

“Ye wish to know what lies within? A seed, foolish mortals. A seed of a tree. A child trapped. The power of the earth, of that which stood through wind and storm and fire and axe. Unbreakable. For ten thousand years.”

Ryoka felt her skin tingle with goose bumps. There was something about the way Ivolethe spoke, about the way she existed that made Ryoka believe every word she said. She stared at the wand and felt her heart ache.

Magic.

“Living magic. That explains everything.”

Hedault slowly picked up the wand, and stared at it. He ran his hands down the surface of it, and held it as if he thought it would break. Then he looked at Ryoka.

She didn’t need to ask. Ryoka smiled, and stood up.

“I need to go back by tomorrow. Can you have everything ready by then?”

“Yes. It will not be enough, but yes.”

Hedault held the wand and looked at Ivolethe. She stared at it with ancient eyes, and then laughed and flew back to the prunes. He looked at Ryoka.

“I will give you what your friends need. But I will write down the debt, Ryoka Griffin. And when they need to call on it, they need only message me.”

She smiled. It was a tired smile, but sincere. It had been a long day, but Ryoka smiled. Her expression was unguarded, and for once, totally genuine. Both Hedault and Reynold felt a tug at their hearts. For different reasons.

“Thank you.”

Then she turned and walked out of Hedault’s home.

—-

It was snowing harder outside. Ryoka stared up at the sky and got a big snowflake in the eye for her trouble. She’d seen worse snow days—

Actually, she wasn’t sure if she had. Ryoka stared ahead and found the snow was falling so thickly that she could barely see ten feet in front of her. Already most of the pedestrians were off of the streets.

“It’s disgusting out here. Let’s go to the mansion!”

For once Reynold was in complete agreement. The two set off at a brisk pace down the street, trying not to slip on the icy pavement.

To Ryoka’s unpleasant surprise, she didn’t get to go back to Magnolia’s mansion with Reynold after that. Instead, she and Reynold were caught by a Street Runner, a Dullahan boy who carried his head on a sling as he ran, as they headed towards the place where he’d parked the carriage.

“Miss Ryoka Griffin? You’re wanted at the Runner’s Guild now. There’s a client to see you!”

“A client? Tell them I’m not interested.”

Ryoka wasn’t in the mood, but the Street Runner was insistent.

“They want to see you now, Miss Ryoka! The [Receptionist] told me to get you or not bother coming back. It’s just six blocks away. We can be there in no time if we run. Unless you’re too slow and old?”

Ryoka glared at the Dullahan boy who turned his head to smile cockily at her. She knew it was bait, but that didn’t stop her from beating him to the Runner’s Guild by a solid ten feet. She flipped him off as she walked inside and saw him grin and race away to his next delivery. She quite liked him, on the whole.

The person waiting in the guild was not who Ryoka expected to see. She stared at Laken.

“I thought I was going to see you tomorrow! What gives?”

“Ah, Ryoka. I’m sorry about this, but it couldn’t wait. Have you seen the weather?”

Ryoka grunted sourly. She had snow all over her shoes and Reynold, wheezing a bit as he came in behind her, was brushing snow out of his hair.

“It’s coming down out there. Why?”

“Well, it’s going to be far worse tomorrow, or so I’m told. The snow’s going to cover the roads at least two feet deep—possibly as many as four on top of what’s already fallen if what the [Weather Mages] are saying is true.”

“Fuck. That’s not good. Reynold, how does your carriage handle in deep snow?”

“Fairly well, Miss Ryoka. We should be able to return to Liscor—slowly, but even in deep snow.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

Laken shook his head.

“It may be to you, but Ryoka, the Merchant’s Guild is saying they won’t be able to deliver the food or have the adventurers escort us for at least a week until the roads clear!”

She stared at him.

“Can’t they melt the snow? Hire a mage who knows flame spells?”

“Too costly for me. If I had more money I could, but—no. And we can’t leave right now.”

“So you want to hire a Runner.”

Ryoka nodded. It was the best solution. She glanced at the Runners shivering as they came in from the cold.

“Hire someone good and give them a bag of holding. It’s pricy, but they might be able to beat the snows.”

“It’s a day’s run for the best of them. No City Runner will do it for fear of losing their way, and there’s no Courier I could hire—even if I could afford one.”

Ryoka stared at Laken’s grim face. She got what he was saying and raised her hands.

“Oh no.”

“Ryoka, please. The village will need food soon, and if I’m away for that long they’ll panic. If you can get to them and send a message—”

“No, I’m not—I’d get lost as well! Hold on, I might be able to if Reynold drives me.”

She looked hopefully at Reynold and Laken turned to the [Butler] as well. Reynold hunched his shoulders guiltily.

“I’m terribly sorry Miss Ryoka, but Lady Reinhart did not authorize me to drive you anywhere but Liscor. Under any circumstances. I believe her exact phrase was ‘if she needs to get anywhere, she can run there herself’.”

“Even to help a village?”

“Even then, Miss. You could try contacting her, but I’m afraid that until then, my orders stand.”

“How long would that take?”

As she asked, Ryoka knew that it wasn’t a good option. Lady Magnolia might say yes, but she’d want to know why Ryoka wanted to help Laken so badly. If there was any way to avoid that, Ryoka would.

“If it is not an urgent issue—and I am afraid that Ressa would not consider this such—Lady Reinhart may not receive your communications for a day or two.”

“And I need to be back in Liscor in two days for Christmas. Laken—”

He stood up.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, Ryoka, but you’re the only person who could do it. I can’t afford anyone else, and I don’t want to leave them alone without word for so long. If you could take a bag of holding—the [Receptionists] assure me you could bring enough food for a week or two and some presents with their biggest bags.”

“Presents?”

“Yes. It’s going to be Christmas soon.”

“Yes, it is.”

Laken smiled a bit, but it twisted on his face with anxiety.

“You know, I don’t have a problem staying here. I can buy gifts for Durene and Gamel—after I explain the idea of Christmas to them, of course. But the people in my village need that food now, not after the roads clear. And I’d like to get them presents as well.”

“I know. I know, but—I can’t. I have to get back home and—I couldn’t find my way through a blizzard either.”

The excuses felt hollow in Ryoka’s mouth. She felt a twisting in her gut, but she didn’t see how she could do it. Running was one thing. She could probably run in deep snow—it would be hellish, but she could do it. But getting lost was another issue.

“If it’s just finding your way…”

Laken paused. He frowned, thinking hard.

“Is there a map you could take? Some sort of magical…GPS?”

It sounded ludicrous. Ryoka shook her head as she sat at one of the tables with him. Laken sighed and pushed the small bowl of cheese and crackers someone had given him away. Ryoka felt a rustling at her pouch.

“Is that food? I claim it!”

Ivolethe leapt onto the table and grabbed a slice of cheese and a cracker. She began munching it down. She was getting gluttonous, Ryoka reflected. She stared down at Ivolethe, annoyed the faerie wasn’t taking things seriously. Then Ryoka paused.

“Hey Laken. Ivolethe’s eating your cheese.”

“I don’t m—”

Laken went silent. He coughed and when he spoke again his voice had taken on a thoughtful tone.

“Christmas is coming up, Ryoka.”

“Yup. Santa Claus.”

“It’s a very famous tradition. I used to hear all the old tales every year. The German stories are different of course, but I’ve heard the American classics as well.”

“Oh yeah. All the good ones, I bet.”

“I especially liked Rudolph, although I can’t imagine what the color ‘red’ must look like.”

“It’s not bad.”

“I hate to ask you to run through a blizzard—”

“I’ve done worse. And I’d like to do it. It is the holidays.”

“But the issue is finding your way. Through a blizzard.”

“Yeah. I’d need a guide. Someone who can find their way. Light the way, rather.”

“I take it the color’s off? I’m told that uh, Winter Sprites are blue. Which is, apparently, not close to red.”

“It’s a bit different. But why don’t I think that will matter?”

Laken and Ryoka kept their voices low. They both felt it. A bit of holiday magic in the air, or perhaps just insanity masquerading as good sense. They turned their faces towards the small Frost Faerie gorging herself on the table.

Ivolethe happily swallowed a large bite of wrinkled prune and then realized she was the target of their scrutiny. Warily, she frowned up at the two Humans staring down at her.

“What? What are ye buggers staring at?”

3.41

Two days before Christmas, Ryoka stared up at a Frost Faerie and wondered how it had come to this.

“Come on, Ivolethe. Please?”

“Nae. I won’t do it!”

Ivolethe folded her arms and glared at Ryoka and Laken. The Frost Faerie hovered outside of the Runner’s Guild as Laken and Ryoka stood and argued with her. Durene and Gamel and Reynold were all standing a bit back, watching the young man and woman argue with what was, to them, a fuzzy patch of air.

“I’ll make you the Archduchess of Presents. How about that?”

“Not if ye made me a Großfürstin! I won’t act like an Ellylldan—like some common pixie! I refuse to guide Ryoka to your worthless little village!”

Ivolethe sneered at Laken and flicked snow at his face. He recoiled as Ryoka tried another tact. They’d been arguing with Ivolethe for fifteen minutes, but the Frost Faerie hadn’t budged.

“Come on, Ivolethe. We need your help. You’re the only one who could navigate through this snow.”

She gestured at the thick, falling snow around them. It was already piling up on the ground, and it made looking down the street a chore. Travelling outside would mean getting lost and freezing to death—for everyone but Ivolethe.

“Nae. Not even for friendship, Ryoka. My pride will not allow it.”

“Please, Ivolethe? Think of the children.”

The Frost Faerie paused. It was a low blow, but Ryoka saw it connect and pressed her advantage.

“They’re all by themselves in Laken’s village—probably hungry and cold. Think about that, Ivolethe. If I don’t bring food and supplies to them, they might freeze to death!”

“I’m thinking. So what?”

“You’d be doing a good thing. And you’d be a hero. I bet they’ll put up a statue to you, right, Laken?”

She nudged the blind man. He rubbed at his side and nodded.

“Oh, absolutely. I’ll put up a statue to you, Ivolethe. I swear it.”

The faerie wavered.

“Well…perhaps. But does it have to be red?”

Ryoka traded a glance with Laken. He didn’t trade one back.

“It would uh, be easier to see.”

He spread his hands and smiled up towards Ivolethe.

“Red is a very traditional color for Christmas, Ivolethe. And Rudolph’s nose was red. If you changed the color you…erm, you’d be doing the same thing as him. He was a hero, you know. Very famous.”

“Really?”

The Frost Faerie swooped down, intrigued. Laken nodded.

“Oh yes. Rudolph is…a, uh, legend where we come from. A folk hero, you could say. Beloved by all. Children everywhere in our world know his story.”

Ryoka held her breath. Ivolethe flew back upwards and muttered to herself. She looked down at Ryoka and sighed.

“A statue, ye say?”

Laken nodded.

“I swear it.”

Ivolethe sighed. She looked down at the two Humans and nodded slowly.

“Well then. What shade must I be? Red of blood? Red of desert sand? Red of setting suns?”

Ryoka could have cheered. She smiled at Ivolethe and held her hands up towards the faerie.

“Bright red. Crimson, in fact. Like a flare—like this. See?”

Ryoka held up her hands and concentrated. The [Flare] spell burst into life between her hands, a brilliant searing red light that made Gamel and Durene cover their faces. Laken didn’t flinch.

“I see. Let me try.”

Ivolethe frowned at the brilliant red light and closed her eyes. She gritted her tiny teeth and then the blue aura surrounding her began to shift. The color blue deepened, and then turned purple—then a deep red, and then the same shade of brilliant red as the light in Ryoka’s hand.

“Dead gods!”

“By the Five Families…”

Reynold, Durene, and Gamel reacted as the nimbus of light around Ivolethe changed. The faerie, her body of blue crystal ice now lit by a red glow which turned her entire form light pink, stared at Ryoka with a sour expression on her face.

“It is done. Let us be off, Ryoka Griffin. I dislike this immensely, but I will help.”

“Thank you, Ivolethe.”

The faerie stared at Laken, and then away. The [Emperor] turned to Ryoka as she bent to make sure the laces of her shoes were tied firmly.

“I can’t thank you enough for this.”

“Thank me after I’m done. It’s a long run, but I’ll try to be back tomorrow—or failing that, the day after that. I want to get back and then have Reynold bring me to Liscor. Hopefully I can make it in time for Christmas. If I can’t, well, this is more important.”

Laken reached out and Ryoka offered him a palm to grip.

“You’re a good person, Ryoka Griffin.”

“So you say. Myself, I’m not convinced.”

He grinned and stepped back. Ryoka was doing a second check.

“You have everything you need? Stamina potions?”

“At my belt, courtesy of the Runner’s Guild. Good thing these ones don’t freeze solid. Octavia’s are sort of crap.”

“And you have the second bag of holding?”

“Here as well.”

Ryoka patted the bag hanging at her side. It felt incongruous at her waist—far too light for what she knew it contained. Food for the village, extra blankets, tools they needed—and presents! And yet the bag felt like it only held five pounds of weight.

Magic.

She was ready to go. Ryoka stepped towards Ivolethe.

“Ready?”

The faerie didn’t answer her. Ryoka frowned.

“Ivolethe?”

The Frost Faerie was gazing towards the sky. She uttered an oath—it sounded like it was in Celtic—and sprang up into the air. Ryoka had no idea why—until she saw the other blue shapes flying down towards her. She groaned.

“Oh no.”

Laken turned.

“What is it?”

“Company. More Frost Faeries.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

Ryoka didn’t answer. She heard the tiny, crystal voices ringing through the air as the faeries flew down, circling Ivolethe’s lone red glow and laughing.

“Sister, sister! What is this you do?”

“She’s changed her color! What rot! What foolishness!”

“Shut up! I do this for friendship and goodwill! Mock me not, fools!”

Ivolethe roared at her sisters, flying angrily at them as they laughed and flew about her. Ryoka saw the faeries hitting each other and felt a shock—the Frost Faeries played rough! They didn’t just pull at hair—Ivolethe bit one of her sisters in the arm and was mobbed by two of the others in return.

“Hey, stop, stop!”

Ryoka’s voice stilled the fighting above her for a second. Frost Faeries abandoned their squabble for an easier target. They flew around Ryoka, pointing and jeering.

“Look, the boring one speaks!”

“So slow, so uninteresting! But she is with the ruler! Tell us, stupid one. Why is our sister red?”

“She’s helping me deliver aid to a village. She’s going to be…a hero.”

The faeries scoffed and laughed, but Ryoka knew them. She raised her hands.

“You may not believe me, but Ivolethe is fulfilling a legend. She’s going to make children happy. You see, there’s a story about a reindeer called Rudolph—”

She got only halfway into her explanation before the faeries swirled around her, laughing with delight.

“A guide? What fun! We shall go too!”

“Yes, let us guide the silly Human!”

Laken blinked, and Ryoka hesitated. He sidled over to her and whispered as they laughed and flew up and around them.

“They’re not like Ivolethe at all.”

“Some of them aren’t. I think these ones are…younger? Ivolethe’s old, but some of the other faeries seem pretty gung-ho about anything that seems interesting.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Ryoka scowled.

“I don’t know. But it’s better to have them on your side than against you.”

“I agree with that.”

A change in the light above caught Ryoka’s attention. All of the faeries were copying Ivolethe, changing their colors. But they weren’t all turning red. No, some of them were turning green, others blue or purple—in no time at all, a storm of colors flew about in the air.

“I can’t believe it.”

Reynold was gaping and Durene and Gamel were staring upwards like children seeing fireworks or stars for the first time. Ryoka stared too.

Faeries, dancing in the night sky in every color imaginable. She felt something stir in her heart, but quashed it. She had a job to do.

She cleared her throat, and the faeries stopped flying about. Ryoka felt some semblance of ceremony was needed here, so she stood straight and pointed west, towards where Riverfarm lay.

“Is everyone ready? We’re going to Riverfarm, Laken’s village. You know the way?”

Ivolethe flew down and the faeries lined up behind her. She scowled.

“Aye, these fools know. We go, then?”

Ryoka nodded. She took a breath, and felt just a hint of Christmas spirit in her. Maybe that was what prompted her to say what she did next.

“Alright then. On Ivolethe, on Blue Faerie, on Green Faerie, and Cinnabar Faerie! On Puce Faerie, on Indigo Faerie, on Yellow Faerie and—you know what? Let’s just go.”

The faeries laughed and flew ahead. Ryoka ran after them, cursing as her shoes slipped a bit on the snow.

“Good luck!”

Laken shouted after her. He couldn’t see Ryoka leave, but he heard her footfalls die away quickly in the snow.

“She’s gone, right, Durene?”

“Yes, Laken. Did you see—I mean, those Winter Sprites! I’ve never seen—uh—”

“You’ll have to tell me how amazing it was.”

Laken smiled as he held out a hand and Durene took it. He carefully felt around at the rucksack he was carrying.

“I hope Ryoka gets to Riverfarm all right. But I won’t worry about it. For now, let’s get inside, have something hot to drink, and rest. But before all that—Durene, this is for you.”

“For me?”

The half-Troll blinked as Laken pulled something out of the rucksack. He’d had to buy it when she wasn’t around with Gamel’s help, but the indrawn breath he heard from her was worth it.

“It’s a present. For you. Merry Christmas, Durene. I don’t know what I’d do or where I’d be without you.”

He held out the clumsily-wrapped box, and felt two large hands take it from him.

“I—I don’t know—this is for Christmas, right? But how did you—Laken.”

“It’s for you. Open it.”

“I’ve never gotten a present before. Ever.”

Something constricted in Laken’s chest. He reached out and touched Durene’s hand.

“Well, today you did.”

He smiled. Durene stared down at the small box. Her hands trembled. She began to cry.

In the city of Invrisil, a blind man reached out and hugged a half-Troll girl as the snow began to fall harder outside. At the same time, a young woman ran out of the gates, following a red light that flew ahead of her. A stream of bright lights of every color flew around her, the only clear light in the darkness.

—-

“So, the presents will go here. If you’ve got them, put them here.”

Erin was busy in her inn the day before Christmas. She’d made a list, distributed it, and been happily surprised to find that most of her present-givers had already picked appropriate presents for the people she’d assigned them to.

Technically, they weren’t supposed to show her the presents, but Erin had forgotten to mention that presents were wrapped. A quick trip to Krshia solved that, and soon piles of bulky presents were occupying one corner of the inn.

It was a complex system Erin had devised, but in theory it meant that everyone who would be attending her party tomorrow would get two Christmas gifts. Assuming everyone bought presents, that was. Erin was worried she’d forgotten to include someone, but she thought she’d accounted for all who would be present.

And though they had only a day to get last-minute presents, Erin didn’t think that would be an issue. There was Christmas spirit in the air. Everyone she knew, from both Celum and Liscor had heard about the holiday tradition by now. And most were quite eager to try it.

There was just something about giving and receiving gifts that appealed to people. Of course, the receiving mattered to some more than others.

Twice, Erin had to pull Mrsha away from her gift. The Gnoll was sniffing it and wagging her tail, and Erin was sure Mrsha could tell what was inside. But Mrsha was a kid, so excitement was understandable.

On the other hand, when it came to people like Relc, it was a bit more objectionable. The Drake had come to the inn early to drink and eat, and he’d stared at the pile of presents avidly. Now he crept about the presents, turning them over and growing increasingly frustrated.

“Hey! Where’s mine?”

Relc pawed through the presents, looking for ones with his name on it. He found none, to his increasing displeasure.

“Your Secret Santa might not have brought it yet. You’ll get two, Relc, so don’t worry.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Don’t worry—Santa makes sure everyone gets a gift. Good kids, and bad ones. Although, the bad ones just get coal…”

“Right, I forgot. Santa, yeah. Where’s that guy?”

Relc scratched his head. Erin hadn’t talked to him as long as the others. She feared he might have gotten the wrong idea about Santa Claus—in that Relc hadn’t figured out yet that Santa wasn’t real. Still, she had more important things to do.

Some of the Gold-rank adventurers loitering about the inn watched as Erin climbed onto a chair and hung a large sprig in one corner of the room. They weren’t inclined to risk their necks in the dungeon around Christmas, so they had plenty of time to spare.

“What’s that?”

Revi wrinkled her nose as Erin nudged the collections of leaves and berries ever so slightly to the right. Erin turned and smiled wickedly.

“Mistletoe! Haven’t you heard about that?”

Sensing something else interesting, more people drew over to look doubtfully up at the somewhat dead leaves and white berries. Erin had been surprised to see they were white. She’d always thought of them as red. But this was the mistletoe Krshia had given her.

“What’s that supposed to do? Are we supposed to jump up and eat those berries? They look poisonous to me.”

Ceria wrinkled her nose as she stared at the berries. Erin laughed and shook her head.

“No! You kiss if you’re under it! Any people who stand under mistletoe have to kiss. It’s a Christmas tradition!”

Not one she’d practiced at home or ever in her world, actually, but Erin thought it was a fun idea.

The change that came over the people standing before was immediate, though. Ceria and Yvlon hurried out of the mistletoe’s radius as if they were on fire. The others stared at each other.

“Well, that sounds like fun! Hey Typhenous!”

The [Mage] was too slow. Jelaqua Ivirith caught him and kissed him on the lips. He shuddered.

“Agh!”

“Sorry. Dead skin and all that. But that’s the tradition. Hey, Seborn, Moore. Want to try?”

The other two Halfseekers shook their head. They’d stayed away from the mistletoe and weren’t approaching.

Halrac and Ulrien stared up at the mistletoe. They stared at each other. Ulrien coughed.

“Um, Miss Erin. Is there any hex or curse that activates if two people don’t kiss under the mistletoe?”

“No. It’s just fun.”

“Good.”

Halrac stomped quickly out of range. Ulrien followed suit.

“Well, I don’t see what the problem is. It’s just a kiss.”

Revi strolled over to the mistletoe, not standing quite beneath it as she looked around challengingly. She smiled mockingly at Typhenous who was taking a drink after being kissed by Jelaqua.

“A kissing game sounds fun. It reminds me of when I was younger. We’d swap mouths and kiss each other at parties.”

She tapped the stitch marks around her lips. Erin paused.

“Wow. Okay. Um, this is really just more of a tradition.”

“Why have a place to kiss if you won’t do it? Who’s good at kissing?”

“I’ll try.”

Pisces stepped forwards, to everyone’s great surprise. Revi looked him up and down, but then she smirked.

“Why not?”

Erin opened her mouth, raised her hand, and then waved it about, but she couldn’t stop what happened next. Pisces and Revi stepped beneath the mistletoe…and kissed.

It wasn’t long. There weren’t any sucking sounds or visibly tongue-in-cheek moments. But when it was done, Pisces stepped away looking slightly smug. And Revi—

Blushed.

Everyone in the room stared at her. Pisces sauntered back towards the other Horns of Hammerad and winked at Ksmvr. Erin heard the Antinium whispering to Pisces.

“I do not understand what happened. Comrade Pisces, please explain kissing—”

“Had your fun?”

Halrac asked Revi in an acidic tone as she stepped away from the mistletoe. Revi fanned at her face, glancing at Pisces.

“Well, that was surprising. He’s…not bad.”

“Not bad?”

Relc stared at Pisces. He laughed.

“You can’t be good or bad at kissing!”

“That shows what you know.”

Revi stared archly at him. Relc paused.

“Wait, you can be good at kissing?”

Revi, Typhenous, Ulrien, and Seborn nodded. Revi wandered back over to the mistletoe, and this time Jelaqua went with her. Other people from both genders drifted over.

Erin watched with part horror, part fascination. This wasn’t how mistletoe was supposed to be used, surely! But it seemed like there was actual skill at kissing being measured. Some were better than others. And apparently…Pisces was one of the best.

“You know, back home I was told that anyone who could tie a cherry stem into a knot with their tongue was a really good kisser.”

Erin mentioned that as she brought out some dried cherries she’d bought with that very fact in mind. Revi took a break from testing one of the [Actors] from Celum who’d come in for breakfast, and took a stem. She and quite a few people popped the cherries into their mouths and chewed thoughtfully.

Erin glanced around the room as she circulated with ‘testing cherries’. Now that she looked…she had a good distribution of races and genders today. People had come from both Liscor and through the door in Celum. There were Drakes, Gnolls, and a lot of Humans, male and female. She glanced at the mistletoe, where a few red-faced people and more with smiles on their faces were grouped. She had a bad feeling she knew what was coming next.

“Peh!”

Ceria spat out a completely un-knotted cherry stem into the palm of her hand and scowled.

“Not for me.”

“Hrm.”

Revi had bent her stem, but not managed to tie it into a knot. Neither had most of the people in the room. Jelaqua had, but Seborn called foul because she’d done it with her Selphid parts, not her actual tongue. But then Pisces pulled out a cherry stem with a knot tied right in the center.

Everyone stared at him. Jasi came over and stood beneath the mistletoe. She waved a claw at Pisces. She shrugged at Erin as the [Innkeeper] gave her a betrayed look.

“This is so wrong.”

She muttered as she saw Pisces become a target for kisses from the opposite gender. Ceria, standing next to her, shook her head.

“You put the mistletoe up, Erin. What did you think was going to happen?”

“Not this! I mean, why’s Pisces getting all the kisses?”

The half-Elf shrugged, staring at Pisces and not looking at Erin.

“He’s…not bad at kissing. That’s why. It’s fun to kiss him. He certainly got enough practice back in Wistram.”

Erin stared at Ceria. She opened her mouth, and then turned away.

“I don’t want to know! Gah! Mistletoe failure!”

The entertainment for the day continued as Erin served food to her guests. Word spread fast, and within a few hours more people came from both Celum and Liscor—ostensibly to eat and get out of the cold, but mainly to try the kissing game, which was what the mistletoe had become.

—-

Relc had lingered hopefully around the mistletoe for quite some time until he realized everyone was avoiding him. He stomped off, grumbling about stupid Humans, half-Elves, String People, and Drakes. He left some coins on his table and left the inn, feeling unhappy and out of sorts. No matter how long he’d waited, no one had brought a gift with his name on it. But Erin had said he’d get a gift! Two!

On the way back towards Liscor, Relc met Klbkch. The Antinium was hurrying up the hill and glancing over his shoulder. He seemed to be worried he’d be spotted.

“Yo, Klb. What’s the hurry?”

“I am attempting to avoid meeting my fellow Antinium from the Hive. If you are asked, you did not see me.”

Relc nodded in an understanding way. He didn’t understand much about Klbkch’s Hive or the relationship the Antinium had with the others—they all looked pretty much the same to Relc—but the Drake did understand not wanting to be spotted by angry people who had business with him.

“There’s no point in going to the inn. Erin’s hung a bunch of mistletoe up.”

“Indeed?”

Klbkch stared at Relc. The Drake nodded grumpily.

“Yup. That means if you stand beneath it, you have to kiss. Only, no one wants to kiss me.”

“Is Erin participating in this ritual?”

“Nope. But I’ve got bad news for you, Klb old buddy. Remember when Erin told us about the Secret Santa thing? With the presents?”

“Yes. I have obtained mine, although I have not placed them in her inn.”

“Well, you might want to hold off for a second. I checked and I didn’t find any presents for me. Not one. And I’m supposed to be getting two! And—get this—I didn’t find any for you, either.”

Klbkch paused.

“That is odd. Perhaps the gifts have not been placed yet.”

“Maybe.”

Relc shrugged moodily. He stared back at the inn, and lowered his voice as he confided in his partner.

“I’m worried we might not get any. Well, I know I’ll get some because everyone loves me. But you might not. Since you’re an Ant. Y’know?”

“This is a distinct possibility. The Secret Santas may object to my identity.”

“Yeah. So…I was thinking, why don’t we do a few good deeds today? I figure, if we show how Christmas-y we are, people will probably get us gifts anyways. Plus, don’t we get more presents if we’re good? That Santa guy brings them, right?”

Klbkch hesitated. He seemed to think as he crossed his arms.

“I did recall Bird mentioning something to that effect. But he was…vague. Is that what Erin said?”

“Yeah! Look, you weren’t here, but I heard her telling that thief-girl all about it. Good deeds means you get presents. So why don’t we do some?”

“I take it you have an idea in mind?”

“I might.”

Relc grinned as he rubbed at his chin. His dour mood had been replaced by a fun idea.

“Okay, here’s what I was thinking…I’ll run into the city and buy some stuff. You just need to find me a bag, a red suit, and uh, a beard. Make it white.”

“Very well. Let us proceed with your idea.”

The two [Guardsmen] headed back towards Liscor. That was fortunate for Klbkch, because an irate Antinium with blue shell missed him as she strode towards the inn.

Xrn opened the door and saw Revi step away as Typhenous hopefully tried for a kiss under the mistletoe. The Antinium watched with fascination, her ire with the elusive Klbkch forgotten as she witnessed several kisses…and those who didn’t get to kiss at all.

“Ew! Typhenous, no! Your breath smells horrible!”

The old [Mage] was crestfallen. He eyed Pisces as the younger man went back for round two with Revi. When Pisces was done, Typhenous caught the younger man.

“How is your breath not objectionable, young Pisces?”

Pisces paused. He took something out of a pocket and handed it to Typhenous. The mage stared down at the bit of green in his wrinkled palm. Pisces winked and whispered.

“Mint leaves.”

The old man stared at the leaves and then popped them into his mouth and chewed determinedly. The people who’d heard Pisces immediately left the inn to get some fresheners for their mouths.

Erin threw her hands up in the air.

“It’s not supposed to be a competition!”

She stomped over to the door to Octavia’s shop as Wesle hurried through it. Erin was going to close it, but Octavia called out.

“Erin! Erin! Get in here—I have something to show you!”

Erin paused at the doorway. She looked back at the kissing games, once again featuring Pisces as a main attraction and decided Octavia beat her inn. She walked through the door. What she and the occupied people of the inn didn’t notice was Mrsha, bored with the proceedings, slipping into Octavia’s shop as well.

“What have you got, Octavia?”

“Behold!”

The [Alchemist] was waving a bundle of what looked like twigs to Mrsha in front of Erin’s face. The Gnoll squinted and sniffed quietly as she hid in Octavia’s shop. She knew she wasn’t supposed to be here, but there were so many fascinating smells here! And Octavia had something strange in her hands.

They looked like small sticks, but with a bulb of…well, something strange on the ends. Erin had recognized them, though.

“Matches! No way! That’s it, exactly! Do they work?”

Octavia beamed, nodding and making her dreadlocks swing as she held one up to the light so Erin could see.

“It’s my newest creation. It’s not stable—I could do more with it, but you see, I’ve found a way to blend just a tiny bit of Corusdeer horn with sulfur and—look!”

She swiped the match down the side of the sandpaper box. Erin and Mrsha both gasped as the head of the match suddenly burst into flame. The Gnoll stared avidly at the flame on the end of the stick. How had Octavia done that? She’s simply moved the match…and there was fire! Was it magic? The Gnoll cub desperately wanted to try to do the same.

“You did it! That’s incredible! How’d you do it in one day?”

“Well, when you’re a talented [Alchemist]—I uh, might have made a few dozen prototypes. And stayed up all night. But once I realized how the general idea worked, it just came to me!”

Octavia’s eyes were more than a bit red and she was swaying slightly on her feet. She put the box of matches on her counter as she explained more about how she’d made them to Erin.

Mrsha crept towards the counter. She hesitated—Erin and Octavia were right next to her. But Erin was pointing back towards the open door to her inn and loudly complaining about Pisces kissing all the girls—and them enjoying it!

Octavia looked over, and Mrsha stood up. She snatched the box of matches and scampered away, silent as a moth in the moonlight.

“I’ll give you a box. I can make a lot more—and if I perfect the formula, I’ll be selling them for silver coins!”

“Not bronze?”

“I’m not giving my product away for nothing, Erin! But…let’s just say I’ll be making a bundle if I get this business off the ground. And I have you to thank for it!”

“Cool! How much is my cut?”

The [Alchemist]’s eyes widened. She began to splutter, before she saw Erin’s teasing grin. Still, that was an important point. Octavia took a breath and then she saw the door to her shop open, and a small bundle of white fur scamper out.

—-

Mrsha held one of the new matchsticks up in the cold morning air as she proceeded down the streets of Celum. Quite a few people were staring at her—Gnolls weren’t common at all in this city. Mrsha ignored them, and stopped by a street crossing.

How had Octavia done it? She’d just struck the match—pulled it fast against the side of the sandpaper. Like—

Mrsha slowly grated the matchstick against the sandpaper. It didn’t work. But then she moved her paw faster and the head flared and burst into flame!

Mrsha instantly dropped the matchstick in alarm. It went out as it landed in some snow. She peered at the stick, heart beating fast.

Fire! She’d made fire!

It was an instinctual thing, for Gnolls to love fire. Like Humans and Drakes, it was that which had helped them separate themselves from the part that was simply wild. It had brought order and light into the night, shown them that they didn’t have to hide in the darkness.

And Mrsha had made it. Without a flint and rocks. Without the need for dry tinder and time. She’d made fire.

And it had gone out. Mrsha rooted around in the snow, and found the matchstick again. She tried to reignite the head, but it was burnt out.

So they only worked once. But that was okay—the box Mrsha had taken had plenty of matches. She drew another, and lit it.

The small flicker of light on the cold winter day was insignificant. Small. It was something that would have passed unnoticed in Erin and Ryoka’s world—well, excluding the present. Any child doing that on a street now would probably cause a bomb scare. But in general, the match was an antiquated, ordinary thing. Who would pay attention to Mrsha and her box of matches in the cold?

Everyone, that’s who. A woman passing on the street stared as Mrsha lit the second match and held it up in the wind. She blinked at the Gnoll. She suspected magic, but the way Mrsha blew out the flame and then lit another match informed her that it was not magic. She stopped and spoke to the Gnoll.

“How did you do that?”

Mrsha looked up in alarm. She understood the woman, but the first thing in her mind was guilt. Did she know Mrsha had taken the box without asking? Mrsha scampered away.

“Hey, wait!”

Mrsha ran back towards the shop. Then she saw who was striding down the street and ran back. Octavia caught sight of Mrsha and shouted.

“There you are! Wait you little minx!”

There was a certain tone adults could use that told children the consequences of not obeying would be far worse than if they did. Mrsha halted reluctantly. She hid the match box behind her as Octavia strode over.

“I saw that! You’re…Mrsha, right? Well, that box belongs to me. You can’t just go around taking things—even if Erin does take care of you! Give it back!”

She held her hand out. Mrsha eyed it and clutched the box tightly. She didn’t want to give it back! The matches were magical in a way that magic wasn’t!

“Come on. They’re mine—you can’t take them! If you want them, you can get them from Erin. Now give…them…here!”

Octavia was engaged in a tug-of-war with Mrsha when the woman who’d seen Mrsha light the match coughed politely.

“Excuse me, are you the creator of those things?”

Then Octavia let go and Mrsha tumbled backwards with the box of matches. She fled a few feet away and turned to watch as Octavia stood and smiled sheepishly at the woman.

“I am, Miss. I’m sorry you had to see that—a bit of reclamation of lost goods, I’m afraid. Don’t worry—they’re not dangerous.”

“Oh, I know. But I was wondering—do you have any more?”

“More?”

Octavia blinked.

“I’d love to buy some of these—flame strikers? I’m no [Mage] and these seem far quicker than flint and steel. What do you charge for a box?”

The woman was already pulling out a purse. Octavia gaped, but then she put her best smile on her face.

“I happen to have a few—they’re very experimental and new, of course. But I think I can quote you an affordable price…”

Mrsha watched, eyes narrowed, as coins changed hands. The woman went away with a box—half filled with matches—and Octavia pocketed a few silver and bronze coins. Mrsha backed away warily as Octavia turned towards her. Only this time Octavia didn’t try to take Mrsha’s matches.

“Well now, that was interesting.”

The [Alchemist] took a few steps towards Mrsha. The Gnoll tensed, ready to run rather than be scolded, but instead the [Alchemist] girl appeared thoughtful. She squatted down next to Mrsha.

“Advertising, hmm? I never wanted to pay for that, but if you consider that child labor is free—why not? It’s worth a shot! Little Miss, would you like a job selling those match sticks for me?”

Mrsha just stared blankly at her. She didn’t quite trust Octavia’s smile, for all the [Alchemist] did it often. She edged away from Octavia.

“Wait—okay, not a job!”

Octavia waved her hands frantically as Mrsha looked down the street. She sighed as the Gnoll stared at her. Then Octavia smiled again.

“I don’t mind you taking the box of matches, Mrsha. I really don’t. In fact, you can have them! Light up all of them if you want! What if I gave you these matches as well—”

Mrsha found a second box of matches pressed into her paw.

“—And you go out there and, uh, show them off? Drum up a little business? I’ll let you sell a few, and you can keep a third—half—okay, fine, you can keep what you earn. But you have to show people where you got them, alright?”

The Gnoll child stared at the second box of matches, and then up at Octavia with narrowed eyes. This wasn’t how getting in trouble was supposed to go, she knew. But Octavia appeared jolly all of a sudden.

“Just bring back people to my shop, okay? Tell them—okay, I’ll tell them. You just come back when you need more matches! I have to make more! A lot more!”

She reached out and shook Mrsha’s paw energetically. Then Octavia went back towards her shop. She turned back and mimed striking another match.

When she was gone, Mrsha scratched her head. She’d understood only a bit of that, but somehow, she now had another box of matches! She thought a bit more, and decided that this was good.

The Gnoll padded back to the intersection and sat down on the paving stones. The men and women of Celum stared at the Gnoll, white and beautiful, sitting in the middle of their city. And they stared as she moved something in her hands and it burst into flame.

Fire. Mrsha struck a match and stared into the small burning torch’s heart. She remembered fire. Fire was important in her tribe’s camp. It was something that gave heat, food, life. It was the center of their existence, in a way. It kept the dark and monsters and fear of the night at bay.

For Mrsha, it was memory. She felt the heat on her claws and flicked the nearly spent match away. Then she lit another one.

People walking down the street stared and pointed at the little Gnoll lighting matches. But Mrsha was far away. She stared into the fire and remembered home. She’d dreamed of tending the fires, of being old enough to manage her own camp site. And now she had the ability to create fires at will.

Another spent match fell into the snow and smoked for a second before extinguishing itself completely. Mrsha sighed.

So brief. So short. But while it lasted…

She lit another one, and the flame burned away a falling snowflake. It lit up part of the world, and a man walking down the street stopped and stared at the match held in Mrsha’s paw.

It was very pretty. And warm. Mrsha just had to be careful, or the stick would burn down and scorch her fur.

—-

That was Celum, and the small miracle that stopped a street. In Liscor, a different sort of event was happening. It was localized, and went from house to house, usually terrorizing families. They would have called the Watch, but that was sort of the problem.

In the house of the Bitterscale family, the father, mother, and young boy and girl Drakes were sitting down to eat some lovely, fresh Fortress Beaver roast. It was a happy family, untroubled by thoughts of adventurers, Goblin Lords, or the new dungeon for the moment. They were about to eat when someone pounded on the door.

“Who’s that?”

Frowning, Wress Bitterscale went to answer the door. He opened it and found a huge Drake, dressed in an ill-fitting red costume—that was to say, leather armor painted red, with a red hat on his head and a lumpy bag slung over one shoulder.

“Hey! Is everyone here? Good!”

Relc grinned down at Wress. He pulled the door open wider and strode into the house.

“Wress? Who’s there?”

Vessra Bitterscale cried out in alarm as Relc strode into the room. The two children stared up at Relc as he grinned down at them, showing off all his teeth. He dropped the bag he was carrying onto the ground with a thump and waved at the kids.

“Hey there! Merry Christmas! I’m Santa. Santa Claus. Where’s your chimney? Have you been bad or good? I’ve got coal!”

The children backed away from Relc. He frowned as he rummaged around in his sack.

“What? Hold on—some of these are broken. I’ve got to—hey, Klb! Get in here and help spread the cheer!”

He turned and roared towards the doorway. Wress stared in horror as someone else entered the home. The two Bitterscale children stared up with wide eyes as an Antinium, tall and lithe, walked into the room. He had two swords sheathed at his side, and he walked like a soldier. He also had a rough beard made of goat’s hair glued to his face.

Klbkch clicked his mandibles as he stared down at the children. They appeared to be rooted to the spot with terror. As this was how most children acted around him, Klbkch thought he’d made a good impression. He slapped his belly with a crack of chitin on carapace, making all the Drakes flinch.

“Ho. Ho. Ho. Have you been good children this year? If not, you will get the coal.”

The Bitterscale family stared at the two guardsmen. They stared towards the door. But there was nowhere to run. And then Relc pulled out a clumsily wrapped dagger and tried to give it to the daughter.

Point-first. In fairness though, that was an accident.

—-

She was…eight hours into her run? Ryoka had no idea, but she was cold, wet…

And not feeling too bad. Ryoka had downed the second stamina potion thirty minutes ago, and that was keeping her going. As she ran through deep snow, following the shimmering lights overhead, she felt the burning energy inside her, giving her legs the strength to run.

The Runners of Invrisil knew how to prepare for long treks. The Guild had not only given Ryoka several stamina potions to allow her to run all night, but they’d given her a healing potion as well. It helped with the chafing, the sore feet, and the occasional falls onto the hard ground. It wasn’t fun running in the middle of a blizzard towards a village, but, Ryoka had to admit, it wasn’t bad.

The Frost Faeries made all the difference. They flew ahead of her, lighting the way. Without them, Ryoka wouldn’t have known where to go. But they led her on, giving her the surety that she was going in the right direction.

The only problem was her speed. Despite her potions, Ryoka still wasn’t moving that quickly in such horrible conditions. Of course, she wasn’t going that slow either.

The snow was ankle-deep in the best of places and getting deeper by the hour but Ryoka had gotten used to running in such conditions. She wouldn’t have called her progress fast, but when she stuck to the relatively shallower roads she made good progress. She might have to run late into the night, but she’d probably get to the village on time, especially with the stamina potions.

Unfortunately, not everyone saw it that way. The trouble had started five hours into the run. Ryoka had heard grumbling from up ahead, but it had been silenced by Ivolethe. Three hours later, though, she could hear the complaints from the faeries flying around her.

“Hurry up, slow slug! We don’t have all day!”

“Yes, run faster! Snail! Worm!”

They were getting bored. That was the problem. The other faeries that had joined Ivolethe had quickly lost the spirit of giving and regained the spirit of boredom.

And spitefulness.

Ryoka felt a snowball smack her on the back of the head. She gritted her teeth. She’d forgotten how objectionable most Frost Faeries were. Ivolethe was sweet as candy compared to her sisters.

“I’m moving as fast as I can.”

“Not fast enough!”

“Yes, we tire of this! Let’s do something interesting!”

A chorus of voices agreed with the second speaker. Ryoka shook her head.

“If you’re tired, you can leave. I’m going to keep running, though.”

The faeries grumbled, but made no reply. They flew away from Ryoka, letting their lights fade in the flurrying snow. Ryoka prayed they’d left as she continued onwards, following the edge of a pond of some kind. She stared at Ivolethe’s red light ahead, using it as a compass.

It turned left. Ryoka followed it—

And found herself tumbling down a cliff. She shouted in confusion as the ground gave way beneath her and she slip and fell downwards. She hit the ground and lay there stunned for second. Then she found her voice.

“Ivolethe! What the hell was that!?”

“It was not me!”

The faerie flew towards Ryoka as the girl got up. Ryoka took a step towards Ivolethe, but then she spotted another red light floating towards her. And another. And another—

“Hah! We got her, sisters!”

“She fell! Let us do it again!”

The other faeries, now all glowing the same color as Ivolethe, swooped around Ryoka, crowing with delight. Ryoka swore loudly.

“You have got to be kidding me! Stop that! I need to get to Riverfarm!”

“Hah! This is far more fun than bringing you!”

“Yes, yes! She wants to go to that stinking village? Let her find the way. Only, which way is the right way? Choose, mortal!”

Ivolethe, or a faerie that might have been her, swooped closer to Ryoka’s face.

“This way. Ignore those fools!”

Another faerie flew past her.

“No, you idiot! This way! I’m the real Ivolethe, not that faker!”

“No, it’s me!”

“Nae, I!”

“Ignore all these clods! Run, and do not look back!”

Suddenly, all the faeries were flying around Ryoka, in every direction. She swore as the red lights spread out around her, each one shouting her name. Ryoka cupped her hands to her mouth.

“Ivolethe! Tell me about my German!”

“‘Tis rot! A moose gargling a toad sounds far better!”

One of the faeries ahead of Ryoka shouted that. Ryoka grinned and ran towards it as the other faeries made annoyed noises. Ivolethe led Ryoka onwards, but now the other faeries were flying around Ryoka, getting in her way, spraying her with snow—

And trying to lead her astray. Like the will o’ wisps that Ivolethe had resented being compared to, the faeries tried to confuse themselves with Ivolethe, flying in her path and then breaking away. Ryoka attempted to keep her eyes on Ivolethe, but the faeries constantly mimicked her voice, claiming Ryoka had been led astray.

Soon, Ryoka had no idea if she was following the right Ivolethe again. She shouted, got a response, and set off once more. But again the faeries made her progress grind to a halt.

“Fuck you!”

She shouted up at the glowing red lights flying in every direction. The faeries laughed mockingly. Ryoka felt despair and fury building in her chest. She couldn’t get lost out here! But there was no way to get rid of the faeries! And she couldn’t tell them apart!

As Ryoka stumbled onwards through a forest with faeries shouting and flying in every direction, she heard and felt the earth rumble. The Runner turned and saw something huge moving to the left. The ground itself heaved upwards as faeries cried out in alarm and scattered.

“What in the name of crap is that!?”

Ryoka sprinted away as the snow erupted and something swiped at the faeries who had been shouting so loudly a second ago. They flew away as Ryoka saw the thing heave itself up even higher.

Higher. And higher. It rose, a colossus, out of the ground. No—it wasn’t out of the ground. Ryoka realized to her horror that it had been the ground itself! It had been slumbering, until her noisy passage had woken it. But now it rose, and turned towards her. She saw it.

A giant face. A wall of ice. Broken shards. Melted snow. Two massive eyes formed of rock. And then the mouth opened. The Frost Golem roared, its voice the sound of crashing snow and grinding stone.

The faeries screamed back. A flurry of red lights flew up and dove at the Frost Golem’s face, striking it with ice and wind, castigating the massive creature for interrupting their fun.

The ice was probably no harm at all to the Golem, but it disliked the attacks. It swiped at the faeries, and they flew away, jeering at it as they effortlessly dodged the large creature. But they had been distracted, and the Golem began to chase after them, roaring in a voice that shook the entire forest.

“Quickly, Ryoka! While they are distracted!”

A single red light flew down. Ryoka saw Ivolethe beckoning her onwards. Ryoka took one look at the Snow Golem and froze. It was chasing the Frost Faeries away, giving them a far larger target to harass. But that wasn’t what made her eyes go wide and her knees suddenly weak.

“No way.”

“What is it, Ryoka?”

Ivolethe stared at Ryoka’s pale face. The girl swallowed hard.

“I can’t believe it. I can’t. It’s not possible.”

“What, what?”

Ivolethe peered at the Snow Golem, but couldn’t see anything odd about it. She urged Ryoka onwards as the Golem thundered away from them, making the ground shake. Ryoka ran on, turning her head to watch the Snow Golem.

It was impossible. And yet—Ryoka saw it so clearly as she broke out of the forest, following Ivolethe. The Snow Golem was a distant shape in the distance, already nearly obscured by the blizzard.

It was just a Snow Golem, a natural phenomenon in this world. It didn’t look like a classic snowman at all; it was a mountain of ice rather than three spheres stuck together. And yet—

It had a hat.

The black mass on its head was too much like a top hat for Ryoka to call it anything else. Her brain knew it was probably some trees or boulders sticking out at odd angles. That, combined with the darkness made it look like a hat. That was all.

But still, she saw it. The Snow Golem wore a hat on its head as it roared and chased the other faeries away. Ryoka stared after it, and then began to hum under her breath. She turned and called out to the hovering faerie glowing crimson.

“Ivolethe? Let’s go.”

The faerie led her onwards. Ryoka pumped her legs, put her force into her stride. She ran onwards, bringing gifts and relief for a village that needed it. But her head turned one last time as she ran. She spoke under her breath.

“Thanks, Frosty.”

A distant roar was her only response. Ryoka smiled, and kept running.

—-

A few hours after Mrsha had lit her first matchstick, she lit the one hundred and twenty third and watched the flame slowly eat away the stick. She held it close to her face and felt the heat warm her paw. Then she looked up and around Octavia’s shop. It was getting quite noisy.

“I’ll take five boxes!”

“Six, here! I’ll pay with silver!”

“A gold coin if you show me how to make them! Five!”

People were quite agitated about the matchsticks Mrsha was having so much fun lighting. Mrsha understood and didn’t understand at the same time. To her matches were fun, enjoyable, and magical. To the people who’d followed her off the streets and into Octavia’s shop, they were something more.

They were crowded around Octavia’s shop, Humans, Drakes, and Gnolls alike. Adults shouted for the [Alchemist]’s attention, demanded to know if this was her invention—if she would sell them the matches for the same price Mrsha had. Octavia was under siege at her counter. Mrsha saw her desperately waving one of her arms over her head with the other to get people’s attention, but it was no use.

There were so many bodies in the shop that the door was stuck open, letting the cold snow blow into the building. Snowflakes whirled around Mrsha. One struck her match and put it out.

Mrsha let the spent match drop to the ground and looked around. So many people. So many burnt matches. They were small things, but important. New. Bright.

Then Mrsha sneezed. It was cold, even for her. She peered at the last burnt matchstick and decided she was going home.

The Gnoll padded between the legs of the adults and opened the door back to Erin’s inn. She walked through, and carefully closed the door behind her.

“Mrsha! Where have you been?”

A voice made Mrsha spin guiltily. Lyonette strode over to her, all worry and loving concern.

“I’ve been looking for you all day! You’re freezing! Did you go outside? I told you to tell me when you do that!”

She ushered Mrsha out of the way of a Gnoll and Drake couple who were kissing at each other.

“Into the kitchen. I have something to show you—oh, rats! Wait here. I’ve got to clean up a spill.”

Mrsha obediently padded into the kitchen. There she relaxed as the snow on her fur began to melt. Something dug into her side as Mrsha stretched—she pulled out a small pouch, her pouch, filled to the brim.

Mrsha sat and emptied the bulging money pouch onto the ground. Coins clinked as they fell onto the ground. People had given Mrsha a lot of coins for her matches. And Octavia kept giving her more matches, so things had just sort of piled up.

A small mound of wet coins lay on the clean kitchen floor. Mrsha sniffed at the coins. They smelled like metal and sweat and dirt. She carefully picked them all up and stood up. Clumsily, she walked on two legs to the small pottery jar that Lyonette had put on the counter in the corner of the kitchen.

It took Mrsha two tries to jump and pull herself up onto the counter. But then she was right next to the jar. Mrsha opened the lid and carefully dropped the coins into the jar. They made a lovely tinkling sound as they fell. Then she put the lid back in place.

“Mrsha!”

The Gnoll child jumped. Before she could move, two hands lifted her away from the jar. Lyonette scolded her as she lifted Mrsha up.

“You know you can’t take money from the jar! Do you want some coins? I can give you a few bronze ones—but no taking without asking, alright?”

Mrsha squirmed in Lyonette’s arms. The girl sighed.

“Oh, you! Here. Sit there for one more second, and I’ll give you a treat, alright?”

Lyonette went over to one of the ovens and pulled something out. Mrsha’s nose made her sit up and her stomach rumbled as she saw a huge pan of golden bread appear from out of the oven.

“What do you think of this?”

Lyonette gleefully turned and showed it to Mrsha. She picked up a stick of butter that had been chilled next to the window and began to rub it over the top of the fresh bread as she explained.

“Erin has some—what did she call it? Baking powder, that’s right! It makes the bread puff up like this! She made some and it smells delicious, don’t you think?”

Mrsha did think. She licked her lips and stared avidly at the freshly baked bread. The stick of cold butter that Lyonette had rubbed all over the tops had made the bread glisten. Mrsha had never seen bread so plump and full.

She greedily reached for one roll, but Lyonette smacked Mrsha’s paw. The Gnoll gave her an injured look, but Lyonette was unmoved.

“You can have some with everyone else. Come on, let’s bring this out. You can carry a pitcher of m—actually, why don’t you take the butter? Don’t trip!”

Obediently, Mrsha took a saucer of warm, soft butter out into the kitchen. Her stomach was rumbling, and she could already almost taste the wonderful bread in her mouth. She smiled as she walked unsteadily out of the kitchen and put the butter on a table. She had already forgotten about Octavia and her latest invention.

Mrsha liked matches, but she liked being here a lot better.

—-

“Bread’s ready! Oh—for crying out loud!”

Erin turned from the freshly-cut pieces of steaming bread coated liberally with butter and nearly ran into a couple smooching hard under the mistletoe.

“Oops.”

Selys and a Gnoll that Erin didn’t know jumped apart from under the mistletoe. The Gnoll was blushing—he was a bit younger than Erin, and clearly embarrassed to have been caught out. Selys grinned and waved at the scowling innkeeper.

“Hi, Erin. I uh, heard about the mistletoe. I thought I’d give it a whirl.”

“You and everyone else! I’m sick of it!”

“Aw, come on. It’s fun!”

So said Revi, although her lips were a bit puffy from repeated mouth-to-mouth contact. Erin sighed. She beckoned Selys over and whispered to her.

“Kissing is fine. Just don’t kiss Pisces, no matter if he offers, alright? He’s getting a fat head because he thinks he’s such a good kisser!”

Selys’ eyebrows rose as she glanced over. Pisces was looking more smug than ever as he sat at a table with Ksmvr. Ceria and Yvlon were sitting at another table, ignoring him.

“He’s good?”

“So I’m told.”

Erin made a face as Selys eyed Pisces. She looked around and found a few cherries on a tray.

“It’s become a huge thing. People come in, kiss each other, and try to tie knots with cherries. I’m making money, but I feel bad doing it!”

“What’s so special about cherries?”

Erin explained about tying knots in the stems. Selys looked intrigued.

“That sounds like fun! Give me one.”

She chewed the cherry thoughtfully as Erin sighed and began to offer bread to her hungry hordes of customers.

“You look tired. Why haven’t you gotten a few kisses? It’s fun!”

“I don’t want to. Especially not with Pisces.”

Erin frowned at Selys. The Drake shrugged. She took the cherry stem out of her mouth and handed it to Erin. The [Innkeeper] took it automatically.

“Suit yourself. But—and I’m sorry about this, Erin—I’ve got to see what the best kisser’s like. Hey, Pisces! Come over here, you!”

The [Necromancer] looked up as Selys waved to him under the mistletoe. He smirked and came over. Erin shook her head.

She turned away, and then remembered Selys had given her the cherry stem. She glanced down at it. The girl blinked as she saw the cherry stem, tied into a double-knot.

She looked up as she heard the laughter and a cheer. Selys sauntered away from Pisces to a round of applause from the room. Erin had apparently missed the kiss of the day, and it must have been some kiss, because Pisces was bright red.

He turned away from Selys as she laughed and pulled at another Drake, giving him a quick kiss. Erin stared at Pisces, at Selys, and then laughed.

“Hah! Take that!”

Then someone kissed her. Erin felt the brush of whiskers and a wet smooch on her cheek. She yelped, and looked around. A white, furry face stared at her. Mrsha, perched on the table, held a bit of mistletoe with one claw. The girl stared at her. Mrsha licked her cheek. Erin laughed, and then reached out and kissed the Gnoll on her furry cheek.

“Oh, you.”

Five minutes later. Halrac was sitting by himself, sipping from his drink and not-quite-scowling around the room. For him, it was as good as a smile. He must have been drunk, or just off-guard, because he only reacted when he felt the wet kiss on his cheek. And then, simultaneously, another one on the other side.

“What the—”

Halrac turned, a hand on the dagger at his belt. He saw two large, brown eyes. Mrsha licked Halrac’s stubbly cheek. The [Scout] stared at her, and then turned his head towards the other mysterious kisser.

“Merry Christmas, you grumpy old man!”

Revi grinned at Halrac as she held a sprig of mistletoe over his head. Halrac stared at her, and then at Mrsha, who was sniffing at his drink. He rubbed his cheek and grunted. Revi laughed and spun away. Mrsha leapt from the table and went to get more bread.

Now that the kissing was mobile, everyone was fair game. The mistletoe changed hands quite a few times and left the inn in the pockets of some of the guests. Eventually Erin called for a ban on kissing—if only so that she could serve everyone hot bread.

Halrac sat at the table in the corner by himself, chewing the hot bread and remembering eating something similar back when he was young—although he’d had warm milk back then. He stared around the busy room, at friends and people he hardly knew, having fun and celebrating. The [Scout]’s face didn’t change as Ulrien called him to come over and throw a hand of dice. He waved in denial and sat by himself. Alone.

When he was quite sure no one was looking, the [Scout] smiled. Just for a moment.

—-

Relc and Klbkch sat in an alleyway, staring blankly at the brick wall ahead of them. Neither Drake nor Antinium said much.

Relc was holding the bag of banged-up presents in his claws. It was still full. Klbkch’s beard was slipping off his face again. The glue had ripped free from his chitin.

“What are we doing wrong here, Klb?”

“I do not know, Relc.”

“We’re trying to be like Santa, right? I mean, I’m dressing up like him and everything! Why are people kicking us out? They don’t want our presents!”

“It is a quandary. I believe our efforts, while well-intentioned, have the opposite effect.”

“Yeah. Wanna give up?”

“That may be best. Let us retire to Erin’s inn.”

Klbkch and Relc got up slowly and walked out of the alleyway. They walked down the street, ignoring the curious and horrified looks with their heads down. They only looked up when they heard the crying.

Someone was upset. Someone was weeping. And there was the sound of breaking pottery—from one of the houses ahead of them. Relc nudged Klbkch.

“They sound upset, don’t they, Klb?”

The Antinium stared at the house’s door. It seemed…unhinged, as if it had been knocked off its frame.

“Indeed they do. Should we investigate?”

Relc nodded.

“One last time. Then we’re done.”

The two [Guardsmen] approached the door cautiously. Relc nodded to Klbkch as the Antinium took a position on the other side of the door. The Drake counted to three, and then kicked the door in. The crash made everyone inside go silent for a moment.

“Does anyone want a pres—hey!”

Relc’s eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the two Drakes wearing masks over their faces. One was standing guard over two frightened Gnoll children as the other ransacked the house.

The burglars froze at the sight of Relc and Klbkch. Oddly dressed though they might be, the Senior Guardsmen were a known duo in Liscor.

“Well, well, well. It looks like Santa’s found someone who’s been naughty.”

Relc grinned and cracked his knuckles as the two thieves backed up. One whipped a knife from his belt out and stabbed at Relc. The Drake caught the blade barehanded and threw it away.

“Not sharp enough! Hi, nice to meet you! I’m Relc—I mean, Santa Claus! Here’s my fist!”

He clocked the first thief in the face and then kicked him between the legs. The Drake folded up and Relc dodged back as the other one swung at him. He turned, twisted—his tail smacked the second thief in the face with a crack.

“You’ve been extra naughty! You’re on my list! You got that, you punks?”

The fight carried out into the street as Relc threw one of the [Thieves] out of the window. The Drake landed with pieces of the broken shutters raining around him. He gasped for air and tried to get up—just in time to meet a black rock that smashed into the side of his face.

“Have some coal!”

Relc smacked the painted black rock into the offending [Thief]’s head. Klbkch tripped up the other as the Drake [Thief] tried to race out of the building. The Antinium calmly strode over to the fallen burglar and kicked him in the stomach.

“Ho. Ho. Ho. Merry Christmas.”

The commotion attracted a crowd. Drakes, Gnolls, and some Humans watched as Relc and Klbkch beat the two burglars down, Klbkch with a brick, Relc with his sack of presents.

When they were done, the two [Guardsmen] straightened up, and heard the cheering. They saw the crowd applauding them, and realized everyone had a huge smile on their face. Relc turned to Klbkch. The Antinium was blinking down at one of the Gnoll children, who’d given him a hug.

“It’s the holidays, Klbkch.”

“Indeed it is.”

“I think I feel the Chirstmas spirit! Look at all these smiling faces!”

Relc grinned as the father of the Gnolls came over to thank him personally. He reached into his sack and rummaged around. After a moment, Relc handed a battered present with a bit of blood splattered on the side to one of the Gnoll children. The young Gnoll sniffed curiously at the package, and then tore apart the wrapping. He stared at the wooden buckler and sword and grinned in delight.

Klbkch slapped Relc on the back. Relc staggered, and glared at him.

“Ow.”

“I am expressing my enthusiasm as you often do.”

“Don’t. That’s my thing.”

Relc sighed. He cracked his knuckles and stared around at the other children, who were already fighting over the presents Klbkch was handing out.

“That was fun. Alright. I’m done. Let’s get a drink, shall we?”

“Indeed.”

They left the bag of presents and fake beard and Santa costumes to be claimed by the excited children and pedestrians. Klbkch and Relc marched the battered [Thieves] to the city jail, talking along the way.

“Do you think that was enough good deeds?”

“I believe so. As we both regularly perform acts in service to the city, we should have accumulated an excess of good deeds this year.”

“Awesome. I wonder what I’ll get from the real Santa-guy. He’ll deliver the presents to Erin’s inn, right?”

“I would like a Dwarf-crafted sword.”

“Ooh, do you think I could get an enchanted spear? I left my old one back with the army.”

“We should ask Erin if Santa has any [Blacksmith] levels.”

“He’s gotta. I mean…presents, right? You can’t just make do with [Craftsman] levels.”

Klbkch was silent. He paused as he thought more concretely about Santa, and the odds of receiving a specialty-made item manufactured across the continent. For the first time, Klbkch questioned Bird’s scattered account of a Human man who rode a sleigh pulled by reindeer that flew.

“…It occurs to me Relc, that this Santa Claus that Erin has spoken of does not exist. The presents may in fact come from other people and are simply attributed to his presence.”

Relc paused. His tail drooped as he suddenly put some obvious pieces together.

“No. You think so?”

“If Santa existed, why has he not given us presents before?”

“Aw…no! I thought maybe it was a Human thing and we were included on his list since Erin knows us!”

Klbkch brightened up.

“That may be true. I did not consider that. Let us ask Erin whether that is the case.”

Unfortunately, both Drake and Antinium found to their disappointment that Santa was a myth. Erin laughed herself off of her chair when she heard what they’d done. But she gave them a hug and hot food, and so the [Guardsmen] felt a bit better by the time the inn closed.

“I guess we’ll get our presents tomorrow. I mean, if anyone’s left any. Doesn’t look like it.”

Relc sighed as he double-checked all of the presents. There were none for him. He sagged, and then turned, pulling something out of the rucksack on his back.

“Hey Klb, I’m ready to go! Klb?”

The Antinium turned. He had something in his hands. A carefully wrapped present, tied with a string of twine. Relc stared at it, and then remembered Klbkch hadn’t brought his presents yet. He stared at the nametag, and saw his name on the tag.

Klbkch looked at Relc. The Drake had a clumsily-wrapped present in his claws, the wrapping already torn a bit. But Klbkch’s name was clearly scrawled on the nametag.

“Oh.”

“Ah.”

The two [Guardsmen] stared at each other. Then Relc laughed, and Klbkch opened his mandibles in a smile. They put their gifts together and walked out the door, side by side.

“Merry Christmas, Relc.”

“Yeah, Merry Christmas, Klb.”

The two sauntered down the hill towards Liscor, talking and chuckling over the events of the day. After a while, Relc frowned and stared back towards the inn.

“You didn’t get me anything creepy or wriggly, did you, Klb?”

“No. Did you get me coal, Relc?”

“No! You’ll like it. I think. Yeah. Probably.”

Klbkch nodded.

“Well then. I shall see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I’ll open your crappy gift during the party. At least I know I’ll have one, even if it is icky.”

“Indeed. One is better than none. I shall contain my disappointment.”

“You do that. Later.”

The two parted ways without a second word. They didn’t look back, but both walked with heads held high.

They were smiling.

—-

Late at night, the night before Christmas, hundreds of miles away, the villagers of Riverfarm were about to go to sleep on another miserable, ordinary day that was their life now. But the people who’d been posted sentry raised the alarm, shouting, as they saw something approaching their village in the dark flurrying snow.

“Who—who are you? I warn you, we’ve nothing to take! We’re under the protection of [Emperor] Laken! Begone if you mean trouble!”

Farmer Prost shouted as the dark shape ran towards him. He held a sword at the ready with two shaking hands. He’d never had to actually use it to fight; it was a memento from his father. He was about to swing when he saw the red light illuminating the distinct Runner’s Seal held in a gloved hand over Ryoka’s head.

She slowed as she approached the ruined village, taking in the destroyed buildings, the men and women holding weapons, and the frightened children. The villagers of Riverfarm stared as the strange figure pulled away a scarf and hood to reveal a young woman’s face. They hadn’t seen a Runner come all the way to their village in years. Most messages made the final journey via cart or wagon when they went to town.

“I’m a Runner. I’ve got a delivery from Laken.”

Ryoka had to speak several times to make her voice work. She had to say it again for Prost, who was staring at her uncomprehendingly.

“From—you mean from [Emperor] Laken?”

“That’s right.”

Ryoka groaned as she took the bag of holding from her belt. She felt like she was dead. Even with the stamina potions and healing potion, her feet ached, her body felt like it was falling apart, and she was numb. But she was here.

The villagers ushered her into their main living space, the renovated barn, and Ryoka sighed as she saw a fire had been carefully built in the center. She trudged over to it, and tried to set herself on fire to warm up.

“We haven’t had word since he left. We were sure he’d be kept by the storm—but he sent you to tell us he’s alright? Has he bought provisions?”

Prost hovered anxiously by Ryoka. She shook her head.

“No. He sent me to bring you them. Here.”

She handed the bag of holding to Prost. His face fell as he saw it, but then it changed the instant he reached inside. Ryoka, staring at the fire, heard the exclamations but didn’t bother to turn around. She wanted to eat the coals and let them warm her from the inside.

“Food! Dead Gods, there’s so much of it!”

“We’re saved! Praise [Emperor] Laken!”

Ryoka heard the commotion and the weeping. It was a while before she could tear herself away from the fire. But when she did, she saw…people. That was all.

She saw people. Just people, ragged, afraid. There was nothing special about them; they were just a frightened mass, suddenly relieved because good fortune had come their way. That was what Ryoka told herself.

They believed in an [Emperor], a false leader. Laken wasn’t—they’d put their faith in him blindly, and he’d delivered. But even so—

The man who’d talked to her, Prost, was in tears. He was hugging his wife and what looked like his daughter, tears streaming down his cheeks. Ryoka couldn’t face the raw emotion, the pure relief in his eyes. She looked away and clutched at her heart.

It wasn’t growing three sizes. It just hurt. She’d run hard, that was all. That was all.

They came to her after that, full of gratitude and heartfelt thanks. Ryoka backed away from it all. She didn’t want praise. She’d just—was just a Runner—

There was something in the air. That was it. Ryoka certainly wasn’t moved by a hug from a tearful mother, or a man taking her hand and bowing to her over and over, praising her for braving the storm. It was just a temporary bit of insanity that made her take the bag of holding she owned, the one with the presents Laken had bought, and walk over to the children.

“Hello there. Have you all been good boys and girls?”

They stared up at her, wide-eyed. Ryoka crouched down as she tried to explain why she was here.

“I’ve got presents, you see. As well as food. Laken—your [Emperor] wanted to make sure you had something nice for the holidays.”

“What holidays, Miss?”

“Christmas. You see, it’s a special day where Laken comes from. On that day, everyone who’s been good gets presents. Who’s been good? I have a present for all of you! For you and you and you…they’re from Santa Claus!”

“Who’s that?”

One of the children asked the question, staring warily at the wrapped gift Ryoka handed him. She smiled.

“Haven’t you heard of the story of Saint Nicholas? Father Christmas? Kris Kringle? Really? Well, he has many names, but I always knew of him as Santa Claus. You see, where I come from, each year Santa Claus gets on his magical sled pulled by flying reindeer and flies around. He flies to every village, every home, every family in every city. And he gives presents to the good kids and coal to the bad ones. He hired me to deliver these presents this year.”

She winked at the adults. They caught on quickly, and smiled and shed some more tears. The children gathered around Ryoka, asking questions.

“Why didn’t he come last year?”

“How come he came this year?”

“Well…he normally doesn’t come out this far. But Laken knows him. He’s a friend of your [Emperor], so Laken got him to give him some presents for you all. Don’t ask more questions. Merry Christmas.”

She had a present for every child, but not all of them came forwards at once. One girl stood back. Ryoka turned to her, trying to give the girl her most sincere, not-scary smile.

“What about you, kid?”

The girl shook her head. She stared at the present in Ryoka’s hands, but then stepped back from it. She looked up at Ryoka with hollow eyes. And when she spoke, she broke Ryoka’s heart.

“I don’t think I’ve been good, Miss. My brother’s dead. He died in the snow and I couldn’t find him.”

“You—what?”

Ryoka paused. The smiles on the faces of the children around her died like dead lightbulbs. The adults fell still.

“It was the avalanche, Miss Runner. I woke up on top of the snow, but my brother—he was right with me when it hit. I dug down and around, but I couldn’t find him. He was right next to me. Right there. Just a few feet to the left. But I didn’t find him until the Emperor dug him up.”

The girl stared up at Ryoka, her eyes staring back through time. There were no tears in her eyes. They’d all fallen long ago.

Ryoka couldn’t get her throat to work at first. She hesitated, and then knelt next to the girl. When she spoke, it was very slowly, very carefully, looking the grief-stricken girl right in the eyes.

“I’m so sorry. It wasn’t your fault. I know you tried—you couldn’t have known. I’m so sorry. But you know what? I—don’t think that means you’re naughty.”

“You don’t?”

“I’m sure. Hey listen—what’s your name?”

“Anabelle, Miss.”

“Well, Anabelle, I think Laken agrees with me. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because he told me to make sure Anabelle got a present. He told me to make sure you and every kid here got a present, understand? So he doesn’t think you’re naughty. In fact…he told me you might like this one especially.”

Ryoka pulled a present out of the bag and handed it to Anabelle. She took it, and stared down at the neat bow on it, looking lost.

“Why don’t you open it?”

“Are you sure? Did Emperor Laken really say that?”

Anabelle stared up at Ryoka, wanting to believe. And Ryoka lied. She lied straight to the girl’s face, and smiled because it was no lie but the truth.

“I’m sure. Here. Why don’t you open it? Just pull there.”

The girl pulled, and the wrapping fell away and she stared at the little doll, dressed up like an adventurer. Perhaps it was just coincidence that it was male, and it had blonde hair like hers. Or maybe it was magic. Faerie magic? Or just the magic of Christmas.

She began to cry. Ryoka reached out and gingerly hugged her. She whispered to the girl.

“You didn’t do anything wrong. That’s why Santa sent me. That’s why your [Emperor] brought all these presents. Now—why don’t we give you something good to eat?”

Anabelle sobbed into her coat and nodded. Ryoka looked back at the other children. They were teary-eyed as well, but that was fine. There was something important in those tears.

“Who wants to see what else I’ve brought with me?”

Hands rose hesitantly. Ryoka turned, and saw the adults standing, watching her. There was something in their eyes because they kept brushing at them. Hers too. Ryoka let Anabelle cling to her as she handed presents out. And then she had another thought.

“While we’re at it—why don’t I tell you a story? Would you like to hear a story? About Santa Claus?”

Ryoka sat on the straw floor of the barn and saw faeries land on the roof of the barn. She stared at them, but they made the interior of the building shimmer and glow. In every color. The villagers and children gasped, and Ryoka smiled.

“What are you staring at? Didn’t I say Santa was magic? Well, maybe he’s watching you. Now that I think of it…I’ll tell you stories about Santa, too! Did you know one of his reindeer has a red nose? Let me tell you about that. Once upon a time, on a night even snowier than this…”

—-

Later then. So late that it was minutes away from becoming Christmas day, or the day Erin had decided was Christmas. She sat in her inn, her guests long gone, a pile of presents in one corner, and slowly cleared the last table.

“We’re done. Thank you so much for helping, Lyonette.”

“It was—nothing—Erin.”

Lyonette managed to get the words out between jaw-cracking yawns. She and Mrsha were dozing in a chair by the fire.

A single candle lit the room along with the fireplace. Mrsha stared at the flickering flame as it slowly wore down the wax candle. It was hypnotic, soothing. Before she knew it, Lyonette’s eyes were closing.

“You look tired. You should head upstairs.”

“I think Mrsha’s done. But she’s sort of restless. She had too much honey.”

Mrsha was indeed still awake, despite the late hour. She squirmed just a tiny bit, too hyped to sleep, but too tired to move. Erin smiled.

“Well, how shall we put her to bed? Hot milk? That always worked for me, or so my mom said.”

“I think she’s full to bursting. How about a song? I’d sing, but…I’m no [Singer]. Do you have the class?”

“I do, but you don’t have to have a class to sing, Lyonette. Why don’t I teach you some Christmas songs?”

“Oh. Can you? I’ve always liked music. They only sing the same songs in court back home…”

Lyonette sat up slightly, eyes shining. Mrsha perked her ears up too. Erin laughed and settled down in a chair across from them next to the fire.

“Why not. I’ll sing you…a classic song about Christmas. Okay?”

Silence was her only answer. Erin took a deep breath, and thought of the songs she’d heard growing up, when she had to go to the Christmas service at church, and sung by carolers and played on speakers and online as the world changed.

“Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright…”

Her voice was the last thing anyone heard. The snow fell deeper, as across the world the night ended and a new day began. Nothing changed, but it was Christmas. And Erin sang.

“Sleep in heavenly peace. Sleep in heavenly peace…”

Her voice trailed off. Erin looked around and saw Lyonette and Mrsha had already fallen asleep. Erin sighed, glancing upstairs where their beds were waiting.

And she smiled. Just a bit. Erin stood up and found a blanket for the slumbering Mrsha and Lyonette. She took down the mistletoe and burned it in the fire. She took out the presents she’d wrapped for Klbkch and Relc and put them with the others. Then she stared out the window.

“Merry Christmas, everyone. To all good sleep. And too all…um. Wait. Oh well. Good night.”

Then she blew out the candle and went to sleep.

3.42

And then…it was Christmas.

Erin was up before dawn again, rubbing at her eyes. She hauled water, helped Lyonette finish cleaning the room—and got food ready.

That was what it was. Food. Erin mechanically created and seasoned a fatty soup with sausage, mushroom, vegetable extract, flour, garlic, a hard-boiled egg…all added to a rye flour and water base that had been mixed several days ago.

Sour soup. It tasted better than described. That was course one. But Erin had far more to do. She fried little dumplings with meat in the center – a Drake favorite food – toasted kebabs in the Gnollish fashion, and finished with some good old Human decadency.

Hamburgers, pizza, popcorn…anything Erin could think of she made. Because she knew she was going to need it all.

Her adventurer guests came and went, eating breakfast, and then lunch. Erin kept cooking, getting ready for the real meal. From time to time she pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and stared at it.

On a delivery. Emergency—a village needs supplies and food. Will try to be back in time for Christmas. Ryoka.

She’d received it from the Mage’s Guild. Erin stared at the paper each time, and then carefully folded it away. Each time the door opened she looked up hopefully. But it was never Ryoka. And eventually, Erin stopped looking for her. She had a job to do.

They began coming in at noon. First Relc, rubbing his hands and exclaiming with delight as he saw two presents with his name on it. Then Selys and Krshia and to Erin’s delight, a tired Brunkr. His arm was bandaged and cleaned and he managed to smile at her.

At some point, the door to Celum opened and Octavia fell through. She slept on the floor. After a while Jasi, Wesle, and the [Actors] came through, along with Maran and Safry. Miss Agnes was not there, but Grev darted in as well and stepped on Octavia’s head, waking her up.

After that, Pawn, Bird, Belgrade, and even Garry appeared. Erin had to come out of the kitchen to meet Garry and hug him. Anand was still in Esthelm, but the Antinium Workers had brought some more Workers and Soldiers with them. They sat in a corner while Garry offered his services to Erin. She accepted with relief and they went back into the kitchen.

The Horns of Hammerad hadn’t ever really left, but Pisces came in with Ksmvr with last-minute gifts. They joined Ceria and Yvlon, who were sitting and drinking with the Halfseekers.

Griffon Hunt came to the inn around the same time as Klbkch did. The Antinium was not with the adventurers; he snuck in, looking guiltier than Erin had ever seen him. The reason for that was obvious; an irate Xrn followed him into the inn later. She would have dragged Klbkch away, but Erin presented her with a deep-fried bee and she stayed.

Who else? Erin was beginning to lose track. She was surprised when Hawk appeared, looking wide-eyed at her multitude of guests, but she had sent him an invitation too, hadn’t she? And then came other people, Selys’s Drake friends, some Gnolls that Krshia knew, more people from Celum…

One person came last, as the party was underway. Zel Shivertail stood at Liscor’s gates, shivering a bit as the wind froze his scales. It was cold, far colder than yesterday. He would love to be inside and drinking some of the ‘eggnog’ that Erin had made. But he was outside, listening to someone he really didn’t care for.

“If you’re so worried, come and join the party yourself.”

He snapped at Ilvriss as the Lord of the Wall stood, warm and comfortable in his heavy fur coat and enchanted clothing. The other Drake stared at Zel Shivertail with a look of incredulity.

“I would rather eat my tail than sit in the same room with one of the Ants. You seem to be able to tolerate them—and all those Humans. I am simply telling you what to look out for.”

“I know what to look for. Anything. We don’t know why Xrn and the other Antinium are here. Your precious city leaders and councils have oh so many suspicions and fears, but you know nothing.”

Zel growled at Ilvriss. The Lord of the Wall was unmoved. He glanced towards the inn with a sour expression.

“Just listen and don’t drink yourself under the table, Shivertail. We have a duty. You and I might have come north looking for that Human Runner, but this is far bigger than either of us.”

“Don’t I know it. I’ll keep an earhole open, don’t you worry.”

The [General] turned away from Ilvriss. He began stomping towards the inn, moving quickly to keep out of the cold.

Quickly for Zel meant that he reached the inn in three minutes. He was still half-frozen by the time he did, but opening the door and feeling the warm rush of air on his scales and smelling all the delicious scents in the air made everything worth it.

“Uncle!”

Someone called his name. Zel looked around and smiled as he saw his favorite niece. The one who didn’t treat him like a living legend. Selys was sitting at a table with Mrsha, the Gnoll named Krshia, Olesm, and—Zel’s smile faltered a bit—Pawn.

The Drake only hesitated for a second. He came over and smiled as everyone welcomed him. He didn’t sit next to Pawn, but he didn’t sit far away from the Antinium either. Pawn he could tolerate.

“Uncle, I think that blue Antinium’s here. So is Klbkch. Don’t make a scene.”

Selys warned Zel, which was probably wise. The [General] stiffened, but Selys deposited Mrsha in his lap. The Gnoll stared soulfully up into Zel’s eyes and a crisis was averted.

Running about the inn, Erin felt like all was crisis. She lifted a pan up and yelped as the hot handle scorched her hands. She would have dropped the pan filled with fried ground beef and onions, but someone caught it by the base.

“Are you alright, Miss Erin?”

Garry held the hot pan without a care in the world. Erin blew on her hands as he put the meat back on the stove.

“Great, Garry! Your carapace is awesome, you know that?”

“It is a very helpful aid when I handle hot or cold objects. Or cut myself.”

Garry nodded. He lifted a basket of Erin’s new, ultra-fluffy bread up and carried it out into the common room. Erin followed him with a pot of butter and another one of honey.

Noise. And people calling her name. Erin smiled as people eating and laughing and playing games turned and waved at her. She put the food down in the center of the room and saw Mrsha leap off of Zel’s lap and make a beeline towards the food.

Someone who made a beeline towards Erin was Revi. The Stitch-girl [Mage] put her hands on her hips.

“Erin, please tell Octavia to stop trying to sell me things! Just because we’re both the same species doesn’t mean I’ll buy her insane potions.”

“I’ll have a word with her. Would you like some bread?”

Erin dealt with Revi as someone else came up to take a few warm buns and slather them with honey and butter.

“Miss Solstice, are you sure you have enough food for me? I am quite fine eating whatever—”

“I’m fine! Eat! Eat!”

The girl turned and smiled up at Moore. He smiled back and ducked his head. As the half-Giant walked back to his table where a bunch of the adventurers had gathered, he passed by two arguing Antinium. One, a slim Antinium with blue carapace, unique among her kind, was not happy with the other.

“You have run off to this inn and avoided speaking with me for the fifth time, Klbkch. What attracts you so?”

Klbkch the Slayer, one of the legendary Centenium, Revelantor of the Free Antinium of Liscor and acting Prognugator, hunched his shoulders as Xrn glared at him.

“It is Christmas. This is an important tradition that I must undertake to spread goodwill—”

“You spend all your time eating and talking with that Human. Does your Queen know you’re doing this?”

He did not reply. Xrn made an exasperated hissing-click that needed no translation.

“Once I am done eating this bee, you and I are going back to the Hive. We must talk, Klbkch.”

“But I have to obtain my presents.”

“That is no—what kind of presents? And is that honey I see over there?”

Xrn grew distracted as she saw the fluffy bread, sitting appetizingly on one table. She knew the Antinium could not process gluten well, but she could still desire to taste the food.

“Honored Prognugator Xrn.”

A voice interrupted Xrn as Klbkch was sinking down in his seat. Both Antinium looked up. Ksmvr cringed as he bowed, but he still offered her the small trinket in his third hand.

“What is this? And who are you?”

“I was the Prognugator for the Hive until my…failures. However, I see your gaze upon the bread. I would like to give you this small token, that you might eat it.”

He offered Xrn the trinket he’d taken from the dead Goblin that resisted food poisoning. Xrn stared at the amulet, and then at Ksmvr. She closed his hand over the trinket.

“Fascinating. Thank you, Ksmvr. I have seen the spell and will copy it. Your help is appreciated.”

Ksmvr was stunned. He bowed and retreated, staring once at Klbkch. Xrn muttered to herself and tapped her chest, replicating the spell she had just seen.

“I had no idea such a spell existed. I did not look or think of it until now, but this is extraordinary. I should like to taste that bread.”

Beside her, Klbkch sat up.

“Will you cast that spell on me?”

“No. You do not deserve it. Why did you exile that poor Antinium, Klbkch? And why does he look like a copy of your former self? He walks like you. What has your Queen been up to?”

“It is a long story. If I tell you, will you cast the spell on me as well?”

As the two Antinium sat together, Ksmvr passed by Erin on his way back to the Horns of Hammerad. He saw her desperately calling for Lyonette to help her; she was balancing at least eleven dishes together on her way back to the kitchen.

“Let me.”

Ksmvr was preempted from helping by Typhenous. The mage lifted the mess of plates up and walked into the kitchen. Erin sighed with relief.

“Thank you so much!”

“Sorry, Erin! I was running to get more water!”

Lyonette came over, puffing from her run outside with the buckets. Erin saw several basins full of snow lined up by the fire, melting into water.

“It’s fine, Lyonette. Go back to serving if you’ve got time—I think Garry’s got the pizzas all ready. Now—who was calling my name?”

She went over and found Jasi wringing her hands. Grev was sitting at the table, glaring at Wesle as the former [Guardsman] hunched over in his seat. Erin didn’t see Relc at first; he was trying to hide under the table.

“What’s wr—”

She felt the cold air and saw a hole and the broken glass. Jasi explained.

“They were playing a knife flipping game, but Wesle lost his grip and—I’m so sorry, Erin!”

“No problem. It’s no problem—I’ll just uh, board that up—”

Erin ran off. Relc came out under the table.

“Oops. How mad was she?”

It was Krshia who saw Erin run back with a hammer and nails and a piece of wood. The Gnoll stood up to offer Erin a paw, but Brunkr, sitting beside her, suddenly hissed and grabbed his Aunt with his good hand.

“Aunt! That’s Zel Shivertail sitting there! I knew I’d seen his face before! That’s him! The Tidebreaker!”

“Of course he is. He stays at Erin’s inn, yes?”

Krshia shook her head as Brunkr goggled at her.

“If you’d been out at any time, you would have learned this. Go talk to him if you are so desperate.”

“Talk? Me?”

Across the room, Halrac’s keen ears heard Erin yelp. He saw her blowing on a finger she’d accidentally hammered and lowered his mug.

“Why’s she got a hammer?”

Ulrien, sitting next to him followed Halrac’s gaze. The [Scout] grunted irritably.

“Someone broke a window.”

“That’s why glass is risky.”

Halrac’s longtime comrade shook his head. Ulrien gazed at Erin as she took her tools away and stared at the rough patch on the window. The big man nodded to the [Innkeeper].

“Your friend seems tired.”

“She’s not my friend. And she’s fine. She’s smiling.”

Halrac glared at Ulrien, but the leader of Griffon Hunt pushed his mug back and shook his head.

“How can you be a [Veteran Scout] with over 30 levels in your class and still not see the obvious, Halrac? Look at her. She’s smiling, but she’s exhausted.”

The [Scout] looked, and this time he saw Ulrien was right. Erin was smiling, but she nearly tripped over her own bucket bringing it back into the kitchen. She had rings around her eyes.

“She needs to hire someone else. Running an inn’s no job for just her and a [Barmaid].”

That came from Hawk. He was sitting with Halrac and Ulrien, having made their acquaintance earlier today. He’d actually met them a few times while running deliveries, hence their easy camaraderie.

All three males watched as Erin ran over to help Garry and Lyonette put a positively gargantuan platter of barbequed ribs on the table. Erin rushed into the kitchen and came out with the fried potato strips she called ‘fries’.

“A hard worker. You were right when you said we should stay here, Halrac.”

Ulrien raised his mug and took a drink. He tilted it up for the dregs. Hawk nodded, looking hungrily at the fries. Some were made of sweet potatoes, and reminded him of carrots.

“This inn is hopping. And the food is excellent! I’d heard that Erin came up with new food every other day, but this is just impressive. You wouldn’t happen to know if anyone’s planning on moving out, would you? I’d love to rent a room…”

“Oh Erin! Erin!”

Halrac gritted his teeth as a familiar voice called out Erin’s name for the seventh time that night. Erin came over a bit slower than usual, because Revi was the one waving her hand.

“We need a refill! We’ve been waiting for five minutes already!”

“Coming up!”

Erin ran off. Halrac glared at Revi, sitting at the table behind him.

“Stop pestering her. Can’t you see she’s busy?”

Revi gave Halrac the condescending look he hated so much.

“She’s an innkeeper, Halrac. This is her job. If she’s too busy to serve drinks, she should hire someone else to help!”

“That’s what I said!”

Hawk leaned around Halrac to speak to Revi.

“Did you know there used to be a skeleton that helped around the inn? It was the talk of the city! I wonder what happened to it…”

Pisces could have told Hawk, or any of the Horns of Hammerad. But they were all busy watching Belgrade and Pawn take on the entire room at the tables where the game of Go was being played.

The two Antinium played anyone and everyone who sat at their tables. They moved their hands quickly, placing white and black stones, easily defeating most players. Pisces and Pawn were engaged in a heated speed-battle where each player had only a second to place a stone, while Belgrade dueled Olesm in a slower, more thoughtful match.

“Erin! Hey, Erin!”

Ceria waved at Erin and the girl skidded to a halt as she carried drinks over to Griffon Hunt. In the background Revi groaned loudly.

“What is it, Ceria? Emergency? Need something?”

Erin tried to wipe sweat off of her forehead as she turned towards Ceria. The half-Elf shook her head. She raised a half-devoured rib and pointed to it.

“Good meat! I love the sauce!”

Erin stared at Ceria for a second. She opened her mouth, and then turned and hurried off.

“Erin! Erin! Hey, Erin! I dropped my fork and can’t find it! I need another!”

“When are we opening presents?”

“Do you have more vegetables? Too much meat gives me gas.”

“I’m sorry, but I need another bucket of water. Too much heat. Do you have any on hand?”

Erin measured the minutes by the requests she got. She ran back and forth, smiling trying to avoid adding to the mess on the floors, and serving drinks and food in between.  She wasn’t aware of the time until Revi spoke up as Erin was serving her another drink.

“Is there any entertainment for the night? Or are we supposed to watch the Ants play that board game and chat and eat?”

The [Innkeeper] paused as Halrac and Ulrien both glared at Revi and she steadfastly ignored them.

“Entertainment? Um, like what? More alcohol?”

“No! Don’t you have someone who plays the lute, or tells stories?”

Revi stared around the room, eying the group of [Actors] hopefully. Erin wondered if they’d be able to perform, but her heart sank as she realized half of them were so drunk they could barely sit straight.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Why not sing?”

A laughing Drake who’d heard their conversation called that out. Erin turned towards him—he was one of Selys’ friends and had scales which were pink. He might have claimed they were red, but they were more pink than red in Erin’s eyes.

“What? Sing?”

“Aren’t you the Human who sang that one time? I heard the music on Hessal Street, halfway across the city!”

“That’s right! You could sing, Erin!”

Selys stood up and called it out. Heads turned, and after the guests at the inn pieced together what was going on, more raised their voices in approval.

“Sing!”

“I loved that song about defeating the Huns! Nice war song! Who are they?”

Ceria, sitting at a table and trying to talk herself out of eating another rib, sat up and nudged Yvlon. The woman stared as Erin was bombarded by calls to sing.

“Songs, huh? I remember Erin singing.”

Yvlon stared at Ceria. Their eyes found a table in the center of the room. Both remembered Erin singing. In a room full of adventurers, as she held an injured Pawn, singing into the night.

The half-Elf held her breath as Erin made her way into the center of the room. Erin was blushing, looking harried by all the pressure on her. But she obligingly grabbed a wooden spoon and used it as a fake microphone.

“Attention! Attention, everyone! I guess it’s song time! I’m going to sing you a few Christmas songs from home—I hope you like them!”

“Finally.”

Revi muttered and got a jab from Belgrade in the side as the Antinium went back to sit at their table.

Standing in the center of the room, Erin wiped sweat off of her face and tried to think of a good song to sing. She felt so tired. But this was Christmas, and she had guests to entertain!

“This one’s a song I hear—heard all the time back at home. Jingle bells!”

She took a breath, and people cheered. Erin closed her eyes—

And remembered.

The sounds around her faded. Part of it was people growing quiet, listening to her sing. But another part was different. It might have been magic, it might have been her Skill. But the guests in her inn suddenly heard a ringing bell, a beating drum, and then Erin’s voice, singing a song from childhood. From home.

“Dashing through the snow on a one-horse open sleigh, o’er the fields we go, laughing all the way…”

Home. It was something she’d avoided thinking of. But here, in this moment, in this place, Erin couldn’t escape. So she gave voice to that feeling her chest, the memories.

Home.

Maybe that was why the next song she sung wasn’t a Christmas carol. Erin sang a song from the band Journey. The classic. The story in the song that she’d danced to so many times as a kid. The song played in the 3rd Season of Scrubs.

Don’t Stop Believing. The crowd in her inn cheered wildly when Erin was done. Some of them were rubbing their ears and staring around the inn for the drums and electric guitars that had been playing—others just sat, listening with mouths open to a type of music that had not existed in their world until now.

Erin smiled as people cheered her on, demanding another song. She immediately launched into the classic she’d sung for Lyonette and Mrsha, Silent Night. She sang with her eyelids shut. She wasn’t standing in her inn anymore. She was somewhere else.

Where would she be if she were at home? She’d be…she’d be in her living room, eating with her mom and dad. She’d probably be laughing and eying the presents under the tree. Knowing her father, he’d have bought her some chess guide or a new board—her mom would get Erin some tasteful clothing that Erin had hinted she wanted. And Erin would be looking forwards to seeing her parent’s reactions for the presents she’d bought.

Or—Erin’s voice faltered. Would she be in college? She would have been in college after her one year break. Erin would probably have come home for the holidays, but—

“Erin?”

She looked around, and realized the song had ended. People were waiting for the next song. Erin smiled. She felt something building in her heart. She searched for a song, and couldn’t think of anything off the top of her head.

“Um—what should I sing next? Another Christmas song? Okay. Then I’ll sing…”

It came to her without thinking.

“How about Home For the Holidays? Anyone heard that song? Well—”

Erin smiled faintly as people cheered and clapped. She took a deep breath and began. There was no accompaniment for this song. It wasn’t an immortal moment. Erin felt her heart beating slowly as she began to sing, mechanically reciting the song she’d heard so many times.

“Oh there’s no place like home for the holidays—”

Only when she was halfway through did Erin’s mind catch up with what she was singing. She paused, and people looked up. She coughed, and felt something in her stop. The people who’d been swaying to the music paused and looked at her. She tapped her throat, cleared it.

“Sorry. Something was in my throat. Let me try again.”

She opened her mouth, and tried again.

“Oh there’s no place like home for the—”

Again she broke off. This time, the noise in the inn died. Erin lowered the wooden spoon in her hands.

Something was wrong. Her eyes were stinging, and the world was getting fuzzy. Erin tried again. She took a deep breath.

“There’s no place like…”

Silence. Every eye was on Erin. The people in her inn had stopped. They stared at the girl standing in the center of the room. Erin’s cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright. The last word she’d meant to sing died unspoken.

She dropped the spoon. It landed on the floor with a clatter. Erin looked around. Her eyes were bright and overfull. The word echoed in her mind, in her heart.

Home.

She wasn’t home. She was far from home. And though she’d tried to forget, Erin couldn’t. She remembered her parents, her home. Her friends. They weren’t here. This wasn’t her world.

Standing in the center of the room, Erin blinked and then lost the smile that she’d kept on her face for so long. Her mouth turned down.

She couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard she tried. The world blurred. Erin’s shoulders shook. Slowly tears rolled down her cheeks and fell onto the floor of the inn.

Drip. Drip.

Erin covered her mouth with her hands. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop.

Home. She missed home! She wanted to see her mom and dad again. She wanted to go to her room. She wanted it so badly that Erin couldn’t do anything but cry.

No one could speak. Erin looked around, tears falling, unable to speak. Wide-eyed faces stared up at her, people soundlessly gazing at her.

She made the smallest noise, and then turned. Erin ran for the door to her inn and flung it open. She disappeared into the snowy night. The inn’s door slammed shut behind her.

For a second no one spoke. All of Erin’s guests stared at the closed door. Then Mrsha began to howl, and everyone began shouting at once.

—-

The first few minutes were all chaos. Mrsha ran for the door, only to be caught by Lyonette. Ceria stood up and wanted to go after Erin, but Yvlon pulled her back. The Human woman tried to tell Ceria to let Erin grieve by herself at the same time Grev burst into tears and Klbkch flipped his table and stood up.

Some people went for the doors, but others got in the way or had other opinions. The noise was so intense that it became impossible to think or make sense of any individual voice.

In the end, Relc leapt onto a table and bellowed at the top of his lungs.

“Alright. Everyone shut up!”

He had a voice used to shouting in the middle of battles and over noisy crowds. Everyone grew quieter as they stared at Relc. The Drake looked around the room, and then hopped off the table.

“Damnit.”

He kicked at a fallen cup. Relc stared at the door and sighed heavily.

“Someone should go after her. It’s cold out there. And there’s Rock Crabs and Shield Spiders hiding in the snow.”

“I’ll go.”

Klbkch, Halrac, Pawn, Olesm, Krshia, Selys, Ceria—there were fewer people who remained sitting. But it was Pisces who appeared at the door in an instant with his [Flash Step] spell. The mage looked around the room.

“I shall go. Discreetly. I know [Invisibility]—I shall make sure she doesn’t freeze and keep any monsters away until she returns.”

No one had anything to say, so Pisces opened the door and disappeared into the night. The others sat down and began talking amongst themselves anxiously in low voices.

“Happy?”

Halrac snarled at Revi. The Stitch-girl raised her hands, looking upset.

“Don’t glare at me! It wasn’t my fault! Why did she start crying like that?”

“Because she’s homesick, you idiot! And she’s worked too hard putting this party on!”

“Well, how is that my fault?”

Revi’s raised voice attracted a few dark looks, but people were more concerned with Erin. Selys stroked Mrsha’s head as the Gnoll clung to Lyonette and buried her face in the girl’s shirt.

“I had no idea Erin was feeling so down. She didn’t say anything to me, and we’re best friends!”

“I say it’s all the work she’s been doing. Halrac is right—she needs a rest. And a friend. We should see if she wants to talk when she gets back.”

Ceria put her head in her hands as she sat at a table with Yvlon, Ksmvr, and the Halfseekers. She felt her own eyes stinging and brushed angrily at them.

“We should have been helping out and keeping her company instead of drinking and doing nothing! We should take tomorrow off and—just be there with her.”

Yvlon and Ksmvr agreed to the idea and Ceria saw other people nodding in agreement around the room. But it was Relc of all people who stared at the ceiling and shook his head.

“Naw, that’s stupid.”

“What?”

Ceria turned and glared at him. The Drake sighed. He looked older as he sat in a chair and leaned back.

“You know what we should do? We should leave her alone. If anyone stays here, she’ll just look after them. That’s what she does. Look after people. She’s a weird Human like that.”

The half-Elf opened her mouth to retort angrily, and then closed it. At his table, Ulrien nodded.

“That’s true. If we’re here, she has a job. We’re her customers, not just her friends. I say tomorrow, we all go into the city and give her the space she needs. We eat, and sleep there if we can manage it.”

“Ulrien!”

Revi protested. He looked hard at her.

“It’s what’s right, Revi. We won’t have a problem occupying ourselves for one day. And in the meantime, anyone who wants to talk with Erin can. But I think the Drake’s right. Giving Erin time alone is what she needs.”

“My name’s Relc, asshole.”

The other guests of Erin’s inn were in agreement. Selys was still very upset, though. She paced back and forth in front of her table.

“I just—I don’t know what to tell Erin! She wants to go home? Where’s she from? Terandria? Baleros? Chandrar? She’s never talked about it once!”

She looked at Krshia.

“Where’s Erin from? Has she told you?”

The Gnoll shifted, and looked around the room. Brunkr, who’d put his head down, raised it warily. Krshia nodded at the door.

“I have some knowledge of her home, but it is not for me to say, no. I am sorry, Selys. But Erin is a girl of many secrets. Her home is one of them, and few know of it.”

“Some know. Or have guessed.”

Ceria folded her arms frowning at the door as well. She was talking about Pisces, whom she was sure knew more than her.

“How hard is it to find out? Erin’s got to have said something to someone. Why’s going back so hard? Does she not have enough coin to pay her way home? Is she an outcast? What?”

Wesle’s face was filled with honest confusion. He looked around.

“I mean, she’s never spoken to me about it. But where’s her home?”

No one knew. And those that did weren’t saying. Yvlon sat with some of the others, frowning as they talked it over.

“She didn’t know about Terandrian nations. And she’s not from Chandrar.”

“Are you certain?”

Olesm nodded. He was toying with a chess piece, tail twitching with emotion.

“Yeah. She didn’t know about the King of Destruction.”

Yvlon shook her head.

“What, him waking up? That’s big news, but—”

“No, she didn’t know about the King of Destruction at all.”

“You’re kidding. Then is she from Baleros?”

“Hardly. Remember Gazi? She told me she’d never met a Gazer before in her life! She thought Gazi was a full Gazer, not a half-Gazer!”

Jelaqua walked over, suddenly alert. She stared at the others.

“Wait, Gazi? You mean, Gazi the Omniscient? That monster? How does a girl like Erin know her?”

“She poked Gazi’s eye out.”

“She what?”

Amid the second uproar, Halrac ground his teeth. He grabbed the wooden spoon Erin had dropped and snapped it with a twist of his hands. The sound of breaking wood echoed through the room like a gunshot. Everyone stared at the [Scout]. Halrac’s face was red and he looked angrier than anyone but Ulrien had ever seen him.

“None of this is helpful. So Erin doesn’t seem like she’s from one of the four main continents. So where did she come from?”

“The same place as Ryoka Griffin.”

Ceria spoke quietly, tracing a pattern in the spilled ale on one of the tables and freezing the liquid with the tip of her skeletal finger. Everyone fell silent at this. Those who didn’t know Ryoka asked who she was and got varied responses.

Someone else reacted strongly to Ryoka’s name. Zel’s head turned ever so slightly. But he said not a word as he leaned against the kitchen doorframe. Only Mrsha saw his entire body tense and the claws on his feet dig into the floorboards.

“Hold on, if Erin’s from the same place as that Runner chick, she can’t be nearby. There’s no one who looks like her in Izril, I’m certain.”

Relc scratched the spines on his head as he frowned. Yvlon nodded.

“She’s an islander. From far across the seas, I thought. Is Erin from there?”

“No, she can’t be! She never mentioned getting on a ship to me when we met.”

All eyes were on Relc. Standing against the far wall, Klbkch stared at his partner as Relc tried to puzzle out Erin’s origins out loud.

“You see, Klb and I, we were the first people who met her. In this inn. Well, not this inn, but the old one. We saw smoke coming out of the chimney one day while we were on patrol. We came to investigate whether bandits or fugitives were hiding out here, and found…her. Just living here.”

“You didn’t ask how she came here?”

Ceria stared incredulously at Relc. He raised his claws.

“It wasn’t our business! She said it might have been a teleportation spell, but she wasn’t actually sure how she ended up around Liscor. Besides, none of the [Mages] detected any magic that night when we asked them, so I thought she was mistaken. That’s as far as we looked into it.”

“That’s all you did?”

“We were busy! She wasn’t a wanted criminal anywhere—and believe me, the Captain had us check. She was just some strange Human who came here out of nowhere. Funny thing, though…”

The Drake paused and scratched at his chin.

“She can’t have come from the south. It’s way too dangerous for someone who’s not a Runner or warrior to travel alone, and Erin didn’t have any potions or weapons on her. And if she’d come down the northern road someone would have mentioned her, right? I remember traffic was good that day, but no one talked about a girl like her when we asked if they’d seen her.”

“So what?”

“So…I don’t get how she got here. Liscor’s surrounded by mountains. Really big mountains. There’s no way she could climb the High Passes, not with no levels…wait, she did say she was from some place. Hold on. What was it called?”

Everyone waited. Relc scratched his head.

“What was the place called? Michi…Missia…hm. Nope. I don’t recall.”

Expectant breaths were released. The listeners shook their heads as Relc shrugged helplessly.

“No levels?”

Typhenous frowned. Relc nodded absently.

“Yeah. She only had like four levels in [Innkeeper]. But nothing else. That’s what she said.”

“Strange.”

“You’re telling me. Wait, now I remember…Erin said she ran away from something. Oh yeah, she said she ran away from a Dragon when she got here. I remember thinking how crazy she was!”

“A Dragon?”

The room stirred. Jasi exchanged a wide-eyed glance with the other Humans from Celum. Olesm and the other Drakes looked just as incredulous as Relc.

“There’s no way.”

“Right, I mean, that’s what Klb and I thought. She must have run from a Wyvern, right? Only, her arm was burned. A fire breathing Wyvern, I guess.”

“I find it hard to believe that girl would confuse a Wyvern with a Dragon.”

Seborn nodded to the door. Relc shrugged.

“Come on, it can’t have been a Dragon. She probably just thought it was because she’d never seen a Wyvern before.”

“If it was a Wyvern, why didn’t it run her down?”

Halrac stared at a scar on his arm. Ulrien nodded as everyone turned towards their table.

“Wyverns are fast hunters. They don’t give up on their prey. Even if she was running at night, it would have swooped down on her. Unless she had tree cover, and the area around Liscor has virtually no trees.”

“Except the ones that go ‘boom’. Yeah. Okay. But—nah, it was probably a huge salamander. That breathes fire. It’s not a Dragon, right Klbkch?”

Relc turned towards Klbkch. The Antinium was silent for a moment as every eye fell on him. Then he nodded.

“The odds of a Dragon living near Liscor are remote. It is highly unlikely it was a Dragon that Erin saw.”

“Right, there was no Dragon.”

“That is a reasonable assumption, yes.”

The Drake [Guardsman] nodded. He turned back to the others.

“The only reason I’m mentioning it, see, is because Erin said she was running away from that. So she might have come from…Esthelm? Only she didn’t know that city…damn. If it was a Dragon, it could have teleported her, since Dragons can do all kinds of things like that, right? But if it wasn’t a Dragon…did she say she was ever on a ship…? Let me think.”

The others kept conferring. But sitting at his table with Jasi, Grev wiped at his face and then stared at Klbkch. He looked back at the others, and then raised his hand.

“Hey.”

No one heard him. Grev hesitated, and then called out.

“Hey!”

All the adults turned to look at him. Some, like Halrac, were annoyed. Grev quailed, but he said his bit determinedly as he pointed to Klbkch.

“He never said there were no Dragons. That Ant man.”

“What? Grev, don’t interrupt—”

“No, wait. What did you say?”

Zel raised his claw and came away from the kitchen’s entrance. He stared at Grev. The boy gulped, but went on, stammering as everyone looked at him.

“He—it’s a trick, see? In the city. You learn to listen for it. If someone don’t say something’s true or not true, they’re not lying, see? But they’re still not saying if it’s true or not. That K—Kb—that guy said it weren’t likely Dragons were around Liscor. But he never said they wasn’t.”

The room grew very, very quiet. All heads turned to Klbkch. He sat next to Xrn, the overturned table at his feet. The blue Antinium was staring at Klbkch. But the Antinium said nothing.

“Hah! There are no Dragons. Tell him, Klbkch!”

Relc laughed nervously as he stared at his partner. Klbkch said nothing.

Krshia cleared her throat with a rumble.

“Why do you say nothing, Klbkch? Is it as the Human child says? We have Skills, yes. Skills to detect lying among those in this room. Say there are no Dragons and we shall know. Unless you are a deceiver of the highest level.”

Still, Klbkch said nothing. Relc lost his nervous grin. Ceria felt her heart begin to beat faster.

“Klb? Hey, buddy…”

There was no way for Klbkch to get out of it. Even Pawn and the other Antinium were staring at him. At last, Klbkch nodded and looked around the room coldly.

“Regrettable. I will say nothing on this matter.”

That was all. But his words were confirmation enough.

“Dead gods!”

Typhenous knocked his chair back. Halrac’s hand had gone white on his mug. Ulrien was staring. The Halfseekers seemed paralyzed. Ceria felt like her heart was about to beat out of her chest.

And those who weren’t adventurers were stunned. Selys gaped at Klbkch. She whispered a word.

“Ancestors.”

Zel felt his heart beating faster than he could ever remember. He stared at Klbkch. A Dragon. Could it be? He saw Relc’s mouth hanging open and Olesm, scales white as a sheet. The Ancestors, the First Parents. How long had it been since a Dragon had been seen on Izril—no, anywhere in the world?

Chance sightings. Stolen cattle, or strange burn marks. That was the rumor. But a real Dragon sighting? A Dragon? Here?

He couldn’t believe it. No one could. But the Antinium who knew the truth had confirmed it by not denying it. Or had he? Was it just a trick that played on the faintest possibility? Zel’s eyes narrowed as he stared at Klbkch.

The Antinium was unmoved. He stared around the room, at the eyes on him and the countless unanswered questions on everyone’s tongue. And it was clear he meant to answer none of them.

“Regardless of what you may believe, it is not in the best interests of my Hive for me to reveal any information confirming or denying your suspicions. I bear many of you no ill will, but I do not see you as comrades either. Erin Solstice I consider my friend, but her friends are not mine. You are all dust.”

His expressionless face was turned towards the place where Revi stood. Or perhaps it was Zel he was staring at.

The [General] moved forwards slowly. The people in the center of the room backed away as he walked to face Klbkch. Zel was standing straight, and there was the same hostility in his gaze as when he’d first laid eyes on Klbkch.

“If there is a Dragon on the continent, I think we should know about it.”

“Oh? I was not aware I answered to you.”

Klbkch slowly stood up from his chair. He seemed—angry. That was what Relc noticed. It wasn’t a word he’d ever had to use to describe his friend. But he saw it in the way Klbkch stood, and the way his hands hovered close to his swords.

“Hey, Klb, buddy. Hold on, you’re talking to a real hero here. General Shivertail—excuse my friend. Klbkch, come on. I served with General Zel during the war. He’s practically a pal…”

“He is not my friend. He killed two of the beings I called friend. Two of my comrades fell at his claws, never to rise again.”

Klbkch stared at Zel. The Drake felt the electric bond of hatred surging between them. He nodded, uncurling his fists into claws at his side.

“I fought against you in the war, Klbkch the Slayer. And as far as I’m concerned, the war never ended. Not with the Antinium. Your kind don’t know peace. So if you’re plotting something with a Dragon—”

“What my kind does is our affair, Zel Shivertail. It may be there is no Dragon and that I am simply tricking you. As I recall, you fell quite easily for such tricks during the war.”

That was it. Zel felt a spark ignite something in his breast. He took a step—

And a shadow fell over him. Zel turned his head and saw Moore, head in the rafters, standing on his right. Jelaqua was on his left, and the tingling on the scales of Zel’s neck told him the [Rogue], Seborn, was right behind him.

“Hey, not that I don’t like a fight, but if there is one I’d prefer the civilians and kids to be out of the room first, okay?”

Jelaqua smiled at everyone as she put a hand on her belt. She didn’t have her two-handed flail with her, but she had a dagger at her side.

Someone else stepped between Zel and Klbkch. Halrac and Ulrien stood in front of Typhenous and Revi. The two mages looked nervous, but Revi had something in her hands and Typhenous was staring fixedly at Klbkch.

“Halrac and I fought in the Antinium wars.”

Ulrien stared placidly at Klbkch, speaking calmly, but in such a way that it was clear he was ready to do violence. His face was unreadable, but emotion flickered in his tone, out of sight. He glanced at Zel as well.

“I fought against Antinium. But I also fought against Drakes every time their armies came up through Liscor. As far as I’m concerned, you two are welcome to tear each other apart—elsewhere.”

Zel didn’t move. He knew the Gold-rank adventurers had numbers and the drop on him if he moved. But he also knew he didn’t care. And from the way Klbkch was staring at him, the Antinium didn’t care either.

The room was frozen. Selys, staring at the two, bent down to whisper to Lyonette. The girl jerked as Selys touched her and pointed.

“Go over there. If Uncle Zel gets angry, you want to be behind him as far as you can go. If he loses his temper, no one in this room will be able to stop him.”

She whispered a bit too loudly. The Gold-rank adventurers in the room shifted uncomfortably. A Drake [General], a famous one like Zel Shivertail was at least the equivalent of a Named Adventurer.

“Not true.”

It was Xrn of all people who spoke in answer to Selys. The blue Antinium stood up casually, ignoring the way people shifted their attention towards them. She stared at Zel and then at Selys.

“You may not know me, young Drake. But I am Xrn, the Small Queen. Of all those who fought in the Antinium Wars, I was the one who never fell. I am strongest in this room, and so it is I who say: enough.”

She turned to Klbkch.

“Klbkchhezeim. Klbkch the Slayer. You will honor the peace. Or I will halt you myself. As for you, Zel Shivertail…”

She turned to Zel as Klbkch abruptly sat down and folded his arms. Zel stared at Xrn with as much enmity as Klbkch, but the Antinium appeared not to feel his contained fury.

“You are quite different from what I expected. Was it luck or fate that kept us from ever meeting each other on the battlefield during two wars? In any case, I am surprised by you. There is not much of General Sserys in the way you act. He was far more cautious, for all his daring.”

Zel recoiled as if he was struck. The silent room drew in a breath as one. Looking worried, the Gold-rank adventurers stepped away from Zel. There was death in his eyes as he spoke.

“Watch your tongue. Sserys was my mentor. My friend. I haven’t forgotten that you killed him.”

“No. You would not. But did you know, Zel Shivertail? I was there when he died. I spoke to him in the minutes before his death.”

Not a word. Not a breath was drawn. Every eye was on these two. Zel stared at Xrn, and knew that if she spoke the wrong word it would be her head he held next, or his smoking body that lay on the ground. He didn’t care about the consequences. One wrong word.

And it would be war.

“What did you say to him?”

“Many things. Things that I will not utter here. But know that I did not kill him, Zel Shivertail.”

The Drake spat. Xrn shook her head.

“There are others in this room who know I am speaking the truth. I did not kill Sserys. Now. Would you like to know who did?”

Zel’s heart stopped. He stared at Xrn.

“Who?”

“It was no soldier. No common warrior of the Hives. Of course, you knew that. A single thrust to the heart.”

The Small Queen stared around the room. Her eyes returned to Zel, and her mandibles opened.

“Three Prognugators, three of the original Prognugators survived the war. You named us. Each one. Klbkch the Slayer. I, Xrn. The Small Queen. And the last…”

“Wrymvr. The Deathless.”

Xrn nodded slightly.

“Just so. Ask him what became of Sserys if you are so inclined.”

Something was burning hot in Zel’s chest. He took a step and the room tensed. But he staggered towards the door. Zel pushed it open and disappeared into the snowstorm. He didn’t feel the cold. He didn’t feel anything, but the beating of his heart. He heard the word in his mind, like a pulse thumping in his chest.

Wrymvr the Deathless.

When he was gone, Xrn turned to the speechless room. She smiled, opening her mandibles as the swirling lights in her eyes lightened and turned bright orange.

“Well, I have done one of the things I have come here to do. Klbkch, we shall speak now. Or perhaps after your presents are opened. Erin Solstice returns.”

All heads turned towards the door. After a few seconds, it was pushed open. Erin walked into the inn, no longer crying. She smiled cheerfully at everyone.

“I’m so sorry guys. I don’t know what happened. I can’t apologize enough, but—”

She paused and stared at the overturned table, at the people gathered together, the tense adventurers, and the stunned looks on most of her guests.

“Uh. What happened?”

—-

After that came presents. It seemed like almost a letdown after all that had passed, but no one had told Erin what had happened and she was determined to salvage the party.

“Here you are, Klbkch! It’s from me!”

The Antinium took the present gingerly, ignoring the stares coming his way. He unwrapped the gift and found…

“A scarf.”

It was black, with splashes of red along the ends. Klbkch stared at the scarf as Erin smiled nervously.

“I had it specially knit. Jasi knows a good [Seamstress], and, well, I thought it would look good on you! I know the Antinium don’t have possessions, but I thought you could wear it now and then…”

Klbkch looked at Erin. Without a word he wound it around his neck. The scarf’s red ends dangled around his shoulders.

“I appreciate it deeply, Erin.”

“Ooh, is that for me? What did I—food!”

Relc goggled at his present. Erin laughed as he lifted out the huge jar of what were to him, strange, round, golden-brown circles.

“They’re cookies! Honey cookies, extra sugary, Relc! Ever since Octavia helped me make baking powder, I’ve been dying to make some!”

“Are they—are they all…?”

“All for you! Go on! Try one!”

Relc did. He bit into the chewy, thick cookie and teared up. He hugged Erin tightly, making her yelp as he scarfed down another cookie.

“They’re so good! So good! So sweet!”

Everyone had presents, and everyone opened them, with the exception of the absent Zel and Xrn, whom Erin hadn’t included on the list. They opened presents, at first awkwardly, but soon getting over the excitement of the last few minutes for a more normal, fun experience.

“A new robe?”

Pisces stared incredulously at Ceria. He held up the pristine white robes, made of strong, soft cotton. She smiled wryly at him.

“Don’t go crying on my shoulder. Erin insisted I get something for you—hold on Ksmvr. Is this for me?”

“I have obtained the present for you, yes, Captain Springwalker.”

Ceria frowned as she opened the present.

“What is—”

She gasped and Pisces’ eyes nearly fell out his head as he stared at the lump of gold. Ceria gaped at the gold nugget and then at Ksmvr. He nodded in satisfaction.

“I was advised to get jewelry for you by Erin Solstice. Gold is a component of jewelry, hence this gift is appropriate. Do you like it?”

“Um. Yes!”

Other presents weren’t as dramatic. Lyonette was explaining to Halrac that the jar of honey and sausage was a gift from Mrsha—the Gnoll had picked out the sausage herself. Brunkr blinked down at the bottle of wine Wesle had given him and the [Actor] introduced himself awkwardly as he clutched the blanket Jasi had bought for him around his shoulders.

Relc had bought a wickedly sharp curved dagger that [Assassins] used for Klbkch. The Antinium had bought him a signed receipt from every tavern owner in the city, promising Relc ten free drinks.

“You guys are so sweet!”

Jelaqua laughed as she accepted her gifts from Seborn and Moore. Respectively they were a powdering kit to make her body look more alive, and an extra-powerful liquid soap bought from Octavia.

When Erin asked what the soap was for, Jelaqua winked at her.

“Helps with cleaning all the parts that get really messy. You know how it is.”

The girl shuddered. But then she laughed, and gave Jelaqua a hug, much to the Selphid’s delight.

It was Christmas. In time, people began looking towards their beds. The adventurers trooped upstairs, and the others bid Erin goodnight.

“They’ll all be heading out tomorrow. But if you want to talk—”

Selys gripped Erin’s hands gently with her claws. Erin didn’t quite meet her eyes as she smiled.

“I’ll be fine, Selys. I’m sorry about—well, merry Christmas.”

“Yeah. Have a good one. This was really fun, Erin.”

The others passed by Erin, nodding to her, shaking her hand, hugging her—Klbkch paused as Xrn stood by his side.

“I apologize for causing a commotion in your absence, Erin.”

“Oh? Uh, well, you’re forgiven.”

Erin blinked as he bowed his head and left. She stared as Klbkch walked out into the snow with Xrn.

The two Antinium moved in silence, and then Xrn looked at Klbkch.

“Do you understand what I did in there, Klbkch?”

“I understand, but I do not know why.”

Klbkch stared at Xrn. The Small Queen sighed.

“Had we talked, you would know. But understand this, Klbkch. I did not come here to simply evaluate your Hive’s latest works. There is more at stake here.”

Klbkch hesitated.

“Then it seems we must talk after all. I feared what you might say. Now I do not know what you have come here to tell me.”

“Well then. Let us find out.”

They walked off towards their Hive.

—-

Back at the inn, Halrac, Revi, Typhenous, and Ulrien stood together in the hallway as Erin bade the last of her guests goodnight, speaking quietly.

“We’ll leave tomorrow, then. Halrac, are you sure this is what you want to do?”

“Ask, Ulrien.”

The [Scout] stood with arms folded. He stared down towards the staircase. He could still hear Erin saying goodbye to Octavia.

“There’s something about her. Just ask your contacts and I’ll ask mine. That’s all I want.”

“Who is that girl?”

Revi stared at her teammates. No one answered. Ulrien yawned, and looked to his room.

“We may find an answer tomorrow. Until then…Merry Christmas.”

“Yeah.”

“I suppose?”

“Merry Christmas to you all.”

Halrac and Revi went to their rooms. Typhenous bade them goodnight. He paused at the doorway, and turned to make sure the corridor was empty. Then he smiled and put a finger to his head. He whispered as he entered his room.

“[Message] spell to Lord Tyrion Veltras. Please record the following message and deliver at once. Yes…I will pay for immediate priority delivery.”

He spoke a short message as he closed the door to his room. No one heard. Or rather, Typhenous thought that no one heard.

Pisces shook his head as he cancelled the [Invisibility] spell and walked silently down the stairs towards the basement. Mages. It was the same in Wistram—despite knowing such powerful magics, even the best mages were so careless. How hard would it have been to put up a [Muffle] spell, or a [Contained Sound] ward? He could just put his ear to the door and listen!

“What the hell were you doing up there?”

Ceria hissed at Pisces as she and the other Horns of Hammerad stood at the door to the basement. Pisces flicked his fingers and the specialized magic only she could read flickered before her eyes.

Tell you later. Much is afoot.

She stared at him, and then yanked the trapdoor open. Yvlon and Ksmvr went down below.

“Erin? We’re going to sleep. Goodnight.”

“Oh. Goodnight!”

Erin turned and smiled at the Horns of Hammerad. Ceria nodded to her, searching the Human girl’s face. But Erin seemed cheerful, if tired.

The half-Elf and Pisces went down below. Erin turned and saw Lyonette and Mrsha standing on the stairwell.

“Do you need anything else, Erin?”

“No, I think we can clean up tomorrow. You two have a good night. Merry Christmas!”

Mrsha made a small, indistinct, sleepy noise and Lyonette smiled.

“Merry Christmas, Erin.”

And then she went upstairs. Erin stood in the center of her messy room, smiling faintly. She noticed coins on the tables and frowned. Apparently, people still paid her for the party.

She went around from table to table, collecting coins. As she did, Erin mechanically piled up dishes. When she got to the overturned table, she stopped.

Slowly, Erin looked around the dark room. The only light now came from the fireplace. Erin went over to it and stared at the embers. They glowed in the darkness, but dimly. They were fading, without any fuel left to consume.

She looked around again. No one. Erin was sure everyone was asleep by now. So she sat by the fire and stared into the remains.

“I really screwed up, didn’t I?”

Erin said it softly, not wanting to wake anyone. How could she have done that? Broken down in front of everyone? On Christmas?

Her hands trembled. Now that she was alone, really alone, Erin felt her eyes stinging again. She’d ruined Christmas. Even if people were happy now, she’d made them all sad. Because she was sad.

But she was sad! Erin stared at the blurry orange light and wiped at her eyes. Her shoulders began to shake.

Standing at the top of the stairs, Lyonette made not a noise. She stared down into the dark room, at the figure sitting by the fire. She heard the muffled sounds, almost indistinct in the quiet inn. And then Erin’s voice.

She was crying again. When no one could see. Lyonette leaned against the bannister as she heard Erin’s voice.

“I want to go home!”

Erin wept uncontrollably as she sat alone by the dying fire. Hidden in the shadows, Lyonette stared down at Erin. She reached a hand out, and then turned away.

There were tears in Lyonette’s eyes as she went into her and Mrsha’s room, closing the door softly behind her. She stared out her window up at the clear night sky. She cried too. Not for herself, but for Erin. For a girl that wanted to go home.

Her voice was a whisper. Lyonette stared up at the dark sky. There was no one to hear her, but she spoke anyway. She spoke to the world and the stars.

“I, Lyonette du Marquin, swear on my name. I swear by my blood. Someday I will…”

In her inn, Erin curled up on the floor. She kept crying, letting loose all the emotions she’d kept bottled up for so long. She lay on the ground as the day she’d called Christmas ended. The longest night began as Erin slept on the floor of her inn, eyes red, curled up by a dead fire.

The shortest day of the year began as Erin Solstice slept. Her friends stayed in the city, left her to her grief. Erin was alone.

Alone.

Interlude – Winter Solstice

The day after Christmas, Ryoka woke up in a quiet village where the houses were still partly submerged by snow. She got up and after eating a communal breakfast with the villagers, began to say her goodbyes.

“Are you sure you won’t stay, Miss Ryoka? There’s hardly a road to follow, and the snow hasn’t stopped falling. We’d be happy to offer you a place to stay as long as is needed.”

Prost indicated one of the excavated houses they’d let Ryoka stay in for the night. Ryoka, thinking of how she’d been the only person to have a room to herself while the others slept four or more to a room, shook her head.

“It’s kind of you to offer, but I have to be going. I can reach Invrisil in a day even with deep snow. I have a…guide.”

“Just as you say, Miss. But I…we…can’t thank you enough for making this delivery on Emperor Laken’s behalf.”

He took Ryoka’s hand in his callused ones and bowed over it. Ryoka hesitated, and then clasped Prost’s hand.

“It was the right thing to do, that’s all. Your [Emperor] is a good man. He was the one who convinced me to make the journey. Thank him as well. But I have to be off. There’s somewhere I need to go back to, and people waiting for me. Perhaps I’ll return in the future.”

“If you do, our doors will always be open to you. Always. We owe you a large debt, Miss Ryoka.”

That promise was repeated by every man and woman Ryoka said farewell to. Every villager wanted to say goodbye to Ryoka personally, and she had to shake their hands, trade hugs…and also bend down to do the same to the children.

“You take it easy, okay?”

Ryoka looked Anabelle in the eyes as the young girl reached out to shake her hand. The child was still holding the doll that Ryoka had given her. She hadn’t let go of it once.

“I will, Miss. Thank you.”

She looked so small, standing in the freshly fallen snow. Ryoka felt old as she stood and put her gloves on. The wind blew and she nearly lost her grip on one.

“It’s cold. You stay warm and indoors, alright? When the snows melt…Laken will return.”

“I know he will. He promised.”

Anabelle smiled. There was such trust in her expression that Ryoka didn’t know what to say. She looked down at the girl and then at the village.

“You all really love him, don’t you?”

“He saved us, Miss Runner. You did, too. Maybe when I gain a class, I’ll be a [Runner].”

Ryoka glanced down and opened her mouth. She hesitated, looking into Anabelle’s eyes. They were alight, not dull and empty like they had been when she’d first seen them. Ryoka bit back what she was about to say, and knelt one last time.

“You know what? You might be a good [Runner]. When spring comes, eat a lot and run around a bit. Just have fun, and…we’ll see. Until then, stay warm.”

She stood, and turned. It was time to go. The villagers who’d gathered around her in the cold stepped back. But one woman came hurrying towards Ryoka, holding a box in her hands.

It was one of the present boxes Ryoka had handed out last night. Only, this one had been rewrapped in a hurry. Ryoka stared at it and then raised her hands.

“Oh no. You didn’t…please, I don’t need anything. I can’t accept—”

“It’s Christmas, isn’t it? And you gave us so much…please, take this.”

The woman, Prost’s wife, Yesel, handed the box to Ryoka. The girl wanted to refuse, but couldn’t. She gingerly unwrapped the gift and blinked down at what was inside.

It was a scarf. Hand-knitted, thick, it was dark grey, but for a band of blue across the center. The scarf had a complex wave-pattern that saw the blue center rise and fall, like a wave. It looked brand new, and as if it had never been used.

Ryoka took the wool scarf out of the box and stared at Yesel. The woman looked at her, looked at the scarf, and Ryoka knew that it had not been meant for her. But she asked no questions.

It was useful, but Ryoka didn’t want to take it. She was on the verge of refusing when she suddenly glanced up and to the left. Yesel stared, but Ryoka only seemed to be staring at a patch of blank air to her. But then the girl looked down at her and tried to force a smile.

“Thank you. I—I guess I would need this, after all.”

“It’s far too cold to be without. And it’s—a good fit. I’d be happier seeing it on you than going to waste.”

Yesel watched as Ryoka wound the scarf around her face and neck. Normally Ryoka wouldn’t have bothered, but her coat didn’t cover her head, and the wind was freezing. Any colder and Ryoka wouldn’t be able to stay outdoors without goggles or some kind of protection to keep her corneas from freezing. She’d heard of that happening and had no desire to find out what that felt like herself.

“Thank you. When I see Lak—your [Emperor], I’ll let him know you’re all well.”

Ryoka said it again as she walked towards the outskirts of the village. The people gathered and waved after her, calling blessings. Ryoka slowly began to jog, and then run out of the village. She didn’t look back once, and soon, she’d left it behind.

When Ryoka was certain she was out of sight, she slowed her pace a bit. She spoke to the air.

“Ivolethe. Why did you tell me to accept the scarf?”

The Frost Faerie flew down out of the air and hovered by Ryoka’s side as the girl ran on through the deep snow. It was flurrying, the snow blowing down and confusing any sense of direction. It would soon be very dark, Ryoka knew. Only Ivolethe’s light shone brightly in this world of frost and snow.

“Refusing a gift given in good will on the Winter Solstice is ill luck, Ryoka. You should know that.”

“Really?”

Ryoka frowned at Ivolethe. She’d forgotten it was the shortest day of the year today. But then, it made sense. Yesterday hadn’t actually been Christmas, just a day that Erin had chosen to be the holiday. And the Winter Solstice…

“Does that mean the winter’s only half-over?”

Ivolethe shook her head.

“Nay, two thirds. I do not know how such things are reckoned where you hail from, but in this place, we govern winter. And the shortest day of the year marks the beginning of the end. In time, we shall depart. But this day has more significance than just that. That is why I warned you not to scorn the gift of goodwill.”

“Why? Because it’s unlucky?”

“Yes.”

Ryoka laughed. But Ivolethe’s face remained serious as she flew next to the girl.

“Do not mock my words. It is the Winter Solstice, Ryoka Griffin. Not Christmas. Not some day of mortal make. There is power in this day, even if it is not celebrated by the races of this world.”

The smile on Ryoka’s face faded. She stared at Ivolethe.

“You’re serious. What, is the Winter Solstice really an important day here?”

The Frost Faerie nodded.

“Today is a day of power. It is the shortest day of the year—a moment when spirits and magic mix and mingle with the mortal plane. Surely you know of this?”

“I—not really. You’re telling me magic is stronger on this day?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. I would not know, since magic is practiced differently by the people of this world. But other things take on different aspects on this day.”

“Hold up.”

Ryoka slowed down and stopped in the deep snow. She brushed some snowflakes away from her face and stared at Ivolethe.

“Are you telling me that days like the Winter Solstice, the equinoxes, things like the witching hour…are all actual times of power?”

The Frost Faerie flew closer to Ryoka’s face. There was not a twitch, not a single tell that she was lying or playing games. She looked as serious as Ryoka had ever seen her, and that bothered the young woman greatly.

“Time has power, as does place. I say again, be cautious today, Ryoka Griffin. Since you travel, it would be best if you enter no house uninvited nor ask for any favors of those you meet upon the road. Utter no curses, ask for no blessings if ye are unwilling to pay the price. And make no bargains, make no promises. Tell no lies.”

Ryoka stared at Ivolethe. Her humor faded, and she felt just the tiniest bit uneasy.

“I will. But if today’s so important—no, dangerous—would it have been better to stay indoors?”

The faerie shook her head. She cast her eyes upwards at the dark sky and the falling snow.

“Indoors? Hah. On such a day, only a leyline or—nae, a sacred spot would attract attention. Fate will find you no matter where you go, Ryoka. Best to be about your business. But let us hurry on. It will be dark soon, and you should be behind stone and iron before the night is deepest.”

She flew ahead, lighting Ryoka’s path. The girl ran after her. On the shortest day of the year, she followed the Frost Faerie onwards. But soon, both Ryoka and Ivolethe were lost. And dusk came quickly, so that when Erin woke, in the blink of an eye it seemed almost like night.

—-

Erin Solstice woke up late in the day for once. But when she sat up, letting the blanket fall off her shoulders by the smoldering fireplace, she thought she was dreaming.

It was already dusk, and her inn was empty. Erin stared at the blanket someone had wrapped around her, and then looked around her inn. But from the basement to the second floor, there was not a soul to be found.

Even Lyonette’s bee grub was gone. Her inn was deserted. No one was here, but Erin.

The girl walked about, feeling a wave of loneliness pass over her. It was the same feeling as yesterday. As every day, really.

She was alone. Only now she didn’t have anything to keep her busy.

Erin didn’t eat. She went over to the fireplace and sat in front of it, staring into the embers. Someone had added fuel to the fire, but it had burnt low again by the time Erin had woke up.

The girl stared into the fading coals, and then reached for a piece of wood. She slowly placed the log onto the fire, and watched the wood smoulder and then begin to ignite. She put a second piece of wood next to the first, and the fire grew. It reached up to consume the logs, and the wood burned.

The room began to warm. Erin huddled in front of the fire, warming herself. She stared into the heart of the flames and felt the inn echo around her. Vast. Empty.

On the hill, her inn stood, windows shuttered, door closed. It was the one building around. The city lay a small ways off, no doubt full of life. And beyond that, a few villages filled the hilltops before the snowy floodplains gave way to higher ground. Past that was the city of Esthelm, and other lands.

But here, on this isolated hilltop, the inn was the only source of light and life, however faint it may be. And in that inn, a young woman held her hands to the fire. She added more wood, and the modest blaze became a large conflagration, burning bright and fierce.

It was a waste of firewood for one person. But Erin didn’t care. She stoked the fire, feeding it, making it large enough to warm her cold heart and tired body. And the fire grew, and the inn warmed and gained new life.

So Erin sat, warming herself and thinking of nothing in front of the fire. She would have sat there until she slept, but then she heard a sound. She turned, and realized she had visitors.

Three.

—-

They were lost. Ryoka didn’t realize it at first. She followed Ivolethe, never doubting the faerie…until she found herself running past a fallen tree that looked too familiar to ignore.

“Ivolethe!”

Ryoka pulled down the scarf around her face, grimacing and wiping at the moisture built up on her lips and nose by her breath. Snow blew past her as Ryoka covered her face with one arm, shielding it from the worst of the blizzard. It felt just as bad—no, worse—than yesterday.

“Ivolethe! Where the hell are we!? I could have sworn we passed that same tree a minute ago!”

She had to look hard to see the Frost Faerie’s glow as Ivolethe flew back towards her. Ivolethe was frowning as she stared at the fallen tree Ryoka pointed to.

“It is not the same tree. Your eyes play tricks on you, Ryoka Griffin.”

“You sure?”

Ryoka peered at the tree. She hadn’t paid much attention to it, but she felt it was lying in the same place and at the same angle as the last one she’d seen. How many fallen trees were there, anyways?

“Where are we going, Ivolethe? I thought we were following the road!”

“We are!”

“What do you call this, then?”

Ryoka waved her hand at the grove of trees that she and the Frost Faerie were travelling through. It was a forest of some kind, and not one Ryoka remembered going through on the way to Riverfarm.

Ivolethe looked uncertain. She cast about and flew upwards, fighting the strong winds that threatened to blow her away. When she flew back down to Ryoka, she pointed past the tree.

“This is the way to the road.”

The young woman peered doubtfully in the direction Ivolethe had indicated.

“You sure?”

“Yes! Now come!”

Ivolethe scowled, unused to being questioned. She flew off angrily and Ryoka cursed and ran to catch up, wrapping her scarf around her head as she did.

“Don’t go so fast, Ivolethe! I can barely see you in all of this! Can’t you make your light red again?”

The faerie didn’t answer, or maybe she didn’t hear Ryoka. The girl ran on, tripping over buried tree roots and cursing as she passed through a spot with low-hanging branches. But then she saw the faint light of Ivolethe’s aura pause. Ryoka caught up to the faerie and halted.

“What the…”

They were back at the fallen tree. Only this time, they were facing it from an entirely different angle. Ryoka turned back and stared the way they’d come. Then she looked angrily at Ivolethe.

“What the hell is this, Ivolethe? Are you messing with me?”

“I’m not!”

The faerie protested as Ryoka glared at her. She stared at the fallen tree, her brows furrowed.

“I…must have turned the wrong way. But I will take you to the road. It’s this way.”

She pointed in a completely different direction than the way she had before. Ryoka stared at Ivolethe, frowning with vexation.

“If you’re playing games, Ivolethe, I’m not in the mood. I’m cold—it’s getting dark, and—”

“Cease your complaints! I know the way. Follow me and be silent!”

The faerie snapped at Ryoka and flew off. Surprised by the faerie’s outburst—Ivolethe sounded truly angry—Ryoka followed the faerie. But after a few minutes of running she realized something was wrong.

“Ivolethe. Ivolethe!”

The faerie paused and glared back at Ryoka.

“What?”

“You’re going the wrong way! You just turned left, towards the way we came!”

“I did not!”

“You did. I saw you! Look—you can see the fallen tree back that way!”

Ryoka pointed, and Ivolethe stared incredulously. It was true. She was headed straight back towards the fallen tree again.

About to make an acidic comment, Ryoka paused as she stared at the Frost Faerie. She’d assumed Ivolethe was playing a prank on her, but the surprise and uncertainty she saw on the tiny faerie’s face bothered her.

“What’s going on, Ivolethe? Why are we going in circles?”

“I…do not know. Hold. I will see where we are. Just wait—”

Ivolethe cast about, and then flew up. Ryoka saw her form flying straight up, and then getting dragged to the left by the wind.

“By the wind…? I thought Ivolethe could read the wind. Or control it.”

Ryoka muttered to herself as she saw Ivolethe fighting to stay in one place. The faerie flew higher, until her light was swallowed up by the darkness. Ryoka waited on the ground for a minute. And then five.

And then ten. Ryoka stared upwards, shivering, calling out.

“Ivolethe! Are you there? Answer me!”

But no response came. Ryoka paced back and forth anxiously. After what felt like forever, she saw the faintest of lights in the darkening skies. Ivolethe flew down out of the sky, shouting Ryoka’s name.

“Ryoka! Ryoka Griffin! Hear my call! Where art thou?”

“Here! Ivolethe, I’m here!”

Ryoka shouted and waved her arms. The Frost Faerie flew towards her.

“Where did ye go? I lost you!”

“I didn’t go anywhere! You went straight up and vanished!”

“No! I flew up and when I looked back to find you, you were gone!”

The two stared at each other, searching for a hint of deception in each other’s expressions. But neither was lying. After a second, Ryoka stared around at the scattered trees and dark landscape.

“What’s going on, Ivolethe? I’m being serious, now. I don’t like what’s happening.”

The faerie looked grave. She flew closer to Ryoka and placed a hand on her small chest.

“Upon my name, Ryoka Griffin, I do not know. I am not lying to ye. Something is afoot and I cannot tell what.”

“Could it be…could it be your sisters, Ivolethe? I didn’t see them when I woke up—is this some prank of theirs? Or someone else…of your kind?”

Ivolethe frowned and looked about. Then she shook her head.

“I would be able to tell if it were a working of my people. Besides, the magic of the fae is mine. I see through all glamours, and can walk through the twisted halls of my land without losing my way. The magic of the Sidhe cannot fool my eyes, any more than a spell of mortal make can. No, this is something else. Something…else.”

That bothered Ryoka greatly. She stared about once more, noting how the sun, still completely hidden behind the clouds, was almost gone. She recalled what Ivolethe had said about the Winter Solstice. A time of power. An important event.

“Look, did you see the road? Can we follow that?”

The faerie looked at Ryoka and slowly shook her head.

“I saw no road, Ryoka.”

“But we just left—”

“I saw no road. Nor any landmarks I recognized. Just trees and snow and darkness.”

Ryoka paused. She felt the wind blow harder, and the chill cut into her flesh. But there was another chill in her bones.

“In that case…we’re lost. And it’s cold. I know you might not feel it, Ivolethe, but if I have to spend the night…I need a fire.”

“I know. And it seems we cannot leave this place yet. Build a fire, Ryoka Griffin, and quickly. Build it high and mighty. I will help.”

The faerie flew past Ryoka, and both girl and fae ran back towards the fallen tree. It was cold, hard as rock, and partially covered by the snow, but it was a good place to start.

Finding a spot that was at least partially protected from the wind, Ryoka set to work trying to build a fire. She used the fallen tree as protection from the wind, and scraped away snow and ice to get to the wet earth below.

There was no hope of building a snow cave out here, despite the deep snow. It was all powder, and Ryoka felt like if she tried to pack it into a buildable substance she’d be working all night. She’d have to dig a trench. At least if she used the tree, she could count on sheltering herself from a good portion of the wind chill.

But first, the fire. Ryoka knew she was very lucky to have burnable, dead wood around her. She took out the knife at her belt that she’d seldom used but always carried, and began hacking at the dead branches of the fallen tree.

She needed dry, burnable fuel to start with. Ivolethe flew out of the storm and dropped more dead wood for the young woman as she stripped bark and the outer layer of frozen wood away, searching for dry wood pulp.

It took Ryoka a long time to set the fire up even when she had enough wood. She didn’t know any fire spells, and the flint and steel she carried were not as handy as a ziplocked bag of dry matches. Or a can of petroleum.

“Can’t you unfreeze part of this place? I know you did it once—you have spring powers, right?”

Ryoka shouted at Ivolethe in frustration after her eighth failed attempt to get the tinder to light. The Frost Faerie shook her head as she hovered a few feet away from Ryoka’s attempt at a fire.

“I have such aspects, but it is not wise to use them without dire cause, Ryoka. And even then…nae. Not here.”

She looked around warily at the dark forest. Ryoka paused and stared at Ivolethe. The Frost Faerie stared back. Her expression told Ryoka more than she wanted to know. It was uncertain, and more than that…Ryoka had never seen a faerie looking uneasy.

The girl bent over the wood and redoubled her efforts to get it to light. At last, after Ryoka’s hands were cramping up from striking so many sparks, one caught. Ryoka immediately sheltered the fire, letting it grow, desperately helping Ivolethe feed it bits of tinder.

And after what seemed like hours of work, there was a fire. Ryoka sat back, gasping with relief as it grew and she fed it more wood, letting it warm her and the wet firewood she’d placed around it.

“Thank god. Thank…jeeze.”

Ivolethe flew around the fire, dropping bits of dry wood into it. She stared at the blaze, and then around at the forest. It was very dark, now. The sky had faded to pitch blackness faster than Ryoka could ever remember seeing, except maybe in a country like Poland, where sunlight might only last for three hours each day.

“The fire is growing. Good. Keep it burning bright, Ryoka. Do not let it go out.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

Ryoka shuddered, feeling herself warm up. But it wasn’t the need for heat that seemed to bother the faerie. She kept looking around the fire, into the dark forest. Ryoka stared around too. And then she felt a prickling sensation down her back.

She didn’t know why, but it felt like they were not alone in the forest. Perhaps it was Ivolethe’s wariness, but suddenly Ryoka thought she was being watched. She stared about surreptitiously, one hand on the knife she’d used to cut the wood. She had potions—some of them were too frozen to use, but Ryoka could warm them at the fire. The girl cursed as she suddenly realized she could have used the ignition potion for the flour bomb that Octavia had given her to light the fire!

But…perhaps it was best she hadn’t used it. Ryoka stared about. It was cold, and she could only hear the blowing wind. But she felt it now, the same as Ivolethe.

Something was out there. And it was watching her.

—-

They were three. They stood in her inn, the closed door behind them. Erin hadn’t heard them come in. She turned, caught off-guard, but the three didn’t seem like they meant to harm her.

“My apologies, Miss Innkeeper. We do not mean to intrude, but the storm outside pushed us in. We come bearing no ill will. May we seek the hospitality of your hearth on this dark day?”

The first who spoke was a man who stood taller than any man that Erin had ever seen. He was not a giant or stretched, like a basketball player was, though. He simply stood as if he looked down upon everyone and everything.

He had a beard, and a face that reminded Erin of Abraham Lincoln. Perhaps it was just the way his features looked? His nose? No—there was just something timeless about his appearance, Erin decided. Like Teddy Roosevelt, someone who defined his time, who stood out.

He had a beard. And an air about him that made Erin forget his companions for a second. But then she saw a man standing next to him, tall, taller than the first, actually, but who didn’t have his presence. He was slightly hunched, and thin. He looked like a librarian, or a scholar, or what such people were supposed to look like.

He held a book in his hands. It was faded and worn and looked as though it were ancient. But Erin’s eyes passed from him to her third guest, because the last man who stood in her inn didn’t strike her as a man at all, at first.

He…it was a he, Erin thought, was not beautiful or handsome. That was surprising, because Erin felt he should have been. But he simply looked like someone Erin vaguely recognized, as if he had the features of someone Erin had known. But she had never met him before, she was certain.

And he looked like a guy. Now Erin was uncertain of why she’d ever thought he was she. Perhaps it was the way he moved. He was graceful in the way the other two weren’t.

There they stood, the three of them. Erin stared at them in confusion, and then smiled.

“Um. Hello. Welcome. I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come in. Please…welcome.”

The three bowed their heads, almost as one. Erin walked towards them, feeling lightheaded. She hadn’t eaten.

“You look like travelers. Are you lost?”

“Not lost, Miss. Simply weary. I thank you for allowing us to enter your inn.”

The tall, thin man with the book smiled down at Erin. She smiled back, staring into eyes paler than the moon, but deeper than any ocean.

“My door is always open, especially to people who need food and rest. Can I…can I get you something to eat?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

The three spoke almost as one. The man who walked like a dancer bowed to Erin, smiling broadly.

“It has been a long time since we ate anything. Whatever you offer, we will gladly partake.”

“Just a second then. I’ll get what I have!”

Erin rushed into the kitchen. She wasn’t sure what she pulled out, but it felt like she was searching for food, frying and cooking at the same time, and then bringing the dishes out to the three men all at once. How much time had passed? A second? Hours?

“A feast!”

The man with the beard declared that as Erin filled the table for them. He and the other two men began to eat, not without manners, but in a way that told Erin they were starved.

“Can I get you anything else?”

She wanted to keep serving them food, famished as they seemed. But to her surprise, the man with the beard bade her sit.

“Come. Eat with us, our generous host. ‘Tis been far too long since we passed the time with anyone else.”

“Are you sure?”

“We insist.”

The other two beckoned Erin over as well. So she sat, and began to eat with them. And until that moment, Erin hadn’t realized how hungry she was herself. In moments she was scarfing down the food with the three.

And then…how strange it was. Erin felt like her guests were no more strangers to her than any of her regular customers. She sat and ate and laughed with them as if she’d known them her entire lives. They were familiar, in a way Erin couldn’t name.

When it was over, again, as if in the blink of an eye, Erin sat with the other three around the fire, warming herself. The three men complimented her on her food as she demurred. Then the one with the book sighed as he stared at the sliver of night through one of Erin’s shuttered windows.

“It is dark and cold outside. I fear our companions face the storm alone at this moment.”

“Oh no. Are they lost too? Should we go get them?”

Erin started for the door.

“No.”

The man with the beard stopped Erin.

“It would not do to venture out in such a storm at the moment. Things lurk in the shadows. They wait. Better to stay indoors.”

“But your friends…”

He shook his head, and the other two did likewise, making the same motion at the exact same time.

“They are lost as we are, but do not fear. We will meet again in time. That is a certainty, and they do not fear the storm.”

“If you’re sure—what are their names? I can put up posters, ask about…”

The three men laughed as if Erin had said something hilarious. The man with the beard shook his head again.

“Do not worry. They will come in time. As for names…it would be pointless to ask. Few remember my name, let alone the others.”

“Your name? I’m sorry, you never said. What’s your name?”

“Some call me Tamaroth, little innkeeper. But how are you called?”

Erin realized she’d never introduced herself, even after all this time! She blushed; sitting with them had felt so natural she hadn’t thought of it.

“I’m Erin Solstice.”

They sighed, hearing it. As if her name were special. The three men stood around Erin, and she didn’t know when they moved. When the next person spoke, it was the graceful man.

“Well then. You have fed us and given us the hospitality of your home. For that, we are thankful. And so we have three things to offer you, Erin Solstice. Three gifts.”

“Gifts? For me—I couldn’t. I—”

“We insist. Three gifts, but you may only accept one from us. And in return, on this day, the solstice for which you are named…we would ask only one thing in return.”

“What? A gift for a gift? Well, okay, but what is it? I don’t have much to give…”

She had coin and food, but she didn’t feel these men needed either. But they wanted something of her. She didn’t know what, but she knew she had it. The three drew closer, smiling.

“You have it right here. All we ask is it for one of our gifts. It is a small thing. Will you give it?”

“What is it I have?”

They told her.

—-

The fire was warm. Ryoka stared into it, and then into the night. By her side, Ivolethe looked around darkly.

“I do not trust this storm, Ryoka. It is…strange. Even to me. I did not predict its coming, and I cannot see what lies in the darkness. Do not stray from the fire.”

She didn’t need to tell Ryoka twice. In the wilderness, the blackness around the fire that Ryoka had built was absolute. Just a few feet away from the fire, Ryoka was sure she’d lose her way instantly. She was glad she’d piled up enough wood to last the night; she didn’t want to move anywhere.

Ryoka glanced into the darkness and shuddered. She couldn’t see the trees anymore. That was how black it was. Pitch black wasn’t close to this level of…oblivion. She shuddered and glanced back towards the fire—

And there they were. Three people, sitting around the fire with Ryoka. They had made no sound, and Ryoka had not seen them move. But there they were.

“What the—”

She scrambled backwards. Ivolethe looked and cried out in astonishment. But the three sat, calmly, hands stretched out to the fire. Three.

One was a woman not much older than Ryoka. She looked scarred, liked a warrior. She turned her face to Ryoka, and the girl saw her smile.

The second was an old woman. She sat with gnarled hands outstretched, greedily staring into the flames. When she looked at Ryoka, it was with a gentle expression, like a grandmother staring at a child.

And the third? The third was not—Ryoka tried to stare at it. Her eyes moved away. It was not—

It was not anything Ryoka could describe. It sat. But sat wasn’t the right word. It was rigid, in a way bodies and…flesh was not. But it was there, too. It sat at the fire, warming itself or letting itself be warmed.

And it too looked at Ryoka. She felt its gaze upon her.

“Who are you? How the hell did you get here?”

Ryoka’s voice shook as she stood, staring at her three guests. They looked at her as Ivolethe clung to Ryoka’s clothing. It was the young woman who spoke first.

“We are cold, and came out of the storm to seek shelter. Would you begrudge us the fire, young traveler?”

The old woman was next. She edged closer to the fire, eyes fixed on Ryoka the entire time.

“We ask for your hospitality and grace in the storm. Will you give it to us, oh lost child?”

The third said nothing, but Ryoka knew it asked the same.

“Say no. Turn them away.”

Ivolethe whispered in Ryoka’s ear. But the girl hesitated. She stared at the three. They looked so cold. Colder than ice, as if they’d been caught in the storm without protection for…

“I—I suppose so.”

The faerie made a sound, but the three at the fire smiled so broadly that Ryoka relaxed her guard. The old woman beckoned Ryoka back.

“A blessing upon you. Come, sit. Share the fire you have built with us. The darkness is deep, and it would not do to let the fire go out.”

There was truth in that. Ryoka sat back down, away from the other three, and cautiously fed the fire another piece of wood. The three watched as the flames consumed the stick.

“How…did you get here? I didn’t hear anyone arrive.”

“We have been here all along. Perhaps it is you who never looked.”

This came from the young woman. Ryoka glared at her, but she stared back with amusement in her eyes, not the least bit deterred by Ryoka’s look.

“Okay. Then who are you? Where do you come from?”

“That is a long story. We can tell it, but perhaps…young woman, would you offer me your hand? I wish to sit next to you and it is cold.”

The old woman stretched out her hand towards Ryoka. The girl hesitated. She didn’t want to sit next to the old woman, but she looked cold…

“Do not do it! Let us be away, Ryoka!”

A voice in her ear. Ryoka hesitated, and then looked at Ivolethe. The old woman frowned at the tiny faerie on Ryoka’s shoulder.

“What is that you have with you, child? It is a thing of ice and dreams. Not good company for the fire.”

“Her? She’s just…Ivolethe. Don’t mind her.”

“She should leave.”

The young woman with the scars said that. And the thing…agreed.

“I will not leave! You leave! Trespassers!”

The faerie hissed at them, her eyes narrowed as she clung to Ryoka’s coat. The three stared at Ivolethe and she made another sound, so guttural and wild that Ryoka couldn’t believe it came from Ivolethe.

But then the three looked away from the faerie and back towards Ryoka. It was the young woman with the scars who spoke next.

“Take my hand, then. I see the makings of a warrior on you, traveler. I see bloodshed in your past, and in your future. Take my hand and I will show you what I know of battle and triumph. Of loss and defeat.”

She reached out towards Ryoka. The girl hesitated. She wanted to take the hand, if only because there was something in the young woman’s eyes that called out to her.

Ivolethe pulled at Ryoka’s ear. The girl yelped and swatted at Ivolethe, but the faerie only fluttered away. She sighed.

“I’m no warrior. Sorry. And I don’t like killing or…battle.”

“A shame.”

The hand was withdrawn. Now Ryoka’s eyes fell on the third thing sitting around her fire. It did not move. It did not reach for Ryoka, but she felt the urge to reach for it.

“Ah, perhaps you want to know who our companion is.”

The old woman chuckled, a dry, quiet sound swallowed up by the snow.

“Well, it asks for you to reach out, child. Can you feel it? Can you hear?”

Ryoka…could hear, despite Ivolethe shouting something in her ears. She understood. The thing wanted her to touch it, to…to feel what it felt. To be with it. To know.

Her eyes slid away from what it was. Rigid? It was nothing she could describe. But she knew it was not like the other two. Not…a being. And not a thing. Yet she wanted to touch it. That was what frightened Ryoka the most.

She reached out. She couldn’t help herself. Part of Ryoka wanted to know what it was, so badly. She wanted to touch it—

Ivolethe bit her. Ryoka howled as she clapped a hand to her neck. She felt blood at the tips of her numb fingers and flung the Frost Faerie away.

“Ivolethe!”

The three who sat at her fire stared as the faerie flew back towards Ryoka, blood dribbling down the faerie’s chin. Ivolethe wanted to land on Ryoka’s shoulder again, but the girl wouldn’t let her.

“Now here is a thing that need not be here.”

Ivolethe screamed something like a curse at the young woman sitting across the fire. It made Ryoka’s ears ring, but the young woman simply frowned at the Frost Faerie.

“Begone, thing of ice and cold.”

The flames flickered as the wind blew. Ivolethe shouted, but the gust of wind blew her away. Ryoka turned and saw Ivolethe’s pale blue light flying backwards, her wings beating helplessly. Ivolethe was blown into the darkness outside of the fire. And she did not return.

“There. Much better.”

“Ivolethe!”

Ryoka was on her feet. She started away from the fire, but stopped as she saw the vast darkness lurking beyond. If she went out, Ryoka knew she would never find her way back. It was too dark.

“Do not worry about that thing. Come back, sit with us. The fire is growing low.”

Ryoka turned. It was true. The fire was dying, though it felt like she had just fed it moments ago. The girl stepped back towards the fire, but hesitated.

Why were the three here? How had they…she blinked and frowned. Her head felt cloudy, and she was tired. And cold. She couldn’t think straight, but the three seemed oddly comforting to her. She took a step forwards, hesitating as she narrowed her eyes. They were so familiar.

“Do I…know you?”

“Of course.”

The young woman looked amused. She shifted, exposing scars on her arms and the side of her face. She smiled at Ryoka as if they were old friends.

“We know each other, even if you do not remember. But sit. Sit, and join us.”

“Yes, join us. Stoke the fire, and sit with us.”

The other two echoed her words. Ryoka hesitated, and drew nearer to the fire. It was growing low. The old woman stretched her hand out to Ryoka, staring her in the eye.

“I offer again. Hold my hand, child. Be free of your worries with me.”

She held her hand out to Ryoka through the flames. It was a hand that promised Ryoka relief. A place to sit, somewhere to rest…Ryoka hesitated.

The young woman was next. Her hand was strong and stretched out to Ryoka, scars shining in the fading firelight.

“Grasp your hand to mine, Ryoka Griffin. Fight, and walk with me through a thousand lands.”

Ryoka stared into the young woman’s eyes and saw the same promise reflected there. To struggle, to fight—

She nearly took it, but the third thing sitting at her fire made an offer. And it called to Ryoka without words. It told her to come over, to sit with it, to…know. To find what was missing, to find what never was.

It was there, telling Ryoka to touch it. To let go. To be…

Ryoka took a step towards the fire, and then another. The three waited for her to make her choice. And Ryoka would take one of the hands. Why not? Only…

Something was running down her neck. Absently, Ryoka reached up and touched something wet and warm.

Blood. Her blood. She stared at her fingers and saw the dark liquid on her fingertips. Why? Oh. Right. Ivolethe had bit her.

And seeing her blood triggered something in Ryoka’s head. She frowned as she chased after a thought. Her mind felt foggy, as if she were in a trace, or sleepwalking. But there was something…what was it?

Oh. Yes. Ryoka stared at the three sitting at the fire. She had to ask. It felt so obvious that Ryoka was almost ashamed, but she had to ask. It was important.

“Hey. Why could you see Ivolethe?”

They stared at her. The old woman sighed. The young woman sighed. And the third thing made no sound at all.

“Ah, it is too late. Look, child. The flames have gone out.”

Ryoka saw the old woman’s hand point. She saw a tendril of fire licking at the edge of a stick that was burnt to ash and then—

The fire went out.

The light vanished from the world. There was only the faintest glow, of near-dead embers. Suddenly, the darkness was all around Ryoka, pressing in. Reaching for her. She shuddered and stumbled towards the campfire. She had to ignite it again. She couldn’t be in the darkness.

There were…things out here.

But Ryoka halted. Her feet refused to move as, by the faintest glow of the campfire, she saw who really sat there. Who she’d been talking to this entire time.

There were no people sitting with her. They had never been there. As the light went out, their true forms were revealed.

Dead things sat around the fire. They were dead. But it was far worse than a corpse. Because they were dead but still moving.

Two faces and a…thing stared at Ryoka around the smoking remains of the light. One reached out to her and Ryoka recoiled. The hand that stretched out was not living, but decayed skin, rotting flesh. Bone.

The things were dead. They were rotting and stank of it. They stared at Ryoka, and she stared at them.

It was dark. The darkness was closing in. The embers were fading, and Ryoka could sense things around her. Things not seen, but terrible. Far worse than the thing that sat next to the fire.

She had to have light. But Ryoka refused to go near the fire. She refused to touch the rotting things. But she needed light.

“Magic.”

The word was a whisper in her dry throat. But—yes, that was right! Magic! Magic could save her. Ryoka raised her hands. She called out.

“[Light]. [Light]!”

Nothing happened. Ryoka stared at her hands. She couldn’t feel the magic in her, couldn’t reach into that wellspring inside her soul and draw it out. It was as if there was nothing there.

“There is no magic here. Only the fire.”

The voice that came from the thing that had been the young woman was rasping, dead. As rotten as the body that formed the words. It gestured to the fire.

“Light it, traveler.”

“Yes, light it. Or the darkness and the storm will take us all. You can feel it, can’t you? They are closing in. They are coming.”

Yes, Ryoka could feel it. She could feel things watching her. Drawing closer. The fire was fading. When it was out completely, they would come. They feared the light. But they wanted her.

Hands reached for her across the fire. Dead things spoke. One looked at her and it knew her name.

“Choose, Ryoka Griffin. Let the fire die and we shall all face the darkness. Or come and sit with us.”

The second hand reached out. It still beckoned. Still promised. But the thing that held it was dead.

“Choose.”

And the last thing sat, true form revealed. Ryoka stared at it and knew where it had come from. From beyond the edge of the world. From the places not meant to be looked into. It told her to reach out and enter those places.

She wanted to touch it. She feared to touch it. She did not want to go near the rotting things. But the darkness was closing in. She had no choice. Ryoka had to…

Choose.

—-

They stood around Erin, holding their gifts. She stared at them, part of her unsure of what was happening. The other part…knew.

All they wanted was a small thing. So small, and yet so precious. It was all Erin had. All anyone had, really. But this was hers.

“What do you want? I mean…what do you want to trade for it? It’s very special to me.”

They nodded. It was special. The three spoke, almost as one. Telling her what they would give her in exchange for it.

Her soul.

The first was the man with the beard.

“I offer an umbrella made from the sun’s light. To bring day into blackest night.”

He handed Erin an umbrella. She took it, and opened it. Sunlight, pure sunlight, the kind Erin had never truly seen, streamed down from under the umbrella’s canopy. She lifted it over her head, and laughed as the sunlight shone around her. For a second, she was warm and she stood in the daylight. So long as Erin held the umbrella open, it would always be bright around her. The light would burn away her fears, burn away untruths and falsehoods. Then she closed the umbrella and the world was dark.

The second was the man with the book.

“I have here a hangman’s rope. For those who live without any hope.”

He handed Erin a long, thick rope with a noose on the end. Erin tossed the end over one of the beams in the rafters and the others helped her tie it securely. She stood on a table, and put her head in the noose. Then she stepped off the table and hung there.

She was dead. Erin hung in her inn, dead. Minutes passed, then hours. Days. Years. When she took the rope off her neck, Erin smiled. No one had known she was alive. They all thought she was dead. While she hung there, no enemy would find her. It was perfect. She let the noose hang over her head as she turned.

The third, the man who danced as he walked.

“I hold a horn made of ancient bone. A thing to protect both hearth and home.”

He handed Erin a horn of pure white bone. It was cold to the touch, but when she put it to her lips and blew, the call echoed through her inn. It was a call that rose above the loudest horns of the battlefield, which travelled the world. Erin knew that in any part of the world, her friends would hear her call. She lowered the horn as the call echoed.

So. There they were. An umbrella that was as bright as the sun. It could chase away all darkness, reveal all lies. No magic could stand against it, and it warmed the skin and brought light. And the second, a noose. So Erin could kill herself and hide from her enemies. She could live in peace so long as she hung from it. And the third, a horn to call her allies and those she loved from wherever she stood.

Three gifts. Each one priceless. Erin stared at the offerings. She stared at the men.

“And all you want is a soul for it?”

They nodded. The three stared at her, waiting. Erin wavered. She stared at the umbrella, the noose, and then the horn. They were so precious. She wanted each one, each for a different reason. And the price was so simple. So small. She had a soul. It was hers to give. Why not trade it? Why not give it?

Her hand wavered as she reached out—

—-

“Did you hear that?”

The young woman looked up, heart beating wildly as she stared around the darkness. The three sitting at the fire looked up.

“I hear nothing.”

“I see nothing.”

“But I heard it. I know I did.”

Ryoka spun wildly, searching for the origin of the horn call. There was nothing. Just the darkness, closing in. She stared back at the fire.

So dark. It was almost completely dark. If it were regular night, Ryoka wouldn’t have ever seen the last glimmer of flame in the coals. But here, there were things darker than black. That she could still see meant there was light.

“Hurry, traveler. If the fire goes out, you are lost. We are lost.”

She knew it was true. Ryoka felt something behind her. She stared at the three. If she drew close they would touch her. But what other choice did she have?

There was something behind her. Not just something. Many things.

“Okay. Okay! I’ll…”

She stumbled towards the fire, away from the darkness. The three smiled as Ryoka drew closer. They reached for her, but before she drew in range of their hands, Ryoka stopped.

“Don’t—don’t touch me.”

“But we want to.”

“Yes, come close. Just a bit closer.”

Ryoka drew back. She knew the things were right behind her now, but she could not be touched. She grabbed for a piece of wood. She just needed to put it on the fire, but the hands…

“I’ll start the fire again. But if you touch me I’ll put out the fire and we’ll all be in the dark. Understand?”

She heard something like a sigh. But the hands withdrew. It was the old woman’s voice, rotted and sighing that addressed Ryoka next.

“Very well. We have time. But hurry.”

Ryoka knew she had moments. She flung the wood on the fire and desperately knelt by it, trying to rekindle the flames. She grabbed at the potions at her belt, threw them onto the flames. She thought she felt a touch on her sh—

The flames burst into life, high and fierce. Ryoka fell back as the fire roared into life. The alchemist’s fire burned bright, but was already fading. Ryoka hurried to toss wood on the flames as the three sighed and drew closer to the life-giving flames once more.

At last, the fire was stoked. This time Ryoka built it high, tossing almost all the wood she had onto it. It could not go out.

The three sat so close to the flames that they licked at their forms. Now Ryoka looked again, the old woman and the young warrior looked…normal. Their skin was intact, and when they spoke it was with soft, gentle voices. But Ryoka knew what she had seen.

“So. The fire is kindled. But it will not last through the night.”

“No. You have not enough wood. Not enough fuel.”

It was true. Ryoka only had a stick of wood in her hands. And the fire was already dying. The darkness was sucking it away. The storm was engulfing the light.

Again, the hands reached for her.

“We can keep them at bay.”

“We can protect you. Touch us.”

Touch them.

Ryoka shuddered. She took a step back and glanced into the darkness. Things looked back at her.

“She wavers again. And again.”

The old woman sighed. But then she smiled. She looked sideways at the third thing and then spoke to Ryoka.

“My companion has a gift for you.”

“A…gift?”

Ryoka started, looking at the thing that sat next to the old woman and the young one. But yes. It hadn’t moved, but now it held something. It reached out to Ryoka, and she knew it wanted to place it in her hand.

“Go on. Take it. It is a gift, freely offered.”

The two sat back. Something had changed. Ryoka hesitated as she drew near the third.

“What if I don’t want the gift?”

“You must take it. It is ill luck to refuse a gift.”

Neither woman reached for her, despite being near to the fire. Ryoka hesitated, but part of her wanted to know. She held her hand out, palm up, and the thing—

Something landed in Ryoka’s palm. She stumbled back as the other two sat up, reaching for her again. Something was in Ryoka’s hand. Something cold and…what was it?

It was familiar. Ryoka stared down at her palm as she drew nearer to the fire. She couldn’t go too far away or…

The light illuminated two pale, long things in Ryoka’s palm. She thought they were worms, but they were too odd. Too different. What were they? She edged a bit closer to the light and then she realized what they were.

Fingers. Two fingers, curled up in the center of her hand.

She stared down at the fingers in her hand. They were pale with the cold, but familiar. Long and slender, tanned from being out in the sun. And at the place where they ended—

Torn flesh. Bite marks. Ryoka could see bone on the end of one of the fingers. It had been ripped away from its hand. She shuddered, and her hand, her right hand with its two missing fingers throbbed. She curled her hand—

And the fingers moved. They curled up. Ryoka jerked. She stared at them, and slowly uncurled her hand. On her palm, the two fingers uncurled slowly.

“A fitting gift.”

The dried voice made Ryoka look up. The old woman was staring at her, smiling wide.

“Are you not pleased? Is it not what you have lost?”

“I—”

The fingers lay in Ryoka’s palm. She hesitated. Ryoka wanted nothing more than to throw them away, but she remembered what the old woman and Ivolethe had said. So she shoved them into a pocket, feeling them move as she did.

“Now, child. It is time to choose.”

They reached out again. And this time Ryoka knew there was no choice. The fire was fading.

Ryoka stared at the hands. She stared at the darkness. Both were horrific. Both were…

“No.”

She said it out loud. The three looked at her. She heard a sigh.

“No? So you choose the storm and the dark. It is not better, traveller. Not better at all.”

The young woman shook her head as she said that. But Ryoka shook her head as well.

“No. I choose the third option. I choose this.”

She had the wooden stick in her hand. Ryoka stuck it into the fire, keeping her distance from the things that reached for her. The end of the stick ignited, and Ryoka pulled a flaming torch out.

The three stared at her, all disappointed. The old woman spoke.

“You will not escape the darkness with that. The flame will go out very soon.”

“Better that than staying here.”

Ryoka stepped back from the fire. She stared at the three things, huddled around the flames.

“You’re welcome to the fire. But I won’t join you. And I won’t get lost in the darkness.”

“So you say. But you had better hurry, child. Your time is running out.”

Already the flame was burning down the stick. Ryoka turned and ran. She ran away from the fire, into the complete darkness around her. She knew things were following her, reaching for her and recoiling from the flame. But she ran and ran, knowing what was behind her was just as bad.

The three sat at the fire, huddling around it as the flames burnt down. And then the fire went out.

—-

Erin reached for the horn. But her hand paused. She turned to the umbrella, and then back to the horn. When she reached out the second time, it was for the umbrella.

The man with the beard smiled as Erin picked it up. He reached for her, but she handed the umbrella to him.

“Here. I’m sorry. But I can’t take it.”

He blinked, surprised. Erin picked up the noose and unwrapped it from the beam. She handed it to the man with the book, and then picked up the horn. She stared at it for a long time and then handed it to the dancing man. All three held their gifts and looked at her.

“Will you not choose one? Do you not wish for any?”

“I want all three.”

Erin said it and meant every word. She wanted all three gifts with a passion she couldn’t describe. She would have given anything for them, even her soul. But—

“But I’m afraid I can’t take any of them. You see, I don’t think I should have them.”

“Why?”

They stared at her. Erin smiled as she tried to explain.

“They’re not for someone like me. You see…I’m just an innkeeper. I’m no warrior. I don’t fight battles. I don’t have enemies. And I have enough light. I’m afraid someone else might find more use for them than me.”

The three men held their gifts, priceless beyond words, as Erin bowed her head.

“Sorry. But I’ll have to refuse.”

The first to speak was the man with the beard. He laughed, and the laughter filled the room. He turned to the others and they laughed too, as one. When he was done, he stood before her, grave.

“So. Three times we have offered and you have refused.”

He pointed at Erin, standing tall and proud.

“Not for pride, she declines.”

The man with the book opened it and wrote in it.

“Not for knowledge she says no.”

And the third man stared at Erin and sighed wistfully.

“Not for others she refuses. So it must be.”

“I’m sorry.”

Erin felt bad, but the man with the beard smiled at her.

“It must be. And you have chosen. Innkeeper, I thank you for your hospitality. One day we may meet again. Until that day, I offer you my thanks.”

“And I.”

The man with the book bowed slightly.

“And I.”

The dancing man gave Erin a bow more graceful than a moonbeam. She smiled at them all.

“Thank you. Come back whenever you want. I’ll be happy to serve you again.”

They laughed again at that, as if she’d told another fine joke. And then the man with the beard turned to the fire. He pointed.

“Keep it lit. The night is not over, innkeeper.”

Erin turned. The fire had grown very low. She piled more wood on it, and it blazed brightly. She was about to thank the man for pointing that out. But he was gone.

She turned and they were gone. The three men had vanished without a trace. But in their place, something glinted at the table where they’d sat. Erin went over to it. She reached down and slowly picked up a coin.

It was palm-sized, and looked a bit like silver. But brighter. Whiter. If it was metal, it was none that Erin knew. She lifted it and felt the weight of it in her palm. It was light as a feather.

What to do with it? Erin stared at the coin, and then walked into the kitchen. She looked around and saw the small jar Lyonette kept separate from the main stash. In a dream she put the coin the men had left in the small pot of coins. Then Erin went back to the fire.

It was low, now, despite all the fuel she’d added. Erin curled up next to it, staring at the flames. Her encounter with the three men seemed more like a dream, now. She didn’t even know if it had happened. Erin stared into the heart of the flames and felt a deep exhaustion fall over her. She closed her eyes. In moments, she was asleep.

—-

It was dark. Ryoka ran through the darkness, heart pounding. She couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t see. It was too dark.

There were things around her. They reached for her with appendages. Some were hands. Others were…different. They grasped at her, trying to pull her back. But Ryoka ran on, and the light in her hands pushed them back, kept them at bay.

But the light was fading. As Ryoka ran, it slowly burnt away, fading into the blackness. Ryoka ran on, searching for a way out. But there was nothing around her. No sign of escape.

Just the night.

“Is anyone there? Someone! Please!”

Ryoka screamed as she ran. There had to be something. Some sign that there was life—something else but the darkness. But all she heard was her own voice, and the things closing in.

Her breath was tearing at her lungs. Ryoka had run so far, but now the torch was a flickering stub. She slowed, trying to cradle the fire as the wind threatened to blow it out. And still there was nothing.

Nothing…Ryoka closed her eyes. Something was next to her. It reached for her, and she knew it was over. She saw the last flicker of light die.

“Ryoka!”

And then there was light. Ryoka turned in the darkness and ran for it, ran for the voice that cut through the howling oblivion around her. She turned, searching for the source of the voice.

“Ivolethe?”

“Ryoka! Come to my voice!”

Ryoka ran. She ran towards the sound of the voice in the darkness. There was nothing around her. Nothing, and yet the things reached for her, trying to touch her. To…

Ryoka felt something tugging at her neck. She cried out, but the thing hadn’t touched her. It had tangled on her scarf and was trying to pull her back. She fought to get free and the scarf tore loose from its grip. She ran away, towards the voice.

There was light. Faint, in the distance, but as absolute as certainty. In this darkness, even the faintest glimmer was unmistakable. Ryoka ran towards it, shouting and hearing her name called again and again.

“I’m here! Here!”

Again, she heard the call and this time Ryoka threw everything she had into the run. She ran fast, faster than she’d ever run in her life. There was nothing that held her back. If her legs broke, if her body tore and bled—if she fell just a step behind, the things would catch her, and there would be nothing of Ryoka after that.

Now she could see someone running towards her. Ryoka saw a shape, a…woman?

“Ryoka!”

The voice was familiar, but the person was not. Ryoka only caught a glimpse as she ran, but the woman was tall, as tall as Ryoka and lithe. She held something in her hands that shone in the darkness.

A sword. She ran and Ryoka ran with her.

“This way! Do not look back, no matter what! Run.”

“Ivolethe?”

“Run, fool!”

The sword flashed as the woman swung it behind Ryoka. And Ryoka ran. She ran, and the darkness followed her. But there was light up ahead. Light and—

And movement. Something ran towards her. Ryoka saw something dash by her. A man? No. Not a man. But someone in armor nonetheless, a…being with a sword that had the same unnatural radiance as his face. It was a he, and he ran past Ryoka.

A warrior. But he was not the only one. Ryoka heard galloping hooves, and cries that made her ears ring. Not one, but many beings ran past her, each one male, or so she thought. They ran towards the darkness and kept it at bay. And she ran and ran—

And burst out into the light. Not the light of day, but rather the light of midnight. There were no stars in the sky and the sun had long set. The clouds were thick and it was snowing and the moon was obscured.

But it was light. Ryoka sank to her knees in the snow, gasping, and then saw the blue radiance flying towards her, and heard her name being called.

“Ryoka! Ryoka Griffin!”

“Ivolethe!”

Ryoka struggled to her feet and ran to the faerie. Ivolethe flew towards Ryoka, and the girl cupped her hands so the faerie could land in them.

“How did you find me?”

“Never mind that. Did they touch you? Did anything touch you?”

Ivolethe was looking Ryoka up and down anxiously. The girl shook her head.

“Nothing. What was—what—”

“Do not speak of it. Do not mention what was there, lest you call it.”

Ivolethe put a finger as cold as frost itself to Ryoka’s lips warningly. The girl closed her mouth. Ivolethe studied Ryoka and shook her head.

“Build a fire. You are near death.”

She was. Ryoka looked around for wood, but nearly fell. She could barely feel her limbs. Ivolethe flew off as Ryoka had to sit. She came back with wood and dumped it on the ground. Then the faerie stared at the wood. The color of her body changed and her body shimmered. For a second her crystal skin and living ice body become molten, and her flesh was burning fire—

“Fire.”

And there was. Ryoka pulled herself towards the flames and felt the icy chill around her body fading. She huddled near the flames for a long time, until her clothing was smouldering and she felt blisters forming from the heat. Only then did she roll away and look at herself.

“I—I felt…”

Ryoka touched at her throat and shuddered. Only once had the things nearly caught her. She pulled away her scarf and Ivolethe hissed.

“Do not touch that!”

Part of the scarf that Mistress Yesel had given Ryoka had…changed. The waving pattern had warped and altered, the fabric’s stitching switching around. Forming the impression of a…hand…

Ryoka shuddered as she stared at the impression in the fabric. She tore the scarf away and hurled it into the fire. She grimly watched it burn, and then remembered the second horror of the night.

The girl reached into her pocket, hoping that she would find nothing. But her heart chilled as she touched something at the bottom of her pocket.

“That was no dream.”

She pulled out two twitching digits. Her fingers. Ivolethe’s eyes went wide and she flew back from the fingers. Ryoka stared at them. She tried to clench her hand and watched the fingers curl up.

“What the hell was that, Ivolethe?”

The faerie had no answer for Ryoka. None she could give. She stared at Ryoka with mouth tightly closed, staring at the fingers. Ryoka stared at them too.

They were her fingers. She could feel them. If she touched them, she felt the sensation, as if her fingers were back again. But they had been given to her by…by…

They were her fingers. No. They had been. But they weren’t anymore. Ryoka’s hand shook as she lifted the fingers, clutched them tightly. She closed her eyes.

And the she hurled them into the burning fire.

Ivolethe saw Ryoka react as the fingers hit the burning coals, sending up a cloud of sparks. She heard a scream. The girl cried out and doubled over, clutching at the stumps of her fingers. She straightened slowly, gritting her teeth so hard that Ivolethe could hear the grinding.

“Are ye well, Ryoka Griffin?”

Ryoka tasted blood. She felt…she turned away from the fire.

“It’s…nothing. Let’s go. I want to be away from this place. Now.”

Ivolethe nodded silently. Ryoka took off running and the faerie flew ahead. Ryoka left the second fire to die down as she ran through the snow. Her right hand burned and the pain nearly made her pass out. But she kept running, on and on, away from this place. Back towards Invrisil.

And she didn’t look back. Not once.

—-

“Erin? Erin!”

Erin woke up slowly, to someone shaking her.

“Huh? What’s that? Lyonette?”

The girl was shaking Erin, looking worried. As Erin woke up, she realized her inn was full again. There was lots of people standing around her.

Her guests. Her friends. Zel and the Horns of Hammerad and Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers…

And Lyonette. And Mrsha. The Gnoll licked at Erin’s face as the young woman sat up.

“What’s happening, everyone?”

“You tell us. Erin, what happened to the kitchen?”

“Huh?”

It took Erin a few seconds to get up and go to the kitchen. When she did, she could only stare.

The kitchen was empty. Not of people, but of food. All the food in the kitchen was gone. Erin stared at the empty pantry, the ransacked larder, and then at the dishes piled up, and the unwashed pots and pans.

“Did you eat it? All of it?”

Lyonette stared at Erin uncertainly. The girl shook her head.

“No, I—I had a dream, but—”

“You ate everything in your dream?”

Revi stared at Erin incredulously. Ceria shook her head.

“No way. You could have fed us all for days with all the food in there! There’s no way…where did it go?”

Erin had no answers. She only shook her head and stared. After a while, when no answers were forthcoming, the people around her took action.

“I’ll get some food from the city! I mean, I’ll buy some—no, it’s an emergency.”

Lyonette ran out the door and the adventurers who were hungriest went with her to carry things. They left Erin alone, standing in the kitchen.

“Was it just a dream?”

It had felt so real. And yet, Erin felt like the events had to be a dream. Surely it couldn’t be—

Her eyes turned towards the jar of coins at the side of the room. Erin went over to it. Lyonette had grabbed a big handful out in a hurry. So it probably wasn’t…

There. At the bottom of the jar, Erin’s fingers found something other than the regular coins. She slowly drew out a coin that shone white and silver, practically glowing in the light from one of the lamps.

“It wasn’t a dream.”

But then, what was it? Erin stared at the coin. She ran her finger over it and peered at it. There was some sort of inscription on the coin. There was a rough border on both sides…faded imagery…she thought there might have been words, too.

But it was all long gone. Only the metal remained. Erin stared down at it, and then slowly put the coin in her pocket.

She walked over to the windows. Someone, probably Lyonette, had thrown them open. Through the glass, Erin stared out into the night.

“Oh. The snow’s stopped.”

The snow had indeed stopped falling. The drifts of snow were piled up very high, but now the sky was clear. And Erin could look up and see the stars and moon. And the second moon, a sliver of a crescent hanging across the sky from the first. Two moons. Sometimes Erin forgot. They hung in the sky, beautiful, lighting up the world.

Behind her, the fire crackled, burning brightly in the fireplace. Erin ignored it as she stared out across the vast world, up into a universe that was not hers.

But it was hers now, wasn’t it? Erin sighed and saw the windows fog up. Her windows. And this was her inn.

Around her, the snow covered the plains, deep, white. Untouched. To the right the city of Liscor sat, dark, the walls staring down at her. But familiar, nonetheless.

Erin reached into her pocket and felt the coin again. Was it just a small thing? No. Today had meant something, she was certain. It was the end of the winter. The winter solstice. The thing she had been named after.

Something had happened. Even if she didn’t know what. And looking out into the world, Erin knew more things were happening.

The winter was ending. The shortest day and the longest night of the year was over. Soon the world would warm, and then…

Erin smiled. Oh, that was right. If the longest night of the year was over, didn’t that technically make today sort of a new year’s? It was close enough, right? Perhaps that was how this world celebrated such things.

It certainly seemed fitting. Erin wiped at the glass and saw a group of people trudging back towards her inn, carrying what looked like enough food to feed an army. Or a bunch of starving adventurers.

It was just a short moment, but Erin was finally alone. She felt loneliness in her heart, and sadness. And grief. But also hope, and the reassurance that came to her as she stared at the people coming towards her inn.

She wasn’t completely alone. And so Erin walked towards her door and threw it open. She smiled as the night passed into day and the next day began. Everything started today. She laughed as, in the distance, the sun stopped setting and began to rise.

“It looks like it’s going to be an interesting year.”

End of Volume 3.

Author’s Note:

There’s so much to say. There’s so much I want to say. Let’s begin with the most important stuff for you and then move on. After today, I’m going to take a week long break from writing The Wandering Inn.

That simply means I’ll post the next chapter on Saturday, January 6th, 2018 (or Tuesday, January 9th for public readers). I wanted to time this just right, so that any of you Patreon folks don’t get blindsided and pledge for January while missing a week of updates.

But I’ll get to that in a second. For now, let’s talk about the third volume ending. It feels like just yesterday I was writing Laken’s first chapter, but here we are again. It feels like all that time went so quickly, and yet what a year it’s been for everyone. For the world.

And for me. In one year I went from working a part-time job to self-employment. Which is why it’s odd that I’m taking a break, isn’t it? But this is the first moment I feel like I can truly relax. I have enough money that if some people unsubscribe I won’t be in trouble. And in truth…I need a break.

Just a small one. Here’s the thing. I’ve said that I write both chapters a week in one day, over the course of six or more hours. That’s not a lot of working time if you just counted that, but I spend a lot of time I never measure thinking about what the next chapter will be. Every time I walk, as I’m about to sleep…the chapter consumes my day.

It’s necessary and I don’t mind it. But of late, and especially with the last few chapters leading to the end of Volume 3, I’ve felt like I lost a tiny bit of my edge. I felt like some chapters I could have written a bit better, or I missed certain details. And I just grew tired of writing 10,000+ words twice a week.

In this industry, and I mean that of any online work, web comics, web serials, Youtubers and so forth, you hear a lot about burnout. My goal with the week off is to avoid that ever happening. I’m not bored of the story. Never of the story. But I don’t like writing. I like telling stories. Writing is just the thing I do to facilitate that process. So I’d like a break. Just for one week, and then I think I can write for an entire year without pausing.

Enough about breaks. I’ll enjoy myself and I hope I can count on you to come back. Let’s talk about the story. Volume 3 did feel like set up for other things, but we got good characters and some nice moments, didn’t we? And yet…Volume 4 will be different. Or so I hope.

Let me put it this way. I feel when writing The Wandering Inn as though there are certain types of plots I write. One type is the main plot, the story of stories that I know. I know how it will end, but it moves slow. The second type follows main characters like Erin and Ryoka, the way they interact. The third is individual, and follows Ceria, Pisces, and every character I’ve written.

Mixing and focusing on each type of story makes the volume slow, but it also creates a localized world within the world, a place readers know very well. That’s all good, but there is a larger plot. And so for Volume 4, I think we’ll be seeing the story of the world move forwards. At last, the events that will be marked in history books will take place. Volume 4…should be good.

That’s all for now. I’ve rambled on quite long enough. I can only make the same promise I always do to you: next chapter will be even better. I’ll write my best, and hope that you continue to support me. I’ll see you in a week’s time. Thanks for supporting The Wandering Inn and see you next year.

–pirateaba

4.00 K

The sun was setting as Flos, the King of Destruction, found the small rock outcropping at the top of the hill. He trudged up the grassy slope, admiring the greenery around him.

Despite the burning fires of the army’s campfires below and the sea of tents and moving soldiers who had based themselves around the hill on which he stood, it was the grass that held more importance for Flos at this moment.

He was not accustomed to so much life in the earth. In his home, the arid ground was dry and inhospitable. The few places capable of producing water and sustenance were coveted. There would certainly be no grass growing there.

But here—Flos inhaled the smell of nature and smiled. He climbed the last stretch of hill, his armor rasping a bit as two ill-fitting pieces ground together.

“You should have that looked at, sire. I’m no [Blacksmith], but I don’t think armor is supposed to make that sound. Not unless you’re being stabbed, that is.”

The King smiled and looked up. The acerbic tone came from a man sitting on a rocky ledge, staring down at what would be tomorrow’s battlefield.

Drevish, known to all as the Architect, one of the King’s Seven, barely glanced up as Flos took a seat beside him. He was busy with a piece of parchment and charcoal. Flos glanced over his shoulder and saw the man had drawn a rough sketch of the landscape, only in his depiction there were buildings in the place of grass and stone.

“A new fortress?”

The King smiled. Drevish irritably waved him off. He continued sketching for a few moments, lost in thought. Flos was content to wait; he could see three more figures ascending the slope of the hill.

“It will not be anything special. But I want to test my new prototypes for a wall…and this place would make an acceptable chokepoint for advancing armies, or so Orthenon has informed me.”

“That it would. Assuming we take the field tomorrow.”

Flos stared pensively out across the battlefield. He could see smoke and fire rising in the distance. Drevish looked up and out at the other enemy’s encampment. He grunted sourly; the [Architect] had little time for battle.

“It escapes me why both your side and this kingdom would agree to a cease-fire overnight. Wouldn’t you customarily go down there and start hacking soldiers to bits in the night?”

“Perhaps. Fighting at night is tricky business, though. And the enemy [Commander] requested the truce.”

“And you accepted it? That seems idiotic to me.”

Drevish’s eyebrows rose, but Flos smiled. He raised his voice as he heard someone else approaching.

“They fight with honor. The [Commander] assured me not one of his soldiers would violate the terms of the truce. I took him at his word.”

“And if he lied? What if he’s marching an army to attack this camp right now, or sending another bunch of those delightful [Assassins] that have been popping up lately?”

“Well, that too would be interesting. Is this a man who believes in honor, or will he compromise it? What do you think, Amerys?”

Flos turned, and the woman who floated down out of the sky smiled at him. Amerys, the Calm Flower of the Battlefield as she was known, smiled as the flight spell let her descend next to Flos.

Drevish turned and eyed Amerys; she ignored him as she considered her King’s question.

“I think that if you gave me the order, I would be happy to attack right now. But if you want to find what this other commander is made of, why not walk in front of his camp naked and see what he does?”

Flos roared with laughter. Drevish shook his head. Muttering, he reached for a soft, round object sitting to his left. It was a kneaded eraser, something that had intrigued Flos greatly. The malleable putty could erase the charcoal from the parchment. But the old man’s hand slipped and knocked the round ball off the side of the rock.

He cursed, but a gauntleted hand caught the eraser as it fell. Gazi leapt up onto the rock, making the [Architect] jerk backwards. She smiled as she offered Drevish the eraser.

He glared at her. Drevish held out a hand and the eraser was dropped into it.

“Move. You’re blocking my view. I have little light left to work with.”

Gazi did, walking quietly over to where Flos sat. She took his right side, Amerys his left. The two didn’t quite glare at each other, but Flos knew better than to expect either to greet the other.

“So, Gazi. What have you seen?”

The half-Gazer smiled. Her central eye flicked to the enemy camp, miles away.

“I have seen several mages on the left. They are mixing with the soldiers there. Meanwhile, the cavalry is bunched up near the rear, although they pretend to occupy the right.”

“So they want to circle around and hit us from the side while the mages surprise us on the left? I’ve heard of worse plans.”

Amerys shrugged. She looked unconcerned with the upcoming battle. But the two who reached the top of the hill last were not so sanguine.

“They could be trying that Amerys, or they might know of Gazi’s eye and be baiting us. Either way, I would like to take out those mages before the battle lines are locked.”

Orthenon and a bird-man, one of the natives to this land known as Garuda, approached the group. Amerys waved a hand, Gazi smiled without turning her head as one of her eyes rolled back in its socket; Drevish just turned his head and grunted.

“Takhatres. Orthenon. Tell me one of you has brought wine or something else to drink.”

“I have brought two wine flasks. Orthenon has the cups, my lord.”

The bird man unshouldered the two bags of wine as Orthenon tossed a cup at Gazi. The [Scout] caught it without turning her head.

No one spoke for a minute. Takhatres poured wine from one flask while Orthenon did the same with the other. The Garuda advanced to the place where Drevish was sitting, and offered him a cup. The [Architect] gave him an approving grunt, and Flos accepted his cup from Orthenon with thanks.

Soon, all six people had a drink. Amerys and Drevish sipped at their drinks while the others drank faster. They didn’t speak much; they didn’t need to. But in the end it was Orthenon who broke the silence.

“Tomorrow, I would like Amerys to attack the left flank. If you can tie up that side, we will focus on the center and right.”

“Oh? You’re not going to have me take out those mages?”

“That’s my job.”

Takhatres filled his cup with more wine. He wouldn’t drink more than two cups that night, Flos knew. The Garuda sipped his second cup very slowly, making his drink last.

“I will lead my kin into the left as you attack. Try not to hit us. We’ll take out the mages; you just engage their front for a few minutes and then you can do what you want.”

“Fine. Try not to get in the way of my lightning.”

“Try to aim.”

Orthenon cleared his throat, looking displeased. He shifted as he knelt next to his King. Flos glanced at him and saw the single-edged sword at his belt trailing on the rock. Orthenon was dressed for war, but it always intrigued Flos how he chose to fight.

He wasn’t wearing plate armor like Flos, or Gazi’s brown scale armor. Instead, he was wearing leather, form-fitting and enchanted. That was also unlike Drevish, who was wearing clothing since he wouldn’t be fighting tomorrow and Takhatres, who was wearing only a cloth around his midriff. Amerys was wearing her robes, but given that they were enchanted as well, she was probably the most well-armored out of anyone in the group excepting Gazi.

Now the men shifted again, only without the audible creak that accompanied Flos’s movements. The King absently felt at the offending part of his armor as his steward explained the rest of tomorrow’s strategy to the others.

“While Takhatres and Amerys deal with the mages, Gazi will attack the rear and whatever spots she deems most important.”

“As normal.”

Drevish snorted. Orthenon paused and stared at the old man’s back. Drevish raised a hand in half-hearted apology and the steward continued.

“Finally, my lord and I will lead the vanguard straight into the right flank. We’ll leave the rest of our mages and archers in the back—Takhatres will pull back and protect them after he is done with the mages.”

“A fine plan.”

Flos smiled as he looked out over the battlefield. There was so much grass there. He could see it even in the darkness that now enveloped the land. But soon that grass would be muddy and trampled, stained with blood. That bothered him as much as the lives that would be lost.

“Are you expecting any surprises?”

Gazi turned and looked at Orthenon. The man shook his head.

“None. But if there are…Mars is on the way. She should arrive at midday—sooner if she’s marching as fast as I think.”

“We could wait for her and smash this army between both ours and hers.”

Amerys smiled. Takhatres and Orthenon looked disapproving. Flos shook his head as he finished his cup.

“We could. But that would not be honorable, Amerys.”

“Oh very well. In that case, I shall do my best to kill as many soldiers tomorrow as I can—honorably, of course.”

Her remark elicited a glare from the two warriors, but Gazi smirked. Flos just shook his head as he stared down at the burning fires of the camp below. All fell silent. After a few more minutes, Drevish spoke.

“On another note, I have located quite a fine spot to build a defensive tower. When the battle’s over I’ll see about laying down the foundations.”

“A tower to go along with your new wall?”

Flos chuckled. His voice was lower, and he felt calm. He thought he might sleep here if the others wouldn’t have objected. He was at peace in this moment, surrounded by five of the people who had become his sworn companions. His friends.

“Why not? You can spare a few [Archers] for it, surely. Do not quibble over my designs if you won’t do the same for your other vassals.”

Drevish half-turned and scowled at his King. That was an offense that Orthenon and Takhatres wouldn’t have ever dreamed of, but Flos was used to it.

In a way, the [Architect]’s presence had not been necessary to the night’s meeting. He would not participate in the battle. Rather, Flos suspected he would sleep right through it, if he didn’t end up sketching plans for a new fortress in his tent.

He didn’t need to be here. But in another sense, he absolutely had to be with them. He knew it, and the others knew it. And it was Amerys who gave voice to that feeling. She smiled as she leaned against her King.

“This is the first time in what, two years? The first time we’ve had four of the Seven together, not counting Orthenon and my liege.”

“True. And tomorrow it will be five.”

Takhatres stared pensively out into the darkness. He shifted from one leg to the other; he had trouble sitting for long periods.

“It is a shame the others couldn’t be here. But then, it is also pointless to have us all together. We are too strong for any one army in this region.”

Flos turned to look down at Gazi. She was shorter than he was, and she stared out at the enemy’s camp, her other eyes scanning the hilltop. Always watchful, almost wary of any threat to her [King].

The others sitting around Flos made similar noises of agreement and regret. But it was Flos who felt something stir in his chest. He sighed as he placed his cup on the ground, empty.

“It is true there is little merit to keeping us together for strategy’s sake. But pointless? No. There is meaning to this.”

His words silenced the others. They stood or sat with him, staring out into the darkness. All was silent. All was calm. And as Flos sat, looking at his companions, he smiled. He was thousands of miles from the place he had grown up, in a distant land, about to fight another battle against a nation whose name had already been forgotten.

But here, in this moment, he was home.

Flos reached out, looking for his cup. He knew what came next. He would lift his empty cup and Orthenon would check whether there was any wine to fill it. He knew Gazi would smile as she wickedly told him he had drunk the last of it. In a moment Amerys would offer to fly down and steal some from the soldiers. Drevish would encourage her and Takhatres would lose patience and run down and get some in a flash, and Flos would be laughing too hard to tell any of them he hadn’t wanted a drink, merely to toast in spirit.

All that would happen in moments, Flos knew. It would be a perfect interlude before they slept, before the battle. So he reached for his cup—

And then he woke up.

The man known to the world as Flos, the King of Destruction, woke up in his bed. It was familiar to him. It had been the place he had slept for the last ten years. Though the mattress had been changed, the frame of the bed, deep, expensive wood, and the large room had not. Flos sat up as the dawn’s light fell on him. It was that which had woken him from his sleep. Even after a decade, he rose with the dawn.

But he did not get out of bed. Flos stared at the wall of his bedroom, not staring at anything in the waking world, but chasing that dream, that vision of the past.

It was no use. It slipped away from him, fading with each moment. Soon, it was just a hazy recollection, not the reality he had experienced. For a second Flos could still taste the cheap wine on his tongue, feel the stone beneath his legs and the ill-fitting armor digging into his shoulder—

And then it was gone. It was all gone. Flos looked around the room and felt years settle on him like stones. He remembered, and saw the block of ice sitting on the table across from him. Staring at him.

Flos buried his head in his hands. The man wept. He let grief overtake him for a minute, and then six. But then he stood, and dressed himself. He threw open the curtains and let the sun bathe him for a second. He stared down at a kingdom below, a ruined city, neglected. But burning now, already moving as the people below woke. They were not dead. The spark lived in them. The man took a deep breath of the air.

And when he threw open the doors to his room and strode out, he was a King.

—-

Trey Atwood was eating breakfast when Flos woke up. He knew that because he could feel it. That was the thing about living in the proximity of Flos, the legendary King of Destruction. You could tell when he was nearby, and you could tell when he woke up.

It was like a little shock to the spine. It made Trey’s heart jump, and he looked up from his plate of crunchy bacon bits. He’d been quite enjoying his meal—proper rashers, not the greasy bacon he’d been forced to eat when he’d stayed at that international hotel one time. This was thick, chewy meat which he loved, and he’d specifically requested the crunchy fried bits.

“I think he woke up, Teres.”

“Of course he did.”

Sitting next to him at one of the dining tables in the banquet hall, his twin sister Teresa, who preferred to be called Teres, turned and frowned at Trey. He knew he didn’t need to say it. She’d felt the same thing.

“I reckon he’s going to be here in five minutes, what do you think?”

“Two. And you’d better finish eating your veg. You know he’s going to be eating while he walks again.”

Teres reached over and stole half of Trey’s remaining bits of crispy bacon. He groaned, and groaned harder when she turned his plate so he could stare at the orange tubes on them. Even in another world, he still didn’t like the vegetables.

“Aw. Teresa…”

She elbowed him. He knew she hated it when he called her by her full name. Reluctantly, Trey began crunching down on the orange vegetables, called yellats, grumbling about how they’d gone cold.

In truth, these vegetables were a lot more fun to eat than asparagus, spinach, or most of the other greens Trey had suffered through back home. They were spicy, and they crunched delightfully loud between the teeth. They were a treat when fried hot with oil, but since Trey always left them for last, he always ate them cold.

Always, meaning for the last month, really. It was an odd thought, but Trey had hardly been in this world, this new world filled with levels and classes and Skills, for more than a few weeks. It was incredible to him, but there it was.

He was in another world. And not only that, he was a guest in the palace of a king. Not just any king, too. The King of Destruction, one of the most famous people in this world, a man whose name was known in every part of it for his legendary kingdom’s rise and sudden collapse. The man who had been slumbering, asleep in his palace for ten years.

Until Trey and Teres had accidentally fallen into his throne room and woken him up. That moment would be forever engraved in Trey’s memory. He and his sister had stepped off the Tube, the subway traincar’s ledge, expecting to walk out onto the platform and head back home. Instead, the ground had disappeared beneath them.

They’d fallen, landing in a magnificent, grand, empty room where a man sat in a small chair. He’d looked up and seen them. And Trey had picked himself up, heart pounding, and stared into two empty eyes, a tired face. He had looked at a man who looked worn down by the years, hunched, alone.

That was how they met Flos, the King of Destruction. After that, men with swords had rushed in, and Orthenon had nearly run Trey through before Flos had stopped them. And then, well, they’d told them everything.

One month later, here they were. Flos was awake, which was pretty important, and Trey was used to eating his food on a wood platter with a knife, rather than on proper plates. It wasn’t exactly a series of events that made sense to Trey, but he had eventually come to terms with it. Except for one bit, actually.

“It ought to have been a train station.”

Teres looked up. She was chewing down the last of her bacon, and she stared pointedly at the remaining orange tubes, and Trey glumly speared one.

His twin didn’t need to ask what Trey meant. She just had to think for a few seconds as she chewed. While both she and Trey weren’t identical twins on a genetic level, they were close enough that they could usually understand what the other one was thinking.

After a second, Teres understood what Trey meant. She scowled at him.

“Well, it wasn’t. And the Tube’s close enough, so stop complaining!”

“I’m just saying, if it was a train station it would make sense.”

“You’re not Harry Potter. You’re not good enough to be Ron Weasley. You don’t have a wand and you can’t do magic. What’s wrong with a subway?”

“I dunno. It’s just…weird. And I could have a wand. They exist in this world.”

Teres rolled her eyes, but Trey refused to concede the point. They were alike, the two of them, but differed on some fundamental issues. For instance, Trey firmly believed a train station platform would have been cooler and more traditional. Teres thought he was an idiot for worrying about it at all.

“What do you think he’ll do today?”

“Dunno. Fix more walls? Look at maps? We’ll have to wait and see, won’t we?”

That was true. Trey glumly gulped down the last of his food and pushed his platter away. Teres folded her arms as she stared down at her plate. They would have to see. And they would see. Because they had a special role in this world, now.

They were servants to Flos. Servants to the King.

They didn’t have the class, actually. Orthenon had told them not to think of it like that. Trey and Teres were more like aides, although they would eventually be expected to fulfill the roles of bodyguards and assistants as well. As such, they were required to follow Flos around, mostly watching as he attended to the needs of his kingdom.

And there were a lot of them. And Trey understood that things like finding food for the hungry people, or making sure the walls were all intact in case an army showed up were essential—as was studying maps of the world and sending messages to allies and so on and so forth.

But he was confused, because he wasn’t sure why they were here. Here, in this faded kingdom, when he expected to be out, marching in an army. For the kingdom was at war. They were at war, and the knowledge of it hummed in Trey’s blood at times. And yet here they were, growing accustomed to a life in this palace. Yet they were at war.

A contradiction. They were at war, but they weren’t going to war. Not yet, at least.

A second puzzle. Trey slumped over at the table, thinking. Remembering. He knew why they were at war. He had been there the day the Emperor of Sands had sent a gift to Flos, knowing he had awakened. But it hadn’t been a gift. The food Trey had just eaten lurched unpleasantly in his stomach. No, not a gift.

He remembered the moment after Flos had pulled out the head from the box the Courier had delivered. It had been—Trey’s gut lurched—it had been the head of a man called Drevish. Apparently he was…had been…one of the King’s Seven, a group of legendary high-level people who served Flos.

And he had been killed by the Emperor of Sands. His head had been sent to Flos, and the King had declared war. Trey remembered that moment as well.

Flos had declared war. He had drawn his sword and raced through the halls. His voice had been like thunder, and he had shouted that he would not rest until the Emperor of Sands was dead.

Orthenon, Mars, Takhatres, they had all followed Flos, caught up in his fury. Only Gazi had remained, and Trey remembered what she had said to them.

“To victory, children. Victory, and the glory of our King.”

That had sent a chill down his spine. Trey and Teres had stood fixed in place, Flos’ voice still ringing through the castle. They’d run out of the room moments later, mainly because the incredibly scary Lady Gazi had made them. They’d followed Flos and the others by the sound of his shouting voice.

He had strode down the hallways, shouting for his sword, his warhorse, his armies. Trey had seen Flos throw open the doors to the palace—

And stop. He had stopped there, as people ran out of every hallway, holding weapons, shouting, asking what was going on. But their [King] had no answer. And then he’d turned, and walked back towards his throne room.

Not to go back on his word. No, Takhatres had left that very night, promising to strike the first blow against the Emperor of Sands with his tribe. And every day since, Trey and Teres had followed Flos about, witnessing preparations being made. Orthenon, the King’s Steward, had begun the immense task of preparing a kingdom that was on the verge of extinction for war against a huge empire.

There was everything to do, and not enough time to do it. People had been starving. They needed to be fed. The walls needed to be manned, and an actual army built out of the people. So Trey understood the need to wait, to take precautions. He just didn’t expect Flos of all people to wait.

And Teres agreed with him. She thought something had happened too. And in fact, Trey was sure that the others, Orthenon, Mars, and Gazi knew that something was keeping Flos from marching as well. But no one had said anything. Perhaps they could—

“Trey.”

Trey looked up. He had felt it at the same time Teres spoke.

Flos had entered the room. The King was awake and he was here.

The banquet hall wasn’t full, but it was hardly empty. Trey sat up in his seat and saw the other diners, servants and guards mainly, turn their heads towards the door.

A King stood in the doorway. He wore no crown, and he didn’t carry a scepter. The sword at his belt looked plain, and Trey knew it was normal steel. But he was nonetheless, unmistakably, a King.

And you could feel his presence in the air. Trey stood up. Most of the people in the room did as Flos strode towards them. Men and women were already flocking towards him, one carrying a platter with food, another a drink.

“Good morning to you all.”

Flos’ voice was deep and commanding, like a King’s voice should be. Where it differed from Trey’s image of a King was how…normal it sounded. Flos seldom spoke like a posh aristocrat—Trey had never heard him say ‘thee’ or ‘thou’ and he didn’t tend to make grand speeches either. Still, he made Trey’s heart race the instant his eyes fell on the young man.

It was rather like standing next to a power pylon, or so Trey imagined. When Flos was in the room, it was as if your body was filled with a crackling energy. It was impossible to simply lounge about or ignore him. If you were looking at something on the opposite side of the room, your eyes would eventually wander over to him.

“Trey, Teres. Have you eaten?”

If the first words Flos had spoken were for his subjects, it was notable that the second words from his mouth were for the twins. Trey and Teres automatically bowed as one. Teres was wearing trousers, and so curtsying would only make Flos laugh.

“We have, your majesty.”

“Good. Then I shall eat as we walk. I have risen late, but I intend to do as much as possible before resting. With me.”

That was all he needed to say. Trey’s legs started moving. He walked on Flos’ left, with Teres next to him. Flos accepted the steaming food from the platter with a word of thanks for the beaming woman who had served it to him, and took the mug with his other hand.

“My thanks to you all.”

That was all he said to the men and women gathered there. That, and a nod. But it seemed that was all they needed. The people bowed or called out greetings, and then Flos had left the banquet hall and was striding down the hallways of his palace, the twins hurrying to keep up.

That was how it happened. Every day. Somehow, it never occurred to Trey or Teres to object. Flos beckoned, or just walked and they followed. Some days Trey felt like a bit of metal following a magnet.

“Is there anything you have to tell me?”

That was usually the second question Flos asked them each day. He was always curious whether Trey or Teres had remembered some tidbit from their world, or if they had found something objectionable or startling in his absence. Trey had gotten used to the question by now and no longer wracked his brains for a response. Honesty was best with Flos. Actually, it was harder to lie to him than simply tell the truth.

“No, your majesty.”

“And you, Teres?”

“No, sire.”

“Well then, let us find my vassals, if they do not find me first.”

Flos laughed and took a bite from the sandwich in his hands. It wasn’t quite a sandwich, actually. It was more of a collection of bacon adorned with two pieces of dark rye bread added to make holding it more convenient. It didn’t have any brown sauce, which both Trey and Teres considered a capital crime. But Flos seemed happy enough to eat it.

The bacon roll was still steaming, and though Trey had eaten, his stomach rumbled a bit as Flos chewed his meal, making comforted sounds and sipping from his mug.

He was done with his food in less than thirty seconds, despite the bacon sandwich being big enough to have filled Trey’s stomach and half of Teres’. He drained the mug and handed it to a man who was waiting for that very moment. The servant hurried away with it as Flos grinned at the twins.

“Ah, there is nothing better to start the morning with. Eating food while walking. What a wonderful invention. And convenient! I have eaten on the march before, but this—I enjoy this. What did you call it?”

“A bacon roll. Uh, sire.”

There was something criminal about feeding bacon rolls to a King, Trey felt. Though it was a traditional food, it was just—odd. But Flos had insisted on trying it the moment he’d heard about fast food and walking while you ate. He’d enjoyed it so much that bacon rolls and other walk-as-you-eat foods had become a permanent part of the castle’s served foods.

Flos dusted crumbs from his clothing and turned his head. Trey turned to look too, and saw a man he had grown to know quite well walking quickly down the hall towards him.

The tall man wearing dark clothing was named Orthenon. He was Flos’ steward, which meant he was the second most powerful man in the kingdom. He was tall, gaunt, and he was very graceful. Trey felt Teres miss a step next to him. She had a crush on Orthenon, Trey knew. He just admired the man; there was something about him that spoke of flawless competence to Trey.

“Orthenon. Greetings. Have you broken your fast? I have had another one of those bacon rolls. You should have one too.”

Flos greeted Orthenon, and the man fell into step next to his King without missing a beat.

“I have eaten, my lord. And those sandwiches are not to my taste.”

“A pity. Ah, there you two are!”

Two other people were striding down the hallway towards Flos. On opposite sides of the hallway. Servants were forced to funnel down the middle; they certainly weren’t about to get in the way of the woman wearing brown armor, a two-handed sword strapped to her back, or the other woman, a sword and shield at her side.

“Gazi. Mars.”

Flos called out and the two bowed to him as they took places behind their King. Trey shifted as he saw Mars smile at him and one of Gazi’s four eyes turn to stare at him and Teres.

He didn’t know what to make of these two. One of them, Gazi, wasn’t human. She was obviously not Human. Not that Trey minded non-Humans that much—he had liked Takhatres a lot. But Gazi…no.

If there was anything to keep your back straight, it was having Gazi standing behind you. She made no sound as she walked behind Trey and Teres, although she was wearing her brown scale armor, but they knew she was there.

She was distracting, even with Flos nearby. Where Gazi was unnatural because of her five eyes, her orange-brown skin, four fingers, and disconcerting way of looking through you, Mars was distracting because of how perfect she was.

She had flawless skin, pale as a moonbeam, and red curling locks that ran down her shoulders. She also had huge breasts. Trey tried to avoid looking at those, but they were…

Significant. Mars also moved like a dancer, and as she walked by Flos, her melodic voice did complicated things to Trey’s insides.

“Have you slept well, my King?”

“Blissfully, Mars. It was a shame to wake. But I have slept long enough. Tell me, what news is there?”

The three servants of Flos took turns speaking as Trey and Teres walked silently beside Flos, listening, watching servants get out of the way and people turn to stare at their King.

It was like this every day. That didn’t make it any less incredible to Trey, though. The instant Flos woke up, he was surrounded by people. Yet he dealt with them all as if he were completely used to being at the center of the world. That was what it was like being a [King], Trey supposed.

“Work on the eastern wall is going well. We’re fixing all the temporary gaps one at a time. It could be going faster, but we don’t have enough skilled [Builders] and [Craftsmen], let alone [Stonemasons].”

“How long until we can call all the walls secure?”

“Four days and we could fight off an army of three times our numbers with enough arrows and mages.”

“Good. Orthenon, what news?”

The gaunt man nodded.

“I have located two more of your vassals. Again, they are in mercenary companies, one in Baleros.”

“Far from home.”

Flos sighed. Teres saw Orthenon nod calmly.

“I have had mage [Message] spells sent, but as always, I had to encode my words and send them from another city. It will take time to reach them, if the messages are not intercepted on the way.”

“Why all the cloak and dagger nonsense?”

Mars scowled at Orthenon, her hand on her sword.

“The world will know our lord has awoken soon enough. Why not shout it now and let our allies come to us, rather than play games of secrets like some Terandrian [Lord]?”

“It is prudent. We do not have the forces to resist a combined assault from multiple armies at present. Besides, if word spreads that the King of Destruction has awoken, some of our allies will be attacked by enemies. We must alert them as quickly and as covertly as possible.”

Orthenon turned to look at Mars, unruffled by her ire. The woman shrugged. She was a [Vanguard], Trey knew. A powerful warrior class, and her nickname was Mars the Illusionist. And…that was all he knew about her, really.

“Fine. But it seems strange to me that the world doesn’t know our lord has awoken already.”

“It would be difficult for most to know. Orthenon has kept a lock on word spreading, and it is hardly knowledge most wish the people to know. Most likely all the powerful leaders of nations know, and perhaps groups like the mages of Wistram or traders of Roshal have found out. But the world? No.”

Gazi’s voice was soft, but all heads turned to listen to her when she spoke. Flos nodded, looking pensive.

“Word of my return is a weapon in itself. I fear that my vassals and allies will be attacked regardless of the measures Orthenon takes. But I will leave it to him to decide what is best. Now, Gazi. What of Takhatres?”

The half-Gazer smiled lazily as all eyes turned to her again. Trey felt Teres shudder a bit as Gazi’s lips moved up. It was a smile, but as Teres has pointed out to Trey, there was nothing really nice about it. The only time Gazi ever actually looked affectionate was when she looked at her King. And even then, she was scary.

“He sends word that he has reached his tribe, and they have begun crossing the desert. I believe they will begin striking at the holding of the Emperor of Sands within three days or less.”

“Good.”

Flos looked like he had more to say, but he didn’t say it. Trey saw Mars, Gazi, and Orthenon all glance at their King, and then at each other. He wanted to ask the question in his chest, but he didn’t dare speak. The presence of the people around him was overwhelming.

“Well then, I will visit this wall, and then hear what else ails my people.”

The King nodded to himself as he turned left down a corridor. He looked down towards Trey and Teresa, and they both stiffened.

“Trey, Teres. I believe it would be best if you two learned more about the continent today. Orthenon, please take some time out of your day to teach them. After that…Mars, if you would, find out if either has the aptitude with weapons.”

“At last!”

The armored woman laughed as the twins exchanged a glance. Today was the day? Flos had been hinting—Trey raised his voice because he knew Teres would never dare to speak.

“Are we—are we going to learn how to fight? Your majesty? What will we be doing?”

“I told you on the day I accepted your service that I would have you follow me into battle and across the seas. If you have the aptitude for arms, it is best you learn from Mars how to fight. If not…I will find another teacher for you.”

Flos nodded to Orthenon. The man stepped away from his King, bowing, and then beckoned to Trey and Teres.

“This way, you two. I will instruct you for an hour and then give you over to Mars.”

“Meet me in the training grounds when you’re done! Don’t fear—I won’t break either of you two!”

Mars laughed loudly as Trey and Teres followed Orthenon away. The tall man glanced down at the two, and slowed a bit; both twins’ legs hurt from trying to keep up with Flos’ long stride.

“I noted your confused faces earlier. Ask me your question.”

Trey gulped, but it was Teres who spoke before him. She was quiet and shy around everyone except Flos and Orthenon. Flos, because it was impossible to stay silent when he asked a question and Orthenon because she liked him.

“Will Lord Takhatres be alright, fighting against the Emperor of Sands by himself?”

Trey nodded. As always, Teres had had the same thought as him. Orthenon sighed.

“A complicated question. Come with me.”

He strode down the hallways, briskly talking to the people who hurried up to him, so that there was a steady stream of people moving towards and away from him. That was the thing. Flos might be King, but Orthenon was the one everyone went to for instructions.

“If you need more wood, check in the storerooms near the dungeons. There might be wood there, but be careful to distinguish between the firewood and usable timber. If there is not enough, return to me. See Master Invac for help lifting—he has bodies to spare for an hour or two. Find five people with tracking skills and locate the source of that nest. Exterminate any rats living within and burn the remains.”

He turned into a room and the twins followed him in. Orthenon stood in front of a large map, adorned with markings for cities and towns, and border lines and the geography of the continent.

“Here we are. Before I answer your questions—a test. Point to me our location, Trey.”

The boy hesitated. He squinted at the map, and pointed. The continent of Chandrar was a rather lumpy rectangle, with elements of oval in his eyes. The kingdom that was the King of Destruction’s home was named Reim, and it was a small dot on the northeast quadrant of the map, closer to the border than it was to the center.

Desert and the dry, faded dust coloring indicating arid land surrounded Reim, as well as the large area around it. That was most of Chandrar, actually. While there were green patches to the southwest and along the coasts, most of Chandrar was one big dry place. With lots of deserts.

The lone bits of color actually came from markings that denoted oases or other bodies of water. They were almost invariably located next to a city, and Reim had its own small flush of green that indicated the deep underground streams from which they drew their water.

Orthenon nodded in approval and Trey felt relieved. It wasn’t that Orthenon was a strict teacher; he was, but it was that he demanded perfect understanding. If you made a mistake, he would go over it again with you in exacting detail, and question you on that very thing the next time you met.

“Very good. We are here. While the Emperor of Sands is—Teresa?”

He also called Teresa by her full name, which she normally hated. But Teres never made a complaint to him. The girl pointed without hesitation to a large section of the map, ostensibly a collection of nations by their borders, almost directly west of their position.

“Correct. This map is outdated of course—but the nations from here to here are where the Emperor of Sands has expanded his empire in the last eight years.”

Orthenon traced his fingers over a vast stretch of land, from the cast to the edge of a massive desert. He pointed that out to the twins.

“The one thing that has stopped his expansion is the desert. Marching an army across the Zeikhal desert is dangerous, and I believe the Emperor of Sands wishes to consolidate his hold over the west before expanding. He may eschew crossing the desert and conquer his way north and south to avoid it.”

Trey nodded as he saw Orthenon trace possible routes that avoided the massive Zeikhal desert. As far as Trey understood the world, it was vast. He had never been good at geography, but Teres told him that the Zeikhal desert was probably twice as large as the Sahara in total. He couldn’t imagine that.

“So Takhatres is crossing that? Isn’t that…bad?”

Trey felt like an idiot for asking the obvious, but he didn’t understand.

“Not to his tribe.”

Orthenon smiled at Trey. Perhaps it had been a good question after all? The man showed Trey where Takhatres had been.

“His tribe is nomadic, and used to crossing the deserts. Moreover, they move quickly. They can skirt the outer regions and make use of oases. They will be fine. But as to your main question—Takhatres believes, as do I, that he can attack the Emperor of Sands without being cornered by his armies.”

“So he’s going to fight a guerilla war.”

The tall man paused. He always seemed a bit surprised when Trey and Teres knew something without him explaining, for all that he knew they were from another world.

“Correct. He will raid villages, destroy cities—and attack any army he believes he can rout with few casualties. He is adept at such maneuvers.”

“But the Emperor will send armies after him, right? He wouldn’t just ignore that.”

“True. But Takhatres’ people, the Garuda, are known for their speed. Flying and hiding, they could easily escape most pursuit. And there is another factor to consider. Takhatres’ tribe is far superior to any one conventional army. With him leading them, they could fight two armies at once. Catching him will be no easy matter and will occupy the Emperor of Sands for a long period of time. And while that is so…”

“We’ll attack?”

It was strange, saying we. But Orthenon nodded as if it were only natural to include them.

“In theory. I have advised my King—and would like you to do the same if he thinks otherwise—of striking nearby nations first. We must recover strength before doing battle with a vast empire.”

“But we are at war, aren’t we? Flos—I mean, King Flos said—”

“Oh yes.”

Orthenon’s voice was quiet as he traced the lands of the Emperor of Sands. He did not look so friendly then.

“We are at war. But we must be prudent and sensible in a war of vengeance. We must gather our strength, and my lord Flos knows this.”

“Is that why he hasn’t left yet?”

Trey blurted the words out before he could think twice about saying them. He’d been wondering—Teres had been wondering that very thing for days now. Ever since Flos had declared it.

The [Steward] paused, and looked at the twins. He seemed conflicted. When he spoke, it was not with his usual surety.

“I—believe so. I do not have to tell you what the Emperor of Sands did was unforgivable. There will be no peace until he and his entire empire is brought to justice. But as to my King—you are right. I would expect him to ride forth, regardless of the danger. I was prepared to stop him, but he—”

“Why didn’t he go?”

Orthenon had no answer. He looked back at the map.

“Perhaps it is caution that stays his hand. A King must think of his realm, and it is dangerous to go forth without preparation. That is what I believe.”

“The city is being repaired quickly. I should think it would only be a month before everything’s repaired.”

“Yes. A month. Perhaps sooner, if all continues to go well.”

Orthenon nodded in agreement, but he looked troubled as he did. Trey exchanged a glance with Teres, and they had the same thought.

“What will we be doing?”

Orthenon paused.

“You will accompany my King, and assist him as you are able. For now, I believe you will simply follow and observe. Your…presence matters to my lord Flos. Just by being by his side, you fulfill your roles.”

“Is that all?”

Teres stared at the man. Orthenon shook his head.

“Your duties are unclear as of yet. But you must have faith in your [King].”

He stared at the twins. The twins stared back, waiting for more. But that was all there was to it. After a moment Orthenon turned back to the map.

“Enough. I am here to teach you, and so I shall. We have little time left in any case. I taught you of the peoples of Chandrar, did I not? Teres, repeat for me the native inhabitants of this continent and their specialties. Trey, you will point out where they live on the map as she does…”

—-

“Caution? Hah! That is an answer Orthenon would give. But it’s not why my lord hasn’t ridden off already.”

Mars was the second stop for the twins that day. She stood in the dusty training grounds as men and women sparred or trained by themselves. She was wearing a light, elegant tunic, unarmored save for the shield in one hand and sword in the other.

It was a sight to behold Mars the Illusionist. She looked like a champion out of stories, and she was one. But Trey had a hard time staring at her face. Perhaps it was the lack of armor, but he couldn’t help staring at her bare chest.

At her breasts. They were large. Trey stared at them, realized he was staring, and looked at Mars’ face, flushing. But every so often his eyes would slide back down. He couldn’t help it, even when Teres kicked him in the side.

Mars laughed at Trey when she noticed, which made him turn bright red.

“Don’t stare so, Trey. If your eyes aren’t on my sword, you’ll live to regret it. Now, I’m told neither of you has held a sword before, true?”

The two nodded. Trey gingerly eyed the two swords Mars had planted in the ground. They weren’t sharp, at least, he didn’t think so, but they weren’t exactly blunt either.

“Go on, take one each. I’ll test you with axes and other arms, but swords are what I know.”

The two twins gingerly took hold of a sword each. Trey pulled his from the ground with some effort. He was surprised that the sword wasn’t that heavy—he vaguely remembered hearing they were supposed to be hard to lift.

Teres frowned at her blade. She whispered to Trey as she showed him how easy it was for her to lift it.

“I thought swords were really heavy.”

“Heavy? Hah! What good is a heavy sword?”

Mars had heard them. She smiled as she showed them how to grip the swords properly in their hands.

“A sword has to be light and useful. You won’t see many swords heavier than five pounds, not unless you’re fighting a Minotaur or someone who specializes in such things. Like warhammers, I suppose. What, do you two fancy using one of those?”

“No…”

Trey went stiff as Mars went behind him to correct his posture. Teres was glaring at him, but Mars ignored Trey’s awkwardness.

“Alright then, try and strike me.”

“You? But you’re not wearing any armor!”

“And if I was, you’d still not hit me. I have a shield and a sword. And I’m a [Vanguard]—if you two could touch me with a sword, I’d run myself through in an instant. Or ask what level you two are.”

Mars laughed as she beckoned Trey and Teres to strike at her. They did, gingerly, and then with more and more vigour as they realized they really couldn’t hit her. Even with Trey on one side and Teres on the other. Even when they timed their attacks at the same time.

Six minutes later, Mars was standing without a scratch on her, and some of the people in the training grounds were laughing at Trey and Teres, who could barely lift their arms. The female warrior had flawlessly blocked or parried or simply dodged every thrust and strike they’d made.

“Not bad. Perhaps you two might be cut out for the [Warrior] class. For now, let’s switch to another weapon. Come on, lift those arms. We can talk when you’re done.”

When they were done and lying on the ground, Mars sat with them, letting the two gulp water as she spoke.

“I don’t know why my King hasn’t ordered me to war. But I think it’s because he’s waiting until he is ready for it.”

“Ready?”

Trey raised his head, trying not to gulp water down and throw up. Again. Mars nodded, looking pensive.

“I haven’t seen him on the training grounds. And my lord Flos was never one to shirk practice. It has been ten years, and perhaps he wishes to regain his skill before he rides out. A [King] must be strong, to lead his armies.”

“Shouldn’t the King stay at the back? I mean, it’s dangerous, right?”

Mars turned and smiled at Trey.

“Not him. My lord Flos has always lead the charge. When you see him on the battlefield, you will know. Have faith. He will order us to battle soon, and then you’ll see why I’m one of the Seven.”

“But what will we do?”

Trey asked pensively. Mars shrugged.

“Whatever he asks of you. You are sworn to him, as am I. We are companions, in that sense. We are the swords of our lord. When he calls, we must be ready.”

She smiled then, and the twins found they couldn’t ask her anything else. They left the training grounds, unsure of what to make of what they’d been told. Trey and Teres stumbled down the corridors, massaging their sore arms.

“She always seems so loud. And happy.”

Trey confided in Teres as they walked. She turned and glared at him.

“Pervert.”

“What?”

He stared at her. She glared. He slowly flushed.

“I couldn’t help it!”

“So could! You’re disgusting!”

“I’m not!”

“Are too!”

As the two began to argue, they started to lapse into a way of speaking unique to the two of them. Teres and Trey knew each other so well, they could complete each other sentences at times. So they didn’t bother to finish theirs when speaking with each other.

“Not my fault—”

“Eyes up here! You’re as blatant as—”

“Shut it! You don’t understand—”

“Dog’s bollocks I don’t. Just because I don’t have a thing swinging down—”

“Shut up!”

“You shut up! Besides…they’re fake.”

“What?”

Trey paused. Teres nodded.

“They’re fake. I’m sure of it.”

“How do you know? Did you touch—”

She glared at him.

“No, but they don’t move right.”

“How can you tell—”

“I’m a girl! I know how they’re supposed to move.”

“Oh. Right.”

Trey thought about this as they walked down the corridor. He thought of Mars. Then his mental image focused, as it were.

“They’re really fake?”

“Yep.”

Teres nodded decisively. Trey sighed.

“Aw.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Pillock.”

This might have started another fight, but a low voice interrupted the two.

“Your King awaits you.”

Trey turned, and promptly forgot every other part of the female body. Four eyes were staring at him, and a mouth full of sharp teeth was curved up. It was…reminiscent of a smile.

Gazi the Omniscient, or Lady Pathseeker, or the half-Gazer that terrified the piss out of Trey and Teres, smiled at the twins as they froze up in the hall. She smiled wider.

“He is in his room. Hurry or you will make him wait.”

“We—we will, Lady Gazi. Thank you for telling us.”

“He asked me to.”

Gazi said it simply. She stared at Trey and Teres. They stared back. They had four eyes between them, but since Gazi had four eyes as well it was an equal staring contest. Trey’s gaze was fixed on the center of Gazi’s face.

She had one central eye and four peripheral ones. And virtually no nose. But Trey had never seen her central eye—it was injured. Apparently, a girl from his world had actually poked it out. Trey had no idea who would dare to do that—he wondered what kind of maniac would even try.

“Well?”

Gazi’s words made the two twins start walking. But to their extreme dissatisfaction she walked with them.

Neither one of them understood Gazi. She was a hero in the eyes of the people of Reim, and Flos and his vassals treated her with respect. But Trey knew that Orthenon didn’t exactly like Gazi, and he was sure that she and Mars didn’t get along. Only…he didn’t know what Gazi really did.

Orthenon managed things. Mars fought in the army. But Gazi…she was a [Scout], but why would a [Scout] be one of the King’s Seven?

“Um, Lady Gazi.”

“Yes?”

The half-Gazer turned to look at Trey, still smiling. The saliva dried up in Trey’s mouth. Oh yes, there was one more thing. He was quite sure that Gazi didn’t like how close he and Teres were to Flos.

But he had to ask. He’d asked Mars and Orthenon, so Trey forced his mouth to work.

“Do you…know why King Flos hasn’t ordered us to war yet? I mean, he’s not even assembled the army.”

Gazi’s smile vanished. She stared at him with one of her eyes as the other one fixed on Teres and two more looked ahead and behind her. Trey shuddered as the fourth eye rolled back in its socket. When Gazi spoke, it was calmly.

“I do not know.”

“You don’t?”

The twins stared at her. Gazi shrugged slightly, the rust-brown scale armor moving smoothly with her shoulders.

“I do not pretend to understand my lord’s thoughts. He is a mystery to me, no matter how often I have watched his actions. If you wish to know his thoughts, you must listen to his words, not any others.”

“Except he never explains anything.”

Teres said that with an uncharacteristic scowl. Trey glanced at her and saw his sister’s face was set, and her eyes were flashing with annoyance. He privately understood her feelings; they were being shuffled around again, like every day, really. Flos told them what to do, and they did it, usually without even thinking to ask why or argue. He didn’t like it, but Trey felt strongly about voicing his objections in Gazi’s presence. Because she might object. Strongly.

“If my lord has no answers for you, perhaps it is because you have never asked. You have a chance now. Here we are.”

She halted. Trey realized they’d come to Flos’ door. Gazi smiled and turned. Had she just wanted to walk them over? She whispered to them before she left.

“But if you are to ask him…do it now. I have waited a long time for my lord to awaken. And I do not like waiting longer.”

She left, and Trey looked into Teres’ pale face. He didn’t know if that was a threat, a warning, or just her way of encouraging him. But he did know one thing, and that was that he never wanted to meet a full Gazer if they were all like Gazi.

Trey knocked on Flos’ door. He heard a booming voice at once.

“Enter.”

The twins cautiously opened the door, knowing that the eyes of the other servants in the hall were fixed covetously on their backs. As personal servants to the King, Trey and Teres had some invisible ranking that put them just below the King’s Seven in the eyes of the servants. As children, or at least, not full adults, they were also constantly instructed by everyone to be on their best behavior to the King, and their actions were monitored by everyone in the palace.

“So. Have you learned much from Mars and Orthenon?”

Flos turned from his dresser. Trey and Teres jumped. It was she who replied as he stared around Flos’ room. He had never been in here. The room was grand and plain. Grand because everything in it was meant for a king. Plain, because there were no paintings on the wall, no decorations—just a dresser, a closet, a bed and Flos himself. It did not look like the room that had been lived in for ten years.

“We learned more about other continents, my King. And Mars tested our ability to fight. She says we might make decent warriors if we practice at it.”

“Good. I am not certain that is the best class for the two of you to take, but it is worth considering if you have the aptitude.”

Flos sighed as he regarded the twins. He didn’t look tired, but he did look…less intense than normal. That was unusual, because it was only midday and Trey had known Flos to work late into the night and rise hours later with energy to spare.

“Is everything alright, my…liege?”

The [King] waved a huge hand at Trey.

“When we are not in a public setting you need not address me with titles. Actually…you need not address me so in a public setting either. I have told my Seven and Orthenon the same, but they refuse to listen. But in your world, it is not common to speak to others in such a way, is it?”

“Yeah, but we don’t speak to the Queen.”

Trey pointed that out. Flos smiled.

“But your Queen should have those who speak to her as a person, not as a monarch. It is not always pleasant, to be a [King] at all times.”

He sighed, and turned back to his dresser, picking something up. Trey saw Flos turn back with a broach in his hands, a bright yellow gem set with violet ones around the gold rim.

“Perhaps that is why I keep the two of you close. Disregarding your knowledge of your world…I crave those who will treat me not as a King, but as something else. What, I do not know. Regardless. Tell me, have you often ventured outside my palace walls?”

“No.”

The two chorused as once. Teres clarified.

“We don’t often go out. But we’ve walked through the city a few times.”

There wasn’t actually much to see. There was lots to do, and so they’d accompanied Flos in rebuilding a house, or seeing to some minor emergency or other. But the people had flocked around him. In the times when he wasn’t there, people were always busy. It was just crumbling buildings and worn down stone as far as Trey was concerned.

“Well, I suppose today will be instructive. You see, Teres, Trey, I desire something of you.”

“Yes, my l—”

Trey bit his tongue. Flos shook his head.

“You see? Already you are so much like the others. But it occurs to me that I am missing something dearly.”

“What’s that?”

“Honesty. Clarity. Someone who will treat me as a friend, a man, a nuisance. Not as a [King]. From you two, I ask it; and I will have it from my people today, one way or the other. I have had such relationships few times before. But it was that honesty I needed. Isn’t that right, old friend?”

Trey had no idea who Flos was talking to. But then the [King] moved and Teres screamed.

There was a head sitting on Flos’ dresser. A head, encased in ice. It was one Trey recognized. His stomach threatened to empty itself as he stared into the bitter expression of the Architect, one of the King’s Seven.

Drevish.

Teres’ scream hadn’t gone unheard. Almost faster than thought, there was someone pounding on Flos’ door.

“My King?”

“All is well.”

Flos stepped towards the door and opened it. Trey heard him reassuring whomever was outside in the background. His eyes were fixed on the block of ice. He kept staring until someone blocked it from view. Flos.

“I did not mean to startle you. I apologize. I had forgotten such sights were not common in your world.”

He spoke gently to Trey and Teres, with a hint of chagrin in his voice. The two stared at him. Teres lifted a shaking finger.

“Why—why do you have—”

“Why didn’t it melt?”

That was Trey’s question. Flos turned and stared at Drevish’s head.

“It was a simple preservation spell for the ice. As to the head…I kept it as a reminder. Of my fallen companion. Of the man I knew. Of my failure. And as a promise.”

“Promise?”

Trey’s voice was faint. Flos turned and nodded.

“I promised Drevish to build a city like none the world had ever seen. In my kingdom. I told him that it would be his plans by which every brick was laid and every house built. That was my vow to him. And I have not kept it. He did not live to see it, but perhaps…”

“You’re going to show it? To his head?”

Teres’ voice was a horrified whisper. Flos nodded gravely. It made a terrible kind of sense to Trey, but his sister was pale and swaying.

“It is all I can offer him. When I show him my kingdom, then perhaps my conscience—”

“No.”

Trey felt a shock. But the word didn’t come from him. It came from Teres. She was staring at the block of ice with Drevish’s head. Flos was surprised too. He stared at Teres.

“What do you mean?”

“No. You can’t let him stay like this. You have to bury him.”

Both Trey and Flos stared at her. There were tears in Teres’ eyes. She looked at Flos, angrily.

“You can’t keep his head like this. Not frozen. Not—you can’t do it. You have to bury his head.”

The [King] froze. Trey froze. He had never heard Teres use that tone in Flos’ palace. He had never heard anyone use that tone with Flos, either. The King’s head bowed. He turned and stared down at the block of ice. His voice was low as he replied.

“He is my vassal. I owe him this.”

“It’s wrong.”

Trey looked at Teres. She stood with her fists clenched, staring at the [King]’s back. Trey reached out—to stop her?—but she knocked his hand away.

“It may seem odd to one from another world like you, but it is how I honor my sworn companion. Drevish would understand—”

“No. I know it’s wrong. Trey knows it’s wrong. Anyone would know that! Ask Orthenon, ask Mars or Gazi—”

Teres voice was pleading. She was trying to make Flos understand, but the [King]’s head didn’t move.

“Don’t keep him in this room. Don’t make him stay here. Let him sleep!”

She raised her voice and nearly shouted that last bit. Trey was petrified. As Flos’ back turned, he saw an expression he had only seen once before on the [King]’s face.

Anger.

“This is not a matter on which I will change my mind. I failed Drevish. This is his last memory. Here!”

Flos gestured at the head angrily.

“I will not forsake him again. I abandoned him once, and he paid with his life for it. I will not bury his memory and turn away from it as I have so much before. This conversation is over. You two—leave. Seek out Orthenon until I call for you again.”

He made to walk towards his door. But Teres barred his path.

“You can’t do it. You have to let him go. He deserves better than this!”

Trey’s breath was gone. He gaped at his sister. Flos’ brows shot together.

“No. Move out of my way.”

“I won’t.”

Teres was shaking. She pointed at the block of ice.

“You’re keeping him—just like he was when he died! Bury him! It’s disrespectful. And he deserves rest!”

Rest. That word rang true to Trey. He stared at Drevish’s head. It was preserved, so that he could be by his king’s side even in death. Whether he liked it or not. Just like…Trey. And Teres.

Flos’ voice was very quiet.

“Do not talk to me about disrespect. I was not the one who killed him. I was not the one who froze him.”

“But you’re the one who’s keeping him this way.”

Flos’ head turned and Trey realized he was the one who spoke. The [King] stared at the two twins.

“Begone from my sight.”

It was a command. Trey’s legs moved him towards the door. But Teres stayed where she was. She clenched her fists. She was shaking with emotion. There were tears in her eyes.

And there was something in Trey’s heart too. Something that made him stop, despite the urge to listen to the [King]. His King? Yes. No! A King, but not one Trey had ever sworn allegiance to. A King, but one who had made Trey and Teres his servants against their will. A King, yes.

But not a God.

Trey looked back over his shoulder, and saw a man. Flos towered over Teres, but he was a man. Not just a [King]. And she stood in his way. Because it was right.

Slowly, Trey turned back. He walked over to Teres, and stood in front of Flos. The man stared down at them, unable to believe his eyes.

“I told you to move.”

Again, Trey felt the urge to move, but he didn’t. Flos was a [King]. Trey was serving him. He had to—

But he was wrong. And someone had to say it. Trey opened his mouth.

“No. It’s wrong.”

He stared into two burning eyes. There was fury there, uncontained.

“I gave you an order. Are you disobeying your [King]?”

“We’re not your subjects! We never asked to be!”

Standing next to him, Teresa screamed at Flos. She gave vent to the feeling the twins had felt this entire time. She pointed at him.

“You’re the one who decided everything! Well, we’re sick of it! You want us to tell you what we think? We think you’re wrong! And you can just live with that!”

She stood next to Trey, shaking with anger. And he remembered, dimly, that it was always Teres who started fights. When the twins got angry, she was the one who popped her lid first. He stared at his twin sister with horrified admiration as she finished shouting at the King of Destruction in his own bedroom.

“No matter what you say, we won’t change our minds, you—you bloody twit!”

Trey heard ringing in his ears. Teres’ voice echoed through Flos’ chambers, and then there was silence. Dead silence. Trey stared up at the King of Destruction and saw him staring down.

This was where he died. Trey waited for wrath and fury, but heard nothing. He chanced another peek up, and saw something strange.

Flos’ face had changed. There was no anger there any longer, but rather another emotion. It looked like amusement, but there was something else there. Trey had seen Flos laugh many times before, but this was different.

It was amusement and joy. And nostalgia. It was rueful, melancholic. And it was there for an instant, before Flos turned away.

“Oh Drevish, would that you could have been here. Would you have laughed, or told me I was a fool?”

He walked back, away from the twins. Slowly, Flos bent and picked up the block of ice. It did not melt in his hands as he stared down at the man’s head. His friend’s head. When he turned back to the twins, there were tears in his eyes.

A King wept. Unabashedly, his eyes overflowed as he held his friend and stared into his eyes.

“You are right.”

He said that to Teres, and then to Trey.

“You are right. I—I have asked so much of my vassal, my companion over the long years. So much, and yet in death I ask more. To wait for so long…it would be far kinder to let him rest. It was my selfishness that demanded he watch over me even now.”

He turned away from the two. Flos stared down at the block of ice and then bent. He kissed the ice over Drevish’s brow.

“Sleep, old friend. I am sorry. It has been far too long since you treated me like a fool. Somehow, I had forgotten what it felt like to be one. But these two can speak the truth to me in your absence. So rest.”

He turned and placed the head back on the dresser, only this time faced away from the room. Teres opened her mouth, but Flos turned and forestalled her.

“I will bury him later. Tonight, in private. Now is not the time.”

Slowly, the girl closed her mouth. Flos looked at the two of them, and laughed. It was not the laugh of a [King]. It was man’s laugh, shaky, and rueful. With a hint of tears.

“I asked you to speak the truth to me, and seconds later demanded you do the opposite. A fool should not do so, let alone a [King]. I apologize to you Teres, and to you, Trey. I am only grateful you could speak the truth to me.”

He bowed his head to them. The twins stood as a [King] and a man bowed to them and neither knew what to say. When Flos had raised his head again, Trey found his voice.

“Your majesty…”

“Flos.”

Teres said that. Trey looked at her, and then at Flos.

“Why haven’t you gone to war? Why are we here?”

Flos looked at them and sighed.

“Because I am hesitating. Because I fear war. Because…perhaps I lack the stomach for it, after all these years.”

They stared at him. The King of Destruction. He smiled at them, looking haggard, weighed down by something they couldn’t name. He raised his hand, and touched the sparkling broach.

“Perhaps you do not understand. I was never good at explaining such things. Well, I can show you.”

He gestured to the door.

“Follow me, my friends. You two deserve to follow. I am a [King], but I need someone to tell me I am a fool. So come and let me look upon my faded kingdom. At last, let me have the courage to see the cost of my folly.”

He turned and led the twins out the door. And they followed, swept up in his wake as before. But there was something different this time. Trey and Teresa followed Flos, the King of Destruction. But the back they saw belonged to a man.

Just a man. Carrying the weight of a kingdom on his shoulders. And as he walked, Trey wondered. He wondered if Flos had ever had a friend. Perhaps Drevish had been one. Not a vassal, but a friend. Perhaps he had been, perhaps not.

His head sat frozen in his room, a grim reminder of the past. And that would never change. But the ice would melt. The head would vanish from the room, and time would move on. For the King had lost one of his Seven, but gained something else. Two friends, perhaps. Maybe that was what it was.

And he was awake. Awake. The King of Destruction was awake at last.

And the world would know what that meant soon enough.

4.01 K

Trey followed Flos out into the corridor. He walked seven steps, then felt someone grab his tunic from behind.

“Wait a second. Don’t follow him.”

“Teres! What are you—”

His sister pulled the startled Trey back into Flos’ room. Then Teres shut the door. Trey stared at her in disbelief.

“Teres! What are you doing?”

“I’m staying here. I’m not haring off this time without knowing what’s going on.”

“Yeah, but he—but—”

Trey stared at the door. Flos had been striding down the corridor. What would happen when he noticed the twins were gone? Would he notice they were gone?

But there was no arguing with his sister. Trey knew it just by looking at Teres’ face. Her jaw was set. Teres was still breathing heavily, her cheeks flushed from her earlier outburst.

“I think he’s going to be pretty cross when he realizes we’re gone. We’re supposed to follow him everywhere, remember?”

“Well I’m bloody tired of it. Aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but—”

Trey gave up. He agreed with his twin sister. He just wasn’t sure being rude to a King’s face was the best way to go about it.

Resigned, he stared around Flos’ room while Teres crossed her arms and stared at the door. There wasn’t much in the bedroom at all. Except for the head—Trey hurriedly averted his gaze, relieved it was facing the wall—he couldn’t spot anything remotely interesting. Besides the dresser, there was a wall closet, and a door that led out onto a balcony. But no objects of note. None whatsoever.

Well, there was an empty scabbard propped up against one wall. It was like a footnote, especially since the sword it belonged to was nowhere to be seen. Trey stared at it. That wasn’t the same scabbard Flos wore at his side. This one looked fancy, dark crimson and black leather or fabric capped by metal filigree at the tip. The metal looked like gold, and it shone dully the longer Trey stared at it.

He wondered where the sword had got to while he waited. Trey kept staring at the door. Would Flos notice? Or would he send someone to get them? He’d feel like a complete fool if he and Teres ended up staying here for hours.

One minute passed, then two. And then Trey heard footsteps, and Flos thrust open the doors to his room. He stared around, a confused and mildly miffed expression on his face. He caught sight of Trey and Teres and stopped.

First the King looked quizzical, and then his expression shifted to annoyed, and then amused once more. He smiled ruefully and chuckled before thrusting the door wider.

“What is it you two young lions object to this time? I asked you to follow. Honesty is one thing, but I do require a pair of legs so you may follow me about.”

“Will you explain what we’re doing first?”

Teres glared at Flos. He blinked at her, and then at Trey. The young man had crossed his arms to show solidarity with his sister.

“I am not used to explaining myself.”

“Well, we want to know.”

It was not witty repartee, but it worked. Flos laughed, and stroked his beard as he regarded the twins. He looked thoughtful, and happy again for some reason.

“Too long. Too long since I have heard dissent. Too long since I remembered—yes I will. I will explain myself. Thank you Teres.”

He turned and walked around the twins, towards one of the windows that looked out onto the city. Flos stared down at the streets and people below before turning his head.

“I am Flos. The King of Destruction.”

“We know tha—”

Teres’ peeved voice shut off as Flos raised a hand. This time Trey felt his jaws clamp down, though he hadn’t tried to say anything. There was a difference in the way Flos spoke now. He was serious, quiet and thoughtful, as he spoke.

“You have heard of my legend, at least, part of it. Once I ruled over this continent, and sent my armies to the other continents of the world. Some may have said I was poised to create a kingdom that would last a thousand years. But at the moment when the world feared me most, I gave up my throne. I recalled my forces and let my kingdom fall to ruin. I slept. For ten long years, I slept.”

Trey had heard all of that before. But seeing the King’s face change, he felt like he understood far more. Flos’ face was bitter with regret.

“So I slept. The sleeping King of Destruction, sitting in his rotting kingdom as other nations picked apart my empire to pieces. My vassals scattered, and only Orthenon stayed by my side. Until I woke. Now my kingdom stirs, and my people rejoice. They say the King of Destruction has awoken, and that is true. However, that does not mean I am yet ready to act as a [King].”

He looked at the twins, something like pain in his eyes. That was a human expression, a mortal one. Not the look of a King. It was intimate, private. Perhaps not even the Seven had seen Flos look like this before.

“Ten years. I feel as though I am still sleeping some days, Teres, Trey. It is not as if I can begin again so easily, you see? I doubt myself. I fear I have forgotten how to be myself. And yet, I must be myself, and as sure as I have ever been. Because now I am awake, I owe it to my people not to disappoint their faith again. And yet—”

He sighed.

“Earlier I mentioned my fears. I fear what I must do next. You see, I am a specific kind of king. You know it is my class as well as my birthright, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

The two twins nodded. Flos smiled unhappily.

“Ah, but do you know the secret of rulers? Not all [Kings] are the same. Those who sit upon thrones become different kinds of rulers. Some pursue peace, and their Skills and classes reflect that. Under their rule crops grow mightily, and their people rest under an aegis of protection. But not my people. No, my kingdom knows only one thing. War. I am a King who pursues war. It is in my nature, and when I act, it will be to lead my people into battle, not replenish the land or rebuild.”

A king who specialized in war. Trey released the breath he had held and asked the only question he could think of.

“Are you afraid of war?”

“War? No.”

Something shifted in Flos’ eyes. He smiled, and his gaze revealed something hungry and eager. And just as quickly it was gone, replaced by another, somber thing.

“I am not afraid of war. I do not fear battle. I long for it. But it is the cost I think of. I cannot shake the cost from my mind.”

The cost in bodies? Lives lost? Trey only half understood. Flos nodded back to the window.

“That is why I wish to listen to my people. To understand if they fear what I fear. I do not know. I must confess—that has never been one of my strengths. I can know the will of my people or hear their supplications from their lips, but I often fail to understand the why of it.”

“So what are we doing?”

Flos looked surprised as he stared at Teres.

“Listening. We will walk among my subjects and listen, today. It is time for it.”

Trey and Teres exchanged a glance.

“But…how can you listen if they know you’re there? Are you going to ask them?”

Flos blinked in surprise, and then smiled.

“No, we shall do it in secret. With this.”

He held up the broach in his hand. Trey stared at the yellow jewel embedded in the center, nonplussed. Flos stared at his confused audience and sighed again.

“Oh, I had forgotten you would not understand. I should activate this now, perhaps, so as not to surprise you. Very well, observe.”

He touched the broach and—changed. Before Trey and Teres’ astonished eyes, Flos turned from a King into—an ordinary fellow. Trey didn’t actually witness the change—one second Flos was there, and the next a slightly shorter, less impressive man stood in his place.

He didn’t have reddish gold hair, and his eyes were hazel. His belly had more flab and there were wrinkles in his face and grey mixed in with his dark hair. He didn’t look bad—but no one would ever confuse him with Flos.

Even his voice was different. It wasn’t as resonant, and it had a nasal quality.

“There. You see? A perfect disguise. Now that I think of it, it is better that I used it here, rather than where others might see me.”

“How did you—was that magic?”

Teres rolled her eyes as Trey stared at the broach. She jabbed her brother in the stomach with an elbow.

“Obviously it’s magic, idiot!”

Flos nodded, showing the twins the broach. It sparkled in the light from the sun, but didn’t shine or twinkle or do anything else that gave away its nature.

“It was a gift from Mars, years ago. It allows me to assume the shape of an ordinary person, a common man wherever I go. I have made use of it on occasion to learn from my people. I will do so again now.”

“So you’re going out looking like…that?”

“Indeed. And so shall the two of you! Yes, I think that would be best.”

He thrust the broach at Trey.

“Here. Touch the stone in the center.”

Hesitantly, Trey did so. He heard Teres gasp and looked down at his body. He didn’t see anything wrong. He stared at Teres. Her eyes were wide as she looked him up and down.

“What? What is it?”

“You look different!”

“How? Am I uglier?”

“No—well, you were never a looker but—you’re just different, alright?”

Trey saw what she meant when Teres copied him. Her features altered. She didn’t become uglier or fairer, but her hair and nose and mouth and skin tone changed to make her look more like the people of Flos’ kingdom, rather than a London-born girl from another world. Flos nodded in approval as Trey and Teres stared at each other. Trey had to poke Teres experimentally to make sure she was the same underneath, and Teres exclaimed as she felt at Trey’s features and felt his real face underneath the mask.

“It is a temporary illusion. It will last for several hours if memory serves. We shall mingle with my people while we wear it.”

Flos looked happy at the prospect. Trey and Teres exchanged a glance.

“I suppose that’s alright, isn’t it?”

The strange girl standing next to Trey nodded, looking resigned.

“So we’re just going to wander about?”

“Perhaps. We shall see what occurs.”

Flos rubbed his hands together, looking pleased. He paused as he strode over to the door. Trey had a hard time keeping his eyes off of Flos’ face. There was no longer that strange magnetism around the man, and that was almost as disconcerting as his new features.

“We should avoid going near any of my vassals.”

“Why?”

Flos smiled, and it was another man’s lips which turned upwards.

“They would be able to detect the magic. Orthenon is alert for such tricks and Gazi would be able to see through such illusory magic. Perhaps even without her main eye. As for Mars, she might not notice, but I would prefer not to risk it.”

That seemed weird. Wasn’t Mars the one who’d given Flos the broach? Flos opened the door and after glancing around for a second or two, quickly strode out. Trey and Teres hurried out the corridor. Not too many people were about, and they didn’t look twice at Flos, despite him walking out of the King’s own bedroom. They didn’t look twice at Trey and Teres either, which he supposed was part of the illusion.

“Few will notice us, unless they are actively looking.”

Flos spoke out of the corner of his mouth as he walked more slowly down the corridor, the twins following him closely. Trey nodded.

“Um, my K—”

Teres elbowed him. Trey stared at her, and then remembered.

“F-Flos?”

“It has been a while since I heard that name. What is it, Trey?”

Trey gulped. He forgot the last question he was going to ask and blurted out his question about Mars instead.

“Why wouldn’t Lady Mars be able to see us? Doesn’t she know a lot of illusion magic?”

“Her? Hardly.”

The man Flos had become raised his eyebrows, looking amused.

“She is called the Illusionist, but not because she knows any magic of her own. Rather, she possesses many trinkets such as these.”

Trey nodded.

“I remember now. She told me. But why is she called the Illusionist if—”

“Watch it!”

Flos turned his head and quickly stepped out of the way. Trey yanked Teres back as four men carrying heavy sacks of something or other walked past them. One cursed the trio as he went past.

“Keep to the right side, fools! Unless you’re carrying something heavy, keep the corridor clear!”

Startled, Trey looked at Flos. The King looked nonplussed, but as he and the twins looked around they realized that they were getting dirty looks.

It suddenly occurred to Trey that they were walking like they had been before, straight down the center of every corridor as people hurried around them. It was so natural that they hadn’t realized it. But that was how the King and his sworn vassals walked. And once Trey looked, it was obvious they were making a mistake.

The servants, workers, and other people bustling about the palace did not walk down the center or wherever they pleased. Instead, they walked on the right side of the corridor while people going the opposite way walked down the left. The center was reserved for people in a hurry, or carrying things too bulky to go with the usual flow.

“I believe we should walk on this side.”

Flos stepped closer to the right wall, smiling at an older woman who did not smile back.

“Hurry up and move. We ain’t got all day.”

“Sorry!”

Trey and Teres stepped smartly and followed Flos on this new, more proper route. They no longer walked at their own pace; they were now following the person in front. When they slowed, the three had to slow as well or run into someone.

Flos, Trey, and Teres were all unaccustomed to walking that way. But they obediently followed the flow of people on the right side of the corridor, chatting quietly as they did.

“Fascinating. I had no idea there was a system for such things. I suppose Orthenon must have implemented it for convenience’s sake. It is this sort of thing that I wish to experience.”

“Walking?”

“Getting yelled at?”

Trey and Teres stared dubiously at Flos. They didn’t think there was too much special about this, but he seemed privately delighted.

“Yes, and yes. How can I lead my people if I do not walk in their shoes from time to time? It is this experience which—”

He didn’t get to finish his proclamation. An annoyed woman’s voice called out to the three and they saw a grey-haired lady hurrying over to them with a scowl on her face.

“What are you three doing? You’re not part of the interior staff!”

Trey stared anxiously at Flos, but the King smiled.

“We are laborers, Miss. We did not have any work at the moment so we—”

He got no further. A huge scowl replaced the smaller one and the woman snapped at the three.

“If you’re not busy you should be reporting to wherever you were assigned for more work, not wandering about the halls getting in the way!”

Flos bowed his head, looking contrite.

“I am terribly sorry, Miss. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Too right! Now if you’re done wasting time—we’ve quite a lot of supplies to be moved. Another [Trader]’s come by and we need all the goods taken up to the storerooms and the kitchens within the hour!”

She pointed down the hall and Trey noticed a stream of people carrying heavy loads coming their way. He expected Flos to refuse, but the man just smiled.

“We would be delighted to help, Miss.”

His comment didn’t impress the woman.

“Too right you will, or I would be having a word with Lord Orthenon directly after this! Get moving you two—I’ll send some others to help unload.”

“We can take care of it ourselves. My two…my niece and nephew here can help me. I’ll carry everything up.”

“Oh, a [Laborer] are you?”

The woman paused to look Flos up and down skeptically. He grinned at her.

“No. Just strong. We’ll have your supplies in a moment.”

Despite herself, the woman smiled. Even with another face, Flos’ grin was slightly contagious.

“If you can do it quick, I’ll have a cold drink waiting for you. For now, bring anything edible to the main kitchens and the rest to the store room next to the library. You know where that is? Then get moving!”

She strode off. Flos nodded at Trey and Teres, and they followed him again, this time heading out of the castle.

“We’re not going to carry stuff, are we?”

Dismayed, Trey stared at Flos. His arms still hurt from practicing with Mars earlier. Flos nodded.

“Of course! I gave her my word I would help unload that cart. A bit of work won’t be wasted while we observe the others.”

“But—aw—but—”

Trey didn’t get any further. In moments he found himself struggling to carry a heavy sack of something on his shoulders. He staggered after Flos as Teres did the same with an equally heavy bag. The King strode back through the castle, carrying five heavy sacks at once. Trey stared, and some of the other people carrying things made startled comments as Flos passed.

“Don’t kill yourself there, Mister!”

“Those bags of flour will wait, no matter how loudly the [Cooks] yell. It’s not worth a broken back!”

Flos laughed and responded jovially as he marched through the halls. He stepped into the huge stone kitchen and after being directed where to put his load, he and the twins set down their cargo and headed back for a second trip.

Trey was massaging his shoulders as he hurried after Flos. The King smiled at him.

“If your shoulders ache after only that, we’ll have to build your muscles, Trey! A set of good armor might not be as heavy, but wearing it for hours on end is far more exhausting.”

“Is that why you can carry all that at once?”

The King laughed as he strode down the corridors, following the right side’s flow of traffic.

“Hah! Well, I must admit that I’ve grown weaker than before. In fact…”

He frowned and his smile vanished.

“That was actually quite unpleasant. Carrying such heavy loads…it is little wonder few choose the [Laborer] class. I am beginning to regret volunteering to carry all of the [Trader]’s goods myself.”

Trey and Teres glared up at Flos. He laughed again.

“Never mind. A promise is a promise. Onwards, you two!”

He strode down the hallway, giving neither Trey or Teres a chance to object or throw something at his head.

—-

An hour later, Trey would have sorely loved to kill Flos for volunteering them to carry an entire wagon-load of goods up several floors to the various store rooms and the kitchen. But any possible threat of violence was impossible; Trey’s arms could barely move and his entire body hurt.

He sat at a table in the banquet hall next to Teres. She was slumped over, but sitting next to her, a loud and obnoxiously good-natured Flos was sharing a drink with some of the other servants taking a break at the same time.

True to her word, the woman in charge of supervising the servants had given Flos, Trey, and Teres a half hour’s break to have a drink and a bite to eat. Trey had been too tired to do more than chew the hot, doughy crescents of spiced bread – a popular snack in the region – and sip some water. Teres was the same, but Flos was sipping at his drink of ale and laughing with a group of men and women as they sat and talked among themselves.

“I’ve only ever met a few men capable of carrying that many sacks of grain by themselves. You’d better watch yourself, or you’ll find yourself assigned to ferrying supplies up for good!”

“There are worse fates, I suppose. But I hardly think you all lag behind. I simply feel invigorated today, that’s all.”

Flos smiled as the man sitting across from him, a balding man with scars on his arms, laughed. Someone reached out to slap Flos on the back.

It was a strange thing. Wearing a different face and speaking with a different voice—even without his aura of command, there was something about Flos that drew people to him, made them listen to him. It wasn’t just that he’d done twice the work of anyone else in the same amount of time. It was that he cared. When he spoke, Trey believed without a doubt he was telling the truth from the bottom of his heart.

“In truth, I feel far more tired than I should be. Tell me, has it been so busy every day?”

“Aye. And then some. But we have our breaks and hot food and no one could ask for more. Besides, you know how it feels. We’re alive at last, and a few sore muscles means little for that.”

The man sitting across from Flos sighed. There was a smile on his lips, and a light in his eyes. Trey heard people murmuring agreement around him. A woman who’d been in the kitchens raised her mug.

“Our King has awoken.”

“He is awake.”

The man sitting across from Flos raised his mug to that. He didn’t cheer and no one toasted. But people drank and sat in silent reverentially, as if those words were a prayer. Trey reached for another piece of fried dough, but Teres had taken it. He looked up at Flos, and saw the man’s smile had become shadowed.

“Ah yes. The King. I haven’t heard much in the streets. What goes on in the palace?”

“Not much you wouldn’t hear about. Gossips always go into the inns at night to talk—”

The others agreed, laughing about how a few tidbits was worth a free drink in any tavern. But then the balding man clicked his fingers.

“What about those two twins, though?”

Trey sat up anxiously.

“What about them?”

The man sitting across from Flos laughed.

“Haven’t you seen them, lad? They’re scarcely older than you—but they’re a different type than you and I. Foreigners, from Terandria perhaps.”

“I heard they were from further than that. But I’ve not caught the name of the nation from which they hail. No one has. Only our King knows where they came from.”

Other heads nodded. The bald man grunted, looking less pleased all of a sudden.

“I don’t know what purpose those two serve. Aye, they’re young, but Lady Mars said she has no clue why our King keeps them close.”

“Really?”

Flos stared intently at the man. He drank slowly as Trey and Teres hunched over at the table, feeling guilty.

The bald man nodded. He leaned forwards conspiratorially, but kept his voice loud enough for everyone at the table to hear.

“She says they’re completely unskilled with any weapons. And that’s true enough. I saw them in the training grounds, flailing about with swords as if they’d never held one before. That brightened my day.”

“Hm.”

“I’ve no qualms with them being here, but I’ve been told they’re to be treated with the same respect as one of the Seven. Imagine that!”

“Lord Orthenon seems to respect them, and I have no earthly idea what Lady Gazi thinks. Lady Mars seems to share our opinions, but she’s respectful enough. I wonder what merits our King’s trust in them…”

The others around the table began gossiping about Trey and Teres. Trey was relieved that none of them had specific complaints, but he felt wretched. He was relieved when Flos cleared his throat.

“The twins are one thing. But what about the King?”

“What about his Majesty? I saw him walking down the hall just this morning. He met my eyes and I’ll swear to you all, he was the same man he once was. Just as great.”

The balding man spoke proudly and everyone nodded. But Flos shook his head.

“If he is as he was, that means war is coming, isn’t it?”

“And if it is?”

The man stared challengingly at Flos. The King did not respond. The laborer drained his mug, speaking loudly to everyone at once.

“If it comes to it, I’d be the first to grab a sword and follow him into battle. He has but to ask. Once our King raises his banner, we’ll follow him as before.”

“As always.”

The female [Cook] said that, and the people around her nodded. Trey blinked as he saw every face just as resolute as the balding man’s. If he but asks, we’ll go to war. He looked at Flos and saw something different written on the man’s face.

Anguish. It was there for a second, and then gone. Flos turned to look at Trey. Then he resumed listening to the people talking in loud, excited voices.

What did it mean? Something had bothered Flos. And it was why he had come here. Trey understood that without needing to be told. But what?

“Why is he upset?”

Teres whispered into Trey’s ear. He shrugged and looked around the room. No one looked upset. Just the mention of war had made other people come over. Some, most were civilians who’d never fought, even before Flos had slept. But a few at the table including the balding man had been soldiers. They spoke proudly of battles past, and of battles to come. There wasn’t a trace of fear or hesitation in their eyes.

So what had Flos seen?

It was a slow realization. It dawned on Trey as he watched Flos mingle and talk with the other servants and laborers, ordinary citizens, craftsmen and soldiers. It was in their wrinkled faces, the way they doted on Trey and Teres, asking where they had come from, where their family was—questions the twins had a hard time answering honestly let alone dishonestly.

When Trey saw the youngest woman in the room, the young [Cook] in her mid-twenties, that he finally understood. He nudged Teres at once as he watched Flos laugh uproariously at a joke someone had told.

“I get it, Teres.”

“What?”

Trey hesitated. How could he explain? He thought and whispered into Teres’ ear.

“Think about the Great War, Teres. The Lost Generation—you know? Think of it like that. Only the opposite.”

She looked blankly at him, and then her eyes widened. She took in the room, the aged faces. The lack of young ones.

“Oh.”

It wasn’t the faces Trey saw that had bothered Flos. It wasn’t the living. It was those who weren’t there. The children. The young people. There were scarcely any people Trey and Teres’ age, and he had seen…how many children over the month he had been here? So few.

It was a flash of insight. Flos, the King of Destruction would go to war. He would ride off, and his kingdom would rise with him. They would follow his banner into war again, as they always had.

Only this time, no one would come back. Or rather, there would be no one to come back to. This time, there was no generation of young men and women to fight. It would be the fathers and mothers who took up arms, every living soul. There weren’t enough bodies left. This generation would be the last.

This was Flos’ kingdom. Dying. They had come to life, but that life was fragile. Tenuous. They were what remained, but if Flos rode to war, there would be nothing left.

Trey looked up and saw Flos looking at him. The King nodded, and turned back to the laughing men and women. When he spoke, it was quiet, but his voice quieted the loudest laughter.

“What a terrible King.”

He sat at the table as sound died around him. Trey saw every head within earshot turn. The balding man stared at Flos, joviality gone.

“What was that, fellow?”

“I said, what a terrible King he must be. To ask you all to fight and die again. What sort of King could ask that of his people?”

No one spoke. Trey looked around at the suddenly hostile faces. The balding man pushed away his drink.

“Are you new to Reim, stranger? Or did you never lay eyes on our King before now?”

Flos met his gaze squarely, without passion.

“I have seen him before. As he lay slumbering while his kingdom fell to ruins.”

“Then you know nothing.”

The bald man stared at Flos, face reddening. He pushed back his chair.

“If you never met our King before, then you’ve no right to speak of it. He may have slept, but we kept faith with him. We waited, and when he calls, we will go to war and yes, die for him without fear. Because he is our King. Now, I’ve got to be getting back to work. And you had best leave.”

He stood up, staring at Flos. The King stood as well, and Trey and Teres scrambled out of their seats. Everyone was staring at them. But Flos didn’t turn to leave. He stared curiously at the balding man, as if he were staring at something he’d never seen before.

“Why would you follow a King who abandoned you? Who left his kingdom to rot? Why would you love such a worthless King?”

The bald man stared at Flos across the table. His face went crimson, and then white with anger. His voice was barely contained.

“Because he is our King. Because we love him. Because we would follow him to the ends of the earth. Because he is worthy of respect.”

Flos shook his head.

“He is not.”

Silence. Trey saw the tendons bulge on the balding man’s neck. He saw his hand move in slow motion—and then the man threw a punch at Flos.

It was so quick that Trey missed the blur of movement. He only saw the second part of the punch, as Flos leaned backwards, avoiding the blow.

“Bastard!”

The balding man leapt onto the table and started swinging at Flos. The King dodged backwards, letting each punch miss him by inches. But there was only so far he could back up. He blocked one punch towards his chest, took a step back, and ran into Trey. Flos took the second blow to the face which sent him sprawling and a kick to the stomach before people pulled the bald man off of him.

“Get out. Take your uncle with you and don’t set foot in the palace again if you want to walk out.”

The balding man spat at Flos as Trey and Teres helped him up. The other servants and workers held him back, but no one spoke up in defense of the twins.

“Come on.”

Trey and Teres pulled at Flos and he let them pull him out of the hallway. Once they were out, Trey and Teres set a fast walk, hurrying Flos down the corridor. Only when they were a good minute away did Flos speak.

“Well, that was enlightening.”

The twins stopped and stared at him. Servants behind them cursed and dodged out of the way as Flos rubbed at his cheek. It was already swelling up.

“What? What do you mean, it was enlightening?”

“Exactly what I said. I am glad to have spoken to that man. Although I wish you two would have backed up. I needn’t have taken that punch otherwise.”

The mildly reproving tone and glance towards Trey nearly made him lose it altogether.

“That wasn’t our fault! You started that fight! Why didn’t you punch back or—or stop him?”

The King stared in confusion at Trey as if he were the one not making sense.

“Don’t be ridiculous. What sort of King would attack his own subjects?”

Trey’s mouth worked helplessly as Flos led them on again.

“The…kind that doesn’t want to be hit?”

“Hah! Good point.”

Flos grinned at Trey as he rounded a corner, tapping the gem in the center of the broach twice. One second he was a wincing, commonplace laborer, the next, he was a King. Trey wouldn’t have noticed the slight swelling around his cheek at first glance. The sheer…Flos-ness of the man overwhelmed details at first glance.

“My King! Good morning to you!”

“Good day to you.”

Flos waved at servants who exclaimed upon seeing the King appear out of the middle of nowhere. Trey saw the corridor full of people behind him do a sudden double-take and stare in amazement at Flos. They called out greetings too as Flos abandoned the right side of the corridor and strode down the center again. It was better that way; people got out of Flos’ way no matter where he walked.

“I can’t believe you let him hit you. Why did you call yourself a bad King?”

“Because I am. Because it is true. They may see me as a King worth following, but I will not give myself such laxity. I have failed them. That they would follow me is a mark of the worth of my subjects, not myself.”

Trey stared at Teres. She shrugged. Then she frowned at Flos.

“Why didn’t you tell them you were the King, then? Then they wouldn’t have kicked you. Or thrown beer on your head.”

“Was that what it was? I thought it was water. But why would I reveal myself?”

Flos felt absently at his damp shoulders. Trey tried to explain, feeling all the while that he shouldn’t have to.

“Well, isn’t that what you wanted to do? It’s like…it’s like all the stories.”

“Stories?”

The King halted in the middle of the corridor. He made Trey explain to him what he meant.

“In stories of…King Arthur, I guess, he pretends to be a beggar, or an ordinary knight. He goes around doing good deeds and learning about folks, and then he reveals himself to them afterwards as the King.”

“Why would I do that?”

Flos looked blank. Trey opened his mouth and paused.

“Because…because then they’d know it was you?”

The King shook his head, frowning.

“If I were to do so, then that man would have realized he raised his hand against his King. I would not trouble him with that knowledge. And besides, it is best I keep such tricks secret.”

“But you got punched.”

“Yes, I did. But it was important. And I have a healing potion in my rooms. Follow me.”

Flos refused to continue the conversation until they were in his quarters. There he took a bottle of clear blue liquid from his drawer and let Teres dab a tiny bit of it onto his cheek.

“My stomach will be fine. But a King cannot be seen with a swollen cheek. That much is true.”

“So why did we do all of this?”

Trey complained as he eyed the potion bottle. He was wondering if he could use some on his sore shoulders. Or arms. Or legs. Or if he could take a bath in it. Flos sighed.

“You saw what will come, did you not? Death. Death for my kingdom and my people. It is war I walk towards, and it will take their lives.”

“Isn’t that how war always works?”

“It is. But I had not thought of the cost of it until now. When I was young I did not know why my people followed me, even to their deaths. Now I know, and I am humbler for it. They showed me their feelings—”

He winced as Teres touched his swollen cheek.

“—Quite clearly. And it is good that I know it. Because I must be the King to fulfill such expectations.”

He sat on his bed, head bowed as the healing potion worked its magic and his cheek returned to normal in seconds. At last, Flos raised his head and smiled tiredly at the twins.

“Children, did you see the other part? When I became a King again, did you see it in the eyes of my people?”

“See what?”

Flos smiled bitterly. He stretched out one huge hand and stared at it as he spoke.

“They do not see me. They stare right through me, at something else. An illusion far more complete than any Mars could create. At a dream.”

Teres was the one who hesitantly replied.

“You mean…at the King you used to be? Before you slept?”

“Not even that.”

Flos shook his head.

“They see a King who never existed. Their ideal King, the ruler they made from shattered dreams as I lay slumbering. A King without fault, who will bring them salvation. I am not that King. I never was. I never will be. And yet, that is the King I must be.”

He stood up. He took the bottle from Teres and gently put it back into the drawer of his dresser. When he turned, he stood taller than ever, or so Trey thought. And when he spoke, it was as a King, so that every word hung in the air.

“My subjects dream. It is a King’s duty to turn that dream into reality. I am a King, and I must act like it. I cannot hide behind petty tasks anymore. It is time to be a King in truth.”

He gestured towards the door, and this time the twins walked out with him behind them. Flos explained as they walked through the corridors, every head turning and bowing towards him.

“In truth, Trey, Teres, I have not acted as I should. You have seen me supervising the repairs of a wall, or managing supplies, dealing with the affairs of my kingdom. And while those are true and pressing tasks, they are not mine. I have always left such things up to Orthenon, my [Steward].”

“You did?”

“Of course! He is far more competent than I at such matters. Whenever an issue of logistics popped up I believe I said…what was it now? Ah, yes. I would probably say ‘Orthenon, take care of it’ and leave it to him.”

The twins gaped at him. Flos raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“You didn’t even say ‘please’?”

“Should I have? I am a King, and he is my [Steward]. My faith in him is complete.”

“Yeah, but—”

Trey shook his head, an activity he had come to associate with Flos. He looked around, frowning, as he realized where they were going.

“Are we headed to the map room?”

“Yes!”

Flos smiled as he threw open the doors to the room where strategy was planned and Orthenon occasionally tutored the twins. He surprised a woman organizing the carefully arranged maps. He nodded to her.

“Will you fetch us a map so I might view it. I would like a…modern map of the surrounding area. Please.”

He looked vaguely pleased with himself for adding ‘please’ at the end. The woman bowed and immediately found him the required map. Flos unrolled it and the twins stared at the inked lines on parchment.

“Hm. This is only a few years old. But I see.”

Flos sighed as he stared down at the countries and nations marked out on the map. Trey and Teres stared. Compared with the map Orthenon had shown them earlier, this map was completely different.

Most of the nations to the west had been swallowed up by a new empire, the one ruled by the Emperor of Sands. Whereas, around Flos’ kingdom of Reim…

The King traced his finger around the tiny, almost ludicrously small plot of land that was his kingdom. His hand moved up, and he went from nation to nation, staring at the tiny names listed there.

There were so many small plots of land around his kingdom that it looked like a spiders’ web. Trey saw Flos’ finger point to a tiny sliver of land to the north, directly next to his capital city.

“I remember these lands. I remember…ruling them. Now each one is ruled by a [Lord], or part of a larger kingdom.”

He turned quickly away from the map. He nodded at the woman and she rolled it back up quickly.

“That was all I needed to see. Come, Trey, Teres. There is something I must do with the two of you.”

Trey didn’t get it. But he followed Teres and Flos out the door.

“What are we going to do?”

“I wish to see for myself what Mars saw. I should have sparred with the two of you myself, rather than leave it all to her. If she does not know your worth, then how can she evaluate you properly?”

“Wait, you don’t mean—”

Trey balked the instant Flos led them back to the training grounds. He and Teres backed up to the doorway as men and women training with weapons turned and called out exuberantly to their King.

“We’re tired. We can barely lift our arms!”

“Good! That means you’ve been exercising. But I would like to see your lack of skill myself. Ah, Mars.”

Flos turned and smiled in greetings as Mars hurried over. She blinked at the sweaty and irate Trey and Teres.

“Are you going to have them train again, my lord? I gave them a workout earlier. They might not have the energy for it a second time.”

“Just a few swings. It has been far too long since I wielded a sword in earnest myself.”

Flos accepted two training swords and tossed them at Trey and Teres. Both twins failed to catch their swords and had to pick them up laboriously. Trey froze when he saw Flos had unsheathed the sword at his side.

“Why do you have a real sword?”

“Don’t worry. It’s not enchanted.”

“That’s not—”

Trey bit his tongue as Flos swung the sword through the air. It was fast in his hands. He saw Mars staring with what looked like love at her King as he held the sword. Flos beckoned at Trey and Teres as they held their blades uncertainly.

“Come. I won’t injure you two. I simply want to see you strike.”

Trey couldn’t remember how Mars had taught him to hold the sword. Reluctantly, he swung at Flos’ left as Teres viciously poked at his stomach. Flos’ sword blurred and he knocked Trey’s blade aside as he parried Teres.

“Good! That was quite a determined thrust, Teres. Try again, Trey. Strike with all the force you have! Don’t worry about me.”

Gritting his teeth, Trey did. He slashed down at Flos and felt like he’d hit a wall when the man blocked. The sword tumbled out of Trey’s hand from the impact. He scrambled to pick it up, hearing laughter as he did.

It wasn’t fun being laughed at. Trey’s ears were red. He raised his arm, ready to try again, only to see Teres try to cut Flos’ head off. She looked as annoyed as he felt, but Flos was encouraging her.

“Good! Spirit! You have a good thrust—you might have run me through there. Perhaps Orthenon would be a good teacher for her, don’t you think, Mars?”

“If you want to give her over to him, I won’t object my lord. But he and I don’t see eye to eye on how to fight.”

“Mm. True. Well, what about you, Trey? Perhaps we should let you train with Mars or I while Teres learns from Orthenon’s style.”

Flos turned to Trey, casually blocking Teres as she tried to stab him in the back of his leg. He motioned her back and raised his sword.

“Mars has taught you to strike, but how about blocking? Come, we’ll take turns.”

He let Trey strike at him, his sword not budging an inch as he blocked. Then he showed Trey how to hold a shield in his other hand. Trey flinched as Flos raised his sword, but the King laughed and gently swung down.

“Brace yourself as I strike. And don’t let your shield stray from your body. When you strike, don’t expose your arm or I might lop it off. Good! Keep your shield up as you stab—there.”

Within minutes he had Trey gingerly keeping the shield in his left hand up as he struck and blocked Flos’ gentle taps to his shield. Soon, Flos had begun using more force. Trey felt heavy buffets threatening to knock his shield away. He braced himself, letting his legs cushion the blow as Flos struck downwards.

“I think I’m ready to stop.”

“Nonsense, you’re doing splendidly. Come, strike at me.”

Trey saw Flos’ face smiling broadly as he peeked around his shield. He also saw approving looks on the faces of the others watching him, and a smile on Mars’ lips. That gave him the strength to weakly cut at Flos’ side.

“Excellent! Raise your shield—I’ll be striking from the left. Harder this time.”

Despite being ready for the blow, Trey felt his arm compress against his body. He made a wheezing gasping sound as he stumbled back. The King beamed at him.

“I—think—”

“Trey wants to quit.”

In his heart Trey blessed Teres. She glared at Flos, ignoring the disapproving faces staring at her. Flos eyed Teres and sighed.

“One last blow then, from each of us.”

That sounded fine. Trey managed to tap Flos’ sword. Then he raised his shield. Flos was smiling.

“Very good. You’ve the makings of a good warrior, Trey. Now—block!”

He raised his sword high, giving Trey a chance to raise his shield. The young man did, bracing himself. It was just one more strike. But then the sword came down like lightning. Trey froze. It was too f—

The sword struck Trey’s shield. It didn’t cut through the metal, but the impact of it knocked Trey flat.

Trey didn’t feel his knees give way. He slammed back-first into the ground, hearing his back go crack in various places. Trey felt as though his entire body was whumph. The entire impact ran through him and for a few seconds he just stared at the sky. Then he remembered he wasn’t breathing and tried to gasp for air.

“Trey!”

Once hearing had returned he heard Teres’ voice, and felt people crowding around him. Someone opened an eyelid and Trey tried to make his eyes focus. He heard his sister shouting angrily at someone and a contrite voice that was Flos’.

The wind was knocked out of him and it wasn’t coming back. Trey sat up at Teres’ insistence, but then lay back down. He felt…floppy. Could you hit someone so hard their bones turned into rubber?

He felt like he should stand up, but he couldn’t. Trey felt himself being picked up and was carried somewhere. He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he realized he was sitting up in the room he and Teres shared, in his bed.

“Trey?”

His sister was standing over him. She had a bottle of yellow liquid in her hands. Trey opened his mouth.

“I don’t want to drink that.”

“You don’t have to. It’s a healing potion.”

“Oh.”

Trey thought about that.

“Can you pour it on me?”

“No. Hold still, I’ll rub it onto your back.”

“And my arms. They really hurt.”

Teres helped Trey partly undress. Trey groaned as he saw the bruised skin underneath his clothing, already turning spectacular colors.

“Ow.”

“Hold still. I’ll have you right as rain in a moment.”

He let Teres rub the yellow stuff into his skin. It stank horribly, but the agony went away every place she touched. Trey whimpered as she got to his back. Teres was scowling.

“Where’s the King?”

“I dunno. I shouted at him and then took you to our room.”

“Oh.”

“I can’t believe he hit you that hard!”

“I can’t either.”

“He could have killed you! I thought you were dead when you didn’t move.”

“I thought I was dead too.”

Teres glared at Trey. Then she slapped his back. He yelped. She poked him hard in the back.

“Don’t be smart.”

“Ow. Okay.”

After a while, she finished with his back and Trey felt well enough to rub the healing potion onto his legs himself. Teres sat with him, applying a bit to her own arms.

“What was it like?”

“What?”

“Being hit? It looked like he squashed you with his sword.”

“That’s right enough.”

Trey had to think as he tried to explain the feeling.

“Remember when Trevor Martin got hit by that car and had to stay in the hospital for two weeks?”

Her eyes went wide.

“That bad?”

Trey felt at his chest and back again.

“Actually, I think I’d rather trade places with him. That hurt.”

“Well, he’s not doing it again. He’s mental, that one.”

“I thought he said he was out of practice.”

Trey winced as he handed the mostly empty bottle back to Teres. She rolled her eyes.

“He says he’s not good at holding back.”

“That was him holding back?”

“Yup. That’s another thing he’s not good at, then. If he’s so special that everyone loves him so, what’s he actually good at to begin with?”

Trey thought about that for a moment.

“Hitting people.”

He lay back on his bed, trying to block the horrible healing potion smell from his nose. Teres lay next to him.

“Do you think I can go to sleep, Teres?”

“I think so.”

That sounded like an awfully good idea to Trey, so he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, after what sounded like minutes, it was to hear Teres arguing with someone at the door.

“We don’t care what he wants. If he wants us, he can come and say so himself.”

She slammed the door. Trey closed his eyes, and went back to sleep.

—-

Sometimes later, Teres woke him up. Trey got out of bed, still feeling foggy, but hungry. Which was lucky, because he’d apparently slept till dinner time.

Every day, Flos dined in the banquet hall, at the high table with his trusted vassals while the rest of the people in the hall ate at other long tables. Trey and Teres sat at that table with him as well, but they were used to being overlooked.

Not today. This time, when Trey passed through the tables up to the hall he heard people calling out to him and Teres. Most of them just laughed as they asked Trey if he was alright, or if his head was still in one piece. It wasn’t mocking laughter though, and Trey himself could smile at the jokes.

People reached out, and a few of the older men ruffled his hair, or gave him a slap on the arm.

“Well done, lad. You took the King’s blow like a man.”

“Thought you’d nearly died there. But you sat up, so you’ve got some grit to you!”

It was embarrassing, but Trey still enjoyed it. At the high table, the vassals of the King had words for him as well.

“Trey. I trust you are recovered?”

Orthenon nodded to Trey. Gazi smiled at him, but it was Mars who slung an arm around his shoulder, laughing as she called for a drink for the both of them.

“I took a blow like that from our King once. I couldn’t see straight for two days, I’ll swear! If you can remember your name, that’s cause for celebration.”

Flos himself only laughed as he sat with Orthenon on his right and Mars on his left. The twins sat next to Mars, and Trey found himself in the enviable and difficult position of having to stare past her to listen to the conversation. She was distracting, and Teres kept jabbing him in the side when she thought his attention was wandering.

The thing about sitting at the high table was that the conversation topics were never dull. Tonight’s was especially focused, and Trey saw the servants serving food listening just as intently as the people around him.

“We have a few experienced soldiers, but I fear we must count on a mostly green army to begin with. With Takahatres keeping the Emperor of Sands occupied, our main focus must be on raising the level of our conscripted soldiers.”

“And finding an actual army. We can’t make everyone hold a sword or we won’t have anyone to grow crops, cook, and so on. Plus, we don’t have that many swords.”

Mars stabbed at a piece of chicken on her plate as Flos nodded. He turned to Gazi.

“Your thoughts, Gazi?”

She shrugged. Her eye flicked towards Trey and Teres, while her other three remained focused on Flos.

“We have Mars’ arms. We can outfit an elite core of soldiers.”

“Are you suggesting we take on another nation’s army with a few dozen warriors?”

Orthenon stared at Gazi. She bit into a Yellat and swallowed it before responding.

“We must retake our lost lands sooner or later. Once we do, we will have more soldiers to join us.”

“Declaring the King of Destruction has returned so early is not a wise move, Lady Gazi. It is better to wait for those vassals with their own forces to arrive.”

Orthenon stared hard at Gazi, not deterred by the fact that she had four eyes and he had two. Mars sighed gustily.

“You say that Orthenon, but how long must we sit on our hands here?”

“As long as it takes. There is much to do here, unless you had forgotten. The city is in sore need of repairs, and we can best spend this time planting new harvests for next year, training those waiting to be soldiers—”

“Waiting.”

Gazi said it impassively, but Mars nodded in agreement and Orthenon stiffened in his seat. He opened his mouth to reply, and Flos spoke, cutting the argument apart.

“Orthenon. Gazi. Enough.”

His retainers looked at him expectantly. Flos put down his knife and reached for his goblet. He stared into it and then looked around the table. His eyes did not miss Trey or Teres.

“I have heard counsel from all present. I hear Orthenon’s need for caution, just as I understand Mars’ desire to raise my banner once again. Tomorrow morning I will tell you all what I have decided to do.”

He looked around at his companions. All three nodded and sat back. The conversation turned to less intense matters, and Trey resumed staring at Mars covertly. She really was stunning. Were they really fake?

—-

That night, Trey climbed into bed while Teres took the one on the other side of the room. He felt tired, but not sleepy, thanks to the long nap he’d had. Plus, the downside of using the healing potion meant his body was as energetic as ever. It thought it was time to be up and about, no matter how Trey’s weary mind tried to convince it otherwise.

Perhaps that was why he was still awake hours later to see the door to their room open slowly. Trey sat up, heart pounding as a faint candle’s light entered the room, held by a shadowy figure.

There were no locks on the door, or if there was, Trey and Teres hadn’t been given a key. It wasn’t generally needed in most parts of the castle and the servants were in and out of the rooms. But all that meant was that the mysterious intruder could be anyone.

Trey’s heart beat wildly as he looked at his slumbering sister. He opened his mouth to shout, and the figure brought the candle up to his face.

“Trey. It is I.”

Flos stared down at Trey. That didn’t make the young man feel any better. He stared at Flos.

“What are you doing here?”

This time he didn’t add ‘sire’, or ‘your majesty’. Flos smiled down at Trey.

“I apologize for the late intrusion. But I have business with you. May I sit?”

“Um. Okay?”

Trey felt the bedding shift as Flos sat on the his bed. He sat up awkwardly staring at Flos. The King hadn’t changed into his night clothes; he was still wearing the sword at his belt. He nodded to Trey.

“I trust you have healed from earlier? I did not have a chance to ask over dinner, but I am told you used the healing potion I had sent.”

“I did. Um, thank you for sending it.”

“You should not thank me for that. It was my own fault.”

Flos sighed. He looked ashamed as he stared at Trey, the candle only illuminating parts of his face.

“I was a fool. And your sister was right to call me such. I struck you far harder than I should. It is just that I wished to change the gossip about you and your sister. If you had blocked the blow of a King, it would change what was said.”

Trey recalled all the people who’d slapped him on the back and Mars’ words of praise.

“I…think you did that.”

“Yes, but I did not mean to harm you. That was my fault. I apologize, Trey.”

Flos’ head lowered. Trey stared. It took him a few moments to realize Flow was bowing his head. To him.

“It’s okay. Really.”

“It is not, but thank you for saying so. Trey, I realize today I have asked much of you. But I ask that you and your sister follow me one last time.”

“Follow you? Where?”

“Outside my city. I have had horses saddled in secret—a tricky matter, even with a [King]’s authority.”

Flos smiled ruefully. Trey stared at him.

“Wait, but where are we going?”

“A village. It is only an hour or so’s ride away.”

“An hour—”

Flos clapped a hand over Trey’s mouth before he could shout.

“I know it is an imposition. But I ask it of you.”

Trey wanted to say no, but he couldn’t find the words. Instead, he resorted to a cowardly, if effective tactic.

“Only if Teres says yes.”

Flos nodded, and gingerly Trey went over to wake his sister. He had to shake her several times. She flailed at him until she sat up. She was ready to curse him out until she saw Flos. Her mouth opened as she glared at him.

“I am sorry for waking you, Teres. However—”

“No. Out.”

She pointed to the door. Flos bowed his head towards her.

“Teres, I have one last matter I must ask you to witness. It is of vital importance.”

“No! Can’t it wait?”

The King smiled.

“No, it cannot. Because this must be done alone. No one must know where we are going. Not Orthenon, or anyone else.”

The twins stared at Flos. Trey’s first thought was that he was running away. But that didn’t seem to be the case. Teres folded her arms.

“Why do we have to come?”

“Because I trust you two. And because you are reassuring.”

The twins gaped at Flos. He smiled, and rose.

“Follow me.”

And they did. Teres complained and Trey chimed in, but somehow they ended up dressed and in Flos’ room in minutes. There they stared at the King.

“We’re leaving the city, right?”

“Correct. We must do it in secret, without alerting one of the servants. They will have seen us going into my room, but so long as we are not spotted leaving any of the palace’s exits they will not wake Orthenon.”

“How are we getting out, then? Wait—are we going through a secret passageway?”

Trey immediately grew excited, thinking of revolving walls, illusory doors and magical passphrases. But Flos shook his head, looking wistful.

“I asked Drevish to build me a hidden network of tunnels, but he told me that he had better things to do than waste time creating secret walls and doors. He refused to put a single secret tunnel in my entire palace and told me that if I wished to escape my duties, I should find a way to do it myself without relying on cheap tricks.”

“Then how—”

“It’s very simple.”

Flos went over to the balcony. He beckoned Trey and Teres over. Trey walked out into the very cold night air, expecting to see a rope made of bedsheets, or something else like that. He was not prepared for Flos to seize hold of him and then toss him over the balcony.

“Aaaaaa—”

Trey’s scream was muffled by a huge hand on his mouth. He felt hands on him, and then an impact, reduced by the arms that held him.

“There we are. It’s lucky you’re not full-grown or I might have shattered a knee trying that.”

Flos remarked casually as he put Trey back on his feet. Trey stared at him, and then up at the balcony above him. It had to be two stories up. He felt dizzy and had to sit.

“Teres. Jump down. I will catch you.”

The King’s voice was low as he called up. Trey heard his sister reply—and thought she was probably making her opinion clear with a gesture as well. Flos repeated his command. Somehow, in between Trey trying not to throw up, he persuaded Teres to jump.

“There we are. It’s not quite as attractive as a secret passage, but I suppose Drevish was correct.”

Flos remarked to the two twins as they tried to follow him on shaky legs. He led them around to a stable where three horses were indeed saddled. Trey and Teres stared at the horses. Trey suddenly recalled what Flos had said and realized there was a huge, wonderful flaw in the King’s plan.

“I don’t know how to ride.”

“Me neither.”

Flow’s eyebrows raised as he tied a lantern to the saddle of his horse, a tall dark beast which snorted down at the twins.

“You don’t? Well, it’s quite simple. I’ll teach you to guide your mounts another time. For now, just hold tight with your knees. I can command three horses as easily as two.”

Ignoring their protests he put Trey on one horse, and Teres on the other. Trey started as the huge thing between his legs began to move. He clutched at the reins unsteadily as he saw Teres doing the same.

Flos sat on his horse as if he’d been born there. He clicked his tongue quietly and all three horses followed him as he led his out of the palace stables. He rode down the streets, heading towards one of the gates. It was open, despite the late hour. Flos waved up at whoever was on top and Trey heard a voice raised in reply.

And then they were out of the city, racing across dry, dusty ground. Trey stared around the dark landscape, where shrubs of tough greenery sprouted up from the arid earth. He had only been out of the city once or twice. Now the air blew in his face—so cold!—and Trey could look up and see a night sky full of stars. Two moons stared down at him, one pale and yellowish like the one back home, but tinged slightly blue, and the other a shade of purple, glowing brilliant in the sky.

After a few minutes, Flos slowed their rapid pace. He turned the horses at a crossroads Trey barely spotted and turned them up another road, making the horses trot quickly. Now they had a chance to shout, the twins did so. In turns.

“Hush. You might wake someone. Or something.”

Flos ignored their complaints as he smiled. He breathed in the night air and extended an arm, indicating the wide, flat land around his city.

“Look at this land, you two. This is Chandrar. My home. Where it is not desert, it looks much like this. Dry. Some would say inhospitable. But there are valley and places where nature blooms. And the people who live here are the strongest of spirit, the most resilient.”

Trey looked around. All he saw were rocks, hills in the distance, and a dirt, unpaved road underneath. But he held his tongue.

Beside him, Teres was fidgeting on her horse. Trey couldn’t see her face in the darkness, but he knew she was glaring at Flos. She turned her head to him.

“Why do we do it, Trey? Why do we keep following him about?”

Trey shrugged.

“I dunno. Maybe it’s a Skill? Or maybe it’s because it’s him, you know?”

“How?”

“It’s like…”

Trey searched for words to describe the feeling.

“It’s like, you know, even if something bad happens, whenever we follow him, something exciting happens. And it’s usually good in the end, right? It’s like the grandest circus and movie and video game all put together. You can’t help watching him, the King I mean. And you want to be part of it.”

“I don’t want to be part of this.”

Teres indicated the horse. Trey heard it snort. He nodded.

“Yeah, but I guess it’s like—you know, a package. You have to take the good and the bad.”

“So which is this?”

Trey didn’t know. He looked ahead at the King, riding without a hint of discomfort on his horse. Trey felt like his bones were being shaken out of his body, but the King of Destruction was at home here. And he was happy.

Flos was smiling, staring down the dark road lit only by his lantern. And there was something about the way he sat in his saddle, staring ahead, that told Trey something was going to happen.

“Trey, Teres, thank you for today.”

They looked at him. The King sat high on his horse, staring into the distance. He spoke loud enough for them to hear him over the sound of the horse’ hooves, but only just.

“This day was special for me. I realize it was difficult for the two of you in light of my errors. I made many, and inconvenienced you and others greatly. But that is what made it so precious for this foolish King.”

He waved his hand back towards his city, already part of the landscape behind him.

“You have seen my mistakes, born witness to my failures. I am glad you have seen me as a man, not as a King. I enjoyed today more than I could say, and I will remember it. But now I must be what I am. A King.”

So saying, he stared ahead. And in the distance, Trey thought he could see light. Around him, the darkness was complete. The only light came from Flos’ lantern and the stars. But there was a pinpoint of something that was not starlight. It was no electric glow, but it was light. And as they rode on, Trey realized there was more than one speck of light.

“Where are we going?”

“A village.”

Flos pointed towards it, guiding his horses along the road. Trey expected to reach the village at any minute, but as they rode on and on, he realized their destination was very far away. It was only because the land here was so flat that he saw it from far off.

“We have left my kingdom. In truth, we left it the instant we passed beyond my walls. This land has been claimed by someone else. A [Lord] or some other land owner claims this village, and receives a tithe in exchange for protection.”

The King’s voice was low as they drew closer. Now Trey could make out the outlines of houses in the distance. And a wall. There was some kind of wooden barrier around the village, obscuring all but the roofs of the houses.

“They did not have a wall when I last came here.”

Flos frowned as he spotted the wall. Teres looked at him.

“When did you last come here?”

He didn’t reply. Now the village was directly ahead, minutes away. Trey was shifting in his saddle, his thighs and other parts aching, when he heard a shout. He sat bolt upright as he heard it again. It had come from the village, from the wall.

“They have spotted us.”

Flos said the words calmly, but Trey’s heart was racing. He saw shapes moving in the distance, and heard more shouting. The lights flickered. A door opened in one of the houses, and Trey saw someone block the light for a moment. He realized the village was coming to life.

“You there! Halt!”

When they were fifty meters or so away from the village, Trey heard a voice. He saw someone standing on the wall, dimly illuminated by a torch’s light. He had a bow and he was staring right at them.

“We’re no easy prey for [Thieves] or [Bandits]! And we don’t deal with travelers in the night. Begone!”

“We wish to enter the village. We come in peace.”

Flos raised his voice to shout back. The person on the walls made no reply, but after a second Trey heard a whining sound and then a thunk. His horse reared and Trey had to hold on for dear life. An arrow had sprouted out of the soil in front of Flos’ horse.

“The next one will strike true! Leave us alone!”

“We should go. They’ll shoot us!”

Teres hissed at Flos, but the King made no response. He slowly got off of his steed, patting it to soothe it. He grasped hold of the reins on both Trey and Teres’ mounts and guided them off the road with his horse. Then he walked back onto the road and faced the village.

“I ask again. Will you let me enter? I bear you no ill will.”

Trey thought the person on the walls faltered. He was not alone; he could see other people manning the wall, also armed. But then the voice came back, loud and angry.

“If you are a Runner or a servant of some [Lord], state your business and offer proof of it! We cannot trust your word alone!”

Flos stared at the village. When he replied, it was in a ringing voice.

“I have a right to walk here. This land is mine.”

That silenced the person on the wall. Flos did not wait for  a reply. He began walking towards the village, slowly, staring up at the people there.

“Hold your ground! Hold, I said!”

Flos made no reply. He kept walking. Trey saw the person on the wall move, and another arrow landed in the dirt next to Flos’ feet. The King paid no attention. He advanced on the village. This time, he stopped within sight of the wall, and stood there in the darkness, staring up at the figures on the wall.

“Will you not open your gates to your rightful ruler?”

Trey heard a nervous laugh from the wall.

“Rightful ruler? You’ve lost your mind, stranger. This village pays tithe to [Lord] Venith and [Lady] Maresar. But we have no master.”

“Not so.”

Flos’ voice was calm, distant. He spoke softly, growing louder until his voice filled the air.

“Once, I rode through this village. Many years ago. Yet I still remember that day clearly in my mind. I stopped here, and saw no hope, no dreams in the crushed souls of the people. So I planted my banner in the earth and claimed this land as my own. I told you to rise, to follow me and seek a brighter future by my side. Have you forgotten that day, oh villagers of Manimar?”

For a second, there was silence. Then a gasp. Trey saw the torch on the walls move. Someone took it up and brought it closer to Flos.

“It can’t be.”

They drew closer, and then Trey heard the gasp. The torch fell from the wall and landed on the ground. It cast Flos’ face into light.

Someone screamed. Another man shouted, and then there was a cry, not of anguish, but some other emotion. Trey saw the wall erupt into chaos, and then a voice, carrying above it all.

“The King! It is the King of Destruction!”

On the heels of that cry there was another.

“He has returned! Our lord, Flos has returned!”

“Open the gates!”

Within moments, Trey saw the gates open and light stream out. They encircled Flos, and he heard voices babbling, people weeping. The King stood in the center of it all, taking people’s hands, turning to touch people on the shoulder or head. He turned then, and stared at Trey and Teres.

They came closer, sliding off of the horses and stumbling towards him. Flos didn’t move as the gates opened wider and more people came stumbling towards him. He said only one thing.

“I have returned.”

—-

He sat in the village’s town hall. It was a simple building, used for anything and everything that needed doing. Right now, it was filled to the brim. People filled every spot available, those closest to the King sitting and looking up at him, the rest standing around the edges, staring in through the open windows, crowding around the outside.

It wasn’t just one village. Trey had seen people racing on horseback or foot, telling other villages or finding farms. And so over the course of the fading night people had come streaming in, come to see the King of Destruction, Flos.

Their King.

He sat in the center of it all, talking quietly. He just talked. He sat on a chair or stood, pausing as each person went to him. And he had a word for them all. Trey and Teres watched as he met an old woman who had seen him as a youth, or a man who had lost a son who’d joined Flos’ army, or an old man who’d fought with Flos on the battlefield.

They all knew him, had had their lives touched by him. And Flos knew them all. He knew every face, remembered people he’d only spoken to a decade ago. He looked at them all, and his eyes were filled with tears.

But he never wept. And as night turned into day and the sky began to lighten, Flos spoke.

“Long ago, I came to this very village. I rode through with an army and told you all to follow me. I told you I would overthrow every nation, every rule of law and every government. I asked you to break all bonds and follow me for a brighter future.”

All the voices in the room went silent. Flos looked from face to face.

“Ten years ago. No—more than that. When I was a boy, I called upon you to be my sword and shield. And you did. You sent your sons and daughters, and you picked up arms to follow me. You marched across nations, through rivers, from one end of the continent to the other.”

“And we will again!”

A man stood up. He was trembling.

“Ask it of us, your Majesty! Raise your banner and we will serve again!”

People cheered and shouted in agreement. But Flos raised his hand slightly and they were silent.

“You did once. How many came back from my endless wars? How many lie buried thousands of leagues from home?”

No one could answer that. Flos looked around the room and shook his head.

“So many were lost. Too many. And yet, each man, woman, and child died with that same dream in their eyes, that same fire in their heart. A brighter future. One worth fighting for. For that alone it was worth it.”

They nodded at that. Flos paused. His fist clenched.

“But then came the day when I faltered. I lost the will to continue. I stepped off my throne and put down my sword. I disbanded my armies, and left my vassals to scatter to the wind. I let all of you down, you that had journeyed with me so far.”

He looked at them, tears in his eyes.

“I failed you.”

Instantly there was a babble of dissenting voices. Flos raised his voice above them all.

“I failed you. All of you. I abandoned my duties as King. I slept! For ten years I slept and you all have suffered my neglect. I am not worthy to call myself your king.”

Again, they shouted in denial. But Flos kept shaking his head. He waited until they were all quiet again.

“And yet, I am your King. That fact will never change.”

He stood, and turned slowly around the room. Men and women stared at him, old warriors and mothers, farmers and shepherds. Widows and children.

His people.

“I am your King, by blood and by oath. I accepted your loyalty once, and no force in this world could break that bond between you and I. I am your King, and I will not run nor hide from my responsibilities any longer.”

They stirred. Flos stood taller. His voice grew louder.

“I have no right to ask it of you. No right at all. But ten long years have passed since I slumbered and the world has not changed. There is still little hope to cling to. People live and die in service to a faceless [Lord], struggle to eat and live, sleep in fear of monsters and bandits. This is not the way to live. There is a better life out there, beyond the horizon.”

He turned and Trey saw his eyes. They were burning. Flos stared from person to person, looking into their faces. They stared back, caught by his gaze.

“Come with me. Follow my back. Raise my banner one more time. One last time. This time, I shall not retreat. I shall not falter. I will go to the ends of the world and tear down every wall, every fortress of stone. You are not the villagers of Manimar, not the people of one single farm or villagers. You are mine. You are my people, and I ask you again. Join me. Your King has a dream. Will you follow me?”

For a while no one moved. And then a woman stood up.

“I will, my King.”

An old man was next. He smiled, tears in his eyes.

“We have waited for this day, your Majesty.”

“We are with you! Until the end!”

More people jumped to their feet. Young and old. They stood up, shouting and cheering. Trey looked around the room, and then realized he was on his feet. So was Teres. They gathered around Flos, reaching out to touch him.

Someone had a flag. It was old, a relic over a decade old, eaten away by time and rot. But when Flos touched it, the colors came to life. A black flag, stitched with gold around the edges. Trey stared up at it. There was something in the center of the flag.

It was a flame. A burning flame, woven out of gold and silver, white and purple, a flame that burned brightest in the dark. It flew above the wall as people cheered and called Flos’ name. He stared up at the banner and smiled.

The sun began to rise as, in the village of Manimar, people lit torches and gathered around their King. They had not forgotten their King. And he had never forgotten them.

Trey found himself standing with Teres. She was staring at Flos, head propped in her hands, dreamily. He sat with her.

They didn’t need to speak. They sat and watched Flos, at the center of the world, accepting people’s vows, talking with them. And Trey thought he understood how someone could follow him and keep faith with him after a decade. It was because when you listened to him, you could believe there was a better place just over that mountaintop. And you would fight for it. You could follow him for that dream.

Trey turned to look towards that horizon. His eyes found the lightening sky, and the hint of a sun in the distance. And past that the hills…

Trey frowned. He stood up and Teres turned. Something was coming. Flashes of light reflected off of armor, riders. Orthenon? Someone from Reim? Trey’s heart beat wildly. He had never seen that armor, nor the banners raised. There were two dozen riders, at least. And more—behind them Trey saw more moving shapes.

An army. Marching towards the village.

He turned to call the alarm. But someone had already seen the riders. They shouted. Flos turned. The villagers tried to close the gates, but there were too many people in the way. Trey heard screams, and the thunder of hoof beats. He saw the first rider race into the village, scattering people out of the way.

The man on horseback pulled his horse to a stop in front of Flos. The King didn’t move. He stared up at the armored man, wearing light chainmail armor the color of silver. He had a shield on his back and a sword at his side.

The man looked coldly down at Flos. The King stared up at him and smiled once.

“Venith Crusand. It has been a long time since I last saw your face.”

“King Flos Reimarch.”

There was no love in the man’s voice. He stared down at Flos as the other riders rode in through the gates. Flos nodded, looking around at the other riders without fear, but sadness in his eyes.

“I had heard you became lord of this village and these lands. Tell me, you who once rode with me. Do you come to fight by my side again, old friend?”

Venith shook his head. He stared down at Flos, and Trey saw the anger there. The anger and something else. He reached for his sword and drew it slowly. The other riders did the same.

“No. I have come for your head.”

4.02 K

“Flos of Reim. I have come for your head.”

The young man lying on the ground looked up. He stared in vague surprise at the other young man on horseback. His eyes fixed first on Venith’s set face and clenched jaw. Only then did he focus on the sword in Venith’s left hand.

He sat up and yawned, but didn’t reply to Venith’s statement. He scratched the back of his head and shook loose some of the dirt that had gotten trapped there. Of all the things Venith had expected, this wasn’t it.

He drew his horse closer, cursing a bit as his mare seemed more interested in Flos’ stallion, which was placidly eating a few whippy plants to the left. Venith glared down at the king of Reim, Flos. He didn’t seem like much to Venith. He was bigger than the young man on horseback, but Venith had beaten grown men far larger.

“Did you hear me? I said—”

“I heard you.”

Flos looked up at Venith, not intimidated the least by the sword the other man held. The young king had a sword, Venith could see. But he didn’t reach for it.

“Well?”

“I’m thinking.”

That was all the young man with bright red-gold hair said. He stared at Venith, frowning as if the young man were a puzzle, rather than an enemy.

That was too much for Venith’s pride. He lifted his sword.

“Have you any last words before I cut you apart?”

“I’m rather wondering why you didn’t do it earlier, actually.”

“What?”

Flos sprang to his feet, so quickly Venith cursed and pulled his horse back. He rode backwards as the king mused to himself out loud.

“It’s strange. If you were another [Assassin], or a [Bounty Hunter] or [Mercenary], or any one of the people who’ve come to claim my head this month, you’d have tried to sneak up and stab me to death, or blast me with a spell at range. Or use an arrow. Or poison. But you didn’t. You rode up and told me you were going to kill me.”

“So? I’m a [Warrior]. Are you going to draw your sword or not?”

Venith didn’t know why he was replying when he should have been attacking. But Flos just grinned as if he knew.

“If I didn’t, would you cut me down? Unarmed?”

“Yes!”

“No, I don’t think you would. Else, you’d have ridden at me and not given me time to prepare.”

That was true. Venith knew he should have done that, and he flushed angrily. But Flos just smiled.

“So you’re coming to take my head? Why?”

“My reasons are my own. I’m challenging you, king of Reim. Are you a coward, or will you answer me with steel?”

Venith raised his voice and shouted down at the young man. Flos sighed. He reached for his side and drew his sword. Venith tensed.

“Well?”

Flos looked mystified.

“Well, what?”

“Get on your stallion.”

The young King looked over at where his stallion had gone to graze. He shook his head.

“I don’t feel like it. I’ll fight you on foot. It won’t make a difference either way.”

“What?”

Venith stared down at Flos. He felt unbalanced. The young king of Reim, the boy with eight thousand gold pieces on his head dead and twice that alive, grinned as he spread his arms.

“Shouldn’t you be glad? I’ve heard a mounted [Rider] can defeat three [Soldiers] of the same level.”

That was just a rumor. Venith had heard the same thing boasted of, but since he was no [Rider] he’d never want to try that. He stared down with narrowed eyes at Flos. He wasn’t what Venith had expected at all. He hadn’t tried to beg for his life, or flee for safety. Part of Venith couldn’t help but admire the King for his confidence.

But he was here to kill the young man. That made everything harder. After a second of furious internal debate, Venith swung himself off his horse. He set his mare running with a slap on her side as he grabbed the shield he always carried. It was flat along the top and curved downwards to a point at the bottom. A heater shield. This one didn’t have Venith’s heraldry on it. It, like his sword, was unmarked, so no one would know his identity when the deed was done.

Flos eyed Venith as the young man approached, keeping his shield up.

“You needn’t have done that.”

“Shut up. I’m better without my horse. Now, are you going to fight?”

Venith was angry without knowing why. He didn’t want to do this, but he had to. He wished he’d never spoken. But to his surprise, the young Flos just grinned.

“As you like. I am Flos of Reim! What’s your name?”

It was too late to go back. Venith shouted over the thundering of his heart.

“Venith Crusand! Prepare to die!”

He charged, ready to end it in a single thrust. But Flos raised his sword and Venith, forewarned, raised his shield. He felt something crash into his shield and staggered. He raised his sword, but Flos was already running past him. Venith spun, and heard a strange noise over the blood pumping in his veins. It was laughter. Flos was laughing—

Five minutes later, Venith lay on the ground. He couldn’t move. Part of the armor around his legs was damaged and unable to bend. And his right hand felt broken. He stared up at the blue, clear sky while he heard footsteps crunching in the dirt, coming towards him.

“I told you it wouldn’t make a difference.”

Venith closed his eyes. He refused to cry, or beg. He tried to speak and coughed.

“Finish me off already.”

“Why?”

Someone reached down and hauled Venith up. The young man found himself being carried to the slight incline where he’d first laid eyes on Flos. The young king dropped Venith there, and Venith stared up at him.

“If you plan on torturing me to find out where I come from—”

“Don’t be silly. I like you. And I don’t care where you come from. I just want to know why you came to kill me.”

Flos grinned down at Venith. He was barely sweating. Venith stared up at him.

“I needed the bounty on your head. That’s all.”

He felt ashamed for saying it. It wasn’t an honorable thing to do. But Venith was no [Knight]. He had duties. He was ready for Flos to scorn him, but the young king only laughed.

“That’s why you tried to kill me? Just for money? Then it’s no wonder you lost!”

That stung. Venith tried to rise and fell back.

“I had a chance! I waited until you were alone. If I’d attacked from behind—”

“You still would have lost. I can’t be killed by [Assassins], you see. I have a friend—well, a vassal, really. She would have killed you, but I told her to let you come closer.”

“A vassal?”

Venith looked around stupidly, but he hadn’t seen anyone when he’d approached Flos. The king just smiled.

“You might have beaten me, it’s true, but not with a bad reason like that.”

He laughed again. It was beginning to get on Venith’s nerves.

“What do you mean?”

The boy King stopped laughing and regarded Venith, suddenly serious.

“If your reason isn’t good enough, there’s no way you’d ever best me. I have a dream as large as all of Chandrar. If yours isn’t at least half as big, you’ll never be able to beat me.”

“What? That’s stupid.”

“It’s not. I’ll never die so long as I have my dream. That’s why I knew I could beat you.”

Flos stared down at the other young man. He offered Venith a hand again. After a moment of hesitation, Venith took it.

“You’re nothing like what I’ve heard of.”

“Oh?”

“I heard you were a fool who accepted traitors and slaves into his kingdom. A rabble rouser with no respect for law or tradition.”

“That’s partly true. But it doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

Flos spread his arms wide, grinning broadly with a smile that was infectious.

“I am a King. If I cared what people thought, I’d really be a fool, wouldn’t I?”

Venith stared at him. He wasn’t like any [King] Venith had ever met, not that he’d had a chance to talk to any other one. He’d only glimpsed other monarchs from afar, usually on bended knee or while dining at a feast or banquet. But Flos was different.

“So if you won’t kill me, what will you do? My family…cannot afford to pay a ransom if that’s what you’re hoping.”

“I don’t want that either. I think I’ll just let you go.”

Flos turned and whistled as Venith gaped. One horse came running. Venith’s mare. Flos stared at his stallion and kicked at the dirt irritably. Then he smiled again as Venith staggered over to his mare.

“When you have a better reason for fighting, come find me again. That was fun.”

The other young man made no reply. He hauled himself up into the saddle, wincing. He wheeled his mare to stare at Flos. Then he shook his head.

“You aren’t worth my time.”

Venith spurred his stallion and rode away as he heard the young man named Flos howl with laughter. At that moment, Venith hated that sound. But he would hear it for many more years and smile. Until the day the laugher stopped…

—-

Laughter. It was fierce, loud, and unexpected. It made Trey jolt as he stared at Flos. The King of Destruction was laughing at the man who’d spoken. Venith Crusand.

It made everyone stare. The villagers, crowded protectively around their King, the mounted warriors, even the man with the sword. He wore a helmet with no visor, allowing Trey to see his face. Venith was an older man, around Flos’ age. He had dark hair, and a stern, set face. He held a shield on his right hand, and a drawn sword in his left. But Flos only laughed at him. He laughed and laughed, as if he’d heard a truly hilarious joke, not a threat against his life.

When he finished, there was silence. Flos wiped tears from his eyes, and then stared up at the mounted man, his smile fading. Venith Crusand hadn’t moved, and his eyes hadn’t shifted from Flos’ face.

“Memory is a strange thing, Venith. Do you have a better reason for seeking my life this time?”

The man on the warhorse stared down at Flos, cold emotions locked behind his eyes.

“Peace for my people. Vengeance, and retribution for an oathbreaker. And an end to your lies.”

Flos sighed. His shoulder slumped slightly, and he stared at Venith with disappointment. Disappointment, and something else. Regret, Trey thought. Or was it guilt?

“Oh? I had hoped to see you before now, Venith. I thought you would be the first to ride through my gates. I waited for you long, old friend.”

“You would have had to wait forever. I did not rejoice to hear you had awakened. And if you had the sense to stay clear of my lands, you would not have forced my hand.”

Venith raised his sword slightly. Flos stared at it.

“You are serious.”

“I do not forgive betrayal. And I swore an oath to take arms against you should you ever wake from your slumber.”

Now Venith rode forwards. He motioned slightly with his shield, and the other mounted soldiers spread out with him. They drew their weapons as well. But…hesitantly. Trey saw one armored warrior riding next to Venith fumble before raising a spear.

Venith didn’t seem to notice. The [Lord] stared at the mob of villagers surrounding Flos.

“Move aside.”

“No, my Lord Venith!”

A man moved to bar Venith’s way. He stared pleadingly up at the [Lord].

“Our King has returned, don’t you see? How could you raise  your sword against him?”

Trey heard more voices raised in agreement around him. Venith stared as the villagers moved to protect their King, forming a living wall between him and Flos. His face twisted with fury.

“Silence! You are not his subjects. You are mine! I am your [Lord]! I have ruled you for ten years!”

“But I am their [King].”

Flos strode forwards. The people around him parted unwillingly, but they did move. Flos stood at the head of the villagers, staring up at Venith without fear.

“Pull your warriors back, Venith. The people of Manimar are not tainted by my guilt.”

“Then send them away and face me yourself, coward.”

“No.”

Trey saw Venith blink incredulously. But Flos was calm as he went on.

“I will not let myself die here. But neither will I order my subjects to a slaughter. And neither will you. You are not that sort of man, Venith.”

“You do not know me.”

The [King] met the [Lord]’s eyes steadily.

“Yes. I do. You will not slaughter innocent people here. Pull your forces back and we will settle this in a duel, Venith.”

For a second, Trey thought Venith might order his men to attack. His face was red with fury, but he eventually growled a command. He wheeled his horse and the others did likewise.

All except for one. The rider holding the spear was staring at Flos. Trey had an uneasy feeling. He fought to get closer and realized Teres wasn’t at his side. Where had she gone?

Then his head turned as he heard her voice.

“Look out!”

Teres was standing near the edge of the crowd. She had something in her hands. She hurled it as the mounted rider kicked his horse forwards. She’d thrown a stone, but it was too late. The mounted warrior was shouting as he aimed his spear at Flos’ chest.

“Die, King of Destruction!”

He ducked the thrown rock and raised his spear to impale Flos. The King stared at the rider as he charged at him. He seemed to sigh.

The spear shot forwards as the rider thrust with it. But it stopped as Flos reached out and grabbed the shaft. He didn’t budge, and as the horse continued forwards the spear was locked between the two. The warrior slammed into his saddle and then tumbled off it as his mount’s forward momentum tried to carry him forwards and the spear held him back.

He tumbled off the horse and landed hard on the ground with a crash of armor. At once, the villagers were upon him. Enraged by the attack, they began kicking and stomping on him as he tried to get up.

“Calac!”

Someone shouted that name amid the roars of anger as the rest of the villagers streamed towards the downed warrior. Trey turned his head and saw Venith was riding back, sword in hand. The villagers scattered as he rode through them, striking with the flat of his sword and knocking men and women away.

He dismounted and reached for the fallen figure. At once, the villagers were around him. Venith turned, sword and shield ready, but it was Flos who strode forwards. He stopped the villagers from descending on the two warriors.

“Enough. Let him go.”

“But your Majesty—”

“Let him go. ”

Reluctantly, the people backed away. Flos stared down at Venith; the man was a head shorter than him. Then his eyes went to the warrior who’d tried to kill him. He was still helmeted, but Trey thought he was a younger man.

“Is that your son, Venith? I remember the name. Calac. You wrote to me the day he was born, and I drank to his health. I am happy he is grown, even if his manners are lacking.”

“He is my son. And a fool.”

For all his harsh words, Venith carefully carried his son to his horse. He helped Calac to mount as a second mounted soldier brought a second horse over to Venith. Flos called out to him as Venith put one foot in his stirrups.

“I have never seen his face.”

Venith’s head turned. He did not look grateful. There was fury in his eyes. Fury and dark hatred.

“And you never will.”

He kicked his mount in the sides and he rode out of the village without looking back. Flos watched him go as people shouted curses at Venith’s back. He somehow found Trey, trying to push towards him in the crowd. Flos sighed. And then he rolled his shoulder and stood tall. Because he was a King.

—-

When they were outside of the village and riding towards the rest of the soldiers Venith had brought, he stopped and turned to his son. Calac had taken off his helm, and his face was pale as he rode next to his father. He was bruised on his right cheek and his armor had been dented in places by the villagers.

Venith didn’t waste time with words. He slapped his son across the face with one hand. It wasn’t a heavy blow, but with his gauntlets on it drew blood.

“You idiot.”

Calac’s face was red with embarrassment.

“Father, I could have—”

“You have disgraced yourself and your family’s name! Be silent!”

There was too much memory and guilt in his eyes. Venith turned away as he guided his horse towards his forces. A rank of cavalry waited for him, along with a cluster of armed foot soldiers and archers. But not his [Mage], nor the vast majority of his forces. They had stayed behind rather than take up arms against the man that had been their King.

His mood was black. Venith had no ears for the man who rode up alongside, asking for orders.

“Keep your forces back. Encircle the village, but do not attack, even if provoked.”

“What if he runs? The King?”

Calac flinched as Venith looked at him. For a second his father struggled with the urge to shout, but he controlled his temper. Barely.

“He will not run. Even if he is a shadow of what he was, that man would not run.”

“But what if he does?”

Too stubborn, and too insolent. Venith felt like he was staring at himself, twenty years ago. He scowled.

“If he does, I will run him down.”

“But if we attacked—”

That was too much. Venith shouted at his son, the first time he had done so in public.

“I will not slaughter my people! And if you draw your sword without my permission again I will disown you. Is that understood?”

Calac’s face went white. He stood still and nodded. Venith turned away.

“We are not without honor, even if he is an oathbreaker. And if we attacked, we would be the ones feeding the crows.”

His soldiers stirred. The younger ones, those who hadn’t ever known the King of Destruction as more than a slumbering legend, looked incredulous. The older ones knew better.

“Don’t underestimate an army of villagers. Don’t underestimate him. He could cut you apart with ease, and he has the Skills to make any battle even. No. I’ll kill him myself.”

Venith turned. It wasn’t his son he looked at, but his oldest retainers. The ones who’d fought with him over a decade ago. They shifted. Some were uneasy. Others wavered. But some had the same anger that burned in Venith’s heart. They understood.

Venith dismounted from his horse.

“Alert me when the King of Destruction moves. It won’t be long.”

He drew his sword and inspected it. Venith knew it was undamaged; he’d sharpened the blade this very morning. And the same went for his shield. But he wanted to take no chances.

One of his men rode towards the village to keep watch on it. The burning torches made visibility hard, but Venith knew the King would not run. He wouldn’t. Even as weak as he was, he would not. And so he would come out, and Venith would make him pay for betrayal.

The man’s hands shook as he lifted his shield. He stared at the village, trying to summon more of the white-hot fury that had gripped him when he’d heard the words he’d despaired of hearing ever again. But there wasn’t any anger when he reached for it. Just a kind of emptiness—no, a lack of anything at all. He reached into his chest and felt nothing at all.

So it was with a kind of dread that Venith stood, waiting for his King. He stared at the village and remembered another sight, one far more bitter than the time they had first met.

How had it gone? A village and a King. Only the village that Venith saw in his head had no wall. It was dark, and the village was burning. He could still smell the smoke, taste the blood and fear in his mouth. His grip loosened on his sword.

Once.

—-

The second time Venith met Flos, he was galloping away from his father’s castle as it burned in the distance. The village was filled with screams and armed soldiers striking down people—his people as he fled. They cried out for someone to save them, but Venith could not stop. Sixteen riders wearing black armor and the silver insignia of a set of scales on their arms were in hot pursuit of him.

They caught him at the bridge. Venith heard his mare scream as she stumbled. He tumbled to the ground and saw an arrow in her thigh. His faithful horse thrashed on the ground as Venith tried to get to his feet.

Too slow.

“Put down your sword, Venith Crusand. Accept your judgement.”

The leader of the pursuers was female, but her face was covered by a black veil. She, like the others, hid her face. They surrounded him, weapons raised. Venith reached for his shield, but he had dropped it. So he clasped both hands to his sword and told himself he would kill one of them before he died.

“Hold.”

The voice didn’t come from in front of Venith, but rather, behind. He turned warily, and saw his pursuers back away. Because they were outnumbered.

Flos had changed little in the year since Venith had tried to kill him. He was a tiny bit taller, that was all. But this time he was not alone. An army stood at his back. The army of Reim, just as Venith had heard.

For a second hope surged in his breast. But then Venith felt movement. He whipped around and felt something touch the skin at his neck.

A glaive’s tip cut into his throat. The woman who held it stared past him, at Flos.

“Withdraw your forces, King of Reim. This does not concern you.”

“Put up your blade. Now. I know that man. Why are you trying to kill him?”

It wasn’t a question that needed asking. Venith knew Flos must have known. The woman’s response was sharp and irritated as she raised her glaive away from Venith’s head. He felt at his throat and felt blood.

“We are the Black Judgment. The house of Crusand has failed to honor its debts and refused to pay its dues. We are administering justice.”

“You mean they refused to sell their people off as slaves. And now you’re killing all of them.”

“Oathbreakers shall be punished. Criminals shall be found. Traitors slain. You know we answer to no [Monarch]. Do not interfere.”

Flos was staring at Venith. His eyes flicked to the village. Venith could still hear screaming. The Black Judgment worked methodically, going from house to house. They did not have to hurry. They just had to ensure no one escaped.

“My lord. They have many soldiers here.”

A quiet, frightened voice came from one of the people standing next to Flos. He turned his head.

“How many, Gazi?”

“A thousand—perhaps a thousand five hundred. All armored. And six mages.”

Overkill for a small [Lord]’s house and his retainers. But that was how the Black Judgment worked. Anyone who broke the law and refused to honor their debts was punished, be it a [King] or a [Beggar]. Venith’s stomach twisted. Now that he looked, he saw the army that accompanied Flos was no true army. Their numbers lay in the hundreds, possibly not coming close to a thousand.

He stared dully at the woman—no, the person who’d spoken. She was not Human. He found himself staring at a being with a huge eye in the center of her head and four smaller ones around it. He only vaguely recognized her as a species from Baleros. A Gazer.

She was female, frightened, holding a sword that looked too big for her. Venith looked around. The rest of Flos’ ‘army’ looked the same. They weren’t the professional soldiers he’d expected, merely the sons and daughters of [Farmers] and [Shopkeepers]. Common peasantry.

He turned away in despair. His father had sent [Messages] for help in every direction. If Flos hadn’t come with an army three times larger, it meant he was only here to watch.

But the King was arguing with the half-Gazer now. He stared hard at the soldiers as he spoke to her.

“I like him, Gazi. And these aren’t soldiers that are being killed.”

Venith looked incredulously at Flos. The leader of the band of Black Judgment warriors was doing the same. Flos spurred his mount forwards until he was sitting and looking down at Venith.

“So this is why you came for my head. It is still not a good enough reason.”

There was no point to talking. Venith lowered his head, biting his lip until he tasted blood.

“Go on and leave. You can’t do anything here.”

“I could. This does not seem like justice to my eyes.”

Flos leaned forwards on his mount. He was staring at the burning village. The woman with the glaive spoke sharply.

“You have no right! This is the law and they have broken it!”

The King of Reim ignored her completely. He looked at Venith.

“I have no cause. A King must not declare war for no reason. But perhaps you have one. Is this just?”

He would have loved to say yes. He would have loved to deny the truth. But Venith’s hand clenched on his sword’s hilt until it cracked. He spoke slowly.

“My father borrowed too much and refused to sell his people. That is the truth. This is—justice.”

“I see. You are a poor liar.”

Flos didn’t move as Venith whirled on him. He was staring at the village. He pointed.

“Look, Venith Crusand. Over there. That girl.”

Venith did not want to look. But he did. He saw a child lying on the ground. She was dead. Dead, or soon to be dead. He looked down.

“What about her?”

“What is her name?”

“Don’t mock—”

A hand reached down and lifted Venith off the ground. Flos stared at Venith as his stallion groaned at the sudden increase in weight.

“What. Is. Her. Name?”

Venith turned to look. There was no way he could tell at a distance—

His breath caught. He saw a long braid, faintly blonde hair. He remembered the handful of flowers that she gathered every summer and handed out like they were treasures. He spoke her name.

“Merisa.”

The King dropped him. Venith landed on the ground with a thump. Flos nodded. He stared at the village, and then met the eyes of the order of Black Judgment.

“That’s all I needed to know.”

He rode back towards Gazi, and his army of amateur warriors. Venith lowered his head and raised his sword as the Black Judgment closed in. Then he heard Flos’ voice.

“Her name is Merisa!”

It was a shout. Like thunder, his voice echoed across the ground, cutting above the screaming and shouts. Venith saw Flos turn. Then the young King unsheathed his sword. Beside him, the half-Gazer raised her blade.

Flos pointed straight at the woman with the glaive. He uttered one word.

“Charge!”

His army roared and swept forwards. Venith heard thundering hooves, and then Flos leapt past him. He cut the first warrior of the Black Judgment down and then rode on. Shouting a child’s name.

That was the first time Venith had ever wept in public. He ran after the King of Reim on the day he declared war against the Black Judgment.

For a child.

For justice.

—-

“Teres!”

Trey shouted her name amid the clamor around him. He heard someone shout his name, and then found her in the sea of people.

“Over here!”

She led him away, away from Flos, who was at the center of the throng of people. When they could talk without shouting, Trey hugged Teres. She hugged him back.

“How’d you know he was going to do that?”

“I didn’t. But when he didn’t ride off I got a bad feeling.”

“You threw a rock at him! What if he stabbed you?”

“He didn’t.”

Trey opened his mouth to protest that logic when he heard his name again.

“Teres. Trey!”

Someone’s voice boomed. The twins turned. Flos was striding towards them, the sea of people parting in biblical fashion. The King smiled as he stared at Teres.

“You have keen eyes, Teres. A shame you had no bow or wand. I will fix that another time. For now, follow me.”

He turned. The twins stared at each other and then followed Flos. He was walking towards the village gates. People were trying to stop him without actually holding him back. A man—the village headman, perhaps, was trying to talk to Flos.

“Don’t go alone, my King. We’ll follow you into battle! We might not have weapons, most of us, but we’ve a wall and three times their number. We’ll choke them on our blood and flesh if need be!”

“That would be the worst outcome. Far worse than my death. Venith is your [Lord], is he not?”

“Yes, but—”

“But nothing. He is a good [Lord], by all accounts. I remember Orthenon telling me he patrolled these lands. For ten years he has kept you safe from monsters and brigands.”

“He is not you, my King. And he was once your vassal! Taking arms against his sword master is treason!”

“Perhaps. But I was the one who betrayed him first.”

Flos sighed. He did not look at the confused headman, but turned to the twins.

“I will duel Venith now. The sun should rise shortly—stand with your backs to it so you may have the best view.”

They gaped at him. Teres was the first to find her voice.

“Why?”

“He challenged me. That is how things are done in this land.”

“Not that! Why does he hate you? Was he your vassal?”

“Yes. And he bears a grudge.”

Flos strode out of the village, people streaming after him. He was adjusting his belt, tightening it. Trey stared at Flos. He wasn’t wearing armor.

“Why does he hate you?”

“For abandoning him? For leaving my kingdom to rot? For incompetence, failure, cowardice?”

The King of Destruction shook his head.

“I do not know. But I must answer him, Trey. I cannot run from my failure. And he has every right to hate me.”

“But he’s wearing armor! And you’ve only got a sword!”

“Yes. I rather wish I had something else.”

Instantly a hundred voices rose, offering Flos a shield, a helmet that might fit, a piece of armor. He waved the voices away.

“I have no need. And Venith will not wait. Besides, a sword is all I need.”

He unsheathed his sword, and Trey stared hopefully at the blade. But it did not glow, or sparkle. It was shiny, but that was only because moonlight shone on it.

Flos saw Trey’s expression and laughed.

“There is no enchantment on the blade, Trey. I believe I took this one from my armory. It is just steel. But it is my sword, so it is a King’s sword. That should be good enough, even for Venith.”

“But he’s got armor.”

Teres stared at Flos and then grabbed Trey’s arm.

“He’s not listening to me. Talk sense to him!”

“I’m trying!”

“And I am listening. But your worries are unfounded, Teres. I will not lose. Because I am a King.”

Trey’s sister gaped at Flos’ back. But at his words a huge cheer went up from the people who had heard. Flos stopped and turned to face the villagers.

“I have been challenged! And so I declare this: I will go to do battle with Lord Venith Crusand. Let no one interfere with our duel on pain of death!”

They shouted and cheered him. A King wearing no armor about to fight a man in full plate armor with a sword and shield. Trey stared at Flos as he strode across the dry, flat ground.

Venith was waiting for him. The man stood braced, ready for battle. His soldiers had spread out around him, forming a large semicircle. Flos halted with the crowd of villagers at his back. He stared at Venith, and then turned his back on the man. He raised his empty left hand and bellowed into the night.

“People of Manimar! Who is your rightful ruler?”

A roar answered him.

“Flos!”

He raised his sword, and the cheering and shouting from the villagers overwhelmed all other sound. Venith waited, braced in the dirt, shield in one hand, sword aimed at Flos’ chest.

Trey found himself standing closest to Flos, in the circle that watched the two about to duel. Teres was by his side. She was gripping his arm so hard it hurt, but Trey was doing the same to her.

This was crazy. Insane. But there was something to this moment that spoke to Trey. He thought of knights. Of honor and valor and chivalry. And when he looked at Venith he thought about vengeance and betrayal.

Flos strode towards Venith and stopped around ten paces away. When he spoke, it was far more quietly, so that Trey had to strain to hear over the restless crowd.

“Why is it that you cannot bear that I live, Venith? You, who once fought beside me fiercest of all?”

“Because you abandoned us.”

Venith raised his sword. Flos kept his lowered. The man charged and the duel began without a signal.

From where he stood, Trey could barely see Venith’s sword flash forwards. He’d stabbed at Flos’ chest, but Flos stepped sideways incredibly quickly. His sword came up and parried Venith’s thrust with the flat of his blade, knocking it aside.

Venith spun as Flos turned. He lashed out, punching with his shield. Flos stepped back from that as well, and raised his sword. Venith pulled his shield up and braced. The sword came down.

And Trey felt the clash in his bones. Venith staggered. He stabbed with his sword again and Flos dodged. The King cut horizontally at Venith’s side and the blade slashed across Venith’s shield. Then Flos reversed the direction of his cut. He was aiming for Venith’s shoulder. But Venith had raised his shield again. This time the noise made several people clap their hands to their ears.

“Your skill hasn’t changed, Venith. Your [Flawless Defence] is still as invincible as ever.”

He said it so casually, as if he weren’t fighting for his life. But Venith’s voice was tense, filled with sharp emotions.

“I haven’t put down my sword for ten years. Unlike you. And you have grown weak.”

He raised his shield as Flos leapt forwards. The King jerked his head back to avoid having it clipped by Venith’s shield. He retreated as Venith slashed at him.

The [Lord] didn’t fight like Trey expected. He never slashed wide with his sword and always kept it close to his body. When he attacked it was with a quick, precise cut, not Flos’ powerful strikes. He kept advancing on the King, not giving Flos a chance to move around and find his back.

He was forcing Flos to defend, but Trey saw that Flos could easily parry most of Venith’s strikes, even when the man tried to strike him with the rim of his shield. By the same token though, Venith’s cautious style meant that every time Flos tried to strike him, his shield was in the way.

But the sound of it. Trey shuddered as Flos struck Venith again and the very air seemed to explode. Flos was clearly stronger than Venith, and only the man’s shield held him at bay. Around him the villagers of Manimar were shouting their King’s name, drowning out the soldiers who cheered for their lord, Venith.

The noise of it was deafening, actually drowning out most of the sounds of battle, save for when Flos dealt Venith a strong blow. But Trey could still hear the two shouting at each other, in a world of their own as they fought in the center of the ring of onlookers.

“You are mine, Venith!”

Flos shouted at the man as he cut rapidly from every side, trying to score a solid blow. But Venith’s shield moved just as quickly, deflecting every strike.

“You are not my king!”

Venith roared as he cut low at Flos’ leg. This time the King had to jump away. He was nearly struck as Venith lashed out. Trey saw the sword catch on part of Flos’ royal clothing.

“A king who abandoned his kingdom is not a [King]! He is a coward!”

Venith lashed out with the edge of his shield. Flos had to avoid that; he blocked Venith’s sword with his, suddenly being pushed back. Venith charged forwards.

“You left us to rot! You left us to die!”

“Yes.”

Flos cut down, like lightning. Venith raised his shield. Again metal met metal. Trey blinked from the impact—he felt there should have been sparks. But then he saw something as Venith cut again, forcing Flos back.

Flos’ sword was bent. It was so slight Trey might not have noticed it. But then he saw Flos strike out with it and knew that he wasn’t seeing things.

“Trey—”

Teres had seen the same thing. Flos’ strength might outmatch Venith, but his sword couldn’t handle the abuse. And as Trey saw Venith force Flos back, he realized Venith knew this too.

Flos didn’t know. Or he didn’t care. He kept striking at Venith’s guard, as if to batter him down with sheer force alone. But his sword slowly and steadily deformed from the impacts.

The breaking point came when Flos charged Venith, locking his blade against the man’s shield. He tried to cut below around it, but Venith was too quick. He raised his sword up and brought it down on the bent part of Flos’ blade.

Just steel. That was what Flos’ sword was made of. But Venith’s was enchanted, or better quality. Or simply stronger. It bit slightly into the blade. Flos twisted away and stared at his blade. Venith gritted his teeth. He raised his shield as the King brought down his blade.

For the last time.

The blade met the shield. Only this time there was no crash, of impact. Flos’ sword broke as it met the shield. It didn’t shatter, but the blade snapped and spiraled into the air.

Silence followed that moment, as Flos stared down at the handle of his broken sword. Venith smiled grimly and raised his shield and sword as he spoke.

“And a king without a sword is nothing.”

Flos took a step back. Trey stared around in horror at the ring of watching villagers. They were no longer cheering.

“You are no match for me without a sword.”

Venith strode forwards, and this time Flos was in full retreat. The King cast aside the hilt of his sword.

“My King!”

Someone shouted. Trey saw a man waving a sword in his hands, trying to throw it to Flos. But the King ignored the blade as Venith’s soldiers pulled the man back into the crowd.

“What now, King of Destruction?”

There was mockery in Venith’s tone, but it was bitter. And he was not smiling. He looked as if he was in pain as he slowly backed Flos towards where Trey and Teres stood. Flos danced out of range, far quicker than any man his size should have moved.

“Your vassals will not return. Your kingdom is in ruins. Your lands are gone. You have nothing left. You are no King! You have no army, no allies, no sword—”

“Silence.”

Venith’s eyes widened. He raised his shield and a fist crashed into it. Trey heard the dull thump. Venith stumbled back. He raised his sword and a foot kicked him in his armored chest. He fell backwards, crashing onto the ground.

Flos stood over him. He shook his right hand, and raised his voice as he pointed down at Venith.

“Fool! Have you learned nothing of Kings?”

Everyone stared at him as Venith struggled to get up. Flos raised his right fist into the air; Trey saw the skin along his knuckles had split from the impact. It was bleeding.

“A King is more than just a sword! He is more than a crown, more than an army or a kingdom. Deny it if you will, Venith. But I am and always will be your [King]. Nothing will change that!”

Venith got to his feet, coughing. He swung at Flos with his sword, slower. Flos grabbed his gauntleted arm.

“A King cannot be beaten by any common warrior!”

He caught Venith’s shield as it flew towards his face. Flos held Venith’s arms apart as the man struggled to free himself. Then Flos’ head drew back.

Venith was wearing a steel helmet. Flos was not. The King’s head came down and struck Venith on the helmeted forehead so hard Trey winced. Venith stumbled back. Flos took three steps back and shook his head like a dog. But he was the first one to step forwards.

“A King is always a King. And I am your King!”

The [Lord] groggily raised his sword. He blinked and saw Flos striding towards him. Venith tried to raise his shield, but it was too late.

Flos’ right fist met the front of Venith’s helm. The impact sent the man’s head snapping back. Trey saw Venith stagger. He took a step back and then slowly collapsed back onto the ground.

Blood dripped from Flos’ right hand. The metal faceguard on Venith’s helm was stained red with blood, but not from the man. It had cut deep into Flos’ hand. But the King didn’t appear to notice. He looked down at the fallen [Lord].

“I will always be your King, Venith.”

The man made no reply. He might have been unconscious. The King turned away. He bent down and picked up Venith’s sword out of the dirt.

Now everyone was silent. Trey stared at Flos as the King walked back to Venith. The rush of excitement and fear in his veins had turned completely to horror. What would happen now?

There was only one thing Trey could think of. Flos stared down sadly at Venith. He raised the sword in his hands. Trey’s mouth was dry with fear.

“No!”

Someone shouted in the circle of onlookers. Trey saw a young man without a helmet—the same one who’d attacked Flos with the spear.

Calac. He threw himself in front of his father, arms spread wide.

“Have mercy, sire!”

Other people rushed to hold him back. Not just villagers—soldiers as well. Flos watched them pull Calac away, and then turned his head. Trey and Teres were standing by his side, staring at the sword in his hands. Their faces were pale.

“Are you going to—”

Flos didn’t immediately reply. He looked back at Calac. Trey saw the young man’s face, darker than his father’s, but with the same features. Flos stared too.

“I wished to see his son’s face, you know. But I was too far from home.”

He turned back to Venith. Then Flos’ head turned. He frowned and then threw a hand out. Trey felt a palm knock him off his feet. He heard Teres cry out in shock, and then a thunk.

Trey sat up and saw the arrow. It had passed through the air where Flos’ arm had been. If Flos hadn’t turned, and if he hadn’t knocked Trey out of the way, it would have struck Trey’s leg.

“Who—what was that?”

Teres was shouting. Most of the people around Flos hadn’t heard or seen the arrow, focused as they were on Calac, who was struggling and shouting with the people who held him. But Flos’s head turned. He looked east, towards the brighter sky.

“His wife.”

Someone was standing on a hilltop to the east. It was a thousand feet in the distance, yet Trey could see the figure clearly. She was riding a horse. Her hair was short, but the figure was unmistakably a woman.

And she was holding a bow. A woman on a horse put another arrow to the huge bow she carried. She was a distant speck, but when she loosed the second arrow it sped towards Flos’ chest.

He cut the second arrow out of the air. Flos stepped sideways casually and Trey heard the ripping sound of cut air before the shaft splintered into two parts. One spun past Trey’s face and something stung his cheek.

“Lady Maresar disapproves of our duel.”

“Is she going to shoot us?”

“No, I think.”

Teres stared at the figure in the distance. She was raising another arrow to her bow. But Flos turned away. He didn’t appear concerned.

“What are you doing? She’s going to shoot you!”

“I see her. But I see someone else as well. She is always about. I should have known she would have noticed me.”

“Who?”

Trey stared at the hill. The woman named Maresar was sitting on her horse. But there was someone else? Then he saw her, blending in at the bottom of the hill. If she hadn’t moved, he would never have seen her. But that was why she wore that armor. It matched her skin, and it was the color of dirt. Now the half-Gazer strode up the hill, sword in hand. Flos smiled.

“Gazi.”

—-

The mounted archer lowered her bow when she saw Gazi’s head appear over the hilltop. She didn’t appear surprised to see her. And neither did she put away the arrow.

Gazi smiled widely, showing the woman her sharp teeth. She had her two-handed blade in her left hand, and all four of her eyes were fixed on the woman’s face.

“Lady Maresar.”

“Gazi. I should have known you were about.”

“I follow my King. Just as you seem to follow your husband.”

Maresar spoke shortly, with a slight lisp.

“He is a fool. But he will not die so long as I live.”

“And neither will you harm my King.”

Gazi spread her hands. Maresar nodded.

“So. We are at an impasse. I have my soldiers camped below this ridge.”

“I know.”

“Your big eye isn’t open. I could shoot you if I had to.”

“You won’t.”

Maresar turned her head. She was staring at Flos as he stood over Venith.

“And why is that?”

Gazi turned her head to stare at her King.

“My lord did not come here to kill. I know him. Your husband won’t die today.”

Lady Maresar stared at Gazi. For a second her hand tightened on her arrow, and Gazi’s hand tightened on her greatsword.  Then Maresar smiled and lowered her bow.

“Very well. If you are wrong I will kill you first.”

Gazi just grinned in reply.

—-

Trey stood with Teres, watching. That was what he seemed to do. Watch. Yet he was a part of this scene as well. He stood next to the King of Destruction, after all. He stood next to the King of Reim as, sword in hand he stood over his former vassal.

Venith Crusand. The man had regained consciousness. He stared bitterly up at Flos.

“Finish it this time. Or I swear I will come back for your head again.”

Flos smiled.

“After all this time, you haven’t changed Venith. I told you once. I like you. You fought by my side for countless years. Shed blood in my name. I could never kill you.”

“But I could kill you. I swore an oath.”

Venith struggled to his feet, but fell back. He coughed and stared with hatred at Flos. Real, deep hatred. Trey could see that plainly, but he also saw how Venith’s eyes hadn’t left Flos’ face. They searched every inch of the King’s expression, as if looking for something.

“You betrayed us. You left us.”

Flos’ head bowed. He made no reply. Venith raised his voice. He shouted as the villagers fell silent, and his soldiers watched.

“You abandoned your kingdom! A King! Every army in the world came after us, cutting us down. I swore an oath to save my people, to protect them since you would not! I am bound to kill you or die trying.”

“A powerful oath.”

Flos nodded slowly. Venith bared his teeth.

“I have never broken my vows. You know that.”

“I do.”

“So.”

Venith struggled to lift a hand. He pointed to the blade in Flos’ hand.

“End it. Or we shall fight again. Again and again, until I am dead.”

Trey heard a choked sound from Calac. He was held tightly by two of Venith’s soldiers. Flos nodded.

“Your honor. Your vows. For your people you took them, and I know you are bound to fulfill them. However, I would say one thing to you Venith Crusand.”

He raised the sword in his hands. Venith narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth silently. Flos stared at Venith, and then tossed the sword at his feet.

“I do not care.”

Venith stared. Trey stared. Teres stared. The villagers and soldiers were statues. But Flos just smiled. And laughed. And then he shouted so everyone could hear.

“I am no petty tyrant, no fearful monarch! I am Flos, King of Destruction! My heart is large enough to suffer a thousand insults, but too small to accept the loss of one friend. I care not that you renounced your oath of service, Venith. I care not that you swore a vow against me. Join me, and we will fight together as before.”

He held a hand out to Venith. The man stared up at him, open-mouthed. Then he snarled and swiped at Flos’ hand.

“You bastard. You trampled over our dreams, abandoned us when we needed you most! And you dare to come back ten years later, as if nothing has changed?”

“Yes.”

The man’s voice broke as he screamed at Flos, at his King.

“How dare you! How dare you—you trampled over us once. And now you come back as if nothing happened, spouting your same lies? How can you say the same thing again? You are a heartless tyrant, a fool!”

“That is what it means to be a King.”

Venith fell silent. Flos stared down at him.

“You are right. I cannot take back the past. I cannot undo my mistakes or erase my sins. And they are the gravest of this world. There is no one less deserving of a crown than I. And yet, I am your King. Your King, Venith. Just as you are my vassal.”

Flos moved slowly. He turned to face the crowd of people, the soldiers, the villagers, the twins. But when he spoke, it was only towards Venith.

“I care nothing for your oath. I care not that you raised your sword against me. I only care for you, Venith. I crave your company, more deeply than a lover, more urgently than a babe. I need you, Venith Crusland. Follow my back once more. Be my sword and shield and run with me one more time. One last time. We still have not reached the ends of the earth. But this time we shall.”

Venith stared up at Flos silently, eyes filled with an emotion Trey could not name. The King gazed down at him.

“My kingdom fell to dust because I was not ready before. But this time my dream is rekindled. And it is larger. This time it reaches beyond one continent. It encompasses the world. That is how far we will go. To the edge of the world and beyond. To the furthest nation, to the highest peak. Once, a young boy dreamed of making the world a better place. Now a grown man dreams of the same. The fire burns again in my chest, Venith. I see in my heart lands I have never laid eyes on, of oceans I have never crossed. And I know my enemies wait for me there, uncountable, and allies too. Waiting for the moment I dare to step forwards.”

He held his hand out, blood dripping between his fingers.

“The world waits for me. But I cannot face it alone. So I ask you once more. Renounce your oath. Take my hand or go. But know that you will always be mine. My sworn companion. My friend.”

All was hushed. Venith stared down at Flos’ bloodied hand. He stared at his King. And reached out.

—-

“My King.”

Venith shook his King, grasped his hand. He stared into empty eyes, a vacant expression. Flos stared back, but there was nothing of him in there.

“It is over, Venith.”

“No!”

The man turned and glared at the one who had spoken. Gazi. She was standing next to the throne, eyes downcast, more defeated than he had ever known her. Standing to her right, a soldier, one of the Rustängmarder who would ferry orders to the rest of the company, stood at attention. He and Venith had heard the words from Flos’ mouth, but Venith couldn’t accept it.

“It’s not over!”

“It is. It is all over. I am finished.”

The words came slowly and at a distance from Flos’ mouth. He did not look at Venith. He sat slumped in the small chair, staring at the ground. But Venith refused to hear.

“We can still fight! Give me a command and I will lead your armies myself!”

“It’s not about armies.”

Flos didn’t raise his head. He stared down at his hands.

“She is dead, Venith. Queravia is dead. So is Tottenval.”

“What?”

Something cold lurched in Venith. He had known. But—

“We found his body today.”

Gazi spoke quietly. There were tears in her eyes. Venith couldn’t speak for a few moments. He felt his eyes sting, but he couldn’t stop.

“Even so. Even so—we have to continue. We owe it to them! You can’t just—”

His voice broke. It couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t all be over. The entire kingdom, gone. Not like this. Not—

“It is over, Venith. I am done. The King of Destruction is no more.”

“What about your people? What about your retainers, those who have sworn themselves to you?”

“I cannot be their King.”

Venith lost control. He struck Flos with all his might. The King’s head snapped back, but he didn’t look at Venith. He didn’t react to the blow. He just sat, staring ahead. Silent. That was worse of all.

It was more than Venith could stomach, more than he could bear to see. He would have struck his King once more, but someone caught his hand.

“Don’t do that again.”

Gazi stared at Venith, her grip a vice on his arm. Venith knew he could break her grip, but he saw the look in the half-Gazer’s eyes. And the Rustängmarder soldier was staring at him. They tolerated no treason in their ranks. Another blow and it might be Venith’s corpse lying on the ground.

After a moment, Gazi let go of Venith and he lowered his hand. He stared at his King. A shell. Just that. There was nothing left of his King here, just his appearance. Venith turned away.

“I will never accept it. I will not. I will wait! Until the day you come to your senses.”

Flos made no reply as Venith strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him. And he waited. He waited until it was too late to go back.

—-

Venith took Flos’ hand. The King smiled. He pulled Venith up. The [Lord] stared at his King. Then he smiled.

And struck Flos in the face.

Trey cried out in shock. The King’s head reeled back. He took a step as the people around him surged forwards, howling in fury. But Flos’ hand held them back like a real thing.

“I have not forgotten the day you turned your back on me. My answer is no.”

Flos nodded slowly. The King stared at Venith, not angrily, but with deep disappointment.

“Very well. Go. But know this, Venith Crusand. For ten years you protected my subjects. You guarded them against bandits and monsters alike and kept them fed. You built them a wall, and took care of my people. For that I owe you a debt beyond measuring. And yet.”

He looked Venith in the eye.

“And yet, it was not enough. You gave them food, shelter, pride in honest work. But you could not give them hope. Your dream is still not grand enough. And that is why they will always be mine.”

He turned away, and Venith stumbled, as if his strings were cut. In a moment his son and another soldier were by his side. They propped Venith up. He stared at Flos and then turned without another word.

Flos turned away as well. He walked slowly back towards Trey and Teres. He paused to look at them and then reached out.

“I am tired, you two.”

That was all he said. Then he walked back into the village, head bowed.

—-

Venith rode away from Manimar, feeling every inch of his body hurt. He could barely sit in his saddle, but he sat with back straight when he saw who was waiting ahead of him.

“Mares.”

His wife, [Lady] Maresar smiled and rode to meet Venith. She eyed her husband’s face, and then looked at her son. She frowned at him, which made Calac flinch. Then she looked at Venith and raised an eyebrow.

“Are you feeling better now? That’s twice you’ve struck your own King.”

“He is no longer my King.”

Venith gritted his teeth. His hands were still numb, and he couldn’t feel a distinct part of his face. Maresar only shook her head.

“I heard him shouting from the hill. He is your King. He claimed you, despite how you greeted him. And still you think he hasn’t returned?”

He couldn’t properly reply to that. Venith tried to flex his hand.

“I swore an oath.”

“So you did. But you swore one to him first, if I recall.”

“He abandoned—”

Maresar silenced Venith with another look.

“I didn’t come here to argue the same thing again. You are wounded, dear husband. You had better have a [Healer] see to your injuries.”

He nodded grudgingly. Venith hesitated.

“I am…glad you decided to come after all. Despite our differences.”

“Hm.”

She smiled at him. Venith reached out, and she brushed his hand away. He frowned.

“What is it?”

“I brought half of our retainers with us. Don’t worry; there are enough hands back at home to keep everything working. Until you decide to forgive your King, you’ll have to make do with that.”

He heard her, but he didn’t want to understand.

“Mares, what are you saying?”

“He’s my King too, Venith. You might have thought about that when you decided to challenge him. I’ll wait by his side, but not for too long. Hurry up and make peace with the past already.”

She rode past him. Venith reached out for her but missed. He called out as his wife rode past.

“Mares!”

She didn’t look back once. Venith stared at his wife’s back as she rode away from him. He stared at his King. He clenched his fist and turned away.

—-

Trey saw the procession of soldiers approaching with the woman archer at their head. Flos had seen them too. But he didn’t appear alarmed. He smiled and stopped the woman bandaging his hand.

He walked towards the woman with open arms. Trey saw a woman, darker skinned, hair cropped short, a bow at her back. She was smiling and kicked her horse into a gallop. She leapt from the saddle and onto the ground before Flos.

And then she slapped him. The crack of flesh meeting flesh turned every head in range. Trey felt like he could feel his own cheek stinging as Maresar lowered her hand. Flos blinked at her. Then the woman, Lady Maresar, flung her arms around him and kissed his cheek.

“Ah, Maresar. I am overjoyed to see you haven’t changed.”

Flos laughed as he hugged her. Maresar embraced him tightly and then let go. She was actually taller than he was, although not nearly as heavy.

“That was for leaving us. And that was for coming back. I am delighted to see you, my lord.”

“And I you. But your husband hasn’t joined us.”

Maresar smiled a bit sadly.

“He still has not forgiven you. But you are my King. He will come back in time.”

“So I trust.”

Flos looked at the ranks of soldiers that spread out behind their [Lady]. Each man or woman slowly knelt.

“Those who would not march against you have come to fight for you.”

“I am honored.”

Flos turned to look at someone who came towards him, apart from the army.

“Gazi.”

Gazi the Omniscient smiled at her King. She had sheathed her sword, and was looking around at the people around her with all four eyes. Some had already recognized her, and the people calling her name sounded almost as exuberant as when they’d shouted for Flos.

“Lady Gazi!”

“Gazi the Omniscient has returned!”

“My lord.”

She stopped and bowed her head politely to Flos. He grinned at her.

“I should have known you would spot me going, even without your main eye.”

“Of course.”

“I suppose I should only be relieved that Orthenon and Mars didn’t notice and drag me back as well.”

Flos glanced towards the sky, where the sun was already rising. He grimaced.

“Then again, I’m sure they will have noticed by now. I don’t suppose you told them?”

“Orthenon would have found out soon enough. He’s coming with an army, by the way.”

Flos’ shoulders sagged.

“Really?”

Gazi only smiled and pointed south in reply.

—-

Venith saw the army and the two riding at its head. He called an immediate halt to his men. They formed up, looking frightened.

Orthenon rode at the head of an army of mounted warriors. There were only around four hundred of them, all wearing mismatched armor,  but they vastly outnumbered Venith’s force.

“Hold. They won’t attack.”

Or so Venith prayed. He spurred his horse towards Orthenon, wincing with every step his mount took.

“Lord Orthenon.”

He called out as the man approached. Orthenon did not immediately reply. He was holding a spear, two metal hafts sticking out just below the shaft. He rode fast and hard at Venith, and the man slowed. Venith’s hand grabbed his shield, as much out of reflex as conscious thought.

He wouldn’t—

Orthenon raised his spear. Venith’s arm moved up and he raised his shield overhead as his soldiers cried out.

The winged spear flashed down and crashed into Venith’s raised shield. The impact rang throughout Venith’s body and sent him tumbling off his saddle. Orthenon raised his spear and regarded the head, which had deformed from the impact. He tossed it to one side and Venith braced himself for the man to draw his sword. But Orthenon simply nodded calmly down at Venith as he lay on the ground.

“Lord Venith.”

He rode past the man as Venith struggled to his feet. Mars stared down at Venith and then rode past him without a word, sitting awkwardly on her mount. He was getting to his feet when she kicked him in the back.

—-

Afterwards, Trey found he didn’t know how they got back to Reim. There was only the procession of joyous people, singing and shouting Flos’ name. He was riding with Flos in front as the King spoke to Maresar and Gazi, rubbing his cheek. And then there was the meeting with Orthenon and Mars.

The man rode towards Flos at a gallop, hundreds of mounted warriors following him. At a distance a huge scowl was visible on his face. It only grew larger as he got closer.

When he was in earshot, Orthenon began shouting.

“Do you have any idea how recklessly dangerous that was? I have [Scouts] and [Riders] searching in every direction still. We feared you were kidnapped. And you, Gazi! How could you not tell us where our King had gone? Do you have any idea what will happen after word of this spreads? Where are we supposed to shelter these people? Their homes are here. How are we supposed to—”

“Orthenon.”

Flos interrupted his [Steward] calmly. Orthenon stopped, breathing hard. Flos half-turned in his saddle. He waved his arms at the cheering villagers, Maresar’s soldiers, and then expanded that wave to take in the army accompanying Orthenon. Flos nodded at it all.

“Take care of it.”

He paused, and then looked at Orthenon again.

“Please.”

He passed by the man and rode on. Trey could hear him calling out.

“Mars! Look who has decided to join us! Did you meet Venith on the road?”

He didn’t hear Mars’ shouted reply. Trey rode past Orthenon and saw the man staring at the mess behind Flos. And then…it was just for a second, but Trey could have sworn he saw Orthenon smile.

—-

And at midday, when he was about to fall asleep, Trey found Flos. The King was sitting in his room, cheek no longer red, hand healed. He didn’t look as tired as Trey, but he was a bit less energetic in greeting the boy.

“Trey. Is there no Teres today?”

“No si—your ma—Flos. She’s asleep.”

“A wise decision. I would sleep, but Orthenon insists on keeping me awake.”

Flos glanced regretfully towards his bed. He shook his head and looked at Trey.

“But you have no [Steward]. Why are you awake?”

“I don’t know.”

Trey didn’t know why he was bothering Flos, for all the King clearly enjoyed it. He hesitated.

“Is—is that Venith going to come back and try to kill you again?”

Flos raised his eyebrows, looking mildly surprised.

“Him? I doubt it. As Orthenon told me countless times, it was foolish to leave my city without an escort. Venith has not the men to challenge me if I go forth with proper protection. More to the point, Lady Maresar is now with me, and I doubt he would try to take up arms against his wife.”

“But he did try to kill you.”

“Yes. I suppose he did.”

Flos stared at his hand, now free of blood. He smiled as he flexed it.

“But that is the thing about Venith. He has tried to kill me once before, did you know? When we first met. Yet he did it so poorly then, and so poorly now, I wonder if that was ever his intention.”

“What do you mean?”

“He could have attacked with his soldiers. Or shot me from afar. Or simply alerted any number of my enemies that I was in Manimar alone and defenseless. I can think of a few enemies – the Emperor of Sands for one – who might use a teleportation spell to send an assassin after me without a second thought. But he did not. He challenged me to a duel.”

“To test you?”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps because he had to be the one who struck me. I confess that I do not know. But I am glad to have heard his fury.”

“Even though he hit you?”

“I deserve it, don’t you agree? My face will not be marred by a single blow, although a few of Lady Maresar’s slaps might do the trick.”

Flos laughed. He stared pensively at the wall, his eyes going down to a blank spot on his dresser. Trey saw there was nothing there as well. No head. He wondered if Flos had buried it yet.

The King sighed.

“It is an odd thing, Trey. I went to Manimar unsure whether I would be forgiven for my failure. And yet now all I can dwell on is a single vassal of mine.”

He spread his hands as he sat on his bed, motioning Trey to join him. Trey did, almost too afraid to sit properly. Flos loomed above him, as big as the room itself. But tired. He only looked tired in here, nowhere else. And only when Trey and Teres could see him.

“I wronged him, Trey. I committed the gravest sin a [King] could make. He is right to be furious. If he never forgave me I could not speak a word of protest and be justified in it. And yet, I would give much to have him back.”

Trey cleared his throat awkwardly.

“I understand that.”

“You do? Good. Today was a victory, if there were winners or losers to be counted. But it is not the same, Trey. Not the same.”

“As what?”

Flos sighed.

“As before. Perhaps it was simply that I was young and did not see the cost in everything I did back then. But today my triumph is bittersweet.”

“I get that, too.”

“Really now? What is so lacking for you, Trey?”

“I—well, it’s nothing.”

Trey wished he hadn’t opened his mouth. But now Flos was staring at him, and Trey unwillingly continued.

“It’s just…today, well, yesterday I mean, Teres did a lot of good things. She yelled at you, threw that rock at Venith’s son when he tried to kill you—”

“Ah yes. She was brave.”

“Yeah.”

Trey nodded. He felt proud of his sister. But…

“But I didn’t do much, really.”

“Ah. Are you jealous of your sister?”

“No! Maybe. I’m not jealous. I just wish I could have done something useful too. But it’s always like this. Teres is always the braver one. She always does stuff first. I…don’t.”

He didn’t know why he was confiding in a King of all people. But there was something in the way Flos looked at him that told Trey he did understand.

“You know Trey, when I heard my subjects speaking in the dining hall, I was surprised to hear they considered both you and Teres worthless.”

It took Trey a minute to remember. It felt like an age ago.

“Well, we are, aren’t we?”

“Not so. You come from another world. From another world.”

“But we don’t know much. We don’t know how to make guns or how electricity is made or…anything.”

“And yet, it is the two of you who woke me from my slumber. Where all my vassals and time itself could not do so. What is that, if not worth?”

Flos placed a gentle hand on Trey’s shoulder. The young man looked up at him, and saw a smile.

“Shall I tell you something interesting, Trey? Something not even Gazi knows?”

“What?”

“When I was a young man, no one thought I would become anything special either. I was a low-level [Prince] of a tiny kingdom. My father had little time for me, and my subjects only thought of me as royalty, not someone to inspire them. Only my mother had faith I would be successful.”

“Really?”

“Truthfully, she was disappointed when I took up the sword. She always had hopes I would pursue other paths. Like poetry.”

“Poetry?”

“Oh yes. She thought I was a wonderful poet, despite my only ability being a small gift at rhyming. Let me see.”

Flos thought for a moment, and then spoke softly.

“One last time let the forges roar.

Forevermore, forevermore.

Let hammers sing and bellows cry

And let voices split the very sky.

The King is awoke, the land awake

Now let us all an ending make.

So one last time the forges roar

And once all is over, nevermore.”

Trey stared at him. Flos shrugged.

“It’s not good. But I could make such simple poems for my mother at will. It made her smile. The trouble is, such a talent is largely useless. I am a King who leads his people. What use is rhyming and pretty words as a talent? I failed my people. Would that I had a stronger spirit, they would have been better served. But now here I stand with sword in hand, the mark of my folly upon this land…”

He broke off, grimaced.

“You see? It is a terrible thing. And it comes upon me more the longer I think of it.”

Trey grinned and ducked his head. Flos smiled, and then stared pensively back at the wall.

“You may not see your worth, Trey. But I promise you, it is there. In you and Teres both. You two are not the same; it is folly to compare your actions, even for twins.”

“But we’re supposed to serve you. Shouldn’t we be…good enough?”

Flos laughed. It was a genuine sound, honest and pure.

“You woke me from my slumber, Trey. There is nothing more worthy in the world than that. And as for the rest…if you doubt yourself, keep following my back. Watch me, Trey. Come with me as I learn to be King again. And one day, you will be worthy of standing by my side.”

He clapped a hand on Trey’s shoulder and rose.

“Today was a start. I failed again, but I also succeeded. One village has come back to me. One small village, but it is part of me, Trey. This kingdom is my heart. Its people are my blood. Now it beats faster. Faster. Not with rage or sorrow, but excitement at last. I had awoken, but I did not remember what it was to be King. Now I am remembering.”

He stood, and strode towards the window. Trey followed him. Flos stared out across the empty landscape and smiled. Below him a city moved with people. It was still largely in ruins, still far emptier than it should be, but there was life down there. Growing.

“It is time to do what I should have done from the beginning. It is time to act, to lead them. Not as a man or memory. But as a [King].”

Flos smiled. He turned to Trey.

“Now, I believe I shall take a nap. If Orthenon comes looking for me, I’ll throw him out a window.”

And he grinned at Trey, looking like a young man wearing an adult’s face. And Trey looked into Flos’ eyes and laughed.

4.03 K

Two days after Flos returned to his city with an entire village at his back, Trey woke up at the crack of dawn. It was part of his new routine.

He woke up when Teres took his pillow away. That was a surefire method to waking Trey up. He opened his eyes grudgingly and saw she was already dressed and staring at a wall.

That was normal. Trey changed out of his clothes as Teres stood in place. They were used to giving each other privacy, but he suspected Teres wouldn’t have looked around in any case. Sure enough, when he stumbled over to her, her eyes were closed and she was swaying in place.

“Teres.”

“Go away.”

“Gotta—”

“Nuh.”

“Yeah.”

He pushed her towards the door. Teres grudgingly moved rather than fall over.

This was their new day. And it was, to quote Teres, complete bollocks. Trey preferred outrageously bollocks, but the feeling was the same.

They had to get up at dawn, without eating brekkie, and head over to the training grounds.

People were already up and about at this time of day. But it did not make the twins any happier to see people walking about briskly, looking like fresh daisies. Trey would have loved to sleep in until at least seven or eight—Teres would prefer ten. But here they were.

“You’re late.”

For once, Orthenon did not receive the shy smile from Teres. She glared at him, which did not faze the steward in the slightest. He beckoned to Teres with a wooden sword in hand and she stomped off after him.

“Trey! Excellent! Good to see you up!”

The booming voice reminded Trey of the time he and Teres had snuck some of their father’s alcohol into their room and tried it. The morning after had felt something like this. He winced and turned to bow towards Flos as the king strode towards him.

“Good morning.”

“I feel so as well. Come, Mars and I have been sparring lightly.”

The King threw an arm around Trey’s shoulders and half-dragged the young man towards Mars. As always Trey fought to keep his eyes on her face. There was always something eye-catching about Mars, but he was beginning to suspect at least part of the attraction he felt towards her was magical. It made sense, right? Mars wasn’t known as the Illusionist for no reason.

And as Teres has snidely pointed out, no warrior could get away without having any scars from battle. Flos had several on his arms, and Orthenon had a few. But Mars did not. Gazi didn’t either, actually, but Trey hadn’t bothered pointing that out to Teres.

“Trey. Ready to learn some more sword techniques?”

Mars greeted Trey cheerfully and he managed to nod without yawning. She laughed, tossed him a sword which he managed to catch this time – the last two days he’d dropped it – and they began training.

It was actually as dull as dull could be. Trey had expected practicing swordplay with the King of Destruction and one of the most high-level warriors in the world to be more exciting. But Mars and Flos just swung their swords in exaggeratedly slow motion, which looked easier than it was as well.

Trey tried to copy them, but he found that while he could deliberately swing his sword slowly the first eight times or so, his arms got really tired after the thirtieth swing. And his mind was extremely bored the entire time. By the time he was done, Trey was sweating and his arms hurt. But they weren’t done. Not even close.

After that, he hit a cloth dummy with his sword as Flos and Mars made him strike with proper footwork and form. Now Trey had to be quick and precise, neither of which felt easy when he watched Flos hit his training dummy hard enough to make the wooden pole it was attached to crack. Faced with that example, every time Trey swung the sword he’d been given, he felt slow as an ox and weak as a baby.

“Alright, now it’s practice time! Come on, hit me!”

Mars always said the same thing. She would grin and lift a shield up and rap on it with her practice sword. Trey would do his best to tap her with his sword, but she’d block him every time, often pausing to tell him why he’d failed to hit her as hard as possible.

It wasn’t fun. When he was done for the day—a good hour later it felt—Trey was miserable. And his arms hurt. And his legs. He felt like his hands were getting blisters, and he just wanted to have something to eat.

“Ah, Trey. Don’t look so depressed.”

Flos jovially slapped Trey on the shoulder. Now Trey’s shoulder hurt too. Trey glared up at the King of Destruction.

“I’m not good at fighting. Do I have to do it?”

“Unless you prove you can shoot lightning, or you find another class more suited to you, yes.”

Flos smiled at Trey as Mars practiced against an invisible enemy with her sword and shield. She was always in the training grounds, even far later in the day. She often hung about, but she would train like that for hours on end.

Now she paused to look at Trey.

“You haven’t gotten the [Warrior] class yet, have you Trey?”

Flos shook his head at the same time Trey did.

“I asked both Teres and Trey to refuse any classes for the moment. Until they were sure of their choice.”

Mars’ eyebrows rose.

“Refuse a class? You can do that?”

The King nodded. Trey had been so amazed to hear the voice in his head the first time he wouldn’t have known to stop it unless he’d been told. But Flos had told him that very night to do just that. The King frowned at Mars as he wiped some sweat from his brow.

“I could have sworn I told you about that, Mars.”

She shrugged, looking slightly guilty.

“I may have forgotten…”

Flos grinned.

“No matter. But I am not sure a [Warrior] is the class for Trey. Teres might find some success there.”

Trey looked around. Teres and Orthenon weren’t in the courtyard. Apparently, Orthenon preferred other, less populated places to practice, and so every day Teres would leave with him and come back looking like she’d run a marathon.

“Why aren’t I training with Orthenon? Is it because you think she’ll be a better [Warrior] than I will?”

He didn’t meant to sound hurt, but it must have come out, because Flos looked surprised as he turned towards Trey.

“Teres? Ah, well…yes.”

He blinked as Trey sagged.

“Surely you noticed, Trey? Teres is a bit more instinctual when it comes to fighting than you are. I recall seeing it the first time I sparred with you. She tried to stab me several times. Quite viciously, too.”

“So she’s got talent?”

Mars shrugged.

“Yeah.”

The combination of Flos and Mars was destroying what little ego Trey had. But Flos shook his head slightly as the young man sighed and lowered his head.

“It isn’t skill in my eyes so much as attitude. She takes to battle with a passion. You think more, Trey, which is why I decided to split you two up.”

“But why? Is Orthenon a better swordsman or something?”

The King and Mars paused. They shared a glance. To Trey’s immense surprise Flos nodded.

“Probably?”

“No he’s not.”

Mars scowled and folded her arms. Flos smiled at Trey conspiratorially.

“In truth, Orthenon isn’t a match for Mars. But his skill with a sword is—different from ours. He learned his style from a foreigner, and as such, doesn’t fight in a way that Mars or I could emulate. We learned how to fight on the battlefield and from experienced warriors. But Orthenon studied.”

“Oh.”

“He’s not better than me.”

Mars kicked at the dirt, looking stubborn and petulant. Flos sighed.

“But it is not his main class, so he is not comparable to someone like Mars whose Skills are all geared towards combat. I thought Teres would be a good pupil for him for other reasons, though. His temperament and hers are quite similar.”

“No.”

Trey shook his head instantly. He couldn’t imagine Orthenon, always calm, always polite and thoughtful, being anything like his sister. Teres could be all those things, but she got mad. But to his great surprise, Mars was nodding along with Flos.

“Orthenon? He’s got a temper alright.”

“No. You’re taking the Mickey out of me!”

“I am being quite serious, Trey. I have never known Orthenon to ever unsheathe his sword without a bit of wrath. I have seen him lose his temper on the battlefield, and it is a sight to see.”

“He gets really mad, Trey. Did you see what happened when he met Venith? He knocked him straight off of his horse with one blow!”

Mars laughed as she recounted the tale to Flos and Trey. Flos nodded.

“But he controls his temper. Well, usually. Orthenon wields his anger just as keenly as he does a blade. If he can teach that to Teres, she will benefit greatly. Or so I feel.”

Trey could just shake his head at this new revelation. He felt like he learned something new about the people around him every day. Mars slung an arm around Trey’s shoulder and laughed when he blushed.

“Don’t be too upset though, Trey! Orthenon’s not fun to practice with at all. And he’s strict! You’ll have a lot more fun with our King and me.”

“Exactly!”

Flos grinned at Trey. He and Mars laughed as they began talking about having Trey join them on morning runs around the walls, a pair of exercising loons. But Trey was stewing on what Flos had said, or rather, wasn’t saying. The King turned to Trey, smiling.

“I realize you may wish to join your sister, but she is taking the path I feel most suited towards her, and you will do best with Mars and I instructing.”

Trey stared at him and a piece fell into place in his mind.

“And you want to separate us up, is that it? You don’t want us to be together all of the time.”

Flos blinked. And then he burst out laughing as Mars stared at Trey with a look of surprise. Flos turned to her, smiling jovially.

“There, you see, Mars? Trey has seen the truth. He and Teres are valuable to me, I tell you. More valuable than you or anyone else knows.”

“I didn’t think he’d figure it out.”

Mars grinned as she eyed Trey. He felt a bit nonplussed. But Flos was nodding.

“You are right, Trey. I wished you and Teres to be apart from each other more.”

He looked at Mars, growing more serious as he gestured at Trey.

“The twins truly are a gift in my eyes. Teres speaks the truth to me. She is unafraid to point out my failures, to stand up to me in my moments of wrath and folly. But Trey is different. Trey understands how I think at times. He sees into my heart. And that is a gift worth far more than gold.”

And that was something else. When Flos said something, he meant it completely. Mars smiled at Trey as the young man turned red and tried to deny something. But then Teres came back, looking like road kill, and Orthenon joined Flos and Mars and asked what was so funny.

And the worst part was, Flos recounted the entire moment to Orthenon and Gazi with pride over breakfast. And he didn’t lower his voice, so all the servants soon heard Trey’s amazingly not-amazing bit of deduction.

In truth, Trey understood what Flos meant. He remembered the conversation they’d had, and the little secret of Flos’ poetry that apparently not even Gazi knew about. Sometimes he felt like he understood Flos, as strange as that might be.

At other times, the King was as distant and unexplainable as the stars. Like when he decided the policy of the realm. But he did try to explain himself.

After going to Manimar, Flos had changed his daily routine. He no longer strode about the castle inspecting every little detail of his kingdom. Rather, he left most of that to Orthenon, allowing the steward to inform him of notable events. Directly after breakfast he would retire to his throne room, where he would consult with his trusted vassals.

Among that number was now Lady Maresar. Regardless of whether she was present at breakfast, she would come striding into the throne room at the same time Gazi appeared, to stand before their King and listen and speak to him.

She was tall, dark, and more handsome than beautiful, but Teres had punched Trey in the side for making that joke. Lady Maresar didn’t scare Trey exactly, but she was hard to read. She didn’t speak much in her slightly slurred, deep voice, like Gazi. But when she did speak it turned out she had a sense of humor.

“It is good you sit on your throne, my King. Else we would have had to kick you off the chair you sat on yesterday.”

That had been the debate of yesterday, which had lasted two hours. Flos sat on his throne, looking down at Trey, Teres, Orthenon, Mars, Gazi and Maresar. He wore no crown, but he sat on the throne as if he belonged there.

He was a different person on that throne. Flos’ lips quirked upwards in a smile at Maresar’s words, but he did not laugh uproariously as usual. He nodded down at her.

“Your words struck a chord in my heart, Maresar. I dislike going back on my words, even those uttered in passion, but it seems many of my vassals will be weeks or months in returning to me. If at all.”

His vassals shifted at that. Orthenon crossed his arms, scowling. Gazi kept smiling. Mars scuffed at the ground with an armored foot. And Maresar nodded.

“My husband will return, my King. But he will take time, like the others. They must see that you are back not just in body, but spirit.”

“True. And I rather disliked that chair.”

Flos smiled quietly. Then he turned his attention to Orthenon.

“My steward. Inform me. What news?”

“Three more villages from Lord Venith’s lands have declared their support for you, my lord. They are travelling towards the city, carrying all they can carry. Two more in adjacent provinces have sent messengers to see you. Word is spreading like wildfire, although it appears the local [Rulers] are attempting to halt any rumors of your return.”

Flos leaned forwards on his throne.

“Have we space for these villagers? And how dangerous are the roads they travel on? I had heard word of [Brigands] and [Bandits] infesting the realms around my kingdom. They must be wiped out, saving Lady Maresar of course.”

He nodded at her. Maresar nodded back. Trey stared at her and scratched his head. Orthenon shook his head calmly.

“I have already dispatched a group of [Riders] to ensure they arrive safely. As for [Bandits], none have ever dared venture too close to the city. Unless you have information I do not, Lady Maresar?”

She shook her head as all eyes turned towards her.

“I have not talked with many, but I do not think the most daring [Bandit Lord] would dare approach your kingdom. They still remember what happened to the ones that Gazi hunted down.”

“Do you think she was a [Bandit], Trey?”

Teres whispered to Trey as the others talked about where to put the villagers in the meantime. He opened his mouth, but Maresar turned her head towards them. Orthenon broke off as she nodded to the twins.

“I was a [Bandit Lord] of renown before I was defeated and pledged my service to his majesty.”

“A bandit…lord?”

Trey stared at her. Mars grinned and laughed.

“Everyone thought Maresar was a lord, because they never saw her! That’s how she got the class, isn’t that right?”

Maresar looked disapprovingly over at Mars and shook her head.

“No. There is no [Bandit Lady] class. That is all. All leaders are known as [Bandit Lords], regardless of gender.”

“Oh.”

Mars scratched her head and blushed a bit. Flos cleared his throat and all eyes turned back towards him. He didn’t seem to mind the interruption, although Teres and Trey’s ears were red.

“What of the other cities and larger towns, Orthenon? If any would join me now, I would rest easier with their stores of grain and food added to ours.”

“Not to mention additional soldiers.”

Gazi nodded in agreement. Orthenon sighed, looking visibly annoyed.

“I have sent messengers to the cities of Rast, Belevadim, and Chalm bearing word of your return. I have yet to hear a response from any city.”

“No doubt they are considering their response. Which means their rulers deny me, or the citizens do as well.”

Flos shook his head.

“No matter. For now, continue training and drilling those who have chosen to fight. We have the makings of a decent army here, but I take it you still lack the numbers you desire, Orthenon?”

The steward nodded.

“I have a good number of veterans, some quite old. I have given them the arms that Lady Mars obtained and they will act as a strong elite force. However, the plain truth is that we lack the proper numbers for a true army, and our newest recruits are of very low level.”

“The latter problem will be solved by the first battle. As for the first…well, I shall rely on the efforts of you four to overcome any difference in numbers.”

His vassals straightened and nodded. Flos pondered for a moment and then turned to Maresar.

“Maresar, would you take those you deem fit and train with them exclusively? I would like you to lead the archers in my army. I realize that was not your role before, but in absence of any other warriors of note, I ask it of you.”

“I would be honored, my King.”

“Very well. Mars, if you will train with the newest soldiers and if both Gazi and Maresar, will assist Orthenon in drilling the army to fight as one…”

They nodded at him. Flos turned his attention to Trey and Teres.

“Orthenon does not have the time to exclusively attend to the army. Lady Maresar and Gazi have both commanded units of soldiers and small armies of their own and know what is needed. Do you understand why we must train this army, despite having veterans of countless wars?”

It was far worse than being called on by the teacher in class. Far worse. Tongue-tied, both twins shook their heads. Flos nodded, not disappointed by their honesty.

“An army must fight as one. They must learn to follow commands given out by [Strategists] or [Tacticians] as a whole, which each smaller unit of soldiers must obey. A simple command like advance or retreat requires drilling, and the most elite armies are capable of maneuvers that can change the entire battlefield.”

“I understand.”

Trey nodded. He glanced at Mars.

“Um—why wouldn’t Lady Mars train the soldiers?”

She was a [Vanguard], which was an advanced type of the [Soldier] class, Trey knew. Flos hesitated while Mars herself flushed red.

“Mars is…not suited towards leadership, Trey. She is a [Soldier], yes, but one who fights, rather than takes up the mantle of a leader.”

The other vassals shifted and didn’t quite look at Mars. Trey felt incredibly guilty, but Flos simply nodded as if he’d asked an important question.

“Each one of my vassals stands out in their own way. Mars will teach the newest soldiers, those who have never held a sword before in their life, how to fight. That is what is needed. Now, I believe there is nothing left to discuss. If Orthenon receives a reply from any of the cities, we shall meet again. Until then, I shall attend to my daily lessons with Teres and Trey.”

The audience was over. Orthenon left at speed after bowing to Flos. Gazi vanished quickly as well, and Maresar and Mars both headed towards the training grounds. And Flos stood up from his throne and smiled. Teres and Trey exchanged a glance, and they came to the oddest part of their daily routine.

Teaching Flos. Story time with the King of Destruction. Flos’ school hour. No matter how Trey said it in his head, it didn’t feel any less surreal.

But it happened. Every day. Flos would walk to his room with the twins in tow, and they would sit in his personal quarters, on the padded seats that had been placed in the room, in front of a gilded table adorned with snacks and cool drinks, and tell him about their world.

Flos settled into his chair with a sigh. He took the snack of the day from a silver platter in front of him and eyed it curiously.

“What is this I have to sample today, Teres, Trey?”

“Yorkshire pudding, I think.”

It wasn’t quite like the good stuff back home, but Trey had to admit the [Cooks] had done a pretty good job of imitating the food from a description alone. Flos listened with appreciation as Teres explained what Yorkshire pudding was, and how you ate it. With beef drippings and gravy.

“Ah, I see we have some provided for us.”

Flos reached for a gold-and-porcelain gravy boat. Trey and Teres exchanged another look. It was surreal to eat the food of their home on plates meant for royalty. But that was Flos. He wanted to try every food from their home, and so every day the kitchen staff would try to create something from earth with mixed results.

“Mm. Far better than that black pudding that was served yesterday.”

Flos chewed down three Yorkshire puddings with delight while Trey and Teres shared one. They’d just had breakfast after all. Then Flos leaned back, a cup of mulled wine in his hands, and a Yorkshire pudding in the other.

“Now, on to the most delightful moment of my day. We had talked yesterday of your world. I understand the geography, although I can scarcely comprehend that every part of your world—a round world, no less!—is mapped. I thought long about what you had told me about the nature of planets last night. Is it perhaps that the edge of the world is linked by magic to the other edge of your world?”

Teres groaned and Trey shook his head as Flos stared at them expectantly.

“No, we told you, there’s no magic in our world!”

“That you know of.”

“Yes! And we know a lot!”

“Hmm. But then, your world truly is round, and there is no edge? No…place where the ocean ends?”

“No!”

Flos shook his head in amazement as the twins shook their heads in exasperation. He had the worst hangup about some things. Flos readily and estatically accepted the idea that the moon and the stars were other planets, far, far away. He was completely happy to listen to the twins tell him that lightning could be harnessed, steam could be turned into an engine, and oil could be made into a fuel that allowed men to fly in metal birds through the sky.

It was almost incredible how easily he accepted such things, actually. But there was one thing Flos couldn’t understand.

“Yet you say your laws apply to every planet. Each one is…round.”

“Yes, Flos. But it doesn’t feel round. You can walk across the entire world, or sail, and you’d never feel it getting curved. It would feel flat, but you’d be able to go the whole way around because it’s round, you see?”

Teres took over for Trey while he sipped some water, preparing his throat for a lot of speaking. Flos scratched his head.

“I believe I understand. And yet, that is not true of this world.”

“It is!”

Exasperated, Teres’ sister glared at Flos.

“I know this world is big, but if you took a ship—look, you could calculate the earth is round by looking at the sun and shadows! People in Greece did it thousands of years ago!”

“I have no doubt you are telling me the truth. But this world is not round.”

“How do you—”

“There is an edge of the world. A place where the sea ends.”

Flos held up a hand to forestall Teres. She broke off, staring. Flos frowned.

“I have never seen it. But there have been mighty [Captains] and fearless [Sailors] and [Travellers] who have attempted to find the edge of the known world, Teres. If the world was round they would have come around the other side and said so, yes? But they do not. Out of every thousand ships that has dared to travel to the edge of the world, past Baleros, past Rhir, only one or two ever comes back.”

“Really?”

Flos nodded, meeting Trey’s gaze somberly.

“Yes. They come back screaming of a blackness which the water pours into, a place where light does not exist. The end of the world. So you tell me the world is round in your world, and I believe you. But what is true in your world is not true here.”

The twins stared at the King and felt the ground beneath them shift. A world with an end to it. Trey sat up in his chair, heart racing at the thought.

“How—how many people have seen the edge of the world? I mean, really?”

“In this lifetime? I doubt you would find more than one or two alive, if any. But those who have come back have been written of, and I have read many books which say the same. And the [Sailors] have their own tales. They believe it. As do the islanders.”

“Islanders?”

“I told you of them, did I not? They live on an archipelago, closest to that end of the world. The next time Orthenon shows you his maps, ask him to point it out to you. They know not to sail too far in one direction, less they vanish forever. And—there are stories that sometimes something comes up from that place. Things that kill all they encounter and die slowly, if at all.”

There was suddenly a bit less warmth in the room. Trey shivered. He unconsciously reached out and Teres gripped his hand and squeezed it tightly.

“I have never been to the islands, so I do not know if those rumors are true. If I ever meet an islander that is not trying to kill me, I will ask. For now, let us speak of more pleasant things.”

Flos shook his head, and the dark atmosphere dissipated. He looked at the twins, and now there was excitement in his eyes.

“I asked you about the history of your nations yesterday. But do you recall what I wished to speak of today? Heroes. Tell me of your heroes and leaders, those who shook your world.”

“Okay? Um—anyone in particular?”

“The most famous ones. The bravest, the strongest—and the ones which exist only in legend.”

“What, you mean like stories? Like Hercules and—Superman?”

“Super…man?”

Flos leaned forwards, scooting his chair forwards, suddenly filled with excitement.

“There is a hero known as a Superman? Tell me about him first.”

“No—he’s a superhero. Not a real person!”

Teres held up her hands. Flos stared at her, eyes shining.

“A superhero? What is that?”

That was how Trey and Teres found themselves eating Yorkshire pudding in a palace, sitting with a [King] and telling him about Superman. Flos sat forwards, forgetting to eat or drink as he listened, enraptured, to stories about their world. He was like a child in that he demanded to hear stories of Earth, everything from the food Trey and Teres had eaten, to things like the shows they watched on telly, and what a telly actually was.

Flos was in love with the idea of comic books, of tv shows and video games when he got his head around the idea of them. He was a boy listening to tales of another world when he sat with Tres and Trey. But he was not like a child in how he reacted.

As it turned out, Flos was not interested in Superman at all, but found the idea of Batman intriguing, and Spiderman fascinating. He kept asking questions about him, and Teres, who’d read a few comics while browsing bookshops, struggled to answer properly.

“And you say these heroes exist in another world, made up in the minds of the people?”

“No. Yes! It’s a story. But there’s movies about them, books, comic books, video games, songs…”

“Songs? Sing one for me.”

“No!”

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing. Trey, you do it.”

“Why me? You do it, Teres!”

Embarrassment over singing the Spiderman song aside, Teres found that Flos was soon bored of superheroes. When he heard that most, if not all of them had died at one point and come back to life, Flos just shook his head and asked to hear about real heroes. So they told him about the people that had conquered entire nations when they lived.

To his surprise, Trey found that Flos was not interested at all in Alexander the Great. Privately, the boy thought Flos and Alexander sounded very similar, but Flos did not enjoy the comparison.

“A [King] who failed to fulfill his dream? He wished to see the sea, did he not? And he failed? What good is his dream then? No—what sort of [King] would fail his subjects so? They shared his dream, won him victories and carried him across countless lands. But he failed them. No, I do not wish to hear of a failure such as that.”

Flos paused, and laughed shortly.

“He is too much like myself, I fear.”

The same went for King Arthur, strangely. Even though he probably hadn’t existed, he was a point of pride for Teres and Trey, that their country had claim to one of the real heroes of legend. Yet the King of Britannia pulled little weight in Flos’ books. He just muttered to himself about arrogant [Mages] when he heard about Merlin, and had to be convinced that King Arthur wasn’t just a pawn of fate. He wasn’t impressed with the act of drawing a sword out of a stone, either.

“I can do that too. What measure of a King is this?”

Trey exchanged a glance with Teres. He had no doubt Flos could actually pull a sword out of a stone, but he was at a loss as to how to explain the difference. Flos just shook his head dismissively. He looked at Trey.

“A real leader this time. Please.”

“Okay. What about…Genghis Khan?”

“Ah. That is a worthy name. Tell me of him. Or her?”

Trey had to do almost all the explaining this time. Teres didn’t remember much, so Trey had to wrack his brains for any details. Of the twins, Trey knew more about history than Teres and it was he who spoke up more when it came to people who had actually existed, rather than mythical people.

“I have fought mounted raiders like these Mongols as you describe them. It is not a pleasant experience. I could well imagine them conquering a vast portion of the world if not checked.”

Flos nodded. He looked at Trey and Teres, impressed for some reason.

“You two are well versed in the stories and history of your world. Tell me, were you scholars? How did you come to know so many tales?”

Teres shrugged.

“Our da told us a lot of stories when he’d get home from work. When he did, he’d talk with us until he fell asleep in his chair.”

She smiled and Trey grinned at her, as they remembered those happy moments. Then the smile vanished; they remembered they hadn’t seen their father in over a month. Flos cleared his throat and the twins looked at him. But he didn’t change the subject.

“I regret that I have not met him. Perhaps one day I shall. Tell me about him, if you would.”

So they did. Their father wasn’t an exciting man to them; he was a good father, but he had a steady job, a slightly boring one. Teres flushed a bit when she told Flos he was a train guard who travelled a lot and seldom came home. Trey looked down moodily and Flos noticed.

“A working job is a fine one. What is there to be ashamed of?”

Teres bit her lip. Trey tried to explain. It wasn’t that being a train guard wasn’t bad—it just wasn’t being a conductor, or a train driver. It wasn’t the worst paying job, but it was the kind of thing you could get into fights over if you went to a nice school where some kids had parents with ‘better’ jobs.

“Ah. I see.”

Flos pondered, and then shook his head.

“Actually, I fail to. I can imagine such squabbles being similar to those I have seen in courts, where the daughters and sons of the lesser aristocracy squabble with those of a higher rank…but I have not experienced that directly myself.”

Trey bit his lip, remembering he was speaking to a [King]. Flos frowned as he bit into his pudding.

“I must confess, I understand little about money. But your father works hard, does he not?”

“Yes!”

“Then he is worthy of praise. That is all I understand, and all I care to. Those who work hard should be rewarded, regardless of station.”

The twins fell silent at that. There was a dismissive tone in Flos’ voice. Not dismissive in a bad way. Just a fact. The world is the way I say it is, and so I am right.

“I note that Trey seems to know more of such figures than you, Teres. Why is that?”

“I like school and studying. That’s all.”

Trey hunched his shoulders a bit guiltily, but Flos nodded.

“What is there not to like? A place where the young may learn free of danger, in their own time. I have not encountered such a system in this world, nor thought to implement one myself. There are academies, institutions where the gifted may learn. Some to become [Tacticians], or [Knights] who serve first as [Squires]…and of course there is Wistram which trains mages and other mage schools. But never a place where all may learn, free of charge. Where all must learn. It has a certain attraction to it.”

He paused, frowned, and then sighed, suddenly dispirited.

“And yet, these ‘schools’ are dangerous in of themselves. If being a student is a class—and you seem to describe it as such, I fear I must not allow any schools to be created. At least, not as they exist in your world.”

“What? Why?”

They looked at him, surprised. Flos hesitated. He looked around the room, oddly, as if he expected someone to be listening. But Flos had banned servants from entering when they’d glared at Trey and Teres for calling Flos by his name. He looked at Trey and Teres and seemed to come to a decision after a moment of thought.

“I am a [King]. I have lived many years, and come to understand the way in which leveling works. I know secrets, Trey, Teres, of the true nature of classes and Skills. Other rulers lack my knowledge, simply because they have never reached the level I possess. I shall share one insight with you, but you must keep it secret.”

They nodded, fascinated. Flos took a breath and glanced at the door. Then he leaned forwards and whispered to the twins.

“The more classes one has, the weaker they become. Or should I say—the weaker they will become over time? What I mean is, a person with a single class will always reach a higher level than one with many classes.”

They stared at him. Teres coughed.

“No kidding?”

The King of Destruction looked bemused.

“That is an important secret! It is a secret of rulers, and why they forbid their offspring to take up common classes.”

“Yeah. That makes sense.”

Their cavalier response seemed to irk Flos. In truth, it made sense to Trey. He’d played videogames. He knew how such systems worked. But this was some grand piece of knowledge in this world, apparently. Flos frowned as he bit his lip.

“I admit, it is not an earthshattering secret. But what about this one? Some classes are simply better than others.”

He paused and frowned.

“No, again, perhaps better is not the right word. I can understand what I mean in my head, but out loud I struggle to explain. Let me try again.”

Flos thought for a moment and then nodded.

“Many classes are specific to one need. A [Farmer] grows crops and manages his land and his livestock. A [Weaver] creates things made of thread; a [Blacksmith] works with iron. They can expand their skillset, but a [Farmer] will never acquire skills to aid in dancing. He may well gain a Skill that allows him to defend his land in combat, or one that allows him to lead others that he might expand his helpers, or one that helps him heal injured people or animals. But he is still locked into his path, you see?”

The twins nodded. That was straightforward. Flos dipped his half-eaten Yorkshire pudding in the gravy again, which made them both stare at him. He ate it down, ignoring their looks.

“But some classes have more…opportunity. And more force in them. A [Survivor] has many Skills, but a [Lord] will have more powerful Skills, although he may take Skills from many walks of life. And a [King] stands above all other classes, one of the few that has the strongest Skills, the most powerful benefits. There are other classes, and other combinations of classes that have strength too. But if you aim to reach the highest level possible, you must know what it is you search for, not squander your strength. That is why I have prevented you from taking useless classes like [Servant] or [Warrior] without knowing what you will become. Do you understand?”

“Yes. Does this mean you know of some…combined classes?”

“A few. But I would not necessarily steer you towards such classes. In the end, you must still find what suits you. It will become obvious in time. But enough of my world. Back to yours.”

He looked expectantly at Trey. The young man scratched his head. Teres nudged him.

“What about Churchill?”

“Oh! Right!”

They had told Flos about World War II in the broadest of terms, but he was fascinated to hear the role that Britain had played back then. However, Flos was less enamored of the great Winston Churchill, for a reason that seemed petty to Trey and Teres.

“You think his joke is bad? It’s just a comeback! ‘You are ugly, tomorrow I shall be sober and you will still be ugly. That’s not nice, but it is funny!’”

Flos shook his head, crossing his arms adamantly as Teres argued with him.

“A ruler should not speak so to his subjects, or to anyone else for that matter. Humorous it may be, but a common insult is just that. Common.”

Thereafter he completely lost interest in any more tales about Churchill, much to the twin’s private indignation.

“I have heard of great leaders, but these are your people, are they not? Tell me of your greatest enemies, those who made your nation shudder in fear. I would know of them too.”

That was a loaded question, and though one person immediately sprang into Teres’ mind, Trey had another thought. Perhaps it was inevitable that Trey thought of Gandhi. Because he was everything Flos was not.

And he fascinated the King of Destruction.

The instant Trey began telling Flos about Gandhi and what he had done—taking his home country of India back from British rule with nonviolence, with peaceful protest and the idea of passive resistance, Flos had to stand up and pace about the room. He couldn’t contain his excitement.

“That is a far better tale than any you have told me thus far. Gandhi. A name to inspire. You say he took a country, a nation without a single death? And it happened? Truly?”

Trey hesitated. Teres stared at him and they shared the same thought.

“Not exactly. I know some people died—that was when Gandhi fasted. He refused to do anything and starved himself unless people were nonviolent.”

“And they did. He held his life over the heads of his people. Magnificent.”

Flos shook his head, eyes alight with wonder.

“There were deaths. I understand. It is a consequence of leading that not all obey. But still. To do such a thing—”

He broke off. Flos had to pace around the room in his excitement.

“I am moved. I am in awe. I would like to see if I might do the same. To do what he did. But…no. Perhaps it is not the time. This British empire, your land’s rulers…they gave in because they cared that they did wrong. I regret to say that if this Mahatma Gandhi were to appear before me, he would not succeed in his quest.”

He drooped. Trey and Teres stared at him.

“What? What do you mean?”

Flos shrugged.

“Were such a man, a [Pacifist] or…no, his very name is the class, is it not? A [Mahatma]. If such a one were to appear before me, well…I would like to imagine that my people would never be so dissatisfied with my rule as to rise up. If such a person appeared before me, I believe I would be able to find some common ground. But if not, if words failed and such an opponent were to send my kingdom into turmoil, I would remove him.”

Chilling words. Trey could barely bring himself to ask.

“How?”

Flos did not immediately answer.

“There are many ways to stop such a man. I could lock him away, not for years or decades, but forever. I could send him to a far continent. Kill him? No. I would not do that. But the problem with this brave soul is that he can only exist in your world. In a place where empires and nations care for notions like morality. Were he to come here, most [Kings] would execute him on the spot. And I…would not let his rebellion pass either.”

Trey felt a shiver run down his spine. There was a grim, sad look on Flos’ face. He remembered something he’d heard once, something that had been said of Gandhi. Even he would not have known how to stop Hitler. Or was it that even he would have failed? Trey couldn’t remember what he had been told, but the thought bothered him greatly.

Flos noticed. He always seemed to notice when Trey bit his lip, or shifted.

“What have you thought of, Trey?”

The boy coughed.

“N-nothing.”

“Ah. You do not wish to tell me. Which must mean what you are concealing is important indeed. Speak…please.”

For a little while Trey resisted. But then he told Flos.

“So I remind you of a man named Hitler in some ways, do I? Who was he?”

Teres looked at Trey. He nodded, and she took a breath and looked Flos right in the eye.

“He was probably the most vile, evil man who ever lived.”

He didn’t react to the implication. He only nodded, and settled back in his chair. He was no longer smiling. Now he was listening intently.

“All the more reason to tell me, then. What did he do?”

They told him about World War II. They told him about Hitler, about Nazis, and what had started it all, the Third Reich and its consequences. Flos listened silently, unmoved by all of it. He had seen worse. But he shifted when they told him about what had happened to the Jews. And when they talked of the worst of it, the concentration camps, the gas chambers, and the rest, he grew very still.

When it was over, they waited for him to speak. Flos’ head was bowed, and when he raised it, there were tears in his eyes. But he said only one thing that made Trey very afraid.

“From what you have said, I must call this man Hitler a great leader.”

He held up a hand as Teres leapt to her feet.

“Listen. A great leader, and a poor thing not worthy to be called a man. That is what he was.”

Slowly, Teres sat down. Flos stood up, and turned his back to stare out of the window.

“Hitler. There is a name that rings throughout your world. Understand me, Teres, Trey. Yes, I admire this man Hitler as a leader. I reject his ideals, his beliefs, and the empire he created and the things he did. But he commanded the hearts of a nation and forged a defeated people into a blade that sought the throat of the world. He created darkness I had not dreamt of. He tried to kill an entire people. How can such a man not be worthy of praise, damning though it may be? And yet. He was no [King]. And he was not worthy of such a title.”

He left it at that. Slowly, the conversation moved to other things. Flos was nearly in tears when the conversation went back to Gandhi, and they told him how he had died, assassinated in cold blood.

“These guns of yours…you speak of them and I find myself less enamored with the thought of them with each passing moment. One slew a man of peace, Gandhi. They are no proper weapon. They have brought low your world.”

It was hard to argue against that, though Teres did try, if only to explain to Flos how dangerous guns were compared to swords. But he was against them with all his heart.

“If any leader can be killed by a fool with a second of training, how can your world have heroes? How can people look up to those who would inspire them, when they are as vulnerable as the next person to a weapon which kills in an instant? How can children sleep safe at night, when they know their lives may be snatched away in a second?”

“You could do that with a sword!”

“But a sword does not reach out and kill people. Arrows do that, but a child cannot hide a bow and use it in a moment. I cannot hide a crossbow so easily. And in this world, a fool cannot so easily snuff out hope in a single moment.”

He looked away from Teres, who had no reply, and at Trey.

“The world must have heroes, Trey. It must have leaders, and men and women to shake the hearts of many. Guns are a foolish thing. I am only grateful that they might be overcome if they were to spread to my world.”

“How?”

It was inconceivable for Trey to imagine knights or men with swords trying to fight an army with machine guns. But Flos seemed confident, even dismissive.

“I can think of two ways I might easily defeat an army armed with…guns.”

His nonchalance enraged Teres.

“What about a battalion of tanks and fighter jets? Or a nuke?”

They had to explain again what all three things were to Flos. But when he understood, he just shook his head.

“There are ways. If your world has no magic, these weapons are fearsome, but not insurmountable. Such an army could slay a thousand conventional armies, I will admit, but I wonder how Amerys would do against such a force. If it came to it, I could devise a method to catch a ‘jet’ capable of flying through the air ten times faster than Takahatres. The same goes for the armor of your tanks, or defeating these bullets.”

He would not elaborate in detail, no matter how the twins pestered him.

“This world will not bow so easily if yours seeks to challenge us. I promise you that. But enough. If it comes to it, I shall see the terrible weapons of your world with my own two eyes. In the meantime, I have indulged my interests too long. Thank you for talking with me, Teres, Trey. Now, it is time to talk to Orthenon. Alas.”

They jumped in surprise, because a moment after Flos said that, someone rapped urgently on the door.

“Enter.”

A servant appeared, with a request to meet Orthenon in the throne room at once. A reply had come from one of the cities. Flos was out the door and striding down the corridor before Trey and Teres could hurry after him. Trey grabbed a handful of Yorkshire puddings as he left.

When they got to the throne room, Flos was already seated on his throne. Nervously, the twins edged into the room, but the others greeted them warmly. Orthenon blinked at the Yorkshire pudding Teres offered him, but he took it readily enough.

“What news, my steward?”

Flos regally dipped a Yorkshire pudding into the gravy that a servant had brought. Mars was already chewing down her third pudding as Orthenon straigtened and spoke.

“They have denied your return, my King.”

“As expected.”

Flos sighed. But Orthenon wasn’t done.

“That is the official response. The messenger I sent was not allowed anywhere in the city, no doubt to prevent rumors spreading. And she was escorted a good distance away from the city before being released. However, she encountered a [Trader] on the road. No doubt he and other travellers are silenced under threat from speaking when entering the city, but he was able to give her a clearer image of the situation Rast faces.”

The way he spoke made it plain that there was a problem. Flos sat up on his throne, food forgotten.

“Tell me.”

“The city is destitute, my King. The [Trader] received offers from the ruling [Mayor] to exchange his wares for promises made against future payment, but refused. As he was part of the larger network of [Merchants] his goods were not taken, but he had to fend off [Thieves] along his entire trip. He was fearful of being ambushed despite the presence of his guards. What was more, not all of the thieves were [Thieves].”

It took Trey a moment to figure that out. But Flos had understood at once.

“The people are hungry?”

Orthenon nodded. He looked grim.

“They are not starving yet. But there is little trade, and the crop harvests have been bad again this year. Few cities or villages are doing well. You could say Lord Venith’s lands are an exception to that rule, but it is only through his hard work his people have prospered.”

“And mine.”

Maresar looked pointedly at Orthenon. He bowed his head.

“My deepest apologies, Lady Maresar. You and your husband have been successful where few else have. In this case, the city of Rast is not dying of famine, but they are desperate and fearful of the future.”

“And the homeless and poor do starve. Is that not so, Orthenon?”

The steward didn’t reply. Flos’ head bowed.

“Where the average man goes without, the poor man dies. That is how it has always been. You do not need to tell me it is so.”

He stared down at the Yorkshire pudding in his hand and made as if to crush it. Then Flos stared at it and ate it in one bite. Orthenon turned his head, and the servants carrying the food instantly retreated out of the room.

“Hold. Distribute that among the others with my blessings. I know you would have already, but I ask you yourselves to try some. They are quite good.”

Flos’ words made the servants turn. He smiled at them, and they bowed or curtsied before leaving. Then he lost his smile and looked back at the others.

“It is my fault.”

Mars opened her mouth as if to protest, but she stopped. No one else had spoken. Flos nodded as he looked at the twins.

“My fault. You see, Trey, Teres, I once ruled these lands.”

Trey didn’t see the connection, and Flos noticed. He looked tired as he explained.

“I took these lands by force and claimed their people as my own. After my kingdom fell to pieces, some lands were absorbed by other kingdoms, or became independent. Those who swore themselves to other [Queens] or [Kings] survived. But other lands failed. Because I, their [King], had abandoned them, abandoned my throne. And as the [King] fades, so too does the land.”

That was like a legend too. Trey tried to imagine it. If the [King] was healthy, the land was bountiful? Was that like King Arthur? He couldn’t exactly remember any tale like that. But then Trey had a thought. What if the [King] died? Did the land die? Or…

“If the issue is that, my King, why not declare war? We could feed them with our supplies, surely.”

Mars offered the idea to Flos hopefully, a hand on her sword’s hilt. But Flos only shook his head.

“I will not declare war. Not now.”

Mars opened her mouth. Flos looked up.

“No war, Mars. I have no cause for it, no reason.”

“But your people are hungry. Surely that—”

“They have been hungry for a long time. Why should I care now? No. I care with every part of my heart, but it is not enough of a reason.”

Flos stood from his throne. He stepped down from the dais and paced back and forth in front of his vassals.

“I have not heard them cry out for my aid. I have not received supplication, nor seen the failure of their rulers for my own two eyes. I will not march my armies on a thought, any more than I would declare war against a nation without just cause.”

“Then you won’t fight?”

Maresar asked the question quietly. Flos looked at her.

“I would declare war for a child. I would burn a country to ash to avenge a fallen comrade. But I would never declare war for petty things like land or coin or treasure. A [King] should wage war for his desires, yes, but never for greed. And despite my feelings, that is how I view a war to take back my lands. They have other rulers. To take it is greed at this moment. It is a fine line. But I will not cross it.”

His vassals looked at him, some resigned, others nodding. Flos sighed. He clenched his fist, so hard Trey thought—

“Yet they are dying.”

Something red ran from his hands. It dripped onto the ground and Gazi made a small noise. It sounded like pain. Orthenon started towards Flos. The King blinked, looked down. He saw the blood from where his fingernails had pierced his skin. He waved Orthenon away.

“I am fine.”

For a second Flos stared at the blood that had dripped onto the floor. Then he looked at his hand. He gritted his teeth, and then something changed. His head slowly turned. He looked at Trey and Teres. And then he grinned in sudden delight.

The change had caught everyone by surprise. Mars blinked and Orthenon stared curiously at his King. Maresar was watching him, but Gazi suddenly smiled again. She stared at Trey and Teres, and as the boy met one of her eyes, he saw her smiling at him. As if she’d realized something at the same time as Flos. And her smile looked genuine. It was actually not a half bad smile.

Flos tapped a finger to his lips thoughtfully, ignoring the blood. He stared at Trey and Teres, who began to have a very bad feeling, but it wasn’t they who he spoke to. He turned.

“Orthenon?”

The man stood straight, clearly ready for anything. His eyes were fixed on Flos, expectant. There was a hush in the room, a waiting. A wanting.

“Yes, my King?”

“I am going for a walk. It will settle my mind, and perhaps the issue of this city. Orthenon, would you see to provisions for lunch and perhaps dinner?”

Orthenon stared at him. The twins stared at him. But Flos was suddenly smiling. Orthenon chose his words carefully.

“A walk…my King? Now?”

“Yes, I desire it. It will do me some good. Teres and Trey will come with me of course, but you are free to join me, my [Steward]. You too, Mars. Gazi. And Lady Maresar, your company would be welcome. A walk will do me good.”

“For the entire day?”

“Mm.”

Flos nodded. Then he beckoned to Trey, who found himself already walking with Teres towards him. Flos began strolling out of the throne room. It took his vassals a moment to react.

“My King, are you going now?”

“Your majesty—”

“Don’t fuss, Orthenon. Come if you are coming. Teres, Trey, let us walk and talk. This is a fine opportunity to talk some more, is it not? This way, out of the palace.”

He led them at a brisk walk out of the palace. Trey and Teres hurried after him, and they heard Orthenon shouting behind them.

The [Steward] didn’t follow them, but Mars, Gazi, and Maresar walked right next to Flos as he strolled out of the palace. People’s heads turned the instant they saw their King. They cheered him, but then paused when they saw who was following him.

Three of his vassals? They called out questions, but Flos just bellowed the same reply.

“I am walking! Would you care to join us?”

And what were they to say to that? Everyone in earshot immediately dropped what they were doing and began to follow their King. Trey and Teres stared. Within a hundred paces of his palace, Flos was already being followed by hundreds of people. And word was spreading like wildfire.

“Um. Where are we going?”

“Out of the city. But don’t mind the crowd. I am simply walking. Now, what were we talking about? Ah yes, heroes. Go on, tell me more stories.”

Trey stared at Gazi, Mars, and Maresar, and about a thousand people now, most following at a distance, but a good lot of them staring at him. At him. He felt lightheaded, and Teres was walking so stiffly she looked like a robot.

“Um. About who?”

“Anyone. You mentioned figures of legend. Religious figures? Yes, you mentioned that when speaking to me about Gandhi.”

“Who?”

Flos shushed Mars as he looked at Trey. Trey gulped.

“Religion. Yeah. Right. Well, there’s important—important people there all right.”

“Such as?”

“Uh…Jesus?”

“Hmm. Not a name I have heard before. Explain him to me.”

“Well…he’s Jesus. Jesus Christ. Jesus of Nazareth. Son of God. The Messiah. Emmanuel. Our savior. Uh—”

Salvation came in a figurative sense when Trey spotted someone racing after them. As Flos walked out of the gates he saw figures on horseback riding after them. Orthenon leapt from his saddle as Flos glanced at him. The King never broke stride, as a group of horsemen slowed to keep pace with him.

“You’re rather in a hurry, Orthenon. You could have caught up later. I am not walking that quickly.”

“Apologies, my King. But I had to organize wagons to bring provisions for you and so many people.”

Orthenon stared hard at Flos, but the King let the gaze slide right off him. He nodded genially, glancing at the riders with a frown.

“My thanks. And a few wagons to carry some small snacks and perhaps a meal would not go amiss. But I must insist on no horses.”

“No—”

Orthenon nearly bit his tongue. Flos stared at him, pretending to look annoyed. But only pretending, Trey thought.

“I am going for a walk, Orthenon. Horses rather spoil the idea. Send them away. I do not mind others coming, but it must be on foot.”

For a second Trey thought Orthenon would explode. His face flushed, but the steward strode off. After a minute the horsemen rode back towards the city. Flos grinned and turned to Trey.

“My apologies, Trey. I did not mean to interrupt you. I am sure Orthenon did not mean to either.”

Trey glanced at the steward as he hurried back over out of the corner of his eye.

“No…problem.”

“Indeed. Now, that is a curious set of titles you mentioned. Jesus of Nazareth. That is a good name for a leader. But Son of God? The gods are dead. Ah, but in your world…no. It still sounds arrogant beyond belief to my ears.”

“Well, he was. I mean, it’s a religion…”

Orthenon joined the group of people staring at Trey. Tongue tied into knots and heart pounding out of his chest, Trey tried to explain gods to a group of people who kept saying the same thing.

“The gods are dead.”

“That is a fact. But not in Trey’s world. This is fascinating. So this god of yours…what did he do?”

“All kinds of stuff. God stuff. You know, creating the world and so on…”

Trey was treated to a blank look magnified a hundredfold. He realized no one besides Teres knew what he was talking about.

So for the next three hours Trey essentially narrated a good portion of the Old Testament of the bible as he remembered it. He hadn’t exactly read it end to end, but Teres whispered in his ears—she was far too shy to speak up in front of everyone—and he told the story.

In front of a crowd of thousands. Trey didn’t know how much of the city had followed Flos out, but when he looked over his shoulders—

He did so now and saw a procession of people filling the road, stretching back as far as the eye could see. Every face was turned in his direction, and people were repeating what Flos had said, what he had said to the people behind them—

Trey swiveled his head forwards so he wouldn’t pass out. But Flos just kept walking with him, asking questions.

“So this god made your world.”

“Allegedly. Some people think he didn’t. Others say it was a different god—but in this religion he created the world, and his chosen people—”

“Who?”

“Hebrews.”

Teres volunteered that. Which led to a very confused explanation of the chosen people, and how they become slaves in Egypt, then been freed by the prophet Moses. Somehow, he found himself telling Flos about how they had marched around the walls of Jericho for seven days and seven nights, much to the King’s urbane amusement.

“And then they fell down, just like that? Would that Drevish could hear that!”

He laughed and the people behind him stirred. Trey chanced another glimpse and saw people laughing as well, or just smiling to see their King laugh once more.

“But that is a fascinating story! And rather similar to the tale of Gandhi, is it not?”

“No?”

“It was nonviolent. And it gives me an ever better idea…”

Flos caught everyone staring at him and coughed. He smiled at Trey.

“There are similarities.”

“Well…afterwards the army invaded Jericho and killed everyone. Men, women, and children.”

“Ah, a practical god. And a cruel one. Or is it his prophet that ordered it? No—I am confused. I apologize, Trey, but perhaps you had better explain the aspect of god to me at a later date. I confess, I do not fully understand that issue.”

Flos sighed. He stared around, acknowledging for the first time that this was not exactly a peaceful setting. There was a hum in the air, people talking, walking, laughing—and there were thousands of them.

Trey glanced at Orthenon. The steward had walked with his King, listening to Trey speak. But he kept staring at his King, and Trey felt like everyone had the same question in their minds. So he asked it. Trey was surprised to find that much courage in him, but he had just (poorly) narrated a good chunk of the bible to an audience of thousands and a King.

“Um…my King?”

“I thought I told you to call me Flos.”

Mars’ jaw dropped. Trey felt cold sweat on his neck as everyone—except for Gazi for some reason—stared at him.

“S-sorry. Uh, Flos, how far are we walking?”

“A good ways. I believe…well, we should get to our destination in two more hours.”

“Two more hours?”

Trey stared at Flos incredulously. But at his words Orthenon’s brows shot together. He stared behind him, and then with a curse called out. A group of armed soldiers rushed over—on foot—and he led them back down the procession at speed.

Flos grinned.

“It took him long enough to figure it out.”

Trey stared blankly at him, as did Mars. But Maresar glanced at Gazi and the half-Gazer returned the look in a way that told Trey that those two had figured out…whatever Orthenon was figuring out.

But now Trey’s attention was ahead. He spotted a village as they walked past. It came up quickly, but what was amazing to Trey was the reaction. At first, he saw people running back and forth. They probably thought an army was coming their way, and the people that had joined Flos were an army in themselves. But when they saw their King, they rushed towards him.

“Ah, we’ve come to places where my name has not spread. I am sorry Trey, but you may wish to stand back.”

Flos kept walking, and met the tide of people that rushed out of houses and ran towards him. They had tears in their eyes, some of them. He met them as he walked, touching them, speaking to them. But the words he spoke to them were the same mysterious statement and offer.

“I am walking. Would you care to join me?”

Soon, the procession behind Flos had swelled by over a hundred people. And that was not the only time. Soon, Trey found himself spotting other groups of people, heading towards them at speed. Other villages in their vicinity had seen the army and Flos.

“It’s been happening all this time. Haven’t you noticed?”

Teres pointed out another group of a hundred people streaming into the procession, hugging people they recognized, flocking to their King. And bringing food. [Farmers] came with wagons hauling all kinds of food, and people rushed to come back with food to feed the huge procession.

Trey didn’t understand what was happening. But from the smile on Flos’ face, everything was happening the way the King intended it. And part of the puzzle fell into place when Orthenon came racing back  to the head of the considerably longer line of people, looking fit to kill someone.

“You’re using your damn Skill!”

He shouted at Flos, causing a localized hush. Flos only grinned in reply.

“Join us, Orthenon. I take it you had to run to catch up?”

Orthenon didn’t look too tired, but some of the armed soldiers looked positively exhausted. Trey stared at Flos. The King sighed.

“I suppose I should explain. Orthenon is correct, and Gazi presumably noticed it the instant we left the city. I am using a Skill on you all.”

“What sort of Skill?”

Trey couldn’t feel anything different about himself. Flos’ eyes twinkled, and it was Orthenon who snapped a reply.

“[Rapid March]. It is a Skill that [Generals] and other leaders have. It allows an army to move twice as fast on the road. And he’s been using it since we left Reim!”

“Indeed. And thanks to the pace I’ve set, we’ve moved a bit faster than normal. Now Trey,  we’ve been marching for around four hours by my count. Think about that and understand why Orthenon is so upset.”

Flos grinned at his irate steward. Trey was uncomprehending, until Teres did the math for him.

“You mean we’ve already gone over twenty four miles by now?”

“A bit faster. We walk closer to four miles than three by my judgement.”

After a bit of calculaton with Teres, Trey’s face went pale. He couldn’t imagine going that far—and at a walking speed no less! Flos laughed at his expression.

“It is a powerful Skill. One that allowed me to conquer this continent without growing old. I apologize for not telling you Orthenon, but we are just walking.”

“No we’re not.”

Orthenon’s face was grim as he touched the sword at his belt. Trey stared at him uneasily.

“Where are we going?”

“If I am correct, we are no more than thirty minutes away from the city of Rast.”

The steward glared at Flos, and the King casually looked in the other direction. Trey exchanged a horrified glance with Teres.

“Are we going to attack—”

“No one is attacking. I am walking.”

“To what end?”

Orthenon asked sharply. Flos didn’t reply. The steward glared, but didn’t speak, probably realizing it was futile. But Trey saw the armed soldiers he’d brought with him slowly spreading out around Flos. He began to grow very worried, but Flos’ face and posture were as relaxed as could be.

And then they were there. Trey stared at the city that had grown larger the longer they’d walked. It had been just a smudge on the horizon, growing larger with every minute. And now…

The city of Rast lay before them. The walls were tall, made of stone; the watch towers all manned. Already Trey could see people rushing to and fro on the battlements and horns blaring. But Flos did not appear concerned.

“My King?”

Orthenon looked uncharacteristically worried. He glanced at the huge line of people, clearly wishing Flos was behind more bodies.

“Should we form up those gathered here?”

Flos looked at Orthenon in surprise, but with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Form up? We aren’t leading an army, Orthenon. I am simply going for a walk.”

The steward’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“I see. And are you planning to walk through the gates?”

“I note they are closed. No, I am not welcome here, remember? I do not exist, or so the [Mayor] has said.”

“I wonder what he says now.”

Mars stared at the wall, eying a line of people standing up there. They were holding bows. Trey stared at them as well, and wondered what would happen if they fired. But it was now Flos choose to speak. He faced his vassals.

“They will not attack us.”

“Who?”

The question came from Trey before he could stop it. Flos raised his eyebrows.

“The defenders of Rast. I see them, Orthenon. I am not blind. They are armed, and they would no doubt defend their city should we attempt to storm the gates, siege the walls, or do anything so foolish. But I doubt they wish to die, so they will not fire the first shot.”

Trey looked around. The army—and it was an army, no matter what Flos said—of people was now thousands strong. Men, women, and children were gathered together. If the archers on the wall fired they would kill hundreds. Trey’s heart lurched at the thought. But he was also certain that if they fired, the archers on the walls would be dead as the people literally overwhelmed them with sheer numbers.

And the people on the walls knew that too. There was an army here, even if it was an army of noncombatants, big enough to take the entire city. That was why a messenger raced out of the gates, waving a white flag. He came asking for Flos’ demands, and got a very strange, but predictable response.

“I am simply walking.”

The messenger was a pale-faced young man on horseback who stared at Mars, Gazi, Orthenon, and especially Flos as if he were staring at ghosts or monsters.

“But you are—”

“I am going for a walk.”

Flos said it calmly, looking the young man in the eye as his mount shied away from the vast number of people. Flos waved a hand at his followers.

“I am simply walking. These people have chosen to join me. Tell your [Mayor] that I do not intend to enter the city unless invited. You have a King’s word on it. I would swear that in blood if it were not so inconvenient. Tell him we will not attack without being provoked. Make that clear to him.”

“I—I shall.”

The young man raced back into the city. Trey saw the people on the walls reacting. They lowered their bows slightly, but they kept watching. Every eye was on Flos now, and everyone was waiting. He claimed to be walking, but the King of Destruction had to be lying. Surely he was going to attack or…

Flos turned. His eyes found Trey. For some reason, Trey had expected that too. Flos walked over to him, and bent slightly.

“Do you know what I am going to do, Trey?”

“Walk?”

It was a stupid response, but Flos laughed.

“Yes, but what else?”

“I have no idea.”

Trey thought there was something niggling at his brain, but he couldn’t put the pieces together. Something about today. About Rast, about the hungry people…it was no good. The current situation was far too distracting.

Flos grinned.

“What if I gave you a hint? One hint, Trey.”

“Okay.”

The King leaned down and whispered to Trey.

“I had intended it another way, but your story about that god of Hebrews gave me an idea. But I rather think that what can be done in seven days I can do in seven hours.”

Trey stared at him. And then his eyes widened.

“You don’t—”

“My people!”

Flos strode away from Trey, practically laughing with delight. He raised his hands and they cheered him. The people on the walls watched, probably terrified out of their minds as thousands of voices shouted Flos’ name. Already Trey could see people, other people, gathered at the closed portcullis. Civilians, not soldiers, peering to see. They had to know an army was at their gates, but not why. They were desperate to know, fearful, yes, but curious. And that was what Flos wanted.

“What is he doing?”

Teres seized Trey’s arm, but Orthenon took her place. The steward’s face was focused, and his hand was gripping his sword’s hilt.

“Trey, is our King planning to attack?”

“No, no, he’s not! He’s planning to march!”

“On the city?”

“No—he’s—”

Flos’ voice answered everything. The King pointed towards the city and bows raised. But he wasn’t pointing at the city.

“Around the walls! Let us march! Come!”

He began walking towards the city. Everyone stared, but Trey found himself walking behind Flos, towards the armed defenders. He could feel the tension rising as the horde of people walked towards the walls. The bowmen had arrows nocked and Trey could feel crawling fear all over him.

But no one loosed. The King had said he would not enter, would not attack. If they fired, they would die. That had to be in their thoughts. And Flos had to know they didn’t want to die. But what a gamble to make! The King kept approaching the gates, and then he suddenly turned left.

There was a ripple of surprise as his procession followed him. But now Flos was walking around the walls, following it closely. Trey could see the people on the walls racing to catch up. But that was all Flos was doing. He just walked around the walls of the city, slowly. That was all he was going to do, Trey knew.

He was going to walk and bring the walls down.

It started when Flos turned, mid-stride. He walked backwards, and raised his voice so everyone could hear. He had a massive voice when he cared to use it and Trey, walking just behind him, winced as Flos shouted.

“My people! We have come to Rast, but they will not open their gates for me! The [Mayor] claims that I still lie asleep! But you have seen my face! You know I have woken!”

His voice carried across the crowd, and huge cheers and shouting erupted as he spoke. Trey glanced up and saw, high above, pale faces staring down. Everyone had heard. Flos raised his arms, and the sound grew louder. People were cheering him, shouting for their King. And then he asked the question.

“Who is your King?”

“Flos!”

“The King of Destruction!”

“Flos of Reim!”

Countless voices roared it. But that wasn’t enough. Flos raised his voice. He roared at his subjects, his people.

“What is my name?”

They all screamed the answer at the same time. Every voice, every child, every woman and man. A single word, multiplied thousands of times.

“Flos!”

This time the word split the air. It was thunder, sound given form. Flos raised his hand into the air and the sound was deafening. Flos kept walking, leading his people around the walls. He roared again.

“Who is it that rules these lands?”

“Flos!”

Trey shouted it too, and heard the ringing in his ears, the same word, all around him. It wasn’t just coming from the people with him. Trey heard it from inside the city. People were shouting his name.

“I am the King of Destruction!”

Flos bellowed the words so the people in the city could hear. His voice was louder as he halted and raised both hands up.

“And I have returned!”

Trey heard a loud sound, and then nothing. Something was ringing loudly. He shook his head and saw Teres doing the same next to him.

Slowly, noise came back. But it was thunderous, a beating wave. Flos marched on, and the wild cheering continued. But not for long.

“March! March, my subjects! Call out my name for the world to hear!”

Flos shouted and began to stamp his foot every fourth step. Without needing more than that, every person in the crowd did the same. Soon the sound of their fourth step was like a small earthquake. Then someone began shouting.

“Flos!”

Every fourth step, they shouted his name. And then it really was like the entire world was shaking. Trey found himself doing the same. Every fourth step he landed as hard as he could and the word burst from his lips. He was shaking with wild energy.

“Flos!”

The walls of Rast shook with the sound. Not in actuality, but Trey thought the mortar and stone should have been knocked loose from the sound. He stomped, and shouted. The word was deafening.

“Flos!”

This time he knew he heard the word bellowed from within. And then the King raised his arms. He stopped in front of the gates, and shouted.

“People of Rast! Who is your King!?”

And the walls of the city came tumbling down.

—-

“Perhaps it was simply a metaphor.”

When Trey could hear again, when the shouting and chaos had ended, hours, years later, that was what Flos said to him. It was what he said when the gates were thrown open, the people of Rast, his people, standing on the walls and cheering, the guardsmen and soldiers having either thrown down their arms and surrendered, or joined the people. They had opened the gates and flooded out, shouting and calling their King’s name.

The city was now the King of Destruction’s. The people had turned on their leaders, overwhelmed the few people who would have kept the gates barred. They had remembered their King, the starving poor, the homeless, and the hungry citizens. They had risen, and the walls of Rast had fallen in a metaphorical sense as they opened the gates for their King.

Not without blood. Trey heard it later. Some people had fought and died to prevent the gates being opened. The [Mayor] had fled, and been torn apart by a mob. That was the darkness in Flos’ victory.

But there was much to celebrate as well. Because the first thing Flos did was order Orthenon to ensure no one would starve. Already riders were racing back towards Reim, to return with food, and the warehouses were being opened and food carefully distributed to those in dire need.

They did not fling open the doors and let everyone eat their fill. Orthenon saw to that. In quick order he’d established control and posted guards on the warehouses. People would be fed, but it would be sensibly, and without exhausting the food they had. Winter would soon be here, and every sack of grain counted.

And yet, it was still a celebration in the streets. Trey still heard cheering, or he would have if his ears were properly working. They’d given up at some point and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever hear things properly again.

But he felt it in the air. Something electric and alive. Flos was walking his streets, still walking, but stopping to greet his people. He had an escort of soldiers around him, more to keep the King from being surrounded forever than anything else.

Trey sat on the battlements, sipping a drink. It was just water, but it was refreshingly cool, hauled up from a deep well. Teres wasn’t here; she was with Orthenon, following him about, watching him work.

She had a crush. But Trey was fine with being alone, for a little bit. He had chosen a quiet part of the wall, and so he was surprised when someone found him.

Gazi the Omniscient climbed up and sat next to Trey without a word. He stared at her. He thought about edging away, but didn’t.

“The city rejoices.”

The Gazer had a cup in her hands. Trey looked. It was water too. The Gazer’s head was staring down below into the city, away from Trey but she’d still seen Trey.

“There is not enough alcohol to celebrate. And so I make do with this. It is no hardship.”

“Oh. I uh—”

She turned her head then, to smile at him. Trey blinked at her as two of Gazi’s eyes focused on him. She was smiling as always, but there wasn’t anything scary about her right now. She was just smiling. Like a normal person. It was disconcerting, coming from her.

“He brought down the walls quickly, didn’t he? It was seven days in your story, wasn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

“But in your story the walls themselves fell. Is that the difference between a [King] and a god?”

She didn’t wait for a reply. Gazi took a drink from her cup and stared down into the city. Trey had a feeling her eyes were following Flos, wherever he was. After a few minutes, Gazi spoke.

“This is what it was always like. This is why we followed him. Not simply because he was a [King]. But because of this.”

“What? Oh.”

It was a question that Trey hadn’t ever asked aloud. Gazi nodded at him.

“You have seen him as he is now. As he struggles to return to what he was. But we remember. This is why we followed him, we seven, his subjects. For these moments. For what he could do. Because he was a King.”

Trey had no answer to that, nothing he could say. But it wasn’t a statement that demanded an answer. He and Gazi sat on the battlements until the sun set. He rode back with Teres on a horse, reaching Reim in just over an hour. Apparently, the people who had followed Flos marched into the night, but met riders and wagons coming their way with food to keep them supplied. And their King walked with them the entire way, speaking with his people.

And so as Trey staggered to his room, before he fell asleep onto his bed, which was actually Teres’ and she fell asleep onto his, he heard it. The whispers.

They ran through the hallways, through the entire palace. They swept into the city, out of the roads, from person to person, by spell and letter. A rumor.

The King of Destruction was awake. He had returned, truly. And there was something else. He had taken a city. Not just taken it—he had brought the walls down. No, he had conquered it with just one word. He had stormed the city and taken it without a single life lost. He had marched up to the gates and brought down the walls with a single word.

That was rumor. But there was truth in it. And the truth was that the King of Destruction had awoken. It was no longer gossip, idle speculation, or a secret known by the few and powerful. Now it was a shout, and it spread like wildfire to the people who had waited for this day. It could no longer be ignored, and they called his name once more.

Flos. The King of Destruction.

He had awoken. He had returned at last. Trey slept with that knowledge ringing in his ears and heard.

The declaration of war reached the palace the next day.

4.04 K

Trey was sitting in the banquet hall with Teres, trying to explain what a shortcake was to an interested audience of servants and a harried [Cook] when Gazi found him. The half-Gazer strode through the crowd and jerked her thumb.

“Come.”

It was indicative of her personality that no one asked questions. Trey and Teres were following Gazi out of the banquet hall in an instant.

“Why are we—”

Gazi’s head turned and she cut Teres off with an answer.

“A messenger has come for my lord Flos. He desires you to hear what is being said.”

“And wh—”

“War.”

The word precipitated a crash of broken pottery. A woman who’d been carrying a load of dirty dishes dropped them when she heard the word. Gazi glanced at her and the woman immediately bowed.

“War?”

Trey said it faintly. War? Now? Of course, Flos was the King of Destruction, but—

“It will be war.”

One of Gazi’s eyes turned to follow the servant as she bent to pick up the broken shards. She didn’t say anything, but Trey would have bet his eyeteeth—since he didn’t have any actual money—that the woman would be telling everyone in earshot as soon as she was out of sight. And Gazi probably knew that, but she walked on.

As it turned out, war had already been declared by the time the twins and Gazi reached the throne room. They entered to hear shouting, and saw a young man wearing leather armor, covered in a thin layer of dust and sweat, shouting at Flos.

“—will not kneel to you! Hellios has risen, and our soldiers are marching towards this city at this very moment!”

Flos sat on his throne, flanked by Orthenon and Mars as he stared down at the messenger.

“So Queen Calliope desires war?”

The young man’s eyes blazed up at Flos. He didn’t seem to notice the twins as they edged around the room, nor Gazi as she strode up to the throne and took a place next to Orthenon.

“You know she does. Her hatred of you burns no less brightly than my own, King Flos of Reim. You killed my father, and for that you will answer at last.”

His father. Trey looked at the young man. Was he a [Prince]? Certainly, Flos seemed to be treating him like one, to let him yell at him in front of his vassals. But why had a [Prince] come himself? He certainly wasn’t attired like one, and he looked like he’d been on the road for hours, if not days.

“That I killed King Treland is reason enough to hate. But I would have thought your mother had more sense. She knows what war brings. She has seen it once. I doubt she would be foolish to wish for it again.”

His words made the young prince flush with fury.

“We have held our peace because you slept, in cowardice. But now that you are awake, it is war, Flos of Reim!”

“And why were you sent? Did your mother fear I would slay her messenger?”

“I took his place. I had to see the truth of it myself, that you were awake. I wanted to lay eyes on my father’s killer myself.”

The young man’s eyes burned as he put his hand on the sword at his waist. No one moved, despite the threat. Orthenon stared coldly down at the prince, Mars with intensity, watching his hands. Gazi looked bored; only one eye was on him. Two were for her King and one—

Trey shuddered. One was watching him and Teres. Watching them react to the prince.

“Tell me your name, bold son of Calliope. You have not given it. If I am to be at war with the kingdom of Hellios, I would know who brings such tidings.”

“I am [Prince] Siyal of Hellios. And I swear to you, King Flos, that I will have vengeance for—”

“Your father. Yes, I heard.”

Flos sighed. He stared down at Siyal with an expression Trey and Teres hadn’t seen on him before. It wasn’t anger. It was more like grim intensity. It was a very kingly expression in that sense, but there was something else in the way he looked at Siyal.

Disappointment.

“So you seek my head as a matter of vengeance. You would not be the first, nor the last. But why for Treland? He was not worthy of it. Far better to come after me for those countless thousands I slew, or your shattered kingdom. Why waste hatred for the death of a worthless king, even if he was a father?”

“How dare you.”

Siyal’s eyes blazed and he actually unsheathed his sword a fraction. At once, Orthenon and Mars both reached for their sword hilts. The prince halted, eying both of them.

“I did not come here to bare my blade, King Flos. But one more word of insult and I will shed my blood, regardless of the odds!”

“I hear your words, Siyal. But what I said was no insult. It was the truth.”

Flos cut off Siyal as the young man looked as if he might truly rush the throne. He stood up and stared down at the young man.

“You think your father was a man worth avenging? He was not.”

The King of Destruction raised his voice over the young man’s voice.

“Silence! He. Was. Not. Because I am a [King], know that I speak the truth. Your father was no hero, no great ruler, boy. He was a fool and a monster. You have a King’s word on that.”

“Liar!”

It was amazing, Trey thought, that Siyal could shout that at Flos, much less to his face. A King’s word…but Flos didn’t grow angry. He just stared Siyal down, and the [Prince] lost a bit of his bravado in the silence that followed.

“I will not lie, even for the fallen. That your father died does not change the nature of his sin. Neither did his Class. He treated his subjects like animals—no, worse than that.”

“He was a [King]! He deserved an honorable death, not an execution on the battlefield! How he ruled was no business of yours!”

“His people cried out for justice. They came to me, begging for protection, to bring down a king that cared more for his own wealth and that of his friends than his people. Is that the man you admire, Siyal? Or did your mother never tell you of his failures, only my crimes? I went to war for the thousands who died under his rule, not to steal land or wealth.”

Siyal’s face had gone pale as Flos spoke. He pointed a shaking finger at Flos.

“I will not listen to your lies. You are no worthy [King]. You dare to talk of a [King]’s duties when you abandoned your own kingdom? You—you have no right to speak of my father to me.”

Flos stared down at Siyal, that same cold disappointment in his expression. He shook his head slowly.

“You and I use the truth like blades. But I have the courage to face it. My failure and who I am does not change reality. Your father—”

“Silence!”

Siyal did draw his blade, then. And Orthenon and Mars did the same. They leapt off the throne’s dais, surrounding Siyal from both ends. He whirled to face them, face pale but jaw set.

“Orthenon. Mars. Enough.”

Flos stopped his vassals with one hand. He looked down at the [Prince] as Orthenon and Mars stepped back, sheathing their blades.

“You are fearless, Prince Siyal. Just like your father. But it takes more than courage to make a man. But at least you have that. Your father had neither.”

It was cruel. Flos’ words were harsh and cutting, and Trey saw the marks they left on Siyal. They cut deep, because Trey knew they were true. There was something in Flos’ voice, the way he spoke that made the truth self-evident. And some part of Siyal knew it.

The prince sheathed his sword. Tears stood out in the corners of his eyes as he glared up at Flos. His voice was rough, but steady.

“You have heard my message. Hellios declares war with Reim. My duty here is done. When we next meet, it will be under banner, bearing arms.”

He pointed at Flos.

“I will find you on the battlefield. I will hunt you down and claim your head with my sword.”

The King didn’t blink.

“I shall try to spare the effort to pick your face out from the legions of my enemies.”

He lifted a hand in dismissal. Siyal turned and stormed from the room, face crimson. All that time he had not glanced once at the twins. They were beneath his notice.

The two double doors closed behind Prince Siyal of Hellios, and Flos sat down slowly upon his throne. Only then did Mars and Orthenon turn to face him. After a second, Gazi stepped down and joined them.

And then Trey saw the curtains near one of the balconies move. He stared as Lady Maresar pushed them back. She calmly walked over to the others, putting an arrow back in the quiver at her side as she did.

Flos glanced at Maresar, at Gazi, and then the twins as they hesitantly came to stand before his throne. He smiled a bit at them, wearily.

“And so it begins.”

“War.”

This time Trey said the word and felt a chill. It was strange. One person said it, and suddenly it was true. He glanced at the doors Siyal had left through.

“Was he really a [Prince]?”

“Oh yes.”

Everyone in the room except for Teres nodded at once. Mars grinned as she tapped her chin.

“Did you see the way he kept it raised the entire time he was talking? The royals have a way of talking and standing that just screams their class. It makes you want to trip them whenever they walk past.”

Orthenon frowned at Mars before turning to Trey.

“I am surprised he came alone, but yes, that was [Prince] Siyal. Doubtless he must have come here against his mother’s wishes.”

“Calliope knows I would not stoop to ransoming her son.”

Flos looked mildly annoyed by the implication. Orthenon bowed to him.

“Of course. But the roads are not safe, my King. He must have rushed here.”

“I saw his horse as he rode in. It looked dead. That fool probably rode it at a gallop all the way here.”

Maresar’s lip curled and Flos shook his head. He sat with his back straight against his throne, staring at the ceiling.

“Yet his message was plain, and perhaps warranted such actions, at least in his mind. War.”

“It has come at last.”

Gazi’s eyes glittered with excitement. Orthenon and Mars nodded, and both looked…eager. It wasn’t a thought Trey would have associated with war, not in his world. But there was a spark of that in Maresar’s eyes, and when Flos looked down—

Trey could see it there too. That awful glimmer, that silent spark of terrible things. Terrible, glorious things.

“War.”

When he said it, Trey got goose bumps again. Only this time, Flos did not seize his sword and rush out of the room. Instead, he sighed.

“We have much to do.”

He looked at his steward.

“Orthenon, appraise me as we walk. Mars, spread the word. Lady Maresar, if you will send messengers to the furthest villages? We must ready my subjects to retreat behind the city’s walls at once. Gazi, be watchful as always. And you, Trey, Teres…”

He turned and the twins tensed with anticipation. Flos smiled.

“You have seen my kingdom in decay, at peace, such as it is. Now see its true heart. We prepare for war, at last. It is time to break my long slumber, my endless fast.”

He paused, and only Trey noticed the slight rolling of his eyes, and the look of chagrin on Flos’ face. He turned.

“Come. Follow.”

And they did.

—-

To Trey’s surprise, the rest of the day was not filled with people running about and general confusion. Oh, some people moved faster than normal, but Flos walked down his corridors at the same pace as always, and took time to greet the people he met as usual.

He had an explanation when Trey asked.

“War has been declared. But though Hellios is far closer than the lands of the Emperor of Sands, an army will not appear on my doorstep tomorrow. Or the day after, for that matter.”

“That is the convenience of a formal declaration of war.”

Orthenon nodded as he stepped out of a cluster of servants and messenger. He was the one working hardest, and Trey and Teres got to see exactly what going to war meant you had to do.

The first and most important thing was to make sure everyone knew there was a war going on. It wasn’t as if everyone had a telephone—or a [Mage] capable to receiving a [Message] spell. Within the hour, people on horseback were racing to all parts of the kingdom, bearing the news of war.

But that didn’t mean people were about to come rushing towards the castle with swords in hand, ready to fight, either. It did mean they harvested any food available, and made preparations to leave their villages and towns at once if an army came their way.

“You see, Teres, Trey, an enemy army will strip the countryside. Even if an army does not attack civilians—and there are many which would slaughter any of my subjects they came across—they will destroy villages and kill by their simple passing. Once we know from which direction the army approaches, we will begin evacuating those in need.”

Flos told them this in between readying his capital for war. There was so much to do he was giving Orthenon a hand in organizing. The walls had to be inspected, soldiers manning the battlements and watchful at all times, and gear had to be distributed. Not everyone walked around ready for battle like Mars—most people found wearing anything heavier than cloth fairly tiring, let alone plate armor or chainmail.

And not everyone got that, either. Helmets were in short supply, armor needed patching, some weapons could use a whetstone, while others had a broken haft. Potions needed distributing, pack horses and other animals found to haul all of the army’s supplies and equipment—the list went on and on. It wasn’t as if Orthenon and Flos had been neglecting doing any of this, but they’d had an entire kingdom to get working again. Now, all of these preparations were the first order of business.

Amid all of the busy work, Trey felt like the most useless lump. He could only watch as Flos strode around, taking care of matters that Trey wouldn’t have thought to address. At least Teres could say she was helping a bit—she scribbled down notes for Orthenon as he assessed the number of soldiers they had, how many saddles were in working repair, and so on.

Not so for Flos and Trey. The King of Destruction didn’t use lists, and he didn’t need another person to run messages for him. He told Trey that he just needed him to watch what he was doing. So Trey did.

He watched as the second declaration of war reached Flos in the throne room. And then the third. And the fourth.

—-

This time the messengers came together. Two delegations of armed soldiers approached the gates and demanded entry. The bulk of the soldiers remained at the gate, watched warily by soldiers from the walls, as a smaller delegation entered the throne room.

One man came alone, sweeping into the room with a bow towards the throne, his silk robes swirling around him as he approached the throne and then bowed again. The second man marched in with four warriors at his back, a scroll of parchment sealed with wax in his hands.

“I take it you two come for the same reason?”

Flos sat on his throne, staring down at the two unalike messengers. It was the man in robes who spoke first.

“Your Majesty, I come bearing word from my home country of Gemira. I am humbly [Ambassador] Illius, authorized to speak for the Quarass on matters of state.”

Flos nodded at the man as Trey stared at Ambassador Illius. He sounded like a complete ponce. That was, until Trey realized he probably was all the things he said. So…just weird.

“What does the Quarass will, Ambassador Illius?”

Flos knew. Everyone in the room knew. But somehow, the good ambassador managed to stretch a single statement into multiple sentences.

“The Quarass has determined that a state of war exists between our two nations. Having searched for an alternative, she has concluded that none may be found save by arms. We declare war upon the nation of Reim and I am tasked with ensuring this message is delivered to his Majesty Flos so that an understanding is reached.”

Flos nodded as Trey rubbed at his ears and Mars yawned. The King turned to the man standing stiffly next to Illius.

“And do you come with the same tidings, messenger?”

“Your Majesty, it is not for me to say. I am enstrusted with this letter, and may not return until I have seen it to your hands.”

The man stepped forwards, offering the scroll. Not directly to Flos, but to Orthenon, who came down to receive it. Only after the steward had checked the scroll—for dangerous magic or poison, perhaps—did he deliver to Flos.

The King broke the seal and read from the scroll as everyone in the room waited. It took him only a few seconds, mainly because Trey saw his eyes skimming down the very long scroll all the way to the bottom. Then he rolled it up and nodded. He said one word.

“War.”

The ambassador and messenger both bowed their heads. Flos looked down on them. Trey was practically eating his fingers. Three nations had declared war? Three? But the King of Destruction looked as if he’d expected nothing less.

“I have read your senate’s declaration of war, messenger of Xar. And I have heard your words, Ambassador Illius. You may go.”

They went.

—-

Apparently, all of Flos’ vassals and Flos himself had known more nations would be declaring war. And apparently, Teres had figured it out as well, which meant only Trey was caught off guard.

“Well it, makes sense, don’t it?”

She explained it to Trey when he pulled her aside—for what Trey had assumed to be a mutual freak out, but which became a stern lecture. Teres frowned at Trey as if not predicting war was a fault.

“You heard how scary Flos is supposed to be, didn’t you? Even if they think he’s just woke up, no one nation is going to pick a fight. It’s probably a lot of them that decided to gang up.”

Just how many was a surprise to both of the twins, though. Because not an hour after the two delegates had left, another declaration of war came to Reim. This one came in a box, and it was delivered by a [Runner].

In fact, it took a while to get to Flos. A servant came with it as Flos was walking around his city with Orthenon, making sure there were no glaring gaps in the wall. Only when Orthenon had spoken with the man did the small box reach the King.

“Is it another declaration of war?”

“I believe so, my King.”

Flos sighed. He eyed the package.

“I think I know which nation this one comes from. Elmvettelashar. Or whatever the name is.”

Orthenon shook his head at Flos’ incorrect pronunciation as the King took the package and began to unwrap it. It was tied with a bit of twine, and the package itself was a cheap wood box, hardly fit for a King. Trey edged away from the box nervously.

“What about traps? What if there’s a b—poison or something?”

Flos shook his head.

“This came through the Runner’s Guild. They do not allow such deliveries. It would ruin their neutrality. And this is a declaration of war, I am sure of it, as is Orthenon. Less formal perhaps, but cheaper. Let us see what they have—ah.”

Flos’ hands had unwrapped the parcel. Trey recoiled and Teres clapped a hand over her mouth when they saw—and smelled—what was inside.

The King’s face didn’t change as he showed the contents of the box to Ortheon. The steward stared with disgust at the slightly rotted heart in the box. Flos handed it to him and Orthenon immediately handed it to a servant with orders to burn the box and everything in it. Only then did Flos notice Trey and Teres’ pale faces.

“It’s not a human heart. I think it’s probably a goat’s.”

Teres was able to ask the question. Trey felt if he opened his mouth something else would come pouring out.

“But—why—?”

“Ah. It’s an ancient tradition. This is the way the people of Elmvett declare war. In the past they would have used a real heart, but this is probably more convenient.”

The King waved away the smell and the twins had to go sit down for a bit. That was the fourth declaration of war. The fifth and sixth arrived the next day. But before Trey heard them, the first assassin was discovered in the castle.

—-

Trey awoke the next morning to a scream. He rushed out of his room, and Teres ran out after him with the sword Orthenon had given her. They followed the raised voice and people running and found Gazi.

She was kneeling over the body of a child.

Her sword was drawn, and there was blood on it. Trey knew what had happened, but he didn’t want to know. He stared at Gazi with dull horror beating in his chest.

She straightened, after wiping her sword on the dead child’s clothing. She turned and paused when she saw Trey and Teres staring at her. But then her head turned. She bowed as Flos strode towards her down the corridor.

The King stopped when he saw the body. He stared at Gazi, and Trey saw his face pale. He knelt by the small corpse and the pooling blood. She had raven hair. It was a she. Flos gazed down at the child and then up at Gazi. He sighed, and it was as if part of his heart left with it.

“Ah, Gazi. Did she have to die?”

The half-Gazer bowed her head. Then she produced something and held it out carefully to Flos. He took it.

It was a dagger, coated with something dark and brown on the tips. Flos didn’t touch it. He only stared at the dagger and then dropped it.

“An [Assassin].”

Maresar spoke softly behind Trey and Teres. They turned to her. She had an arrow nocked as she stared at the child’s body. There was no sorrow there, just concentration.

There was on Orthenon’s face, and Mars. They came at a run, Orthenon first, Mars slower, running with sword and shield in hand, wearing her plate armor as always. Mars turned away from the body and Orthenon sheathed his sword harder than necessary. Flos stared at the crowd of servants and soldiers, and then at the twins.

Neither one of them could look at the body. But they couldn’t look away. Trey stared at Gazi. And then at the child.

“How?”

Flos looked at Gazi. She answered softly. As if by reflex, she smiled as she spoke, that same, damned smile that Trey hated so much. It wasn’t a smile. It was a grin. Something devoid of actual emotion.

A mask.

“A group of refugees arrived last night. They claimed to have been driven from their village by soldiers. They had marched for days. Some died. They were all starving.”

Orthenon rubbed at his face.

“I heard the report. I ordered them fed and given a place to sleep. And this child—”

Gazi turned to him, looking vaguely surprised.

“You knew they would send assassins the moment my lord woke.”

He didn’t reply. He just stared at the body and turned away. Orthenon walked down the corridor as Flos stood. He stared down at the child’s body and then looked at Gazi.

“I ask much of you.”

He did not say thank you, or that it was a job well done. If he did, Trey thought Teres would have attacked him with the sword in her hands. He did not know what he would have done. Gazi nodded once. Then she turned. She sheathed her sword and began to walk in the other direction down the corridor.

Someone covered the child’s body with a cloth. Someone else carefully picked up the dagger and wrapped it in several layers so the deadly poisoned edge was not visible. Flos walked towards the twins. They stared at him.

This was the feeling Trey remembered. This was it, pure and raw and sudden, cutting through the vague acceptance of this world, all the time he’d had to adjust to a new reality. Suddenly, he truly was a stranger in a strange land.

Until he remembered they did this very thing where he came from too. Not at home, but in his world.

Flos looked into his face. The King was silent for a while. Then he spoke.

“Some nations use assassins, Trey, Teres. This reeks of Germina. Ambassador Illius’ people train such killers and the Quarass…she would do this.”

That was all he said. He turned away and began walking towards his throne room. It took a long time before Trey and Teres moved. And when they did, they stumbled. They walked along the stone corridors, hearing the hushed voice and knew they did not belong. They did not want to belong.

Not here. And Trey remembered Gazi’s smile.

And he hated her for it.

—-

There were more shadows in the throne room that day. Flos sat heavily on his throne, and he did not smile. The fifth declaration of war reached him as Orthenon was speaking quietly.

“War with Ultea. A rider rode up to the gates and shouted it.”

Orthenon relayed the message, a look of disgust on his face.

“Barbarians. They didn’t confirm it was a true messenger from their nation. Anyone could have claimed the same.”

Flos was in no mood to debate the issue. He clenched one hand as he sat on his throne, looking as though he would have rather drawn the sword at his side instead. It was another plain sword from his armory. Not enchanted.

Not like Gazi’s.

“It is enough that I hear war declared, Orthenon. When we see their banners marching, we will know the truth.”

The steward nodded. Flos turned towards the twins, standing like ghosts. His voice softened, but he did speak to them of war.

“It is not like your world. There are no signed treaties, at least, none that require my signature. Some nations do send formal missives, but many are like Ultea and use action, not words. Other nations are subtler, but some do not bother with declarations at all.”

The twins made no reply.

—-

The sixth declaration was the most dramatic of all, and if it hadn’t been for Orthenon and Flos, Trey and Teres would never have spotted it. The King was walking out of his palace when he uttered an oath and stared up. Orthenon stared up and the twins barely saw a flaming arrow before it struck the wall of Flos’ palace. It did not shatter, but rather dropped downwards, out of sight.

Flos strode to the battlements. Trey and Teres saw a rider with a bow in hand. They had shot the arrow at the walls. A banner—dark blue, emblazoned with a white bird clutching a second flaming arrow in its talons—flapped wildly, attached to the horse’s saddle.

The meaning was clear. War, from a sixth nation. By this point Trey was numb to it.

Flos stared at the rider, hands gripping the battlements tightly. He turned his head towards his steward.

“Orthenon. If that arrow struck one of my subjects, catch that rider and kill her.”

The man nodded and strode away. Trey stared at Flos. The King’s eyes followed the rider until she had vanished. She was allowed to go; no one had been harmed by the arrow as it fell to earth.

Twenty minutes later, Flos was in the war room with all of his vassals, including Lady Maresar and the twins. He sat on a large chair clearly meant for him, staring darkly at his steward as the man spoke.

“Ultea, Oblinat, Xar, Gemira, Hellios, and Elmvett have all declared war against us now, my King. It is safe to assume they have formed a coalition and will send an army of combined forces to assault the city. I have received reports that most of the armies are on the march already.”

Trey felt a cold pit in his stomach, but Flos just nodded as if that was inconsequential. Trey couldn’t help but keep glancing left, to where Gazi stood with arms folded in one corner of the war room. No one was standing with her. Teres was deliberately sitting with her back to the half-Gazer.

Now one of Gazi’s eyes turned towards Trey. He looked away quickly.

“Will any more declarations arrive?”

“Doubtful, my King. These are all the ones I had predicted.”

Orthenon stared grimly at the map of Chandrar as Flos stood up and paced back and forth in front of the table. He turned to Orthenon.

“After yesterday, how many soldiers do we have in our army?”

Orthenon paused. He looked at Teres, and she was the one who answered.

“Just over six thousand soldiers. Six thousand two hundred and fifty…six.”

Flos nodded.

“Six thousand soldiers. A fine number, all things considered.”

“But very small.”

Mars mumbled that. She was playing with a dagger in her gauntleted hands. She hadn’t spoken much before this; Trey hadn’t seen her around the castle as Flos and Orthenon were moving about. Orthenon eyed her and nodded shortly.

“We will have more. Possibly as many as two thousand from the refugees headed towards the city. Not all will be raw recruits either; there may be a good handful of veteran warriors among their number.”

“Continue adding them to the ranks of our army as needed, Orthenon. But will it be enough?”

“I do not know, my lord. I can only work off of rough estimates of each nation’s strengths, but from what scouts and fleeing refugees have said, each nation has sent around ten thousand soldiers to do battle.”

Ten thousand soldiers. Trey felt his heart stop for a second. Against six thousand—

Flos nodded. His mouth twisted wryly.

“Ten thousand soldiers used to be an army large enough for any one nation. Not so these days, I suppose.”

“Not to go hunting for the King of Destruction’s head.”

Gazi shifted as all eyes turned towards her. She looked at Orthenon.

“Do you have a total number?”

Orthenon paused.

“One claim puts the army at seventy thousand.”

Someone made a small sound. Trey realized it had been him. Orthenon’s head turned towards Trey and his tone changed, becoming slightly more reassuring. It didn’t work.

“That number is probably highly inaccurate. There may well be over fifty thousand soldiers marching—perhaps as many as eighty thousand depending on whether it was an experienced [Scout] that counted or a [Farmer]. But of that number, a decent portion won’t fight in battle.”

“So? We’re still dead, right?”

Trey didn’t want to be a downer, but he had to speak the blindingly obvious truth when he saw it. Flos drummed his hands on his chair’s armrest as he sat back down.

“[Porters], [Cooks], [Hostlers], and [Healers]…they would account for several thousand depending on the size of each army. Still, Trey is correct that we are largely outnumbered.”

He had to say the situation was hopeless, right? Even if he was the King of Destruction…Trey waited, but Flos just shook his head.

“Putting numbers aside for the moment…Orthenon, based off of your knowledge of the nations that sent these armies, how many high-level warriors are we likely to encounter? Any specialty troops?”

“None that I know of. I would assume they would be obvious if they were included, but it seems that Gemira and Oblinat have declined to commit their most experienced forces.”

“Wise of them.”

Maresar whispered that. Flos nodded. He looked at the twins. He was still explaining. Still explaining, as if this meant…nothing.

“A battle is not decided merely by numbers in this world, Trey, Teres. Nor in yours, I suspect. But aside from the quality of arms and strategy, the existence of high-level warriors and mages can change the course of an entire battle. In fact, the enemy [General] alone can tip the scales between victory and defeat if his level is high enough.”

“So can armies geared towards a certain type of fighting, where all their soldiers have the same kind of class. Highly mobile armies, armies where the most common soldier knows a Tier 2 spell…if we don’t see them here, it is to our advantage.”

Orthenon’s calmness was getting on Trey’s nerves.

“But they have over fifty thousand—”

“Trey. I understand your concerns, but we must appraise our enemy fully before worrying.”

Flos gently patted Trey on the shoulder and let him take his seat. Trey sat, fidgeting on the chair as Flos looked at Ortheon. The steward continued.

“The highest level [General] in the region would be [Duke] Balimar Wulten. I assume he will lead the coalition army.”

“An aristocratic general?”

“No.”

Orthenon shook his head to Flos’ clear disappointment.

“He gained the [Duke] class from achieving distinction in battle, not at birth. To my knowledge his one main class is [General].”

“A pity.”

Flos sighed. He looked at Gazi.

“So. We know there may be as many as eighty thousand, and no outstanding units have been spotted. I hate to ask it of you, Gazi, but you are our highest-level [Scout]…”

She was already ready. Gazi bowed to Flos, eying the position of the army on the map.

“I will appraise their forces and return shortly, my lord.”

She would have strode out there and then, but Flos caught her arm. He stared down at Gazi.

“Go safely, my dear Gazi. Take no risks for me. I cannot bear to lose you too.”

She smiled at him. Smiled in a real way, so happy that it made Trey hurt to see it.

“I will be careful.”

Then she was gone. In lieu of better knowledge, Orthenon declared the meeting adjourned. He began shifting forces along the north east wall in preparation for the battle. And he sent more riders out after Gazi had gone, although not to scout for soldiers.

“There are streams of refugees and villagers flooding the road to the city, my King. They have been forced out of their homes. Not just the ones in your lands—anyone who refuses to renounce you as King has been forced out.”

Flos paused.

“Were any killed?”

Orthenon hesitated.

“Some. But most are allowed to leave unharmed, but without any belongings. They mean to starve us, by forcing you to open your storehouses to feed so many.”

“Clever.”

Flos turned away. He stared at the map, and then walked out of the room. Orthenon called out.

“My King? Where are you going?”

“To see these fleeing people for myself. They are frightened, homeless. Because they believed in me. I will go to them. While I do that Orthenon, would you carry out an order?”

“Of course, my King. What is it?”

“Open my storehouses.”

—-

The rest of the day, Trey and Teres stood with Flos as he walked the battlements or descended to the streets, greeting the exhausted people coming to his kingdom.

They came in small groups, some of them. Others arrived in long, winding streams, stumbling towards the gates, footsore, weary. Many had nothing but the clothes on their backs. Some hadn’t eaten in over a day and had to be half-carried inside. But they called out when they saw their King, riding towards them with wagons filled with food.

It was a bad idea to help them. Trey knew that. Teres told him how many storehouses Orthenon had to open and how much was left. And yet, they were Flos’ people and no one in the entire kingdom could have stopped Flos from feeding his subjects or going to them.

They were refugees. People without a home, forced out of their country by war. The very definition of refugees. It surprised Trey, that there would be that kind of people in a fantasy world, a magical one. But that was what made it reality.

Refugees, and dead children. It was too real for Trey.

But still, Flos kept him by his side. And in the evening when the rush of people entering the city had slowed, he took them back to the war room and explained what they were facing.

“It is not a vast army. A large one, yes, but if my kingdom were not wasted from a decade, it would be a poor army to pit against me. As it is, it is the first of many. A test.”

It was incredible to Trey that Flos could say that, given the disparity in numbers. But Flos was adamant the coalition wasn’t as dangerous as the Emperor of Sands, not by a long shot.

“I am weak. Reim is weak. That is why these small nations have a chance of defeating me, and why they had to declare war now. Eighty thousand soldiers is a force to be reckoned with, but I am a [King] of the highest level, and I have two of my Seven here and Orthenon. Normally any army would hesitate to attack with that knowledge.”

“But you’re outnumbered ten to one!”

Teres pointed that out and Flos nodded.

“We are. But six thousand soldiers to hold a wall is not bad. And there are tricks to be used…”

“I’d feel a lot better if you had a few more zeroes on the end of your army. Like three more zeroes.”

Flos had to laugh. He spread his hands over the map as he spoke to the twins.

“Six million? If such an army came towards me I would run long and fast, even if all of my Seven were with me. But sixty thousand is manageable. Perhaps it is a small number to you? The largest of armies I have seen mustered was over four hundred thousand strong. But it is rare that any one army grows to that size; the logistics of feeding and moving so many grows to extreme. No, when my conquest was at its greatest, I had three armies each over a hundred thousand soldiers in size, and many smaller ones led by my vassals. Is that comparable to your world?”

It was, but not exactly favorably. Trey was hazy on the exact number, but he knew over three million men had served in the British army during World War II. When he told that to Flos, the King’s eyes gleamed.

“Armies of soldiers millions strong. Would that I could see that—but I suppose they would not all be deployed along one single battleground for the same reason. In truth, Trey, Teres, there are armies of that size in this world, only no nation fields them. When a Goblin King rises, his army will be at least a million Goblins strong, and countless more will be led by his Goblin Lords.”

“How do you beat that? How do you beat any army that large?”

“With Skills and levels and a good bit of strategy. Do not worry—I do not rely solely on my Seven and Orthenon when declaring this battle winnable. But it is true they tip the odds greatly by themselves.”

Trey just couldn’t imagine that. One person shouldn’t be able to influence an entire battle, even if they were as strong as Flos. But the King seemed to think each one of his vassals was worth thousands of soldiers.

“Thousands? If used correctly, certainly they could kill thousands. In their own way. Amerys could do it directly with lightning magic. Drevish could probably count the soldiers his walls have killed in the tens or hundreds of thousands.”

“Who were they?”

Trey found the courage to ask that question. Flos blinked at him. Trey found his tongue knotting, but went on when Teres nudged him.

“I mean—sorry, but we’ve heard some stories, but no one talks about them. Even Mars and Gazi—people seem to think we should know what they’ve done, but we don’t. What were they like? Mars seems so…normal. Well, sort of. She doesn’t look normal, but—”

Trey yelped as Teres trod on his toe. Flos laughed, but his eyes had turned distant. He went to the map and picked up a small pin with a flag on it.

“What were they like? Ah, Trey. Of all the questions you could ask, that is the hardest. My Seven. You know they were the highest leveled of my vassals, my greatest and most trusted companions?”

Trey and Teres nodded. Trey held his breath as Flos stared down at the map. He seemed older, as he spoke of the past. Older, yet there was a smile on his face when he said their names. And unshed tears in his eyes.

“Mars, Gazi, Takhatres, Drevish, Amerys, Tottenval, and Queravia. Those are the names of my Seven, the heroes who rode with me and shook the world itself.”

Trey hadn’t heard two of those names before. Tottenval and Queravia. He knew without being told they were the two who had died.

Flos went on.

“Not all of them were warriors. Drevish was not, and neither was Tottenval. But they all contributed to my kingdom in some great way. In the past, each of my Seven fulfilled a different purpose. Gazi often rode alone, scouting ahead and behind, safeguarding my kingdom. With her eye and Skills, she slew every [Scout] that sought to the movement of my forces, and killed each [Assassin] or [Spy] that dared lurk within my borders.”

“That’s why you sent her out?”

Flos’ eyes met Teres’. He nodded.

“Other nations feared to commit their forces, because they had no clear image of my forces. Some could use magic, but if they sent a person, that person would die within a fortnight. Gazi was feared for her ability to hunt down anyone and find their deepest secrets. When battle called, she would ambush the enemy, infiltrating the camp and killing a valuable soldier or stealing battle plans. Then she would slip away.”

Trey could imagine Gazi doing just that, with her slight smile. That was why she was always looking. That was how she’d found the child. He shivered.

Flos continued.

“Others occupied different roles. Mars is a pure warrior. She would be at the head of every charge, and crush the opposing army’s champion before each battle. She deserved her class. [Vanguard].”

“And Drevish?”

The name made Flos stiffen at first, but then he relaxed. Trey hated to ask. But he wanted to.

“He was an [Architect], right? He built walls, castles, and stuff?”

“More than that. He was one of the three of my Seven who knew magic, Trey. He could enchant a gate so the mightiest battering ram couldn’t break it. He could build a wall overnight with his teams of [Builders], so that an enemy army would be facing a fortified defense when they tried to launch a counterattack. He did not like war. But he was essential. Ah, but I asked too much of him, didn’t I?”

Flos’ head lowered. Trey and Teres exchanged a glance. She was the one who asked the next question.

“What about Orthenon? He’s not one of the Seven, but he’s like them isn’t he?”

“My steward? Yes. He deserves to be placed among them. But he is not one of them. He is my left hand, the one who does what I cannot. So he never achieved the same level of fame during the war that they did.”

Flos smiled ruefully. Trey thought about Orthenon carefully and meticulously plotting the enemy’s movements, just like he took care of everything else.

“Is he the one who led your armies? Like a [General], I mean? Or was that you?”

The King looked first surprised, then amused. And then heartbroken.

“Orthenon? No. He was far too busy managing my kingdom to plan out the movement of armies and lead battles himself. I led my own army of course, but I did not have the skill to plan out the grand movements of each of my armies. No, it was another of my Seven who did that. Who…used to do that.”

His fist tightened on the wood. Trey didn’t want to ask, but Flos continued. He lowered his head and stared at something neither Trey nor Teres could see.

“Her name was Queravia. She was one of my Seven. She and Tottenval died in the war. She led my armies, not Orthenon. It was she who won the fiercest battles in my name, directing soldiers while my other vassals rode forth and fought on the front lines.”

He had to ask it. Trey whispered.

“What was her class?”

The wood on the war room table cracked slightly. Then Flos looked up and smiled. Tears ran down into his beard.

“She was a [Strategist]. The finest in the world.”

His smile slipped.

“Second finest. No. No—she was the greatest of them all!”

He seemed to be arguing with himself. Flos turned his face to Trey, and there was pain in his eyes.

“I did not see her end. But I heard of it. I did not think it was possible that she would ever die. She was my great strategist, Trey. Not just any [Strategist] either—she bet against luck itself. She was a gambler, a [Gambler Strategist]. Before she died she was a [Gambler of Fates]. And she lost her last bet in Baleros.”

There were no more questions after that. Flos wept and the twins left the room, shaken, hearing the past echo around the King of Destruction. They knew him well, after having lived and heard his more secret confidences for a month. And yet, they knew him not at all. They did not know what he had lost.

—-

In the days that followed, things went simply for Trey and Teres. They followed, they watched, they saw streams of refugees fleeing the enemy army, and they heard endless reports about it approaching.

Gazi returned after two days, riding hard, looking tired. But she had come with vital news.

“Sixty-two thousand strong.”

Orthenon bent over the map, looking tired. He had good news for Flos and a lot of bad news.

“There are less mages than we could hope for in their number, and Lady Gazi reports that none of them are of the highest level each nation could offer.”

“They’re being cautious. No one wants to commit all of their best.”

Gazi sat gulping water in a chair. She eyed a plate of biscuits that had been prepared for the meeting in the war room, but didn’t take one. Trey didn’t either; he knew they’d go to people who were actually hungry afterwards.

“Less mages is good news. Without Amerys, we lack any magic users of note. What is the bad news?”

Orthenon grimaced.

“They’ve brought siege weapons. Even a pair of trebuchets.”

Mars swore. Trey looked around. Flos had to explain.

“Siege weapons are not common for most armies. They are hard to produce, and only rare classes such as [Engineer] can create them. However, they are manageable in battle…”

“But not what we want in a siege.”

Orthenon nodded. He stared out of the window at one of the battlements. Trey knew that the city had a number of high watch towers and decently tall walls, but no trebuchets or catapults of their own.

“Drevish worked on the city, but he only did so once. And that was before we formed an alliance with the Mad Ones. He never installed siege fortifications for defense.”

“And if they had, no doubt they would have rotted away by now. That complicates the issue.”

Flos nodded. He still didn’t look concerned, but perhaps that was because he was a King and couldn’t afford to show weakness. Trey could do that for the both of them. His heart was pounding out of his chest.

“I think we had better rely on the original plan. In which case, we must sortie and meet the army in the field, rather than wait for them to assail us with their siege weapons.”

Orthenon began placing units outside of the city. Flos nodded. Trey, who hadn’t been privy to every discussion stared blankly at the board. Orthenon was taking half of the soldiers out of the city? Three thousand versus sixty thousand sounded a lot worse, and Trey had thought it was impossible to make the odds any more stacked against them.

“In that case, I will take all of our mounted forces, a good number of our highest level foot—a unit of archers under Lady Maresar, and Lady Gazi. Our plan will be aided by some of Gazi’s acquisitions from her adventuring days.”

“Oh?”

Gazi grinned.

“Fog arrows. I bought a quiver back when I was going through one of the Walled Cities.”

“Fog arrows? Now that changes things. I assume they’re mine to use?”

Maresar broke into the conversation, looking intrigued. Gazi smiled, and they walked to a corner to talk with unsettling grins. Trey saw Orthenon glance several times at his King before he cleared his throat.

“This plan will necessitate you staying behind in the city, my King.”

Flos’ brows snapped together.

“And leave you to face that army alone?”

“We cannot execute our plan if you are with us, my King. The coalition army is here for only one reason. Your head. And we must keep the city secure or else lose it while half of our army is in the field.”

“Your plan is dangerous, Orthenon. I cannot sit idly by—I will ride with you. My Skills will make this part of your plan—”

“We need them at a later point, my King! You must wait. You must—”

Flos began arguing hotly with Orthenon. Meanwhile, Trey and Teres stared at the map. Teres nudged Trey.

“What’s the plan?”

“I don’t know! Did they come up with it when we weren’t there?”

“Maybe yesterday? When we went to lunch?”

They were so busy whispering, they didn’t notice Mars coming up behind them. She slung an arm around both twin’s shoulders.

“Hey. You two. Explain the plan to me.”

They stared at her. Mars stared back.

“Come on, you’re always hanging our King.”

“We don’t know.”

“Aw. You two don’t?”

“We know they’re taking half of their forces—the fastest out to fight. Flos—uh, the King will stay here. And Gazi’s got fog arrows.”

“Does she? Okay…that could be useful. But why aren’t we all going out at once?”

“I don’t know. What do you think?”

Mars stared down at the map. Her brows furrowed. She eyed the enemy army, Orthenon’s proposed force. She blinked.

“I don’t get it.”

She’d spoken a bit too loudly. Every head turned towards Mars. She flushed red. Orthenon turned back to Flos and the others as if she hadn’t interrupted.

“You must stay here, my King.”

“I suppose I must, mustn’t I?”

Flos clenched his fists as he stared at the map. He sighed, looking tired.

“Very well, Orthenon. We shall go with your plan. But only if our inspection shows an adequate charge. Understand?”

Orthenon nodded. Then he turned to Mars. She was busy telling the twins about fog arrows, which wasn’t helpful. Because what they did was apparently create fog. Lots of fog.

“Lady Mars, it would be best if you stayed with our King in case more assassins are sent in great numbers. You must guard the city while we are in the field.”

“What?”

Mars stared incredulously at Orthenon. Trey and Teres stared too. They had been under the impression that Mars was great at fighting—better than Orthenon or Gazi. Mars glared at Orthenon.

“Don’t be an idiot! You need me out there! Against seventy thousand—”

“We need you to guard our King more. This initial part of the plan will work without you, and I will not leave our King without at least one of our number in case the enemy splits their forces.”

Orthenon stared at Mars. Gazi turned and grinned at the [Vanguard].

“And you wouldn’t be able to keep up with us for what we need to do. Sorry.”

Mars argued. She raged. She turned over chairs. But Flos told her she had to stay, and that was that.

And afterwards, when the meeting was over and everyone split up. Mars sat in a chair and sulked. This came as a surprise to Trey, since everyone else was busy. Gazi was scouting the terrain, Maresar was drilling soldiers and Orthenon was managing everything else. Flos was inspecting the battlements, but Mars was sitting where she was. Doing nothing.

Now that he thought about it, Trey hadn’t seen Mars doing anything these last few days either. He asked Orthenon about it as the man strode out of the war room. It was the first time Trey had ever seen the steward’s pained expression as he tried to explain Mars’ role in the kingdom to the young man.

“Mars is…competent. In battle. However, outside of it she is best suited to training and…”

He paused. Orthenon opened is mouth and searched for words. Then he gave up.

“Well, her presence may inspire others. But she is best utilized at this moment sitting and…”

“Not getting in the way.”

Gazi put that in. Maresar nodded as she broke off from them. Trey stared at Flos’ vassals, and then at Flos. The King looked sheepish.

“Of her talents…talent…well, Mars is suited for war, Trey. One part of it. Fighting. At other matters, she is somewhat lacking. But then, if we were all like her…”

He had trouble finishing that thought. In the end, he just took Trey and Teres on a tour of the battlements, inspecting them for Orthenon’s plan. What they were looking at, Trey didn’t know. But Flos was happy to lecture them on the walls.

“They aren’t very tall, you see. Drevish could only work with the existing stone so much, and he had no desire to completely remodel the city.”

“He didn’t? I thought he worked on the city a lot.”

Teres looked at Flos. The King laughed heartily.

“Hah! He spent the least amount of time on Reim than any of his projects! If you compared this city to any of the ones he constructed from scratch, I think he’d have a heart attack. Or try to kill you. Or both. Drevish hated this city. Note how the walls are merely thirty feet high, without any additions to the fortifications? Drevish would never have constructed such mundane defenses.”

“So he didn’t work on the city is what you’re saying.”

Trey’s estimation of their odds of success went down another notch. Flos shook his head.

“He worked on the city, and my palace. But he made only one major improvement. No, you see, Drevish disliked remodeling existing architecture. He was far more interested Drake construction practices than the Chandrarian style on that note. He especially disliked the way the towers are placed, although he did work extensively with them.”

“How do you mean?”

Trey had seen the watch towers. There were sixteen of them, placed at equal distances along the curtain wall. They were very big and could hold a lot of archers on top. Flos pointed to each of them.

“Drevish considered them aesthetically disgusting. See how they jut out? And if you look at the wall, what does it remind you of?”

Trey had to think for only a second.

“A crown.”

Flos nodded, smiling at the recollection.

“All that work just to create a crown, which is rather spoiled by the palace in the center. Drevish told me my city was an eyesore that ought to be wiped from the face of the earth. But he did like the height of the towers. He believed in what he called self-sufficient architecture, buildings that didn’t need to be protected, that were capable of protecting themselves.”

“Like how?”

“Well…these towers would normally carry high-level archers and mages that could rain death upon an enemy. They’re enchanted quite heavily, and Amerys aided in that. But Drevish once made what he called a sniper tower. It was over a hundred feet tall, and so enchanted a trebuchet couldn’t knock it down. He claimed that if you put an archer in there—only one!—they could hold it forever with enough food. There are no entrances leading up, you see, and if they used the cover of the walls, they could shoot down enemy mages and so on.”

“That sounds…really interesting.”

Flos nodded. He stared at one of the towers and sighed, suddenly melancholy.

“He did work hard on this city, for all it was anathema to him. I wish I could say his work has stood the test of time, but six of the towers have worn away over the last decade. Still, I think there is enough to complete Orthenon’s plan. A pity Amerys is not here. She could have restored the enchantments.”

“And just what is the plan?”

Flos just grinned at Trey. He put a finger over his lips.

“Orthenon has bade me not to speak of it in public. But it is a good plan. And it is…appropriate. You see, my city has never been besieged.”

“What, never?”

“I was always on the offensive. And by the time other nations formed armies to attack, well, Reim sat at the heart of my empire. My bastion. So I have never had to defend it. This time will be the first. And perhaps—last.”

He patted the wall of one of the watch towers fondly, staring up at the dark peak. Trey felt another lurch of fear in his stomach, but Flos’ eyes were calm. He smiled.

“Yes, but how appropriate it is. Drevish, old friend. Even in death you protect me.”

Then he turned, and strode away. Trey stared up at the towers. They stood tall and black in the night sky.

Waiting.

—-

And then it was time. Trey nearly choked on his food when Orthenon came striding into the banquet hall, dressed for war. He was wearing leather armor and there was a sword at his waist. He strode up to the table where Flos was sitting down to eat for once. The King looked up and pushed his plate back.

“It is time?”

“The army is a day’s march away. We will meet them halfway and begin the plan.”

Orthenon stepped forwards as Flos rose. The [King] and his steward clasped hands. Flos looked Orthenon in the eye.

“Go with my heart, Orthenon. It rides with you. Come back alive. You too, Gazi.”

The half-Gazer was wearing her brown scale armor. She reached up to clasp Flos’ hands. There was a slight smile on Orthenon’s face.

“I would hardly let myself get killed on the first battle since you awoke, my King. We shall return soon enough. Be ready for us.”

“We shall throw open the gates! Ride forth, and remind these foolish nations what it is to challenge me!”

Flos roared and the people in the banquet hall leapt to their feet. Orthenon and Gazi strode out of the hall, Flos and a stream of people following. There was already an army at the gates, mainly mounted warriors on horses. Trey stared at them through a window, and then turned.

Mars was sitting at a table, hunched over, clearly miserable that she had to stay. She met Trey’s eyes and lifted a mug.

“Here’s to not being able to ride a damn horse as fast as those two! And not being able to fight on horseback at all!”

She hurled her mug as Orthenon, Gazi, Lady Maresar, and four thousand of Flos’ soldiers rode out to meet over sixty thousand soldiers in battle.

—-

The minutes after Orthenon had left seemed to drag on like hours to Trey and to Teres. She’d said goodbye to Orthenon at the gates, upon which she’d burst into tears and refused to speak to Trey. She was carrying Orthenon’s sword around—Trey had a steel sword Flos had given him personally. He felt like he shouldn’t have been wearing it, but he was too afraid to take it off.

“Don’t let your mind dwell on it. Orthenon will be riding for hours before he meets the enemy. And it will be later still that we hear any word on whether the plan is succeeding.”

Flos warned the twins. He seemed hardly able to take his own advice. He was pacing around his throne room, unable to sit still. He’d gone to the balcony twice, as if to stare at the distant patch of horizon where Orthenon and Gazi had last been spotted, when someone rushed into the throne room.

“My King!”

It was a servant, one of Orthenon’s aides, panting, almost out of breath. She could barely explain to Flos what was the matter, so he followed her out of the throne room at a run. Trey and Teres caught up outside the palace, at the western gates, to see…

Blood. Staggering bodies. A man without an arm, holding bloody rags that might have been a body. Someone without an eye. A girl with an arrow protruding from her sides.

People were coming through the gates, many wounded. Trey stared in horror at a wailing baby being held by a man who was trying not to let the blood spilling from his arm fall on the child. He wavered and would have fallen, but Flos caught him.

“Get me every [Healer] in the city! Now!”

He shouted as he held a hand over the cut in the man’s arm, stopping the bleeding. The man sagged as Teres took the baby out of his limp arms. He stared up at his King and recognized him. He smiled.

And died.

Somewhere between people rushing towards the wounded with bandages and Flos shouting, the news came out. There were more refugees, being herded from other countries. They’d been on the road for days, thousands, maybe tens of thousands of them. But soldiers had ridden down on them in the final stretch. They were cutting everyone they saw apart. Mounted soldiers, maybe only a hundred of them. Maybe a lot more.

It was impossible to tell. They were killing everything. It was just blood and death out there.

Flos stared towards the west, where more groups of shapes were approaching down the road. Trey shakily held a man’s arm with Teres as a [Healer] tried to wind bandages around a cut in his stomach. He was screaming and thrashing, but Flos didn’t turn his head.

“I must go.”

“What?”

Mars was there, in full armor. She was staring at the refugees with a sick expression on her face. She stared at Flos as he turned.

“Saddle my horse. I am going out there.”

“My lord, you cannot—”

Mars grabbed for Flos’ arm. He stared at her.

“My people are dying out there.”

“There is an army approaching! Send some soldiers—”

“I cannot send a force large enough to catch a hundred mounted riders. But I can rally my people. You know I can, Mars.”

She shook her head, sending her perfect red curls flying.

“Let me go instead! I can do it—”

“You cannot catch a mounted force, Mars! No, I must go. You must stay here and—”

“No!”

“You must! Someone of high level has to hold these walls. It can only be you.”

“I cannot let you risk your life—”

Trey was holding the wounded man’s arm as tightly as possible. It was that or be thrown off, even with Teres helping him. At some point she shook him, and told him he could let go. Trey realized the shaking had stopped.

The man was dead.

Flos turned to look as Trey got up, shaking, blood on his arms and legs. He looked at Mars, and it was a [King] who spoke next.

“Mars. I must go. Guard the city for me.”

She could not disobey. Trey saw her try. Mars’ mouth opened, and her arms and legs shook. She tried to move as Flos strode away, and then slumped.

He didn’t know why he did it. But Trey ran after Flos, and Teres was there too. They caught him as he was mounting his warhorse. Flos turned to look at them.

“Will you come with me? It is dangerous.”

“Yes.”

Trey and Teres didn’t know why they said it. Neither of them were warriors. They hadn’t been trained. But they knew they had to follow. It wasn’t Flos commanding them. It was something in them, something that wanted to follow this King. To see.

Flos didn’t argue. He just called for two more horses and in minutes the twins were mounted. He said only one word.

“Follow.”

They rode out of the city at a gallop. Trey thought he heard people screaming Flos’ name, but their voices were left behind in an instant. Then Flos and the twins were riding along the dirt road, passing by people, wounded people, who looked up and saw their King.

—-

It was a trap. Of course it was. The King knew it was. But Nune Salismen knew the King of Destruction would enter the trap. Because that was the nature of [Kings]. That was his nature.

He had studied Flos, learned all there was to know about the man when he had been given his orders by Queen Calliope. So it was with satisfaction that Nune heard out the [Scout]’s report as the rider found his hidden encampment in the hills.

“The King has left his city. He is undefended, save for the fleeing civilians and two children.”

Nune nodded and ordered the camp struck. His men jumped to work with alacrity. They had been waiting for this moment. There was exaltation in Nune’s heart. His plan was working!

But there was fear as well. It was really happening. The King of Destruction would die today. Today. At the hands of a force led by Nune. Nune. Not a [General], but a [Commander]. The King of Destruction would die in an ambush as he rode to save his people from a handful of raiding soldiers.

But it wasn’t a hundred men that Nune had brought. Not even close. He had just under eight hundred soldiers, the largest force he could sneak close to Reim, even with Gazi the Omniscient blinded. Perhaps that might not have been enough, though. Irrational as it was, Nune wondered if a thousand men could slay the King of Destruction. But Nune had another advantage on his side.

He approached the only tent that stood out from the dark grey uniformity of his camp. A bright yellow tent—totally inappropriate for an ambush—housed the one man not directly under Nune’s command. He emerged as Nune waited by the tent flap.

“The King has fallen into your trap?”

“As I said. We are ready to march. My men will cut the route back to Reim off and then we will attack. Are you ready?”

The [Mage] smiled thinly. He had multiple rings to each finger, and he held a glowing staff with a crystal orb floating above the wood shaft. He was the very stereotype of a [Mage], and most would have considered him all show and no substance. But Nune knew the façade was there for that very reason.

“I am grateful for your assistance. Slaying the King might not have been possible without your aid.”

The [Mage] inclined his head, politely accepting Nune’s words.

“It is my honor as well. And my duty. I have a message the Quarass bid me deliver to the King of Destruction.”

Nune paused. This was the first time he’d heard of that.

“What is the message?”

The [Mage] smiled. He tapped the ground with his staff, and the earth shook. Nune stared into two innocuous, watery brown eyes. You would never have thought they were the eyes of a Level 36 [Geomancer].

“His death.”

4.05 K

Venith heard the messenger out in silence. His teeth ground together and the mounted soldiers watched him cautiously. They were eighteen, and though Venith’s own soldiers were present in the courtyard, they would have the advantage in the seconds following.

But Venith Crusand had a hand on his sword. He gripped it with knuckles that slowly turned white as he glared at the man who had delivered the demand.

“This was not what I agreed to.”

“Your oath was to prevent the King of Destruction’s return. All you must do is stand aside.”

Venith heard something crack as his grip tightened even further on his sword’s hilt. He relaxed his grip slightly. Too much strength would dull his thrusts. If it came to that.

“Those are my subjects you intend to slaughter out there!”

“They abandoned you, did they not?”

It was true. They had left. So had Mares. His wife. The very thought made Venith want to lash out, but he couldn’t. The soldiers standing before him had come in peace, and offered no insult he could claim. And he had sworn an oath.

Even so.

“It is not honorable. If you want to kill Flos, take your army and lay siege to his capital. Using tricks is the act of a coward.”

The messenger’s face didn’t change, nor did those of the soldiers behind them. Venith knew his words had little sting for them. They were from Hellios, and their hatred of the King of Destruction ran deep.

“It is one plan. If it fails, the coalition army will crush Flos and burn Reim to the ground. But it would be simpler if his head could be taken before so many lives are lost. Is that not the best result?”

It might have been. But Venith’s soul revolted at the thought.

“It is not honorable.”

The mounted man’s face twisted in annoyance. He snapped down at Venith.

“Honorable or not, all you must do is not interfere. If your patrols had not clashed with ours, we would not be having this conversation!”

“Had you decided to avoid cutting through my lands, I wouldn’t have paid attention. But even a small army is my business. And your forces didn’t cover their tracks well enough. They were sloppy.”

Venith relished the flash of anger in the man’s eyes. But the messenger controlled himself. He shook his head coldly.

“You have sworn an oath, Venith Crusand. Your wife, Lady Maresar—”

He paused. Venith’s blade had inched out a bit from his scabbard. The men tensed. The messenger continued, choosing his words carefully.

“Your subjects have renounced their homes and joined the King of Destruction. But you fought and attempted to uphold your oath. The kingdoms see you as an ally, which is why your lands have been spared.”

Ally? The word was insulting. The other kingdoms saw Venith as someone they could ignore. They didn’t need to waste men on him if they could just let him be.

“This ambush will fail. All it will do is slay more innocent lives. Those refugees are not soldiers.”

“One day they might be. It has already begun. Do not interfere.”

The messenger was tired of the argument. He wheeled his mount. The escort followed him, keeping together, watching Venith’s soldiers warily.

Now would be the time. To stop them, to call out their dishonorable actions and fight. Venith knew it. He felt the blood pumping through his veins. His hand was on his sword.

He let them go.

—-

Half an hour later, Venith was in his war room. It was just a small cubicle in his keep really, a place for him to survey the terrain. It wasn’t as if he had ridden to war since he had taken his oath against his former King. All he had ever done was slay the occasional monster or crush a group of bandits.

Now Venith stared at a map covered with small flags. A vast army was on the march, to the north east, winding down the long road towards Reim. But his eyes were on the patch of land to the west of the capital, where a second road led to other crossroads and kingdoms.

There were more flags there. Venith could only guess the ambushing force’s location, but there were only so many places they could hide. They were camped in the foothills, waiting for the King of Destruction to ride out to save the refugees being attacked by raiders. They would swoop down on him and encircle his position.

And kill him. It was a sensible measure. Without him, his kingdom would fall apart, despite Orthenon, Mars, and Gazi. But it was not honorable. Those butchers would kill hundreds of men, women and children just to kill a single King.

But Venith had sworn an oath to do just that. So he could not do anything about it.

Venith had a cool drink of grape wine from his cellars. He was not thirsty, but the thought of drinking himself into a stupor was enticing. He had never done it, but now—

The door to his small war room opened. Venith turned, about to curtly dismiss whoever had opened the door and paused.

“Calac.”

His son stood in the doorway, armed for war. The plate armor had to be hot in the sun’s rays, but Venith had ordered every man and women to ready themselves for battle when he’d seen the armed force approaching. He wondered why Calac hadn’t taken off his armor yet.

“What’s the matter, son? Is there news?”

“No news. Nothing’s happening here. The soldiers are leaving.”

Calac’s face was blank. He stared at his father, eyes searching Venith’s face. Then he shifted his attention to the map. He looked at Venith.

“Is this the kind of man you are?”

Something about his tone made Venith angry. It was insubordinate, the prelude to a fight. He glared at his son. But Calac didn’t flinch.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You heard what they’re going to do. They’re going to kill the King of Destruction. Lure him out by killing innocent people. And you didn’t stop them.”

The words twisted into Venith’s heart. He turned away roughly, staring down at the map.

“So? I swore an oath—”

“Is that the kind of man you are? The kind of man who hides behind oaths when injustice is done?”

Those words. Venith spun. He hurled something—the cup of wine. Calac flinched as the liquid sprayed across his face and armor. But he didn’t back down.

“I swore an oath. Are you suggesting I break it? I have never gone back on my word, never lied. That is the kind of man I am!”

He snarled at his only son. But Calac just wiped away dripping wine from his face.

“So it’s fine if everyone else breaks their oath, just not you? That man—Hellios is sending an army out to kill our people. If they’re on the road, they’ll die. They’d dishonor themselves and break the rules of war just to kill the King of Destruction. And what happens if he dies? Does that mean mother and everyone else get slaughtered too?”

“It won’t come to that. They’ll lay down their arms.”

Venith felt the words twist in his mouth. Calac made a sound that wasn’t a laugh.

“Mother? Never.”

That was true too. It was true. But Venith had—he clenched his fists.

“The King of Des—Flos broke his oath long ago. I owe him nothing.”

“You told me that all my life. Every time mother told me about him, you’d always say he was a fool. An oathbreaker. A coward who abandoned his kingdom. And I believed you. I thought he didn’t have a shred of pride or honor.”

Calac’s voice was quiet. He stared at his father.

“But now I see the truth. These kingdoms, and these other [Rulers] have no honor either. Less. At least the King of Destruction was willing to fight his own battle. And he spared you.”

“I was prepared to die. I did not ask him for mercy.”

Venith wanted his son to shout back at him, to make it an argument—but Calac’s voice was level. It wasn’t angry; there was too much of his mother’s voice, Mares’ voice in the way he spoke.

“I admire my father. The man who raised me taught me how to be honorable, to keep my word. He taught me to defend the innocent and never bow to injustice. He taught me to do what was right.”

Arrows at his heart. Venith’s voice rose and he shouted at his son.

“Not to obey orders, apparently! You disgraced yourself in battle not a day ago!”

It was a petty thing to say. Calac’s head lowered, and then he looked up at his father.

“I did. I thought I could end things easily, even if it meant being dishonorable. That was the wrong thing to do, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. It was dishonorable. There is no excuse for such actions, regardless of the reason.”

Finally, something Venith could say with conviction. Calac nodded slowly.

“Then why are you lecturing me and not stopping those men?”

Silence. Venith searched for words, and found none. Calac turned.

“I’m going. Me and some of the soldiers are going to ride to the King of Destruction’s side. We’ll probably die, but at least we’ll die doing the right thing. Like you taught me.”

“You cannot—you’d abandon your post?”

Venith forced the words out, a gasp through his suddenly tight chest. Calac nodded.

“It’s the right thing to do, father. Mom was right.”

“Then you’re a traitor too! You—abandoning your home, your people!”

“What people, father? What home? There’s just you here, and some soldiers. Everyone is with the King of Destruction. Flos. Mother’s King. Our King. Your King.”

Calac turned and began walking down the narrow corridors of the keep. Venith stumbled after him. He felt drunk, disoriented. He shouted at his son’s back.

“You swore to obey my orders! Come back!”

For a second, Calac turned. He stared at his father and Venith felt a surge of hope. But then he spoke.

“I’m sorry. You taught me how to be proud, how to keep my word. How to be honorable. But father, I guess I never learned what loyalty meant.”

Then he turned and walked away. Leaving Venith with nothing at all.

—-

The air was hot. Uleth, the [General] leading the coalition army of six nations, stared ahead at the small army barring their way.

“Not even five thousand soldiers? Is the King of Destruction mad?”

“Drunk on his own fame, perhaps. But he’s not even with this army, so perhaps it’s his [Steward] who’s made the decision.”

One of the strategists from Germina commented as he squinted at the army ahead of Uleth’s forces. Uleth shook his head.

“I’ve studied the battle tactics used by Orthenon. He’s no fool. Regardless of their reasons, they’ve come to us. Ready yourselves! I want [Mages] and [Archers] to begin firing as soon as they come within range!”

“And the formation?”

The [Strategist] frowned. Uleth glared at him.

“As I ordered.”

The man hesitated, which annoyed Uleth. But he wasn’t one of Uleth’s subordinates. The [General] wouldn’t have worked with him at all, save for his level. But the orders were passed down and Uleth saw his forces begin to rearrange themselves out of the long column they’d been marching in.

The [General] had a Skill. [Battlefield Eye]. It allowed Uleth to see, or rather, create an image of the battlefield from any angle based on his own line of sight and the reports he received. With it, he saw his army spreading out, encircling his position while his mages and the siege weapons he’d brought moved into the center.

They weren’t all bunched up in the center; that was an invitation for a mage strike, and Uleth wasn’t about to risk it, for all that Flos wasn’t supposed to have any strong mages in the field. Rather, his valuable units such as [Mages] and the two trebuchets were scattered around him, buffered by soldiers. At the center of what was a giant ellipse of soldiers lay Uleth’s command and the [General] himself. From there he could issue any order and the dozens of [Tacticians] and [Strategists] he’d brought could assume command of individual groups of soldiers.

Uleth knew it was not an orthodox formation. He didn’t care. Against an army of equal size, his deployment would leave him understrength if the enemy committed to any one side. But he was up against an army a fraction of his size.

“The instant the enemy comes within range, bombard them. When they attack, we will seal their exits with cavalry and envelop them.”

He repeated the plan to his gathered officers, making sure they could move even without orders. Uleth had [Sergeants], [Captains], and so forth, but his [Strategists] could provide incredible benefits to a battalion by using their Skills at the right moment.

That was what would tip the scales here. Not grand strategy but Skills. Uleth knew he was outmatched in terms of levels by Orthenon, known far and wide as the King of Destruction’s Left Hand. But he was only one leader. Uleth had brought dozens to match him.

And he had the numbers on his side. So many it wasn’t a fair battle, however many of the King’s Seven were on the field. Uleth kept repeating that to himself. His plan was solid. Overwhelm with sheer numbers. So long as Uleth kept his most valuable assets shielded by his soldiers, he would triumph, regardless of the King of Destruction’s superior individual might.

But the army of four thousand wasn’t moving. Uleth squinted at them. He could have had a [Mage] use a spell to enhance his sight, but they were visible in the distance. A good deal of cavalry; far fewer foot soldiers than Uleth had expected. Were some defending the city? Why? Why split up forces?

They weren’t moving. That wasn’t what Uleth expected of Orthenon. The man should have launched a surprise attack while Uleth’s army was on the move. Fast, lightning strikes were what he was known for. Why was he—

Someone blew a horn. A warning. Uleth saw a distant figure move in Orthenon’s army, but saw nothing happen. He turned to the [Strategist] from Germina.

“What’s happening?”

“Someone’s firing an arrow.”

The man had a Skill and he was shading his eyes to see. His gaze traced the flight of the arrow—Uleth, watching, saw only a blur and then heard a scream.

“A lone archer? Are they targeting someone?”

“No—they didn’t aim at any of our [Mages].”

“Well then, send a volley back! Have our highest-level [Archers]—”

“Look!”

The man cried out. Uleth turned and saw fog. It was billowing up. Fog. Despite the harsh sunlight, it rose out of the ground to the surprised shouts of the soldiers. From where the arrow had landed.

“More arrows!”

They were falling amid Uleth’s army, releasing fog which obscured all vision. Uleth gritted his teeth. He turned his head and roared.

“[Mages]! Lift the fog!”

For a few minutes he heard no response. Then one of his messengers ran towards him.

“The [Mages] are attempting to lift the fog, but it will take them several minutes! The arrows are high-Tier magic—”

“Attack!”

Someone shouted it. Uleth’s head turned as he heard the horn calls from the side. They were unmistakable.

“The army has charged us in the fog! They’re engaged with our left flank!”

“I will move our forces out to engage—”

“No!”

Uleth stopped everyone with a word. He stood still, heart pounding. But he was certain.

“Do not move. Let Orthenon attack. He is attempting to force us to break formation. But we will hold position.”

“[General], the casualties—”

“We will hold position until the [Mages] lift the fog. Even if Orthenon charges his army, he will only be fighting a fraction of this army. When the air clears we will encircle him and destroy his army. You, you, you—go and reinforce the battle zone. Everyone else will hold position.”

There was no argument on the battlefield. Not with the [General]. Uleth saw men and women running and waited. Minutes until the mists cleared. All he had to do was wait. Orthenon was famous for mind-games, for striking an enemy’s weak spot when they reacted to his provocations. All he had to do was wait—

The sound of clashing arms was distant, and Uleth could hear shouts, screams, horn calls in the distance. He fancied he could even smell the blood pouring already, metallic. Sharp.

But then he heard something. It wasn’t loud, but it was deep. So deep it cut below the sounds in the distance. Uleth began to rub at his ears.

“What’s making that sound?”

He turned his head, but could barely see his command, let alone the soldiers in the dense fog. He could see faint shapes in the mist, but they turned into shadows and then nothing. But the sound continued.

“I said, what in the name of sands is—”

And then it grew louder and Uleth realized what it was.

Humming.

Ahead of Uleth, the fog parted. A slim silhouette emerged from the white oblivion. A stranger holding a huge sword in one hand. She walked forwards, humming that haunting melody under her breath.

Dark shadows ran towards her, and Uleth heard the voices of men and women shouting. The figure swung her sword. Shadows fell to the ground. She walked on.

“Enemy attack!”

Someone shouted. But more voices were yelling the same thing. And the soldiers weren’t moving. They couldn’t see in the fog and they were a force of many nations. If they rushed to attack, they might find themselves locked in combat with their own forces.

Some were. Uleth heard the clash of arms behind him, where no one was attacking. But he only had eyes for the advancing shape. No one could see in this damned fog. No one. Except perhaps someone who had earned her title for doing just that.

Uleth felt a chill. He knew she was on the battlefield. He knew she was here. But it was one thing to hear of her, and another to see her. He whispered her name.

“Gazi the Omniscient.”

The half-Gazer walked into view. Her sword was red. Her armor was dyed crimson. Her central, main eye was closed, but all four of her smaller eyes were focused on him. On Uleth.

He drew his sword. His command formed up, [Tacticians] shouting, Uleth’s elite soldiers forming a wall between him and one of the King’s Seven. Two [Mages] strode forwards, grasping wands nervously. They were all staring at Gazi.

She could not hope to kill them all herself. Uleth’s mind babbled it as he froze, trying to think of orders. But all he could remember were the tales of entire commands slain in the middle of battle, of night ambushes that left no one alive.

“Ch—char—”

His men were staring at him. But Uleth couldn’t form the words properly. How had she come here? They were at the heart of his army! She would have had to cut her way through all those soldiers? Alone?

And then Uleth heard galloping horses and more screams. He saw a second figure appear out of the fog. A man on horseback, a spear in hand. More shapes broke out of the mist behind him. Mounted soldiers. They had cut their way through the stationary troops, led by the leader of the army himself.

Orthenon. Uleth stared at him. The King’s [Steward] raised his spear, and Uleth tried to make his mouth work.

“Char—”

“Charge!”

The King’s [Steward] kicked his horse forwards, and his entire army, cavalry and screaming soldiers, rushed out of the fog straight towards Uleth.

—-

There was a war going on. Trey knew he should be hiding in the city of Reim, away from it. He was no soldier, no fighter. He could barely use a sword. But he rode across the barren ground, following a King.

Flos rode like the wind. No—the wind was weightless. In that case, Flos rode like thunder. He was mounted, riding hard and fast down the road, past groups of people.

And bodies. Some were collapsed, bundles of rags on first glance, until you saw the blood. They flashed past Trey, but he could smell the death as he passed.

And then he saw the people on horseback. He must have turned past a mound of dirt or else there was some gradient to the landscape, because there they were. Trey saw it in a flash. A huge crowd of screaming people fleeing. A knot of armed men and women—barely armored. Flashing swords, and the riders breaking away from the fighting to ride down on some of the fleeing refugees.

They barely saw Flos before it was too late. A man wearing scale armor and holding a spear was riding towards a young woman who’d fallen. He raised the spear, and his head turned as he spotted Flos, riding towards him.

He tried to turn his horse. But too slow. Flos’ sword cut up, through the man’s armpit. The arm holding the spear fell; the second cut went halfway through the man’s neck, between the gap of helmet and armor.

Flos yanked his sword away as the man fell. He turned and rode at the other riders without pausing. They paused, uncertain. Then they recognized him. The King of Destruction.

Some tried to flee. Flos rode down on a slimmer shape on horseback. A female warrior? His sword flashed and one of the riders fell, headless. Flos turned and his sword shot out, stabbing at another rider’s chest.

The man or woman blocked, but the thrust carried them out of the saddle. Flos rode his mount forwards and trampled the fallen rider as he cut at the third man on horseback as he rode at Flos, curved scimitar raised, screaming.

The man was wearing armor, but Flos’ blow knocked his sword aside and smashed into the pauldron the man was wearing. The armor bent around the blow. So did flesh and bone. Trey heard the man cry out in agony. He died reaching for his crushed shoulder as Flos’ second blow crushed his skull and helmet.

Seconds. Trey was still riding towards the dead rider as the last toppled from his horse when he realized he was riding straight into the battle. He pulled desperately at his horse’s reins and the horse reared.

Trey had to clutch desperately at the horse to keep from falling off. He heard someone shout his name.

“Trey!”

His sister rode past him, only managing to slow her horse after several more yards. She turned and he saw she’d drawn her sword.

“Don’t—”

He reached for her. Trey couldn’t have said why. He just knew he couldn’t let his sister, Teres, ride into the heart of that battle. She stared at him, and then turned her head.

There was no need for Teres. Flos was enough. He rode at the group of fighting men and women, aimed straight at the attackers on horseback. They too saw him too late.

It was like a red whirlwind. Flos’ sword moved in flashes, each time slicing through skin, bone, and even armor, or crushing the very same. There were two dozen mounted soldiers—Flos rode into them from behind and they began falling from their saddles. In pieces.

Trey saw the blood. He saw people dying, in ways he couldn’t have dreamed of. He saw a man raise a shield and Flos’ blow split his helm and expose his shattered skull.

Trey leaned over and threw up on the ground. That felt appropriate. There wasn’t any glory in this, any excitement.

But there was vengeance. And there was hope, when the fleeing people and those who had tried to fight looked up and saw their King, holding his bloody sword in the air.

“My King!”

The twins couldn’t bring themselves to ride towards the carnage, but Flos rode back towards them. Trey flinched when he saw the blood spattered along his arm and chest. Flos just looked at him and nodded.

“This is my world. See it with your own two eyes.”

Then he turned to the people who were flocking around him. They shouted his name.

“My King!”

“Our King has come to save us!”

“Long live Flos!”

Flos said one word.

“Silence.”

And there was. He turned to one of the few refugees holding a weapon. Trey was surprised to see it was a balding man, hair white and wispy, with a wide hat on his head. He didn’t look like a warrior, but there was blood on the short axe he carried, and none on his body.

“You. Tell me what is happening.”

This man wasn’t weeping. He stared up at Flos with a huge, face-splitting grin. He bowed his head, but spoke clearly.

“My King. I don’t know how many of ‘em are out there, but there’s dozens of these fiends chopping anyone on the road to bits. We were marching when they came out of the blue, like. We tried to fend them off, but they were choppin’ us to bits before you charged into them.”

Flos nodded. His eyes found the other people holding weapons. They were all older men and women, Trey saw. Some were much older. Grandparents. An elderly woman had a shortbow in one hand. But what was surprising was how natural it seemed in her grip.

“There are elite warriors among you. Few, but I see it. I know you, don’t I?”

The man looked startled and then grinned, exposing a few teeth.

“I was an [Axe Guard], a [Sergeant] in your army, my King! I retired after you went into slumber, but I kept my levels and my axe.”

“I remember you. I remember not your name, but your face. You have more levels than these soldiers did. How have these raiders managed to overwhelm you?”

The man bowed his head.

“My King, there is a [Leader] of some kind out there. His Skills are aiding them. Without a commander of our own, we cannot match their tactics! And they outnumber us, us that can fight, that is.”

Flos looked surprised.

“There are no [Strategists] among you? Not a single one?”

There was a shaking of heads. Flos closed his eyes.

“Of course. [Strategists] may find work regardless of age.”

He turned, looked about the steep inclines. There were hills, rising out of the ground, obscuring vision. Flos’ eyes narrowed.

“More of my subjects are trapped in these passes. I must find them. Those of you with arms who can fight on horseback—mount up! You will ride with me! The rest of you—hold this position.”

He looked down at the retired [Axe Guard], the old man.

“Tengrip? Is that your name?”

“My King. You remember.”

Flos smiled. He reached down from his horse and Tengrip caught his hand. Flos turned and pointed at the twins.

“These two are my sworn followers. Trey and Teres. Guard them with your life. They can tell you what passes. Hold this spot, Tengrip. I will return shortly.”

He turned. The attacker’s horses had scattered, but someone in the crowd raised their fingers to their mouth and uttered a piercing whistle. The horses immediately turned and raced towards him.

Men and women followed Flos. Some paused to grasp weapons and even armor from the fallen; the rest mounted up. It was old men, pot-bellied adults, mothers and grandmothers who raced with Flos away from them.

Trey stared. Then he heard Tengrip’s voice.

“You heard the King! Grab weapons! Grab stones if you need to and form up! Children in the back—you lot with classes, front!”

People rushed to do as he said. Trey jolted when Tengrip turned towards him. The old man peered at Trey.

“You there, lad. Trey, was it? Do you have any classes in fighting?”

“N-no. Not really. I can use a sword. Sort of.”

“Best you’d give that horse to someone who can use it, then. Here! Reddy!”

He called out to another old man, and Trey found himself getting off the horse and letting an elderly man who looked like he was all skin and bones mount up. He only had a staff in his hands, but he looked more at ease sitting in the saddle of Trey’s horse than he had standing.

“You, girl. Give your horse up.”

Teres stared at Tengrip, but let herself be persuaded to give up her mount as well. The twins stood standing with hearts racing as the people around them rushed about, arming themselves, helping the wounded—or mourning the dead.

“This your first battle, boy?”

Tengrip’s hand startled Trey as he stared at the dead bodies. The boy turned to him. Tengrip made Trey face him.

“Looks like it. Blue as an unripe Yellat, aren’t you? Well just look at me. Breathe. You said you can use that sword?”

“Yes.”

“Draw it.”

Tengrip watched as Trey unsteadily unsheathed his sword. He made Trey swing a few times for him, and nodded. By the time that was done, Trey had forgotten about the bodies. Or rather, he’d begun to focus on more pressing issues.

“The King is awake! And he’s riding to save us, alone no less! Why ain’t Orthenon with him, or Lady Mars? Or Lady Gazi? I heard they were all at the capital!”

Tengrip was interrogating Teres. She was trying to explain about the army, and how Mars had to stay at Reim and Orthenon and Gazi were leading an army against one ten times their size.

“Can’t worry about that! Can’t worry—soon as the King hunts down the rest of the raiders we’ll be at the city! There’s thousands of us headed towards Reim—enough to hold the walls. You’ll see. The King’s back. He even remembered me! Tengrip!”

“That’s not your name, is it?”

Trey felt it was a silly question as he stared at the bloody axe Tengrip still hadn’t bothered to wipe. The [Sergeant] grinned at him.

“‘Swhat the fellows in the army called me. And if the King says it’s my name, well, it’s better than my old one!”

Then he turned to shout at the people milling about.

“Don’t break formation, you sand-cursed idiots! Hold your ground!”

They reacted to the voice of command. Tengrip eyed Teres and Trey, and put them well behind the ranks of people he’d spread out in a box formation. Not close to the center, where those without weapons and the ability to fight were, but far back.

Trey felt that was fair, but Teres protested.

“We can fight.”

“Teres—”

Trey wasn’t sure about that, but Tengrip was adamant.

“You two are the King’s servants. If he says you’re to be defended, you’ll stay back. Don’t worry—if we’re attacked, you’ll see fighting.”

And they were. At first it was tense, Trey feeling every second go by as he held his sword awkwardly in a sweaty hand. And then he was bored, talking with Teres, watching Tengrip show some people how to strike. And then he heard screams and saw riders coming over the hill.

There were ten of them. No—nine. One rider was just a horse, galloping with saddle half torn-off. Trey saw some of them had bows. They loosed arrows the instant they were in sight, and he heard a scream as someone was hit.

It was terrifying. The armored people were riding straight at them. But the refugees weren’t idle either. Bows raised. Several people had them, and arrows forced the riders to raise their shields. One struck a horse and made it rear, throwing its rider off—another caught a man in the shoulder, punching through chain links.

The rest were getting closer, though. It seemed as though they’d be right on top of Trey and Teres! He saw a man raising a sword and forgot he was behind several rows of people. Trey began to move along with a mass of people, but a voice stopped him.

“Hold your position!”

Tengrip’s voice made his feet obey. Trey halted, and the riders crashed into the rows of people.

It was a terrible sound and sight. Two of the riders were stopped by the first person—one literally thrown back by a man with a huge tower shield, the second impaling both horse and rider on a pike that was thrust into their path despite the rider’s attempts to swerve.

But the rest, six riders, charged straight into the ranks of people. Trey saw flashing hooves as horses reared, saw people beating at the people on horses. Someone was riding towards him. He raised a sword and then Tengrip was in the way. The old man hacked at the horse’s neck, and there was blood—

In seconds, it was done. The horse fell, to die in moments and the rider was beaten to death, stomped into the dirt. The other attackers were also dead.

But the broken bones and dead people who’d taken the charge were a testament to the cost. Trey wanted to run or throw down his sword, but Tengrip shouted, and soon the square changed. The wounded were taken to the center, and Trey was closer to the front.

Minutes passed. Hours? Trey heard more shouts and saw more riders. He held a sword as his heart and stomach lurched, but he had passed beyond throwing up. But this time the riders weren’t alone.

Cheers rang out as Flos rode towards them, at the head of a huge column of people, most on foot, clutching weapons. His arm was drenched in blood and gore, but he wasn’t wounded.

“It is a trap.”

He rode straight towards Tengrip and said the words so all could hear. Flos silenced the voices and pointed back the way he had come with Trey and Teres.

“The raiders are breaking off. They’re reforming and making for the pass. There’s more behind us as well—keeping their distance.”

“How many?”

Tengrip asked apprehensively, eying the foothills in the distance. Flos shook his head.

“Many. Many more than there should be for [Bandits] or [Raiders]. These aren’t ordinary brigands either, but soldiers. This is a trap, meant for me.”

“In that case, we’ll hold them off while you escape, my King!”

Tengrip raised his axe, but Flos shook his head.

“I am their target. And I will not abandon my people. No, we will fight here and win or die. Now, assemble! [Archers], to the center of the formation! Those of you with the highest levels and mounts, to me! Tengrip, take charge of the rest and form a line. You will be fighting.”

“Aye, my King!”

Trey wanted to speak with Flos. But for once the King had no time for him. He was organizing the frightened people like soldiers. No, turning them into soldiers. The desperate, fleeing people had weapons now, and a leader. They were inexperienced, but there were hundreds of them, thousands. They were ready to beat their enemy to death with rocks or their fists if they had to.

For their King.

But it might not be enough. Trey heard the thumping in his bones before he saw the army. It was a thud, like a drumbeat. But what drum could make the very earth shake?

He got his answer when he saw the army. They emerged from the hills, surrounding the square of people and the mounted group led by Flos. Trey saw archers taking positions on the hilltops and soldiers waiting in clusters. But the main force of the army came down the road they had travelled, hundreds of soldiers, and mounted warriors.

And at their head, a man dressed in bright yellow robes, standing next to an armored man with a purple feather on his helm. But it was the robed figure the thumping was coming from. Every time he took a fourth step, the earth shook around him.

“[Mage]. High level one, it looks like.”

Tengrip spat the words as the army slowed, blocking the pass. Flos stared at the enemy commander, glancing to the hills. He nodded to Tengrip.

“Have the highest-level archers pick off those on the hilltops. Don’t engage them unless they come down; focus on those ahead.”

“Yes, my King.”

“Flos of Reim! You are surrounded and outmatched! Give yourself up and we will spare your subjects!”

The commander had begun to shout. His voice was faint; he didn’t have Flos’ incredible lungs or a Skill. Flos glanced at him and then at the mage. The man in bright yellow robes was staring at Flos, and there was a grim look in the King’s eyes as he stared back.

They were the true centers of this moment, Trey felt. The [Commander] was barely a speck in Flos’ eye. He kept shouting though.

“—Surrender yourself now, or your people shall be slaughtered! You cannot—”

“Riders! On me!”

Flos turned, ignoring the man and raised his sword. The old men and women following him shouted and raised their weapons. Flos pointed—not at the [Commander], but at the [Mage].

“Ride with me! You are my blade, my spear! My [Royal Vanguard]! Charge!”

He kicked his warhorse forwards and the people screamed as they followed him. The stunned [Commander] had to withdraw into the lines of soldiers as the sixty or so riders raced after Flos, into the ranks of the soldiers.

“Charge! For the King!”

Tengrip ran forwards and the group of men and women with warrior classes ran forwards. People around Trey and Teres began firing arrows at the soldiers on the hilltops. The twins stared at Flos as he raced across the dusty ground, aimed straight for the [Mage] in yellow robes. They saw the magic-user grin, and then twist his hands.

The earth split. Stone walls rose in front of Flos, knocking aside the [Mage]’s own soldiers, forming a wall between him and Flos. The King swerved, cutting left into the army. Stone shards exploded from the [Mage]’s grip, cutting through the air. The [King] swung his sword and cut several from the air.

A woman riding behind him fell, a spike sticking out of her stomach. Then the soldiers were clashing with Tengrip’s warriors, and Trey saw the old man’s axe biting. The ground was red with blood already and screams filled the air. The smell of fear and sweat was in Trey’s grip, and the smell of iron too.

The battle had begun.

—-

They were losing the battle. But then, Maresar knew that was the point.

Mounted, loosing arrows into the fog with her group of archers, Maresar turned when she saw the figure appearing out of the fog. She had an arrow ready, but relaxed it when she saw Gazi.

“You’re wounded.”

The half-Gazer staggered towards Maresar, and the woman saw the black smoke rising from Gazi’s armor before she felt the heat. Gazi gasped.

“[Mage]. Got me. Hit me with a [Flare Orb].”

Her armor wasn’t brown anymore. It was black with soot in places, but red blood had painted it liberally as well. Gazi’s two-handed sword was also crimson and dripping. Maresar’s hands moved and she kept loosing arrows as she spoke.

“How long?”

“Two minutes. Orthenon needs more time.”

“He needs to retreat. Tell me where.”

Gazi was still panting, but Maresar saw two of her eyes turn, roving the clouded battlefield. She pointed.

“There. She’s mounted—aim up.”

“This high?”

Maresar aimed, calculating for the arc of her arrow, and loosed in an instant. Gazi waited a heartbeat and then shook her head.

“No. To the left two feet and down half a foot. That’s their head.”

“Fine.”

Maresar loosed a second arrow. Gazi nodded.

“Down. Straight through the chest. Next—over here. They’ve got a barrier spell up.”

“So what am I supposed to do? I don’t have any enchanted arrows.”

“Hit the horse.”

Gazi’s rasped commands let Maresar target three more mages in the mist. She killed one more, and only distracted two, but it was enough. The fog persisted a few more minutes as the [Mages] were forced to scramble for cover rather than focus on dispelling the enchantment.

That done, Maresar turned back to firing into the mist. She couldn’t see anything, even with her Skills, but she didn’t have to look. There were so many soldiers all she had to do was loose arrows and she’d hit someone.

“How are we doing?”

“We’re being cut up. We can’t hold much longer.”

Gazi was staring at the place in the fog she’d come from. The place where she’d gone with Orthenon, leading them straight to the center of the army.

It was a tactic that required the fog arrows to occupy the army. It could only work on a coalition army, too. The soldiers didn’t recognize each other, and some were too afraid to enter the fighting for fear they’d attack each other. Some did, and began killing their allies. But it was all to get to the enemy command, Maresar knew.

They’d charged the entire army in, save for the archers led by Maresar. A wedge had been driven into the enemy army, a spear aimed straight at the center. But it was a thin, brittle spear. Maresar knew the lines of soldiers were collapsing, struggling to fight an enemy on both sides that vastly outnumbered them.

“I’m going back in.”

Gazi gripped her sword, coughing. Maresar kicked her mount and blocked the Gazer’s way.

“Not a chance. You’re too weak without your main eye.”

“Orthenon needs help.”

“He can do without you. You just took a spell to the chest. Even with your armor, it nearly got you. If you can’t dodge that, you’ll just get killed.”

Gazi opened her mouth to protest, and then all four eyes swiveled across the battlefield at once.

“The fog’s lifting! Orthenon’s…a few more seconds. He’s nearly killed half—he’s moving! Be ready!”

“At last!”

Maresar turned her horse and raced down the line of her archers, shooting.

“Volley the soldiers to the right and left of the formation! Loose!”

Her archers turned. They began to shoot, avoiding the patch of fog where their own soldiers lay. Maresar put an arrow to her own bow and began loosing arrow after arrow, as fast she could.

They only had a few more seconds to do as much damage as possible. And then…it would depend on Orthenon whether the plan had worked as well as not. If he could kill the enemy [General], excellent. But that wasn’t the plan. The plan…

Was simpler than that.

—-

He had truly thought he was going to die. But as Uleth stared at the heavy ranks of soldiers between him and the struggling warriors on horseback, he knew he would live.

Orthenon was fighting in the center of the scrum of soldiers, slashing with his spear as if it were a sword. He’d killed a score of Uleth’s finest soldiers, but it wasn’t enough. Uleth gripped his sword’s hilt, but made himself let go. A [General] didn’t need to fight and risk his life. He had mobilized the nearby regiments and they were all converging on this position. A few seconds and he’d have Orthenon cornered—

The tall, gaunt man on horseback raised his spear. There was no mistaking his voice, even over the clash of arms.

“Withdraw!”

He shouted and turned his mount. To Uleth’s disbelief, the soldiers began withdrawing, falling back, disappearing back into the fog.

But it was lifting too. And as Uleth stared, he saw the battlefield swim back into focus. Only now did he see the huge line of soldiers, like an arrow, penetrating the ranks of his soldiers, pulling back. It was insanity. If they had tried that in the daylight, they would have been overrun from every side. But in the fog, where no one could see who was friend or foe—

“Crush them! Don’t let Orthenon escape!”

The order came too late. As the soldiers returned to their formations, Orthenon and his riders raced past. Uleth saw the [Steward] stab a soldier through the helmet as he charged his mount down the pathway he had created, back towards safety.

Uleth turned, almost blinded by fury.

“I want every mounted warrior out there hunting him down! Now!”

He looked for the [Strategist] from Germina, but the man was nowhere to be found. Uleth had to shout before one of the [Tacticians] ran towards him, face pale. Uleth screamed at him.

“Where are my [Strategists]?”

“They’re all dead! All—there’s only the lesser [Tacticians] alive!”

“What?”

But it was true. Caught so close together, without their shields of soldiers, Orthenon’s men and the [Steward] himself had cut right through the [Strategists] and [Tacticians]. That was why he’d attacked, surely.

An army without [Strategists] was slower. Weaker. Uleth could feel his blood boiling in his veins. But they were still outnumbered. He snapped at the frightened [Tactician].

“What are you waiting for? Surround them and kill them all!”

His [Horncaller] raised the horn and blew the call to attack. But it was too late. Uleth stared in disbelief as Orthenon’s mounted cavalry retreated. As did the [Archers]. And the foot. The entire force of the King of Destruction’s army began to retreat as fast as they could from the battlefield.

—-

This was war. Trey found himself hacking at a man with a shield, screaming as he tried to strike the man, stab him through the faceguard. Then someone cut into the man’s side. Teres shoved her blade deep as the soldier screamed and fell back.

They were alive. For a few more seconds. Trey turned, shaking, from the group of soldiers who’d attacked the square of refugees from the rear. He looked back towards the real battle.

With Flos. The King of Destruction was racing through the heart of the soldiers as if they were grass, cutting left and right, arm moving almost too fast to see. And behind him rode the vanguard, the old men and women. And they were…slaughtering the soldiers.

“How?”

Trey whispered it. He saw a woman who could have been anyone’s mother crack someone’s head open like an egg with a mace, and then smash someone in the chest. The people behind Flos were fighting like you saw in movies, like they were untouchable!

“It’s his Skill! It has to be!”

Teres screamed it in Trey’s ear. [Royal Vanguard]. But that couldn’t be it. Not just that. Because across the battlefield, the refugees were giving the enemy army an incredible battle.

The group of people on foot had charged into the ranks of soldiers and begun hacking them apart with the same incredible display. Trey saw Tengrip, slashing about him with an axe.

“He’s old! How can he do that!?”

“Because he’s old!”

“What?”

Trey stared at his sister. She stared at the battle, her sword wet with blood, a look of—excitement?—on her face.

“They’re old! Retired! But they were all warriors! Think of how many levels they have!”

Trey thought. Then he saw Tengrip struggling with a huge man. He was darting back as the other man, holding a much larger axe, tried to cut Tengrip in half with it. But the [Axe Guard] slid forwards, and then he did something with his axe—

Teres clapped a hand to her mouth and Trey’s stomach lurched as Tengrip cut sideways with one hand. The huge soldier had a shield, but it was like it didn’t exist. The axe struck the shield. The metal deformed, and then the blade of the axe cut into the man’s body, through his armor, into his side, rending skin, tearing his body in half—

The huge soldier fell without a word. Tengrip staggered away. He’d lost his axe. He limped away from the battle, towards the square of refugees. He was bloody, but grinning as he saw Trey and Teres.

“Still alive?”

“Where are you going?”

Teres stared at Tengrip, as if he hadn’t just killed at least eight soldiers himself. The old man wrinkled his nose and lifted his right hand.

“I’m tired and I think I sprained my wrist. I’ll leave the rest of the fighting to you lot.”

His wrist was hanging loosely, as if it wasn’t…attached properly. Trey stared at it.

Fragile bones.

Then someone grabbed his arm. Trey stared into a woman’s face and saw more soldiers were breaking off towards them.

“Get ready!”

The fighting was reaching their position in the line. Trey saw bodies pressed together, hacking at each other, and then he was in the middle of it again. Tengrip was hacking at someone with his off-hand, and Trey was trying to block something—and then—

“Look out!”

The world went dark. Trey looked up, and saw something huge pass overhead. He felt the earth shake. He looked up.

A huge boulder, bloodied, three times as large as a horse, had just landed. It had crushed dozens of people and—and rolled.

There was blood and…and…Trey stared at what was left of the people after the boulder had hit them. He turned, forgetting about the battle and saw the [Mage].

He was standing alone now, at the center of the clashing soldiers. His hands were raised, and he was pointing. Every time he pointed, a spire of stone would shoot up from the ground, impaling those above. Then the [Mage] put his fingers together and another spray of rock fragments shot out, shredding a group of people that had tried to charge him.

Two figures dominated the battle. Flos, racing through the soldiers, cutting them down like grain. And the [Mage], casually killing everyone he saw with a gesture.

And they were aiming for each other, the King and the [Mage]. Flos turned his mount, beheading a man and rode straight at the [Mage], ignoring the people in his way. But the [Mage] raised a finger and Flos threw himself from the saddle. Jagged spears of stone shot from the earth, impaling the soldiers around Flos and his horse—his own side.

But he was still aiming for Flos. The King leapt sideways, as more stone darts shot across the ground like hail. He deflected some with his sword, but more struck him on the chest and arm. Trey saw Flos stagger and cried out.

A huge boulder rose from the ground in front of the mage. It hovered and then shot at Flos like some ancient cannonball. The King dodged by a hair’s breath. The boulder shot through the ranks of soldiers, sending bodies flying like bowling pins. But there was difference between pins and bodies crushed, turned to red paste by the [Mage]’s spell.

He was doing as much damage to his side as Flos’. But he was closing in on the King. And so, for the first time, Trey saw Flos run. The King darted through the ranks of soldiers. He leapt—at least six feet into the air!—and kicked a horseman out of the saddle. Flos kicked the horse and ran as more stone spires burst out of the ground behind him.

“Fall back!”

He roared it and the people broke away, running across the ground towards the refugees. Far less. Far fewer. And the [Mage] still kept casting spells.

The earth broke around the fleeing people. Spears of stone stabbed up—stone arrows struck their backs. The spellcasting only stopped when one of the archers around Trey began shooting at the [Mage]. The first few swerved before hitting him, but the [Mage] immediately raised stone slabs, covering him from attack.

Trey saw Flos riding towards them, gripping his side. He had a potion in his hands, but he thrust it at a man who was trying to hold his insides in. He had jagged bits of stone embedded in his very skin. Flos was holding a hand over his ribs and he was bleeding.

He stopped before his subjects. They called out to him, but Flos stared until he saw the twins. He slowly walked his horse towards Trey. He coughed and Trey heard a wheezing sound as Flos spoke.

“I fear…I may have been outmatched. By a single [Geomancer], no less.”

There was no despair in his eyes, no denial either. Only grim determination, and…acceptance. He would go down fighting.

Trey looked at Flos, and then stared at the other army. They were forming into ranks. Fewer of them…far fewer. But still several hundred. And the [Mage] stood in an open space in the center of that army.

They weren’t moving to attack. They had taken up the same formation as the refugees, in fact. A close box around the [Mage]. They were going to let him kill everyone.

The man in yellow robes wasn’t casting spells. Not yet. He was drinking from a bottle. A mana potion? He tossed it aside and raised a hand. An arrow flying at him broke on a second shield of stone.

Flos turned his mount. He looked around, and saw only a dozen of the people who’d charged with him. But they rode towards their King, holding their weapons at the ready, not a trace of fear in their eyes.

“I have one Skill I could use. If this were an army. But it is not. These are my people. Not soldiers. If I had an enchanted blade, or armor like Gazi…but I do not. And I have few Skills that can be activated.”

Flos looked at Trey, eyes full of regret. He sighed, and raised his sword. All was silent as Flos shouted.

“The King of Destruction rides! Who will come with me?”

This time everyone shouted. They raised their blades, and Trey found himself raising his sword. The refugees, thousands of them, prepared to charge. Together they could—

The [Mage] clapped his hands. The ground turned to mud ahead of him, a wet, deep bog. Flos’ eyes narrowed. He pointed to the hills.

“Around, then. If he cuts us down by the hundreds, we must still charge. Do you understand?”

Trey’s heart was beating out of his chest. This was it then. Flos sighed. He looked at the twins and then raised his sword.

“One last time, then.”

He opened his mouth to shout the command to charge, and halted. His eyes widened. Trey saw the King’s grim expression change. He stared past the army of soldiers, past the [Mage] in yellow robes and breathed one word.

“Mars.”

—-

They were running. In full retreat. Gazi was on horseback and she felt her burnt skin screaming every time her horse took a step. But she had to run. They all had to run.

An army of tens of thousands was hot on their heels.

They had done it. The enemy [General] was enraged beyond belief. He didn’t have any clever strategies, any schemes. He wasn’t using his [Mages] or siege weapons. He was just trying to crush their small force with his own.

His soldiers were charging, but they weren’t faster than the soldiers that Orthenon had picked. And he had his own Skills that let them race across the ground. Even a foot soldier could cover miles in full armor with Orthenon leading them. It was the cavalry that was the true danger. Gazi’s head turned and she snapped at the man riding ahead of her.

“Another group. Two hundred, coming from the left!”

“The Second Horse, on me! Crush them!”

Orthenon turned his mount and a group of riders broke away. They shot back, meeting the armed [Lancers] in a clash of weapons. Gazi saw Orthenon’s sword blur. He’d tossed away his spear to use his Skills.

[Sword Art: The Tide Breaks]. Five warriors racing at Orthenon crumpled from their saddles, cut straight through their armor by devastating slashes. Orthenon cut again and his blade scythed through a lance. It was enchanted.

But it wasn’t enough. Not alone. Not against an army. Orthenon used a second Skill even as Gazi watched, striking all around him.

[Sword Art: Scattering Petals on the Wind]. This too killed as his enchanted blade cut in every direction. But he was running out of Skills to use.

“Gazi!”

Someone rode past her. Maresar was still loosing arrows from her bow, picking off riders on their trail. She shouted at the half-Gazer.

“How many more miles?”

“Twelve!”

They raced across the dry ground as an army poured across the flat landscape after them. Gazi felt her horse panting for breath. Would they die before they reached the city? She didn’t know. She saw a group of warriors—elites by the look of them—riding camels and bearing down on a group of fleeing soldiers. Gazi gritted her teeth and turned her mount. She rode back, unsheathing her sword.

Twelve miles.

—-

“Mars.”

It was one word. A whisper that carried. Flos stared at a hilltop. Trey followed his gaze.

“Mars? But isn’t she—”

“Guarding the city. But if she heard of the battle she would have come.”

“She’d need an army! What about the city?”

“No. She wouldn’t need an army. Look.”

Flos pointed and Trey saw her at last. A figure in shining armor on a hilltop, red hair blowing in the wind.

“She came alone.”

It was like a dream. There stood Mars, her silver armor buffed, her hair caught by the setting sun. But this was also reality, and Trey’s blood ran cold.

“She’s alone?”

She couldn’t be. No one could be that stupid. But Mars raised her sword and took the shield from her back, and Trey saw she was indeed alone. And now the enemy had seen her too.

A cry went up as the [Mage] lowered his stone shield, preparing to cast a spell. He had a staff in his hands now, and the orb at the top shone with a bright light. He turned his head with a look of irritation and went still when he saw the figure on the hill.

“My loyal Mars. Yes.”

“What is she doing? She’s not even wearing a helmet!”

Teres fought her way over to Flos, pale with fear. Flos laughed.

“She has a helmet.”

But she wasn’t wearing one. Trey watched as Mars raised her sword to point at the [Mage], standing in the center of the ranks of soldiers. She struck her shield with her blade, and then Flos raised his voice.

“One of my Seven is here!”

Many hadn’t seen her. Trey heard shouts and exclamations as heads turned up, and people spotted Mars. Flos shouted over the cheers.

“Who is my [Vanguard]? Who strikes fear into the hearts of my foes?”

He rode down the line of people, and they shouted.

“Mars!”

“Who is my champion?”

“Mars!”

They screamed her name. The enemy was turning, forming into ranks to face the [Vanguard], the lone member of the King’s Seven. They were treating her like an army herself. But Trey looked at Mars’ bare head. He saw the [Mage] raising his staff.

And he feared what would happen next.

It started slowly. Mars began racing down the hilltop. She was a distant figure, armor flashing silver as she ran. Her shield was raised, her sword held at her side. She looked like a surging wall of metal.

A group of cavalry rode to meet her. Each warrior had a lance. They thundered at Mars as she hit flat ground, aiming their lances at her heart.

Trey cried out as they met her. The lances struck Mars’ shield. Four lancers struck her with all the weight of a horse behind them. And Mars—

Stopped.

She didn’t move. The lances broke and two of the riders were thrown from their saddles by the impact. The other two galloped past Mars, riders knocked back by the force of the blow. Mars raised her sword and stabbed the two fallen warriors almost perfunctorily. Then she ran on.

“Impossible.”

Teres breathed the words. The soldiers were just as stunned. Then the archers began to loose arrows. They rained down on Mars but she didn’t bother to lift her shield. They struck her armor, breaking and bouncing off the shining metal. And they struck her head.

And those arrows broke too. Trey’s jaw fell open as Mars ran on. He saw an arrow strike her in the eye and shatter as if it had hit steel.

“Prepare to charge.”

Flos’ voice broke him out of the moment. He was staring at Mars, and someone else.

The [Mage]. The [Geomancer] watched Mars racing towards him, eyes narrowed. She struck the first line of soldiers with a clash that Trey heard even from a distance. Mars’ shield swung like a mace, edge striking a man’s face and caving it in. Her sword flashed, and two warriors stumbled back, falling. But she didn’t stop.

Swords cut her. A mace fell towards her face and Mars blocked it. She charged into the ranks of soldiers, and they were forced back. They couldn’t stop her. A pike snapped as Mars ran onto it. She ran on, soldiers falling back, tossed aside, helpless to block her way.

But the [Mage] just watched Mars come. He gestured with his staff, and a hail of stone shards burst out of the orb, striking Mars. The stone tips broke on her armor.

The man frowned. A boulder rose out of the earth, forming itself from bits of stone, and shot towards Mars. She stopped then, and braced herself. The huge stone struck her shield and Trey felt the impact. It was stone that broke. Not Mars.

She ran on. Now the [Mage] had lost his confidence. He sent a wave of spikes shooting upwards, but they could have been grass for all they hindered her. He tried to hit Mars with another boulder, but she blocked again.

“She’s going to get him.”

“Not quite. He has one stronger spell.”

Flos’ voice was quiet. He was watching Mars as she cut through a group of soldiers trying to protect the [Geomancer]. And he was right.

The [Mage] raised his staff and struck the earth with it. Suddenly, Mars was wading through mud as the earth turned to sludge beneath her. The [Mage] raised his staff over his head, mouthing words, and now Trey felt uneasy. Something was happening.

A huge stone formed out of the dirt, the earth caving in around it and drifting upwards, compacting into a mass of stone and dust. The same thing that the [Mage] had thrown towards Trey earlier.

It was bigger than a car—the size of a small bus. Trey could see the [Mage] struggling to lift it. But he had an easy target. Mars was stuck, trying to reach the edge of the mud pit. She halted and raised her shield as the stone rose. The [Mage] threw it with one motion. It shot towards Mars and the impact shook the earth.

And this time Mars didn’t block. The boulder crashed into the mud, sending it shooting up around it. When it fell, there was no silver figure. No Mars.

A groan went up from the people around Flos. They cried out, and the soldiers around the [Mage] raised a cheer. He turned, arms held high as they cried out in victory. Trey looked at Flos—

And saw the King was smiling.

She walked out of the air itself as the [Mage] was laughing in delight. Mars appeared, her form fading into existence, rather than out of it. The [Mage] hadn’t seen. He heard the cries of alarm too late. Mars ran him through and he stared at her, completely surprised.

“Now.”

Flos’ voice rose and he shouted as Mars spun away from the [Mage], raising her sword. Flos raised his and bellowed.

“For Mars and glory! To me!”

They ran forwards, shouting. And Trey was right behind Flos until they met the enemy. He saw the King riding towards Mars as she fought, surrounded by soldiers on all sides. He thought he saw Mars laughing. He knew Flos was.

—-

They weren’t going to make it. Gazi slashed left and someone cut her on the cheek. She hadn’t seen it coming.

“Gazi!”

Maresar shot the person who’d wounded her. Her fingers were a blur as she nocked arrows and loosed in one motion. One arrow. Two arrows. Five…seven…each time she loosed, another soldier on horseback fell.

They were so close. Gazi kicked at her horse, but the animal was wheezing. It was at the end of its tether. She leapt from her steed and stumbled.

Someone caught her. Orthenon spurred his mount, his bloody sword in hand. There was the wild fury of battle in his eyes.

“What are you waiting for!? We’re nearly there! Run, damn you all! Run!”

They ran. Reim’s gates were in the distance. They were so close. But they were too slow. The enemy caught them at last.

—-

Afterwards, Trey realized he was standing on the dead [Mage]’s body, a staff in his hands. He was panting. He had a deep, deep cut on one arm—if he looked he could see something like bone. The staff shone in Trey’s grip as he bled on it.

“I think it’s his. But I took it.”

He babbled at Teres when she found him, sword bloody. She stared at his arm and screamed for help.

Flos ran towards them and covered Trey’s arm with his, pinching the flesh together. That hurt and Trey told him so. But then Mars was running over, armor pristine, hair still blowing like an action hero. She didn’t even have a speck of blood on her. Not a bit. Trey found that weird.

“I have a potion. Here.”

She took a small bottle out of…somewhere, and uncorked it. Trey gasped as it was poured over his wound and then he saw the cut on his arm close. He blinked at Mars and then his head cleared a bit.

“Ow.”

“Are you injured anywhere else Trey? Teres?”

“No. I don’t think—no.”

Teres wasn’t injured either. Flos stared around the battlefield. The enemy soldiers were either dead or fled. Their [Commander] might have been among them—it didn’t seem to matter. Their spirits had broken when the [Mage] had been killed, and between Flos and Mars, they had carved up the soldiers.

Now Trey stared at Mars. Mars the Illusionist. The [Vanguard]. The most useless of the King’s Seven when it came to anything but war. But war…she was pretty good at war.

There was not a scratch on her. Not a bit. And no blood, although it was practically matted in Flos’ beard. It was a mystery that Trey was on the verge of solving. And then Flos solved it for him.

“Mars. You have my deepest gratitude.”

“I disobeyed your orders, my King. I wouldn’t have come, but I received a message from a certain son of a certain vassal you might know.”

“No. Venith’s boy?”

“He told me you were in danger. So I rode out against your command. I apologize, my King.”

She bowed to him. Flos laughed softly.

“I am a fool. Were it not for you, I would be dead, I think. And if the city still stands, this will be a victory on all fronts.”

“There were no other enemies nearby, which I found odd. So I took a horse—I left it somewhere so I wouldn’t get it killed.”

Mars was still smiling, looking as beautiful and sounding as nonchalant as ever. But she was surprised when Flos dismounted and came towards her.

“Mars. Enough modesty. You saved my life. I would look on your face now, and speak my thanks to my vassal myself. Your true face.”

She hesitated. Mars lost her usual swagger, and glanced at Trey and Teres.

“In front of them?”

“If you are uncomfortable, they will turn away. But I want to see you, Mars.”

Flos’ voice was gentle. Trey took hold of Teres’ arm, but Mars shook her head.

“No, I—they can—”

She hesitated, and then raised her right hand. She was wearing silver gauntlets, but she twisted at her ring finger. There was nothing there that Trey could see. And then—

The illusion vanished. Mars vanished. The tall, buxom redhead in silver armor vanished. A shorter figure, spattered in blood, grime, and wearing armor that was just grey stood in her place. She had a helmet on her head with the visor down. She wasn’t thin, and her breastplate could have been made for a man or a woman.

And then she took off her helmet and Trey saw a woman’s face. It wasn’t hideous—it was a bit plain, that was all. Mars had pale skin from lack of sunlight, and a few faint freckles. Her hair was brown. And her nose was a bit snubbed. She was sweating heavily. She looked down at the ground, rather than meet anyone’s eye.

And Flos bent and kissed Mars on the forehead. She went still. Her eyes were wide. And Flos kissed her again.

“My [Vanguard]. My beautiful vassal.”

That was all. Flos stared into Mars’ eyes and she looked up at him with tears in hers. By the time Tengrip came over, his broken hand splinted and the people began cheering, Mars was standing next to Flos with her illusion back in place, laughing loudly and waving to the people who cheered for her.

But for a second Trey had seen the truth. And it changed everything. He’d seen the ring she twisted to change her appearance, and remembered the broach she’d given Flos. Mars was no good at magic. But she had a lot of magic on her.

Mars the Illusionist. And Flos turned towards her, looking at his vassal with pride that had nothing to do with looks. He held out a hand towards her and she grasped it.

“Come, Mars. You too, Trey, Teres. This was only one battle. It’s time to win another.”

—-

They caught Orthenon’s army four miles from their destination. Venith saw the struggling lines of soldiers, trying to fight and run before the rest of the army caught up. They were on the verge of being overrun.

“Mother’s there.”

By his side, Calac was staring in horror at the endless sea of soldiers. He had probably never seen so many people in his life, and they were all the enemy. But Venith could close his eyes and remember greater armies. But his eyes were open now.

“It’s a trap. Not for Orthenon and the others. That army’s in the middle of his trap.”

“How? There are so many—”

Venith glanced at the city of Reim in the distance, the sixteen towers piercing the sky.

“I know what they’re doing. Stay back, Calac. Take the foot and archers to your mother.”

“But—”

“No arguments. You won’t die today. This—is my duty.”

Venith rode forwards. His retainers, his sworn friends and companions from another war, rode with him, shouting. They were a handful, but it was enough. Venith found his heart was beating harder, harder than it had beat for many years.

The soldiers had noticed him now. Venith saw a four-eyed stare, a gaunt man turning his head in disbelief, and a woman on horseback, more beautiful than one of Mars’ lies, staring at him. It was the only thing Venith had ever wanted to see. That, and one more face.

He raised his sword and shouted.

“In the name of the King of Destruction! Charge!”

His soldiers raced with him, cheering and broke upon the startled enemy. Venith rode into them, deep, cutting, slashing, blocking every strike with his shield. He heard a wild sound and realized it was coming from him.

He was laughing.

—-

Flos and the small army of refugees reached the city. The King and Mars raced towards the northeastern gate. They saw the army fighting in the distance, and the soldiers running for the city with the last of their energy.

“Venith!”

The King cried out when he saw the man locked in combat, holding the enemy back. Gazi and Orthenon were riding back towards him, but it was Venith’s wife who turned first.

Maresar nocked one arrow and loosed it. She had a second arrow at the string in an instant. She loosed.

In Trey’s vision, two soldiers rushing towards Venith fell. One staggered and clawed at an arrow in his chest; the other fell soundlessly, an arrow protruding from one cheek. More arrows flew, and the people trying to kill Venith fell from their saddles.

“Retreat, you idiot!”

Mars shouted it from the battlements at Venith, as if he could hear. She turned to Flos.

“He doesn’t know about the plan!”

“Oh, but he does. This is Venith. He knows the nature of my city. He knows what we would do.”

Flos answered calmly, but his hands were gripping the stone so tightly Trey feared it might break. His eyes were on Venith.

His vassal.

It looked as if Venith’s thin line of soldiers might buckle and break at any moment. They were falling, but the last of Orthenon’s army was breaking away. Trey waited for Venith, searching for him amid the fighting. And then—

“There!”

A man was riding backwards, fending off slashes with a shield, several wounded men around him. He rode at breakneck pace towards the gates, his fresh mount outdistancing his pursuers.

“It’s time.”

Flos turned from the battlements, a huge grin on his face. He leapt down the stairs and Mars was by his side. They ran towards the gates, where an exhausted group of soldiers had collapsed just inside the city.

“Orthenon! Gazi! Maresar! To me!”

Flos shouted and the three ran towards him. Each one looked battered. Trey had never seen Orthenon looking so haggard, and even Gazi looked tired. But as they reached their King, their faces changed.

“It’s time. Form up the rest of the army.”

“Done!”

From his position, Trey could see more soldiers, fresh soldiers, standing at attention. They were ready for battle. But the army approaching Reim was enormous.

“We slew a number of their [Mages]. Most of their [Strategists]—couldn’t reach the artillery.”

Orthenon gasped at Flos as he drank from a flask. Flos nodded.

“They chased you here. That is what matters. They are too close to the city.”

“They’ll be right behind Venith and climbing the walls in seconds. It needs to be now, my King. Gazi—”

“I’ll do it.”

Gazi stumbled towards the stairs. Trey saw her climbing with speed towards him. Flos turned towards the gates and bellowed.

“Lower the gates!”

The portcullis began to drop. Shapes galloped through before it closed. Venith leapt from his saddle and hit the ground hard. He strode towards Flos.

“My King.”

“Venith.”

The man tried to kneel, but Flos seized him before he could. Flos wrapped his arms around Venith and hugged him to his chest. There were tears in Venith’s eyes.

“I do not deserve—”

“Do not speak to me of that! A [King] does not remember such things. You are back, my vassal. And now, let us put an end to this.”

“Yes.”

Venith stepped back lifting his sword and shield. Maresar joined him, and they stood together.

“Yes!”

Mars grinned and raised her sword and shield, shouting, and a thousand voices echoed hers. Orthenon raised his blade.

“For the King of Destruction!”

On the wall, Trey realized he was in danger when the first soldiers began firing at the walls, and more began pounding at the gates. He would have run or ducked, but a hand grabbed him.

“This way!”

Gazi pulled him and Teres towards the watch tower. She sprinted up the steps and the twins raced after her. They couldn’t see the soldiers, but they could hear an incredible din through the echoing tower.

“There are too many! We can’t hold them off!”

“That is not needed. We just had to get them to attack the city rather than stay away and lay siege from a distance.”

“Why?”

Trey shouted. He caught up to Gazi at the top of the tower. The half-Gazer was panting, but her four eyes were steady. She grinned and then pointed.

“Accuracy.”

There was something on the walls of the tower. Some kind of…drawing. Trey squinted, and then he saw, partially obscured by dust and filth, a symbol.

No…was it a rune? It was some kind of diagram, a circle, only each line was in fact made of smaller lines, writing that hurt just to look at. It wasn’t proper words. It was shapes. Meaning made into written word.

Magic.

Gazi slowly walked over and pressed her hand to the center of the diagram. Slowly, the runes lit up. They glowed faintly at first, and then began to shine. Yellow, the color of the sun, and then brighter still. They became searing white lines, tinged with gold. Like—

Lightning.

—-

Uleth snarled as he screamed for ladders, battering rams, anything to break open the damned walls of Reim. The city’s wall were short, the defenders less than ten thousand in number. He would kill them all now—they had nowhere to run!

“Set up the damn trebuchets!”

He shouted at one of his remaining aides, a low-level [Tactician], before remembering he’d left all of his artillery behind in the chase. Even his foot soldiers were barely catching up, winded and exhausted from the run as they were. If they’d had [Strategists], they could have used Skills to reduce the effort of the chase, move faster. Damn Orthenon!

Lacking siege weapons, Uleth spurred his exhausted mount to one of his [Mages].

“I want you to blow down the gates! Now!”

“We’ll try, but it will take—”

“Do it!”

The [Mage] turned to the others, still panting from their ride and they began to link hands in preparation for the spell. Then one of them turned pale and pointed up.

“Someone on the castle walls is casting a massive spell!”

“What?”

“There! On the tower!”

Uleth spun. He couldn’t see any signs of magical activity—he could barely make out the top of the tower amid the gathering storm clouds. Where had his cursed clear skies gone? It wouldn’t save the King of Destruction though, nothing would.

“Kill the [Mage], then! Bring down that tower!”

Someone threw a [Fireball]. It burst harmlessly on the wall, as did the arrows of magic which failed to even damage the stones they struck.

“The towers are heavily enchanted! And the mage—it’s a Tier 6 spell! At least!”

Uleth felt fear worm its way into his stomach. He stared at the tower.

“Impossible. There are no powerful mages present. Amerys is at Wistram. She has to be!”

“No! It’s not one person. It’s—the towers!”

Another mage cried out, and now Uleth could see signs of magic. Each one of the sixteen towers of Reim was glowing now, and light was shining from the tips. No—not light.

Lightning.

Electricity was crackling around the tower’s tips. As Uleth watched in horror, it began to shoot out, flickering, reaching out. Not down towards the ground, but towards the center of the city. Towards the palace.

—-

Gazi stood with one hand on the magical sigil, tracing complex patterns on it. It wasn’t just a circle, Trey now realized. It was a map of the city, formed by the runic writing.

And now he could see the magic working. Trey glanced out the window as lightning flashed.

“W-what’s happening?”

“A spell.”

Gazi whispered it, all four eyes focused on the runes. She traced a line towards the center of the city, and Trey saw lightning shoot towards the center. It was gathering there. It was impossible for lightning to do that of course, but it was arching towards the palace, crackling as it danced across the stone exterior. And now Gazi’s hand had stopped.

Outside, the electricity gathered into one spot. High above the city, all sixteen towers shot lightning up, towards a…ball of lightning. Gazi paused, and looked at Trey. There was a wild grin on her face.

“Drevish made this.”

“Drevish?”

“Yes. He studied Drake architecture. They build their cities to fight back even without defenders.”

She gestured at the lightning.

“Amerys and Drevish both worked on this enchantment. They called it [Storm Keep]. A spell to destroy entire armies. It was never used. There was never a need.”

No army has ever attacked Reim. Trey stared at Gazi and then realized the plan. It was so simple. Lure the enemy close. Only it wouldn’t work if they stayed back and knocked the towers down with trebuchets.

Now Gazi turned. She stared out one of the windows, down at the army surrounding Reim. The dark shapes were moving. Fleeing. Running away from the city now the trap had been sprung.

But they were too slow. Too late. Too tired to run fast, and too disorganized. Gazi smiled.

“This is for you, Drevish.”

Then she touched the map. And lightning rained down from the heavens.

—-

Venith watched the lightning fall. He could close his eyes and remember Amerys laughing and coming up with the idea and convincing Drevish to work on the enchantment.

Lightning for a King of Destruction. Lightning for his crown. From his crown. It was something only they could make, something only Drevish could engineer and Amerys could enchant.

Now the thunder rolled nonstop, and the flashes of light split the earth. Electricity arced from soldier to soldier, seeking their metal weapons. And the light fell and men died.

In silence, the King of Destruction and his vassals watched the storm bring down its wrath. Even Amerys couldn’t have done as much. Not alone. But as Drevish would have pointed out, this was architecture. It was grand and terrible.

And it was merciless. From her tower, Gazi pinpointed [Mages]. Even the best of them on the field couldn’t stand more than three strikes of lightning. Then she struck the enemy [General] as he ran, brought down clusters of elite soldiers, and then hit any group she could find. And when it was over, Flos raised his sword.

“You are my army! My army! The [Army of the King]!”

Thousands of soldiers roared. Venith felt the exhaustion in his arms disappear in an instant. He lifted his sword and shield and felt as light as a feather. The gates opened and Flos led the charge. Venith rode at the King’s back, Maresar by his side. Orthenon and Mars flanked the King and they charged the remnants of the army. They were still outnumbered.

But their King was back. And Venith laughed and laughed. Because he was finally happy.

The King of Destruction had returned.

—-

Destruction. It was fitting name for it. When he had first heard the title, Trey had thought it was a rather silly name. A title for someone pretending to be a King maybe, or a mocking name. Not something literal.

But now he stood in a tower, and all he saw was just that. Destruction. The earth was blackened. Fires had started and had to be put out. But it was the bodies that Trey focused on. The broken bodies. The burnt armor.

And the captives. There were thousands of them. More captives than captors, possibly. But they had thrown down their arms rather than face Flos, face his vassals or his army.

Gazi walked slowly down the stairs with Trey and Teres. They had to help her; Trey was the one to notice how gingerly she walked, and the burn marks on her armor. They supported her down the long, winding stairs, awkwardly taking her weight. But Gazi insisted on walking alone to meet her King as he rode back into the city.

Flos was covered in blood. His eyes were still wild with battle, and his soldiers and vassals shouted with victory. Trey stared at them and then saw Teres with that same smile.

But he didn’t smile. He felt like a stranger, even more so now than before. A stranger, staring at something he couldn’t quite understand. Something that called to Trey. Something wonderful, horrible, enticing, revolting. Something foreign.

Flos dismounted, patting his warhorse as his vassals and subjects crowded around him. He seemed larger than life, the center of the world. Trey heard people praising him, asking him questions. But it was Orthenon’s voice that rose above the others.

“The captives, my King. What shall we do with them?”

“We can guard them for a short while. But not for long. They will solve our issue of funding and food for the winter.”

Flos was speaking to Orthenon, smiling broadly. Trey saw Gazi halt as she approached her King. There was a strange look on her face. Flos turned, calling out for someone with magical skill to send a [Message] spell.

“To Roshal! To the Traders! Tell them to send the nearest caravan they have. One should already be close by if they have been watching the battle. Tell them I want all the food and supplies they can sell to me!”

It was strange. Maresar grinned slightly at Flos’ words. Mars didn’t react. Orthenon just nodded calmly as if he’d expected it. Even Venith nodded, looking steadfast. But Gazi looked away.

“The Traders? Who are they?”

Teres whispered to Trey.  He shrugged. But a small pit was emptying itself in his stomach.

And it was Gazi who heard. She looked at them, and there was no laughter, no smile in her gaze.

She answered them with one word. One word that changed the world that Trey thought he’d understood.

“Slavers.”

Above them, the sky changed. Something flew through the air, and snow began to fall. Just for a moment. Then it melted on the burning ground.

Winter had begun.

4.06 KM

It was the middle of winter when the first of Flos’ vassals began to reach his city.

Standing on the balcony on one of the higher floors of the palace, Trey stared moodily down at the procession of armed warriors entering through the southern gates. His eyes were good—too good in fact; Trey was a bit farsighted—and he could see these were a different sort of people. He stared down darkly, shivering a bit as a cold wind blew at his clothing.

The foremost leader of the procession was wearing some kind of veil. It might have been a she or a he—Trey couldn’t tell from this far up. And it might not matter, because he recognized the kind of people that were being cheered by Flos’ citizens.

String People.

Trey had met a group of them once before, weeks ago. Now he hated all of them, even if these ones weren’t slave traders. He knew they were one of the main races inhabiting Chandrar, along with the Garuda and human populations. Well, String People looked human too. Until you got close and saw the stitches keeping their bodies together.

Yes, they looked human, but they were made like Frankenstein’s monsters. Their bodies were cloth, and they could be made of any fabric, from tough wool to silk. That actually mattered to them socially; Trey supposed it was a class thing. But a String Person could be built, or repaired by someone with a needle and thread, so long as you had the right cloth.

Actually, according to Orthenon it was harder than that. But Trey hadn’t asked him for details. He wasn’t speaking to Orthenon right now.

Or anyone, really.

These String People, or Stitch-Men and Stich-Women—possibly Stitch Boys and Stitch-Girls although they didn’t look that young—were on foot. They had long, wicked spears and other polearms and they all had veils on their faces.

They were probably some elite band that had served Flos years ago. It didn’t surprise Trey that String People would call Flos their King either; no doubt he would have loved having them in his army. The String People were supposed to be fearless warriors, hardy survivalists, and all the things you said about anyone you wanted to talk up. They didn’t fear being cut to death; they could just sew themselves up, after all. In fact, the only thing String People truly feared with a passion was fire.

It was odd that a flammable people would live on the hottest of all continents. Chandrar’s days were filled with blistering heat, and the nights were cold enough to freeze to death on. But when you thought about it another way, Chandrar had less vegetation. Less things to burn.

Behind the group of Stitch-warriors, Trey spotted another band of people entering. These weren’t String People, but they were being cheered just as loudly. They looked like Humans, robed and holding an…Trey had to squint in disbelief. Was that an umbrella they were holding?

It made no sense. Winter in Chandrar didn’t mean that much snow, and though it could still get very cold, you didn’t need an umbrella except if you were trying to keep out of the snow. But Trey was used to strange things in this world.

These people looked like [Mages]. So two groups of his vassals were entering the city at the same time? Trey knew that meant more feasting, and Flos welcoming his vassals into his palace with open arms. He’d certainly thrown a big enough party for Venith and Maresar and they had only been two of his former vassals.

Trey scowled and gripped the railing tightly. He wasn’t happy. And he didn’t want to be in the banquet hall, sitting at the tables—the ones far from the high table—and have to listen to Flos laugh. He didn’t want to see the King of Destruction’s face right now. Or anyone’s. Right now, Trey hated this entire kingdom.

They were all slave traders.

Trey couldn’t believe it when he’d found out. Flos had slaves. To be more accurate, he sold people as slaves. He’d struck a deal with the Traders of Roshal to sell all the prisoners he’d taken captive in the battle for Reim. Some had been ransomed off, but the rest…

Slaves. Trey couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe Orthenon, or Venith, who had seemed so honorable, would allow people to be slaves! But no one had understood his outrage. And worse…

Trey closed his eyes. It had been over a month since that day when he’d realized the entire continent of Chandrar actively owned or allowed slaves. If some kingdoms like Flos’ were too poor to have many slaves, most nations had a good deal of slaves. People, held in captivity. And it had been a month since he and his sister had stopped talking, after they’d fought bitterly about that very issue.

That hurt worst of all. That was why Trey was alone, had been alone, for so long. Because he had fought with his sister. Because Teres wasn’t willing to condemn Flos for dealing with slave traders. Because she was just as bad as the rest of them.

It had been a terrible fight. It hurt Trey now. He’d had fights with his sister before. That was normal. But fights were supposed to end after a while. There might be tears, or hitting, but in the end, after days, or maybe a week at most, you’d make up. Trey and Teres were twins. Being apart was too difficult.

But this fight was different. It had been bitter and harsh, and the scars weren’t healing. Trey could remember every word he’d said when he was alone.

—-

“You think it’s alright?”

Trey screamed at Teres and threw a chair. Not at her, but a wall. His voice was hoarse; he’d been screaming for a long time. So had she, but she screamed right back.

“You’re not seeing the bigger picture!”

“Fuck your bigger picture!”

Trey looked for something else to hurl, but he’d already broken everything else in the room. He turned to Teres, face red.

“He’s keeping slaves, Teres! Slaves! ”

“He’s not keeping them! Idiot! He’s just selling them!”

“Oh, just selling them, is it?”

“You heard him! He’s doing it for his people! Without the money from those merchants—”

“They’re not merchants. They’re slave traders!”

“Shut up!”

Teres was red with anger. She’d tried to ‘explain’ Flos’ reasoning to Trey several times before and he wasn’t willing to listen. She took a shuddering breath.

“Flos has to protect his people—”

“By selling other people, is that it?”

“He’s got to keep people fed! You heard Orthenon—we need the coin or we won’t last the winter!”

“So that makes slave trading alright then, is that it? Oh wow, I guess if I’m hungry I should see if I can sell some folks off for a bit of cash!”

“It’s the way things are done here! You don’t have to like it—I don’t like it! But we have to change Flos’ mind, not tell him no—”

“Bugger that! You think we should just let it go? You’re mad!”

“I’ve talked with Flos and he’s listening to me. You’re just making him put his back up every time you start shouting—”

“No!”

Trey was shaking with anger. He felt betrayed. He pointed a shaking finger at Teres.

“I heard you. You think its okay? You think its okay to keep doing it? To tell Flos he can sell off thousands of people just like that? You’re as bad as the rest of them!”

“I’m not—”

Teres looked like she was on the verge of tears or lashing out. Or both. But Trey wouldn’t listen. His voice rose, cracking with emotion.

“You’re as bad—no, you’re worse because you know it’s wrong. But you’re bloody sick in the head. You’re so obsessed with Orthenon that you’ll watch his lot sell slaves without blinking twice. You’re not my sister. You’re a monster, you sick, twisted, addled cunt—”

That was when she drew her sword and Trey ran for it.

—-

Later, Trey had stormed into the throne room and shouted at Flos. He remembered that, too, in anger though, and not regret. He’d marched up to Flos and yelled at him. At the King of Destruction. Somehow, he’d said his bit without Orthenon kicking him out or cutting him to bits, and Flos had quietly shaken his head.

“Slaves are part of Chandrar’s blood and body, Trey. I will not change that. Nor do I disagree with owning slaves. I have explained that to Teres and she understands. I hope you will too.”

Cold fury. Trey remembered shouting at Flos and Orthenon snapping at him to mind his tongue.

“You think its okay to sell and buy people against their will?”

“Better than letting them rot in a cell. That is what your world does, is that not true?”

“Yes—but—”

Trey faltered. Flos’ gaze was piercing him like a needle. The King spoke softly.

“For years. For twenty years in cases of murder. Longer for some. Forty years? That is a lifetime. And these people must obey their captors, live by their rules, labor as part of their imprisonment. And you tell me that is not slavery?”

“It’s—it’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it? It sounds like hypocrisy, to me. Your world claims to own no slaves, but you enslave your criminals. Well, in Chandrar we do the same. Trey, you may have a different name for slaves in your world, and perhaps you do different things with them. But they are still slaves.”

Flos rose, staring down at Trey with cold eyes. Merciless eyes. The same eyes of a King who would slaughter an army that came against him. Why hadn’t Trey seen it until now? He hadn’t wanted to believe it.

“Slavery allows criminals, enemies of my Kingdom, to be used, Trey. They are a commodity. Locking someone away for twenty years is crueler to my mind, and far more pointless. A slave cannot be mistreated under a just ruler, and they may be freed if—”

“They’re still slaves! Who cares if they’re pampered? They don’t have free will! How could you sell all those people? I thought you were a better King than that!”

That had struck home. Flos’ eyes narrowed.

“Some will be ransomed. The Traders of Roshal are an independent third party. They may ransom those with wealth, and manage those who are not able to buy their freedom. My kingdom needs food and coin for the winter, Trey.”

“I don’t care. You think its okay? I think it’s completely wrong. No—I know it is.”

Flos exhaled hard. He threw out his hands, more exasperated than Trey had ever seen him.

“What would you have me do? My dungeons cannot hold more than a fraction of their number, and feeding them would beggar my kingdom further. Would you have me execute them all? I do not have the stomach for it, and I am the King of Destruction.”

“I’m not telling you to kill them all! You could ransom some of them, and the rest…let them all go if you have to. But don’t treat them like—like—”

In the end Trey had run out of words. He couldn’t explain why slavery was wrong to Flos. He told the King of Destruction the sky was blue, and Flos said it was green. The King had silenced Trey after a while with a wave of one hand.

“You may not like it Trey, but I expect you to live with my decision. It is necessary. Your sister has made her peace with it. So must you. I am your King. And this is my kingdom. So long as you are my subject, you will live by my rules.”

And that was it. Trey stood before Flos, and realized the truth. The terrible truth. He looked up into the face of a man he’d admired, grown to respect, and understand. And he’d shaken his head.

“You’re not my king. I still have a Queen.”

Trey turned and stormed out of the throne room. He hadn’t spoken to Flos on that day, or any day since.

—-

Trey hugged himself as he stood on the balcony, watching the happy people in the streets below. Even now he remembered. And thought it was hard, and lonely, being at odds with Flos and his sister, he still knew he was right.

But it was so hard. Each day, Trey rose and woke up in a small room, apart from Teres. He ate alone, wandered the city alone, and slept alone. No one wanted to talk to him. He didn’t train with Mars, and she had given up on trying to make him do it. Orthenon refused to speak with him so long as Trey didn’t apologize to the King—

He was trying to make Trey give in. Trey could tell. It was like a pulling, a wanting in his chest that made him feel like rushing back to Flos and begging for forgiveness. It was what Trey imagined an addiction felt like; something that couldn’t be fought and tugged at your insides forever. He wondered if this was what Venith had felt like.

But Trey refused to give in. So he stood on the balcony, watching the procession meet groups of cheering people until someone spoke behind him.

“Trey.”

The young man jumped. He turned and saw Gazi standing behind him. The half-Gazer smiled a tiny bit. She nodded at him.

“I have been looking for you. My King wishes you to join him in his throne room to welcome his vassals.”

Trey stared at Gazi. He hadn’t seen her of late; she’d been riding about, keeping track of the neighboring countries in case one decided to attack again. So far everything had been quiet. Everyone was afraid of Flos. But of course he would send her to hunt Trey down. He hesitated, and then shook his head.

“The King can go bugger himself.”

Trey flinched as he said it. He waited to be hit, but Gazi said nothing. Instead, he heard her sigh.

She sat next to him on the balcony. Literally on the edge of the balcony, balancing over the three story drop as if her back were against a brick wall.

“I have been away from the city. But your sister and Mars told me of your quarrel with the King.”

She was looking at him with all four eyes. That was uncanny. Trey turned his head, feeling her gaze staring at him. Staring through him.

“It’s not right. Owning slaves. It’s not right, but everyone here does it. They’re all wrong.”

“My King would say the same of locking people up for years. Isn’t that what you do in your world?”

Trey felt something hot and angry bubbling in his chest. Teres had told Flos’ argument to Gazi? He was furious because he didn’t have a good answer to that. He wasn’t a genius! He hadn’t studied the difference between prison and slavery. And it wasn’t about that!

“That’s because they’re prisoners. They’re meant to be punished. Okay, maybe it’s bad too, but slavery is different. It means you don’t have free will. That—that some people are worth more than others. It’s wrong. It’s inhumane.”

“An odd word. Especially to someone who isn’t Human.”

Trey flushed.

“I didn’t mean—”

“I understand.”

Gazi held up a hand, still smiling. It was that fake smile she was wearing, the one that hid her real emotions. She paused, staring down at Trey as the wind blew across her armor and the young man shivered again.

“You know, some nations agree with your thinking. In Izril there are no slaves. The Drakes do not tolerate them, and neither do Gnolls. The Humans in the north rarely owned slaves, but [Ladies] such as Magnolia Reinhart put an end to it during her generation. Yet in Terandria, Baleros, and Rhir slaves are legal.”

Trey shook his head. He felt empty inside. Empty and alone.

“So? It doesn’t matter if everyone thinks that way.”

Gazi nodded, as if he’d made a good point. She went on, one eye turning to follow the parade below.

“Not all slaves are treated the same way, of course. In many nations slaves have no rights. But in Chandrar, and in my lord Flos’ kingdom, slaves cannot be mistreated. In fact, my King generally frees any slaves he takes an interest in. And in Rhir and Baleros, a slave can be freed if they fight in battle and prove themselves.”

More arguments. Trey closed his eyes. He searched for the fiery conviction in his heart and just felt tired. But it had to be said.

“Just because you’re a slave for a while—it’s still wrong. If you own someone, you’re not equal to them. Just because there’s a law, it doesn’t mean it’ll ever be right for someone who’s a slave. If you’re owned, someone could do…anything to you. And you can’t stop it.”

Gazi paused. She lost her smile, and looked impassively at Trey.

“I understand your thinking. So does my lord, even if he does not agree. He is very upset that you will not speak with him. He wishes you to rejoin his side.”

“No.”

“And that is your decision?”

Trey opened his eyes and looked at Gazi defiantly, although he was afraid of her too.

“Yes. And you can tell that to Flos. Even if you—you drag me to him, I won’t obey him! I won’t pretend everything’s alright!”

“He did tell me to force you to come to him, although he asked me to persuade you first.”

Trey turned to run, but Gazi’s hand shot out. He yelped as she caught his arm. It was impossible to pull away from her; slim though she was and still sitting, she had a grip like iron. Gazi laughed softly as Trey gave up, and then to his surprise, let go. He stumbled back from her.

“What are—”

“He asked. But I am free to disobey. And I will on this matter, and this alone.”

Gazi remained seated on the balcony’s railing. Trey eyed her. He warily took a few steps back towards the doors, ready to flee, but she didn’t move. And probably everyone was on the lookout for him. He hesitated, and then slowly walked back over to Gazi. He stared at her, and all four of her eyes met his.

“Do you believe in slavery?”

She didn’t smile. For once, Gazi didn’t smile. She turned her head, and the corners of her mouth turned down ever so slightly.

“I believe in it. But I do not like it. I am alone in that opinion. I think my King has forgotten that. And so did I, until I heard what you shouted.”

Something. Trey felt something tug at his memory. Back then when Gazi had told them who the Traders of Roshal were, he’d seen her face. She hadn’t smiled then.

“You don’t like slaves either? Why?”

Gazi smiled. But it was a rueful smile. It was awkward, unpracticed, as if she seldom made that kind of face. And she looked down at the ground as she replied.

“I was a slave, once. Until my King freed me.”

For some reason, part of Trey had expected that reply. It was still a surprise, but after a moment it made Gazi’s character, her loyalty, everything, more understandable to Trey.

“Oh.”

He thought for a second.

“I’m sorry.”

She looked surprised. All four eyes slowly looked Trey up and down, focusing on him. Gazi nodded.

“Yes. You are, aren’t you? That is surprising too. Few people are sorry to hear I was a slave.”

Trey hesitated. He wanted to ask.

“Were you—I mean, why did—”

“I was born a slave. But my King found me when I was a child. He bought me and freed me within a year. Ever since then I have served him.”

“Oh.”

It was stupid to say the same thing again, but Trey was no linguist. He carefully rested his arms on the balcony. He stared at Gazi as the wind blew her hair slightly. The Gazer looked a bit melancholy, distant, and wistful. She was remembering. She wasn’t wearing a mask. And she was speaking the truth to him. Her truth.

“I was a slave. I know what you speak of, Trey. I have seen good masters and bad ones. I hate slavery. But my King has never been a slave. He cannot imagine it, and sees it as a fact of life. Slaves in his kingdom are treated well and they can be freed when he orders it. Why should he hate slavery? Venith, Maresar…even Mars and Orthenon have grown up knowing a slave can be well-treated and respected. But they have never been a slave.”

“Haven’t you told them what it’s like? Have you ever tried—”

Gazi nodded. She closed all four eyes.

“Many times. But is not an argument I ever won. Slavery is part of the wealth of Chandrar, part of crime and punishment. You may be executed if you wish, or you may become a slave. So it is framed as a choice, and there is a chance for freedom. But it is only that. A chance. An illusion. If I could end slavery, I would. Regardless of the cost. But my King will not hear of it.”

She clenched one gauntleted fist. Trey nodded. He had another question, so he asked it.

“Why can’t Flos just—I don’t know, fight against the slave traders? What if I—we—suggested that to him? He could free all the slaves, and take their money, and I bet the people would join his army.”

Gazi looked surprised, and then she laughed. She laughed, and it was a bright, cheerful sound that no one had heard before. Trey’s eyes widened. But then Gazi shook her head.

“The Traders of Roshal are a nation, a power unto themselves. They are similar to Wistram. You know of them? Well, Roshal is just as dangerous in its own way. They have their own army, and more money and wealth than most nations could dream of. They have countless magical artifacts hoarded away, and they would defend their possessions to the death. The Traders of Roshal are dangerous, Trey. Remember that for the future.”

Her eyes fixed on Trey and he nodded, feeling his heart skip a beat. Now Gazi wasn’t smiling, and the air around her was intense. Her eyes swiveled around, checking the balcony, the ground below, the very air. Then she spoke quietly.

“I was only a child, but I saw much with my eyes while I was a slave. The Traders have ways of compelling obedience, of defending themselves. Even Named Adventurers must tread carefully because those who break Roshal’s rules will die, no matter where they are. There are assassins and groups of trained killers that have slain monarchs who go against Roshal. And the Traders have countless thousands of years of knowledge. They know secrets of classes and leveling that my lord Flos does not.”

She fell silent for a moment, and then looked at Trey. And he knew she had not told what she spoke of next to anyone. Not even Flos.

“There are…classes which may be gained by doing the most terrible of deeds, Trey. They cannot be earned any other way. They are not real classes either. They are born of despair and filth.”

“Why are you telling me?”

She grinned at him, a true grin, like the one Mars always wore. Was there a hint of mischief in Gazi’s eyes?

“Because you and I think alike. Of my King’s trusted vassals, you and I understand one truth. And perhaps because I trust you.”

“But I’m just a kid from another world.”

“A child? Perhaps. But you are one Flos trusts.”

“No.”

Trey shook his head, feeling weary and upset again. Everyone thought that. But they were wrong! He spread his arms, helplessly.

“I know that’s what Flos says, but look, Gazi, it’s not true. I mean, he thinks I’m special, or I can be. But I’m not. Teres might be special. She can use a sword, but I can’t. I’m just an ordinary fellow. I don’t have any talents.”

Gazi studied Trey.

“Everyone has their own specialty. My King finds it in people. Surely there is something in you that can be used, or shaped. He told me you are a scholar.”

Trey laughed despairingly, laughed in Gazi’s face.

“He said that. But it’s not true! I mean, I like to study. I like to play video games. I like. But that’s not the same as being good at something, is it? In your—this world, people know what they can do, what they’re good at. But where I come from, some people are just…normal. This world isn’t like mine!”

The half-Gazer pondered while Trey pulled at his hair. She nodded.

“Perhaps that is like this world, after all. Some waste their lives in the wrong class. Others mistake a small talent for a calling. Once I thought all I would do was obey and serve without choice. You are not so different from me, I think.”

“You?”

Gazi smiled bitterly.

“Perhaps no one has spoken of it to you? Ah, but Orthenon would not. Mars does not care and my King…listen to me, Trey. In truth, I am the weakest of the Seven, among the living and the dead. I was always the lowest in level. The least able.”

“No. You? Really?”

Gazi shrugged and indicated the sword on her back and her armor.

“I am a [Scout]. Not a specialized class. See my arms and armor? My King had them forged for me, to make up for my weaknesses. But they are still there. I earned my reputation as a dangerous foe, but it is only partly deserved. I worked to make my legend worthy of my King.”

“How?”

Trey edged closer. He was very close to Gazi, and could actually smell her in the cold. She gave off a metallic scent, from her armor no doubt, but there was a spiciness in the air. No—cinnamon. She smelled a bit like that. Spicy cinnamon.

Gazi laughed again, a sound like bells, or the very spirit of them.

“How did I make my name known? It is simple. Fear. All know the name of Mars, and only a fool would not know of Orthenon. But my name is whispered among those who spy and wander alone. Gazi the Omniscient. Of the Seven, my title was given not out of mockery, but hatred.”

Gazi grinned at him, showing off her classic smile. The scary one. But now Trey knew it was just an act. And that she did it on purpose. She looked at Trey, smiling.

“I did it for him, Trey. My King.”

“But he believes in slavery.”

She nodded.

“That is his one great flaw. But he is still my lord. I owe everything to him. So I follow him despite that. Can you understand? He broke my chains. He freed me—not just from being a slave in body, but in my mind.”

“In your mind? Like—how?”

“He told you once that there are secrets of rulers. Secrets only they know of this world and of leveling.”

How did she know that? Trey nodded. Gazi’s eyes searched their surroundings again. Then she leaned forwards and whispered to him.

“The great secret my King knows…one of them is the knowledge that a single class is best. But that is only half of it. The other half is that it is possible to remove a needless class. It is not easy, but it can be done. And only a [King] or other [Ruler] may do it.”

“Really?”

Gazi nodded.

“He took away my chains. I am no longer a [Slave]. A [King] can remove needless classes to those who pledge themselves to him. Orthenon was a [Traitor]. Takhatres a [Cursed Outcast]. My King freed us all of our pasts and gave us a future.”

Silence. Trey understood a bit more. He looked at Gazi. Once, she had been a slave. She had no future, until he’d freed her. He understood that. And yet.

“I can’t forgive him for selling people.”

Gazi nodded.

“I am not asking you to. But you cannot hide forever.”

Something in Trey agreed, but a part of him pulled back. He stared at Gazi, growing a bit angry.

“Is that why you’re talking to me? You’re still trying to persuade me to go to him and say sorry, right?”

A hand smacked Trey lightly on the head. Lightly, but it was still metal. He staggered. Gazi smiled at him. Genuinely.

“I am not forcing you to go anywhere. In fact, I think it will be good if you do not go to my King now. Perhaps later you will sit with me at dinner, but only then. You do not have to change for my King, and perhaps if you do not, he will. No one has ever been able to change my King—Flos—but himself. But perhaps you can.”

And that was why she was here. Trey felt a huge burden on his shoulders, realizing what Gazi was suggesting. But he felt lighter, too. Because he wasn’t alone.

For a while the half-Gazer and the young man stood on the balcony, staring down at the last of the procession as it entered the city. It had been a long parade; Trey guessed there were at least several hundred Stitch-warriors and a good two dozen or more of those [Mages].

Gazi eyed Trey. She opened her mouth speculatively, closed it, then asked her question two minutes later.

“You have a [Mage]’s staff in your room. Do you know how to use it?”

“How do you—no, I don’t. No one’s taught us magic. Orthenon said he’d start, but I haven’t spoken to him for a long time.”

Trey felt bad about that. He wondered if he would sit with Gazi tonight. If only to speak with Teres. He didn’t have to say he was wrong. And he wanted to speak with her again. Gazi studied Trey and nodded.

“Perhaps I could teach you some spells?”

He blinked. Trey turned to Gazi.

“You know how to use magic?”

She grinned and one eye winked at Trey. It was a very Human gesture and it made him smile.

“Of course. My people—Gazers—are highly magical beings. They’re what you could call a race naturally inclined towards magic, like half-Elves and to an extent, Lizardfolk. But they send very few representatives to Wistram. Their magic is more…chaotic than typical [Mages].”

“So you could teach—”

“Perhaps. We shall see.”

They waited a bit longer, as the streets cleared below, and the sun set quickly in a winter sky. It was a pretty world, for all that it was harsh. Trey exhaled and watched his breath spiral up into the sky. Then he asked the question he’d feared the answer to.

“Gazi? What is Flos going to do now?”

She was silent for a very long time, as shadows lengthened on the balcony.

“He will go to war, of course. It is time. The army is ready. With the Serpent Hunters and Parasol Stroll—”

“Who?”

Gazi smiled.

“The [Mages] and the [Warriors] you just saw entering the city. I recognized their companies. They are mercenaries now, but they served my King before.”

“I get that, but why Parasol Stroll? That’s their name? Why?”

The half-Gazer shrugged.

“Mages and names seldom make sense. However, in this case each mage in the band has a parasol—a thing to keep the sun away.”

“I know what that is. But why do they have one?”

“Fashion. And each one is enchanted in some way. They were powerful mages; each one above Level 20 at the very least. With their companies, my King will no doubt begin waging war.”

Trey’s heart skipped a beat. He paused.

“On who?”

“Those who made war against him.”

Six nations, then. Trey gulped. He remembered the smell of battle, the visions of death. He never wanted to see that again. But he felt he would. Over and over.

“Who’ll be first?”

“His fury is directed foremost towards the kingdom of Hellios and the people of Germina—especially at their leader, the Quarass. When we ride to war, and it will be in days, it will be against her, I think.”

Trey shuddered. His voice was very small and quiet. He felt something squeezing the words out of his chest. He wanted to cry, but it wouldn’t help.

“I don’t want to be here, Gazi.”

She looked at him with a bit of sympathy.

“I know. But you are here. And so you must follow my King. But remember this. You are not alone.”

And she held out a hand, and Trey took it. And the next day Flos did declare war, and Trey found himself marching with the King of Destruction. To the first war on Chandrar. And the news woke up a continent, and the world.

That was six weeks ago.

—-

Now.

The coach that drove quickly towards the estate of the Melissar house was noted from a distance, and the gates were already open and servants were rushing out by the time it pulled up in front of the large manor where other coaches, carriages, and other modes of transportation were parked.

Perhaps a lesser [Lord] or [Lady] or some of the more well-respected and higher-level [Knights] and [Guildmasters] and so on would have had to identify themselves to the guards at the gates. But not so for the occupants of this carriage. The owner was identifiable at a glance, mainly because of the striking appearance of the magical carriage, not to mention the carriage itself.

It was pink. The horseless carriage, or rather, the carriage pulled by ghostly horses that used mana to travel at extreme speed, was painted painfully, eye-searingly, frightfully pink. It was said that [Bandits] and other criminals couldn’t bear to attack the carriage because of the color.

Which was a shame, because Magnolia Reinhart had standing orders with all of her carriage drivers to run over any [Bandits] they encountered on the road. Several hundred pounds of enchanted wood and metal approaching at speed tended to reduce crime in a drastic and often spectacular fashion.

Still, it was probably a good thing the carriage wasn’t covered in blood and bits as the door opened and a tall, stern [Maid] stepped out. After all, this was a social event, and Lady Magnolia knew impressions were important.

Not that she particularly cared. The [Servants] rushing to open the doors themselves backed off as Ressa held the door open for Magnolia. They knew the pecking order, and in that sense Ressa wasn’t a bird but a [Hunter] with a bow and arrow.

Magnolia Reinhart stepped out of her carriage, wearing a pink and green dress. Pink and green being colors to describe a dress that looked more like a work of art than actual clothing.

It was a long and flowing ball gown in truth, although it avoided the poofy, ruffled look that Magnolia so detested. One could fit down a narrow corridor without getting stuck, and the dress included actual sleeves and a neckline that didn’t swoop or dive, or even hover. Magnolia had no desire to flaunt anything, except for the dress itself.

It was pink and green. It started green from the bottom, the dark green of a forest mulch, or cavern moss, and spread upwards, lightening in color and texture, so that when the pink started, and it was a bright pink, a pink that practically shone in itself, you had the impression of a flower. A flower worn by a woman considered by many to be the most powerful Human female on the continent. And she was certainly a contender for a high rank in any world listing as well.

Magnolia Reinhart.

“Ressa, please tell these servants to go away and hurry up and open these doors, would you? I’m in a hurry and if I see a bowed buttocks, I shall kick it. Or order you to.”

“Yes, milady.”

The servants parted as Magnolia and Ressa strode up the stairs towards the manor quickly, ignoring their greetings and the head servant hurrying after them. Both [Maid] and Mistress walked as if nothing would stop them, and nothing did. Doors opened for them, and they strode into the estate of the Melissar family.

Magnolia was in no mood for formalities. She never was. She strode down the hallway, not needing a guide to head towards her destination. A [Lady] shouldn’t stride of course, but Magnolia was a high-level [Lady] and a good one at that, so she managed to stride with grace. One could call it gliding, or some other suitable appellation that might make it more acceptable, but Magnolia knew when she was striding.

She was in a hurry. She let Ressa field the harried [Head Butler] and crooked her fingers at the pair of servants standing at attention at the double doors at the end of the hallway. They opened the doors instantly, and she walked into a huge ballroom filled with the aristocracy of Izril.

“Lady Magnolia Reinhart!”

The [Herald] announced Magnolia without including any of her many titles, nicknames, or ranks. That was at her insistent request as well. The biggest fish didn’t need to announce itself. And when her voice was called, the room went silent.

This was the room. It was a marble floored room filled with low-hung chandeliers, magnificent inlays on the walls and pillars supporting the room, and in Magnolia’s opinion, decorated with some rather fine silk curtains that complimented the expensive glass windows that looked out onto the rest of the world.

It was a large ballroom—one of the largest around, and no doubt why the Melissar family had been chosen to host this gathering of the nobility. It was a sign of their influence and wealth.

For anyone who could claim to have hosted over a third of the [Lords] and [Ladies] of the north was powerful indeed. And that was who was present.

A sea of heads turned towards Magnolia as she calmly descended the steps into the ballroom. Ressa appeared by her side. The [Head Maid] had not changed her austere black and white dress, but she still attracted her share of glances as well.

No one knelt as Magnolia entered the room. She wasn’t royalty, after all. But heads bobbed and some people curtsied. [Lords] dressed in fashionable suits of armor or wearing cloth suits that were enchanted to be just as protective, bowed to Magnolia as she passed by. [Ladies] dressed in every fashion from the voluminous and wide gowns Magnolia hated so much to sleek dresses that left little to the imagination—not that Magnolia bothered imagining—made their own greetings.

At another dance, or gathering perhaps the style of the season would be in and everyone would dress alike. But this was a different sort of meeting, and personal uniqueness and flair trumped all. Magnolia’s rapid pace slowed to a gentle crawl as she scanned the room.

At first, the room would appear to be a jumble of bodies to the casual outsider, or someone not used to such gatherings. But Magnolia saw the currents in the room. In this room, there were tables set up with tasteful and exotic appetizers, an open central area to dance in, and many places where groups of people stood and mingled.

But it was the groups that mattered. There was an unwritten code here, and a hierarchy. In every circle, there was the most influential, the most powerful, the most high-level or simply the most politically powerful individual who commanded the attention of others, at least for the moment. Politics in Izril was a game of connections and intrigue, of strategy and alliances.

Magnolia had no time for any of it.

“Ressa, find me one of the speaking gems if they haven’t started debating already. I’ll say my greetings to our hostess, but I don’t have time for other nonsense.”

“At once.”

Ressa turned. There was already a servant hurrying towards Magnolia and Ressa with a pair of sparkling amethysts cut into circles and lined with silver. Ressa plucked the two coin gemstones off of the pillow and handed one to Magnolia. The [Lady] sighed as she gently placed it on the front of her dress where it began to glow with a soft inner light. All of the people around her had a similar gemstone on some part of their garments.

“No one’s talking. Well, good. Now, where is Lady Patricia Melissar?”

She looked around. So did Ressa.

“She’s not dancing.”

“No, and I would expect her to be finding the most handsome men right now. Odd. I wonder if she’s indisposed?”

Magnolia kept looking, and she frowned as her eyes alighted on a man standing alone, drinking from a cup. She sighed as she nudged Ressa with an elbow.

“Ah, there’s Lord Tyrion. How unexpected to see him here…or perhaps not. He’s not dancing either, I see.”

Ressa’s expression didn’t noticeably change, but her mouth tightened in a way only her long-time friend, Magnolia, would notice. Magnolia felt the same way.

“I believe there are few women of sufficient status present he would consent to dancing with. If milady wished, I have no doubt you could invite him to a dance.”

Magnolia shuddered.

“You do have the most dreadful ideas, Ressa.”

The maid smiled ever so slightly.

“I could obtain some suitably heavy boots if you wish.”

Magnolia laughed lightly, and the people hovering close to her but not so close as to be assumed to be eavesdropping chuckled as well, just in case she’d said something worth laughing about.

“You know, I heard of these wonderful shoes from our guests a while back. Stilettos. I’d love to wear a pair, although I wonder if the points can be sharpened further?”

“I shall inquire at the first opportunity.”

Magnolia sipped her drink, eyeing Tyrion Veltras, scion of one of the Five Families of Izril, and technically, as powerful as she was. Perhaps more or perhaps less. For all those in the room, that was a question whose answer would be worth its weight in diamonds.

“Why don’t you dance with him, Ressa?”

“No.”

“Even if I ordered you to?”

“Even then.”

The pair’s casual banter might have attracted Tyrion’s attention, or he had simply heard the announcement. Magnolia sighed as she saw him glance around and felt his piercing gaze settle on her face with very little love. She returned the glance, with no love at all.

“He’s coming over. Duty bound to offer greetings, no doubt.”

“Shall I attempt to stop him?”

“Best not to risk an altercation, Ressa. Besides, he’s not as weak as he used to be. You can’t push him around and I rather fear he could lay waste to this entire room with all the artifacts he has on him. Allow me to employ a gentler touch.”

She walked over towards Tyrion. A group of [Lords] and [Ladies], noticing Magnolia Reinhart and Tyrion Veltras approaching each other and realizing they were in the way, immediately shuffled at speed to one side. There was little love lost between the two, and so it was with stiff formality that Tyrion bowed to Magnolia and she gave him the slightest nod.

“Lady Magnolia. I am honored to greet you on this day.”

“Lord Tyrion. I’d rather hoped you would have eaten something ghastly and exploded by now, but fortune hasn’t been kind to either of us, has it?”

The man’s eye twitched a bit, but he covered the motion by passing a gloved hand over his mouth. He was dressed much like Ressa, which was to say, all in black. He was also a head taller than Magnolia, which annoyed her because it left a crimp in her neck every time she talked to him.

“You are as thorny as ever, Reinhart.”

“Only to you, Tyrion. Don’t tell me this was the crisis that pulled you away from your estates?”

The man glanced impassively around the room.

“I considered it an important matter. I should have expected you would be present, however. You seldom missed such events as I recall.”

“I never do.”

Magnolia retorted, noting the people watching and listening to their conversation on the peripherals of her vision. She knew many people here had Skills or an artifact that allowed them to eavesdrop. Not that she feared saying anything important—but it would be just like Tyrion to say something devastating without a second thought. Information was currency here, and someone might make their fortunes based on a sentence carelessly let slip.

Tyrion Veltras studied Magnolia, not looking too pleased to see her. He really did think it was a [Lord]’s duty to greet her as a peer. How tiresome.

“How long has it been since we’ve met?”

“Four years, I believe. I was deeply saddened to hear of the passing of your wife. I hope your two young sons are in good hands.”

He stiffened at that, and the metal cup in his hand bent. Magnolia saw fury in his eyes and saw Ressa moving towards her quickly, a hand in her dress. Magnolia stopped her maid with a flick of a finger.

“What do you mean by that?”

Magnolia remained cool as she stared up at Tyrion.

“Exactly what I said. That was a sincere comment from the heart.”

He paused, and she could see him visibly readjust, grow calmer. He bowed his head slightly.

“Then I shall take it as such. My apologies.”

A [Lord] does not question a [Lady]’s word. Magnolia sighed out loud.

“You really haven’t changed. As pleasant as this is Tyrion, I think I shall go walk barefoot on glass shards for a more delightful change of pace.”

“Until we next meet, Reinhart.”

They left it at that. Magnolia walked back and Ressa met her in moments.

“That was fun.”

“It will become even more enjoyable in a second.”

“Oh, what now?”

“Left.”

Ressa’s warning came a moment before another person swept towards Magnolia. A lady and a man, both dressed in bright clothing, came striding towards Magnolia. Both she recognized, and it was with a smile that Magnolia greeted them. A smile the lady did not return.

“Bethal! How wonderful it is to see you!”

“Magnolia.”

The [Lady] gave her the most perfunctory of curtsies and the man bowed to her slightly. Magnolia kept smiling, but she noticed the expression on the other woman’s face. It was not happy.

“You seem upset, Lady Bethal. May I ask why?”

The woman replied curtly.

“I do not know. Perhaps you could explain the hooded figure that my guards found in my gardens two days ago. They gave chase and slew the intruder when they fought back. An [Assassin], as it turned out. Did you have anything to do with this, Magnolia?”

There was a feeling in the air that grew strong as Bethal spoke. Not just a feeling. An aura that surrounded the woman. The word for it was spiky. It was as if invisible edged blades filled the air—it wasn’t just a feeling either. People around the two ladies began moving away at speed, but Magnolia simply smiled.

“Lady Bethal, if I sent an [Assassin] after you, would I be so foolish as to send one? You and I have not quarreled and I do believe we are friends. That [Assassin] was not mine, believe me. In fact, I am quite grateful you killed him. Or her. Or it?”

The [Lady] studied Magnolia’s face.

“Her. She was a human.”

“I am pleased you came to no harm. And I trust neither did your guards?”

Bethal hesitated. The dangerous aura around her faded. She smiled at Magnolia and laughed lightly. It was as if her fury of a second ago had never been there, and the effect was disconcerting if you had never met Lady Bethal before.

“Of course not! How silly of me. Here I was worked up about the issue, while my dear husband assured me you would never have anything to do with that!”

“Not for all the gold in Baleros.”

“Then let me say how wonderful it is to see you!”

The two traded light kisses on the cheek, Bethal exclaiming over Magnolia’s dress. The woman turned to the man standing beside her.

“And of course you know my husband.”

“[Chevalier] Thomast. Of course! How are you, Sir Thomast?”

“Very well, my lady Reinhart.”

The elegant man in the doublet bowed and kissed Magnolia’s proffered hand. She smiled at him and then turned back to Lady Bethal.

“Have you seen Patricia? I should welcome her before the arguing starts.”

Bethal shook her head, pursing her lips.

“I have not seen her. But her daughter is over there.”

She pointed. Magnolia turned and saw a young girl laughing demurely with some other girls her age while they eyed the dancers in the center of the room. Magnolia smiled as her eyes fell on one with flowing brown hair.

“Ah, young Eliasor. She must be eight now.”

“Nine.”

Ressa murmured as she and Thomast nodded to each other. Magnolia sighed.

“Ah, to be that young. I won’t go over and scare her, Ressa. Perhaps you can go and ask a servant where Patricia—”

She broke off. Someone was speaking. In fact, every head in the room turned and almost all of the conversations ended at once. Because the person who was speaking could be heard by everyone who wore a jeweled broach, as if they were standing right next to the speaker.

“The King of Destruction has returned. Are we supposed to simply pretend this isn’t an issue and chat idly? Let us discuss this crisis already!”

Magnolia looked for the man who’d spoken. She recognized one of the more aggressive [Lords], a proper war hawk, who’d grown impatient waiting. Many people were frowning at him, but his standing probably hadn’t been damaged by speaking the thoughts on everyone’s mind.

By custom, the absent hostess should have initiated the debate. But once it had begun, voices began speaking. Usually it was only one or two voices at once, but the conversation en masse could become an indecipherable hubbub as well. It was to this Magnolia listened, letting the first speakers make their points and reserving her words for when they mattered.

“If you must bring the subject up, Lord Relt, then begin with the facts. Has the King of Destruction returned?”

“Every report say so. Unless you have no spies in that region?”

“My informants claim he was awake months ago.”

“If it’s a game of guessing when he awoke, I won’t bother. But this is the first moment in which he’s taken action similar to the past.”

Someone spoke up sharply. Magnolia saw Lady Wuvren snap the handheld fan she carried. The crack made all the listeners wince.

“He destroyed a nation and beheaded its [Queen]! The Quarass of Germina is dead and the capital lies in ruins! And the King of Destruction is already marching on Hellios! What are we to think, if not that the King of Destruction is destroying nations again?”

Silence. Someone coughed and then spoke.

“It was a war of retaliation.”

Wuvren rounded on the speaker.

“A war? It was a massacre! He destroyed the enemy army in a pitched battle in a single day!”

“After six nations sent an army after him.”

“Yes. If that doesn’t confirm the King of Destruction has returned, I imagine few things will.”

“So then, your point?”

“The question was whether the King of Destruction has returned. I would say he most emphatically has, and he hasn’t changed.”

Relt spoke into his stone, overriding the next speaker. Magnolia winced and wished there were a way to lower the volume the enchantment produced.

“No, he has not. And he must be stopped now, or he will once again destroy nation after nation and threaten our shores.”

“Surely not!”

This speaker was another [Lord]. He was a minor one, but he held his ground as Relt glared at him.

“You don’t fear the King of Destruction, Lord Halast?”

“I don’t fear a man on another continent, surrounded by nations which have every reason to want him dead.”

“Those are the same thoughts that let him engulf all of Chandrar last time!”

Halast spoke curtly.

“Last time we didn’t know what he was capable of. Now everyone knows the danger posed by the King of Destruction. The nations will unite, and defeat him. He doesn’t have his armies any longer, and as far as I know, only a few of his vassals have rejoined him.”

“He has his Seven—”

“Five now. And I’m told that Amerys is still residing in Wistram.”

“She hasn’t joined him?”

“Or perhaps the [Mages] have convinced her to stay. Either way, the King of Destruction is not as dangerous as he was.”

“That was what was said last time. If you’re foolish enough to believe he won’t succeed—”

“He slew one ruler. Not a [Queen]! It was the Quarass of Germina, hardly royalty.”

“What’s a Quarass?”

Magnolia opened her mouth to respond, but Lady Bethal by her side spoke into her stone first.

“The Quarass is as important as a [Queen]! She is a tribal leader—”

“A [Chieftain] is hardly comparable to a [Queen].”

Bethal’s voice could have cut iron.

“The Quarass is a position revered and acknowledged across Chandrar, Lord Luden. She, along with five other leaders of the tribes are considered part of the Shelter Kingdoms, which hold sway over a great deal of eastern Chandrar, if only politically. Once upon a time, the Quarass and the other Shelter Kingdoms were each powerful empires, capable of challenging Dragons. Her death will cause ripples throughout the entire continent!”

“Well spoken.”

Magnolia murmured to Bethal as the conversation lulled for a bit and Lord Luden flushed red. Bethal smiled at Magnolia and whispered back. She didn’t have a finger on her stone so her words weren’t carried to the others

“I do pay attention to women I admire.”

At that Magnolia had to cough so her eye roll wouldn’t be noticed. As far as she understood, the Quarass was not a woman to be admired, at least, not by anyone who thought honor and decency were more than words.

The argument began heating up. It was always like this, and Magnolia listened with one ear as she watched the [Lords] and [Ladies] who’d come to the gathering argue about what was to be done about the King of Destruction.

“We could send gold to a nation—”

“Gold hardly buys arms and soldiers. A small nation can only do so much.”

“What about the Emperor of the Sands?”

“What about him?”

“He’s at war with the King of Destruction.”

“If he is, it will be a long time before they meet. And if he triumphs, I hardly imagine an [Emperor] would be an improvement over the King of Destruction.”

“I am saying we must act in some way.”

“Are you proposing to send an army across the sea?”

“Utter foolishness!”

“I am proposing we act in some measure, even if it is to condemn the King of Destruction—”

“A signed treatise? What use would that be?”

“A united front—”

“—won’t be part of any declaration—”

“—funding a mercenary company from Baleros—”

“—see what Wistram has to say—”

“May I offer a course of action?”

The voice that interrupted was  deep, low, and booming. He silenced every other speaker. And Magnolia’s head turned. She turned, searching the crowd and saw the speaker standing by a pillar, alone. She hadn’t seen him before, but upon hearing his slightly nasal, deep, deep voice she knew who—and what—had to be speaking.

Quite carefully she turned and hissed to her [Maid].

“Ressa, why didn’t you mention the Minotaur to me?”

The woman shrugged.

“I assumed you’d spotted him.”

“I would have eventually, but it helps when you point such important people out!”

The Minotaur was speaking now. He was dressed in a suit tailored for a Minotaur, emphasizing his physique and biceps. Magnolia eyed it—not in appreciation as Bethal was doing—but thoughtfully. Here was a Minotaur who had been financed to attend such events. Odd.

“I hesitate to interrupt, but I have been sent by my [King] to address this auspicious gathering. My role is as an emissary. The House of Minos is prepared to go to war against the King of Destruction, that he might never threaten the world as he did in the past.”

Gasps rang out across the room. Magnolia’s brows shot together as a low murmur sprang up throughout the room.

“If that’s the case—”

“The armies of Minos? Will they sail all the way to Chandrar?”

The Minotaur spoke, carefully touching the stone.

“My [King] is prepared to send an army capable of defeating the King of Destruction. However, he understands such an act would be considered a declaration of war by many kingdoms. He has tasked me and others to approach other assemblies and request formal support.”

“In what fashion?”

Magnolia spoke sharply into the stone. She sensed heads turning. The Minotaur bowed to her.

“We would ask for a written treaty allowing us to sail without hindrance, and a small contribution to our army. Arms or gold would allow us to ready ourselves for battle.”

“So you are approaching us as mercenaries, is that it?”

The Minotaur paused. It was a touchy word for them, but Magnolia was watching his face across the room for his reaction. She saw him give her and the others a polite smile which revealed nothing.

“We would like to consider it more a manner of honor than anything else. To defend peace, our people are willing to fight. It is an offer made in good faith.”

And that cast her into an unfavorable light for questioning him, didn’t it? Magnolia narrowed her eyes as people began to express relieved support.

“I’m sure we could offer some small token of thanks—”

“An open-ended agreement from our houses should not be an issue. What say we put it to the vote?”

Magnolia didn’t know if she wanted that. But she could sense the mood in the room and it was immediately swinging towards this unexpectedly convenient solution. Too convenient. She glanced at Tyrion. Magnolia knew if she voted against the resolution—and she didn’t have a solid reason to—she would be able to pull quite a few votes with her. But it would only work if another scion of the Five Families were present, and in this gathering there was only Tyrion.

He was watching the Minotaur warily. But when it came to a vote, Tyrion voted to support the Minotaurs, and so did Magnolia.

Ressa frowned at Magnolia as the discussion went on as to how much to give the Minotaurs and how to word a declaration that the humans of Izril were against the King of Destruction.

“A problem, milady?”

“How much do we know about the Minotaurs, Ressa? They’re always fighting their enemy down around their isles—but recently?”

Ressa thought.

“A few engagements at sea. Their failed war with Baleros around fifteen years back. A war with Terandria which Izril participated in twenty eight years ago. Numerous skirmishes…”

“They tried to take over the world once. But then, which race hasn’t?”

Magnolia studied the Minotaur, frowning. Ressa stared impassively at him. The Minotaur was giving nothing away. He was a trained [Courtier] or some similar class, Magnolia had no doubt. And that was odd. She’d never seen a Minotaur in a diplomatic function.

“You think this is a trick?”

“Possibly, but it’s probably a trick in the sense that they’ll honor their word and then demand something else when they’re in a good position. The lands that belonged to Flos, perhaps. That would give them quite a bit of territory, which is what the Minotaurs always wanted.”

“Do you believe we should not have voted for them?”

“I think we’ll have to wait and see. And I might have to see about finding some spies willing to visit the islands…although they would stick out like a sore thumb.”

Magnolia sighed as the conversation came to a close. The people in the room seemed generally relieved by the resolution, so she decided to stir up the pot. There was more than one reason she’d come here today.

“Before you leave, [Lords] and [Ladies] of Izril, let me put another important matter forwards.”

Heads turned apprehensively towards Magnolia. She looked around the room, watching the Minotaur out of the corner of her eye.

“Have you all forgotten that there is a Goblin Lord raising an army just south of the High Passes?”

Silence. Then someone spoke.

“We are aware, but that is a Drake issue, isn’t it? With all respect Lady Reinhart, I had heard the Drakes were taking care of the issue.”

“Oh? Are you so certain they will defeat the Goblin Lord?”

Magnolia’s tone was icy. The Minotaur wasn’t changing his expression at all. She cursed inwardly.

“They’ve sent two armies to fight him. Together they should crush a Goblin Lord.”

“And if he escapes? A Goblin Lord is one step away from a Goblin King. And I have heard different rumors as well. Or has no one else heard of a troubling tale? That of a so-called Goblin  Great Chieftain? One who fought with the last Goblin King in the war?”

The Minotaur twitched ever so slightly at the mention of the Goblin Chieftain. Around the room Magnolia could hear some people gasping who hadn’t heard the rumor.

“A Great Chieftain? Is that a class?”

“With the last Goblin King? Why would we have not heard of a Goblin like that?”

“To support the Goblin Lord? If that’s the case—”

“Are you suggesting we send an army ourselves to deal with the Goblin Lord, Lady Reinhart?”

That last question came at Magnolia. She broke away from eyeing the Minotaur who’d gone back to impassively watching to smile at the speaker.

“That is the question, isn’t it? Do we send an army? The Great Chieftain is on our lands. I believe he must be eradicated no matter what, and I am sure you are all in agreement. As for the Goblin Lord—”

“Let the Drakes deal with him.”

Someone cut in. Only one person would dare. Magnolia turned to Tyrion, but he returned her gaze without blinking. He spoke confidently as all eyes turned towards him.

“Even if the Goblin Lord destroys both Drake armies, let him go. Unless he comes north—and if he does, he will most likely destroy Liscor—we will benefit.”

Outraged voices rose.

“Destroy Liscor? If he heads north, our southernmost cities will all fall as well! Esthelm was already destroyed! Are you suggesting we let that happen to every city in the area?”

Tyrion’s voice was calm.

“Esthelm did fall, but the people have retaken the city. They fought off another of the Goblin Lord’s armies.”

“What?”

Shock echoed through the room at this. Magnolia ground her teeth together. Tyrion would know about Esthelm. She knew what he was doing but she couldn’t stop it. The man continued calmly.

“Our cities can defend themselves. They knew the risks of being closer to the border. If the Goblin Lord comes north, we will muster an army to defeat them. And if he does come north, he will have done more damage to the Drakes than we. And that is all to the better, once war comes.”

“We do not need war with the Drakes! We need allies, not more enemies!”

Magnolia snapped into her speaking stone, but the mood was against her. People were in favor of leaving the Goblin Lord alone, especially if it meant trouble for their southern neighbors. Tyrion abandoned the conversation, job done. Magnolia tore the gemstone off her dress and stormed towards him.

“You are an idiot, Tyrion Veltras.”

“And you don’t see the danger the Drakes pose, Reinhart.”

His voice was cold as he spoke to her. Tyrion eyed Ressa and the [Maid] gave him her coldest stare which didn’t faze him an inch. Magnolia took a deep breath and tried not to kick the man.

“Sending an army to pointlessly kill thousands of Drakes every few years does not help this continent, Tyrion. What do you expect will happen if you win this time?”

“If we beat them at the Blood Fields, we’ll take Liscor. We just need the upper hand and we will push past the High Passes. They’ve held it this long, but the Goblin Lord is the opportunity we need.”

Tyrion stared calmly at Magnolia. She opened her mouth to tell him Drakes were not the enemy, when someone screamed.

Her head whipped around. Someone was standing at the double doors. A man in black, with a sword in hand, dripping blood. His face was wrapped in a black shroud, and he was unmistakably an [Assassin]. He shoved the [Head Butler] aside, and the man fell, a wound in his chest. The [Assassin] lifted something with his left hand and threw it.

A head flew into the center of the room. It landed wetly on the ground. More people screamed. Magnolia stared at the head and then saw the blur.

“Magnolia!”

Ressa leapt, but it was Tyrion who caught the dagger. He swatted it out of the air with a gloved hand, interposing himself between Magnolia and the [Assassin]. She blinked at him.

“Did you just save my life, Tyrion Veltras?”

He turned to her as the [Assassin] began to flee.

“A [Lord] does not deal with underhanded murderers and plots. If I kill you, it will be out in the open.”

Magnolia nodded. Then she seized Ressa, who was guarding Magnolia’s back.

“Find the others. There must have been more!”

Ressa hesitated.

“I should guard—”

“Tyrion is here. Go!”

The [Maid] hesitated, and then became a blur that leapt towards one of the windows. More people cried out as glass broke and Tyrion stared after Ressa with narrowed eyes.

“The [Assassin] will escape. Is that your plan?”

Magnolia was breathing a bit heavily. She saw people running after the [Assassin] now the shock had ended. The Minotaur was running, although he could hardly hope to catch the killer.

“No. He won’t get away.”

A voice rang out above the shouting. A man strode forwards, rapier in hand. Thomast, Lady Bethal’s husband.

“[Affair of Honor]!”

The man in black had reached the doors. But he paused, mid-step when Thomast used his skill. The Chevalier’s voice rang throughout the room.

“Turn, murderer. There can be no retreat until this matter is settled by blade.”

Magnolia saw the [Assassin]’s shoulders slump. He turned, and the Chevalier Thomast strode towards the man in black, rapier in hand. The room parted for the two to meet.

Magnolia did not watch the assassin die. She strode over to the head on the floor pushing aside the people who’d formed a wide circle around it. Magnolia stared down at it as a [Lord] and a female adventurer inspected the head carefully, neither actually touching it. The [Lord] looked up, saw Lady Magnolia, and stood up to bare her path.

“Lady Reinhart, please stay back. The head may be warded or enchanted to do further harm upon being touched.”

“Then check. But I wish to see the deceased.”

“Stop wasting time.”

Someone pushed past her. Magnolia turned and saw Tyrion. He strode into the circle of onlookers and despite the adventurers’ protests, bent and picked up the head by the hair.

Something flashed on his hand. A ring blazed and then the light from within faded. Tyrion inspected the head and then turned it to face Magnolia. She felt a lurch in her stomach, but controlled the feeling. Instead of fainting, retching, or staggering away as some of the people behind her were doing, she simply sighed.

“Ah, Patricia.”

The dead woman’s head was white, drained of blood. Her features were contorted in horror, but it was her face. Magnolia would have known it anywhere. She had been a friend of Magnolia’s.

And now she was dead.

Tyrion stared at Magnolia.

“Is the [Assassin] another one of your plots, Reinhart?”

“No, some enemies of mine seem to want to kill me. And my friends too, it seems.”

Magnolia spoke automatically, while one phrase flashed through her mind again and again.

The Circle of Thorns.

Tyrion shrugged.

“This is no business of mine.”

He turned, and handed the head to a [Lord] who nearly dropped it. Tyrion strode out of the room as Thomast bent to wipe his blade on the dead assassin’s clothing. A capable killer he might have been, but Magnolia knew there were few who could match someone of the [Duelist] class in a one-on-one bout.

In the end, Ressa returned empty-handed. The head disappeared, and the room was filled with shock and fear. Magnolia ignored the eyes turned towards her and the whispers, and found Lady Bethal with her husband.

“Lady Bethal. Thomast. Thank you for disposing of the killer.”

The man’s eyes were shadowed as he bowed.

“It was my honor and duty. But I regret Lady Patricia’s death.”

“Yes. And she had no husband. So there is another matter which must be dealt with now.”

Magnolia turned and Ressa pointed her silently towards a group of girls, one of whom was weeping uncontrollably. Patricia’s sole daughter, Eliasor, tried to curtsy when Magnolia approached her, but the woman waved that away.

“No formalities now. Eliasor, I am sorry that your mother was killed in such a heinous way. But now that she is gone, there is something that must be done.”

She touched the gemstone Ressa handed her and spoke into it loudly, cutting above every other voice in the room.

“Ladies and lords! Lady Patricia’s life was cut untimely short! However, her daughter, Lady Eliasor still lives. She is now the head of the Melissar family. I bid you all welcome her as a peer!”

There was a pause, and then by her side, Lady Bethal cutsied to Eliasor. The girl stared at her, wide-eyed, and then at Lady Magnolia as she did the same. Around the room, the [Lords] and [Ladies] remembered their duty and bowed or curtsied, acknowledging Eliasor.

It was a painful sight, to see the girl try to respond as tears still ran down her face. Magnolia spoke to her more quietly.

“I know this is hardly the time to think of such things, but you are your family’s sole heir now, Eliasor. If you wish it, I will send my own guards and [Maids] to assist you in the weeks to come.”

The girl opened her mouth, choked, and kept crying. Magnolia paused.

“I fear your mother’s death was my fault. Lady Patricia was one of my confidants, a trusted friend. She had a place in my circle, and I hope that one day I may offer you the same. But I swear to you, Eliasor, I will find the people who ordered your mother’s death. And I will kill them all regardless of where they hide. You have my word on that.”

“Thank you—Lady Reinhart.”

Magnolia nodded down at Eliasor. She hesitated, and then walked away.

“Lady Bethal, Lady Pryde, Lady Wuvren, Lady Zanthia, to me.”

They came out of the crowd, people parting to let them pass. Magnolia looked at some of the foremost [Ladies] of Izril, and nodded towards the doors.

“Let us leave Eliasor to her grief. We must talk.”

They strode out of the room, people parting to let them pass. Magnolia’s face was carefully blank, and she kept the emotions tightly held in her chest.

“It’s too harsh, leaving her to govern her entire house like that. Must she really become a [Lady] in the moments after her mother’s death, Magnolia? Couldn’t it have waited a week? Or a month? Or years?”

Bethal murmured as they walked down the corridor. Lady Zanthia, tall and old and willowy, but tough as a tree, nodded, looking sympathetic. Magnolia’s voice was a bit sharper than she had intended as she replied.

“What would you have me do, manage the girl’s affairs for her? Or let a distant relative or friend do it? How would she ever become a proper [Lady] then? No. No, she must either rise to the challenge or fail alone. Our help can only be that. Help.”

She walked on, speaking as the fire built in her chest. The gall of it. An [Assassin], sent to kill at a gathering of the nobility.

“This is Izril, ladies. Not Baleros or Chandrar, where war is a part of life. Not Rhir, where struggle is part of life. And not Terandria, where monarchs dictate who lives and who dies. Here we fight with words and thorns. We know peace, but peace with Drakes and Gnolls is bloody. We must struggle alone. Alone, even when we are together. To survive. And those who cannot survive, die.”

Heads rose. Four of Magnolia’s escort, her entourage that she seldom made use of, stared at her. Magnolia looked around.

“Summon your most trusted protectors, your own soldiers, my ladies. Bethal, your husband and your Knights of the Petal will be needed. The same goes for the rest of you. I had planned to tell you after the meeting, but there is a war going on. I am reforming my entourage. Prepare to move at once and together. No one else will die. No one.”

They nodded and began to stride towards their carriages as their servants ran to meet them, their guards armed and wary. Ressa walked to stand next to Magnolia. She looked at her mistress, and saw unshed tears in Magnolia’s eyes. But Magnolia’s voice was steady and she made no mention of them when she spoke to her [Maid].

“It seems my enemies are far bolder and resourceful than I would like, Ressa. I need an army, and not just one fielded by my entourage.”

“What are you intending?”

Magnolia took a breath. She knew what she had to do, but she didn’t like it.

“It’s time to go back to the family estate. My grandfather has an army, and I will have it from him.”

“Didn’t you swear you’d never go back unless you were dragged kicking and screaming?”

“Broken promises. A friend is dead, Ressa. One of my people, one of my allies. I’ll have an army, if I have to beat that old man to death myself.”

“Well then, I shall begin sending [Messages].”

Magnolia nodded. She felt tired, distracted, and worried. She stared back towards the ballroom, and felt a tightness in her chest. She never knew what to say to children. She should have said something. But nothing had helped when her mother had died. Magnolia turned away and stared out into the fading sunset.

“I fear it’s going to be a very busy spring, Ressa.”

The maid just nodded in reply.

4.07

She lived in Liscor, at least for the moment. It was a home away from home, of sorts. But in truth, her real home lay far away. Someday she wanted to go back to it, but for now she did her best. That was what she did. Her best.

It was a curious thing, but despite her presence in the city for a relatively short amount of time, many people knew her name. Of course, not all of those people liked her. But she was noted. She stood out, even among her prolific species.

She was unique. And famous, in her own small way. There were people across the continent who’d heard of her, or heard of things she’d done. Important people knew her name.

It was not that way for the world. Few cared about her, having their own struggles and battles to worry over. The news of the King of Destruction’s return eclipsed anything she might do now or in the immediate future.

And yet, one of the most powerful males in the world knew of her. He desperately wanted to meet her, though he’d never laid eyes on her before.

Because she could create wonders. If the people of this world believed in miracles, they would have called them that. But these were natural things to her. The incredible things she could do weren’t mere acts of magic, but something deeper.

She had only one real class. Only a few people knew her true nature. To the rest, she was part magic, part enigma. But she changed Izril, changed Liscor, changed people by her very presence.

Her class was [Thaumaturge]. She worked wonders. Her name was Xrn.

And she was sitting in a small dirt room in the Hive of the Free Antinium underneath Liscor. And she was not happy.

“It’s not that I’m angry, Klbkchhezeim. I’m just disappointed.”

She was talking to another Antinium, a slimmer version of the Workers who filled the Hive, and one with only two arms. Klbkch sat hunched over in his chair, avoiding looking at Xrn.

That was difficult for anyone not used to her. Xrn stood out from every other Antinium in Liscor’s Hive, possibly the world. Her carapace was azure, not brownish-black. And her eyes shone and swirled with countless colors, a magical storm whirling behind her faceted eyes.

The colors were tinged green and orange and pink now, the colors that reflected her irritation. The Prognugator of the Grand Queen of the Antinium, known by her enemies as the Small Queen, Xrn, stared pointedly at Klbkch, but he didn’t respond. She made a sound that sounded like a sigh crossed with a click.

“I understand you have your duties. It cannot be easy to manage a Hive while attempting to combat numerous threats from this dungeon, and maintain your position as this—what did you call it?—[Guardsman] in the city. Attending to the group sent by the other Hives must weigh heavily upon your time.”

No response. Xrn looked pointedly at Klbkch. The colors in her eyes deepened, growing darker. Klbkch knew that was a bad sign. She wasn’t just irritated.

“And yet, I note you apparently had quite a lot of time to spend eating and entertaining yourself at an inn. So much time in fact, that you were able to create your own presents and receive two yourself.”

Klbkch hunched his shoulders. His voice, when he spoke at last, was defensive.

“It was Christmas.”

“A Human tradition.”

“It was an important social event that fostered—”

“Klbkch. I am not questioning your use of time. I am simply asking why you haven’t included talking to me as part of your activities.”

An unpleasant silence followed her words. The Antinium didn’t usually beat around the bush, so after a moment Klbkch looked up and nodded slowly.

“We’re talking now. I had wished to delay our conversation, Xrn, because I anticipate the outcome and believe it will not be favorable.”

“Oh?”

Xrn shifted slightly. She had only two arms, like Klbkch, and she had been folding them in a fashion she’d picked up from Humans. Now she uncrossed her arms.

“What is your fear?”

Klbkch exhaled inaudibly. He stared at his old…friend? Was that the word for her? Perhaps. She was more than that, and yet not a friend. A sister, perhaps. But that was inadequate.

They were Centenium, he and she. He had been known as Klbkch the Slayer during the Antinium Wars, but his origin lay far before that time. Back then, he and Xrn had known each other. Fought together. But after all this time, he wasn’t sure he knew her anymore.

So Klbkch chose his words carefully.

“My conclusion upon learning you had arrived to personally oversee the achievements of Liscor’s Hive was that you were here to order me to return to the Grand Queen.”

If Xrn had eyebrows she would have raised them. Since she did not, her mandibles twitched, and a yellow element appeared in the miasma of lights in her eyes.

“An interesting thought. Why would you believe that?”

“The Grand Queen’s desire to have me act as her Prognugator is not unknown to me, Xrn.”

“And you believe I was sent for that purpose alone?”

He shook his head.

“Of course not. But she would not have sent you unless she had ulterior motives. I know her beliefs regarding my Queen’s work with Individuals.”

“She is not alone in that regard. But your work has achieved much.”

Klbkch nodded. Modesty was also a foreign concept to the Antinium.

“A start. It is something the Antinium have never created, these…Individuals. I trusted you would know their worth. But that does not detract from my point. Did the Grand Queen not send you with instructions regarding me, Xrn?”

Instead of answering his question, Xrn stared at one of the walls. There was nothing to stare at but dirt, yet that in itself was telling. Klbkch had visited the other Hives. He knew some were built of stone, others fortified, the walls hardened. The other Hives were grander, larger, and the Queens had their own elite soldiers, and had modified their Workers and Soldiers accordingly. Yet this Hive was where the hope of the Antinium lay, Klbkch was sure.

“Do you know what I have been doing these last two decades, Klbkch?”

He shook his head.

“I assume acting as an aide and advisor to the Grand Queen.”

“That is my duty, yes. Go on.”

“Fighting? Defensive duty? Negotiating with other Queens and Prognugators?”

Xrn sighed.

“You are unoriginal.”

“I prefer not to guess. Speculative statements are a time-consuming endeavor that I attempt to refrain from partaking in. You remind me of my partner in that regard.”

“The Drakes have some things to teach us.”

Klbkch nodded.

“Yes. They are quite adept at wasting time.”

“True.”

Xrn fell silent again. She raised her hand, and Klbkch saw her perform a trick she’d often do when she was thinking. As Xrn stared at her hand, miniscule spires of ice appeared, freezing over parts of her carapace. Fire chased ice and the resultant water and steam swirled—not upwards, but around her hand and down her arm, gathering, turning into lightning which crackled and struck stone fragments which melted and gathered, turning into magma—

Klbkch looked away. He stared at Xrn. She truly hadn’t changed. Just as before, he couldn’t read her expression. Xrn tapped her fingers onto Klbkch’s simple wooden desk and the whirling elements spilled onto it, burning and freezing the sturdy wood. Klbkch watched calmly. A new desk would not be an issue. The Hive’s funds would allow him to buy a thousand desks in a moment if he needed to.

“I have been busy, Klbkch. Not always with tedious work. It has been a while, but I trust you recall the first war against the Crelers?”

Klbkch nodded. He clenched one hand unconsciously.

“I recall.”

“A truly costly series of encounters. Well, in the time since I have participated in several offensives. At one point we were forced to aid the Armored Antinium in combat against Giant Moles. I trust you are familiar with them?”

They were worse than Crelers, in some ways. Klbkch’s mind flashed back to the sight of a huge creature, seventeen times the size of the largest Soldier, tearing its way through a tunnel, devouring Workers and chewing through Soldiers in a single bite—

“I have encountered them. And I am familiar with the battles of which you spoke. My Queen debated sending a force to assist in the fighting.”

“There was no need. But such encounters certainly detracted from our war strength. If we had chanced upon them or unearthed the Caverns of Consumption during the last war, things would have gone far worse for us.”

“I am not familiar with the Caverns of Consumption, although I recall hearing a report on the subject. What manner of danger was this?”

“Parasites. They infected over forty percent of the Silent Antinium’s Hive before we could eradicate them.”

Klbkch nodded slowly. He didn’t shudder, but he felt as though something was crawling underneath his carapace at the thought.

“A terrible setback.”

“So it goes.”

Xrn shrugged again as if the termination of nearly a half of a Hive’s Workers and Soldiers was of no concern. She looked pointedly at Klbkch.

“We have gone through far worse battles. That the Hives struggle with each emerging threat—and ones in the future as the Hives continue to expand—is telling in itself.”

The Revelantor’s head bowed.

“Yes. It is regrettable.”

The Small Queen watched him carefully. She was observing Klbkch, just like he was analyzing her. Strangers sat together.

“It matters not. The Hives are growing despite these setbacks. But through these challenges, I have reclaimed almost all of my lost levels.”

Klbkch looked up in surprise. He hadn’t thought about it. It was only a dream for him to regain his former strength, as weak as he now was. But Xrn was different. She had only ever died once.

“If that is the case, the Grand Queen must surely be elated at the news. Having such an asset would also influence her opinion on declaring war a third time.”

“Possibly. But I have not informed her of my leveling for a long period of time.”

Klbkch froze.

“Why?”

Again Xrn ignored his question. She looked around Klbkch’s small room again. He had only a few objects in it. His chairs—chair; they’d had to get another one for Xrn to sit—his desk where he stored important files, and a new addition: a coatrack. It had no coats on it, but a black and red scarf had very carefully been wrapped around one of the arms.

“Klbkch, I came here against the Grand Queen’s wishes. She would have preferred to let one of the other two Prognugators to lead the group. Tersk, most likely. She is aware of Pivr’s…flaws. His numerous flaws, I should say. The Grand Queen dislikes that pestilential larvae as much as I do.”

Klbkch nodded, his tone souring. On this, he, Xrn, and the Grand Queen were in agreement.

“I cannot fathom why the Queen of the Flying Antinium deems his actions appropriate.”

“She is erratic. But no Prognugator created since coming to the continent has been anywhere close to adequate. You know this, Klbkch. You and I—and perhaps Wrymvr—are the only competent Prognugators. The Grand Queen would rather you return to the Hive, but she is aware of your commitment. With that said, she did not want me to leave either.”

“So why leave?”

“Because it was the only excuse that would allow me to visit you. In truth, I do not believe the Grand Queen cares whether your Hive has created Individuals or not.”

That was an unpleasant surprise to Klbkch, and one he knew would deeply upset his Queen. He put his hands on his table and scooted his chair further under his desk.

“…I was under the impression our efforts were being recognized, even if they were not completely accepted by the other Hives. We have worked for years for this purpose. Surely you see the merits?”

“Tersk does. Perhaps his Queen will. But the Queen of the Silent Antinium doesn’t care. She didn’t send an envoy. The Grand Queen makes the motion, but the other Queens follow her lead. Klbkch, they may recognize the use of Individuals, but they do not believe such beings are necessary for the Hives.”

“They are wrong.”

Klbkch was surprised at the emotion in his voice. He stood up.

“If the Grand Queen does not believe, tell her about Anand and Belgrade. Tell her about Bird, and of Garry’s class! Individuals may be costly and irreplaceable, but they can contribute far more than a battalion of Soldiers if used the right way. The Antinium need leaders.”

“They would say that is what Prognugators are for.”

“You mean like Tersk and Pivr?”

Klbkch’s voice was cold. He nodded towards the open doorway. The other two Prognugators were still in the Hive. Tersk was no doubt observing, or aiding in battle against monsters from the dungeon. Pivr…was probably being a nuisance.

“They are not what the Hives need. Tersk is acceptable, but he is hardly high-level. And if he falls, an army is dependent on a distant Queen to control it. And they are not suited to war. The Soldiers need a real leader to take command. Multiple leaders, so they cannot be picked off like they were in the last two wars!”

He was emotional, he knew. But Klbkch had argued that very thing so long ago, and to hear the Queens had not changed—yet it was Xrn who was nodding.

“You are correct. But the Queens will not accept your statement, Klbkch. They did not in the past and their minds are difficult to change, with the exception of yours. The problem is, they did not know Galuc. Or rather, the version of him the Queens believed in was false. They do not think copies of him have morale. They treat the Soldiers and Workers as unbreakable, beings without the capacity for despair or fear.”

Klbkch nodded. He had known Galuc. The Queens had known of him as well, but not like Klbkch. Galuc the Builder had felt great emotion. But he had never broken, never given in, even at the end.

Xrn went on.

“However, their notion is largely correct. These…fragments have his strength of mind. Yet they are only flawed replicas of the original in body and personality. The Queens believed that there was no merit in imbuing fragments with individual identities, if that was even possible.”

“As did you.”

Klbkch leaned forwards in his chair, remembering. He stared hard at Xrn.

“You were of the same mindset and voted against the attempt. Have you changed your mind?”

Xrn shook her head.

“I did not vote against the measure for that reason.”

The Antinium never called each other liars. There was no point, no reason to. Klbkch clicked his mandibles together sharply, the equivalent of taking a deep breath.

“Explain.”

“I believed there was no reason to give the dead names. I thought we would conquer this continent in the first war, and then the second, and fulfill our duty years ago, without creating individuals. I was wrong.”

There it was. Klbkch sat down hard. Xrn had just justified all the work he’d done, conceded the argument that had torn them apart for over a decade.

“I was correct.”

She smiled at him, lifting her mandibles. The Antinium did not hide the truth when they were wrong.

“You were.”

But then she grew silent, pensive. She stared at Klbkch’s desk, which was engulfed in a war between the elements. Xrn waved her hand, and the fires, the ice, the water and lightning—all vanished in a moment, leaving behind a distinctly weathered wooden surface behind.

“You were right, Klbkch. These individuals are valuable. If we go to war a third time, they may well change the outcome of the conflict.”

Klbkch opened his mandibles, eagerly pressing the second part of his old argument.

“If we need to go to war again. As I have said—”

“Yes, if. If we must take the continent, oust the Drakes and Gnolls and Humans to begin with. I am starting to come around to your thinking on that point as well.”

It was everything Klbkch had wanted to hear, what his Queen had wanted to hear. And yet—why was Xrn talking to him here and not telling his Queen this? He paused.

“Why? Why do you believe this now?”

Xrn paused a third and final time, and Klbkch knew they were coming to the heart of the matter. His blood raced a bit quicker throughout his body.

“…Do you know how long it has been since we came to this continent, Klbkch? No—do not answer. It is a pointless, Human way of asking. I know. Over two decades. And in that time, we have rebuilt our Hives. And yet, Klbkchhezeim. And yet. After all this time, no new Queens have been born.”

Klbkch’s heart paused. He looked carefully at Xrn.

“None?”

She shook her head.

“Not a one.”

Klbkch tried to come up with a response.

“The Queens have time. If they continue their efforts to discover—”

“That is not the problem, Klbkch. It is not that they are trying to create new Queens and failing. It is that they have given up trying altogether.”

The words knocked Klbkch back like a blow. He sat back in his chair hard and nearly overbalanced.

“No.”

Xrn’s eyes were steady, darkness and hints of blue and gray the only colors.

“Yes. They have not tried.”

“But surely they know—”

“They do not want to try. Or they are afraid to. This entire time I believed the Grand Queen was prioritizing the issue, as you were. But I have learned she had given up attempting to recover that knowledge. There are no new Queens, Klbkch.”

“But there must be!”

Klbkch sat up, outraged, afraid. He stared at Xrn.

“We cannot expand if there are no new Queens! The Hives have a limit to expansion, especially with only one Queen and no sub-Queens attending her! And without a Unitasis Network our armies—”

“Are flawed. Slow. I know, Klbkch. I have argued with the Grand Queen on this point countless times. But she refuses to try. She is afraid.”

“Of what? Failure?”

“Success. Of being replaced, I think. Or perhaps—no, I cannot fathom all of her reasons. But it is enough that you know.”

It was. It changed everything Klbkch had assumed about the Hives. He lowered his head and spoke quietly.

“Let me talk to my Queen. She can try—”

“Against the other Queen’s directives? She has no resources. They were denied to her by the Hives. I am surprised she managed to alter your form, let alone resurrect you.”

Klbkch hesitated. This was a deep secret he was about to share, but Xrn was laying her secrets bare. He felt obligated to do the same.

“The necessary reagents can be…obtained. It is difficult, but possible. If I purchase from [Alchemists], perhaps—”

The Small Queen was shaking her head.

“That is an unlikely outcome, Klbkch.”

He felt a spark of anger. It was hot and fierce. But it was burning on despair.

“What then? Are we to give up on our future?”

“Not at all. Why do you think I am here? No, Klbkch, it is because of our future that I have come here, using the Individuals as an excuse. In fact, they are the reason I have come. If not, I would still be in the Grand Queen’s Hive, trying to create Queens on my own.”

“You tried—”

“Repeatedly.”

Xrn’s voice was tired. She traced a finger on Klbkch’s desk, leaving a trail of fire behind.

“I burned what I created. I cannot do it. Perhaps your Queen can, perhaps not. You should tell her either way. But my idea is more direct. We must have more Queens, Klbkch. We must stop running, stop focusing on pointless battles here. We have been here for two decades and barely a handful of Hives. This was not the plan.”

“No, it was not.”

Klbkch felt tired. They had failed. But Xrn’s eyes lit up, and a spark of white, golden light filled them. Hope flashing in the darkness.

“We cannot stay here, with flawed Queens who remain fragmented. With no hope of rebuilding our people. We must return home, Klbkch. We must recover our lost knowledge.”

“You don’t mean—”

Xrn’s gaze nearly blinded Klbkch. The purest blue light of unwavering determination blazed in the depths, mixed with gold and the orange glow of fury.

“Yes. We must go back. To Rhir.”

In the minutes that followed, Klbkch thought over a thousand different responses, from denial to incredulity to acceptance. In the end he simply asked one word.

“How?”

Xrn smiled. She stood up, and placed hands on Klbkch’s desk. The wood began to change, and small figures of colored lights began to rise out of the wood, marching, assembling as she spoke.

“A strike force. A few thousand Soldiers and Workers—elites if they can be acquired as well. But most importantly, a group of Individuals that can lead and fight on their own. Remember the expeditionary units of the past?”

Klbkch nodded slowly. How could he not? He had led so many, as had Xrn…

“Yes.”

And then he put the pieces together. Klbkch’s mandibles clicked together sharply.

“So that is your reason for coming here. You want the Individuals my Hive has produced—”

“More if possible. And higher level, of course. I can secure the specialist elites of other Hives, perhaps persuade other Prognugators like Tersk. He may be persuaded to listen, despite not knowing the truth yet. But I still need those with levels. You would not be enough, Klbkch, weakened as you are. And Wrymvr—”

“You sent Zel after him. If he dies, or if Shivertail dies trying to avenge General Sserys it will be war—”

“Perhaps. But I think Shivertail would win, and it would not be war if I speak to the Grand Queen. I think a death might bring Wyrmvr back to his senses, which is why I told General Shivertail.”

Klbkch paused.

“Why? What is wrong with Wyrmvr?”

Xrn looked calmly at Klbkch.

“I think he has gone insane. So has his Queen. But that is not the issue, Klbkch. The Queens, the Hives—all the Antinium on Liscor are not the issue. Going to Rhir and coming back with a Queen or the knowledge of how to create one—only that will save us all.”

Klbkch looked at her. He put a hand on his sword’s hilt, gripping it tightly.

“You still think they’re alive, don’t you?”

“They swore to fight for a thousand years if that was what it took. I believe they have continued to do battle, believing in us. We failed them, Klbkch. Now we must go back.”

“Across the ocean. Where we lost everything.”

Xrn nodded. She and Klbkch paused, remembering. Remembering the disaster, the storms—her fingers twisted and water splashed down, but the shimmering figures were safe, protected by a bubble of air on the tabletop.

“We learned from our failures. This time we will learn to sail, and I have studied spells to guide us across the ocean. If we land on Rhir—”

“We will have to fight our way down there. Past the Blighted King and the Demon King.”

“If necessary.”

“And then—then if there are still survivors, we take a Queen?”

“A younger one with the necessary knowledge, yes. If we could escort her back—”

“The odds are terrible.”

Klbkch stared at the plan Xrn had outlined on his desk. She nodded.

“But it is possible, Klbkch. More so with your Individuals. The [Strategists] you have helped to create—Belgrade and Anand—they will be invaluable. I was intending to use the Prognugator copies the Grand Queen had created instead, but these Individuals are far more original, far more capable.”

Klbkch stared at Xrn in shock. He’d met the Prognugators sent to guard her. They were created as Ksmvr had been, but like him they were incomplete, deeply flawed versions of what they should have been.

“You encouraged her to repeat those experiments?”

“It was my only option at the time. This our only hope, Klbkch. I will pursue it with any means at my disposal.”

Xrn was not defensive. She simply explained. And she looked at Klbkch, hope shining in her eyes.

“It will take much preparation, Klbkch. Years—perhaps another decade if a war breaks out. But this is the only way I see to survive. I place my plan in your hands. Will you join me, or will you stay here?”

Klbkch paused. He stared at his desk, and then looked up at Xrn. He felt emotion building in his chest, and felt the two swords hanging at his sides. He shook his head slowly. Xrn stared at him, crestfallen. But that wasn’t what Klbkch meant.

“No. It will be sooner than that. We will make the journey, Xrn. In time. With more than just Antinium. Perhaps—yes, perhaps there is more we can add to your plan.”

Golden fire. Xrn’s eyes lit up like the first time Klbkch had seen the sun. She placed a hand on his shoulder as he stood and joined her. Klbkch stared at her, and realized he was more whole than he had been in a long, long time.

Two of the Centinium stood together. One had changed in body, and the other not at all. But they were different than they had been. Different, and yet not. Because they remembered. They hadn’t come to this continent to live and die here. The knowledge was a scream in Klbkch’s soul. The Queens knew they had not come here to simply dig Hives and create mockeries of what they had been! They had come here to go back! They had retreated to fight!

“We will return.”

It was a whisper, a promise. Xrn looked at him.

“You said more than Antinium? Do you actually have allies you would trust with our secret?”

“At least one.”

Klbkch thought of Ryoka as he turned to Xrn.

“But even if we do not have allies, we will have more Individuals.”

“How? I am still uncertain about how your Hives produces them. Your Queen did not give me a straight answer.”

“That is because she does not know. And I do not either.”

Incredulity, a greenish strip of color languidly weaving through the gold.

“How can you not?”

Klbkch smiled. He sat back down, motioning for Xrn to do the same.

“There is hope. Things have changed. These recent developments, the Individuals, all of it stems from one person. If your plan is to succeed—if we are to have hope, we must focus on one person.”

“Who?”

Xrn stared intently at Klbkch. He looked up, towards the ceiling, towards the sky.

“It all starts and ends with a young Human girl. You have met her. Her name is Erin Solstice and she comes from another world…”

—-

Erin Solstice sat in her inn and stared at the Antinium in front of her. She was a Level 30 [Magical Innkeeper], the sole proprietress of The Wandering Inn, her home, and currently, very confused.

“Let me get this straight. You like birds.”

Sitting across the table from her, Bird the Antinium nodded. He was sitting awkwardly on the edge of his chair, a short bow and a few homemade arrows sitting on the table. Erin eyed both. Apparently the Antinium didn’t use ranged weapons much, and so Bird had taken it upon himself to manufacture his own gear.

She looked back at him.

“But you kill birds. I mean, you hunt them.”

“Yes. I kill birds.”

“But you like birds.”

“Yes.”

Erin paused. She scratched her head and someone hurried over to the table.

“Mister Bird? Another glass of raw eggs?”

“Yes, please.”

Bird turned and his mandibles raised as Lyonette carefully handed him a mug filled with raw eggs. Five cracked eggs. Bird had requested it specially. Lyonette smiled at Bird, and then hurried away before Bird began to drink.

Erin watched, only slightly grossed out as Bird delicately let a glistening yolk drop into his mandibles. He clicked them together appreciatively.

“I am very grateful. Do I offer more coins now? I have many.”

“No, you can pay after. Just let me get this straight. You like birds, but you kill them.”

Bird nodded.

“Yes. Shooting birds is enjoyable.”

Erin stared at him. It wasn’t that she disliked Bird, one of the Individual Antinium who lived in the Hive under Liscor. In fact, she really liked him. He, along with four other Antinium—Belgrade, Anand, Garry, and Pawn—had been the only survivors of a group of Antinium Workers who’d given their lives to protect her when a group of undead had attacked her inn.

It was just that Bird was weird. Even for an Antinium he was weird. Pawn thought he was weird, Anand and Belgrade agreed, and Garry—well, Erin hadn’t gotten a chance to chat much with Garry, but the Antinium had definitely mentioned Bird’s weirdness when he’d helped Erin out at the Christmas party.

She was just trying to figure him out. And it wasn’t working. Erin rubbed at her head.

“Okay, okay. You like birds. But you kill them. Uh, Bird, I don’t know how to say this, but generally, you don’t kill things you like.”

The Antinium looked confused. He lowered his mug.

“But what is the point of killing something you don’t like?”

Erin opened her mouth. She closed it. She put her hands in her hair.

“You know what? How about we go back to what you do every day.”

Bird nodded amicably.

“I shoot birds.”

“…That’s it? I mean, don’t you do anything else? Do you have duties in the Hive like Pawn, or Anand or Garry?”

He paused, thinking.

“I contribute resources to the Hive, mainly in the form of edible foodstuffs. On a daily average, I provide a value approximately 261% of the average Worker, thus justifying my existence. I am also considered to be a war asset of undetermined value, and have special qualities deemed important to the Hive at this moment due to my Individual nature and levels. Thus, I am permitted to act autonomously due to my unique class.”

Erin stared at him. Sitting underneath the table, Mrsha raised her head and smacked it on the bottom of Erin’s chair. Lyonette’s head turned as she scrubbed at a dirty table. Bird looked around and shrugged.

“That means I can go out and hunt birds. Revelantor Klbkch said so.”

Erin glanced around her inn. It was empty, aside from Mrsha and Lyonette and Bird. Her regular guests were all out. As adventurers (and one [General]), they didn’t hang around the inn much. She took a deep breath.

“Got it. You shoot birds. That’s cool.”

“I hunt all day. Sometimes all night.”

“Right. And do you do anything with the birds you shoot?”

“I bring them to the Hive.”

“Oh. That’s all?”

Bird hesitated. He glanced around the room and lowered his voice. Erin leaned forwards at Bird’s insistence. He looked guilty as he confessed to Erin in a hushed tone.

“Sometimes…I eat the birds I shoot instead of bringing them to the Hive.”

Erin stared at him.

“Okay.”

“When I am hungry.”

Bird clarified. He looked guilty. Erin nodded slowly.

“So you cook them?”

“No.”

“Wait, you eat them raw?”

“They are crunchy. And not crunchy in places.”

“But raw—”

Erin looked down as Mrsha poked her head out from under the table. The Gnoll didn’t seem to have a problem with Bird’s eating habits. The Antinium nodded.

“Sometimes I throw them on a fire. The taste is different. So is the color.”

Erin had a feeling Bird’s method of cooking was literally throwing dead birds onto the fire. She took a breath.

“Okay, but you know you could cook them properly, right? You know, chop them up? Roast them? Bake them?”

“If I bring them to the Hive they are processed into paste. It does not taste good.”

“Processed—you mean that muck Pawn says all the Antinium eat?”

Bird nodded. Erin tried to imagine how a dead bird would be turned into that and shuddered.

“Okay, maybe you have the right idea. But if you cook things—”

“I do not have any Skills.”

“But you could learn—actually, wait. I have a better idea. Why don’t you bring your dead birds to me, and I’ll cook them for you? Free of charge!”

Bird stared at Erin as if she were a genius.

“You would cook birds for me?”

She grinned at him.

“Yeah! And I can make them very tasty, Bird. I can add a bit of lemon, some salt and pepper—make some gravy—you won’t ever go back to eating raw birds when you taste my cooking!”

The Antinium didn’t salivate as far as Erin could tell, but Bird’s body language told her he was extremely interested in this offer. But then he drooped and his antennae sagged.

“Ah. But I do not have many coins. Not enough to eat cooked birds all the time.”

“That’s not a problem!”

Erin hurried to reassure the downcast Bird. She thought and pointed to a bag which the Antinium had brought into the inn. It was tied tightly.

“You hunt a lot of birds each day, right Bird? Even in the winter?”

“I shoot many of them, yes.”

“Well then…if you give me a few birds, I’ll cook as many as you want to eat! That way, I get something and you get something! How’s that for a deal?”

Bird considered this.

“This is a good deal. I will accept. Thank you, Miss Erin.”

She beamed at him. Bird reached for his sack.

“I have birds now. Can I give you some?”

“Well of c—”

Erin paused as Bird untied the knot holding his sack open. Underneath the table Mrsha yelped and across the room Lyonette gagged. The [Princess] put a hand over her mouth and Erin nearly fell out of her chair as Bird pulled a dead bird out of his sack.

It was dead. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was how long it had been dead for. The smell was—Erin stared at the dead bird and saw things moving on the corpse.

“Here is one bird. Can you cook it?”

“Put it—put it—”

Erin was trying not to throw up, back away, and avoid Bird’s outstretched hand at the same time. Mrsha fled as something dropped onto the table and wriggled.

“Put it back!”

Bird did so, looking confused. Erin made him tie up the sack—and then throw it out into the snow before she tried to explain the difference between a freshly-caught bird and a rotting one that had been sitting in the sack for two weeks.

“So I must obtain fresh birds?”

“Yes! Doesn’t your Hive say that to you too?”

“Freshness does not matter. Those birds are acceptable for processing.”

“They—you’re joking.”

Bird stared at Erin. She stared back. She thought about the wriggling things and covered her mouth.

“Okay. Wow. No wonder Klbkch eats here instead of at his Hive. Bird? I need fresh…birds. You can preserve them in ice, and bring them to me. But if they’re old, you have to bring them to the Hive, okay? And you can’t…can’t mix old birds with new ones, alright? I’ll explain all of it to you, but you can’t bring really rotten birds into my inn, okay?”

Bird nodded, looking serious and clearly not comprehending Erin’s line of thought at all.

“This is an important issue?”

“Yes!”

—-

Erin Solstice stood at the table and scrubbed hard with soapy water after Bird had gone. She avoided the wriggling orange maggot until a paw reached onto the table and grabbed it.

“Mrsha!”

She whirled and the white-furred Gnoll fled, the squirming maggot held triumphantly in one paw. Erin went to run after her, but Lyonette got there first. Erin heard the two having a one-sided argument as she turned back to cleaning the table.

“No, Mrsha! You can’t have it. No, you can’t—don’t lick it! See how bad it tasted? Now, give it to me—no, no, you can’t put it with Apista. She’s in a shell and I don’t think she wants company. Just give it to—just throw it outside in the snow, far away, okay? There’s a good girl.”

Erin turned her head and saw Mrsha scampering out of the inn. She also saw Lyonette carefully arranging a large bowl set in the middle of a table in the far corner of the inn. She was tending to Apista, her pet, making sure the bowl was filled with royal jelly and warm enough.

Erin could appreciate Apista, although she hated wriggling things in general. Technically, the bee larvae that Lyonette had adopted as a pet was also a maggot, but at least this one was…bigger? Well, it was part of the inn now, and that meant it was as good as family. Even if it was butt ugly.

But Apista had grown on Erin—literally. After the few days since she’d returned to her inn, the larvae had begun metamorphosing into a hardened shell, at first just an indistinct blob, but which was taking on the appearance of a bee day by day. It would hatch soon, Erin felt, and then…

Well, Lyonette had the [Beast Tamer] class, and so she’d be able to control it. Or so Erin desperately hoped. But in truth, Erin had no idea what Apista the Ashfire Bee would be like when she finally emerged from her pupal state.

Apista. Now there was a good name. In truth, Erin had been holding out for Beeyonce, or Pudge, but Lyonette had settled on Apista, and Erin had to admit it made sense. Not that anyone besides Ryoka would recognize the Latin name, though.

Was it odd to own an inn and have a [Princess] working as your barmaid? Was it odd having a white Gnoll child—a furry hyena like species that lived in tribes—running around holding maggots? Was it a bit disconcerting to sit with an Antinium, one of the insect-like people who lived underground, and talk about hunting birds?

Maybe, but Erin had gotten used to it long ago. Now she squeezed the rag she’d been using into her bucket and looked at Lyonette.

“How’s Pudg—I mean, Apista doing, Lyonette?”

“Good, Erin. I think she’s healthy. I mean, I can sort of sense it, thanks to my Skills!”

Lyonette looked proud as she tilted the bowl to show Erin the hard carapace of the growing bee. Erin nodded.

“You really like classes, don’t you?”

“I’m a Level 3 [Beast Tamer] now! And a Level 4 [Carer]! I leveled up in both classes last night!”

The girl’s chest puffed up with pride, and Erin smiled at her.

“That’s really great. You’re leveling up in a different class every day, or so it seems.”

“I just want to learn it all. I know one class is best, but—”

Lyonette’s face fell. Erin studied her. Lyonette was a [Princess]. She’d told Erin as much herself. But she was a runaway princess, and a failure too, if what she hinted to Erin was right. Apparently, she was only Level 5 in the [Princess] class, despite having been one her entire life.

“You know what, Lyonette? I think you’re a great [Barmaid]. You’ve only been working here for a few weeks and you’re already Level 9! Once you get to Level 10—well, I’d better give you a pay raise.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I should! I totally forgot to pay you this entire time. And you do so much work—it’s no wonder you’re leveling like crazy.”

Erin grinned at Lyon as the girl’s face went red. It was remarkable how much she’d changed from the haughty, angry girl that Erin had first saved from freezing to death in the snow. Erin glanced at the windows as Lyonette busied herself with Apista’s bowl, still blushing furiously.

“Speaking of which…I think we’re all set until dinner, Lyonette. We’ve got firewood water, groceries…why don’t you and Mrsha have a break? You can take her into the city!”

Lyonette looked up with a grateful smile.

“Really? You’re sure? I could stay and mind the inn if you need me to—”

“We’re fine. No one’s coming back for a while, and if they do, they know I’m going to be out. Plus, I’ve got some soup sitting in the kitchen just in case. You two deserve a break!”

Erin waved an airy hand as Mrsha came bounding back into the inn. The Gnoll’s white fur was covered in snow and Lyonette went to chase Mrsha as she tracked it onto the newly cleaned floor. Meanwhile, Erin went into the kitchen to get some coins for Lyonette to spend.

Liscor. It was only ten minutes’ walk away from the inn, and the city was filled with Drakes, Gnolls, and a good deal of Humans. It was the place to be if you wanted to have fun, mainly because there wasn’t anywhere else to go to in the open, rolling landscape that surrounded the city.

Both Erin and Lyonette had a history with the city, although Erin’s relationship was a great deal more positive than Lyon’s. In truth, the girl had been kicked out of the city for stealing and burning down a shop.

It wasn’t that Lyonette’s exile had been lifted, but thanks to Zel Shivertail, one of Erin’s guests who also happened to be a hero among his people, the Drakes, in practice Lyonette could go into the city whenever she liked.

“Here’s some money for the week.”

Erin went over to Lyonette with a handful of coins. She counted them out into the girl’s hands, giving her mostly bronze and silver. But Erin’s fingers paused as she picked up a substantially larger, coin, which wasn’t silver but shone with brighter radiance in the light.

“Oh—sorry. Wrong coin.”

Lyonette blinked as Erin took the coin out and put it in her belt pouch.

“What’s that? It’s too big to be a silver coin.”

“It’s…a secret. I’m trying to figure it out myself.”

Erin smiled at Lyonette as she handed the girl the other coins. Lyonette blinked at a gold coin glinting at her and opened her mouth to protest. Erin shushed her.

“It’s for Mrsha! Buy her something nice and maybe get her another toy when you’re out shopping.”

“But what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to do business!”

“If it’s shopping, I can buy it. I think Krshia’s okay with me—”

“No, no. I have it! You have fun. That’s an order!”

Erin shooed Lyonette out the door, Mrsha joyfully bounding about in the snow. Then she went over to the counter under her bar and began pulling out large bottles filled with various colors of liquid. Erin found a sack, grabbed the rest of the smaller denominations of coin for change, and walked out of her inn.

“Time to get to my part-time job.”

—-

The city of Liscor was filled with people. Drakes and Gnolls, primarily, but Humans had come seeking wealth recently. They weren’t exactly welcomed with open arms by the city’s natives, Drakes, who resembled giant lizard-people and hated being called lizards, and Gnolls, who, unlike Mrsha, had brown fur, black fur, grey fur, reddish-orange fur—but never white fur.

Erin walked down the streets, smiling at passersby, looking at the open architecture of the Drake’s buildings, and being tempted by food vendors frying grilled meat, steaming liberally spiced vegetable skewers, or making one of the city’s new favorite fast foods—hamburgers.

Soon enough, Erin reached a large building along the main street. It had a decent flow of foot traffic, Humans, Gnolls, and Drakes all entering the double doors. What set these individuals apart was that unlike the normal type of pedestrian, the people using this building were generally armed. They were adventurers, and wore everything from leather armor to polished plate to enchanted robes.

The Adventurer’s Guild in Liscor wasn’t used to so much business, and so Erin knew that if she went inside to see her friend Selys, she’d probably have to wait for a long time as the [Receptionists] tried to keep up with all the adventurers coming in and out. But Erin wasn’t here for a social visit. Instead, she put down the heavy bag she’d filled with jars in the snow and rubbed at her shoulder. Then Erin took a deep breath and raised one of the jars into the air. She was holding a spoon in the other hand.

“Samples! Get your free samples! Magical soup! Anyone want a sample?”

Heads turned. People stared. Erin tried not to blush as she waved a jar of bright red-purple liquid at the crowd. She felt silly, but she was used to that feeling. The important thing was doing something, trying something.

“You there! Mister Gnoll? Sorry, Miss Gnoll…want a sample? It’s free! Try my defense soup! Anyone want a taste? It’s magical! It works!”

People passed by, but some began to stop. They approached, staring at the jar Erin was waving. She heard people asking questions and uncorked her jar and offered a spoonful around. People backed away, but they kept watching. Slowly, a crowd began to gather. And the commotion alerted the Adventurer’s Guild, because soon a trio of Drakes pushed out of the doors.

One of them had bright yellow scales, another light green scales, and a third had dark green scales with a white pattern that reached from her tail up her back, although her clothes made it so only her tail was visible.

The Drake with bright yellow scales was looking around.

“What’s the commotion?”

The one with dark green scales pointed at Erin, and all three [Receptionists] looked over. The one with yellow scales rolled her eyes and twitched her tail dismissively, but the one with light green scales smiled when she saw Erin’s face.

“It’s that Human.”

“The crazy one? I mean—the one with the hamburgers?”

“Shush, Drassi! That’s my friend. I told you two about her.”

Selys grinned toothily at Erin. She’d drawn a crowd in minutes. There were Drakes that Selys knew in the crowd, people who didn’t like Humans. But they stopped because it was Erin, that Human, the one they knew on sight even if they didn’t know her name.

The crowd had formed a circle and was staring at the colorful jars Erin was waving around, but no one had stepped forwards yet. Selys waited for a volunteer. Because as much as she liked Erin…

She wasn’t going to try the soups herself. At least, not until someone else had done it first.

A volunteer stepped out of the crowd after a few second. It was a Drake adventurer from the Guild. He looked hesitant, but his companions were egging him on. They were a group of five, and he had been chosen a scapegoat.

“Um, Miss?”

Erin turned to him with a big smile.

“Hi! Do you want to try a sample?”

“A…sample?”

The Drake looked uncertain. Samples were not a tradition in this world, but Erin gave him a big smile and explained.

“I’m showing people my cool new soup! It’s magic, and I’m selling it in my inn. Do you want to try it?”

The Drake gulped. He had black scales and he was actually a bit shorter than Erin.

“What—what does it do?”

Erin pointed proudly at the red-purple jar in her hands.

“This is defense soup! I’m calling it that. Or maybe thick skin soup? Naw, that sounds bad. Anyways, it makes your scales tough!”

The Drake eyed the jar with increasing skepticism as Erin dipped the huge spoon—ladle, really—into the jar and lifted it. He glanced at his friends and at the crowd, but it was too late to back out.

“I just drink it—”

“Yep! Don’t worry. It’s sweet!”

The Drake gingerly flicked his tongue out and tasted the liquid. His eyes widened.

“It is sweet!”

The crowd of onlookers watched as the Drake slowly gulped down the soup. It didn’t look that tasty, and the Drake made a face and muttered about mushrooms, but then he’d swallowed it all. They waited, but the Drake stood looking vaguely queasy, but not noticeably different.

The adventurer coughed and glanced at Erin.

“Do I have to wait or does something happen?”

“It should be taking effect right now! Okay, now hold on a second—”

Erin put down the jar and spoon. When she came up, she was holding a kitchen knife.

“Now I stab you.”

The circle of onlookers suddenly got a lot wider, very quickly. The black-scaled Drake backed away, claws raised.

“Whoa. Miss Human, I didn’t volunteer for that!”

“Don’t worry! It won’t hurt a bit! Thanks to my soup, I won’t be able to cut you.”

“I’d—really rather not risk it. I can’t feel a change.”

“Come on, just a poke—”

Erin advanced with the knife. The Drake backed away.

“No, no. I’m not going to be cut. Sorry, but find someone else.”

He turned, much to the crowd’s vocal disappointment. The Drake began walking back towards his friends, shaking his head as they motioned him to go back. Erin stared at his back for a moment. Then she sidled over to him. Erin raised the kitchen knife—

And she stabbed him in the back.

“Aaargh!”

He fell to the ground and rolled around. Selys’ friends put their claws over their mouths and Selys covered her eyes, but she could still hear the adventurer screaming.

“She stabbed me! That crazy Human stabbed me!”

He shouted at the crowd as he thrashed about.

“Quick! Call the Watch! Get a [Healer]! I’m going to die! I’m going—”

The adventurer was feeling at his back, for the spot where Erin had thrust into his back. He suddenly froze as his claws landed on the spot.

“Oh.”

Everyone stared at him. The adventurer looked around. Though his scales were black, Selys could see a slight red blush appear around his face. He got up very slowly and brushed the snow off of his gear. He sheepishly looked at Erin.

“I’m uh, okay.”

“Of course you are, silly!”

Erin laughed. She stabbed the adventurer in the stomach. Hard. He yelped and grabbed at his stomach, but now everyone could see there was not a speck of blood. There was a slight scratch on his scales, but that was all.

“And now, here’s my trick!”

Smiling, Erin showed the knife to the crowd, and then pulled a carrot out from the sack she’d brought. She tossed the carrot up and cut it in half with a cut slash of the knife. She caught the two pieces.

There was a brief pause, and then the crowd burst into applause. Beaming like a ringmaster, Erin bowed.

“Thank you! Anyone want to try? Free samples! I promise it doesn’t taste bad!”

“Ooh, me! Me!”

Someone shouted from the back of the crowd. A huge figure Selys recognized pushed his way forwards, shouting.

“Watch business! Clear aside! I’m a Senior Guardsman I’ll have you know—hey Erin!”

“Relc?”

Erin stared at the grinning Drake [Guardsman]. He stared down at the jar of red soup, licking his lips.

“Is it good?”

“Um, yeah! Want some?”

Erin hesitantly offered Relc a spoonful. He slurped it down.

“Sweet!”

Erin stared at Relc as he began flexing his muscles, poking at his biceps and trying to see if the potion had taken effect.

“Aren’t you supposed to say ‘move along, nothing to see here’?”

He looked confused.

“Why would I do that? I want to watch! Hey, does your potion help if you get hit really hard?”

Erin hesitated. She hadn’t tried hitting herself over the head in her limited stress-testing of her defense soup.

“…Maybe?”

“Let’s find out!”

Relc walked over to the adventurer and punched him in the stomach. The black-scaled Drake doubled over, but it was a mark of the soups effects that he was able to stand back up and take a swing at Relc, which the Drake casually dodged.

Erin’s soup might have been an unknown quantity, but apparently Relc’s punching power was not. That opened the floodgates, and soon Erin had emptied one jar of her defense soup or as Relc wanted to call it—Scale Soup.

“Because it gives you another set of scales, get it? Look! I can barely cut this guy’s scales with the knife!”

“Ancestors! Stop!”

Relc was chasing the black-scaled Drake around with the kitchen knife as Erin opened the jar filled with her blue, thick, warming soup.

A young human woman pushed her way to the front of the crowd to taste this first. She was apparently in the black-scaled Drake’s party, although she wasn’t helping him. She had a curved sword at her waist, which looked like a katana to Erin’s eyes. The girl stared at the young woman and smiled.

“Want a taste?”

“Sure.”

The young woman made a face as she downed the soup, but in a few seconds she was blinking and shedding clothes. She was actually giving off steam in the cold air, which made several children clamor to have a taste.

“So you’re selling this soup? It’s a potion for travelling, right?”

“And fighting Snow Golems! I bet you could give them a hug and they’d melt!”

Erin beamed. Some of the other adventurers were nodding. One, a Gnoll with several scars showing through his fur, eyed the soup appreciatively.

“I could go swimming in the coldest lake with this soup, yes? And the Scale Soup—it is like a Bark Potion, or something similar.”

The other adventurers were nodding. The young woman with the katana looked at Erin appraisingly.

“How much?”

Erin hesitated. She took a deep breath and tried to project confidence. This was it. Time to make the sale, Octavia style!

“Two gold coins. But if you buy in bulk I’ll throw in a fourth soup for every three you buy. And I’ll—”

“Two gold coins?”

The people around Erin exclaimed and she sagged. She couldn’t speak fast enough.

“Okay, okay, I could do one and a half—”

“You’re charging one and a half gold coins for this soup?”

The female adventurer stared at Erin. The girl wavered.

“I could do one coin…but I wouldn’t make much of a profit. Look, if you buy a lot of soups, then maybe I could—”

Selys couldn’t watch. She elbowed her way quickly to Erin.

“What they mean is, why are you selling it so cheaply, Erin? This is way too good to sell for so little!”

“Oh!”

The innkeeper brightened up. She scratched her head.

“Because…I can?”

The crowd looked at Erin suspiciously. She wavered, and cracked.

“Okay, if I sell a lot, I’ll earn a lot, right? If I charged like eight gold coins, I wouldn’t sell enough!”

“But the going rate for a Bark Potion is seventeen gold coins.”

Someone pointed that out. Erin’s eyes went wide.

“Whoa. Really? That’s…a lot.”

The adventurers were still staring at Erin. One of them, a far shorter Human who was rather squat, pointed at Erin.

“You said soup. Does that mean you aren’t an [Alchemist], Miss?”

“No, I’m uh, an [Innkeeper]. But wait! I’m actually a [Magical Innkeeper] so it makes sense! I have a Skill that lets me cook magical food!”

“I’ve never heard of magical food.”

Erin waved her hand frantically as people began to grow increasingly skeptical.

“It’s true! I’ve got a Skill! I can cook food up and make it magical if I use the right ingredients! It’s like alchemy, I promise! But I can fry food, make it into a soup—it’s a lot faster, and a lot less messy than alchemy!”

“And you can make stuff like this?”

An experienced female Drake adventurer pointed to the half-empty jar of soup Erin was holding. It was still hot, still steaming despite having been on Erin’s shelf for six days. Erin nodded, smiling. The adventurer thought about that for a second.

“That’s not fair.”

Someone else nodded.

“You’ll run out every [Alchemist] in the city if you sell your products that cheap!”

Erin looked shocked and hurt.

“I wouldn’t do that! I can’t make healing soup—I mean, I’ve tried and haven’t figured it out yet. And my soups aren’t as good as really high-level potions. Octavia—she’s an [Alchemist]—said so.”

“Okay, but you’re still selling swords for salt. You’re telling us there are no disadvantages to your soups compared to potions?”

The adventurer with the katana pointed to Erin’s jar. The girl hesitated.

“Well…”

Every head stared fixedly at her, especially those who’d had her soup. Erin scuffed at the snow.

“…There is an expiry date on my soups. They don’t uh, last forever like potions.”

People exchanged glances. Erin looked guilty. Selys cleared her throat.

“That’s it?”

Erin nodded.

“My soups last the longest, but I can only make the best ones last about a week. And if I cook something else up, like a sauté, it goes bad in a few hours. Unless I keep it in my inn. It doesn’t go bad there because I have a Skill.”

The Gnoll adventurer peered at the jars.

“How does it go bad? Does it explode or turn into a fungi or turn acidic?”

“No! Nothing bad happens! Well, you throw up a lot.”

Again, more incredulous looks pinned Erin.

“That’s all?”

Erin wavered. This was getting into some personal and troubling territory she’d rather not remember.

“Not…exactly.”

The crowd tensed again, ready for the horrible details. Erin took a breath and turned red.

“You get…bad poops sometimes. Really bad poops.”

“Bad poops?”

Erin nodded.

“Really bad. Like…you could pull down your pants and hit a target ten feet away with it.”

The crowd shuddered. Erin shuddered too. She hadn’t been the one with that reaction, thankfully. But Mrsha had drank half of one of the expired soups and—

“And then there’s throwing up. Sometimes it’s just bad, but I had one reaction where I threw up in all different colors.”

Relc stopped chasing the black-scaled Drake around.

“Ooh, like a rainbow?”

Erin thought about that. She shook her head.

“Exactly not like a rainbow. That definitely wasn’t what it looked like.”

“But that’s all? That’s the only side effect? Your potions—I mean, soups—go bad after a while and they make you sick?”

“Yup!”

Erin stared down at the ground. Octavia made lying about her products sound so easy. But Erin couldn’t do it. Maybe she could sell her potions for one gold coin after all?

In the crowd, the adventurers traded glances. The group with the black-scaled Drake nodded at each other, and the young woman with the katana cleared her throat. Erin looked hopefully at her. The adventurer felt at her belt pouch.

“…Do you do discounts for repeat customers?”

—-

A while later Erin walked back out of Liscor, a bag with two empty jars and a spoon carried over one shoulder. Her belt pouch was plump, and Erin was debating how to celebrate tonight. Maybe with a hotpot with a lot of meat? Mrsha would like that. Everyone would like that, but Mrsha would especially.

Erin already had orders for tomorrow, and she was going to have to talk with Octavia about ingredients for her cooking tonight. But for now she just enjoyed the sensation of profit. It made her feel…golden.

It was another normal day for Erin, filled with event and unevent in equal measures. It was a good day, and one she could smile about as she walked back to her inn. But she kept staring northwest, towards a road that was mostly abandoned. No one was travelling in the cold, partly due to the weather, partly for fear of Goblin attacks. But Erin kept looking, kept searching.

“Come on, Ryoka. What’s taking you so long?”

She murmured under her breath, her smile slipping just a bit. Because despite her doing so much, despite everything, what Erin was doing was waiting. She was waiting. Waiting for a friend.

And far away, a day’s journey from Liscor, closer to Celum in fact, a young woman was running down the road. She didn’t know about the magic door, and so she was running down side roads, through the snow, wary of monsters, bandits, and tree roots in the snow.

She was tired, cold, hungry. A Frost Faerie flew beside her. Ryoka Griffin ran towards Liscor. She was coming back, returning after such a long time. It felt like months had passed, but Ryoka was nearly there. There was only one day of hard running left.

In truth, Ryoka would have gotten to Liscor sooner, but Reynold had run over a group of bandits and broke an axle.

4.08 T

In the depths of Liscor’s Dungeon, past rooms filled with deadly traps, magical ward spells and places where foul monsters made their homes, a skeleton sat on the ground. He held his head in his hands.

Literally in his hands. Toren’s skull stared blankly ahead. The skeleton sat with his back against a wall in a corridor without light. He wasn’t dead; he was undead. And he didn’t move.

Nothing approached him. Dark shadows slithered or walked or rolled or oozed or floated or teleported or crawled or moved in some other fashion past him, taking no notice of the skeleton. Nothing tried to kill Toren, which was an oddity in this dungeon. But the monsters and other things didn’t bother with Toren.

Not out of fear or lack of malice; there were things down here that felt no fear and relished the chance to hurt anything, even the undead. But they passed Toren by because he just sat and didn’t move. To most, he would simply be another skeleton, and there were more than a few in the dungeon. But Toren’s eyes burned dimly in their sockets.

He was still alive.

This is how it happened.

Toren had been approaching Liscor with the band of undead he had taken from Esthelm. He had been furious, plotting revenge against those stupid Goblins, the Knight and the Humans, and especially against Lyonette. She was a given in any revenge scenario. Toren just didn’t like her.

And then he had felt it. It wasn’t something snapping, and it wasn’t as if anything had been cut. Rather…it felt as though something had reached into the center of Toren’s being and yanked a part out.

The mana connection between him and Erin had vanished. It had vanished, and Toren realized in those next moments of panic and confusion that he was dying.

Because his supply of mana was gone, and Toren was running out. He had already run low on mana from fighting in Esthelm; now it seemed to be leaving his body faster with each passing second.

He had known he was going to die. And so Toren had reached out, feeling the spell in his body burning his life force away. He had searched for something, anything that could give him a few more seconds and found it.

Mana. Magic. In the bodies of the zombies and ghouls following him. So Toren had reached out and…taken it from them.

At the time he hadn’t understood it. Now, sitting in the darkness of Liscor’s dungeon, Toren did.  He had stolen the mana from the undead. They had it. It was what gave them the ability to move, to function. Without it they would become dead bodies, or bones. Like Toren.

But he had needed mana so Toren had reached out and taken it. It shouldn’t have been that easy, but these were the dead Toren controlled with his [Command Lesser Undead] Skill, and so in some way they were his. So he had taken their magic and felt it fill him. Not enough, but with more than he had had.

So he could steal magic. At least, from things he owned. That was a revelation to Toren, although again, he hadn’t been in a position to understand that at the time. Now the skeleton thought about this new ability distantly, without real interest.

He was like…a thing that sucked stuff…from things. Toren didn’t have an appropriate word in his head. A straw? That was it! A straw. He was like a Straw Skeleton, something that could feed on the mana of other things. Or maybe a sponge. A Sponge Skeleton.

Names didn’t matter. It was the learning that had saved Toren. He had taken the life of the undead, watched them fall to the ground, lifeless corpses once more. He had lived. But he had still been running out of mana.

So he had searched for more. Suddenly bereft of the thing that had kept him alive, Toren was now focused on it. As someone who had no oxygen would be focused on breathing. And there was magic all around him! It was in the earth, the air, the grass—

But far too little of it. Maybe a zombie could have existed on that ambient mana, but Toren was like a raging bonfire to their modest torches. Something in him was burning through magic at an incredible rate. Erin hadn’t provided Toren with as much mana as someone like Ceria or Pisces could have, but it had still been enough to sustain him.

Searching, Toren had felt something deep in the earth. Something strong. A source of power. He had searched for a way to get to that spot, and remembered the dungeon. He remembered where he had fallen in and desperately made his way to that spot.

There he had had met the small, white Gnoll that used to live at the inn. Mrsha? Mrsha. She had taken one look at Toren and fled. She had gone right to the very crevasse Toren was headed to, and actually tumbled in by herself!

She was clumsy. And she’d let go when Toren went to pull her out. He hadn’t been sure if he was going to stab her or let her go in any event; he just needed her out of the way so he could get into the dungeon. But she had fallen, and that was that.

It was Toren’s descent that mattered. He had carefully climbed down a few feet into the dungeon down the sheer drop, lost his grip, and tumbled to the bottom. He hadn’t broken—but he had fractured several bones.

But then he had been in the dungeon. And oh, blessedly, there had been magic.

It filled the dark hallways of the dungeon. It practically radiated from some rooms, and Toren knew the ambient energy could fuel any number of undead, or other monsters. It was enough to actually fill him with magical energy, enough so that he could reassemble himself a few times if he needed to.

That was a relief. But Toren hadn’t done any fighting then. Suddenly free of the need to survive, the skeleton had seen the small Gnoll running away into the darkness, and heard her howling. He had seen the adventurers and the big Drake kill a score of monsters with commendable skill and bravery. He had seen them climb out of the pit.

And he hadn’t felt a thing. Toren had sat down as the battle had raged, as killing—his favorite thing to do—had been occurring in spades. He had sat and been still. Because now Toren had realized the truth. The awful truth, which held him in place. That wouldn’t go away.

Erin Solstice was dead.

And it was his fault.

The link between Toren and Erin was gone. She was no longer providing him with mana. There could only be one reason for that, Toren knew.

She was gone. He had gotten her killed.

And he hadn’t meant it.

Okay, okay. He had deliberately pulled Erin countless miles away from her inn and left her deliberately near a cave with a sleeping bear in it. And maybe Toren had thrown some rocks at a pack of wolves as he’d walked off. But that had just been a playful attempt at murder, a casual homicide attempt! He hadn’t…hadn’t ever thought it would happen.

It was strange. Toren stirred. He lay down on his left side, turning his head to stare at the rest of his body. He had tried to get Erin killed back then, full of anger for being forced to pull her about, and those stupid bells, but he hadn’t thought she’d really get killed by the bear, deep down.

And that was strange. Toren was dead. He could tell when he was having odd thoughts. Why wouldn’t he have expected Erin to die? Everyone died. Even the undead.

Toren understood death, now. He knew intimately. And killing. He liked it. Toren had learned to kill animals, monsters, and people. It was all the same. All you had to do was stab things, preferably with something sharp, like a sword. Toren was good at it. He was a front-stabber, a backstabber, a side-stabber, and when he could get away with it, an eye-stabber.

Anything could die. Toren was sure he could kill anything with a sharp enough sword. But Erin? How could she die? She was…Erin. The person who’d given him purpose, the second (and more important) person he’d ever seen. His Master. Or Mistress. He hadn’t meant for her to die.

Toren paused.

Okay, he had meant for her to die. But part of him didn’t really expect it to happen. It just seemed impossible to Toren. Still seemed impossible, really.

He remembered Erin fighting Skinner, fighting off hundreds of undead, singing…and her immortal game with the Antinium. She was…had been…at the center of the world Toren knew. He could imagine killing anyone, imagine anyone’s dead body, but hers.

He couldn’t believe she would just die like that. But she had. And it was his fault. Because he had left her. And it was his duty to protect her.

He had abandoned that duty. Left it behind. And only now did Toren regret. Erin was dead. Dead and never coming back.

It was the first time he had ever thought of death as a bad thing. Dead things didn’t bother Toren. He was dead. So what if things never moved? It hadn’t mattered. But Erin—she wouldn’t move. Ever. She was dead. She would rot. She would never speak.

She was dead.

Forever.

There was nowhere to hide in his mind. Toren couldn’t lie to himself. He was dead, and there were no comforting illusions anymore. Only the painful reality.

She was dead.

And it was his fault.

After a while—after a bit of dust had gathered on his body, Toren moved. He stood up. Not because he felt better; Toren never forgot. Memory never faded for him; it was as fresh as the moment he had experienced things. But he felt like he had to do something. Sitting was not working.

Toren leaned against a wall, like he’d seen Erin do when she was upset. It didn’t make him feel better. Maybe it was the wrong wall?

He tried the same thing on the opposite wall. No luck. Toren thumped his skull against the stones. That didn’t help either. He looked around for his sword and remembered he’d dropped it, and everything else in his haste to get here.

So. He was weaponless, trapped in a dungeon full of horrible monsters, and Erin was dead. Toren stared at a wall. Aside from that last bit, things were fine.

Nothing was fine. Nothing would ever be fine. For a second, Toren debated walking out into the corridor and finding a monster to destroy his body a few times. Or maybe he should climb out of the dungeon and lie in the snow until he finally ran out of mana.

To Toren, the notion of oblivion held its own certain charm. But there was a part of him that was afraid of the blank look in the eyes of the dead. After all, they had a second chance, to come back as undead like Toren. But if he died, what then?

If Erin became a zombie, or a Ghoul, would there be anything of her in there? Toren paused. He didn’t want to see a dead Erin. And he didn’t want to die. There was a strong part of him that shouted that.

Yes. Death wasn’t an option for Toren. Despite it all, he wanted to live. And so Toren did. He dusted himself off, looked around, and began to think.

He was alive. Good. That was a good start. Now…what? He was in a dungeon, because he was on his own now. Because he had no mana—

No, scratch that. Because he used too much mana! In theory, he could live like an ordinary skeleton out on the surface. But it was rapidly becoming more apparent that Toren was no ordinary skeleton.

Obviously, because he could level. And think. And he had a name. But there was something else.

Toren felt at his body. His skeletal fingers encountered only yellow-white bone. Was there something off about him?

He carefully pulled a rib out and studied it. Nope. Just a normal rib. His rib. Toren threw it over his shoulder and waited.

After a second or two, the rib rose off the ground and flew back towards his body. It snapped back into place. Toren stared at his reattached rib.

Now that. That wasn’t normal. No other skeleton Toren had met—undead or otherwise—did that. But why did it happen?

Toren thought for a second, and then cast around. He didn’t look with any visual senses, but rather, with that strange ability he’d used out of desperation not long ago. He reached out and searched for the magic with his mind.

There. Toren regarded himself in his head. He could…sense the magic in him. There was a good bit of it, but it wasn’t uniform. There was a flow to it. It occupied his bones. In fact, his bones were the place where the mana was stored. Toren could see how it ran through the bones, absorbed by the spell that animated him from the dungeon. But there were also points where it concentrated, where his body used more mana.

Specific bones, in fact. Toren counted four of them.

Bone one? Second-lowest left rib. Bone two was his right shinbone. The tibia, not the fibula. Bone three was his clavicle. The left one. And the last bone…fourth rib from the top on the right side.

Why were they different? To Toren’s fingers, they were no different from—wait a second. He felt suspiciously at the ends of the rib. The two ‘special’ ones were slightly shorter than the others! And here—his tibia was shorter than the ones on his right side! He was unbalanced!

That indignation lasted only a second. Toren plucked at the bones, removing the ribs to look at them. Why were these bones different? Why did they use more mana, and why didn’t they match the rest of his body? Toren could only assume it was because he wasn’t one skeleton.

He was multiple skeletons.

The [Skeleton Knight] thought about this. Then he fainted.

—-

It wasn’t really fainting, honestly. Toren just swooned over and lay on the ground, like he’d seen Lyonette do once or twice when he’d dropped a bunch of Corusdeer intestines on her head. He got up after a while, but the shock was still there, making his hands tremble.

He was multiple skeletons. Toren felt betrayed by the knowledge. Why hadn’t anyone told him?

Then again…it made sense. Toren was far too intelligent and powerful to be a single skeleton. He nodded to himself, satisfied with that explanation. Then he frowned, or rather, thought about frowning.

He had the ability to sense mana. Not just ambient mana, but to look at something and tell where the mana was concentrated. It was useful, but also a mystery. Because Toren had never learned the [Mana Sense] Skill, if that even was a Skill. So that meant…Toren took several minutes to figure this one out. When he had it he slapped his head off his body in surprise.

You could have a skill which was not a Skill.

It was a mind-blowing revelation. And it immediately made Toren question everything he thought he had known. If you could be good at something without a Skill—like sword fighting, why not learn as much as you could instead of trying to level up and gain Skills?

Maybe…maybe because other people weren’t as good at learning as Toren? He was great at learning. He’d learned that you couldn’t bring dead fish into the inn (unless they were carefully dried off and not in pieces), how to light fires, how to carry plates without breaking them, how to bother Erin so she’d let him go outside…

But it occurred to Toren that there were things he could do that he didn’t know he could do. His mana sensing abilities, for one. That was odd. Could all skeletons do that? Could all living people?

No. Surely not. But if Toren could do that, what else could he make his body do?

He wasn’t sure. It was another thing to explore, but right now Toren was more concerned with survival. Because he would survive. He would live. He didn’t know how to die. He must have forgotten how.

Plus, it stood to reason that Toren was better at living than at dying. He lived all the time, and he’d only died once (as far as he knew). He must not have been very good at it, to have only died once.

So live. And part of living was exploring, finding his whereabouts. Toren looked around.

It was dark. That didn’t bother Toren. But in the darkness, there wasn’t much to see. The corridor was long, wide, tall, and filled with other unhelpful adjectives. Toren had been here before and knew the corridor just led to other intersections and passageways of the same.

This place was a labyrinth. And unfortunately or fortunately depending on how you looked at it, it was filled with monsters. Toren had seen them the first time he’d fallen down here and run away from an enchanted suit of armor.

He’d run around, found a huge staircase going up, run through several rooms, one filled with fire, another with some kind of spell trap he’d dashed through, and then found himself in a room with a bunch of statues and a hole in the wall. He’d dashed out of that and met a bunch of Goblins, who’d been very helpful and helped him kill that blasted suit of armor out on the surface.

So in short, Toren had no idea where he was. He only knew there were trapped rooms ‘above’, a labyrinth ‘here’ filled with monsters, and presumably a lot more dungeon he hadn’t explored. But there was a way out.

For now, Toren dismissed the idea of trying to find a way out of the dungeon. That, ironically, was the most dangerous option for him, lacking a mana source as he was. To go above he’d need a mana potion, or a way of generating more magic to survive off of. So he’d have to stay here.

With the monsters.

Toren patted his side and remembered he’d left his sword somewhere. He looked for it.

There. Toren picked up a somewhat dulled longsword and inspected it critically. It was iron, the cross guard cracked, and covered with dried blood on a few spots. Not ideal for cutting, but it would do.

Sword? Check. Toren needed armor, a shield, and maybe a safe place to run to if he found trouble. He went searching.

The first thing Toren found was a bloodstain. It was yellow. He stared at it, and then noticed the burst sack of flesh next to it. It looked squished. Toren inspected the remains for anything interesting.

Nope. Something had been killed, and by a particularly heavy blow. That was all.

The skeleton went on. The next thing he found was the killer. It was a huge, bear-like creature, all fur and claw, but it had been holding a maul. It was dead. It had one of its hands grasping a short stinger in its side; practically a scratch. But Toren stared at the creature’s bared teeth and twisted expression of pain and knew it had died from poison.

Odd. The bear-thing sort of resembled a Gnoll. Toren propped it up against a wall so he could investigate it better. It was fur-chested, and had no garments except for a loincloth which hid…Toren peeled it away…more of the beast. That was disappointing. Toren had always wondered what clothing hid, but it just turned out to be more of the same. He poked dismissively at a dangling bit of the creature and then inspected its face.

There were definitely Gnoll characteristics here, but this creature had a far broader back, and Gnolls were already pretty big. The teeth were bigger, the head was squatter and actually seemed a bit smaller, and this not-Gnoll had claws that were long and dangerous, not like a Gnoll’s paws at all.

Was it some kind of relative of the Gnolls? Toren shook his head. He eyed the maul and decided it wasn’t for him either. Too heavy.

It was a shame to just leave the dead not-Gnoll here, though. Toren thought it would have made an excellent zombie; practically impossible to kill. But he couldn’t raise the dead, just command them. So he left it there and went on.

Down the corridor, past glowing runes on the walls. Toren stared at a couple of them as they lit up, sensing his presence. He didn’t think much of them until he passed by a cluster of them. They turned bright green, flared up, and an explosion blew the skeleton to bits.

In the time it took for Toren to reassemble, he concluded that the labyrinth was probably full of such traps. He could sense the magic clustering around them. Toren got up, dropped his sword, went back for the maul next to the dead not-Gnoll and ran back. He began furiously smashing the heavy weapon into the runes on the wall, but didn’t make a dent, even when the maul’s head snapped off the sturdy wooden shaft.

Okay, the runes were there to stay. Toren just had to avoid them. He could do that. He stomped past the runes, skirting them by sticking to the other side of the corridor. He made it ten more steps, and then fell into a pit trap.

That hadn’t been his fault! True, after he’d angrily hauled himself out Toren could see the upraised plate of stone that had opened the ground soon after to send him falling into a short pit full of sharp, stone spikes and bones. But how was he supposed to know it had been there?

Toren walked off, looking closely at the ground and walls and ceiling. He spotted five more traps down this corridor, avoided them all, and then noticed the dead spider at the end of the corridor. It was quite dead; something had burnt it to a crisp. Quite recently too, because it was still a bit hot.

Another monster. Well, well. Toren found he was at a T-intersection and headed left. He frowned as he noticed bits of shell, or some other black fragments on the ground. Then he noticed the webbing and slowed down. When he got to the open doorway at the end, Toren cautiously poked his head through the entryway and looked up.

Oh my. That was the skeleton’s thought. Toren’s gaze showed him a huge circular column room, far taller vertically than it was horizontally. And stretching the entire height of the room, sitting in webs, tending to huge cocoons of their young hanging from the walls, the ceiling, bunched together like grapes, were skittering shadows, creeping shapes.

Shield Spiders.

Toren eyed them. None of the spiders had picked up he was here, so he carefully tiptoed backwards. He wasn’t afraid of spiders, but some of them were big. Was that how big Shield Spiders got? A few of the ones near the top were bigger than Rock Crabs.

The [Tactician] in Toren’s head told him that going into that room and fighting like he normally did was sheer suicide. The rest of Toren agreed. But looking wouldn’t hurt. He poked his head back around and saw something that made him go suddenly still.

Pawn. Toren’s keen not-eyes picked out a silent shape, struggling, being hauled by several Shield Spiders into the room from another entrance. It was Pawn! Toren watched with interest as the Antinium was dragged towards a cocoon. It ruptured, and countless tiny spiders swarmed out. They covered the Antinium as Pawn fought, but there were too many and he was covered in webs. In moments, the frantic thrashing slowed. The Shield Spiderlings continued to gnaw at their prey. Pawn was dead.

Toren wondered what Erin would have thought of that. He felt bad for Pawn. But Pawn was dead. And oh, look! Toren spotted another Pawn being dragged into the room. This Pawn was already dead.

Two Pawns? Wait a second. Toren’s eyes would have narrowed had he skin. There weren’t two Pawns. And then he saw more Antinium being dragged in, and more partially eaten, hung in the webbing.

Hold on a moment. More Antinium? Toren thought about that and concluded maybe these weren’t Pawn. They could have just been…the others that sometimes came to Erin’s inn. But they didn’t have names, so Toren didn’t remember them. He stared at all the other not-Pawns and shrugged. What were Antinium doing down here anyways? Didn’t they know it was dangerous?

Toren turned away from the nest of Shield Spiders and noticed something else interesting. Caught in the detritus around the spider’s lair, some other remnants of their victims had fallen. Toren saw a stinger, like the one he’d seen earlier, a crimson pincher, devoid of a body, a rotted arm that seemed far too thin and small to have belonged to a Human, and a head. It stared at Toren and he stared back. Well, there were apparently giant centipedes down here as well.

There were so many monsters about! Okay, perhaps they weren’t popping out every two feet, but the dungeon’s population was clearly actively growing and being cut back down to size as monsters fought with each other and guarded their lairs.

Toren poked his head around the corner again, and eyed the bulging cavern of Shield Spiders and the obscenely glistening eggs hanging from every web. He thought for a second about cause and effect, about actions and consequences, about the nature of causality in general. Then he got bored, threw a stone at the nearest cluster of eggs and ran for it.

Around two dozen angry Shield Spiders chased Toren down the corridor as he sprinted past all the traps he’d found. He stopped at the intersection and looked back. None of the Shield Spiders had made it to him. They’d all died at the first trap, which Toren had run right past since he could see the magical runes hidden in the grime.

The Shield Spiders, or what was left of them, were sprawled around the trap, mostly in pieces. Toren stared at the runes. They weren’t glowing now, but he was curious as to how it had killed the Shield Spiders.

Toren paused, looked about, and went back to find more Shield Spiders. When he eventually managed to lure a few towards the trap, Toren was treated to a horrific sight.

The Shield Spiders went pop as they crossed over the trapped bit of floor. There was no waiting about, no warning. They just exploded from the insides, as if something had blown a huge bubble of air right into their bellies and made them burst.

It was so entertaining that Toren made eight more spiders activate the trap, until the magic stopped working and he had to stomp the last spider to death with his foot. But though the energy of the spell had been exhausted, Toren could sense the latent magic in the dungeon slowly working to replenish it.

So, the traps were here to stay. The monsters either learned to avoid them, or died. And they tended to thrive, if only on a diet of Antinium and each other. Toren nodded to himself as he walked away from the corridor, making a mental note to come back and have fun exploding spiders at a later date. He took another left, then a right, flattened himself against a wall when he heard a sound, and then saw the corridor turn into stairs.

Not the same stairs that led up to the rooms with traps. The purple flames in Toren’s eye sockets narrowed to a pinpoint as he stared up the short staircase. What was this now? He could see more runes on an overhang where the wall went down to block off the corridor, leaving only a metal door in its place. They glowed above the simple door. Not a spell, but words. A message, etched in stone and enchanted to last forever.

Toren eyed the letters. They were all interconnected. It was a flowing, elegant script. And what was most curious to Toren—they weren’t the words Erin or any of the people around Liscor used. This language was different entirely.

It was a curious thing that everyone mostly spoke the same language to Toren, yet they wrote differently. But Toren could read dead languages and living ones with ease. They were just meaning, and his undead mind could translate any meaning.

Not that these words necessarily mattered. These said the usual things Toren was used to reading. He read things all the time in Erin’s inn. They were all the same.

Special on Fish! 2 sp. for all you can eat!

No taking dishes! That means you, Relc!

Horrible death awaits all those who enter this place. Your bodies shall be taken and made part of the Mother of Graves.

It was all the same, really. Toren dismissively walked past the etched warnings on the wall and went up the steps. He opened the door and disappeared through. Ten seconds later he walked quickly back out of the door, shut it, and decided to go somewhere else at speed. Things burst through the doorway, chasing him, but they didn’t follow him far.

—-

And then Toren found the dead adventurer.

She wasn’t any more special that the last ones Toren had met, or so he felt on first glance. There were dead adventurers, dead monsters, dead animals—a few birds, of all things, probably lost from above. But there was something this adventurer had that the other bodies Toren had come across did not.

A cloak.

It was wrapped around her. The adventurer’s flesh was rotted, although Toren could still see her bared teeth, snarling in defiance. She had an open hand, fingers twisted and broken. She had probably been holding a sword, but whomever—or whatever—had killed her had taken it, ripping it out of her death grip to do so.

Toren could also tell she was dead because most adventurers had a throat. Hers was missing.

The other dead people lying around her looked like they’d also gone down fighting. There were twelve bodies in all, fairly well preserved. Toren wasn’t sure if they were freshly dead, really dead, or just old. As skeleton, he didn’t particularly care about the effects of decomposition, since everyone eventually ended up looking like him.

But the cloak. It was wrapped around the adventuress. Toren gingerly bent and tugged it away from the dead woman. He had to undo the clasp at the neck, but then it was in his hands. He held it in front of him, appraising it.

It was…well, it was a ragged brown cloak, a bit holey, and certainly nothing to write home about. If Toren had a home. And if Erin was alive to write to. But it spoke to him.

There was something in the skeleton’s mind that told him the cloak was important. It wasn’t the [Tactician] bit of him, or the warrior, or the bit that said that he could wash the cloak so Erin wouldn’t complain that it smelled—no, this was something else. A new part of Toren, coming to life, speaking to the rest of him.

It was a vague sense of style. And Toren felt the cloak had style in spades, especially around his shoulders.

Carefully, he threw the cloak around him and put it on. The skeleton looked at himself. He couldn’t see the general impression he made with the cloak on, but he felt it looked good.

Clothing. Fashion. Style. These weren’t words that had ever interested Toren, but the cloak had awoken something in him. Erin had always been fussing about clothes, whether they were ripped, dirty, on or or—she had a big problem with Toren staring at her without clothing.

Maybe this was more important than Toren had thought? The skeleton pondered this as he looked for something to admire himself with. After all, clothing wasn’t like armor. It could barely stop a bad sneeze, let alone a sword thrust. So maybe the value of clothes was simply in…looking good.

Aha! Toren found what he wanted in the dead adventuress’ pack. He pulled out a broken fragment that shone in the darkness. A piece of a mirror, perhaps. Yes, Toren rifled around in the dead adventuress’ pack and found the other fragments, all smashed. He carefully reassembled them on the ground and studied himself.

A skeleton wearing a cloak stared up at Toren. He looked at it in shock. It was a skeleton. With a cloak. That was it.

Not that cool at all.

Toren drooped. He’d really thought the cloak would look amazing on him, but it didn’t. It just sort of sagged on his body. It didn’t blow in the wind! Mainly because there was no wind in the dungeon.

He tore the cloak off and hurled it on the ground. For good measure, Toren stamped on it. He didn’t look good. Erin looked good in some clothing. Toren distinctly remembered how she’d looked after the battle with Skinner, her shirt and pants torn, covered in blood and grime and guts. That was a look. Toren could admire that, and that annoying [Knight] he’d fought in Esthelm. If he, Toren, were fighting an opponent that shiny, he’d feel a bit impressed.

They had style. Toren did not. He kicked at the cloak, stared at it, and then picked it back up and lovingly stroked it. It was a good cloak. It spoke to him. Yes, it wasn’t the cloak’s fault; it was Toren’s! He just wasn’t wearing enough to make the cloak look good.

Toren looked around. There was a group of dead adventurers here. They all had clothes. Toren bent down and began claiming it. He didn’t know why he was doing it. It was just a thought.

Erin had worn clothing. So Toren would too. Just to see what it was like. Because anything that reminded Toren of Erin hurt—but it hurt more when he tried to forget.

So Toren dressed himself for the first time since he’d been created. It was hard. Not because he didn’t have a surplus of garments to wear, but because it was so hard getting it off the dead bodies without ripping anything! Toren had never learned what buttons or belts or clips were. He ruined a good deal of pants before he realized they were attached to the waist and that pulling too hard would just pull the pants and the legs straight off the corpse.

But he did have clothing. Toren claimed most of it from the dead adventuress, for the sheer reason that if she was fashionable enough to use a cloak, she probably had good taste. She had been wearing leather armor, pierced in some places, over her clothes. Toren ignored that at first, and began slipping on her clothes.

They hung on him. Toren stared at himself in the mirror and picked disconsolately at the very loose, very ill-fitting clothes. The adventuress hadn’t been that big, but she had skin. Toren didn’t.

But still, he persisted. Toren grabbed the shirt off of someone else and tore it up to pad out his body so the shirt would fit. He began assembling the garments, putting them on. Tattered cloak, pants, shirt…Toren had to put the stiff leather armor underneath the clothes to pad out the clothing on his thin frame. That made him sufficiently bulky.

Actually, Toren considered himself normal and everyone else obscenely fat and heavy. The depths of anorexia wouldn’t come close to Toren’s frame. At least, not until the end.

Now looking somewhat decently Human-shaped, Toren attempted to figure out where the rest of the clothing on the dead adventurer went. He’d seen Erin use a bra—and seen her naked for that matter, much to her displeasure—but he couldn’t see the point on his body.

Still, there wasn’t much point to clothes to begin with, so why quibble? Toren stuffed some rags into the bra and patted them to make everything look right. Then he realized he needed something for his head. Because if he was going to look like a Human, like Erin, he had to get rid of the grinning skull that stared back at him in the mirror as well. Toren thought about how to do this.

Hats were no good. He had a hood on the cloak, but from the front Toren’s features would be fairly obvious. Toren thought about this and eyed the dead adventuress’ face. He could cut it off, but faces probably weren’t that easy to fake. Plus, it was already rotting, which didn’t bother Toren, but the flies did.

A…mask. Yes, that was the thing. Toren looked for a mask, but none of the adventurers had one. Slightly put out, he wondered where he might make something to hide his face and had a brilliant idea.

The dead Shield Spiders had lovely carapaces. True, many of them were in pieces from the trap, but the wonderful thing about spiders was that they had webbing. A bit of work and Toren came up with a mask that covered his entire face. He gingerly stuck it to the front of his skull with some web and trooped back to the mirror to inspect his new look.

The skeleton held his breath as the skeleton on the ground stepped into vision. Only, in the mirror, there was no skeleton at all.

A slim, female figure stared up at Toren. She was female because she had bulges in the right place, and because she had some curves that Toren had worked really hard to get right. She was wearing dirty clothing, ragged and tattered, wrapped and held in place with cloth fragments. The look actually wasn’t that bad and the bindings added to the ‘warrior’ look in Toren’s head.

But what really drew the mysterious figure together were the mask and the cloak. The dark brown cloak swirled around the female warrior as she lifted one gloved hand to adjust the mask on her face. The mask was dark black, the surface shiny and rough. It covered her face, leaving only two narrow slits for eyes—

Toren’s admiration halted as he realized the eyes on the figure in the mirror were glowing. Dismayed, he bent and saw two purple flames flickering in the eyeholes of his mask. Toren cursed. Those gave him away! He thought hard. Could he get away with closing the gaps in the mask off? No, but then he wouldn’t be able to see. What about making the flames dimmer? Could he do that?

In the mirror, Toren saw the flames in the figure’s eyes slowly dim. They grew smaller and smaller and then, quite suddenly, went out.

Toren jerked back. He felt at his eyes, looked around. He could still see! But when he looked in the mirror, only dark slits on the mask were visible. You couldn’t tell who was looking out. Anyone could have been underneath. A Human, or a Drake—no, Drakes had tails. Or a Gnoll—but Gnolls were bigger…

Okay, there could be any kind of Human underneath. Or a half-Elf! The figure straightened up. She admired her ragged look, her masked face, her thin but not undead-thin frame. She struck a pose and felt the innards of her ‘body’ shift, held in place by sticky Shield Spider webbing and the clothing she wore.

And she smiled. She traced a finger over her mask in a smile.

Toren grinned. She had style.

—-

An hour later, Toren had to concede that style had its disadvantages. When she’d gotten bored of running about the dungeon, posing and admiring herself in the mirror, she’d begun testing out the limits of her new form.

Because it was a new body, or as a good as one. Toren felt as though this new shape was person unto itself. Herself. This new Toren was more Erin-like, more Human. She had more weaknesses like this, but Toren felt as though she understood more of Erin this way.

And one of the things she understood was how annoying clothes were. Toren had the opportunity to skirmish with a few creatures in the time after she’d dressed. The first opponents she’d found were some rather unpleasantly large maggots, as high as Toren’s midriff and wider than she was, coming to feast on the bodies.

Toren had killed them, if only because she felt she owed the dead group of adventurers that. But it had been considerably harder than she’d expected. She’d tried to roll and dive as the maggots leapt blindly at her, trying to bring her down, and found she was slower, less nimble.

Fighting with clothes on made Toren feel like she was moving in slow-motion. She couldn’t roll and dive out of the way, and she wasn’t able to bend at crazy angles to slash her foes like normal. She still killed the maggots of course; they were slow blobs and once you punctured their admittedly thick hides they spewed their guts.

But that led to the second problem, which was that Toren’s wonderful clothes were now dirty! She brushed at the slime covering her arms, quite upset about the sudden change in her appearance. So this was why Erin kept telling him not to bring dirty things into her inn! She could only imagine how hard she’d have to scrub to get the stains out.

But Toren was happy, in a way she couldn’t describe. She ran through the dungeon, happily hacking at things, running away, and in general enjoying herself. This was something new, something exciting! It was a challenge to fight without damaging her clothes, and it was amusing to think that no one had any clue that there was a skeleton stabbing them to death, rather than a regular living being.

Only, there was no one to share that knowledge with! Until Toren met the group of adventurers, that was.

It was some time after Toren had dressed herself. She couldn’t have said when, only that she’d acquired a good splattering of blood on top of her clothes, and leveled up. Time was hard to tell in the dungeon. But as Toren was walking down the halls, reflecting that she would need a new blade soon—hers was quite dull from use—she heard a sound.

Immediately she stiffened and got ready to fight. Or run. It was impossible to play dead, dressed as she was. But these sounds weren’t the noises a monster would make. Toren turned her head in disbelief as she heard voices.

“—Freezing my beard off here, Insill! Why in the name of forge fire are we down here without backup?”

“You don’t have a beard, Dasha. And the magical food that [Innkeeper] fed us only lets us use one enchantment at a time, remember?”

“Huh. She didn’t know that.”

“But she gave us back our coin, and we’re set for the next eight hours. Deal with the cold. Only a few groups know about her magical cooking, and so we have a chance.”

Toren listened with fascination to the two voices arguing. People? Down here? Then a growling voice, soft and commanding, interrupted.

“A single enchantment won’t do us any good if we’re attacked by something truly dangerous. We should be quiet. We are scouting. Information about this new part of the dungeon is worth its weight in gold, but only if we get back alive.”

The voices cut off at once. Toren paused. They were just up ahead. She had a rough map of this part of the dungeon in her head, and she knew they were right next to the hole she’d fallen through. Had these adventurers come down the same way? And if they had, what was Toren going to do about them?

Part of Toren knew exactly what to do. Kill them. That was what he’d always done. Kill anything that moved, because he might level! But she wavered. She wondered—

And then soft yellow light flooded the hallway. It stunned Toren, because she’d been in the darkness so long she’d forgotten what light was like. It illuminated the dark corridor, threw her form into relief. She spotted the group of five adventurers at the same time they saw her.

They were five. Two were clearly warriors; a short woman with an axe in front wearing armor, standing next to a young woman with a curved sword. A Gnoll and a hooded figure were looking over their shoulders as they walked behind the warriors, guarding the rear. The Gnoll held a shortbow, and the hooded figure held something thick and flat in one furred hand. They were all following a Drake with black scales, who was dressed in leather armor. He had a dagger out. They all froze when they saw Toren.

“Watch out!”

The Gnoll snapped the words first. He lifted the bow up, but the hooded [Mage] grabbed his arm.

“Don’t shoot! It’s an adventurer!”

Toren had been charging forwards, ready to cut into the group and slay the [Mage] with her Skill before escaping. But she halted when she heard those words.

An adventurer. They thought she was like them! For a second, Toren’s head was filled with clouds, and she felt bliss permeate every inch of her being.

They thought she looked like one of them. Her clothing had worked! For that reason alone, Toren didn’t immediately try to kill them all.

Still, there was tension in the air as the adventurers backed away from Toren. The Gnoll thrust the [Mage]’s hand away and nocked his bow. He didn’t aim at Toren, but the threat was there. The two warriors conferred with the Drake with the dagger and he called out cautiously towards Toren.

“Hallo? We’re friendly! Are you an adventurer? Are you lost? Look—we’re not threats!”

He sheathed the dagger at his waist, and the other adventurers lowered their weapons. After a moment’s hesitation, Toren lowered her sword. She wanted to see what would happen if she did.

“Great! Uh—are you okay?”

Now this…was a problem. Toren hesitated, because she couldn’t speak. When he’d been running around and Erin had been alive, he’d often wished he could open his mouth and say something. But unlike the spell that had given him vision, it hadn’t seen fit to give him intangible vocal chords as well. And now she was facing a situation where not speaking might get tricky.

Toren improvised. She raised her hand hesitantly and waved it back and forth. The adventurers watched her carefully, and she saw them turn to whisper to each other. The black-scaled Drake who seemed to be acting as their spokesperson called out.

“Are you…mute? Can you talk?”

Toren nodded to the first question and then shook her head. The Drake turned to his companions. He whispered, but Toren didn’t have ears and so his magical hearing far eclipsed that of anyone but a Gnoll’s.

“I think it might be safe. Come on, let’s go over!”

“You go up. I will stay back with Anith. Best just in case, no?”

The Gnoll whispered back. The Drake nodded and he and the two females walked forwards to meet Toren. She stared at the three of them. They stared back.

“Dead gods, is that a mask?”

The shorter woman, who had arms like a [Blacksmith] exclaimed the instant she got close to Toren. She was holding a metal lantern up and she shone it at Toren’s face. The skeleton held her breath. This was the moment of truth.

“Stop that! You’re blinding her!”

The young woman swatted the lantern down. She was Human, and holding a curved blade Toren couldn’t help but admire. He had never seen a katana before, so unlike Erin, he couldn’t make the mistake of assuming it was one. The sword the woman held was no katana—it was too wide, and the tip was double-edged. It was a long blade, and the young woman held it casually at her side as she spoke to the short woman with the axe. But she was watching Toren warily out of the corner of her eye as she spoke.

The Drake was the next person to speak. Toren looked down at him. He was thinner and shorter than any other male Drake she’d seen, but friendly enough. He grinned up at her, looking slightly nervous.

“Sorry about that. It’s just that we didn’t expect to find anyone down here. What are you doing alone?”

Toren had no good answer, so she shrugged. She was quite entertained by the notion that they thought she was like them, and wondered if she should disabuse them by stabbing them in the face. But she thought it would be more entertaining to see how long she could keep up the ruse.

“You can’t speak, right! Sorry. Uh—what should I say?”

The Drake turned to the two warriors. The young woman with the curved sword frowned.

“Are you hurt?”

Toren shook her head.

“Are you lost?”

Again, a shake of the head. The adventuress paused.

“So you’re a solo adventurer, exploring alone?”

Toren hesitated, and then nodded her head. The Drake’s jaw fell open.

“No way. You mean you’re down here—but we thought—how long have you been here?”

The skeleton masquerading as an adventurer shrugged. She was really enjoying this. She held up her sword to show them the bloodstains, and the short woman exclaimed when she lifted her lantern to see.

“Burn my beard, that’s one battered sword! What have you been doing, smashing rocks with it? That thing deserves to be melted down for scrap, not used as a weapon!”

Toren glared at the short woman as the young woman with the curved blade rolled her eyes. She rounded on her companion, sounding irate.

“For the last time, you don’t have a beard, Dasha! Why do you keep saying that?”

“It’s what my people say! Don’t judge me, long legs!”

“You’re only part-Dwarf! And I’m only a head and a half taller than you are!”

“I was raised by Dwarves, not Humans, alright?”

The two began to argue, completely forgetting Toren was there. She scratched at the back of her hooded head. The Drake sidled closer to her.

“Sorry about that. We’re uh, a newer team. That’s your weapon?”

Toren nodded again. She could understand the part-Dwarf warrior’s point. She didn’t like having the sword either. She wondered if she could take the one the young woman had…

“Insill!”

A voice rang out from behind the Drake, cutting the argument between the two female adventurers short. Insill turned and waved.

“Come on over! I think there’s no danger!”

He turned sheepishly to Toren.

“Sorry about that. You know how it is with dungeons.”

Toren nodded understandingly. They were being quite smart. The foolish thing was trusting her. She eyed the other two adventurers as they came over. One was a Gnoll and the other—

There were five adventurers. Two Humans, a Drake, a Gnoll and a…Toren squinted at the fifth member of the group. The last person was just weird. He had fur and looked sort of like a Gnoll, but very not at the same time. Where Gnolls had a distinct, thickset build and a certain scruffiness to their fur, this person was different. His fur was black, sleek, and he had a more elongated head, closer to a dog than the mixed appearance of a Gnoll.

If Toren had known about cultures from Erin’s world, she would have said the fifth person looked like one of the Egyptian gods, like Anubis, perhaps. He was slightly taller and thinner than the average Human male, and he was carrying a book which glowed faintly in one of his paws.

“Who is this, Insill?”

“I think she’s a solo adventurer, Anith.”

“In a new dungeon?”

Shock ran through the [Mage]’s voice. The other adventurers looked at Toren, who silently preened in their stares. At last, the Gnoll spoke.

“Well, we shall not bother you, yes? We are exploring this dungeon as you are, Miss Adventurer. Unless there is something you wish to warn us of?”

Toren thought about all the horrible ways to die she’d discovered and thought about how much she cared for this group’s wellbeing. She shook her head lightly.

“In that case, we shall be on our way.”

The Gnoll nodded, but the Drake stopped him.

“Hold on Larr! We should ask if we can team up!”

“Team up?”

The others stared at Insill in surprise, but the Drake nodded.

“She clearly knows the area if she’s been down here. And there’s safety in numbers. What about a team up? We’ll split the loot evenly amongst us all.”

The idea threw Toren far more than the other adventurers. Her? Team up with them? For what purpose? But then the idea tickled her. Why not? She felt good after being taken for an adventurer, and she could always betray them after they killed some things. She nodded, the adventurers conferred, their leader, the [Mage] agreed, and so it was done.

A few minutes later, Toren found the group introducing themselves to her, which was another unique experience. Erin had never introduced anyone to Toren. But now the black-scaled Drake, Insill, was doing so for Toren.

“This is Dasha and Pekona, our [Warriors]. Well, I say [Warriors], but Dasha’s an [Axe Fighter] and Pekona’s a [Blade Dancer].”

The short, part-Dwarf woman and the young woman with the curved sword nodded to Toren, Pekona warily, Dasha still grumbling about the quality of Toren’s sword and arguing with Pekona. Insill whispered to Toren as he gestured to Dasha’s notable lack of height.

“She’s got a bit of Dwarf blood in her family. She’s part Terandrian, you see.”

Toren nodded as if she understood any of that. Insill pointed to the Gnoll next.

“This is Larr from the Hawkarrow Tribe.”

“Pleased.”

The Gnoll nodded, and Insill turned to the hooded, dog-like [Mage].

“And I am Anith. The [Mage] and party leader. I hope to work well with you, Miss Adventurer.”

He reached out and Toren gingerly mimicked his handshake. She must have done it alright, because Anith said nothing about it. He nodded to her mask.

“I wish that I could know your name, or identity. But I suppose your nature is a secret by choice, so I shall respect it.”

Toren bowed her head. And Anith nodded.

“He’s from the Duskclaw Tribe—Jackals.”

Insill explained as Anith walked forwards to break up the argument again. He grinned up at Toren.

“Oh, and I didn’t introduce myself, did I? I’m Insill. I’m the group’s [Rogue]. Notice the black scales? I can hide in the dark like a shadow, and I’ll be making sure we don’t run into any traps.”

Toren stared at him. Insill’s bravado faded a bit. He coughed and twitched his tail.

“So…shall we go?”

—-

Toren walked with a group of adventurers in the middle of the dungeon. It was a novel experience, mainly because they weren’t trying to kill her, and she was only contemplating doing that to them.

The reason the adventurers were down in the dungeon was a mystery to Toren. She assumed they were here to…well, he didn’t actually know much about what adventurers did. That was a hole in her understanding of the world. They killed things, but for what reason Toren had no idea. She thought they might just do it because they were bored, and approved of the idea.

And none of them were about to tell her, even if Toren asked, which she couldn’t. The group of adventurers, known collectively as Vuliel Drae—which meant something to Anith and no one else—moved in silence. They let their [Rogue], Insill, take the lead and he carefully moved down the corridor, checking for traps and keeping an eye out for monsters as they slowly went from corridor to corridor, Anith mapping their route in his book.

It was boring, and not boring at the same time. Toren was bored by the slow progress, and the way that the adventurers let Insill check every tile and wall before moving on. She was bored by the way the Drake meticulously made Dasha shine her lantern down each corridor, and the way Larr kept glancing behind in case of an ambush while Pekona scanned in every direction as if she was afraid of an attack out of one of the walls.

But she was delighted by the company, all the same. Real people, in the dungeon. Soon to be dead people, perhaps, but real people. And they thought Toren was one of them.

There was something…wonderful about that thought. Toren would have loved to explore the feeling, but then they came to a corridor and Toren saw the trap.

It glowed in her magical vision. The runes were shining across the entire hallway, some angled towards the group. There were runes on the ground ahead of Insill as the Drake cautiously advanced, and presumably they’d all fire if he touched them.

And the Drake didn’t notice. Maybe it was because they were magical, and covered by the grime, or he’d just slipped up. Either way, Toren saw the danger and realized he was about to trigger them.

The skeleton thought fast. It was let the adventurers walk into the trap and risk getting damaged herself or stop them. So Toren moved. She dashed forwards as Insill was about to cross the first room. She reached out and punched Insill in the back of the head.

“Gah!”

He staggered, but Toren’s hand pulled him back. The adventurers cried out as Toren whirled to face them. She threw her arms out as Pekona turned her blade towards Toren and Larr raised his bow.

“What the—”

“Hold, hold!”

Anith shouted to stop the others. He helped Insill up as the other adventurers stared hostilely at Toren.

“What was that for?”

Insill looked hurt and confused, the others suspicious. Toren hesitated, and then pointed down at the runes only she could see.

“What? What are—”

Insill came forwards, the others watching Toren. He pushed gingerly at the dirt on the ground with the tip of his dagger and then swore and leapt backwards as he saw the shining runes underneath.

“It’s a trap! I nearly walked into it!”

“What? How come you didn’t see it?”

Pekona stared at Insill. His tail wrapped around his leg as he hunched his shoulders.

“I don’t know! My Skill didn’t go off—”

“It might have been hidden by magic that nullified your Skill.”

Anith knelt by the runes, staring at them grimly. He looked up at Toren, and to the skeleton’s amazement, bowed his head towards her!

“You saved us. Thank you.”

The other adventurers reacted immediately. They lowered their weapons, looking ashamed. Dasha stroked at her chin, as if she had a beard. She was sweating a bit as she eyed the glowing runes.

“Dead gods, you did save us. Insill didn’t spot a thing.”

“Yeah, but—you didn’t have to hit me!”

Insill looked hurt. Instantly, Pekona whirled on him, looking irate.

“How else was she supposed to do it? She doesn’t talk!”

The Drake paused.

“Oh, right. But couldn’t she have tapped me on the shoulder or something?”

The other adventurers began venting their shock and relief on him. Dasha growled at Insill.

“You idiot! You’re our [Rogue]! Miss Swordswoman here had to stop you from getting us all killed! If you can’t detect a trap, then what good are you? I’ll kick your lights out myself!”

She smacked Insill on the arm, hard, stroking her bare chin furiously. Insill yelped and protested, until Anith told everyone to quiet down. Toren watched all of this with private glee.

Not only did she get to give other people the Lyonette treatment, but she got praised and other people helped him hit his victims? She was beginning to like these adventurers after all!

They went on. And it was now with Toren walking in the front, next to Insill. Her spotting that one trap had raised the adventurer’s estimation of her, and so they both combed the corridor together before proceeding.

The last trap had shaken Insill’s nerves. He would nervously stop to ask if she’d seen any traps every minute as they moved slowly down the corridors, and she would shake her head. The sheer act of checking the corridor and shaking her head filled Toren with a bit of happiness the skeleton couldn’t explain. She was helping. But it wasn’t her doing something alone. This was a team effort, and Toren had never been part of one of those before.

They ran into their first monster sixteen minutes after the trap. They’d just passed down a corridor when Insill raised his hand nervously.

“Wait a second. Something’s not r—”

Ahead of them, a section of the wall opened up and a wall of white wriggling things poured out. Toren hadn’t noticed the trap. Maybe it had been triggered from inside, but out the monsters came.

Hundreds of them. Thousands. A white mass of long, wriggling things. Toren hacked at them as the adventurers fell back, shouting.

They were leeches. They wriggled across the ground, searching for bodies. They ignored Toren, but she stomped on them and cut with her sword because she didn’t want them messing up her clothes. The other adventurers were doing the same, cursing, tearing the things off as they tried to latch onto any skin.

“[Repulsion Barrier]!”

Anith shouted, and Toren saw a wave of leeches go flying away from him and Larr. But Pekona, Dasha, Toren and Insill were in the middle of it. They hacked and stomped until Toren heard Larr shout a warning.

“Watch out! There’s the mother!”

Toren turned and saw the bigger leeches. They were far larger than the hand-sized ones that had come out in a wave. Some were as long as her leg, others as long as she was. And one was half the width of the corridor and the sharp opening on the underside of its body was gaping as it lunged towards the adventurers.

Toren was in the way. She dove, but the mother leech must have identified the skeleton as a threat, for all Toren had no blood to suck. Grimly, the skeleton waited for the big leech to leap on her—it would be messy, but Toren would kill the leech if it tried to smash her into bits. But she heard a shout as someone leapt at the leech.

“Watch out!”

Pekona dashed forwards and cut into the giant leech’s side. Greenish-yellow blood spurted out from the slight wound. The leech turned, twisting towards the swordswoman but Pekona pirouetted and spun.

That was it. Toren watched, jaw agape as Pekona leapt and twirled, sword slashing down as the leech dove at where she had been. The [Blade Dancer] landed, twisted, and cut out, slashing another worm creature as it leapt towards her face. She spun, leapt again, and once more avoided the mother as it charged her like a bull.

Toren watched, entranced. She had never seen sword fighting like that before! But Pekona moved unlike any other warrior she’d seen. She didn’t hold her ground, but directed her opponent, attacking from odd angles, avoiding, rolling—

Like a dancer. Only Toren had never seen someone dance before. She stood up and charged the mother leech, hacking into her back, dodging back. Enraged, the giant leech turned to Toren. It gathered itself and leapt—

And he copied Pekona. Toren twisted, sprang. One hand touched the ground, and she cartwheeled through the air—

And into a wall. Toren’s momentum halted abruptly, and she fell back down.

“Watch out!”

Dasha charged into the mother from the side, hacking and cursing as more blood spurted. The other threw the part-Dwarf woman away with one shake of its body and turned to Toren. The skeleton got up.

Well, that wasn’t it. She’d have to try again. But the mother was coming towards her. Toren didn’t have time for fighting, not when she had something else to do. The skeleton stared at the mother in annoyance. Her body blurred—

And she flashed past the mother, a tear opening along the giant leech’s side. It keened in silent agony as Toren stabbed it a few more times for good measure.

[Mirage Cut]. It had done the job. The mother died as Dasha got up and hacked it to bits from the other side. Insill, Larr, and Anith were finishing off the larger ones, and Pekona was still dancing among the leeches. None of them had touched her yet.

Toren watched her fight. Pekona twirled, and rolled, spun and cut. She didn’t treat her sword as a thing that moved separately from her body; it and she were one. She moved to get around her opponent’s flank, to strike at them from behind. Okay, that wasn’t ideal for leeches, but Toren saw the way it could apply to almost any situation. It wasn’t a single Skill or sword move; it was a way of fighting.

She admired that.

When it was over, Toren looked around and saw the adventurers staggering back, out of range of the remaining leeches who still wriggled determinedly at them through the guts and blood. Dasha was swearing, trying to unhook her armor so Insill could help her get the leeches that had crawled into the gaps out, and Anith and Larr were helping find the ones hidden in their fur.

“Dead gods. What kind of trap was that?”

“It was like a nest! Some kind of home for those things!”

“They triggered it. I’ll swear it!”

The adventurers were babbling, upset. Toren was calm. It was just leeches. She could have killed them all herself, mainly because there wasn’t much they could do to harm her, except for maybe crush her in the case of the mother. But she was surprised when they turned to her.

“Miss Swordswoman, that was pretty incredible! That Skill you used—was it [Mirage Cut]? That’s a good one! You were fighting through all those bloodsuckers as if you didn’t fear a thing!”

Insill beamed at Toren, and the skeleton didn’t know what to do. She turned away, adjusting her mask unnecessarily. Was it hot? No—why would that matter? Toren was dead! Then why did it feel hot?

“Not bad. I guess you are experienced enough to survive down here alone, huh? But what was with that crazy move where you ran into the wall?”

Dasha looked curiously at Toren. The skeleton hesitated, and then pointed at Pekona. Everyone looked at her. The young woman frowned.

“Wait, were you trying to do what I did?”

Toren nodded. Pekona shook her head, looking amused.

“I’m a [Blade Dancer]. It’s not like a normal [Warrior] class, or like the [Blademaster] class. It’s—well, it’s a class from where I’m from. I don’t think you can get the class just by copying the moves—there’s an entire set of footwork and sword techniques unique to that way of fighting.”

That was probably true. But Toren watched Pekona as she helped the others clean up. She didn’t want the class. She already had a class like that. But why couldn’t she copy Pekona? After all, she didn’t have to have a Skill to have a skill. So could she learn to fight…without a class?

It was an intriguing thought. Toren waited until all of Vuliel Drae was ready, and they set off once more. The adventurers looked like a mess, covered in slime and blood as they were. Dasha was speaking as she poured a tiny bit of healing potion over a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

“I don’t have it in me for another battle like that, Anith. That wasn’t hard, but it was disgusting. I need an hour’s bath, and I think there are still more of the things on me in places I haven’t checked.”

The Jackal Beastkin nodded.

“Nor I. But we should at least explore a few more corridors before we return. We haven’t found much and we’ve only been here for an hour—”

Anith broke off sharply. Toren turned her head. Larr had heard it as well.

“Seems like our fight attracted something. There’s a group coming.”

The adventurers backed up, the warriors and Toren in front, Larr, Anith, and Insill in the back. They saw vaguely humanoid shapes, moving as Dasha swung her lantern out.

“Who’s there!? Are you friends or—”

Howls, deep and roaring, answered her. Toren saw the hulking bear-like not-Gnolls appear out of the darkness. And running ahead and around them were—

“Goblins!”

Yes, Goblins. Only these ones weren’t like Rags’ people. Toren stared at first. He stared at very pale green skin, glowing red eyes, and hunched forms.  These Goblins were different. Smaller, more ragged, and far paler than their cousins.

Cave Goblins? Inhabitants of the dungeon? Then Larr spotted the not-Gnolls and shouted.

“By the tribes! What are those?”

It was a pity. Toren had hoped the Gnoll would know. She eyed the warriors. They were eight in total, and adding the group of Goblins there was over twenty monsters coming their way. Not all were armed; some Goblins had only their hands and rocks, but one of the not-Gnolls had a huge stone mace, carved so that the head looked like a screaming skull.

“Get ready! [Seeking Arrows]!”

Anith raised his hand and shining magical arrows shot from his open spellbook and finger. They struck the Goblins and bear-things, and Toren heard bestial screams. Three Goblins fell; none of the not-Gnolls did. They came on.

“[Triple Shot]!”

Larr felled one of the not-Gnolls with his Skill. Dasha ran forwards.

“Let’s go! [Impact Charge]!”

She smashed two Goblins aside as Pekona leapt forwards. Toren used her own skill [Daring Charge] and rushed into the group of monsters. Unlike Dasha, her Skill didn’t give her physical momentum, but rather strength and speed. She cut a Goblin down and then slashed at the first bear-creature who struck at her with a crude mallet of stone and wood.

It was a battle, as the adventurers fought to push back the monsters. Insill was cutting at the Goblins, circling around and stabbing unguarded flanks as Anith used his barrier spell to keep others away from Larr and himself. Pekona spun and fought four enemies at once as Dasha fought with her back to a wall.

They were outnumbered, and perhaps, outmatched. If Toren hadn’t been there, perhaps the adventurers would have died. But Toren was there, and so she killed.

A Goblin ran up and stabbed Toren in the back. She turned, beheaded the Goblin, and felt someone smash her in the back of the head. She staggered, turned, felt at her mask, and stabbed with her sword with the other hand. The not-Gnoll gurgled as Toren’s sword found its throat.

The thing about clothes was—one of the not-Gnolls knifed Toren again and twisted the blade. Toren laughed silently and stabbed the creature through the chest. The thing about clothes was—a Cave Goblin slashed at Toren’s arm but hit only cloth and bone.

The thing about clothes was, it made people think you could be hurt by mere cuts. Toren beheaded the Goblin and turned. The largest not-Gnoll was advancing on Dasha, despite Larr’s arrows striking it from behind. It had that strange mace in its hands and as it raised it, Dasha grimly raised her axe to block.

The mace fell, and Toren heard a strange sound. It was a faint shriek, and it came from the mace. Then it struck Dasha, breaking her guard, battering her to the ground, and Toren heard the scream. It came from the mouth of the stone club, a wave of sound.

It was deafening, horrible shriek that sent every adventurer—and the Goblins and other not-Gnolls—to their knees, clutching at their ears. The bear-thing with the club raised it triumphantly as Dasha lay on the ground, her plate armor bent. He aimed at her head to finish her off and Toren stabbed him in the back.

The not-Gnoll turned, small eyes widening in shock as it found Toren was still upright. It swung the club—but slowly. Toren heard the warning shriek from the club and leaned back. The club passed over her head, and she cut at the leader’s side. It snarled and swung with its own hand. But now Toren dove and rolled.

She came up, stabbed a kneeling Goblin in the back of the head, twisted, and spun away from the not-Gnoll’s mace. It struck the ground and again the ear-splitting shriek filled the air. But Toren was unaffected. She leapt, and slashed, and the not-Gnoll holding the club howled in pain and fear as Toren landed and danced away.

—-

“Get up! Get—”

Insill felt someone shaking him as he rolled on the ground, his head splitting open. He twisted, and saw Pekona, face white, ears bleeding. She pulled him up and he grabbed for his dagger.

“Behind you!”

Pekona turned. Insill threw, and the not-Gnoll staggered, the dagger in his chest. Pekona slashed twice quickly, and it fell back.

“We have to help her!”

“No—Dasha!”

Pekona pointed, and Insill saw their friend slumped on the ground. He ran towards her, tearing at his pouch. Pekona guarded his back as Insill frantically dumped the healing potion over Dasha’s chest.

“Dasha! Speak to me!”

He lifted her up and felt one hand grab at him. Dasha gasped at him, face pale and bloodless.

“I’m fine! Get that monster before he uses the mace!”

“She’s handling him! Pekona—”

Insill turned, about to suggest Pekona help, and saw the [Blade Dancer] standing with her sword lowered. She was staring at the mysterious adventurer, at Toren.

“Pekona?”

“Is she copying me?”

The young woman breathed the words in incredulity. Insill turned, and his mouth dropped open. In the middle of the corridor, a masked swordswoman dove and leapt, kicking off a wall to vault over the beast with the enchanted mace. Her sword flashed down, and she cut. The creature howled and stumbled.

“How?”

The other monsters were stirring. Insill grabbed Pekona.

“Ask later! Come on!”

—-

It ended when Toren grew bored of the battle. She knew she could do it. She bent and dove and twirled, just like Pekona. It was a good way of fighting, and Toren felt she could do it again. But she was getting tired of having to avoid the not-Gnoll’s wild swings, so she positioned herself so her back was away from the other adventurers and used one of her secret weapons.

For just a second, the skeleton’s eyes blazed purple. They shone brightly in her mask, as the not-Gnoll raised its mace for a swing. The beast froze as the [Fear] spell struck it and Toren leapt forwards. She rammed her blade into the creature’s chest, and it choked. It fell, grabbing at the blade and Toren pulled her sword out. She turned, and saw the battle was over.

The last two Goblins were fleeing; the other not-Gnolls were dead. The adventurers stared at her, and Toren saw Pekona staring at her with wide eyes. Only Insill spoke.

“Wow.”

In the minutes that followed, several things happened. Larr and Anith bent over Dasha, making sure the healing potion had cured the worst of her injuries. That done, they went over to the not-Gnolls to confer.

“I’ve never heard of a species like this. They almost look like you, L—”

“They do not.”

The Gnoll snarled at Insill, making the Drake back away with hands up. Anith stared grimly at the dead bodies.

“We should take one of their heads. I know Liscor isn’t offering a bounty on any monsters killed in the dungeon yet, but this is important.”

“I’ll do it.”

Larr bent and began sawing at a head with a dagger. Dasha, now on her feet, turned and spat weakly as she saw the grisly sight.

“Can’t believe you lot do that.”

“It’s not like Terandria, Dasha.”

Insill turned to her, looking defensive.

“We don’t have truth crystals, so adventurers can’t prove what we kill. We need to take proof, and in this case—”

“Yeah. Got it. Don’t mean I have to like it.”

Dasha turned away. She blinked as she saw Pekona slashing with her sword, twisting her body and slashing at the air.

“What’s she doing?”

“Teaching Miss Swordswoman her style.”

Insill pointed. Dasha murmured quietly.

“By my beard.”

Pekona leapt and spun, moving from position to position, assailing an imaginary foe. She went through basic strikes, moving into advanced rolling slashes and ways to leap from walls, or vault through the air after a handspring. And Toren copied her.

It wasn’t effortless. The skeleton had to think hard to figure out how to move. But Toren’s body moved exactly as she willed it, and what was better, she didn’t forget.

Toren was a good watcher, because she didn’t blink. Within a few minutes she had memorized every move the [Blade Dancer] had made, and was trying it out herself. The other adventures stopped and stared as Toren and the young woman turned, pivoted and slashed with their swords in a curved, graceful arc with the exact same timing.

By the time Larr straightened with the not-Gnoll’s head, Pekona had stopped, panting heavily. She stared at Toren with a mixture of admiration and fear.

“You’re no normal [Warrior], are you. Are you Gold-rank…? Some kind of prodigy?”

Toren just shrugged. Pekona stared at her and shook her head.

“You saved us back there, so this is the least I could do. I don’t know if you’ll get the class—but if you do, please don’t tell me. I couldn’t bear to be passed up by someone who can copy everything I do just by watching.”

She turned, sheathing her sword. Toren watched as Larr went to confer with Anith, and as the adventurers hesitantly approached her. The Jackal nodded to the bodies.

“We didn’t recover much. But that mace—it’s good loot. And we’ve taken enough damage as it is. We only came down here to survey the area, and we’re in agreement that it’s far too dangerous to continue.  We’re heading back.”

Toren nodded. She followed the group, still thinking about all the sword techniques Pekona had shown her. When the group stopped in front of the hole in the ceiling, Toren was surprised to see the ropes hanging down. But then—how else would they have gotten down? She stared curiously at them as the adventurers argued at the base of the hole. Dasha seemed to be in a heated argument with Anith and the rest, but then she reluctantly bowed her head. They approached Toren again, and this time she saw the mace they had taken from the dead leader of the not-Gnolls in Larr’s hands.

“We think you should have this. You saved us not once but twice. If you’re willing to sell it, we’d gladly split the costs, but if not…we’ll earn something for the information from us exploring the dungeon anyways.”

Dasha looked bitterly disappointed, and Toren saw Insill’s eyes on the mace. She eyed it, took it from Larr, and lifted it up. Toren could manage to lift it thanks to her [Lesser Strength]. She swung it once, and the adventurers winced as the mace shrieked as it cut through the air. Toren shrugged and handed it back to the adventurers.

Larr looked flabbergasted.

“What? You do not want it? But it is worth much coin, yes?”

What was coin to Toren? She couldn’t use it. She shrugged and waved a hand at the mace. If she couldn’t swing it fast, it wasn’t worth anything to her.

“Thank you.”

Anith turned towards Toren and bowed his head. She stared at him as he went back towards Dasha, asking whether she would need help ascending or if she could manage it on her own. And Toren felt…conflicted.

She could have stabbed him in the back. She could have plucked out Anith’s eyes. She could have—

But she wasn’t going to. For some reason, Toren was reassured by that knowledge. She didn’t need to kill these adventurers. They were an asset. Like his undead.

What a strange thought. But the [Blade Dancer], no, Pekona had taught her new things. And they had offered her a share of the treasure.

It wasn’t as though Toren had to kill them. She could make an exception. And so, for the first time, Toren did. She turned away, and walked back into the darkness. And she felt good. Something was in her head, a curious thought.

They thought she was Human. They thought she was alive. They thought she was someone who would help them, be their friend. And Toren had been.

Just like Erin.

Just like Erin, how about that? Toren had done it. For a few seconds…

She’d been just like Erin. The skeleton walked back into the darkness, that tantalizing thought in her head.

—-

Insill was the one who saw the mysterious adventurer leaving.

“Wait! Where are you going?”

He cried out as she began to walk away. The other members of his group turned in alarm. But the masked swordswoman who’d saved their party didn’t come back. She turned to face Insill, and lifted one hand.

She waved at them and pointed back into the dungeon. Insill cried out.

“You can’t be serious! Come back! It’s too dangerous—”

But she strode away. In moments, she was gone. Insill turned back to his group. The [Rogue] was in shock.

“I can’t believe it. She just fought two battles and she wants to go back? She’s insane!”

“She’s got the Skills. I didn’t see her use a healing potion after either fight. And she noticed the traps—”

“Even so! Any normal adventurer would go back and rest, right?”

“Maybe she knows she can keep fighting.”

Anith spoke quietly. He nodded at the place where the mysterious adventuress had been.

“When we first met her—in the moment before you called out, Insill, I was afraid. My [Dangersense] went off when she still thought we were foes. If she had attacked…she is clearly of a higher level than we are.”

“No doubt. But I can’t believe she could find that trap when Insill couldn’t!”

“Maybe she knew where it was already?”

“Yeah, but if she did—how did she find it to begin with? It still doesn’t make sense! Does she have two classes that are both high level?”

“Surely not!”

“How’d she make it past all the traps, then? You were as surprised as me to see her! If she didn’t come down by rope—and there weren’t any signs anyone was here before us—then how?”

Struck by the thought, the team of Vuliel Drae looked at each other in silence. Either the mysterious female warrior had made her way down the hole into the dungeon by herself—and they hadn’t seen any traces of someone entering before them—or she’d gotten past the trapped rooms already by herself.

“Beard blight, you don’t think she actually passed through those trapped rooms and got down here…alone?”

Dasha’s face was pale as she stroked at her smooth chin. Larr shook his head.

“She’s already gone. We can ask once we reach the city, but we are still in danger here, no?”

That was true. The adventurers began to prepare to ascend the ropes, tying themselves in so they wouldn’t fall all the way to the ground if their hands slipped. Insill mechanically grasped his own rope as he looked into the darkness of the dungeon. He thought about the female swordswoman, how mysterious she was, and wished he could have looked under her mask. Was she injured? Had some accident damaged her throat, and that was why she didn’t speak? Or was there another reason?

He wondered if he’d ever meet her again.

—-

The adventurers left the dungeon. They were the first to come exploring for treasure, through this shortcut. But they would not be the last. And they brought an artifact, and hope of more rewards to kindle the hearts of those seeking fame and fortune.

And so above, the rumor spread of a mysterious swordswoman, someone who had braved the dungeon of Liscor by herself. A Named Adventurer? Unlikely, but possibly a solo Gold-rank adventurer, a rival to Griffon Hunt and the other Gold-rank teams converging on Liscor.

The tale was simple. Down in the dungeon, there was a [Swordswoman], no, some kind of genius [Blademaster], solo adventurer with a mask, who fought alone for fame and glory. If you met her, she would fight by your side and guard your back. It was a beguiling thought for those who feared the monsters below. Somewhere, down there, there was a friend in the darkness.

A friend who would see you home.

4.09

Zel Shivertail sat in the Tailless Thief, the most famous and well-reputed inn in Liscor and felt out of place. Partly because he really didn’t care for the inn, and partly because of the stares.

Inns were a subjective experience no matter where you went, Zel found. They were ostensibly just places to eat and sleep, but any real inn managed by a proper [Innkeeper] quickly developed…personality. It grew a community of clientele, and generally reflected the owner’s attitudes.

One way in which that was apparent here was in the clientele of the Tailless Thief. They were all Drakes. There was not a single Gnoll or Human to be seen, much less the rarer species that lived on Izril. No matter where Zel looked, he only saw scales.

That wasn’t a bad thing in general, but it was in a city where the population wasn’t solely Drake. And it wasn’t as if non-Drakes were barred from entering either. It was simply that they weren’t welcome. And people felt that and stayed away.

Zel could have used a non-Drake crowd about now. He moodily sipped at his mug, filled with the spicy Fireshot drink. Non-Drakes were pleasant to be around because most didn’t know who he was. They didn’t stare. But what Drake child hadn’t heard of Zel Shivertail, the Tidebreaker, hero of both Antinium Wars? And in Liscor of course, Zel’s name was spoken just as often. This was where General Sserys had come from, and Drakes did not forget their heroes.

The [General]’s hand tightened around his mug. Yes, this had been Sserys’ home. Now Antinium lived here, among the citizens. What would Sserys have thought of that? Zel wondered. At the very least, he thought Sserys would have hated the attention as much as Zel did. The [General] usually tried to keep a low profile when he visited other cities for this very reason.

Not that the person sitting across from them was helping Zel remain inconspicuous. Wall Lord Ilvriss, one of the sworn protectors of the famed Walled Cities—in his case the city of Salazsar—sat expansively in his chair, sipping from some elegant drink or other and delicately spearing morsels from his plate with the long-handled fork the Drake aristocracy loved to use.

“And you’re sure the Human said Ryoka Griffin, Shivertail?”

“Positive.”

Zel stared in dismay at the delicate, glistening fried eel on his plate. He pushed it away and sighed. Where did you get eels in the winter? But of course the [Innkeeper] would have the finest food for the Wall Lord and a Drake [General]. It had probably been run here overnight by Courier.

“Interesting.”

Ilvriss nibbled at his fork, carefully consuming a morsel of meat—seasoned Corusdeer, the local specialty—simmered in a ragù for added flavor. Zel knew this because the innkeeper had told him what he was eating in detail. And at length.

Ilvriss finished his bite and patted at his mouth with a napkin. He frowned, thinking.

“I have instructed my contacts to inform me the instant this Ryoka Griffin is spotted. If she does return to the city, I will know of it within minutes. But I am not content to wait. I would go north to seek her out if it were not for the situation with the Antinium, but I cannot find any information about this blasted Human. She is not a Courier—or if she is, no one has compiled any records of her and they are meticulously updated. And no one I have spoken to has heard of her!”

Zel grunted. He took another swig of his drink and glared at Ilvriss.

“That’s because you only asked Drakes, you idiot. If you want to find a Human, you talk to Humans.”

Ilvriss flicked out his tongue in displeasure.

“Humans lie.”

“And you think Drakes don’t?”

“I have more faith in my own kind than I do in others, Shivertail.”

“You’re a fool, then. We didn’t lose half of the continent to Humans a few thousand years ago because we get along well.”

Ilvriss’ tail twitched, but he didn’t reply to that. Instead, he flicked his fork at a map that lay on the table between the two.

“From what I have heard, the Goblin Lord has been spotted around the Blood Fields. He is retreating from the two suppression armies sent after him. They have advanced with nothing but victories over the disorganized Goblins.”

“Is that good news?”

Zel stared at the map. One of the few reasons why he travelled with Ilvriss was the Wall Lord’s access to a network of informants Zel couldn’t be bothered to maintain. Ilvriss raised one nonexistent eyebrow.

“You really think this Goblin Lord is a threat? There are two armies heading towards him, Shivertail. Each one led by a [General], each one nearly ten thousand strong.”

“And that’s supposed to reassure me? This Goblin Lord…is a Goblin Lord, Ilvriss. He beat back the army you and I were leading together with ease. Now, I might have had a lot less than ten thousand soldiers at that point, but that’s still two [Generals] by my count—and a lot higher level than the ones heading towards him now.”

Ilvriss shrugged, his tail flicking dismissal.

“Your army was exhausted from battling mine, Shivertail. It was smaller, and I might add, less well-equipped.”

“So you keep saying. But I think it’s dangerous. If those idiots ruling from their safe cities listened to me, we’d be sending a force twice that large, and I’d be leading it.”

The Wall Lord sat up a bit, nettled by Zel’s tone.

“You place too much faith in a Goblin’s ability to fight, Shivertail! The real threat on this continent are not Goblins. They’re a nuisance. The Antinium and those blasted Humans are our enemies.”

“And each other.”

Zel glared at Ilvriss. He could see a [Barmaid] with a refill out of the corner of his eye. She was afraid to get close, and for good reason. Both Ilvriss and Zel were using intimidation Skills unconsciously, and their argument was emptying the inn around them.

“Goblins are as dangerous, Ilvriss. Or have you forgotten the second Antinium War already? We were having a great time trying to kill each other. Us, the Antinium, the Humans—and the damn Necromancer—when the Goblin King appeared and started kicking everyone’s collective tail.”

“We killed him.”

“Only by uniting! If there hadn’t been so many armies fighting him at the same time—Ancestors, Ilvriss, don’t you realize what a threat a single Goblin Lord could be? They’re the equivalents of high-level [Generals] and a King…”

Ilvriss shifted. He looked uncomfortable, perhaps because he realized he was wrong.

“No matter the danger, a Goblin King is a single threat. Once he is slain, the threat dissolves.”

“It’s not that easy. We got lucky last time.”

Zel was blunt. His tail was wrapped around his chair leg, squeezing tightly in vexation. He jabbed a claw at Ilvriss.

“Go read some history, Wall Lord. Read about what happened when the Goblin King before the last one appeared on Terandria. He brought down eight kingdoms and ended at least two bloodlines that stretched back thousands of years!”

Ilvriss was silent. He stabbed at his plate and bit into another piece of meat.

“We shall see what occurs. This Goblin Lord is still the lesser threat. I want to know what the Antinium are doing here, and why the Slayer and the Small Queen are meeting.”

“You and me both.”

Zel clenched his fist. Ilvriss nodded.

“Focus your attention on that, Shivertail.”

“I’d have an easier time if you’d at least visit the inn I keep telling you about.”

“Bah. A Human inn. I’d rather bathe in filth. I can’t imagine why you stay there. I keep telling you, I will pay for you to stay here, where you can at least reside in relative comfort.”

Ilvriss’ tail curled up in disgust. Zel shook his head as the innkeeper, Peslas, hurried forwards with a refill for him.

“I actually prefer it over there, to be honest.”

Peslas, and Ilvriss both gaped at him. Zel eyed the eel and wished he’d insisted they eat at The Wandering Inn for lunch. The Drake [Innkeeper] looked as if he were about to faint. Ilvriss looked outraged.

“You cannot be serious. You’d prefer Human cuisine over this? This is the finest Drake cooking outside of a Walled City, Shivertail!”

“I like pancakes.”

Zel also liked the little Gnoll furball who would beg for scraps and sit on his lap like Selys used to. But he didn’t say that out loud. Ilvriss stared at him, and then turned towards Peslas.

“[Innkeeper]. Bring me your finest cut of Corusdeer steak, seasoned, cooked medium-raw. And a plate of Ssarish for appetizers.”

Peslas bobbed and hurried into the kitchen, shouting for his [Cook]. Ilvriss pointed his fork at Zel like a sword.

“You have lost your mind, Shivertail. I’ll at least get you to acknowledge proper Drake cooking.”

Zel raised his claw.

“That’s not necessary. I’m not hungry for this, really—”

“I insist.”

Zel groaned internally as Ilvriss clapped his hands and a [Barmaid] hurried over with another glass for him. Why did he travel with Ilvriss again? He put his head in his hands and wished he were somewhere else.

And a few miles away, running through the snow, Ryoka Griffin finally spotted her destination.

—-

“There it is. See it, Ivolethe?”

The young woman running through the snow exclaimed as she crested a hill and spotted the inn in the distance. She was tired, footsore, and foot cramped, since she was wearing boots. She would have preferred to run barefoot, but the snow was far too deep and cold for that. She was very cold, tired, and she’d had to sleep outside last night.

But she was close. Oh, so close. Ryoka Griffin grinned as she spotted The Wandering Inn in the distance. She was nearly back.

Something swooped down and alighted on her shoulder. Ivolethe glanced towards the inn in the distance and nodded.

“I see it. And I have seen it for the last five hours as I flew. What is so special about you, seeing it?”

“Oh shut up. We’re almost there.”

Ryoka swatted at Ivolethe and caught only air. The Frost Faerie back flipped off of Ryoka’s shoulder. She flew slowly by Ryoka’s head, talking with the girl as Ryoka ran on.

“We could have been to the city far faster had the clumsy driver not run over the brigands. ‘Twas entertaining, but costly, was it not?”

“You’re telling me. But Reynold says Magnolia has orders to turn every [Bandit] he spots into road kill. Jeez, she doesn’t play softball, huh?”

“She does not play games of throwing at all, unless they are edged things.”

Ivolethe agreed absently. She looked up and flew high, chasing after something. After a few minutes she returned, a bird’s feather, freshly plucked, in her hands. Ryoka glanced at her.

“I’m going to have a lot to do when I get there, Ivolethe.”

“So ye have said. I shall entertain myself.”

The Frost Faerie shrugged. Ryoka stared at her.

“So you’re going to be okay by yourself? And you’re not going to harass Ceria or make trouble for Erin? You’re going to be cool?”

“I am always cool. I am cooler than ye shall ever be.”

Ryoka stared at Ivolethe and nearly face planted as her foot slipped going down a hill. The faerie laughed at her and sighed when Ryoka glared.

“I promise not to bother the wh—your friends. But you must make good on your promise too!”

“I’ll leave you with a stack of gold coins so Erin feeds you until you turn into a balloon.”

It was a good thing faeries were so easy to bribe. Ryoka smiled to herself as she ran on, the faerie chattering about what she’d have Erin make her to eat. She was nearly back. It had been long—so very long! It felt like forever since she’d been at Erin’s inn. The last time she’d seen Erin, the girl had been in Celum. But now Ryoka was coming back. And she could tell Erin everything that had happened. She could—

Could…

What would she say to Erin? Ryoka frowned. She’d tell her everything, of course. But how would Erin react to the news about Magnolia, the [Assassins], the discovery that there was someone else from their world nearby. Laken the [Emperor], and BlackMage in Wistram! How would she react if Ryoka told her about that night with the three strangers at the campfire?

How much did Ryoka really know Erin, anyways? She knew a bit about Erin’s past, she’d done a lot with Erin of course—she’d gone to find her when Erin had disappeared, and they’d had some laughs together. But now, coming back, Ryoka was suddenly struck by a bit of uncertainty. Because she felt like a stranger again. She knew Erin.

But she didn’t feel like she knew Erin. Not after all the crazy things that had happened recently.

Ryoka felt a bit of fear worm its way into her stomach as she reached the foot of the hill that led to the Wandering Inn. It was silly. She’d run away from horrible nightmares in the darkness, things Ivolethe refused to talk about. She’d braved a blizzard, survived an [Assassin] attack, and talked down a hostile half-Troll girl who could have squished her with one hand. So why was she afraid of meeting an old friend?

Maybe it was because Ryoka didn’t really know how to meet old friends. That word was a foreign concept to her.  What should she do? Should she—

Caught up in her thoughts, Ryoka didn’t hear the crunching in the snow until a blur appeared on her left. She turned, alarmed, and saw something coming at her from the direction of Liscor. Some strange blur that was kicking up snow. It was too low to the ground to be visible as it raced through the deep snow at Ryoka. She backed up. And then it leapt at her.

“Holy—!”

A patch of the snow seemed to launch itself off of the ground and smashed into Ryoka’s midriff. The girl shouted as the impact knocked her down the side of the hill, tumbling, rolling, struggling with the creature—person—child—

“Mrsha?”

The Gnoll licked at her face, slapping Ryoka lightly with her paws as the cub tried to climb all over Ryoka. Ryoka laughed and yelped at once, trying to grab Mrsha. But the Gnoll was a blur. She grabbed at Ryoka, hugging her tightly, making small sounds that weren’t words.

“Mrsha! Relax! I’m glad to see you. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m glad to see you too!”

Ryoka finally found a bit of fur and grabbed it. Mrsha latched onto Ryoka, hugging the girl so tightly her paws dug into Ryoka’s skin through her coat. Ryoka hugged her back, whispering to the trembling Gnoll child.

“I’m sorry. I was gone for a long time. But I’m back, see? I’m back.”

She didn’t try to prise Mrsha away, and the Gnoll wouldn’t have let go for anything. Ryoka sat up awkwardly in the snow. Only then did she realize she had company.

Four tall Gnolls stood watching her and Mrsha in the snow. They might have been male, or female. It was hard to tell. But they were tall, adult, and watching her. Ryoka’s stomach lurched a tiny bit.

“Uh, hi.”

Thought and fear raced ahead of everything else. Why were they here? Were they worried she was trying to attack Mrsha? Or was it because Mrsha had white fur? Were they after Mrsha? Where was Erin? But then one of the Gnolls spoke and put Ryoka’s fears to rest.

“The Mrsha child smelled you and ran to find you. We came to ensure she was not in danger.”

“Oh. She came from the city? Wait, what was she doing there?”

One of the Gnolls, the tallest, nodded. He had red-brown fur and had a sheathed axe at one hip.

“She was with Krshia for lessons when she scented you. She knew you were coming long before we smelled you.”

“Oh. I get it.”

Mrsha had a stronger nose than any Gnoll adult due to her youth. Ryoka felt Mrsha shift her grip as she clung to the young woman. She was licking Ryoka and nuzzling her head against her. It was intimate, but Ryoka felt awkward in the presence of the other Gnolls.

“Well…she found me. Do you all need anything?”

The Gnolls stared at her. They had a strange intensity about them. The lead Gnoll pointed at Ryoka, eyes searching her face.

“You have returned with what honored Krshia needs, yes?”

Ryoka stared up at the reddish-brown Gnoll as Mrsha tried to coat her face with saliva. What they—oh! The book! It had been so long since she’d made that promise that Ryoka had nearly forgotten. But she’d carried it with her in the bag of holding all this time. She nodded.

“I—yes. I’ve got it with me. I can give it to her—”

“Good.”

So saying, the Gnoll reached down and grabbed Ryoka’s legs. She froze.

“What are—”

Another one seized Ryoka from behind. She yelped and began to twist, but it was hard to with Mrsha clinging to her.

“Wait, what are you—”

The Gnoll lifted her up into the air as if Ryoka were a feather. She yelped and twisted, but suddenly found herself gripped from below. One Gnoll had her legs and buttocks, another her back. They began running with her over her head, helpless, as Mrsha hopped up and down on Ryoka’s stomach, making noises of excitement.

“Hold on! Hold on—put me down! I have to—I’ll give it to Krshia in a bit, okay? Put me down—Mrsha! Stop moving!”

The Gnolls didn’t listen. They had a tremendously strong grip and try as she might, Ryoka was in no position to get free. They began to run with her held above them like a log. Ryoka yelped, but suddenly she was moving fast down the hill, straight towards Liscor!

“Put me down! Put me down!”

No one listened. Ryoka hollered, but Mrsha was delightedly climbing on Ryoka’s front, and the girl had to grab her to make sure she didn’t fall off. Liscor came into sight, and then Ryoka was headed straight for the gates.

The [Guardsmen] on duty stared at Ryoka as she passed by, born aloft by the small crowd of Gnolls. She shouted at them to help, but they were too busy laughing to do anything.

—-

Zel Shivertail stared at the proffered plate of Ssarish. It was a traditional Drake dish; sliced meat, very thinly cut and served raw or cooked depending on the area. It wasn’t a bad food and Zel enjoyed it at times. He knew the Gnolls did something similar, although in their case they chopped their meat incredibly finely and mixed it with a light mustard sauce.

This dish of Ssarish was lightly sprinkled with olive oil, garnished with a bit of white, crumbly cheese, and delicately brushed with a mixture of lemon, salt, pepper, and some spicy greens Zel didn’t recognize. It wasn’t that it had been made poorly either. In fact, the problem was that it had been overdone. Zel would have liked a plainer Ssarish, if he was even hungry for the stuff.

Which he wasn’t.

“I’m not hungry, Ilvriss.”

“Have some of the steak, then. This is Drake cooking—and I will have you enjoy it!”

“Drakes don’t have a monopoly on steaks, Ilvriss.”

“We invented them.”

“We invented a way to chop meat.”

“You are neglecting to include the art of seasoning food. This is properly spicy, nuanced flavor—”

“Just because some of our kind can breathe fire, it doesn’t mean I want to do it myself!”

Zel snarled at Ilvriss. The Lord of the Wall glared at him across the table as the innkeeper, Peslas, hovered in the wings, ready to dash into the kitchen and bring more food out for Zel to try. The [General] sat at the table, arms crossed, tail lashing the floorboards.

“I told you, I’m sure the cooking is fine. But I don’t want any right now.”

“I insist you try a cut of the steak.”

Ilvriss sliced into the rich meat, still steaming with heat. Zel sighed, but the Drake lord’s sense of pride meant he had to try some. Or run. Zel weighed the odds of Ilvriss chasing him down and reluctantly picked up a fork. He speared a juicy chunk of the steak and chewed it down. Peslas, Ilvriss, and a number of Drake patrons in the inn waited with bated breath.

“It’s good.”

Zel had to admit, the hot spices and rich meat was a good mouthful. Peslas exhaled loudly and Ilvriss treated himself to a smug smile. Zel raised one claw.

“But. I’ve had better lunches. And I could be eating one right now if you’d let me go.”

“Nonsense!”

A fist pounded the table as Ilvriss raised his voice in outrage. He speared a piece of the steak and waved it at Zel.

“This is prime dining here. You will have your lunch with me—”

“I don’t want steak, Ilvriss. It’s not as if this is the greatest steak in the world and I’m not a fan of your company.”

“This is the finest dish you could order in Liscor—”

“In it. But the inn I go to is a bit out of the city’s limits. And I bet the innkeeper there could make me a steak as good as this one.”

Ilvriss furiously chewed the steak, as if mastication could prove Zel wrong. He gulped it down and pointed at it triumphantly.

“Aha! There you are wrong. I can detect the quality of the dish, and this is excellent fare for one of the lesser cities on the continent. The owner of this inn, Peslas here, is to be commended for it.”

He nodded graciously at Peslas, who beamed and bowed his head towards Ilvriss. The Wall Lord pointed at the dish as he addressed Zel as if speaking to an infant.

“This was made by a cook with [Advanced Cooking]! No Human [Innkeeper] could—”

“She’s got [Advanced Cooking] too, Ilvriss. And her food is new. She makes this thing called a ‘pizza’, which is quite—”

“I will not hear of it! Peslas! Another dish! Bring me—yes, bring me some sautéed shrimp! The same dish you served me last night! As you will see Shivertail, no Human innkeeper could provide you with quality seafood in the winter.”

“I don’t want seafood! I want to go!”

Zel stood up. Ilvriss tried to hold him down, but Zel was quite a bit larger than the Wall Lord. Still, Ilvriss was tenacious. The two Drakes were struggling at their table when they heard the shouting.

“—down now! I am not happy! I’ll walk—hell, I’ll run! Just stop carrying me like this! Do you hear me? Stop grabbing—Mrsha! Don’t jump on my stomach! Hey! Hey!”

Both Drakes turned. Someone was shouting quite loudly. Ilvriss scowled.

“Humans! They’re noisy even when they aren’t in the room!”

He let go of Zel and strode to the open entrance of the inn, probably to yell at whomever was making the noise. Zel went too, intending to make his own break for it when he saw the Gnolls.

There was a crowd of them, running through the street. But that wasn’t what made both Drake’s jaws drop. It was the young Human woman they were carrying over their heads. She was struggling, yelling, as the Gnolls held her over their head and ran with her. Everyone in the street was watching, some laughing, others pointing or scratching their heads in confusion. But that wasn’t what made Zel’s blood run cold. It was recognition. He knew that Human. He knew her name.

Ryoka Griffin.

She was being carried by a group of Gnolls as they ran down the street. Zel stared. He saw someone else perched on Ryoka’s stomach, happily staring around as if this were an exciting new experience.

“Is that—Mrsha?”

He turned to Ilvriss. The Drake’s scales had gone pale. He had recognized Ryoka too. And the Lord of the Wall’s reaction was immediate. His hand went to his sword, and he unsheathed the shining blade. Zel took a step back.

“Ilvriss. Hold on—”

Ilvriss’ normal look of bored contempt had vanished. He stared after the group of Gnolls as they rounded a corner. Then he turned and shouted at the room full of Drakes. At his adjutants, the group he’d brought with him.

“After that Human!”

The Wall Lord charged out of the room. Zel cursed as a number of Drakes who’d been silently waiting against the walls charged after their lord. He ran after Ilvriss, shouting for the Wall Lord to stop.

A few minutes after they’d gone, Peslas hurried out of the kitchen with a plate of sautéed shrimp. It was good stuff, but as even Ilvriss would have conceded, the [Chef] had let the shrimp go just a tad bit undercooked.

—-

Krshia was waiting in her apartment when Ryoka was shepherded into the room. A crowd of Gnolls came after her, spreading out around the apartment which grew significantly more occupied. Some stared or sniffed and wrinkled their noses at the smell of rot in the air—but it was better than it had been. Brunkr stared at Ryoka as he kept a bandage slathered with honey over his arm. He glanced at Mrsha, but the Gnoll was too busy sitting on Ryoka’s shoulders and nuzzling her head to pay attention to anything else.

Ryoka halted as she saw Krshia look up. The [Shopkeeper] looked like Ryoka had last seen her, if a bit more tired. She smiled when she saw Ryoka, though. With expectation—and fear.

“Ryoka Griffin. You have returned, yes? At last. And you have brought what was promised, I hope?”

She stared into Ryoka’s eyes. The young woman nodded slowly. She was aware of the Gnolls in the room who weren’t Krshia or Brunkr, and how they stared at her. Her, and Krshia.

Ryoka’s mind flashed back to the past, to what she’d learned before she’d left Liscor, weeks ago. It was Krshia’s clan who lived in Liscor. They had come to earn money, to prove something. And to gain something valuable to offer to the tribes when they met.

They had stockpiled spellbooks, tens of thousands of gold coins’ worth. And it had all been lost when Lyonette used a powerful artifact to destroy Krshia’s shop by accident. Ryoka had promised to give them something of equal value in return for Lyonette’s life.

And Krshia was afraid she hadn’t got it. Or she hadn’t got something her people would consider good enough.

“You have it with you now?”

Krshia was watching Ryoka very carefully. The girl nodded. She reached for her side, for the small bag of holding she kept tied securely there.

“I went to a…friend. A powerful [Mage], rather. I convinced them to give me something, a spellbook that would make up for what you lost.”

Behind his aunt, Brunkr stirred.

“One spellbook?”

Around the room the Gnolls muttered. Their voices were too quiet for Ryoka to hear, but Mrsha’s ears perked up and Krshia shook her head.

“One may do. If it is the right one.”

She sounded like she was trying to convince the others. Ryoka nodded, trying to appear confident.

“This isn’t just any spellbook. Look.”

She put the bag of holding on the table in front of Krshia, and then bent to reach into it with both hands. She had to use both hands, not because the spellbook was heavy, but because it was too big.

Enchanted to be as light as a feather. Big as…big as Mrsha. The Gnolls gasped as one as Ryoka lifted the spellbook Teriarch had given her out of her bag of holding. Krshia’s eyes widened into round circles. Ryoka grinned like a madwoman.

It had been too long. But now here it was. Some days she’d almost forgotten about it, but now Ryoka remembered vividly. A spellbook. Not just any spellbook, but one given to her by Teriarch.

Taken from a Dragon’s hoard. A book of teaching from another age, filled with magical knowledge.

A gift from a Dragon.

“By the tribes. What is this?”

Krshia bent over the huge spellbook as the other Gnolls gasped and crowded around the table. Ryoka opened her mouth to reply and got a paw in her face as Mrsha climbed over her head to see. She gently took Mrsha off her head and cradled the Gnoll in her arms. Ryoka thought of how to explain and said one word.

“Worth.”

All the Gnolls looked at Ryoka sharply. She smiled.

“This will settle the debt.”

“Alone? It is a magnificent work, but by itself…”

Krshia hesitantly placed her hands on the tome, opening it, staring at the gilded letters—and illustrations!—in the book. The Gnolls around her were murmuring quietly, perhaps debating that very thing. But Ryoka shook her head.

“This is equivalent, Krshia Silverfang. Equivalent to fifty or a hundred lost spellbooks. For you see, this isn’t a spellbook.”

“It isn’t?”

Krshia looked up sharply. Ryoka smiled. She stood taller and pointed down to the tome, speaking with a voice that carried around the rooms. You had to sell what you had, even if it was worth more than diamonds.

“I didn’t bring you a simple spellbook with a handful of spells! No, this is a proper instructional tome, something that actually explains how spells work. You’d be lucky to find this in Wistram, let alone a normal [Mage]’s library! It’s a first-edition tome of Rihal, and it contains every spell they knew from Tier 1 to…I think Tier 4. It might be the most valuable thing you will ever see in your life.”

Every Gnollish eye stared at Ryoka. There was a pregnant pause, and then the room exploded into excited babble. Gnolls crowded around the book, fighting to see, but afraid to touch. They sniffed at it like Mrsha. But Krshia only had eyes for Ryoka, as did some of the older Gnolls. One spoke to her.

“If what you say is true…”

“It is. Every word. I swear it.”

Ryoka met his eye—or her eye—squarely. She knew some Gnolls like Krshia could detect a lie. The Gnoll hesitated.

“You would be willing to swear upon a truth spell?”

“Any time.”

The Gnoll blinked. She looked back at the tome, and her ears shook.

“Incredible. It is a dream. And it is true.”

Krshia spoke sharply.

“The knowledge of this will not leave this room, no? No one will speak of it! And it will be guarded, yes, guarded this time by [Warriors].”

All the Gnolls looked at her. Some bowed their heads, others nodded. Ryoka sensed it. Whatever power struggle Krshia had been fighting through, it was over in a flash. This was worth, pure and simple. More worth than the Gnolls of Liscor had possessed before, and they all knew it.

Krshia turned to Ryoka. There was jubilation in her eyes, but also wariness.

“This is a gift worthy of a [King], Ryoka Griffin. We owe you a debt for it. But you say it came to you from another? Do we owe a greater debt that must one day be paid?”

Ryoka hesitated. Here it was. The Gnolls were watching her again. So she thought back to her conversation and decided on the truth. You couldn’t lie so easily in this world. But half-truths were easy.

“It is a debt, but the one who is owed will never call on it. You owe a debt of gratitude to an incredibly powerful magic user, the equivalent of an [Archmage]. His name is…uh…well, it’s Teriarch.”

She hoped using his name wouldn’t be a problem. But no one knew it, right? And if it was spread, well…Teriarch was vain. She heard other Gnolls murmuring the name.

“I convinced him to be a patron of your tribe. And I gave him something of equal value to the book.”

“You gave him something? How?”

“I cannot say. But it was worth it to him. It was a fair trade, I swear it.”

The young woman met Krshia’s eyes, praying Krshia did not ask more. Because Ryoka couldn’t explain iPhones and Teriarch’s magic and the simple generosity of a Dragon in front of the others. The Gnoll stared for a while at Ryoka and nodded.

“Then I will believe you. But this gift…it is too much.”

What now? Ryoka almost groaned to hear it, but the other Gnolls were nodding. Krshia looked at Ryoka as she ran a paw over the tome regretfully.

“It is too much for a gift, even one to repay a debt. You must ask something of us in return, or it will not be fair. And this debt is too great for us to carry now.”

She wanted Ryoka to ask, but she didn’t have anything to pay with. Ryoka’s mind raced. She stared at Krshia, imaginging all kinds of things, good and evil and petty and grand to ask of her. But then she thought of who she’d come to Liscor to meet. She looked at Mrsha, and realized some questions were trick questions, even if the only person doing the tricking was yourself.

She smiled at Krshia. The Gnoll watched her warily. Ryoka took a breath and spoke her price.

“Friendship, Krshia Silverfang. That is what I desire.”

The Gnoll blinked at her. All the Gnolls did. Ryoka turned to them, looking them in the eye. She finished last on Mrsha, who was touching the tome excitedly as Brunkr tried to push her paw away.

“This is a gift of friends, and the cost is paid in intangible things. I offer it in the name of friendship, with you and your tribe, if you will accept it.”

Krshia stared at her. Ryoka thought she saw the Gnoll smile slightly, and then she took Ryoka’s hand. She squeezed it tightly, and then let go.

“So it is said! We are friends, Ryoka Griffin. And we will remember this gift for as long as our tribe endures. No—Gnolls will remember this. I promise you. Your name and that of Teriarch will be spoken as long as we endure. We do not forget.”

Ryoka felt a chill as Krshia said that. It was more than an honor. It was terrifying, what the Gnoll said. But it was also heartfelt, and it made Ryoka feel as though she had touched immortality. To never be forgotten.

And then it was business again. Krshia bent over the tome, and beckoned Ryoka over. The other Gnolls respectfully gave her room. One of them lifted Mrsha off the table, and Krshia was bombarding Ryoka with questions about the book.

“You say it teaches, yes? So that a novice may learn? I have never heard of such a thing, but perhaps it is a lost way of making such books.  Where and when was this nation—Rihal? It must be important, but I have never heard of it. You said the book comes from here, yes?”

Ryoka scratched her head. The conversation with Teriarch was an age ago. Had he ever…? No.

“I have no idea, but I’ll swear the book is genuinely from that place.”

Krshia nodded. She paused on a page and traced the writing.

“Ah. See. On this side, there is magical writing. On this—not. It is a written language.”

Surprised, Ryoka bent over the book.

“You can tell?”

“Yes. One is rooted in magic and looks different from other angles. The other…no. It does not change. And it is not magical. It is something [Shopkeepers] learn, to tell the difference to identify fraud.”

Fascinated, Ryoka stared at the writing. There was a tiny illustration, of some kind of flower blooming. Was this a spell to grow plants? She stared at the magical writing, but she was in too much of a hurry to start decoding it.

“It must be. This is an instructional guide, so it might be describing the spell’s effects, or how to use it best.”

“Worth.”

Krshia echoed the word, and then growled softly.

“But I cannot read it! And no one living knows the language, or so I am thinking. But a spell—yes, I need an artifact.”

She turned and snapped.

“A pair of lenses, enchanted with a translation spell. Someone find one and bring it to me!”

At once several Gnolls rushed out the door. Ryoka glanced at Krshia.

“Do you think it will work?”

“The spell does not need meaning, only time. It…how do you say? It decodes the language. Identifies it over time to attain mastery. Now, Rihal. Perhaps there are books with the name—”

Krshia was turning to some other Gnolls when Ryoka heard a brief howl from outside. It was short, upset, and cut off abruptly. Instantly, every Gnoll in the room, including Mrsha, went still. Someone ran back up the stair and thrust open the door.

“Honored Krshia, there is trouble below!”

One of the Gnolls who’d left spoke to Krshia as the Gnoll turned towards the door. Krshia glanced towards Ryoka, and the girl wondered if someone had followed her. Or the Gnolls?

“What is it?”

“There is a group of Drakes below. They are armed. And they want Ryoka Griffin.”

Everyone stared at Ryoka. Krshia looked at the young woman.

“Have you enemies among the Drakes, Ryoka?”

“I don’t know! I don’t think so—I have a long list, but I’m fairly certain Drakes aren’t on there!”

Ryoka went to a window, but Brunkr pulled her back. She blinked at him. He growled softly.

“Be wary. They might shoot into the windows and Aunt has neither glass nor spelled wards.”

Ryoka nodded and backed away. Krshia looked around. The Gnolls in the room were tense, and Mrsha was staring around wide-eyed.

“They would not be openly bearing arms if they were a threat. This must be handled without bloodshed. We go out together. Ryoka in the middle. Move.”

The group exited the room, Gnolls streaming out, to the audible dismay of the Drakes below. Then Ryoka came out, Krshia and Brunkr at her side. The wounded Gnoll had taken off his bandage of honey and was holding a sword in his good hand.

Ryoka stopped when she saw the group of fourteen or so Drakes. They were all armed, all dressed in fancy clothing—hardly as if they were ready for a fight. She didn’t recognize any of them, but they looked well-armed. Then her eyes fell on the two standing at the front of the group. One was large, a bear of a Drake as big as Relc. He was arguing with another Drake who was shorter, slimmer, and dressed in regalia fit for a [King]. He turned to Ryoka and his eyes fixed on her.

“You.”

The face didn’t give anything away. But the instant he spoke, Ryoka’s mind went back in time. She remembered the tone, and now the haughty posture. She remembered a battlefield, a tent—her stomach lurched as she recognized Ilvriss now.

“Uh oh.”

Ilvriss strode towards her as the Gnolls formed a wall in the way. Zel Shivertail walked next to him. But Ryoka’s eyes were on Ilvriss. She knew why he was here. Because she remembered.

She remembered how his lieutenant had died.

—-

Memory.

The undead are approaching, terrible giants clawing out of the ground. A monster—some kind of armored Gnoll in front, a massive battleaxe in one hand. A creature of rot walks beside him. She called herself  Bea.

They are coming. My eyes want to bleed at the sight of them. They are horrors far more terrible than a zombie or lesser undead. The servants of Az’kerash approach.

But she does not run. The Drake commander holds her ground, and the elite warriors who have come with her ready themselves. They’ll die here. I know it. She knows it too.

I look to Periss.

“You’ll die. Run.”

She looks at me, just once, and shakes her head.

“Drakes do not run. Go!”

My feet take me away as the soldiers charge. Sixteen against a horde. Kerash raises his battleaxe with one hand and Bea spreads her arms wide. I turn and pump my legs, running past zombies and horrors that reach for me.

The screaming begins in only seconds. I hear the sounds of death, of flesh being torn and bones breaking. But I hear the living shouting in defiance as they charge the dead, fighting to the last. But falling.

One by one.

—-

Ryoka felt her knees go weak. The smell, the feeling of terror and panic, all of it struck her at once. One second she was there, the next she was in the past. She stared at Ilvriss as he advanced, bare sword in hand. He barely seemed to notice the Gnolls, although the other Drakes with him were eying the Gnolls nervously. Ilvriss stopped a few feet away from the group surrounding Ryoka. He stared coldly at the Gnolls.

“Move aside, civilians.”

No one budged. A mocking voice came from the group of Gnolls.

“We are simply standing here, Drake. Is that a crime?”

Ilvriss gritted his teeth as he stared at Ryoka. Her mind was racing. Run? No. It was safer here. What did he want to do with her? What could she say?

“I wish to speak with that Human. Move.”

“On whose authority? You could be anyone. Fancy clothes do not make rank among Gnolls, although they do among Drakes, yes?”

There was laughter among the Gnolls. The laughter died in an instant when he turned his head to look at them. Ryoka felt a sudden surge of fear. For a second Ilvriss was taller, and his eyes burned—she had to fight off whatever Skill he’d used. By her side, Mrsha was whimpering.

Ilvriss’ voice was cold as he spoke. It rang out across the street.

“I am Wall Lord Ilvriss, and I will speak to that Human on a matter of war. If you will not move, I will consider you all my enemies.”

There was a visible shift in the ranks of Gnolls when they heard his title. But Krshia spoke up, sounding unafraid.

“Wall Lord or not, she is a free visitor to Liscor. It would not be good for Drakes to detain an innocent person against their will, no?”

The Drake stared at her. Krshia grinned. Only the people close to her could see how her paws were shaking a bit by her side.

“We are citizens of Liscor. If you would harm us, you would make an enemy of the city, yes? And Ryoka is my friend.”

“I do not have time for games.”

Ilvriss shifted. He might have been raising his sword, or turning to order his people, Ryoka didn’t know. She took a step forwards and raised her voice.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss. I’m right here. If you’ve got something to ask me, why not do it now?”

He looked at her. It was just one look, but Ryoka felt it shoot right through her like an arrow. There was fury and other emotions in the Drake’s gaze. She felt pinned. Ilvriss stared at her and opened his mouth.

“I have only one thing to ask you, Human. What happened to Periss? What happened to my lieutenant? How did she die?”

The street went still. Everyone was staring at Ryoka, even the Gnolls, even Mrsha. Ryoka felt her mouth dry up. A thousand answers floated through her mind, but only one found her tongue.

“I can’t tell you.”

Ilvriss blinked. He stared at her, filled with fury.

“What?”

Ryoka’s mouth was on autopilot. She recited automatically from the Runner’s handbook, remembering a passage she’d read long ago when she’d first started running.

“Runner’s confidentiality. I cannot reveal who I deliver to, or what was delivered to any other party without permission from my client.”

She waited for the Wall Lord’s response as her mind scrambled to keep up with what she’d said. Ryoka saw Ilvriss eyes flash, and he made a garbled, hissing sound of incoherent rage. He seemed to be unable to process her response on a physical level.

“You dare—a technicality! Answer me! How did she die! Tell me or I will—”

He tried to stride forwards but the Drake standing next to him, Zel, grabbed him. The Gnolls backed up as the two Drakes struggled and swore and the other Drakes rushed forwards. Ryoka’s mind was whirling. Her thought process went something like this:

If I tell him, he dies. If I tell him, I’ll die. If Az’kerash finds out—could he? What could he do to me from here?

I can’t risk it. Not until I think about consequence. But that’s the last thing Ilvriss wants to hear. So how do I get out—

Relief came when she heard shouting. Actually, crippling fear came first, but it was relief when she saw Watch Captain Zevara striding forwards with a group of [Guardsmen]. She put herself between Ilvriss and the group of Gnolls, although she didn’t look happy to do it.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss, please withdraw! You cannot bear arms in the city or threaten civilians!”

“Move aside, Watch Captain!”

Ilvriss threw off Zel’s hands and snarled at Zevara. She hadn’t drawn her sword, and she backed up a step as Ilvriss advanced on her. He pointed at Ryoka.

“That Human is hiding information! Information about my lieutenant and my soldiers and how they died! I will have it from her!”

Zevara turned and looked at Ryoka. The Human girl was sure the Watch Captain had no idea who she was, but Zevara turned to Ilvriss and put a hand on her sword.

“Whatever the issue, I cannot let you abduct a Human by force. Not in the city. The laws are clear—there would be an incident with the Human cities if we were found—”

“I do not care.”

Ilvriss raised his sword and the [Guardsmen] drew their weapons. Zevara braced herself and opened her mouth wide for some reason. Ilvriss snarled as he looked at Ryoka and she braced. Then everyone heard a shout.

“Pan attack!”

Ilvriss’ head turned. Ryoka’s head turned. She saw a black blurring object, flying towards the Wall Lord’s head. Ilvriss twisted. His hand shot out and he grabbed the spinning object before it could strike him.

It was a frying pan. In the silence, everyone stared at it. A black, cast-iron frying pan. Ilvriss stared at the frying pan in his hand, a confused look on his face.

“What the—”

The second frying pan clocked him on the head. Ilvriss staggered but didn’t go down. He turned, snarling, and then saw the adventurers.

They assembled in the street, some holding weapons, others just standing there for visual effect. Three groups of adventurers, although Ryoka couldn’t know that. She only recognized Halrac, Ceria, Pisces, Ksmvr and Yvlon. The rest of the adventurers were a mystery to her. But once she saw who was leading them, it all made sense.

Three teams of adventurers stood behind a girl who held a third frying pan in her hand. Griffin Hunt, the Halfseekers, and the Horns of Hammerad. The Drakes might not have recognized any of the groups on sight, but they could identify seasoned warriors at a glance.

“Someone call for trouble?”

Jelaqua Ivirith grinned as she held her two-handed flail. Revi grimaced as she stood yawning next to Typhenous.

“We’re not bodyguards! Why are we here?”

Typhenous chuckled as he posed with the staff in his hand.

“We weren’t doing anything, and this is entertaining, isn’t it Revi?”

Ryoka didn’t hear Ilvriss cursing, or Zevara shouting for the adventurers to back off. She walked out of the group of Gnolls as hands seized the Wall Lord before he could leap at her. She looked at the young woman who was walking towards her, a huge grin on her face.

They met in the center of the street. Ryoka saw the young woman’s smile, and heard her voice.

“Hi Ryoka. What’s up?”

A thousand things to say. A thousand ways to reply. Ryoka cleared her throat awkwardly. She tried to smile, and found it was actually very easy. She looked into Erin Solstice’s eyes and weakly returned the girl’s grin.

“Hi Erin. I’m back.”

4.10

This is what Pisces saw. He stood in the snowy street, facing down one of the Drake Lords of the Wall and his personal retinue. By his side stood Zel Shivertail, one of the most famous [Generals] in the world. To Pisces’ right and left, two Gold-rank teams, the Halfseekers and Griffon Hunt were facing them.

Perhaps it was only he who was slightly incredulous that this scene could take place. Pisces had grown up reading tales of heroes fighting in armies, facing down Dragons and slaying monsters. But he had never believed he’d see a scene similar to that.

And oh, for what a petty reason they’d gathered! Pisces glanced at the tall young woman, the Runner who had attracted Wall Lord Ilvirss’ wrath. Ryoka Griffin. She was hardly important in the grand scheme of things. What reason, what right did she have to change the world in this way?

But perhaps it was her. Pisces turned his head and stared at a girl who truly did defy explanation. Erin Solstice. There was something she had that made her unique. Perhaps not something she had. Somewhere. Perhaps it was the where of her origins that did the trick.

Pisces didn’t know. He understood everything else in the world, but Erin he didn’t. That irked the young man, because he prided himself on his knowledge. It was a type of magic in itself, knowing things, knowing secrets.

That was why among all the tense and glaring warriors present, some gripping their weapons with steady grips or wearing expression of bravado, Pisces was the one truly calm head. Or so he believed. He was busy glancing around, noting each of the groups gathered here. Krshia Silverfang and a good deal of Gnolls had gathered in this spot around Ryoka. Now, why would they do th—

Someone poked him. Pisces jumped. He turned and saw two pale yellow eyes glaring at him. Ceria hissed at Pisces in a low voice that only he and the other Horns of Hammerad could hear.

“Don’t get distracted! Stay ready!”

She was tense, and Pisces could see particles of frost and snow swirling around her skeletal hand. Ceria clearly thought they might have to fight. Pisces disagreed.

“Calm yourself, Springwalker. I don’t believe it will come to violence.”

“Don’t believe—she hit him with a pan!”

“Yes, well…”

Pisces could only shrug in reply. The problem with Ceria was that she never educated herself, and there was never time to explain things properly in situations like these. She went around acting the same way, not taking into account local laws and customs. If she had, then she might be more relaxed.

Calmly, Pisces turned and watched the Watch Captain, Zevara, start shouting at Erin while Zel Shivertail forcibly restrained Wall Lord Ilvriss. It looked bad, but it wasn’t going to erupt into violence unless something went truly wrong. And Pisces knew that because he actually read Drake law. He was probably one of the foremost non-Drake experts in the world on the subject.

The Wall Lord was in the wrong in every way here, and he knew it. If he turned things into a conflict, it would be the Watch Captain’s duty to stop him. The adventurers Erin had brought were simply a reminder of that fact.

And while Erin had definitely attacked him, Pisces also knew how Zevara would react. Which is why he smiled triumphantly as the altercation in the street came to a swift close. Zel Shivertail forcibly dragged Ilvriss back until his retainers could calm him down, the Gnolls left the street after escorting Ryoka to Erin. And the innkeeper?

“A fine? Aw, come on…”

“You struck him, Human! Don’t argue! Four gold coins. Give them to Relc—give them to Klbkch and don’t argue or I’ll double your fine!”

Zevara was practically breathing fire; wisps of smoke were leaking from the corners of her mouth. Erin grumbled, but the Watch Captain didn’t wait for a response. She stomped away and then the [Guardsmen] left too.

The [Necromancer] nodded to himself in satisfaction. A predictable result. Really, it was just about knowing how people would react based on a certain set of variables. The Watch Captain was predictable…at least, where it came to Erin. She knew that Erin had the Antinium on her side, and so she was disinclined to start another incident.

Still, four gold coins was vindictive. A single gold coin would have been harsh for starting a brawl. The Watch Captain must have been extremely angry, which spoke to the aberrancy of this situation.

Soon, Erin was hurrying back to the inn with Ryoka. Mrsha was in the Runner’s arms, and the three adventuring groups broke up. Revi was still grumbling.

“We have things to do. How much do we have to do for this [Innkeeper]? Honestly, that obnoxious Drake innkeeper might have been rude and charged a lot, but at least he didn’t bother us.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining at Christmas.”

“That was fun. This is work, and we’re doing it for free.”

“Revi, don’t start.”

“I didn’t join this group to do work for free, Ulrien! If we’re going to keep helping Erin, we should at least be paid for…”

Pisces listened with half an ear as Revi, the Stitch-girl [Summoner] argued with the rest of her party. Her response was predictable too. But he had better things to do in this crucial moment where everyone’s guard was down. Pisces stared hard across the street. He could still see Ilvriss arguing—screaming, really—at Zel. They were too far away of course, but happily they were both standing across from each other, so Pisces could see their mouths moving. And that was important to Pisces for one particular reason:

He could read lips.

It would hardly be a great surprise to anyone who knew Pisces that he had that talent. Not a Skill in fact; Pisces had mastered the art of lip reading to avoid wasting a Skill on such a mundane ability. And it had been oh so useful in Wistram, especially when his ability to eavesdrop with his undead creations had been discovered.

Everyone always thought that he, the [Necromancer], had only one particular skill. But Pisces was a [Mage] as well. He had specialized his class in one field of magic—and then gone back to study every other field as well. Pisces sneered at the idea that a truly great mage had to be limited to one class. A true [Mage], or so he felt, specialized in as many classes as possible.

Yes, a great [Mage] was a [Pyromancer], a [Seer], an [Alchemist], a [Sword Mage], a [Warlock], a [Druid]—although Pisces was leery about getting tattooed. And any true mage, any true purveyor of knowledge and secrets had to have other skills as well.

Secrets were worth much even outside of Wistram. And a secret shared between a Wall Lord and a [General]? Oh, so very precious. Pisces’ eyes narrowed as he deciphered part of the Drakes’ conversation.

“I’ll take care of it. You cool your…”

“Ask her! So help me Shivertail, if you…if I have to go to war…”

“I know. I know.”

The two broke away from each other. One of the Drakes accompanying Ilvriss handed something small to Zel and he nodded at the Wall Lord. Pisces casually glanced away as Ilvriss began storming down the street, the other Drakes following him. Only Zel hung back. He slowly began to walk in the direction of the Wandering Inn.

Curious. Pisces stroked his chin as the adventurers began heading back to the inn as well. What did ‘I’ll take care of it’ mean? Clearly, Ryoka was important to the two Drakes, but the Wall Lord was particularly interested in her, it seemed. He’d threatened her with steel, against Watch Captain Zevara’s explicit orders. He would never normally do that, Wall Lord or not.

Pisces was aware of Drake politics, and a Watch Captain was second to none in her own city when it came to matters of law and order. She could only ever be overruled in military matters by a soldier of equivalent or equal rank to a [Colonel], and certainly not by a foreign lord.

“Ryoka’s back. Do you think she got the magical items appraised?”

Pisces focused back on reality as he heard Ceria speaking anxiously. Ah, yes. The magical artifacts. Pisces cleared his throat. He didn’t know whether Ryoka had them either, but his observations could only improve the general understanding of his group.

“I surmise that if she had the items, they are stored in the bag of holding at her belt. Given the limited opportunity she had to visit Invrisil, I would imagine it is unlikely she would have returned without some knowledge of the magical artifacts.”

“I know that.”

Ceria nodded, but she seemed relieved to have been reassured.

“She said she appraised them. But she also said she might have to sell some. I wonder…”

“Captain Ceria, I am unsure of the protocol regarding adventuring in groups. Should I express my dissatisfaction with Ryoka or general avarice at this point?”

Pisces’ lips quirked and he turned his head to avoid smiling at Ksmvr. The Antinium was far too amusing to belong in his Hive, which was probably why he’d been kicked out. Ceria paused and Pisces saw a peculiar expression on the face of the woman who was walking as far away from Pisces as politely possible.

Yvlon coughed and scratched absently at her bare forearms. At first glance, they looked like they were covered with some metallic liquid. Then it became clear that the metal was fused into her arms, melded with both flesh and bone. Yvlon’s affliction intrigued Pisces every time he looked at her. He had no little amount of sympathy for her either; she had received those injuries defending all of them from a fire construct. It was a shame he couldn’t use his skill with bones to fix her, but there wasn’t enough of her bone left unscathed for him to work with.

Perhaps if she’d let him experiment with adding someone else’s bone to hers. But Yvlon would never hear of it, so Pisces hadn’t bothered to suggest. She hated necromancy, and thus barely tolerated him.

“Ksmvr, you don’t have to do anything. Magical items are important it’s true, but in my experience, the best adventurers don’t fixate on them. I’ve seen too many teams torn apart fighting over the loot from an expedition to count.”

The Antinium with three arms absorbed this information slowly, nodding his head.

“I see. I will commit this information to memory. However, I assume we will wish to speak with Ryoka Griffin in the near future?”

“If we can. Looks like everyone wants a piece of her.”

Ceria groaned. And that was certainly true. When Pisces got to the inn, the first thing he heard was Erin’s voice.

“Okay everyone, form a line! Anyone who wants to speak with Ryoka can wait in line. Uh, send just one person if you’re a group. Krshia wants to talk first, and then Klbkch—hey Klbkch, your mean Captain says I have to give you money. And Zel said he wants to talk too. And then—oh, Ksmvr?”

Ksmvr strode into place right behind Zel and Klbkch. He flinched as the Revalantor of the Free Antinium stared at him, but Klbkch said nothing. Zel looked unhappy to be surrounded by Antinium, but his desire to speak to Ryoka clearly outweighed his emotions. He stood stiffly with both arms folded. Klbkch looked equally unhappy to have the Drake [General] behind him. Pisces nearly burst out laughing when he saw Klbkch and Zel fidgeting. How could no one see the humor in that situation?

But he refrained from laughing and just nodded towards Ksmvr as the Antinium waved to Pisces and the other Horns of Hammerad from his place at the back of the line.

“Commendable, I must say.”

Pisces said that appreciatively as he took a comfortable seat at one of the tables. He waved at Lyonette for a drink and something hot to eat while he waited. Pisces smiled to himself until he noticed Ceria and Yvlon glaring at him.

What? What? Oh, did they think he was being sarcastic? Pisces rolled his eyes. He had merely been expressing his gratitude that Ksmvr would stand in line for them, despite his stated issues with Klbkch. Why were people so fixated on believing the worst of him?

In any case, the break gave Ceria and Yvlon time as well, and they spent that time worrying about what Ryoka had discovered in Invrisil. Pisces spent his time far more frugally. He devoted a pleasurable few seconds ordering what was on tap from Lyonette and receiving a small bowl of fried potato strips he quite liked. And all the time he watched Ryoka talking with the people in line.

He couldn’t see Krshia speaking with Ryoka, but he got a good view of Ryoka’s lips as Klbkch approached. Pisces paused, watching the young woman’s lips carefully as he bit into a french fry.

“I told Magnolia.”

Pisces’ eyes narrowed as he watched Klbkch nod, reply, and walk swiftly out of the inn. He couldn’t read the Antinium’s lips—since he didn’t have any, only mandibles. But this was curious too. What had Ryoka told Magnolia and why would it involve Klbkch the Slayer of all people?

After Klbkch came Zel Shivertail. Now Pisces was really interested. He tried to focus on Ryoka’s lips, but the Drake was blocking the way. Pisces hissed under his breath and reached into his robes. Time to try another tack.

Something crawled out of a hidden pocket Pisces had sewn into his new robes and onto his hand. He didn’t react, but carefully lowered it to the underside of the table. Pisces felt it crawl off and casually reached for another fry, not looking down at the ground. He didn’t have to; he could sense what was happening.

Quickly, a small spider began to scuttle down the table leg, onto the floor, and towards where Ryoka was seated across the inn. It was a Shield Spider, or rather, a Shield Spiderling. A baby spider, newly hatched.

And it was dead. In fact, it was undead. Pisces had found the spider a long time ago and figured out a way to reanimate it using his magic. It was an extraordinary achievement in the field of [Necromancy] for him—he hadn’t thought he could animate non-mammalian species until now. No one had appreciated that of course, but that was all to the better now. Because Pisces could see and hear what his creation did.

The undead Shield Spider scuttled quickly across the floorboards. Pisces tried to shield it from anyone’s view, keeping it in the shadows, running along the wall. Fortunately, all the adventurers were busy having a late lunch. Pisces had been worried Halrac, the keen-eyed [Scout] might see, but the man was too busy arguing with Revi. Thank goodness for loudmouthed [Mages]. Pisces detested them the most.

Nearly there…Pisces sat up in anticipation as his Shield Spider moved two tables away from Ryoka and Zel. He could hear them talking, faintly.

“…I am simply asking how…benefactor?…won’t give up…”

That was Zel’s voice. The spider scuttled closer. Pisces could see through its multiple eyes Ryoka and Zel’s feet. He heard Ryoka reply after a pause.

“I can’t tell you.”

“May I ask w—”

Something suddenly smacked the spider sideways, sending its view tumbling around in chaos. Pisces nearly leapt out of his chair. He looked over and saw a white ball of fur, crouched in the exact place where his spider was.

Mrsha! Pisces saw her tail wagging. He nearly stood up before he caught himself. Instead, he sent quick signals to his undead creation. The spider fled towards a table, but Mrsha leapt after it.

Drat the child! Pisces watched in horror as Mrsha chased after the fleeing undead spider. He desperately tried to get the young Gnoll’s attention, but Mrsha was oblivious as she cornered the Shield Spider’s corpse. With all the inquisitiveness, thoughtfulness, and brutality of an innocent child, she smashed the tiny spider into the ground and then sniffed at the remains.

The spider was gone. Pisces couldn’t control it, or hear anything else. He slumped in his chair, wanting to bury his face in his hands. All that work. No one knew how hard it was to animate a spider compared to a Human corpse, let alone put listening and vision spells on it! But she hadn’t known. Yet he’d been so close to hearing something worthwhile!

“Too bad about that.”

Pisces glanced up. Ceria was staring at him across the table. He frowned.

“Excuse me?”

The half-Elf nodded her head very slowly. She stole one of Pisces’ fries and licked at the salt on top before chewing it thoughtfully. She kept her voice very low as she spoke directly to Pisces.

“Next time, you should enchant it with something to make it faster, more durable, or smell bad. Otherwise Mrsha will just destroy it. She likes small moving things, unluckily for you.”

He stiffened and opened his mouth to deny the truth or to lie, but Ceria just looked at him. She pointed to where Ksmvr was patiently waiting at the head of the line. Zel was standing up, looking dissatisfied.

“We’re up.”

Pisces stared at Ceria, and then got to his feet. He reflected that while he saw much more than most, he had to be careful himself. Because other people were watching him. He wondered whether Ceria thought she was on his side, or if she was warning him. It didn’t matter. Pisces had no side.

He was, and always had been alone. Friendships were fleeting, and alliances were simply the prelude to betrayal. Pisces knew he should expect less than nothing from his new party, this reckless endeavor known as the Horns of Hammerad.

And yet, he did like them, even Yvlon. Imagine that.

—-

Ryoka sat in Erin’s inn, a drink of hot, lemon-flavored sugar water in front of her and a bowl of salty fries by her right hand. It was easier to eat fries with her right hand while she used her left hand to lift the cup. Her two missing fingers on her right hand made Ryoka’s grip feel uneasy and lopsided whenever she lifted something remotely heavy.

That wasn’t what she should be focusing on. There was so much to do, so much to think about! Now that Ryoka was back in Liscor, it seemed like everything was happening at once.

First Krshia, then Ilvriss. Now Klbkch. Ryoka watched as the Antinium strode out of the door. She couldn’t say much to him in the inn, not with everyone around. But he got the message. Magnolia knew of his intentions. What would Klbkch do now? Ryoka would have loved to talk it over with him, but now came another problem.

Zel Shivertail sat down across from Ryoka and gave her a brief smile.

“We meet again, Miss Runner. My apologies, it’s Miss Griffin, isn’t it?”

“Ryoka is fine.”

Ryoka stared at him warily. She barely recognized the huge Drake. But she remembered his voice. She remembered the second-to-last last time she’d seen him, in a dark and misty forest and soldiers fought and died around them. He’d been lost, until Ilvriss had arrived and everything had gone to hell.

She’d seen him two other times as well. Both times Zel had been leading a charge. First, on Ilvriss’ camp as Ryoka had run away in the chaos. The second time, against the Goblin Lord as the Stone Spears tribe and Ryoka had been fighting for their lives.

The young woman’s throat constricted as she remembered the thousands of Goblins killing the Gnolls, overrunning Zel’s army. She glanced away from Zel, towards Mrsha. The Gnoll was happily following something on the floor.

Zel followed Ryoka’s gaze.

“I remembered you and that Gnoll cub. Funny—I could have sworn she had brown fur before, but then I only got a short look at you while I was trying to kill that damn Goblin Lord.”

Ryoka paused. She looked at Zel. He’d been courteous to her before, more so than Ilvriss. But she didn’t know the first thing about him. But at least on this subject, being honest might help.

“She did have brown fur. It turned white after the battle.”

After she lost her tribe. Zel looked at Mrsha and shook his head. He looked melancholy. Was there affection in his eyes as he stared at Mrsha? Why?

“So some of the rumors about white fur among Gnolls is true. I had no idea their fur could change color, though. Mrsha certainly gets into enough trouble without needing bad luck.”

“Uh yeah. I heard you helped save her once. Thank you.”

It felt odd. Ryoka was caught between the impulse to profusely thank Zel and the incongruity of it. She wasn’t Mrsha’s parents. But she was her guardian, the only one the Gnoll had left. She should have been there.

More guilt. Zel shook his head casually.

“Anyone would have done the same. But perhaps you can return the favor? I’m sorry about earlier, but you might have guessed that Ilvriss came to Liscor looking for you.”

Ryoka’s heart began to beat a bit faster. She kept her tone casual as she watched Erin buzz about the room, serving food, talking with people. How had her inn gotten so busy? The last time Ryoka had been here, it was practically deserted except for a few visitors. But now she had two Gold-rank adventurer teams staying here? And Zel?

“I did notice. Mind telling me what he wants?”

“He wants to know what happened to his lieutenant. Periss. She ran after you in the battle in the forest and never returned. Ilvriss thinks you had something to do with her going missing.”

Cold spikes of fear ran through Ryoka’s stomach. Here was something else she hadn’t had time to think about. The same argument ran through her head. Az’kerash, the legendary Necromancer was ranked about equal to Teriarch on Ryoka’s list of people she didn’t want to piss off. And if she told people where he was hiding…

Zel spread his claws out on the table.

“Let me tell you what I saw, back when we first met, Ryoka. I met you during a battlefield. Well, I saw you earlier after you’d sent Ilvriss’ camp into chaos. I still have to thank you for that. Without that advantage my side might have lost the battle.”

“Was it an important battle?”

Ryoka stared at Zel. The [General] shrugged, looking slightly bitter.

“Important for some. It was a squabble between one of the Walled Cities and a coalition of city-states. If I’d have lost, there would have been trouble, the cities might have had to become vassals or pay tribute or some other nonsense…but nothing tremendously terrible would have occurred.”

“And that’s why you’re with Ilvriss now? Because you’re all buddies after the war?”

Zel bared his pointed teeth in a grin.

“I hate his scales. But he wanted to know what happened to his lieutenant and I thought it was curious too. Because—and I’ve gone off track—I saw you during the battle. Aside from the fact that you managed to either defeat Periss and a dozen elite [Soldiers] or lose them—which some Couriers would have trouble doing—there was the battle with the Goblin Lord.”

“Yeah. That.”

The [General] stared at Ryoka.

“I’m sorry about that Gnoll tribe. I did all I could to save them, but that Goblin Lord—did you know he was in the area?”

Ryoka’s hand clenched on the edge of the table.

“I had no idea.”

“I thought so. But you saved Mrsha.”

“One of them. Just one.”

“More than I could with an army. The rest of the tribe went down fighting. Every last one of them.”

Zel sighed. Ryoka felt as if she’d dropped through the floor. She reached for the hot drink Erin had given her and took a sip. It felt like she was drinking death.

All of them. An entire tribe. That was Ivolethe’s price.

Ivolethe. Ryoka turned her head. The faerie had vanished after the Gnolls had grabbed her. She might not have wanted to interfere, or known Ryoka wouldn’t be in trouble. Where was she…?

There. She was riding on Mrsha’s head, laughing as the white Gnoll cub snuck up on something on the floor. Ryoka felt worried until she remembered that Erin’s inn was built with copper nails. Ivolethe was free to enter and exit here without danger.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Ryoka started. She glanced at Zel and saw him looking at Mrsha. He shook his head.

“I don’t want to burden you. It’s just that I saw you using that potion—or was it an artifact—after the battle. You ran faster than I’ve ever seen anyone go. And then during the battle—I saw you freeze your way through part of the Goblin Lord’s army to get away. You were running like a Courier then, too.”

The Frost Faeries. Ryoka opened her mouth and then closed it. Zel eyed her calmly.

“Please understand, I’m not accusing you of anything. I am simply asking how you did all that. Do you have some kind of benefactor who supplies you with magical items? Did you have to defend yourself? Is that how Periss died? Ilvriss won’t give up until he knows the truth behind her disappearance.”

Hesitation. Ryoka looked down at her hands. Her two missing fingers. She took a deep breath.

“I can’t tell you.”

“May I ask why not?”

How could she answer that? What was the safest way? Ryoka grabbed a fry and bit into it. Zel did the same as he waited patiently.

“It’s…complicated. If I told you, you might be in danger.”

“Me?”

Zel looked amused by the notion.

“Miss Ryoka, I’ve been in danger since the first Antinium War. You might not know who I am—”

“Zel Shivertail. The Tidebreaker. I know.”

He shrugged, looking embarrassed by the title. Zel reached for a handful of fries, chewing them down as he spoke.

“I’m not the best [General]. My reputation’s overinflated by stories, but I am a seasoned warrior. I’ve had [Assassins] and angry idiots after my head for over a decade. I think the Assassin’s Guild has given up trying to claim the price on my head. Even if an army were after me—or Ilvriss—”

“You’d still be in danger. I know who you are. And I’m still telling you that.”

Ryoka stared at Zel. He stopped chewing and looked at her.

“Really now?”

“Really really.”

“Huh.”

Zel’s tail flicked in interest. Behind him, Ryoka saw Ivolethe flying about, dragging something through the air as Mrsha chased and leapt after it. Both Frost Faerie and Gnoll were loving the game of tag.

“So it’s dangerous to us, hm? What about you? If you need protection—”

“Telling you would make things worse, believe me. I—look, I can’t tell you much. At all. But I call tell you this. I didn’t kill Periss. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t lure her into a trap on purpose or tell someone to kill her—she followed me and she died. I’m sorry it happened, but it was an accident on all sides.”

“In the forest. There was some kind of enchantment there that made me lose my way.”

Zel looked thoughtfully at Ryoka. She bit her lip.

“Don’t ask me anymore. And don’t go looking, please. For your sake. Just let it go.”

“I can let some things go. But my, uh, friend won’t. Ilvriss…that idiot won’t admit it, but I think he and Periss were a couple.”

Ryoka’s heart hurt as it sank.

“He—was?”

Zel nodded. He drummed his claws on the table, which made them cut into the wood until he noticed it and stopped.

“Damn. Sorry. Yes, well, it would be a scandal for a Wall Lord and a lowly officer in his army to be together, but I think that’s why he’s so obsessed. He loved her.”

“I’m sorry. But I still can’t tell you anything.”

Ryoka whispered the words. Zel looked at her. He stared at Ryoka in a way that made her think he was looking into her hidden heart. Then it was done and he nodded.

“I guess that’s all you can tell me for now. I’ll tell Ilvriss what you said, although I can’t promise he’ll stop coming after you. I can stop him, but perhaps…well, we’ll leave it at that for today. I know you’re busy, Ryoka. It was a pleasure to meet you again, regardless.”

He stood up, and pulled something out from a pocket. Ryoka blinked as she saw a dangling piece of metal shaped to look like a slow spiral. There was a large gem in the center, and evenly spaced smaller gems—diamonds perhaps—set along the curving bit of metal. Like a progression. Each one of the gems was glowing a different shade of green—some bright green, one a very pale green, almost yellow. But the biggest gem shone bright and green.

Zel inspected the gems critically for a second and then shook his head.

“Hm. You were telling the truth about all of that. Ilvriss might not be happy, but at least he won’t try to cut my tail off.”

“What—is that—”

“Oh, this is a truth detector. It’s a bit fancier than the truth gems—it records a number of statements so I don’t have to keep looking at it. It’s not very useful, considering you can do the same with a single gem, but Ilvriss insisted.”

“You—”

He put her through a lie detector test! Ryoka gaped at the [General]. He smiled wryly.

“Sorry, but I had to be certain.”

He pocketed the artifact and walked towards the entrance of the inn, smiling and speaking to Lyonette briefly while Ryoka sat in shock.

Truth gems. Ryoka closed her eyes briefly. This was why lying and keeping secrets was so much harder in this world! She really needed to buy something that would negate the effects of such spells. Was there such a thing?

“Hey Ryoka, are you okay? What did Zel want?”

The young woman opened her eyes. Erin hovered next to the table, looking concerned. She had a pair of full mugs in her hand and Ryoka eyed the alcohol with no little degree of temptation.

“What did he want? Uh—well, he was asking about a time when I met him, Erin.”

“You met Zel before? Really?”

“Yep. On my run. I met him and Ilvriss. It’s uh, complicated.”

“Wow.”

Erin looked impressed. She glanced towards the door, but Zel had already left. Still, she leaned down and whispered conspiratorially to Ryoka.

“He’s a pretty big deal among the Drakes. He’s some kind of war hero, and he’s really scary, in a grandfather-type way, you know?”

“I…guess?”

Ryoka couldn’t exactly see that. Then again, she’d met Zel when he was slicing people apart with his claws. Erin nodded.

“He’s cool, though. I uh, think he doesn’t like me as much, but he’s really nice to Lyonette and Mrsha!”

“Oh. Right. He stays here.”

“That’s right!”

So she’d be seeing him around. Ryoka’s heart sank. Erin eyed her friend, and put the mugs on the table.

“Is everything okay? Are you in a big trouble with that Ilvriss guy? Because if you are, I can talk to Zel—”

“No, I can sort it out. I think.”

Ryoka didn’t want to get Erin involved. She knew a bit about the Necromancer—Ryoka had told her in a moment of idiocy. But she couldn’t get Erin involved any more. Ryoka wasn’t sure how dangerous telling people about Az’kerash was, yet. So she wouldn’t tell Erin.

There was a pang in Ryoka’s chest as she thought that. Wasn’t the key problem in every stupid B-grade film keeping secrets? Only, there were some secrets that needed to be kept.

Even from friends? Ryoka cleared her throat and looked at Erin. Her friend. But how long had it been since they’d had a chance to talk? So much had happened…

“Hey Erin, I know we haven’t gotten a chance to talk. I just wanted to say thanks…”

Erin waved a hand at her, looking awkward.

“Aw, don’t mention it. I heard an angry Drake was chasing you around the city with a sword, so I called in a few favors. We should talk—”

“We should!”

Ryoka wanted to say more, but someone—an angry Stitch-girl waving a mug—called Erin’s name and she had to rush off. Ryoka sank back into her seat. This wasn’t how she’d envisioned coming back. All she wanted to do was talk to Erin for a bit, but now here came…

“Ksmvr?”

It was still hard for Ryoka to tell the Antinium apart, but Ksmvr’s lack of a fourth arm helped in identifying him.

“Good evening Miss Ryoka Griffin. I am here to politely inquire about the magical items my party loaned you for the purposes of identification. I am not seeking this knowledge in an avaricious way; merely in order to assist and participate in my adventuring group’s success.”

Ryoka stared at him. She put her head in her hands. Ksmvr stared at her and then at her french fries.

“Are you eating that?”

—-

“Dead gods.”

“Tree rot.”

“Silver and steel.”

“I lack an appropriate expression for this moment. Comrade Pisces, assist me with determining one.”

“I think, wow is probably all you need, Ksmvr.”

Jelaqua Ivirith spoke drily as she peered over the shoulder of Ceria. The other Horns of Hammerad were frozen as they stared at the pile of weapons, armor, and other magical artifacts Ryoka had taken from her bag of holding and piled on the table. The other Gold-rank adventurers in the room were watching from a respectable distance, pretending to eat. But they couldn’t take their eyes off the sparkling treasure any more than Erin could.

“Look at it all. There’s a pair of vambraces, swords—”

“A magical robe, a wand—no, two wands, and a spellbook—”

Ceria was gingerly touching the artifacts as if they might explode. She held up a spellbook, the color bright yellow and inscribed the dark outline of some kind of bird in flight. Pisces picked up one of the rings and stared at a second sword with a frown.

“That wasn’t one of the items we recovered. Was it in the bag of holding?”

“Was all of this in the bag of holding?”

Ceria turned to Ryoka, wide-eyed. The Runner girl stood with her hands in her pockets, smiling awkwardly at the other’s dumbfounded expressions. Mrsha reached for the dagger and Lyonette grabbed her. Ivolethe did the same until Erin lured her away with a bowl full of raw meat and honey.

“There’s no way. Look at all these items! There’s equipment for me, Pisces, Yvlon—there’s equipment for everyone!”

“Amazing.”

Yvlon picked up the buckler and stared at the faint scar, the seam of metal almost invisibly merged together. She tapped the buckler and nearly dropped it when a transparent, shimmering field extended from the sides of the buckler, creating a second shield that overlapped the first, creating a magical barrier in the air.

“I note these swords are not reacting despite their apparent enchantments. May I hold both, or will I burst into flame and die in excruciating agony?”

Ksmvr stared at Ryoka. His words created a momentary hush before Ryoka recovered her tongue.

“It’s fine, Ksmvr.”

“Ah, the enchantments do not conflict?”

She shook her head.

“Some of it is lower-grade stuff, but it’s all compatible or so I’m told. That’s the real benefit here. An expert [Enchanter] did the matching up so you should be able to equip any combination of items without the enchantments clashing.”

“Dead gods.”

Ceria breathed the words out. Her hands were shaking. Erin could understand her emotions.

“I thought you could only use one or two artifacts or else they’d combine and explode!”

“Only if the enchantments are poorly woven. But if an expert in the field were to select quality pieces, an adventurer may wear a large variety of enchanted items.”

Typhenous remarked as he studied the ring Pisces had picked up with unconcealed envy. Ulrien nodded.

“That’s a service a lot of Gold-rank adventurers and Named Adventurers pay for. Your group is exceptionally lucky.”

“But how? I’m sure this all wasn’t in the bag of holding—”

Ceria turned to Ryoka, looking bewildered. Ryoka took a deep breath. This was the part she’d been worried about.

“I had to sell one of the items from the bag. It was valuable. Really valuable. The [Enchanter] I talked to agreed to exchange all of this for the item. He also says he owes you a favor you can call in at any time.”

Everyone went silent at the news. Yvlon glanced at Ceria and Ksmvr scratched at one antennae. At last, Seborn broke the silence. He and Moore were staring at one of the rings Pisces was holding with a frown.

“It must have been some item.”

“Indeed.”

Pisces’ eyes narrowed. He glanced at the array of magical items Hedault had found for Ryoka.

“The fact that you refuse to tell us is indication alone of its worth. Why not reveal its nature…unless you think you made a poor deal? Or perhaps one better than the quality of arms represented here?”

Ryoka frowned, feeling defensive and feeling that she shouldn’t feel defensive. She turned towards Pisces as Ceria and Yvlon stared at her.

“I don’t want to tell you because if I did, you might have gotten into a fight about it. It was an item two of you could use, and only one of you could have.”

Ceria and Pisces traded glances, while Ksmvr and Yvlon stared at each other. The Horns of Hammerad looked at Ryoka. Pisces’ tone was accusing.

“So one of us could have used it to great effect—”

“But only one of you. And it would have caused a huge fight, believe me.”

“So you sold it without consulting us.”

“Pisces!”

Ceria snapped at Pisces, who’d folded his arms disapprovingly.

“We agreed to let Ryoka decide what to do. If she says it was better to sell the artifact—”

“Again, without consulting us. She might have let us know what it was, first.”

“But then we’d fight, wouldn’t we?”

Yvlon frowned at Pisces. She stared at the items, thinking aloud.

“No matter what it was…I bet it would have caused issues, even if we decided whose it would be. How fair would it have been to split the loot afterwards? What if someone wanted to take it and abandon the team? I’ve seen groups torn apart over that before.”

Ceria nodded slowly, and Ksmvr stared at Ceria before nodding energetically as well. Pisces blew out his cheeks, looking annoyed, but someone else voiced their agreement.

“I’ve seen the same thing as well. It happens all the time and it can lead to bloodshed when people fight over the best artifact.”

Jelaqua crossed her arms as she sat at a table with Ulrien and Halrac. Both Gold-rank adventurers nodded as the Selphid spoke directly to Pisces.

“I think you’d better thank your Runner friend here, Horns of Hammerad. She might have spared you an ugly argument.”

Revi, Typhenous, Moore, and Seborn all murmured in agreement. Pisces looked around for support and found none. He sighed dramatically.

“Very well. I suppose I must withdraw my issue. But let us at least find out what we paid for.”

Ryoka smiled, feeling relieved and grateful towards the other adventurers.

“It’s worth it, believe me. Hedault—the guy who did all the appraising and buying—found some quality stuff for you.”

She began to list out the items from memory, handing each one around as the Horns of Hammerad clustered around the table. They were practically shaking with excitement, and the other adventurers drew close, taking the item after the others were done with it and looking it over and talking softly. Erin and Lyonette got a chance to investigate the artifacts too, although Mrsha was banned from touching, much to the Gnoll’s quiet grievance.

“The biggest items are the sword with the weight enchantment, the Flamespread Dagger, the Forceshield Buckler, the [Barkskin] ring, the Ring of Jumping…and the ring that shoots the attack spell. There are a few potions and the bag of glowing stones and monster lure…”

Ryoka showed the Horns of Hammerad the ball with the angry face. Mrsha leapt up onto the table to touch it. It began shrieking and scared Mrsha so badly she fled into the kitchen, crying, until Lyonette went to cuddle her and pour a bit of healing potion into her sensitive ears.

“Ow. Okay, so that’s the stuff we recovered. What’s the rest of this?”

Ceria rubbed at her own ears. Ryoka smiled.

“Nothing too good according to Hedault, which means decent protective enchantments on all the gear. Yvlon—you’ve already got the chest plate, right. I have the vambraces and greaves for you…a helmet as well, and there’s gauntlets somewhere…”

“How strong are the enchantments?”

Erin remarked with interest as she peered at the plain steel gauntlets Yvlon was trying on. The woman winced as she struck part of the metal in her skin with the edge. Jelaqua struck the chest plate with the head of her flail experimentally and nodded in approval.

“This is good stuff. I’ve seen enchantments like these before. They cushion blows, not just make the metal stronger. Give me a good cuirass and I could kill a score of zombies by myself.”

“You could kill a group of Ghouls with that sword if you’re quick enough.”

Ulrien remarked as he tested the sword by tapping Moore’s staff as the half-Giant blocked. Moore grunted softly.

“A strong enchantment. Very nice.”

“You bet. And I’ve got a robe for Pisces. It only has a small protective charm, but I’m told it resists stains. And it’s white.”

“Thank the leaves for that.”

Pisces sniffed as Ceria tossed the robe at him. He was studying the two wands. There were also three rings sitting on the table next to them.

“Am I to understand these are both for us? What of the rings?”

Ryoka nodded, smiling.

“Two wands, both made of…damn, I forget. Some kind of redwood tree? Hedault said it didn’t really matter. The centers are filled with Waisrabbit bone in one, and Gazereye—the stone, not the actual eye of a Gazer—in the other.”

“Low-quality materials, but acceptable. I shall use the bone wand, Ceria, if you agree.”

“Fine by me.”

“Aw. Rabbit bone and stone? Is that really wand material?”

Erin peered dubiously at the wands. It was Pisces who answered with a second, self-important sniff.

“Both materials are decently rare and certainly useful as catalysts, Erin. Gazereye is a decently powerful hallucinogenic stone whose powers are magical and Waisrabbits have several unique abilities.”

“Like what?”

“They can teleport. And cast a form of offensive magic. They’re quite hard to catch. These wands would be costly, if not exactly hard to acquire. What of the rings, Ryoka?”

“Okay, there’s three of them…uh, I think this one has the [Lightweight] enchantment. I thought it would be good for Ksmvr and Yvlon—you won’t be slowed down by the armor.”

“That’s handy.”

“These two…Ksmvr, this ring lets you breathe underwater.”

Ksmvr paused.

“Very valuable. I shall take it.”

Ryoka sensed Ulrien and Halrac’s eyes on her. They knew that she knew the Antinium’s weak point. She cleared her throat and went on.

“And for you Ceria, I have this ring that has a catalyst built into it. It’s supposed to help amplify your ice spells. See, the outside is enchanted to insulate the inner part, because inside of it is—”

“Everfreeze Ice. I see.”

Pisces inspected the ring. Ryoka blinked.

“You can tell?”

“Oh yes. Springwalker could draw from the cold of the ice in situations where the temperature does not suit her spellcasting. It is a good choice. But where is my ring?”

“I have a spellbook. One filled with a few decent Tier 3 spells and some unusual Tier 2 and Tier 1 spells.”

Ryoka offered it to Pisces. He took it without comment and began flipping through it with desultory interest.

“And for me?”

Ksmvr stared at Ryoka. She smiled awkwardly.

“I didn’t know if any of the armor I got would fit you, Ksmvr. So instead I had Hedault find another sword. It’s enchanted to be a bit sharper and sturdier, but not much more. I’m told it’s good enough for a Gold-rank adventurer, though. I have a cloak designed to protect from mundane arrows as well, but that’s all I could find that would fit you. I got you a bow that can shoot twice as far and some enchanted arrows, but no armor. Sorry.”

The Antinium paused, and then nodded.

“That is quite enough. My thanks for the consideration you have shown.”

Ryoka paused. She had her hand over the bag of holding the Horns had given her. Now she reached into it and began to pull out potions, a scroll, a length of enchanted rope…

“This is extra stuff, but it’s the kind of adventuring gear that Gold-rank adventurers use. I’ve got strong healing potions, mana potions…enough to get you all set up.”

The Horns of Hammerad clustered around, appraising the items. Pisces looked quite impressed by the quality of the healing potions and tried to pocket one before Ceria caught him.

Revi edged over to her teammates. She whispered to them as the others kept talking.

“Hey Ulrien, Halrac, appraise how much those extra items were worth for me.”

The two experienced adventurers frowned. Ulrien started counting on his fingers.

“A full set of matching enchanted plate armor is…ten thousand gold pieces at least.”

“That much?”

“I don’t have a matching set of armor. Even if all the enchantments aren’t of the same quality, the fact that they don’t conflict is what matters. That’s why I use other enchantments and don’t wear plate at all. As for the wands, what do you think, Halrac?”

“At least a thousand gold pieces each. That [Necromancer] is underselling them. They’re not cheap, hundred gold-piece wands with an expendable spell. As for the sword…if it’s good enough for Gold-rank, it’s worth a few thousand gold.”

“Oh come on. I’ve seen weapons for a few hundred—”

“Not if it’s good, Revi. Quality matters and these ones have no mana bleed. That doubles their prices alone. Add in a spellbook for a thousand…robes are probably a few hundred…expensive cloak if it can resist arrow strikes…the bow…rings…”

“Don’t forget those potions and the other items. Some look useful.”

Halrac nodded.

“Say twenty five thousand for the lot?”

“Twenty five thousand?

He shrugged.

“I’m guessing. It could be half again as much. Or half that if you have a haggling Skill. The fact that all the enchantments don’t spill over is incredibly useful. It means the Horns can upgrade their pieces without fear or swap them out. That’s worth a large amount. As for the rest…”

“Makes you wonder what the item they sold was. It must have been expensive.”

Ulrien frowned thoughtfully.

“The real question is how big the debt the [Enchanter] owes them is. Is it a small favor or…?”

They turned their attention back to Ceria as she spoke to the others, gesturing to Ksmvr.

“We have a decent spread of equipment—and more gold than we gave Ryoka. We can outfit Ksmvr with anything else he might need.”

Ceria pointed to the pile on the table as she turned to the others. She was shaking and grinning at the same time. She hesitated, opened her mouth, turned to the rest of her group.

“Should we…start dividing stuff up? Does anyone have a preference?”

“The robes, armor and so on are easily divided. However, the most powerful items—the dagger, sword, buckler, and three rings are not. I shall express my desire for the [Barkskin] ring and the ring that projects the spell immediately.”

Pisces picked up both rings, looking at the others. Ceria frowned.

“You can’t have two rings, Pisces.”

“Why not?”

“Because I want that ring.”

“Shouldn’t a warrior have it?”

“Yeah, but it’s [Barkskin]. Do you know how useful that is?”

“I do. That is why I want it.”

“Hold on, let’s not fight. We should decide who gets the easiest items to assign first.”

Yvlon interrupted the squabble between the two [Mages] as she picked up the sword. She swung it carefully as everyone backed up to let her do it. Yvlon looked at the sword, and then wistfully at the buckler.

“As much as I’d like a magical shield, having a sword like this has been a dream of mine. Ksmvr, would you let me take this one?”

“Yes, Comrade Yvlon. And I believe you should have this as well given that you are more proficient with it than I.”

To everyone’s surprise, Ksmvr handed the buckler to Yvlon. She tried to push it back, looking shocked.

“I can’t have both!”

“It is only logical. You are specialized in the sword and shield style of fighting, Comrade Yvlon. I am used to any number of weapon combinations. It would be most effective to concentrate strength in one member of the party.”

“But I—no, it wouldn’t be fair.”

“But it is I who insist. As a member of the party, I wish to make the most advantageous decision for the group possible.”

Everyone stared at Ksmvr. He shrugged. Yvlon looked moved to tears as she took the buckler.

“Call me Yvlon, Ksmvr. I’m sure I’ve told you that. And if you’re sure, I’ll gladly accept. But I won’t forget this.”

Ksmvr smiled, raising his mandibles and parting them slightly as Yvlon put the buckler on one arm and held the sword with the other. Fully armored once again and holding the two enchanted items, she looked like she was ready for another battle. Ryoka had to smile. Ksmvr’s generosity did unpleasantly happy things to her heart, and she saw Jelaqua nudge her two companions and grin as well. Halrac looked approving, and Ulrien and Typhenous were nodding in tandem.

Ashamed by Ksmvr’s display, Ceria and Pisces stopped fighting over the rings and looked at each other.

“Ksmvr’s right. You take the ring with the spell attack, Pisces.”

“And you take the [Barkskin] ring, Ceria.”

“No.”

To the surprise of all again, Ceria handed both the [Barkskin] ring and the Ring of Jumping to Ksmvr. He stared down at them.

“But if I accept these items, what will you have, Captain Ceria?”

“Call me Ceria too, Ksmvr. And I have the spellbook. I think it’s fair if I don’t take an item, right Pisces?”

She looked at the [Necromancer]. He looked startled, and then shook his head.

“One item would be appropriate, Ceria.”

“Not if Ksmvr needs it. Ryoka had the right idea with the cloak, but Ksmvr can’t wear armor like most of us. He needs protection. As for the ring…I’m not a frog, and I hate heights. I don’t think you want to leap around, Pisces, Yvlon—”

“No thanks.”

Ryoka bit her lip as Ksmvr accepted the ring. She really, really would have liked it for herself. But she didn’t want to say it out loud and spoil the mood.

Newly equipped, the Horns of Hammerad looked at each other. Pisces was smiling, and Yvlon looked like a girl with a bunch of toys. Sharp, deadly toys.

“What do we do now, oh Captain? I want to run out and challenge a Mothbear right now.”

Ceria nodded, flipping the wand over in her hands and catching it. With a pang, Ryoka realized she alone would have only two new items from all of this, the wand and ring. But Ceria seemed happy enough. She thought, and then indicated the wand in her hands.

“Practice first. We have to know how to fight with all this—this equipment! Then we’ll think about what we could do with our new gear. I’ll bet there are all sorts of new tactics we could employ…”

“You might also want to see if the Guild will recertify you as Gold-rank adventurers.”

Everyone looked at Ulrien. The big man pointed at Yvlon’s sword.

“Your gear alone could make you a Gold-rank, Miss Yvlon. And given the experience of the others and your ability, I’d say getting the Guild to confirm your rank might be easy. If not, one or two requests would certainly put you there.”

“Gold rank.”

Ceria and Yvlon breathed the words. Ryoka held her breath. Just like that. The Horns of Hammerad had approached the next tier of adventuring in a single moment. The moment lasted right up until Typhenous coughed.

“On the note of artifacts, I hate to make the request now, but before you are too accustomed to your items, I would like to ask if you had considered selling the ring young Pisces holds.”

The Horns of Hammerad stared at Typhenous. Ulrien nudged the older mage, looking disapproving, but Typhenous wouldn’t be dissuaded.

“I will pay more than the ring’s worth, enough for another magical item of similar or equal value. Such a ring could be quite useful to me.”

“Hey, if you’re bidding, what about me? I’ll pay more than Typhenous. Just show me what it can do.”

Revi crowded over to Pisces. Erin waved her hands frantically.

“Not indoors!”

Seborn stared at the table.

“If we’re bidding, I’d like to ask if you’d consider selling the dagger. No one claimed that.”

“Oh, right! No one here uses daggers. I mean, have a backup, but I don’t need one. And Ksmvr—”

Ceria wavered. She looked at Ksmvr, who shrugged.

“I could use the weapon, but if it will assist the group as a whole…”

“How much would you pay for the dagger?”

Pisces’ eyes gleamed. Seborn began to count on his fingers. Typhenous and Revi were arguing and Ulrien was arguing with the both of them. Ceria raised her hands and shouted.

“Please, not right now! We won’t sell anything until we discuss…”

She looked helplessly at the others. Ulrien nodded.

“Ease off them, Typhenous, Revi. They’ve just gotten their first big haul. You remember how overwhelming that moment is.”

“Ah, I do. To be young again.”

Typhenous sighed, looking only slightly disappointed. Then he clicked his fingers together and created a shower of sparks in every color that delighted Mrsha.

“This calls for a celebration, doesn’t it?”

“Of course!”

Jelaqua sprang onto a table with a mug. Mrsha leapt up beside her and the Selphid laughed and raised a mug towards Ceria and the others.

“To the Horns of Hammerad, on getting their first true haul from a dungeon! Erin, roll out some more kegs! It’s time to celebrate this properly!”

Everyone in the room cheered. Ceria laughed and Erin had to smile as Lyonette ran over to the bar’s counter to count how many kegs they actually had and if she’d have to buy more from Krshia.

“Party!”

Ryoka stared around as Yvlon and Ceria hugged each other and Jelaqua laughed and quaffed until Moore lifted her off the table. At once, the mood in the inn had turned festive. The Runner heard Halrac as the [Scout] turned to Revi.

“You’re not going to complain about another party, are you?”

Revi sniffed.

“What do you take me for? I’m all for having fun. Hey Erin, just leave the keg out here why don’t you?”

“Hey, that’s the best idea you’ve ever had, Revi!”

Erin disappeared into the kitchen and then came out and helped Ulrien lift a barrel onto a table. Moore picked up another one and put it on a second table, and then Ryoka had a mug in her hands. Ceria hugged her.

“You did it. We have to thank you—and talk about paying you later!”

“Oh, that’s really not—”

Ryoka didn’t get a chance to finish. Suddenly Ceria was yelling for everyone to toast her. And of course, a toast meant a long drink. And Ryoka was tired from the road, and then Ivolethe decided to make off with a mug meant for Moore…

That was how the party went. Ryoka found herself playing with the bag of glowing stones, rolling them as Mrsha ran excitedly after the glowing treasures. Somehow, the people in the city had heard about the party—perhaps it was a Skill, or maybe there was a class, [Partycrasher]—and she saw familiar and unfamiliar faces mixing and laughing.

Then the door to Celum opened. Ryoka’s jaw dropped as a familiar head poked through. Octavia blinked as the wave of sound and light hit her.

“What the fuck?”

No one had told her about the door. Ryoka’s jaw stayed open as Octavia opened the door wider, exposing her shop, and then walked through, straight from Celum to Liscor in a moment. She raised her voice, called out.

“Hey Erin, I have another question about—is that Ryoka?”

She caught sight of Ryoka and nearly ran straight over Lyonette. The [Princess] turned [Barmaid] had a tray of drinks and slopped some onto Octavia’s front.

“Sorry, sorry! Uh, want a drink?”

“Don’t mind if I do!”

Octavia promptly forgot about what she wanted Erin for, took the mug, and laughed as she came over to Ryoka.

“Ryoka! You didn’t tell me you were in Liscor!”

“How did you—”

“Oh, the door? Wonderful thing. I still think I should be charging a fee, what with Erin putting it in my shop. You didn’t know? Well, it’s not like you ran all the way to Liscor from Celum, is it? Hah! Runner joke there. Don’t scowl. Uh…so anyways, there’s this door. Let me tell you all about it!”

It was a garbled explanation, but Ryoka got the gist. After Octavia had wandered away to find a second drink—she’d downed the first one with incredible speed—Ryoka went looking for Erin. She had a magical door? Ryoka’s mind felt stretched by the possibilities it represented.

“Hey Erin. About this door—”

“Oh, right! The door! Yeah, didn’t I tell you about it? It’s amazing—”

“If you did, I don’t remember!”

“What?”

“I said if you did—”

“Sorry, let me—Lyonette! I have the noodles ready! Where’d you put the beef?”

Turning her head, Ryoka saw Lyonette scream back across the room.

“Upper left pantry!”

“Thanks!”

Erin went to the upper left pantry, and Ryoka saw to her horror that a plate of raw beef, still bloody and raw, was sitting there. She grabbed Erin’s arm when the girl went to grab it.

“You’re not going to cook that!”

“Yeah, why not?”

The girl stared at Ryoka blankly as Ryoka gabbled for words.

“It’s raw! It’s been sitting out there for…who knows how long! Haven’t you frozen it or—or—”

“Oh! I get it!”

Erin slapped her forehead, grinning hugely.

“I have a new Skill!”

“What?”

“I just got it and—hang on, I’m coming!”

Erin turned and shouted at Ceria, who was waving and shouting something about a french fry disaster and Ksmvr. She made a face.

“Sorry! Explain in a bit.”

But it turned out that little bit was a while, and when Erin came back, she had to hurry and get the rest of the food she’d been cooking ready for the hungry partyers.

“So Erin, we should talk—”

“Totally! Totally! Hand me that bowl of butter, will you?”

Ryoka did. Erin grabbed it and put a generous dollop into her pasta, making it sinfully buttery. Ryoka had to raise her voice to make herself heard above the general din.

She’d followed Erin into the kitchen, but Ryoka had to keep stepping aside to let Lyonette and Erin rush about with dishes. Ryoka fed bits of marinated beef to Mrsha as she tried to keep up a conversation with Erin.

“So what’s been happening?”

“Oh…you know, stuff. Nothing much.”

That was a total non-answer and a lie, but really, what was Erin supposed to say? The [Innkeeper] was in her element, which was to say, doing everything at once for everyone. Ryoka saw Erin find a bowl for her beef, which was excellent, it had to be said, bring a pot of pasta out for people as Lyonette cleared a table, rush back into the kitchen to find plates, forks, knives, spoons…she was so busy and yet she turned Ryoka down when the girl offered to help.

“You have fun! You just got back, so…relax!”

Ryoka tried to, but she couldn’t help but feel guilty. Because she’d intended to talk with Erin, and she didn’t seem to have the opportunity to. She kept telling herself she’d do it later, when everything was quieter.

In her defense, it had been a long time since Ryoka had last been to the Wandering Inn.

—-

How does news of a party spread? It could only be magical, or so Erin felt. It was some divine providence, some kind of fate that snagged people up and told the little part of their brains that lived for trying to limbo underneath a sword while drinking shots of Thunderhammer—it was close enough to what Erin had explained, so she let it go—that there was fun to be had.

Maybe that was how a group of Humans from Celum ended up mixing with the Gnolls and Drakes from Liscor. Then again, most were adventurers, and perhaps it was one of the Gold-rank adventurers who’d spread the word. They’d come to celebrate the Horns of Hammerad ostensibly; really, adventurers would use any excuse to eat and get drunk.

But they weren’t the only ones. In the middle of the party, as Erin was debating having a seat and seeing Ryoka had time to have a shouted conversation…maybe outside, she heard someone shout.

“Ryoka!”

Suddenly, the door to Celum was open and Garia and Fals came through. They made a beeline for Ryoka, who looked startled and pleased to see them. Erin smiled, but the smile slipped a bit and she had to hang onto it.

She was so busy. Erin hadn’t been planning a party tonight and she had to scramble to use all the food in her stores. But it was a party for Ryoka and the Horns of Hammerad, so she worked hard and tried to make everyone happy, mainly by stuffing their faces and serving them drinks until they threw up, which was another problem. Erin kept busy into the night, serving tables, cooking more food. She was making money, and that was good too, right?

She was tired, dragging again, when it was over, sometime past midnight. Erin stared around the room, ready to crash despite the dirty tables, when she realized Ryoka didn’t have anywhere to sleep.

“What if she sleeps upstairs with Mrsha and me? There’s plenty of room.”

Lyonette suggested to the two as Erin wrung her hands and Ryoka offered to sleep in the basement. Erin nodded, relieved. Ryoka paused, looking and feeling guilty.

“Ah, well, it’s too late to chat. We have to catch up sometime, right?”

Erin smiled, tired, sleepy, a tiny bit upset. She glanced around the dirty inn, filled with things to do and lied to Ryoka.

“Oh, it’s no problem. We’ll talk tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah.”

Ryoka hesitated and then turned away, practically dead on her feet. Erin stared at a table, and knew if she didn’t clean up now, she’d have to do it while making breakfast. She lurched over to a table, wandering to sleep. Ryoka watched her friend, full of unsaid words and things she wanted to say or ask, but was too afraid to.

Two young women, two friends, stood in the dark inn by the flickering fire, feeling more like strangers because they hadn’t talked yet. Because they had their own lives, which was natural. But they still felt the distance.

And then as Ryoka got ready to sleep in a room where a small Gnoll cub was lying on the floor in the moonlight, her sides rising and falling, Lyonette drew Ryoka aside.  She told her about Christmas. And Ryoka remembered the sight of Erin bending over a table, collecting dishes in the darkness, and knew what she had to do.

4.11

Ryoka woke up when she stopped breathing. It wasn’t that she’d stopped trying of course; it was just that trying to inhale through a layer of fur was a nearly impossible feat.

“Grfph!”

Mrsha had been happily sleeping in her new spot on Ryoka’s head. She went flying as Ryoka sat up, but landed in her actual bed. She woke up, looked around, and glared at Ryoka reproachfully.

Ryoka glared back. She coughed, spat out a bit of white fur, and looked around.

“That was not fun. Mrsha, you’re not a cat. Don’t act like one.”

The Gnoll sat up and yawned. She scratched at her head with a paw, and then padded over to Ryoka. She began to rub her head against Ryoka’s face.

That was like a cat. But a cat didn’t hug you. Ryoka felt her irritation slipping away. She hesitated, then hugged Mrsha back.

“Okay. Okay, I guess I can forgive you. Why don’t we have breakfast now that I’m up?”

The Gnoll nodded eagerly. She scampered towards the stairs and Ryoka wondered what she was going to do with Mrsha. What could she do? The Gnoll was homeless. This was a good home for her, but—

She wasn’t a cat. She was a person, a child. Yet she couldn’t speak. And Ryoka had no idea how old Mrsha really was. Urksh had talked to her like she was a kid, but she could be anywhere from just a baby to a pre-teen by that standard.

Ryoka dressed herself and blinked at the dark sky. She walked downstairs, hearing Mrsha running about. Her mind was filled with somber thoughts.

If she was in her tribe, Mrsha might have grown up fine. She could be a [Hunter], a [Cook]—her disability wouldn’t hinder anything else. But if she grew up here, what would she do when she was older? Get a job at Erin’s inn?

Would they be around that long? Would Erin and Ryoka grow up here? Really? And if they didn’t, what would happen to Mrsha, to Lyonette, when they left?

These were dark thoughts for a morning. Ryoka decided she wanted to face them on a full stomach. Hopefully Erin was awake. Maybe Ryoka could sneak by her and steal some food? The Asian girl blinked as she entered the common room of the inn.

“Huh.”

“Morning Ryoka! Want some honey bread and sausage?”

Erin grinned as she turned with frying pan and spatula in hand. She finished ladling hot, sizzling sausage onto Zel Shivertail’s plate as Mrsha sat herself down next to him. The Gnoll cub waved to Ryoka and bounced up and down in her seat.

“Erin. You’re already up?”

“Yup! I’ve been awake for like an hour. Or two? Lyonette’s got your bread. Hey Mrsha, leave some honey for Ryoka, okay?”

The Gnoll nodded eagerly as Lyonette emerged from the kitchen with some bread, steaming, freshly cut. Ryoka’s stomach began to rumble the instant she smelled it.

“Good morning, Ryoka.”

Zel greeted Ryoka as if there was nothing odd about sitting with Mrsha. He smiled as Mrsha reached for a mug in Lyonette’s hand. The [Princess] frowned at Mrsha.

“Don’t grab or I’ll drop everything, Mrsha.”

Obediently, Mrsha sat and waited for Lyonette to put the mug on the table. Lyon turned and smiled at Ryoka.

“Hi Ryoka. Is bread and sausage good?”

“Uh…sure.”

Still blinking sleep from her eyes, Ryoka sat at the table across from Zel. She watched as Mrsha began to slurp greedily at the warm honeyed milk. In moments, she had her own plate of bread, sausage, and a mug of hot milk. Zel passed a bowl of honey across the table and Ryoka slathered it over her bread.

“Hell of a breakfast.”

“I’m growing soft with age. I can’t stay here too long or I’ll get spoiled by the food.”

Zel sighed happily as he patted his stomach. He eyed Ryoka, and the young woman tensed slightly. But Zel just nodded to the honey.

“Mind passing it back? I think Mrsha wants more.”

That was breakfast. Zel didn’t speak much, and Mrsha was happy enough to provide enough entertainment at the table. She unabashedly tried to steal food from both Ryoka and Zel’s plates when she was done with her food. Not because she was hungry; Ryoka was sure she could get more if she wanted. It seemed to be a game.

Zel casually blocked Mrsha’s paws, smiling fondly as she tried to sneak around his plate and grab his food. Ryoka deliberately lifted her plate up as Mrsha tried the same on her; the Gnoll leapt onto her chair and tried to climb Ryoka’s head.

“Mrsha!”

Lyonette rescued Ryoka as Ryoka tried to keep from dropping her plate. She pulled Mrsha off and made the Gnoll apologize to Ryoka. Then more people came downstairs, attracted by the noise and food. And then a door opened and the Horns of Hammerad came up out of the basement.

“Ah, is Mrsha causing trouble again?”

Ceria smiled at the Gnoll. Pisces blinked and rubbed at his face as he slumped over to a table. He didn’t seem to wake up until Lyonette passed him a mug and put food in front of his face.

“Don’t try stealing from me today, child.”

Revi stared at Mrsha as the Gnoll abandoned her table in search of new targets. She tugged at a loose thread around her neck as Mrsha ignored her. Jelaqua laughed as she tempted Mrsha over with a sausage held in pallid fingers. Mrsha leapt, but Jelaqua’s hand blurred and she was chomping down the sausage and catching Mrsha by the time the Gnoll landed.

“Please don’t encourage her, Jelaqua.”

Ryoka stared as the room filled with adventurers. She blinked down at her empty mug and raised it as Lyonette passed by with a pitcher.

“Oops. Here you are, Ryoka.”

Ryoka sipped at the sweet honey milk and then turned her head as a door opened. Not to the front of the inn. Rather, a door set in the side of the wall opened and closed. Ryoka stared as Octavia, looking more disheveled than Pisces, stumbled in.

“Food? Food…”

She stumbled over to a table and put her head down. She was red-eyed and had shadows from lack of sleep. She ate her bread like a starving thing, scarfing it down and snarling at Mrsha when the Gnoll got close.

This was how breakfast in Erin’s inn went. Ryoka sat, sipping her drink with Zel as she watched Pisces tease Mrsha, levitating a chunk of honey-coated bread just over the Gnoll’s head as she leapt and tried to catch it.

Ryoka saw how bustling Erin’s inn was. She felt almost out of place in this new atmosphere, but she could see how it attracted people. There was good food to eat—bread not a minute out of the oven and hot sausage was a treat, even for someone who used to eat in fancy hotels and restaurants when her family travelled.

Ryoka watched as Lyonette rushed about the room, refilling drinks, taking requests, and because she knew to look for it, she watched Erin. The [Innkeeper] didn’t stop moving. She was in the kitchen, cooking, chatting with Halrac at a table, breaking up a fight between Octavia and Pisces over the last piece of bread—and she’d been up for two hours already.

“Erin, I would love to talk about those magical dishes you made for those adventurers a day ago.”

Jelaqua was speaking with Erin as the girl brought over a second loaf of bread to the table for Moore. Ryoka took a breath and stood up. Time to make her move.

“Excuse me?”

The adventurer and Erin looked over as Ryoka made her way over to them. Erin smiled, and Ryoka nodded politely at Jelaqua. She had a hard time not staring at the Selphid’s incredibly pale face, and a harder time not ogling the gigantic man sitting on the ground and still bending over the table, or the half-crustacean fellow.

“What’s up, Ryoka?”

“Sorry—Jelaqua, is it? I’m going to have to ask that you talk to Erin later. She’s got a prior appointment today.”

“Oh?”

Jelaqua’s eyebrows rose. She glanced at Erin, whose face had gone totally blank. Ryoka was just glad she didn’t need Erin to pretend anything. The girl was awful at lying.

“I do? Uh, I don’t remember Ryoka—”

“We’re going out. Just you and me.”

“What? We are?”

Every head in the room turned. Ryoka felt herself go a bit red. She still hated being at the center of attention. But she was getting used to it.

“That’s right. You need a break. And we’ve got catching up to do. So you can finish serving breakfast—”

“I can do it!”

Lyonette waved a hand eagerly. She winked unsubtly at Ryoka. Erin hesitated.

“But I should do lunch. And there’s this thing I do with adventurers, Ryoka—”

“Nope. It can wait. You go have fun!”

Jelaqua laughed. She reached out and slapped Erin on the back. The girl staggered a few steps until Ryoka caught her. Seborn kicked Jelaqua. The Selphid looked abashed.

“Oops. Sorry.”

“No problem. But I’ve got an inn, Ryoka. I can’t just—”

“No arguments. We’re going to go to Celum. Lyonette’s got the shop.”

“Hold on!”

Ceria called out, frowning. She looked at Ryoka.

“We wanted to talk with you, Ryoka. We still need to pay you for going all the way to Invrisil and getting all the artifacts appraised—”

“Tomorrow.”

Ryoka tried to drag Erin towards the door Octavia had stepped through. Someone else called out.

“Hold up! What about lunch?”

Revi crossed her arms. Ryoka stared at her.

“Get it somewhere else. Or I’m sure Lyonette could make something.”

“You’re just going to walk off with our [Innkeeper]? What if we need her?”

“Too bad. She needs a break.”

“Ryoka, really, I appreciate it, but—”

“Nope.”

There was an art to being a jerk. Ryoka shut Erin down and turned her. She began to push her towards the magical door. She met Zel’s eyes as the [General] stared at her in amusement and looked away. She aimed her next comment at the entire room.

“Erin needs a break and I want to catch up with her. But I can’t do that when every two seconds someone wants a piece of her, or needs her to solve some incredible problem.”

The adventurers in the room glanced at each other. Halrac nodded to Ulrien and the big adventurer spoke for his group.

“No objections. Go ahead, Miss Erin. You do deserve a break.”

“I—well—okay—but are you sure, Lyonette?”

“Go ahead!”

Mrsha ran after Erin and Ryoka, but that was fine. Ryoka had nearly gotten the weakly protesting Erin to the door.

“Maybe I can just help tidy up—”

“Nope. Now, let’s get out of here before—”

The door burst open. Ryoka heard a shout.

“Erin! Erin!”

Olesm ran into the room, trailing snow and looking about excitedly. He spotted Erin and made a beeline to her. Ryoka tried to bar the Drake as he danced excitedly around her and Erin.

“Erin, you’ll never guess what!”

“What?”

“I just got the most incredible communication from one of the Walled Cities. I just learned—and you’ll never believe this—”

“Nope!”

Ryoka threw her arms up and blocked Olesm as the Drake tried to show a letter to Erin. Olesm halted and stared at her, confused.

“Oh. Miss Ryoka. You’re back. Well, listen to this—”

“No.”

The [Tactician] looked surprised.

“No?”

“No. I’m sorry Olesm, but whatever you have to say, you’ll have to say it to Erin later. Tonight, maybe.”

“What? But I can’t wait that long—”

“Too bad. Erin’s busy. She’s taking a break today.”

Olesm stared at Ryoka, completely dumbfounded. He raised the scrap of parchment in his claws helplessly and gestured towards it.

“But it’s the most incredible news—”

“Is someone going to die if Erin doesn’t hear it?”

Ryoka crossed her arms. Olesm hesitated. His energetically waving tail slowed.

“…No.”

Ryoka nodded.

“In that case, will this incredible thing still be there tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Then it can wait. Erin, come on.”

“Sorry, Olesm.”

“Aw, but—”

Ryoka opened the door as Olesm danced in place, looking upset. He called out as Ryoka stared into Octavia’s shop, eying the place where Erin’s inn vanished and Octavia’s shop began. That was real magic.

“You first, Erin.”

“Okay.”

“But it would just take five minutes! Ten! Please?”

“No.”

“It’s about chess!”

“Don’t care.”

Erin’s head turned as Ryoka tried to push her through the door.

“Well, if it’s about chess—”

“No. You’re taking a break.”

Ryoka got her friend through the doorway. The people in Erin’s inn heard her arguing with the other girl for a moment, and then the door closed. Olesm stood dejectedly in the center of the inn, looking heartbroken.

A few seconds later, the door opened. Every head turned as Pawn walked into the inn, brushing snow off of his head. He was followed a second later by another Antinium holding a bow and a dead bird. Well, ‘bird’ was stretching the term generously. This one looked like a smaller version of a pterodactyl.

Pawn glanced around the room as Bird brushed snow off of his shoulders. He opened his mandibles and addressed Lyonette.

“Is Erin here?”

Bird raised his catch.

“I have birds. They are not rotten.”

Everyone stared at them. Ceria paused mid-chew and swallowed what was in her mouth. She looked at Yvlon, who smiled crookedly.

“Ryoka does have a point.”

—-

“Aw, come on Ryoka. I want to know what Olesm has to say!”

“And you can. Later. For now—come on Mrsha. Don’t wander off!”

Ryoka strode down the street, shepherding Mrsha and Erin both. They were like cats. Mrsha hadn’t been part of Ryoka’s plan, but she’d snuck through the door into Celum behind the girls and Ryoka didn’t want to spend time trying to make her go back.

She had to talk with Erin. She had to. She’d put it off for too long. And she needed privacy to do that. So Ryoka took Erin to the one place where she was sure no one would bother them.

The Runner’s Guild in Celum.

Heads turned as Ryoka pushed open the door. She grinned as she walked into the room.

“Hey there. I’m back. Anyone miss me?”

For a second, Ryoka thought the [Receptionist] at the counter might have had a heart attack on seeing Ryoka’s face. Every eye immediately scanned Ryoka, searching no doubt for a small blue faerie. But Ryoka hadn’t spotted Ivolethe today. Instead, the Runners and [Receptionists] only saw Erin and Mrsha, sniffing the air curiously.

“Miss Ryoka, ah, how can we help you today?”

One of the female [Receptionists] hurried across the room towards Ryoka. She looked apprehensive, but Ryoka only smiled.

“I’d like to use one of the private meetings rooms if they’re available. Can you give me a key?”

“A private—oh.”

The [Receptionist] blinked at Erin. The other girl smiled at her.

“Hi, I’m Erin. How are you?”

Ryoka coughed.

“She’s my client.”

“Oh. Oh. In that case, let me just—”

The [Receptionist] hurried back to the counter and had a conversation with her co-worker. Erin edged over to Ryoka as Mrsha stared at the Runners and they stared back.

“Ryoka, what are we doing?”

“Finding somewhere quiet to talk.”

The Runner’s Guild was hardly a quiet place. However, it did have one feature that made it ideal for people who needed privacy, and that was the rule about Runner’s confidentiality.

Whether it was a letter, a parcel, a giant flaming sword with the owner’s name on it or anything in between, a Runner was supposed to keep the name of their clients and the nature of their delivery secret, even from people like [Guardsmen]. Unless they were testifying in relation to a crime, that was.

It was an unspoken code of conduct that wasn’t as highly enforced among Street Runners, but City Runners and especially Couriers traded on their trustworthiness. Your reputation for keeping secrets was part of your identity as a Runner. A Runner who blabbed might find themselves out of work or with a knife in their backs.

And to facilitate that need for secrecy, each Guild had one or two or many rooms that could be used by clients wanting to talk to Runners about personal deliveries. Such deals were often quite lucrative, and usually only occurred between Runners who’d worked with the same person for a number of years. They met in these rooms, which were shielded against eavesdropping and of course, completely private for the two to meet in safety.

This was what Ryoka wanted now. She waited until the woman at the desk came back with something in her hand. A key.

“Miss Ryoka, your room is the first up the stairs. I hope you and your client have a pleasant negotiation.”

She stared at Erin, and the girl smiled at her. Ryoka smiled.

“Thanks. I notice you got all that snow cleared up. I guess I’m forgiven since you haven’t kicked me out yet, right? Or is Persua banned for life?”

A muscle twitched in the [Receptionist]’s face.

“I believe the [Guildmaster] will want to speak with you later. But please, take this key.”

She handed the key to Ryoka and turned away. Ryoka felt a bit guilty, but she still hadn’t quite forgiven the Guild for letting Persua act like…Persua. Erin nudged Ryoka.

“What snow?”

“Oh—I’ll explain in a bit. We’re just going up the stairs to somewhere we can talk.”

They made it halfway across the room when someone called out.

“Is that you, Ryoka?”

Ryoka groaned. But she turned and smiled as Garia Strongheart came over, smiling cautiously.

“Hey Garia.”

“Hey Ryoka! I didn’t think I’d see you here today. We only got to talk a bit last night…hi Erin. Who’s this?”

She looked down at Mrsha. The Gnoll stared up at the bigger girl, circling her warily. Ryoka hesitated. That part of her that had recently appeared, the part that said she should be nice to Garia, was struggling with her blunt, rude self, which was to say, the rest of her.

“Sorry Garia, I’d love to chat, but I’ve really got to talk with Erin about something important. But uh…this is Mrsha.”

“Oh. Hello!”

Garia smiled at the Gnoll and reached down to scratch her ears like a dog. Mrsha recoiled and Garia paused. She looked a bit hurt on both counts, so Ryoka put a hand on her shoulder and smiled apologetically.

“If you’re still in the city after this, I’ll find you, okay?”

“Oh, it’s no problem. I wasn’t going to do a run today—I sort of sprained my ankle and I’m taking it easy. I had a healing potion, but it was low-quality…but I don’t want to get in the way of your conversation.”

Garia was so apologetic that it made Ryoka feel guilty. She ushered Erin up the stairs and into the first room she came to.

The room used for private meetings was filled with a nice table, padded chairs, and not much else. It had a window looking out into the city, but since they weren’t glass windows, the shutters were closed. Ryoka wondered what the rooms in the Runner’s Guild in Invrisil would have looked like.

“Okay, now we’re here.”

Erin blinked around the room as Mrsha leapt onto a chair and then onto a table. She took a seat while Ryoka hesitated and then took the one opposite her. It didn’t feel as comfortable as Ryoka had hoped—the room was meant for business deals, not chats.

“Sorry about all that. But I think we can talk here without anyone bothering us. No one’s allowed to disturb a private meeting unless there’s a real emergency.”

“Oh. So that’s why we’re here. We could have just talked at my inn. Come here, Mrsha.”

Erin let the Gnoll jump into her lap and cuddled her as she looked at Ryoka. The Runner coughed.

They were here. Ryoka had planned this out last night before she’d slept with Lyonette. It was a chance to talk to Erin, finally, with no one to interrupt.

Only now she was here, Ryoka realized she had no idea how to start. They were going to talk.

…How?

She couldn’t think of how to start the conversation. Ryoka froze up. She felt as tongue-tied as she used to be. Erin was her friend. But she hadn’t talked to her in…forever. How could she begin?

Erin wasn’t helping. The girl was glancing around the room and whispering to Mrsha as the Gnoll wriggled happily in her arms. Ryoka felt the awkwardness quotient in the room rise until Erin broke the silence.

“Why did you say I needed a break, anyways?”

Ryoka stared at Mrsha as the Gnoll tried to carve into the wooden table with her claws. What was she supposed to say? No. She had to be honest.

“Lyonette told me about your Christmas party.”

Erin paused. She looked down at her hands.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Silence. It was the thing Ryoka dreaded the most. She looked at Erin, but she had no idea what the other girl was thinking. How could anyone read minds? Was she angry at Lyonette? Or Ryoka? Did she not want to talk about it?

Conversation was a quagmire, a bog of uncertainty. And Ryoka sank like a stone.

“I uh, well, it must have been rough.”

Mrsha looked up as she sat in Erin’s lap. Erin wasn’t smiling. She stared at the shuttered window.

“Yeah. It was really embarrassing, to tell the truth.”

Ryoka cleared her throat.

“Well, you must have been really stressed out.”

“I was.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“That’s nice of you to say. But y’know, it kinda was, right?”

“Well…”

Ryoka coughed and fidgeted. She cast about, tried another line.

“You have so much to do every day. I saw breakfast. That’s an undertaking.”

Erin nodded.

“Yeah. I don’t know how I could keep up without Lyonette’s help. She works really hard. I bet that was a surprise when you met her again, right?”

“I barely recognized her, to be honest.”

It was like meeting a completely different person. Ryoka could barely remember the previous Lyonette, when she’d met her again. The old one had been haughty, arrogant, and rude. This new Lyonette had callused hands, was always busy, and cared for Mrsha like a sister. Or a mother.

“What happened?”

“I left her alone. She was the only one in the inn and…”

Erin stared at the table. Then she looked at Ryoka, guiltily.

“I think she was starving. I mean, literally starving to death while I was gone. No one went to visit her except Olesm, and he only did it when he was checking if I’d come back. She must have…run out of food for a while. She didn’t say, but I think that’s what happened.”

“Jeez.”

Ryoka stared at the table blankly for a second. She didn’t know what she was supposed to say.

“That’s rough.”

Wholly inadequate words, delivered too late. Erin nodded. She stared at Ryoka, and Ryoka stared back until things got too awkward and they both looked away. Someone’s stomach rumbled. To Ryoka’s surprise, it wasn’t Mrsha’s.

“Sorry, that was me.”

Erin patted Mrsha as the Gnoll turned to inspect her belly. She looked at Ryoka with a guilty grin.

“I know we’re talking and stuff, but do you mind if we got something to eat? I actually uh, didn’t have breakfast yet. I had some sausage and a bit of bread, but I was going to eat after everyone else…”

“Oh. Damn. Sorry—I’ll check.”

Flustered, Ryoka got up. She exited the door as Erin tried to stop Mrsha from ducking her head under her shirt. The [Receptionist] at the desk blinked as Ryoka strode over to her.

“Can I help you, Miss Ryoka?”

“Yes you can. Get us, uh—something to eat. We need snacks.”

“Snacks?”

Ryoka nodded distractedly.

“A cheese platter or something.”

“Ryoka?”

Someone called her name and came over. She turned and saw Fals grinning at her.

“Fancy meeting you here! Garia said you were in a meeting with Erin. Everything okay?”

“Fals. Good to see you.”

Ryoka clasped his hand and then looked at the receptionist.

“Can we get something to eat?”

The woman hesitated, looking torn. It was customary for Runners to make these kinds of demands. Well, not customary, but if a Runner—or more likely, Courier—were meeting with an important client, refreshments were a natural part of the negotiations. Only Ryoka thought that the [Receptionist] had clued into the fact that Erin and Mrsha weren’t exactly VIP guests.

“Eat?”

Fals blinked at Ryoka, and then caught on. He winked at her while the [Receptionist] was looking away from him. Then he looked very concerned and raised his voice slightly.

“Oh, you mean for Miss Solstice? A very important guest. You’re entertaining her here? I’m sure the Guild could get some of those jam buns down the street as well. After all, Erin does talk with Gold-rank adventurers on a daily basis.”

“Not to mention a Drake [General].”

Ryoka saw the [Receptionist]’s eyes go round as she and Fals nodded at each other seriously. He had an excellent deadpan face.

—-

Erin was teaching Mrsha how to do trust falls off of a chair and the Gnoll was doing absolutely no trusting or falling when Ryoka opened the door. Both looked up as Ryoka smiled hesitantly at them.

“Okay, there will be snacks sent up shortly. We’ll also get drinks—I said you’d like fruit juice so they’ll see what they have. Uh, I think we might get some buns, a cheese platter—what?”

Her friend was giving her an amused look.

“That’s a lot of food! I could have just eaten an apple, you know.”

“Uh, sorry.”

Ryoka flushed a bit.

“I just wanted to get everything we might want right away. There will be uh, pillows delivered as well.”

Erin burst out laughing and Ryoka felt herself go crimson. But before embarrassment could poke  her with hot needles, Erin was nodding appreciatively.

“I totally support your decision, Ryoka. One hundred and twelve percent. I did the exact same thing too.”

Ryoka blinked.

“You did?”

The innkeeper girl smiled as she recalled.

“Back home—I’d get a bag of chips, one of those big ones from the store, a full water bottle, and a couple of blankets and then get my laptop to watch TV all night…or play chess.”

She waggled her eyebrows at Erin, which made Mrsha immediately place a paw over them. Ryoka grinned as she sat down again. There was no hesitation now as she spoke, confiding a secret to Erin and the distracted Mrsha.

“When I was a kid, I’d buy food and then try to hide somewhere in the house so my dad couldn’t make me go to formal events. One time I hid in a closet and no one could see me when they opened the door. I spent two days in there, sneaking out to use the bathroom at night.”

Erin laughed in delight. Ryoka grinned, although internally she winced at the memory. Her little game had ended when the police had shown up to take her parents’ statement. They’d thought she’d either run away (again) or been kidnapped.

The idiot she’d been in the past helped the Ryoka of today, though. Erin was laughing at the memory, and right on cue, the door opened and Mrsha sat up, wagging her tail as a [Receptionist] carefully edged into the room with food.

It was a cheese platter after all. Ryoka blinked down at it, surprised that people in this world had cheese platters. And more food came—and pillows! Erin and Ryoka put the food on the table and Mrsha began scarfing some of it down. But all too soon the Gnoll cub was pacing around the room, too full for snacks.

“Uh oh. I think Mrsha wants to go somewhere where there’s more stuff.”

Erin looked concerned as Mrsha stood up and clumsily tried the door handle. The Gnoll looked pleadingly at Ryoka, who frowned at this second unexpected conundrum.

“Maybe she can go downstairs? There’s more space down there and I think she could hang out with Garia and Fals. They’d love to spoil her, I’m sure.”

Erin nodded hesitantly.

“Are you sure it’ll be safe?”

Ryoka had to think about this, and because it involved Mrsha, she double-checked her own thoughts.

“Persua’s gone, and her little gang revolved around her. More importantly, both Fals and Garia are there. They’re responsible and I think Garia would put someone’s head through a wall before she let anyone hurt Mrsha. I’ll go with her and ask if it’s okay.”

A few minutes later Mrsha happily bounced downstairs with Garia and Fals laughing and promising to buy her some dried jerky. Ryoka took a seat in the room and found a pillow on her chair. Erin was already sitting on hers.

“Double padding. See?”

Ryoka smiled. The tension was gone now, and she felt like she could talk. She sighed as she closed the door.

What should she say? This time Ryoka knew the answer. Whatever came to mind. Whatever she needed to say. Because she was beginning to remember it now. This was how it went. She had a friend. And what could you tell a friend, a true friend, a good friend?

Anything.

“I worry about her you know.”

“Who? Mrsha?”

Ryoka nodded. Erin had a piece of cheese on a jam bun and she was nibbling at it. Ryoka picked up a bit of goat’s cheese and stared at it. She popped it into her mouth and swallowed before speaking.

“She’s my responsibility. Her tribe sacrificed themselves so she and I could get away. I…just don’t know how to look after her. I’m not a mother, and I can’t stay with her all the time.”

“I don’t think you have to. Lyonette’s here and I am happy to have Mrsha in my inn.”

“I know. And I’m grateful. But it’s not fair to Mrsha. She deserves someone to look after her.”

“And it has to be you?”

“Well yeah—”

Ryoka paused, thrown by the question. Erin was staring at her.

“She’s my responsibility.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t get help, right? I talked to Krshia, and she’s teaching Mrsha some days. And Selys helps babysit her on her days off…I think Mrsha’s really happy here. If you spend a lot of time with her when you’re here, what’s the problem? She knows you’re a Runner. Just be nice to her and hug her a lot whenever she’s around.”

For a while Ryoka stared at Erin. She opened her mouth, closed it. And then she laughed.

“Damn. No wonder people come to you for advice.”

The other girl blushed a bit.

“I dunno about all that. I’m just saying things how I see it. Mrsha’s part of the inn, now. I can’t imagine not waking up and having her try to eat everything in sight.”

They laughed at that. They laughed, and a bit more of the invisible wall they’d built up broke away soundlessly. It was only a wall if you thought it was a wall. And this was the feeling Ryoka had craved.

This was the feeling Erin had craved. The innkeeper sat across from Ryoka, staring at her friend. She’d almost forgotten what it was like to speak with Ryoka. The other girl was tall, Asian—the most unique Human in this world, aside from maybe Revi or Octavia. No one looked like her.

And Erin could talk to her about things only Ryoka could understand.

Ryoka had discovered the joys of a brie-like cheese, close in texture, but slightly greenish and with a sharper tang to the flavor than she was used to. She offered some to Erin, and Erin declined. She had a lovely striped cheese that went very nicely with a bit of dried plum on the platter.

“So what really happened while I was gone? How’d you get back? Was everything really okay?”

For a second Erin’s mind went blank as Ryoka asked the question. She thought of everything that had transpired since she’d left Celum. She took a deep breath, put down her food, and looked at Ryoka, happiness gone.

“I killed Toren.”

Ryoka froze. She looked at Erin.

“You met him? Did he try to attack you?”

The other girl shook her head.

“No. I never saw him after he ditched me. But I heard—oh, Ryoka. I heard a lot of terrible things.”

She told Ryoka about Toren. How he’d attacked people on the road, ambushed travelers, and how she’d told Pisces to cut her mana supply. Ryoka clenched her fist, crumbling a cracker to dust in her hand as she listened.

“I’m sorry about that.”

“You warned me. I should have listened.”

There were no words for the guilt Erin felt. Ryoka nodded, looking upset.

“I did. But I didn’t think he’d suddenly start killing—I wonder if something Pisces did went wrong? Or maybe it’s because he could level…anyways, that’s really…are you sure he’s dead?”

“What?”

“Rule of monsters, Erin. In every scary movie, in every video game…the monster’s not dead until you see the body. And sometimes, not even then.”

Ryoka stared at her friend. Erin had frozen in her seat.

“You think Toren’s alive? But I cut his mana supply…”

“Maybe he had a mana potion? Or…is there a way to generate mana on your own? Could he have found another master or something? This is reality, not a movie, Erin. But we are in a fantasy world.”

“I know. I get it. I’ll—I’ll keep an ear open. If anyone talks about a skeleton, I’ll know.”

Erin sat with her hands woven together, staring down at the table. Ryoka stared at her and coughed.

“Sorry. I didn’t want to—look, it’s just a thought.”

“I know. And I did more than just kill Toren, I mean, that was like the last thing that happened. Actually, a lot of things happened while you were gone! What happened to you? I heard Magnolia spirited you away when you went to Ocre to visit Ceria and the others. What did she want?”

Ryoka shrugged.

“The usual. Threats, interrogation, intrigue—”

“Aw. Did she try and charm you as well?”

“That was the first thing she did! God—I could have kicked her ass, but not with Ressa there. Oh!”

Ryoka snapped her fingers. The sound was a crack—in the small room it was like a gunshot. Erin jumped.

“That’s loud!”

“Sorry. But you don’t know! Guess what I found out on the way to Magnolia’s mansion? Ressa’s not just a [Maid]. She’s a [Ninja].”

“What? You’re joking.”

“I’m sure of it. I saw her toss a throwing star at a bunch of Goblins that ambushed the carriage. And after that, when Magnolia was attacked by the assassins, she was fighting them like—”

“What? An assassin attack?”

“Oh, yeah. That.”

Ryoka waved a hand airily, concealing a grin. Near-death experience and horrifying trauma was fun to joke about after the fact.

“That happened right in the middle of our chat. Didn’t you have an assassination attempt when you visited her?”

“No I didn’t! Spill! What happened? Is Magnolia okay?”

“Well, I think she’ll have to do some remodeling, but her shrubbery was only partially consumed by the fire—”

Ryoka ducked as Erin threw a bit of cheese at her. She laughed, and then stopped laughing when she told Erin about the people who’d died. Erin listened, almost in tears when she heard about the servants who’d been killed as the assassins went after Magnolia, agog when she heard about Magnolia’s death-ray ring…and then she told Ryoka about returning to Esthelm, about talking with Pawn about Christianity…

Sometime after they’d been talking, the bit of cheese was eaten by Mrsha, who slunk into the room to grab as much food as she could carry and escape. Ryoka and Erin were sitting together by this point, laughing and talking to each other freely.

“It was just for a few weeks, but it feels like months, doesn’t it?”

Erin nodded, sipping from her cup as Ryoka filled hers from a pitcher filled with ice cubes.

“I did so much! I helped run Agnes’ inn, I made a bunch of weird food at Octavia’s shop, I helped start an acting troupe and got a magical door—”

“Hold up. What was that? Acting? You’re joking with me.”

“Nope! We should stop by the Frenzied Hare before we go back to Liscor. I can introduce you to Wesle and Jasi—they’re putting on a performance of Othello this week, I think!”

Ryoka stared at Erin. She stared at her cup. She slowly filled her mouth with liquid and looked at Erin. The girl raised her hands.

“Don’t you dare spit it on me! No!”

When Ryoka had swallowed and Erin had explained, the conversation halted and stopped on Erin’s private indignation with Miss Agnes, whom she’d had less and less contact with since returning to Liscor.

“Can you believe her? I mean, she didn’t want to help Jasi at all! It was like she didn’t even care!”

Ryoka could only shrug. She wanted to ask, ‘what did you expect?’, but then she looked at Erin and realized the other girl had expected more of Agnes.

“Honestly, I’m not surprised, Erin. Agnes is, well, an ordinary woman. She might be nice to her friends and people who help her out, but she’s not going to stick her neck out for other people.”

“I thought she was a good person.”

Erin sighed as she fiddled with a cracker. Ryoka’s mouth twisted.

“She’s just a person. Not bad, not good. She might help a bit if she has the means, but she’s not like you, Erin. She’s not…worth thinking about.”

“But she was so nice and welcoming. How could a woman like that just not care? Jasi was so tired—and hurt! She was practically missing all the scales on her hands! Are people just like that?”

Ryoka’s head bowed.

“Maybe. Maybe they’re all like that.”

Erin stared at her. Ryoka ran her hands along the edge of her chair as she spoke.

“That’s how I used to think. I’d look at news stories of people letting dictators get away with crimes, or turning a blind eye to crimes or not doing anything when there’s a problem. Or if they did, it was something small. Something I thought was worthless, like one of those food drives where you donate bits of food and ship it off to another country. Ordinary people did just enough to make themselves feel good and let other people do the actual work.”

“Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

Erin’s voice was soft. She looked at the table.

“Sometimes you can only do a bit, Ryoka.”

Ryoka nodded.

“Yeah. I realized that when I tried to do the right thing. It’s really hard. Really, really hard. Half the time it seems like there’s no answer, no good way to fix what’s broken. The other half, it feels like if everyone would just work together we’d solve the problem. But we never do.”

Erin stared at a wall. When she spoke, it was quietly, thoughtfully.

“I don’t think it’s fair to ask random people to fix problems. I think we’ve got to work together, so if there’s something I need to do, I’ll ask people I can trust. My friends.”

“But if you do that, what about the world?”

She shrugged. Erin pointed to the closed window.

“I don’t know about the world. I can’t imagine trying to solve world hunger, or—or cure cancer. And there’s no internet here. No way to talk to people. But I can help people around me. That’s what I did at Esthelm.”

“You did do that.”

Ryoka still couldn’t believe Erin had managed that. She’d saved a city. Or maybe…helped them save themselves. Erin nodded.

“I think you’re sort of right, Ryoka. In our world it’s really hard to do stuff. There’s laws and jerks and so many problems. And we’re not rich or powerful or famous. Maybe in our world we can’t do anything. But here, I know the second-most important guy in Liscor’s Hive, and I know a Drake [General], a bunch of Gold-rank adventurers, and I played chess with Magnolia. I can do something, I think. I can help people. It’s just that I’m so busy…”

“Yeah. That’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about.”

Ryoka sat up in her chair. Erin was trying to juggle crackers and failing. She looked at Ryoka.

“I just don’t know what to do. I love all my new customers and I’m making money hand over fist with all the Gold-rank adventurers. It’s just I don’t have time, and Lyonette’s overworked as it is…”

“So hire someone.”

Erin blinked at Ryoka. Ryoka stared at her.

“I mean, maybe you don’t want to, but I think you have to at this point, Erin. You could have someone do a trial and maybe it’ll be tough sorting things out, but if you can get an actual staff—”

“No, I think you’re right. I just forgot I could do that. Hire someone. Okay. Yeah, that’s a good idea!”

Ryoka stared. She stared so hard her eyes felt like they were going to fall out. Erin shifted uneasily.

“What?”

“You forgot you could hire people?”

“I’m new to this innkeeper thing, okay? I kept thinking ‘this is my inn, so I’ve got to do everything’. I only hired Lyonette because I thought she’d die in the cold by herself. But I guess I never thought about getting a new [Barmaid] or [Cook].”

“So you’re going to do it?”

Erin nodded, smiling.

“Yeah. I can do it. I’ll do it tomorrow, or maybe later today. Actually, I’ll look into it after we finish talking.”

“What?”

“I’ll go hire someone. You’re right. Selys always said I should. I’ll go have a word with Safry and Maran tomorrow. They’re both [Barmaids]. They should know some good people I could interview, right?”

Ryoka hesitated. Erin’s turnaround from thought to action was so fast she was having a hard time keeping up.

“I mean, we could think this through some more. Have you thought about hiring a Drake or Gnoll? It might help if they know more about local customs. How much will you pay them?”

Erin shrugged.

“I don’t know. I’ll figure it all out as I go. That’s how I roll.”

Ryoka stared, but since she’d done that and Erin seemed immune to it, she switched topics.

“Okay, about Pawn.”

“What about him?”

Erin looked confused. Ryoka replayed parts of their catching up she’d done.

“You said you were telling him about the bible, right?”

“Yeah…well, he was asking. And he was really confused, so I…”

Erin hesitated. She vaguely recalled Ryoka’s admonitions not to bring up religion.

“Was that a bad thing?”

There was a right way to respond and a wrong way. Ryoka had done the wrong way, once. She remembered shouting at Erin, calling her an idiot and then getting punched halfway into oblivion. She bit her lip.

“I think…it might have been a mistake. But it’s what Pawn needed. I’ll have a talk with him. But this god thing…”

“I know. Gods are a bad thing. The crusades and the inquisition, right?”

“Something similar. But if Klbkch is okay with Pawn…well, I’ve just got a lot to do around here.”

“So do I! I think I need to talk to Klbkch too, Ryoka.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I was thinking of expanding my inn, actually.”

“What, just like that?”

“Well obviously I need to see how much it will cost. But my rooms are all sold out and I think Ceria and the others are getting tired of sleeping in the basement. If I could get the Antinium to build me a third floor or maybe a second wing…”

“You’ll definitely need more staff if that’s the case.”

“And a [Cook]! I’m telling you Ryoka, if I didn’t have to keep making food all day that would free me up so much. Forget a [Barmaid], a [Cook] is what I really need. But it’s so hard finding people with [Advanced Cooking]—apparently people with that Skill are sort of rare. I don’t want to pay too much for someone, you know?”

Ryoka nodded thoughtfully. She had a sudden thought.

“You said you leveled up, right? You got that magical ambient energy and a skill that kept everything fresh, right?”

“Right!”

Erin nodded happily. Her becoming a [Magical Innkeeper] had been one of the highlights of her recent past. Ryoka smiled as her thought became an idea, and an excellent one.

“If that’s the case, maybe you don’t need a [Cook] after all.”

“What do you mean?”

Erin was curious. Ryoka smiled.

“You have a Skill that keeps food fresh, right? If that’s the case, why not prepare everything a few days ahead of time rather than worrying about it?”

She was opening her mouth to object when Erin realized what Ryoka was saying. Her eyes widened.

“You mean—”

Ryoka nodded, grinning widely in anticipation.

“I mean cook everything. Take a day and just make food for twelve hours straight. You can store it wherever you like and serve it whenever you need to! For that matter, don’t worry about mealtimes. Just make breakfast, lunch, and dinner all together. Because if the food doesn’t lose its freshness…”

“I can just reheat it! I could have a month’s worth of food ready and all Lyonette has to do is warm it up and serve it!”

Erin leapt to her feet. She threw her hands up and danced about, laughing excitedly.

“Ryoka, you’re a genius!”

“I’d like to think so. Speaking of which, when we get back I want to test that magical door of yours. It’s…frankly, it’s mind blowing.”

“Isn’t it incredible?”

“Yeah, but it could be more incredible, Erin.”

“What do you mean?”

Thoughtfully, Ryoka glanced at the window, which was again, less than scenic since the shutters were closed.

“There has to be a way to utilize all that mana your inn is producing.”

“I thought it would be good mostly for my door, actually.”

“Yeah, but—I bet the door doesn’t take up a third of your inn’s supply of mana. If that’s even how it works! I want to see how many people you could actually transport before it runs out of power and—I wonder how far you could send people with it? Could you send someone to say…Invrisil?”

Erin froze mid-tango. She gaped at Ryoka.

“Invrisil? Ryoka, you really think I could make my inn connect all the way over there?”

“It would help me out a lot, if you did.”

Ryoka’s mind was racing with possibilities. She frowned, thinking aloud.

“But that’s not all. I know there’s rune magic. Couldn’t you use the inn’s mana for some kind of spell?”

“Like what?”

“Like—well, you’ve already got the equivalent of a preservation rune on your whole inn…”

“Better.”

Erin smiled happily. Ryoka blinked.

“Oh? How so?”

“I could have gotten some runes on my pantry. I talked to this [Mage] who said he could put some on my pantry for…I think it was like forty gold coins? But it would only have been a shelf or two, and it wouldn’t be total preservation. He said it was more like it would slow down the rate at which food went bad. So I couldn’t just leave raw meat in there because it would still go bad pretty fast.”

“Huh. I guess [Field of Preservation] really is an incredible skill.”

“Right? What do you think I’d get at Level 40? Or Level 60?”

“I don’t know. A totally automated kitchen? Plates and dishes that automatically serve and wash themselves?”

“That would be so cool. Do you think—”

“Anyways, Erin. I was saying that you could have other runes. Like ones that heat up your inn, or cool it down. Or…or what about a rune that…distills water from the air? Is that possible?”

“Ooh. Useful! Let me write this down.”

Erin searched around for a bit of parchment as Ryoka kept talking.

“There’s so much I have to do there. I told you about Laken—”

“An actual [Emperor]! And he’s from our world! I want to meet him. And Durene!”

“I’m sure you’ll love him. But he’s so far away that even with Magnolia’s coach, it’s a day’s journey. But if you could get to Invrisil just by walking through a door—”

“The Runner’s Guild will get really mad if I start doing deliveries that way.”

“Maybe it can just be a personal connection? If people knew your door could do that, you might be in danger.”

Ryoka was thinking over the issue, looking for potential risks. Erin nodded, serious.

“I want to make my inn better. If I can link my inn to other cities, I’m totally down for it. And I like the idea of expanding the inn. And hiring more help. Especially hiring more help. I wonder if I could hire Garry? Or…”

She broke off, lapsing into thought. Ryoka stared at her friend. They’d covered a lot of topics, almost everything Ryoka had done and seen. She’d told Erin about the wand she’d sold to Hedault to equip the Horns of Hammerad. But there was one thing she hadn’t mentioned.

“Erin, there’s something I need to talk to you about. Magnolia and her assassins are one thing, but I ran into…something…as I was coming back from Laken’s village.”

“What?”

Ryoka hesitated.

“I don’t know. But it was…dark. No, that’s not the word. Look, let me explain. It started when I was running through a blizzard. Ivolethe was guiding me since she can see through the snow, but she suddenly started getting lost. We ended up in a forest, and I had to build a fire since she and I couldn’t find our way out. It was like we were trapped there. And then it started getting really dark…”

Erin’s eyes widened as Ryoka told the story of the three visitors who sat around the campfire. Ryoka finished, telling Erin about hurling her fingers into the fire. She flexed her right hand as she did. She thought she could still feel the fingers. She could remember them burning.

“You’ll probably think I’m crazy. But it was all true Erin, I swear. And Ivolethe knows something. She just won’t tell me who—or what—they were.”

She waited for Erin to laugh at her, or at least be a bit skeptical. That would be natural. But Ryoka’s blood froze as Erin pulled something out of her pocket and told her what had happened to her on the Winter Solstice.

“Do you know what this, is Ryoka? It’s a coin, but it doesn’t look like it’s silver.”

Ryoka stared down at the bright, off-silver color and the faded inscriptions on the shiny metal. She felt it carefully and then put it down on the table.

“I have no idea. But you say some travelers gave it to you?”

Erin nodded.

“In exchange for the food. Not the gifts.”

The gifts. An umbrella that contained the sun. A rope to hang yourself with and pretend to be dead. A horn—

Ryoka’s skin erupted into goose bumps. She’d heard a horn while she sat around the fire. She stared at the coin and felt very, very cold.

“Who do you think they were? Do you think they were connected to the people you met?”

Carefully, using the tips of her fingers, Ryoka pushed the coin back across the table towards Erin.

“I don’t know. I don’t like it. Tamaroth. I’ve never heard that name before in my life. But I’ll ask about it. I’ll ask Klbkch—”

“Why him?”

“He might know something. Look, until I can find out more, don’t show that coin to anyone you don’t trust, Erin. There’s someone else I can talk to besides Klbkch who might know.”

“Who? Teriarch?”

“Ye—how’d you know?”

“I met him.”

Erin blinked as Ryoka lurched up from her seat.

“You met—”

“Didn’t I say? Yeah! We met him on the road. He was looking for you, Ryoka. He wanted to know if there were other games besides Cookie Clicker.”

Ryoka stared at Erin. She tugged at her ears when Erin described meeting Teriarch—appearing as his Human [Mage] form no less—and how Erin had taught him to play Angry Birds.

“Hold on, I need a break. Would you hand me a knife? I need to slice off my ears, because clearly I’m hearing things.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Ryoka! I really did meet Teriarch—he’s weird, like you said, but sort of nice! How did he duplicate your iPhone? Do you think he can do it for me if I ask?”

Ryoka put her head in her hands.

“Please stop talking. My head hurts.”

Her head really did hurt. Teriarch, out in the open? Playing crappy games? What did it mean? Was there a meaning? What could she do about it? Bash her head in with a rock? Forget? After a while, she looked up. Erin was gazing at her, grinning.

“Isn’t it weird?”

“What, specifically?”

“We keep running into the same people. You knew Octavia before I met her, and I met Teriarch…everything’s connected.”

“It’s a small continent. Just about the size of Eurasia.”

“Well, I think it’s awesome. And I also think…yeah, I think I know what to do.”

Erin smiled. Things felt clearer to her, as if a fog had lifted. Here was Ryoka, her friend. Maybe her best friend? Her friend from another world. And it felt like Erin had been waiting for a long time to talk to her. Not about anything specific—it was just that she needed to talk to someone.

“Build my inn, hire people, and sell food to adventurers. That’s my plan for now. What about you, Ryoka?”

The girl shrugged.

“I’m staying here for now. I’ve been away too long, and there’s so much I need to do. Ivolethe is going to teach me…something. Faerie magic, maybe. Or a way to run faster. I’ll go shopping—see if I can pick up some magical items and get Octavia to brew me some potions, but my goal is to become a Courier. If I can make it all the way to First Landing with my two feet, maybe I can see about getting a ship to go to Wistram.”

“That’s big.”

“Why aim low?”

“True.”

Erin played with a bit of cheese on the platter.

“Do you think we should go there? To Wistram?”

Ryoka stared out of the window. She got tired of staring at the shutters and opened them. A cold wind blew in, and Ryoka stared out across the city of Celum, at the rooftops full of snow.

“I don’t know. But I know that I need more…power. No, that’s not the right word. More strength, more speed, more…something. I need to protect myself, and other people. Getting rich and learning to run faster is a way to do that.”

“I’d just like to earn more money. If I can make my inn better, well, then I think I can help other people. I could buy things for Mrsha, help out Ceria and the others…”

“Money makes the world go round.”

It was funny, but money was important. So important. Money could buy them safety, get them to Wistram, or maybe just protect them. Magical artifacts, [Barmaids], toys for a Gnoll cub. Was there anything money couldn’t buy?

It was clichéd, but perhaps the answer was a friend. Ryoka reached for a pitcher, embarrassed at the very thought and found it was empty. Erin looked into her cup and found it was gone too. She shrugged to herself and then looked at Ryoka.

“Tell me about Invrisil. Did they have any cool fashions over there? Did you see anything interesting, or were you talking with that [Emperor] guy too much to notice?”

“Oh, I got an eyeful. Invrisil’s huge, Erin. It’s a real city. You’d either love it or hate it.”

“I think I’d love it…if they have cool stuff there.”

“They have ice cream.”

“No way!”

“Yes…way. They’re serving tiny spoonfuls out in silver bowls as if it were Häagen-Dazs. If you started selling ice cream over there, you’d be rich in no time.”

“Ice cream’s that popular? Well duh, it is, obviously. I should make some more. But do they have plays?”

“Not that I saw. You think you want to send the actors all the way to Invrisil?”

“Why not? They could start Hollywood over there!”

“More like the Globe Theatre.”

“The what?”

“Shakespeare, Erin. Don’t tell me your actors only know how to perform Othello.”

“Hey! The first thing I taught them was Romeo and Juliet!”

“Aw. Romeo and Juliet? Really?”

“Actually, this play was Juliet and Romeo. I also got them to do Pygmalion, and Hamlet…and Frozen…but I’m running out of plays to teach them.”

Ryoka laughed.

“I’d sell my left kidney to see them do Chicago. Or at least, one or two songs from it.”

“Well, why not? You could teach them how to do the acting.”

“No. I couldn’t!”

“Why not?”

Ryoka was trying to imagine a bunch of female Drakes, Gnolls, and Humans doing the Cell Block Tango scene from Chicago. Her imagination was having trouble processing the idea.

“No. That would be—”

She broke off. Erin was nodding and smiling expectantly.

“Yeah…?”

Ryoka hesitated. And then she grinned. When she was around Erin, it felt like she could really do anything. Nothing was too crazy with her.

“Let me see if I can remember the lyrics. No promises.”

“I want to see if they’ll perform in Liscor. It would be cool to have them perform in my inn. Or maybe somewhere more public? And I could sell my new magical foods as well!”

“Yeah, we need to have a talk about that stuff, Erin. I know it’s incredible that you can make magical food, but…Defense Soup, Erin? Really?”

“Hey! It’s hard to name this stuff. I thought about Thickskin Soup, but that sounds really nasty. Relc was calling it Scale Soup…”

Ryoka was laughing. Erin was waving her hands. At some point, they stopped talking about anything important. They cracked jokes, came up with ridiculous names to call their soup—they laughed and for a few moments, they weren’t trapped in another world. They were just friends, hanging out together.

And then, at some point, Erin had to go to the bathroom, and Ryoka realized Mrsha was back in the room and trying to get their attention. Erin sighed.

“I guess we should do something today.”

“I suppose so.”

Ryoka made a face as she lifted Mrsha up. She recoiled from the Gnoll’s breath.

“How much did they feed you, Mrsha?”

The Gnoll child lolled about in Ryoka’s arms, stuffed to the point of unconsciousness. Erin sighed as she looked about the room.

“I wish we could do this again.”

“Why not? We can come back here again. Next week, or sooner. Whenever you like. We’ve got plenty of time.”

Ryoka grinned at Erin, and saw the girl’s face light up in reply. She lifted Mrsha up with a grunt and walked towards the door. Beyond it lay the rest of the world. But somehow it wasn’t as daunting to face it. This moment had restored something Ryoka needed. Something Erin needed.

And both of them knew it. Erin spoke up as Ryoka opened the door.

“Hey Ryoka?”

“Yeah?”

The young woman turned at the door. Erin smiled at her.

“I’m glad you’re back.”

Ryoka turned away. She opened the door and Erin got up. The two stood at the doorway. Ryoka grinned.

“Let’s shake things up.”

—-

Her name was Ivolethe. She was a Frost Faerie, at least to the people of this world. But that was a poor name for her true nature. But at the very least it hinted to her origin. She was no Human. She was not mortal.

And now she hovered in the snow, in the cold air, outside of a window. She could sense warmth from within, hear voices and laughter. Perhaps she might have entered, but there was cold iron in the walls of the building. And she was not invited.

Ivolethe hovered by the window, peering in through a crack. There were two girls sitting in the room. Erin Solstice and Ryoka Griffin. Ivolethe stared at Ryoka. Her friend. That a faerie could be friends with a Human was incredible. But Ryoka was still Human, still mortal. And there were ways in which she and Ivolethe could never truly understand each other. Yet they were friends, just as Ryoka was friends with Erin.

Ivolethe stared into the room as the two girls laughed and spoke. There was friendship there, still small, perhaps tenuous at times, but blooming and growing brighter in the cold. Ivolethe put her hand on the window’s ledge and took it away as the wood began to frost over. She looked into the bright room, and turned away.

Friendship. Ivolethe had it too. And it meant more to the Frost Faerie than Ryoka could know of for now. So Ivolethe flew. She flew high, high into the sky, and then south at speeds Ryoka could only dream of.

She flew south, coming to rest high in the air. Ivolethe looked down, and saw blood in the snow. She saw dead things.

And undead things. Two beings woven of magic and the grave stood in the snow, surrounded by children. Goblins. Armed children, a score of them, at least a hundred. Hobgoblins and Goblin warriors, fierce fighters in black armor.

They were all dead. The Goblins’ blood stained the snow. The two dead creatures stood among them, untouched. It had been a brief skirmish, and completely one-sided.

Ivolethe watched as a larger force of undead, thousands, no, larger, approached. A detachment rode forth, proud warriors surrounding a Goblin that reeked to her of the same death the two undead had.

Here was a threat. One that Ivolethe might have dreamed of wiping out with an avalanche, or some other wrath of nature. Yet that would have been meddling on a scale that would surely cause repercussion. And…punishment.

So Ivolethe did not interfere. But she watched a bit of destiny play out as the undead duo stood among the deceased Goblins.

—-

Venitra and Ijvani stood among the remnants of the dead Goblins that had ambushed them. She recognized them as belonging to the Goblin Lord’s army, but she felt no qualms in butchering them. They, like all things not created of her master, were lesser things.

Still, she didn’t attack the next group that surrounded her. Huge Hobgoblins and snarling Goblin elite warriors, Goblin [Shamans] and [Mages] who watched her with more fear than their warrior counterparts. So long as she was not attacked, Venitra would not harm the Goblins. Doing so would run counter to her master’s plans.

“They attacked us when we requested to speak with you. Next time ensure they are not so foolish.”

She was speaking to a Goblin who stood in front of her and Ijvani. He was pale and his eyes…there was something wrong with them. To Venitra, the eyes were reassuring, comforting, even. They reminded her of her master, Az’kerash. It might be presumptuous of the Goblin to emulate her master so and perhaps under other circumstances Venitra would have plucked the eyes out herself. But as it stood, Venitra considered the Goblin Lord an…ally of sorts.

He did not respond to her comment. None of the Goblins surrounding him could look at their leader, or at Venitra. Both were monsters, of a kind.

“We are headed towards Liscor.”

Ijvani’s voice was closer to a hiss, and there was an unsettling echo to her words. The Goblin Lord looked at her. He did not speak, but one hand rose and pointed.

Venitra and Ijvani turned. Ijvani stared at Venitra, and the woman made of bone didn’t meet her companion’s eyes.

“I told you we were going the wrong way.”

“We’ll adjust our course.”

Venitra turned back to the Goblin Lord. His eyes were fixed on her. She nodded at him.

“We shall leave you to your work. Oh. I should mention this—there are two Drake armies closing in on your position.”

The Goblin Lord nodded. Venitra had seen the armies as she and Ijvani had moved past them, undetected. She studied his face.

“Each one is about ten thousand strong.”

He grinned. And turned away. Venitra paused, and then turned. She and Ijvani began walking through the snow. To Liscor. To find the accursed Human named Ryoka Griffin.

“I told you we were going the wrong way.”

“Silence, Ijvani.”

The next day the two suppression armies sent to crush the Goblin Lord’s army met his in the hills a hundred miles to the southeast of Liscor.

4.12

Erin and Ryoka left the room in the Runner’s Guild, a sleepy Mrsha draped in Ryoka’s arms. They left as friends, refreshed, ready to face the world.

“Ryoka’s back!”

Erin sang and danced down the steps, beaming in delight. She flexed her arms while Ryoka shifted the snoozing Mrsha.

“Erin and Ryoka, together again! The invincible duo!”

Ryoka smiled, embarrassed, and then covered it with a scowl.

“Stop that.”

“Come on, don’t you think we make a good team?”

“I think a good team doesn’t brag about how good they are.”

“But we’re like a duo! You know, Bonnie and Clyde! Jesse and James! Bert and Ernie! Tom and Jerry! Uh…Batman and Robin!”

“Erin—”

“Siskel and Ebert! Spongebob and Patrick!”

“Which one are you, then?”

Erin hesitated.

“Uh…Sp—”

“You’re Patrick.”

“No…I don’t want to be him.”

“Well I’m sure as hell not Patrick.”

“Okay, maybe that was a bad comparison. But I could be, uh—”

“I’m Batman.”

“Aw.”

Their banter was interrupted by a [Receptionist] who hurried to them on the stairs with a smile on her face.

“Miss Erin, Miss Ryoka, I hope your discussion was productive?”

“What? Yeah. Oh—right.”

The [Receptionist] was staring meaningfully at Ryoka. She hesitated, cursed internally, and then shifted Mrsha to fish at her belt pouch.

“Here.”

She handed the woman two gold coins. Both Erin and the woman’s eyes bugged out when they saw the glitter. The [Receptionist] gaped at Ryoka, and then hurriedly curtsied to Erin.

“I hope you enjoyed our brief hospitality, Miss Erin. Please, if there’s anything we can do, do not hesitate to ask.”

“Uh. Okay.”

When the woman had hurried off with the coins Erin grabbed Ryoka.

“What was that?”

Ryoka grinned.

“The Guild charges a 5% fee on all deliveries. I’ll do the paperwork later, but right now they think you just gave me a delivery worth forty gold coins.”

“But that’s so much! Ryoka—”

The Runner shook her head. She was in a good mood.

“I’ve got the money, and I think we got what we paid for, right? Private rooms, delivered food, entertainment for Mrsha…and I feel a bit bad for bullying that receptionist.”

“I guess…”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not. Here, hold Mrsha for me, will you?”

Ryoka dumped Mrsha into Erin’s arms. The Gnoll grunted and Erin did too. Ryoka strode over to two Runners who were approaching her.

“Garia, Fals. Thanks for looking out for Mrsha.”

“It was our pleasure, Ryoka. That little furball can run pretty fast! Are you going to teach her how to be a Runner?”

“Who knows?”

Ryoka smiled at Fals and turned to Garia. The shorter Runner smiled at Ryoka with an awkwardness Ryoka recognized. She’d felt it herself not a few hours ago.

“Sorry for overfeeding her, Ryoka. She’s just so cute…”

“No problem. And I’m sorry I had to cut you off, but Erin and I really needed to reconnect. Uh…how’s it been, Garia?”

“Oh, you know. I’m just running deliveries. I don’t do anything that interesting…”

“Not like a Runner who make it to Invrisil in two days! I heard the rumors Ryoka—don’t tell me it actually happened?”

“Not quite. I hitched a ride, actually…”

Ryoka gave them a cut-down version of the events, minus the assassinations and heard their envious comments about getting to do that many deliveries at once. Then she got to the heart of the matter as she turned to Garia.

“Look, Garia, I’ve really dropped the ball on hanging out with you. You keep offering to do a delivery together and I’m always busy…I’m not a good friend.”

Garia turned bright red and waved her hands hurriedly.

“What? No, I know you’ve got a lot to do. I don’t think—”

“A good Runner makes time for friends, right Fals?”

The young man blinked at Ryoka, and then smiled.

“True enough! Are you planning on doing a delivery with Garia then, Ryoka?”

“Better. I was wondering if that offer to visit her family was still on the table. We could hang out for a day or two.”

Ryoka really had no desire to meet Garia’s family, but she had every desire to be a good friend to Garia, and from the way the girl’s face lit up, that was the right thing to offer.

“Meet my family? Well—of course! They have a farm—we could have you over any time.”

“What about in a day or two? Maybe tomorrow? I’d hate to impose, but I don’t want to get tied up and not come…”

“No, no! They’d love to have you. I’ve told them all about you…”

Garia’s eyes slid sideways to Fals. Ryoka noticed, and turned towards him.

“Why not come with us? I’m sure Garia would love to introduce you as well.”

Fals looked surprised. He glanced at Garia and then met Ryoka’s eyes. She stared at him silently and he hesitated.

“I wouldn’t want to impose…”

“Well, what if I bring a friend? Garia, would you mind if Mrsha joined us? I think she’d love to see a farm.”

“No problem! And I bet she’d love to have fun with everyone…”

Garia was sneaking glances at Fals. Pressured on two fronts, he gave in graciously and smiled at Garia.

“I would be glad to. Just let me know when and we can run there together. Does your family enjoy sweets by any chance? I would love to buy them a jar of Miss Erin’s honey…”

“You don’t need to bring anything! Really!”

Ryoka participated in the conversation for a little bit, set up a tentative date, and then rejoined Erin, who’d persuaded Mrsha to walk on her own four paws. Her real struggle was making four paws turn into two.

“Come on, Mrsha. You can’t always run around on all fours. Krshia doesn’t do it.”

Mrsha gave Erin a glance that said quite clearly that Krshia was a fool who only walked upright to fit in. Erin smiled at Ryoka.

“Ready to go?”

“Yep. I’d say we’re in time for a late lunch if we get back to the inn now.”

“I just ate! Well, I guess I can make something if the adventurers are hanging about…”

Ryoka frowned, perplexed.

“Do they always stick around? I thought they’d have things to do. Like kill monsters or go into the dungeon.”

“Yeah, well, they don’t actually do that so much. Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers are always talking and making plans…some days they go in and come back really late, covered in all kinds of nasty stuff.”

“Well, hopefully Pisces is still about. I want to talk with him.”

—-

Pisces was indeed still in the inn, drinking and talking with the other Horns of Hammerad. And Griffon Hunt. And the Halfseekers.

None of the adventurers had left the inn, although Zel had. They were all clustered in the center of the room, talking heatedly about some big discovery. Ryoka had to get Ceria to explain it to her while Erin went to make a late lunch.

“Some adventurers went into the dungeon, Ryoka! This team—they’re only Silver-rank. They’re called Vuliel Drae and they went down through that hole Mrsha fell into. Apparently there’s an entirely new section of dungeon down there!”

Ryoka stared at the adventurers as they fussed over a bit of parchment. She walked over, peered over Ceria’s shoulder and was treated to a very rough map.

Or rather, the copy of a map. As it turned out, Halrac had just gone into the city and come back with a map of the dungeon. It had been made by Vuliel Drae, a relatively inexperienced group of adventurers who’d descended into the new hole and come out with a rudimentary sketch of a few passageways, a tale of running into half a dozen traps and monsters within the first hour, and the head of a monster no one could identify.

And an enchanted mace. It had sent ripples through the growing adventuring community within Liscor. Because it was proof the dungeon had treasure.

“Not just any treasure. High quality enchantments.”

Ulrien explained that to Ryoka, although she had a sense he was also telling her for Ksmvr and Pisces’ benefit. The Horns of Hammerad were listening intently to the Gold-rank adventurers talking. Despite Ceria and Yvlon’s experience, they were still juniors watching experts in their field work.

And argue. Seborn was talking about the mace, much to Jelaqua’s clear displeasure.

“It has some kind of auditory enchantment. It shrieks like a Death Wailer when you hit something, and everyone but the wielder is affected. I’d say the effect isn’t just sound-based—there seems to be some kind of immobility effect to it as well. So that’s two benefits. Too bad only one person can use it safely, but the cost—”

“Damn it, those bastards were already getting offers for the mace! It’ll probably sell for thousands of gold pieces!”

Jelaqua burst out and kicked a chair into the air. Lyonette screamed and ducked, but Moore caught the chair out of the air. He stared reproachfully at the Selphid.

Interestingly, Jelaqua blushed. Ryoka wasn’t sure she’d be able to with a dead body. But her cheeks did change color. They turned slightly orange, as if something inside the dead skin was heating up.

Disturbing, to say the least. Ryoka looked away as Jelaqua apologized to Lyonette. Ulrien, the other team leader, was less emotional.

“It was luck. Those adventurers were lucky to survive an encounter with the monster carrying the mace. It’s not like they made it to a vault or raided a monster’s lair.”

Halrac nodded and grunted.

“Word is they would have been completely wiped out if another adventurer hadn’t helped them out.”

“Who?”

“It’s unclear. Some lone adventurer with the ability to resist the mace’s effects. She slew the monster carrying it and got the team through several hallways filled with traps by all accounts. There was no name given—she’s described as a masked swordswoman with incredible talent.”

The other Gold-rank adventurers murmured at this. Typhenous raised his eyes at Revi and Ryoka saw the Stitch-girl shake her head. Jelaqua ground her teeth together.

“A lone swordswoman? Everyone’s getting the jump on us!”

Ulrien frowned at her.

“It’s not who’s fastest, Jelaqua. It’s who’s alive at the end to claim the treasure. You know that. Forget a lucky break; if just one of the dungeon’s treasuries is partially intact, we’ll reap a hundredfold times that amount.”

“I know. I just don’t like someone stealing a march on us.”

Jelaqua groused. She looked towards the kitchen and lowered her voice.

“Plus, you know those idiots wouldn’t have had the courage to descend, much less survive, without Erin’s cooking!”

Ryoka had been told all about the magical effects of Erin’s food. Not only could she make a soup that warmed you up when standing naked in the cold, but she could make one that toughened the skin, and another that made you stronger than you should be.

It was an incredible Skill with several caveats. You couldn’t have more than one effect at once, it wore off in a few hours, the food spoiled quickly, and Erin had to make it. Her or someone else with [Wondrous Fare]. And it was the exact sort of thing an adventurer might want, especially going into a dungeon. However…

“I’m not sure if they’ll conflict with our potions.”

Jelaqua had asked Erin to make her some of the Scale Soup, but she hadn’t had a chance to test it yet. She paced around the room, understandably anxious.

“Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Erin’s magical cooking helps all the low-level adventurers who can’t afford better enchantments, but we…”

Ulrien ignored his counterpart. The Halfseekers seemed used to Jelaqua’s emotions, but Griffon Hunt was methodical. He nodded to the others.

“I want to talk with the leader of Vuliel Drae. See if he can describe these Gnoll-like monsters. I hear they brought back a head.”

Seborn nodded.

“Some of the Gnolls were quite agitated when they saw it. They may know more.”

“I’ll inquire about it.”

Halrac left with Seborn, the two being the most knowledgeable about the monsters. Ulrien and Jelaqua went to track down the leader of the adventurers who’d gone into the dungeon.

“They’re probably at the bottom of a barrel of ale and celebrating. Still, I want to know what it was like in detail.”

That left Typhenous, Revi, and Moore. Ryoka was surprised the [Mages] didn’t have their own duties, but then she saw all of them sitting down and eating Erin’s magical food, with varied degrees of enjoyment.

“See, I can make the Corusdeer Soup into a patty. And the uh, Scale Soup becomes…”

Revi paused as something went crack inside her mouth. She spat out what she’d eaten and stared at a hard fragment in horror.

“Ew! What is that?”

“A uh, Stonelizard scale. But I boiled it!”

“Is that lemon and mint? And…fish?”

“It tastes better than it does as a soup!”

“Gah. That’s hardly an improvement.”

Revi made a face. Moore, chewing down his food, shrugged his huge shoulders.

“You must admit it still tastes a thousand times better than some potions.”

“True. Now, to see how it might conflict with spellcasting and other enchantments.”

Typhenous pushed his plate back and began rummaging at his belt for a potion. Ryoka turned to the Horns of Hammerad, who’d been talking amongst themselves.

“How are you all doing?”

“We’re wondering whether we should be looking into this dungeon too, honestly.”

Ceria confessed to Ryoka as she watched Typhenous carefully imbibing part of a potion and making a disgusted face. She sighed as she scratched at her bone hand. Ryoka looked at her hand and then glanced at her missing fingers.

“It sounds intense down there. I hope you’re thinking it over carefully.”

The half-Elf nodded seriously.

“We learned our lesson once, Yvlon and I. But honestly Ryoka, there’s not much else we can do around here. Monster hunting around Liscor isn’t exactly a lucrative business, especially in the winter. Plus, I’ve seen Rock Crabs and I don’t want to tangle with them, even with our new gear. We could look for work around Celum thanks to the magical door, but…”

She shrugged, making a face.

“We’re talking it over. Which reminds me, we need to pay you…”

“I’d like to say it was between friends, but I wouldn’t say no to gold either. Still, you did get Erin back to Liscor for me…”

“We owed her for that. Come on, if you want one of our artifacts or the gold that [Enchanter] gave you…”

Ryoka was sorely tempted to see what she might ask for, but she had something else on her mind right how. She hesitated.

“I’ll think about it. But could I borrow Pisces? I need his help for some research?”

“Research? Hey Pisces! Get over here! What are you looking into?”

Ceria eyed Ryoka curiously as Pisces walked over, looking disgruntled at being summoned.

“Ah, Miss Ryoka. What may I help you with? Or am I not permitted to know the details of this endeavor either?”

Ceria stamped on Pisces’ foot and he hopped around, shouting while Ryoka explained. The [Necromancer] stopped yelping and his eyes lit up when she mentioned the door.

“Ah, a project to measure the door’s capacity? Well now, that is an interesting subject. May I take it that you intend for me to test the limits of the enchantment?”

Ryoka nodded.

“Is there some way to tell how much energy the door consumes? Definitively, I mean.”

Pisces sniffed.

“Well, Erin did manage to find the effective limit by jumping through it repeatedly. But I suppose that is not the aim of your inquiry?”

Ryoka gave him a look.

“Jumping through a door isn’t exactly a precise measurement. I’m just asking if there’s a way to calculate exactly how much energy is used per transportation. Is there a limit to weight or mass? How does distance affect the drain? Can you reduce the magic consumed into a figure and derive the maximum travelable distance from that figure?”

Ceria’s eyes went slightly cross-eyed, but Pisces’ eyes lit up. He stared curiously at Ryoka for a second and then smiled.

“Astounding. You seem to have a fascinatingly astute mind for magical theory. Have you some kind of connection with the [Engineer] class, by any chance?”

Ryoka smiled slightly.

“You could say that. Will you help?”

“I have nothing better to do, and the subject interests me as well. Very well.”

Pisces and Ryoka strode over to the door, Mrsha padding over behind them and watching curiously as they bent over the door. The Gnoll stared as Ryoka and Pisces opened the door and started chatting about the effects of the teleportation spell. She got bored and watched Revi poking herself with a dagger. Pisces and Ryoka’s conversation wasn’t exactly riveting.

“I understand that Erin’s new Skill provides the inn with a lot of mana. How fast does it replenish, though?”

“If it works under the principle of a site of high ambient magical power, like a mass graveyard or perhaps Wistram Academy for example, it would be a daily influx of energy with a set upper limit to the environs. However, I believe it is the door’s individual capacity that should be measured.”

“Oh? You’re saying the enchantment can only hold so much mana itself?”

Pisces sniffed.

“Naturally. This enchantment is built into the very wood and is of exceptional quality, but the most complex ward or binding has its limit. That is why the best enchantments on weapons, or objects such as this door, have mechanisms that allow them to recharge themselves.”

“So that’s our variable. Right. Well, if we’re testing how many times it can be used, we need to tell how much the maximum is.”

“There are several ways to determine that. But I believe exhausting the supply and deriving the limit from usage would be easiest.”

“Right. But just teleporting to Celum gives us only one variable. I’m suggesting that I teleport from set distances—”

“Naturally, naturally. We must account for the variable of distance as well as mass and weight. You need not lecture me on basic theory…although I am surprised I need not do the same for you, Miss Griffin.”

It was surprising, but Pisces understood the theory of the scientific inquiry, even if he didn’t have the terminology. But he knew the need to account for variables, and how to assign units to calculate the amount of mana used by the door.

In fact, the discussion made part of Ryoka’s mind light up. She hadn’t thought in terms of calculation or figures since coming to this world. And apparently, [Mages] shared at least a few genes with mathematicians, because their conversation attracted Typhenous’ attention.

“Ah, Miss Griffin and young Pisces. May I ask what your fascinating discussion is about?”

The older [Mage] came over and in seconds, was engrossed in the idea of testing the limits of the door’s ability to teleport. Pisces had already created a second ‘anchor’ which could be used to teleport back and forth—it was a mug.

He’d been drinking out of it and it was the closest thing to hand. Ryoka upended it and let a few drops fall onto the floor before she agreed to carry it a mile from the inn. But they still had to find a way to measure how much energy was being used each time she teleported.

“My suggestion would be to use a simple cantrip to do the measuring. You see, it is possible to draw from the door’s capacity. Thus, the change in the size and intensity of a [Light] spell linked to the door’s mana supply would indicate the reserves contained within the enchantment.”

Typhenous stroked his white beard importantly as Ryoka did some warmup stretches for her legs and arms and Pisces squatted by the door. The [Necromancer] smiled.

“Ah. That is interesting. What if I were to use this as a benchmark?”

He raised his hand and his other palm on the door’s surface. Ryoka blinked, and then felt every hair on her head try to stand up. She swore and ducked as a thin column of electricity burst from Pisces’ hand and shot across the room. Yvlon and Lyonette jumped out of the way, the armored woman cursing at Pisces.

“Watch it! I’m wearing metal, you crazed maniac!”

Pisces ignored her. The thin, crackling stream of electricity had formed a straight line that shot out and then began to earth itself on tables a good twelve feet away from where he was standing. Mrsha got close, reached out at the bright crackling busts of energy, thought better of it, and scampered away.

“Pisces! What are you doing?”

Erin shouted at him. The [Necromancer] stopped casting the spell and carefully walked over to where the spell had stopped. He marked the edge of the spot where the electricity had reached and marked the point with a cup. He turned to Typhenous and Ryoka and smiled.

“[Lightning Jolt]. Simple, and relatively costless. I am naturally using the ambient mana to fuel the spell while drawing on minimal reserves of my own.”

Typhenous nodded appreciatively while Ryoka went over to Erin and explained why she shouldn’t hit Pisces with a pan.

“Only naturally. But can you keep your own output steady, young mage?”

Pisces smiled archly at him.

“My control is sublime, Typhenous. I shall cast the spell again once Ryoka has teleported the first time. And if we have a measuring tape, we may derive a very rough estimation of how the range of the spell decreases with each casting…”

“Right. So if we assume that was close to 100%, we’re at…about twelve and a half feet. And if I hop through the door and come back—two teleports…Pisces, will you do that again?”

Pisces obliged. This time everyone watched as the lightning shot out…and stopped a bit before the place where Pisces had marked with his cup.

Ryoka blinked as Pisces placed a spoon on the second spot.

“Oh wow. That doesn’t go down much. We might have to break out a ruler after all.”

“Well, a rough estimate is possible. I conclude that the distance of the first spell was roughly twelve and two thirds feet, Miss Griffin. As for the second measurement, it would be fair to say the spell decreased in length roughly two to three inches. With rough estimation, that would mean the distance of one hundred and fifty two inches decreased by three inches per two jumps, which would mean…”

Ryoka did the math faster than Pisces could.

“You could bring over fifty people to the inn and back before it ran out of juice. But that doesn’t account for how fast the door recharges.”

Pisces stopped. He blinked at Ryoka and cleared his throat. Ryoka saw Ceria sniggering at the [Necromancer] behind his back.

“Ah…yes. That is correct. Well, we shall account for those elements as well. Once the door’s mana is fully depleted, measuring the length of the [Lightning Jolt] spell after a set period of time would allow us to calculate the rate of passive mana absorption.”

Typhenous nodded.

“Of course.”

From her kitchen, Erin scratched her head. She looked at Ryoka and shrugged her shoulders.

“I don’t get it.”

Ryoka did. It wasn’t difficult math, although all the variables meant they’d need a lot of data to get good results. She saw Lyonette was watching them curiously, as was Mrsha. Yvlon and Ceria on the other hand looked like they weren’t able to follow the conversation at all. Ksmvr seemed to get it, but he was showing solidarity with his other teammates by pretending to be disinterested. And Revi was still poking herself with a dagger.

“Ow! Typhenous, we’re supposed to be testing the food, not checking on the stupid door!”

“Indulge me, please, Revi. I do enjoy this. And I seldom have the opportunity to speak with minds of similar inquiry.”

Typhenous waved at Revi and got a glare in response. From his seat on the floor, Moore got up and stepped carefully over to the mages and Ryoka. He smiled at them.

“I too would like to observe. And may I ask whether you intend to use the door as an involuntary translocation spell or as a portal effect? That may have a bearing on the mana cost.”

Typhenous and Pisces looked appraisingly at Moore. The half-Giant smiled at them. Typhenous cleared his throat.

“I believe young Pisces and I agreed that maintaining the portal effect was most efficacious, with the natural caveat that suddenly running out of mana would not adversely affect someone caught in the middle of transportation—which it does not—holds true.”

The other adventurers rubbed at their ears. Ryoka just rolled her eyes. [Mages] loved their fancy words, as much as any scholar. Mrsha shook her head and padded away and Erin went back into her kitchen, grumbling about an ‘older Pisces’. But Moore just nodded.

“I see. And the reason is?”

Pisces smiled and answered for Typhenous.

“Accidental transportation. If it were immediate, any contact with the door might trigger it, or a method of activation might be needed, all of which is far more complicated. An open portal allows for less disorientation as well.”

“Very true. Ah, I see that Pisces has managed to alter the enchantment. Miss Ryoka, will you be carrying this marker out to distances for us to test with?”

Moore handed the quite ordinary ceramic mug to Ryoka. She nearly dropped it and stared up at the half-Giant. Talk to him like a normal person. She knew that, but she had a horrible, horrible urge to call Moore a different name. She couldn’t help it. If he started waving around a pink umbrella, she’d really be in trouble.

“That’s right Ha—uh, Moore. I’ll run it out one mile to start and we’ll see how much energy that requires.”

Typhenous nodded.

“We may have to rely on a more precise spell to measure the energy consumption. I will consult with Moore and Pisces, although I believe a restrained [Flame Jet] spell would be more precise.”

Moore looked concerned.

“The inn is made of wood, Typhenous.”

“True. What would you suggest?”

Moore smiled and tapped the ground lightly with his huge staff. The floorboards suddenly sprouted a line of grass that shot forwards and ended at Ryoka’s foot. She gaped at the grass until it withered and faded, seconds later.

“Simple, accurate, and less dangerous to Miss Erin’s guests and her inn. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Pisces and Typhenous exchanged a glance. Then they stepped aside so Moore could get a better look at the door. They began speaking all at once as Ryoka grabbed the mug and headed towards the door. Pisces stroked his hairless chin in an imitation of Typhenous as he chattered with the others.

“For the purposes of experimentation, we must naturally use the instantaneous teleportation effect…”

“But how to differentiate between the costs for portal-style teleportation and instantaneous?”

“What if we configured the door leading to Celum and measured the difference between the two for the mana cost?”

“Of course. But if we are accounting for the variation in distance, we should also take measurements at different distances than simply one mile. I propose a sample at one mile, five, ten…”

“Only naturally. Has anyone a piece of parchment? I have a sheaf and some ink in my room if necessary.”

Pisces produced a slip of folded parchment. Moore opened his spellbook and took out a magical quill that needed no ink. Typhenous rubbed his hands together.

“Ah, good friends, it is a privilege to be working together with such fine minds. Shall we begin?”

—-

“They’re all nerds.”

Erin peered at the three mages standing around the door with narrowed eyes. Ceria paused as she gulped down the spicy meatballs made in Drake fashion. They were on a skewer, and meat to be dipped in a sauce Mrsha had gotten all over the fur on her face.

“What’s a nerd, Erin?”

“Uh, someone who talks about a lot of complex and weird stuff?”

Erin wavered. She didn’t mean she actually thought Pisces, Typhenous and Moore were lame or deserved to have their pants pulled down or have their heads swirled in a toilet. Not that she’d ever seen that happen in real life. Besides, if anyone tried that to Moore, he’d probably throw them through a wall.

Maybe not. Moore was nice. Ceria just shrugged.

“I’m actually glad Pisces has found other [Mages] he can talk to.”

Erin looked at her half-Elf friend.

“You don’t talk with Pisces about stuff like that?”

Ceria laughed.

“What? Magical theory and numbers that don’t make sense? No way! I can’t follow what they’re doing. Calculating a door’s mana supply from a spell that makes grass? How would that even work?”

Erin vaguely understood what they were doing, because Ryoka had explained it briefly to her and because she’d had to take classes in algebra and so on in high school. But she wasn’t surprised no one else got it. But it was surprising Ceria didn’t know.

“Wait, why don’t you understand? They’re talking about magic, right?”

“A kind of magic, Erin. They’re looking into the enchanting magic, but also spatial magic. Teleportation, you know? I don’t study that, and for good reason.”

Ceria put down her finished skewer of wood and grabbed another off of the plate. Across the table, Yvlon picked hers up and showed Ksmvr how to dip his with etiquette. On another table, Mrsha demonstrated how to eat like a savage. Ceria smiled as Lyonette tried to wipe Mrsha’s face and the Gnoll tried to avoid the clean cloth.

“Magic isn’t like that for me.”

“Really? What’s it like?”

“Magic is like…”

Ceria frowned. She conjured a small orb of water up with a flick of her hand, and as Erin watched, it fragmented into droplets and formed into a tiny replica of Ceria, which waved at Erin. Erin watched, open-mouthed as Ceria flicked the icy figure into the air. It shattered as it reached eye-level, and then landed on the table, a spatter of water droplets. Ceria breathed out and then grinned at Erin’s dumfounded expression.

“Whew, that’s tough. But magic is like that, see? I visualize my spells and put everything together just right. It’s hard to do earth magic and fire magic can get nasty if you don’t understand it right. But ice magic is like sculpting. You harden the ice here, lengthen it here…and you have a spike. It’s all seeing and concentrating, not…numbers.”

“Wait, so magic isn’t math?”

“Of course not!”

Someone interrupted their conversation. Erin looked over and saw Revi chewing on a meatball with a sour expression. The Stitch-girl’s tone was acerbic, but not exactly rude as she spoke to Erin.

“Magic isn’t the same for every mage, Miss Erin. Why would it be? Different schools use magic in different ways. Ceria specializes in destruction magic, in shaping her ice spells. But magic isn’t like that for me. I summon warriors. Magic is all about maintaining a link between myself and my spirits.”

“What’s it like?”

Revi hesitated. She drummed on the table and looked away before she replied.

“It’s rather like keeping a conversation up with all of my familiars. I have to maintain them, make sure there’s nothing wrong with their bindings, and I’m always looking for more. Magic is like collecting, exploring, augmenting what’s there. I slowly improve myself and the spirits I summon, buying new equipment for them, learning new ways to boost them with spells in combat…”

“Magic’s different for everyone it seems.”

Revi and Ceria nodded. Erin sighed. She wanted to learn magic, and knew that she couldn’t. Okay, in theory she could, but she didn’t have the raw talent or capacity Pisces and Ceria did. And…she didn’t really have the time. She had to get more help, like Ryoka said! It was just too bad she couldn’t throw around fireballs for fun now and then.

“Ah, is that food I see? Friends, let us adjourn for a moment.”

The other [Mages] had finally noticed that there was food on the tables. Typhenous, Pisces, and Moore came over to eat, and while they did Erin quizzed them on what magic was like.

Pisces snorted when he heard how Ceria practiced magic.

“Of course an [Elementalist] would think that way.”

Ceria threw a meatball at his head and he caught it in the air and levitated it onto his plate. Typhenous smiled at Erin and lowered his voice conspiratorially.

“Alas, it is the case where Revi and I have disagreed on the fundamentals of magic theory. A [Summoner] is…well, not the same as a general practitioner of the arts.”

“Up yours, Typhenous. Our spells are fine!”

“Yes, well, I’m sure they’re quite functional. For spells that require no adjustment and have little variation no matter how they’re cast.”

Pisces smirked and Typhenous smiled at him. Ceria muttered and flicked her fingers at them, showering the two [Mages] in snow. Typhenous blew it back at her and Revi hurled her plate at the two male [Mages].

There was a definite tension between the female mages and the male ones. Erin edged away. Mrsha and Lyonette stared at her as she joined their table.

“That wasn’t my fault.”

Someone popped into place in front of the door. Erin turned, and saw Ryoka, sweaty, looking about and scowling when she saw the eating mages.

“Hey! I just ran five miles. Get back over and finish testing!”

She snatched a plate full of the skewered meatballs from Moore and began scarfing them down, much like Mrsha. Actually, that was probably where the Gnoll was learning her table manners. Erin resolved to have a word with Ryoka about that.

While her friend was busying appearing and disappearing in the inn and the mages were arguing about the results, Erin had another visitor. It wasn’t Pawn or Bird—Lyonette told Erin they’d gone back to their Hive, much to her disappointment.

Instead, Klbkch came into the inn, looking for Ryoka. He got Erin instead, and didn’t seem put out by the trade.

“Sorry, Ryoka’s busy teleporting. But if you have time, I’d love to talk.”

“I have a reasonable supply of time, Erin. How may I help you?”

“I uh, I want to hire some of your people, Klbkch. And maybe upgrade my inn? Um. I can pay!”

Erin waited, looking hopefully at Klbkch as he sat with a plate of lukewarm meatballs in front of him. The Antinium Revalantor stared at her. He had a long gash down one arm, where the chitin was splintered. Was that new? Why hadn’t he healed it? After a minute Klbkch shook his head slightly, as if coming to.

“Ah. You never cease to surprise me, Erin.”

“Oh? Is that bad?”

“No. Rather…it would be fortuitous if not for the timing. May I ask what reason you have for this course of action?”

That was odd. Erin explained her problem with overwork as Klbkch nodded.

“Naturally this is an issue. So you wish to hire…?”

“Um. Garry? I know you’ve got lots of Workers and Soldiers, but I really need a [Cook]. And I get along so well with Garry and he’s a friend, so…”

Klbkch drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. At last he slowly shook his head.

“I regret that I cannot allow Garry to work at your inn, although I will naturally consult with you about construction costs and options.”

“Aw. Why not?”

The Antinium paused, and for some reason, looked awkward. He clicked his mandibles a few times before replying.

“My Queen…is partial to Garry’s skill at preparing food. I do not believe she would allow him to work elsewhere no matter how much gold was offered.”

“You mean she likes his cooking?”

“…Yes.”

“Well, I mean, that’s a bummer. But it’s okay. She probably needs to eat a lot because she’s uh, so, so…grand. Big. Huge. Gargantuan. Which is a good thing! Right?”

Klbkch wasn’t as quick to nod as Erin would have thought. He traced on the table with a finger, catching a tiny ant that had somehow wandered into her inn. He stared at it as Erin blinked at it and him. She wondered if he had a connection with—

He squished the ant and then picked up a meatball with the same fingers. Klbkch ate it slowly as he spoke.

“The…Queens of the Antinium are naturally large. However, this is not due to their need to birth eggs. That method is inefficient and was removed from our process long ago. Rather, Queens are normally composed of an extensive matter of brain. Sometimes Queens had bodies that were two thirds thinking matter. However my Queen merely emulates that fashion.”

It took Erin a moment to figure out what he was hinting at.

“You mean she’s…fat?”

Klbkch looked around the room slowly. Ksmvr sunk down low at his table as the Revelator spotted him. Yvlon scowled at Klbkch, but the Antinium just turned back to Erin and lowered his already quiet voice.

“I believe that she is the lightest of all the Queens on Izril by a considerable margin. She was the only Queen able to relocate herself to Liscor to start a new Hive, and as such she is still capable of movement.”

He paused and thought about that statement.

“For now.”

Erin had a horrible urge to start telling ‘yo mamma’ jokes about the Queen of the Free Antinium, but she resisted the impulse with difficulty. It wasn’t nice, although the Queen was a huge jerk. Plus, Erin couldn’t think of any good ones.

So instead she sighed and slumped over on the table.

“Too bad. I was really counting on getting Garry! But if the Queen wants her munchies…aw.”

Klbkch regarded Erin for a moment.

“I regret that I cannot allow you to take Garry. However, I would have to say the same of Anand, Belgrade, and Pawn. They all fulfill important roles within the Hive, now.”

“Yeah. And what would I get them to do? I mean, I could have them help Lyonette, but they’re not [Barmaids]. I’m going to talk with Safry and Maran about that anyways…although I could use some guards.”

“Indeed?”

Erin nodded, thinking. She hadn’t discussed that with Ryoka, but Selys had always told her she needed help. Of course, she’d gotten Toren after that…Erin pushed away the memory.

“Someone to stay here while I’m out and all the adventurers are away would be good. I don’t like leaving Lyonette and Mrsha by themselves, even if there is a magic door to Octavia’s shop. For that matter, what if trouble comes in through the door?”

“Indeed. That is a quandary. Would you hire an adventurer?”

“Maybe…but they cost a lot! With how much I make, I’d only be able to hire one. And Selys says the job isn’t popular, I mean, a bouncer or a guard has to stand around all day.”

“Indeed. It is an unenviable task in many respects.”

Erin sighed, thinking out loud.

“What I really need is someone who’s patient. Someone I know—only all my adventurer friends like adventure. It’s their thing. But I need a guard, and not Wesle! Someone who never gets bored, who has practically no life…”

Erin chewed at her lip as Klbkch sat silently. She turned to look as Lyonette showed Mrsha how to dip her meatballs in some raw egg and eat it. Erin opened her mouth to ask if that was hygienic, remembered that no one besides Ryoka knew what that word meant, and then stared at the eggs.

The idea hit her in a flash of inspiration. She turned to Klbkch.

“What about Bird?”

“What?”

“Bird! What if I hired him?”

Klbkch stared at her. He visibly hesitated and glanced towards her window.

“Bird? He is unusual. Do you truly believe he would serve as an adequate guard for your inn?”

“Why not? He likes high places, and he likes sitting in one spot. He told me so. He can sit on top of my inn and shoot birds all day! Hold on—I’ve just had a great thought. Let me show you what I mean!”

Erin rushed into her kitchen and ran back to Klbkch with a piece of parchment and charcoal. She began sketching energetically.

“I told you I wanted to upgrade my inn, right? Well, I want a bigger common room—can you expand it like ten feet? And I want a third floor and longer second floor so I can have a lot more guests. But what if I added something on top of the third floor?”

It took Klbkch several minutes and a few questions before he could identify Erin’s sketch as a blueprint for the inn. What she had envisioned was a third floor for the inn, but her newest addition was a tall tower on top of the inn, a watchtower with no roof that would give anyone an unparalleled view of the landscape, much like the crow’s nest on a ship.

Erin grinned as she pointed to it and showed Klbkch a tiny stick-Antinium with a bow standing on the tower.

“He could sleep on the third floor and go up to the tower to shoot birds and watch out for danger. That’s all Bird does, right? And the tower would be totally cool! Doesn’t it look cool? I’ll call it…the Bird’s Nest.”

She waited. Klbkch stared at her. Erin coughed.

“That was, uh, a joke. You know, because of Bird and his name? And nest? And it’s tall?”

Klbkch nodded.

“I am aware. And if Bird agrees, I see no reason to object.”

“You mean you’d do it? You can build my inn?”

Erin sat up excitedly. Klbkch poured over the designs for Erin’s inn and nodded slowly.

“Your proposed designs for your inn seem feasible. However, I will have to charge you for this work, Erin. I am…unable to requisition supplies and aid so readily from my Hive at this time.”

“That’s fine! I wanted to pay you anyways. It wouldn’t be right otherwise.”

Erin smiled brightly at Klbkch.

“How much are we talking about here? I’ve got lots of gold coins.”

“I believe three hundred and twenty eight gold coins would be sufficient for this work.”

Erin paused. She stuck a finger in one ear and wiggled it around. But reality didn’t change, although she did find some earwax.

“Um. That’s…a lot.”

Klbkch nodded.

“Yes. Sadly, if we acquire useable wood from the forest of ah, ‘boom trees’, there is the matter of construction, hiring the Antinium, glass for the windows…”

“But three hundred—”

“Part of the cost—six silver coins out of every twenty—is given to Liscor under our treaty with the city. It is a non-negotiable tax.”

“That’s highway robbery!”

“No. That is our agreement. But it drives prices higher, as does a standing law that requires me to charge you for work outside of the city’s limits, as well as the necessity of guarding said Workers while they go about their tasks. To construct a third floor and expand your inn is a difficult task, Erin. Building a new home of quality would normally cost around two hundred gold coins in itself.”

Erin put her head in her hands. She didn’t have that money. She had a lot of money, but that…no. She stared at Klbkch.

“It’s the glass that’s expensive, isn’t it?”

He nodded.

“Each window costs approximately eight gold coins.”

Erin said a bad word. And then told Mrsha it was a bad word. The Gnoll nodded appreciatively as Erin sighed over the cost.

“What’s the problem?”

Someone came over to their table. Ryoka was gulping down water as Lyonette refilled her glass. She heard Erin’s woes out and barely listened to the issue of money before she nodded.

“I’ll pay for it, Erin. Go ahead and get everything built.”

Erin gaped at Ryoka.

“What? But Ryoka, it’s so expensive—”

The Runner shrugged carelessly. She sipped from her glass as Mrsha tried to leap onto her shoulder and failed. The Gnoll splatted onto the ground and went howling over to Lyonette, who scolded her about being reckless before cuddling her.

“I’m good for it. The Horns are paying me a bit more than that for doing the run to Invrisil and back. I’ll take it out of that and I’ll still have over a thousand gold coins to buy magical items with.”

“But—”

Ryoka flicked some sweat out of her eyes. She looked back at the door, where Pisces was waving her impatiently over.

“Erin, I really don’t care. Klbkch, I’ll give you the coins later, okay?”

She jogged back towards the door and vanished with a pop of dislocated air. Erin turned weakly back to Klbkch.

“I can pay some of it. Really.”

“We will negotiate the division of payment. But I will take Miss Ryoka’s word on credit. Her generosity is worth accepting, Erin.”

“Yeah, but I never give her anything back…”

Erin sighed. She felt guilty, but she wanted a better inn more. She also felt a bit hurt. True, Ryoka had all that money from running dangerously, but she didn’t treat it, like it was, well, important.

Maybe it was because Ryoka used to be really rich? She said her father was some big shot politician guy and her mother also had an important job. Either way, it was done.

“I guess I’ll talk to Bird and see if he wants to be my guard. I think he will. And then I’ll have one guard! Do…do you think one is enough?”

Klbkch pondered the question before nodding.

“Safety is a relative term, but you are able to escape to Liscor and Celum quite quickly. Bird would no doubt be able to fend off any assailant if outnumbered or outmatched.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“It is his duty. If his death meant your survival, it would be a trade both he and I would be willing to make.”

Klbkch stared at Erin and she felt a cold pit open in her stomach. She didn’t reply, and the Antinium seemed to realize he’d made her uncomfortable. He switched subjects quickly.

“If assigning a group of Workers and Soldiers to your inn were permissible, I would do so. However, the contract between Liscor and my Hive—and my Queen’s own thoughts on the subject—do not allow for this course of action. If Bird agrees, I would have no issue allowing him to work at your inn on a semi-permanent basis.”

“Okay.”

He paused, looking at Erin. Klbkch clicked his mandibles and make a dry sound, clearing his throat.

“Well. We shall begin construction shortly. However, for the moment there is a…situation in the Hive and all Workers and Soldiers are needed. I shall send a team to begin work, but it may take more time if the need for bodies persists.”

“Oh? Is…something happening in the Hive?”

For some reason, Klbkch glanced at the other adventurers, the mages clustered around the door and Ceria, Yvlon, and Ksmvr talking at a table about their magical artifacts. He shook his head slowly.

“Nothing that need concern you, Erin. It is simply a busy time for us.”

He left quickly after that, heading back to his Hive. A bit unhappy, but more exhausted by all the planning, Erin mechanically got dinner ready.  But she realized she didn’t have enough of the weird crunchy vegetable that was called for in her soup.

Yellats. Erin went to Celum rather than Liscor to get them. It was just as quick—quicker, since she didn’t have to go through the snow and she could get them at a shop. Erin made her purchase and headed back towards Octavia’s shop. But she took a detour at the Frenzied Hare.

“Hey Safry! How are you doing?”

“Erin!”

The [Barmaid] turned and smiled at Erin as the [Innkeeper] entered the bustling inn. Erin looked around for Miss Agnes, but the woman was nowhere to be seen. That was surprising, given how the inn was fairly full and both Maran and Safry were busy working with another woman Erin didn’t recognize.

“Wow. Busy evening crowd. Where’s Miss Agnes?”

“Oh, she’s out with her husband. Mister Agnes is feeling better, and business is good thanks to you. Miss Agnes hired another [Barmaid] and a [Cook]—she’s not around half as much as she used to be.”

Safry made a face as Maran rushed by with some drinks for a table whose occupants were crying out in thirst. Erin knew the [Barmaid] was taking time to talk to her while the other two covered for her, so she talked fast and didn’t beat about the bush.

“Hey Safry, I’m actually looking for some help. And I think you could give me good advice.”

“Oh?”

The young woman—well, relatively young, since she was older than Erin—brushed sweat-dampened hair out of her eyes and smiled at Erin.

“What could I help you with?”

Erin smiled sheepishly. She liked Safry, and Maran. She’d worked with them for a week and they were hard working people. She felt a sort of kindred spirit with them.

“I’m actually sort of overworked right now in my own inn. I’m always cooking, cleaning, and so on. Lyonette helps a lot, but she’s only one person, you know? So I was wondering…do you know any good [Barmaids] I could talk to? I’d like to hire at least two, maybe as many as four. I’m going to go to Liscor and ask Selys and Krshia as well, but I thought you might know of some people I could talk to.”

Safry stared down at Erin, empty tray in hand. She looked around, and then to Erin’s surprise, pulled up a chair in front of her table. She leaned closer to Erin, looking at the [Innkeeper] intently.

“You’re looking for new [Barmaids]?”

There was a curious intensity to her tone. Erin nodded slowly.

“Yeah.”

“In that case…what about me?”

“What?”

“Why not hire me?”

“What?”

Erin stared at Safry. Of all the responses she could have imagined—and she hadn’t imagined any—this wasn’t one of them. But Safry looked serious. And she was already turning, shouting out above the busy noise of the inn.

“Hey Maran! Maran!”

The other [Barmaid] came over, looking footsore and tired.

“Aw, Safry…we have work!”

“Just sit. Listen—Erin’s hiring [Barmaids].”

“What? Do you want to hire me?”

Maran immediately sat down next to Safry, leaving their third co-worker to struggle alone against the hordes. But the two older [Barmaids] were intent on Erin. And Erin couldn’t understand why.

“Why do you want to work at my inn? Maran, Safry—I thought you two liked it here!”

They exchanged glances. To Erin’s bewilderment, they both shook their heads.

“We don’t like it here, Erin. It’s a good job, don’t get me wrong, and I’d work it the rest of my life if I had to. I have to eat after all. But if you’re hiring…I’ve been to your inn before. It’s larger than Agnes’, and you’re easier to work with than she is. And I’d bet you’d pay better than she does, too!”

“You don’t like Miss Agnes?”

Erin had her own private beef with Agnes after Jasi, and just how the woman ran her inn in general, but she hadn’t ever expected the woman’s relationship with her workers to be one of those issues. But to her surprise, Safry and Maran were only too happy to badmouth the woman.

“Miss Agnes? She’s not half as good as you, Erin. She doesn’t run the inn like you can, she can’t cook…on bad days, she’ll scream at you for serving the customer the wrong order she gave you. Or dock your pay for taking a break when it’s not busy.”

“She doesn’t do that. Really?”

“Oh, she’s better when her husband’s well. And Mister Agnes is a steady fellow, but when she’s stressed it gets ugly. And, well, she’s just not sympathetic! I had a terrible cold—couldn’t take or afford a healing potion, you know how it is with sickness—and she told me if I didn’t work I’d be fired, never mind that Maran was down with the same illness! I swear I gave my cold to two dozen folk, but I had to work.”

“She’s tight with her coin, too. We don’t get tips, Erin. I don’t know what world you come from—”

Erin jumped, but it was just an expression. Maran went on tiredly.

“—But folks don’t just leave extra coin for us. We rely on what Miss Agnes pays us, and that’s not much. True, it’s what most [Barmaids] get paid, but you’re a lot more generous than she is. You gave us a handful of coins each time after we’d worked our fingers off serving those crowds after the plays. Agnes would never do that.”

“I had no idea.”

It didn’t seem right to think less of Miss Agnes, not when Erin knew how the woman worked hard and tried to support her sick husband. But when she listened to Maran and Safry, Erin had to believe them. She couldn’t tell if they were lying, but she thought the things they were describing were the kinds of things Agnes might do. Like Ryoka had said, she wasn’t a bad woman.

Just not always a good one. And now Erin was faced with a problem, because she liked Maran and Safry. And she thought they might be a great help to Lyonette. However…

“If I hired you two, what would Miss Agnes do? I couldn’t do that, girls.”

Safry made a face.

“What, Agnes? If you hire us she’ll find two other [Barmaids] like that.”

She snapped her fingers dismissively. Maran nodded.

“A lot of girls have a few levels in the class, and it’s not like we’re rare. Erin, we’re begging you. Hire us!”

“But if Miss Agnes is angry…”

“She’d never scream at you, Erin. She’s afraid of you.”

“What? No.”

“Yes!”

Both [Barmaids] chorused at the same time. Erin stared at them.

“Me? Really?”

Safry nodded.

“You’re a Level 20 [Innkeeper] at least, right? Agnes is only Level 18, though she’s been working here for nearly a decade! It’s her husband who has all the cooking Skills. Ever since you came along, her inn’s been making ten times what it normally has!”

Maran chimed in.

“You also have that Skill—you know, where you get really scary? I swear, Miss Agnes nearly wet herself when you lectured her. She won’t kick up a fuss, Erin. Please?”

Erin put her head in her hands. This was too complex! She only wanted advice, but now she had to make a choice. When she looked up, Maran and Safry were still staring at her. Erin took a deep breath. Life was full of hard choices. And knowing what she did, Erin knew her decision already, though it might cause trouble. She looked at Safry.

“Okay, assuming I were to hire you…how much do you get paid now?”

The [Barmaids] smiled.

“What are you offering?”

Erin wavered. She didn’t know what [Barmaids] around here were paid, but she’d done her math, and figured out how much she could afford to pay.

“I was thinking…one silver coin and six copper coins per hour, and more if it’s a busy day? Bonuses if it’s a rush, obviously. Maybe a bit more? I dunno. What do you think?”

There was silence. Maran and Safry looked at each other. And then they looked at Erin. Safry spoke.

“How many [Barmaids] do you need? I have friends. And I could start tomorrow if you want.”

They leaned over the table, ignoring their coworker shouting that she needed help. Erin sat back in her chair and looked at the two [Barmaids]. She gulped.

—-

It was dinner time, or rather, a bit past that when Ryoka finished the testing. She popped back into the air in Erin’s inn, staggered, and clutched at her stomach. The teleportation made her feel as though she’d gone on a roller coaster ride at twice the normal speed. While inhaling paint fumes. Upside down.

“I think…I’m gonna be sick.”

Pisces carefully stepped back as Ryoka covered her mouth. It wouldn’t do to get his new robes dirty. True, he had the magical ones, but these were the unenchanted robes Ceria had gifted to him on Christmas. He would prefer to keep them clean.

Ryoka staggered over to a table and slumped onto it. Typhenous was sitting there, scribbling on a piece of parchment while Moore did math by tracing glowing numbers in the air. The two [Mages] concluded their calculations and looked up. They conferred with Pisces, and then presented their conclusion to Erin as she served everyone dinner.

“You’re telling me you spent all day doing maths?”

Halrac looked outraged, especially since everyone else, including Revi, had been gathering information about the dungeon from the latest reports. But Typhenous refused to be shamed.

“The understanding of this door, my good Halrac, is a boon in itself. And our conclusion is stunning!”

“The door can send someone of Ryoka’s general weight, give or take twenty pounds…”

Pisces flicked his fingers at Moore, and the half-Giant finished with a grin.

“…Five hundred and thirty six miles, given minimal change in altitude or magical ambience. The door would exhaust its magic after such a teleport however, and require roughly eight point two hours to recharge fully.”

The [Mages] sat back as the other occupants of the room went still. Ceria whistled and Jelaqua took a long drink of mulled wine.

“All the way to Invrisil, huh? Even if it’s only once a day…that’s powerful.”

“Invrisil? Hah! Who’d want to go there? It’s full of annoying Humans!”

Heads turned as Relc waved his mug and shouted from his table. By his side, Olesm slouched down as the Humans glared at Relc. Both Drakes had come up from the city, but Relc was in a substantially worse mood than Olesm.

“Got something against Humans, have you?”

Seborn looked at Relc. The Drake nodded. He had a bruise on his arm, his scales faintly discolored. It was the first injury Erin could ever remember seeing Relc having, outside of when he’d fought Gazi.

“Sure do, fish guy! I had to break up four brawls of adventurers today. Four! You Humans cause too much trouble! At least when Drakes fight, they break it up when the Watch comes. But noooo…you Humans always fight back!”

“Probably because they’re not used to [Guardsmen] who are actually competent. Most of the ones in the northern cities are barrel-scrapings, not fit to be Bronze-rank adventurers.”

Revi spoke up from her table, eliciting a glare from Halrac and Ulrien and putting her squarely in the ‘not Human’ camp in the room. Erin watched the arguments with half an eye, although she thought it wouldn’t come to actual violence, especially when Lyonette circulated with another tray of drinks. She was getting good.

“Hey Erin, about what I was going to tell you…”

Olesm caught Erin as she was serving tonight’s dish, a spicy vegetable soup, mixed with some rather wonderful fried dino-bird that Bird had shot the other day. Erin slid into a seat as Olesm talked excitedly.

“I was sending some copies of your chess game around, and I had a lengthy correspondence with a famous [Strategist] from one of the Walled Cities! Well, I say famous…he’s not exactly the most shiny scale around, but he’s well-known and guess what? He wants to come here and play a game of chess with you, Erin! Here!”

“What? No way!”

“Yeah! I told him—well, I told him I’d ask you, but do you think—”

“I’d love to! Anytime! But wait, I barely have time to play…and I haven’t in such a long time! I’m rusty! Quick, let’s play a game.”

Erin and Olesm fussed over a chess board while Ryoka wandered over to a corner of the inn. She’d spotted someone fly in at some point, and sure enough, Ivolethe was eating an egg while perched on Mrsha’s head.

Just an egg. She’d cracked part of the bottom and was sucking the insides out. There was something disgusting about the tiny faerie eating that way, and Ryoka didn’t look too closely as she squatted down. Mrsha immediately moved over to sit next to Ryoka as the girl spoke to Ivolethe.

“Where have you been, then?”

Ivolethe licked some yolk off of her arm and looked archly at Ryoka.

“Away. I do not hover about ye all the time, Ryoka Griffin.”

“Fine, be obstinate. I just wanted to say that Mrsha and I—yes, you, Mrsha—are going to visit a friend in a day or two. She lives on a farm.”

“Ah, friendship.”

Ryoka waited for Ivolethe to say something biting, but the faerie just paused. Ryoka looked at her.

“You down for a visit, or will you be going somewhere else?”

Ivolethe shook her head.

“I will come. And it is good you will be going away for a day or two. I think it is time I taught you something. The winter will end soon, Ryoka. And when it does, so too shall we part.”

“Oh. Right.”

Ryoka hadn’t been thinking about that. Rather deliberately. She stared at Ivolethe.

“You mean you think you can teach me magic? We haven’t gotten around to it. And I didn’t really manage to learn much when you tried before. But you think I can really learn how to run like the wind?”

The faerie was silent as she tossed the empty egg over her shoulder. It flew surprisingly far and high and bounced off of Ksmvr’s head.

“I do not know. But I think…”

Ryoka watched Ivolethe carefully.

“Yes?”

The faerie nodded slowly. She smiled wickedly.

“Yes, I think it will be entertaining for me.”

She grinned at Ryoka, and the young woman bared her teeth in reply.

Across the inn, as Ksmvr stared at the eggshell and wondered aloud where it had come from, and then promptly asked Pisces to explain, Erin sat with Olesm and talked about her door.

“It’s so cool! Ryoka says she could take a portal-door-thingy to Invrisil and then I could go there and back any time I wanted! Okay, I could only go like once a day and then come back, but if I bought a mana potion or something…Pisces says he could fuel the door with his own mana to make it charge faster!”

Olesm was sweating over the chess board, tail lashing furiously. Relc looked bored as he watched them play.

“Invrisil. Hah. Why’s everyone want to go there?”

“Well, Ryoka knows some people there and it sounds really cool. It’s one of the biggest cities on the continent!”

“One of the biggest Human cities.”

Relc folded his arms. Erin looked at him as she took one of Olesm’s knights and he covered his face in despair.

“What’s wrong with that? I want to go to a cool city. So what if it’s Human?”

Olesm looked up.

“But you don’t have to. You could go to one of the biggest Human cities on the continent…or a Drake city. You could reach one of the Walled Cities from here, Erin.”

“Yeah!”

Relc pounded a fist on the table, and then held out for Olesm to gingerly tap.

“Scales over skin! Whoops, sorry, Erin. Why not Drakes? Give us a chance!”

“Really? A Walled City?”

Erin had never gone south from Liscor. Neither had Ryoka. She had no idea what was south of Liscor, what things looked like. Ryoka had said she’d gone to a mountainous place, a forest, the Blood Fields…but never a city.

“The Walled Cities are amazing, Erin. I think you’d love to visit. Why not try and get a teleporting door there? I’m sure a lot of people from Liscor would pay good money to travel back and forth as well.”

Relc was nodding as Olesm spoke. Then he sat up, scratching at the spines on his head.

“Home, huh? That reminds me, what with this dungeon thing…I was thinking about it after that stupid Gazi kicked my tail a while back. But I really need to get my spear back.”

Olesm and Erin looked at Relc. Erin pointed silently to the spear the Drake had leaned against the wall near his table. Relc waved his tail at it dismissively.

“Not that. That’s just an ordinary spear, Erin! I mean my spear, my enchanted spear! I had it back when I was a [Sergeant] in army. But I had to leave it when I left. Stupid rules…but I think I need it to handle all these monsters and stupid Human adventurers.”

He glanced across the room at Ryoka, who was tossing Mrsha up and catching her, much to the Gnoll’s delight. He nodded at her and spoke conspiratorially to Erin.

“Think your runner friend could go to one of the Walled Cities for me, Erin? For maybe, a discount? I need to send a message to the army.”

“Which army?”

“Liscor’s! Duh.”

Relc snorted.

“They’re fighting around one of the Walled Cities, last I heard. Well, they’re always fighting. I don’t know where they are exactly, but I bet anyone could tell your Runner friend. She looks familiar, by the way. Have I met her before? Ah, well, you Humans…anyways. It would only take like…a week or two? She’d be back in no time, I bet, especially if you give her one of those teleporting things.”

Erin stared at him. Olesm stared at him. Relc looked around innocently.

“One week? Come on. It’s not like it would take months. No? Fine. I guess I’ll go bug Hawk.”

The last visitor to the inn dropped by long after Mrsha had figured out how to throw up in midair and Ryoka had learned why tossing children and engaging in vigorous exercise around dinner time was a bad idea. Bird wandered into the inn and was immediately accosted by Erin.

“Bird! Guard! Bird House! I pay, you shoot! Birds! Bird!”

It took a while for him to understand what Erin was getting at, but when he realized what Erin was suggesting, Bird was ecstatic.

“I am ecstatic. Is that the word?”

“Yes! Oh, Bird, it’ll be great! You can have your own room, you can shoot birds, I can cook birds, Mrsha and Lyonette can be safe and you can stop her from running off without supervision—”

Mrsha, recovered and eating more food, gave Bird a wary look. He gave the Gnoll cub an ever warier look, but nodded at Erin.

“Revalantor Klbkch has informed me of my duties. I would be happy to accept.”

Erin smiled at him.

“That’s great. Everything’s so great! Oh, by the way, is Pawn around? I heard he was trying to talk to me earlier, but I didn’t get a chance to see him. What did he want?”

Bird looked confused. He scratched his head, and then remembered. He replied cheerfully.

“Ah yes. I remember now. Pawn was to be assigned to combat duty with the group of Soldiers under his command today. He wished to speak with Erin and talk with her in case he perished later.”

It was like a spell. Everyone that heard Bird went instantly silent. Only Relc and the Halfseekers across the room hadn’t heard. Relc was laughing loudly at Jelaqua and challenging her to a drinking match when he realized the room had gone still. He turned and looked at Bird as Erin put a hand over her mouth. Bird looked confused as he stared around. He shrugged.

“What? He said it was only a possibility.”

4.13 L

Once upon a time there was a Worker. He had no name. He had no future. He had been born to work, and he knew he would die. If not today, then tomorrow.

He would die while working. A chance fall from the top of a building while carrying lumber might be his end, or perhaps in a freak monster attack. He might die when fighting to defend his Hive, or if a tunnel collapsed due to an earthquake or flood.

And if he survived that, he would die when he grew old. When he grew slower he would be given jobs fitting his station. But at some point he would be too slow, too weary. And then he would walk into the jaws of a monster, or curl up and stop breathing. That was what the Worker knew.

And he didn’t mind. Because all routes led to death in the end, he did not worry about his fate. He was part of his Hive. If his Queen could live a fraction of a second longer, or his Hive prosper by the sum of one more copper coin, he would die fulfilled.

So he thought. And then one day, he met a girl named Erin Solstice. And she asked him if he had a name. The question had broken him into pieces. A simple question, but one that asked the Worker things he had never thought of, things he had no answers for.

He might have fallen. He might have become an Aberration. But he did not. He found a name in despair and found something else to live for besides his Queen. He found he was no longer a Worker, and he realized he was afraid of dying. He chose a name.

That was then. Now Pawn was something else. Not just a [Tactician] or [Carpenter] or [Butcher], but something that defined him. He had a class that was unique to him, something no one else had. He was an [Acolyte]. The first of his kind.

He was also a leader. It was not the same as [Tactician], no. For a [Tactician] only thought of the world in terms of loss and gain. They could command, but their Skills and nature did not inspire.

Pawn led Soldiers, the huge, silent guardians of the Hive. He had hundreds of them under his command, each one a killing machine. They didn’t have hands. Their fists were designed for murder, for tearing and pounding force, not to hold things. They had less future than that of a Worker, for they would live and die in their Hive, fighting against threats with their short lifespans.

They were fierce, loyal, unwavering. Pawn did not deserve to command one of them, but he had no choice. He had been given a position of power, so Pawn had learned to lead. He had lives of Soldiers under his authority, and he had unwillingly accepted the trust they had placed in him. He was no true general, no gifted visionary, but he had a duty. So Pawn learned. He learned what to say when he held a dying Soldier in his arms.

And he learned how to give them hope. Because that was what the Antinium needed. Hope. A dream. Faith that there was something worth dying for. The Hive wasn’t enough. Not at all. The Queen wasn’t enough. What they needed was light.

So Pawn took the Soldiers who had lived their lives in darkness. He took them out of the Hive. And showed them the sky.

—-

A few desultory snowflakes drifted down from grey skies above Liscor. A cold wind blew. Not a fell wind, or a chill wind—just cold. It wasn’t a wind that could scourge flesh or scale from bone or freeze extremities in an instant. It was just cold. And unpleasant. The Drakes and Gnolls and Humans walking down the street moved quickly to be out of the wind and weather. They were sick of winter, and wanted it to be over already.

But the Antinium marching down the streets stared up at the sky and marveled. The Soldiers walked with uniform alertness behind Pawn, drawing heads and clearing the street as they marched down it. Drakes and Gnolls alike got out of the way, eyeing the Soldiers a bit warily, but without fear.

The Humans were less circumspect. Twice already, Pawn had seen a group of Humans scream and run, or reach for their weapons. Both times he had resolved the situation, but the Humans made him uneasy. He couldn’t predict how they’d act.

The Drakes and Gnolls on the other hand, the citizens of Liscor, were easier. They just watched the Antinium warily, but the Soldiers Pawn led through the streets towards the eastern gates were accepted by now. Perhaps even liked?

No. No, not liked. Pawn sighed as he watched one of the Soldiers stare up at a cloud and then snap his head down and keep walking. It was a good sign. The Soldiers were too careful to stop paying attention, but these new ones had never seen the sky, let alone snow or people. Pawn knew they were staring while pretending not to. And he didn’t mind. They would have a chance to stare as long as they liked today.

“Left here.”

He indicated a street, and the Soldiers instantly filed after him, surprising a family of Gnolls. They backed away, but Pawn immediately halted to let them move past the Antinium.

“Hrr. Thank you.”

The father—or mother—bowed her head to Pawn and he inclined his. The Gnolls stepped quickly around the Soldiers, half of whom stared at the furry Gnolls. And the Gnolls stared back. One of the three children of the family of five, the youngest, sniffed at a Soldier’s leg and then hurried away as his parent snapped at him. It was another good sign, Pawn decided.

“Resume marching. Be careful of pedestrians.”

Pawn began walking and his Soldiers immediately fell into step behind him. The Antinium marched down the street, pausing to let a wagon go past as the [Driver] stared down at the Antinium. He had no words for Pawn or the Soldiers, but that was good too.

Because it meant Liscor was getting used to Pawn’s daily patrols.

At first, Pawn had encountered fear, suspicion, and downright hostility as he’d brought his group of Soldiers through the streets and out the gates. Despite Watch Captain Zevara and Klbkch assuring the residents of Liscor that these Antinium were not dangerous, they had feared Pawn and his group almost as much as the rumors of Goblin armies or Rock Crabs.

At first. But each day, Pawn had come back, his Soldiers carrying dead Shield Spiders, Corusdeer carcasses, and other proof of their victories against the dangerous creatures roaming around Liscor. That was all they did. They went out, patrolled the landscape, and came back with spoils that were turned into meat for [Butchers], armor for [Blacksmiths], ingredients for [Alchemists], and so on.

And the city had accepted them. Slowly, but surely, the people had realized that Pawn’s group of Soldiers were there to help. They had already known Klbkch, the Antinium with a name. He was recognized as a reliable, if odd Senior Guardsman, and, it was said, the only person who could put up with Relc or survive his escapades. So instead of people fleeing the Antinium when they appeared or screaming for the Watch, they just watched.

And then Pawn had begun painting his Soldiers, or rather, letting them paint themselves. It was their identity, and perhaps the single greatest idea Pawn had ever had. Perhaps the greatest idea any Worker had ever had, come to that. Because the Soldiers could not speak. They could not name themselves and Pawn had agonized over that fact. How could they be remembered without an identity, especially because they all looked the same, even to Pawn?

With paint. That was how. The paint was thick, water-resistant, and Pawn had bought enough of it from Krshia to let the Soldiers reapply it to their armored carapaces whenever they wanted. And he had let them paint themselves. So each Soldier that walked behind Pawn stood out. And the people noticed.

“There they are again. Damn bugs.”

A group of elderly Drakes sat at a table outside of one of the taverns, watching the Antinium wait for a wagon to be unloaded. They could move past, but Pawn didn’t want to spook the Drakes and Gnolls who were working. They were already moving double-time to get out of the Soldiers’ way.

In the meantime, the Drakes who’d taken issue with the Soldiers talked, and Pawn listened to them complain. They were old. Their scales were discolored in places by age and faded by time. These old Drakes often sat outside, Pawn knew. They seemed unaffected by the cold, or perhaps it was because they sipped spicy alcoholic beverages in the morning. They always had something to say about the Soldiers, too.

“Every day that Worker brings them this way. Now they’re blocking my view of the street too. Ruins my morning.”

“What morning? You barely wake up before noon.”

“Shut up, Shadowspine. I rise at the crack of dawn—”

“Hah!”

“—at the crack of dawn I say, and if I have to crane my neck every time a band of those black giants passes by—”

“You barely turn your head when your grandchildren come by. You’re just sore because I won five silver from you last night over dice.”

“It was a bad toss! You barely rattled the dice around, you cheating—”

Two of the Drakes sitting at the table began arguing and throwing things at each other. They bickered loudly as Pawn passed by. But another of the Drakes sitting at the table, an old female Drake with grey-green scales peered intently at the group of Soldiers.

“There he is. See?”

“What?”

The two arguing male Drakes turned their heads. The female Drake smiled.

“The one with yellow paint. See? I saw him yesterday.”

Pawn didn’t have to look to know which Soldier she was talking about. One of the Soldiers marching behind him had yellow splatters of paint all over his carapace, as if someone had thrown globs of paint at him. In fact, that was exactly what had happened.

The old Drakes stared at the Soldier in question. One of them, the alleged cheater, coughed and grumbled.

“So? He looks silly. What did that one do, trip and knock paint all over himself?”

“Hush.”

The other Drake turned and flicked her tail, smacking the speaker in the chest with her tail. Pawn was impressed. Drakes had a good amount of control over their tails, but this old Drake seemed quite adept with hers.

“I like him.”

“Pah! That’s all you know, Shivertail.”

The old Drake that apparently woke up at the crack of dawn cast his eyes across the group of Soldier. He pointed.

“There! That one’s far better.”

Every head in the group of Drakes turned to stare at the individual the Drake had pointed at. His chest and back was bare, but his arms and legs had been painted with purple slashes of color running from his shoulder down to his legs.

“Now that’s war paint.”

“Bah. What about that one?”

The cheating Drake pointed and Pawn saw he was looking at a Soldier who’d drawn a pair of eyes on his shoulders. It was unsettling how they seemed to stare at anyone the Soldier faced. But the elderly Drake seemed to approve.

“That’s proper art, that is. If you two knew anything about color, you’d be admiring him, or the one with the bird on his face.”

“Is that what it is? Who paints their face? That’s plain odd.”

“Bah. When I was a young [Soldier]—”

“Here we go again.”

“Silence! When I fought in the army as part of the elite scouting division—”

“You mean, glorified rangers?”

“—we hunted in groups, wearing war paint to demoralize the enemy! Anyone who saw our colors fled in fear or begged for their lives—”

“Didn’t you lot get routed by a single Gnoll tribe?”

“They had the terrain advantage! But mark me, if we’d been fighting on neutral ground—”

The wagon rumbled out of the way and Pawn continued marching. The arguing Drakes’ voices faded into the background noise, but Pawn’s smile did not.

Identity. Each of his Soldiers had it now. It wasn’t just elderly Drake grandmothers who watched out for a particular Soldier. Some of the other citizens noticed when a particular Soldier went past. It was like a game. The Antinium had been faceless and identical for so long that now there was a way to tell them apart, people were beginning to pay attention.

The Antinium group left the city, walking past the [Guardsmen] who watched the group with no visible signs of wariness. Pawn looked around and saw snow-covered hilltops, and a distinct lack of detail. So he pointed in a random direction, towards a mountain peak that looked somewhat inviting.

“We shall patrol in this direction. At a leisurely pace. Follow me.”

He began to walk. Not march, but walk. The Soldiers nearly ran Pawn over before they realized how slow he was moving. Over half of this group hadn’t ever been outside, and so they didn’t know how the patrol went.

Pawn proceeded up a hill, down a hill, and then around a hill because he was getting bored of walking up the incline. He set a pace slow enough that the Soldiers could get their fill of staring. Because they would stare, Pawn knew. They would stare at the snow, the sky, and watch a bird until it died of boredom if he let them. It wasn’t because the Soldiers were that simple, either. It was because they had never seen any of these things, and so the experience was precious and wonderful to them.

In that, Pawn envied the Soldiers. They could find so much meaning in a blade of grass. Too much, in fact. Pawn had learned to start the Soldiers off slow, get them out of the city and patrolling the boring landscape around Liscor for a few hours. Because that was all the stimulation the Soldiers could handle. Only after that would Pawn work them up to getting back in the city, staring at flowers, fire, and eating.

Food was one of the highlights of the day for Pawn, and probably the most important experience he could give the Soldiers. Instead of the horrible paste they ate, each one would get a meal courtesy of Lyonette, or more recently, Erin.

Erin. Pawn stopped and let the Soldiers covertly bend down and feel at the snow. Erin was back. He hadn’t had time to talk to her, but she was back. That filled Pawn with countless emotions, relief being first among them. She was back.

He hadn’t gotten a chance to speak with her much, of course. Erin was always busy and so was Pawn. He didn’t like to bother her. Pawn had his life and Erin…was surely too busy to always be looking after him. He had Soldiers to lead now. And not only that…

He had a faith, as well. Pawn was an [Acolyte]. He could pray. He had no god, but he believed in heaven. And it was that faith that gave him a class and Skills no one else had.

Once, Pawn had told the Soldiers about heaven. They had believed in it like he had, and killed themselves to go there, rather than stay. But that was not the way. Pawn had known it. So he had told the Soldiers to stay, to build a heaven for the Antinium while they lived. Because there was no heaven for the Antinium. There was a god—one for the religion of Christianity, for Humans, that Erin had told Pawn about. But none for the Antinium.

So Pawn would make a heaven for his people, for the Workers and Soldiers. He just had to figure out how.

After a while, Pawn began walking again. The Soldiers fell in. He walked over a hill, down a hill, into a Shield Spider’s nest—

The Soldiers jumped in after Pawn and he got out with only a bite on his arm, barely fracturing his carapace. Pawn shakily climbed out of the pit as the Soldiers began smashing the Shield Spiders to bits.

“Ah…very good. Thank you.”

There was danger out in the area around Liscor. Not a patrol went by when Pawn didn’t have his Soldiers fight something or other. But not a single Soldier had died on these patrols, not one. Pawn was proud of that. The Rock Crabs, the fearsome scuttling giant boulders, were no match for the Antinium en masse. The Soldiers would just hold the Rock Crab’s shell down and break through the top with brute force, killing the surprised crustacean from above while it was pinned down.

Soldiers didn’t fight fair. They didn’t fight dirty either. They just fought. The Soldiers probably would have been astounded to learn there was a way to fight fair. They had been born to kill, and they did that quite efficiently.

Pawn watched as a Soldier kicked a Shield Spider into the air. The armored spiders were a considerable threat, worthy of a Silver-rank team or more dangerous in larger nests. Their armor could resist sword cuts, and they had terribly dangerous bites. A normal warrior would be hard-pressed to kill one, even with a mace or axe.

But the Soldiers were strong. One picked up a Shield Spider and held it as it struggled. Another Soldier hit it repeatedly as the other Soldier held it until the Spider’s center burst. Pawn looked away. Then he looked back sharply as something strange happened.

A Soldier had been striking down at a particularly large and aggressive Shield Spider. It had bitten into his legs, sending trickles of green blood out of the wounds. Pawn would have ordered someone to help, but the Soldier suddenly paused as the Shield Spider reared up, trying to bite at his face. The Soldier seemed to hesitate—and then one of his hands blurred.

It was an uppercut, but at a speed that nearly escaped Pawn’s vision to see. The blow caught the Shield Spider as it was rearing and knocked its head off. Literally. Pawn flinched as bits flew out of the pit. The headless Shield Spider collapsed and the Soldier stared at his fist.

Every other Soldier in the pit stared too. Pawn stared as well. He jumped down into the pit and walked over to the Soldier, who flinched.

“Was that a Skill?”

The Soldier stood at attention, silent. Pawn stared at him. This Soldier was the one with the yellow spatters the Drake grandmother had found so interesting. He had patrolled with Pawn several times before.

“Did you use a Skill?”

The Soldier stared down at Pawn. The Worker couldn’t read what was behind his eyes, but he had grown used to the Soldiers by now. He thought the Soldier seemed…nervous? Could Soldiers feel fear? But then the Soldier nodded hesitantly.

“A Skill.”

Pawn exhaled, clicking his mandibles together. One of his Soldiers had learned an activated Skill? That meant…they had leveled up! Pawn knew the Soldiers might, but to realize it now…

“What level are you? No—what class? Is there a way to tell? Ah, but…you do not know how to write and your fingers…”

Pawn stared at the Soldier as he looked down at Pawn. He seemed nervous for all that he was bigger, and stronger than Pawn. The Worker nodded at last, and the Soldier flinched as Pawn looked at him.

“Good work.”

All of the Soldiers stared. Pawn looked around.

“If you have Skills, do not hesitate to use them. But please do not risk yourselves.”

He pointed to the Soldier’s lacerated legs.

“We will stop the bleeding before continuing. The rest of you, clean up the corpses. We will collect them on the way back.”

The Soldiers paused, and then got to work. Pawn had the Soldier with yellow splatters sit and stopped the bleeding with cold snow and some strips of linen he’d purchased with his limited supply of coin. The Worker apologized, because he hadn’t been allowed to use the Hive’s supply of healing potions on Soldiers.

But he cared. And that was why the Soldiers followed him. Because even if Pawn didn’t know it, he had given them a purpose. He had given them identity, shown them the sky. He had given them something to believe in, and so they followed him. Each one would die for him.

But Pawn didn’t know that. All he knew was what it was another day. Another fine day, where none of his Soldiers had died. And it would have been a fine day tomorrow, where he did the same thing again. It would have been, but Klbkch summoned him the instant he returned to the Hive.

—-

“Combat duty?”

Pawn sat in Klbkch’s small office, a dirt room filled with a table and two chairs. And a coatrack which held no coats. Only a single scarf. Klbkch looked up from his desk where he was busy writing something down and nodded briefly.

“That is correct. Do I need to repeat myself?”

“No. It is just that—why me? Why now?”

Pawn stared at Klbkch as the other Antinium clicked his mandibles sharply together in irritation and pushed his papers aside. Pawn felt nervous as Klbkch regarded him over the desk.

He was afraid of the other Antinium. Klbkch may have been the Revalantor of the Hive, and the former Prognugator, both a unique role for the one individual Antinium who directly served the Queen and enforced her will, but Pawn knew his blades had slain more of his fellow Workers than any lone monster.

For that was the duty of a Prognugator. To lead the Antinium in battle, to oversee the Hive while the Queen was busy, and to kill Aberrations. In theory that meant individuals like Pawn, if he turned out to be useless or worse, a traitor to the Hive.

Pawn could never forget that when he was around Klbkch. The Revalantor studied Pawn, and then nodded shortly as if he’d made a decision.

“I require your group of Soldiers to fight today for two reasons. Firstly, I wish to test whether any of them have indeed gained levels as a result of your leadership.”

Pawn nodded as his heart sank. That was the reason Klbkch had assigned the surviving Soldiers to him in the first place, to make them stronger. Pawn knew that, but it was too soon! They’d barely been with him for a week, and now they might die? But Klbkch wasn’t done. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment before looking at Pawn.

“Ordinarily, I would give your unit another month before committing you to a far less-dangerous assignment to test your capabilities. However…the second reason is that we are in need of every Soldier in the Hive at this moment, Pawn. Each and every one, regardless of their worth. I recalled Anand and his group of Soldiers and Workers to the Hive two days ago, but they were not enough. Your Soldiers will fight and many may die. But they are needed to hold the line. If they cannot hold, we may be overrun.”

“What?”

Pawn felt stunned. Overrun? How could the Hive be overrun? Klbkch studied Pawn and shook his head.

“Ah, now I realize you are not informed about matters within the Hive. Belgrade and Anand know, but they have not spoken to you of this matter, have they?”

“No. I had not spoken to them for several days now.”

Pawn hesitated. He hadn’t seen Belgrade or Anand at all, actually. Klbkch nodded.

“They have been working without rest to defend the Hive. Now I understand. I will inform you of the situation, so you may understand why your Soldiers are needed, Pawn. I would not do so for Belgrade or Anand except in a tactical sense, but you are like Relc.”

“I am?”

“You are. You ask superfluous questions. Now listen. You are aware our Hive has battled monsters from the dungeon underneath Liscor, correct?”

“Yes. We always have been.”

For as long as Pawn had lived, the Hive had fended off the incursion of monsters from the dungeon. There were many, many routes from the dungeon to the Hive, many tunnels dug by hungry monsters or by the Antinium. They had to be guarded against attack, which is why Soldiers fought almost daily. But the Hive had always pushed back every attack, from Shield Spiders to Pickstriker fungi, and Crypt Worms and the undead. What had changed?

“We have always sought to defend ourselves from monsters within the dungeon. It has been a difficult task at times, but we have defeated every incursion regardless of the cost of life. However, now that adventurers have entered the dungeon…it is waking up.”

“Waking up? It is sentient?”

Klbkch shook his head.

“That is a metaphorical statement. A non-Antinium expression. To clarify, the population of monsters is growing increasingly active in response to numerous food sources. Thus, the amount of attacks on our Hive has doubled or even tripled in number. For the first time, the Hive is losing more Workers and Soldiers in battle than it produces. We are struggling to increase reproduction while holding the line.”

“I did not know.”

Pawn knew Soldiers and Workers died each day. But he hadn’t noticed more empty spaces or fewer bodies. There were so many Antinium in the Hive, how could you tell? Klbkch tapped the desk slowly.

“You were not meant to know. Nor will you tell anyone of our weakness, including Erin. Is that understood?”

He waited until Pawn had nodded to go on.

“We are capable of resolving this issue—in time. Workers are attempting to repair breached tunnels and create a second layer of fortifications. That is not the issue. The issue is that while Anand and Belgrade have successfully held back every monster attack—with far less loss of life due to their Skills—the latest skirmish created an event where Anand was wounded.”

Something twisted in Pawn. He hadn’t known.

“Is he dead?”

“No. But he is unable to lead, and Belgrade is unable to command alone. I must fulfill my duties as Senior Guardsman for a set period of each day, and rest at other times. I cannot apply for leave and alert the city of the Hive’s weakness at this moment. Thus, you must fulfill the void Anand has left.”

Pawn absorbed all this slowly. He had to fight? With his Soldiers? But—they had paint. They had identity. They were…his. And he had to tell them to die?

Perhaps Klbkch saw his indecision, because the Revalantor spoke sharply.

“You will select one hundred of your Soldiers to do battle. So long as you hold your position, there will be no issue. Belgrade is able to handle the battle as a whole. But you will not retreat unless ordered to, understood?”

Pawn wanted to object, but he knew it was pointless. Instead he asked the other question on his mind.

“What about the other Antinium? The visitors? Will they not fight to defend the Hive?”

Klbkch paused. Pawn had seen the other Antinium, and he remembered the one called Xrn, the Small Queen. She had been radiant. And she knew magic! He had never heard of someone like her, but Pawn was equally in awe of the Antinium with wings, and the ones that wore armor, or seemed to slide from shadow to shadow. Surely they could fight?

But the Revalantor just shook his head.

“They are guests of the Hive. If they wish to participate in battle, they are free to do so. But to request aid is…not a course of action which my Queen and I wish to undertake. No, we will fight back the monsters alone. You have your orders Pawn. Report to Belgrade tomorrow at noon. Now, leave.”

Pawn left. He didn’t want to, but he dared not defy Klbkch. Not the Slayer. And Pawn knew he was right. If the Hive was in danger, he and his Soldiers had a duty. They had to fight.

But Pawn didn’t have to like it. He immediately began walking down through the tunnels of his Hive, following the flow of Workers, searching for Belgrade.

He found the Antinium in the chess room. That was where other Workers played chess. They had no names. They were still not Individual, despite having leveled up in the [Tactician] class. Klbkch and Pawn had agreed the Workers were missing a key element to gain individuality.

Erin. Probably.

But Belgrade and Anand still loved to play. They always hung about in this room when not on duty.

Belgrade was not playing when Pawn found him. He was sitting by himself, in a corner, and the other Workers were sitting as far away from him as possible, glancing at him. Belgrade was hunched into a ball, clasping his four arms around himself in a pose Pawn had never seen before.

He was shaking.

“Belgrade. What is wrong? Are you sick? Are you injured?”

Pawn knelt beside his friend. Belgrade turned his head towards Pawn, and his mandibles clacked together soundlessly. When he spoke, his voice was taut, strained.

“Pawn? I—I cannot. Revalantor Klbkch says I must fulfill Anand’s role and my own, but there are too many, Pawn! I cannot counter all these attacks, and if they overrun the entrenched fortifications—”

“Belgrade. Listen to me—”

“I cannot do it alone, Pawn! Each time I send Soldiers and Workers out, they are killed, Pawn! There are too many this time. Shield Spiders, hundreds of them keep pouring out of the tunnels! And there are suits of armor that ten Soldiers cannot bring down, and the Crypt Worms! They are reanimating our dead, Pawn, our dead. Anand and I could fight them together, but by myself—”

“Belgrade.”

Pawn reached for Belgrade and held his shoulder. Erin had done that to him, once. The other Antinium was shaking, but it grew less as Pawn held him firmly. He looked into Belgrade’s eyes as Erin had once done. Pawn wondered if he should sing.

“I do not know how to sing.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Belgrade, listen to me. You will not be alone tomorrow. I will be participating in battle as well, with my unit of soldiers.”

“You?”

Belgrade stared at Pawn. Rather than finding reassurance in this knowledge as Pawn had hoped, he looked horrified.

“Who gave you this order?”

“Klbkch.”

“No. I must speak to him.”

Belgrade struggled to get up, but Pawn held him down.

“I see the necessity of this order now, Belgrade. I will fight.”

The other [Tactician] shook his head.

“It is too dangerous, Pawn. You are not the same level of [Tactician] as I am. The fighting envelops the entire area—monsters will dig through the walls, or bypass defenses. You will not be safe.”

“You and Anand were not safe. I am needed. My Soldiers are of a higher level than the others, Belgrade. That is why Klbkch assigned them to my command.”

Belgrade hesitated, looking at Pawn with one of his multi-spectrum eyes.

“Truly? That would be—but it is still—”

He broke off, thinking. Pawn could see the [Tactician] part of Belgrade analyzing Pawn’s statement, looking to see how it might help in the coming conflict. He nodded, heart pounding out of his chest, but forced the words out of his mandibles.

“Leave the most dangerous areas to my group of Soldiers, Belgrade. We will not retreat. And we…we will do our duty.”

There was nothing more to be said. Pawn was a Worker, and he commanded Soldiers. They had been created to fight, to protect the Hive, as had Belgrade. And now Pawn understood something else as well. If he did not fight, Belgrade might die. Or more Soldiers and Workers might die. It wasn’t a choice where his Soldiers would die or not die if Pawn refused to fight. If he did not fight with them, Antinium would die. If he did fight, Antinium would still die. But perhaps if his Soldiers fought, less Antinium would die.

There was no good outcome. But there was only one choice that Pawn could take. And Belgrade saw it. He nodded. The shaking had stopped. Slowly, the [Tactician] got to his feet and placed his hand on Pawn’s shoulder as the other Antinium had done for him.

“I must rest if I am to fight at peak efficiency. Pawn, you must promise me to stay behind your Soldiers. If you die…I would not know how to speak to Erin.”

“I know.”

Belgrade left the room. Pawn remained. He clenched his fist. Now he had no other choice. Not that he’d ever really had another option. He turned to go, to seek out Erin despite the late hour, when someone called out his name. Pawn turned, and saw another Antinium staring at him across the room.

“You are the Individual designated as Pawn, are you not?”

The other Antinium was not a part of Pawn’s Hive. He could not be. No Antinium looked like him, not even Klbkch. This Antinium was as tall as a Soldier, and had the same build, but he had only two arms, and he carried a mace and shield at his side.

And he was wearing armor. It shone in the light, and in the eyes of the Workers who stared at him. Tersk, the Prognugator of the Armored Antinium was an armored giant, and he had a helmet which protected his head, which had no antennae.

“Prognugator Tersk.”

Pawn bowed his head as Tersk strode forwards. Tersk nodded in reply. Pawn had not spoken to any of the special Antinium who had come to visit the Hive, although the others, Belgrade, Anand, Bird, and Garry had all had strange interviews with the other Prognugators.

“How may I help you, Prognugator Tersk?”

“I wish to speak with you, Individual Pawn. I had wished to make your acquaintance when I heard of your existence a few days ago, but I have not seen you about until now.”

“Ah. I have been…busy.”

Tersk nodded.

“Yes. I understand you command a detachment of Soldiers. Tell me, Individual Pawn. How do you feel they would match up against a similar unit of Soldiers from my Hive?”

It was a military question, a question of tactics and analysis. Pawn stared at Tersk blankly and shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

The armored Prognugator paused. He seemed surprised by Pawn’s response.

“You don’t know? But you have levels in [Tactician].”

“Only a few. I have not fought, Prognugator Tersk. And I do not know the capabilities of your Soldiers.”

“Ah. I understand. I will signal my Soldiers to approach.”

Tersk turned his head and to Pawn’s surprise, took his mace and struck his shield with it, making a dull metallic beat that sounded like some sort of signal. And in less than a second, two Soldiers appeared, striding into the room and halting behind Tersk.

Why hadn’t he used Klbkch and Ksmvr’s inaudible way of signaling Antinium, like the Queen? Pawn’s eyes went to Tersk’s helmeted head. Oh. He didn’t have antennae.

“Here are two examples of my Hive for you, Pawn.”

Tersk indicated the two Soldiers, and Pawn noted that these Soldiers had a greatsword and a spear respectively. They stood completely still, staring ahead like Pawn’s Soldiers.

“We are the Armored Antinium, the sole Hive to use steel and metal to reinforce our bodies. We fight with weapons because they are more efficient, and allow for greater survivability of each individual in combat. We fight in formation, and are adept at battle above and below-ground. Now that you have analyzed these two Soldiers, tell me, what chance would your special unit have against them?”

“Well, there are two of them and I have over two hundred Soldiers under my command. I think we would win.”

Pawn’s reply made Tersk pause again.

“I was referring to an engagement of equal numbers.”

“Oh. In that case I don’t know.”

Pawn stared at Tersk, almost daring the Prognugator to ask another question as Tersk paused. He didn’t know why he was feeling hostile towards Tersk. Maybe it was because Tersk wasn’t fighting and Belgrade had been. Even Klbkch was leading the Antinium, when he wasn’t above-ground. But what had Tersk done for Pawn? According to Garry, all he did was wander around and ask questions. He had armor and a mace. He could be fighting!

“I understand your assessment capabilities are somewhat limited, Individual Pawn. I ask these questions to ascertain how your Hive capabilities match my own. It is a matter of strategic importance.”

“I have not heard of your Hive, Prognugator Tersk. But I am sure it is a capable one. However, I have never seen another Hive besides my own or other Antinium until recently.”

“Yes. Contact between the Hives is limited. That is a situation I feel must be rectified if we are to combine efforts.”

Tersk nodded repeatedly. He seemed so serious. Pawn felt a bit bad for being deliberately obtuse. But then Tersk turned to Pawn and began asking more questions.

“What is your class? What do you do besides lead Soldiers, Individual Pawn?”

Why did he keep calling Pawn that? The minute tolerance Pawn had felt evaporated. He answered shortly.

“I am an [Acolyte]. I pray.”

“An [Acolyte]?”

“Yes. Would you like me to repeat myself?”

Tersk paused, and his mandibles clicked together inside his helmet.

“I am unfamiliar with this class. I take it that it is unusual?”

“Yes.”

Perhaps unique. Why was Tersk asking all these questions? Pawn…didn’t feel like talking at this moment. Even to a Prognugator. It was an insidious, rebellious thought, he knew, but Tersk wasn’t his Prognugator. And Pawn hadn’t cared for Ksmvr, his former Prognugator, either. Why did he have to obey anyone, for that matter? Why did he have to obey Klbkch?

Oh. Right. He had swords. And Tersk had a mace. And two large armored Soldiers following him. Pawn grudgingly continued to talk rather than walk away.

“And what is prayer?”

“It is believing in something. It is believing, and having faith that something is true.”

Tersk waited, but that was the only answer Pawn was going to give him. The Worker crossed his arms, and Tersk noted that.

“Ah. And is this prayer activity enjoyable?”

“Not really. Not all the time.”

Tersk paused.

“It is helpful in some way?”

“Sometimes.”

There was no way of knowing. Pawn had prayed the day Soldiers lay dying, clinging to life after trying to kill themselves. Had more survived because he had prayed while trying to keep them alive? Did a prayer do anything? Pawn asked those questions every day, but he still prayed. He prayed that there was a meaning to prayer itself.

“I see. In that case, perhaps you will instruct me in the method of this prayer activity at a later date. It sounds intriguing.”

That surprised Pawn.

“Why? I doubt it would be useful to you, Tersk.”

Tersk nodded, looking thoughtful.

“The utility of this activity does not concern me, so much as the value of entertainment derived from it. You see, the Prognugator class is meant to oversee, to learn. However, one of the failings of my station is the nature of boredom.”

“You get bored?”

Tersk paused, and seemed to grow a bit guarded.

“At times. I serve my Queen best when my mind is alert. To that end, I require mental stimulation. It is a careful balance of factors that contributes to my most efficacious state. But another question. You are assigned to combat the monsters attacking from Liscor’s dungeon tomorrow.”

“Yes I am.”

“How do you believe your detachment of Soldier will fare—”

“No clue.”

The two Antinium stood in silence for a minute. Tersk stared at Pawn.

“Do you not wish to tell me your evaluation, Individual Pawn? If so, I must ask why—”

That was it. Pawn raised his voice slightly.

“I don’t know. I told you, I cannot make such judgments.”

“But surely, based on your previous experience—”

“I have never fought monsters from the dungeon.”

The Armored Antinium stopped.

“Oh. But surely you are aware of the dangers of the dungeon?”

“Of course I know. But I have never been assigned there myself.”

Tersk paused.

“Ah.”

How could Pawn not know? He knew Workers were assigned to construct defenses, shore up and fortify tunnels, all while Soldiers fought and died. He knew how many died each day. He could see the empty spot in the barracks. But he had never been there, never really thought about the cost. They were all Antinium, and they died for the Hive. That was all. It hadn’t really mattered so long as the Hive was fine, in Pawn’s mind.

Until now.

Tersk looked at Pawn, calculating, and then turned his head to look around the chess room.

“I understand the effort of this room is to create more Individuals like Belgrade and Anand. That is a logical way of thinking. The monsters that attack from Liscor’s dungeon are of a considerable threat, which surprised me given my understanding of this Hive’s…capabilities.”

“Did you fight on the front lines?”

Tersk shook his head.

“I did not. My safety is important to my Hive and I would not risk myself. However, Revalantor Pivr did participate in battle and was wounded. Three of the five warriors accompanying him were slain, and the heavy-combat variant he brought was heavily damaged in the fighting. He underestimated the monsters your Hive fights against.”

For some reason, that really cheered Pawn up. He didn’t like the buzzing Revalantor of the Flying Antinium, and suspected no one else did either. The thought that Pivr and his elite warriors couldn’t do better than Soldiers from Pawn’s Hive was…well, it wasn’t a bad feeling.

“Revalantor Pivr’s failure is instructional for us all.”

Tersk nodded.

“Yes. I believe he is somewhat of a failure of the Prognugator class. Moreover, I would argue that he does not deserve the title of Revalantor either. He does not command the same presence as Revelator Klbkch, nor does he possess half as much experience in battle as Klbkch the Slayer.”

He spoke about Klbkch almost reverentially. Pawn tilted his head.

“You know of Klbkch?”

“Revalantor Klbkch? Of course. I was instructed to learn from the examples of my predecessors, and Klbkch the Slayer’s exploits are notable within my own Hive’s history. According to my Queen, Klbkch is the most stable and trustworthy of the three remaining Centenium.”

Curious. Pawn only knew fragments about the Centenium, and Klbkch hadn’t told him more than a few things. Like how all the current Antinium were based on the form of Galuc, the Builder. He realized Tersk might know more and pressed the Prognugator.

“What do you know of Prognugators, Tersk?”

The Armored Antinium tapped a hand on his armor, making a ringing sound as metal struck metal.

“I am familiar with my duties, and that my creation was an arduous task for my Queen. Prognugators require too many resources to justify the cost at the moment, hence my desire to remain alive to serve my Hive. However, I am aware this was not always the case.”

“Really?”

Tersk nodded.

“Before we came across the ocean, it was apparently a common practice to appoint multiple Prognugators per each Hive. As many as thirty in some cases, or so my Queen has told me.”

“Thirty?”

“Apparently. This was a time when we remained on Rhir. But my Queen has not spoken on that subject, and I am afraid that Revalantor Klbkch or Prognugator Xrn would know more than I. Ah, I had one more question for you, Individual Pawn.”

“What is it?”

This time Tersk visibly hesitated before he spoke.

“I have witnessed the Soldiers under your command. I noticed the markings on them, the paint markings. They are…striking. I wonder if such paints would allow for greater visual recognition on the battlefield. However, I do not understand why each Soldier is painted differently. Please explain that aspect to me, Individual Pawn.”

“They are important because they define the Soldiers, Tersk.”

The Armored Antinium waited.

“Only that? I thought there would be some greater meaning to the paint.”

Pawn nodded.

“That is everything. That is what makes the Antinium…Individual.”

“No. That is not what I understand Individuals to be. If paint were all that it took to create an Individual, why not paint every Antinium?”

“Because they need to do it themselves. It is a choice, Tersk. The Soldiers under my command chose their markings, chose to be Individual. That is what makes the paint so special.”

Tersk folded his arms, sounding testy as he replied.

“I do not understand. That seems illogical. Soldiers should allow themselves to be painted if it means they will become Individual and better serve the Hive.”

He really didn’t understand. Pawn felt a hot bubble of anger bubbling up inside him. He had places to be! He’d spoken with Tersk so long, he was sure Erin was probably asleep by the time it would take to reach her. He stared at Tersk, unmarked by battle, striding around asking questions not understanding anything.

“You remind me of a former Prognugator I served, Prognugator Tersk. Prognugator Ksmvr did not understand what it meant to be Individual either.”

The words struck Tersk, and Pawn saw him straighten slightly.

“I understand Prognugator Ksmvr was expelled from the Hive for incompetence, Individual Pawn. I am not sure I appreciate the comparison.”

“I think it is apt.”

Tersk stared down at Pawn. He opened his mandibles slowly as he clenched his fists.

“It occurs to me, Individual Pawn, that your statements throughout this conversation have been deliberately inflammatory and unhelpful.”

Pawn nodded slowly.

“Yes. I believe they have been.”

Tersk clenched one hand and took a step towards Pawn. The Soldiers did likewise, and the other Workers quietly playing chess froze and stared at the Armored Antinium. Tersk spoke quietly.

“I am a Prognugator of the Hive. I am not your Prognugator, but I will be answered with full clarity. That is what Revalantor Klbkch promised me. Need I take the issue up with him?”

Pawn nearly laughed in Tersk’s face. If that was a threat, it was the worst one Pawn had ever heard. He spread two of his arms out.

“You wish to understand, Tersk? Then understand this.”

He pointed at Tersk. He didn’t poke the other Antinium, because Pawn was sure that if he did, the other two Soldiers would kill him. But he did shout.

“Neither of you can understand what it means to be a Worker or a Soldier! We are not just numbers, Tersk. We feel pain. We suffer. We despair. And we die. If we do not feel boredom, it is because we have never known respite. You cannot understand what makes us Individual.”

“The other Individual, Belgrade, froze up due to his fear. Is that the weakness of your new identity, Individual Pawn? The Prognugators do not bow to emotion.”

“Neither do we.”

Pawn spat the words at Tersk. He felt angry, angry because Tersk did not understand, because he couldn’t. How could this Antinium be a Prognugator, lead Soldiers and Workers like this?

“If you cannot understand Belgrade’s fear, then it is because you have never experienced failure. You do not feel the same danger. You wear armor. We have none. If you want to understand us, take off your armor and fight as we do, with your bare hands. I would tell you to ask your Soldiers, but they have no voice. That is a pity, or they might tell you all you are doing wrong.”

He turned and stormed away, despite Tersk shouting for him to stop and explain. Pawn left the chess room, and Tersk stood in the silence as Workers hunched over their chess boards. At last, the Armored Antinium looked over his shoulder at the two silent Soldiers.

“I do not comprehend that strange Individual Pawn. What am I doing wrong?”

They just stared at him and did not reply.

—-

The next day, Pawn went to see Erin. She was not there. He waited, but before long he had to return to his Hive. It was time. One second he was in the Wandering Inn, speaking with Bird, asking him to tell Erin…to tell Erin…

And then he was in his Hive, facing his Soldiers. They were arrayed before him, a hundred, a little less than half of his entire command. They faced him, painted bodies standing tall, unflinching.

Pawn wished he felt half as confident as they looked. He walked slowly down their line, staring at each Soldier in turn, at their markings. They looked back at him, their leader.

Pawn had never felt like more of a fraud in his life. He had never felt like a fraud, in truth. He had been as true a Worker as any other, and confident in that knowledge. But a leader?

He was no leader. He didn’t have the class. He didn’t have the Skill, or the skill. He was not Zel Shivertail.

But he had to try. So Pawn squared his shoulders and spoke to the assembled Soldiers. His Soldiers.

“We are going into combat in twenty minutes.”

They looked at him. Not one Soldier moved. They had expected this. Perhaps they had known. They had ears…earholes, after all. Pawn nodded.

“You have fought before, I know. I have not. I believe I am unworthy of leading you.”

The Soldiers did stir at this. One of them paused, hesitated, and then shook his head. The other Soldiers looked at him, and then they all shook their heads. Pawn stared. He felt like he wanted to cry, like he’d seen Erin do. But the Antinium could not cry.

Instead, he bowed his head and uttered a prayer.

“I am praying.”

The Soldiers stopped shaking their heads. Pawn lowered his. He couldn’t close his eyes, but he clasped his hands together.

“I am praying for us all. I pray that we will survive this, each one of us. I do not pray that we will not fight. We must fight. It is right that we were chosen to fight. Because we, all of you, and me, are capable. We aren’t just fighting for ourselves, or to stay alive, but for the entire Hive.”

He gestured at the Soldiers standing in front of him, solemn, each one an individual, marked with paint, given identity.

“You are my people. If one of you died, you could never be replaced. Ever. And yet…the unnamed Workers and Soldiers who die each day are my people too. I did not think of it that way before.”

Pawn clenched his fist.

“I do now. Each day, Soldiers and Workers die. Sometimes only one or two. Other days, hundreds. Of late, too many have died. So we must fight. You are stronger than the average Soldier, you have levels. If we fight here, maybe a few less Soldiers and Workers will die. I think…I have to think that is worth it.”

There was no reply. Pawn looked at his Soldiers. He spoke to them like Zel told him to. When you held a dying soldier in your arms, you lied to him. You told him it would be alright. Or you told him the truth. But when you spoke to soldiers before they were going to die, you told them nothing but the truth. Or you lied.

This time, Pawn told them the truth.

“We are going to fight. Some of you may die. I may die. I hope none of you will. After this, I will bring you to the Wandering Inn and we will all eat. But we must fight. If we do not, our comrades will die. Other Soldiers will die, other Workers. We are fighting for each other. Remember that.”

He raised his hand, clenched it into a fist. Pawn raised all four arms, shouting.

“We will fight. We will win. So do not die!”

There was no response. But the Soldiers’ eyes burned. If they could speak, if they could only express themselves…there was no time. It was now. Pawn turned.

“Please don’t.”

He walked out of the barracks. Each of the Soldiers marched out behind him. And in minutes, in no time at all, they were fighting.

Fighting monsters.

—-

Two hours past noon, Belgrade was screaming. He screamed at a group of Soldiers.

“Move up! Take the L4A tunnel!”

They obeyed him as he projected his thoughts at them, telling them where he needed them now. He should have sent five times their number, to hold off the Shield Spiders dropping out of holes in the ceiling, flooding the corridor, but Belgrade didn’t have enough reinforcements.

They were all blocked off from the fighting. A tunnel had collapsed at the wrong moment, sending two suits of magical armor falling in with them. They’d begun hacking apart the Soldiers and Workers trying to clear the rubble, and until they were destroyed, Belgrade had to hold the front on his own.

The former Worker could have laughed at the thought. A front? The network of tunnels and interlocking corridors leading from the dungeon to the Hive was anything but a unified front. Belgrade would have traded both his antennae and two of his arms for a neat, clear board like chess to fight on.

Instead, he had to defend countless tunnels at once, collapse the ones he could to stop monsters from advancing while he slaughtered as many as he could before the passages reopened. It would be easy, so easy if Belgrade could funnel his opponents into one spot, but—

The monsters dug. The Antinium dug, and the monsters dug. Everyone dug. So a monster could dig right into a corridor filled with Workers rather than fight through all the entrenched Soldiers. It meant nowhere was safe, and it meant Belgrade had to be everywhere at once.

And he was failing.

“Workers! Twenty of you—no, forty! Hold back the Crypt Worms in the R98 tunnel!”

A group of Workers immediately ran to an upwards-sloping tunnel, going to do battle. It was a desperation play. Anand would never have made that call. Or would he? Belgrade knew the Workers would be slaughtered in an instant, but there were no more Soldiers. And there were three Crypt Worms rampaging through the R98 tunnel at once!

The horrifically long, fleshy creatures with tendrils that could rip open carapaces and remove skin from anything they touched were difficult foes at the best of times. By now Belgrade knew they were the smaller, weaker versions of the monster Skinner, the first creature he’d ever done battle against. They lacked Skinner’s incredibly thick armor he’d built over the centuries of skin, but they could still have several layers a Soldier had to rip away, and worse, they could command the dead.

Sometimes they’d bring rotting zombies, other times skeletons or Ghouls. The worst times were when they brought undead Soldiers or Workers. It was hardest for Belgrade to fight them.

And now they were advancing. In his mind—using the [Battlefield Eye] Skill he had recently acquired, Belgrade saw the Crypt Worms advancing, tearing the Workers he’d sent to shreds.

“Hold out. We just have to hold out for more Soldiers—”

He was talking to himself as he studied the map he was constantly updating with forces. Could he take some soldiers from S41? No, they were fighting the horrific poisonous worm things with wings. If they got through, everyone would be dying of poison. Then what about—

Belgrade’s hand fell on a spot on the map, one of the corridors he and Anand had designated the ‘death spots’. It was marked by a golden piece and Belgrade hadn’t moved any forces to or from it.

Pawn was there. He was fighting in one of the widest corridors, places where thirty Soldiers could line up shoulder-to-shoulder. Crypt Worms often came down there, and monsters would flood the huge passageway.

“Does he have Soldiers? Can I—no!”

Belgrade jerked away. He couldn’t ask Pawn for help. He didn’t even know how Pawn was doing. Belgrade had let Pawn take his command to hold the tunnel, made the Antinium promise to send word if he needed reinforcements. He might be fighting with all he had. If Belgrade took his forces away…

Pawn had to survive. So long as Belgrade could keep hurling the Hive’s forces at the monsters, he’d hold them off. It was a horrible thought, but the Hive had thousands of Soldiers and Workers remaining. Their concern wasn’t any one particular battle, but keeping the number of Antinium the Hive produced each day higher than the average morality rate of their people.

They just had to reopen one of the tunnels to let the Soldiers reinforce his position! Belgrade turned and uttered another desperate order.

“Twenty seven Workers, engage the enchanted suits of armor.”

That would give them time to dig, and lose him the Workers. Belgrade turned as Workers began to move, and then heard a voice.

“No.”

One of the Workers had paused. Belgrade looked at him.

“I said go—”

“No.”

Workers didn’t speak. It wasn’t that they couldn’t, it was that they never voiced their opinions. Belgrade stared as the Worker he’d ordered to fight and die turned, and started shaking. The voice that came out of his mandibles was suddenly loud, filled with horrible madness.

“i wILl nOT. I ReFUSE. diE? DiE fOR THe HiVE? nO! pOINtleSS! i rEFuSe!”

He turned, arms shaking, and pointed at Belgrade. His hands clenched and unclenched, and then he seized the nearest Worker and grabbed the Antinium’s neck with all four hands. The Worker who’d refused twisted and the other Worker’s head made a snapping sound and he went limp.

The Workers around Belgrade froze. He froze. There was only one explanation for this Worker’s suddenly behavior. He had gone insane. He’d turned against his Hive, become a killing thing that had no reason, no purpose. He had become…

An Aberration. Belgrade reached for his side. Klbkch had given him a weapon, although Belgrade had no Skills. The Worker, no, Aberration, charged at him, screaming.

“dIE!”

The Aberration ran at him, throwing off the other Workers who tried to bar his way. Belgrade waited until he was close, and then slashed with the enchanted sword he’d been given. Too slow, too late.

The former Worker ducked. Belgrade cut one of his antennae off, and then the Aberration knocked him to the ground. Two of his fists began to pummel Belgrade as the other two reached for the sword. Belgrade used all four of his arms to cling to the sword, trying to bring it to bear.

It ended when the other Workers tore the Aberration off Belgrade. He came away with one of Belgrade’s antennae. The pain was—Belgrade stumbled up and ran the Aberration through as the Workers held him down. The thing that had been a Worker kept reaching for him, trying to kill him until Belgrade twisted the blade and he went still.

Shaking, the [Tactician] got off the Aberration’s body and looked at the other Workers. They looked as shaken as he did, and they had been about to fight and die without hesitation.

“Take the body away. Now.”

Belgrade hurried back to the table. But no sooner had he used his one remaining antennae to sense what was going on then he felt a cold jolt of fear in his chest.

“Oh no. No, no!”

He looked up, and now he could hear the sounds of fighting. Belgrade turned, opening his mandibles to shout for every Worker he had to go above, but it was too late. Something shot down one of the tunnels, knocking aside the two Workers who’d been hauling the Aberration’s body away.

A red whip of flesh struck a Worker and pinned him to the ground. It pressed down, and the Worker was crushed into paste. Belgrade stared numbly up as the rest of the body followed, a huge, sinuous brown-red form, and a faceless head with long antennae. A worm with arms? No, something much worse.

A Crypt Worm. In his struggle, Belgrade hadn’t noticed them slaughtering the Workers. And now…they were here.

The first Crypt Worm loomed over Belgrade, slashing with its tendrils, sending the Soldiers running at it flying into walls where they broke. It was wounded in many places, but it was too large, too furious to be stopped. And it was in front of Belgrade.

And he had no more cards to play. Belgrade stared up at the Crypt Worm, suddenly calm. He’d used his Skills. The tunnel where the enchanted suits of armor were had been cleared somehow, but it was too late. His reinforcements were too far away and the Crypt Worm was looking at him.

Sword. Belgrade found it and raised it with one of his hands. He spoke, not to the Crypt Worm, but to his friend, as if he could hear him. It was just a foolish thing, but it comforted Belgrade.

“Anand. You must become strong for the both of us.”

That was it. Belgrade thought Erin might have approved. He stood up from the table as the Crypt Worm slithered towards him. A tendril shot out. Belgrade cut at it.

Again, too slow. This one sent him flying towards a wall. Belgrade heard his body crunch and slid to the ground. He looked—and didn’t see his left arms. Either of them. He knew he should feel pain, but there was nothing.

“So—so that’s what it’s like. Should have sent more Soldiers.”

Belgrade wheezed as he stood. The Crypt Worm was finishing off the last Soldiers trying to fight. Now it came towards him. Belgrade looked up. How would it end? He raised his sword. Try to cut it, just once—

The Crypt Worm dove. Something flashed towards its head, and suddenly there was an empty space in the air. There was no more head. Belgrade flinched as he heard the air tearing.

The Crypt Worm fell, head torn open. It jerked, trying to stand, despite missing part of its brain, and Belgrade heard the sound again. This time he saw…

What? It looked like a white jet of something moving unbelievably fast. It tore straight through the Crypt Worm’s center, cut it in half. And then…what was that?

Splattering. A spray. Some of it had blasted backwards from impact and struck Belgrade. He flinched, and then studied the liquid on him. It wasn’t blood. It was…

“Water?”

He got up. Belgrade was bleeding, but he had to see. He turned down the corridor the water had come from, as two more Crypt Worms shot down the passageway, and a group of Shield Spiders burst out of one of the tunnels. Everywhere was being overrun. Too late. Had to retreat. But all of Belgrade’s hazy thoughts stopped when he saw her, shining like the sun.

Xrn.

She was holding a staff in the air, a staff with a crystal orb. Her eyes shone with every color Belgrade had ever known and more he hadn’t. And from her came light. A piercing, brilliant light that made the Crypt Worms flinch away, screaming in high-pitched voices. But the light was soothing to Belgrade and all the Antinium who saw it.

Then she spoke. And her voice was thunder.

“I am Xrn, the Small Queen!”

It echoed down the cavern, filling the minds of the struggling Workers and Soldiers. They turned and saw her holding her staff high, the light emanating from it shining like a sun underground. Xrn raised one hand, and called a word.

“[Burning Lightning].”

Something red and orange and brilliant shot past Belgrade. He turned, and saw one of the Crypt Worms shriek as lightning struck and turned the creature’s skin and body into flame. It writhed, and died. Just like that.

With one spell. Xrn strode forwards, and Belgrade saw Soldiers and Workers running after her, ahead of her. It looked like the entire Hive. They flooded the tunnels, abandoning their duties, called by her voice. Xrn pointed at the monsters rushing towards Belgrade’s position and shouted.

“Stand, Antinium. Fight, Antinium! In the name of your Hive, stand with me and push back the invaders!”

Some of the Workers had survived the Crypt Worm’s attack. They rose. Belgrade was already running. He didn’t think, he just ran. The first of the Shield Spiders was crawling towards Belgrade. It reared up, half-blind from the light and Belgrade cut it apart with his sword. He was shouting. A worker charged into a Shield Spider, threw it down. And then the tunnel was full of Antinium, fighting, pushing back the stunned Shield Spiders with a ferocity unknown even to Soldiers.

They charged into the tide of monsters, a black wave of flesh and carapace that smashed the first rank of monsters to pieces. The Crypt Worms lashed out, but the Workers clung to them and the Soldiers tore flesh from the writhing, screaming horrors.

Xrn swept a wave of blasting steam down one corridor, broiling a group of obscenely large maggot-butterflies that were shedding a poisonous miasma. She was not alone. The Silent Antinium raced past her, half-invisible, disappearing from Belgrade’s sight. The sword-wielding clones of Klbkch formed a shield around Xrn as she cast spells. She planted her staff in the ground, and burnt a Crypt Worm to ash as the Custodium dueled a suit of enchanted armor, nimbly dodging and cutting at it, their enchanted blades slashing through the thick steel.

The Silent Antinium, the thin assassins with scythes for arms, brought down a group of the huge not-Gnolls, as Belgrade marshaled the Soldiers and Workers around him, sending them to reinforce Xrn’s position.

The transparent Antinium leapt from a wall where they had been waiting, practically invisible and beheaded two of the lumbering monsters before they realized what was happening. Their scythes were as sharp as any blade and in moments they were moving away from the bloody remains of the group.

“For the Armored Antinium! Flying Antinium, cover our backs!”

Someone strode down the corridor, shouting. Belgrade saw Tersk, for some reason unarmored and not holding his mace and shield, leading his Soldiers and a few of the Flying Antinium at a group of ghouls and zombies. Belgrade went to run after him, and fell.

It was the blood loss. Belgrade stared up at the dirt ceiling as Antinium raced around him. He expected to die, but again he was surprised.

“Belgrade. Hold still.”

Someone reached down for him. Belgrade felt a soft hand on his chest, and then the bleeding stopped. He felt something warm rush into him, something that felt like hope given form. He sat up, filled with…some kind of energy.

Xrn was looking down at him. She shone with magic. And when she pulled him up, Belgrade realized all his injuries had closed. He looked at Xrn, and she told him to follow. She led the way, forcing monsters back. And Belgrade stared at her.

Xrn. The Small Queen. [Thaumaturge]. Not [Mage]. Not [Wizard], or [Sorceress], or [Witch]. She didn’t practice just magic. What Xrn worked was something else.

Wonders.

They pushed the monsters back. Xrn raised waves of poisonous waters, flooded the tunnels, made the wind into swords and threw it at her enemies. Belgrade accompanied her, protected by a ring of silent Custodium, the equivalent of any Prognugators.

They found Pawn in the death corridor, still fighting. His Soldiers struggled with a group of the not-Gnolls until Xrn raised her staff.

“[Fear of the Mighty]!”

They fled. Belgrade rushed over to Pawn. The Worker was at the back of the group of Soldiers, sheltered by them. Belgrade halted when he saw the painted Soldiers. Their markings were barely visible under the coating of blood and flesh that covered them. Not a single Soldier was unharmed, but Pawn—

There wasn’t a mark on him.

Pawn turned to Belgrade. The gore had barely touched him, protected as he was by his Soldiers. He was holding something, someone in his arms.

A Soldier. Belgrade stared down at the huge Antinium. He could be held in Pawn’s arms, because there wasn’t any part of the Soldier below his chest. And yet, he was alive. Pawn held the Soldier as the huge Antinium struggled to clasp his hands. The Soldier’s mandibles clicked together, as if he wanted to speak.

But he never did. He died there, as Xrn cleared the passageway. Belgrade knelt beside Pawn. The other Antinium looked at him.

“We were fighting, but there were so many. We lost countless Soldiers and Workers. You were right Belgrade, they were everywhere. My Soldiers fought, but…”

“How many?”

Belgrade could see many of the painted Soldiers. So many, in fact! Compared to the dead monsters, there were so many Soldiers. For this many dead, Pawn should have been overrun long ago. But Pawn closed his mandibles, covered his eyes with one bloody hand.

“Twenty five.”

“Only twenty five?”

Belgrade stared at Pawn. The Worker nodded.

“I couldn’t do anything. My one [Tactician] Skill—they died, Belgrade! They died!”

“It was only twenty five. Pawn, your battle here was a tactical victory. It—”

Someone pulled him back. Belgrade turned and saw Xrn. She shook her head slowly. Pawn had covered both his eyes with his hands, but the other two desperately held the Soldier still. He shook. But he did not cry.

The Antinium could not cry.

Belgrade stepped away. Xrn was the one who knelt next to Pawn. There was the deepest blue in her eyes, a color more vast than the sea, darker than night. She touched the Soldier in Pawn’s arm and looked at him.

“I am sorry.”

Pawn did not reply.

—-

They did not bury the Soldier. That was not how the Antinium treated the dead. Instead, the Soldier was taken to be processed. He would be food soon enough.

Pawn knew it. He knew it, and he knew it wasn’t right. But the Soldier was dead. And there weren’t—weren’t enough pieces of the others.

He sat in the barracks, still bloody, as the Soldiers still able to move clustered around him. The Soldiers who hadn’t fought stood with their brethren, clumsily tending to their wounds. They were all wounded. And not enough of them.

Twenty five dead. Exactly a quarter of his command, of his people. Pawn had expected—he had known—

He hadn’t been ready. No.

He could still see the Soldier who’d died. He had a small five-pointed star on his upper right arm. That was all. He’d only taken that lone marking. And he’d died, protecting Pawn from a—a tendril that had reached out and cut him in two.

He was dead. It was Pawn’s fault. And there was nothing left of him to remember. Nothing. Just a memory. For all Pawn had done—

Pawn stood up. No. The Soldier couldn’t be forgotten. He stumbled past the Soldiers as they parted for him. He ran over to one wall of the barracks, to the spot that had been cleared. Pawn knelt by the cans of paint he’d bought, pawing through them frantically. Which color was it? This one? No. This one.

The Worker stood with a jar of paint in his hand. The other Soldiers stared. It was bright green paint, the same color the dead Soldier had used. Pawn slowly dipped his finger into the jar, and turned.

The walls of the barracks the Soldiers lived in were dirt. Not loose dirt, but hard-packed, as good as stone and unbreakable in most circumstances. Pawn found a spot along the wall. It didn’t stand out from any other spot. He dipped a finger into the bright green paint.

And then he pressed it against the wall.

Pawn slowly drew on the wall of the barracks. The other Soldiers watched as Pawn traced on the hard-packed dirt with green paint. He drew a star. The star that had been on the Soldier’s chest.

It was small. It was green. It was a tiny thing in the vast barracks. But it was there. Painted on the wall, marked. A memory. So long as no one damaged the paint, no one destroyed the wall, it would remain.

And if they did? If an earthquake happened, or Klbkch told him to get rid of it? Pawn would repaint the star elsewhere. Because he remembered. He remembered that star, and he would for the rest of his life.

And so did the others. Pawn turned as a Soldier moved. The Soldier found a jar of purple paint. Slowly, carefully, taking all the time in the world, he drew purple slashes down the wall.

Another Soldier moved. He took some paint and began to draw. The other Soldiers, wounded and intact, did the same. They did not have to speak. They did not have to confer. Twenty five Soldiers had died, but each living Soldier remembered.

So did Pawn.

When they were done, the barracks were not covered in paint. There were only a few, small places where the walls had been colored in. The symbols were small. But they were there.

A green star, a…cup of brown and silver. A clumsy number ‘7’ in turquoise. A speckled egg, white and blue and orange. A sun rising over a green horizon. A green flower. A rainstorm and clouds all in blue. A snowflake in purest white.  A black cat with orange eyes. A circle of red, mixed with yellow.

Five numbers, 46252, each in a different color. A picture of a bee on a plate, clumsily drawn. A smiley face. A stick-person with four arms. A word. ‘Winter’.

A map of the Hive. Eight lines and a curvy wave beneath it all. Two stones, one shaped like a face, the other like no stone ever seen. A question mark, drawn out of brown and a pale blue so bright it could have been white.

A line that looped and spun and dove. A cloud made of pink and yellow. A paw print in white. The memory of the first Soldier ever to be painted.

A cup running over with water. A sun and four moons.

A blade of grass.

Pawn stared at it all. Each Soldier was there, on the wall. Their bodies were gone, but there they were. He ran his hands along the dried paint, and felt something there.

Small things. Shapes and symbols, things that held meaning only the Soldier that had chosen them would know. Fragments of their soul.

It was not enough. It could never be enough. But it was something. It was something to cling to. Pawn looked at the Soldiers, covered in paint, in blood. He knelt as they clustered around him, putting awkward hands on him. Pawn could not look at them. He whispered the words.

“I am so sorry.”

They said nothing. But they held him, clumsy killers, people with no voices who wore their souls on their chests for all to see. Pawn looked at them and wept. His eyes shed not a tear. They were his. His Soldiers. His guardians. His friends.

His people.

He embraced them. Pawn wept again, without tears. Then he went to see Erin.

4.14 L

Once upon a time there was a [Princess]. She was bad at being a princess. She never leveled, and she ran away from home, no doubt causing a lot of trouble because of that. She ran in a childish fit of anger, and ended up on another continent, where she caused more trouble because she was petty and small-minded and useless. Then she died.

The end.

That was how the story should have gone. Every day Lyonette du Marquin knew she should have died a long time ago, cold, alone, lying in the snow. She knew that, and so she tried to be grateful for the second—no, probably eighth—chance she’d been given.

It wasn’t hard to be grateful. Because Lyonette had everything she’d wanted. In some senses, she’d found exactly what she’d come to Izril to find.

She had a job, something to do that mattered. She had a duty, to protect Mrsha, to take care of the inn. And what was more, she had what she’d wanted for so long.

Levels. Classes. Skills. For the first time since she was seven years old, Lyon was actually leveling again. Not just gaining a level every few years. She was gaining levels rapidly. Not as a [Princess], true, but as a far humbler class. A [Barmaid]. Perhaps it was below her station, but Lyonette didn’t care. Because she had Skills!

[Charming Smile]. [Lesser Strength]. These were her two latest Skills, obtained as she’d reached Level 11 in the [Barmaid] class. They made her happy and slightly ashamed. Happy because they were Skills, and ashamed because the part of Lyonette that still thought of herself as royalty knew these Skills weren’t what she should be hoping for.

A [Princess] should not have a Skill that let her lift heavy objects, Lyonette knew. True, a Skill like [Charming Smile] was a very Princess-like Skill, although a [Princess] should not smile so openly for no reason. But these weren’t grand Skills, the kind that could aid her nation or inspire her people. They were just…Skills.

And yet, her entire life, all eighteen years she’d lived, Lyonette had only had one small Skill from her [Princess] class. Just one Skill while everyone else learned more Skills and leveled. This was better, truly.

Lyonette was grateful for it. She was a Level 11 [Barmaid], a Level 4 [Beast Tamer], a Level 6 [Carer], a Level 2 [Tactician], and…a Level 5 [Princess]. She knew she had far too many classes, that she should only have one.

She didn’t care. Lyonette was more grateful to Erin Solstice, the [Innkeeper] and owner of the Wandering Inn, than she could say. Erin was almost always cheerful, always helpful, brave, and kind. If she had one flaw, it was that she was also impulsive.

And that sometimes made trouble for Lyonette. Sudden party? Lyonette would be rushing around to fill orders by herself and washing dishes all next morning. Erin’s selling magical food to adventurers? Time to buy another five kegs of alcohol! Where did all the food go? Erin cooked it all? Back to the city.

Lyonette usually didn’t begrudge these decisions. However, this time she wished, just a tiny bit, that Erin had consulted her.

The younger girl stared at Erin’s beaming face and then her eyes slid sideways. It was just past dawn, and it was a bit too early for thinking. Cleaning and hauling water, that was okay. But this?

“You hired…all of them?”

“Yup! This is Safry and Maran, Selys’s friend Drassi, and a Gnoll that Krshia introduced me to—he’s Ishkr. They’re all going to be helping you out! Isn’t it great?”

Lyonette stared as the two young women Erin had pointed out, the yellow-scaled Drake, and a Gnoll with red-brown fur waved or nodded to her. She blinked a few more times and then turned her head.

Ryoka Griffin, the strange Runner with exotic features was eying the new staff with as much skepticism as Lyon felt. Mrsha was sitting on top of Ryoka’s shoulders, detracting from the girl’s poise as she chewed on a cracker and showered Ryoka with crumbs. Lyonette looked back at Erin and smiled weakly.

“Yes. Great, Erin!”

Erin never talked to her about her plans. One day she announced she’d be hiring the Antinium to add a third floor to the inn and that the Antinium named Bird would be living here from now on as a guard, the next…this.

In fairness, Lyonette had really respected hiring Bird. She’d never felt safe without someone who could fight. But these new people…Lyonette didn’t know anything about them. Erin clearly thought they were competent, but it was also clear after a few moments that there would be trouble.

“Alright, I’ll start cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner. You all can uh, well, clean up. And I need some water. Lyonette, can you show everyone how things work? Thanks!”

And like that, Lyonette found herself dealing with another one of Erin’s new ideas. The [Princess] turned [Barmaid] took a deep breath and then smiled at the people Erin had hired. They were all staring at each other with a bit of wariness, but maybe this wouldn’t be so bad!

“Hello everyone. I’m Lyonette. I’m a Level 11 [Barmaid], and I’m very happy to be working with you.”

“Pleased.”

The woman called Safry smiled at Lyonette. She would have said something else, but Drassi spoke up. And kept speaking.

“Are you the [Thief] that got kicked out of the city? I was going to watch, but I was working and Selys said it wasn’t that exciting. And that’s the scary Gnoll kid right? Hi! I’m Drassi, a Level 8 [Barmaid]. Well, I was also working as a [Receptionist], but I like waiting tables more since you have to sit in one place as a [Receptionist].”

Lyonette blinked as a wall of words hit her ears. It was rather like listening to Octavia deliver one of her sales pitches, only Drassi was just talking. Chattering, rather.

The Drake cut off as the Gnoll, Ishkr, cleared his throat. He looked around.

“Hrr. I am a Level 16 [Waiter], yes? Honored Krshia recommended that I work here.”

That was it. Drassi opened her mouth, but it was Maran, the other Human woman who spoke up.

“Really? In that case, Safry and I are the highest-leveled workers here.”

Everyone stared at them. Ryoka and Mrsha had already gone off to play ‘don’t crawl on my head’. Safry smiled as Maran pointed at her friend.

“Safry’s a Level 21 [Barmaid] and I’m a Level 22 [Barmaid]. We’ll look after things and teach you all how things work. Lyonette, Erin said we’re cleaning, right? Where are the supplies? And what’s this about water?”

Lyonette stared at Maran. Wait, what had she said? They’d teach her? But—

That should have been the first clue. But then Lyonette heard Zel coming down the stairs, so she just grabbed a few of the dust rags, a bucket of soapy water and showed the others which tables were clean before hurrying out the door. Yes, looking back on it that was the start.

The start of a few truly miserable days for Lyonette du Marquin.

Two Human [Barmaids], a Drake [Maid], and a Gnoll. It sounded like a recipe for disaster.

And it was. Upon getting back, puffing and panting with more water, the first thing Lyonette saw was chaos. Maran and Safry were serving food to the bemused Gold-rank adventurers who’d come down, Zel was waiting patiently for his food while Drassi cleaned and talked his earholes off, and Ishkr was waiting for instructions, standing at attention by the kitchen. Mrsha was sniffing at him as he tried to shoo her away. And Erin was shouting that she needed more pots to hold all the food she was going to make ahead of time! Lyonette nearly screamed.

—-

After half a day of work, Lyonette realized that things weren’t as bad as she’d thought, and they were worse than she could have imagined.

The inn was busy from dawn till dusk now, mainly due to Erin’s advertising her magical cooking to the adventurers in Liscor. You could stop by for a quick bite before going out hunting monsters or braving the dungeon, and you’d have an enchantment that would last for hours, at a fraction of a cost of a normal potion!

This amazing opportunity meant that Erin’s inn always had a steady flow of visitors, mainly adventurers looking for one type of magical food or another. Everyone was busy, and Erin had set up the schedules so that not all of the staff would work at the same time. Sometimes, like around dinner, all four of the new workers might be helping at once, but usually Lyonette would be working with two or three of the others at most.

That gave her time to relax and play with Mrsha, in theory. But Erin hadn’t accounted for the need to teach the new workers everything, and since she was busy ‘hanging out’ with Ryoka, an expression that meant going shopping, chatting, and generally enjoying herself in Celum and Liscor, the duties once again fell to Lyonette.

It gave her the opportunity to learn about the others. And what Lyonette learned was that she didn’t actually mind some of them. They had their negative qualities, true, but also good ones.

Drassi, for instance. She talked. No, she gossiped, no, she conversed with anyone and everyone nearby. She could chat about Drake politics and switch over to a serious discussion about the latest Human fashions in a second. But while that could be annoying, she was always chattering away while she cleaned a table, or served food. She didn’t linger.

That couldn’t be said for Maran and Safry. They worked, talked, and when they were done serving, they sat around and talked with the inn’s guests. At first Lyonette thought they were just taking a short break, but it became apparent that when there was no more food or drink to be served, the two [Barmaids] would just sit down and relax, rather than clean tables, wash dishes, or get more water or firewood from outside.

“We can do that later. After the inn closes. Relax!”

“The inn doesn’t close until Erin sleeps, and that’s after midnight!”

Lyon argued with Maran as the other woman sat with a drink. Maran looked slightly off put, and then shrugged.

“We’ll do it when more dishes pile up. There’s barely more than a few cups and plates.”

“But—”

Lyonette tried to think of how to insist without forcing the issue, but Ishkr beat her to a reply.

“I will do it, yes? I have time.”

He headed into the kitchen, rolling the sleeves of the uniform he was wearing up. Maran gave Lyon a smile as if to say, ‘you see, there’s no problem.’ By her side, Safry watched Ishkr go in and leaned towards the other two Humans and whispered conspiratorially.

“I hope he doesn’t get fur all over the dishes. How does a Gnoll wash plates anyways? With his tongue?”

Maran giggled, but Lyon gave Safry a look that wiped the smile off the other woman’s face.

“With his paws, I imagine.”

That was the issue. Not Ishkr. The Gnoll had been hesitant at first, but when he was told what to do, he did it without complaints. He wasn’t talkative, but he seemed to enjoy idle work, the kind he could get engrossed in without talking to anyone for good periods of time. Better yet, he didn’t have a problem with Mrsha’s white fur.

“I was born and raised in Liscor, yes? I do not know many of my tribe’s superstitions. Honored Krshia says the child is alright, so I will not mind.”

That put him in Lyon’s good books. No, Ishkr and Drassi weren’t the problems. The problem pair were Maran and Safry, by a long shot.

It wasn’t that they didn’t work as hard. Well, it was partly that. But Lyonette just didn’t like them as much. For a while, the girl had wondered if she felt threatened, but she realized it was because of how Maran and Safry seemed to regard Lyonette’s advice as suggestions and thought of themselves in charge.

Even when they didn’t have a clue of what to do. In the mid-lunch rush as adventurers came to eat magical food, normal food, or just drink, Lyonette saw Safry delivering one of Erin’s Corusdeer scrambles to a waiting Drake. She called out, but Safry didn’t pay attention until she was on her way back to the kitchen.

“What’s the problem Lyonette? I served him his food.”

“No, no! That’s the wrong Drake! He’s eating the wrong food!”

Lyonette hurried over to the Drake. When she came back, after apologizing profusely, Safry made a face.

“How can you tell the difference? That looks like the same Drake to me!”

“He’s not! Look at his scales!”

“They’re green. All of those Drakes have green scales too!”

“No!”

How could they not tell? Lyonette looked at the green-scaled Drakes that Safry had pointed out as proof, and saw an elderly Drake male with patches of grey scales, a Drake warrior with a speckled pattern across his far lighter green scales, and a Drake with darker green scales and some distinctively long spines along the back of his head. When she pointed this all out to Safry, the woman just looked confused.

“Where are you seeing all that? They still look sort of the same. Okay, the old guy I can see, but Drakes aren’t distinctive like us Humans.”

Lyonette bit her lip. She’d heard Drakes and Gnolls say the exact same thing. And to be fair, most of the people on this continent had light skin, whereas Drakes and Gnolls had all kinds of variation among their fur.

“How about this. Next time, why don’t you ask if this is his order? If you know his name, you can check to make sure. It’ll just take a second and I’m sure they wouldn’t mind—”

Safry’s eyebrows crossed, and she raised a hand to cut Lyonette off.

“Look Lyon, I appreciate the advice, but Maran and I know what to do. You just point out the right Drakes and Gnolls and we’ll do our job.”

Lyonette stared at Safry, but the woman turned away too quickly for her to respond.

That was the first big issue Lyon had. The second came when she noticed they were running low on water. They were always running low on water to cook with, boil for drinking, wash with, use for cleaning, and so on.

“Maran, can you go get some more water?”

Lyon was busy serving a group of Gnolls that the two Human [Barmaids] couldn’t tell apart. Maran stared at Lyon, then her eyes flicked to the Gnoll [Server].

“Why not Ishkr? He’s free, and he’s stronger than me.”

Lyonette paused feeling angry. It was true Ishkr was free for the moment, he had just worked his entire shift and Safry and Maran had just had lunch! Moreover, why was Maran’s first response to ask someone else to do the work?

“Ishkr needs to have his lunch break. You just finished yours.”

“But we still have some water left.”

“Some, but we’ll be out soon!”

The Gnolls sitting at the table eyed Lyonette as she went over to argue with Maran. They flicked their eyes at Ishkr, who made some motion behind Lyon’s back she couldn’t see. Maran clearly didn’t want to go.

“It’s cold out there. This isn’t a [Barmaid]’s job, you know.”

“Erin told you you’d be working here, right? This is what we do.”

“I want to talk to Erin about this. This isn’t what I was hired for.”

Lyonette’s patience was at an end. She felt like she was dealing with a child, not an adult.

“You can do it when she comes back. Just go now, please. And take two buckets!”

She thrust another one into the affronted woman’s hand and practically pushed her out the door. Lyonette got back to serving, apologizing to the Gnolls. She waited for Maran to come back. And waited. And waited…

Maran returned after twenty minutes, twice as long as it should have taken, just when Lyonette was about to go look for her. She was irate at having to have carried the buckets up the hill in the snow. And they weren’t fully filled!

Lyonette bit back her words when she saw Maran’s face and instead thanked her. Twelve minutes later, she wished she could have taken back the thanks when Safry began to complain about Mrsha.

“Hey, can you do something about her?”

She was pointing at Mrsha as the Gnoll tried to sneak up on the group of Gnolls. They were letting her do it, and one would turn to stare at her when Mrsha got ready to pounce on a tail. Thereafter Mrsha would run about excitedly. Lyonette saw nothing but pure fun in Mrsha’s game, but Safry was clearly displeased at having to watch to avoid Mrsha being underfoot.

“The kid’s cute, but we’re trying to work. Can’t you make her go upstairs or play outside?”

“Just ask her to move. It’s no problem.”

“She’s in the way every two seconds. Why not let her run outside if she’s so excited?”

Lyonette stared at Safry.

“There are monsters outside. She’s not causing that much trouble and she needs the room.”

Maran spoke up as she swabbed a table. She made a face as she held up a rag full of white hairs.

“She’s getting fur all over the tables and chairs we already cleaned.”

“So? Just clean them again? It’s only a few wipes of the rag.”

The two [Barmaids] looked at each other, clearly displeased. Lyonette had to turn away so they wouldn’t see the look on her face.

Small things. Small things that would go away. That was what she told herself, but then Bird came by and things got…awkward.

He wanted a drink, and he had some birds for Erin. Simple, right? Only Maran and Safry left him sitting until Drassi got a drink, and although Maran had a pitcher of refills, she kept seeming to miss Bird.

“Just fill his cup! What’s the problem?”

“He’s—don’t you think it’s weird? He’s one of them! One of the Antinium!”

It was only then that Lyon realized how clearly uncomfortable Maran and Safry were around Bird. They walked wide of the Antinium, not going near him if they could serve other customers. Drassi and Ishkr were far more relaxed around the Antinium, having seen them before, but Safry and Maran weren’t happy with him around.

“That Antinium in the Horns of Hammerad was one thing, but is he going to be here all the time? He just stares and talks about birds!”

Lyonette crossed her arms as Maran complained.

“Erin’s going to hire him permanently. He’ll stay here all the time as a guard.”

The woman looked dismayed. Safry shook her head.

“Maybe he’ll stay upstairs where we don’t see him. I’d hate to turn around and just see him there. Staring.”

Not once had Lyonette ever felt uncomfortable from Bird’s stare. He was just curious, and she never felt uneasy around him. She opened her mouth, and turned away.

When Erin came back, a few hours before dinner, Lyon had never been more relieved. She would have loved to chat with Erin, but dinner had to be made ready, and Erin was far too busy laughing with Maran and Safry for Lyon to pull her aside to talk about…Maran and Safry.

Indeed, while Erin was around, things suddenly began to work smooth as butter. Neither Maran nor Safry had a problem with the Gold-rank teams, the Horns of Hammerad and Zel in the crowd, mainly because everyone was distinctively, and largely, Human. Lyon rushed about until Erin pulled her aside. She was sitting with Ryoka, eating rather than cooking or serving for once and looking pleased as a cat about it.

“Isn’t this cool, Lyonette? I can take a break!”

“Um. Yes.”

Lyonette bit back the words she wanted to say. Erin smiled up at her.

“So how was everyone? Did Drassi talk a lot? Selys says she does that, but she swears Drassi’s a hard worker. Oh, and did Ishkr do okay with Mrsha? I was worried about that but he seems cool!”

“They both did great, Erin.”

“Awesome! So there were no problems?”

Safry and Maran were walking around, serving the tables and talking with the adventurers. Too near. And it was only day one, right? Lyonette felt she couldn’t say anything. So in the end she didn’t. She only mentioned Maran’s reluctance to get water.

Erin groaned aloud when Lyon brought that up, but she was already nodding cheerfully when Lyon was finished explaining.

“Oh, the water? I guess I didn’t mention that to them. I’ll talk with Safry and Maran about it, okay?”

And that was that. Erin had a word and then came back to assure Lyon that water wouldn’t be a problem. Lyon tried to take Erin at her word, but she really couldn’t. She just felt like something was wrong.

Then in the middle of the night, Lyonette woke up and realized what was wrong. Safry and Maran thought they were in charge. Because they were higher level. But Lyon was. Right? She’d been working here longer, so she should know what to do. Right?

But it occurred to her as Mrsha rolled over and Ryoka snored loudly from her corner of the room that Erin had never mentioned who was in charge while she was gone. Maybe Erin hadn’t thought about it. But it mattered. It mattered…quite a lot.

—-

The second day was no better than the first. It started out promising, with Safry and Maran turning up exactly when they were supposed to and cleaning last night’s dishes and the room cheerfully while talking with Erin.

The trouble started the moment Erin left to hang out with Ryoka in Celum. Lyonette missed her chance to ask Erin who’d be in charge while she left. She felt awkward just bringing it up—it felt as though Lyon was trying to get Erin to give her more authority, when it was really an important matter.

Either way, it meant there was no leader, and so the duo of Safry and Maran butted heads with Lyon over countless issues as the day wore on. It began with tips, and came to a head with buckets of water.

This time Erin had left the inn before breakfast had ended. She’d already cooked up days of food in advance, a handy suggestion of Ryoka’s that was convenient all around. But it meant that the Gold-rank adventurers and the Horns of Hammerad were eating at the same time as Zel. And wouldn’t you know it, but Safry and Maran seemed to serve food first to the Gold-rank adventurers and leave Zel for last.

“Hey, you’re not serving Zel first. Bring the sausages to his table—he’s been waiting the longest!”

Lyonette caught Safry’s arm as she went out holding a steaming plate of reheated sausage. The [Barmaid] frowned at Lyon.

“Why? He’ll get some in a minute. But the Gold-rank adventurers are sitting over there, Lyonette!”

“So?”

Safry rolled her eyes.

“So, they might tip us!”

Lyonette paused. She looked accusingly at Safry.

“I thought you told Erin you didn’t get any tips!”

“Well, obviously not from normal folk. But Gold-rank adventurers throw their money around like water, especially for good service! If you smile the right way at some of the men, they’ll give you a gold coin just for serving their table!”

She moved away from Lyonette and to her outrage, served Griffon Hunt first. And indeed, both Safry and Maran flirted with Halrac, Ulrien, and Typhenous, who might have been twice as old as they were! Lyonette nearly swallowed her tongue when she saw that, but according to Safry and Maran, that too was customary.

“You don’t understand how being a [Barmaid] works, Lyonette. You need to pay attention to the most important customer.”

Safry’s arch tone made Lyon want to kick her. She pointed towards Zel, who was eating sausage with Mrsha, oblivious to the drama.

“Oh yeah? Well he’s a Drake [General]. Why don’t you shake your hips for him?”

Both Safry and Maran’s jaws dropped. They exchanged a speculative glance, and then Maran shook her head.

“Eh, I don’t want to flirt with him. What if he took it seriously?”

Safry nodded. Lyon ground her teeth together. It wasn’t the idea of Zel and Maran together that was upsetting her—that was pretty much impossible—it was how Maran had phrased her words.

“What’s wrong with him? What if one of Griffon Hunt took things seriously?”

“Well, that’s different. Obviously.”

Maran looked surprised Lyon had to ask.

“Ulrien and Halrac are fine, and so is the old [Mage], I guess.”

Safry made a face, but nodded reluctantly. Maran cast her eyes over to the other adventurers in the room and shook her head.

“But the half-Giant’s obviously no good, and neither is the fish man. Ugh. No way. And the others are all female…at least there’s that handsome [Mage] sitting with the Horns of Hammerad.”

She pointed to Pisces appreciatively. Lyon stared at Maran, and her dislike of her and Safry grew four times larger in that moment. She smiled bitterly at both of them.

“Who? Pisces? Go ahead if you want. He’s a [Necromancer], you know.”

She left the two horrified women and stomped away.

—-

Midway through the day, Lyonette paused to check how much water they had left. There was a good amount, but a fit of pique made her go and ask Maran to get more water. She expected the other woman to resist, but she wasn’t expecting an outright refusal. But that was what she got.

“There is no way I’m going out there. Neither is Safry.”

“Why not?”

Maran’s face was set.

“There are fish with teeth in the water. That’s what Erin said! And Rock Crabs? Shield Spiders? I’m not doing it.”

Lyonette stared at her, and realized Maran hadn’t been told of Liscor’s natural hazards before now. Drassi and Ishkr accepted the slight danger as a matter of course, but Maran’s face was white at just the thought of running into one of the monsters.

“Look, Maran, it will be fine. Just take a seed core and—”

“No!”

It was customary now for Lyonette to use some of the wizened, dried-up seed cores that Erin had stored from the blue fruits just in case a Rock Crab showed up. She’d scared one away twice by now, and knew they weren’t a threat if you had your eyes halfway open. But Maran was insistent.

“I’ll get some water from Celum instead.”

“What, from a well there? Fine. But if you’re going—”

“No! I’ll do it like civilized folk do and have it delivered! You can pay to have water barrels sent to your inn or home each day. It’s just a few silver coins—a few more for a fast delivery, but it’s safe.”

Silver coins for water? Lyonette gaped at Maran and then shook her head.

“You can’t do that. Just go and get some water!”

“I won’t. If you need them, get it yourself or get the other two to do it. But Safry and I won’t get water from now on. You can melt snow in the buckets if you want.”

That was it. Lyonette crossed her arms, too frustrated to let this go. She glared at Maran, who was staring hard at Lyon, mouth a firm line.

“We need water, and Erin told you this was part of her job. No one else is getting water, so until you go—”

“I’ll just pay for some water to be delivered here! Erin’s got enough money.”

Maran went over to the bar’s counter and to Lyonette’s horror, opened the lid of the money jar where Erin collected the day’s earnings. She went to stop Maran, but Safry got in her way.

“Erin’s not going to pay for barrels of water when she can just get it from the stream.”

“Well that’s too bad, because I’m not going to get some and risk my life.”

Maran marched over to the door leading to Celum. Before Lyon could stop her, she’d disappeared through with a handful of coins from Erin’s money jar. She came back thirty minutes later, and Lyonette watched six huge barrels of water come through the doorway with butterflies of panic and anger fluttering about in her stomach. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and walked right past Maran’s smug face.

Lyonette was furious Maran had wasted Erin’s money. But deep down she was also pleased. It meant that there would be trouble, and that both [Barmaids] would get what was coming to them. At least, Lyonette hoped that was the case.

“Hey Lyon. Get Mrsha off the table!”

Safry was trying to clear the plates off of one and Mrsha was happily trying to steal scraps. She flicked her hands at Mrsha, trying to shoo her off, but Mrsha just saw that as an invitation to play. Lyonette hurried over and pulled Mrsha away. Safry glared, and Lyonette glared back.

The other woman broke the stare-off by glancing towards the door.

“By the way, one of the Antinium things was here earlier. Not the Bird one…this one called himself Pawn or something.”

“What? Pawn?”

Lyonette dropped Mrsha in her excitement. Pawn was alive! Erin had been so worried.

“Where is he?”

Safry shrugged.

“I don’t know. He was looking for Erin, so I told him to come back later because Erin’s not here. We’re busy cleaning up breakfast, so—”

“No!”

Lyonette clutched at her hair. She screamed at Safry, right in the woman’s surprised face. How could she turn away Pawn, just because she was afraid of the Antinium? He was a guest, and she—

“We always let the Antinium in! Always! Is he still nearby? How far did he go?”

She rushed out the door before the woman could respond.

—-

Death. Pawn had known it would come to that. He’d known it, but not really known. There had been some stupid, foolish part of him that had imagined fighting with his Soldiers, triumphing over the monsters and not losing a single one.

What a fool he had been. The Antinium dragged himself away from Erin’s inn. She wasn’t there. And he was empty.

His Soldiers had died. Twenty five of them. But far more had died that weren’t his. He’d heard Belgrade give the report to Klbkch. Over two hundred Workers and about half the number of Soldiers had perished while they’d been fighting. Two hundred.

These weren’t devastating numbers. The Hive had suffered worse, and always come back. New Workers and Soldiers were always being created. That also meant each day they were also dying. If not by the hundreds, at least a dozen.

Each day. Each day, a dozen Soldiers like the ones who lived on the walls of the barracks in paint died. Each day. Pawn could barely fathom that. No—it was because he couldn’t imagine such a thing that he was still able to function at all.

Workers died. Soldiers died. They died and their bodies were turned to mush that other Antinium ate. Each day. If you dwelt on that, you’d curl up and die, like the Workers who never woke up and were carried away. Or worse—you’d become an Aberration.

That was how they were created, surely. Pawn had come close, once. He felt that had to be why. It was when you couldn’t make sense of it all, when the death and emptiness crushed you down and left not even loyalty, not even the shred of…of anything. That was when it happened.

He wanted to talk to Erin about it. But she wasn’t there. The strange Human who hadn’t met his eyes had said so.

So Pawn would go back. He’d go back and—

“Pawn!”

Someone called his name. Pawn looked up. He saw a figure running down the hill, waving her arms and shouting at him. Not Erin. But someone nearly as good.

Lyonette. She seized him, hugged him. Pawn stood still in the snow, wordless, as Lyonette sobbed in relief that she’d gotten to him before he’d gone back to his Hive.

“I thought you might be dead! Come on, come back to the inn. I’ll get you food, and your favorite bee, and you can wait for Erin—”

“But the Human female said Erin—”

“You can wait for her! Don’t listen to Safry! Come on!”

In no time, Pawn was sitting in the inn, Mrsha sniffing at his hands, a mug of hot honey milk in his hand, and a plate with a dead bee practically dripping with butter and honey wafting enticingly up at him. The bee was making two of the Human [Barmaids] scream and argue with Lyonette. Pawn listened and thought Lyonette sounded angry, until the door from Celum burst open and Erin and Ryoka rushed through.

“Pawn!”

Erin’s voice was like the sun. He rose as she ran at him. She threw her arms around Pawn and hugged him tightly. It was like finding his name again. Pawn hugged her back, carefully, and saw another girl he recognized standing behind her. Ryoka Griffin.

When Erin let go, fussing over Pawn, Ryoka approached.

“Pawn, right? I’m Ryoka. We’ve met before, but I haven’t talked with you.”

She held out a hand. Pawn stared at it, and gingerly shook it. Ryoka Griffin was nothing like Erin, but she was reassuring in her own way. She had spoken to Klbkch, Pawn knew, and Erin had always spoken highly of her. She was intriguing to him.

But now Erin was fussing about him, and telling him to tell her everything. Pawn looked at her, and felt the same pain, the helplessness, hurt bubbling up inside him.

“What happened Pawn? Was it bad? Why did Klbkch tell you to fight?”

“It was…”

He couldn’t talk about the Hive. Or how the Antinium were barely holding back the monsters. But the dead. Pawn closed his mandibles and looked down at the cooling bee.

“I let them down. They died to protect me. A quarter. They died, Erin. For me.”

“What? Who died, Pawn? Belgrade? Anand? Who?”

Erin leaned over Pawn, looking anxious, worried. That filled Pawn with something too, something bright, but also painful. He shook his head.

“Not them. My people. They…I put them on the walls.”

Erin and Ryoka exchanged a glance. Pawn knew he wasn’t making sense. He tried to explain as best he could.

“You were fighting? Monsters?”

“From where?”

Ryoka stared intently at Pawn, but he couldn’t answer. He told Erin how he’d drawn the symbols of his dead Soldiers on the walls when he started shaking. He couldn’t help it.

“I am sorry. It is just—”

“Don’t be sorry.”

Erin hugged him tightly, so tight that Pawn felt the shaking stop, as if she’d used a Skill. But her warmth was simple, plain. It was better than magic, more mysterious than a Skill. Erin stood up, looking angry and upset.

“I’m going to talk with Klbkch. I’m going to tell him he can’t make Pawn and his Soldiers do this!”

“Wait a second, Erin—”

Ryoka rose, grabbing at her friend’s arm, but Erin shook her off.

“Don’t argue with me, Ryoka! This is wrong! Pawn, you sit right here. You don’t have to worry about fighting and dying, okay? I’ll take care of it.”

She practically ran out of the door, despite Ryoka’s attempts to stop her. Cursing, the girl returned to her seat and looked at Pawn.

“Damnit, I hope she doesn’t try to storm the Hive.”

“Revalantor Klbkch is most likely on duty as a [Guardsman] in the city at the moment.”

“Oh? Who’s defending the Hive, then? I assume the monsters are still around.”

Pawn froze. Would it be Belgrade? But no—he was resting.

“I—I do not know. Perhaps Xrn?”

But that didn’t feel right. Who led the hive when Klbkch could not, and when Belgrade and Anand were out of commission? It had to be—

The Queen. Did she lead the Hive? She must. She must have ordered the Workers and Soldiers to do battle thousands of times before Belgrade and Anand had taken some of the burden away. She had to send them to their deaths, over and over. How could she? How could she not care? Did she know?

The storm of emotions was hidden behind Pawn’s face. Ryoka stared at him.

“I think Erin will get Klbkch to take your unit off the front lines. Erin’s persuasive like that and Klbkch…will probably listen to her. Even if he wouldn’t listen to anyone else.”

Pawn shook his head.

“I wish she would not do that. Revalantor Klbkch…had his reasons for ordering my unit into combat.”

Good ones too. He was right. Pawn’s group of one hundred Soldiers had suffered least out of the groups assigned to combat, and his had fought in one of the most hotly contested areas. His Soldiers were stronger than normal ones. But they had died.

How could he ever ask the Soldiers to fight again? How could he face them? But Ryoka didn’t seem concerned with that. She was staring at Pawn and clearing her throat. He looked at her. She drummed her fingers on the table for a moment.

“Look…Pawn. I’ve wanted to speak to you for a while now. Since Erin’s gone, now’s the best time. I know you’re upset, but you and I have to speak now about your…beliefs.”

Pawn froze. He looked cautiously at Ryoka.

“What do you mean by that?”

She met his eyes levelly.

“I mean, I heard from Erin about how she told you about Christianity. About…God. And I had a talk with Klbkch and he says you’re a believer. And you have a class. Is that true?”

If she’d talked to Klbkch, then he could speak to her, right? Pawn hesitated, and then nodded. He lowered his voice, without knowing why. It seemed like something Ryoka would want.

“That is correct. I am a Level 6 [Acolyte]. I received the class after I…prayed and was told of religion and heaven by Erin.”

Why did Ryoka freeze up at that? Her eyes flicked to Lyonette, who was arguing with Safry about a plate Mrsha had accidentally knocked over. Then she looked back at Pawn, seemingly worried.

“An [Acolyte]? Damn. Uh, has Klbkch told you why that’s not a good thing?”

Pawn nodded. Klbkch had indicated it was not, in action as well as word. He’d told Pawn not to speak of gods to anyone. After he’d tried to kill Pawn for knowing about gods in the first place.

“He has expressed his desire to keep such knowledge private. I have done so, and only told you of my class outside of my Hive. However, I do not understand the reason for his distrust of gods.”

“Yeah, well, that’s complicated. If he didn’t tell you, I don’t think I should either.”

Ryoka traced patterns on the table, thinking hard. She hesitated, and looked at Pawn again.

“I uh, can’t say why Pawn, but this faith business is trouble. Klbkch, your Revalantor, agrees with me, and so does your Queen, I think. So…why don’t you just stop praying? It…really doesn’t do much good. Or rather, there are other ways you can help your people.”

Pawn stared at Ryoka. He felt shocked, stunned by the words coming out of her mouth.

“Stop…praying? Stop believing?”

She nodded and leaned over the table.

“Look, it’s not something your people need. A god is important, sure…faith, hell it’s meaningful, but the people of this world have gotten along fine without one for this long. Can’t you, I don’t know, just forget about it?”

Just forget about it. Just forget about Heaven. Forget about god. Forget about—

Something blazed in Pawn. He closed his mandibles, leaned away from Ryoka. When he spoke, his grief was forgotten. It had been replaced by the anger of indignation.

“No.”

Ryoka sighed and scrubbed at her hair.

“Come on. Why do you need to believe? Like I said, it’s really dangerous if it spreads—”

“It is necessary for the Antinium.”

She looked blank.

“Why? Why would believing—”

“You do not know what it means to be Antinium.”

Pawn cut Ryoka off shortly. She did not understand. He tried to tell himself that. And then he realized that was it. She really didn’t understand. Pawn looked at Ryoka, who seemed to be growing more annoyed. She was ignorant.

“Look, I’m trying to be nice, but Klbkch and I agree—”

“What would you give someone with one day to live?”

Pawn stared at Ryoka. She blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“What would you give someone with exactly twenty four hours to live before they died? Someone who knew their death was imminent?”

She stared at him. But unlike Erin, she didn’t question Pawn’s words, but took the query at face value.

“One day? Well, I guess I’d give them what they always dreamed of. Time with their family if they have any, money to do what they wanted…uh, maybe a chance to—”

“No.”

She broke off.

“What?”

Pawn shook his head deliberately. She still did not understand. He spoke carefully, choosing each word to make her comprehend.

“You are misunderstanding my question. I said, what would you give someone who had one day to live? Not years. Not decades. One. Day. One day total. Someone who came into existence and will die within hours of waking.”

Ryoka’s eyes widened.

“You mean—a Soldier? A Worker? One of the Antinium?”

“Yes.”

The word was bitter on Pawn’s mandibles. He broke off a leg of the dead Ashfire bee, stared at it as he spoke.

“You Humans live for years, do you not? In most cases, you live at least until you are ten, many twice that age. Some live for nearly a century. Other races live longer, others shorter. But the lifespan of an Antinium may be a single day. Or less.”

“You mean they’re born and are fully cognizant the instant they come out?”

Ryoka seemed fascinated, but she was missing the point. Pawn nodded.

“The instant a Soldier emerges, he is expected to fight and serve his Hive. He may be sent into battle minutes after he is born. What can he have in those minutes, if not faith that he is dying for a reason?”

“For his Hive, you mean. For his queen.”

“Yes. But it is not enough. If the Soldier lives, he will fight every day for his Hive. Fight and die, Ryoka Griffin. That is his fate. Fight and die. What can you give him? Money? He has nowhere to spend it. Family? He will never reproduce, and his brethren die with him. An experience? He has never seen the sky.”

The young woman sat across from Pawn, staring at him as if she were looking at something horrible or tragic. Pawn felt something surging in his body, something dark, but also…

“You tell me faith is not needed. I disagree. When Erin told me of God, of Heaven, it was important. It was necessary. Because what else can the Antinium cling to? What can I give the Soldiers who died for me, if not hope of a place to rest? What can I give a Soldier who will die in moments, if not faith? Tell me, Ryoka Griffin. Why is faith meaningless to the Antinium?”

She had no reply. She sat back, looking stunned, and then ashamed. When she did speak, minutes later, it was humbly.

“I’m wrong.”

Pawn nodded.

“Yes. You are.”

She nodded as well.

“I didn’t know about how the Antinium lived. I guessed, but…I’m sorry about that. I’d change it if I could, how your people live. And you’re right—religion is important. Especially to your people. I…think I’d forgotten that. If I ever knew. But it doesn’t change the fact that faith is dangerous in this world. Faith in a god is dangerous, Pawn. Can you understand that?”

He reached for his mug and drank slowly.

“I understand that you and Revalantor Klbkch fear Gods. You fear one of them. Are there living Gods in this world, then?”

Ryoka jumped and looked around. Pawn lowered his mug.

“It is not a difficult thing to surmise. But it is curious. I believe in Gods…but you and Revalantor Klbkch know one exists.”

“So you do believe.”

The young woman was intent on Pawn.

“Are you a believer in Christianity, then? Are you…spreading the word of the Bible?”

Pawn paused. He shook his head.

“I believe in Jesus Christ. I believe he was born of the Virgin Mary. I believe he suffered under Pontius Pilate. I believe he was buried. I believe he descended into hell and returned. I believe he is a God. But I believe he is not my God.”

Ryoka’s jaw dropped. She struggled for words.

“How? If you can believe…how?”

Pawn shrugged.

“It is simple. He is not my God. He is yours. When God created the earth, he created animals and Humans, the earth, the sky and stars and sea. But he did not create the Antinium, Ryoka Griffin. I know this. Because we created ourselves.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed. Your God cannot be ours. No matter how much we wish for it. Thus, I believe. I am an [Acolyte]. I have faith.”

“But how can you be if—”

“I believe in the Antinium. I believe in Heaven. I believe there is an afterlife, that miracles are possible, and I believe in Gods. Just as I believe the Antinium have none.”

Pawn said it simply, and spoke the truth. He believed. He believed the Soldiers who had died would not be swept away into ash and dust. He had to believe in that, because he could not trust a God to do it for him.

“I don’t know what to say.”

Ryoka seemed breathless, caught between laughter and tears, incredulity and wonder. She shook her head, half-smiling.

“If I could bring you back to my world and introduce you to the Pope, or the Dalai Lama, or…or…a Jehovah’s Witness…I can’t do this. I’m not qualified to tell you anything.”

She looked at Pawn, a bit sadly, regretfully.

“I don’t believe, Pawn. I don’t, although I think there is a…a God in this world. But I would refuse to believe in him or her or it. And yet…I can’t tell you you’re wrong. I think you’re right to believe. I’m just worried.”

“Because belief is dangerous.”

“Of course.”

Ryoka Griffin sighed. She seemed old, tired. She looked at the ceiling as Mrsha slunk by her feet, chastised by Maran. Ryoka bent down to pet Mrsha, and the Gnoll stared up at her and Pawn. A child. But not a dog.

At last, Ryoka reached a decision. She took a breath and nodded, and then looked at Pawn.

“I think…yeah, I think I should tell you all about it. It’s only right, and it might help. I’ll tell Klbkch the same.”

“Tell me what?”

Ryoka smiled crookedly.

“Religions, Pawn. Not just one. Erin told you about Christianity, right? Well, I’ll fill in any gaps she might have missed and…let’s call it context. I read the Bible back to front. And I know…well, I know a bit about other religions, too. Buddhism, Sikhism, Shinto, Zoroastrianism…not everything, but I can tell you more than Erin did. If you’ll let me, I’d like to tell you about other religions, the good and the bad.”

Pawn looked at her. For the first time that day, his heart lifted. His mandibles parted, and raised in a slight smile.

“Truly?”

“If you’re going to be the first religious Antinium…you might as well be the most informed. Sure. Let’s start with Christianity.”

“I know much of what Erin has told me.”

“Yeah, I know. But did you know Christianity is only one interpretation of, well, everything? It’s part of what’s known as the Abrahamic religions—that is to say, Abrahamism. That encompasses all religions who worship the God of Abraham. But there are many religions within that definition, who believe different things. For instance, there are two other major religions—Islam and Judaism—that believe Jesus Christ was not the Son of God.”

Pawn’s mandibles opened wide, the equivalent of Ryoka’s jaw dropping. She nodded, smiling.

“For instance, in the Islamic faith, they use the Quran, another holy book instead of the Bible and believe that Muhammad was the last of God’s prophets. Now, they differ from Christianity on several fundamental issues, but have several similarities, beginning with…”

The skies opened. The snow stopped. The world warmed, and Pawn felt himself standing on the edge of the sky, looking past the horizon at something like stars. It was something vast, something distant—

But all so familiar. He wanted to reach out and touch it. That was how he felt as he listened to Ryoka. She told him about Islam, about Judaism and the difference between Catholics and Protestants, Mormons and Quakers.

And then she told him about what each religion did, how they differed. Erin had told Pawn about people eating Jesus in the form of bread—Ryoka explained the difference between transubstantiation and consubstantiation. But what was far more important than terms was how each religion worked.

“They eat braided bread instead of wafers?”

“Braided bread. Yes. That would be…challah. I think that’s what it’s called.”

Ryoka frowned, nodding to herself.

“It’s more of a food than wafers, you understand. The Jewish people will eat it on special occasions, not just before communion.”

Pawn nodded. Ideas were flashing through his head like the stars in the sky.

“Do you know how to make it?”

“Make it?”

Ryoka blinked, astounded. Pawn nodded seriously.

“I should like to try some. And…yes, perhaps I can speak to Lyonette or Erin about obtaining honey. It is not the same as wine, but I believe it may be cheaper and more palatable to the Antinium. A tiny bit of bread will not upset our systems.”

“Wait. You want bread and honey? For a communion?”

The Asian girl was blinking and frowning.

“I thought you didn’t believe in the Bible. Why adopt a religious service like it?”

Pawn looked blankly at Ryoka and shook his head sadly. She was so knowledgeable, but she did not understand.

“Because it is a religious service. Clearly, there is merit in it. So the Antinium must have the same. Not the exact same of course, since we will not worship that God. But it is a good idea.”

Ryoka was doing the open-mouthed thing again. She spoke slowly.

“You’re going to…steal the ideas of Judaism? Wait, not steal, but copy?”

Pawn nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Of course. And I would like to hear of non-Abrahamic religions, please. If Christianity is not the only religion, then I must hear of them all. All Human religions. Because there is so much wonder in the stories Erin told me, of God and his people. Surely there must be similar wonders in every religion. I wish to hear of it all. So I can take what the Antinium can use.”

She blinked at him. And then laughed.

“The Antinium really don’t mind about plagiarism, do they?”

Pawn lifted his mandibles in a smile.

“I do not know what that word means. But we do not shy away from copying what is glorious, what works.”

Ryoka shrugged, cracking her fingers together and making Mrsha jump underneath the table.

“Well then. I’d better get to work.”

—-

In the end, she spoke for two more hours, until Erin got back. By that point Ryoka was drinking honey water for her throat, as hoarse as she was. But Pawn had heard many good things. Chiefly among them were a few ideas.

“A shrine. Shinto. Buddhist prayer beads. And a Catholic…what did you call it?”

“A censer.”

“Hey Pawn, I talked to Klbkch!”

Erin looked triumphant, but Pawn and Ryoka didn’t glance twice at her.

“Thank you, Erin Solstice.”

“Yeah, thanks Erin. Wait, why do you want a censer, Pawn?”

Crestfallen, Erin stared at Pawn and edged slowly into the table as they kept talking.

“A censer is a powerful tool, or so it seems to me. It is different from a cross in that it has a physical presence.”

“From the incense.”

“Yes. I would like to have one, possibly on a chain as you described. That would be very convenient.”

“Uh…technically, that’s a thurible. If a censer has chains, it’s called a thurible. Sorry.”

Ryoka looked embarrassed to have contributed the detail, but Pawn nodded his head gravely.

“I will commit that to memory. Do you know how to make one?”

“Make one? Hell, it’s not hard…the trick would be describing it. Look, if you’ve got some parchment and a quill I could—”

“I’ve got one!”

Erin leapt up, surprising Ryoka and Pawn. She ran into the kitchen and came back with the items.

“Here! Draw!”

Ryoka carefully sketched out a censer, and Pawn noted the holes on the top and bottom where the burnt incense’s fragrance would drift outwards. Yes, it was just what he’d imagined.

“I would like to have one. If you will assist me with the plans, I believe I will go to a [Blacksmith] and have one commissioned.”

“If you like…”

“Hey! What about me? I could build one for Pawn!”

Erin interrupted the two, beaming. They looked at her incredulously.

“You could do it, Erin?”

Ryoka was skeptical. Erin blew out her cheeks, exasperated.

“I do have [Advanced Crafting], Pawn. I could build parts of my inn myself but…well, that’s a lot of work. The least I can do is help you build a censer.”

“Thurible. This one has chains.”

Ryoka grinned as Pawn corrected Erin. Erin rolled her eyes and then looked at Ryoka.

“So Ryoka…what does a thurible look like?”

To Pawn’s surprise, there were all the parts Erin needed at hand already. The censer was made, according to Ryoka, to allow the incense to burn and waft out of the container. It required holes, in short, which would also make it ‘holey’ according to Erin. That was apparently a joke that neither Ryoka nor Pawn laughed at.

To build the first prototype of a censer, Erin took to colanders which had been used to strain spaghetti, and put them together. She added a basin to catch the incense and ash that would fall from the bottom colander, and added a chain around the top.

“What do you think? Is that it?”

Ryoka eyed the impromptu thurible skeptically. Erin had used string to tie the basin of the colander to the basin, and she’d put a coal and some sticks of ground-up cinnamon into the colander. Now she picked up the entire affair with another bit of string and swung the censer around gently. Smoke began to drift out of the holes on the top and bottom, bringing a sweet smell that Pawn inhaled slowly.

The Runner coughed as Erin wafted the thurible at her. She waved smoke away from her face.

“It’s…sort of like a thurible, Erin. The real thing would be smaller, and less…unwieldy. Are you sure you have…[Advanced Crafting]?”

Erin glared at Ryoka as Pawn inspected the thurible.

“Hey, I don’t have [Advanced Metalworking] or whatever you need. And I don’t know what a thurible looks like!”

“Well, it’s a good start.”

Ryoka eyed the contraption with quite a bit of reserve, but Pawn shook his head as he carefully lifted the thurible up and examined it. He addressed Erin.

“I believe I can commission a smaller version later, and I will return the colander to you at another time. But for now…this is perfect.”

She beamed at him, and then tugged Ryoka away to whisper to her.

“Psst, Ryoka. What’s a colander?”

“A strainer, Erin. You’ve been using it every time to drain pasta.”

“Oh. Why don’t they just call it a strainer?”

Ryoka sighed, and didn’t bother replying.

By this point, the hours had worn on and it was approaching dinner. Pawn sat at his table, feeling better. A thurible. And there were all sorts of things Ryoka had mentioned. This might help—

He paused. It would not help the Soldiers. They would still fight and die. His prayers…could not change fate.

And yet Erin had done just that. They wouldn’t have to fight! There was relief in Pawn’s heart as he considered that, and joy as he thought of sharing the thurible with the Soldiers. The other religious artifacts Ryoka had mentioned would be of interest to them too, surely. Perhaps Pawn could conduct a mass? They could enjoy themselves.

And no one would die.

He barely saw Erin get intercepted on her way to the kitchen, but Pawn’s attention was attracted when Maran, one of the [Barmaids] began pointing out the six water barrels stacked up against the wall. He heard Erin exclaiming over them, and then her cheerful voice.

“Hey, that isn’t a bad idea! It might save some time…sure, why not? We can try it out tomorrow as well. Thanks, Maran!”

She hurried back to Ryoka and Pawn.

“Guess what, guys? Maran had this great idea to buy water barrels from Celum! We can just get them filled up each day and it’ll be a lot easier than going out for water, she says! Isn’t that cool?”

Pawn nodded obediently, having no input on water barrels. But sitting across from him, Ryoka frowned.

“How much would that cost, Erin?”

“Oh…I dunno. Maran didn’t say.”

“It seems like a waste to me.”

“Yeah, but if it saves time—”

“Erin!”

Someone hurried across the floor towards them. Lyonette. Pawn sat up upon seeing her. He opened his mandibles to greet Lyonette. He had a lot of affection for all the times she had helped him, but she was focused on Erin.

“Erin, did you tell Maran you’re going to buy more water barrels tomorrow?”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it Lyonette! It’s a great idea, don’t you think? Maran told me she thought it would really help the inn, so I—”

“She didn’t do it to help the inn! She did it because she was too afraid to go outside and haul water!”

The anger and frustration in Lyonette’s voice made Pawn sit up. She was furious, but hissing at Erin while the other workers served the Gold-rank adventurers filing into the inn. Erin froze. Her eyes swiveled to Maran, who was busy flirting with an impassive Ulrien.

“But she said—”

“I asked them to get water from the stream and they both said no. Maran took money from your jar and went to buy six barrels! It must have cost at least twelve silver coins, and we could have gotten fresher water if we’d hauled it ourselves!”

The entire story came out quickly, Erin blinking in shock and Ryoka grimacing. When Lyonette was done and breathing heavily, Erin nodded seriously.

“Okay, that was wrong. Taking money and not listening to you? Yeah, I’ll tell them they can’t do that again, Lyon.”

Decisively, Erin walked past Lyonette. The girl looked relieved, but that relief changed to panic in a moment when Erin spoke.

“Hey Maran, Safry! Lyonette told me that earlier, you two didn’t want to haul water. But you said…”

The two [Barmaids] blinked and came over as Erin began to talk with them, frowning hard. Meanwhile, Lyonette was staring at Erin as the [Innkeeper] pointed back several times to her as she talked to the other [Barmaids].

Lyonette hurried away, taking over serving drinks while Erin scolded Maran and Safry. Ryoka and Pawn looked and saw the two barmaids were glaring daggers at Lyonette as Erin spoke with them. Ryoka covered her face.

“That moron. You don’t dress down workers in public like that. And she told them to their faces that Lyonette was…”

She was grinding her teeth together. Pawn looked at her quizzically.

“I do not understand the full context of what is happening, Ryoka. Is Erin’s hiring new employees objectionable to you?”

“No, but it looks like there’s a problem. It’s a staffing issue and Erin’s making a mistake. At least…she might be. Lyonette could be lying, or exaggerating the problem, or there’s something else at work here.”

Ryoka chewed at her lip distractedly. Pawn listened obediently, since she seemed to know what she was talking about.

“No one’s impartial in a pissing match…and office drama is always ugly, so why not [Barmaid] drama. Damnit.”

She thought for a second and then looked at him.

“Hey Pawn, how much do you trust Lyonette? I mean, how much would you trust what she said? One hundred percent?”

Pawn didn’t have to think to answer.

“She fed my Soldiers and I. She gave us honey, and offered us food when no one else would. She helped paint my Soldiers. She gave them respite and shelter. I do not know Safry and Maran. But I would trust anything Lyonette said.”

Ryoka nodded grimly.

“That’s what I thought. She’s changed. And Maran and Safry, well, they did come from Agnes’ inn…maybe I should do something about this.”

Pawn had no idea what that meant. But he felt relieved and tired. It was over. His Soldiers were safe. He could pray, and know they would be safe. Prayer was good, but knowing was better. He sagged in his seat.

“I am going to sleep.”

Ryoka blinked at him.

“Wait, what?”

But it was too late. Pawn, exhausted by fighting and grief, slowly drifted off into slumber. All would be well. He believed that.

His dreams were still filled with death. The Antinium he held in his arms had no paint on his body.

But he was still dead all the same.

4.15 L

When Lyonette woke up on the third day, she didn’t want to get out of bed. For the first time she felt uneasy about working.

It was all wrong. Everything last night was supposed to go well! Erin was supposed to kick out Maran and Safry, or make it so they wouldn’t cause trouble. That was all Lyon wanted. She just wanted the other two to do their jobs without complaining, or refusing to do something.

But instead Erin had told them Lyonette was the one who had an issue with them and just lectured them! Lyonette had felt the other two [Barmaid]’s eyes on her all night. And when they’d left…

Lyonette was relieved to find it was Ishkr and Drassi who had been selected for the morning rotation. She greeted the two with a smile.

“Hello Drassi, Ishkr!”

“Hey Lyonette! Hey cute Mrsha! What’re we doing today?”

“Hrr. Morning Lyonette. Should I fetch water today to start with?”

It was strange, but Lyonette knew what to do. It was easy to assign Drassi to wait the tables since she was naturally inclined to it, and Ishkr actually seemed to prefer the trek to get water and clean the outhouses.

In the case of the outhouses of course, the trick wasn’t so much to empty them, which was a horrible thought to contemplate, but toss down some hay and dirt, hang some scented herbs up, clean the wood if it needed it, and so on. If it got full…well, Lyonette had spoken seriously to Erin about that and the solution Erin had come up with was find some kind of spell to blast the hole deeper or vaporize the mess.

Regardless, it was a joy to work with the two because Lyonette just had to tell Drassi to wait the tables, and give Ishkr a list of things that needed doing and they did them. It left Lyon with time to play with Mrsha, help out Erin in the kitchen, and in general, relax.

But the bowl-clenching and the stiff-muscles came as soon as Lyonette checked the schedule Erin had drawn up and realized she’d be with Safry and Maran for the rest of the day. It was the weekend, so the two Human [Barmaids] would be coming in to help deal with the increased traffic soon enough.

Lyonette prayed nothing bad would happen, but she remembered the look the two had given her. She consoled herself with a bit of righteous anger. It was their fault they’d refused to get water and bought things with Erin’s coin.

Trouble started when Safry came in for her first shift, just before noon. At first things were, well, not ideal, but workable. Erin had left once again, mainly to talk seriously with Ryoka about ‘stuff’ that happened to include the words ‘bicycle’, ‘light bulb’, and ‘antibiotics’, all of which were a mystery to Lyonette.

Despite that however, Safry didn’t antagonize Lyonette. She just ignored the girl. She had a job, and Lyonette had a job. All they had to do was do it and not get in each other’s way.

Still, there was no denying that Lyonette clenched her jaw and a little spasm of intense dislike flared up in her stomach every time she met Safry’s eyes. It was an unpleasant feeling, but Lyon could live with it. For today, at least.

No, the problem came from Mrsha. Lyonette hadn’t realized it, but the young Gnoll was still a very intelligent child, for all she didn’t speak. She could read subtext, and probably smell it as well. She’d had her own brushes with Safry and Maran, mainly getting in their way, and she knew Lyonette didn’t like them.

That was probably why she started her mischief. Mrsha would leap up onto a chair or table right after Safry had finished cleaning it, or pause to get in the woman’s way while she worked. The first few times Lyonette caught her and scolded her, but to no real effect. Mrsha just did it again, until Lyonette threatened to put her upstairs in her room.

“Can’t you control her?”

Safry snapped at Lyonette after the last warning. Mrsha’s eyes narrowed, but Lyonette bit back her retort and apologized for her.

The door to Celum opened and Erin and Ryoka came through. Erin was laughing happily and holding something mossy in her hand. Lyon recoiled from it, but apparently it was a useful…moss?

“It might work. If Octavia’s done her job, it’s got potential. I didn’t know you could boost the growth of fungi with mana potions, but Erin, be careful. We don’t know how other species react to it, and there might be side effects—”

“Got it! I got it! But if I try just a bit on Brunkr—okay, I’ll be careful! Don’t glare! And we’re back on time like you said.”

“Yeah.”

Ryoka glanced around the inn, looking at first Lyonette, then Safry. She frowned.

“Anyone seen Pisces?”

“I think he’s still sleeping in the basement. Or practicing magic.”

The [Mage] often woke up late, still poring over the spellbook Ryoka had bought or mumbling about proper craftsmanship and magic. Ryoka nodded. She went down into the basement and came up in a minute dragging Pisces. She shoved him into a seat and had a word with him.

She vanished after that. Pisces left too, grumbling about finding the rest of the Horns of Hammerad, and Erin was long gone into the city to give the mold—it wasn’t a moss—to Brunkr for some reason. That left Lyonette alone, well, not alone, but with Safry.

It went well for five minutes. Then Lyonette noticed Mrsha leaping up onto a table in the corner. She seemed intent on something, although there was nothing there. Someone had probably spilled a drink, but the Gnoll kept sniffing and then backing away.

And she happened to be right in the way of Safry as she was collecting dishes.

“Out of the way, Mrsha.”

Mrsha glanced up at Safry, but didn’t move. She circled the table and Lyonette called out to Safry, exasperated.

“Just leave her. If she stays there, she won’t bother anyone.”

Safry ignored her. She pointed down at the floor, and raised her voice, as if speaking to a dog.

“Down. Down.”

A glance up, and then Mrsha deliberately turned her back on Safry. The [Barmaid] lost her patience. She pushed Mrsha off the table and onto the floor.

The Gnoll landed with a yelp. Lyonette dropped the dust rag she was holding as Drassi and Ishkr looked up. Safry glared down at Mrsha.

“Down. Understand?”

The Gnoll cub stared up at her. She wasn’t injured from the small fall, but she was hurt, and surprised. Lyonette lost her temper.

“Stop that!”

She advanced on Safry, hands balled into a fist. Safry whirled and snapped at her.

“If you’d control her better, I wouldn’t have to teach her proper manners!”

“She’s just a child! She can play wherever she wants. And if you push her again I will make sure you don’t push anything again.”

Lyonette was ready to do violence, and Safry was clearly ready for a fight. She advanced, but Drassi leapt forwards and Ishkr dragged Lyonette back.

“Hrr. Hold still Lyonette. It is not the place to fight, no? Hold!”

He was far stronger than she was, even with [Lesser Strength]. Lyon struggled a bit in his grasp, but then Mrsha was between her and Safry. The other [Barmaid] struggled out of Drassi’s grip, and Ishkr let Lyonette go after a moment.

“Keep her out of the way.”

“Touch her and—”

Lyonette went to Mrsha, still glaring at Safry. She told Mrsha to play upstairs for today, and the Gnoll agreed, sensing the air in the room. But that was it.

Lyonette was going to kill Safry.

She’d grab one of the seed cores Erin kept in the kitchen and shove it down the other woman’s mouth. Or she’d stab her from behind. Or—

These were the thoughts that filled Lyon’s head as she began working and people began coming in for the midday rush. Murder. Violence. They were comforting feelings, even if she couldn’t act on them.

But she would do something. Oh yes. Erin would hear about this at the very least! Lyon wasn’t working another day with Safry! Or Maran! When Erin came back she’d—

Erin did not come back, busy as she was with Brunkr and molds. But Maran came in for her shift soon after, and then trouble really started. Safry told Maran what had happened, and as far as the inn was concerned, there were now two mortal enemies sharing the same roof. Well, three, mortal enemies but two sides.

Safry went back to the table Mrsha had been on, cleaning it and muttering about Gnoll hair everywhere. She was just going over to wring the cloth in the bucket when her feet went out from under her.

She’d tripped. Something had struck her foot, and Safry landed hard on the ground. She looked back, enraged, thinking it was Lyonette—but the girl was across the room, teaching Ishkr where Erin kept her supply of emergency potions.

Suspiciously, Safry looked around. There was only an empty chair next to a table. Angry, having no one but herself to blame and angrier still that that was the case Safry stood up and got back to work. She ended up tripping three more times throughout the day, each time when she passed by that table.

—-

[Acolyte Level 8!]

[Skill – Mass Prayer obtained!]

Pawn woke up with the memory of those words ringing in his mind. He smiled as he sat up in the darkness. In his four hands he still held the thurible, missing an ember and proper incense, but perfectly workable.

He was leveling. He was on the right path. And his Soldiers would not die.

He was also in the wrong place. Pawn had thought he was in his dirt cubicle, but instead he was in a dark room, and there was a blanket covering him! He looked around, and realized he was in a corner of the Wandering Inn’s basement.

He’d fallen asleep here, and slept the night away! Dread filled Pawn and he scrambled up the stairs.

“Pawn!”

Lyonette greeted him with a strained smile, but Pawn was in too much of a hurry to notice.

“I am sorry to intrude. Is Erin here? I wish to thank her.”

“No, I think she’s out.”

“Ah. In that case I must go. I must report in to my Hive!”

He fled, hurrying down towards Liscor. Even if Klbkch did not order him into combat duty, he still had to attend a debriefing meeting with Klbkch about his Soldiers’ performance.

But he wouldn’t be ordered into combat, right? Erin had said. She’d promised. His Soldiers would be safe. They wouldn’t die.

Part of Pawn’s dream of last night nagged at him. He’d been holding a dead Antinium, one without paint. He banished the memory. That was just a dream. He would be—

The Hive was busy as ever. Pawn navigated the streams of Workers and Soldiers, looking for Klbkch.

“Revalantor Klbkch. Have you seen him? Where is he?”

Workers pointed him onwards, towards one of the areas closest to the dungeon. Apprehensively, Pawn hurried down that way, pausing to let Soldiers rush by, alert for monsters. But he found Klbkch a good ways away from the actual front.

Because Klbkch was wounded.

Pawn halted as he suddenly came to the Revalantor. Klbkch was surrounded by a wall of twenty Soldiers, all injured, some missing limbs. Klbkch was leaning against a wall, bleeding profusely from his side.

Something had torn it open. The Antinium dropped one of his silvery swords and was fumbling with a healing potion. Pawn rushed over as Klbkch got the stopper out.

“Pawn.”

The other Antinium had noticed Pawn’s arrival. He parted his mandibles weakly as Pawn stared at the green fluid rushing down his side. He had a deep cut down one shoulder as well, a blow that had split his chitin, and more, smaller cuts down his legs.

“A moment.”

Klbkch poured the healing potion over himself, carefully sprinkling it without wasting the precious liquid. The wounds closed quickly. Klbkch staggered, and then looked at Pawn. He stoppered the nearly-empty potion bottle with one hand and put it in his belt pouch.

“Pawn. I was wondering as to your location. You spent the night outside of the Hive.”

Pawn was still staring at Klbkch, at where the wounds had been. They’d closed just like that. In an instant. Of course, that was how healing potions worked, but now you couldn’t tell Klbkch had been injured. You’d never be able to tell, come to that. So long as he didn’t die, he could have been fighting a moment ago and you’d never notice…

“Yes, I—I fell asleep in the inn. My deepest apologies. I had not rested since my assignment and—”

“It is fine.”

Klbkch cut him off shortly. The Antinium hauled himself up and snapped at the Soldiers.

“Return to battle.”

They immediately dispersed, running back down the corridor. Pawn could hear a monster screaming in the distance. That left Klbkch and Pawn alone. The Revalantor nodded at Pawn.

“I was visited by Erin Solstice yesterday. She had words for me regarding your deployment.”

“Yes, I—”

Suddenly Pawn’s jubilation was gone. He felt ashamed. But Klbkch shook his head.

“Her concerns had merit. I agreed with her proposal. Your unit displayed extreme efficacy in battle, despite the dangers. Your losses…depleted a valuable resource to the Hive. In light of that, and remarks made by Xrn—”

His mandibles lowered in an Antinium grimace.

“Your unit may resume patrolling above. There is no need to report for combat duty in the Hive in the foreseeable future. We will handle matters below now that Xrn has agreed to lend her abilities when needed.”

Pawn nodded numbly.

“I understand.”

Klbkch nodded as well. He straightened and picked up the other sword he’d dropped.

“Continue training your Soldiers, Pawn. Do not worry about Belgrade or Anand. They will recover. In the meantime, I will coordinate my efforts with my Queen and Xrn to maintain the defense of the Hive.”

He turned away. Pawn watched him stride back towards the sound of battle. He wanted to say something, anything. But he couldn’t.

Suddenly, Pawn realized a hole had opened back up under his feet. He’d been thinking for so long about what had happened. He’d led his Soldiers in a battle, something he thought Klbkch wouldn’t do, couldn’t understand.

But of course the Revalantor fought. He had put himself on the line. And the Workers and Soldiers—were still fighting. Why would that stop? It was just Pawn’s unit that had been granted a reprieve, safety. Suddenly, Pawn felt as useless as before. No. Worse.

What was he doing?

What had he done?

—-

Trouble had two names. Maran, and Safry. Trouble also had a Human’s face, and was multiplied about two dozen times.

Suddenly, a huge amount of Humans had come through Octavia’s door into the inn. It had happened around one, and although it had surprised Lyonette, it hadn’t come as a shock to Maran or Safry. Now these Humans laughed and ate and did all the things guests were supposed to do…but they were Human.

And Lyon had the feeling that was just the way Safry and Maran liked it.

“I had a word with some of my friends and regular customers. I told them they should eat here. It’ll balance out the inn.”

“You mean add more Humans.”

Lyonette glared as she confronted Maran over the issue. The [Barmaid] laughed.

“So what? They’re customers. Erin will be happy. Anyways, they’re guests, and probably hungry. You can take their orders. I’m going on lunch and so is Safry.”

“What?”

Ishkr and Drassi had already gone on their break, but suddenly Maran was finding a seat and Safry was bringing over some of Erin’s magically fresh food, heated up and piping hot. Lyonette protested.

“You can’t do that!”

“We get a break. That’s the Innkeeper’s Guild’s policy and Erin agreed. We’re having lunch now. We’ll be done in thirty minutes. You can handle things until then.”

Suddenly, there were over twenty hungry people all demanding drinks and food at the same time. It was like the bad old days, but worse, because there were two [Barmaids] having a grand time watching Lyonette hurry around.

“I’m going to kill them. I’m going to feed Safry to a Rock Crab and let Maran walk into an Ashfire Bee hive…”

Lyonette was cursing under her breath, struggling to open another keg when someone held it steady for her.

“Don’t bother with monsters. Let’s just push them down the outhouse hole and put the lid down.”

Drassi grinned toothily at Lyonette as the girl stared at her. She offered a mug as Lyonette finally got a dark, amber-colored liquid to come forth and the girl hurriedly filled it.

“Thanks. I know you’re on your break.”

“Don’t mind a thing. I had to help out once I saw those fleshbags lazing about. Not you, them, I mean. I don’t know why Erin hired them.”

Lyonette made a face. She hurried over to the table and spoke as she grabbed the other two mugs Drassi was quickly filling.

“I think they thought they’d be working a lot less over here. And they’re not used to Drakes or Gnolls. I wasn’t—I learned, but it took time.”

“Think they’ll quit?”

“I’m going to talk to Erin. They’d better quit, or I’ll kill them myself after Safry bullying Mrsha.”

Lyonette’s face was a thunderhead. Drassi nodded in complete agreement, and then flicked her tail to the two [Barmaids].

“I might quit. Because if I have to listen to them ask me which Drake is which when one’s an old guy and the other one’s barely hatched—”

“Don’t do that! Erin will sort things out.”

“I hope so.”

“Hrr. She had better. Or I might take up your offer with the outhouse as well.”

Someone else came to join them. Ishkr had some food ready for the Humans. He nodded awkwardly at Lyon, not as comfortable as Drassi at socializing.

“I am not cleaning myself each time I get wet walking through snow. I do not smell. I have a good sense of smell, and it is not problematic.”

“You smell wonderful.”

Lyonette smiled at him and got a wide grin in response. She felt better after that moment, and once the Humans were fed and given something to drink, she had a chance to have a short break herself.

The knowledge that Drassi and Ishkr felt like she did was a relief. It meant Lyonette wasn’t prejudiced, that she was right, and that Maran and Safry had better watch themselves around the outhouses from now on. But it didn’t solve the problem.

More guests arrived from Liscor. Erin’s inn was developing a reputation as a hangout for adventurers, and also as the only place you could get good, cheap honey, aside from buying it from a certain Gnoll. Lyonette hadn’t gone on a run to the Ashfire Bee hive in a while, and she worried she might run out.

But there were bigger problems to deal with at the moment. Drakes and Gnolls had come into the inn, some to play chess, others to enjoy an inn not completely full to the rafters, as many inns were in Liscor at the moment. Some wanted to go through to Celum. In any event, the inn was bustling before the sun had yet to fall far in the sky.

By now there was an invisible line across the inn. Maran and Safry circulated the tables where the Humans sat, chatting, laughing with them, while Lyonette, Ishkr and Drassi tried to cover all tables equally. But because the two Human [Barmaids] were focused only on half of the room, the non-Human staff and Lyonette had to focus more on their side. And the guests noticed.

They weren’t idiots. And they had eyes. More than a few Drakes glared and some of the Gnolls sniffed and muttered quietly under their breaths, words only they and the other Gnolls could hear, which made Ishkr bare his teeth.

“Hey yo!”

Erin came back at the best and worst time possible. The best time because things were really heating up and every hand was needed. Safry and Maran’s pull for humanity had resulted in more people coming through via the group effect—if everyone was here, something good had to be happening—and that was on top of a weekend crowd!

It was also bad because Lyonette didn’t have a chance to pull her aside and talk about Safry and Maran. Oh, but it was going to happen soon! At any moment! As soon as she got more water, filled a few drinks, served five plates of piping hot pepper Corusdeer steaks—

“Drassi, you serve drinks, Ishkr, can you see if we have more of the Fireshot kegs in the basement? Safry, I need you to serve the Drakes. Just memorize where they’re sitting and—”

Lyonette was ordering everyone around, backed up by the knowledge that Erin was watching. However, Safry balked when she realized Lyonette hadn’t given herself a task at this busiest point.

“What are you going to do? I’ve got my hands full!”

Lyonette pointed to the stairs where she’d seen a furry white Gnoll head giving her imploring looks.

“I’ve got to feed Mrsha. She’s hungry and she needs a snack.”

“Her? Let her wait! Half of the room has an order.”

That was a good suggestion, a decent one. And because it came from Safry, Lyonette refused to consider it.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

“You can’t just—”

“Hey, what’s the problem?”

For the first time, their argument had attracted Erin’s attention. Or it would be more accurate to say, this was the first time she’d been in the inn while a disagreement took place. And it was hard for Erin to miss the two [Barmaids] scowling at each other as the room heaved with work to be done.

Lyon opened her mouth to explain, but Safry beat her to it.

“Erin, Lyonette told me she’s going upstairs to take a break!”

Erin’s mouth opened. Lyon was faster.

“To feed Mrsha!”

“Oh, well then—”

“She can do that later, surely. And she’s been giving us orders all day!”

“Why’s that—”

“I’ve been trying to work with Safry and Maran, but they—”

“We haven’t been the ones letting that Gnoll run around—”

Safry was jabbing a finger at Lyon and Lyonette was trying to speak to Erin and butt Safry out of the conversation. Erin looked helplessly between the two and then raised her voice.

“Enough!”

The entire inn went silent. It felt as though someone had clapped a huge hand over Lyon’s mouth, knocking all the words she’d wanted to say back in. Erin looked around.

“Oops. Sorry everyone. I uh, may have used a Skill. [Crowd Control]. You know. Sorry about that.”

And then in the silence she turned back to Lyonette and Safry. And folded her arms. Lyonette gulped, because Erin was looking unusually peeved.

“Okay, what’s this about? Why is Lyonette giving orders so bad? Safry first.”

Was there a flash of triumph in Safry’s eyes? Did her speaking first mean she’d get more of say? Fear ruled hot anger and determination to be proven right in Lyonette’s bowels.

“Lyonette’s a lower level than we are. But she acts as if she’s in charge while you’re gone.”

Erin nodded.

“Right.”

She paused.

“So?”

Safry faltered.

“We’re higher level! Both Maran and I are twice Lyonette’s level—”

“Okay, I get it. And Lyonette?”

Erin turned to Lyonette, cutting Safry off. Lyonette suddenly felt afraid. She couldn’t just list off all the things Safry and Maran had done, not with everyone watching! But it was now or never. She took a deep breath, and steeled herself.

“Maran and Safry don’t listen to my orders. They prefer serving Humans, and take more breaks than they should. I don’t think I should be in charge—”

Something in Lyonette squeezed tightly on that last word. That wasn’t what she should say. No, that was what part of her wanted to say, but another part, a part of her that was royalty, rebelled.

“—Actually, I do think I should be in charge. I know what’s best, and I think Maran and Safry need to listen to what I say.”

Both Safry and Erin stared at Lyon, surprised by her statement. Lyon was surprised too, and worried, but another part of her knew she had spoken her mind, and spoken the truth as she saw it.

In the silence, all eyes fell on Erin. She seemed used to that, and took only a minute before nodding to herself.

“Okay, I’m resolving this. Safry, Maran, Ishkr, Drassi, and Lyonette, everyone listen up.”

All the staff looked at Erin, worry reflected in some measure across every face. Erin met their eyes and then turned.

“Lyonette? Uh…she’s in charge.”

Relief followed vindication followed vindictive joy in seconds. But Lyonette didn’t have time to smile before Maran burst out across the room.

“But we’re higher level. That’s not right!”

Erin turned towards Maran, and Lyon saw she was frowning.

“Higher level? So what? That might be how you people do things, but not where I come from. Lyonette ran this inn while I was away. She’s got more experience.”

“But she—she hasn’t worked half as long as a [Barmaid] as we have!”

Safry burst out, but Erin was unmoved. She pointed at the floor.

“Yeah, but Lyonette’s been working here longer. She knows what’s important, and I trust her. So…you and Maran listen to her now, okay? Problem solved!”

Erin smiled and clapped her hands together. No one else moved. Safry and Maran exchanged looks, and then Safry sighed.

“Okay. I quit.”

“What?”

Erin and Lyon stared at her, wide-eyed. Safry threw up her hands.

“I’m not dealing with Lyonette! She’s impossible and I—I deserve better treatment than this! I’ve worked at Agnes’ inn for over eight years, and I know my job better than some arrogant girl who thinks she can push me and Maran around.”

“That’s right. If Safry quits, I quit too!”

Maran spoke up. Lyonette felt the purest element of rage settle into her soul. She felt she could harness that fury into some kind of incredibly destructive spell, it was that fierce. She was the problem? She was pushing them around?

But what was worse than the two [Barmaid]’s stupid dramatic exit and accusations was that it worked on Erin. She looked worried and chased after Safry as the other woman walked towards the door, but not too fast that Erin couldn’t block her way.

“Hold on Safry, let’s talk about this.”

“Either Lyonette stops or—”

“Okay, okay, let’s talk about this. Why don’t you take a break and—”

“Go ahead and leave. It’s for the best.”

Someone spoke up across the room. Heads turned as Ryoka appeared at a table, as if by magic. The watching guests murmured as she stood up and strode over to where everyone else was standing. As far as the inn’s patrons were concerned, the current tableau had turned into a better piece of live theatre than an actual play.

“Ryoka? Where did you come from? I’ve been looking for you all over!”

Ryoka pointed at an empty chair and a table that had somehow remained empty despite the full room.

“I asked Pisces to put his [Invisibility] spell over me. I’ve been hanging around here all day.”

Ryoka rubbed at her backside.

“It was a pain in the ass, and I kept having to deal with assholes trying to sit on me, but I saw what I needed to. Lyonette’s not the problem, Erin. Those two are.”

She jerked a thumb at Safry and Maran. The two [Barmaids] looked suddenly apprehensive.

“We didn’t—”

Ryoka rode right over them. She seemed to be enjoying the moment, in the way only the detective unveiling the mystery at the end of a case, or a judge handing down a sentence could be.

“I watched everything, Erin. Safry and Maran brought in humans so they wouldn’t have to serve Drakes and Gnolls as often, they can’t tell non-Humans apart, neither of them will go get water, and they take breaks when things aren’t busy. Oh, and they’ve been grade-A assholes towards Lyonette all day.”

Lyonette’s jaw dropped. She hadn’t expected this! But it was a relief to hear Ryoka say all of that. More than a relief.

Erin stared at Ryoka. Her eyes slid sideways to Safry and Maran, who were both looking uneasy. Erin thought, and then looked at Ryoka.

“Okay, they’re in the wrong. But—”

“Safry pushed Mrsha.”

It was just a little detail, slipped in. Erin was still formulating her next word when it hit her ears and reached her brain. She stopped.

“What?”

“I didn’t—”

Safry backed up as Ryoka turned to her. Ryoka was grinning, but it wasn’t really a grin, more like a rictus of bad feeling.

“Right, it was just a little push. And you were angry. Well, I’m just a little angry. So how about that?”

Ryoka cracked her knuckles, and Safry backed up fast. The Runner eyed her and Maran and nodded to the door.

“If you leave now, I won’t get a chance to break something. Go ahead and stay, I dare you. We’re in Liscor, and I bet Zel wouldn’t bat an eye if I broke your nose for bullying Mrsha.”

“I—”

“Okay! Stop!”

Erin grabbed Ryoka’s shirt and pulled the girl back. Ryoka nearly fell backwards as Erin dragged her away. Erin got between Ryoka and looked at Safry and Maran.

“No one’s beating up anyone. But I’ve heard enough. Safry, Maran, I don’t like to say it, but I believe Ryoka and Lyonette. So you’re both fired. Get out of my inn.”

The two [Barmaids] looked horrified. Lyonette suspected neither had been serious when quitting before, and now they protested loudly.

“You can’t just fire us!”

“I did. Just now.”

Erin crossed her arms, looking uneasy, but also deeply upset. Safry glared at her, turning her ire over the entire situation into unrighteous fury.

“You can’t take away our jobs!”

“You just quit.”

“What are we supposed to do without jobs? Agnes won’t have us back! You owe us pay if you’re going to fire us. The Guild says—”

“I’m not paying you for today. Lyonette says you were miserable, and you pushed Mrsha so just—just go away! I paid you yesterday, so be happy you got that!”

Erin was clearly unhappy, but she stood her ground as the two protested. Ryoka kept trying to edge around her, and Erin was busy pushing her back. Maybe that was why Safry and Maran took a stand.

“We refuse to leave! This isn’t fair! You promised us paying jobs, and now you’re taking them from us! You told us we’d be working in an inn, not hauling water and avoiding monsters, or dealing with [Necromancers], or Ants—”

None of it was true. Some of it was true. It didn’t matter. Because while Ryoka had lost her temper, Lyonette had blown her lid, and Safry and Maran had been furious, it was when Erin got angry that things got scary.

Mrsha was tangled around Erin, Ryoka was fighting to get towards one of the [Barmaids]. They were shrieking at her, and Lyonette saw the world start to shimmer around Erin.

Something changed. The air became hot, and turmoil leaked into the room, grabbing at the hearts of those within. The floor shook as the inn rumbled, and the oppressive menace seeped upwards, grabbing, clutching—

“Leave.”

Erin Solstice was a thing that stood in the dark hallways of fury, watching, waiting, arms folded. Mrsha was a beast of claws and teeth that reached out to engulf and consume.

It was an illusion, but it still frightened Lyonette. And she wasn’t the target. The [Inn’s Aura] Skill sent Safry and Maran running screaming towards the door. They vanished into Octavia’s shop with a crash of broken glass and the [Alchemist] shouting and the air of menace faded.

And then it was over. The room cleared, and Erin turned around, looking embarrassed. She found half of her patronage on the floor, the other half frozen with hands on swords. Her cheeks went red, and then she looked at Lyon.

“Why did all that happen, Lyon? I thought you said things were good.”

Lyon had no reply. Now that the two were gone, shame and regret was the menu of the day. She choked on a reply.

“I—”

“It wasn’t her fault, Miss Erin.”

Drassi peeked out from under a table and crawled out. She looked at Lyon.

“Lyon was doing her job, but the other two were…well, they thought they could do less. They just didn’t work as hard as she did, and it was obvious they weren’t at home with our kind.”

“Or ours. One Gnoll is fine, but six is too many, no?”

Ishkr came over, hair slowly settling back down all over his body. Mrsha still looked poofed up to twice her size. Erin sighed, looking helplessly at the floor.

“But they were so nice. I worked with Maran and Safry and I never had a problem once!”

“I guess they were a bit like Agnes. Good, but not great. Nice, but not adaptable. Flawed.”

Ryoka shrugged when Erin glared at her. Erin sighed and muttered as she kicked at the ground.

“Why are things so hard? When Toren was here I never had to worry about him working. Now I hire friends and it turns out they were bad all along.”

When Toren was here. Lyon heard a ringing sound. She didn’t realize she was striding up to Erin before she was shouting in her face.

“Toren? He was horrible!”

“Wha?”

Erin blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden anger. The crowd ducked back down as the shouting entered overtime.

“Toren was a nightmare! He was the worst!”

“He wasn’t that bad—he was good before he abandoned me and went crazy.”

“No!”

Lyonette screamed the word in Erin’s face, shouting for the first time in…it was all the pent up emotions, all the things she’d wanted to say spilling out at the wrong time in the wrong place.

“He wasn’t ever good! He was always a monster! He’d push me into Shield Spider nests, make me run for miles without rest, hit me, abandon me in the middle of nowhere for hours…he was your skeleton, but you never controlled him! At all!”

Erin was staring at Lyonette, and slowly the girl realized she was screaming at her employer. She went white, but kept speaking. The words had to be said.

“You never noticed. You never believed me. That was my fault. But you don’t listen to me, or trust me. Even now.”

She looked into Erin’s eyes. The girl stared back shocked, hurt, and guilty. It was everything Lyonette had wanted to say. Everything. Now it was over. Lyonette turned, and ran out of the inn.

—-

Pawn walked through the corridors of his Hive in a daze. He felt confused, despairing, lost.

He’d made a huge mistake. The biggest. No one was better off now that he and his Soldiers weren’t on the front lines. The Antinium were still dying. His people were still dying.

The only difference was that Pawn was safe from it all. Safe, to play with faith and lead his Soldiers around as if nothing was happening.

Pawn stormed into the empty barracks where he slept. He hurled the thurible into his cubicle and hit the Antinium sleeping there. A Worker jerked awake. He was sleeping in Pawn’s spot.

Of course. A second shift. Pawn hurried over.

“I am so sorry. Accept my deepest apologies, please—”

The Worker got up and bent to help Pawn pick up the thurible which was still somehow intact. He bowed to Pawn as Pawn tried to apologize and said one word.

“Individual Pawn.”

It was a word that crushed Pawn. The Worker was acknowledging his status. He, Pawn, was an Individual, someone of unique value to the Hive. A Worker’s life was dust compared to that. Pawn could have hurled the thurible into the Worker’s face, told him to leave the cubicle so Pawn could sleep, and the Worker would have done just that.

Because he didn’t matter. He might be sent to combat duty right after this, but Pawn was safe. Because he was special. Because Erin had talked to Klbkch. So his Soldiers would be safe. But the other Soldiers without paint would die.

Nothing was better. Pawn stumbled away, clutching the thurible.

He was useless. Worse than useless.

He was a coward.

—-

Ryoka found Lyonette sitting on a patch of cleared grass, about five minutes away from the inn. The Runner noticed that despite Lyonette being hunched over in a ball of misery in the snow, she’d still put two of the dried seed cores in the snow by her side.

She also looked up when she saw Ryoka approach, and then quickly looked away. It was all sensible, even in her grief. That was what Lyonette was, in a way. More sensible, more adult.

But still young.

And now she had no job. Lyonette didn’t raise her head when the crunching stopped and she sensed Ryoka standing next to her. She waited for the Runner to speak, but when Ryoka didn’t, Lyonette spoke up so the silence wouldn’t consume her.

“How did you know?”

“Mrsha and Ishkr showed me the way you’d gone. Gnoll noses are handy.”

Lyonette looked up. Her eyes were blurry and her nose was running horribly, so it was hard to see.

“Is Mrsha—”

“She’s back at the inn. Moore’s levitating her so she can’t run off.”

Slowly, Ryoka sat down next to Lyonette. She patted herself down for tissues, cursing over leaving her belt pouch in the inn. Lyonette just wiped her face on her sleeve, which was disgusting, but effective.

“I’m gone, aren’t I? Erin’s going to fire me.”

“No she’s not. She’d never do that.”

“Really?”

“If she did, I’d have to kick her ass, or try, and Mrsha would bite her all over. You were right to shout at her back there. Okay, maybe you screamed a bit, but I think you deserved the chance.”

“I didn’t mean all of it. It’s just—”

Lyonette wiped at her eyes. Her tears were hot, but they froze so quickly in the cold. Ryoka silently pulled off her coat. She had a second one on, and Lyonette had run out in the cold. She winced when Lyonette buried her face in the soft fabric rather than put it on.

“Sounds like you really had it rough with Toren. I’m sorry. I didn’t know either, and I was there for part of it.”

“I thought—I thought he’d kill me if I told, sometimes. Other times I didn’t care, but no one listened. Because I always complained. When he was gone…at first I was the happiest I could ever be, until I realized Erin was gone too. And then you left…”

Guilt passed over Ryoka’s face like a shadow.

“Yeah.”

“But.”

Lyonette raised her face wretchedly. Her tears were drying up.

“I think I was happiest when Erin was gone. Really. I was. It sounds crazy, but after I started working—when I had to do everything myself, I started being happy. Because I was doing it all! I was actually keeping the inn running, and feeding Mrsha, and getting guests—I did it. All by myself.”

“Huh.”

Ryoka sat with Lyon in the snow as the other girl shivered and cried a bit.

“I did it. I got honey, I helped Pawn. I did it all. Then Erin came back and she did so much I couldn’t dream of! She had a magic door, magic food, she knows all these recipes, and she can cook…”

“But she wasn’t the one who got all the Gold-rank adventurers and Zel Shivertail to stay at your inn, right? She didn’t keep Mrsha happy. Neither did I.”

“I know it’s silly, but I just thought she’d trust me after that!”

Lyonette sobbed into her coat. Ryoka paused.

“She should have. But Erin…I don’t think it was about trust. She just did what she thought was best and, well, it backfired for once. Only it looks like you had to deal with it.”

“It’s not her fault!”

“It really is.”

Ryoka sat next to Lyonette as the girl gulped down air.

“I just don’t know why I feel so unhappy sometimes!”

She confessed to Ryoka, shivering as the wind blew.

“I want to do more, make more decisions even though it’s Erin’s inn. But I know it’s hers. I was just managing it. I know that, but I still want…to be an [Innkeeper] too. Or be something else. I know it’s bad.”

“It’s not bad.”

Ryoka’s voice was soft as she poked at some ice-crusted snow. She glanced at Lyonette. The girl was wiping at her face again.

“I don’t know why I feel this way. I should be happy. Mrsha’s here, I have a good life, I get paid, no one’s after me or angry with me…”

“Yeah, well, I think it’s because you’re a terrible [Barmaid].”

Ryoka sensed the other girl looking up. She coughed delicately.

“What I mean by that is that you’re not meant to be serving people drinks. You’re good at your job—too good, in fact. A decent [Barmaid] is someone like Safry, who works hard but not too hard. She’s a lazy, prejudiced, arrogant bitch at times too, but she does her job and that’s it. If she were a great barmaid, she wouldn’t have all those qualities. But you—you’re different.”

She looked over at Lyonette and saw the girl staring at her, red-eyed, shivering. It wasn’t a glamorous face, but the owner of it had the courage to walk into a nest full of bees big enough to put a stinger right through her skull. Looks were deceiving.

“Erin’s perfect as an [Innkeeper] because it seems like she can make her inn do whatever she wants. But you have too many ideas to just serve drinks for her. You’re too capable. You should be an [Innkeeper] yourself, at the very least. But then, you’re not meant for that either, are you? You are a [Princess].”

An indrawn breath. Ryoka nodded.

“Thought so. Let’s keep that a secret between us, huh?”

“How did—”

“It’s not exactly hard to guess, at least, back when you were screaming about how important you were. Look, it doesn’t matter to me, although I’d keep it a secret. But I think it means you can do more than just serve drinks, that’s all. You were managing those other two pretty well when Safry and Maran weren’t getting in the way.”

She nodded back in the direction of the inn. Lyonette didn’t know what to say.

“But I’m a failure. I never reached more than Level 5 in my [Princess] class.”

“Really? Level 5? That’s interesting. Maybe the you back then didn’t have a chance or you were…spoiled rotten and bratty. But now, I think if you put your mind to it, things might change.”

Ryoka grinned. Lyonette stared at her, parts of her chest lighting up from within.

“You think so?”

“It’s worth a shot. Being a [Princess] isn’t just about where you are or what you’re wearing. It’s what you do. And I think the most princess-like thing you did was stand up for Mrsha back then. Which reminds me, you know magic, don’t you?”

“Yes. I was tutored a bit, but I never learned much. Just a few spells like [Light]. Hardly anything.”

“[Light]’s the most basic and useful thing in the world. Don’t knock it. For instance, light can do this.”

Ryoka raised a finger, and in the desolate landscape, light flashed. Lyonette cried out and shielded her eyes. When she could see, Ryoka looked abashed.

“Sorry. But now you’ve seen it, you can copy it. I call it [Flashbang]. Well, that’s only half of it. You also make a sound like this—”

This time Lyonette clapped a hand to her ears, but the bang was still deafening. Ryoka nodded at her as she took trembling hands away from her ears.

“You could probably learn that in a bit.”

“But how—I never knew a spell like that existed!”

“There’s probably some version of it out in the world. Pisces might know it. But I invented that myself. It’s just a bit of protection magic. If you’re gifted enough, you should try learning that and a few more spells. Typhenous or Ceria might teach you. And pick up a sword while you’re at it.”

“You think I should do all that?”

Learn to use a sword. Learn to use magic. More classes. The idea burned in Lyonette like a flame built of tinder, burning hot but quick to be extinguished. But Ryoka nodded as if that were natural.

“A princess should know how to do all kinds of things. I know it’s not good to have too many classes, but…well, it’s just a hunch. If a princess really knows her people, then she should know what they do, at least a bit.”

She smiled at Lyon, and the girl smiled back.

“No one in my family would ever think that way.”

“Yeah? What level are they?”

Lyonette was speechless. Ryoka sighed, and stood up.

“That was probably rude of me. Sorry. But you look like you’re feeling better.”

That was true. Lyonette felt better. She was still unhappy, but that was because all that had just passed, not because of the future. Ryoka smiled at her, awkwardly. She was a bit like Ishkr. If she worked at the inn, Ryoka would probably let her gather Ashfire Bee honey and go shopping by herself.

“I’ve got to go. I’m taking Mrsha to visit Garia’s family tonight and staying over for a day or two. Don’t worry; I think it’ll be fine when you return. Erin’s falling over herself trying to find ways to apologize, and those other two seem to think you’re worth listening to.”

“I’ll go back and apologize—”

Lyon stood up, but Ryoka held up a hand.

“If I were you, I’d keep Erin sweating just a bit longer. She needs to think more about other people sometimes.”

She winked as Lyonette stared up at her and jogged off. Lyonette watched her go, and wondered if Ryoka had been like her once. Or maybe she just understood what Lyon was going through.

It was a [Barmaid] that left the inn, sobbing, guilty. But it was a [Princess] that trudged back. A princess wearing a coat with snot and tears all over it, and a [Princess] whose eyes were red and whose nose still ran, but a [Princess] nevertheless. She couldn’t forget that.

She was a [Princess].

With levels in the [Barmaid] class.

—-

Pawn waited until his shift and slept. He didn’t know what he’d done in the meantime. He just…existed until the point where he could consign himself to oblivion for a little while. Then he woke.

He felt like a zombie, lifeless, shambling along. The exhilaration that had filled him yesterday was gone.

How could he have been so blind? His people died no matter what he did. How could he be so happy over a useless Skill, two level ups?

[Mass Prayer]. What good was that? What good was praying, together or alone? It did nothing. Pawn turned, and punched the dirt wall of his sleeping area.

“Useless.”

He would have slept there, letting other Workers file in and out if someone hadn’t approached his hiding place. Pawn looked up when the light filled the dark room.

“Pawn. I have been looking for you.”

Xrn, the Small Queen, bent over Pawn as he clutched the thurible to his chest. He stared up at her, radiant, her eyes shining with magic.

“Go away.”

“I cannot do that, Pawn. I am told you have not visited your Soldiers in days. They are waiting for you. They are restless. They need you to lead them.”

“I deserve to lead no one. All I did was get them killed. Protecting me.”

“Fighting. They fought for the Hive.”

“At my command. They did it for me. It was my fault.”

A pause. Xrn bent down next to Pawn, scrutinizing him curiously.

“But they are Soldiers. They are made to fight. What else would they do?”

“Live.”

Pawn whispered the word.

“I don’t want them to die. I want them to live.”

“Some may live if you command them. If not, what do you think will happen? Refuse, and they will be put on the front lines. Forced to fight. Without you.”

The knowledge was bitter, undeniable. Pawn didn’t respond. He heard Xrn sigh.

“What if one of the other Individuals led them? Your friend Belgrade, or Anand.”

“They’re [Tacticians]. They can do it. They know how to lead.”

“Pawn.”

“Go away. I am sulking.”

“I will not go. I am going to convince you to get up, Pawn. You see, I am no [Leader] either, Pawn. I am a [Thaumaturge], a class derived from [Mage]. I did not choose to lead either.”

Pawn shook his head, denying Xrn to her face.

“That is a false argument. You were created for the role. You are one of the Centenium, a Prognugator. You are a leader. I am not like you. I cannot do what you do. I cannot…lead an army. I cannot lead a single Worker.”

“But you are a [Tactician] as well, are you not? Like Belgrade and Anand. If they lead, why will you not?”

“Because a [Tactician] orders Soldiers to fight and die! I cannot do that. I can only stand and let the Soldiers fight themselves. But I cannot—I am not like Belgrade or Anand. I do not see the link between the chess board and reality! I have no talent for it, do you understand?”

Pawn cried out. He uncurled from his ball and stood up, shaking.

“What kind of a [General] sits and hides behind his Soldiers and does nothing. What kind of leader would do that?”

Xrn stared at him. Pawn was breathing heavily, his mandibles closing and parting.

“I cannot fight. If I did—my Soldiers would die protecting me. I have no talent for it. I cannot lead. I cannot order them to battle. I have no talent for that either. I can only ask them to die for me. I can do nothing else. What can I give them?”

Something in Pawn whispered. Faith. Hope. Identity. He forced the feeling down. It wasn’t enough. It was enough to live for, but not enough to ask them to die for. Xrn shook her head. She did not know either. The part of Pawn that had hoped she would curled up in despair again.

“I have no answer. But you cannot hide from your duty forever.”

“Why? What is my duty? Is it to my Queen? My Hive?”

Xrn nodded.

“Partly. But you have a greater duty still, Pawn of the Free Antinium. The duty all Antinium share.”

“What is that?”

“The duty of the Antinium, Pawn, is to survive. We go to war, we struggle, and we die, all for the same purpose. That some may live. That one may live. All this time, across thousands of miles and an ocean, we have come for one reason. To survive.”

It was the same phrase, the same idea, wrapped up differently. Pawn turned away, bitter.

“At what cost?”

“Anything less than the whole of our species is acceptable.”

“Not to me. Go away.”

He turned back to his cubicle. He felt Xrn’s eyes watching him. Eventually she left. And once again, Pawn went to find Erin.

—-

He didn’t find her. Erin was in the city, screaming at and being screamed at by a Miss Agnes and other people named Safry and Maran, according to the Drake who greeted him at the door. He sat miserably in the inn, not touching his food until Zel found him.

“You look like chewed up Creler bait. Pawn, right?”

He didn’t know why, but the Drake [General] sat with him, waiting for Pawn to speak. Pawn wanted to and feared to at the same time. He looked sideways at Zel.

“I thought you did not like Antinium.”

The Drake coughed a few times.

“True. But Erin and Lyonette happened to mention you led some soldiers into battle for the first time a few days ago. I’ve been there. I thought I might…listen. That’s all.”

Pawn stared at him, at Zel Shivertail a [General], a Drake hero. The words tumbled out too fast for him to stop.

“I let them die. They were defending me and—”

“Stop.”

Zel made Pawn stop and repeat the story from the start. The Drake shook his head.

“Sounds like every story I’ve heard. You went in, you fought. And some of your soldiers died. There’s not a commander on the continent that hasn’t felt like you have.”

“Really?”

Pawn sat up a bit. Zel nodded seriously.

“The key is knowing that they fought for a reason. If it was a bad reason, well, that’s a problem. But they fought because they believed in you, Pawn. Honor that, and keep leading them, or what was the point?”

Pawn sagged.

“That’s not the problem. It is that I cannot lead them.”

“Why not?”

“I keep telling everyone, I am no leader. I cannot order them in battle. But if I do not—”

“Who will?”

Zel was nodding. The Drake seemed to understand Pawn’s dilemma more than most.

“And if you don’t, who will? If you don’t, folks still die. Blood’s on your claws either way.”

“Exactly.”

Pawn shivered.

“Is there a good answer for this, Zel Shivertail?”

Zel paused, and the Antinium knew the answer already. Then the Drake spoke.

“You know, hearing what you’re going through reminds me of what I used to hear from Sserys all the time.”

“Who is that?”

“Oh, no one special. You wouldn’t remember. Anyways…”

The Drake trailed off and then shook his head briskly. He looked at Pawn.

“He told me to keep looking around, at my officers, at my soldiers. In each battle, in war, in peace, look for someone who can inspire others. Someone with talent, courage, a spark. And then to nurture that spark until that individual can surpass me. Only then would I step aside.”

“If no one else can command, you must.”

It was a very Drake-like thing to think. Pawn understood. Zel nodded, swishing his tail slowly across the floor.

“How about it? Do you see anyone in your command who could lead better than you? Or are you the only one who can do what’s right?”

He looked at Pawn, gingerly resting his claws on the Antinium’s shoulder. Pawn realized what he was supposed to say, that there was no one else. This was his duty. But that would be a lie.

“Every single Soldier under my command knows war better than I, General Shivertail. Any of them could lead. I cannot.”

It wasn’t the right answer. But it was in Pawn’s heart. Zel sighed and turned away.

“I understand. But your Soldiers have no command, Pawn. I’ve fought them long enough to see that. Some might gain a high [Soldier] class, and they’re a terror to fight on the battlefield. But in the end, a [Soldier] is just a soldier. He cannot lead. You can.”

He left Pawn then, because he’d said all he could. Pawn sat there, waiting for nothing, waiting for Erin, when someone spoke his name.

“Pawn?”

It was Lyonette. She sat with him as a Gnoll covered for her. Pawn stared at Lyonette.

“Hello.”

“You look terrible. What’s wrong? Are you…it’s the Soldiers, right?”

She knew. Pawn didn’t have to explain. He felt relieved. But some part of him kept talking, kept explaining anyways.

“Everyone tells me I should lead, should bring my Soldiers back into battle. But I cannot be a leader. I tell everyone this. There is no [General] who is useless. Belgrade, Anand, Klbkch…they can all fight, and tell Soldiers how to do battle. Even Bird could inflict damage if he led a unit. But I…I am not a warrior. How can I lead Soldiers who will fight for me?”

He expected Lyonette to come up with some sage advice like the others. But she just shrugged.

“I don’t know. If you think you can’t lead them, then you can’t. But they still trust you, right?”

Pawn nodded. His painted Soldiers would follow him to the ends of the earth. They would fight any foe for him; sacrifice their lives if they had to. He was not worthy of that.

“In that case, maybe you’re not like a [General], then. Maybe you’re like me.”

Pawn paused. He looked over.

“Like you? I am not Human. I am not female. I am not a [Barmaid].”

“But you are bad at fighting. So am I. And I…am a [Princess].”

He stared. Lyonette smiled as she looked around conspiratorially.

“What you’re facing sounds like what I’d do in war. [Princesses] and [Queens] don’t lead armies. Most of them don’t, anyways. Back home…no one would dream of it. I hear it’s different in Chandrar and Rhir, but Terandrian nobility don’t let women fight.”

“Then what do you do if a battle occurs?”

“Nothing. We just sit behind our warriors. But because we’re there, it matters. You see?”

“Not at all. Please explain.”

Lyonette sat with Pawn at the table and drank from his mug, since he wasn’t thirsty. She slowly began to speak.

“There was a story my mother used to tell me, of a [Queen] who was ambushed while her nation was at war. Her protectors fought while she sat on a chair in the middle of the battlefield, not moving, not trying to run.”

“But if she had run—”

“Her warriors would have to protect her, and they might get hurt trying to shield her. She might do more damage running, get it? But since she stayed still, they could fight knowing she was protected by them. In my mother’s story, the battled raged on and the Queen’s soldiers were falling back, but then she said one word. ‘Fight.’”

“And they did?”

Lyonette smiled.

“One word from her inspired her soldiers to drive the enemy back. They didn’t want her to take up arms herself. They knew their Queen couldn’t fight. But because she believed in them and showed not a trace of fear on her face, they fought like heroes to protect her. Because she was worth dying for.”

“But what if she was not? What if she was worthless?”

“It didn’t matter. Because they believed. And whose belief mattered most? Hers? Or theirs?”

Pawn thought of his Soldiers. He stirred. Something in him stirred.

“If they fought, they would die.”

“Some. But it’s their choice, isn’t it? The [Queen]’s soldiers could have run. But they held their ground.”

“And if they all die?”

Lyonette’s face twisted. She looked sad.

“I guess they died fighting for what they believed in. That’s something. I don’t know.”

Belief. Pawn’s head lowered. He looked down at something clutched in his hands. It was called a thurible.

Religion. A class. Leading Soldiers. Thurible. All the pieces came together. Pawn stood up.

“I know what I must do.”

“Lead?”

“Something close to it.”

The pieces all fit. Pawn was not worthy of being a leader. But he was good at one thing. One thing. And if…

He started for the door, and stopped to look at Lyonette.

“Thank you. Your advice helped me greatly.”

“Don’t go just yet.”

To his surprise, Lyonette stopped him. She studied him critically.

“Before you go, you need to learn how to act. If you’re going to lead. Even if it’s just walking with your Soldiers.”

“Why? What is wrong?”

“You walk like a peas…like someone afraid of the world. But if you’re leading others, you must do it bravely, gracefully. Like this.”

Lyonette’s head rose. She stared down at Pawn, and suddenly she looked a bit taller, a bit straighter. He stared.

“How are you doing that?”

She smiled and showed him.

“Head straight, chin up. Look ahead, not down. Straighten your spine…or whatever it is you have. Don’t hunch up. Stand like this.”

When Pawn walked towards the door this time, he walked straighter than he had in his life. The world seemed a bit lower down, and a bit brighter for some reason. Lyonette walked with him.

“You’ll be okay? You’ll be safe?”

“I hope so. But I do not know. I only know…yes, I know what I must do.”

“And what’s that?”

Lyonette held the door open for him. Pawn clutched the thurible, a packet of cinnamon, and a few unused coals to his chest. He nodded at Lyonette.

“I will pray.”

—-

They were waiting for him when he returned. They had been there, waiting. He had left them, but they had not left. They had faith he would return.

Would that he had the same. Pawn stood before his Soldiers and raised his voice. He looked among them, each one different, and each one unique. Precious.

Irreplaceable.

“We will go back into battle.”

They did not stir. This was not a surprise to them. They accepted death like life. But Pawn had to explain.

“I do not wish for any of you to die. I would rather die than let that happen.”

They did stir then. The Soldiers looked at Pawn. He bowed his head.

“You are not just Soldiers to me. You are my people. You should not die. But if you do not fight, others of our kind will die. Either way, we die. We as the Antinium die.”

The Soldiers looked at each other. Pawn stared down at them.

“To fight is to die, and that is unbearable. But to do nothing is worse still. If we can fight to protect our people, so that others may live, it is right.”

They did not nod. But each one of them agreed in his own way. Pawn nodded.

“But I cannot command. I am no [General], no [Tactician], and no [Mage]. I cannot do anything for you.”

Silence. Pawn stared at the Soldiers, who looked back. Confused. If he would not lead, who would? The Antinium needed a leader. When Pawn spoke next, it was a whisper.

“You. Step forwards.”

He pointed at one of the Antinium, the one with yellow spatters of paint. The Soldier stepped forwards slowly. He was a Soldier like the others. But he had been one of the first Pawn had led above. He had survived. And a Drake grandmother recognized him. These were all small reasons. But enough.

“I am not worthy of a command. I do not know war. But you do. You have fought longer than I have. You know battle. You know each other. So come. Step forwards.”

The Soldier approached. Pawn walked towards him, and put a hand on the Soldier’s chest. The Soldier stared down at him. Pawn’s voice was trembling.

“As Individual Pawn, given command of this unit of Soldiers, I, with the authority of my Hive, promote you. You are no longer a [Soldier]. You are a [Sergeant].”

The world stopped. The soldier with yellow spatters froze. The other soldiers stared at him. Pawn lowered his hand.

“It is heavy. It is difficult. But you are fit for command. You can lead the others. You will be their leader.”

Yellow Spatters stared down at Pawn. The Soldier was filled with emotions he couldn’t name, feelings that words wouldn’t describe. He turned, and suddenly every Soldier in the room was staring at him.

No. Not every Soldier.

His Soldiers.

The knowledge drove Yellow Spatters to his knees. But someone was by his side.

“You will not be alone. We will go to the front within the hour. I have requested it.”

We. The word made every Soldier look at Pawn. He was holding something in his hands. The Worker stared around at the other Soldier as he lit a flame.

“I cannot be your leader. I cannot. But I could never abandon you. I will walk with you in battle. I will be by your side. I will do the only thing I can do.”

The flame caught. The ember glowed as Pawn held it in a hand. He dropped it into the thurible, and the incense began to burn. It was not frankincense or myrrh. It was cinnamon sticks, ground finely. It was sweet, and the smoke drifted across the Soldier as Pawn walked past them.

“Come.”

—-

Xrn found Klbkch, tired, overseeing a group of Workers as they struggled to repair a wall. Workers and Soldiers filled the Hive, tirelessly moving from place to place.

“Klbkch. I am told Pawn went to see you.”

“Yes, he did. It was curious.”

Klbkch answered shortly, exhausted and tired as he was from fighting. He noticed Xrn staring at him in concern and straightened a bit.

“What was so odd about it?”

“Many things. Pawn requested to be assigned to combat duty with his entire unit of Soldiers.”

Xrn stared at Klbkch. Electric flashes of yellow alarm shot through the green nebula of surprise filling her eyes.

“All of them?”

“That is what I said.”

Klbkch turned to look at Xrn. Surprise was written across the Small Queen’s face, a rare sight. Her voice trembled a bit as she asked the next question.

“When is he to go into battle?”

Klbkch smiled.

“Right now.”

—-

The Hive. Workers and Soldiers marched in an unending flow down one of the tunnels. One of many in the Hive. Despite the Antinium’s reputation for silence, the hallways were still filled with sound. The echoes of footfalls, the shifting of bodies—these were all sounds that occupied the air.

There were no voices, though. The sounds of footfalls, of bodies moving and the air rustling was just noise. There was a kind of silence even when Soldiers were rushing down the tunnels. The silence of those without words.

And then the silence was broken. A single sound suddenly pierced the repetitive noises, a distinctive aberration.

Click.

The sound echoed down the corridor, causing the lines of Soldiers and Workers to slow. It was a sound none of them had heard, not like this.

Click.

It was too loud, and it echoed. It was not the click of a single mandible, but countless ones. It was a strange sound, and all the Workers and Soldiers looked around for the source.

Click.

There it was again. Now all heads turned to look down the corridor. The Antinium stopped. They looked. And then they stared.

Someone was walking down the hallway. It was a small shape, like the others. And not.

A Worker walked slowly down the lines of Antinium, the others parting before him. He held something in his hands. A censer, bound by string. A thurible, leaking smoke that smelled like nothing the other Antinium had ever experienced.

The incense drifted as the Antinium slowly shook the thurible. He walked forwards, and smoke drifted past him like mist.

And others followed. Soldiers, the painted few walked, stepping, stopping, following in the Worker’s wake. And then the other Antinium heard it.

Click.

Each time they stepped, the Soldier’s mandible clicked together, making that distinctive sound. They made that sound. The Soldier, who had no voice. Yet the sound was an echo, a thunder.

A word for the voiceless.

And then those around the Worker heard something else. A resonance. A feeling in the air. Quiet. It came from the Worker.

He was…humming. The other Antinium had never heard a sound like it. Pawn’s voice was low, deep, and resonant. It should not have filled the huge tunnel, but it did.

Click.

Each Soldier’s mandible snapped together at the same time. The sound was louder than any Rock Crab could ever make, a snap that broke the air and echoed for miles in the Hive.

Click.

Another step.

Click.

The Antinium parted, and Pawn and the painted Soldiers followed him. Workers and Soldiers alike paused in their duty, going to war, carrying supplies, going to rest. Each one saw something, heard something they had never experienced in that moment.

Each one.

“I do not understand.”

Tersk clutched at his bare chest. His hands met only chitin, and he stared as Belgrade used his two good arms to support himself against a wall. Tersk’s voice was hoarse, strained.

“I cannot express this word. This feeling. What is it? I see Pawn. But it is not just him. There is something…”

His voice trailed away. Belgrade stared at Pawn as the Worker walked the halls of his Hive. To battle. His head was lowered, and the Worker prayed. Behind him, the Soldiers did the same. Belgrade had a word for it, and he spoke it for Tersk to hear.

“Faith.”

—-

They watched as the Antinium passed. They alone saw and understood the rest. Xrn clutched at Klbkch’s arm, so tightly he thought his body might break.

“Oh Klbkch. Do you see him? He is just like we were once.”

“He is not. It is not…not the same.”

It was pride that made Klbkch say that. But he couldn’t take his eyes off of Pawn. The click of the Soldier’s mandibles echoed in his soul. He saw another group in their shadow. Antinium of the past, long gone.

Heroes.

Xrn shook her head, her eyes not leaving Pawn.

“No. It is exactly the same. They have not forgotten Klbkch. These fragments, these children, they have the same spirit. The same courage.”

She whispered.

“They are Antinium.”

—-

He had no name. He was a Soldier. He had no identity. If there was any way to distinguish him now, it would be Soldier with a Damaged Antennae. Both of his had been damaged in a skirmish with cave Goblins.

Now Soldier with a Damaged Antennae fought desperately, punching with his fists at a huge suit of enchanted armor. Soldier with a Damaged Antennae had no fear, but he realized he would die. The suit of armor had lost his axe, buried in two of Soldier with a Damaged Antennae’s friends, but he was too tough.

Too strong. The armor struck Soldier with a Damaged Antennae with a kick that broke something in the Antinium’s chest. The Soldier stumbled, fell. He put one of his hands to his chest as he grabbed the armor with his other three hands and tried to hold him back.

Green blood. A lot of it. This was it. Soldier with a Damaged Antennae tried to muster the strength to fight, but his arms gave in despite themselves. The armor threw him to the ground and raised a foot. Soldier with a Damaged Antennae stared up, waiting for death.

Then there was color.

Someone charged into the suit of armor, throwing it backwards. The fallen Soldier stared, as a Soldier with yellow spatters of color on his carapace tackled the enchanted armor, throwing it backwards. A huge fist rose, and then smashed into the enchanted armor’s chest plate.

Aid had come. Soldier with a Damaged Antennae struggled to rise. The other Soldier could not do it alone. But he was so weak! Soldier with a Damaged Antennae stumbled up.

And then he saw it. A fallen suit of armor, chest plate caved in. The Soldier with yellow spatters of paint rose, uninjured, and turned. He raised an arm and the ground shook. Soldiers painted in every color thundered past him.

Soldier with a Damaged Antennae had no words for it. These Soldiers were like him, but not. They were painted, with colors. That was all, but they seemed larger. Stronger. More alive.

The Soldier with yellow spatters led the charge. They charged towards a Crypt Worm, fearless. And the Soldier with a Damaged Antennae stared after them. There was a word for them, a word that set them apart from him. The Soldier searched for it, and thought of the word as he stared at the yellow spattered Soldier’s back.

A hero.

He staggered. Blood dripped onto his hand. Soldier with a Damaged Antennae began to fall again. But someone caught him.

A Worker. Soldier with a Damaged Antennae stared at him. The Worker had something that smoked and gave off a pleasant smell in his hand. He caught Soldier with a Damaged Antennae and spoke to him.

“You will not die. Have faith.”

He was small, but he walked among the monsters without fear. The Worker carried Soldier with a Damaged Antennae back, as the painted Soldiers fought around him. He prayed, and told the injured Soldier he would live.

And the Soldier believed. That day he lived. And when he looked up, chest clumsily bandaged, he saw the painted Soldiers marching back. And the Worker was leading them. He might have said otherwise, but they followed him.

Because they had faith.

—-

That night, Pawn sat outside of the Wandering Inn, in the snow. Not much snow; it had been mostly cleared away. But there was no room inside the inn, not for more than a hundred Soldiers.

He scraped the bottom of his bowl. Today had been bee soup, thick with butter and fat. It was good, and Pawn had eaten his first bowl. He looked around and saw most of the other Soldiers had done the same. But none would speak up, or move. They probably thought that was all.

“Erin made plenty of soup. There’s enough for everyone to have as much as they want, okay?”

The Soldiers looked at him. No one moved, not even Yellow Spatters. Pawn smiled a bit. Ah, well, bravery in battle was one thing. He raised his hand.

“I believe we shall all have seconds, Lyonette.”

“Coming up!”

The young woman smiled and came over with a hot bowl, served fresh from the series of pots Erin had made up. She filled Pawn’s bowl, did the same for all the Soldiers nearby, and then paused in front of a bulkier Antinium.

“A bowl of soup, Prognugator Tersk?”

“I…yes, please.”

Tersk held out his bowl and let Lyonette fill it. Some of the soup got on his chest, but that was fine because as he pointed out to Lyon, he was not wearing his armor.

He had not been wearing his armor for a while. That might have been because his chest was still damaged from battle, but Pawn thought there was another reason.

Now Tersk approached Pawn and sat awkwardly with him and the other Soldiers. He stared around the quiet hilltop, and then spoke.

“I suggest using the remains of these Shield Spiders to construct armor for your Soldiers.”

Straight and to the point. Pawn nodded in approval of the idea.

“Do you know how to make such armor, Prognugator Tersk? I do not, although I would gladly like to learn how.”

Tersk nodded and hesitated.

“The Armored Antinium do not have enough metal to outfit all of our Soldiers. Thus, we use materials like monster hides, or bark to outfit our Workers and some of our Soldiers. That is a secret my Queen would not wish me to speak of, lest the other Hives hear of it.”

“Ah.”

“Yes.”

They sat together. At last, Tersk sighed.

“I believe I will regret leaving this place. But it is necessary. My Hive must know of what the Free Antinium have done.”

“Yes. I also believe imbibing some of Erin’s magical cooking will help with protecting my Soldiers.”

“Indeed. And if I may take the recipe for this…‘bee soup’ with me, I believe my Queen will rejoice.”

“I think so, Prognugator Tersk.”

Pawn sipped at his soup. It was good. He looked across his ranks of Soldiers. Some were injured, but all had wanted to be here. Some were missing. They now rested on the walls of the barracks.

It hurt. It hurt so much. But they had saved lives. They had fought. This was Pawn’s duty. He bowed his head and Tersk looked at him.

“What are you thinking, Pawn?”

“Nothing, Tersk. I am praying.”

“Oh.”

After a while, the Prognugator spoke.

“Would you teach me how?”

Pawn smiled.

“It is very simple. All you had to do is have faith. And believe.”

“In what?”

The Worker turned and looked across the hilltop. Soldiers raised their heads, looking at him. They all knew the answer.

“Us.”

4.16

Day 59

The two armies met at the foothills leading up towards the mountains of the High Pass. Columns of Drakes and Gnoll [Soldiers] stood at attention as two groups rode to meet each other.

They were not enemies, but even so, Thrissiam Blackwing rode with a heavy escort of his officers and soldiers. Out here in the wilderness, ambushes from monsters and other forces was a very real threat, even for an army. And of course there was the matter of formality. That was just as important as concerns of safety.

As he rode towards the [General] from the other army, Thrissiam made out a few features and placed her at once. The Esdras Coalition or the Earthwatchers, as they were more colloquially known, had sent one of their best. Perhaps their second best, which was their best at the moment since Zel Shivertail had taken a leave of absence.

That jarred with Thrissiam’s plans greatly. He’d expected to take seniority in the effort to hunt down and destroy the Goblin Lord and his army, but the Gnoll riding towards him on a warhorse stallion far larger than his mare was no low-level [General] he could order around.

Drakes had a social hierarchy. More than that, they had a strict way of dealing with the chain of command, even when dealing with opposing factions. Thrissiam was from one of the Walled Cities. He hailed from Pallass, most northern of the six Walled Cities. It had been chosen to lead the suppression effort against the Goblins. As one of its better [Generals], Thrissiam was naturally an important Drake although he was not quite as important as a council member, Lord or Lady of the Wall, or the most elite echelons of Drake nobility.

However, he was damn close. And coming from a Walled City conferred its own authority. Thrissiam would have felt fairly confident of his superiority to another common [General] of the same rank but the Gnoll [General] riding towards him outranked him as one of the lead generals of the coalition of smaller Drake city-states, and probably had a few levels on him as well.

So Thrissiam sighed and bowed his head slightly first as the two [Generals] met in the snow. His officers murmured quietly, but Thrissiam wasn’t here for a conflict. One [General] had to take charge and if he couldn’t state his authority without a struggle, it might as well be her.

Her. Garusa Weatherfur, of the Longstride Clan. She inclined her head towards Thrissiam, giving him the same level of respect. When she spoke, her voice was a clear, deep rumble, which was reassuring. No [General] should ever speak quietly, especially when the roar of battle called for a voice like thunder.

“Hrr. It is good to see you Thrissiam Blackwing. I trust your forces encountered no difficulties on the march here?”

“None, thank you Garusa Weatherfur. We slew four Wyverns on the way, and I hope to recover their corpses on the march back.”

“Hm. You seem to think we shall find and dispose of the Goblin Lord quickly, yes?”

Thrissiam directed his mount left, so he and Garusa could talk where their words were removed from the hearing of others. It was bitingly cold as wind blew down from the mountains, and his stupid mare seemed more interested in flirting with Garusa’s stallion than staying still. He used his tail to gently slap his horse on the side and she, used to the command, stilled.

Drakes sat on a higher saddle than other races, to allow their tails to run down and around the horse. It took a special breed of horse that was used to having a tail resting on it, but Drakes could actually give commands with their legs and tails when their hands were full. But despite his higher seat, Thrissiam still found himself looking up at Garusa. Her fur was a very light brown, almost blonde, and riffled as the wind blew it. Apart from her armor, she wore no clothing against the cold. Thrissiam was covered in cloth by comparison.

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t finish this campaign by the end of winter at the latest, no matter how far the Goblin Lord runs. One [General] is overkill for the strongest Goblin Chieftain. Two should be far more than a match for a Goblin Lord, especially given your abilities.”

There. That was a nod to her higher status. Thrissiam had to acknowledge that Garusa was a famous leader in her own right. Gnolls lived in Drake cities of course—they weren’t all tribal wanderers—but it was rare for a Gnoll to achieve high ranking in the Drake-dominated militaries. To be a [General] like her meant she truly was exemplary. Thrissiam had to admit, privately, that no Gnoll would have achieved such honors in a Walled City.

But Garusa surprised Thrissiam by what she said next.

“I do not intend to lead this army, Thrissiam Blackwing. I may be high level, and higher between the two of us, yes, but you are a [Lineholder General], yes? I think your formations would do best against Goblins, if you will leave the attacking to me.”

She was a specialist in brutal assaults, probably one of the reasons why she had been chosen to go up against the disorganized Goblin armies. But to cede command to him? Thrissiam’s eyes widened. It was what he wanted, and what was best, he felt. That she was willing to lower her tail increased his respect for her.

“I shall accept with gratitude, Garusa.”

The tension between the two [Generals] eased now the order of command was established. They were equals, but one now commanded the overall army. Thrissiam would be only too happy to let Garusa lead the attack as well—two generals made for a devastating combination, especially when their natures were opposed, such as in this case. One could use all of his Skills to defend while the other struck out.

They were discussing the compositions of their armies when Garusa said something that made Thrissiam stop his horse dead in its tracks.

“I received a communication from General Shivertail a day ago. He warned me not to underestimate this Goblin Lord. To that end, I have requested several City Runners and more [Scouts] for my army. I hope to keep them in reserve in case things become dire.”

The Drake [General] stared at the Gnoll. What was that? A group to send messages in case of an emergency? That was a last sign of desperation—as if Garusa expected their armies to be overwhelmed! It was also extraordinary because [Mages] could send a [Message] spell just as fast if they weren’t busy.

And Zel Shivertail had told her that? The famous Tidebreaker, hero of the Drakes, was certainly known to Thrissiam. He privately idolized Zel Shivertail and envied Garusa the chance to speak with him as a fellow general in the same alliance. But this? He had to shake his head.

“I hardly think your precautions are appropriate, General Weatherfur. We are two [Generals] in command of armies worthy of any on the continent!”

“Yes. Hrr. Except that the fabled army of Liscor fought in the Second Antinium War and was defeated by a single Goblin Lord’s army. Not by the King, yes? I would hardly like to compare myself to that force of old, although between us we might be close. I simply remember the past, General Blackwing.”

Thrissiam stared at Garusa and shook his head briskly to dispel the uneasy feeling her words had evoked. He put a bit of fire into his words, although neither she nor he were raw recruits.

“Thinking of defeat is a waste of time and energy. Goblin Lord or not, we are two [Generals] and we have over twenty thousand [Soldiers] between us. We’ll do this by the book.”

“Which one?”

Garusa grinned toothily as Thrissiam shot an irritated glance at her. Gnoll humor. He grunted as he surveyed the terrain. He really hoped the Goblins hadn’t retreated into the mountains. They’d die up there, and his forces would too trying to flush them out. But the hills were a more likely bet.

“We’ll take a day to combine armies, and then send out scouts. We forge ahead, and find where their war host is hiding. They can’t stay here forever, not without a food source.”

“Hm. Yes. I defer to your experience.”

The Gnoll [General] inclined her head, which relieved Thrissiam. She sniffed at the air as she turned her head to stare up at the High Passes.

“I wonder why the Goblin Lord took his forces here?”

“He probably found out we were coming and decided to hide. This one’s not a complete fool, although he’s still doomed in the end.”

Thrissiam grunted. He knew Goblin Lords could employ advanced tactics like scouting their enemy, or battle strategy, although he’d never actually faced one in combat. The Tidebreaker himself had warned Garusa? Did that mean he thought this one might be…? No. Focus.

“We’ll establish a camp on one of the larger hills. Somewhere to strike from if we can’t locate any signs of the Goblins at once.”

Garusa nodded as she and Thrissiam began riding back to their officers. It would be busy, coordinating the joint army, but Drake armies were adaptable and disciplined. Far better than Human armies, which could never work together if their [Lords] were at odds. Even the worst Drake enemies could link tails to take on a common foe.

Thrissiam paused as he stared around the dark landscape. A common foe. He glanced at Garusa and sighed.

“And we’ll keep a reserve unit of [Scouts] and Runners if you have them. Spread around the army. Just in case.”

She smiled, and Thrissiam gave her his own nod. He could be reasonable too. The joint suppression armies set out to find the Goblin Lord. They were hunting him.

But they didn’t realize he was also hunting them.

—-

Osthia Blackwing did not, in fact, have black wings. Hers was a dark yellowish-green, which the fanciful [Poets] of the Walled Cities called chartreuse. Since Osthia preferred straightforward words, she called it yellowish-green.

Her scales were a bright yellow, and the spines on the crest of her head were dyed bright blue. It made her stand out, more than her wings already did. In fairness, Osthia could have been the most non-descript green color imaginable and she still would have stood out in any crowd.

Because of the wings. Osthia was a Drake, a Drake [Soldier], in fact, and she had wings. Some Humans might indeed say, ‘a Drake with wings? What’s special about that? Don’t all Drakes have wings?’ and thereby prove to a listener that they were not only ignorant, but had never actually seen a Drake before. Or if they had, they’d only seen Osthia.

Because Drakes didn’t have wings. Most of them didn’t, anyways. Oh, sure, once upon a time when Dragons still flew about and burned cities to the ground and Drakes were young, they had wings. But now Drakes were wingless. They didn’t breathe fire anymore either. At least, most of them didn’t.

Osthia didn’t breathe fire. But she could do something just as unpleasant if she felt like it. Two of the [Soldiers] in her company could breathe fire though, and one could just breathe smoke, which was…something.

Now Osthia stood in the snow, back straight, tail brushing snow off of the ground. She wished she’d put on a tail warmer, but that would have been unprofessional. Tail armor, now, that would be nice. Padded for warmth…Osthia sighed, and then straightened up further as she saw two figures riding towards them in the snow. At last! She took a breath and then shouted.

“Company, attention!”

The Drakes around her immediately stood straighter. Each one looked forwards, holding their arms at the ready if they were carrying longer weapons. Osthia held her spear by her side, staring ahead.

Each Drake in Osthia’s company was wearing ornate, embellished armor. Nothing fancy; nothing that would detract from the use of the armor, but each one had a noticeable sigil, crest, or other nod to their bloodline. If the Drake couldn’t afford the armor, they were provided with specialized gear.

Theirs was a unique group. They weren’t necessarily an elite group of high-level warriors, but they were well-trained, well-equipped, and prestigious. You couldn’t just join this company. You had to be born to it.

“At ease, Captain Osthia.”

General Thrissiam dismounted from his gelding and handed the reins to a waiting soldier as he strode over to the company of Drakes. He smiled briefly at Osthia and she returned the smile. They were family and that much was allowed. Then her attention turned to the other [General], the one leading the second army sent to kill the Goblin Lord.

Osthia didn’t know who she’d been expecting, but a Gnoll wasn’t it. She was an officer though, and she immediately recognized one of the more prominent Gnoll [Generals] on the continent.

“General Garusa, this is Captain Osthia Blackwing and the Ancestor Guard company assigned to me. I hope to make use of their abilities to locate and engage the Goblin Lord.”

The tall female Gnoll smiled at Osthia and then sniffed the air as she looked across the ranks of assembled Drakes. A lot of Gnolls did that when first meeting Osthia or someone from her company. They probably smelled something quite unique.

“Ah. Oldblood soldiers. I am impressed, Thrissiam.”

Did it bother Osthia that this Gnoll was speaking so informally with Thrissiam already? A bit. But she didn’t shift her position. She was a soldier, and disciplined. She lead this company—she had worked hard for this place! It wasn’t just because of her heritage that she’d earned her rank, either.

Oldblood. That was the correct term for what Osthia and the rest of the Drakes in her company were. The incorrect term was whatever you wanted it to be, but it was wise to be wary of saying that around any Drake with the old blood. Because you might get a face full of fire or lightning in reply.

Osthia had wings. Most of the Drakes in the Oldblood company didn’t. Some had only vestigial stumps, or half-formed wings. But some had none at all. Those Drakes could breathe fire. Or lightning. Or mist. Or something else entirely. They could do this, what no other Drakes could, because they had more of their ancestor’s blood in their veins. These Drakes, Osthia included, remembered a part of what it was like to be a Dragon.

Less than one in a thousand Drakes had a hint of their ancestry in their veins. Any family could give birth to someone with the old blood, but families with pure bloodlines that went back to the dawn of the Drake species were far more likely to have a child with the old blood. Such individuals were cherished, and the families often given money and aid for simply raising them.

There was prestige in being of the old blood, oh yes. It was easier to get a job in any position, and in some circles having a drop of the old blood was as good as a noble title. Better. And this was a company of the Oldblood Drakes. As good as a company of mages, in theory.

It was one of the things that separated the Walled Cities from the lesser Drake city-states. Only a Walled City had the population and the pure bloodlines to field an entire battalion of such warriors. Only a company had been sent to accompany General Thrissiam, but it was a mark of the trust placed in him by the city of Pallass that they’d sent anyone at all. None of the Oldblood had been sent with Wall Lord Ilvriss in his dispute with Zel Shivertail.

Of course, that also had much to do with the politics and dangers of sending a force against Zel Shivertail, who might well rip apart any group of soldiers sent against him. He was popular among the old families, although he’d taken a position in the Earthwatchers Coalition which often butted heads with the Walled Cities.

In truth, Osthia preferred to fight Goblins anyways. Drakes fighting Drakes left a bad taste in her mouth, even when it was to settle a dispute.

“Blackwing? Hrr. Are you two related, General Thrissiam?”

Garusa addressed Thrissiam as she walked across the ranks of Drakes, inspecting their arms. Thrissiam nodded.

“Osthia is a relation of mine. I knew her growing up, and was pleased to be assigned her company for this campaign. You will not be disappointed with her performance.”

“I have no doubt.”

Osthia listened, watching Thrissiam out of the corner of one eye. She and he were indeed cousins. He was her uncle, technically, but they were only separated by ten years. And they were distant, very distant cousins. Practically strangers. Certainly no issue if they wanted to marry.

Osthia had liked Thrissiam ever since she’d met him as a hatchling. She hadn’t ever told him that of course—but she had made every effort to be assigned to his command, regardless of what he was doing. Now she quelled the butterflies in her stomach as Thrissiam turned towards her.

“We’ll be striking camp soon, Captain Osthia. Have your soldiers ready to move. I would like you to join one of the scouting groups with those under your command able to fly.”

“Yes sir. I would be delighted to.”

She had to stop her tail from twitching as she smiled at General Thrissiam. That would have been a dead giveaway, and very embarrassing as well.

Garusa stopped next to Thrissiam, and Osthia’s smile vanished. She didn’t want the Gnoll to think she was approving of her just yet. In her opinion, Thrissiam should have been appointed command over both armies. He was a [General] from one of the Walled Cities, after all.

The Gnoll General nodded at Osthia, smiling without baring her teeth.

“I have never fought with the Oldblood before. Against them…on occasion. I am honored to fight alongside you, young Blackwing.”

“I hope to have the opportunity, General Garusa.”

The Gnoll nodded, and both she and Thrissiam left. Osthia waited until they were gone and then she and the Oldblood soldiers joined the rest of the army on the march. Osthia called for several names under her command, and then leapt into the air, wings beating. She flew.

It was a sight that made the Gnolls and Drakes in Garusa’s army look up and exclaim. Osthia, wearing chainmail and a helmet, not to mention holding a spear, flew above them, wings laboring to gain altitude in the frozen air.

She flew high into the sky with the six other Drakes who had wings. It was hard, very hard, to stay aloft for long. Osthia could feel the magic burning in her depleting itself with every wing beat. She was far too heavy to fly normally, and unless she sustained her flight with magic as Dragons did, she would be forced to land.

She couldn’t fly long. Nor could she use her breath weapon with impunity. Those with abilities stemming from their blood found it was often a curse as well as a blessing. Some Drakes grew faint of breath when they used their breath weapons, or injured their own throats. Osthia’s heritage was true though, and she could use both her wings and her breath attack without issue.

She flew on, eyes peeled for any Goblins on the landscape below. The foolish creatures probably had no idea that a Drake could fly. But she didn’t see a single Goblin below, although she was high enough to look around for miles.

Perhaps they weren’t there? Goblins didn’t strike Osthia as bright enough to hide or cover their tracks. Had their intelligence been mistaken? Was the Goblin Lord elsewhere?

Time would tell. Osthia was too experienced to trust to a quick view from the sky, although the lack of any signs of Goblins bothered her. It could be they were hiding, or farther away than she thought. And if this was a mistake? Well, she could use the opportunity to get closer to Thrissiam.

She was getting tired after only ten minutes of flight. Very tired. Osthia saw the other soldiers with wings flagging, and turned her head to order them to head back. As she did, she felt something crawl down her spine. A feeling, as if someone was staring at her with an arrow trained on her back.

Instantly, Osthia dove down. The other soldiers did likewise, moving instinctively to avoid an arrow or spell. Osthia turned and scanned the landscape. And saw nothing.

Was it a false alarm? For a minute, and then two she scanned the white slopes of the mountain, the trees, the rocks. And saw nothing. She raised her hand and signaled the other wary Drakes that it was a false alarm. She had seen nothing.

But the feeling remained. Something had been watching her, Osthia was sure of it. But whatever it was, it was already gone. Or hidden from her sight.

Rattled, Osthia flew back with her escort, landing safely among the ranks of her fellow soldiers. She abandoned her thoughts of romance. There was something out there. It was waiting for them. And so she and the army would flush it out.

And kill it.

Day 60

It was cold. Wet. Thrissiam kept the new joint army moving and scouting ahead. There were no signs of Goblins yet, although they’d covered a lot of ground, keeping their [Scouts] and groups of riders moving at all times.

“This damn snow came at the worst time for a Goblin Lord. It falls too heavily each day. Any tracks are being erased. Damn those Winter Sprites!”

He was grousing to Garusa, who he’d found was a worthy companion as they rode their army towards the next place they’d chosen to fortify and explore from. The Gnoll grinned.

“Perhaps the Goblins are having a courtly dance as we wait, hm? What must this Goblin Lord be like? Surely a Lord is a [Lord], Goblin or not.”

She had a weird sense of humor too. Thrissiam snorted despite himself. He knew a [Lord] could be specialized in combat or managing his lands depending on how their Skills were gained. Thus, some Human [Lords] could counter the greatest Drake [Generals], like the Human Lord Tyrion. But most were inferiors to a class dedicated towards battle like his.

“I suppose you think all [Lords] dance? Take it from me, Weatherfur, some of the Lords—and Ladies—of the Wall are just as adept at sword dances as they are at ballroom dancing.”

“Hrr. Then why are they not here? Was there not a Lord of the Wall that fought General Shivertail a month ago? He could be a match for this Goblin Lord.”

“Catch a Lord of the Wall doing a mission like this? Not likely. They’re for quick glory and guts, not a slog or hunt.”

Thrissiam lashed his tail, and Garusa smiled. Their army continued onwards, watchful, vigilant. The first of the [Scouts] began disappearing a few hours later.

Day 61

Osthia flew a patrol with the six Drakes in her command. She flew high as she could, drinking a mana potion to replenish her energy. It was a foul-tasting brew, despite the quality. Osthia hated using it, for all it let her fly longer. She could only do so four times before she’d start throwing up, a sure sign of overdosing on the stuff.

Today she was escorting a group of [Scouts], overseeing three groups in fact, as they roamed the forest searching for signs of life. So far they’d found nothing. No monsters, and there had to have been some about in this wooded area.

But they’d found nothing. And yesterday, twelve of the Gnolls and Drakes sent out had failed to come back over the course of the day. They’d vanished, each time alone, each time far from the main army.

Thrissiam had suspected Goblins, but larger groups hadn’t found any traces of a struggle. So he’d sent Osthia to watch from above. So she did. She flew and watched. One scout group exited the forest and entered a clearing where they paused, investigating something on the ground. Another vanished below a dense canopy of leaves. The third scaled a cliff side.

Watch. Osthia saw the group in the clearing turn away from what they’d been looking at. The group on the cliff headed higher. The group under the canopy…

Didn’t emerge. Osthia waited a minute, and then two. Something was wrong. She immediately put a horn to her lips and blew a horn call. She blew five blasts, attracting both groups of [Scouts]. They signed towards her and she pointed in the direction of the missing group.

Behind her, more horn calls sounded. Osthia listened and heard drumbeats as well, beating out a pattern. A group of riders was already headed for her spot, and the drums were telling her to hold position.

Osthia ignored the order. She turned to the flying Drakes and pointed with her spear.

“Down! Be ready for anything. Rass—stay back and watch! If we’re not out in a second—”

She was already diving with the others. Osthia crashed through the branches, ready to use her breath weapon, spear ready. She was expecting anything—

And found nothing. Nothing. Just a messed up section of snow. No [Scouts], no Goblins. Nothing.

They’d been taken in the few minutes it had been take to sound the alarm. Warily, Osthia looked around. She felt something watching her. The Drakes in her command spread out around her. If the Goblins had taken the [Scouts]—

“Up! Into the air!”

She cried out and the Drakes leapt back up, swearing, crashing through branches. Now Osthia circled wide, searching for anything moving in the trees. But she found nothing. Neither did the riders, or the [Scouts]. They combed the landscape, but whatever had taken this group of [Scouts] had just vanished into the air.

Day 62

They knew there were Goblins about. For three days now, their patrols had been ambushed. Smaller ones, ones that strayed too far, simply vanished. The others found nothing. It set all of Thrissiam’s scales on edge, and so he’d refused to budge from the second hilltop. Instead, he was sending out larger scouting groups with [Mages] to look for traces of the Goblins.

Now he stood in his command tent, staring at the map of the landscape, irritated, on edge. His army was camped on the top of the hill, giving them a view of the surroundings. A nearby mountain loomed over them, and a forest surrounded their position to the northwest. He looked up as someone opened the tent flap. Thrissiam was about to order whoever it was out, but he bit his tongue as Garusa entered.

“Any word?”

She shook her head.

“Another patrol came back with no findings. None at all. It is odd, yes? They should have found some sign of what attacked the last, but none did. Not the [Mages] and experienced [Scouts].”

“Magic. Or something else. Damnit!”

Thrissiam pounded the table with his claws, taking care not to damage the map. He wasn’t used to this. Not from Goblins. He’d be wary if another force managed to elude him, but how were Goblins doing this? Was this really all due to a Goblin Lord? Garusa watched him for a moment before speaking.

“I had a thought.”

“Share it.”

“When we met I wondered why the Goblin Lord would retreat here. There is no food for his army, and Goblins devour. It is a bad choice, for one that knows an attack is coming, no?”

“That’s true.”

Thrissiam nodded, still angry but thinking now. Garusa nodded as well.

“Yes, a smarter decision would be to raid other cities, to keep moving, growing an army by collecting other Goblins nearby. So why hide?”

“To buy time, or maybe traverse the mountains? What’s your point?”

Garusa sniffed. She frowned, but kept speaking.

“It makes no sense. Goblin Lords know they will be hunted. So perhaps…”

“Perhaps what?”

Thrissiam looked up at Garusa. Her face was shadowed, her voice low.

“Perhaps the Goblin Lord only retreated to make sure it was we who could not run. I smell Goblins, Thrissiam. I smell them everywhere, but cannot find their scent. And the smell is everywhere.”

He stared at her. Her eyes gleamed. Thrissiam opened his mouth, and then heard a horn call in the distance. It was blaring the call to attack. He jerked upright, and then heard another from the west. And another.

And another.

The last one was blowing right outside. Thrissiam stormed out, Garusa following and heard the screams.

“Sound the alarm! We’re under attack!”

He looked out, and suddenly the barren landscape was filled with motion. Goblins boiled down the slopes from the mountains, charged out of the forest, shouting, screaming. Hundreds, thousands of them.

“Recall all forces! Rally on me!”

Thrissiam had his spear in his hands. He ran towards the front as Garusa called for her mount. The Goblins smashed into the fortifications his army had built, screaming. There were Hobs, Goblin [Mages]—the undead!

So many of them. Too many. And where was the Goblin Lord? Thrissiam was too busy fighting to see.

—-

They came out of nowhere. One second Osthia had been resting her wings in camp, the next, the Goblins had poured out of the trees, down the mountain. Some burst out of the snow.

Out of the snow?

“To arms! Goblin attack!”

The cry went up as Osthia ran towards the front. There was no time to find her company. She just fell into line with the [Soldiers] around her. Drakes had learned to adapt to any situation.

But this was unnerving even so. The Goblins were everywhere. It wasn’t just that they’d snuck up on the army—they’d completely caught them off-guard! As Osthia watched, a completely flattened portion of ground suddenly exploded upwards, and Goblins clawed their way up.

They’d been waiting underground? How? They couldn’t breathe down there! Unless—and then Osthia saw it. The gray skin, the rotten flesh. It wasn’t just Goblins emerging from under the snow, under the ground. It was Drakes too, and Gnolls. They were all pale, flesh gray and rotting, bloodless.

Zombies.

“Undead!”

The cry went up as all the pieces fell into place for Osthia. That was why the [Scouts] had vanished so quickly! That was why the Goblins couldn’t be found! The main force was probably hiding, while the undead waited below, attacking and burying themselves without a trace. The Drake army had marched right into the middle of where they were hiding. And now—

Now the trap was sprung, and they were under assault from all sides.

The first group of living Goblins hit the camp from the west, charging down the mountain. Osthia heard the screams and sound of battle begin, but didn’t falter. A surprise attack it might be, but the Goblins were no match for a Drake [Soldier]. She kept believing that right until she saw a group of eight Hobgoblins charge into the side of the [Soldiers] and start hacking Drakes and Gnolls apart.

Osthia’s eyes widened as the Hobs appeared. There shouldn’t be that many Hobs in a tribe! But there were so many in this army! They towered over the smaller Goblins, standing toe-to-toe with elite warriors.

And then the fighting hit their side. Not living Goblins. Dead ones.

A wave of zombies, several skeletons, and three Ghouls hit the Drakes that Osthia was positioned with. She caught one as it ran onto her spear, and the Drakes around her did the same. As they were fighting, Drakes with swords stepped forwards, cutting as the ones with pikes shoved their enemies back. [Archers] began raining arrows on the undead and a [Mage] unleashed a shower of lightning that made several undead jerk and fall down before getting up.

Lightning magic was a bad idea on the undead. Osthia snarled as she jabbed her spear. There was a strange, grey Goblin walking towards her. Just walking. It looked…different from the rest. Osthia had a bad feeling about it, and stabbed it in the chest. The Goblin didn’t try to stop her, and her spear’s head went right through where its heart should be.

The gray Goblin fell, gaping soundlessly. Then it exploded, sending shockwaves of force and black energy spiraling outwards. Osthia cried out and saw the undead nearest to the exploding Goblin simply vanish as the blast consumed them. The Drakes around her were thrown backwards, and the undead swarmed them. Osthia got up, saw a Ghoul running at her, and opened her mouth.

She didn’t breathe fire. Instead, Osthia spat. That was how she thought of it. The glands in her mouth shot a greenish spray towards the Ghoul. It charged right into the mist, and then began to melt. It felt no pain, but suddenly the Ghoul’s eyes and part of its face were gone. It swung wildly, knocking a skeleton to the ground. Osthia ran the Ghoul through and then turned and spat again.

The undead caught by her attack lurched onwards, melting down, blinded. The Drakes near Osthia seized the opportunity and shakily reformed the battle line. Osthia wiped at her mouth, relieved that her body was immune to her ability. She turned her head and shouted at the nearest Drake [Sergeant].

“Take down the gray Goblins before they reach the camp! Spread the word! I’ll tell the [General]! Hurry!”

She leapt into the air, flying back towards the center of camp. Now she could hear the thump as more of the trapped Goblins exploded, sowing chaos among the Drakes and Gnolls. Thrissiam heard her garbled report and immediately called for every [Archer] to prioritize the Goblins. The threat dealt with in part, Osthia found her company.

She led the next charge into the ranks of the living Goblins, who screamed as they felt her acid burn and eat at them. The ones around her fled, but more kept coming. More, and more. They didn’t seem to fear death. They wore black armor and screamed in hatred as they kept coming.

An hour later, Osthia was pulling back, exhausted, barely able to move, when she saw him. As her company retreated and a fresh group of soldiers was rotated in, she caught sight of an oddity in the seething mass of Goblins.

At first, she thought it was just another Hob. But this one was different. He stood on a ledge hundreds of meters away from the fighting, on the mountainside. He was staring at the fighting armies, and as Osthia watched, his gaze passed over her.

For a moment, their eyes met. Osthia got only a glimpse of a Goblin’s face. But something was wrong with his eyes. They weren’t red.

Black eyes with white pupils. A piercing gaze. A hooded face. He stood among a group of Hobgoblins and Goblin [Mages] and [Shamans]. Just watching.

The Goblin Lord. Osthia was transfixed. She knew it was him the instant she saw him. No other Goblin was like him. His presence seemed to make him bigger, although he was only the size of a Human, not a towering mass like some of the Hobgoblins. He was only watching, but his eyes—Osthia felt dread.

Then he raised his arm and a black lance of light struck down one of the Drake [Mages] from behind. Osthia shouted, but the Goblin Lord was already turning away. He retreated out of danger as the Goblins roared and redoubled their efforts.

The Drakes and Gnolls held the line. They bled and died, but they pushed the Goblins and undead back. By the end of the day, the dead had stained the ground red, and churned mud froze overnight. That was the first day.

The second was just as bad.

Day 64

In the mountains, Drakes and Gnolls died. Goblins died. Everything died. Thrissiam led his army with Garusa against the Goblin Lord, cutting apart bodies, blasting enemy positions with magic, grappling with undead—

This was war with a Goblin Lord. And it was far more terrible than Thrissiam could have ever imagined.

The fighting wasn’t a single day’s affair. From morning until dusk, the Goblins assailed their position, fighting at dawn, at night, withdrawing, ambushing, trying to uproot the Drake army’s position.

They hadn’t managed to so far. But neither had the Drake army managed to force them back or deplete their numbers greatly. It was a deadlock. The Goblin Lord’s full army outnumbered them greatly, but Thrissiam’s forces were better equipped, better trained, higher level. It was a battle they could win, in short.

But some things made him uneasy. Garusa pointed it out the day after she’d carried Thrissiam into a bed. She had only shared it for an hour—the [Generals] were alternating shifts to keep up a steady defense. Now she and Thrissiam spoke concisely as Drakes tended to their injured with potions and wrapped wounds too light to warrant proper healing in a lull between the fighting.

“None of our [Mages] can cast the [Message] spell. They have tried each day, again and again, but the highest-level cannot.”

“So? We don’t need reinforcements, and if we did, they’d be too late.”

Garusa nodded.

“Yes. That is true. But that is not what concerns me. To block the spell, so my [Mages] say, you would need a mage specialized in such magic…or a mage of far greater ability. Neither seems at home to a Goblin Lord’s forces, no?”

That was true. Thrissiam frowned, suddenly worried.

“It might be they have an artifact. Or one of their [Shamans]…? You’re right. It seems beyond them.”

“In that case, what is the cause?”

Thrissiam shook his head.

“I don’t know. But we must get word back to the cities, no matter what happens. They have to know the Goblin Lord can use undead—and that he can block spells!”

Garusa nodded. Thrissiam’s claws dug into the table.

“You were right. General Shivertail was right. That Goblin Lord…isn’t ordinary. I see him out there, occasionally. In the trees, leading his forces. Never close enough that our [Marksmen] or [Snipers] could get a clear shot at him. And he blocked every spell my battle mages sent towards him.”

“We must try to hunt him down.”

“Yes. We’ll try for it now. If it means sacrificing a group to have his head—”

“That is my job, no?”

He looked at her. They’d barely said a word in between sleeping together and waking. This was war. But he and she—he shook his head.

“Not yet. Not unless it comes to that. I won’t risk you.”

She grinned at him, as if he’d made a joke.

“You are thinking with your head, not with your second tail, yes? A [General] must be composed and think of victory, not affection.”

Thrissiam went scarlet and looked around, but the tent was empty. He glared at Garusa.

“I’m thinking with my head. You are an asset that can’t be replaced. We’ll need you after this battle.”

He stared at the map as Garusa chuckled. The Goblin Lord’s eyes. Where had he heard of eyes like that before? Necromancy. An uneasy surmise crept into Thrissiam’s mind. He murmured.

“Yes. I think we might need everyone after this. Perhaps the Goblin Lord…isn’t alone.”

Garusa stopped laughing. She met his eyes, and Thrissiam knew she had suddenly thought of the same thing. In the silence, they heard the fighting begin again.

—-

Her eyes blurred with tears, although no one noticed her face in the fighting. Osthia spat acid at the Goblins who charged her, shot the concentrated, corrosive liquid into green faces and red eyes and heard the screams. It felt as though she were spitting the bile and pain out of her own stomach.

She had an endless supply.

Thrissiam and Garusa. Garusa and Thrissiam. It was like one of those silly songs the children sang. Garusa and Thrissiam, tails in a knot!

She lashed out and a Goblin fell, gurgling. This wasn’t the time for such thoughts! And yet, the image followed her. Garusa carrying Thrissiam into the tent after recovering him from the thick of battle and then—not emerging.

Every soldier knew what had happened. No judgment was passed. In fact, there was quite a lot of ribald support, muttered quietly and joked about when neither [General] could hear. Thrissiam because he’d order the jokester punished. Garusa because she might join in.

War made for very intimate choices, and many soldiers left what happened in the heat of things behind. But Osthia couldn’t.

What had she expected? He was her distant relative, a [General] and practically nobility in himself! But she’d hoped, in that secret heart of hers…

Osthia took to the air, ignoring the warning calls from below. The Goblins were firing? Let them. She had practiced to avoid flights of arrows. She dove into the ranks of Goblins, spitting acid, hearing them shriek. Good! Let them die.

Then she saw the Goblin Lord. He was watching again, far away from the fighting. He always did that. He’d appear, blast the lines with magic, and then disappear. Not this time.

Osthia went for him. She knew it was foolhardy. She didn’t care. She made it halfway before a flight of arrows rose up and magic blast a hole straight through her wings.

She fell into the ranks of Goblins. The fall didn’t kill her, but Osthia was trapped behind the lines, desperately spitting acid and sweeping around her with her spear. She would have died there, wanted to die there, but then she heard the horn call.

A Gnoll on horseback charged into the ranks of Goblins with a group of mounted riders, trampling the smaller ones, lashing out left and right. She made straight towards Osthia, cutting a path through her enemies. Garusa Weatherfur’s paws were a blur as she struck left and right, clearing a path for Osthia to survive.

Both she and Thrissiam used a spear. It was just another reason to hate her as Garusa swept the Goblins around her away. She dueled a Hobgoblin, ending it by thrusting her long spear through his helmetless face while Osthia struggled to stand. Then Garusa took Osthia’s clawed hand and pulled her into the saddle. She rode back towards their line as a cheer went up from the Drakes.

It didn’t make Osthia hate her any less. But it did make her respect the Gnoll as a [General]. Garusa was necessary, vital. She was a hero.

Osthia just wished Garusa hadn’t also taken her dream away.

—-

“Fool!”

Thrissiam struck Osthia across the face. She took the blow, cheek burning, as he shouted at her.

“You endangered your life and cost us good soldiers going to save you! What were you thinking?”

“I have no excuse, sir.”

“Calm yourself, Thrissiam.”

“General Garusa. With respect—”

“She took a chance and went for the Goblin Lord. I might have done so as well were I in her place. Now we know he is waiting for the moment, yes?”

The hole in her wing was mended. The hole in her heart…it hurt more to hear Garusa defend her. That wasn’t why Osthia had gone, but she couldn’t bring herself to say so. Thrissiam calmed himself in the end. When he spoke to her next, it was curtly, but not without affection.

“Rest yourself. I will have orders tomorrow. You are to do nothing that is not ordered, is that understood?”

“Yes, General.”

Officers had been declared treasonous for disobeying orders. Osthia knew she was getting off lucky. But she still felt wretched. After a moment, Thrissiam spoke quietly to her.

“You are a treasure of our people, and of our family as well. I could not bear to see you die in some meaningless charge.”

It was meant for the two of them. Garusa busied herself across the tent, although Osthia knew she could hear everything. It helped, a bit. Osthia smiled weakly at Thrissiam.

“Thank you, sir.”

He studied her, and then nodded. Grimly, Thrissiam turned back to the map.

“I don’t blame you for trying. This Goblin Lord is dangerous. If we don’t stop him now, there’s no telling how dangerous he might get.”

“He is new, yet. But if he gathers more Goblins, or raises more undead.”

“It won’t happen.”

Osthia watched as Garusa and Thrissiam’s eyes met over the table. They were alike, in that way. She stumbled out of the tent and cried for a bit in her tent. Then she woke up and went back to war.

Day 65

“The undead.”

That was what would kill them, Thrissiam knew. Looking at the map of the battlefield, he felt as though he understood the flow of how things would go. Numbers, supplies, levels of soldiers and geography, it all flowed into a picture in his mind. The scales were balanced; he had his advantages, and the Goblin Lord his. But what tipped the balance were the undead.

Because for every Drake and Gnoll that fell, a zombie could rise in its place. Or worse, a Ghoul.

So far, the Goblins and the Goblin Lord had only managed to animate a few of the fallen Drakes and Gnolls of Thrissiam’s force. So far. But as time wore on, the Drake knew that the natural spawning of the undead as well as the efforts of the Goblin Lord and his [Necromancers] would slowly increase that number.

“We can’t make this a battle of attrition any longer. The Goblin Lord overplayed his claw at first, and gave us the opportunity to tear into his forces. But he’s pulling back, wearing us down with numbers rather than commit his Hobs and [Mages] to the front. We need to either pull them out, or take him down.”

Standing across the table from him, Garusa nodded. She had a long gash down one cheek, splitting her fur and exposing red, but she had forgone healing it to save potions. It might damage the morale of the soldiers to see their general injured, but the situation called for it.

“I agree. We must corner him. But how?”

“I propose an ambush. We know he has a forward camp here and here. He alternates between the two before pulling back.”

“True. You suggest ambushing him? We could strike a wedge here, cutting him off—”

“And then encircle his position. Yes.”

Thrissiam had observed the Goblin Lord over the course of the battle. The Goblin had played things safe, attacking only from a distance with magic. But he had shown a predictability in how he moved, and revealed that it was possible to predict where he’d go. In short, he’d given Thrissiam a perfect opportunity to corner him.

“He may be a Goblin Lord, but he’s new to it. An amateur is still an amateur, even with Skills.”

The Drake grinned savagely. Garusa’s smile was no less predatory.

“Tomorrow?”

“No sense waiting for it. Keep up the front; don’t let him think we’re doing anything. I’ll pull together all the elites I can. They’ll be under your command.”

Garusa nodded.

“I will prepare.”

Thrissiam caught her as she was about to leave the tent.

“Don’t fight him if you think he’ll win. We can try again if we must. But I can’t lose you.”

She blinked at him, wide-eyed. Then she smiled.

“Too much thinking with your other tail. I will do what needs to be done. And I will bring you the Goblin Lord’s head tomorrow, my word on it. Unless I squish it by accident, that is.”

She kissed him, and left. Thrissiam turned back to the map, and began to plan for the end.

Day 66

The Goblin Lord never saw the attack coming. In fairness, he did see the feint, and then the charge that went deep into his army’s left flank, aimed at a group of his [Necromancers]. When he appeared and blasted the soldiers with magic from a distance, the Drakes launched two other charges, penetrating the lines of shocked Goblins with an elite group of soldiers. They cut the Goblin Lord’s retreat off, and then the last group formed up, aimed straight for the Goblin Lord’s throat as his retinue struggled to fend off the sudden offensive.

Thrissiam watched Garusa charge. He had committed over half the army to the push in the end, holding the rest of the Goblin Lord’s forces at bay with a thin line of his own. It was a tactic only two [Generals] could pull off and Thrissiam used every Skill to make sure there was a place to return to for Garusa.

Now all he could do was watch. The Gnoll [General] charged through Goblins and Hobgoblins alike, tearing through them with a guard of elite riders, protected by mage spell and raining arrows.

The Goblin Lord’s personal guard met her force with a roar that echoed through the battlefield. Thrissiam watched, as from above, Osthia dove and showered the group with acid. Garusa used that opportunity to strike down a [Mage]. And then—

A black lance of magic. The Gnoll twisted in her saddle, dodging the magic. It killed her stallion, leaving only half of its head. The horse went down, but then Garusa was charging the Goblin Lord.

“Yes. Do it!”

Thrissiam’s claws were clenched. He could see the Goblin Lord’s surprise, see two Hobs barring the way with huge halberds. A [Mage] struck one with lightning—Osthia speared the other in the back from above. And then Garusa was face-to-face with the Goblin Lord.

His eyes were wide, disbelieving. The Goblin Lord’s face was twisted in a snarl. He held a black blade in one hand, shimmering magic in the other as he faced Garusa. The Drakes and Gnolls around Thrissiam were cheering wildly, sure of victory. But there was fear in Thrissiam’s heart. And something else.

Uneasiness. It wasn’t easy. This was the culmination of strategy, of superior planning and teamwork. They had whittled the Goblin Lord’s forces and played on his confidence to come this far.

But something was wrong. Garusa raised her spear, slashing at the Goblin Lord. He stepped back, warily. She twirled her spear and advanced. He lashed out with magic—she dodged. Closer now. She struck out—

And Thrissiam heard a voice.

“Fool.”

It was a whisper, but it reached across the battlefield. Garusa’s spear struck a white wall that shot from the ground. A wall as smooth and pale as ivory.

Bone.

Something changed. The wall of bone retracted into the ground as Garusa leapt back. When Thrissiam could see the Goblin Lord again, he was standing in the same place.

But something else was wearing his body. The Goblin Lord stood still, and when his lips moved, every Drake and Gnoll and Goblin could hear his voice.

“You have disappointed me, my apprentice. I should not have to intercede on your behalf.”

Garusa was staring at the Goblin Lord. Thrissiam tried to shout at her, but the dark voice was overpowering everything else. He tried to scream to her to run, but the Gnoll crouched. She came in low, fast—

“So be it. I will rectify your mistake.”

The Goblin Lord raised a hand. And Garusa—crumpled.

It was just a flash of light. A black bolt of energy that went through her chest. Thrissiam screamed. The Goblin Lord turned his hand. Pointed.

“Despair.”

A black scythe shot out, cutting through the ranks of soldiers that had followed Garusa. Not just through them, through Goblins as well. Bodies crumpled to the floor, dead. Lifeless. Everybody in two hundred meters in the direction the Goblin Lord had pointed fell. And then—

“Rise.”

They rose. Unsteadily, getting to their feet. Garusa stood up, and for a second, Thrissiam dared to hope—then her head turned and he saw the hole in her chest. And the light in her eyes.

The undead, half of his army and the Goblin Lord’s—stared towards the remaining soldiers. Their eyes shone, and they began to walk, and then to run. They charged back towards their former comrades.

“Now finish this.”

The voice spoke once more, and then the Goblin Lord was stumbling as other Goblins rushed to his side. Thrissiam stared at him, and then at the undead.

Thousands of them, ten thousand—twenty—each and every corpse on the battlefield had risen all at once. And now they came for his army. The Drakes and Gnolls, steadfast warriors, cried out and broke ranks, retreating.

“No.”

“Uncle! Uncle!”

Someone was screaming his name. Above. Thrissiam looked up. Osthia flew down towards him, wounded, bleeding. Her face was pale, her eyes filled with tears.

“He—it—”

He’d sent all of the Oldblood soldiers with her. Six had gone, none had returned. There was an arrow in one of Osthia’s wings. Now more showered down around Thrissiam as the Goblin army redoubled its attack.

He stared at her blankly. Then at the undead. They were coming. So many. Enough to bury what remained of his army. And Garusa—she was out there too.

“We’ve lost.”

There was nothing hard in saying it. Osthia’s eyes widened. Thrissiam went on.

“We lost the moment we failed to understand. It wasn’t him. We shouldn’t have just feared him. It was who was controlling him. Do you understand?”

He looked at Osthia.

“The Necromancer.”

She paled.

“But he’s dead.”

“Not anymore.”

Thrissiam turned. His officers were staring in shock, paralyzed by what had happened.

“Scouts! Runners!”

Thrissiam bellowed. He could still do that. His voice snapped some out of their fog. They looked towards him. Thrissiam saw some turning, coming towards him. No time.

“Run!”

They stared at him. Thrissiam pointed, south, the way they had come.

“Run! Go to the cities! Warn them! Go! Now!”

No time to tell them. If they were smart, the others would figure it out. Thrissiam pointed and shouted. He saw Drakes and Gnolls dashing for the trees, running past Goblins, trying to escape as the Goblin Lord’s army came from every side.

“Uncle—are you—”

Thrissiam turned to Osthia. Her eyes were wide. She probably didn’t realize she was calling him Uncle. He nearly laughed. He wasn’t old enough to be her uncle.

What a silly thing to think of. Thrissiam smiled at Osthia as he gave her his last order.

“You too, Osthia. Go. Fly away. Tell them who the real enemy is.”

“I can’t! I can’t abandon—”

“Go. There’s no point in dying here. You are the pride of Drakes. My family. You have to tell them.”

She refused, shaking. The undead were coming. Thrissiam’s eyes were on them. On the Goblin Lord. He was falling back, carried by his soldiers. Osthia was trying to stay.

“Go.”

“Drakes do not run!”

He turned to her.

“I know. Hurry up and come back soon.”

He smiled. Osthia’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth to object, and saw the mass of undead charging towards them. For a second she looked into his eyes, and Thrissiam thought she saw his broken heart. Her eyes filled with tears. Without a word, she took wing.

“I’ll be back! Hold out! Retreat!”

She screamed at him as she fled eastward. Thrissiam saw Goblins shouting and some firing on her, others breaking away to chase after the lone flying Drake. He prayed she’d get away. But the cruel, cold part of him knew that she was too obvious a target. The [Scouts] and [Runners] he’d sent might have a chance if the Goblins were distracted.

She was his niece. He had grudgingly played with her and his younger cousins when he visited. When she was older, he had taught her to use a spear. He had accepted her into his army, presented her with her first promotion. He’d never spoken of her eyes on his back, preserved her dreams like a precious thing. And now he had sent her to die.

But that was her duty. And his. For their people, no cost could be so high. Thrissiam saluted Osthia with his spear and then turned to the undead. His [Soldiers]. He looked for Garusa’s body among them. There she was. Leading the charge as always.

Her eyes were glowing. Thrissiam felt something hard grab at his soul, demanding vengeance. Pain was in his blood. He looked at Garusa as she ran like lightning across the ground. Too fast! She was no Ghoul. Her body was infused with more than just unholy quickness and a taste for flesh. She was too strong, sweeping experienced soldiers away, hurling a Gnoll in plate armor into the air and tearing an arm straight off of a Drake [Pikeman].

Not a Wight. Her touch wasn’t paralysis and she was too tough. Thrissiam’s pulse quickened as he realized what she had become.

A Draugr. One of the higher levels of undead. Not one with tricks like a Wight, or an amalgamation of souls like a Crypt Lord, but a version of the undead that was akin to a zombie. But only a truly high-level [Necromancer] could think of animating one.

There was more than one Draug in the ranks of the undead. They smashed into Thrissiam’s remaining army, overrunning groups of pikes, barricades, too strong and tough to stop. The Drake heard cries for help, but he had only eyes for Garusa.

“Go, Osthia. Tell them the Goblin Lord has a master. Tell them. Tell them it’s the Necromancer. He’s still alive. Go. Bring back a hundred armies. Bring back Shivertail. Bring the Tidebreaker! Bring them all and cleanse this land of his taint.”

He met her as she charged at him, mouth agape. She struck him in the chest, and he stabbed through her armor. His enchanted spear met no resistance.

“You should have worn better armor.”

He plunged the spear deep into Garusa’ heart. She kept moving, and tore off something on his leg. Through his armor! Her claws were razors. Thrissiam nearly fell, but he took a grip on his spear.

“[Crescent Arc]!”

His spear tore through her flesh as it moved in the shape of a moon. Garusa stopped moving. Thrissiam looked away, and then forced his eyes down. She—

Something struck him from the side. A Ghoul tore at the [General] and he roared, throwing it off and spearing it through the head. Then he turned his eyes towards a fleeing shape on the horizon. Thrissiam smiled just once.

“Go. I’ll be waiting.”

He stood over Garusa’s corpse, spear whirling. The undead closed around him. Thrissiam killed them one by one, until something tore his spear away. Then he fought with his claws, his teeth. And then they bit him, tore at his flesh, broke his armor.

He fell and died, holding a Gnoll in his broken arms.

An hour later, his corpse rose and walked away, leaving a Gnoll behind, surrounded by corpses too damaged to use. What remained of General Thrissiam slowly lurched after the Goblins as they ransacked his camp, and then headed north. Not to Liscor.

Farther still.

Day 67

They captured Osthia not ten minutes after she left Thrissiam to die. She cursed them, spat acid, tried to fly with arrows and holes in her wings. They grabbed her, muzzled her like a dog and beat her until she saw nothing.

When she woke, it was in a tent. She was shackled, but her gag had been removed. She recognized the tent. It was Thrissiam’s.

But he did not stand there. Instead, the Goblin Lord stood in the center of the tent. Talking.

With himself.

Osthia’s first instinct was to breathe acid, but then she heard the voice. The same voice that had killed Garusa, that had brought the dead to life. It was coming from the Goblin Lord’s mouth.

“You are a disappointment. With all that I have taught you, defeating two armies should have been a simple task.”

What was happening? Who was speaking? Osthia pretended to be unconscious as she listened. The Goblin Lord growled, spat. Then he spoke, in a voice that was less well-educated, more direct. His voice.

“Strong Drakes. Strong Gnoll. Worthy foes.”

Something like a sigh emanated from his mouth as the other voice spoke. Osthia watched, shuddering.

“You alerted them to your greatest weapon and failed to use it to proper effect. You should have placed the Goblins among your own forces and unleashed them deep within the enemy ranks when they least expected it. You could easily have obliterated the army’s most elite warriors in the opening engagement if you had done so. Instead, you wasted them by confining the undead and your Goblins to separate groups.”

“Cannot kill own—”

“Foolish.”

The word sent shivers down her spine.

“If you want victory, you must sacrifice. Next time, place the Goblins among your force. Do not fail me this time. Unify the Goblins, my apprentice. Or perish in despair.”

The presence receded. The Goblin Lord stumbled as the other person left him. He turned, and hurled the table that Thrissiam had planned the battle over to one side. Osthia sat up.

“You.”

The Goblin Lord turned, eyes widening.

Now. Osthia spat. A stream of acid shot upwards, pressurized liquid spurting into the Goblin Lord’s face. She waited for him to scream, but heard no sound. Instead she saw the liquid splash his body and drip from an invisible surface surrounding his entire body.

Calmly, the Goblin Lord wiped Osthia’s acid away and scattered it to the ground, where the soil steamed and melted. He glanced down at Osthia as she stared wide-eyed at him and then spoke.

“Ring of Protection. And [Ward of Repulsion]. I could have taken the Gnoll’s charge.”

His voice was so normal. That was what was shocking. It was…it wasn’t like the Necromancer’s voice. But it was no guttural mumbling. It was educated, thoughtful. That scared Osthia most of all.

“Kill me. Or do what you want. You’ll get no secrets out of me.”

She was prepared to bite her tongue, to try and attack the Goblin Lord again. Osthia wanted to die. She was ready for it. She wasn’t ready for the Goblin Lord to laugh.

“Kill you? You and I…we have the same enemy. You will help me.”

“Never.”

He grinned at her, his black eyes and white pupils staring into hers. Osthia shuddered. The Goblin Lord noticed and tapped one eye.

“He sees when he looks. He does not look now.”

“The Necromancer.”

“Yes.”

Something twisted the Goblin Lord’s face. He suddenly looked angry. But he was the Necromancer’s apprentice. And yet—

“Tell me about him. All your people know.”

“What?”

She stared at him. Osthia looked into the Goblin Lord’s eyes. She felt the oddity of his question, realized the dissonance in how he acted and spoke before. The same enemy? Did that mean—

The Goblin Lord found a chair and pushed it towards Osthia. He was nothing like she had expected. He looked down at her, tall, gaunt, eyes filled with dark secrets. And fury. He gestured and she saw a dead Goblin standing by the tent’s entrance. She hadn’t noticed him.

Her. It was a female Goblin. A child. The undead zombie swayed in place, lifeless. The Goblin Lord went over to her. He made her turn to Osthia and bared his teeth.

“My subject. My master created her. Killed her to make a weapon. All for me. So tell me. Who is he? What is he? He is my enemy in time. You are. Your people are. But he is most of all. Tell me.”

He stared at her, eyes filled with helpless fury. Osthia felt the certainty of the world begin to shift. The Goblin Lord’s eyes burned.

“Tell me about the Necromancer.”

4.17

Ryoka stood in the darkness, heart pounding. She was afraid. Mortally afraid. There were things she feared in the world, and she was about to face one of them.

She had met Dragons, [Necromancers], Goblin Lords, and yes, each one was terrifying in a way that left scars on the soul. If she closed her eyes, she could still taste the fear. Such memories weren’t nightmarish, though. Nightmares were generally figments of the dreaming mind, and as such, couldn’t come close to the experience of seeing a Dragon face to face.

Part of the fear was wonder. And when Ryoka sat up at night, heart pounding, seeing the Goblins slaughtering the Stone Spears tribe, feeling her fingers bitten off—

That was a horror, one that did not disappear for waking. Because a nightmare was only suspicion, paranoia, unfulfilled fear. Goblins existed. The Goblin Lord was coming. So was the [Necromancer], and Ryoka didn’t know what to do.

All these traumas—Ryoka hadn’t even included dead things around a fire, or evil carnivorous goats. With so much to be afraid of in this world, it seemed silly to have this fear.

And yet, it stemmed from a different place than the ordeals she had gone through. This one was personal, intimate, and it came from a time when Ryoka had been in her world. She just couldn’t face it without shuddering inside.

She hated visiting friends. Or to be more accurate, she thought she did. She’d never actually done it.

Until now.

Ryoka hesitated outside of the door of the large farmhouse. By her side, Mrsha fidgeted in the snow. She looked plaintively up at Ryoka as her stomach rumbled.

It was dark. That didn’t necessarily mean that late; winter being what it was, the sun had gone down before it was time for dinner. And that was why Ryoka was here.

Dinner at Garia’s. She’d asked, and Garia had been only too happy to talk to her parents. And of course, Fals had agreed to come and Ryoka had known it was the only good thing to do as a friend. Still…

It was going to be awkward. Ryoka dreaded that. She didn’t know what to do, what to say, how to act, and she had a horrible fear of silence at the dinner table. At other people’s dinner tables, that was. Her naturally antagonistic relationship with her parents had made her accustomed to it at her house, on the rare occasions they all ate together.

But there was no help for it. Ryoka had taken Mrsha from Erin’s inn after Safry and Maran had been fired. She’d gone to Celum and run with the Gnoll carried on her back. There was actually a kind of basket the Gnolls used that could be used to carry their young. It wasn’t exactly easy to run with, but Ryoka had crossed through snow and run down empty roads until she reached a farm a few miles west of Celum.

That had surprised her, learning that Garia lived so close by. But she’d never talked to the girl about her family, aside from the basics. Garia lived on a farm. Her parents ran said farm. That was all Ryoka needed to know.

And the farm did seem like a proper…farm. It was hard to see in the darkness, but Ryoka had spotted a structure very similar to a barn coming in. It seemed quite large to be run by just two people. Maybe they hired help? Anyways, it didn’t fit with what Ryoka had expected. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected.

“And now we’re here. I should have asked more questions. Like do I bring a gift? I’m pretty sure a hungry Gnoll isn’t a normal hostess gift.”

Ryoka muttered to herself. By her side, Mrsha looked up imploringly. Ryoka had been standing outside in the snow for a minute, which in Mrsha time was probably a year. The Gnoll was clearly hungry—she could probably smell the food inside. She edged over to Ryoka and poked her leg with a claw, looking meaningfully at the door.

“In a second, Mrsha.”

She just had to steel herself. Okay, say ‘hi, thanks for having me’. Or did she introduce herself first? Ryoka hesitated. Maybe she should—

“Just go in, you daft coward!”

Someone shouted in her ear. Then Ivolethe kicked Ryoka in the back of the head.

“Ow.”

Ryoka swatted at the Frost Faerie. Ivolethe flew around her and glared at Ryoka.

“Stop dithering. I grow bored with every passing moment ye stay out here, and my kind watches trees grow for sport.”

The Frost Faerie stared meaningfully at Ryoka. She’d come with Ryoka on the journey, amusing Mrsha to no end by tormenting Ryoka with flurries of snow, snowballs, snow pitfalls, and other winter-related pranks. Ryoka opened her mouth to snap back, felt another poke, and gave in after a short fight.

“Okay, okay. Stop kicking me—stop poking me, Mrsha. I know it’s you. Don’t look around. There’s no one else here! I’m doing it.”

Steeling herself, she raised her hand and knocked loudly at the door. Ryoka had heard muffled sounds from within, and there were lights burning behind the shuttered windows. Now, at her knock, she heard a loud exclamation from within and heavy, running footsteps.

“Ryoka!”

The door burst open. Mrsha nearly went flying as Garia flung the door wide and then engulfed Ryoka in a bone-crushing hug.

“Gah! Garia!”

“It’s so great you’re here! Oh! And Mrsha! I didn’t see you there! Hello! Remember me?”

She let go of Ryoka, allowing the taller girl to breathe, and bent to shake paws with Mrsha. The Gnoll blinked up at Garia solemnly, and then licked her lips as Garia held the door open.

“Come in! My family’s here and Fals came an hour ago. He’s really funny—but you knew that! There’s food ready and snacks—oh. Is uh, she coming?”

Garia had caught sight of Ivolethe. Like all people from this world, she stared a bit to the left of the faerie, looking at Ivolethe’s glamour. She looked apprehensive, no doubt remembering the events at the Runner’s Guild.

“Crap. I uh—”

Ryoka hesitated. She wanted to let Ivolethe come in, but she was well aware of the chaos the Frost Faerie could cause by herself. And it was dangerous for Ivolethe to be indoors as well, even invited. The iron in Garia’s home would be a problem.

For once, Ivolethe solved the problem by herself. She spoke loudly, making Garia jump. Apparently she could speak to whomever she pleased if the need arose, although she seldom bothered.

“I shall take my leave, Ryoka Griffin. I have things to see, and I don’t wish to listen to your mortal prattling all night.”

“Oh. Uh. Sorry.”

Garia stared at Ivolethe, white-faced. Ivolethe grinned at Ryoka and flicked her eyes inside calculatingly.

“However, if ye would leave food for me outside, I might consider blessing this place. A proper meal, though. Without iron, mind! And with lots of meat!”

“I’ll uh, I’ll do that.”

Wide-eyed, Garia watched as Ivolethe flew upwards and then disappeared rapidly into the sky. She looked at Ryoka. Ryoka shrugged.

“You heard her. Put something out after dinner. Lots of meat. I’ll bet her blessings are worth spit, but it’s better than having her annoyed. Don’t worry either way, though. She’s pretty harmless.”

Garia nodded uncertainly as Mrsha lost patience and padded into the house ahead of the two. Ryoka was about to follow when a snowball spiraled down from above. It hit the back of her head and nearly knocked her flat.

Of course Ryoka had grown used to snowballs thrown by faeries before. She’d been hit by ones with rocks inside them, bits of ice, and so on. But this one had come down at an extreme speed and angle. It had a ton of force behind it. In short, it hurt. Ryoka stumbled, turned and raised her middle finger to the sky.

“Fuck you!”

A distant laugh answered her. That was coincidentally also when Fals and Garia’s parents came out to meet Ryoka. Their first impression of her was thus an angry Asian girl flipping off the sky, hair covered with snow. As first impressions went…well, Ryoka had had worse.

—-

“So you’re friends with the Winter Sprites, Miss, ah, Ryoka?”

A few minutes later Ryoka was sitting around a table with Mrsha, Garia, Fals, and Mr. and Ms. Strongheart. Of course, no one spoke like that, so they were Wailant and Viceria, the married couple who’d raised Garia.

They…weren’t what Ryoka had expected. For one thing, well, they didn’t look the part. Not that Ryoka had expected a pair of Southern-accented people with hats and overalls, but she had considered the standards of farming in this world fairly below hers. She’d been prepared to meet a fairly poor couple, living in a village and farming a patch of land that might be owned by a [Lord] or other kind of landowner.

Instead, she met the oddest pair imaginable. The father, Wailant, had huge, tattooed and scarred arms revealed by his sleeveless cotton shirt. It had taken Ryoka several minutes just to process the incongruity of his appearance. She managed to break down the weirdness into several layers.

Firstly, his arms were muscled. Not surprising on a [Farmer], and Garia was certainly strong as all get-out from her years working. But the tattoos? One was of a twisting tentacle holding a ship, the other of some kind of horrific fish with a gaping maw. The other, well, Ryoka was just glad that Mrsha was more interested in her food than in Wailant.

And his shirt! That was another weird part of him. Because despite wearing a sleeveless shirt, it was far from a poor quality cloth. The shirt itself was a light blue gilded with gold. It had a flowing edge around the bottom and sides reminiscent of a golden wave.

And the scars. Unless farming in this world involved fighting mutant rabbits with teeth like swords, Wailant had gotten the savage scars that covered his arms somewhere else. He had a particularly nasty circular wound—from an arrow, perhaps—on the side of his stubbled face.

In short, he looked as little like a [Farmer] as Ryoka could imagine. And his wife, Viceria?

She was a [Mage]. She wore the robe, spoke like Pisces when he wasn’t being obnoxiously wordy, and Ryoka could sense the magic about her. She had long, flowing hair tied back in a braid—light brown, contrasting against Wailant’s black hair. She was slim, elegant.

Ryoka sat at a dinner table with the two of Garia’s parents as she ate, filling her plates with roast yams, a hot egg-and-pork casserole, spooned potatoes and some kind of weird, soft and sour vegetable called Tashal onto her plate, and tried to make conversation.

“Uh, yes. That’s right. Her name’s Ivolethe. She’s ah…a friend.”

“Oh? I wasn’t aware they had names. Garia told me about seeing your friend’s true form. I had no idea they were using a glamour at the time, but that would explain their other abilities. How did you meet her?”

Viceria tapped her fingers together as she studied Ryoka over her plate. She was using silver…silverware. In fact, the plates were costly ceramics. Ryoka carefully chewed down a bite of Tashal—it really was good with potatoes, like sour cream—before replying.

“I ah, attracted their notice. Those little b—those pests followed me for days, pulling pranks on me, throwing snow at my head, and so on. In the end I managed to impress them a bit, and Ivolethe seemed to like me.”

“So you have one of those devils following you?”

Sitting next to Fals and his wife, Wailant snorted. He folded his arms as Mrsha tried to fill her mouth with food. The Gnoll was happily consuming everything she could reach, and her plate kept being filled by Wailant, who seemed to enjoy watching Mrsha eat. She and Garia were the only things he seemed to approve of—Fals and Ryoka were getting the third degree.

“Those pests can wreck a farm in a day. I remember one of the farmers south of here lost an entire spring harvest when they covered his fields with eight feet of snow! He had to hire [Diggers] to shift it while all the other snow had long melted away!”

Ryoka coughed awkwardly and saw Garia wince. Her friend was sitting on her right, next to Fals, and she looked guilty as her father stared hard at Ryoka.

“I uh, didn’t know about that. I’m sorry for your friend—”

“My friend? I hated that bastard. I’m glad the faeries covered his fields. Served him right. But your friend’s not going to do it to my farm now, is she?”

“No. Absolutely not. Ivolethe doesn’t generally cause trouble—she just pulls pranks.”

“But she can do quite a lot on her own, can’t she? Garia told us about what happened to the Runner’s Guild in Celum.”

Viceria gazed at Ryoka, making the Runner girl cough. She was saved by Fals, who interrupted with a placating smile.

“I’m sorry to say the Runner’s Guild—and most of the people within—probably deserved it in that case, Miss Viceria. I haven’t seen Ryoka’s little friend doing anything else like that. In fact, I’d consider someone who’s familiar with snow and such an asset.”

“Oh. So that’s why Miss Ryoka’s had all those lucrative contracts? I wanted to know how she got deliveries for gold—hundreds of gold coins or so Garia’s said—while she’s still running deliveries for silver and copper. Is it all because of your Frost Faerie friend?”

Garia sat up in her seat, flushing scarlet and glaring at her father.

“Dad. I don’t think Ryoka is—don’t embarrass me!”

Wailant Strongheart was unmoved. He was giving Ryoka a look she wished she could bottle and use on everyone she didn’t like. Coming from him, it was, well, hard not to flinch. Ryoka met Wailant’s green eyes, not backing down.

“I got those contracts because I was in the right place at the right time. I didn’t take them from anyone.”

“So you say.”

Wailant shifted, uncrossing one arm. Ryoka could see every muscle in his right arm shift for the motion. Sitting across from her, Fals leaned back as one of Wailant’s arms flexed, making the fish tattoo seem to swim. He grinned a bit desperately and nodded at Ryoka.

“We’re ah, all City Runners here, Mister Wailant, Miss Viceria. No one takes advantage of each other if we can help it. We’re a team. Ryoka just happens to be one of the best Runners in our Guild. In truth, I wouldn’t take half the requests she does. Running through the High Passes? I’d rather play tag with a Creler, or paint myself red and run through the streets of Celum naked.”

That got a laugh. Garia giggled and Wailant barked out a guffaw and slapped Fals on the back. Ryoka winced as she heard the crack of flesh on flesh. Fals kept grinning, although it looked like he was now struggling not to cry out in pain.

He was being charming, funny, and talkative. At first Ryoka had assumed it was the usual Fals, but she’d quickly realized that this was a defense tactic. Keeping Garia’s parents entertained was far more preferable to having them ask piercing questions. Ryoka wondered how he’d survived an hour already.

To change the subject, Ryoka cast about the table. Hostile parents aside, Garia’s house was really very nice. Extraordinarily nice. Again, Ryoka had expected a family that conformed to medieval economics, which was to say, dirt poor. But everything in the Strongheart family home looked well-made and some things looked expensive. They had a bookshelf filled with books for crying out loud! Ryoka chose that as the subject and nodded at it.

“I see you have quite a collection of books. I uh, didn’t know that [Farmers] were so well read. I’ve tried buying books myself, but they’re as expensive as healing potions, some of them. How did you come by this collection?”

“We’re humble folk, Miss Ryoka. That doesn’t mean we’re stupid. Or poor, for that matter.”

How did she manage to put her foot further into her mouth? Ryoka saw Garia burying her head in her hands as Wailant pushed back his chair. There was nothing poor or humble about the way he brought out several of the books for Ryoka and Fals to admire. She stared at the covers, noting several from her time perusing Magnolia’s library.

“It’s a magnificent collection.”

“Of course it is! I’ve read them all. Viceria here knows several [Shopkeepers] and [Merchants] who sell to [Lords] and [Ladies]. Of course, a poor family of [Farmers] can’t afford more than one or two first-edition tomes. Read all of these, have you?”

“Not all of them.”

Ryoka found herself being quizzed aggressively on the books she had read as the dinner continued. All the while, she saw Garia grow more and more anxious. She kept breaking into her father’s flow, trying to change the subject.

“So uh, does anyone want dessert? Mrsha? Why don’t I uh, get it? And you, Dad.”

She practically dragged her father out of his chair and into the kitchen. Mrsha followed, waddling a bit with her full belly and standing upright so the food wouldn’t come out if she fell over. Fals took that moment to flee for the outhouse, leaving Ryoka in a moment’s reprieve.

Well, Viceria was still there. Ryoka eyed her across the table and saw the woman smile.

“I apologize for my husband, Miss Ryoka.”

“It’s uh, fine. Call me Ryoka. Why do I get the feeling that he doesn’t like me?”

Viceria laughed softly. She looked like she was ten years younger than she was, which was, according to Garia, in her thirties. Ryoka was having a hard time imagining her giving birth to Garia. Oh, the features were there, the hair color was the same, but the body shape—no.

“I think that it’s because you look a lot like the girls that used to give Garia a hard time when she was growing up. You have their look, and I think Wailant’s concerned you might be taking advantage of Garia. I won’t pretend I didn’t have the same thoughts when I met young Fals, but he seems decent enough.”

That clarified some things. Ryoka sat back in her chair, hearing Garia’s not-so-quiet argument with her father about much the same subject in the kitchen.

“Oh? What do I look like?”

Viceria shrugged, looking slightly bitter.

“Tall, beautiful, thin. It’s not as if Garia doesn’t look lovely herself, but she thinks she should look more like me, when she inherited her father’s build. And of course, her first class was [Farmer], not [Mage]…”

“Wait, her class?”

Ryoka frowned. Viceria looked surprised.

“Of course. Don’t you know? Some classes dictate the way in which we, well, look. I am a [Mage], for instance. Working with magic means I tend to look younger than I really am—of course, there are spells that help as well. But [Mages] tend towards thinness. We burn too much energy for most of us to gain weight. Whereas classes like [Farmer], well, anyone who grows up with that class tends to grow a lot larger than say, someone who was raised as a [Clerk].”

Was that really true? Ryoka frowned as she tried to unpack this. The way you looked could tie to your class? She could buy the bit about [Mages] burning energy, but surely broad shoulders were in Garia’s genes, not a byproduct of her class. Then again, this was a world governed by Skills. Why couldn’t there be a passive effect that did just that?

“I didn’t know about classes like that. But Garia and I are, well, friends. She made my acquaintance and we’ve hung out. I wouldn’t ever take advantage of her. She’s a good person.”

“We know. But while she doesn’t say it, we’ve heard her talking about people less kind than you two are. We’ve met some of them before, as well.”

Viceria shook her head, looking troubled.

“Some girls seem to think they’re better than Garia just because they weigh less, or they can run faster. Apparently, Garia isn’t well thought of in the Runner’s Guild.”

The same in every world. Ryoka gritted her teeth. She took a breath, and then looked Viceria in the eye, speaking clearly.

“I think Garia’s worth twice as much as other City Runners. She’s had my back in two fights so far, and both times she didn’t hesitate to help me, even when we were fighting a group of adventurers.”

The woman blinked at her.

“Garia? In a fight?”

“What?”

There was an exclamation from the kitchen. Ryoka turned her head and saw Wailant, holding a pot full of custard. Behind him, Garia buried her face in her hands.

Wailant put the pot on the table and turned to face Ryoka. He wasn’t frowning, although he did loom a bit.

“Are you telling me my girl was in a fight?”

Ryoka leaned back a bit. This was going south. She wondered if she could jump out a window with Mrsha if it came to it.

“Yes, Mister Wailant. It was my fault. She was defending me after some idiots picked a fight and—”

“How’d she do?”

Wailant stared at Ryoka. She froze. He stared at her expectantly, as did Viceria.

“Did she knock anyone down? How many folks were in it? Did she kick anyone in the balls? I told her, that’s the way to start and end a fight in a hurry.”

“Dad!”

Ryoka stared at Wailant. She felt like she was running on the wrong track—she’d felt that way the instant she’d met Garia’s parents. But for the first time, she felt like she could see the right way to talk to him. So she sat up in her chair, smiled a bit, and nodded at Garia, who was red as an apple.

“One punch, Mister Wailant. She took out a Bronze-rank adventurer with one hit. She probably would have done the same to his friends, but the Watch broke things up before we could get to it.”

The fight at the inn with the adventurers that Persua had brought came out over dessert. Ryoka sat at the table, eating lightly spiced custard while Mrsha licked two bowls clean and then lapsed into a food coma. Fals came back, and Garia covered her burning face as her two parents heard both times when Garia had stepped up in a physical way to defend Ryoka.

The mood in the room had changed. Wailant was nodding with fierce, fatherly pride and Viceria was smiling as they heard how Garia had knocked out her opponents with one hit on both occasions.

“That’s my girl. One solid punch is all you need. Once the other fellow’s on the floor, a few good kicks and they’re out for good.”

He jabbed out with a fast punch to demonstrate, nearly clipping Fals. Ryoka grinned at him as Viceria filled her bowl with some more custard.

“You’re pretty proud of Garia for fighting. I would have thought you’d be worried.”

“Worried? Hah! Our daughter’s got [Enhanced Strength]! At her age, no less! She could knock out an ox with her fists if she wanted to.”

“Dad! Stop! Come on!”

“I don’t doubt she could. But Garia’s no fighter. She’s a [Runner].”

Wailant ignored his daughter as she tried to kick him underneath the table.

“Yes, but she’s my daughter, and that mean’s she’s got a warrior’s blood in her veins. She’s more than a match for a green-ass adventurer who doesn’t know the handle of his sword from the blade.”

Ryoka eyed Wailant, askance.

“I thought you were a [Farmer].”

He grinned at her, suddenly chummy.

“I am. But I used to fight for a living.”

“Really now?”

“Oh yes. I was a [Sailor]. Haven’t you seen the tattoos? I used to sail across the world, to all five continents!”

He flexed one bicep to show Ryoka the image of the tentacle grabbing the ship. She’d hardly missed it, but all the pieces suddenly fell into place. Well, some of them at least.

Fals blinked at Wailant.

“You were a [Sailor]? How’d you end up here?”

Wailant opened his mouth, but his wife cut in.

“My husband’s not a sailor, Fals. I’m sorry to say that’s the little lie he likes to tell. He did sail, but he was hardly an honest man.”

“Yeah, Dad. Tell the truth!”

Garia glared at Wailant, who protested.

“I was a [Sailor]!”

Two pairs of female eyes stared at him. He sighed.

“No? Fine. I was a [Pirate]. Happy?”

Both Ryoka and Fals’ mouths dropped open. Mrsha rolled over in her seat, oblivious, but suddenly Wailant the [Farmer] became someone else. He sat back in his chair, the custard forgotten and started telling the two Runners about his past.

“Oh yes, I was a [Pirate]. What, you think I got these scars from pulling up potatoes? Well, this one I got from killing a Creler. Nasty bastards—as bad as anything at sea, that’s the truth! But I took my first step on the deck. My family was from Baleros—yes, they were [Pirates] too. It’s in the blood, not that I knew them. My father died at sea before I was born and my mother died in a battle when I was five. I had two brothers and a sister—can’t tell you where they are. But I learned to fight and got my share of the plunder as soon as I could use a sword.”

The world was a funny place. Ryoka knew you could meet all kinds of people in her world, people who lived in quiet places who had all kinds of amazing stories to tell. But this? Wailant had been a [Pirate]. He’d sailed under a ruthless [Pirate Captain], taken down enemy ships, fought in the worst storms against monsters, even battled with a group of Gold-rank adventurers who’d been after his ship!

He’d been a Level 27 [Pirate] when he quit sailing for good and found an honest ship headed for Izril. Not because he’d lost his ship or run into any bad luck either—he’d retired as wealthy as any Gold-rank adventurer. But he hadn’t stayed at sea like the rest of his crew.

“I got sick of rocking ships, the damp, salt in my hair and thousands of glowing eyes watching me from the waters on bad nights. Out there in the depths of the sea…I could have become a [Storm Sailor], or a [Captain] of my own ship had I wanted to. But I chose land instead. Do I have regrets? Perhaps. I could have had a ship of my own, but you see, I knew in my heart that I was making the right choice…”

Both Garia and her mother rolled their eyes as Wailant went on. They’d heard this story a thousand times, probably inflated no end over the years. But Ryoka and Fals were entranced. Fals broke in as Wailant waxed poetical about nights spent on deck, staring up at the stars.

“How’d you end up around here though, so far from the sea?”

The man grimaced.

“Practicality. The vast amount of my fortune went to clearing the bounty on my head. What I had left I used to buy a farm, and then to pay for food and supplies for the first few years before I leveled up enough to make a living with my own hands. I bought it far inland because I was sick of seeing water—and because I had more than a few enemies who would like to see me dead. I thought a farm would be nice and relaxing—and it was, after I learned how to manage it!”

The first few years had not been kind to Wailant, but he’d persevered, not shying from the work.

“Plus, I had my advantages. I couldn’t figure out how to make the damn oxen plough a straight line for months, but I didn’t have to stick together in a village, afraid of monsters at night. If a band of Goblins came roaming around, or a Creler tried to dig a nest in my lands, I’d kill it with this!”

He had a cutlass, shimmering with an enchantment that he apparently kept with him while farming at all times. He’d looted it as his share of treasure long ago, and it had saved his life more than once on the farm.

“It’s also how I met Viceria. She was a Wistram graduate, trying to study the Blood Fields when she ran into a group of Carn Wolves. I found her escort dead and killed two of the damn things before the pack ran off. She and I got to talking, and well, nights are cold on a farm.”

“Ew! Dad!”

Garia shoved her father, sending him tumbling across the room. He cursed like a sailor—or pirate—as he got to his feet, and Ryoka sat back in her chair. That explained…a lot.

“That’s incredible. And you—Miss Viceria—”

“Just call me Viceria. That’s right. I stayed. I’m an expert at magic involving plants. I’m no [Geomancer], but rather a [Green Mage]. That’s different from a [Druid], by the way. I’m a respectable level in that, but I found being a [Farmer] far easier than competing at Wistram. There’s not much respect for disciplines involving growing, or there wasn’t when I lived there.”

And so, the incredible farming duo had been born. Neither Wailant nor Viceria were specialists in the [Farmer] class like the Level 30 [Farmers] who could supply an entire city with produce, but they had their own skillsets that helped a great deal.

“Most farms, well, they need two dozen farmhands just to harvest and guards and so on. Even a high-level [Farmer] has to be wary of bandits and monsters. I don’t have that issue, and my wife has the spells to grow crops faster than normal, as good as a Skill! Between the two of us, we supply a good deal of produce for Celum. Enough to live comfortably on and I can always hire a few brats to take in the harvest when it comes time for it. Besides, the farming life’s fairly quiet, and I enjoy not fighting for my life every other day.”

Wailant and Viceria smiled as they looked at each other. Garia looked away, blushing, but Ryoka felt a bit envious. Wailant had seen the kraken—literally, apparently—and walked away. He’d found a way to live that was satisfying and he’d found someone to share it with.

She took a sip of mulled wine. By this point, everyone was sitting around a dim fire. Mrsha was curled up next to it, snoring, and Garia was yawning. As Fals and Ryoka chatted to her parents, Garia grew sleepier, until she had to excuse herself for the night.

“I might have to do the same.”

Fals admitted after a jaw-cracking yawn. He stood up as Viceria offered to show him to the room they’d prepared for him. She, Garia, and Fals left as Wailant sat by Ryoka, staring at the fire. Viceria came back alone, and that left Ryoka with the two older Stronghearts.

She didn’t mind. It was odd, but in the course of an evening, Wailant and Viceria had turned from intimidating, antagonistic parents into, well, people. Ryoka even found herself liking Wailant’s style of dressing. Apparently he couldn’t live with sleeves after having bared arms all his life.

“It’s an incredible place you have here, Wailant, Viceria. I’m glad Garia’s got such great parents.”

“Hah. Great parents would be able to help their daughter. But she’s a [Runner] and we’ve no idea if she’s safe or in danger half the time. It’s only when she comes back that we know she’s safe, and she does that too seldom.”

Wailant sat with a stiff drink in his hand. He’d already downed six, having an incredibly high tolerance for alcohol, but he was in the depressed stage. Viceria sat with wine by the fire, glancing between it and at Ryoka.

“She says she’s been doing well. But I’ve heard her stories and I hear you have something to do with helping her out.”

“Just a few things here and there. Nothing much.”

Ryoka shook her head. Wailant stared at her, tapping his fingers.

“That’s not what she says. She came back with potions at her belt a few weeks ago. That was thanks to you. We offered her coin for it before, but she’s too proud—”

“She won’t let us buy her magical artifacts, or buy her things ourselves.”

That surprised Ryoka. She would have thought Garia would have taken any chance to get ahead, but her parents shook their heads when asked.

“My daughter’s as stubborn as I am. She wanted to fit in, not get ahead. I told her the best Runners have all the advantages they can get, but she thought it would make her too different, that it was cheating. I told her, on the sea you cheat if you can do it! Put a hole in the enemy’s hull, climb onto their decks and stab them while they’re sleeping! But Garia’s not like me.”

“She’s not a warrior, you mean?”

Wailant shook his head, looking unhappy.

“I’d have liked her to be. It needn’t be her class, but it would set my mind at ease if she could defend herself. Only, she’s got no talent with a sword.”

“Or magic.”

Viceria nodded as she traced around the rim of her cup.

“She can’t use a spear—”

“Or bow—”

“And I wouldn’t bet a Drowned Man’s eye against her hitting anything but a tree with a hatchet. Our daughter’s strong and tough, but she’s too clumsy to be a warrior, if she had the temperament for that class to begin with. Which she doesn’t.”

Wailant downed his cup, tossed it aside. Viceria gave him an accusing look which he ignored. He stared at Ryoka.

“You say she punched out a man in armor? That’s good. But fists aren’t enough against swords or arrows, let alone magic. A brawl’s one thing, but [Bandits]? How can I rest easy knowing she might be jumped by them? Sea’s wrath, she has been attacked before. Someday I’ll get a letter from the Runner’s Guild, and then…”

He trailed off, looking tired and worried. In that moment, he looked like every parent Ryoka had ever known. Like her parents. She felt something squeeze at her heart.

“Garia’s brave. She has people looking out for her. Fals, for instance, and I try when I’m in the area. If fighting’s the problem, maybe she can carry artifacts?”

“Maybe. But an artifact’s only good if you can use it. A Skill lasts, and there’s the instinct of a warrior as well. I could be sure of myself if I was jumped, but if someone took her by surprise—salt and shores, I’m not half as strong as I would be on a ship, but I wish I could give that to Garia. Some way to dodge arrows. Or a ring! But that costs coin and the farm doesn’t earn enough for us to buy an artifact that expensive…”

Ryoka stared at the fire. A girl who couldn’t fight and two parents who worried about her. It was a story for this world. In any other world, Garia could live while relying on law enforcement, but here the law ended at the gates, and sometimes didn’t even work within a city. What could you give someone who couldn’t use a sword? Without the ability to use magic?

The Runner girl stared at Wailant’s arm, and then at her hand. She made a fist, and stared at it.

“Oh.”

Both Wailant and Viceria looked at Ryoka. She blinked at her hand. It felt like forever since she’d…she stood up and threw a punch.

“Nice one.”

Wailant watched Ryoka as she punched and then threw a hook. She stood differently, moved differently than Wailant as she did. He’d punched like a boxer, but Ryoka kept her hands higher, at head-level, and further apart, bouncing on her feet. She was moving according to a style, and Wailant, used to fighting, saw it.

“Are you a [Fistfighter], or some kind of [Brawler]?”

“Not quite. I learned how to fight back home. Only, it’s not a Skill I learned, but a style. A way of fighting.”

Ryoka jumped and kicked. Viceria made a sound. Wailant stared.

“I’ve seen idiots do that when fighting. Jumping around before they get cut to ribbons. But that looked like it could have done damage.”

“Not to a monster. Not with my strength.”

Ryoka shook her head, remembering trying to fight a Carn Wolf. She punched and kicked, dodging back from an imaginary foe. Her muscles protested a bit. How long had it been since Ryoka had practiced?

“So why learn how to fight like that?”

“It helps. Against humans, people with knives. I could defend myself. But I’m not strong enough. If I throw a punch, it won’t knock down a Carn Wolf. Or a Minotaur.”

She paused, felt a pang and hung her head. Calruz. Wailant nodded.

“Minotaurs can’t be beat with bare hands. I’ve seen their black ships too many times. They’re deadly at sea and on land. No sane [Pirate] goes near their islands. But learning to fight like that…there’s some grace to it. Better than I do in a fight at a bar.”

“Yeah. Only it won’t save me from a monster attack. That’s what my legs are for.”

Ryoka turned to Wailant and Viceria. She tapped her arm.

“I’m not strong enough, like I said. If I punch with my…style, I can be sure I’ll hit someone. However, even with a good punch it won’t do enough. Not from me. But if someone else punched like that, someone who could knock an ox out with a punch…”

The former [Pirate] and [Green Mage] stared at Ryoka. Wailant sat up. Viceria smiled.

“You think Garia could learn to fight with her fists? She’s never learnt any other way of fighting. She doesn’t have the knack for it.”

“Yeah, well, martial arts isn’t just about talent. It’s something everyone can learn. It just takes practice.”

“Martial arts. Is that what it’s called?”

Ryoka shook her head, smiling.

“No. This is called Muay Thai Kickboxing. And this—”

She took a different stance, threw a different punch.

“—is called Karate. It might be better for Garia. I don’t know. I thought about teaching some techniques when I saw her in that fight at the inn. I never got around to it. But if you’re worried, I could give her some lessons. She could practice herself if she takes to it.”

She looked at Wailant and Viceria. It was just a thought, something to reassure them. The two parents looked at each other, speaking without words and then Wailant stood up. He cracked his neck, and then beckoned at Ryoka.

“Try me, then. Go ahead. I’ve a few drinks, but if you can knock me down…you don’t have a class, do you?”

She grinned at him.

“Not a one.”

“Garia said that. I couldn’t believe someone would be that stupid.”

“Really? Then let me show you—”

Ryoka twisted, kicked. Wailant dodged back. He laughed, surprised, as Ryoka hopped backwards. She grinned at him, beckoned.

There was something here. In this room, as Viceria told them to not damage the furniture and Ryoka tagged Wailant with a kick that sobered him up and he showed her how fast a former [Pirate] could punch.

In the end, they stopped with bruises and light hearts. Ryoka found herself being slapped on the back by Wailant, and talking with Viceria. She smiled, and carried Mrsha to a room upstairs to sleep. She thought, just for an instant, that it was strange. She’d expected awkwardness, dreaded meeting Garia’s parents, and gotten off to the worst start possible. But suddenly—

She was enjoying herself.

Fancy that. Then Ryoka slept. The next day, she began teaching Garia how to punch. And Ivolethe—

Began teaching her how to use magic.

—-

Ryoka Griffin stood on a hill, facing the wind. She breathed in deeply, and felt the chill of the morning’s air blow through her hair. She stared into the open sky and felt the world pressing down at her.

The clouds were impossibly high overhead. The wind rushed about her, invigorating Ryoka, filling her with quiet contemplation. Her breathing slowed. Her pulse settled. She cleared her mind, became still, meditative. Her mind grew tranquil as Ryoka absorbed nature—

“Not like that, fool! What are ye doing?”

Someone threw snow into Ryoka’s face. She spluttered, opened her eyes, and scowled at Ivolethe.

“What the hell was that for? I’m trying to sense the wind!”

Ivolethe buzzed around Ryoka’s head, an angry blue butterfly with attitude.

“What kind of an idiot does that with their eyes closed? I told ye, to learn faerie magic, ye must first sense the wind.”

“Right. And that’s all you said. I’m here for a lesson. So tell me, how do I sense the wind?”

Ryoka folded her arms and scowled. Ivolethe looked exasperated.

The two were standing on a snowy hilltop near the Strongheart farm. Ryoka had woken up to a very enjoyable breakfast, talked with Garia about learning martial arts and gotten the girl’s wary agreement. She’d taught the girl how to stand and punch and Garia had seemed willing to give it a try, even though she’d giggled and not taken it as seriously as Ryoka would have liked. But Fals had tried it as well, and that had made Garia grow more focused.

Everything had been going swimmingly, in short, until Ivolethe appeared and demanded that Ryoka start learning faerie magic. And that too was great—in fact, Ryoka was excited by the prospect.

Only it appeared Ivolethe’s methods of teaching weren’t as straightforward as Ryoka’s. She’d taken Ryoka to this hill and told her to sense the wind.

“How does it work?”

Ivolethe sighed gustily. She flew in front of Ryoka, folding her tiny pale-blue transparent arms and pointed.

“Ye see the wind?”

“Uh, maybe. I see air.”

Ryoka stared at a blank patch the faerie was pointing at, which was probably what Ivolethe meant. Ivolethe smiled.

“Good! Now follow it.”

She waited. Ryoka stared at the empty patch of air and then glanced at Ivolethe.

“What do you mean, ‘follow it’? There’s nothing to see!”

Ivolethe slapped a hand to her face, making a sound like breaking icicles. She flew to Ryoka’s face and punched the girl in the eye. Ryoka shouted and swung wildly.

“Did I tell ye to stop looking? Look at the wind, you bleeding idiot!”

“There’s nothing to see!”

“Exactly! So look at nothing and see where it goes!”

Ivolethe screamed in Ryoka’s ear. Ryoka opened her watering eye and glared at the faerie. The faerie glared back.

“Let me get this straight. You’re telling me to stare at something invisible.”

Ivolethe rolled her eyes.

“Of course. To control the wind, to know it, ye must see it. And it is invisible! Of course it is! Otherwise you mortals would have already seen it!”

“But how can I see if—”

Ryoka guarded her face as Ivolethe swooped at her again. The faerie flew past her and spoke into her ear.

“Look, fool. Look at what is invisible and see it. With your eyes. With your soul. Look and see. That is all I need tell you. Look. Ye have done it once, on the magic coach.”

Ryoka remembered. She’d seen Ivolethe flying, and seen the wind, followed it for one glorious second. She didn’t remember how she’d done it, but…she nodded.

“Fine. I’ll try.”

Ivolethe nodded, still looking impatient. Ryoka took a deep breath and stared ahead. Watch the wind. See it.

She saw nothing. The wind blew, and it went still. It blew again, but aside from some snow caught up by it, there was nothing to see. Nothing to look at. Ryoka struggled to look at the wind, but she always looked at the wind, didn’t she? It was always there.

Invisible. Unseen. How was she supposed to see it? Ryoka tried adjusting the way she looked at the world, focusing her eyes, tracing an imaginary path the wind took. Nothing worked.

Five minutes passed. Ryoka searched the air for something she couldn’t see, couldn’t imagine seeing, and Ivolethe floated in the air beside her, making discontented faces. She yawned hugely, and Ryoka gritted her teeth.

“I saw that.”

“Did ye? Good. Your eyes are working, then. Now see this.”

Ivolethe yawned wider, showing Ryoka the inside of her mouth, pale red ice and sharp teeth. She flipped one wing as Ryoka growled to herself.

“Hurry up! I’m bored!”

“I’m trying to learn. You’re supposed to be my teacher! Shouldn’t you have some patience and let me try to figure this out?”

“No, fool! Because if ye were going to get it, you’d have already gotten it by now! Magic isn’t something you can keep trying over and over!”

“That’s because you’re not giving me any instructions. If you want me to see the wind, tell me how in more detail.”

Ryoka snapped, but Ivolethe just flipped herself over so she was staring at Ryoka upside down. She spoke, suddenly serious.

“I cannot.”

“Why not? Because it’s secret?”

“No, because there are no words for it. It is magic, Ryoka Griffin. Magic. It is something you understand in here, not here.”

She flew over and tapped Ryoka’s chest, then flew up and tapped her head. Ryoka nodded slowly.

“Instinct? I have to get a feel for it, that’s what you’re saying. Then if I keep practicing—”

“No.”

Ivolethe sighed. She rubbed at her face, frowning hard. She shook her head.

“It is not instinct. You cannot learn this by practicing.”

“But you said—”

“It is grace, mortal. Grace and naught else. Grace and wonder. A moment. It is not something ye can learn in a book. It is not something you can keep trying to do. You will learn it in a moment of purest understanding—or never.”

The Frost Faerie looked at Ryoka in the eye. Ryoka felt a slight chill that had nothing to do with the cold. She opened her mouth, paused. What Ivolethe said spoke to her, but it made no sense at the same time.

“That’s not how magic works in this world, though. [Mages] study magic in books. They can write it down. They have to study.”

“True.”

Ivolethe nodded, frowning.

“How shall I explain? That is magic. Tamed, and bent for use, yes, but it is still magic. But it is not my magic. Not the magic of the fae. Not deep magic, which runs wild. If ye wish to study that magic, practice. Understand, by all means. But ye shall never see the wind if you think of it as something to be understood, to be learned. The wind is the wind. I ask you to see it, Ryoka. Not understand the why of it.”

Ryoka struggled to make sense of this. On one level she got what Ivolethe was saying. On another…how could you stare at something and not want to know why it was? But that was magic. Ivolethe’s magic.

A moment of grace.

“Back to trying. Try and if you cannot see it, we shall try later. But this is the first step, Ryoka. The only step. Learn to do this, and ye shall see all in time.”

See the wind. Ryoka tried. She really did. But she couldn’t keep what Ivolethe had said in her mind and just try to feel something naturally. And the Frost Faerie saw it.

“Stop. Another chance will come. Look for the wind elsewhere, Ryoka, but ye won’t see it here.”

And that was it. The lesson was done. Ivolethe floated past Ryoka as the girl sighed, disappointed. The Frost Faerie laughed as she pointed down the hill.

“Go back to your mortal friends. Look at the child!”

Ryoka turned and saw that her martial arts lesson had attracted more than just Fals. Mrsha was standing clumsily in the snow, trying to punch like Garia. She kept punching, and falling over by her own momentum.

It was very cute. Ryoka laughed and took out her iPhone as she descended the hill. She tried to turn it on, but found to her deepest disappointment that it had run out of power! She cursed to herself. It was hard to remember to get Pisces to cast [Repair] on it. Erin would just have to imagine Mrsha’s antics.

“Ryoka! I don’t think this is right!”

Garia was complaining as she punched the air, blushing as Fals did the same beside her. She’d been willing to try learning, especially after her father had vouched for the effectiveness of Ryoka’s kick, but she was clearly feeling silly.

“Don’t worry, you’re doing good. Raise your arm a bit more. And like I said—each time you punch, breathe out. Like this.”

Ryoka demonstrated, bringing her fists up and punching slowly as she exhaled. Garia copied her, but complained immediately afterwards.

“I get that I’m learning to punch, but I feel silly. I’m just hitting the air!”

“Well, that’s the point. Look, you’re practicing, like you would with a sword.”

“Yeah, but—no one’s going to stand there and let me punch them.”

The girl rolled her eyes and Ryoka barely resisted doing the same.

“I know that, but you have to start at the beginning. Look, just punch like I showed you. You’re using the muscles in your stomach. If you can feel them as you punch…”

“But why would muscles in my stomach help my arms?”

Garia looked confused. Ryoka groaned. How could you explain hundreds of years of biological science to someone who hadn’t even heard of muscle fibers? Well, with martial arts, actually.

“It’s all connected. Look, one of the principle of martial arts is connectedness. Every part of the body works together. Your arms aren’t one separate thing. That’s why when you punch, your entire body, from your arms to your legs go into one motion. That’s why you take a stance and move the same way. It’s the most effective.”

“Is that why you had me do jumping jacks?”

“That’s part of the warm up, yes. So is swinging your arms, rolling your hips, and everything else. You need to be flexible. That’s what these exercises will help you do as well—build muscle so you can move freely.”

“I don’t see why. My arms are already strong. Isn’t that enough if I’m punching someone?”

Garia’s cheeks were red as Ryoka walked her through more exercises, making her learn how to do knee lifts to the elbow, and then hiza-geri, a form of knee striking from Shotokan Karate. She clearly didn’t want Fals to see her doing this silly routine, for all he was doing it with the two girls and Mrsha was too.

“Punching someone isn’t enough, Garia. Strength isn’t enough, although it’s pretty damn important. But martial arts practices defense, movement—it’s a way of living. It’s…a way to be graceful. Grace.”

Ryoka stared ahead until she realized she’d stopped doing knee strikes. She made Garia do twenty until the girl complained her legs were getting tired.

“And I have to do this every day?”

“If you want to get good, yes.”

Ryoka snapped, growing impatient with Garia. She was trying to help, but Garia seemed determined not to get through even the basic forms! She was trying to help—

“Why don’t you show us what a master looks like, Ryoka? I’m sure you see how all this matters, but I’m like Garia. It feels silly to do all this. What does it look like once you keep practicing for a while?”

Fals spoke up and Ryoka blinked at him. She opened her mouth to tell him it wasn’t one kind of thing—and then realized he was right.

Mrsha had grown bored of watching Ryoka practice with Garia. She’d started playing in the snow. Garia’s parents had a hot drink and were smiling and Garia looked fed up. Ivolethe was laughing at Ryoka, and Fals had his eyebrows raised.

They didn’t know what martial arts looked like. Perhaps no one in this world did. Ryoka nodded.

“You’re right, Fals. Let me show you what it looks like, Garia, everyone. Mrsha, get back. Ivolethe, you can stay right there for all I care. I’ll show you…what training your body can do.”

Ryoka took a few steps away from Garia and cleared some snow off of the ground. There was grass underfoot. Not ideal—Ryoka would have liked a firmer surface, but it would have to do.

Garia sat back with Fals, blushing at him and watching Ryoka with a bit of interest. Ryoka smiled to herself. There was something familiar about this moment. Hadn’t she done this once? Oh yes. When her leg had been healed. When she’d been able to move again.

It was the same. Ryoka took a breath, and then ran forwards. She jumped, and then did a handspring into the air. Her audience gasped, but that was only a warm-up. Ryoka landed, twisted, and back flipped up and over, landing on a patch of snow to silence, and then cheering.

“What was that? How did you do that?”

Garia nearly tripped over her own feet, running over to Ryoka. She stared in amazement at the girl, but Ryoka put up a hand.

“I’m just getting started. Watch out—”

She did a standing front flip, which was easy, but again, totally astounded everyone watching. Mrsha ran over to Ryoka, screaming in inaudible excitement. Fals stared at his feet and hopped experimentally as if to try.

The Humans and Gnoll watched as Ryoka did another backflip, this time with a run up. Ryoka cursed as she nearly slipped on landing. The snow was not the place for tricks. But her audience didn’t care. They had never seen someone move like Ryoka could.

The next thing Ryoka tried was a standing cork, or standing corkscrew. It involved her standing with her left leg raised slightly off the ground and behind her right leg, which was slightly bent. Then, Ryoka jumped up and her entire body twisted around and up, sending her spinning up and around. It wasn’t like a front flip at all. In fact, it was so fast that Garia and the others couldn’t even tell what Ryoka had done.

It was a move from a martial art devoted just to tricks. Appropriately, it was called Tricking, a way of doing flashy moves like you’d see in movies. Naturally, Ryoka had learned how to do several tricks, and this one, a standing cork seemed to defy the laws of gravity for those watching it for the first time.

In slow motion, it would look as if Ryoka’s leg came up, propelling her into the air, and then her body curled and twisted several times before her foot came down, landing her on the ground. Ryoka did this again for her stunned audience—

And wiped out.

Spectacularly, as it happened. Ryoka messed up the landing and slipped on some snow and hit the ground hard. She was up in a second to reassure Mrsha, but she’d hit herself hard enough to bruise.

That actually helped, because after seeing her flub so badly, the watchers were even more convinced Ryoka was insane as she did several more tricks. Determined to make up for that hilarious failure, Ryoka did a spinning aerial kick that hit Ivolethe as the faerie flew a good six feet up in the air. The faerie went flying, screaming insults, more surprised than hurt.

“How are you doing that?”

“Practice!”

Ryoka laughed as she did a series of tricks, spinning and kicking into the air, flipping around—flying. Tricking. It wasn’t a formal martial art. Or rather, it wasn’t a type of martial arts that applied to fighting or self-defense. It was more like a sport, an activity, an exhibition of what the human body could do.

There were very few situations that required Ryoka to jump into the air, spin, land on one leg, flip herself forward and then kick, but that wasn’t the point.

It was a performance. Ryoka did a running flip off of a handstand in the snow, jumped up, kicked at a target twice her height in the air and landed. She nearly slipped and fell in the snow, but then she was laughing, hearing Garia and Fals shout in amazement.

“See? This is martial arts! This is what you can do if you practice!”

Next, Ryoka showed the group some more practical moves, doing the roundhouse kick she loved so much, punching, blocking, moving to avoid and counter invisible enemies. It wasn’t as showy as Tricking, but it was just as amazing to the people watching.

Because they had never seen this either. Warriors with swords were one thing, but this was different. This was martial arts, which emphasized moves that had no wasted movement, that could be performed because the user had practiced them again and again.

No one in this world did flips. What would be the point? Oh, maybe a [Tumbler] could do it, or an [Acrobat] if they even existed. But no one in this world had had the time to practice, to do a backflip. Because there was no point! No point, which is why there weren’t people doing acrobatic tricks in ancient Rome, at least, as far as Ryoka knew.

There was no necessity to anything Ryoka did. No reason to do it, except because it was amazing and wonderful and inspiring.

And fun.

And as Ryoka ran and did a handspring into the air, she felt alive. She’d forgotten, somewhere, what it was like to just move for the sake of moving. The wind was blowing through her hair. She felt like she was flying, just like the first time she’d ever pulled one of these tricks off.

It felt as though at any moment, as you were flying upwards, the world twisting around you, that you could just soar into the heavens, that your body could carry you upwards without limit. Ryoka leapt, and saw something in the air.

A flash of movement. She saw the wind. She saw it twist around her—

“Ryoka!”

Garia cried out and Ryoka found herself flipping over and over, upwards and up. And then down. She shouted, lost control—

And fell.

It was a long way down. When Ryoka woke up with Mrsha covering her face, Garia told her Ryoka had gone for a gainer, a backflip off of one foot. She’d leapt into the air, and then, somehow, kept flipping upwards. She ended up flying ten feet into the air before falling. Ryoka had successfully done a quadruple gainer, a feat never performed in the history of human kind as something—the wind—had carried her up.

Unfortunately, she’d missed the landing. Panicked, confused by what had happened, Ryoka had landed the most impressive face-plant in the snow, again, perhaps the most impressive one ever seen. She’d knocked herself out as everyone had gone running over.

When she’d heard all of this and gotten Mrsha off her, Ryoka sat up, looked for Ivolethe, and tried to kill her friend.

“What the hell was that for? Was that payback for kicking you? Because if it was—”

“It wasn’t me! It wasn’t me!”

Ivolethe shouted as she flew away from Ryoka. The girl stopped, glaring at Ivolethe and swaying on her feet.

“What the hell do you mean? It was you! I saw it! You used the wind—”

“Not me, you fool! I did nothing!”

“What?”

Ryoka stared at her. She realized what Ivolethe was saying and paled.

“But then I—”

The Frost Faerie grinned at Ryoka. The girl froze, staring at her, at the clear blue sky.

“But that’s impossible. I was showing off. I wasn’t trying to—”

Ivolethe floated up, smiling broadly. She tapped Ryoka in the chest, grinning and shaking her head.

“Showing off? That was the best time for it! You didn’t try. In that moment, ye were Ryoka at your most natural. You did not feel. You saw. And the wind saw you.”

“I did it?”

Ryoka stared at Ivolethe. She stared around, at where Fals was gingerly trying to do a handstand, at Garia, who was determinedly punching the air and Mrsha, doing flips as Wailant tossed her up and Viceria watched with a wand at the ready, just in case.

Then she looked at Ivolethe. To her surprise, there were tears in the faerie’s eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

The small Frost Faerie shook her head.

“Ah. I did not know. I did not know what else Humans came up with. I lived with a body like yours for years, but this?”

She did a corkscrew in the air, flipping over, a perfect copy of the move Ryoka had done. Ivolethe laughed.

“This! This is new. This is something else. And for this, Ryoka Griffin, I thank you. For showing me something I have never seen.”

She landed on the ground, and took a few steps. Ivolethe kicked up into the air and back flipped up past Ryoka, into the sky. Her laughter was all Ryoka heard. It filled the world as Ivolethe flipped upwards, not flying, but borne by the wind. Ryoka stared as the faerie flew and whispered one word.

“Grace.”

1.02 D

It was a hot, humid day when Quallet Marshhand walked into the recruiting grounds and claimed the half-rotted booth he’d bought for the day. It was always a hot day in Baleros. At least the winter kept the worst edge of the heat off, but Quallet had gotten used to feeling sweat run down his face long ago.

The booth Quallet had bought for five silver pieces wasn’t worth half a copper one, in his opinion. The humid weather had already rotted half of the woodwork, and he was sure that if he put his axe or helmet on the booth, it would collapse. And scrabbling around in the dirt for his gear wouldn’t do him any favors, especially when he was on a tight schedule.

So Quallet leaned his axe against the booth and kept his helmet on. It was already hot, and at least the helmet added to his presence. He had to compete with the others standing at their respective booths and shouting. It wasn’t like this recruiting ground was particularly large; there were only six or so occupied booths, but the recruiters standing at each one were shouting loud enough for twice their number.

“Any [Mages] are welcome to the Tanglelurk Lights!”

“Roll up and become one of the Virulent Plague! Enlist with a friend and earn double pay for your first month!”

“Join the Raverian Fighters! We’re offering a premium on experienced warriors! Apply now!”

Quallet had to smirk when he heard the last shout. The Raverian Fighters? They must be desperate to be recruiting in the middle of a campaign. Anyone with half a brain would know better than to join that company, especially with how things were going.

Still, mocking the opposition was a pointless endeavor. Quallet was here to recruit, so he drew in a breath and began shouting himself.

“Gravetender’s Fist is accepting new recruits! Join an experienced suppression company and make coin without dying in your first battle!”

Heads turned and instantly, a fair number of the individuals in the recruiting grounds began drifting over in his direction. Quallet let them come, not bothering to redouble his shouting. Instead he stood, arms crossed, waiting.

It was about presence. In Baleros, a company of warriors might live or die based on the efforts of their recruiters. These groups or individuals would go from village to city, sometimes competing against hundreds of other companies to find talent, other times marching through an empty dirt street and shouting by themselves.

It was hard, unrewarding work, and usually given to an unlucky officer or as punishment detail. You’d never see one of the leaders of the Four Great Companies come to this recruiting ground. No, you’d get some unhappy [Sergeant], trying to meet his quota and stay out of the heat.

And that was the mistake most companies made. Because a company was only as good as its recruits, and Quallet had learned long ago that the best recruits were snapped up in an instant. Hence, why he’d come himself.

He was a Level 32 [Mercenary Captain], a seasoned warrior and a powerful leader in his own right. Quallet knew at a glance that he was the highest-leveled individual in the entire recruiting ground, and he had the armor and flash to go along with his Skills.

Thus, the large group of Humans, Lizardfolk, Dullahans and the smaller handful of Centaurs drew closer to see what he was offering. In Baleros, the mercenary companies that fought and bled and died for every petty squabble and major war came in every flavor and kind imaginable. New and experienced soldiers would frequent these grounds, seeking out the best contracts for themselves.

Not that this backwater village had any experienced warriors. It had probably been visited at the start of winter. Now, only unseasoned raw recruits were left, people with no combat classes that probably had never held a sword. Not ideal for company recruiting, but fine with Quallet. Scooping up a hundred such people was his goal today. It would allow him to sell his services in the nearest warzone for quite a bit of gold.

The trick was that he represented a company by himself. As a [Mercenary Captain], Quallet had the Skills to turn the worst fighters into a half-decent force, with him leading them. With a hundred or so fresh recruits, Quallet could advertise his company to the highest bidder at a competitive rate. Just so long as Quallet found a decent pool of people to draw from, and made sure that the best of the bunch weren’t snapped up.

He had an advantage there too. Among the precious Skills that allowed him to lead his company, Quallet had the Skill [Talent Seeker], which allowed him to find the best of any bunch for his company. Assuming the other recruiters didn’t have similar abilities—and it was a good bet this lot were only [Sergeants] and [Soldiers] with few Skills between them—Quallet would walk away with most of his company within the hour.

A decent crowd had gathered—quite a lot of Humans for a village Quallet could have sworn was filled with Lizardfolk. No matter. Him being Human helped in that area as well. He took a breath and spoke at a field roar, making the people closest to him flinch back.

“So you’re in need of coin, eh? Fancy going to war? Running from something, or seeking adventure? You’re in the right place. A [Soldier] lives to fight, and you’ll see plenty of that in Baleros, where the jungles run red with blood!”

That drew knowing nods from several in the crowd, but the Humans just stared at him. They were an odd bunch, dressed strangely with bright clothing. One had a strange, flat object with a glowing light coming out one end. Some kind of artifact? Quallet pretended not to notice. He went on with his little speech, going through the same motions like he had a thousand times.

“Don’t fancy being a [Soldier]? A [Warrior] will find just as much work, and the best can earn a living as an adventurer. Joining up with a company is the right first step. However, what these other companies don’t tell you is that of every ten raw recruits that enlist, six of them will be dead in the first year!”

That rattled his audience. Quallet looked among them. Yes, a group of young Lizardfolk, scales practically fresh. Dullahans with wood armor, all young, most carrying their heads and peering at him uncertainly. The Centaurs shifted from foot to foot and the Humans—still staring.

The other recruiters in the square were now giving Quallet death-glares from where they stood, but he didn’t care. He spoke the truth and every recruiter knew it. But only Quallet could turn that knowledge into an asset.

“Four in ten odds don’t sound good to you lot, eh? It takes a steady hand and talent to survive your first clash. Fancy yourselves natural-born fighters? You, boy.”

He pointed at a pale-skinned youth wearing some sort of hat. It looked like nothing Quallet had ever seen before. The material was bright and there was some kind of symbol on top. A company’s crest? A red bird sitting on an odd bit of wood stared at him over the word…‘Cardinals’?

Never mind. Quallet stared as the young man looked around and then grinned nervously.

“What, me?”

“Yes, you! Ever been in combat? Ever killed an opponent? You look sturdy enough. Good with a sword, are you?”

The young man stiffened. He hadn’t, Quallet knew, been in any fights to the death before. He didn’t have the look. And he wasn’t armed. Come to that, none of the Humans were. But bravado was one of the key aspects of youth, so the young man with the odd hat grinned as his Human friends laughed.

“Not with a sword, but…I’ve been in a few fights!”

It took all of Quallet’s willpower not to grimace at the stupid boast. A few fights? He’d heard the same line repeated a thousand times from a thousand soon-to-be-dead faces. A few scraps with fists, rocks, and maybe the occasional dagger wasn’t a real battle. Until they’d survived a Dullahan ambush, or been on the receiving end of a Centaur charge, no one had the right to claim they were experienced.

But it suited his point.

“Good in a fight? Well, perhaps you’d fit in with the Raverian fighters. Or if you know magic, why not enlist with the Tanglelurk company? But if you do, you’ll be on the front, mark me. The first clash will have you going up against experienced warriors. Veterans who’d killed more people than you have fingers. So I wouldn’t bet a ‘few fights’ against a skilled [Halberdier], not for any odds.”

That took the wind out of the young man’s sails. Quallet turned, nodding at the two recruiters he’d just made enemies of.

“They’ll promise you gold for nothing, but it won’t be all of you who see it after months of fighting. Which is why I’m telling you to join my company.”

“And what does your company have that they don’t?”

That came from a brown-skinned Centaur with white fur standing at the back of the crowd. He had a good bit of room, mainly because Centaurs were huge and touchy. The Humans looked especially leery of him. Quallet replied calmly, meeting the Centaur’s gaze.

“I’m the [Captain] of Gravetender’s Fist. Haven’t heard of it? That’s fine. But we’re a suppression company. We don’t go to battle against veterans. We’re night-duty, corpse battlers. You know what I’m talking about.”

They did. The Lizardfolk shifted and some looked back towards the other recruiters. A few Dullahans turned away. The Centaurs were still listening although their faces had twisted with disgust. The Humans were…staring blankly. Did they not know, or just not care? Quallet took a breath.

This was the hard part. Lose too many Lizardfolk and you’d lose them all. The Dullahans were hard to sell to. He could probably get the Centaurs either way, but Quallet wanted all the recruits here. If he got them, he wouldn’t have to go through any more villages and stand in the hot air.

“Not fans of what my company does? I won’t blame you. But we provide an important service, a necessary service for most companies. You’ve heard of the battle between the Razorshard Armor company and the Roving Arrow company, haven’t you? I’m bound for that battlefield after this village, and I’ll be leading my company onto the battlefield each night. It won’t be glamorous—it’ll be muck and death and filth—but it will be safe.”

What an ironic word. But it was true, and it drew attention back to him. Quallet strode back and forth, speaking to the crowd as they watched him.

“Yes, safe! As safe as war can be! You’ll see combat, true enough, but you won’t die like Bloodflies in my company. Eight out of every ten raw recruits that serves under me survives their first month. If you’re new to battle, you’ll gain your first ten levels in a combat class in this company, my oath on it!”

He alone could boast that. Quallet knew, the other recruiters knew, and most of the recruits with a brain knew that signing up with a company meant gambling your life if you were a new recruit. Put your mark with the Raverian Fighters and you’d be fighting on the front lines within the week, and you’d be lucky indeed if you didn’t run up against a high-level soldier, a [Mage], or simply got cut to pieces in the crush. But Gravetender’s Fist and companies like the one Quallet ran were different.

They were safe. For a given measure of safe, of course. And that had an allure that beat out all of the other recruiters’ desperate calls and pitches. Quallet got down to the details as the others stayed. He nearly had them.

“You’ll earn a silver piece for every night you spend fighting, and four copper coins for the nights you don’t. Think its poor pay for a soldier? We’ll give you lot a sword and armor if you don’t have it, healing potions for your wounds, and I’ll be fighting right alongside you all. My company begins leaving tomorrow morning. Ask as many questions as you like. And ask about—I’ll swear to a truth crystal all I’ve said is true. If you’re unsure, ask those other recruiters what your odds are. But if they’re honest, they’ll tell you my company is the way to go for those of you who want to survive.”

Quallet pointed at the haggard [Sergeant] recruiting for the Raverian fighters. The man gave him a haunted look as Quallet raised his voice.

“Over there lies glory. Glory. The glory of the brave and the dead. If you’re seeking battles to test your mettle, sign up by all means. But join my company if you prefer to fight and live.”

—-

It worked. It always worked, especially when you had an ill-fated company you could point at as a reminder of what could go wrong. Tales of glory and fame on the battlefield were all very well if everyone was humming the same tune, but Quallet had learnt to be the one dissenting voice in the crowd. And people listened to the one odd voice.

He didn’t get all the recruits of course. No one ever did. Well, perhaps Niers Astoragon or Valka Cerethrian might be able to pull it off if they walked into the recruiting grounds. But that night Quallet signed over eighty recruits into his company, effectively doubling its size.

It wasn’t a bad haul, all told. He’d gotten the Centaurs—all of them. It turned out the one who’d spoken was a Level 11 [Fighter], and his friends had a few levels between them, which was good. Quallet had a handful of Dullahans, and a sizeable number of Lizardfolk. One of them had a magic class, which was an unexpected little gift.

As for the rest? The Humans had come almost as one entire package. They were odd, and signed their names on Quallet’s enchanted list with odd flourishes and curved writing, as if they were all [Scribes]. Some had laughed as they’d did so, and joked about ‘enlisting’ as if it were a completely new thing.

Odd. Quallet hoped he wasn’t borrowing trouble with their lot. But they didn’t seem like former [Bandits] or troublemakers in the ways he’d learned to watch out for. They were just weird.

He didn’t have to like them, just teach them how to fight and obey orders, anyways. Quallet marched his new recruits two miles out to the camp where he and the rest of the Gravetender’s Fist company was located.

Rows of tents and armed warriors lounging about were what greeted the recruits. Quallet saw two people—a Dullahan [Sergeant] named Xor and a Human [Soldier], Raeh, stride over to meet him. They were Quallet’s acting officers. He didn’t need many, but people who could lead when he was away were important, and he knew both males, having served with them before.

“That’s the rest of our company, Quallet?”

Raeh didn’t bother with formalities. Quallet didn’t see the need, at least between officers. He nodded at Raeh, and the man grinned. He wasn’t a big man, although he was very good with the sword he used.

“Finally. Time to be moving at last. I was getting bored of being eaten by the damn jungle.”

Xor looked disapproving. He did address Quallet formally, as Dullahans tended to do in every situation.

“Captain Quallet, there have been no disturbances in your absence. Would you like me to instruct the recruits, or will you do so?”

“I’ll do it.”

Quallet turned and spoke loudly to the group of recruits. The Humans had been staring around and the Lizardfolk had already sat down while the Dullahans stood at attention. The Centaurs just looked bored at the slow pace. Each race had its peculiarities.

“This is where you lot will sleep tonight! You’re all part of Gravetender’s Fist now, and you’re under my command. I promised you food and a place to sleep—and armor and weapons! You’ll get all that, but for now mill about. Some of you will be called out by these two men—”

He indicated Raeh and Xor.

“They are my officers and you’ll hop to it when they give you orders, just as you would when I tell you to do something! But there’s no fighting tonight. Tomorrow you’ll march and we’ll start training you before we get to the battlefield. You’ll have a good four days to practice.”

“Four days?”

Some of the Humans looked dismayed. Quallet laughed.

“Four isn’t enough? You’d rather practice for a month? Don’t worry, we’ll beat the fundamentals into you, and you’ll get a class while marching if you haven’t one already. Your opponents won’t be that dangerous either, as you’ll see. But for now—eat! Food will be passed around shortly. Talk amongst yourselves if you want to, make friends. Everyone standing here will be fighting by your side and might save your life!”

The recruits looked around warily. Quallet wondered if they’d mingle. It didn’t usually happen. He went over a few more rules, trying to get it over with as succinctly as possible.

“You’ll each get one meal and one alone. There’ll be no stealing, or fighting of any kind in my company. I’ll personally see to that. If you can’t stand someone’s guts, keep away from them and pray they get killed soon. But cause trouble and I’ll thrash you myself. You’re soldiers in a company now, not children.”

That was it. Quallet let the recruits disperse, mingling with the few veterans and other new soldiers from other villages he’d already found. It was rare for most of his soldiers to stay more than a few months in Gravetender’s Fist. Quallet had grown used to new faces coming and going.

“Let’s feed them.”

He grunted to Xor and the Dullahan helped him unload the bags of holding that helped make Quallet’s company. They had been very dear to buy, but it allowed Quallet to do away with a lot of expenses for wagons, instead bringing out preserved food to be shared around by soldiers under Raeh’s watchful eye.

Recruits ate, recruits talked, some bragging nervously, others swapping tales or just keeping to themselves. Quallet watched as he chewed down some sour-dough bread and cheese, biting into one of the fleshy Picta-fruits and washing it all down with warm water. He swatted at insects as he saw each of the four races sticking to their groups for the most part.

It was good enough. It was like normal. Quallet went to his private tent as the new soldiers slept in the mostly insect-proof tents. The experienced [Captain] listened to the dull roar of the jungle’s wildlife, the occasional breeze blowing through the area, and the sound of snoring. He slept.

The next day, Quallet rose just after dawn, and with his two officers, got his soldiers up. They awoke, scratching at bites, moaning, probably regretting ever wanting to be a soldier.

That was normal too. Quallet fed them, showed the new recruits how to break down camp, stored it all in the bags of holding, loaded the heavy artifacts onto the lone wagon his company used, and moved out.

His routine was simple. Quallet wished he could follow it in his sleep. After he recruited his company back to a good strength, after buying supplies to last for weeks or months and cramming them in the bags of holding, filling their enchanted capacity to the brim, he took his command and headed towards the closest battlefield, or the one he’d been contracted to.

This time he was headed towards the place where the Razorshard Armor company and the Roving Arrow company were fighting. A Dullahan-led company and a Centaur company, respectively. They were fighting over land, or maybe it was some old feud. Gold? Quallet hadn’t heard the details from the other [Mercenary Captain] who’d tipped him off. All he knew was that they could use another suppression company. The fighting had been fierce, apparently.

March his recruits. Arm them with cheap weapons scavenged from the battlefield or bought en-masse from the war vendors. Train them.

That came at the series of breaks to let the weary soldiers rest their feet. Quallet first distributed armor, letting the recruits fight over who got what, and then arms. For some reason, all the young men seemed to fancy themselves swordsmen, for all that there were perfectly good axes. Quallet eyed his new command again.

Lizardfolk, Dullahans, Centaurs, Humans, he all had in various numbers. But the largest influx of Humans had come from that odd group of strange-dressed young men—and young women—who’d come with him on the latest recruiting drive. They were…strange.

For one thing, they all seemed to know each other. If not each other by name, they shared some kind of connection Quallet couldn’t fathom. Some had very strange clothing, quite inappropriate for Baleros’s weather and stinging insects. Any fool knew to cover skin rather than flaunt it, but this lot had been practically devoured by the biting insects the first night.

Too, some of them had odd artifacts that were clearly magical. They made noise and light, and Quallet had seen more than one Lizardfolk edge over curiously. The Humans were very protective though, and didn’t show them to anyone.

Were they rich? Or were the artifacts cheap toys to make sound and light? Either way, it was strange. The Humans stared about at everything as if they’d never seen a real sword before, or another species. Still, they were hardly worse than any other recruit, which was why as the sun rose to midday, Quallet decided to start instructing them how to use the weapons he’d given them. Some of the young men had cut themselves, a few badly, by mock-fencing with the swords they’d been given.

He looked across his command and found one of the Humans who caught his eye. He stood out, mainly because everyone else who’d joined out had pale skin, tan skin, brown skin, or dark skin…this young man who was a bit older than most had dark black skin, like charcoal. Quallet called out to him.

“You there! Black-skin.”

The young man stiffened. He turned as Quallet strode towards him, looking surprised. And for some reason, angry.

“What did you call me?”

He was taller than Quallet, a giant, at least six feet, possibly six and a half feet tall. He had long arms, and a muscled body, although he seemed not to be at all comfortable with the mace he’d been given.

“I said you. You with the black skin.”

Quallet spoke calmly as the young man seemed to grow angrier. He pointed at the group of resting Humans milling about.

“Get some of your friends together. Twenty of them. We’re starting arms drills now.”

What was wrong? Quallet had given an order. He hadn’t insulted the young man, but in some way, he had. The black-skinned young man looked upset. Was it because Quallet’s skin was light, tanned from days in the sun? It didn’t matter either way. Quallet stared up at the younger man, adding a touch of [Commanding Presence] until he backed down.

“Yes sir. I will do that just now. Sir.”

Perhaps it was the way he had said it—he spoke as if he didn’t understand the common tongue quite right, which was incredible in itself—but Quallet watched as the young man walked off. Apparently, ‘just now’ didn’t mean much to him, because he took his sweet time before obeying Quallet’s orders.

It turned out his name was Luan, and he did eventually bring some nervous, giggling young men to Quallet for a demonstration.

“Here’s how you hold those shiny weapons you’ve been given. You lot—take out your weapons. Not like that! Watch me, now. If you’re taking your axe out, or your sword, you’ll want to do it fast. Like this.”

He demonstrated and made the young men do everything from take out their weapons to hold them correctly. Then Quallet had them swing at the air, at trees and stumps, making them get a feel for how the weapons moved and how to strike.

The Lizardfolk, Dullahans, Centaurs…it was the Humans who were the problem. Again. The young men that Luan had gathered treated Quallet’s orders like a game, laughing and slashing the air with wild cuts that wouldn’t have killed anyone. One of them, standing down the line as Quallet shouted at Luan—who at least had a good grip and stance—was swinging his sword around and laughing at the others.

Quallet turned to address this idiot when the young man’s hands, sweaty from the heat and exercise, slipped on the badly-wrapped leather hilt of the sword. He lost his grip and there was a scream from one of the young women as the sword went flying through the air. People scattered out of the way as the sword landed in the dirt. The young man who’d been holding it grinned nervously.

“Oops.”

Some of his friends laughed, but Quallet’s eyes narrowed. He crossed the distance between him and the young man in an instant. The young man didn’t see the gauntleted fist before it split his lip and sent him tumbling to the ground.

The laughter stopped. Quallet heard the young man swearing and stood over him, one hand on his axe. Everyone else watched as the young man stared up, suddenly afraid. Quallet shouted at him.

“This is not a game! When you’re fighting for your life, having a proper grip on your sword will save your life, and the lives of the soldiers around you! If you cannot take this seriously, I will leave you in this forest to rot!”

The pale-skinned youth flinched from his words. Quallet turned and faced the rest of his company.

“Mark me, this is not a joke. You are learning how to fight! Hold your weapons properly, get a feel for them. Because you will be seeing combat this week!”

The young man got up, pale-faced and bleeding. No one spoke. Quallet pointed.

“Pick up your blade and keep practicing! You! Yes, you lot! Don’t just stand around! Get moving! I want to see you—all of you—practicing!”

He made the rest of his company do the same, feeling the eyes of the Humans and Luan on his back. Now they feared him, which was fine. A [Captain] could be feared. Quallet was just glad he’d had the opportunity to impress on them that this wasn’t a game. With luck, he’d have another opportunity before it came to battle as well. Every time he showed these raw soldiers what fighting was like, was another life he’d save when it came to their first night on duty.

—-

“You! Wood-armor. Yes, you. Get the tents set up. Get as many hands as you need, but until they’re up, you lot don’t sleep!”

Quallet barked orders as his weary and sore company rested for the night. He made them set up camp, pass around food, and then let them pass out in their tents. Quallet slept easily, woke up the next day and began it all over again.

Train them, march them, feed them, and then let them rest. On the second day, Quallet began to lecture his company on their duties and had a nasty surprise.

“You mean you don’t know what Gravetender’s Fist does?”

He stared at the group of Humans in disbelief. They looked ashamed, but it was true. To everyone’s astonishment, it seemed that while the Humans had understood what being in a mercenary company meant, they hadn’t known what a suppression company—which was what they were in—did.

Quallet’s eyes narrowed as he looked at the rows of faces, trying to see if they were playing a prank on him. But it didn’t look like they were. The other species were giving the Humans very odd looks too.

Greener than he’d thought. Or maybe from another continent? But why would they be stranded all the way out here, then? Either way, Quallet amended his time-adhered to speech.

“If you signed up without knowing exactly what Gravetender’s Fist does, well, you should have figured it out from the name. Alone. Grave tending. Gravetender. It’s not exactly hard to see the connection. Understand?”

Blank looks. Quallet couldn’t believe this.

“The undead! The restless souls that rise from unburied corpses and in places of power! Have you never seen one before?”

They hadn’t. Xor had to actually rub at his head’s eyes with his hands and Raeh looked incredulous. The other Lizardfolk were staring at the Humans as if they were idiots. The Centaurs were making a joke of the entire thing as they laughed amongst themselves.

“The dead rise. Zombies, skeletons, ghouls…they get worse with time and depending on the corpse and amount of death. A [Necromancer] can raise them and command them, but undead will spawn naturally from unburied corpses. That might not be a problem in a quiet village where the dead can be laid to rest—or cremated—but this is Baleros. A place where war is always present! We’re headed towards a battlefield where two companies—with thousands or tens of thousands of soldiers—are fighting each day! What do you think will happen to all those bodies?”

“They rise?”

How could anyone ask that like a question? Quallet scowled.

“Of course they do. And they’re not only a nuisance, but a danger. Leave a battlefield full of thousands of corpses alone for a short period and you’ll get ghouls and worse popping up within days. They’ll attack soldiers, spread disease—and that’s where we come in.”

He nodded to Raeh and the man took over.

“Gravetender’s Fist. We are a suppression company. That’s not like a regular company for you new recruits. Suppression companies specialize in one kind of fighting. Some kill Goblins or monsters that make a nuisance of themselves. Others, like our company, kill the undead on the battlefield.”

There were murmurs at that. Quallet watched the Humans warily. If they hadn’t known—how could they not know? But now he had to worry about them deserting too. He spoke crisply, trying to dismiss their sudden dismay.

“I said it was better work than fighting, didn’t I? You’ll be up against zombies and the like mostly. Nothing dangerous. A rotting corpse might be a threat, but it’s better than a veteran with a magical blade. Each night when the fighting stops we’ll go into the battlefield, between the armies often, and handle the dead. The soldiers fighting don’t want to do it—they’re tired, and if both armies are sending troops out it’ll be a night battle against the undead and each other. So that’s why companies like this one are hired.”

“Clean up duty.”

Someone in the crowd joked. Quallet nodded, ignoring the levity.

“We’ll be collecting corpses, burning them, and putting down any undead that decide to get up. It will be dirty work, quick, and dangerous if you don’t watch each other’s back. But the worst you’ll face out there is a Ghoul, and that’s only if you’re unlucky. It beats dying with an arrow in your neck when the real fighting starts in the mornings, mark me.”

The Humans stirred uneasily, as did some others in his company. Quallet raised his voice.

“That’s why we’re practicing! Now, your duties are simple. You’ll be working in teams, spread out to cover ground. If you find a body—you bring it over. Yes, they’ll be rotting, yes it will smell. And you will stab it through the head before you come, in case it’s rising. [Sergeant] Xor’s done this work a hundred times. He’ll instruct you. Xor, show them how to move with Raeh watching your back…”

—-

They met the first group of undead on the road, a day before reaching the battleground. The shambling zombies must have missed the armies somehow, and they were roaming about aimlessly. It was a perfect opportunity, one Quallet had hoped for. He took command and ordered his company to engage them. Not all of course; it was only about thirty zombies, so Quallet took exactly that number out and had them fight.

They were all frightened, most close to wetting themselves as the zombies approached. But Quallet had chosen well, and the Centaur with white fur and the Lizardgirl with magic killed their zombie quickly and efficiently. Watched by Quallet, Xor, and Raeh, the other raw soldiers fought and killed their zombies, hacking away, running back, screaming—

Learning to fight. It was messy, horrible to watch from the eye of an experienced veteran, but it was the first step to forging his company into a fighting force. Quallet nodded approvingly as one young man killed a zombie with an axe.

“A good first step.”

He was one of the odd Humans, the ones with weird clothing. This one was pale-skinned and had odd features. Narrower eyes, black hair—he was a bit short as well and he had an expensive-looking long-sleeved shirt and pants on. They looked like fine material, but they were now covered in guts and gore underneath the battered leather armor he was wearing. Quallet didn’t know the young man’s story, and he didn’t care what his name was.

He’d heard others call the young man Ken, though. Ken…although one of the young women had called him something else. What was it? Ken…Ken…something.

—-

Kenjiro Murata stumbled away as the zombie he’d killed sunk to the ground, its misshapen head collapsing inwards as it struck the ground. It couldn’t really be called a head at all, in fact. Kenjiro, or ‘Ken’ as the others called him, had bashed it so many times with the axe he’d been given that the rotting bone and flesh around the skull had caved in.

He stared at the corpse as it fell, stared at the horrible innards of its head, smelled the rotting flesh, saw some things wriggling in the decomposing corpse’s open mouth. Ken turned, about to vomit, when he heard a familiar voice crying out.

“No! No!”

He ran towards the voice, leaving the dead zombie behind. Ken saw a girl with short black hair, wearing a battered piece of armor awkwardly over her jeans and t-shirt, backing away from another dead zombie.

It had a spear lodged in its belly. But it was still trying to move forwards. The girl backed away, screaming, and then shouting at the undead corpse in a language no one but Kenjiro understood.

“やめて. やめてください!”

Her voice was shrill, panicked. There was something insane about what she’d said. Stop. Please, stop. She’d said it to a zombie, but she probably couldn’t believe what was happening. Ken still couldn’t himself.

“Aiko-san!”

He ran over. The axe was in his hands. Ken smashed the zombie in the head, feeling a sickening connection. It fell over, and the girl turned away, covering her face in her hands. Ken stepped back, shaking as the second zombie he’d killed fell, twitching and making a gurgling sound. He looked hesitantly at the girl.

Aiko Nonomura.

She was crying, sobbing, actually, with fear and horror. Ken opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it. He didn’t know what to say, not to Aiko. He wouldn’t have known what to tell himself.

He was in another world, with magic and monsters. And the undead. He was a soldier, and so was she.

They hadn’t known what they were signing up for at all.

Aiko kept crying as the angry [Captain] shouted at the people around them. Ken saw other people, some Humans like him, others wearing strange armor, Dullahans, fighting next to scaly lizard-people as galloping Centaurs ran by, spearing zombies and hacking them apart.

“Aiko-san, are you okay? 大丈夫ですか?”

Ken had a hard time speaking English, so he switched back to his native tongue, feeling oddly formal. He knew Aiko of course, but she wasn’t someone he knew.

She wasn’t a childhood friend, more like a classmate that Ken knew from sharing the same class with for multiple years throughout their junior and senior high school time. They hadn’t spoken much. It was a fluke that had put them together in the airport on that fateful day when they’d vanished from their world into this one.

Now they were alone, and Aiko was the only one who understood him.

“Yes. Yes, I—”

She spoke in English, speaking to Ken and also to the Lizardgirl who’d stopped to see if they were alright. The scaly, frilled head nodded and the Lizardgirl walked on, conjuring a ball of fire to throw at a zombie. Ken watched her with amazement in his heart, and then looked at Aiko.

“Are you okay? Hurt?”

She shook her head, but Aiko was clearly far from alright. She was pale, and as she looked back at the zombie, Aiko’s face turned dead white. She stepped back and put a hand to her mouth.

But she didn’t throw up. Instead, Aiko looked at Ken, a mortal horror in her eyes. He recognized it, because it was the same terrible feeling in him.

Zombies were real. Magic was real. They were in a fantasy world. Only it wasn’t wonderful. It was just as bad as any anime, only worse. Because Ken could smell the rotting corpses. He could feel every insect bite on his body, feel the heat of Baleros’ winter, and know that he had killed two people today.

Maybe they were already dead. But the sensation of breaking flesh and bone was—it was too much.

“悪因悪果.”

Aiko gave word to the feeling in Ken’s stomach. He looked at her. She’d said—well, he couldn’t process it in English, only in his native language. It was an expression.  It meant, roughly, evil sown is evil reaped. Those who do bad things have bad things happen to them. He shook his head.

“ううん…”

She stared at him. Ken felt compelled to explain himself. He looked at Aiko, hesitated, and then spoke rapidly in Japanese.

“If this were karma, surely we’d be punished in some other way. No, this is just reality. It is harsh, but we must survive.”

Ever since they’d come to this world, they’d had to survive. They’d sold their backpacks and luggage, found food and shelter for a few days, but like the others, like everyone from this world, they’d run out of money in an instant. This had been the only work they could take, the only work they could do.

“It is too cruel. I cannot do this.”

Aiko’s eyes were still brimming with tears. She looked at the corpse, gagged. Ken tried to look, and failed. He spoke to Aiko, trying to suppress the feeling in his stomach.

“They are dead, Aiko. If they were alive, I would feel guilty. But they are dead and we are…warriors now.”

He had the class. He was a Level 1 [Warrior]. A voice in his head had told him he had the class last night, and a Skill—[Lesser Stamina]. Perhaps that was why his arms weren’t burning despite chopping at two zombies with the axe?

“I know! I know, but I cannot—Kenjiro-san, why are we here?”

Aiko was distraught. She stared at the zombies, and Ken had nothing he could tell her. He didn’t know. One second they’d been in the Tullamarine Airport in Melbourne, standing around and making awkward conversation as the rest of their group went off to buy souvenirs. Ken and Aiko had been forced to watch everyone’s luggage because they’d lost the straw pick. Some other people had been walking by, and Ken had seen a flash—

The next moment, he’d been standing in a jungle with Aiko and a group of over a hundred confused people, spread out across a mile’s landscape. That had been their first moments in Baleros.

It hadn’t gotten much better since then.

Movement. Something approached out of the corner of Ken’s eye and he whirled, holding his axe like Quallet had taught him. But it wasn’t a zombie.

“Whoa. Careful.”

Someone was coming towards them. Another Human. This young man looked older than both Ken and Aiko, who were both freshmen in university. The tall, black-skinned young man holding a mace and wearing rusted chainmail grinned at them, sweating heavily. There was something stuck on one side of the mace. Ken stared at it, and then at the young man.

“Luan-san?”

The young man grinned and Ken knew he’d gotten the name right.

“Yes, and you’re…Ken. Kenjiro, right?”

He didn’t use honorifics. He wasn’t Japanese, but from somewhere else. No one from Japan had been taken to the other world that Kenjiro had seen. Ken nodded.

“I am…and this is Aiko-san.”

Aiko bowed slightly, and Luan grinned at her. There was so much absurdity to the moment, as the two Japanese students introduced themselves over the corpse of a zombie. But it was normal, so they clung to that.

Luan eyed the dead zombie and then Ken and Aiko.

“I saw you two fighting. Are you alright?”

How could you answer that? Ken hesitated, and then fell back on politeness.

“I am fine.”

“Yes, I am okay. Thank you very much.”

Aiko spoke with slightly accented English, stumbling a bit over the words. Neither she nor Ken were native speakers, although they’d done well in English class. Luan’s eyes flickered to them, and he nodded without addressing their blatant lie.

“I am glad you two are okay. You should stick with me and the others.”

He pointed, and Ken saw some of the other people he recognized, standing pale and sweaty a good distance away from the last zombies as they were put to rest. He followed Luan with Aiko and they heard Quallet bellowing at them.

“Good! We’ll have a break to drink and clean yourselves off, and then we’ll tell you what you did right—and what you did wrong!”

“I hate that guy.”

Luan made a face as he led Ken towards the others. Ken privately agreed, although he wouldn’t have said as much out loud. He nodded awkwardly towards the others as he heard one of them, an American named Johanas, talking loudly.

“We did it! We killed those fucking zombies. I mean, we did it. With swords and axes, like a fucking video game. Does this mean we’ll level up? What hell, man. What the hell is going on?”

That seemed to be the general consensus of the group. Everyone, even the people who hadn’t fought, were pale and shaken. Ken understood.

They’d known they were enlisting to be soldiers, but they hadn’t expected this. Somehow, Ken had thought it wouldn’t be…wouldn’t be…wouldn’t be real. He’d still clung to a hope that this was all a dream, and that having a world with classes and levels and people with Skills meant this was a game, or some kind of dream you could wake up from.

But it was all real. And from the looks on the other’s faces, they were beginning to realize this as well. Ken and Aiko stood around with the others, listening to them speak. Everyone was speaking in English, as it was the tongue all of them had in common.

“This is some crazy shit, huh?”

Someone was talking to him. Ken stared at the young man with blonde hair who was speaking, and tried to make sense of what he’d said. Crazy…oh, he was saying this was insane. Ken nodded.

“I think…this is very crazy, yes.”

“I thought this would be different. I thought since we had classes and levels, we wouldn’t actually kill people. Or it wouldn’t be that real. But this is totally like…like Sword Art Online, you know? Sort of like that, don’t you think?”

What had he said? Ken was trying to keep up. He hesitated.

“Oh? Yes? Maybe. I do not know. I am sorry…”

Ken saw the other young man blink in surprise.

“Sorry? No, it’s cool. I mean…”

He trailed off and the conversation ended there. Aiko edged towards Ken and whispered to him.

“What did he mean? What is…”

She hesitated and spoke the words awkwardly in English.

“…‘Sword Art Online?’”

“I think it is an anime.”

“Oh. Did you watch it? Do you know what it is about?”

“No.”

They both fell silent. It wasn’t as if Ken didn’t watch any anime, and he’d certainly read a few manga over the years. But he was in college now, and watching anime was a bit…well, there was more to do than just that.

He watched the young man with blonde hair move back towards the others. The others like him. It wasn’t that the group of Humans who’d come from another world weren’t all on the same boat, but they were different.

They’d all been in the Melbourne Airport when taken, and so they were all sorts of nationalities. Some big groups of travelers had been caught up, while individual travelers had been seized as well, or parts of groups like Ken and Aiko.

Most of them were either Australian or American, with a heavier emphasis on American, since a huge tour group had been coming through. Other nationalities had come as well of course, but they were fragmented.

Some had already left. In the first moments of confusion when Aiko had screamed and people had cried out and come running, Ken had seen all kinds of faces. But when it had been established that no one know what was happening or what was going on, people began forming their own groups, usually based on shared nationality or some other identity.

When they’d finally gotten a fire going and lit up the jungle with their phones and other devices, Ken and Aiko had stuck with the others, trying to speak English and explain where they were from. A lot of kids from India had kept to themselves and didn’t speak to others much. They vanished on the first day.

In the days that followed as the travelers from another world tried to find civilization, more people left, suspicious or afraid they’d been caught up in a trap. They departed secretly in the night, or openly in larger groups.

A little over half of the original number had stayed together. The Americans, Australians, and some other people from European countries stuck together, and a lot of other people from countries with no friends came as well. Ken and Aiko followed the majority because they had no idea what to do.

Now of course, after deciding as a group to sign up as soldiers in order to eat and survive, everyone still didn’t know what to do. But they did talk among each other anxiously.

“Hey. I have water for you two. Need some?”

The tall young man named Luan was back, with water flasks. Ken thanked him profusely before taking his and washing his filthy hands. Aiko did the same on the spear she’d recovered from the zombie, splashing water carelessly on it until Xor shouted at her not to waste supplies. She jumped, and Luan scowled in his direction.

“Asshole. You know, I haven’t seen him smile once? Apparently all Dullahans are like that. Do you know them? Their legends, I mean.”

Ken blinked at Luan. The other young man was clearly not from America—there was something about the way he spoke, and how he didn’t fit with the other Americans. He wasn’t from any of the other major groups either, because he didn’t talk with them all the time. Ken nodded slowly, trying to reply as best he could.

“I do know. But they are…how can I say this? Fairy tale? They are…not-real things. Stories. Or so I thought.”

Luan nodded.

“Some of the guys are saying they think they’re like monsters.”

“Like monsters?”

Ken turned and stared at some of the other Dullahan recruits. They had taken their heads off their armored bodies and were pouring water into their mouths. They could take their heads off their bodies, leaving only a glowing light from within. He spoke hesitantly.

“I think they are people like us, but they look so much like—like…Aiko, how do I say—?”

He conferred with Aiko and turned to Luan.

“Like walking armor, yes? Like knight armor, from Western culture?”

Luan’s face lit up and he grinned.

“Oh! Yeah, I get it. I was thinking they looked a bit like Alfonse. You know, from Full Metal Alchemist, yeah? I loved that anime!”

Ken and Aiko stared at him blankly. Ken nodded slowly.

“I think I know what you are saying. But Aiko and I—”

He broke off and conferred with Aiko. She hadn’t seen it either. Rather than be surprised at their lack of encyclopedic knowledge of all things anime, Luan laughed.

“That’s okay. I’m a bit of a weeaboo. Do you know that word?”

Someone obsessed with Japanese culture. Ken nodded and smiled.

“I like anime, but I have not watched many recently. But Aiko and I agree—this is like an anime.”

“A horrible one.”

Aiko’s face was pale as she sipped from the water canteen. Luan nodded, growing serious.

“This is some bad shit, mate. I was worried about you two when Quallet told you to fight, but you did well! You stabbed that guy right through the stomach! Bam!”

He demonstrated and Aiko’s face went pale again. Luan put a hand on her shoulder, making her jump at the unexpected contact.

“Sorry. I know this is all horrific.”

“No, it’s okay—”

She hesitated, and Ken realized she didn’t remember Luan’s name. To cover for her, he hastily spoke up.

“This is Luan-san, Aiko. And I am Kenjiro. I am very pleased to meet you.”

He bowed slightly to Luan, who then smiled and introduced himself.

“I’m Luan Khumalo. You two are from Japan, yes?”

“Yes. Where are you from, Luan-san?”

“You can call me Luan. I’m from South Africa.”

“Oh! What place in south Africa?”

Luan paused, and Ken saw Aiko cover her face and start laughing at him. It took Luan a moment to explain, and then Kenjiro’s face turned red.

“Oh. I am so sorry!”

Ken bowed his head, feeling flushed with embarrassment. But Luan only laughed heartily.

“its fine, it’s fine! I’ve met a lot of people who have no idea South Africa is a place.”

Thus, they became friends. As Quallet stood everyone up and lectured them at a roar on how to fight better next time, and then marched them onwards, Ken and Aiko began talking to Luan as the company moved down the jungle trails.

Luan was the first person they’d really got to know, and he was well-spoken, friendly, and strong. He carried his weapon and walked without succumbing to the heat, which was apparently, aside from the humidity, cooler than back home. Ken felt like he was in Okinawa, and he’d never been to Okinawa.

“Your English is really good. I am very jealous.”

Aiko commented to Luan as they were on the road. He smiled knowingly.

“Yes. It is, isn’t it? I grew up speaking English.”

“Really?”

They stared at him. Luan laughed again.

“I can speak four languages. English, Afrikaans, Zulu, Tswana…you can speak two, right?”

“Yes, but not good.”

Ken was acutely aware of how hard it was to speak with other people in English, and had kept silent up until now because of it. But Luan took the opposite view.

“Even if one is not as good as the other, that should be a good thing, not a bad thing. Most of these Americans can only speak one. If there were other people from Africa around, I could speak about them behind their backs.”

Ken and Aiko laughed, and then immediately looked around to see if anyone had heard. No one had.

The group they were in, the group of people from another world was indeed filled with Americans. They were the majority, and in a way, they’d taken charge. Several of them, mainly guys, seemed to have the final say in what was going on. They’d been the ones to suggest signing up with Quallet, and they were the most vocal, and thus, the most persuasive, members of the group.

They were also the most ready to be fighting. Some hadn’t been bothered at all by killing zombies, talking about this being like a movie or T.V. show, and seemed positively happy about the prospect of leveling up and fighting. By contrast, Ken and Aiko would have loved to de-enlist from Gravetender’s Fist, but they were stuck. Luan seemed to share their opinions.

“What did you two do when you were in our world?”

“We are…were students in university.”

“Oh, right! How old are you?”

Ken was twenty one, Aiko twenty two. Both of them were in the same classes. Luan grinned when he realized they had known each other all their lives.

“You two got into the same university?”

“That’s right. I was studying to be in business and Aiko-san—”

“I was trying to learn to be an artist. Not manga—I do illustrations.”

“Ag, shame! That’s great.”

“Shame?”

The two of them looked blank. What Luan said made no sense—until he explained.

“Shame means good in South Africa. It’s like if you said—I found twenty bucks, yeah? Then I’d say, ‘Shame!’”

“Oh. I think I understand…”

Perhaps it was because they were both from different cultures that Ken and Aiko felt at home speaking with Luan. Unlike the people from America, they were alike in how they were all foreigners, outsiders to the main group. Aiko asked the obvious question to Luan.

“What did you do, Luan?”

He grinned, showing them very white teeth.

“Oh, me? I was on my country’s national Olympic rowing team.”

It took a few seconds for Ken to interpret this. When he did, he tripped. Aiko’s eyes went wide.

“Eh? What?”

They stared. It took a while and Luan had to explain himself several times, but the world of Olympic paddling slowly opened itself up to the two Japanese students.

Luan was an Olympic contender. Not an Olympian—he hadn’t gone to the Olympics, but he would have in 2020. He was South Africa’s first hope for a Silver or Gold medal in his event, the single scull.

He had trained to be part of a Coxless pair, which was a specialized type of boat that allowed for two paddlers to use it at the same time. Luan was usually on the bow side—which was to say, the left side of the boat—and competed with his good friend, Ben, who had the same goal as Luan. They wanted to take home the gold medal in the next Olympics, and had trained themselves intensively until they had become a serious contender, despite South Africa only having ever won one gold medal in the rowing event in the Olympics.

Being part of a coxless pair was extremely difficult, because Luan and Ben both had to balance each other and cooperate to move and row with the same force to go fast through the water. Luan had originally wanted to compete as a single scull—a type of event where only one person rowed with two paddles—but he’d met Ben while training and the two had become instant best friends.

However, because there were already two excellent paddlers forming a coxless pair who’d won a Silver-medal in the 2016 Summer Olympics, Lawrence Brittain and Shaun Keeling, Luan had put his hopes on winning in the single scull event, and his times were good enough for him to seriously aim at the gold medal. He’d been in Australia for a break when he’d been transported to another world.

“You know, it’s shitty lucky, but at least Ben will get a chance to go instead of me, eh? He’s dreamed of being an Olympian as long as I have.”

Luan said all of this so casually that Ken couldn’t believe it. Luan was—well, he was one of the best paddlers in the world. He was an athlete—which also explained why he didn’t seem fazed by the marching or fighting like the others.

Ken had no idea how to behave with Luan, until Aiko pointed out what should have been obvious.

“You are a good friend. I hope we will go back in time for the Olympics, and you can compete and win!”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Luan smiled at Aiko and looked ahead. There was a quiet worry in his eyes, though, and Ken saw it. Luan turned to them, serious, as the final day of their march wound to a close.

“You two should stick together with me. It’s going to be bad up ahead. I don’t think the others realize it, but that Quallet guy and the other experienced soldiers know it too. Our job is going to be dangerous no matter what he says.”

“But he said we will be safe, right? Safer? We will only fight zombies, not other people.”

Ken tried to swallow the fear that had jumped up in his gut. He would have liked Luan to lie in that moment, but the tall South African young man looked down at him. He was older than both Ken and Aiko by several years. He was twenty five, and there was something knowing in his eyes.

“It’s a war, Ken. Believe me, wars are never safe.”

The next day they arrived at the battlefield, a wide valley many kilometers long, where two armies sortied from camps on hilltops and met in the valley floor. Hundreds of bodies fell each hour and the screaming—

Oh, the screaming.

—-

Quallet knew he’d come close when he heard the sounds of mage spells in the distance. There was a rhythmic thump of something extremely powerful hitting the ground. He immediately signaled a halt.

“Raise the banner!”

It was essential to do this straight away. Each company had a banner and raising it was the only way to identify themselves. It might not mean they were safe, but an unmarked group wandering around would definitely be attacked by all sides. Under a banner, Gravetender’s Fist was at least nominally protected.

“We’re headed into a battlefield, but we are not fighting anyone living. The first soldier to draw arms or provoke the enemy I will cut down. Is that clear?”

Quallet addressed the company, impressing on them the seriousness of the charge. Then he had them move out, slowly, the banners waving as he approached the site of the battle.

His company was spotted instantly, of course. The [Generals] and [Commanders] of both sides kept sentries posted for attacks from every direction. In no time, a patrol of Centaurs was racing towards him.

Although suppression companies like Gravetender’s Fist provided a service needed by all sides, Quallet had contracted with the Roving Arrow company, which was mainly Centaurs, although Quallet knew they’d probably hired smaller companies to supplement their forces.

He didn’t get to meet with the company’s [Commander]—in fact, he didn’t meet with any officers. Quallet was instead directed to a neutral zone, away from the fighting and told brusquely that other suppression companies—those hired by the opposing side as well—were there.

This too was a standard practice in war. War vendors, [Merchants] who specialized in sales to an army during a conflict, as well as suppression companies and other independent parties often frequented battlefields. The custom was that there were areas untouched by the fighting, clearly marked as neutral zones where they stayed.

That was the custom. Although Quallet knew that sometimes such companies masqueraded as neutral and influenced a battle covertly—or overtly if they broke the rules of war. It was rare and such a company would be marked for all of time, but it did happen. He only prayed that this battle wouldn’t see such an event occurring.

It wasn’t likely. And everything seemed normal as Quallet found two other undead suppression companies waiting for nightfall in the space already allocated. Rot’s Bane, a small group of experts and Untimely Demise, a large company full of green soldiers much like his own, were already set up in the best spot. Quallet directed Xor and Raeh to set up where they could as he met the two other company [Captains].

“Quallet Marshhand! I told you this would be a profitable battle!”

The first man to stride towards him was a bald fellow named Ulvial. He was in charge of Untimely Demise and wasn’t as good a warrior or leader as Quallet—but he made do with a set of officers that stayed with him.

“Ulvial. Good to see you. Thanks for tipping me off about this battle.”

Quallet clasped hands with him and nodded to the second [Captain]. She was a Centaur named Exara. He’d never worked with her directly, but he’d heard her small group was efficient and disciplined.

“A pleasure to work with you, Captain Exara.”

“Pleased.”

She trotted over to him and gripped his hand in a light handshake. Quallet looked around the open area they’d been assigned and noticed a group of Centaurs staring at them. All of them were armed and alert.

“Not your group, I take it.”

Exara shook her head.

“Guards. They’re watching my company since our contract was bought by the Razorblades.”

“Huh.”

That was odd. Normally suppression companies were trusted—they banked their ability to be hired on their reputations for honest work without bias. Quallet frowned, but reassured himself with the knowledge that he was on the same side as the Centaurs. He looked back at Ulvial.

“Your company looks quite large. Expecting a lot of undead to work with?”

“Yes indeed! Haven’t you seen the battlefield? Both the Centaurs and Dullahans are carving each other up out there.”

“What’s the feud about?”

Exara and Ulvial shrugged at the same time. They didn’t know, didn’t need to know. They only had to do their jobs.

“Some land argument? Money? Someone hired them? Either way, we’ll earn gold by the fistful for dealing with all the bodies.”

“It’ll be a chore between our companies.”

Quallet was already calculating the ground they had to cover. The valley was big—he was used to such sizes, but they’d have to work in quadrants, possibly saving some areas for other days if they didn’t have enough forces.

“Oh, we’ll be working into dawn each day. But we’ll be paid for it, and paid well! It’s simpler and easier than dying in this bloodbath, that’s for certain.”

Ulvial laughed and Quallet winced. Suppression companies were indeed paid well, mainly because they were doing fighting of their own, but regular companies resented the need for them. Large ones like the Great Companies made their soldiers do the work, and there wasn’t a regular soldier alive who didn’t resent a suppression company for staying out of the real danger.

Some of the Centaur guards were glaring. To change the subject, Quallet asked about a map and was shown to the one Exara and Ulvial had already carved up into portions. He studied it and tapped a spot as he conferred with the other two.

“We’ll take the west side and work our way in. I’ve a group of new recruits, most of which don’t know a sword from their own arm.”

They nodded, not bothered by the spot he’d chosen. It was off-center from the fighting, which meant Quallet would get less corpses to deal with. Each suppression company was paid by the amount of corpses they disposed of, by fire or sword.

“Fine by me. I’ll take the south, then.”

“And I’ll head in from the east. Just make sure to have your banners up and illuminate yourselves. The soldiers from both sides are on heavy night patrol and they’re jumpy.”

Exara warned the other two [Captains] and Quallet nodded seriously. The last thing he needed was to tangle with soldiers from either side and get any killed. Ulvial grunted in agreement.

“No fear. I’ve seen what happens to anyone who sticks their heads out of the neutral zones. The fighting’s everywhere. Speaking of which, have you heard there’s another independent group out there? Not just the war vendors—some kind of rogue unit!”

That got Quallet’s attention. Rogue detachments of soldiers were a wildcard. They could be a group of warriors or bandits or any number of things that entered the fray on one side or none at all. They were a danger to suppression companies if they attacked while they were working.

“Who or what is it?”

“Not a large group. Not a fighting force.”

Exara frowned as she tapped a neutral zone north of their position. She hesitated.

“I’ve heard it’s a unit that treats wounded soldiers.”

“Whose?”

“Any side’s. Apparently there’s a skilled [Doctor] working over there. She appeared when the battle started getting intense and offered her services. It’s caught the attention of both companies, and there’s a cease-fire in agreement in the area she works in.”

Curious and curiouser. Quallet’s brows snapped together. It was Ulvial who asked the obvious question.

“What’s so special about a [Doctor]? Both companies should have healing potions enough. It’s not like they lost their entire supply to raids like the Raverian Fighters.”

The mention of that company’s fate made both Exara and Quallet wince. The Raverian Fighters had barely survived their last engagement, as repeat attacks on their healing potion stashes—and attempts to resupply—had sent the company in full-blown retreat, barely a quarter of its strength.

Exara shook her head.

“I don’t know why she’s here, but apparently this [Doctor] can heal wounds without healing potions—and quickly, too! She’s apparently better than a [Healer] and with potions she can bring soldiers back when they’re considered dead by all.”

“A useful person to have around, then. I’ll watch out.”

Ulvial grunted and Quallet nodded. He doubted he’d need to use her services, but it was worth remembering.

Talk then turned to more practical matters, and soon Quallet was back at his camp.

“None of you are to stray beyond the neutral zone, or pick fights with other soldiers! You’ll be heading in to your first battle tonight. Yes, you’ll be hauling bodies, but you’ll see the undead, and without us to hold your hand this time!”

He needn’t have warned his soldiers. They were staring at the battle between the Dullahans and Centaurs with wide eyes, even the ones who were used to fighting. Quallet only had to glance to his left to see distant shapes battling out in the valley below. There were Centaurs charging at armored shapes, arrows flying, magic breaking the ground, blood—

He looked away. There was no point in watching. But the new recruits had never seen such slaughter, and the Humans were transfixed.

“Dude. No way. This is insane.”

Quallet heard one of them speaking and shook his head. This was Baleros. A country where war was in the blood, just like how Rhir was constantly locked in struggle. And this wasn’t one of the largest warzones. This was two companies fighting, not ten or a hundred.

Still, it was a war, and being so close to it made all of Quallet’s senses sharp. He slept lightly until nightfall, knowing the new soldiers wouldn’t get a wink. It didn’t matter.

As night began, both sides began drawing back, avoiding skirmishing at night to avoid chaos, sending their troops to fight a neutral party—

And to avoid losing them to the undead. Quallet eyed the sinking sun and saw the other companies readying themselves. He had his soldiers gear up, refreshed their memories about who was supposed to do what—

And waited.

Soon, there was no more fighting in the valley below. The darkness was extreme. The sounds of battle had ended, but now other sounds took their place. Animals calling out, insects—

And the screams of those left on the battlefield. There were wounded there, unable to be recovered or too injured to be saved with healing potions. Some of the Humans in Quallet’s company paled from the sounds. Others threw up.

All normal. Quallet gritted his teeth as he saw Exara bring her small company down the slopes, a shining banner raised and illuminating their forces. He ordered Xor to do the same and turned to his company.

Pale faces and frightened expressions stared up at him. Quallet saw most of the children who’d signed up to fight wavering. Of course they would. But here and there he saw determination like iron in their gazes, unflinching resolution at what had to be done.

The young man with black skin had that look. Strangely, so did the young man and woman, the two odd-looking ones standing next to him. They’d been petrified fighting the zombies, but now they had the look. It was the look that told Quallet they might survive this night.

It wasn’t bravery or bravado. It wasn’t the thrill of battle, but the will to survive. That was what they needed. Quallet looked into their eyes and then drew his axe. He pointed towards the valley below, where shapes were beginning to stand. To rise.

“Gravetender’s Fist…move out!”

1.03 D

There was a rite of passage among medical students, although it wasn’t publically talked about. And that was that in many graduate programs, regardless of whether you were studying to be a physician or just aimed to practice general medicine, it used to be mandatory to take a class in which you would dissect a human cadaver.

Geneva had known she’d have to open someone up when she’d first enrolled as a medical student. She’d dreaded the moment, feared the impartiality of it. Then had come the moment when she cut open the gray, lifeless body. It had felt solemn, and she remembered the classroom being hushed as the students around her felt themselves taking a step into a world many would never dream of entering.

They cut open a body, dissected it, identified organs, and within a few days, felt used to it. That was the point. No amount of illustrations in books or lectures could give you the hands-on experience of touching a real body, and that was what a surgeon or specialist needed most of all.

Experience.

Of course, now medical programs were cutting back on using human corpses, due to lack of time and the expense of obtaining ones for medical students to practice on. And yet, therein lay the irony of surgery, of Geneva’s profession.

To become a great surgeon, one capable of taking on the hardest challenges, one had to practice. But no one trusted a new surgeon. And yet, a surgeon had to operate, and thus, make mistakes to grow experienced.

In short, it always came back to the same contradiction: a surgeon grew from the patients who died under her care.

It wasn’t always like that of course. That was a harsh generalization. In another hospital, there would be veterans, older doctors, and other surgeons on standby who could help out in an emergency. But part of Geneva had wondered, idly, while she listened to her professors lecture her whether experience was all a doctor needed.

The average surgeon took on many operations each year. Hundreds. But they also followed a strict set of rules, having to clean themselves, create sterile operating environments—all to make sure their patients had the best chance possible.

In wars, medicine was not so nice. During the Second World War, doctors had to see to patients without the luxury of a schedule, or even a full team of trained helpers. Soldiers would come in all at once, sometimes by the hundreds, and it would force the helpless doctors and medics to make the hardest choices. They’d have to balance who would live and who would die, and who would be easier to save. They could save one life while ten more passed, or save ten and let the one die.

Perhaps those doctors had been the best. They would have operated countless times each day. Did that confer some sort of instinct? Some innate sense of the body and how to save it? Geneva had idly wondered about that as a student. Now—she knew. And the answer was simple, painful.

No. After a while, all the bodies began to look the same. The living—but especially the dead.

“Beginning the incision. Make sure the patient is still asleep and let me know if they wake up!”

Geneva snapped as she raised a scalpel and sliced into the wounded Dullahan’s chest. The blade she was using delved past the shattered chest plate of the Dullahan’s armor—a small mercy or she would have had to saw through it, taking precious time. Now Geneva cut into the thick skin that was the last layer of protection between the Dullahan’s internal organs and the outside world.

The two [Soldiers] who stood in the tent nodded. They were used to the work, and both were ready to grab the Dullahan if he woke. They stared grimly at the broken and bleeding insides of the Dullahan, and then away. They’d volunteered for this, and respected Geneva for what she could do.

But few people could look at what a surgeon did to the body without flinching. Geneva’s left hand was a blur as it cut, exposing a bloodied mess of organs beneath.

“Internal bleeding. I need a healing potion!”

Her right hand shot out and grabbed a bowl of liquid. Geneva carefully administered it, watching as the organs, muscles, and tissue that had been battered and torn by the mace slowly closed.

Healing potions. Faster and better than anything in her world. Geneva eyed the rest of the wounded site, and saw nothing wrong.

“Suturing.”

Her hands moved with experienced speed. Her left shot out and grabbed a curved needle, already threaded in preparation for this event. The other found a pair of forceps.

The [Soldiers] in the tent turned back to watch as Geneva began to sew up the Dullahan’s mended chest. This they could appreciate, and there was something miraculous about how fast Geneva moved. Her left hand was a blur as it stitched up the flesh of the Dullahan’s chest, closing the long incision in moments. Her right hand moved slower by comparison, carefully grasping the flesh and bringing it together to be sewn up.

And then it was done. Geneva stepped back from the closed flesh and grabbed the bowl of healing potion. She sprinkled a few drops of it over the stitches, and watched the wound heal.

Partially. That was all she could ration. Geneva put the bowl back and found the Dullahan’s shattered chest plate. She couldn’t fix his armor, but it was important to them that it stayed together.

“Wash this. Make sure you give him the lecture about keeping the wound clean.”

She spoke to one of the [Soldiers], another Dullahan with dull grey iron armor. She nodded and after locking her head into place on her shoulders, carried the Dullahan off of Geneva’s operating table and out of the room.

Done. Geneva sagged for a second, feeling the tension of the operation fade away. She spoke, although there was no one else in the tent but her.

“That was a relief. I thought a piece of the armor might have been stuck in his chest.”

There was no one there to hear that could be seen. But a voice replied, inaudible except in Geneva’s head. Because it was speaking in her head.

“If it had been, what would you have done?”

“Removed it. Hoped the healing potion solved the worst of the issues—sutured what I could. Time was of the essence, Okasha. If I had the ability to do blood transfusions, I’d have more time. But I haven’t been able to fix up a proper needle and pump mechanism.”

“I see. Should I see if there are any ways to construct such a thing later?”

Geneva shook her head slightly, speaking to the thing listening to her. In her. The Selphid named Okasha was in her body, controlling her right arm. She could probably feel the vibrations in Geneva’s vocal chords before the words left her mouth.

“Don’t bother. The healing potions replenish lost fluids, and they’re faster. It’s better to use them rather than try and maintain a blood bank, especially in this heat.”

Okasha didn’t reply, but Geneva felt an acknowledgement, a gentle twitch that ran through her body’s nervous system. It wasn’t unpleasant; the opposite, in fact. But it would have terrified her to experience such a thing, to know someone was sharing her body a few months ago.

Now she didn’t react. Geneva had long since made her peace with what had happened. Although there were things to get used to.

Like how her body would move. Geneva found herself walking over to a bench in the corner of her impromptu operating area, sitting down. She hadn’t intended any of it, but Okasha had taken over and Geneva hadn’t tried to fight. She wasn’t sure what would happen if she did, to be honest. Okasha had never brought the subject up. She was a friend, an assistant on the operating table, and she worried about Geneva. Too much, sometimes.

“You should rest. You’ve been awake for over a day now.”

Geneva knew that. She felt the exhaustion in her body, but she shook her head anyways.

“I’m fine, Okasha. I need to stay awake.”

“But if you don’t sleep—”

“I’ll sleep after this lot. I promise. Just give me a moment.”

Okasha fell silent. Geneva sighed, and lowered her head. The Dullahan would live. He wouldn’t fight for a day at least—she’d keep him here in the field hospital she ran, until the convoy arrived at night to take him back to his army. Then, depending on whether they decided to treat him with more healing potions, he might be fighting tomorrow.

The living came to be saved, and then went back to kill or be killed the next day. Geneva had struggled with that knowledge, wondering if she was doing the right thing. She didn’t know. She only knew that she had sworn an oath. If there was a life she could save, she did.

There was no one else who could. In Baleros, a continent that bled, Geneva was the only [Doctor]. The only true one, at any rate.

She wondered, sometimes, what those brave souls laboring to save lives had felt during the war. Did they fight for every life, clinging to it, fighting to fix the horrible things bullets and humans could do to each other? Or did the feeling of despair slowly sink in? Did the endless tide of bodies crush them?

She didn’t know. She couldn’t ask. Geneva sat quietly in the tent, hearing the sounds of battle in the distance, screams of the wounded around her. In a few moments the tent flap would open, and another wounded person would come in. Another life for her to fight for. But right now she just sat. She was tired, exhausted.

Geneva Scala, a Level 26 [Doctor], sat with Okasha humming a quiet melody in her ears, transmitting the song into Geneva’s mind by projecting the sound directly into the inner ear. It was a soothing melody, and Geneva closed her eyes. If she slept for a minute, Okasha would make sure her body stayed upright.

She was so tired. She would have loved to rest, but there was always someone crying out. There was always a war. This was her third battlefield since coming to this world. Geneva had been working non-stop since then. Saving lives. Fighting.

She couldn’t remember what it was like to smile.

—-

Kenjiro Murata knew he was no hero. He was not a warrior, although he’d been in a few fights growing up. But he wasn’t someone who liked to fight, and he preferred to defuse tense situations rather than escalate them.

That was Ken’s problem. He wasn’t many things. Some people were good at everything. Not Ken. He wasn’t a top athlete although he liked running on the track. He’d never placed that high on exams, and if he was honest, he wasn’t good-looking. Not that he had an unattractive face! But none of those attributes could define him in a meaningful way.

In truth, there was only one thing Ken was good at, and that was understanding other people. He liked meeting people. He liked talking to people he didn’t know—especially foreigners.

It wasn’t that he was that social, either. Ken would have agreed that he was no social butterfly—if he’d understood what that phrase meant in English. He just…liked other people. He liked other cultures, studying about other nations. He dreamed of travelling, which is why he had rejoiced at a chance to visit Australia as part of his university’s foreign exchange program.

Ken wasn’t that good at learning languages so he felt awkward, but he’d been excited to travel to Australia and talk with everyone he could. That was why he’d wanted to be a businessman, preferably someone who travelled abroad and negotiated business deals in foreign countries.

It was his big dream, the thing that Ken had aimed for ever since high school. He knew his grades weren’t the best, but he’d persevered. He wasn’t excellent at speaking English—he wasn’t gifted, but he kept practicing. If he had a talent, Ken would have said he was good at observing people, learning how they acted.

This is what he saw.

“Zombie!”

It came towards him, making a horrible scratchy sound through its damaged vocal chords. It was a zombie, the weakest of the undead. But it was also a Centaur, and so it was terrifying for other reasons.

“Get around it!”

Someone shouted. Luan ran past Ken and bashed the Centaur’s back left leg. It stumbled, and Ken dodged away from its swinging arms. The Centaur, tall as any horse—taller, in fact since it had the human torso on top—twisted, and the dead female’s head focused on Luan.

“Now!”

Ken heard the call and he ran forwards at the same time three others did. He cut at the Centaur’s side as Aiko speared it from one end and two Dullahans cut at it with swords. Luan ran forwards and delivered the final strike—a hammer blow to the Centaur’s head. He alone was tall enough to hit her there, and the Centaur, body too broken to move, finally fell.

Ken backed away, shaking, sweaty. He waited for the Centaur to move as Aiko pulled her spear back and stabbed it in the head, but it didn’t. It was finally dead. He breathed out and heard a voice.

“Everyone okay? Hey, you two good? Ken?”

Luan was walking around, checking on everyone. As leader of their small group, one patrol of the Gravetender’s Fist company, he felt the need to make sure they were well. Ken raised a shaking hand and gave him a thumbs up.

“Good work, mate.”

Luan raised his fist and Ken turned his gesture into a weak fist-bump. The tall South African man grinned at him and turned to the Dullahans.

“You two good?”

They were. Everyone was good, even Aiko. She stepped away from the corpse as Luan turned to it. Ken heard him groan.

“Now we’ve got to drag this back to the pile. Damn it. We should have lured her closer.”

He gestured, and the five gathered around the Centaur. Grimly, each one reached down and began to haul the body away. It was horrible. Ken and the other Humans had gloves and the Dullahans had gauntleted hands, part of the armor that covered their entire body, but the stench and smell was overpowering.

Not to mention the Centaur wasn’t entirely whole. A part of her fell off as she was being dragged—Ken looked away and tried not to gag.

Perhaps it would have been easier if they cut her up and carried the bits to one of the corpse piles that would be burned come dawn. But neither Ken nor the other new recruits in Gravetender’s Fist had the stomach for it. So they dragged the body, swearing as they crossed the uneven ground and mud, heading towards a place where a pair of armed soldiers with lanterns stood looking in every direction.

“Hey there!”

“Hey! It’s us!”

Luan called out as the two soldiers spotted their group. He didn’t need to say anything else. He just needed to reassure the soldiers that they were alive and not undead. The lantern that Aiko carried helped, but Ken had learned to be wary of every moving shape as they worked.

Their group deposited the corpse at the pile of bodies. It stank. Flies buzzed and Ken had to back away fast or vomit again. Not that his stomach was full—he’d been told not to eat anything before nightfall, and this was why.

“Big one.”

One of the soldiers commented and Luan grimaced.

“She got up right when we came by. Scared us all to death.”

“Be grateful she wasn’t a Ghoul. Only thing worse than a Centaur Ghoul is a Dullahan one.”

The soldiers called out as Luan and the group trudged away. Ken glanced at the two Dullahans, one male, one female, but neither reacted to the statement. Probably because it was fact. A Zombie Dullahan was a nightmare to fight, mainly because of their armor and the fact that their head might be lying on the ground, making putting them down again that much harder. You had to batter them to pieces unless you found the head.

“Let’s go back. It’s this way, I think. Right, Aiko?”

“Yes.”

Their group trudged back the way they’d come. They had an area to cover, and the zombie Centaur was only one of the bodies they had to haul back to the pile to be burned. It was a horrible, foul job, and Ken hated it. But he had signed up and so he had to work.

This was Gravetender’s Fist. A suppression company enlisted to dispose of the undead and corpses that were the natural byproduct of a conflict involving two companies, the Razorshard Armor company, and the Roving Arrow company.

Ken’s unit, along with everyone else in the company, had a simple job. They went out, found dead bodies, collected them into a pile, and burned them so undead wouldn’t spawn from them. They killed any undead that had already risen, and then got off the battlefield before the two sides began fighting again.

This was their third night doing it. Was it better the third time?

Yes. A bit. The third night was better than the first, if only because there was no shock and horror. The fear was still there, almost overwhelming the senses in the torch-lit darkness, but Ken and the others could operate under it now.

“Body pile!”

Aiko called out to her left and Ken, Luan, and the two Dullahans stopped dead in their tracks. They moved towards Aiko and spotted a group of corpses. They approached warily, weapons at the ready. A pile of bodies could be burying a zombie or something worse. Aiko stepped forwards and stabbed the pile repeatedly, but nothing moved.

“Let’s take them back.”

Luan sighed and Ken reached down to tug at the armor of one fallen soldier. He paused as he saw a Human face in the lantern light, twisted with fear. It was staring right at him.

“Ken?”

Aiko’s voice snapped Ken’s head up. He saw her looking at him. He shook his head.

“Nothing.”

He began to pull at one leg, as Aiko gingerly took an arm. They dragged the body away and Luan bent.

“Hold up. The sword’s here.”

He pulled it away before Ken and Aiko dragged the body any further. Luan went around collecting armor, weapons, that could be used, while the Dullahans dragged one body. Ken and Aiko resumed pulling their burden.

Back towards the pile. It was most efficient that way, apparently. Burning each body where it had fallen was too hard, and it carried a risk of spreading fire. So the Gravetender’s Fist company had designated areas where piles of corpses were collected, to be disposed of later.

The pile Ken and the others were assigned to was taller than he was, and it was one of many. It took hundreds of people hours of non-stop work to collect the bodies and burn them before the next day began. It felt meaningless because the next day the soldiers would begin slaughtering each other as soon as it was light, but the work was necessary.

Bad things appeared if the bodies weren’t laid to rest. Ken saw one of those things later that night. He heard a scream that rose above the buzzing of insects, the voices in the distance, and the pounding of his heart.

“Ghoul!”

He and the others froze in place. Ghoul. One of the stronger, faster variants of undead. They were rarer, but far deadlier than a zombie. And the call had come from nearby.

“What should we do?”

One of the Dullahans looked around, her hands tight on her sword hilt. She was wide-eyed. She’d seen a Ghoul before, seen what they could do. Ken’s stomach twisted with fear. He’d seen too.

Luan’s voice was steady. He motioned them to stand in a circle, as they’d been instructed to do.

“Stay together. Watch for anything—”

“Look! The Captain!”

Aiko cried out. Ken saw their company’s captain, Quallet Marshhand, sprinting in the direction of the scream. He shouted, and Ken saw a blur of movement heading towards him. Quallet slashed out at it with his axe, incredibly fast. For a moment his form was obscured, and then Ken and the others saw him hacking at something on the ground. The chaos ended.

The Ghoul was dead.

“Back to work!”

Quallet shouted at all of the people who’d stopped, his voice reaching far across the valley. Ken felt a hand on his shoulder and Luan nodded.

“You heard him. More corpses.”

That was life. Ken slowly began to move forwards, shoulders aching, sweat and insects fighting for space on his body. He kept dragging bodies towards the pile until he heard a horn call, and hurried back towards the gleaming flag, illuminated by magic and lighting up the area around it. As the sun broke over the hills around the valley, Quallet led his weary company back towards the neutral ground where they could rest and sleep.

Another day done. Countless more to come.

—-

When he wasn’t on duty, which lasted the whole night, Ken slept. He woke up past midday like the others, found food waiting for him, and ate the unpalatable rations in silence. Then he glanced at the sun.

It was falling fast due to the season being allegedly winter. Ken had already learned to hate that fact: it meant he had to work more and night would come sooner. But for a few precious hours, he was free to stay within the neutral zone his company had been allotted. He could chat with other members of Gravetender’s Fist or the other suppression companies, scrub himself with dirt—water being far too precious, unless it rained—gamble for food with dice, squat in a latrine if he needed to relieve himself, or go back to sleep.

Small things. But Ken would have gladly squatted over the insect-covered pits in the ground for hours rather than spend five minutes hauling corpses. Well, maybe an hour for every ten minutes.

Instead of going over to where the people from his world, the Humans of various nationalities, mostly American, Australian, and European countries, were talking and sitting amongst themselves (or having sex in one of the tents, which had bothered Ken and Aiko when they’d heard about it—and heard it happening), Ken took a chance and went over to talk with another group that sat by a fire, talking amongst themselves.

The Lizardfolk, one of the main races inhabiting Baleros, looked up as one as Ken approached. He smiled and waved at them, which was received well, because they instantly waved him over.

“Human! Do you need something? Is it orders from Captain Marshhand?”

Some called out to Ken as he hesitantly sat by the fire, trying to smile, to project sociability. To Ken’s knowledge, this was the first time anyone from his group had tried sitting with the Lizardfolk. They’d chatted of course, but never for long. It had always been—what was the word? Awkward.

And Ken had an idea why.

“No I am not here with orders. I would just like to ah, talk.”

“Talk!”

Some of the Lizardfolk immediately laughed and crowded around Ken, in a moment he found himself sitting by lots of scaly bodies. The Lizardfolk of Baleros were thin and reptilian, with long tails and colorful neck frills of flesh. They looked like they had odd versions of a lion’s mane—each Lizardfolk had a very colorful frill, which often contrasted with the rest of their scales.

“So why do you want to talk to us, Human? What is your name?”

Ken found himself looking at a blue-scaled Lizardgirl with deep red neck frills, bordering on purple. He knew her.

“You are Quexa, yes? I am Kenjiro Murata. I am very pleased to meet you.”

“Oh! You were assigned to my pile last night! Did you hear about the Ghoul? It attacked my group—nearly got me!”

Quexa grinned at him, her red neck frills opening and closing as she gestured to some other Lizardfolk.

“I thought I was going to die—I tried to hit it with magic, but it was too fast! Then Captain Quallet came and cut its head open! Lucky! You look different from the other Humans, you and that girl. Are you two having sex?”

Ken’s eyes widened and he tried to reply to Quexa in order. Lizardfolk had an odd way of talking. They’d ask and reply to multiple questions and statements in the same sentence. To fit in, Ken tried to do the same.

“I am very glad you are okay. I ah, am from Japan. It is a different country than the other, so I look different. I and Aiko are not having sex.”

Quexa’s eyes brightened in appreciation and Ken saw other Lizardfolk nodding as they listened to his scatter-shot response. He smiled inwardly. Yes, this was how you talked to Lizardfolk! He was right! The mood around him grew more intimate and Quexa scooted closer, a sure sign he was being accepted.

“Oh, I was asking because you look the same. And a lot of you are having sex! Every day you Humans have sex! Aren’t you worried about getting pregnant? Or do you all have birth charms? Can we borrow them? They must be very effective!”

“I uh, do not now about birth charms. Many of my…my friends are very worried, so they have sex. I uh, do not know about being pregnant. I hope they do not become pregnant, because we have no charms.”

“What?”

“Humans are so reckless!”

“Are you interested in trying it with us?”

The Lizardfolk practically jumped on Ken, asking questions, laughing, speaking in a jumble with no clear leader. As was their way. Ken had watched them carefully before this moment, and he thought he understood Lizardfolk. He had observed how they interacted. So they could understand him. So he could understand them. So they could be…friends?

The first thing Kenjiro had observed was that of the three non-Human species in Gravetender’s Fist, the Lizardfolk liked to talk the most. In fact, they were what he would call おしゃべり, or ‘chatterboxes’ as some of the Americans called them. Only, that applied to their entire species, not just one in particular.

It wasn’t hard to observe the other races—Ken had served with them for three days already, on top of the time he’d been marching with them. And one thing Ken had noticed was that Lizardfolk stuck together. They liked being part of a group and, this was crucial, seemed to decide things en-masse.

They were also uncomfortable being the odd ones out, which is why Ken had noticed that every time a group of people from his world came over to talk to a few, the Lizardfolk had seemed edgy. It was only when they were in greater numbers than the outsiders that they seemed happy to talk.

They didn’t like being outnumbered. But when they weren’t, they were as social as could be, which is why Ken had chosen to speak with them, rather than Dullahans or Centaurs first. He wanted to, well, he just wanted to be friendly with them.

Ken believed in being friends, in forging relationships. It was a part of his culture—making strong ties and getting to know people was how the business world in Japan worked. It was everything, and Ken was trying to apply that idea here. It was all he knew, and they were all on the same side, right? All the more reason to be friends. Especially because Ken knew nothing of this world.

And Lizardfolk liked to talk.

“You’ve never met a Lizardperson? Ever?”

Quexa had moved rapidly past the horribly awkward and intimate talk of sex and was quizzing Ken about where he had come from. He couldn’t answer concretely, but she seemed happy enough to explain her people to him.

“We’re Lizardpeople! Only, you knew that. We’re the biggest species on Baleros—there’s Dullahans and Centaurs of course, but we have more sex than they do. We’re sort of like Drakes, if you’ve met Drakes, although they hate it when we say that. We’re not related, you know, although we look sort of the same.”

“Ah, yes. I know Dullahans and Centaurs. But there are other species, yes?”

“Yes!”

Quexa laughed at Ken and the other Lizardfolk immediately shouted out names of species.

“Ever seen a Selphid?”

“What about a Fraerling? Ever stepped on one?”

“How about a Gazer?”

“Seen a Naga? One of our people?”

Ken hadn’t. Quexa pointed a Selphid out for him, and he saw one of the pale-white soldiers standing in the Untimely Demise company, talking with a Centaur. The Selphid had a Lizardperson’s body, but the body was clearly…dead. The scales were pale, and there was a bloodless wound on the side of the Lizardperson’s body that wasn’t bleeding. Ken shivered and Quexa noticed.

“Don’t worry! Selphids don’t steal living bodies. Or they’re not supposed to. They did that in the past, you know? Only, now if they do it we kill them. So they steal corpses! They live inside them. That’s a Selphid. I’d show you a Gazer, but I don’t think you’d see many in a Centaur-led army or a Dullahan one. They keep to themselves, mainly.”

The conversation diverged into a lecture about how weird Selphids were, with other Lizardfolk adding in details and stories.

“You know they never fight? Selphids. Even if they’re hired on opposite sides, if they meet they just bow to each other and won’t do battle, no matter what! I think that’s because there are so few. Well, we killed a lot of them a long time ago.”

“Hey, are any of your people [Mages]? You have a lot of shining magical artifacts. We see them, though you keep hiding them! What do they do?”

Pressured by the Lizardfolk, Ken tried to explain about the iPhones, computers, tablets, and other electronic devices some of the Humans from his world had carried. He showed his dead iPhone to the Lizardfolk and they were all over it, poking and prodding and vocally disappointed when it didn’t work.

Quexa handed the iPhone back to Ken. It had been dead ever since he’d come to Baleros—he’d forgotten to charge it and had been looking for a charger back in the Australian airport when he’d been taken. Aiko didn’t have hers, and neither did Luan.

“You should get that fixed! I bet a [Repair] spell would do it. I’d cast it, but I don’t know the spell.”

“Ah. And you are a [Mage]?”

She shook her head.

“I’m a [Sorcerer]. It’s not the same as the [Mage] class, you know. We cast magic by thinking about it real hard. Mages learn spells, but us [Sorcerers] are too lazy. We can’t use big spells unless we’re really high-level, but we don’t have to study. Cool, right?”

“Yes, very!”

Ken tried to be as friendly as possible. After an hour of rapid-talk his head was spinning, so he got up and politely excused himself.

“I am very glad to meet you all. I hope we can talk soon, and that you are all safe this night. Thank you very much for greeting me.”

He bowed to them, making the Lizardfolk cry out farewells and warmly wave him off. Satisfied, Ken left the group and heard them continue chattering behind his back.

“See? I told you some of them were nice.”

“Did you hear his accent? I wonder where he’s from.”

“What about the shining things? You didn’t ask where they got them—”

Ken made his way back to the Humans and explained to Luan and Aiko what he’d done. The other Humans clustered around him, and soon they were going over to the Lizardfolk—in smaller groups. Chatter started up, and soon the Lizardpeople were comfortable enough to talk with Humans on their own. Ken felt accomplished, and then felt his happiness drain away as the sun set.

The valley was filled with bodies as Quallet ordered everyone to take up arms and march down into the darkness. He carried the flag of Gravetender’s Fist, a fist shooting out of soil emblazoned on cloth that shone brightly in the dark. It was one of the precautions the suppression companies took. They carried bright lights and waved shining banners so neither army would look at them as enemies.

That was the fourth night.

—-

On the fifth day, there was beer. Ken heard about it as soon as he woke up, and found a mug filled with a frothy orange liquid shoved into his hands by one of the Americans.

His name was Johanas. He explained to Ken, face flushed, already clearly intoxicated. Ken leaned back a bit as Johanas excitedly talked.

“One of the guys traded a flashlight to him for a ton of beer! Hey, did you know that you can recharge all of our stuff with magic? It turns out if you cast [Repair] on something, the batteries get recharged too!”

He looked very happy at the news. Ken was happy too—but reservedly so. He appreciated drinking as much as anyone else, but not, it seemed, as much as the Americans. Some were under twenty one, which was apparently the drinking age in America. So many of the young men and women from America were drinking a lot—too much, in Ken’s opinion, to actually enjoy the experience.

Some were already throwing up.

“Thank you for telling me. Where did you buy the—beer—though?”

Ken stared at the orange liquid. It wasn’t like any beer he’d ever seen, but apparently it was a popular drink in Baleros. Johanas pointed north, towards another group sharing the neutral zone.

“See those guys? The [Merchants]? They’re…what, war vendors? Yeah, that’s what they’re called. They’ll sell to anyone for the right price.”

Ken did indeed know about the war vendors, opportunistic [Merchants] who travelled with heavy escorts to battlefields to supply armies in need of extra potions, arms, magical artifacts, and so on. And apparently, beer as well.

He spotted one of the [Merchants], and saw to his surprise a serpentine form, a good seven feet high, glittering gold and red scales that ran from a long and powerful tail up into a humanoid torso with two arms and a serpentine head. The Naga had long fins on the back of his head, like a Lizardperson’s frills. And that was because…

Ken stared hard at the [Merchant], enough so that both he and Johanas noticed. The Naga turned, saw Ken looking, and waved at him. Ken kept staring.

“Dude, don’t stare.”

Johanas tugged him away, but Ken shook his head. He deliberately scrutinized the Naga from shining head to toe, noting how the Naga wore clothes only on his upper half, leaving his serpentine lower body free. He was very flashy, and his scales and clothing shone. He had small jewels embedded in the fabric!

“Hey, he’s looking at us.”

The slightly drunk and sobering Johanas looked worried, but Ken was not. Another aspect of Lizardfolk culture went into his staring.

“I think they do not mind. How can I say…? They like to be acknowledged.”

“What?”

The other young man gave Ken a skeptical look, but Ken’s theory was proven true in a few moments. Far from taking offense at Ken’s obvious study of his body, the Naga instead grinned. He twisted his body around, showing off his serpentine features much to the approval of the Lizardfolk watching him.

“He is one of the Lizardfolk, I think.”

“What? Him? But he looks nothing like them!”

Johanas was astonished. Ken nodded hesitantly.

“That is what they said. I think they turn into him. Into Nagas. Sometimes.”

The American young man stared at him. Ken turned his attention away from the Naga and shrugged. Johanas turned his head and then shook it, looking disoriented.

“Weird as fuck, man. I’ll, uh, I’ll see if the Lizards want to party, then. We have a lot of booze.”

So saying, he went over to the Lizardpeople. They were instantly on their feet and headed towards the place where the Americans were drinking, and Ken saw Johanas approach a group of Dullahans next.

Watch. Ken’s eyes narrowed slightly and he forgot the mug in his hands as he watched Johanas approach a group of five Dullahans. They had been talking quietly amongst themselves, but went silent as Johanas came over.

This is what Ken noticed. Of the five Dullahans, three had wooden armor, crude, seemingly hewn from trees. The other two though had metal armor. One looked like iron plate, the other, a type of scale mail. The other Dullahans seemed to defer to them.

It was about the armor. Ken was no expert, but the Dullahan with scale mail armor probably had the more expensive equipment, or body, than the one with iron armor. And that mattered. He watched as Johanas stumbled over and heard the young man’s voice.

“Hey, any of you lot want to drink? We’ve got free beer!”

He didn’t address the Dullahan in scale armor, nor the one with iron armor. And Ken knew immediately that was a mistake. The Dullahan in scale armor narrowed her eyes, and the Dullahan that Johanas had addressed, a wide-eyed, very young male in cheap wood armor, looked at her first before silently shaking his head.

“What about you then? Want to hang out?”

Ken winced as Johanas only now addressed the Dullahan in scale armor. She froze up. She looked irritated, furrowing her brows slightly. Johanas didn’t notice—Dullahan features changed only slightly and he was too drunk to see. She replied curtly and he stumbled away, shrugging.

The entire group of Dullahans had declined as one. None of them would go drink with the Americans, although a few Centaurs did drift over for the alcohol.

Ken was looking at the Lizardfolk, whom some of the Americans were unsuccessfully trying to convince to play a game of spin the bottle with, when someone spoke his name.

“Ken, what are you doing?”

He turned as Aiko approached him, speaking in Japanese. Ken pointed to the Lizardfolk, who were all refusing to play spin the bottle.

“They move as one group, you see, Aiko? If you cannot convince them as a whole, none will agree.”

Aiko eyed the group of Lizardfolk and shook her head.

“So? I think you spend too much time looking at them. Especially the female ones. What about Humans? We’re normal. They’re odd.”

Ken felt nettled by the comment. He turned away from Aiko, annoyed. He was trying to understand the other species. They were all in the same company—so what if Lizardpeople looked strange? So what if Dullahans could take their heads off, and Centaurs were half-horse, half-Human? He knew some of the people from his world couldn’t interact with the other species—he noted a girl refusing to go near one of the friendly Lizardfolk. But that wasn’t right.

“So what if they are different? We should get to know them better.”

He spoke sharply to Aiko. She stomped her foot, exasperated.

“We should stick together and work with other people from our world! They are talking each day, and you do not listen!”

A lot of the Americans were arguing it out with the Europeans and Australians, Ken knew. Everyone had been appalled at finding out just how horrible their duties were, and it was the Americans especially who wanted a change. But what could they do? He glared at Aiko.

“Should I go back and spend more time looking at Luan-san, then?”

Her face went red. Ken knew that Aiko had developed a crush on Luan. The South African man was older than everyone else, and he was always optimistic, always taking command. She punched his shoulder and Ken yelped and moved away.

“Idiot.”

She stormed off. Ken turned back, feeling guilty, and stared at the Centaurs and how they were interacting with the very drunk Americans. He had a theory about them as well, but he was interrupted by Luan.

“Hey Ken, I saw you and Aiko talking. Did you have a fight?”

Ken turned and smiled at Luan. His friend had a mug in one hand as well and was sipping gingerly at it. He made a face as he came to sit by Ken.

“You two in an argument? She looked pretty upset. What was it about?”

Of all the people to ask—no, Luan was the one who kept Aiko and Ken company, who looked out after them. Of course he’d ask. But Ken could say nothing. He bit his lip and tried to respond.

“I ah, how do I say this? I do not think I can tell you. It is not my secret to give away. I am sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Luan grinned at him, and then frowned at his mug.

“Have you tasted this? It’s awful.”

“No.”

Ken sipped at his drink and recoiled at the taste. The liquid was sour in a very unpleasant way. The Americans didn’t seem to mind the taste, but as Luan observed, they were only trying to get drunk.

“Half of them aren’t allowed to drink in their country. Crazy.”

Ken nodded in agreement. The drinking age in Japan was 20 years, but it wasn’t enforced in any strict sense of the word. In South Africa, it was apparently 18. That only mattered because Ken and Luan had had the chance to drink quite a few times before now. For Americans, it was apparently a lot harder.

“They are enjoying themselves. I am told they traded a flashlight for beer.”

Luan had heard that, and he wasn’t happy about it. He frowned as he took another sip of his drink and nearly spat it back out.

“They shouldn’t have done that. It was a bad idea.”

“Why?”

Ken saw Luan hesitate, and then glance around. No one was nearby to listen—they were either drinking, or trying to ignore the shouting coming from the people who were drinking. Still, Luan lowered his voice.

“That flashlight is very valuable. We don’t have a way to get more, and if we can repair it with magic, it’s too valuable to waste. But those assholes didn’t listen to me, or any of the Germans. They’re playing by their own rules and no one else’s opinion matters.”

“Damn right they are. Fucking bastards.”

Both Ken and Luan jumped. Someone had snuck up behind them. Someone with a class in [Rogue], which he’d gotten from sneaking around the battlefield. A tanned young man with blonde hair and a sword. His name was Daly, and he was from Australia. He put a hand on both Ken and Luan’s shoulders and he leaned in with them.

“You lot talking about the Americans, right? Know anything?”

“Not a thing, mate.”

Luan nodded familiarly with Daly. Perhaps it was because both of them said ‘mate’ that they got along. Or that they came from hot continents. Or…they just got along. Ken gently edged away from Daly. Intimate contact wasn’t exactly something he was at home with.

“Those wankers are up to something, and they won’t tell the rest of what. You heard anything, uh…what’s your names?”

“I’m Luan, this is Ken.”

“Pleased to meet ya. Thought I’d seen you around, but couldn’t remember your names off the top of my head.”

Ken was treated to a firm handshake. Daly squatted down next to them and began to grouse about the American problem with Luan.

“We’re all on the same boat, right? Why the hell are they keeping things secret?”

Luan shook his head as Ken sipped his drink and kept tactfully silent.

“Americans. I think they want to tell us what to do.”

“Yeah, well, since none of them have a nuke shoved down their trousers, I’ll pass on that. We’re in it together and unless they tell us what they’re planning, none of our lot is budging. The work we’re doing is shite, but at least none of us are dying.”

Daly nodded at the group of Australians he was with. There was an even ratio of males and females there, and they were having a conversation with some of the Centaurs, shouting to be heard above the party which was now enveloping all three companies. Gravetender’s Fist, Rot’s Bane, and Untimely Demise. Ken wondered if one of the officers would break up the mayhem, until he saw officer Raeh drinking along with the rest of them.

“Right well, it was good to meet both of ya. I’d love to have a pint with you, but those damned idiots are hogging it all.”

The Australian young man stood up with a groan, and then went off to get something to drink as well. Ken heard him shouting as he approached the group of Americans, who were now singing their national anthem.

“Oi! Stop hogging all the alcohol! Share some, you buggers!”

Someone waved at Daly and he gave them a ‘V’ sign with his fingers that Ken was fairly sure didn’t stand for ‘victory’. Luan laughed as he watched a group of Centaurs finally come over to shout at the partying soldiers to shut up.

Ken turned back to Luan. He hesitated, not knowing where to begin.

“Good friend Luan-san…”

“Call me Luan, yeah?”

“Luan—I have been talking with the others. Lizardfolk, and I was thinking of doing so with the Dullahans and Centaurs, only Aiko does not think it is a good idea.”

He was on familiar enough terms now to call Aiko by her first name, and he was glad that Luan felt he was a friend. Ken certainly considered him one. Luan nodded.

“Talking with them? Sounds good. I can’t get them to talk to me, but you got those Lizardfolk to open up. What’s Aiko’s problem?”

“I think she feels awkward. It is…they are very different, but I think they are like us. Some of the people from our world do not think so. But I—I think they are like us. What do you think?”

Ken held his breath, but Luan just smiled. He tapped his chest as he looked Ken in the eye.

“I was born during Apartheid, good friend Ken. I know about judging people by their skin. I think I should talk with Aiko, and you—should talk with the other species. We are all soldiers, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Relieved, Ken grinned at Luan. That was how he found himself heading towards the group of Dullahans that Johanas had failed to invite. They were watching the partying with stony faces, and all of them stared flatly at Ken as he hesitantly approached.

This was different from the Lizardpeople. Ken braced himself. Where the species of Lizardfolk as a whole were cautious but quite open to talk, Dullahans were private. Notably so. They didn’t try to start conversations with people of other species unless it was out of necessity. But Ken thought the real barrier that none of the Humans had understood was the need for formality.

Americans weren’t formal. Europeans and people from Luan’s country…well, Ken didn’t actually know enough about each culture to be sure, but he knew that Japanese culture was very formal. Using the proper honorifics was extremely important in Japan, and it was something people from other countries had little grasp of.

It was like how in English, no one called him Murata-san or Ken-san, which would be more polite. It was all first names, which Ken found awkward at first. But Dullahans…they were slightly Japanese in the way they behaved towards one another.

This is what Ken had seen, from Johanas’ interactions with the Dullahans and other times. Dullahans had a hierarchy in any group, even if it was just between two of them. It was unspoken, but it was there and it shaped every interaction they had. And it was all based on armor.

Every Dullahan had armor. But the type of armor, quality, and materials different on each Dullahan. It was like clothing, only more intimate. It was a reflection of their personality and, Ken now understood, their social standing.

In a group, the Dullahans with the most impressive armor always spoke first, and everyone else deferred to them. It wasn’t just what their armor was made of either; someone with ornate armor was more important than someone with the same material of armor, but less craftsmanship. You had to have an eye for it, but Ken was confident in this case.

He approached the group of five Dullahans as they stared at him warily. They clearly didn’t want to talk, but Ken intended to prove he could show proper respect. That was why he didn’t immediately speak to the closest Dullahan, but rather, to the one with scale armor, the one Johanas had failed to immediately address.

“Please excuse my rude interruption, but I was hoping I could speak with you all.”

The Dullahan woman wearing scale armor blinked as Ken bowed his head towards her. She had placed her head next to her body, and now she grabbed her head and aimed her face at Ken to speak. She hesitated, and then replied.

“What do you wish to say, Human?”

The others looked from her to Ken as he introduced himself.

“I am Kenjiro Murata. I would like to introduce myself to fellow soldiers. May I ask your name?”

Again, he spoke directly towards the Dullahan in scale armor. She nodded after a moment.

“I am Etretta Fulvrie. I greet you, Kenjiro.”

She spoke his name somewhat awkwardly, but Ken pretended not to notice. He nodded towards her and she nodded back. Then Ken turned to look at the Dullahan sitting across from her, the one in iron armor.

There was a flicker of surprise as the Dullahans noticed Ken’s action. The Dullahan in iron armor glanced at Etretta. There was a flicker of approval in her eyes as she nodded slightly at him.

He introduced himself in a gravelly voice. He was named Lethic, and the other three Dullahans introduced themselves, in the order of the quality of their armor, not where they were sitting or their age. Kenjiro hid a smile. He was right!

“What is it you have come to say, Kenjiro Murata?”

“I wish to apologize for my comrade. He does not understand your culture, and he may have offended you. For that I am very sorry.”

Ken spoke to Etretta, and the group at large. He bowed first to Etretta, and then to Lethic. The Dullahans stirred, murmured quietly. Etretta’s eyes were sharp on Ken. She had a very fine sword and she, unlike the others, was an experienced soldier in Gravetender’s Fist.

“Humans often make mistakes. We are used to it. But you think you understand our ways, Kenjiro?”

“I would not say I understand, but I hope to know more. Your people are a very impressive one.”

Ken met Etretta’s eyes for only a moment before looking away. He had a sense that staring at a Dullahan’s head was too intimate. By contrast, staring at their armor was a sign of respect.

Again, his intuition paid off. Etretta cradled her head, growing visibly more relaxed as she and the others rested their heads on the ground or their laps, not holding them stiffly as they did around strangers. Was it a sign that they didn’t think they were in danger?

“I accept your apology, Kenjiro. I would speak with you more if you are willing. Are there still drinks to be had?”

Kenjiro smiled. And after a second, so did Etretta. As it turned out there was still alcohol to be had, although they had to pass by several comatose bodies to get to it.

That night, Quallet swore a blue streak and threatened to thrash anyone too drunk to do their duty awake. It was up to Ken and the other Humans to get the people who’d literally passed out while drinking up and somewhat sober. More than one person was stumbling as they headed out into the night.

The work was still desperate, still dirty, and this time, Kenjiro slipped while carrying a Dullahan’s corpse and found a pile of maggots squirming down his armor. He lost what food he’d eaten, but it was a Dullahan, Lethic, who pulled him up. Quexa burned the maggots off the front of his armor as Luan and Aiko helped get the rest out from under his armor.

Small things. Kenjiro stumbled back into camp too tired to walk properly and reeking of filth. As his head hit the ground he heard a voice in his head. It had a surprise for him.

[Warrior Level 4!]

[Negotiator Class Obtained!]

[Negotiator Level 2!]

[Skill – Amateur Linguist obtained!]

[Skill – Polite Demeanor obtained!]

—-

On the sixth day, Ken watched the fighting. He couldn’t help it. Sometimes he could ignore it, when he was talking with people, watching the different species interact, but other times it was too raw, too visible to ignore.

Each day, the Razorshard Armor company and the Roving Arrow company lined up their forces and sent them into the valley to fight. It wasn’t just like two masses of soldiers charging at each other, though. Both sides kept forces hidden in the trees, or moving around the outsides, clashing, trying to strike the enemy from behind.

Flights of arrows flew from the galloping Centaurs, and they charged into the armored Dullahans with lances and spears that pierced through the heavy armor. The Dullahans brought forth a group of [Mages] that blasted groups of warriors apart until a Centaur charge forced them to fall back as the furious Centaur warriors hacked apart a group of Lizardfolk assigned to guard the [Mages].

It was terrible to watch. Terrible, and yet some part of the fighting called to Ken. Not the blood. Not the limbs and hacked open flesh, but the moments of heroism. They still shook his heart. He saw a [Soldier] hold off three Centaurs with a Skill that made his blade dance and create a whirlwind of metal that held the warriors off until his comrades could join him. He saw a [Mage] raise an emerald shield up and calmly walk through a hail of arrows.

That was the glorious, magical part of the battle. But it was savage and merciless too.

A group of Centaurs had roped a Dullahan commander and were dragging him across the battlefield, howling war cries as the soldiers tried to free their leader. They kept dragging the Dullahan across the broken ground long after he’d stopped moving. When they cut him loose, the Dullahan’s corpse lay there. Ken saw the red streak it had left and turned away.

“Bloody horrific, ain’t it?”

Someone joined Ken as he watched the Centaurs regrouping for another charge. He saw Daly and another Australian girl standing at the edge of the neutral zone and staring down at the carnage. Daly nodded to the young woman.

“This is Paige. Paige, this here is Ken.”

“Pleased.”

Paige offered her hand and Ken shook it lightly. She stared down at the battlefield, face grim. She didn’t flinch away, though. Everyone from Aiko to Luan had gotten used to far worse, roaming the battlefield at night.

“They line up on the battlefield like gentlemen, and then start tearing each other to bits each night. What kind of place is this?”

“Better than if they fought at night, too.”

Daly shrugged, but Paige frowned.

“I heard someone got killed over by where the Untimely Demise lot were working. Not from an undead—they got shot.”

“By who?”

Both Ken and Daly looked at her in alarm. Paige didn’t know.

“I heard the Captain was asking about it. But I didn’t hear if he got an answer.”

Ken stared down at the valley, where Dullahans were marching towards the Centaurs, driving them back. It was incredible that after each day there were enough soldiers to keep fighting, but apparently both companies were sending their forces into the valley, rather than keep fighting and destroy the landscape around them. They were trying to wear each other down, rather than risk mutual destruction.

“So they’re just gonna keep tearing each other apart until one side starts winning? Sounds like the dumbest war in the world.”

“Sounds like every war.”

Daly and Paige were arguing as Ken excused himself. He’d seen enough bloodshed, and he had to think. Think about his new classes, for one thing.

[Negotiator]. Ken had told Luan and Aiko about it immediately of course, but no one else. He hadn’t known it was a class you could get, but it made sense. And the Skills he’d gotten! [Polite Demeanor] and [Amateur Linguist].

He could understand [Polite Demeanor]—apparently it made him look and smell less like someone who lifted corpses each day. According to Luan and Aiko, it made them want to talk to him more than anyone else, if only to escape the foul odor everyone else in the company had.

But [Amateur Linguist]? That was more intriguing. Ken had tried to use it, but apparently it was a passive Skill rather than one he could use. It seemed to help with his ability to speak English, and perhaps other languages, if he knew them.

The Skill didn’t make his speech that much markedly better, but suddenly Kenjiro could understand words in English without first having to translate them into Japanese. In short, he began to think in English, which made his ability to reply and comprehend what people were saying far easier. Aiko was purely jealous.

“So unfair! I want that Skill!”

Ken was very grateful for it, but he had no idea whether having the [Negotiator] class was a good thing, or whether it was useless. Luan was of the opinion any class was good news, but Kenjiro had heard a girl from the Netherlands saying that one class was best because of…something to do with maximum levels in a video game? Her opinion was being hotly debated among those who played video games.

He didn’t know what he was looking for in camp, aside from a distraction, but Ken found it in an instant when he saw Captain Quallet arguing with a group of Centaurs, one of whom was wearing important-looking armor. Well, arguing was a bit of an understatement. Quallet was bellowing at them.

“We can’t do our jobs if you lot won’t give us access! I don’t—no, I don’t care where your patrols are! The corpses are there, and if you want us to get rid of them, you’ll give us access!”

He was yelling at the Centaur officer, who was getting more offended by the minute. Ken hurried over, not knowing what he was doing, but knowing in his heart that Quallet was doing exactly the wrong thing if he wanted to convince the Centaurs of anything.

Unlike Dullahans and Lizardfolk, the third predominant species of Baleros, Centaurs, were neither taciturn nor talkative. They probably fit between both Lizardfolk and Dullahan temperaments when it came to how social they could be, but, and this was a big but, they had a temper. Collectively. As a species.

If there was a ranking for bad-tempered species, Centaurs would probably be at the top of that list, competing for first place with Drakes and Minotaurs, although Ken had never met representatives of those species.

Centaurs were touchy, prideful, and reminded Ken a bit of his grandmother. They didn’t accept bad manners at all, and the slightest offense was instantly corrected, regardless if it caused trouble for all parties involved. Right now Quallet was digging himself a hole by shouting at an officer.

The angry [Mercenary Captain] had a hand on his axe and the Centaur officer looked ready to pull out his bow and shoot him. Kenjiro heard the Centaur speaking curtly to Quallet.

“Our territory is being patrolled to keep the damned Dullahans away from our camps. Twice now they have tried to attack us with [Rogues] and [Assassins]. My [Commander] demands to know how we know your forces will be trusted.”

Quallet growled.

“I told you, you empty-headed donkey—”

Ken saw the Centaur officer’s eyes narrow and jumped into the conversation. Literally. He nearly knocked Quallet aside. The [Captain] stumbled, eyes widening with fury. He rounded on Ken, but Ken was busy speaking to the Centaur officer. He spread his arms wide, smiling as best he could.

“Honored friends, we would humbly like to request permission to cross into your territory. We intend no disrespect, but we…must painfully intrude because of our duties. We mean no offense. And we will identify ourselves as best we can.”

The officer eyed Ken as Quallet opened a furious mouth, and then closed it as he saw what Ken was doing.

“Hmf. So you say. But how will we identify your people?”

“Banners. We have one—”

Again, Ken interrupted Quallet. This time the [Captain] let him speak.

“If it is agreeable, we will raise our company banner. It is illuminated, and the rest of our company will carry lanterns to identify ourselves. We will respond to any challenges, and, we would like to cooperate more sincerely, we will stick to an agreed-upon area of your choosing.”

It was what Quallet was going to say—what the Gravetender’s Fist company did every time, but the wording of it was key. Ken deferentially let the officer think for a moment, and then the Centaur spoke grudgingly.

“That is adequate. We will specify the location before nightfall. Do not stray.”

Ken bowed his head and thanked the Centaur as he and his soldiers trotted off. Then he turned and saw Quallet staring hard at him. Part of Ken’s elated heart went up his throat. But Quallet didn’t berate him. Instead, he nodded at Ken.

“Good job. You have some kind of [Diplomat] class?”

“Um. No sir. I have just received the [Negotiator] class.”

“Same thing.”

Quallet grunted. He paused, and looked at the Centaur’s backs. Then he spat. Ken winced, but none of the Centaurs noticed.

“In that case, you’ll be dealing with both sides from now on. I hate bowing and scraping to the Centaurs, but they’re touchy. As for the Dullahans—if it comes to it, just bow to the one in the most polished armor. You know that?”

Ken nodded. Quallet eyed him and then clapped him on the shoulder. Ken staggered.

“Keep it up. If you can talk us out of more trouble, I’ll give you a bonus.”

He walked off. Ken massaged his shoulder, wishing people weren’t so intimate. But he smiled. And later that day, dozing, he leveled up again. Then he woke up. His smile faded. Ken went back to the battlefield and began hauling bodies. There was no happiness in that.

—-

This night Gravetender’s Fist was working in a wooded area, part of the Centaur’s marked territory. They’d heard a stern injunction from Quallet and the other officers not to stray far from the banner, and each group had filled their lantern’s oil so it shone brightly in the night.

Now Ken and the others walked past trees, some marked by combat, felled by blasts of magic or powerful Skills. They had to be especially alert for zombies hidden in the shadow of trees, but they were used to the routine enough to talk in low voices.

“They are talking about leaving?”

Aiko whispered to Luan as Ken helped both of them drag a heavy Lizardman in broken armor to the pile. Luan nodded, looking angry.

“The Americans want to go. They’re saying this job is shit—which it is—and they want to abandon the company. They’re saying we can desert and head back to one of the cities, sell our swords and armor maybe.”

“That is a bad idea. Isn’t it?”

Ken stared at Luan, heart pounding at the thought. Leave the company? If they did, they’d have to leave the neutral zone. At night or by day made no difference. If they were caught—

Luan nodded, looking angry.

“I told them—the others told them—it’s a terrible idea! But the Americans are fed up with hauling these bodies. I can’t blame them for that, but a handful of maggots here is better than dying. They think we can do it though, and they’re going to bring it up tomorrow.”

“We must talk to the others.”

Aiko’s face was pale. Luan nodded, and shifted his hold on the Dullahan.

“Shit. I can’t see. Where are the others?”

“Back there.”

Today Ken, Aiko, and Luan had paired with Quexa and three other Lizardfolk. It was Quexa who had the lantern. Ken lowered the Dullahan’s body while Luan adjusted his grip. They waited for the Lizardfolk to catch up—they were struggling to carry an obese Centaur.

“Never thought I’d see a fat Centaur. He looks round. I wonder if that’s how they got him. Too big of a target? Or was he too slow to run away? If a Centaur is too fat, does it just waddle around?”

Luan commented as he watched the Lizardfolk swearing loudly, trying to move the Centaur.

“At least it was not a zombie. That would be very hard to kill.”

Ken grinned, imagining an undead Centaur waddling towards him in the darkness. Aiko giggled, putting her hand up to her mouth and then snatching it down. Her hands, like every other part of her body, were filthy.

Luan laughed. He turned towards Ken, about to say something, and then there was a whistling sound. He blinked, and Ken heard a thunk.

Something sprouted from Luan’s chest. He gasped, and then Aiko screamed. The Lizardfolk dropped the Centaur and Quexa shouted.

“Attack!”

Shouts rang out as shadows in the forest suddenly turned into galloping shapes. Ken reached for Luan as his friend sagged to the ground.

“Luan? Luan?”

There was an arrow in his side. Ken reached for it automatically, but someone caught his hand. A Lizardman shook his head as Quexa ran over, waving her lantern and shouting desperately as the Centaurs galloping around them.

“We’re not enemies! Gravetender’s Fist! We’re—”

There was chaos. Ken heard pounding feet and voices, and then officer Raeh was there.

“Back off!”

He shouted at Ken and the others and fumbled at his belt.

“Healing potion. Here! Snap the arrow off and pour it in—the arrow should come out. I’ve got to stop us from being killed!”

He stood up and waved his hands at the Centaurs, shouting. Ken bent over Luan. The man’s face was pale and beaded with sweat. Ken reached for the arrow, hesitated.

“I’ll hold him. Do it.”

Quexa and the Lizardman seized Luan. Ken looked at Aiko. She grabbed the arrow and he used his hands and tried to snap it.

It was hard. The arrow’s shaft was thick and as he moved the arrow Luan woke up and began screaming. Ken heard Quexa shout and he tried to break the shaft. He felt it splinter, and then it snapped.

“Healing potion!”

Aiko pulled the bottle out frantically and removed the stopper. She splashed the liquid into Luan’s wound and Ken watched the skin seal over. The broken wood shaft of the arrow popped out of the wound, but the arrowhead did not. Had it passed through his body? In any event, Luan stopped thrashing.

“Luan?”

Ken held his breath. Then Luan opened his eyes. He blinked, and then spoke.

“I thought I was a goner.”

Luan grinned at them, face covered in sweat, still very pale. Ken and Aiko smiled in relief. Luan laughed shakily. He sat up to say something, and then his face went white. He cried out in agony.

“What’s wrong? Luan?”

Aiko reached for him, but Luan knocked her hand away. He pressed his hands towards his side, and to Ken’s horror, he saw the wound was opening back up. Luan fell back, screaming again as the wound tore open a second time.

Horrified, Aiko reached for the potion to use it again, but Quexa stopped her. She called out.

“It’s not working! Sergeant Raeh!”

The Centaurs were gone, at least for now. Raeh came running back over, demanding to know why they hadn’t used the potion. When he heard what had happened he swore.

“It was some kind of enchanted shaft. Damn those four-legged bastards!”

He knelt by Luan’s side as the younger man cried out in pain. Raeh didn’t touch the wound, but he looked grimly at the head of the shaft.

“Whatever’s in there is still cutting him up from the inside. You—boy. Did the entire arrow come out?”

“No—no, only the—the shaft.”

“Damn it. It was an enchanted arrow after all!”

Raeh looked grimly at the wound. He beckoned for Quexa to bring the lantern over, and peered at the oozing wound. He pulled a knife out grimly, and then hesitated.

“I can’t…tell where it is. I need to cut it out before the healing potion can work, but—”

“Cut it out?”

Aiko was horrified. Raeh helplessly looked around Luan’s side as he thrashed.

“It could be anywhere in there. The enchanted arrowheads are nasty—some of them move. If I don’t get it right off, your friend will die. We can’t use healing potions until I get it—I—”

His hands were trembling. He didn’t know where to cut, and he thought he’d miss. Raeh hesitated, and Ken saw his hand tighten on the grip of the dagger. He raised it, and Ken caught his arm.

“No!”

“It has to be done! Move over boy—I’ve got only one chance to help your friend. It’s that or slit his throat, because he’ll die in agony—”

“No! There has to be a—a hospital, yes? A doctor? Someone who can perform surgery?”

There had to be. But Raeh just stared at Ken and shook his head.

“There’s no one like that.”

He raised the dagger, and Ken felt true despair in his heart as he saw Raeh’s haunted gaze. That was when Quallet found them. The [Captain] ran towards them, axe drawn, [Sergeant] Xor following.

“Raeh! What the hell’s going on here?”

Raeh explained in short sentences and both Quallet and Xor knelt by Luan. Their appraisal of the situation was the same.

“It’s got to come out, but damn me if I don’t know where. ”

“He’s losing blood. A bad cut and he’ll be dead in minutes. We can’t fish around in his guts, Captain Marshhand. It might be kinder to—”

Xor was speaking, but it all seemed far away. Ken stood in an oasis of shock and horror, watching the moment play out as if it were on a screen or far away. There was static in his ears. Aiko was gripping Luan’s hand, he was screaming—Raeh had the knife.

Then Quallet looked up. He had the same empty look in his eyes, as of someone expecting to see only death. But he saw Ken, and something flickered in his gaze.

“No. Not us. There’s another way.”

“What?”

Quallet stood up. He turned to his two officers.

“I’ll handle matters here. Raeh, get these two an escort and a white flag. There’s a spot to the north where a [Doctor] works. Have them get—Luan—over there. If they’re quick and lucky, this [Doctor] might be able to save him.”

“Are you sure?”

Raeh looked skeptical, but Quallet nodded.

“It’s their best shot. If we try, he’s dead either way. You know that. There’s no way we’ll find an arrowhead, but if what I’ve heard about this ‘Last Light’ are true, the [Doctor] might be able to.”

A [Doctor]. The word dragged Ken back into reality. He looked at Aiko, and saw the same desperation in her eyes. It was something to cling to. Ken knelt by Luan as Raeh turned and started shouting.

“Hold on, Luan.”

It was a stretcher they used to carry Luan, the same kind they used to haul bodies or bits of bodies. It was filthy, and Luan screamed when they put him on it, but they had no choice.

They carried Luan on the stretcher, Ken, Aiko, and Quexa, while the Lizardman carried the white flag. They ran out of the woods, trying to run and not jostle Luan or trip all at the same time. They ran through the forest as the sun began to rise, searching desperately, praying.

That was how Ken met the [Doctor] known as the Last Light. He arrived in a small camp as the sun rose and Luan’s blood ran from his side. It dripped from the stretcher and fell onto the wet ground, among the grass and mud. Bugs landed to feed on the red liquid, and in the valley, two armies gathered to fight once more.

And the bodies came in, the wounded, the desperate. Ken and Aiko stood with Luan, one among many. Waiting for her, hoping she was real. The voices cried out, begged, pleaded. For salvation, relief—

For a [Doctor].

1.04 D

Quallet Marshhand was shouting at a Centaur. He knew it was a stupid thing to do. Centaurs were belligerent, touchy, and the only way to get them to agree to something was to flatter them. But Quallet was fed up, and there were some times when he just needed to scream at something.

Like now.

The Centaur commander was clearly unhappy at being shouted at, and kept trying to snap at Quallet. His soldiers were also trying to be menacing, but Quallet knew he was in the right. He snapped at the ash-colored Centaur as his company worked in the darkness, putting the undead to rest and burning the rest of the corpses.

“No, you listen to me. That was my company you shot at! We announced ourselves and carried both a banner and night lanterns! How could you not see—”

“He was not standing with the lantern.”

“He was ten feet away from it! How could you not tell they were together? They were hauling a dead Dullahan. If that didn’t tip your idiotic soldiers off—”

“The Dullahans have disguised themselves so before.”

The Centaur was unmoved. He glared down at Quallet, looking uncomfortable at his patrol’s attack on Quallet’s soldiers, but equally enraged.

“The Dullahans have been attacking our camps disguised as your people. They, damn them, have done this twice now!”

“That does not justify what your men did! You attacked my soldiers—shot one with an enchanted arrow! If he dies—”

“If he dies, we will pay the blood price. But we will not change our methods. Not now.”

The officer’s face had locked up into a stubborn rictus. Quallet stared at him, shaking with fury.

“And how am I supposed to stop that from happening again?”

“Stay within our designated areas. Identify yourselves.”

“We did that—if you want our company to do our duty, keep your soldiers away from mine! Because I promise you, if this happens a second time I will cancel our contract and demand full pay for—”

“Enough.”

The Centaur cut Quallet off and the [Mercenary Captain] nearly drew his axe right there and then.

“We must continue patrolling. I will instruct my soldiers and tomorrow negotiations will begin over reparations and perhaps change the location your company works. Until then, keep close to your lanterns.”

He whirled and trotted away, rather than continue arguing with Quallet. His soldiers left too, wincing as Quallet let loose a set of invectives that made the battle-hardened warriors flinch. Quallet would have liked to do more than curse.

But there was nothing he could do. Quallet stomped away to speak with Raeh and Xor. He immediately pulled back all of the company within range of the banner and made them move together at all times. Less corpses would be disposed of, but he wasn’t about to lose more soldiers than he had.

Luan. The enchanted arrow had gone deep into his side. Quallet had seen Raeh’s eyes, seen the fear. The only way to get it out was to cut into the flesh and bone and find the arrowhead…a tiny thing somewhere in all that blood and guts. There was no way Luan would have survived if Raeh had done it. Maybe this [Doctor] could save him. But Quallet feared the young man was already dead.

—-

“Luan? Luan! Stay awake. Please!”

Ken knelt by his friend’s side, speaking urgently to Luan as his eyes flickered. The black-skinned South African was shaking, sweat beading on his forehead.

He was dying. Blood was seeping from his arrow wound, staining the clumsy bandage that Aiko had tied around his side. The one who’d tied it, Aiko, was holding Luan’s hand as he groaned and shivered. That was all she could do. Ken looked around frantically.

“Is the [Doctor] here? My friend needs help!”

He was speaking—shouting at—a pale warrior with a halberd. He was a Selphid. His body was that of a Lizardman, but the scales were pale, close to white. The body was dead, but something else looked down at Ken and shook his head.

“Wait. The [Doctor] is still sleeping. She has worked without rest for over a day now. When she wakes, she will see your friend.”

Ken opened his mouth, but the Selphid stared at him.

“Quiet, or I will remove you. That will not help your friend.”

Ken closed his mouth. Luan was at the head of a line of wounded soldiers. There were only a few as the fighting had barely begun. It was just past dawn. But some of the soldiers were badly wounded, bandaged, unable to be healed by potions, carried by their friends to wait for the [Doctor] like Luan.

Some were already dead. Ken’s stomach was a knot of fear, but he made himself grip Luan’s other hand and wait.

“Give him more healing potion, Aiko.”

She did. Raeh had pressed the remaining bottle into her hands as he’d sent them to look for the [Doctor]. It could not heal the wound so long as the enchanted arrow was in place, but every time she carefully poured more into the wound, Luan’s color would get better and he seemed to grow in strength. But then the arrow’s magic would open the wound again, and he would scream.

Life went in, life went out. But Ken saw that the healing potion was not putting as much in as went out of Luan over time. He was getting weaker. He needed help. And the [Doctor] was asleep.

It felt like hours before she woke. When she did, Ken knew in an instant because the Selphid who had been standing guard over the lines of the wounded turned his head. From a small tent a form emerged, blinking in the light of the day. She turned her head and Ken saw a Human face. For some reason that reassured him. He had wondered if the [Doctor] was a Dullahan, but she looked…normal.

Then she began to lurch down the hill and Ken wondered if he’d made a mistake. She couldn’t be who Luan was waiting for.

When Kenjiro first saw the woman known as the Last Light, the famed [Doctor] of the battlefield up close, he thought he was looking at another zombie. Her skin was olive in color, but pale. Her hands were covered in blood, as was her clothing. Her brown hair was covered by an odd cap—a cut-down leather helmet stained with sweat.

She looked as if she needed a [Doctor] herself. One of her arms was practically white, as if blood flow had been constricted there. Her steps were brisk, but she stumbled twice as she approached the line of wounded. There was red in her eyes. Broken blood vessels.

When she spoke, her voice was hoarse.

“What happened to him?”

Ken looked at his friends. Quexa and a Lizardman had come with them, helping carry Luan. They were sitting by Luan, and looked at Ken. So did Aiko. So Ken took a breath and tried to explain.

“He—he was shot by an arrow. A magical—he does not heal. It is here.”

He showed the woman the wound and the [Doctor] knelt. She appraised his side for a second and then stood. She nearly fell down again, and the Selphid guard caught her.

“Arrow wound. Understood. Don’t move him. Stay with your friend. If he wakes, don’t let him get up. Keep him still, got it?”

“Yes, but—”

Ken broke off. The woman was already moving past him, speaking to the soldiers second in line. She knelt by a man with a broken sword blade protruding from his stomach, nodded. Ken stared at the piece of metal—it was frosted over. Magical? The man with it in his stomach was shaking uncontrollably and moaning. But the [Doctor] did not see to him either. She moved on to the next wounded soldier, then the next.

“Wait!”

The [Doctor] had nearly reached the end of the line when Ken ran towards her. The Selphid barred the way. Ken stopped and pointed at Luan.

“Will you help him?”

“Yes. Later. I have other patients to attend to first.”

Ken turned and saw two other Selphids with pale bodies carefully picking up the Soldier with the enchanted blade in his stomach. He gaped.

“But we are—first!”

The woman shook her head.

“Not the point. I am triaging. I must decide who needs attention first. This is not a situation where the first who arrive get treated first. I will save those who need my help most, and then move on to the less critically injured.”

She’d raised her voice so everyone waiting could hear. Ken understood her words, but couldn’t accept them.

“But my friend—”

“He has more time. I will see to him when I can.”

The [Doctor] turned away. Ken took a step, but the Selphid barred his path, his face grim. Ken stared helplessly at the Lizardman’s face and the intelligence lurking behind the dead features. He saw the [Doctor] move on, and then hesitate. She turned and spoke crisply.

“I am a [Doctor]. That means I save lives, no matter who it is I treat. I will try to save your friend—if I can. But I can’t promise anything. I will get to him as fast as I can. But you must wait.”

And that was it. Ken went back to Luan. In less than a minute, the woman had finished her surveying the patients. She marked them—Ken could see how she pointed and the Selphid guard laid colored stones by the wounded. Green for the least wounded. Yellow for moderate wounds and red for those about to die. Black meant they were dead or…or they weren’t going to be treated.

Luan was yellow. He was going to die, but not as soon as some. The [Doctor] strode up to a tent where the other Selphids had carried the first patient. Someone came out with a bowl of healing potion he dribbled on those with the red stones. It helped.

Ken applied healing potion to Luan’s wound. The skin closed. Broke open. Luan screamed. He waited, staring at the tent. It felt like hours passed before the tent flaps opened and the man with the enchanted blade in his stomach was carried out—minus the blade.

That was the first. There were five more to go. Ken watched another body go in as a group of ragged Human soldiers stared at the tent. Hours passed—Quexa told him it was minutes. The tent flaps opened, and a corpse came out.

Ken felt his stomach drop. Another body went in as the Selphid guard laid the body down and the soldiers, the friends of the female Lizardwoman who’d taken five arrows to the chest, wept and clung to each other in grief. The tent flaps were already closing around the third wounded soldier marked with a red stone.

A corpse came out. Another body came in. Another corpse. The fifth soldier lived, but his arm was gone. As the sixth came in, Luan started gasping and his eyes started rolling back into his head.

“Luan!”

Aiko was clinging to him, whispering to him in English and Japanese. But it was no good. The wound kept bleeding and the healing potion had run out. Ken stared helplessly at the stained bandages, crimson from all the blood loss and remembered some of the medical techniques he’d seen on TV. He had never been trained, but he couldn’t just sit back any longer!

“We should—出血を止めまれ! Apply compress—”

He reached for Luan’s side, guided by only a few memories of what to do with an open wound. Apply pressure? Where? Along the edges?

Aiko was white-faced, hands hovering over the open wound. Ken heard a shout as he reached for Luan.

“Don’t touch him!”

The Selphid guard stopped Ken as Quexa and the Lizardman stood up, just as worried. The Selphid pulled Ken back, explaining as Ken protested weakly.

“It’s an Evercut Arrow. It cannot be removed without opening him up, you see? If you shake your friend about, it will cut through his insides. Do not move him any more, and do not let him move.”

“But he is dying.”

“Yes.”

The Selphid looked him in the eyes, calmly. He had seen death. He lived in a corpse. He pulled Ken back as Quexa took Aiko and hugged her.

The Selphid’s name was Calectus. He made Ken sit, drink some water from Ken’s water flask. Ken had forgotten he had it. Calectus didn’t give Ken any false assurances, or hopes. He just told Ken to leave Luan, to not make things worse.

“Hope that he lives long enough for Doctor Geneva to see him.”

So Ken did. He prayed under his breath by Luan’s side as the sixth patient left the tent a corpse. Then it was Luan’s turn.

—-

Geneva didn’t calculate her success rate as she worked. If she did, she would have given up long ago in despair. But she couldn’t ignore the brutal arithmetic of life and death.

Some lived, some died. Sometimes Geneva would save four, twelve people in a row. Then she’d be wondering when the next patient would come in that she couldn’t save. Or sometimes she’d fail to save five people in a row, and keep praying the next patient was treatable. Because they had to be. The next one had to be. It was a game her mind played. It tried to find logic and patterns in chaos.

As the Selphid assistants took the sixth body outside, Geneva rested her hand against the table. She knew who was coming next. The black-skinned youth with the enchanted arrow in his side. She didn’t know if she could save him.

“Be ready Okasha. I need you to move fast. He will have lost a lot of blood and I need to find the arrow before I can heal him with a potion.”

“Understood.”

Okasha moved Geneva’s right arm up, blotting at her sweaty forehead with a damp cloth. Geneva saw the flaps open, and then the young man was on the table in front of her.

“Beginning the incision.”

Geneva didn’t need to do any diagnosing. She knew what had hit the young man. The Roving Arrow company had begun using the Evercut arrows a few days ago and Geneva had seen too many cases of these wounds to count. The arrows lodged in the inside and kept moving, slowly digging through organs and preventing healing until the patient died.

Swiftly, she cut with her scalpel across the young man’s chest, cutting open cloth, and then she cut again, opening up his side. She didn’t worry about infection or disease—her leveling up had granted her the invaluable Skill of [Sterile Field], an upgrade over [Sterile Equipment]. Nothing in a radius around her would be affected by unsanitary conditions, although they would if they left her presence.

So Geneva’s scalpel was clean as it sliced into the young man’s side. He opened his mouth and cried out—he was awake. The two Selphids immediately leapt forwards and held him down as Geneva tuned out the sounds he was making. She adjusted for his struggling and cut.

“I can see the entry wound. Going deeper.”

His flesh parted under the fine blade. Geneva stared into pulsating insides and saw red. The arrow had cut into the young man’s insides. The blood was concealing everything. Geneva’s eyes darted around, looking for the telltale glint of metal. Nothing.

If she were in a hospital she’d have a suction machine to clear away the blood. Here she only had—

“Towel.”

Okasha moved Geneva’s right hand at her command, sponging away blood. She put the towel aside, picked up another one. It was horrible, unsanitary, and Geneva’s only option.

“Water.”

She had some water that she used to rinse away the last of the blood. Now Geneva could see. And she saw…

Nothing. She could tell where the arrow had ripped through the young man’s side, into his liver. But it wasn’t in his liver anymore. He had stopped struggling, either passed out from the pain or…no, he was still alive. But she had to move quickly.

“Where did it go? Do you see it?”

“There.”

A voice in Geneva’s ear, too quiet for anyone to hear but her. Geneva felt her hand move. She could see the passage of the arrowhead now, though. From the liver, something had cut…Geneva saw an opening in the stomach lining and went for it. And at last she saw it, a tiny piece of orange metal, glinting and—moving—among the red flesh.

“Forceps.”

They were in her hand. Geneva knew what to do now, and carefully maneuvered them towards the arrowhead as it squirmed, cutting into the stomach. She took a breath, and then gripped it tightly. Instantly, she felt tension in the forceps as she tried to lever the arrowhead out of the flesh.

“It’s fighting me. Careful—”

Geneva twisted, and then flicked the arrowhead out of the wound. It flew off of the surgical table and onto the ground, still buried in a bit of flesh. One of the Selphid aids ran over to capture the arrowhead, taking care not to let it touch his skin.

“There. Check for fragments—where’s the healing potion?”

Okasha had it ready. Geneva swept through the rest of the body, but found nothing else wrong. She was running out of time.

“Apply the potion now.”

She normally used it sparingly, but the arrowhead had cut through so many parts of the body…Geneva closed the stomach, liver, and other damaged organs and then sutured the incision she’d made before closing that too. It helped, she found, and reduced the need for as much healing potion.

And then it was done. The young man went out and Geneva heard a scream of relief and shouts. That lifted a tiny part of her spirits. But then the next body came in, this time a soldier who had some kind of spell that was eating away at his legs, both of them. She had no way to stop it. She had to amputate. And then…

And then it was evening. The bodies stopped coming in. Either the soldiers were being killed off without a chance to be rescued, or all the injuries were healable with potions. That happened. Geneva stumbled out of her tent and found herself blinking up at a sun setting in the sky.

“Miss [Doctor]?”

A voice interrupted her. She turned and saw a man in armor with a helmet tucked under his arm and an axe at his belt. Calectus, the Selphid guard and highest-level warrior who’d volunteered to protect her, was watching him warily. Geneva took a step and nearly fell. The man caught her arm.

“Thank you. Ah, can I help you?”

“You already have, Miss. My name is Quallet Marshhand. I am the commander of Gravetender’s Fist, a suppression company hired for this engagement.”

“Oh. The ones who dispose of corpses.”

Quallet nodded as he and Geneva sat on some chairs that someone had found. He studied her, and she studied him. He was much what she had expected from a company commander. She’d seen and treated many by now. She was clearly not what he’d been expecting, though.

“This morning you saved one of my soldiers. I am grateful, although I don’t know what the custom is. My company can offer you—”

Oh. That was why he was here. Geneva sighed as she felt exhaustion catching up with her. She cut Quallet off brusquely.

“I’m a [Doctor]. I don’t charge fees for my work. If you want to donate, that’s fine, but I tend to each patient that comes to me without bias. I don’t take sides in war. Saving lives is my only priority.”

He blinked and considered this, not offended by her abrupt interruption.

“I see. In that case, let me offer you some money and my thanks. The young man you saved—he’s a good soldier.”

“They all are.”

Geneva tried to smile at him, and failed. She stood and shook Quallet’s hand. He gave some coins to Calectus—she saw silver and coppers, no gold. Geneva didn’t know whether to be insulted or not. She didn’t really care. Some commanders gave her nothing if she saved hundreds of their men, others, like Quallet, felt the need to come and thank her for each one.

She wasn’t doing this to be paid. She was…she was…she just had to do it. Because she’d sworn an oath? Because it was right? No. Because it was all she could do. It was all she could rationalize herself doing in this terrible world filled with blood and death.

Troubled by that thought, she turned away and nearly fell. Her leg shot out as Geneva nearly collapsed forward. Okasha steadied Geneva and spoke.

“Rest.”

“I’m fine. I should stay up. If there’s more—”

“You didn’t get enough sleep last night. If there are more wounded, I will wake you. But your mind is exhausted. You sleep. I will eat and rest us both.”

“I—I should—”

Geneva shook her head as she felt at her pocket. But Okasha was insistent, and Geneva knew what she was about to do.

“Sleep, Geneva. You must sleep. You have worked enough.”

Darkness engulfed Geneva’s mind in a moment. She felt oblivion come. It was welcome.

—-

Okasha had never invaded a living person’s body up until the moment a few months ago when she had had no choice. It was anathema to her kind, and punishable by death. But a body was a body, and she had adapted quickly and learned that a living body was far different from a dead one.

For one thing, a living body reacted to secretions Okasha could produce, as well as the ones it naturally secreted. Okasha had learned that long ago and made use of that fact to get Geneva to rest when the woman needed it.

She just had to trigger Geneva’s brain to secrete a little bit of the chemicals that induced drowsiness, the thing that Geneva called ‘melatonin’.

Oh, the things Humans came up with. How could they come up with a name for something Selphids had poked and prodded at for millennia? And yet, Geneva had told Okasha things about how the Human body worked that even the Selphids hadn’t known.

“Or perhaps we did know, once. Before our kind was hunted for the crime of stealing bodies from the living.”

It was Geneva’s voice, but Okasha who whispered with it. To differentiate between the two, Okasha lowered the range of Geneva’s vocal chords to make her voice deeper. She steered Geneva back towards camp, heading towards the [Doctor’s] tent.

Geneva’s mind was asleep; Okasha was in control. The Selphid only took full authority over her body when Geneva was asleep or in dire need. And she was uncomfortable with that, to be honest. What she was doing was abhorrent to Selphid culture. It had been banned by ancient treaties under threat of total extinction for their race. If Okasha was revealed to be possessing a live body, she would be destroyed, she had no doubt.

And yet, Geneva would be paralyzed without her. For all the [Doctor]’s genius, she had no knowledge of a way to cure damage to the spinal cord, and she had been struck by Thriss’ mace on the back of her neck. She would die, unable to move anything but her head without Okasha. And she couldn’t die. She was too valuable to the world.

Okasha saw that. That was why she helped Geneva, looked after her. That was also why six Selphids had joined Geneva’s camp. It was one of them who walked towards Okasha now. Calectus, most senior and highest level of the Selphids. He had come at Okasha’s behest, and he knew more than he let on.

For instance, about the fact that Okasha was in Geneva’s body. He knew Okasha had taken over Geneva as well—Selphids could see through body postures better than anyone else and so his face was disapproving as he looked at Okasha. He still had not forgiven her transgression, and spoke to her brusquely, as a senior to a junior.

After all, Okasha was only a Level 23 [Rogue] and now, a Level 15 [Medical Assistant]. Whereas Calectus was…

A Level 36 [Honor Guard]. Okasha stood in awe of him and humbly bobbed her head as Calectus motioned her to the tent where food was served to the wounded and Geneva, when she remembered to eat.

“She is asleep?”

He asked this as brusque confirmation as Okasha ate with Geneva’s body. The Selphid paused to savor the hot food—it was tastier than when she inhabited a dead person’s body. Geneva’s taste buds were all intact, and the sensation was blissful.

“Yes. She didn’t level today.”

“You can tell when it happens?”

Calectus frowned at Okasha as the Selphid nodded.

“If I listen, I think I can almost hear the announcement myself. But it’s always inaudible…I wonder if our predecessors worked with their hosts, rather than just controlled them?”

“Idle speculation. It was a mistake and it cost our kind everything.”

The older Selphid was disapproving. Okasha nodded meekly. He studied her, frowning as she finished her plate and filled it with a second helping. Geneva needed the energy.

“Do not take risks, Okasha. I do not like you forcing your host to sleep; even that is risky because we do not have the experience of interacting with a living host. Take no chances while you are working with her. Let her take no chances. The value of Geneva Scala’s life far outweighs yours or mine. So we have agreed.”

Geneva nodded. Calectus paused. She looked up at him. The Lizardman’s body he had recently inhabited was all very well, but she knew he was more at home with Dullahans. She coughed as a bit of food went down her lungs and fished it out with her Selphid body.

“How long will you stay with Geneva, Calectus?”

He shrugged.

“As long as it takes. If there is any Human, any person in this world that can save our people from the Wasting, it is her. Allow her to reach Level 30, and then, perhaps suggest to her that it is time to leave. I do not like the way this battle is going. Both sides are growing far more…savage.”

Okasha nodded. She’d felt it too. She and Calectus were soldiers, and the use of Evercut arrows spoke to a desire to hurt the enemy badly. Such arrows could only be used once and they were expensive…the Centaurs wanted to beat the Dullahans at all costs.

The two Selphids made no more conversation. Okasha finished eating and returned Geneva to her tent. There she made Geneva lie down. Time to sleep. Okasha let herself drift, relinquishing control of her body. Selphids slept like Humans.

A few hours later, Geneva awoke. She sat up slowly, and whispered.

“Okasha?”

There was no response. It was dark out, and the Selphid was asleep. Geneva was about to get up to pee—that was what had woken her up, but she felt at her pocket first.

Tucked away in her pants was a small stone. Geneva carefully pulled it out, trying to sense if Okasha was waking up. She was not.

Slowly, Geneva brought the stone up and tapped the surface. Instantly, she heard rustling sounds, and then a voice.

“Or perhaps we did know, once. Before our kind was hunted for the crime of stealing bodies from the living.”

It was in Geneva’s voice, but she had never said the words. Geneva shivered as she listened on. The small stone she held carefully between her fingers as it replayed the events of the last hour after she’d activated it.

It was a small voice recorder, a magically carved rune embedded in the center of an azurite stone. Geneva had bought it a while back and Okasha had forgotten she carried it. It took just a touch to activate. Geneva could do it when putting her hands in her pockets and the Selphid wouldn’t pay attention if she wasn’t in full control of Geneva’s body.

“Hm.”

The conversation between Okasha and Calectus played as Geneva lay back in bed. She listened; closing her eyes for a moment, and then shook her head.

They should have asked her. But help was help. She stood up, and went to pee. In the morning there would be more wounded to tend to, and Geneva was still tired. This was her routine. This was how every day went.

This was her life, now.

—-

“Luan-san, you’re awake!”

Ken and Aiko were there when Luan opened his eyes, as evening had begun. He sat up, gasped, felt at his side, and looked around.

“What happened?”

“The [Doctor] healed you. Can you tell? Do you remember?”

Aiko hugged Luan fiercely as he blinked, confused, and then put his hand to his head. He shook his head as Ken tried to give him an explanation of all that had passed.

“Shame. I thought I was a goner.”

He stood up, shakily, and then felt at his side again.

“I’m cured! I can’t believe it. What was the [Doctor] like?”

“Very strange. She was…she was very much like a doctor from our world.”

Ken told Luan about what had happened as Aiko went to get him some food and let the others know Luan was awake. Luan frowned.

“Like how?”

“She was talking about ‘triage’ and needing a ‘blood transfusion’ and many other complicated terms. I did not know there were [Doctors] in this world.”

Luan frowned.

“That is odd. How would someone know about blood transfusions here? Unless…does everyone know about that? That is a very advanced medical concept, I think.”

Ken nodded. Then he hesitated. Aiko rushed back in with some hot gruel and Luan devoured it. Ken took Aiko aside and whispered to her.

“Blood transfusion. That is—what is a ‘transfusion’, Aiko?”

“輸血.”

“Oh! That is odd! Luan, do you think she might be—”

Luan stared at Ken, and both felt a sudden jolt of excitement. It couldn’t be. Could it? Ken tried to remember—it was a young woman, a Human young woman who’d talked to him. A [Doctor]. That was a word from his world. Here [Healers] were far more common. Could it be? Was there someone else?

“Maybe.”

Luan put a hand to his side again, still not quite believing he was cured. He and Ken speculated about whether a person from this world would even know what a transfusion was before Aiko told them there was trouble outside.

It was the Humans. Or rather, Ken, Aiko and Luan’s group. They were arguing around the fire. They had been arguing for hours, apparently, but Ken had been too preoccupied with Luan to notice.

Now he saw Johanas shouting at Daly, pointing back at the battlefield where the Dullahans and Centaurs were still fighting.

“Those things killed Jessica! And those fucking Centaurs nearly killed Luan! I’m not sticking around to get killed. Let’s get out of here and—”

“Fuck that!”

Daly was standing across from Johanas with a group of Australians. There was a clear divide in the group and it turned out they were arguing about leaving. Ken stared as Luan groaned and Aiko helped him into a seat. Only the groan turned out to be about the issue, which Johanas had brought up and Daly and the others didn’t want to hear.

“We’re not leaving, you bloody idiots. You heard what the Captain told us about deserters—”

“Better than dying here or hauling more fucking corpses!”

The Americans were clearly ready to split. They’d been rattled by Luan getting shot last night, and that, on top of having to deal with dead bodies every night had been the last straw. The Australians were of a different opinion, as were the other young men and women in the group.

“You wanna go? Fine. But we’re not on board with this. Just because you lot are fed up, doesn’t mean we all want to risk our necks.”

Daly was arguing with Johanas. The American young man clearly wanted everyone to go with him. He turned to the group.

“In that case, let’s vote! Democracy! Everyone who’s in, raise their hands—”

Hands shot up, but Paige shouted as she crossed her arms.

“Screw your democracy! Over a third of the group is you lot. We voted last time, and that’s how we ended up here.”

There was a general agreement. Johanas flushed and opened his mouth angrily to retort. Ken turned to Luan. He caught sight of Xor and Raeh watching the disturbance at a distance, but neither officer seemed inclined to stop the fighting so long as there wasn’t violence. Quallet was ducking back into his tent—Ken spoke to Luan.

“What do you think, Luan?”

“What do I think?”

Luan’s face was still pale, but he bared his teeth.

“I think the Americans have a point.”

Ken and Aiko looked at Luan, shocked. He shook his head.

“Friends, I don’t know about you two, but I am not looking forward to going out there again. I just got shot. But—”

He frowned as the debate ended without a definitive conclusion. Daly took a swing at Johanas and both sides pulled the two apart before they could start brawling. Luan watched everyone disperse and shook his head.

“—But I don’t think abandoning the company is any better. Let’s talk to Daly and see what he thinks.”

It turned out that Daly and the other Australians were dead set against leaving and refusing to consider the matter.

“It’s not a vote, alright? We’re going to stay no matter what the others do.”

Daly spoke curtly to Luan as Aiko supported him. Ken’s attention was drawn to a short, furry creature that Daly was bending down and petting. It had green fur and a white belly and huge, round ears, a long cord-like tail and small paws. It was cute. Ken had no idea where it had come from.

“What is that, Daly?”

“Cute, ain’t it?”

The Australian young man grinned, forgetting his earlier ire as he bent to feed the thing a bit of bread. It squeaked—a surprisingly deep sound—and nibbled at it as two more hopped out of the brush.

“They just popped up while I was snacking. Friendly as you like. Go on, pet them.”

Ken did. To his delight, the rodent rubbed its head against his hand. Aiko immediately bent to pet it, while Luan took a seat on the ground.

“It’s like a quokka, I think. Doesn’t it look like that, Daly?”

Paige, another Australian girl with a scarred-over bite wound on one arm reached out and stroked the little furry creature’s head. Soon, she and every Human in the company were trying to touch the affectionate creatures. Ken felt himself smiling—until one of the Lizardfolk noticed what was going on. Ken heard a shout and saw Quexa running over excitedly.

“Ooh! Look! Beriats! Don’t let it get away!”

She ran over to the large rodent that Ken had been holding in his lap. It froze at the sight of the Lizardgirl and then leapt from Ken’s lap and tried to run into the forest. Too slow. Quexa caught up with it and lifted her foot with a triumphant yell.

She stomped on the green-furred rodent’s back, breaking its back with a sickening crack. Paige cried out in horror, but in a moment the other Lizardfolk were running over. The Beriats darted away, but the Lizardfolk grabbed them and beat them against the ground, using the Beriats’ tails as a handle.

There was a moment of shock as the Humans stopped shouting and the Lizardfolk happily lifted the corpses of the Beriats up. They blinked at the stunned Humans.

“What?”

Quexa frowned.

Aiko burst into tears. Luan went to hug her as Ken edged between her and the Lizardgirl. The Lizardfolk were getting insults from all sides and were clearly not understanding the issue.

“What? We’ll share. Beriats taste good when cooked. Or raw!”

It took some doing for Ken to smooth ruffled scales—and explain to Quexa why the Humans were upset that a bunch of cute animals had been butchered before their eyes. Quexa and the other Lizardfolk didn’t really understand—they were used to killing livestock themselves, and they regarded Beriats as a pest that ate grain and stole food, for all they weren’t a physical threat.

They were a pest. But they were cute. Ken felt that should have saved the Beriats as he watched the Lizardfolk happily skin them and roast them over a fire. They had brightened up everyone’s day, and now they were dead, made into hot food the Lizardfolk did indeed share around.

It was fitting of Baleros, of this place with as many horrors as marvels. Ken just wished the Beriats didn’t taste so good. He tactfully did not eat his portion anywhere around Aiko, but he was too hungry for hot meat to turn it down when Quexa offered. Not to mention that it would have offended the Lizardgirl to have refused.

—-

That night, Quallet mustered Gravetender’s Fist and gave them a short speech before sending them out. They would no longer be working near the Centaur’s camp he promised, but they were still expected to do their jobs. He didn’t address Luan especially, but everyone knew Luan had been saved by a [Doctor]. Luan’s group was also assigned to an area close to where Quallet planted the company banner, with less corpses and danger overall.

It still didn’t make picking up bits of dead bodies easier, but at least Ken could detach his conscious mind to do it. He only paid attention to make sure Luan was fine, but the healing potion had restored the young man’s strength, and Luan was in better physical shape than Ken. He was still jumpy and kept watching the shadows, but he was alright.

However, trouble started as dawn began to break. Luan pulled Ken aside as Aiko stabbed a few bodies, looking for undead.

“Hey Ken, have you seen any of the Americans?”

“No.”

Ken immediately felt worried, remembering the argument of a few moments ago. Luan hadn’t seen them either, and it turned out no one had.

“I don’t know where they are. Neither does Daly or anyone else. They’re not where they were supposed to be assigned. Xor’s kicking up a fuss looking for them. Let’s get back to camp. I’ll tell you if something happens.”

Worried, Ken finished his duties. Quallet heard about the missing Americans and would have gone looking, but it was too close to dawn. Furious, the commander ordered the company back and they reached their camp. Ken tried to stay awake as he heard Quallet interrogating Daly and the others about where Johanas and the others had gone, but he was exhausted. He hadn’t slept since Luan had been shot, so he laid his head down…

“Ken. Ken! Wake up!”

It felt like a moment had passed. Ken groaned as he felt someone shake him. He protested, but the hand came again, shaking him roughly.

“Get up!”

“Just a moment Luan…”

A hand dragged Ken out of his bedroll. Ken heard Luan’s voice as he woke up a bit more, and only now registered the tension in it.

“Ken, wake up. It’s the Americans.”

There was something in Luan’s tone that took the exhaustion right out of Ken’s mind. He got up at once, blinking around.

It was just past dawn. He hadn’t slept an hour. But the instant Ken saw Luan’s face, any thoughts of sleep fled.

“What is it?”

“Follow me.”

Luan stepped out of the tent without explaining. Ken followed. There was something hollow in his stomach, a terrible foreboding. He was not filled with dread so much as a…certainty. He didn’t want to be right.

Ken stopped when he reached the edge of the neutral zone, a place where he could look down into the valley. He expected to see the soldiers fighting, but neither side had begun. Instead, in front of the Dullahan army there were a group of eight kneeling figures. Ken’s heart stopped when he recognized them.

Johanas knelt beside five girls and two guys, all American. They were lined up in front of a Dullahan. A Dullahan with an axe.

Ken didn’t need any more context. He stared, white-faced at Luan. Aiko was there, trembling. So were the other Humans and the rest of Gravetender’s Fist.

“They got caught sneaking through the forest last night. They’re—they’re going to be executed.”

Executed. Ken stared down at the kneeling group of Humans as the Dullahan with the axe shouted something and the soldiers behind him roared. He felt a ringing in his ears.

“We have to stop them.”

“How?”

Luan looked at him. Ken had no answer. The Dullahan stepped forwards and Aiko made a sound. Ken didn’t realize he was next to her until he was putting his hands over her eyes.

“見ないで,愛子.”

She didn’t protest. Ken stared down at the bodies, feeling sick, horrified. The axe came up—someone stepped in front of him. Ken saw black skin. He stared at Luan’s back.

“Luan—”

“You don’t need to see it.”

Luan’s voice was low. He blocked Ken’s view. Ken opened his mouth, and then heard the scream. It came from Paige. She stumbled back and he heard Daly shout and turn away.

Ken heard another shout, and more screams. He saw Luan’s back trembling. There was another roar from the Dullahans, more screams, and then Luan stumbled away. Ken heard him throwing up with several other people, not all of them Human.

It was over. Ken stared down at the valley as the Dullahans raised their weapons and shouted at the Centaurs, who shook the ground with their hooves and roared back.  He saw bodies without heads, a red axe being wiped clean by one of the Dullahans and horror in the eyes of the other Humans.

The battle began minutes later. But Ken stood there, just staring at the place the bodies had been. Johanas’ corpse was soon lost among the fighting. But Ken remembered it. He wondered if he’d be assigned to dispose of it that night.

In that moment, Ken knew he could never go back. He looked at Luan. The young man was wiping his mouth. Vomit had stained part of his shirt. He looked at Ken, and Aiko grabbed the arms of both. Tears were streaming down her face.

“I can’t do it.”

That was all Luan said. Ken nodded.

“We must go.”

“We do, and we will die.”

Aiko’s face was drained of color. Luan looked at her, and then at Ken.

“The [Doctor] knew about blood transfusions. Maybe she’s from our world.”

It was a slim hope, a slim chance. But Ken grasped at it.

“We can ask her.”

“How?”

Aiko stared at the fighting. If they went out without a banner, they would be a target for both sides. But they’d navigated the fighting once. If they kept clear of it, and most importantly had a banner—

“A white flag. That was what Captain Quallet told us to use.”

Ken stared around, hoping to see it. Luan paused.

“They keep the flag with the company banner. It’s in Quallet’s tent, and there’s always a guard. But you can probably talk him into giving it to us.”

“But it’s dangerous—”

Ken hesitated. Luan looked at the battlefield and came to a swift decision.

“I can’t be part of this. We can’t. Let’s go.”

—-

“Another world?”

Geneva had been sharpening her scalpels with a whetstone when the group of two young men and a young girl had rushed into their camp, waving a white flag. She hadn’t recognized them at first, until she’d looked at the tallest young man’s side. She hadn’t paid attention to his face, but then she remembered the shorter young man who looked almost Japanese.

And then he’d spoken, and the world turned upside down.

The scalpel fell from her fingers. Instantly, Geneva bent and recovered it from the dirt. She stared at Kenjiro, Aiko, and Luan as if they were ghosts.

“You. You’re all from—”

“You know about blood transfusions. You saved my life. You operate on people, and we’ve heard that you appeared a few months ago. We appeared last week. I’m from South Africa. This is Ken and Aiko. They’re from Japan. Are you…like us?”

The black young man—Luan—looked at Geneva. She felt Okasha moving inside her, whispering.

“Another world? Geneva, what—”

“I am.”

The word passed from Geneva’s lips. She saw the Japanese girl put a hand to her mouth, and the young Japanese man sag. With relief?

“I don’t believe it.”

Luan stared at her. He walked towards her hesitantly, and reached a hand out. Geneva stared at it. And then she rose and took it.

“I’m Luan Khomala, from South Africa. I am—I used to be a paddler. In training for the Olympics. Who are you?”

Geneva felt the grip, strong and sure. A pulse beat through Luan’s fingers, and she stared into dark brown eyes, a strong, smiling face with short hair. She hadn’t looked at his face before. Her voice was hoarse as she replied.

“I—I’m Geneva Scala. I was…a medical student. I’m from America.”

She saw Luan’s smile vanish as she said where she was from. Suddenly, Ken had lowered his head and Aiko was crying. Geneva looked at them.

“What?”

—-

“I didn’t know. I had no idea there was…anyone from my world. I never had a chance to ask around or—I didn’t know.”

Geneva sat with the others, in a rare break from the fighting. No—it wasn’t a break. It was that the fighting had been too fierce for anyone to bring the wounded to her, so Geneva actually had time to talk. The irony of that was bitter on her tongue as she sat with Aiko, Luan, and Ken.

And spoke. It was the first time Geneva had really talked with—with anyone. She heard the three out, listening mainly to Luan as he explained the incredible circumstances that had led them onto the same battlefield as her. Incredible, but not unbelievable. She had had the same experience. In Baleros, it was hard to find paying work for those who were unskilled—except in war.

It was the deaths of the other Americans, the other people from her country that shook Geneva the most. She hadn’t heard about the executions. There had been a group of people from her world, from where she lived, perhaps from the same state, and they had lived and died so close by without her ever knowing.

“I can’t stand this place. I’ve seen and heard of horrible shit in the countries where I come from—there are African warlords who’d fit right into this place. But I can’t just do my job disposing of dead bodies while it goes on.”

Luan gestured with a shaking hand at the cover of the forest, beyond which he could hear and see the fighting going on. He looked at Geneva.

“How do you stand it? You’ve been through, what, three battlefields?”

“Four. Counting this one.”

Geneva stared down at her hands. She’d seen so much blood and death over the past month—more bodies and horror than she’d seen in the worst videos of ER rooms at hospitals. Somehow she’d kept her sanity and mind through it all. She’d grown numb to it, at least in part.

“What is it you’re doing, Geneva-san? Why are you here?”

That came from Ken, the young Japanese man. He leaned over the table, looking curiously at her.

“Were you hired? Are you being paid to save people?”

“No. Not at all. I’m not here to…I do my job. I try to save people. That’s all.”

Geneva tried to explain. The others tried to understand. Geneva stood up and paced around, grateful that Okasha was just listening to all this. She didn’t know if she should tell them about her.

“I—I was trained to be a doctor, a medical practitioner. I wanted to be a surgeon. And this…I never graduated from medical school, but I still believe in the Hippocratic Oath. I see people dying. Soldiers. And I can help them. There are no medical techniques in this world. No one knows about suturing, or surgery—they don’t know about blood transfusion. Or blood types.”

Something took a hold of her tongue. Geneva found herself correcting her statement.

“Well, Selphids do. But they don’t share that knowledge.”

The others looked at her and Geneva tried to pretend nothing different had happened. She continued.

“So I do what I can. I patch people up—I can deal with injuries that healing potions can’t fix, like the arrow that hit you, Luan. But I can’t stop the fighting. I’ve just done what I can. That’s all I can do. I’d like to help you three, and the others, but…I can’t do anything.”

The three exchanged hopeless looks. Geneva stared at them. She knew what suppression companies did. She’d seen the undead rising—had one appear on the operating table before Okasha bashed its brains in. That hadn’t violated her oath, but it had disturbed her. There were magical, fantastical things like the undead and mages in this world, but people still bled and killed each other like they did in hers.

And now there were people in need, people from her world, frightened, without any way to protect themselves, stuck in a war and dying. Geneva felt the same urge as she did when she saw someone who was wounded. She had to help.

But how? She paced back and forth and came to a quick decision.

“If you can leave your company—I’ll make sure you’re fed and have a place to sleep here. I can’t, won’t leave. Not until this is over. But you’ll be safer here than you will out there.”

Luan looked at her. He was Geneva’s age, maybe older. He stood.

“It’s not just us. There are more—there were more, but there are still at least forty people. Can you feed us all?”

Geneva had food. The Selphids had food, rather. They’d brought it with them and provided a lot of the supplies she needed. She hesitated, and then nodded. She wasn’t sure, but she had only one answer in her heart.

“Only people from our world, though. I can’t ask the people with me to guard more than that. Luan, Ken, Aiko…I don’t know if you’ll be safer here than in your company, to tell you the truth. I don’t have a company, and I don’t dare leave this area.”

They nodded. Luan stood and looked towards the sky.

“We’ve got to go back.”

“Will you be safe going back? I could ask Calectus to—”

“We will be fine. I am a [Negotiator] and we have a flag. A white one.”

Ken reassured Geneva, although she wanted to be the one to do that to him. He was pale, as was Aiko and Luan. They’d just seen their friends killed and now Geneva was handing them a hard choice. They looked at her. Aiko bowed and so did Ken. Luan nodded.

Then they were gone, leaving Geneva alone. Only, she was never alone. Okasha had heard the entire thing.

At that moment, Geneva couldn’t have cared less.

—-

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“I do.”

Ken looked at Luan as they found their way back to camp. Luan’s face was set. He looked at Ken and Aiko.

“I’m going to go with Geneva. I can’t do this, guys. I can’t—can’t go out there and keep wondering if I’ll die the next time a patrol thinks I’m an enemy. I nearly died once. I won’t risk my life to clean up after a war. I don’t know if you’ll come with me, but I’m sorry. I’ve made up my mind.”

The two Japanese college students blinked up at Luan. Ken and Aiko shared a look. Aiko was the first to speak.

“I…don’t want to ever stab a dead body again!”

“Me neither.”

Ken felt his entire body resonating with Luan’s statement. He took a breath.

“I will go. And I hope—I hope the others will come too.”

—-

“No.”

Daly raised his head and shook it. Ken saw the motion, recognized it, and still didn’t comprehend.

“No? Why not?”

“I’m not going, Ken. Even if this [Doctor]’s from our world—I’m going to stay in the company.”

He was sitting by the fire, somber, and he’d been alone until Ken and Luan had come to talk with him. None of the others were in the mood to speak, but Daly’s decision stunned Ken. Luan sat next to Daly, eyes on his face.

“Are you worried about being safe?”

“Not that. I just don’t think leaving the company’s a good idea.”

“Daly, what we saw this morning—”

The young man from Australia swore and turned to Luan, eyes overly bright.

“I know what we saw. But the way me and the rest of us figure it—we don’t have a choice. We signed on to be soldiers, and if we desert now, we’re stuck in the same boat.”

“Geneva says she can protect us—”

“Maybe she can, maybe she can’t. That’s not the point!”

Daly raked his fingers through his blonde hair. His hands were shaking, but his voice was more controlled when he spoke.

“We may not like what happened, but every bloody bastard out there is higher level than we are. The Captain is right. This is the safest way to level up and learn how to fight. So long as we don’t try to run.”

“So what? So you’ll all gain levels fighting. And then what? Will you join up as a soldier? Keep working here?”

Luan folded his arms. Daly shrugged.

“I haven’t thought that far ahead. No one has. But if we don’t have a way to defend ourselves, what’s to stop us from getting shot? Or getting killed like Johanas and the rest?”

He looked meaningfully at Luan as he said that. Ken didn’t know what to say, but Luan shook his head.

“Daly, after what I’ve seen, I don’t think any amount of levels or Skills or weapons is enough. Fighting in these wars, with these companies…if I can help it, I’d rather not fight at all. I have something to live for. Someone to live for.”

Someone? Ken looked at Luan, and then at Daly as the other young man shook his head.

“I guess that’s the difference in the way we see things. Some days it’s fine to run. Other days you’ve gotta buckle down and fight.”

And that was it. He refused to go, and told Ken and Luan the same went for the rest.

“We’re sticking together on this. Each one of us. We’re a team, and a lot of the others are decent sorts. The Centaurs are right bastards, the Dullahans are stuck up, and the Lizardfolk love killing cute things, but they’re all like us. We’re a company and we’re not going to abandon each other.”

There was something wonderful about what he said, and also…Ken felt drawn to what Daly was saying, but he shared Luan’s horror. And he agreed with Luan. It was one thing to risk his life, but for this? To haul dead bodies away so more people could fight? That was senseless to Ken, more than the call of staying with the company was.

Ken and Luan didn’t just ask Daly of course. Aiko was asking some of the girls she knew, but the answer was the same. The others wouldn’t join up with Geneva, who they’d never met. They were going to stick together, to keep working. They’d been shaken by the executions of that morning, and they had seen the truth in what Quallet had told them. Only one of them had died so far while clearing the undead. But those who had fled had died. True, Johanas and the others had only been a fraction of the American group, but no one, including Ken, thought the others had survived.

In a strangely perverse way, the executions had brought the rest of the Humans, the rest of Gravetender’s Fist closer together. They were a proper company now. Only Luan, Aiko, and Ken couldn’t be part of it.

“We’ll be watching for you lot. If you survive the fighting…well, we’ll see then, won’t we? Watch how you go.”

Daly shook Ken’s hand, as did the others. That left Ken, Luan, and Aiko to march up to Quallet’s tent as night began to fall. Ken wondered if they were doing the right thing. Johanas and the others had fled without a word. What would Quallet do if Ken told him to his face that he wanted to quit?

Stare. That was the answer. The [Mercenary Captain] was getting ready for the night’s work. Now he turned and stared at the three.

“If you go, you’ll be deserters. You saw what happened to deserters this morning. Why risk it? And why tell me?”

“Because we want to be honest about it.”

Luan met Quallet’s eye. The Captain eyed him back and nodded to the forest.

“So you’ll just run off and pray you don’t get spotted by a patrol? Because if you do—”

“No. we will go to the [Doctor].”

Quallet paused.

“The [Doctor]? Why—”

“We know her. She’s…from where we are.”

The Captain frowned. He looked at Ken, then at Aiko, and then Luan. But it was Ken his eyes settled on, and Quallet remembered his promise to give Ken a bonus. He shook his head.

“I won’t stop you. But if you leave my company, you’ll be on your own. That [Doctor] seems competent, but she has no company. She’s got a handful of soldiers protecting her, and she won’t have enough healing potions to do her job forever. Not at the way this war is going. What makes going with her better? She’s one person. A single [Doctor]. Alone.”

“She’s not alone.”

Aiko was the one who said it. Ken and Luan closed their mouths and looked at her. She stared at Quallet, eyes still red from crying, but resolute. She spoke carefully, forming the words in English.

“She is not alone. We are like her. We are not…not soldiers. She is like us. She does not kill.”

“Neither does my company. We fight undead. We dispose of the dead. What makes her work any different from the work we do?”

“She saves lives.”

Luan spoke. Quallet opened his mouth, and then Ken interrupted him. He looked at Quallet, and a slight suspicion made him speak.

“Captain Quallet. May I ask a question?”

“What?”

“You are a smart captain. You are experienced as a leader. You heard us arguing. So…”

Ken hesitated. He looked at Quallet.

“…Did you tell the Dullahans that our friends would try to run away last night?”

Aiko gasped. Luan’s eyes widened. Quallet just stared at Ken, and then he turned away. Ken stared at his back, and then he walked out of the tent.

1.05 D

Once, Geneva had been terrified for her life. She had been a new recruit in the Raverian Fighters, a soldier; for all that she’d been a [Doctor]. She had faced her worst fears, treating her fellow soldiers and enemies alike. She had…failed…so many times. Failed to save lives.

At some point, that feeling had eclipsed her regard for her own life. She just couldn’t muster the same feeling, the same fear of dying as she used to. Everyone was dying. Everyone on the operating table was a life. What did Geneva have to fear from an arrow or a sword in the gut? She faced her worst fear every time she saw light slipping from the eyes of the people she treated.

She had lost her fear. Only, she’d found it again. Now she was afraid. Geneva had woken up after another of Okasha’s enforced naps to find three more souls in her camp. Three more bodies among many. Only, these ones were special.

Kenjiro Murata. Aiko Nonomura. Luan Khomala. Three people from her world. Now, under her care.

Geneva had no idea what to do with them. She had spotted them approaching, waving a white flag, across the edge of the valley. Twice, groups of soldiers had raced towards them and there had been a tense moment where swords had been drawn. Only, Ken had talked them down both times, pointing towards Geneva’s camp.

Now they were here, eating food, talking quietly among themselves. They had a haunted, shell-shocked look, that of people who’d seen too much, too quickly. Geneva understood the feeling.

She was talking with Calectus, who oversaw the other Selphids that had volunteered to be her assistants. Geneva had thought it was odd at the time, that so many Selphids should want to help her. But she’d had volunteers from other soldiers before and hadn’t had the time to worry about it.

Now she knew it was because the Selphids wanted her to help them. That was fine. Geneva’s purpose was to help people. She didn’t care. But she wondered if Calectus believed in what she did, or if he thought all her struggling to save lives was pointless. What did Selphids think about the living, anyways? They inhabited dead bodies. They would have wanted Geneva to fail more often.

But there was a living, mortal compassion in him. Geneva had seen him comforting the dead, and he had spoken to Ken as well. He had dead eyes, literally. But the thing that used the dead eyes was living. The Selphids understood loss just as much as anyone else. They also understood danger, more acutely than Geneva did. They were soldiers, and knew war.

“These three are deserters, Geneva. They will be killed if they leave your camp.”

Calectus gestured at Luan and the others. Geneva nodded.

“And if they stay in the camp? Can you protect them?”

The Lizardman’s face grimaced.

“As much as I can protect you. You have no company—but you are known as the Last Light.”

“Yes.”

Geneva hated that title. The Last Light? It was too fitting, and not at the same time. She was not some kind of quasi-goddess, the guardian who stood between life and death. She was just a [Doctor], and not a fully-trained one at that. If a true heart surgeon had come from her world, or a decent anesthesiologist, or someone who knew how to make—make penicillin or any one of the things Geneva so desperately needed—how many lives could they have saved?

“My reputation is the only thing keeping us alive, is what you’re saying.”

Calectus bared his Lizardman’s teeth.

“That, and the fact that we don’t stray from our camp. I can make sure the three are safe, but that only is true if they stay within the boundaries of the camp.”

Geneva looked around. The ‘camp’ was little more than a collection of tents in a clearing. It was not a large area—a space had been cleared for the wounded to lie on pallets before going into her operating tent. There was a place for her to sleep, tents for the Selphids and the wounded who would rest, a tent filled with supplies and the healing potions she had, not to mention extra bandages, scalpels, needles…and that was it.

She sighed. It wasn’t a good place for people to be cooped up in, but it was better than nothing. She nodded at Calectus.

“Okay. Just…give them space. It’s not hard to feed them, and we have room.”

He nodded, and Geneva went over to talk with Ken and the rest. They looked up as she approached and smiled at her. Geneva tried again, but a smile wouldn’t come out. She stood awkwardly in front of them, aware of the dried blood on her clothing. She didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t really spoken to anyone for a long time. She just did her job.

“Calectus says you’ll be safe, so long as you don’t stray. I can’t offer you protection outside of the camp and maybe not in it. I’m not part of any company.”

She blurted out the details. Luan nodded.

“We understand, and we’re grateful for all of this, Geneva. You didn’t have to do this. We won’t leave the camp.”

“I—you’re welcome.”

It felt strange for him to thank her for anything. Geneva looked around, trying to say something, anything. Condolences for the friends that had been executed? She didn’t know their names.

It was Aiko, the young Japanese girl with red eyes who spoke up.

“Um, Miss Geneva-san…”

“What?”

“If you are not a company, why do you have that…flag?”

She pointed and everyone turned to look at the banner over Geneva’s tent. Geneva stared up at a crude pole of wood, atop which sagged a white flag with a red cross painted in the center.

“That? It’s not a company banner. It’s a symbol. I use it to tell soldiers that I’m not a fighter.”

Ken stared at it. The banner was too limp in the lack of a breeze for the red cross to be too visible, but he figured it out after a moment.

“The symbol for hospitals. The red cross.”

“It’s also the symbol of the Red Cross organization. They’re an international organization that does…does work like this.”

Geneva had seen the parallel, although she felt like she was stealing the identity of that group with her symbol. Ken nodded excitedly.

“Oh! Yes! I have seen them on the news before. Do people in this world know the symbol?”

“Some have associated it with me. But it’s not something that will protect you.”

“Sort of hard to see.”

Luan commented neutrally. Geneva shrugged. It was a flag. She didn’t need that, but it helped sometimes. She heard a shout and her head snapped around. Someone was running, galloping towards her camp. She saw Ken and the others tense, but it wasn’t soldiers coming for battle.

Four Centaurs raced towards the camp, supporting a fifth Centaur between them. Geneva saw more soldiers rushing behind them, taking the opportunity to find a gap in the fighting and head their way. She raised her voice, turned, and found Calectus striding towards her.

“Calectus, I’m going to triage. I need you to wake up one of the others and get them ready for operating. You lot—”

She turned. Ken, Aiko, and Luan had already backed off to a respectable distance. Geneva nodded at them. The first wounded body came in, a Centaur who was missing a leg and had some kind of javelin buried in his side. It was barbed and would have to be cut out. As Geneva began to work, calling out to Calectus to bring another healing potion, she lost track of her newest guests.

—-

Diagnosis. Incision. Cut away damaged flesh. Suture. Use healing potions. Geneva was grateful for her limited supply of potions. She didn’t have much—most of it had been donated to her by people she’d saved, or come from Calectus and the other Selphids. Geneva rationed it, using the dependable sutures where healing potions weren’t necessary. She had to stitch people up, save them. Making them well enough to walk out of her camp and keep fighting wasn’t her goal.

It was tiring, backbreaking work. Surgery could be precise as grafting onto a heart, or as crude as sawing through bones. Or sawing through a Dullahan’s armor to get to their damaged innards.

Maneuvering a Centaur around on her table was just as hard. Geneva and her helpers had to do lifting at times, and it was just as well that some of Okasha’s Skills made Geneva’s right arm far stronger than her left. Too, Geneva could concentrate solely on her left hand while Okasha operated her right, as well as her legs if necessary.

Small blessings. Geneva was busy wiping down her table, removing blood, scat, and urine that her latest patient had covered the surface with, when someone timidly entered the tent. Geneva looked up, expecting the next patient, and instead found Aiko.

“Is something wrong?”

“I—”

The young Japanese girl opened her mouth, inhaled the scent of the urine and feces, and gagged. She took a moment to collect herself while Geneva swept it all off the table and washed it all away with soapy water.

“I want to help. I would like to help you. If I can.”

Geneva blinked at Aiko. She stared at the young woman’s pale face.

“Why?”

Aiko hesitated. She looked at Geneva, and then at the blood on the table and paled, but when she raised her head, there was determination in her eyes.

“I am not brave like Ken or Luan. I…I do not like fighting. But I have been sitting in camp, and I see so many hurt people…I want to help them. Do you think I can?”

Her question struck Geneva in her heart. It was a reflection, an echo of what Geneva had thought as a girl. She stared at Aiko, and then nodded. It wasn’t just the determination that swayed Geneva, made her take a chance on Aiko. It was the compassion.

Aiko was breathing heavily as she looked at the blood. She’d been pale-faced staring at the wounded. She looked at Geneva, wavering.

“I am sorry. I know I am a coward—I am afraid of blood and guts—”

Geneva reached out. Her hand was covered in blood and she stopped. But then she reached out and touched Aiko lightly on the shoulder. The girl’s eyes turned to the blood, but she didn’t flinch away.

“Unwilling to fight doesn’t mean ‘coward’. If you have the stomach for it, I’d welcome a second pair of hands.”

“I will try.”

Geneva nodded. Something…she felt like she had met another Okasha, perhaps. Other soldiers had come, the Selphids were able assistants when it came to holding the wounded down, but few had the temperament to be part of the operations, to see the horrific injuries and try to fix them. Perhaps Aiko had what it took, perhaps not. But she could certainly try.

“What should I do?”

What could she do? Geneva blinked, thought for half a second, and then thought of all the things a surgical assistant would do, all the things that Geneva had to do herself.

“Thread the needles, sharpen scalpels…hand me objects. Make sure the healing potion is ready for when I need it. If you can handle the first hour, I’ll teach you how to sponge blood away properly and see what else you can do.”

She was showing Aiko how to put everything close to Geneva so Okasha could grab it when the tent flap opened and a screaming man came in. He fainted as the Selphids put him on the table. Aiko was shaking, but she didn’t run or faint as Geneva inspected the gaping wound in his upper thigh. Geneva nodded to the two Selphids, one a female Dullahan, the other a male Centaur, both with pallid skin.

“They’re here in case the patient wakes up. If they do, back away. I’ve had them try to cast spells, stab me with hidden daggers…we have no anesthesia and they sometimes wake up as I’m cutting into them.”

The words should have terrified Aiko. They would have terrified Geneva had she heard them before she’d come to this world. But the girl had lived on the battlefield at night for over a week now. She’d carried corpses, stabbed undead, risked her life and gone through it all. A coward? No. Cowards ran, froze up, and didn’t act. Aiko could act. Her hand was steady as she held a suture and towel in both hands. Geneva nodded to her.

“Let’s get to work.”

—-

Aiko was brave. Ken knew it, Luan knew it. They sat together, watching bodies enter and leave Geneva’s tent, and both of them thought the same thing. Only Luan gave voice to it.

“Ken, I feel worthless.”

“I feel the same way.”

They saw Aiko appear outside and hurl a bowl of—was it crap?—out of the tent. They’d seen her working with blood and worse on her clothes, and yet she was still in there. Helping Geneva save lives.

Ken and Luan weren’t in there. They hadn’t thought of going in and offering to help. When Aiko had said it, Ken had wanted to go in with her. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t face the horror of what he saw outside.

Just the thought of seeing Geneva operate, of watching her slice into someone and being asked to hold them down, or sew something shut filled Ken with mortal dread. He couldn’t do it. It wasn’t just about bravery; it was about being able to look at that without freezing up. Luan couldn’t do it either.

“I’m ashamed to say it Ken, but I feel like we’re useless here. I think we were right not to keep going to Gravetender’s Fist, but…”

Ken nodded. But they were doing nothing here, and that was worse. Worse, because when you stopped to stare at what Geneva did, there was no helping but feel small.

She saved lives. Soldiers came in, wounded beyond belief, carried by friends who begged her to save them. And she did. Sometimes she failed, but Ken had seen bodies go in, pale-faced Humans and Centaurs who he would have sworn were dead come out, weak, but alive.

It was humbling. And more, it made Ken question what he’d been doing. He’d put down dead bodies. Why hadn’t he spent his time saving them?

“What can we do to help?”

“I don’t know.”

Luan shook his head. He was staring at the flag over Geneva’s tent again. The red cross was barely visible behind the white folds of the flag. He muttered to himself.

“She really needs a banner. Or a sign.”

“Why? So everyone can see?”

“It’s a symbol, Ken. It means…it means do no harm. It’s one of the most powerful symbols from our world. Everyone should know what it means.”

Ken nodded slowly. The red cross. The symbol of hospitals, of an ambulance. Of…life. He understood Luan.

“But there are no more flags.”

“We have a white one.”

They’d brought the white flag from the Gravetender’s Fist company. As Luan had pointed out, they hadn’t received any pay, so this was the least of what they were owed. Ken nodded, thinking.

“But it is white. We’d need red paint.”

“Or blood…no, we’d need paint.”

Luan shook his head, and Ken shook his head as well. Blood was…wrong. And the bugs would probably be attracted to it.

“Where would we get paint?”

“I know where. But I do not know how we would buy it.”

Ken hunched his shoulders as Luan stared at him. The South African young man opened his mouth, frowned, and then felt at his pockets.

“If you need something to sell…what about this?”

He put something in Ken’s hand and warned him not to touch what was inside. Ken opened the tightly-wrapped ball of cloth and recoiled from the small, pointed orange tip of an arrow. Luan’s grin was twisted.

“That’s what Geneva pulled out of me. It’s still active. Magical. I bet you could put it on an arrow and shoot it. I hear they’re expensive. Know anyone who might buy it?”

Ken nodded slowly. He wrapped the arrowhead up and looked at Luan.

“I think I might.”

—-

War vendors were ostensibly [Merchants], but ones who had a huge escort, many items for sale, usually had at least half a dozen bags of holding, and made a living selling to companies that were fighting. They could provide anything from magical potions to weapons to information—all at a steep price.

Ken had seen Quallet negotiating with the sole war vendor in the area to buy food for his company. The neutral zone shared by all three undead suppression companies was adjacent to the war vendor’s zone, although a set of very well-equipped guards patrolled the border.

It was to this area that Ken made his way. It was frightening, not to mention dangerous, going through the valley, even with a white flag, but he’d done it. Alone, too. He’d insisted to Luan it was the best way. In truth, Ken was worried Luan might be hurt. Only one of them needed to risk their lives.

Now Ken approached the war vendor, flanked by two very tall Lizardmen with swords. He spotted the [Merchant] in question in a moment. He was familiar to Ken, although they’d never spoken.

The Naga with golden scales and resplendent jeweled clothing was sinuously twined around what looked like a circular couch, meant for someone just like him. It was more like a spiraling staircase upwards, in truth, with a spot for his more humanoid torso to rest while his snake-like lower body twined around the bottom. He uncurled and rose up, at least nine feet tall as Ken approached.

The Naga was male, although his genitals weren’t visible—Ken had no idea where they might be, as the Naga’s lower half was like a snake’s—and he smiled down at Ken.

“Ah. I have seen your face before, young Human male. Have you come to sell or buy? Or just to look some more?”

He remembered Ken, which was a good sign. Ken gulped and bowed as the guards stepped back from the Naga. He clearly wasn’t regarded as much of a threat, because the Naga waved them further back as he eyed Ken up and down.

It wasn’t rude to stare at Lizardfolk…and the Naga was apparently what Lizardfolk could become. Quexa hadn’t given Ken all the details, but Lizardfolk could change forms like…well, like Pocket Monsters, to be honest. What did Americans call it? Oh, right. Pokémon.

Ken stared at the Naga, giving him a slow look from top to tail in return. The Naga appreciatively wiggled his tail at the scrutiny.

“Ah, you know our customs. You are an interesting Human. What are you called?”

“I am Ken. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to meet with you. May I ask your name?”

Ken bowed his head, and the Naga smiled wider. He spread his arms, showing off bejeweled fingers.

“I’m Xalandrass, inquisitive little Human. But you may call me ‘Xal’, as I know Humans are not as adept at speaking as other races.”

Ken nodded, and took a breath.

“Honored Xalandrass—”

The Naga laughed in delight. Ken smiled a bit.

“Honored Xalandrass, may I ask if you buy items such as this?”

He took the balled up piece of cloth and unveiled the enchanted arrowhead. Xalandrass peered at it and then smiled knowingly at Ken.

“An Evercut arrow? Where did you get this?”

“A friend had it.”

“In him? Oh, I heard about that incident. A dangerous thing, when a company attacks the very people they have hired. But then, I share some of the blame. For I sold these arrows to the Roving Arrow company to begin with.”

A part of Ken’s chest tightened at that. Xal watched Ken’s face.

“Do you hold a grudge, little Ken?”

“I do not believe I should blame you, Xalandrass.”

“Ah, but the Honored Xalandrass is gone. Oh well. But to answer your question, yes, I would buy this back from you. It can certainly be reused, so I could offer you gold…but why do I think you have risked your life to come here for more than that?”

Ken nodded. He took a breath.

“I would like to barter with you, Honored Xalandrass. For paint. Do you have anything I could use to color with?”

The Naga had begun laughing again, but he stopped. He didn’t look surprised by Ken’s request, merely thoughtful. He tapped his lips with a long finger for a second before nodding.

“Paint? Curious. A Human child comes to me with an enchanted arrowhead, where another came with a device that made light. What does it mean?”

He was watching Ken. Ken kept his face politely blank. Xal smiled knowingly.

“Hm, hmm~. I think we have a deal, little one. Paint I can easily obtain—I have some with me. Dried packets that need only water. It’s a very handy tool for marking the ground with, and for marking armor. Dullahans love the stuff, so I have every color available. Which would you like?”

“Red, white, and black colors, please.”

“Only that? Anything else? I have many magical artifacts for sale. For the right price, of course.”

Xal flicked his fingers, Ken saw one of the wagons behind him move. Objects floated upwards and around Ken as the Naga gestured to each one, speaking softly, enticingly.

“Here’s one that will shield you from arrows…for a time. Or how about a shield that creates a burst of light when struck? Everyone but you will be blinded. Or what about a charm to amplify your voice? That’s a favorite among commanders like your Quallet Marshhand. My apologies, former commander, isn’t it? I’ve heard you’re with the famous Last Light. What’s she like?”

The question came out quick and fast, but Ken was ready for it. He bowed his head politely towards Xal.

“I am sorry, but I came here only to buy and sell. I cannot give information I do not have the right to.”

The Naga smiled, this time with regret.

“Ah, too clever. You came prepared, not at all like the other one. It is enjoyable talking to you, honorable Ken. A shame there is no profit in it. Very well. I will give you paint—and coin, since the paint is not worth an Evercut arrowhead. And you shall go speaking of how fair I am. And then, perhaps when the Last Light needs healing potions or needles, she will send you again, hm?”

Ken smiled politely.

“It is my deepest hope, Honored Xalandrass.”

The Naga laughed.

“Pretty liar.”

—-

The next day, Geneva stumbled out of her tent, a piece of dried jerky in her hands. She had woken to the sound of the wounded. She approached the line of wounded, and paused as she realized something was off.

What was it? Geneva looked around, frowning, and then saw the signs.

Huge sheaves of bark had been peeled from trees, hammered onto slats of wood, and pounded into the ground. A white background with a red cross had been painted on each one, and the signs were ringing the camp, marking it.

But what was most striking was the sign that stood tallest of all. A sign that shook Geneva to her core.

The Red Cross Company.

It was simple, direct, and it spoke to her. She stared up at the sign as it proclaimed…what? That they were a company, a fighting force? One of the many groups in Baleros?

No. That they were something else. The Red Cross. Here. Geneva looked around, and saw Ken and Luan waving at her. They had paint all over their bodies and their hands were red from work.

She looked at them, and felt the urge to smile. It didn’t come out, but Geneva inclined her head. Then she got to work.

—-

An incident occurred as Ken and Luan were painting a final sign to put up. They heard a roar and dropped what they were doing to hurry over to a vantage spot to look at the battlefield. There they saw a group of Dullahans, carving through the Centaur’s forces.

Ken had seen the battle go back and forth day after day. There was never a clear winner; if one side started pushing too far, more reserves would come flooding onto the battlefield and force the enemy back. It was a war of attrition between both companies, or at least, it had been. Apparently, someone had decided to end things.

Six giants walked across the battlefield, each one at least twelve feet tall. They were Dullahans, only…not. To Ken, it was like seeing a miniature robot warrior, like Gundam, a giant of metal and motion. But they were Dullahans. They had all the features of a Dullahan, only their armor had been scaled up in a massive way.

But their heads were the same size. It would have been ludicrous, with the tiny helmeted heads of the Dullahan on top of the massive, armored bodies, were it not for the deadly way in which the Dullahans controlled these oversized armored titans.

They were quick. And strong. One of the Dullahans lifted a massive greatsword as tall as Ken and cut a Centaur apart in a single strike. He roared and charged into the line of Humans and Centaurs and Lizardfolk, and Ken saw blood and limbs and screaming as the five other Dullahans rampaged into the enemy lines with him.

“What is that?”

Luan was staring at the Dullahan giants, mesmerized. Ken had no answer, but Calectus came up behind the two and spoke.

“War Walkers.”

The two looked at him. Calectus nodded towards the Dullahan titans, quietly serious.

“They’re one of the most dangerous types of Dullahan warrior on the battlefield. Their class is an advancement of the [Juggernaut] class. If they’re coming out, it means the Razorshard Armor company is determined to win at any cost.”

“And that means what?”

Calectus paused.

“It means Geneva will have more work to do.”

—-

The Dullahan [Juggernauts] inflicted terrible damage onto the Centaurs. Terrible damage…in return for their lives. Ken watched, spellbound, as each of the War Walkers fell after taking down scores of their enemy with them. It was a simple casualty of their size. For all their strength and armor, enchanted weapons could harm them, and the Centaurs galloped around the Dullahans, shooting arrows at them, charging into them with lances…

It was a bloody cost. In the end, the last [Juggernaut] fell as the Centaurs pulled back, sorely devastated. The War Walkers were down…

But not dead.

One of them lived, at least, enough for a group of smaller Dullahan to retain hope. Ken saw them lifting one of their fallen giants up and approach the tent. He shouted for Geneva, who’d finished for the day. The [Juggernauts] left little wounded as they fought.

“We come for aid. Please. Help us.”

One of the Dullahans in the group approached as Geneva ran towards them. Ken stared at the massive form of the Dullahan War Walker, supported by twenty of his lesser brethren. He was a true giant, and far too large to stuff into Geneva’s operating tent.

He was also on the verge of death. Countless arrow holes filled his body, and his left shoulder was nearly severed from his body. He had lost so much blood it was painting his blue armor. Ken thought there was no way Geneva could save him.

But she didn’t hesitate.

“Aiko! Start removing armor! The rest of you—show me where he’s wounded! Get the armor off of him!”

She began ordering the Dullahans as they spread out around her. Geneva leapt onto the wounded [Juggernaut]’s shoulder and listened as one of the Dullahans explained. He’d been riddled with Evercut arrows, and they were cutting him apart from the inside. Geneva nodded. She knelt by the first wound, where armor had been hacked away, exposing only blood and guts.

“[Flash Hands]. [Flawless Cut].”

Her hands blurred. Ken saw the scalpel she was holding disappear in her left hand, and then Geneva was cutting deep, deep into the War Walker. Luan hurried over to Ken’s side and stopped as he saw Geneva working.

“My god.”

Geneva’s hands were a mirage of moving afterimages as she cut into the giant Dullahan’s flesh. Her left hand cut, her right hand moved flesh aside. She was tracing the path of the arrow, assessing the War Walker’s condition. He wasn’t going to survive long. Geneva paused, and placed a hand on his chest. She spoke.

“[Hemostatic Pause].”

The blood leaking from his wounds…stopped. Ken heard some of the Dullahans gasp, but Geneva was already speaking.

“I have six minutes and forty seconds. Aiko, I need healing potions and the dropper. The rest of you—point out to me where he was shot!”

She dove back into the Dullahan’s body. In moments, she’d pulled out the first Evercut arrowhead and flicked it onto the ground. Ken helped contain it. Geneva was working fast, faster than she had with Luan. The Dullahans were pointing out every wound, and she pulled eighteen more arrows out in minutes. Geneva paused as the last one came out and closed her eyes.

“[Detect Injury]…there’s one left. Somewhere in the upper right side of his chest.”

She found it. Then she came to the shoulder. Now the [Juggernaut] could be healed, the wounds in his chest were vanishing. But his shoulder was hanging on by a literal thread of flesh. The Dullahan who’d requested Geneva’s help looked grim, but resolute.

“His life is all that matters. If the arm must come off—”

“Not yet.”

Geneva looked towards Aiko. The Japanese girl had something in her hands that she’d been using to pour the precious liquid into the wounds. A dropper, medieval style. It didn’t have a rubber bulb, but it could be used to measure small amounts of the healing potion. Geneva beckoned for it, and then spoke out loud.

“The suturing will take time and full concentration. I need you to hold the arm—and keep it steady. I will reconnect each nerve and muscle and heal it when it is in place.”

“What?”

Luan stared. Ken stared. What Geneva was saying sounded impossible—but then she began.

“Muscle. Connects to…”

Ken saw her right hand move. Geneva stared at it, as if she hadn’t expected where it was going, but then she connected the red piece to the second piece, and dropped a minute bit of healing potion on it. The link formed.

“I’ll need to graft connections. You—open up his leg armor. I’ll need to make an incision—major artery is here…connects…here.”

The work took over an hour. Ken couldn’t watch half of it. But he saw Geneva reconstruct the giant Dullahan’s arm, piece by piece. And when it was done, when the flesh had healed and sealed over entirely, he had seen every part of the arm reconnected. Ken had no doubt that when the War Walker awoke, he would be able to move the arm.

“A healing potion couldn’t have done that. No way. The arm was severed—it can’t heal when that happens. But she put him together. Just like that.”

Luan was staring at Geneva. She’d practically collapsed after it was done, as had Aiko. They were resting, but the Dullahan soldiers were still there. The one who was probably their officer was looking around for someone to talk to, so Ken walked over.

“Thank you. We will report this to our superiors.”

The Dullahan bowed at the waist deeply, like a Japanese businessman meeting his company’s CEO. Ken bowed his head as well.

“I will convey your thanks to Geneva-san.”

The other Dullahans crowded around Ken, speaking the same words.

“Thank you.”

It wasn’t right that Ken was the one they spoke to, but it was as if they were transmitting their feeling to Geneva. Some clasped Ken’s hand, a gesture he’d never seen among Dullahans. Then they were marching the massive War Walker back towards their camp.

Calectus spoke when they were gone.

“Dullahans never bow that low.”

He was staring at the direction they’d gone. Ken nodded. The Dullahans had shown more emotion, more deference in that moment then he’d ever seen Xor give Quallet.

“That was extraordinary, wasn’t it?”

Calectus hesitated.

“It was impossible. A spell might have saved that Dullahan—but no potion, aside from the ones a Named Adventurer would use. But a single person did that. Geneva did. With her Skills.”

He turned, shaking his head.

“It might not have been a good thing to save him. But I could not stop her. She will level from this, I have no doubt. And yet…”

“What?”

Calectus turned to Ken.

“She saved a War Walker, someone deemed dead by his enemies. She changed the battlefield, preserved a part of the Razorshard Armor company’s strength. She is no longer a small asset, something that can be ignored. Now she is a powerful ally…or a dangerous enemy.”

He looked concerned. And he was right to be. The next day, one of the commanders of the Razorshard Armor company came in person.

—-

The [Commander] in charge of the division of the Dullahan company the War Walker had been assigned to was named Grishka. She had brilliant yellow armor crossed with blue, and it was made of some kind of gleaming metal that looked too brilliant to be steel. Geneva insulted her in the first moment by refusing to see her until she’d finished with her patient, a wounded Lizardwoman.

When she did have time to speak to the Dullahan, at Ken’s panicked insistence, Geneva was direct.

“Commander Grishka, I apologize if my ignorance has caused offense. However, my policy as a medical practitioner is to treat all my patients equally, regardless of rank, gender, or species. I do not discriminate. That means I also do not take sides, or rewards, for the work I do.”

The Dullahan lifted her head up with her hands, tilting it from side to side as she regarded Geneva’s bloodstained clothing and hands.

“I respect your decision, Human. But your actions have saved one of my most dedicated soldiers, and for that my company owes you thanks. This gift is an expression of that. Will you not take it?”

She had brought a chest full of healing potions and several bags of gold with her. Geneva stared at the gold and looked past it in a moment. But the healing potions kept her eye. She hesitated.

Her position was to be neutral. Inoffensive to either side she tried to help. But at the same time, Geneva knew that her own supplies of potions were limited. And they were practically exhausted from treating the War Walker yesterday. She didn’t know whether refusing the gift would be better, and realized she had no choice. It was a simple binary between saving more lives, or not being able to because she had no more potions.

She inclined her head.

“Donations are acceptable. Please know this will not change how I work in any way.”

“It is acknowledged. The Razorshard Armor company thanks you for your actions. We will ask your assistance with other soldiers who are wounded.”

Commander Grishka spoke formally, and then used her hands to raise her head so she could whisper in Geneva’s ear.

“And I thank you personally as well. The War Walker you saved…is my second brother.”

She left. Geneva stared at the potions and the gold. She ignored the gold and grabbed a potion.

“Aiko, we’ll test the effects of this before using. Let’s get back to work.”

—-

The Centaur group galloped into camp a day after the incident with Commander Grishka. Luan and Ken were busy creating bandages that could be tightened and used on the wounded who came into camp when a group of Centaurs raced towards them, weapons drawn. They nearly ran over the two and would have stormed right into Geneva’s operating tent had Calectus not stopped them with his halberd.

“Our [Captain] was wounded in battle! Help her!”

The lead Centaur, a brash, tall roan with chestnut hair and wild, long locks shouted at Geneva as she came out of her tent. He and his friends had their weapons drawn, and they were protectively encircling a Centaur whose belly had been cut open. Her entrails were being held in place by another Centaur’s hand.

“Put down your weapons! Violence is not welcome here!”

Geneva snapped up at him. The lead Centaur snarled and darted towards her, stopping only when Calectus swung his halberd in the way.

“Help her!”

Geneva gestured back into her tent, where her current patient, a Dullahan, was screaming.

“I have a patient I have to attend to first—”

“Now! Or I will cut your guard down and everyone else in this camp!”

The Centaur was practically mad with emotion. His friends were restraining him with difficulty. Geneva grew very still and spoke calmly.

“Threatening me or anyone in this camp will not save your [Captain].”

“She is my mother.”

That stopped Geneva. She stared at the pale Centaur with long hair, and then at the Centaur who’d threatened her. Geneva stepped towards her and inspected her. She nodded slowly.

“She is savable, but there are five patients that will die immediately without my help.”

“You would put her life ahead of—”

“I do not take sides.”

Geneva snapped up at the Centaur, making him back down a step. She looked at the others.

“I will save your [Captain] if I can. I will do everything in my power to save her. But I can save other lives first. You will wait with her over there—my assistant will tell you how to keep her stable in the meantime. But you will wait and if you threaten or harm anyone in my camp, I will not help her.”

She met the Centaur’s eyes.

“I am a [Doctor]. I am on everyone’s side and no one’s side. Do you understand?”

He wavered. Geneva walked back into her tent. She saved the Dullahan’s life, failed to save two others who came after him. She saved the rest, and the [Captain]. When it was done, the Centaurs stood around their Captain, who had the strength to actually stand and move, however weakly. Geneva had told her to rest, but the Centaurs were adamant they had to bring her back to their camp. It would not be safe to leave her here, they told Geneva.

The son of the [Captain] cantered over to Geneva with Calectus watching warily. He stared down at her, and then awkwardly knelt in front of her. He had tears in his eyes when his mother had walked out of the operating room.

“I will remember this.”

Then he got up and raced with his companions out of the camp. Geneva watched him go. The next day, a gift came from the Roving Arrow Company. It was twice as much gold as the Dullahans had given her, and another crate of valuable potions.

—-

“A gift? More like a bribe.”

Calectus shook his head over the gold and the potions, for all they were welcome. There was no returning them either—the Centaurs had dropped the money and potions in the camp and departed without so much as a word. Ken understood the meaning behind it, although Geneva did not.

“Why did they give me more? And why bribe me? I told them I wouldn’t take sides.”

Luan explained for her as he and Ken helped sharpen some of the tools Geneva used to cut into her patients.

“The way the Centaurs see it, if they offer the same amount as the Dullahans or more, you’ll be more inclined to stay neutral.”

Geneva shook her head, troubled by the politics of it all.

“I have to stay neutral. And they have to understand it.”

Ken was about to suggest that he go to each company and explain just that when he heard a series of rapid, urgent horn calls from the battlefield. He and the others knew that spelled trouble and all of them were on their feet at once.

Only this time, the trouble didn’t come from the ground. Calectus was the first to spot the two figures falling from the sky, because he’d been looking for them. His voice was loud in the silence as everyone looked up.

“Air strike. [Mages].”

They were flying. It caused a hush across the battlefield as soldiers looked up and saw the two figures falling out of the clouds, and then flying across the battlefield. They were both wearing robes which shimmered with magic and fluttered in the wind. Calectus could identify their company at a glance.

“That’s the Tripartite Law company. It’s a three-person company that specializes in mass area of attack spells.”

“There’s only two of them.”

Calectus’ face was dark.

“Two is more than enough. I recognize them. Up there, that’s the Firebringer, Zalthia Werskiv. And the Plague Locust, Embrim Thrus.”

“Zalthia?”

Geneva started. Ken looked at her.

“Do you know her?”

Geneva’s face was pale.

“I’ve met her before. She burned half a forest down and slaughtered the Raverian Fighters. If she’s here—”

“The Roving Arrow company has her contract. They’re trying to end this now. She’s going to hit the battlefield—”

A roar engulfed Calectus’s words as Zalthia Werskiv shot a pillar of flame downwards. It was so sudden, so abrupt, that Ken only felt the impact as a rush of hot air blasted him and the others in the camp. His eyes were searing, and when he looked again—

A huge hole of scorched bodies had appeared in the center of the Dullahans formations. Around the area of death, soldiers ran screaming, bodies aflame. Still more fell, choking, as the hot air and smoke suffocated them. In one moment, the Dullahans were retreating; the few who were still upright helplessly shooting arrows at Zalthia and watching them swerve away.

But then the Plague Locust, Embrim Thrus moved. He opened his hand, and a black mist swept downwards. It covered the entire western wing of the battlefield, hitting the soldiers who hadn’t been touched by Zalthia’s fire. Ken saw people clawing at their throats, Lizardfolk trying not to breathe, Dullahans throwing their heads to try and get clear of the mist—breathing—falling.

“Gas attacks. Chemical warfare. Or this world’s equivalent.”

Luan’s face was pale. Geneva was just staring. Ken stared as the [Mages] flew higher, their work done. The battlefield had been turned over in an instant. The Centaurs were cheering, shooting at their foes, but they were retreating.

“Why?”

Calectus replied.

“It’s too dangerous for them. The mists still linger. When it dissipates, they’ll fight again.”

His words were prophetic. The mists lingered for over ten minutes. When they were gone, the burnt soldiers and ones who had gotten clear of the worst of the gas were still on the ground, dying. But the Dullahans had pulled up more forces and they met the Centaurs in another clash of bodies.

The fighting hadn’t slowed. In fact, it had grown fiercer as the Dullahans tried to exact vengeance on the Centaurs who were pressing their advantage. But that wasn’t what the people in Geneva’s camp saw.

“They’re dying.”

The soldiers who’d inhaled part of the mists, the gas, were choking, suffering. They weren’t dying, but they couldn’t move. Both sides ignored them, too focused on the enemy to worry about helpless victims of the attack. And the burn victims—they were screaming for aid.

“They won’t come here. Not for hours.”

Calectus predicted as Geneva strode back towards her tent. Some of the wounded were already trickling in, but only a few. The majority were stuck out there, unable to be rescued.

Helpless.

And that wasn’t right.

The feeling rose up in Ken, hot and fierce. He was just standing here, while Geneva and Aiko worked to save lives. But they couldn’t do anything for the people out there. No one could. They were being left to die, with both sides too occupied to go out and help them!

“Ken.”

Luan put his hand on Ken’s shoulder. He was looking at the wounded, the same helpless fury and desperation on his face. But he’d seen what Ken was thinking and had stopped him.

“It’s suicide, mate. If we go out, we’ll get shot. We’re deserters, remember?”

“No we’re not. We have a company.”

Ken pointed to the flying red banner. It was flapping in the wind caused by Zalthia’s spell. The red cross flew high. They were the Red Cross company. It wasn’t just a name.

“But they don’t know that. In there—even if we had a flag, we look like everyone else.”

Luan was speaking sense. A soldier was a soldier, and there were Humans on both sides. Ken clenched his fists.

“But—”

“The only people who are safe in this kind of thing are…are people like the Gravetender’s Fist company at night.”

Luan shook his head as he stared across the valley. Gravetender’s Fist had to worry about this issue, but they solved the problem by being a target. They carried lanterns, made noise, had a banner with an illumination spell sewn into the fabric—all so that people knew they weren’t the enemy. Even that didn’t work all the time.

“We can’t do anything, Ken. We’ll just be targets.”

“Targets.”

Ken paused. He stared at Luan. Targets. He’d studied about World War II. It wasn’t a popular subject in Japanese curriculums, if it was taught at all, but Ken had studied it in university and read western textbooks as well as Japanese ones. He’d seen pictures of people who wore targets every day.

“Ken. What are you thinking?”

Luan stared at Ken, looking worried. Ken looked at Luan. The young man still had some of the leather armor he’d been issued. So did Ken. It was dirty, brown, closer to black, and could probably do with polishing.

“Or paint.”

“Paint?”

He stared at Luan, and then at the cans of red and white paint that Aiko had used to decorate the camp. Then Ken looked at the flags. White and red. A target. A symbol.

“Luan, I have an idea.”

“Does it involve us risking our lives?”

Ken nodded. Luan blew out his cheeks. Then he looked at the battlefield, at the wounded.

“It is worth dying for?”

“Nothing is worth dying for. But this—this is worth living for.”

Ken grabbed Luan and dragged him towards the paint.

—-

Daly was sitting, watching the fighting with the rest of Gravetender’s Fist while he ate in preparation of the night’s work. He was dreading it. No one could have missed the air raid by the [Mages], and the bodies were littering the valley floor. But work was work. He adjusted his belt, and looked across the ranks of his company.

Quexa, the Lizardgirl with the [Sorcerer] class was sitting next to Paige. They’d become friends ever since Ken had left. The Lizardgirl hadn’t understood why Ken, Luan, and Aiko had left. In explaining their feelings to her, she and Paige had gotten to know each other.

Now the Lizardgirl was watching the violence below, tail twitching. Daly understood the feeling. You could get used to the death, but never comfortable with it. It was always—

“What the fuck?”

Paige stood up. She’d seen something. Daly’s head snapped back to the battlefield. His mouth dropped open.

“What are those idiots doing?”

Two figures had suddenly charged onto the valley floor. They stood out at once, partly because of the flag they were waving desperately and partly because of their armor.

It was white. Pure white, only there was a stripe of red crossed with another stripe on their shoulders, chest, helmet, and back. It took Daly a second to recognize it.

“A red cross? Are they…medics?”

“What are they doing?”

Quexa had spotted them. She leapt up, full of fear and Daly’s stomach twisted into a knot as he saw soldiers from both sides take notice of Ken and Luan. He saw Luan plant the flag in the ground, and then Ken raised something. A shield. It had the same cross of red on it.

And the soldiers saw it too. They hesitated. They watched as Ken and Luan sprinted away from the flag, and straight into the area that had been blasted by Zalthia. They ran towards one of the fallen soldiers, armor black with soot, and lifted him up.

“I don’t believe it.”

“What? What are they doing?”

Quexa shook Daly as he stared down at Ken and Luan. They had a stretcher of some kind, and they were easing the burnt soldier onto it. As he watched, they lifted it up and began to run back towards the camp they’d come from.

“No way!”

Paige was on her feet. Ken and Luan were carrying the wounded soldier, running for all they were worth as arrows flew around them. A group of soldiers broke off towards them, and froze as they saw what Ken and Luan were doing.

The rest of Gravetender’s Fist had noticed what was going on. Daly saw one of the Centaurs rear up in surprise, and then a girl from Bosnia shouted.

“Look! That’s Ken and Luan!”

Both armies had noticed the two insane young men by now. Daly saw a flight of arrows land behind Luan, and then saw the commander shouting at the archers. His heart was pounding. Would they stop firing? Ken and Luan had to run faster!

He leapt to his feet and cupped his hands to his mouth.

“Go! Run you bastards!”

He was far too far away to be heard of course. But other people heard him and took up the call.

“Run Ken! Run Luan!”

“Get out of there!”

“Run you slow sods! RUN!”

Soldiers were turning. A group of Centaurs on the battlefield raced towards Ken and Luan and broke away at the last second. Now all of Gravetender’s Fist was cheering and shouting, and the noise was spreading to the other companies.

Heads turned. Ken and Luan raced towards the flag they had planted, and then Daly saw a group of soldiers running to meet them. They grabbed the stretcher and Ken and Luan reversed direction. The soldiers, Selphids, ran back with the burnt soldier towards camp and Ken and Luan ran back towards the fighting.

“Other way! Other way!”

Some people were shouting that. But now Daly knew what they were doing, and he saw Ken and Luan running towards a Lizardman who’d been trampled. He was clear of the immediate fighting and the two loaded him onto another stretcher.

“Medics! They’re medics!”

Daly shouted at Quexa, who looked at him, uncomprehending. No one from her world had a word for what Ken and Luan were doing. Saving soldiers was one thing, but who would run into the fighting and out each time?

Heroes.

Daly shouted. He waved his hands, screamed at Ken and Luan as they raced across the battlefield. The soldiers were fighting around him, but they saw the red cross and didn’t attack.

Why? Did they remember that sign as the symbol of the Last Light? Had their commanders told them to avoid fighting? Were Ken and Luan just not a threat? Or did they see what they were doing?

It was impossible to say. But Daly watched, heart pounding, as Ken and Luan made six more trips out into the chaos, finding the wounded on the edges of the fighting. They didn’t run into the heart of the battle. They stayed to the most distant peripherals, finding those who cried out for help.

And they ran with every bit of energy they could. Their lives were on the line. They raced across the broken ground as Gravetender’s Fist shouted at them from their position above. The Humans were cheering, shouting and screaming at the two figures as they sprinted towards the downed Lizardman with the stretcher.

“Incredible.”

Daly looked over and saw Etretta, one of the most senior Dullahan soldiers, staring at the battlefield. He nodded to her, and she walked over.

“What did you call them? Medics? Is that a class?”

“If it wasn’t before, it is now.”

Daly knew that in his heart. He knew the two would have the class the instant they slept. Etretta looked at him curiously.

“They are brave. Is that a thing Humans do? Save each other? Save the wounded?”

“Not all Humans. But it’s what we used to do. We still do it.”

“There is no sense to it.”

Etretta shook her head. Daly nodded. The Dullahan nodded as well.

“But there is something noble about it. Foolish, and noble.”

“Yeah.”

Daly was smiling. He stared at Luan as he and Ken collapsed by their camp. He couldn’t see too well from here, but he thought they were laughing.

“It’s crazy. But I guess they thought it was worth dying for.”

—-

Dying. Geneva stared down at the coughing, gasping Human on her operating table. He was trying to breathe, trying to inhale past the magical mists that had scarred his throat and lungs. He looked up at her, begging to help.

And she couldn’t help him. Geneva had never been trained to handle gas attacks. She had none of the experience she needed to help him, and she had no tools.

Gas attacks. Chemical weapons, or this world’s equivalent. They had been banned since World War II. The ban hadn’t held, but it had been imposed because of just how deadly gas could be.

Deadly, and ineffectual. Geneva’s uncle was a history buff and he had lectured her about how gas attacks weren’t as useful when both sides had become aware of the dangers and issued gas masks. Allied soldiers could still gun down their opponents while gas floated around them.

Yes, ineffectual. The words were a mockery to Geneva now as she watched the soldier before her suffer. Ineffectual if you had the proper ways of preventing it. But if you had inhaled the gas—what could Geneva do?

The effects of this were similar to mustard gas, for which there was no known treatment. The best way to deal with it was to avoid exposure—or decontaminate. Geneva snapped out of her trance and looked at Aiko. The girl’s face was pale as she stared down at the young man whose skin was already blistering.

“What can we do Geneva…?”

Geneva’s hands moved. She began slicing clothes off the soldier, removing his armor. She had a rag mixed with charcoal over her face, and she was going to relocate outside to give the soldier as much clean air as possible.

“Wash their skin with soap and water. If they’ve inhaled the gas, we’ll make them gargle water. They need pure, clean air. We could bleed them to reduce their blood pressure, but I don’t have… I don’t have…”

She had nothing she could use. Nothing at all. Geneva did everything she could. She washed the soldier’s skin, tried to bleed him to lower blood pressure—but he couldn’t breathe. And she had no respirator, no way of helping. The gas had vanished far faster than mustard gas, but the effects were permanent.

The soldier died as Geneva helplessly watched. He wasn’t the only one. The next soldier who came in had the same afflictions. And the next. Geneva couldn’t take it. She left the tent after trying to open the last soldier’s airways and found Ken and Luan.

They were grinning, exhausted, covered in sweat, their freshly-painted armor running slightly in the heat. They had carried the soldiers here. Geneva stared at them. They had saved the soldiers, brought her ones she could save. She didn’t want to say what she had to.

“Geneva-san! How did we—”

“You can’t bring me any more gas attack victims. I can’t help them.”

Ken’s smile vanished. Luan sat up.

“What’s wrong?”

Geneva’s hands were shaking. She raised them, let them drop.

“There’s nothing I can do. Nothing. The gas is in their lungs. They can’t breathe and I can’t save them. If you bring them back here, all I can do is let them die. You cannot rescue them. I can’t give them treatment, and there are other soldiers I can save. Do you understand?”

They stared at her. Ken opened his mouth.

“But—”

Luan grabbed him, shook his head. Geneva put her hands to her eyes. The world was swimming. She hadn’t cried about the dead before. But now—

“I can’t do anything.”

“We understand.”

Luan was the first to speak. He got Ken up, nodded to Geneva. There was an echo of the pain she felt in his eyes, but he was taking charge.

“We’ll find others. Come on, Ken.”

He took Ken away. Ken’s eyes followed Geneva. She felt like they were accusing. She watched Ken and Luan head back to the battlefield, risking their lives to save others. Geneva clenched her hands together, helpless.

She squeezed her hands tightly until Okasha made her stop. When Geneva looked down, she saw her untrimmed nails had cut into her skin. She watched the red droplets fall onto the jungle floor, and then went back into her tent and continued operating until every last one of the gas attack victims had died.

—-

There was no glory in this. No brilliance. The elation Ken had felt at saving lives had vanished. Now he ran, heart pounding out of his lungs, desperate. Guilty.

Geneva had wept. She couldn’t save them. Ken skidded to a halt with Luan as he heard a desperate cry. He saw a soldier, a young Dullahan woman crawling towards him, pushing her head across the ground. He started towards her, and then realized she was a gas victim. Her skin was blistering, her eyes damaged.

“Ken.”

Luan looked at Ken, and there was mortal horror in his eyes. Ken looked at the young Dullahan and turned. He heard her call out weakly.

“Wait. Please.”

“I’m sorry.”

Ken stared at her. Luan turned away, choking. Ken turned. He saw more wounded up ahead. Burn victims. Those he could save. He heard the Dullahan cry out desperately. Ken turned his head.

“I’m sorry!”

The next person they found was a Dullahan, male this time. His skin was so badly burned that they could barely touch him. They had to, and he cried out as they put him in the stretcher. But as they ran back to the camp, he was sobbing in relief. He clutched at Ken as Ken handed him off to the Selphids.

“Thank—thank you.”

The Dullahan looked Ken in the eye as Ken arranged his head next to his body. Ken looked at him, and remembered Johanas’ face as the executioner held the axe over his head. He nodded without words and stood up.

They went back in twice more, Luan and Ken. Then they collapsed, too tired to move. Ken stared at Luan, Luan stared at Ken. The laughter they’d shared after saving their first soldier was gone. But Luan sat up and held out a hand.

“Worth living for.”

Ken took it.

“Yes.”

They saw the burned Dullahan they had saved among the living. That was enough. Ken collapsed into his bed and cried and laughed at the same time.

[Medic Class Obtained!]

[Medic Level 4!]

[Skill – Quick Sprint obtained!]

[Skill – Sympathetic Ear obtained!]

—–

“You are rescuing far more Dullahans than Centaurs.”

That was the only thing the Centaur messenger said to Geneva three days later, after he’d galloped into the camp. She was busy working, but he had insisted upon speaking with her. Now that Luan and Ken were working with several of her Selphids to find the wounded on the edges of the battlefield, she had a steady stream of patients. They knew what to look for as well. Some soldiers could be saved.

But not all of them. And their actions had consequences, although Geneva would never have asked them to stop. She stared calmly back at the Centaur who was glaring at her and replied simply.

“We try to save everyone.”

“But you rescue more Dullahans than Centaurs.”

“Centaurs are heavier.”

It was the plain truth. For as heavy as a Dullahan could be in full plate armor, they were still far less heavy than a Centaur, which was a horse and half of a person fused together and possibly wearing armor as well. Even with a group of four, the [Medics] could barely transport a single Centaur while arrows and magic were falling around them.

Still, the truth wasn’t enough sometimes. The messenger’s eyes narrowed.

“We are watching you. Save Dullahans if you will, but your impartiality seems biased towards them.”

He whirled without giving Geneva a chance to speak and galloped away. She was troubled by that confrontation and spoke to Ken and Luan when they came back.

“Try to save whoever’s closest. That’s all we can do.”

That evening, a group of armed Centaurs rode into camp. They’d come for all of their wounded, and insisted on taking them all back to their camp. There was no stopping them, for all Geneva argued that the wounded needed to rest and would be safe here.

The Centaurs left, with their escort of warriors watching the woods warily as their wounded limped or were carried back to their camp. Geneva watched them go. She was worried.

So was Luan.

“Escorts now? What happens if the Dullahans send an escort at the same time the Centaurs do?”

“I run out and stop them from fighting.”

He laughed. Geneva did not. The next day, the Dullahans began sending escorts as well. They never clashed with the Centaurs since the Dullahans arrived in the morning and the Centaurs at night. But she felt it was only a matter of time.

—-

Six days after Ken and Luan had begun acting as [Medics], they were interrupted on their way back from the battlefield. A group of eight Centaurs appeared and cornered them and the two Selphids that Ken and Luan had gone out with.

None of them were armed. That was for the best, because the Centaurs were armed. They surrounded Ken and Luan as the [Medics] raised their hands.

“We’re not warriors. We’re trying to save your friends—”

“Save the Dullahans, more like.”

The Centaurs closed in. Ken and Luan looked around, suddenly worried. One of the Centaurs tore the flag that the Selphids were carrying away and hurled it to the ground. Luan turned, outraged.

“Hey! What’re you—”

A club knocked him to the ground. Ken cried out and ran for Luan, but a blow caught him on the back of the head. He fell and heard the Centaur leader bark an order.

The Centaurs began trampling over the fallen. Ken felt a hoof come down on his hand and shouted in agony. Something kicked him so hard he heard a crack and the world went dark and sound and feeling became one drumming whirl of agony.

“Ken! Ken! Answer me, man!”

He was conscious of someone shaking him awake. Luan was kneeling over Ken, trying to get him to wake up. Ken opened his eyes, and Luan and the two Selphids dragged him back towards the camp.

Ken had a concussion. Luan had several bad cuts and a cracked rib. Both Selphids had broken bones—the Centaurs seemed to have focused their anger on them. Both needed new bodies, which wasn’t an issue, but the attack was.

Geneva banned Ken and Luan from going out for the rest of the day and tomorrow. Neither Ken nor Luan objected.

“I can ask to talk with their commander. But I can’t promise you’ll be safe. None of us are safe. We can only appeal to both side’s sense of morality and hope they respect what we’re trying to do.”

Appeal to their morality. Ken had to have Luan repeat the phrase several times until he understood it. When he did, it didn’t reassure him. Morality in Baleros was…unreliable. Could you really appeal to the commanders of both companies? Ken doubted it, no matter what Geneva said.

Perhaps it would work in America, or other parts of the world. It might even work for the Centaurs. They were honorable—they took pride in not committing shameful actions. An ambush to them was not shameful, nor was a surprise attack; that was simply a good way of fighting wars. But Dullahans—

They gave Ken an uneasy feeling in his stomach. They reminded him of how the soldiers of Japan were said to have fought, once. The Dullahan didn’t think of things like honor when it came to war in the same way Centaurs did. Suicide attacks, traps, killing prisoners, it was all to win. It reminded Ken of an American expression. A Japanese ideal. What was it? Oh, yes.

Victory at any cost.

And while Centaurs were committed to the idea of honor, it only lasted so long as they thought the other side was playing by the same rules. If they thought there was just a hint of underhandedness, there went the need for honor as well. The beating had been a warning. Play fair or we will kill you.

He wished he knew what he could do. But there was no good answer, and in the meantime the battle between the Centaurs and Dullahans had entered its final stages. Both sides had dealt each other terrible blows, and now the fighting was at its fiercest. It sometimes rampaged into the night, forcing the undead suppression companies to stay where they were rather than get caught up in it.

Dullahans mounted night attacks and Centaurs attacked at all hours. Gravetender’s Fist and the other companies had to stay in close proximity to one another to stay safe. It was getting worse and worse, and Ken had seen soldiers start to stab the enemy’s wounded rather than let them get to Geneva. But she refused to leave and kept working.

It was the sixteenth day since Ken had reached the battlefield when it happened.

—-

“I won’t go Okasha. Not yet.”

Geneva was arguing with Okasha again. It had started four days ago, and the Selphid had grown more relentless day after day. She wanted Geneva to abandon the camp, to leave the battlefield where the Razorshard Armor company and Roving Arrow company seemed determined to destroy each other at last. But Geneva couldn’t do it.

“There are countless wounded coming in each day. I can’t just abandon them—”

“It is growing less safe, Geneva. We don’t have the soldiers to protect you if we’re attacked.”

“If we’re attacked, it means my status as a [Doctor] is meaningless, Okasha. I have to trust that my neutrality will be respected.”

“Trust.”

Okasha said the word as if it was foreign. She shook Geneva’s head.

“This is not your world, Geneva. Both companies have shown that they are willing to do whatever it takes to win. And that means you and your friends from another world may be targets again. Please, leave. I can talk to my people; find you a safer place to work. They could guard you—”

“And what will happen if I take their side, Okasha? Should I enlist in their company and start healing only Selphids?”

Geneva snapped and Okasha fell silent. Geneva felt guilty, but she went on.

“I can’t take sides. Even your side. The moment I do, I lose the only thing that protects me. I need to help everyone.”

“But our world isn’t like yours. We aren’t—we don’t obey rules of war, Geneva. Magical gas attacks, attacking civilians—some [Strategists] will do anything for victory.”

Geneva knew that was true. She lowered her head.

“Something has to be the same. Something has to be. If there’s no hope for basic decency between enemies, the faintest belief in the rights of others…then what hope is there?”

Okasha had no answer. Geneva would have argued with her more, but a group of wounded soldiers came in. Dullahans, all comatose. The group of Humans who’d brought them had no idea what was wrong.

“I think—they were hit by a [Sleep] spell. Or something. But they won’t wake up. Can you—can you check on them? Make sure they’re alright?”

“I will.”

They could be tended to later. Geneva had no good way to deal with magic, but she was content to let them rest so long as they didn’t show other symptoms. Besides, she had to deal with a group of wounded Lizardfolk that were due to leave with the Dullahan escort this morning.

The escort of armed warriors that came for the Razorshard Armor company’s wounded was three times as large as last time. Geneva frowned when she saw that, but didn’t object. The Dullahan in charge nodded to her as his men began to trek back to his camp. They’d gotten fifty feet away from her camp when she heard the frantic horn calls. They were the same ones she’d heard now and again.

Air raid.

Geneva looked up at the sky, expecting to see one of the two Tripartite Law company [Mages] descending over the valley floor. Instead, she saw a woman flying down.

Straight at her.

Geneva’s heart stopped. She saw Zalthia Werskiv heading straight towards her, hands aglow with fire magic. She was coming for Geneva?

No. The [Doctor] realized what was happening too late. She ran forwards, towards the departing escort of Dullahans, shouting, waving her arms.

“No. No! Stop!”

She screamed up at Zalthia, the Firebringer. The [Mage] flew down as the Dullahans cried out and loosed arrows up at her. Some were turning to flee, others blowing on their horns desperately. Geneva ran towards them, trying to get in the way, to stop Zalthia.

Too slow. A fireball fell from her hand, like a fiery meteor towards the earth. The shockwave flung Geneva back. When she got up, she saw only smoking ash. The escort had been obliterated.

She looked up. Zalthia looked down at Geneva. Was there a smile on her lips? She pointed past Geneva.

At her camp. The Firebringer flew past Geneva, conjuring fire from her hands again. She strafed Geneva’s operating tent, throwing a ball of fire that exploded and set the damp canvas ablaze. Then she shot a stream of fire from her hands, raking across the sleeping tents. And the supply tent.

Geneva saw the tent containing the healing potions, her bandages, all of it, go up in a blue and green fireball of twisting colors. Zalthia paused as she saw the magical conflagration and then decided her work was done. She flew off into the air, leaving the camp ablaze.

“No.”

She couldn’t believe it. The Centaurs had paid her to attack Geneva’s camp. Geneva’s legs buckled. She sat. Her mind was whirling. Where was Aiko? She was…she’d been with the wounded. She might be safe. Ken and Luan were out looking for people. They were safe. But the camp?

“Gone.”

A voice spoke quietly in Geneva’s ears. Okasha did not gloat. There was sadness in her voice.

“I warned you. This world is not yours, Geneva. There is no mercy here. No quarter. Your world is gentler, nobler, I think.”

Geneva stared at the burning camp. She felt something wild, hysterical, bubbling up inside her. She laughed.

“No. It’s the same. The exact same.”

The same as the worst of her world. How could she have thought it would be otherwise? They bombed a hospital. Just like her country had. They attacked the wounded. Just like they did during the war. Every war. Snipers shooting medics.

It was exactly the same.

Geneva didn’t know when she started laughing hysterically, only that she couldn’t stop. She sat in the dirt and laughed, parts of her clothing burning, her operating tent and the camp burning before her eyes as smoke drifted up through the jungle canopy. She only stopped when she heard a voice.

“There’s the [Doctor].”

She turned. A Dullahan was looking at her. One of the Dullahans that had been brought in, apparently asleep. He was holding a sword. In a moment, Geneva knew why he was here.

The blade was red. The bodies of the wounded soldiers lined up in front of her tent—Geneva stared at a motionless Centaur’s form and then the Dullahan.

“Why?”

He had no words to answer her, but he strode towards her. Geneva didn’t move, but Okasha did. She made Geneva leap to her feet and run. But there were more than one of the Dullahan assassins in the camp.

Another leapt out at her. Okasha, using Geneva’s body, whipped out one of Geneva’s scalpels and cut him along the face. He cried out and Okasha tried to plunge the wickedly sharp blade through his eye. Geneva’s hand shot out—

And stopped.

“No.”

Geneva caught her right arm. She heard Okasha cry out, felt the Selphid try to override her. Geneva didn’t let her. She clamped down on every muscle in her body, overriding Okasha’s desperate attempts to move with sheer will.

“I swore an oath.”

The Dullahan was cursing. Geneva turned and saw the first one striding towards her. It wasn’t a he after all, but a she. The Dullahan had dark red armor and a shortsword in one hand.

“What oath?”

She looked at Geneva curiously. Geneva spread her arms wide. She felt her world melting around her. Despair was in her heart.

“I will do no harm. I will not let my patients come to harm. I will do what I can to save lives.”

“Noble.”

The female Dullahan nodded. She looked at Geneva and shook her head.

“But flawed. This is war. And in war, we do what we must.”

She ran Geneva through, blade plunging into her stomach. Geneva gasped, stumbled back, and fell. The Dullahan stabbed her in the stomach twice more, and then bent. She cut Geneva’s throat and turned away.

“There’s one more. The helper. Find her. Kill her. The two [Medics] don’t have their Skills. Let’s go before that damn Selphid gets to us.”

The other Dullahan nodded and the two moved off. They ran as Geneva lay on the ground, blood pooling on the ground as her camp—and her cause—burned down around her.

1.06 D

Kenjiro’s grandfather had died the year Ken went into university. He had been 88 years old at the time. Ken had fond memories and bitter memories of his grandfather, many having to do with how his father and grandfather used to bring up old arguments when they met.

They came from two different generations. Ken’s father had been born after World War II. His grandfather…had lived through it. He had been fifteen when Japan surrendered. When Ken was little, and when he was growing up, his grandfather would sometimes tell Ken stories of living through those last year of the war, when U.S. planes would drop bombs across Japan.

There was little guilt in his grandfather’s eyes for the war. Japan had fought, and it had lost. America had dropped its bomb to end all bombs on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Now there was peace. But there would always be a bit of hatred in Ken’s grandfather. Not just for the bomb, but for the nights he’d spend staring up at the sky as bombs fell.

Ken remembered how his grandfather’s hands shook, recalling the days when fire would rain down from the skies. It had seemed like all of Tokyo was aflame, at times. Now Kenjiro wondered if this is what his grandfather had seen.

Fire. Geneva’s camp was aflame. The mage, Zalthia, the Firebringer, had set it on fire. But that wasn’t all.

“Ken. Ken!”

Someone was screaming at him. Ken looked around. His head felt empty. His ears were ringing from the explosions. He realized he was standing around aimlessly as Luan charged over to him. He had a mace in his hands. He was bleeding.

“Luan-san.”

“Ken! We’ve got to get out of here! There are soldiers in the camp! They’re killing the wounded!”

Ken stared at Luan. He was in shock. He trotted after Luan as the South African young man cursed and shoved at Ken, getting him towards a patch of trees. Ken stared back at the tents. Everything was on fire. The [Mage] had set fire to every bit of the camp. Nothing would be left; the flames were too strong to fight. She’d hit the operating tent. Why? What harm could Geneva have done? What could Aiko—

He blinked. A part of Ken woke back up.

“Aiko!”

He looked at Luan. The older young man—no, the man’s face was gray with the horror of what he’d seen, but he was holding his mace, ready to fight. Ken looked around.

“Where’s Aiko? Luan, did you see—”

“I don’t know. She might have been in the tent—hold on, Ken!”

Ken didn’t listen. He raced towards the burning operating tent, halting only when he heard the sounds of fighting. It was coming from the camp, and Luan, running after Ken, stopped when he heard it too.

“An attack?”

Ken looked at Luan. The man hesitated.

“Maybe. The airstrike was one thing. Maybe they sent people to make sure we’re all dead? Come on, let’s see. Be ready to run or fight!”

Creeping around blazing tents, flinching from the heat, Ken and Luan finally saw what was going on. A group of warriors was struggling amid the burning wreckage. Dullahans and a lone Lizardman that Ken recognized.

Eight Dullahans were fighting a lone figure in the center of the camp. Each Dullahan was armed with a weapon, and they were fighting in unison. Their movements were precise, and Ken and Luan knew any one of them could have killed both Humans in a moment.

But the enemy they were battling didn’t fall, despite half of his body being burned black and the numerous wounds he had taken. Calectus snarled, his Lizardman’s body twisting and lashing out with his long halberd. A Dullahan with a shield blocked the blade and stumbled back; Ken saw the shield deform from the impact.

“Calectus-san!”

Ken whispered. Luan nodded. His face was pale.

“I—I don’t know if jumping in will help or not. They’re moving too fast for me!”

“Do not. They are all too strong.”

Ken tried to grip Luan, in case he ran in. The Dullahans were armored and Luan only had the painted leather armor and crude mace to fight with. He’d die in a second.

“Yeah, but he can’t take them on alone—”

Calectus whirled as a Dullahan launched an arrow. It buried itself in his shoulder, piercing through the chainmail he wore. The Selphid didn’t stagger or fall, though. Instead, he turned and leapt towards the Dullahan who’d loosed the arrow. He swung his halberd and the Dullahan fell as the tip of the halberd sliced through his armor.

Another Dullahan ran at Calectus from behind and two more closed in. Ken saw Luan tense, and tried to grab him. Then he saw Calectus turn and kick one of the Dullahans into the air. He landed eight feet away.

Both Humans froze when they saw that. So did the Dullahans, for a moment. The Dullahan that Calectus had kicked had been wearing iron armor, dark and sturdy. He must have weighed at least two hundred pounds with it on, and Calectus had kicked him like a ragdoll. Ken’s eyes went to the fallen Dullahan and he saw an imprint in the iron armor.

The other two Dullahans backed away. Too slowly. Calectus whirled his halberd, and Ken heard a ripping sound as it cut through air and one of the Dullahan’s heads. The other one fell back fast and Ken heard her shout.

“Selphid is rampaging! Get back!”

The Dullahans immediately spread out, suddenly acting wary of Calectus. Ken didn’t understand. Rampaging? Was Calectus doing something? Then he saw the Selphid tense and bend his knees. He leapt—and kept going higher.

Calectus jumped up as if he were no longer weighed down by his armor or gravity. He leapt six feet into the air and one of his feet crushed a Dullahan’s helmeted head as he landed. He turned—two Dullahans were rushing towards him. Calectus ran one through and grabbed the other’s head. His hand was on the other Dullahan’s face as the Dullahan stabbed him with a dagger. Calectus squeezed—Ken saw his grip close and the Dullahan sagged.

Two left. One turned to run, the other, a female Dullahan with a sword, charged at Calectus. He met her with a roar and cut through armor and flesh with a single strike. He ran after the last Dullahan.

Both were coming towards Ken and Luan. The Humans backed away and the Dullahan saw them, hesitated, and looked over his shoulder. He saw Calectus coming for him and ran at the two young men, holding two hatchets in his hands. He never got to them.

Calectus’s halberd cleaved through the Dullahan’s steel armor and cut the Dullahan in half. Both torso and lower body spun away and Ken felt a splatter of blood hit his chest. He stared down at the stain on his shirt and then at Calectus.

The Lizardman’s dead eyes turned towards Luan and Ken. He shifted the grip on his halberd and Ken backed away. Luan raised his voice, shouting.

“Calectus! It’s us!”

There was a pause in which Ken thought he could see his life reflected by the tip of the Selphid’s halberd, and then Calectus lowered it.

“You two. You’re alive.”

It was a statement, not a question. Calectus sagged and suddenly he stopped being a one-Selphid army of destruction. Ken rushed over to him and stared at Calectus’ wounds. He had arrows in his shoulder and thigh, numerous bloodless cuts all over his body, and a deformed skull. If he were a living Lizardman, he would have long been dead. As it was, Calectus just looked exhausted.

“Are you hurt, Calectus-san? Do you need—”

Ken had no idea what a Selphid would need. A healing potion? Those didn’t work on the dead. Calectus shook his head.

“I have torn this body’s muscles and taken many wounds. I must find another. But later. Where is Geneva?”

“We don’t know. We saw the mage burning the camp and then saw the Dullahans—”

“Assassins. Zalthia was sent by the Centaurs, there’s no question about it. And the Dullahans felt like experienced [Soldiers], not mercenaries for hire. Only one of them ran.”

“You mean…both sides attacked us?”

Ken stared at Calectus. The Selphid nodded shortly.

“There may be more about. Help me find Geneva.”

“And Aiko! She is—Luan, the operating tent!”

Remembering, Ken and Luan both ran for the tent, Calectus following and warily looking around. Ken shouted the moment he saw the tent wasn’t completely engulfed by the flames. He ran towards the smoke, screaming.

“Aiko! Aiko!”

The tent was billowing black smoke from the inside. Ken took a breath and rushed towards the opening. He saw fire, felt the heat and saw a dim table—and a body, burning. He ran to it and tried to drag it out.

“Ken!”

The flames burned Ken’s hand. He dragged at the body, screaming inside while he tried not to breathe. Someone grabbed him and dragged him out. Ken gasped for air as he cleared the tent. He looked down and saw…

A stranger. A dead Dullahan’s face stared up at him. She wasn’t wearing armor. She was one of the Selphids, only there was no life behind the dead face. Calectus leaned on his halberd.

“Tefiat.”

He shook his head as Ken and Luan looked at him questioningly. The Selphid inside was dead. Only now did Ken feel the pain in his hands and cry out. Luan reached for him.

“We’ve got to get healing potion on your burns.”

Ken shook his head.

“First Aiko. Where is she?”

“Ken?”

A voice from behind. Ken whirled, and then stumbled to his feet and ran. He ran around the tent and then saw Aiko. She was kneeling over another body. Another Dullahan. This one was wearing armor and had a sword.

He was dead. There was blood on Aiko’s hands. She looked at Ken, her hands shaking. She was alive. Ken sagged, and then took in the scene a second time. The Dullahan was dead, and Aiko was not. She had killed him.

The knowledge was in Aiko’s eyes, the proof of it on her crimson hands. She looked at Ken, shaking.

“I—I—”

Ken stared at the dead Dullahan. A scalpel was in his eye and another one was sticking out of his neck. The young Japanese man was no expert, but it looked like an artery had been sliced. His armor was painted with red.

“Aiko!”

Luan ran towards her and hugged her, ignoring the blood. Aiko stared at him, and then at Ken.

“I killed him, Ken. I did not mean to, but I was afraid—”

“You—you did the right thing. He would have killed you.”

Ken replied automatically, but he was still staring at the dead Dullahan. He’d never killed anyone. He’d killed undead, as had everyone else, but Aiko had—had she taken him by surprise? Defended herself and gotten lucky?

Calectus interrupted the moment. He snapped at Aiko as he surveyed the area.

“Have you seen Geneva? Do you know where she was?”

“No, I—”

Aiko seemed paralyzed, but she snapped out of it as she focused on the question.

“I do not know. I think she was at the edge of camp. Maybe?”

“Spread out and search! If you find anyone, run and shout for me!”

The Selphid ordered the Humans. He was more concerned about Geneva than the others, even the other Selphids. Ken looked at Luan and Aiko. She was shaking and he was holding her, trying to comfort her. Luan looked at Ken.

“Go. Find Geneva. Aiko and I will search in a moment.”

Ken didn’t know what to do. He wanted to speak to Aiko too, but Luan was already urging Aiko to move. They all sensed it. Geneva’s camp was the target of the attacks. It was inconceivable that she wouldn’t have been the first one both the assassins and Zalthia went for.

It wasn’t hard to find her. Ken was the first to spot the lone body in front of the blazing inferno that was all that remained of the Dullahan escort. He ran towards the body, shouting for Luan and Aiko. They ran towards him as he skidded to a stop and stared at Geneva.

She was dead.

There was no way she could be otherwise. Her throat was sliced open, exposing red blackness. Her stomach had been pierced multiple times by a blade. Ken stared down at Geneva and felt hot tears coming to his eyes. He turned away as Luan reached her and cried out. Aiko buried her head in her hands, smearing her face with blood.

“Geneva.”

She was gone. But then, to Ken’s horror, the eyes of the corpse opened. Geneva’s still body moved, and a hand rose. It covered her throat and Ken saw her open her mouth.

“Help me.”

Ken screamed and leapt backwards. Luan stumbled back and Aiko shouted in horror. Geneva was dead. There was no way she could be alive. But the voice that rasped from her throat sounded like her. Geneva’s eyes had opened and they were staring right at Ken. How could she be conscious? How—

Had she become undead? Was this some kind of zombie? Geneva stared at Ken. He looked at her, shaking.

“Who—Geneva-san?”

Her eyes flickered. The voice lowered, deepened.

“No. I am Okasha. I am a Selphid sharing Geneva’s body. Her mind is unconscious and she has been wounded badly. I am keeping her body alive. Do you have a healing potion?”

“I—no.”

“Calectus might have one. I’ll get him.”

Luan backed away. Ken heard him running and shouting for the Selphid. Ken just kept staring at the thing possessing Geneva’s body. A Selphid? But he thought that Selphids could only inhabit dead bodies. Could they do it with living ones? And if so…

“Geneva is alive?”

Aiko knelt by Geneva—by Okasha—and stared in horror at the wounds in her stomach. She reached for them, hesitated.

“She is wounded. Badly, I think.”

“Yes.”

Geneva’s hand stayed clamped to her throat. Her eyes moved down to look at Aiko.

“Her heart has stopped. I am manually pumping blood throughout her body. Her body and mind have gone into shock, but I am maintaining a flow of blood to all parts of her body. I have stopped her external bleeding, but I cannot continue this forever. Please. Help her.”

“I—I cannot. I do not have sutures or a needle. You need a healing potion.”

Aiko was helpless. Ken knelt by her and looked into Geneva’s eyes. He addressed Okasha.

“Can you hold on? Will Geneva-san die or—or bleed?”

He stared into her stomach, at the red wounds. There was…something there. Something vaguely orange, blocking the wounds, just inside of the body. The Selphid? Ken shuddered as it slowly undulated. Geneva’s voice replied, cold and distant.

“Geneva Scala cannot die. I will not let her.”

The wording of that made Ken’s blood freeze. Then he heard a shout. Ken turned his head and saw Calectus charging towards them, Luan following.

“Geneva!”

He tore a potion from his belt and splashed it on her wounds. The thing that called itself Okasha pointed out each of the injured sites, telling Calectus to wait while she held together parts of Geneva’s internal organs to be healed in turn. Then the stomach wounds closed and Geneva sat up, her throat mended.

She was alive. Just unconscious, as Okasha reported. But she was alive. Only…what was she?

Ken didn’t know. He realized there was a lot he didn’t know, but then Calectus was telling everyone to run into the forest. Ken did, and suddenly he was staring around, seeing the shapes fighting in the valley, hearing the horn calls. Now that the trials of now were over, he realized the entire valley had descended into hell.

The fighting had begun sometime after Zalthia’s airstrike. Only it wasn’t the controlled battle in the valley. Soldiers charged each other on the hills; mages blasted each other and tore apart the tree cover. The fighting was everywhere.

Everywhere.

—-

In the moments spent crouched, watching mages send arcs of magic raining down into the forests and hearing Calectus report that the Centaurs and Dullahans were fighting all over the valley now, cutting any hope of escape off, he listened to Okasha explain what she was. What Geneva had lost. Why they were…together.

“A Selphid living in a Human body.”

Calectus nodded. He’d come back with another body after going scouting. This time he was a Dullahan, head firmly locked into place. A female Dullahan, in fact. He—or was it she now?—still had her Halberd, and the deathblow Calectus had given her body was an open gash, gaping at Ken. He looked away, seeing hints of movement from within. The same thing was in Geneva.

“Why?”

“Her spine is broken. A bone on her neck was crushed when a soldier hit her there. Without me bridging the connection, she would have been unable to move.”

Okasha was sitting, looking at Ken and the others. Aiko and Luan were starting at her, almost unable to look away. Okasha was Geneva and wasn’t Geneva at the same time. She spoke with Geneva’s voice and shared her body, but all of her mannerisms, from the way she sat and the way she spoke, were different. It was terrifying, because it took everything Ken thought he knew about her and turned it upside-down.

The knowledge of Okasha came with the strictest of warnings which Calectus impressed on the three Humans. What Okasha had done was beyond blasphemy. Inhabiting a living body was something the ancient Selphids had done once, when they’d created a terrible empire. They had been overthrown, and ever since, any Selphid found to be inhabiting a living body was put to death.

As was its host.

“It is forbidden by every nation in the world. It would mean Geneva’s death and Okasha’s if it were found out. You will not tell anyone about this, or I will kill you. Not your friends, not your lovers—no other Selphids either. No one.”

Luan nodded as Calectus stared at him. Aiko and Ken nodded quickly as well. They were stunned by the revelation, but it wasn’t the most pressing issue right now. The battle going on between both sides was.

“Whatever the reason, the attack on Geneva’s camp seems to have been the start of all-out war. Both companies have abandoned their positions and are attacking with all their forces. It is a bloodbath.”

Calectus had scouted in either direction and found only fighting. There was no chance of running from the battle without meeting the other soldiers. Aiko’s voice was shaky as Luan hugged her with one arm.

“I do not understand. Why are they doing this now?”

“At a guess? Because one side got desperate. This is a mistake. Neither company wished to lose the majority of its forces, so they agreed to fight in the valley’s center until one side withdrew. Now? They will fight until one side is obliterated. The winner will be mostly destroyed as well, however. As will everyone in the valley.”

That included them. Calectus and Okasha were talking about what they could do when Okasha raised a hand.

“Geneva is waking up.”

Okasha got up and walked away from the others. Ken watched her back and saw Geneva jerk suddenly. She stumbled—he thought he could see Okasha stopping her from falling. Then Geneva’s mouth opened and she spoke to herself. A pause. A short sentence, and then Geneva replied to herself. It was creepy, watching her have a conversation with herself and yet not herself. Then Geneva’s head turned and she took in the smoldering remains of her camp.

“No.”

She collapsed. Her hands shot out, breaking her fall, and Geneva ended up sitting. She stared at the camp in silence. After a while, Ken stood up and made his way over to her.

“Geneva-san? Okasha-san?”

“We’re both in here, Ken.”

“Oh. Geneva-san…? Geneva?”

“I’m…here, Ken.”

Geneva’s voice was hoarse from the healing. But it was her. Ken thought it was. The horror in the [Doctor]’s eyes was too real to be anyone but her. Unless it was Okasha pretending to be her sometimes? No. He had to believe it was her.

“Are you alright, Geneva?”

“Alright?”

It was Geneva who looked at Ken, and he flinched away from her gaze. She stared at him, and then at her camp.

“They’re all gone. All the wounded, the soldiers—all of them. Just like that. The goodwill I built up, the lives I tried to save…nothing. It meant nothing.”

He looked at her. There was nothing he could say, so Ken didn’t try. He sat next to Geneva and heard her whispering. Was she talking to Okasha or him? Or neither?

“This was my fault. I thought I could stay neutral, avoid conflict. Instead I became a part of this war. I’ve—failed.”

She stared back at the camp, and then turned her head. Part of the valley had been set ablaze. Struggling soldiers were killing each other in the valley, in the forests. Neither side was falling back. It was to the death this time. The wounded would cry out, and the side that won would deal with them.

“It’s all burning.”

“We must go. It is not safe to hide here, Calectus says. Geneva, I am sorry, but we must run.”

Ken felt wretched saying it to her, but he had seen Centaurs racing through the trees not thirty feet away from where they were hiding. It was only a matter of time before they were found.

Geneva didn’t answer, but Okasha made her stand up. She spoke for Geneva, her voice lower.

“What are our options?”

“Run and fight, or hide and then fight.”

Those were the two conclusions Calectus had come up with. They could head in any direction, preferably away from the valley, but both companies were trying to flank each other and they could head right into a battle group. But if they stayed put, they’d end up meeting soldiers too. And there was no food or shelter here. Either way, it ended with a battle, and Calectus was frank about the odds she’d have against a group of Soldiers.

“I could kill the assassins—but only because I didn’t have to protect anyone. And they weren’t expecting a Selphid. They thought I was alive at first, or they would have aimed for me, not my body. If we run into anything larger than a group of ten, we all die.”

“So that’s it? We choose which way we think is less risky?”

Calectus nodded grimly. She nodded to the camp, checking to make sure her head was on right. Selphids couldn’t take their heads off like Dullahans could. At least, they couldn’t do it and not have the heads begin to rot.

“I had a group of soldiers who could have fought with us, but the airstrike and assassins killed them all. Without another force, there are not enough warriors. Okasha could fight—”

“No.”

Geneva interrupted. She looked at her hand and shook her head.

“I can’t. I can’t let her, either.”

“Just me, then.”

Ken and Luan looked at each other. They wanted to say they could fight, but only Aiko had ever killed someone. But what could they do otherwise? If they had to fight—

Ken had a thought. He stood up and looked up the valley, towards a hill. He tried to squint to see if there was fighting there, but couldn’t see anything through the trees. Luan saw where he was looking and spoke up.

“That’s right! What about Gravetender’s Fist?”

Everyone looked at Luan. He pointed through the forest, up the valley towards where the neutral ground was. Or had been. Calectus frowned and shifted her grip on her halberd.

“You think you can get them to shelter us?”

Ken, Aiko, and Luan traded looks. Luan nodded to Calectus and Geneva.

“We know them. Quallet’s reasonable…I think. There are a lot of our friends in the company. It’s worth a shot, and better than trying to get out alone, don’t you think?”

Calectus considered the idea, and then nodded.

“They’re the only other side in this mess. If we find them there, we can try to work together. Otherwise…we’ll still be closer to the edges of the fighting.”

It was a tenuous plan, but having agreed to it, Calectus didn’t waste any time. He had everyone get up and creep towards the neutral zone, stopping when they heard fighting in the distance. Calectus frowned, glancing up at the tall, broad-limbed trees and around warily. There was a problem.

“I can fight small groups, but if we run into a patrol, they will call for help. We need someone to scout.”

“I can—”

Luan spoke up, but it was Okasha who volunteered herself and Geneva.

“I’m a [Rogue]. I should do it, with Geneva’s permission.”

“Absolutely not. You’re valuable.”

Calectus snapped at her, but Okasha was insistent.

“I can do it, Calectus.”

“How? If you’re spotted—”

“I have stealth Skills. And I’ll do it from above.”

Everyone looked up as Okasha pointed at the branches. She looked at Calectus, then flicked her glance towards Ken and the others. Ken thought she was worried about them hearing, but the situation must have warranted it, so Okasha spoke.

“I’ll exceed Geneva’s limits. I can leap from tree to tree. I did it with my last body. I can do it with hers. Let me do it, Calectus.”

“Leap?”

Luan stared up incredulously at the treetops. The branches were thick and could probably hold someone’s weight, true, but jumping from one to the next would require inhuman strength! Or maybe the athleticism of a trained Olympian, neither of which Geneva had.

However, that wasn’t an issue, as Okasha explained to the Humans.

“We can exceed our limits for a brief period. It is a trick that pushes a body’s muscles and nerves past their physical threshold. Other species can do it in times of dire need, but we have no such limitations of the mind. The cost, however, is that the body we inhabit will degrade and break down far, far more quickly.”

“Yes, and doing that to a living body would be painful—”

Calectus was frowning and objecting, but Geneva interrupted. She looked from Calectus to the trees, to the other Humans.

“Let’s do it. If it means no fighting, I can bear the pain. Okasha, go ahead.”

Geneva’s head nodded and Okasha spoke.

“I will take over. Geneva, this will tear your muscles.”

Geneva’s gritted her teeth.

“I can heal them. Do it.”

Ken stepped back as Geneva’s knees bent and she lowered her posture. There was no sign she was…what had the Dullahans called it? Rampaging? But when Geneva leapt, it was straight up, nearly twice her height. She caught a branch and swung herself onto it, moving with incredible grace. Ken gaped.

“I’ll move ahead. Calectus, wait for my signal.”

She jumped from one of the branches to the next, a standing long jump that catapulted her to the next branch. Ken turned to Luan to ask the Olympian hopeful if he’d ever seen anything like it, and saw Luan’s slack-jawed expression.

“How can she do that?”

Aiko asked Calectus, who was scanning the trees from where Okasha had gone. The Selphid answered without turning her head.

“Humans, Dullahans, Lizardfolk…all of your species can do the same. Have you not ever heard of your kind performing great feats in times of need?”

Ken vaguely recalled a story about a mother who had lifted an entire tree off of her son. Or how a passerby would lift an entire car, thousands of pounds, off someone who was trapped beneath. He had no idea what the term for it was.

Was it really possible for everyone to do that? And if so, what could Selphids do with that kind of ability?

Ken looked at Calectus out of the corner of his eye. He—was now a she, and a she from a different species altogether. A Selphid could take over any dead body, and any living body. They could survive wounds that would kill a living person without injury, tap into strength they didn’t have…

They were frightening. Not only that, Ken had no idea how they thought or behaved as a species. He had only known Calectus and now, Okasha. Ken was glad they were on the same side, at least, for now.

Something flickered in the trees above him. Ken looked up and saw nothing in the shadows. But Calectus had. She pointed and snapped in a low voice.

“Go. Go!”

Adrenaline and fear shot through Ken’s body. He ran, sprinting through the trees, tapping into a speed born of pure fear and proving the Selphids were right. Something moved above him and Ken flinched, but it was Geneva. She ran across a branch as thick as Ken’s waist and then leapt to a tree ahead of him.

Ken saw Geneva leaping from tree to tree like a monkey, moving with the same inhuman strength and speed that Calectus had displayed. She called down at Calectus and the others, directing them away from the fighting. Ken ran, lungs and legs burning, watching Luan run ahead of him and hearing Aiko struggling by his side. Calectus took up the rear, watchful, sometimes falling back to clash with pursuers.

When they broke out into the open and ran for the neutral ground Geneva landed and sprinted across the hundred meter gap in less than ten seconds. Ken tried to breathe and run faster as he heard shouts in the distance. However, if they had been spotted, the group of five was deemed less of a threat and no one came after them.

Geneva had paused in the first few trees of the neutral zone. She was sweating, and as Ken ran towards her and practically collapsed, he saw she was gripping her legs.

“Argh.”

Geneva’s face was twisted with pain. Okasha spoke with her voice.

“Try not to move. I am massaging the muscles and removing the…”

“Lactic acid. I can feel everything burning.”

“Torn muscle. I warned you. I am secreting a pain relieving agent, but you must use a healing potion.”

“Later.”

Luan raced into the grove, half-dragging Aiko. She was panting, a ragged note of pain in her voice from the extreme sprint. Calectus was last. An arrow was sticking out of her armor’s shoulder. Ken hadn’t realized they were being shot at.

“Are you alright Geneva, Okasha?”

“Fine. We could use a bit of the healing potion.”

Calectus handed the quarter of a bottle over, cautioning Okasha to be sparing. A few drops and Geneva’s expression of pain eased. She stood up, legs fully recovered from the muscle strain. Calectus shook her head as she studied Geneva.

“The ability to stop bleeding, move a body when critically injured and heal each injury with such precision…this is why it was made forbidden. It is too powerful. Too dangerous. Two souls in one body. Two minds, each with their own set of classes and Skills. An army of such warriors would be unstoppable.”

“Not if the entire world is after you.”

Okasha shook her head and then Geneva took back over. She looked at Ken.

“Are we at the neutral zone?”

“A bit farther, I think. This way!”

Ken took over and the group moved slowly through the forest. He thought they were close to the campground, and then heard a shout. A group of armed soldiers burst out of the trees, shouting. Ken saw Calectus drag Geneva back, leaving Luan, Aiko, and Ken to defend themselves. Luan raised his mace and then Ken heard a shout.

“Hold on! Hold on, you bastards! It’s Ken and the others!”

One of the charging soldiers halted and blocked the path of the others. He was holding an axe, and as he came closer, Ken saw it was Daly.

“Bugger me, you lot are alive!”

He strode over to them as the soldiers halted, although none of them sheathed their weapons. Ken nearly wept at the sight of Daly. He was alive! And now that Ken wasn’t terrified out of his mind, he saw more Humans and familiar Lizardfolk, Dullahan, and Centaur faces amid the soldiers.

Daly strode over and gave Ken a one-armed hug that impressed Ken with sweat, blood, and other body odors. Then he clasped hands with a grinning Luan.

“What happened? All we heard this morning was that the [Doctor]’s camp was attacked, and then it was like the world was ending! Both the Centaurs and the Dullahans started fighting everywhere and we’ve been attacked six times in the last hour!”

The young man from Australia led Ken and the others into the neutral ground while the other soldiers went to hide in the trees again. Daly had certainly seen war now, as had the others. He had a huge cut running down his neck and his collarbone. It had cut his armor in half, but it must not have been that deep, since Daly was still upright.

“The Dullahans are claiming that the Centaurs used [Mages] to burn down the camp, and the Centaurs are saying the Dullahans sent soldiers in to burn the camp and blamed it on them. Which side attacked?”

“Both!”

Daly stared at Ken as he and Luan explained what had happened. The Australian shook his head and spat.

“Lies from both sides. Fucking brilliant, am I right? At least Aiko’s safe too. And hey, who’s this?”

Only now did Daly spot Geneva and Calectus. His eyes widened as Ken told him who they were.

“The [Doctor]? I heard about her. The Last Light. You’d better see the Captain. He’ll want to know she’s here.”

Daly took Geneva, Ken, and the others to Quallet’s tent in the middle of the camp. Only this time, Quallet wasn’t the only person inside. When Daly knocked on the flap and ushered everyone in, Ken saw Quallet was standing with the other surviving neutral parties around a map of the valley.

Quallet was there, as was the female Centaur, the leader of Rot’s Bane. Ken thought her name was Exara. What was a surprise was seeing Xalandrass, the war vendor occupying a corner of the tent while he tended to his wounds. Quallet’s eyes widened on seeing Geneva, but when he’d heard what had happened—and heard Calectus was a Level 36 [Honor Guard]—he immediately made room for them around the map.

“Right now we’re holding position and trying not to be a target. But it’s only a matter of time before they send a big force our way to secure this spot, or messengers with an offer to join either side. I’m hoping for a messenger, but I think our chances are slim either way.”

There were symbols all over the map, glowing, indicating where the fighting was. Ken looked down at a shifting landscape of yellow and blue, engulfing every section of the valley and cutting off any hope for an escape route.

Exara, the female Centaur, gave Calectus a brief appraisal of the forces they had with them.

“They killed Ulvial in the first attack. I’ve taken command of the rest of his company with Quallet…we’ve also joined forces with the war vendor’s group. Their camp was also attacked. I’ll say this for the [Merchant], though—he didn’t hide. He crushed at least six of the soldiers who attacked him with his tail. Broke all their bones just like that.”

She nodded at Xalandrass. Ken approached the Naga as the others clustered around the table and discussed options. Technically Geneva was no commander, but the other captains seemed to think she had a place with them and certainly valued Calectus’ input.

Xalandrass had a potion bottle in his hands and was pouring it slowly over the cuts on his body with eyes closed. He opened his eyes warily and then blinked as he saw Ken.

“Ah, little Ken. I did not expect to see you. Alive.”

“Honored Xalandrass.”

The Naga laughed and then grimaced. Xalandrass had a deep cut down part of his serpentine tail, but he was healing that as he spoke with a potion. He’d thrown open his stores and supplied Gravetender’s Fist and the other companies with enchanted weapons and potions. It was one of the reasons why they’d been left alone; they weren’t an easy target. But it was only a matter of time.

He explained this to Ken in a lowered voice as the captains reached the same conclusion with Calectus. Xal’s face was grim as he gave their odds of surviving a flick of the tail.

“If we side with a company, we may have a chance. But what if the company we side with dies, or we are sent into a bloodbath? Or…I suspect we might be stabbed in the back once it is over, regardless. They have violated the terms of war all companies share, by attacking forces on neutral ground. I have had to kill several soldiers myself. It is not…well, it is ironic. And you escaped your attack with her, hm? The [Doctor].”

He grinned at Ken and his tail flicked delicately at Geneva. She was speaking with the others now, grim and horrified, but still determined. She was arguing against them trying to cut their way to safety, with only her convictions and no strategy behind her statements. For her, that was enough.

“So that is what she is like. I understand. It is hard to describe her.”

Xal looked thoughtful as he gazed at Geneva. Ken stared at the Naga, and looked hesitantly at the map.

“Honored—”

“Shush. Formalities and flattery are useful when bargaining and flirting, but not now, I think. Say what it is you need to say.”

The Naga flicked his tail up, touching it gently to Ken’s lips. He smiled at Ken. Ken nodded.

“Xalandrass, do you know who attacked Geneva’s camp? There was the Firebringer and Dullahans. Did one side do all of it, or was it both? And why? The soldiers love Geneva. So why…?”

The Naga smiled a touch sadly and shook his head at Ken’s naiveté.

“The soldiers don’t need to know a thing. A single [Strategist] could have ordered the attack, or the leader of either company. And both sides can deny attacking as well. The Centaurs can claim Zalthia was hitting targets of opportunity and failed to recognize Geneva’s camp. The Dullahans sent assassins so they could claim it was a rogue group or mercenaries sent by the other side to frame them. I do suspect it was both, but what does it matter? The deed was done and now we are stuck.”

Back at the table, the argument was getting heated between Geneva and the others. To Ken’s surprise, Luan was joining in the discussion, trying to convince Geneva they needed to fight. But she was insistent and Ken heard her adamant reply as Ken and Xal approached the table.

“There has to be another way. If we fight, we become a target for everyone. I cannot, will not end this all in senseless death.”

“There is no other option. We’ve agreed that staying here is riskier—either we die or they die. I won’t call that senseless!”

Quallet snapped at Geneva, resting his gauntleted hands on the table. She stared back and then flicked her eyes towards the tent. The roar of battle was background noise now, never ceasing.

“There’s a better way. I’ll go ahead of everyone.”

“What?”

The captains stared at her. So did Ken, Luan, and Calectus. Aiko had left, to wash off the blood of the Dullahan she’d killed. Geneva looked at everyone in turn, resolute.

“The soldiers know me. They know who I am. Maybe if they see me, they’ll stop fighting long enough for us to get through.”

“That’s suicide.”

Exara looked troubled, Quallet thoughtful. Calectus was dead against it, and surprisingly, so was Xalandrass. He slithered over to Geneva, smiling at her. She looked warily at him.

“I hate to disregard such courage, my fair [Doctor], but I must tell you that if you do that, you will die. To no good purpose, either.”

“Why? I understand the risks, but if I can get enough soldiers to see me—”

“Ah, but it is not the soldiers you must worry about.”

Xalandrass cut Geneva off. He flicked his tail, indicating both sides on the map.

“This has gone beyond simple infractions of conduct. Both companies have attacked neutral parties. One company might have broken the rules at first—and I would put money on the Dullahans being the ones—but both sides are party to this now. Any witnesses would bring back terrible retribution onto them. So it is in the best interests that no one survives this battle.”

He reached out with his Human-like hands and touched Geneva lightly on the chest.

“You may stop the fighting, but only for a moment. Both sides will want you dead, and will see it happen easily. All it takes is an arrow or spell, from either side. The victor can claim whatever they want, but so long as either group can claim it was an accident, the soldiers will believe it and more importantly, you will be dead. As will we all.”

Geneva stared Xalandrass in the eye, and then nodded.

“I accept that risk. I’m willing to die if you can escape. If I go out, I can at least buy you a few minutes maybe. Enough time for you to get clear of the worst of the fighting…”

“Unacceptable.”

Calectus interrupted. She leaned forwards, glaring at Geneva.

“You are my ward, Geneva. I cannot allow you to throw your life away.”

“What choice do we have, Calectus?”

Quallet cleared his throat.

“If we were to put up a white flag—it wouldn’t stop them from attacking, not now, but what if we negotiated? Swore an oath not to reveal what we saw—”

“We’d never get them to go through all the trouble of finding a [Mage] to administer the spell to every one of us in the company.”

Exara argued back. Ken looked at Luan, and silently, they left the tent while the others argued. Ken didn’t know what they should do, but he had no useful insights. Neither did Luan, so they went into the camp and tried to find their friends.

Daly was resting with the others. He had a bandage on his neck wound—not from Geneva, but courtesy of Aiko. When Ken asked about who was alive, he looked away.

“Etretta’s gone, Ken. She saved my life. Cold bitch walked in front of a lightning bolt for me. I didn’t get a chance to tell her—tell her—”

He lowered his head. Luan and Ken stared at him. Daly wiped at his eyes, swore, and told Ken where to find some of the others.

Ken found Quexa among the wounded. She wasn’t wounded now of course. Xal’s potions were keeping everyone healthy. But she was too injured to continue fighting.

One of her legs had been cut off.

“Hey Ken. I thought you were dead.”

Quexa smiled at Ken when she saw him approach. He stared down at her, at a loss for words. She glanced at the healed-over stump of her leg and then away. She smiled. Tried to smile. It was fake, but she chattered away as if it were nothing.

“Oh. They cut off my leg. Well, I say they—it was a Centaur. With an axe. And my tail. I’m more upset about my leg than my tail, I mean, I could live without my tail, but my leg—”

The Lizardgirl’s eyes filled with tears. Ken bent down and hugged her. She sobbed and clung to him.

This was war. Not suppression, hauling dead bodies and fighting the undead. This was war, and they were caught in it. Ken thought they would die, and Luan thought so too. After Quexa had cried herself to sleep, Luan found Ken, looking worried.

“They’re still arguing over what to do. It looks like we’ll try to fight our way through after all, but Ken…”

He shook his head. Ken stared at him anxiously. Luan had been unwaveringly brave and responsible, but now he looked like he was at a loss for what to do.

“It’s a mess, Ken. We have too many groups here to trust one another when we try to break out. That Xal guy, the Naga—he looks like he’ll make a break for it when the fighting starts. And Calectus is only concerned about Geneva. As for Quallet and Exara, how do we know either one won’t split or try to cut a deal with either side?”

Ken didn’t know. He remembered Quallet when he’d asked if the [Captain] had given up the Americans to the Dullahans. And Exara was a Centaur. Did that mean anything?

Someone strode out of the tent, amid the arguing. Ken stood and saw Geneva headed towards them. The [Doctor]’s face was flushed, and she looked angry and helpless.

“They won’t listen. I’ve told them that if we fight, we’ll only make things worse. We’ll become part of the enemy, not neutral! And we need to be neutral. If not—”

She looked at Ken and Luan, and both saw the pain in her eyes. Luan guided Geneva over to the fire. Amazingly, there was food being eaten even with the fighting so close by and occasionally hitting their camp. But people had to keep up their strength. He offered some very dry bread to Geneva as he spoke.

“You’re talking about aid workers, right? Neutral parties?”

Geneva nodded, looking frustrated. Luan nodded too. Ken vaguely understood what they were referring to. There were groups who went into war-torn countries or places where a war was going on. They were on no side and helped victims while trying to remain neutral. It was a good cause and it saved lives. Luan understood, but he did not agree with Geneva.

“Médecins Sans Frontières. I know of them too, Geneva. But what they believe in…it’s admirable, but you can’t expect it to apply to things here.”

“I have to believe it. If not, what’s the point of believing in anything? If no one will believe in the rights of victims, in honoring the attempt to aid people—what can be done? Then the only way to resolve anything will be to kill anyone who disagrees with you.”

Geneva’s hand was white on her cup. Luan opened his mouth, and fell silent. Geneva stared past him, towards the battle between the Centaurs and Dullahans.

“Témoignage. That’s a word in French. It means ‘to bear witness’. That’s what Doctors Without Borders believes in. I thought I could be like them, or at the very least, like the Red Cross. So long as I could help—but there’s no one to bear witness to, and even if all I do is help, I’m still a target.”

There was something in her eyes, in her voice. Ken thought he saw hope dying in Geneva’s eyes as she looked at him and Luan.

“What good is neutrality if there is no one to witness it? What’s the use of honor in war—of morality when one side can throw it all away when no one’s watching?”

Neither young man could reply. Geneva got up without a word and left her full cup. She marched back into the tent and Ken heard her raised voice. After she’d gone, Daly came over. He squatted down, pressing at the bandage Aiko had put on his neck and grimacing.

“I heard what she said. That [Doctor]—Geneva, right? She’s the right sort.”

Ken and Luan nodded. Daly paused.

“Trouble is, she’s wrong about this. There’s no reasoning with those bastards out there. Who cares if we bear witness? What good will it do?”

He lifted Geneva’s cup to his mouth and drank it all down. Then Daly tossed the cup aside and grimaced.

“The world is watching. Isn’t that what they say every time shit happens? Back in our world, I mean. The world is watching. Well, I guess that makes everything alright, don’t it? Sure makes me feel better, and I’m sure the poor bastards getting shot feel better too, knowing that.”

He was right and wrong at the same time. Ken felt that. He thought Geneva was right, but at the same time, he knew Xalandrass and the others were correct as well. He spoke, letting his thoughts out one bubble at a time.

“I think the soldiers do believe in Geneva, Daly-san. Daly. If they saw her, they would stop fighting. However, the leaders of both sides will kill her. And then blame the other side for doing it.”

“Yeah, that’s the issue. I’ve heard soldiers speaking of the Last Light. They think she’s as close to a goddess as anything—although they believe in gods. But what can we do? If we surround her with soldiers, she’s a target just waiting for a [Fireball] spell. How can you stop her from being a target and still tell everyone she’s here?”

Daly shook his head. Ken stared at the cooking fire, and then at the tent. A target. That was the problem. If only both sides knew what was going on, but how could you tell them? Soldiers believed what their commanders told them—who’d listen to someone from the other side, or someone they didn’t know? You had to show everyone the truth, but how could you do that in a war?

At the head of the camp, Ken saw the company banner. The flag of Gravetender’s Fist soared above Quallet’s tent, shining though there was no sun on it. Why was that?

Oh, right. It had a spell on it to shine in the darkness. So that when everyone was working, people would see the flag and know the company was neutral. That was how it worked.

That was how it was supposed to work. The suppression companies were in the middle of the battlefield, a target for all sides, yet not a target.

A target yet not a target. Ken thought he was on the verge of something. He got up and walked over to the flag, studied it.

“Ken?”

Luan was on his feet. He approached Ken.

“What are you thinking, mate? Something on your mind?”

“Maybe.”

Ken took the flag. It glowed in the half-light of the tree’s shadows, a bright light. Something to identify the Gravetender’s Fist company. To keep them safe. They were safe because they were noticed.

He turned to Luan and Daly, the banner in his hands. Ken lifted it, and saw how both young men stared at it. There. Both of them were looking at the same thing. What if you did that for everyone? Was there a way? He remembered something Xalandrass had said he had in his inventory.

“I think I have an idea, friends. I know how Geneva can go out without being a target.”

“Really? How?”

Daly stared at Ken, and then at the flag.

“Are we going to send a message to one side then? Both?”

“No.”

Ken shook his head as he handed the flag to Daly, and then strode into the tent. He turned to the two of them, smiling.

“We will tell them Geneva is here. We will tell them we are here.”

“Who?”

Luan stared at Ken. Ken grinned.

“Everyone.”

—-

This was the last battle, the final engagement. The Centaurs and Dullahans were locked in combat, battalions maneuvering and charging into combat across the entire valley. A unit of Dullahans charged across the broken ground, trying to cut off a retreating group of Centaur [Mages]. Two wings of Centaur [Lancers] fell on the Dullahans, and both sides were swept up as a group of Lizardfolk rushed to the Dullahan’s aid.

There was chaos on the ground and in the skies. Arrows and spells flew through the air, making the mages capable of flight stay on the ground. Soldiers watched out for banners to identify friends from foes, but were ready for an attack even from allies. It was chaos.

In this situation, who could spend time looking for a third party? Anyone who took a step into the battle zone would be a target. But it was that very issue Kenjiro Murata thought he could solve.

He stood on the edge of the neutral ground, staring down into the valley. The shortest route away from the fighting was through an area where the fighting was thickest. The fact that the most soldiers were here didn’t bother him; on the contrary, it was better that he did this here, where there were more to listen.

“Here.”

Xalandrass pressed something into Ken’s hand. It was a lovely ring that might have been made of amazonite or a similar stone, inset with beads of clear glass that shimmered with magic. Ken took it and put it on. He didn’t sense a difference, but Xalandrass had assured him this ring was the most powerful one in his collection.

That meant the loudest. Ken took a breath, and looked around. Geneva stood next to Quallet, Exara, and Xalandrass. Behind them, the collective forces of Gravetender’s Fist, Rot’s Bane, the remains of Untimely Demise, Xalandrass’ guards, Calectus, Luan, and Aiko, were all waiting. They were all staring at him.

Ken had taken too deep a breath. He released it, took another shaky one, and then felt a hand on his back. Geneva stared into Ken’s eyes. Without a word, she nodded.

She trusted him. Ken felt calmer. He took a third breath, and then shouted.

“Ah. Hello? Excuse me!”

The words weren’t thunder. They were more like an earthquake, an avalanche, a blasting thousand-man-band’s worth of noise that cracked over the loudest explosion and roar of the battle below.

Xalandrass’ magical rings to amplify the voice were of the highest quality. Ken’s words made every soldier look up at him as a new target. Instantly, Ken saw archers taking aim, commanders, pointing, so he spoke.

“Please! Do not attack! We are not your enemy!”

A brief hesitation. Ken could see confusion on some faces. Who would fall for a lie like that? Who would be so brazen, so stupid?

Ken would. He motioned quickly and Geneva stepped forwards. Every eye focused on her, and Ken heard some cries of recognition.

“This is Geneva Scala, the [Doctor] known as the Last Light! Her camp was attacked—”

A roar went up. Ken spoke over it.

“By both sides.”

Silence. Ken looked at Quallet. The man was pale-faced, but he remembered what to do and stepped forwards with Exara and Xalandrass. Ken pointed to all of them in turn. He had the battlefield’s attention, for the simple fact that he was loud and the soldiers believed in Geneva.

“This is [Captain] Qualass of Gravetender’s Fist and [Captain] Exara of Rot’s Bane! They are both suppression companies, and this is Xalandrass, a [Merchant]! They are all neutral parties in this conflict!”

By the end of that statement, Ken’s own ears were ringing. He could see Xalandrass wincing, as were the people around him. But Ken’s words had had an effect. Soldiers were staring at the captains and Xalandrass, all groups they knew were neutral in any war. Ken’s next words were simple, direct.

“We are leaving. If you attack, we will fight back. But we will not attack you. Please, do not kill us.”

That was all. He took the ring from his finger and put it in his pocket.

Both sides were staring up at Geneva and the others. The frenzy of movement below had become an oasis of inaction. But it couldn’t last. They had to move.

Ken looked at Quallet, Exara, Xalandrass—none of them seemed able to take the first step. Then Geneva moved. She made a sound like a sigh or a prayer and slowly began to descend into the valley.

The others followed. Quallet slowly walked down, axe at his side, looking warily at the soldiers closest to him. Ken followed, unarmed, heart beating out of his chest. Slowly, the rest of Gravetender’s Fist, the other soldiers, weapons sheathed, walked with him.

A sea of bodies were between them and safety. Ken’s heart felt like it would burst as Geneva slowly walked towards a group of Lizardfolk, bloody, spears held uncertainly. She was just staring at them. They stared at her.

They recognized her. How could they not? They might not have ever seen Geneva’s face themselves, but how many soldiers had they met who could describe the woman who’d saved them? And Ken had said it.

She was the [Doctor]. Would they kill her? She was unarmed. They were all neutral parties. And the soldiers stood, knowing that every single one of them had seen this. Would anyone dare attack them? How could they?

Everyone here was a witness.

Slowly, the ranks of soldiers parted. They stood aside, some stumbling back. Others dragged the wounded away. And the wounded did cry out for Geneva. She looked at them, face pale, and slowly shook her head. There was infinite regret in her eyes, but she didn’t look away. She stared at the people she could not save.

Ken stared at the commanders. They would be the ones to order the attack. Some were shouting, their voices dim and muted in the silence. Others fought towards Geneva, but were held back. One raised a staff glowing with magic and was dragged from his saddle by his men.

They were a quarter of the way across the battlefield when it happened. Ken heard a group of Centaurs galloping, and suddenly the Dullahan’s side was ready to fight. He turned, about to put the ring on and shout, when he saw a group of Centaurs race out of the sea of bodies and slow to a stop. They flanked Geneva on her left, and Ken saw a female Centaur with a bow and a male Centaur he thought he recognized leading them. The female Centaur, a [Captain], shouted.

“Centaurs! You are to refrain from attacking at all costs. Any fool who disobeys I will personally shoot!”

Her voice rang out and the Centaurs around her put an arrow to their bows. Their tips gleamed with magic. Evercut arrows.

The words weren’t just for the people around her. The [Captain] was staring towards the skies, and Ken saw a shape that had been flying down out of a cloud fly back. Zalthia waved at Geneva from above as she reversed direction. Ken’s heart began to beat again. It stopped again when he heard the thump. He turned his head and saw a giant Dullahan, a War Walker with a huge sword advancing on Geneva.

The Centaur group backed up and looked ready to loose, but the War Walker began walking on Geneva’s right. The Dullahan head controlling the massive [Behemoth]’s body was deep and huge, as if his entire frame was a megaphone for his words.

“I am Bastiom. I will cut apart anyone who attacks the [Doctor] or her company.”

More Dullahans joined him. Now there was a stream of bodies, protecting Geneva as she led the small company across the battlefield. Ken stared. He recognized some of the people in the crowd. He had saved the Dullahan who walked on his right, shield raised towards his own side.

They walked on. Ken found himself walking faster, and then he was listening to Geneva. She spoke quietly with Luan, no longer at the head of the group. There was no need. The message was spreading.

“What can we do? They’ll kill each other when we’re gone.”

Luan was looking at both sides, shaking his head as he spoke to Geneva. Ken heard her low reply.

“We bear witness. That’s all we can do.”

They passed from the valley. Up ahead, the groups of soldiers were lessening. They were going to survive. Part of Ken didn’t believe it. Another part…another part wished the same could be true for the soldiers. He hoped that maybe, after they had left, the silence would continue. Perhaps the soldiers would put down their weapons, talk?

It couldn’t happen. Behind him, Ken could see some commanders moving their forces and soldiers bracing and drinking potions. The fighting would continue. This was only a brief interlude. Peace was a pipe dream.

But it was a dream Ken could believe in. And at that moment, he saw the same hope, the same faith, in Luan and Geneva’s eyes.

Luan stared at Geneva. She seemed lost, looking around, staring at her hands. She looked up at him.

“I don’t know what I’ll do after this. I can’t keep going back to the battlefield, but I don’t know…I don’t know what I should do after this.”

The tall South African man blinked at her for a moment, and then smiled. He looked thoughtfully at Geneva, and then at the sky.

“You know, I heard once that aid workers in conflict zones served for…let’s say a month. But after that, they were forced to take a vacation. In order to stay sane, yeah?”

“What’s your point?”

He put a hand on her shoulder and leaned down to speak to her. Ahead, the forest opened up and a trail appeared. Quallet ordered the company to march faster as both Centaurs and Dullahans broke away, heading back towards the battlefield.

“You’ve been through too many battles, Geneva. Rest for a while. There’s good you can do away from the fighting. And we need you.”

She paused. Geneva closed her eyes, looked at Luan, Ken, and at Aiko and the others. She looked at the Humans from her world and then at her hands. Then she nodded.

“Okay.”

The word was all it took. Behind them, the young Japanese man known as Kenjiro Murata finally began to believe they would live. Ken stared up at the sky, filled with smoke, but incredibly blue.

Behind him, he heard a shout, and then a thump. He turned, and saw a plume of smoke rising. War. His spirits sank. Quallet had heard and ordered everyone to pick up the pace, now!

They marched on. Ken found himself trailing behind. He couldn’t help but stare up at the sky. He wondered…if there really was a safe place in the world. He couldn’t imagine it, surrounded by death and violence on all sides.

“Ken?”

He looked down. Geneva and Luan had slowed to wait for him. Aiko, helping Quexa move, had turned. Daly was waving at him. Ken realized he was standing still, staring as the group marched ahead.

Luan and Geneva walked back. Luan held out a hand and smiled at Ken.

“Let’s go.”

Ken stared at the hand. He stared at Geneva, and saw something on her face. It was faint, awkward, and full of regrets and sadness. But if you got past that, it looked almost like a smile.

He hesitated, and then took Luan’s hand, leaving the war behind. He went marching away, looking for an answer to his question.

—-

A week later, Ken found it. It wasn’t in words, and it didn’t come from a person. It was a slow realization that culminated in a moment where he sat on a white beach, staring out into the ocean.

In the days after they’d fled the battle between the Razorshard Armor company and the Roving Arrow company, Quallet had taken charge. His only goal was to get them away from the fighting in case either company sent a force after them. They did not, whether because they were still locked in combat or thought it would be futile, Ken didn’t know.

But soon, as the danger became further and further away, the group began to splinter and think of their own needs. Exara was the first to leave with her company, and a good deal of the soldiers in Gravetender’s Fist left with their pay—doubled for combat duty—and drifted away at each passing village and town.

But some continued onwards. A good core of Gravetender’s Fist, some of Ulviel’s forces, and Xalandrass went on with the Humans from the other world. The [Merchant] was sick of combat, and he promised that if they travelled with him as protection, he’d take them to a lovely place where they could rest, safe and away from any danger.

Xalandrass was as good as his word, and the protection of a war vendor meant that the weary company could travel east, taking the main roads until they reached one of the island port-towns. This one was a small haven, not troubled by conflict.

It had a beach. And what a beach it was! Ken had never been to Hawaii, one of the Japanese tourist’s must-visit locations, but he’d heard tell of their amazingly scenic beaches. He thought, with no little amount of satisfaction, that Hawaii tourists would have given their left earlobes (and a lot of money) to visit this beach.

It was pristine, untouched by pollution, industrialization, or most other things that had ‘-tion’ in the word. The community of mainly Lizardfolk that lived by the beaches and fished for a living were only too happy to take the gold that Geneva had been bribed with and feasted the Humans and other soldiers when they arrived.

Now, Ken was on the beach, watching people play. He was not in the water. Instead, he was sipping from a very pleasant, fruit drink and watching Luan race across the water in a canoe.

The South African man was at home on the water. He’d found that the Lizardfolk used a similar device to a canoe and within the first hour had set about customizing one of their boats to his specifications. Now he was racing the Lizardfolk, most of whom were only too happy to teach an uppity Human a lesson on watercraft.

They had the shock of their lives. So did the other Humans, and Ken, honestly. He’d watched the Olympics, but he’d skipped over the rowing sections, and it was something else to see an athlete row in real life. Luan’s craft skimmed across the water, impossibly fast, and Ken saw a group of Humans and other races on the beach, screaming at him as the Lizardfolk wallowed in the water behind him.

“Go! Go you insane bastard!”

Daly was screaming and chasing after a Lizardman who’d bet gold that Luan could never out-row one of his kind. Quexa was laughing and balancing on the simple prosthetic leg that Geneva had helped design, and Aiko was watching Luan, a flower hidden behind her back.

She was going to confess to Luan today. Ken had mixed feelings about that and let his gaze wander back to Luan. He was circling a small outcropping of rocks and coming back, his paddles smoothly cutting through the water. He really was incredible.

Ken was glad he’d been allowed to see Luan row. He looked up as the race concluded, and saw Geneva approaching. The [Doctor] wasn’t smiling, but neither did she look particularly upset. She just had to work on smiling. It had to be surprised out of her, but it was happening more and more of late. She sat next to Ken, and looked at Luan rowing.

“It’s a lovely place, isn’t it? There’s a girl from Ecuador and she tells me the beaches here are better than her home. Daly and the others say Australia has nothing like it either.”

Ken nodded. He felt at the sand, looked at the water, the greenery. It was a tropical paradise in every sense of the word. It made you almost forget about the violence further inland. Almost.

“There are grander places in Baleros, you know. Xal was telling me about it. There’s so much beauty here. Beaches like this one that can stretch for a hundred miles in every direction, open fields that are filled with grass and edible plants…you can almost understand why everyone’s fighting over all of it.”

Ken nodded again. Geneva stared out across the ocean.

“I made a mistake, Ken. I shouldn’t have tried to work and stay neutral on each battlefield. I was just painting a target on my back. Okasha’s right. Things aren’t the same here.”

“I didn’t mean—”

Okasha tried to speak, but Geneva rode over her.

“There is no Geneva Convention here. There’s only me. I can’t rely on the goodwill of another company, or their morality or honor. I know that now.”

She fell silent. Ken thought to himself and spoke slowly.

“I think…it is good you know that. But Geneva, I think you were right to do what you did. I admired you. So did everyone else. If you had not done what you did, we would have died there.”

“Perhaps.”

The two sat in silence for a long time. They saw Luan trudging towards them as the sun began to fall. He was covered in water, and smiling.

“Hey Ken.”

“Luan.”

Ken stared at Luan, but Aiko wasn’t with him. He opened his mouth, closed it tactfully. Luan saw and smiled. He rubbed at his hair and sat.

“Aiko confessed to me a few minutes ago. I broke her heart. I feel bad about it, Ken, mate, I really do. But I had no choice.”

“Why?”

Did he not like Aiko? Luan smiled ruefully, and looked at his hands.

“Simple. I’m already married.”

Ken stared. Geneva blinked. Luan looked at them and waggled his hands at them. They were dark, but now that Ken looked closely, he could see a band of lighter skin around Luan’s ring finger.

“I don’t wear a ring when I’m in the water. Or travel and paddle. I might lose it or it could get stolen. I normally leave it at home, in a box on my dresser. Funny, I never thought I’d miss an object that much.”

“Do you have a child?”

Geneva looked at Luan. Ken was still grappling with him being married. Luan nodded. His smile faded.

“One year and five months old. I tried not to think about him, or her. Too busy surviving to worry and get distracted, you know? Now…I wonder if I’ll ever see them again.”

The three sat in silence for a while. Below, the people on the beach began to set up a bonfire and food was soon being devoured below. Ken wondered how much gold Geneva had left. Quallet had contributed his share of funds and Xalandrass had left them with some gold as thanks, but they couldn’t do this forever.

The others must have had the same thought. Aiko returned to the group, red-eyed. She didn’t mention what had gone on, and Luan and Ken and Geneva treated her like normal. They talked of mundane things, of hopes for the future.

“You know, Aiko’s been drawing some pictures. Geneva was working with her on it. Aiko made some manga-like drawings depicting hygiene, how to bandage a wound—you know? Practical stuff for everyone. I think we might be able to sell it as a book or something.”

Luan was telling Ken that as they sat around a fire, nibbling at roasted fish on a stick, seasoned with salt and some kind of hot pepper. Ken nodded.

“Do you know what Captain Quallet is going to do?”

The [Mercenary Captain] had had his fill of leading a suppression company. He’d been drifting around the port, looking grumpy and aimless. Luan grinned.

“I had a thought. We’re all sticking together, us Humans from another world. Why not invite him to lead us as a company?”

“A company?”

The idea surprised Geneva and Aiko, but not Ken. He’d heard Luan speaking with the others about it. Luan nodded.

“We don’t have to fight. We can earn money—but there are advantages to being in a company. It means we pool resources, we support each other. We need that. And who knows? Maybe we can find the others who drifted off on the first day. Maybe some of the Americans made it.”

“Maybe.”

Ken thought about being a company. Geneva had been speaking about teaching some people to do surgery, or at least tell people how to keep themselves clean and manage disease. People needed a [Doctor] outside of war, even with healing potions. If she could do that, what could everyone else do?

Daly leaned forwards and flicked a bit of bone into the fire. He’d joined them for dinner, although he was usually fussing about Quexa. He’d been looking out for her ever since they’d left the battlefield, and it had been he who’d carved the prosthesis she was using.

That was another thing. Geneva’s knowledge of medical prosthesis was heads and shoulders above the crude stumps and peg legs that people here used. Everything from penicillin to blood transfusions would revolutionize this world, and all she needed was time, coin, and the people with the right skills or Skills to help her. That was what she could do. Ken wasn’t sure what he could do.

He was a Level 18 [Negotiator] now. His leveling had been meteoric that first night he’d slept and it seemed like this was what he wanted to do. Luan was convinced his rowing abilities could be put to use as a [Scout], or a Runner delivering messages. And Daly?

He was a [Warrior]. Not just a [Warrior], but an [Axe Fighter]. He still believed what he’d told Ken. There were times to run and times to fight. Whatever the others did, he and some of the other Humans who’d been in Gravetender’s Fist would be there to protect them. Now he leaned back, chewing and spoke thoughtfully.

“You know, the Red Cross company isn’t a bad name. But it doesn’t have the right ring to it, especially if we’re going to be fighting. That’s why I was thinking Geneva could have her company, and we’ll make our own.”

The others looked at him. Ken’s heart sank.

“But if you are in another company Daly, won’t we separate?”

“Yeah. There’s that. But we’re not Red Cross. We might fight, or take guard jobs. I don’t think Geneva’s willing to call us Red Cross, and I wouldn’t like that either.”

Geneva nodded quietly. Besides Okasha, several other Selphids had appeared one day, and Calectus was still sticking around. They wanted something from her, and Ken sometimes worried what it was.

“But we shouldn’t form different companies. Or if we do—we should all be part of one larger company. We’re on the same side. Ken showed us that. We have to work together. All of us.”

Luan was speaking, and Daly was nodding and spreading his hands wide, not disagreeing, but not having an answer he could give. To Ken’s surprise, Geneva smiled, and because that was rare and special, everyone looked at her.

“You know, I think we have something like that. Back in our world.”

It took Luan a moment to catch on to what she was saying, Aiko five seconds, Daly six, and Ken had to have Aiko whisper the answer to him before his face lit up. The others instantly agreed that it was a good idea. They were talking about having Quallet join to help them out as a paid leader when Daly frowned, looking worried.

“What about Lizardfolk? Dullahans? Centaurs? Selphids? And other races, are we going to let them all in?”

“Why not?”

Luan laughed and nudged Daly. The Australian man looked covertly at Quexa and she waved at him and told everyone that he kept staring at her. He laughed and that was that.

Everyone was better than no one. Ken realized their new company would have all kinds of people in it. People like Aiko, who had talents that could be used outside of fighting, people like Geneva, who were useful wherever they went. There would be fighters like Daly who could do what was needed, and peerless people like Luan who had one skill they could do better than anyone else.

And then there was Ken. He’d help them all get along. That was his calling, and that was what made him happy. He liked understanding people, and he believed in people. That wasn’t always easy.

It was now. Ken found a cup and raised it. He’d explained how to toast in Japanese, and now the others raised their cups, shells, or in Daly’s case, tankard, with him. They didn’t shout ‘乾杯’, though. Instead, they looked at each other and smiled.

“Together?”

Luan looked at Ken. Ken grinned and looked at Aiko. She blinked, glanced at Daly, and then looked at Geneva. Two souls looked out from her eyes, and Geneva smiled again.

“Together.”

—-

A little while later, an angry Fraerling paced back and forth on his desk, reading the reports that were written on pages as tall as he was. Niers Astoragon was not in a good mood, and the reason for that was the chessboard behind him.

It was ghostly, the pieces magical. They had been set up in the middle of a game and they had stayed in that same place for…what? Months? Years?

Probably just a month. But that was too much. Niers glanced at a letter with gold-rimmed edges. He studied a map of Izril. He kicked over a tiny cup of wine and grudgingly read the latest report before the wine made the ink illegible.

It was a general report of the newest companies, the recent events in one corner of Baleros. A [Strategist] had to know how the winds were blowing as well as rumor and gossip in order to do his job. Well, some strategists could just wing it and did better ignorant than they did well-informed, but Niers preferred knowledge to idiocy.

He sighed as he studied the outcome of the battle between the Razorshard Armor company and the Roving Arrow company.

“Fools, all of them.”

There was no return for either company. Their reputations were ruined, and they had destroyed themselves fighting over a valley that was practically unusable now. Neither side would back down and so everyone lost. Typical of Centaurs and Dullahans, really.

Something caught his eye as Niers absently paged through the report. This was about a new company that had declared itself. That wasn’t in itself noteworthy; new companies could come and go in the drop of a hat. Three drunken idiots could call themselves a company, so his [Spies] and [Informants] had to sift carefully through all the rumors and declarations to pick out companies that might actually be noteworthy.

There was little special to recommend this one, which was why it was just a few lines in the report. It had a few sub-companies, listed with less than a hundred members in each. That was also normal, but it was the name of the entire overall company that caught Niers’ eye because it was so audacious.

What a name. Who would come up with it, in Baleros of all places? But there it sat, glaring up at Niers. A declaration to the world. A statement of intent, or what the company represented? He had no idea. Niers stared down at the name written in ink.

The United Nations.

That was it. No appellation marking them as a company. No declared ties marking them as a part of a larger company or affiliated with another group. They had a strong connection with a local Naga war vendor…and several of their members were former undead suppression company members. One of them, Quallet Marshhand, was an individual of some skill.

But nothing more.

United. It was a word Niers had dreamed of, had spoken to the other Great Companies of Baleros about. It was a hope for this continent, for a world, that Magnolia had tempted him with. But it was an empty dream.

Yet someone had the same one. Niers glanced at the name and memorized it, just in case. Then he flipped the page and kept reading. He had a job to do. Every now and then, Niers would glance at the chessboard’s pieces that had not moved and look away.

There was something curious about Niers after the report. He was still in a bad mood, but as he filed the report away he had a curious sensation. It was a subtle feeling, but he had trained himself not to ignore his instincts. Something cried out to him as he opened the report and stared down at the name in ink.

Yes, he could feel it. It wasn’t coincidence. It wasn’t chance. This was only the start. And everything he had witnessed, all the little pieces, they were falling into place. Something was happening.

The world was beginning to move again. Behind Niers, on the chessboard, a piece slowly slid forwards and stopped.

4.18

In the hour after she woke up, Erin learned much of screaming. More specifically, of being screamed at. It wasn’t a pleasant experience at the best of times, even if you liked the person who was screaming at you.

And Erin did not like Miss Agnes. Not anymore. For that matter, she didn’t much like Maran or Safry, and she deeply regretted hiring them. Unfortunately, regrets meant little at this point.

“—thieving monster! You stole my best workers, my business—I shouldn’t be surprised if I found you stole money from me as well! When I, out of the goodness of my heart, let you work in my inn, I never expected—”

“Shut up, Miss Agnes.”

“How dare you!”

The angry [Innkeeper] and owner of the Frenzied Hare shrieked as Erin glared at her. She was spitting as she yelled, and Erin had had enough. It had been two minutes since she had stormed into Erin’s inn and begun yelling—her and two other older Humans, one a man in his late forties, the other a woman who was as old as Miss Agnes, but had aged far better.

Erin glanced at them as Agnes drew breath for another tirade. She waved away Lyonette and Ishkr who were hovering about and walked out of spit-range as Miss Agnes began to shout.

“Don’t you dare turn away from me, you—you brazen hussy! You ingrate! I should be calling the Watch on you! I said to come back! Do you hear me!? Do you—”

She really needed better insults. Erin had heard Ryoka say a lot worse than ‘brazen hussy’ when she stubbed her toe. She walked into the kitchen as Miss Agnes shouted. The older [Innkeeper] stormed after Erin—

And backed away fast as Erin walked out of the kitchen with a knife and a frying pan. The other man and woman stood up as Erin calmly stared at Miss Agnes, who’d gone white. In the refreshing silence, someone coughed.

“Need a hand, Erin?”

“No, I’m fine, Ceria. Sorry about the noise everyone. Ishkr, Lyonette, just keep serving food. I’ll handle this.”

She waved at the Horns of Hammerad and addressed the room. The Gold-rank adventurers who’d been trying to enjoy their breakfast in peace, as well as Erin’s staff got back to work. Most of them kept staring, though. Pisces was already taking bets from Jelaqua and Typhenous on whether it would come to a fight.

“It’s never boring here. Never. I could eat and watch this all day if I wasn’t worried my body’s stomach would explode.”

Erin ignored the Selphid’s comment as she slowly pursued Miss Agnes back to the table. The man who’d come in with her, a guy with a bushy red beard and his fair share of wrinkles, coughed delicately.

“Miss Agnes, I believe you’ve upset, ah, Miss Solstice is it? Why don’t we start again. Miss Solstice, please, there’s no need for violence.”

“There’s no need for shouting, either. How about a deal? You shout and I’ll poke. Now, what’s this about?”

Erin deliberately put the knife and pan on the table as she sat back down. The other two stared at her as Agnes edged her chair back towards them. The woman’s face was dead white. All bark and no bite, Erin guessed.

It was the other woman who coughed delicately.

“Miss Solstice—”

“My first name is Erin.”

“Miss Erin, then. I fear we’ve gotten off to a bad start.”

The woman gave her a charming smile. She had a few streaks of grey running through her long brown hair, but she was still in good shape. She had a very nice smile, and a friendly air that made Erin want to relax around her. However, because that put Erin in mind of Lady Magnolia’s sweet words, the effect of the Skill was severely diluted. Erin crossed her arms.

“Who are you and what do you want?”

The smile faltered. The woman exchanged a glance with the man. He stood up and offered Erin a callused hand.

“Timbor Parithad, at your service, Miss Erin. My apologies for Agnes. I am the owner of the Drunken Swordsman, one of the finest inns in Celum.”

The Drunken Swordsman? Erin vaguely recalled hearing about the inn, but she’d never been inside. Erin shook Timbor’s hand. The woman sitting next to him smiled again, without the Skill.

“Ulia Ovena. I’m an [Innkeeper] as well. I run Blazehound, an inn just off of the main street. We cater to adventurers—we’re more like a bar than an inn, to be honest.”

“Hi. I’m Erin. What are you doing in my inn?”

The [Innkeepers] exchanged a glance. Timbor coughed, and looked at Agnes, but the woman stared at him as if, after shouting and threatening Erin, her role was at an end. He turned and smiled at Erin.

“Miss Erin, I’m afraid we’re here about the unpleasant business revolving around Miss Agnes’ inn and yours. We heard that another [Innkeeper] had been helping to manage the Frenzied Hare of course, and then there was that commotion around the magic door the Horns of Hammerad brought to the city…well, we knew there was an inn here, but we hadn’t introduced ourselves properly before, well, as we understand it, there were a few disputes between Miss Agnes’ inn and yours. We’re here to discuss the matter, as it were.”

“Yeah?”

Erin raised her eyebrows. The longwinded speech had done little to make her feel happier about the other [Innkeepers] being here. She hadn’t had breakfast yet. Timbor’s smile wavered. Ulia took over without missing a beat. She had a pleasant voice, too. Charming voice, nice looks, great smile…was all that from her Skills?

“Miss Agnes has told us a few things, Miss Erin. She believes you brought some business to her inn and then took it away. These ah, [Actors] that have put on those marvelous plays in Celum—”

“Fascinating stuff. Had to see one myself. Hamlet. What a stunning performance. I had no idea that Watch Captain could perform like that.”

Timor coughed as Ulia glared at him. The female innkeeper continued.

“Yes, well, Miss Agnes seems to think that you stole her business, since the group mostly eats at your inn and they perform elsewhere now. And then of course, there’s the matter of Safry and Maran. You ah, stole them from Miss Agnes—”

“I hired them. They wanted to work in my inn.”

“Yes…but then you fired them. Not three days after they’d begun working. We’ve spoken with both young women and they’re quite upset.”

Erin shrugged. Her face was stony.

“They were terrible workers.”

“How dare you.”

Miss Agnes glared at Erin, rage overcoming fear for a moment. She pointed a trembling finger at Erin.

“They were my best workers! My only workers! And you took them and then threw them away! For a Gnoll and a Drake? How dare you? How dare—”

Timor dragged Miss Agnes down into her seat as she tried to stand up. He smiled weakly at Erin.

“We’re here on their behalf, Miss Erin. We, that is to say, the innkeepers of Celum, feel there’s been a bit of a miscarriage of justice, and we’d like to sort all this out without getting the law involved.”

So that’s what it was. Erin stared from face to face.

“The innkeepers? You mean, you’re representing all the innkeepers in Celum? What, are you some sort of Guild? The Innkeeper’s Guild?”

Ulia smiled as Timor snorted.

“Not a Guild, Miss Erin. An association.”

Erin stared. She could do a blank stare incredibly well, and, what most people didn’t know, she could do it even when she knew what was going on. Sometimes she did it just to annoy Ryoka or Pisces. In this case, Erin knew what Ulia meant, but she bought time as the woman explained it to her in order to think.

An association was different from a Guild. Formal Guilds like the Runner’s Guild, Merchant’s Guild, Adventurer’s Guild, and so on had wide-ranging networks that spread across continents. There was an Adventurer’s Guild in most cities, and if the ones in Izril were distinct from how Terandrian Guilds did their business, they were all based around the same idea.

However, associations were just that. No one was going to join the Innkeeper’s Guild because that sounded stupid and [Innkeepers] and [Barmaids] had better things to do. A Guild was a lot of work to maintain and there was no point to having one. But in a city, all the [Innkeepers] would still know of each other and support each other if they had a good relationship. It was like how Krshia had a network of [Shopkeepers] and [Merchants] in Liscor she could direct business to and get help from.

An association could be a very powerful thing. Or a pain in the ass. The not-quite-smiling [Innkeepers] sitting in front of her were clearly hinting that they could be one or the other, and yet they still failed to intimidate Erin.

A few weeks ago, Erin had dealt with annoying Frost Faeries who could bury her inn in ice if she annoyed them. As far as she was concerned, the association of Celum’s [Innkeepers] weren’t half as annoying as a single faerie.

“So that’s where the matter rests, Miss Erin. If the [Barmaids] weren’t to your satisfaction, well, it’s still unfair to Miss Agnes to take her help, and to them. They’re jobless now, and of course they can’t go back to the Frenzied Hare. But I’ve had a chat with some of the others and Timor’s agreed to put them in his inn and trade Miss Agnes a few of his workers. So that’s settled. However, this issue of taking workers and business…”

They were threatening her. Before she’d had her poached eggs and cheese sauce on toasted bread. Erin had worked hard on that breakfast—yesterday. Lyonette had warmed it up and it was lovely and hot. It was getting cold. Erin’s eyes narrowed.

“I gave Miss Agnes that business. I helped the [Actors]. They’re not her clients. Her inn’s too small to do a proper play in, anyways. And Maran and Safry were lazy, cowardly, and huge jerks. They wanted to join my inn, and that was because I was willing to pay more than Miss Agnes.”

“You can’t just—”

Agnes shut up as Ulia gave her a warning glance. Ulia smiled apologetically at Erin and spread her hands on the table.

“Miss Erin—may I call you Erin?”

“No.”

“Ah. Miss Erin, then. We’ve been [Innkeepers] for many years. As many years as you’ve been alive, I’ll wager. And while we in Celum understand competition is healthy, there’s a lot to be said for working together. If everyone was fighting over patrons and stealing each other’s best workers, well, things could get nasty. That’s why our, ah, association works together. What would you call a system where everyone was at each other’s throats, fighting for customers? Anarchy?”

“How about a free market?”

Ryoka was passing by the table. She waved at Erin and pointed to the poached egg on her plate.

“Good stuff. I’m going out with Ivolethe. You got things here? Want me to get Klbkch?”

“No, I’m fine.”

Erin’s stomach growled loudly as the [Innkeepers] stared at Ryoka. Their eyes found the floating Frost Faerie as she carried another wobbly poached egg through the air. Erin had no idea what that must have looked like. She took a breath and the three innkeepers looked back at her.

“I’m not paying Miss Agnes anything for anything. And I’m not saying sorry. And I’m not paying Maran and Safry either.”

“Miss Erin—let’s be reasonable here. A dispute with the innkeepers of Celum is not—what would happen if we started fighting? Would you like us to take your guests? What about your workers?”

Ulia was trying to negotiate. She’d hinted quite unsubtly that a few gold pieces could smooth everything over. Erin wasn’t having it. She had an upset feeling in her stomach now, and not just from the lack of food.

“No.”

“Your guests—”

Erin turned in her seat. The Gold-rank adventurers were filing out of the inn, but she had a few Drakes and Gnolls who’d braved the chill to be here in the morning. Some guests from Celum, too. Erin waved at them.

“Go ahead. Steal my clientele. If you’ve all got magic doors leading to Liscor, go on and have them go through. But Drakes and Gnolls don’t like most Human places. They only go into Celum to look for better prices. I don’t think they want to stay at a Human inn. And try hiring my workers, too. Drassi and Ishkr. I’m sure they’d love walking a hundred miles to Celum every day rather than work at my inn.”

She glared at the [Innkeepers]. They glared back, all pretenses of joviality forgotten. Timor coughed deeply and growled.

“Listen here, you brat. We’re experienced innkeepers who know a lot more about this business than some upstart. I suggest you make things right now, rather than see what happens if you decide to make this a real issue. I’m a Level 24 [Innkeeper], Ulia’s a Level 27 [Innkeeper] and—”

“I’m a Level 30 [Magical Innkeeper].”

Timor choked on his words. Erin stared at him, and at Ulia’s suddenly pale face. She stood up and grabbed the knife.

“You want to threaten me? In my own inn?”

For a second Erin thought about using her [Inn’s Aura] skill to scare them, but then she spotted someone walking in the front door. She waved him over and then pointed to Pisces as he went back for a sixth egg.

“That’s Pisces. He’s a [Necromancer] and one of my guests. He lives in my basement. You want to cause trouble? He’ll pull all the bones out of your body through your nose. You want to hire someone to make trouble? Come meet my security. Bird?”

The Humans turned and Ulia screamed. Agnes and Timor turned pale as Bird, holding a freshly-shot bird stared down at him. The Antinium lifted a hand slowly.

“Hello. I am Bird. I shoot birds.”

Agnes, Ulia, and Timor all stared in horror at Bird, Pisces, and then at Erin. Erin folded her arms and nearly cut herself with the knife.

“Get out.”

They went. Erin sighed as the door leading to Celum slammed shut and waved at Lyonette.

“Eggs! Food! Some for Bird, too!”

Lyonette rushed over, looking apologetic.

“I’m so sorry, Erin. Pisces just took the last of them…”

She pointed to the necromancer, who took one look at Erin’s expression and decided to finish his meal outside at speed. Erin flipped over the table she was sitting at.

“Aargh!”

She spun as the door to Celum opened and threw the knife she was holding. The blade thunked into the wall as Octavia froze in the act of opening it. Erin blinked. She’d thought it was Agnes, coming for one last word. Octavia took one look at the knife lodged in the wall of Erin’s inn, and then closed the door without another word.

After a while, Erin had some cheese sauce on bread while Bird ate the bird he’d shot. Raw. That was how she started her Monday morning.

She assumed it was a Monday. It would have felt so wrong if it were a Thursday.

—-

Some days Lyonette felt very bad for Erin. It was easier to feel bad, now. In the days since Erin had fired Safry and Maran she’d become a lot more accommodating to hearing suggestions from Lyonette, and had accordingly started treating her like a partner in running the inn, rather than, well, another Toren.

Erin’s job wasn’t easy. Lyonette knew that. Only Erin could make the wonderful meals that kept her guests coming back, and even if she did store the food for days in advance, she still had to cook for a few hours each day to keep ahead of her customer’s large appetites. Especially Moore’s.

Added to that, Erin had to deal with all the big issues, like Miss Agnes and the other [Innkeepers] coming down and trying to extort money or an apology from her. Lyonette had hovered about while the entire tense discussion had taken place, feeling guilty about the whole thing. But Erin had told her it wasn’t her fault and Lyonette had quite liked the part where she kicked them out of her inn.

“Still, it might be trouble down the road so watch yourself if you go into Celum. Uh, I don’t know if they’ll do anything. They might just spread nasty rumors, but you don’t know.”

Lyonette nodded as Erin warned her afterwards, glumly eating her cheesy toast. She left Lyonette to clean up while she tried to persuade Bird to let her cook the goshawk he’d shot—or at least pluck it first.

There weren’t many dishes left to take to the kitchen. Ishkr was extremely good at clearing tables, and he was already happily washing the prodigious stack of plates, bowls, silverware, and cups. Lyonette left him to the idle work since the Gnoll liked it so much and decided to play with Mrsha in the meantime.

Erin had decided that the task of raising Mrsha was just as, if not more important than keeping the inn running. Thus, Lyonette had free reign to do what was needed to keep the Gnoll cub occupied. Sometimes that meant running about after her, playing catch, or just finding her.

She hadn’t left the inn. Lyonette was watchful of that, but Mrsha wasn’t in the common room either. She could be upstairs or in the basement, bugging Ceria or Pisces as they studied their respective spell books.

Lyonette guessed upstairs. Mrsha had been worn out from yesterday’s trip to Garia’s home with Ryoka and she might be taking a nap now. Ryoka hadn’t said much about the experience, but for some reason Mrsha had been leaping around and trying to do handstands the entire time she’d been back.

Maybe she could ask Ryoka about it? Was that being nosy? Lyonette still didn’t know how to talk to the surly Runner girl. Ryoka wasn’t in the inn to ask, anyways. She had gone off to practice ‘jumping around like an idiot and staring at the wind’, which Lyonette took to mean…exactly that.

Now Lyonette ascended the wood staircase, calling out for Mrsha.

“Mrsha? Are you there?”

She heard a faint sound, a clacking noise, that of something connecting with a wooden surface. It was coming from her room. Frowning, Lyonette pushed the door to the room she shared with Ryoka and Mrsha and saw the Gnoll.

“What are you doing there?”

The small Gnoll cub spun guiltily as Lyonette entered the room. Lyonette saw a chessboard sitting in the center of the room, and then blinked as she saw ghostly chess pieces arranging themselves on the board. Mrsha turned as a line of pawns flew into place. She grinned happily and, to Lyonette’s horror, scattered them across the room with a swipe of the paw.

“Mrsha! Stop that!”

The white-furred Gnoll blinked innocently up at Lyonette, and then turned eagerly to the board. Lyonette saw the fallen pawns soaring back across the room and falling back into place on the board. It was an eerie sight, but she knew that across the world, somewhere, someone else had picked up the pieces. Mrsha watched a pawn settle into place and poked it.

Instantly, the pawn scooted back. The Gnoll poked it away, and grinned happily as the pawn slid back, with more force this time. She pushed at it again—this time the pawn stayed stubbornly in place. Mrsha heaved and the pawn—and board—went flying.

The Gnoll was randomly shifting pieces around the board or knocking them to the floor and watching them as they soared back up and returned to their original position. She had no idea that this was because someone else had to pick them up, and probably thought it was magic, or some amazing game designed just for her.

However, Lyonette understood the issue and rushed to stop Mrsha from upsetting the board—and the board’s mysterious owner—any further. By the force of which the pieces were being slammed back on the chessboard, Lyonette guessed the other side was getting increasingly angry.

She winced as the last chess pieces were slammed into place. Mrsha squirmed, trying to get to the board to overturn it once more. Lyonette grabbed her, put the upset Gnoll in time-out, and picked up the chess board. She rushed downstairs to tell Erin about it. On the way, Mrsha tripped her. The Gnoll thought it was incredibly amusing to watch the pieces and board right themselves.

Lyonette did not. Mrsha got a spanking, and then she took the board—carefully—down to Erin.

—-

“Oh no. Oh my god. I—I forgot.”

Erin stared in horror at the chess board that Lyonette had brought down from her room. A howling Mrsha ran about the inn as Lyonette chased after her. Erin ignored Mrsha as she tried to appeal to her for sympathy. All of her attention was on the ghostly pieces arranged on the board in front of her.

The pieces were frozen in the middle of a game. Just as they had been when she’d left them. Erin stared at a knight which was threatening her king. She…vaguely remembered that move, the last one her mysterious opponent had made. It had been on the day she’d left with Toren on the sledge. She’d been dreaming of what to do to counter it—probably move her king rather than lose her bishop—when she’d been abducted to Celum.

Now, far later, the board was rearranged exactly as Erin had left it, despite it having been messed up countless times by Mrsha. Her unknown opponent had remembered and restored it each time. They had been waiting. For her.

“How could I?”

There was no way to explain the pain in Erin’s chest. She was a chess player, a maniac who loved the game. She knew her opponent was as well. She—or he—had been waiting for Erin to make the next move. All this time.

It was like leaving someone hanging when you were playing a game of online chess, only a thousand times worse. Erin respected her opponent on the other side of the board. But she’d forgotten about them.

They hadn’t forgotten about her, though. Once Lyonette had finally caught Mrsha and made the Gnoll take a nap, she explained to Erin about finding the board and playing a few games with the mysterious owner herself.

“It was…six games, I think. I did it every now and then, when I didn’t have anything to do. I leveled up, but whoever was on the other side got bored of playing with me, I think. After the last game they reset the board to this. I tried playing—so did Olesm. But once the other player realized we weren’t you, they reset the board to this. Every time.”

“I don’t believe it. They were waiting.”

Erin’s hand trembled as she stared at a piece. She pushed it to one side and it snapped back into place. Lyonette winced, as did Erin. The feeling of the invisible opponent was made clear by the motions of the chess pieces. They were beyond irate. Incensed was probably a better word for their feelings at the moment.

“I put it in my room so no one would take the board or mess with it. I’m so sorry I forgot to tell you!”

“No, I understand. I should have remembered. It’s just—I forgot. I can’t believe I forgot. I have so much to do and I—”

Erin stared at the board. She looked at the pieces and whispered.

“I’m sorry.”

“Would you—would you like to play?”

Lyonette timidly floated the suggestion, but Erin didn’t know. She felt—guilty. As guilty as she’d ever been of anything. She wanted to apologize, to beg for forgiveness for abandoning the game she loved. But there was no way to do that.

There was only the game. Erin stared at the board. So long. She’d played Go with the others, but this was different. This was chess. The thing she lived and breathed. So what if a computer could beat the world’s best players? So what if there were video games?

This was eternal. Erin’s hand wavered as she took the king piece. She lifted the ethereal chess piece up and slowly placed it in front of the knight. And waited.

Silence. Erin knew her opponent had seen the move. It was a legal one. One of the only legal moves Erin could make, in fact. But did they think it was her?

A minute passed. Then two. Erin grabbed Mrsha as the Gnoll snuck towards the table. The Gnoll blinked up at her.

“Touch the board and you will regret it.”

Erin smiled pleasantly at the Gnoll, without a trace of the anger she’d directed towards Agnes and the others. She loved Mrsha, and Mrsha knew that. The Gnoll cub looked into Erin’s smiling face, turned, and ran yelping up into her room.

The knight on the board moved. Erin’s head snapped back around and she saw the knight slowly shift positions. It moved up, down, and stole one of her pawns.

A good, safe move. But it felt grudging. The other player didn’t think it was her. Erin half-smiled.

“Gotcha.”

She pushed up a bishop and simultaneously threatened a rook and the other player’s queen. Thanks to the knight’s absence it had been possible. That was a trap that Erin had set, oh, about a month ago.

It floored the other player. They probably had seen it coming, but they’d been too upset over Mrsha. Understandably so, but there was no mercy in chess.

This time, the next move came within a minute. Erin saw the queen move to threaten one of her pieces. She still took the rook. Double attacks were there to punish. Then she hunted down the knight, stole the queen, and ended the game in six minutes.

She hadn’t forgotten. Erin cracked her fingers and winced at the pain. The other player hadn’t moved the pieces since Erin had checkmated the king. She thought they might be in shock.

So Erin reached out, turned the board around so she had the black side and reset it. She left the white side as it was. A challenge.

The board reset itself. Pieces flew into place. Then a knight leapt over the pawns heads. Erin smiled and pushed forwards a pawn.

“Erin?”

She turned. Pawn the Antinium was staring at her. He was hovering right over her shoulder. She nearly fell out of her chair.

“Pawn? What are you doing here?”

“I have been here for the last five minutes. As have my Soldiers.”

She turned and saw a group of painted Antinium lined up patiently while Lyonette served them fried fish and honeyed milk. Erin hadn’t heard them come in. She blinked at Pawn and then saw a piece on the board move. She quickly turned back to it.

“Sorry Pawn! I’m uh, playing a game. How are you?”

“I am well. My Soldiers and I are taking a break from combat duty in the Hive. We have slain many monsters and I am showing the new ones around.”

“Really? Cool! Uh…combat duty?”

Erin was distracted. She was pondering her move. Pawn nodded.

“I see you are occupied. You are playing an interesting game already, I note. Belgrade and Anand would both love to see this. As would Olesm, I suspect.”

“Isn’t it good? This is the Tennison Gambit right here. See how they’re gambling their pawn? It comes from the Réti Opening—you know, starting with the knight. Belgrade and Olesm can’t really get their heads around hypermodern strategy yet, although Anand is good at using the wings to dominate, which is why he usually beats Belgrade. I wonder what would happen if I used a reverse Budapest Gambit here? Nah…is that stupid? Hm…”

“I believe this game may take a while. Or the subsequent games will. Lyonette, would you mind if I left my Soldiers here to visit the city?”

Pawn left. Erin was vaguely aware of that, and of a Soldier with yellow spatters of paint on his body sitting and staring at her. At some point Olesm rushed into the inn, screaming.

“I’ve got to write this down for my newsletter! Quick! Anand, let’s set up a board here! And Belgrade—oh. Sorry. Are your wounds fine?”

Erin looked over.

“Hey! You two are hurt! How did that happen?”

Anand and Belgrade paused. Both were covered in some kind of orangeish slime that was covering several cuts. Belgrade clicked his mandible together.

“We were wounded in defense of the Hive. Our worst injuries were healed, however.”

“Lyonette! Get a potion! And Anand, pull a chair up if you want to see. Look at this.”

Erin waved the chess players over and they crowded around. She kept playing as she explained her position.

She lost that game. It was a brutal match where her opponent tried to strip all her pieces away and Erin did the same. It ended fast, and when it was over, Erin slowly rearranged her board.

There was a silence in her mind. A quietus, that overwhelmed the sounds of Olesm chattering and the Soldiers covertly feeding Mrsha scraps of fish when Lyonette wasn’t looking. The last two games had been…a test, Erin felt. She’d caught the other player off-guard and won the first time, and the second they’d played aggressively, at their best. Erin had matched them, though she’d lost.

Now they knew. They knew it was Erin. And as Erin was white, she set the pace.

She picked up a pawn and stared at it. Silence. In the mind, and in her heart. Erin looked at the board. She loved the game. Whatever else changed, she still loved the game. She looked at the pawn. The room full of people, the watchers, all had disappeared. There was only silence. An empty stage. Then, for the first time in what felt like years, Erin began to play.

A simple song. A dance on a chess board only a few feet long. It started out as a quick shuffling of the feet. Pawn to D4. Clearing the throat. Pawn to D5.

Anyone could do the dance. Erin moved Knight to F3, and after a moment of hesitation in which the music skipped around aimlessly, the other side moved. Knight to F6.

Now the tune was picking up. Was there a violin in the orchestra? A cello? A piano began to play.

Bishop to F4. Now Erin could see the dance floor. She began a slow dance, tracing her steps slowly across the floor. The London System. That was the name of today’s jig. But what would her opponent do next?

Hesitation. Erin looked across an empty floor and saw someone move. The Pawn moved to E6. Now they were in unknown territory.

The game shifted. Erin pushed a Pawn forwards. The music rose. Now there was an orchestra. She began a waltz across the floor.

And then? There was music. There was a dance. Her partner came at her across the chess board, flicking pieces towards her, grasping at the center. Erin danced back, sending her knights up, fortifying her position. Across the dance floor, her opponent spun and leapt to the same tune. Both sides mimicked the other. Knights and Pawns, building, edging together for superiority.

But no blood spilled, no pieces taken, not yet. Erin and her opponent met on the grand marble floor of the hall as the flutes and bows strained the air with building crescendos of sound. Not yet. Twenty moves in, and the board was still developing.

A Bishop came out. Erin tapped her foot and sent hers up. Mimicry. Mocking. Taunting. Waiting.

Then the black Pawn advanced and took hers. The first blow was struck. Erin reached out and tapped her opponent lightly. The music enveloped them both.

It wasn’t like a dance. It was like a dance. It was just chess. What could you say about a game that was so static, so unchanging over the centuries? Nothing. Everything.

Erin walked through a different world. She played the game and lost. A second loss. She reset the board in a moment and played again. This time she won. And then won again. And again. And again and—she lost the sixth game after that.

Time lost meaning. There was just the game. Erin had lived for twenty years. Of those twenty years, she had spent a lot of time breathing, sleeping, eating…but there was only one thing she had ever practiced. She’d spent more time playing chess than she had learning how to drive, how to cook, how to sing or dance or do anything else. This is what she knew.

This is what she had lived for. And her opponent was the same.

“You were lonely, weren’t you?”

Erin whispered the words as she played. Win. Lose. Lose and then win again. She remembered. It was lonely, playing alone. It was hard to be by yourself. There was no one who could understand what you were doing when you played with other students over lunch. You had to search for people like you, but it was so hard to find someone who could see what you saw. The higher you went, the lonelier it got.

Erin had seen the clouds as a child and turned away. She’d come back as a teenager, climbed again because there was something beautiful she saw way up high. Now she touched the clouds and broke through. She danced on top of the world and showed the other player there was still sky above. Here we are. How far can we go? The game is endless. Come, dance with me.

Play with me.

She said only a few words through the games. A few words, from one lover of the game to the other. It was a simple message.

I’m sorry.

The reply was short, and simple.

I know. You are forgiven.

That was all. Erin stopped playing when her right hand began to hurt. She blinked, looked around, and realized all the lights in the room had gone out.

So, apparently, had the sun. It was close to midnight. No one was in the common room of the inn—or awake. Erin blinked around and realized she’d been playing all day.

There was a groove in her flesh from where she’d pressed against the table’s edge and her jaw hurt from resting so long on her propped up hand. Erin stretched and nearly fell over when she got up.

“That probably wasn’t a productive use of time.”

It wasn’t an [Immortal Moment] that had consumed all this time. It wasn’t a spell or anything else supernatural either. It was just obsession. Erin wandered into the kitchen, scarfed down half a pot’s worth of Gnollish tortellini, huge, meat-stuffed, and oh so juicy, and then passed out on the floor.

A good day. If you didn’t count the screaming.

[Magical Innkeeper Level 31!]

—-

Was it because she picked a fight with the other innkeepers? Defended her home? Maybe it was because Erin had been doing good business lately. Accumulating experience points or however it went. Erin woke up blearily, wished she had a Skill that made it so she didn’t have to sleep, and got on with the day.

“Are you going to play more chess today, Erin? Because if you are, we could use some more prepared food first. Not that I want to bother you, but uh…”

“No chess. Too much chess makes brain go poof.”

Erin rested her head on the table, feeling as though someone tiny had just kicked her brain a few times. That was the thing people didn’t understand. Chess was exhausting. Not physically, but mentally. Erin was surprised she’d kept up the same level of concentration for so long.

It was probably because she hadn’t played for a while. She could put her brain into overdrive for a day, push her limits because of that. Because of the passion. However, the next day was killing her. Erin dragged herself into the kitchen and did some easy cooking to pass the time.

Then she had a feeling in her stomach. It wasn’t indigestion. Erin frowned and poked at her midriff, and then realized what the feeling was. She poked her head out into the common room.

“Bird?”

“I am here. Do you want me to shoot something?”

Bird stood to attention. He’d been coming by every day, as per Klbkch’s orders for him. Erin asked if he knew whether the Hive could build her inn. Bird had no idea, so he wandered off to find Pawn.

He came back at midday with Pawn, a group of the painted Soldiers, and a score of Workers. Apparently the situation in the Hive was resolving itself. Erin conferred with Pawn about what she wanted and he had his Workers begin construction, warning Erin it would take several days to finish the work.

“We must remove parts of the roof and construct parts of the inn before lifting them up. We shall assemble scaffolding today and lay down a foundation. Tomorrow we shall knock that wall down and begin expansion.”

He pointed at the west wall of Erin’s inn. She frowned.

“Aw. I like that wall. Can you do the east side instead?”

Pawn stared at her. She laughed.

“Kidding!”

“Ah. I see.”

Bird stared at the Workers hauling lumber up to the hill and then approached Pawn.

“Pawn, I would like my tower to be high. So I can shoot birds.”

“Yes, Bird. I will make it high.”

“Good.”

Bird nodded a few times and lifted up his makeshift bow and arrows. Erin stared down at them and then glanced at Pawn.

“Do Antinium use bows, Pawn? Bird’s the first Antinium I’ve ever seen who uses one. But Ryoka says the Antinium used to use arrows in the first Antinium War.”

“Ah. Well, I do not know about the other Hives. Tersk tells me the Armored Antinium use crossbows, but our Hive does have a supply of bows and arrows. In limited quantities. There is little use for them underground, but Workers may use them in battle.”

“Oh. And they’re all like this?”

The bow Bird carried wasn’t bad per se, but it certainly was no masterwork. He’d made it from a single piece of wood, and used hemp for the string. The arrows were sharpened wood tips, without arrowheads. They were feathered, though. Some of them had incredible feathers. Bird was not a discriminating fletcher.

“This is a typical bow, yes. We are aware that it is not of high quality manufacture, but the Antinium usually only use bows against aerial foes. Hm. Perhaps I should see if Workers will work with my Soldiers. A few with bows could be…”

Pawn lapsed into thought as Bird tried to convince him to make his tower extra high. Erin had a thought from looking at Bird’s bow and found Ryoka. She was heading out to go stare at the wind with Ivolethe.

“We’re using chalk. Colored powder. The theory is that it’ll help me see the wind.”

Ryoka explained to Erin while Ivolethe quietly froze Pisces’ mug to the table. When the [Necromancer] went to pick it up, his hand stuck to the glass. Erin nodded as Pisces shouted in pain.

“Okay, but what about bows?”

“Excuse me?”

“Bird’s got a bow, but it’s a crappy one. It looks bad, anyways. Can you think of a better bow for him?”

Ryoka listened to Erin’s description of the bow and looked out the window to see Bird shooting arrows and arguing with Pawn over how high the tower needed to be given his range. She nodded.

“That’s a self bow. That means it’s one piece of wood. Easy to make, but you’re right that there are better kinds out there, and that’s not counting enchantments.”

“If you were going to recommend a bow…”

Ryoka pondered the question for a while.

“Recurves, composites, reflex…why not a recurve? It’s smaller than a longbow and it’s got a punch. I’ve seen Gnolls using them—they’re good hunters. Why not ask Krshia if she has one?”

“I think I’ll do just that.”

Erin smiled at Ryoka and went to pull some gold coins out from her savings. On the way she met Lyonette.

“Erin, look, look! It’s moving!”

She had a bowl in her hands. And in the bowl—practically hanging off the sides of the bowl was a bee. Erin knew Lyonette had the bee. She had seen many bees, most of them dead. She just wasn’t prepared for this bee in her face.

“Gah! Why is it so big?”

This bee was twice the size of a regular Ashfire bee, and those were already the size of a fat hand. Lyonette beamed.

“I think it’s because I was feeding it all that jelly! Isn’t it amazing? Look, you can see it’s moving about a bit!”

The bee was indeed moving. The pupae had developed into distinct features, and now it was twitching a bit. Erin stared at the bee and edged away. Why was Lyonette not bothered by it? Oh, right. She killed bees and stole their honey every week.

“Is it—shriveling up?”

“I think so. It’s starting to grow little hairs, look!”

Mrsha was excitedly sniffing at the bee. Erin backed away towards the kitchen, hands raised. Drassi was trying to hide behind Ryoka and Ryoka was trying to prevent Ivolethe from attacking the bee.

“It looks great Lyonette, really. But why don’t you put it in your room before Ivolethe attacks? Let me know if the bee starts to move. Actually, let me know the instant it moves, okay? In fact…I’ll go down to the city right now and buy a leash.”

“A leash?”

Lyonette blinked at Erin. Erin nodded.

“Yes. A leash. Because you’re going to leash your bee, right?”

“I—don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it. I was just raising it—Apista, I mean. I don’t know if I can control her.”

Erin stared at Ryoka. The other girl shrugged. Erin turned back to Lyonette with a smile.

“Let’s find that out soon, okay? Great! Uh…keep it—her—away from the Antinium too.”

Both Pawn and Bird had noticed the bee Lyonette was holding and were staring at it. They looked innocently away as Lyonette glanced over.

That done with, Erin grabbed gold coins and silver ones and rushed into Liscor. She found Krshia selling salt by the sack in her shop. The Gnoll looked happier than she had in ages.

“Erin. It is good you are here, yes? After your last visit Brunkr seems better. Hrr. Much better, yes. Will you visit him? He has been asking about you.”

“Sure! I’ll visit him tonight. Listen, Krshia, do you have a, uh, leash? And collar? I’ve got a bee that’s about to hatch and I do not want it flying around before I know if it’s an angry bee or a nice one.”

Krshia blinked at Erin, but she nodded when she heard about Apista.

“There are dog leashes which can be adjusted. And collars. One of my cousins in the city, he breeds dogs. I think he will have some that can be used.”

“Gnolls have dogs as pets?”

Erin paused. She’d seen some dogs in Celum, but not in Liscor. Krshia shrugged.

“It is not too common. Some Gnoll tribes breed dogs to be eaten or as pets, but pets are difficult to raise in a city, yes? But some Drakes like pets. Gnolls have an easy time training dogs anyways. We are pack leaders to them.”

She grinned toothily. Erin looked at Krshia and thought that if Gnolls ever made it to earth, Cesar Millan would probably be out of a job.

“Cool. Great. Also—bows. Do you have, uh, recurving bows?”

“Recurving? You mean…recurve?”

“Yeah. All the curves. Or…composite? Reflex? I’m asking for a friend.”

The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] nodded.

“I shoot a recurve bow myself. I know a very good [Bowyer], and I will introduce him to you, yes? He is part of my tribe so he will give you a discount. What bow did you want? Enchanted ones are very expensive.”

“Uh…I want something that’s good to shoot birds with. I have money.”

Erin looked pleadingly at Krshia. The Gnoll sighed and smiled, and made time to go with Erin to the said bowyer and select a fine recurve bow made of yew. It cost a metaphorical arm and a leg, too.

“Twenty six gold coins?”

The bowyer nodded, looking proud of his work. Erin stared at the bow dubiously. Krshia coughed and motioned Erin aside so she could talk to her.

“It is worth hundreds, yes? Yew is good wood. Some say the best. And the bows are hard to make. This is a price at its base—without counting labor, only parts. A bow for this price, it would be four hundred gold coins if shipped far north, or to a place where there are no good bow makers. Enchanted bows may be worth more, but this is finest work.”

“Wait, then why am I paying—”

“A favor. For Ryoka’s friend, yes? The debt is honored. And Erin Solstice and Ryoka Griffin are both of the same tribe.”

The [Bowyer] nodded at Krshia, smiling widely. She winced as Erin stared at her.

“What did Ryoka do?”

“She did my tribe a favor. One beyond worth. Friendship was the price. And this—is an act of friendship. So we will charge you for only the cost of the wood and transportation. As friends.”

Erin thought about this. She dug in her money pouch and pulled out gold coins.

“Deal. And I’ll tell everyone that this is the best shop for bows, okay?”

Krshia and the [Bowyer] smiled as Erin put the coins on the table. Erin reached for some silver to account for the last gold coin and pulled out the odd coin she’d received. She stared at it. So did Krshia.

“What is that coin, Erin Solstice?”

“This? Oh it’s…I don’t really know. I got it from one of my customers. Do you know how much it’s worth, Krshia? Or how what it is?”

“Hmm. Hm. I have not seen a coin such as this.”

Krshia took the coin from Erin with careful paws and held it up to the light. She sniffed at it, wrinkled her nose, and sniffed again.

“It is ancient. I can tell you that. It smells of the earth, as if it were buried long. But the material…hm. Brathiak, lend me a knife, yes? Good steel, I think.”

But when Krshia went to obtain a sliver of the coin, the knife she was using failed to scratch the surface. She applied a lot of strength and nearly sliced her own paw. In the end she handed the coin back to Erin, shaking her head.

“Strong metal. I do not know what it is made of Erin. But it must come from an ancient kingdom, yes? It may be worth much to a collector, but I could not tell you the value. Perhaps a Dwarf could, if you met one.”

“Okay. I’ll hang on to it.”

Erin slipped the coin back into her pouch and paid for the bow. She carried it out of the bowyer’s shop with profuse thanks, and began walking back to her inn.

There was something odd about Gnolls. Most of them didn’t say much to Erin in passing—they just sniffed and nodded, which was their way. They could smell if Erin had had her period, if she’d had indigestion while pooping, and they could probably smell what she’d eaten for breakfast and when she’d eaten it. They were also, thankfully, unconcerned with the Human body.

Some male Drakes tended to whistle and make comments at female Drakes as they passed. Humans did the same thing, which Erin didn’t like, but Gnolls just sniffed or growled at each other so it didn’t bother her. Except for today. Today, as Gnolls saw Erin going down the street she could have been the hottest thing walking.

For both genders. Gnolls kept coming up to Erin and asking about the bow.

“Hrr. Yew, yes? Would you mind if I felt it?”

“Good construction. Do you shoot?”

“We should hunt together sometime. A bow like that deserves use.”

The lesson for the day was that Gnolls were weird about bows. Mrsha sat up and stared when she brought the bow into her inn. Bird stared when she brought it to him. She thought he would have burst into tears if he could.

“This bow is for me?”

“Yes! I got it from a friend of Krshia’s for almost nothing! I’ll uh, give it to you as advance payment for guarding my inn, okay?”

Bird was shaking his head as he felt the bow with trembling hands.

“It is too much. Too beautiful. I cannot take it.”

“Yes, you can.”

Erin made him lift the bow and try it out. The first arrow that Bird shot went halfway through the wall of her inn. Erin made him try the bow outside after that.

“Good bow.”

Halrac had come back with his group early from the dungeon. He was rubbing healing potion over a cut on his arm. He nodded at the bow and Erin saw him lift his bow up to see.

“I use a reflex bow made from spriggan wood. Highly flexible and enchanted for longer range and accuracy. It’s the best bow for close quarters and sneaking around, but you got your friend a good bow. It must have cost a small fortune.”

Bird turned to Erin, stricken. She waved her hands.

“No, no. It was a favor. That’s how I got it so cheap.”

“Some favor. Gnolls love bows.”

Halrac grunted. Erin nodded.

“Yeah…I owe Ryoka for that one. But that’s what [Innkeepers] do, right? We trade in favors and good will and stuff. Speaking of which…can you do me a favor right now?”

The [Scout] eyed Erin.

“What?”

“Can you teach Bird how to shoot the bow properly? I mean, I don’t want to insult Bird, but you’re a master [Scout], right? Maybe you can show him a few tricks? Skills? How to make an arrow?”

Halrac glanced at Bird. Erin knew he didn’t like the Antinium that much, but Bird’s obsession with bows and shooting things seemed to win the grumpy man over. He nodded.

“I can do that. Come on, you. Let’s find something to shoot at.”

He strode out of the inn. Bird alternatively bowed to Erin and ran to follow. Lyonette stared at them and then looked at Erin.

“That was really nice.”

“Yeah. Well…I’m uh, going to get you something too. A sword. Or a mace. Hammer. What kind of weapon would you like if you used one? Do you use one?”

“A sword? Me?”

“Didn’t you say you wanted more classes? I’ll get you a sword and you can practice fighting, okay?”

Erin poked at her upset stomach while Lyonette gaped at her.

“But I—I’ve never held a sword before! Ever! I wouldn’t know where to begin! Erin, I’d need a teacher—”

“I’ve got one in mind. Maybe. I’ll let you know. Sorry, I’ve got to talk to Octavia.”

Erin opened the door to Celum and saw Octavia selling a bunch of matches over the counter. Erin stared at the crude match boxes and saw Octavia accepting silver coins for them. She felt…that was a rip off. The [Alchemist] was grinning when she turned to Erin.

“Can you believe it, Erin? I’m getting rich! All thanks to your little Gnoll cub! I’ve been selling shipments of matches to the [Merchants]—people want what I’ve got! It’s only a matter of time before other [Alchemists] start copying my design—hah, obviously—but I’ve leveled up three times from developing the matches!”

She grinned in delight at Erin. Erin nodded, smiling, and poked at her stomach again. The feeling hadn’t gone away since this morning.

“Great. Do you want another job? Aside from perfecting the penicillin, by the way. I’ll need some of that too if you’ve got more.”

“The mold? Leveled up from that too. Sure!”

Octavia laughed as she brought out some of the mold poultice she’d mixed up for Erin a few days ago. Erin carefully took the jar of paste and passed Octavia a few coins.

“It’s not completely effective, you know.”

“I know. I’m trying to isolate the exact stuff Ryoka was mentioning. I’ll work on it. Now, what’s the other thing you wanted to talk about?”

“Healing slimes. And I want pepper potions, more healing potions, and whatever other alchemist weapons you’ve got. Or any you can get.”

“Well of course, I can get you some pepper potions—brewed up a batch just the other day. And I’ve got a tripvine bag—I could see if anyone else is selling a burn blast mixture, although that’ll cost—wait, back up. What was the first thing you said?”

Octavia frowned as her brain caught up to her mouth. Erin was busy pulling potions off the shelf. She dumped them in front of Octavia.

“Healing. Slimes. Can you make a slime? Can you make one made out of healing potions? Can you make one for me?”

Octavia stared at Erin.

“I have no idea. But a healing slime sounds…very profitable. Or it could run me out of business. Why don’t you talk to one of your [Mage] friends about that and uh, tell me if it works?”

“Will do! How’s fifteen gold coins for the lot sound?”

“Fifteen—hey, wait!”

The Stitch-Girl saw all the potions and items Erin was trying to walk out with. She rushed out from behind her counter to stop Erin.

“That’s worth way more than fifteen gold coins! Even with my usual markup! You can’t just take them, Erin!”

“Well, that’s all the room I’ve got in my budget. Look, I need this stuff, Octavia.”

“Yes, I understand that by you trying to take them. But—”

“Who told you how to make match sticks?”

Erin stared at Octavia. The [Alchemist] opened her mouth, and then closed it.

“But—”

“Just this once. One debt paid, how about that? And I’ll give you more ideas in the future.”

“But—I—”

“I really need these, Octavia. Please?”

Octavia looked like she might have an aneurysm as she stared at the potions piled up in Erin’s arms. She looked around for inspiration, and stared at the boxes of matches on display in her shop. She gnawed at her lip and nodded.

“Just once. Then we’re square, got it?”

“Charge me as much as you want another time. Thanks!”

Erin left the shop and carefully lined up all the potions in one of her pantries in the kitchen. Lyonette stared at the bottles and bags in awe.

“How did you pay for all of that? Is there any money left over?”

She looked almost afraid to ask. Erin nodded.

“I got it for cheap. Again. I’m cashing in favors here.”

“Why?”

Lyonette looked curiously at Erin. The [Innkeeper] hesitated and poked at her stomach. Same feeling.

“Call it a hunch. Look, I’ve got to go into Liscor for one more thing. Can you tell Ceria, Typhenous, Revi, Pisces, Moore…you know, all the mages that I want their help? The key word is ‘slimes’. Also, ‘healing’. Maybe ‘acid’, too.”

“Slimes? Healing? Acid? Okay, but I think they’re busy…”

“Tell them I’m calling in my favors if I have them! I also want to talk with Pisces about the undead! Tell him he’s not in trouble so he doesn’t run!”

Erin called out and left the inn at a trot. She had one more destination that day.

—-

“Thank you for doing this, Erin.”

Brunkr sat in Krshia’s apartment as Erin applied the poultice that Octavia had given her. She spread it gently on his infected arm, trying not to make the Gnoll wince.

“How’s it feel? Better?”

“Much.”

Brunkr gingerly flexed his arm as he stared at the red gash in his arm. It had stopped leaking pus. The first few molds that Octavia had managed to isolate hadn’t done much for him, but this one was effective—or the honey and regular cleaning were doing their job. Erin had checked on Brunkr all week, and he was looking better each day.

Now the gash was actually healing. Brunkr was also well enough to be hungry, and he’d eaten half a cow already, or so Krshia told Erin. He seemed fit again as well.

“Have you been working out?”

“I have been running. It does not bother my arm, and I am restless, now that I feel better.”

Brunkr grinned at Erin. He let her wrap his arm carefully with the bandage she’d prepared and then offered her something to eat. Since Erin had forgotten to have lunch, she had some of the sliced raw meat the Gnolls loved so much. Someday she was going to get sick from it, but it tasted really good.

“I’m glad. If you keep healing like this, Ryoka thinks you might be able to use a healing potion soon.”

“I would not risk it after last time.”

Brunkr flexed his arm and grimaced at the memory. He nodded to the wound as he spoke to Erin, smiling at her. He had become very welcoming and hospitable as of late.

“A wound like this—if I take care with it, I may still use my other arm, yes? Why not let it heal with time and train in the meanwhile? I feel able to practice with a sword—this is my shield arm.”

“Oh, right. You’re a [Warrior], aren’t you?”

“I aspire to be a [Knight], in truth. But the class requires something I do not have. Until them, I am simply a [Warrior]. One of the best in my tribe.”

He said that without modesty, but without bragging as well. Erin remembered Brunkr fighting when he’d attacked Toren and she had to agree that he was pretty good. He’d taken a lot of her punches without falling down.

“If you want to practice, I have an offer for you. Would you be willing to uh, go by my inn and train Lyonette? I want to let her learn to be a [Warrior], if she’s willing.”

Brunkr froze. He stared at Erin.

“Me? Train Lyonette?”

“Yeah. And maybe Bird too. If he wants to learn how to fight with a sword, that is. I don’t want to learn—I use a frying pan and a knife. But some tips would be good. Maybe you can make up with Mrsha too. She feels bad about what she did.”

Brunkr stood up and paced about slowly while Erin snacked on more of the meat. What did the Gnolls call it again? Ssarish? No, that was the Drake version. She’d forgotten.

“Teach—I can teach. But why? I would not mind, but…it is an odd request coming from you. My Aunt tells me today you bought an expensive bow for your guard.”

“And I stocked up on potions. I’m going to buy a burn blast potion too, if anyone’s selling.”

The Gnoll sat, staring at Erin.

“A powerful item. Silver-rank adventurers use that, as do Gold-ranked ones. Why would you need such a thing?”

Erin hesitated. She poked at her stomach and Brunkr noticed.

“Are you feeling sick? I cut the meat for the Rashgr myself. It should not be—”

“No, I’m not feeling sick from the food. It’s something else.”

Erin shook her head. She’d been feeling the sensation all morning. She looked at Brunkr and decided to confide in him.

“Actually, Brunkr, I’ve been feeling worried all day. I felt a bit worried yesterday, actually, but then I played chess and…but I felt it today as well.”

“Felt what?”

“Uneasy. As if…something’s coming. I know Pawn has his Soldiers and there’s Gold-rank adventurers in my inn, but they’re not there all the time. And the dungeon is dangerous—Relc is always talking about it. So…I’m just taking precautions. I’m going to talk to Pisces about one more thing he can do, and try to cross-breed slimes.”

Brunkr stared at Erin. She knew she wasn’t making too much sense, but she just felt strongly that she should be doing something. Her head turned.

The Gnoll saw Erin looking around the room, and then look towards one of Krshia’s walls. There was nothing there, but Brunkr knew that Erin was pointed northeast from the position of the setting sun in the sky.

“There’s something…coming. Something bad, I think. I just feel uneasy.”

“Hrr. If you say so, I will agree. But what? Could it be the Goblin Lord? The monsters from the dungeon? Something else?”

Erin shrugged. But she looked uneasy. Brunkr had seldom seen Erin looking nervous, but now she did.

“I don’t know. But I just feel like I should be ready. Like we should all be ready.”

She reached out and pushed the half-full jar of poultice towards Brunkr.

“If you want to help, come tomorrow. Or tonight. And tell me where to buy a sword. I don’t have that much money left after the bow and potions, but Ryoka can lend me some money. I’ll talk to the Horns of Hammerad—see if they’re ready too.”

“Ready for what? A war?”

Erin hesitated. The young woman looked around, and Brunkr saw her eyes fix on that same spot to the northeast.

“Bad things, Brunkr. Just…bad things.”

—-

“We have arrived.”

Venitra, first-born of Az’kerash’s creations and loyal servant to her master, paused as she stared at the distant walls of the city. They weren’t as tall as she had expected, but then, she had seen the Walled Cities up close and few structures could match the memory of their colossal fortifications.

In any case, the city was not important. She drew the travelling cloak tighter around her undead form. The white bone from which her entire body was made—an armored body that any Dullahan would envy, but far stronger, woven with spells crafted by her loving master himself—was concealed from any eyes at a distance. She had to stay hidden.

She was not here for war. Not yet. She had to find someone. The Runner. For that, she would traverse the world. It had been an arduous journey getting here, but at last they had arrived. Venitra, and—

Ijvani.

Venitra turned her head to regard her companion. Ijvani usually travelled in a cloak of woven shadows, a production of magic that protected her from sight as well as attack. However, she too had exchanged her usual garb for a simple traveler’s cloak. It was just as well no one was around, however. A single look into either undead woman’s hoods would reveal a nightmare.

Two kinds of nightmares, in fact. Where Venitra’s hood would have revealed a sculpted face of bone, something similar to a Golem but far more unsettling, Ijvani’s cloak concealed a different secret. An unsettling one. A thought—inspiration from the Necromancer’s mind given form.

Two burning golden eyes stared at Venitra. They were placed in the hollow, grinning skull of a skeleton. That was what Ijvani was. A skeleton mage. No ordinary mage, though. Her magic was on par with any Gold-rank adventurer. Yet even that did not set her apart. It was her body.

Bone, yes. Reanimated, yes. But her bones were not the pristine white of Venitra’s form, or the yellow of bones left to rot. Instead, Ijvani’s bones shone. They shone black.

Black iron. Ijvani was not as heavy as Venitra, but she weighed far more than she should.  Her entire body was a kind of armor, and carved into the metal were glowing runes, symbols of destruction. She and Venitra were made for battle, made to kill, each in their own way. They would find the Courier, find the Runner, find who she had told and slay them all.

“It is time, Ijvani.”

The skeleton mage nodded. Venitra strode towards the city of Liscor, preparing herself. To find their quarry, they would have to search. Hide themselves. The Drakes and Gnolls could be tricked. This would be the first city they searched through, for any trace of the Runner’s passing. After that, would they go north? Only time would tell. Would their master grow weary of waiting and contact them? Venitra longed to hear his voice. Perhaps—

“Ah, Venitra.”

Ijvani’s voice stopped Venitra. The bone-white woman looked back at her companion, annoyed.

“What is it? We are wasting time.”

The black skeleton was consulting a bloody map they’d found on the corpse of someone they’d horrifically slaughtered on the road here. She was peering at the city and at the mountains. She turned and stared south.

“Remember that mountain we climbed over?”

“Yes. What of it?”

“I think…we shouldn’t have done that. According to this map, we’re not at Liscor.”

“We’re not?”

Venitra stared at Ijvani. The skeleton nodded.

“This…is Esthelm. Liscor is that way.”

She pointed. Venitra stared. She stared at Ijvani, the map, and then towards Liscor. She sighed. Ijvani looked at her.

“You really should have brought Kerash. He knows this continent far better than I do.”

“I brought you because you and Oom are our best trackers.”

Venitra’s face contorted into a scowl as she looked accusingly at Ijvani. The skeleton mage nodded.

“At tracking. But I need a quarry to locate them by magic. Oom needs a scent. We have neither. I’m not good at reading maps on the other hand, or signs. You’re supposed to be our master’s most competent creation. Why can’t you ever find where we’re going?”

Venitra shook her head.

“Shut up. We’re leaving.”

She started walking towards Liscor, her heavy tread cracking the earth. She’d gone ten feet when Ijvani called out after her.

“I lied. Liscor is that way.”

She pointed in the other direction. Venitra stopped, stared at Ijvani. Her tone was thick with malice.

“If you were not our master’s creation, I would destroy you right now.”

“You can try. I am the greatest skeleton to ever walk the earth. So my master designed me.”

She couldn’t argue with that. Venitra stomped towards Liscor. When she found that accursed Runner, she was going to rip her toes off one by one. To start with.

4.19

The Wandering Inn was full today as well. That was unusual, at least to Erin, Lyonette, and anyone who knew the inn well. Erin had developed an inn based around the idea of ‘just enough people to survive’ for quite some time. To have an inn that was actually bustling was surprising.

However, word had gotten out that Erin’s inn was a place with excellent cooking, fast service, interesting things, and most importantly, magical food. That, combined with the influx of adventurers into Liscor meant that her inn was a hotspot. Having a magical door leading to Celum helped.

Indeed, it would be more surprising if Erin’s inn hadn’t become so famous. After all, Drakes and Gnolls might not like Humans that much, but who could resist going for a five minute walk and then popping into another city to see what the smelly Humans were up to? And when you were tired of that, you could have a drink or quick bite on the way back. You didn’t have to wait—the inn had food pre-prepared that only needed warming up before it was hot and ready to eat!

Some might go as far to say that Erin’s inn was now a huge concern for the other inns in Liscor and Celum. Erin’s current set of Skills had made her inn three times as attractive as every other inn. Well, except for Peslas’ inn, the Tailless Thief. It was still a byword for Drakes in Liscor, but it was specialized. Erin’s inn accepted everyone.

Everyone. From [Farmers] who stopped by for some food and a break from the cold, to [Guardsmen] and [Guardswomen] from Celum and Liscor who had learned that Erin had a soft spot for their kind. They sat and diced and laughed at tables next to [Merchants] who might be playing games of Chess and keeping an ear open for saleable news. However, these were all minority populations. The clientele that dominated Erin’s inn at the moment were all of a different kind.

They stood out. They were the insane, the suicidal, and the reckless. Or, they could be deliberate, cautious, and mindful of the socioeconomic value of their class and be willing to take calculated risks for ample rewards. Either way, there was a broad name for them.

Adventurers.

Right now they were filling most of Erin’s tables, staring at the Antinium Workers who were measuring the walls, shouting for drinks, and trying to eat plates full of Erin’s magical cooking. It was excellent stuff all had to admit—downing a plate could make you stronger, tougher, or immune to the biting cold winds. However, it was also regarded as a punishment game of sorts; Erin still hadn’t perfected the recipe, and more than a few weak-stomached adventurers were swallowing their snail-based Strength Soufflé hard.

Yes, a few silver coins and you could be strong enough to wrestle a Corusdeer with your hands—so long as you minded the horns. That was a great service—and a danger. Halrac lifted up a glob of the blue Scale Soup he’d been served and stared at it grimly. He opened his mouth, swallowed the spoonful, and scraped the wooden bowl without a change in his expression.

He didn’t have to. Revi, watching him, was making enough faces for the both of them.

“That is disgusting, Halrac. How can you stand eating that?”

“You’re eating it too, Revi. No objections.”

“I’d rather you poked a few needles through my head!”

“Eat.”

Halrac pushed the second bowl over to Revi. The [Summoner] Stitch Girl picked up a spoon reluctantly. She eyed the soup and kept complaining, much to Halrac’s displeasure.

“Why can’t I eat the Strength Soufflé? That at least looks palatable.”

“It’s got snails in it.”

“Ew! How does Erin serve this stuff?”

“Because it works. Eat.”

Revi did so, reluctantly. She kept making faces, although the blue stuff really wasn’t that bad tasting. Taste-wise, it was actually pleasant. It just had a terrible appearance, texture, consistency, and smell.

“Remind me why we’re eating this stuff? What about the Corusdeer Scramble? That tastes good and it would keep us warm.”

Halrac opened his mouth to snap at her, but a big head leaned over and interrupted him. Ulrien, the mild-mannered leader of Griffon Hunt, raised two fingers as he spoke.

“Two reasons, Revi. One, Erin’s enchantments only work one at a time. Second, if it’s a choice between the three she’s offering—strength, defense, or cold resistance, we’re all getting the defense.”

“Lots of these young adventurers are getting the Soufflé.”

“Yes, they are.”

Halrac glanced around. Erin’s Strength Soufflé could be seen on almost every table. Who wouldn’t like to be stronger for a few hours? It was a great feeling, and it was a fun trick to challenge a friend to an arm-wrestling competition and then give them a sore arm. Some of the adventurers wearing cheap leather armor and bearing shabby weapons were flexing their arms and grinning at each other. They’d probably never been able to afford an enchantment before and were savoring the moment.

“Newbies.”

At least Revi could understand what the rest of her group was thinking. The Stitch Girl shook her head as she spooned soup into her mouth. She grimaced, but for once it wasn’t about the food.

“I wonder how many of them will get killed because they think they’re invincible? Does Erin know how many of these idiots are going out and getting slaughtered by monsters?”

“If she doesn’t, don’t tell her.”

Halrac looked warningly at Revi. The Stitch Girl glared at him as she took a drink from her mug. It was no secret within Griffon Hunt that Halrac had a soft spot for Erin…in his own peculiar way. She opened her mouth to needle him, changed her mind when Ulrien looked at her, and gave up.

“If Bronze-rank adventurers are dying, it’s because they overestimate their abilities or underestimate their opponents. That’s how it’s always been. Smart adventurers will know that these enchantments are a useful tool, not an all-powerful spell.”

Revi and Halrac nodded silently. Ulrien glanced around and grunted. His passive face turned into a frown.

“Still, there are a lot of them.”

The three members of Griffon Hunt looked around. The inn was packed with adventurers. As they watched, a group of them tossed some coins onto the table and made for the door to Celum. They were probably going to exterminate some monsters nearby. Another group of armed warriors were eating the Corusdeer Scramble with pleasure while they tried to cram a hot Soufflé into their packs for later. That was amusing to watch.

However…there was a large group in the center of the room that looked ready for a fight now. They were checking each other’s gear, and Halrac’s keen eyes placed them squarely as a mix of Silver-rank and Bronze-rank adventurers. There were about twenty packed onto four tables, and one of them stood up with a mug in his hands.

“We will descend into the dungeon through the rift today! Today, Petra’s Bane, Twinfold Daggers, and…”

Halrac tuned the speaker out. He didn’t need to hear the rest, or listen to the adventurers cheering their leader. He turned to Revi and Ulrien.

“Another group heading into the dungeon? Are they insane?”

Revi and Ulrien just stared at Halrac. The [Scout] didn’t really need an answer either. He understood the thinking of the cheering adventurers, though he condemned it.

After the wild success of Vuliel Drae, the wild fervor surrounding Liscor’s Dungeon had reignited itself. It had gone out for a while. A new dungeon was one thing, but the first few rooms were so dangerous that it was a death sentence for anyone but an experienced Silver or Gold-rank team to attempt those first few steps.

But this new entry into the dungeon through the rift in the snow? That was something else. And Vuliel Drae had come out with a weapon worthy of a Gold-rank adventurer, or perhaps a Named Adventurer. The Mace of Howling had sold for thousands of gold coins already, and ignited the passions of every adventurer within three hundred miles. The thought was on everyone’s mind. If one group could find a weapon of that caliber from one scouting attempt, what treasures were lost below? Just one such item could set up an adventurer for life.

Halrac was familiar with that way of thinking. He’d been in the same boat over a decade ago, a poor Bronze-rank adventurer scrabbling for work. However, he and the rest of Griffon Hunt realized the danger in that line of thought. Liscor’s Dungeon was not to be underestimated.

The adventuring group was listening to another impassioned speech, from one of the other team leaders. Halrac was familiar with that as well. Adventurers were people too; they needed to psych themselves up before they risked their lives. He turned back to the rest of his group, and addressed the trio sitting at the table next to theirs.

“Alright, where did we go wrong?”

“Excuse me?”

Jelaqua Ivirith looked up from her bowl of Scale Soup. The other two members of her group, the Halfseekers, looked up as well. All three were eating from their bowls of blue sludge. They’d been laughing and trying to play chess together, but Halrac’s comment made them sit up.

The Halfseekers. Ulrien gave Halrac a reproving glance for interrupting their conversation. Halrac didn’t acknowledge it. They were supposed to be working together. The Halfseekers and Griffon Hunt had agreed to join forces to tackle this dungeon. If they were a team, they should talk like one.

“I’m asking where we went wrong. Why are all these Bronze-rank teams getting ahead of us?”

Halrac growled as he reached for a bowl of walnuts. That was Erin’s newest attempt to add ‘cool stuff’ to her inn. He cracked one of the walnuts one-handed and flicked the pieces into a second bowl. Jelaqua and the Halfseekers turned obligingly to listen as the [Scout] aired his grievances.

“We have more levels in our team than that entire group does between them. How are we still struggling to get past the first set of trapped rooms?”

The other adventurers shared a look. Jelaqua edged her chair forwards and then leaned back in it until it rested on the table behind her. She looked incredibly pleased at this development; Halrac thought it was juvenile.

But that was the way the Halfseekers worked. Griffon Hunt prided itself on being a group that valued teamwork, planning, and serious commitment in the field. By contrast, the Halfseekers…not two seconds ago, Seborn and Jelaqua had had a contest seeing who could down their bowl of Scale Soup faster. They were too relaxed for Halrac’s liking. However, he had to admit that they were competent.

Both groups knew of each other’s reputation. They were sometimes competitors, sometimes adversaries in the same field. So when Moore spoke, Halrac listened.

“I feel bad for these new adventurers, Halrac. I do not feel they’re getting ahead of us. Rather, I’m worried about their inexperience. Vuliel Drae’s success was a mistake. They survived the dungeon thanks to the mysterious masked swordswoman, not through their own efforts, or so I understand.”

“Yeah. Her.”

Halrac grunted. He’d heard the stories too. There was a Named Adventurer down in the dungeon, was there? Someone who’d gotten past all the traps and entered the dungeon without anyone seeing? Hardly likely, but Vuliel Drae had sworn on truth spells it was true.

One of the Halfseekers seemed to believe in the swordswoman’s existence, at any rate. Seborn leaned forwards, and Halrac glanced at the armored half of the Drowned Man’s face, noting the way the crustacean shell blended with his skin. Seborn seemed immune to the scrutiny as he sipped from the mug of water and spoke.

“It has to be true. The dungeon is too dangerous for Silver-rank adventurers to survive a trip down there without being overwhelmed. We’ve all gone head-to-head with the traps. We teamed up because they’re that bad. This dungeon’s not like the other ones. It’s nasty.”

Nasty. That was one word for it. The other Gold-rank adventurers shifted in their seats. Ulrien nodded.

“I’ve been in several dungeons before. Not deep, and not when they were just discovered, but I’ve seen where the traps used to be and fought their monster populations. They’re nothing like this dungeon. This dungeon feels like it wasn’t meant just to hide treasure. It feels like…”

“Like a huge trap. Yeah. I’m calling it. This one’s a vengeance dungeon.”

Jelaqua drained her mug and slammed it down on the table. The Selphid sighed and pushed her bowl back. Halrac studied her dead features silently. He was in agreement.

“Vengeance dungeon?”

Revi was confused. Halrac glanced at her and remembered that she was new. Ulrien and Halrac had hired her and Typhenous into Griffon Hunt, and both [Mages] were competent, but Revi wasn’t nearly as old or experienced as the other three men. He let Ulrien explain.

“Dungeons come in several types, Revi. I know [Mages] study which empire built them and their composition and so on—adventurers have a simpler system. Dungeons are either for containment, future generations, or as an act of vengeance.”

“Interesting terms. What’s the difference between the three?”

Halrac pushed Revi’s bowl of unfinished soup towards her as Ulrien explained. The Stitch Girl sighed, but ate as Ulrien talked.

“Containment dungeons are meant to contain something. Simple enough; it could be a threat, a natural resource too valuable to let someone else get ahold of…I once saw a dungeon that had been built solely to combat Vampires. It was more like a fortress that made use of light-based traps and spells.”

“Okay. Then future generations…?”

Jelaqua grinned.

“Dungeons built with traps that test people entering. Say an empire’s about collapse. Well, they want to leave something behind, right? Only, the people who build the dungeons want their shiny magical artifacts to go to the deserving. So they build a dungeon which only the best can enter. That way, future generations can follow a handy map and get through the traps, or a brave adventuring group can fight their way through and retrieve past glories. Just a way for the previous generations to help us out.”

“I get it. Then a vengeance dungeon’s what happens when…what? You have angry ancestors?”

Revi frowned. Jelaqua nodded. She grimaced.

“Yep. They’re what you get when the empire or civilization doesn’t feel like being nice to future generations. So they build a dungeon with their best artifacts sealed away—I mean, where else would you put them?—but they put the nastiest traps and monster eggs down there. So when someone cracks the lid on the dungeon, a thousand ravening Crelers crawl out and eat their faces off.”

“Great. And that’s what we’re up against? Remind me why we’re not hunting Griffins? That’s what I signed up for.”

The Stitch Girl pushed her empty bowl back, looking upset. Ulrien sighed, but Halrac decided to answer this time. He saw Ulrien’s warning look, but he could be encouraging too.

“Just because the dungeon’s designed to kill, it doesn’t mean there’s no point entering it, Revi. We’re looking for treasure, and it’s down there. The mace is proof of that. The only difference is that this dungeon’s out to get us. So we need to be wary. And fast. Which is why I’m asking why these amateurs are—”

The [Scout] broke off when he realized someone was standing behind him. He turned in his seat and glared at the leader of the adventurers he’d just been insulting. The young Drake must have come over and he’d been too busy complaining to notice. Halrac scowled, more upset that he’d let his guard down than anything else.

“What?”

“Uh, pardon me, but you’re Halrac the Grim, aren’t you?”

Halrac hated that name. He growled at the Drake, eying him from head to tail.

“So?”

The young Drake was wearing iron armor, but he had a steel sword. He was probably Silver-rank, but Halrac would put him on the lower end of that spectrum. Still, he was bold enough to approach the Gold-rank adventurers, which most Human adventurers wouldn’t have the courage for. He smiled nervously as Halrac stared at him.

“Sorry, but you might have heard. We’re heading into the dungeon—we uh, were hoping you had some words for us? Some advice, maybe? Tips?”

The other Gold-rank adventurers shifted. Revi raised her eyebrows and shook her head, not trying to hide her incredulity. Ulrien sighed. Drakes and Gnoll adventurers clearly weren’t like Human ones. No group of adventurers up north would be this bold—they were keenly aware of the hierarchy and unwritten rules, one of which was not to bother the veterans.

Not that Griffon Hunt was into hazing adventurers. But asking for advice? Halrac just stared at the young Drake. He was ready to tell him no and turn away, but Jelaqua sat up. She smiled and gave voice to the feeling shared between all the Gold-rank adventurers.

“I’d be ready to run, kids. Maybe write a letter to your loved ones, if you have any. Best advice? Don’t go down. You’re going to die.”

She nodded at the listening adventurers, who’d gone silent. Jelaqua gave them a friendly smile, her pale, dead lips at once friendly and horrific.

“A strength enchantment’s no good down in the dungeon, not against traps or monsters ambushing you. Don’t go down. Find another quest, level up, and come back when you’re all Silver-rank, or better yet, Gold. We wouldn’t go into the dungeon through the rift, and we know what we’re about. That’s my advice. Take it or leave it.”

The inn had gone silent at Jelaqua’s words. Halrac looked around and saw a lot of the adventurers looking nervous. But one of them, drunk on bravado and alcohol, raised his voice.

“Hah! You’re just afraid we’ll get to the treasure first! What kind of an adventurer’s a Selphid, anyways? A body stealing coward doesn’t know anything about Drake bravery!”

“Or Gnoll courage!”

Another adventurer raised his paw, and the other adventurers around him cheered. Jelaqua shrugged, looking slightly hurt, but more resigned. Seborn nudged her as she sat and Moore frowned, which was as good as one of Halrac’s scowls.

Selphids got that reaction. But this was passing beyond rude. Jelaqua was a Gold-rank adventurer. The Drake leader shouted down his companions, and turned to Halrac, smiling as if they were friends.

“What about you, Mister Halrac?”

“You heard her. You’re going to die.”

The Drake’s smile vanished. He stared at Halrac, as if expecting the [Scout] to smile. But Halrac’s face didn’t change. He folded his arms.

The Drake looked around the table, hoping perhaps for a second opinion. He got none. Revi raised an eyebrow and Ulrien shook his head. Both Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers stared silently at the adventurers. They lost their bravado. In the silence, the leader turned.

“Let’s—let’s go.”

They left the inn quietly. Halrac wished they had stayed, or that they turned towards Liscor, rather than north, towards the second dungeon entrance. He had a feeling he would not see their faces again.

“Our turn.”

Halrac stood up in the silent inn. He nodded towards the door and the Gold-rank adventurers went with them. They walked west out of the inn, towards Liscor and the small, fortified tunnel leading downwards. They were going to the dungeon too. The only difference was that they were ready for it.

—-

Typhenous caught the silent group of Gold-rank adventurers as they were halfway towards the unearthed entrance to Liscor’s dungeon. The [Mage] had been in the city finishing an errand, but they had agreed to meet at this time.

“Why the dour expressions? Has Halrac been talking to all of you too long?”

The [Mage] was in good spirits, but he sobered slightly when he heard about the adventurers trying the dungeon. Typhenous sighed and stroked at his grey beard.

“I had heard of other adventurers attempting to emulate Vuliel Drae’s success. How distressing.”

“They might make it.”

Jelaqua offered the idea up as an idle hope, but Halrac shook his head.

“Too many adventurers. A smaller group might have a chance, but a large one like that generates too much noise and attention. They’ll be attacked at once. Best case is that some of them make it back up.”

“Up a set of ropes that stretches over a hundred feet down? They’ll be lucky if they don’t lose a few just falling, with all that they were carrying. Unless one of them knows [Featherfall].”

“The issue is that their way out is too dangerous. And they’re entering into the middle of the dungeon. If they don’t secure their exit out and make sure they’re not swarmed from behind…”

“Amateurs. This is why you go in from the front. Shortcuts just get you killed.”

Seborn’s sigh was the last word on the matter. Griffon Hunt began to discuss their latest developments as the Halfseekers listened in silence. They trudged through the snow, grilling Typhenous about their latest contingency plan. That was the difference between experienced adventurers and the reckless dead. Gold-rank adventurers always made plans.

“I was in the city, requesting a shipment of specialized lodestones. You see, young Pisces had the notion of connecting Miss Solstice’s magical door to more than one location. However, as Moore and I discovered, such a feat is impossible, at least, without proper anchoring points.”

“Makes sense to me.”

Revi nodded while Halrac shook his head.

“Explain it simpler, Typhenous.”

He had no time for [Mage]-talk. Typhenous sighed. He liked to pontificate.

“Very well. We cannot link the door to multiple spots because it is too difficult. Thus, we need magical beacons—ways to differentiate between locations. Thus, the lodestones. Moore had the idea of devising some sort of mechanism by which the door could be attuned to each stone, creating multiple connections. We shall attempt to change the enchantment when the stones arrive.”

Ulrien nodded, as did Halrac. That they could understand, at least in part. Griffon Hunt’s leader frowned.

“So an emergency teleportation stone like Erin was talking about—”

Typhenous shook his head.

“Impossible until my delivery arrives. It should get here, or rather, to Celum, within the week. I was unwilling to pay a Courier for the stones, given their price and our needs.”

Halrac sighed. The magical artifact Erin had described—an emergency escape device—sounded incredibly useful, although he wasn’t sure if it would work in the dungeon’s magically charged atmosphere. However, it was worth looking into. Such a tool would allow both Gold-rank teams to breathe easier. There was nothing an adventurer feared more than being trapped.

“We don’t need the artifact that badly, but if it looks like we’re heading into a particularly dangerous spot, I’d rather pull back and try to get an emergency escape…lodestone…ready. We have time.”

Ulrien was talking with Typhenous and the others, advocating for caution again. Moore nodded, tapping one huge lip with his fingers.

“If it comes to that, I’m sure Miss Solstice will oblige us. But you don’t think it will be that dangerous today?”

“Not if it’s more of the same. Ah, here we are.”

They’d reached the entrance to the dungeon. The official entrance, so to speak. It was guarded by the city. A group of sixteen guardsmen, armed with bows and spears and one who looked like a [Mage] were waiting under a tent. They were watching the entrance to the dungeon from behind a small wooden rampart. It had a row of sharpened stakes thrust into the ground in front of the wall and enough space for the [Guardsmen] to loose arrows and jab spears at whatever might come out of the dungeon.

“Hello there! We’d like to enter the dungeon!”

Typhenous called up to the [Guardsmen] huddled beneath the tent. Some were sipping hot drinks and they all looked miserable in the cold. One of the Drakes twitched his tail.

“You lot again? The uh…Griffon Hunt team and Halfseekers? Alright, go on through.”

“Is there anyone else down there?”

Ulrien looked at the dungeon for tracks, but the [Guardsmen] shook his head.

“Not today. All you adventurers are too interested in the rift. Suits us. The less of you that go down, the fewer things that come back up. But if you want to go in…be our guests.”

Ulrien nodded. Jelaqua was already hopping over the edge of the ramparts—the Drakes had neglected to build a gate into the defensive fortifications—and Moore was eying the drop.

“I would like to avoid the spikes and squashing you, Jelaqua. Give me more room.”

As Halrac walked up the rampart, he watched Moore jump, and then offer a hand to Revi and Typhenous. The two other [Mages] let the half-Giant guide their descent, rather than fall. Ulrien leapt, and the Drake [Guardsmen] spoke to Halrac. He nodded to the tunnel the Antinium had dug, that lead down to the double doors that marked the start of the dungeon.

“I’ve seen adventuring groups go in and come out. More go in than come out, obviously. But your group’s Gold-rank, right? You go in and come out almost every day? What are you doing down there?”

Halrac grunted.

“Being cautious.”

He leapt, and the Drake [Guardsman] rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I got that. Lousy Humans…”

He turned away, muttering, as Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers descended into the dungeon.

—-

This is what the Gold-rank teams did all day. They went into the dungeon after preparing, making plans, checking gear, and arguing. They moved slowly down the first corridor and stopped when they saw the room beyond. Halrac and Seborn, both of whom were taking point to scout for traps, held up hands and the group stopped.

Both Halrac and Seborn scouted the room, taking care not to enter it and only look into it. There didn’t seem to be much to see. The room was empty and nondescript. Halrac saw the wide, grey tiles of stone continue seamlessly into the room. The walls were some kind of faded beige, made of simple stone. Any unsuspecting individual might have taken the room as harmless, but Halrac wasn’t fooled. Beyond the first corridor was where the dungeon’s traps began. This first room was certainly trapped.

Seborn nodded to the empty room beyond. He’d found a red mark on the wall, a stripe of very bright paint.

“Looks like the same room as before. We’ve cleared this one.”

“You have? I’m not familiar with it.”

Halrac had seen many of the dungeon’s trapped rooms. They appeared each time you went down the corridor, and what was worse, changed each time you entered the dungeon. There were any number of rooms you could enter, and so you had to be extremely careful not to assume one room was like a previous one.

However, the Gold-rank adventurers were familiar with dungeons and knew how to take precautions. Seborn nodded to the paint, which was a horizontal slash with a vertical line to the left.

“This one’s a spike trap. Simple, but deadly. I’ll trigger it. You stay back.”

He walked into the center of the room and slowed. Seborn took two steps as the other adventurers watched—then threw himself to the ground.

The ceiling fell. A series of phantasmal spikes, glowing ghostly pink-white, shot down through the suddenly low ceiling, almost brushing the top of Seborn’s head. Halrac heard Revi inhale as the magical blades shimmered in the air.

“Jelaqua.”

Seborn spoke. Halrac moved aside as Jelaqua stepped forwards. The Selphid was holding her two-handed flail. She threw it out across the floor and Seborn turned and grasped hold of one of the chains. Jelaqua pulled and Seborn shot back across the floor while the spikes waited menacingly a few feet over his head.

Halrac helped the [Rogue] up as Seborn patted himself and rubbed the top of his head. The Drowned Man seemed barely fazed. He nodded at Halrac, one trap expert to another.

“That scared the life out of me the first time it happened. I’m not too happy about it the second time.”

Halrac was impressed by Seborn’s courage…and a bit disturbed that he’d chosen to throw himself into danger. He would have found a way to trigger the trap without entering the room, but the Halfseekers were more direct. Revi stared at the blades and the lowered ceiling, looking pale.

“Do the blades last forever? What about the celling? Do we have to crawl our way to the next room?”

“Nope. Wait for it—”

Jelaqua was barring anyone from going into the room, for good reason. The ceiling spikes were still lowered when Halrac felt his [Dangersense] tingle and then a second set of ghostly blades shot up from the ground. They would have impaled Seborn or anyone else who’d been lucky enough to avoid the ceiling. Typhenous and Ulrien muttered as Revi swore quietly.

The Halfseekers had already seen the trap and just shook their heads. Halrac grimaced at the trap.

“Simple, but deadly. That second layer of spikes is malicious—and probably overkill.”

“The difference between a dungeon designed for vengeance and one that’s not?”

Revi looked at the others and got a nod from Seborn and Halrac. Having seen the trap, the adventurers drew back to confer.

“The trap’s got a timer of around one hour before it resets, and the spikes are smaller…the spell probably needs more time to fully recharge. We can keep triggering it each time we go through, but if the aim of all of this is to clear all the rooms going in so we’ve got a way out, we can’t have that trap still here.”

“I agree. Can any of you dispel it?”

Jelaqua and Ulrien were both of the same opinion. Typhenous, Revi, and Moore were all inspecting the spell, but it was apparently hidden in the ceiling. Seborn and Halrac were in their own conference, inspecting the room now the spikes were gone. Both [Scout] and [Rogue] were ready to leap to safety if the trap reactivated, but their Skills were telling them they were safe for the moment.

“I’m of the opinion the trap is magical. It activates the moment I cross this threshold. See?”

Seborn was talking to Halrac. The [Scout] nodded. He could see a faint aura around the part of the room Seborn had described.

“Cross that line and step anywhere in the room and the trap activates. Want to try breaking the floor?”

“Worth a shot. Do you have a hammer?”

“Allow me.”

Ulrien stepped forwards and both Seborn and Halrac retreated. The big [Warrior] took his greatsword out and gripped the blade with both of his gauntleted hands. Using the hilt of his sword like a hammer, he cracked the stone floor with a mighty strike.

“Hm. Not spelled against strikes. Will that do it?”

Carefully, Ulrien inspected his greatsword as Halrac and Seborn knelt by the cracked stones. Ulrien’s blade was enchanted, but he obsessed over it. Halrac nodded as he saw no aura around the stones.

“That does it. Let’s tear up the room and see if that deactivates the trap.”

So they did. Moore and Jelaqua and Ulrien began hitting the ground, Moore with his staff, Jelaqua with her flail, and Ulrien with his greatsword. All three could break the stone and Halrac, Seborn, Revi, and Typhenous helped clear the rubble away.

No one used a hammer. A sledgehammer was less useful than an enchanted weapon. You could swing Ulrien’s greatsword all day and not chip the blade or hilt, whereas a sledgehammer would eventually break.

It was hard on the hands, though. Twice Ulrien had to take a break and massage his hands. Half-swording, as the technique he was using was known, was not meant for repeated strikes like a hammer.

By the time an hour had passed, half of the room was destroyed and the smooth tiled flooring had been broken away and a rougher surface had been exposed. Seborn once again entered the room and very cautiously walked from side to side, testing to see if the trigger mechanism for the spell had been successfully destroyed.

It had. However, that didn’t meant everyone crossed through the room at once. Halrac carefully entered the room and did the same test as Seborn, senses alert for anything suspicious. Only after he was done did he let both teams go through one at a time.

That was the first room. The second was a pit trap nearly thirty feet deep. Halrac showed the Halfseekers where he and the rest of his team had strung up a rope bridge to cross without having to touch the ground. The third room was filled with books on shelves—they were supposed to explode when read. The adventurers walked past them without touching any of the tomes.

The fourth room they came to was unfamiliar to both Seborn and Halrac. It was locked by a door, and after determining the door itself wasn’t trapped, Halrac and Seborn carefully opened the door and gazed into a circular room with a grating floor and very dark pit.

“I’m not going in there.”

“Me neither. Think the door closes after someone goes in?”

“Obviously. Let’s take it off.”

Some traps were predictable. Halrac motioned Ulrien over and explained what they wanted to do. Ulrien sighed and grabbed the door’s edge. He was incredibly strong—strong enough to swing around his greatsword like it was nothing, and Halrac had seen Ulrien beat a Minotaur in arm-wrestling once. But no matter how hard Ulrien strained, the door wouldn’t budge.

“Allow me to help.”

Moore had to duck his head as he grabbed the door with one hand. He and Ulrien pulled at the door and now Halrac heard creaking as the door and its hinges fought with the wall of the dungeon to be freed.

“Room for one more?”

Jelaqua handed her flail to Seborn and stepped up, edging between Ulrien and Moore. Between the three strongest adventurers, the door was beginning to come loose. Ulrien grunted.

“Ready? One, two, three, heave—”

The three adventurers pushed, and with a crack of breaking stone, the door broke off its hinges and they let it crash to the ground. Rubbing at their arms, they let Seborn and Halrac inspect the room again.

“Enchanted doors. As if they didn’t expect us to pull each one off. Waste of time.”

Halrac grunted. Seborn nodded.

“Waste of time. And I bet the door’s not got more than a protection spell on it. Still, it might be worth taking back with us.”

“Why? Who needs a door with a protection spell?”

“Someone might pay some gold for it. You must admit, enchanted doors aren’t cheap. If worst comes to worst, some Bronze-rank adventurer can use it as a shield.”

The dry comment made Halrac grin unwillingly. He got along with Seborn, which wasn’t surprising as both occupied the same role in their party. Seborn nodded at the center of the room.

“Ah, I see. It’s a pressure mechanism.”

“You think so?”

Halrac was surprised. He hadn’t seen any magical aura that would have indicated a detection spell, but he hadn’t noticed the way the grate was wired to a spring until Seborn pointed out the tiny grooves where the grating would descend to trigger the trap. Halrac shook his head, grateful for a second pair of eyes.

“Simple trigger. Typhenous, I need a ball of webbing. Heavy. Unless Revi wants to use one of her summoned creatures as a test?”

“Spare me.”

Revi rolled her eyes as Typhenous spun out some sticky webs from his staff. The enchanted webbing would only last a few minutes, but it was a useful tool and one of the reasons why he was in Griffon Hunt.

“Mind if I add something to it? I can conjure grass, or grass clippings. If it’s weight you’re after, that might help.”

“By all means, Moore.”

The half-Giant tapped his staff and some magical grass and vines grew out of the stone. He carefully mixed that with the webbing and came up with a heavy ball of plant matter and webs. Halrac and Seborn rolled it to the door as they talked conversationally.

“I haven’t had time to see Revi fight. She’s your second [Mage], right?”

“[Summoner], actually. She can conjure spirits of Stitch-warriors or summon other creatures. It’s useful, but not when we’re disarming traps. Her summoned creatures can’t think for themselves.”

“Ah. Here we go. Would you like to do the honors?”

“Sure.”

Halrac kicked the ball of heavy matter into the room. He saw the grating descend fractionally, and then both he and Seborn leapt backwards.

“So that’s the trap.”

“Yep. Acid mist.”

Halrac and Seborn backed up into the previous room as all the Gold-rank adventurers drew back. A very fine spray of colorless liquid was shooting down from above. It didn’t affect the stone or metal, but the instant it struck the plants and webbing, the ball began smoking and disintegrating with a subtle hiss.

Jelaqua shook her head as the others waited for the trap to finish its work. As a warrior, she and Ulrien were of the least use in this situation. She leaned against a wall with Ulrien, ready to help if called upon, but mostly alert for a monster sneaking up around them. Since they were fairly confident no monsters existed in the trapped rooms they’d passed through, she allowed herself a short conversation.

“How many more rooms are like this, do you think?”

Ulrien shrugged his broad shoulders as he watched the acid make the stone walls slick with moisture.

“Impossible to say. But there has to be a limited number. Once we’re through here, we can be sure our exit’s safe. Unless there’s a teleportation trap hidden on the way back?”

He looked at the other [Mages], all of whom shook their heads. Typhenous tapped the walls with his staff.

“I have been checking for that diligently, as per your orders, Ulrien.”

“As have I.”

Moore nodded. Reassured, Ulrien looked at Revi. She shrugged, looking embarrassed and annoyed.

“Not my specialty! I told you that Ulrien! But I haven’t seen anything either.”

He nodded. The adventurers sat back when it became apparent the acid wasn’t stopping anytime soon. They began to chatter idly while they waited. Other, less-experienced groups might have stayed on their feet or tried to find something to do, but the Gold-rank teams knew patience was their biggest asset.

“Acid mist. Great. Didn’t Erin say she used to sell acid?”

“Sell acid? You must have heard her wrong.”

“I’d believe anything of her. Want to try and bottle it up?”

“It’s magical acid. It’ll disappear after a few minutes.”

“Ah.”

“I hate traps like these. What’s the point? A few seconds of acid and you’re dead. Why waste spell power keeping it going?”

“I guess in case someone casts a spell. The acid probably wears away at magical protections too. If you’ve got an enchanted cloak for instance, this is probably when the acid eats away.”

“Nasty. Hey, anyone want some food?”

“You brought a snack? What’s the point? We’re five seconds away from Liscor.”

“I get munchy when I’m bored, and this is boring. Toasted baguette anyone? I’ll share. Ham and cheese. Erin made it for me.”

“I’ll have some.”

“Well, if you’re offering…”

Jelaqua split her sandwich with Typhenous and Seborn. As they ate, Ulrien looked over at his counterpart. Jelaqua’s white face was pale as death, and she was unmistakably a corpse, but there was still life behind the eyes. Literally.

“You lot are very relaxed, especially in the middle of a dungeon.”

She grinned at him, chewing and swallowing her meal. Part of Halrac wondered whether Jelaqua could taste the food she ate—then he remembered her complaining about trying to keep her body’s taste buds fresh so she could enjoy food.

“Shouldn’t we be? What’s the use of tensing up?”

“We like tense. And serious. Halrac and I are both former soldiers—and we hunt Griffins. Idle chatter in the field can alert our quarry and get us all killed.”

“Right, that’s in the name of your group. I wish we were so efficient.”

“No you don’t. You’d quit if you couldn’t talk every two seconds.”

Moore nudged Jelaqua with one finger. She grinned and swatted at him.

“Okay, I wish I was that efficient.”

“Each to their own. It’s not like the Halfseekers don’t get the job done.”

“True. Hey, was that a compliment? From Halrac the Grim no less. Hah!”

Jelaqua laughed and Halrac scowled. She waved at him.

“Don’t take it so personally. I’m happy to hear that, really. And I wish I had a title. All I get called is ‘corpse snatcher’ and ‘body thief’, and all Selphids get called that.”

“I didn’t ask for my title. Ulrien doesn’t have a nickname. There’s no reason for me to have one if you don’t.”

Halrac snapped and rose. The acid had stopped, although the walls were still wet. He went to study the room with Seborn while Jelaqua turned to Ulrien. The Selphid looked concerned.

“I didn’t mean to offend him.”

Ulrien grimaced, looking at his friend’s back.

“Don’t take it personally. Halrac just doesn’t like the attention. It’s nothing to do with you.”

“Yeah, well, you know how titles go. We don’t choose them, other people do. And you have to admit, it suits him.”

Jelaqua winked slyly at Halrac, whose shoulders had tensed up. Ulrien smiled and covered it with a hand.

“He has a point, though. Halrac’s one of the best [Scouts] on the continent, and probably one of the best ones working as an adventurer, but he’s hardly as noticeable as your team is. Come to that, the Halfseekers have more of a reputation in the south than Griffon Hunt does.”

“Aw. Stop. You’re making me blush. See my orange cheeks?”

Tickled, Jelaqua laughed and pointed to her cheeks, which were indeed glowing slightly orange. Ulrien smiled and Typhenous leaned forwards, chewing aggressively while crumbs fell into his beard.

“Ulrien does have a point, though. I’m quite old, but the Halfseekers have been around for a long time, haven’t they, Miss Ivirith? I wouldn’t be surprised if you were older than I was. When I was young, I remember hearing you’d come from Baleros as a Silver-rank adventurer. I recall a time when the Halfseekers were one of the best Gold-rank teams on the continent. There were seven of you back then, weren’t there?”

Jelaqua stopped laughing. She lost her smile, and Ulrien saw Moore sit up slightly. The two Halfseekers looked at each other wordlessly. Typhenous coughed.

“Forgive me if I misspoke. I did not mean to pry.”

Adventurer deaths were common, but each party remembered their own differently. Halrac and Ulrien had buried more than a few friends, and it was courtesy not to bring up the fallen. But Jelaqua shook her head. She put her hands on her knees and sat cross-legged as Moore rested his weight on his staff, looking tired.

“Eight. There were eight of us, not too long ago. We were great, yeah. We thought we could become a Named Adventuring team. None of us were on that level of course, but together? We could have taken down a nest of adult Crelers and fought our way through a trio of Wyverns like that.”

She snapped her fingers softly. Halrac and Seborn half-turned—they were trying to saw through parts of the grate. Jelaqua waved a hand and they turned away.

The other adventurers sat a bit closer. Revi scooted over, looking concerned.

“What happened then? If you don’t mind telling. I remember hearing the Halfseekers had lost a lot of their group, but I never heard what happened.”

Typhenous cleared his throat gently.

“I ah, heard it was in relation to the Sepicus Delve, where you fought through the caverns and looted the swallowed treasures…?”

“Close, but not quite.”

Jelaqua grinned and then shook her head, closing her eyes and frowning sadly. Moore’s head was lowered.

“It was actually after that. We got chewed up down there, but we came back, all eight of us. I was wounded and needed a new body, Moore was too hurt to walk and needed the poisons leeched out of him before he could be healed and Seborn was asleep when it happened. Our other five members were checking over our loot when a fight broke out.”

“Over treasure? But that’s such a rookie…”

Revi broke off at Ulrien’s glance. Fighting over magical artifacts was a typical end to many groups, but he had a feeling that wasn’t what Jelaqua was referring to.

He was right. Jelaqua shook her head.

“If it was a quarrel over treasure…no. This was different. It was betrayal, pure and simple. One of our own turned on us. He slaughtered four of our own and fled with everything we’d found. We went after him of course, but we never found him. Moore, Seborn and I are all that’s left.”

Silence fell after Jelaqua’s story. Ulrien stared at the Selphid.

“That is odd. Fighting over an artifact is one thing, but killing? Was what you recovered so valuable?”

“No! And that’s the damned thing!”

She struck her leg repeatedly, brushing her dead flesh until Moore grabbed her hand. He spoke while Jelaqua looked down.

“I am afraid the matter isn’t so cut and dried, Ulrien. If it were just treasure our companion wanted…we might have given him all of it. We don’t discriminate if the needs of one of our group outweighs the other. But instead, our friend—”

“That bastard.”

Jelaqua muttered. Moore nodded.

“He ran with everything and killed our companions. Not because he feared we’d make him share, but, we think, to hide what was stolen.”

“An artifact of great power?”

Typhenous sat up, eyes alert. Moore nodded quietly.

“Or a secret.”

“And he’s still at large? Your companion? Who is he?”

Ulrien looked at Jelaqua. It seemed incredible that a Gold-rank adventurer could turn traitor and he not hear of it. Normally every adventurer within a thousand miles would receive a bounty on the head of the adventurer. The Adventurer’s Guild did not tolerate traitors. But Jelaqua and Moore paused.

“He’s alive, but there’s no bounty on him and no one knows he’s out there but us. We couldn’t tell anyone else except for our closest allies, and we had few of those even in the good days.”

“You can count us among them. If not to help, at least to listen.”

Ulrien spoke for his group. Jelaqua hesitated. She looked at Moore and he nodded. She sighed.

“Okay, but you’ll understand why we kept this secret. You know the Halfseekers are all about taking races that don’t quite fit? Not just half races like half-Elves or half-Giants like Moore…people like me. Selphids. Races that don’t quite fit with other groups. Well, our last member was really different. He was a Goblin.”

Revi gasped. There was a clang, and then an oath. Halrac, working in the room next door, had dropped his metal file in surprise. Of course he’d been listening as well. Ulrien stared at Jelaqua.

“No. A Goblin? How could that be possible? They’re savages.”

She shrugged tiredly.

“Looks like they are in the end. But our companion was a Hobgoblin, not an ordinary one, you know? He was as good as any Goblin Chieftain—better, actually. We always thought he was as good as a Goblin could get without being a Goblin Lord. His name was…Garen Redfang. We know he’s still alive. Got his own tribe now too, by the sounds of it.”

“Redfang. Redfang…I’ve heard of that tribe. It’s one of the Goblin tribes around the High Passes. It’s considered a danger to Gold-rank adventurers.”

Ulrien recalled the warnings. There were only a few Goblin tribes with that kind of warning, and the Redfang tribe had earned theirs by killing several Silver and Gold-rank teams that had gone after them. Jelaqua grimaced.

“That’s not surprising. Garen was…one of our best warriors. A natural leader, too. He’s a [Rider] and a [Warrior] and he’s got magical artifacts. Like any Gold-rank adventurer.”

“So he betrayed your team. Over what?”

“We don’t know!”

The Selphid spread her arms helplessly. She looked around at the others.

“We were wary of Garen, but he was with us for two years and saved all of our lives more than once. He was one of us, but when he found the treasure…I knew there was something wrong. But I can’t remember what we pulled out. I was almost dead and one of my eyes was missing—”

“Seborn remembers a key, a magical orb of some kind, some spell scrolls, a few magical weapons…it may be the key, but what would a Goblin know of keys? Their people don’t use keys and identifying the lock would be a tremendous task for the most well-informed [Spymaster]. If the key even had a lock. As for the rest…”

Moore shook his huge head. Ulrien and the others sat in silence for a while. In the distance, they heard Halrac and Seborn finally cut through the grating and send the entire contraption clanging into the pit below.

“If your companion’s a threat, he needs to be taken care of. Justice should be done for your fallen. After this dungeon…we could discuss it.”

Ulrien offered the suggestion to Jelaqua. She nodded tiredly. A bit of a smile crept back onto her face, which Ulrien was glad to see.

“Who knew Griffon Hunt was full of such softies? Don’t let it get out or Halrac’s reputation will be ruined. And don’t worry—we won’t let the past get in the way of the dungeon. To rebuild our group we need coin and treasure, and that’s what we’re here for.”

“But you won’t forget, will you?”

Revi spoke up. Ulrien looked at her and saw the Stich Girl’s hands were clenched. The String People valued their own highly, he recalled. No wonder Revi felt passionate. Jelaqua nodded slowly and Moore sat up. The gentle half-Giant’s eyes were shadowed.

“Don’t worry, we won’t forget. Ever. Garen knows it, which is why he’s always kept his head down. He’s on our list.”

With that, the conversation ended. Seborn and Halrac came back to report the trapped room had been cleared and they were constructing a bridge across the chasm to the next room. The Gold-ranked adventurers moved onto the next trapped room, and the next.

Six hours after they’d begun, the Halfseekers and Griffon Hunt emerged blinking back into the white, snowy world. They were covered in dirt, tired, hungry despite Jelaqua’s snack, and on-edge from dealing with traps and close calls.

One of the last traps had extended back into the corridor and one of the camouflaged wall scorpions had nearly stabbed Ulrien through the face. It had got Revi in the arm, but she’d pulled her arm off and had cut the envenomed cotton away. She still needed a healing potion though, and the pain from reattaching her arm and feeling the wound in her flesh for a few moments had made her more snappish than usual.

“Hold! Who goes there?”

“Us! It’s always us!”

Jelaqua shouted as the [Guardsmen] on the barricades heard them coming up the tunnel. After a pause they were allowed to continue, and the Gold-rank adventurers found a flurry of commotion on the wall. One of the Gnolls tossed down a ladder so the adventurers could climb up. The rest were packing up their gear and heading towards the city.

“What’s going on?”

Ulrien and the other adventurers were immediately alert. The Gnoll paused long enough to growl at them.

“Trouble. Something just crawled out of the second dungeon entrance! The Captain’s locking down the gates! If you want into the city, hurry!”

He loped off towards the gates. The adventurers looked at each other. Typhenous frowned.

“Up through the chasm? But that rift stretches down hundreds of feet—”

“Not a problem for some monsters, especially if they can fly. What should we do? I can scout the trouble.”

Halrac was looking at Ulrien. The big man considered their options. As Gold-rank adventurers they were expected to help in times of crisis, but that didn’t mean taking on every threat, especially when a city like Liscor could easily defend its walls from most enemies.

Revi shook her head as the Gold-rank adventurers conferred.

“It’s not our fight. Why invite trouble?”

“Erin’s inn isn’t within city limits. That’s all the trouble you need, especially if whatever’s out there decides they want an easier snack.”

Jelaqua pointed that out and Ulrien nodded. He turned to Halrac.

“Halrac—”

“I’m gone.”

The [Scout] charged through the snow, running fast despite the deep drifts as he scouted ahead. His Skills would let him see danger and avoid it which is why Ulrien let him go alone. Jelaqua was looking at Seborn.

“I could let Seborn—”

“Not necessary. Halrac’s a [Scout]. He can retreat if anything comes at him. Unless Seborn has similar Skills?”

“Point. Let’s get to Erin’s inn, then!”

The Gold-rank adventurers began marching hard through the snow, keeping an eye out for trouble. On the walls of Liscor, they saw Drakes and Gnolls running back and forth. The gates closed as a group of people streamed through it. The Gold-rank adventurers marched on, yet the monsters weren’t visible from their position on the snowy plains.

“There’s Halrac!”

Revi shouted as she saw the [Scout] racing towards them over a hill. Halrac waved his hand and pointed north—both teams of adventurers picked up the pace and met him halfway.

“Undead! Two Flesh Worms, two Crypt Lords—a score of Ghouls and lesser undead as well.”

“From that hole in the ground? How?”

Jelaqua demanded as Halrac took a few deep breaths. The [Scout] grimaced.

“It looks like they crawled up the hole somehow. They probably used the ropes those idiots left! I think the Flesh Worms carried both Crypt Lords. And the undead—I’m fairly certain they’re the group that left.”

“Damn it.”

Ulrien wasn’t one to curse often. He frowned as he looked towards the Wandering Inn in the distance. It was near Liscor, and it wasn’t a stretch to think the undead might target it.

“Didn’t Liscor have a big problem with a Flesh Worm one time? A special one?”

“Skinner. I’ve heard the stories. It got over the wall. Want to bet these ones can do the same?”

“No bets. I’m of the mind that we take the undead out rather than risk them attacking the inn or the city. If they killed that adventuring group, we can avenge them. It’s the right thing to do. What does your group think?”

Ulrien looked at Jelaqua. She grinned.

“We’re down for a fight. You leave one of the Flesh Worms to us—we’ll hit them from one side and you squeeze them from the other. That sound good?”

“Works for us.”

There was no time to come up with a detailed plan and besides, both teams didn’t need anything elaborate. The enemy wasn’t that dangerous. Ulrien gave rapid orders to his group, going over a plan of attack while they marched through the snow towards the rift.

“I want our worm immobilized. Revi can deal with the bulk of the lesser undead, and Halrac can support from the air.”

“You want him high up?”

Typhenous looked at Ulrien. Both Halrac and Ulrien nodded.

“There’s no ranged or aerial threats, aside from the Crypt Lords spitting black blood. You and Revi keep back while I engage the Crypt Lord. Just pour on spells from the side and we’ll be fine.”

“Got it.”

Both [Mages] nodded. Ulrien grunted, drew his greatsword, and picked up the pace. Within minutes he could see shapes rushing over the snow in the distance. Two giant red worms, writhing and shooting across the landscape at unsettling speed were leading a pair of giant Crypt Lords, amalgamations of rotten flesh and bone. A horde of zombies, ghouls, and skeletons rushed behind them. It was an army of the undead, but Ulrien knew the only true threats were the Flesh Worms.

They were both twenty feet long, had thick red flesh, tiny black eyes and long antennae, and two whip-like appendages with feelers on the ends. These feelers could latch onto flesh and tear it away in an instant. Ulrien had heard stories of Flesh Worms building themselves obscene layers of armor from the skin of their victims over time. These ones didn’t have any such protections, but they were fast, strong, and capable of wiping out a party of Bronze or Silver-rank adventurers by themselves.

Not Gold-rank, though. Not Griffon Hunt. The instant the undead were spotted, Ulrien stopped and lifted his greatsword up, blade flat. Halrac ran towards him, bow at the ready and Typhenous raised his staff.

It was a maneuver they’d performed many times. Halrac leapt onto the flat of Ulrien’s huge blade and Ulrien grunted. He heaved up, and Halrac leapt from his sword into the air as Typhenous raised his staff.

“[Platform of Air].”

Halrac landed on the transparent disc ten feet above the ground and reached for the quiver at his side. He snapped down at the others as he put an arrow with a shimmering yellow-tipped head to his bowstring.

“Shocking left!”

“Immobilizing right. [Sticky Webbing].”

Typhenous lifted his staff as Halrac shot the first arrow. There was over twenty meters separating him and the Flesh Worm, but his arrow still stuck the undulating red serpent straight between the eyes. It shrieked, making Halrac clench his teeth as lightning burst from his arrow and made the Flesh Worm twist upon itself in agony.

At the same time, a stream of grey tendrils lashed out from Typhenous’s staff. The older [Mage] caught the second Flesh Worm with the mass as it tried to evade. The sticky web from his spell anchored parts of the worm to the ground, impeding its movement. The Flesh Worm tore up parts of the ground as it tried to free itself.

“Whoo! Mage support! Alright Halfseekers, let’s do this!”

Jelaqua’s team was less refined than Griffon Hunt. They charged across the snow at the first Flesh Worm, all three of them. It twisted upright, hissing, as Jelaqua whirled her flail and attacked its side.

Ulrien charged the second Flesh Worm as it struggled to free itself. The snow was making his footing unstable, so he took care to plant himself in front of the worm before slashing. The worm swung a feeler at his head and Ulrien cut. The Flesh Worm screamed as one of its ‘arms’ was severed and fell to the ground. Ulrien pressed the attack, cutting into its side with his greatsword.

“I will assist Ulrien. Revi, the Crypt Lord is advancing.”

Typhenous commented to Revi as he shot magical missiles of light at the Flesh Worm’s head, forcing it to dodge as Ulrien sliced into its side, trying to saw it in half. Revi sighed.

“I see it old man. Give me one second.”

She reached into her pouch and pulled out a huge chunk of amber. Embedded in the center was a fragment, a bit of horn. Revi held it up and shouted.

“Come forth! Rush, Corusdeer!”

As the Crypt Lord advanced, spitting black blood onto the ground, something shimmered in the air in front of Revi. A bright, antlered shape burst out of the air and the fire from its body melted the earth. Revi pointed and uttered a command.

A glowing Corusdeer formed out of red and yellow fire charged towards the first Crypt Lord. It rammed the undead and there was a wordless howl as it engulfed the Crypt Lord in flames. The Corusdeer broke off, ran a circle in the snow, and rammed the Crypt Lord from the other side. Revi was pointing, commanding its path as two spectral warriors appeared in front of her and Typhenous, waiting for the Ghouls to approach.

Halrac drew an arrow to his cheek and loosed it at a Ghoul. The arrow hit the undead in the head as it ran and the Ghoul dropped. Halrac turned, shot a Ghoul trying to sneak up at the [Mages] from behind, and looked over at the Halfseekers to see how they were doing.

Jelaqua was a whirling image of death as befit her [Iron Tempest] class. Her two-handed flail was a danger to everything around her, and the undead charging at her were torn to bits by her whirling flail’s heads. She closed on the Flesh Worm as it hissed at her. It lashed out, but one of Jelaqua’s flails smacked its tail away as it tried to hit the Selphid.

“I will take it down.”

Moore ran towards the Flesh Worm, long legs churning through the snow. The half-Giant raised his staff and balled his other hand into a fist.

“[Thorny Fist].”

Thick brambles of dark wood engulfed his right hand. Huge thorns shot out, dark and grey like iron and turned Moore’s hand into a deadly weapon. He lashed out at the Flesh Worm—

And missed. The giant red worm was incredibly agile. It leaned back and dove head-first at Moore, mouth opened wide. He blocked it with his enchanted hand, but the magical gauntlet of wood and thorns wasn’t stronger than the Flesh Worm’s flesh. It had bitten through several layers of the bark surrounding his vulnerable skin when Seborn appeared and stabbed the Flesh Worm in the side with glowing daggers.

It screamed as part of its flesh caught on fire and whirled to attack Seborn. The [Rogue] dove out of the way and seemed to vanish in the snow. Moore backed up, shaking his hand.

“Thanks, Seborn.”

“Take care of the undead. Let Jelaqua and I handle the worm.”

“Agreed.”

Moore took a few steps back as Jelaqua lashed the Flesh Worm’s side with her flail and Seborn stabbed its tail. He turned and saw the undead were about to fall on his party from behind.

The half-Giant calmly kicked a zombie hard enough to send it flying through the air, punched a Ghoul down as it leapt on him, and then stepped on its back. Halrac winced as he heard bones crack.

The other Crypt Lord charged Moore, but hesitantly. It was actually shorter than the half-Giant and Moore was nearly as wide as it was. Moore used the remains of his enchanted hand to hold the Crypt Lord at bay as its rows of teeth and claws scratched harmlessly at his wooden gauntlet. Then he raised his staff with his left hand.

Moore thrust the tip of his broad staff into the Crypt Lord’s side, tearing into dead flesh and pushing the undead monstrosity back. As it tried to swipe at him, Moore uttered a spell.

“[Entangling Vines.]”

Thick, green ropes of plant matter erupted from the Crypt Lord’s side. It engulfed the struggling undead as Moore let go, sealing its mouth, anchoring it to the ground and rendering it immobile. Moore nodded.

“Problem solved.”

The half-Giant turned away and began hitting the undead around him with his staff, not bothering with more spells. In the meantime, Jelaqua had brought the battle to the Flesh Worm.

Five times, ten times, twenty times she struck the Flesh Worm’s side with her flail. Its hide was incredibly thick, but the force of each of her flail strikes was able to tear into its hide slightly. And she kept hitting it. Jelaqua’s arms were a blur as she lashed the Flesh Worm’s side, tearing it apart hit by hit. She was laughing as she attacked.

“Strikestrikestrikestrikestrike—whoa, that was close.”

Jelaqua ducked low as the Flesh Worm lashed out towards her with its feelers. It swung its body around and its tail came at waist height. Jelaqua cursed as she dove beneath it, and then saw the Flesh Worm poised to lunge. The worm opened its mouth and then an arrow sprouted from one eye.

It screamed. Seborn took the opportunity to sever a good section of its lower body with a decisive strike. The Flesh Worm screamed again as it bled orange-red blood and tried to retreat. Jelaqua cut it off and her flail caught it on the head this time.

“Take this!”

She lifted her flail and buried the spiked ball into the Flesh Worm’s head. The worm screamed, tried to move. Jelaqua whirled her flail, building up speed. She hit the same place again. And then again. The third blow crunched something in the Flesh Worm’s brains and it went still.

As the gigantic creatures stopped moving, Jelaqua studied the broken arrow shaft in its eye and looked around. She saw Halrac standing on his platform of air, shooting down Ghouls and Zombies. She waved a hand at him as he turned his head her way and grinned.

Halrac lifted one hand. He grinned as he shot a Ghoul through the head. Jelaqua laughed and spun. Her flail crushed a zombie’s skull and she whirled her two-handed flail, knocking another zombie off of its feet.

Ulrien finally managed to hack the second Flesh Worm in half and dashed back as it fell to the ground, screaming. It was still alive though, and Typhenous had to blast it with [Fireballs] twice before it fell. Revi’s summoned Corusdeer had incinerated her Crypt Lord, and with her summoned warriors and Halrac’s shooting, the rest of the undead on their side were cleaned up in minutes.

All the undead around Moore had been thoroughly smashed as well. The half-Giant was leaning on his staff and talking to Seborn as he regarded the bound Crypt Lord. No one was in the mood for a fair fight, so Revi let her Corusdeer charge into the Crypt Lord and burn it to pieces. The adventurers headed back towards the Wandering Inn, chatting and cleaning undead gore off of their weapons.

There was something cathartic about fighting monsters. It was simple. There was no tension, worrying that a trap might go off and endanger the group. When you killed a monster, you killed it for good, even if that meant burning the remains until there was nothing left.

“Nice moves against the Flesh Worm. Have you fought them before?”

Ulrien was chatting with Jelaqua. She shook her head, looking rueful.

“No. I didn’t expect the bugger to be so quick! Your Halrac’s a great shot, though. I’d prefer not tangling with those worms anyways, to be honest. My flail’s not a good matchup against them.”

“True. Holding them down and cutting them apart works for my group.”

“Oh? Well next time I think we’ll just let Moore entangle it and then beat it to death as well. He’s got some great vine spells, as you saw back there.”

Revi was smiling for once, and chatting with Seborn and Moore.

“Think we’ll get a bounty on the undead?”

“Perhaps. Although we didn’t take any trophies.”

“Trophies? You can see their bodies over there! If the city wants proof so bad, they can just come out here and count themselves. Anyways, that was refreshing. Anyone want a drink?”

Moore nodded.

“I could do with a keg of something spicy. And Lyonette promised me a lot of pasta with meatballs tonight. I prefer the Gnollish kind, having tried them.”

“Ooh, share some with me. I think I’ll have Erin make this…‘lasagna’ she keeps talking about tonight.”

“I’m partial to that as well. Let’s order some for all of us.”

The Gold-rank adventurers returned to the inn, chatting, smiling, and not talking about the adventurers that had died. It was part of their life. The others had taken a risk and paid for it. Mourning them was appropriate, and perhaps some words would be said. But death was too often part of their lives for it to detract from living.

“Hey! It’s you guys! How are you? Had a busy day?”

Erin Solstice looked up from her tables, beaming as the Gold-rank adventurers took a seat. In moments she had drinks coming their way courtesy of Drassi, and she was already directing Lyonette to take out the pre-cooked lasagna, much to Revi’s delight and Seborn’s dismay.

“I’m not a fan of cheese. Cows are…odd creatures. We don’t have things like them in the sea. Do you have anything less cheese related?”

“How about fish? Lyonette had one jump out at her and she beat it to death with a bucket. Sound good?”

“That would be excellent. Can you make it spicy?”

“Will do! Oh, by the way, did Lyonette tell you all about what I wanted to talk to you earlier about but never got the chance to talk about?”

Halrac blinked and Typhenous rubbed his ears as the adventurers tried to decode Erin’s convoluted statement. Moore sat up as Lyonette and Drassi lifted a huge pot of spaghetti and meatballs onto his table.

“I recall something about slimes.”

“Yeah! Slimes! Let me get your food and we’ll talk. Or actually, Lyonette and the others will get your food and I’ll talk. Isn’t having help great?”

Erin beamed as she hovered around the tables with her guests. She had hot food, cool drinks, and a warm, inviting smile. All an adventurer wanted at the end of the day. Well, Revi could have done without the smile. She just wanted the drinks.

“How was your day? Did anything interesting happen? I heard there was some kind of monster attack, but Bird says all the monsters are ‘taken care of’. Did anything crazy happen to you guys?”

Halrac glanced over at the rest of his team, and then at Jelaqua and the Halfseekers. It was the Selphid who grinned and casually took a mug from Lyonette’s tray.

“Oh, nothing special. What’s this about slimes?”

—-

So it went. Adventurers did their jobs and got paid for it. Some were quiet heroes, others bold and unapologetic. The experienced ones took calculated risks and paved the way for others to follow. They did their job, and it was a mark of experience that they did not brag about what they did.

However, the inexperienced didn’t know that and so talked constantly. On one snowy trail recently cleared by flame magic, one such adventurer was lauding his achievements to a very patient, very blind young man on a wagon. Laken Godart sat on the wagon’s back, wishing for once that he were blind and deaf.

“—so as I said, we’re not Gold-rank adventurers, but we’re…pretty close. I mean, Silver-rank’s the best you’ll see around most parts. Not Invrisil, true, but I like to think we’re competitive with Gold-rank teams for a lot of assignments.”

One of the adventurers, a young man with a sword and an air of unwarranted confidence, was riding a horse and chattering to Laken. He was quite taken with the [Emperor], mainly because Laken was rumored to be some sort of rich [Lord] and it never hurt to impress the nobility. He was the leader of the Windfrozen Riders, one of the two Silver-rank teams Laken had hired to protect Riverfarm and escort him back to his village.

He was regretting that choice. Charitable though the Windfrozen Riders might be to the plight of simple villagers, humble they were not. Their leader had talked his ear off for three hours straight, and this was the second day of travelling with him. He only broke off when Durene walked to the head of the wagon and spoke with Laken.

“Laken.”

“Oh, Durene. Thank you for saving my ears. Is he gone?”

“He’s talking to Gamel. Hey, Laken, can I punch him?”

“What? Durene…no. No, that wouldn’t be right.”

It was uncharacteristic of the half-Troll to be violent at all. However, she was almost as annoyed with the cocky adventurer as Laken was. He dismissed her question, trying not to imagine how satisfying the sound of her thumping the young adventurer would be.

“Patience, Durene. We need these adventurers as friends. I’ll ask him to quiet down a bit, but violence isn’t the answer. Punching him wouldn’t do him any good, would it?”

Durene made a disgruntled sound.

“No, but if I punch him, I’ll save him from being killed by the other adventurers. The [Mage] with the glasses say she’ll turn him into a toad. Can she do that?”

Laken laughed, and then frowned thoughtfully.

“She’s a [Witch]. And I think she’s not high enough level to do that. She’d probably only give him a long tongue and slimy skin. Maybe some webbed feet, but that’s all.”

He heard a shuffle, and then a note of complaint in Durene’s voice.

“Okay, but can I punch him anyways? He keeps telling me that he’s got a second sword just as long as his first sword. Which is impossible. It wouldn’t fit in his pants. And who’d want a sword that big, anyways?”

Laken made an amused face.

“You’d be surprised what some guys think they’d like, Durene.”

There was a pause. Durene trudged alongside the wagon as Laken found Frostwing’s head. The bird was getting very big, and he was starting to flap his wings as if he was trying to fly. Laken wondered what would happen when he did. Would he be able to command Frostwing? Talk to him? He was a [Beast Tamer].

After a moment, Durene edged closer and whispered in Laken’s ear.

“You know I don’t mean sword, right? He was talking about his pe—”

“I get it, Durene.”

“So can I hit him?”

Laken sighed. He could hear the adventurer coming back towards the wagon. He stared ahead, and wished he were back at Riverfarm sooner.

“Well?”

“I’m thinking about it.”

4.20 E

There’s a feeling I’ve had once before. That of standing on the edge of a cliff.

It’s a different sensation than you’d expect for someone who’s blind. Because, obviously, any time I stand on a ledge higher than three feet, I can’t tell how far the ground below is. I’ll feel the missing space with my walking cane and back away.

But a cliff? A cliff is different. I have to know it’s there for it to be really special. As it happened, I was standing on a ledge on the side of a mountain and when I was told what was below, I tossed a rock over the edge.

I never heard it hit the ground. It was probably too far for my ears to pick up and it was a windy day. But that—that convinced me. And the feeling of standing on the edge of something I couldn’t fathom was truly frightening. And exhilarating.

The unknown. A future I can’t predict. If I was told there was a path forwards, a thin ledge to stand on while the abyss howled around beneath me, would I have the courage to keep going?

I don’t know. But this is my only choice. I, Laken Godart, am an [Emperor]. I know what I must do. There’s no going back.

So I suppose…this would be a fine way to die.

Day 55

“Laken? Laken, wake up. You’re snoring.”

Someone pokes me and I wake up. I jerk upright, and look around. I don’t bother opening my eyes. There are some reactions that I suppose some people instinctively perform, but eye-related activities are generally a waste of time for me. I can’t see.

I can hear, however, so I turn my head and look slightly miffed in the direction the voice and the poke came from. It takes my brain a second to process why I was woken up, and then open my mouth to scold.

“Durene. I was having an enjoyable nap. What’s wrong with me snoring?”

“It’s not very noble. You said that an [Emperor] should be dignified in all situations. Snoring isn’t.”

I sigh and sit back. I’m back in reality and I can feel reality around me now. What was I thinking of? I was just dozing, remembering the past, perhaps. I remember a cliff…now I can feel a hard surface beneath me, and a rumbling and forward motion. I’m on a wagon, and it’s just past noon, or so I’m told.

“Snoring is a very human trait, Durene. Not just human either—it’s a natural thing everyone does. Even if I am an [Emperor], I’d expect anyone to understand that I snore and sleep like everyone else.”

“Yes, but you were also drooling. That’s not dignified.”

The voice, deep and female, points that out. I brush at my face and find she’s right. I scowl and sigh.

“Fine. I’ve stopped. But you could have just let me sleep. There’s no one to see me drooling, objectionable as that may be.”

“No, I think one of the adventurers is coming. So I had to wake you.”

Durene’s voice is self-assured and confident. I have to look my best when strangers are around, therefore I must be awake. I sigh, but give up the argument. Instead I lean back into my seat and center myself in the world. Where am I? What am I doing? I’m sitting in a wagon. Existential problems solved.

I’m on the road again. Or more accurately, I’ve been on the road for the last four days. If I’m honest, it’s not actually me on the road. I’m just sitting on a bumping wagon while a rather smelly horse pulls me along. Sitting in a very comfortable seat of padded cloth that Durene and Gamel worked up for me of course, but it does get boring.

Hi. I’m Laken. An [Emperor]. I’m currently travelling down a cleared road of dried mud, sitting in a wagon while my girlfriend—or perhaps lover—walks beside the cart. She’s too big to ride with me and Durene say she prefers to walk. I would too—it’s good for the legs, but it’s just a bit too likely that I’ll have my foot crushed by a wagon wheel for me to risk it.

Honestly, a 1% chance of having my foot get run over by a rolling mass of several tons of weight is too much for me. So I sit and talk with her, or occasionally Gamel, who walks and sometimes sits on the wagon. He’s one of my subjects, a young man from a village called Riverfarm.

“Mister Laken! I think we’re only a few miles from Riverfarm if that’s the place your man Gamel has described, sir!”

A voice shouts at me and I turn my head in the direction of the call. I raise a hand towards the adventurer. That’s Beniar, the leader of the Windfrozen Riders. He’s a [Rider], and one of the two Silver-rank adventurer groups that I hired to escort me and protect the village.

I hear hoof beats, and then someone rides up to the wagon. I sigh. Not because I’m unhappy about reaching Riverfarm—on the contrary, I can’t wait to be back. One of the reasons why is because it means I’ll have more space from Beniar. He’s a chatterbox and annoying.

“Allow me to say, sir, that it’s been a pleasure escorting you this far. I hope you’ll recommend my team to the Merchant’s Guild and for future assignments. Not that our job is ended—we’ll be patrolling around your village for the month, as you know. So I hope to work together well with you, sir. Or is that my lord?”

I don’t need eyes to hear the impudent tone in Beniar’s voice, or know that Durene’s probably scowling at him. To stop her from arguing with the young man, I smile in his direction.

“My lord is acceptable, Beniar. Sir, your majesty, or any other title you’d prefer to give me I would also be content with, however. Thank you for telling me. You may go.”

That throws him. I hear Beniar’s horse lag behind for a moment, and then a cough. Durene giggles, his voice sounds strained.

“Ah, yes sir. We’ll signal the village that we’re arriving. I uh, well, I’ll be going.”

He rides off. Durene starts laughing out loud and I think Beniar can hear her. I smile, but covertly, so that if he looks back he won’t see.

“Shush, Durene. That’s not nice. Beniar is a good sort, even if he’s…inquisitive.”

That doesn’t stop Durene, of course. My half-Troll lover, protector, and sometimes nap-waker has not enjoyed Beniar’s company. He’s just a bit too fond of bragging about his accomplishments—which are decent, enough for his team to be called Silver-rank despite his age—and a bit too interested in who I am.

I arrived in Invrisil, the city of adventurers and one of the hubs of the northern part of the continent around a week ago. I caused a stir and spent lavishly at the Merchant’s Guild there—buying supplies for Riverfarm, magic-users with flame spells to clear the snowy roads so I could ride back, and hired two Silver-rank teams to protect my village.

That’s a lot of money, and a lot of influence to be used for a no-name village in the middle of nowhere. By the time I left the city, several days after Ryoka Griffin delivered aid to my village and then disappeared in a carriage owned by Magnolia Reinhart, rumors were flying about exactly who I was and what my interests were.

I received several invitations from reputable [Merchants], [Bankers], adventurers, and so on, and refused them all. Is it any wonder people like Beniar want to know if I’m some sort of rich lordling or other important figure? The information could be worth a lot and help a young adventurer with his career. So he’s pestered me and bragged shamelessly on the four-day trip. I understand, but just wish he were as adept socially as he is with a sword.

Apparently I’m not the only person with that view. I hear an indignant murmur from my left, and then a voice. Gamel speaks up for the first time, and I hear the snow crunch as he paces to the left of my wagon. He has to work to keep up, unlike Durene, but he seems to think only I deserve the comfort of the wagon.

“He shouldn’t be so direct with you, sire. He should be bowing and saying your majesty without it being a joke.”

I sigh again as Durene voices her agreement from my left. Here I am with my two vassals who seem to think everyone should bow and kiss my smelly feet every two seconds. And soon, I’ll be in the midst of a village full of them. How will I manage?

Well, I have a few ideas. And of course, I must manage. I am their [Emperor]. I accepted the responsibility when I saved Riverfarm from an avalanche. Getting the [Emperor] class was almost a joke, a chance decision. However, I have embraced what I am now. I have a duty. I cannot turn my back on it now.

So I straighten my back. I am an [Emperor]. And if I am, there are some things I have to get right. Starting now. After all, there is a problem with my subjects telling me how I should be treated. They mean well, but that’s their opinion. I have mine, and they have to understand that. And obey.

“Gamel, I appreciate your input. And yours of course, Durene. But please understand this: I will be treated like a commoner, disrespectfully, flippantly, and sometimes rudely by the people I meet. That is not their fault. They do not know I am an [Emperor], or if they do, they might not believe. That does not mean you two should reprimand them. In fact, I insist you do not. I order you not to. Is that understood?”

Durene’s laughter cuts off. I can’t see Gamel, but I imagine him straightening up, flushing.

“I’m terribly sorry, sire.”

“Enough of that. I told you, sir, or my name is fine.”

“Yes…sir.”

And here comes the hard part. I modulate my tone; try to explain why I say what I do. It’s one thing to command, another to lead. I was told that just recently. I may be an [Emperor], but I must inspire and teach, not just tell.

“The reason why I say this is because titles are meaningless to me, Gamel. No, don’t gape. I may be an [Emperor], but being called and treated like one isn’t strictly necessary. Yes, I insist on respect, but that comes in a different way from people I meet. I would rather know how people feel about me than ruin their impressions of me and mine of them from the start. Rudeness of course is different, and you can be offended about that. But simple ignorance or casual incivility is to be welcomed, I think.”

There’s a thoughtful silence from Gamel after that, and I hope I’ve reached him. However, Durene’s voice is troubled.

“But Laken, if you’re an [Emperor]—”

I raise a finger and she breaks off. Where has this come from? Durene’s changed a lot from the timid girl I met in the forest almost two months ago. Oh, she’s mainly the same, but she’s bolder now. She’s gotten a lot more opinionated—mostly about how I should be treated. That doesn’t’ mean she’s right of course.

“Durene, I understand your concerns. However, my ego is large enough that I don’t need to be called ‘your majesty’ every two seconds. Think of it from my perspective.”

“How do you mean?”

I smile slightly.

“I am an [Emperor]. You know that. Gamel knows that. And I know that. That fact will never change. Why should what other people say or believe matter? I know who I am. That’s all I need.”

“Wow.”

Durene’s voice sounds awed, and Gamel makes a similar noise. I sigh. It really wasn’t that special. It’s just about self-confidence. But perhaps neither Durene nor Gamel has ever thought about life in that way. They both grew up in a tiny village. Gamel can barely read; Durene can’t.

Neither one knows about psychology, economics, mathematics, germ theory…so much. They know a lot about living, and they’re good people who don’t need the rest to survive. But it could help them. So now and then I try to teach.

Unfortunately, every action has consequences. And my little speech has roused the final occupant of the wagon. I hear a screech and flapping wings. I sigh.

“Frostwing, shut up.”

The loud shrieking cuts off. I turn in my seat and get up onto my knees. It’s not hard to find the perch anchored to the top of a bag of grain—although I do get my fingers in a bit of fresh bird droppings. I grimace and then find Frostwing. The bird recoils a bit from my touch, and then rubs her head against my palm.

Frostwing. I have a bird, by the way. She’s just a fledgling, but she’s getting bigger each day—she’s already about as long as my hand and forearm. I wonder how large she’ll get by the time she finishes growing.

She allegedly has blue feathers, the better to hide in the sky, I suppose. I’m still not sure if Durene’s playing a trick on me. I keep thinking that blue is an odd color in a bird—but I can’t remember what eagles and hawks are supposed to look like from my world. I…think they have brown and white feathers, but honestly, listening to descriptions of birds isn’t like seeing them. It doesn’t stick in the mind.

Or so I would imagine.

Right now it seems like Frostwing wants to learn to fly. She keeps flapping her wings on her perch as I find her head and stroke it. A beak pokes my hand gently and I sigh.

“I think she’s hungry. Again. Gamel, do you have—”

“Some jerky. Here, sire.”

Gamel’s already got the dried meat ready. I break some off as Frostwing tries to snatch the entire strip from me. She’s voracious, but I am her owner—and a [Beast Tamer], so I scold her and force her to take pieces from my hand one at a time.

I’m not sure this is how you raise birds, but hey, I’m giving it my best shot.

Lecturing Gamel and Durene, talking to nosy adventurers, and dealing with my pooping bird take up a good amount of time after I’ve woken up. However, I must admit that for an [Emperor], someone with a class who’s supposed to rule over countless people and an empire, this isn’t exactly very fulfilling. I’m restless, and I want to be in my village soon. There I’ll be able to see…in a way.

And there’s so much to do. I have a thousand and one things I know I have to take care of, but I’ve been confined to the wagon for the trip. When I am outside of the lands I own, I am blind and to some degree, helpless. This world is filled with monsters and I must rely on other people for help.

Like any good [Emperor], in fact. There’s some irony to that. But I’m keenly aware that as loyal as Durene and Gamel are, and as faithful as the villagers of Riverfarm seem to be, they’re not exactly capable of everything. None of them are fighters, although I wouldn’t ever bet against Durene. But despite her having a [Paladin] class, she’s never been in a life-or-death battle, and there are dangerous monsters in this world.

Not that I’ve ever seen one. I’m blind. If I’m in a situation where a monster is close enough for me to hear or touch, I’m probably dead since running away when blind is very, very difficult.

So the adventurers like Beniar are essential. Not just now, but in the future. I have thought and been advised on the future. That’s why when the second adventurer rides towards my wagon, I make sure Frostwing’s poop is off my hands and try to look as dignified as Durene thinks I should be.

“Mister Laken, may we have a word? It’s me, ah, the leader of the Celestial Trackers.”

I hear a young woman’s voice, and then another as two adventurers ride down towards me from the wagons ahead. Did I mention the other wagons? Some of the adventurers not riding next to the wagon I’m on are filling the ones ahead and behind me. I, as an important person, get a wagon to myself.

“Certainly. Come by this side and we can talk.”

I move over to the right side of the wagon and hear Durene making room for the horse. Someone else speaks politely to me, the owner of the second horse.

“I am here as well, sir.”

I nod. I’ve met these two adventurers as well, and they’re considerably easier to work with than Beniar is.

“Wiskeria and Odveig, right?”

“That’s right. We were hoping to speak with you about our duties when we reached the village, Mister Laken. Is now a bad time?”

“Certainly not. Did you have any concerns? What are your expectations from what the Merchant’s Guild hired you for?”

The two confer as I wait patiently. Odveig is the leader, a [Macewoman], and Wiskeria is her subordinate. They lead the Celestial Trackers. Well, Odveig is the one who calls herself the leader, but I feel like Wiskeria is the brains behind the group. She’s a [Witch], a specialized type of [Mage] who can apparently use spells to hinder her opponents and brew potions and use spells to assist her friends.

In short, she’s fascinating and I’ve wanted to talk with Wiskeria, but haven’t had much time to do so. In the few interactions I’ve had with their team, I got the sense that Odveig is rightly paranoid that Wiskeria might take her place as the leader of the group. Wiskeria herself seems disinterested in the role of leader, but she’s far too sharp to be excluded from the decision-making process.

Which is why both of them are here now. Odveig is the first to speak to me. She has a husky voice, and a very pleasant tone with a slight accent on the ‘th’ sounds she makes.

“Generally, these sorts of contracts have us patrol an area by day and night, Mister Laken. We ah, are expected to be fed and given adequate shelter, but that’s all our contract entails. We can hunt and scavenge for our own provisions, but that generally takes up a good deal of the time we’re supposed to be guarding, you see…”

“Food is not an issue, Miss Odveig. And I’m sure we can find indoor spots for your entire group—unless you’d prefer camping in the tents you brought. As you know, there are not many buildings in the village that can be used, but we’ll try to accommodate you as best we can.”

“We do appreciate that, sir. May I ask what trouble you’re expecting? Hiring two Silver-rank teams is not—not—”

She stumbled on her words and Wiskeria took over. Her voice is quieter, smoother, and precise. It makes me think she’s had some kind of formal education—or perhaps it’s just her personality.

“Two Silver-rank teams are generally only called for when protecting areas at immediate risk of monster attacks, sir. To escort so many wagons two teams is quite appropriate, but we’re afraid our services might be considered wasted when guarding an entire village for a month.”

I smile. Do they fear inactivity, or that I’ll try to pay them less? Their fee has already been paid—half now, and half held by the Adventurer’s Guild when they return. Either way, I should reassure them.

“Call me paranoid, Miss Odveig, Miss Wiskeria. But I feel that two Silver-rank teams are better than one, and both are essential in case trouble comes to Riverfarm. That might not happen, in which case you’ll have a quiet month. However…if it does happen I’d rather be ready for it, which is why I’m willing to pay for the best.”

“You’ll get that, Mister Laken, rest assured!”

My words seem to reassure and invigorate Odveig, who I’m sure is sitting straighter on her saddle. Wiskeria takes a more measured response.

“In that case, we’ll set about ensuring there are no threats to the village, sir. And if there turns out to be no threats nearby…will you have us patrolling the entire duration?”

“That’s a good question. I wouldn’t like to waste your time, and if you find nothing, I’m sure your group doesn’t all need to scout at once. I’d be fine letting your groups train or…doing whatever you feel is necessary. However, my village is in need. Could your groups help rebuild? A few hands to help lift and carry things would be welcome.”

Another brief moment of whispering, and then Wiskeria speaks up.

“I’m sure our party can send some of our group to assist with whatever rebuilding is necessary, or lend our Skills where we can once we’re sure the area is secure, sir. I expect the Windfrozen Riders have useful Skills in their group as well. We may be able to hunt for game as well, once again, after ensuring the area is clear of monsters.”

“Excellent. I will speak with you when we reach the village, then. I’m told it’s just an hour or two away?”

“We should be arriving within the hour, sir.”

“Very good. Thank you.”

They withdraw. I sit back in the wagon and after a moment, Durene steps up next to me.

“You aren’t expecting trouble, are you, Laken? I’ve heard monsters and bandits like to prey on villages that get into trouble.”

Her voice is worried, and I nod while turning my head up to the sky. It’s still so cold out here! Winter in this world doesn’t play around. Thank goodness for blankets and thick coats.

“I had the same thought. That’s why we have two Silver-rank teams, Durene. They’ll deal with most problems quite easily, unless I miss my guess.”

“That’s true. I haven’t heard of any village rich enough to hire a Silver-rank team, let alone two!”

Durene’s voice beams with pride at that simple fact. I laugh, and lean back.

“Yes, yes. Don’t let it get to your head. I’m going to take a nap now, Durene. Without snoring or drooling, hopefully. Wake me when we get close to the village, will you?”

“Okay.”

It feels like I’ve just closed my eyes when a broad finger pokes me awake. I hear Durene at the same time as her voice.

“Laken! We’re here!”

I don’t need to be told that. The instant I sit up, I hear a huge mass of voices cheering like wild, making Frostwing wake up and panic on her perch. But that’s not the special bit.

The special bit is that I can see all the villagers cheering me, see the adventurers guarding the convoy of wagons gaping, see the people of Riverfarm rushing towards me, waving their arms and calling my name.

Well, see is a strong word. It’s more like a vision in my mind. A…sense, if you will. I call it sight because that’s the closest thing I can think of to this power I have.

As an [Emperor], I own Riverfarm. I claimed it to save the village, and as it turns out, whatever land I possess, I can sense, down to the smallest rock. I know instinctively that Riverfarm has eight buildings that have been excavated of snow—three more than when I left—and nearly thirty buildings still buried beneath. I can sense Durene hovering by the wagon and beaming while Gamel stands up on another and waves to his sweetheart.

I can see. That’s the gift of my class and it is worth beyond worth to me. However, my ‘sight’ has its limits. I see expressions, open mouths, and so on and moving outlines of people, but there is no color in my mind, and no detail. It’s more like what I imagine a bat’s echolocation might describe the world as. I see shapes, but not nuance.

It’s good enough. It’s more than enough. However, it means I do still need to rely on others for some things. I stand up from the wagon and hear the villagers shouting my name.

“Laken! [Emperor] Laken!”

“Your majesty!”

“Our [Emperor] has returned! Praise Emperor Laken!”

“The Unseen Empire! Emperor Laken!”

That last cry makes me start a bit. The Unseen Empire? Now how did they…? Oh, right! I once claimed Riverfarm as part of the Unseen Empire. It’s a fitting name, if embarrassing.

However, the cheering is genuine and it puts a smile on my face. I don’t deserve it, but I did save a lot of the village after the avalanche. I’m touched by their belief in me. I raise a hand, and they go wild.

I imagine this is what being a celebrity feels like. As I step down from the wagon people rush to surround me. I clasp hands, let people gently touch me, and then Durene and Gamel are forcing people to stand back. And just like that, the wild exuberance turns into deference as the villagers form a path for me to enter the village.

I can sense Prost waiting with some of the older villagers. I’m anxious to talk to him, but I can’t help it. I nudge Durene and she bends down so I can whisper to her.

“Psst, Durene. Describe the faces of the other adventurers to me.”

I can sense them, well, most of them, the ones within the village’s radius. In my picture of the world all of the adventurers are standing stock still, gaping. However, I want to know what their expressions are like. I can sense Durene as she straightens, and then I hear her voice, full of merry laughter.

“They can’t believe it! Beniar’s face is—I think his eyes are going to pop out of his head! And Odveig looks like she’s going to choke!”

She sounds gleeful. In fact, Durene might have been waiting for this moment. I never mentioned my true nature to Odveig or Beniar—people assumed I was some sort of noble, or a very rich stranger, but an [Emperor]? I can’t imagine what they’re thinking at the moment. I nudge Durene one more time.

“And Wiskeria?”

“Oh. She’s…staring at you.”

“Does she seem surprised?”

“Yeah, but she’s not gaping or anything…why?”

“Nothing much. I just wanted to see how she’d react. Quick thinking and being able to adjust to any situation is important.”

“Okay?”

She doesn’t get it, but Wiskeria is already part of my plans. I stride towards Prost and the other villagers as people shout my name.

Emperor Laken. I guess I can’t hide that fact any longer. And as I think that, I wonder if Wiskeria or the other two [Mages] in the adventurer groups can cast the [Message] spell. If they can…word about me might be spreading very quickly.

I smile faintly. Oops. The secret’s out of the bag. Not that I had any real hopes of keeping my class secret. But the dice have been cast. What will happen next?

It’s odd, but I actually think I know.

Day 56

The first day after I came back to Riverfarm was pure chaos, plain and simple. It was already late when I returned, and between hearing Prost and the other villagers fall over themselves to thank me—and assure me they hadn’t eaten all of the food Ryoka had brought—I was hard pressed to get a word in.

Or rather, because I’m an [Emperor], my words cause a complete hush and everyone has to listen to what I say, rather than let my voice be one of the many and get work done. Ah, well, we had a banquet on that first night and that’s probably all I was going to get done anyways.

A celebration to welcome an [Emperor] back. More than that, a celebration because I brought back exactly what I promised. Food for Riverfarm, supplies, tools to help rebuild, and adventurers to keep them safe. Everything the village needed to start rebuilding.

And now it’s the day after. I slept like I was in a five-star hotel in Durene’s cottage. My blankets and pillow felt like they were made of silk or clouds, and I woke up feeling full of energy. That’s thanks to my Skill as an [Emperor]—[Empire: Blessing of the Hearth]. It makes sleeping pleasant, even if you only have the floor and some blankets for a bed.

I’m grateful for that. My subjects need their rest, and lots of energy. Because today I’m going to start…everything.

“Laken, do you want eggs?”

“Sure, Durene. Give me some bacon too. No, Frostwing, you can’t have any. This is my bacon. Peck me, and I’ll halve your breakfast, understand?”

Breakfast is quick, serene, and over in a flash. Once I leave the cottage I find several people waiting for me. Waiting in the cold, although not in the snow since Durene shoveled her pathway this morning.

Prost, Gamel, Odveig, Beniar, and Wiskeria are all waiting for me by the time I come out with Durene. I’m surprised Gamel’s here, but I suppose he thinks of himself as my personal manservant. Prost speaks for the villagers, so his presence makes sense. As for the adventurers…well, at least they’re ready to work.

“Ah, Mister—that is to say, Emperor—ah—”

Beniar calls out hesitantly as I walk towards him, a smile on my face. I can hear him tripping over his words and imagine his blush. Gamel and Prost bow deeply to me as soon as I come near, and the other adventurers awkwardly imitate them.

I think they’re still reeling from the revelation that I’m an [Emperor], to be honest. Well, it makes sense. In their world, a class defines who you are. So if I have an [Emperor] class…I’m an [Emperor]. Simple as that.

“Let’s not dwell on formalities, Beniar. I told you any form of address was suitable. Sir works well.”

“Ah. Oh? Yes sir! Uh—”

Wiskeria clears her throat. She seems the least tongue-tied, as I had expected. I glance towards her and notice how she’s watching me. I think the other adventurers are surprised as well; I’ve forgone my walking cane and move about surely on Durene’s land. Because of course, I can see as well as anyone else now. Better, perhaps.

Whatever her thoughts, Wiskeria politely bows her head as she speaks. She doesn’t stumble over her words.

“Do you have orders for us, sire? We’ve made a small camp next to the village and we’ve got a good sense of the immediate area. We only need your word to start scouting the landscape. If we could speak with some of the locals who know the area, that would help as well.”

I nod thoughtfully. Adventurers…I have a lot I’d like to talk to them about, especially Wiskeria, but for now I need to talk to Prost more. So I let them do their job.

“If your group will divide the scouting and patrolling with the Windfrozen Riders, I’d be most grateful. I believe I will talk with Odveig and Beniar more specifically about their duties later—but as you can see I have a lot to do.”

“Of course, sire. We’ll get to work right away.”

Wiskeria nods to Odveig, and then has to drag both her and Beniar away. They’re still staring, which I have to say, I’m getting more used to. I turn to Prost as Durene joins me with Frostwing perched on her shoulder. The bird pecks at Durene’s cheek as I smile at Prost.

“Farmer Prost. How has the village been since I left? I’m told you got the food I had delivered to you alright—did you have an enjoyable Christmas? I hope my Runner, Ryoka, explained what that was.”

Prost starts, and I think he’s surprised at my warm greeting. Well, we did have an unpleasant first few encounters where he was against me and Durene living together. After I saved the village he was falling over himself to help me, and his attitude’s much better. For my part, I haven’t forgotten the past, but Prost lost his youngest boy in the avalanche. That kind of pain…no, I would never hold a grudge after all that has happened.

“Miss Ryoka, your majesty? Oh, she came by not a week ago—we were so grateful for her arrival we wept, sire. It was a blessing, and the food she brought—I know I said it too much yesterday, but the village can’t thank you enough, your majesty.”

“Sir, or sire’s fine, Mister Prost. Don’t worry about the titles—I’ve told Gamel the same. But now I’m back, and I’ve got all I promised.”

“More food and supplies? Your m—sire, I have to tell you that we’ve been rationing what Miss Ryoka brought. We made sure to not overeat, and I think we could stretch it till the spring if that’s all that could be bought.”

Responsible, thoughtful…the villagers of Riverfarm aren’t idiots, for all they once were small-minded. You can’t be stupid and live out here, where a bad harvest might mean starvation if you hadn’t planned ahead. I wave a hand and start heading down to the village, speaking to Durene, Prost, and Gamel all at once.

“Ryoka delivered a good bit of food, but hardly all of what I bought, Mister Prost, Miss Yesel. Don’t fear, we’ve enough food to last us the winter and a good ways into the spring. However, making sure we have food for the times after that is one of our biggest priorities right now.”

“Yes sir. We’ve been digging out more of the buried buildings, but it’s painfully slow work…but with you and Durene here, I’m sure we’ll do all that needs doing!”

“About that. I think clearing the snow is a good start, and so I hope I can ask you, Durene, to help. Gamel can also lend a hand…I’ll speak with Mister Prost about other matters, unless there’s something pressing?”

“Nope! I can do that, Laken. I’m ready for work, and there’s an extra-large shovel in the wagons I can use!”

Durene’s clearly ready for hard work, and she hands Frostwing to Gamel, who’s gotten used to handling the cranky bird. I nod to Gamel. If he’s my assistant—and he’s very loyal and does what I ask him to—then I should use him as one.

“Can you ask Odveig and Beniar if their [Mages] can use their spells to melt the snow, Gamel? I know you know some fire magic, but I believe some experienced spellcasters might help quite a bit with the excavation.”

“At once, sire.”

He and Durene head towards the village. I can sense the villagers waiting for me, but a few shouted words from Prost and they disperse. After shouting greetings at me, of course. I walk slowly with Prost around the village, making my way over huge drifts of snow.

The avalanche that hit Riverfarm buried almost all of it. Some houses were only half-consumed by the snow, but in the first few days after the disaster the villagers couldn’t walk without sinking into the deep snow. At the moment there’s a good section of the village that’s been cleared of snow, but there are still walls of hard snow and ice.

Prost is busy showing me the new houses the villagers have dug out. I can sense how battered the buildings are. Oh, the supports have held in most, but the wood is broken in countless places from the sheer force behind the avalanche. It will take a lot of doing to restore the buildings to any sense of working order, and there are still fields buried in the snow, dead animals still frozen where they were engulfed, scattered tools and belongings…

“It’s a mess, Emperor Laken. I’d despair at restoring anything at all if you weren’t here, I really would. Most villages suffer a disaster like this and, well, it’s over. We’d have to pack up and move, what few of us survived. It’s that or starve or freeze or be eaten by monsters.”

“Not exactly a pleasant choice, Mister Prost. However, even with what I brought, rebuilding Riverfarm will be a chore and a half. I hope everyone knows that.”

“Aye, we do. Don’t fear sire, we’re no strangers to hard work and we’ll do whatever you think is best.”

I can sense Prost nodding as he takes me around the barn, the main hub of the new village. There are simple beds inside, piles of recovered goods, several cooking fires outside…rudimentary stuff, but at least the villagers sleep like rocks. Everything else will have to be remade, and I’m the one in charge. Oh dear.

“Let’s get down to business, then, Prost. I’ve got some good ideas on how to proceed, but I’d love to hear what you’d do in a situation like this.”

I’ve got more than just a few ideas. I’ve spoken to several people, Ryoka among them, who gave me excellent advice on what to do. And honestly, I needed it. Rebuilding a village and managing everyone is not among the skills I brought from Earth, from my world, but I feel oddly confident now.

Prost shakes his head in response to my question. He has to break off to tell someone where the hammers are—in the wagons and two in the barn—and then he tells a group of young men and women to go help dig where Durene’s at. He’s in charge, as are a few of the older villagers. But that’s in charge under me, I feel. If I wasn’t here, would things go this well?

“Honestly, your majesty? I wouldn’t know where to begin, aside from digging out what I can. There’s so many farms ruined…I supposed I’d try to dig up fields, get as much land cleared so I could sow all the plants I could after the last frost, but that’s all I know. I’d be hoping to trade what valuables I could gather for supplies, some chickens and other animals maybe, but I wouldn’t know where to start. I’m glad you’re here, sir.”

“I find your faith in me disturbing, Mister Prost. I’m no miracle worker.”

“Say that to my daughter, sir. And my wife. You saved them and over half the village. But for you we’d be dead.”

Prost turns to me, and grips my shoulder before he remembers I’m an [Emperor] and starts apologizing. I stop him. That’s right. That’s why people have faith in me. Because I saved lives. I cannot betray that faith, although it’s more than any person should have placed on them.

“Well, we’ll see if my ideas work. For now…let’s talk about the villagers, Prost. What do you think they need?”

“Need? Well, you’ve given us warm bellies and your Skill makes us feel as though we’re sleeping on pure cotton, sire. Give us some more rooms and a place to work and I’d say that’s all I need. With these adventurers around, we don’t have to fear monsters and that’s a relief.”

I smile as I find a place to stand with Prost, out of the way. I can sense villagers staring at me as they work.

“Interesting. You thought of that off the top of your head, didn’t you, Mister Prost?”

“Yes sire. I just said what I could think of.”

“And what you could think of were the essentials. Food, shelter, and security. I’d say those are the three basic elements all people need to survive, don’t you, Mister Prost?”

“I’d agree with that, sire. That and a good drink now and then.”

I grin and see Prost smiling in relief. An [Emperor] needs to be human too.

“Well, that’s my point. In rebuilding Riverfarm, I’m looking at the essentials first, Mister Prost. Not just for now, but for the future when the supplies are gone and the adventurers leave.”

I start ticking off points on my hand as Prost listens.

“We need space for the people—not just somewhere they can live for the moment, but permanent homes. We need to grow food and raise animals, enough for the village to survive on. And we need a way to defend ourselves if monsters attack. Now, two of those issues can be solved by building the village again. However…it’s occurred to me that here might not be the best place to build it.”

I gesture towards the nearest house. Half of it has been collapsed inwards, and the other half is badly damaged and just patched over with boards to keep the wind out.

“The buildings we uncover are damaged. Some of the supports have shifted, the walls are blown out and the foundation’s destroyed on some of them. It would be just as much work to fix one up as make a new one, I’m thinking. Plus…I’m not sure the villagers would like to live in a place where so much grief has been caused.”

Most of the villagers buried in the avalanche were trapped in their houses, suffocated or bashed to death when it happened. The digging teams I led had to cut through roofs and dig to find the doors in order to save lives…or recover the bodies.

Prost nods heavily.

“That’s true, sire. But then where would we build the village? We’ve lived here all our lives, most of us.”

“I understand. And I’m not suggesting we abandon this place, but digging out houses takes time, and I’d rather have some of the villagers building new ones. It can’t be fun sleeping crammed together, even with my Skill. So what if we…drew up some blueprints for a new village right now?”

“Blueprints?”

“A simple map. I can’t see well, but let’s assume Riverfarm is here. And if we’re rebuilding the village, why not make it efficient? We can put all the fields together here, rather than each farmer have their own. And houses could go here…feel free to tell me if I’m making sense, Mister Prost.”

In a few minutes Prost and I are scuffing at the ground with a stick, plotting out a village in the wet dirt. I can’t sense the impressions in the ground unless they’re fairly deep, but it’s simple enough for Prost to get a handle of my idea, and then he’s off with it.

“We could certainly build more houses like you’re suggesting, sire. The ground’s uneven over here, but if we had a few [Diggers] or Durene picked up a shovel, I don’t see why we couldn’t smooth over parts and—and well, the village could be twice as large as before! And the fields—some of us [Farmers] have talked the idea over, and some fields we could all work on is an enticing idea, ‘specially if we combined teams of oxen. We never tried the idea because we quarreled over sharing the harvests, but if it’s all of us working in the village together, I don’t see why not.”

“Excellent.”

I have an idea of Riverfarm in my head. It’s got a river running by the village, which is where the name comes from, but until recently the villagers had a very small plot of land they’d tamed and farmed on. The new village, the rebuilt one would expand that space and create a space with larger fields, more houses…and more organized structure, too. There would be a main road and houses would be adjacent to one another, rather than built wherever the original owners wanted them.

Prost and I stare at the blueprints in the dirt for a few seconds, before reality hits. The older man sits back on his haunches and shakes his head slowly.

“It’s a grand idea you’re thinking of, sire. But can it be done? We’ve a few folks with Skills in woodworking and building, and I reckon Durene could lift up a beam herself, but it’s such a large thought I can’t imagine it. You think it can be done? Truly?”

I smile. Here’s one of my tests. Prost doubts we can do this. I do too, honestly—my ideas are so nebulous, I can’t figure out how to put them into action. However, I’m a leader and so I have to reassure him. And myself.

“A new village? Why not? There are trees aplenty in the forests, and I know we have people with [Carpenter] classes here. We can build the houses one at a time and create a new village while the adventurers guard us and we live off of what I brought from Invrisil.”

I reach out and clasp Prost on the shoulder, making him start.

“Remember, Mister Prost, we’re not doing this by ourselves. A house is a challenge for a single person or a family, but a village? We could put up the first house in a matter of days or less. Why don’t we do it like this? We’ll build three houses, lay foundations, and get to work measuring, cutting wood, and so on, while we reclaim the village from the snow. We build them where we planned…and go from there. Sound good?”

“When you put it like that, sire, I can’t help but think it sounds easier. Truly.”

Prost nods as he stands up. He’s hesitant, but now I’ve reduced the problem to a manageable one to him, he’s already thinking of who had the best Skills to start work.

That’s what I need. Because I don’t know the villagers well enough myself. I go with Prost out of the village limits, towards the new building spots. Halfway there I pause and grimace.

“Something the matter, sire?”

I hear Prost’s voice, but I can no longer sense him. I’ve gone…well, blind again. I must have left the village’s limits.

“I think I’ll have to stay here, Mister Prost. You check the spot we were discussing and see if it’s usable. I’ll wait here.”

Prost leaves and I kick at the invisible boundary where my sense of the world starts to fade away in my head.

“This might be a problem.”

My [Emperor]’s senses don’t extend outside of the limits of the village. The land I claim is the only place where they work. Which is a problem whenever I go travelling, or in cases like now.

I have an idea about how to fix that. Well, I didn’t come up with the idea. But still.

It’s something for later, though. Prost comes back with the news that the spots I suggested would work. He’s talking about asking the Fairfield family to help out, and getting Gamel and a few of the ‘lads’ to get some axes to cut down a few good trees—only the best wood will do, obviously, so we’ll need to find someone with a good eye for it.

I take a breath and cut Prost off. There’s something I’ve been meaning to do, something I’ve been advised to do. It might work, and if it does, it’ll help Riverfarm—and me.

“Mister Prost, there’s one last thing we need to talk about. That’s why I wanted to talk alone with you.”

Instantly the man becomes wary. He clears his throat.

“I uh, wondered if it might come to this, sire. About Durene…I can’t say how sorry I am about how I behaved. And the others too. But myself…I can’t apologize. I can only ask for—”

“What? Oh. Not that.”

I wave a hand at Prost, surprising him. He blinks, and I shake my head.

“What? But sire—the way I behaved—”

“I’m not going to berate you for the past, Mister Prost. Not now. Not after what’s happened. What you’ve all lost. No. That would be petty, and cruel, I think. You’re trying to make amends. I know you apologized to Durene and frankly…no. There’s something else I want to speak to you about.”

“Yes, sire?”

He sounds more nervous, if that’s possible. I try to reassure him, but give up and get into it. I walk with Prost around the edge of the village, feeling my sense of the world dim and brighten as I stumble through deep snow. Prost walks with me, tense, watching me. But trusting, too. He trusts me.

“I’m going to rule the village. I claimed it, and I am an [Emperor]. I’m a bit surprised you all would want me to lead you—”

I silence Prost as he opens his mouth again.

“—But I understand. However, I’m not experienced. I’m a low-level [Emperor] and frankly, I have no idea how to build anything. I’m not a [Farmer] and Durene knows more about raising animals than me. I need someone with all these Skills to help me coordinate the villagers.”

“Milord, I’m happy to do what I can. Me and the other older folk—we’re at your disposal. And young Gamel seems to be growing up right quick. If you need something, all you have to do is ask.”

“Yes, but asking means I have to think of it. And there are things I won’t think of, Mister Prost. That’s why I need a second-in-command. Someone who can do the thinking—and the asking—without me.”

I hear Prost gulp as he understands what I’m getting at.

“And that person who’s doing the asking…is that me, sir? Why me? I know I’ve taken it upon myself to take our orders, but I’m hardly like our last [Village Head]. I’m no leader.”

I nod. A [Village Head] is a type of [Leader], if a weak one. I suppose I fill that role, but an [Emperor] is too large to lead a village. All my Skills would apply to my empire, not an individual farm. Which is why…

“I know that. You are a [Farmer], Mister Prost. A good one, I think. Well thought of, but a farmer nonetheless. I need a leader, someone who can inspire people and manage them in my stead. Which is why I’m asking if you would take on another class for me.”

“Another—another class, sire? You mean become the village’s head? I reckon I could, but I’d only be Level 1, and you’re an [Emperor]—”

“No, not that. I mean, take on another class that I gave you. [Steward], to be exact.”

“[Steward]? Me?”

Prost stops in his tracks. He stares at me.

“But I—[Steward] is a noble title, sir! It’s as close to a lordship as—most [Kings] appoint a [Lord] as a [Steward]! I’m not worthy of such a class!”

“Yes, well, I could make you a [Lord] too, but I think that’s too many classes to handle at once. Don’t gape, Mister Prost. I said I wasn’t going to do it.”

“But—why me, sire? Why me?”

I stop in the cold snow and run a hand through my hair. I look at Prost, and wish I could see him, not just sense what his face is roughly doing.

“Why not? A ruler needs a [Steward], someone to manage their affairs. I am an [Emperor]—why shouldn’t I be able to give you that class? I made Durene a [Paladin]. If you’re willing, I’ll name you as my [Steward] and put you in command of all of Riverfarm. Under me, of course.”

He pauses for a long time in the snow. I think…no, I can’t tell what he’s thinking. But when Prost speaks, I can hear the wobble in his voice. The uncertainty, back again.

“I’m not worthy, sire. No—your majesty. Emperor Laken. I wouldn’t have imagined you were such a man, to be honest, but I can see it in you now. But sire, I know myself and I am not worthy of the class. I couldn’t be a [Steward], not a good one. I know that. You know that.”

I shake my head.

“No. You are not worthy. I agree with you on that, Mister Prost. However…none of us are. I need a [Steward], and you are the only person I can think who might fill that role. Gamel is too young, and I don’t know the others. But you? You are a man people trust. A man I think I can trust. And you have that one quality which makes me believe in you.”

“What’s that?”

He stares at me, hungry for an answer, words that can reassure him. I look into Prost’s eyes and open mine. Just for a moment. He flinches as he stares into my pupils, but he meets my gaze. And I speak from the heart.

“Change. I have seen you change. If you can change from a man who refused to accept that I could love a half-Troll, Durene, to a man who calls me [Emperor], then perhaps you can also become a man worthy of leading others. Because you must. You are needed, Prost Surehand. The village needs you. Your family needs you. I need you. Will you help me?”

For a long time he’s still. So long in fact that my eyes hurt and I have to close them. I’m not used to keeping them open. But I can still sense Prost there. At last he does speak.

“I’m not—but you know what. Milord, my [Emperor]…you say you need me. I…I’m humbled.”

There are tears in his voice and on his cheeks. They freeze in the cold. Prost bows towards me, deep.

“If you ask, I will do my best. I cannot promise…that is all I can do.”

“That is all I ask. In that case, Prost, kneel if you would.”

He goes to his knees in the snow. I reach out. There’s no grand pronouncement on my part, no long ceremony. I speak and it is done.

“You are my [Steward]. Manage my village Prost. Direct my people. I have faith in you.”

Tears fall into the snow. Prost stands.

“Will I gain the class tonight?”

“I think so.”

I have a suspicion. A hint. Prost wipes at his eyes and blows his nose on his sleeve. I smile, and bring him back into reality.

“Alright then. Let’s get to work.”

The moment passes. Prost and I head back to the village and we’re consumed by people. People, villagers with no idea what to do or what tomorrow holds. But they look towards me, and as Prost raises his voice and steps forwards, ordering the folks he knows around and dealing with minor squabbles, small complaints, they look towards him as well.

All in all, not a bad start.

Day 57

The next day I’m nearly shaken to death as Durene seizes me out of my bed and rattles me around.

“Laken! Laken! You won’t believe what’s happened to Mister Prost! He gained a class! And—and lost his levels!”

“What? What? Stop shaking me, Durene! Put me down and tell me what’s happened.”

Having a half-Troll lover is a wonderful thing in many ways. But when she’s excited, Durene is fully capable of lifting me up like a kitten. And I, like kittens, do not take well to being shaken.

When I’m on the ground and sipping some tea, Durene spills the entire event to me, which everyone in the village has already heard of. Prost went to sleep late last night and heard himself get a new class—[Steward].

That doesn’t surprise me, although it’s similar to someone winning the lottery as far as the other villagers are concerned. This class makes Prost important, just as being an [Emperor] makes me important. After all, [Stewards] are hardly common. Well, not in this world. Airline stewards are hardly anything to write about…but I digress. The thing that makes me sit up and has Durene in more of a frenzy is the other thing that happened to Prost, though.

“He lost his levels! All of his levels in [Farmer] and [Builder]—and the one level he had in [Trader]! It’s all gone! And he leveled up eight times as a [Steward]! Can you believe it? Can you believe—oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to shake you again!”

When I’ve gotten the hot tea cleaned off of me, I get the fine details. Last night Prost lost all his [Farmer] levels, and he had been a Level 20 [Farmer], as well as the few levels he had in other classes. In exchange, he became a Level 8 [Steward] right off the bat.

No one in Riverfarm had ever experienced anything like it. I hadn’t either, but I knew what it was.

“It’s called class consolidation, Durene.”

“That’s what Prost said! I heard about it—like how a [Commander] could take the [Soldier] class and [Sergeant] class and turn it into one thing, but—all of Prost’s levels? They’re all gone and…he only gets eight?”

“I think it’s because all of his farming experience doesn’t transfer over into being a [Steward], Durene. It gives him some insights, but it is a sacrifice. Mind you, he can still farm and I think he’ll have some of his Skills or all of them still, but he’s got a new class now that supersedes his old ones.”

Durene is tearing at her hair, practically out of her mind with all these revelations. She paces around the cottage, and now she stops and stares at me.

“Wait, you knew that was going to happen, Laken? How?”

I smile mysteriously and tap at my lips.

“Let’s just say I had an inkling, Durene. As for the how…I’ll tell you later. How’s Prost taking the change? Never mind, let’s go find him. I’ll have breakfast in the village.”

We hurry out of her cottage. For once no one’s waiting to greet me—everyone’s too busy gawking at Prost. He’s at the center of attention in the village.

It seems his family, his two surviving daughters and wife regard his loss of levels as a terrible thing—but more than made up for by taking a ‘superior’ class. When everyone finds out that I’m the one behind Prost’s class, I think they might mob me, demanding how I did it and asking—hinting, rather—that they would love to be a [Lord] or [Knight] or so on. Prost has to assert his new class and Skills to restore order.

After a while, we get back to work. Prost has several valuable new Skills, all of which he confides in me and no one else. Chief among them are [Talent Finder], and [Eye of Need], which helps him find the people best suited for a task, whether they know it or not. He can also tell what we’re low on and what issues are most critical and require attention.

In short, he’s turned overnight from a [Farmer] into someone with the right skillset for what I need. The change in his class doesn’t change him as a person, but it’s terrifying to see how competent and sure of himself he became from me telling him he had a different class.

That knowledge and the knowledge that the advice I was given was right weighs on my mind for all of twenty minutes before the adventurers get my attention. Beniar and Odveig have apparently nominated Wiskeria to talk to me, perhaps because she’s the most well-spoken.

I don’t care, but it gives me an opportunity to get another measure of her as she delivers her report. The adventurers have traveled in every direction for quite a few miles thanks to the Windfrozen Rider’s mounts, and found any number of spots devastated by the avalanche, but few dangers to speak of.

“We uncovered what looks like a bear’s den in the hills, but there’s no other large animals or monsters nearby. We’ll keep an eye on it, but the bear should stay put until the spring. With your permission, we’ll range further afield and try to bring back some fresh meat.”

Wiskeria’s report is concise and to the point. She gives me her opinion that the village is safe from all but opportunistic scavenger animals—the occasional fox and squirrel—and the adventurers are already growing restless, looking for a challenge.

I give her full rein to have some of the adventurers hunt and others help with the village, and then bring up a topic more important to me.

“I hope you and the others weren’t too surprised by my, ah, class. I didn’t mean to keep it hidden, but the attention would have been troublesome in Invrisil. Are you surprised, Wiskeria?”

The [Witch] pauses for a moment before she replies.

“I am…amazed, your majesty. I hope my team has not offended you in any way. Odveig was worrying, and I think Beniar is afraid to speak with you.”

I listen to her voice. Wiskeria’s tone is straightforward, but there’s not as much stunned incredulity in her tone as there is in the other adventurers when I speak to them. I shake my head.

“I took no offense. But I hope your teams can be counted on to be a bit discreet?”

“Of course, sir. If you wish it, none of us will speak about your class.”

I smile.

“And you haven’t already sent back word to Invrisil that I’m an [Emperor]?”

This time I sense Wiskeria hesitate. Aha.

“I—”

“I don’t mind. Just please know that I’d prefer an unpleasant truth to a lie to my face.”

“Yes, your majesty. My deepest apologies.”

She bows her head and I feel uncomfortable. I cough.

“I imagine you have some questions about why I choose to settle in Riverfarm. And who I am, I suppose.”

“A…few. Would you indulge me, sire?”

She’s looking at me. I smile again.

“I’m afraid that whatever questions you have will have to wait, Wiskeria. However, I do want to talk with you soon about what I’m doing here and what the Celestial Trackers and the Windfrozen Riders might gain from staying here longer.”

A pause. Then Wiskeria’s voice.

“You want us to stay here. To become your subjects.”

She’s sharp. I cover my reaction with a delicate nod.

“It’s an offer I’m thinking of. I’m not asking you to decide right away. And if you think it would bother the others, by all means wait before telling them. I’d just like you to watch what’s going on here. And then decide.”

I left Wiskeria with that. I can’t force her to do anything, and there’s so much I have to do. I’ll show her what Riverfarm could be by doing. And learn more about her too. But what was it I was told? Ah, yes. An empire is built upon the strength of its subjects. I need more than Riverfarm’s villagers if I want to create someplace safe.

It really was good advice I got.

Day 59

I was in the center of the village, going over plans for the new village with Prost when it happened. The bear that the Celestial Trackers had found woke up. It may have been hungry, or perhaps the avalanche changed whatever internal clock it was using for hibernation. Maybe it was just pissed off, but the results were the same.

The bear came down into the village. That might not sound like much, but I think anyone who’s ever seen a bear up close would understand.

“Bear attack!”

“Get to safety!”

“Dead gods, look at the size of it! It’s not a bear! It’s a Mossbear!”

“Get around it! Wiskeria, cast a spell! Someone get me my horse!”

Adventurers scatter and horns blow as the scouts on the perimeter sight the bear and raise the alarm. The bear, or rather Mossbear might have just woken up, but it charges into the village with incredible speed.

From my position in the center of the village, I can sense the villagers rushing away from the bear. Prost is busy shouting for people to retreat to the barn as adventurers try to form up. Some charge the bear and strike at it from the side. It turns, knocks a girl with a sword across the ground with a single paw and roars as an arrow bounces off of its fur.

“Oh shit.”

I can ‘see’ the bear’s form as it scatters the adventurers. It is easily three times as large as the biggest warrior here, and it looks like a tank made out of fur and muscle. Its coming right in my direction, too, towards where all the food in the barn is kept—and all the people.

“Fire! I mean, loose the arrows and get me a fire spell!”

“It’s not working! It’s too wet and the fur is too thick!”

Adventurers are loosing arrows at the bear and I can see Beniar running for his horse. But the problem is that a bear of this size is a huge armored target with all of its fur. Wiskeria scorches it with a spell and another adventurer mage hurls shards of stone at it—the bear just roars and keeps coming.

Towards me. At some point I realize I should run, but it is far too late. The bear is moving across the ground faster than I can run. I look around, searching for somewhere to hide where it can’t reach me. Then a huge figure slams into the bear from the side. I hear a roar almost as bestial as the bear and see Durene.

I’d forgotten how tall Durene is, and how large. She towers over the other adventurers as she grabs the bear, punches it, and sends it reeling backwards. One of the adventurers lashes at the bear’s side with a sword, barely cutting into it, but a second punch from Durene makes the bear back up.

It rises on two legs and tries to slam its entire weight on Durene. She grabs a paw and head-butts it. The bear grows, tries to bite Durene’s neck, and then claws her as she dodges.

Its claws are sharp, and they cut into her arm. Durene cries out and I sense blood hitting the ground. But she doesn’t fall back. She raises a fist as Beniar races towards the bear. It’s growling, and I know how dangerous bears can be. I don’t realize I’m running forwards until the bear is right in front of me.

“Stop!”

My voice is a shout, and I can feel the command in my tone strike the bear. And everyone else as well. Durene, Beniar—his horse slows and the world pauses around me. The bear stops too. It stares at me, making a faint noise that’s half warning, half inquisitive.

“Stop.”

I stare at the bear, quivering as I sense how huge it is. Durene’s got a handful of its fur, but it looks like it could savage her in a moment if it gets the upper hand. How would the adventurers kill it? It would be a terrible battle and there are too many innocents around. I stare at the bear.

It’s starting to move. My command only works for a moment. And the bear is hurt now, angry. It growls at me and I see Durene take a firmer grip on it. Her fist is clenched. She’s unarmed. My [Paladin]. Why haven’t I gotten her a weapon?

This is my battle as much as hers. I stare at the bear. And then I open my eyes. I stare, sightless, at the huge bear. I can feel an…intensity in my gaze. Something stronger, frightening. A Skill. [Intimidating Glare].

“Begone. Go back to your home. Leave my subjects alone.”

The bear whines. It’s not aggressive. I stare at it, forcing myself to keep up the intensity, project my will. It’s a battle of wills. I’m a [Beast Tamer] in this moment and an [Emperor]. I tell the bear that I am not food. My village is not food. I speak to it.

And it obeys. The bear twists and Durene lets go. It slowly begins to lope out of the village, into the forest. Adventurers hurriedly make way.

“I’ll take a force and go after it!”

Beniar is the first to recover. He gestures at the others and I stop him.

“No. Don’t antagonize it. That bear could kill some of you—leave it be for now. I don’t think it’s coming back.”

He hesitates, and then bows his head towards me. I stumble backwards, and someone catches me.

“You scared me to death! Don’t do that! What if you’d gotten hurt?”

“You did get hurt!”

I reach towards Durene as she cradles me in her arms. I know she’s wounded. I can feel the blood and hear her beating heart. Durene grunts as she puts a hand over the gashes on her arm. I feel anxiously at them. They’re not thick, but I demand a healing potion for Durene, despite her objections.

Gamel rushes towards me with a potion. Odveig and Wiskeria approach with deepest apologies and explanation for why the bear could have woken up so suddenly. I calm everyone down, assure the adventurers I’m not angry, talk with them about safeguards, have a watch posted on the cave, and life resumes.

It’s moments like that which break up the day and make you realize how special life is. Which is why Durene and I retired to my cottage for a few hours.

Ahem. Afterwards, I ponder the encounter with the bear as Durene lies beside me in bed. It was startling and frightening to me more than the others for one reason.

I hadn’t sensed it coming. Oh, I’d known the instant the bear entered the village’s radius, but the adventurers had already raised the alarm. I hadn’t known the bear was coming. If I didn’t sense that, what else might happen that I’m unaware of?

The bear. It’s apparently a Mossbear, a subspecies of the regular bear group that’s bigger and tougher than usual. Magic plus biology comes up with some scary stuff. Although Mothbears are even more feared. Mothbears. What would one of those look…? Never mind.

I can’t tell where it lives. It’s outside of the village’s range, as are the new houses we’re trying to build. That’s a problem. Knowing what’s around me is essential. I can sense the entire village and when someone gets hurt I can tell at once.

Like when one of Gamel’s friends slipped and nearly cut his hand off while trying to cut through a broken beam in one of the houses. I shouted and got a healing potion to him in time. If we’re making a new village, no, if we’re going to keep this village safe, I need to be able to ‘see’ more.

Which means I need to expand my claim on the lands around. The problem is, the area around Riverfarm is wilderness, forest, open ground, rivers…no one owns it and I can’t just say that’s mine. I tried, and it doesn’t work.

I have to do something about that. But maybe later. I lie down next to Durene, my head’s spinning with ideas and thoughts. Safety is a relative thing. It can leave you at any moment. But I’m very grateful I hired the Silver-rank adventurers. They could kill the bear if they had to, despite its size. And Durene’s here. She wrestled the bear.

The village has its guardians. What would happen without them? The next day…I find an answer to that question.

Day 60

The Windfrozen Riders picked up the man on the horse at the road and brought him to Riverfarm. By the time he arrives, looking frozen and practically tumbling off of his saddle, I’m there with Prost, Gamel, Durene, and a hot mug and food for him.

He eats like a beast and nearly weeps when he tastes the hot sausage. He does weep when he takes in Riverfarm and hears about the avalanche. I see him hugging Prost and crying into the man’s shoulder.

Apparently this man is named Helm, and he’s a [Blacksmith] from another village nearby. Well, nearby is a relative term. His village is a good fourteen miles east of here, located by a big prairie. It is called Windrest, and it is burning.

Mister Helm practically throws himself at my feet when he hears who I am. I have to make him sit, and he keeps bowing his head as he explains what’s going on.

“Goblins, milord. There are Goblins attacking every village from here to Mafalt. Raiding parties. They say there’s a Great Chieftain of the Goblins who’s rising in support of the Goblin Lord. They attacked our village—we have nowhere to go.”

I listen in grave silence with the other adventurers. A group of around sixty Goblins had hit Windrest last night. They’d slaughtered a dozen people and torched a few buildings, but what they were after were the animals and winter stores the people had. They made off with two thirds of the village’s goods and a lot of their supplies—and two young women. The villagers had sent word to the nearest town and received assurances that adventurers would be sent out. But the village as it was right now was practically helpless.

They didn’t have coin to hire protection. And they were terrified the Goblins or some other monsters might come back. With nowhere to turn, they’d sent Helm and others to look for aid. They needed food for the winter, someone to protect them…Helm had despaired at the task as he’d ridden from hamlet to village, until he’d come here.

He knew Riverfarm, and when he hears there are two Silver-rank teams guarding the place, his eyes nearly pop out of his head. When he hears I’m an [Emperor], Helm gets down on his knees in the snow and muck.

“Sire, we’ve nothing to offer you. But Windrest will perish as sure as I’m speaking if the Goblins come back. If you could spare your adventurers to guard us, give us just a bit that we might live, I swear we’ll repay you!”

“You can’t ask Emperor Laken for that!”

Prost is outraged. He speaks up before I can calm him down, addressing me as much as Helm.

“Take away our protection? We’ve barely enough food for ourselves! If we spared the grain and meat to keep your village alive, we’d be stabbing ourselves in the back!”

“We can’t live, Prost. Not with what we have. We’re this close to selling what we own and going to the nearest town to become [Beggars], the lot of us.”

Helm turns his ashen face towards Prost, looking wretched. He knows he’s asking, but he has to ask. A small village that suffers this kind of raid in the winter…I understand.

But still, I can’t give him either adventuring team. Goblins. If they hit Windrest, they will come to Riverfarm. I know it and feel a chill. But the people…

What would anyone do? I look at Helm and know there is only one thing I can say. Prost is looking at me with pain in his eyes. I glance at him, and nod.

“Bring your people here, Mister Helm.”

The [Blacksmith] looks up, eyes widening. I look around at the other villagers, at the adventurers, at Laken and Durene. I nod at Prost.

“We might not have enough food for all of us at the moment. We don’t have much room, but we do have people who can protect everyone. I’ll do something about food if it comes to it. But I will not let your people die if I can help it.”

“Thank you, your majesty! Thank you! We’ll never forget it!”

Helm tries to kiss my hands. I order him to get some hot food in him and tell him I’ll send an escort to Windrest. When the man is eating a second meal—he looks half-starved—I glance over at Prost.

He looks worried. Mister Prost meets my eyes, a thousand unspoken problems at the tip of his tongue. I understand. But I can’t address his fears now. That’s not what I need to say. Not in this moment. I glance around as I see every eye in the village fixed on me and smile slightly. I nod at my [Steward].

“Mister Prost, I think we’re going to need a lot more houses.”

4.21 E

Day 61

I used to be afraid of getting up in the morning. Or rather, reluctant. There are days when I want to crawl into my warm blankets and hide. Sleep is an alluring thing.

Funny. Having someone I love changes that. I feel Durene’s presence when I sleep and when I wake—she’s inevitably up before I am. And because I miss that, I get up.

That still doesn’t mean I like the sensation of wandering around Durene’s cottage and getting dressed in the morning any better. Durene is quite warm at night—enough so that blankets are necessary and clothing is not, but in the morning, her absence makes things chilly.

Is it undignified for an [Emperor] to walk around looking for a clean shirt and arguing with his pet bird? If it is, only Durene sees that aspect of me. When I exit my cottage, I am dressed, fed, and mostly coherent.

Today’s a big day. Just like yesterday. The man from Windrest, Helm, is due to return with his villagers tonight. I sent him back with an escort and the Wildfrozen Riders will have left already to escort the villagers down the road to my village.

I hope they make it here safely. Goblin attacks are on the rise and many villages are in danger. That’s why this morning I make it a priority to talk with the two adventurers who are waiting for me first.

“Odveig, Wiskeria, can I trouble you to talk this morning? Durene has some tea hot in the cottage. Prost, is there anything I need to take care of at the moment?”

“Nothing, sire. Gamel and I will await you in the village.”

Prost gives me a surprisingly elegant bow and he and Gamel retreat. The two female adventurers, the leader and sub-leader of the Celestial Trackers, exchange glances. The shorter one with the mace shifts uncomfortably.

“I would hate to intrude Mister L—I mean, your majesty!”

“No need to worry about formalities, Odveig. I’ve told you that.”

“Sorry, milord.”

I smile reassuringly at her. She’s clearly uncomfortable around me, still. Wiskeria on the other hand seems to have adjusted to the current situation quite well.

“It’s quite cold out. I’d like to ask about the Goblin attacks and what you know of them.”

“Ah!”

Odveig seems relieved; I can hear her tone lighten and sense her posture change. She nods at Wiskeria.

“If that’s what the problem is, we can talk about the Goblins. There’s nota problem in my eyes, but we’ll know more about the threat once the villagers return, right enough.”

There’s something funny about the way she says ‘not a’, as if it’s one word. Perhaps it’s because I’m blind, but that instantly puts a smile on my face to hear an accent so nicely distinct.

Funny, I can’t help but think of her as Scottish or of some similar heritage. Her accent’s a good bit different, but there’s that name and…wait, is Odveig a Scottish name? No…I don’t think so. What country then?

Ah, does it matter? There’s only so many ways words can be written in any language, and this world’s fixation on the English language means there would be parallels. And why does everyone speak English? Ryoka had a theory…

I lead the two young women inside—well, Odveig is definitely older than I am, and Wiskeria’s probably older too—and they take a seat on one of Durene’s oversized stools and sip from her mugs. Durene’s already left to help in the village.

“It seems like a lovely cottage, sire.”

Wiskeria sits comfortably in Durene’s home. I can’t detect a hint of disingenuity in her voice, so I hope she’s being honest.

“Yeah, it’s ah, a really nice place, your majesty.”

Odveig is a poor liar. I can sense her sitting across from me, looking around anxiously and then at me while she clutches her mug in both hands. She hesitates.

“Not to pry, but why are you staying here? As I said, it’s wonderful but…wouldn’t it be safer to sleep in the village? I know a few good houses have been dug out—they’d surely be more comfortable than here—not that here is—”

She stumbles over her words and shuts up, embarrassed. I smile at her again.

“I’m sure it would, but this cottage has sentimental value to me, Odveig. I first met Durene here, and it’s a fine place for me to sleep and work from. I seldom stay here anyways; it’s got a few of my possessions, and a bed, which is all a good home needs.”

“Ah. Well. That’s good. Uh, you said you wanted to talk to us about Goblins? Your majesty?”

I hope she can get over her awkwardness soon. Covering an internal sigh, I reach for my mug. Oops. It’s empty.

“Allow me.”

Wiskeria takes the tea pot over the fire and fills the cup for me quite gracefully. I’m surprised—she could be a [Maid], not a [Witch] for how coordinated she is. I nod to her.

“Thank you, Wiskeria.”

Yes, Wiskeria and Odveig are an odd duo. Odveig’s clearly at home with the mace she uses, but she’s far more awkward outside of battle, and that’s presumably why she turns to Wiskeria for advice so often. Wiskeria, the [Witch] often seems to have answers when Odveig falters.

She’s competent, quiet, well-spoken and…my first pick if it comes to it. But enough about that. I’ll get to know them more over the next few days. I steeple my fingers together as if I’m at a board meeting and lean over the table.

“Goblins. I know they’re attacking villages all over the place. Is that normal? It seems like these villages are prey to any kind of monsters that come along. How could anyone survive like this?”

Wiskeria and Odveig exchange a glance. It’s Wiskeria who speaks for the both of them. I can sense that she wears some kind of glasses—spectacles I think these ones are called. She adjusts the frame as she speaks.

“Goblin attacks are common in most places of the world as I’m sure you know, sire. However, around Invrisil, they’re known to be well-coordinated and particularly nasty. Not that they’re particularly common or this vicious—mostly, Goblins will raid a farm and steal what animals they can, make away with a [Farmer]’s stores—sometimes kill, but usually they just want food. These ones are different.”

“It’s this new Great Goblin Chieftain. There was word a while back—a group of women were found outside the gates of Merendia not two weeks back. Apparently a Goblin tribe of all things left them there.”

“A Goblin tribe? But wait—these women—were they—?”

The silence from both Wiskeria and Odveig confirms my darkest suspicions. Odveig clears her throat.

“It’s just rumor and hearsay, but I heard that this Goblin tribe actually rescued them. Apparently, there’s a huge Goblin tribe living in a nearby mountain—Dwarfhalls Rest it’s called. We had no notion it was occupied, but there’s a Great Goblin Chieftain living there, or so the women claim.”

“A Great Chieftain?”

“I’d never heard of it myself, your majesty. It’s caused panic all over the nearest cities once they heard of it, especially with this Goblin Lord to the south.”

“Right. Goblin Lord south, Great Chieftain around here.”

It’s hard keeping track of this Goblin news Durene and the others seem so well-versed in. I’ve never met a Goblin. They sound like horrible monsters, though. Very Tolkein-esque. And a Great Chieftain is apparently bad news. City-ending bad news, which is a horrible thought.

“It seems this other Goblin tribe splintered from the mountain. The woman claimed there was fighting and they were helped to escape. Well, the upshot of that is that the Goblins that still remain in the mountain are hopping mad. Probably lost a lot of food or whatever they were hoarding, so they’re hitting villages and towns with massive raiding parties. Not just a few Goblin stragglers with knives and rocks—Hobgoblins and lots of smaller Goblins with real weapons.”

That sounds like exactly the sort of thing I didn’t want to hear. I must look worried, because Wiskeria hastens to assure me.

“You paid for both our group and the Windfrozen Riders, sire. We’re capable of fighting off any lone raiding party aimed at a village. However, it might be best to take precautions.”

“Indeed. Thank you for telling me. If you don’t mind, I’d like to discuss exactly what you had in mind. These Goblins…say they came to this village. How would you prefer to fight them off?”

That’s the first part of my day. After talking with both adventurers, I immediately head into the village and find Prost.

He’s busy supervising a bunch of young men and women who are busy cutting down and then cutting up trees. I’m no carpenter, so the flurry of movement is all a mystery to me. But this is the first step on getting those new houses done.

“Mister Prost.”

“Your majesty! What can I do for you?”

“A lot, unfortunately. I’ve just talked with Wiskeria and Odveig—they’re concerned about Goblin attacks and so am I.”

My voice is loud enough that the other villagers working on the trees glance up. Prost sounds concerned.

“Yes, your majesty. We’ve heard the same. It’s customary for a few of the older folk with levels to organize a militia of sorts, but that’s only if we think there’s a handful of Goblins hiding out. If there’s a lot, we can only trust to adventurers.”

“True. But that doesn’t mean we have to sit idly knowing there are Goblins around. I was thinking we could add a palisade to the list of things we’re building.”

“A palisade, sir?”

Palisades. Fences made of sharpened wood stakes. Prost is certainly familiar with the idea, but Riverfarm never had any walls of any sort. Nevertheless, when I give him the idea he agrees it’s possible. Only…

“Only, it’s difficult, sire. I have this lot hewing the wood and then planing it for construction with hand-tools, but that’s a far cry from a sawmill, which is what I’d prefer. It’ll be slow going without more hands…”

“We’ll get those soon enough. However, I’m not suggesting we put up walls all the way around the village. A few to block off the most undefended routes would be good to start with. I was thinking around the barn, using the back as a wall, you see?”

“Oh! Right!”

Prost and I do a short tour of the village and go over how many trees he’d need for that, and the time it would take. When he goes off to shout that he needs more hands for trees, I wander back over to Gamel. I heard his voice and sensed he was among the workers there.

“Gamel, how’s work going?”

The young man pauses with some sort of long iron bar in his hands. He’s using it to keep the log steady while others hack at it with axes. It looks complex, and I’m sorry to have stopped him, but he and the others immediately jump to their feet.

“Your majesty!”

“I don’t want to disrupt you. I just thought I’d ask how you’re doing.”

“Well, sire. I’m happy to be helping and be back in the village. I uh, this is Tessia and Erhart. Tessia’s a childhood friend. She and I, uh—”

Gamel stammers and introduces me to two people, one of whom is a young woman he’s clearly biased towards. They introduce themselves, bowing and curtseying awkwardly—although both are wearing trousers and thick clothing because it’s cold.

“Your majesty, I’m honored.”

The young woman known as Tessia has a quiet voice as she introduces herself. Erhart seems tongue-tied at meeting me.

I smile at Tessia, and then remember a young woman with a shard of wood sticking out of her leg as the digging team pulls her out of the snow. She remembers too, and bows low over my hand as I offer it.

“I—I wanted to say…thank you. I can’t ever say what it means—I thought when I was down there—”

Her voice breaks. I grip her hands as Gamel reaches for Tessia’s shaking shoulders.

“I know. I’m glad I could help.”

That’s all. I leave the two to the tree and step away. I’ve had similar conversations with almost all of Riverfarm’s people at one point or another. It’s not embarrassing so much as painful when I speak to them.

I wish I could have saved them all. But I know what was impossible.

Something else attracts my attention as I talk about how many trees need to be cut for the new defenses. I sense a large number of bodies entering the outskirts of the village and hear shouts coming from that direction.

“Prost. I think the people from Windrest are here.”

Prost and I hurry over to where the commotion is happening. In my sense of the village I can tell a huge crowd has entered, accompanied by a few donkeys pulling wagons, overloaded carts with valuable possessions—

It’s a nightmare. I didn’t expect an entire village’s worth of people! No—I did expect it, but seeing the population of Riverfarm double in a moment blows me away. If I didn’t have my inner view of the village, the noise alone would render my sense of hearing useless.

“There he is!”

I hear a voice. Helm is shouting and waving towards me and Prost as we stride towards the crowd. I hear the majority of voices cut off, and then every eye is on me. A few people begin whispering incredulously in the crowd.

“Is that him? Is that—”

“An [Emperor]? In Izril?”

“Why’s he got his eyes closed? You can’t mean he’s truly blind? Not—”

“Attention!”

Prost’s voice shouts across the entire village. I can sense the man standing tall beside me. He waves a hand and the villagers fall still. Oh, well if Prost’s got it—I relax a bit. Too soon!

“Kneel before Emperor Laken, the Protector of Riverfarm! In his mercy, he has allowed you to—”

I elbow Prost in the side and cut him off before he can say anything more. Okay, not what I hoped he would say. I clear my throat, and take a few steps forwards. Every eye is on me. I speak, calmly, reassuringly.

“I am Laken Godart. An [Emperor].”

Voices. Murmuring. I wait for silence, and go on.

“I welcome you to Riverfarm, people of Windrest. Please know that you will be safe here. However, while you stay in my domain, you must obey me as your ruler.”

Shock—I wish I could see their expressions, with my eyes. I sense people shifting around me. But I don’t move. I am that I am. Calm. This is how it is.

“I own these lands. If you cannot accept that, I am afraid there is no place for you. But know this: while you are here, I will do everything in my power to protect you. You have my word on it.”

Silence. Then I hear someone clapping. Prost. This time it’s what’s needed. The people of Riverfarm begin cheering my name, and then I hear the people of Windrest take up the feeling. They shout my name and cluster around me.

Do they believe I’m an [Emperor]? I don’t know, but Durene tells me I have a look about me that makes me different. And whatever they believe, I’ve promised them safety. So they shout my name and a man fights his way to me.

“Your majesty, it’s me! Helm, sire!”

I find my hand being shaken rapidly by huge, callused hands that nearly break mine. I extricate myself from Helm’s grip as he shouts at me.

“We’re ready to work, sire! I know there’s houses needing to be dug out and more built—us Windrest folk have brought our tools and there’s some good [Carpenters] and [Builders] among us! Just say the word and we’ll do what needs doing, milord! I’m a [Blacksmith]! I have my anvil—I’d sorely love to ply my trade here, if your lordship’s willing?”

Didn’t I hear that Izril has a lot of [Lords] and [Ladies]? It seems like I’m being treated like a more outstanding version of one. I nod at Helm, raising my voice so the people around me can hear.

“We’ll have work for you soon, Mister Helm. If you’ve an anvil, all the better. We could use nails, repairs to tools that were damaged in the avalanche, more nails…there’s always work for a [Blacksmith], as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Yessir! And the rest of my kin—I’ve a cousin and two daughters, what will they—”

Helm’s voice is anxious. I place a hand on his shoulder—amazing the people around me since I’m talking and moving with my eyes closed—and reassure the man.

“Everyone will work, don’t you worry, Mister Helm. So long as people work, they’ll have a roof over their heads and a hot belly and a place to sleep. We might have to build the roofs first, but…if you have any concerns, Prost, my [Steward], will handle them.”

When I mention Prost’s class I hear gasps, none more loudly than Helm’s own. As if my words have summoned him, Prost strides into the crowd and takes the attention of the group off of me.

“The [Emperor]’s not a man who has the time to deal with you louts himself! Line up—divide yourselves by classes, the lot of you! I’ll put families together once we’ve sleeping places sorted out—leave your tools and such over there! We’ll organize it later I said! And we’ll share what we have—no hoarding! Helm, who’s the [Village Head] around here?”

I walk away from the group and watch Prost get to work. He’s efficient. The people of Windrest know what to do, and when he tells them where to put their belongings and what needs doing, experienced workers like the [Carpenters] immediately peel off and get to work on the felled trees, while other [Woodcutters] grab axes and head towards people cutting.

More people go to the barn to help unload the carts, quite a number of women and a few men stay to manage the children, and in the midst of it all, an old man with a limp, bad posture, and a desperate note in his voice grabs me.

“Your majesty, I beg a word.”

“Certainly, uh—”

“Jelov, your majesty! I’m afraid that your man Prost might not have a job for me! I—I’m old and might not be worth the effort of keeping, but I beg your mercy! Please!”

He looks desperate, and no wonder. He’s the oldest person I’ve seen in this world, and his hands are as contorted as his back. I calm him down and take him a few feet away from the crowd around Prost.

“I’m sure there’s work for you Jelov. What’s your class?”

“Woodworking sire!”

“Oh? Well, if you’re a [Carpenter]—”

The man’s voice contorts with equal measures agony and indignation.

“I’m no [Carpenter], your eminence. I’m a [Carver]—damned class though it is! I carve toys of wood, hilts, handles—my hands can’t hold an axe in my old age, much less lift all that weight! There’s not a call for it at the moment, not now with folks building and whatnot. No need for toys when there’s not enough places to sleep, but it’s all I can do!”

He looks pleadingly at me.

“I wouldn’t dare ask normally, but I’ve a granddaughter and if I can’t work—”

“Of course you can work! If carving’s what you do, we’ll let you carve, Jelov. Toys? Why wouldn’t we need them? Children have to play after a disaster, and I’d consider it a blessing to have things to occupy them.”

The old man’s eyes widen as I interrupt him. He looks so relieved he might faint. I can see why—if a village is in dire straits, the elderly might be the first to be deemed expendable.

“Why thank you sire, I’d do whatever needs doing—I could fletch too, although I’m a slow hand if it’s not with a carving knife—”

“No, no. Carving’s just the thing. You could help me with a project I need doing.”

Is it coincidence Jelov found me? I recall one of the things—a piece of advice I’d been given. Intrigued, Jelov cocks his head to one side, his beard blowing in the wind.

“You’d like something carved, [Emperor] Laken, sire? I can do detailed woodwork. A piece for your mantle?”

“More like a pole in the ground. I’m thinking of a large wooden pole, Jelov, the kind of thing you could plant in the ground and leave for years. Like a signpost, only…etched.”

“Etched? Ah, you mean illustrated with letters and so on, sire? I could do that! Is there a name for this piece you’d want?”

“Less of a piece, and more of a marker. Let’s call it a, uh, totem pole of sorts.”

The old man starts looking worried again, and just when I’d calmed him down.

“Totem, sire? What kind of wood is totem? We’ve naught but cedar trees around here mainly, although I know a good birch—”

“Uh, not that. It’s a kind of carving. Which I’d greatly desire. Do you think you could take a large block of wood, around this wide—”

I measure a square about a hand-and-a-half wide in each direction and eight feet high for Jelov and tell him what I’m thinking. Soon the old man’s stroking at his beard and chattering to me, spraying me and the nearby surroundings with a bit of spit as he does. His earlier timidness is gone as his love of the craft—and pride—takes over.

“A pole like that? Pshaw—oops, sorry ‘bout that, your majesty. Carving a few fancy shapes into this much wood? Naught a problem. See, the issue’s in varnishing and I know a few young lads who’d do it right quick if you let me have them—and I’ve the oils and resins I bought from an [Alchemist]. Served me well these last few years—no, I could have it carved up in a day or two. The processing’s the thing, see? And design of course.”

“So quickly?”

I edge away from Jelov, but he just crabs over to me, talking excitedly. Aw, well, who needs a dry face anyways? Isn’t spit good for the skin?

“I’m not this old for nothing, sire! I’ve many a Skill—reckon I could get a good start, just so long as I know what you’re wanting. Got anything in particular you want on it, or just some fancy etchings? I can do fancy—folk think I’ve written mage symbols when they’re nothing but scribbling on the bark.”

“I have an idea, thank you. I’d like the top to have a symbol. This would be a, uh, marker of sorts, so I want it to show that.”

“Right, right. What kind of symbol?”

“How about…an eye?”

I really hadn’t though this part through too much. I need a symbol of my domain, so an eye naturally pops into my mind. I sketch an Egyptian-style eye into the ground and Jelov nods appreciatively.

“Not hard at all. You want two of them?”

“One’s fine. It would go here at the top, and then maybe carve a line to separate it…can you put the eye in a, ah, triangle? A pyramid? It would look like this.”

“Ooh, now that’s occult, sire. Feels like it’s staring at me, so it does. And them little lines—are they bricks?”

“Yes. Yes, that’s a pyramid. An ancient structure. And below it, some ground—”

“Ah! A floating eye in a pyramid-thingy! Very good. I can carve that no problem sire.”

Jelov’s making encouraging noises, probably taken with the symbol I’m designing for him. Myself, I feel a bit…embarrassed. It’s not as if I’m coming up with the design, obviously.

It’s just a silly thought. But the Eye of Providence—a part of the U.S. bill and often associated with the Illuminati—is a cool symbol. It makes for as good an inscription as any, and I have a sense that this totem pole, this marker, needs to have this kind of symbol.

Because it will represent my people, my village. Me. And I can always change it later.

“That’s the head taken care of your majesty. What’s the next bit?”

“Next bit? Uh…”

There’s a lot of totem pole to go. I frown, thinking on the go.

“How about some fancy symbols below it? You could do a—a hawk. And a village, maybe? And then you write on it sideways—‘Claimed by Emperor Laken Godart’. How about that?”

Jelov’s busy drawing in the dirt. When he’s done, I stare at the plans for a totem pole practically covered by ‘fancy occult stuff’ that has the old man rubbing his hands together in glee. I smile.

“Add whatever you think might be good. Maybe carve it so it’s not just a rectangle of wood? I’ll leave it to you, but when you have the final design, show it to me. I’ll…need quite a few once we have the design set.”

“At once, your [Emperor]-ness! I’ll uh, need a piece of wood—”

“I’ll have Prost get some to you right away. And helpers if you need it, but for now the pole?”

“At once! Don’t you worry milord, I’ll have the pole ready to show you tomorrow. Let me just find my best knife—have to cut with the best tools I say. Have you met my daughter? Want to show her the trade, by your lord’s leave of course. A natural. Woodworking’s in the family blood. You’ll see—it’ll be my finest work, my word on it. Won’t let you down. I recall one time I did a piece—”

Somehow, I get away from Jelov and by the time I do, the village is bustling with activity. Prost is in the thick of it, and I find myself talking with people, reassuring them, pointing out my adventurers and…being an [Emperor], I guess. I have an answer for every trivial problem, which isn’t hard, but I’m doing it and everyone’s watching, which is apparently all they need.

The sun has set by the time I have a bowl of hot soup in my hands and am eating it standing up. I’m exhausted from talking, but I have time for one last person who approaches me on horseback.

“What news, Beniar?”

The adventurer and captain of the Windfrozen Riders ducks his head towards me, for once not showering me with compliments or praising himself. He sounds grim, and a bit worried.

“Trouble, your majesty. Windrest was mostly devastated, but it’s hardly the only village. I met a group of travelers on the road heading straight for Invrisil—they say their village was attacked and torched. The Goblins took everything and slaughtered everyone they caught. They’re killing this time, not just raiding.”

I feel coldness inside my heart. Goblins. I nod to the village.

“Do you think they’ll come here?”

“Unless they get what they want, it’s a surety, sire. We’ll double our patrols, but I’d be more comforted if I knew how many Goblins might come our way. We can handle Hobgoblins, a large band, even a Goblin [Shaman] if one of those bastards is hiding among them. But Goblins can come at any time, from anywhere. That’s what makes them dangerous.”

“I understand. And I have a plan to deal with that, Beniar.”

“Do you, your majesty?”

He sounds skeptical. I just smile at him.

“Trust me.”

He hesitates. I can hear him getting off his horse, and then shouting for some soup for himself and fodder for his mount.

“For some reason, I do your majesty. Emperor Laken.”

“Oh?”

I’m a bit uncomfortable with Emperor Laken, but it is who I am. And Beniar seems to think so too. I sense him nodding towards the villagers.

“I’ve never seen a [Lord] shaking common folk’s hands before, much less an [Emperor]. It gives them hope. I…I’m glad you care about villagers, sire. I was one once, too.”

“Villagers. Lords. We’re all people, Beniar.”

He laughs shortly.

“Yeah, but you’d not see a [Lord] care so for common folk.”

“Really? Then—here.”

I hold one of my hands out to Beniar while I cradle the hot soup bowl with the other. He stares at it. I waggle my fingers impatiently.

“Go on, shake it.”

He does, tentatively. I smile at him and take another hot spoonful of soup.

“Well? How does it feel? You’ve just shaken hands with an [Emperor]. I’m no [Lord], Beniar. I’m better than that. I care about all of my subjects. And I’ll protect them no matter what.”

He stares at me.

“Does that include us, sire? Me and my riders?”

“I’ve hired you. While you work for me, I’ll do my best to make sure you’re as safe as anyone else.”

“That’s reassuring to hear, your majesty.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it? Let’s work hard to make sure I’m not made into a liar, Beniar.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

[Emperor Level 10!]

[Skill – Empire: Low-born Militias Obtained!]

[Skill – Rallying Presence Obtained!]

“…Is there an instruction manual or something?”

“Whuzzat, Laken?”

“Nothing, Durene.”

Day 62

People skills. That’s all being an [Emperor] is. People skills. Or is it more like a video game about allocating resources? My job as an [Emperor] is not to manage the details of what I do—I have Prost, Helm, and the other older villagers to take that duty off of me. I look at the grand scheme, give broad orders, deal with situations—

And make sure people do what’s most effective. Which is why Beniar’s enthusiasm can be a problem.

“Give us the order, and we’ll bring back enough game to feed the village, sire! My team can cover countless miles and be back by the end of the day!”

Beniar seems determined to be of help the next day, but in an odd way. He’s offered to hunt, and I admit, having a food source might be just the thing now that we have far more mouths to feed than I had projected for. Prost calculates that we have enough supplies to last for a month, but not through till spring anymore.

Still, I shake my head as I talk with Beniar and the other adventurers in the morning.

“I’d rather have your people patrolling. A few hunters might be acceptable Beniar, but your riders need to patrol.”

“As you say, sire.”

He’s disappointed, but his idea is solid. I turn to Odveig and Wiskeria.

“Do you think you could hunt with your group, Odveig? Wiskeria? If the Windfrozen Riders patrolled, I think we could spare the Celestial Trackers.”

They’re not a mounted group, so the idea seems fine to me. Wiskeria voices her agreement immediately.

“We could send several groups out, sire. There are trails of deer and other animals we picked up—”

It’s Odveig who interrupts her, shaking her head adamantly.

“Not a good idea, Wiskeria. I think we’ll keep our group here by your leave, your majesty. There could be trouble and I’d hate to fail our contract if we don’t keep you safe from all dangers.”

She frowns at Wiskeria and I frown too. But Odveig is the leader and she makes sense. The Mossbear could wake up, or something else could happen.

“If you’re sure. In that case Beniar, I’ll let you take three of your riders and hunt…the rest will spread out with the Celestial Trackers nearby…”

Every day has a challenge. Today’s is rats. Apparently, the new ground Prost is trying to dig up has rats.

In the winter.

“How are there rats, Mister Prost?”

I walk around the edge of the new village boundary. I can vaguely sense this place, mainly because the villagers are laying down the foundations of the new houses as we speak. Prost grimaces.

“The little devils have to make their burrows somewhere, Emperor Laken.”

“Yes, but…what do they eat? How can they survive?”

“There’s root stores in the ground, and the rodents prey on our fields. I reckon there’s a few burrows here—they’ll infest the houses and cause a mess if we can’t get rid of them first.”

“Right…how do we do that?”

Prost sighs, sounding vexed.

“Only way is to dig up all the ground about here with pitchforks and kill the damned vermin as they come out.”

I frown.

“That sounds like it’ll take a lot of time and effort we don’t want to spare.”

“Yes sire, but it’s the only way. We don’t know where they could be hiding—”

Wait. I frown as Prost says that. Rats, hiding in the ground? I feel like…I feel like I might be able to solve this one. I cut Prost off and stare at the ground. This area is mine. Vaguely mine. And I can sense what goes on in the ground, can’t I? I saved the villagers that way. So why can’t I look—

Down.

My senses go beneath the earth. I sense thick, rich loam beneath my feet, roots—the remains of a grass stalk and its system. And across from me—two feet down, a tunnel network. Something moves in it. Big, furry, chewing at a bug that wriggles through the soil—

“Emperor Laken? Sire?”

A hand touches my shoulder and I nearly jump out of my skin. I start, look around. Prost is staring at me with concern in his eyes. I blink at him, and then grin weakly.

“Mister Prost, I think I can solve our problems. But we’ll need a way to kill the rats when they come up. Unless you’re planning on stomping the rats to death or hacking them apart?”

I don’t think I could stand to see that. But Prost only smiles.

“No sire, we’ve a time and tested way to deal with that!”

“Oh?”

—-

Dogs. Eight dogs of varying shapes and colors snuffle around my feet and sniff me, wagging their tails as they circle around Prost and a group of [Farmers] with shovels and pitchforks. I watch as Prost sticks his pitchfork into the loose, frozen earth that’s been broken up and lift it with a grunt.

Something squeaks. I recoil, and the dogs go nuts as a group of rats unearthed by the pitchfork flee. The dogs growl and run down the rodents in moments. The [Farmers] cheer them on, whistling as they unearth more rats which the dogs hunt down with almost contemptuous ease.

Terriers. The world’s finest ratters. Of course, that’s what they were bred for, back when they weren’t just pets but companions. I feel stupid for not thinking of it, but I’m both gratified and entertained to see the dogs in their elements. They clearly love to hunt down the rat nests which I can pinpoint with ease.

That’s right. Just like the villagers trapped under the snow, I can see under the ground. And that means I can see every rat that’s infested the fields we’re trying to turn into a new area for houses.

It feels almost dirty to have this ability. And I have to say, when Prost’s pitchfork comes up with a tiny impaled rat on it, still squeaking and struggling I feel awful. But they are rats. They’ll destroy a field and breed until they start eating each other given half a chance, and Prost and the other farmers clearly hate them with a passion.

“Damned fine work, your majesty!”

One of the farmers shouts at me, earning a jab from his friends for swearing, but I only grin and wave at him. This is one of the cases where my [Emperor] talents really help the villagers in a concrete way. I wonder if all [Emperors] can see their lands like I do. Am I just attuned to these senses more than others because I’m blind?

Ah, well, I can’t tell.

I hear a squawk as another group of rats makes it to the surface to be pounced upon by the dogs the villagers of Windrest brought with them. I look over and hear fluttering wings.

“Frostwing giving you trouble, Gamel?”

“I think she wishes to join in the hunt, sire.”

Gamel struggles with my pet bird. Frostwing’s bigger than ever and antsy at being cooped up in Durene’s cottage all day, so I’ve asked Gamel to bring her with me when I walk around the village. It might have been a mistake. Frostwing is struggling as she perches on his arm—he has to wear a cloth armguard to keep her talons from puncturing his skin.

“Calm down, Frostwing.”

She shuts up for a second, and I can sense her head turning to glare at me. I nod to Prost.

“Here’s another nest.”

I tap the ground and the man comes over and sticks his pitchfork in the dirt. The dogs tense and he heaves—rats go flying.

Frostwing shrieks as the rats run about. I hear Gamel struggling to keep the bird steady on his arm as she flaps wildly. Then her wings open. She launches herself from his arm.

She flies.

Five feet. Frostwing smacks into a rat as it tries to scurry away from one of the dogs. She knocks the rodent aside and then hops towards it, wings spread aggressively. I see Prost yanking one of the excited dogs back as Frostwing pecks at the large rat with her sharp beak. It tries to flee and she hops right after it.

There have been epic battles waged in the name of survival between different animal groups. The duel between the lone rat and the fledgling Frostwing is not one of them. She pecks at the rat and the rat tries to run. Frostwing pursues, hopping rather than flying, and I give her a bit of assistance, blocking the rat with my foot.

Hop, peck. Hop, peck. In the end Frostwing downs the rat, but I have to say, she does not deserve the sense of satisfied pride I feel from her in my mind. As my bird savages the rat she’s killed and begins to disembowel it, I kneel by her side.

“Who’s a good bird? You are. You’re a good bird. Even if you are fairly bad at your job.”

She pecks at me with a bloody beak, and then flares her wings aggressively as one of the villager’s dogs sniffs near her. It retreats, whining, and I decide to pick Frostwing up before she can cause trouble. She agrees to perch on my arm only after grabbing her kill in one talon. On the way back to the cottage she drops the rat. Twice. Nothing would do but I let her grab it again.

Ah, birds. They’re quite stupid. Dumber than dogs at times, which I’ll admit is difficult. But I love mine even so.

—-

“Emperor Laken! Your majesty, I have your pole of totems! Here! Won’t you inspect it?”

At the end of the day Jelov comes to me with a finished pole, just as he’s promised. I inspect the pole with my hands, running my fingertips along the carvings, and feeling the deep-cut symbols in the wood. I get a splinter. Twice.

“It’s not smoothed yet, and there’s work to be done rounding and varnishing, but if you’re satisfied, I can copy the design onto however many poles you want, sire!”

“That will be excellent, Jelov. You’re a fine craftsman.”

“Thank you, your majesty!”

He beams. I wonder whether anyone else in the world has ever been so happy to have their work praised by a blind man. But this new totem pole has caught people’s imaginations. Certainly Durene’s.

“It’s so creepy, Laken! Are you sure you have to have the floating eye-thing? I keep thinking it’s staring at me and Jelov’s carved it onto all four sides, so it’s staring at you no matter where you’re facing!”

“It’s important because it’s a marker, Durene. The symbol marks who I am. Okay, maybe it was a mistake to make it the Eye of Providence, but—”

“Oh, if it’s a symbol, that’s fine. I was worried it’d be on our flag or something!”

I have to laugh as I sit next to her.

“Flag? Our flag? What are you talking about?”

Durene turns to me, surprised, as she munches on some fresh bread that Prost’s wife, Yesel baked in one of the ovens we uncovered this morning.

“Well, we’re obviously going to have a flag. This is your empire, right? Our empire, I mean. You’re going to rule us so we’ve got to have a flag! And a name! I think the Unseen Empire sounds cool, don’t you?”

The question throws me completely for a second. An empire? I suppose that is the logical step, but I’ve just seen what I’m doing as managing a village. But Durene’s already talking about it as if it’s an empire. I try to quell the uneasiness her words provoke with a slight joke.

“We’re far away from an empire, Durene. We’re just a village—”

“Two villages, now.”

“True. But the people of Windrest are just staying here because they’re afraid. Once the Goblins are gone—”

“They’ll still be your subjects. They said so.”

“Who did?”

“The people of Windrest, silly! You promised to keep them safe, remember? It’s as good as being protected by a [Lord], they say, only you’re real. I don’t think they’d go anywhere even if the Goblins were gone.”

The statement leaves me flabbergasted. Silent. Durene chews happily.

“Want some bread? It’s really good and doughy, the way I like it! Laken? Hello? Laken?”

[Beast Tamer Level 5!]

Day 63

The reports of Goblin attacks continue. Beniar brings in two travelers on the road who say their caravan has been attacked by Goblins, a group of well-armed ones that looted their wagons and slaughtered their guards in a moment. I take them into the village. What am I supposed to do?

The situation with the Goblin incursions is clearly getting worse. I have an impromptu meeting with Beniar, Odveig, Prost, and Wiskeria and come to a quick decision.

“Train them.”

“Who?”

“Anyone who wants to be trained. My village needs soldiers to protect it, and not just your adventurers.”

I rest my hands on the table and stare at Beniar, Odveig, and Wiskeria. They sound uncertain, but my mind’s made up. Odveig coughs.

“Begging your pardon sire, but we’re adventurers, not instructors. We can teach basic swordplay and fighting skills I suppose, but—but we can’t lead a group. And it’ll take weeks to make proper warriors out of most of this lot!”

“You don’t have to worry. I have a…Skill that might help matters.”

I grin at Odveig. I gained the [Empire: Low-born Militias] skill two days ago and I’ve been wondering what it does. I can’t help but suspect it would grant my subjects some combat prowess on the field. As for [Rallying Presence]—I can’t help but feel that’s one of the reasons why Windrest’s villagers have grown to trust me so quickly.

Regardless, relying on the two adventuring teams I’ve hired isn’t a good move long-term, which is why I’ve come up with this idea. I nod towards the [Witch] as she adjusts her pointy hat. Indoors. I guess she just likes wearing it.

“Wiskeria, do you think you could teach some of the people with magical aptitudes some magic? Gamel knows a fire spell, but it’s not useful for anything but lighting quick fires. If he could throw fire on the other hand…”

“I could teach them a bit, sire.”

“And I’ll show your young folk some swordplay your majesty, don’t fret! If Odveig wants to look out for Goblins, I’ll gladly demonstrate my Skills!”

Beniar is only too happy with the idea, of course. I smile sardonically.

“If you’re willing Beniar, I’d be grateful. However, I’d like you to take a certain student under your wing personally?”

“Who? Your man Gamel? I could turn him into a decent [Warrior] with enough time. It’d be my pleasure—”

“No. Durene.”

The tent goes silent. I sense Beniar gaping at me, but it’s Wiskeria who agrees first.

“Durene? She’s stronger than anyone I’ve met. As strong as a Minotaur. Stronger perhaps, with her [Enhanced Strength] Skill. Give her a sword and we’d have a warrior capable of facing down a Hob.”

“She’s untrained! And there’s not a sword that would fit her hands. We’d need a custom-built greatsword, and that would cost—”

Odveig protests, but my mind is made up. Within the hour, I have Durene, Gamel, and a bevy of young men and a surprising number of young women who have volunteered to train with the adventurers.

Beniar’s all for teaching everyone how to use a bunch of practice swords that Jelov and some [Carpenters] have thrown together, but I stop him and ask him to run the trainees through some exercises first.

“Exercises, your majesty? What, like swinging a sword? I can do that, but holding a sword’s important. Half of your folk look like they’d cut their thumbs off, swinging the swords like they are.”

I nod, watching Durene lift a huge club made from hammered-together bits of wood. It looks like a poor weapon, but I can’t help but wonder how much damage it would do if she smacked me with it. Certainly the other villagers are keeping away from her, and she’s using a partially-converted door as a shield. It still has the door handle on it.

“I know swordplay is important, but from what I understand, classes and Skills still rely on the body of each individual and their skill, don’t they?”

“True…I suppose I could have them train their bodies a bit. Although your villagers are fairly hale, milord.”

“Hale isn’t the same as trained. I’m thinking of giving them a little test first. Some running, arm exercises—”

“Oh?”

I nod to the excited villagers and eye Riverfarm. It’s an expanded mess of tents and lean-tos as the first few proper houses are going up. But the snow’s mostly cleared by now and there’s a good path for people to run around in.

“Six laps around the village might be good. It’s not too far. If they do that every day when they wake, I think it would help. And pushups. Sit-ups…I’ll show you how to do burpees. It’s a delightful exercise that everyone’s sure to love.”

Is there a bit of devil in me? Perhaps. I smile a bit as I see Beniar go over to the villagers and watch their enthusiasm drain away when they hear what they’re going to be doing. I also studiously ignore Durene’s glare as Beniar leads the villagers away at a run.

I’m no expert at swordplay. I have listened to descriptions of how soldiers train, though, and I am aware that a fit body matters a lot in battle. Is this the right method, teaching villagers how to do exercises that have half of them groaning with muscle pains by the end of it? Maybe, maybe not.

All I know is that by the end of the training session, the excited young villagers are a lot less excited about the prospect of training to be [Warriors]. By the time Beniar has them learning to hold a sword, half of them are looking longingly towards the other villagers and their normal duties.

That’s where I step in. Everyone turns to stare at me as I walk forwards. Beniar’s busy showing them how to strike properly. I raise my voice and address them all.

“I’m glad so many of you want to learn to fight. But please know this: if you want to train, I’ll expect you to do what you just did every day, not just today. You’ll have days to rest, but you’ll be exercising like this as well as training and doing your jobs.”

The young men and women look horrified at the thought. Durene opens her mouth, and I shake my head slightly at her. No favoritism. I look at them all, and then do a rare thing. I open my eyes slightly. I can’t see obviously, but I want to look into their eyes like I’ve heard all good leaders do.

“Yes, I know how you feel. These exercises are grueling. But that’s the point. Learning to fight is not fun. It’s not easy. In fact, if you want to fight, you’ll have to work twice as hard as everyone else.”

There’s silence. I’m sure if I let them go now, not more than one or two would turn up tomorrow. Which is why the next bit has to count. I look at them all, trying to convey my feelings as openly as possible.

“You might ask why you have to work so hard. Well, it’s because being a [Soldier], being a [Warrior] isn’t an easy job. You’re fighting for your life. Not just your lives either—you’ll be fighting to defend your families, your loved ones—it’s not a game. If you want to learn to fight, I’ll gladly let the adventurers train you, but only if you are serious.”

That’s all. I nod to them and step back. I sense the villagers looking at each other. I don’t know how many will come back tomorrow, but to my surprise, Prost comes over for part of the sword fighting lessons. I don’t make him run around the village. He runs about enough without that.

To my surprise, Helm and a few of the other older villagers know how to fight too. Beniar trains with them and some of the adventurers and puts the young people through their paces.

“What do you think?”

I ask him that when the adventurer has returned to drink some water. Beniar mops sweat from his brow and frowns at me.

“Maybe it’s luck or a Skill you have, your majesty, but I’d swear half of those villagers could put up a good fight if you gave them arms. I’d hate to be a [Bandit] gang that tries to rob this place.”

“And Goblins?”

He grimaces.

“Your average Goblin? Hardly a threat, sire. But Goblins around Invrisil are nasty. They have to be—we purge every tribe we come across as a matter of course. And the monsters around here get nasty. So the Goblins—”

“Are just as nasty.”

“Just so, sire.”

“Well, keep training them. I’ll—”

I break off. Frowning, I stare away from the village, in the direction of our cottage. Beniar stares at me.

“Something wrong?”

“There’s someone in my cottage.”

I sense it. But when I get there with a panting Durene and Beniar, there’s no one to be found. However, Frostwing is shrieking her brains out. I ask Durene to look around, but nothing seems to be missing.

“Maybe it was someone from Windrest?”

“Maybe.”

I frown, but there’s nothing I can do, and there’s certainly no reason for me to post a guard on the cottage. Still, I wish I could identify people precisely with my [Emperor] senses. Who would want to check out my cottage in the first place?

It might just be a coincidence. But the next day, I find something else unexpected.

Day 65

“Are you sure we should do this, Laken?”

Durene’s voice quavers a bit as I hike up the slope with her in the lead. I’m grasping the back of her shirt as she walks. I’d normally use my cane, but I’ve grown so accustomed to moving about without it that I leave it in the cottage most days.

However, my [Emperor] senses don’t extend beyond the village limits, and so I’m blind out here. Blind, and possibly making the dumbest mistake of my life.

We’re trudging up a small hill towards the bear’s cave. Yes, the Mossbear’s cave. Durene has a large basket of dried fruits, cured meat, and other goodies. All things a bear might like.

“Why are we doing this, Laken? Couldn’t we just let it sleep?”

“Yes, but the trouble is, I don’t think it’s asleep anymore, Durene. The bear woke up once—it might wake up again. And I’d rather not have it go looking for food, especially if we can parley.”

“With a bear?”

“If we can. Just let me do the talking. You hang back a little bit.”

“What if it charges at you? I’m coming with you!”

“…Okay.”

In truth, I’m grateful. It’s one thing to have a stupid idea, and another thing to carry it out. But the Celestial Trackers have said the Mossbear is moving from his cave now and then, and I’ve been worried about what he might do.

What would you do if a bear was active in your vicinity? Run from it? Set a trap? Hunt it? Bury it in its cave? All of these options were given to me, and so I chose the dumbest idea I could think of myself: feed it.

It’s not entirely insane. I’ve explained my reasoning to Durene and she doesn’t buy it, but it makes sense to me. I was able to speak to the bear once. Intimidate it. Get it to leave. True, I had a bunch of scary humans and Durene with me at the time, but I am a [Beast Tamer]. And what is a bear if not a beast?

It’s just…a lot bigger than Frostwing is, that’s all. I feel Durene stop and stop with her.

“Is it…?”

“Just ahead. I can see the entrance. Laken, if it attacks—”

“Beniar’s waiting with a group of his riders. If the bear’s angry, he’ll lure it away. Just run, and take me with you.”

“If it comes after you I’ll kill it.”

There’s a steel core of determination in Durene’s voice. It shocks me for a moment.

“Don’t risk yourself, please. Running is fine. I know you’re strong, but I couldn’t bear for you to get hurt.”

“Hah!”

“What?”

“Bear. You said bear—”

“Oh, right. Haha.”

I’m too nervous to laugh at my own pun. I reach out and feel Durene deposit the heavy basket into my arms. I step forwards with it, and guided by Durene’s voice, place it at the entrance of the cave.

“Hello? Bear?”

Something ahead of me growls. I back up fast, and hear Durene move. I hear movement—and wish with all my heart I could sense what’s ahead of me. I get the impression of something big and heavy coming my way, and then a wet snuffle. The bear is investigating the basket, but it smells both me and Durene. It growls warningly.

Time for my brilliant plan to go into action. I clear my throat nervously.

“Uh, hi.”

The bear growls. I hear Durene shift and raise a hand.

“Hold on, I’m friendly.”

The bear doesn’t seem to listen. I hear it take a step and then Durene speaks.

“Laken—”

“Stop.”

This time the bear stops dead. I stare ahead, sightless, and hear Durene’s breath catch. Yes, now the feeling’s in me. Will. That is what an [Emperor] is. I project it at the bear, ordering it.

“Listen to me. I am not your enemy.”

It makes a whining sound and I think it backs up. I step forwards and Durene squeaks. But in this moment, as I am, there is no fear. An [Emperor] cannot be afraid when he is ordering a subject, and this bear is my subject. That’s how I must think of it.

“Look at me. See? I am a friend. Friend. And this is food. For you.”

It’s like speaking to Frostwing, I feel. I have a bond with my bird that allows me to feel what she’s thinking. With the bear, I have no such link, but I can still imagine what he’s feeling. Confusion, hunger, maybe a bit of fear—but I am not his enemy.

And I think my voice reaches him. The bear doesn’t retreat and he doesn’t whine—instead he makes a whuffing sound that sounds tentative, almost inquisitive. I smile.

“Hello there. I’m Laken. Who are you?”

Shuffling. Durene makes another noise and I turn to signal her to stay put. And then—fur. I jerk in surprise and feel the bear’s face jerk back from me. Durene moves.

“Stay put, Durene.”

I breathe the words. The bear is only a few inches away from me. I can smell his sour breath, hot on my face. He’s sniffing at me almost like a dog, and I can feel his size. My knees want to quiver. A small, primate part of me wants to shriek and flee. But the rest of me is calm.

He is not my enemy. He is my subject.

And then the bear nudges my face with his. He blows hot air into my face—I sneeze on him. We become friends.

Of a sort. The bear is wary, but when it’s clear neither I nor Durene are openly hostile, he immediately turns his attention to the basket. It’s got all the food I know bears love. He paws at it, knocking the basket over and begins gulping down the food on the floor.

“Laken, do you think I—?”

Durene starts to the bear and it backs up in surprise. I wince as it nearly tramples my foot with its claws.

“Better not, Durene. I think you might be a threat to him. You’re as big as he is—”

“Take that back! I’m not as big—well, maybe I’m sort of—he’s a lot heavier than I am!”

I can hear Durene flushing, but the moment breaks the tension. The bear continues eating. I poke it in the side and it doesn’t even feel the gesture. So I take the moment to run my hands along the bear’s side. It grunts. In pleasure?

“You really are crazy.”

Durene’s voice is wondering. I can hear her edging around the bear for a better view, and then her voice lifts in surprise.

“Hey, what’s that?”

“What’s what, Durene? Is there something in the cave?”

“No, on the bear.”

“What on the bear?”

“It looks—looks like there’s a patch of his fur missing. I can’t see at this range.”

“Wait, what? Where?”

“Along the neck. Can you find it?”

Tentatively, moving very slowly I run my fingers down the bear’s head, trying to find the spot Durene mentioned. The bear lets me do it—it might be my insanity talking or my [Beast Tamer] class, but I have the sense that I can interact with him, at least to this level.

My fingers run across something odd. Short hairs, bristly. The bear farts. I recoil and Durene gags. When the air clears I go back to the bear, coughing.

“Hm. That’s odd.”

Durene’s right. A patch of the Mossbear’s fur is indeed missing. It’s hard to tell with my fingers, but my impression of the bear is that a good chunk of his fur is definitely absent near the nape of his neck.

“Why’s that there? Do you think someone cut it off when we were fighting?”

“No, there’s no blood. And the fur’s too neat. This was no accident but…huh.”

Another mystery. And not one the bear can solve; he eats all of the basket, turns, sniffs me, goes to crap in the woods and walks into his cave. That’s about the extent of my interaction with him; I never claimed I would be best pals with him, and nor is this Winnie the Pooh.

Lovely book. Not many people know that Winnie the Pooh came from a book written by an English author, long before he became a Disney animated character. But I digress.

Durene and I leave the bear’s cave and twenty meters later, Beniar rides out of the woods, practically shouting his amazement. The rest of the village clearly thinks I’m insane and fearless by equal measures.

It’s just more embellishment for my reputation as an [Emperor] if you want to be cynical, but I did it because I wanted to see if I could. I know something now. An [Emperor] can command more than people. I know this because the second test I did was to get a few dogs and march over to the fields where the first house’s walls were already standing upright.

A few rats survived the purge of two days ago. I sense a few under the earth. The dogs pad around me and warily edge back from Durene as I stand in the frozen snow. I point at the earth. At the rats hiding there.

“Out!”

The earth shifts. Three rats wriggle out of the earth and the dogs bark and fall on them. I stare at the ground. One of the rats is staying put.

“So it doesn’t work on all of them.”

“So you can command rats? Can you call me a deer? I’d love to eat fresh meat for dinner.”

Durene looks wistfully at me. I shrug.

“Worth a shot. If I expand the boundaries of my domain, I could try it. Not all of the animals obey me entirely, though. Maybe if I level up as [Beast Tamer]…or is it [Emperor] that decides it?”

“Dunno. Look! Ew! One of the rats is in pieces!”

“I’m just as glad I can’t. Durene, could you kick up the dirt right here, please?”

She does so obligingly. I failed to mention the rat. I didn’t think it would be an issue, but when it ran up Durene’s leg and she screamed—well, I supposed I didn’t think to ask how afraid of rats Durene is. It took several apologies and some cuddling that night to calm her down. But on the whole? Another successful day.

[Beast Tamer Level 7!]

[Skill – Animals: Basic Command Obtained!]

“Wow. I’ll finally be able to make Frostwing stop crapping on my hands.”

“Wha…? Laken, you say something? It’s late.”

“Nothing, Durene.”

Day 66

It’s just past midnight when I hear the pounding on Durene’s door.

“Emperor Laken! Sire! Please get up!”

The shouting wakes me and Durene in an instant. We untangle ourselves from the sheets and I’m the first one at the door. I yank it open and Gamel’s there, gasping and panting for air.

“What is it, Gamel?”

“It’s Beniar! He’s hurt!”

“What? How?”

Gamel opens his mouth and I hear a mortified cry from behind me.

“Laken! Close the door!”

“Oh shit.”

I realize Durene’s in a considerable state of undress as it were. I leap through the doorway as Gamel ducks back, flushing and apologizing. Standing half-naked in the cold, I hear Durene banging around the inside as Gamel shuts the door.

“I’m sorry sire—”

“What’s this about Beniar?”

“He rode back to the village half-dead, sire! His own group found him as the first patrol never came back—we’ve got healing potions on him, but they’re not working fully! Wiskeria says to come quick because she’s got to mix up a brew!”

I leave the cottage at a run, stopping only to grab a coat. When Durene, Gamel and I get to the barn, there’s a crowd of villagers around Beniar, staring and talking anxiously.

“Everyone move back! Give him space!”

Being an [Emperor] has its advantages. The way clears and I can see Wiskeria bending over Beniar, mixing together something in a bowl.

There’s an arrow in his stomach, and a half-empty healing potion on the ground beside him. Despite that, Beniar looks closer to death than life. His face is greenish and Wiskeria’s telling his party not to give him any more of the healing potion.

“The poison’s preventing it from working. The wound won’t heal and you’re wasting potion! Let me finish this.”

“Your majesty.”

Beniar croaks as I kneel by him. He’s still conscious. Apparently he was on his horse and riding this way when his team found him. As for what happened, he insists on telling me himself. He can’t sit up and has to whisper to me as I bend my head down.

“Arrow. Got me and Fabiel while we were riding. Didn’t even see—Fabiel died in a second. I think—I think it’s poisoned.”

“Who shot the arrow?”

“Goblins.”

It’s a whisper that silences everyone around him. I feel something begin churning in my gut. Of course.

“Five of them. They were waiting in ambush. Never seen—heard they did it sometimes. But didn’t expect—they rushed the horses. Fabiel’s is gone—I got away. They didn’t want to pursue. Just kill and loot.”

Beniar choked as someone tried to give him water. He coughed it out and continued as Wiskeria grabbed at her pouch, searching for something to add to the paste she was making.

“They’re not just coming, sire. They’re already here. Hiding.”

I stared at him. Beniar down. One of my adventures dead. All while I’d slept. All without me knowing. The Goblins weren’t anywhere in the village, that I could vouch for. But beyond it? Suddenly, the limits of my senses made me feel as if I was blind all over again.

“I have to apply this. Beniar, we need to take the arrow out, understand?”

Wiskeria brushes past me, not bothering with formalities. I step back and watch as Durene bends down to hold his legs. Someone else gets Beniar’s arms—he screams as Wiskeria pulls the arrow out and then applies the mash.

The people around me are worried. Children are crying, families are hugging each other. And all eyes are on me. Only this time, I don’t know what I should be doing. I search for words to reassure, and then hear something.

A horn call in the distance. It wails—a high, piercing sound that cuts through the night and makes the people of Riverfarm sit up and wake from their comforting dreams. It goes on for ten seconds, and then stops. Then it blows again.

Mocking. Taunting us. Telling us that we are not alone. I can see Beniar’s pale face in the moonlight, Prost’s worried expression, Odveig’s intent eyes on his wound and Wiskeria’s gaze. Hers traverses the room to find mine, cold, expectant. Waiting.

They are here. They are coming. It turns out there’s evil, real evil in this world, and it’s not just us. It has a name. It hungers. It enjoys our suffering.

It is my enemy. And I will hunt it down. I hear the horn call a third time before it fades. It’s a prelude, an ending of the few moments of peace we have. They are coming.

Goblins.

4.22 E

Day 66

So here it is. My first test as an [Emperor]. I, Laken Godart, am facing my first true crisis since I claimed Riverfarm. The avalanche was one thing, but I had the means to save the village at my fingertips. This time, I have no such ability.

The Goblins are here. Monsters with the cunning of people who want to destroy my village, slaughter my people, take all we’ve made. I don’t know who they are or what to do.

I have protection—two Silver-rank adventuring groups. I thought it was enough, but in their first attack they killed one of my adventurers and nearly got Beniar. Now they’re out there, probably planning to strike again and I have no idea what to do.

I’m no military buff. I don’t know how to deal with an enemy that fights like this. And yet, ironically, I can put myself in the Goblin’s minds. I know what I would do if I came to a village like this. Pick off my enemy one by one. Hide, ambush them, whittle them down and starve them if possible and then go for the kill.

So I suppose I do know what I have to do. I need to find the Goblins and kill them before they kill me. Simple to say, hard to do. I have to rely on others for this. I cannot fight. I cannot see past the boundaries of my village.

“Odveig, take your Trackers and find the Goblins. Don’t attack if you think it’s dangerous, but I want to know where they are and how many there are.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Prost, I want those palisades built now. Forget about the houses—go around the village and find out how many entrances there are. Don’t go alone though—from now on, no one strays beyond the boundaries of the village unless they’re with an escort. And within it…we need sentries, weapons in case there’s an attack, a place for children and the elderly to hide—”

People around me burst into action as I snap, breaking the silence Beniar’s words have caused. I’m scrambling, searching for the right orders. Are they the right ones? I don’t know, but I am obeyed. And no one else will take charge; that’s my job.

The minutes after Beniar tells me about the ambush are watchful, tense. The rest of the Windfrozen Riders and the Celestial Trackers led by Odveig head out while Wiskeria mixes more of the poultice to neutralize the poisoned arrow.

Beniar has fainted. He screamed as we pulled the arrow out. Now he’s pale, but the poison in him seems to be neutralized by whatever Wiskeria’s made. I saw her pulling roots, dried bugs, and even an egg out of a pouch and pounding it all into the paste she made.

I’m glad she’s here. I pace around the barn until I realize everyone’s staring at me. Then I force myself to wait for an age before Odveig gets back.

“We found the place where Beniar was attacked. There’s no sign of Fabiel or his horse. We followed the tracks for a bit, but we pulled back.”

“Why?”

Odveig hesitates. She draws me aside and I realize I shouldn’t be discussing this where all of the frightened villagers can hear. She whispers to me.

“I felt we were being watched from afar. I couldn’t tell where the Goblins were and if we were ambushed—”

“I understand. I trust your decision. However, we have a problem Odveig. What should we do now, according to your expertise?”

She looks at me. I can sense her head turning, hear the hesitation and fear in her reply.

“I—your majesty, I’ve hunted Goblins before. But I’ve never been hunted by them. Were I alone, I’d track them and risk a battle on their terms or retreat until I could set my own traps. But defending a village means I can’t do either. I could send half of my group out and keep the other half here to defend, but that would create two weak points for them to exploit.”

She’s explaining. That means she doesn’t know. I nod.

“In that case we’ll wait. Pull your team back around the village. I’ll—decide whether to send out scouts later.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

—-

So there it stands. As Wiskeria finishes tending to Beniar, she estimates that he’ll be able to take a healing potion the next day. Prost is mustering the villagers, and they’ve begun working. The Celestial Trackers and Windfrozen Riders are keeping a tight perimeter around the nearby forest and village.

And I’m sitting by myself, trying to figure out what to do.

The enemy is out there but invisible. Their numbers are unknown. Their levels unknown. They could be just a stone’s throw outside the village’s limits and I wouldn’t know. There’s a way to deal with that, actually. I’ve been working on it for a while, but I’ve been told that it will take a few more days. I want to insist, but it’s only a chance. Not worth counting on.

What are my assets? What are my weak spots? My assets are two Silver-rank teams. My weakness is a need to defend my village. The Windfrozen Riders are a group of ten—were a group of ten suited to rapid attacks and retreats. Perfect for scouting—not for taking out armored enemies or hunting hidden foes. If they know where the enemy is I can send them at the Goblins. Assuming they’re not hopelessly outnumbered.

The Celestial Trackers are the opposites of the Windfrozen Riders in many ways. They’re experienced at ambushes, tracking their prey—finding hidden monsters, in short.

I’ve a [Mage] in the Windfrozen Riders who can cut his opponents with air spells. Nothing powerful; it’ll take an eye out and he can cast while riding, but Wiskeria’s the only truly specialized spellcaster in either group. And she can’t throw fireballs. I asked.

“Your majesty? Prost is asking permission to fell a few trees further into the forest. Miss Odveig thinks it’s safe, but he wanted to ask you.”

I look up and sense Gamel hovering about me. I nod.

“That’s fine. Ah, what else is going on? Have you, Durene and the others begun training? Without Beniar, you’ll need to get another adventurer to teach you—and what about the markers Jelov was working on? How many has he finished?”

“Three, sire, with one for varnishing. But he says he’ll have another one tonight…”

And just like that, the day continues. Villagers get to work, taking care not to stray far but doing everything they were doing yesterday. Cutting wood, building—only there’s an undercurrent of fear to everything, now.

Odd, it feels as though everyone should be hiding or getting ready. But you can’t tell when the enemy will come. So the day passes, filled with anxiety and watchfulness, but nothing else. That’s life now. The threat of death is in the air, but we have to continue living.

Damn the Goblins.

Day 67

I think everyone in the village was awake late at night. Certainly the villagers were a lot quieter the next day. I felt awful and Durene wasn’t her spirited self; but we got through the morning and midway through the day without incident.

Beniar was up and about by that time. The poison had been flushed out of his system and a healing potion had him on his feet in minutes.

“Your majesty, I’m as fit as can be. I’d ride out to hit those Goblins in a flash if we knew where they were! Just give the order and I’ll scout with my group—far faster than the Trackers!”

He’s also itching to find the Goblins and exact payback for Fabiel, his teammate. I have to overrule Beniar, though.

“I can’t let you leave the village unprotected, Beniar. I’m sorry for your friend’s loss, but it’s too risky. If you’re shot at again—”

“I’ll know it’s coming this time, sire. Last time was an ambush. This time I’ll dodge.”

“I have no doubt you would. But my villagers can’t dodge arrows like you.”

Instead of Beniar riding forth, I let him teach the villagers and Durene. There’s definitely a renewed interest in learning to fight now, and thanks to my Skill, the villagers are fighting well. But we don’t have enough swords to go around; Helm is working on forging some, but he lacks enough iron, let alone steel to make many. Without that, people are training with pitchforks, shovels—Gamel has a club he’s hammered nails into. He keeps asking to trade it for a sword with someone.

“A ragtag army, sire. But it’ll do for a small group of Goblins.”

Beniar’s professional opinion is that the villagers are ready for a fight if the adventurers support them. I wonder if they’ll break and run if it comes to that. The villagers might have the ability to fight thanks to my Skill, but the temperament? No.

As the sun is halfway down in the sky, I hear a horn call and leap to my feet, abandoning a lunch with Durene. It’s not a Goblin horn—this one’s from the Celestial Trackers and urgent. I rush outside with the others and see a woman wearing a dark brown cloak sprinting into the village, shouting.

I think we were all waiting for it. The villagers freeze and I turn my head.

“Odveig?”

She’s already running to the adventurer.

“Report!”

There’s no hesitation in her voice now, as there always is around me. The woman gasps for air—she must have been on the perimeter, scouting the forest.

“Goblin group. Five hundred meters to the southeast—I saw two Hobs and at least thirty smaller Goblins!”

“That’s our cue! Let’s ride!”

Beniar’s already mounted. Odveig turns to me as Wiskeria runs up, clutching her magical wand.

“Your majesty?”

I hesitate only for a moment.

“Do it. If you hear a horn call from here, double back at once.”

The adventurers nod and race out of the village, Beniar leading and shouting, sword already drawn. They’re gone for five agonizing minutes and I hear nothing. Then, to my surprise, they all return at once.

Odveig and Wiskeria are on foot, and practically dragging an incensed Beniar back. He dismounts, shaking with anger.

“Nothing. They’ve covered their tracks. We could follow them, but Wiskeria and Odveig both agreed we’d be walking into an ambush. We let them get away!”

“It was the only smart choice, Beniar.”

Wiskeria defends herself as she argues with the leader of the Windfrozen Riders. Beniar’s voice is hot.

“I’d ride them down if I knew where they were, ambush or not! We could have attacked—”

“And done what? Two Hobgoblins were in that group. If they got the drop on your riders—”

“Better than letting them attack again! I’m telling you, we had the advantage!”

“Against thirty? You idiot, together we’re only twenty in number, and with two Hobs—”

“Enough!”

I raise my voice to stop the argument. Everyone looks at me. I’m aware of the villagers listening to the adventurers shouting. This can’t be good for morale.

“You three, come with me. Prost? We’re going to make a plan.”

And so we do. It’s not easy, and no one’s happy by the end of it. All three adventurers reluctantly agree that pursuing the Goblins is a bad idea without making absolutely sure there’s not a trap waiting. If there are only thirty, it’s a close match thanks to the two Hobgoblins. If there’s more we haven’t seen…

Guard duty. The Windfrozen Riders are now to stay in the village while the Trackers keep watch. At the nearest sign of trouble, the Riders will attack any Goblins that are spotted. That’s all we can do. Meanwhile, Prost is working double-time on the palisades. We’ve got the portion of the village around the barn walled off; hopefully that will help if we’re attacked.

If we’re attacked.

What a thought. That night, I stay up while Durene sleeps beside me. I can’t say she’s not as worried as I am, but she’s been hammering sharpened logs of wood into the ground and lifting felled trees all day. She sleeps like a rock, snoring gently beside me.

Frostwing is agitated. I think she can smell the Goblins, or sense the tension in the air. She flaps her wings at night, forgetting she’s supposed to be asleep. I have to get up and soothe her.

“Shh, Frostwing. There’s a good bird. Eat some meat—damn, not my finger! I know. I know. There are monsters out there. But you have to wait, understand? We don’t know where they are.”

She cocks her head at me in the darkness. I think she’s beginning to understand more of what I say. I smile as I stroke her head.

“A shame you can’t find them for me. I did ask, you know—I’m not an idiot. But Odveig says Goblins eat anything they can kill, and I won’t risk one putting an arrow into you.”

Frostwing nips at my fingers as if to agree. I’m laughing when my heart stops. It does stop, I’m sure. For a moment the steady beat in my chest falters. The next, I’m shouting.

“There’s a Goblin in the village!”

“Wha?”

Durene wakes up as I shout. She struggles in her bed, flailing around for me.

“Laken? What’s happening? Is something wrong?”

“Durene, get up! There’s a Goblin in the village! It’s gotten past the adventurers!”

“Oh no! Dead gods—where?”

She springs to her feet. Durene sleeps practically naked. I grab her bare arm.

“It’s got a bow and a knife. I think they’re poisoned.”

I can sense the Goblin all the way in the village. It’s moving slowly, very carefully avoiding the attention of anyone awake. And it’s making for—

“Where, Laken? I’ll raise the alarm!”

Durene’s voice is tense. I can sense her fists clenched. I hesitate for a moment out of fear. What if she’s hurt? But she’s Durene. I make up my mind.

“Go! It’s behind Prost’s house!”

She doesn’t wait for another word. I hear thundering footsteps, and then the door to Durene’s cottage is thrown open. The half-Troll girl races down the road, running faster than I’ve ever seen her go. I pause at the doorway, about to run out myself and realize I’ll never catch her.

So I close the door as the icy wind pours into the cottage and Frostwing screams. I find one of Durene’s knives and dress myself as I mentally follow her progress down into the village.

She’s running. The Goblin is doing something behind Prost’s house, checking a window, seeing if it’s unlatched. It freezes as Durene comes running into the village and squeezes down, hiding. Durene races around Prost’s house and it freezes.

It has a dagger in its hand. I can see it all in my mind, like some kind of awful movie without sound. Durene doesn’t see the Goblin—she’s looking right in its direction, but she doesn’t see it.

Then the Goblin leaps. It jumps out of the place where its hiding and slashes at Durene. She recoils—the Goblin runs around her, racing for the forest. I see Durene turn, and then her hand. She grabs the Goblin and it slashes at her arm.

I sense the blade sinking into Durene’s skin; see her mouth open in my head, the wordless howl. But then Durene’s other hand comes up. She breaks the Goblin’s neck like she would a chicken’s, in a moment.

It’s all over. I can sense Prost and his family waking up in alarm, sense villagers and the adventurers racing towards Durene. By this point I’m running towards the village.

“Dead.”

That’s the first pronouncement one of the [Scouts] in the Celestial Trackers makes when we’re all in the village. The Goblin’s corpse has been dragged out into the center of the village and everyone is shivering around it, staring down at the small body in the snow.

I’m there too, the only person who’s dressed. Durene is hiding in Prost’s house. She’s naked, and by that I mean she’s got underwear on and—yeah, that’s about it. Modesty came after saving Prost’s life, and so she’s a hero everyone politely thanks—through a closed door.

Wiskeria is kneeling by the Goblin, intent on it. Beniar and Odveig are both patrolling, looking for more Goblins. They’re rattled by one getting through their perimeter and worry another one’s out there.

I know there’s not another Goblin in the village, but I don’t tell anyone how I know. To the villagers, Durene’s simply a hero who uncovered the Goblin by accident. It’s better that way.

“You’re sure it’s dead?”

Yesel asks the [Scout] anxiously as she clings to her husband. Prost has a pitchfork—hardly an elegant weapon, but the tines are sharp and he seems ready to use it. The [Scout] nods as he inspects the body.

“Neck’s broken. Not many Goblins survive that. You say that Miss Durene did it with one hand? Never heard of that before.”

He shakes his head and whistles quietly as the other villagers murmur. I’m not surprised; I know how strong Durene is.

“So what was the green skinned bastard doing here?”

Prost’s voice is rough as he steps forward and looks at the Goblin. I start.

Green skin? I’ve never seen colors, but I know how things are supposed to look. Grass is green. And Goblin skin is the same color? I can’t imagine it, or fit together the feel of grass with—with a Goblin.

“At a guess, it was coming here to slaughter you all in your sleep. The dagger isn’t poisoned, but it’s dressed in black, see? No need for poison when you can cut a throat easier.”

“Dead gods.”

Yesel buries her head in Prost’s shoulder. He clutches one of his daughters to his side.

“We’ve you to thank Durene, truly.”

“I’m glad you’re okay!”

Durene calls from inside. The [Scout] is checking the Goblin for anything else as I kneel down next to him.

“You said the Goblin has green skin? Ah…it’s Jeighya, isn’t it?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

I sense him looking sideways at me, and starting a bit as he realizes that I wouldn’t know what a Goblin looks like. He clears his throat.

“They’ve all green skin, some shade of it, sire. Red eyes, too. The color of monsters. Just as well this one won’t open its eyes again.”

It takes me a minute to remember how our eyes are supposed to look. White and colored in the center, right? Just another thing to distinguish Goblins, but in my head—

“I’ve never seen one. It’s not dangerous in any way now, right Jeighya?”

“No sire, but why—”

I kneel down and gently feel the Goblin with my hand. I pat gingerly at the skin, feel the arms, and then, slowly, the face. It’s a surreal feeling, touching something dead.

So this is a Goblin. I kneel down and touch the body gently. It feels…like any body would, I guess. Only smaller. Colder.

I feel like I’m touching a dead child. I shudder and pull my hand back. But for the sharp ears and pointed teeth, I’d think it was a young Human kid. I can’t see the green skin or the crimson eyes.

Standing, I look at the other villagers. They’re anxiously clustered around. I raise my voice, grateful I’m dressed. The dignity of an [Emperor] and all that. I’m not about to recreate the story of the emperor’s new clothes right now.

“We’re safe for now. Please thank Durene for finding and taking care of the Goblin. In the morning, though. Right now I think everyone should get to sleep; I doubt we’ll see more trouble tonight.”

The villagers are hardly reassured by my words, but they do take some comfort by a dead Goblin. They disperse slowly, murmuring anxiously. I turn to Jeighya.

“Keep a watch. They might try this again.”

—-

Unfortunately, that night I’m made into a liar. There are no Goblins that I sense entering the village, but they are active after Durene makes her way back to her cottage, modesty preserved by a borrowed towel.

Two hours after the Goblin is caught, someone fires a flaming arrow into the side of the barn. The villagers put the fire out before it spreads, but a second arrow hits a house and sets the roof ablaze. The village is filled with fear and no one gets a lot of sleep that night.

Day 68

Discontent. That’s the mood in the village the next day, after the villagers wake up from a sleepless night and see the smoke and burnt roof.

Many of them haven’t slept since the first fire. Neither have I. I slept through the first arrow until Gamel ran to wake me, and when I sensed the second fire starting I went down to the village and stayed there until morning.

The roof of one of the villager’s houses is toast, but it could be worse. That’s what I tell myself as I cough, smelling the burnt wood in the morning. But it’s still bad.

The Goblins are harassing us with attacks, striking and fleeing since their attempt to send an assassin in failed. The two arrows were fired from the forest. Both times the Celestial Trackers found the Goblins and exchanged shots with them in the dark. The second time they got one of the Goblins in the stomach, but they found only bloodstains and no body when they went to check.

No one’s happy about that. But the villagers are the least happy it seems. Especially the ones from Windrest.

They don’t know me. I’m an [Emperor] to them, a strange, majestic class and a blind man with few impressive qualities to recommend him blended into one being. I must confuse them terribly.

I’ve talked with them of course, and tried to reassure them along with the Riverfarm people, but I know I’m not too convincing at this moment. I don’t have the same bond with them as I do with the Riverfarm people. And it shows.

If I separate the interactions I have, the people fall into three broad groups. The first are like Helm and the older villagers like Jelov. They treat me like Prost and Gamel and the others, grateful for the protection I offer mainly.

The others are more distant. I’m a [Lord] to them, and since the aristocracy of this land can be touchy, they’re wary of me. Still, if they have their complaints they keep their feelings private.

However, the last group is vocal in their grievances. Quietly vocal since saying I’m a bad ruler is an invitation to a fight if someone like Gamel hears it. But nevertheless, the lid is boiling. And things get worse when the Goblins step up their attacks the next morning.

One of the [Hunters] comes back with an arrow in his thigh and cuts along his arm.  The Windfrozen Riders gallop off as I hear what happened.

“Arrow. I was at my post when I saw a group of Goblins coming towards me. They showered my position—ran before help came.”

He’s not badly wounded, but the incident speaks to how defenseless we are. And the Windfrozen Riders don’t find the Goblins either. Too slow, and the Goblins know how fast the horses can move. So we get back to work. We have healing potions, but how long until they run out? I can hear the villagers talking, sense their nervous postures, and sense the few who are vocally worried. That worry and fear turns to resentment.

But what can I do? Wiskeria’s still arguing against any attempts to go out and hunt the Goblins down, and I agree. But Beniar points out the obvious each time too—if we don’t do anything, we’ll just keep being attacked. I think Odveig wants me to decide and I—

I can’t risk it. It’s too dangerous. And while the adventurers understand that, the villagers only see them patrolling and not hunting the monsters. That leads to an incident at lunch.

I’m about to go check on the villagers training with Beniar. It’s the one thing I feel like I have control over, the thing that I can do to really prepare for the Goblins. I hear someone’s voice raised as I pass by one of the tables set up in the barn where food is distributed communally.

“Some [Emperor]. Any proper [Lord]’d keep his people safe, but this one just sits about while we suffer in fear. I thought we were supposed to be safe here!”

I’m clearly meant to hear that. I turn my head and sense a group of Windrest folk sitting at a table. The person who speaks…I think it’s a woman sitting in the middle of the party.

Her words don’t pass by unnoticed either. Heads turn. There aren’t many villagers in the barn, but the ones who are from Windrest stare at me and the ones from Riverfarm stand up.

Uh oh. I wave to my villagers and walk over to the woman before her words can start a brawl. She’s sitting there, defiant, surrounded by her friends. I stop before her table.

“Do you have an issue with me, Miss?”

I’m looking right at her. That throws her for a loop already, I can tell. But the woman rallies in a moment. She looks around the room and speaks directly to me.

“I do. You’re an [Emperor]. You promised us folk of Windrest we’d be safe if we joined your village. But those Goblins are attacking and you’ve not done a thing! You hide here while we’re shot at—in a few days we’ll be dead for you doing nothing!”

Her words cause a susurration around the barn. And for all the people of Riverfarm are speaking angrily, watching the woman with ill-intent, I can tell they’re agreeing a bit with what she said. I speak calmly, looking down at her.

“I am doing everything in my power to keep you all safe. I assumed two Silver-rank teams were adequate protection for Goblins. I was wrong, and for that I am sorry. However, you are still safer here than you would be on the road or in another village. It’s too dangerous to risk sending the adventures out to hunt the Goblins—they could walk into a trap or leave the village defenseless, and in both cases, we’d all die for my mistakes. I’m not willing to take that chance. You may disagree, but I am choosing the best options as I see fit.”

My words are the truth. That’s my weapon and how I sway the villagers. I can sense some nodding around the room. How could you argue with that logic? And I do have a plan for the Goblins. I just need more time. A little more time and…besides, how could you argue with that?

With emotion, that’s how. Perhaps she feels like she’s at a disadvantage now, but the woman stands up. I think her name’s Rehanna. I can sense her glare, even if I can’t see it.

“Big words for a man who can’t see! How’re we supposed to trust the word of a blind man? You can’t tell who you’re talking to, can you? We must all be the same to you.”

That makes me mad. Why do some people seem to think that blindness means I can’t tell people apart or sense where I am? People have voices, tones, and ways of speaking. Idiots who try and change their voices to make me think they’re someone else really get on my nerves. But I don’t snap. I cross my arms.

“I am blind. So what? I am an [Emperor], not a [Warrior]. Why shouldn’t I be as capable as any other [Emperor]—let alone a [Lord]—at my job?”

“You know why. Blind people are—they’re not the same!”

Now that—that’s an insult. I hear a woman behind me shout something towards Rehanna. It sounds like a threat. I cut her off with a hand. I’m angry now. My voice is loud in my ears.

“If I was a [Warrior], I suppose being blind might be a problem. If I were a [Painter], I would understand people having their reservations. But I have known blind painters, blind singers; men and women who have done as well as—if not better than any person with sight in their own way. A blind man climbed the world’s highest mountain. I have met him and shaken his hand.”

Silence. I have spoken the truth. But the woman denies it. To my face. She shakes her head and makes a sound like a scoff. Because she doesn’t want to believe what I say is true, she thinks I’m lying.

The nerve. I’m fighting not to open my eyes and use [Intimidating Glare]—or punch her at this point. Either one would be satisfying, but it’s not how I win this argument. People are watching. I’ll beat her with words.

“I don’t think you’re a proper [Emperor], not a real one. I won’t bow to you. What do you say to that? Will you throw me out for disobeying?”

“No, but I might cut off your head.”

Just words. Satisfying, savage words. The woman chokes. I fight down some guilty pleasure as the people around me gasp in horror. I smile slightly.

“I am an [Emperor]. Do you think a true [Emperor] would let a challenge to his rule go unanswered?”

I don’t think she did. I turn around the room, speaking to everyone listening. Calm. Project calm and confidence.

“I am an [Emperor]. If I walked around naked or covered in tree sap, I would still be an [Emperor]. Your belief matters not. I am an [Emperor]. And this is my demesne.”

I don’t think she knows that word either. The woman makes another sound but refuses to back down. She’s cornered by her own actions now. I can sense her approaching. She stops a few feet away from me, glaring.

“Please.”

I don’t speak to her, but to the Riverfarm men and women who approach, looking ready to grab her. They stop, reluctantly, and I stare up into the woman’s face. She’s glaring at me.

Hah. That’s funny. I smile and sense her stare faltering. She doesn’t get the joke.

Fierce, glaring…it doesn’t matter. I don’t bother to use [Intimidating Glare]; there’s no point. I can show these people that I can stand up for myself without a Skill.

She’s pretty tall. I look up and meet Rehanna’s eyes with my closed ones. I feel her hesitate. I almost smile, but keep my composure. Internally though, I have to smile a bit. Yeah, that’s right. Didn’t think about it too hard, did you? What’s the point of trying to scare me?

There’s no way to stare down a blind man.

“You are frightened.”

She starts and opens her mouth. I talk over her.

“You are frightened of the Goblins and afraid. I understand that. Everyone is frightened. However, we must work past our fear.”

Heads are nodding around the room. I look past Rehanna, hearing her splutter for words, and then back at her.

“That doesn’t excuse what you have said, but it tempers my decision. I won’t kick you out of my village because that would be cruel and you would die. And I won’t order you beheaded or beaten, and I’ll make sure no one harasses you. When this is over, you’re free to go. But until then, you will address me with respect.”

She hesitates. Now would be the time when she apologizes. Does she? Not a chance. That would imply she’d thought any of this true. Instead, she thrusts her chin at me.

“I won’t kneel to you. I came here to survive, but I won’t bow and scrape under your rule no matter what you offer.”

I hear someone growl. Actually growl. I just sigh. Why is it that some people will keep digging a hole when they’re already ten feet under?

“I won’t ask you to kneel, but I will have you obey. And if I were you, I wouldn’t say another word.”

I turn. At some point you have to walk away from a stupid argument or end up being just as stupid. And I have more important work to do. I’m halfway out of the barn when I hear the woman’s voice.

“Or what?”

That’s it. I pause. The barn is silent, and I can sense the woman behind me. Trembling with bravado and fear. Trembling. I can see in my head her every flaw, her imperfections. Why does she pretend? I can see right through her.

I don’t turn. I open my mouth and say one word.

“Kneel.”

I hear a gasp and someone falls to her knees. I keep walking and don’t look back.

Do I feel good about that moment? Yes. I gave Rehanna every chance and she kept pushing. I was lenient in this. Far too lenient, perhaps. But everyone saw.

Next time, if she’s stupid enough for a next time, I’ll have to get nasty. I don’t want to imagine what I’ll do, I only know that it will be unpleasant for me—and quite unpleasant for her. I don’t fully care. Sometimes you have to trample over people, I guess. That’s what it means to rule. She’ll obey, or I’ll have to crush her—

Wait, crush her? Where did that thought come from?

Troubled, I make my way over to the training grounds—a patch of cleared dirt where I can hear people shouting and hitting each other or the wooden sticks that have been set up. And then I hear a far more pleasant female voice.

“Laken!”

It’s Durene. I hadn’t seen her this morning—as usual she’s been rushing about the village, helping people out. I regret not being able to spend more time with her. And she has a surprise for me.

“I’m a Level 9 [Paladin]! I got a Skill—guess what it is? Guess!”

She must have leveled up from the training and killing the Goblin. I smile at her.

“I’m no good at guessing.”

“Just guess anyways!”

“Okay…[Shield of Radiance]? [Holy Hands]? [Sword of Justice]?”

A pause. Durene sounds downcast.

“No…those sound like great Skills. Mine isn’t that good.”

“Durene…I made those up. Whatever Skill you have is wonderful. But you did ask.”

I sigh, but smile at her. Durene perks back up.

“You did? Okay, then. Well I got…are you sure you don’t want to guess again? No? Okay, I got…[Quick Strike]!”

“Oh! That’s great!”

I try to sound as happy as she is. Honestly, I have no idea if that’s a good Skill. It sounds…cheap? But Durene seems happy about it.

“Let me show you how it works. I was going to try it with Beniar.”

“Yes, Durene told me all about it. [Quick Strike]’s a basic move. It’s more common to get [Power Strike] and move from there, but Durene’s strong enough. I’ve a shield—why don’t you try and touch me? She hasn’t so far Emperor Laken. Today might be her lucky day, though.”

Beniar’s a bit too cocky and full of pent-up energy at the moment. I’ve seen him training with Durene and the others and he doesn’t let anyone touch him with a sword no matter how hard they try. I suppose he’s got the Skills, but it does seem like bullying at times.

Durene’s never come close before. She has that wooden club of course, and her shield, and both are too slow for Beniar who’s adept at dodging and keeping his distance. Now Durene takes a stance and gingerly swings at him.

“Too slow!”

Beniar laughs as he ducks her club and nimbly springs forward to tap Durene on the stomach with his practice sword. She jumps and swings her shield at him, but he’s already moving back. I sigh internally, frustrated a bit.

It’s not that Durene’s that slow, I think she’s also afraid of hitting Beniar, a fact which he capitalizes on. I’ve seen them do this before, and I don’t want to see Beniar bullying Durene for a few minutes. However, today’s my lucky day.

“Take this!”

Durene lashes out with her shield and Beniar sways back. The shield misses him and he grins. He’s taking a step back when Durene shouts.

“[Quick Strike]!”

Her arm blurs. I hear Beniar’s voice and a thud almost at the same time.

“Oh sh—”

To his credit, I think Beniar saw it coming. He tried to block and then dodge when he saw the club coming. But he was too slow.

Thanks to my [Emperor] senses, I saw the entire thing. Beniar stepping back, the sudden acceleration of Durene’s club to wicked fast speeds—and the impact. I enjoyed it more than I should.

In the aftermath, Durene stands horror-struck over Beniar as everyone turns to stare at her.

“I didn’t mean to! I didn’t—is he alive?”

He’s groaning on the ground, which answers her question. I squat next to him and speak gently.

“Good thing Durene was aiming for your chest, huh, Beniar? I don’t want to imagine what your head would have been like.”

“Agh! No, sire.”

—-

A bit of fun, a bit of frustration. Neither occurrence goes unnoticed. Soon, Beniar’s up and treating Durene with a lot more respect, and Prost’s seeking me out.

“I heard what happened, Emperor Laken. I’ve had a word with that Rehanna woman, and let me apologize for her words, sire. Few folk think like her—”

“But they do think like her, Prost. Don’t worry, I’m not offended—or vengeful. But if people feel that way, I’d like to know. Preferably without the rudeness, but I’d still rather know than not.”

“Yes, sire. I’m sure she’d never have said as much, but that woman’s a hothead and a malcontent. And I think she was prompted to it.”

That gets my attention. I stop as Prost and I walk around the village.

“Prompted, Prost?”

“Yes, sire. Rehanna won’t speak to me—stubborn as a mule—but her friends say she’s been talking with someone else, getting an earful of what to say to you, maybe. Apparently she’s been having a drink as she does. Building courage to say such things.”

“Alcohol? I didn’t buy more than a cask—we don’t have any in the village, unless the Windrest people brought it…?”

“No, your Majesty. And Rehanna didn’t have any herself. There’s only one group that brought some drink with them—”

“The adventurers.”

“Yes, sire. If you want I can ask around, see who’s been spreading rumors about you—”

“No, Prost. Thank you. I think…I have an idea of who it might be. I’ll handle it myself.”

“Yes, sire.”

Oh boy. That’s not good. I excuse myself and leave Prost behind and go for a walk. I have a bad feeling in my chest. I’ve had it before, but I was worrying about the Goblins. Now…a few things are falling into place.

Pieces. It’s just pieces in my head, but they fit together in a way I don’t like. A few odd events have caught my attention. Someone breaking into my cottage while I was away, the missing Mossbear fur and it attacking the village—and now someone stirring up trouble and prompting people to challenge me.

It could all be coincidence, but I know for a fact that the people of Windrest were all settling in on the day my cottage was broken into. None of them would have known where I lived, much less done anything on that day.

And the Windfrozen riders were all riding patrol—save for Beniar and a few who were training the volunteers from the village. That rules them out.

So that only leaves the Celestial Trackers and the people of Riverfarm as suspects. If you rule out Riverfarm—because if they were going to snoop, why not do it when I wasn’t there?—then that leaves only one group.

And of that group…only one person I can think of would want to get ahold of Mossbear fur. After all, [Witches] can hex opponents and cast all kinds of spells. Why not do voodoo tricks with hair? As for my cottage and stirring up the Windrest villagers, well, if it’s all part of a larger reason…

Suspicions. I can’t rely just on my intuition and throwaway guesses for this. I have to confirm it.

It’s not hard to find Jeighya. He’s not patrolling and the man is maintaining his bow. I sit with him and he reacts—well, cautiously but with a good deal of friendliness. I’m not some aloof [Emperor] and we have bonded over a dead Goblin’s corpse.

“I’ve been wondering about your group, Jeighya. It seems weird to me that a [Witch] is part of your party. I’ve never met one and I was hoping you could explain their class to me. I’d ask Wiskeria, but I wouldn’t want to be rude.”

“Oh? I’d be happy to share what I know, your majesty. [Witches] are a rare class, I’ll say, but they’ve got useful Skills and spells most common [Mages] would turn their nose up at learning. Wiskeria’s been a boon to us, for all she’s new.”

“New?”

My heart sinks. The man with the bow nods as he fumbles with an arrow.

“She wasn’t in our party last spring. Wiskeria and Odveig—they’re old friends. Older’n they seem, I know. Odveig formed our group a while back—she’s not always leading us, but she’s always around Invrisil.”

“Oh. I thought she’d been part of your group forever. And Odveig’s not your leader?”

He pauses, scratches at his beard.

“Not so much that she’s not our leader as much as that we don’t adventure together all the time like most groups, sire. Begging your pardon. We don’t take on that many contracts each year; a lot of us make our livings from hunting and join up when she says there’s word of a good contract. But Wiskeria now, she joined the group not two months ago. Came out of nowhere, but Odveig knew her and she’s a good thinker. Her spells have gotten us out of a lot of scraps.”

“I see. And she’s got a lot of talents? Did I hear she can manipulate animals?”

“Oh yes! Very helpful that is. I saw her pull a Corusdeer’s fur out one time and summoned an entire herd later. Helped us take down some Snow Golems. ‘Course, it’s harder to make animals do what doesn’t come naturally, but Corusdeer love killing Snow Golems. Natural enemies.”

“You don’t say.”

Wiskeria. I let Jeighya drone on about monsters as the worry in my heard grows. It was just a suspicion. Now…now I think I have a serious problem.

—-

That night I summoned Wiskeria to Durene’s cottage. It wasn’t hard; I mentioned that I wanted to see her, and so she came. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Nothing out of the ordinary with Durene being there either. Frostwing being gone might have raised an eyebrow, but she doesn’t mention it. Durene barring the door though…

“Your majesty? Is something wrong?”

Wiskeria glances towards Durene as I sit at her dining table, across from Wiskeria. I sigh. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be right.

“Nothing much. I just wanted to clear up a few things, Wiskeria.”

The [Witch] glances towards Durene and back at me.

“I’m at your majesty’s service.”

“Are you? Good. So tell me something. Why’s there a clump of Mossbear fur in your pouches?”

She freezes. I stare at her. It wasn’t hard to sense the distinct fur in Wiskeria’s belt pouch. And when I found it, I knew.

I knew.

Silence. I can sense Durene glaring at Wiskeria. She knows. I told her, and no one else. I didn’t want to alarm anyone in case I was wrong, but…the fur. I’m waiting for an explanation and hoping against hope that I’m mistaken.

Because I think Wiskeria’s trying to sabotage my village. I think she’s my enemy, and I don’t know why. But something Ryoka mentioned to me makes me think she might be in this Lady Magnolia Reinhart’s employ. It’s just a hunch, but Ryoka says Magnolia sent [Assassins] after her. Why not a spy masquerading as an adventurer in Wiskeria’s case?

At last, Wiskeria opens her mouth. She glances at me and Durene, and I’d bet she’s lost all color in her face. I always wondered what that would look like. How would that work? And why does it happen when you’re scared? Blood flow? It makes no sense.

“I—know how it must seem, your majesty. But I swear I took the fur before the Mossbear woke up, while it slept! I was sure I did it stealthily enough not to wake it—you have my oath on that!”

“Oh? And so this Mossbear just woke up around the same time you cut the hair? You didn’t set it on the village with a spell?”

“Me? Set it on the village?”

Wiskeria repeats my words as if she can’t believe what I’m saying. She hesitates. The pieces click together and she bursts out.

“But I—no! I would never intentionally wake it if there was no reason! Emperor Laken, please believe me! My taking the hair was just a precaution! I’ve no notion why the bear woke up. If it was my fault, it was a mistake I truly regret!”

“Really.”

I stare at her. Wiskeria’s trembling. Is it an act? I clear my throat.

“Very well. Say I believe you, Wiskeria. Onto another matter.”

“Another…?”

She says it as if she has no idea what might be coming next. I nod gently.

”Someone was in my cottage. It wasn’t one of the villagers. I’d suspect one of the Windfrozen Riders, but they were patrolling a good ways out from the village. However, I recall that the Celestial Trackers were deployed closer to the village. Just in case. Which means you could have snuck in on that day.”

“I—are you—”

I fold my arms. I can hear Durene’s teeth grinding from here. Wiskeria makes a few incoherent noises. Then—

“I didn’t do it. I cannot prove I wasn’t there, but—I would swear to it under truth spell.”

“Too bad we don’t have one. And I suppose you had nothing to do with a villager from Windrest named Rehanna challenging me publically today?”

“No! How could you assume I’d—”

“Mossbear attack, going through my cottage, inciting my subjects…all actions worthy of a [Spy].”

“You mean—me?”

Disbelief. Shock. A hint of outrage, but mostly confusion and fear. That’s what my ears tell me and my senses confirm Wiskeria’s posture matches these emotions. For a moment I feel uncertain.

She sounds very convincing for a spy. But isn’t that what any trained spy would sound like? My stomach hurts. I can only trust in what I’ve observed, the conclusions I’ve come to.

“Emperor Laken. Your majesty.”

Wiskeria licks her lips, clearly afraid. She glances at Durene again before speaking urgently to me.

“I did not do—any of the things you believe I did. I did take the Mossbear’s fur, but only as a precaution! Its attack was a mistake, and I swear that’s the truth.”

“And the other things? Are they coincidences?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. They seem suspicious—but I can only say I had nothing to do with them.”

She says it faintly, knowing how it must sound. I sigh.

“I don’t believe you, Wiskeria.”

I hold up a hand as she protests.

“…But I can’t prove you’re not telling the truth. So here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to imprison you. Take away your wand, put you in a house and under guard…and ask some questions. If you can’t answer them, or your friends can’t, well—”

“I can’t accept that. Sire.”

Wiskeria interrupts me, sounding panicked. She half-pushes back her chair.

“I would be in danger for my life if your villagers found out what I was accused of. They—your subjects would kill for you. I don’t want to die or be held captive for weeks.”

“Sit down.”

Durene growls at Wiskeria. The [Witch] hesitates, and does not. I look at her.

“You have no choice, Wiskeria. I’m not about to risk another incident, or working with someone I can’t trust.”

I can’t. Not now so much is at stake. But Wiskeria is shaking her head.

“No, I can’t—won’t be held here when there are Goblins about! What if they attack?”

She speaks pleadingly to me.

“I’m willing to leave and void my contract, Emperor Laken. After the Goblins are dealt with. Or return with a truth spell testimony proving my innocence. But I can’t let you take my wand.”

“Wiskeria, I have no choice. You have to know how this looks—”

“I do. And I’m sorry for this. [Paralyzing Touch].”

Before I can react, I feel her finger on my chest. I gasp and my body goes rigid. Durene shouts. I sense Wiskeria going for the door.

My body’s frozen, but my mouth can still move.

“Wiskeria, stop! Don’t make this worse!”

She doesn’t reply. She’s ducking around Durene, hand raises, shimmering with magic. I can sense Durene hesitating. What do I do?

No good answer. But I know she can’t get away. I look to Durene standing by the door.

“Durene. Hit her. Gently, so she can’t get away.”

“No!”

Wiskeria backs up, hands raised as Durene makes a huge fist. She knows how strong Durene is. My half-Troll girlfriend could kill Wiskeria with a punch. Durene looms over Wiskeria, abandoning the door.

“Give up or I’ll hurt you.”

Wiskeria slowly raises her hands and backs towards a wall. She glances at me, and realizes she’s got no excuses. But she still speaks desperately.

“I’m innocent. You’ll see that in the end. Just don’t—I don’t want to die. Not here! I didn’t even want to take this contract on! I was against it!”

“What?”

Durene pauses for a second. Wiskeria speaks rapidly, eyes flicking left and right, too afraid to move and be hit.

“We normally take on contracts for monster exterminations, scouting, that sort of thing! We get the occasional request from the Reinhart family! I told Odveig there was no need to spend this much time on escort duty, but she insisted!”

“Odveig did?”

“Yes! She insisted! Said we’d get no better deal though we could have been hunting Frost Golems or making gold coins selling pelts! I have no idea why she wanted—”

“Wiskeria? I heard [Emperor] Laken wanted to talk to you, and I heard shouting. What’s going…?”

Someone opens the door. I sense Odveig come in.

“What the—? Odveig?”

Wiskeria gapes at her friend. Durene turns, but keeps her focus on Wiskeria. I’m…

Dumbfounded. Was that coincidence? No, it can’t be. That was movie-level timing right there. Was Odveig outside? Why was she here? I didn’t notice she was outside the cottage!

And suddenly the pieces in my head change. Odveig. Wiskeria’s actions. One of the Celestial Trackers. I shout.

“Durene! She’s the spy! Get her!”

Durene swings around. Odveig curses.

“Damn. He is smart.”

She steps nimbly to one side, unhooking her mace. Wiskeria is gaping, staring at me. Durene raises a hand.

“Hey, stop—”

Durene grabs for Odveig. The [Macewoman] steps back and as Durene misses, slides forward like a ghost. She taps Durene behind the knee with her mace and Durene’s leg collapses.

“Huh?”

The half-Troll girl goes down onto one leg, sounding stunned. She turns, reaches for Odveig, and Odveig taps her on the head with the mace.

“Sleep.”

I hear Durene hit the ground. My protector, my mighty [Paladin] knocked out. Just like that.

“Odveig!”

Wiskeria raises her hand. Odveig steps back as Wiskeria tries to touch her with the [Paralyzing Touch] spell. She hits Wiskeria; I hear a cry.

“Sorry, Wis. I didn’t want to let you take the blame…or let you find out this way. But I have a few secrets.”

The [Witch] crumples to the ground. I’m still locked in place by her spell. I sense Odveig coming around behind me, still holding her mace.

“Well, you are a very intelligent young man, Laken Godart.”

“Thanks. Is this the part where you tell me why you did what you did?”

I’m stalling for time. Odveig shrugs.

“You guessed. I’m a spy. That’s not my class, but…how did you know I broke into the cottage? How did you find out what was in Wiskeria’s bags without looking?”

“I sensed it.”

“Ah. Interesting.”

I feel all the hairs on the back of my neck trying to dance. I wait. Odveig moves closer.

“I have so much I’d like to ask you, but your protector might wake up soon and my cover is gone. So I’ll just say this.”

I feel someone brushing hair around my ears, and then a higher-pitched voice, an elegant tone, so unlike Odveig’s accented words.

“Lady Magnolia sends her regards. She will be very interested to speak with you once I deliver my report. If you survive.”

I feel a chill as Odveig whispers into my ear. I’m afraid to make the wrong move, tense. I can sense her holding her mace at her side.

“Who are you really? Why did Magnolia send you? What does she want?”

“I’m afraid I can’t say much, Laken. But my real name is…Sacra. I regret that we couldn’t speak under more pleasant circumstances.”

She shifts. I wait for the end, or at least, unconsciousness. But Odveig doesn’t lift it and smash my brains out. She turns and strides out of the cottage. I sense her pick up speed as she leaves—she’s running down to the village incredibly quickly. Then she’s on a horse, trotting it out of the village until she’s out of sight, and then racing it—

She’s gone.

It takes five minutes before my body starts being able to move again. Wiskeria’s magic wears off slowly, and I feel like I’m moving through molasses. My arms and legs tingle like they’ve been asleep. At last, I stand up, around the same time Wiskeria and Durene wake up.

Both of them get up and immediately start a riot. Wiskeria runs out of the cottage and Durene chases her shouting for Odveig. That leaves me in the cottage, alone. I put my head in my hands.

“Damn. I feel like an idiot.”

—-

I’m an idiot. That’s my conclusion after the chaos, with Prost rousing the village and the Celestial Trackers demanding to know why Odveig’s run and Wiskeria trying to defend herself and avoid Durene hitting her. I sort it out by shouting at everyone and kick myself that night.

I’m an idiot. Have I said it enough times? No. To put it in a delightfully American way, I done goofed. That’s an appropriate way of thinking of how stupid I was.

What was my plan? Confront Wiskeria and hope she’d confess? And then what? Confine her as a prisoner or—kill her? Let her go? Aside from the fact that I was wrong, I didn’t give any thought to what I was going to do.

I panicked. And because of that, Odveig’s gone and I’m left with more questions and one less warrior to defend the village. If I had been smarter, I could have observed Odveig and let her help me—or see how far Magnolia was willing to go to attack me and my village.

Now I’m down another adventurer, and a good one if she can knock out Durene in a single hit. If only I’d…

Too late now. Too late. At least one of my worries has resolved itself. Only, now it’s a bigger worry and I still have to worry about them.

The Goblins.

4.23 E

“I can’t believe it. It was Odveig—I mean, Sacra, the entire time?”

“Yes, Durene. I didn’t realize it until it was too late. Damnit, I feel like an idiot—”

“But how? She didn’t act like—she was always so respectful and—and not like a spy at all! I thought Wiskeria was odd when you said she might be the one, but—Odveig?”

“The best spy’s one you don’t see coming, Durene.”

“And she works for Lady Magnolia? I mean…the Lady Magnolia?”

“You know her?”

“Everyone does. She’s Magnolia Reinhart. She’s…why’d she want you, Laken? Why’d she send Odveig?”

“I don’t know. Curiosity, maybe. Or—no, it’s no use questioning it. But now she’s gone and we could have really used her, Odveig’s abilities.”

“Yeah. You know, when she hit me, I didn’t feel a thing? She just tapped my head, like that, and it was…poof! What level do you think she was?”

“High. It was a mistake to confront her. Not that I knew it was her. Now Wiskeria’s afraid she’s trapped in some political game, and the adventurers are nervous. It was a mistake to do this now.”

“But you know who was causing trouble now, right? That’s a good thing.”

“Yes, but we don’t know why, Durene. We don’t know why and if she did anything else and what she’ll tell Lady Magnolia. We don’t know—and the Goblins are still out there.”

“Yeah. They shot arrows at Gamel when he was cutting wood. Everyone’s afraid.”

“I know.”

“Oh! But they know you’ll take care of it! You have a plan, right Laken? Right?”

“I—I have something, Durene.”

“What is it?”

“It’s—well, it’s just a guess. An idea, really. The Goblins are hiding, and I’ve been taking…steps…to deal with them.”

“Steps is good. But what…? Is it a secret?”

“No. Just stupid. I mean, it sounds stupid in my head. It’s got to do with Jelov. I’ll—you know what? It’s time. I have to try it. Otherwise we’re in trouble. We’ve lost Odveig, I mean, Sacra, Durene. Everyone’s afraid. It’s only a matter of time before someone tries to run or gets killed, or people try to replace me—either way, that’s when the Goblins attack and we all die.”

“I won’t let them do that. I’ll kill them. All of them. By myself, if I have to.”

“…”

“Laken?”

“I know you’d do that, Durene. But it’s my job to—to make things easier. I’ll do it tomorrow. And the situation with Wiskeria and the others—we’ll deal with it afterwards.”

“What if she’s, you know, angry I tried to hit her?”

“Then she can be angry. But she’ll obey. We’re only coming out of this one way, Durene, and that’s if we stick together. And I’ll do it. I’ll make us fight as one if I have to force everyone to do it myself.”

“Oh. That’s good.”

“Really? That sounds terrible to me.”

“Well forcing people, yeah…but you’re you, Laken. I know you’ll help everyone, even if it means twisting their arms.”

“Hah. You always know what to say, Durene.”

“…”

“…”

“Laken? Are we going to die?”

“…No, Durene. I won’t let it happen.”

“Good. But if we do, I wanted to—”

“Shh. Go to sleep.”

“But I wanted to—”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know. I love you too.”

Day 69

Three attacks. Arrows flying out of the woods and Goblins charging a group of the villagers. Both times there were only wounded, not the dead—the Windfrozen Riders chased the Goblins away before they could do more than cut at the villagers.

And yet, the pain is still there. I can hear a man screaming and whimpering before the healing potion is applied sparingly to his leg. An oval of flesh had been carved off of his leg.

It’s too much. I can sense the villagers’ fear, sense the adventurers wavering. Odveig’s sudden departure and the suspicion Wiskeria was put under has rattled both groups. Wiskeria’s in charge now, but she’s jumpy too. Whatever relationship I had with her is strained…

But we’re all in the same boat. I don’t know if Odveig—I mean, Sacra, got away safely, or if she was killed by the Goblins. We’re cut off right now. Isolated.

But not hopeless. Not yet. Once I’m done talking to Prost, I stride over to my one hope, my secret weapon, my ace in the hole.

Jelov looks up at me as I find him eating in the barn.

“Your majesty, can I do something for you?”

I don’t waste time with pleasantries.

“The markers, Jelov. Are they done?”

He sounds startled.

“Yes, your worship. Not polished as good as could be, but—”

“Good, have them brought out. I’ll be using them in a few moments.”

I leave him scrambling to get up and find Wiskeria. I think she’s trying to hide from me, but I know where she is. The [Witch] tenses.

“Your majesty, about Odveig. I—”

“Wiskeria, how dangerous would it be to go…let’s say four miles out of the village with a wagon and plant something in the ground?”

“Plant? What?”

She stares at me. I’m not making sense. I take a steadying breath. Calm down.

“I have six—no, seven wooden markers. Each one’s thick—and heavy. I’m sure you’ve seen Jelov carving them.”

“I—yes, sire?”

Still not making sense. I speak slower.

“I want to plant them in the ground. Each one needs to be hammered into the ground in a circle around Riverfarm. Deep. Somewhere where they won’t fall down, around four miles or so away from the village. Can it be done with a small group? Without danger?”

Wiskeria stares at me. She opens her mouth, hesitates, and then answers without asking the why of it.

“I suppose it’s possible, your majesty. It’d be a job for the Windfrozen Riders, and risky. If they’re attacked. Otherwise we could send out a huge band, but that would leave the village undefended and I guarantee the Goblins are waiting for that moment.”

I nod.

“Okay, a small group, then. What would that entail?”

“…Four riders, I suppose. Six, maybe, depending on how heavy the markers are. It would slow them down, and hammering it into the ground would take—”

“What if Durene carried the markers? She could probably drive them into the earth with her bare hands.”

Wiskeria gulps and I hear the noise.

“That could work. But it would be dangerous.”

“You’ve said that. How dangerous?”

“I wouldn’t risk it, your majesty. Why—”

“Give me odds, Wiskeria. Solid odds. Out of ten.”

She pauses.

“…Four in ten odds they’re attacked, sire. If they move fast enough, if they keep in the open.”

“Good. In that case—do it. Seven points around Riverfarm, evenly spaced as possible. A perimeter. Four miles away from the village, each one.”

“But—”

“I’m not discussing this, Wiskeria. Do it. Take Durene with you to make it quicker and however many people you need to feel safe, but get it done.”

I turn away from Wiskeria abruptly. My faith in her is…weakened. I thought I could trust her. She wasn’t the spy, but she did place us in danger with the Mossbear. That might have been her doing, not Sacra’s. That she didn’t come clean about it bothers me most.

And Sacra. It seems like she was one of Magnolia’s spies, someone who could pose as a Silver-rank team leader when needed. Was her hiring Wiskeria really due to them being old friends? Or was the entire team in on it?

I don’t know. I only know that she’s gone and the Goblins are my biggest threat. I stand in the village and hear the Windfrozen Riders—and Durene depart.

My heart is beating too quickly. I’m taking a huge risk. I’m gambling their lives—and Durene’s on this. I wouldn’t risk her for anything, but I have to do this. It has to work.

Prost hurries up to me, worried.

“Emperor Laken, I heard you’d ordered a group to take Jelov’s decorated poles out and place them in the dirt. It’s not my place to say, but—”

“Then don’t, Prost. I know what I’m doing.”

He falls silent. I wait, feeling seconds turn into hours, at least in my mind I feel a twinge of guilt, realizing Prost is standing with me. I’d like to explain. However, I might be wrong.

No, I can’t be wrong. But nothing else has been going my way of late. Goblins. Spies. It’s all out of control. I have only this idea—hell, it’s not even mine! I just want it to work. It has to work. Otherwise—

Thump.

There’s a feeling in my chest. I pause; put a hand to my chest. I can sense Prost looking at me worriedly in silence.

Thump. I feel it, and scraping dirt. It’s coming in the direction the riders and Durene left. A sensation, far away. Miles away, in fact. I’d bet anything it was exactly four miles.

“One.”

I can feel it being hammered into the ground in the distance. It’s like a beacon in my mind. Prost looks at me.

“What’s that sire?”

“One, Prost. Wait for it.”

It’s…twenty minutes or more before I feel the thump again. Can you travel four miles in twenty minutes? You can if you’re running with a horse. And Durene—I’ll bet she can run pretty damn fast too.

“Two.”

Prost looks at me, silent. But he’s catching on. It’s about the same time when I feel it again. Three points now, each one in the distance. One to my east, another southeast, another almost directly south…

“Three.”

Forming a circle. It goes on. Now one to my west. It takes a while. But then—

“Four.”

North, now. Prost is waiting and so am I. My heart is pounding. North—north west.

“Five.”

Two left to go. I wait. The next thump makes my body shake. I feel Prost steady me. The earth shifts. I feel it—

“Si—”

I stagger. I’m not aware of Prost catching me, shouting for Wiskeria. I only know it’s happened.

Six. That was the magic number. I feel it. A huge area of land, marked by six points, opens up in my head. Suddenly, I can see the entire world encompassed in that space.

That’s right. The markers. The pieces of wood Jelov worked so hard on. They’re in the ground now, and they demarcate a rough hexagon, slanted oddly near the north side, but circular, around my village.

Six points. Six markers made of wood, bearing my symbol, claiming this land as my own. Now the points are connected in my head, and the wide area they encompass is suddenly there. I can stretch my senses beyond the limits of the village.

I sense the forest, still covered with snow, the melting water as it drips off of a branch under the light from the sun, the Mossbear slumbering in its cave, a squirrel hibernating in a tree, worms wriggling under the mud near a rock—

And the Goblins. There they are. Hiding in the forest, a group of them armed with bows watching the adventurers and Durene racing across an open road to the last point. They’re hidden in the trees, waiting in ambush I see a Goblin raising a bow, aiming at Durene’s back, an arrow drawn.

No! I draw breath, sightless, seeing it in my mind as Wiskeria asks me what’s happening. But my soul, my very being is somewhere else. I’m with Durene, watching her pant and carry the last marker, exhausted from her rapid pace. My heart is with hers, and its life rests on the arrow the Goblin sights down. He’s aiming at her head. I shout.

“Stop!”

The word echoes. It freezes the people around me—and the Goblin. His arm freezes as he’s about to release. He halts—and then curses, looks around. The Goblin sees nothing and looks at Durene, suddenly concerned. His fellows stare at him impatiently. Durene is nearly away.

He hesitates, falters. I say the word again.

“Stop.”

This time the Goblin still moves. He jerks, snarls, draws the arrow to his cheek again. The word doesn’t work on him fully.

It’s a pushing, a mental shove. That’s what effect my [Emperor]’s command has. I can see the Goblin have to brace itself in some way as I demand he stops, but he can keep moving now he knows what’s coming. This time he aims at one of the adventurers.

“Stop!”

The hesitation is barely a flicker. The Goblin releases the arrow, howling with triumph and fury. The arrow streaks after the adventurers, strikes a horse’s side. The horse and rider go down and I see Durene dragging both away. The adventures are retreating. The Goblins get ready to swarm them.

There’s a huge Hobgoblin, all fat and muscle, holding a longsword and signaling the Goblins to move in. One of two. The other Hobgoblin is closer, watching the village from afar with a group of Goblins patiently waiting in a forest clearing.

But this Hob. He’ll try to kill Durene. I see it in his eyes. So I whisper a command to him.

“Leave this place. Go far away and never come back.”

He starts as well. I sense his foot take a step away from Durene, and then he jerks it back. The command was almost completely ineffectual. But it gives Durene a chance to put more ground between her and the Goblins. And now he’s distracted.

The Hob casts around. He knows something is happening, but can’t see what. He’s wary, rightly so. He snarls something at the Goblin archer and I see the two conferring. The Hobgoblin turns his head, stares with narrowed eyes the way the riders and Durene have gone.

Towards the village. Towards me.

In my mind, I can see Durene and the riders running back towards the village. They abandon the last marker; they have to abandon the horse too. The [Rider] slits her horse’s throat, sobbing, rather than let it be taken alive by the Goblins. They come back.

And the Goblins do too. I see them streaming through the forest, some stopping to crap in the snow, others laughing, fingering weapons. The Hob snarls at them and they keep silent.

Now both Hobs are together. They gesture towards the village, the one with the sword arguing with the other. A decision is reached.

By the time Durene reaches the village, practically collapsing with exhaustion, I see it. The Goblins move out. A small group breaks away from the larger mass, circles around the village. The Goblins begin sharpening weapons, chattering excitedly. I sense their intent, see it in the way they move.

They have nets. Bundles of dry wood. They mean to capture some of the villagers and torch this place when they leave. The Hobgoblin is shouting at them, ordering them—

“—Laken? Laken! Please, get up!”

Someone’s shaking me. Someone’s holding me, pleading with me. I hear a voice I love, feel sweaty, callused palms, smell Durene—

I don’t open my eyes. There’s really no point. But suddenly, I’m back in my body, lying in Prost’s house, as Durene shakes me and Prost, Wiskeria, and all the villagers who can fit in the room over around me. I can sense them all, hear their distressed voices. Gamel is clutching the bedframe so hard I can sense the wood splintering a bit.

“Durene? Stop shaking me, please.”

“Oh! Thank goodness!”

She sweeps me up into a hug that nearly kills me. I gasp, and Wiskeria and Prost manage to make Durene let go. I sit up, breathless, and look around. Prost hovers around me, worried.

“Your majesty? What happened? One second you were speaking, the next, you fell over!”

“I’m fine, Prost. I told you I had a plan. Thanks for catching me. Now…I need to get up.”

“Are you sure? If you need to rest—”

“Up, Prost. And then you, Wiskeria, and Beniar will meet me…right here. Everyone else can get out. Durene can stay if she wants. We’re going to end this thing with the Goblins right now.”

—-

This is what an [Emperor] sees. Three people, a young man, an older young woman, and an older man standing around a dining room table in a house still bearing the marks of the avalanche. I sit in a chair, holding a mug of tea.

And see my empire. Now it’s a huge plot of land, not just a village. I see forests and hills, animals, grass and trees buried under the snow, and all things in between. This is mine.

And there are trespassers on my land. Thanks to my senses, I can count them all. I can see where they are. And I know we’re in trouble.

“Sixty four Goblins? And two Hobs?”

Wiskeria looks at me. Credit to her, after all she’s been through she can still focus. Even more credit—after hearing what I’ve said, her voice is only slightly shaking.

I nod.

“And you’re…sure, your majesty? Absolutely sure?”

“Absolutely. I may have miscounted—”

“Oh?”

“It may be higher. They move around and I lose track. But it’s at least sixty four. At least.”

She pales. I turn my attention from her, to the fidgeting young man. Beniar stares at me.

“How can you know this, your majesty?”

I shrug.

“I can see them. The markers you placed claimed this land as mine. I can sense everything that goes on in my empire, including how the Goblins are moving. It’s a Skill that [Emperors] have. Or maybe just a function of my class. I don’t know.”

Beniar’s open-mouthed, staring at me. So is Prost, but Wiskeria’s focused on what I’ve said about the Goblins.

“Sixty. That’s…too many. We’ve twelve of the Trackers and seven of Beniar’s riders. We’ll be overwhelmed. And two Hobs—each one’s as dangerous as the Mossbear. More dangerous because they can think.”

Beniar nods. He strokes at the stubble around his chin, sounding worried.

“Sixty four. I uh—if they’re not trained warriors—and if they are—well, it’s doable if we can catch them off guard, right, Wiskeria?”

He turns hopefully to the [Witch]. She nods with less conviction and looks at me.

“Do you know where they are, your majesty? We could ambush them and whittle their forces down. I have a few spells I could use if I had the time…”

I wince. Here’s the bad part. I shake my head as Prost turns, sharpening a kitchen knife with a whetstone.

“They are coming. I—tipped them off.”

Prost’s hand slips. I sense the blood and hear him curse. Beniar starts and Wiskeria gets up—

“It’s nothing. Your majesty, if they’re coming, we’re doomed. At least, that’s what I understand from my own class and the looks on these adventurer’s faces.”

“Perhaps. But if we run, they’ll hunt us down, Prost. If we can fight them back…there is a chance. We’ve been training the villagers, and there are over a hundred and fifty of us.”

“Not all warriors, sire. Many children, folk too old or injured to fight, and most’ve never fought anything before. A far cry from a seasoned Goblin [Warrior].”

“Yes. I know.”

Silence. I can sense the adventurers and Prost looking at each other. But there’s no options available. Wiskeria clears her throat.

“We can rely on the palisades, block off the main street now we know they’re coming. I’ll prepare spells; see what the best area to fight in is.”

“I’ll do the same.”

Beniar springs to his feet. I raise a hand and he stops.

“There’s something else.”

I detected a group of Goblins splitting off from the main force, circling around the village. They’re clearly trying to flank us. When I tell Wiskeria that, she nods.

“How many?”

“Twenty…three. Including one of the Hobs. That leaves less Goblins to attack from the front, I guess.”

“But more to hit us where we least want them. I have a proposal, your majesty. If we let the Windfrozen Riders handle them—”

“What?”

Beniar’s outraged. Wiskeria freezes him with a cold stare.

“You have seven people in your group, Beniar. Seven, including you. I doubt you could fight off that many alone. We’ll give you some other villagers who can use bows.”

“Yes, but—that leaves the Trackers and villagers to hold off forty Goblins and a Hob!”

“We’ll have to do it. We can’t risk being attacked from two sides. If you can finish off your group, you can help us. But we can’t let ourselves be overrun.”

Wiskeria’s in charge. She’s taking command in this moment and no one, including me is about to stop her. I can’t see the map she’s looking at, and she understands more of war than I do.

However, my input matters. I talk with Wiskeria as Beniar goes out to let his party know what they’ll be doing. Prost is already organizing a barricade.

I can sense her glancing at me from time to time. After a while, she breaks off from asking me what the Goblins are using as weapons—swords and spears, mainly with a few axes for good measure—and speaks quietly.

“I…wanted to apologize, your majesty.”

“For what, exactly?”

“For casting a spell on you. For not telling you about the Mossbear fur. For Odveig…all of it. I know that if I were in any other kingdom, the punishment for any of these things might be my life. I can only beg for forgiveness.”

I grimace.

“I put you in a bad spot, Wiskeria. I’m still angry about the Mossbear fur, but I understand that was a precaution.”

“Yes. I was actually trying to drive it off before you did. I didn’t understand why it was so furious—I suppose Odveig might have done something to it.”

“Well, her actions are not your fault, Wiskeria.”

“But they are. She is—was—our team leader. Because she did all these things…”

“Tell you what, Wiskeria. We’ll sort out blame after all of this. But if you fight and put your life on the line with all of us, I’ll consider that a very strong endorsement of your innocence. Deal?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Now tell me how likely it is you think we’ll survive.”

For a while she’s silent. Wiskeria traces the map and I hear the rustle of paper.

“Truly? We’ve no [Strategist] or [Leader] and neither do they.”

“I’m an [Emperor].”

“Yes, but—I apologize, your majesty. However, you’ve not said you have any direct combat skills. Without those, the battle remains as it is.”

“I see. You’re correct. In that case…”

“We have Durene. She might be as strong as a Hob, but she’s never fought before. We outnumber the Goblins, but only with the villagers who are as inexperienced. And these Goblins are trained, deadly. It will come down to your people, sire. They would win no matter what the odds if they were without fear—”

“But they are afraid.”

“Yes. And they will die, and see their friends and family dying. They’ll pay the cost in blood. And if they break and run—”

“We die.”

“Yes.”

Wiskeria takes my hand for a moment. Her hands are cold and clammy. I squeeze her hand gently.

“Well then, I suppose it’s my job to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

I sense her smile weakly. We say little more. The village is alive with fear, with tension. But also, strangely, a bit of certainty. After so much waiting, the Goblins are finally coming. For all of us, there’s some relief in that finality.

I don’t want to die here. Wiskeria and I part ways after a while. I want to be with Durene for the hours before night, when we think they’ll strike, and she has work to do.

“Emperor Laken? May I ask you one question?”

Wiskeria stops me before I go. I turn.

“Yes?”

She hesitates.

“I’ve wanted to know this the entire time. You—you’re truly an [Emperor], aren’t you?”

“Yes. I am.”

“In that case…how did you become one? Were you born to it? Are you from some distant land?”

I have to laugh softly.

“I am from a distant land. One you’ve never heard of, Wiskeria. But I was not born an [Emperor]. In fact, I only became one when I met Durene.”

“What? Then how—?”

“I decided to be one. Because I knew I could be one. Because I’d heard a story about an [Emperor] with no crown. An [Emperor] with no castle. An [Emperor] with a city to live in and not a penny to his name. Beloved by all.”

With that, I leave her. I walk out the door and kiss Durene in the middle of the village. And night falls.

And the Goblins come.

—-

This is the sound of the end. It’s blowing horns, shouting in the woods, and wind howling through the trees. The wind has to howl. It’s only fitting.

It’s the sound of your own teeth chattering as you try to make a speech. It’s the sound of a young man weeping and people around him shouting at the Goblins, roaring as if to drown out the guttural shrieks coming towards them.

It’s the sound of saying goodbye to your loved ones, holding a child’s hand, lying, saying all that will be well. It’s the sound of ‘I love you’, spoken a hundred ways to a hundred people.

It is the sound of Goblins.

They burst out of the woods around midnight. It’s a terrible wait, knowing they’re coming. When they do come, it’s so quick I can barely shout before the alarm is raised.

But we’re ready. The Goblins falter a second as they see the barricades made from overturned wagons and spikes driven diagonally into the ground. But on they come. A huge Hob is leading them, sword gleaming in the winter moonlight.

And the Goblins are everywhere. I know there are only forty of them, but they stream across the ground like one mass. I can only imagine what it’s like to see all of this and not sense it. I’m standing at the back of the rows of villagers and I think I can hear Wiskeria’s heart stop.

But she doesn’t falter. As the Goblins approach she shouts and the villagers with bows and the Celestial Trackers loose quarrel after quarrel at the Goblins. They’re answered with arrows from the Goblin’s bows, and I hear villagers cry out around me.

“To the rear! More goblins!”

A shout goes up. I can sense the Hobgoblin’s smile, but the trap he’s set with his friend cuts both ways.  I hear a wild war cry as Beniar and his Windfrozen Riders charge towards the Goblins trying to attack from behind. I pray for him.

And then the Goblins are here. I hear a voice like gravel shrieking and feel helpless. I have a woodcutter’s axe with me, but I’m to stay behind the fighting. Everyone insisted. Prost told me privately that he thinks the villagers will flee if I’m killed or wounded.

So I wait. And I see it all.

The first group of Goblins doesn’t charge onto the wooden spikes. That would be suicide. They hack at the sharpened points instead, cutting with their weapons and then surge through the gaps, climbing the barricades and fighting with the people jabbing spears and other weapons down at them.

“Celestial Trackers! On me!”

Wiskeria screams and throws glowing blue fire at the nearest Goblins. She and the Celestial Trackers rush forwards. Some hang back, loosing arrows in point-blank archery duels with Goblins.

“For Riverfarm!”

Prost leads the counterattack. He and the villagers keep formation, trying to hold the Goblins at bay. But retreating. The Goblins are expert warriors and they swarm and try to get around the villagers, some going as far as to try and climb the roofs of the houses and leap down on the villagers from above.

“For Laken!”

I hear a different cry, and sense Durene. She’s towering over the other Humans, and the Goblins are reluctant to go near her. She swings her club and they back up. Wiskeria is trading spells with a Goblin in the back wearing war paint—a [Shaman]?

And then I see the huge, fat Goblin towering over the rest. Only it’s not fat, is it? Hobgoblins like this one are round and made of muscle. And he is taller than anyone but Durene. Stronger, too.

The Hob is fighting across from Durene. He’s smashing the wooden barricades, sending villagers tumbling off it and opening a hole with pure brute strength. As I watch, he turns and cuts. One of the Celestial Trackers screams and falls, her hand severed at the wrist.

No. I want to cry out, to rush forward, but the villagers are forming a solid mass between me and the Hobgoblin. I look around—there’s a platform the archers are meant to be using, only this one’s lost its archer. I find a young woman on the ground behind it. Dead. There’s an arrow in her throat.

No time to be sick. No time to cry. I stand on the platform. I can’t use a bow. That’s one of the things sight is essential for. But I can use my voice. So I shout.

“I am Laken Godart, [Emperor] of Riverfarm! You are trespassing on my land! Leave or die!”

I’m shouting right at the Hobgoblin. I know he can hear me. He turns—his eyes are glowing, although in my mind they have no color. I shout.

“Halt!”

For a moment he does. Long enough for a villager to attack him with a pitchfork. But the moment of hesitation isn’t enough for the young man to capitalize on it. The Hobgoblin twists his body and the tines of the pitchfork break on his armor. He slashes—the young man falls.

“I said, halt!”

This time the Hobgoblin gives me a dismissive glance. My voice of command is useless on him. He turns and grins as the Goblins around him shout and drive the villagers back.

Helpless. I feel helpless. Wiskeria is shouting orders and Prost is fighting. Durene swings her mace and Goblins scatter around her. One is too slow. The blow breaks something in the Goblin and it—she—falls.

And I do nothing.

My voice is useless. The Goblins laugh and sneer at my attempts to stop them. I can only shout. My words—

I see them falling. My villagers. They’re being pushed back by the Goblins’ relentless assaults. And their morale is weakening. Already three of the Trackers have fallen. Wiskeria screams as the [Shaman] hits her with a bolt of energy that scorches her shoulder black.

They are my people and I cannot help them. In this moment, I know it. I see a young man with a hoe cutting at a Goblin, and watch as it ducks beneath the blade, snarling, and stabs into his stomach.

His intestines come out. I see the Goblin duck away as he collapses. I know his name.

Calop, the name of a root. He is mine.

Mine. I pulled him from the ground. I saved his life. They can’t take him. He is my subject.

But he fades. I see him sagging, see a young woman clinging to him, trying to pull him up and ward the same Goblin away. He grins and cuts her.

Her name is—is Fulca. I offered her sanctuary. I told her she would be safe.

She falls too. Dying. They’re all dying.

My mouth opens silently. You cannot have them. They are mine. My subjects. My people.

Mine.

I don’t realize that I’ve leapt off the archery tower. I’m standing at the backs of the villagers now, shouting.

“Stand and fight! Don’t retreat! Don’t let them advance a single step!”

They hear me. I can see villager’s heads turning, see them struggling harder. But they are mortal and frail. This is all they can do and spirit is—a Goblin guts a young teenage girl, barely older than a child.

It’s not enough. Now I’m screaming at the Goblins, shouting as they laugh in my face.

“You are not worthy of standing on this land. You did not bleed for it. You have not died for it! The people of this village have lived and died here for generations! This is theirs. And mine!”

I point at the Hob. He sees me now and throws a man aside as he cuts towards me.

“I will burn your people to dust. I will hound them from the face of the earth! I swear to you, for every one of my subjects that falls I will take a hundred of your kind as vengeance! I will not let you take this ground!”

There’s fury in my heart. Something bursting in my mind. I feel something ignite. The Hob is coming. I hear Durene’s scream, Prost yelling.

“Kneel, Goblin.”

This time the Hob’s knees buckle. He pauses and when he looks at me, it’s no longer with a smile. He raises his longsword. I have the axe. I raise it.

Someone shoves me aside. The Hob’s sword descends and cuts the young man who gets in the way. Gamel blinks at me as the longsword opens up his chest. I see bloody ribs, see his open mouth.

He falls. The Hob turns to me and Durene bellows a challenge. She roars, hurling villagers and Goblins aside and the Hob backs up.

I don’t see her collide with the Hob. Gamel’s on the ground. He’s trying to tell me something. I tried? Please…?

I can’t hear. I can sense the light leaving him as I try to grip his hand. Not him. I can’t let him go. I can’t.

I won’t.

“Stand up! Don’t die! I said, stand up! Gamel!”

He tries. But there’s nothing left. He’s given it all to me. All. His life fades and I see it flowing out of him. I reach for it. It’s not enough. I want more. I demand more. He cannot die yet.

I will not allow it.

“Stop bleeding. Stop. Stop.”

It doesn’t work. Something in me speaks. I look into Gamel’s heart. His soul.

“Stop.”

Something—Gamel stares at me. The wound on his chest is gushing blood. It stains the ground. But now the blood stops. Gamel’s body jerks. He stares at me. My voice is an echo. Distant. Loud like tempests, terrible. Alien. It rolls and breaks upon the ears of the living. A command.

“Stand up.”

His legs move. Weakly. There’s not enough strength in him. That’s fine. I’ll give him more. I rise.

“Stand up, Gamel. You swore to follow me on the graves of your parents. In ice and blood and loss. It is not time for you to die. I need you. Stand up!”

His body moves. Gamel rises, the sword in his hand gripped in a pale hand. I turn. There are Goblins fighting with the villagers. They stare at Gamel as he turns towards them, his chest opened, covered in his life’s blood.

“Fight!”

Gamel charges. Flames burst from his hand and sear one Goblin’s chest. He hacks at another Goblin. They fall back, afraid.

The other villagers are fighting. They see Gamel and falter. But then they hear my voice.

“Fight, people of Riverfarm! Fight, folk of Windrest! Fight! You have sworn yourselves to me! Fight for your [Emperor]!”

I command them. I command their very souls. The wounded rise. Exhausted arms move as if they were fresh. Limbs without strength grapple with their opponents and force them back. My voice is in their ears as the villagers form up, forcing the line of Goblins back. The words come out of me, out of some place in my soul.

“Stand. I see your lives like flames on the sea. You are mine. The water will not touch you. The wind cannot quench your fire. So long as I live, your fates and mine burn together. I do not give you permission to die. So stand—and show me nothing but victory.”

The Goblins hesitate. They have never seen this. An old man with a rake charges them, hacking at faces. He blinds a Goblin with a strike, bites the sharpened points deep into another Goblins’ back. Others stab him, mortal wounds to his chest and throat.

Breathless, he keeps swinging his rake. Heart stopped, he seizes a Goblin and tears at his throat. He keeps moving as he falls, keeps fighting. And he is one. Gamel fights past him, face contorted with rage. Prost runs through a Goblin and keeps running. The villagers charge and the Goblins retreat.

Something roars. The Goblins turn and something charges them from behind. The [Shaman] casting spells at the dying witch stops laughing and sees a paw descend. The Mossbear smashes the Goblin flat and bites into a second. It roars, and bites the intruders. Called by a spell. Commanded by an [Emperor].

Two shapes fight amid the Goblins and Humans. Two giants. Durene and the Hobgoblin strike at each other, trading blows. He has a shield to go with his sword and moves with trained grace. She is slow. Her shield is crude, but it blocks his sword.

Yet she is wounded. He’s cut her deeply on the side and along one breast. Now the Hob senses the tide turning. He snarls and swings his sword. Durene sees it coming on her club arm. She does not try to block.

She howls and swings her club. The sword bites deep into her arm, cutting through grey flesh and stopping on bone. The Hobgoblin raises his other arm, his shield. The club falls through the sky and nothing in this world can stop it.

The shield deforms. The arm breaks. The Hobgoblin’s head implodes and it falls. Durene turns with his sword still buried in her left arm and roars.

She has forgotten who she is. I have forgotten who I am. A girl reaches out for fury and finds it in her desperation, in her rage.

The Goblins look at her and step back. She looms over them, bleeding, holding her club. They see the part of her the Humans fear. The part of her that has never come out before.

Troll.

Durene roars and swings her club. Two Goblins die. She hammers another one into the ground, dead the moment her weapon touches him. On the hill, an [Emperor] howls and his people rush forwards around the Troll, screaming, fearless.

The Goblins are warriors. Not heroes. They break and flee as they are overrun.

A screaming band of riders rushes out from the village, weapons and armor covered in blood. They charge the Goblins from the side, cutting down Goblins from behind.

Not one escapes. The last is crushed by a massive hand. Durene tears the Goblins’s arm from his socket and hurls the body to the ground to stomp on it. In the sudden silence, every head turns.

Like magic, the villagers, the adventurers, and the half-Troll turn to look at a young man. He stands by himself, apart from the fighting. Something is looming in his shadow. He stands like a giant amid the dead, and for a moment his words are bolts of lightning, strings that death cannot cut.

Then it fades. He sags and villagers drop like stones. Laken Godart stares at his hands. They are not covered in blood. They are wet instead.

With tears.

—-

It’s over. The Goblins are dead. But it is not over.

There are wounded to attend to. So many. So many dead. In truth, not that many—

Not all. But more fall by the second, whether from exhaustion or mortal injuries, it’s impossible to say. Prost carries people to beds, opens healing potion bottles with trembling hands. It’s a race against time and some die despite his efforts.

And mine. I open bottles, hand them to people, pour the liquid over wounds and wait for them to close. Some don’t. I’m just one person in the village. One person among many that no one speaks to.

No one can look at me. No one speaks to me. I think they’re afraid to. I can barely exist myself. I—feel like I was another person for a while. I feel like another man’s memories are in my head.

What did I say? Why did I say it? How could I—

I stop and lean against the wall of a house. It’s cold. I feel sick. I want to throw up, but I can’t. I am their [Emperor]. I gave them the orders. No one else did. I ordered them to fight, and when they were dying, I told them to live.

Because I willed it.

And then I remember Gamel. I find him among the wounded, lying on a cot in the barn. I slow as I see him.

“Gamel?”

“Emperor?”

He stares up at me. I can feel his hands shaking as they try to grip mine. The gaping wound in his stomach is gone. All healed. But the trauma and blood loss can’t be healed so easily. He can’t stand.

He is hovering at the edge of life and death. He was dead. He was meant to be dead. The wound’s closed, but he can’t be alive. Like the old man with the rake. He was still moving afterwards. But though the potion closed his injuries, he never opened his eyes.

“Gamel. I’m sorry.”

“I—was happy to serve. You gave me strength.”

Gamel struggles to talk. I can see something in his eyes, fading away again. I shake my head. Tears.

“I shouldn’t have. I took something from you. I—”

“Wanted to. Give. A ruler is more than a man.”

I stare down at Gamel.

“No. Yes. He is. But I am still sorry.”

It’s not a word. Just a question in his eyes. I sit by Gamel. The words come out of me slowly.

“A ruler can afford to see nothing but pawns and tools or break his heart against his duties. But the mortal, human soul in him must cry out for every injustice he commits. Or he is no ruler, but a monster wearing the same skin. I am both. And I am sorry.”

“Still my [Emperor]. Saved us. I’ll live.”

I smile. My heart is twisting in my chest.

“Yes. You will live. Sleep now, Gamel. Sleep—and rest while I can still let you.”

He closes his eyes. I can’t tell if he’s dying or not. I put my hand on his chest and feel nothing.

I look around. The lines of bodies are long. But I sense many chests rising and falling.

Thirty one dead, forty six wounded. Of that number, eight had wounds that could not be healed with potions. A young man lost three fingers. A wife a leg. One of Berniar’s riders lost an eye. Some should have died from the wounds they took.

But they lived. Because I commanded it. They lived when many should have died.

The Mossbear is gone. It left after eating some of the dead Goblins. I think it was wounded, but not deeply. Wiskeria summoned it from its cave.

A last resort. An emergency measure. That’s why she wanted the fur.

These are all numbers I see. In my mind. But it doesn’t change reality. I stare at the few people who are upright. Some are still holding their weapons. A shovel, a rake, a frying pan of all things. But they killed with them. The blood is still on some.

I have made warriors of these humble folk. I have turned farmers into killers and taught them what death is. Is there anyone who wouldn’t be changed by such an experience? They have killed.

Goblins. They killed Goblins. But Goblins are too much like people. The people of Riverfarm and Windrest will remember this day for the rest of their lives.

Prost finds me kneeling next to Gamel. He takes me away for a moment. When he speaks, it’s a simple statement.

“You saved us.”

“You saved yourselves.”

“No.”

He shakes his head.

“You saved us. I felt it. When you spoke—”

“I manipulated you. I took away your will. I forced you to—I had no right. Surely you agree.”

He shakes his head again. There’s pain in Prost’s eyes. His wife was the one who lost her leg. But his children are alive. I look into his eyes and see little gratitude. It hurts too much for that. But neither do I see anger or hatred, either.

“Not for us to say, my Emperor. We are yours. We gave all we had to you for our lives, and that of our families. We are sworn to you. Servants, subjects to a ruler. If we wished for freedom, we could only but rebel and break our oaths. We would be damned for that.”

“Some oath. What do you get, then?”

“You, lord.”

I look at Prost. He reaches out.

“You. We are yours and you are ours. So it is for every ruler and his people. They are his, or hers. And they belong to their people. One cannot live without the other. For better or worse, they are bound until one is gone.”

“Is it a Skill? Part of my class?”

For the first time in a long while, I see Prost smile. He shakes his head.

“It is not just part of classes and levels. It is the bond we have made. You gave us hope and purpose. You gave us life when the snow buried our home and our families. You pulled us out with your bare hands. How could we not give you everything we have in return?”

He leaves me with that. I go back and find Wiskeria. She’s sobbing over one of her friends. When she sees me she bows her head.

“I don’t know what—I heard you. I felt you. I—I can’t go back to Invrisil after this. I can’t.”

I kneel as she chokes on her words. She looks at me with tears in her eyes.

“Part of me died here. Part of the Celestial Trackers. We’re gone. We put too much of ourselves into that battle.”

Of the Trackers, four out of twelve survived. Of the Windfrozen Riders, five. I look at Wiskeria. At her as she is, raw, grieving. It’s not the time. But there’s nothing else I can give her.

“Wiskeria, I—I’ve misjudged you. You and your group have given—no. Wiskeria, listen to me.”

She looks at me.

“Be my [General].”

I say it softly. She blinks as if she can’t understand. But she’s smart.

“What? How?”

I turn. So many wounded. So many hurt. A battle with no [Strategist] or [Leader]. I look back at her.

“I have…a certain number of positions I can give away as an [Emperor]. Not many positions of nobility; they’re filled. But every ruler needs someone to direct their armies. I’d like that person to be you.”

“Me?”

“You lead the battle. You’ve lead a group. No one else can do it. Beniar is too reckless, but you—you could do it.”

“But I’m a [Witch]. I never dreamed of being a [General]. I can’t just give up my class.”

“Be a [Witch], then. Be a [General], too. Be the first [Witch General] the world has ever seen. If that class exists, you’ll have it. If not—I’ll make it for you. But be mine, Wiskeria.”

I hold out my hand to her, in the barn full of grieving voices and death. There isn’t anything else in the world but Wiskeria and me. She stares at my hand, at me.

“Take my hand and walk with me until the world ends or we do.”

Forever passes as we look at each other. There’s still so much we don’t know. But she knows enough of me and I know her. She takes my hand. And it’s done.

I find Durene after the rest of it. She’s crying, holding a friend. I hold her close and feel her shaking. We lie down for a second and hold each other. For a second of rest. Then she gets up to help the wounded again. My [Paladin]. I close my eyes.

[Emperor Level 15!]

[Skill – Empire: Art of the Builder Obtained!]

[Skill – Undying Loyalty Learned.]

Sleep calls. But I hear the voice and know. In my heart. It pulls me up. I stand.

[Undying Loyalty]. A word for what I did. A chance. Just one.

So I sit with Gamel throughout the night. He alone lives. The rest, those who I called back from the grave—

Die.

Day 70

Durene leveled too. That’s the upshot of it. Wiskeria became a Level 4 [General] overnight—Prost leveled. I don’t think there was one person in the village who didn’t level or gain a class, come to that.

There’s no work to be done the next day. Just burying the dead and burning the Goblins. I feel like a ghost at times, so little do I speak. There’s no need for an [Emperor] to order anything at this moment. I just need to be there so people can see me. To know I’m there.

They still believe in me. They believe in a man who ordered them to fight and die. Because in doing so, I saved them. I cannot forgive myself, but there is nothing to forgive for them.

We are alive. I go on with that knowledge keeping me sane.

Durene and I sit together after the digging is done. The cold ground is rough, but she is tireless. Among her new Skills is [Lesser Endurance].

Now, in the quiet of mourning I finally tell her the truth. She sits cross-legged with me, feeding Frostwing and letting the bird nip her fingers. Frostwing flaps her wings and a feather floats down.

“A [General], a [Steward], a [Paladin]…all of these classes are rare. Special. Stronger than normal classes because they’re more important, you could say. Or so my theory goes.”

“So that’s why you gave it to me.”

“Well, that wasn’t my idea to begin with. That was…luck.”

“Oh. But it’s better than other classes?”

“Better than [Warrior]? Yes, I think so. I think some classes are just designed that way, in whatever system this world works off of.”

“But that’s not fair.”

“Of course not. But it has to be this way, Durene. How can a [General] be both a [Strategist], [Warrior], and [Leader] all at the same time? It’s because he—”

“Or she.”

“Thank you. Yes, or she—must be all these things and arguably just as good as an expert in all three fields. There’s a famous [Lord] in the north named Tyrion Veltras. Apparently he’s not only able to manage a vast amount of his lands, but he’s one of the leaders who commands the Human armies when they fight against the Drakes. To me, that sounds like he’s got at least two classes’ worth of Skills packed into one.”

“Oh. That’s good, then. So you’ll give more classes to other people?”

I nod, staring at my hands. This is one of the things I can do for them. I owe them this.

“I’m going to make Gamel my [Knight] if he wants me to. If not—there are other classes I’ve thought of. I have a few good suggestions, too. Wiskeria will offer the rank of [Captain] to Beniar to start with, and if I need to, I’ll give him a higher rank. If he doesn’t like that, I’ll see if he wants to wear armor. If there’s a [Cataphract] class, I’d love to see if his [Riders] could obtain it by wearing armor.”

Durene nods. She stares across the village, at the churned ground, still stained in places, where the fighting happened. She feels at her arm where the sword cut her.

“So how do you know all this, Laken? Claiming lands with markers, giving all these classes out—did you think of it yourself?”

“No. Actually, I…”

I break off and look around. But no one’s nearby to listen. Still, prompted by some hunch, I lean over to Durene. She obligingly bends her head down.

“I…was given this advice by someone. Let’s call it some insider advice. Ah…you don’t know what I mean by that, do you, Durene?”

“Nope.”

“My…informant, let’s call him, was rather strange. He seemed to know exactly how a lot of things would turn out and he knew a lot about my class. He admitted as much. So I’ve used a lot of his suggestions—”

“Like making Mister Prost a [Steward]? And turning Wiskeria into a [General]?”

“And the trick with the totem poles—I mean, markers. Yeah. It’s a bit odd how much was exactly like he said. I was wary about taking all the advice, but it was free, and there’s a saying where I come from…”

I trail off for a second. Durene nudges me.

“What? What’s the saying?”

“Oh, ‘don’t look a gift horse in the mouth’.”

She shifts and I hear her voice rumbling in confusion as we sit together.

“Why wouldn’t you look one in the mouth? It could be dangerous. What if it was a Dresh Horse? You’d be sorry for not checking, then!”

I have to laugh at that. Trust Durene to come up with a practical answer to a silly folk saying.

“What’s a Dresh—never mind. I get it. And you’re right. But I can’t help but think someone’s on our side out there. Or at least, we’re getting help because it suits someone for the moment.”

“Okay, but when did you meet him? I never saw—”

“I’m not around you all the time, Durene. In fact, I met him in Invrisil. While I was there.”

“Really? But—”

“I’ll tell you all about it. Later. Hold on, someone’s coming.”

I stand up, suddenly worried. Someone is coming. Someone on horseback. Odveig? Sacra?

It’s not her. Instead, a man on horseback rides into the village, staring at the Goblin bodies and asking for me. He’s escorted to me by the villagers, some of whom are holding weapons.

I’m not worried. The man showed Prost his Runner’s Seal. Some use horses. And he has something for me. The man clears his throat a few times and I hear him speak quite nervously as he half-bows in my direction.

“I have a letter addressed to an…[Emperor]? Emperor Laken of Riverfarm?”

“That’s me.”

I have no Runner’s Seal, nor any way to prove who I am. Nevertheless, the City Runner doesn’t hesitate for a moment to hand the letter over. It smells faintly of…orchids? Perhaps. Something close to that, a delicate perfume. Durene’s murmuring tells me the parchment is rich. There’s no name on the letter, just a wax seal.

A letter to an [Emperor]. I break the wax seal and open the letter. It’s short. I have to have Wiskeria read it out loud to me.

“To the esteemed [Emperor] Laken Godart of Riverfarm, I am humbly…”

Looks like it’s a greeting from a [Lady] Rie who lives in Invrisil. She greets me, invites me to her estate which is only a few miles away, offers me her congratulations…I listen to Wiskeria read through the letter, barely able to process it at this time.

“Well. She gave this letter to you, did she?”

The City Runner coughs nervously.

“Her manservant did, mil—your majesty. However, this—isn’t the only letter.”

“What?”

“That is the first letter, ah, your majesty. I have three more.”

He has three more letters, two from [Merchants] and one from a [Lord]. I hold them in my hands and sense the Runner fidget.

“Would you like to send a return message? That service has been paid for by each sender.”

“I’ll consider it. Please, stay for a while and allow me time to decide. Unless you’re busy?”

“No your majesty! My time has been paid for. I will wait wherever you please.”

“My [Steward] will find you a spot. And something hot. I will deliberate by myself.”

I wander away from the City Runner and hear him asking what happened. I wonder what Prost will tell him. Myself, I step away from the village and sit on a rock, brushing the snow off of it.

So much has happened. And this is just the latest development. It’s mind boggling. Insane.

“Strange. I can’t believe it.”

I whisper the words out loud. I stare at the letters, sniff the perfume. Each one addressed to me. All coming at once. From [Lords] and [Ladies], no less.

“It’s all happening like he said. Exactly like he said.”

I don’t know what to think. My head is whirling, my heart still bleeds. I look back towards my village and raise my head to the sky. Here it is. My empire. My people have bought it in blood and I am bound to it now.

My lands. My people. My love. All things start here. I open the next letter with my thumb.

“Well then. Let’s begin.”

After a second, I look around. I wander back into the village and raise my hand. Everyone looks at me.

“Hey, can someone read this to me?”

4.24

It was going to be an important day. Ivolethe felt it, just like she felt the rays of the sun warm her frozen body slightly. She could sense…there were no words for what she sensed. The English language had no words for it, because Humans had only five senses, and perhaps a few others that were more instinctual and sometimes slightly magical.

A proper comparative would be that Ivolethe tasted the sense of foreboding and premonition on the air and felt déjà vu creeping over her while she simultaneously smelled, heard, and thought of all these sensations as well. It was the feeling of destiny, of fate.

Contrary to what Ryoka Griffin feared, Frost Faeries could not in fact tell the future. They could, however, predict the future, but that was a skill most beings had. Humans could do it. Less well than the fae, but they could do it.

It was easy. Show a Human an apple and most would agree that it would fall when dropped. Some might suspect the apple would explode, defy gravity, or commit to some other miraculous feat, but insanity lurks within all species. By and large, Humans could predict the future in simple ways like this.

They could see the apple and know it would fall. However, Ivolethe and her kind were different. The fae could see the apple and know what would happen if it was caught, what would happen if it landed, and what would happen if an arrow shot it out of the air during an archery competition.

They could predict what would happen after the apple fell, but they couldn’t see the whole of the apple’s fate. Just more of it than most. Where mortals saw only the road in front of them, faeries could see the crossroads.

It didn’t mean they knew everything. But Ivolethe could see strands of destiny weaving and changing each other. She could sense…peculiarities and moments in time that mattered.

And today, a lot of these threads were coming together. So many, and the ones that were already moving were pulling the rest. Because of course, destiny was connected. How could it not be?

So today would be momentous for many people in this small part of the world. It would be special. Ivolethe didn’t question the coincidence that pulled together so many events at once; she sometimes thought that reality liked such things. Special things should be special.

It could have been the work of a god as well, of course. Immortal beings were all about important days and destiny. But in this world, such an occurrence would be impossible. Ivolethe knew this. The gods were dead. And they had better stay that way.

The Frost Faerie sighed as the sun rose a bit. She could hear a Gnoll child flopping around her room, waking up to the smell of food as she ran over a young woman’s face. Ryoka Griffin groaned and Ivolethe smiled and flew away from Ryoka’s windowsill.

Today was going to be important. She flew into the Wandering Inn’s kitchen and stole a huge sausage link and some garlic. Even faeries liked something to eat while watching.

—-

Ryoka knew it was going to be a bad day when she woke up. She opened her eyes and knew something was wrong.

There was nothing supernatural about this premonition. Ryoka had lived through too many days like this not to remember.

It was the feeling of things going wrong. It was the sensation in her mind of the sun going out. On days like this, Ryoka couldn’t help but feel angry and unhappy.

It had been a while since she felt like this. Back home, on earth, Ryoka could go for months without days like this. Other times it was a never-ending week of bad days. And oddly, it always felt like the world seemed to agree with Ryoka’s mood.

There was a large, brown beetle with a speckled exoskeleton crawling on her toothbrush. Ryoka stared at it for a long time as it crawled over the fine bristles and investigated the insides of her runner’s backpack. It was a fitting start to her morning.

She flicked the beetle off her brush and then tossed it out of the window. Then the Asian girl determinedly spread the foul toothpaste—a blend of sage, salt, pepper and other herbs Octavia mixed up and sold in small jars—and brushed her teeth with her toothbrush.

She took extra-long to brush her teeth just to show the damn beetle what was what. Then Ryoka remembered she hadn’t had breakfast.

“Fuck.”

She made her way downstairs, trying not to scowl that openly. But her mood had followed her. It lived in her mind. It was a blackness creeping in her thoughts.

“Good morning, Ryoka! Would you like some pancakes? They’re hot and we have honey!”

A smiling Lyonette greeted Ryoka. The tall girl grunted at her. The little devil sitting on her shoulder made her shake her head. Just to be contrary.

“No pancakes. I’ll have the cinnamon muffins Erin made a few days ago.”

“Oh? Sure! I’ll heat them up. It’ll be a moment. And you want—”

“Milk. Thanks.”

That was the thing about Erin’s inn. Ryoka could order a steak Erin had seared to perfection five days ago and have it fresh and hot in moments. The hot, warm muffins with a side of honey and milk made the clouds around Ryoka lift for a bit. Then Lyonette came back and showed her Apista.

Ryoka recoiled in her chair as she came face to face with two black, fragmented eyes and a massive, furry insect’s head. She backed up and realized it was only massive for a bee. Apista the bee was a bee twice the size of Ryoka’s hand, clinging quietly to Lyonette’s arm and fanning its wings.

“Isn’t she amazing? I have a lesser bond with her, and she listens to everything I say!”

Lyonette beamed as if a bug crawling on her shirt was something to be proud of. Ryoka took one look at the bee and decided to ask Octavia about what kind of poisons she sold. Preferably powders. A nice can of Raid would be acceptable too.

“Okay. Good. Please get it away from me.”

Lyonette did, looking somewhat hurt. However, the sight of the giant bee crawling over her arm was frightening enough at a distance, let alone up close. Ryoka eyed the bee’s stinger.

“It looks like a queen bee. Are you trying to start a hive or something?”

“No—it’s just a pet. I really didn’t want to keep it at first but…it grew on me, you know?”

“I see. Can you take it somewhere else while I eat? I don’t usually share my meals with insects.”

After Apista was gone, Ryoka looked around and found Mrsha was busy harassing Zel Shivertail before he left the inn. He was always in the city doing something. The Gnoll was trying to pin down his tail and having no luck. Zel could lift Mrsha’s entire body up with his muscular tail. For some reason, seeing Mrsha enjoying herself with someone else annoyed Ryoka.

“She’d just annoy you if she was here. Think, idiot.”

Ryoka smacked herself in the head. That was the thing. She could tell when her mood was bad and she did try to account for it. Well, she tried in this world.

But while Ryoka could tell what was coming, she could never realize when the snap was coming, when the bile rose up and came out of her mouth. When Lyonette gave her a muffin sans bee, Ryoka glanced around to look where it had gone. Apista was calmly eating from a bowl on a table, watched warily by some of the regular customers and hungrily by Bird.

That was another thing. Bird was now a permanent fixture in Erin’s inn. He didn’t say much and sat on the roof where the third floor and new wing were slowly being constructed. But there were also several Drakes and Gnolls who had decided Erin’s inn was a good place to have breakfast.

Right now Ryoka didn’t want any company. She unsubtly glared at a Drake who was sitting across from her table, eying the Ashfire Bee queen warily. And meanwhile, Erin had just edged out of the kitchen carrying a pot that was shaking of its own volition. Ryoka stared at it. Lyonette coughed.

“Um, Ryoka? Are you okay?”

“Awesome. Great. What the hell’s in the pot?”

There was something disturbing about Erin. It was that when you got to know her, the innkeeper of the Wandering Inn never did normal things. In any other person, Ryoka might have assumed the small pot with the shaking lid was…something explainable. With Erin, Ryoka immediately suspected the worse.

“It’s a, uh, slime.”

“A what.”

“A slime. Remember when Erin was talking about healing slimes?”

“No.”

As it turned out, Ryoka was one of the few people Erin hadn’t told about her idea to make a slime out of a healing potion. Lyonette told Ryoka how she’d cajoled Typhenous and Octavia into helping her create one.

“And they did it? They went along with that insane idiot’s—just like that?”

“It’s not hard, apparently. It’s just a mana stone and a bit of existing slime. Apparently they can create themselves. Erin made one out of water to see if it would work first.”

“That stupid—Erin!”

Erin came over, beaming and holding the small pot. She opened her mouth.

“Hey Ryoka, guess what—”

“A slime. Why the hell did you do it, Erin?”

The other girl looked put out. She stared at Lyonette, who mimed an apology and scooted away to help Drassi wait the tables. Erin put the pot down on the table and took off the lid. Ryoka had a glimpse of a mostly transparent blob slowly rising from the pot, questing around with part of itself. She slammed the lid down.

“Aw! Ryoka!”

“Are you insane? Why do you think creating a monster is a good idea?”

“It’ll be cool! Lyonette has a pet, so I thought I could get one. Besides, did you hear about my idea to make healing slimes? We could feed it water and mana and get infinite healing potions!”

Ryoka ground her teeth together.

“Erin, no. This is exactly like the Rags situation. And Toren! Haven’t you learned anything from the past?”

At that, Erin’s smile vanished.

“What do you mean? This isn’t—Rags was cool.”

“She started her own tribe and started ambushing travelers on the road, Erin. She nearly killed me the first time I met her.”

“Yeah, but—she’s innocent, Ryoka. And she’s smart. She’s not like Toren at all.”

Ryoka let that go for the moment. She scowled at Erin. This conversation had been a long time coming. Why did it have to be today it happened?

“Toren? We should have talked about him a while ago, Erin. He was a monster and he didn’t listen to Pisces’ spells or your orders. That much is true, but you were also the problem. You never realized he could think, that he had free will, did you? I warned you. Didn’t I tell you about Frankenstein?”

Erin’s smile was long gone at this point. She sat down.

“Yeah. But I didn’t think he could think. He’s undead! He was undead.”

“And that’s a slime. A living thing. How long before it gets upset you’re keeping it in a pot—”

“I was going to build a larger place to keep it!”

“—Keeping it prisoner and trying to harvest it, and decides to kill someone? And what was that about healing potions? You want to do what, lick its body now and then? Scoop out its insides whenever you have a cut? Doesn’t that sound a bit like cruelty?”

Ryoka stared at Erin. The other girl wasn’t prepared for this, but she was now on the defensive. And getting angry.

“Typhenous said that slimes don’t feel pain! Or think, really. Why are you so grumpy today?”

“I’m grumpy because this seems like another mistake that’s going to cause trouble for everyone, that’s why! Typhenous is a [Mage] and an adventurer, Erin. He’d blast a hole in a Goblin’s head as soon as look at one.”

“Yeah, but—he’s still right when he’s right, right?”

The Runner girl didn’t dignify that with a response. Erin scowled at her. She suddenly seized the pot.

“Look, it’s just a slime. It’s not dangerous, it’s small! See?”

She brought it up right to Ryoka’s face so Ryoka could see inside and tilted it to her. Ryoka saw what looked like plain old tap water swirling around in the pot for a moment. Then the fluid inside grew decidedly non-Newtonian and leapt onto her face.

Ryoka screamed. It was like being splashed by water, but without the splash. Suddenly, she was choking as water clung to her face and shoulders, trying to cover her head.

“Mmfh! Getr off!”

“Oh no! Ryoka!”

Erin tried to grab the water, but her hands passed right through the slime. Ryoka felt herself choking—drowning. She staggered back and shook her head. The slime lost whatever grip it had and splattered onto the floor. It formed into a blob and was immediately scooped up into Erin’s pot.

“Are you okay, Ryoka?”

Everyone was staring at her. Ryoka swayed. She put one hand up to her mouth as Mrsha ran over, looking distressed.

“I think I swallowed some of it.”

Ryoka felt something squiggling down her throat. She was immediately sick.

—-

Six minutes later Ryoka sat at the same table. The vomit was gone, the slime was in the kitchen with a very heavy rock weighing down the lid, and Erin was sitting across from her. Both girls were angry at this point. Ryoka because she’d nearly been drowned and Erin because of what Ryoka had said to her afterwards.

“You’ve got to get rid of it.”

“You mean, kill it.”

“That’s the general implication, yes.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Erin hesitated. She looked around—Zel had left, the Gold-rank adventurers were gone, the Horns of Hammerad were in Celum looking to see if there was any work to be had there, and only the objectionable Drake Ryoka had seen this morning was still around. Finding no inspiration, Erin could only shrug.

“I don’t kill things if I can. Duh. Killing’s bad, m’kay?”

She paused and grinned expectantly. Ryoka’s face remained stony. Erin waited, and then grinned again.

“Hey Ryoka, did you get the reference? See, that was a reference to South Park—”

“I got it. If killing’s so bad, why are you feeding and housing a bunch of Gold-rank adventurers? They kill things all the time.”

“Well, those are monsters—”

“Like the fucking slime.”

“That’s different. They kill really bad monsters that are threatening people. Not slimes that accidentally got on someone’s face.”

“Oh? Bad monsters? You mean like Goblins. Like the Goblin Lord’s army, and Rags’ tribe, come to think of it. I suppose they’ll kill all those Goblins and things will be great, won’t they?”

The other girl stared at Ryoka.

“No. No one’s killing Goblins. I put a sign up.”

“The one buried by snow? Good job.”

“Hey Lyonette? Lyonette, get a shovel and—”

“Shut up, Erin. What good is a sign going to do? For that matter, mind telling all the victims of the Goblin Lord’s army that they shouldn’t kill Goblins? I’m sure that’ll go down wonderfully.”

What was she doing? Ryoka remembered the last fight she’d had with Erin. It hadn’t gone well. But there was a feeling in the air now. Erin glared at Ryoka.

“The sign stays.”

“Why? So we can all get killed when some actually dangerous Goblins come around?”

“I’m sure that when the evil Goblins are marching around and being…uh, evil, no one’s going to worry about my sign. It stays because I don’t believe all Goblins are evil.”

“Right. Some of them are ‘just’ bandits. Name one Goblin—”

“Rags.”

“—One Goblin who hasn’t tried to hurt or kill you at some point.”

Erin hesitated.

“There was this big Hobgoblin that Rags brought one time.”

“Right after the Goblin Lord’s army tried to kill me and—”

Ryoka broke off, saw Mrsha sitting on a table and playing with a wooden spinning top.

“—And did other things which I’m sure I remember. What’s your excuse there?”

Erin stared at Mrsha and shook her head.

“None. They’re bad and if they die that’s…that’s how it has to be. But Rags was different.”

“How?”

The innkeeper poked at the spotless table, speaking quietly and then meeting Ryoka’s eyes.

“Rags was small. She only wanted to survive. She did bad things, but she wasn’t a monster. She deserved a chance. Just a chance.”

“Sounds like she took that chance to do more ‘bad things’.”

“Maybe. But she’s gone. You didn’t see how Relc treated her, Ryoka! He kicked her and tried to hurt her!”

“For good reason, it sounds like.”

“Oh come on. All Goblins are bad? That’s racism—”

“No, that’s practicality in a world where making a mistake gets you killed, Erin.”

“This is about the slime, isn’t it?”

“Yes! It nearly got me! What happens if it crawls out of its pot and finds you asleep? Or Mrsha?”

The Gnoll cub’s ears pricked up. Erin looked at Mrsha, horrorstruck, and then at Ryoka. She wavered, and then got up. She came back with the bumping pot and took off the lid. The slime slowly oozed over the sides. It would have been fascinating, magical to watch if it didn’t make Ryoka so wary.

Erin stared at the clear blob, slightly tainted by a bit of the vomit it had absorbed from Ryoka. Apparently slimes weren’t picky about what they picked up. Ryoka stared at it with deep distrust.

“Fine.”

She pushed the slime out of the pot. It seemed reluctant to go this time. It swirled around on the table. Now Ryoka could see a single part of it that wasn’t fluid. It was a bobbing stone, a shimmering little blue gem hovering around the slime’s center.

Erin sighed.

“They don’t feel pain. And they’re really stupid. But I still feel bad.”

She reached into the slime. It immediately began flowing up her arm. Erin ignored that and quickly plucked the gem out of the slime. It tried to resist, clinging to the stone, but Erin was too quick and strong. The instant the gem left the slime’s body completely it collapsed. Water sloshed over the table, drenching Ryoka and Erin’s lower halves.

“What the hell?”

Ryoka stared at the remains of the slime as Lyonette rushed out of the kitchen with a towel. Erin showed her the shining gem. It still had bits of water stuck to it.

“Slime core. It’s this crystal, see? A mana crystal that’s got…slime stuff all over it. It can’t do much this small, though. It needs to be at least the size of an apple before it’ll move around. But the slime stuff is still part of the slime. They’re like a microbe-thing, I think. A fungus, maybe.”

“Amoebas that reproduce and join together when exposed to mana?”

“Yup.”

Erin put the stone on the table and didn’t quite meet Ryoka’s eyes. She spoke to Ryoka’s right ear instead.

“I’ll make a very small healing slime. I’ll keep it safe, and if it seems violent or dangerous in any way I’ll destroy it.”

Ryoka sat back. She was hungry again. But she didn’t feel like having breakfast twice.

“Well, well. Aren’t we hypocritical. Killing stuff’s bad, m’kay? Except when you want to experiment. Then it’s fine to make life and destroy it.”

Erin’s head snapped up. She and Ryoka locked gazes and Lyonette desperately tried to get in the way with her body while mopping up the mess.

A howl punctured the silence. It came from a Gnoll’s voice and from outside. Ryoka and Erin leapt to their feet. They ran outside and Ryoka saw Mrsha. She was running and a leathery, brown-green creature was attacking her.

It was a bird, a scaled beast. A pterodactyl in almost all respects. It was twice Mrsha’s size and it was swooping at Mrsha as the Gnoll child howled and tried to run for the inn. But the bird wouldn’t let it. The dino-bird—the Razorbeak grasped at Mrsha’s fur and flapped its wings as Mrsha struggled and bit and clawed at it. It was trying to lift Mrsha and carry her away!

Images of giant eagles hunting goats and dropping them from huge heights filled Ryoka’s mind. She snarled and ran at the bird. The Razorbeak flew away from Mrsha and Ryoka crouched over the Gnoll protectively. She raised her hand.

“Ivolethe? Where the hell are you?”

The Frost Faerie was usually about. But not today. Ryoka concentrated, spoke a word.

“[Flare]!”

She threw an orb of searing bright red light at the bird, which squawked and dove away. The light was harmless, but it made the Razorbeak hesitate. Unfortunately, the bird seemed to sense the magic was just light and dove at Ryoka instead. It clawed at Ryoka as she swore and tried to fend it off while reaching for her belt knife.

“Ryoka! Duck!”

Someone shouted. Ryoka ducked. She heard a whirring noise, and a thunk. The Razorbeak attacking her suddenly went limp and fell on Ryoka. She shoved it away and staggered back with Mrsha. Ryoka had a dagger in her hands, but there was no need to use it.

The Razorbeak was dead. A kitchen knife stuck out of the bird’s chest. Sharp as a razor, it had gone through the bird’s body, ending it in moments.

“Are you okay?”

Erin was standing in the doorway, a frying pan and another knife in her hands. Ryoka stared at her as Mrsha clung to her chest, sobbing. Slowly, she brought Mrsha inside and when the Gnoll was being hugged by Lyonette and Drassi, she looked at Erin.

All the fear went one way. All the fury too. Ryoka didn’t thank Erin for saving her or Mrsha. She looked at Erin and flicked the mana stone on the table. Then she nodded to the Razorbeak’s corpse lying just outside.

“For someone who doesn’t like killing, you’re awfully good at it.”

Erin’s face went white. Ryoka waited.

“Ryoka, Erin, please.”

Lyonette had heard it all of course. Ryoka turned her head and Erin punched her stomach. Ryoka swore and hit Erin in the shoulder before dodging back from Erin’s next swing.

Erin kicked her. Ryoka threw the magical chessboard at Erin and missed. She punched Erin twice before the other girl tackled her and they rolled around on the ground, hitting each other. The fight ended when Mrsha leapt into the fray, biting indiscriminately and Lyonette hit both girls with a bucket of water and then the bucket.

—-

A bad mood. The Queen of the Antinium felt like that didn’t describe her current feeling. A bad mood was just a chemical imbalance, a result of emotion and circumstance. In lesser creatures it might become an issue if not corrected, but the Antinium were perhaps the most biologically advanced creatures in the world. They could suppress mere bodily imperfections.

But only if they wanted to. The Queen did not want to in this moment. She was furious. Beyond furious. She was betrayed.

Klbkch had told her. Her faithful Revalantor had learned from Xrn—he had told her—

The Grand Queen was not attempting to create more Queens.

That news had broken the Queen of the Free Antinium. It had shattered all her ideals, all the faith she’d put in the Antinium on Izril. They were no longer trying to create more Queens? Why? How could they? Did they think six Queens were all they needed? Had they given up hope? Why?

Was it that they wanted to be the sole rulers of the Antinium?

No. The reasons didn’t matter. The outcome was the same. The Queen shifted. In her private chambers, she did something she rarely did. She moved.

The Soldiers who guarded her shifted as their Queen slowly rose. She had huge, massive legs and she used them to swivel her gargantuan body around and then fall onto her side. Slowly, awkwardly, the Queen pushed herself across the ground, lifting her body with effort. But she did move, and because she was huge, even a grudging step carried her far.

There was a way out of her quarters. It carried her down a tunnel where no other Antinium ever went, even Klbkch. He probably had bad memories of such places, but it was there the Queen dragged herself. Her voice echoed through the dirt hallway, filled with rage and anger she could barely remember feeling. She hadn’t felt like this in years.

“Traitors. Cowards. Fools!”

She whispered to herself, dragging her immense body past primitive rooms she had built. They were all airtight, one of the few places in the Hive that were sealed by proper doors. They had to be; mixing the enzymes, chemicals, and other reagents necessary for the Antinium to change and grow required facilities beyond what most [Alchemists] made use of.

She stopped in front of one of the rooms and rested a palp from one of her feelers on the entrance. The Queen of the Free Antinium knew what was within without having to look.

Corpses. Half-rotted bodies of malformed Antinium, mixtures, formed concoctions of enzymes, chemical triggers made from combinations of magic and alchemy, designed to trigger sequences in bodies as they grew. And sacs, embryos. Gelatinous containers like those that Workers and Soldiers emerged from, but far different.

Experiments. Forbidden of course and practically doomed to failure because the Queen of the Free Antinium lacked the resources the other Queens kept to themselves. Without them, she could not create specialized Antinium. But she had tried, oh yes. She had rediscovered the Rite of Anastasis through her experimentations, saved her beloved Klbkch’s life with it. And Ksmvr had been created here.

Still, it was the countless failures that paused the Queen’s body as she recalled the years of death that had gone on here. That did not stop her from turning to the carefully arranged collection of bottles and objects on the far wall, however.

“My work. It must be done. We cannot let the Antinium die here. Six queens? We should be legion. We should have names. I thought—they are failures, all of them. We should never have become so small.”

The Queen reached for a bottle of saltpeter. She hesitated, turned to an extract used in creating new Antinium. She would need eggs. The Queens of the Antinium produced eggs as a matter of course; it was one of the reasons why they grew so large, so they could sustain the populations of their hives. There were Birthers too—Antinium designed for one purpose. But the Queen of the Free Antinium used only her eggs for these experiments. It was…just.

She had no idea where she could begin. How could you create a Queen out of the base material? What were the formulas her predecessors had used? The Queen of the Free Antinium wished she could remember anything of it, but she had never once been privy to the process. Not before it was too late.

She had not been made for this. Once upon a time she had been young, a new Queen, barely more than a child created to venture to a new world. Over three hundred Queens had been sent, the majority of the living Antinium, to flee. To build and reproduce and prepare for their enemy’s return. They had left a rearguard to fight for years, decades if need be. But the sleeping god would one day overrun Rhir, and so the Antinium had left. To win, retreat. To survive, flee.

But never to hide. The Antinium had sent warrior-queens, geniuses who fused and melded Antinium shapes into new forms. They had sent their Centenium, the ageless champions of old.

And they had all died. The Queen of the Free Antinium tasted despair on her mandibles. They had drowned at sea, died battling krakens and monsters from the depths. The Antinium had underestimated the sea. And what was left was unworthy.

Eight fools who were not qualified, not trained. A handful of uncertain Queens trying to rebuild the majesty they had been born of. And of that number, six remained.

“Six, and it seems only I recall what our purpose is.”

The Queen’s body shuddered. Traitors, all. How could they? If only she could speak with them. But she was an outcast, wasn’t she? What irony. At least it would help her now. She selected the gel that was the beginning of life for Antinium eggs and smeared it gently into a stone basin.

“It was said that we sacrificed a million lives for the first Centenium. I will sacrifice my Hive and my body if I must. But we shall have Queens again. We shall have champions. Klbkchhezeim—you shall not keep faith in vain.”

The Queen sighed. She was too tired. Too old, too weary of keeping her Hive intact. Too alone. That was why she sat in her rooms, eating, managing her Hive, leaving the rest of the world to Klbkch, who had ever been more qualified than her to lead their people.

But now she felt like she was waking up. She could not trust the Grand Queen, or the other Queens. They had lost the way. Perhaps some remembered. Perhaps Xrn was wrong. But until then—the Queen’s feelers shook. But it had started. She reached for another reagent, selecting carefully, hesitating, memorizing her attempts for the inevitable next time.

She began to create.

—-

It really was her fault. Ryoka knew that. But there was truth in what she’d told Erin. She knew that too.

She wasn’t good at friends. Perhaps that was why it was easier for Ryoka to apologize to Erin after they’d both cooled down and ask for forgiveness. Sincerely. Because Ryoka was terrified of losing a friend, one of the few she had.

Not that an apology could heal things over so quickly. It was only the start. However, Lyonette had a hand in the next bit of reconciliation. Because both girls were filthy from the slime and fighting, she suggested they take a bath in one of Liscor’s public bathhouses.

It was a first for Ryoka to experience that. Normally she paid a lot of money for water to be hauled up to a bathtub or showered with water, again in bucket form.

But Drakes were a bit more civilized than Humans, or smarter. Liscor had a set of very high-quality bathhouses that reminded Ryoka of the Romans. They even had private bathing spots you could rent for a small fee.

It was an excellent service and Ryoka purchased that for the two girls today. The water in the pool they’d rented was hot and wonderful after the cold winter air. Ryoka exhaled slowly as she got into it—completely nude.

Unlike a Japanese onsen which she was familiar with, the Drake bathhouses didn’t require people to wash themselves before getting in. That sounded awful and disgusting to both Ryoka and Erin until the purification spells had been pointed out to them. Gnolls loved to bathe and they couldn’t exactly take off their fur before entering.

“I think its weird how Gnolls and Drakes bathe alone. Isn’t that a problem?”

“Dunno.”

Erin spoke shortly as she tested the hot water with a toe. She was more embarrassed about being naked than Ryoka, despite the baths being gender-specific. She shrugged as Ryoka heard the sounds of Drakes chattering away outside of their bath. Erin cocked her head, and sniffed the scented waters before continuing.

“Gnolls are touchy-feely and Drakes aren’t always like that. It makes sense to give them their own room, and Selys says she went to the bathhouse with Krshia the other day, so it’s not like there’s a big rule against it.”

“I guess.”

The two girls fell silent. Ryoka submerged herself deeper, feeling the heat and enjoying it. The little monster in her brain was gone. Shame and guilt didn’t get rid of it, but a splash of healing potion and Mrsha’s betrayed glance had banished the specters in Ryoka’s head at once. She was left tired, remorseful.

“How’s the water?”

Erin asked as if she didn’t know. Ryoka hesitated, closed her mouth on the smart-ass response.

“Hot.”

The other girl entered the water slowly, yelping a bit at the heat. She submerged herself quicker after getting both legs in. For a while, the two drifted, and said more in looks and silence than they did in words. Ryoka was sure Erin could see the emotions in her eyes. One thing Erin could do was read people when she put her mind to it. Ryoka wondered if that was a chess skill.

“Did you—did you ever go to things like anger management class?”

It wasn’t the start of the conversation, but it was the important bit. Ryoka sighed as she and Erin sat together on the underwater ledge.

“Of course. My dad insisted after the second time I got arrested.”

“And? Did it…?”

“Nope. Didn’t help. I got therapy, pills, the whole nine yards. I hated and resisted all of it. Especially because the therapist was working on my dad’s orders, not to help me. And the pills…”

“Didn’t work?”

“Oh, they did. They turned me into someone else. I refused to ever take them again.”

“Bet your dad didn’t like that. Did he try to make you take them?”

“Yeah. It stopped when I started sneaking them into his drinks. Ever seen a bunch of rich assholes—sorry, I mean, businesspeople—go totally insane from drinking a bottle of wine spiked with Xanax? Sight to see.”

“I get it. And I know you’re right about dangers and stuff. It’s just that when you said all that—”

“I was wrong.”

“No, you were right. Rags is a problem. I don’t know where she is. That big Hobgoblin looked sort of scary and Toren—”

“Look, I probably wouldn’t have given him a chance. Despite him turning out…the way he did, he still got treated better than he would have if someone like Pisces was ordering him around.”

“I wish I could go back and fix things.”

Erin hugged her knees. Ryoka sighed.

“Hell, maybe you can. Toren’s like a horror story. And you know how those go—”

“Monster comes back. I know. I’ve been asking Wesle, Klbkch, and Relc whenever they come in. No unusual skeleton sightings. If I hear of one…”

“If you hear of one, you tell Halrac or Jelaqua or Pisces. You don’t do anything.”

“Right.”

There was a peculiar feeling in the air. It was a sound as much as feeling. It was the sound of people trying to say sorry without saying sorry. Of course, in the end someone gives up and says it out loud. Ryoka did it twice, Erin once.

After a while, someone opened the curtains to their bath. Ryoka and Erin looked up. The convivial atmosphere they’d created blew out. Not instantly—at first they thought it was just a bather who’d gotten the wrong private tub.

“Sorry, we’ve reserved this one.”

Erin smiled and waved at a red-scaled Drake, an older female with a scar down one arm. The Drake returned the smile and closed the curtain behind her.

“I know. You are Erin Solstice and Ryoka Griffin, aren’t you? Please, let me introduce myself. I am Welsca Crimsonscale. In service to Wall Lord Ilvriss.”

Ryoka sat up at once at the name. Erin frowned.

“Wall Lord—you mean that jerk I threw a pan at? Is he okay?”

Welsca smiled at Erin and then at Ryoka, looking friendly.

“He is. And you may be happy to know that Wall Lord Ilvriss has decided to forgive any transgressions made against him. You may consider yourselves fortunate for that.”

Erin and Ryoka exchanged a glance. Ryoka folded her arms over her breasts. Drakes didn’t have breasts, at least, nothing that floated. Welsca slid into the water, further amplifying the unpleasantness of the moment. No one had invited her in.

“I believe Lord Ilvriss would consider it a personal favor—as well as an act of trust—if he were to have a chance to speak with you, Miss Griffin. I’m sure you’re aware that there is a need for conversation, and if you feel uncomfortable speaking with him, I would be happy to relay—”

“You’re in our pool. Get out.”

Welsca cut off. Erin and Ryoka were glaring at her. She swished her tail gently in the water and sighed.

“Miss Solstice, Miss Griffin, I don’t think you understand. This is a serious matter. Assaulting a Wall Lord and withholding information—”

Erin splashed her. The dignified Drake lady blinked as water ran down her face. Erin stuck her tongue out.

“Bleh! Get out of our bath! No one’s allowed to mess with private baths, not even a Wall Lord!”

“Ladies, please. I am one of Lord Ilvriss’s most trusted aides. I—”

“Get out.”

Ryoka’s tone could have frozen over their tub. Welsca hesitated. Erin made a fist, cracked her knuckles, yelped, and winced.

The red-scaled Drake could read the mood. She could also probably predict the near future, at least in this situation. But she was stuck. She had her orders. She smiled weakly at the two girl’s hostile faces.

“Perhaps if we all soaked for a moment…?”

The main bathing hall in the women’s section of the bathhouse was slick from steam and bathers walking around. Thus, the walkways were made of rough stone for traction. Nevertheless, children both Drake and Gnoll loved to slide around on the rest of the bathing areas. It wasn’t exactly polite, and they often got in trouble when they slid into someone else’s pool, but it did happen.

It was rarer for adults to do that. Then again, there was a notable incident in which Relc and Klbkch had been banned for that exact practice. Legends were still told about that day, which had required healing potions for at least six people. But on the women’s side things were generally peaceful, chatter being the main focus.

That pleasant ambiance was shattered by a raised voice coming from one of the private bathing areas. There was a shout, splashing of water, and then a crack.

Heads turned. The Gnolls and Drake ladies saw a female Drake with red scales slide headfirst across the slick marble floors. She looked battered.

A young woman darker of skin than most inhabitants of Izril and totally naked, came out from behind a curtain. Another young girl followed her, electing to use the curtain as a towel. Ryoka Griffin stomped towards Welsca. The other Drake got up. She tried to back away and slipped on a wet tile. Ryoka kicked her and watched her splash into a pool filled with Gnolls.

She laughed at Welsca as the Drake flailed around in the pool. Ryoka made fists and waited at the pool’s edge. She felt a lot better. Hitting someone who deserved it was a very pleasant experience in contrast, Ryoka decided. She stared down at Welsca, ignoring the stares around her.

“Hah! What are you going to do now?”

—-

Ryoka sat in Liscor’s guardhouse, both hands bound by cord. She stared at the table in front of her and looked around. A Drake [Guardsman] with a club was eying her, and the room was filled with other criminals. Petty thieves, brawlers, and an angry Gnoll covered in egg yolk who was screaming at another Gnoll. Ryoka sighed.

“Crap.”

It turned out that kicking someone out of your private hot tub wasn’t a crime, but kicking them into someone else’s tub was. Moreover, since Ryoka had been doing the kicking, it was she who was in handcuffs until someone could interview her and get the full story out under truth spell.

She looked around. Liscor’s barracks were fairly large. This being the reception area, Ryoka couldn’t see much, but the Drakes seemed very keen on military organization. Drakes and Gnolls off-duty did loiter around of course, but there was a sense of purpose that struck Ryoka as very different from the relaxed Human [Guardsmen] who generally ambled about the city.

That was because Drakes trusted their militias to handle monsters and criminals alike. Adventurers were necessary, but the first and last line of defense for any city was their police force, which doubled as their army and in this case, judicial system.

“Miss Ryoka Griffin?”

One of the Drakes on duty came over at last. He had faintly purple scales and some ill-fitting armor. He also had a sheaf of notes that Ryoka hoped weren’t all complaints from the other bathers.

“That’s me. Look, I’m sorry about the fight, but that Drake did enter our bathing spot—”

“Please. We’ll get to that in a moment.”

Ryoka fell silent. At least he didn’t look openly hostile and wasn’t telling her to shut up because she was a filthy Human. Still, she didn’t like the fact that she’d hit an aide of a Lord of the Wall. She didn’t regret doing it broadly speaking, but in situations like this, that fact was a lot more pressing.

“So, this incident between you and Miss Crimsonscale…I see there was another Human involved. One Erin Solstice. Yes…we have a few notes from the Watch Captain, Senior Guardsmen Klbkch, Senior Guardsmen Relc, several complaints…she has quite a file.”

That didn’t sound good. Ryoka braced herself, ready to pay a fine if it meant no one got in trouble. She heard a shout.

“Hey, what’s going on here?”

Someone came stomping over to their table. The Drake with purple scales looked up, looking faintly alarmed. Ryoka twisted and saw a Drake with dark green scales and—Ryoka stared—huge arms striding forward. He was big for a Drake, big for a Gnoll—he looked like he was all muscle and he had scars on his arms and legs.

He was also carrying a spear, but he tossed it to one corner of the room carelessly. He approached the table, narrowing his eyes for a moment at Ryoka.

“What’s with the Human? I heard there was an incident with her and Erin. Someone punched one of us?”

He looked at the [Guardsman]. Ryoka was sure that talking about a case in front of the guilty party wasn’t exactly good form, and the [Guardsman] seemed reluctant to speak. He nodded at Ryoka.

“I’ve got this. Uh, don’t worry Senior Guardsman Relc.”

The other Drake’s non-existent eyebrows rose. He opened his mouth and then shrugged, looking unconcerned.

“Okay, but hurry it up! I want Erin back in her inn soon—she promised me I’d get roasted eels tonight, and I want them fresh!”

He knew Erin? Wait a second, Relc…Ryoka remembered him vaguely. They’d met, but only as acquaintances. And he’d clearly forgotten her face. Ryoka knew for a fact that the eels in question had already been cooked and were waiting to be eaten at the inn, but she was grateful for him prompting the other [Guardsman].

The Drake with purple scales cleared his throat as Relc wandered a few feet away and intruded in a conversation between two Gnolls. He looked harried and kept glancing at Relc. Then he sighed and leaned towards Ryoka.

“Miss Griffin, I’m going to make this very simple. Tell us what we need to and this can be over quickly.”

“Okay, I didn’t start it. Welsca did. I can swear on a truth spell—”

“Not that. Lord Ilvriss wants to know only one thing. Where is [Captain] Periss? How did she die?”

He sat back. Ryoka stared at him and felt a cold chill on her back. He was one of Ilvriss’ people too? She remembered the Drake in the inn at breakfast. Another one?

Was Ilvriss watching her? Listening in on her conversations, hoping she’d leak something? She stared at the Drake. He nodded slightly, as if confirming her worst fears.

“Lord Ilvriss is not accustomed to waiting. You may have the immunity of your Guild, but he will seek you out no matter where you go. Speak now, and this need not get worse.”

“Go to hell.”

The fake [Guardsman] sighed. He flicked through the notes on his clipboard.

“Miss Ryoka, your friend Erin Solstice has a file on her that would attract the attention of any Drake [Leader] in any city. Why Watch Captain Zevara seems content to let her unauthorized inn stand…suspected ties with the Antinium, disorderly conduct, endangerment and death of a Watch member on duty. She may be safe here, but if word of her actions reaches the de facto governing body of Liscor, their army, for instance…a few words in the ears of another Lord or Lady of the Wall might prompt them to take action, and the Assassin’s Guild in Izril is quite, quite competent.”

Ryoka stared at the Drake.

“Touch Erin and I’ll make sure Zel Shivertail learns about it. He kicked your precious Wall Lord’s tail once, and he’ll do it again. He stays at Erin’s inn, or isn’t that on file?”

The fake officer of the Watch’s eyes flashed. He learned across the table and seized Ryoka’s arm in one unfriendly claw, digging into her skin.

“Listen here, you Human flesh bag. Tell me what I want, or—”

Ryoka kicked him. She’d been waiting for him to get close and gave him her best kick right to his groin. He doubled over and let go. She backed out her chair, kicked him again, and then hit him with both her hands tied up.

“Hey!”

The other [Guardsmen] had seen what was going on. The one called Relc leapt over a table and ran at Ryoka. She whirled, ready to kick him too. She lashed out—and he slid around her kick like water.

“Criminal! Take this! [Relc Headbutt]!”

He slammed his head into Ryoka’s. She sat down. And then slid out of her chair. Relc kicked the chair away and dragged her up.

“Assaulting a [Guardsman]? Here? You’re really stupid, Miss Human. Even if you are a friend of Erin’s, you’re not getting away with that. Hey buddy, you okay?”

The Drake that Ryoka had kicked was getting up in her swirling vision. He shook his head and knocked away Relc’s offered hand. He growled at Ryoka, murder in his eyes. He took one step forwards and then Relc let Ryoka go.

One hand shot out, barring the purple Drake’s path. The Drake stopped, looking confused. Ryoka felt confused. And ready to sit down. But Relc’s eyes were narrowed.

“Wait a second. Who are you? You’re not one of the new guys. I know them all and none of them have purple scales.”

“Damnit.”

The purple Drake took a step back. Relc turned away from Ryoka and she decided to lie down again. The imposter took a desperate swing at Relc. The big Drake leaned back from the blow and then returned it.

“[Relc Punch]!”

He hit the fake guardsmen a lot harder than he’d hit Ryoka. The Drake back-flipped over the table and Ryoka heard a thud as he landed.

“Hah! Take that! That proves you’re not one of our guys—no one picks a fight with me! Don’t you know who I am? I’m Relc! Relc!”

Ryoka managed to sit up and saw Relc posing, one foot on the fallen Drake’s chest. He looked inordinately proud of himself, and then frowned as he saw she was up.

“Hey. You. Miss Human.”

He’d already forgotten her name. Ryoka forgave him that; at the moment she couldn’t remember what the color orange was. Relc helped her up, removing her bindings as she sat on a chair and tried to tell whether the banging was in her mind, or whether her brain was bouncing around.

“Who was that guy? He has a set of our armor and everything.”

“Wall Lord…Ilvriss. His person. Like the bathhouse.”

“Oh. Oh.”

Relc slapped his forehead and nodded at the other [Guardsmen] who’d gathered around. They grunted and immediately picked up the fallen Drake and shoved him into a corner. That they didn’t toss him out of the barracks or throw him in a cell was probably due to his master’s fame.

While Ryoka put her head down, she heard Relc speaking with the others. Then his loud voice called out as an angry female Drake demanded to know why one of her people was unconscious on the floor.

“Hey, Captain Z! Turns out this Human and Erin didn’t start anything. It’s that Wall Lord guy’s cronies stirring up trouble again. I’m going to let the Human go, okay? And I’m taking my lunch break! Be back in an hour!”

Relc helped Ryoka up and practically pushed her out the door. Ryoka heard a frustrated roar coming from behind her.

“Damn it, Relc! Get back here!”

—-

Of course, if you focused too much on Ryoka, you neglected other interesting things. A bit of garlic fell from the sky and landed on Brunkr’s fur as he showed Lyonette how to hold her sword. He brushed it off absent-mindedly.

“Good. Hold it here, see? Yes. And swing. Quickly—a cut should be fast. Yes, like so.”

He was teaching her. And Lyonette was learning. They practiced outside in the cleared snow as Mrsha sat and watched. Inside, Apista was tethered to a table with a leash Erin had made while Iskhr cleaned up.

It was an all-Gnoll parade, in short, except for Lyonette. And perhaps that would have been awkward or fatal for her a week or two ago. But things had changed.

Ryoka had changed a lot. All sins were forgiven, and a debt had been written for her actions. More than that, and perhaps more importantly, Brunkr had changed. He was no longer the self-confident Gnoll [Warrior], but a recovering one, grateful for his still-healing arm and quietly guilty. He and Ryoka would have understood each other, in that.

Still, only Erin would have thought it was a good idea to have him near Mrsha, the person who’d bit him and infected his hand, and Lyonette, the girl he’d tried to kill. But as Ryoka had noticed, Erin did have an eye for these things now and then. When Brunkr had first arrived, he and Mrsha had sniffed each other for a bit solemnly, but said nothing. Lyonette and Brunkr on the other hand were different.

She was guilty as he was, in a different way. She had apologized to him first, and then him to her. It had ticked both to realize that Lyonette hadn’t remembered Brunkr specifically trying to kill her, and a friendship had started once Brunkr realized that Lyonette was the one responsible for his honey salve.

That was the boring bit. The special bit for any watching fae nibbling at garlic came at a moment when Brunkr mentioned his aspirations.

“A [Knight]?”

Lyonette put down her sword and massaged her aching arms. She wanted the [Warrior] class too, and felt she might get it by the end of the day. Brunkr nodded, looking embarrassed.

“It is a very Human class. There are some Drakes with similar classes, but no Gnoll has the class, yes? Similar classes, but I found a book when I was young. My tribe had bought it from a [Trader] and my aunt let me read it…there were pictures of Human [Knights] in shining armor. I admired them and wished to be like them. So I trained with sword and shield. However, I am only a [Warrior].”

“Well, that’s because you need a [Lord] to make you one, or some other nobility.”

“Hrr. Yes, that is what I have been told. I came north to help my aunt and also to see whether that would be possible. I think…it may not be. Entering in service to a Human [Lord] requires much trust and perhaps standing I do not have. It matters not. I am still useful to my Tribe and my efforts have made me a strong warrior nevertheless.”

Brunkr shrugged his broad shoulders, hiding his disappointment behind casual words. Lyonette nodded, hesitating. Her eyes lingered on the Gnoll’s back as he stood up to exchange a few words with Ishkr. They were around the same age, although Brunkr was older. He wasn’t much older than Lyonette, really.

Yes, a faerie could see what would happen next. Perhaps a Human could too. Destiny wove together and Lyonette raised her hand. She whispered quietly.

“I, Lyonette du Marquin do solemnly…”

Mrsha had been playing in the snow, quite close to the inn, but poking her head under the snow and rolling around in delight. Suddenly, she raised it and stared at Lyonette, ears flicking with each word Lyonette spoke.

The two Gnolls had finished speaking at the door to the inn. Ishkr was going back into the inn, collecting dishes to be washed and Brunkr was sniffing at the entrance to the inn, his stomach audibly rumbling. But as Lyonette whispered both froze up.

Ishkr slipped and dropped his entire tray of empty dishes. They crashed to the ground inside the inn, scaring Erin half to death as she cooked up some food for dinner.

Brunkr’s eyes opened wide. He half-turned, and then pretended to scratch at one ear. Lyonette finished speaking. Her voice had been inaudible to anyone standing next to her, carried away just as swiftly by the wind. Now she stared at Brunkr’s back and cleared her throat. Trying to sound casual, she raised her voice.

“Brunkr, can you show me how to parry again? I think I’m doing it wrong.”

“Ah?”

He started, and then turned. His smile was about as fake as Lyonette’s. Mrsha was still staring.

“Of course. I will show you. Lyonette.”

He trudged across the snow to Lyonette as Erin rushed out of her kitchen, demanding to know if there was another one of Ilvriss’ spies. Ishkr reassured her nothing was wrong, Brunkr showed Lyonette how to hold her blade correctly, and Mrsha kept staring.

Above them a Frost Faerie cackled with glee and waited for Relc to drag Ryoka up the slope and into the inn. Destiny. Coincidence. Or perhaps just an act of kindness from a girl who happened to be a [Princess]. Who knew?

One thing was sure, though. Despite having lived in Liscor for over a month now, Lyonette still hadn’t learned how sensitive Gnoll ears could be.

—-

“And then I hit him! Pow! Hey Hawk, I didn’t know you knew Ryoka too! What, do all Runners know each other?”

“We’ve met before. I’m surprised you don’t remember Miss Ryoka, Relc. She once ran through the High Passes on a delivery.”

“Get out, really? I thought I remembered her, but you know Humans. They all look alike, am I right? Ah. Ahem.”

Relc was laughing in the common room. Somehow he’d dragged Ryoka up from the city—Erin was a bit fuzzy on the details, but apparently there had been a quick fight. He’d encountered Hawk the Rabbit-tribe Beastkin on the way and the Courier had stopped by for a drink with Ryoka.

Olesm was due later that evening, and Erin was busy. Ishkr was cleaning up plate fragments—he said he’d tripped, which was uncharacteristically clumsy of the Gnoll, and Lyonette and Brunkr were training outside with Mrsha.

On the whole of things, Erin could claim to be happy. Sure, the morning’s incident with Ryoka had been bad, but they’d made up and she was glad to see Brunkr was really getting along with Lyonette now. And best of all, she’d made another amazing invention!

It was the slime. Erin peered at it as she stared at the tiny hand-sized thing in the center of a saucepan. This slime was bright blue, with shades of yellow running through it. It was a healing potion slime.

“Drop it into a healing potion, wait, and hey presto! I knew it was possible!”

Erin crowed to herself softly as she spooned a bit of the slime up. She’d tested it on a cut and it had healed perfectly. Now she added a bit of water to the slime and saw it absorbed the liquid and grow, replacing the bit she’d taken with water.

“Hmm. Looks like you get diluted if I add just water. But if I feed you all the ingredients of your potion, you’ll probably just get bigger and more potion-y, right?”

She smiled at the slime. It didn’t respond. Erin moved the spoon towards it again. In line with Ryoka’s wishes, she’d kept the slime very small just in case it attacked someone. Her spoon penetrated the slime’s side and it suddenly scooted away from the spoon.

“Huh? Hey! Get back here, I need part of you!”

Erin chased the slime around the saucepan with her spoon. She eventually cornered the slime against one side with another spoon and prepared to take part of it. But Erin hesitated when she noticed something. Or rather, something the slime was doing.

It was shaking. The blob of colored liquid pressed itself against the wall of the saucepan. When Erin moved her spoon towards it, it trembled harder. When she took it away, the slice shook less.

But it did shake. It was like jelly. Only, jelly couldn’t squeeze itself so finely against the metal walls of its cage and quiver. Jelly couldn’t be afraid.

“Oh no. Hey little guy. I’m not going to take all of you. I want to take—just a bit, see? You’ll get it back. I’ll feed you!”

Erin reached out with one hand, putting the spoon down. The slime reacted violently to her fingers, flowing away and around them. It quivered as Erin reached out towards it. The healing slime shook like a leaf.

“What? I’m not scary. It’s just my hand, see?”

The girl reached out and the slime froze. It was such a—a universal reaction that Erin froze too. And she understood something, in that moment as the slime slowly backed away from her fingertips.

“Slimes can think. Oh. Oh no.”

There was no other way to see it. Erin knew fear. She could see it in the blob that ran from her touch. She could see it. The slime had no face to show her, no body parts, no voice. But it could not be anything but afraid.

And then Erin realized that it was the same slime, the same core that she’d taken out of the water slime this morning. She wondered if it remembered. And then she looked at the slime as it tried to hide from her and knew it did.

“Oh no no no…but Typhenous said they don’t feel pain!”

He said that. Erin recalled him saying that. But—but if a slime couldn’t feel pain, couldn’t it still feel loss? What would it be like if someone scooped out part of your body, even if it didn’t hurt? Erin reached out and the slime would have screamed if it had a voice. She felt sure of that.

“Oh.”

And in the end, Ryoka was right. It was Toren all over again. Only this time, Erin could see it. She looked at the slime and wondered what it would be like, to live all your life in a cage and have someone feed you and consume you for…for however long you lived.

“I can’t do that. Can I?”

Erin whispered as her inn began to fill up. The Gold-rank adventurers and her regular guests were returning. She heard Olesm’s eager voice, asking about her.

It took Erin only a moment to decide. She grabbed the saucepan, splashed water in it, tossed a handful of garlic in, some oil—the slime bulged, growing distorted, losing the properties of its healing potion. It was now filling the saucepan.

Erin went over to the window and unlatched it. A cold wind blew in, making her shiver. The slime didn’t shiver. It only shook when Erin reached for it.

“Erin?”

That was Octavia’s voice. She was coming closer, and now Erin could hear Typhenous.

“Wonderful news, Miss Solstice! I have the lodestones I ordered. Have you finished your experiments with the slime from this morning?”

There was no time. Erin hesitated, and then poured it out of the window. The slime dropped into the snow and she saw it vanish into the deep drift outside her window.

“Erin?”

Typhenous and Octavia walked into the kitchen, looking excited. Octavia glanced around.

“Where’s that slime? Did the healing potion work like you thought?”

Erin gave Octavia a blank look. Then her eyes widened.

“Oh yeah! The slime! It didn’t work guys. Sorry.”

“No. Really?”

The [Mage] and [Alchemist] looked crestfallen. Erin nodded slowly.

“Yeah, it was sucky. The slime grew from the healing potion, you know? But when I tried using a bit of it…no go.”

“Perhaps it’s the magical effect that dissipates. It cannot be part of living creature…of course. I should have predicted that.”

Typhenous groaned, shaking his head. Octavia nodded and looked around.

“Maybe we can try again. Hey Erin, where’s the slime?”

“The slime? It’s right here of c—”

Erin went over to a pot and opened the lid. The [Mage] and [Alchemist] saw her freeze and look up slowly. She gave them a weak smile that fooled neither of them, and in doing so, fooled both of them.

“Oops. Where’d it go?”

Typhenous and Octavia stared askance at Erin. She put on her best bemused look and shrugged her shoulders. And she made sure that everyone heard the story later that night. Healing slimes were impossible to make, as it turned out. Of course.

Only an idiot would try to make one.

—-

Nearly there. Nearly time. A bit of sausage fell into Typhenous’ beard. He didn’t notice. He was speaking to the other adventurers sitting around him, looking frustrated.

“At least I have my delivery of lodestones. That will allow us to produce something of worth tonight.”

“You can make the door? Really?”

Erin looked excited. Typhenous smiled and nodded.

“It will be a simple matter to attune the stones. I’ve already done one.”

He flicked his fingers at a red stone carved with a glowing symbol. Its twin sat next to it.

“The real challenge will be delivering each stone to its destination and affixing it in a proper place. Merely getting the stone to its intended destination will take some time…I suspect you may have to hire a City Runner to send it, although finding a suitable location will also be important. I would suggest hiring Miss Ryoka in that regard.”

“Ryoka? Sure!”

Erin glanced over at Ryoka. The Runner girl had recovered enough and was now drinking with Relc and Hawk. She frowned.

“But where should the stones go, in that case? You said it’s hard to have a lot of destinations—”

“Exponentially difficult. Too much interference. However, that should not be a great issue if you limit your door to three or four set anchors.”

“Okay, assuming we leave an emergency stone with you guys…and I want Celum, obviously…where should the other ones go?”

The old [Mage] coughed delicately.

“Might I suggest a door to Invrisil first? I should quite like to return there at my leisure, and I am sure many would pay well for such a service.”

Octavia nodded, looking eager.

“Not to mention how lucrative it would be for me—I mean, for everyone to sell their goods in Invrisil. They haven’t seen my matches yet, and I don’t want to miss out on sales before everyone copies my recipe!”

“Hah! Invrisil?”

Someone had heard them. The adventurers looked over and saw Relc waving a half-full mug at him. He scowled at the Humans. Revi scowled at him.

“Something wrong with Invrisil? It’s one of the biggest cities on the continent, you know!”

“Not as big as a Walled City! Why’s Erin got to put her fancy magic door to one of your cities first, huh? She’s already got Celum—give our cities a chance!”

“Yeah!”

Olesm, sitting at a table and playing chess with Pawn, raised his voice. He called out to Erin, waving a sheaf of papers.

“I know several [Tacticians] in Pallass—why not put your door in the Walled City? Drakes would love a chance to bypass the Blood Fields, the Walled Cities are far better than any Human city—not that I mean to offend anyone.”

“Offense taken!”

Revi sat up at her table and scowled at Olesm.

“Invrisil’s obviously the better choice. You Drakes might think your home is all that, but—”

“Hah! Drakes rule, Humans…Humans drool!”

Relc was clearly drunk. However, his comment elicited a roar of approval from every Drake in the room. Olesm gave a thumbs-up to Relc, and the Drake returned the gesture. It was very Human and very, very odd since Drake claws were a lot scarier than Human thumbs.

Before Erin knew it, an argument had erupted in her inn over which city was better. Helplessly, she turned to ask for Ryoka’s opinion and found herself face-to-face with Zel Shivertail.

“I couldn’t help hearing what the argument was about, Miss Erin.”

The [General] leaned over her table, speaking quietly as Relc threw a mug and brained Typhenous. The mage threw a mug back and soon a fight had broken out—in the form of arm wrestling. Somehow it was now about which species was strong and Ulrien was already squaring up against Relc, to the cheers of their audience.

“Oh? You want me to put my door in Pallass, right Zel?”

Erin felt awkward speaking with Zel, mainly because she thought he still disapproved of her. But Zel just nodded. He didn’t smile, rather, he frowned and looked a bit concerned.

“I wouldn’t ask normally—I can live without going home and prefer it that way. But I’ve been speaking with a friend—a fellow [General], actually, and I’ve fallen out of touch these last few days. I’d love a chance for some news, and there’s a bit of a situation among the Drakes…could I sway your opinion a bit?”

The door to Celum burst open. Erin saw Garia rush into the room, waving her arms, as Relc beat Ulrien to a roar of amazement from the crowd.

“Hah! Take…take that! I win!”

The Drake shakily stood back and crowed before Ulrien shook his hand, taking the wind out of Relc’s victory. She caught a bit of what Garia was telling Ryoka excitedly.

“I’m a [Martial Artist]! Can you believe it? I got this Skill—[Basic Footwork].”

Relc had spotted Garia. He eyed the large girl and shouted at her.

“Ooh! Nice muscles! Hey, Human girl! Want to arm wrestle? I bet you can beat Miss Ryoka here, and probably Hawk, too!”

It was all chaos. It always was with Relc. But seeing him here made Erin smile. She looked at Zel and made a spur-of-the-moment decision. It wasn’t hard, and it didn’t matter much, right? There were lodestones to go around.

Ivolethe watched as destiny changed.

“Sure! Why not? I think Ryoka doesn’t want to go down there, but Hawk’s a Courier, right? Maybe I can get a discount if I promise to feed him or something!”

Zel coughed delicately.

“A discount for a Courier is still quite a lot of money. I’m prepared to pay whatever price he asks if he’ll do the delivery?”

“What? You will? In that case, I’ll totally do it! Hey Hawk! Stop arm-wrestling and come over here!”

The Rabbit-man walked over, massaging an arm.

“Those Human girls are strong. This is why [Farmers] make such great [Warriors]…what can I do for you, Erin? And—General Shivertail?”

He hadn’t spotted Zel up until now. But when introductions were over, Hawk nodded amiably.

“I can do that. Why not? General Shivertail’s a hero in Liscor, and if I don’t have to run all the way back…yes, I’m quite willing to do that. I can set out tonight and have the delivery done by the end of tomorrow.”

“Really? Tonight?”

“Hey, a job’s a job, and if it means opening up a door to Pallass that everyone can use from now on…you do know how important this could be, right? You could earn a fortune. Plus, do you know how many hot Drake ladies there are in the Walled Cites? I uh—forget you heard that last bit.”

—-

The Horns of Hammerad were not part of the arm-wrestling competition. They sat in a corner of the inn, arguing over some pieces of paper. Ceria was snapping at Pisces.

“I know you wanted a Gold-rank contract on some lucrative monster, Pisces. It’s not happening! We haven’t gotten certified yet—the decision will take a while, and we need practice.”

“So we lower ourselves to the most common bidder in the meantime? That hardly seems like a productive use of my talents.”

“Shut it. I think we should hunt the wolves. It’s good training and we’ll earn—”

“Pittance?”

“…Yeah. But it’ll be a contract, and we need to practice fighting something. I’m not suggesting we try a Rock Crab first thing, or go into the dungeon. Are you?”

“I made no such intimations. However, I simply think that wolves are below our…”

Yvlon Byres sat at the table next to Ksmvr and watched her teammates argue. She was depressed, a mood which had nothing to do with the day’s events and all to do with her situation in life.

She was—had been—a [Warrior]. A Level 22 [Warrior]; very respectable and a worthy Silver-rank adventurer in her own right. Her team, the Silver Spears, had been relatively well known in the local area and respected as a competent force. But her fortunes had changed. Yvlon had lost everything, gained everything, and she was now…different.

She’s lost her friends, her team, and part of her body. She’s gained a new team, and magical items that would make her a Gold-rank adventurer. And something else. A new class.

“Yvlon? What do you think?”

The woman started. She looked at the others and smiled guiltily.

“How about Esthelm?”

“Esthelm?”

They stared at her. Yvlon shrugged.

“It’s close by, although we might need horses for quicker travel. But I doubt they’ve got too many adventurers and they’re sure to need help.”

“A few contracts around that city? Potentially lucrative. I concur with your thinking, in broad terms, Miss Byres.”

Pisces rubbed at his chin, looking intrigued and Ceria pounced on the idea. Ksmvr sat, nodding occasionally and Yvlon sank back into her seat.

Everyone was getting stronger. Ceria was about to learn her new spell, Pisces was…better, and Ksmvr claimed that he thought his fourth arm was growing again. It was all going well. Except…

Yvlon closed her eyes. She had leveled up. Gained a new class. Only it wasn’t the one she’d always dreamed of. Instead—

She was Yvlon Byres. A Level 26 [Wounded Warrior].

No one knew. Yvlon hadn’t had the courage to tell anyone, yet. How could she? It hurt too much. She was never going to be a [Knight]. She had no idea what she would become. Her brother—she’d never be his equal now. And she was never going home. Never.

The Rabbit-man named Hawk left the inn an hour after the Horns of Hammerad finished deciding to take a few contracts in Esthelm for the time being. Yvlon had seen him, blurring through the snow at lightning speed. She envied his abilities.

Now she and the others were eating some fried eel, and trying to explain to Ksmvr what an eel was. They were laughing, and Yvlon felt that she had to tell them about her class. Now. Perhaps they could help? Even if not, they deserved to know. She opened her mouth, and someone burst through the door. A Human adventurer panted and shouted for everyone’s attention.

“A Named Adventurer just entered the city! You won’t believe who it is!”

Everyone turned. Moore dropped the massive mug he was using and Jelaqua cursed out loud. Halrac sat up, looking at his teammates with grim resignation.

“Who?”

“Regrika Blackpaw, the hero of the Gnoll tribes! She’s formed a two-person team with a Gold-rank adventurer and she’s here! In Liscor!”

The adventurer shouted the name and every Gnoll in the inn started howling. Mrsha sat up, looking confused, but Ikshr, Brunkr, and the other Gnolls in the inn immediately surged for the door, running towards the city. Caught up by the moment, everyone else did too.

—-

Regrika Blackpaw was a giant of a Gnoll, her fur black as coal, her body armored in splendid golden plate mail. She was a [Champion], a hero who’d sprung out of the earth a few years back and slain incredible monsters single-handedly. She was accompanied by a slight young [Drake], a [Mage] who radiated magical power and who had pale white scales. Both female adventurers were being greeted by a fanfare by all the Gnolls in the city despite the late hour.

This is how it ends. Ivolethe narrowed her eyes at Regrika and swooped down lower. Not to interfere, but watch. Regrika was speaking to Krshia Silverfang, and she’d just caught sight of the Gold-rank adventurers who’d come through the gates. She was striding towards them, paw raised in greeting when the last thread snapped into place.

Someone burst through the crowd, shouting. People were knocked aside and Hawk nearly ran over the Named Adventurer. People screamed and backed away, because the Rabbit [Courier] had a body in his arms.

A limp Drake with blood on his armor and the insignia of a Drake emblem on his shoulder guard bled crimson onto the frozen paving stones. He bled, but only a few drops. He had died a while back. Hawk shouted as people stepped back, calling up at the [Guardsmen] on the wall.

“Sound the alarm! This is a request from a Courier! Get me the Council and Watch Captain Zevara!”

The members of the Watch did not hesitate. A horn began to blow from the wall, a piercing wail that woke up the city. Hawk turned—he was panting and his fur was damp with sweat. Ivolethe had seen him run south, and then run back. She could grudgingly admit that he had run fast on the way back.

“Hawk!”

Zel Shivertail pushed his way through the crowd, staring at the insignia on the fallen Drake. Hawk turned to him, and the [General] stared down at the dead soldier.

“Where did you find him?”

“Not thirty miles down the road south of here. He was barely alive; my healing potions bought him only a few moments.”

Zel bowed his head over the Drake.

“What did he say?”

“The Goblin Lord. He crushed both armies sent against him. Crushed them—Garusa Weatherfur is dead, and Thrissiam Blackwing ordered both armies to buy time for word to be sent to the other cities! There’s something wrong with the Goblin Lord. He’s a powerful [Necromancer] as well as a leader!”

Hawk’s voice provoked gasps and screams in the crowd. Zel swore.

“To the Council. They need to hear of it at once! Go! I’ll follow!”

Hawk nodded. The Rabbit Beastkin ran through the streets, legs blurring, out of sight in a moment. Zel charged down the street after Hawk.

[Guardsmen] followed him, some shouting for people to keep calm and wait for word, others running to find Wall Lord Ilvriss and everyone of note. A Gnoll stopped and bowed before Regrika.

“Lady Blackpaw, we would deeply appreciate your—”

“Of course. Lead on. This is no time for dawdling, no?”

The Gnoll Named Adventurer strode after the [Guardsman]. After a moment’s deliberation, Ulrien and Jelaqua both followed, and they were quickly escorted in her wake. The shocked voices of the people echoed above and Ivolethe sighed.

Here it ended. She flew down and alighted on Ryoka’s shoulder. The young woman was holding Mrsha as Erin stood next to her. Everyone was afraid. They reeked of it. They could only see one future. Ivolethe could see many. They were right to be afraid, but they didn’t know all of it.

Nor could she tell them. Ryoka glanced at Ivolethe.

“Do you know anything about this, Ivolethe?”

“If I did, I would not tell ye.”

Ivolethe looked calmly at Ryoka, and saw the girl’s eyes roll impatiently.

“If we die—”

“Ye die. I cannot interfere.”

Ivolethe sighed. She felt old. Old and tired. In that moment, the wind blew. She felt the world change and realized one thing. Faeries could see the future. They could predict it. But they couldn’t see everything.

Time moved. She felt the call, heard the echo in her very soul. She felt the winter shiver, and then—

—-

Ryoka saw Ivolethe sigh. The Frost Faerie looked worn down, tired. And then something happened. Her form, her crystalized icy form slowly blurred. Just for a second, Ryoka thought she smelled damp earth, saw greenery and felt sunlight. For a moment. Then Ivolethe was back to normal.

Almost. Something ran down Ivolethe’s face. It gathered, running down her suddenly slick skin, beading, reaching her leg. It fell, a piece of crystal, a frozen bit of ice, onto the ground and shattered. Ivolethe looked around.

Ryoka stared. The Frost Faerie glanced at Ryoka, irritated.

“What? What?”

“Ivolethe. You’re…melting.”

Ivolethe froze. She looked at herself, and touched at her wet skin. She blinked at Ryoka, surprised, upset, and then—resigned.

“Huh. So I am.”

“What does it—does that mean—”

The Frost Faerie shrugged. She looked at Ryoka, and then at Erin, and finally Mrsha, smiling slightly.

“Winter is ending. And so I suppose we run out of time. Let us make the most of it, Ryoka Griffin.”

With that, she flew up, spiraling through the streets of Liscor as word spread of the Goblin Lord’s army and fear once again rode on the breeze. Fear of the future.

—-

One last thing. The news that struck Liscor and then the rest of the Drake cities like a bomb was almost instantaneous, thanks to the [Message] spells sent out by Zel Shivertail and Ilvriss. However, the Human cities would only hear the news in the morning, mainly thanks to every [Mage] in the Mage’s Guild being monopolized by Drakes.

Only a few individuals got word of what had happened at the same times as the Drakes. People who paid for private information, and paid quite well. Which was why Typhenous’ [Message] spell was immediately relayed to Lord Tyrion Veltras and to Lady Magnolia Reinhart’s presence within moments of casting it.

Magnolia Reinhart sat in a moving carriage and opened the [Message] scroll she’d just been handed by Ressa. The artifact recorded any [Messages] her people deemed important enough to send her directly. And this one was important, oh, yes. Important and very unwelcome indeed.

She stared down at the [Message] as Ressa read it over her shoulder. Her [Maid] uttered several words that made the driver of the carriage swerve erratically, but Magnolia said nothing. What was there to say? She looked out the window at the dark landscape, at the snow, at the night creeping in and said nothing at all.

Instead, she sighed. And fate, like the fading winter, like the wind and indeed, the Goblin Lord himself, took no notice at all.

4.25 N

“I’m going to quit.”

Niers Astoragon spoke to himself as he stood on his dressing table, inspecting himself in a foot-high mirror. He adjusted the cuffs of the fancy, somber black-and-silver doublet he’d been supplied and wondered if he could strangle himself on the lace.

“Lace. Who uses lace? The fashions of Terandria are not Balerosian fashions. Following those idiotic trendsetters is pointless, but why listen to me? Let’s all decide to hang ourselves with string. Lace on the frocks, collars, arms…leggings for some reason! In the time it takes to dress up like this I could be playing two games of chess. Three.”

He glanced over to a small, wooden board sitting on the table a few feet away from him. It too occupied the dressing room table, which also held Niers’ bed, most of his possessions, and his entire wardrobe. The rest of Niers’ room was given over to a large amount of papers, most stacked with some degree of neatness, but giving the entire place a distinct impression that a tiny person had decided to camp out in the middle of a filing room.

It was, Niers thought to himself, entirely appropriate. Not that the clutter mattered outside of the table; for a Fraerling, the dressing table itself was a gigantic bedroom, complete with treacherous drops several times his height he could throw himself off if he got bored of life.

“Not that I’d die from the fall, even if I landed on my neck. And then I’d have to show up and teach those little leeches wearing a neck brace. Hah! And this week of all weeks? It doesn’t bear thinking about.”

He glanced again at the magical chessboard and shook his head. The pieces hadn’t moved. Thus, there was no real reason for him to delay. Niers sighed.

“How many have I taught? A hundred? A thousand? And how many survive to become great [Strategists] and [Generals]? I don’t need to keep doing this. I could keep playing. I could—could find out—”

He trailed off for a second and looked for a third time at the chess board. Then he looked towards the glass windows in his room, saw the sun rising, and cursed.

“Late!”

He finished tying the lace together like a noose and hurried towards the door. Not the main door to the room though; oh no. The door handle was far too high up for Niers to bother climbing and ruin his wonderf—his perfectly serviceable—his mockery of fashion that was a doublet. No, instead, he took a small ramp upwards towards a door set near the ceiling. Niers opened it, and began to march down the small stone tunnels illuminated by tiny mage lights.

He was using the Fraer-ways. And in doing so, he passed through stone crossroads, walkways along the outside of the palace that had been converted into the academy he lived in. These walkways were naturally enclosed on all sides to protect Fraerlings from birds, rodents, and other dangers, but such was the wealth of Niers’ company, the Forgotten Wing, that the [Architects] had installed glass windows to allow Fraerlings an unparalleled view of the city the academy was based in.

Elvallian, one of the foremost trading hubs in Baleros. Once an obscure city marooned in the jungle, now, the headquarter of the Forgotten Wing Company, home to one of the Four Great Companies of Baleros when they were not on campaign. Also, and just as prominently, the place where aspiring [Strategists] might receive the chance to learn from the legendary Titan himself, the [Strategist] claimed by many to be the highest-level in the world, Niers Astoragon.

At the moment, said Titan, [Grandmaster Strategist], feared foe to his enemies and so on and so forth was cursing. He’d just stepped in rat droppings and it had gotten all over his dress boots, which of course, had lace.

—-

“So that’s why you’re late. Because of rat poo.”

Breakfast. Niers had it every day in an open part of the castle. Not open to the elements; no one wanted to sit in the hot, humid air, rather open in the sense of huge sheets of glass providing the illusion of openness while cooling spells made the room pleasant to sit in.

Niers at on a table with white cloth, eating from a tiny bowl and scowling at his companion sitting across from him. He was having a civilized breakfast of bananas, a filling porridge, and fruits, all seasoned with some fresh cinnamon.

His partner was having muffins. Not muffins with a side of eggs, or muffins and a glass of milk, or muffins with butter. Just muffins. There were three of them. As Niers watched, the eater of muffins picked one up in her furry paws and stared at it.

“Because of poo.”

“Would you stop calling it that? I stepped in rat droppings and needed to change my boots.”

“Why?”

“You know why. We’re supposed to be putting on a show!”

“Hm. So that’s why you have all the string.”

“Lace.”

Niers glared. The person sitting across from him blinked at him. She had odd eyes. Three-Color Stalker was her title. She was a Squirrel Tribe Beastkin. Also, she was the leader of the Forgotten Wing Company, Niers’ boss, oldest friend, and right now, ponderer of muffins.

“I didn’t choose to dress up like this. Apparently, this is the current fashion from Terandria and all of Baleros considers this the height of fashion.”

“Drab clothing and lots of lace.”

The tiny Fraerling gritted his teeth as the Squirrel-woman held her muffin up to the light, studying it.

“The point, as I understand it, is to emphasize muted colors. Note the silver lining?”

“Why have lace if it’s not colored?”

“That would be asking too much of fashion, I suppose.”

The Squirrel Beastkin glanced at Niers and smiled for a second. He wasn’t sure if that was because she felt like it, or because she’d gotten the joke. Her name was Foliana and he’d known her for decades, but she was still unpredictable to him. Both of Foliana’s eyes sparkled in the light as they met his.

Three colors made up her eyes. Bright red-pink, deep and dreamy yellow and clear green. They created an orb of three equal parts in the center of her eye. The brown sclera that surrounded the eyes was practically black compared to the brilliance of her pupils.

Her eyes were a wonder. The rest of the Squirrel Beastkin was practically unnoticeable. She faded into her chair, and when sitting seemed to grow transparent and inconspicuous. Niers cleared his throat.

“I note you aren’t wearing any lace.”

“Don’t want to. Lace is hard to sneak around in.”

“You’re not being called on to stab a [Commander] to death in a rainforest. You’re greeting dignitaries, prospective clients, allies. Guests.”

“Mm.”

“That means no stabbing.”

“I know.”

Silence. Niers chewed down his breakfast, hurrying because if he didn’t, he’d be late for class. He made sure not to get a spot on his clothing. Foliana slowly nibbled at her muffin, getting about half of it into her mouth and the rest on the tablecloth.

“I’m thinking about quitting.”

She stopped nibbling and looked at Niers. Not a trace of emotion crossed Foliana’s face.

“Okay.”

Niers stared at her. She stared at him.

“This is where you remind me of the good old days.”

“Mm. Right. What good old days?”

The Fraerling thought. Then he cursed.

“I’m feeling old, Foliana. You have grey in your fur—”

“I’m distinguished. You’re old and wrinkly. I’m not.”

“You have fur. That hides your wrinkles.”

“Mm. I’d like blueberries.”

Niers stared at Foliana. She stared back. Sometimes they did this for minutes over breakfast. She looked at her muffins first.

“Blueberries are called that because they look blue. What do you call orange berries?”

“…Oranges? Tiwali Magma Bloomers?”

“Mm. Nope. If you want to go, we’ll probably be attacked. Mm. Not good. Should probably rethink.”

“Our company is fine. So long as you don’t engage directly with one of the other three Great Companies—I have my reasons.”

“Going to find your mystery chess partner?”

Niers grimaced. Half of Baleros knew by now that he was playing an opponent. Most knew exactly how many games he’d won and lost. (Two wins this week, three losses. Four draws.)

“Don’t talk me out of it. I’m done with this pomp and teaching those idiots.”

“You have a class in five minutes.”

“Really? Damn. Big feet squash it all!”

Niers leapt up. He pointed at Foliana as he ran for the Fraer-ways.

“This isn’t over!”

She waved at him with one furred paw as he left. The tiny door slammed shut behind him. Foliana nibbled at a muffin, and then glanced towards the main door to the dining room.

It opened suddenly. Foliana disappeared. One of her subordinates, Peclir Im, edged into the room. He was a [Chamberlain], since [Stewards] were rare and required royalty to appoint them. But he was experienced, high-level, and knew Foliana and Niers well enough to look closely at the table. He coughed.

“Miss Foliana, if you’re here, I would like to know rather than die of a heart attack like my predecessor.”

Grudgingly, she appeared, still sitting at her table. Peclir nodded and approached her.

“Lord Astoragon?”

“He’s teaching class.”

“Ah. I could have summoned a helper to carry him had I been aware.”

“No. He likes running. He feels old if he’s carried. And there’s rat poo in the Fraer-ways.”

“I do apologize. I shall have someone clean the area immediately and put down poison.”

“Mm.”

Foliana nibbled as Peclir tidied Niers’ tiny dishes and half-eaten breakfast from the table. She stared at him without blinking. Peclir for his part—the man was Human, not that it mattered—was used to the scrutiny and kept working undeterred. Cleaning was a job for a lesser class like [Maid] or [Manservant], but Foliana had a habit of disappearing around anyone she didn’t trust, which was nearly everyone. More than one servant had tried to clean a chair with her on it.

People still talked about the previous [Majordomo].

“When are the fancy people arriving?”

Peclir paused and glanced towards the rising sun.

“In an hour, I believe.”

“I have to greet them. They’ll watch Niers teach the first day.”

“Yes, Miss Foliana. And there will be the banquet in two days as all of the guests will have arrived then. Lord Astoragon has requested me to tell you that attendance is mandatory.”

“Mm.”

Silence. That was natural. Three-Color Stalker was a legend few had ever seen. She was a [Rogue] of the highest order, but her talents made most [Assassins] green with envy, especially when she stabbed them from behind.

“Peclir?”

“Yes, Miss Foliana?”

“You’ve been working for four years now. Almost exact.”

“My anniversary is this month. I’m pleased you recall.”

“Mm. Yes, good. Loyalty is good.”

“Yes, Miss Foliana. Would you like a napkin?”

“No. Orange berries. Can’t remember the names.”

“I shall have an assortment prepared directly. Do you believe Lord Astoragon would like a snack, Miss?”

Foliana paused. She looked out the window and spoke distantly.

“No. He’s teaching. No time for food. Too busy shouting, I think.”

—-

“Incorrect!”

Niers bellowed the word. It shouldn’t have been possible for a person of his size to project as loudly as he did, but the word rang through the lecture hall.

The student he was yelling at, a young Human man who looked like he was still growing, turned dead white and might have fainted as Niers pointed at him. The tiny Fraerling shouted loud enough so all his students—and the visitors standing at the back of the hall—could hear him.

“A pike square and archers to fight an Antinium army? You’d be lucky to hold your ground for an hour, much less win the battle!”

He roared at the young [Tactician] who’d voiced his incorrect opinion to one of Niers’ questions. It was class time and in the large lecture hall, the Titan, or the Professor as he was known to his students, was angry. He was always angry, of late. He felt cooped up, especially because he had to show all these visitors how wonderful and important his classes were.

“The Antinium are not a foe to be underestimated! If the last two Antinium Wars have taught the world anything, it is that they are a powerful and unpredictable foe that, yes, uses a stock variety of soldiers with little variation, but makes up for that with unbreakable morale, armored and numberless infantry, and the ability to tunnel! If a third Antinium War breaks out and a Balerosian company is contracted to battle the Antinium, I will see you using better formations against them than that.”

He glared around the room, making students shrink down in their seats or stare at their inky notes rather than meet his eyes. No one wanted to catch the Titan’s wrath and be called out for their ill thought-out tactics like the trembling young man in his seat.

Of the lot, a group near the front consisting of eight or so individuals didn’t flinch from Niers’ gaze. They were his advanced students, the ones who he considered able enough to lead his soldiers in an actual battle. Niers studied the group for a moment as his students consulted his notes.

Yes, his best. Some were bright and truly talented, like Umina, a Lizardgirl who was studiously checking her notes despite already knowing the answer. However, she was hesitant and afraid to be bold. Others, like the Dullahan named Cameral were gifted but lacking the creative talent Niers tried to inspire.

Some, like Marian the Centaur and Venaz the Minotaur, were supremely confident in their abilities. Venaz was leaning back in his seat, lounging with a smirk on his face as he watched the others, waiting to be called on. As for Wil and Yeranolla…Niers passed over the Human and Selphid. They would field any question he shot at them.

“Countering the Antinium is no simple matter of lining up a bunch of experienced [Pikemen] and having [Archers] whittle them down. Anyone studying the way the Drakes fought the Antinium during the first war would see that static defenses are aggressively overrun by Antinium. They won’t hesitate for a second to run onto a pike and tear the [Pikemen] to bits while their Workers tunnel right underneath the feet of your archers!”

Niers had a huge board on one side of the room which he would write on with the use of a magic quill. The levitating quill shot across the white parchment tacked to the board and sketched out the rough plan of a battle as he spoke. Later on he’d have the parchment replaced, and students could study the lesson at their leisure in another room.

“No, a far more effective tactic is to destabilize their lines with elite shock units while mages bombard concentrations. Aggression to match the Antinium offensive. That is the lesson General Sserys and General Shivertail taught us in both wars. Now, let’s assume the worst. Assume you, as a [Strategist] are left with only pikes and archers as young Nenor has suggested. What is the best strategy in that case? Anyone?”

He looked around, this time eying Venaz and wondering if the Minotaur had any better suggestions than ‘use Minotaurs’ as his arguments. He was about to call on him when a tap on one of the windows by his head interrupted him.

Heads turned, and Niers saw a radiant bird with brilliant red and gold plumage, glittering in the morning light, perched on a branch outside of the classroom. He recognized the huge beak and glittering wings of the beautiful bird and scowled at it.

The Sparklewing Bird ruffled its feathers in the morning air and cocked its head winsomely at Niers as he spoke. It pecked at the glass. He grunted and waved a hand at one of his students.

“Marian. Get a bow and shoot that damn bird. It’s a hazard if there are any Fraerlings about.”

“At once, professor.”

He resumed speaking as Marian got up and trotted out of the room. A few seconds later he heard a squawk and the birdsong ceased. Some of the students winced. Niers nodded at Marian as the Centaur trotted back into the room.

“Now, an Antinium army has assaulted your very odd army of pikes and archers. You’ve a few high-level individuals among them, but no one noteworthy. Your terrain is a canyon, with ground porous enough that the Antinium can dig through it. How will you survive their assault? Venaz, speak. And so help me, if you claim your entire army is filled with Minotaurs I’ll send to you to Izril so you can see how well your tactics hold up against the Antinium in person!”

—-

As it happened, Venaz had a far more intelligent plan of staggering his lines of pikes and archers, creating a hostile terrain for any burrowing Antinium and pointed out the use of charging pikes as opposed to a static defense. For that, Niers grudgingly awarded him full marks and set the rest of the class to fielding questions about how to handle the Antinium specialist types which the world was aware of.

Then he set them the day’s homework—researching the Antinium Wars and discussing whether a third one would result in the defeat of the Drake cities or northern Human settlements, and what role Baleros might play in the conflict as potential mercenaries for any side. Niers privately planned to award double points to anyone who considered whether a Baleros company might be hired by the Antinium and discussed the ramifications of such a decision.

Classes were usually like that. Niers had been teaching for a long time and in the lecture-hall sections of his classes, he would give students complex questions and test their knowledge of different species and historical conflicts, not to mention political decisions they might be subjected to. A [Strategist] had to decide the fate of their company outside of the battlefield, after all.

However, today was different in that instead of continuing the lesson with more practical examples as usual, Niers was instead called away to greet some of the visitors who’d observed his class. He bowed over a scaled hand and kissed the tip of a fingernail now.

“Lady Messimar, greetings to you. I hope you find the city of Elvallian hospitable in your sojourn here.”

“You are too kind, Lord Astoragon. I was most struck by your lessons—I should hardly like to be the one shouted at by the Titan himself. That poor Human looked like he was about to faint!”

“The students grow used to it with time, Lady Messimar. I assure you, my shouting at them is the least of the challenges any [Strategist] will have to face over their career.”

“So very true. And you should know, of course! On a different and far more pleasant note, may I compliment you on your marvelous attire, Lord Astoragon? You’ve seen the latest designs from Terandria, I take it?”

Niers grimaced as he was reminded of his lace outfit, but he covered it with a courtier’s smile.

“Oh yes. I found them…inspiring to my heart, to say the least. May I compliment you on the pairings of your dress, Lady Messimar? Rose and green become you.”

The Lizardwoman blushed and swept herself back a step, flourishing the gown of lace and muted colors that was for some reason stylish. Niers made a show of looking her up and down—as was polite for Lizardfolk, and the Lady Messimar departed after exchanging a few more pleasantries.

“One down, a few hundred to go.”

Niers sighed as he stood on the pedestal that had been placed for him to speak with his guests at eye-level. He felt a presence by his side and nearly spilled the chilled drink he was holding. Foliana appeared out of thin air, munching on a muffin. It was the same one Niers had seen at breakfast, he was sure.

“Lizardfolk.”

“Don’t point Foliana, it’s rude. And mingle, remember?”

Niers hissed at the Squirrel tribe Beastkin. Foliana nibbled at her muffin. She was not wearing lace and neither was she smiling. She looked around at the parade of lace and stiff, polite expressions with clear distaste.

“We have a [General], two [Mages], our best [Sharpshooter], eight [Captains] and a bunch of other people I don’t remember. Why do I have to be here?”

“Because you’re the leader of one of the Four Great Companies. Ours!”

“Mm.”

Niers sighed. They were holding this greeting session in a ballroom, a place they’d kept from the palace when they converted it into an academy and paid far too much for. They’d paid gold to have sapphires melted and drawn into the marble flooring, and the curtains! Silk and enchanted, just like the damn windows.

But it was all important. The guests, the meeting, even the polite nothings and wearing the latest fashion trends. Niers and Foliana both knew it. They raised funding for their company during this time, made valuable alliances and deals. They could receive thousands, tens of thousands of gold pieces in donations from a single one of these guests. Fundraisers were vital. Every big company had one yearly and the biggest had to show they were willing to spend to earn.

“I’m being polite and waiting for people to seek me out. Why aren’t you saying hello to anyone?”

“I said hello to Morn.”

“She’s our [Captain]!”

Niers and Foliana spoke as their guests waited for an opportunity to swoop in and engage one or the other in conversation. Not both; that was intimidating. And in truth, Niers was the desired person to meet. The infamous Three Color Stalker was hard to recognize for many, and her reputation as both a silent killer and oddball preceded her. How Niers envied Foliana for that.

However, there were some for whom the dual personages only added allure. Niers heard a voice, shouting joyfully.

“Lord Astoragon! Lady Foliana!”

A voice called out to the two as they talked quietly. Niers turned, putting on a forced smile and Foliana turned transparent. She reluctantly faded back into view as a Centaur trotted towards them.

The fact that he was a Centaur didn’t matter at all, and was a superfluous detail that everyone didn’t pay attention to except to watch out for his hooves. Niers greeted him and then the Centaur broke into their conversation. He’d probably been listening in.

“Might I compliment you on your outfit, Lord Astoragon? Quite the latest style.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?”

By his side, the Fraerling [Strategist] could see Foliana making a face and not bothering to hide it. He smiled so pleasantly his face hurt. Two down, a hundred more to go.

—-

There was no chess game waiting for him when Niers finally got done with the greeting of guests and socializing. He dragged himself back into his room and brightened the instant he saw a piece had moved. But when he hopefully moved a piece—of course, after a great deal of deliberation and restudying the board, although he’d already done so that morning—his opponent didn’t move a piece in response.

That often happened. He or she was probably asleep. Niers rubbed at his face and blinked in the candlelight.

“Who set that out? Peclir? Good man. Damnit. I should quit.”

He sat in his bed for a second, undoing the lace and growing annoyed at the time it took. Today had been irksome. Tomorrow would be…dead gods, the banquet was the day after tomorrow, wasn’t it? Niers groaned as he lay down and went to sleep.

—–

“Advance!”

Umina the Lizardgirl shouted as a wave of her soldiers collided with the enemy. Her cavalry circled around and struck Cameral’s forces from the rear. The Dullahan struggled to keep up with her rapid attacks as the two other spears of cavalry kept circling and hitting his troops in odd places. And while they did, her archers and heavy infantry kept circling, forcing him to keep adjusting his rows of soldiers, stretching, stretching until something broke—

It ended with a shower of arrows hitting Umina’s command. It was a stray shot aimed at her in sheer desperation, but one of the arrows filled with dry paint powders struck Umina squarely on the chest and she was knocked out. Reluctantly, she watched as her leaderless army struggled to repel Cameral as he regained control of the battlefield. In the end her forces routed, although Cameral had lost nearly a half of his army in the process.

“It wasn’t fair!”

Marian was strident in the after-battle review, as ‘dead’ soldiers came off the side of the field and healing potions were passed around for those with bruises or more rarely, broken bones.

“She had him right where she wanted. If it wasn’t for that stray arrow, she would have won! How is that fair?”

The Centaur paced back and forth as Niers stood in the shade, marking the positions of Umina’s strategy with figurines. It wasn’t a game, or rather, these practice sessions were meant to simulate actual battles. The hired [Soldiers] and [Actors] could form any number of armies and do battle as two of Niers’ students attempted to defeat each other.

There were low-level [Mages] who could use ‘spells’ which were designed only to mark which soldiers had been killed. And as for charges and actual melee combat—they used padded weapons, but swung them hard and fast. Soldiers would retreat after being killed, but in the thick of things people could still be hurt, sometimes badly.

But Niers paid well. And it was one of the reasons why his academy was so famous. The strategist glanced to one side and saw a lot of his guests watching from the shade of a canvas tent, talking excitedly about the battle.

Almost as excitedly as Marian. Niers halted her in her tracks.

“Cameral, would you like to answer?”

The sweaty Dullahan had his head under one arm. He raised it now, looking slightly ashamed but defensive.

“I was aware I was losing, so I ordered my archers to target Umina. On purpose. I would have done the same in any real battle.”

“But—”

“Just so. Cameral’s tactics were valid, Marian. However, on that note Cameral, I would have begun aiming for Umina to begin with. If there is a fault in how the battle played out, it was that you entrusted that attack to luck, rather than factored it into your plans.”

The Dullahan nodded, looking thoughtful. Umina, still covered in yellow paint, also nodded, but Marian protested again. She trampled her hooves in a mini Centaur tantrum as she spoke anxiously to Niers.

“It’s—it’s unfair! If we have to duck and cower away from every archer—”

“Hah! Speak for yourself.”

Venaz folded his arms. The Minotaur tossed his head as he gestured at the trampled ground and spoke to Marian.

“If I’m on the battlefield, I expect to be shot at. Give me a shield and I’ll command from the front!”

“Oh yeah? I’d like to see you dodge a rain of arrows. Give me a bow and—”

“Enough!”

Niers raised his voice before his two most hot-tempered students could get into it. He tapped his foot on the wooden platform he stood on thoughtfully.

“Attacking the enemy [General] or [Strategist] is a valid tactic, Marian. We saw a similar move occur in the recent battle around the King of Destruction. Or don’t you recall how his steward, Orthenon, allegedly targeted the enemy army’s [Strategists] in order to cripple it and bait them into following him into a trap?”

His students fell silent. News about the King of Destruction’s return was hot on everyone’s lips, but news from Chandrar was sparse. Marian bit her lip.

“But professor, how do we protect ourselves from something like that?”

“Well, let me phrase it to you as a question. This is a class. How would you do it, Marian? Anyone?”

The group of [Tacticians] and [Strategist] students fell silent. Then Unima raised her hand. Niers nodded at her.

“I can’t speak for running up against the King of Destruction’s [Steward], professor, but I’d keep my command a lot further back next time even if it meant seeing less of the battlefield. Or wear plate armor.”

There was a bit of tittering at that comment. Niers looked around and shook his head.

“You all think plate armor’s such a bad idea? If Umina had been wearing it, she’d have won that last battle.”

Everyone fell silent. Niers sighed.

“Practicality. I keep telling you—in that case, if you’re all willing to stand the heat, I’ll grant any one of you willing to stand around in plate armor an exemption from the first three arrows that strike you at range in a match. One spell too—so long as it isn’t a directly targeted attack on you specifically.”

That produced some murmurs. Each ‘battle’ was an important event. It attracted a lot of attention from the city people who liked watching people beat each other with swords and seeing the latest talent, and it was also the subject of intense betting by students and other groups. More than that, it was how Niers evaluated his students, so any edge or tactic was immediately put to use.

“Just remember that plate armor’s restrictive. You’ll move slower, see less—and a [Strategist] needs to see the battlefield. Like everything else, it’s a calculated risk. Now, Venaz, Marian, you two seem to disagree on how a [Strategist] should behave when in danger. Show me which one of you is more correct. Form up an army—I want an equal match so calculate accordingly. You have twenty minutes!”

—-

Baleros was warm in the winter. Not hot, true, but Niers felt like his doublet was trying to strangle him. He gladly accepted a glass of squeezed fruit juice from Peclir, a tiny thimble in his case—and downed it quickly. Peclir had a small teacup’s worth of juice—a huge tank in Niers’ world—ready, and the [Strategist] filled up his cup again with a grunt.

“Thank you, Peclir. Let me know when Venaz wakes up. I imagine being trampled by Marian hurt his pride more than anything, but I’d like to know he’s alright.”

“Of course, Lord Astoragon.”

Peclir departed, circulating among the other guests who were speaking with the students. It was another game, the prospective investors speaking to prospective company leaders. Now that he was alone, Niers waited until he saw the teacup move.

“That’s mine, Foliana. Get your own.”

“I’m thirsty.”

“Then get your own.”

Reluctantly, the teacup dipped and Foliana appeared. It wasn’t magic—it was a Skill and her own incredible talent mixing together. A [Mage] would have triggered some of the warning devices Niers carried. Foliana was deadly because she was all-natural.

“Snappy. Why so angry? More rat crap?”

“Peclir sent someone to clean it up and put down traps, but I found some more this morning.”

“Shame.”

“It’s a danger, especially with our guests, some of whom are Fraerlings! Anyone who’s not a [Warrior] is at risk if giant rats attack them.”

Niers grimaced. That would be a disaster. Especially because his company was beloved by the Fraerlings. They had only one hero whose name was known across the world, and it was Niers. Poor repayment to have one of them killed by a rodent.

“They looked good out there.”

“Did they? I thought you didn’t care for these games.”

Foliana shrugged. She had a quarter of a muffin in her paws. Niers stared at it pointedly. It looked stale. Foliana nibbled.

“Mm. Don’t care. Said it to be nice.”

“Hah.”

Niers filled his glass a third time. He sipped. Foliana sprinkled crumbs into his cup. After a while she spoke.

“Still shouldn’t do it.”

“Do what? Quit?”

“Mm. Should stay here. Besides, you’re cursed.”

“I am not cursed. That’s a myth, and the company’s official stance is that it’s just gossip. I am not cursed—”

She interrupted.

“Yes you are. You’re cursed. You think you’re an old man and you act like it. I’m distinguished and young. You’re crotchety.”

He scowled and splashed his glass at her. She dodged the small shower of juice in an instant and reappeared on his other side. Niers frowned and wiped sweat from his forehead. He sighed, pulled at the lace around his neck.

“I’m not old. Or rather, I’m as old as you, Foliana.”

“Yes. But you look older. I’m having fun. You’re not.”

“What makes you say that?”

Foliana poked Niers gently.

“You’re not smiling. Duh. Mm.”

There was nothing he could say to that. Niers stared at the battlefield where the [Actors] were cleaning up and felt like he’d done nothing to warrant the cold drink in his hand. He hated to admit it. But he did feel old.

—-

That night Niers went drinking just to spite Foliana. He crashed a party at one of the academy’s drinking spots for students. It was filled with the older ones and after a moment where their hearts stopped for fear he was springing an impromptu exercise on them or a pop quiz—he had done it before—he was welcomed to drink by all.

It was rare Niers let his hair down, not that he had any hair to let down. But he was private, and socializing with him was a rare opportunity for his students to ask him questions about current events they might have not dared to in class.

“The King of Destruction?”

Niers snorted. He had a tiny cup of a potent whiskey in his hand as he leaned against Cameral’s mug. The Dullahan nodded his head with his hands.

“We’ve all heard the rumors, professor. He’s taken down three kingdoms in the blink of an eye. Speculation is rife that he’ll repeat himself last time, despite other nations being forewarned and prepared for him. Do you think it’s possible?”

“I’d hardly like to speculate and make a fool out of myself, would I?”

There was a roar of protest from the students at the table. Venaz put his fist down so hard Niers felt his feet leave the table for a second. Everything bounced. He glared at Venaz and the Minotaur subsided a bit. He snorted and glanced at Marian, who was sipping from a drink and smiling coolly.

“You’ve clashed with his men before, professor. Don’t tell us you have no idea how strong the King of Destruction is!”

“He’s clashed with Flos’ women before, Venaz. Females. There’s more females than males in his Seven. In fact, now there’s only four, only one of them is male.”

Venaz grunted as Marian spoke. He kept his eyes on Niers. The Fraerling sighed.

“You want to know if Flos can do it? Honestly, Marian hit on the sole point right there. His Seven. They launched his campaign last time—we studied this in class—and now he has only four. I believe his success in a new campaign will depend on that one factor…”

He drained his mug and his students leaned forwards.

“—On whether the King of Destruction finds a replacement for his Seven, or possibly, an entirely new Seven to command. If he does, then he may truly be unstoppable.”

“Surely he’s more than halfway there already. From everything I’ve heard of him, the king of Destruction could crush a nation by himself, Seven or not.”

That came from the pale Naga holding a wine glass filled with bubbling black liquid. The dead body lifted the cup and drank. Yerranola the Selphid looked concerned.

The Naga was male, but the person within identified herself as female, which was rare for a Selphid. They usually took whichever gender of body they inhabited.

Niers shook his head, sighing. Yerranola was a good student, and she was one of his oldest still at the academy, but she had the same problem they all did. He explained, feeling weary.

“Legends tend to retell themselves until fact and fiction mix together too finely to separate. Relying on hearsay and rumor is a quick way to overestimate your opponents. They call me the Titan, but you’ll note that I don’t crush my enemies underfoot. Nor do I drink from the skulls of my foes or bathe in their blood as the rumors indicate.”

His students chuckled at the dry joke. Niers smiled for a moment.

“Flos is a man. A [King] of a man, and perhaps one of the most dangerous men in the world for that, but a man nonetheless. He can err. He can fall. But I won’t speculate as to what will happen next. If he continues, Baleros will be part of the future, I have no doubt. Where there is war, companies from Baleros follow.”

It was an old saying and it made the students nod as if Niers had said something profound. He sighed. Then Umina did something unexpected.

“Professor, sir. I was wondering. We’ve never seen you drink. Not with us. So while you’re here, would you like to play a game?”

“Chess? I play enough with you lot in lessons.”

It was known that chess helped [Strategists] level. And because Niers had invented the game—a lie only he and Foliana knew to be one—it was part of his classes. But Umina shook her head and pulled something from under the table. It rattled and Niers saw four dies in a cup.

The table went silent. Niers looked around and had to smile. So now his students were setting traps.

“I wonder who put you up to this, Umina. I suspect Wil or Yerranova.”

The Human and Selphid blushed. Umina hesitated.

“No, it was just me, sir. I thought a game—”

“Oh, gambling? Well, I don’t usually.”

“Please? Just a toss?”

“I’ve got a cup! We could bet some gold on it—”

Wil, the Human , brought out another cup and the other students fished in their pouches for coins. Niers smiled crookedly. To do or not? Well, he was in it now. Refusing would just create rumors. While agreeing…

“One toss.”

The students around the table cheered. Niers held up a hand.

“One. Put the other dies together with Umina’s, Wil. Eight dice…you toss and I’ll toss.”

“And the bet?”

Niers smiled mysteriously.

“None.”

The crowd of students fell silent. The older Fraerling could see the looks of speculation. He didn’t care. He remembered, and felt old when he saw the look of anticipation on their faces. It was a legend to them. He had lived it.

“Toss, Wil.”

The toss was a decent one. Wil had three sixes, a five, two threes, and pair of twos. He put the dice into the cup and realized that the cup was taller than Niers was.

“I can find some Fraerling dice, professor—”

“No need. Put it right next to me.”

Niers watched as the cup was set down. He saw the looks on his students’ faces, the stomach-churning anticipation. There was no such feeling in his heart. Niers put down his mug, and stepped up to the dice.

He kicked over the cup holding all eight dice. They clattered out onto the table, bouncing together, stopping. The students looked down and the room went quiet.

“Well?”

Niers looked up at Cameral’s suddenly waxy face. The Dullahan shifted his head in his hands and coughed a few times before speaking.

“All—all one’s, professor.”

All eight dice showed only a single pip. In the silence, Niers laughed. Tiredly.

“Well, I lose. A shame, but a good thing I didn’t bet anything, eh? Now, where were we?”

“What? You can’t just let us—”

“Another game, please professor!”

They begged him. Niers shook his head, and then held up a hand.

“No dice. A coin toss. Heads or tails. Wil?”

Gold coins were usually embossed with whichever city or nation had minted them. Wil fumbled for one and came up with a copper coin. Niers nodded his approval. Wil flipped it, caught it, turned it over.

“Professor?”

“Heads.”

Wil raised his hand. The room exploded.

“Heads!”

Umina laughed as if Niers had pulled a great trick. The Fraerling rolled his eyes, and then raised a hand. Silence.

“Another one, then. Wil?”

The young man flipped the coin. It rotated into the air and landed. He turned it over and looked at Niers. Now the silence was expectant.

“Heads.”

Again the palm rose. Again the cheer. Niers raised a hand.

“Now again.”

Wil looked at him. The other students looked at him. Now they noticed Niers wasn’t smiling. Wil flipped the coin. This time he caught it, hesitated, and didn’t turn it over.

“Prof—”

“Heads.”

Niers stared at Wil. The young man hesitated, opened his hand. The head of some [King] stared up at Niers.

Silence.

“Do it again.”

Niers was the only voice in the room. Wil tossed the coin up, caught it clumsily. He flipped it onto his arm. Then, without speaking, he cupped it with his palm and lifted it up, changing the face again without seeing it. When he opened his palm, it was heads.

Every eye turned to Niers. He shrugged. Then he looked at Wil.

“Again.”

The young man hesitated. Niers stared into his eyes.

“Flip it again, Wil.”

He did. The result was heads. Niers nodded.

“Again.”

“Heads.”

“Again.”

“…Heads.”

“And now, three times in quick succession, if you please.”

Niers heard the coin being flipped. The second time, it slipped out of sweaty fingers and landed on the ground. He heard a curse, and then as Wil bent to pick it up, a sharp, indrawn breath.

No one spoke as the young man shakily put the coin on the table. They certainly didn’t laugh. One person breathed out. Marian, with wide eyes.

“The curse.”

The word went around the table like a breath of air. Niers shook his head and raised his voice.

“You may have heard rumors of a curse. You may have seen evidence tonight—I am telling you that your eyes are mistaken. Your ears as well, for that matter. There is no curse. I simply do not like to gamble.”

“But—”

“That is all. Now, let’s get back to the business at hand. I’m feeling inclined to get drunk. How about the rest of you?”

They certainly did. Niers had them break out a cask of very expensive, very potent liquor that was bordering on poison.

“Firebreath Whiskey. Imported from Izril. Is there anyone who’ll compete with me?”

Niers spoke as the first cup was filled. The table goggled, and then shouted with approval. Venaz raised a brimming cup.

“I’ll drink a cup for every one of yours, professor! One thimble to my glass, how about it?”

There was a challenge in his eyes. Niers grinned, and felt a tiny stirring in his chest.

“That sounds like condescension, Venaz.”

“No, professor—”

“I’ll drink a cup to your cup. Even up.”

The table went silent again. Niers grinned widely and felt a tiny bit alive. Venaz stared down at Niers and then roared.

“Hah! So be it! Clear a space you lot!”

Two tumblers of the whiskey were poured, and Niers could see the liquid, a red mixture that made the eyes water if you smelled it. Venaz took his and tossed it down. He coughed, and then Niers watched the Minotaur’s face flush.

“Even Minotaurs blink at the stuff Drakes come up with. Well done, Venaz. I’ll take mine slower. My mouth isn’t so large.”

There was a laugh, but every eye followed Niers. He had to put his thimble of a mug into the tumbler to fill it. Niers put the mug to his lips and drank down the first mouthful. His students cheered. Then without missing a beat Niers did it to the second, the third—

Venaz’s eyes bulged out of his head. The other students were cheering wildly. They watched as Niers slowly drained the tumbler, sip by sip. Niers finished his tumbler and tossed his mug over his shoulder to wild applause. He cocked an eyebrow at Venaz, who stared at the Fraerling, still steady on his feet, with sudden unease.

Niers grinned.

“Your turn.”

—-

A little past midnight, Niers looked around and realized he was the last person standing. His students were all passed out on the floor, courtesy of a now-empty keg of Firebreath Whiskey.

He was drunk. He couldn’t help it; the fumes were enough to do that, even if he hadn’t drunk a drop. And the tumblers sitting around him were proof that Niers had drunk a lot.

Or seemed to. His students had actually stopped him after the second tumbler, for fear he might kill himself. Fraerlings could hold more than their body weight in drink and food; they actually got a bit taller as their bodies stretched to support the extra mass, but alcohol could still kill them.

Venaz had gone down after four cups, Marian, three. The others had fallen in short order as well. Leaving only Niers.

In the silence, Niers lost the smile he’d had for a few moments. He fished around in his mouth and pulled something out. He’d hidden it behind a molar. It was a tiny, tiny little cloth bag with a drawstring.

A small bag of holding. Fraerling mages did good work. Niers emptied it over the side of the table and sighed as he listened to it splash on one of his student’s legs.

“It was fun the first time I did it. Years ago. Now? Foliana’s right. I do feel old.”

He sighed as he made his way somewhat unsteadily through the Fraer-ways, back to his room. He looked hopefully at the chessboard the instant he returned for all that he was drunk. No good. Not a piece had moved. Niers sat down and lit a candle, using a wand to flick fire at the wick.

He sat by the burning candle, watching beads of wax drip down next to his head. Niers sighed, and in the silence, he waited for the chess pieces to move. But they never did. And in the morning he woke and found more rat droppings in the Fraer-ways. Peclir still couldn’t find where they were coming from.

—-

The next day Niers started his class loud, engaged, and without a hint of a hangover. His older students, the ones who hadn’t bought hangover cures from an [Alchemist], groaned and tried to pay attention. Niers delivered a sermon on the virtues of preparation before battle with the example of the bag of holding completely straight-faced. Venaz overturned his table amid the laughter.

It was a lesson he’d taught countless times. Niers smiled a bit at his student’s reactions, but he’d seen the same reactions too many times to count. It was all…so similar.

Lace. Rat crap. Niers was letting his students play chess and wishing he really had quit when one of his students rushed into the room, waving a letter. Wil, looking bleary and not at all apologetic for sleeping through the first portion of class, hurried over to the table where Niers was desultorily playing by himself.

“Sir, professor! You’ll want to see this!”

The excitement in his tone was palpable. Annoying. Niers tried not to snap.

“What?”

The young Human man showed Niers a letter, a very fat one marked with salt flecks and other travel stains.

“I regularly correspond with a [Strategist] I’m acquainted with in Izril. He lives in one of the Walled Cities and apparently he’s recently received some very interesting letters himself. He sent me a copy! Please, professor, read it! It’s about chess!”

“Chess?”

Despite himself, Niers took the letter and with some difficulty, unfolded it on the table. His students gathered around. Niers frowned at the title.

“A ‘newsletter’?”

It was…a chess newsletter. A magazine. A letter to any [Strategists] interested in chess—this one was addressed ‘to the [Strategists] of Zeres’. It was from Liscor.

“‘I, the humble [Tactician] and student of chess have four games to offer you this week, dear readers. In each, I am sure we will uncover a multitude of lessons to be learnt. Most importantly, we see various strategies matching against each other and I am sure my addition to this letter, a new game of which I have been informed, will also please and delight’. Huh, this Drake likes to write, doesn’t he?”

Umina frowned over the letter. Her eye caught the first page of chess notations and she blinked as she read through them.

“Hold on. This is—this is good. Great, even! Professor, have you seen—professor?”

She got no reply. Niers was staring at one of the games. Staring and not saying a word. He could read it. Pawn to D4. Pawn to D5. Knight to F3, Knight to F6. And then…Niers didn’t have to read it to know. Bishop to F4.

“It’s you.”

He whispered it at the parchment. He knew. It was his game. The one he’d played after so long—it was the same game, written down for all to see! His students were exclaiming over it, but Niers was overcome by a different emotion.

“This Olesm. Is he the—the author of these games? Did he play them?”

“No, professor. He says he witnessed a game.”

“Witnessed.”

The word was bittersweet on Niers’ tongue. He knew. Olesm Swifttail. From Liscor. The same place…the same place—

“Professor, have you seen this? Look! There’s instructions for another game here! It’s says it’s called…‘Go’. Go? What an odd name for a game!”

“What?”

Niers pounced on the second piece of parchment. He tore it away and stared at the drawing of a Go board, the instructions on how to play the game. He turned. His students were staring.

“Well? Don’t just stand there! Get me a quill and ink! And parchment! And stones! Black and white!”

He roared at them and they fled in excitement. In minutes, Niers was drawing out the go board, placing stones, reading the game.

“Capturing stones…I see. Strings, liberties, I see!”

Niers played a game against Umina, and his hands shook as he placed Go stones on the board. He won the game, crudely, but he won it. The second game started as Marian shouted for someone to find more stones so they could play the game.

A new game. A new game.

“It’s you.”

Niers stared at the piece of parchment. It couldn’t be a coincidence. This Olesm just happened to see a game he’d played with his opponent, and then…found a new game? It couldn’t be coincidence. It was them. They had shown the Drake this game.

They had shown Niers this game.

Something opened up in Niers as he played against Umina, as Cameral took his place, as Niers lost a game and his students tackled the Dullahan in a mad rush. He sat back and felt the world blurring in front of his eyes.

A new game. A new world, opened up at his fingertips. They were out there. They knew of new games. They were in Liscor.

His heart! Niers clutched at his chest, which alarmed his students. But it wasn’t pain or age that was making his chest ache so. It was joy. Pure joy.

This was new. This was brilliant. Niers couldn’t see through this game. It wasn’t simple. It was fresh. He felt like a novice dipping his toes in an ocean of mystery. He felt young again.

“Someone find me the address of that Swifttail. Olesm. I’ll send him gold—and an enchanted ring myself! Anyone with the creativity to come up with this kind of idea deserves a reward. Class is dismissed. Enjoy this new game.”

“Won’t you play with us, professor?”

“No.”

Niers was smiling. He felt like the years were dropping off. In Liscor. They really were. It was confirmed. And they knew of more than chess. More…he felt like he was ten years younger.

He had to know. This instant. Niers walked through the Fraer-ways until he came to Peclir’s working area. He summoned the [Chamberlain] and ordered him to bring him a mage specializing in divination magic.

“I want you to find the cousin of this board. They’re magically linked so it shouldn’t be difficult.”

He gave the [Diviner] his chessboard. The [Mage] bent over it, nodding and carefully touching the small, precious, thing.

“Of course, Lord Astoragon. Do you wish me to set up remote surveillance if possible?”

“No. Just show me where it is right now. It’s probably indoors—give me a view of the entire room.”

The [Diviner] nodded and traced a square in the air. Within the lines of shimmering light, an image appeared, as clear as day. Niers found himself looking down at the chessboard. His heart squeezed in his chest.

It was the other chessboard. Shimmering with ghostly pieces—sitting on…was it a table of some kind? He looked around, frowning. It was in some kind of inn. Was his mysterious opponent travelling? Did they live there?

There was no one in the room at the moment. But the [Diviner] had added sound to the spell. The [Mage]’s eyes were shut with concentration as he tried to maintain focus. Niers heard footsteps, muted voices. Someone was in the inn.

Was it them? Niers’ heart began to beat wildly. He stared at the image. Stared at the board. The footsteps were drawing nearer. In a moment he would know. It might not be them. What if it was? How would he know?

Someone stepped into the picture and Niers’ head jerked. He looked away.

“No. Cancel the spell!”

The [Diviner] did so at once. Niers looked back as the image vanished, panting, sweating, gasping for air as if he’d seen a ghost.

“Lord Astoragon?”

The [Diviner] was clearly worn out from casting the spell, even for a few moments. As he should be, since it had gone around the world. Niers thanked him and went back to his room, holding the chess board in his hands.

“No. No. Not yet.”

He sat on his table, clutching the board, shaking. The Fraerling felt hot and cold, trembling with what he’d almost done. For so long he’d wanted to know. And he’d always known he could find out. In that moment as joy had filled his chest, he’d had to know. Only to realize…just now, the terrible truth.

He was afraid.

And sometime that night, as Niers sat with the chessboard in his hands, trembling, he processed the fact that he was afraid. He stared at his shaking hands, felt the fear churning in his stomach, and shot to his feet.

“I’m afraid? I’m afraid!”

He laughed like a madman. Fear! Actual fear! He felt adrenaline running through his veins, and in the next moment, ran over to the mirror. He stared at himself, a greying Fraerling wearing a doublet with—lace? He sneered at the reflection. His hair was one thing. It was just hair. But lace? That was old. And pathetic.

“Damn the lace. Damn insipid Human fashions!”

He tore it off his chest, shredded the clothing, burnt it in a candle. The rest of the mess he kicked off the table. Now half-naked, Niers looked around. His eyes narrowed as he saw the Fraer-ways.

“Rat droppings.”

—-

It was dark, and all the rats in the academy were in their burrow they’d hollowed out in a wooden part of the structure. There were a lot of them. They were big, fat from a life spent stealing from students and living off of pilfered goods. And they were smart too, smart enough to avoid Peclir’s cleaners and not eat the poisoned bait.

They were a breed of intelligent rats indigenous to any place with magic. Some kinds could talk. This lot were smart enough to have hollowed out a huge den in the woodwork, and had harvested wax candles. One was lit near the entrance, a sure sign of rodent cunning. Not that the lighting of it indicated they were that intelligent; some of the magical breeds of rodents could breathe fire.

A shadow passed by the candle in the dead of night, making it flicker and dance. The rats, feasting on some dried meat they’d stolen from a larder, paid no attention. And then the lone figure moved.

Niers kicked over the candle. The rats all looked up as one. He drew his sword and grinned.

“Hello. They call me the Titan.”

—-

The next day, Niers’ students sat in class, eagerly expecting their professor. They’d played games of Go all night and were hoping to challenge him. At the very least, they expected him to be in a good mood. And he was.

The visitors to The Forgotten Wing Company were also lined up against one wall, eager to listen to the famous Titan give another lecture. Thus, the hall was packed. They waited for Niers to arrive. And waited. And waited.

He was late. He was never late. A [Servant] went out to find him, and after a few minutes of low conversation, there was a shout. The entire room saw the door to the lecture hall swing open and Niers walked in.

He was naked down to his waist and covered from head to toe in blood. He had a sword in his hands, covered in blood and gore. It dripped onto the ground as Niers walked further into the room.

Someone screamed. Niers had his sword in one hand, and a severed rat’s head in the other. He dragged the head along the ground in the complete silence, walking towards the head of the lecture hall.

Every eye followed the tiny Fraerling as he left a trail of blood behind him on the way to his lectern. His students gaped at Niers. He climbed his lectern and looked around.

“Apologies for the delay. I was attending to a pest problem and was distracted.”

“Sir?”

Marian nervously trotted forwards. Niers grinned at her and she froze in place.

“Marian, good! Take care of this for me, will you?”

He tossed the severed rat’s head at her. She nearly dropped it.

“Have someone remove the flesh, but save the bones. I have a mind to turn it into a drinking cup.”

So saying, Niers turned to his class.

“My lessons have always emphasized the same things. Caution. Prudence. Adaptability. In that third vein, I would like to state the topic for today’s class.”

He rested his bloody sword on the lectern.

“Sometimes a [Strategist] must throw caution to the winds. There are times when you, and only you, can deal with a matter yourself. Exercise judgment in those cases. A [Strategist] is cautious, but caution is not the same as cowardice. Good? Class dismissed!”

He addressed the rows of shocked faces at the back of his lecture hall.

“Esteemed guests, I will meet you in the banquet hall shortly. Allow me a few minutes to freshen myself up.”

He hopped off of the lectern and found Peclir and Foliana waiting for him. Peclir looked horrified. Foliana grinned. So did Niers.

“Get me our tailor.”

—-

The Forgotten Wing Company employed all kinds of specialists. A [Tailor] was a must, especially given how many high-profile events Niers had to attend. In this case, the tailor in question was actually of a higher class, and she hurried into Niers’ rooms after he’d finished washing all the rat blood off his clothing.

She was a [Stitchmistress], and predictably, one of the String People. Niers knew she was high-level and usually delighted in dressing people up. Today she looked crushed by the weight of the tyrannical lace, which she’d incorporated into her own dress. The effect made her look like she was half-sewn, which worked for her. Nevertheless, the Stitch-woman looked miserable as she laid out a selection of replacement fabrics for Niers to peruse.

“I can have you in a replacement lace suit in time for the mock battles and banquet—”

“No. No lace.”

The [Stitchmistress] brightened up at those words. Niers stood with a towel in front of the mirror, looking at the drab fabrics and shaking his head.

“I want something flashy. Get me bright colors. Red. And trim it with whatever colors you want, but make it bold and bright and eye-catching.”

“Eye-searing?”

“Even better. I’ll have a hat as well. Something reminiscent of a pirate. With a—an ornament of some kind.”

“What would you like?”

Niers cast around and he grinned as he saw a bird flit past the window.

“The feather of a Sparklewing bird.”

“I can get you a fledgeling’s—”

“No. I want a full feather.”

The [Stitchmistress] sucked in her cheeks.

“A feather that long would be as tall as you are.”

Niers grinned wildly.

“So? Counterbalance it with the hat. Use weights if you have to!”

The [Stitchmistress] looked positively giddy, but then she frowned.

“I have to warn you, this does fly in the face of the current trend.”

Niers laughed.

“Fashion? I’m a former Named Adventurer and the second-in-command to one of the Great Companies of Baleros. They can have their fashion. I’ll have my dignity.”

She grinned as he winked at her and got to work.

—-

When Niers entered the ballroom of the academy, carried by Peclir on a silver pedestal, every eye turned. Most of the jaws dropped. The [Grandmaster Strategist] was wearing an eye-catching, eye-searing red overcoat lined with silver thread, over a comfortable, decidedly lace-less shirt and pants which he could move around in without tripping.

His shirt under the coat was brilliant white, and his pants were a dark black, making the coat stand out more. His shoes could have been used as a mirror, but pride of place was the hat on Niers’ head, a sweeping grandiose affair that somehow supported a huge yellow feather that shimmered and somehow stayed stuck in the hat and didn’t drag Niers over backwards as he stood there.

“Nice clothes. Mine are more comfy.”

Foliana appeared as Peclir put the pedestal down in the center of the room. Niers grinned as he felt every eye lock onto his. Suddenly, the rows of lace-covered dresses in their subtle colors seemed downright silly. He looked at Foliana and noticed that she hadn’t changed out of her clothing. Her work clothing.

“The feather’s not practical.”

“I’ll take it off if we have to kill someone. But this? I rather like the coat, don’t you?”

“Professor!”

Umina approached, wearing a concoction of laces and trying not to laugh at his feather. Niers smiled at her.

“Yes, Umina?”

The Lizardgirl hesitated. She looked like she wanted to laugh, but contained it to ask her question.

“Didn’t you tell us that caution and prudence were important, sir? A red coat and a feather—isn’t that—that sort of obvious?”

He exchanged a look with Foliana. Niers adjusted the hat on his head and spoke for everyone to hear.

“Practicality and caution have their importance, Umina. However, speaking for myself, if I can’t win a battle in fashion, I’d rather be dead!”

He looked out one window and saw his students facing off with both armies. It was Venaz against Wil this time, and both were wearing plate armor in the heat. He saw Umina depart and rush out to speak with Venaz. The Minotaur turned, looked back towards Niers, and then took off his helmet and hurled it to the ground.

Niers laughed. As the wary guests circulated around him, he saw Foliana moving towards a dais near the front of the room. Niers shook hands and then pulled a piece of parchment from his coat that he’d prepared as Foliana appeared at the dais.

It was hard to notice her at first. Peclir had to clear his throat and ring a small bell a few times before people noticed Foliana. When they did, there was silence.

The Squirrel Beastkin stood at the dais, and when she spoke, her quiet voice was magnified by a spell so it was projected into everyone’s ears.

“Mm. A decade ago, the King of Destruction launched an invasion from Chandrar. He sent his armies sailing to each continent in the world, conquering, claiming lands and overthrowing kingdoms. He sought to conquer the world.”

Everyone stared at her. Foliana stared ahead, not at anyone or anything, speaking to the air. To herself. To Niers.

“His Seven were legendary. Each one could defeat an army, and his great [Strategist], the Gambler of Fates, Queravia, he sent to Baleros. Here. He sent his other vassals across the seas, to Izril, establishing footholds, battling his foes. But the world was turned against him and the seas themselves sought to stop his advance.”

Niers could remember the sound of drums. He closed his eyes as Foliana continued.

“Only one of his fleets reached Baleros. The others were stranded at sea. But it was Queravia who first set foot here. She crushed the port city of Zaland in a day, and established a foothold, though her King’s armies had yet to reach here. But she would not retreat. There she planted the King of Destruction’s banner and challenged all the companies of Baleros. By herself! With only a single army, an advance force! And she held that ground.”

Foliana’s eyes grew brighter, or maybe the world grew dimmer. Niers could still see the smoke, rising in the distance. It seemed like the skies themselves were black during those days.

“No one could defeat her. No one could kill her or rout her army. Not assassins nor legions of her foes. She defeated Three-Color Stalker, flushed them out of hiding and sent them fleeing, nearly dead of their wounds. She slew the leader of the Armored Legion Company, Grandmarshal Sorolat, and broke both his company and the Flowing Wind Company with her forces.”

The people started as Foliana spoke and they stared at her. She went on.

“The King of Destruction’s fleets neared and it seemed as though Queravia would receive aid. Baleros prepared itself for a war like it had never seen. However, one last force gathered to defeat her.”

Standing, shouting at the [Captains] and commanders gathered before him. The rain fell and Niers raised a banner. They followed him.

“A Fraerling, the second-in-command of the Forgotten Wing, brought together every company from the marshy cities to the eastern ports and launched an assault on her position. On that day the two greatest [Strategists] in the world clashed.”

A woman’s laughter. She lay on the ground and laughed at him, laughed as the dice fell one last time. Niers remembered what she’d said. Every word.

Foliana’s gaze focused on him in the silence. Her words were a whisper.

“One survived.”

No one in the room spoke. Not one of the richly dressed guests, not the students who’d come in from the mock battle fields, not Niers. Foliana waited for three beats of the heart, and then went on.

“The result changed history, broke the spine of the King of Destruction’s invasion. His advance faltered. An army from Rhir broke the Lord of the Skies and his tribes. His people fell like flies against the monster slayers. A Minotaur fleet humbled his forces at sea, and Amerys, his champion [Mage], finally found a city whose walls she could not break in Izril. But it was one Fraerling who stopped him, one hero of Baleros.”

She raised a hand and pointed. Niers stood tall, the weight of memories on his shoulders. Foliana nodded as every head turned to Niers.

“Guests and friends, I present to you: Niers Astoragon.”

She waited a second more, and then she was gone.

—-

After the applause and having shaken every hand in the room—twice, Niers found Foliana. She was making the hors d’oeuvres disappear at once of the banquet tables. He coughed as Peclir put him down and checked his notes. Foliana looked at him expectantly.

“Word for word the exact same speech you gave last year. And the year before that.”

Unashamed, the Squirrel woman scratched at her ears.

“The same people keep coming back. I think they like the story. And he’s back this year. Mm. He probably eats muffins too. Don’t you think?”

“On campaign? I doubt he would. From what I know of the man, he doesn’t feast himself and eats like his soldiers.”

Niers had a hard time imagining Flos eating muffins in any circumstance. Foliana shrugged.

“Mm. But when does the King of Destruction eat muffins, then? In bed? It’s important to know these things.”

“Why? Are you planning on killing him?”

“Very hard. But I could do it if he ate muffins. No one’s on their guard when eating muffins.”

“Professor! Sir!”

One of his students was trying to get Niers’ attention. He nodded at Marian as she trotted around a visiting dignitary.

“Marian. Can I help you?”

She smiled nervously.

“We were wondering, professor, whether you’d care to have a mock battle with us yourself on this day. You’ve never had a match, and today…well, we were wondering—”

For a second Niers thought about refusing. But then he grinned.

“Why not? Form an army, Marian. I’ll take you on—”

“Me?”

“You and every one of my students who wants to participate. Go on, get things ready. I’ll be out shortly.”

He saw Marian’s eyes widen, and then she galloped from the room. People who’d casually been eavesdropping instantly headed for the doors and the rumors began to fly. The Titan was about to have a match! He wondered what the odds were.

Foliana looked at him.

“The old you would have said no.”

“Good thing I don’t feel old.”

Niers grinned and swept the hat off his head. He plucked the feather and offered it to Foliana. She took it, looking at it with bemusement.

“For luck?”

“It’ll get in the way of a real battle. You can eat it if you want.”

He left her with that. On the mock battlefield both armies were forming up. All of the [Strategists] and [Tacticians], his students, were lined up in front of their command unit. Over half had armor on. The other half were shouting orders as their army formed up around them.

“Sir?”

One of the [Soldiers] in charge of a battalion of pikemen armed with padded spears jogged up to Niers. He nodded at the man.

“You’ve never had a Fraerling command, have you, young man?”

The young man, who was probably in his forties, grinned at Niers.

“No, sir. But we’ve never had the Titan commanding! I reckon we’ll get on. Where did you want us deployed?”

“Oh, I have a simple strategy in mind. I’ll need two people to carry my pedestal—I don’t fancy being trampled. As for the rest, my orders are simple. Here’s the formation you’ll take at the start of the battle…”

—-

In her nice, cool banquet hall which was now mostly empty, Foliana stood at one of the class windows and stared out at the mock battlefield. It was swollen with people, over half of whom were onlookers fighting for room.

Someone coughed behind her. Peclir came forward and Foliana turned. She had a muffin in her hands. It was several days old and stale as a rock. The [Chamberlain] eyed it but made no comment.

“Do you believe Lord Astoragon will be victorious, Miss Foliana? I imagine quite a lot of potential investors will be interested in the outcome of this little event. It could prove unfortunate if he were to lose.”

“Mm. Yes.”

Foliana nodded. She watched with her curious eyes as someone blew a horn and both sides moved into action. Niers’ students immediately sent cavalry charging at Niers’ flanks, rains of arrows and spells flying at his army, all boosted by their assorted Skills. She watched as Niers’ army spread out, ignoring the attacks and ‘dead’ soldiers began to depart the field.

“What’s he doing?”

Peclir was stunned by the display. Niers was advancing, heedless of being overwhelmed. He was being encircled, and still he hadn’t made any moves.

The enemy heavy infantry was about to smash into his own when Foliana saw a tiny red figure in the center of the mass of his army raise a tinier sword. But his voice was not tiny. He shouted.

“[Vanguard of Terror]! [Covering Fire]! [Rapid Advance]! [Formation: Dodge]!”

He waved his sword and his army shot across the field, taking the first wave of soldiers by surprise. His army moved as one mass, as his designated archers, mages, and so on joined with the common infantry. They hit the group of armored soldiers like a wall. Peclir winced as he saw the group of soldiers that had been sent against Niers’ army go flying. Foliana put her paws over her ears.

“Form up! Form up and charge!”

Niers’ voice was a howl above the shouting. His empowered army pushed back the soldiers trying to encircle them. Peclir stared.

“He’s using his Skills?”

Foliana shrugged.

“Why not? It’s a battle.”

“One hardly thinks that would be fair.”

“Mm. Nope. That’s the point.”

The students were scrambling to withdraw and form a wall between them and Niers. Foliana saw Niers’ army running across the ground. She waited.

“Big skill. Mm. Come on. Can’t win with [Vanguard of Terror]. Which one?”

She peered at Niers. He was being carried by his command, rushing towards the enemy, fearless. Like always. It didn’t matter that he was in a mock battle. She heard his voice.

“[Charge of the Strategist]!”

There it was. Behind Niers, his army accelerated. Foliana heard a roar, and this time covered her ears and eyes. When she opened them, after the tremendous clash, she saw the other army running for their lives. [Actors] weren’t paid enough to fight that. She watched as Niers’ army joyfully beat the [Strategist] and [Tactician] students with their padded weapons.

After a while, Foliana found the muffin she’d kept from breakfast a while back. She carefully chewed the very, very stale muffin.

“Showoff.”

Niers was standing on his pedestal, red coat ablaze in the sun. Peclir stared at him.

“When I see him so, I can see him there, Miss Foliana. Right there in your story. And before that. He has been a legend.”

“Mm. He’ll quit when he’s old.”

Foliana nodded. Niers was laughing, she could tell. She couldn’t see him or hear his voice, but she knew he was laughing. Peclir turned and stared at her.

“Do you mean he plans on retiring, Miss?”

“Mm. He forgets sometimes. I have to remind him.”

“Remind him of what?”

She smiled. Niers laughed, and Foliana turned. Her eyes shone as she looked at Peclir and grinned.

“We’re not old yet.”

4.26 M

The group of riders raced after the magical carriage on horseback. They’d had to chase hard from their position after it; the pink carriage was known not to slow. However, this group of riders was determined to catch it. One of the Humans on horseback pulled ahead, riding through the freezing wind and urging his stallion to catch the fleeing vehicle.

The lead rider was a middle-aged man whose gravitas came more from his rounded belly than his physique. However, he was a skilled [Rider] and urged his horse onwards, trying to catch the carriage as it shot across the frozen ground ahead of him.

So close! His horse was galloping faster than was possible for any normal, non-magical horse to go. But still the carriage moved faster. It was pulled by spectral horses, which raced through snow and across the winter landscape like the wind.

The man on the horse could sense he had only seconds left of this mad sprint before his horse would tire, or risk injuring itself. He dug his heels into the horse’s side and it obliged its master, giving up one final burst of speed—

“Oh, do stop making a scene and get in. Quickly if you please; I’m in a hurry.”

The man on the horse blinked. The carriage suddenly decelerated, putting the now-open door at a level with the horse. And from the dark opening, two gloved hands reached out and yanked the man off the horse and into the carriage.

The stallion, suddenly divested of its rider, slowed and looked around in stupid confusion. The other riders shouted, but the carriage sped up again, instantly losing them in a flurry of snow.

Inside the carriage, the middle-aged man, the [Mayor] of the small city known as Leadenfurt, found himself face-to-face with a stern, steely-eyed woman. Her name was Ressa, and she politely let go of him and steered him into one of the padded seats. The man gulped as he saw a woman sitting across from him.

“Mayor Wullst of Leadenfurt. A pleasure.”

Lady Magnolia sat across from the surprised Wullst, smiling and munching on a cookie. It was one of many on a tray sitting on her side of the carriage.

“Lady Reinhart.”

Wullst remembered himself and tried to bow. Magnolia scowled.

“Do stop. I haven’t the time to make this long; I’m bound for First Landing and I doubt you’d like to be dropped off there. It’s a cold, long ride home, especially without a horse.”

“Yes, milady.”

The [Mayor] sat up, conscious of Ressa, sitting quietly next to him. Staring at him. Not that he was intimidated by the look or the proximity—Wullst had been a veteran [Rider], a soldier for many years and he was an excellent fighter. It was just that you heard stories about Magnolia’s maids.

He cleared his throat.

“Lady Magnolia, I deeply regret taking up your time. It is just that this message you sent to all the cities in the area—”

“What of it?”

“You—you requested soldiers from our garrison. A sizeable force of six hundred assorted horse, infantry and—I understand the wording is ‘puffed-up idiots who can cast at least Tier 3 magic’—”

“Mages. Yes. Was that so unclear you felt the need to catch me?”

Wullst spread his hands helplessly.

“Not at all, Lady Reinhart. It’s just that—is it war? We contribute the annual levy to fight with the Drakes, but this is unusual.”

Magnolia sighed. She bit into the gooey insides of the cookie, which was filled with some kind of jam, and chewed for a moment before answering.

“It’s for the Goblins, Wullst. I intend to raise an army and crush them. I trust you’ve heard by now the Goblin Lord destroyed two Drake armies near Liscor?”

Of course he had. And if he hadn’t, Wullst wouldn’t have admitted to it. He nodded carefully.

“A dire situation. Yet the Goblin Lord has a ways to go before reaching any major city, if you’ll beg my pardon. He needs to get past Liscor first, and the Drakes are certain to send—”

“Wullst, I am the [Lady] of this carriage, not you. If you would like to cross your legs, shave your beard, wear a pink dress and some rather uncomfortable undergarments, then you may sit in my place and dictate to me all the things I already know. I’ll even let you eat my cookies if you go that far. Until you are that committed, please do not presume to state the obvious.”

Magnolia snapped at Wullst. The man paled and shut up. Magnolia eyed him, picked up another cookie, and bit into it savagely. She frowned as she chewed.

“Plum. Ressa, were you behind this? Never mind. Wullst, I am not asking for your opinion. I am telling you that I intend to raise an army and march it south, to destroy this Goblin Lord. I have requested soldiers from you, and your oaths dictate that you raise the required force or provide me an explanation as to why you will not. Have you one?”

“I do, Lady Reinhart. I beg your forgiveness. I received a request from Lord Veltras not two minutes before yours. He required me send him twice the number of men you had levied—”

“Veltras? Damn him.”

Magnolia scowled, opened the carriage door, and tossed the plum cookie out. She slammed the door as Wullst stirred uneasily.

“I do beg your pardon. But it is simply that we lack the manpower to count ourselves safe if we send nearly two thousand of our own to—”

“Yes, yes, shut up. Very well.”

Magnolia sighed. She flicked her fingers, and then stared at Wullst with narrowed eyes.

“Two hundred. Make them cavalry and the best you can spare. Put any mages you have free on horseback, and have them travel to the place I indicated in my letter. If that is too much, you must petition Veltras because I will have some aid from you. Will that do?”

“Yes, Lady Reinhart!”

Wullst bowed, his heart beating in relief.

“Good. Then get out.”

The carriage slowed. Wullst found himself ejected from the carriage before it had stopped rolling. He nearly fell in a drift of snow, and found himself staring around an empty road. He looked back and saw the pink carriage already accelerating.

He was alone. Wullst shivered as a gust of the winter’s winds buffeted him. He would be glad when the snow began to melt, which should be soon, according to his weather mages. He began slowly trudging back in the direction of his escort and mount. He almost wished he’d had the courage to ask Magnolia for one of her cookies. A plum one sounded very appetizing right now.

—-

The magical carriage sped on, flying over hills, across bridges, northwards, ever further. It seldom slowed, never really stopped. When there was traffic on the roads, it swerved off the road, sometimes crossing frozen lakes rather than deal with traffic. And it never ran into trouble. Sometimes it ran over trouble, but that was trouble’s problem, not Magnolia’s.

And now it reached a massive city, a sprawling metropolis that had walls, and had built over said walls to accommodate the vastness of its architecture. First Landing, first and grandest of the Human cities ever built on Izril appeared on the horizon. Its watchful towers kept a vigil to the north sea, built countless ages ago by the Human nobility who had fled from Terandria fearing others might follow.

And so they had. More Humans, who had overrun half of the continent. Now their cities reached all the way to the High Passes, but it was always the north where their treasures lay. The ancient seats of power had been established here, and it was here Magnolia Reinhart’s blood-spattered carriage rolled to a stop.

In front of a pair of massive gates, and a mansion that was taller than some palaces, Magnolia Reinhart stepped out of her carriage and stretched. Ressa stepped out beside her, quiet as a shadow.

“Oh, look at the blood. Reynold, have that cleaned later, will you? Was it from that young Wyvern we spotted? I believe I actually felt that one.”

The carriage rolled away through the snow, and Magnolia paused in front of the gates. They were three times the size of the carriage and made of neither wood nor iron. The stone bars looked down at Magnolia as she strode towards them.

No one entered the home of the Reinharts without presenting themselves at the gates in person. Not even Magnolia Reinhart, scion of the house. She walked up to the gates and pressed her hand against a dull gem set into the stone.

“I am Magnolia Reinhart. Open.”

For a moment nothing happened. Then the doors slowly began to swing inwards. Magnolia walked through them, and Ressa followed.

The flurrying snow had built up around the Reinhart estate. Inside, it was a memory. Magnolia’s cold skin warmed the instant she entered her ancestral home, and she saw grass, a detailed walkway, the sloping massive layers of mansion built ever upwards by generations of her family, and of course, her family.

They awaited her down a pathway of bowing servants. Magnolia strode past the uniformed men and women and occasional nonhumans, ignoring their greetings.

“They must have gotten this ready for me.”

She spoke curtly to Ressa. The maid nodded as she walked at Magnolia’s side.

“They know how much you hate it.”

Magnolia snorted and stared at a curtsying girl who might not have been ten. Then she narrowed her eyes at the older woman, young man, and girl waiting for her.

“Ah, Magnolia! Wonderful to see you at last.”

The woman was the first to speak as Magnolia strode towards her. She looked down at Magnolia from the flight of steps, smiling unpleasantly. She was dressed in an expensive gown of silk, and her fingers glittered with magical rings.

Unlike Magnolia, who had a kind of genteel, relaxed aristocratic air about her, this woman seemed to embrace her own importance. She had commanding eyes, piercing blue and not diminished by her age. For that matter, her face and hair reflected little of her years as well, both being the products of expensive [Alchemist] potions and creams. Her hair was a dark brown, accented by—

Magnolia reached the top of the stairs and shoved the older woman out of the way as she was about to speak. The woman stumbled, caught herself, and turned, white with fury. She opened her mouth and realized that Magnolia was striding into the mansion already.

“Magnolia!”

Confusion, panic, and fear dominated the two younger Reinharts. One of them stumbled and the other shrieked in outrage.

“She pushed me! That maid—”

“Good job, Ressa. Keep up! Aunt Cecille, wonderful to see you. Get out of my way. Young Wernel, I notice you have a sword. Keep it sheathed or Ressa will do something about it. Is that Damia I hear screaming back there, Ressa?”

“Yes, milady.”

“Excellent. Wonderful lungs. She screams like a banshee, which puts me in mind of my sisters. All four of them. Let’s leave her behind, shall we?”

The two accelerated their pace, forcing Lady Cecille Reinhart to chase after Magnolia while venting her fury.

“How dare you, Magnolia! Is this the way you treat—slow down! Where are you running to? You haven’t returned to your estates for years and—slow down, I said!”

Magnolia did not slow down. She rounded a corner of the mansion, brushing past surprised servants, navigating from memory. Cecille hitched up her skirt and ran to catch up.

“The rest of your family awaits you in the parlor. They are demanding—”

“When aren’t they? I haven’t the time to deal with them, Cecille. Make my excuses if you want, but I’ll only be here long enough to grab what I came for and leave.”

Magnolia glanced sideways at her aunt. The woman’s face was red with fury.

“You think you can do as you please because you’re the head of the family?”

“Yes.”

Once again, Cecille was left standing gaping in outrage. She had to hurry to catch up again.

“And what is so—”

“I’m going to meet Grandfather. I need an army, and I intend for him to give me one. You may come if you wish. We’re nearly there.”

Magnolia threw open a pair of double doors and began descending. The wonderful, expensive and exotic carpeting which she’d gone past too quickly to appreciate turned into a sloping hallway of stone leading downwards. Cecille, whose hair was now far too frazzled to comment on, paused as she realized where she was, and where Magnolia was going. She turned pale.

“Grandf—you can’t mean to—how bad is the situation outside?”

“Wonderful. Just lovely, really.”

“Truly?”

“No. Why do you think I’m here?”

Magnolia tapped her foot impatiently as Ressa began walking down the corridor. She scowled up at the woman wavering at the entrance to the passageway.

“Well, Aunt Cecille? Coming?”

The older [Lady] of the Reinharts stared at Magnolia. She looked down at the stone passageway—still lovely craftsmanship, it had been constructed by Dwarves after all—but far older and abandoned compared to the modem mansion above. She hesitated.

And then fled.

Magnolia slammed the doors shut without a word and continued downwards, her shoes clicking as they touched the cold stone flooring. Ressa was waiting for her at the bottom of the ramp and they proceeded past ancient murals on the walls, vistas of past triumphs and defeats—the history of the Reinharts.

It was a very, very long passage because of that. The two women talked quietly as they walked quickly down the hallway, slowly descending further and further below the mansion. A ring on Magnolia’s finger began to vibrate as they walked and she took it off with a grimace.

“I forgot it does that. What an unpleasant time I’m having, Ressa. First I have to see Aunt Cecille, and that spoiled brat of a son she has. Did you see the magic sword he was trying to show us?”

“Just as well I kicked him as we passed. Otherwise I’m sure he would have followed. Your Aunt Cecille’s smart enough not to come down here, but he might actually try to accompany us.”

“Did you? Ah, you’re too thoughtful, Ressa. And you got to shove young Damia. I envy you.”

The [Maid] quietly smiled as she and Magnolia walked. She glanced over her shoulder, back towards the rest of the mansion.

“The rest of your family won’t be happy about this. I’d expect the entire lot to be waiting for you when you’re done.”

“They’re never happy, Ressa. And they probably never will be. So what? So long as I get what I come for, I’ll be happy enough to kick whomever I please afterwards. Now, let’s be ready. I hate meeting the old man and today I’m going to ask a lot from him. This will be tough enough without worrying about my lovely relatives.”

They had arrived. Magnolia strode into a different room than all the others she’d stormed through in the last few minutes. Here she stopped. For in this place, at the bottom of the Reinhart mansion, sudden movements might see you very dead.

A brief description of the Reinhart estate proper would be helpful in describing this room, for it was everything the mansion was not. If richness in every variety and excess was the theme that had been used to decorate the mansion by rich, if not particularly tasteful individuals, the theme of this underground room was magic.

And danger. A double line of runes formed a circle around the entrance to the grand room, and a slight shimmer in the air marked off a field that Magnolia did not approach. Beyond the magical boundaries lay—well, one word for it would be an armory.

Or a hoard. If Ryoka Griffin had been in this room, she would have felt a similarity between this room and the hoard of Teriarch the dragon. True, the rows of floating magical weapons, bookcases full of sealed magical scrolls and other lists of rare and valuable artifacts spoke of a greater deal of organization and attention to detail than Teriarch’s amiable splendor, but it was nevertheless a collection of wealth beyond most people’s wildest dreams.

Magnolia, who dreamed of confectionaries, was not impressed. She tapped her foot and then raised her hand and rapped on the invisible force field blocking her from the rest of the armory. Ressa, standing at her side and looking wary, winced. The unflappable maid was tenser here than she had been at any time during their long journey.

Her mistress was not. She raised her voice and cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted.

“Hello? Anyone there? Grandfather, I know you’re listening! Come out already! I haven’t got all day!”

Ressa shifted uncomfortably.

“Magnolia. Maybe it would be best to wait—”

“Give the old man a second to insist on ceremony and make an entrance and we’ll be here all day, Ressa. Old man, I know you’re out there! Come here, you pretentious letch!”

For a moment, all that could be heard was the sound of Ressa swallowing. Then—footsteps. They came from a part deeper in the armory, where eyesight began to blur. Someone began walking towards Magnolia and Ressa. Had he been standing there all along? Or had he been called by Magnolia’s voice?

An old man walked into the center of the armory and stopped in front of the barrier that separated Magnolia from the rest of the room. He was old, yes, but hardly old enough to be called ‘grandfather’; he was in his mid-sixties and looked spry although it was true that his head of hair was almost completely grey.

He was dressed in a fashion that had gone out of style centuries ago, and was so old that it would have been trendy by today’s standards. That was because fashion was cyclical, not linear. But age was not, and so the man’s eyes contained a depth to them that few other beings possessed. An agelessness similar, but not akin to the look in Ivolethe’s eyes, or Teriarch’s.

Four attendants, all young women, seemed to materialize from the back and came closer, spreading out the room around the old man. They were clearly [Maids] as well from the way they dressed, but they too were garbed in a style far older than the plain black and white Ressa was wearing. They nodded to Magnolia’s maid and she nodded back, as one did to fellow workers in the same trade.

The old man and Magnolia faced each other across the magical divide, locking gazes and then looking each other up and down. He peered at her with a frown, and then spoke.

“Young Magnolia. I should have known it would be you, girl. Only you would have the audacity to address me so casually.”

Magnolia snorted.

“As if your detection spells didn’t warn you I was coming the instant I set foot in the manor. Let’s dispense with the meaningless pleasantries, Grandfather. You know why I’m here.”

“Manners, brat. Or have you forgotten who it is you’re speaking to?”

The old man stared down at Magnolia imperiously. She sighed, and gave him a very fake, very unconvincing smile.

“Oh, forgive me great uncle Regis. Or is it great, great, great, great, great, great, great uncle Regis? A few hundred more greats? Would you like me to say that every time we meet?”

There was a snigger. It did not come from Regis. One of the attendants covered her mouth. Regis turned red and half turned to look at her before rounding on Magnolia.

“I am your honored ancestor, girl!”

“And I don’t care, you puffed up ghost.”

Ressa watched the interplay between Magnolia and Regis, whom she called Grandfather because Great Uncle was equally as incorrect. Ressa would never have dared to be so impolite to him on the other hand. She could sense the enchantments on this room, and they were making her sweat.

Detection spells, truth spells, and so many protection spells that Ressa felt like she were standing in front of a wall made of magic, for all it looked like a few glowing runes on the floor. But that was intentional. The real proof behind the magic contained in this vault lay in the old man himself.

He was dead. He had died over three thousand and eight hundred years ago in this very room. But his memory lived on, as perfect a reflection of the soul as there was in this world. Regis Reinhart stared at his grandniece of countless generations with a frown of annoyance on his face.

“You are impertinent, unruly, rude—which is still better than your cowardly relatives, I must admit. Do you know that they haven’t dared set foot down here since you left?”

Magnolia smiled.

“I didn’t know, but I’m not surprised. They don’t like being reminded that you’re here. The dead should stay dead in their eyes, especially if the dead know all of their mortal foibles and failings.”

Regis laughed shortly. Yes, he was dead, but he was alive in this room. A miracle of magic, or rather, one specific kind of it.

“You children. When did necromancy become such a horrific thing? When I was young, [Necromancers] were as valuable as diamonds! And if your family had a lick of sense between them, they’d realize that someone who’s lived for thousands of years might have some decent advice in his head to share with them!”

“Especially one who delights on spying on them and everyone he can.”

The old man bridled at the implication.

“What I do is to safeguard—”

“Yes, yes. Your time honored duty and all that. It doesn’t excuse what you do, old man. How many scrying spells do you have built into this place anyways?”

He grimaced.

“Not enough. The outside world is a complex place to keep track of, as you well know, girl. And my descendants within the estate are hardly valuable sources of information. They spend their time lazing about, bickering, and not doing anything of worth. That inbred lot is useless to pay attention to unless I wish to keep up with ballroom gossip.”

Magnolia smiled, although it was so bitter it couldn’t really be called a proper smile.

“Useless, yes. Inbred—no. I’m pleased that we’ve saved ourselves from that issue quite handily by entertaining prostitution, scandalous affairs, and if my wonderful family can rise up to the challenge, harassing the hired help. The Reinhart legacy is free from that issue for a few generations, at least.”

It was Regis’ turn to smile sourly.

“Tell that to Wernel and his half-sister, Damia. They quite enjoy each other’s company. Unbeknownst to their aunt, I might add.”

There was a pause. Ressa saw Magnolia’s face twist.

“Ew. I shall have a word with Cecille about that. Please do not inform me of the other indiscretions of my family, Grandfather Regis, or I believe I won’t sleep tonight.”

“As you wish. Tell me why you have come then, and I shall decide whether it was in vain, or not.”

Regis crossed his arms and his attendants came forward. Magnolia nodded. Now she was completely serious. She stepped closer to the barrier that kept Regis’ memory in the world and spoke.

“I, Magnolia Reinhart, do return to my ancestral home to claim the right of my blood. I ask for relics of the past for war and protection, to protect the lands our family has claimed, to destroy our enemies, and safeguard our legacy.”

Regis’ eyes glittered as he stared down at her.

“You have proven yourself a worthy scion over the decades you have ruled the family, girl. You have protected our name and returned more riches to this vault than you have taken. More than the other unworthy descendants of our house. So you may take what is needed. What is needed—and no more.”

His voice echoed through the room, and there was an acknowledgement. The barrier surrounding Magnolia and Ressa faded. Magnolia stepped forwards, and then she was standing in front of Regis. He reached out and grasped her by the arms, smiling down at her. She kicked him.

“Enough, old man.”

Regis’ face contorted and he grasped at his shin as Magnolia strode past him. His attendants hurried to his side as Ressa stood where she was. She knew better than to try and enter the armory.

“Ungrateful wretch!”

“We do this every time. Take what’s needed? Hah! The motto is ‘give more than you take’, you greedy fool. By rights I should walk out of here with a quarter of the contents of this armory in a bag of holding, rather than let you keep it.”

Magnolia strode past him and the attendants who’d been preserved along with Regis. To her, they were as real to the touch as they had been in life, and clearly felt the same, too. Only in this place, though. Ressa looked at Regis as one of the women helped him up and then she looked away. When Regis Reinhart had made the sacrifice to keep his soul here to safeguard the Reinhart treasures, he’d insisted on four [Maids] being preserved with him. The reason was obvious, and both Ressa and Magnolia detested the old man for it.

But he was the guardian. And though Magnolia picked up swords and looked through scrolls on shelves as Regis swore and limped after her, she could take nothing out of the armory without his consent. Which is why they began arguing again in the center of the room.

“I should ban you from this place for a decade for your disrespect—”

“Save it. You know as well as I that I’m owed whatever I need.”

Regis growled.

“In times of need! You can’t simply remove artifacts whenever you feel like it, as I’ve explained to your sister and brothers time and time again! If there’s a war, I’ll let you have what you need. But to my knowledge, there’s no war going on. Just more infighting, assassinations, a Goblin Lord—”

“That doesn’t count as a war anymore? My, how the times have changed.”

“On the contrary.”

The specter scowled as one of his attendants faded from view and came back with a drink in one hand and a map of the continent which she hung in the air. More ‘features’ of the enchantment that held him. Ressa was of the opinion that Regis had turned his sacrifice into a very enjoyable form of immortality as well as a way to safeguard the Reinhart legacy from greedy future generations.

Now Regis sipped at his drink, not deigning to offer Magnolia one. She could have drunk it too, for what passed into the armory became part of it. One of Regis’ requirements was for several barrels of the finest vintages to be rolled into this place every year.

Regis sighed as he wiped a bit of liquid from around his mouth with a napkin and then indicated the map.

“A Goblin Lord has and ever will be a threat. Not one necessarily worthy of a Reinhart, but I have heard of these assassinations too, child. They trouble me. The Circle of Thorns haunted your grandmother, and though I gave her aid, she died with their curse still yet lingering over the family. For that hint of danger alone I would give you something.”

“Good to know you’re keeping track of things.”

Magnolia nodded as she sat down in a seat one of the attendant ghost maids brought for her. She tapped a foot on the ground, not disturbed at all by where she was. Regis sat too.

“So you come for what? Detection spells to find the master of the assassins? Guardians to protect you?”

“I have Ressa for that. Don’t scowl, you know she’s capable. No, I need an army and arms against the Goblin Lord, Grandfather. You know he’s a threat. He crushed two Drake armies recently. Had you heard of that?”

Regis grimaced.

“No. I’ve been working to establish new informants, but it is passing difficult when I lack a body and must conceal my nature! I would have heard in time doubtless, but—how many in each army. Did they work together? What was their leadership?”

“Two Drake armies, one led by a Gnoll and the other a Drake from a Walled City. Both high-level [Generals]—”

“Hah! High level by your standards perhaps.”

“High level, and commanding strong, experienced warriors. They worked together, old man. Both armies were ten thousand strong. Not a huge force, I will admit, but they went into the mountains hunting the Goblin Lord and were completely defeated. A single [Scout] made it out of the massacre and said they were wiped out to the last Drake.”

Silence. Ressa saw Regis swallow a mouthful of his drink, no longer looking content.

“That changes things. A Goblin Lord that just won a victory is dangerous. His army will grow stronger and replenish itself in days whatever the losses he took. And with that, he grows one step closer to becoming a Goblin King. You were right to come here.”

He got up and studied the map of the continent. It was old, but most of the geographical locations were unchanged.

“The Goblin Lord was south of Liscor the last I heard. I assume that’s where he fought? He’ll come north, I agree with that, but perhaps he’ll get bogged down around Liscor. It’s winter, isn’t it? If you wait, come spring the valley will be impassible—”

“He’ll come north before that, I’m sure of it.”

“How do you know?”

Regis frowned at Magnolia as she stood up. She calmly traced a line past Liscor north. There were no cities listed on the map around there; when Regis had been young, the Gnolls had occupied the north as wandering tribes.

“They won’t attack Liscor. Goblin Lords aren’t idiots. He’ll march right past and start sacking cities, and then spring will roll around and he’ll be trapped on the north side as our problem.”

“An intriguing conclusion. May I ask—”

Magnolia tapped the city of Liscor on the map, one of two gateways between north and south. In the days when Regis’ map had been made, a Dwarf city had stood in the High Passes. Now it was lost to time.

“The Necromancer couldn’t bring down Liscor’s wall in a month. The Antinium couldn’t do it either, and every time we send our armies down to battle the Drakes in the blood fields in the time honored tradition of wasting lives for no gain, we ignore the city. Because it is too difficult to take without a truly powerful siege weapon, a massive army, a magical artifact, or a being of immense power.”

“Like a Dragon.”

Regis folded his arms, and suddenly, with the obsession of an old man who enjoyed harping on the complaints of the young, glared at Magnolia.

“Why don’t you have that scaled disgrace of a lover you trysted with do your dirty work for you, girl? I’m sure he’d make quick work of a Goblin Lord—if he ever bestirred himself from his caverns, that is!”

Magnolia turned and scowled at him. Regis retreated out of kicking range.

“You know as well as I that if I asked Teriarch for help he’d refuse. And I don’t expect to be lectured on my private affairs from you. Insult me or Teriarch again and I’ll dispel your damn enchantments and break this armory open to rest your departed soul, dear Grandfather.”

“Hah! You wouldn’t dare try, brat! Reinharts of the past have broken themselves against the enchantments that keep me here!”

The old man smiled smugly and folded his arms, supremely confident. Magnolia, who breathed the stuff, smiled nastily.

“My ‘scaled disgrace of a lover’ as you put it, has informed me that he would certainly be able to dispel or destroy the enchantments protecting you, oh loving grandfather of mine.”

Regis Reinhart paled.

“You wouldn’t. And he wouldn’t dare! The risk—”

“Oh, he’d risk it. For half the treasury. I told him no, as I don’t plan on giving away half of the Reinhart legacy to sit in his caves for him to gloat over. But tempt me, and I’ll see how fast he can teleport over here.”

The threat seemed to stun Regis for a moment. He made an inarticulate noise.

“Enough of this. The Dragon may rest and sleep himself into oblivion. I’d rather he stayed there in case the Necromancer returns. You haven’t told me what you’re planning on doing with him. The rest of the continent may sleep at ease believing him gone, but you and I know he’s a threat.”

“Why, I plan on dealing with him just as soon as I deal with the Antinium. Which, I may remind you, you failed to anticipate being a threat. ‘Leave them alone and the Drakes will handle it’, I believe you said.”

“Don’t quote my errors, girl—”

“And don’t lecture me on Az’kerash, you fool. I know he’s a danger, but I also know that a [Necromancer] may only raise a single army, however strong he is. He can split that army, but it’s hardly as dangerous as six Hives which can overrun countless cities.”

Magnolia tapped the map where six points had been marked around the south eastern part of the continent.

“Kill one Queen and the rest will lead her Hive. Kill the [Necromancer] and his undead lose their master. I’ll kill him when I’m ready or when he makes a mistake. I have more than enough to deal with now.”

“True. So this Goblin Lord. I’m prepared to give you a good deal child. You have contributed to the Reinhart family, I will admit, so what you need is yours. Name it.”

Regis waved a hand regally and his attendants stepped forwards with swords, rings, magic scrolls and other objects of power in their hands. Magnolia looked around dismissively and then pointed.

“I’ll have that. The Crown of Flowers.”

On a pedestal across from her sat a laurel wreath made of glowing flowers. When Magnolia spoke one of the attendants dropped the sword she was carrying. Regis nearly choked on his drink.

“What? No! What would possess you to—out of the question!”

“You said what I wanted.”

“Within reason! That is one of the three great treasures of this armory! If I let you have it again—anyways, its power is weak in the winter.”

“Its power is sufficient to end any Goblin threat old man, winter or not. Give it to me and I’ll not ask for anything more.”

Regis scowled at Magnolia.

“If you were going to conquer the continent, I’d let you have it. Or if there were a genuine Goblin King. A Lord doesn’t warrant that artifact, not by far.”

“What about a Great Goblin Chieftain? Ever heard of one of those, Grandfather? One appeared in the Dwarfhalls Rest. Apparently it’s been living there since the last Goblin King fell and it fought for the Goblin King.”

“A Great Chieftain? I’ve never heard…no, perhaps there were some…I do recall one or two over the years.”

Regis floated away from Magnolia, forgetting to walk for a moment. His form grew misty and transparent as he thought.

“I do recall such Goblins, though rarely. They are akin to Goblin Lords, but lack the drive to be Kings. Thus, they are dangerous. You say one has been here without your knowledge?”

“And it seeks to join the Goblin Lord. The Goblin Lord, great uncle, who may well be a King if left unchecked.”

“More and more reason why you should finish him quickly. But not with the Crown of Flowers.”

Magnolia sighed, but Ressa knew that the Crown of Flowers had been a long shot anyways. Magnolia turned back to the map.

“Very well. I’m currently levying soldiers from every city from here to Invrisil. I intend to form an army and attack this Great Chieftain first, and then the Goblin Lord.”

“A sound plan. How many soldiers…?”

“Forty thousand give or take. Hardly as large as the armies we send to fight with the Drakes each year, but enough for a Goblin Lord.”

“Assuming he hasn’t grown too large. Have you a [General] for this army, or do you plan to lead it yourself like you did as a child?”

Magnolia folded her arms and stared icily at Regis.

“I have a [General] in mind that is more than competant. But I require arms for him, soldiers from my estate, and more artifacts besides. Give them to me.”

Regis gritted his teeth, seeming to calculate unseen odds and numbers before nodding.

“What do you want?”

“I will have forty thousand soldiers and a [General], grandfather. Give me two companies of our own warriors and some battle golems. Armor fit for a [General]—he won’t need a weapon. And a magical artifact to deal with this ‘Great Goblin Chieftain’. Oh, and give Ressa a dagger.”

The guardian of the armory pursed his lips, looking put out by Magnolia’s demands. He glanced at Ressa, who stood straight and returned his gaze as it probed her. Finally, grudgingly, he nodded.

“It will be done. I will give orders. You may take two companies of [Knights], armed with minor magical artifacts. I will give you the armor of your forebears for this [General], and three battle golems. Your maid—”

“Gets a dagger. Or a shortsword. She can use both. But it has to be concealable.”

“Assassins. Bah. Very well, I will grant her the Keing Dagger—”

“That’s a poor artifact. Give her the Yawning Blade, you cheapskate.”

“For her? No. She may have the Vision of Grasses and I will expect it returned when this business is done.”

Regis pulled a dagger out of the air and handed it to Ressa. The blade was curved and tinted green, and tapered off into a cutting edge that eyes alone could not see. Ressa bowed as she accepted it and took exquisite care not to let the edges touch any part of her body.

“There. As for this artifact you require—I will give you one that can dispose of the Great Chieftain personally. One moment.”

Magnolia waited and found herself being handed a tube with countless symbols etched into it after a moment. It looked like a very cylindrical vase, or an over tall cup of some kind. She dubiously stared into it and the attendant who’d given it to her snatched it back.

“Please treat it carefully, Lady Reinhart. This device will activate if you will it, and it is capable of felling a Giant.”

“A shame that they were all wiped out, then.”

Magnolia took the tube back and tossed it up in the air. Then she caught it and pointed it around, aiming casually.

“How do I—? Oh, yes, I see. I just have to think and it’ll trigger, correct? How very handy. I can’t wait to see what it does.”

She swung the tube carelessly, aiming it around the armory. Everyone ducked, including Regis. He roared at her as Ressa picked herself up from the floor.

“Careful with that, brat! Do you know how many of your ancestors have died from magical artifacts they’ve used improperly?”

“Not many if they had to get them from you, great uncle. Now, I’d love to be going soon, but I felt I should mention one last thing. While I was requesting soldiers, it came to my attention that Tyrion Veltras is doing the same. It seems he intends to raise an army to deal with the Goblin Lord, although he was quite content to leave them alone earlier.”

Regis’ face purpled as he got to his feet. He roared, making his attendants clap their hands to their ears.

“The Veltras? Those lowborn dogs want to steal glory and a march on our family? Why didn’t you tell me before? If you had, I’d have given you all that you asked without arguing!”

Magnolia smiled sweetly.

“Because now you’ll give me everything I asked for and more, grandfather. Or would you like Tyrion Veltras to be the one responsible for defeating both the Goblin Lord and this Great Chieftain?”

Regis stared at Magnolia, eye twitching. Ressa saw one of the attendants—two of them, actually—giggling, and wondered if their long years of imprisonment here were bearable after all. She hoped so, for their sakes.

As for her, Ressa looked at her mistress as she stared down her immortal ancestor. He glared at her, swore, cursed her mother and her mother’s mother, all of whom had dealt with him before, and then, surprisingly, smiled.

“You’re an impertinent brat. You always were. I suppose this is why you make for such a good head of the family, though. It’s children like you who make me think we’ll take this continent yet.”

He smiled fondly at Magnolia, who rolled her eyes. Ressa sighed too, as Regis began to speak about Magnolia’s great, great, great, great grandmother.

Visiting the family was always a tiresome affair.

—-

They left the estate in good time after they parted with Regis. He had Magnolia’s soldiers and arms ready when they left. The family wasn’t trouble either. When they saw Magnolia coming out of the stairwell with the magical artifact of devastation pointed right at them, they fled.

“Aunt Cecille? A word as we leave.”

Magnolia called out to one of the women fleeing the range of the tube she was holding. She handed it to Ressa, who cradled the deadly artifact with a great deal more care than Magnolia. The two women strode on.

“Before I deal with Cecille, have word sent to Lady Bethal, Ressa. I know her Knights of the Petal are quite good. I’d like them to hunt down that other Goblin Chieftain—you know, the one that’s been waylaying travelers on the road?”

“By herself?”

“She has Thomast. He could probably outduel any Chieftain living, and if worse comes to worst, Bethal’s intelligent enough to retreat. However, I think that her knights will make short work of the problem. She’s to join me at Dwarfhalls Rest later. We will bring down the Goblin Chieftain as soon as I can march the army all the way there. Argh, but it’ll take forever. A shame I couldn’t borrow the Banner of Terland but—he’d never let me have it.”

“First the Goblin Chieftain and then the Goblin Lord. In quick succession. You aren’t waiting for them I see.”

Magnolia smiled coldly. Regis had the eyes of a being who’d lived for thousands of years, but Magnolia’s eyes were more distant still.

“I don’t play games, Ressa. I have assassins to deal with, the Antinium, Az’kerash—and now this issue of otherworlders that Regis doesn’t know about. I can’t waste time on a Goblin Lord.”

She paused and then kicked at one of the walls, speaking loudly at the ceiling.

“You hear that, old man? Time to broaden your scrying! There’s more at stake here than the continent and you had no idea until I told you about it! Guardian of the Reinhart legacy my foot!”

A loud curse echoed through the mansion, making Lady Cecille cower as she scuttled up to Magnolia. The head of the Reinhart family sighed and walked on. Ressa followed, smiling slightly.

—-

The mighty planned and made preparations for war. That was how it was. That was how it always was in Izril. Unlike Baleros, where war was more like endless conflicts between mercenaries and seldom engulfed the entire continent, or Chandrar where it happened between kingdoms more rarely in the deserts, Izril had only one war. That of the Drakes and the Humans.

Oh, and the Gnolls of course. The tribes were always an issue. And the Antinium, damn them! And if it came to that, the Goblins were a threat. But to Drakes, the threat had always been Humans. Always. They had landed on their shores millennia ago, and Drakes never forgave the land they had ceded to the Humans. Never.

Terandria had politics. Rhir struggled for survival. But Drakes had a foe. Those damn Humans. It was more of a bad rivalry now, true, as neither side did more than send armies to the Blood Fields each year to kill each other. But give them half a chance and the Drakes would happily invade the north, while the Humans would do the same.

That was why Drakes were ready for battle. And in Liscor, the council—a group of individuals who represented different facets of the city from the Captain of the Watch to the [Strategist] that was required by law to be present in case of emergencies—knew what to do. Or rather, they knew what they were supposed to do.

Olesm Swifttail sat around the table, feeling very nervous and very, very unsure of himself. Drake law was clear and it outlined the steps a city should take in cases like now. But unlike a Human invasion which would mandate instant support from every Drake city on the continent, the situation with the Goblin Lord was different.

He had crushed two armies sent against him. Two. Armies. Both had been led by famous generals. Thrissiam Blackwing and Garusa Weatherfur were legends to Olesm. The thought that they’d both fallen in battle made him fear for his city.

He was just a [Tactician]. Hardly qualified to make decisions about the city. And the Council—well, Olesm didn’t like to badmouth fellow Drakes, but they were only a nominal ruling body that took care of bureaucratic measures. They weren’t leaders.

And they were all Drakes. Olesm would have loved to have Krshia in the Council rather than the appointed Head Merchant, a Drake with less experience than the Gnoll. But politics were politics. Of the group, the few people who seemed in control and knew what to do were Watch Captain Zevara, Wall Lord Ilvriss, General Zel Shivertail, and the Named Adventurer, Regrika Blackpaw.

It was reassuring to have them all here. Very reassuring. Olesm thought the other Council members would have panicked if it weren’t for such legends being in the room, reassuring them. They might have panicked anyways, but there was another factor keeping the room somewhat calm.

The Humans. The Human, in point of fact. Jelaqua Ivrith and Ulrien Sparson were both here, but Olesm knew for a fact that Jelaqua was a Selphid. But to the other Council members it probably didn’t matter. Jelaqua looked like a Human, so she counted.

Thus, the prevailing mood was nervousness, but hidden by bravado. Yes, the situation was grim. However, you couldn’t let the Humans see that, could you? Had to put on a brave face. Yes, stiff upper tails and all that. It seemed the other Drakes were reminding each other they had to stay calm in front of the Humans.

“I think we’re agreed, then.”

Wall Lord Ilvriss spoke as he leaned over the table, and Olesm sat upright guiltily. He’d been dozing off—the meeting had gone on for hours. Ignoring the guilty starts of the others in the room, Lord Ilvriss summarized the main points they’d discussed.

“Word has already been sent to the other cities. I expect my city will send another army—a larger one—to destroy this Goblin Lord in due time. No doubt it will be a confederation army after all. However, in the meantime Liscor must stand. To that end, a message spell has been sent to Liscor’s army.”

“Which isn’t here because…I don’t get that bit.”

Ilvriss turned and glared, only half-acknowledging Jelaqua’s bright smile. Zel cleared his throat and nodded at the Gold-rank adventurers. They were awarded a place at the meeting due to their experience, although neither Ulrien nor Jelaqua had spoken much up till now.

“Liscor’s army is a mercenary one. They spend months, sometimes years in the field, earning money. They’re exceptionally good at their job—with them here the Goblin Lord could assault the walls and would definitely fail to seize the city.”

“However, they’re too far away to return and preoccupied with fighting. They have agreed to send a unit to defend the city. They should arrive…in time.”

Zevara gritted her teeth and lashed her tail. Olesm winced. The reply from Liscor’s army had been short, concise, and unhelpful. But that was the relationship between city and army. It was always strained.

Ilvriss cleared his throat, looking annoyed at the interruptions.

“In the meantime, we shall prepare the city for attack. If it comes to it, we can hold the walls long enough for reinforcements. However, I doubt the Goblin Lord is foolish enough to besiege us. If he is…”

If he was, it was war. Olesm swallowed hard and looked around the room. The plan was good and simple and it had mostly been politics argued over so far. However, no one had brought up the white Dragon in the room and Olesm was afraid that if he didn’t speak now, he’d lose the nerve. Cautiously he coughed and raised a hand.

Instantly, every eye was on him. Olesm felt himself pale as Zel Shivertail himself looked at him, but he stood and spoke hoarsely.

“Begging your pardon Wall Lord—”

Ilvriss nodded graciously at Olesm, smiling a bit. He had been very nice to the Drake, which was at odds with all the things Erin and Ryoka said about him. Olesm continued, speaking to him and Zel.

“—But what about the Antinium? I understand that if it comes to a siege, the Antinium are called upon to defend the city. However…”

Ilvriss’ smile vanished and Zel shifted. The two Drakes looked at each other as the council room fell silent. Yes, the treaty clearly spoke about Antinium aiding the city. But they had only done it once, when Skinner attacked. And the feelings the two Drakes had about the Antinium were abundantly clear.

“If it comes to that young Swifttail, we shall…appraise the Antinium situation as need be.”

Ilvriss spoke to Olesm, but, the Drake sensed, to Zel as well. The [General] nodded.

“They may be helpful. If not…”

Another silence. If not, it might mean another war, far worse than any war with a Goblin Lord. Olesm looked around and sank into his seat. Now he was wishing he hadn’t brought up the issue, because he was really worried.

“If it is the Antinium that concerns you, perhaps it would be best to focus on the Goblin Lord as a threat first, yes? A known enemy in the trees and one underfoot is better than a shadow on both sides.”

Someone else spoke up. Regrika Blackpaw leaned over the table, larger than life, a giant of a Gnoll. She smiled reassuringly at Olesm and he found himself smiling in return. Ilvriss nodded.

“True. I would like to know how our warnings about the Goblin Lord were ignored so badly both armies were surrounded.”

“They knew about the undead, but the exploding ones we saw must not have been mentioned to either general. Or whoever briefed them thought it wasn’t a concern. Neither one expected them to be underground.”

Zel muttered. Ilvriss pounded the table with a fist.

“Ridiculous! If I find the Drake who thought the undead weren’t a concern—”

“The [Scout] that Hawk found fled the battle before the end, but he saw the undead rising. His conclusion was that the Goblin Lord was far more powerful a [Necromancer] than anyone suspected. Hiding the undead beneath the snow—that’s a tactic Az’kerash used to use in the Second Antinium War.”

Ilvriss and Zel shared a concerned glance. Olesm’s heart beat wildly. The [Scout] that Hawk had found had been on the edges of the battlefield near the end. He’d seen the last charge of Garusa Weatherfur, and heard the horns signaling a full retreat. No one close to the place where Thrissiam Blackwing had made his last stand had survived.

“Hrm. It is not good, no. But we must know how much of the Goblin Lord’s army lives, yes? I know Goblins rebuild their forces quickly. It is essential to find out. Hrr. Are there any who might scout the army?”

Regrika looked around the table at the Council. A few heads shook—the leader of the Adventurer’s Guild, a very old Drake lady that Olesm recognized, spoke up. She was Selys’ grandmother.

“There’s not a Drake or Gnoll adventurer worthy of the name in the city who could do it to my knowledge. Not a City Runner either; Hawk might be able to do it, but he would refuse to go near the Goblin Lord’s army. Quite sensibly, too.”

“There’s a [Scout] in my party, Halrac Everam. He might be able to do it, but I’d hate to risk him as well.”

Ulrien volunteered the information quietly, and the Council members looked at him. The huge Human man was like a reassuring rock, for all he was…Human. Zel shook his head.

“I would hate to have any of our best die trying to scout the Goblin Lord’s army, Regrika.”

“Hrm. True. But are you sure there are no City Runners of renown? I would love to see a list—if the Courier Hawk will not do it, a City Runner might. Courage is needed in dire times, and I would speak to any who might volunteer for such a mission.”

The Gnoll [Champion] seemed insistent, so after a moment one of the Council members fetched a list with names of City Runners in Liscor. Regrika pawed through the list, staring at sketches of faces, names, levels, and then looked up.

“I see the issue. Few with high levels. Are you sure there are no others?”

The Council hesitated. Olesm realized they had overlooked someone and spoke up excitedly.

“What about the door to Celum? There are more adventurers and Runners through there.”

Regrika blinked at him.

“A door? What is this?”

Olesm explained briefly about Erin’s magical door, and the Named Adventurer Gnoll shook her head in amazement. That she was impressed made Olesm proud for Erin. Zel nodded slowly.

“True. I’d overlooked the door, but if it came to a siege, I would hope that Erin would allow us to bring her inside the city. Her door could sustain us in a siege and bring reinforcements if needed—”

“Humans!”

Ilvriss uttered it as a curse and folded his arms. But Olesm had remembered something else about the inn and edged over to Regrika Blackpaw tentatively.

“There is another Runner who might be willing to take the risk, Miss Blackpaw.”

“Oh? Why is she not on the list? Is she Human?”

The Named Adventurer looked intrigued. Olesm nodded eagerly.

“Her name is Ryoka Griffin. She’s quite good—she ran through the High Passes by herself, once! I could introduce you to her perhaps.”

“A Human female? A City Runner? Or…a Courier?”

“Not a Courier, Miss Blackpaw, but she’s probably the closest to it in Liscor or Celum!”

Regrika bared her teeth in a smile.

“I would like to meet such a Human. Yes, thank you Olesm Swifttail.”

Olesm flushed with pride. Jelaqua spoke up as well, coming over while Zel and Ilvriss and Zevara argued about Humans.

“We all stay at the inn. We’d be happy to show you around after this.”

“I would be most honored, yes. And I shall introduce you to my companion too. She is a powerful [Mage], a Gold-rank adventurer. We must drink together, yes?”

“Of course! I’m sure Erin and Ryoka would be honored to meet you!”

Olesm practically fell over himself with pleasure. Another famous guest for Erin’s inn! Wouldn’t she be pleased when Olesm brought a Named Adventurer to her inn?

After a moment Ilvriss called everyone to order. He pointedly tapped on the map with the Goblin Lord’s probable location on it.

“Our business is not concluded. We have more to do. Regardless of whether or not the Goblin Lord attacks, I suspect him to head north. If he does, we must ensure the nearby villages are cleared long before his arrival and track his movements heading north. Hopefully he becomes the Humans’ problem. Either way, we must prepare ourselves.”

Ilvriss’ eyes glinted as he looked around the room, meeting everyone’s gaze but Ulrien and Jelaqua’s.

“The Goblin Lord must die.”

—-

“The Goblin Lord must die. However, I regret to say that we will most likely be gone before he falls.”

Xrn stood in the chamber of the Queen of the Free Antinium and spoke calmly as she held her staff. Three other Antinium stood with her. Tersk of the Armored Antinium, Pivr of the Flying Antinium, still covered in wounds, and Klbkch. The Queen of the Free Antinium looked down at Xrn.

“I see. You will return to the Hives?”

The blue Antinium lowered her head and Klbkch felt an ache in his chest.

“I must. The Grand Queen wishes me to return and fears I may be wounded if the Goblin Lord attacks.”

“I see.”

Klbkch’s Queen shifted her weight. He saw her looking from Prognugator to Prognugator, and then at Pivr’s wounded form with some satisfaction. Her only comment was to Xrn, though.

“I trust you have seen what my Hive has produced and seen the worth of it.”

“I have.”

Tersk stepped forwards and bowed. He was still not wearing his armor. He seemed greatly changed as he addressed both Klbkch and the Queen.

“I have seen much my Queen will see the value of. Much. I will petition her to recognize your Hive formally.”

“I too. The Antinium should not face such a threat below. Not alone.”

Pivr spoke up, sounding subdued. Klbkch glanced at him, surprised. Xrn nodded at both and then spoke up, voice clear as she clicked her mandibles together respectfully.

“We have agreed that your Hive is worthy, Queen of the Free Antinium. To that end, we shall request that a link be set up between Hives. We have magical artifacts that may do so—for now, we must communicate between Listeners.”

Ah, yes. The Antinium created specifically to listen. It was a crude way of communicating at distance and the other Hives all used magical artifacts to speak, rather than Listeners. But the Free Antinium had been cut off for years thanks to their ‘unproven’ status. Klbkch tasted acid. His Queen surely felt the same, but she only inclined her head to Xrn.

“In ages past we linked minds. Now…we cannot. However, I will confer with the other Queens as to what is to be done about this Goblin Lord, gladly.”

“I am pleased, oh Queen of the Free Antinium. I thank you for your hospitality, though we shall linger for a few days more. I wish to…take in this city, and I understand both Tersk and Pivr have their own needs.”

Xrn nodded at Klbkch. He nodded back. They had a few more moments. Time…oh, it was so fleeting. But perhaps this door—Erin’s door—they had talked, Xrn and he. They had made plans for the future. So had his Queen. The Antinium would live. They would restore themselves and return to Rhir. This Goblin Lord wasn’t worth mentioning.

—-

Osthia Blackwing was now convinced that there was no greater threat on the continent than the Goblin Lord. None. Not even the Antinium were so dangerous. Not because the Goblin Lord himself was that terrifying—he would have lost the battle against her uncle and Garusa normally. No, it was his master that scared Osthia to her core.

Az’kerash, the Necromancer, hovered in the air before the kneeling Goblin Lord in his tent. Osthia, bound and helpless, could only stare up at the projection of the dreaded enemy of the Drakes as his deathless gaze swept the tent.

Black eyes and white pupils. One look from the [Necromancer] sent chills down Osthia’s tail. But the man’s voice was refined, scholarly.

“I do not see why you need the Drake. Oldblood she may be, but a useful corpse she is not. Unless you intend to keep her for other…diversions?”

There was disapproval in his tone. Osthia shivered in cold fury. She would rather die. But the Goblin Lord hadn’t touched her except to interrogate her about his master. The kneeling Goblin shook his head.

“She is spy. Tells me information.”

“Information I already have.”

Az’kerash’s voice was filled with scorn. He gestured at Osthia, and then made a gesture. A map floated in the air in front of Osthia.

“I need no spies, only magic. And I have given you your orders. Go past Liscor. Reclaim the Goblins in the mountain. Tame their leader, build your forces. Wreak havoc among the Human lands and become the Goblin King if you are able. If not, die cursing your weakness.”

He stared down at his apprentice, the Goblin Lord. But it seemed to Osthia that Az’kerash was speaking not as a master to a pupil, but a disinterested owner giving instructions to a dog. The Goblin Lord’s fate only mildly concerned Az’kerash. It was chaos he craved.

“I have my trusted servants in Liscor. Their tasks must not be compromised. They have been occupied there for a long time, it seems. Gathering information.”

Servants? Osthia started. The [Necromancer] had servants? Az’kerash seemed preoccupied, but suddenly the Goblin Lord laughed. Both the Drake and man stared at him.

“What do you find funny?”

“Servants? Not in Liscor long time.”

“Really? I was assured by Ijvani that they had reached the city long past when I inquired.”

The [Necromancer]’s eyes narrowed. The Goblin Lord laughed again, clearly delighting in informing his master of the lie.

“Not true. I met them. A week ago. They were lost. Could not find Liscor.”

“Indeed?”

Az’kerash’s brows snapped together. He frowned.

“In that case, it seems I must reprimand my servants. Thank you for telling me.”

Both Osthia and the Goblin Lord took some small pleasure in seeing the irritation on the Necromancer’s face. He waved a hand, about to dismiss the spell and then spoke curtly.

“Go north as I have told you, my apprentice. Burn the cities as you pass. Leave strong ones undefended. And kill the Drake. I do not like loose ends.”

His image vanished. Osthia saw the Goblin Lord stand up, brushing dirt from his knees. He looked at her. And she knew that she would live.

Because if there was anything the Goblin Lord could do to spite the Necromancer, he would. He was Az’kerash’s enemy as much as anyone. But Osthia feared…she feared they were all just pawns in some larger game the Necromancer was playing. She just wished she could tell someone what was happening.

—-

Plots and treachery. Intrigue, planning—the minds of the leaders of many sides plotted and thought away across the continent. Each had their own agenda. Each was a fool. For however strong they may be, whatever powers they possessed, what were they?

Merely mortal. Well, Az’kerash might be an exception, but he was still young. Especially by Dragon standards.

In a game of armies and kings, of death and battle, a lone Dragon sat in his cave, aloof from it all. He was mighty. He had lived through the rise and fall of greater empires than any that now existed on the earth. He was a ruler of fire, one of the last and mightiest of his kind. He was a Dragon.

And now he had reached perfection. On the ground of his cavern, the Dragon gently and with exquisite care, extended a claw. With the finest of control he gently lowered the talon a fraction and tapped a glowing screen.

The iPhone beneath the Dragon blinked for a second, its screen glowing brightly in the dim light. It was surrounded by ice and cooled by powerful freezing spells; it seemed that it had a tendency to overheat and Teriarch couldn’t be bothered to keep repairing it with magic.

And the iPhone was especially strained as of now. Teriarch’s eyes flicked as he analyzed the small screen and he breathed out. At last. He had done it. He had struggled—so hard! And he had persevered. He had accomplished what no other being in this world had done, he was sure of it.

“Let me see. As of now, I am producing…”

His eyes flickered over the screen. Teriarch counted for a moment, and then took a breath.

“Five hundred thirty-eight quintillion, two hundred fifty-five quadrillion, eight hundred two trillion, nine hundred seventy-one billion, six hundred twenty-one million, three hundred sixty-two thousand, four hundred and eight…excuse me, four hundred and nine cookies per second, given of course a lack of any manual input on my part.”

Teriarch proudly stared down at the screen of the iPhone, which was showing a game and a lot of numbers. Cookie Clicker, the app, ran on as Teriarch gently tapped the screen a few times, watching cookies soar across the screen.

He’d done it. He’d clicked the screen, bought many, many upgrades, and finally, become a lord of cookies. Teriarch had no idea what the strange confectionaries actually tasted like, but he was sure they were some sort of granulated sugar treat. He’d had similar substances over the years, even if he’d never had ‘chocolate chip’ cookies.

And now he was producing so many! Teriarch was at the head of a virtual cookie empire that could literally bury his opponents live in cookies. He had enough cookies to fill the sea, to build himself a castle and army! He could do anything! He was a cookie god!

The Dragon blinked at the tiny screen and then slowly rolled—or perhaps collapsed—onto his side. He stared at the screen.

“I feel so empty.”

4.27 H

[Warrior Level 1!]

[Skill – Basic Footwork obtained!]

[Princess Level 6!]

[Skill – Royal Tax obtained!]

Lyonette woke up. The bright sunlight of dawn was the first thing she saw through the open curtains of her window. She looked around in a sudden panic, remembered that Erin had told her to sleep in today, and relaxed. Then her eyes widened.

“Oh. Oh!”

There was a ball of fur sleeping next to her, hogging the blanket. Lyonette gathered up Mrsha in her arms and hugged the Gnoll gently, ignoring Mrsha’s sleepy protests.

“I did it! I did it! Mrsha! I leveled!”

A paw slapped Lyonette in the mouth. Mrsha sagged in Lyonette’s arms, completely limp. Gently, Lyonette put the Gnoll back in her bed and then got up and paced around the room frantically.

“I—it happened at last! At last! How? It has to be—Brunkr? But I just did that because—I thought—I never expected—no wonder Mavia leveled up then, if that’s what knighting people does! Why didn’t Mother or Father ever say…? But I leveled! And I got a Skill! [Royal Tax]. I’m sure I saw it listed in the secret book of kings father showed me…”

She paused, gulping for air and feeling dizzy. Lyonette turned around and hesitated. She saw a pile of blankets and a pillow on the other side of the room. Ryoka slept with Lyonette and Mrsha, but she’d already woken up and gone out it seemed.

“I can’t talk to her about it anyways. I could but, it’s dangerous…”

Suddenly, Lyonette drooped. The excitement in her veins faded slightly. She’d done it. She’d finally leveled as a [Princess]. But she couldn’t tell anyone that news. She had no one to talk to.

Glumly, Lyonette went downstairs and found the inn was full of visitors already. Erin greeted her as Lyonette mechanically served tables and brought drinks and food out.

“Thanks, Miss Human.”

A group of Drakes had just finished their meal. They counted up coins and tossed them onto the table. Lyonette blinked down at the silver and copper coins and called out.

“Wait! You overpaid.”

“Did we?”

The Drakes turned. One, with dusky orange scales counted up the coins with a claw.

“Nope, looks good to us.”

He and the others left. Lyonette blinked down at the coins. They had overpaid, by about three copper coins!

“Ooh, what’s this about pay?”

Erin materialized out of the kitchen, bits of fish scales on her hands. She cocked her head as Lyonette showed her the coins.

“There are three extra. I feel bad, because they paid too much—”

“Oh, that’s not overpaying, that’s a tip!”

“A tip?”

Lyonette bit her lip. Was the extra tip…? Surely not! But she owned nothing on this continent. Why wouldn’t her Skill affect her job?

“Here’s the extra—”

She tried to give it to Erin, but the [Innkeeper] pushed the coins back into her hand.

“No, it’s a tip, Lyonette, a tip! I can’t take that! You keep it and add it to your salary—which I am paying you, now.”

“Okay.”

The [Princess] went back to busing tables, noting that Ishkr got nothing like a tip. However, the next three tables all gave her tips, usually one or two copper coins at most. They didn’t blink at giving her the tip, although Lyonette pointed out the extra money. Nor did anyone comment on the extra money either. It was unconscious, the way they added up coins and gave her a tiny bit extra. A royal tax indeed.

Lyonette wished she could tell Erin. But that would put the girl in danger, wouldn’t it? All she could do was helplessly feed Apista, and then take a short break to rest her head in her hands in her room upstairs.

Mrsha was up by now, but she was busy having breakfast at a table downstairs. Lyonette sat in her room and heard a thump. She looked up and saw an Antinium Worker pause in her doorway. He was holding a very long length of wood in one hand. Above, she could hear hammering and many bodies shuffling about.

The Antinium were still working on a third floor and a new wing to the inn. Lyonette sighed and stood up as more Workers filed past her with wood, roof tiles, and buckets of copper nails.

No one knew she was a [Princess]. That secret she had kept, out of fear for what might happen and more recently, shame. No one on this continent knew Lyonette’s true identity, save for Magnolia Reinhart herself. No one knew Lyonette was royalty.

That was how it had to be. Lyonette told herself that as she went downstairs with a smile, to play with Mrsha and help Ishkr with the crowds. It was safer this way. Her identity was a danger to the people she had grown to love. So she had to keep the secret. Lyonette had told no one who she was, and no one would ever know a [Princess] worked in the Wandering Inn.

Okay, Pawn knew. And Ryoka. And…yes, Magnolia Reinhart and whomever she’d told. But that was hardly anyone! Besides that, no one knew.

No one at all.

—-

“Yeah, she’s definitely a princess. I’m one hundred percent sure. Two hundred percent.”

Ryoka picked at the sliced raw meat Krshia had offered her in a bowl and wondered if it was full of E.coli or some other native bacteria to this world. She wondered if there were some tactful way to refuse eating it. She sighed, pushed the bowl back, and sat back on her side of the couch.

Krshia blinked at her. She and Brunkr were sitting in the Gnoll [Shopkeeper]’s apartment. Their ears were twitching, a sure sign of agitation. Ryoka scowled at them.

“What? Don’t tell me you didn’t figure it out? It was obvious! I’d expect Erin not to pick up on the clues, but you two? Lyonette talks and acts like she’s been raised in a rich household! She thinks you need a separate fork for salad!”

The Gnolls shifted. Brunkr looked at Krshia, and his aunt shrugged helplessly.

“We did not speak to Lyonette so much as witness her actions, Ryoka Griffin. They were that of a thief, and her speech and etiquette were not displayed to us. However, what Brunkr heard and his new class—”

“A [Knight]. I am a [Knight].”

Brunkr stared in shock at his paws. Ryoka sighed.

“You woke up and got the class. But you knew you’d get it, because you heard Lyonette knighting you, right?”

The male Gnoll nodded.

“Ishkr did too. But I could not believe—a [Princess]? Truly?”

Maybe it was part of the culture in this world. Ryoka watched as the Gnolls exchanged wide-eyed looks. In her world, on earth, meeting royalty was still a big deal for a lot of people, but it wasn’t unheard of. People with royal blood were people too; a lot of the mystique around them had vanished over the years. Whereas in this world princesses were, well, [Princesses].

“It doesn’t change much.”

Krshia frowned.

“But it does. Her actions change when viewed as that of a [Princess]. Harming her would be a grave mistake, yes? As for her importance…”

“She can make people into [Knights]. And she can serve beer. I don’t see what else makes her special.”

Ryoka sighed. She could tell this might lead to something in the future and she was already not enjoying the thought of it. She shifted in her seat.

“Okay, Lyonette’s royalty. It’s big. Don’t tell anyone, although I bet all the Gnolls know about it already. But isn’t there a more important person in Liscor right now? Who’s this Regrika Blackpaw?”

The name made both Krshia and Brunkr sit up proudly. The female Gnoll smiled at Ryoka.

“She is a hero. A legend. I know not why she has come to Liscor if that is what you are asking. She is not of our tribe and we have not had the opportunity to speak with her. But it is enough that she is here, and her motives are her own, yes?”

“You seem excited to meet her. She’s a big deal?”

“A Named Adventurer is famous. A legend. How can we not look up to someone who has accomplished so much? We Gnolls crave such figures as all people do. It is an honor to meet her.”

Ryoka nodded. She could understand that. Regrika Blackpaw was like a sports star, a celebrity, a national hero. She saw Brunkr stand up and flex his arms and then pace around both couches, unable to sit still. He no longer wore a bandage on his right arm; it had completely healed. Now the Gnoll seemed to vibrate with energy and excitement.

“It is times like this that makes me glad I was born, yes? My dream is in me. I have my arm, and debts to pay. I will be a [Knight] worthy of my class! And strong. It is good honored Blackpaw came here. It tells me to look up to the sky and dream of what I could be.”

He turned to Ryoka, eyes shining. She saw a smile on his face—a somewhat scary sight given the sharp canine teeth Gnolls had. But she had to smile back. Ryoka glanced around, eyed the bowl of raw meat, and then nodded to the door.

“Yeah. What we can be. I’d love to stay Krshia, Brunkr, but I have a date with the wind and snow. I’ll uh, see you around.”

She had intended to make this a quick visit, but Krshia’s paw shot out and pushed Ryoka back into her seat. The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] looked shocked as she shook her head.

“You have not touched your food yet. We could not let you go without hospitality, especially not to one who is a friend to our clan.”

“What? Aw, no. I’m really—”

“I insist. Eat. And then we must celebrate Brunkr’s new class, yes? We shall feast, and invite Erin. Or perhaps have our celebration at her inn! You will come as an honored guest.”

There was no getting out of it. Ryoka found the bowl of chopped meat pressed into her hands. She grinned weakly and cursed herself for not jumping out the window when she had a chance. Oh well.

At least Ivolethe would like the food.

—-

“Gnolls.”

Someone said the word. The four members of the Horns of Hammerad looked up to see who said it, and then down. No one in their party had said it—it was a group of Humans sitting a few tables away.

Other adventurers. They looked as dispirited as the Horns of Hammerad. As any other adventurer in the room, really. They were sitting in the Adventurer’s Guild. And today, no one was feeling too energetic. No one except the Gnolls, that was.

They were out in force today, taking requests, chatting, tails wagging, standing tall. The other adventurers, Drakes, Humans, and the other races like half-Elves, sat and didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. The reason was simple: they’d gotten a glimpse of Regrika Blackpaw and been crushed.

Not physically. The Gnoll wasn’t walking around smacking people with her paws or her greatsword, although if she was, who could stop her? No, it was a mental attack. The Named Adventurer probably hadn’t even realized she was doing it. But she’d effectively crushed the spirits of all the adventurers in the city just by walking down the street.

Ceria Springwalker sat at a table and felt like one of the little beetles coming out from a rotting floorboard at the table. She felt like one of them, especially when Ksmvr surreptitiously bent down and crunched one between his mandibles. She felt like a little beetle after seeing a Named Adventurer in the flesh.

Again.

The half-Elf could remember when she’d met Gazi the Omniscient. The feeling was similar. It wasn’t just the presence such people exuded, it was knowing all the things they’d accomplished and then measuring yourself against them.

It made you feel small.

As she sat, Ceria fingered the wand that Ryoka had brought back from Invrisil for her. A wand, some magic robes, and a burned spellbook…what else did she have? Nothing. Her magic was a tiny snowflake in the wind compared to real adventurers.

“They look happy.”

This time someone at their table spoke. Ceria didn’t look up; she could hear Pisces’ voice. She nodded, staring at another beetle.

“The Gnolls? Why shouldn’t they be? She’s their hero. A Named Adventurer from your species walks in, and of course you’re happy.”

“Right.”

Someone else spoke. Yvlon.

“What’s her title? I mean, her nickname. Don’t all Named Adventurers get one?”

“Regrika the Fortress. I think.”

A pause.

“Not very original.”

“Try saying that to her face. I—oh, wait, that’s not it. I got it mixed up. She’s nicknamed ‘Fortress Blackpaw’. Because no one can lay a scratch on her.”

Ceria sighed and looked up as a pair of Antinium fingers picked up another beetle. She saw Ksmvr freeze as he lifted the squirming insect up. Of all the adventurers, he looked the least concerned.

“Pardon me Captain Ceria. Is eating bugs off the floor not permitted? Should I pay for my consumption?”

“I think they’ll pay you if you eat enough, Ksmvr. Aren’t you…bothered by seeing a Named Adventurer?”

The Antinium considered the question.

“I am not sure. What emotions should her visage produce in me?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Hopelessness, despair. A sensation that you’ll never reach that level no matter how hard you try and that your entire life has been wasted because you can’t imagine yourself ever becoming that famous or successful?”

Ceria slumped over the table and saw Pisces and Yvlon wince. Ksmvr paused.

“No, I do not believe so. I will inform you if such emotions cross my mind. Are they to be desired?”

Hollow laughter was his response. The Horns of Hammerad sat. They did feel small. Small and unworthy. They only looked up when someone called their name.

“Hey! You lot! Come over and stop moping about!”

A female Drake with light green scales was waving at them from the receptionist’s desk. The Horns got up and slowly trudged over to Selys. She regarded them critically.

“You look terrible. What, is just seeing a Named Adventurer enough to make you all act like invalids?”

Pisces raised a hand.

“I am, in fact, nursing a hangover as well, Miss Selys. So if you could lower your voice?”

He rubbed at his haggard face as both Yvlon and Ceria glared at him. Selys sighed.

“I don’t know why Erin puts up with you, I really don’t. Okay, time to do my job. I’ve talked with my grandm—the Guildmaster. I’m sorry, but you’re not certified Gold-rank adventurers yet. You’ll have to take on a few requests and prove you can handle yourselves before you get the new rank.”

She looked sympathetic as all the Horns of Hammerad groaned. Ceria felt a weight settle on her back. She knew it was unlikely, but she’d hoped they could become Gold-rank adventurers. But new armor and weapons did not a Gold-rank adventurer make.

“Told you we should have tried it at the guild in Celum.”

Pisces grumbled. Yvlon shook her head.

“That would be…awkward. At least we know where we stand. Is that all, Selys?”

“No. Actually, I’ve got more bad news for you. Or rather, Pisces.”

Selys sighed as she leaned over the counter. Pisces frowned.

“What about? Ah. Don’t tell me. My class has once again stigmatized me in the eyes of your Guild.”

“Don’t be so dramatic! It’s not like that—”

Pisces crossed his arms, frowning. Selys hesitated.

“Okay, maybe it’s because you’re a [Necromancer]. Word’s spread and people like my grandmother, the Guildmaster, are a bit…unhappy.”

That was surprising and unwelcome news. Pisces scowled. Suddenly concerned, Ceria put her hands on the desk.

“Hold on, I thought no one had an issue with Pisces being a [Necromancer]. He wasn’t when we reformed the Horns of Hammerad.”

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t an adventurer until recently. And with all this news about the Goblin Lord and his undead army…”

“I should have known. It seems my magic is unwelcome wherever I go.”

Already Pisces was withdrawing, growing more hostile by the moment. Ceria turned to him and held up a hand. He subsided briefly, looking angry. She remembered that look from Wistram and turned desperately to Selys.

“I know Pisces’ magic is a touchy subject around here, what with the Necromancer, but he hasn’t done anything wr—okay, he hasn’t done much wrong.”

“I know, I know!”

Selys looked frustrated. She tapped a claw on the counter.

“Look, we’re not kicking him out. And we’re not saying he can’t practice necromancy. He just can’t animate, uh, people.”

“What? But that’s—”

“It’s the rules. I’m sorry. If we see him raising dead bodies—no matter what the reason—he’ll be arrested. Or worse.”

“So I am prevented from my craft. How wonderfully tolerant.”

Pisces sneered. Selys gave him a look.

“I’m just relaying orders, Mister Necromancer. While you’re in Liscor or around the city, you can’t use the corpses of people.”

“Of any species?”

“Funny you should mention that. I have a list. Let’s see…no using Drake corpses, Drake bones, Gnoll corpses or bones, the remains of Humans, Minotaurs, Centaurs, half-Elves, Dwarves, Drowned Women—or Men—the parts of Stitch People, any aspect of a Dullahan…not sure if they have bones, so that’s why the wording’s so…anyways, no Gazer bodies either…”

Selys ran down a very long list of what was probably every major known species in the world. She had to take a few deep breaths when she’d finished. Pisces was looking even more irate now, but Ceria had noticed an omission in the Drake’s list of undeadables.

“You didn’t have Lizardfolk on that list. Is that a mistake?”

“Oh, no. The city’s fine with using their bodies, if you find them.”

“How lenient.”

Pisces was clearly agitated. Ceria traded glances with Yvlon. On one hand she understood the city’s desire for undead to be kept off the streets. On the other hand, a blanket ban against all undead was…reasonable. But Pisces was part of their group. She hesitated, unsure of what to say.

Other adventurers were staring at their group, and most were eying Pisces with no small deal of hostility. The [Necromancer]’s shoulders were hunched. He was clearly aware of the staring and he seemed ready to snap. Ceria opened her mouth, unsure if she could defend him, when someone else leaned on the table.

Ksmvr. He cleared his throat and gently snapped his mandibles together.

“Miss Shivertail, may I state my objections to your restrictions on my fellow teammate?”

Selys blinked at the Antinium and eyed him for a moment.

“Uh, okay. What’s the problem?”

Ksmvr nodded. Oblivious to the stares, he raised his voice and spoke calmly.

“I feel that this restriction on the summoning of undead is unjust. You are restricting our tactical diversity with such actions. The raising of the dead is a key facet to the [Necromancer] class, and I for one object to the crippling of one of my fellow adventurer’s abilities. I am sure my colleagues feel the same.”

He nodded around the room at the shocked Drakes, Humans and Gnolls. There was a pause and one of the Drakes, a short fellow with black scales stood up.

“Not I! I’m glad I don’t have to deal with a [Necromancer], let alone journey with one! Who knows if he’d turn me into a zombie after I died! Would you like that, Antinium?”

There was a great deal of hostility in his voice, which Ksmvr seemed to completely ignore. The Antinium nodded calmly.

“I would be insulted if he did not use my body.”

The black-scaled Drake paused.

“What? Are you insane? Why would you want that?”

Ksmvr clicked his mandibles together.

“Animating a fallen teammate’s corpse is the only sound tactical decision to be made in a combat situation. Or would you prefer to let your comrades lie where they fall?”

Ceria found herself edging away from the Antinium a bit as he turned and spoke. She and Yvlon were biting their lips. Pisces was staring.

Selys coughed gingerly.

“That’s uh—not what we want, Ksmvr. In fact, that’s sort of why Pisces isn’t allowed to animate the dead in the first place. No one wants to end up as a zombie or ghoul.”

The Antinium turned, looking somewhat irate.

“But that makes no sense. I object most strongly to this rule. Are you implying that my corpse has no tactical value in combat?”

He leaned over the counter, addressing Selys directly.

“I can assure you that my deceased form is quite operable in many situations so long as it has not been dissected, disintegrated, incinerated, consumed, possessed, liquefied, or—”

“Alright, thank you Selys! We’ll be going now. Come on, Ksmvr.”

Ceria dragged Ksmvr back. She desperately signaled to Yvlon, and the female warrior helped Ceria pull the Antinium to the door. Ksmvr was still trying to lecture everyone on the benefits of his corpse as a tool of utility. Pisces was trying not to laugh, and everyone was staring.

They made it out the door and it slammed shut behind them. In the snowy street, Ceria looked around. Yvlon met her eyes, and then both heard a grunting sound. They looked and saw Pisces, trying not to guffaw. Ksmvr looked at him, and then at Ceria.

“Is comrade Pisces alright, Captain?”

“Fine.”

Ceria sighed. She wanted to cover her face with her hands and get drunk. But she couldn’t. Instead, she pointed.

“Let’s go back to the inn.”

This was her team. Her terrible, mismatched, insane…team. She saw Yvlon smiling for a second as Pisces nearly choked on his robes and then how she caught herself and frowned at the [Necromancer].

Her team. Some days Ceria wondered if they were really a team, or if they would break apart. They were so fragile. Like glass. And they were so, so…weak.

—-

Later that day, around lunch, Ceria was sitting at a table eating and reading from her burnt spellbook when she looked up suddenly and shouted.

“I did it!”

Heads turned. The Horns of Hammerad were in the inn along with Ryoka and the Gold-rank adventuring teams. They were having a day off, and Ryoka had come by to tell Erin the Gnolls were having a huge party in her inn later that day.

“You did what?”

Pisces raised his head up. He had been drinking again. It seemed like he was determined to enjoy Erin’s hospitality as much as he could, and he was having a second plate of pasta. Ksmvr, determined to copy Pisces, was doing the same, happily scarfing down gluten thanks to his enchanted ring.

“I did it, Pisces. I learned the spell.”

Ceria sat back, her mind buzzing, staring in shock at the slightly burnt pages of the spellbook in front of her. And in her head was something else as well.

Knowledge. A…certainty. A revelation, the sense of a puzzle finally clicking into place. Certainty, in an uncertain world.

Magic.

“[Ice Wall].”

Ceria breathed the words. A sheet of ice rose in front of her table, cutting off Pisces’ robes and freezing then in place. It was a thin wall, but it was a wall, and as Pisces yelped and tried to free himself, Ceria felt the magic surging in her. She looked around and saw people staring.

“Ice magic!”

Jelaqua sat up, chortling and pointing. Erin rushed out of the kitchen and exclaimed when she saw the six foot high barrier of ice. It was cold enough that it wasn’t melting yet, despite the warm room.

“Oh! Wow! It’s that spell you told me about! The one your old master knew how to use! Did you learn how to do it just now Ceria? That’s amazing!”

“Amazing and cold! Free my leg, Springwalker!”

Pisces howled at Ceria and blew hot flames onto the barrier of ice before she could dispel the magic. The ice melted onto Pisces’ robes, drenching the young man. Ceria watched as Ksmvr helped kick the ice wall apart, grinning stupidly.

“It’s not as strong as some examples of the spell I’ve seen, but for a first time attempt it’s quite reasonable. Yes indeed, I am quite impressed.”

Typhenous smiled as he leaned forwards, hands on his staff. Jelaqua pounded the table.

“Hah! A [Mage] learning a spell’s another reason for a party!”

“Wait, so you just learned it?”

Erin looked at Ceria. The half-Elf smiled.

“I just did. Remember that spell I was working on? The one that that mage—Teriarch—showed me? It was [Ice Wall]. I knew how the spell worked and Illphres was beginning to teach me it but—”

There were tears around the edges of her eyes. The half-Elf wiped at them, feeling mystified and relieved at once. Pisces stopped brushing at the water on his robes and glanced up at Ceria. She looked at him and felt the past drawing at her.

“Ah.”

That was all he said. He eyed the wall of ice, half melted and broken in place and tapped it.

“Half a foot thick. As Typhenous has said, a quite passable first attempt. Useful in a myriad of situations I would imagine.”

“Yeah.”

Ceria grinned, still brushing at her eyes. She felt Erin hovering around her back.

“It’s—it’s great. I’ve wondered if I could master it, but I figured it out so quickly—”

“A Tier 4 spell. Worthy of any Gold-rank mage, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh yes. Not my forte, but I know similar spells and have made use of them on many occasions.”

Typhenous came over. He nodded to Ceria, a smile on his face. Ceria was accepting his compliments, and Moore’s, when the door opened.

“Yvlon!”

The armored women came in, brushing snow off of her new armor. She had the enchanted sword and buckler at her side. When she saw the wall of ice she halted.

“What’s this?”

“A wall of ice. I just learned how to cast it.”

Yvlon stared as Ceria explained in brief. The human woman nodded brusquely.

“Good. Just in time. I’ve got a request for us at last. It’s just past Esthelm.”

“What?”

Ceria sat up as Ksmvr and Pisces both looked up from their position around the fireplace. The half-Elf frowned at Yvlon and opened her mouth. Yvlon looked grim, and a bit upset, although Ceria couldn’t have said exactly why.

Erin looked from Ceria to Yvlon with a slight frown on her face.

“You’re going on a request? Fighting? I mean, you’re going to hunt monsters and stuff?”

“So it seems. We talked, but I didn’t—”

Ceria realized the other adventurers were looking and coughed.

“Good job, Yvlon. What’s the request?”

“Bears. There’s three of them that have been bothering the people of Esthelm. Scaring [Hunters], going after people in their home—it’s not worth much, but someone needs to get rid of them before they kill someone.”

The other people in the inn clustered around Yvlon as she explained. Apparently the cave had already been found and it wasn’t far. The request was a simple extermination one. The only catch was that the bears were all adult. And male.

Ryoka frowned. She was sitting at a table as Ceria, Pisces, and Yvlon sat around the table. Ksmvr had gone into Liscor to find them a transport.

“I was under the impression that bears—especially male bears—hunted alone. Wouldn’t they kill each other rather than work together?”

Ceria shook her head. She was pondering over a map of the region and trying to eye Yvlon while she spoke. The other woman was ignoring her looks.

“When times get tough, even bears will work together to bring down big monsters. It’s a tough world.”

“Sounds like a simple mission. Better watch out, though.”

Halrac came over. The [Scout] didn’t speak much, but apparently he was familiar with this sort of request. He nodded at Ceria.

“Make sure they’re not Mothbears. It’s hard to imagine a [Hunter] mistaking one for the other, but it can happen. Also check to make sure they’re not rabid.”

Jelaqua nodded.

“Or infected with Brainshrooms! We had to fight through half a forest’s worth of animals controlled by fungi one time. Not fun! I got one on my head and I had to get rid of my body before the mushrooms got me!”

“We’ll do that. I guess we’ll see what happens.”

Ceria mumbled as she looked from Pisces to Yvlon. He was frowning and Yvlon wasn’t staring at either of her teammates. Both adventurers looked concerned, for different reasons. Ceria was too. But she forced a smile for the sake of the others.

“I guess we’ll see. It’s just bears. How hard—”

She paused as Erin and Ryoka winced. Ceria gulped and sighed.

“We’d better get moving.”

—-

“So, why did you decide to take the request, Yvlon? Without asking us?”

Ceria tried to keep her voice neutral as she covered herself with a cloak. She was sitting in a wagon as it bumped along the frozen ground. Pisces and Ksmvr both looked up from their seats at Yvlon. The armored woman glanced up at Ceria and shrugged.

“I got tired of sitting around. I’m as healed as—well, I’m better now, and we’ve got all these new artifacts. We want to be Gold-rank adventurers, right? We might as well start taking requests.”

“To hunt bears. Hardly an illustrious task, or so I feel.”

Pisces frowned. Yvlon glanced at him, and then away. Her regard for Pisces’ opinion couldn’t have been more plain. Ceria saw Pisces’ face harden and spoke up.

“That’s not what I mind. It’s just that we normally talk things over first.”

“We agreed Esthelm was a good place to look for contracts, especially since there’s not much work around Liscor or Celum.”

“Yeah, but—you know what? Never mind.”

Ceria sat back in the wagon. She wondered if this was how Calruz had felt when he was leading the Horns of Hammerad. He’d had to deal with annoying members of his group she recalled. People with strong opinions who made their own decisions. She’d caused him to lose his temper several times while they’d journeyed together.

“Still, I guess I was hoping our first contract would be bigger.”

Yvlon looked up and at Ceria. She shrugged.

“A Silver-rank team would have to prepare for a request like that. You think bears are easy to kill? I bet even someone like Halrac’d set a few traps before trying to bother them in their den.”

“True. I guess I’m too used to hanging around him and the other Gold-rank adventurers to think clearly.”

Ceria sighed.

“After seeing Regrika Blackpaw as well…I bet she’ll enter Liscor’s dungeon tomorrow, or maybe today. I can’t imagine she’d fear many traps and she has that Gold-rank mage with her. Did you see him? I could tell he was a powerful [Mage] across the street. The quests they normally take on…it’s humbling to think about.”

Yvlon grunted, which could have been an acknowledgement.

“Makes you wonder if we’ll ever hit Level 30, let alone Level 40 or higher. You just learned…[Ice Wall]? Is that a really high level spell?”

“No. Yes. It’s one that grows with the [Mage]. My master could make walls of ice several feet thick. I can barely manage a foot if I concentrate.”

Ceria sighed. She’d learned one spell. And while the rush of exhilaration still hadn’t left her, she knew that was one spell compared to the many Illphres had known. And her former master had still died. Put like that, she felt just as bad as she had that morning.

“We’re still Silver-rank. Even with all these artifacts. I thought we should remember that, and chose a request for us to learn our limits.”

The armored woman tapped her sword and the enchanted buckler which could create a force shield. Ceria nodded, but Pisces sat up, suddenly frowning.

“Silver-rank? I would tend to disagree with that assessment, Miss Byres. I consider our collective skillset to be equivalent to a new Gold-rank team. I certainly rate my own prowess at such a level.”

There was a snap in Pisces’ voice that made Ceria wince. He’d been angry all day and it was coming out now, possibly at the worst of times. They were all sitting on a wagon in the cold, and without space, it meant that he was too close to Yvlon to separate.

And Yvlon wasn’t being diplomatic today at all. She raised her eyebrows skeptically.

“Oh? You think you’re on the level of Halrac, or Typhenous?”

“Of course not.”

Pisces raised his nose and sniffed archly at her.

“Your flawed comparison refers to two veteran Gold-rank adventurers, who occupy a position at the higher end of the simplistic ranking system adventurers employ. However, I know my strengths. I am the highest-level individual in this association, whether in my main class or collectively. My Skills and spells have both been of invaluable service to the party, yet I am crippled by these restrictions placed upon my class.”

“Sensible ones, I’d imagine. No one wants their friend or family to become undead.”

“I hardly go around animating corpses of the recently deceased.”

“No, but some people remember Az’kerash and the havoc he caused. Or are you saying [Necromancers] are all different and that they don’t let their creations prey on the innocent?”

Yvlon sat up, eyes flashing. Ceria opened her mouth, but couldn’t find the words to interject in time. Pisces drew himself together and spoke gravely.

“I know what Az’kerash did. I do not endorse his beliefs or defend his crimes against the continents of Izril or Terandria. However, as a fellow [Necromancer], I admire what he has achieved. Is that so hard to grasp?”

“It is to me. Admiring anything about the undead. About zombies—”

The party was breaking down in front of her eyes. Ceria opened her mouth and saw Ksmvr sitting up, looking from Yvlon to Pisces with apparent concern. Pisces spoke, hunching in on himself, defensive, the same look in his eyes as when he’d been exiled by Wistram’s Council of Mages.

“Ah, so we come to it at last. I have noted your disdain for my profession and my school of magic, Yvlon Byres. Let us not bandy words. You hate me and what I do. Why conceal the truth? You would hardly be the first or last to feel this way.”

He glared at Yvlon, daring her to say it. And when she did, Ceria was sure, Pisces would disappear. Yvlon’s gaze burned. She took a deep breath, opened her mouth, and—paused. She stared at Pisces and then to the surprise of everyone, shook her head.

“I don’t hate you.”

“What?”

Pisces’ eyes widened. Yvlon sighed.

“I don’t hate you, Pisces. I think you’re annoying, obnoxious at times, and certainly rude. But I don’t hate you.”

That was the last thing Ceria had expected to hear. Yvlon went on.

“I hate necromancy. I hate the undead. You—you wouldn’t be my first dining partner or choice for a teammate, but you I can live with.”

“But necromancy is both my class and specialization as a [Mage]. How do you reconcile that knowledge?”

Pisces studied Yvlon intently, but without the guarded hostility he’d had a moment ago. Yvlon hesitated. She looked at him and then at Ceria. The half-Elf held her breath.

“I—”

“Hey you lot! We’re here!”

All the adventurers jumped. They looked up and saw the man driving the wagon they were sitting on looking back at them. Termin the [Wagon Driver] waved his hand and they saw Esthelm’s walls staring at them. They’d been so engrossed in their conversation that none of the Horns of Hammerad had noticed the city.

“Having a fine argument, were you?”

Termin grinned as they all dismounted the wagon. He was bundled up and stroking the back of one of his horses. He nodded to the city.

“There y’are. You’re looking for a cave, right?”

“That’s right. We’re only a few miles away. I don’t think there’s a road headed that way, so we’ll have to march through the snow to get there.”

Pisces grumbled under this breath, but quietly. He was wearing only his robes despite the freezing cold. He, Yvlon, Ksmvr, and Ceria had all had Erin’s special Corusdeer soup and were feeling warm despite the cold wind.

Termin sighed as he looked at him.

“You lot make me feel cold looking at you. I’d offer to stay around to give you a ride back, but…”

“We wouldn’t ask you to do that. Unless you’re planning on making a delivery from Esthelm to Liscor?”

Ceria looked at Termin. He shook his head and pointed down the road past Esthelm.

“I’m headin’ north as fast as I can. If there’s a Goblin Lord coming, I’d rather be closer to Invrisil than not. You adventurers take care of yourselves now. If fortune smiles, we’ll meet again one day.”

They bade him farewell and turned past the city. Ceria got a map out and conferred with the other before beginning to march through the deep snow. They moved in silence for a while. Everyone was wondering what Yvlon had meant to say. No one brought it up. After an hour or two of walking, they reached the cave.

—-

“Look. Bear tracks.”

“That’s just snow fallen from the cave’s roof.”

“Oh. Are those bear tracks?”

“Nah, that’s…well, it might be. How should I know?”

“You’re the half-Elf.”

“So? That’s speciesism right there, Yvlon. You Humans think we half-Elves know everything about the wilderness just because we live closer to it. It’s all just snow to me.”

“I see fur by the entrance, Comrade Yvlon, Captain Ceria.”

“…That’s probably a good sign, Ksmvr. Does the fur tell you how many bears are inside?”

“The report said three.”

“The report was made by a [Hunter] who didn’t get within a hundred meters of the cave. We could be looking at only one very active bear. Or three.”

“Or six.”

“Six? Dead gods, Pisces, don’t joke!”

“It is a legitimate concern, Yvlon. If we are uncertain of our chances, we should take precautions. What do you think, Springwalker?”

“Well…I was thinking we could…”

“Yes? Develop a defensive wall of ice perhaps while Ksmvr takes up his bow and a superior vantage point? With my invisibility spell I could attack from the flanks while Yvlon engages them with her enchanted equipment. If I calculate the odds, I would assume—”

“Calculate? Odds? No, I was just thinking we’d charge in there and sort things out.”

“…”

“…Ceria?”

“What? That’s how Calruz did things. Okay, maybe he had a bit of a plan—”

“I will volunteer to be the first to charge in, Captain Ceria. You may assume from my cries for help or of encouragement whether the danger is—”

“Shush, Ksmvr. Okay, let’s just…go in. I don’t think using an invisibility spell would help in scouting, Pisces. Bears have a good sense of smell.”

“Agreed. I would not risk myself. Very well, but what about scaring the bears out with one of the devices we’ve received? That screaming monster lure?”

“Eh. I thought close quarters would be better, actually. Hear me out. I can freeze part of the cave and make it so only one person gets through. Yvlon uses her shield and pokes the bear with her sword—”

“Pokes?”

“You know. Do your warrior thing. I’m not an expert! She pokes, Pisces and I throw spells and keep the ice barriers up, and Ksmvr shoots at the bear and takes over if Yvlon needs to fall back.”

“One at a time. I like it. We box them in. I also have the enchanted ring with the [Shatterbolt] spell embedded in it—”

“Is that what it’s called? Just don’t hit us. Use it only if you have a clear shot. Okay, let’s do this. Yvlon in front, then Ksmvr and me, and Pisces at the rear.”

“Agreed.”

“Got it.”

“Please use my corpse as a tool if I should fall in battle, Comrade Pisces—”

Perhaps there were better ways to enter the cave, but at least the Horns of Hammerad moved in formation and no one was screaming. The cave system was fairly high overhead and wide enough for them to move all shoulder to shoulder if they chose. It was dark, and uncomfortably silent. The Horns of Hammerad moved as quietly as possible, hearing Yvlon’s armor shift quietly, Pisces’ robes brush against the floor, but nothing else.

They found the first bear halfway in. Yvlon knelt by the yellowed skull while Ksmvr kept a lookout with his bow.

“Looks fresh. And whatever ate the bear has sharp teeth. See the bite marks?”

“Cannibalism? The others bears turned on it?”

Ceria whispered. Pisces grunted as he knelt by the skull and shook his head.

“Too small for a bear. These aren’t teeth marks either. It looks like the flesh was…clawed from the bone.”

“You’re sure?”

“I am a [Necromancer].”

“What the hell are we looking at, then?”

They got their answer when they found the second bear’s skeleton. This one was only half-eaten. Ceria blanched as she saw the lower half, still partly intact.

“Dead gods.”

“Something’s feasting on it. This bear’s huge!”

Yvlon eyed the dark cavern ahead of them. Their only source of light were the [Light] spells both Ceria and Pisces had cast. Pisces wrinkled his nose at the smell of the dead bear’s flesh, but he still bent and even touched the half-frozen meat.

“Uh oh.”

Ceria could count the number of times Pisces had said that on one hand. She gripped the new wand in her hand tightly.

“What?”

Pisces looked up and around. He conjured another sphere of light into his hands and threw it deeper into the cave. The light illuminated a dark shape. The third bear. It was dead. And crawling on it, slowly carving away at the bear’s body were gelatinous shapes. Their innards glowed as the light passed by them and they slowly turned.

It was Ksmvr who said the word as he dropped his bow and drew both his shortswords.

“Crelers.”

“Back, back!”

Ceria hissed at Pisces. The [Necromancer] cancelled the light spell and the Horns of Hammerad tried to back up. Too late. The Crelers had noticed the light and movement and their fleshy larval forms were turning themselves inside-out, revealing sharp claws, too many sets of teeth—the first leapt towards Ceria as she shouted.

“Get back! [Ice Wall]!”

The Creler crashed into the sheet of ice, biting and tearing at it with pinchers and claws sharp enough to cut through steel. Pisces threw a ball of fire and drew his rapier as Yvlon raised her shield.

“Get behind me! Ceria! Seal off the tunnel!”

“I’m trying, but there are too many gaps!”

Ceria pointed and another wall of ice rose, covering part of the cave. But her mastery of the spell was only good enough to raise a wall eight feet high. Tall enough to block a bear, but not Crelers. They swarmed around the wall.

“[Ice Spike]!”

“[Lightning Jolt], [Flame Rapier]! Springwalker, get back!”

Pisces thrust Ceria back and disappeared in a blur. He stabbed through one of the Crelers as it leapt, catching it in a fleshy portion of its body. The skewered Creler screeched as Pisces’ flaming rapier impaled it, but it kept moving, trying to climb up the length of the blade and reach Pisces.

“Come. Die.”

Ksmvr was slashing at the Crelers as they swarmed around him, biting at his legs and three arms. Yvlon was cursing. The helmet she was wearing and her plate armor were keeping the Crelers at bay, but they were covering her. She tossed them to one side and split one of the jointed creatures with a slash of her blade. The enchanted sword cut through the Creler’s body with ease.

She was the only one having an easy time of it. Ceria aimed her [Ice Spike] spell and skewered a Creler, and missed another.

“I hate these things so much!”

“Get back! Retreat! Let Yvlon cut them down! Ksmvr!”

Pisces was shouting as a Creler buried itself onto Ksmvr’s shoulder and began to bite into the Antinium. Ksmvr tore the Creler off and tried to stomp it to death; it began trying to eat his foot.

“We took out a nest once! We can do it again! Get back! [Ice Wall]!”

This time the wall was low and wide, more of four foot-high barricade than anything else. It covered the cavern and Ceria saw Pisces leap over it, followed by Ksmvr. The Crelers followed, but they had to jump to get over, making them easy targets.

“Yvlon!”

The woman was slashing, cutting the baby Crelers to bits. Her force shield was shimmering in the air as it repelled Crelers leaping at her. She turned, froze.

“Adult!”

“What?”

Ceria’s blood ran cold. She saw something shoot out of the darkness of the cave, a huge, scuttling form four feet high and twice as long. It barreled into Yvlon and sent the armored woman crashing to the ground.

It looked like some kind of monstrous pill bug with too many legs, tearing claws, and a glowing, fleshy, transparent underbelly where its organs hung, glowing slightly. The rest of the Creler was biting jaws, claws, all of which lashed Yvlon as she tried to fight it off. But it must have weighed almost as much as a bear, and it was hammering at her breastplate.

And leaving marks. The enchanted metal could withstand the hammer blows, but the Creler’s main jaws opened—horizontally, two smaller maws opening and revealing spitting, gaping mouths, and bit onto Yvlon’s sword arm.

She cried out and Ceria saw her enchanted gauntlets begin to bend under the crushing strength. She raised her hand.

“[Ice Spike]!”

Three spikes of ice shot from her fingers, each one a pointed javelin. They all broke on the Creler’s back, doing no damage.

“Yvlon! Someone help her!”

“I will—”

Ksmvr leapt up, impossibly high thanks to his Ring of Jumping and then kicked himself off a wall. He smashed onto the Creler’s back and began hammering at it with his shortswords. The Creler reared up and fell backwards. It crushed Ksmvr and then rolled on top of him. Now the Antinium was the one being savaged.

“No!”

Yvlon got up and swung her sword. The enchanted weapon bit into the Creler’s armored back as Pisces and Ceria desperately blasted away the baby Crelers. The adult turned, not harmed so much as wary, and charged Yvlon again. This time it smashed into her force shield.

The impact made Yvlon brace herself, but the shield repelled the weight of the Creler flawlessly. Ksmvr got to his feet and slashed at the adult’s back as one of the Crelers landed on Ceria. It had crawled onto the ceiling and got onto her neck. She cried out, reached for it—

Two spikes of pain tore themselves out of her neck. She screamed, fell, convulsing, as agony shot through her entire body. Something was digging at her flesh, and there was burning.

“Ceria!”

A hand tore the burrowing Creler away. Pisces threw the Creler aside and stabbed two as they crawled towards him with his rapier. He picked up Ceria and blasted the ground with fire, keeping the Crelers away.

The half-Elf was shaking, throwing up and burning at the same time.

“You’re poisoned. Can you stand? We have to retreat.”

“Ice—Ice—”

A sheet of ice rose and melted. Ceria couldn’t concentrate. Pisces cursed as he pulled her back. The adult Creler was smashing into Yvlon’s shield, driving her back. The woman swung her sword and this time the Creler charged onto it. The blade was deflected by one of it’s claws and it ran onto Yvlon’s arm, pushing her forearm at a bad angle. Yvlon’s gauntlet resisted the weight and pressure, then bent—

Yvlon stumbled back, one of her arms clearly broken as Ksmvr swung his swords, knocking Crelers away. Pisces was towing Ceria towards the entrance.

“We must run.”

“No. They’ll catch—”

Crelers never gave up. Ceria struggled to her feet, trying to think past the pain and poison. She raised her hands. Pisces looked at the ground. The first bear was right there.

“Give me a moment.”

They both said it at the same time. Ceria raised her hands. Pisces pulled out his wand.

“Rise, rise, oh fallen bear. To rend and bite, to rend and tear!”

“[Ice Wall]! Yvlon, Ksmvr, move!”

This time two walls of ice rose up, one on each side of Ceria. She took a breath and pushed them forwards as baby Crelers surged at her. Ceria ran forwards as the small Crelers were shoved by the moving walls of the ice, forced towards the adult. Ksmvr leapt over the walls of ice, clinging to the ceiling and Yvlon raised her shield as Ceria maneuvered the ice wall around her.

“I’ve got them in a corner! Back up! I’m casting a fireball!”

Ceria felt sick. She threw up as she was casting the spell, as the Crelers were swarming around the barrier of ice. She raised the wand, tried to focus.

“F—[Fireball]!”

There was heat. Light. The explosion kicked Ceria off her feet and blasted Crelers apart. The ones who survived the blast were set alight. They moved, still trying to kill but overheating. Ksmvr slashed at them, leaping down from the ceiling and crushing the ones that moved.

The adult had caught the fireball’s blast too, but it just hunkered down and let the armor of its body shield its organs. It rose as Yvlon circled it and charged her, biting, tearing. Yvlon tried to hack at it with her sword, but her arm—

“Now. Charge!”

The adult turned and a huge paw of bone smashed into what might have been its head. It didn’t flinch and lashed out. Futilely, for once. The skeleton of the bear took no notice of the tearing claws and rammed into the Creler, forcing it back.

“From the other side!”

And a second undead bear stood. Both bears began to smash the Creler from each side, battering it, smashing it into the ground. The monstrosity weathered the blows, tearing bones from each undead, biting—

“It’s too tough! The bears aren’t hurting it!”

Someone was shouting. Ceria was lying on the ground. She felt Pisces picking her up, and saw Ksmvr trying to maneuver around the fighting undead bears and adult Creler. Yvlon had her sword. She was casting aside her shield.

“Pisces! Move the bears! I have to do it!”

“Half-sword. Use the half-sword technique!”

Pisces roared at Yvlon as the two bears backed away. Both were gripping parts of the Creler with their jaws, forcing its attention away from Yvlon. Ceria saw the woman curse and change her grip on the sword. Clumsily, using her broken right arm and left arm together, she gripped the sword by the blade, raising the pommel.

“Now!”

One of the bears was being destroyed as the Creler smashed it into the ground with its superior strength. Yvlon shouted as she ran forwards. The pommel of her blade descended. It was enchanted with the weight spell. It crashed into the adult’s back and went through. It tore open the black armor, deforming the shell under the weight of the blow.

Orange liquid gushed from the opening. The Creler reared up, turned. Pisces flicked his wrist and a bolt of magic shot from the ring on his finger. It pierced the Creler’s exposed underbelly and then fragmented, becoming a splinter of magical needles which tore the thing open.

More orange and red liquid gushed forth. The Creler’s insides burst and the insides deflated as its fluids broke. It kept moving, keening, crawling towards Yvlon. She bashed it several more times, and then backed up. Ksmvr helped pull Ceria away as the adult kept crawling towards them.

It took twenty minutes to die, even without any of its innards. When it was done, Ceria lay on the ground, shaking, the poison running through her.

“It wasn’t too much. You should be fine, but we have to get you to Octavia or a [Healer].”

Yvlon was kneeling by Ceria, watching out for stray Crelers. Ksmvr had her blade and was dicing up the remaining Crelers with Pisces and the undead bears. Ceria blinked at her.

“Your—arm.”

The woman blinked and Ceria looked at her bent right arm. It looked horrible, and blood was leaking around one of the gauntlets, but Yvlon only shrugged.

“Can’t feel it.”

“Why? What?”

Ceria stared at her friend. Yvlon smiled crookedly. She raised her arm broken and waggled it horribly. It shifted and Ceria saw Yvlon’s face change not one bit.

“I can’t feel a thing.”

—-

“I think we’re done.”

Pisces spoke after a while. He staggered back to the cave entrance where Ceria was sitting up with Yvlon. The half-Elf was feeling better. She’d washed the spot where the Creler had dug into her neck with lots of water and some healing potion. The poison kept the wound from closing and it was horribly deep, but Ceria could think.

“You sure? We can’t leave a single egg behind.”

“Ksmvr was rather thorough. We have diced up every Creler we could find, save for the adult, and begun cremating the remains.”

“Did you get a count? We’ll need to testify under truth spell—”

Yvlon sat next to Ceria, wiping her gore-covered blade with snow.

“I counted eighteen small ones and one adult.”

“Eighteen? They felt like hundreds!”

“Only eighteen. Sorry. But you know what the bounty of Crelers is. We’ll earn a lot for each one. As for the adult, I hear it’s a two thousand gold coin prize for killing one!”

“Too bad that’s not an adult.”

“What?”

Pisces coughed.

“Ksmvr explained it to me. Ksmvr?”

He called and the Antinium walked over. Ksmvr was wounded in several places and there were pieces of chitin missing from his legs, one of his arms, and his shoulder. For all that, he appeared as unconcerned as Yvlon with his injuries.

“Yes, Comrade Pisces? I am attempting to destroy the junior Creler.”

“Junior? Oh come on. It’s got to be an adult! I’ve never seen one, but—junior?”

The Antinium nodded at Yvlon and Ceria’s shocked expressions.

“It is decidedly a juvenile example of the species. The ones we encountered en masse were hatchlings of course. But an adult is considerably larger. And it can fly. If we had encountered one such Creler, I doubt we would be alive. It takes many Soldiers to bring down a single adult.”

“Dead gods. No wonder the bounty on them is so high!”

“Indeed. On that note Captain, I am about to dismember and then destroy the juvenile Creler. I would ask that Comrade Pisces help me in incinerating the remains. I also caution you all to avoid eating any part of the Creler. Its eggs may incubate in your body and hatch if you eat it.”

The Antinium looked around in the sudden silence. He shrugged.

“The Antinium have learned this to our detriment. Crelers are not a valid food source for this reason.”

He went back to hacking at the Creler’s corpse. After a moment Yvlon tried to get up and go to him. She tried, because she attempted to use her broken arm to lever herself up until she realized what she was doing. Ceria put a hand over her mouth and Pisces frowned.

“Yvlon, your arm—”

“Can’t feel it.”

“It’s still broken!”

Ceria looked in horror at Yvlon. The other woman gave her a pale smile.

“I’m fine, Ceria. Once we get back—”

“I can correct the bones for you and use a healing potion now, if you like.”

Pisces squatted down by Yvlon’s arm and indicated the gauntlet.

“We must only remove the gauntlet first. I fear that will be troublesome—”

“No problem. We can do it. Don’t worry about me; I can’t feel it. Like I said.”

Yvlon gritted her teeth as Pisces tried to remove the bent armor. Ceria had to turn away when she saw the broken skin and protruding bone that was Yvlon’s arm. There was bent steel mixed in with the bone. Pisces hissed under his breath. Yvlon looked down at her arm with disgust, but again, without pain.

“Please hold still. I shall—correct the bones and refit them properly. You may wish to look away.”

Pisces put his hands on Yvlon’s arms and concentrated. The bones began to reshape themselves under her flesh. Both Yvlon and Ceria looked up and away as Pisces spoke.

“You are fortunate that I am present. Using healing potions to mend broken bones is often a futile or dangerous effort. However, in my case—please bear with the sensations for a moment.”

“Like I said—”

“You really can’t feel a thing, can you?”

Ceria stared at Yvlon. The woman’s face was sweaty, but there was no hint of agony in her eyes. Just…a disturbed look. Yvlon nodded.

“I can’t feel a thing. I, aha, have a Skill. [Ignore Pain].”

She twisted her arm as Pisces finished and lifted it. The bones were straight now, whole, despite the metal grafted to them, but the skin—Ceria felt the urge to throw up. Yvlon poured a healing potion on her arm and watched the skin run together like water.

“I’ve heard of older warriors earning Skills like [Lesser Pain Tolerance] which lets them fight on when wounded…”

When she felt she could look, Ceria stared at Yvlon and saw the other woman’s twisted smile. Yvlon swung her arm about, testing it, and then shrugged.

“I didn’t feel my arm break. I only noticed when I couldn’t grip the sword properly.”

“How?”

“It’s a Skill I got. It’s nothing to worry about, Ceria. I’m grateful for it, believe me.”

“Tree shit.”

“Bullshit, if you will excuse my language.”

Pisces and Ceria spoke at the same time. They looked at each other, and then at Yvlon.

“Pig shit. Bird poo. Squirrel feces. Lizard poo. Drake poo. Excuse me. I thought we were listing excrement.”

Ksmvr came over, covered in Creler goo. He cocked his head at the others as they laughed. Ceria shook her head and then glared at Yvlon.

“No one gets—[Ignore Pain] just like that. You’re hiding something, Yvlon. Why didn’t you tell us you couldn’t feel your arms?”

The woman smiled crookedly.

“Because I was grateful. Do you know how much it hurt the day before I slept…? Right after the dungeon, I mean. I was going to scream, but then I leveled up, gained my Skill…and a new class.”

“A new class?”

“[Wounded Warrior].”

Yvlon grinned at Ceria’s shocked expression. Pisces put a finger to his lips thoughtfully.

“Intriguing. I had not heard of such a class…I assume that Skill was one of the, ah, rewards for your transition?”

“The only one I have so far. It’s…I don’t know what to call it. But I could fight. Badly, but I could fight despite my arm breaking.”

“It’s not right. Yvlon, I’m so—”

“What do you want me to say, Ceria? I’m a cripple without that Skill. I wouldn’t be able to move my arms—I’d have to cut them off or scream myself to death. And without Pisces, I’d lose them anyways.”

Yvlon nodded at Pisces. He looked somber.

“I can repair your arms, but I regret that I cannot do anything about the iron fused with your, ah, flesh, Yvlon. It may be removed, but there is not enough bone to reconstruct your arms with afterward.”

“And you can’t…add more bone? I’ve never asked before, but…”

Yvlon nodded subtly at the two undead bears that were standing watch over the burning junior Creler. Ceria’s mouth dropped open. Pisces eyes widened before he shook his head.

“Alas, no. Bones aren’t that easy to use interchangeably, Yvlon. A bear’s bones would be rejected by a human body. So too would any other bones, should you be curious. It is a…a function of your body that it would only accept your bone as part of ‘you’.”

“I see. I guess bones are more complex than I thought.”

The woman laughed shortly. Ceria stared at her. Yvlon quieted after a moment and looked at Pisces.

“I hate [Necromancers]. I hate the undead.”

Ceria opened her mouth, and then closed it. Pisces looked surprised, but not insulted. Yvlon sat up, flexing her formerly broken arm. She sat in the cave, the horrible smell of burning Creler in everyone’s nostrils as she spoke, continuing their conversation from the wagon.

“My family is devoted to championing justice. We have a history of serving as [Knights], defending others. I’ve been raised to hate necromancy since I was a child and I still do. I think it’s unnatural. Any [Necromancer] I meet I will cut down. I would never journey with any kind of spellcaster like that if I had a choice.”

Pisces bowed his head silently. Yvlon eyed him, looked into Ceria’s disappointed eyes and smiled.

“That’s why I’ll tolerate what you do. For you and only you.”

A breath caught in Ceria’s throat and she coughed as smoke made her eyes water. Yvlon pushed herself to her feet. She raised her sword, now clean, and indicated her arms. Metal ran into flesh, twisted, melded with her skin. It was an ugly sight, and haunting. She smiled unhappily.

“I’ll be watching you, to make sure you’re not misusing your magic. I, Yvlon Byres, a Level 26 [Wounded Warrior].”

Ceria took a breath. Telling someone your exact level was…it wasn’t the most familiar thing you could do, but it was a show of trust. Among adventurers, it was a sign they were more than acquaintances. Pisces looked into Yvlon’s eyes and then got up too. When he spoke, it was hesitantly.

“You may not know this, Yvlon, but when a [Mage] transcends into a unique class such as [Necromancer], [Cryomancer], and so on, they become…focused in that specific class. If they pursue other types of magic, they must begin with the [Mage] class again. From Level 1.”

He stared at her, and then Ceria. He gestured to the rapier at his side.

“Necromancers lack many direct spells to attack their foes. High level necromancers are different of course, but the strength of death magic lies in minions, spells which sap energy. It is said that necromancy, above other schools of magic, is the mastery of preparation. Yet armies of the undead and servants of this nature are feared. Hated. Despised. Despite what you may think, I wish to live among people without their disdain.”

Silence. Yvlon looked at him, waiting. Pisces closed his eyes.

“I have dreamed of being a [Necromancer]. It is my calling. My passion. Yet I love magic of all kinds. I wish to see what it can bring me. I wish to know…I hover on the cusp of power. I am a Level 29 [Necromancer], and a Level 18 [Mage].”

Level 29. Ceria’s breath caught. She hadn’t known. Pisces stood at the limit agreed by most to be one of the thresholds. At Level 30 he could call himself a Gold-rank adventurer regardless of his gear.

Pisces nodded to Yvlon. She nodded back. Both looked at Ceria. She realized what she had to do and scrambled to her feet. She nearly fell—she felt sick the moment her head moved. Yvlon and Pisces caught her. She grinned at them weakly.

“Ceria Springwalker. Level 25 [Cryomancer].”

They both blinked. Ceria smiled, surpressed the urge to throw up, and spoke.

“What? I got the class change yesterday. I guess it was a sign I was about to learn [Ice Wall]. I’ve been meaning to tell you all, but what with the Goblin Lord and the Named Adventurers popping up left and right, there was never a good time.”

“I’m glad.”

Pisces spoke to Ceria. He squeezed her arm, and she squeezed his with her skeletal hand. The last to rise was Ksmvr.

“I am Ksmvr, formerly of the Free Antinium. I am a Level 16 [Warrior].”

He looked at the others. They gaped at him. Ceria burst out first.

“Level 16? You’re so…weak! How are you only Level 16 when you can fight like…”

The Antinium looked guilty.

“I was Level 12 when we first met. The Antinium do not level, except in the case of Individuals. And I did not level much after my creation in the Hive, merely studied my predecessor’s history and assisted my Queen…”

He looked at the others and seemed to grow smaller. More hesitant. Ceria couldn’t believe it. She’d assumed Ksmvr was Level 20, at least! He fought like he was a veteran similar to any of the [Warriors] she’d met. Yvlon’s face showed the same amazement Ceria felt.

The Antinium seemed to sense the other’s disbelief. He spoke quietly, suddenly, afraid.

“Please do not eject me from your group. This is the only place where I have meaning.”

The other Horns of Hammerad looked at him, shocked. Ksmvr, who hadn’t trembled when being bitten by Crelers, shook like a leaf in front of them. Pisces let go of Ceria to rest a hand on Ksmvr’s shoulder.

“I doubt either Yvlon or Ceria would eject you from the group, good Ksmvr. I certainly would not, especially since you are the only one who listens to my advice. You are a valued member, and more so perhaps, given your potential to grow in strength.”

“Yeah, what he said without the fancy words. You’re one of us, Ksmvr.”

Ceria smiled at Ksmvr, and then fell over. The other Horns of Hammerad stared at Ceria as she lay on the ground and moaned weakly.

“I think the poison’s getting to her. Damn Crelers are nightmares. We need to get back to Esthelm, or better yet, Liscor at speed. Termin’s gone though. And it’s miles…”

Yvlon groaned as she stared out into the snow. The Corusdeer soup they’d all eaten was wearing off and it was cold. Pisces muttered to himself.

“It seems we must carry Springwalker. On a sledge, perhaps? Is it worth the effort of fashioning one?”

“I could attempt to carry her—”

As Ksmvr and Pisces debated, Yvlon looked around. She jumped as she saw the two undead bears staring at her. She frowned, looked at Pisces, and then hesitated. She looked back at the bears, and her eyes widened.

Slowly, she turned to the necromancer and cleared her throat. He looked at her, and Yvlon spoke very cautiously.

“I might regret saying this, but…Pisces, the Adventurer’s Guild banned you from using any corpses made from people, right? They never said anything about bears.”

For a moment Pisces stared at Yvlon. Then he grinned. Yvlon smiled and Ceria raised her head.

“I’m okay! What’s…what’s…?”

She looked up as Pisces and Ksmvr lashed her to a piece of wood. Yvlon had sliced down a tree with her sword and they were tying it together with some rope from Ksmvr’s pack.

“What’s…? Huh, Yvlon?”

The woman smiled down at Ceria. It was Ksmvr who explained.

“Bears.”

—-

Later that day, the guards on the walls of Liscor would see a crude sled being pulled by two skeletal bears approaching through the snow. There would be much deliberation, but as Yvlon pointed out, bears were not people, and thus the city had no reason to object. That they did anyways was perfectly natural, but it marked the start of bear-based transportation for the Horns of Hammerad.

However, that event was not witnessed by Regrika Blackpaw, who was further in the city proper and did not pay attention to the commotion at the gates. She was walking down one of the streets, nodding to Gnolls and speaking with the ones who approached, the center of attention.

At her side walked a Drake with dark purple scales, male, holding a staff. He was a Gold-rank adventurer, a [Mage]. The duo had already been invited to the party at Erin’s inn that night and were heading there at their leisure.

Perhaps it was happenstance that they spotted the young Human woman as she jogged down the street. Perhaps not; Ryoka had just put in an order for a cured ham and other assorted meats to Krshia, and the Gnoll had assured her they would be brought in time for the party. She was on her way back to the Wandering Inn with Ivolethe, chatting, when the Named Adventurer spotted her.

Regrika recognized Ryoka. Of course she did. And thanks to Olesm, she had a name to put to the face. She reached out and touched the shoulder of the Drake [Mage] who walked beside her.

“Ikriss.”

She pointed and the Drake blinked his eyes.

“That’s the Runner?”

“Yes. Let’s intercept her.”

Ryoka Griffin could hardly have missed Regrika Blackpaw heading her way. She was still surprised when the Gnoll called to her in the street and obligingly slowed down. Confused and a bit surprised, she waited for the Gnoll to speak.

“Hrr. You are Ryoka Griffin, yes? I am Regrika Blackpaw. May I have a moment of your time? I have been wishing to speak with you.”

The huge Gnoll with black fur was a giant, and she smiled down at Ryoka. The young woman took the Gnoll’s paw and shook it gingerly, catching the Named Adventurer’s smell as she did.

“With me? Uh, how can I help you?”

“I am looking for a competent Runner, and I have been directed to you by one Olesm Swifttail as the best runner in the city. That is so, yes?”

She smelled of slightly damp Gnoll fur and that intrinsically animal smell of Dog and something else. There was a hint of metal in that scent as well. Ryoka blinked up at Regrika Blackpaw.

“Are you sure you haven’t gotten the wrong person? I’m—a City Runner, not a Courier. And there’s one here. His name is Hawk and he’s way faster than me.”

“Hrr. That is what I have been told, yes. But the Courier known as Hawk has refused to go near the Goblin Lord’s army, and I am seeking anyone else with the bravery to venture close to it. Please, come and have a drink with me so that we might at least discuss it, yes?”

Ryoka hesitated.

“I’m honored, really. But I don’t think I’m the person you’re looking for. I—I’ve had enough of insane runs and risking my life for a while.”

“Ah, I see. But I hope you would listen to my offer first, then decide. Would you have a drink with me at the very least? I hope you are not too busy to do so.”

Again, Ryoka hesitated, but turning down an offer from a Named Adventurer struck her as a very rude thing to do. Especially one that Krshia and Brunkr loved so much. She looked around and didn’t see Ivolethe, so she shrugged.

“Okay. Uh, I know an inn—”

“There is a bar not far from here. It is closest. I would not want to waste any of your time, yes? Follow me.”

The Gnoll woman and the Drake set off, taking a rather quick pace. Ryoka was able to walk behind them and they soon went down an alley, presumably a shortcut to the rest of the city, Ryoka supposed. She tried to make conversation as she walked down the deserted path behind the Gnoll [Champion].

“I don’t want to disappoint you. I really don’t think I’d be willing to risk my life. There’s a party tonight with the Gnolls in Liscor. We could speak then—but I just can’t see myself doing anything as dangerous as scouting the Goblin Lord’s army. I have a…history with him.”

The Gnoll stopped in the dark alley. She half turned her head and smiled again at Ryoka. Her voice deepened and she cocked her head to one side.

“Oh? But you were quite happy to deliver a letter to the Necromancer himself a month ago. You ran through a battlefield and through his castle to do it. You trespassed and evaded his creations. You did this, Ryoka Griffin. Or had you forgotten?”

For a second Ryoka just blinked. Then she froze.

“The Nec—how do you know that?”

The Gnoll made no reply. She reached for her paw, and twisted something. A ring on her furry fingers. Ryoka felt something shift.

The smell in the alleyway changed. Gone was the smell of Regrika Blackpaw. And gone was the shape of her. Another being stepped into place as the form of the Gnoll adventurer vanished. A woman made of bone, a knight of ivory, turned. A perfect, carved face of white bone stared down at Ryoka, and two burning green eyes gazed down at her. An undead’s eyes.

Venitra reached out as Ryoka turned to run. She caught the Human girl by the throat and lifted her up.

“Hello, Ryoka Griffin. I have been searching long for you.”

Her lips of bone curved upwards in a smile. She tightened her grip.

“I trust that this will hurt greatly. And then you will die. You should never have trespassed. Now you will pay the price. You and everyone you love. I promise you that.”

4.28

Death. Ryoka felt its hand on her throat. She rose, suspended from the ground by the thick arm made of bone. She looked into two burning yellow flames embedded in the sockets of the undead woman made of bone.

Venitra.

She was as perfect as a sculpture, as tall and armored as any knight. And she was smiling.

No time for thought. No time to wonder how or why Venitra was able to pretend to be the Named Adventurer known as Regrika Blackpaw. Ryoka kicked at Venitra’s face as hard as she could.

Her foot connected. It felt as though Ryoka had kicked a rock. Venitra didn’t budge an inch. Nor did her grip waver.

“You will not escape me this time, Ryoka Griffin.”

She could barely breathe. Ryoka’s hands scrabbled at her belt pouch. She had to use—where was Ivolethe? Had to—

Venitra’s hand shot out and tore away Ryoka’s belt pouch. She tossed it to the ground. Her grip tightened on Ryoka’s throat, cutting off air. There were black spots.

“Not so quickly, Venitra. Didn’t you wish to torture her first? And we must ask her our Master’s question.”

Another voice. The crushing grip loosened just a fraction. Ryoka choked, and saw the Drake [Mage] was gone as well. The being that had called itself Ikriss shed the illusion disguising it.

A black skeleton, bones polished and gleaming like metal stood beside Venitra, holding the magical staff. Her eyes were blue, flickering lights and she was grinning. It wasn’t just her skeletal head. There was true malevolent joy in the way she looked at Ryoka.

“Let’s ask her first. And then hurt her.”

Venitra dropped Ryoka. The girl fell, twisted to get up and run, and sat down. A cold, boney hand was on her shoulder and the black metal bones shone a bit in the light filtering down into the alleyway.

“She is paralyzed, Venitra. I have already put up an eavesdropping barrier; let me deter attention away from this place before continuing.”

“Do it, Ijvani.”

Venitra waited a moment as the black skeleton twisted her staff and spoke silently. Ryoka tried to move. She tried to shout, but she was a little ragdoll lying on the ground. Helpless, until Ijvani nodded. Only then did Venitra lean down and Ryoka could speak.

“Look, I—”

“Quiet.”

Venitra’s voice was deep, beautiful. She was manufactured to be perfect both as a weapon and as a piece of art, of that Ryoka was certain. She was Az’kerash’s servant. How was she here? Ryoka stared up at Venitra. There was emotion in the undead woman’s eyes. Hatred. Or—no, hatred was too strong somehow. It was more like disdain, the same look Ryoka had given the insect that crawled on her toothbrush that very morning.

“You have taken us a long time to track down. A very long time, Ryoka Griffin. For that you will pay.”

“Not too long. We’d have found her far sooner if you didn’t keep getting us lost.”

The echoing, hollow voice that was somehow feminine came from the black skeleton. Ijvani. Ryoka saw Venitra’s eyes narrow and she glanced at her companion with irritation.

“That was not my fault.’”

“Was too.”

“We found her. That is all that matters.”

“Is that why you lied to our master yesterday?”

“Be silent, Ijvani.”

The dialogue between the two undead would have been hilarious if Ryoka weren’t so terrified. They spoke like—like bickering kids, or like two comedians doing a bad routine. She held her breath as Venitra turned back to her. The lips carved of bone moved like they were real.

Venitra’s face was expressive, lifelike. Ah, but the eyes. Her pupils were filled with the dancing flames, and they stared at Ryoka with nothing but malice.

“Ryoka Griffin. Who have you told about our master?”

Ryoka worked her mouth, and found she could talk. She spoke shakily, grateful that she could tell the truth.

“I haven’t told anyone anything about your master. I swear it. No one knows I met Az’kerash or where he l—”

“Do not say his name. You are not worthy of saying his name.”

Venitra’s hand shot out. She grabbed one of Ryoka’s fingers. Her pinkie, on her good left hand. Ryoka stared at Venitra.

“I didn’t mean—”

“Suffer.”

The undead woman smiled. Then Venitra snapped Ryoka’s pinkie finger. Ryoka doubled over. She screamed—silently. Ijvani twisted her fingers and Ryoka’s mouth clamped shut. Her throat moved, but no sound came out.

“She’s telling the truth. I have cast a truth spell and she doesn’t appear to have any artifacts on her that would allow her to lie.”

“Good. Then our job is nearly done.”

“Nearly, but not enough. You aren’t precise enough, Venitra. This is why our master sent me with you.”

Ryoka was doubled over. Pain was filling every part of her, but she could see, dimly, Venitra turning to Ijvani, gritting her teeth.

“He told me to pick my choice of tracker. You came because I decided it.”

The black iron skeleton nodded calmly.

“Yes. And if I hadn’t come, Oom would have come with you. We are both the eldest of our master’s creations. You are the youngest, for all you are first in his eyes. You lack experience. So he has said.”

“I am his favorite.”

“So I have said.”

Ryoka was trying to get up, to run. She was on her knees and pushing herself up when a hand picked her up. Effortlessly. Venitra tossed Ryoka into a wall. Ryoka felt a flash of pain, and the world spun.

“Ask your questions, Ijvani.”

“I shall. Observe, Venitra.”

Another face bent down into Ryoka’s line of sight. Two pale blue lights burned in black sockets. Ijvani spoke.

“Have you left any notes, spells, or other measures to inform others of my master’s identity in case of your death or disappearance?”

“No.”

Ijvani paused, looked over at Venitra. The giant bone woman nodded in satisfaction. She knelt by Ryoka and grudgingly spoke to Ijvani.

“Good.”

Then Venitra smiled and reached out for Ryoka’s hand again. She broke another bone. On the same finger. She grasped the pinkie finger, ignoring Ryoka’s frantic blows to her arm and face, and broke the already broken bone in a different place. This time Ryoka’s silent scream was long.

The two undead stared at the curled up human on the ground. Not dispassionately; there was a great deal of satisfaction on Venitra’s face. Ijvani was harder to read for her lack of features, but her voice was pleased.

“She has told no one. I suppose we can kill her, then. But perhaps it would be better to let her live? Her disappearance would be noted.”

Venitra turned her head towards Ijvani, clearly displeased.

“Our master gave me the authority to make decisions, Ijvani. This Human is not worth keeping alive.”

The skeleton shrugged.

“The [Strategist] in the council meeting knew of her.”

There was a flash of yellow light in Venitra’s eyes. She shook her head.

“Inconsequential. I want her dead.”

“As you wish.”

Ryoka got up. The two undead looked at her as she cradled her left hand. She glared at them.

“People will come looking for me.”

“Let them. I told you I would kill you. I will kill your friends and family too, Ryoka Griffin.”

Venitra smiled down at Ryoka. Ryoka hesitated. She looked at the ground and then dove for her belt pouch. Venitra missed as she swiped for Ryoka, expecting her to try to run around her.

She had one hand in her belt pouch, reaching for one of Octavia’s bags. Ryoka rolled, tore out a sealed bottle, and then sagged against the wall. A skeletal hand was on her shoulder again.

“She’s certainly quick. No wonder you failed to catch her before. I wouldn’t have failed of course, but you were not built for speed.”

There was an audible grinding as Venitra stepped over to Ryoka.

“I will rectify that error now. Give me her hand, Ijvani. I’ll start with that.”

She couldn’t move. Ryoka lay, helpless, as her left hand was offered up. Venitra inspected Ryoka’s fingers. She smiled as she looked into Ryoka’s eyes. She delicately pinched Ryoka’s twice-broken pinkie and—

Someone shouted from the alleyway. It was distant, but it broke through the bubble of horror around Ryoka. She saw both Ijvani and Venitra look up. In an instant they changed.

Regrika Blackpaw stepped away from Ryoka and Ikriss, the Drake [Mage] with dark purple scales, looked towards the alleyway. Both looked annoyed, but their features, voices, and the smell they gave off had changed in an instant.

“I thought you had put up a spell to keep others away.”

Venitra, now looking like a Gnoll with black fur, growled at Ijvani. The Drake lashed his tail and replied testily.

“I did. Someone must be coming through this alleyway for a reason. My spell deflects attention, not trespass. Kill whomever it is quickly and get back to business.”

Ryoka tried to get up. She had to run, warn whomever it was—but she still couldn’t move a muscle. She lay on the ground, and now she heard a voice. A distinctive voice. She recognized it, and heard pounding footsteps.

“Come back here you damn Winter Sprite! I’ll teach you to pour snow over my—oh hey, what’s going on here?”

Relc charged down the alleyway, following Ivolethe as she flew past him. He blinked as he saw Regrika Blackpaw, Ikriss, and Ryoka, lying on the ground.

The words that passed between the two undead were quick.

“Guardsman. We can kill him—”

“Too suspicious. Drakes value their soldiers too highly. Venitra, wait.”

Suddenly, Ryoka could move. Ikriss knelt and pulled her to her feet. Regrika smiled at Relc and approached.

“Hello, guardsman. We were on our way to visit an inn, but we seem to have gotten lost, yes? It is my fault. I thought this alleyway was a shortcut.”

“You okay?”

A clawed hand helped Ryoka up and she stared into two innocent, Drake eyes. Ikriss guided Ryoka past Regrika and Relc blinked at her.

“Oh hey! I know you! You’re that Human, right? You lot sure are clumsy, falling all over the place. This is what happens when you don’t have tails!”

“Uh.”

Ryoka stared at Relc, and then looked over her shoulder. Regrika’s paw came down on Ryoka’s shoulders.

“You know Miss Ryoka Griffin, guardsman? This is a surprise, yes? I was seeking her aid, which is why we have met. But we have not been introduced. I apologize. I am Regrika Blackpaw, and this is Ikriss Southwing, my companion.”

“Oh! Hey, you’re those famous adventurers!”

Relc’s eyes widened and he snapped his fingers together. He looked at Ryoka with a great deal of surprise.

“You know these people? Wow. Wow. Hey, this is great! We can all go to Erin’s party! I heard it was for a bunch of Gnolls and I figured that was too much hair, but I’m in the mood for a drink!”

Regrika and Ikriss exchanged glances. The Gnoll smiled.

“We would be honored, Mister…?”

“Oh, I’m Relc. Senior Guardsman in Liscor!”

“Very important, Regrika.”

“Hrr.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Why did you come down this alleyway, Guardsman Relc? And why are you covered in snow?”

The Drake [Guardsman] was covered in a layer of snow. He shook it off his scales like a dog and grinned.

“Funny story. I was minding my own business when one of those damn Winter Sprites came out of nowhere and hit me with a bunch of snow! Bastards. They do that all the time. Anyways, if you’re looking for Erin’s inn, you’re going the wrong way. Follow me!”

He waved the others down the alleyway and set a quick pace. Ryoka stared at Regrika and Ikriss, afraid to move. Should she run? Then Regrika slapped a paw on her shoulder and grinned at her.

“Let us not delay, Miss Griffin. I would like a drink, and to visit this inn so many seem to know of.”

She leaned down as Ikriss walked after Relc and whispered in Ryoka’s ear.

“You cannot run. If you cause trouble, we will kill the Drake and everyone we must.”

Ryoka had no doubt she would. Mechanically, she began walking down the alleyway as Relc began to chatter with Regrika and the Gnoll responded cheerfully. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ivolethe flying around her. The Frost Faerie’s face was worried as she flew by Ryoka’s side.

She flew right past Regrika’s face. The Gnoll blinked and batted at the Frost Faerie with a paw, missing her easily. She frowned, but then shook her head as Relc cursed at Ivolethe. The Frost Faerie disappeared into Ryoka’s reclaimed belt pouch. Ryoka walked out of the alley and out of the city, the two undead right beside her. And all the while as Regrika was called out to Gnolls and greeted the ones who came up to her, she wondered what she was going to do.

She was afraid. Ryoka’s head was a maelstrom of thoughts, fears. She was ready to run, but understood she’d be dead the instant she tried. So flight was out. Ivolethe was vibrating in her belt pouch? Could she do anything? The Frost Faerie wasn’t allowed to interfere, though. Bothering Relc was probably all she could do and that might have been pushing it as well.

They were going to Erin’s inn. The undead had to be stopped. Mrsha was there, and Lyonette. And Erin. But—there was a bit of hope in Ryoka’s heart as they trudged up the hill, Relc taking the lead. There were two groups of Gold-rank adventurers in that inn, and Zel Shivertail besides. Maybe, just maybe—

“I’m here! Where’s the food—hey, that’s a lot of Gnolls!”

Relc happily kicked open the door to the inn and paused as he saw a full room inside. Noise and light swept over Ryoka as she stumbled into the room, followed closely by Ikriss and Regrika. The two adventurers stared around the room and the laughter and conversation stopped as everyone spotted the Named Adventurer and her companion.

“Regrika Blackpaw.”

It was a susurration around the room. Ryoka saw a bunch of Gnolls look up and her heart sank. Krshia and her nephew Brunkr were here with a group of Gnolls. That was right—they were celebrating Brunkr’s new class! And they seemed both surprised and elated to see Regrika Blackpaw here.

“Honored Blackpaw, we are truly grateful for your presence. I am Krshia Silverfang. We did not think to invite you, but we would gladly offer the bounty of tonight’s dinner with you, should you desire it.”

Krshia hurried over with a group of older Gnolls, practically falling over herself to bow to Regrika. The Named Adventurer laughed and bent her head to politely sniff at Krshia as the other Gnoll did the same.

“I am not honored here, surely? We are all fellow Gnolls—I had heard of this inn from others and wished to visit. I would be delighted to share a meal with you, Krshia.”

She stepped away from Ryoka—out of necessity more than anything else. The other Gnolls practically stampeded over Ryoka in their desire to meet their hero. Ryoka used that opportunity to take a few steps away from Regrika, looking around cautiously. She spotted Halrac sitting at a table across the room.

Now would be the time to edge over to the Gold-rank adventurers and hint at…something. Ryoka could use a piece of paper maybe, or speak in code. She was about to move when she felt a clawed hand tug at her sleeve. She looked around and into Ikriss’ smiling face.

The Drake leaned over and whispered to Ryoka. For a moment the noisy inn grew silent, and it was Ijvani’s echoing voice that spoke in Ryoka’s ears.

“Speak and die, Ryoka Griffin. We will destroy this inn and everyone within. If you do not resist, it will only be your death this night.”

The Drake let go of Ryoka and stepped back. Ryoka stared, and Ikriss smiled.

“I regret that we cannot speak now, Miss Griffin. But I am sure we will have another opportunity later. Excuse me.”

He walked over to Regrika and began introducing himself as well. Ryoka stared at his back. No way out. They were still watching her. Listening to her? Could she do something covertly while they were busy?

She clenched her fists. Slowly, Ryoka took a seat at a table in the leftmost corner of the room, by the kitchen. She stared as Regrika and Ikriss sat down at a table in the center of the room, looking for all intents and purposes like famous celebrities dealing with the admiring Gnolls around them.

But Ryoka was sure they were staring at her. The girl looked around and took stock of the inn. It was crowded, again, mainly with Gnolls to celebrate Brunkr’s class, but there were the inn’s regulars as well.

Griffon Hunt, the Halfseekers, and the Horns of Hammerad were all occupying three tables next to the bar, laughing as Ceria stood on a chair and tried to mime something. The Horns of Hammerad looked…battered, as if they’d been in a fight. But they were all in high spirits.

That was her target. Ryoka glanced at Regrika and Ikriss. Now they were sitting down, the center of attention. They weren’t looking her way. Ryoka slowly got up—

“Don’t.”

A voice whispered in Ryoka’s ear. The young woman jerked in surprise and realized Ivolethe had left her belt pouch. The Frost Faerie hovered by Ryoka’s ear, lost in the noise of the room, speaking quickly and urgently.

“There is a listening spell on ye. I see it.”

“What?”

Ryoka glanced at Ivolethe. The Frost Faerie’s eyes were wide and serious.

“The black skeleton cast it on ye. She can hear all ye say. Not what I say—her magic cannot detect the fae. But she’ll know in an instant should ye try to tell anyone else. And the bone woman is ready to slaughter everyone in here.”

Of course. Ryoka closed her eyes. Of course they wouldn’t be that stupid! Idiot! She looked at Venitra and hesitated. So they’d know. They’d know the instant Ryoka said anything. What if she—

“They are watching you. Don’t mistake the illusion. The black skeleton seems to be looking elsewhere, but she is staring at you, Ryoka. She hasn’t looked away once.”

Ikriss was indeed chatting and laughing with Krshia, his head turned away from Ryoka. But at Ivolethe’s words, Ryoka immediately relaxed and pretended to be looking around the room again.

Trapped. That’s what she was.

Ryoka clenched her hands together, gripping the table. She felt her pinkie move and doubled over in pain. Her broken pinkie finger—the agony there was actually suppressed by the sheer fear and adrenaline coursing through Ryoka’s body.

The young woman shook as she stared at the undead, surrounded by laughing Gnolls. They’d kill everyone in seconds. But there was Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers in one corner, and the Horns of Hammerad were with them too. Maybe—

Speak and die.

She had to do it. She had to shout it. And then Ijvani or Venitra would kill her. So make it quick. How could she tell everyone what was happening in as few words as possible?

‘They’re undead pretending to be adventurers!’

No. Too slow.

‘They’re Az’kerash’s minions!’

Close.

‘Az’kerash sent them.’

Yes. That was it. Stand, shout as you point. And die. Obviously, try to roll away and duck, but she’ll come for you. Venitra. Can the adventurers beat them? There’s no choice. Ryoka hesitated.

“Ryoka? Hey, are you okay?”

A face appeared in front of Ryoka as Erin waved a hand in front of her face. Ryoka jerked.

“Gah!”

She nearly fell out her chair. Ryoka caught herself with her bad hand and choked on a scream. Erin steadied her and pulled her back upright.

“Whoa! That’s weird. What’s up, Ryoka? I haven’t seen you all day! Did you have a good chat with Krshia? And can you believe that Regrika Blackpaw person is here? I saw you come in with her and Relc! Do you actually know her?”

Suddenly, there was Erin. Ryoka cursed and tucked her left hand under the table as she tried to grin at Erin.

“Erin! Erin. I—what did you say?”

“I said…did you meet that Regrika Blackpaw person? Hey, are you okay? You look pale and sweaty.”

Erin frowned as she peered at Ryoka. The Runner girl could barely tear her eyes off of Regrika to look at Erin. She knew she looked terrible. Relc might not have noticed, but Erin would. But Erin couldn’t get suspicious. If she did—

The [Innkeeper] was frowning and about to slide into a seat next to Ryoka when something flew in front of her face. Ivolethe scowled at Erin and flicked a bit of snow into Erin’s eyes, making Erin shout in surprise.

“Begone, Erin Solstice. Ryoka Griffin is busy. With me. Your presence is not needed.”

“Well excuse me. Grumpy faeries…hey Ryoka, I’ll get Lyonette to take your order in a bit, okay? Sorry, but we’re really busy as you can see!”

Erin backed away, spluttering and wiping at her face. Ryoka breathed out and looked at Ivolethe. Then, conscious of Ikriss, she pretended to be brushing at some dirt. Ivolethe floated in front of Ryoka, eyes serious.

“What will you do? You have heard her threat. I…cannot interfere. Perhaps—no. I could try if it came to it, but there are consequences, Ryoka Griffin. Dire ones.”

She stared at Ryoka. The young woman looked at her, and then around the room. Griffon Hunt. The Halfseekers. The Horns of Hammerad. She took a breath and pushed herself up slowly.

“I’m going to do it. I have to—I—”

She saw Ijvani—now pretending to be the male Drake known as Ikriss—look up for a second. Ryoka clamped her mouth shut as the Drake looked over. Ivolethe made a hissing sound. She flew closer to Ryoka’s head.

“You will die. I see it.”

Ryoka stared at Ivolethe and slowly shrugged. The Frost Faerie stared into her eyes and closed hers. Then she looked at the door and grinned.

“Wait. There are others coming. Hold this moment for a few seconds longer. For here is—”

The door opened and two figures walked in. Zel Shivertail and Wall Lord Ilvriss. Zel immediately greeted Mrsha who came bounding over, and Ilvriss stared around the crowded room, sniffing with disdain. He looked around and saw Ryoka. She stared back.

Never in her life had she been so glad to see Ilvriss’ face in her life. The Wall Lord began to stride towards Ryoka until Zel pulled him back. The [General] dragged Ilvriss towards a table further away. But that was what Ryoka needed to see. She took a breath—

And Ivolethe slapped a hand over her mouth.

“Wait, I said! The fates are not done with tonight yet.”

Ryoka froze. Two minutes passed as she paused halfway out of her seat, and Lyonette waved her hands and tried to get Ryoka’s attention before getting up and placing a beef casserole in front of her. Ryoka ignored both. Her eyes were on the door. And then it opened—

And Brunkr walked in. He’d come back from using the outhouse. Ryoka sagged. But then the Gnoll turned and held the door open for—

Klbkch. And Xrn. The two Antinium walked slowly into the room and caused a hush of their own. They turned and Klbkch met Ryoka’s eyes. They found a table, sat.

Now was the time. Ryoka’s heart was beating out of her chest. She could see Ikriss and Regrika staring at both the Drakes and Antinium. Were they enough? They had to be. Here were legends from the Antinium Wars. They had to be—

She didn’t want to die. Ryoka imagined a spell, a magical bolt blasting her to pieces, or Venitra just pushing her hand through Ryoka’s chest. She didn’t want to die, and she was sure she would. But they were here. They were going to hurt her friends. They’d sworn it. Venitra had.

No choice at all. When Ryoka spoke, it was shakily, to Ivolethe, her friend, as the Frost Faerie hovered in the air next to her.

“I’ll do it, Ivolethe. Just protect—make sure that when I do—”

She was shaking. The Frost Faerie looked at the two undead, narrowing her eyes. Ryoka choked on her words and tried again. She wasn’t prepared for Ivolethe’s smile.

“Hold a third time, Ryoka. Hold. Perhaps there will be no death tonight.”

“How do you…?”

“Their master calls.”

—-

Venitra could hear everything Ryoka said. She could see everything Ryoka did. It was all thanks to a spell Ijvani had cast. The two undead chatted and ate their food normally, and all the while, waited, impatient for this farce to be over so they could kill Ryoka Griffin.

Of the two, Venitra was the most impatient. She hated pretending to be Regrika Blackpaw. Her illusion was sophisticated enough to fool a Gnoll’s nose, but it still required her to laugh, speak, and worst of all, eat. She hated eating. The food was obviously tasteless to the undead, and she would have to wash it out of her body later. She hated the disgusting way in which living things ate.

But she did it for her master. She kept her disguise up for him, and she would laugh and smile at however many Gnolls it took to accomplish his wishes. However, part of her wished Ryoka Griffin would try and alert her allies. She would relish a battle here. The Gold-rank adventurers she’d spotted would be an enjoyable challenge.

However, it seemed like Ryoka was content to wait. Venitra looked up as the door to the inn opened, letting more worthless creatures come in. She frowned as she spotted one of them, a big Drake with green scales. Something about him triggered a faint memory and she leaned over to whisper to Ijvani.

“Ijvani, who is that Drake wearing armor? The big one? I feel as though I should know him.”

The black skeleton, disguised as Ikriss, was having a harder time eating than Venitra. She was only a skeleton, and as such, the food fell through her body, forcing her to subtly teleport it outside every time she took a bite. She looked up, spotted the Drake that Venitra was indicating, and froze.

“That is Zel Shivertail.”

Venitra sat up, a bolt of comprehension and hatred going through her body. She stared at Zel as he took a table across from her and began arguing with his companion, a Drake wearing many magical artifacts.

“The one who defeated our master during the Second Antinium War? He’s here?”

Ijvani nodded, not taking her eyes off of Zel. Venitra gritted her teeth.

“We should kill him.”

Pretending to speak to a Human [Barmaid] named Lyonette and refusing a refill, Ijvani shook her head at Venitra. She spoke to Lyonette and her voice echoed in the other undead’s mind.

“That is not our mission.”

“No, but he is our master’s enemy. It is worth killing him here. If you immobilize him, I can run him through.”

“Venitra, we cannot take such an action without permission from our master.”

“Do not order me, Ijvani. I am going.”

Venitra’s eyes flashed. She stood up, smiling at the Gnolls around her and pretending to be stretching. She reached for the sword at her side—

And heard a voice.

Venitra. Ijvani. I am very displeased with you.

Venitra froze. Ijvani sat up. They looked at each other and Venitra sat down. She mechanically responded to the Gnoll named Brunkr who was asking her about her exploits, letting a lesser part of her functionality take over the conversation. But the whole of Venitra, the part that mattered, was now focused on the voice.

The voice of her master.

There were no words Venitra had to describe her master’s presence in her mind. If Venitra had learned of religion, she would have called it as being akin to a revelation. She worshipped her master, the Necromancer, Az’kerash without knowing what that word was.

It was bliss to hear his voice. But also—terror. Because his mental tone was not loving as it normally was. Instead, it was filled with anger. And Venitra feared her master’s wrath more than anything in the world.

“Master. We are overjoyed to hear your commands. What have we done to displease you?”

Venitra spoke through the link that connected her to her master. In her mind they were words. Inwardly Venitra cringed, because she thought she knew why he was angry.

Venitra. Yesterday I asked you whether you had found the Courier who delivered the letter to me. You informed me that you were in Liscor and had been for a week now, gathering information in my name. You lied.

There was no denying it. Venitra shrank in her seat, and she saw Ijvani wince. She had feared to tell her master the truth, but she should have. He had found out about her lies, and so quickly too! There was surely nothing he didn’t know, and now he was angry at Venitra for betraying his trust.

Hesitantly, Venitra spoke, pleading, beseeching.

“I—did not want to disappoint you, my master. There were complications on the road and—”

You lied.

The two words nearly shattered Venitra’s spirit. She bent over the table, causing the Gnolls around her to cry out in alarm. Ikriss assured them that she, Regrika, had only eaten too quickly. But the truth was that Venitra was writhing in agony inside.

“I beg your forgiveness, master.”

There was no response. Had her master left her? For good? Was he so disgusted that he wouldn’t reply to her anymore, only speak to Ijvani? Venitra felt despair, and cried out, grasping for some measure of redemption.

“Master! We have found the person you seek. We know her name. She is called Ryoka Griffin and she is sitting in this inn at this very moment! We were about to dispose of her as you ordered—”

You found her? Show me.

Venitra instantly turned her head, relieved to be the eyes of her master. He could see and experience what she did, and she showed him Ryoka Griffin, sitting tense at her table, not touching her beef casserole.

Ah. That is her. It seems you have not completely failed me, Venitra.

The woman made of bone sagged in relief. She wasn’t worthless. She looked back towards her plate, pretending to be eating the steak she’d been served with relish. On the way she saw a pair of Antinium, and the two Drakes. There was a pause and then she heard her master’s voice adopt a quality she’d never heard in it before.

Venitra. Why is Zel Shivertail sitting over there with one of the Lords of the Wall? And why are Klbkch the Slayer and Xrn the Small Queen sitting in the same room?

Klbkch the Slayer? Venitra twisted her head back and looked at the Antinium sitting at one of the tables. Surely that wasn’t—but if her master said so, it had to be. She gulped, and the steak went down smoothly. The rising trepidation in her soul did not.

“I…do not know?”

She stared at Ijvani. The skeleton sat up and pretended to be dabbing at her lips with a napkin. Her voice was very, very hesitant.

“Master, we were unaware of the Antinium’s presence until now. We did not think to inquire—”

They are staring at Ryoka Griffin, the very person you were about to kill. Both groups are staring at her. Why?

The two undead stared at each other in silence. Ijvani jerked her head towards Venitra. Venitra shook her head imperceptibly. She gestured at Ijvani with her fork. Ijvani froze and shook her head.

Venitra made a furious gesture. Ijvani sunk down lower. Her voice was a whisper in Venitra’s mind.

“We don’t know.”

There was silence. Both undead sank down at their table, ignoring the other Gnolls. At last, Az’kerash spoke in their minds, sounding weary, annoyed, and worst, resigned.

I suppose this is all that I can expect from you two. Perhaps my faith in you, Venitra, and you, Ijvani, was misplaced. Would Kerash have served me better, or Bea? I fail to comprehend…how you two can be so careless.

There was nothing worse in the world. Venitra hung her head low. She had to fight not to let the illusion of Regrika Blackpaw burst into tears. Ikriss was having the same struggle. Az’kerash’s voice spoke in her head after a moment, clipped, and calculating.

Is this Ryoka Griffin aware of your natures? Do not lie. Ijvani.

“Yes, my master. We confronted her and questioned her. She has told no one anything of your nature. We were about to kill her when we were interrupted. We have told her that if she speaks, she will die—”

A poor threat in this room. Tell the Courier that you will not harm her or her friends at this time. Tell her that if she seeks a fight, there will be unnecessary death. Ensure that she does not call out. The odds are not in your favor, my creations.

Shock. Venitra and Ijvani exchanged glances, but Ijvani obediently began speaking to Ryoka. The Runner jerked and stared at them. Az’kerash’s voice began a murmur in Venitra’s mind.

A Courier with links to Drakes and Antinium both? No—her presence may have to do with the group of soldiers who infiltrated my castle. If they managed to follow her through my defenses—

She had no wish to interrupt her master’s thoughts or draw more ire towards her, but Venitra had to correct him. She felt wrong doing it, but she spoke up out of duty.

“She is a Runner, master. A City Runner, not a Courier.”

A City Runner? You are sure?

There was shock in Az’kerash’s voice. Venitra sent a mental approximation of nodding, very worried. Another pause, and then Az’kerash spoke to both Ijvani and Venitra.

Will she take action, Venitra? No? Good. Now. Look around again. Ijvani, monitor Zel Shivertail and the other Drake. Venitra, inquire about the Antinium. Subtly. I wish to understand what is transpiring here.

Obediently, his servants did just that. Regrika Blackpaw suddenly became the center of the table as she inquired politely about the two Antinium. Ikriss casually turned his seat so he could stare at the two Drakes out of the corner of his eye.

And across the room, Xrn and Klbkch were talking. They glanced over at Ryoka, and Xrn shook her head as she waved at Lyonette for service. Meanwhile, Zel and Ilvriss seemed to be arguing, and the Wall Lord kept standing up and being yanked down by the [General].

And they were all looking at Ryoka. The Runner wasn’t aware of this at first. She kept staring at Venitra and Ijvani. But she couldn’t ignore the other’s attention for too long.

Thanks to the spell Ijvani had cast, they all could hear Ryoka as she looked around and spotted first Klbkch and Xrn, and then Zel and Ilvriss and noticed them staring. The Human girl seemed to speak to herself a lot.

Venitra, Ijvani, and Az’kerash all heard Ryoka’s muttered words as she realized that Klbkch, Xrn, Zel, Ilvriss, and the disguised pair of undead were all staring at her corner table in turns.

“Oh fuck me sideways.”

—-

Some people might have called it funny. Three different groups, all intent on the same person, all at odds with each other, even if some of them didn’t know it. It was a classic Balerosian Standoff, and an impartial watcher might see the humor in it. The participants did not.

Ilvriss leaned over to Zel, hissing at him as he stared daggers at Klbkch and Xrn. He glanced over at Ryoka, at the Antinium, and gripped the handle of his sword tightly.

“Shivertail. Why are the two Prognugators here tonight? Is this some kind of Antinium trick?”

“Calm down, Ilvriss. I don’t know why they’re here either. They might have been watching us, or they have business with Ryoka as well.”

“Tonight? This is no coincidence! Either there’s a leak or we are being spied upon.”

“Funny, I thought we were trying to spy on them.”

“Don’t make light of this! We have to know what they want with Ryoka Griffin. Watch them, Shivertail.”

“I am.”

“If they make a move, we must be ready—”

“I know. Just keep calm. Keep…calm…”

—-

A few tables away, the two Antinium sat and stared at Ryoka Griffin and the two Drakes. Xrn coughed gently.

“Klbkchhezeim, why are the two Drakes here today?”

“Ah. I trust you are referring to the presence of Zel Shivertail and Wall Lord Ilvriss? I am uncertain. Zel is generally present for dinners. Ilvriss is an unknown factor. I suppose it is simply an unfortunate coincidence.”

“I see. They are glaring at us, Klbkch.”

“Yes. I suppose we upset them.”

“Our aim is not to upset them. I’ll try waving at them and see if it calms them down.”

“Ah.”

“Hmm. They really didn’t like that.”

“No, they did not. Perhaps I should try, Xrn?”

“I believe that would be most entertaining, Klbkch. Wave at Shivertail. Or better yet, buy him a drink.”

—-

The first group to go over to Ryoka was Zel and Ilvriss. The Wall Lord got up at last, too furious to be restrained by Zel any longer. He marched over to Ryoka and took a seat at her table, uninvited. Ryoka blinked at him.

Az’kerash and his creations watched. The Necromancer mused quietly, his words heard by them and no one else.

Zel Shivertail and Wall Lord Ilvriss. They were the two who fought outside my castle a month ago. They clashed with my disciple and now end up here? Why? This is curious.

They heard the entirety of the conversation between them. It started out with threats, and insults. Ilvriss leaned over the table, making Ryoka lean back.

“You will tell me what I need to know. No more excuses! I demand—”

Zel pulled the Wall Lord back and smiled at Ryoka.

“You have to understand our position, Ryoka. When a group of soldiers goes missing, especially elites—”

“Did you kill them or not? How did they die? How did Periss—”

Ilvriss pounded the table. Venitra could make no sense of it, but Az’kerash put the pieces together quickly.

Ah. The Drake and Gnolls that Kerash and Bea disposed of. It has attracted the Wall Lord’s attention. This is…unfortunate. Yet it seems that Ryoka has refused to tell either Drake anything, despite their pressuring her.

Indeed, the next image all three watchers saw was Ryoka offering a single finger in reply to Ilvriss.

“Runner’s code, asshole. I can’t tell you a thing, even if I wanted to! I’m sorry, but that’s how it is.”

Ilvriss nearly strangled her, but Zel held him back. He was trying to argue with Ryoka, but his words weren’t that effective while Ilvriss uttered threats and tried to grab Ryoka over the table. However, the City Runner clearly had more on her mind. She glanced over at Ijvani and Venitra.

“Look, I’m really, really not looking to discuss anything tonight. Maybe later. In fact, why don’t you uh, turn around and piss off? That’d be helpful. Thanks.”

The two undead watched Zel forcibly pull Ilvriss away. Az’kerash’s tone was exasperated.

And you decided that the best course of action was simply to kill her? Why?

Ijvani and Venitra shuffled in their seats without saying anything. They heard a sigh in their heads.

You fools. This is why I ordered you to assess the situation before making any decisions! If this Ryoka Griffin disappears, this Wall Lord is sure to take interest. As for Shivertail—you are fortunate that your incompetence prevented you from taking her life earlier.

“Yes master.”

“Yes master.”

We shall speak with Ryoka Griffin now. I wish to know why the Antinium are here. They concern me—greatly. I was under the impression that Liscor’s Hive had produced nothing of value save for its strategic placement. I want to know what the Small Queen intends. She is dangerous.

—-

When Regrika Blackpaw walked over, Ryoka was prepared for the end. She was prepared for a fight, for threats, for anything and everything.

But she was not prepared for a smile. As Regrika sat down in front of Ryoka, she was smiling. She smiled and Ryoka stared. Perhaps it was just the illusion spell. But it was mimicking Venitra’s true expression, and for an instant, Ryoka saw nothing but simplicity in her smile. It was happy, guileless, and…innocent.

A child’s smile.

Ryoka had no idea why, until Regrika, or rather, Venitra, spoke.

“My master is here. He wishes to speak with you, Ryoka Griffin.”

Ryoka stared. She looked around and caught herself. She stared at Regrika.

“Here? In you?”

“I am watching and listening through my servant’s eyes, Ryoka Griffin. I am present. We have met before.”

The voice came from Regrika’s mouth, but it was neither the Gnoll’s voice, nor Venitra’s voice. It was male, educated, precise, and old. It was horrifically disturbing to see it come from the female Gnoll’s face. But it was Az’kerash’s voice.

The Necromancer’s.

Ryoka felt the floor open up. She saw Ivolethe flying towards her and tried to shoo her away. But the Frost Faerie alighted on Ryoka’s shoulder. She hissed and glared at Regrika. Ryoka saw the Gnoll’s eyes flick to her shoulder and frown, but oddly, the Necromancer didn’t seem to notice Ivolethe at all.

“Look straight at Ryoka Griffin, Venitra. Thank you. Now, Ryoka Griffin, I believe you know why my creations are here.”

“To kill me?”

“Perhaps. But not necessarily. They were sent with instructions to ascertain whether you had spoken of my existence to anyone else. They were not commanded to kill you outright. They have failed me and for that they will be…reprimanded.”

Something about the way he said it made Ryoka feel that Az’kerash wasn’t a very forgiving and nice master. Venitra certainly seemed frightened. The ears of the Gnoll sitting in front of Ryoka flattened, and her tail drooped.

“So I’m not going to die?”

That was all Ryoka could think to ask. She’d been prepared for death the instant she met Venitra. To suddenly hear that it was off the table was…disturbing. And relieving. She dared to hope, and because she was an idiot, she tried to take a gulp from her full mug for the first time that night.

With her left hand. The instant Ryoka tried to move it, she agitated the broken finger. Ryoka bent over the table, swearing, holding her left hand with the three fingers of her right hand. Why was her hand always getting injured? Oh, right. She’d shattered both her legs before too.

Her finger was swelling up horribly now. It was badly broken, and Ryoka was afraid to show it to anyone. Somehow, Az’kerash noticed it as Venitra stared at her. Maybe she’d told him, although Ryoka doubted it.

“What is the matter? Ah. Your finger. My servants are careless. Allow me to rectify the issue.”

Regrika raised her paw and pointed at Ryoka’s left hand through the table. Ryoka felt something shift in her hand and jerked. She stared as the bones in her pinkie rearranged themselves and snapped back into place.

It hurt like hell in those moments, but the sensations of her bones changing on her were more terrifying than the pain. And then it was all gone. Ryoka stared at her pinkie. It was still puffy and swollen, but it barely hurt now compared to before.

“A healing potion will correct the rest of the damage.”

Az’kerash’s voice was dismissive. Ryoka stared at him. She’d heard from Pisces himself that [Necromancers] couldn’t change around people’s bones unless they had direct physical contact. Apparently that didn’t apply to Az’kerash.

“I should say thanks. But your minion broke my finger to begin with. Does this mean you’ll leave me alone now?”

The look Venitra, or rather, Regrika gave Ryoka could have killed. Her big paws tightened on the table, but Az’kerash’s voice was cool.

“I am still determining the risk you pose. You claim to have kept my secret—”

“And I will. Totally. Runner’s Code and all that. I know what happens if I let anything slip.”

Ryoka raised her hands. Venitra growled at her.

“Do not interrupt my master!”

“Calm yourself, Venitra.”

Two voices, one body. Ryoka held still. Az’kerash’s next words were musing.

“Tell me, why did the Dragon choose you of all people? It seems odd that he would assign such a delivery to a mere City Runner.”

Ryoka gritted her teeth and forced a smile.

“He didn’t. He put up an open request and I took it because it paid well. Believe me, if I’d known it would have resulted in this, I wouldn’t have done it for all the gold in the world.”

“Hah. That is amusing. So much trouble over a Dragon’s whim.”

Regrika’s face didn’t change, but Az’kerash sounded like he was enjoying some dry humor. He paused.

“I understand both Wall Lord Ilvriss and Zel Shivertail are interested in you because of your delivery to me.”

“You killed Periss, his lieutenant. Or didn’t you notice?”

“They were disposed of by my creations. I had paid little attention until now. If the Wall Lord received the remains of his soldiers, would he be appeased?”

“Nope. Well, maybe. He wants to know why they died.”

“Ah. Inconvenient. However, it is a rectifiable situation. Hm. I have one more question for you, Ryoka Griffin. Why are there two of the Antinium in this inn?”

Ryoka hesitated.

“I’m good friends with Klbkch.”

“You are concealing the truth.”

“Get that from a truth spell? I’m not plotting against you, if that’s what you want to know.”

“That is part of what I wish to know, but it is…enough for now. For now, know this Ryoka Griffin. I do not desire my presence to be known. For that reason, I will guarantee your safety for now. My creations will not harm you.”

“And if you change your mind?”

Az’kerash paused. His voice was very cold.

“Give me no reason to. Understand, you have little say in this, Ryoka Griffin.”

No say. No choice. She was helpless. Perhaps that was true, but Ryoka’s temper flared. She leaned over the table, glaring at Regrika and not caring about how it looked.

“Oh yeah? What if I tell Zel Shivertail about you? You’re not here right now—this Venitra person and Ijvani are. If Zel kills them, what can you do about it?”

The voice that replied through Regrika’s mouth was icily unconcerned.

“What gives you the impression that would be an intelligent decision, girl?”

“He kicked your ass once in the Second Antinium War. He killed you, although I guess that part was wrong. What’s to stop him from doing it to your precious servants?”

Ryoka grinned at Regrika, and the Gnoll glared back. But it was Az’kerash who spoke again. His voice was impassive, and for that reason, terribly scary.

“If you wish to try, by all means speak. You and everyone in this inn with surely die. But if you think it is worth the cost, then allow me to give you this.”

A paw rose, reached out, and touched Ryoka on the lips. She jerked back, but it was too late. Something heavy gripped her tongue for a moment, and then was gone. Ivolethe cried out into Ryoka’s ear.

“Death magic! The executioner’s axe hangs over your head, Ryoka! Do not speak!”

Az’kerash spoke as Ryoka held very still, afraid to open her mouth.

“[Word of Death]. Speak any part of my name, Az’kerash, or mention necromancy and you will die in that instant.”

She stared at him, all her confidence lost again. The second intelligence hiding behind Regrika’s eyes flickered, and then vanished. Regrika got up. Without a word, she left the table. Ryoka sat there, ready to puke. She wanted to run and realized suddenly that there was nowhere far enough she could go.

And then Ryoka realized that Regrika and Ikriss were sitting at their tables, joking, talking about sending Ryoka to scout the Goblin Lord’s army, acting like everything was normal. But underneath the illusion the undead were still there. And so was Az’kerash. They were still watching her. And as Ryoka sat up and realized Klbkch and Xrn were still waiting to speak with her, she got really nervous.

—-

“Ryoka Griffin. May we sit with you?”

There had to be a way to tell people to go away without saying or doing anything to indicate that. However, Ryoka’s best ‘leave me alone’ posture and the glare in her eyes did nothing to dissuade Klbkch. He took a seat and the strange blue Antinium sat next to him.

Ryoka recognized her at once. She was Xrn, the Small Queen, a legend and one of the big players in the Second Antinium War. Normally Ryoka would have been freaking out about meeting her, but after speaking with Az’kerash, this seemed frighteningly normal.

“I believe we have not met, Miss Ryoka Griffin. I am Xrn.”

“Hi, Xrn.”

Ryoka stared at Xrn. Maybe if she acted weird or rude enough they’d leave. She really did not want to talk about dead gods here, or anything—anything, really. Az’kerash was listening.

“I have wished to speak with you for a good deal of time. However, issues in the Hive have necessitated me remaining below ground. Pawn may have informed you that our Hive experienced an attack by many monsters from Liscor’s Dungeon. They have been repelled—at cost.”

“Oh?”

Ryoka wished there was a way to tell Klbkch not to be so helpful at explaining things. But Klbkch only took that as a sign to keep going.

“Indeed. However, the development of the unique group of Antinium Soldiers under Pawn has led to—”

“Hey Klbkch, let’s not talk business right now. I think we should all just relax and—not discuss anything important.”

Klbkch paused. He looked at Xrn. The other Antinium stared at Ryoka.

“You told me that she was aware of everything, Klbkch.”

“She is.”

The Antinium cocked his head at Ryoka.

“I know you are busy, Ryoka, especially given Regrika Blackpaw’s offer to you. That is why I wish to converse with you and Xrn now. We may not receive another chance for a while. You see, Xrn is preparing to l—”

Ryoka gave up on subtlety and kicked him as hard as she could under the table. She heard one her toes crack and felt blinding pain. The Antinium paused and looked down at his undamaged shin as Ryoka leaned over the table, making incoherent sounds of pain.

“Hm.”

He wasn’t an idiot. He and Xrn exchanged looks, and then turned to stare at the two Drakes who were watching them. And Typhenous, who was also watching. And Pisces who was eying her warily and glancing at Regrika and Ikriss for some reason. And most of the other guests in the inn, who turned away and pretended to be doing something else.

“Ah, I believe I see Miss Ryoka’s objection, Klbkchhezeim.”

Klbkch shrugged.

“We are under a spell of silence, Xrn. They can’t tell what we are saying.”

Ryoka glanced quickly over to her left. Ivolethe shook her head definitively. Az’kerash’s spell was still in effect, silence spell or not. The young women thought quickly.

“This is not a good time, you two. I have that Wall Lord guy breathing down my neck. Let’s agree to not do or say anything with each other at all. Deal?”

This time both of the Antinium stared at Ryoka. Suspiciously.

“Have you been threatened, Ryoka Griffin? If you have, my duty as a Senior Guardsman and ally to you and Erin permits me to directly offer you the assistance of my Hive.”

“If she is being threatened, Klbkch, she wouldn’t say.”

Xrn reached over and prodded Klbkch in the head with one finger. She peered at Ryoka and the hearts of one Human and one Frost Faerie at the table stopped for a second. Xrn shook her head.

“I detect no magical enchantments on her. However, I agree with her desire for caution. I believe I have seen enough in any case. She knows what we plan to do. If she is an ally, she will prove herself as one. If not—”

The blue Antinium’s eyes swirled blackly for a moment. A wisp of yellow was extinguished by a shade of black that color had no words for.

“—If not, we shall see. Now, I wish to eat more of this innkeeper’s cooking before I leave. Tersk was telling me about it. Klbkch, let us eat. I have a spell I wish to try—[Stomach of the Cow]. [Powerful Digestion]!”

She cast the two spells as she walked away from the table. Ryoka watched her go.

“[Stomach of the Cow]? The hell’s that? Is that a real spell?”

Klbkch hesitated before nodding. He stood up.

“Xrn is a prodigy among spellcasters, Ryoka Griffin. I am unsure of her mechanisms, but she is able to create new spells based on ones she already knows. It is part of her class. She may have learned this spell before, or created it. I will now aid her in consuming Erin’s food supply and pay for her meals with my limited income as a [Guardsman]. Good night, Ryoka. We shall speak at some other time.”

He nodded to Ryoka and turned away. Ryoka watched him go and then collapsed onto her table. Ivolethe flew down beside her and shook her head.

“Hah! That one can’t spot magic to save her life! Although the spell cast is subtle. Yet she can see me, I think, and my sisters! When did mages become so useless?”

Ryoka put her head down and didn’t respond. The table was cool—until Ryoka found a sticky spot with her cheek. She sagged in her chair and desperately wished the night was over. Unfortunately, it was just getting started.

—-

Everyone had spoken to Ryoka, and gotten less than satisfactory answers out of her. That was true. But it didn’t mean they were about to leave. Indeed, all three groups were sitting in place. And unfortunately, Erin’s renovations to her inn hadn’t been completed yet, so there was a limited amount of space to put between all three parties.

Zel Shivertail glared at Klbkch across three tables, hand tight on his mug. Xrn and Ilvriss locked stares over Xrn’s raised fork filled with spaghetti. Venitra and Ijvani studied the two, as Az’kerash stared through their eyes, pondering, assessing.

The other diners in the room had certainly noticed the power plays and interactions. That was why they had cleared a space. No one wanted to be caught between the Antinium and Drakes. Indeed, the atmosphere was getting tenser by the minute. No one dared break it, not even the Gold-rank adventurers.

Silence fell over the inn as Xrn chewed at some spaghetti with her mandibles. Zel’s hand cracked on his mug. Ilvriss’s grinding teeth could be heard in the quiet. Regrika Blackpaw sat and watched.

And then there was Erin. She edged right through the staring contest, holding a big pan and shouting.

“Make way! Cake! Make way for the cake! Oh, hey Mister Zel and you. Do I know you? And hi Klbkch! You and your friend will want to eat this. Wait, do I know you?”

Everyone stared. They stared at the fluffy pink frosting on the white background of the cake, the huge rectangular block of icing and cake, and at the letters on top. They formed a simple word.

[Knight].

The class was spelled out on top of the cake in pink, and set about with glowing candles. Erin gently put the cake in front of the bewildered Brunkr.

“Surprise! Krshia said this was a party for you, and I’ve been dying to make a cake! So…happy class day, Brunkr! Blow out the candles and make a wish! Wait! We’ve got to sing happy birthday first!”

Erin began teaching everyone the happy birthday song. It was surprising how many people she got to join in. Ilvriss was not one of them. Xrn and Klbkch were. So was Zel.

Ryoka did not sing. She was trying to alternatively stab her eyes out with her fork and hide under the table at the same time. She watched as Regrika Blackpaw got up and sang happy birthday, looking as happy as could be and wondered if Az’kerash could hear that. Then she wondered if he was joining in.

Brunkr gingerly blew out the mostly melted candles after that, and then there was cake. Cake.

“Have a slice, Ryoka! It tastes just like home! Go on!”

Ryoka stared down at the pink corner piece of cake she’d been given. She looked at Erin’s beaming face, took a bite, and tried not to puke. She managed to get rid of the cake, mainly by feeding it to Ivolethe and Mrsha. She could have probably just dropped it on any table and it would have been gone, though.

The inn had gone crazy over cake.

“This is the greatest thing I’ve ever had!”

Relc was crying as he gobbled down his piece of cake. He licked his plate and then began demanding to know how it was made, how much it cost, and where he could get more of it from Erin. He was joined by Revi, Jelaqua, and a hyperactive Mrsha who was practically vibrating in place.

If that were all, Ryoka would have gotten down on her knees and thanked the non-discriminate and blessed ways of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, which was the only deity she was prepared to worship in this world. However, it seemed like Regrika’s fame meant that everyone wanted to speak with her, and Ryoka happened to be a fine way of introducing oneself via proxy.

“Hey Regrika. Let me introduce you to my friends.”

Ryoka’s smile twitched as she was forcibly prodded into place. The Named Adventurer looked up from her half-eaten piece of cake and saw the Horns of Hammerad clustering behind Ryoka, practically holding her in front of the famous Gnoll like a shield.

“Oh? Who is this? I am always happy to meet other friends of yours, Ryoka Griffin, yes?”

She smiled broadly at Ryoka. Ryoka gave her a return grin full of teeth.

“Great. These are adventurers. This is Ceria. She’s an ice mage. This is Yvlon, a [Warrior], Ksmvr, an Antinium [Warrior]—”

“I am pleased to meet you, Regrika Blackpaw. I understand you are famous. May I ask what your fame is derived from? I—why are you kicking me, Captain Ceria, Yvlon? I am only asking—”

“And this is Pisces.”

Ryoka ignored Ksmvr as the Antinium was dragged back. She smiled, and Ikriss raised his head.

“Ah, a fellow mage? What is his class?”

Everyone looked at Ryoka. She gritted her teeth. Why couldn’t he have asked Pisces that? She spoke slowly, conscious of the [Word of Death] spell prohibiting her mentioning the N word. [Necromancer]. Frankly, the other N word wasn’t really an issue at this moment.

“Pisces? He…likes dead bodies. Animating them, commanding them. He’s got a fetish for that. Magical.”

Everyone stared at Pisces. He turned bright red and glared at Ryoka. Erin looked blankly at Ryoka, and then laughed and leaned over the table to address Ikriss.

“He’s a [Necromancer]. I think Ryoka’s trying to be polite.”

“Ah.”

Ikriss inhaled his breath and exchanged a glance with Regrika. The Gnoll stared at Ryoka and she glared in a friendly way at her. Pisces was the one to break the silence. His face was beet red.

“Allow me to assure everyone present that my, ah, obsession with the deceased is in no way sexual, as Miss Griffin seems to have intimated. I am a [Necromancer] out of academic interest, nothing more.”

He stared at Ryoka. She didn’t look his way. Regrika spoke slowly, staring at Pisces.

“I take no offense. I am aware of the stigma [Necromancers] face, but I myself consider it a worthy class. All magics are equal in principle, and those who pursue the heights of power are to be commended no matter what route they take. So I believe…yes.”

The was a pause after that last ‘yes’. Ryoka glanced sharply at Regrika. She wondered if it was Venitra who’d said that. Or her master.

Regrika Blackpaw’s words caused a stir at the table, and made Pisces flush with pride. He introduced himself and the other Horns of Hammerad stepped forwards eagerly to talk more as well. He shook hands with both Regrika and Ikriss and paused for a second as he stared at Ikriss. Then he retreated and let the other Horns of Hammerad introduce themselves.

“Everything okay? You like the food?”

Erin popped by, oblivious to Regrika’s rank and fame. She looked more concerned about the two adventurer’ plates, which were mostly cleared. Regrika smiled up at her and patted her stomach.

“It is most delightful, yes? I have seldom had finer food and I am grateful for it after many days on the road.”

“Indeed. I’m quite impressed by your abilities, Miss Solstice.”

Ikriss smiled as well. Erin beamed in relief. Then Regrika looked down.

“However, I seem to have attracted a youngling around my feet. Who is this?”

Half of the Gnolls exclaimed and Krshia leapt to her feet as Mrsha’s head popped up next to Regrika. Lyonette rushed over, chagrin clear on her face, but Regrika only laughed. She peered at Mrsha’s white fur and stroked her head.

“Hrr. What a delightful child. Is she one of yours?”

Regrika looked around the table. The faces of the Gnolls froze over for a second and Erin coughed.

“Uh, that’s Mrsha, Miss Blackpaw. She’s—well, she’s part of the family at the inn, really. Her family was—uh—”

She trailed off, and Regrika took the hint. She smiled sadly down at Mrsha who hadn’t been listening to Erin’s words. Regrika offered Mrsha a bit of her steak and the Gnoll happily accepted it and sniffed at Regrika, smiling and wagging her tail.

Ikriss took that opportunity to slide half of the contents of his plate onto the floor while no one was looking. As the conversation started back up, the topic of chess was brought up.

“Oh? You play the game? I was unaware that the game had spread so widely across the continent. When I learned of it I was intrigued, but there are few partners for me to play on my travels.”

This time Ryoka was sure that it was Az’kerash speaking through Ikriss, not Ijvani. Erin grinned as she showed the Drake her magical chessboard and then her non-magical ones.

“You like to play? That’s great! I’m pretty good at the game myself. Want to play a game?”

“I should like that very much.”

There was no way for Ryoka to stop the game between Erin and Ikriss, or rather, Az’kerash without upsetting the table or tossing a pot of soup over everyone. She considered that, but decided it was better to let them play. After all, what harm could it do?

The first game was slow. Ikriss was white, Erin was black. They played a game through, attracting Olesm’s attention, Typhenous, Pisces, and Klbkch while everyone else wandered away. The audience wandered back when they heard Olesm screaming about how amazing it was.

“What a game!”

The Drake threw up his hands and danced about. Ryoka stared at the board. It had been…a damn good game. And it was even better because Erin had won. She grinned as she watched Ikriss sit back, a look of amazement on his face. Across the table, Regrika’s jaw looked like it was about to hit the floor.

“Every move I made was optimal. And yet I was defeated.”

Az’kerash spoke quietly. Erin laughed and slapped Ikriss on the back.

“You were great! How did you learn to play like that? It was a great match, like Olesm said. But the difference was that I had a different style.”

“Indeed. I have not encountered anything like it. You flanked my approach most spectacularly.”

Erin nodded and took on the lecturing tone of a hardcore fan of chess.

“It’s called the hypermodern play style. You had a really, really good control of the center at the start, but it was all pawns. But my strategy was all about controlling the center through indirect pieces, see? I keep telling Olesm it’s a really good style of play, but he’s stuck on pawns like Belgrade…”

Olesm turned bright red and Erin patted his shoulder. She turned and beamed at Ikriss.

“Want to play another game?”

“I should enjoy that very much. Please.”

They began to play. Ryoka stood watching the game. To be honest, she didn’t watch the game so much as Regrika’s expression. The Gnoll, or rather, Venitra, was watching the game with something like horror in her eyes. Because Erin won. She played Ikriss twice more, lost one game, won one—it didn’t matter that she didn’t win everything. When she beat Az’kerash, Ryoka saw part of Venitra failing to comprehend.

“That’s right. Your master isn’t flawless. Sucks, don’t it?”

Ryoka muttered to Regrika after the game was over. The Gnoll turned. There was pure fury in her eyes. She gripped Ryoka’s hand and squeezed. Just for a moment.

—-

Erin Solstice was having a good day. It seemed like a lot of days were good days recently, but today was excellent. She’d made a cake. She had important visitors, and she got to meet Xrn, who was really cool! And best of all—she got to play chess.

Why couldn’t all days be like this. Erin sighed as she pushed herself back from the game and shook Ikriss’ hand. The purple-scaled Drake smiled at her, his grip soft and light.

“You are a true master of this game. I am honored to play you and intrigued. Where did you obtain this level of skill?”

“Practice! Years of practice?”

Erin laughed until she remembered that chess had only been invented recently. She coughed.

“I play all the time. I’d love to play you again sometime if you’re up for it.”

“I believe I am.”

The Drake smiled slightly and turned away. Erin beamed, and then noticed Ryoka heading for the doors.

“Hey Ryoka, are you going out?”

“I—I’m going for a run.”

Ryoka’s hands were shoved deep in her pockets. She stomped towards the doors quickly, seeming to shield her right side. Erin frowned.

“At night? It’s dangerous—”

“Yeah. I’ll be back in a bit. I’ll see you—later, Erin. Have a good night.”

She left. Erin sighed, but let her moody friend go. She turned and saw Regrika was smiling and dining with all the Gnolls who loved her so much. She frowned as she saw the Gnoll bite with relish into a bit of her beef casserole. Erin stopped Lyonette as she went about the tables. She, Drassi, and Ishkr had been on their feet all night and looked beat. Erin made a note to pay them extra for tonight.

“Hey Lyonette, Regrika and that Ikriss guy like their food, right? Have they asked for anything changed or complained about the taste?”

Lyonette blinked at Erin and shook her head.

“No, they said they liked it. Why? Is something wrong?”

“It’s just a feeling. Eh, whatever.”

Erin shook off the odd sensation in her head and grinned.

“A Named Adventurer and a Gnoll party! We’re raking in the dough tonight!”

“Raking? I thought you kneaded dough. Or is that some advanced form of cooking I don’t know about?”

“No, it’s this expression see. I—you know what, forget it.”

Erin deflated slightly. She waved the comment off and then looked around. She spotted Brunkr sitting alone at a table and wandered over.

“Brunkr! Aren’t you going to go have fun with the others? This party’s about you, right?”

The Gnoll grinned down at Erin, looking slightly drunk and very happy.

“It is good of you to say, yes? But I know this is for my Aunt, and for Ryoka as much as anything. My class is wonderful, but it is not all of this party. And Regrika Blackpaw’s presence honors us far more than my class.”

“Yeah, but your class is still cool! [Knight]! Wow! How did you get it?”

Brunkr’s eyes flicked from Erin to something over her shoulder. He smiled.

“I cannot say. It is not my secret to give, yes?”

“Aw. Really? Well, maybe you could share it with Yvlon? She wants to be a [Knight] too, you know.”

“She does? Hrm.”

Brunkr glanced with interest over at Yvlon, who was sitting at a table and still talking about the Crelers they’d killed with the other Gold-rank adventurers. He smiled a bit.

“Perhaps I will talk with her or…others about such a thing. But my class was a gift, truly. I am unsure of what I will do with my new class, but perhaps such a life might be worth doing after all.”

Erin frowned.

“Do what? Be an adventurer? I hope you’re not going down into the dungeon!”

Brunkr shook his head instantly.

“Of course not. I am no fool, yes? I owe too much to you, my aunt, and…and to Lyonette to risk my life so easily. But when I see adventurers like Regrika or—or your friends, I remember that I too wish to become more than I am. The Horns of Hammerad—”

Erin’s eyes widened.

“Do you want to…?”

She glanced at her friends. Brunkr looked embarrassed and shook his head.

“I am no doubt rusty. And I have just recovered. A single level in a class is—”

“I could ask! I’m sure they’d be happy to have you!”

“No, no. I must practice first. There are other Gnolls I can join up with. I will—no, please Erin. This is not the time to talk of such things. I did not mean to bring it up. I wished to speak with you in private, if I am honest?”

“Me? About what?”

Brunkr paused. He rested his butt on the table where he and Erin were talking, and looked around her lively inn. His eyes lingered on Lyonette, and then on Mrsha as she curled up into a ball by the fireplace. A large bee crawled onto her head, fanning its wings by the flames.

“It is a strange thing, to believe you know someone and not know them at all.”

He looked at Erin, and nodded at her.

“You saved my arm.”

“Aw, that was—”

“Everything to me. I do not mistake it. You saved my arm, Erin Solstice. For that I cannot be more grateful. And I am more humbled, yes, to know how badly I misjudged you.”

Erin fell silent. She didn’t know what to say to that. She needed to say nothing, as it turned out. Brunkr stared at her, and then out a window at the snow, reflectively. He spoke quietly.

“I did not know you. I thought you were an enemy, a fool at first. I was consumed by an image of you that was wrong. Entirely wrong. When I realized how ignorant I was, I felt as though I had lost my legs, my balance, and was falling. The world changed for me. My arm—I am sorry for all I said when you first came to me. Yes. I am sorry, and grateful we met.”

He smiled at Erin, looking a bit embarrassed. Brunkr turned his head away quickly and Erin grinned in delight. Gnoll faces were too furry to see, but she was sure, absolutely sure that he was blushing.

“You’re so nice. Aw. You’re making me blush.”

“I just wished to say thank you, Erin. Thank you. It is not often enough that we give honest thanks for what is done, yes? I want to say that. So you know what I do from now is thanks to you.”

He reached out and offered Erin a hand. His right hand. She shook it and beamed at him.

“Want more cake?”

Brunkr paused. He glanced around the room and lowered his voice.

“You have more?”

She grinned and nodded. Brunkr’s tail began to wag and he followed her into the kitchen. It was just some extras, but he ate them with delight. Erin watched, happy and content.

A good day.

—-

It seems this gathering has ended. Venitra, Ijvani, attend to my words.

The two undead had never been more relieved to hear their master’s words. They quickly bade farewell and left the inn. It was dark and close to midnight as the Gnolls and other partygoers finally began to leave. The two undead walked towards Liscor in the snow, listening to their master’s words.

Venitra, you have disappointed me. I ordered you not to harm Ryoka Griffin.

“Master, I only—”

Silence. You are failing me.

There could be no worse words. Venitra hung her head in silence. Ijvani waited, terrified she might hear the same.

And yet, it seems your failures have brought me an interesting conundrum and information about the rest of the world. For that alone, I will forgive you.

Both undead raised their heads hesitantly. They dared to hope. Az’kerash was silent, and then he spoke authoritatively, calmly.

Here are your instructions for now. Observe. Keep your true identities hidden. Do not harm Ryoka Griffin. That is an order, Venitra. And learn more about her relationship with the Antinium—as well as the Drakes. As for this inn, inquire about it and the magical door as well. I sensed it—it is an enchantment of peculiar power which does not belong in this place. Neither does that chessboard, but this Erin Solstice…ah. Inquire, that is all. I will contact you again tomorrow.

Both Venitra and Ijvani nodded. They felt Az’kerash’s presence in their minds, reassuring them, filling them, and then he was gone. In the bleak world that followed, both recalled their failures.

“He lost a game of chess. Twice.”

Venitra stopped in the snow. She turned to Ijvani and blurted out the thing both had been obsessing over for the entire night. Ijvani nodded.

“He beat the [Innkeeper] in the end, though.”

“But he lost. Our master. She—defeated him.”

“It was a game, Venitra.”

“Yes. And he lost it.”

Ijvani looked down at the ground. Venitra stared back towards the inn. She shook silently. Her master had lost a game. Her master.

Lost.

A.

Game.

And what had Ryoka Griffin said? He was not perfect? Something broke inside of Venitra. She stared at the Gnolls leaving the inn, laughing, talking. She stared at one as he left alone, bidding farewell to his aunt.

—-

Brunkr was walking down the streets of Liscor, gently swaying, licking around his face for more of the sweet frosting he’d eaten, when he heard and smelled someone coming up behind him. He turned, and immediately bowed his head slightly. Regrika Blackpaw strode towards him.

She was his hero. Brunkr wondered if he should say something or just get out of the way, but it was Regrika who spoke to him.

“Do you have time to talk?”

“Of course!”

Brunkr’s ears perked up. He eagerly fell into step besides Regrika, wondering what she could want to talk about. She led him down a side path, down alleyways that were devoid of criminals, but still not places Brunkr would normally walk. He supposed Regrika feared no routes at all.

“I am told this party at the inn today was for you, young Brunkr. That is…good, yes? You must have had a good relationship with the innkeeper to have it there.”

The young Gnoll blushed. She knew about his class? He spoke up.

“Yes, Honored Regrika. We had it there because my Aunt, Krshia Silverfang, is a friend of the owner. I am…indebted to her as well.”

“Indeed?”

Regrika’s face was shadowed. The clouds were dark and the sky was dark, but it was warming, Brunkr felt. He nodded.

“She saved my arm, my life as a warrior. I owe her—and Lyonette much. I would help them in any way I could, yes.”

“She helped you. Then she cares for you. You are a person that matters to Erin Solstice.”

“I—hope so.”

Brunkr hesitated. He wished he could be someone like that. But Erin had so many friends. Many people helped her. He was just one. A small, nonentity compared to someone like Zel Shivertail, or even Relc. Krshia had told Brunkr about the famous Gecko and his prowess during war. Relc was a hero. Brunkr was just a child. But he wanted to be like Regrika.

“I would do much for Erin Solstice. I hope that in time she will regard me with a part of the esteem I hold for her.”

That was all he could manage after a few seconds of thought. Regrika nodded abruptly.

“That will do. Yes, that is…appropriate.”

She halted in the street in front of Brunkr. He paused uncertainly. Regrika turned to Brunkr and he backed up a step unconsciously. She was breathing heavily. Brunkr’s smile faded.

“Honored Regrika? Is everything alright?”

The Gnoll stared at him. Then her body changed. The Gnoll with black fur vanished. In her place, a giant made of bone stood, a woman carved of ivory. Brunkr backed up, eyes wide. He reached for a sword he didn’t have. He turned to run—

Venitra twisted his neck around with a snap.

Brunkr’s body jerked once. She held him up and stabbed her hand through his chest, breaking bone and skin. She dropped the Gnoll’s lifeless body. Brunkr’s open ribcage stared up at the cloudy night.

He lay on the empty street, motionless. Venitra stood over him, shaking. She struck the lifeless body. Then she threw it against a wall.

There was no voice in the silent street, only the crunch of heavy footsteps in the snow. Venitra picked Brunkr up and threw him again. He flew across the street and landed in a heap. Then Venitra gave vent to her fury. She stomped on the ground, pounded the walls, and kicked the motionless corpse, raging silently in the cold.

Like a child.

When she was done, Ijvani appeared in the shadows behind her. The black skeleton stared up at the woman made of white bone and at the body at her feet.

“You did not need to do that.”

She spoke cautiously and backed up as Venitra stared at her. There was blood on her body. Venitra spoke, her voice icy calm.

“No one disgraces our master.”

She paused, and Ijvani nodded slowly in agreement. She looked at the body and then at Venitra.

“All done?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, I will clean up. We must find a spot to place the body. I doubt hiding it would be the correct move. Hmm. You may have to kill some other Gnolls. Adventurers.”

Venitra smiled.

“Gladly.”

She strode past Ijvani. The skeleton mage stared at Brunkr’s body. She sighed and reached for him.

“Temper. Why is she the master’s favorite?”

Brunkr did not reply.

—-

The next day, Brunkr’s body was found in Liscor’s dungeon, at the bottom of the crevasse, surrounded by a group of Gnolls, a known Silver-rank team and a few other Bronze-rank Gnolls who’d disappeared the previous night as well. Their bodies bore wounds consistent with a monster attack.

They were discovered as the sun was beginning to set in the sky.

4.29

“I think we’re done here.”

“Really? But I thought—”

“Is that my tower? It is not as tall as I requested, Pawn.”

“You wanted a tower that was structurally unfeasible, Bird.”

“Yes. So?”

“This is as high as we deemed it necessary. You can shoot birds in it, and Erin—”

“I see a third floor, and I also see my inn’s bigger on the side. Right. And I have two new outhouses.”

“Yes. Are you unhappy with any of the work?”

“No, not unhappy. It’s just…my only question is…why’d you put the tower on one end of the inn?”

Erin stared up at the watchtower from her position in the snow outside. It was wet and cold, but warmer than yesterday. The sun was out and she had an unparalleled view of her new inn. And she was grateful, she really was.

Her inn was now big. Bigger, that was. It had been big. Now it was grand. It had a ground floor a third again as large, two new rooms on the second floor and an entire new third floor! And a tower. And while she was very grateful to the Antinium for all their tireless hard work, she had to question the tower.

It looked like a proper watch tower, sure enough. It had an open roof with enough space for someone to pace about on top. It would allow a bird-obsessed hunter to both keep a lookout and hunt birds in his spare time. It even had gutters which were angled so that if it rained, the water wouldn’t run down the stairs into the rest of the inn.

It was great. And Erin was sure that height aside, Bird loved it. It was just that the watch tower wasn’t placed symmetrically in the center of the inn. Rather, it was on the ‘back’, against the far wall from the front door. It made the inn look lopsided. That was Erin’s impression, though.

Pawn and Bird regarded the watch tower and looked at each other. They clearly couldn’t see the problem.

“Is there an issue with the placement of the tower, Erin? I thought it was quite appropriate.”

Erin smiled at Pawn’s worried face. She hadn’t seen enough of him lately, and she didn’t want to distress him, especially since it wasn’t that big a deal. It was just that every symmetrical instinct Erin had was crying out against this travesty.

“No, I mean, if it works, it works, right? And you put it over Bird’s room. I get that. But I just assumed it would be in the center, for uh, visibility, you know?”

Pawn nodded thoughtfully.

“A worthy idea. However, I elected to place the tower on that side in case you wanted another tower built in the future.”

“Another tower?”

“Yes. Perhaps one that is enchanted to throw lightning or hurl spells like the walls of Drake cities. Or if you wished to construct a fourth floor. Or mount a ballista on top. I am not aware of the methods with which to construct one, but the Antinium have our own plans for catapults we could share.”

“A ballista.”

The Antinium Worker realized he’d lost Erin. He looked over at Bird. The other Antinium clutched his new bow to his chest and nodded a few times.

“I could kill many birds with one. That is a good idea, Pawn.”

Erin coughed a few times.

“Yeah. A good idea. Well…good work! I think that’s all my questions answered. Anyone—anyone want something to drink? It’s on me. That means it’s free, you two.”

Pawn and Bird exchanged a glance. Pawn looked back at Erin. Bird kept staring.

“We would be delighted to have a drink, Erin. But I am afraid I must return to my Hive soon. Hm. Perhaps you could sell me a keg? Sharing a drink with my unit is a good idea.”

“Sounds good!”

Erin beamed. Pawn glanced back at Bird. He was still staring at Pawn.

“Bird, have I done something to offend you?”

“I wish to hunt birds. Are you trying to prevent me from sitting in my tower now, Pawn?”

“No, Bird. You are free to sit in your new tower.”

“You say that, but social obligations force me to drink with you. You explained this to me last week. This is a trap. I do not wish to drink but my status as ‘friend’ with you and Miss Erin prohibits me from refusing.”

Erin started to laugh and covered it. Pawn opened his mandibles and sighed.

“Bird, that is not…do I need to explain this to you again?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll leave you two to it! Pawn, come inside when you want to. Bird, you can sit in your tower if you want? I’ll tell Lyonette to send up a drink for you!”

The two Antinium watched Erin walk into her refurbished inn. Bird waved as Erin shut the door and then turned to Pawn.

“That was a considerate statement. Why could you not have made a similar statement to begin with?”

“I didn’t say anything about you having to drink with me, Bird.”

“You said ‘we’. We implies multiple people, which in turn implies me. You said it despite my use of a meaningful stare you should have correctly interpreted. This is very hurtful, Pawn. I wish to sit in my tower and you have disregarded my feelings.”

Pawn glared at Bird.

“Look here, Bird. This is a stupid and pointless argument we are having. Each second we have it is a second I don’t spend drinking with Erin and you spend outside, rather than in your tower! Do I have to explain how free will and social dynamics work again?”

“…Maybe. Yes.”

—-

Erin’s new inn smelled like sawdust, fresh wood, and varnish. She could have done without the last bit, but at least it wasn’t tacky to the touch. The Antinium used a very quick-drying form of resin that was one of the reasons why they’d cornered the construction market in Liscor.

“Erin!”

Lyonette turned to Erin and smiled. She had food out and was serving drinks to the Workers and Soldiers who’d just finished their work. They were pretty much the only customers in the inn right now; breakfast had passed and it was before the lunch rush.

It was a good morning. Erin took another deep breath, and then looked around for Mrsha. She was nowhere on the bottom floor of the inn. Erin had a sense Mrsha was probably scampering about upstairs, probably with Apista clinging to her head.

“Hey Lyonette, that new bee of yours really likes Mrsha, doesn’t she? She’s always crawling on top of Mrsha’s head. Is that uh, safe?”

“Apista? I think so! I have a connection with her and she never feels violent when she’s around Mrsha. I don’t think she’d sting anyone anyways, Erin. I’m more worried Mrsha will squish her, to be honest.”

“Right. Right. Pawn’s coming in for a drink in a bit and he might want to buy a keg. Bird’s probably going to sit in his new tower. Could you bring him a mug of something when you get a chance?”

“Sure! Pawn’s buying a whole keg? Really?”

“He’ll probably bring it back to his Hive. Hey, have you seen Ryoka? I didn’t see her at breakfast this morning.”

Lyonette frowned as she offered a Soldier a mug. The Antinium cautiously took it, staring at the Human girl. He had yellow splatters of paint all across his chest.

“Oh. She said she wasn’t hungry so she grabbed a roll and left. I haven’t seen her since.”

“Figures. She’s been grumpy and weird again, lately. I don’t know why.”

Erin crossed her arms and frowned. She hadn’t gotten a chance to talk with Ryoka, but she distinctly remembered Ryoka’s odd looks last night. Was she really planning on scouting the Goblin Lord’s army like everyone was saying? And why had Ivolethe chased her away? Erin hoped that Ryoka wasn’t doing stupid stuff again.

Struck by a thought, Erin turned back to Lyonette.

“You’re feeling okay, right Lyon? If you’re tired, let me know and I can take over. I gave Ishkr and Drassi time off because yesterday was so busy. If you need a break…”

“I’m good! Serving the Antinium is easy since they don’t cause trouble, and no one else is coming in yet. If you give me a hand at lunch, I think we’ll be set!”

Lyonette smiled at Erin and Erin gave her a thumbs up in reply. She settled down at a table after pouring a drink for Pawn and herself. She had a nice variety of alcohol now thanks to her thirsty guests, but she still wished she could have some cool fruit juice from time to time. Maybe she could squeeze it herself? But it was so expensive…

Erin frowned as she sipped from her mug. She glanced up as the door opened and waved.

“Pawn! Oh—”

It wasn’t Pawn. Krshia entered the room, pausing to wipe her wet and snowy feet on the doormat. The Gnoll sniffed, and then spotted Erin.

“Erin. It is good to see you today, yes? I do not wish to bother you so early, but—have you seen Brunkr today?”

“I’m not bothered! Come and have a seat! Pawn’s going to join me for a drink. You want one?”

“Thank you, but no. I am looking for my nephew. You have not seen him yet?”

Krshia came over to the table. Erin frowned.

“I haven’t seen Brunkr since the party last night. Why?”

“He did not return home last night. I assumed he found somewhere else to sleep or found company—he has done so before. But no one I have spoken to remembers seeing him at another inn, or anywhere else in the city afterwards.”

Erin frowned as she sipped from her mug. She sat up a bit straighter in her chair.

“That is weird. I remember that Brunkr was pretty drunk last night. I don’t think he would have kept drinking. Maybe he fell asleep in a tavern or something?”

Krshia bared her teeth, although it wasn’t a smile.

“That was my first guess. But I have not spotted him or smelled him—and I assume he would be awake by now unless he truly drank too much. If he is not here, I will ask a few of the young ones to go hunting for him in the city. Thank you, Erin.”

“No problem. And tell Brunkr that I’ll talk to him about joining the Horns of Hammerad later, okay? They’re out right now. I think they’re in Celum—something about getting a new gauntlet for Yvlon’s arm? Anyways. Good luck finding him!”

Krshia nodded. She stepped out of the inn at the same time Pawn and Bird walked in. Erin thought no more of it, and she waved Pawn over. Bird went upstairs, and Lyonette followed him with a mug.

Pawn sat with Erin and introduced her to Yellow Splatters, one of the Antinium Soldiers who was apparently important. More so than the others, for some reason. Pawn refused to elaborate and told Erin it was a secret for now. Obviously, Yellow Splatters didn’t say anything.

They talked, and then the Antinium left in a single mass. After paying, of course. They always paid. A ‘tab’ was a foreign concept to them. Erin sat and daydreamed about catapults. After a while, Mrsha slunk into the room with Apista on her head. The bee flew off to bask next to the fire, which was a relief to Erin since Mrsha had curled up on her lap. Lyonette came down and began bringing dishes to the kitchen for Ishkr to wash later.

Lunch arrived too quickly, with a rush of visitors, some from Liscor, but most from Celum. Octavia came in too, hungry because she’d forgotten to eat since yesterday. She told Erin her sales of matches were through the roof, and showed her some more of the penicillin-type mold she’d grown. Erin made her wash her hands before eating.

Krshia came back as Erin and Lyonette were serving guests today’s special—grilled cheese sandwiches. Some had ham inside for extra niceness.

“Krshia! Hey, have you found him yet? Brunkr?”

“No, Erin. We have not. And now others are looking. I had thought he might have…it is nothing. I am sorry to bother you when you are busy, no.”

The Gnoll looked around the inn and shook her head. Erin frowned and signaled to Lyonette to take over for a moment.

“Do you want me to go look for him? I have time. We’re not that busy.”

“No, I—think we will be fine. It is just odd. We have not picked up a fresh scent of Brunkr. His trail vanishes. I hoped to get a fresher smell of him here. But it is faint here, too.”

Erin nodded. She felt a flash of—she ignored it.

“Well, okay. Let me know when you find him, alright?”

Krshia nodded. She left without a word. Erin got back to work. She felt a bit uneasy, now. But it was just a feeling. She told herself that as she served lunch, and then began to tidy up. Because she no longer felt like relaxing, she went into the kitchen and washed some dishes.

The door opened a third time as the sun was beginning to set in the sky. Erin knew Lyonette was upstairs and Mrsha was napping with her. Hands covered in sudsy water, she poked her head out of the kitchen. Krshia was standing in the doorway.

“Hey. Did you find—”

The words caught in Erin’s throat. Across the room, Krshia looked at her. Just looked. The Gnoll’s fur was wet with melted snow and sweat. Her chest rose and fell quickly, as if she’d just been running. And her eyes. Her eyes were too bright.

There was nothing supernatural about what Erin understood in that moment. It had nothing to do with magic or fate, and everything to do with the look on Krshia’s face.

Erin knew. But she pretended she didn’t. She told herself she didn’t.

“Did—did you find him? Brunkr?”

She smiled, forcing her lips to move as she walked out of the kitchen. A bit of soapy water dripped onto the floor. Krshia stared at the droplets on the floorboards, and then at Erin. Her voice was very distant.

“He is dead.”

“What?”

Erin was still smiling in that moment. She didn’t register what Krshia had said. She didn’t want to. Her heart began to beat faster.

“Krshia?”

The Gnoll looked at Erin. She had tears in her eyes.

“He is dead. My nephew, Brunkr. He is dead.”

There was a hole in the world. Erin fell through. She walked out from behind the counter as Krshia went on.

“They found him in the dungeon. In—at the bottom of the crevasse. His body and eight others. A team of Silver-rank Gnolls and—all dead. They were torn apart by some kind of monster, it seems.”

Erin felt the ground break under her. The day shattered. There was a hole in the world and Erin felt herself falling. Krshia collapsed into a chair and Erin sat on the floor. She didn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe it.

“Where is he now?”

There was a hole in the world. A dark, deep pit. Brunkr was lying there. They brought him out of the dungeon with magic and ropes. When she saw his body, Erin believed. She ran back to the inn to tell Lyonette to bring Mrsha away, far away. But it was too late. Mrsha smelled him. And she knew.

The city was filled with howling. The sun shone and melted the snow. Erin sat in the kitchen of her inn and wept.

And then Ryoka found Ishkr standing outside the inn. He was there for his evening shift. He hadn’t heard until the the howling began. He was crying in the melting snow when she asked him what was wrong. He turned to her, and she saw it in his eyes. And she knew too.

—-

“I’m going to kill her.”

Ryoka choked on the words. She ran, gasping in the cold air, tripped, fell. The snow was wet. Melting. Ryoka pushed herself up. She stood in the middle of Liscor’s rolling hills and valleys. In the middle of nowhere.

The snow had melted into ice in places. Part of the crust had cut Ryoka’s hands and arms as she fell. The blood and water mixed and dripped into the white snow, staining it. Ryoka looked down at her hands.

“I should have done it last night. I’ll kill her. I’ll—”

She choked on the words. There were tears in her eyes. Ryoka took a shaking breath, and then choked again. She coughed and bent over in the snow. Her lungs were burning. Her heart hurt.

And it was filled with rage. Ryoka felt at her belt. She grabbed a large bag of flour and the igniter.

“I’ll blow her up. I—I can do it. I’ll lure her into a trap or—or—”

“And do what? Die? You cannot harm her. You know that.”

Someone floated down beside Ryoka. Ivolethe stared at her Human friend, melancholy in her eyes. Ryoka turned to Ivolethe and half shouted, half screamed at her. The sound caught in her throat and she doubled over. She retched, and nothing came up. She hadn’t eaten since last night, really.

“I can’t let her get away. She killed—she—she did it to hurt me! I know she did!”

“Perhaps. But you know she did it because she could. Because you could not stop her. That is the truth.”

The Frost Faerie landed on Ryoka’s shoulder. She stared at Ryoka, not unsympathetically. Her words drove needles into the young woman’s skin. Ryoka grabbed her head with her hands.

“I know! I know. I can’t do a thing. I can only—”

She bit her lip, hard enough to break the skin. She could only tell someone like Zel or Ilvriss that Az’kerash’s servants were here. Then she would die. The [Word of Death] spell was on her, and if that failed, Venitra was sure to kill her.

But she had to do it. She had to do something. Brunkr was dead. Because of her. Because she had failed to do anything. Because she had been afraid.

Ryoka had hated before. She had hated her father, her teachers, the fake people at school and the entire world. She thought she knew hate. Only now, in this moment did she realize that she had never really hated anything before.

Venitra. Ryoka clenched her jaw so tightly her teeth ground together and nearly cracked. She hated only one person as much as Venitra. And that was the Goblin Lord.

Hate. She stood in the snow. Winter was ending. Ryoka looked to Ivolethe, resting on her shoulder.

“I don’t know what to do. Ivolethe. Tell me. What should I do?”

Ivolethe looked back into Ryoka’s eyes. She was melting. Her body was crystal and liquid, ice and fading perfection. When she spoke, she pointed up towards the open, blue sky.

“Remember this, Ryoka Griffin: when you run, the wind knows. The wind is a thing. A thing that thinks, like trees do, or rocks. The earth is not alive, but neither is it dead. Remember that. Step as if you mean to walk into the sky. That is how faeries fly.”

Ryoka stared at her. Ivolethe flew off her shoulder as Ryoka lashed out. She circled Ryoka’s head, speaking calmly.

“What? Do you expect me to grieve with you? I did not know this Brunkr. I mourn, but he was not my friend. Do you wish me to tell you it will be alright? I will not lie. And I will not dictate your fate. I will not. I cannot.”

Her words were like ice. Painful, piercing, but also clear and true. Ryoka’s shoulder slumped.

“I know. But I can’t—”

She hesitated, afraid to give voice to her feelings. Ryoka stood in the snow as it melted onto her boots and heard a shout.

“Hey! You! Yeah, you, Runner Girl! I remember you!”

She and Ivolethe turned. Running towards them through the snow was a green blur. Ryoka recognized Relc and raised a hand as he skidded to a stop, spraying snow towards her. He grinned at Ryoka, showing her two rows of pointed teeth.

“I just remembered! You’re that Runner, aren’t you? The one I nearly caught way back when! ”

Ryoka stared at him. Relc laughed.

“Don’t you remember? You were running down the north road and I was on patrol. I ran after you and I nearly had you, but then you got away! We should have a rematch! All those bastards at the barracks were saying I was slow! Me!”

It felt wrong for Relc to be here, laughing and upbeat. Ryoka could barely remember the incident he was describing. What was it? When she’d—yes, right after Pisces had healed her legs. She’d run back towards Celum and she remembered an angry Drake in armor chasing her.

“You were that [Guardsman]?”

“Sure was! I can’t believe it’s you! Small world, huh?”

Ryoka nodded. Then she stared at Relc.

“So what?”

He paused.

“Excuse me?”

Sorrow and helplessness became anger. Ryoka stared at Relc.

“Who cares how fast you are?”

The Drake looked insulted.

“I do. I want to race you again, to prove I’m faster. Not here—there are no witnesses. Back at Liscor. We’ll clear some snow or maybe run around the city. Then I’ll prove I’m the fastest!”

“Who cares? You lost! It doesn’t matter!”

Ryoka turned away, trying to resist the urge to punch Relc and get arrested or have her nose broken. The Drake danced around her, looking indignant.

“I didn’t lose! I mean, it wasn’t a fair race! I was in armor and I had my spear! Do you know how heavy chainmail is?”

“Not very. You can still run with it on.”

Relc opened his mouth and his tail twitched guiltily.

“Well, yeah. Right. But it’s still heavy if you’re trying to sprint in it! And I had too much to eat that day. You had a head start by the time I started chasing you—and uh, I had to get up to speed! If I’d have felt like it, I would have totally caught you in the next minute. But I’m a responsible guardsman so I had to get back to my patrol.”

“Right.”

“I’m telling the truth! Race me again and—”

“Oh shut up!”

Ryoka turned and shouted at Relc. He blinked. Ryoka raised her voice, too angry to care about the tears in her eyes.

“Don’t you have any decency for god’s sake? Someone just died, or haven’t you heard? I don’t want to race you, so piss off and leave me alone!”

She was breathing heavily. She turned and wiped at her face with a sleeve. When Relc spoke next, it was more quietly.

“I know. I didn’t know you knew the guy, though.”

“I didn’t. Not really. Not at all. But—”

She wanted to say it was her fault. And she knew she couldn’t. Relc shrugged his massive shoulders. He sounded genuinely contrite.

“Sorry about that. I uh, thought it wouldn’t bother you since you’re Human and he was—it sucks. I get that. But I wasn’t friends with the guy. And I’ve seen buddies die before. Too many. If I got bogged down every time it happened I wouldn’t be able to do my job.”

“What, you mean your job is coming out here and harassing me?”

Ryoka turned and glared. Relc smiled and pulled something out of his belt pouch.

“Not really. That was just for fun. See, I am here to talk to you about that Brunkr guy.”

“Why?”

“Oh…Klb has a hunch, and all the Gnolls are really upset about it. So Captain Z ordered us to look into it.”

Relc tossed a clear crystal—it looked like quartz—up and down in his palm. He spoke as he glanced back towards the city and then at Ryoka. The air of reckless energy around him was gone. He was still animated, but now he was serious. When she saw that, Ryoka calmed down a little.

“Here’s the thing about the Brunkr guy. We found him in the dungeon, at the bottom of that rift. You heard? Right. They died right at the bottom, right near the ropes. When Klb heard that, he got a bit suspicious. I mean, that Brunkr guy was a good [Warrior] by all accounts. So we decided to do some investigating.”

Ryoka’s heart began to beat faster.

“Investigating? Why?”

“I dunno. It’s a hunch.”

Relc shrugged.

“It could be it was all an accident and some damn monsters killed the Gnolls. Or it might not be. Might’ve been a fight that ended badly and got covered up. Maybe Brunkr went down on a dare. Or maybe the other adventurers dragged him with them. Maybe it was just him and the Gnolls being stupid. But Erin swears he wouldn’t have gone down there and Klb and I believe her. So we’re doing an investigation.”

“And you came to find me.”

“That’s right. It’s nothing personal, but you were at that party last night, right? I was there—didn’t see you talking to Brunkr, but Klb says we have to cover all angles. So I have this.”

He showed the bit of quartz to Ryoka. She stared at it. It was a truth stone. She looked at Relc, dread in her stomach.

“What…do you want me to say?”

The [Guardsman]’s eyes focused on her. He was still smiling, but his eyes were serious and his posture—it was just a little tense.

“Tell me you didn’t do it.”

Ryoka stared at the gem in Relc’s hands. The Drake looked down at her. There was no accusation in his eyes. But he was waiting. Ryoka opened her mouth and spoke. Slowly.

“I didn’t do it.”

The gem flashed. Ryoka stared at it. Part of her expected it to show her lie. But it glowed bright blue. A false color. A liar’s color.

“Well, that settles that! I told Klb it was pointless, but he insisted. He even tested Erin. And the Mrsha kid! Isn’t he crazy?”

Relc tucked the stone into his belt pouch, laughing. Ryoka stared at him. Laughter was the last thing from her mind, but then she realized something terrible.

“He’s testing everyone from the party?”

The Drake nodded.

“Yep! Got them to come back to the inn and everything. I think it’s easier there—lots of booze so they can drink until they drop, y’know?”

They were testing everyone. Ryoka’s pulse raced. She turned back to the inn.

“I have to get back there.”

“What? Wait? What’s the rush? Oh! This is a race! Alright! Let’s do this!”

Relc shouted with glee and raced after Ryoka through the snow.

—-

Erin sat in her inn, numb, quiet. She heard people talking, heard tears, listened to Mrsha howling and Krshia and Lyonette trying to comfort her. She could hear Krshia’s voice breaking. Erin listened to tears.

She did not cry. She couldn’t. A part of her was curled up in mourning, but it was only a part. The rest felt…numb. Some part of Erin was still awake in her grief. It whispered to her. It spoke.

I have been here before.

She had felt this very feeling. Erin could remember it, when Klbkch died. When the Horns of Hammerad were pronounced dead. When she killed the Goblin Chieftain. She had been here before. Only this time it was different.

This time part of her called out for vengeance. Brunkr’s death had come as a shock to all the Gnolls, to Erin, to Lyonette, to everyone at the party. It seemingly had no reason, and Erin had no idea why it had happened. But she did know one thing.

It was no accident.

Her head turned as the door slammed open. Relc surged into the room, beaming, and deflated as he saw the mood. He coughed, and held the door open. Half a minute later Ryoka stumbled through the door, breathing heavily.

All eyes turned to her and Relc as they walked into the room. Ryoka sat down heavily at a table, looking around. Relc edged over to where Klbkch was interviewing a group of three Gnolls. He nudged the Antinium. When Klbkch turned around Relc whispered loudly.

“I won.”

Erin had no idea what that was about. Neither did she care. She only had eyes for Klbkch. The Antinium turned back to the Gnolls without a word and asked them a question. Each replied. The stone in Klbkch’s hands glowed white each time they responded. He moved on.

They were all there, all the people who’d been here last night. Klbkch, the blue Antinium named Xrn who’d eaten so much, the Horns of Hammerad, Griffon Hunt, the Halfseekers, Zel and the Wall Lord…and the Gnolls.

They were eating. Quietly, some while crying. Others just drank, but Lyonette, Drassi, and Ishkr were serving food from Erin’s kitchen, hot and fresh as the moment it had been cooked.

It felt wrong to Erin. But the Gnolls were grieving as they ate. They had to—it was evening and many hadn’t had lunch or breakfast before they found out. And they were a different people. They ate and mourned Brunkr in their own way.

“Miss Blackpaw, it is your turn now.”

Erin’s head turned. She saw Ryoka look up at her table. Klbkch calmly walked over to the huge Gnoll. Like the others, Regrika was eating. She pushed back her plate and turned to face Klbkch.

“I am ready.”

Was it just convenience or another reason that had made Klbkch ask everyone to return to the inn? Erin watched as Klbkch consulted a bit of parchment he was holding.

“Regrika Blackpaw, you were seen talking to Brunkr last night, before leaving the party. You did not have a long conversation and it was within sight of others guests. I have one question for you. Did you meet, speak with, or interact in any other way with Brunkr Silverfang after leaving the party?”

The room was silent. It had grown silent each time Klbkch asked a question. Erin saw Ulrien shift casually in his seat. It was just a thought. Of course it wasn’t Regrika Blackpaw who’d murdered Brunkr, if that was what had happened. But she could see the thoughts running through the Gold-rank adventurer’s minds. It wasn’t, but if it was…

The Named Adventurer with black fur did not look concerned by Klbkch’s question. She smiled as he held the crystal in front of her. Her smile was as innocent as could be. It was a child’s smile.

“I did not meet with Brunkr, no. I regret to say that I did not see him after the party, and missed his presence at the end of it. I am afraid that is all I know, Senior Guardsman.”

Everyone stared at the truth gem. It flashed white. Klbkch nodded. Ryoka stared at the gem. Her face was pale. Erin kept staring at Regrika’s face.

Klbkch consulted the gem and nodded.

“Thank you, Miss Blackpaw. I will interview Ikriss Southwing next. Mister Southwing, last night you were seen…”

Prompted by some instinct, Erin got up and walked over to where Ryoka was sitting. The other young woman was sweaty and looked—disturbed. She caught Relc as he was passing.

“Hey, why is the other gem flashing white?”

Relc made a face.

“Eh. Truth gems. They’re enchanted by different mages. Some flash white when the answer’s true, others blue, green…it’s a pain in the tail. I once had a gem where it would flash red if you were telling the truth and brown if you were lying. Who does that?”

Ryoka didn’t reply. She sat back in her chair, staring at Regrika’s back. Erin frowned.

“Ryoka? Are you okay?”

The other girl started and looked at Erin. Ikriss was done being interviewed, and Klbkch was consulting his list. She shook her head.

“I—can’t stay here. I shouldn’t have come back. Stupid. I should have known—”

She got up abruptly. Erin caught at her arm.

“Ryoka. I want to talk. Can you speak with me upstairs?”

She felt like there was a hole in her chest, but the dread certainty in her gut was moving her. Someone killed Brunkr. She wanted Ryoka’s help, but the Asian girl shook her head.

“I really can’t. I’m sorry, Erin.”

“Ryoka, I need—”

“I said no!”

Ryoka snapped. Heads turned. Erin let go of Ryoka’s arms. She had never been angrier with her friend than at this moment.

“Fine. Go.”

She saw Ryoka turn guiltily to her, but she still left. Erin watched the door swing shut. Klbkch looked up from his notes.

“I believe that is everyone. It seems there is no indication that Brunkr’s death was a result, however indirectly, of the actions of anyone within this building.”

A gentle sigh ran through the room, and Mrsha howled again upstairs. Erin stared at Klbkch as he went to consult with Relc. From their postures, she knew they were wrapping things up. They’d already talked to friends of the other deceased adventurers and found nothing. It was an accident, or something else. Not murder.

She disagreed. She felt it. Erin wandered over to the table where Regrika and Ikriss were sitting. They’d both finished their plates. She tried to smile at them.

“Did you like your food?”

They both smiled at her. Regrika spoke softly, sympathy in her large brown eyes.

“I did. Thank you, Erin.”

Erin tried to smile again. It failed. She walked off. And the certainty in her heart grew.

—-

Ryoka stood in the snow outside the inn. She hadn’t run far. Just far enough away from the city and inn that no one could really see her. She waited. She knew what was coming.

There was no crunch of snow to alert her. No sound. Only Ivolethe’s cold hand on Ryoka’s cheek. She turned, and saw Ijvani standing behind her.

The skeleton’s bones were black. Her blue eyes danced with flame. She held a staff in her hand that looked like it had been carved from a huge length of bone. Its tip was set with a golden gem. Ryoka swung at her.

“Ah.”

Ijvani caught the blow. She let go and Ryoka’s leg struck an invisible barrier. Ryoka bent, grasping at her leg and made an incoherent sound.

“Fractured. Curious. You move quite adeptly for a Runner.”

A second voice issued from the skeleton’s mouth. It was not Ijvani’s hollow tones, but the quiet, deliberate words she had heard before. Az’kerash spoke as Ijvani lifted a finger and pointed, and Ryoka felt the sharp pain in her foot subside.

“You bastard. Go fuck yourself.”

She didn’t thank him as she stood. Ryoka glared at Ijvani. The skeleton shifted in silent outrage. She heard Az’kerash sigh.

“Just as well that I did not bring Venitra. You are careless, Ryoka Griffin. My servants are devoted.”

“They’re murderers!”

“I am well aware of their traits. As to the death of the Gnoll—that was Venitra’s error. She has suffered my ire for her actions.”

Ryoka waited. Ijvani stared at her.

“That’s it?”

Her voice was trembling. Ryoka strode towards the skeleton and met the invisible barrier in the snow. She strained against it, shouting at Az’kerash.

“That’s it? You kill someone and—that’s all you have to say?”

“Yes.”

There was no limit to the coldness in Az’kerash’s tone. Ijvani stared at Ryoka, her jaw moving as he replied softly.

“Do you expect me to apologize for his death? No. I am irate at my servant for revealing herself in this way and potentially compromising my disguise for her. That is all. I care not at all for the lives of your friends. I am here simply to warn you against foolish impulses.”

Ryoka ground her teeth together.

“You mean so that I don’t tell anyone else. Why shouldn’t I? If you’re going to kill my friends—”

The skeleton’s eyes flashed.

“I will kill them all if I am betrayed, girl. Do not mistake me. This is not a threat, but a promise.”

The fear that swept over Ryoka was sudden and chilling. She fell silent. Az’kerash went on.

“You have no power here. Know that Venitra will not take any more actions without my consent. If she does, she will prove herself to be a failure. That will stay her, you have my word.”

Did Ijvani shiver on hearing that? Ryoka stared at the skeleton, and then looked away.

“So I just have to wait while you decide my fate?”

“Yes.”

Contempt. No, not that. Indifference. That was all Az’kerash’s voice held. Ryoka wanted to punch at Ijvani, and knew how futile it would be. She felt worthless. Helpless.

A flash of blue shot by her face. The flames in Ijvani’s eyes brightened for a second—and then went out. The skeleton tumbled backwards, frost suddenly covering her entire body.

“What is happening? Ijvani?”

“I am under attack, master!”

Something blasted Ryoka off her feet. She tumbled down the slope of the hill she was standing on, and then felt another force lift her up. She struggled in the air and saw the black skeleton pointing at her. Lightning was crackling from her fingertips, across her entire body. Ryoka went limp.

“It was not Ryoka Griffin. Hold your spell.”

Az’kerash’s voice snapped as Ijvani’s head turned around, surveying the landscape. She paused as Ivolethe floated in front of her face. The faerie was raising one finger and glaring. Az’kerash’s voice paused, and then grew thoughtful.

“What is that, Ijvani? I cannot see it, but I know something is there from your reactions.”

“A…Winter Sprite, my lord. It seems to be protective of Ryoka Griffin.”

“A Winter Sprite? Are you sure, Ijvani?”

“Yes, master. I see it in front of me.”

“How intriguing. I have never heard of a Winter Sprite befriending anyone before. Is it hostile, Ijvani?”

“I cannot tell, master. It is a blur to me.”

“I cannot see it. Put Ryoka Griffin down. Gently. Avoid antagonizing it, Ijvani. These Winter Sprites are considerably powerful in terms of magic, but they do not use force unless threatened. They are a form of elemental. Intelligent in some senses, but harmless.”

The look on Ivolethe’s face made Ryoka want to laugh hysterically as she was lowered to the ground. The Frost Faerie hesitated, looking at Ryoka, and then floated over to her shoulder. She sat there, glaring, as Ijvani turned back to Ryoka.

“That is all I wished to speak with you about. Ijvani, return to the inn.”

“Yes, master.”

The skeleton turned away. Ryoka clenched her fists, longing to shout, to say…something. But what could she say? There was no insult horrible enough, no word to describe him. She looked at Ijvani’s back and thought she understood a bit of evil. It was in Az’kerash’s voice. It was his sheer, awful contempt for everything he saw.

Ijvani walked through the snow, putting the illusion spells back on her body. Az’kerash spoke one last time through her mouth.

“Watch her, Ijvani. Don’t let her out of your sight. And find out more about her. That is an order.”

She nodded.

“Yes, master.”

—-

Ryoka sat in the snow, burying her face in her hands. She was lost. She didn’t know what to do. And she couldn’t ask for help from anyone. Because she understood now.

He was listening to everything she said. She was being watched. And there was no escaping. If Ryoka said anything, did anything, if she even hinted, she was sure Az’kerash would notice. Or his servant, Ijvani would.

She was stuck. Ryoka spoke to the air. It was the only thing she could speak to, the only thing that wouldn’t draw attention to her.

“What should I do?”

She was just speaking to herself. That was what the spell saw. But Ryoka had one friend. One friend the Necromancer’s magic couldn’t see. And the Frost Faerie was no mere elemental. She hovered in front of Ryoka and her frozen eyes blazed.

“Fight.”

Ryoka stared at her. She felt a core of her resonate with Ivolethe’s words. There was no help for it, was there? She had to fight. If not…if not, her fate was in Az’kerash’s hands. And she could not trust him for anything like mercy.

“How could I defeat those two? I mean, it’s impossible. That bitch Venitra’s made of pure bone and she walked through an explosion unscathed. As for Ijvani—how could I hope to kill them myself?”

Ryoka lay back in the snow, pretending to stare up at the sky. Ivolethe floated overhead, looking grave.

“By yourself? Ye could not do a thing. You know this. But you are not alone.”

“If I asked the others? That’s suicide. They couldn’t help if I managed to get word to them. Could they?”

She could imagine Zel putting up a fight, but Erin? What about the Gold-rank adventurers? Ivolethe considered this.

“If it came to a battle, perhaps they might win. Perhaps not. The lord of death watches his servants. He would cheat, as surely as you breathe, Ryoka Griffin. The leader of armies could fight well I think, but there are too many who would die.”

“It would be a bloodbath.”

Ivolethe nodded.

“Just so. But perhaps there is another way.”

Ryoka stared at her. She was desperate.

“What can I do? Tell me, please.”

She stared at the sky as the Frost Faerie flew next to her. Ivolethe whispered in Ryoka’s ear.

“There is one who fears neither death nor magic. He who rules above all others. A tyrant of flame.”

Teriarch. Ryoka inhaled the word before it could come out. Yes! Why hadn’t she thought of that? In the next moment she was deflated. Yes, there was someone she could ask. But he was—Ryoka shook her head in despair.

“It’s half a day’s run from Celum. And dangerous. I’d never make it—”

She’d be caught the instant she tried to run. Ivolethe nodded, understanding what Ryoka was saying without her saying it.

“Yes. Yes, they would hunt ye. But if you ran—if you had a distraction, then perhaps.”

“How? No. I could run for it. But there’s a cost, though, right?”

Ivolethe smiled sadly. Her form glistened. Another bit of her melted away and dropped, frozen and cold, into the snow next to Ryoka.

“There is always a cost. I bent the rules for you yesterday. I would bend them again. I can play…tricks on others. Tricks, Ryoka. It is not exactly interference. Bothering that fool with the spear was one trick. But I know many more. The servants of that lord of death may know their spells, but I have magic beyond what they know.”

“Maybe. Maybe I could just run away. But—what then? Would I have a chance? Or would I be killing myself either way?”

“Do you truly wish to know?”

The Frost Faerie’s gaze was ancient. Ryoka nodded. Ivolethe closed her eyes, and then nodded. She flew up and Ryoka sat up in the snow. She watched as Ivolethe looked.

She looked backwards, then forwards, and then through Ryoka. Ivolethe’s gaze traced objects that were not there. Her eyes were distant, aloof, immortal.

Ryoka averted her gaze. Of all the things she had seen her friend do, this unnerved her the most. In that moment, she felt the difference between the two. Because Ivolethe was immortal, for all she behaved like a creature of this earth. And the undying look at the world as it truly is, as it will be, and as it was.

Dust.

At last, Ivolethe shook her head. She alighted on Ryoka’s palm and looked up at her. There was infinite compassion in her gaze, infinite sorrow.

“You would save those who can be saved.”

Ryoka inhaled. Ivolethe held up a hand.

“Aye, but the cost. The cost is great, Ryoka. For when I look down that road, I see death, Ryoka Griffin. I see your death. It is unavoidable.”

There was a churning pit in Ryoka’s stomach, a clump of fear. It had been there since she’d looked back in the alleyway and seen Venitra’s face. Now the fear subsided. Ryoka felt calm. She stood up, holding Ivolethe, and looked north.

She could save them all. She could do it. Ryoka took a step towards the inn, towards the door that led to Celum. She took another step, and then realized something was wrong.

She wasn’t moving. Ryoka looked down. Her feet were planted in the snow. She tried to raise her left foot. It didn’t twitch. Ryoka stared. She couldn’t make her legs move.

She was too afraid.

—-

Erin stood in her kitchen, in front of a freshly washed cutting board. Her inn was empty. There was only Lyonette, Mrsha, and one or two others in the inn. Everyone else had left.

Mrsha was crying. She would cry, and then howl. It was a painful noise. Her throat was already raw, but nothing could make the Gnoll child stop. Lyonette was crying too. Erin could hear her sobbing. Their room was right over the kitchen’s upstairs.

Erin wasn’t crying. She stared at the cutting board. Then she looked along the kitchen counter. It was covered in food. Or rather, ingredients.

Choice cuts of meat, ham on the bone, wizened vegetables, the last of the winter’s harvests, flour, salt, and rarer ingredients still. Ground up Corusdeer horn, the skin of some kind of salamander or newt, a goopy mess that was something’s eyeball—ingredients from Octavia. They were all neatly arranged, but Erin hadn’t begun cooking. She stared at the ingredients, and then turned as someone coughed and knocked quietly on the doorjamb of the kitchen.

“What do you want, Pisces? I’m not serving food.”

“Perish the thought.”

The [Necromancer] delicately stepped into the kitchen, surveying the counter full of food. He paused and looked at Erin before clearing his throat.

“I ah, only wished to extend my apologies, Erin.”

“You?”

“Yes. I realize it may be…tactless coming from me, but I feel that offering my sympathies is only appropriate—”

Pisces caught Erin’s eye and broke off. He paused for a moment, sniffed, wrinkled his nose, and then spoke. Differently, this time.

“I am sorry. That’s all I wanted to say. I know I am not the person you would wish to turn to, but Ceria is about to leave for the city. Liscor, that is. I believe she and the others intend to drink and leave you in peace. However, I could ask her to stay, or find Miss Selys—”

“No. No, Pisces, that’s kind of you, but no.”

Erin shook her head. She relaxed a bit, and turned to Pisces. He looked uncharacteristically somber. But his words sounded as genuine as they had ever been. She was glad to hear it. Pisces stared at her kitchen.

“Are you cooking something?”

“Yeah. I’m thinking about it.”

He nodded.

“That may be a good way to, ah, relieve stress.”

“It’s not for that.”

“Oh? If it is tomorrow’s meal or tonight’s you are worried about, I am sure that closing your inn would not be—”

“It’s not that, Pisces. Thanks for asking. It’s…it’s actually about Regrika and Ikriss.”

Pisces’ gaze sharpened slightly.

“What do you mean by that?”

Erin heard a choked noise from above. She looked up and saw Pisces closing his eyes for a second. Erin ignored Lyonette’s voice as she spoke.

“She didn’t like my cooking.”

“Who?”

“Regrika. And that Ikriss guy. They say they like it, but they hated it. I can tell.”

Erin gestured to one of the plates lying on the counter. Pisces stared at the grilled cheese sandwich.

“Those are not typically Gnoll foods, I admit—”

“No. They didn’t like last night’s meals either. They ate a lot, but they didn’t like a thing. Not the steak, not the casserole—nothing. Not even the drinks.”

The [Necromancer] frowned and stroked at his chin as he eyed Erin.

“That is a curious certainty, Erin. How do you know?”

She looked at him. Pisces flinched and avoided meeting her eyes. Erin looked back at her empty kitchen counter.

“I’m an [Innkeeper].”

There was something burning in her mind, something hot behind her eyes. She hadn’t meant to turn it on Pisces. After a second he cleared his throat.

“So this attempt at cooking is…?”

“I wonder what they do like eating. That’s all.”

Erin stared at the counter. There was a feeling she had, like when she was about to solve a chess problem, or she felt like she had come up with a great move in a game of chess. It was as if she stood on the edge of certainty. She had that feeling now. There were pieces. Just pieces, but…

She looked at Pisces.

“Pisces. Is it possible to deceive a truth detection spell? Is it possible to lie when someone’s using one of those stones on you?”

He froze. Pisces stared at Erin, and she felt him searching her face. He hesitated, gnawed on one lip, raised a finger, and then lowered it. Then he nodded and leaned forwards to speak softly.

“Practically? No. I could not do it. Nor could Ceria, Typhenous…a Named Adventurer would probably lack the ability to do so. But in theory? Yes. The current Archmages of Wistram could most likely affect such a spell. And such stones are not…flawless. There are ways to deceive simpler versions of the spell, which is why more expensive and accurate versions of truth-telling artifacts exist.”

“Thanks. That helps.”

Pisces nodded, but didn’t pull back. He lowered his voice further.

“I do not wish to tell you what to do. However. Perhaps, Erin, it might be better to…grieve. And let whatever you are thinking of go.”

He was not prepared for the hand that grabbed the front of his robes. Pisces yelped and then stared at Erin. His face was inches away from hers. Erin stared at him.

“If you know anything, Pisces, tell me.”

He jerked back, brushing down his clean robes. He shook his head. Erin glared, but he kept shaking his head. When he looked her in the eye, it was with open honesty.

“It is just a feeling. Less than that. I cannot sense anything about them. Anything at all. Rather, it is my instincts that prompt me, not magic. Just my intuition.”

“What does it tell you?”

Pisces hesitated. He turned his head and stared back at the common room. It was empty of course. But he still lowered his voice.

“They frighten me, Erin. They frighten me terribly. And I do not understand why.”

There was no confusing which ‘they’ he meant. Erin nodded.

“They bother me too.”

Pisces stared at her. He opened his mouth as if to say something, and then turned away. He walked towards the kitchen’s exit and then turned back.

“Be careful.”

Then he was gone. Erin stood in the kitchen, and heard a howl from upstairs. She closed her eyes. And thought.

Erin didn’t know much. She wasn’t smart. She couldn’t figure out why Brunkr had died, or what the motives were, or figure anything else about where he’d been found or his injuries.

His injuries. Erin’s hand tightened on her counter. She relaxed. Slowly.

No, she couldn’t figure any of that out. But she had one certainty, and one alone. Brunkr had been murdered. He’d told her that he wouldn’t enter the dungeon. He’d promised her he wouldn’t risk his life, not carelessly. He’d promised her that.

And she knew Brunkr. She knew people. So she knew he had been murdered. As for who had done it—Erin knew people. It was just a hunch.

She stared at the counter. She had no proof. None at all. She heard Mrsha howl again and Lyonette try to stop her. But the girl broke down and began to sob rhythmically. It went on and on. Erin stared at the ingredients.

Food for Regrika Blackpaw. Which one was it? What would she use? If she were making food for that one person. For Regrika. For her. What would she make.

Erin’s hand moved unconsciously. She stared at what she grabbed, and then put it on the board in front of her. The world was slowing. Everything was crystalizing around Erin, becoming a single moment. A terrible moment. Lyonette was crying, Mrsha was howling and then pausing for breath, and then howling again.

Time slowed. The intervals between Lyonette’s sobs and Mrsha’s howling grew longer. Erin’s hands moved. She grabbed a hammer. She grabbed a knife. She pushed ingredients around, poured, assembled. Baked. It was all one moment, one slowly unwinding scene of horror.

And then it was over. All the pieces fell into place. Erin looked down at what Regrika Blackpaw would eat. She stared at the dish she’d created. And she knew.

—-

The world was ringing. Or humming. It felt like everything was vibrating. Ryoka’s heart was beating too fast to keep still. She walked up towards Erin’s inn, holding something in her hands.

A bit of parchment. An inkpot. And a quill. She’d bought them from the market. She cautiously pushed open the door to the inn.

“Hello? Erin? Anyone?”

There was no one inside. Not Lyonette, or Mrsha. Erin was gone too. Ryoka took a shuddering breath. That was…fine.

It was dark as she ascended the stairs. A bit of blue lit the way. Ivolethe flew slowly next to Ryoka as the girl walked into the room she shared with Lyonette and Mrsha. Ryoka slowly sat on the floor. She put the bit of parchment on the floor and pulled out the quill and inkpot. She opened the inkpot and picked up the quill.

Then she stared at the parchment lying on the ground. Ryoka’s heart beat wildly. She hesitated. She didn’t know what to write.

But she knew she had to write it.

She stared at the blank piece of parchment for a long time. Then she dipped her quill in the ink and wrote. Just a few lines. There were no good words she could think of, but Ryoka had no time to come up with some. She was running out of time. So she wrote and it was done.

Next, Ryoka folded the parchment and tucked it into her belt pouch. Then she took her belt pouches off and put it in her room. She took the bag of holding off her belt and put it next to the pouches. She shifted her Runner’s pack to hide both items and stood up.

“That’s it. That’s all she wrote. I can go now.”

Slowly, she walked out of the room and down the stairs. Ryoka felt like she was in a trance. Everything seemed vast around her, and she felt as though she were looking down at herself. The door to Celum was right in front of her.

Ryoka stopped in front of it. She looked to one side. Ivolethe hovered there, a piece of infinity. Melting away. The Frost Faerie was smiling. Gently. It was the first time Ryoka had seen her look this way. She almost seemed…proud.

“I guess this is it, Ivolethe.”

“Yes.”

The faerie nodded once. Ryoka gulped.

“Do you think I’m a coward for being afraid?”

The tiny immortal shook her head.

“No. I would never scorn you for that.”

“Thank you. And tell them—tell Erin and Mrsha and Lyonette—tell them—”

Words failed her. Ryoka turned away. Ivolethe nodded.

“I will see your end.”

“Thank you.”

Ryoka opened the door. She took a breath. Then she stepped through.

And began to run.

—-

Dusk had ended. Night was upon the world when Az’kerash contacted his two servants.

Report.

Venitra stood in her disguise as Regrika Blackpaw, Ijvani as Ikriss, just outside the city limits. They stood next to the wall and spoke to the air.

“I have discovered that Ryoka Griffin is a known City Runner who has completed deliveries to the High Passes, and to Lady Magnolia Reinhart. Of note, she has recently travelled to Invrisil via magical carriage. It was sent by the Reinhart family.”

Indeed? That is intriguing. Reinhart knows of me, I am sure. But why would she concern herself with a City Runner? Venitra. What have you discovered?

Venitra’s words were quick and eager. She rushed to speak, afraid to disappoint her master any further.

“She is the caretaker for the Gnoll child, and she has links to the adventurers in the inn, master. Not the Gold-rank ones. The group with the half-Elf, the [Necromancer], the Antinium and the woman with damaged arms—they are known as the Horns of Hammerad.”

Ah, yes. I recall. The young [Necromancer]. What of the [Innkeeper]? Erin Solstice?

The two undead shifted and looked at each other. Venitra was the first to speak.

“She has a magical chessboard, master. And she is known as the best player of the game. She appeared months ago out of nowhere and began running the inn. The old one was destroyed. She obtained the magical door thanks to her connections with the Horns of Hammerad as well. She…she is rumored to be the one who defeated a powerful Flesh Worm known as Skinner. The Antinium are said to consider her a friend, and she can create magical dishes which act as temporary enchantments for those who consume them. It is said that she had a skeleton as a servant before, and she is capable of making wondrous music. She can apparently shoot blood from her crotch and—”

What was that?

“She can shoot blood from—it is what we heard, master.”

There was a long silence as both Venitra and Ijvani waited. Az’kerash’s mental voice sounded peculiar when he replied.

Do you mean…no. I see rumor has mixed with fact, Venitra. Try to differentiate the two. How peculiar, though. Erin Solstice and Ryoka Griffin. Both are odd in their own way. Very odd. Where is Ryoka Griffin now, Ijvani?

The skeleton mage immediately responded.

“In Celum, master. The other city. She is sitting in a tavern, drinking.”

Good. I have made my decision. Venitra, your careless actions have endangered the disguise that you have built up over the years. Your reputation as a Named Adventurer is at risk and I do not trust you to remain in Liscor without incident any longer.

Venitra hung her head. Ijvani gave her a grin only a skeleton could give in triumph. Both snapped to attention as Az’kerash continued.

However, Ryoka Griffin is an unstable variable I dislike having. She is not trustworthy I feel, even if restrained by spells. Thus, my order to you is simple. Bring me back her head.

The two undead looked up. Venitra slowly smiled.

“Just her head, master?”

That is all I require. It must be undamaged, Venitra. Completely. The rest of her body may be disposed of, but I require the head frozen or kept in stasis. Take action tonight, and make sure you are not observed. Do not kill anyone or reveal yourselves to anyone besides Ryoka. Make sure her remains are disposed of outside the city—I will teleport Oom to you and have him reveal himself as the murderer of both Ryoka and the Gnoll. Is all that understood?

“Yes master!”

“Yes master.”

Go, then. If there are any complications, contact me at once.

The connection broke. The two undead looked at each other. Venitra was smiling broadly. Ijvani nodded her head.

“The magical door is in the inn. Let us go to Celum. I will draw Ryoka Griffin out with a spell. Then you will have your chance, Venitra.”

“Good.”

“Leave part of her for me.”

“I will not promise that.”

Ijvani shook her head in annoyance. Venitra strode off through the snow, eagerly heading away from the city. The skeleton followed. They walked towards the Wandering Inn. Both of the undead were smiling.

—-

The door to Erin’s inn swung open and Regrika stepped through. She was surprised to be greeted by a shout.

“Hey, come in! Regrika? It’s great that you’re here!”

The Named Adventurer blinked as Erin bustled over. The [Innkeeper] had a mug in one hand and she smiled at Regrika and Ikriss.

“Greetings, Erin. You were looking for me?”

“Oh yeah! I wanted to show you something. I had Ishkr go into the city to look for you—guess he must have missed you!”

“No doubt.”

Regrika glanced around the inn. It was quiet and empty. There were too many memories of Brunkr here for most people to want to return, but there were some customers.

Halrac glanced up as Ikriss closed the door behind the two adventurers. He grunted. Regrika looked at him and the rest of his team, Griffon Hunt. They were sitting in a corner of the room, clearly deep into their cups. The tables around them were deserted. Some were overturned.

It looked as though there had been a fight.

“Sorry. People are a bit touchy right now.”

Erin lowered her voice as she ushered the two adventurers to a table. Regrika coughed.

“I am sorry Erin, but I am afraid we did not come here for a meal. We have business in Celum, actually.”

She indicated Erin’s magical door. Erin made a disappointed face.

“Come on, sit. Please? I made a new dish, all for you!”

Regrika and Ikriss exchanged a glance. The Drake coughed.

“As delightful as that sounds, Miss Solstice, we are rather busy. We’d like to enter Celum, unless you charge a transportation fee…?”

He got no further because someone called out behind him. The two adventurers turned and saw Jelaqua Ivirith, holding a mug and laughing over her plates with Seborn and Moore.

“Celum, huh? Sounds like fun! Those Humans know how to party. But have a drink with us, first!”

The Selphid drained her cup and grinned at the Named Adventurers. Regrika hesitated. Erin pulled out the chair.

“Just a taste? I promise you, you’ll love what I came up with! Here—sit over right here so you don’t have to deal with the two grumpy Drakes.”

“I heard that, you bumbling Human.”

Wall Lord Ilvriss sat up at his table. He glared at Erin. Zel sighed and put one claw on his shoulder. Regrika sat, clearly reluctant, and Ikriss joined him. Two mugs appeared on their table and Erin rushed into the kitchen. She came back out with two plates of what looked to the Gnoll like steak.

“Hmm. That is a steak, yes? I believe I had one two days ago, Miss Solstice.”

Erin beamed at her.

“Yes! But it’s not just any steak. This one’s seasoned specially. Try it, come on! Please?”

The Gnoll and Drake looked at each other. Ikriss coughed as he prodded his steak with a fork and knife. It looked rather hard. Regrika sighed.

“Miss Erin, I appreciate the hospitality. I truly do. But please, you need not force yourself. We understand the recent death of Brunkr has affected you all. It has hurt us too. He seemed like a fine [Warrior]. That is to say—[Knight]. My apologies. I would not like to intrude.”

Silence fell over the inn as the adventurers drank. Zel closed his eyes and Ilvriss scowled into his mug. Erin looked down at the ground.

“Yeah. That was—sorry.”

She wiped at her eyes. Regrika smiled sympathetically and reached a paw out to touch Erin’s hand. The [Innkeeper] moved back a bit and shook her head briskly.

“I don’t want to be down. And I don’t want to be pushy, but I just thought I’d be hospitable, you know? That’s what I do. I’m an [Innkeeper]. So this steak—”

She edged it close to Regrika. The Gnoll hesitated. Erin looked at her pleadingly.

“Just let me know how it tastes. I worked really hard on it.”

There was no way around it. Regrika sighed and cut into the steak. It took a bit of work to slice a section away, and it crunched as she popped it into her mouth. The Gnoll chewed obligingly. And then her eyes widened. Across the table, Ikriss was making the same expression.

“Good?”

Erin looked intently at their faces. Regrika’s response was to cut off another bit of steak and chew it. She gulped and looked at Erin, deeply surprised.

“It’s…excellent. Very tasty. How did you…?”

Beneath the table, Ikriss kicked her. Regrika coughed.

“You’ve outdone yourself again, Miss Solstice. I am quite happy with this dish. Did you…spice it differently, somehow?”

“Something like that. Go ahead! I’m glad you enjoy it!”

The young woman beamed as both adventures began to scarf down the steaks. When they were done, there were only crumbs. Regrika leaned back and eyed her plate. Then she looked at Ikriss. The Drake was raising both his eyebrows at Regrika.

“A truly fine meal. The best I’ve had in…forever, I believe. Erin, I would love to know how you made it.”

“Really?”

Erin looked over the moon. Regrika nodded.

“I would pay much for the recipe. And I will certainly come back tonight.”

Ikriss curled his tail up in delight.

“Yes. Tonight as for as long as we are staying. What is it made of? I haven’t tasted…taste…”

Both adventurers leaned over the table towards Erin. She hesitated.

“Well, it’s a bit of a secret. But I guess I could tell you.”

“Yes, please do.”

“You really want to hear?”

“I would pay much for it, yes.”

“Okay, then. Listen close.”

Both adventurers leaned in. Erin whispered.

“It’s bone.”

Regrika blinked.

“By bone, do you mean meat off the bone—”

“No, I mean, it’s bone. You ate bones of dead animals. There was no meat in that. Not one bit.”

Both Gnoll and Drake looked at Erin. She took a step back and pointed at their plates. Her smile was still on her face, but it had changed.

“You want to know what that was? It was bones, dried and ground up into dust. And other bones soaked in pig’s blood from Octavia’s shop and mixed with mana potions. I baked it together using marrow as glue. Then I dyed it with more blood. It looks only a little bit like a steak. No one else would ever eat it. No one except you two.”

Regrika stared at Erin. The hairs on her body began to rise. Erin continued. She had a very big smile on her face.

“And I put poison in it. Bad poison. The kind that can kill Shield Spiders. I got it from Octavia. I put in a lot. Funny. It didn’t seem to matter if I did. I knew you’d like it.”

“I don’t understand. Is this some kind of joke…?”

Ikriss tried to laugh. Erin turned to him. Her smile had become wide. Her eyes were bright.

“No. I didn’t expect you to actually eat my food. But you did. You ate it and didn’t notice a thing. You thought it was steak because it was red and shaped like it. That’s not normal.”

“Well, I—”

“And another thing. You didn’t like any of my other dishes. I could tell. You didn’t like drinking beer, and you didn’t like the cake. Not one bit. And you lied about that. I guess that’s normal. Everyone’s got different tastes and all, but then I got to thinking. Hey Regrika, you’re a really weird Gnoll, you know that?”

“Really? I think I’m quite normal, yes?”

Regrika bared her teeth. Erin did the same.

“No. I mean, you smell like a Gnoll and you act like one. And all the Gnolls love you, but guess what I noticed? It was a little thing. You never really mentioned Mrsha. Not once.”

Ikriss glanced swiftly at his companion. Regrika hesitated and then appeared indifferent.

“Mrsha? Oh. The little Gnoll cub. She was very cute. What about her?”

“You think she’s normal, don’t you?”

The Named Adventurer paused.

“No. But I did not mention her because it would have been rude. A Gnoll cub being raised by a Human is strange. However—”

“You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

Erin stared at Regrika. Ikriss’ eyes widened. He hissed at Regrika.

“The white fur!”

“That’s right.”

Erin stepped back from the table. Her eyes were on Regrika. The Gnoll stared back, no longer smiling.

“White fur. That’s bad…luck? I don’t know. But I know that every Gnoll knows what it means, even if they won’t tell me. Every Gnoll. Ishkr was born in Liscor and he still knows about white fur. But you, you didn’t bat an eyelash. You asked whose kid Mrsha was.”

Silence. Regrika shifted in her seat. She looked around and suddenly saw a different room. The Gold-rank adventurers from Griffon Hunt were standing up at their table, adjusting their belts, nodding at each other and spreading out. On the opposite side of the room, the Halfseekers were already in position. Jelaqua lifted her two-handed flail, not trying to hide it.

“You don’t like normal food. You lied about killing Brunkr. And you don’t know about white Gnolls like Mrsha, which every Gnoll knows about.”

Erin’s voice was hard and loud. She was walking backwards, back behind a table where two Drakes were getting to their feet. Zel and Ilvriss walked forwards. A sword was in the Wall Lord’s hands. Zel’s claws were open.

“I see. We were discovered.”

Regrika’s voice was very calm. She remained sitting at the table as the Gold-rank adventurers spread around the room and the two Drakes stopped in front of their table. She smiled at Zel Shivertail, and then looked at Erin.

“One question. How did you know I lied about Brunkr? I passed the truth detection spell the Antinium gave me.”

Erin looked at her and shook her head.

“Isn’t it obvious? It wasn’t about the truth crystal. Everyone was looking at that, but I could tell without it. You gave it all away here.”

She tapped her mouth. Regrika blinked.

“What?”

“It was your smile. You smiled like Mrsha does when she’s been naughty. Kids are bad liars. And so are you.”

Erin looked at Regrika. She reached for something lying on a table and came up with a knife and a frying pan. Halrac growled at her.

“Don’t be a fool! Get out of here!”

Erin didn’t move.

“I want to know who killed Brunkr.”

Ilvriss spat. His eyes were on Regrika and his grip was steady on his sword.

“I don’t care about the Gnoll. But justice is justice and I won’t have the law broken by a Named Adventurer. You, Gnoll! Tell me. Why have you been asking about Ryoka Griffin all day? What’s your connection with her?”

Zel shifted. He stared at Regrika and then Ilvriss. He was wary, his stance low.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

Silence. The two adventurers looked at each other. Regrika stared at Ikriss. Ikriss nodded. Losing her temper, Revi shouted as she raised a glowing talisman.

“Well? Answer us!”

Regrika exploded backwards in her chair. She rolled out of it and onto her feet as the table shot towards Moore and Seborn. The half-Giant was knocked off his feet by the impact and Seborn dove out of the way.

“Damn it! Attack!”

Ilvriss and Zel charged forwards at once, towards Regrika. Ulrien and Jelaqua leapt forwards at the same moment as the other adventurers leapt backwards. Halrac looked around and shouted.

“Watch out! The Drake—”

Zel turned. Ikriss had vanished in the moment when Regrika moved. Now he reappeared in front of Zel and Ilvriss. Halrac loosed a shot. Zel swiped.

The arrow struck Ikriss in the back of the neck. The claws tore open his face. But the Drake still moved. He placed a hand on Zel’s stomach and one of Ilvriss’ arms and spoke.

“[Lesser Teleport].”

They vanished in a pop of air. Jelaqua swore and she and Ulrien rushed at Regrika. The Gnoll had her massive sword and shield in one hand. She raised it and blocked Jelaqua’s first swing. Ulrien slashed at her from behind with his greatsword. The blow skated off her armored back as Regrika twisted to one side.

“Typhenous, cover us! Revi! Summons! Erin, get clear! Jelaqua—”

Regrika turned. Ulrien swore and attacked.

“[Devastating Slash]!”

His sword changed trajectory mid-cut. It swerved as Regrika lifted her shield to block and shot down, to her unguarded legs. Ulrien swung with all his might, and his blade bit into the Gnoll’s furred leg. And stopped.

The greatsword shuddered to a halt, buried two inches deep into the Gnoll’s leg. Ulrien stared at his blade as the force of his cut travelled back up into his hands. He tried to step back and wrench his sword free from the impact.

“Weak.”

A sword rose. Regrika brought it down. Ulrien raised his bare arm to protect himself. The sword connected with his arm and there was a flash of light. Something—an amulet exploded on Ulrien’s chest. He stumbled back, his arm still intact.

The second sword stroke took off his head. Ulrien’s body stood for a moment, and then the big man’s corpse collapsed forwards. Jelaqua howled as she lashed Regrika from all sides. The Gnoll stood under the barrage, and then turned and struck. Jelaqua choked as the sword stabbed through her stomach and then leapt back.

“Ulrien?”

Halrac stared, the bow and arrow he’d drawn frozen in his hands. Typhenous roared and threw bolts of magic that blasted into the Gnoll—

And did nothing. She stood in the center of the room, raising her arms, laughing. Regrika turned to Erin as the [Innkeeper] stood frozen in the middle of her inn. The Gnoll’s blade ran with blood. She pointed around the room, at the other adventurers. She ended with Erin.

“You are all dead.”

4.30

Blood dripped from Regrika Blackpaw’s sword and onto the ground. Erin couldn’t take her eyes off it.

Ulrien was dead. The brave Gold-rank adventurer and leader of Griffon Hunt lay on the ground, headless. His greatsword was still embedded in Regrika’s leg. The Gnoll didn’t seem concerned by it. She flicked her sword down and knocked the blade loose. As she did, the adventurers attacked.

Halrac howled as he put two arrows to his bow and shot them.

“[Double Shot]!”

The Gnoll turned and raised her shield. An explosion of fire and some kind of acid burst over her shield. Some sprayed across her face. She didn’t flinch. She turned and then caught another blow from Jelaqua on her other side. She was too quick, too strong!

Erin stared at Ulrien as Regrika fought, stepping around his body. He was dead. Just like that. His magical amulet had protected him from one blow, but not two. It felt impossible. He was a Gold-rank adventurer, and he was Ulrien! She had never really talked to him one-on-one, but he was like a rock. Solid. Dependable. He held his team together and never seemed to get worried.

He couldn’t die so easily. That was what she felt. Someone screamed. Revi hurled five talismans and glowing figures rose from the floor. Regrika cut one down and then another before the summoned beings could fully appear. She turned and ran her sword deep into Moore’s abdomen. The half-Giant grunted, and then punched her. The impact made the floor shake.

His fist broke.

Erin stood behind the table where Zel and Ilvriss had disappeared with the Drake [Mage], Ikriss. She stared at Ulrien. He’d been the first to agree to help her when she’d told him and the others what she suspected. Without hesitation. She’d accused a Named Adventurer and he’d asked her to explain herself while the others were exclaiming or asking if she was crazy. And when she asked for help, set the trap up—he’d agreed at once.

He’d said yes, although Revi was throwing a fit and Typhenous said that it would ruin their reputation if Erin were wrong. But Ulrien had looked her in the eye for a few moments and then nodded. That was all. He’d trusted her.

He’d said yes. And now he was dead. Erin looked at him, and then remembered Brunkr. Then she looked up and saw Regrika was laughing. The Gnoll spun, catching a cascade of magical bullets shooting from Typhenous’ fingertips on her shield and then kicked a chair at Halrac.

The [Scout] dodged out of the way as the wood smashed into one of the tables he was taking cover behind. The impact knocked the table back, sending it skidding to the far wall. Erin stared in disbelief. All that from a kicked chair? She was too strong!

“Get away, you idiot!”

Someone seized her shoulder. Revi pulled Erin back as she raised a glowing talisman. She hurled it to the ground and a third figure rose. Three of the glowing warriors, all String People, took positions between her and Regrika. Two were warriors, one had a staff. They charged the Gnoll as the spectral mage swung his staff and shot shards of ice and earth at the Gnoll.

The spells lashed the Gnoll’s form without effect. She cut down one warrior with a slash as he approached. Her blade cut right through the shield he’d raised and into his head. He vanished in a shower of yellow motes of light. The second stabbed into Regrika’s armored side; his blade skated across the metal without effect.

A spike flail’s head caught Regrika across the back of the head as she swung her shield and scythed through the second summoned warrior. Regrika didn’t stumble, but slashed backwards. Jelaqua sprang back, cursing.

“The hell is that? My flail’s not doing a thing!”

Regrika slashed at Jelaqua and the Selphid backed up, shielded by a rain of spells coming from Typhenous, Revi, and Moore. Bolts of energy splashed across Regrika’s body, a cluster of vines ensnared her legs—she raised her shield and caught a glowing purple orb from Typehnous. Again, the spell was blocked as the orb exploded, sending fragments of light shooting across the room. Where the fragments landed the floor, walls, and furniture burst into flame.

“My spells aren’t working!”

Revi screamed at the others. Typhenous pointed at Regrika with his staff as she advanced on Jelaqua, but her shield was up, blocking his direction. Moore’s vines were entangling her as the half-Giant chanted and pointed his staff, clutching his belly with his other hand, but they barely slowed her.

A flash of movement. Regrika half-turned. Too late. Seborn buried two knives in her shield arm, slashing her exposed black fur. He dodged away as she swung at him, his form blurring into a shadow. His voice was astonished.

“My knives did nothing! Her fur—”

His blades glowed with magic, but they’d left no imprint on Regrika’s arm. She grinned at him, and then turned to block another spell from Typhenous. Jelaqua strode forwards, gritting her teeth and shouting at Seborn.

“I’m Rampaging! Get back!”

The Selphid threw herself forward, her arms and body turning into a blur. She moved too quickly for Erin to follow and lashed with her two-handed flail in every direction, striking, dodging, and striking again.

Erin watched, numb, and saw it was another bad matchup. If Ulrien had died because Regrika was too strong and too well protected somehow, Jelaqua was a victim of the same problem. She rained blows on the Gnoll from every direction. She was like lightning, unpredictable and impossible to block or evade, much less dodge. But Regrika stood in the whirlwind of steel and didn’t fall back. The flail struck her repeatedly and she did not move. The flail did nothing to her. Her body was too strong.

Why?

Her sword rose. This time Halrac shot three arrows in rapid succession into her back. Crackling lightning earthed itself on Regrika’s armor; to no effect. Typhenous’ spell was blocked. Moore’s spray of thorns showed Regrika’s left side and Seborn cut at the same leg Ulrien had struck. A frying pan hit Regrika in the back of the head.

Nothing stopped her. Jelaqua’s blurring arms paused and she raised her flail to block. The sword knocked the flail out of her grip. The Selphid swore and the sword took the top of her head off as she ducked. She fell.

Regrika kicked Jelaqua’s body across the room, catching Seborn and tossing him into a wall. She grinned, and locked eyes with Erin. The knife spun towards her eye and Regrika twisted her head. The blade missed.

She charged across the room, her footsteps like thunder on the floor. The other adventurers shouted, and Erin tried to run. Too slow. Revi raised a glowing fragment of horn and the bloody sword cut her from shoulder to hip. She fell, bloodless. Regrika stood over Erin and grinned. Then she paused. She looked up to the ceiling and spoke one word.

“Master?”

—-

She’d killed two Gold-rank adventurers already. The feeling of killing the third, of slicing the [Summoner] in half, gave Venitra a rush of pleasure. She raised her shield and caught a third spell from the old mage as he screamed curses at her.

He was the only threat. His spells could damage her if not blocked. However, her shield was enchanted and capable of resisting any magic he might use. So long as she kept him in view and didn’t let the others escape, they were helpless. Her analysis of the situation was flawless, she knew.

In battle, Venitra’s mind was cool and calculating. She was not affected by the chaos of combat and she could think with perfect clarify as spells and arrows flew around her. It was her luxury to indulge in emotion, but she was not bound by it.

Three dead, and now the innkeeper. Venitra would take extreme pleasure in this. She raised her sword, heedless of the voices of the other adventurers and the arrow that broke on the back of her head. Her body was made of spelled bone; the [Scout] could not injure her with his enchanted arrows, not while he thought she was made of flesh or warded by magic. Her entire body was armor. In many ways her shield was useless. She was a shield.

Venitra.

A voice, a presence connected to her mind. A revelation from above. Venitra paused. In the heat of battle she looked up.

“Master?”

He spoke to her in a flash of images, a torrent of thought. Thought was far faster than any spell, or the quickest arrow. Her master reached into Venitra’s mind and appraised all that had occurred in the moments between Ijvani removing Zel Shivertail and the other Drake.

I see. I will attend to Ijvani. She is outmatched by far but will keep Shivertail and the Lord of the Wall occupied. You will go after Ryoka.

“Yes, my lord.”

If they were spoken as words, it was only because Venitra felt more comfortable this way. Time had slowed to a crawl in this instantaneous communication between the two. The second arrow the [Scout] had loosed was still in the air, crawling towards Venitra’s right shoulder. They thought and spoke together in the moments between.

Dispose of the Gold-rank adventurers if you are able, but do not waste time on them. Learn from this battle. They are inferior to you, but still a threat. Go after Ryoka Griffin with all haste. Bring me back her head, undamaged. She is in Celum. Trace the spell Ijvani laid on her.

“It will be done, master.”

I will assist you if necessary, but I must focus on Ijvani as well. Lastly, Venitra. You will not kill Erin Solstice. Nor will you allow her to be harmed. That is an order.

“But master!”

Erin Solstice was frozen in front of her, eyes wide, hand raised to ward off a sword blow that would end her. Venitra longed to strike, but she felt her master’s will pressing down on her. She felt his displeasure and reluctantly obeyed. His mental sending faded away in her mind with a final rebuke.

Enough. Go.

The arrow caught Venitra’s shoulder and exploded into shrapnel. Venitra snarled in her guise as Regrika Blackpaw and spun. She walked away from Erin and towards the [Scout] who already had another arrow drawn. The girl would live. For now.

—-

Zel Shivertail fell out of the sky, cursing and still slashing at the Drake [Mage] in front of him. He caught only air. Then he hit the ground.

“Argh!”

The impact knocked the wind out of him and cracked the paving stones he’d landed on. Zel lay there for a second and then rolled upright. He looked around and then up. He should have been dead. If not for his Skills, he probably would have been; he’d fallen from rooftop level onto the ground wearing armor.

But because he did have Skills, he was alive. Zel glanced around and realized he was in Liscor. The dark streets were empty. But where—

“[Grand Fireball].”

He heard the voice from above. Zel turned and saw the blazing glow. He turned and ran.

The explosion kicked him across the street. The heat burnt his scales. Zel shouted in pain and fury as he caught flame. But he lived through it. And he turned to see the Drake with purple scales, staff in hand, standing on the roof of a burning building.

Watching him.

Ikriss raised his staff and Zel sprinted down an alleyway. He felt the ground erupt behind him and heard screaming. From inside the buildings. Dead gods, there were innocent people sleeping inside! But the crazed [Mage] didn’t seem to care. More spells ripped up the street and Zel ran through the alley into another street.

One of the rules for fighting a mage was never to let them see you. And to get close. He hunkered down and heard a sound in the distance. It sounded like…cursing?

He looked up. On the roof of another building he spotted a Drake in expensive armor, looking around as he clung to the tiles with one claw. A bared sword was in the other.

“Ilvriss!”

At the sound of his name, the other Drake looked over and spotted Zel. He dropped to the ground. It was a long fall, but the Drake landed as lightly as a cat. Some kind of protective spell, no doubt. He ran over to the [General], crouched, sword at the ready.

“What the hell happened, Shivertail? That mage teleported us—”

“He’s blasting the street looking for me!”

Zel spoke grimly as he heard more thumps and now more screams. People were waking up. He started as he saw the earth rise at the far end of the street. The paved road ripped upwards and formed a jagged wall of stone.

“He’s trying to box us in.”

Ilvriss hissed, his tail lashing with fury. He twisted at one of the rings on his fingers. It flashed, summoning his bodyguards, no doubt. Zel nodded.

“Or slow us down. Regrika Blackpaw’s back at the inn!”

“I know that! Let the Gold-rank adventurers fight her. I want that traitor dead.”

Zel didn’t argue with that. He looked around the alley, and then raced back down it with Ilvriss behind him. They ran into the next street and Ilvriss cursed.

One of the buildings, an apartment, was fully aflame. Zel could hear people screaming inside, but he had no time to go to them. Ikriss was standing in the center of the street. He had erected walls of stone around him and was standing in front of some glowing runes. Ilvriss raised his sword and walked to one side of the street. Zel advanced on the other.

“Surrender now and we won’t kill you, traitor!”

Ilvriss roared at the other mage. The Drake smiled, his face glowing in the light from his staff.

“My duty is to keep you here. Or kill you. I think I can, no matter what I have been told about you, Shivertail.”

He raised his staff and pointed. Zel had been waiting for this moment and dove to one side. He felt something burn his leg and rolled upright. Ilvriss was charging the mage. He stepped onto the first rune and the ground exploded.

“Ilvriss!”

The Lord of the Wall charged through the smoke, one of his amulets shining like the sun. More wards exploded around him and he lunged at Ikriss, too fast for the mage to dodge. His blade cut into the other Drake’s stomach—

And Ikriss vanished. The illusion that had been him faded and Zel cursed. He looked around and heard Ikriss’ voice everywhere.

“Warriors are such simple creatures. They shoot arrows, swing a sword—what can you do against illusions? Without magic, nothing. You are nothing, Zel Shivertail.”

Something—Zel turned, and Ilvriss appeared. This time, the fireball blasted Zel straight in the chest. He vanished, and Ikriss grinned as the explosion of fire destroyed half the street.

Someone walked through the flames. A claw sliced through the second illusion of Ikriss. Zel coughed and felt the fire and his melted breastplate burning his scales. They burned, like putting his claws on a hot kettle or a stovetop. He coughed, looking around for the [Mage].

“You may be right. We warriors don’t have the same tricks mages do. But we don’t die easily, either.”

Ilvriss was cursing, raising one of his rings and shouting into it. Screams echoed from the burning building. Zel heard a child’s voice. He waited, his blood boiling.

The Drake [Mage] reappeared at the other end of the street, no longer smiling. He stared at Zel.

“…That’s cheating.”

Zel didn’t reply back. He charged, and Ikriss began casting spells at both Ilvriss and Zel. The night was full of death. Zel prayed the Gold-rank adventurers could handle Regrika Blackpaw. Ikriss was far too strong to be merely Gold-rank. He had to hope that they could defeat her, Named Adventurer or not.

He roared as he charged and Ikriss’ eyes grew wide. The mage turned and vanished. A Golem rose, shaping itself out of the flagstones and broken earth. Zel sunk a claw into its side and ripped a chunk of it away. He should have been fighting Blackpaw. She was too strong. That was what his [Dangersense] was telling him. Too strong for Gold-rank adventurers.

Far too strong.

—-

Erin had seen Gazi Pathseeker fight, once. She had deflected arrows from every angle, fought a group of Guardsmen and not taken a single scratch. That was what made her a Named Adventurer. In Regrika’s case, it was not her sight. It was her limitless, contemptuous strength.

She could not be stopped. Her sword bit through a table Seborn was using as cover and the [Rogue] leapt. She slashed at his back and the Drowned Man blurred, using a Skill to get out of range in time. Moore swung his staff and Regrika raised her shield to block. She slashed, and he blocked.

The impact of sword meeting staff was thunder in the common room of the inn. Moore’s huge arms strained and he grunted from the impact. He jabbed at Regrika with his staff, and she dodged the blow. She opened up his arm with one cut. He cried out, a loud, painful voice.

“Moore!”

Someone shouted his name. Regrika turned and Erin stared, holding a chair in her hands, about to throw. Jelaqua Ivirith charged into Regrika from behind, her flail’s two heads spinning into the Gnoll’s back. The top of Jelaqua’s head from her eyebrows up was gone, but the Selphid moved as if she were entirely whole. No blood ran from her wound. And the inside of the head was…empty.

“Selphids.”

That was all Regrika said. She backhanded Jelaqua with a shield and sent the Selphid tumbling backwards, unconcious. Moore was backed into a wall. He tensed as she turned, and thrust his staff into the ground.

A wall of earth shot up, breaking the floorboards and blocking him from Regrika. She slashed through the earth, sending it spraying and found—

A hole. Moore crashed through the wall, spraying glass and wood as he leapt into the snow outside. The Gnoll laughed. She whirled, and a fireball engulfed her in an explosion. When she appeared out of the smoke her shield was raised.

And she was unharmed.

“Dead gods take it all!”

Typhenous screamed and then paled as he realized Regrika was running towards him. He raised his staff.

“Halrac! [Astral Binding]!”

Shimmering ties of light shot out and constricted Regrika. For a moment. She tore through them and found Typhenous rushing for the door. She ran after him.

“Stop.”

Two arrows broke on her back. Regrika’s fur burned. A bit of lightning crackled over her armor. She turned her head and smiled at Halrac.

“You cannot harm me. I am perfection.”

A pot bounced off the back of her head. Halrac stood up, six feet away from Regrika. His eyes were burning as he pulled an arrow with a black tip from his quiver and set it to his bow.

“I will kill you.”

“Try.”

She lunged at him. Erin screamed as Halrac dodged sideways. Like Seborn he used a Skill—but it wasn’t enough. The sword missed, but Regrika kicked him as he passed. The impact sent Halrac crashing into one wall. Erin heard his ribs break.

“No! No, no, no! Stop!”

She charged Regrika with a knife. She heard Seborn shout at her. She didn’t care. The knife slashed at Regrika’s arm as the Gnoll looked at her. It felt as though Erin were cutting at a rock. Her kitchen knife did no damage to the Gnoll.

Erin knew it wouldn’t. Nothing she’d thrown had worked. Halrac’s arrows hadn’t worked. So she dropped the knife and clenched a fist.

“[Minotaur Punch]!”

She threw it with all her strength. Regrika’s face was almost too high for Erin to reach. Her fist struck the Gnoll’s chin and Erin felt the impact travel down her arm. Regrika stared down at her.

And smiled.

Pain. Erin felt as though she had hit a rock. She raised her left arm and punched again.

“[Minotaur Punch]!”

A second blow. This time Erin felt and heard something crunch in her hands. She didn’t care. She punched again.

“[Minotaur Punch]! [Minotaur Punch]! [Minotaur—]”

Her right hand broke. Erin cried out as she felt her fingers break. Blood seeped through her torn skin. And Regrika stood in front of her. Unhurt. She raised both her arms upwards and stood tall. Her bloody sword and shield pointed towards the ceiling as the Gnoll posed.

Like a statue. She let Erin hit her, cut at her, ignoring her. Smiling. Seborn appeared behind her and slashed. His knives dug into her arm, cutting. Regrika stood through it all and then looked down at Erin. Her eyes were contemptuous.

“Insignificant.”

The room was emptying. Moore had vanished. Typhenous had fled. Seborn vanished as Regrika turned away from Erin. The girl was crying, her hands dripping with blood. Regrika was unharmed save for a bloodless cut on her legs and scratches on the rest of her body. She looked around for her next victim and found him standing across the inn, next to the door.

Halrac’s bow was raised. He had a single arrow drawn to his chest. His eyes were locked on Regrika.

“[Piercing Shot].”

The arrow struck her in the chest as Regrika covered her face, slipping underneath her guard. There was a crack that made Erin’s ears ring. The arrow that hit Regrika did not explode, or break, or do anything else. But it pierced Regrika’s armor. It buried itself halfway into her chest.

The Gnoll blinked down at the arrow. Halrac lowered his bow, staring. There was no blood coming from her wound. And Regrika didn’t seem hurt, just surprised. She stared at the arrow and slowly drew it out of her. It snapped in her hands and she touched the hole in her chest.

Bloodless. But it had broken her armor. When she looked up. Regrika’s smile was gone. Her eyes were filled with fury.

“You hurt me. Me!”

Halrac’s second arrow was explosive. As the Gnoll lunged, the force of it blew Erin off her feet. She got up, ears ringing. Regrika’s armor cracked. The metal fractured slightly from the explosion. Erin stared. Did metal do that?

The Gnoll screamed in fury and charged Halrac. He dove towards the open door. She charged after him.

“Halrac!”

Erin tried to go after him. Her hands were nothing but pain, but she had to do something!

“Don’t go after him! Help me up!”

Someone shouted at her from behind. Erin turned. Who had spoken? Jelaqua was passed out on the ground. Seborn had vanished. Moore and Typhenous had fled and Halrac was running too. Then who—

A hand shot up. Erin stared in horror. Revi’s arm moved as her head turned towards Erin. That was one part of her torso. Her other arm and the rest of her body lay on the ground, cleanly separated by Regrika’s blade.

“Don’t just stand there you idiot! Help me before that monster comes back!”

That broke the paralysis. Erin rushed over to Revi. All of the Stitch-Girl’s summoned minions were gone, destroyed by Regrika, but their armor and weapons lay scattered around her. Revi’s head looked up at Erin. There was pain in her eyes, but she still spoke.

“Sew me up! There’s a needle in my pockets. Don’t worry about neatness, just get me together. Now!”

“But how—I thought—”

“You can’t kill a Stitch-Girl with a sword! Hurry! Halrac’s running for his life. If that Gnoll catches him—”

Erin fumbled for Revi’s pocket. She stabbed the needle deep into her finger when she found it, and barely noticed the pain. Her right hand was useless. Her left…Revi cursed at her as Erin clumsily pulled one of the threads through the needle. Each second felt like forever.

“Hurry, hurry, hurry! If she comes back—”

A heavy tread. Erin froze and Revi’s eyes went wide. Regrika appeared in the doorway, smiling. Only this time fury was in her eyes.

“Clever. The rats have fled. They jumped down a hole in the snow. Into a dungeon. But you? You’re still here. And I can kill you.”

She pointed at Revi. The [Summoner] went very pale. One of her hands grabbed Erin’s needle and began to stitch the rest of her body together as Erin rose.

“I won’t let—”

Regrika shoved Erin aside. Erin grabbed at her, trying to pull her back. Her feet skidded across the broken floor as Regrika walked over to Revi. The Stitch-Girl was nearly complete, but she still couldn’t move her lower half. She looked up, eyes full of fear. Regrika grinned.

“Please step away from the guest.”

Someone spoke. Regrika whirled and stared. Erin turned. A figure was standing in the doorway with a drawn bow. For a second Erin’s mind saw Halrac, and then the figure moved and she realized it wasn’t him.

It was Bird. Two of his arms held the bow, his other two held something in his hands. He was alone, and he stared at Regrika. She stared back.

“An Antinium?”

He nodded.

“I am Bird. I am a guard at the inn.”

The Gnoll smiled.

“A dead one. You should have fled.”

“I was asleep.”

The Gnoll blinked. Bird looked past her and at Erin.

“I was asleep in my tower. I woke up to hunt birds. I assume that this person is a danger to you and or the residents of your inn?”

Erin stared at him. Regrika stared at him. Revi took the moment to keep stitching her torso together. The Antinium waited and then turned to Regrika.

“Know that I am obliged to hurt you with brutal force. You are not a bird, so I will shoot you and not eat you. Unless you are tasty.”

The Gnoll stared at him. Then she began to walk towards him. Bird loosed the arrow. It snapped as it struck her between the eyes. The Antinium paused.

“Ah. I saw that happen earlier too. I woke up and watched the battle, by the way.”

“You cannot harm me.”

Regrika’s voice was arrogance, her stride lazy as she crossed the inn towards the Antinium. Bird nodded.

“I noticed. This is my tactical analysis of what I should do in a situation like this.”

His other two hands rose. They were holding something. A bucket. Bird hurled it at Regrika. She didn’t block it. The dark liquid splashed over her and Regrika stopped. Erin froze. She couldn’t see well in the darkness, but she could smell it. Bird turned.

“That was feces from the outhouse. I gathered it. It is an antagonistic action meant to irritate. I am bait. The poo is not from birds, by the way.”

He ran out the door. Regrika was staring at the excrement covering her body. She brushed off a clump, and then she went insane.

“You have disgraced my image! You! I will kill you!”

She rushed out the door. Erin turned to Revi. The Stitch-Girl shouted at her.

“Hurry! I can’t reach my back!”

This time Erin plunged the needle into the cloth as fast as she could. When the last clumsy stitch was in place, the cloth lower half became real. Revi gasped, sat up.

“We have to run. Where’s the back door?”

“I don’t have one!”

“The hole, then. Corusdeer!”

She raised the bit of horn in her hands and a spectral deer cantered into focus. Revi leapt onto its back and extended a hand.

“Come on! We’re dead if she comes back!”

“I can’t. I can’t run away from her! She killed—”

Erin choked on the words. She killed Brunkr. And Ulrien. Revi slapped her.

“You can’t save anyone if you’re dead! Come on!”

“She won’t hurt me. I don’t think she can. I don’t know why.”

Erin replied numbly. It wasn’t just her instincts that were telling her this. Regrika had ignored her several times. Erin didn’t know why, but she felt certain that she was safe. She, and she alone.

Revi opened her mouth, and then paused. There was crunching outside, the same footfalls. She paled and the summoned Corusdeer swung around. Revi shot through the hole Moore had made. Erin turned.

Regrika walked back through the doorway. She stank. Her eyes were blazing, but there was no broken chitin on her blade or the Antinium’s green blood. Erin stared at Regrika. The Gnoll paused as she stepped through the broken inn. She looked around for Revi and then at Erin.

“I will remember you. And I will come back. I will slaughter all those who were here. The mages, the Selphid, the [Scout] and the Antinium. They will all suffer.”

“Who are you?”

Erin spoke quietly. She looked Regrika in the eye. The Gnoll laughed.

“I was sent here by my master for one reason. To kill Ryoka Griffin.”

She turned to the door leading to Celum. Erin felt her heart stop. She blocked Regrika’s way. The Gnoll shoved Erin aside.

“Stop! No! You can’t!”

Erin battered at her, but again, it was useless. She tried to pull Regrika back with her good hand. It was impossible. She grabbed onto the Gnoll’s leg, tried to pull her back using a table as an anchor. The table jerked across the ground and Erin felt her arm being pulled out of its socket. Regrika didn’t slow. She opened the door and looked down at Erin as the girl clung to her with all her strength.

“I do not see why he values you. You are pathetic. And you cannot stop me. No one can.”

She bent and contemptuously prised Erin’s hand from her leg without effort. Then she stepped through the door to Celum. It swung shut behind her.

And then she was gone.

—-

The fight in the inn had taken less than half an hour. Celum was quiet when Venitra strode out of Octavia’s alchemy shop, smashing through her window without bothering to use the door. Those who were on the streets did not pay much attention to the Gnoll until they saw her bloody sword and raised the alarm.

In Liscor, the night was broken by shouts and howling. Zel Shivertail dove to the side as a bolt of crackling red lightning shot down the street, nearly missing him. The electricity arced and struck his breastplate, making him hiss, but most of the energy grounded itself harmlessly on a metal railing of one of the houses.

“Ancestors damn it! Where the hell is he?”

Zel roared at a Drake taking cover behind him. Ilvriss glared and raised his sword as he peeked around the side of a wall.

“I don’t know! My amulet has a radius of about ten feet. I can’t search while that traitor’s blasting me with spells!”

The two Drakes ducked as another spell—a boulder thrown by magic—crashed near their position. Zel looked around. The street was a disaster area, and Ikriss was standing in the center of it, raining spells down on their position.

Only, it wasn’t Ikriss. There was another Drake mage with purple scales standing on a rooftop, and another in the doorway of a building. The [Mage] had created multiple copies of himself, all illusions, and it was impossible to tell which was which.

“They might all be illusions out there! We need a [Mage] to dispel the illusions or we’ll be chasing our tails until that bastard gets us! Where’s the Watch? Where are your helpers?”

Zel shouted at Ilvriss. The Lord of the Wall cursed.

“Behind one of the walls, or fighting one of the Golems that was summoned! We have to either break an opening or—incoming!”

Both Drakes had heard the whistling noise at the same time. They abandoned their hiding spot as a boulder fell down from above. Ikriss pointed and Zel saw more hovering boulders in the sky. The Drake [Mage] had figured out that spells were ineffectual against both Zel and Ilvriss and had decided to crush them instead.

Ilvriss’ rings flared as he caught a bolt of red-lighting. He shouted as he charged the [Mage] and his sword cut through the illusionary Ikriss. Again. Zel cursed and looked for somewhere else to hide. They couldn’t kill the mage and he was trying to cut off their space. Sooner or later he’d be hit, and when that happened, there were ways to kill him, even with his resistance to spells.

And in the meantime, people were dying. Ikriss’ spells had burned one building. People had leapt to their deaths rather than die in the blaze. His other spells were blasting holes in the city. Two of the summoned constructs were battling the Watch. As Ilvriss and Zel met up again, crawling under a collapsed building, Zel spotted an arm buried in the rubble. It had scales, yellow, covered in dust. And it was far too small.

It was too much. He was a [General of the Line], a protector of his people. And they were dying while he took cover. Zel clenched his fist.

“We’re ending this now, Ilvriss. I’ll distract him. You try and locate the mage with your amulet. I’ll take on his spells.”

“Are you insane, Shivertail? He won’t bother with magic—he’ll crush you!”

“I’ll dodge. People are dying, Ilvriss.”

The Lord of the Wall hesitated. Then he nodded.

“Don’t die.”

Zel nodded. He walked out from behind his cover. All of the projections of Ikriss looked at him.

“Giving up, Zel Shivertail?”

“Give me your best shot, mage.”

The Drake bared his teeth. His tail lashed the ground as he saw Ikriss pointing. The levitating boulders angled themselves towards him. Then Ikriss paused. All of his projections suddenly looked left. Zel looked as well, and saw blue.

Her carapace shone in the moonlight. It sparkled. Unlike the other Antinium with their brown bodies, the pigmentation of Xrn’s body had a luster of its own. It was surpassed only by her eyes. They shone green and blue and red, colors mixing together and swirling in the darkness.

“The Small Queen.”

Ikriss inhaled. His illusions shifted their grip on their staffs, suddenly nervous. Zel stared warily at Xrn. She had a staff of her own. She raised her other hand in greeting.

“Zel Shivertail. I did not expect to see you here. But this situation makes more sense the more I see.”

“Why are you here? This doesn’t concern you. This Drake is your enemy.”

Ikriss’ voice sounded worried and panicked by turns. Xrn looked at him. He raised his staff threateningly. She only nodded towards the devastation around her.

“I thought I sensed someone casting destructive magic. Klbkch refused to believe me at first, but he is on his way with many Soldiers.”

Zel wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or worried. Ikriss was certainly unhappy. He shifted, staring at the ground, and then glared at Xrn.

“I have no quarrel with you, Antinium. Stand aside and I will rid your people of Zel Shivertail. Get in my way and I will destroy you.”

His words made Zel tense. Ikriss was clearly his enemy. But Xrn was an unknown quantity. If she teamed up with him—

The Small Queen regarded Ikriss with a tilted head. She sighed.

“You killed children and innocents with your spells. You, a Drake. I do not understand it. The Antinium are called monsters because we sacrifice our own. But we do not murder each other.”

Both Ikriss and Zel stared at her. Xrn turned her head away from the image of Ikriss she was staring at and began talking to the air next to her.

“My orders from the Grand Queen are not to use force unless attacked first. Especially not against groups like adventurers to avoid starting a war. So I will not cast any spells. Unless you hit me with one. Please, do.”

The Drake shifted his grip on the staff. He didn’t move. Xrn nodded. Zel looked at her warily. If she wasn’t going to fight, but just stand there—

Stand there. Xrn was speaking and staring at a blank patch of…nothing, although she’d clearly been addressing Ikriss. She was staring at it intently. Zel’s heart pounded. He abandoned his position and charged towards Xrn. Not at her, but a bit to the left. At the patch of air.

The [General] rushed past Xrn. She didn’t budge. His claws opened and he aimed for the exact spot where she’d been looking. For a second he thought nothing was there, and then he heard a sound. Something cursed and shifted. Zel lashed out. His claws were sharper than steel and he caught something—

Ikriss appeared, stumbling, his side laid open, but bloodless. He glared at Zel and spoke.

“[Lesser Teleport]!”

He vanished. Zel whirled around, saw nothing. He stared back at Xrn. She glanced at him, and then casually stared up. Zel looked up and saw her gaze was on a rooftop two buildings over.

“Lovely night, isn’t it?”

He didn’t respond. Zel charged towards the building. Halfway there he heard a cough. Xrn’s gaze was now on a building collapsed by rubble. Ilvriss ran towards Zel, sword drawn.

“The Ant’s looking—?”

“That’s right.”

Zel grinned and Ilvriss stared at Xrn before gripping his sword with both hands. The Drakes advanced. Zel muttered to Ilvriss.

“Hard target. I felt like I was cutting into armor, not flesh. Go for limb amputations and use force.”

“Got it.”

They circled the rubble. Nothing was there. Ilvriss gripped at his amulet. There was a flash, and Ikriss blurred into place. For a second Zel thought he saw something else, something black and shiny—but then the Drake shot up. He threw fire at both Drakes, retreating. He vanished as Ilvriss leapt at him, sword swinging.

“This isn’t fair!”

“Life seldom is.”

Xrn carefully turned her head, staring at an open patch of ground across the street. Both Zel and Ilvriss charged. This time Ikriss raised his staff and Ilvriss threw something. There was a screech and whatever spell the Drake was trying to use failed. Zel and Ilvriss tore into him from both sides.

Zel ripped part of the mage’s arm away, slicing through…something hard. Ilvriss grunted as he cut through the mage’s leg. Ikriss fell, grabbing at his leg. He wasn’t bleeding.

“Got him!”

Ilvriss put a foot on the mage’s chest and ran him through. He twisted the sword, pulled it out, and stabbed it in again. The body beneath him convulsed, and then the corpse, the thing that should have been a corpse, muttered a spell.

“[Aerial Burst].”

Both Drakes flew backwards. Xrn raised her staff and held her ground, a bubble of violet light appearing around her. Ikriss got up, holding his leg, using his staff for support. He was babbling, and his voice was…changed. It was suddenly feminine, and echoed slightly.

“I’m going to die. Me. Oh no. Master, help, help…!”

Zel ran at him…her? Ikriss turned to him, and there was genuine fear on his face. Zel slashed at his head, and felt a connection. Then there was light. Ikriss vanished.

“Damn!”

Zel roared and spun to Xrn. She was looking around. She shook her head.

“Nowhere. He vanished. I could have sworn I felt someone else’s magic there. That was a powerful teleportation spell, far beyond what he could have used. An artifact? Hm. Shivertail, why was that Drake trying to kill you?”

“No time. Ilvriss! The inn!”

Zel roared. Ilvriss pulled himself out of a collapsed wall, swearing. The two Drakes raced for one of the walls Ikriss had raised. They got over it after Xrn blew a hole in it for them to cross. They found two destroyed Earth Golems, at least sixty [Guardsmen], Watch Captain Zevara, and an army of Antinium Soldiers behind them.

“Hey, it’s General Zel!”

One of the Guardsmen, Relc, called out. He had a spear in hand and he was standing on top of one of the fallen Golems. He leapt down as Klbkch and Zevara both strode towards them. Zevara’s eyes flicked towards Xrn. She looked warily at Klbkch.

“General Shivertail? Is the Antinium—?”

“No. We were attacked by Ikriss. He and Regrika Blackpaw are murderers. I have reason to believe they killed Brunkr. We were teleported here and Regrika is back at the inn!”

The Drake’s eyes widened. She looked at Zel, and then towards the gates.

“Regrika Blackpaw? But—”

“I want everyone with a level higher than twenty at that inn, now! Erin Solstice and two Gold-rank teams are there, but a Named Adventurer might be too much for them.”

“Erin? Wait, what’s—”

“The inn! Go!”

Zel roared it at the confused people around him. Relc’s eyes widened. He turned and began sprinting down the streets. Klbkch was already pointing and shouting. Antinium streamed out of the city, and Zel ran after them. They found Revi and Bird fleeing towards them. And in the inn—

Death. And no Regrika. She was already in Celum. And by that point, they were too late to catch her.

—-

Venitra strode through the city of Celum, blade at the ready, closing in on Ryoka Griffin’s position. She knew where the Human girl was exactly, thanks to the magic Ijvani had cast. The Humans in the streets cried out and ran when they saw her approaching with blood splattered across her armor. Venitra cared not.

She was unstoppable. The Gold-rank adventurers had damaged her. Her. And the Antinium had—soiled—her form. The form her master had given her! Venitra had burned him into her memory. She would tear him apart slowly. But she had a mission. It trumped all things.

Ryoka was in a little inn called the Frenzied Hare. Venitra strode through the door, hearing conversations stop. She spotted the Runner at a table with four other adventurers. The Horns of Hammerad looked up. They froze when they saw Venitra, or rather, Regrika Blackpaw covered in blood. Ryoka slowly got up, her eyes wide.

“Miss Blackpaw, what’s—”

Venitra lunged. Her sword shot across the table towards Ryoka. The Human—dodged. She twisted in her seat and threw herself across Yvlon’s lap. As Regrika cursed, she cut left. She was trying to cut straight through Yvlon, but her sword slashed across the woman’s breastplate instead. Yvlon shouted and Ryoka ran for the door.

“Come back here and die, Ryoka Griffin!”

The undead woman roared, not caring that she was ruining her guise as Regrika Blackpaw. She was too incensed to care. Ryoka disappeared out the door in a blur. Venitra ran after her and felt something slowing her. She looked down.

Ice was covering her lower half. She saw Ceria pointing, and walls of ice rose in front of the undead woman, blocking her way. Venitra raised her shield and punched through the wall of ice, shattering it. She swung her sword and the ice binding her broke.

“Stop!”

The Horns of Hammerad spread out around Venitra, looking afraid, but determined. Venitra longed to cut them all down, but she ran for the door. Ryoka was more important.

“You are attacking our comrade. I would advise you to surrender, Named Adventurer or n—”

Her shield smashed into Ksmvr as he tried to bar her way. The Antinium fell. Yvlon lunged for Venitra, sword flashing.

She had no time for this! Venitra ignored Yvlon’s sword and accessed a part of her she seldom used. Her master had done more than create her body. He had imbued her with certain enchantments.

“[Mists of Madness].”

The spell erupted from her body in the form of a cloud which engulfed the inn and spilled out onto the street. She heard the other adventurers shout, and then the inn went insane. The cowering Humans suddenly turned on each other, some clawing at each other’s faces, others grabbing weapons and hitting each other, themselves—some sat in corners and gibbered, or became different people.

“A simple matter.”

Venitra strode out of the inn, sensing which way Ryoka had gone. She began to run as the insanity-causing mists began to affect the entire street. The [Guardsmen] who’d come running became crazed killers themselves.

Venitra. What is taking you so long?

Her master’s voice. Venitra cowered internally as she ran.

“I am pursuing Ryoka Griffin right now, master! I was delayed but she cannot escape—”

The Runner was moving fast. Venitra was faster. She barreled through the wall of a building and out the other side. Ryoka turned, eyes wide, and reversed direction as she ran down a street. Venitra ran after her. Az’kerash’s voice thundered in her head.

Where? No—I see by the spell you are close. Hurry, Venitra. Ijvani has retreated due to her wounds. Ryoka must not escape!

“Yes, master! I am almost—”

Someone stabbed Venitra in the back. She paused, turned, and lashed out with her sword. There was a blur of motion and her sword cut through air. She saw the blur resolve itself into a figure standing several feet away. He had a flaming rapier in his hand and crackling magic lightning in the other.

Pisces coughed, waving away the madness-causing mists that still clung to his robe. He was frowning, but the spell hadn’t affected him. He smiled weakly and nodded to Venitra.

“A mental attack is only half as efficacious on the second attempt. I am afraid…I have already experienced my own insane delusions once.”

His rapier was at the ready. His stance was set, his eyes watchful. Venitra turned away in disgust. As she did, Pisces blurred forwards and stabbed her in her arm. He seemed astonished when his rapier did nothing but slide off Venitra’s bone body.

“Begone, pest!”

She lashed out at him. Pisces blurred away, using the [Flash Step] spell. She turned to run, and he appeared next to her, rapier dancing across her side. Stab, stab, cut. Three precise strikes, all failures. Then he vanished. Venitra roared in Regrika’s voice, irritated by his futile attacks.

Venitra, stop paying attention to him and pursue Ryoka Griffin!

Her master’s voice made Venitra turn and immediately begin running. Pisces struck her twice more in the back as she did, and then blasted her face with lightning. Venitra swung her sword, trying to catch him, but he was a gnat, buzzing around her, too quick to catch!

But he could not harm her either. His rapier, enchanted with magical flames, was weak, and his spells were laughable. Venitra had been enchanted to withstand spells from Named Adventurers! She could not be so easily—

“[Bone Fracture].”

A hand on her arm. A sensation. Venitra felt her arm, cut slightly by Seborn’s knives, crack. She stopped and stared down in horror at her arm. Running along her perfectly shaped arm was the tiniest, most miniscule of breaks. She stared at Pisces. He disappeared as her shield swung at his head. He appeared at the other end of the street. He stared at her.

“You are no Gnoll. What…what are you? Who made you?”

He knew. In that moment, Venitra knew he had to die. She ran at him. Pisces became a blur, dodging away. He was faster than Ryoka Griffin thanks to his magic!

“You will not escape!”

Venitra roared at him. She tapped into the enchantments on her body, about to use another one. Her master’s voice halted her.

Hold, Venitra. Ryoka Griffin is getting away.

“But master, he knows!”

So I have witnessed. I will deal with him. He is…different. Hunt down Ryoka Griffin, now!

Her master’s words were never wrong. Venitra turned. She saw Pisces appear in front of her. He raised his hand, about to use the spell again, when his eyes went wide. He touched his hand to his head.

“Who is speaking to me? Who—?”

Venitra ran past him. She envied Pisces. He was speaking to her master. There could be no higher honor. She ran down the street, no longer hampered by anything or anyone. Venitra ran straight to Ryoka Griffin, charging through walls, running over anyone she encountered in the street. The Runner was too slow to evade her.

She burst through a wall and there was Ryoka Griffin. The Runner’s eyes widened and she turned. Too slow this time. Venitra’s hand shot out and she grabbed Ryoka’s arm. Then her face.

“I have you now.”

Venitra’s fingers tightened on Ryoka’s head as the young woman lashed at her chest, punching, kicking. Venitra felt nothing but satisfaction as she tightened her grip. Then she remembered her master’s injunction and stopped before she fractured Ryoka’s skull.

But her arms. Venitra could start with them. She seized Ryoka’s arm and grabbed one of her fingers. She bent the pinkie finger of Ryoka’s right hand back, back, and then tore it off. The girl screamed. It was the sound Venitra had waited for all this time.

Venitra, what are you doing?

She flinched as Ryoka convulsed in her grip. Venitra’s voice was sulky, reticent.

“Master, I was only—”

I told you to find Ryoka Griffin, not waste time! You have disobeyed me once. Why are you wasting time with nothing when—

“Master? I have Ryoka Griffin!”

What was going on? Venitra stared at Ryoka. The girl was sobbing in her arms, blood running from her detached finger. Az’kerash’s voice paused in her mind.

What?

“I have Ryoka Griffin. In my hands.”

Venitra repeated herself slowly, disbelievingly. Was something wrong with her master’s spell? Inconceivable. And yet, he did not see Ryoka Griffin through her eyes. Either he was wrong or the spell was wrong. Either way, it was impossible.

Venitra. What are you looking at?

Az’kerash’s mental tone was slow, quiet. Venitra hesitated.

“Ryoka Griffin, master.”

No. You are not. There is nothing there.

The world paused. Venitra turned and stared at Ryoka Griffin’s face. She saw tears in the girl’s eyes, an anguished face—and then a smile. Ryoka straightened. She looked Venitra in the eye and laughed as her hand bled and Venitra held her pinkie. Then she spoke.

“What? Did ye think she’d really sit here and wait for death? More the fool ye art, then.”

The girl blurred in front of Venitra. Her finger and body vanished. Something blue and indistinct hovered in front of Venitra’s face. She stared at it.

And her master lost his temper.

—-

“Where is she? Find her!”

Az’kerash’s voice was never raised. His wrath was cold and deliberate, never a product of emotion. That made this moment and his raised voice all the more terrible now. He paced back and forth in his castle, staring at the image of Celum as Venitra ran through it. His servants cowered. Ijvani, her skull fractured and her black metal bones torn and broken in many places, flinched as she bent over an orb.

They were scrying for Ryoka Griffin. The spell that she had cast had been—altered—somehow. It pointed to the Winter Sprite. But Ryoka Griffin was elsewhere. They had to find her.

“There.”

It wasn’t Ijvani who spoke, but the other spellcaster among Az’kerash’s chosen. Bea. The rotting woman turned to their master, an image of Ryoka Griffin in her hands. She was running through the snow, the world racing around her.

Az’kerash, the Necromancer, reacted at once. He closed his eyes and put one delicate finger to his brow. When he spoke, it was to Venitra, hundreds of miles away from their location.

“Venitra, your quarry is southeast of Celum. She is heading towards…”

He paused.

“Towards the High Passes? No. That cannot be—catch her, Venitra! Use the [Haste] spell, now!”

Ijvani did not hear the reply, but in the image of Venitra that was being projected to her in her orb, she saw Regrika Blackpaw suddenly blur and race out of the city. She closed the connection and flinched as her master turned towards her.

“Master, I am sorry. I failed—”

“You did little wrong, Ijvani. Against Zel Shivertail and a Lord of the Wall, I would not expect you to triumph. Let alone with the Small Queen interfering. Why did she help Shivertail? How would that serve the Antinium? Why is a Winter Sprite—”

He broke off. Ijvani shrank, feeling her broken form leaking mana. Zel had cut through her ribs with his claws, and the Drake with the sword had cut off her leg! It didn’t hurt of course, but the loss of one of her limbs was painful in a mental way.

Far worse was seeing her master distressed. Ijvani looked around the room. All of her master’s servants in the castle were here. Oom, dark, wearing a long trench coat and hat, face obscured. Bea, rotting, rotten. Lovely in her putrefaction. And Kerash. He was an undead Gnoll, a giant among his kind even in death. He was as tall as Venitra and proud. And dead.

All of them bowed their heads as Az’kerash strode past him. His black eyes and white pupils were narrowed in his ire.

“Shivertail. He may suspect. Ijvani, your illusion broke down twice during the battle for a few moments. Besides that—this is too good an opportunity to waste. He is a thorn. I will have him removed.”

“Master? Do you wish me and Venitra to kill him?”

Ijvani wasn’t sure she could be of much help. The [General] had survived some of her best spells! Venitra might be able to kill him, but alone…Az’kerash shook his head.

“No. Venitra will catch Ryoka Griffin. I will not wait for her. I have used one of my scrolls of [Greater Teleportation]. I must spend more, it seems. Bea, Kerash, Oom. You three will accompany Ijvani. I will teleport you all—you will each carry a scroll of [Greater Teleportation] with you.”

His servants held their breaths. Well, none of them needed to breathe, even Oom, so that was figurative. But they were all astonished. The scrolls of [Greater Teleportation] were limited. Even their master could not acquire more. And four, one for each of them? They stared at their master as Az’kerash spoke.

“You will appear in Liscor and kill Shivertail and as many Antinium and Drakes as possible. Bea, I leave the slaughter of Antinium and lesser soldiers to you. Ijvani, you will support Kerash in disposing of the dangerous elements, such as the Gold-rank adventurers. Oom, you were created to deal with enemies like Zel Shivertail. Kill him without giving him any opportunity to run.”

“Yes, master.”

They bowed as one and lined up before their master. Az’kerash walked past them. Kerash, axe in hand. Bea, smiling. Oom, faceless. And Ijvani, wounded but eyes alight with power. He nodded and glanced back towards one of the images of Liscor. In it, shapes milled about, soldiers rushing towards the inn.

“You will teleport in as a group. Try to catch Shivertail alone. He is surrounded by too many strong individuals for an open engagement. The long-distance teleportation spell will take thirty minutes to complete; possibly longer…I will not waste eight scrolls. As for the battle, if you believe yourself in danger, return here with the scroll rather than risk yourselves. I have need of you all. None of you are permitted to die.”

They shivered in delight. They were needed. Their master needed them. He began to trace a complicated pattern on the floor, glowing lines spreading out as he pointed. Az’kerash began to calculate their destination, lips moving slowly. Because he was their master, he could speak and act while he cast the spell.

“A last note. The innkeeper. I do not know where she will be when you appear. But if she becomes a casualty…I will understand. Zel Shivertail’s death matters above all. After he dies, you will regroup. The Slayer is there, as is the Small Queen. And one of the Antinium Queens. If I must reveal part of my forces in some form tonight, I will reap the rewards of it. However, I intend to keep my secret. Kill all witnesses. Is that clear?”

“Yes master.”

They spoke as one. And watched as the image of Ryoka Griffin fleeing grew closer to the image of Venitra. They were both running through the snow. And no one could catch either one.

Time was running out for Ryoka. And for Zel Shivertail, and Liscor.

—-

Ryoka ran. The snow blurred around her. Her legs churned through the ice, biting into the packed snow. She was barefoot. Her feet bled as they landed on shards of ice. She wore no jacket, no long pants. She was in shorts and t-shirt.

This was the fastest way she could move. Ryoka ran, and felt her legs and body freezing. She was bleeding, leaving a crimson trail in the snow.

Time. She fumbled at her belt. She had left her belt pouches behind, abandoned her bag of holding. But she had taken something with her. Vials of liquid. She grabbed one with frozen fingertips and removed the cork. The liquid sloshed and some splashed out into the snow. Ryoka ignored it and lifted the sparkling violet liquid up in one shaking hand.

She poured the potion into her mouth, choking as she tried to swallow and breathe at the same time. The liquid burned going down. And then the fire spread. Her frozen body began to warm. Ryoka felt her feet tingle and her toes began to feel once more. Her feet began to heal, the cuts closing.

A second potion, as she tossed the empty healing vial away. This one was green and made energy rush through Ryoka’s frame. Her legs began to move quicker. The stamina potion reinvigorated her, healed the aching muscles, and gave her more energy to keep sprinting. Ryoka kept running, trying not to puke.

These were the eighth and ninth potions she’d downed. The side effects of so many potions was making her sick. She had vomited while running. Twice.

But she couldn’t stop. Ryoka knew she’d been running for hours. Hours. The instant after she’d written her goodbye letter, she’d gone through the door to Celum, leaving a disguised Ivolethe behind.

Now the snow and dark night blew around her. It was dark. Ryoka couldn’t tell how long she’d been running; only that it was too long. She had to hurry up. She had to get to the High Passes in time.

It took half a day of running to get there. Ryoka had to be there faster. She didn’t know how long Ivolethe’s disguise would last, or if she’d slip up when Venitra and Ijvani spoke to her. Would they know? And if they did, what would they do?

No choice. It was that or let them kill her friends one by one. Ryoka pumped her arms and legs, willing them to run faster. The mountains, the impossibly high peaks loomed in the darkness ahead. So close and too far.

Ryoka felt like she was running in slow motion. Slow! So slow! She’d seen Valceif run, seen Hawk run—even Relc was faster than she was! She had to go faster.

Or her friends would die. Erin would die. Mrsha and Lyonette would die. She had to run.

Something moved in the darkness. Ryoka flinched, expecting wolves, a traveler. But the glow was blue and familiar. She saw it streak ahead of her, and then saw Ivolethe’s tiny form, flying, glowing ahead of her. And just like that, Ryoka knew she’d ran out of time.

“Ivolethe!”

She screamed at the faerie, her breath snatched away by the breeze. The faerie looked back and Ryoka saw her flying ahead, flying through the wind. So quick, so effortless.

She did not speak. Of course not. She’d told Ryoka she was bending all the rules to play a prank like this. That it was a prank was the only reason she could get away. She couldn’t help now.

It was just Ryoka. So the girl ran as fast and as hard as she ever had. She tried. She really did. She tried to run like the wind. She tried to run with the wind. But it blew in her face.

And the faerie flew on, looking back. Ryoka raced after her, trying. How did it go? Step as if you want to walk into the sky. That is how faeries fly.

But she was no faerie. She was mortal, afraid, weak. Ryoka felt sick. She tried to feel the wind. It was no good. She was trying, trying so hard! Why couldn’t she do it? Why…why….?

Why was life so unfair? She was trying. But the wind blew and the snow chilled her. And then Ryoka heard the voice from behind.

“I am coming.”

It was a sound no mortal throat could make. No lungs could contain enough air, no mortal throat could make that sound. It echoed for miles, thundering. Fear made Ryoka run faster. She was coming. She was here.

Venitra.

There was a shape blurring through the snow behind Ryoka, in the distance, but moving incredibly fast. Venitra ran, magic making her move at twice, three times her normal speed. Ryoka despaired when she saw that. It wasn’t fair! The bone woman ran towards her. Now her voice was louder.

“You cannot escape me.”

She had promised to kill Ryoka slowly. Kill her and everyone she loved. Ryoka felt her fingers breaking. She ran, pumping her legs. Too slow.

Ivolethe flew ahead of her, looking back. Ryoka thought she saw other faeries flying in the snow now. Or was it her delusion? The wind blew into her face. She chased the blue glow. But it was always ahead of her. And the magic—where was the magic?

It was never there when Ryoka needed it. She reached out, lungs burning, legs failing. Ivolethe was disappearing. But the faerie’s tiny head was looking back, urging Ryoka on. Telling her to follow. To run like the wind.

But Ryoka couldn’t. Tears froze on her face. She ran and whispered a word.

“Please.”

Her lungs burned. The word disappeared. Ivolethe’s gaze was caught with hers. Too slow. Venitra appeared out of the blizzard and lunged.

“I have you!”

Her golden eyes burned. Ryoka swerved desperately, trying to avoid her. Venitra missed and Ryoka felt her powerful hands snap together where Ryoka’s neck would be. She ran, trying to lose the woman. But Venitra was too quick.

“You cannot escape me!”

Ryoka grabbed at her belt pouch and threw a bag. It turned into vines as thick as her legs, tangling around Venitra. The undead roared and tore the Tripvine bag away in moments. She caught up with Ryoka in another.

“You cannot get away!”

One step. Two. Ryoka ran and tried to run into the sky. She ran after that tantalizing glow, that bit of blue magic in the storm.

She failed. Venitra seized hold of her. Her arms were tight on Ryoka’s neck.

“Now who will save you? No one.”

Her words ran together, almost too quick to follow, a product of the [Haste] spell. Ryoka closed her eyes. Waiting. Venitra dropped Ryoka and seized hold of her arm. Ryoka twisted, trying to run as one of her fingers was seized in an iron grip. She looked for Ivolethe. She’d always thought the faerie would protect her! But there was no Ivolethe. One of Ryoka’s fingers bent. It snapped.

She screamed. The second was caught. Again. And then Ryoka did scream.

“Ivolethe!”

There was no flash of blue in the blizzard. No sign of her at all. She could not help. Venitra laughed. A third finger was gripped, and Ryoka stared around. But the faerie had not come for her. She and her sisters were gone. There was no blue.

But there was green. A flash moved past Ryoka in the snow. She blinked and then she heard a voice.

“[Relc Kick]!”

A foot smashed into Venitra’s head. She blinked and let go of Ryoka. The girl dropped and Relc appeared. He stared at the Gnoll Named Adventurer and then at Ryoka.

“Run, you idiot! I thought you were supposed to be fast!”

Ryoka got to her feet. She ran. Relc faced Regrika Blackpaw as the Gnoll stared at him. She had her sword and shield. He had a wooden spear with a steel tip, solid, thick, and unenchanted. She struck at him. He leapt backwards.

“Whoa! That’s a [Haste] spell! You cheating bastard!”

The Human girl ran through the snow. The High Passes were ahead. Venitra, Regrika, hesitated. She turned. A spear tip caught her in the back of the head. Relc yelped.

“What the hell? What’s your head made of? Rocks?”

She turned and ran, blurring after Ryoka. Too fast for the Runner to evade or outrun. Regrika was nearly on top of Ryoka when she heard a shout.

“[Lightning Sprint]! [Triple Thrust]!”

A shape moved past her, fast, faster than she was. Three spears seemed to appear at once, striking Regrika in the face, side, and arm. She turned, swung her sword. Relc dodged back again, panting.

“Okay, seriously. I’m retired, you know? And this is a lot faster than I’d like. Can’t you, I dunno, bleed?”

She snarled at him. Relc snarled back. They fought in the snow. Regrika lunged at Relc, sword swinging. He dodged back, feinting, not willing to block her strikes. His spear shot out, was blocked by her armor, her shield. A thrust hit her in the face, glanced off.

“This is why I wanted my enchanted spear! But noooo—”

Relc yelped and zipped back a few steps as Regrika lunged again. He was panting hard now, his face greying with exhaustion. He held up a hand, chest heaving.

“Okay, okay, I may be a bit out of shape. And my Skills don’t last forever. Why don’t you…is that [Haste] spell expired yet?”

She charged at him. Relc struck her twice with his spear. She rammed forwards with her shield and he had to block. His spear splintered from the impact and he fell back. Relc stared at the bits of spears in his hand and then at Venitra. He curled a fist.

“[Relc Punch]! Relc Punch! Damn it, I could really use an actual Skill like that!”

He punched her twice as she swung at him. She caught his chest and laid it open with a strike. Relc cried out and ran, fumbling at his belt for a healing potion.

“Too old for this! Good luck, Runner Girl!”

Venitra let him go. She turned to the High Passes. In the distance, a girl was running through the snow. Goats were racing after her. Stone gargoyles stirred in their frozen nests. Venitra ran. She caught Ryoka five seconds later.

—-

This was how it ended. Ivolethe closed her eyes as Venitra swung Ryoka bodily into a rock face. The girl cried out. Venitra turned and beheaded one of the fearless goats that were trying to bite her leg.

Her sisters floated in the air around Ivolethe. They chattered, some laughing, others mocking Ryoka. Some sympathized with the girl, other the undead bound by spells and loyalty to her master. Some cared. Others did not.

But Ivolethe alone knew the scene below mattered. She alone remembered Ryoka’s name. She alone called her friend.

But she had done too much. Too much. The rules had been bent, and trespassed in places. Ivolethe had done all she could. And it was not enough.

“Sister, sister. Do not interfere. Our King watches. He knows!”

One of her sisters, young and impetuous, cautioned Ivolethe. Another, old as time, spoke.

“It is not worth it. Not for her. Not for a mortal.”

All agreed. The Frost Faerie floated in the air, their transient forms of ice turning slowly to water. Ivolethe looked at them. Slowly, she nodded.

“You are right, sisters. She is not. A mortal is not, for all her passion. For all her wonder. She is not worth interfering with, not worth breaking the rules. Not as she is.”

They agreed. Some laughed. Others wept. They were more than creatures of snow and ice. Their natures were changing. They were changing. Ivolethe looked down at the ground. To break the rules was to be punished. That was how rules worked. But they were rules for a reason.

They could be broken, if you were willing to pay the price. She swept downwards. Hands grabbed at her.

“Sister, no! Did you not say?”

“It is not worth the cost! Not for a mortal! You said, you said!”

“Yes.”

Ivolethe’s voice was distant. She flew, ignoring the cries of her sisters, summoning the last of her strength. Her body froze, colder than winter. Her voice echoed.

“It is not worth it. Not for what she is. But perhaps. For what she might become. And for one reason more. Because she is my friend.”

She dove and the world froze around her. Venitra, laughing, froze with Ryoka in her arms. Her hands froze and Ryoka fell. The girl stared. The High Passes, cold and snowing, froze. Ice, such as had never been seen before or since on this world covered the sky, the earth, and the undead woman.

Ice. The frost of the beginning and end chilled the earth for a moment and froze the air itself. Venitra stood, astonished, frozen, and her master stopped, his eyes wide. Ryoka stared up at Ivolethe as the faerie smiled down at her.

A small smile. A friend’s smile. Then the air bent. There was wrongness here. Something had happened. Someone had broken a rule. The Frost Faeries flew around Ivolethe, screaming.

“You broke it! The rule! You broke the rules!”

Ivolethe stood in the air, looking down at Ryoka, her friend. She was smiling. She opened her mouth, and in that moment the wind ceased. The other faeries quieted, and Ryoka heard Ivolethe’s words.

“Remember. Remember it all. This is truth. This is wonder. This is magic.”

Then she leapt up. She flew towards the sky, laughing, daring her King. She cried out.

“Blow winds and come, wrack! Lord what fools these immortals be! Come! Come and see what cold cannot freeze and winds cannot erase! I am no coward! Let the storm rage on! Let the earth hear my cry! I am Ivolethe! And I will not let my friend die!”

The world paused, and Ryoka looked up. She saw a host in the sky, watching figures, made of snow and ice. And felt a presence. The lone glow of Ivolethe’s light spiraled up, higher and higher to that celestial host. And then fell. Ivolethe fell to earth in front of Ryoka. And broke.

The Frost Faerie’s body of ice shattered to pieces on the ground below. Where once had been life was just melted water. Memory. Nothing more.

The world groaned and was silent. The Frost Faeries around Ryoka hushed. And the ice around Venitra began to melt. Ryoka got up. She turned and ran. And wept.

—-

He was old. And tired. And sleeping. Teriarch woke as she ran into his cave, woke as his spells alerted him. He opened an eye.

“What now? I thought I told you we would never meet again, girl. There is nothing for you here. Nothing I will give. Why tempt my wrath? Why try?”

A broken voice was his reply. Ryoka stood in the cavern of the Dragon, bleeding, fingers broken, weeping. As Teriarch woke and realized what he saw, she shouted at him, screamed.

“Why? Because I can’t do it myself! I can’t! And you—you didn’t know! Do you even care?”

“Care? What’s going on? Why are your fingers—”

Teriarch stared at Ryoka, befuddled. She strode towards him, and the gold Dragon looked into her eyes. Ryoka’s voice was hoarse, and she was trembling. Still crying.

“My friends! Everyone I love! He’ll kill them all! Is this a game to you? Didn’t you think about what the consequences would be? Why do they have to die—why did he have to die because of a damn letter? A birthday letter? Why didn’t you protect them? Why did they have to die?”

“Who? What’s going on?”

She didn’t answer him, not right away. Ryoka trembled. She inhaled several times. Then she spoke. She looked at Teriarch and shouted it at him, at the Dragon, in his cave of wonderful and useless treasures.

“You know who! Him! Perril Chandler, the bastard who lives in the Blood Fields! The one you wanted me to find! The Necromancer! Az’kerash!”

Ryoka said it. She shouted it at Teriarch. The Dragon inhaled. He hesitated, struck by guilt. Then by anger. He opened his mouth to tell her it wasn’t his business, that he didn’t care.

He never got the chance. Ryoka clutched at her chest. Something was wrong. Something was happening. Teriarch saw magic around her. His ears heard her heart squeezing, heard her breath catch. And then the spell activated.

Ryoka’s heart burst. She collapsed. Teriarch stared at Ryoka Griffin as she fell to the ground. He stared. She lay on the ground, dead. Teriarch reached out with a trembling claw and touched her. Then he opened his wings and roared.

4.31

In the moments after Ryoka died, she had a vision. She had left her body and she was running down a path. It was some kind of road that stretched on until infinity and she was running as fast as she could down it.

There was no pain. There was nothing but the wind on her face, and the sensation of flying, flying across the ground. Ryoka ran. And ahead of her was a flying blue figure. Ivolethe.

The Frost Faerie was laughing as she let herself be chased by Ryoka. She was going so fast, and no matter how quickly Ryoka ran, she could never catch up to the faerie. But for once, Ryoka didn’t mind that. She ran, happy and free.

And then she came to a cave. Ryoka slowed and slowly walked into it. Now she was in a different place.

In a place where mountains touched the sky, there was a cave. It lay at the foot of one of the mountains, dug into the side. It could have been called a cavern. There was an old man living there. The cave was his home.

It was a large cave, but small for the old man living inside. Too small. It was cramped and he didn’t belong there. He should have been out in the sun, but he hid from it. He was old, and Ryoka heard him whispering. His voice echoed around her, until she was standing by his side.

She looked down and saw her own body lying on the floor. Ryoka knew her heart wasn’t beating. It was in pieces. Magic had shredded it. And the old man was trying to keep her alive. He pointed, and Ryoka saw her chest begin to rise and fall.

Now his voice echoed around the cave, whispering. Frantic and old.

“—breathe. The death magic must be dispelled. But the heart—where’s my scroll of regeneration? No time. I’ll have to reconstruct it—what do Human hearts look like?”

He turned and began to search around his cave as Ryoka watched her chest continue to rise and fall. Something was happening in her chest. Ryoka knelt by her body and felt her heart start to assemble itself, flesh and blood melding together.

“I can’t find my compendium of anatomies! Another heart? A magic one? No, no. Just heal the damage. It’s just a death spell. Simple to fix. She will survive. Of course she will.”

He was old. And worried. And tired. Ryoka looked at the old man as he paced back and forth in his tiny home, his cave of rock.

And then she saw a Dragon.

His scales were bronze and shone like the sun. They looked closer to gold in the half-light of his cavern. The Dragon was huge, taller than any creature of the land or sky, majestic. His mane flowed like molten metal, his claws were like razors.

And he was legend. He was one of the last of his kind, a reminder that magic, true magic still walked the earth. He was older than the mountains he rested under, the ancient watcher. A being of flame and sky.

A Dragon.

And then Ryoka felt her body give a start. Her heart began to beat again and she saw herself cough. Ryoka felt her chest convulse. She was lying on the ground, her heart aching. And then she opened her eyes and the old man and the Dragon were one. He had a name.

Teriarch.

He crouched over Ryoka, an expression of worry on his huge face. The Dragon reached out with one claw and touched her. So gently, a giant gently caressing an ant. She looked up into his eyes, heliotrope and cerulean and saw him smile.

Relief filled the huge Dragon as he looked down at Ryoka Griffin. And then, just as suddenly, the relief turned to fury. He turned, and Ryoka sat up, despite the pain in her chest. The Dragon roared again, a sound that made the cavern shake and the vast collection of his artifacts tremble. She looked towards the entrance of the cave, waiting. The vision was still in Ryoka’s mind, that endless road and Ivolethe. But she put it aside for one moment.

There was no way she was going to miss what came next.

—-

Venitra stopped when she heard the second roar. It echoed through the High Passes, sending the other monsters running for cover. Even the goats. It even sent a moment of trepidation through her. But the undead woman did not flee. She had come too far to be denied her victory now. Her master would not accept failure.

And Ryoka was so close. Venitra’s body was still frozen from the ice but she made it move. She strode towards the huge cave opening. There was a yellow flag of some sort tied to a rock at the entrance. The undead disregarded this. This place was suitable for Ryoka Griffin’s end.

“I have found you!”

She roared into the cave, wondering if Ryoka had awakened some kind of monster within. Venitra strode into the darkness, fearless. She had been created to be superior to any monster! She was perfection. Her master had made her, so she must be so.

Her sword and shield were drawn, weapons of enchanted bone, like her body. Venitra walked forwards, her heavy tread crushing rocks underfoot. She had been built like a knight; her body was armor superior to any steel, and the magic in her warded her against lesser spells and attacks. She was flawless! Unstoppable! She was—

The woman rounded an outcropping of rock in the darkness and saw the Dragon. He loomed over her, violet and blue eyes burning with fury. His scales glinted as his head moved down to regard her.

“Wretch. Thing. You dare trespass in my domain?”

He bellowed the words and Venitra trembled. She stared up at him. A Dragon. A—she brandished her sword. She could see a young woman lying on the ground in front of the Dragon. His tail was half-curled around her, protectively.

“Give me Ryoka Griffin. I have no quarrel with you, beast.”

Did her voice quaver? Surely not. She was not afraid. She was not! Venitra lifted her sword, daring the creature before her.

The Dragon reared up. His eyes narrowed and Venitra braced herself. He roared a third time, and Venitra dashed forwards. Her body, enchanted with [Haste], darted at the girl half-sitting up on the ground. Venitra leapt—

“Begone.”

Something grabbed her. Venitra cried out and stabbed at the claw grasping her. Futilely. Her blade glanced off something, and then she felt herself lifted.  Venitra struggled and something hurled her—

“What?”

The undead woman twisted, her shield raised, her sword slashing the air frantically. What had just happened? She felt weightless. There was nothing to stand on, no ground—or Dragon—anywhere around her. Everything was a blur and she was…moving? What? Venitra realized what was going on.

“I’m—falling?”

Then her body crashed into the side of the mountain. Venitra felt the shock of the impact crack her body. She lay there, stunned.

“I broke? I? What—”

Wing beats. She struggled upright and then saw him. A Dragon flew upwards, wings stretched wide. His head rose and he turned to look at her. And Venitra was afraid. She raised her shield. The Dragon inhaled. Venitra crouched. Her body was bone, not flesh! He couldn’t harm her. He couldn’t—

The air caught aflame. The world turned to fire. Venitra felt her ivory body blacken and crack from the heat. She screamed. Pain, real pain engulfed her soul. Everything was burning! She cried out.

“Master!”

But there was only fire. Venitra screamed and the Dragon roared. He turned his head away from the broken undead creation and flew upwards. He shouted at the sky.

“Az’kerash!”

The mountains shook with the word as Teriarch bellowed another word. And hundreds of miles away, the Necromancer’s heart began to beat faster for the first time in years.

—-

“Venitra?”

Az’kerash’s voice faltered. In the minutes after Venitra had been encased in solid ice, the room around him had gone silent. Ijvani, Bea, Kerash, and Oom stood in their teleportation circles. The spell was nearly completed. But their master’s attention was solely concentrated on the image of Venitra.

“Venitra. Can you hear me? Respond. Pull back. Retreat. This is an order!”

The Necromancer spoke to his servant. But Venitra didn’t seem to hear. She strode towards the cave opening. And then the image of her vanished. Az’kerash cursed. Ijvani turned her broken skull to stare at her master. She had never heard him swear before.

“Master?”

The Necromancer began to pace back and forth. He whirled as the projection of Venitra flared back to life. Ijvani gasped as she saw Venitra. The bone woman was flying through the air! Then she was landing. And there was fire—she saw Venitra, her master’s last great creation and favorite of his servants burn in the fiery inferno. She heard Venitra calling out for her master. And then she heard the voice bellowing her master’s name.

“Az’kerash!”

“This is problematic.”

Az’kerash stared at the projection of Venitra. She was barely moving. Ijvani couldn’t even tell her apart from the melted rocks, still glowing with heat. He turned.

“Kerash! Go to Venitra. Use a scroll. Teleport there and bring her back. Do not do anything else. Do you underst—”

“Master, there is a spell addressed to you! It’s a [Message] spell.”

Bea cried out. Az’kerash turned.

“I sense it. Do not answer, Bea. Kerash, take three scrolls of [Greater Teleport]. If Venitra is unable to use it, force her to—”

“Master?”

He turned. Ijvani pointed. There was something in the air behind him. The necromancer stared at the burning piece of air, a shining, fiery dot, and narrowed his eyes.

“Do not respond to the spell. Kerash—”

Bea didn’t touch the spell. Neither did Ijvani. But somehow, the spell itself activated. Ijvani stared as the point of flame expanded, wrote itself in the air. That was impossible. The rational, dead part of her mind kept saying that. It was just a [Message] spell! It couldn’t—what was happening?

Then the word wrote itself in the air. It was a single word, and when it completed, there was a voice.

“Worm.”

And with that word came fire. The Necromancer raised his hands as flames burst into the room. He shouted.

“[Mass Flame W—]”

The air ignited. Ijvani’s bones caught flame. The air, the stone, everything burned. Searing fire engulfed the Necromancer and his servants. They cried out. Bea screamed and Oom writhed in silent agony. Ijvani shrieked as she felt her enchanted bones melting in the fire. She caught a glimpse of Kerash flailing, engulfed in flames, and then her master, raising a hand.

“[Snap Freeze]. [Void Room]! [Sanctuary of Protection]!”

A cold blasted through the room, lowering the temperature and creating boiling steam. Still the flames did not go out. But then the air in the room vanished and the flames disappeared too. Ijvani stopped flailing and saw her master, standing motionless, ash covering his body.

He was burned. And as he turned, a roaring face appeared in the air in front of him. A Dragon. His projection had engulfed the room in fire. His words were thunder.

“Az’kerash, you worm! You dare? You dare send your minions to trespass in my home?”

“Ijvani. Bea. Oom. Kerash. Leave.”

Az’kerash spoke through gritted teeth. His servants picked themselves up. They stared at the Dragon and fled. The air was gone in the room, save for a pocket around Az’kerash, a glowing sphere where the heat could not touch. But despite the vacuum of air, the heat from Teriarch’s wrath was beginning to melt the stone within.

“Calm yourself, Teriarch! I did not order Venitra to attack you. Nor did I intend to interfere with you in any way. She was pursuing a girl—”

“Ryoka Griffin. You tried to kill her! A Runner! A messenger! Have you no shame, coward?”

The Necromancer held up a hand, black eyes narrowed. His white pupils locked with Teriarch’s.

“I was safeguarding my interests. She knew my location thanks to you, Teriarch. If she spoke of it—”

“I do not want to hear your excuses, brat!”

This time fire burst into the air around Az’kerash. He shielded his face as the flames danced around him. These were no ordinary flames. They were a Dragon’s fire, and they flew around him in the void, trails of white-hot fire that burned on pure magic, not oxygen. He muttered a word and a layer of bone grew out of the floor, shielding himself from the flames which began burning their way through the thick ivory.

“Enough! I will not apologize for my actions! I will safeguard my secrets at any cost! That girl was a tool. Why do you care whether she lives or dies?”

Teriarch’s eyes narrowed. He inhaled, and Az’kerash raised his arms.

“[Wall of the Damned]!”

This time the raging Dragon’s fire blasted through the projection between the two. It blasted around the twisted wall of glowing bodies that had appeared to protect Az’kerash and into the corridor beyond. The undead warriors standing in the hallway burned. Ijvani and the other servants had a chance to scream before the inferno flashed down the corridor and blasted across an entire wing of the castle.

When the smoke cleared, Az’kerash lowered the shield between him and Teriarch. He stared at the Dragon. Teriarch was panting, wheezing. He slowly lowered himself back onto the ground, curling his wings up tiredly. He and the Necromancer stared at each other.

“She is under my protection now. Understand? Kill or threaten her, and I will personally exact a reckoning upon you and your toys!”

“Understood.”

Az’kerash coughed, exhaling a plume of black ash as he spoke. He wiped it from his lips grimly before speaking.

“I will leave her and her associates alone. Allow me to collect my servant, Venitra.”

“You may send someone to bring back what is left of her.”

Teriarch’s tail lashed the ground. He narrowed his eyes at the man standing in his destroyed room.

“I will not warn you again, Necromancer. I will not be crossed.”

“I was not aware that a single City Runner merited your protection. Or do you care for Humans now, when you’ve abandoned your descendants, the Drakes?”

Az’kerash responded icily. Teriarch hesitated.

“I care not for mortal lives. But Ryoka Griffin. She is—deserving of respect. She delivered a gift for you. Has she done anything to warrant death?”

It was the Necromancer’s turn to pause.

“No. But I will warn you, Teriarch, that my secrets are not to be given away. If you will not let her die, make clear to Ryoka Griffin the consequences of—”

“I think you have already done that. She is under my protection, Chandler. Remember that. Your undead are no match for my wrath.”

Again the two locked gazes. This time Teriarch was the first to look away. He spoke a curt word and flicked his wings. The image vanished.

In the silence, Az’kerash looked around the now-destroyed room. He sensed the havoc Teriarch’s fire had wrought, and heard his servants screaming for his aid, still aflame. Slowly, Az’kerash sat on the ground, brushing ash from his robes.

“That ended poorly.”

He paused. And then smiled as he put a finger to his lips.

“Or perhaps not. Hmm.”

—-

Fire. Ryoka saw fire. She heard Teriarch’s roar, saw him hurl Venitra and then fly out of his cavern after her. And the fire—it burned through the air, searing, shining bright despite Ryoka’s closed eyelids.

So hot. So…pure. It was fire, and it made every flame, every bonfire and firework and campfire Ryoka had seen before it seem pale in comparison. To see Teriarch breathe fire was to understand it. She stared up as the Dragon roared and felt tears evaporate on her face.

“It’s beautiful.”

Then she cried for other reasons too. She cried for Ivolethe and walked back through the empty pass to the place where ice had mostly melted away. A few large chunks remained, melting in the now burning air. And on the ground…a shining splash of wet. A few droplets that had once been ice. Ryoka bent and touched the water. It dripped from her fingertips and evaporated.

She blinked, and her eyelids drooped. Ryoka lay down on the ground.

When she opened her eyes next, Ryoka was flying. For real this time. She looked around and realized she must have passed out. Because she could not explain how she was looking down at the world. The air rushed around her as Ryoka saw snow below her, tiny houses, clouds—she looked around, panicking as she realized she was up high, and then saw the claw.

It was gripping her gently, a talon of burnished bronze scales. Ryoka looked up and saw Teriarch.

He was flying. Or rather, gliding. The huge Dragon flew through the night’s sky, high, high above the ground. Like an airplane. His wings barely moved as they spread wide through the air. Occasionally they would flap, but Ryoka had a distinct impression they were moving far too quickly for the wings to do much.

It was cold this high up. So cold. Ryoka felt the icy chill of the air around her and would have frozen, but Teriarch’s claws were warm. They radiated heat, enough to keep her more than comfortable. Slowly, Ryoka shifted, and the Dragon sensed it, minute though the motion was.

“You are awake.”

“Yeah.”

It was an unfulfilling exchange after everything that had happened. Ryoka twisted in Teriarch’s grip to look up at him better. The Dragon turned his head and she saw one massive eye looking at her.

“Am I dreaming?”

“No.”

She felt him chuckle through his talon. Teriarch smiled, and then looked down. So did Ryoka. The world flew past her below. Ryoka stared. There was no comparing this with sitting in an airplane and staring out a window. It wasn’t like skydiving or gliding. She flew through the night sky, impossibly fast, and yet the wind did not roar in her ears. There was silence around the Dragon, and the air was calm around him. Ryoka looked down, through clouds, across a frozen world.

This was the sight a Dragon saw. She felt her heart in her chest shake. Her heart.

“You brought me back to life.”

“It was not hard. A death spell destroys very little. And I am a master of magic.”

Again, the Dragon smiled, but this time it was sadly. He bent his head as he flew to look at her.

“The Necromancer. He came after you because you knew where he resides, didn’t he? I did not expect that. I…apologize.”

Ryoka stared at him. She tried to find the helpless rage, the despair and contempt she’d felt for his indifference. But she couldn’t. She had died. Ivolethe had died. There was only the truth, empty and painful. Truth, and beauty. She stared into the eyes of a Dragon and nodded.

“Yeah. He did. He killed a good person. And Ivolethe died to stop him.”

Teriarch nodded. He looked past her, down at a mountain below. Then he swerved to move out of the way of a peak that rose in the sky, higher than he was flying. Ryoka stared at it as she flew past. The slopes were covered in ice. It was a world unto itself up here and she could swear she saw something moving across the ice and rocks. Then it was gone, lost behind a cloud. Teriarch’s voice was quiet.

“He will not come after you again. I have spoken with the Necromancer and we have reached an accord. You are under my protection.”

“Why? I thought you didn’t care about mortals.”

“Then why did you come to me?”

“Because I hoped you would. Because it wasn’t fair. Because I didn’t know what else to do.”

Silence. The Dragon nodded once. Ryoka looked at him.

“I shouldn’t tell anyone about Az’kerash or his servants, right?”

“That is what he wishes. And perhaps it would be wise. But I will not force you. Not now.”

She looked at him. He looked at her. Ryoka tried to wiggle an arm. Teriarch’s claw opened a fraction so she could scratch at a cheek. She didn’t feel fear, though his grip was loosened on her thousands of miles in the air. She felt safe with him.

“Are you going…to put a spell on me?”

There was a pause. Teriarch’s head glanced down at Ryoka.

“Another geas spell? No. There is little point it seems. And you—you have paid for the knowledge you possess. Paid far too much for it.”

“Thanks.”

He said nothing. Ryoka stared down. She thought she could actually recognize where they were now. A narrow pass led south, in a gap between the mountain ranges. She and Teriarch flew over a city, tiny below them, and entered a valley where the mountains formed a natural basin.

It was a beautiful, still sight, as flecks of snow whirled around them. The snow covered the area, making it shine. Winter. This high up you couldn’t see how it had melted or turned to mud where the snow was thin. But winter was ending. It had ended.

Ivolethe was gone. Struck by that sudden realization, Ryoka fought back tears. Then gave in. Her voice croaked.

“Teriarch?”

“Yes?”

She took a breath.

“Why did he—I mean, I know. But why did—why did she—why…?”

She tried to ask the question she had no words for. Teriarch listened as she choked on her words and fell silent. He did not respond.

The Dragon flew lower now, gliding down through the clouds. He whispered a word and Ryoka saw his body vanish. She looked down and realized she’d vanished as well.

They landed in the snow within sight of Liscor’s walls. On the east side, so Ryoka couldn’t see Erin’s inn. Teriarch let go of Ryoka, placing her gently on the ground.

She stumbled, fell to her knees, jolted awake by the cold snow. Ryoka looked at her hands and realized she was visible again. Teriarch was still a ghost, but his voice was clear in the night’s silence.

“I am sorry. I did not mean for this to happen.”

She looked at him, where he should be. A Dragon stood on the ground, a legend. His wings spread wide, and his scales shone in the moonlight. His eyes were deeper than the stars. He was real.

But she couldn’t see him. And if she closed her eyes, Ryoka could imagine it was all a dream. This world, everything she’d been through. Magic didn’t exist. She couldn’t actually cast spells, monsters weren’t real, and there was no wonder. The world was empty of such things.

But she remembered a laughing blue creature of frost and wind. She saw the world freeze and heard a faerie’s voice. Ryoka reached out and touched a scale, hot and warm and real in the silence.

Magic was real. You just had to believe.

Ivolethe was gone. Brunkr was dead. Az’kerash…there were a thousand things she could say. Ryoka said none of them. She felt Teriarch’s body shift and stepped back.

He leapt into the sky. She felt a gust of wind that knocked her over, and then heard his voice.

“I am sorry.”

And then he was gone.

Ryoka got up slowly. She began to walk, stumbling through the ice and snow, towards Liscor. Her heart hurt. Her entire body felt…tired. It felt like she really had died back there, and the last few moments had been a pleasant illusion. But she believed.

The gate were barred when Ryoka reached them. The guards on the gates aimed arrows and wands at her. They cried out when they saw her. Ryoka stumbled into the city, as people rushed towards her. There was too much to say, too little she could say.

But she’d come back in time. Come back before Relc, bypassing the patrols searching for her and Regrika. They were called in. Zel and Ilvriss returned. Ryoka found the Horns of Hammerad nursing their wounds and Mrsha and Lyonette with Krshia and every Gnoll in the city. And Erin—she found her with the Gold-rank adventurers in her inn, surrounded by the Antinium.

Ryoka was silent through it all. She couldn’t explain, couldn’t answer any questions. Not now. She told them it was over, and then realized it wasn’t. Not yet.

She had made it back in time for the funerals.

—-

Erin stood in the snow and looked at the two bodies wrapped in a shroud. They were Brunkr’s remains, and Ulrien’s body. The cloth they were covered in was white. It seemed to blend together with the snow. Only the pyre of wood separated them from the cold oblivion around them.

She looked to one side and saw Ryoka standing by herself in the cold. The Runner had a dazed look on her face, as if she were dreaming while awake. She was alone, for all people surrounding her. No one stood by her side. Many watched. Zel and Ilvriss, and his followers. A group of Guardsmen including Relc and Klbkch. The Antinium.

Everyone was here. And that was odd. Gnolls from Liscor, adventurers from Celum, Drakes of all colors, the Horns of Hammerad, Griffon Hunt, the Halfseekers, Lyonette, Mrsha, and Pawn, Bird, and the other Antinium—they were all here. Erin would never have expected to see Xrn and Klbkch sharing space with Zel and Ilvriss, for all they stood on opposite sides of the pyre.

It was like a dream. Yes, that was how it felt. A bad dream that she couldn’t wake up from. Erin stared at her hands.

Her right hand was bandaged. It had broken, and though the healing potion had fixed her skin and Pisces had helped with the bone, she had been ordered not to use it. Her injury was one of the few present. Zel, Ilvriss, even Revi, Seborn, and Typhenous all looked like normal.

The only injured were Jelaqua, Moore, and Halrac. Halrac had bandages over his ribs. Moore’s fist had been broken like Erin’s and he was still recovering from the healing of his other wounds. And Jelaqua—Erin glanced at the Selphid.

The top of Jelaqua’s head had been sewn together in a hurry. It was hard to see the stitches at a distance, but up close they were noticeable. The Selphid was still active, though. She seemed to be wincing as she cradled her stomach. But she stood with the others, watching the bodies.

There was no priest. No one to say any words. And there was no ceremony. The Gnolls, led by Krshia, approached Brunkr’s shroud. Krshia bent. The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] bent to touch Brunkr, then put something by his body. A sword. His sword.

Someone else put his shield there. Another added a part of his armor, someone else a piece of clear stone, a gift, perhaps. The Gnolls put their tributes by their fallen brethren.

Ulrien had no gifts by his body. His greatsword and equipment had been removed. He lay, silent, as the adventurers stood around him. Some were crying. Typhenous wept openly. Revi brushed at angry tears.

Both Ceria and Yvlon were crying, and Erin thought that Ksmvr and Jelaqua might have if they could. Moore closed his eyes and Seborn stared silently at Ulrien.

No one said anything. Not Halrac, not Typhenous, not Revi. They had been like this all night. After Ryoka had appeared out of nowhere and told them that both Ikriss and Regrika were gone, they’d demanded questions, argued. Halrac had to be restrained by both Moore and Jelaqua from grabbing Ryoka.

Now they were quiet. The Gnolls finished paying their last respects. Erin, Lyonette, and Mrsha were last. They had known Brunkr, each in their own way.

Lyonette was first. She walked over to Brunkr, tears dripping into the snow. She knelt next to the body and bowed her head. Mrsha walked up next to her, clumsily, on two feet. She buried her head into the shroud and moaned. It was the only sound Erin had ever heard her make besides barking and crying.

After forever, a few minutes, Lyonette pulled at Mrsha. The Gnoll tried to hold on, but the girl gently made her let go. Erin stepped up, last. She looked down at Brunkr.

“I—”

She had no words. Erin fiddled with her hands, and placed something on the ground next to Brunkr. It was a flower, yellow, small. A faerie’s flower. It was the only flower she could find. Erin wiped at her face and stepped back.

“Is there anyone who wishes to speak? If so, now is the time.”

Krshia called out. The Gnoll’s eyelids were puffy and her voice was hoarse from howling. The Gnolls had called out after hearing what Regrika had done. They had called her traitor, and howled until they could not any longer.

Now they were silent. No one spoke, so Krshia took a torch from one of the Gnolls. She approached the shroud where Brunkr lay. On the other side, Halrac reached out and took a torch that Typhenous lit with magic. They walked up to the silent bodies and lowered the flames.

The shrouds lit. They were doused with oil and made to burn easily. Erin stared as the fire caught one edge of Brunkr’s shroud, and leapt from the torch onto the chest of Ulrien’s covering. The flames began to spread slowly, and then engulfed both bodies. Halrac and Krshia stepped slowly back from the blazes.

Cremation. It was the way Drakes did it, and some Gnolls and Humans. Buried bodies might come back unless treated properly. And burning made sure that their corpses could not be plundered. Gold-rank adventurers were stripped of their equipment and cremated for that reason; to avoid being despoiled by thieves.

Now Erin glanced at Griffon Hunt again. They had not said much as they prepared their friend. They had been so silent it hurt. She looked at Halrac, his face set, his jaw clenched. Typhenous, head bowed and Revi staring defiantly into the flames as tears streamed down her eyes. They had to say something.

Then Halrac moved. He reached for something. His bow. The people around him, adventurers who had known Ulrien, stood back as Halrac selected an arrow from his quiver. The arrow’s head shone with light, painful in the darkness.

Halrac put the arrow to his bow, aimed up, and loosed. A single shot, high, high up into the night. He put another arrow to his bow, drew, and loosed. The second arrow shot up and met the first.

There was a soundless explosion in the sky above. Erin shielded her eyes as the two magical arrows burst. Halrac reached for a third arrow, and Revi moved.

She had talismans in her hands. They glowed, and she threw them to the ground. Ghostly warriors rose, warriors and mages wearing glowing armor. She pointed, and they shot their weapons upwards. Revi raised a wand and shot crackling lightning into the sky as one of Halrac’s arrows exploded into a fireball, high above.

Typhenous raised his staff. Dancing missiles of light, arrows that left streaks through the air shot upwards. Hundreds of them. They crisscrossed the other spells and arrows. Typhenous pointed, and orbs of light rose, exploding high overhead.

For a moment, the three were the only ones filling the sky. Then Erin saw someone else move. Jelaqua raised something in her hands. It was a ball of liquid. She threw it up and the alchemist’s fire exploded, showering down burning fragments. Moore raised his staff and leaves shot into the air, catching fire and burning. Seborn threw something that turned into a cloud of dust that shimmered in the air.

They weren’t alone. Ceria shot ice up into the air in a stream of frozen vapors. Yvlon hurled something like what Jelaqua had thrown, only smaller. Pisces shot sparks, and Ksmvr shot an arrow from his quiver.

Around the gathering, other adventurers were doing the same. Everyone who had known Ulrien in passing or in person raised their weapons. Those who were mages shot spells up. Others used arrows, aiming away from the crowd. Those without either threw alchemist concoctions, or used artifacts.

The sky was filled with light and flashes. Explosions. Erin stared up. Fireworks filled the sky, in a world where they had never been invented. Because there was no need.

“Magic and might. Spells and tricks. Ammunition and weapons for him in the next life. A last goodbye, to show his enemies he is not forgotten. A tribute to who he was. A promise he will be avenged.”

Erin turned. Klbkch stood behind her with Xrn by his side. Neither Antinium raised their weapons. They were not adventurers. Neither was Erin. She stood in the silence until Halrac had fired his last shot, and the flames were dying down. There was little left of either body but ash.

What happened then? Erin couldn’t remember who was the first to step away, but she knew who was last. Halrac stood by Ulrien’s remains, and Krshia by Brunkr. The others went back to the city, to the inn.

That night Erin let Ishkr and Drassi serve the food, what she’d stockpiled. Wind blew against the hastily-repaired hole in the wall, and there weren’t enough tables or chairs, but her guests didn’t care. They sat on the ground or stood with plates and mugs in hand, somber, quiet.

She and Lyonette couldn’t do it. Drinks were free, as was food, and the people in her inn ate and talked quietly. They drank to remember, and then drank to forget.

That night, Erin let Mrsha have something to drink, and put a drop of faerie flower nectar in her drink. The Gnoll fell asleep in Lyonette’s arms, and then Lyonette fell asleep after Erin gave her a similar mug. Erin offered it to Halrac when he came in, but he shook his head and sat with his teammates, alone and silent.

Ryoka came in and sat in a corner, staring at the fire. Zel and Ilvriss never came in, and neither did Krshia or the Gnolls. They were elsewhere. In the silence, Erin watched as the bodies filling her inn slowly left through one of her two doors. In the end, it was just Ryoka and her.

Neither girl spoke. Erin walked over to the kitchen and lay down on the ground. She closed her eyes, too hurt to cry, in too much pain to sleep. Or so she thought. But sleep did come, black and quiet as oblivion.

[Magical Innkeeper Level 32!]

[Skill – Inn: Reinforced Structure obtained!]

It was too much. Erin woke up and cried. Then she fell asleep again. The next day she went to Ryoka with the letter she’d found in her room.

—-

It was a bad dream. A nightmare, only when you woke up the next day, you realized that it was reality. And somehow, you kept going.

And paid your debts. The first was Erin. Ryoka sat in the inn. No one was around. It was silent. Just after dawn. The sky was clear and blue and it was warmer, but no one had come downstairs or upstairs.

Ryoka sat at a table. She hadn’t slept. She had woken up from the dream after meeting Teriarch. Now she just felt empty. Like she wasn’t here. She didn’t want to be here.

But Erin sat across from her. The other girl pushed a folded piece of parchment towards her.

“Why did you write it was all your fault?”

“It was. It is. Regrika and Ikriss came for me. Everyone they killed, Brunkr, Ulrien—Ivolethe. It was all to get at me.”

“Why?”

“It was one of my deliveries. I—saw something I shouldn’t have.”

“Just that? All of that—because you saw something?”

“Yes.”

“And why didn’t you tell me? What about Zel? Klbkch? Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“They told me they’d kill you and everyone else if I tried.”

“They killed Brunkr anyways.”

“Yeah. That’s why I went for help.”

“From who?”

“I can’t say.”

“Teriarch.”

“I can’t say.”

“Can he really protect you?”

“I think so.”

“You think so?”

“I can’t tell for sure. I’m mostly sure, but—I can’t. And I can’t tell you or Halrac who ordered Regrika to come here, Erin. It’s too dangerous.”

“For a Gold-rank adventurer?”

“Yes.”

“Then what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to Krshia. And then…I’ll talk to Zel.”

“Do that. And then…Ryoka?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t come back. Leave. I don’t want you here. Not for a while. Not for a day, at least. Maybe more.”

“Okay.”

Ryoka got up slowly and walked out the door, conscious of Erin’s eyes on her back.

—-

“We’re leaving.”

That was all Halrac said in the morning, when he finally came down. He stood in front of Erin with the others. Typhenous, Revi, they were all packed. Well, packed…they had a bag of holding. Erin stared up at Halrac. His face was blank. But there was pain behind his eyes.

“You’re leaving?”

“Not the city. We’re staying. We might go—we don’t know. We don’t know if we’ll continue trying to enter the dungeon or…anything. But we can’t stay here.”

Revi said it as she looked around the room. Erin looked too. The blood was gone, but she could still see the spot where Ulrien had died. Halrac glanced at it and then away.

“That Ryoka Griffin still won’t tell us who Regrika Blackpaw really works for?”

“No. She wouldn’t tell me. I think she might tell Zel.”

“Fine. I’ll find out either way.”

The [Scout] turned. Erin longed to say something. She hesitated.

“I’m sorry.”

Halrac’s shoulders hunched. Typhenous looked at him and Erin and opened his mouth, and then shook his head. Only Revi stayed as the two began to walk towards the door.

“For what?”

“I’m sorry?”

The Stitch-Girl stared at Erin, a mix of hostility and grief in her eyes.

“You’re sorry? Because Ulrien’s dead? So what? It’s not going to help. Ulrien knew what he was suggesting when he offered to help you against a Named Adventurer. It was his choice. He died. And now our group has no leader.”

Erin stared at her. Revi looked away and wiped her eyes. She still hadn’t fixed the clumsy stitches that were keeping her together.

“Are you—are you going to break up?”

“Disband? Who knows?”

Revi shrugged.

“We’ll probably go to an inn and drink until we throw up for a week. And then? I don’t know. Ever since we came to this city, to this inn, it seems like nothing’s gone right. It was nice while it lasted, you know? I even liked this place. But it’s too much. This place is too much.”

She turned away. Erin watched her go. After a while, Jelaqua walked up. The Selphid scratched at the stitches around her head.

“Don’t mind Revi. She only meant half of what she said.”

“She’s right, though. I got Ulrien killed. Bad things always happen around my inn. Around me. This isn’t the first time.”

The Selphid shook her head.

“Bad things always happen. You think you’re special in that? I lost over half my party in another inn. Tragedy doesn’t care where it happens.”

Erin looked at her. Jelaqua offered her a crooked smile.

“Don’t mind the head. There’s nothing important in it, anyways.”

“Is your body okay? Seborn said you might have problems.”

“Seborn? Oh, right. Well, I went on a Rampage. It’s a Selphid thing. Breaks muscles, and I can’t heal them like you can. And I took damage…I need a new body. But I don’t think I can get one, so I’ll manage with this.”

Jelaqua shrugged. She’d broken bones in the fight, and talked about inserting iron rods to keep things in place. Erin only nodded.

“Will you stay?”

“Us? Yeah, sure. We can’t really leave. It’s hard finding another inn.”

“If you needed to, I could—”

“We’ll stay.”

The Selphid quietly rested a hand on Erin’s shoulder. The [Innkeeper] nodded. She wiped at her face. Jelaqua patted her on the shoulder as Erin cried.

“I won’t forget. Regrika. I won’t forget.”

“I know. I won’t either.”

“She told me she’d kill me. And Bird. And you all. Everyone. I won’t forget her. I’ll find her and someday…”

“I know. Come on. Let’s get you sitting down. Come on.”

—-

The second person that Ryoka told was Krshia. The Gnoll sat in her apartment. It was too empty without Brunkr in it. She looked at Ryoka.

“Who ordered Regrika?”

“I can’t say.”

“She is a traitor to our species. Tell me.”

“I can’t tell you, Krshia. It’s too dangerous. But believe me. Regrika’s not a proper Gnoll and she never was.”

Krshia stared at her. Her paws were clenched. Ryoka looked at her, waiting. If Krshia grabbed her, she wouldn’t resist.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t think she’d do it. I would have risked it earlier.”

The Gnoll nodded jerkily.

“And risked death for many. For me and my nephew as well. I see. It is not—there was no good choice. I understand that.”

“If you want to do anything to me. Hit me, tell me never to come back—”

“I do. But I will not. You are a friend to Gnolls, Ryoka.”

“Still?”

The young woman was surprised and guilty. Krshia nodded, head bowed.

“What you gave us is worth more than a single life. Worth more than the lives of many Gnolls, perhaps. It is a gift, and I know the value of it. But.”

She looked up. There were tears in her brown eyes.

“But Brunkr was my nephew, no? I helped raise him, I fed him, and spanked him, and watched him grow. I knew him. We are friends, Ryoka Griffin. That does not change. But I do not wish to see you for a while. May I ask that?”

“Of course.”

Ryoka got up. She hesitated as she walked over to the door. Krshia was looking around the room, sniffing, catching one last smell of Brunkr.

“I’ll try to avenge him. I’ll tell Zel Shivertail.”

“Do. But it will not bring him back.”

That was true. So Ryoka left. There was still howling in the city. And the message would spread to every city on the continent, every city where Gnolls lived. Traitor. Regrika Blackpaw was a traitor.

Gnolls killed other Gnolls. That was normal. They were like Humans in that respect. But they did not kill people like that. They did not kill Gnolls they’d shared a drink with on the same night, after going to their party. They did not kill unless there was a war, or a true quarrel, or in truly dire situations. In short, they did not murder each other. To do that was to abandon the ties that made them all Gnolls.

In that respect, they were unlike Humans.

—-

The third person she talked to was Zel Shivertail. On her insistence, she talked with him in a private room of the Tailless Thief, warded against any eavesdropping. Zel personally assured her that Ilvriss wouldn’t try to listen in, although that had taken a lot of arguing. She’d ended it herself.

“I won’t allow it! I demand to know what’s happening! Good Drakes are dead because of this! Children, families were burned by that traitor, Ikriss! If you won’t tell me I will cut it out of you now, Human! Who sent Regrika Blackpaw? Why did they want you? Why—”

Zel was holding Ilvriss back with all of his strength. Ryoka stared at the Drake as he screamed in the [General]’s grip. All of his attendants and Peslas, the [Innkeeper], were hiding. So Ryoka leaned forwards and whispered in his earhole.

“The Necromancer killed Periss. He sent Regrika and Ikriss to kill me. And he’ll send them to kill you if he knows you know. They’re undead.”

The Drake froze. He stared at Ryoka and went limp. He collapsed onto the ground and Zel walked away with Ryoka. He’d heard. Of course he’d heard. He was shaking.

But he was no idiot. He’d already figured it out.

“Bones and blood. Mana potions. That’s what Erin fed the two of them. And I could have sworn I saw something else when I was fighting Ikriss. An illusion. Halrac said the same thing about Regrika. I wouldn’t have come to the conclusion it was the Necromancer, but I knew they weren’t what they looked like.”

Ryoka nodded. Zel stared at her. His claws were quivering although he pressed them against the table. He was shaking.

“So. You’re sure?”

She nodded again.

“It’s Az’kerash. Those two were his servants. He has a lot more, and a castle hidden in the forest.”

The [General] inspected one claw, clearly trying to keep calm.

“We thought he was dead, you know. I killed him myself in the last Antinium War. Or so I thought.”

“I know. I read about it.”

“And you just happened to know because…?”

“Can’t say. I can tell you some things, but I’m in a similar situation with the person who got Az’kerash to back off.”

“Are you being threatened?”

“No. This is about honor. Respect. I can’t tell you who’s protecting me, but there is someone.”

“It must be someone…truly powerful.”

The Drake studied Ryoka. She nodded, her face blank.

“Pretty powerful.”

“But I can’t imagine Az’kerash would want anyone to know his secrets. Anyone living. That was why he sent those two after you, wasn’t it? If you really had your…benefactor negotiate a truce where you lived, aren’t you in danger by revealing his secret?”

Ryoka considered this and shrugged. She felt empty. Hollow. If Venitra appeared and tried to kill her right now—Ryoka would run. She wouldn’t give the undead the satisfaction of killing her. But she wouldn’t hide or cower any longer, either.

“Yeah, well, I’ve got a higher power on my side now. And as for keeping his secrets—as far as I’m concerned, he stepped over the line when his servants started playing ‘this little piggy’ with my fingers. They killed Brunkr. If I can help you take him down, I will.”

“But Az’kerash thinks you’ll keep his secret?”

“I guess so. He might be that stupid. I think he tried to get my…protector to cast a spell on me. But it never happened. So here I am. Talking about him. Just like that.”

Zel began to smile slowly. He gripped the table firmly, and his shaking stopped.

“You mean the Necromancer doesn’t know that you’re allowed to talk about him?”

Ryoka studied him. The [General] had left claw marks on the table where he’d gripped it to steady himself. Now he looked like a hunter, someone who was plotting. His feverish energy had turned into something quieter. There was fury in his eyes, but calm, like fire on an ocean, waiting to reach the shore. A hunter slowly setting a trap for an enemy. She nodded.

“He’s not an idiot. And his servants might have powerful illusions, but they’re not subtle. He might suspect that someone’s put everything together.”

“But he still thinks his location is secret. Thanks to the deal you and this…higher power struck with him. A deal which you aren’t honoring and which isn’t being enforced.”

The [General]’s eyes glinted. He looked around the room, thinking.

“I wouldn’t doubt that he’ll send assassins after me and Ilvriss. We both get them as a matter of course anyways, but I can look into an escort. Ilvriss…might be tricky. But of all the things you could have said, the Necromancer might be best. He’s not an idiot.”

“Could have fooled me.”

To her mild surprise, Zel gave Ryoka a reproving look.

“Ilvriss is many things. Hotheaded, arrogant—but not a fool. He cares for his people, if only them. And I think he might be willing to actually join forces with me on this. Me, and anyone else.”

He leaned over the table, intent on Ryoka.

“Who else knows about him? Your protector—”

“Can’t talk about him.”

“Yes. But could we count on him for help?”

Ryoka thought about this.

“No. No. I didn’t at first. It was desperation that made me go to him. Maybe he’d help, maybe not, but I think that if he really was trying to kill the Necromancer, he would have tried it already. Or told a lot of people.”

“True.”

Zel sighed.

“Who else, then? Is there anyone who might know about the Necromancer? Anyone I could talk to without spreading the secret and alerting the bastard?”

“Magnolia Reinhart.”

Ryoka answered immediately. She didn’t know for certain, but she was all but certain. Zel straightened.

“Reinhart? Really?”

“Surprised? Isn’t she one of the most powerful people in the…world?”

“She is. And one of the most powerful on the continent. Which is why Ilvriss won’t be happy about that. You know, she’s considered one of the greatest threats to our people? If the Antinium were gone, the Five Families would be our biggest concern.”

“I think she hates the Antinium as much as you do. And Az’kerash too, probably.”

Ryoka watched Zel thinking. He stroked at his chin, absently picked slivers of wood from the table with his claws.

“Perhaps. It’s all making more sense. I received a letter from her a while back. I didn’t want to talk to her. Now I do.”

“Why didn’t you want to talk to her?”

Zel paused.

“I had a friend once. A mentor. He taught me most of what I know about commanding and he was…a good Drake. He was wary of Magnolia Reinhart when she was young. He cautioned me about her.”

“A friend? General Sserys?”

Zel glanced at Ryoka in surprise and then he grimaced.

“That’s the problem with being in the history books. Everyone knows too much. Yeah. Sserys was a brilliant [General]. He was a leader. When he spoke people put their tails in a line and followed orders. He could talk to all the city rulers and Lords and Ladies of the Wall. I can’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m not him.”

“No, I mean, what made Sserys special? Was he just charismatic?”

“Charis…perhaps. He had his own way of leading. And when he gave orders, people listened, even people who hated him. More than that though, I think it was what he represented. His class.”

Ryoka frowned.

“His class? What do you mean? Wasn’t he a [General]? Or did he have a special class?”

The [General of the Line] looked surprised. He blinked at Ryoka.

“You didn’t know? The history books didn’t put that part in? Well, maybe they didn’t know. Yes, Sserys had a unique class. [Spear of the Drakes]. It means he was recognized as a leader for our entire species. He could give an order and any army across the continent would be bound to obey.”

Ryoka blinked at him. Zel smiled bitterly.

“He died before he gained a single Skill in the class. He’d leveled up once in it when the Antinium destroyed his army. He used to talk about what his first Skill might be, as if he was a hatchling getting his first class.”

The smile that ran across Zel’s face was fond and painful. Ryoka stared at him and felt a chill on her skin. She’d read both the first and second account of the Antinium Wars, but to meet someone who’d lived through both really put it home to her.

In her world there were politicians, heroic men and women, and yes, some people whose names were known throughout the world for good or bad. However, Ryoka would argue that they had few people who were living legends. But Zel had lived through the equivalent of two continental wars. He was a hero, someone who stood out from the rest because of his levels.

And here he sat across from her, resting his claws on a beat-up table. It really was something.

Of course, she’d met Teriarch too. She stood up. Zel looked at her.

“If there’s anything else you need to know, I’ll tell you what I can. But I can’t help beyond that. I’ve caused too much trouble for everyone already. And I can’t do anything. I’m not a fighter. I’m no hero.”

The Drake looked at her sympathetically and shook his head.

“Don’t blame yourself for everything. You couldn’t have known what was going to unfold. You took a job and the Necromancer made you pay for it. But you couldn’t have known.”

“Maybe.”

Ryoka looked away. She gripped her arms tightly.

“Maybe you’re right. But it’s still my fault. Do you understand that?”

“Of course.”

—-

There were others to tell, and some of the meetings were painful. Others simply sad. Lyonette slapped Ryoka, and then fell into her arms, weeping. Mrsha bit Ryoka gently, crying, and then licked her and hugged her.

The Horns of Hammerad listened to Ryoka’s explanation of her guilt, not understanding, silent. Pisces’ eyes were shadowed. Ceria shook her head. Yvlon looked at Ryoka with something like understanding in her eyes. She understood Ryoka’s pain. Ksmvr just looked at Ryoka, uncomprehending.

The sun rose overhead. It was midday, and warm. The snow was melting outside, although it was still so deep that the water just froze into ice and created a crust on top of snow that was six or seven feet deep in some places, deeper in others. Much deeper.

Ryoka was packing. She took her belt pouch, her bag of holding, her backpack, and nothing else. There was nothing else to take. She walked towards the door to her inn and looked around for Erin.

The [Innkeeper] wasn’t there. But someone else sat at a table, staring around in mild bewilderment. Teriarch in his Human form stood up when Ryoka approached. She stared at him.

“I thought today might be more appropriate to speak. Shall we walk?”

They left the inn, walking atop the melting snow as if it were as solid as rock. Teriarch strode along, a vision of perfection, as Ryoka looked at him.

“Why are you here?”

“To apologize once more. I—perhaps only that. I do not know.”

The Dragon’s lined face was shadowed as he stared around Liscor and the quiet landscape. Ryoka looked at him.

“Just for that?”

“You were right. I owe you a debt. I asked you to send a letter to the Necromancer and did not think of the cost. For that I erred. And I am sorry. I would…ask your forgiveness.”

“Ask the dead for forgiveness, then.”

Ryoka turned away. Teriarch paused.

“If I could.”

There was genuine emotion in his eyes. Rather than look at it, Ryoka turned away. She stood on the snow, jumped up and down, to see if it would break under her enchanted weight. It didn’t.

In the silence, Teriarch looked around.

“It’s so bright. So full of life. I had forgotten what it was like.”

He whispered quietly. Ryoka glanced about and saw only a few birds flying through the sky, the snow, distant shapes on the city walls. She shook her head. After a while, Teriarch spoke again.

“I wished to tell you something else. I do not believe she is dead.”

Ryoka turned.

“Who? Ivolethe?”

“Yes.”

The Dragon nodded gravely. Ryoka felt her heart quicken. It was just ice that had broken. Ivolethe was more than just an animated bit of ice and frost.

“You mean that was only her physical form? She might come back? She—”

He shook his head and she fell silent.

“Her mental form was destroyed. But I do not believe her soul, her spirit was. Yes, I believe she is alive. Her King is not that cruel. And he does not have many subjects left, or so I understand.”

“Her King? You mean…the King of the Faeries.”

She couldn’t imagine someone like that. A faerie king? But Teriarch nodded.

“Yes. He has many names. I have never met him, nor anyone who has. But for as long as Frost Faeries have come here, there are rumors. He has many names. The Lord of the Glades. The Walker of the Forests. The Eldest. The fae have their King and they obey his laws.”

“Ivolethe didn’t.”

Ryoka choked on the words. Teriarch nodded again.

“He makes laws and his subjects play with them. That is natural. But to break them—she was punished. But not killed, I think. Just banished from this world.”

“For how long? A year? A month?”

Hope, and disappointment. Ryoka saw the answer before Teriarch spoke it.

“Forever? No, again, perhaps not. But a thousand years, ten thousand…it would not be a short amount of time. The fae do not think of time as we do. And their King would punish Ivolethe for her sins.”

“For so long?”

Ryoka felt tears in her eyes. Teriarch nodded.

“The punishment for those who grow too attached to the world is never to see what it will become. I do not know if it helps or not.”

“It does. A bit. Thank you.”

Ryoka wiped at her eyes. Teriarch nodded.

“As for the rest, I sensed no undead of Az’kerash’s make anywhere about the city. I believe you are safe, and that he will honor his word.”

“So it’s over? Just like that?”

A hint of anger began to stir in Ryoka’s chest. She turned towards Teriarch angrily.

“What did everyone die for, then? What was the purpose of them sacrificing themselves? Were they all just—just accidents? Ivolethe, Brunkr, Ulrien—”

People had died when Venitra unleashed her [Mists of Madness] spell in Celum. The Horns of Hammerad had helped knock out people, but there were still tales of tragedy, people murdering each other in the madness of the spell. Ikriss had destroyed buildings, set fire to them with people inside. Teriarch shook his head.

“I cannot say. They died fighting. Some died by accident. And there will be no resolution, no retribution for the crimes committed here. I would have crushed the undead mockery that intruded in my domain, but if I had, Az’kerash might not have left you or your friends alive.”

“So you’ll let him get away with it? Just like that?”

Ryoka turned to Teriarch, raising her voice. He looked at her, his two mismatched eyes sad and tired.

“What would you have me do? Retaliate? Destroy his castle, destroy one of his servants? Cremate an undead servant of his for every life taken? I do not know if I could, and if I did, it would surely mean war between the two of us.”

“And you don’t know if you can win, is that it?”

This time, the Dragon stared at Ryoka and she felt dwarfed by his presence. His voice was calm, deep, and old.

“Yes.”

She looked at him. He looked away.

“He is a gifted necromancer. And he has many spells and artifacts. More than that…he was not always an enemy of the living. You do not know his past. I do. I knew his triumph, his fall, his betrayal and wrath. I witnessed it all over the centuries. Who am I to judge him?”

“A Dragon. You’re a Dragon.”

“Yes. Does that confer any gift of reason to me? I think not. Once, my kind ruled Drakes like slaves and fought bitter wars with every nation on the globe. Were we right to do so then? I wonder. Az’kerash and I are not enemies. Nor are we friends. He does not interfere with me or those under my protection. And I…do the same.”

Ryoka turned away, disgusted. Teriarch looked at her. Then his head rose. He turned. And Ryoka heard something on the edge of hearing. She raised her head.

“No. Not now.”

It was a reverberation, a thump, an impact. A drum. It carried across the plains, reverberating. A single sound, which made the birds in the sky scatter, and the people on the walls of Liscor look up. And then it came again.

Doom.

It was a drumbeat. And then another. A steady booming rhythm began to sound. Ryoka turned to the walls of Liscor and heard the people there start to blow horns in alarm. And the drumbeats rolled on.

Doom. Doom.

The sound was a physical presence. The drumbeats rolled off the hills, a distant thunder. Both Teriarch and Ryoka turned. It was coming from the south. And as Ryoka’s chest constricted, she knew.

“The Goblin Lord.”

“Yes.”

She turned to him, desperate.

“Do something! His army’s coming here!”

“He will pass by the city, I think.”

“It doesn’t matter! You have to do something! The Goblin Lord will destroy everything in his path! He’ll kill people! You have to—”

Again, Teriarch cut her off.

“What would you have me do? Burn them? Destroy their army?”

“Yes!”

“No.”

The Dragon shook his head as Ryoka stared at him. She punched at his chest and he caught her hand effortlessly. He let go of her gently. He looked wretched. And old.

“If I did, then what? One threat would be eliminated, yes. But what about next time? Goblins exist, Ryoka Griffin. So long as they live, there will be Goblin Lords, Goblin Kings. And monsters exist. Would you have me destroy all of them? Every creature that might threaten Human lives? What about Drakes? What if your species went to war, as you do?”

Ryoka opened her mouth. Teriarch went on.

“What then? Should I judge which side is right and destroy the other? Or seal them from attacking each other with a spell? I am no tyrant. But it seems that to save anyone, I must become one. No. If I move for one case, I should do the same for all. And I will not.”

“But they’re right here. In front of you! If you see something evil happening in front of you, what’s your excuse for not doing anything?”

Ryoka stared at Teriarch. He could stop it all. The Dragon looked back at her and shook his head again.

“Stop what evil? I see no evil.”

“The Goblins—”

“Are a people like your kind and mine. They are as innocent as any race. Perhaps more so than others. That they are considered monsters is no fault of theirs. How else would a species hated by all others survive, if not to become the thing they are hated for? No.”

“They killed. I saw them. They killed Mrsha’s tribe. They killed children.”

Ryoka sank to her knees in the snow. She was crying again. Teriarch bent over her. His hands were warm.

“Yes. And I am sorry.”

For a long time they stood there, an old Dragon and a young woman. One with all the power to change things and the other with nothing at all. Then Ryoka stood.

“I’m leaving.”

He was surprised.

“Where to?”

“Anywhere. Not here. Not with the Goblin Lord—”

“What about your friends? Those you want to protect?”

Ryoka shook her head. She felt so, so very empty.

“They don’t want me. Not right now. And I don’t deserve them. It feels like every time I get involved with them, they die. So…I’m leaving. I can’t do anything anyways. I’m too weak.”

She turned and began walking back towards the inn as the Goblin Lord’s drums beat on. Teriarch walked with her.

“Just like that? Where will you go? What will you do?”

“What I’m good at. Run. And I’ll do it somewhere far from here, where the only person I can get killed is myself. Somewhere where the wind blows strong. Far away.”

She felt the Dragon hesitate. He walked next to her, staring down at Ryoka. She stopped at the inn and looked inside. Erin was serving the Horns of Hammerad. Ryoka put her hand on the glass and turned away. Teriarch watched her walk over to the door and put her hand on it.

“You are going now?”

“Yeah. I’m going to go to Celum and…somewhere else. I know you don’t want to be seen. So—goodbye.”

She turned to him and held out a hand. Teriarch touched it gingerly. He took her hand and shook it.

“I am sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix things.”

“No.”

The Dragon’s gaze was distant. He looked into the inn and shook his head.

“It does not. But what else should I be?”

She had no response. Slowly, Teriarch stepped away. He bowed to her, his eyes deep, looking tired.

“I will not say we will not meet again, Ryoka Griffin. I only hope that it will be a better day when we do.”

He vanished. Ryoka bowed her head. A shadow suddenly covered the inn. She looked up, but saw nothing. Nothing but the sky, and a sudden breeze. The shadow travelled north, moving slowly, and then at incredible speed. Ryoka shook her head.

“Lazy invisibility spell.”

Then she went inside and said goodbye.

—-

In Az’kerash’s castle, ashes still filled the corridors. Black soot and melted rock heralded the Dragon’s fury. And in his private sanctum, the Necromancer expressed his displeasure in his own way.

“Venitra. You have failed me. Your decisions have led to this moment, and your mistakes have cost me dearly. You have lost my favor. You are no longer first among my servants.”

His words were calm, quiet, and struck the burnt and badly damaged woman kneeling before him. Venitra would have wept if she could. She bowed her head, despairing beyond words. Az’kerash turned away from her and to Ijvani. The black skeleton shuddered, trembling before her master’s wrath.

“Ijvani. You likewise have failed me. There is nothing more to say.”

She bowed her head, the blue flames in her eyes dimming until they were nearly extinguished. Az’kerash turned to the three other servants gathered here.

“Kerash, I give you my authority. Do not betray it.”

“Yes, master.”

The undead Gnoll stood tall. Az’kerash nodded. His eyes swept across his five servants and he shook his head.

“Perhaps it is time to add to your number. A new servant…perhaps. I will consider it. For now, there is much to do. Teriarch’s fury cost me a great deal of resources, not least of which is the scrolls of [Greater Teleport] that were incinerated in his fury. But that is the least of my concerns.”

He turned back to a map of the continent and his servants raised their heads, save for Ijvani and Venitra. Perril Chandler’s voice was musing, thoughtful.

“Ryoka Griffin is no longer a concern, or at least, one I cannot resolve. But Zel Shivertail and the Lord of the Wall…they may be a problem. So too might the Slayer and the Small Queen. I will take steps to remedy them. Perhaps my apprentice can deal with them. That is a concern. Information about my existence may spread. If so, I will take steps. If my discovery is unavoidable…”

He fell silent. His fingers drummed rapidly on the map. And then slowed. To everyone’s surprise, a smile slowly spread across Az’kerash’s face.

“But there is one unexpected boon. One, among all the loss.”

“What is that, master?”

Bea flinched when he turned to her. But the Necromancer just smiled.

“Why, my enemy of course. Teriarch, one of the greatest obstacles to my conquest has revealed his weakness. Another one, should I say. And it is Ryoka Griffin.”

“The Runner? But—”

The undead glanced at each other, remembering the Dragon’s wrathful fire and trembling at the memory. Az’kerash flicked his fingers dismissively.

“I will observe her. I will not interfere directly of course, but I will…hope that she survives.”

“Why, master?”

He smiled.

“Because she is Teriarch’s weakness, of course. And unlike Magnolia Reinhart, she is far less well protected. And he cares for her. Perhaps only enough to intercede. But in time, perhaps more? It matters, Bea, because Dragons have hides stronger than diamond, and hearts softer than snow.”

She looked up at him, uncomprehending. He bent, caressed her rotten face and kissed her gently. She shuddered, and the other servants looked at her with envy.

“It does not matter. Go, my servants. The time of my return is not yet. I have more to prepare. And it is a different sort of plague that falls upon the Humans and Drakes now.”

He turned his gaze back towards the map and smiled.

“Yes, a different sort. Goblins.”

—-

The sky was bright. The sun was out. The sky was blue. Frost Faeries flew overhead, streaming north. They left, and the skies warmed. Winter had ended. So the Winter Sprites, the fae, flew one last time, laughing and calling out high overhead.

But none of the faeries looked back. None looked down at the young woman who stared up at their number. Ryoka Griffin stood in the snow and then turned. She began walking, and fumbled at her side. She pulled out an iPhone, only slightly dented from a recent fall, and two ear buds. Slowly, she put them in her ears.

There was a moment of silence as Ryoka flicked through her list of songs. In the end, she decided on It’s Time by Imagine Dragons. She began jogging as the drums began to play.

Northwards. The gates of Celum were empty, and the sun was shining down on a muddy road. The entire world was ahead. Ryoka ran, slowly at first, and then picking up speed.

“Ryoka!”

Someone raced out of the gates after her. Erin Solstice ran after her friend and stopped. She cupped her hands and shouted.

“Ryoka! Come back!”

But it was too late. Ryoka’s head turned once, and Erin saw her smile for a second. Then her head turned ahead, and she picked up her pace. Erin shouted.

A single hand rose. Ryoka lifted it, and let it fall after a moment. She ran on, northwards, away. Erin stood in the melting snow, in the frozen dirt, and watched her friend run on and on. Until she was a distant speck on the horizon. And then…

And then she was gone. Ryoka Griffin disappeared, and Erin stood in the gates of Celum. Ryoka was gone.

And as she walked back towards Octavia’s shop and saw Lyonette and Mrsha hurrying through with their possessions, Erin stepped through the door to her inn. She heard shouting, saw Ishkr boarding up the windows from the outside, heard horn calls from Liscor’s walls, and the drums.

The undead were gone. Few knew they’d even been here, but they were gone. Ryoka was gone. Winter had ended, and the faeries had left. Brunkr was gone. Ulrien was gone. Griffon Hunt had left.

And Ryoka was gone. She might never come back. Erin sat in her inn and heard the drum beats. There was only one thing left now, wasn’t there? They had come at last. They were here, and they weren’t a pest any longer. They were here. Here.

Goblins.

4.32 G

Goblins.

Goblins?

Goblins! Goblins, Goblins, Goblins!

Goblins.

Goblins.

The word was on everyone’s lips. From the Walled Cities to the Antinium Hives, from the tribal Gnoll camps to the Human cities like Invrisil, the news had flown on the warming winds. Goblins were back.

And this time there was a Goblin Lord.

For some, the news was just the conversation of the day. Those who were hundreds or thousands of miles away took comfort in their distance. So long as this Goblin Lord was dealt with swiftly, there would be no problem for them. Now, a Goblin King? That would be disastrous, which is why the leadership or command or someone in charge was doing something about the Goblin Lord.

Right?

People closer to the Goblin issue were less sanguine about the entire affair. They demanded, sometimes loudly, that something be done. Because the Goblins were a menace, a threat, a pest that had to be wiped out every few years. Only, unlike plagues of cockroaches, rats, mites or other vermin, Goblins were a lot more dangerous. And they became something truly frightening given half a chance.

No one gave them that chance. Armies were being raised. Humans, Drakes, and a few Gnoll Tribes began making preparations to end the threat before it had fully begun. The Goblin Lord had crushed two Drake armies; so four would be sent this time. Or six. Or eight. The Humans were already fielding huge forces of their own for the Goblin Lord if he marched north.

In no one’s mind was the idea of negotiating with the Goblins, or making peace. Or defeat. Goblins would do damage, but they would die. They would always die, and it was just a matter of the cost. Everyone knew that.

Strangely, so did the Goblins. In all the commotion about their species, few people gave thought to what the Goblins were actually thinking. Oh, there was all sorts of speculation and predictions about what the Goblin Lord might do, but what he as a thinking individual thought? None.

But in three parts of Izril, so late into the night that it was becoming day, three Goblins looked up. They all had a sense. A premonition.

Because, after all, they were all of the same species. Their fates were intertwined.

—-

The first was the Goblin Lord. He looked up as his armies marched past the city of Liscor. Around him, his Goblins cheered and whooped, sending arrows towards the walls until one of his lieutenants ordered them to stop wasting ammunition.

Silent watchers on the walls watched as the Goblins passed, not returning fire. They might have against a lesser host, but none dared provoke the flood of Goblins in black armor. The Goblin Lord’s army was tens of thousands strong and they marched across the plains. Northwards.

The Goblin Lord turned his head, seeing almost perfectly in the darkness. Liscor’s walls rose to his left. He sneered at them, at the Drakes hiding behind stone. But he did not order his army towards the walls. He had orders.

There was a structure on one of the hills closest to the city. An inn, a very odd one with some kind of tower. The Goblins shot flaming arrows at it, grumbling when the arrows failed to set the building aflame. Indeed, some of the arrows bounced off the glass windows, which was rather unusual. But it was too close to the city to loot, and was probably empty, anyways.

So the army marched on, northwards. The Goblin Lord sighed. He could sense them. His people. Goblins. He was coming to claim them, by blood if necessary. And if they refused to kneel? He would have their bodies, at least.

And they knew it.

—-

Garen Redfang stalked the halls of Tremborag’s mountain, sword in hand. A few of the Goblins from his tribe followed, the ones who hadn’t joined Rags. They hung back as Garen walked forwards, his red blade at the ready.

Ahead of him, Goblins got out of the way. Hobs, regular Goblins—when he had first arrived, they had treated him like any ordinary Hob or an inferior outsider. Several fatal duels had established his rank.

Garen was angry. He was always angry. He hated sitting in the mountain, hated that Rags had left and hated Tremborag. He and the Great Chieftain did not get along. But he acknowledged Tremborag’s might. And it was might they needed.

So the leader of the Redfang tribe walked. He could feel the Goblin Lord coming. Tremborag could too, which is probably why he was eating alone, roaring for females and wine. The fat Goblin had to know.

An end was coming. For Goblins. A crossroads. And though the Goblin Lord was meant to unify the tribes, Garen would never kneel to him. Never. So the Hobgoblin walked, restless. Waiting for the scent of blood on the warming winds. Waiting for war.

—-

And the last Goblin to look up and sense something on the wind was Rags. The small Goblin was listening to some of her Goblins having a farting competition and grimaced as Pyrite took the lead in a noisy—and smelly—way. She pulled her blankets over her head and growled to herself.

She couldn’t have said why she was restless. If she had to put words to it, it was probably the very smelly odors drifting on the wind towards her. In the end she sat up and shouted for the other Goblins to stop, or go somewhere else.

They did, grumbling. She was Chieftain, after all. Rags turned over in her blankets and tried to sleep. But she couldn’t. There was something on the wind. She sat up and glared at Pyrite. He shrugged apologetically.

Three Goblins, all of whom were linked. In some way, they were chosen. But what did it mean? What was their purpose? Did they have a purpose? The three sat, feeling restless and waiting. A faerie might have said their destinies drew closer, but there were none to watch and listen. Frost Faeries were leaving this world, and those that still remained did not watch Goblins. Never Goblins. They might cry if they did, and the fae did not like to weep for the past.

The next day dawned slowly. And for the Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe, it was an interesting day. It was always interesting when their small leader woke up. They woke up, yawning, searching for food or worms or bugs to eat, and looked around. Waiting. They didn’t have a purpose, like every other species. Theirs was only survival. Their Chieftain decided what to do.

And her name was Rags.

—-

His name was Pyrite. And he had bad gas. It might have been last night’s jumbled soup containing some slightly rotting Mothbear flesh. Or it could be the tree bark he’d been munching on, or the colony of black beetles and larvae a Goblin had dug up. Pyrite had gotten a handful of them and crunched the beetles down. Or maybe it was the soap?

The Hobgoblin sat by the embers of the fire as the day fought the night. It was that ghostly hour before true day, where the light had begun to illuminate the world. The hours before birds woke up, a ghostly moment where everything seemed asleep.

He farted. The Goblins around him groaned. One threw a rock. It bounced off Pyrite’s back and the Goblin shifted. Yes, it was probably the soap.

It was high quality stuff. The Hobgoblin looked down at the lump in his hands. The Flooded Waters tribe had stolen it from a caravan a day ago. It was bright blue, nearly perfectly clear the entire way through, and smelled of sandalwood and something else. Something…turquoise.

Smells were like colors to Pyrite. Smells were taste, color, feelings—the Goblin sniffed the soap he was holding appreciatively. He nibbled at it. It certainly didn’t taste as good as it smelled.

Pyrite would be the first to admit that he wasn’t that smart. He was just a former Goblin Chieftain of a small tribe that specialized in mining. Sure, they’d done a bit of smelting and attempted some armor crafting of their own to limited effect, but he considered himself a rather weak example of what a Chieftain could be. He wasn’t that smart about a lot of things.

For instance, he thought that soaps were a product of some plants, namely the ground up roots which, when combined with water, created a nice lather for people to use. Of course, that was some kinds of soap; it was also possible to mix leftover fat and oil with some ashes to create another variant of the stuff. That was probably what he tasted here. Pyrite’s palate detected traces of lye, which made sense since this was high-quality lye soap probably intended for the Human marketplace.

Of course, he could be completely mistaken. He wasn’t that smart. The Hobgoblin chewed thoughtfully, feeling the soap dissolve in a pleasant way in his mouth. He didn’t mind the taste. The Hob had eaten far worse things than soap. Huge insects, rocks, dirt, other dead Goblins…soap wasn’t a problem.

He didn’t need to eat the soap, strictly speaking. But if he didn’t, who would use it? Certainly not the other Goblins. Soap was a useless product to them by and large. It smelled good, but Goblins didn’t wash.

Rags did. She’d picked up the basics of hygiene somewhere and forced her Goblins to adopt a variation of it. But that was only to the extent where if a Goblin’s hands had a lot of ick stuck to them they had to swish it around in water or rub it off first. Washing each time with hot water and soap was something only other species did.

Of course, Rags might use one bar or two herself. Pyrite nibbled at a bit more soap as he thought. But she wouldn’t use much, and the other Goblins would probably cut it up, hoard the shiny fragments of soap until they got dirty, and then toss it when they got bored. Or eat it.

The last of the blue bar disappeared into Pyrite’s mouth. He grunted. This time he could definitely feel the pressure building. Yes, the soap was giving him gas. He’d heard that some kinds of soap used toxic plants, which presumably meant you weren’t supposed to eat them. But again, he was used to eating unhealthy things. He was a Goblin, and more than that, a Hobgoblin, one of the giants and leaders of his kind. He could eat almost anything.

And it was a habit for him to always chew something. Pyrite fished around in the wax bundle sitting in front of his crossed legs and came up with a red bar of soap. It was flecked with bits of yellow inside and it was semi-transparent and smelled spicy. He eyed it appreciatively and then took a bite.

He liked to eat. Eating was productive for him. It helped him build fat, and fat was important in case he fought or starved. Pyrite had no knowledge of the biological issues caused by excessive weight gain, and if he had, he wouldn’t have cared particularly much. His argument, if he’d been pressed to make it, would be simple.

Fat was important for Goblins, far more than for Humans or other races. That was because Goblins did not enjoy the security of a set food source by and large. Starvation was a facet of life, not an event to be avoided by most tribes. Additionally, Goblins had to fight for their lives on a regular basis.

Everything in the world wanted to kill them, and lacking armor that was specially crafted for their kind, a Goblin had to rely on their ability to dodge or survive something like an arrow hitting them. As Pyrite was definitely not shaped correctly for any kind of traditional armor, the layers of fat on his body were his only shield. Ergo, gaining weight was for him, a necessary task until it began to impede his movement or health in a dramatic way.

That was what he would have said if anyone asked him. But no one did. Pyrite was known to be a silent character of few words. And he wasn’t that smart.

The Hob had gotten through the red bar of soap and was looking for the pink one he’d spotted earlier when Rags woke up. He paused in the act of calculating how much the soap was worth—by his rough estimates, he’d probably eaten a few hundred gold pieces worth of the stuff, especially if it was going to be used by the nobility. The sun had risen high enough to illuminate the world and Rags was up. He could tell because she was shouting.

Up, up! Goblins stirred, groaning at the young Goblin’s voice. But they got up quickly; a slow Goblin was a dead Goblin, and faster still because they could smell food cooking.

Pyrite carefully bundled up the soap he’d been eating and lurched upright. His legs weren’t asleep though he’d been sitting for hours; he had taken care to adjust his position throughout the night and stretch them now and then. He moved quickly and slipped into the front of the line for one of the soup pots before the other Goblins could get there.

That was the beauty of Rags’ tribe. What elevated it above all others, save perhaps Tremborag’s Goblins. As the Goblins woke up and poked each other, feeling their empty stomachs grumble, there was already food. Because the [Cooks] and [Stirrers], the less advanced Goblin version of [Cook], had woken up an hour before the others and begun making food.

Organization. It was a foreign concept to most tribes. Pyrite’s belly grumbled as he sniffed the air and detected a good deal of flour, butter, and animal fats in today’s soup. Not much meat which was normal, but quite a good bit of the spices they’d stolen yesterday. The Goblins would eat well again.

And best of all, they didn’t have to eat their own dead. It was an unspoken thing among Goblins who rarely spoke anyways, but everyone knew that in times of hunger, meat was often the most plentiful food source around. But they didn’t relish that knowledge because that meant the meat they were eating was their own kind, chopped up, boiled, or sometimes eaten raw.

Of course, the Goblins ate it. But contrary to what other species might have assumed, not a single Goblin liked eating their fallen. It was something they did to survive. So given half a chance, dead Goblin would not be on the menu. Pyrite took a big bowl of soup appreciatively from the Goblin in charge of serving, sniffing it. Yes, there was nothing like non-meaty soup to raise his spirits for the day. Anyways, he liked fish more than red meat. Most Goblins did.

Rags was already sitting by her personal campfire as Pyrite approached. He didn’t bother with a spoon, but gently sipped at the bowl as he walked towards her. She was sitting on a log.

They were in a forest by a lake. It was, in fact, the same forest by the same lake they’d been camped at for quite a while. It was their semi-permanent home at this moment. For good reason.

The lake had fresh water so long as no Goblin had peed into it, and the forest had useful wood for fires, equipment, and so on. There was wildlife nearby, and the branches provided some protection from the snow and cold winds. That wouldn’t be an issue as the world continued to warm, but it had been one of the concerns that made Rags camp here.

And one last thing. The forest by the lake was placed near several smaller cities and towns. It was the perfect place to strike from. Already, the Flooded Waters Goblins had raided several caravans on the road and plundered a few farms.

Nonviolently. That was to say, the Goblins came in, aimed crossbows, chased the Humans away and didn’t kill anyone unless they were attacked first. It was a good system. And it had made their little tribe rich on the spoils, even if what they got was sometimes less useful, like soap.

“Pyrite.”

Rags was sitting on her log. Pyrite sat in the dirt, noting that she’d already gotten halfway through her bowl. One of the perks of being Chieftain was that she didn’t have to line up. That was right and proper. He grunted at her, but said nothing. She eyed him.

She was probably holding a grudge from last night. Pyrite still felt gassy, but held it in as he ate. Rags looked at him, and then around her bustling camp.

“Last night. Anything happened?”

She still pronounced the words with difficulty, but her ability to speak in the common tongue was far better than it had been. She was a quick learner. It had taken Pyrite years to learn how to speak, and that was with a dedicated teacher. He shook his head.

“Silent, Chieftain.”

That was all he said throughout breakfast. When he’d finished his bowl of soup, Pyrite put it by the fire to be picked up by one of the Goblins on bowl-picking-up duty and opened the satchel of soaps again. He selected the pink one and Rags edged upwind from him.

Why didn’t the soaps make his farts smell good? It was a mystery. Pyrite sniffed the soap. Some kind of perfume. Too cloying for his tastes. He began to nibble it anyways.

In a few minutes, a Goblin passed by their fire. He picked up the bowl Pyrite had put on the ground and the one Rags tossed at him. He wandered off with the stack of bowls, bringing them towards a Goblin who was filling up more bowls with soup for Goblins in line.

Pyrite watched the Goblin go off. He must have had the duty to pick up empty bowls for the day. And the Goblin pouring soup had that duty as well. No matter how many times he saw it, the Hobgoblin was always impressed. Because the fact that those two Goblins had woken up and remembered what they were supposed to do was a sign that Rags was a great Chieftain.

She had brought organization and systems to this tribe. She and she alone had done that. No other tribe save for Tremborag’s had implemented daily work rosters, much less a rotating duty schedule. And Tremborag’s tribe had only developed such systems through the efforts of many, many Hobgoblins and out of sheer necessity. But Rags had come up with it all on her own. With her head.

She was a genius. The other Goblins knew it. It wasn’t that they used that word lightly; most of them didn’t know what that word meant at all. But it was clear that Rags thought where other Goblins didn’t. She’d taught them how to make crossbows, created a unit of Goblins who used the deadly twenty-foot-long pikes made out of wood and scrap metal, and found a way to scavenge and steal enough food each day so that they didn’t have to eat their own.

And she was so young. Pyrite glanced at Rags. Yes, young. He wasn’t sure how young and she had never said, if she even knew, but she was clearly outstanding. She was like he was, in fact. Extraordinary. Pyrite only wondered why she hadn’t become a Hob yet.

The system was simple among Goblins and universally understood. If you were special, you’d turn into a Hob. That meant getting bigger in some way, stronger, and generally, smarter. Hobs were natural leaders, material for Chieftains, and savage fighters. They could stand toe-to-toe with the average Silver-ranked adventurer and were smart enough to use tactics in battle or implement their Chieftain’s orders with finesse.

Rags wasn’t a Hob. She should be. But she wasn’t. It was one of the puzzles Pyrite was working on in his head. He had a few. He thought about many things, but didn’t have solid answers for a lot of them because he wasn’t as smart as Rags. He wondered why Rags wasn’t a Hob, first off.

He wondered how magic worked and if he could teach himself some. He hadn’t found a spellbook yet, but he had hopes of convincing Noears to teach him when the Goblin had time.

He thought about the last Goblin King, and why he had died. Pyrite wondered why the Goblin King, Velan, had been known as Velan the Kind. He wondered what that Goblin King had known, what he had thought.

Pyrite sometimes questioned what the stars were. They hung in the sky at night. But why only at night? And why were some different colors? What did they mean? Also, why did their positions change with the seasons? He’d tried mapping them over the years, but he’d given up. Not enough parchment to be scavenged.

He wanted to know what Rhir was like. Goblins knew of it as a place where death was kinder than living. But what was it like? And what was Chandrar like, or Baleros, or Terandria? Most Goblins had never heard of those continents, but Pyrite had.

And how had Tremborag turned into the giant form he used to slaughter those Gold-rank adventurers in battle? Pyrite had seen him do that once before, when he was young and still living in the mountain. Before he’d run away. How had he done that? Could other Hobs do the same?

Exactly what was the thing Garen Redfang had shown Tremborag in secret, the thing that had convinced the Great Chieftain to ally with him and Rags’ tribe? Pyrite had seen them talking with it. It had looked like a key, and both knew what it was. What did it unlock?

And what—

Pyrite farted. He blinked, and felt a bit of dirt hit him in the side of the head. He looked up and saw Rags poised to throw. She showered him in dirt and Pyrite closed his eyes. She edged around the fire and he sighed.

These were just idle thoughts. He had many of them. Pyrite sometimes wondered if he thought too much. Probably. But it was good to think, and for Rags’ tribe to have systems that made sense.

Already her Goblins had learned to fight in a different way, in formation with the aforementioned pikes. They had adopted crossbows for use alongside their slings, and had begun to train in their off time thanks to the Redfang Goblins. They had begun to learn different things.

They were growing smarter. It might not apply to every Goblin, but as a whole, the intelligence of the tribe had risen notably from the average tribe. Pyrite knew that; his tribe had been competent enough, being able to mine and sort out minerals from rocks when he’d shown them, but he’d still had to direct his Goblins and manage them constantly. These Goblins had begun to think about what they should do in a given situation.

And they were the same Goblins. But smarter. Yes, smarter. Pyrite had seen a Goblin who’d been in his tribe figure out how to start a fire. And Pyrite had been shocked, because when he’d been in his tribe, the said Goblin had injured himself twice by sticking his hand into a fire and screaming when it burned.

But that was to be expected. You see, Goblins stole everything. And what they couldn’t steal, they copied. And what all the Goblins in Rags’ tribe were stealing from her was intelligence.

Pyrite paused. Stealing might not be the best word, but it was appropriate. Perhaps…the huge Hobgoblin’s forehead wrinkled with concentration. Goblins had no word for it, but the word ‘borrowing’ sprang to mind. It was an unfamiliar concept. Teaching? Perhaps teaching was it.

By and large, Goblins were only as good as their Chieftain. They learned from example, and so a tribe became molded after their Chieftain. Their best qualities were passed down, which was how Garen Redfang’s tribe had become so mighty, and how Rags’ tribe was learning to think.

It was a beautiful, wonderful thing. And it made Pyrite think on some nights that he’d made the right choice. To stick by Rags instead of abandon her in the mountain. Because she could lead the tribes. She could become the Chieftain they needed. She might become a Lord. She was special.

The sun was rising. The Goblins chattered or ate silently. Rags got a second bowl of soup. And in Pyrite’s mind, a few words joined together in his head.

The wretched few gather;

Under her command.

Her back they follow after;

She alone knows the plan:

To live and strive and struggle;

And claim a Goblin’s land.

So we fight and travel;

Until our final stand.

Pyrite’s nose wrinkled. Where had that come from? That was…odd. He’d heard similar words before, sung out loud by Humans shortly before his tribe had leapt out and slaughtered them. But why had he thought them?

They fit together, in a way he liked. Still, it wasn’t that good. The entire thing was too simple, like he was.

Still, there was promise in them. ‘Claim a Goblin’s land’ had a nice ring to it. With a bit of work, and more fancy words, it might be worth saying aloud. Pyrite considered writing it down for a second and then thought better of the idea. There was no point.

Besides, he couldn’t write.

—-

Time passed. Pyrite finished another bar of soap and gave up on eating the rest because Rags kept throwing things at him every time he farted. He wrapped the soap up in wax paper and fished around in a little bag he kept at his hip. He pulled out something else to eat.

It was a rock. Rags stared at Pyrite as he put one of the smooth stones he’d taken from the lake’s bed into his mouth. It was hard, dirty from the pack, and had a bit of moss on it. He began to crunch it into pieces.

Smooth rocks were fun to eat. There was something satisfying about savoring their texture and then crunching them up into dust. Of course, they weren’t good to eat too much of, so Pyrite switched from the stones to thick slabs of bark taken from the trees when he got bored.

In time, other Goblins approached the fire. They were all important, and Rags and Pyrite greeted them with grunts, shoving over to make room around the fire. In time, all the Goblins that needed to be present were, and they looked at Rags expectantly.

They were Noears the Goblin [Mage], Poisonbite, a skirmisher and raid leader who liked to poison her daggers, Redscar, the former Chieftain of the Rockfall Tribe, and…Greybeard.

Pyrite eyed them all as they sat around the fire, saying little but speaking volumes with their actions. Goblin politics were complex, and each one represented a powerful voice in her tribe. Each one was important.

Noears and Poisonbite were obvious. They were normal Goblins, not Hobs, but they represented Tremborag’s faction that had broken away to join Rags. Noears was a [Mage], a rarity among Goblins and he could throw lightning. That made him special. As for Poisonbite, she was a good leader and fighter, and that mattered because other Hobs had let her represent them.

Between them, they represented a solid portion of Rags’ tribe, but it was the scarred warrior who sat on his haunches next to them who was perhaps the most influential figure besides Pyrite and Rags. Redscar represented the whole of the former Redfang tribe, the elite warriors that had united under Garen Redfang and then left to follow Rags. He was a fierce warrior and the one Rags listened to often in combat.

Next to him, the Rockfall Tribe Chieftain sat with a second bowl of soup in her hands. She was the Goblin who represented all the other tribes. She wasn’t exceptional in any way, but she was a good shot with the longbow she carried and she had a place here because the other former tribes wanted one of their own to be heard by Rags.

And the last was Greybeard. Pyrite included him in the group of counselors to Rags because the old Hobgoblin wandered over often. He liked to chatter during such sessions, but Rags put up with him despite that. That was smart.

Pyrite nodded to Greybeard and offered him some bark. The old Goblin laughed and sat next to Pyrite, warming his feet by the fire. He had a white beard and he was older than any other Goblin that Pyrite had ever met. By far.

Across the fire, Redscar was eying Greybeard. Pyrite could tell the other Goblin was wondering why Greybeard was here, but he said nothing since Rags did not. Pyrite knew Greybeard should be here. He was important. Very important.

He’d solved part of the mystery of Greybeard long ago. The rest Pyrite had been content to wait and find out later. He wondered if Rags would notice Greybeard for what he was first, or if he would tell her.

So. The other Goblins sat around the fire and waited for Rags to speak. Each one was a powerful lieutenant who could speak to her without fear. They all had their own opinions and desires, and so they came each morning to talk and sometimes argue and persuade Rags to listen to them.

They were not like the Hob factions under Tremborag. Not. But they were still representatives of different ideologies within Rags’ tribe. It had to be that way, but the key was that they did not squabble for power. They had a Chieftain, that was that. There was no…ranking between them.

Goblins were.

Today’s strategy meeting was about what to do today. Pyrite listened.

“Should raid more caravans. More food. More steel. Good steel.”

Poisonbite sat forwards at the fire, looking eager. Of course, she had been used to raiding for supplies since that was her old job in Tremborag’s mountain. She liked the way Rags did things. Outnumber the caravans, scare them away, and best of all, you didn’t have to risk getting hurt. You just scared the Humans and let them run.

“Should find better place. Too much same spot is bad. Go south.”

A dissenting opinion came from Redscar. He crossed his arms, looking annoyed. His posture spoke as much as his words. His opinion was clear. He wanted to find a more defensible location. Actually, he wanted to go back to his home in the High Passes. The Redfang tribe clearly wanted an actual fight, not raiding, and they were growing antsy with inaction.

“South? Towards Goblin Lord? Yes. Lots of fighting there. Bad fighting! Or want to hide?”

A cackling laugh came from Greybeard as he gobbled down another bowl of soup. Everyone stared at him, and Rags turned to Noears.

“Not Goblin Lord. You. You said there is another tribe. Where?”

She had a map. Noears squatted by it, scratching at the holes in his head where his ears had been. He pointed.

“There, Chieftain. The Undercrawler tribe. They dig.”

“For stones?”

Pyrite sat up, intrigued. His love of mining had set his tribe apart from the rest. He liked shiny rocks, even if eating them didn’t agree with him. Noears shook his head.

“Just dig. Eats lots of bugs.”

Rags studied the map. Pyrite saw that they were a half a day’s march from the Undercrawler Tribe’s location. Half a day with Rags’ [Fleet Foot] skill, that was. She nodded.

“Good. Could use diggers.”

All the Goblins stared at her. Poisonbite scratched her head.

“Why, Chieftain?”

Rags scowled as if it was obvious.

“Good for digging! Dig holes for traps. Dig places to pee. Dig hole to toss stupid Goblins into!”

“Oh.”

Pyriate nodded. He’d come up with the same conclusion himself. Rags pointed at the map, and then looked around the fire. She chewed her lip before giving orders.

“Find Undercrawler Tribe. Steal more food. Find better place. Go now.”

Redscar smiled, satisfied, and the other Goblins nodded. Poisonbite didn’t look too upset. Rags had outlined their strategy, which translated into Pyrite’s mind, meant first of all marching towards the Undercrawler tribe, no doubt to recruit them if possible. Rags had assimilated a few local tribes and she was clearly trying to increase her tribe.

Additionally, she’d also specified the need to raid for more food as a concern, which meant she was still focused on building up their supplies. That meant they’d hit a caravan on the road if they found one, although she clearly didn’t think that was likely. Pyrite didn’t either; word had spread about the marauding Goblins and only an idiot would take to the roads where they were nearby. Then again, idiots were plentiful.

Lastly, they were heading south and scouting for a second place to build their camp if they decided to head south. A good place to sleep and strike from. All things considered, she’d appeased everyone’s wishes and set some good, open-ended objectives for her tribe to pursue in lieu of better ones. Of course, she hadn’t said all that out loud but they’d all gotten that from her posture.

That was their mission for the day. The other Goblins nodded, and Pyrite began to execute Rags’ orders. He was her second-in-command and thus expedited the process. He walked over to a Goblin loitering around, licking her empty bowl of soup and poked her.

She looked at him. Pyrite grunted.

“Go that way. All.”

He pointed southeast, in the vague direction Rags had specified. The female Goblin nodded. She wandered off with her bowl, and poked another Goblin. She repeated more or less what Pyrite had said, then she and the Goblin she’d poked went off to find more Goblins to poke.

That was how the Goblins worked. True, they could have used a horn call or some other system, but Goblins were a social bunch. As soon as they realized something was happening, the other Goblins began to move with the rest, even if they didn’t know exactly what it was they were doing.

Within twenty minutes, all the thousands of Goblins in Rags’ tribe had packed what needed to be packed, lined up by the groups Rags had painstakingly assigned them to, and were marching away from their camp. It would have brought tears to the eyes of some military commanders, but it was normal for the Goblins. They didn’t waste time since they didn’t usually have time to waste.

—-

The march out of the forest was swift. It was a small forest, for all the trees were very tall and wide. The Goblins began to cross into the relative open, sticking to hills, other stretches of rougher terrain, but not trying for too much stealth. Their advantage was the speed of their march and the fact that they were too big for most threats.

They crossed a road and scared a City Runner out of his mind. He ran away screaming and some of the Goblins raised their crossbows, laughing. They were shouted at by the Hobs in charge of their group and Rags. No killing Humans. Or Drakes. Or other species, if they could help it, really.

She had a soft spot for Humans, though. Her tribe had killed very few of them in the time that Pyrite had been with them, and she’d been only too willing to liberate the ones kept captive in Tremborag’s mountain. She’d met a Human, once, it was rumored. A strange Human who lived around Liscor and fed the Goblins and Rags often.

Pyrite would have loved to meet her. He’d never met a Human who hadn’t tried to kill him. His first memory of a Human was being stabbed by a farmer with a pitchfork on a raid. That day, the [Farmer] and his helpers had been too high-level and too many. They’d slaughtered the Goblins who’d come to steal eggs and chickens. Pyrite had crawled away in the mud and nearly bled to death.

Memories. The Hob walked along, munching on bark. It didn’t bother him to remember. Not more than it did to know that the Goblins had come back the next night and slaughtered the entire farm. That was how it was. Death was a Goblin’s life. There was nothing they could expect beyond that.

But they should. Pyrite’s hand clenched and crushed the bit of bark. He stared at the fragments in his hand, and gave up eating for the moment. Instead, he increased his walking pace and moved past other Goblins towards a pair of Goblins riding Carn Wolves and arguing hotly. Rags was shouting at Redscar as Pyrite approached.

“Will not fight. Pointless. Waste of Goblin lives!”

The warrior bared his teeth at Rags.

“Must fight. Not strong if not fight. Death means stronger Goblins who survive.”

“This means Goblins don’t die and win.”

Rags pulled out her black crossbow meaningfully. It was huge, and Redscar nodded grudgingly. But he pointed to the weapon.

“One. Many Goblins. Is not enough.”

The other Goblins had copied the design, but there was no making something of the same quality as the Dwarf-made bow that Rags had found. She scowled, but couldn’t come up with a good response.

His turn. Pyrite grunted and both smaller Goblins looked at him.

“Fight what?”

The Redfang leader grinned up at him.

“Eater Goats.”

“Eater Goats?”

The name of the monster was unfamiliar to Pyrite. Redfang nodded.

“Big herd in High Passes. Will fight. Eats Carn Wolves. Good fight. Makes tribe strong.”

Eater Goats? And they ate Carn Wolves? Pyrite was familiar with the huge red wolves that the Redfang Tribe rode. And he wanted to train the new Goblins by making them fight those goats? He really was crazy.

“Stupid.”

Rags muttered the words, but Pyrite could see she was mulling the idea over. Her tribe was filled with Goblins, but only a few were elite warriors. Tremborag’s Goblins had quite a lot of battle-ready Hobs among them, and the Goblin Lord’s army had well-equipped Goblins of their own. Apart from her Redfang elites, Rags lacked the same kind of fighting force. Pyrite was about to ask Redscar exactly how many Goblins survived an encounter with Eater Goats when they heard a Goblin cry from the front.

Instantly, all three Goblins raced to the front of the line, argument forgotten. They saw a Goblin pointing and turned left, saw a tree.

And then saw what hung from it. They found the Undercrawler tribe too late. Humans had gotten there first.

A single tree had grown from the rocky hillside where the Undercrawler tribe had burrowed into caves and around rock. It was old, and bore no fruit. But something hung from it now. Awful rotten fruits, swaying in the breeze.

Bodies hung from the tree. Dark shapes, half-eaten by birds some of them. Most untouched in the cold. The rest were piled around the tree, or lay where they had fallen.

Goblin bodies.

Pyrite’s foot crunched in the snow. He stepped towards the tree, looking up. Hung bodies. And the rest—he saw Goblins fallen, most of them—

Most unarmed. Pyrite looked around as the rest of Rags’ tribe halted and more Goblins entered the site of the massacre. They stared around. They could see what had happened.

Goblins fought. Goblins fell. But see how they fell? Most had wounds on their backs. Few had weapons. They hadn’t been fighting. This was a slaughter. And most had died in the first attack. The rest—

Had been hung. Pyrite stared up at the ancient tree, branches carrying the swaying bodies. Hung. What was the purpose? He couldn’t understand it. Humans killed Goblins. But hang them?

“A warning. In case other Goblins come.”

Redscar stared up at the tree, jaw clenched, hand on his sword. Rags had dismounted. She pushed her Carn Wolf’s head away from the body it was sniffing and looked around.

Death. It wasn’t the first time Pyrite had seen it. But the destroyed tribe hurt his heart. He’d seen it too many times. He tried to push the feeling down, until he saw the message carved into the tree.

“What is this?”

Rags stared at the words. Pyrite stared too, but he couldn’t read. She could though, a little. And so could Noears. She called him over and the Goblin approached. The [Mage]’s face was silent as he stared at the words.

“What?”

Rags and the others stared at him. Noears spoke slowly.

“What happens to Goblins. What happens to filth.”

For a while, Rags stared at the words carved into the bark. Then she put a hand to the tree’s trunk. Her hand glowed, and the bark began to smolder and ignite under her palm. Her face was—Pyrite turned away. He stared up at the body and then saw something.

A hand. Twitching. Was it just the wind? No. Pyrite watched and saw the hand moving again. One of the bodies overhead was still moving. One was still alive. Pyrite’s eyes went wide. He grabbed the steel axe at his side and raised it. Too short. The Goblin that was still moving was very small and hung higher than he could reach.

“You!”

Pyrite turned and barked. A Goblin looked up at him. Pyrite pointed.

“Cut!”

The other Goblins saw the twitching Goblin. They crowded around the tree and several Goblins were thrown up. They clung to the bark and began to climb towards the branch the Goblin was hanging from.

Pyrite stood below the Goblin and stared up. The one that was alive was no more than a child.

He was still alive. The Goblins were too small, too light to hang properly. The rope had failed to break his neck, and so the child had suffocated here. Pyrite caught him as a Goblin cut the rope and cradled him in his arms. The Goblin gasped and choked.

Dying.

“Here.”

Rags appeared with a potion. She threw it and Pyrite caught the small vial. He stared at her for a moment. Any other Chieftain wouldn’t waste a potion on a single Goblin. He wasn’t sure he would. She glared at him.

No time to question. Pyrite carefully uncorked the vial and poured it sparingly onto the child’s throat. The small Goblin began to shudder.

The healing potion began to reduce the swelling around his neck, cure the puffy skin around his face. But he was so cold and small. Pyrite held him. The Goblin child was gasping, but his eyes were closing.

“Don’t sleep. Open eyes.”

Pyrite spoke to him. The Goblin gasped, and Pyrite slapped his face gently. He couldn’t sleep. If he did, he would die. Healing potions only cured so much. If the body was out of energy, they died.

The child’s eyes began to close. Pyrite roared at him.

“Stay open!”

An eye opened. Two crimson eyes looked into Pyrite’s. He cradled the child and saw Rags approaching. Pyrite lowered the child and Rags stood over him.

Somehow, the Goblin recognized Rags as a Chieftain. He gurgled, choked. Rags knelt by him.

“Who did?”

She spoke in the Goblin tongue. The child gurgled, coughed. His eyes were flickering. Rags knelt and Pyrite poured more healing potion on his neck. Rags bent her head by the child’s.

“Who? Tell me. Who?”

A whisper. The Goblin reached out and Rags grabbed his hand. She bent over him as Pyrite felt the child growing colder. He shouted for a blanket, a fire.

The hand went limp in Rags’ hand. The child’s lips stopped moving. He closed his eyes. Pyrite grabbed his shoulder and shook him. Roughly. The Goblin’s head bounced, but he didn’t open his eyes.

“Open!”

He couldn’t sleep. If he did, the healing would—Pyrite felt someone grab his arm. He realized the child was cold. Very cold. He looked over his shoulder and saw the Rockfall Chieftain was holding him. She shook her head.

Slowly, Pyrite let go of the small Goblin. He put him on the ground and stood up. The empty potion bottle dropped from his hand. Then Pyrite slowly bent and picked it up. Not good to waste—waste—

He looked around. The other bodies hung from the tree. They lay on the ground, silent, unmoving. Rags stood in the snow, looking around. Her Goblins were looking at her.

Her eyes were bleak when they fixed on Pyrite. She looked past him and at the Rockfall Chieftain instead. She nodded to the Hob.

“Burn tree. Leave rest.”

She turned away. Pyrite stood in the snow until the tree went up in flames. The bodies burned and fell, and he placed the Goblin child on the pyre and left.

For the council of war.

—-

There was a Human town nearby. A large one, with guards and walls. It had probably been the one to send the adventurers after the Undercrawler tribe, but it wasn’t certain. The Goblins were split.

Half wanted to destroy the town. The other half…didn’t see the point. Tremborag’s former Goblins were among the latter, surprisingly. They were all for slaughter, but they’d agreed with Rags’ non-violence policy when it came to Humans. Don’t hurt them, and they weren’t such a large threat.

Redscar and the Rockfall Chieftain were for vengeance. So was Pyrite. But he sat in silence, waiting, watching Rags. She kept staring at her hand, the hand she’d held the child’s with.

She did not kill Humans. She liked them. At last, the Goblins stopped quarrelling and fell silent. Looking at her. There was no proof. Anyone could have sent the adventurers. They could have come from anywhere. But it was the town, Pyrite was sure. They had asked, and a group had come to slaughter the tribe.

But there was no proof. And everyone was watching Rags, now. Did she side with the Humans? The Undercrawler tribe had surely raided the town or nearby villages and farms for food when they were hungry. Maybe they’d killed some Humans who’d been alone. Maybe. Probably.

That was life. But in the end Rags had looked up and spoken.

“We attack.”

An hour later, the Goblins were within sight of the town. They marched on it. Quietly.

At first, the few guards on the walls didn’t seem to realize what they were seeing. But as Goblins appeared in the distance, marching towards the ten foot high walls, they raised the alarms. Pyrite saw people appearing on the walls in the distance, raising bows. There were a lot of soldiers at the gates.

He didn’t care. Rags raised her arm, and crossbows snapped up. Goblins began to throw rocks from slings and loose bolts into the air. The defenders returned fire, but they had only a few bows, and Hobs with their own weapons picked them off one at a time.

The gates opened, and an armored group of riders rode out. They began to race around the Goblins, only to find a wall of terribly long pikes swinging in to face them. The Goblin pikes charged, and the riders had to retreat. Two were too slow and their mounts were impaled by the charging Goblins. The rest fled back into the gates.

Pyrite marched behind the Goblins with pikes, hearing the thunk of crossbows firing, hearing a scream as a Goblin was hit by an arrow. A [Mage] blasted Goblins from the battlements for a moment before Noears hit him with lightning and arrows struck the mage from twenty bows.

The gates were thick and heavy, meant to withstand a monster attack. Pyrite and eight Hobs grabbed a battering ram that Rags had ordered built and slammed it into the gates. It took three hits before the wood began to splinter. The Goblins behind them pushed, and the wood broke.

The Goblins streamed into the city with a howl, meeting the defenders in a scrum at the gates. The Humans were numerous. They screamed in fury, defending their homes. The Goblins howled and rushed them.

Pyrite was first into the fray. He charged into a man with a sword and felt the sword bite into his stomach. But the Human hadn’t expected Pyrite to run into the blade. The Hob grabbed the screaming man and struck him once with the axe.

He was wearing a helmet, but the Human died anyways under the crushing blow. Pyrite picked him up and heaved the man back towards his friends. The armored corpse knocked over several Humans and the smaller Goblins swarmed them.

Blood and sweat and heat. The cold and the burning cut in his stomach were distant sensations to Pyrite. He strode forwards, and saw a man with a heavy mace bashing down a Hob. He was an adventurer; his mace shone and he had a shield that was deflecting every weapon that came at him. Pyrite charged towards him and the adventurer turned.

Silver-rank, probably. He was confident, trusting in his shield to protect him. The adventurer turned from the Hob and shouted.

“Come on, you damn Goblins! Fight me!”

He raised his shield and Pyrite’s axe crashed into it. The shield didn’t break, and the adventurer barely staggered. He lashed out with his mace. It had a spiked head and tore away part of Pyrite’s stomach. The Hob grunted, stepped back.

“Come on, come on! What are you waiting for?”

The Human snarled as he lashed out at Pyrite. The Hob had no shield and blocked with his axe. He was hit in his arm, and again in his chest. Both times the mace came away bloody, but Pyrite said not a word.

He fought silent. Where the other Hobs and Goblins around him shrieked in fear and battle fury and howled as their friends and family bled and died, Pyrite hacked and cut and sometimes dodged in a void of sound.

It bothered the Human. Pyrite’s expression never changed. He just stared at his opponent as the Human cursed at him. He swung his mace and Pyrite knocked it back with his own axe. He swung, and again the magical shield came up, taking his blow.

Stalemate. The Human’s friends were dying, but he was helping hold the line. He raised his mace and Pyrite paused. He looked past the Human and spoke in a level, normal voice.

“What’s that?”

He pointed. The Human’s head instinctively turned. Too late, it snapped back. This time his shield was too low. Pyrite buried the axe in the Human’s shoulder, grabbed the screaming Human’s mace, and buried it in his head. He stepped back, breathing hard as the line of warriors broke without the adventurer to hold it.

“Idiot.”

He wrenched his axe free and walked past the Human. It was surprising how many times that worked. But no one expected a Hobgoblin to say anything in their language and so sometimes they looked, or just hesitated for a moment. A moment was all Pyrite needed.

The rest of the Humans began to crumble once the Goblins got past the gates. Rags’ tribe outnumbered the Humans far too greatly, and her tactics were superior to theirs. She charged her pikes into the Humans while her crossbows hammered them. Pyrite didn’t fight another Human; the combination of the pikes and Redfang warriors waiting behind them was an impenetrable wall that the Humans defenders couldn’t break through.

They found the majority of the townsfolk clustered in the square. They’d tried to flee through the opposite gates, but a second force of Goblins from the rear had blocked their escape. Poisonbite and her warriors had cut down several of the Humans, but they stopped when Rags strode towards them.

“Hold.”

The Humans stared at the small Chieftain with horror and fear. She looked at them. One of the Humans spat—the others dragged him back, afraid of her. But they hated her, and the other Goblins. Pyrite saw it in their eyes. Rags stared at them and then turned to him.

“Bring me rope.”

The Humans stirred. Some cried out in horror. Others began to beg. Pyrite stared at Rags and then got her the rope. He didn’t know what she was going to do.

She hung the bodies from the houses. Not live ones, but the dead Humans. When Pyrite heard her orders he felt relieved. Relieved because she wasn’t retaliating in kind? The Humans would have hung them all. He thought about that as he oversaw the Goblins clambering on the rooftops.

They hung the dead adventurer and guards from the rooftops, a grim mockery of what had come before. Then Rags pointed, and Goblins streamed into buildings, forcing out screaming Humans, coming out with grain, barrels of goods, sacks and objects like hammers, shears, buckets, pans.

They looted the town for an hour and left. They took everything they could grab and carry. Food, supplies—

The Humans tried to resist once. A man tried to stop them from taking some jewelry, saying that it was his wife’s. Pyrite thought of the dead child and broke his jaw and arm.

The Flooded Waters tribe left the town in ruins. Both gates were broken, their defenders slaughtered. But they left the people alive. Poisonbite had argued against it, and so had Redscar. They didn’t want to leave witnesses.

Rags didn’t care. Pyrite had seen her looking at the Humans, looking at children, and, for some reason, a young woman with brown hair. She’d forbidden the Goblins from touching them.

So they’d left. There was no celebration as the Goblins marched back towards their camp, laden with their spoils. Not this time.

—-

It was a silent camp that ate and sat around the lake. Pyrite washed his wounds in the water, watching the dried blood float into the lake. It hurt, but he didn’t want a healing potion. That was a waste.

The mood was too quiet around camp. Goblins sat around, poking with sticks at the ground, not doing much of anything. They should have been celebrating. They’d won a battle. But what they’d seen bothered them.

It bothered Rags. And Pyrite. And because their Chieftain was silent, the Goblins learned from her. Pyrite stared at a young Goblin, practically no more than a child, staring moodily at the lake. He felt that shouldn’t be so. They had to smile. If they didn’t smile, what was the point of being alive?

After some thought, Pyrite approached the small Goblin. He poked him. The Goblin looked up. Pyrite nodded to the lake.

“Can swim?”

The Goblin stared at him, and then nodded cautiously. Pyrite smiled.

“Good.”

Then he seized the Goblin, lifted him up, and threw him across the water. The small Goblin flew across the lake, screaming until he splashed into the water.

Every Goblin head in the vicinity had turned the instant Pyrite had seen the Goblin. They stared at him, afraid he was angry. They watched the Goblin splash down, spluttering, and then swim towards the edge. Pyrite smiled again.

“Next?”

He looked at some of the small Goblins, the children. They edged away from him. Then a brave young female Goblin stepped forwards. She shrieked as he lifted her, and then tossed her into the air.

She flew far. Pyrite was a Hob and she was very light. The other Goblins watched with open-mouths as the Goblin child cannonballed into the water. Half seemed perplexed, but the other half caught on.

Pyrite threw the Goblin. Throwing was bad. It hurt if you hit the ground. But what if you landed in the water? In that case—

The next child went screaming into the lake, but he was laughing when he climbed out. And then other Goblins approached. Pyrite hurled an adult into the water and as the Goblin climbed out he shouted at the other Goblins, grinning and miming flapping his wings. Then they all wanted to try.

—-

Rags found Pyrite and a group of over twenty Hobs hurling Goblins into water. The sound had drawn every Goblin in camp, and the Hobs seemed to be enjoying the activity. They were competing to see who could throw Goblins the furthest, highest, or make them puke as they spun into the lake.

Pyrite turned, sweating in the cold, bleeding slightly from his stomach where his wounds had opened up, to see Rags standing with arms folded. She stared pointedly at his stomach.

“Pointless.”

He shrugged. She was very smart sometimes, but not all the time.

“Fun, Chieftain.”

She looked past him as a screaming Goblin cartwheeled into the water, much to the entertainment of every other Goblin watching. She shook her head.

“Stupid.”

She turned to go. Pyrite grabbed her. Rags struggled, shouted, but it was too late. He heaved, and his Chieftain went flying.

She was very light. The other Goblins stopped and stared as they saw their Chieftain arc high into the sky before crashing into the water. The entire time, Rags’ eyes were locked on Pyrite’s face.

She glared at him the entire time she was flying, until she hit the water. That was rather impressive, actually. Rags swam out of the lake quickly, unlike the other floundering Goblins. That surprised Pyrite until he thought about it for a moment. Of course. The Flooded Waters tribe was good at swimming.

That night, Goblins played in the water, laughing, some drowning until they were fished out. But they were laughing. The water was very cold, but they didn’t care. It was something new. And that night, Pyrite sat by his fire, wet, cold, bleeding a bit, but better.

Around him, Goblins were sleeping. Pyrite was still up. He was always awake during the nights. He’d had a few good hours of sleep earlier, and it was important for him to be up while Rags slept. Just in case. As the fires dimmed and Goblins began snoring around him, Pyrite stared into the flames.

And spoke. Quietly, giving voice to words in his chest.

“We are not monsters yet;

But we do not forget;

We are lost, outcasts all.

I caught him too late. His sigh—

A shudder. Last goodbye.

Time passes, cities rise and nations fall;

And yet they will always hate us all.

Goblins. Why do they hate us so?

Why does the wind blow?

I suppose I will never know.”

He paused, but no one had heard him. Pyrite whispered the words a few more times. Not bad. But not good. He’d used ‘all’ twice, and he wasn’t sure about the second to last line. Why does the wind blow? A bit too silly, he felt. But it had promise.

Pyrite thought the rhyming at the end of the lines was important. But he wasn’t sure. It sounded pleasing to his ears, though. He wondered if other species had something like this. Songs? No, this was different.

He sat, and slowly fished out a burnt out coal from the fire. It was still very hot. He bit into it anyways, and chewed slowly as the night ended and the sun began to rise. This was how he lived. Day by day, hour by hour. Sometimes he despaired. Other times he laughed.

But always, he dreamed of a day where Goblins would live freely. He looked south and added one more thought to the list in his head. He wondered if there was a way for Goblins to live in peace with other races.

Probably not. But he waited for Rags to wake. To wake, and show them, show all Goblins she was worthy of being a Chieftain. Of being a Goblin Lord.

Of someday, perhaps…

Being a King.

—-

The night ended. Rags woke up, this time without a bad smell in her nose. She yawned as her camp began to stir with the dawn, and spotted a familiar shape. Pyrite, the former Gold Stone Chieftain, sat by a fire, chewing on something. She grunted, pleased he hadn’t fallen asleep. But then, he never did.

He was dependable, like that. Rags got up, stretching, and saw Pyrite’s head drift towards her, and then back to the fire. She shook her head as she wandered over to where the Redfang warriors were already training for the morning.

Some days Rags wondered what Pyrite was thinking. The huge Hobgoblin sat in front of the fire, chewing calmly, staring into the flames. He was always so calm. And he never seemed bothered by anything.

He was delightfully simple, Rags concluded. He could think deeply at times, but by and large he was uncomplicated and straightforward. She envied him for his narrow view of the world. It wasn’t easy being her. Not easy at all. She walked away, and began thinking of what to do next. Time to lead her tribe again. Life was hard.

But she was up to the challenge. And behind her, the Gold Stone Chieftain sat and chewed, and thought.

Then he farted.

1.02 C

I have a confession to make. When I first came to this world, I was excited. I thought I could be someone else. They told me I could be a hero. But it turned out that people don’t change that easily. Cowards are still cowards. And I was a coward.

But then I was afraid when I learned that people could change. People could change entirely, and that scared me as much as not changing. Then, I was frightened of what I might become.

Now I know the truth. People don’t change so easily. They can, but what this world does isn’t change us. Rather, it shows us who we are. Heroes. Cowards.

And monsters. And I am all three. They call me a hero, I know I am a coward, and I have a monster in my soul. The devil dances in the mirror and laughs. I call his name.

Tom.

—-

“Tom? Hey Tom, you’ve got snow in your hair.”

A tentative voice wakes me up from my thoughts. I pull myself up on my horse and brush at my head. I don’t feel any wet. And when I find what’s stuck there, I realize it isn’t snow. It’s a flower petal. White, beautiful, fallen from high overhead.

White petals. They float down softly among the sounds of people cheering from the rooftops of houses. I look to my left, the little petal in my hands. Richard grins at me and tugs the hat on his head a bit higher. It should be silly to wear a cowboy hat over armor, but I have to admit, Richard pulls the Stetson off quite well. Maybe it’s because he’s also mounted.

Nothing like a cowboy [Knight] to get the crowds going. I flick the petal towards him as my own horse plods along the paved street.

“Nice crowd.”

“You should smile and wave at them. They’re cheering for you as well.”

“Mm. That’s because they don’t know me.”

Richard shakes his head. I sigh, but obligingly wave a hand upwards. A few more people add their voices to the cheering. It’s a small crowd, really. A thousand people in a city built to hold far more than that. But they gather, and around me, the others are waving, blowing kisses. They’re glad to be here. And as the petals float down, I admit, so am I.

Petals. They’re whiter than snow. In Rhir, snowfall is cold and wet. And often—tainted. Grey, or sometimes black, by whatever curse lies upon the land. It’s said the black snow is a product of the blighted lands themselves, and the people avoid touching it where it falls.

Not that that’s a problem here. I look up, and up, my eyes travelling across sky bridges, made of wood and stone, buildings which reach up like small skyscrapers, layers of houses, shops, and more packed into one place. It’s like and unlike a city from my world in so many ways. The height is there, yes, but the aerial walkways and ramparts? No.

“New York City looked like this, once, you know.”

“Really?”

I look back at Richard. He nods.

“Keith told me. He’s into architecture.”

“Engineering major. Right.”

It’s funny, I’d forgotten. But of course, Keith would have been a freshman in Pennsylvania. Lehigh University. It’s so strange. I never went to college, but I can’t imagine being that certain about what I’d want to do with my life that early. I didn’t know what I wanted when I was taken, that’s for sure.

“So New York looked like this a while back? Why’d they stop?”

“I don’t know. Construction costs? People falling? You should ask him.”

I glance back down the line of people on horseback, catch sight of Keith. I hesitate, shake my head.

“Nah. I’m not that curious.”

“Come on, Tom.”

“Nah. But I will go for a walk up there sometime. Looks like fun. So long as you don’t slip.”

“Yeah. Emily’s going to hate it, though.”

“Oh? Why?”

“She gets vertigo something fierce. Maybe we can get a room on the ground floor, do you think?”

“Not sure. I guess that depends on the impression we make. Hey, I’m going to ride ahead, okay?”

“Alright, then.”

I gently nudge the horse I’m riding on with my heels. The brown creature grudgingly accelerates a bit while Richard slows his to hang back with the others. He makes it look so easy. He sits on his stallion like they’ve known each other for years. I can barely get my mare to stop.

Alone again. I know Richard’s trying to be nice and talk to me, but I don’t need it. I keep my horse more or less between the group from my world, the twenty or so Americans who were summoned to this world, and our escort. Soldiers ride ahead and behind me, armor gleaming, but showing evidence of battle. The people cheer us all the harder because of it.

We are heroes. And some of us are [Heroes]. I’m not.

Not anymore. I gave that up with everything else months ago. Now I’m just Tom. Thomas, if you’re my mom. And I’m riding through the city as petals fall onto my shoulders and get caught in my hair. I look up again.

And the city takes my breath away.

So beautiful. The tangle of buildings and pathways through the sky really are a sight unique to this world. There are bridges large enough for horses to ride across, and for wagons to roll through! A city climbing to the sky. And why not? The people live close together, behind walls. Why not build a city like this, in this continent of ceaseless war?

This is Rhir. And this is the heart of the kingdom, the shield city known as Paranfer, whose walls have stood for thousands of years. But even here, behind the four great walls built by generations of the inhabitants, safety is not always guaranteed. As I look up, I see evidence of that in the form of watch towers, manned even in the capital city.

And of course, we passed through the six successive outer walls of the city and the seventh, being built as we rode in. Each wall is taller than the last, and of course, patrolled by guards. I’m told that with each new wall, a new layer of housing is added to the ones beneath. I wonder how the architecture can handle it? The foundations of each building must be hundreds of feet deep. Or enchanted.

Probably enchanted.

In this sprawling, tightly-knit overgrowth of civilization, it’s possible to walk up six stories and walk with the covered roofs of the city shielding you from the corrupted rain or snow that might pour down without warning, or venture far, far beneath, to the streets and gutters where the sewers run black, depositing their contents into the sea.

Apparently people live down there, in the sewers. The magical pollution does something to them. But whatever dangers the contamination might pose, it still runs into the sea. And there it flows west and north. Towards the edge of the world.

Beyond Rhir, there is no world. A few islands perhaps, and oceanic depths no one has explored. But beyond that? The end of the world. A great abyss from which no one returns. The world is flat, and you can sail right off it. Rhir sits at the edge of the world—so do the islanders, a group of strange foreigners who clash with Minotaurs and sometimes sail towards civilization.

Or so I’ve been told. I know only what other people tell me about this world. I have never left this continent, not in the months I’ve been here. And I’ve only ever seen this city once before.

My heart stirs as I watch the petals floating down. The people are still cheering above, waiting along the route of our procession. Not a lot of them, but some. They’re shouting, crying out the rallying call of Rhir.

“The Walls stand!”

“The Blighted King sits upon his throne!”

“To the ends of the world and back! Rhir! The last war! The endless war!”

Fierce shouts, from men, women, and children alike. There’s no doubt in their voices, no sense of embarrassment for what they say. Each one is filled with burning pride in who they are, love for their country.

Patriots. It’s an odd thought. I feel a chill and look towards the palace rising above the rest of the city. It is gigantic, apparently taller than any other such building in the world. It was designed by Dwarfs, added to year after year, and made to never be taken. Yes. Rhir might be blighted, afflicted by dark magic and attacked by strange new monsters year after year. Yes, the Demon King waits and sends his armies forth to bring down the walls.

But it is great for that reason. Because Rhir will not fall. It alone boasts the most skilled and deadly warriors from all races. The kingdom has ancient treasures, unyielding protectors, and its [King] is known throughout the world. All nations know of Rhir, and if the horns call, they send their armies. For if Rhir falls, the world is next.

…Or so I’m told. It sounds to me like Rhir is isolated, cut off from the rest of the world by the battle only the people here will fight. But to the people, their struggle is pride and purpose.

Another petal floats down. It’s truly beautiful, and I’m glad to see it. I’ve had enough of grey and black snow, or worse, red snow. I reach up as it flutters towards my face.

This petal is soft and cool, chilled by the air, but warming, like the weather. I catch it and sniff at it. The smell is sweet, vanishingly faint, and melancholy. Just as soon as I sniff, I sneeze. I wipe at my nose and feel my skin itching. I quickly brush the petal off and note that my skin is already turning red.

“Great. I think I’m allergic to that.”

Why can’t I have nice things? I sigh. I ride on, and hear a little voice.

Maybe because you’re not a nice person. Or maybe it’s genetics. Either way, you’d better hope you don’t inhale one of those or you might die of anaphylactic shock. Now, how funny would that be? There’s no EpiPen in this world. Go on, sniff another and see how fast your throat closes up.

It’s not a nice thought. I ignore it and sigh.

Come on, you can’t ignore me. Or rather, you. Is it me or you? Both? It’s like a thought you can’t ignore. Or a song. Remember the one about badgers?

“Goddamnit.”

The voice is back. I’m afraid it’ll plague me all day this time. My voice, to be exact. No one else’s. Nothing to be worried about. It’s just a voice. In my head. Everyone has a little voice in their head, right?

It doesn’t make me crazy. Even though I am insane. But [Lesser Insanity] isn’t…isn’t…

Fun? Entertaining? Totally batshit crazy? Where were you going with that one?

Let’s try this again.

Hi. My name is Tom. I’m a Level 28 [Clown]. Only, I’m retired. You’d never know it to look at me, as I ride through the streets of Rhir with an escort of soldiers and my friends. I look normal. Just a guy in slightly worn clothing, slightly overweight, but not as heavy as I used to be—I lost weight. I have scars you can’t see, and a funny walk. But that’s all. I’m white, American, and as bland as you can be.

I don’t wear the face paint any longer. I don’t color my nose red, or paint my face whiter than it usually is. I don’t juggle, do tricks, or anything remotely funny if I can help it. I’ve given up being a [Clown]. I really have.

And I’m not insane. I’m not. Not entirely. Not yet.

Keep telling yourself that.

“Okay, maybe Richard was right.”

I gently pull on the reins of my horse. She freezes, and I nearly topple off her. I groan, turn her around, and walk her back. Towards the others.

There they are, twenty of them. Not all clustered up at once of course; they’re riding in a procession, so it’s two to four abreast, all moving slowly down the street. Not the widest of streets, either, and not one lined by cheering people, you’ll note. This is one of the entry streets to Paranfer, and as such it’s meant to be kept empty of all traffic except those going this way. The general citizenry stays above.

I was riding at the head of our little procession, but now I head back. There are four people there. Richard, our own southern cowboy [Knight], the leader of our ragtag group. Emily, another leader, beloved, a [Hydromancer]. And next to them Keith, a [Blacksmith] who wants to find out if there is an [Engineer] class, and Chole. Chole’s a [Nurse].

“Tom!”

Richard breaks off from talking with Chole and the others at once. They all fall silent as I awkwardly guide my horse over to them. I see Emily actually pull her horse back a bit. That’s fine. Understandable, even.

“Hey Richard, guess what? Turns out I’m allergic to the pretty flowers.”

“Well, that ain’t good. At least we’re not being showered by the stuff, then.”

Richard shakes his head. I turn my horse and fall in with him. Emily hesitates, but it’s Chole who backs up until she’s behind us. I ride next to Richard, pretending not to notice the way Keith stares at me. Of course, Richard acts like nothing’s amiss. He’s considerate like that.

“Reckon we’ll be in the main part of the city soon. It’s a big place, isn’t it? I didn’t see much of it the first time we were here, but we’ll be going through a bigger section soon, with a larger escort.”

“Are they actually going to throw a parade for us? I thought all of this was what we were going to get.”

Emily waves a hand up at the balconies overhead. A girl cheers down at her, which doesn’t in turn cheer her up. She wanted a parade, and we barely got that. I don’t care. Keith looks as skeptical as Richard and I feel.

“I don’t know. We’re not exactly in favor, are we? It’s only ‘cause you and Richard are over Level 30 that we’re getting acknowledged at all, right? For fighting Demons and monsters. Well, that and…”

He glances sideways at me. I ignore the look and hunch my shoulders.

How can you ignore a look and respond to it? Just say it out loud, Tom. We’re getting invited back to the capital because you killed a bunch of innocent people. Wait, I mean, the Demons killed the innocent people and you killed them. That makes you a hero! Right?

Richard clears his throat.

“So long as we can get behind some actual walls for a spell, I’m grateful. And if the Blighted King wants to see us, that’s fine. So long as we can impress his majesty, that is.”

He’s looking at me now, too. I look up and meet his eyes.

“I’m done, Richard. I told you that.”

He nods. Emily doesn’t look convinced. Keith opens his mouth and Richard speaks.

“Look, we’re here.”

Our street opens and takes us into a grand plaza. One of many, but grand nonetheless. It’s large enough to hold thousands of people, or at least, make us feel tiny as we enter it on horseback.

“Alright, we’re here! Off the horses!”

As we enter the square, our leader calls out and I gladly slide from my saddle. I hear one of our number, Eddy, grumbling as we do.

“Why can’t we ride to the palace? I can see it from here!”

“If you can see it, you can walk to it. Besides, some roads are foot traffic only. Stop complaining.”

Vincent calls out as he helps Chole off her horse. Eddy mutters, but doesn’t respond outright. He grumbled when we had to ride as well, since he wasn’t used to riding in the first place. I guess he got used to it.

Now we’re in the plaza, I look around. There are many roads entering here, and the ground has some kind of spiral pattern to it. The colored bricks make me feel as though I’m being drawn to the center.

“Pretty.”

I say it to no one. Unfortunately, someone responds.

As lovely as a whirlpool. Do you think it’s a spell? It might be. Anger the wrong person and you’ll be sucked into the ground in the center, there. Right by the man selling daggers with the stall.

Why do I think like this? I sigh, take my mind off the idea of magical traps, and loiter with the rest of my group in the absent-minded sort of way crowds do when they’re waiting for someone to tell them what to do next.

“Oh, look. Beggars!”

A soft cry comes up from one of the other girls. I look and see Cynthia pointing with dismay at a girl with a bowl sitting around the edge of the plaza. She’s young. Can’t be more then eight, perhaps. The attention of my group is drawn instantly to her, and her situation.

“We should give her something.”

“Why? Look, she’s probably fed—”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yeah, but if you give her money, what about everyone else? Look how many there are.”

“But she’s—”

“Tom, toss me a coin, would you?”

Richard settles the matter before it can turn into another argument. He raises a hand as he walks over to the girl, who looks up hopefully. I sigh and dig around in a pouch at my waist.

There’s a good twenty feet of distance between me and Richard, and it’s growing each time he takes a step. Still, that doesn’t matter.

I have a Skill.

You’ve got lots of skills, Tommy boy. You just don’t use them.

Ignore that. I have a good Skill. Not like the—others. The ones I received that night.

Oh, happy memories.

[Lesser Insanity]. [Horrific Laughter]. [Devil’s Luck]. [Greater Pain Tolerance]. And…[Weapon Proficiency: Knives]. Those are the skills I received on the day when I went crazy. When I had a breakdown and slaughtered a group of Demon soldiers.

Correction: when you acted heroically. That’s why you leveled, right? You were a hero! Sorry, I mean, [Hero]!

Ignore it. Ignore…since then I’ve leveled up four more times. I learned a few cool skills. The first is [Unerring Throw], which allows me to hit any target I aim at, so long as what I’m aiming at doesn’t dodge or block, or if the throw’s physically impossible for me.

Cue me tossing the silver coin to Richard, over the heads of everyone else. He catches it in one gauntleted hand and offers it to the kid. He kneels down with her and Cynthia and a few others go over. I stand back, counting up the coins we have now.

Some gold, some silver…one less. Not a lot; not if we’re buying all the gear everyone wants. But why don’t I think that’ll stop Cynthia from demanding more coins for every child beggar we have? I sigh.

You don’t really care.

I don’t. It’s true. But it is my job to manage the coin. I guess I can be okay with handing it out whenever anyone asks. Because that’s my job in this group. Some people are leaders, like Richard and Emily, others have opinions like Eddy who knows a lot about games, and others…why do I feel like this is the student council and I’m back in High School? Maybe because I have a position very similar to that here.

Treasurer. Actually, I’m more like a glorified purse. I keep the money Richard and the others are given, and give it out only when everyone votes we use it. Or when Richard says. I also help make sure everyone gets food for the night, manage our supplies of potions and so on…it’s not an important job. I do it because I won’t fight. I refuse to fight.

I had enough of it after the night when Wilen died.

Squashy, squashy. Troll goes stompy. And little Tom goes crazy.

For a second I debate stabbing myself. Right in the eye, or the side. Would that make the voice go away?

Try it and find out! One stab and everyone’ll believe there’s a voice in your head! Why not?

I hate you so much. Hate me. I know you’re not real.

“…Tom! Tom! Get out of the way!”

A voice calls out. I look up, and realize someone’s right on top of me. A scaly, orange face, glinting chainmail, a spear grasped by a claw-like hand—a lizard-guy is bearing down on top of me! Scratch that, a lot of lizard guys, marching in tight formation!

He’s about to walk into me. I twist out of the way, gracefully for a guy my size. One step, and the huge lizard man misses me by a fraction of a millimeter. His buddies march past as well as I step away.

That’s the second skill I learned. [Flawless Dodge]. It only works when I’m ready for what’s coming at me, and I can’t do it every time. But I feel pretty spry whenever it works.

“Company, halt! Stop running over civilians, you thick-scaled idiots!”

A voice shouts, and the lizard people stop instantly. They turn like a single unit, and I see another one striding towards me. She has black scales, a narked expression on her face, and a plumed helmet. Clearly an officer.

Or an enthusiastic cosplayer.

“Sorry about that. This lot is trained to walk over anyone in the way, nevermind that we’re guests here. In a Human city.”

She addresses me and her soldiers with a glare probably meant for them. Then she turns as Richard strides over. She glances at me, and then nods at him. Yeah, that’s a fair assessment. He is wearing armor and he looks in charge.

“Are you the group known as the, uh…‘Americans’? Sorry we’re late.”

She pronounces the word oddly. Richard nods, extends a hand to shake. It’s odd being called Americans, especially since America’s a big place. Two continents, rather than one country. But hell, I guess America means the United States, not anywhere else.

Makes sense.

And I mean, what else were we supposed to call ourselves when we were asked who we were? Anyways, Richard is used to the awkwardness.

“Yes Ma’am. We’re the Americans. And you are?”

She grasps his hand firmly. I note her claws, although Richard is wearing a gauntlet. She’s a lizard! A giant lizard person! With a tail! And she’s clearly a she. There’s just something about her size, voice, and physique that tells me definitely that she’s female while the soldier who nearly ran into me is male. She’s humanoid enough in that respect.

“Cirille Bitterclaw, at your service. I’m the sorry [Commander] of this lot.”

“Richard Davenport, Ma’am. A pleasure.”

Cirille blinks a bit at being called ‘Ma’am’. It’s customary to call people ‘Miss’ or ‘Mister’ in this world unless they have a formal title, but Richard just can’t get over calling people Sir or Ma’am no matter how many times he’s corrected.

“You’re our escort today?”

Emily comes over, Cirille nods briskly and indicates a large road her and the other lizards just walked down.

“That’s right, Miss. We’re your honorary guard. We’ll be walking you about two miles to the palace.”

“What? All of you?”

The lizard woman smiles wryly.

“That’s right. We’re dressed up for a little celebration, as you can see. There will be flowers, cheering—even if no one says who you are. There’s people in this city who’ll cheer a rolling barrel if it has an escort.”

I snort quietly. So much for our heroic return. What did Emily expect? We got kicked out of here the first time we arrived.

When we first came to Rhir, when we came to this world, we were welcomed with celebrations by the King himself and all the court. We were feasted, given parades…until they realized we weren’t actual heroes, but lost kids who couldn’t swing a sword properly. Then they shipped us out to die.

They brought us back because some of us proved we could fight.

And some of us slaughtered a bunch of Demons. Let’s not forget that.

…But I guess they’re not rolling out the red carpet for us this time, unless these lizards are meant to be more important than Rhir’s soldiers? Nah.

Cirille says pretty much the same thing to Richard as her soldiers line up on either side of us, looking bored and disinterested.

“Us? We’re not locals, Miss. We’re one of the foreign companies sent here on duty to assist the Blighted King. Sometimes that means escorting people around. Every day. Not the bigwigs, though. Us being here means you’re important enough for an escort, but not enough for a full parade. They’d give you an escort of their own [Knights] and so on if you were. We get stuck marching for the lesser dignitaries and officials. Shall we?”

Richard nods. Our group forms up more or less in a line, and I see Cynthia and some of the others staring nervously at the lizard soldiers on either side. Oh no. My stomach clenches. This better not be like the incident with the Selphid soldier.

Aaah! Zombie! Burn the unholy thing! Don’t let it touch me! And then there was Emily washing her hands after shaking the soldier’s hand in plain view. Good times. Who says racism is dead? Or is it speciesism?

Richard must be thinking the same thing. He coughs and addresses Cirille before she gives the order to march.

“Pardon me for bringing this up, Ma’am, but we’ve never actually met someone from your…species before. Are you a, uh, liz—”

The entire group of soldiers seems to freeze for a second. Cirille cuts Richard off before he can continue.

“We’re Drakes, sir. Drakes. Different from Lizardfolk. Very different. If you haven’t seen any of those b—those other soldiers from Baleros, I imagine it’s an easy mistake to make. But we’re different.”

He nods, gingerly.

“My apologies, Miss Cirille.”

“Taken. Let’s move out, you lot! Slowly!”

And so we do. I linger near Richard, letting him do the talking as we march down out of the plaza and down one of the big roads leading to the palace ahead. Sure enough, there are people waving and cheering as we go by. I’m more interested in the conversation, though.

“That’s right. I was assigned to Rhir with my company. We got the short straw, depending on how you look at it. All the other parts of our army were assigned to the front or to patrol various spots, but they needed someone to look shiny and didn’t want to waste their own soldiers on the job.”

“Oh? Is that normal?”

“Pretty much. Every nation has to send an army to support Rhir. If it were all-out war, I’d be under the command of an actual [General] and there would be at least two Drake armies here. But it’s not, so our lot gets to patrol and go claw-to-claw with those Demon bastards on the front for fun. It’s part of the old treaties, you know.”

Richard nods. He knows, and I do too. Rhir is at war. It has been for thousands of years, apparently. Right now the Blighted King, the sole ruler of the continent, is battling the Demon King, who is the leader of…the continent. But of Demons and monsters, so apparently he’s not acknowledged as an actual king.

Bit weird, that. Why call him a king, then?

Anyways, the Demons and monsters that come from the corrupted part of the continent are so dangerous that four walls were built to hold them back, and there’s almost always fighting somewhere or other. The Blighted Kingdom gets aid from the rest of the world to hold the Demons back, apparently in the form of soldiers as well.

I eye Cirille. She’s a Drake? Does that mean she’s related to Dragons as opposed to…well, whatever a Lizardperson is related to? Unlike the rest of her soldiers, her armor is open at the back to let two vestigial wings out. They’re folded up neatly and rather small. She notices me looking and smiles. Toothily.

“Oldblood. Don’t mind the wings; they’re for show. I can’t get off the ground, but apparently that means I’m special enough to get chosen for a year’s service in this hellhole.”

“Oh. Uh. I’m Tom.”

“Pleased. I don’t get to talk to the people I’m marching with that often. Usually they’re too important. You a warrior?”

“Nope. Not me. I—no.”

She blinks at me.

“Alright, then.”

Smooth, Tom. Nice going. The one person who thinks you’re not crazy and you tip her off in five seconds. Is that a Skill, too?

I hate the voice in my head.

Talking to voices, Tom. First sign of madness.

But I’m not insane. I’m not. The voice is…a voice. A figment of my imagination. Nothing more.

Only an insane person would have to tell himself he’s sane.

“Or a really sane person would say that. Because only sane people check to make sure they’re not insane.”

“What did you say, Tom?”

Ahead of me, Emily stops waving, looking slightly—I stop muttering under my breath and try to smile at her. Not hugely, not creepily wide or anything else like that. A small, slight smile.

“Nothing. Just talking to myself.”

Aha. Look at her face. She doesn’t think that’s normal!

Everyone talks to themselves. Introverts probably do it more than extroverts, and Emily’s definitely the latter. But everyone does do it. That doesn’t make me any crazier for acknowledging that.

So you say. Keep telling yourself that.

Shut up, me.

Time to explain again. Hi, I’m Tom.

You did that already.

Shut up, shut up! I’m Tom. And I’m not insane. I can’t be. I just…it’s not a voice in my head. Or rather, it’s just another part of me. That’s the trick, you see? I have to understand that. If I don’t, I’m schizophrenic, or paranoid.

Or insane.

But the voice is me. It’s a bad joke, as if I’m playing devil’s advocate with everything I do. It’s overthinking things, putting words to an imaginary personality. But there’s only me in here.

Keep telling yourself that. Did I say that already?

Isn’t it fun? I sigh and slap myself, which makes one of the Drake [Soldiers] walking with me eye me oddly. I ignore him.

If it’s not a voice in my head, then what? I think about that every day. If it’s not a voice…

It started the day after the others found me surrounded by Demon corpses, drenched in blood, laughing my head off and nearly dying of blood loss. I swore I’d never be a [Clown] again, never fight. Not when I saw and remembered what I’d done. I let the crazy out. I went insane. And it’s been my choice to not do it again. Because it is me that did all those terrible things, that slaughtered those soldiers. Not anyone else.

Not a monster, you mean.

Exactly. It’s me. Not anything else. And because I know that, I won’t go crazy.

Unless you already are. Keep telling yourself I’m just a voice, Tom. But we both know the truth. You’re crazy. And the smile you show everyone else, the little act? It’s wearing thin, day after day. You lost it the day Wilen died. And all your ‘friends’ are waiting for the day you snap again.

Including me.

—-

I don’t see much of the city during the march. I’m busy humming loudly in my head. But I do catch up with Cirille as she tells Richard about some of the capital’s highlights.

“If you’ve got time, head down towards the port area. That’s where most of us foreigners hang out off-duty. The Baleros and Chandrar companies are already headed towards the Fourth Wall, and I don’t envy them, but the Terandrians still have a detachment hanging about.”

“Terandrians?”

“Humans like you. Sorry, I assumed—are you from Baleros or Chandrar, then?”

“No, we’re from further away than that.”

“Really? Where, if you don’t mind me asking?”

I don’t get to hear how Richard talks his way out of this one. I hear a shout as we pass through another set of gates, from up ahead. Cirille, Richard, and I step forwards quickly and see Cynthia running backwards, face white and pale.

“A Demon!”

Richard and I instantly freeze. My heart begins to pound. A Demon? Here? In the city? It can’t be. But Richard’s hand is already on his sword and my own demon begins whispering in my head. Yet it’s Cirille who doesn’t panic. She grips Richard before he can draw his blade.

“Hold up. I think I know what the problem is.”

She leads quickly past the suddenly wary Drakes, and we pass by a stretch of…what I can only call displays of enemy prisoners. There are cages, small, cramped, and hung from massive chains or put on platforms for passersby to stare at. And they hold something to remind the people living in the city who to hate.

Demons.

They have horns, dark skin which is purple in many cases, but their appearances can be as mutated and different depending on which Demon it is. Some might pass for Human…if you ignore a third eye or extra limb. But they are Demons, sworn to kill all the people of Rhir.

And one is sitting in an iron cage ahead of us. He’s the only one; the other cages are empty, although I can see bloodstains dried in several. Not many Demons get captured alive, apparently. And this one’s just sitting there, a good distance away from our procession. Only Cynthia would freak out that much over seeing one, but then, no one in our group is happy to see them.

They slaughtered us. Over two thirds of our groups died in one night when we were sent to the front lines. Even seeing one now makes me afraid. But he is behind bars.

“It’s just one Demon, Cynthia. Don’t scream.”

Richard admonishes Cynthia, who’s gone into hysterics. Behind us, one of the Drakes mutters something uncomplimentary about Humans. Cirille shuts him up. I keep staring.

This Demon has bright yellow eyes, two curved horns like a ram, and fur. Normal, human feet, though, which is odd. Four toes, four fingers. He’s…weird.

“Stay back. That’s one of the captives they just brought in. A Fearless.”

Cirille orders her soldiers and the rest of us on, but she stays, eying the Demon in the cage. I look at her. Some of the crowd that was cheering our passing has broken away and is jeering and shouting at him. They look angry. Some have rocks.

“What’s a Fearless? Why is he here?”

The Drake shrugs.

“Search me. It’s one of the things you Humans do. Sorry, I mean, the people of the Blighted Kingdom do. They like reminding themselves what the enemy looks like, I guess. Drakes, we just kill our enemies. But it’s worth memorizing these guys. Know what a Fearless is?”

“No.”

One of the people in front, a young woman, hurls a stone. It glances off the bars of the cage. A bad throw. But more start throwing stones. The Fearless sits there, not moving an inch. A rock strikes his shoulder, drawing a bit of blood. The crowd cheers. But the Demon doesn’t look afraid. Not at all. A look of irritation flashes over his face and he covers his face with one hand.

“Fearless are a type of Demon. They have a class. Well, I say class, but it’s more like an addition to their normal class. [Fearless Warrior], [Fearless Mage], get it? And the class does exactly what you’d think. They can’t feel fear. Not at all.”

I stare at the Demon. He’s got scars all over his body, beneath the fur. From the look of it, he’s been stoned before. Badly. But when the hail of rocks subsides a bit, he lowers his hand and stares around, and his eyes do indeed contain no fear.

That makes the crowd lose some of their rage. If the Demon was defiant, or raging at them, they might have kept going. But this Fearless…it’s one thing to master your fear. But another to have none. It’s…unnatural.

I can see it in the way the Demon moves, the way he looks around. He’s wary of the rocks, of being blinded or hurt. He doesn’t like the pain. But he doesn’t fear it either. And he doesn’t fear death. The Fearless stares around, watchful, calculating.

Then he looks at me. He stares at me and Cirille. She glares at him. I shudder and look away. We walk away as the Fearless sits in his cage, rejoining the procession.

You and he are the same. Don’t deny it.

Ignore the voice. I turn to Cirille as we catch up with the others. Richard’s ahead, trying to get Cynthia to calm down before she has a panic attack.

“So that’s a type of Demon? There are lots of them like him?”

“Dead gods, I hope not.”

Cirille shudders, her tail twitching as she walks briskly ahead of me.

“They’re more like shock troopers. Each one’s a dangerous fighter who’s not afraid to die, and they’ll charge through killing grounds if they have to. They’re not idiots, but they’re willing to die to take you with them. The Demon King uses them when he wants to win. I don’t know how many people that one killed, but I’d rather see him dead than in a cage.”

We pass by a street that looks like it leads to some kind of fantastical bazaar, and then one devoted entirely to food. I stare at a cut of dark grey meat and point it out to Cirille. She looks sideways at it and one of the soldiers at the back of the parade mutters. She shakes her head.

“Demon meat.”

“Demon—”

I break off, not wanting to startle my companions ahead of me. Cirille looks uneasy and shakes her head before lowering her voice.

“They eat Demons here. I don’t like it, but that’s how it works. See the fellow buying? That’s one of the [Flesh Reapers]. Don’t bother them.”

I see a hooded figure with long, long arms reaching for a dripping package from the stony-faced [Butcher].

Mm. Tasty. Try some. I’m sure you could get a sample.

I shudder and hurry on.

In the end, our parade reaches the gates of the palace without more incident. I pretty much tune out the cheering. It might be meant for me, but I can’t find any pleasure in it.

Would it help if they were screaming?

And I’m—distracted. I always am. Cirille sees us off at the gates as the Drake [Soldiers] stand at attention. One of them yawns widely until the guy next to her elbows her in the side.

“Here we are. I might see you inside at the banquet tonight. Anyone with any kind of nobility or a title gets invited. Look for the Drakes if you want to find me.”

She nods, and Richard shakes her hand again. She walks past me, and the Drakes depart. The rest of us stare up at the gate. It’s massive, and beyond it, a huge courtyard leads up to the palace of the Blighted King. A staircase stretches from the courtyard to the palace gates, and the citadel rises higher, so high it feels like it’s touching the clouds.

We stayed here, once. We will again. This time, I wonder if we’re wiser, or if the Blighted King will see more of what he wants in us. I don’t know. And I am afraid.

He scares me. Being here scares me. But what scares me most is the little voice I can’t get rid of. It whispers as we walk through the gates.

Welcome home.

—-

His name is Nereshal. With a name like that, he should be tall, lean, with a strong face, perhaps an Egyptian-style nose, long and sharp, and piercing features. He’s not. Instead, he’s rather short, slightly overweight, although not as heavy as I am, and his nose isn’t nearly that pronounced.

But his eyes are piercing. They have the cold, detached look I’ve seen before, in the eyes of the soldiers escorting us. The eyes of someone who’s seen war. And he wears dark grey robes lined with silver that don’t quite hide the scars on his arms and left hand.

He lectures us as he leads us through the palace on a tour.

“You may recall the rules for staying here from your previous visits, but it is my duty to remind you of the laws of the Kingdom. Specifically, about magic.”

We pass by countless rooms, meant for sleeping, eating, training, planning battle, or just as diversions. Rooms filled with treasures, a room full of huge, floor-to-wall mirrors without a single flaw, a room filled with bright lights that hover around randomly—countless wonders, treasures of the Blighted King. His palace is rich, even if the people who live on the edges of his Kingdom can barely eat.

We pass all of it by as Nereshal lectures us. He points to a glowing light the size of my head, placed just above head height in the corridor we’re walking down. Without it, the enclosed palace would be dark as night. There are few windows, and the passageways throughout the place are a labyrinth unto themselves, especially given how large the palace is. It could hold several lesser castles easily.

“Mage lights. By law, no outdoor area in Paranfer may be dark at night. To prevent assassins and spies from entering the city as well as crime. That goes for within the palace as well. They are impossible to disrupt by accident, but note that tampering with them is a crime.”

“Like failing to present arms when ordered, obeying a guard, yeah, yeah, what’s not a crime around here?”

Nereshal stops abruptly and turns to Eddy. I groan and Richard glares at him. Eddy raises his hands.

“What? I’m just saying.”

He never knows when to shut up. Now Nereshal stares at him, and Eddy’s grin slips a bit.

“Okay, it’s serious.”

“You do not seem to understand that. You are guests of his majesty, not arrogant [Princes]. You do not have the authority to order around servants. And I am no servant.”

“I just—”

“Be silent.”

Nereshal’s hand reaches out. He doesn’t tap Eddy, but whatever Eddy was about to say is cut off. His mouth gapes open and his eyes widen. He tries to speak, I know he does. His mouth begins to close, incredibly slowly. Panicked, Eddy’s hands feel at his mouth, quickly searching around his face.

“What did you do to him?”

Richard interposes himself between Nereshal and Eddy, looking concerned and angry. The [Mage] glances at Richard.

“I slowed the passage of time around his mouth. It will wear off. And he will learn to mind his manners here.”

There’s a pause as everyone stares at him. Vincent’s voice raises in disbelief.

“You’re a time mage?”

“I thought time magic was impossible!”

Emily, our highest-level [Mage], stares at Nereshal. So do I. I don’t remember him from our first time here, but then, it was a blur to me. Nereshal nods coldly.

“Lesser [Mages] may believe so. But the magic of time is another form of power, and the Blighted Kingdom demands all forms of magic in its defense.”

“What can you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Richard looks at Nereshal, once it becomes clear that Eddy’s mouth is the only thing affected. The [Mage] strides onwards, speaking quickly and precisely.

“I can speed up a flight of arrows or slow an enemy’s charge. I can hasten a weather front moving in, or slow the collapse of a wall. But I remain here for my most important duty.”

“Which is?”

He glances over his shoulder with those cold eyes.

“Preventing the aging of the Blighted King. So he may rule a month, a year, a decade longer. Until I am released from my duties here, I also act as his steward. Take heed of my warnings. If you are found violating any of the laws, the guards who patrol may not wait for explanations. And if you survive that, I will administer a fitting punishment.”

No one has much to say about that. I glance around the group. I’m at the back, since everyone else gets nervous when they stand next to me. We’re definitely not getting treated like we did before. Which might be a good thing.

“Are there any other rules we might break by accident, Sir?”

Richard speaks to Nereshal as he leads us to our rooms, a series of individual bedrooms in a far wing of the palace. The [Mage] considers this.

“I note that two of you seem to have become to be decent [Mages] in the time since your last stay here. Do any of you know any form of teleportation spell? I caution you not to try casting the spell while staying here.”

“No. No one knows the spell. Why?”

Nereshal gestures to one of the walls. In parts of the castle, the stones are rough and thick, and the corridors narrow. In others, they’re wide open and sweeping, a sign of polished craftsmanship. But everywhere I can feel a faint tingle that makes me feel as though there’s serious magic here.

Or it’s just in your head.

“Teleportation magic is strictly prohibited around the castle. It is also impossible. An enchantment prohibits teleportation magic of any kind around the castle and city itself. I doubt there are many rules you will break by accident, but remember what I have said.”

He eyes Eddy and his fingers twitch. Eddy gasps as his jaw finally closes, and he keeps his mouth shut, looking pale. The [Mage] turns towards Richard.

“Your presence is requested at tonight’s feast. Clothing will be sent to your rooms. There will be a selection. Shortly thereafter, servants will appear to guide you to the banquet hall.”

“Right.”

Richard hesitates. He looks at Nereshal.

“Should we…prepare? Will we be expected to bow, or…?”

“Deference is expected. Etiquette is not. Your last visit made that clear. However, you may be expected to stand before his majesty, in which case you will speak with respect.”

“What does he—what does his majesty want with us?”

“To appraise your worth.”

A single line, cold and indelicate as the winter we lived through. The [Mage] looks at Richard, and then at Emily.

“I am told two of your number reached Level 30. That is a marker of respect in our kingdom, and you will be accorded its due so long as you protect the realm. You have changed since you were ordered to the front. That is good. As for the other reason why his majesty ordered your return…”

His eyes linger on me. I feel a pang of fear in my chest.

“His majesty is interested in confirming the rumors of your success for his own eyes. I trust he will not be disappointed.”

His eyes stare right through me. I look away, as the whispering in my head grows louder. The Blighted King knows about me? Of course he does. And he’s expecting a hero. Or maybe just a warrior.

I think he’ll be disappointed. I hope he will be.

—-

The banquet is the kind of thing you’d see in a fantasy movie. Big. Magical. And in a room so large and ornate, it can hold a thousand or more diners. Thousands? I’m no good with counting.

And there’s so much to see! Rich nobles sit at long tables, talking with foreign dignitaries of various species. I can see Drakes, the similar yet very different Lizardfolk, strange armored people whose heads seemed to detach like the Headless Horseman…creatures I recognize, like Centaurs and Minotaurs. There’s a Minotaur in a suit, chatting with some huge, furry creature that reminds me a bit of Chewbacca crossed with a dog. A Gnoll, apparently.

Some sit, others stand and talk, like they’re at a cocktail party for the rich and powerful. Wait, that’s what this is, isn’t it? There’s music, entertainment for the kids from mages and more conventional sources—even a guy in a bright outfit, doing pratfalls to amuse a cluster of children. They’re all dressed like royalty.

Especially the royalty. The Blighted King and his Queen sit at one end of the room, at a table with a chair that’s practically a throne in itself. But it isn’t the throne; I’ve seen the throne and that thing is scary. This chair is merely ornate and golden.

The room hums with energy, and projects the kind of richness and power that makes me tremble in my boots. I don’t belong here. Not me, a kid born of a working class family. But I tremble for other reasons when I look at the Blighted King from afar.

“You may conduct your affairs for the feast as you wish. His majesty only requests that you stay within his presence until you are summoned or given leave to go.”

One of the lesser [Chamberlains] serving underneath Nereshal speaks to our stunned group. We, the children from another world, stare at him, and then hesitantly step into the room. We’ve been here before. We were feasted at the Blighted King’s own table, once. But that was a lifetime ago, when the world was still magical.

When we were still all [Heroes]. I’m not. I gave it up and lost the class when I refused to fight, to answer the people’s calls. Richard still has it. So does Emily and a few others. But they’re not real heroes.

Some of the warriors sitting at the table look like heroes, though. They wear shining armor, and those who are dressed for pleasure rather than war still move with unnatural grace. The Blighted King has [Knights] and champions of countless classes of his own. I see Richard looking nervous. He was allowed to keep his sword—a mark of respect, I guess, but I doubt he’d draw it under any situation.

There are guards at the Blighted King’s table, watchful figures, not all of whom carry swords. Several of them glanced at us when we were announced. Several of them glanced at me.

So did the King. It was just a flick of the eyes before he turned away, but it confirmed what we all knew. He’ll want to speak with us. The thought makes some, like Cynthia, afraid to join the feast. Others, like Richard, are made of sterner stuff.

“Come on, let’s join the feast.”

He says it, but no one moves. The [Chamberlain] coughs gently. But no one wants to walk out into that magnificent display and attract any attention for themselves.

I could. Perhaps. But the urging in my mind might make that a bad idea. Part of me wants to stride out there, shout, laugh and cartwheel if I can even pull that off, and make a spectacle. To clown in short. To lose control.

Make them laugh, Tom. Let go for a second. You know you want to.

Nope. I’m not making the first move. But someone has to. A woman dressed all in red sweeps by our group, glass in hand. She looks…melancholy. And determined to hide it. She has a presence that makes half the guys and girls in our group go weak at the knees. Mine are fine.

You’d go weak at the knees if she stabbed you. Or you stabbed her.

You’d never see the blood, as bright as her gown is. I bite the inside of my lip. Emily squeaks.

“Who is that?”

The [Chamberlain], looking put upon, gently prods Vincent forwards a bit and speaks softly.

“That is [Lady] Theras. If you would like to enter and speak with her, please understand she is in mourning, hence the red dress.”

“Red? Why, what does that mean?”

Everyone looks at the [Chamberlain]. He pauses awkwardly, clearly not wanting to say, and then realizes he has to. He clears his throat again.

“Miscarriage. [Lady] Theras and her sister, the [Lady] Zekryia, both lost their children unexpectedly three months ago. They have been in mourning ever since.”

“Oh.”

Instantly, most of us shuffled our feet and look at our dress shoes. Eddy chooses this moment to speak. He’d been doing great after meeting Nereshal.

“So they wear red if they’re in mourning. After three months?”

“This is correct. Sir.”

“Weird.”

“What’s weird about that, Eddy?”

Emily and a few girls turn to stare at Eddy. He grimaces.

“It’s just that I didn’t think they’d be so open about it, you know? And it’s been three months…”

“So? What’s wrong with that? Why can’t she be open about it?”

Chole glares at him. Eddy shrugs helplessly. He seems to realize he’s put his foot in it again.

“I dunno. It’s weird, right?”

He looks around. I try not to meet his eye.

“It’s not her fault.”

He shrinks back a bit from Chole’s glare.

“Well, yeah, but…”

He doesn’t have more than that. Uncomfortable, he looks away. I mentally shake my head. Where were you going with that one, Eddy?

He must not like dead babies. At least they’re quieter than live ones, right?

After another second, Chole turns away from Eddy and walks over to [Lady] Theras. She starts talking to the woman, and the surprised older lady sets down her drink to talk with her. That’s the cue for our group to break up.

We enter the banquet. And it swallows us. In a few minutes, I find myself at a table. We’re sitting with Cirille, since she’s the only one we recognized. She and a couple of Drakes seem only too happy to have company to talk to. And there’s quite a bit of food for me to distract myself by eating.

Jellied fruits, sweet breads, cuts of meat dripping with blood and finely grilled, vegetables of every shape and color…the wrong thing for anyone on a diet. Since I’ve lost at least thirty pounds from not wanting to eat, I don’t care and dig in anyways. Beside me, Cirille is talking to Keith about something called the Walled Cities, and a problem with some species called the Antinium. And apparently there’s a problem with a…Goblin Lord?

I’m only half listening. Food is one of the things that usually grants me a reprieve, but I’m—struggling. With myself. I have a selection of spoons to use, and one of them, one with an edged front, like a spork, has caught my eye.

Go on. Pick up the spoon.

I stare at it. I want to. I can see myself picking up the spoon, and then gouging Keith’s eye out. Or my own. A spoon. What a convenient weapon. But everything’s convenient when you use it right.

Wrong. Use it wrong. It’s just a thought.

Take it.

I stare at my right hand. It doesn’t move. I deliberately raise it, take the spoon, and dip it into my soup. I chose soup to start with. It’s delicious. I barely taste it.

You are insane.

“‘Mnot.”

“What, Tom?”

Keith looks over. He sat himself so that Cirille was between him and me. I shake my head and he looks…nervous. That annoys me.

All of the guys and girls can’t stand to be around me anymore. Not after the village. I know what they saw. Of course I do! But can’t they pretend? Can’t they—at least Richard tries. The rest jump if I so much as sneeze. Cynthia won’t be in the same room with me.

A [Clown]. I chose the class on a lark, because I thought—

I thought this might happen. But I didn’t expect it to happen like this. I thought I might be able to get powers.

You wanted to be an insane clown and didn’t want the insanity? Hah! That is a good joke. Now stab Keith in his treacherous little eye. Go on. You picked up the spoon, didn’t you?

God, maybe I am insane. I keep having the same thoughts, over and over in my head. Isn’t that the first sign of insanity?

That’s not insanity, you idiot.

Yes it is. Einstein said that. I think.

Across the table, Richard is talking with Emily. She’s flirting. I think he might be as well. Or perhaps he’s oblivious. They’re a couple, at least in some sense of the word, but it’s not official. If there is an official. I don’t think they’ve had sex yet. News would spread quickly in our tight knit circle.

Lonely Tom. Why don’t you try your luck? I’m sure Emily would get to love you. If you held a knife to her throat. Why bother with that? Just kill her. Throw the spoon.

[Unerring Throw]. How hard could I toss it?

Just a thought. They’re just…thoughts. They pass by, and it doesn’t mean I’ll act on them. But does everyone have these murderous ideas? I have to distract myself. I push the bowl back and put the spoon in it, probably committing a major breach of etiquette.

“Hey, so what’s this I’m hearing about a war with the Goblins?”

Cirille turns towards me. Across from her, a Drake with red scales slams his fist onto the table, making my bowl of soup jump.

“It’s a crime, that’s what! Garusa Weatherfur and Thrissiam Blackwing are dead! Two of our finest [Generals] and over twenty thousand good Gnolls and Drakes, gone, and for what? Because those bickering bastards couldn’t field a larger army? We could have sent three times that number! And I heard that vital intelligence wasn’t even passed on to them! The Goblin Lord uses undead, and no one thought to pass off that tidbit to either [General]! Some [Mage] bastard or low-level [Scribe] thought it wasn’t important information when it came from Zel Shivertail himself!”

He grabs a goblet and drains it, ignoring the looks he was getting from further up and down the table. The Drake raises his voice, cutting above the local babble of voices.

“It’s bloody infighting that’s killing us, when we should be cutting the Goblin Lord off at the knees and then banding together against those blasted Humans—not you lot, the ones from the north—or the Antinium! We don’t have time to spend infighting. Hah, I’m beginning to see why Shivertail doesn’t spend his time in politics if all the eggheads back home can’t defeat a damn Goblin!”

His companions try to placate the angry Drake. I’m pleased. This is a good distraction.

“It sounds like they’re not that competent.”

“You’re telling me?”

The Drake turns one bloodshot eye to me. I can sense his tail lashing the ground angrily underneath the table.

“Every year we send an army to pound the Humans, and every year they send one down to the Blood Fields. We tear each other apart, killing thousands like clockwork, then march on back and say what a glorious victory we had! On both sides! Either invade and start tearing down cities or make peace already! Don’t waste our soldiers’ lives when there’s real wars to be fought!”

His speech got voices of approval from some of the other Drakes at the table. Cirille rolled her eyes and twitched her wings as if she’d heard the same griping many times before. I nod, trying to keep the Drake talking. It slips out before I can help it.

“Yeah, exactly. That’s insane. Insanity’s doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, right? That’s the definition of it, anyways.”

I freeze. I didn’t mean to ask. It was just a thought in my head! I sense every head, every person from my world, stop talking and turn to look at me. They stare. There’s fear in some eyes.

“Yeah, well you’d know, right Tom?”

Eddy says that. Good old Eddy, breaking the sudden silence. The others laugh, a bit too loudly. Cirille rolls her eyes and flicks her tail.

“Tell that to my superiors. They’re happy enough to send a few thousand soldiers over here to get combat experience, never mind the losses.”

“That’s different. That’s…that’s important. This war has to be won. Can’t expect to make peace with Demons. Not those bastards. Lost a detachment to the Fearless the other day. Crazy bastards ran right onto my [Pikemen].”

The Drake who’d been so angry slumps into his chair morosely. Talk turns elsewhere. I relax a bit, only to shoot up when I sense Keith poking me. I turn.

“What?”

“Tom, that’s just a myth. Einstein never said that.”

“Said? Said what?”

“Insanity. You know, doing the same thing over and over? That’s not the actual definition, you know.”

My blood runs cold.

“What? No it is.”

He shakes his head.

“People assume Einstein said it, but that’s just a myth. Trust me, my professor loved to talk about laws. Insanity isn’t a real medical condition. It’s a legal term. It means…well, it’s a defense people used. If you’re insane you can’t be held responsible for breaking the law. Medically, it doesn’t really exist anymore. It doesn’t make sense.”

That’s not the definition. I was wrong. And he—I—

I was wrong.

Keith nods towards me, helpful, oblivious. I stare at him with a grin frozen on my face until I realize what I’m doing. I turn back, staring at my cooled bowl of soup and not seeing it. Inside my chest, my heart’s suddenly beating all too fast.

How did he know? No—I must have known. It’s a coincidence, that’s all. I must have known and subconsciously—

It’s me in here. Just me. And the voice is just a voice.

Are you crazy? Or am I real? Am I something else? How would I know that, Tom? Who am I?

Who are you?

I sit in my chair, sit, as the world greys out around me. It must be me. It has to be me. I went crazy back then and I might be crazy now. But I can’t let it be anyone else. Even if it is. Because if I don’t take responsibility for my actions, I really will go crazy. I’ll use that as an excuse. It’s always been me. If it’s not—

Then who’s in here with me?

“Tom? Tom!”

Someone’s hissing at me, shaking me. I look up. I was sitting for so long that I didn’t notice the room go silent. I didn’t hear, and I didn’t realize everyone around me was standing up. I look around and see Richard shaking my shoulder, face pale.

I look up, and at the head of the room, the Blighted King is on his feet. He is staring towards our table, towards us. And his eyes are locked on me.

Slowly, I rise. By his side, the [Chronomancer], the mage Nereshal beckons. We slowly leave our table and file towards the Blighted King. I stare at him.

I am afraid. But not of him. I break out into a cold sweat as I approach him, one of the most powerful men in the world, the one who summoned us here. Not because of his presence, not because of the armed guards who stand next to him, or his stare that weighs us like ants. I do not fear him.

But there is someone laughing in my head. And I am terribly afraid that person isn’t me.

1.03 C

The Blighted King has a presence. It weighs down on me as I walk forwards. The silent feasting hall is too long, and the few of us have to walk past the watching guests, hearts pounding.

And as we approach the front of the room, I feel it. The King sits at his table, next to a tall woman who dwarfs him with her stature. But he is like a rock, too heavy. His very existence weighs us down, makes me feel—

Gassy?

I can remember the first time I stood in front of him. Then it was like being crushed as he looked at us. Now, it is different.

Around me, the others shudder. I see Emily’s face go pale, Keith start sweating, Cynthia’s eyes roll wildly in her head, and Richard clench his jaw. They are being crushed. I walk, feeling my shoulders ache. It’s…heavy.

That’s all.

We stop, in a ragged line in the steps leading up to the raised area where he is seated. The King looks down at us. We meet again.

There is no love in his gaze, no sense of familiarity. He weighs us with eyes that seem like scales, measuring our worth. Most of us stare at our feet, or at some other part of the room. Some are shaking. I look at the Blighted King. I can’t be afraid of him. Not like I was.

Does that make me strange? I’m certainly alone from the others. I can feel it, but I can’t help it. Fear’s another one of those things I lost. I’m not afraid of people with swords. I’m not happy about being stabbed, but they can’t scare me.

I scare me.

“So. The heroes of prophecy return. Diminished.”

The Blighted King speaks at last. His voice echoes through the chamber. It’s not grand. It’s not particularly wise. It’s just an old man’s voice, tired. I stare at him and see few grey hairs in his beard. But he is old. He sounds like it. I wonder how long Nereshal has been keeping him young.

Here sits a monster. Ageless. And here stands a monster. Can he see it in you, Tom? Or is this King as worthless as the land he rules?

The King’s eyes flick towards me for a second, and then towards Richard and Emily.

“We have been told that two of your number have reached Level 30. A commendable achievement in such a short time.”

“Miraculous.”

The whisper comes from the Blighted Queen. She’s younger than the King, but her towering height makes her seem older. I stare at her. She can’t be more than thirty, while he…

“But so many have been lost. We sent over sixty of you to do battle against the Demons. Now less than a third remain.”

“That wasn’t our fault! We told you, we’re not warriors. We—”

Emily raises her voice and chokes as the Blighted King’s gaze falls on her. He nods, once.

“So you have said. But some of you are warriors. The rest have seen the threat which imperils our nation. Nay, the very world itself. Would you hide behind walls my people have died for, deny your purpose still?”

“Not me. I’ll fight. But we can’t all be held to the same standard, your Majesty.”

This time it’s Richard who speaks. The Blighted King weighs his words and nods.

“One has reached Level 30 in three months. A [Knight] he stands, sworn against darkness. Yet no [Lord] or [Lady] has given him a title. Another, a [Mage] of water has taught herself. Miraculous feats, as our lady says.”

The Blighted King looks across our group, at frightened faces. He pauses.

“You will have a place in our halls, and your companions food and my protection so long as you hold back the scourge of darkness. But we have heard of one more. A champion who defended our people. A warrior who slew a Demon raiding party single-handed.”

His eyes move to me. I feel a chill.

“You. Step forwards.”

I can see Richard and Emily both staring at me, worried, out of the corners of their eyes. I take a step forwards and sense the eyes of everyone in the hall on me. Oh boy.

Want me to tell them a joke? How about a magic trick?

My lips twitch. I try not to smile. I don’t feel afraid. Rather, in this moment as the Blighted King stares at me, some strange, perverse side of me wants to fart, or laugh. He’s so serious. Everyone is. They hang on his words. Whereas I—

Get the joke.

The hilarity vanishes. I feel cold. No, it’s not funny. The Blighted King certainly doesn’t find me amusing. He frowns.

“We recall thee from before. Who art thou? What is your class? [Warrior]? [Mage]? [Rogue]?”

“None of those, your Majesty. I’m—I’m a [Clown]. Not a fighter, actually.”

He stares at me. I hear Cynthia begin to giggle, a mad, hysterical cackle which cuts off quickly. The King looks confused.

“What class is this?”

“One from our world, your Highness. Tom is an—an entertainer. Someone who makes people laugh. Clowns aren’t fighters. They’re…”

Emily trails off, unable to explain what I am. The King exchanges a slow glance with his Queen. I can sense people’s eyes fixed on my back. I know I look ordinary. I don’t have my face paint on, or a rubber nose or the oversized shoes I made. I’m not juggling or wearing a silly grin. I have nothing to prove I have a funny class in any way.

You have me. You always have me.

“An entertainer? How did you slay a war band of Demons, then? Speak.”

He looks at me and I feel heavier. That’s all. And perhaps it’s the devil in my chest, but I don’t want to answer. So I shrug.

“Luck, I guess. Your Majesty. I don’t know how exactly. But that’s what us summoned heroes are supposed to do, right? I got…lucky. But I am no warrior. Sorry about that.”

I hear a hiss and see Richard wince. The Blighted King fixes me with a look that tells me he’s annoyed.

“So you claim. But if thou art an entertainer, prove it.”

“What?”

He leans back in his chair that’s like and unlike a throne and gestures.

“Perform, [Clown]. Show the court the tricks of your profession. Make us laugh.”

Oh boy. Now everyone’s staring at me, and I suddenly find myself on the spot. I glance around uncertainly and see Richard giving me a pale-faced look. Emily’s standing back and half of the others are trying to pretend they don’t know me.

I don’t have my makeup, my props—but I can tell there’s no point protesting or making excuses. So I sigh and flick my wrist. A bright red ball, stuffed with dried beans to make it round, appears in my hand. I hear a murmur and someone at the head table sits up.

My heart isn’t pounding. I feel embarrassed and sure I’m about to make an idiot out of myself, but I’m not afraid. Why? Why not?

No, this is normal. It’s because I’ve seen worse than this. Far worse. What’s a few minutes of humiliation?

I hold the red ball up, and I sense a thousand pairs of eyes on me. Now I do smile, at the ludicrous nature of this. I’m no famous performer. I’m self-taught, and badly at that! I couldn’t make a bunch of village kids laugh. But here I am, about to perform before the Blighted King. Okay, that is funny.

Wilen, this is for you. Red ball in hand, I flick my other hand and a blue one appears. I hear a soft gasp, from the Blighted King’s table, but nowhere else.

That’s right. I can make things appear and disappear at will. I can also make objects vanish, pull the old ‘coin behind the ear’ trick with objects too large to hide. Because I have a pocket space.

It’s two Skills, actually. [Sleight of Hand] and [Trick Space]. One allows me to do stupid tricks like you’d see card magicians do if I had a deck of cards, and the other gives me an invisible space around my body I can pull objects out of and put into. I keep three balls there. The third comes out, yellow and worn.

A second gasp. Who’s making that sound? For the first time I wrench my gaze away from the Blighted King and to his left. I see a young woman, not more than…sixteen perhaps, sitting tall at his side, wearing a sparkling circlet made of dark metal. And sitting next to her, on a cushion to let her actually reach her plate on the table—

A young girl. A [Princess], no doubt. Her dress is bright green and white, and she’s very pretty in that way kids are. Her eyes are wide as they fix on the balls in my hand. A child. I saw her laughing at the guy doing pratfalls earlier. I give her a small bow. Hope this entertains you at least, kid.

It’s not. You suck.

Shut up. I begin tossing the balls up in the air, juggling them quickly. It’s hard to do three balls at once. I know that tells you how much I suck, but I had to practice a long time to get to that level. [Sleight of Hand] doesn’t work with juggling and I don’t have a Skill.

I really need one. At least [Unerring Throw] lets me decide where the balls come down. Hey, I might be able to do four balls this way! Too bad I don’t have four balls.

The room watches me juggle, and I see the young [Princess] brighten and nearly clap her hands as I start juggling the balls high into the air. The older girl, another [Princess] probably, stops her. Everyone watches as I juggle.

And watches.

And watches…

After a few seconds they realize that’s all I’m going to do. Yes, that’s right. I can feel the Blighted King’s gaze boring into me. What? Do you want me to do pins? I can juggle pins too, but my act has been pratfalls, juggling, and terrible jokes. And I think that if I tried to trip over his table, I’d be skewered.

So I’m giving him a terrible performance. I was planning on just juggling until he stopped me, but then it happens. I hear a sound.

“♪Doo doo doodle do do doo doo doot~♫”

Oh god. The music. It’s been too long since I heard it play. I could live for the rest of my life without it. I sense a shift when it goes off, and hear a muffled sound from the others standing around me. The rest of the room just stares, uncomprehending.

Clown music. Silly, stupid. It fills the grand room, playing stupidly. Only with a twist. There’s laughter, too. Someone’s laughing.

And it’s not anyone in this room. I nearly drop a ball, making it vanish before tossing it back up in the air as the laughter plays with the music. There’s a spectral audience now, laughing voices, as if I really am at a circus.

That’s not what scares me, though. I hear one of the voices laughing. And it’s my own. It laughs and laughs, until I stop juggling.

This time, the silence is different. I make all three balls vanish and bow silently. The [Princess] looks vaguely entertained. Everyone else does not. But the music. Ah, the music. I look sideways and see Richard staring at me with a pale face.

Everyone, all of the other young men and women from my world are giving me the same look. They remember. And the music scares them.

That doesn’t escape the attention of the Blighted King. He stares at me, and then at the others. How much does he actually know about what I did? He waits, until he realizes I’m not doing anything else.

“Continue, [Clown].”

“Sorry. That’s all I’ve got.”

“That?”

His eyebrows raise. He looks incredulous. I nod, waiting for him to tell me I’m a fraud or whatever. I don’t want to hear that sound ever again. But then someone else bellows into the silence.

“Ridiculous!”

The word makes me jump. I see Richard jump, Emily turn white—Cynthia screams, predictably. A flash of color brushes against me to my left, and someone pushes me out of the way.

Not roughly, not hard, but with force, so I go sprawling onto the floor. I look up and see a face full of outrage, a splash of yellow and red, and…blue?

A man wearing a silly costume is staring at me. A small man, so a small costume, but one decorated with so many eye-catching colors it’s almost painful to look at. I say almost, because the effect makes him ridiculous, rather than completely annoying. And his face is screwed up with a look of comical outrage.

“Buffoon! Imbecile! You think a poor performance like that is worthy of the Blighted King, ruler of all he surveys, terror of the royal banquet, especially the poultry pies? How dare you, sir. Poor performances are my business!”

I try to get up, and he kicks my legs out from under me. I roll, and he throws himself on me with a cry of rage.

“What? Get off. Who are—”

There’s a chuckle, a current of mirth through the room. The man stops beating me gently with his fists and gets up, looking indignant. He bows to the Blighted King.

“Sire, I beg to show this interloper the true meaning of comedy! A hero’s one thing, but a [Clown]? I’d let a warrior take my place any day with thanks, but there can be only one fool here, and that is I, the Fool!”

He strikes an arrogant pose, managing somehow to bump me over a third time with a hip. For such a small guy, he’s got so much force behind him! And it doesn’t hurt when he hit me. Not at all.

The Blighted King doesn’t exactly smile, but his lips do twitch.

“Fool. You wish to perform?”

“Absolutely, your Majesty! A [Fool] is ten times, nay a thousand times more pitiful than a [Clown], yet twice his equal, as I shall now prove! Observe my juggling, if you would, dear guests of the court!”

His voice is like a stage announcer’s, only he doesn’t need a microphone. The Fool turns, all eyes on him, and flourishes. He produces a colorful ball from somewhere like I did, only this one’s higher quality and shines in the light. He tosses it up—and six more follow it.

Six. So seven are in the air at once. I hear a gasp, and then the Fool juggles them into a double weave, his hands moving so quickly I can barely see them. He bumps me again as I try to step back to give him room, and then seems to concentrate.

“Lords and ladies, men and women, little girls who are up past their bedtime, this is what a [Fool] does! He juggles, he dances—”

The Fool spins around, catching the balls and juggling them as he twirls. He glares at me as he stops, his voice ringing.

“And he is the font of dignity, not like some sad [Clown]! How dare you, sir!”

He turns away, and then farts with a noise that can’t be real. I hear a peal of laughter from the [Princess] and surprised laughs from around the room. But I’m not in a position to laugh myself. The smell is real. I stumble backwards, coughing.

“Oh god. It stinks.”

And now there’s more laughter. I gag a bit as the Fool who’s also a [Fool] continues juggling, and then turns to me again, full of more fake wrath.

“You’re clearly trying to seek my job! My job! What will I do if my King casts me out? I should duel you right now for the dishonor of it! Have at thee!”

And then he starts bouncing the balls off my face as he juggles. The entire hall roars with laughter. I hold still. Contrary to what I’d hoped, the balls are made of rough leather and they hurt quite a bit, since he has to throw them hard enough to bounce back.

“Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Hey, that was my nose.”

It’s easy to play along with him. He’s an expert. My deadpan commentary makes the young [Princess] nearly fall over in a fit of giggles. The Fool grins widely at me and then turns, catching the last of the balls.

“A [Fool]’s master to none and ridiculed by all, but a [Clown]!? There’s no room for two idiots in Rhir! I challenge you for the top position on the bottom, sir! En garde!”

He catches all the balls, bounces the last one off his left hip into my face, and then charges. Halfway towards me, he stumbles on nothing, slips, and crashes into both of us, sending me to the ground again.

“Ow.”

The Fool groans loudly, and then gets up, swinging at me and missing. He’s a master. A serious master of comedic timing, and he manages to move about me and take advantage of my presence to make everything funnier. In a few moments I’m lying on top of him, and he’s gasping for life, pulling himself away, and then charging at me with a goblet of wine that he somehow manages to get all over me before slipping in a puddle and knocking himself out on the floor.

The hall roars with laughter by the time he’s done. I’m drenched in wine, bits of food, and the shreds of my dignity. Not that I had any left to begin with.

I wipe a few stinging drops of wine out of my eyes as the [Fool] retreats, still making fists at me. At the head table, the youngest [Princess] is red-faced and nearly in tears with laughter. Even the Blighted King seems happier—although he never laughed once. He gestures towards the Fool with a nod.

“Clearly amusing. Fool, you are as always diverting in times of crisis. Thomas the [Clown]…we offer you thanks for the entertainment as well.”

His face says that I’m a freshly squeezed turd that he found on his dinner plate. The Blighted King looks away from me and at Richard and the others. He seems to sigh.

“Very well. We shall ask for a demonstration of your Skills later, Sir Richard, and of you, Lady Emily. Be welcome in our palace until then. We hope you will not betray the hopes we place on you, brave heroes from another world.”

And like that it’s over. The Blighted King motions and I trudge back to my seat with the rest of my group. Conversation resumes, mostly laughter at my expense or speculation as people eye us. The Blighted King turns to his wife and they exchange a few quiet words in their seats.

I sit down, conscious of every eye on me. Cirille gives me an odd look, and then offers me a cloth to wipe my face with. I accept it, get most of the wine off, and notice Richard and the others looking at me. I smile crookedly.

“Yeah, they’re going to kick us out tomorrow. Maybe tonight.”

—-

I’m wrong about that. I usually am, which is a relief in this case. Especially to the others. Nereshal doesn’t guide us back to our rooms after the banquet himself; rather, the [Chamberlain] provides us with a few servants to show us the way.

Everyone’s relieved to know we have a roof over our heads for the night. Indeed, separate rooms for all of us, no matter how small, is a luxury we’ve missed the entire winter. Some of the girls look so relieved to have a private space I think they could cry. We guys are obviously too stoic for that, of course.

There’s a lot of chatter about what the Blighted King wants, as well. Richard’s room and Emily’s are the largest, so over ten of us end up crammed into there. I listen as they begin talking, arguing, really.

“Do you think we can stay here forever?”

“Maybe you guys can if you get other classes, but I bet he’ll make those of us with combat classes go fight soon enough.”

“I’m fine with that. I just want a break.”

“I think we can get at least a week or two.”

Richard says that firmly, as he sits next to Emily. She’s fiddling with a laptop. It’s not hers. It belonged to a girl who died. I think her name was Rachel?

Reyanne. You don’t remember her face, do you?

Anyways. The laptop glows with power. Emily’s got it playing a song in the background. I don’t recognize the lyrics—it’s some kind of Spanish song, I think. Rachel—Reyanne had different tastes.

The laptop’s one of our treasures. We don’t have that many electronics between us all. Some were lost when we were attacked. Others were stolen, lost…and we didn’t realize we could [Repair] them until later. Now everyone shares electronics, except for Emily who gets the laptop at all times.

Music, movies…I’ve watched the entire fifth season Red vs Blue that Eddy had on his Android phone at least sixteen times by now. We all cling to what we have left.

But it’s the iPhone that Richard carries that really matters. He stares at it, speaking out loud.

“I’d rather talk to the others again if I can, no matter how risky it is. But I haven’t gotten a call from [BlackMage] again, and I have no idea how to call him back.”

“Can we ask one of the mages here for help? They might know the people at Wistram.”

Cynthia looks desperate. Richard pauses before shaking his head.

“Too risky.”

“But—”

“We can’t necessarily trust them. What if they take away the iPhone? No, we’ve got to keep this secret, especially since the Blighted King doesn’t seem to know about the others. If we can get in contact with them, meet up or get help—”

“A way off this continent, you mean?”

Everyone looks at Vincent. Richard nods.

“I think this is our best opportunity. I was talking with Cirille—”

“She’s freakish. Unnatural.”

“Shut up, Cynthia. She’s a Drake, not a monster.”

“Keith—listen, she told me we can pay to send [Message] spells, or send letters. I’m not saying we should do that, because we’ll probably be spied on. But if Emily can learn to use the spell, or we can find a way to locate some of the others…”

“You think we can? What if the Blighted King…”

“He doesn’t need us. Richard and Emily are the only Level 30 people here.”

“Yeah, but they hit that in three months. It takes decades for normal people to do the same. No way he’ll let any of us go now he knows we can level like that.”

“So we’re prisoners?”

“Not if we cooperate. We’re more like allies, but we need to be cautious—”

I sigh. It’s always like this. I can’t be here. I brush at my sticky hair and decide I need a bath, and time alone. I get up and go to the door.

“You okay, Tom?”

The voices stop. Richards’s looking at me. I smile.

“Just fine.”

“That performance back there—”

“Hey, it was a one time thing. I don’t think the Blighted King cares about me. And I’m done with clowning about.”

No one laughs. Some of them still look afraid of me. I turn.

“I’m going to take a bath. Let me know if you decide anything tomorrow.”

I leave the room, hearing the buzz of conversation spring up as I shut the door. My friends.

Are they really? Or do you think they’re talking about you? Hah. You know they are. How much do they trust you, Tom? How many more times will they let you wonder before they decide to kill the scary clown before he snaps?

The voice. I stumble away towards my room. There’s nothing like a private bath there of course, but there’s a water pitcher, and I’m not willing to go looking around at night. My room is small, but on the level of a hotel in some respects. There’s no window, no balcony, but there is a chamber pot, and a bed that’s worthy of any four-star hotel. That alone makes up for the rest.

I could have done without the mirror, though. There’s a large one above a dresser, another sign that this world has its form of riches. Fabrics are as high-quality as any you’d find in our world, and usually made of real materials rather than fake ones. Okay, plumbing isn’t always consistent, but I know for a fact there are actual toilets elsewhere in the castle, and you can’t beat the craftsmanship on the dressers.

But the mirror. It’s not perfect; there are some flaws in the glass, tiny bubbles, but it reflects too much. I stare at myself. I look thin. I would have killed to lose this much weight before.

You did!

It shows too much of me. It reminds me of too much. I stare at my reflection. At my eyes.

“Are you real?”

No one answers. This mirror…slowly, I pull things out of thin air and put them on the dresser. I might as well. I pull out a greasy tin, another, smaller one, two huge shoes, and a colorful costume.

My props.

I stare at them. Oversized shoes, unfunny costume, and the face paint, white and red and black. Actually, for the black around my eyes I just use ground up charcoal. My tools of the trade.

I leave them there. I won’t touch them again. Ever. I turn away, and then notice something. My costume’s torn.

“Oh, right. I never got it fixed. Not since…”

Since the night. I gently unfold bits of the bright, clumsily stitched material. Cynthia made that for me, back before I scared her so much she couldn’t sleep with me around. I pull at the sleeves and get a horrible surprise.

Blood. A huge splash of it across the front of the costume, and more dried and soaked into the legs. I drop the costume in horror and back away.

“No.”

I never washed it either. And now the voice in my head taunts me.

Afraid of a little blood? Why? You bathed in it when you got angry at those poor Demons. Remember how the lieutenant screamed when the horses were stampeding all over her? Remember the pain?

My breath comes quicker. I turn.

I can’t stay here. Not in this room. I hurry out the door, but the voice follows me.

—-

It’s worst at night. At night, I can’t escape it. In the daytime, I can distract myself, or tell myself that it’s just me, just a mental disorder rearing its ugly head.

But at night, the shadows creep in, and I find sleep elusive, peace impossible. So I prowl through the castle, silent, taunted by my own thoughts.

I walk the brightly lit corridors, staring at the lights, trying not to meet the eyes of the occasional patrolling guards I meet down the empty corridors. They stare at me without much fondness.

They know who I am, at least. Hell, they probably saw me the first time when I was being escorted out with the others. Yup, here’s your [Hero], guys and gals. Me. Tom the unfunny [Clown].

Only, you know you can be funny if you try.

Never. I shake my head as I enter one of the rooms Nereshal showed us earlier. It caught my eye—a room full of mirrors.

Perhaps there is some masochistic part of me, some part that loves to torture myself. But this room is where I come to. Huge, wall-to-wall mirrors cover all but the doorway, reflecting my image a thousand times. I stare around.

“Alright. Here I am. Here you are. Come on. If you’re real…come out.”

I have to do this. I can’t live in uncertainty forever. The voice in my head—I keep telling myself it’s just me. Just me, trying to rationalize my insanity, what I went through.

But what if it’s not?

These are the dark thoughts I have at night, the suspicions I can’t push away without daylight. My fears.

I went insane. I went crazy and killed people. That much the others believe. That I know happened. And I’m sure it was me. Mostly sure. But, the thought whispers, what if it wasn’t me?

What if the [Lesser Insanity] condition isn’t some part of me, but something else? The madness—I can remember laughing as I stabbed the Demon lieutenant. I can remember the pain. Gods, the pain. But I also remember how I felt.

It wasn’t me.

But it was.

But it wasn’t. In the darkness, I feel certain. In that moment, when I held Wilen, I didn’t care. I reached out, and let something in. Something dark. Did I open the door somehow?

Did you? Or is it just you? Are you holding me back? Or am I just an excuse, Tom?

“Go away.”

I stare at the mirror ahead of me. There’s a feeling in my head, a bit of madness. I can feel it worming its way around. I know the mirror is just a reflection of me. It shows my clothing, stained, and my face, tired, my eyes a bit bloodshot. Me in perfect detail. I know that’s all it is.

But something tells me that’s not all. Something tells me there’s something else staring back behind the glass. What?

“Who are you?”

Who are you?

“I know you’re there. I can feel you. Hear you. My shadows move when I don’t look. My eyes—”

Normal eyes. But if I look away, do they keep staring? I try it. Turning my head and looking back quickly. But the mirror me reflects perfectly each time. I grit my teeth.

“Move, damn you. If you’re going to play tricks on me—”

I reach out and touch the glass. I stare into my reflection’s eyes, daring it to move, to twitch even a second. Tom stares back, pallid, sleep-deprived, wide-eyed. He grins at me.

I stop smiling. So does my reflection. Damn it, it’s all in my head.

All? Are you sure?

It has to be. I take my hand away, noting with guilt that I’ve smudged the mirror. I try to polish it, but just spread the oils from my palm around.

“I hate you. If you’re there, I’ll kill you. I swear it.”

You? You and what madness?

Laughter. The voice isn’t the worst. The voice sounds like me at times, a bit crazy, darker, but still what I’d think. The voice only scares me at times. But it’s when I feel like laughing, like punching the glass until my hand is full of shards that I’m afraid.

It would be so easy. So easy to push the glass deep. What would it feel like if it hit bone? I make a fist, staring at my stupid expression. My eyes.

“Well, I expected to be alone, but I suppose I was a fool for thinking that. More proof that I’m good at my job, then.”

A voice. I whirl, and see a short man in colorful clothing. The Fool. He walks into the room with a brisk step. He’s got a bottle in hand and a cup. He nods at me, not smiling, but not frowning, either.

“Mister [Clown]. I didn’t think to see you tonight.”

“Ah. You’re…”

He puts the bottle and cup in the ground and gives me a dramatic bow.

“A [Fool], at your service, sir. And you may call me Fool—everyone else does. I perform at the Blighted King’s court. I hope you didn’t take too much offense at my little performance?”

“What? No. I—it bailed me out. Thanks.”

“We funny men should stick together. Only, you’re fairly unfunny as such people go. Are you truly a [Clown], Mister…?”

“Oh. Sorry. I’m Tom. Thomas, but you can call me Tom.”

The Fool takes my hand and shakes it with a surprisingly firm grip. He’s not nearly as dramatic as he was in the banquet hall earlier, but there’s still a sense of performing as he indicates the mirror behind me.

“Come to admire yourself in the room of mirrors? It’s a rare person who likes to spend time here. I confess, that’s why I came alone.”

“Sorry about that. I can leave if you want—”

“Nonsense. There’s more than enough space for two idiots, or at least one [Fool] and a [Clown]. Besides, company is pleasant, and if you’ve a mind to share it, I wouldn’t take it amiss. I’m never alone here as you can tell.”

He nods to his reflections. I smile a bit.

“Sure. What are you doing here?”

“Drinking. Of course! A bottle of wine, a cup…would you like one?”

“A cup? Sure, but if there’s only one—”

He hands me a second cup, already filled with wine. I stare at it and blink at him. The Fool grins.

“Well?”

Gingerly I sip at the cup. Then I frown. I tilt the cup towards my lips, but no liquid comes out. I can see it, red and deep in the cup! I tilt it further, and then on a hunch, upend the cup. Nothing comes out. I stare at the Fool and he grins.

“A little trick. I apologize, but the joke’s only good once, so I do it to everyone I meet. That’s a fake cup, you see?”

“I do. But how do you get the liquid…?”

“Oh, I copied this cup, of course.”

The Fool hands me a second cup, identical to the first, only the wine sloshes about in this one. He takes the first cup back and tosses it to the ground. It breaks into pieces which dissolve into nothing.

“It’s a Skill of mine, to copy things. They last a while too, if handled gently. Good for pranks and trickery. Not for much else. But then, you’d know about such Skills, wouldn’t you?”

“I suppose I would. I am a [Clown], by the way. Just a bad one. I’m only Level 28.”

The Fool’s eyebrows rise.

“And yet you had no levels when you first came here. I’d say that’s astonishing by any standards. A shame you can’t perform as well. Your juggling act was painful to watch.”

“Sorry.”

He claps me on the back. I slosh some of the wine.

“Nonsense! Again, nonsense, so I suppose it must be tomfoolery! Stop apologizing and don’t mind the spill. Servants will catch it. If not, bugs. What you need is practice. A week or so and you’ll have the court rolling at your feet. Who knows, you might get his dour Majesty to smile!”

“You mean the Blighted King? I’ll pass. I’m done with being a [Clown].”

“Ah. Not much of a warrior you said?”

“Not much. Sorry. I—I guess you know all about us.”

The Fool shrugs. He takes a sip from the wine bottle, letting it slosh into his mouth from high above. He doesn’t spill a drop, which is impressive.

“The whole court knows I daresay, and much of the kingdom. We had such hopes. Alas, prophecy is not what it’s rumored to be.”

“About that. Are we really the destined heroes that are supposed to save Rhir from the blight and the Demon King? No one’s really mentioned that.”

“Well, that’s what the spells says. Summons heroes destined to glory and all that. I don’t know much about it, but the Blighted King and his advisers seemed to think that meant you were fairly competent.”

“Hah.”

“That’s what I thought! But I was wise enough not to make a joke about it. How his Majesty raged when he heard of what happened to you.”

Somehow, I find myself sitting with the Fool, drinking from my cup as he fills it and drinks himself. He tells me about the Blighted King and his role at court.

“One must have a [Fool]. Actually, I lie. One mustn’t at all, even if one is a [King]. My class is rare enough, and there’s scant work for a [Fool] in hungry villages. I was lucky enough to catch his Majesty’s eye one day, and I have served here for over a decade.”

“A decade? Really? Wow. I thought [Fools] were supposed to be part of a court. Like it was a hereditary thing, or something.”

“Hah! Fools breeding more fools! What a world that would be! I’m afraid that Rhir at least doesn’t see the need for a line of my ilk. Although if I met a lovely lady…alas, they go for heroes of the realm, not idiots juggling balls.”

“You’d think the more balls the merrier, right?”

He chokes on his wine, coughs, and laughs.

“So Tom the [Clown] has a joke in him after all! A bit crass, though. I wouldn’t dare repeat it at court.”

“Oh come on. It’s funny.”

The Fool grows serious.

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be appropriate for the young [Princess]. You noted her at the table, I hope. Her and the other [Princess], of course. They are our King’s daughters.”

“I saw. She looks young.”

“She’s the daughter of the current Blighted Queen. Alas, her sister, whom we call her Highness Isodore, is the daughter of the previous Blighted Queen.”

“So there’s been more than one?”

“You hadn’t heard? Of course not. Yes, there have been two Blighted Queens. Three, if you count the one who died before marriage. The Blighted King has seen his wives die one by one during his reign.”

“That…sucks.”

“An understatement, which is why I am so sorely needed at his court. Not that the Blighted King laughs, mind you. But I keep the [Princess] and others amused, so I earn my keep. I also endeavor to stay away from lewd jokes or more intimate comedy unless I know she’s asleep.”

“That’s nice of you.”

The Fool shakes his head. He smiles sadly.

“The [Princess] has a hard life without me adding to it, Mister Tom.”

“Just Tom, please.”

“Very well. I’m surprised, to be honest that you took a class so odd as a [Clown]. What do you do, exactly, if it’s not make people laugh?”

“Make them feel uncomfortable, I suppose. And laugh at how weird I am.”

“Like a [Fool]! But surely there’s more of a difference. What makes a [Clown] different from a [Fool]?”

“I dunno. Face paint? I wear oversized shoes, have a big red nose, use balloons…”

“What?”

“Uh—it’s a round floaty thing.”

He stares at me. I shrug. I’m pleasantly sloshed by now and feeling…decent for once. I try describing it to him and he shakes his head.

“Loud, noisy, and can fly? I’d use one myself if I had such a thing. I make do with throwing squirrels and cats in the meantime. But surely there’s more to it than that.”

I sigh.

“I don’t know. Clowns come in all different shapes and sizes. I guess [Fools] are like that too. For instance, I don’t see you wearing a jingling cap with bells on.”

“That’s a requirement for being a [Fool]?”

“I mean, that’s what I think of. Why don’t you have one of those?”

He gives me a look.

“I’m a [Fool], not an idiot. There are times when a Fool should be seen and not heard, or not seen or heard at all. Were I to go around dinging like some bell, I’d be evicted from the royal presence within the hour.”

He paused.

“Perhaps the day if the youngest [Princess] were to object.”

“She really likes you, huh?”

“I’m her sole form of entertainment on some days, and it can be dreary being locked up in the palace. She never enters the city without an escort and seldom at that.”

“Why? Is it so dangerous here? I thought the capital—”

He waves a hand and refills my goblet.

“Oh, it’s safer than any other part of Rhir and safe for all but royalty I imagine. Yet the [Princess] must be careful, or she’ll end up like her brothers and sisters.”

“I thought she only had a sister. Or—”

“She had others.”

Like an idiot, I stare at the Fool blankly.

“What happened to them, then? Where are they?”

His voice is flat.

“Dead.”

I sober up a bit.

“Oh. I’m s—I thought it was a family of four—”

“The majesties royal had a household of seven, once, unfunny Tom. Two older sons and another daughter three years older than the young [Princess]. All of them died. The brothers in battle, and the daughter in bed. A plague, sent by the Demons it was thought. Assassins killed the last Queen, and the one before that.”

“Oh.”

The Fool nods. He isn’t smiling now. He stares at his reflection in one of the mirrors.

“Now the [Princess] and her young highness Isodore are watched like sheep by lions, while their father and mother strive to make their kingdom safe for all but their enemies. A touching tale, isn’t it?”

I nod and sip from his wine flask. Did one of the mirror images of me just wink? Nope. Just my imagination. Again.

“For a [Fool], you’re awfully well-informed. And you seem important.”

“Shouldn’t I be? I am a royal jester, a prince of laughter. Shouldn’t I be known and heard, but never minded in court? I can walk around and people talk as if I don’t exist. Which I don’t mind, incidentally.”

The Fool gets up and does a cartwheel, laughing, half in mirth, half in a kind of despair I recognize. He turns to me.

“You’re no [Clown] you say, but if you’re not that, what are you? In denial, I should imagine.”

“No, no—you wouldn’t like to see me when I’m a [Clown]. Really.”

“How should I see you, then?”

“Just as Tom. Tom, the unfunny, who could use a refill of your wine, if you’ve got any left, Fool. I don’t suppose you can copy the wine bottle? Or do you have access to more wine we could find?”

He stares at me, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever met a person who wanted to befriend me, Tom. Are you that bored, or am I that good company?”

“Neither. But us unfunny people should stick together, right?”

I grin at him, and feel happy for a tiny bit. The Fool blinks at me, and then laughs. Of all the people I’ve met today, his laughter is the only one I’ve needed. And it heals something. That night I pass out in my room, drunk, but sane.

And a bit happy.

—-

The next day, I’m too hung over to have breakfast, and barely have a lunch with the others. I keep rubbing my head and groaning, and when they decide to go out to explore the city, I beg off.

“God, Tom. How much did you drink last night?”

“And where can I get some?”

Emily glares at me while Eddy edges over. I shake my head.

“Ask the Fool.”

“Him? Where’d you meet him?”

“We raided the kitchens. There’s a lot. Good…ow, my head hurts.”

“I think Tom’s going to rest. Alright, let’s go the rest of you. We have a budget, remember, but we’ll make sure everyone has some coin. Tom, can you give us the money if you’re staying behind?”

“Sure. Here.”

I toss the pouch at Richard and stumble away to my rooms. After two more hours, I feel able to function normally, so I finally get up and stumble out of the palace.

I get lost six times along the way. The corridors are a complete maze to me, and they’re apparently meant to be that way. No invading army can enter that easily. Unfortunately, that means I have to bother person after person to find my way out.

I get all the way to the courtyard when I realize I have no money, no real desire to see the sights, and no idea why I’m here. I stare glumly around the huge open area leading up to the castle.

“Man, this place is big.”

You could march an army through here. Heck, that’s probably the point. There are three gates leading into the courtyard, which head up to the double doors up a flight of steps. The wall around the courtyard is high, but the space itself is so big that it doesn’t feel enclosed at all.

It’s quite nice, actually. There’s a fountain and lots of water over there, some greenery over there, very nice stonework underfoot…and that’s all I’ve got.

You really need a hobby. Like stabbing people.

“Shush. I was in a good mood before you showed up.”

You should turn around. Someone’s standing behind you.

“I said shush.”

“Can you really not do anything but juggle? Father says you have hidden depths.”

That voice is real. I nearly jump out of my skin as I whirl around. A young girl wearing a violet dress takes a step back. She stares up at me. I blink down at the youngest [Princess] of the Blighted Kingdom.

“Uh. What?”

She stares at me. I stare back. She points at my chest.

“Can you do a backflip? The Fool can.”

“What? I—probably not , your majesty.”

I probably can, actually. If it’s part of my [Flawless Dodge] routine or…heck, I learned how to do an okay cartwheel. But I’m not certain why the [Princess] is here, and I’m busy looking around for the guards that should be around her.

There’s no one in the courtyard. The [Princess] stares at me and speaks matter-of-factly.

“If you don’t know how, the Fool can teach you. He wouldn’t teach me, but he could teach you and I could watch.”

“Okay? If I see him, I’ll ask.”

“He’s over there. You can ask now.”

She points. I turn around. Now how did I miss the Fool? Oh, right. He’s not wearing his eye-catching costume.

A little man wearing nondescript clothing is standing about sixty feet away, walking about the courtyard absentmindedly. He has something in his hands. It looks like…a scroll.

He’s speaking to the air with the scroll unfurled. The [Princess] and I stare at him. Then she looks at me.

“Are you going to ask or not?”

She’s pushy. I step over to the Fool, more because I have nothing else to do than any desire to do backflips. He spots us as we approach and rolls up his scroll. He stares at me and then the [Princess] with a furrowed brow.

“I knew we had fun last night, but this much? And what are you doing in the company of the Princess, Mister Tom?”

“She appeared out of nowhere. She wants me to ask you to teach her how to do backflips?”

“What?”

The Fool’s eyes widen and he does a standing backflip, pretending to be aghast. The [Princess] claps her hands together, laughing. The Fool obliges her, and then peers at me.

“I’m surprised she spoke to you. Our little Princess speaks to few people.”

“He’s funny. So are you.”

The Princess informs the Fool in the same decisive voice. He raises his eyebrows at her, and then turns to me.

“Well, that’s interesting. I suppose you’d better entertain her yourself, Mister Tom. Go on, do a backflip.”

“What? No! I’ve never done one before.”

“It’s not hard. Go on. If you break your neck, it’ll be twice as amusing, I promise.”

I back up and raise my hands as the two pester me. In desperation, I point to the scroll the Fool tucked into his belt.

“What was that about? Were you talking to someone?”

“That’s a magic scroll. For talking to people.”

The [Princess] peeks at the Fool’s belt. He dances back, and wags a finger at her.

“Ah, ah! That’s mine, [Princess]. And as for who I was talking to…would you believe the love of my heart?”

He looks at us hopefully. I stare at him. The Fool scowls and bounces one of his juggling balls off my head. The [Princess] giggles. Then the Fool looks at her. There’s something parental about the way he does it.

“As delighted as I am to see you, you and I both know you shouldn’t be out here alone, young Miss. Why have you wandered off?”

The young girl immediately loses her smile. She scuffs at the ground with a shoe.

“Father sent the soldiers away. All of them. I don’t like that.”

The Fool stiffens. I look at him, confused.

“What?”

He looks gravely at me.

“That was a secret, my inquisitive friend. A state secret, so pretend you didn’t hear it if you know what’s best. Your Highness, you know you shouldn’t speak of such things. I understand you’re worried, but all will be well.”

She doesn’t look convinced. I don’t know what the hell’s going on, so I draw the Fool away. He tosses her one of his juggling balls to keep her company as he whispers in my ear.

“What the young Princess is referring to is a strategic decision the [King] came up with two days ago. With the exception of a few foreign regiments and the king’s own guard, every soldier has been deployed to the Fourth Wall. In preparation for an upcoming battle.”

“Sounds serious.”

He grimaces.

“No more than any battle is in Rhir. But it is a tactical decision. And one that cannot be shared, you understand? No one knows about this, save for the King and his advisors. And me, of course.”

“You?”

“Because of her.”

He nods at the Princess.

“Oh.”

The Fool’s eyes are sad as he looks at the young girl. She’s dropped the ball and bends down to get it. Then she catches herself and does some kind of curtsey instead. She snatches the ball back up, and begins tossing it up again.

“If she says something, Mister Tom, it’s because she’s worried. The [Princess] understands war, I’m afraid. And his Majesty, the wise and tragic King of the Blighted Kingdom…does not understand how much his children hear, I am afraid.”

“Oh.”

“Quite. Now, do help me get her back to the castle.”

He leads me back, pretending to scold me out loud.

“I keep telling you, broken bones are a sign of comedy, young Tom. We’ll make a proper [Fool] of you yet. If not that, I’m sure you’ll be a fine [Idiot]. And you should not be wandering around unattended, your royal highness.”

He pretends to be stern. The [Princess] frowns and stamps a foot.

“I don’t like my guards. I left them.”

“And it is a fine joke to leave an escort of trained warriors behind by yourself. But I see someone’s not amused by your tricks.”

He turns and points. I turn. How do I not see people coming up from behind? Now I see another young woman, the same one who was sitting by the Blighted King yesterday.

“Your Highness.”

The Fool bows to Princess Isodore. I do too, clumsily. She stares at me and the Fool, giving me a frown, the Fool an exasperated look, and the young Princess a stern one.

“Where have you been? Your guards are searching for you in a panic. Nereshal was about to scry around for you!”

“He can’t scry me if I’m wearing this!”

The young Princess raises a ring triumphantly. She’s wearing two. Isodore glares at her half-sister.

“He can comb the area, and he will if you don’t come back. And if he does, he’ll be angry and Father will know about it.”

“I don’t want to go back! I want to learn to backflip!”

The [Princess] hides behind the Fool and me like any kid her age. Only she’s royalty and Isodore’s not alone. A group of men and women in armor rush out of the open palace doors after Isodore. I gulp, and Isodore glares at her sister.

“Come on. You have to go back.”

“I will go with her Highness, if she wishes.”

The Fool interjects, and the [Princess] brightens. But Isodore holds up a hand.

“I’m sorry, Fool, but my sister can’t be hand-held the entire time. Nor will your presence calm Nereshal. I think it would make things worse, to be honest. Come, Erille. Do you want to get the Fool in trouble?”

“No.”

Reluctantly, Princess Erille comes out from behind the Fool. She stares longingly at me and him, and Isodore gives us another look. She stares at me for a second with a look I recognize.

“You will excuse me, Sir Thomas. And you, Fool. Come, Erille.”

The two Princesses turn and meet up with their escort who surround them in a second. I watch them walk slowly back to the palace and turn to the Fool. He’s still staring at Erille’s back. Sadly. At last he shakes himself and looks at me.

“Isodore doesn’t seem to like you, Sir Thomas.”

He says the name mockingly. I sigh.

“She saw us when we were first here, I bet. She probably thinks I’m a fraud.”

The Fool nods.

“Oh, the whole kingdom did. I daresay that my role was made useless for a fortnight after you arrived. So many jokes were told—one merely had to wave around a Goblin’s head for the courtiers to roll around laughing!”

Then he pauses.

“But I suppose there might be more to it than disappointment.”

“How do you mean?”

He looks at me, cocking his head to one side, standing on one leg, seemingly back to his good spirits or pretending to be at least.

“You were abed and I was out and about, performing at breakfast, so you must have missed today’s gossip. It was about you. You claim to be naught but a former [Clown], but there have been rumors this morning about you, Tom.”

“Oh no. Really?”

I can’t imagine who started the rumors. But maybe Emily, or Cynthia, or Eddy, that bastard? It’s possible…the Fool nods.

“The court and his Majesty have heard you’re more than you seemed, Mister Unfunny Tom. I hear you can be quite amusing. And deadly. Her Highness may have heard the same.”

He turns back to look at Isodore and Erille. They’re still walking across the courtyard. Man is it big. And they can’t exactly move fast in their ballroom style dresses.

“Don’t mind her. She fears so many; one more is hardly her fault. As for Erille…”

He trails as he stares at the young Princess. She’s happily occupied as she tosses the ball the Fool gave her up and tries to catch it before it lands. She never gave it back, and I don’t think the Fool would ever ask.

It’s not hard to imagine what’s there. A Fool who’s more friend and father than her actual father, and a kid trapped in a castle. And the other Princess—Isodore looks back and then turns instantly when she sees me staring at her.

I look away.

“I’m no one, Fool. No one special.”

“So you say, Tom.”

He leaves me there, and I wander back towards the palace, feeling disconsolate. But I realize something as I walk through the corridors. Something interesting. And maybe hopeful.

Whenever I’m with the Fool, I can’t hear the voice in my head. I don’t know why that is. Maybe he’s just that entertaining, or just that nice a guy that I don’t want to kill him. Or maybe it’s something else?

—-

That night we have another banquet. And for once, I’m feeling good enough to eat a lot. We sit with the Drakes again, but there’s more of a sense of inclusion this time. We are at least in some respects now guests, and aside from a lot of bad jokes aimed at me, everything’s great.

Which isn’t to say there aren’t more tests. This time, it’s Richard and Emily’s turn, but they at least seem up to the task. Emily performs several spells in front of the court, raising a wave of water out of the ground, creating a perfect sphere that she rolls across the floor. I can tell Princess Erille would love to chase after it, but she’s stuck at the high table.

Then it’s Richard’s turn. Today, I get more of a sense of who sits in the Blighted King’s castle. Among the more important guests who sit closer to the head of the hall are groups of what I can only call the Blighted King’s champions. Rugged men, women, and representatives of other species, most wearing shining armor, magical equipment, and holding an air of power around them.

There’s a Minotaur with black fur, a half-Elf man with a staff that stands on its own when he’s not holding it, a pale Selphid with two greatswords resting by his table, and a whole bevy of [Knights] and warriors who look like they’d fit in any grand story of knights and honor.

They’re all high-level, and as the feast begins, several of them get up to engage in duels. They use real armor, but wooden weapons, and they strike, parry, block and dodge like the coolest movie action scene I’ve ever seen.

Cooler, because they move faster than an actor does with choreographed moves. I see one warrior wearing chainmail leap over a man with a wooden spear and slash at his head. Too bad that the instant his feet touch the ground, the spear warrior vaults over to him with the spear as a pole and kicks his lights out.

Richard is called to spar the spear wielder after that. I hear my friends cheering as he gets up, wiping his hands and taking the practice sword offered to him. The spear wielder touches his blunt spear tip against the wooden sword and then begins dashing at Richard, spear jabbing at him in a blur. He whirls his spear and it lashes Richard from all sides, a hail of lightning-fast blows.

“Holy crap.”

I can’t believe Richard can defend against any of that, but he actually manages to parry several strikes and attack back. He ends up defeated, but he does so well apparently that there’s a round of applause for him afterwards.

I see Richard stagger back as the spear wielder offers him a hand up. The old woman claps him on the shoulders and leads him towards the table with the other champions to cheers from my table. I watch Richard talking with the others with a familiar camaraderie.

Jealous?

“No. Richard deserves that. He fought hard and earned it.”

I hear a mocking laugh in my head, but someone replies out loud as well.

“Sir Richard is a skilled warrior, worthy of his [Knight] class. Since he has reached Level 30, he is considered a peer of the realm in many respects. All those with a level higher than 30 are honored in various ways by the crown.”

I find a man standing at my side, holding a goblet of wine and looking politely at me. He looks…familiar. He has dark skin, a scar over his temple, and the look of someone who knows how to use a weapon. He nods at me.

“Sir Thomas. I am pleased to meet you. I missed the chance this morning.”

“Um. Hi.”

He speaks as if we should know each other. He looks towards the next duel, between a [Mage] and a man with a bow who keeps shooting at the shimmering field around the mage as he dodges.

“Such displays are common. Rhir has a number of tournaments hosted year round, and offers coin to anyone willing to teach or display their skills from around the world. Martial prowess is prized here above all else.”

“When you’re at war, I guess that’s how it has to be, huh?”

I look toward the Blighted King.

“Can he fight? The King?”

The man shakes his head.

“His Majesty is not known for his abilities on the field of battle, which is not to say he does not appear there if the need is dire. On the other hand, her Majesty is at least as skilled a warrior as they are. She was known for her prowess with a mace before she married the King.”

“I can believe that.”

She looks like someone who knows how to fight. On cue, I hear a voice.

I wonder if she could block you if you stabbed her up close. What if you held her daughter hostage?

I shake my head slightly. The man notices.

“She is quite a fine warrior, as is your friend. He deserves his spot among the King’s champions. However, I deem your skills as equal to theirs in at least some respects, Sir Thomas.”

I stare at him.

“I’m sorry, but have we met? I don’t recall.”

He smiles slightly.

“I would not begrudge you that. I had the honor of meeting you in the village of Rastfad, shortly after your defeat of—”

Of the Demons. He was one of the people who saw me after I slaughtered them. I remember. I stare at the man.

“Are you—were you—”

He bows slightly.

“Captain Kirust, at your service. I returned to the capital last night but was too late to participate in the feast. I attended this morning and was delighted to find your company well, sir.”

“Hang on, you’re the one who’s been spreading rumors about me? Stop it. Please. I’m not a warrior.”

“I would beg to disagree, sir. I saw what you did to defend the villagers, and I cannot believe such a man would be lesser to any [Knight] of the realm.”

“I—no. That was one thing. I went crazy back then. You saw me laughing, covered in blood.”

He stares at me. I feel the ground breaking away under my feet. Unsteady. Someone’s laughing in my head.

They love you for what you are, Tom. Embrace it. They love you. You, the slaughterer. They cheered you after you laughed amid the dead.

“Sir Thomas, I spoke to his Majesty today and spoke highly of your abilities. I do not mean to force you to fight, but you should at least be awarded the accolades of your true merits.”

“I don’t want that. I don’t want that at all.”

He looks confused.

“But Sir Thomas—”

“Stop calling me that. Just call me—Tom. I’m no warrior, get it? I don’t ever want to do that again.”

“Not even if there are more innocents at risk?”

His eyes are steady on mine. I hear a buzzing in my ears.

“I arrived too late to save the people. From what I understand, your comrades fled. But you stayed and fought, and defeated over thirty trained Demon warriors and a Troll—”

“I didn’t want to! I’m not proud of it! Don’t celebrate me for being a murderer!”

My voice is raised. I turn to leave, but Kirust’s eyes are on me. His voice is in my ears, and the laughter.

“Sir Thomas, the kingdom has warriors, but it has few heroes. A man such as yourself—”

A hero. I turn and grab Kirust and lift him up. I’ve always been strong. The [Captain] stares at me, alarmed, fear in his eyes as I draw him close with a snarl. That’s right. That’s the fear. That’s honest.

“I’m not a warrior! I told you that! I didn’t want to kill them! I’d rather die than do it again! I won’t lose control, I won’t give in! Not now, not ever, no matter what the cost! I’m not a hero, do you understand?”

I realize I’m shouting too late. I let go of Kirust and look around. Everyone’s staring at me. I stumble away from the [Captain] and hurry out of the feast hall.

Madness.

—-

I stay in my room for hours after that, staring into the mirror. I throw the bloody clown suit to the floor, and begin pulling everything out of the trick space. My juggling balls, juggling pins, a dead flower, a few coins, and—knives.

I stare at them. I picked up one or two after that night. For self-defense. I had a bunch of swords, but I couldn’t keep them there. Swords, knives, arrows—I can remember pulling them out of the hands of the other soldiers, stabbing them with them, laughing.

Good times.

One of the knives is sharp, the other one sharper, but that’s a kitchen knife. It’s not meant for combat, although it can certainly be used as one. I pick up one of the knives and feel it. Perfectly weighted, great for throwing. Another one’s unbalanced, because it’s not meant for that.

But if I throw it—I toss the knife gingerly towards a wall. It rotates through the air and strikes the wall. Hilt-first.

“Of course, [Unerring Throw] doesn’t mean everything.”

I pick the knife up, and flip it in my hands. I catch it by the hilt easily. I’m not worried about cutting myself. The first Skill, the only Skill I got from my [Hero] class was [Weapon Proficiency: Knives].

“So why can’t I throw them correctly? Not enough rotation? Enough force?”

I guess proficiency with knives doesn’t mean I can throw them like a master. Still, I can do a lot of tricks with them. [Sleight of Hand] combined with my proficiency means I can practically walk my knife across my hand.

And flip it into the air and catch it without getting cut. I do it with my eyes closed, and then play the knife game. I tap the tip between my fingers on the dresser rapidly, then spin it up again. Catch it.

It would be so easy to just let it fall and cut my hand off. Or stand in front of the blade. I grab the knife out of the air when I think that and stare at it. Then the door opens.

“Tom? We wanted to see if you were okay—”

A voice. I turn. Chole pushes open the door to my room. She stops when she sees me, holding the knife, staring at her. I realize what it looks like too late. I take a step towards her and make the mistake of gesturing with the blade.

“Uh, look. I know—”

She screams and runs. I curse and put the knife up my sleeve, making it vanish. Why do I have such bad timing?

In seconds, other people appear around the door. I hold up a hand.

“Nothing crazy. Just practicing knife throwing, guys.”

“Right. Right.”

They nod and grin at me. Sick, pale excuses for grins. I look at them. They shut the door. I stand in the darkness.

—-

I’m going crazy. I am. I walk down the corridors of the palace, feeling it in my veins. It’s getting worse. I can’t control it anymore.

And worse, at the moment I can’t hear the voice. Normally that would be a good sign. Now I’m afraid.

Why was I playing with a knife? Why did I want to stand under the blade? Why did I shout at Kirust? Why, why, why—

I’m losing it. I turn down another brightly lid corridor, scowling at the mage lights. I hate the brightness. But maybe it’s a good thing it’s bright. At least I can’t imagine things in the—

Shadows.

I stop. I don’t know where I am, but I suddenly see something at odds with the brightly lit passageways behind me. Ahead, there are no mage lights. Only blackness. Thick and consuming.

“What? What’s…?”

I look over my shoulder. A shining light hangs in the hallway behind me. Ahead of me…darkness. No light.

I feel a chill. What’s this? This is like a bad—bad horror movie. Or something else. I look at the light behind me again. And then ahead.

“Hello?”

The darkness…calls to me. I take a step forwards. Where are the mage lights? They have to be here. They said—

This is it. I’ve gone insane. Or this is real. I reach out and my hand is suddenly grasping a knife.

Darkness. It can’t be a coincidence. In a castle where the light is supposed to be on all the time? I feel a presence. And I know.

“This is it, isn’t it? You’re here. You’re messing with me. It isn’t just me. Is it?”

No response. I take a step forwards, hesitate. Every instinct tells me I should back away from the darkness. But why? I have nothing to lose. And if I turn away, I’ll always wonder if I was going crazy or not.

If I die, at least I’ll know. I walk forwards, knife at the ready.

“I won’t run. Not this time. I’m coming for you, do you hear me?”

My voice is loud, but still sucked up by some kind of unnatural silence. I walk forwards. Now I can barely see anything. But I can hear…something.

Whispering. Footfalls. I turn my head. Nothing’s there. The voice in my head is gone.

I feel something is nearby.

“I know you’re there. Come on.”

A movement. I spin. Just the darkness. I really am losing it.

It’s in my head. It’s right here. I’m going insane. This is reality. The darkness closes in, and then I think I see a light. I feel my way down a corridor. Yes, there’s something ahead of me.

Is this it? Suddenly, I see a bright light and realize I’m an idiot. One of the mage lights just went out! And I thought…I thought…

I’m losing it. But then I walk forwards a bit more and realize it’s not a mage light ahead. Instead, I see advancing ghostly blue flame. A…lantern’s light. Yes, ahead of me. Moving.

Dark. A flicker of movement. My heart races. There is something here. Something—

Him. Me.

Then I step closer, and see what’s holding the light. The figure turns, and the lantern swings. I see a face like leather, two horns curving downwards, bright green eyes—

A Demon soldier stands with lantern in hand, a bloody sword in the other. I stop, staring. He stares back. And behind him, I see a man with his back against the wall, next to an ornate door. He sees me at the same time I see him.

“Fool?”

He half turns towards me and I see his eyes widening. He shouts.

“Get away, Tom! Warn the others! There are Demons—”

The Demon soldier whirls around. He raises his sword with a snarl and the Fool raises his hands. The Demon strikes low.

He slashes the Fool’s belly open, pulling out a chunk of his insides. The Fool gasps, grips onto the Demon as if to hold him there. The masked Demon lowers him almost gently to the floor, and turns towards me. His horns flash in the light of the lantern he’s holding.

I back away. This is a nightmare. Only, it’s not one I thought would be here. My hand raises, it shakes as I hold the knife in front of me. And now I hear the voice.

Kill him. You know you want to.

“Stay back!”

The Demon advances on me. Then he stops. A hand grasps his cloven feet. The Fool. He whispers something up at the Demon. The soldier turns and kicks the Fool in the face. I hear a crack and the Fool goes still.

The Demon turns back towards me, sword in hand. I back up again. The voice is whispering, shouting.

Kill him! Slash him, leap at him and take his sword! You’re too afraid to do it? Let me out! Give in! LET ME OUT AND I’LL DEAL WITH ALL OF IT.

No, no! I shake my head, trembling. I can’t—I won’t! But the Demon is approaching, sword bloody. It drips to the ground. I back up again.

I have to run. I have to fight. I have to—

GIVE IN.

Madness. I want to laugh. I want to cry. I want to scream—the Demon looks at me, and whirls. He runs towards the door the Fool was standing in front of and picks something up. A key. Only now do I see another body, next to the Fool’s. A man in armor, gutted. There’s blood on the ground. And the key—

The Demon turns it in the lock. He throws the door open and rushes inside. I freeze. Then I hear a high-pitched scream. It’s a voice I recognize.

Erille’s. I don’t recall running to the door, but now I stand inside it. The Demon is inside, and so is Erille. The room is huge, beautiful. She’s sitting in a four-poster bed, eyes wide. The Demon towers over her, one clawed hand reaching for her, grabbing.

Her eyes are wide. The Demon’s pulling at her, the bloody sword in his hands. He’ll kill her.

LET ME OUT.

“No!”

I scream the word, and throw. The Demon twists, eyes staring at me, and freezes. Emile shrieks in horror and I hear a sound I’ll remember forever.

Thunk.

The blade stops, embedded in the Demon’s forehead. He blinks, reaches up to feel at the piece of metal in his head. He never completes the motion, but slumps onto the bed, half over Emille. She screams again.

“Are you alright?”

I run over to her. She screams at me. I pull the Demon off her, and the girl is screaming, pulling the covers over her face. I reach for her, hesitate. There’s someone laughing in my head. But I did that! I—

“Behind!”

Her voice makes me whirl. I turn, and there’s a second shape in the doorway. Another Demon, with two knives in his hands. He stares at the fallen Demon on the ground and roars at me.

GIVE—

This time I push the voice down. I stare at the Demon and he stares back. Now my blood is on fire. And I know what I have to do.

I charge the second Demon. He might be tall, but I’m heavy. We crash into each other and I feel him stabbing, quick as lightning. His knife goes into my stomach, one, two, three, four—

The blade vanishes. I yank it away from him and now it’s in my hands. He stabs towards my face before jerking away, realizing his hand is now empty. I slash at him, but we’re too locked together.

We roll on the floor as the [Princess] flees her bed. All I can see is the Demon’s face. His eyes are wide, green—he has no whites, just green sclera and yellow pupils shaped like diamonds, locked on me.

I can hear laughter, I can feel the madness taking over. But I fight it down as I stab back at the Demon. I’m in control! In this eternal moment of death and violence I realize it. It’s just me. I scream it at him.

“It’s me! I’m in control! Me! This is my choice!”

I’ll kill. I stab the knife and feel it enter something. The Demon stabs me with his other knife, twisting the blades. I’ve felt pain before. I push mine deeper, deeper.

He stops moving. The lance of metal tears into me again. It’s just his hands and mine, seeking each other’s lives. I look at the Demon, straight into his eyes, and he looks at me.

“You and I—are both monsters.”

His eyes widen. His grip on the dagger loosens. I feel his claws tearing at my belly, and then relax. He stiffens, and I push myself off him.

The dagger—his dagger—is shoved hilt-deep into his chest, right where his heart would be if he’s like a Human. He’s covered in blood.

My blood.

I stagger upright, feeling a gaping…emptiness in my chest. I hear a sound. I turn, and Erille flinches away from me. I look down and see only blood and torn flesh where my chest should be.

“Oh. Sorry.”

I’m scaring her. I look at the Demon at the foot of her bed, and then the one at my feet.

Two Demons. Both dead. I did that. I did.

I should be angry, or sad. Or shocked. But I just stare at them. Dead. That’s all.

I killed them. I did it. But that doesn’t matter. I don’t care. What’s important is—is—

Blood drips to the floor. I turn to Erille. She huddles in her blankets, eyes wide, staring. But it’s important she knows. There’s no danger anymore. None.

“Just me. I did it. I’m—”

I stare down at my bloody hands and feel the deep cuts on my belly bleeding. The pain—I’ve felt worse. I clench my fingers tightly around the dagger still buried in my side. It hurts. But I’m me.

There’s no one else in here. Just Tom. Tom the [Clown].

Tom the Murderer.

“You should probably scream for help. Or something.”

I tell Erille that as I slowly sink to the ground. She looks at me and then turns, grabbing for something on her dresser. I hear her voice—very distant.

It’s all fading away. I stare towards one wall. Hey, Erille has a dresser like mine. I see the blood spattered room reflected in it, and a young man lying on top of a Demon’s body, covered in blood.

He’s me, but he’s not me. The other Tom looks up.

He grins at me. A white devil dancing in a pool of crimson. He stares at me, and I think he winks for a second. His smile is like blood. But it’s just in my head. I turn from the mirror.

“It’s all in my head. All.”

Just me. Then throughout the castle I hear a ringing noise, like bells, and hear shouting, bells and shouting and a horn now, like a siren. I listen to the sounds, and hear him whispering in my head.

It’s not over Tom. Not over. Not yet.

“You’re just…just…”

Someone’s bent over me. Erille? She has a bottle in her hands and she’s pouring it over my chest. The world goes dark. But I can still hear him.

I’m real as you are, Tom. I’m waiting for you to let me out. This was only the beginning.

And the devil laughs, and I smile. Because he’s not real.

He’s just in my head.

1.04 C

There were eight Demons, actually. The other six were waiting outside Isodore’s room. They might have gotten her too, but my raising the alarm with the [Princess] saved her.

I learn that after I wake. That was still in Erille’s bedroom, the floor and walls still splattered with my blood and that of the Demon soldiers. There is no young [Princess], though. Just a [Healer] tending to me and the Fool, several guards, and the two dead bodies.

Later, I can remember trying to sit up, feeling the pain which makes me almost scream, and the [Healer] telling me to lie still while the potions do their work. Soon, the pain becomes a memory, but ah, what a memory.

In this world it’s possible to heal a wound in seconds where it would take months in my world. But the pain means that few people can stand to fight after taking such injuries. All but the best healing potions make you tired, sometimes nauseous—

And the agony of it can kill some people. The shock of it can stop a heart. I see the Fool convulsing as the [Healer] tends to him, crying out as his severed innards grow together and have to be pushed into his stomach before being healed.

But he is alive. And so is Erille. She is kept in a safe place, under highest guard while the entire palace and the rest of the city was put on high alert and searched. No other Demons are found, but watchful of more assassins, the Blighted King keeps his guards searching through the night and into the next day.

I don’t get to see any of it. I sleep after being treated, sleep through the night and late into the day. When I get up later, head spinning, feeling at unbroken skin on my stomach, it’s in a different room. Not mine, nor Erille’s.

A grand room. And I am lying in a bed, a large king-sized one. One with silk sheets. They’re oddly a refreshing light green color for some reason, and the bed is complete with plush pillows which are also green and embroidered with gold threads.

That is my bed. The rest of my room holds a large table and chairs to sit around it, a private bathroom, a bookshelf with a few books on it, a side table on which a few bottles of precious-looking tonics or other potions are resting…and a lot more. In short, I wake up in richness.

I get up, wobbling, and feel my knees trembling like jelly. I pat at my stomach again, feel it whole, and then remember.

“I did it! I—”

I laugh, and then shake, feeling hot, cold, and tremble at the memory of cold fear, of seeing the Demon with bloody sword, of fighting—

But I did it. I killed them. And Erille.

She’s alive. Right? And the Fool, I remember seeing him. But where are they? Not here, obviously. I need to ask.

I stumble to the doorway, then realize someone undressed me save for my underwear and pants earlier.

“Wait. Crap. This isn’t my old underwear! Oh god.”

Panicked, I have a crisis where the worst thought running through my head is that someone saw my private parts. Then I laugh and find some clothes to wear. After all I’ve just been through, that’s the least of my concerns.

I just really hope it wasn’t a guy. Or wait—would a girl be worse? An old woman? A young woman? I imagine an old [Butler] having to strip me down and shudder. I really, really hope no one talked about what they saw.

I guess I’ll find out soon enough.

—-

“You may approach the throne.”

The voice echoes throughout the hall. It bounces off the black and white marble tiles, from the ceiling where a series of intercrossing stone beams hold up the rest of the palace overhead. I’d look up, but I know that there are guards with bows and arrows and wands standing on the beams overhead. Plus, I have to walk forwards.

So I do. I cross the distance to the twisted throne ahead of me. It sits on a dais, drawing every eye in the throne room. Those that aren’t fixed on me, that is.

The Blighted King’s throne. It is made of twisted ivory. The bones of some ancient monsters, carved into a huge seat and enchanted. Or maybe the magic is in the bones? The throne seems to shudder and grow as I walk towards it.

Just an illusion. But it makes the man sitting in the throne all the more foreboding because of it. I stare up at the Blighted King and remember how afraid of him I was the first time I saw him. Now I see an old man.

I kneel. The cold marble is hard on my knee, but that’s protocol. The Blighted King studies me, and then bids me to rise. Around me, I see the kneeling people getting to their feet.

The nobility, champions of the king, dignitaries, common people—that is to say, wealthy [Merchants] and servants and powerful individuals who aren’t nobility or sworn to the crown—and my friends look at me. I stare towards the Blighted King and the three people who stand beside him on the throne.

The Blighted Queen, imperious, stone-faced. Isodore, looking pale, but pretty collected, and Erille, who half hides behind her step-sister, peering at me. She looks sideways, and I see a flash of color out of the corner of my eyes. The Fool stands, healed, watching me.

“Sir Thomas. The [Clown]. You have done our kingdom a great service this day. You protected our daughter, Princess Erille, when our guards failed us. Against assassins. Demons.”

The Blighted King’s voice blazes with silent fury. The people around the room shift. I look up at him. I don’t want to be here, but I was spirited to the throne room as soon as I left my room.

At least I’m not required to really say much unless asked. The people in the throne room watch me as I stand, awkward, gazing at the Blighted King’s navel.

“You killed two assassins meant for my daughter.”

He says it like a question. The Blighted King stares at me.

“How?”

“I…had a knife, your majesty. I killed one Demon with that. And I took the other one’s dagger.”

“You disarmed a soldier?”

“Yes, sire. I can steal things if I’m close enough. I can take a sword out of someone’s hands. It’s…well, a trick.”

“Show us.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, and then Nereshal strides forwards. He has a dagger in his hand, the metal of the blade tinted light purple. He holds it, and I gingerly grab it out of his hands. I don’t need to touch his hands or the blade to do it. I hear a quiet susurration, and hand the blade back to Nereshal, hilt-first. He accepts the blade. The Blighted King leans forwards a bit on his throne, eyes narrowing.

“Intriguing. A trick indeed. We saw it performed before, but it seemed paltry, then. What do you make of it, Nereshal?”

The time mage studies me for a moment, impassive. He doesn’t seem wary of me so much as…intrigued. Everyone’s giving me that look, really. I guess saving Erille makes me important again.

Crap.

The [Chronomancer] turns back to the Blighted King. He bows.

“It appears to be a Skill similar to a bag of holding, my King. The Fool can do the same. I have heard of other classes with similar skills. [Rangers] whose quivers can hold seemingly endless numbers of arrows. Classes like [Thief] who can create secret containers about their person. I suppose these—[Clowns]—are known for the same feats?”

I think of improbably small clown cars, tricks with coins behind the ears and a surplus of balloons for every occasion.

“Something like that, yeah.”

“A worthy Skill. Useful in battle. Tell me, Sir Tom. You claim to be no warrior, but you killed two elite Demon soldiers by yourself. Are [Clowns] truly entertainers and not warriors as you claim? Do they not fight?”

The Blighted King stares at me. I want to laugh in his face. Sir Tom? A warrior? I’m just…no.

His question’s ridiculous, but he doesn’t know our world. So I take it seriously and think for a moment before replying.

Do clowns fight? What a question. Are you counting movie clowns who have supernatural abilities and eat kids, or do you mean real life ones? Even then, there are serial killer clowns…

Rodeo clowns are known for being badasses. Dante told me about it—he’s actually seen them dodging bulls in arenas. But an actual clown who fights for a living? I shake my head.

“No, your majesty. [Clowns] have tricks suited for combat, but they—aren’t warriors.”

The Blighted King looks at me, eyes boring into me. I return the gaze. He nods slowly.

“A pity. We search for Skills that might aid our people, classes that might be worth taking. It is a shame that this [Clown] class is not suited to war. But we understand more of your nature. We give you our thanks, Tom the [Clown].”

He inclines his head a fraction. I bow, prompted by Nereshal’s whisper. The Blighted King looks at me a moment longer, and then dismisses me from his thoughts again.

“We invite you to join our personage in the gardens shortly. We shall deliberate on a suitable reward tonight. Now onto more pressing matters. Nereshal, summon the commander of the palace guard. Failure must be met with appropriate punishment.”

Like that, I’m ushered out of the throne room. I walk away as another man, pale and sweating, takes my place. Some of the people in the room disperse, and once we’re outside and the massive doors to the room have swung shut, I hear them cheering.

I wish they wouldn’t. But I’m still glad. My friends cluster around me, slapping me on the back, congratulating me. For killing the Demons? For being sane while doing it? I don’t know. I don’t really care. I’m happy enough for the praise, whatever the reason.

After that, I go to the gardens for lunch. I was dragged before the Blighted King before I could get anything to eat and I am starving.

—-

Politics. Intrigue. Wait, are those the same words? They’re here even in Rhir, in the Blighted Kingdom. People vie to become the most important person, the most valuable asset to the Blighted King, or to control more power. Naturally, my friends and I are all small fry, but again, saving a [Princess] is usually a big deal no matter where you go.

That’s probably why I got the fancy new room. Richard, Emily, and the others certainly didn’t get an upgrade. And that’s also why I was invited to the gardens. Again, no one else from my group was. And finally, that’s how I ended up sitting with a bunch of the nobility of Rhir, listening to them gossip and talk over matters of the realm while the Fool performs for their children, some mages display illusions, and a [Bard] plays soft music in the background.

I don’t care. I’m here for the food. The servants offer me a cut of meat from a weird, long tongue. I take it and chew the soft meat without a second’s thought. It resists in my mouth for a second, then it’s soft, juicy. Succulent. I’m too hungry to quibble about the tongue bit.

“—Naturally we must retaliate in kind. I am not debating that point, Lord Yebior. But I assert that it would be a mistake to use [Assassins].”

There’s a light debate raging on at the moment. I’m sitting in a circle of about sixteen nobles, one of many groups in the gardens. Others are strolling about, talking, and the Blighted King has his own group of course. Since I have bad allergies I’m staying far away from the flowers and whatnot as possible. The people around me are some form of important, and my only input to the conversation has been to nod when everyone else does.

The woman who’s speaking is Lady Zekryia, wearing a pink and red outfit that looks a lot more practical than the dress I saw her in last time. As in, you could probably run in this one without tripping. It’s a cross between a riding dress and trousers, which looks great on her. I try not to stare.

Red. It’s the color she’s wearing, as is her sister who sits next to her, chewing on some tongue, and quite a few other ladies in the gathering. It appears as a splash of color whenever I see it.

Miscarriages. I wonder if the corruption on Rhir causes it? But Lady Zekryia is fierce, even in mourning.

“It is a fact that Rhir cannot field the same quality of [Assassins] as other continents. Purely because there is no Assassin’s Guild in our nation. Infighting of that sort is too detrimental of course, but it leaves us with a deficit of such killers in moments like these.”

Lord Yebior, a big guy with a beard and a scimitar at his hip, frowns. I take a plum tart from a plate and bite into it. Yum. I wonder what he’s gonna say? I have no idea.

“I don’t disagree, Lady Zekyria. However, how else would we send a message to the Demon King other than by stealth? I am not proposing we send low-level [Assassins] either—but surely we could contract the Assassin’s Guild on another continent?”

“For a suicide mission into Demon territory? And to send one of their best across the sea? Assuming it could be done, think of the cost!”

Zekyria scoffs openly and I nod along with some of the others. Good point. Hey, is that a fruit drink I see being served? I could use a glass.

“And what do you think your reward from his Majesty will be, Sir Tom?”

A voice speaks and I nearly jump out of my skin. A [Lady] leans over to me, elegant, eyes on my face. I start sweating as I realize I’ve lost track of the conversation.

“Me? I uh…I have no idea. I don’t really need a reward.”

The others make polite scoffing sounds. Lady Zekyria tosses back her hair, which makes me sweat harder. Beautiful women talking to me is not a normal occurrence, and all the women around me are [Ladies]. Steady on, Tom.

“Surely there is something you desire? The Blighted King’s gifts are no trifles. I imagine he might present you with a dagger from his armory, perhaps a powerful artifact? Do you have a preference for enchantments, Sir Tom? I’ve always been a fan of ward enchantments myself, but for a knife specialist, perhaps you prefer contact enchantments?”

I stare at her blankly. What is it with people in this nation? The nobles are bloodthirsty. I guess being at war for thousands of years makes this kind of thinking normal. I cough.

“I’m not an expert at uh, enchantments. All of my knives are non-magical.”

“What? Then you surely need better equipment. All of the King’s champions have artifacts of their own—I shall petition his Majesty that you be awarded a blade worthy of your accomplishments tonight!”

“What? No, that’s really…I wouldn’t want to take a valuable weapon. Not when someone else might need it, you know?”

The others laugh. Lord Yebior gives me a pitying look.

“Sir Tom, his Majesty has enough arms to outfit an army. He has opened his armory in the past in times of need, but in safer times…it is an honor to receive an artifact from his vaults, not a burden, I assure you.”

“Oh? There’s a lot of artifacts?”

“Of course! This is Rhir, after all. We have accumulated treasures for generations. Each champion is accorded items worthy of any Named Adventurer if they did not have one already. Consider Sir Hesseras, over there. The Naga. You see him? He holds the Battleaxe of Caxel. A fascinating weapon—if held, the blade doubles in size but swings as fast as any hatchet. And Lord Meliore? The Shortsword of Weeping. Poisoned, obviously, which is why he has to keep it sheathed at all times. But my favorite artifact is perhaps the King’s own blade, Blightbane, which has several enchantments. I haven’t seen it drawn in years, but it is a sight…”

Lord Yebior begins talking enthusiastically about the artifacts around him, the others chiming in their examples. I blink and stare from person to person in the gathering. And I’m going to get a weapon like that? Well…it would be cool.

One of the people in the gathering is the old woman who dueled Richard earlier. When I ask about what she got, the others laugh. Zekyria leans over to me and whispers.

“Before she became a [Marchioness], Lady Xersia was known far and wide as a Named Adventurer. She was called Xersia the Scorpion. She has her own spear—I believe she was gifted with an amulet from the treasury for her service.”

“Oh. Named Adventurers can become nobility?”

Zekyria looks puzzled.

“Naturally! For their services against the enemy, famous adventurers are often granted lands and wealth. It is one of the things that draws them here. Alas, we lose them to age or battle too frequently.”

I look over at the old woman. She’s happily chewing on a tart. I don’t think she has many teeth.

“She looked pretty good when she was dueling the others last night.”

Zekyris sighs.

“A Named Adventurer never loses their Skills of course, but age is a limiting factor. Lady Xersia can only fight at her best for a few minutes before tiring, which is why she seldom returns to the front. If only Lord Nereshal could halt the aging of multiple individuals in our realm…”

“Does he do it for only the Blighted King?”

“Him, and perhaps the Queen. I believe Nereshal uses the spell on himself, but his mana may not extend beyond that.”

The [Lords] and [Ladies] nod. One of them clears his throat.

“Speaking of warriors, Sir Thom, her Majesty was a famed warrior on the battlefield before she became the Blighted Queen. No doubt it was one of the reasons why his Majesty was so enamored with her.”

I glance at the Blighted Queen. I can imagine her smashing someone over the head with a mace. Yup, yup. Next to Zekyria, her sister, Lady Theras sighs longingly, her eyes on her King.

“Ah, if only I had become a [Lady] suited to the battlefield, rather than the manor…far better to die with a sword in hand rather than waste away in old age.”

“There’s many uses for your Skills outside of battle.”

Zekyria reassures her twin, smiling. Yebior nods.

“A warrior is not all that is needed in service of the realm. Consider the role the Lady Reinhart occupies in her lands for instance….”

Theras scoffs openly.

“The Flower of Izril? Hah! That brazen hussy—”

Zekyria tsks softly.

“She’s an ally of the kingdom, Theras. Remember that.”

“Nominally. She’d be far better off halting her squabbles for power with the Drakes and sending support here. But her complacency is costing her. Did you know I heard she was being targeted by [Assassins]?”

“Surely not. I’d heard they were under her thumb.”

“So you might think. But it seems her manor was attacked. Now I don’t know the details, of course…”

The talk turns towards some woman I’ve never heard about. I settle back into my chair, and hear a cheer going up. I look over and see the young children gathering around the Fool, who’s just performed a triple backflip, much to their amazement. I see heads turning, and the faces of the nobles around me are pursed with disapproval at the break in decorum.

“Tactless as usual. I suppose the Fool is recovered if he can move around like that…”

“A waste of a healing potion if you ask me. Why use such high-quality items on him?”

“He is a guest of the palace and entertains her highness. Still…I can understand given his level, but a [Fool] is nonetheless a fool, is he not?”

“His level? Is the Fool…a high-level?”

“One would imagine so, but his performances are usually decidedly lacking.”

Theras sniffs and the other nobles seem to agree. Zekyria explains as she eyes the Fool juggling twelve balls this time. As if that’s easy.

“Before he came to Rhir and pledged himself to his Majesty, the [Fool] was an noted entertainer who travelled across Baleros and Terandria, putting on performances. There are tales of the grand feats he would perform. However, these days he seems content to entertain children. Worthwhile of course for her highness’ sake, but if he cannot even repay his debt to our king with his life…”

I cough, feeling obliged to defend the Fool.

“He was taken hostage, right? And he tried to warn me when the Demons attacked.”

There’s not much sympathy from the others. Zekyria tosses her head dismissively.

“His injuries are of course regrettable. Still, he would do well to learn from your example, Sir Tom. You two are akin, are you not? But he was taken prisoner while you fought. Most admirable.”

Is she…hitting on me? She leans over and I do my best not to edge away. I know Zekyria has a husband. She had a kid. But I’m getting a vibe—then again, I’m not good with picking things up. But it seems like—

I’m saved from any thoughts in that direction by an interruption. The people around me rise and I hastily get to my feet as none other than Erille and Isodore approach. We all bow as the [Princesses] stop before me.

“Sir Tom.”

Isodore’s voice is polite and her smile appears genuine. But it’s probably fake. She nods towards me, and Erille.

“Erille wished to thank you personally for saving her life yesterday.”

She nudges her sister, and Erille steps forward. Her hands are in her dress, and she twists them together nervously. She looks up at me, and mumbles.

“…you.”

I can’t hear the first part of the sentence. Erille curtseys quickly, looking upset at being the focus of all this attention. I see the Fool grimace as he stands, juggling across the garden. He’s watching her sadly. I bow towards Erille, not wanting to draw out the moment.

“I’m honored to serve, Princess Erille.”

She nods at me and then flees. Isodore curtseys quickly and follows her. I hear a sigh from the other nobles.

“So young.”

“It was a stroke of fortune that the Demons did not kill her, truly. I fear she has so many years to grow, though.”

“Lady Isodore is promising, if young. A few years and she might…”

Zekyria turns to me with a bright smile.

“I’m sure Princess Erille is truly grateful. And perhaps we shall learn what reward will be bestowed on you tonight? I would be most grateful to sit with you at the banquet.”

“Ah! Lady Zekyria, I would put myself for the same honor!”

Yebior interrupts. The other nobles turn and begin fighting over me like one of the snacks. I try to excuse myself. Jeeze. Save a [Princess] and suddenly everyone’s your friend.

I wait for a reply in my head and hear none. I smile.

—-

After more conversation, more talk and eating and a good deal of time, it’s late in the evening. Just before dinner, which makes me regret eating so much in the gardens. But I can get away at last for a little bit before then, so I make a beeline to my room. There’s something I have to do.

I get lost on the way. I went back to my old room before Richard reminded me where I’m staying now. He grins at me as I throw up my hands.

“It’s a gift, Tom. You should enjoy your new place.”

“I guess. Is anyone else upset? I don’t want them to think I’m asking for special treatment. I could ask the King or Nereshal…”

Richard shakes his head.

“Emily’s salty, but we all know you deserve it. Besides, we can’t complain. And you did nearly die.”

“I guess. I’ll see you at dinner, then? I’m supposed to sit with some of the nobles, but I think I can get away.”

I turn to go. Richard stops me.

“Hey Tom.”

“What?”

“You did it. You saved a [Princess]. And you did it…without having a problem, right?”

He looks at me. I look back and nod, slowly.

“Yeah. I guess I did.”

His grip tightens a bit on my shoulder. Richard smiles.

“I’m glad.”

I smile as well and walk away without another word. It takes me twenty minutes to find my rooms, and they’re not that far away in the palace. So many corridors and so far to walk…you could get all your exercise just going from one part of the castle to another. When I finally get to my door, I walk in, a bit tired, elated, and thinking of a nap.

But my eyes are drawn to one thing in the room besides the bed. The dresser. It’s much like the one in my old room and is, in fact, decorated with my possessions from my old room as well. I stare at the perfect mirror and get out of bed to hobble over to it. I touch my fingers to the cool glass and stare into my eyes.

“I win.”

The Tom in the mirror doesn’t respond. After a minute he raises his hand. I press it against the glass.

“I killed them. Me. It was…I had to do it. And it was terrible and it hurt. But it was me, get it? I did that. Me.”

I finish speaking, stare at myself. I stare back, looking a bit tired, a bit triumphant. I wait, but I don’t reply.

“I won’t be afraid of you anymore. I won’t listen. You’re in my head. You’re a part of me. But you don’t control me. I control myself, and I’ve taken responsibility for my actions.”

At last, he stirs. The other Tom looks into my eyes, and his lips grudgingly move.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“I will.”

“Shut up, you idiot. You don’t know anything. You killed two Demons and everyone’s praising your name. But you know you’re not in the clear yet, don’t you?”

I stare as Tom steps back a bit. My hands go up; he adjusts his shirt.

“It’s not over. Do you really think it is? Don’t be stupid, Thomas. I might be insane, but I’m not an idiot. Neither are you.”

“What do you mean?”

He stares at me, and then walks out of the mirror’s range. I sit on the bed, hearing his voice, my voice, in my ears.

“Think about it. Demon soldiers, appearing in the middle of the night? How? And they just so happen to know where the [Princesses] are sleeping? That’s hard to do, even for assassins. If they were assassins.”

I remember seeing the dead guard out of Erille’s room and shudder.

“They seemed pretty intent on killing to me.”

I feel my eyes roll.

“Yes. I guess they did. All two of them. And there were two for the other princess. None for the Blighted King, his Queen, or anyone else. Why’s that?”

No response. I get back up, go back to the mirror. Tom stares at me. The black pits of his eyes are dark. Fathomless. I look away.

Someone organized my belongings, such as they are. I glance down at my tin of grease paint, play with the freshly laundered clown suit as he talks.

“This is just the start. You know that. And you might have killed two Demons, but you know you’re nothing without me.”

“I’m me. You’re in my head. And you can’t control me. I proved that just now. Yesterday, I mean.”

“Oh yeah?”

He laughs. I look up and glare at him in the mirror. He glares back, and then grins. And then the grin freezes. It slides off my face and I study myself. I shake my head.

“It’s all me. See?”

I wait. The reflection doesn’t respond. I go on.

“Me. I pretend. I get it now. I’m doing this. And I can stop. It’s my choice. Maybe I like thinking I’m insane. But I’m not. And if I don’t let you have a thing, you can stay a voice in my head for all I care.”

No response. I smile bitterly.

“Good chat. Let’s never do this again. I win. No—there was never anyone to play against, was there? Just me.”

I turn. I hear no voice, no mocking reply. It is just me.

Then I hear a whisper in my head.

So you say. I left a little present for you, though. A little reminder I’m here. Want me to tell you what it is?

I ignore the voice. Turn. What’s the old expression again? Sticks and stones can break my bones, but words…

Words can hurt. Of course they can. And thoughts can be terrible. But they will not control me.

It’s time for the banquet. I absently get ready in front of the mirror. I don’t have many good pairs of clothes, but I do make sure I have a few knives up my sleeves. Just in case.

And then I go. Voiceless. I stride out of the bedroom, feeling better than I have in months. A new room, a friend in the Fool, and some measure of respect. And who knows? Maybe things can get better than this. I don’t know, but I’m hopeful.

I might just enjoy tonight after all.

—-

I get lost on the way to the banquet hall again. It’s my new room. Plus, I never got to know the old one that well. It’s also hard to get directions. All the servants just stare at me and point. I guess they still don’t think I’m that much of a hero. I know I’m not.

But I still get to the banquet hall in good time. The [Chamberlain] blinks when he sees me, but points me to the table with my friends.

I sense heads turning as I enter the room. People watching me, murmuring. I hate that. But I also know that they’ll stop as soon as something else happens. Give me a week, a month, and people will barely remember my name, let alone call me a hero.

My friends are sitting with their backs to me, laughing with the Drakes. I know I should sit with the nobles, but I want to talk to them first, say hi. Maybe ask if Lady Zekyria has a husband. I dunno, I’m feeling very lucky. Although that’s probably pushing any amount of luck I’d ever have.

“Hey guys. What’s up?”

They turn, laughing, at the sound of my voice. Then freeze. Richard pauses, a cup halfway to his mouth. Emily turns pale. Keith and Eddy nearly fall out of their seats. And Cynthia—

Screams.

The sound cuts through every other noise in the banquet hall. It’s pure, genuine terror. I see guards start to run towards us, and sense every eye on me. But why?

“Cynthia? What’s wrong?”

I take a step towards her. She backs out of her seat, hand knocking away plates, dishes—she tries to climb over the table to get away from me. I stop and turn towards Eddy. He’s shrinking back in his seat. And then Richard—he has a hand on his sword. His face is white as he stares at me.

“Tom?”

It’s a whisper. And suddenly, my heart’s pounding. Why is he looking at me like that? Why is he looking at me like—

“Richard? Why are you all staring at me?”

He looked shocked. Tongue-tied. Unable to explain. He looks at Emily and she breaks the silence.

“Tom. Your face.”

I slowly raise my hands to my face. Uncomprehending. Then I touch my cheeks. Feel a bit of oil, sticky slickness blended with a powder. I stare at my fingers and see white.

“A mirror.”

I look around. Faces, staring. The world blurs. I lunge for the table and people draw back around me. Cynthia screams again. But I just want to see.

There’s a plate holding some grapes. I dump them off and hold up the shiny surface, polishing it with one hand. Why—why is my sleeve yellow? What am I wearing?

And then I see. Then I hear laughter in my head, and feel the world shift.

A clown stares back at me. Face pale and white, eyebrows drawn in black. Shadows under the eyes. A red nose. A crimson splash. And red lips, just waiting to smile. The clown stares back, horrified, dressed in a bright yellow suit, splashed with faint stains the best washing couldn’t remove.

A clown. And then I turn, and see the horror on my friend’s faces. The confusion, the look of unease on the others. The guests of the Blighted King have seen the Fool, but they’ve never seen a [Clown]. Never seen a man who dresses himself up to mock the world like I do.

And I feel the floor breaking up underneath me. I didn’t know. I thought I was getting ready. I didn’t—

Is he real? Am I insane?

No. This is just—

“It’s just me, guys. I—sorry.”

I back away from the others. Richard’s still staring. Cynthia’s sobbing. Some of them are just staring at me, nervous. Others…some of them saw me afterwards, laughing. They’re the ones who look truly frightened.

I walk away from them, hearing Richard try to explain to the guards what made Cynthia scream, sensing conversation resume in the room. But the eyes follow me.

What could I say to them? What can I say? This was a joke? No. That I didn’t realize I’d put on my costume and the paint? That’s worse.

I don’t know if I should stay. But as I’m debating running for the doors and burning the costume and washing myself, I hear someone call out.

“Sir Tom!”

Lady Zekyria. She’s waving to me. She doesn’t appear to be bothered by my appearance. She laughs as I walk over to her.

“What a look! And what entertainment, Sir Tom! Is that what a [Clown] is supposed to look like? You’re far more diverting than a [Fool]!”

“Indeed.”

Sir Yebior sits across from me, eying me appraisingly. He gestures for me to sit. Dreaming, walking in a nightmare, I do.

It’s like I’m in one of those dreams where I go to school and realize I’m naked. Only this time, no one at the table cares. They joke about it, asking why I scared Cynthia so, listening to my garbled explanation with polite smiles. They don’t know.

But I do. I feel cold certainty gripping me at last.

I am not in control.

What can I do? What should I do? I stare towards the head table. The Blighted King is watching me. He’s supposed to present me with a reward, right? I don’t want it. I need to leave, to find somewhere alone to think—

How angry will he be if I leave now? How rude would that be? I don’t care. The nobility are laughing around me. I go to push up my chair. And stop.

“Demons are attacking!”

A man screams the word. I turn, the world slows. I see a soldier, armor covered in blood, one arm hanging limp, running into the hall, shoving aside the [Chamberlain]. Again there is silence. He rushes towards the Blighted King’s table, blocked by a wall of guards who rush towards him. He stops there, and the Blighted King rises.

“Where?”

“The courtyard, your Majesty! They appeared out of nowhere. A spell—they’re invading the palace and securing the courtyard as we speak!”

I hear screams now, but the Blighted King is on his feet and another man with a greatsword leaps up and roars for silence. He and four other warriors including Xersia the Scorpion race out of the hall, their forms a blur.

“Nereshal!”

The King shouts one word. The [Chronomancer] runs across the hall and two other mages, a female Centaur and a male half-Elf, run over. Nereshal raises his hand and speaks a word.

A picture floats in the air, clearer than any video, large enough so that I can see it from where I side. I see the courtyard from above, dark, melting snow covering parts of the flagstone. And dark shapes, hundreds of them, streaming towards the palace. More still hold the gates while others race along the courtyard walls, swords flashing as they cut down the guards stationed there.

Demons.

1.05 C

“How did they appear?”

There’s chaos in the banquet hall. The Blighted King is questioning the guard who raised the alarm. Other soldiers are rushing for the doors, creating blockades in the corridors. But most of the guards and people are staying put. Waiting. Listening.

Fear is in the air. My stomach is churning. What can I do? What should I do?

He was right. I was right. But how did the Demons get here?

“Teleportation magic. A scroll—possibly artifacts. To teleport so many, the Demon King must have used every magical item in his possession.”

Nereshal is conferring with a group of [Mages]. His eyes are on the projection. And then I see movement from the courtyard.

The Demons are streaming into the castle, most through the main gates. But they’re also moving along the battlements. One group is clustered around the left wall. I see an explosion, and a different group appears.

Humans. Two Humans, a man and an old woman. A Gnoll, and a Selphid. They cut down the Demons and charge into the courtyard, running along the battlements. The Blighted King’s champions.

A cheer goes up through the room as the people see the four champions charging the Demons. But the Blighted King and his advisors don’t cheer. They watch, intently, as the four warriors rush a group in the center of the courtyard.

“There. Their leader is a mage.”

Nereshal points. A female Demon wearing robes is standing in the courtyard, staff aloft. By her side is a male Demon, holding a bow taller than he is. It must be seven feet tall. He wears no armor. One of the champions raises his own bow, draws an arrows, looses it in a moment.

The arrow vanishes before it reaches the Demon with the bow. He puts an arrow to his bow, draws, fires. The Gnoll who fired tries to dodge, but the arrow curves in the air and strikes him in the chest. He falls.

Lady Xersia, a man with a shortsword, and the Selphid holding two greatswords are left. They charge into a group of Demons coming up the stairs. The Selphid impales two on each sword; the Demons run into the blades. He disappears, covered by the Demons who don’t flinch as Xersia and the man with the short sword cut them down one by one.

“Fearless.”

Nerershal speaks the word like a curse. More of the Demons are flooding towards the two champions. The man with the shortsword dodges left—an arrow slashes his leg. The Demon with the bow puts another arrow in the air, and I see it pierce through the man’s armor as if it weren’t there.

“Magic-piercing arrows.”

The Blighted Queen speaks. Silence reigns. Xersia is last. The old woman dashes towards the Demon with the bow like lightning across the ground. The Demon puts an arrow to his bow and looses it. She curves around the arrow like lightning. She lunges with her spear—

And vanishes. Everyone stares at the image of the courtyard. The Blighted King turns to Nereshal.

“What happened?”

“The [Mage] is specialized in teleportation magic.”

The time mage speaks quietly. His eyes are fixed on the projection in the air. The Blighted Queen looks around the courtyard.

“Where was she sent?”

“Up.”

A shape, tumbling down through the air. Thousands of feet overhead, falling like a comet. Tiny, still clutching her spear.

Xersia.

She falls out of the sky. The Blighted King, the people in the banquet hall, everyone, watch in silence as Lady Xersia hits the ground. She threw her spear at the end—the Demon with the bow shoots it out of the sky.

The Blighted King watches it all, as the two, the teleportation [Mage] and the Demon [Archer] calmly turn back to their business. The [Mage] raises her staff and seems to chant. The [Archer] takes a position on the wall and begins shooting down towards the city.

“Unforgivable.”

The Blighted King’s voice is cold. Nereshal studies the projection, and I see more of the Demons, the Fearless, streaming into the castle. Hundreds of them. The time mage turns to his King, face grave.

“I know the archer, your Majesty. And the mage. They are both high-level, thought to be over Level 40 at the least. The Demon King has sent two of his best warriors to hold this ground. One to protect, the other to open a gate.”

“And let his army pour through. Nereshal, how long do we have?”

All eyes are on the [Chronomancer] as he thinks. He turns to confer with the Centaur [Mage], and then raises his voice.

“Teleportation spells are exceedingly complex. Assuming the mage knows where she wants to open a portal to, and her Skills are focused in that area…anywhere from two hours to forty minutes.”

“You are sure? Could they not speed up the spell if they were prepared? I have seen you teleport short distances within minutes.”

The Blighted Queen has a long mace, black like obsidian, in her hand. She rests the head on the ground as she looks at Nereshal. He nods.

“Any competent mage can teleport short distances relatively quickly, but a portal hundreds of miles or more away? Your Majesty, no [Mage] in the world could perform such calculations in ten minutes or less. Not even an Archmage. However, she should not be able to cast such spells at all! The anti-teleportation ward—”

“—Is clearly not working. We have less than an hour, then. We must repel the Fearless invading the palace. They surely seek the Blighted King’s head. And the [Mage] must die.”

The Blighted Queen is full of action, ready to move out. The King is deliberate. He looks at Nereshal.

“Why is the ward stone not working, Nereshal? Find me answers. Until then, if the teleportation spells is not working, is it possible to send a force to deal with the [Mage]? Ambush her?”

Nereshal hesitates.

“We lack warriors on the level of the two in the courtyard, your majesty. Lady Xersia was the highest-level warrior present. I could attempt to battle myself with her Majesty, but—”

“If we lose you, we step one moment closer to the end. As for our consort—no.”

The Blighted Queen turns to her husband.

“With respect, my lord. If we fail to repel the Demons, all is lost.”

“Then we shall consider it a matter of last resort.”

He nods. The Blighted King rises, and turns to a [Strategist] at his side. They confer out loud.

“It seems we must push back the Demons instead. I will use my Skills, but it falls to you and the other warriors present in the palace to push back their line.”

“It will be difficult, my King.”

A Dullahan with a scar down her face grimaces, her face set. She brings out a map and spreads it out on the table.

“Defensively, we could hold these halls and wear down a superior force over the course of days, or barricade ourselves in for weeks. But with a second force on the way, we must retake the castle and the courtyard within the hour. And the soldiers flooding the castle are elites. The Fearless have been sent in numbers. We will fight them to the death.”

The Blighted King curses.

“They struck us at our weakest moment! How did the Demon King know? If we must take the courtyard, it will be numbers against those two. Their levels will create a slaughter. For the army we need, we must rally the guards. Where are they stationed? Who in this room can fight? Act quickly; we have little time.”

The Blighted King turns, and like that the spell of paralysis on the room breaks. Men and women rush towards the doors, some dashing out of them, others barricading entrances. Richard and Emily are on their feet, and they rush towards the Blighted King with the other people with combat classes. The rest of the people in the room, noncombatants, talk, afraid. Some are weeping; I can see the Fool standing with Erille and Isodore, their faces pale.

At my table, the [Lords] and [Ladies] are speaking urgently. Yebior rises to his feet, unsheathing a dagger from his belt.

“Time to fight, my friends. If we can put but a single body between the Demons and our King—”

He strides towards the gathering warriors with a few [Lords]. Zekyria turns to the others and pulls something off her finger. A ring, the gem glowing with an inner light.

“We have artifacts. Let us gather them for the warriors. Come now, hold nothing back.”

A flurry of motion breaks out. I look around the table and feel lost. Afraid.

What can I do? Fight? I’m no warrior, but—everyone’s needed. I should volunteer. Or I could stay, keep them safe if it comes to the worst. Richard’s there, face grim, and so is Emily, Eddy, Vincent—they’re all ready to fight and die. I should be too.

I go to stand up. I put my hands on the table and stand.

My legs don’t move. I stare. Blink. I try again. My legs don’t move.

I look down. Or try to. My head doesn’t move. I’m telling it to look, to move, but it doesn’t. I try to raise my hands. Nothing happens.

Nothing works. I can’t even blink. What’s going on? I can’t—I’ve lost control of my body.

My hand rises. I stare at it as I pick up a fork. And then my head does turn. It stares left, towards a silver pitcher filled with wine. The metal is clear and polished, it reflects my face. A clown stares back at me, face painted, dressed in a ludicrous costume stained with blood. And then, to my horror, he grins at me.

“Well, it seems like everything’s going wrong, doesn’t it? My turn to come out, I think.”

No. No. Oh, no, no, no, no, no—not now. This can’t be happening. Slowly, the hand with the fork raises. In the mirror, Tom twirls it, as the people around him panic and more screams begin to echo through the hall.

“We had a lot of fun, didn’t we, Tom? When you thought I wasn’t real, when you were so sure that you’d beaten me? As if you could beat yourself.”

This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. I can’t be going insane. Not now! I tried so hard! I didn’t let you out!

I can’t speak. I’m only a voice in his head. In my head. Tom laughs, and it’s not my laughter. It’s darker, wilder, with an edge of madness in it.

“Let me out? You can’t let me out, you idiot! There’s nothing to let out! You and I are the same. How can you stop yourself? See?”

He lifts the fork and begins to pick at his teeth with it, casually. I try to stop him, to seize control of my hand.

You’re not me! You’re something else! Give me back my body—

“Tom, Tom!”

He raises his voice. I can sense Zekyria turning her head to stare at him. Me. Tom ignores the look. I ignore the look. I look into my reflection’s eyes, see the panicked look there. Hah. I hate him so much, that other me. I speak to him.

“It’s always been you, Tom. There’s no one in here but you. And me. Heh. Haha.”

I giggle. I hear his voice.

You can’t do this. The Demons are attacking. We need to help. We need—

“Need?”

I cut him off, harshly. I spin, pointing around the room. The Blighted King has lost control. His warriors are gathered around him as he, Nereshal, and a few advisors plot feverishly. The view of the courtyard has shifted. Now I see inside corridors of the castle. It’s a maze, but the Fearless are flooding down it, cutting down servants, fighting pockets of guards.

“Do you think they have a chance? Really, Tom? They’re doomed, unless someone helps them. And we both know you’re not the man for the job.”

Don’t. You can’t!

“Can’t I?”

I raise my voice, lift the delicate fork up. People are shouting, asking their King what they should do. He’s trying to get them to shut up. What a poor [King]! Can’t he see the truth?

Stop! I won’t let you cause a massacre again! I won’t! I’d rather die!

“Sir Tom? What are you doing?”

Now Lady Zekyria is looking at me. I grin at her. She likes me. I wonder if she’ll like me after this?

Don’t hurt her!

“Sir Tom? Are you going to fight? I believe you are needed.”

Yebior is calling out to the Blighted King. Idiot.

“My King, what should I—”

Stop! STOP!

Voices. So many voices! Too many. I raise the fork high overhead and bring it down. Onto my other hand.

“Enough!”

The tines of the fork go through my hand and hit bone. The voice in my head shuts up. I hear it scream and fade. And the room goes silent. I stand, and yank the fork out of my hand. I stare at the bent tines and try to fix one. Disappointing.

“They don’t make them like they used to. Hey there!”

The Blighted King is looking at me! I stroll over, laughing as I see his guards raising their weapons and looking uncertainly at me. I raise my hands.

“Pardon me, your Majesty. Sorry for the interruption, but I needed your attention.”

“[Clown]. What do you want?”

He stares at me. I smile at him.

“Just a word, old man. By the way, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Tom. Pleased to meet you.”

I stick my hand in his face. He recoils. What? Oh, that’s the bloody one. How rude. The Blighted Queen hisses.

“How dare you?”

The Blighted King raises a hand, staring at me uncertainly.

“I know who you are.”

“No, you don’t.”

I wag a finger at the King and point to my chest.

“You see, you met Tom. I’m Tom. The same, but different. Better. I tell jokes. He’s one big, fat joke. And he’s taking a break so I can come out.”

“Tom—”

Richard. He pales as I swing around, grinning at him. Emily backs up.

“Richard! Hey, we never got a chance to talk. I’d love to chat, but I’m a bit busy. If you could just hold on—”

“We are wasting time. Remove him. Guards.”

Nereshal looks at me. Ooh, he’s not bothered by me at all, I can tell. I trip up the first guard who comes towards me and throw my arm around the time mage. He stiffens, but doesn’t throw me off. Maybe because of the dagger I have pressed against his throat? Now I have everyone’s attention.

“Good! I don’t want to be a bother, Mister Important Blighted Guy, but I just wanted to point something out. You’re all hot and bothered about this Demon army that appeared, but did anyone think to ask how they got here?”

Nereshal shifts. I push the dagger into his throat and he stops moving his hand oh-so-stealthily up.

“Teleportation magic—”

“Yeah, yeah. We got that the first time, old man. What I mean is, how’d they get past your special teleportation blocker? You were talking about it all day.”

“I do not know. It is here, but it isn’t working.”

Nereshal turns his head and I stare at a younger [Mage] holding a stone in his hands. I grin. All the pieces are falling into place! Just like that.

“Well, well. That makes sense. Hey, your Majesty. Wanna know something funny?”

The Blighted King stares at me.

“Release Nereshal, [Clown].”

“No, no, that’s not the important bit. The knife is—whoops, sorry, scratched you there, didn’t I? Ignore me. Focus on the big picture. I know who let the Demons in.”

Everyone stares at me, an audience of suckers waiting for the punch line. I grin. The Blighted Queen leans forward.

“Who?”

“Him.”

I let go of Nereshal to point across the room. It’s obvious, of course. Everything pointed to him, but Tom was too stupid to put the pieces together. Good thing I’m as smart as he is. Just as ugly, though.

The Fool stops in his tracks, one hand on the door, the other holding Princess Erille’s hand. He turns. I laugh at him.

“Where are you going, Fool? Don’t you want to meet your buddies?”

He looks at me. I wink. The Fool looks around the room. What’s he going to do? He could probably pass it off, pretend he was trying to get Erille to safety, call me mad (which is totally fair), but—oh, no, he’s running!

He nearly makes it out of the door. I think he would have, and with Erille too, if good old Neres didn’t get up and point at the Fool. He freezes in place, one hand flinging the door wide. Time stopped.

“See? Only the guilty run. And idiots. And joggers. The worst of all.”

I laugh as soldiers charge at the Fool. The Blighted King stares at him as the Fool is dragged over.

“Fool?”

“Aw, don’t look so surprised. It was bound to happen. Bad parenting, poor leadership, probably some evil crime the Fool found out about, maybe he thinks he’s her real father. You certainly do a bad job of it, don’t you?”

I sling an arm around the Blighted King and watch him tense up. Hah! I laugh and plant a kiss on his cheek, and spin away. Someone puts a sword to my throat. The Blighted King stares at me.

“How did you know?”

“I’m smart. Hey, nice sword.”

I grab it from the guard and watch as he recoils. Aha! The Blighted Queen lifts her mace. I toss the sword down.

“Oh hush, it was only a kiss. Don’t get all jealous on me now. Anyways, your Majesty, that explains it all. The Fool marked the spot in the courtyard for his buddies to come through, tried to abduct the [Princesses] beforehand—”

“But how did he disable the teleportation ward? It’s right here—”

Nereshal strides over to a glowing stone. I stare at it.

“Pretty. Also: fake.”

“Impossible.”

I kick him in the groin. What? He was asking for it and it’s funny. Nereshal goes white. I pick up the stone from where he dropped it and lift the glowing thing into the air. Sparkly. It’s like a glowing purple…stone. You know what? I’m not good with pictures. I drop the stone and stomp on it.

It breaks. Again, there’s the entire ‘bladed weapons raised’, but I decide to ignore it. The Blighted King stares down at the stone. The fragments disappear as he watches.

“What is this?”

“It’s fake. The [Fool] made it. It’s a Skill of his. Try to keep up. I don’t know how he got it, but I suppose that’s your fault, hmm?”

I glance at Nereshal as he bends over, clutching at his unmentionables. You would have thought his fancy robes would have been spelled to protect him against that. The [Mage] glares at me.

“I should kill you—”

“Nereshal. Enough. This—Tom has given us the answers. Restrain the Fool. I wish to question him afterwards. But we must repel the Demons. Now.”

The Blighted King whirls away from me. I laugh. He turns back. Oh, now he’s getting upset. I’d kiss him again, but he’s too far away.

“What?”

I stroll towards him and a big mace blocks my way. I stare at the Blighted Queen and then lick her arm. She backhands me.

“Ow.”

I think she knocked a tooth out! Wait—yes she did. I get up, laughing, and see the faces. Oh, the faces. They’re all staring at me. Some shocked, others horrified—the way I like it.

Who says I’m not a people person?

“Sorry. Pardon me, your Majesty. I just think it’s funny. That’s all. You people talk about war and ‘tactics’ when you’re missing the point. If you want these—heh—Demons gone, just ask me. I told you how they got in, didn’t I? I’ve got tons of good ideas on how to get rid of them, too.”

“Speak, then.”

The Blighted King looks at me. I stand, clear my throat.

“Okay, have you thought about asking them nicely?”

He stares. The Blighted Queen raises her mace. I roll my eyes.

“Fine. It’s nighttime. They’re rushing through the corridors, probably right here if the Fool told you where they are.”

“So?”

“So…make it harder? Your hallways are nice and bright. There’s too much light! I say…douse the lights. Make it dark.”

The Blighted King looks at Nereshal. The [Mage] hesitates, nods.

“That could slow their progress, confuse them. The palace is labyrinthian.”

I tap my foot on the ground. Wait a second, I forgot my big shoes! I’d better go get them—well, maybe later.

“Now might be nice.”

Nereshal stares at me, and then raises his hand. I see flashing symbols, bright lights as he commands the castle’s magic—I edge over to where Isodore is standing, pale-faced.

“Shove over a bit, will you? I never got a chance at the bread basket.”

She stares at me and flees. I munch down on a loaf as Nereshal does something magical. Bloody. And toothy. That’s going to hurt coming out.

“The lights have been extinguished. Now. [Heart of Darkness].”

He intones a spell or something and the other mages join in. Darkness spins from his fingertips, flooding out the corridors, turning the hallways pitch black. I grin.

“Lights out.”

Now the Demons are obscured from view. But I’ll just bet they’re having a bad time finding their way. The Blighted King stares at me. I grin.

“Well? Time to get a sword and start chopping.”

“We cannot see the enemy. Should we not barricade ourselves?”

I roll my eyes. He’s really not good at this, is he?

“If you want to wait for the Demon King to show up with an army, sure. Otherwise, I’d go corridor by corridor and cut up everything you see with those shiny swords you give out. By the way, where’s mine?”

He ignores that. Skinflint. The Blighted King looks at the projection of his palace in the air. Nereshal’s changed it to a map of the castle. I stare at it. Lots of corridors, rooms…hey, is that my room I see?

“There are servants in the halls. Guests of the crown. If we cannot see our enemy, we may cut them down by mistake.”

I look at him, tilting my head to one side and the other.

“So? They’re dead anyways. If you want, send in your pretty little [Knights] and have them die. But then you’ll lose valuable warriors as opposed to, well, people. If I were you, I’d just blast each corridor with magic. One by one.”

He stares at me. I grin. The Blighted King looks around and realizes he has an audience. He shakes his head.

“Nereshal. Go. Take six of the eight [Mages] here and every warrior that may be spared. Blast the corridors only as a last resort. My lady—”

“I will go.”

The Blighted Queen walks past me, mace in hand. I laugh. And turn.

“Ooh, you’re joining in on the fun? In that case, let’s have a competition, Queen lady. Who can kill more?”

She glares at me.

“I do not compete with peasants.”

“And I don’t compete with Queens. But I’ll make an exception for you.”

She doesn’t reply. She strides towards a door, and the warriors follow. I sigh. The Blighted King looks at me.

“That may not be enough. The mage attempting to create a portal is the real threat.”

“You think? And here I thought you were stupid. Leave the mage to me.”

I grin at him. The King looks uncertain.

“You think you can defeat two of the Demon King’s champions?”

“Eh…it looks like fun?”

I scratch my head and shrug. He stares at me.

“If you are able, I will shower you with wealth and whatever you desire.”

“Pancakes?”

Blank look. No one else laughs either. Tough crowd. I turn. The little voice in my head is back. Oh no, what have you done, what are you doing, so on and so forth. I ignore him. Now, I had a good idea. What was it?

I snap my fingers. The Blighted King blinks.  Nereshal raises a hand. Touchy. You’d think I nailed him in the balls or something.

“I’ve got it! I’ll take care of your mage. I just need a few things. Time, for one.”

“Whatever you need, within reason I will give it to you.”

“A map, a [Mage] who can cast a few spells for me, and a few shiny knives, your Majesty. Give me that and I’ll solve your problems for you. Oh, and I want your sword.”

He stares at me. I scratch my head.

“Oh, and some healing potions. I’m going to have to kill some people as well. You said those Demons are all fearless? Sounds like fun.”

I grin. And my smile is bloody. Missing tooth. The Blighted King looks at me as if I’m crazy.

Which I completely am.

—–

The Demons run through the palace of the Blighted King in Rhir. They are armed for war, prepared for this day. Enchanted swords in hand, they slaughter anyone they come across. They have a target.

But they cannot find him. The darkness is all-consuming. The lights that had illuminated their way have vanished. Now a magical darkness steals through the castle, so that those without powerful Skills or magic are unable to see. And those who can see—

Are fighting.

Humans, Drakes, Selphids, creatures of every species hold corridors, fighting. Some are [Lords], others [Merchants] or simple [Warriors]. Some aren’t even meant to fight. But they hold the line as the Blighted King’s orders fill them with strength. Their flesh is like iron, and they do not break.

But their enemies do not fall back. They are Fearless, elite. Chosen. And they push their way further and further into the palace, killing, searching.

A group of sixteen warriors runs down a narrow corridor, weapons at the ready. They are ready for an ambush. They are not ready to hear the sound echoing down the corridor ahead of them.

Humming. A voice in the darkness. The Fearless pause, and their leader holds up a hand. One of them has a shortbow and he fires it ahead. They hear a thunk, an impact.

The humming stops. The Demons move ahead, cautiously. Then they see him.

A Human. He’s large, heavy, shorter than average. His face is dead white, his nose and mouth red. An arrow sticks out of his shoulder. He’s standing in the hallway.

And he’s laughing.

Giggling, as if the arrow sticking out of his shoulder is funny. The Fearless stare at him for a second. They are without fear. Their leader points, they charge.

“Hi there. My name is Tom!”

Shadows in the night. The [Clown] laughs as he tears the sword away from the first Demon and runs the second through. The warriors stab into his stomach. One nearly cuts his arm off. The [Clown] laughs. He grabs one of the warriors, ignoring the blade in his stomach.

“Hahahahahahaha—gotcha!”

He vanishes along with the warrior he’s holding. The Demons turn. They search for their comrade as one of their number bleeds and dies on the ground. The Human is nowhere to be seen. They continue onwards. They go for ten feet when they hear a voice.

“Hey. Miss me?”

Someone steps out from the shadows behind them. The [Clown] grins. His wounds on his stomach are closed. His arm is intact. He raises two knives and throws them as the Fearless turn. One strikes just above an ear; the other Demon dodges.

“That’s one. Two, if you count the guy I killed. And the girl I grabbed. That was a girl, right?”

The Fearless are without fear. They charge at him, trying to maneuver in the tight corridor. The [Clown] laughs as he cuts into them. Without fear. They cut each other. He grabs another and vanishes. They turn and run.

“Do you want to know how I got these scars? Wait a second—”

He appears down the next corridor, laughing. His wounds are closed. He smiles at the Fearless.

“Have we met before?”

They pause. They stare at him. The Fearless feel no fear. They cannot. Unease, trepidation, terror—all are emotions they have forgotten. But they still feel. And what they feel is—

Disturbed. The [Clown] strolls towards them. They back up. This time they loose arrows at him. They burn his body with magic. He vanishes, laughing.

He appears again minutes later. The Fearless split up. They feel no fear. But they do not understand. He’s laughing. As they cut him, he laughs, as he bleeds, he laughs. And each time they grow fewer in number.

The next time the [Clown] appears, the Fearless retreat. They do not feel fear. But that means they do not understand it either. All they feel is confusion. Uncertainty. They break and run against an enemy they cannot kill. And the [Clown] laughs. He turns.

And vanishes.

—-

I love a good show. So when I appear in the banquet hall, I twirl. The [Mage] who teleported me steps back. I pat his cheek.

“Thanks for the pickup! Beam me up…uh, your name isn’t Scotty, is it?”

He’s panting too hard to speak. Nereshal walks towards me. He has a gash on a cheek. I saw him freeze a corridor full of Demons. All I had to do was walk up and stab them. He takes all the fun out of life.

“Are the Demons still present in that corridor?”

I shrug.

“They ran.”

“The Fearless?”

“Yeah. False advertising, I call that. Anyways, how are things?”

He ignores me and walks over to a map. The Blighted King is standing over it, plotting the Demon’s advance. Nereshal flicks his fingers, and a corridor clears. One corridor. Most are red, showing Demon-controlled territory, or contested. I lean on the [Mage] who teleported me until he falls down.

“Hey King, what’s up? Are we losing? I bet we are.”

The Blighted King stares at me as I bounce over. Isodore, standing at his side, stares at me. At my stomach.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Am I? I barely noticed. Wait a second, how bad is it?”

I turn, and the people at the table gasp. I look at my back.

“Huh. I could have sworn I had flesh there. Is my spine supposed to look like that?”

“Healing potion!”

There’s already one coming this way. I grab it. The [Healer] babbles something about using it slowly, not straining my body, and so on. I wrestle with her for the bottle.

“Come on, come on, I’m wasting time here. Give me that!”

Potion, meet back. Back…so that’s what it’s supposed to look like. I giggle and turn back to the Blighted King. And the map.

“Let me see. There’s a clear corridor here, an empty one here…and I just cleared that one.”

I trace a line down the map. The Blighted King stares at me.

“Do you have what is needed to complete this plan you refuse to speak of?”

“Just a minute, needy! I think…yes! Now I just need some things from you, my good pal Nereshal here, and…the Fool.”

I glance sideways. The banquet hall has been transformed. Tables have been upended, places made ready for people too wounded to fight to rest, and guards are standing at all the entrances. But hey, some things never change.

The Fool’s face has definitely changed. I think someone stepped on it. Or kicked it. Repeatedly. Princess Erille is standing in front of him, tears in her eyes, trying to defend him from further abuse. Touching. I grin and walk over to her.

“Stand back.”

Isodore pushes past me. She drags Erille away; the girl kicks at her, fighting, shouting for the Fool. I bend down. The Fool barely looks at me. He’s still under a spell. I think he can’t move.

“Hey buddy. Want to go for a walk?”

“I must know what you intend.”

The Blighted King stares at me as I drag the Fool with me. Nereshal has a wand in his hand. He looks so grim! I shrug.

“I’m going to do the hostage negotiations thing.”

“With the Fool?”

The Blighted King looks incredulous.

“Just wait and see! Nereshal thinks it’ll work, don’t you, buddy?”

The mage glares at me, but nods.

“I am aware of what he wants. I believe it may work, your majesty. I will teleport myself back in case of trouble. But we are running out of time.”

The King stares at me and his mage. He nods shortly.

“Go, then.”

He stares at the Fool. The Fool glares back. I sigh.

“Get a room, you two.”

They stare at me. I scowl.

“What? It’s hard to be funny. You want to make a better joke? You try coming up with it on the spot.”

“What do you call a King who slaughters his own people?”

The Fool mutters, spitting blood. Nereshal hits him. I grin.

“Not bad.”

—-

“This way. Down this corridor, left here…you know, this would be a lot easier if I didn’t have to drag you.”

“I know.”

The Fool and I move down the corridors I’ve cleared, me pushing and carrying him. He seems determined not to move. Not that he can. Paralysis spell or something Nereshal used on him. I laugh.

“I wonder where Nereshal went? I guess he’s busy killing Demons. He’s cool like that.”

“There is nothing noble about it. There is nothing about this war that’s worth admiring.”

The Fool mumbles around swollen lips. I laugh at him. I do that a lot.

“What, you think the Demons are right? Is that why you did all this?”

The Fool is silent. I round a corridor. Now, was it left, or right? Wait a second, up. I drag him up the stairs. He speaks as I reach the top.

“The Demons are willing to kill for their survival. I don’t think they’re right. But they aren’t wrong either. They fight to live. While the Blighted King—do you know what he has done? All the horrors he has committed in the name of defeating the Demons?”

“Nope. Want to tell me? I could take notes.”

The Fool glares at me as I drag him by his feet down an empty corridor. You know, for variety.

“Why didn’t you walk away? If you had, I could have gotten Erille to safety, and Isodore! Now they’ll both die, more likely than not. You’re on the wrong side, Tom.”

“Side? Side?”

I kick him. The Fool groans through gritted teeth. I pick him up by the feet and glare at his knees.

“You’re an idiot, Fool. The Demons, the Blighted King—they’re just sides. There’s no right or wrong! I didn’t choose to help these idiots because I thought they were right. I just thought both sides deserved a funny man helping them. It makes things more entertaining that way.”

He doesn’t respond. I drag on. Okay, now I’m up another flight of stairs. I go up, listening to the Fools’ face smack on every step.

He’s barely conscious by the time I get to the top. He mumbles and I have to lean down to listen.

“It could have ended all today. It could have. Why did you have to speak? Why…?”

I blink at him. Shrug.

“Because, Fool, it’s in my nature. It’s in yours as well. Why do you think people stare at us? We, the two sad idiots who dance around for them. It’s because this war is like a performance, Fool.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t. So I’ll make it simple for you, Fool. Here’s why.”

I pat him on the head and lean down. I whisper in his ear.

“I want to see what comes next.”

He looks up at me.

“That’s all?”

“Pretty much.”

“Damn you.”

“So they say. But here I am. And here…we are.”

I drag him the rest of the way down the corridor. There’s a man waiting for us there. Nereshal’s got some cuts down one arm, but he looks pretty good considering he took an alternate route here.

“Hey.”

I wave at him. Nereshal stares at me.

“Are you ready?”

“Sort of. Hold on—can I go to the bathroom first? No? Fine, I’ll just go off the edge.”

Nereshal drags the Fool upright. I push him towards the end of the corridor, and then out. Out, through a door, and into the battlements of a tower. High up. I stare down at the courtyard below. At the Demons standing down there, fighting with people at the gates, protecting the [Mage].

They haven’t spotted me. Oh wait. No, they have. One of them, the [Archer] with the big frickin’ bow, is pointing. The Demons look up. I wave.

“Demons!”

Nereshal’s voice thunders down at them. He stands back, away from the battlements, hands raised as he concentrates on a spell. I edge over, using the Fool as a shield. My voice, made incredibly large by magic, echoes down at them.

“Hi! How are you all doing tonight? Good? May you drink from the blood of a thousand Human skulls and all that. Hey, what’s with all the soldiers these days? It’s like you can’t even assassinate a Blighted King without tripping over them.”

They stare up at me. I grumble.

“No one likes observational humor. Okay, see this guy? This is your friend. The Fool. Wait, what’s your real name?”

I stare at him. The Fool holds still. He’s staring down at the [Mage] specializing in teleportation magic, far below. Now I finally get a good look at her and…

“That’s a lot of tentacles.”

“That’s her hair.”

“What’s with her arms?”

“She was hurt in war.”

“She’s looking right at us. Hey you. Mage lady! Hi! Do you know this guy?”

I point to the Fool, balancing him on the edge of the battlements. The [Mage] does seem to know him. She’s staring up at him. And what a stare. I look at the Fool. He’s doing the same kind of stare back at her. Another piece of the puzzles snaps into place.

“Hey, wait a second…you like her! And she likes you! You said you were talking to your true love back in the courtyard—fancy that!”

I slap my hand to my forehead and nearly drop the Fool. Nereshal hisses at me and I grab him just in time before he goes over the edge and falls a few hundred feet below.

“Whoops. Sorry. Now, that makes me feel awful about what’s going to happen next.”

“Kill me. She won’t betray her mission for me.”

The Fool looks calmly at me. I shake my head.

“Don’t be so negative. I believe in true love. And you see—”

I call down at them. The Demon [Archer] is aiming at us, but the Fool’s in the way. I laugh down at them.

“Give up! Surrender or the Fool gets it!”

“You’re an idiot. Do you really think that they would all give up their lives for a single Human? For me?”

That really hurts, coming from the Fool himself. I glare at him.

“No? Maybe I should throw you off. Well? See, she doesn’t like that, does she?”

The [Mage] is pointing at me, arguing with the [Archer]. He’s aiming at us. I see her raising her mangled arms to strike at him, shoulders tensing up, and then sagging. She turns away, and then looks at the Fool. The Demon [Archer] draws back on his bow.

“Uh oh. I think she’s giving up on you. Don’t do it! Stop! In the naaaaaaaaaaaame of love!”

The Fool ignores me. So do the Demons below. The [Archer] looks like he’s lining up for a good shot. I scowl at him. He’s whispering to her.

“Goodbye.”

“You suck. I came here for true love, and what do I get? Sacrifice. Heartbreak! Who ever heard of a love story like that?”

The Fool doesn’t answer. He closes his eyes, waiting. I turn to Nereshal. The [Mage]’s brow is creased in concentration. He nods at me. I scowl at him.

“You suck. I just wanted to say that to you. You suck, and your kingdom sucks, and you—”

I turn to the Fool.

“—Suck. And all you Demons suck. You hear me? I’m done with you all! Let’s end it now! Goodbye, cruel world! This is it!”

I see the Demon pulling back the arrow, ready to loose. I grab the Fool. He looks into my eyes, unafraid to die. I grin, push him—

And jump.

—-

This is what they see. The Demons, looking high overhead. The Blighted King, watching from the banquet hall. The people of Rhir, staring up at the palace below. They see a body falling from the tower, a laughing man. A fool.

But not the Fool. A [Clown] falls through the air, laughing, his voice echoing. He laughs and laughs as the ground rises to meet him, laughs at the disbelief on the Demon’s faces, laughs at the cry of surprise from the Fool.

And high above him in the tower, the great mage Nereshal casts his spell. As the ground rushes up to reach Tom, he blurs. He doesn’t stop falling, but a shield of magic appears around him, a bubble of energy. And he teleports.

Not far. Not to the ground, or vast distances like the [Mage] below him is attempting to do. Nereshal’s spell is simple. It teleports Tom a few hundred feet forwards and to the right. He falls and lands on top of the Demon with the bow.

“Oof. Hey, that actually hurt. I almost…oh, hi there buddy.”

The [Clown] bounds to his feet. The Demon beneath him twitches. His body is broken. Tom stabs him in the head and he stops moving. He turns to the escort of Demons surrounding the [Mage]. And grins.

“Hey there. Want to play catch?”

One runs at him. Tom throws something. A sword. It hums through the air and slashes through the Demon, and the one behind him. The other Demons move, a second sword slices into one’s chest, cutting through magical armor like paper. Tom flicks his hand, and a sword shining with bright light appears.

“They call this one Blightbane. Or something. I borrowed it from the Blighted King. And now you get it! Catch!”

He throws it. The sword whirls through the air, cuts through a Demon’s head and another’s arm without slowing. Tom pulls another artifact out of the air. Grins.

“It’s all in the wrist. Who wants a scimitar? You? Here!”

The Demons fall. The elite guard drop, and the [Mage] backs up. She raises her staff, points at Tom, cries out. One of his knives sticks from her shoulder, another in her arm. Tom kicks her before she can move.

“Ah, ah. I don’t want to learn how to fly today. Turns out I’m no good at it. Now, what shall we do with you?”

He grins at her. The [Mage] gasps. Tom raises a hand.

“Wanna see a magic trick?”

He reaches for her face, ignoring the scream from above. He touches her face, reaches behind her ear and pulls out…a gold coin. She stares at it.

“See? You should always wash! Now, let me see. Do I have a hat? No I do not. And a bunny? No I do not. But I can pull a knife out! How about a slightly rotten apple? No?”

She stares at him and utters a word. It sounds like despair. Her body vanishes underneath Tom and he sits down.

“No one’s a fan of my tricks. Oh well.”

He gets up, brushes himself off, and looks around. The Demons remaining in the courtyard stare at him. Tom looks up, and grins as Nereshal floats down. The [Chronomancer]’s eyes burn like fire, and magic crackles from his fingertips in the form of lightning.

“Well, it looks like I have an assistant for today. Ladies and gentlemen, Demons all.”

He bows as the soldiers of the Demon King ready their weapons, hearing their comrades falling from the palace. They rush towards him, and Tom straightens. A sword appears in his hand, a dagger in the other. He laughs.

“Let’s begin the show.”

—-

This is how it ends. Boring. I sit on a Demon’s body and hum. Nereshal turns and stares at me. I raise my hands.

“If you don’t like the song, you pick a better one.”

“Do you enjoy acting insane, or is this madness genuine?”

I pause, stare at him. The [Mage] is pretty undamaged for a guy who just killed a few hundred Demons. I shrug.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

He grunts and turns away. I get up as I see people streaming out of the palace.

“Hey! I think I win!”

The Blighted Queen ignores me as she walks out of the courtyard, her beloved Blighted King by her side. Her mace is drenched with gore, and the soldiers around her look wounded and bloody. I see Richard helping Emily out.

“Aw. No one important died.”

“Hundreds lie dead within the castle and thousands more in the city!”

Nereshal snaps at me. I raise my hands.

“Yeah, but no one important died. Let’s be honest.”

He turns away from me. I whistle a tune as the Blighted King approaches. He stares at me.

“You let her go.”

“Correction: she didn’t like my magic tricks.”

I’m offended, really I am. The Blighted King stares at me, and looks at the crushed Demon archer guy I landed on. He looks satisfied as he stands over his corpse.

“One more of the Demon King’s limbs taken away. It will suffice.”

“We will claim vengeance for this.”

The Blighted Queen’s eyes blaze with battle fury. Nereshal nods. I yawn.

“Maybe. Or maybe we all let bygones be bygones?”

They stare at me. I raise my hands.

“Fine. Fine. I guess we do it your way.”

“We must begin to reconstruct. Find the wounded—and whatever Demon soldiers remain in hiding. It will not be safe in the palace, your Majesty. I recommend caution and staying under guard until—”

Nereshal is speaking to the Blighted King as the people stream into the courtyard, and the King is staring around when it happens. I hear the scream. Erille’s voice. She’s pointing. I look up.

“Huh. I didn’t see that coming.”

A body falls from the tower. The same tower Nereshal and I fell from. This time, it’s the Fool. He tumbles through the air, only there’s no magic to slow his fall or break it. He lands on the ground, headfirst.

Thump. The impact makes people run back. I see the Fool’s neck twist, and then his body spring upwards. He tumbles forwards, mows down two of the people closest to him, and then comes to a stop, legs comically dangling in the air. I blink as the Fool flips onto his feet. He looks unsteady, but grim. And he’s no longer held by magic.

I begin applauding.

“That was probably the best pratfall I’ve ever seen in my life. Bravo! Do it again!”

“Fool!”

The Blighted King snarls. He points, and Nereshal moves, quick as lightning.

“[Hold—]”

He never gets to finish the spell. The Fool flips backwards into the air, doing a double backflip and throws something. A ball bounces off Nereshal’s face and he staggers. I hear a crack and see his nose bend out of shape.

“Hail to the Blighted King, the murderer of innocents! Your Majesty, you and I have unfinished business. I am the world’s greatest [Fool], and a fool deserving of the title! And today I seek your life, my King. For your sins. And mine, for letting you continue. No more. I will put an end to it today.”

The Fool’s voice booms throughout the courtyard. He lands on his feet and points at the King. I sit back.

“Oh man, this is going to be so good.”

The Blighted King looks down at the Fool. His eyes are cold, distant. He turns his head.

“Kill the traitor.”

The soldiers rush at the Fool. And the Fool— fights. He cartwheels into the first man, sending the man in armor tumbling comically to the ground. He spins, and two blades appear in his hands. He slashes a [Knight] in armor across his helmetless face, bumps Emily over with his hip, and tosses the second dagger through the heart of a [Mage] fifty feet away.

“Ooh, he’s good.”

The Fool spins into the air, flicking daggers at people rushing at him. He rolls under Richard’s sword and trips him up. The [Knight] goes down and the Fool kicks Richard in the head. He bounces about, too fast to be caught.

The Blighted Queen rushes at him. The Fool dances away from her, tossing daggers. She blocks each one with her mace. He throws something. She trips.

A juggling ball. The Blighted Queen is on her feet in a moment, but too late. The Fool races towards the Blighted King. A fireball flies towards him from the left, too fast to dodge—

He turns, grabs for the fire. It disappears. He makes it vanish. I sit up.

“Whoa. Can I do that?”

I should take notes! Then I see an angry [Mage] standing in front of the Blighted King. Nereshal’s nose is bloody, but his hands crackle with magic. I carefully lean back.

“[Lightning Storm].”

Bolts of lightning blast from his fingertips, the same ones that emptied the courtyard of life minutes ago. The Fool stands in the center of the electrical storm.

Time slows as the lightning begins to strike the Fool. I see him twist. His hands rise. One bolt of lightning is stretching towards his chest. His hand blocks the bolt, and then the lightning collects in it. The Fool spins, tosses it, and then catches another bolt. He throws it back at Nereshal.

He juggles the lightning.

Explosions. I feel one blast me off my feet. I roll, and see the lightning storm reverse course. Countless bolts strike Nereshal. I see him throw up his hands, and then it’s over. In the blink of an eye. Nereshal collapses, a shield of magic disintegrating around him as his eyes roll up in his head.

The Fool stands in front of him, breathing heavily. His hands are blackened, the skin smoking. But he still moves. He races towards the Blighted King and before anyone can stop him, has a knife to his throat.

“Now we come to it, your Majesty! Now we put an end to this pathetic performance. I should have done this years ago!”

He shouts. The courtyard is still. There are a hundred bows trained on the Fool, [Mages] ready with spells, warriors with blades. None of them dare move. Because the knife at the Blighted King’s throat is faster than them all.

The Blighted King stands still. His voice is calm.

“Do it, then, traitor. But tell me why, first. You pledged your loyalty to me, to this nation. Why betray it?”

“Why? Why?”

The Fool is trembling. His hands still smoke. There are tears in his voice, but none in his eyes. I can see Erille, standing with her hands on her mouth next to Isodore. The Fool can’t look at her. A tableau.

“Why do you think? All you’ve done, all the horrors you’ve committed, the crimes—I could understand. That, for war. But the ritual? The cost? Never.”

“What I do, I do for my people. So that they may live.”

The Fool shakes his head. His dagger presses into the King’s throat, drawing blood. I hear a sound from the Blighted Queen. Pain.

“You do not deserve to be a King. Tell them what you did. Tell them!”

“No. Kill me. But I will die first.”

The Fool hesitates. The Blighted King is ready to impale himself on the dagger before either one speaks. I can see him looking, staring at Erille, hand tensing on the hilt—

“My turn.”

Everyone turns as I stand, brushing myself off. The Fool looks at me. I’m not sure if he hates me, even now.

“There’s nothing you can do, Tom. Step away. The Blighted King dies, and I die too. Let that be an end to it.”

“Oh, come on. It’s not over. You’re here, Fool, and so am I. We can’t let it end with you dying just like that. We need a final grudge match, a proper end. [Fool] vs [Clown]. A battle for the ages. What do you say?”

He stares at me. I grin at him. He looks away.

“You truly are mad, aren’t you? You…I’m sorry. Sorry you ever came here, Tom.”

“Don’t say that. Tell you what; I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

There are two knives in my hand. I have three left. The Fool stares at me.

“You can’t scare me with death. I’m ready for it.”

I roll my eyes.

“Not your death, obviously. I’m thinking more poetically.”

I look past the Blighted King, past the Fool. At a girl staring with wide eyes. The Fool’s mouth opens. He screams.

“No!”

The knife flies past the Blighted King, through the air, towards Erille. Too fast for anyone to block. Anyone, but a Fool.

He lets the Blighted King go and dives for the knife. I’ve never seen a man move that fast. The Fool catches the blade in midair, right in front of Erille’s face. Of course, I knew he’d do that.

That’s why I threw three.

The Fool’s hands blur as he throws all three knives. Two fly towards the Blighted King, striking him in the chest, and in the shoulder. The next one strikes me in the stomach. It doesn’t slow me down as I tackle the [Fool]. We roll around on the ground, hands flashing, fighting for daggers, pulling them out of the air, out of each other’s trick spaces.

“You idiot! You mad monster!”

He screams at me as he slashes my face, my arms and front. I laugh, stabbing back. He dodges, even locked together as we are. He kicks me away and we stand. I throw a dagger, his dagger, and he throws it right back. I snatch it out of the air and we cut at each other, dodging, weaving, too close for anyone to interfere.

“Why do you do it? Why!?”

He’s shouting, stumbling. His hands don’t grasp the knives properly. I laugh.

“Do you want to know why? Do you know what separates the two of us? Clown and fool? It’s easy!”

I grab his arm. He stabs me, but I don’t let go. I draw him closer as he stabs, looking for my heart.

“You’re a fool. People laugh at you. You make them laugh. But I? I’m a clown. I laugh at the world.”

He stares at me. My free hand reaches out. I grin.

“And guess what I just found?”

His eyes widen. I pull the fireball out of the air, out of the space he kept it in. He tries to back away—

And there’s fire.

—-

The Fool’s body lies on the ground, blackened. One of his eyelids is burnt away, exposing an eye. His right hand—gone. The rest of his body is destroyed.

But he is still alive. I walk towards him and pick him up in my arms. I don’t feel my body anymore.

“That’s funny. Are you…crying, Tom?”

He looks at me. I stare down at him. Me. The laughing man in my head is gone.

“I guess I am, Fool. I’m sorry. It was me. I did all this.”

“You don’t say?”

We stand alone in a blackened crater in the courtyard. Alone, but for all the witnesses. The Blighted King lies on the ground, breathing heavily. But he is alive. And the rest, the citizens of Rhir who pour through the gates, the battered Drake company led by Cirille, gather. To see a dying Fool, and the clown who killed him. One, a beloved face turned traitor. The other a monster. A hero.

“I’m so sorry, Fool. I don’t know what I would have done. But—I couldn’t let you. I knew that.”

“I suppose not. You’re not a funny fellow, Tom. Not funny. But you don’t want to be, I think. But do you know what’s funny?”

His voice is hoarse. A whisper. No one else can hear him. I have to put my ear to his lips.

“What? What is it?”

“The Blighted King. Why do you think I turned on him? It was the day after the ritual that I knew. When you were summoned, I learned the cost.”

“What cost?”

“Crimson.”

“What?”

“They wear it. Crimson for the lost. Miscarriages, they said. A curse. But it wasn’t. And the price was—high.”

I raise my head. Standing in a group across from me are the ladies of the Blighted King’s court. Lady Zekyria stares at me, her face pale. Her gown is torn and scorched. But light red, closer to pink, and white.

For her dead child.

“Yes.”

The Fool’s whisper is pitiful. He looks up at me, pain in his eyes.

“Ten thousand unborn souls. For you sixty. Isn’t that—that—”

His remaining eyelid flickers. His other eye strays before snapping back on me. He’s dying.

“A funny joke, Tom. A terrible joke.”

“But it’s over, Fool. It’s over and done.”

“No.”

The Fool reaches up. His hand—flakes away at the touch. But he looks me in the eye.

“A hundred thousand. He wants an army this time. An army. He’d sacrifice so many for any edge. And if a hundred thousand doesn’t work, he’ll sacrifice a million. Every unborn child, to kill Demons. To kill people just like you and me.”

I stare at him. Of course. I can’t be surprised. It makes sense, in the horrible way of this world. I’m almost…numb? But the Fool cares. He cares so much, and the pain in his eyes—he whispers his last words to me.

“I cannot stop him. I couldn’t end it. Or save her. But you can. Protect her. Take her away.”

I look up and see Erille. She stares at me. Me, the man who killed her beloved Fool. He grasps my arm.

“Please. I wished—”

I wait for the rest. It never comes. The Fool’s hand grips my arm, tight, stiff. He doesn’t let go. Even in death.

—-

The foolish clown sits in the broken courtyard as the people gather on the balconies, flood through the gates. Royals, knights and mages and dignitaries, common folk and people from another world. He weeps, holding the body of the Fool in his hands.

No one else sheds a tear. No one. They wipe them away, hiding them, like shame. The [Princess] has to hide them. But the clown wears his tears on his face. And then, his sobs turn into laughter.

He laughs at them, at him, at this broken world. And he holds the broken Fool in his body, the hero who tried to put an end to a bad joke.

It should be raining. But the night is cool and still. Yet there is liquid of a kind. Blood flows through the courtyard, pooling. It reflects poorly, but someone watches in that crimson mirror. The devil himself laughs and bows to the audience only he can see. His voice can only be heard by the clown.

“Next time, dear Tom. Next time. They’ll be coming, the lost and afraid. From our world.”

He points, mockingly, to the Blighted King, whose eyes are on the clown, the [Hero] of the day. He laughs, as the clown levels up. As a [Clown] and [Hero] both.

“You can’t escape it. Not this. And now, more will come. More, to dance and laugh along with this joke. Can you stop it? You can’t. But I can. And I’ll be with you, each step of the way. Whenever you call—and when you don’t.”

He bows and fades. But his voice remains, echoing, reminding the clown of all he lost. And promising him, telling him of the future.

“I’ll be waiting.”

4.33

It was said that of the five continents, Terandria was the wealthiest, the safest, and the most advanced place to live in the entire world. And that was true. But only if you averaged things out.

Wealthiest? Terandria might be second place to Baleros, where the riches of the jungle and the companies turned blood into gold, or third if you debated the relative size of Izril and compared the three populations of Gnoll, Drake, and Humans to the smaller Terandrian continent. However, it was certainly a rich place, and fewer people died for its wealth.

As for advanced—in magic and technology, Terandria boasted the sole gathering of Dwarf-kind, and thus exported steel and metals far stronger than that. And its strong ties to Wistram meant that mages frequented its shores. However…one could say the same of Baleros and Rhir, whose militaries boasted the most ancient artifacts and highest-level craftspeople.

But safest. Yes, Terandria could call itself safe. Wars were endemic to this world and Terandria had its fair share. But in Terandria, there were rules. Wars were begun and ended with signed declarations, laws against slaughtering civilians and non-combatants were enforced by all nations. And since the populations of each nation were largely Human, they seldom wiped each other out.

It was a subject of mockery in other countries across the world. Terandrians were cowards, it was said. The fat, bickering rulers of each nation would roll over when poked with an ink-stained quill. And perhaps it was true that Terandria had grown too political, that it fought with words and poisoned drinks more than actual soldiers and armies. Perhaps they had grown soft.

But Lyonette missed her home, all the same. Sometimes. She remembered why she hated it, but she also remembered that she had never seen a dead body before leaving. Not once. She was too delicate as a [Princess] to look upon a poisoned uncle’s face, or go to the funeral of an esteemed [Knight]. And death didn’t intrude in her old life. Terandria was safe. Genteel.

On Izril, even Gold-rank adventurers could die. Good, innocent Gnolls could die. Brunkr, someone Lyonette had feared, someone she’d barely known, but begun to like—could die without any reason. And his killer would get away.

People died on Izril. And when they did, they tore holes out of Lyonette’s heart.

—-

Morning. Lyonette woke up and felt like the sky had fallen. She stared up at the ceiling of her room dully, too tired to get up and start her usual routine. What was the point?

She only moved when she noticed two things. First, was that Ryoka was gone. Yes, she remembered. But it was still another empty space where it should have been filled.

The second thing was that Mrsha was missing. That made Lyonette sit up. She dressed herself quickly and hurried downstairs. She found Mrsha in the common room to her intense relief.

The little Gnoll was lying on the ground in a corner, by the patched-up wall. She was a little ball of white fur, lolling on the ground. Listlessly. Mrsha stared blankly at a wall.

“Mrsha?”

The Gnoll’s short tail wasn’t wagging like usual. She didn’t respond when Lyonette came over. Lyonette tried to gather her up into her arms, but a sense in her head stopped her. She paused as a huge bee crawled onto Mrsha’s head and fanned its wings gently.

“Apista, shoo.”

Lyonette gently made the bee get off Mrsha by offering it her arm. The bee obligingly crawled onto Lyonette’s head; it wasn’t pleasant, feeling its sharp little legs crawling on her skin, but Lyonette put up with it. She bent and tried to pick up Mrsha.

“Come on Mrsha, don’t lie there.”

The Gnoll resisted. Passively. She was limp as a rag, and heavy. Lyonette stopped trying to pick her up and tried a different tack.

“I know you’re sad, Mrsha. I am too. But…I bet you’re hungry. You should eat.”

Mrsha didn’t respond. Lyonette crooned to her, edging over and stroking the back of Mrsha’s head.

“I know you like honey. Why don’t you have some with eggs? And Erin made a pizza two days ago. And she made lasagna last week. What if you had a bit of all that? With some sweet juice? Milk?”

The Gnoll cub’s tail twitched. It began to wag ever so slightly. Lyonette kept encouraging her. In the end, Mrsha got up and padded over to a table. She sat there, staring at the wood, while Lyonette hurried into the kitchen. Apista flew onto the table and twitched her antennas to keep Mrsha company.

Breakfast was a thin slice of lasagna, half a slice of pizza, a fried egg drizzled with a spot of honey, and hot milk. The last of the milk, in fact. It was well used. Mrsha ate her breakfast slowly, but with a sense of growing…peace? Calm? Perhaps the word was relief. A temporary relief from sorrow. Yes, that was it.

Tending to Mrsha helped Lyonette as well. She was able to eat a bit herself—just a slice of the odd ‘pizza’ that Erin was so fond of making. It certainly was easy to eat. And so she was present when Drassi walked in.

“Lyonette, I’m so sorry.”

That was the first thing the female Drake said. She’d heard, of course. Not all of it, but enough. And she’d gotten all the big parts. Regrika Blackpaw, the traitor. Her murder of Brunkr and then the death of a Gold-rank adventurer. In Erin’s inn. And all this right before the Goblin Lord’s army marched by the city.

“It was terrifying. All of the Watch was on the walls and we were ordered to stay indoors, but we were all out on the streets of course. I kept thinking, ‘what about Erin and all the people in The Wandering Inn’? But then I heard you’d all fled to Celum, so I was relieved. But oh, it’s too cruel. And after Brunkr was—”

Lyonette put a hand over Drassi’s mouth and the Drake shut up. Both [Barmaids] looked at Mrsha, who’d paused in eating her egg. Gnoll hearing. Drassi coughed guiltily.

“I want to help. You should stay with Mrsha, you really should. Ishkr’s…not feeling well. I don’t think he’ll be in. But I’m sure I can handle whatever’s needed myself!”

“That’s fine. Thank you. I don’t think we’ll have many guests. Can you help me get ready? We have…the Horns of Hammerad and Halfseekers are still here. And Zel. And Erin. I bet she’ll be down soon.”

Drassi paused. She glanced towards the door and then at Lyonette.

“Erin? I saw her outside just a minute ago.”

“What?”

“Yeah, she was pulling arrows out of the dirt. The ones the Goblins shot. And she had a hammer.”

“A—”

Something went crack by one of the windows. Everyone jumped. Lyonette turned, and saw one of the glass windows, open to let the sunlight in. Someone was hitting it. With…a hammer?

“Erin!”

When Lyonette raced outside she found Erin, a carpenter’s claw hammer in hand, smashing it repeatedly on the glass window. Erin stopped and turned to Lyonette.

“Morning, Lyonette.”

“Uh—good morning. What are you doing?”

Erin stared at Lyonette. She didn’t look like she’d gotten much sleep. Her eyes were bloodshot and she was unsteady on her feet. She raised the hammer.

“Hitting my windows. With this.”

“Yes. Why?”

“Stress test.”

Erin grunted, and then turned her hammer. With the claw end of the hammer she swung it at the window. Hard. Lyonette braced herself, but rather than break, the hammer’s edge skated across the glass. Erin eyed the undamaged window, and then punched it.

“Ow. That’s tough.”

“What’s all this about?”

“I’m seeing how tough my inn is now. I didn’t tell you—the other day I got [Reinforced Structure].”

“Oh. Oh! So that’s why the inn wasn’t damaged when the Goblin Lord—”

“Yeah. But I want to know exactly how strong my inn is.”

Erin studied the window again, and then balled a fist. She took a breath.

“[Minotaur Punch]!”

The impact this time was loud and sharp. Lyonette saw Erin pull back her hand, wincing.

“Are you—”

Erin showed her hand to Lyonette. There was no blood. But there was a definite fracture in the glass where she’d hit. It was small, but it was there.

“Not that strong, then.”

She shook her head. Lyonette stared at her. She stared at the window.

“It looks strong to me. You couldn’t break it, and the glass is pretty thin!”

“Yeah. But if I can fracture it, anyone with more than twenty levels in a combat class can probably break it. And someone like Regrika could probably still put a hole in my walls.”

Regrika. Lyonette felt a cold surge of fear and anger in her stomach when she heard the name. She looked at Erin.

“Do you think she’s going to come back…?”

“No.”

Erin shook her head. She looked at her window, and then turned away. She trudged around to the front of the inn.

“I don’t. But even if I never see her again, what about next time?”

“What do you mean, next time?”

“A Rock Crab. The Goblin Lord’s army. Or another adventurer. Another Skinner. Or…”

Erin shook her head. She looked so tired. Lyonette stared at a boarded-up wall in Erin’s inn, where Moore had smashed through to run from Regrika. That had been before Erin’s new Skill. Now, she wondered if the half-Giant would have been able to manage the feat.

The [Innkeeper] was clearly thinking the same thing.

“Next time, I won’t be able to rely on luck. And that was what it was. Luck saved everyone but Ulrien. Revi still got cut up, Moore needed healing, and Jelaqua…I can’t keep doing what I’ve been doing. I thought I was prepared. I was wrong.”

Lyonette shook her head adamantly.

“You did everything you could! You got two Gold-rank teams and Zel Shivertail and a Wall Lord to help you. You made sure Mrsha and I—and Apista—were safely out of the inn. What else could you have done?”

“Something. Anything. When she was fighting, Regrika—I couldn’t scratch her. I bought healing potions, magical items from Octavia—do you know I didn’t think to use any of them? It wouldn’t have mattered if I had, anyways. I need something more. More protection. More power. More…”

She shook her head. Erin glanced towards the open door to her inn, leaking warm air. She went to close it and paused.

“Are you okay? Is Mrsha?”

“I’ll be—”

Lyonette’s throat closed up before she could say she was fine. She wasn’t. Erin looked at her. She had a haunted look in her eyes. And Lyonette remembered that Erin had seen people die before as well.

“Take the day off if you need to. Keep Mrsha company.”

“It’s okay. I can manage. But are you alright? You look…”

“I’m fine. I’ve been through this before.”

“Oh?”

Erin nodded. She stared into her inn, and then turned away. There was something quiet about her today. Quiet, and intense. She wasn’t smiling. She wasn’t frowning or visibly upset, either. She was just…present.

“It doesn’t get better. But I can work without crying this time. Because I have to. It’s easier to have something to do. And so much has happened. Ryoka’s gone. Ivolethe’s gone. Brunkr and Ulrien…the Goblin Lord. I need to…”

She stared up at the blue sky without finishing her sentence. Lyonette looked around. The snow was still thick everywhere she looked. But it was wet. Melting. It would take a week at least for the warming weather to melt the snow. When it did…Lyonette foresaw a lot of mud and water.

“Come on. I’ve got food and Drassi is here. You should have breakfast if you haven’t already. And I’d bet the others will wake up any time soon.”

Erin blinked. She looked at Lyonette.

“Yeah. Let’s do that.”

—-

Quietus. That was what followed death. In the moments between grief and anger, reconciliation, regret, denial, and perhaps, peace, there was silence. It was not always the same.

Some wept. Some mourned out loud. Others retreated inwards or found places to go to be alone. Some just…left.

It was the same across the world. In Rhir, a [Clown] sat in a room full of broken mirrors, too full of grief and horror to shed any more tears. A [Princess] wept alone in her bedroom, because she could not show her sadness outside. A kingdom was full of drums, and the people swore vengeance over pyres. Hatred stems from grief.

Silence in that place was loud. It was men and women crying out for vengeance, a [King] sitting on his throne, loudly praising those who fought and denouncing traitors. It was the sound of drums, beating to a mourning city. But in the fractured moments of time between each thump of a drum was that moment of silence. Of numb loss.

In a small inn outside of Liscor, the silence was different. It was pure quiet. Hushed voices. A talkative Drake who chattered quietly, trying to make a Gnoll smile. It was adventurers walking downstairs.

The Horns of Hammerad barely spoke. And they left early. Their silence was another contract; hunting down a large nest of Shield Spiders that had infested a section of Liscor’s sewers, burrowing through stone and dirt. Or maybe their eggs had been carried into the tunnels somehow? Either way, it was a job for a Silver-rank team, not Bronze. It was dirty, but it was work to keep them occupied.

They left. But carried silence with them. Silence was Pisces slipping Mrsha a piece of oily bacon, Ksmvr talking about the mission by himself since no one would join in. Yvlon thanking Lyonette and the two staring at each other for a moment before turning away. Ceria putting a hand on Erin’s shoulder.

The Halfseekers were different. Jelaqua was loud, drinking early in the day. Moore and Seborn were naturally quiet, but they filled the air today with sound.

“Now it’s just one Gold-rank team in here. At least until the Horns get certified. That means we’d better act the part. Moore, cause some trouble.”

“How?”

“Knock over a chair or something. Start a fight.”

The half-Giant obligingly turned over a chair. Seborn knocked over his empty cup. Jelaqua looked disgusted. Lyonette giggled a bit, and Mrsha’s tail wagged a bit more.

“You two are disgusting, you know that? Looks like I have to cause all the trouble myself. Hey Erin, got anything I can smash?”

“How about a window?”

“What?”

When they heard about Erin’s tests on her inn, the Halfseekers all went outside to test the durability of Erin’s inn. They argued, kept themselves busy. Jelaqua rapped on the window, first hard, and then punched it.

“Right. Looks like I could break this with my flail, but it might take two swings. Maybe three, depending on how much space I had. Moore could probably put his fist through it as well, but I’d hate to imagine what that’d do to his hand. Seborn…it would be pretty hard.”

Moore sighed.

“I would probably put an enchantment over my hand, Jelaqua. Cover it with vines. Or thorns. I’m not a savage.”

“Good point. Seborn, you think you could break it?”

The Drowned Man shrugged.

“I don’t feel the need. I’d rather just unlatch the window and jump in, or find another route. But I could probably break it with my daggers. It would slow me down, though.”

“Go ahead. I don’t mind.”

Erin stepped back from the window and invited Seborn to use his daggers on it. The Halfseekers eyed her. Jelaqua paused and shook her head.

“Nah. Glass is expensive. It’s good you got the Skill, though. A bit more protection’s always good.”

“You should look into some spells. I know a decent [Enchanter] who does warding spells.”

Moore nodded to Erin. She looked at him.

“Really? How much do they cost? And how strong are they? Would they stop someone like Regrika?”

The Gold-rank adventurers looked at each other. Jelaqua sighed. She scratched at the black stitches around her forehead.

“No. Never mind.”

Erin looked at the stitches. They were holding together the top of Jelaqua’s head, the bit Regrika had sliced off with the rest of her body, but the severed bit was already looking slightly…decomposed.

“Are you okay? Is your body…”

She didn’t know how to complete that sentence. The Selphid grinned at her wearily.

“Damaged. Thanks for asking. I tore a lot of muscles and the top of my head’s rotting off.  But hey, I’m alive so who cares about my body?”

She grinned. Erin remembered that Jelaqua’s head had been empty when she’d seen inside. The memory made her want to bring up the lasagna she’d had for breakfast.

“Right. No brains. That’s…a bit icky, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

“Not a problem. Nothing looks pretty from the inside. I should know!”

“But how’d your brains—I mean, your body’s brains—how did they uh, disappear? Is that something you have to do when you—”

Terminology was becoming an issue. Jelaqua smiled.

“Brains have nothing to do with how I control a body. I don’t need ‘em. As for how they disappeared, well…it’s this thing, okay? Excess body fat, useless organs—I get snacky, and sometimes—”

Moore elbowed Jelaqua gently.

“That’s disturbing. Even for me, Jelaqua.”

“Sorry, sorry! You did ask. I know you fleshies don’t like talking about it. But Erin did ask, and I want to be open about that.”

The Selphid raised her hands. Erin smiled at her and resolved never to ask about that again. Or at least not after she’d just eaten. She took a second to compose herself, and then gestured at Jelaqua’s head.

“So you need a new body, is that right?”

“Preferably. But I can manage without one if I have to for a month or two. Might get ugly, but I don’t know if I’ll find a new body around here.”

The Selphid grew serious. She nodded towards Liscor.

“Drakes do not like people using their bodies. Neither do Gnolls. They have a thing about it. You know, from the Necromancer? And people don’t like Selphids in general. It’s almost worse than back home because they don’t know about Selphids, so there are all these rumors I have to deal with…I’m willing to pay in gold of course, but I think I’ll have to ask around in Celum and that’s a gamble.”

Erin nodded. The logistics of corpse acquisitions were unfortunately not a new subject to her. Pisces had made similar complaints in the past.

“And I bet you want a good body, right? One with lots of teeth…freshly dead, and probably with muscles, right?”

“She gets it!”

The Selphid turned to Seborn and Moore, looking relieved. They nodded approvingly. Jelaqua walked back inside with the others and sat at a table. Zel was having breakfast. He nodded to Erin, and then winced as Jelaqua began grousing about finding a new host body.

“You would not believe how hard it is. Forget having a specific taste in bodies, finding one that’s not old, infected with some disease and in one piece is hard enough. I’m not one of those elitist types of course—I’ll go for anything without a pulse if it can get the job done. Heck, with all the wear and tear in my profession, that’s mandatory. But I’d like another female body. I mean, the male ones are alright, but let’s be honest—the dangling bits tend to get eaten by bugs before I can enter the corpse, and that’s a pain whenever I have to relieve myself from then on…”

Erin was in a position to regret ever asking about Jelaqua’s woes, but at least it was distracting to hear the Selphid grouse. And that was good. True, Zel lost his appetite and Lyonette had to cover Mrsha’s ears, but it was fun. In a way.

“What about Antinium bodies?”

“Excuse me?”

Jelaqua paused in her rant about having sex, and stared at Erin. The girl shrugged.

“I know a lot of Antinium die. It’s not…good, but if they were willing to give you a body, would you be able to use it?”

Bird paused as he walked downstairs. He had his bow in hand. He nodded.

“Antinium bodies are exceedingly durable.”

Erin jumped. She’d forgotten that Bird was staying here! She was about to apologize when she realized that Bird was agreeing with her. The Antinium sat at a table. He was uninjured, and he requested ‘unborn birds’ for breakfast. As usual. Lyonette gave him a plate of eggs which he began to eat happily.

“Ants? I’d never given it a thought.”

Jelaqua looked troubled as she picked at the stiches on her head. Seborn grabbed her hand. She gave him an annoyed look.

“It itches.”

“It’ll itch more if it fully decomposes.”

“You suck. Okay. Antinium…it’s a thought, Erin, but there’s a few issues. Antinium aren’t welcome in most places on the continent. Also, I’m not familiar with their bodies. It would take a while to get up to speed, and that’s not good if we’re going to take on the dungeon again. I don’t know if their insides are different, which might be dangerous. And I mean, four arms? That’s tricky.”

She waved her two arms around and Erin nodded.

“It’s just a thought. If your uh, head gets rotty, I can ask Klbkch about it.”

“Thanks. Yeah, better that than decomposition, right? I mean, I can deal with maggots and flies laying eggs—just a snack when you get down to it. But people complain of the smell, and then I start leaking…”

“Right. Thank you for breakfast. I’ve got to be on my way.”

Zel pushed his plate back. The [General] stood, looking queasy, and Erin saw Jelaqua raise a hand guiltily. Moore covered his face.

“Sorry about that.”

Erin hurried over and cleared the table. Drassi was in the kitchen doing dishes. Zel shook his head.

“Not a problem. I’m in a hurry anyways.”

“Oh? What are you doing?”

The Drake grimaced.

“Sitting with Liscor’s Council, talking, reassuring people and communicating—slowly—with other cities, mainly. We’re in touch with Esthelm via [Message] spell and talking over forming another army with the Walled Cities.”

“Esthelm?”

That was right. Esthelm was right in the Goblin Lord’s path if he was heading north. Erin felt a surge of panic, but Zel gently gripped her arm.

“Don’t worry. Our [Strategists] including young Olesm, say that the Goblin Lord won’t try to take the city. It’s not worth his while and he’s in a hurry. We’ll see what happens, but their walls are rebuilt thanks to the Antinium. And you. I’ll let you know if something happens.”

“Okay.”

He nodded.

“Besides that I have a [Message] spell to send…and while I’m thinking of it, I should give you this.”

He reached for his belt and opened a bag. It must have been a bag of holding, because the small pile of gold coins clinked onto the table in a quick flow. Erin stared at them.

“What’s this? You already paid for the week, and this is way too much—”

“For the wall. And damaged chairs. Tables and so on.”

Zel looked at Erin, and shifted his gaze towards the hole in the wall. Moore opened his mouth and Jelaqua stepped on his toes. Erin stared at the gold coins and pushed them back.

“I can’t take this. It’s my fault—”

“Please.”

Zel refused to touch the coins. He stood up. Erin tried to offer them back, but he refused.

“I know what you’re trying to say, but you did what I would have done in your shoes. Better. You uncovered a real threat, and…it was not your fault. I was the highest-level warrior on the field that night. The battle was mine to lose. I wasn’t here. This is my way of apologizing.”

“Even so—I don’t need it. I don’t. I have enough money coming in. Lots, actually. And Ryoka left some of her gold—look, I can’t—”

Zel edged around Erin and left the inn before she could block him. Erin stood in the doorway forlornly, watching him march quickly through the snow. Jelaqua sighed and got to her feet.

“We’d probably pay if he didn’t. He’s right, you know. No one blames you for what went down, Erin. You did what you could. It’s just…”

She shrugged. Moore and Seborn were also getting to their feet. She looked at them, shook her head. Mrsha, Lyonette, Erin—Drassi poked her head out of the kitchen. Jelaqua looked tired.

“Sometimes you run into a real monster. Someone invincible. Something. Sometimes you lose. That’s the way this world works, right?”

She turned and looked around, her customary smile gone. She nodded, and the Halfseekers slowly walked out the door.

Erin stood, watching them go as well. A half-Giant, wading through snow that only came up to his ankles. Seborn, quiet as a shadow. Jelaqua, leading with head turned up to the sky. Erin stood in the quiet inn and stared at the spot where Ulrien had died. Mrsha hugged Lyonette and Apista fanned her wings by the fire.

After a while, Drassi poked her head out of the kitchen again.

“We’re out of milk, by the way.”

Life moved on.

—-

It was the goats that saved them. Because of them, the six were granted another day to live. And they were grateful. They had to live. It was that or die, and they were too proud to die. Their friends had sacrificed too much for them to die.

But they would die soon. If not today, then tomorrow. If not tomorrow, then later. The only question was how they would die. For that was their fate.

They were Goblins. And they had no tribe. They were warriors without a purpose. They had fought and bled and half their number had died for a Human. A monster with a soul. Someone who had looked at them and seen a reflection.

And now six remained. Six Goblins. Elite warriors of the Redfang Goblin tribe, sent by Garen Redfang himself on a mission they had long since abandoned and no longer cared about.

Lost.

Last night, the Goblin Lord’s army had marched north. North, past the city of Liscor. North, towards Esthelm and the lands beyond. Their numbers were in the tens of thousands, not including the undead army that marched ahead of them. They were legion—an army to strike fear into the hearts of all but the mightiest. A Goblin Lord rode with them. A figure equivalent to any [General]. With him leading the army, they could destroy a lesser nation.

And yet, they had come under attack last night. Just once. It was as the group of six Redfang warriors were desperately hiding behind the cover of some rocks, lying low in case the patrolling sentries headed their way. They might have been found. Again, but for the goats.

Eater Goats. One of the monsters from the High Passes, a match for a Carn Wolf. These creatures were deadly, quick, fearless, and could eat anything. Their jaws could crunch stone or metal. And they hunted in packs.

A group of them had charged the Goblin Lord’s army. Just over a hundred attacking tens of thousands of Goblins. But the goats were fearless. And hungry. The winter had driven them from their homes. That, and…something else perhaps. Some disturbance. Whatever the case, they had spotted a lot of prey, and gone rampaging into the Goblin Lord’s ranks.

Hiding behind their cover, the Redfang warriors had enjoyed hearing the screams of Goblins as the Eater Goats ambushed them. The goats had taken down Hobs, chewed through armor and bitten through bone, and devoured the undead trying to kill them before retreating. Of course, the Goblin Lord’s army had encircled the goats with steel, shot arrows into their hides, blasted them with magic.

It was a testament, then, to the fearsome nature of the goats that after attacking an army of tens of thousands, a little over thirty goats still escaped. And not because they’d been dying either; it was just that they’d eaten their fill.

Monsters. But their intervention had allowed the Redfang Goblins to hide in the meantime and let the Goblin Lord’s army pass them by. And so the next day, the six Goblins rose and followed the Eater Goats as they headed south, searching for more food.

There was a logic to it. Despite the Eater Goats being considered a terrible threat worthy of a Gold-rank team, the Redfang Goblins knew they had little to fear from them. That was because their tribe, led by Garen Redfang, had lived in the High Passes for years and clashed with the Eater Goats many times. They were known to the Eater Goats, in short.

There were two settings the goats had. They regarded the world as made up of two things. Food and not-Food. Through bloody battles where they had slaughtered the goats, the Redfang Goblins had earned the enviable title of not-Food, allowing them to pass by the Eater Goats without incident. So long as one side or the other wasn’t hungry.

The trick was red paint on their faces and bodies. All six of the Redfang warriors wore it. That combination of red and green warned the Eater Goats not to attack. Thus, the Redfang warriors could let the goats move ahead and enjoy the protection of the ravenous monsters. Afraid of Shield Spiders, Mothbears, Armored Crawlers, or Wyverns? No problem. The Eater Goats would take down anything that moved.

And in the meantime, the Redfang warriors could scavenge the kills.

—-

The place where the Goblin Lord’s army had clashed with the Eater Goats still had a few fallen bodies. The goats, having eaten last night, were all resting until their systems worked through their meals. That meant the Redfang Goblins had a short window to procure their own rations. They were hungry; they’d been in hiding for the last day from the Goblin Lord’s army.

The six Goblins hurried down the pass and ran across the muddy ground, searching for fallen bodies that weren’t completely rotten. It was a miserable, horrible task, but they had to do it. It was that or starve. They were hungry enough to eat an undead Goblin, but all of them prayed it wouldn’t come to that.

One of the Redfang warriors paused as he found a figure in black armor lying in the snow. He nudged the body, turned it over, and saw a fat Hob’s face. Dead and still caked in mud. Skin cold from the air which still had yet to warm. Perfect.

He called the others over. Two Goblins approached. They eyed the Hob, nodded. Three lifted the huge corpse up and moved back towards their hiding spot. The other three hosted corpses of their own and joined them.

Normally, three Goblins couldn’t carry a Hob of any size, let alone a fat one with armor. But the Redfang warriors were strong. Unlike every other Goblin and some adventurers, they trained for combat. And the six who now started a fire in the snow were more different still.

Rabbiteater. Bugear. Numbtongue. Shorthilt. Badarrow. Headscratcher. They tossed wood on a growing flame, warmed their frozen bodies, and carved up the dead Goblins, roasting flesh on pans and eating greedily. Hungrily. They were starving. They’d been starving for days. Normally, a small Goblin could live for a week on a single body, but these Goblins consumed all they found and went back to look for more. Because they weren’t small Goblins any longer.

They were Hobs.

All six. Headscratcher carved more fat and tossed it into the pan, grunting with surprise when he missed. Badarrow caught the flesh out of the air. He had been the first to grow used to his longer limbs and new musculature. He tilted the pan and the smell made Rabbiteater grunt. Badarrow flipped the meat towards him and the other Hob grabbed it out of the air.

They ate for over an hour. Because they were hungry. It had been a week since the Goblins had begun growing at an abnormal rate, nearly doubling their height in a matter of days, and the cost of it was reflected in sunken cheeks, thin bellies, and their craving for any food—even the bodies of their own.

Shorthilt reappeared by their fire and tossed something down. The other Hobs looked and saw it was a pack. Of rations for the Goblin Lord’s soldiers! They were on it in a second, fighting over the hard, gritty bread and frozen bit of cheese and jerky. It didn’t matter that the food was half-rotten. Goblins would eat anything in hard times, and they knew they needed all the energy they could get.

The Hobgoblin transformation process was usually like this. But as Numbtongue pointed out with an eloquent grunt after their hunger pangs had subsided, it was rare for so many Hobs to appear at once.

The other Redfang warriors considered this. Bugear scratched at his ears, a tick left over from a time when bugs had actually infested his ears. Now they were gone, which was a disappointment since he could have used more to eat. But it was also a reminder of who he’d met, of who he’d lost.

The action was both a message and a habit. The other Goblins stared at Bugear and looked away. They remembered, too.

A city full of undead. A place of ruin and shattered Humans. A monster who ate like they did. A girl, begging for help. Goblins in black armor. The [Knight]. The skeleton dancing in delight. The flowers.

Death. That was what they had left behind. The Redfang warriors stared at the fire. They’d lost so many. Their leader, the taciturn Grunter, Rocksoup always complaining of indigestion, Leftstep, who’d once dueled a Gold-rank [Fencer] with a stick and a shield made of bark. Bitefly, who ate flies. Orangepoo, whose name spoke for himself. Patchhelm, obsessed with armor, and Justrust, whose swords were as deadly for tetanus as they were for their ability to cut.

All gone. The Redfang warriors sat, remembering. All gone, and for what? Badarrow gnashed his teeth as he gnawed at a bone, making his feelings plain.

Headscratcher held something up. The others looked. It was a flower.

Eloquently put. Badarrow tossed the bone aside and sighed. Headscratcher ate the flower. They’d been over this too many times to count. Too many times to dwell on it, but they did.

They were alone. And they had lost their group, as well as their purpose. Or rather, their conviction. After meeting a Human, after fighting for her, perhaps loving her—how could they kill another Human? What was the point?

Shorthilt made their general position clear by tossing a bit of intestines too filthy even by Goblin standards into the fire. The smell made the other Goblins growl, but he was right.

Garen Redfang was wrong. He was also an idiot. Rags, their new and rightful Chieftain, was probably right. At the very least, she was smart and worth following. If they could rejoin her tribe.

But where were they? The Redfang warriors had combed the area looking for clues about where their tribe had gone. They’d tried to enter the High Passes, but found no sign of any Goblins in the area. And the danger was too great, so they’d come south, hoping to find Rags around Liscor.

However, all six knew that if the Flooded Waters tribe had been anywhere around Liscor, the Goblin Lord’s army would have already destroyed them utterly.

So what now? Headscratcher scratched his head and patted his stomach. The others looked at him gloomily. Yes, the problem was obvious. Besides finding their tribe, the six warriors were in dire straits of their own. Because they were still hungry, and they would continue being hungry for a while.

They were Hobs. Six new Hobs, which shouldn’t be! Most small tribes had one or two Hobs at most. Big tribes could of course have many Hobs—there were rumors of a tribe living in the mountains who had hundreds of Hobs, and the Goblin Lord’s army had thousands. But who’d heard of six Goblins all turning into Hobs at once?

It made no sense. But it had something to do with what they’d been through, the Redfang warriors were sure. Losing Grunter, their leader and only Hob had triggered the change, as well as the ferocity of the battle they’d been through. Normally this would be a cause for celebration; a Hob was special, and they would be far stronger for their transformation. But only if they were with their tribe. Out here, away from any support and scavenging for food in the last stages of winter?

It was a death sentence. Already, the Redfang warriors felt hungry again. Numbtongue and Rabbiteater went to look for more corpses. The rest sat and debated what to do.

It wasn’t a hard decision. To the Goblins’ uncomplicated minds, there was only death, and more death. To the north, there was merciless death, overwhelming death, the death of enemies from the Goblin Lord’s army. They couldn’t hide twice and they’d die in an instant against so many foes, Hobs or not. Surrendering to join the Goblin Lord’s army was…also not an option. They’d been seen fighting at Esthelm against the Goblin Lord’s army and besides that, the Redfang warriors had their pride.

South, then. The only way they could go. To Liscor. However, the Redfang Goblins were sure that meant another kind of death as well. Badarrow captured the idea by breaking a bit of ice with one hand. It would be a death of pieces, a slow death. They’d find food or starve. Or be hunted down as threats.

Bugear nodded. He kicked dirt over their fire and Headscratcher pointed. The Eater Goats were rising, already heading southwards for more food.

Yes, it would most likely be their deaths. But what other choice did they have? They were warriors. At least this way there was a chance. And if they had to die fighting, well…

The Eater Goats ran swiftly down the rocky slopes and onto the road, moving quickly, jumping incredible heights with ease. Their teeth were still red from their feast, their hides still matted with blood. They screamed a hunting call. The Redfang warriors followed at a distance.

If they had to die, at least they’d have a worthy foe to die fighting against. They hated those damn goats. But, as even Badarrow would concede, they were a lot easier to fight against than Gargoyles.

—-

“So you’re a [Farmer].”

“That is correct, Miss Solstice.”

“That’s cool. I mean, I don’t want to make assumptions. But it’s just weird. I didn’t think I’d ever uh, meet a Gnoll [Farmer]. Do you—is that normal?”

The Gnoll raised a furry eyebrow. His fur was a dirty blonde, and he’d paused in his chores long enough to chat with Erin. He shifted the empty pail as he considered her question.

“Hrm. No, I suppose it is not. My people, they do raise animals, but they do not plant, yes? However, we learned to farm the land from the Drakes, and so some of us abandon our travels to settle near cities.”

“Like Liscor. That’s what I never got. Why would anyone ever live in a village near the city? I mean, this is a nice hill you’ve got here. Very big. But…it’s uh, a bit undefended.”

The Gnoll bared his teeth as Erin gestured to the village she stood in. It really was a small place. A pair of farms, a few houses, and a ten-foot high wall were the only defenses. The Gnoll only shrugged.

“There is no safety anywhere, yes? So long as we do not stray beyond the walls, it is easy to defend. Stone Deceivers—”

“What? Oh, you mean Rock Crabs.”

“Rock Crabs? Hrm. That is a good name for them, yes. They do not attack walled settlements. Shield Spiders are a threat if they burrow, but they can be heard tunneling. As for Goblins and other threats…I have a bow and the others in the village are able to fight. The Watch patrols in the area. It is safe, and needed.”

“Because you feed the city?”

“Exactly so. Without us, Liscor would starve. Oh, there is fishing to be done in the spring, and [Shepherds] can keep their sheep within the walls if need be. But all cities save for the Walled Cities require [Farmers].”

“Right. I gotcha. And you specialize in milk, right?”

The Gnoll nodded.

“That is so. I keep many cows. They are curious creatures, or so I think. Even after raising them for many years, I find it odd, yes? But they give milk, which my people love. You said you wished some.”

“Oh! Right. I’d like to buy some, yeah. Krshia said she gets it from you and you were going to bring some in a day or two, but I’d like some today if you have any you can spare.”

“Certainly. It is expensive in the winter of course—”

“I’ve got money. Don’t worry. I just need some. You see, I have this little Gnoll I’m helping to look after—”

“Mrsha. Hrr. Yes. I know.”

Erin blinked.

“You do—but—right.”

The [Farmer] smiled. He gestured towards his house.

“We have different kinds of milks, yes? Some cows give better milk. Richer, fatter…and of course I have had the great luck of obtaining a Fischer Cow pair. Now I have several such cows. And goats. I believe a young Gnoll would like goat milk most.”

“Goat milk? Well, I wouldn’t mind having some of—what’s a Fischer Cow?”

“They like meat. Their milk is very rich, although the cows themselves…they bite.”

The [Farmer] showed Erin a scar on one arm. She shuddered.

“Meat eating cows. What’s next?”

“I would love to have one of the magical types of cows in my barn one day. But they are rare and hard to raise, yes? For now, I have several bottles of goat milk and more. Come, please.”

Erin sneezed. It was cold, and the Gnoll’s offer was very tempting.

“Okay. I might have to make a few trips to get all the milk I want, though. I’ll buy in bulk. I have a little sled—”

“It is no issue. I will be here all day.”

“Cool. Hey, do you want to buy some honey? Lyonette got a lot last time and I thought I’d ask. Don’t know if cows eat honey, but it’s good stuff.”

“…Honey?”

—-

“I am Bird. Bird I am. I hunt birds with my bow. This is my song. La. Lah, la…birds.”

Bird sang quietly to himself as he stood in his watch tower on top of Erin’s inn. His bow was in hand, and he was scanning the sky for birds. This was his purpose, but he was being extra alert today.

Because he had failed. Two people had died while he was on duty. True, one had died inside the inn, at the hands of a Named Adventurer and the other had been killed in the city, but the deaths weighed on Bird.

He was a guard. A protector. Revalantor Klbkch had impressed on him the grave nature of his duty. He had been given a chance, a chance to protect Erin to whom he and his comrades owed so much.

She had given him the bow he held. She had taught him chess. She had freed his fellow Workers. Freed them in their heads.

For that he would always love her. And he had failed her. Her guests were dead. Bird knew he didn’t understand things like Pawn did, but he understood failure.

So he stood in his watch tower, ignoring the cold. He hunted for birds. He would hunt for birds and that would make things better. One bird, two birds…if it took him a thousand birds, he would shoot them all down. That was the only way he knew how to make things better.

Bird didn’t know much about the world. He knew some things were bad. Some things he had to watch out for. Rock Crabs, Shield Spiders, Face-Eater Moths…these things weren’t birds, so the Antinium only identified them as threats. The world was hard and complex.

Not like birds. There were blue birds and red birds, yellow birds and black birds. There were birds that flew high overhead, birds who could fly through the clouds thousands of miles overhead. The Antinium was still trying to figure out how he was going to shoot them down.

There were birds who could fly faster than the wind. Birds who were larger than houses. Birds who flew through the sky and left trails of glowing air in their wake. Birds that were beauty and wrath, elegance and cunning.

They flew. Bird could still remember the wonder he’d felt the first time he’d looked up and seen a bird flying. The envy. And he could remember shooting one. He hunted birds because he was jealous. Because they were beautiful. Because they were food.

Because he loved to hunt. And if you had a bow, what was the point of shooting at slow things on the ground? The masters of the sky were true challenges, from the tiny birds that could dodge an arrow’s tip at point blank range, to the big birds that might take a full quiver to down.

Bird had an arrow in one of his hands as he scanned the horizon. Check for birds, check for threats. He looked up, and then down. No birds in the sky. But they’d be coming soon. His [Hunter] instincts told him so. The world was warming, and that meant food for the birds and a time for mating, nesting. He just had to wait.

Look up—a flicker behind one of the clouds, about two thousand and three hundred feet up. A bit too high to shoot. Look down. Bird saw something move. He turned and stared.

“Goats.”

There were about thirty of them. They surged across the snow, screaming. Bird could see their bodies covered with blood; one of them looked like it was missing half its face, but it didn’t seem bothered. Another had an arrow sticking out of its side. Bird thought about that.

“Goats. Goats are an animal. They are not monsters. Therefore, they are no threat.”

Satisfied with that conclusion, he turned to resume scanning the landscape when he noticed something.

“The goats are going in the same direction as Miss Solstice. Towards the farming village.”

He stared at the distant hilltop. At the goats. At the one missing half its jaw. Bird shrugged.

“Goats are food. Can you milk a goat? I will ask later.”

Again, he was about to turn, when he spotted something else. A group of six, crossing the snowy plains. They were distant, but Bird’s eyes were enhanced thanks to his [Eagle’s Eyes] Skill. He liked it because it was based off a Bird. And what he saw made him pause.

“Green. Goblins.”

Six of them, all moving fast. They all had weapons, if not armor, and they were larger than the average Goblin. Bird thought and amended his analysis.

“Hobgoblins.”

He paused, arrow in hand. Bird watched the Goblins running, and slowly opened his mandibles.

“Goblins. Goblins are a monster. They are a threat. However, Erin’s sign says not to kill Goblins.”

That was a paradox. Bird scratched at his head and brightened.

“Ah. It said nothing about Hobgoblins.”

He put the arrow to his bow, sighted, and held his breath. Halrac had taught him how to shoot. Bird was grateful. He wished the Goblins were birds. That would make things so much more fun. Land-based things were so…easy.

The Goblins were over eight hundred feet away, a vast distance and far further than his bow was capable of shooting. Normally. Bird had no idea about technical terms like draw strength, the materials used in the composition of his bow, and so on—he didn’t know that it was a recurve bow. But he did know how to hunt birds. He knew that an arrow might not pierce a bird if it was shot from too far away.

“That is what Skills are for. Now. [Long Range Shot].”

He pulled the arrow back, sighted, and loosed.

—-

The Redfang warriors were arguing and split on their argument. They’d followed the Eater Goats down the abandoned road, and they had seen the goats pick up a scent. They saw the village the goats were headed towards, and half of them were in favor of waiting for the goats to do their work, and the other half were in favor of helping. Somehow.

None of them were under illusions. The Eater Goats outnumbered them and they were deadly. One could kill an average Hob. Six versus thirty wasn’t a fight, it was a death sentence.

And yet, Headscratcher insisted it wasn’t right. And however much Badarrow and Shorthilt snarled at him, he was growing more impatient. The Goblins were running after the Eater Goats anyways; they’d have a brief window to loot the village regardless of what happened. Headscratcher was cresting a hill when Bugear looked up in alarm and tackled him to the ground.

An arrow whistled through the air, catching Headscratcher in the arm. If Bugear hadn’t pushed him, it would have caught him in the chest. The Redfang Goblins immediately dove to the ground. Badarrow snarled as he grabbed his own bow and raised his head.

Where? The Goblins looked around, keeping low, aware that their position might be open. Headscratcher snapped the arrow in his arm, raised his head and ducked down.

Nothing that way. Rabbiteater crawled rapidly to the left and looked around a small rise of snow. He growled.

Nothing.

As Numbtongue raised his head over the hill, all six Hobs heard another whistling sound. Numbtongue ducked, and the second arrow nearly took him in the head. He snarled, and all six Goblins poked their heads up. They looked around, but only Badarrow with his enhanced eyes spotted anything. He pointed.

There!

The Goblins looked. All six ducked. The archer in the tower’s next arrow thunked into the ground that was giving them cover.

A lightning-fast debate with hand signs took place as the Hobgoblins analyzed the situation, and then, as Bird was waiting for them to pop up again, all six suddenly stood up.

“What is this?”

The Antinium stared at the six very helpful targets that had suddenly appeared. He shrugged, not deciding to question it since they weren’t birds, and aimed for the one he’d hit first. He sighted down his bow, and then jerked back.

An arrow streaked past his head, shattering on one of the wooden posts of his tower. Bird stared at the broken fragments as they splintered past him, and then at the Goblin in the distance holding the bow.

Badarrow grinned savagely. His best three arrows were in his hand. He nocked the first, aimed, and loosed.

[Farshot Mastery]. He’d learned the Skill after sniping the Goblin [Shaman] during the battle at Esthelm. Unlike Bird he could shoot as many arrows as quickly as he wanted, uninhibited by a need to use a certain Skill. Badarrow advanced, loosing all three arrows in succession.

As he did, the Redfang warriors advanced. Not at a run, but at a quick walk. Those of them with shields had them raised. They were waiting for a return shot.

When it came, it was straight at Badarrow. The Hobgoblin [Archer] grunted, and stepped sideways. The arrow flashed by his chest, scoring a line and making him growl. But it was a miss.

Advance. Badarrows’ shots came three at a time, flying with incredible accuracy to land on Bird’s position. The Antinium took cover by the stairwell, wishing he’d asked for a place to take cover from enemy fire when the Antinium had built this place. But birds didn’t shoot back! Well, most of them didn’t.

When he rose, an arrow struck him in the chest. Bird stumbled back, stared at the arrow, and touched it gently.

“Ow.”

The other archer might have been able to hit him at range, but his bow wasn’t good. It didn’t have the power to pierce his carapace with a single shot. That knowledge was important. Bird looked and saw the Redfang Goblins had covered over two hundred feet while the other archer kept him suppressed. They were advancing quickly, now.

“Troublesome.”

He aimed and used [Long Range Shot] again, but the Goblins were a bit too quick, and his arrows had to travel too far. He grazed one on the arm, and nearly got one on the eye until a lucky shot hit one in the knee. That Goblin fell, rolling until he was obscured in the snow. Bird ignored him. The real threat was hitting his tower now, concentrating on volume rather than accuracy.

Two more arrows struck the Antinium. They were both in each other’s range now, and the second and third arrows penetrated his carapace. Bird fumbled with an arrow. He could not die here. If he did…he would have failed again. Unacceptable.

“My turn.”

The arrow was coming. All five Hobs tensed. Shorthilt was hiding in the snow, and he had a healing potion. He’d make it back to them if he could, but the arrows were fast and deadly. The next one came fast and high at Badarrow. The Hob twisted to avoid it, grinning—

And the arrow curved into his side. Greatly surprised, Badarrow spun. Headscratcher caught Badarrow as he nearly fell. The Goblin gripped him, pulled himself upright—

The next homing arrow struck Bugear’s shield. It had curved right for Badarrow’s head. The Redfang Goblins looked at the distant archer. Badarrow snarled as he grabbed arrows from his bow. Whomever this strange bug was, he was good.

And yet, he was only one. Bird had to take cover again as arrows lashed his position. The other Goblin didn’t have his curving arrows, but he was quick! Bird peeked up, and an arrow nearly took his eye out.

“Dangerous.”

They were too close now. Too close! Bird had to risk a shot. This time he’d hit the archer in the head! He stood and took a fourth arrow to the chest.

“Ah.”

The cracks in his carapace were spreading. Bird fell against one of the guard railings of his tower, and lurched upright. One arrow. He drew it to his chest, sighted. Time felt slowed. He aimed at the Goblin. They both were aiming. The one who fell won. He could take the other Goblins down if he could just—

Where to aim? Head, chest—head. Bird drew, and spoke as he loosed.

“[Homing Shot].”

His arrow curved through the air, heading straight for Badarrow’s head. The Goblin archer sighted down his bow, aiming for Bird. He didn’t move. The arrow flew towards his head—

And Headscratcher’s sword shot out. The Goblin’s sword blocked the shaft as Bugear thrust his shield in front of Badarrow’s chest and Numbtongue covered his groin with a second shield. Bird stared.

“Companions. I see. How regr—”

The fifth arrow struck him just below the neck and sent him tumbling off the side of the tower. The Antinium crashed into the roof of the inn and slid towards the end. It was a long drop down. Down—

To oblivion.

—-

In the silence after the pitched archery duel, Badarrow lowered his bow, arms shaking, breathing heavily. The other Goblins clapped him on the back as they patched themselves up.

None of them were hurt that badly. Badarrow’s stomach and Shorthilt’s knee were the worst of it. A healing potion was very carefully used to mend both wounds.

As the Goblins regrouped, they moved away from the inn. Whatever the archer had been doing up there, it didn’t matter. The bug was dead, but no one was going to loot the inn. It was too close to the city—the Goblins might have already been spotted. They headed in the direction of the Eater Goats, hungry and desperate.

They spoke not a word about their victory either. It wasn’t a miracle, or a product of Badarrow’s superior levels or Skills. It was simple teamwork. Both sides had good archers, but one had located their attacker together, covered their archer and provided targets to distract the enemy. They didn’t fight alone.

—-

Meanwhile, in a small village, Erin was dragging her sled towards the gates. Several huge containers had been filled with different kinds of milks and she was wondering if she’d be able to get it to her inn without breaking any of them.

She was rechecking the ties on her sled when she heard a sound outside the gates. Erin frowned and stepped up onto the platform that allowed her to peek over the walls. She looked down and saw a goat standing outside.

“Hey Mister Wirclaw! I think one of your goats got outside somehow!”

Erin turned and hollered at the Gnoll [Farmer] who’d helped her pack the milk. He frowned and trotted over with his son, a small Gnoll with light blonde fur. Both Gnolls peeked over the walls with Erin.

“That is not my goat.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I know them all and this one is clearly wild. It is strange, though, no? Where would such a goat come from in the winter?”

“Should we let it in? It looks hungry, poor guy.”

“Perhaps. But…hrm. Is…something wrong?”

Erin frowned. She felt it too. A prickling at the back of her mind. She looked at the goat. It was staring up at her with big, off-putting brown eyes. The pupils of the goat were a horizontal bar, not round at all. And it was staring. At her.

“Yeah. I think I feel my [Dangersense] going off. But it’s just a goat, right?”

Wirclaw hesitated. He looked back towards his house and nudged his son.

“Fetch me my bow. Miss Solstice, perhaps you should back up. I do not think that is—”

Then they spotted the second goat. It walked around the wall. It was a goat. Scrawny, its body a mix of black and brown. However, one thing separated it from the other goat.

It was missing the lower half of its jaw. Erin clapped a hand to her mouth as the goat looked up at them.

“Its teeth—”

This goat had sharp teeth. Not sharp like a shark’s or a predator that just ate meat, but an omnivore’s teeth. And caught between the teeth and staining it was—

“Blood. And that is flesh. Miss Solstice, step back.”

Wirclaw grabbed the bow from his son’s hands and put an arrow to it. He sighted and shot an arrow before Erin could protest. The goat without a jaw stared as the arrow sped towards it and skipped to one side. The arrow thudded into the dirt.

Both Humans and Gnoll stared. Behind them, the few Gnolls and Drakes in the village were gathering. The two goats stared at Wirclaw and then turned.

And then a lot of goats popped out of the snow. Erin recoiled and Wirclaw growled. The goats stared at Erin and Wirclaw, and then screamed.

It wasn’t like a Human scream. Not at all. The Eater Goats screamed like a chorus of the damned, and then the first one rammed the gates. It had a set of slightly curved horns on its head and Wirclaw yanked Erin back from the wall.

“They’re trying to get in!”

He shouted at the others in the village and Erin saw them racing to get weapons. She scrabbled at her own belt pouches and pulled out a vial and a knife from a sheath at her belt.

“They can’t though, right?”

“The gates are thick. We should be fine—”

Wirclaw was aiming and loosing, but the goats were dodging. One of them backed up, its eyes on the Gnoll. It took a few jumps back, and then brayed. It charged towards the wall the Gnoll and Erin were standing on.

“It can’t get up—”

Erin was saying that when the goat leapt. It cleared at least seven feet and thudded into the wall. Too low. But the impact sent both Human and Gnoll scrambling backwards.

“Okay, they can jump! Real high!”

Erin was shouting. Wirclaw opened his mouth. He might have been saying that their walls were still high enough when two more goats charged forwards.

This time one goat leapt first. He vaulted into the air, a good six feet up, and the second goat leapt on top of him. He jumped a second time, using the first goat as a stepping stone, and hurtled over the wall.

The goat landed lightly on the ground in the center of the village. It turned, and stared around at the small gathering of Drakes, Gnolls, and one Human. It cocked its head, seemed to sniff, and then bared its teeth. It screamed, and charged.

—-

The Goblins saw all of it of course. From their position, the Redfang Goblins could see the first Eater Goat clear the wall and hear the screams from within the village. They had predicted that would happen. The Eater Goats were suicidally fearless and almost immune to pain; that didn’t mean they were stupid.

Now they had a choice to make. Headscratcher stared at the village. He’d seen a young woman on the walls. A Human.

He looked at the others. They’d all seen the same thing. The Hobs looked at him, and then away. Badarrow spat. He’d made his position clear several times. It wasn’t worth it. They’d die, and she’d die. And for what? She was just a Human.

Just a Human. The other Goblins reluctantly agreed. It wasn’t the same. She wasn’t worth it.

And she would die. Headscratcher lowered his head and scuffed at the snow. His foot unearthed something. He stared, bent, and picked something up. The other Goblins paused. They turned, incredulously to Headscratcher and saw him holding—

A bug. It squirmed in his grip. He popped it into his mouth and crunched it. The Goblins all sighed. Headscratcher grinned. He cracked his neck and laughed silently at them. To ask them what they’d been expecting. He pointed.

The other Eater Goats were trying to repeat the trick and send their friends over the walls. Just one or two could wipe out the entire village. They’d kill everything within. They were too dangerous.

They all knew it. Fighting thirty? They’d die.

And maybe that was the point. Headscratcher reached into a small pocket he’d sewn into his clothing. He pulled something out. It was wilted, squashed, barely recognizable. But it was still a flower.

The other Goblins stared at it. Headscratcher looked at Badarrow. The other Goblin grunted irritably and pulled out an arrow. Headscratcher grinned.

Bugear scratched at one ear and nudged Shorthilt. They pulled out their swords. Rabbiteater lifted Grunter’s axe. Numbtongue sighed.

The Redfang Goblins slapped each other on the backs, grinned, and shook hands. They looked at the sky. Then they formed up.

They didn’t have the numbers for a proper formation. They couldn’t swarm their opponents. So they made a line. Badarrow raised his bow and put his best arrow to the string. He loosed one arrow, then another.

The Eater Goats were charging, trying to jump the walls again. The first arrow struck a goat in the back of the head. It dropped, and then stood up. The goat looked around for the source of the arrow, saw the Redfang Goblins. It bleated, a terrible, elongated scream, and the other goats turned. One seized the arrow in the first goat’s head and bit it off. The goat convulsed as the arrow was torn out of its head. At last it fell down.

And the Eaters charged. The goats raced towards the Redfang Goblins, screaming, a few staying behind to circle the village. The Redfang Goblins waited.

“Redfang!”

Badarrow shouted the word as he drew and loosed. He was running out of arrows. But he kept shooting, sending each one of his precious arrows into the mass of goats. His aim was flawless today. One by one they fell, but there were so many and they were fast!

“Redfang!”

The other Hobs shouted the word. The Eaters screamed. Headscratcher looked at his friends, and they looked back. It wasn’t a decision he’d made alone. They’d all made it.

It wasn’t about living. It was about dying right. It was about finding somewhere to die. Because they didn’t have anything to live for. They had no tribe, no leader. They just had each other.

And a memory. Of a girl, of a plea. And of that glorious, terrible moment when they had been something more than mere Goblins.

This is a story of a band of Goblins. A shattered, lost collection of souls. Dreamers, warriors who had tasted something else. This is a story about heroes.

Badarrow reached for another arrow and found none. He tossed his bow aside. Twenty goats remained. They screamed and charged. The Goblins did likewise. Six against twenty. Death.

Not one Goblin hesitated. The Redfang warriors raised their weapons and ran forwards. They were laughing.

And the young woman heard it.

4.34

Six Goblins. Twenty goats. It wasn’t a heroic battle, the kind you’d hear about in stories. It wasn’t one anyone would celebrate or long remember. But it was a proper Goblin’s battle. Close, intense, and perhaps meaningless. But the Goblins fought as if it were the battle to end all battles.

Because it was that or die. And while this might be the place that they did die, so long as one Goblin was standing, the Redfang warriors refused to fall.

Headscratcher’s weapon was a shortsword. It had been a regular sword before he’d been a Hob. Now it stabbed into a goat’s side and his other hand was free, so he grabbed the goat and pulled it into the blade, spearing it.

It kept moving. The Eater Goats were inhumanly tough, which was understandable, but they were also tougher than any goat had a right to be. They swarmed the six Goblins, and it was only their teamwork that kept the Redfang warriors alive in the first charge.

Stand in a circle. Keep moving—defend each other’s backs, watch the flanks. The Redfang warriors had fought hundreds of battles like this, and they slashed at the goats, keeping them at bay while they tried to score a critical blow.

Fast. The Goats leapt and weathered cuts with their bodies, screaming, darting in to try and bite a leg or arm. Have one on you and it wouldn’t let go until it had eaten you or died, Headscratcher knew.

He spun and kicked as beside him, Bugear punched a goat into the ground and hacked at it. The goat Headscratcher was aiming at glanced off his leg, and he slashed futilely at it as it bounded away.

Too slow! Headscratcher raged against his own weakness as he took a step back, watching three goats circle around him, all waiting to pounce. This wasn’t right. He was stronger than before! But his body was so very weak. He was hungry. Headscratcher fought the feeling down. A weak Hob was still stronger than a Goblin.

A Goat leapt at the same time as two of its companions. Headscratcher dodged the first and knocked the second away with his sword, but the third bore him to the ground. He shouted as its gaping mouth was suddenly inches away from his face, biting—

Someone pulled the goat off him. Headscratcher rolled away and saw Bugear hurling the Eater Goat to one side. The other Hobgoblin never saw the second goat until it had leapt on his back. He whirled, and there was a brief flash of metal, a ripping motion, a spray of blood. The Eater goat leapt away, and Bugear stumbled.

His throat was missing.

Headscratcher rose. A goat charged him. He kicked it. Bugear was stumbling, swinging weakly. He fell. Headscratcher ran forwards as Badarrow and Shorthilt charged into the goats, screaming, and scattered them.

He caught Bugear. Headscratcher looked into his friend’s eyes as Bugear clutched at the remains of his throat. The other Goblin looked into his eyes and squeezed his hand, then turned. He grabbed his blade and rose. An Eater Goat fell as he drove the blade into its side. Bugear made a sound as his ruined throat bubbled with blood. He charged into the goats, mouth open in a silent scream.

So many. The formation was lost. Badarrow snarled as he slashed at a goat, a dagger in one hand, a shortsword in the other. Headscratcher ran after Bugear as the Hobgoblin was swarmed. No, no!

Headscratcher threw one goat to the ground and stomped on it. The goat broke. He turned and another caught his arm. It bit down to the bone and tore a chunk away as  Headscratcher raised his sword. He knocked the goat away and speared it on the ground with his sword.

The Hob turned and roared. The goats ran towards him and he cut them down. One. Two. Three. He was burning with rage. But the goats kept on coming. They were fearless. And he—

Something knocked him to the ground. Headscratcher fell. A goat was on top of him, and he was fighting it. And then he heard a whistling sound, heard and felt the thunk. The goat stiffened on top of him and he pushed it away.

A knife was buried in the goat’s back. Headscratcher looked around. Who had thrown it? He saw a girl, standing in the melting snow, staring at him. Then she raised a hand.

“This way! Hurry!”

The Hobs looked up. Five of them, now. The Eater Goats were savaging Bugear. They all saw the girl and there was a second of hesitation. Just a second. Then they ran, and the goats followed.

—-

“Watch out!”

Erin was the first to react after the first Eater Goat leapt the walls. She hurled her knife and the goat dodged. It skipped left and the blade bounced off the ground. Then it ran at Erin, screaming.

“To the houses! Lock the doors!”

Wirclaw loosed an arrow at the goat. It pierced the goat’s side, making it stumble, but the goat came on. The other villagers ran for the doors. A few raced out as the rest barricaded themselves in, holding pitchforks, a cleaver, a rake—

“Take this!”

Erin had a small vial in one hand. She hurled it, and the goat caught it in the face this time. The vial exploded as it broke on impact, and the miniature fireball roasted Erin’s face. She yelped, turned, and ran. That was wise, because after a second the goat charged out of the flames. It was burning, and part of its face had been blown away. But it was still coming.

“Monster!”

A huge furry hand caught the goat as it leapt for Erin. Wirclaw hurled the goat to one side and both he and Erin rushed over. Before the goat could get up they kicked and stomped on it. They only stepped back when it stopped moving.

“Dead gods.”

Wirclaw bent over the goat, chest heaving, eyes wide. He had clearly never seen anything like it before. Erin looked towards the walls and scrambled for her knife lying in the ground.

“More are coming! Hurry!”

She and Wirclaw ran up to the watch post above the walls again. This time Wirclaw loosed arrows as fast as he could, aiming at the goats before they could perform their jumping trick. Erin was with him, another small vial in hand. She’d only thought to bring two! She saw the goats breaking away, leaving only six or so of their number behind. Why?

Then she heard the laughter. It was fierce, distant. She turned, and saw the Goblins.

Hobgoblins. They stood in a line, six of them. One was loosing arrows at the Eater Goats; the others were waiting for the goats to charge. Wirclaw spotted them and lowered his bow for an instant in astonishment.

“Goblins? Why are they here?”

“I don’t know. I think they’re—helping us?”

“Impossible.”

The Gnoll shook his head, but Erin was sure. She grabbed Wirclaw’s arm.

“Yes! They’re drawing the goats away!”

“They will be slaughtered. These goats are monsters!”

The Gnoll pointed to one of the goats below. The horrible thing had eight arrows lodged in its side, but it was still running about, bleating and screaming. Erin stared at the goats. She stared at the Goblins. Then she uncorked the second vial. Wirclaw recoiled as a viscous smell rose from the vial.

“What is that?”

“Acid. Octavia makes it. It’s strong, so keep back. And cover me.”

Erin walked down and went to the gates. She unbarred it with one hand as Wirclaw roared at her. The gates opened, and the villagers behind Erin shouted as the six goats charged her.

Erin raised the vial in her hand. She tossed the acid onto the faces of the first two goats who ran towards her, and raised her fist.

“[Minotaur Punch]!”

Another goat went flying. The remaining three were outnumbered, and the villagers charged them, weapons raised. The danger was in their numbers as much as their insane resistance to damage! Erin ran out of the gates, hearing Wirclaw’s arrows thunk into the ground behind her. She turned and saw the Hobgoblins fighting for their life. And behind them—something else.

Erin stared at the distant figures and waved her hands. She pointed once, and ran towards the goats and Goblins. She hoped they’d gotten the message.

—-

Now.

They all ran. The Human girl, the young woman, waved her arms once and then raced away. Not towards the village, but just away, through the snow. The Goblins followed her, because they had no other choice.

The goats gave them a few seconds of lead as they fought over Bugear and their comrades. Then, sensing their prey might get away, the rest turned and ran.

There were eleven or so now, all injured, but Eater Goats never gave up. And they were quick! Headscratcher turned as one raced behind him. He shouted, and Badarrow twisted. The goat bounced off his raised arm. Numbtongue spat as he lifted one of the two swords in his hand and threw it. The goats dodged around the sword, slowing them down.

Now Numbtongue was down a sword. That meant he ran faster. The Hobgoblins were nearly caught up with the girl, and so were the goats. She was floundering in the snow. Headscratcher turned, ready to fight, to die—

An arrow shot past his head. It curved around Rabbiteater who was in the rear and struck a goat in the head. The goat dropped. His buddies halted and looked around.

On a snow-covered hilltop sixty feet away, Bird lowered his bow and reached for another arrow. He fumbled as he grasped for it, and his fingers brushed one of the newly-healed wounds on his chest.

“Ow.”

“Are you okay?”

Beside him, Lyonette turned anxiously. She and Drassi were standing in the snow. So was Mrsha, despite Lyonette’s attempts to keep her in the inn. All three had potions and other alchemist weapons in their hands. Bird nodded.

“I believe the arrowhead of one of the arrows is lodged in my carapace. It will not bother me when shooting.”

As he spoke he loosed another arrow. This one caught a goat leaping for Erin’s legs. It fell too.

Erin and the Goblins were all running towards them. Lyonette gulped. She turned to Drassi.

“Ready? When they come—throw!”

The Drake was pale-faced but she nodded. Mrsha lifted a bottle and Lyonette would have grabbed it if her hands weren’t full too. More arrows were flying from the direction of the village, but the suicidal goats kept coming.

“Erin! This way! Duck!”

Lyonette waited until Erin and the Hobgoblins were twenty feet away before throwing. Drassi threw at the same time. The Human girl and Hobgoblins covered their heads and ducked as they ran. The Eater Goats looked up and saw two vials spinning towards them through the air—

They turned as the vials plopped into the snow and exploded into crackling lightning and a shower of thorny spines several feet away. Bird stared at the [Barmaids] as he reached for another arrow. And then Mrsha tossed.

Her aim was good. Her arm was terrible. The red vial with a shining orange center spun lazily down, just above one goat. It would have missed. Would have, but the goat, eternally hungry, leapt up and bit the vial in midair.

It exploded. Fire and bits of goat rained down. The other goats scattered, and then backed away as Mrsha, Lyonette, and Drassi threw again.

A tripvine bag exploded, catching two goats in the thorny tendrils that raced along the ground. A vial of pepper potion was swallowed by a goat that hadn’t learned the lesson the first time. That goat rolled around, shrieking. And Lyonette’s vial of Silverfrost missed everything and exploded into a frozen cloud next to the Hobgoblins.

Bird loosed an arrow. Erin turned. She had no knives, but she raised her fists anyways. The five Hobgoblins turned. They saw two goats tangled up in vines, chewing their way out, one rolling around on the ground, and a final goat, charging at them and bleating.

The final goat stopped. It looked back and saw a trail of its fallen friends, arrows sticking out of their heads, a flaming bit of snow where one of its friends had exploded, and another goat riddled with arrows from Wirclaw. It looked at the Hobs.

To its credit, it didn’t hesitate as it charged. The Hobs cut it down in moments and then turned to the three immobilized goats. They butchered all three with swift, precise blows.

And then it was over. Erin bent, panting, forehead covered with sweat despite the cold air. The Hobgoblins stood, blades dripping with gore, staring at each other and the odd company on the hilltop. Bird carefully drew another arrow and aimed it at Badarrow.

“Are you okay?”

Erin said it first to Lyonette, and then to the Goblins. They stared at her. Lyonette was the one who spoke.

“I—we’re okay, Erin. We found Bird lying on the ground a few minutes ago and he told us there were Goblins—we saw the goats attacking the village from a distance and came here. But what—”

“Goblins? Wait, why was Bird—”

“They shot me, Miss Erin. I regret to inform you that I did not manage to kill any of them. However, that may be good since your rule stipulates not killing Goblins. However, they are Hobgoblins so I did try. But they had better teamwork and so I was shot and fell off the roof. It was quite painful, but fortunately Miss Lyonette had healing potions.”

Bird calmly aimed at Badarrow as he spoke. Erin’s eyes widened and she looked at the Hobs. They glanced at each other and Shorthilt covered his face as Badarrow glowered at Bird.

“Wait, but they saved me! I mean, the village we were in was under attack by those goats. Why did they attack you, Bird?”

The Antinium hesitated. He looked at the Goblins and they, remembering, glared back. Bird didn’t exactly meet Erin’s eyes. He shuffled his feet before he spoke.

“I may have tried to shoot them from afar.”

He glanced at Erin and hunched his shoulders.

“I am supposed to hunt monsters.”

“But they’re Goblins! Wait—”

Erin closed her eyes as she held up a hand. Everyone looked at her. She took a breath.

“Okay. I think I get it. Lower your bow, Bird.”

“What? Erin!”

“It’s okay, Lyonette. Trust me. Bird, lower your bow. These Goblins aren’t going to attack. Right?”

She glanced over her shoulder. The Hobgoblins blinked at her, and then edged away from her and the others. They glanced back across the snowy plains. One of them took a step away.

“Wait—”

They turned to look back at Erin. The Goblins stared at her, and one raised a hand. Drassi screamed and Mrsha hid behind Erin as the Hob who’d raised the hand glanced at her. He turned away.

“Ancestors, Ancestors, oh Ancestors—”

“Drassi!”

Lyonette grabbed the shaking Drake. Drassi had faced down the Eater Goats despite her fears, but close proximity to the Hobgoblins was making the Drake tremble like a leaf. Erin called out after the Goblins as they trudged away, and then saw a group of Gnolls and Drakes heading her way.

“Uh oh. I’d better deal with that—come on!”

The others followed her as she jogged through the snow. The villagers lead by Wirclaw caught up with her, holding bloody weapons. None of them were hurt, which was a relief. Wirclaw half-raised his bow as he spotted Bird, and then glanced towards the Hobs in the distance.

“Miss Erin! Are you unharmed? Why did you leave? Those Goblins—”

“They saved your village, Wirclaw. No, don’t argue about it. Look, Lyonette and Mrsha and Drassi here helped you all. Can you take them back to your village for a little bit? I want to bring back the milk with them, and I think Drassi needs to sit down.”

“Certainly, but—”

Erin turned to Bird, ignoring the Gnoll.

“Bird, you go with them. Keep your bow out just in case I guess, but don’t shoot anyone unless they attack! Got it?”

The Antinium nodded. He looked at Erin.

“And what will you do, Miss Solstice?”

Erin squared her shoulders and then twisted her neck with a grimace. She must have twisted something while she was running or fighting. A healing potion would sort that out. But first things first. She turned and looked towards the five Goblins. They were standing around the spot where they’d first fought the goats. There had been six of them, then. Erin nodded to the Goblins and looked around at everyone staring at her.

“I’m going to talk to them.”

—-

Bugear lay on the ground. Or rather, what remained of him lay there. Most of his body was gone but his head had been mostly spared from the savaging. Headscratcher knelt in the muddy ground and snow and picked it up. Bugear’s expression had slackened in death, but Headscratcher could still remember his wordless snarl as he charged the Eater Goats.

He had known he wouldn’t survive, so he’d thrown himself into the fighting to distract the goats. It had bought them enough time to survive. The other Goblins knew it. They stood around Bugear in silence.

There were no recriminations. No words of reproach for Headscratcher, or indeed, no words of any kind. It was done. They’d fought and now they were fewer. Again.

Redfang warriors did not weep for the fallen. They were warriors; they knew what their fates were. They did not cry, because their leader, Garen Redfang, didn’t believe in it. So the five Goblins did not weep for their brother.

“Um, hello?”

A timid voice interrupted their moment of silence. The Goblins turned. Headscratcher wiped at his eyes that weren’t full of tears. He stopped and stared.

A girl stood in the snow. The same girl who’d helped save them, the one whom they’d seen on the walls of the village. She stared at them. How could she know what thought was running through their minds? What memories, what tragedies?

There were no words. And Redfang warriors did not weep. So the others brushed a bit of sweat, maybe melted snow water from their eyes as they looked at her. She was Human, an enemy most of the times, prey others. But they had met one who was neither. Once.

How could she know? She couldn’t. But the young woman saw their tears. And because she stood in front of them without a sword or spell blazing in their hands, they listened. The Redfang warriors had no hope of anything in particular. They were just lost and very tired.

And the young woman looked at them, at the head in Headscratcher’s arms, and did something they had never seen a Human do before.

She bowed.

—-

“Thank you.”

Erin bowed to the five Goblins. The snow was stained red, and when she raised her head, she saw they had mostly wiped their tears away. The five Goblins stared at her. She said it again.

“Thank you. You saved us. I owe you my life.”

Silence. The Goblins looked at each other. Erin looked at them.

Five Goblins. Five…Hobs. She had only ever met two Hobs before in her life. Erin remembered the Goblin Chieftain, a lifetime ago, and the other Hob who she had met with Rags. These five were not like either.

They were ragged. They had loincloths, ill-fitting pieces of armor that were too small on their bodies, and weapons. Their blades were well looked after, but obviously well-used as well. Erin thought they were good iron, rather than steel.

And each of the Hobgoblins was injured. One, the one carrying the head, had a huge chunk taken out of his arm and a bad gash down one leg, but he didn’t seem to notice the blood running from him. Erin did.

“Thank you.”

She said it a third time, mostly because she had no idea of what to say next. The Goblins looked at her, and then each other. One, the only Goblin carrying a bow, growled and turned away.

“I’m sorry about your friend.”

The other Goblins looked at Erin, and then at the head of their companion. They said not a word. Another Goblin broke away from Erin. The rest just stared at her as if they’d never met a Human before. Or rather, never talked to a Human before.

“Uh—”

What could she say? Thanks? She’d said that. I’m sorry? Ditto. Erin didn’t know what she should do. The Goblins had saved her. If they were anyone else—a group like the Horns of Hammerad for instance—she would have offered them money, asked where they were from and so on. But these Goblins…

One of them, the one with the bow, was retrieving arrows from the goats and butchering them at the same time. He glanced up and growled something at the others. Two more broke away and began helping him. His look was the least friendly as he stared at Erin.

“Are you…hungry?”

That was the only explanation Erin could think of. The goat meat didn’t look good and she would have bet it was stringy, but the Goblins were cutting them up quickly. Her words made the Goblin with the bow look up. This time he rolled his eyes.

“Okay, I got that. You’re hungry. Do you want something to eat?”

Five growling stomachs answered her. Erin stared at the Goblins. She knew she shouldn’t. She knew it might be a bad idea. But they were staring at her, and there was nothing simple in their eyes. One of them, the Goblin cradling the head of their friend, was staring at her like—like—

“Would you like to come with me? I have food to eat. You can have it. Free. You don’t have to pay.”

It popped out of her mouth, and once said, it was impossible to take back. The Goblins all turned. The one with the bow straightened. The one with the head dropped it, and then scrambled to pick it up.

“I—I have an inn.”

Erin felt she should explain as the Goblins looked at her. She pointed, and they stared across the rolling snow-covered hills towards her inn in the distance. They exchanged a look.

“You can go there if you’re hungry. I have food. Lots of food. And you could bury your friend…”

Erin’s voice trailed off. The Goblins were just staring at her. There was nothing hostile about their gazes, but they were so bewildered. So lost. She coughed.

“You know what? Meet me there. No one will hurt you, I promise. I’ll have food. You don’t have to come, but if you do…food, okay?”

She mimed walking to her inn. The Goblins stared at her. One nodded. Erin stopped pretending to walk, feeling silly. They weren’t stupid. Rags had never been stupid. If she were here, she would have been rolling her eyes, making rude gestures and telling Erin she got it already.

But she wasn’t. So Erin pointed again, and slowly backed away. Then she went to find Lyonette and the others.

“We might be having guests in a bit. You all okay?”

They stared at her. Erin pointed at her sled, still carrying all the milk she’d bought.

“Come on, let’s go back. Bird, I’ll pull the sled. Mrsha can ride on it. Let’s go.”

She turned and pulled by momentum more than anything else, her employees and Mrsha followed. Erin walked slowly back to her inn, hearing Drassi burst out into nervous chatter after a while and Lyonette soothing Mrsha. But her eyes were on the Goblins all the while. And when she made it to her inn and paused at the open doorway, she could tell they were still watching her.

—-

In the Redfang tribe, stories were still told of Garen Redfang and how their Chieftain had once walked through Human cities, often wearing a mask and a hood to conceal his features. He had spoken with Humans and other species, traded with them, and fought as a Gold-rank adventurer for a time. More than a few Goblins had dreamed of doing the same, but only dreamed.

It was a legend, a myth. No real Goblin would ever walk through a city unless they were there to be executed, or if their tribe was raiding it. And while the Redfang warriors had entered Human dwellings before, they had never gone into one without swords in hand.

Now they stood outside of an inn just a short distance away from Liscor and stared up at it. Not one of the five Goblins had a sword in their hands. It was a surreal experience. Headscratcher hesitated at the wooden door to the inn for several minutes before he pushed it open. Numbtongue stared up at the inn’s name as the other Goblins walked in.

“You’re here!”

The instant they stepped through, a voice shouted. The Redfang warriors flinched and braced themselves, but all they saw was a girl. The girl. And she was smiling at them.

True, it wasn’t a great smile. It was tinged with nerves and a bit of fear, a bit of uncertainty, but it was still a smile. The Redfang warriors were too afraid to smile back.

“Come on in, don’t be shy. Sit. Here’s a table—sit down. I’m just going to get—Lyonette!”

The Goblins jumped as the young woman ran through a door behind a counter. They looked at the table and hesitantly pulled at the chairs. Chairs were another odd thing, but the five Hobgoblins perched on them hesitantly. Rabbiteater’s ears kept twitching, and he turned his head sharply a moment before the Human girl rushed back into the room.

“Here. I have this—I know you need it.”

She had an armful of potions. The young woman carefully approached the table and the Goblins just as carefully leaned back. She hesitated and then dumped them onto the table. Headscratcher caught one before it could roll off and onto the floor.

“Thanks—”

The young woman froze at the same time the Goblin did. He’d reflexively started to hand the potion back to her, and she’d unconsciously begun to take it. It was a universal experience, and they stared into each other’s eyes for a moment before breaking away.

“You keep it. It’s for you. For your injuries.”

The young woman backed away as Headscratcher lowered his hand. She pointed to his arm. He started, and then glanced at the crimson bandage he’d tied to his arm. The other Redfang warriors blinked too, and then recalled.

Yes, their injuries. Some were quite terrible. Headscratcher might lose that arm to infection or never gain its mobility, such was the damage. Badarrow had bites that went down to his bones on his legs, and the other Goblins were just as injured. And the potions were—

Healing potions? They had to be, but for them? The Goblins stared at the young woman, expecting, suspecting a trap. They eyed the bottles on the table.

Remembering the ones that had exploded earlier, the Goblins were hesitant, but then they recognized the liquids within. Most Goblins couldn’t read, so they identified potion types by their appearance. And these looked like healing potions.

But who would give healing potions to a Goblin? That was what made the Goblins sure it had to be a trick. Not that they suspected the young woman of tricking them, but—

Logic warred with the evidence before their eyes. It was Numbtongue who moved first. He picked up a vial and squinted at the tiny label on it. After a moment he nodded and the others immediately uncorked the vials and bottles and poured it on their injuries. Then they received another surprise.

The healing potions were high quality. Headscratcher gaped as the chunk of flesh missing from his arm regrew over the course of a minute. This was good stuff! He looked at the young woman. She smiled hesitantly at him.

“Good? Use more if you need to.”

Mind boggling. The Goblins treated their wounds and then hesitantly recorked the bottles and pushed them together on the table. They felt guilty, as if they’d used too much, and eyed the diminished potion levels in the bottles uncertainly.

“You’re done? Cool. Let’s—why don’t I sit? I’ll sit here and we can…talk.”

So saying, the young woman scooted a chair out from another table and sat facing the Goblins. They looked at her. She looked back. The silence was unbearable.

“I am Erin. Erin Solstice. I’m an [Innkeeper].”

The Goblins stared at Erin. She coughed.

“Um. I know I said thanks, but thanks again. You saved me. I don’t know where those evil goats came from, but you were just in time. And I know your friend died…I’m sorry. And I’m also sorry that Bird shot at you. He’s the Antinium. The one on the tower.”

Silence. Erin shuffled her feet. The Goblins wondered if they should say something. And if so, what? They looked at Numbtongue. He shrugged.

“Are you with the—the Goblin Lord?”

Every head snapped back to Erin. She leaned back a bit and raised her hands.

“Not that I’m angry if you are. It’s just—I hear he’s not a great guy. But if you think he is, that’s fine! I’m not judging. But I just uh—”

All five Redfang warriors shook their heads at the same time. Erin looked relieved.

“Really? That’s great! You know, I thought he was a jerk, especially when his soldiers shot arrows at my inn, but I was thinking, here’s a bunch of Goblins and his army was just here, so…ahem.”

She broke off, and Headscratcher looked at the others. He raised a hand and crooked it towards her, tilting his head and baring his fangs. It was a quick statement, but he’d conveyed a general surprise that any building would have been left standing after the Goblin Lord had passed by. Shorthilt’s raised eyebrow and glance at one window told the others that his personal opinion was that this building had to be enchanted in some way.

The Human got none of this. She was fidgeting, glancing around, muttering under her breath. She looked at them and all five Goblins snapped back to attention.

“Okay. This might be weird, but…do you know a Goblin named Rags?”

Four jaws dropped. Badarrow’s eyes narrowed. Erin glanced from face to face. Her eyes widened. Rabbiteater nodded fractionally.

“You do?”

The Redfang warriors glanced at each other. How did she know Rags, let alone by name? Erin was bombarding them with questions while Badarrow kicked Rabbiteater under the table. He nodded to Erin, and then twirled his finger around, indicating the room as a whole.

The other Redfang warriors followed his gaze. They stared at the Human girl, looked around the inn, her inn, and put the pieces together at last. The five Hobgoblins shuffled their feet and exchanged awkward glances.

This was so embarrassing.

Of course, Erin had no idea what they were thinking. She only saw their postures.

“Wait, what’s wrong? It’s not Rags, is it? Is she okay? I haven’t seen her in a long time—is she mad at me? Or…?”

Again, the Goblins shook their heads. How could they explain the inter-Goblin politics that had seen Rags absorb every tribe in the area to repel the Goblin Lord? Erin stared at them.

“Do you know where she is?”

They shook their heads. She hesitated.

“Okay. But is she well?”

They shrugged. Erin had to think.

“Do you…where are you going? Do you know where you’re going?”

They shook their heads again. Erin looked from face to face. Each Redfang warrior met her eyes, and then looked away. It was just a moment, but somehow, each felt like she’d seen a bit of the pain and despair they carried with them. Just for a moment.

“Okay. Okay…um…”

She wavered. As she did, Rabbiteater’s belly rumbled. Everyone stared at him. Erin shot to her feet. Rabbiteater nearly tumbled out of his chair.

“I’m so sorry! I totally forgot. I promised you food, right? Wait right here!”

She dashed into the kitchen. The other Goblins exchanged a look of wild surmise. Food? They’d buried a lot of the Eater Goat meat in the snow just in case, and they were hungry. But after the potions, they had to wonder. Would she actually feed them? Actually? With—with forks and the fancy tools Garen had told them all about?

Would there be anything to drink?

They heard banging in the kitchen, and Erin’s raised voice, arguing with someone else. The Goblins stared at the kitchen anxiously. All but one.

There was a blackboard with words written on them in chalk hanging from a ledge above the bar’s counter. It was a menu, although it had only been written once and never updated. Most people ignored it, but one of the Redfang warriors had spotted it.

Numbtongue studied the words written on the menu written above the bar’s counter. He nudged Shorthilt, grunted and pointed. Shorthilt stared blankly at the letters. He shrugged. Numbtongue sighed. He carefully studied the words written on the menu until Erin came back.

“Here! Food, as promised!”

She had a huge platter and five plates awkwardly stacked on them. They were thick, filled with heaping mounds of spaghetti pasta, and covered with little black things. The other Goblins had no idea what the black things were. They were squishy, and looked edible, and that was good enough. Rabbiteater reached for one of the plates as Erin carefully placed it in front of him, but Numbtongue caught his hand. He shook his head and the other Redfang warriors, seeing the motion, froze.

“What’s wrong?”

Erin looked at them, concerned. Numbtongue hesitated. He sucked in his lips, and then scowled. He hated doing this. Reluctantly he opened his mouth and pointed to the plates and black things on them.

“Acid flies? Blue…fruit?”

Everyone stared at him. Erin’s jaw dropped. She stammered.

“How did—buh—I mean, I don’t have any acid flies. Those are olives! They’re healthy, I swear—I didn’t know they existed, but—this is spaghetti and olives! It’s uh—I’m out of blue juice too. Did you—can I get you something—wait, I have more!”

She rushed into the kitchen. The other Goblins stared at the olives. Badarrow picked one up and sniffed at it with deep suspicion. Rabbiteater gave into his stomach and popped one into his mouth. He chewed, brightened, and began to shovel spaghetti into his mouth. The other Goblins looked at him, and then seized spaghetti in both claws.

Erin came back to find the Goblins shoveling spaghetti down their throats with incredible speed. If not delicacy. Watching Shorthilt tilt a plate back and slide all the spaghetti into his waiting mouth was an education in itself. The amazing bit was that not a single speck of spaghetti or olive was dropped. The Goblins cleaned their plates.

Slowly, the Human girl approached and the Goblins stopped eating. They stared at the mugs in her hands. Erin smiled and weakly raised the mugs filled with ale.

“I’ve uh, got drinks! Does anyone want a second helping?”

—-

Erin had watched eating competitions on television when she was younger. It was a thing. She hadn’t exactly liked seeing someone wolf down over forty hotdogs in one sitting, but she had to admire the speed at which it was done.

However, one of the things Erin had objected to was that in a food eating competition, none of the contestants ever seemed like they liked eating the food. It was about getting as much food as possible inside them as they could, not savoring the food.

By contrast, the Goblins sitting in the common room of her inn were a joy to watch eating. Because they clearly loved every bite. Oh, they still ate like starving wolverines, but every now and then one would pause and close his eyes while chewing, or make a grunting sound that expressed pure satisfaction.

Erin got to see only a bit of this, because she was rushing into the kitchen and out of it every few seconds. The Goblins didn’t stop with the spaghetti, or the meatloaf, or the lasagna, pizza, or even the steak! They ate and ate, and ate!

Erin kept going into the kitchen and coming back with more pre-made dishes and watched them disappear. The Hobgoblins ate as if they were starving, which they must have been. They didn’t look that scrawny, but Erin realized that if she compared them to the Hobgoblin she’d met before—the one who’d come in with Rags that one time—they were definitely a lot thinner.

She was worried they’d puke or their stomachs would get full, but the Goblins seemed to be able to digest the food as quickly as they ate. Their thin bellies inflated very slowly. As Erin grabbed a whole fried chicken seasoned with hot peppers, she decided she had to take a break. She turned to the Drake who was shakily cleaning dishes.

“Drassi, I need you to take over. Take this chicken out to the Goblins, will you?”

“What?”

The Drake jumped. Her pale scales grew paler and she raised her clawed hands.

“Erin, I can’t. I can’t even—I don’t know how you can have them here! Here! At least have Bird come downstairs with his bow! We should be calling the Watch, or, or—I can’t do it.”

Erin shook her head.

“Just serve them, okay Drassi? They won’t be dangerous and Bird is right there! Lyonette’s upstairs with Mrsha—I need to make more food or we’ll run out!”

“But—but—”

“Go out. Like this…hi guys! This is Drassi. She’s going to put the chicken down on the table. I said down on the table, Drassi—okay, why don’t you put it on this table?”

Erin managed to get Drassi to put the chicken down on the table and get her back into the kitchen. Drassi was trembling so hard she’d nearly dropped the whole thing. Erin had a suspicion that if she had, the Goblins would have picked it off the floor or just sat down and eaten it there.

“Okay, was that so hard?”

“Yes!”

Drassi glared at her. Erin sighed.

“But you did it. Just put the food on another table, okay? I’ve got to make more food. Uh…where’s the butter? And sprouts? They could probably use some greens with all the heavy food they’ve been eating.”

She began to fry greens, put together a soup, and start a few loafs of bread all at once. Drassi took out a few more dishes very reluctantly, but reported the Hobgoblins did indeed seem to be slowing now. Erin let her finish putting all the food onto platters for later and tending to the soup—and mountains of finished dishes, and walked out into the room.

Five pairs of eyes instantly focused on her. Erin froze, and then waved. One of the five Goblins waved back. The others just watched her.

Drassi’s fear was understandable, Erin felt. Each time she moved, the Goblins all stared at her. Erin waved at them and pointed.

“I’m just going upstairs. Okay?”

They didn’t reply, but watched her as she climbed the stairs. Erin found Lyonette and Mrsha’s room and hesitated before knocking on the door.

“Lyonette? Mrsha? Are you two okay?”

“Erin?”

She heard a lock turn and then the door opened. Lyonette opened the door a crack.

“Come in.”

Erin edged into the room and saw that Lyonette was sitting on her bed with Apista and Mrsha. The bee was crawling onto her pillow and Mrsha was shivering in Lyonette’s arms.

“Is Mrsha okay?”

“I think so. She’s not that afraid any longer, are you Mrsha? She’s just—she can smell the Goblins downstairs, Erin.”

Lyonette didn’t quite look at Erin as she ran a soothing hand over Mrsha’s back. The Gnoll flinched when she heard the word ‘Goblin’. Erin paused.

“Right.”

Mrsha had her past with Goblins. Erin had almost forgotten that. She sat by the bed. Mrsha looked at her. Erin offered her a hand and the Gnoll licked it.

“It’s okay, Mrsha. They’re not bad, I promise.”

“You’re sure?”

Lyonette spoke for the both of them. Erin hesitated. She looked at Lyonette. She realized she’d made a mistake. She’d assumed Lyonette would understand the Goblins being here, but the other girl was clearly as upset as Mrsha was. Erin paused, stroking Mrsha’s head.

“You never really knew Rags, did you?”

“I remember seeing her and screaming. But I didn’t, no. I’m sorry.”

“Right. And she was only here…look Lyonette, I know you’re nervous. Drassi definitely is. But these Goblins aren’t dangerous. I’d feel it with my [Dangersense] if they were. And they helped us.”

Lyonette nodded, but she didn’t look convinced. She stared at the floorboards, and then Apista as the bee crawled up a wall. She took a breath.

“I know your friend—Rags—was a guest here. But Erin, I have to say it. These aren’t normal Goblins. They’re Hobs. They lead other Goblins and they’re very, very dangerous. One Hob is a match for most Silver-rank adventurers. More than a match, sometimes.”

“I get that. But Lyonette, they saved us. They saved me, and they didn’t have to.”

“I know. I saw. They saved you from the goats, but they also shot Bird. I was the one who heard him fall. Erin, he would have died.”

Erin nodded. Her hand clenched. Bird was upstairs. He had a small room on the third floor and she’d ordered him to rest after his near-death experience.

“I know. But it was self-defense. And I owed them something. Look, I’ll feed them for now and we’ll see what happens, okay?”

“You’re the boss.”

That was a bad answer, and Lyonette clearly wasn’t happy about it, but it would have to do. Erin nodded, relieved. Then she bent down to Mrsha.

“I know they’re—I know they’re Goblins, okay Mrsha, honey? But they’re not like the other ones, I promise. They won’t hurt you.”

The Gnoll was still shaking, but she raised her head as Erin spoke to her. Erin was prepared for tears or fear, but that wasn’t what was in the Gnoll cub’s gaze. Her eyes blazed. They narrowed as Mrsha stared at Erin. There was anger there. Anger and deep reproach.

She had no words. But Mrsha made her opinion clear. Erin froze.

“Mrsha? They’re going to stay a bit longer. But they won’t come upstairs. Got it? If they cause any trouble, they’re gone. I promise. Just wait here, okay? I’ll get Drassi to come up with food—”

For once the promise of food didn’t satisfy Mrsha. The Gnoll swiped at Erin’s hand and she stared at Erin until the young woman left the room. Erin walked down the stairs and took a deep breath. Then she groaned.

“Oh no. What now?”

Someone had entered the common room ahead of her. An Antinium was holding a bow, and the room had frozen. Drassi was standing, shaking, mugs in hand, and the Goblin warriors had frozen, half of them about to leap out of their seats.

“Bird!”

Erin ran down the stairs. The Antinium turned his head, but his arms kept the bow trained on the Goblins.

“Miss Erin, they were attempting to leave.”

“What? Leave?”

Erin looked at the Goblins. They hesitated. One pointed towards the doors.

“You want to go? Why?”

Again, hesitation. The Goblin pointed down. Everyone stared at his crotch. Erin’s face went slack until she realized what he meant.

“Pee? You want to—Bird, he just wants to go to the bathroom!”

“Oh. That was the reason I descended as well.”

The Antinium slowly lowered the bow. The Goblins relaxed just as slowly. Erin strode between them, raising her hands, trying to play peacemaker again.

“Let’s all calm down. We don’t want any accidents…especially the yellow kind. There’s outhouses for everyone. The bathroom’s right outside. Here, I can show you—”

That seemed to be unnecessary. The Goblin shook his head as he walked towards the door. He put a hand on the handle and pulled it open. The door revealed a startled Jelaqua Ivirith, her hand raised to push at the door. She stared at the Goblin, and her eyes went wide. The Goblin stared back.

Jelaqua backed up. Her face was always dead white, but now she seemed to be stunned. Horrified. She opened her mouth and stared at the Hobgoblin standing in front of her.

“Garen?”

The Goblin stared back. He recognized the word, Erin saw. He opened his mouth.

“Redfang?”

A giant hand reached past Jelaqua. Moore grabbed the Goblin and threw him across the room. The Hobgoblin crashed into a wall. Jelaqua sprinted into the room as the other Hobgoblins shot to their feet.

The Goblin who’d been thrown struggled upright. He swung wildly at Jelaqua—she grabbed one arm and then brought his head down to meet her knee. The Hobgoblin stumbled, and she knocked him flat with one punch. Jelaqua stood over the downed Hobgoblin and looked around. Then she looked at the unconscious Goblin at her feet.

“Oh. It’s not Garen. I was worried there for a second.”

The other Hobgoblins leapt over the table at her, roaring. One jerked as Seborn clotheslined him in midair and slung him to the ground. The Drowned Man leapt on the Hobgoblin and started beating him down with his fists.

“Stop, stop!”

Erin shouted, but Moore’s staff was already spinning. He flattened one Hob, and kicked the other. Jelaqua’s gauntleted fists flashed and the final Hobgoblin jerked back, stumbling from her punch. He feinted and jabbed at her; the Selphid let both punches meet her armor and hit him in the gut and chest with solid, heavy blows that made the Goblin stumble.

“Enough!”

Erin’s shout this time was backed up by more than just sound. The air in the inn cracked and the floor rumbled. The Halfseekers paused, eyes wide, and the two Goblins still on their feet halted as well.

Slowly, very slowly, Erin turned to look around the room. Jelaqua’s eyes flicked to the Hobgoblins, to Drassi poking her head out of the kitchen, and Bird who opened the door and paused when he saw the chaos. She looked at Erin and groaned.

“Please tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

The other two Halfseekers looked around. Moore shook his head. Seborn got up slowly.

“Miss Solstice, I believe we’re owed an explanation.”

Erin looked from face to face and tried to smile weakly. The normally jovial Halfseekers didn’t return the smiles. Right. They didn’t like Goblins either. She gestured to the tables.

“Why don’t we all sit. Does—does anyone want a drink?”

—-

The drinks did help, but barely. The Goblins sat in a corner of the room, their injuries healed once again with Erin’s potions. Jelaqua shook her head grimly as Erin finished the story.

“And so you invited them in. Why am I not surprised?”

“It’s just—they saved my life, Jelaqua.”

Erin spread her hands helplessly. Jelaqua turned and glared at the Goblins. They flinched. There was a clear distribution of power there, and they could tell they were on the losing end of it. The other two Halfseekers looked just as grim.

“We like all kinds of species Erin, but our group has its problems with Goblins. You do know we lost half our members to one?”

Jelaqua’s statement made the other Goblins sit up at their table. Moore’s eyes were shadowed as he watched them. Seborn’s gaze could have fried the egg in front of him. Erin waved her hands, trying to defuse the situation.

“I know, I know! But these are good Goblins, guys! Just give me a moment. They might not be here long. I’m just feeding them!”

“Right. Well, you’d better explain that to the others.”

Jelaqua glanced towards the door. Erin looked as well.

“What others?”

“Your usual crowds. Who else? I saw the Horns finishing up their request at the Adventurer’s Guild a while back. They’ll be here soon too, and a bunch of people from Liscor. You’d better have a good explanation ready for them, too.”

“Oh no. Wait here. Drassi! Go to Celum and make sure no one comes through! Jelaqua, Goblins—stay here!”

Erin ran for the door. She threw it open and saw the Horns of Hammerad and a number of other people trudging towards her inn through the snow. Her dinner crowd, as usual. Erin raced down the hill towards them.

“We’re closed! Go away! Shoo!”

The people heading towards her inn hesitated as Erin ran towards them. She shouted, waved her arms. Ceria frowned as Erin shouted at the others.

“Erin? What’s going on? What do you mean you’re closed?”

“Does this mean there is in fact, no food?”

Pisces peered at Erin, looking concerned. She grinned desperately.

“That’s right! No food! We have a—a thing going on. A thing with the food! I’m sorry, but you’ll have to come back later! Not you, though.”

She grabbed Pisces as he turned around and dragged him back. The other Horns of Hammerad clustered around Erin as she whispered to them.

“There’s a minor thing in the inn, okay? We’ll all go up and nobody scream, okay?”

“Goblin!”

Every head turned. A Drake who’d approached the inn from a different spot on the hill backed out of the door, scales pale. He turned to them and ran down the hill, waving his arms and screaming.

“Hobs! There’s five Hobgoblins in there! It’s an invasion! Run for your lives!”

Erin groaned. She saw her guests turn and began fleeing towards Liscor’s gates. Alerted by the commotion, the guards on the walls began shouting down at the people below. In moments, horns were blowing.

Ceria looked at Erin. Yvlon, Ksmvr, and Pisces did likewise. Slowly, Erin turned and grinned weakly at them. Ceria crossed her arms.

“Erin. What have you done?”

—-

“Human!”

Erin flinched as the door to her inn slammed open. The five Redfang warriors would have jumped to their feet, but the two adventurer teams kept them seated. They tensed as a group of heavily-armed guardsmen led by Zevara herself stormed into the room. The Drake Watch Captain halted when she saw the Hobgoblins, and then rounded on Erin.

“I didn’t believe it when I heard it. I thought even a Human, even you wouldn’t be stupid enough for this. Harboring five Hobgoblins? Now? While the Goblin Lord is marching on our cities? Have you lost your mind?”

“I can explain!”

Erin strode forwards quickly and put herself between Zevara and the Goblins. She saw Relc standing behind Zevara with a group of Drakes in full plate armor. He and the other guardsmen were ready for a fight. But it couldn’t come to that.

“Speak quickly Human.”

Zevara lashed her tail as she stared at the Hobgoblins. Her sword was half out of its sheath, and the [Guardsmen] behind her looked ready to fight. Relc’s eyes smoldered as he stared at the Goblins. They were tense, but they waited for Erin to speak.

She explained as fast as she could. Zevara was incredulous.

“You were attacked by goats?”

“Eater Goats, Captain. They have to be. Those buggers are nasty. If there’s a herd coming down from the High Passes—”

One of the guardsmen murmured to Zevara. She turned to Erin.

“We’ll inspect the bodies. But if these Hobs fought them, so what? Monsters fight monsters.”

“But they did it to save the village! I’m sure of it! They attacked the goats when they were about to jump over the walls! Look, Captain, I know they’re Goblins, but remember Rags?”

Behind Zevara, Relc twitched. Zevara glanced at him, then at Erin.

“I remember a group of Goblins starting to raid the roads around Liscor before they vanished. If that’s your argument—”

“These Goblins aren’t a danger! I promise!”

“Hah! And I’m supposed to let five Hobgoblins sit here while—”

“It’s five Goblins.”

“Five Hobs! Do you understand how dangerous that is? A Silver-rank team wouldn’t be a match for them! And why are they without a tribe? They could be spies, saboteurs—”

“Why did they sit in my inn and eat food for the last two hours, then?”

Zevara hesitated. She eyed the Goblins. One waved at her. The other raised his middle finger.

“It could be a Goblin ploy—”

“Oh come on. Really?”

Some of the guardsmen shifted behind Erin. One murmured.

“She has a point, Captain. That would be stupid, even for a Goblin—”

“They might have heard there’s a softhearted Human with a fondness for Goblins around here. Maybe they lured the Eater Goats here themselves. I don’t know, but I’m not having them here! And you, why would you think this is a good idea?”

The Drake Watch Captain glared at Erin. She glared back.

“Haven’t you seen the sign outside my inn? Didn’t you see what it read? It says, ‘no killing Goblins’!”

Zevara paused.

“That’s not—”

Erin glared at her. She rounded on the other Drakes and Gnolls in the Watch, raising her voice.

“Did you think that was a joke? That I wasn’t serious? I am. Unless the Goblin is attacking me or other people, or stealing or—or being a jerk, I won’t let you harm them.”

Zevara’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“This is Watch business, Human. You may not be in Liscor, but you’re close enough to fall under our jurisdiction.”

“So what, you’ll kill them right here and now because you think they might be a threat?”

The Drake hesitated. She eyed the Goblins. They were watching her. At last, she nodded.

“That was our intent.”

All five Redfang warriors shifted at once. The Watch did likewise. Zevara held up a hand.

“We won’t have a fight here. I’d rather force these Goblins to leave the area than risk any deaths.”

Slowly, the Redfang Goblins relaxed their grip on their weapons. But Erin was the one who objected this time.

“You can’t.”

“What?”

“They’re starving. Can’t you see?”

She pointed at the Goblins. The Redfang warriors glanced at her in astonishment. Erin spread her hands.

“They were hungry when they came in, and I think they’re on the run. They aren’t allied with the Goblin Lord—I think they’re part of Rags’ tribe. Look, Captain Zevara, why can’t I let them stay in my inn for a day or two?”

Everyone was gaping at her. Zevara shook her head.

“You really are as crazy as Relc says. I won’t allow it.”

“Well, I won’t let you lay a hand on these Goblins! Give me a day or two and I’ll let them go—maybe out of Celum. But no one’s hurting them here.”

Zevara stared incredulously at Erin.

“And what will you do if we decide to move them? Stop us? By yourself?”

She glanced around the inn. Both the Halfseekers and the Horns of Hammerad were present, but they didn’t seem inclined to stand up for Erin the same way as they had before. Erin nodded.

“If I have to.”

Someone in the group of guards people laughed. Zevara stared at Erin.

“Stand aside. We’re removing the Goblins.”

Erin’s eyes narrowed.

“Try it.”

For a heart-thundering second, Zevara’s hand tightened on her sword’s hilt and every warrior in the room tensed. Then the door opened. Half a dozen swords cleared their sheaths, but the figure standing in the doorway made everyone hesitate.

“Enough. Watch Captain Zevara, stand down.”

Zel Shivertail stood in the doorway. He glanced around, pinning the Redfang warriors with a glance. The Drakes backed up and he strode forwards to speak with Zevara. The two Drakes bent their heads. Erin couldn’t hear anything, but she saw Zevara’s tail lashing and caught a few words.

“—on my authority—can’t be s—quite. The situation—won’t allow—follow orders.”

At last, Zevara turned. She looked like she was ready to blast Erin with flames, but she held back. She clenched her claws into fists and glared pure murder at the Goblins.

“If they hurt anyone, it’s on your head, Human!”

She whirled and stormed out of the room. Slowly, the guardsmen followed her. In the newfound still, Zel Shivertail looked at Erin. He sighed.

“A word, Miss Solstice?”

—-

They stood outside and spoke in the cold.

“Thank you for helping me. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t.”

Zel inclined his head slightly. He glanced through a window into the inn, where the Redfang Goblins were still sitting, tense, watched by both adventurer groups.

“Truthfully, I don’t know if I should have. Goblins are dangerous, Miss Solstice.”

“I know that. But I think these ones are good. Why did you help me, by the way?”

Zel grimaced.

“Call it instinct. Not mine. Yours. You picked out Regrika Blackpaw and her associate’s treachery. If you can do that, perhaps you’re right about these Goblins. But truthfully, I have ulterior motives.”

“Which are?”

Erin studied Zel, but he didn’t meet her gaze.

“I’m sorry. But I can’t say. Regardless, I managed to convince Watch Captain Zevara to back down. However, if those Goblins cause any kind of disturbance—”

“I’ll make sure they won’t. And they won’t necessarily stay here. I just—I couldn’t leave them alone, you know?”

Erin shrugged helplessly. The Drake [General] eyed her and sighed.

“No, you really couldn’t, could you? Well, I will let you handle this at your discretion—however many misgivings I have. But if you…no. I’m afraid though, that if you do intend to shelter the Goblins, I won’t be staying at the inn.”

“Why?”

Erin stared at him. Zel Shivertail paused.

“I fought Goblins back in the Second Antinium war, and countless times before and since. They’re monsters to me, I’m afraid. I wouldn’t be able to sleep under the same roof as them. I’m sorry. I’ve seen what they can do, and while I can trust your word…I’m sorry.”

He looked at Erin. She hesitated, and then nodded slowly.

“I get it. But I think…I think I will offer them a place to stay for now. I don’t think they have anywhere to go. And I…want to know about Rags.”

Zel nodded.

“In that case, I’ll move out before tonight. I wish you luck, Miss Solstice.”

He turned. Erin called out behind him.

“Why did you do it? Stand up for me? And why were you sure I’d give them a place to stay?”

Zel looked back.

“You’re kind to strangers, Erin Solstice. That’s all. And that’s not a bad thing. If you can prove some Goblins are worth living, well, who am I to stop you?”

Then he walked into the inn. After a second, Erin followed him.

—-

“Do you…have names?”

Erin sat with the Redfang Goblins. They stared at her, and glanced behind her. Zel Shivertail was talking quietly with Lyonette, who was upset with Erin, and he was talking to Mrsha, who was clinging to his leg. Sitting around the room were the Horns of Hammerad and the Halfseekers, who were both watching them as well.

Erin tried to ignore all of them. She focused on the Goblin ahead of her.

“I’m Erin. But you know that. Do you have names?”

They hesitated. The Goblins looked each other, and shrugged. They weren’t proper names, not like Rags had. But they were something. Erin looked at Headscratcher and pointed to him.

“Okay, what’s yours?”

He scratched his head. She waited. The Goblin looked at her and scratched his head again.

“You don’t know?”

He shook his head and the pointed to it. He slowly and deliberately scratched his head.

“Headscratching?”

Pisces coughed. He cleared his throat as Erin looked at him.

“I believe, Miss Solstice, that the answer is far simpler. That is his name. And rather than Headscratching, I believe you would call him…Headscratcher?”

Headscratcher nodded in relief. Erin stared at him.

“What, really?”

The skepticism in her voice hurt more than any ridicule. Headscratcher drooped and Erin tried to reassure him.

“No, no, it’s a great name! I’m just surprised. You’re Headscratcher. That’s cool. And uh, what about you?”

She pointed at Shorthilt. The other Goblin began to pantomime as well. Erin’s brows furrowed as she tried to work his name out.

“Short. Right. I got that. Short…short…sword? No? Short hilt? Shorthilt? That’s your name?”

He gave her a short nod and stared challengingly at her. Erin sucked in her lips.

“Right. It’s uh, a good name! Very original. I think.”

Slowly, she went around the table, getting each name from each Goblin. Rabbiteater and Numbtongue were hardest to figure out, especially because Erin had neither rabbits nor numbing agents in her inn. But they got there.

“It’s nice to meet you all. Headscratcher, Shorthilt, Badapple—sorry, sorry! Badarrow, Rabbiteater, and Numbtongue, right?”

They all nodded. All four Goblins had repeatedly elbowed Numbtongue throughout the conversation, but he’d refused to open his mouth. Now Erin smiled at them. Goblin hearts did odd things in their chests and more than one Goblin poked at his heart experimentally.

“Good to meet you all. Sorry about everything earlier. Let’s do this properly. I’m Erin, this is Ceria, Pisces, Ksmvr, Yvlon—Drassi’s hiding in the kitchen. She’s the Drake. Lyonette and Mrsha are upstairs…Mrsha’s the cute little Gnoll. And uh, this is Jelaqua—”

The Selphid leaned over her table. She wasn’t smiling.

“Where is Garen Redfang? How do you know him?”

The Redfang warriors looked at her. Her eyes were fixed on them. Slowly, Headscratcher raised one finger. He pointed at himself and the others, spoke a word.

“Redfang.”

Erin stared blankly at Jelaqua. The Selphid frowned. Someone else spoke up.

“They must be his tribe.”

The Halfseekers turned and looked at Yvlon. The armored woman cleared her throat as everyone stared at her.

“I know a bit about them. I don’t know about Garen Redfang himself, but the Redfang tribe…they’re a notorious Goblin tribe around here. They’ve been active for years and no one’s managed to defeat them or find their lair. They live in the High Passes.”

Seborn shifted in his seat. His gaze hadn’t shifted from the Goblins since he’d sat down.

“We heard about that. What else do you know?”

Yvlon conferred with Ceria for a moment.

“They’re supposed to be the most dangerous Goblin tribe around the High Passes. The best at fighting—some of them ride Carn Wolves, and they’re rated as a threat that no single Gold-rank team should try to handle alone. By all accounts, they’ve done away with several Gold-rank teams and quite a lot of Silver-rank teams over the years.”

The other Redfang warriors looked proud. Headscratcher kicked them under the table and they paused, and then shuffled their feet. Jelaqua shook her head.

“That’s what we heard. But I only care about Garen Redfang. Your leader. Where is he?”

She looked at Headscratcher. He and the others all shook their heads and shrugged at the same time. Jelaqua made a sound of disgust and rose to her feet.

“Great. I can’t sit here. Moore, come on. Seborn, you stay in case something happens.”

She stomped out of the inn. Erin watched her go. Then she looked at the Goblins.

Now then. Now, after all the drama…she still didn’t know what to do with them. Part of her wanted to go tell Zel that they were leaving and he could stay. The rest of her knew that she’d made up her mind as soon as she’d seen them.

Goblins. Hobgoblins. Did it matter? The five who sat at the table warily eying her and the others in the room were like Rags and unlike her in so many ways. They were bigger, all male, and clearly trained warriors, but their eyes were the same. There was the same hurt there, the same curiosity when they stared at her magical chessboard or saw something new.

And they had seen too much. She remembered seeing their wounds and they had too many scars. They had been starving. Their stomachs were bulging, but they still looked like they could eat.

And one more thing made Erin sure. A memory. That last time she had seen Rags, she had turned her away. This time…Erin closed her eyes. She took a breath, and looked at them.

“I know a lot of people came by and threatened you. However, you all don’t seem to know where you’re going, am I right?”

The Redfang warriors shuffled their feet. Shorthilt nodded. Badarrow kicked him under the table. Erin smiled for a second.

“In that case…stay, okay? No one’s going to kill you. Not while I’m here. Stay. If you’re looking for Rags, well—you can stay here for a while at least. You need to eat, and sleep. I promise you, if you’ll stay, you’ll be safe.”

The Goblins looked at her incredulously. So did the Horns of Hammerad, Lyonette, Drassi, and everyone else in the room. Zel just sighed and hefted his pack onto his back. Erin hesitated. She looked into Headscratcher’s eyes.

Was she making a mistake? Yes. No one would come to an inn with Goblins. No one. The door to Celum had opened twice despite Octavia’s attempts and the people had fled screaming when seeing the Goblins. Zevara was angry, Relc was angry—Erin had no idea if Klbkch and the Antinium would be too. This was not smart. And yet—

A Goblin’s tears. She looked into Headscratcher’s eyes and remembered. Crying for their friend. Who’d died to help protect her. Without thanks, without a grave. Without a word spoken.

“Stay.”

She reached out and offered her hand. The Goblins stared at her. Slowly, Headscratcher raised his hand. He raised it and slowly extended it. His palm was callused, his grip as tentative as a feather. His blood pulsed beneath his skin, and he looked Erin in the eye.

She smiled. And then she turned and looked around the room.

“Who else is staying?”

—-

It might be no one. Lyonette was willing to stay, but Mrsha might have to go the city, in which case Lyonette would go. Erin wanted to try a single night at the inn, but she wasn’t sure. As for the Horns of Hammerad, they had a quiet discussion in a corner. Ceria was very upset, which in turn made Erin upset.

“Look, just be cool, okay? They can stay in the—in the basement for tonight. Okay?”

“Erin! We sleep in the basement! And these are Hobs! I get Rags, I really do, but—”

“Ceria. It’s not a discussion. I’m sorry, but if you really can’t deal with them you’ll have to go somewhere else. But look—they’ll be in the basement but you won’t.”

“What do you mean?”

Ceria frowned. Erin smiled weakly at her.

“I finished upgrading my inn, remember? And I have all those new rooms—I was going to offer them to you anyways. You’ll get rooms on the second floor if you stay. Okay?”

The half-Elf looked at Erin uncertainly, and exchanged a glance with Yvlon. Beside her, Pisces’ eyes lit up. He nudged Ceria in the side.

“Take the offer, Springwalker.”

“Oh come on. You can’t be serious, Pisces—”

The half-Elf turned and glared at him. He glared back.

“I would live with a Creler in the basement if it meant a private room for myself, Springwalker. Five Goblins is a small price to pay for an upgrade.”

“Plus, you’ll all get separate rooms! And mints on your pillows as soon as I learn how to make them! Please? Come on Ceria, you remember Rags. She was cool! These guys are cool too! Probably.”

Erin pleaded and begged, and in the end Ceria gave over, mainly because rooms at Erin’s inn were infinitely preferable to cramped rooms in Celum or Liscor, especially with the prices they might have to pay. That was one issue solved.

The other one was more serious. Erin had two new hires, and she suspected both objected to the Goblins in no uncertain terms. At least, she knew Drassi did. She hadn’t seen Ishkr for a while. He was still in mourning.

In any case, Ishkr was still missing, but Drassi was on the roster for tomorrow and the day after as well. Erin sat with her as the Goblins…did something in the basement.

“Honestly, Erin, I don’t know if I can. I—it’s not that I don’t like you or trust you, but having monsters under this roof—”

“I get it Drassi, I do. And I know you’re upset Jelaqua, Moore, Seborn. I wouldn’t blame you if you left, but please give this a chance?”

She was begging with the Halfseekers as well. They were hesitating for the same reasons as Ceria had. There weren’t many places that catered to Selphids and half-Giants both. Still, Jelaqua’s jaw was clenched and she kept glancing towards the trapdoor leading to the basement.

“Just tell us why, Erin. I get that they saved your life, but a meal’s thanks enough. So these Goblins are lost. So what? What makes them worth trusting?”

“I don’t think they’re monsters. I think they’re lost. They look lost, Jelaqua. And so…so sad. I couldn’t just tell them to wander off and get killed by adventurers or monsters.”

“And you trust them? You trust them not to slit your throat in the night? Because they could. You’re in danger, and everyone in this inn. You might trust them, but…how sure are you? Are you willing to bet your life on this?”

The Selphid eyed Erin. Drassi looked at her as well. Erin bowed her head. Then she raised it.

“I am. I believe in people. I believe that Goblins are more than monsters. Because they act like people. They might act like monsters, but—don’t people say that about Selphids? To a Human like me, a Drake might be a monster. Or a Gnoll. But they have feelings. And so do the Goblins. They might not speak, but they cry. And I think that if you can cry, you’re a person.”

Erin clenched her hands on the table. Drassi looked at her, and then blew her nose—or rather, nose holes—noisily on a handkerchief. Jelaqua stared at her, and then looked at Moore and Seborn. Moore brushed at his eyes. The Selphid sighed. Seborn looked at his human hand and his crustacean side. All three Halfseekers had the same look, bordering on tears of their own in their eyes. They nodded. Jelaqua made an unhappy face.

“When you put it like that…how can we up and leave? We’ll stay too. Just in case you need us. But we won’t hang around with them, Erin. I just can’t.”

“I get that. I can serve you breakfast whenever, or make up a bag—thank you so much.”

Erin rose and grasped Jelaqua’s hands. The Selphid laughed and shook her head.

“Do you know how many people shudder when they hold my hands? Do you know how many people think Moore eats people? A chance. Dead gods, I guess I’ll try anything once.”

“Once upon a time, I remember you saying the same thing when a Hobgoblin wanted to join our group.”

Moore’s eyes were distant. Seborn nodded.

“We were betrayed once. But remember what Ukrina said? ‘If we do not give other species a chance, what hope is there for the rest of the world?’ Once more, Jelaqua.”

The Selphid turned to Erin and gave her a crooked smile.

“You heard them. Sentimentalists, that’s us. Okay, let’s do this.”

—-

And that evening, Erin stood in her common room and felt a strange sensation creeping up on her. A familiar feeling.

Emptiness. Silence. Isolation.

Her inn, normally bustling, was deserted. Her upper floors were almost empty. Mrsha, happy Mrsha, refused to come downstairs. Drassi was hiding in the kitchens and the fire in the common room was low.

And yet, she didn’t feel terrible. Erin stood in the common room and felt a chill. She brushed her arms and realized only part of that was coming from the fire. She went over and fed it fuel, but the feeling persisted.

Rags. Goblins. A dying Goblin lying in her kitchen. The smell of burnt oil. Erin couldn’t give the feeling in her heart words, but perhaps. Perhaps what Zel, what Jelaqua said was true. Was she making a mistake or—

A foot creaked as it met a floorboard. Erin whirled, and saw a big shape hunched by the open trapdoor. A Goblin crouched, crimson eyes on her. Erin stepped away from the fire, heart pounding, and the figure was cast into relief.

Headscratcher crouched by the trapdoor, frozen in place. He stared at Erin. She stared back. He wasn’t holding a weapon or anything. And he wasn’t wearing anything. That was very apparent.

Her eyes travelled down. Headscratcher was very naked. Erin raised her voice.

“Drassi? Go into the city and buy some pants, would you? I think the Goblins need extra pairs. Their loincloths are, um, bloodstained.”

“What? Pan—”

Drassi poked her head out of the kitchen and stared before screaming. Headscratcher shuffled down the trapdoor, looking very embarrassed. Erin turned away and heard the trap door open and close. She hesitated, and then went into the kitchen to calm Drassi.

When that was over, Erin laughed to herself. Silly Goblins. For some reason that reassured her. If you could be silly, if you could be embarrassed, you weren’t a monster, right? You were only a monster if people called you that.

Her eyes travelled back across her empty room. Yes, the word had spread. Now everyone in both cities knew. She had Goblins. Erin laughed. So what? They weren’t evil, she was sure.

And this time, Erin swore, she’d treat them better. As Drassi hurried out of the inn, Erin found the sign that had been buried all winter in the snow. She eyed it, dug it out of the frozen ground after much swearing, and replanted it. Right in front of her inn, by the door. For the world to see.

“This is my inn. Mine.”

Erin spoke to the warming world, into the darkness. She rested a hand on the cold wood. Yes, this was who she was. What her inn was.

The Wandering Inn. It had one rule. No killing Goblins. Erin smiled to herself. Yes. This time she’d do it right. She’d be better. And show them—show everyone—there were some Goblins who weren’t evil.

She turned and froze. Headscratcher, Badarrow, and Shorthilt all froze as they crept through the snow. They were all naked, and all, apparently, in dire need of the outhouse. She stared, and then shouted.

“Put some pants on!”

4.35 E

Day 72

In this world, the main method of transportation between settlements is with wagons. True, you could argue that Runners and magic play their own roles, but the price for such deliveries is usually out of reach for the common villager. They might be able to afford a letter in a bulk delivery or a trinket to send to a loved one or relative, but as regular, reliable transportation? Never.

Indeed, you could say that Runners are by and large more useful for their discretion and ability to deliver messages and items without fear of interception. The best Runners in the world deliver for [Lords] and [Kings], after all. Whereas magic trivializes the issue of sending letters between two [Mages]—but at a higher cost. Accordingly, sending a small package instantly from one spot to a point across the world is possible, but the cost is beyond prohibitive.

So wagons rule, at least for bulk deliveries. Or, at least, they would if bags of holding hadn’t been invented. Give a Runner one of those and they can deliver goods faster and more reliably than a caravan. So extremely rich cities with powerful Runner’s Guilds like Invrisil can actually out-muscle the local Merchant’s Guild. But bags of holding are very expensive, so wagons rule in low-income areas with less substantial urban development.

The point I’m making with all of this is that wagons are important, so roads are important. Keeping a road maintained and free of monsters or bandits is crucial to a small town or village’s survival. The problem is that the said bandits and monsters know it.

The Goblin raiding force hit the caravan of [Traders] just past dawn. They streamed out of a cave where they had been lurking for the last few hours or so and charged down the hill towards the wagons and armed guards. The Humans, lone Gnoll and two half-Elves screamed and tried to form a circle with the wagons, but the Goblins were too quick.

The raiding force met the few caravan guards hard, killing two of the armed warriors in the first clash. Three Hobs lead the lesser Goblins, smashing aside warriors. The [Traders] fought back with their guards, but they were outmatched. They hadn’t brought enough guards for a long trip; they’d trusted to speed to get them from one town to another. They could make the journey in an hour or two. Less, with Skills.

But that window was all the time the Goblins needed. They only needed ten minutes, in fact. Away from any kind of large militia or the walls of a city, they could raid and be gone too quick for pursuit. And the [Traders] could hardly afford Silver-rank teams to protect them, could they? And if they could…three Hobs were more than a match for a single team.

A flawless strategy. Or rather, it had been flawless until now. Because despite all their preparations, the way the Goblins had carefully snuck into the cave through a back entrance and their [Stalkers] had crept along the road, out of view, they had still been seen. And preparation was everything.

“Are we too late to save the caravan?”

I’m miles away from the stretch of road, too far away to see the desperate fighting among the wagons or the way the blood mixes with the mud and snow on the ground. Too far to see with my eyes, that is. But my [Emperor] senses can see the Goblins—thirty or so—pushing forwards, shouting wordlessly. And I can also sense the second force, not [Traders] or Goblins, approaching at speed out of the woods.

In the silence of my mind, I can see a figure racing ahead of the group, see him put a horn to his lips and blow. There is no sound in the vision in my head, but I can see the Goblins turning, reacting to the horn call. I smile. Hello, Goblins. Allow me to introduce myself.

I’m Laken. An [Emperor], ruler of Riverfarm, Protector of Durene’s Cottage, and now sovereign lord of Windrest, Tunslaven, Kiquel, and the surrounding areas. Some call my territory the Unseen Empire, but I think that’s a bit too arrogant. Anyways, I may be blind, but I saw you coming. And this is my army.

The Goblins brought thirty, so I sent sixty. Simple math and it’s pretty much our entire force, so I don’t feel worried about leaving people behind. Not that there’s much danger; I can sense any threat coming and react accordingly. Like this. And my army has fought Goblins before.

This is how it goes down. The Goblins are still reacting, still turning to see the force of armed warriors on foot racing out of the woods when Beniar’s [Cavalry], [Riders], and lone [Cataphract] crash into them from the side. They actually take down one of the Hobs in the first clash; a lance straight through the armpit. I wince as I sit in Prost’s house. Nasty.

The riders fight for a second and the Goblins, used to battle, turn on them, trying to swarm the riders off the mounts. But Beniar’s already pulling back, circling for another charge. He’s timed it well or Wiskeria has; the infantry crash into the other side of the Goblins in tight formation. Leading the charge is a tall half-Troll I watch with anxiety and pride alike.

Durene. She’s still not wearing armor because none fits her, and her club’s still made of wood, but her shield is better than the old door she used to use. She shouts a word as she leads the assault on the Goblins’ rear. I sense her body begin to glow and Goblins shrinking back, shouting wordlessly.

Now, what would she be shouting? Probably the Skill. [Radiant Courage]! Durene’s body is shining with light, but the glow doesn’t bother the soldiers around her. They charge, shields raised, into the Goblins and reap the benefits of their enemy’s sudden blindness. Durene smashes two Goblins with her club like a hammer. Her Skill is devastating in group fights like this, where she can blind her enemies while keeping her allies safe. Now Durene charges forwards at the closest Hob.

He’s dangerous. This Hob has a battleaxe and he turns, the sharp blade dripping with blood, towards Durene. And he seems less affected by the light she emits. He lashes out with his axe and she raises her shield. I see Durene shouting again. Now her shield glows. The Goblins and Hob around Durene stumble back as a wall blocks them from swarming my beloved [Paladin]. Durene grits her teeth. I see her plant her feet in the mud, raise her shield and shove. Goblins go flying through the air and the Hob stumbles back.

[Shield of Valor]. It’s a Skill that [Knights] and other classes learn; a powerful tool for holding back the enemy or, it seems, creating an opening. The Hob loses his footing and Durene capitalizes on it. She swings her club up and down—

I shift my vision away, although part of me sees the splatter. The battle’s over. The remaining Hob is smart enough to try to run, but he and the Goblins are boxed in now by their greed. Beniar runs down stragglers and the soldiers finish off the remaining Goblins, fighting defensively, wearing out their opponents rather than taking a risk. That’s thanks to their leader, who calmly sits atop a horse from the back and blasts the Hob with small jolts of lightning until she—the Hob is female—drops with two swords in her belly.

It’s over. I see Durene turning, wiping sweat with one hand as she rests her club against a wagon and the frightened [Traders] rushing towards my little army, waving their hands, shouting their relief no doubt. There’s no need to watch the rest; Wiskeria knows what to do.

I probably didn’t need to watch after the second Hob went down, in point of fact. But I do worry. Whenever Durene fights I can’t help but watch over her. That and make sure each battle is one stacked as heavily in her favor as possible.

That’s all I can do. I sigh, and get up from the table I’m sitting at. It takes me a moment to center myself. Suddenly I’m not on the muddy road, but many, many miles east of there. I’m standing in Prost’s house in a village known as Riverfarm, and I can hear the shouts and voices of countless people in the distance around me.

“That went well.”

Slowly, I make my way towards the door and pause with my hand on the doorknob. I wait, and then open it slowly. Outside, I sense a man turning towards me and nod.

“Mister Prost? The battle is over.”

“Over? That’s quick, your majesty!”

“Yes, well, the Goblins attacked a bit sooner than Wiskeria thought. We were almost too late getting into position so there were a few casualties among the caravan. However, no one else died.”

Prost’s sigh of relief is huge. I nod towards him as I step out into the street. My feet slip a bit and Prost catches me before I can slip onto the ground. I steady myself and thank him as he lets go quickly. It wouldn’t do for an [Emperor] to fall on his face now, would it?

Even though I can sense mud and other debris underfoot, I can’t always predict what will happen. Plus, I’m bad about watching where I step when I use my [Emperor] senses. For a blind man, there’s probably nothing more ironic.

“Thank you, Prost. Please let everyone know what’s happened. I’m sure Tessia will be relieved to know Gamel’s alright.”

“I will let her know directly, your majesty. Do you believe the caravan will continue onwards?”

I pause for a moment and cast my senses east again.

“I believe so. Yes, the wagons are already moving. Sensible of Wiskeria. They’ll get to Trottvisk within the hour, I think. Which will help immensely when we begin our negotiations with them.”

“I should imagine so, sire.”

Prost steps with me out of the muddy street, and I frown as I notice how much snow’s already melted. Not that we get as much snow as some places on the continent, but it certainly makes for bad footing. There’s mud everywhere, but ahead of me the ground feels…firmer for some reason. I frown as I try to make out what I’m sensing. Not dirt, but something else. Wood? What is it?

“I know we agreed that you should be the one to talk with them, Prost, but perhaps we should leave that to Wiskeria? I could alert her with a [Message] spell and I really can’t afford for you to go even for a day. We have so much to do—and I’m adding a paved street to our lists. This mud is too dangerous, and the last thing we need is for someone to slip and break something.”

I can sense the man nodding. My [Steward] leads me onto a dryer patch of ground. Oh! Sawdust! That’s what I was sensing. How sensible, and so much easier than digging up the entire street. Prost’s ahead of me as usual.

“Yes, sire. I will make plans directly—we have a good deal of stone from the quarry we’ve set up, and I’m sure one of our [Diggers] has a stone-related skill. If not, there’s always mallets…but on the topic of sending someone to Trottvisk, your majesty, wouldn’t it be more appropriate for them to come to you?”

I pause and rub my chin.

“Perhaps. But I’d like to talk with them sooner rather than later. We could use a steady supply of goods, and if we wait for them to make the first move—”

Prost coughs gently and I break off. It’s interesting how we’ve developed a system already. He would never interrupt his own [Emperor], and yet, he does just that by coughing or making some other sound when I’m being an idiot. So I wait and let him speak.

“I think, sire, that it would be simplest to send a messenger requesting them to come here. You are an [Emperor], your majesty.”

“I—do you think they’d really come?”

“Certainly. [Lords] and [Ladies] do the same, and it would spare us having to send a party ourselves…”

“…And we get to negotiate on our own ground. Excellent idea, Prost.”

“I’ll see to it at once, your majesty.”

“Good. Now, we’ve now expanded the totems to the roads between Trottvisk and Acran, but I’m still not sure about our northern borders. Obviously we don’t want to annex other villages, but can you have someone replant the markers down the…oh, the forked road just past Kiquel?”

I scratch my head.

“I can’t tell what’s at the crossroads there and it’s making me uneasy. And I know Jelov’s overworked, but I could really use another marker around that pond we found north of here. It gets fuzzy if they’re too far apart, and I could swear something is living down there…”

Prost follows along as I walk and talk. Around me, people call out, waving, speaking my name. Houses are going up, men and women are carrying wood and stone to new foundations, and in the distance, a group of [Farmers] is breaking new ground for fields. They want to plant now, and spring is only a month or so away by their reckoning.

I take it all in, part of me still amazed everything is happening. This is my empire. And it’s growing. Three villages are already pledged to me including Riverfarm, and we’re building new houses as fast as we can to keep everyone under a roof. And if a town decides to join, well—

I’m lucky I like to stay busy.

Day 73

There is a dignity to being an [Emperor], but naturally that dignity is compromised according to each situation. I’m aware of the sins of hubris, and so I try to tell people that I’m as much of a man as I am a leader. With that said, I know the people of my village cherish my reputation, so I try to be dignified as well.

It’s debatable how well I do. For instance, I still live in Durene’s cottage because I love it there, and Durene and I need…special time now and then. The village is not a good place for privacy. Everyone wants to live near me, and though Kiquel and Tunslaven are still standing, people keep coming here. Because they feel safe.

I’m going to have to do something about that. I’ve already made plans with Prost to expand both villages when we have time. There are good pastures in Kiquel and Tunslaven is too nice to abandon. However, it might be that Riverfarm eventually gets so big that both of the other villages become districts that are only a stone’s throw away from the main empire. Now that’s an intimidating thought.

Nevertheless, where was I? Intimacy. Right. Prost goes over every architectural decision with me and since I have a view of my entire kingdom in my head, I can organize the upcoming houses, fields, barns and so on in a very efficient manner. I can also make it so that no new expansions are being built in the direction of Durene’s cottage. That can stay as it is, thanks.

And yet, in public it’s still on me to preserve my image as an [Emperor]. I can’t walk around inspecting spots forever; I need a throne. Everyone says so, from Durene to Wiskeria to Gamel. Beniar doesn’t, but he thinks I should have a chariot. I was against a throne since I want to be active, but we all found an…unusual compromise.

“Good morning, Emperor Laken!”

“Good day, sire!”

“Hello, Cinney. Good morning Siccy. Why is there an egg in your pockets?”

The young boy turns guiltily to me as I move through the village on my throne. He shuffles and clears his throat.

“It’s a snack, sire! My ma boiled it and I was going to eat it, but I forgot—I’m sorry.”

I smile at him.

“Ah. I see. Never mind then, I was just curious. Your mother’s quite smart—boiled eggs are a favorite snack of mine.”

“I’ll tell her you said so!”

Siccy’s bright voice makes me smile as I ride on. I can sense him watching me as I continue sitting on my throne. Yes, it’s certainly impressive. Eye-catching? Most definitely. Comfortable…not exactly.

I shift, and my ‘throne’ grunts a bit. It plods down the street and the villagers give it a respectful distance, but they’re used to the Mossbear enough by now to call out greetings to me as I pass by. One daring girl even offers my mobile throne a piece of dried jerky, giggling as it snuffs and licks her fingers. Her father scolds her for getting in my way, and I smile and wave.

Yeah. I ride the Mossbear around from time to time. It’s…regal? I’d grant that it’s impressive, but I personally feel like I’m in some kind of satire of a certain world leader each time I sit on the Mossbear. At least my bear is docile; I’d hate to try and ride him when he’s running about.

It’s thanks to my [Beast Tamer] class that I can have a bear as a throne, anyways. Or maybe my [Emperor] class and my [Beast Tamer] class? I can’t help but feel like a Level 9 [Beast Tamer] is a bit too low-level to have forged a bond with a bear already. But hey, what do I know? And speaking of animals with bonds—

“Frostwing!”

I raise my arm and call out. I sense a shape diving towards my arm and I’m glad Frostwing decides to land on the leather armguard rather than my shoulder this time. The large and, apparently, blue bird preens herself as I stroke her head.

“You’re learning to fly really well, aren’t you? Good job! Maybe now you’ll be able to feed yourself, rather than gobble meat all day. Would you like that? I can tell you’re going to poop now. Don’t do it on me, please, or the bear.”

A beak pecks at my fingers and I sigh. A tiny little tongue licks my fingers—Frostwing must have noticed the honey biscuit snack I had for lunch. A real treat I had to share with the bear as well. He’s a surprisingly docile fellow for someone so big. I’m told Mossbears camouflage themselves and attack deer when they get hungry. Or people. I’m just glad it’s possible to tame him with hot, buttery mashed potatoes.

“Okay, okay. You’re hungry and you’re a terrible hunter. Ow! Don’t peck. We’ll get you something to eat. Let’s all just go see Prost, okay? Prost. That way.”

I nudge the bear mentally and with my legs and he ambles left. Frostwing flutters down to land on his back and sits with me as we proceed down the street. The bear. I haven’t come up with a good name for him yet. I’m thinking something German would be nice, but I’m really not inspired. And he’s not exactly fussed—it’s just that having [Lesser Bond: Unnamed Mossbear] in my head is a bit…well, I feel bad for him.

“Emperor Laken, good morning, sire!”

“Prost. What have we here? Hello Durene, we meet again.”

“Laken!”

Durene turns as I approach a cleared space with a lot of wood, nails, and busy people hammering and cutting wood. My half-Troll lover reaches up and strokes the Mossbear’s head. He whuffs at her as Frostwing caws impatiently. Prost edges around both bear and bird as I slide off and coughs nervously. I think he’s afraid of both animals, which is perfectly understandable. I step to one side and investigate the scene with my senses.

“That’s a lot of wood. A lot of nails and screws, too. Do you think you have all the materials you need?”

Prost hesitates. He glances around.

“I think Mister Helm’d be the better man to speak to that, sire, but I see he’s busy. I’m not an expert, but from what he and the other [Carpenters] and [Blacksmiths] say, building this…thing should be easy.”

“Trebuchet, Mister Prost. It’s called a trebuchet.”

“Yes sir. I’ve never heard of it as I said, and the other folk say they haven’t either. Then again, you hear about odd weapons being used in Chandrar and Baleros—do you think we can truly make it, sire?”

I have to hesitate.

“Possibly, Mister Prost. It’s worth a shot at any rate. I uh, can’t read the designs Ryoka gave me, but you told me they look good?”

“Oh, yes sir. It’s a very simple design. It’s just the size of it that’s stumping us, sir. You say these things are meant to hurl blocks of stone hundreds of feet away? I’ve heard of magical catapults that couldn’t do the same!”

“Well, these are siege weapons, Prost. In fact, I’d prefer a catapult, but Ryoka couldn’t remember how uh, torsion siege weapons were made. Trebuchets are a lot easier, according to her. Someone apparently made one out of duct tape once.”

“Duck tape?”

“Never mind. If you think you can make one, I’d love to use it on any attackers. Put it on wheels, maybe make them smaller since we’re not exactly firing at castles here and…well, why not? Just think about it, Prost. Six of these aimed at a group of Goblins and we wouldn’t have to fight a battle.”

“I can’t argue with that, sire. And it’s such a simple thing too. One arm goes up, a heavy block goes on the other end, and it all rests on this uh—”

“Fulcrum.”

“Yes, that. I’m most worried about whether the wood will stand up to all the weight, sire. Our first trial broke the fulcrum thing as you know. However, the lads—and the three ladies—are very excited about it. Miss Tessia’s almost as keen as the boys are to see this thing throw something. And on that note, I learned yesterday that three of our folk have a new class, sir!”

Prost leans over and whispers to me confidentially.

“They’re [Tinkerers], sir. Not [Engineers] like you’d hoped, but I’m told that’s the first step. To have three in one village, well, it’s extraordinary. Begging your pardon of course, I know you’d hoped for more.”

I shake my head, smiling broadly.

“That’s great news, Prost. I didn’t think [Engineers] were that likely, but I’d hoped, that’s all. You see, to gain the [Engineer] class I think the people would need the right tools, more knowledge about how to build things, and perhaps the right mindset. As it is, the [Tinkerer] class will probably become [Engineer] about, oh, I’d say Level 15 or so. So there’s nothing to worry about.”

I can tell Prost is giving me an admiring look. It’s completely undeserved.

“You know so much, Emperor. How did you learn about so many classes?”

I cough. I might have said too much. I hesitate over my reply.

“Someone…told me, Prost. Anyways, these [Tinkerers] have useful Skills?”

“Yes, sire. Tessia learned [Detect Flaw], which is a great help in itself. It’s a Skill that lets her know if we’ve cut something wrong or there’s rot in the wood and so on…I wouldn’t mind her going to all of our houses later on to check on them as well.”

“I think that’s a fine idea. At your discretion, Prost. Now, I know Durene’s helping you lift things, but could you spare her later on? I haven’t had much time to see her after she got back.”

I can sense Prost’s posture shift, and I studiously ignore the small smile on his face.

“Yes, sire. I could let her go right now—”

“No, no. I wouldn’t want to get in the way.”

I cough again, and turn away. An [Emperor]’s dignity. I try not to blush. I turn back to the Mossbear as Prost returns to the construction and sigh. When everyone and their dog knows about your relationship—and worse, now approves of it and actively tries to give you space—it’s nearly as bad as the prejudice.

Seid doch nicht so pervers. At least today I got to see the trebuchet fire. True, the rock went nearly straight up and crushed half of our experimental model. Prost and I concluded that the testing had better be done from far away using a long rope—and everyone should wear helmets just in case. But it’s a start. Hell, more than one. I’m building trebuchets now. Where does it stop?

I guess this kind of technology will help level the field against [Mages]. Our best mage is Wiskeria, and she’s a [Witch]. That’s a concern for later, though. Our new empire is still stronger than it has any right to be. Hopefully all these little tricks—the palisades we keep rebuilding further and further out, the network of totems, my ‘eyes’, and things like the trebuchets will keep us safe, keep my people safe from now on.

And maybe if no one else dies, the nightmares I’ve been having will someday stop.

Day 74

Today I had my first audience. It was spontaneous—I didn’t realize the messenger had arrived until he was riding in on horseback—largely informal, and took place while I was sitting on my throne. The Mossbear. Given those circumstances, I can’t see how it couldn’t have been a success.

“I’m deeply grateful for the gifts, from Trottvisk, Mister Rencil. And I understand the trading caravan gave my people several tokens of their appreciation as well. However, it was our pleasure to help fight the Goblins. They are a common enemy that transcends alliances and feuds.”

“Just as you say your majesty. But we are deeply grateful for your protection. I ah, am instructed to tell you these are only the smallest representations of our esteem. Our town did not know there was such an—an esteemed personage so close by, or we would have sent a delegation earlier, of course.”

The [Messenger] stammers as he tries to control his nervous horse around my bear. I smile and dismount. I think my closed eyes bother the young man on horseback as much as the bear.

“Please, allow me to offer you some refreshments and food. It’s the least I can do.”

“You are too kind si—I mean, your majesty. However, I couldn’t intrude. I’m—I was only instructed to deliver the gifts and report b—I mean, return at full speed.”

He’s stumbling over himself and almost falls over himself as he hands Prost the gifts—some wax candles, a bundle of fine cloth, and a bottle of some kind of drink. Probably alcohol. He clearly doesn’t think it’s a fitting gift, but I don’t really care. Mainly, I’m a bit concerned that my reputation as an [Emperor] has spread so far already. Rumor and gossip are one thing, but how—

Ah. Wiskeria and my soldiers must have talked. Drat. Regardless, I smile up at the man and offer him my hand. He fumbles with his glove and his hand is sweaty as it grasps mine.

“I shall await the delegation eagerly. I feel that mutual ties between my empire and Trottvisk would be beneficial for us both. You may know that my army keeps the area around my empire safe from monsters and bandits—I would like to do the same for your towns with their permission.”

“I will tell them that at once, your majesty. I’m sure we could provide you with anything needful—we have lots of goods—for your protection.”

“Uh, that wasn’t what I—”

Too late. The messenger is already promising me whatever Trottvisk can offer if we’ll keep the Goblins from sacking their town. I sigh over it later when he’s gone, but Prost and the others are approving. Protection for tributes. It feels wrong, but Wiskeria puts it into plainer terms for me.

“You have a finite force at your disposal, your Majesty. Fighting battles—even ones where you know the enemy is coming—will cost you time and lives. Why shouldn’t other towns offer you some sort of support for your protection? Going out of your way to keep the roads patrolled is enough of a boon as it is. Normally adventurers have to be paid vast sums to do the same.”

“I suppose you’re right, Wiskeria. And on that note, I hope you can find more recruits soon. We have half a dozen adventurers, around fifty warriors and archers, you, Durene, and…a Mossbear as our standing forces. That’s not exactly reassuring if a larger group of Goblins comes calling.”

My [General] nods calmly. She’s rarely in the village, often dealing with a threat or talking to other villages, but I trust her perhaps most of all my close advisors because she is so competent. She’s taken to her role as well as Prost has.

“Beniar knows some adventurers and I have my own contacts, but I believe we’ll find the most success recruiting old veterans and training new warriors from the villagers. The army might be small now, but it is substantially more powerful than most towns’ militias, in my opinion.”

“True. But we need more gear. If all we have is weapons taken from Goblins…well, let me know if there are any more [Knights] you would like me to dub. I think I could make about ten more.”

Wiskeria shifts as she laces her fingers together and frowns slightly.

“I think it might be best to wait, your majesty. I understand Gamel and the others are leveling quickly and that [Knights] are far superior to [Warriors], but if they are limited—”

“—I should wait for truly promising recruits. I understand.”

I grimace. Making [Knights]. Of course, it’s not without their consent and each person I’ve dubbed has told me how honored they are—Gamel still seems stunned and his girlfriend, Tessia, is over the moon about it—but it still feels wrong. Like I’m forcing them to become something they’re not.

“Emperor Laken?”

“Hm? I’m sorry, Wiskeria. I drifted off there. What were you saying?”

Silently, the [Witch] offers me a cup of the tea she brews and keeps in canteens at her saddlebags. I accept it gratefully—she brews very strong tea which has more caffeine in it than coffee. It also has a very refreshing minty taste.

“I was saying, that appointing [Lords] and [Ladies] might lure in even Gold-rank teams, if you so choose. Their loyalty might be bought, but if you’re concerned, I could ask about trustworthy groups…”

Her tone is cautious. I frown, but not because I’m disagreeing with her. Appointing…? Oh, right. That’s a good idea. But…alas. I sigh.

“Unfortunately, Wiskeria, I don’t have any more such titles to give out, at least not now. I could probably name one or two more [Lords] and [Ladies], but nothing more. I, uh, gave the other titles away to save my village a while ago.”

“I see.”

She’s looking at me with that piercing, inquisitive gaze. And adjusting her spectacles. I keep my face smooth. I trust Wiskeria a lot after it was revealed Odveig was the spy and she was loyal all along, but telling someone about making a bunch of Frost Faeries [Baronesses] and so on is a bit…well, let’s just say that it’s not exactly a ringing endorsement of mental health.

“I’m willing to offer other groups land, or some kind of title, but I’d rather have people who are loyal rather than here for personal gain, Wiskeria.”

“I understand. In that regard I think we’ll be fine either way.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

Wiskeria counters my raised eyebrow with one of her own. She nods towards the door. I gave Wiskeria one of the first new houses we constructed, but she’s already hinting she’d like a personal home when we finish building the essentials. That’s fair. Her neighbors are already complaining of the smells her witch brews create.

“You just received a messenger from Trottvisk, your majesty. I imagine the other nearby villages and towns will have heard about that and your army, and will be sending their own envoys shortly. I expect at least one village will pledge themselves to you, and there will certainly be at least a handful of older warriors among their number. And that’s besides the gifts you’ll receive.”

I cough on the tea.

“You think so? But we already got tributes—”

She shrugs dismissively.

“Tokens of esteem. Tributes for an [Emperor] would be far more substantial, I imagine. Which is why spreading word of your name and class is important.”

I stare at her. Well, turn my head towards her while keeping my eyes closed. It’s practically the same thing.

“Did you plan all this ahead of time, Wiskeria? Is that why rumors about me keep spreading?”

She only smiles and sips at her tea. Witches. They’re so…mysterious.

Day 76

Goblins attacked a distant village and burnt it to the ground. The people were slaughtered or taken prisoner. I heard about this through a [Message] spell sent to Wiskeria. There was no word on how many Goblins attacked or if there were Hobs, but I told Jelov I needed more markers done now.

There is a limit to how much ‘space’ each marker can cover. We need more to extend our vision past the few towns and villages around my empire. Winning a battle is all about knowing where the enemy is coming with as much advanced notice as possible. If a large force does come here…we have to be able to set traps, lay in ambush. We don’t have the soldiers yet—

But I am leveling up. And if I need to I will fight. Order my villagers to fight, even when their bodies are spent. Even if that means seeing more of the dead faces in my dreams.

Day 77

The delegation arrived on horseback around midmorning, as I was about to visit Jelov the [Carver]. I would have seen them right away, but Prost insisted there was a formality to everything. He had their horses saddled and the visitors given a meal in the newly-built townhouse that also doubles as the main storehouse and kitchen, and I went to visit Jelov in the meantime.

“Your majesty, I’m so happy to see you! Can I offer you a seat? Whoops, there’s a chisel there…and that’s no good—let me just brush off some wood shaving here. Please, please, have a seat!”

I smile and sit as the [Carver] sidles around me, fussing over me. I get him to sit only after a lot of coaxing. But then, it’s probably only natural that Jelov is glad to see me. My usage of the marker totems that define my territory—and thus the limits of my [Emperor]’s sight—have made him an important man in the village, where before he was something of a hermit.

Now he has his own house, respect, and two apprentices. Jelov practically gushes all this out as he sits a bit too close to me, and I recall why I don’t visit him all the time. Spit is good for the skin. I keep telling Durene that.

“I’m working on more markers as we speak, sire, but my hands ache so. I carve all day, which isn’t to say it’s not worth doing! But I’m afraid you can’t rush art.”

I smile. Art. Each totem Jelov comes out with is subtly different. The symbol at the top is always the same of course—it’s the illuminati eye, known as the Eye of Providence. But Jelov takes liberties carving the rest of the eight-foot totems, sometimes illustrating battles, sometimes carving names or other weird symbols into the wood—I don’t mind, and he clearly feels like uniform totems would be a crime.

“I understand you’re working your hardest Master Jelov. And I’m not here to demand more of you—rather, I wanted to know about a little rumor I’ve been hearing. Something about miniature carved totems popping up around the village with my symbol on it?”

“Ah.”

Jelov gulps audibly. I put my cup to one side and turn my head towards him.

“What’s this about, Jelov?”

“Well—it’s nothing sire. Just a little sideshow, a distraction. A hobby more like. It’s just these—why don’t I show you one? Here?”

He rushes about his workshop and comes back with several objects that are all about the size of my hand. I study them in my mind’s eye. They’re…well, they’re scaled down models of the markers, carved in the same way, polished and rounded down at the edges.

“Miniature markers?”

“Totems, sir. Just like you said. Trinkets, really. It’s just a little thing I’ve been doing for the other folk who live here.”

“Why?”

He sounds surprised.

“Why, because they ask for them sire! Everyone wants one of these in their homes. They think it gives good luck. Or protection! If I wasn’t carving these large markers I’d be making these little ones all day. The demand’s through the roof! Err—not that I take time off to make them, not at all! These are just a bedtime occupation. A bit of carving between the sheets, before I sleep, sire. Honest!”

I have to shake my head. I know the markers are essential and people take pride in this empire and me, but this? I pick up one of the little totems Jelov’s carved and frown as I trace the etchings on the wood.

“You say people want this Jelov, but how do they pay for it? No one has any money to spare—unless they’re giving you something else?”

It was a hesitant request, but the villagers gladly gave me what little they had. I in turn traded with the various towns for more food, more supplies on their behalf. What was left over Prost insisted was mine, as I ruled everyone. Jelov crabs sideways, and his voice is…shifty.

“Well, y’see your majesty, there’s coin and then there’s a bite of food, some fresher pillows, maybe a scented candle…small things to exchange, you know? There’s no harm in it.”

“Bartering. Of course. But if people need money—”

“There’s time enough for that when we’re all eating rich, milord. Us simple folk just like having something to give and take with our spare time, that’s all.”

Jelov’s voice is surprisingly firm. I hesitate, and then relent and put the half-finished totem down.

“Just don’t let it take too much time, Jelov. And tell people the totems don’t work like they’ll hope. I can’t see everywhere at once and I wouldn’t even if I could.”

“Ah, you say that sire, but didn’t you rescue little Evvy when that old wall collapsed onto her? You were shouting for people to dig her out before we’d even noticed she was missing!”

“That was luck, Jelov. I can’t do it every time.”

“Once or twice is better than none, your majesty. And a bit of hope’s what folk like. Not to mention my carvings look good on the mantelpiece or by the bed.”

“I wish they wouldn’t put them there.”

“Why?”

I bite my lips on my reply. People are people, and I can’t help what I sense. But having an image of a couple…or trio…having sex in vivid details is not one of my interests, thank you. Villagers they might be, but the people of my empire have surprisingly kinky tastes. I could have lived without knowing that.

“Never mind. Why don’t they put them by the windows? That’s a very proper place for it. Far from the bedrooms. Maybe over the mantle?”

“You’d know best, wouldn’t you, sire?”

Jelov twinkles at me and I glumly resign myself. At least there’s no real harm in it, and if people like it—I turn as Jelov lifts up a tiny carved illuminati eye on a round wood ball with a flat base.

“Now this is a little trinket I came up with yesterday. Very small and convenient it is. Perfect for a pocket or as a gift. I’m told some folks are making their own—not as good as mine of course—and sending them to relatives.”

“Wonderful.”

“You think so? I think it could use a bit of color, myself. Do you want one, milord? I could get one painted and all special like. Maybe as a gift for Miss Durene?”

“I’ll think about it, Jelov. Just don’t let your hobby overtake your work.”

Sighing, I leave the [Carver]’s shop behind. Little illuminati totems. And people want them staring at them. What next? Well, next is arguably less fun. I wipe the spit off the side of my face, and then begin the negotiations.

They go well. Riverfarm, or rather, the Unseen Empire might not produce any agricultural goods, or trade goods, or any goods of any kind at the moment, but we’re currently the most powerful force in the area. And because I can see everything in my territory, I can promise safety without it being a lie. It’s funny how much people are willing to offer for that.

Day 78

Word spreads quickly about the Goblin attacks. Two more delegations arrived and another village, Batte, asked for my protection. I couldn’t give it. They were too far away. So the villages decided to come here.

Now the three closest towns and almost all of the villages accessible in a day’s journey are under my protection. Under the protection of the eighty-some warriors and Wiskeria, a [General], but a low-level one. My champion is Durene, a Level 14 [Paladin]. I’m worried. But Wiskeria comes by with a proposal, and it’s such a good plan that we send out messengers that night to each town and village. We have a plan in case the Goblins come in force. I hope we never have to use it.

Day 79

“Delivery for…Emperor Laken Godart? Yes, sir. My name is Thasius Griff. I am a City Runner from Invrisil. I have a delivery—several deliveries for you, your majesty. Do you have a seal?”

I stare at the City Runner in front of me. My eyes drift sideways to Prost. The man shakes his head and grimaces. I look back at Thasius.

“No. Should I?”

“It isn’t required your majesty, but a specialized and unique seal for our uh, wealthier clientele speeds up our deliveries. May I ask you to place your hand on this truth stone and declare your name?”

“Certainly. I am Laken Godart.”

There’s a delicate pause. Thasius coughs. I wait a beat. So, that’s what they want, is it?

“I am an [Emperor].”

“Thank you, your…your majesty.”

After a brief moment of hesitation, the smooth stone is taken back. Thasius steps backwards and fumbles with his bag of holding, a bit more hesitant than before. I tilt my head. I can’t see inside the bag of holding with my [Emperor] senses, so I’m as curious as my advisors around me.

My advisors. That means Beniar, Wiskeria, Durene, Prost, and Gamel. In truth, Beniar’s more of my cavalry leader, but he’s a solid adventurer and he sometimes has good advice. Durene’s here because I love her. Prost and Wiskeria are both intelligent and run my empire. And Gamel’s here because I want him to be here.

“I have—excuse me—I have several gifts from various clients, your majesty. If you will allow me, I will present them one at a time so you may confirm delivery.”

“May I ask who sent each gift?”

Thasius nods. He’s holding the first parcel in his hands, some wrapped, bulky set of objects.

“Each client specifically requested their name be mentioned with their gifts, your majesty. There is no request for a return message, but I will deliver any verbal or physical replies free of charge as part of the service.”

“I see. Very well then.”

The City Runner nods and clears his throat.

“The first gift I have is from the Merchant’s Guild in Invrisil. They offer you their profound thanks for rescuing two of their caravans from Goblin and monster attack respectively, and offer you a small gift as their thanks.”

He unwraps the cloth parcel to reveal…bottles. I frown at them, sensing the liquid inside.

“Forgive me. I cannot see what these ah, gifts are. Prost? Will you tell me what they contain?”

Prost steps forwards and the City Runner offers him the bottles. There’s a moment of fumbling, and Prost’s voice catches.

“These are—healing potions, your majesty. High-quality ones. And this is a—a perfume?”

“Scented oils, I believe. And this one is a potion of Armorskin, a powerful one. I believe they’re the same quality as the ones used by Gold-rank adventurers.”

“We can certainly use them.”

Wiskeria murmurs in my ear. I nod, but keep my face straight. I know my reactions are being watched by Thasius, so I nod while showing little emotion.

“An expensive gift. Please return my thanks to the Merchant’s Guild and assure them that I hope for continued prosperity between my people and theirs. What else do you bring?”

“A gift from a [Merchant], your majesty. Specially scented soaps.”

“Soaps?”

Yes, soaps. Some are clear red, others are light purple, one’s pink…Durene and Wiskeria touch them, exclaiming over them softly so I let them take the bundle. Soaps. Apparently they’re very expensive. And this merchant’s sending them to me as a gift.

Hmm. This time I just nod towards Thasius.

“Please thank your client for the expensive gifts.”

I don’t mention the [Merchant]’s name or go on. And Thasius notices. And I notice that he notices. Now I think I’ve got the tune of this game, so I go on.

Eight gifts were sent my way, from eight people who live in the general area of Invrisil or nearby. And, coincidentally, each one was delivered at once. Was it the Runner’s Guild who arranged that? Or were the roads not safe until now?

Curious. I recognize two of the gifts as being from the same senders as the letters I’d received over a week ago. I remember thinking hard over what to do with each letter, but I eventually did exactly what I’d been advised to do.

My reply to the various letters I’d received had been uniform, polite denials to their requests to meet. I’d told each person, from the [Merchants] to the nobles that I was busy, invited them to pay me a visit at their convenience and so on and so forth, and expressed my best wishes for the future. I’d signed it simply as ‘Laken Godart’ and not added any titles.

It seemed like the thing to do. Pique interest, keep them occupied wondering what my game was, and move on with the important business while they schemed. And so, after a week of waiting, the next move these powerful figures did was to offer me gifts. And while some were useless, like the soaps and received my scant thanks in return, others were intriguing.

“This comes from Lady Rie, your majesty.”

Thasius has to struggle with his next delivery and for good reason. I blink as he pulls out a long, long, package and small wrapped parcels of powder, tiny vials, and most curious of all—

“Milk?”

Yes, several large jugs of goat’s milk. I stare at the odd collection of items that sits on the table in front of me, and Thasisus explains.

“Lady Rie delivered a short message with the gifts. She understand your majesty is uh—uh—”

“Blind?”

“Um. Yes. So she ordered me to deliver the message verbally. It is as follows.”

I sense Thasius closing his eyes and he speaks slowly and carefully.

“To [Emperor] Laken, I am Lady Rie Valerund of Invrisil. I offer you my greetings and hope that the people you have chosen to protect fare well in these troubled times. I understand you have taken several villages under your aegis, and offer these medicines, ointments, and powders that have been created to ease children into this world. The young are our future, and the taxing requirements of raising them should be lessened if at all possible. I hope and trust we shall meet in the future as circumstances allow. I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors, Lady Rie.”

The young man is panting when he finishes. I stare at the gift Lady Rie has sent me. Piles of—of—baby powder? And milk? I can’t help it.

I laugh. The sound makes Thasius start, but then I stand up. For a second I debate making him memorize a reply of my own, but then I relent.

“Please tell Lady Rie that I am most grateful for her thoughtful—and insightful gift. I would welcome a meeting between us and hope I can return her gift in time. I am most humbly in her debt as Emperor Laken of the Unseen Empire.”

Chuckling, I sit down. Thasisus stares at me before scrambling to break the next gift out. That night I share around soaps, candied treats, and other goodies. I don’t really want any of the things myself, and Wiskeria can use the potions. The only thing I keep is three of the soaps. They’re useful and Durene wants to use them. We try the first soap that night and conclude that the soaps are good, but we need a bigger bathtub. A hot tub would be very nice.

Day 80

The trebuchet arm broke, but at least we knocked down a tree. Now, if only we could aim the damned thing. Ryoka said the arm had to be…what was it? A ratio of 1:3.75? That’s really hard to put into practice.

And yet, a trebuchet…I see Tessia’s eyes shining as she fires a tiny, prototype and it sends a rock flying across the village. It’s a good idea. I just have to make sure none of the kids make models of the trebuchet themselves. The stone brained Mister Helm and nearly cracked his skull.

Day 81

Another town attacked. This one fought the Goblins off, but at heavy cost. The attacks are all coming around a mountain far to the east, and there’s a rumor going around that some kind of Great Chieftain of the Goblins lives there. All the better—or worse, I suppose. A Great Chieftain sounds bad, but if they’re further away, it means raiding parties won’t bother to travel this far. We’d have to have something they really wanted for them to attack, and the Unseen Empire’s greatest asset is that we’re poor.

We’re poor. Hold on, what’s moving down the north road? It’s just at the limits of my senses, but it feels like it’s headed north. And isn’t that where…?

Day 82

The attack was sudden, fierce, and came at dawn. Over two hundred and twenty Goblins poured out of the snowy landscape, and twenty six Hobs were leading them. It was a force that might take a town, or raze a village in less than an hour. But it was not a village nor a town that was attacked.

It was a mansion. Nestled comfortably adjacent to a small town, the home of Lady Rie and the Valerund family’s estate was in theory safe from bandits. The magical wards on the walls and the lady’s own private guard were more than a match for any monster or bandit attack.

But not Goblins. A [Shaman] blasted the wards off as the other Goblins swarmed through the town, setting it alight. Hobs cut down the shocked defenders as people fled towards the mansion.

No one made it.

The Goblins encircled the mansion, pounding on walls, trying to break the magically-reinforced glass. One Hob managed to bash through a window, but magefire and a hail of arrows dissuaded other Goblins from entering that way. Too dangerous. Instead, the [Shaman] began dancing in front of the door and the remaining Hobs brought out the battering rams. They began pounding on the doors as the lesser Goblins around them shouted, whipped into a frenzy by the [Shaman]’s dancing and spells.

Inside the mansion, Lady Rie Valerund and what remained of her guard sat and counted weapons. They had few bows, although there was a surplus of arrows for each one. Her servants and protectors were all gripping weapons, but they were only good steel, not enchanted. The Valerund family was not heir to the Reinhart legacy, and their bloodline had been whittled down over the years to one sole member.

The scion of the Valerund blood sat in one of her upholstered chairs and looked towards the captain of her guard. He, a brawny man who’d been an accomplished [Street Brawler] before she’d met him, was injured. Blood ran thickly down one arm before he poured a splash of healing potion on the wound. Lady Rie eyed the bloodstains on her carpet and said not a word about it.

“Have you sent a [Message] spell to Invrisil, to Lady Reinhart?”

She turned to her [Mage], a young man who had attended Wistram but failed to received his mage certification. The pale-faced man nodded.

“I did—but they said that help won’t arrive for hours yet!”

“In which time we shall be dead. And Lady Reinhart?”

Lady Rie’s face was calm. Only one shaking leg betrayed her, but she kept the motion hidden by one of her gowns. Her captain of the guard, the man who’d been known as Geram Redfist, looked at his mistress and then away. The young [Mage] gulped.

“She—was unavailable, my lady. I tried and tried, but the [Mage] who answered said—said there was nothing she could do anyways.”

Rie tapped at one lip thoughtfully. A loud thump echoed down the corridors and her face paled, but she went on as if she hadn’t heard.

“Either her magical carriages have broken down again or her staff are…indisposed. No aid from her, then. It seems the Goblins will break in within the hour. Unless I am wrong, Geram?”

The big man lowered his head. He carried no weapons, but he had two gauntlets on each hand and he had beaten the Hob who’d entered to death with his bare fists.

“They’ll be in sooner than that, Miss Rie. That damn [Shaman]’s creating something big out there and the Hobs are breaking the doors bit by bit.”

Lady Rie bit her lip.

“I thought those enchantments were meant to hold a Troll off. They were Wistram-certified. Nesor, you told me they were powerful.”

Nesor, the young [Mage], gulped.

“They are, Lady Rie. But—but no enchantment lasts forever! If you could shoot the Goblins or—or chase them away, the magic might replenish. I could cast a spell—”

Geram shook his head.

“Open a window and you’ll be filled with arrows before you can raise your hands, boy. There are Goblins climbing the roofs. They’re banging on the windows upstairs.”

“They won’t get in, surely.”

Rie looked at Geram. He shrugged.

“Before the Hobs bust down the doors? No.”

She understood what he was saying. And what he wasn’t saying. Rie looked around, at the frightened faces around her and stood up slowly.

“Well then. It appears we all have an engagement with destiny. My loyal staff, Geram, Nesor, it has been a pleasure, truly.”

The gathered servants, [Maids], lone [Gardener], and [Cook] stared at their mistress in horror. She looked around and sighed.

“For all my scheming and plans, I didn’t expect it to end like this. Not…not so inelegantly.”

“We’ll hold them off as long as we can. I’ve already barricaded the main corridor and we’ve got every bow at each end. We’ll make them bleed before they get to us, I swear.”

Geram clenched one fist as the thundering blows on the door intensified. Outside the Goblins screamed and the [Shaman] roared a word that made the silverware on the tables flash for a second. Rie flinched. Geram looked towards Nesor and the [Mage] hesitated before hurrying towards the makeshift barricades. The captain of the guard drew closer to Rie and lowered his voice. He took something off of his belt and handed it to her.

Rie stared at the object. It was a dagger. She looked up at Geram’s face. The man’s expression was grim.

“I won’t lie, Lady Rie, there’s no way out for us. I could try opening a window and making a break for it, but the Goblins would catch us before we went half a yard. As for holding here—we don’t have the manpower for it.”

She nodded and tried to laugh lightly.

“I suppose I should have hired that Silver-rank team like you’d always advised me, shouldn’t I, Geram?”

He smiled back. Someone screamed and his head turned. It was only a servant, seeing a Goblin’s face pressed against one of the windows. He shook his head.

“Three Silver-rank teams wouldn’t have made a difference, milady. But here.”

He offered her the dagger again. Rie stared at it.

“For me? I’m sure I’ll fight my best Geram, but I’m no warrior. If there’s someone who can use it better—”

“We’re all armed, milady. No. This is for the last.”

Geram’s bald head was sweating. He looked into Rie’s eyes.

“I’ll die fighting, with a Goblin’s throat in my hands. But milady, the Goblins are known to capture—that is, take prisoner women and—”

Lady Rie’s face paled further. Geram hastily raised a hand in case she fainted, but she caught herself.

“I see. I understand Geram, but that won’t be necessary.”

“But Lady Rie—”

She drew something out of her pocket with trembling hands. Geram stared at the viscous orange liquid within. Rie smiled bitterly.

“We all have plans for the end, Geram. In this case, this poison will kill me quicker than any dagger. And better, it will poison my body. If I am to die, I will make sure any…indignities…are repaid in kind.”

The bald man looked at Rie and smiled. He offered her a hand and Rie took it as if she were being led onto the dance floor at a ball. The two proceeded towards the barricade. Heads turned to follow them as they walked. Geram lowered his head towards her as he walked.

“It has been an honor to serve you, my lady. I was nothing until I met you.”

Rie whispered.

“Nonsense. You were always worthy. Now. It is time.”

The doors were splintering. The Hobs roared as they smashed the battering ram into it again and again. The magic wards were failing. Rie turned and raised her voice. It could hardly be heard above the shrieking of the Goblins just outside, or the pounding at the doors, but still her words reached each one of her servants.

“Ladies, gentlemen, this is it. The end. I am afraid we will die here. Perhaps horribly. And that is our fate.”

They stared at her. Lady Rie’s chin lifted. The shaking in her knees stopped.

“Did you expect otherwise? No. I did not. No matter how much we beg or plead, there is no mercy here. This is Izril. Here we fight and live and die without respite, all of us. Life is a battle. We use words like knives and fight with politics and swords. None of us are ever safe, and it is an illusion to say otherwise.”

She paused. A thundering roar came from outside. Rie closed her eyes, and then opened them. She looked each of her servants in the face.

“But remember this. We will be avenged. Because that is Izril as well. We repay death with death. These Goblins may win today, but they will not celebrate long. We will be avenged. Remember that, and sell your lives wisely—”

“Milady!”

Nesor’s voice, desperate and shrill. Rie closed her eyes. He had lost his grip, the poor child. She opened her mouth, tried to speak over him.

“Remember that! Do not give the Goblins any quarter—”

“Milady Rie!”

“Silence!”

Geram roared at the young [Mage]. He strode over to Nesor, and froze as the [Mage] pointed out the window. He stared. Rie turned, aware that something was happening.

“What’s going on? Nesor? Geram?”

No one answered her. Rie strode over to one of the windows. Her first impression was a heaving sea of green bodies, but then her eyes focused on something in the distance. They widened.

“What on earth…?”

There was another sound. Rie turned left and saw Nesor falling backwards. His eyes were flickering and she saw the telltale signs of an incoming [Message] spell. He gasped and she rushed over to him.

“What is it?”

“It’s—a [Message]. To you. Lady Rie. It says—says—”

Nesor was a poor [Mage], unable to process [Message] spells like an experienced spellcaster. Normally Rie didn’t care, but at the moment she couldn’t bear to wait. She shook him impatiently.

“Well? Out with it!”

The young man choked. Geram pulled Rie back, and then Nesor’s head rose. He spoke slowly, each word ringing in the sudden silence outside.

“Lady Rie. I thank you for your gift. Though it is humble, I seek to return the favor. In this dire hour, I offer you the gift of swords.”

Slowly, Rie’s head rose. She looked back towards the window and all the pieces fell into place. She walked towards the windows, and saw the army, shining as it marched towards the Goblins. She breathed the words slowly.

“Emperor Laken.”

—-

An army halts within range of the mansion. I have to pause when I see the numbers. Over a hundred—two hundred Goblins. And so many Hobs! And one of them is a powerful spellcaster.

It’s a force that could swallow Riverfarm whole. Far greater than the last one we faced or any since. And normally I wouldn’t dare risk my army fighting them. But it’s not just my army here.

Wiskeria gallops her horse forwards. Her voice is a shout that echoes as Goblins break away from pounding on the mansion’s doors and stream towards us.

“[Archers], aim! Hold, hold I said! Wait for them to draw nearer. Cavalry, on my signal! Infantry brace!”

A hundred bows rise at her order. A hundred. Or more. I didn’t count. They’re not our bowmen, not just ours, at any rate. No, they’re [Guardsmen], retired [Hunters], warriors, even a few adventurers. From each town and village we could reach. And not just them. Rows of armored [Warriors] brace themselves in a line while mounted warriors line up. They’re carrying banners, and Beniar’s voice raises with Wiskeria’s. He trots them left as the Goblins approach.

“Loose!”

A shower of arrows shoots upwards. Goblins scream and race towards us, some returning fire. Bodies jerk and tumble downwards. The Hobs are charging from the front. I see Durene standing tall, her shield and club in hand.

I’m at the back. I raise my hand as I hear a rumbling growl next to me. The Mossbear roars as the Goblins stream at us.

“Wait. Not yet. Wait…”

Wiskeria is shouting.

“Loose!”

Another flight. Now Beniar’s cavalry circles the Goblins, searching for their flanks. I see the Goblin [Shaman] dancing, casting huge jets of fire at the riders, burning them. From our midst, several robed figures with wands loose spells at the [Shaman].

And then they’re here. The Goblins charge into our ranks. Wiskeria turns and points. The soldiers surge forwards. My hand tightens on the Mossbear’s fur for a second.

“Go!”

He roars and charges forwards. Durene is trading blows with a Hob, and I stand, watching the battle in my mind’s eye. It’s all hazy. The markers are barely working. But I’m waiting. Wiskeria shouts my name.

“Laken! Now!”

“Kneel.”

My words break across the Goblins as Beniar charges in to their midst. Some fall to their knees. Others just hesitate. The soldiers cut down the hesitating Goblins and charge forwards. I stand where I am.

An army. Over four hundred soldiers all told, including our forces. A levy. I stare towards the mansion where Lady Rie lives, a hazy shape in my mind’s eye. Is it worth the cost? Is it worth the dying men and women around me? I don’t know. But the Goblins are a threat. And so I raise my finger.

The [Shaman] is laughing; blocking spells with one hand and shooting globs of acid that melt the soldiers fighting around me. Wiskeria is blasting Hobs with lighting, and the archer’s arrows swerve before they reach the [Shaman]. I point at the laughing Goblin and speak into his ears.

“Look this way.”

He does. His head turns towards me and his attention wavers. I see him frown, then turn his head, eyes widening. Too late. Beniar rushes towards him and leaps from his horse. My [Cataphract], my [Captain], impales the [Shaman] with his sword and falls to the ground, hacking at the Goblin. I stand as the bloodbath continues. I am Laken, and this is my war.

I can sense each soldier that falls. I heard them screaming. Some beg for life, others curse the Goblins as they die. Others die silent, surprised. But never alone.

I hear them all. And I do not ask them for more. Not today. The battle is won. The Goblins, outnumbered, fight to the last. The Hobs do terrible damage to my forces, but they do die. I watch them fall.

And when it’s over, I meet Lady Rie. She says not a word, but walks out of her mansion, face pale, blood soaking the hems of her dress. Near the end I saw the doors open and her servants and personal guard rush out. They fought well, especially the bald man in armor.

She says not a word as she approaches me. I stand as the Mossbear whuffs and licks at an open cut on its side. Durene sits next to me, covered in blood, injured and alive. I walk over to Lady Rie, wondering what I should say.

She says nothing. As I approach, she drops to her knees in the muck and blood. I stare at her, and see the bald man and the young man in robes drop to their knees beside her. Lady Rie lowers her head. I watch her kneel, and sense the other soldiers around me doing the same. I look around.

The other soldiers kneel. A disparate group, soldiers and retired warriors, fathers and mothers and retired veterans from different homes. People who know this land, who rose up at a chance to defend it. It was nothing special, what I did. I proposed an alliance, offered them a chance to fight as one. Anyone could have done it.

But I did it. And now they kneel to me. And some shout my name.

“Laken! Emperor Laken!”

“The Unseen Emperor!”

“The Emperor of Beasts!”

That last one is new. I glance backwards and sense the Mossbear licking Durene’s arm. I have to smile. It’s a story, and I’m a bad actor in it. But I’m slowly learning my lines. Because this is what I have to do. The road’s been set and I have to walk down it.

I am Laken, and it’s begun.

My empire.

[Emperor Level 19!]

[Skill – Imperial Levy obtained!]

[Skill – Empire: Blacksky Riders obtained!]

4.36 O

Of all the inns in Liscor, it was fair to say the Tailless Thief run by Peslas was without dispute the best. No other inn had the same quality of food prepared by a [Cook] with [Advanced Cooking] and other Skills, or a high-level [Innkeeper], or the advantageous placement that Peslas’ inn enjoyed. So Olesm would agree it was the best inn. Within Liscor, of course.

But he was growing sick of it. It wasn’t just that Peslas was an intolerant old egghead in Olesm’s opinion, or that he missed another, younger, more intelligent and certainly more attractive [Innkeeper]. No, it was the drinking.

Peslas’ inn served Drakes of all colors, and it was a Drake-themed establishment. That meant that spirits manufactured by Drakes were served almost exclusively, although it had to be said that Peslas had a very nice store of wines from around the world.

However, it was a Drake custom to have a shot of the fiery spirits they loved to brew before anything else. Even wine. The burning sensation added to the following experience of drinking wine, or so it was claimed.

Personally, Olesm didn’t particularly enjoy the alcohol that had made Izril famous. The Drakes’ signature Firebreath Whiskey for instance had the same reputation as the Drake species that made it. It was offensive, hard to tolerate in large doses, and usually the prelude to the fight if imbibed too heavily.

But it was a purely Drake drink, and so every time Wall Lord Ilvriss went drinking, Olesm would have to down at least a shot or two of it. He’d grown to associate Peslas’ inn with such drinking experiences, and so hated it.

“Another round, Peslas! And fill young Swifttail’s glass. Don’t be stingy! Everyone who drinks tonight does so on my coin. A Lord of the Wall from Salazsar treats his brethren away from home with due respect! Never let it be said otherwise!”

Olesm groaned as he sat around the full table of Drakes and heard the cheer go up. It was predicted of course; Ilvriss had been here last night, and the night before that, and Peslas’ inn was packed.

“Here you are, sir. And for you, Olesm.”

Peslas himself bustled over with a refill. Olesm glumly watched as the glowing orange liquid was splashed generously into his mug. He turned and raised it to the Drake in armor sitting two places away from him.

“Your health, sir.”

“And to you, young Swifttail!”

Wall Lord Ilvriss raised his mug and drank down the fiery liquid, not stopping until he’d drained the mug to cheers from the officers, mages, and other members of his personal escort. Other Drakes, officials in the city or influential individuals, tried to emulate the Lord of the Wall with mixed results.

Olesm drank more slowly, gulping down the spirits and cursing Peslas for filling his mug so high. He got half of it down in the end and Ilvriss slapped his back, laughing heartily.

“A fine attempt! We’ll have to teach you to drink properly while I’m still here, Olesm! A [Tactician] should be able to drink with his commanding officer, especially if he’s to rise through the ranks. And I fully expect you to in due time. A young prodigy at my table! It reminds me of when I was young.”

“You’re too kind.”

Olesm murmured and tried not to rub at his shoulder. He sat next to a high-level [Lieutenant] as Ilvriss began recounting one of the tales of when he’d been young. The other Drakes leaned forwards, laughing and interjecting comments or questions. Olesm tried to look interested and died a bit inside. It was always like this.

He hated being here, hated having to drink with the Wall Lord—just past breakfast for goodness sake! But, and here was the tricky bit, it was a real honor to be invited to such a gathering. Olesm wouldn’t have been allowed near this table if Ilvriss hadn’t requested him sit with him. Yes, it was an honor. Because Ilvriss liked Olesm.

As the son he’d never had. Or perhaps as the student to whatever Ilvriss was mentoring. Maybe the Wall Lord was just bored, but after a few meetings with Liscor’s council, the Lord of the Wall had begun inviting Olesm to spend more time with him in Liscor. He seemed interested, pleased with Olesm’s ideas and what he termed ‘youthful invigorations’.

Ilvriss had taken Olesm under his tail, and as such, Olesm was often forced to go drinking with the Wall Lord and his personal retinue, or listen to long conversations about politics or the good days when the damned Ants weren’t here, Drakes were Drakes, and the Humans were nearly ready to crumble because they were cowardly fleshbags.

Despite the aforementioned honor of being invited, Olesm still might have dared to avoid such gatherings for his own health, if he weren’t under strict orders to the contrary.

It had been explained to him very thoroughly. Part of his job—rather, his real job—was to keep the Wall Lord happy while he was staying in Liscor. Due to the presence of the Goblin Lord’s armies, it was impossible to assure his safe return to his home city. In fact, Hawk, the lone Courier in Liscor, refused to try and make the trip.

Olesm personally thought that was a bit cowardly of the Rabbit Beastkin. Hawk was a Courier, and Olesm knew for a fact that his levels and Skills would probably allow him to survive any encounter on the roads, even if he ran straight into a raiding army of Goblins.

But that was Couriers for you. Some were cautious, and others were brave to the point of suicidal. Hawk was pragmatic. He’d seen both a Wall Lord and General Shivertail himself suffer defeat at the hand of the Goblin Lord, and after that, the destruction of two Drake armies. True, General Shivertail and Wall Lord Ilvriss hadn’t been prepared and their armies had both been worn down from tearing each other to shreds, but the Courier didn’t want to risk his ears.

So Ilvriss was stuck and antsy with it. He’d already gone out twice and slaughtered one of the Hollowstone Deceivers—the Rock Crabs as Erin termed them—and wiped out a number of Shield Spider nests. When he wasn’t consulting with his various allies and contacts via [Message] spell or taking part in one of the innumerable strategy meetings going on in Liscor, he was here. Drinking.

The Drakes around the table roared with laughter as Ilvriss said something that might have been funny and Olesm tried to pretend he’d been listening. Inside he writhed in agony.

All Olesm wanted to do was go back to the Wandering Inn and sit there, drink something, and have a tasty snack while he played chess with Erin. He longed for that, those fleeting moments he kept in his memories. They had been simpler times.

But he couldn’t now, although he wanted to. Olesm knew it would be impossible to get Ilvriss to shift his daily drinking session there because Erin didn’t stock Firebreath Whiskey, she wasn’t a Drake, and she was now hosting Hobgoblins in her inn. Olesm would have dearly loved to know what had possessed Erin, but the upshot was that he’d probably get Ilvriss to agree to chop off his own tail before the Drake agreed to drink under the same roof as a living Goblin.

What a mess. Olesm traced on the table with one of his claws, devoting one earhole to Ilvriss’ account of his first battle. Erin really was in it this time. Watch Captain Zevara was furious and everyone was talking about how stupid she was for taking in Goblins. No one was willing to visit Erin’s inn to get to Celum at the moment. Olesm sighed. He wondered if Erin would go out of business if she didn’t kick the Goblins out. Why were they here, anyways?

More complications. It really had been better before, when Erin’s inn was small and Olesm could walk in and have a chat with her without someone interrupting. But those days were gone, and Goblins were ruining everything for everyone.

And now the army was coming back, or at least, a small taskforce to help out with the Goblin situation. Olesm shuddered. He didn’t have to be a [Tactician] to predict that there would be trouble if the Goblins were still in Erin’s inn when they got there. They’d cause trouble.

Actually, they’d cause trouble even if the Goblins were nowhere to be seen. They always did every time they came back. And the commanders in Liscor’s army made Zevara look relaxed. She was relaxed compared to how they did things.

“And there I was, broken sword in hand, staring down a damned [Blademaster] with an enchanted bastard sword of his own. I backed up and looked around but there was no help coming. Fortunately, I had been given a ring by my mother for my first battle, so I raised it and twisted it—the very ring you see here—and…”

Everyone seemed to be hooked on Ilvriss. Olesm’s [Tactician] senses told him now was an ideal moment. He carefully lowered his mug and poured the rest of his drink onto the floorboards underneath the table. No one noticed; quaffing had been undertaken earlier this morning, and the room was already messy.

Drinking in the morning. Olesm shook his head. Half of the Drakes here would have to get to work. The rest, like Ilvriss, probably had livers made of steel because they’d be drinking and talking all day if no one interrupted him.

Then again, that was their right. They were high-level [Warriors], experienced soldiers, and veterans of numerous battles all. The Drakes who surrounded Ilvriss at all times could lead armies with the Lord of the Wall. Olesm felt small around them.

And yet, Ilvriss kept telling him he was a prodigy. Which was actually warranted, Olesm knew. He was a Level 27 [Tactician]. And he’d been Level 22 a few months ago. Olesm could hardly believe it. That kind of leveling was insane outside of wars. It was probably one of the reasons why Ilvriss had taken an interest in him.

But prodigy? It might be fair to say, but Olesm didn’t feel smart at all. He might be Level 27, but Erin had reached Level 30 in the same amount of time. From Level 1. From nothing. Remembering that, it wasn’t hard to stay humble. Meek.

Absently, forgetting he’d already gotten rid of his drink, Olesm raised his mug to his lips. Ilvriss noticed the Drake blinking into his mug and raised his voice.

“What’s this? Done so soon? Good lad! Another round for young Swifttail!”

“Oh, no, please—”

If he had to down another mouthful, Olesm thought he might actually puke. He waved a hand and Ilvriss laughed again.

“Don’t be so modest, young Swifttail! We’re drinking in part to celebrate you! A Level 27 [Tactician]? When I was your age I hadn’t reached Level 20! Soon you’ll be a [Strategist], and when you are, you’ll truly be a person of influence in your own right.”

He waved a hand expansively at the two [Strategists] that were part of his own retinue. Olesm had met the male and female Drakes—they were a married couple—and he ducked his head at them, noting their approving smiles. They treated him like a son as well.

“You’re too kind, Wall Lord.”

“Am I? Am I? Perhaps. But if I am, it is only because I recognize talent. A [Strategist] may be essential to every army, but they are hardly common! You could join any army with that class. I know you’re a citizen of Liscor, but it would be a shame to waste your abilities in a mercenary army, even one as acclaimed as Liscor’s. When the day comes that you reach that level, I hope you might consider moving to Salazsar. The Walled Cities have need of fresh minds like you.”

This was beyond a compliment. Olesm went red, and the table of Drakes laughed. He stammered, trying to change the subject.

“I uh, I’m not sure I’m that close. Is [Strategist] that simple of an upgrade from [Tactician]? I thought it was a Level 40 class, at least.”

That was a flat lie, but Ilvriss took the bait.

“Level 40? Hah! What prank have you fallen for? [Strategists] are Level 30. Or…I’ve heard they can be lower if you combine a military rank with the [Tactician] class. A Level 20 [Tactician] and a Level 10 [Sergeant] or something, you understand? But that’s a shortcut. A diluted achievement. Young Olesm’s pure.”

There was a slur in his voice. He was already drunk. Another Drake, an obsequious [Merchant] who always flattered Ilvriss, raised his own mug.

“Hah, yes! A pure young Drake. We should be careful we don’t sully his youth before he gets a taste for the world. Young Olesm here needs to taste more of life’s pleasures before he enters politics, Wall Lord. More drink, more time in battle…and in bed, I should wager!”

Ilvriss howled with laugher and banged on the table with the others. Olesm rolled his eyes and twitched his tail irritably. There had been a lot of talk like that. Olesm hadn’t ever taken part in a war, so to all the veterans he was fresh-tailed, and they made jokes at his expense.

It was time to go. Olesm knew he shouldn’t play this card too often, but he had a job to do today so it was a legitimate card. He pushed back his chair, bowing apologetically to Ilvriss.

“Much as I’d love to drink, I’m afraid I really do have pressing obligations, Wall Lord.”

“Ah. I’d forgotten.”

Ilvriss paused and scowled, as if the bright sunlight streaming into the room were an afterthought. He glanced at Olesm impatiently.

“Can’t you postpone whatever needs doing?”

Olesm made an apologetic face.

“I’m afraid not, sir. I…it would be wrong of me to abandon my post, no matter how honored I am to be here. I must stick to my duty.”

Something changed in Ilvriss’ face as he listened to Olesm’s careful words. Quick as lightning his mirth disappeared. He lowered his mug, and Olesm saw the other Drakes around him quiet down and watch the Wall Lord warily.

“Duty? Ah, if duty calls one must obey, mustn’t they? But be cautious, young Olesm. Duty is a harsh mistress and she asks much. Death walks with you, and sometimes it cannot be avoided. Even if you had known—even if—”

He broke off and looked into his mug, all the mirth of a moment ago lost. Olesm exchanged glances with the other Drakes sitting around the table.

Wall Lord Ilvriss had been maudlin recently. Ever since the battle with Regrika Blackpaw and the other Gold-rank traitor, Ikriss. He was prone to snapping at others, drinking to excess, and fits of melancholy—not too different from his usual self, in other words. But the sadness was new.

Someone had to bring him back to his good spirits. This time it was Peslas. The [Innkeeper] hurried over with a hot plate of grilled fish and a mug of wine.

“Yes, to duty! Young Olesm must go, but surely you have more tales to tell, Wall Lord? I’d be grateful to hear more—it’s not often a legend sits in my inn!”

Ilvriss brightened a bit as he saw the food. He accepted plate and mug and nodded as all eyes fell on him again.

“Well, I suppose if I must—go, Olesm. I’ll remain here. As for stories, if that’s what you want Peslas, I have one about my finest subordinate. Periss. She was—a warrior and leader beyond repute. I remember the day I first met her. She’d downed a Wyvern. By herself! I was in my tent and I heard about a patrol that had been ambushed by monsters, so I rushed out and saw her there…”

Olesm backed out of the inn, grateful for the reprieve. Besides, he really did have a job to do. He was Liscor’s dedicated [Tactician], after all. Every Drake city needed one and Olesm worked hard at his job. True, there wasn’t always work to do, but recently there had been a lot. So much so that he’d only gotten the issue of the dungeon today. Or more specifically, what lived in the dungeon.

—-

Shield Spiders. Crypt Worms. Various undead. Enchanted suits of armor, Bog Wraiths, a trap full of Face-Eater Moths, giant infested slugs, the Children, the lists went on. Olesm was privy to almost every report that went to Watch Captain Zevara and other members of the Council and so he knew that Liscor’s dungeon was host to a huge variety of very nasty monsters.

Some were documented, others were variations on known threats. It was an adventurer’s job to handle them, and Olesm’s only input into the situation with the dungeon was to consult with Zevara about containing any threats that escaped from either the Dungeon’s official entrance or the rift in the snow. Plans were already being made to set up a more permanent set of fortifications around both.

However, there was one variety of monster that had been spotted by the teams going in and out of the dungeon’s rift that were… concerning. Among the monsters that roamed the maze of trapped tunnels were groups of Goblins and strange, Gnoll-like monsters who used weapons and fought with brutal efficiency.

The first group to encounter them (and survive), Vuliel Drae, had brought back several heads. Olesm had inspected them and they certainly looked similar to a Gnoll’s. However, the heads were far larger, sported vicious canines and apparently came from bodies far bigger than any Gnoll had a right to be.

The Adventurer’s Guild hadn’t been able to identify the monster when they’d sent the image of the head to other guilds for analysis. However, several of the older Gnolls had reacted strongly to the heads but refused to say what they’d recognized. Thus, it fell to Olesm to tactfully ask what these not-Gnolls were about.

He decided to go to Krshia, since he knew her the best and she was one of the leaders of the Gnolls in the city. Olesm rubbed at his head and swerved down the street, greeting Drakes and Gnolls he knew as they waved to him. The Gnolls sniffed and remarked about drinking so early; Olesm grunted about Ilvriss and they only laughed.

The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] wasn’t at her stall today, which was unusual. Olesm had to ask where her apartment was. Thankfully two other Gnolls at the small marketplace were able to direct him.

They knew him of course; Gnolls were very conscious of figures of authority and Olesm had made it a point to consult with the Gnolls who represented the unofficial figures of authority in Liscor. It was a shame none of them had a place on the Council; a few Gnolls might nicely balance out the idiots who thought with their tails.

Unlike Erin, Olesm didn’t regularly visit Krshia. In fact, he’d been staying away from both Erin and the Gnoll recently. Olesm still felt guilty about telling Regrika about Ryoka. That had led to Brunkr’s death, and, it seemed, Ryoka’s disappearance. He knew it was impossible to have known that Regrika Blackpaw, the famed Named Adventurer, was a murderer, but still. Olesm hesitated in front of Krshia’s door for several minutes before he reluctantly knocked.

The apartment was silent for a long time. Long enough that Olesm was turning to go when he heard someone shuffling towards the door. He waited, and Krshia slowly pulled the door open. She blinked at him and he stared up at her.

“Um, good morning, Krshia. Are you well?”

She didn’t look well. The Gnoll was barely dressed and she had bleary eyes and disheveled fur. She looked terrible, in short. Olesm cleared his throat as he glanced into her apartment. It too was a mess.

“I ah—I’m terribly sorry to bother you, but I was hoping I could speak to you as a representative of the Gnolls in Liscor. I wouldn’t want to intrude if you’re occupied, however…”

Only now did he realize he might be intruding on her grief. But Krshia blinked at Olesm and seemed to wake up a bit. She shook herself, and then nodded.

“I—hrr. Yes. As a representative, you said? What is this about? Come in—let me freshen myself and put on tea.”

She invited him in. Olesm was hesitant at first, but Krshia seemed glad of the company. She rushed about, clearing a space on the sofa—it looked like she’d been sleeping there—and putting on some of the spicy Gnoll tea. When she sat across from him and offered him some sliced raw meat, she looked a lot more awake than before, and curious, too.

“It is not often that Olesm Swifttail comes to my residence on official business, yes? That is what this is, yes? Has the Council decided something, or is this more informal?”

“It’s…formal, but not related to any decision the city has made.”

Olesm carefully chewed at the meat and sipped from his cup, grateful for both after drinking. Krshia nodded encouragingly and he went on, watching her expression carefully.

“I believe you have heard about the reports from the dungeon, Miss Krshia? Part of my job involves identifying monsters who may be threats to the city, particularly if they are unknown. And a recent team that went into the dungeon recovered several, uh, heads of a strange creature they claimed was fighting in tandem with Goblins. They um…”

The Gnoll’s forehead wrinkled and Olesm broke off. Krshia hummed to herself and nodded. Now there was a sharpness to her eyes that Olesm recognized with relief.

“Ah. I see what this is about. You wish to ask about these creatures which resemble my people so much.”

“Yes. Yes, the other Gnolls wouldn’t talk about it. However, if these—these creatures are a threat, or worse, are related to Gnolls—”

“They are. Both threat and related. It is an uncomfortable topic among my people, Olesm. Many of the young do not know of these…things. But I saw one of the heads and yes, I do know what they are.”

“Ah. Would you be willing to share your information? I promise, we only need tactical data, not anything—”

Olesm broke off delicately and Krshia shrugged.

“Tactical data? I do not know if it will help, but the story is only uncomfortable, not taboo. I will relate it to you. If you have time?

“Please, I would be most grateful.”

Krshia nodded with a slight smile. She sipped at her cup and chewed on more slices of meat. Her stomach rumbled a bit and Olesm wondered if she’d had breakfast. He took another slice, chewing appreciatively. Gnolls liked their food to be eaten when they offered it. A full bowl of snacks after a discussion was a disappointment.

“Hrr. Yes. Where to begin? I think we must delve into history first, Olesm. You see, the origin of these creatures that resemble us goes back to when the continent was first inhabited by our peoples. Drakes and Gnolls.”

The Drake paused as he reached for another slice of meat. He stared at Krshia.

“That long ago? But that’s ancient history. Thousands of years old!”

Krshia nodded. She smiled a bit as Olesm stared at her.

“Yes. Is it surprising I would know tales from back then? It is true few books survive so long, enchanted or not, but history is told through our tribes differently from the Drakes. It is spoken, passed from Gnoll to Gnoll. And we remember things in ways you do not. For instance, long ago it was said that Izril was not known as the home of Drakes and Gnolls, but as the home of Dragons.”

“Our Ancestors.”

Olesm murmured respectfully and with a hint of longing. He had never seen a Dragon before, only heard rumors. One in Terandria for instance, that preyed on livestock. But Ancestors, real Drake Ancestors, were supposed to be wise and cunning, full of magic and wonders. And greed, of course. That’s where Drakes got it from. Krshia nodded. She sniffed and chewed on a bit of the raw meat in the bowl. She clearly had no longing for the past.

“Yes. I have heard what Drakes say. But that is not the Gnoll experience, no. Our people remember a time when Dragons ruled and their descendants, Drakes, built vast and impregnable cities to shield themselves from war with their elders. Dragons and Drakes fought, but both preyed on a common species. Gnolls. We were food for Dragons. Drakes too. Our peoples lived in terror of the skies.”

Olesm shifted uncomfortably. Krshia smiled gently.

“It is not your fault for the past Olesm, yes? Regardless, in order to survive, it is said that we Gnolls dug deep and learned how to hide. We found refuge in caverns, lived underground. And down there, some of us…changed.”

“Changed? How?”

The Gnoll paused as she sat across from Olesm. She looked uncomfortable, but she shook her head and shrugged in reply to his question.

“It was dark in the ground, Olesm. Dark, or so the stories say, and we Gnolls are not meant to dig so deep. We spent years, decades, in hiding. Longer, I think, but the stories are not clear. In any case, we spent so long down there that some of us went mad from the deepness of it. Mad and wild. Their bodies changed as they forgot the ways of civilization—and we Gnolls are civilized, for all that you call us tribal creatures.”

“I have never thought so.”

“Hrm. No? Well, others say it and there is some truth to it. But these other Gnolls lost those hints of civilization. They became bestial, more like monsters than people, yes? That is when Gnollkind split. In the darkness, one group remained Gnolls and others became—not.”

Olesm stared at Krshia.

“How is that possible? You’re saying Gnolls as a species changed? How?”

She shrugged.

“It was only some. As to how, perhaps it was magic, or perhaps it was just a difference in what they ate. Or what they did.”

“I don’t follow.”

“The others, the not-Gnolls. They longed for the light, yes? That longing can be a terrible thing. They lost their mind in the darkness. Became as savage as the things that dug around them. Ate and killed, and gained strength for it. They gave up their levels, Olesm.”

Memory stirred. Olesm remembered hearing about Ryoka’s refusal to level. But he still couldn’t believe it.

“Impossible. As a people? You mean…”

The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] nodded.

“It was a trade, I think. A curse willingly taken, or—or something else. These not-Gnolls turned their backs on what made them Gnolls to become stronger. They obtained powerful forms, dangerous abilities…but at a price. They lost their ability to level in exchange for bodies like steel, strength beyond other Gnolls. But they lost their minds, became warlike, hungry only for blood and flesh. Again, at a price. It was said of these Gnolls that they underwent strange changes in the moonlight. Only during the full moon would they regain any measure of sanity.”

Olesm tried to imagine such creatures. It wasn’t hard, actually. Take away the intelligence of a Gnoll, replace it with a primitive mind and make them stronger—he shuddered as he imagined a tribe of them living deep in the darkness.

“I take it that the other Gnolls who didn’t change didn’t like these new Gnolls?”

Krshia nodded grimly.

“They began to hunt us. As if we were not their family. And so we fought back. In the darkness, Gnoll fought not-Gnoll and the difference between us became great. In time, the others were no longer Gnolls at all, but different. We called them Raskghar and they are our enemies.”

“Were your enemies, you mean.”

The [Shopkeeper] shook her head.

“Are. We thought them wiped out long ago, but if they remain, they are our foes yet.”

“But hold on, you said that was thousands of years ago. These Raskghar—these cave Gnolls are only in Liscor, in a dungeon we just discovered. Doesn’t that change—”

Krshia was shaking her head again and again. She fixed Olesm with one steady eye as she sipped from her cup.

“We declared war on them, Olesm. As a people. Gnoll tribes may war and make peace as they choose of course, but when we make war, it is as a species. We do not lay down our arms until all tribes have agreed. So. If these creatures do live below Liscor, then we are still at war with them. Time is meaningless to our feud.”

“But—”

Olesm forced himself to break off. He was dealing with a different culture here, a different species. Krshia eyed Olesm and relented a bit.

“Recall that during the war, our people fought without peace against yours for hundreds of years, Olesm. The war did not end, though both our species suffered greatly. When we emerged from the ground we declared war on the Drakes, now that the Dragons had lost their hold on the continent. We declared it as a people, and such was the bloodshed that there has not been a greater loss of life since, not even from the Antinium.”

Olesm nodded. The war. Of course he knew that bit of history. People, mostly Humans, liked to talk about the Antinium Wars as the great wars of the century, but to the Drakes and Gnolls, there would be only one great war. It was the war. The war between their species.

“As I recall, the Gnolls were present throughout the continent but strongest in the north. They destroyed many of the Walled Cities built there and several in the south. There was countless death on both sides. However…it may be an unpopular opinion, but my analysis of the histories makes me believe the Gnolls were winning during that time.”

Krshia blinked. She seemed surprised, which was unusual for her.

“Oh? What makes you say this?”

Olesm shrugged self-consciously.

“It’s nothing conclusive. I’ve hardly done an in-depth study of the history, but it’s just that Drakes were famous for the cities we built. We kept most of our populations behind the Walled Cities—we still do, only in smaller and more numerous cities. But when we were fighting in the war, the Gnolls were slowly destroying our homes, breaking down the enchanted walls one by one. [Shamans], leading armies of hundreds of thousands, warrior-kings, bloody battles…we both lost, but Gnolls could always regroup and live anywhere on the continent. While we Drakes were losing our homes. So I think we were losing.”

He paused. Krshia was blinking at him and he could tell she had something to say. She sipped deeply from her cup and then refilled it. And his. Krshia smiled at Olesm.

“Hrr. Rarely have I met a Drake who is willing to say such things. Your people dislike admitting defeat. But that is the opinion of we Gnolls. We were winning. For that truth Olesm Swifttail, I thank you.”

She bowed her head slightly and Olesm felt his scales changing color.

“It’s nothing. Just facts. It’s just the facts, Miss Krshia. And as you said, the war was terrible for both sides regardless of who was winning.”

Krshia sighed, reluctantly agreeing.

“But of course. It matters little, yes? The Humans took half the continent while we squabbled. The Five Families destroyed the last of the Walled Cities and drove both our peoples south, past the High Passes.”

Olesm nodded gravely.

“The Gnoll tribes fought to the last for their lands, if I recall. Your people suffered a terrible loss.”

“One we have still not recovered from. That is why we as a people sued for peace with the Humans. Why we do not march north each year with your kind. Oh, some city-born fight in your armies, but the Gnolls will not die. Our tribes grow and we replenish, but our people are a fraction of what they were.”

“True, but the Gnoll populations have been on the rise historically. I remember seeing some figures…the Antinium Wars barely halted your growth. Why, if your population kept rising the way some of our [Strategists] and [Historians] are suggesting…”

The Drake was searching through his notepad. He paused as a thought struck him and peered suspiciously at Krshia.

“Miss Silverfang? Exactly how many tribes would you say are formed every year? And how many of those tribes double or triple their numbers every decade?”

Krshia’s eyes twinkled. The Gnoll averted her gaze and sipped at her tea thoughtfully. She spoke cattily, her ears flicking back and forth as she peeked at Olesm’s face.

“If my people do have plans that involve Drakes or Humans, it would only be in a few more generations, yes? Numbers matter. And I…hope it would be peaceful. All we wish to do is reclaim our old lands. If that means living next to Humans, so be it.”

“I see.”

Olesm filed that information away for later. He cleared his throat.

“Thank you for the history. It seems these Raskghar are a threat, both to your people and in general. I don’t think the Council or the Adventurer’s Guild would argue that point. May I ask what you know about their combat abilities? If they don’t level that’s one relief, but just how strong are they in general?”

The Gnoll pondered the question for a while.

“Hrr. It is too long ago for specifics to be passed down, but I would imagine a single one of these Raskghar would be a match for a Silver-rank adventurer. They were said to be strong, immune to pain, and have hides that were proof against iron. But those are legends. I imagine the truth is that they are simply stronger. Primal, primitive Gnolls who cannot level but have more strength than our kind.“

“I see. Well, thank you for your time, Krshia. I will have to relay that to the Adventurer’s Guild. I think these Raskghar would be classified as a threat similar to Hobgoblins. Unless you disagree?”

Krshia was shaking her head. She looked serious as she pointed a finger of her paw at Olesm.

“Not at all. Hobgoblins are dangerous, like the ones in Erin’s inn, yes? But they are a danger because of numbers as much as their skill. Raskghar are brutes. They may be stronger naturally than Hobs, but they lack levels so they would fall behind in strength. What makes them dangerous is that they are born to the darkness, Olesm. They hunt in places without light. They are not warriors, they are predators. They track their prey and ambush them. That is the danger.”

Not warriors, but creatures adapted perfectly to an environment with mazes and traps. Ambush specialists. Olesm nodded.

“I’ll emphasize that in my report and make sure the adventurers know to be careful. Thank you very much, Miss Krshia.”

“You are welcome, Olesm.”

The Gnoll smiled at Olesm and he sensed that she was in better spirits than when she’d first opened the door. Krshia eyed the scraps of meat left in her bowl and stood up.

“I have enjoyed your company. But you do not need to leave right away, yes? Sit. Let us talk. I have heard rumors about Erin, although I have not seen her in days. And I have more snacks—let us have some breadsticks. I have some honey…I would not like to waste it. And there is more tea.”

Olesm smiled at Krshia. He had not missed the shield and sword carefully propped up against one wall, or the way Krshia kept looking around. The apartment was empty. There was a vacancy in it. For a while he could fill it.

“I would be honored to sit, of course. Please, tell me, what do you think about this issue of the Goblin Lord?”

—–

It was a good two hours more before Olesm could leave Krshia’s home, but he considered that time well spent by comparison. Olesm first waddled over to one of the public toilets and relieved himself of half a pot’s worth of tea. Then he walked down the street. The snow had completely melted in Liscor, but it was still chilly outside. Olesm tugged at the cloak he wore and fished at his belt pouch.

He pulled out a pad of tightly bound pieces of paper; a luxury compared to parchment, but one the city paid him for. He also had an enchanted quill that drew ink from a pot without him needing to dip it, a very useful invention. Olesm walked and wrote, muttering to himself as he did.

“Gnoll breeding strategy. Talk to Gen. Shivertail or Wall Lrd? Concerns—future generations.”

Olesm paused as he stared at the cramped handwriting. Then he sighed and scribbled over the words. No, not a good idea. This was him being a hoarder, thinking too narrowly. Gnolls were not the enemy. Come to that, Humans weren’t the enemy. Not anymore. They’d lived here for generations. Didn’t that mean they had a place? They weren’t the ones who’d razed Drake cities and put thousands to the sword, no matter what the elders said.

No, the real enemy was the Antinium. And Olesm wasn’t sure if all of them were the enemy. Sighing, Olesm crossed out the words a few more times and jotted down the notes about the Raskghar.

“Did I spell that right? Oh well. It’s good enough. Now…”

Olesm hesitated and looked around, tail twitching as he stood in the street. He could go back to the inn and file the report later, but that would mean drinking. On the other claw, Olesm was fairly sure that Selys was at the desk in the Adventure’s Guild at the moment and he could probably spend hours filing a report in person and chatting with her. Also, there was that thing that had been nagging at Olesm for days. Maybe he could resolve it today?

It certainly beat drinking. So Olesm turned around in the street, waved to one of his chess-buddies, and hurried over to the Adventurer’s Guild. It was packed. As usual. Humans, Gnolls, and Drakes were all waiting in lines, or sitting out of the cold and talking.

Olesm was pleased that there was less of a crush than before; while it was true the adventurers were here for the dungeon, Erin’s door to Celum had allowed a lot of the pressure to be taken off of Liscor’s guild. Now adventurers were saturating the region around Liscor, rather than all crammed into the one city and causing trouble exclusively here.

Still, he had to wait in line. There were four counters open and each [Receptionist] was busy. Olesm spotted Selys and saw there was only one person in front of him. He hurried over and then recognized the Human arguing at the desk.

“—and furthermore, I object to your characterization of my talents. I am offering you an equitable, nay, charitable solution to an unresolved crisis in your city, and you are not considering it, let alone relaying my request to your Guildmaster!”

Pisces put his hands flat on the counter and glared at Selys. The Drake [Receptionist] glared back and leaned over the desk so that Pisces had to lean back or receive a slow head butt. Her tail thrashed behind the counter.

“First off, it’s Guildmistress. My Grandmother’s in charge and she doesn’t like [Necromancers]. In fact, she likes them less than I do. Furthermore, I can’t authorize putting a dangerous monster in the sewers—”

“Dangerous?”

Pisces spluttered. He was receiving a lot of unfriendly looks from around the room Olesm noted, but he was focused on Selys. He leaned forwards until he was nose-to-snout with Selys.

“It would be under my control at all times. True, it would be remotely, but it would operate under precise instructions—”

“Oh? Like the one you gave Toren before he abandoned Erin and went off and killed a bunch of people?”

The [Necromancer]’s teeth ground together audibly.

“That was a separate case with an autonomous creation with free will, not—”

“You have your answer. Next! Oh, hi there Olesm! How can I help you?”

Pisces was incandescent with fury, but Selys calmly pushed him aside and smiled sweetly at Olesm. He smiled back. Suddenly, Olesm recalled why he hadn’t ever really talked to Selys before they’d both known Erin.

She was a social personality, always talking, but she had an edge when she got mad. Selys and Olesm ran in different circles. Olesm coughed and stepped forwards, tail twitching apologetically as Pisces glared at both of them.

“Hello, Selys. I’m actually here to deliver a report about those Gnoll-like monsters that were found in the dungeon. I’ve investigated the matter and they’re a primitive offshoot of the Gnoll species. Some kind of throwback or…well, they’re clearly dangerous and they’ve adapted for the darkness. The Gnolls hate them and I have a few details on how they might fight.”

“Really? Freakish Gnoll offshoots, huh?”

Selys’ nonexistent eyebrows rose. She glanced out the window and made a face.

“It sounds important, and I’d love to hear about them, but I’m nearly done with my shift, Olesm. This jerk—”

She pointed towards Pisces with her tail and the [Necromancer] glowered. He still hadn’t moved away and was making Olesm uncomfortable.

“—took up a lot of my time and I’m actually meeting with Erin right after this. Can I call over my replacement and have her get all the details? Or better yet, can you send a report through all those official channels? It’s not that we can’t do it, it’s just that we’re a bit overworked, you know?”

She made a face. Olesm floundered, and then nodded. That wasn’t what he wanted, but what could he say?

“Of course. That would be fine.”

“Cool. Oh, and so I can mention it to Erin—what are these not-Gnolls called?”

“Raskghar. I think.”

“Got it. Hey, Maviss! Can you take over? Thanks!”

Selys walked out from behind the counter and another Drake took her place. Maviss, a Drake with light pinkish-red scales, smiled sweetly at Olesm. A bit too sweetly. Selys winked at her friend and Olesm edged back from the counter.

“Ah. Ahem. Selys tells me you’re very busy, so I’ll file that report and submit it tonight—”

“Are you sure? I’m sure I could write it all down if you want.”

Pisces was trying to chase after Selys until she tripped him up with her tail. He stood up to laughter, flushing with anger, and Olesm shook his head. He cleared his throat and then lowered his voice. There was one other reason why he’d come to the Adventurer’s Guild, and that was to follow up on a hunch.

“I wonder, Miss Maviss, whether your guild has the records of the recent expedition into the crypt by four Silver-ranked adventuring teams? The one with the attacking undead, led by the creature known as Skinner?”

Maviss’ smile vanished. She nodded. Everyone in Liscor remembered that night of horrors.

“We have lots of files. But don’t you get all of them as a [Tactician]?”

He shook his head.

“All the ones about the attack of course, testimonies, statements from the [Guardsmen]…but when the adventurers were uh, recovered and their remains were counted, that report got sent to your guild. If the city kept a copy, it’s lost somewhere. I was hoping I could see it. I’m especially interested in what the [Guardsmen] found. The possessions of the deceased adventuring teams that were confiscated and so on.”

The [Receptionist] thought about that and then nodded.

“I can get that for you. It might take a bit. Why don’t you wait here? Unless you’d like to help?”

She winked at Olesm. He blushed.

“I uh, no, I’m sorry. I have uh, a lot of pressing engagements. With the Wall Lord. I do apologize.”

“Oh. Alright then.”

Looking disappointed, Maviss sighed and walked out into one of the back rooms where files were kept. Formal documentation might not exist in Human guilds, but Drakes were sticklers for reports and filing, so Olesm was sure a copy of the report he needed was back there. He turned, intending to take a seat while Maviss searched, and jumped as he saw Pisces standing behind him.

“A report from the events surrounding the crypt and the attack of the undead horde? Why would you be interested in that?”

The [Necromancer] eyed Olesm, arms folded, completely unapologetic about eavesdropping. Olesm coughed.

“Good morning, uh, Pisces.”

“Olesm.”

The [Mage] and [Tactician] stared at each other. Neither quite knew what to say. True, they’d met and played games of chess against each other, but that was because both of them knew Erin. They weren’t exactly acquaintances; neither one could remember really having a long conversation together.

Olesm shifted.

“I uh, I’m following up a discrepancy with the reports, which is why I requested them.”

“Ah. I see. And what is it you have uncovered?”

“Confidential, I’m afraid. City business. What were you asking Selys about? It seemed important.”

“Confidential.”

Pisces’ tone was acerbic as he looked down his nose at Olesm. His gaze flicked to the Drake’s face, to his tail, and then to the notepad Olesm was still holding. The Drake hurriedly put that away. He didn’t like how Pisces always seemed so…so perceptive about things. For one thing, the [Necromancer] was one of the few Humans who watched Drakes’ tails for their reactions. Olesm kept his very still and raised his voice casually.

“How’s uh, the adventuring business? Doing a lot of fun…killing monsters? How’s Ceria doing?”

He winced. He hadn’t meant to blurt that out. Even if he had meant to ask. Pisces blinked. He studied Olesm and the Drake just knew he was recalling Olesm’s very brief fling with Ceria and the moment when she’d rejected his request to join the Horns of Hammerad. The memory made Olesm want to gnaw on his tail.

The [Necromancer] betrayed none of what he was thinking, though. He lifted his shoulder fractionally and sniffed.

“We have been undertaking mundane requests of little worth as of late. There are few worthwhile tasks to complete as I’m sure you’re aware. Oversaturation of adventurers…I believe Springwalker and the others are resting in the inn. They were most upset after our last mission.”

Olesm’s heart began to pound.

“Why? Is she—I mean, is everyone alright? I haven’t visited the inn in a while.”

Again, Pisces sniffed.

“Nothing damaging. Rather, we had accepted a rather odious task to clear an infested cave of vermin. The mission was hardly dangerous. Physically, that is.”

“Vermin?”

“Yes. An infested cave a few miles from Liscor. It was filled with roaches. Cockroaches. About ten thousand of them. Our task was to eliminate their nest and as many as possible. There were…complications.”

Pisces brushed at his robes. Only now did Olesm look down and notice several smears on the robes. They were enchanted to resist staining and dirt of course, but the liquid on the robes was sticky. There were black bits of shell and wing and a few legs—Olesm’s tail twitched and Pisces grinned.

“Ice magic is futile against those kinds of roaches. We had to burn them. Unfortunately, there were larger variants with nasty bites and they swarmed us. Well, I say ‘us’ when I mean my other three companions. They got into Yvlon’s armor and onto Ceria…Ksmvr was most helpful in eating them. I believe he and Ceria consider the roaches as snacks and were more offended by the bites than anything else.”

He seemed amused by Olesm’s reaction. Pisces looked around the room, meeting a few gazes before they quickly averted. He shook his head and sniffed a third time.

“I was intending to do more work today, but it seems my presence is unwelcome here.”

That was an understatement. Adventurers watched Pisces with folded arms. Some turned their backs to him. One made a gesture. Olesm winced. He knew [Necromancers] were unpopular in Liscor and the rest of the continent—well, most of the world, really—for good reason, but Pisces’ attitude seemed to exacerbate the issue.

“I got the report! Olesm, I have them and—oh.”

Maviss returned, holding a sheaf of parchment and stopped when she saw Pisces. He looked at her and she hurriedly shoved the file into Olesm’s hand before retreating behind the counter. Olesm paged through the report.

“It seems like everything I need. Miss Maviss, can I return this at a later date?”

“Absolutely! Uh—can I help you?”

Maviss stared at Pisces, tail twitching nervously. He looked at Olesm and then at her and shook his head.

“Not in the slightest, I would imagine.”

He turned. Olesm looked at Maviss.

“Thank you for the files. I have to be going.”

“Oh. Wouldn’t you like to stay for—”

The Drake hurried away and out of the guild. Olesm walked quickly, pausing to greet an adventurer he knew, and then hurried down the street. He wanted to open the report in his apartment, but realized someone was striding along in the same direction as him, practically at the same speed.

Olesm and Pisces halted in the street, staring at each other as Drakes and Gnolls walked around them. Pisces frowned at Olesm. Olesm scowled at Pisces.

“Why are you following me?”

Pisces sniffed.

“I am not. It would appear we were moving in the same direction purely by happenstance. That is known as coincidence.”

He turned. Olesm stuck his tongue out at his back and heard a giggle. He turned, and then his scales turned bright red as he saw Drassi and a few female Drakes he recognized gossiping together. They waved and Olesm waved back before covering his face with one claw.

Pisces glanced at the Drakes, and noticed one of the [Guardsman] on patrol giving Olesm a nod. The same [Guardsmen] spat as he passed by Pisces. The mage’s voice was acerbic.

“It seems you are well beloved in this city, Mister Swifttail.”

Olesm nodded. He felt a bit embarrassed, actually, given how people were treating Pisces.

“I get to know a lot of people in my job. It uh, seems like you’re not well loved here.”

The [Necromancer] shrugged.

“My reputation as a [Necromancer] precedes me. Too, there are my past crimes.”

Olesm recalled the incident with the monster terrorizing innocent villagers out of food and coin. He scowled.

“Yes. That. But I think people might still treat you better if you made an effort.”

Pisces was turning to go. He looked over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows.

“Why should I? Their opinions are set in stone. Besides, my isolation is a product of my achievements and who I am. Talent is lonely. I do not need friends or adulation. Success is its own reward.”

His words stung Olesm’s scales like nettles. And yet, at the same time Olesm had an instinctive sense that Pisces was lying through his teeth. He didn’t have a truth detection Skill, but the Drake still sensed it. And…talent?

Olesm though about Ilvriss praising him and the shame and mixed emotions he felt. Whereas Pisces practically shouted his own arrogance. That lit a fire under his tail. He snapped at Pisces.

“You seem to have an inflated opinion of your abilities.”

Pisces smirked.

“Accurately judging my own worth is not hubris. If others fail to comprehend my worth, that is their failing. Not mine.”

“Oh yeah? Well—well, what if you’re wrong?”

Snappy retorts were the specialty of Selys, not his. Olesm felt his scales flush and Pisces gave him a condescending look that was worse than a reply. Olesm lashed his tail against the paving stones.

“Okay then. If you’re so special, why are you lowering yourself to adventuring with others? Unless you’re not talented enough to do things by yourself?”

The mage’s eyes narrowed. He took a moment to respond, and his coolness infuriated Olesm even more.

“Pragmatism, of course. And perhaps a bit of—nostalgia. Regardless, my status as an adventurer is a career decision. The true mystery is why you aren’t an adventurer. You seem enamored with the profession, not to mention a certain individual. Why not pursue such interests?”

The words hit Olesm right in the heart this time. A critical hit. He stared at Pisces, feeling his fury rising. He spat.

“I wasn’t invited. I asked, as you recall.”

“Indeed I do. Hm. If a rejection was enough to stop you, then perhaps it was wise of you not to choose to be an adventurer after all. Words may burn, but they are a paltry force compared to claws and magic. If you cannot weather rejection, combat would certainly prove your undoing.”

The arch look. The burning words. Olesm opened his mouth and lifted the report about the dead adventurers.

“At least I was brave enough to go with them the first time! Where were you? Too cowardly to join them? I know Ceria asked you—why come crawling to her later when you rejected her once?”

Pisces’ eyes narrowed dangerously. He opened his mouth and Olesm balled his claws into fists. Before he or Olesm could say anything else, both heard a voice calling Olesm’s name.

“Olesm! Olesm Swifttail! I have a delivery for you!”

The Drake turned his head. His eyes widened.

“Hawk?”

The Rabbitman was striding down the street, moving twice as fast as anyone else. As usual, Hawk appeared to be practically vibrating with energy. In the cold weather he’d left his muscular abdomen exposed and he seemed immune to the chill. Olesm wondered if he’d had any of Erin’s Corusdeer Soup.

The Courier halted in front of Olesm and opened a pouch on his belt. It must have been a belt pouch of holding, because he pulled out several objects before he came up with a very thick sealed envelope. Olesm stared at it. If Hawk was delivering it, the letter had to be sent by Courier. Or was Hawk doing City Runner deliveries?

“What’s this about, Hawk?”

The Rabbit Tribe Beastkin offered Olesm the letter.

“I’ve got a message for you, Olesm. What else? It’s a pretty lucrative delivery for me; a simple package. I got it from Invrisil—a quick run, even with the Corusdeer stampede I had to dodge. Here, just state to me on this truth stone that you are Olesm Swifttail and—”

“Wait, what? But I—I haven’t been expecting any deliveries! And this looks expensive!”

Hawk nodded.

“Sure is. I can’t tell you the specifics—Runner’s confidentiality and all that, but I think this came from First Landing. Which means it’s from another continent.”

“Another continent?”

Pisces was staring intently at the letter and at Hawk. The Courier eyed him, but said nothing. He was all business as he offered Olesm the various tools Couriers used to prove their deliveries had occurred, and then nodded.

“Looks good. Here you go.”

He handed Olesm the letter. It was thick and the paper looked very costly. Olesm gingerly pulled out a dagger; he’d reuse the paper if he could, and looked at Hawk.

“You have no idea who this is from?”

“Probably someone who likes your chess newsletter thing. I hear that it gets good traction among the Drake cities. Didn’t you get a whole bunch of deliveries from the Runner’s Guild after some idiot misspelled your name wrong or something?”

“Yeah, but no one’s sent a message by Courier—”

Olesm was fumbling with the plain wax seal. It wasn’t stamped, so whoever wanted to send this didn’t feel like broadcasting to the world who they were. He was thinking about his chess newsletter. Yes, it was certainly possible, but what with all the dangers of the Goblin Lord and so forth, Olesm had completely missed sending his chess games and analysis for the last two weeks. And it wasn’t like his chess newsletters had spread beyond the continent. So who—

His heart stopped as he pulled out the short message from the envelope. At the top of the creamy, soft paper flecked with bits of gold was an insignia he recognized. It was a wing, or rather, a stylized flowing wing comprised of three colors. Pink, yellow, and green, the same colors as the eyes of their leader. Olesm would have recognized the insignia anywhere as a [Tactician], and the inhaled breaths from Hawk and Pisces showed both recognized it too.

The banner of the Forgotten Wing company stared up at Olesm. It was one of the Four Great Companies of Baleros. The Forgotten Wing Company. The Iron Vanguard. Maelstrom’s Howling. And the Eyes of Baleros.

But of the four companies, this one mattered most. Because the greatest [Strategist] in the world led that company. And Olesm’s eyes travelled slowly down the page, skipping the precise, neat handwriting and finding the signature at the bottom.

Niers Astoragon.

Olesm looked up. Hawk stared at the letter. Pisces’ face was dead white. The [Mage] stared at the [Tactician]. The [Tactician] stared at the [Mage].

Hawk the Courier stared for a second longer and then whistled.

“Cool. That’s great, Olesm. Glad I decided to deliver it. Hey, do you know anything about those Goblins in Erin’s inn? I nearly kicked one when I came through the door. Hello? Guys?”

He peered at the two stunned chess lovers and shook his head.

“Never mind. I’ll go ask someone in a tavern. Let me know if you want to send a reply. It’s not listed on the contract, but I could ask. Later!”

He strode off. That broke the spell around Pisces and Olesm. They stared at each other, earlier arguments forgotten.

“Well? What does it say?”

Pisces was peering at the letter. Olesm hesitated, and then showed it to him. The two read it, and their faces turned paler. Olesm went line by line through the letter, muttering out loud in disbelief.

“To Olesm Swifttail…most impressed by your analysis…quality of the games represented…intriguing endeavor…attached puzzle I have compiled myself? Looking forwards to future publications? A SMALL TOKEN OF MY APPRECIATION!?”

He reached into the envelope and slowly lifted out a glinting brass ring. The insignia of an eye was set with a tiny diamond in the metal. Pisces stared at it. He stared at Olesm. Olesm threw up his hands. Pisces did likewise. The two screamed, and they began to dance wildly about, shouting in disbelief.

The people walking down the street halted and stared at the two as Olesm and Pisces danced about, shouting incoherently about chess and Niers and rings. They didn’t care, but it was the subject of much entertainment for everyone watching. Including the young woman and Drake standing down the street, munching on some toasted breadsticks dipped in cheese and watching everything.

—-

“What are those two idiots doing?”

Selys and Erin paused as they watched Pisces and Olesm dancing about in the street. Erin shrugged.

“Dunno. They look happy, though. It’s weird seeing them together, isn’t it?”

Selys sniffed.

“Hatchlings are the same wherever you go. Anyways, forget them Erin. You were telling me about the Goblins?”

“Oh, right!”

Erin began walking after Selys, leaving the dancing Pisces and Olesm behind. She sighed.

“It’s a problem. Not them, exactly, but pants.”

“Pants?”

“Yeah, we’re having a real pants crisis. They don’t like them. They want to wear their horrible old loincloths, but I made them get rid of them because they were nasty. Really nasty. But they’d rather walk around naked than with pants…”

“What, really? That’s disg—what do they look like?”

“Selys!”

“I’m just asking.”

“Mrsha lives in my inn!”

“Ooh. Okay, that’s a problem.”

“Yeah. She’s learned they’re a weak spot. And she hates the Goblins. So she keeps throwing things at them. She hit Badarrow right in the groin with a pot the other day, and you know what happens when she doesn’t like something. She bites. I want to avoid that. So if you know any good [Tailors]…”

“Let me introduce you to one right now. Don’t you worry; Aunt Selys is on the job! That’s Aunt Selys for Mrsha, obviously. Don’t call me an Aunt, Erin. It’ll make me feel old.”

“Aw. Can I call you my cousin?”

“Maybe…”

They wandered off. Pisces and Olesm kept dancing, and eventually they stopped. Olesm handed the letter to Pisces, and with a trembling claw, put on the ring.

4.37 O

“Argh! I’ve gone blind!”

Olesm’s first reaction upon putting on the ring was to roll about on the ground and scream. He felt like someone was stabbing his eyes out with a toothpick. Everything was spinning, confusing—blurring! He tried to focus his eyes on his claws, the sky, anything, but he didn’t see what he should have, just intense and very large blobs of color.

The agony persisted until someone grabbed Olesm roughly. He flailed at the person with his claws and felt someone grab one of his fingers. Olesm felt a hand twist the ring on his index claw and suddenly the world was back to normal. He blinked tears out of his eyes and saw Pisces standing over him.

“Wha—what happened?”

“The ring modifies your sight. Obviously.”

The [Necromancer] stepped back and Olesm sat up. A crowd of people had gathered around him. Olesm waved sheepishly at some people he knew. Pisces just sniffed. Olesm passed trembling claws in front of his face. Were they larger than they should be?

“Wow. A Ring of Sight? But when I put it on, everything was so—so—”

“The enchantment allows you to adjust the magnification effect by twisting the ring. It was not difficult to identify the nature of the spell. Which is clearly what you should have done before putting the ring on. Do you make a habit of using magical items without ascertaining their natures?”

Pisces stared pointedly at Olesm. The Drake felt the scales on his cheeks warm. He coughed and got up. Yes, the world was larger than it should be. He carefully twisted the ring on his fingers and felt everything slide back into normal focus.

“Um. Thank you, Pisces. Sorry everyone. Just an unexpected incident with a magical artifact. Heh.”

The crowd dispersed, since that really was a usual occurrence and Olesm hadn’t done anything else interesting like grow a second tail. Still very embarrassed, Olesm brushed at his clothes and looked at Pisces. He coughed, and the mage silently handed him the letter from Niers Astoragon.

“A Ring of Sight. An appropriate gift for a [Tactician] beginning his career. No doubt similar artifacts are used by most conventional strategists, hence the decision to gift one to you.”

“What? Right. Yeah, it’s good. I normally ask for magnification spells or—it’s good.”

Olesm peered at the letter again. The short missive still stunned him and he stared at the crest at the top of the letter. A letter from him. Niers Astoragon. If there was a hero among [Strategists], it was him. Everyone who respected planning, organization, smart strategy and—and anything having to do with that kind of thing respected Niers Astoragon.

He was famous for beating [Mages] and enemy [Generals] alike with his sophisticated mind games and winning battles thought impossible with clever insight rather than brute force. Of course, he was a Fraerling; brute force wasn’t an option for him.

Olesm was a huge fan of his and clearly Pisces shared the same opinion. The [Necromancer] was inspecting the envelope carefully, even sniffing it. Olesm snatched it away from the mage and turned. His heart was racing. He had only one thought in his mind.

“I have to tell Erin about this!”

She would be so excited to hear what had happened. Or—did she know who Niers Astoragon was? She’d be excited when Olesm explained him to her. He began hurrying down the street. For some reason, Pisces followed him.

“It seems this chess newsletter has reaped quite a substantial reward. Especially for so little work.”

“What? Oh, yes. It has.”

Olesm frowned at Pisces. The [Necromancer]’s eyes were fixed on the letter in his claws, and the ring. Olesm had to prevent himself from fiddling with it; he’d have to find out exactly how far he could see with it. If the blinding images were anything to go by, it could probably magnify his sight many, many times over.

It wasn’t far to the gates and the streets were mostly empty. People still didn’t want to travel outside of the city for fear of Goblins—and because of the snow—and since Erin’s inn was now infested with said Goblins, no one really had business outside. Olesm waved at the Gnoll on duty as he hurried out. And Pisces was still following him.

“So you intend to tell Erin about your success.”

“Yeah, that’s the plan. Are you going to her inn as well?”

“I do reside there.”

Olesm frowned as he marched through wet snow, glad he’d put his boots on today. He didn’t exactly want Pisces to come to the inn. The [Necromancer] was staring at him with what felt like disapproval.

“Look, can I help you? Not to be rude, but I’ve just had a bit of great news and I’d like to share it with Erin. Alone.”

Pisces sniffed.

“Of course. And may I add that it is an entirely deserved reward for your hard effort?”

That was clearly sarcastic. Olesm slowed his frantic steps through the snow and glared at Pisces.

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

The [Mage] folded his arms.

“I would imagine my statements are self-explanatory.”

Olesm stared. Pisces rolled his eyes.

“Very well, if I must explain myself—I assume you are going to the inn to tell Erin exactly how wonderful the news of Niers Astoragon’s approval is. He has gifted you with his attention, a ring, and a chess puzzle for your, ah, publication.”

“That’s right. So what?”

Olesm glanced down at the letter in his claws. He couldn’t wait to try and solve the puzzle himself. He wondered if Erin could do it so easily. It was a puzzle from the Titan! And Niers had also written that he’d love to know more about the game of Go that Olesm had mentioned in his last newsletter. If Erin could play a few games with him, maybe show Olesm a few tips—

Pisces’ voice broke through his rushing thoughts like a cold bar of iron.

“And you are sure you deserve such rewards? You, and no one else?”

The [Tactician] raised his head.

“What? Don’t be ridiculous! Of course I do! I wrote the newsletter! Are you jealous?”

That had to be it. Pisces was jealous of his good fortune and the ring. Olesm covered it with one claw. But Pisces’ expression had now twisted into a sneer of contempt. He stomped through the snow and poked Olesm in the chest with one finger.

“It truly does amaze me. You have no concept of the irony of it, do you? You think Niers Astoragon cared for your newsletter? No. He cared for what you were a vehicle for—the games you so blatantly copied. He was impressed by Erin Solstice’s chess games, her expertise and abilities. Not yours. All your fleeting fame, your accolades, all stem from one person. Erin. Not you. If anyone deserves that ring and letter, it is she.”

A hole opened up under Olesm’s stomach. He felt it drop and a terrible fear engulfed him. No. It couldn’t be. He tried to protest.

“I—I did more than that! I added other games, my commentary. It wasn’t all Erin. I just used her games—”

Her first games. Olesm’s throat closed up as he remembered that he’d sent copies of her chess games with every letter. Pisces sneered.

“Ah yes, your commentary. Was it all lauding her brilliant moves, or did you copy her remarks as well? Certainly you deserve praise—for your abilities as a [Scribe]. Not as a [Tactician]. Least of all as someone with any original thought worthy of merit.”

With each sentence, Pisces poked Olesm again. The words cut deeply at Olesm, but the shame and pain twisted in his gut and turned into anger. The Drake knocked the accusatory hand away and lashed his tail in the snow.

“Shut up! I had the idea at first! Yes, I copied down Erin’s games, but she gave me permission, and who else had this idea? Shouldn’t I get credit for that?”

“Didn’t Miss Solstice herself suggest to you to expand your newsletter? I heard she was familiar with the exact same concept you thought was so original.”

Pisces crossed his arms and Olesm bit his tongue guiltily. That was right. Erin said it was like something she’d seen. Magazines, she’d called them. Monthly newsletters about chess. But he hadn’t known that!

But now Pisces was pressing the attack. The Human glared at Olesm in the snow just outside of Liscor, his eyes filled with scorn.

“You are nothing more than a copycat. If Niers Astoragon knew that the sum of all your accomplishments was nothing more than an opportunistic thief stealing from someone else’s talent, he would never have sent a letter, much less a ring—”

“Shut up!”

Olesm couldn’t bear it any longer. He bent into the snow, gathered a handful of wet snow, and hurled it at Pisces. The mage tried to dodge, but the snow smacked him across the face and shoulder. He brushed it away, looking outraged. Olesm glared at him.

“I don’t have to hear that from you. Yes, I took Erin’s games and showed them to people. Yes, she’s one of the reasons why people are so impressed. But I still did all this. Me! And no matter what you say, the fact is that you’re just jealous that Niers Astoragon knows my name. Whereas you’re a mage everyone hates, just a step above a graverobber!”

He bent and scooped up more snow and hurled it at Pisces. The mage stepped away, face crimson with anger, but Olesm was too incensed to care.

“I bet you wish you’d done what I did. Well, you didn’t. And now that someone famous knows me, me, you’d better believe I’ll use that and start making more newsletters as fast as I can! That’s what I’ve done! What have you accomplished? You—you spineless [Necromancer]! What have you done, other than steal from people and cause trouble? Ceria and the Horns of Hammerad are the best thing that ever happened to you! What have you got besides them?”

Olesm realized he was shouting. He didn’t know where that last bit had come from, only that it stemmed from the frustration in his chest. He threw a third wet snowball at Pisces. This time he missed completely.

The [Mage] stood in the snow, watching Olesm. The Drake was panting. Pisces’ face was white with anger. The truce that had been caused by Niers’ letter had been broken, and now their previous conversation rose into the air, making it hot and uncomfortable.

Pisces glanced over Olesm’s shoulder. He narrowed his eyes at the Drake and adjusted something on his belt. A bag of holding? Olesm glanced at it and a small bell began ringing in his mind. His [Dangersense]. But then Pisces began to speak.

“What have I accomplished? Turn and see.”

There was a rustling. A sound. Olesm whirled and something burst out of the snow behind him. He yelped and fell backwards, scrabbling for his sword as a pale yellow and white creature exploded upwards in a shower of snow. It was tall, thin, ivory bones swinging into place, a burning eye of green flame staring down at Olesm—

A scythe of bone swung down in front of the Drake’s face. Olesm froze. His eyes slowly travelled upwards. Yes, it was a scythe of bone, a curved claw sharpened to a cutting edge. But it was not a weapon. Rather, the scythe was the creature’s arm. And the long, whip-like assembly of bone led upwards to a strange, narrow body without a head. Olesm’s breath came in short, sharp bursts.

What was he staring at? A monster. No, an abomination made of bone. The creature that stood in the snow had a thin torso but long, spider-like lower half.  Four legs reminiscent of a spider’s held the thing up, but an odd, cylindrical waist connected the upper half to the lower. It had no head, but rather, a single central socket and ‘eye’ of flaming light set in the center of the torso, which was shaped like an inverted teardrop.

The two arms with scythes on each end were long enough to trail on the ground and while the ‘hands’ were the sickles of cutting bone, the creature had wicked barbs of bone sticking out along the edges of its arms. Olesm gulped as the scythe-hand near his face slowly retracted. He watched in horror and fascination as the thing backed up a few steps, and then collapsed into a pile of bones.

“Wha—what was—”

“My worth.”

Pisces was smiling as Olesm staggered around. The Drake felt he needed to sit, so he did. Straight into the snow. Pisces smirked at that; then his head turned to the walls of Liscor. He searched the battlements, but if the [Guardsmen] on sentry duty had seen the bone thing; no one had raised the alarm.

So they hadn’t seen it. Because Olesm felt sure that anyone who’d seen Pisces’ creation would raise every alarm in existence, if they didn’t just run away screaming first. He looked at Pisces. The [Necromancer] turned back to him. Only now did Olesm recover his voice.

“What was that? What in the name of scales—”

“As I said. My worth. That is my latest creation. A Bone Horror.”

“A Bone—”

Olesm’s mouth gaped open. He’d heard of such things, of course. Skeletons were only one kind of undead that could emerge in mass graves or places of death. Fortunately, such occurrences were rare and the remains were usually disposed quickly, but given enough time, fractured pieces of bone, half-destroyed corpses and so on could form horrible amalgamation undead, like Crypt Lords and Bone Horrors.

But Olesm was sure, sure that such undead were far beyond the ability of most low-level necromancers to create. Wasn’t the general rule of thumb that a [Necromancer] could only animate an undead equivalent to half of his levels? Or was it two thirds? Was it higher if he had a specific Skill? Olesm’s internal mind told him he would be reading every book on necromancy that night, but his conscious brain told him only one thing. Pisces had created a Bone Horror. It was his.

He’d made it. And for some reason, now Olesm saw Pisces as the other people in Liscor surely had. Zombies, skeletons like Toren, even Ghouls were one thing. But that? No creature on earth looked like that. Or if they did, they were as twisted as Crelers. No, Pisces had created that himself. It was a manifestation of his ideas. He’d brought that horror into existence.

“Why would you make something like that?”

Pisces was walking through the snow. He passed by Olesm, and the bones floated upwards. The Drake flinched, but they were floating into the bag of holding that Pisces carried at his side. The [Necromancer] turned his head, speaking casually.

“For combat. Why else? Naturally I cannot animate such a being for extended durations; indeed, I have not shared its existence with my teammates yet since their reactions would probably mirror yours. However, given proper time to prepare—say, before challenging a particularly dangerous monster—this Bone Horror will doubtless prove useful. What you saw was a prototype, of course.”

“A prototype.”

“Indeed. You noted the long arms? For mobile attacks. When used in conjunction with the four legs, this variant—what I term the Scythe Crawler—is very quick and able to attack its opponents from many angles a conventional creature would not. It is able to rotate freely about the waist, allowing strikes from improbable angles.”

“Improbable angles.”

“Indeed. However, this is only one variant I have come up with. Given the bones I have collected thus far—and I would like to expand that collection if I can purchase a superior bag of holding—I have ideas for a more powerful version. This one is regrettably weak against armored foes. But one with enhanced limbs and perhaps a ranged attack—”

“Ranged attack?”

“Yes, firing bones. It is possible to turn parts of the skeletal structure into a catapult, although obviously ammunition would be limited. But if combined with a recall spell, it could be useful. I haven’t worked out the exact specifications yet, but I am pleased with the results so far—”

Pisces finished bagging the last of the bones and turned. He’d been chattering excitedly, but now he stopped when he saw Olesm’s face. The slight smile that he’d been wearing vanished and was replaced by his customary look of disdain in an instant.

“Ah. Forgive me. I believe we were discussing achievements? Well, you may not acknowledge mine, but I consider it equivalent to any such letters. It is another step in my career. You may scorn it as you wish.”

Olesm felt like throwing up. Pisces turned away. The Drake stared at his back. He realized the look on his face was probably what Pisces saw all the time in the city. And yet, he couldn’t suppress the disturbed feeling in his chest. He didn’t know if he should. So instead he asked the only question he could think of.

“Is that why Selys was angry with you? Because you wanted to bring that into the city?”

“Do you take me for a fool? Of course not!”

Pisces snapped at Olesm. He looked like he regretted scaring Olesm with his creation. His eyes flicked towards the walls again. He shook his head.

“I—was talking to her about a similar, but unrelated matter. A trifle. I simply offered her to resolve the issue of giant rats within Liscor’s sewers.”

“What? Oh. We had a bounty on them, but no one wants to take it.”

“Quite. It is a disgusting job with risk of infection, not to mention disease. The rats live in the drainage pipes, growing overly large due to magical waste improperly disposed of…hunting down their nests would require crawling through pipes, a task few adventurers are willing to contemplate, however low-level they might be.”

“But you were willing to do it?”

Olesm stared at Pisces. The [Mage] looked affronted.

“I would rather die. But I offered to send one of my constructs into the sewers. A creation similar to the Bone Horror, whose task would be solely to destroy any rats below. It would be mobile, created for tight engagements, and naturally advantageous given a rat’s limited physical weapons against bone. But Miss Shivertail denied my proposal without deigning to relay it to her Guildmistress, citing city laws—”

“Oh. Right. That makes sense. We don’t let undead into the city for any reasons.”

“So she was telling the truth.”

Pisces’ face grew pinched. He gritted his teeth together, spoke sharply through them.

“Nevertheless, she could have asked. But apparently her grandmother—a fine case of nepotism in practice—distrusts necromancy. So rational thought is once away done away with and my suggestion is deemed meritless before any actual consideration. Due to prejudice.”

He glanced at Olesm and shook his head.

“Pah. I suppose it should not surprise me. Those who would decry an entire school of magic for one or two bad examples are clearly not worthy of coherent thought. Or my time.”

He turned away. Olesm sat up in the snow. He blinked at Pisces’ back. Olesm raised his voice as Pisces began to stomp back towards Liscor.

“I think it’s a good idea.”

“What?”

Pisces turned. He blinked at Olesm. Olesm wiped some snow off of his shoulder absently.

“I said I think it’s a good idea. Your sewer plan, that is.”

“You—you do?”

“Yeah. We haven’t been able to work out a good plan for clearing them for years now. We’ve tried spells—the rats just eat them or expend all the charges too fast. We try poison and they adapt. Plus, the sewers are pretty much poison as they are already, so…we try adventurers and they never get enough. We waste money on the issue and every now and then the rats swarm out of the sewers, which is a disaster.”

Olesm shuddered at the memories. He looked at Pisces.

“You have a good idea. I get why Selys turned down your proposal, though. Her grandmother would kick you tail-over-head out of the door in an instant. But I could authorize your idea myself.”

“What?”

“I am the city’s lone [Tactician]. I might not be exactly as important as Watch Captain Zevara, but I can do a lot on my own authority. Striking a deal and writing out a permit for a single undead under your supervision is within my jurisdiction.”

As he spoke, Olesm’s tail lifted towards his mouth. He gnawed on the tip for a second before realizing what he was doing and spitting it out. He coughed, feeling like a hatchling again.

“How does ten gold pieces sound to begin with? We could put a bounty of…I don’t know, one copper piece per ten rats killed? If your undead works with your mana it could kill thousands over the course of weeks. That’s hundreds of gold pieces for you.”

Pisces’ jaw dropped. He stared at the Drake [Tactician] and looked around as if he suspected a prank. He pointed at Olesm.

“But you—I could have sworn you thought—what of my latest creation?”

“That? That was disgusting.”

Olesm shuddered. Pisces’ eyes were fixed on him. The mage raised his hands angrily.

“And?”

“And what?”

His bottom was wet. Olesm returned Pisces’ gaze, breathing a bit hard.

“Not liking undead is one thing, but I’m not an idiot, Pisces. Look, that Bone Horror was—horrible. I think it’s disgusting. If you summon—animate, whatever, bring it to life again, I will throw up, hit you with my sword, and run away. Maybe not in that order. I hate undead, and that probably won’t change. But that doesn’t mean I think your ideas aren’t good. Can’t thinking, rational adults like us respect each other’s boundaries and still work together?”

For a solid minute, the Drake and Human just stared at each other in silence. Pisces was blinking, caught off-guard. Olesm was wet. He shifted and hoped that Niers’ letter hadn’t gotten soggy. But his legs didn’t want to stand just yet, so he stayed put. Pisces stared at Olesm and seemed to notice Olesm’s state at last.

“Ah. You are sitting in the snow. You appear to be quite wet.”

Olesm looked around. His tail was very cold and sitting in a rather deep and melting drift. He nodded slowly.

“So I am.”

Pisces stared. Then, slowly, he bent and offered Olesm a hand up. And after a second, Olesm took it.

—-

“I do apologize for my earlier comments. They were deliberately inflammatory and designed to offend. I believe the merit of your work is self-evident and did not merit my scorn in the slightest.”

“No, no, I have to admit that you had a good point. And I haven’t been nearly as gracious as I should be. True, I don’t like undead, but I can admire your uh, Bone Horror from a design perspective. And it’s true that your ideas really are just what the city needs. I should apologize as well.”

“Perish the thought. I would prefer to let bygones be bygones. It is rather agreeable to meet someone else with a rational mindset, not to mention a similar perspective after toiling for so long alone.”

“Indeed it is.”

A Drake and a Human walked through the snow around Liscor, talking animatedly. They were not headed in the direction of the Wandering Inn or back to Liscor. Instead, they were just…chatting.

Olesm kicked through the snow as Pisces’ robe left a trail of its own. Neither Human nor Drake noticed; they were too caught up in their conversation. After the ice had metaphorically and literally melted between them, the two had realized that they were different, but alike in many agreeable ways.

They were both young, both considered themselves thoughtful as opposed to impulsive—a choice reflected in their respective classes, and both shared a love for strategy, planning, and so on. Olesm was stunned to realize that in many respects, Pisces was like him.

For one thing, Pisces had probably the most complete understanding of Drake politics that Olesm had ever met outside of another Drake. He was up to date on the latest world events, and could discuss issues like the Germina-Reim incident and subsequent Hellios conflict without having to be reminded of the details. He had read widely about Niers Astoragon’s historical campaigns, knew several facts about Baleros that Olesm did not, and was an expert on Terandrian culture and politics.

He was incredible. And it was clear that Pisces considered Olesm a fellow peer, which was a compliment in itself from Pisces. But what the two really bonded over was their situations as young individuals trying to make their mark in the world.

“It’s all politics, Pisces. Everyone wagging their tails for one side or another, and no real focus on merit. I got my job in the city because I was the highest-level, yes, but my family had to kiss a lot of claws to get me where I was. But even though I am the city’s [Tactician], everyone in the council meetings ignores me when they feel like it because I’m young. As if seniority matters that much! I’m higher-level than at least two of the council members!”

Olesm shook his head, lashing the snow behind him angrily. Pisces nodded, lips pursing.

“It is ever the same across nations I’m afraid. In Terandria, the issue of personal power is compounded by bloodlines. Seeking friendship with the nobility is practically a requirement. As for wealth—”

“If you’re not rich, you won’t move a single tail your way. Yeah, I know. But it feels like to have wealth you need wealth, you know? I get paid a little bit from my salary, but if I wanted to command any respect I’d have to invest heavily into some profitable venture, or uncover a boatload of treasure—”

“You need not explain yourself to me, Olesm. Adventuring, like magic, is similarly gated. In Wistram, the older mages controlled the access to spellbooks with an iron grip. But if they had simply shared their largely redundant collections, everyone might profit! Instead, here we are, forced to scrabble along until we are as aged and decrepit as the fools who kept us down to begin with…”

Pisces sighed. Olesm patted him on the shoulder with a sympathetic claw. They walked onwards.

“You really did have a good thing with that Bone Horror. I mean, it’s disgusting for me, true, but I’d love to see it tearing up a Creler rather than anyone risk their lives.”

“Precisely the use undead were intended for! Please say that to Springwalker or Miss Byres. And you were impressed by the arms were you not?”

“Oh, yeah! Whip-like attacks, all those barbs—it makes sense, doesn’t it? I imagine it’s a lot stronger than those bears you rode in on the other week.”

The mage smiled slyly.

“Actually, those were the bears.”

“Get out.”

Olesm stared at him. Pisces waved a hand.

“No, no. It was just a matter of carving some of the bones, rearranging others—you see the Bone Horror is a product of my increased mastery of bones in general. In fact, the ability to create such a being directly correlates to my current level. I ah, reached Level 30 just the other day.”

“No way! You? But why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Pisces smiled proudly.

“I wished to keep it a secret. Let us just say that I experienced several revelations…and for my Level 30 Skill, I obtained a greater mastery of bone shaping. However, I might add that the ability to create Draugr would have been another common Skill at that level.”

“Draugr? That would be impressive. Those are like super-undead, right? I remember hearing about how a hundred of those could smash through most formations—”

“True. But I consider Bone Horrors superior.”

“What? No. Why? A Draugr—”

“Think about it, Olesm. True, a Draugr is impressive, but it requires a body, nay, relies on the strength of a deceased for full potency. In addition, it is harder to store such corpses, whereas a Bone Horror…”

“…Can be reanimated at will! And kept in a bag of holding! Of course!”

Olesm snapped at his forehead. Pisces nodded, smiling happily.

“In addition, I believe I can make such creations far stronger than typical examples. Consider my variant—it is far better structured than the default amalgamation the spell produces. Indeed, my ability to specialize such undead will allow infinite forms for any contingency. Plus, if I create a few custom undead rather than mass-animate them, they will be far superior. That is my belief.”

“Really? You hear about [Necromancers] raising undead in big armies all the time. Isn’t that more mana-efficient?”

“It is. But that is hardly conducive to secrecy or positive relations with other groups, is it? Moreover, the inefficiency of mass-produced undead…”

Pisces shook his head, looking troubled. He grumbled to himself under his breath.

“It is strange that legends fail to see why vast armies of largely similar creations are flawed. Whereas if the designs for undead were altered en masse and used as the template for future spells, the potential of a zombie or skeleton would be far greater. How can someone not see that? Experimentation is the key to growth, not—”

He broke off and eyed Olesm for a moment before laughing lightly and shaking his head.

“Forgive me. It seems I am the only [Necromancer] who believes in the total assurance of quality over quantity.”

“That’s too bad. Or rather, good, I guess. If other [Necromancers] were like you, we’d be in a lot more trouble when they appear.”

Olesm grinned at Pisces. The [Mage] looked surprised, as he always did when Olesm paid him a compliment, and then laughed.

“True.”

They walked a bit more through the snow when Olesm cleared his throat. He’d had a thought while walking with Pisces. Their conversation was excellent of course, but it occurred to him that the [Mage] could allow him to check up on his theory at the same time.

“Do you mind if we head this way while we walk?”

Pisces glanced in the indicated direction, away from Liscor and up a snowy hill. His eyes flicked to Olesm’s face for a moment, but he only nodded.

“Not at all.”

He’d already figured out where they were going based on direction alone. True, it was an easy conclusion if you thought about it, but Olesm still admired the way Pisces had come to it so flawlessly. He coughed, and brought up another subject on his mind.

“Er, Pisces. I know you and the Horns of Hammerad have been doing a lot of missions together.”

“We have enjoyed some success, yes. Although right now we are simply keeping busy rather than aiming at one goal. Our tasks are by and large simplistic.”

Pisces waved a hand. Olesm nodded. He cleared his throat again, feeling extremely embarrassed.

“Right. So you spend a lot of time with Ceria. And you’re old friends from Wistram.”

“Old friends. I suppose you could say that, yes.”

“Uh huh. So she talks to you I bet. Does she…does she ever mention me at all?”

The Drake halted in the snow. Pisces turned his head, looking amused and trying to cover that amusement at the same time.

“You wonder if Ceria harbors feelings for you still?”

“No, no, I was just curious if she felt—yes.”

Olesm hung his head, tail drooping. The sympathetic look in Pisces’ eye told him all he needed to know. Pisces hesitated before cautiously patting Olesm on the back with one tentative hand.

“I regret to say she does not mention her feelings to me in that regard. In other regards, yes. But in this…she may still be receptive.”

“No. No. I just wondered if—I mean, we weren’t a couple long. We didn’t actually do much couple-like things, actually. We just uh—but I thought—”

Olesm’s cheeks were flushing. He blinked at suddenly painful eyes. Pisces averted his gaze and cleared his throat tactfully. After a long pause, he spoke.

“I do not believe the fault was yours, if there was any fault to assign for the demise of any, ah, relationship between you two, Olesm. Springwalker—I mean, Ceria is a half-Elf. They do not value long-term relationships with other species, by and large.”

“I know that. But I thought she and I had something.”

“Perhaps you did.”

There was a sympathetic look in Pisces eyes as he shook his head.

“Ceria is used to mobility, travel. She is an adventurer and a half-Elf. She is used to persecution for simply existing in Terandria, and I do not believe she is looking for a long-term partner. Speaking as one who has also had a relationship with Ceria, I think she seeks temporary solace, not love.”

“Someone who—what? You and Ceria were—you two?”

Olesm’s head snapped up. Pisces blinked, and then he looked the other way.

“I ah, misspoke. We were only together for—”

“You two used to be together? When? In Wistram? Wait, is that why she hates you now?”

“Ahem. It is long past, and it would be inaccurate to call our connection anything more than a brief passing of ships.”

Pisces shook his head, but Olesm refused to let it go. The Drake walked in front of Pisces.

“Come on. Tell me. How close were you two? Why’d you break up?”

The [Necromancer] halted in his tracks and looked away. He bit his lip, and then replied.

“I don’t believe we were ever together, Olesm. Not truly. There was a time, once—but it never came to be. I misspoke earlier. Please do not repeat that to Ceria. I think she would take it amiss if she learned what I said.”

Olesm hesitated. He knew he should drop it, but he couldn’t.

“Why’d it never come to be, though?”

Again, the Human hesitated. When he looked back, it was with concealed pain in his eyes. He really wasn’t that good a liar if you looked past the sneer he was always wearing like a mask.

“She learned the truth. Who I am. Before I could explain. That was all.”

The memory of the Bone Horror resurfaced in Olesm’s mind. He stopped, and his tail drooped.

“Sorry. I’m uh, sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Pisces shrugged, covering up his emotions with indifference. He glanced past Olesm.

“It is no matter. The memory only troubles me at times. And it appears we have appeared at another memory. Tell me, why are we here?”

Olesm turned. He hadn’t noticed it, but they had come up on a large, excavated hillside. He cautiously ascended a few more steps and found himself staring into a dark, stone doorway looming amid the half-excavated stonework. This was not the dungeon’s entrance. No. This was the crypt.

They had thought it was the dungeon at first. Olesm remembered Klbkch delivering the report to Zevara and all the speculation it had caused. He remembered the expeditions of adventurers going in, and then the fated one that had included the Horns of Hammerad. And then the night when Skinner had overrun the gates with an army of undead—

The night he had been down there. In the darkness, fighting for his life, hiding from the undead with Ceria in the coffins. Olesm shuddered. He felt terribly afraid of the crypt. Pisces stared at the dark opening, and then at the Drake.

“It was clear you intended to come here. The reason is what I cannot fathom.”

“It’s a…hunch. Look, I’m realizing this might be a bad idea more and more, but you’re a powerful [Necromancer]; I feel like I’d be safe with you if we went inside, right?”

“To do what, exactly?”

Olesm patted at his pockets.

“Follow up on a hunch. Remember the report I asked for at the Adventurer’s Guild?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I noticed some discrepancies in another file a while back. I never had time to check it out—and I wasn’t confident enough to ask Zevara for an escort before now. Let’s go inside and I’ll tell you about it. Unless you think it might be dangerous?”

Pisces eyed the dark opening, and then shrugged. He reached for his bag of holding and poured the bones onto the ground. Olesm shuddered as the Bone Horror rose upwards. It scuttled into the large opening and Pisces motioned towards it.

“My creation should attract any monsters inside, and we will be forewarned in case of most threats. Moreover, I believe the crypts were cleared recently, so I don’t anticipate any true danger. Unless you do?”

“Not danger.”

“Then let us enter.”

Slowly, the two walked into the darkness. Pisces conjured a ball of light and Olesm shuddered as he looked around the crypts. Yes, it was just like he remembered. The excavated rooms, still full of dirt and tracks, the haunting echoes, the temple decorations…

Pisces walked next to Olesm, looking around, frowning ahead, monitoring his creation’s progress probably. Olesm remembered that Pisces had also come here, to rescue Ceria and Olesm both a lifetime ago. He closed his eyes on the thought and nearly tripped.

“Careful.”

The Human caught him. Olesm shook his head.

“Sorry. I’m just—memories, you know?”

“Yes.”

Pisces’ eyes were sympathetic. He looked around.

“Now would you enlighten me?”

“Yeah. Let me just collect my thoughts for a moment.”

The two walked onwards, through narrow corridors, towards the tunnel sloping downwards to the second level. Olesm felt his scales tingling, but told himself there was no danger. If there were undead, Pisces would have sensed them. This place was nothing more than a grave now. It had always been a grave, but now the occupants were silent.

“So like I said, I noticed something when looking through one of the old reports. It’s my job to file a lot of paperwork and I remembered this one. So I was looking…you know that all of the adventurer’s possessions were confiscated by the city afterwards, right?”

“Yes. I do recall. Everything but what Ceria, Yvlon, and the few survivors carried were taken. A group of guardsmen cleared this place of the last of the undead. What of it?”

“Well, we did an inventory. Naturally. Weapons we didn’t need were sold and we repurposed the magical artifacts, potions, and so on. We also did a tally of the dead. A…rough count since so many were—were attacked by Skinner. Identification was impossible, but we knew they were Drakes, Gnolls, Humans, and so on from the bones, right?”

“Yes. Was there something wrong with your count?”

“Just one.”

Olesm’s breath came in short, sharp bursts as they descended the ramp leading downwards. He remembered. A group of running zombies had come up the corridor. And beyond that, the ambush—Pisces gripped his arm and Olesm caught himself.

“What was I…? Yeah, I found one discrepancy, but I had to make sure. This report is from the Adventurer’s Guild. I didn’t really need it; I already had the one the Watch filed. But I had to make sure both were the same. And they were.”

“And who was missing?”

Pisces’ gaze turned to Olesm’s. The [Necromancer] walked through the darkness, his face illuminated by the soft yellow light of his spell, calm, waiting. Olesm looked at him.

“You already know.”

After a second, the mage nodded.

“There is only one individual whose remains would stand out enough to warrant positive identification, regardless of loss of skin.”

The two came to the intersection. Olesm felt his heart pounding in his chest. Pisces looked left and right. He spoke one word.

“Calruz.”

“Yes. The guardsmen never found his remains. Not his bones, nor his axe. And they should have found something, even if he was torn apart. His body wasn’t listed among the undead that attacked Liscor—not that he could have been reanimated that fast. And there’s no way he would have escaped and not gone to Liscor, so I thought—”

Olesm trailed off. It was stupid, now he said it out loud. He looked down the corridors. He remembered hearing the screaming in the distance, hearing the others wonder aloud where the other Silver-rank teams were. The sound of something dragging itself closer.

But there was nothing here now. He tried to reassure himself. Pisces stared around.

“You think he’s still down here. But it has been months. He would not have survived.”

“Right. Obviously.”

Olesm bit his lip. Pisces glanced at him.

“So you want to find his remains? You believe his corpse was overlooked?”

“Yeah. Maybe in a crevice or some secret door. It’s—look, I know it’s silly, but he fought with us, with me. I might be dead if he hadn’t charged Skinner. If I can find his body—”

“I understand. But it is a vast space. Do you really think we can find where he fell?”

The Drake hesitated.

“We can try.”

—-

It was dark. The light of Pisces’ magic was the only source of illumination in the darkness, casting long shadows and making everything seem just as frightening as it was. Olesm was glad for the light, though. Without it he might have panicked. The memories here were too strong.

At least he could see well. Maybe it was his ring, but the corridors seemed as bright as day. Pisces and Olesm walked down hallways, peering into rooms and trying to comb the place systematically. They were watchful for undead of course, although Pisces insisted he didn’t sense anything. His Bone Horror kept prowling down corridors around them; it had scared the life out of Olesm twice now.

“I think we’re nearly done with this area. There’s only the treasure room where Skinner emerged from, and it was looted by something.”

“Indeed. Shall we pass through it just to be certain?”

“Yeah.”

The huge stone doors still stood wide open. Olesm breathed in at the sight; he could recall the two Silver-rank teams agreeing to stand watch while the Horns of Hammerad searched the rest of the crypt. They’d known something might be lurking behind the door. They just didn’t know that Skinner could open the door himself.

The room was emptied of all goods just like before. Olesm frowned around it; Pisces picked up a stone amulet and tossed it down in disgust.

“I take it the city still does not know who made off with the treasures inside?”

“No. And I’m not sure if there were any.”

“Come now. The guardian of the crypts must have guarded something of worth.”

“Yeah. But in that case, where is it?”

Pisces could only shrug. Olesm looked around helplessly and frowned.

“Nothing. Let’s go. We only have to check out that last room and we’re done.”

“What room?”

“That one, of course. You walked right past it.”

The Drake walked back out of the treasure room. Pisces followed, frowning. Olesm pointed to the doorway ahead of him, just opposite the double doors. Pisces stared at the doorway, and then at Olesm.

“I don’t see anything.”

“What? Don’t yank my tail. It’s right h—”

Olesm stepped forwards towards the doorway. Someone yanked him back. He stumbled and turned to Pisces angrily.

“Hey! What’s the big id—”

“Illusion.”

The [Mage]’s face was suddenly concentrated. He nodded at Olesm’s ring as one hand fell back to the rapier at his side. Olesm froze, and then realized what he meant.

“You think the Ring of Sight that Niers Astoragon gave me—?”

“What better gift for a [Tactician] than a true view of the battlefield? I see only a wall. And I cannot detect any illusion here. Not that I am gifted in such things, you understand, but it means this illusion is a good one.”

“It just looks like an open doorway to me.”

“Hm.”

Carefully, Pisces approached the open doorway, and slid his hand across what looked like empty air to Olesm. The Drake held his breath.

“It’s solid? I mean, it feels solid even when you push?”

“Yes. A powerful illusion. Here, grab my hand.”

Pisces reached out and Olesm gingerly took his hand. The Drake walked forwards and Pisces walked behind him through the doorway. Pisces shuddered as he passed through the stone opening.

“You okay?”

“I felt as though I was walking through stone. No, I am not. But the sensation is done with. Now,  what do we have here?”

The stone doorway led a few feet ahead into a small, circular room with a strange, hexagonal symbol drawn onto the floor. It was a small room; large enough to fit a few people inside perhaps. Olesm stepped forwards curiously and Pisces grabbed him again.

“Gah! Stop doing that!”

“Stop stepping into uncertain situations, then. You don’t know what that pattern on the floor does.”

“Neither do you.”

“True, but I do not intend to touch it myself. Observe. This is appropriate caution.”

Pisces reached for his belt and fumbled with a pouch. Olesm nearly jumped out his scales as the mage lifted out a tiny Shield Spider. The [Necromancer] casually flicked it towards the opening and the spider began crawling into the alcove.

“What the—do you just carry Shield Spiders around?”

“It’s undead. Obviously.”

The [Necromancer] flicked his fingers and the spider scurried towards the hexagonal space on the floor. Olesm was about to point out that carrying around undead Shield Spiders didn’t make more sense than living ones when the spider crossed onto the hexagonal floor and the ground vanished.

“Whoa!”

Olesm recoiled as the Shield Spider dropped out of view. Pisces held up a hand and Olesm heard the faintest of sounds from the opening.

“It seems there is a rather long drop below. Fortunately, my Shield Spider was not harmed by the fall. It appears to have dropped into a large room. Full of bones.”

“Really? What else is down there?”

“Give me a second. I will look through the eyes of my creation.”

Pisces broke off and Olesm shifted from foot to foot as he eyed the opening. He was just opening his mouth when the hexagonal hole suddenly filled again, and the floor was stone once more. Pisces smirked and gestured to the floor with one hand.

“See there? If we were incautious adventurers foolish enough to explore the opening, we would have fallen into the trap and been caught down there ourselves. What a simplistic trick.”

“Right. That would have been really stupid.”

Pisces chuckled and Olesm laughed along weakly. He’d been about to suggest they investigate the opening in person. Pisces tapped at his lips as he studied the room below through his undead construct’s eyes.

“Yes, there are many bones around me, Olesm. Many, many bones. However, you may be interested to know that all of these bones are, apparently, organized and have been so for a long time.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning that the owners of said remains died years, possibly centuries before any adventurers came here.”

Olesm’s breath caught in his chest. He had a thought.

“And there are no Minotaur skulls in the room?”

“None.”

“You’re sure? How big is the room? I mean—”

Pisces turned a reproving eye towards Olesm.

“I know what Minotaur bones look like. There are none similar to it, although there are quite a number of unusual bones. Very odd. They appear similar to a Gnoll’s in structure, but thicker. The skulls have a smaller cranial capacity and the jaws are enlarged…”

“Raskghar. They have to be.”

“What?”

Olesm quickly explained about the Gnoll’s primitive subterranean cousins. Pisces nodded.

“Ah. That would explain much. Yes, the majority of the bones in the room do appear to be these…Raskghar. One moment. I am coming to a conclusion.”

“Are you? I’ve got one too.”

“Hm. Enlighten me, then.”

“This was probably meant to be a disposal place of some kind. I doubt it was meant as transportation; otherwise there would be a way back up. And why would it be hidden? I bet the undead were supposed to dump their victims down there.”

“I concur. And?”

“…That’s all I’ve got. You’re the one who can see down there.”

“True. Ah, I suppose it is time for my analysis.”

Pisces cleared his throat and stood straighter, adopting a lecturing tone that still irked Olesm a bit. But the Drake listened, mainly because he didn’t have any other choice.

“It looks like this was indeed meant to be used as a disposal chute—perhaps for invaders or the ah, remains after Skinner had disposed of his foes. Yes, it would be an ideal spot for such parts to reanimate. However, this room has been repurposed. It appears to be a burial chamber now.”

“How do you—”

Pisces raised three fingers as he spoke, frowning at Olesm as he spoke over the Drake.

“I base my conclusions on three pieces of evidence. First, the bones within are systematically piled up with the skull at the apex of each pile, clearly denoting some sort of ritualistic and continual disposal process. Second, the bones have been separated from the body and I can spot evidence that some tool was used to scrape the bones clean of flesh. Thirdly, none of the skeletons have been damaged by scavengers which implies the room is regularly swept and maintained. Except in a few notable cases…”

He paused for a second and coughed. Olesm silently offered him a water flask and Pisces took a drink before continuing.

“There is a disturbance where my Shield Spider landed, which threw me off at first. However, it appears that this was an anomaly. The nearest pile to the opening has been knocked into pieces. The bones are scattered, as if from a large impact overhead. They have disturbed a few other piles, but there are several overturned piles, as if something large ran into them. The path leads straight to the sole exit in the room. Your thoughts?”

Olesm’s mind raced. He spoke slowly.

“It seems obvious.  Something—or rather, someone found this opening and walked into the trap. They landed on the pile and ran towards the door.”

Pisces nodded approvingly. His gaze unfocused again.

“And here, at the door—”

He drew in his breath sharply. Olesm stared at him.

“What?”

“A skeleton. Another Raskghar. However, this one was not ritually buried. The corpse is mostly decomposed and in one piece. And there is a weapon buried in its chest. A battleaxe. The haft is broken off.”

A battleaxe. Olesm’s tail lashed the ground. He started for the hole and Pisces grabbed him.

“Don’t be a fool! If you go down there we might not be able to return!”

“But a battleaxe—”

“I know. But allow my spider to proceed. There is but one exit. Next is a long corridor. There are several uneven tiles and—”

Pisces broke off with a cry. He winced as Olesm stared at him and shook his head.

“A trap. I could not identify it through the spider’s eyes. Whatever it was destroyed my creation. Thoroughly.”

“Do you have another spider? Or can you send something else? Can you animate the bones below?”

“I do not carry multiple spiders around as a rule. And the stone is preventing me from reaching the bones below. I do not sense them with my magic. Clearly we are not meant to know this passage exists.”

“But someone found it. Someone found it and fell. And they fought a Raskghar, killed it, but lost their battleaxe. And only one adventurer in our group carried one…”

Olesm stared at the hole. He turned to Pisces.

“Do you think it’s possible?”

The [Necromancer] shrugged. He was looking around warily, Olesm noticed, and as the Drake turned, he saw the Bone Horror had returned.

“It is possible. More than likely, perhaps. What of it? The Minotaur might have survived all of this, but he was wounded as he fled, was he not?”

“He lost his arm. The undead swarmed him. But—”

“Do you think he could have survived the rest of the dungeon in his condition?”

“I don’t know, but if he’s alive, we have to search for him!”

Olesm flared up. Pisces grabbed Olesm and slapped him across the face. The Drake gaped at him. Pisces was breathing faster.

“Get ahold of yourself! Think rationally, you fool. We have to leave this place now. I assumed we were safe because this area had been cleared. But if there are passageways below, into the actual dungeon—”

There might be more monsters who’d climbed up. Or other things. Watching them. Olesm’s blood ran cold. He nodded silently and he and Pisces made a rapid retreat back towards the top floor. Only when they were outside of the crypt and in the cold daylight did they feel safe enough to talk again.

“I can’t believe it. There was a passageway down there all along. And Calruz—”

“It is too early to assume he was the one who fell down there. I agree the evidence fits, but to assume his survival is going beyond the limits of speculation—”

“And why not? You know how people survive in those kinds of situations! They level under pressure! Haven’t you heard of adventurers surviving after being swallowed by monsters? Or—or going into dungeons and coming out months later and gaining ten, sometimes twenty levels!”

Olesm grabbed Pisces by the robes. The mage shrugged him off, looking troubled.

“Such cases do exist, I admit. But what would you do? Mount a rescue expedition? Into an area that is clearly inhabited by monsters and trapped? By who? The city would never agree, and the only other group with a vested interest in Calruz’s life is—”

“Yours.”

The Horns of Hammerad. Olesm stared at Pisces. The mage didn’t meet his eyes.

“You know what Ceria would do if she thought Calruz was alive. Yvlon, too.”

“I am well aware. But that would most likely be suicide.”

“Even so! If you could convince another group to help you, the Halfseekers for instance—”

“I think they have had enough of volunteering themselves for others, especially after what happened at Miss Solstice’s inn. Don’t you?”

The Human and Drake stood together in the snow, staring at each other. Olesm’s tail drooped. He couldn’t argue with that. He turned to look back towards the crypt’s opening.

“But if he is alive…”

“If. There is too much to risk for an uncertainty. Too much to lose for an outcome that most likely does not exist.”

That too was true. And yet, Olesm couldn’t push the thought out of his head. He stared challengingly at Pisces.

“If there’s even a chance, Ceria should know about it. She deserves to know.”

“Does she? Or would it bring her needless worry and heartbreak?”

Another fair point. The Drake didn’t know. He felt strongly, but Pisces was speaking sense as well. He didn’t know what to do. Olesm stared at Pisces.

“Do you really think it would be best to keep it secret? Really? Just not tell anyone, like that?”

At last, the mage hesitated. He looked at Olesm, and then turned away. When he spoke, it was slowly, haltingly.

“Sometimes…sometimes it is best to keep secrets, painful though it may be. Because the truth, however liberating, can be too much to bear. Freedom demands a terrible price, Olesm.”

The truth of that was reflected in Pisces’ stance, the pain in his face and voice. Olesm looked at him, and nodded slowly.

“You may be right.”

Pisces turned back to him. Olesm hesitated. He withdrew the file he’d received from the Adventurer’s Guild and then slowly handed it to Pisces. The mage blinked at it. Olesm took a breath.

“You know Ceria better than I do. You know the secret. If you think it’s worth telling her, telling the others, do it. If not…you can give that back to Maviss.”

Pisces stared at him. Olesm looked into his eyes and slowly nodded.

“It’s your choice. You know Ceria best.”

Then he turned and slowly began walking back to Liscor.

—-

Some things were predictable. True, chance and the natural intermingling of cause and effect created a world in which unforeseen variables could lead to completely different outcomes, but it was still possible to predict what would happen to a relative degree of certainty. For instance, people were easy. Simple, even.

True, it was impossible to know each individual’s darkest secrets or the entire history that had culminated in the person who walked about today, but that didn’t matter. People were, in Pisces’ opinion, largely unimportant. He could predict the way the vast majority reacted to a given set of stimuli. They were predictable. Sadly predictable.

He had seen it all the same, replayed ten thousand, a hundred thousand times across as many lives. People were the same. It was only their environment, culture, events, and species which acted as variables upon their templates. The masses were not sheep; rather, they were dough from which the same kinds of bread arose, occasionally different, but all alike in origin and purpose.

Only a few individuals stood out from the crowds, a few people who could not be predicted, who were worthy of note. Niers Astoragon was one of them. Erin Solstice another. And Olesm…Pisces had found someone else worthy of respect, of attention, today.

Because he had not predicted this. The [Mage] slowly walked back towards Erin’s inn, paging through the file in his hand. It had been written by Drakes, in their species’ script rather than the universal written language adopted across the world. No doubt another one of their security measures. But Pisces had taught himself their written language and so he could read it.

It said exactly what Olesm had told him. The possessions of adventurers recovered, a rough count of bodies separated by species, and nothing remotely resembling a Minotaur’s corpse.

“It could be possible. But alive?”

That was not likely, Pisces knew. He had met Calruz briefly, and he had assessed the Minotaur as stubborn, arrogant, overly inclined towards violence and obsessed with the idea of honor—typical of his species, in short. The odds of someone like that surviving any amount of time in a dungeon designed to eat such individuals was remote.

And yet, if he didn’t tell Springwalker, then what? Pisces wandered into the Wandering Inn and realized it was occupied.

Sparsely occupied, but nevertheless inhabited by bodies. The Goblins were nowhere to be seen so they were probably in the basement. Instead, the two remaining adventuring groups were in the common room of the inn, right where Pisces had left them.

Ah, yes. He’d foreseen this as well. It appeared his teammates were still recovering from their expedition to the cave of roaches. Why they hadn’t been ready to run when the wall of insects had swarmed them was beyond Pisces. He cautiously stepped into the room and heard Yvlon’s voice. She was croaking; she’d thrown up numerous times after and during their mission.

“And then—and then they just came at us. All at once. They were in my armor, my hair, my mouth—I swallowed some of them.”

“Oh my god.”

Erin Solstice was there, holding Yvlon’s hand, motioning Lyonette and Drassi over. They had buckets of hot water and soap. And blankets. Yvlon huddled in hers. Across the table, Ceria was sitting with Seborn, staring into her mug and shuddering. Jelaqua and Moore were wincing as she continued the story.

“I thought we had them. I really did. I learned a poison spell just for this. You know, from my book. Poisoned snow, I thought it would kill them. But it just made them agitated. And then the big ones came out—”

Yvlon made a sound, and beside her, a large insect uncurled himself. Ksmvr raised his head, scratching at the bites on his carapace with one of his three arms.

“I thought I was predator. Am I prey? Why did they attempt to eat me? Have I fallen so far down as to be food for food?”

“Aw, no, no, Ksmvr! Those are just dumb bugs. Come on, cheer up. I’ve got nice, hot food for you all as soon as Yvlon stops throwing up. And we’ll get you into fresh clothes, take you into Liscor for baths—just let Aunt Erin and Cousin Selys take care of you all.”

Cousin Selys? Pisces rolled his eyes as he saw everyone fussing around the rest of his team. Honestly. They were bugs. True, Pisces had [Flashstepped] out of the cave before they got him, but still.

No one was paying attention to him. Pisces settled down at a table to think. He sighed. To tell or not to tell? He could predict what Ceria would do. At least…what she’d probably do. She surprised him, sometimes. But in this?

What was the correct decision? Well, Pisces knew what he’d do. And yet, would Olesm honor his word? That seemed unlikely. The Drake was too impulsive. And part of Pisces also…

No. No, it was foolish. Pisces scrubbed at his hair, dislodging some insect shells and dandruff. Something hiding under the table snatched one of the wings that floated down with a paw. Pisces jumped, and saw Mrsha stuff a large beetle wing into her mouth and spit it out quickly.

“Hello?”

He stared. The young Gnoll stared up at him. Pisces hadn’t interacted with Mrsha much, although she was good at cleaning unwanted food from his plate and distracting others. He gestured towards the group sitting in the middle of the room.

“I believe you will find more entertainment with Miss Solstice. Over there.”

Mrsha turned her head towards Erin. The [Innkeeper] did indeed have plates of hot food she was trying to tempt Yvlon and the others with. But for once, the Gnoll didn’t bite figuratively or literally. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Erin and her ears flattened. Pisces frowned.

“Odd.”

Why was Mrsha upset with Erin—ah, the Goblins. Of course. The Gnoll prowled around Pisces and he felt a hand searching at his belt and pockets. He slapped it away. But Mrsha had learned long ago that respecting personal boundaries was not a winning move and so she kept bothering him.

“Shoo.”

He flicked his fingers and a bit of water sprayed her. Mrsha wrinkled her nose and jabbed a claw into Pisces’ leg. He muffled a shout and clapped at his leg. She danced away.

Now would telling Erin to drag Mrsha away help or not? No, she’d probably yell at her and ineffectually deal with Mrsha. Or Lyonette would. The best solution was bribery. Pisces rummaged around at his belt and pulled something out. Yes, this would do.

“Here.”

He handed her his wand. He’d forgotten to use it during the battle with the roaches. Again. Habit and years of practice had made Pisces accustomed to casting with his hands. And of course, it was a feasible option in combat despite the ridicule it attracted from other mages—Ceria herself had proven that a mage’s hands were a decent catalyst for low-level spells.

If Pisces used the simple spells he’d mastered in conjunction with his rapier, he could act as a strong combatant while his creations fought. However, if it were possible to expand his quick spellcasting with the wand to allow him to use Tier 3 or Tier 4 spells while fighting with his rapier—

Mrsha was curiously inspecting the wand. She knew what it was of course; she wasn’t an idiot, just mute. She banged it experimentally on the table, waved it in the air, and poked Pisces with it. He didn’t care; the wand was too sturdy to break easily, no matter what she did.

And then Mrsha raised the wand to point towards her. She stuck the tip in her mouth and began to chew on it. That was unpredicted. And concerning. Pisces grabbed for the wand. Mrsha leapt backwards and pulled it out of her mouth.

She blinked at him. Pisces blinked back. He lunged, and she sped away, dashing upstairs with her new toy in hand. He cursed as he rose to follow her; she couldn’t do magic with it, but he wasn’t about to donate a valuable magic item to Mrsha’s toy fund. And if she lost it, what then?

“Pisces! Stop bullying Mrsha! And what’s this about you running away while everyone else got bugged?”

On cue, Erin noticed Pisces and began to harangue him. He groaned internally. He opened his mouth, and turned to make some excuse, or point out Mrsha’s theft.

He froze when he saw Ceria. The half-Elf had gotten up from her table, and was looking at him. Just looking. But it was without reproach, without anger. Ceria nodded at Pisces.

“You okay, Pisces? You had a few bad bites yourself. Do you need a healing potion?”

That was unexpected. Pisces stumbled over his words.

“I ah—I believe I am fine, Springwalker. Ceria. I don’t believe wasting a healing potion on my injuries is warranted at this moment.”

She nodded.

“Good. Selys tells us you were at the Adventurer’s Guild. Your idea. Why didn’t you mention it to us? It’s not a bad one, although I can see why it wouldn’t work with the Drakes. But if we took the contract, we could let you use your creation while we pretended to work. Why not?”

It’s not a bad idea. Pisces stared at her. It was an echo of what Olesm had said. He hadn’t predicted that. And he hadn’t predicted this. He opened his mouth, coughed.

“I uh, believe that is not necessary. I spoke with Olesm earlier this morning. He has agreed to let me work on his authority. The pay is quite acceptable.”

“Oh? Good for you.”

Ceria raised her eyebrows. Selys groaned.

“What? That idiot. I bet I’ll have to be the one to account for everything! Do you know how hard it is to count rat tails? And how disgusting that is?”

Pisces ignored her grousing. Selys would be the best one. And the most probable one. None of the other [Receptionists] would give him the time of day, but she at least was impartial, if rude. But his eyes were on Ceria.

The secret. Pisces had been so sure when he was arguing with Olesm earlier. But now, all his objections melted away, as they always did. He stared at Ceria and felt the urge to tell her.

“Pisces? You okay? You’re looking a bit sick. You’re not going to start throwing up like Yvlon now, are you?”

She smiled at him. Pisces wavered. Countless secrets pressed against his lips, begging to be spoken. So many things that mattered, that might change everything and nothing. For a moment he felt them all pressing at his mind, begging to be said. A thousand secrets. A thousand untold truths.

I ran away from home.

My father still thinks of me as nothing but a disappointment.

I am working on a new undead creation.

My [Fencer] class doesn’t exist; I never wanted to level, so I never did.

Sometimes I wake up at night and miss what could have been between us.

I apprenticed myself to an ancient monster. For knowledge and power.

I know Erin and Ryoka are from a different world. And I know there are more like them.

I ate your extra helping of lasagna yesterday and let you think it was Ksmvr.

I reached Level 30 yesterday.

I’m sorry.

And more. The word crowded Pisces’ mind. So many lies and terrible truths. Too many. And he had learned his lesson, so Pieces chose the easiest one to speak. He opened his mouth and let it out. One less burden, one less wall between his heart and the world. He looked at Ceria and sighed as he spoke.

“Calruz is alive.”

Everyone stared at him. Pisces hesitated. He raised one finger.

“Probably. Possibly. I might have jumped to conclusions based on partial evidence.”

He looked around the room, and then shrugged. He waited five seconds, and the shouting started.

As predicted.

—-

Olesm made his way back to his small office in the building that was technically the city hall of Liscor, but was more often used as a place for fancy parties and gatherings. Only recently had it been used for meetings of Liscor’s council. They normally didn’t need to meet.

But Olesm had his place here, and he was present almost every day in the small cubicle he’d been allotted by the city. He liked it, actually. He had access to the city’s records, a place to snooze if he was tired, or just practice chess. The place was seldom occupied. It was his private abode.

But he also had work to do here. Olesm groaned as he rubbed at his back and settled in his comfy chair. His head hurt from this morning’s drinking, his bladder was full from Krshia’s tea, and he was sweaty and wet at the same time from his little adventure with Pisces. He stank of crypt dust and fear.

But all of that was nothing compared to the secret in his heart. Calruz was alive. Or might be. The Horns of Hammerad might not have all ended with Ceria. And who knows? If he had survived, had other adventurers? Had more found their way into that secret passage? He’d have to double-check the numbers of deceased adventurers with the remains recovered, but of course, some had fled the crypts and others had been eaten. A full count would be tricky.

The Drake muttered to himself as he looked around his organized desk for the right files. He noticed a few more papers in the little basket he’d put out for people to put things in. More work. Olesm glumly paged through a few reports.

“Information request—approved. Latest sighting of Goblin Lord and assessment? Approved, of course. Why did they send this here?”

He irritably pulled out his enchanted quill and scribbled on the pages, adding a wax seal of approval. One of his jobs as [Tactician] was to look over anything that might reveal confidential or important Drake secrets to other races or other cities. That meant he had to authorize a lot of trivial stuff.

Yes, that was his job. Olesm absentmindedly pulled over a report and scanned it. How many Silver-rank teams in Liscor? Probably the Humans wanting to know how many teams they’d lost. Approved. He drizzled wax and stamped it with his seal impatiently.

Now this, this reminded him of what he really was. Unimportant. Olesm sighed. After his glorious letter from Niers—which had gotten wet—and all the things Ilvriss had said, it was important to ground himself in reality. He wasn’t a big deal. He had potential of course; Olesm knew his worth, but he was also aware of his lack of influence, personal power both in levels and possessions, and youth. He wasn’t a prodigy. He was barely smart.

Another report. This one about goats? Oh, the Eater Goats. Yes, approved. Celum had a right to know about monster attacks and migrations. Olesm glumly reached for the second-to-last paper.

Now, Pisces, he was talented. He’d already reached Level 30! True, Olesm was close to that himself, but Pisces was creating horrific, amazing Bone Horrors and he was an adventurer who was most definitely Gold-rank at this point. That was success. But what would Olesm be? After he hit Level 30, he’d still be stuck here. Doing nothing.

Another request. This one was from an individual. A Gold-rank team. Fancy that. Ylawes Byres, seeking confirmation that Yvlon Byres lived in the city? Obviously that was unconfidential. A brother seeking a sister. Or a father? Olesm shrugged and scribbled a note informing the adventurer that Yvlon was in Liscor and Celum thanks to the magic door and noted her membership in the Horns of Hammerad.

Yes, he was a small-time paper pusher, but at least he could take the time to help out in small ways like that. Olesm stamped the wax, feeling a bit better. He reached for the last bit of paper, scanned it, stamped it, and leaned back in his chair.

Would Pisces tell Ceria? Olesm bet he would. Pisces was a good person, for all he acted like he wasn’t. And he liked Ceria. They had been a couple.

Olesm paused as he stared at the ceiling. He put a claw over his face as his lips trembled. Ceria. He turned in his chair and closed his eyes bitterly. Sleep. That was all he needed. He was a worthless worm, but at least he could sleep. And then he’d have to go to Ilvriss and smile and—

The unhappy thoughts milling about in Olesm’s head slowly receded. His breathing grew slower and his body relaxed. He drifted off—

[Tactician Level 28!]

[Skill – Rallying Presence Obtained!]

Olesm’s eyes opened wide. The Drake shot out of his chair and punched at the ceiling. He shouted.

“Alright! Yes, yes, yes!”

He danced around in his small office, laughing happily until a thought struck him. Olesm paused, and then drooped.

“Aw. This means Wall Lord Ilvriss is going to make me drink again.”

He sighed, and headed for the door. Maybe this time he could get them to fill his mug with wine. Olesm liked wine.

4.38 B

Happiness was a simple thing. It was a strong bed, comfortable food, and hot drink. Or was it a comfortable bed, hot food and a strong drink? Sometimes Zel forgot. He’d slept out in the open, through blizzards with not much more than a sleeping bag, or right behind the front lines as a battle continued into the night too many times to count. He was used to deprivation.

So why was he so grumpy waking up in the morning these days? He had a soft bed with silk sheets of all things, rooms heated with magic runes and a breakfast that had been prepared by a [Chef]. But he didn’t like it. Zel had grown used to waking up to the smell of pancakes cooking, walking downstairs and eating his food while a small white Gnoll peered at him over the table and stole scraps from his plate.

That was happiness. This? This was just a place where he lived at the moment. And yet, Zel knew it was his fault. He couldn’t handle being under the same roof as the Goblins. Was he too old to change? Or perhaps he had taken the easy excuse. Living once again in Peslas’ inn made it all too easy to leave.

Still, he’d miss this city. Zel sighed as he strode towards the city hall for another interminable meeting with Liscor’s Council. Like any good soldier, he was there right when he was supposed to be—early, in fact. The other Drakes lacked military discipline. All except for one.

Ilvriss was reclining in one of the padded chairs he’d insisted be brought in, covering his eyes and rubbing at his forehead. He winced as Zel closed the door with a soft click.

“Shivertail, don’t think so loudly.”

“You’ve been drinking again.”

Zel looked disapprovingly at the Lord of the Wall. Ilvriss only shook his head.

“Incorrect. I hadn’t stopped since we last spoke.”

“That was yesterday.”

“What is your point, precisely?”

The other Drake opened one bloodshot eye. Zel shook his head.

“You have to stop this. I understand your grief, but giving into it isn’t—”

“When I ask for your advice, Shivertail, I will ask.”

Ilvriss turned his head away and closed his eyes. The conversation ended abruptly. Zel sighed to himself, but the [General] didn’t try to continue speaking. What was the point? The Lord of the Wall had reached the end of his quest. He’d found who’d killed his lieutenant, Periss. Ryoka Griffin had told him.

Az’kerash. The [Necromancer]. The thought that he’d survived made Zel clench his fists together. He was a danger. Now he saw more fully the grand plan that had led him to meet Ryoka in the forest, and coincided with her being the target of undead assassins—for that was what they had surely been—in Liscor. Normally, the news would have Ilvriss alert and making plans to defend his beloved Walled City as well. But—

Zel looked over at Ilvriss. The Drake was slumped over in his chair, cradling his head. Gone was the disciplined, arrogant front the Wall Lord had worn at all times. The truth of Periss’ death might have been necessary, but it had snuffed the burning fire in Ilvriss’ heart and left only mourning. He had drunk himself into despondency.

“You truly did love her, it seems.”

The other Drake looked up slowly, not looking at Zel.

“Love her? I would have married her if she didn’t think it was beneath my station.”

That surprised Zel. He would have expected any other confession to come out of Ilvriss’ mouth. He waited as Ilvriss went on, speaking slowly in the silent room.

“I couldn’t believe she’d died. I thought that Runner girl had to have been an [Assassin], one of my enemies plotting against me. I could have believed that she had been killed to hurt me, to hurt my city. But as an accident? She just followed that Human and died because—because I ordered it? Over a petty incident?”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Empty words. Zel grimaced as he said them. Ilvriss’ glance told him that everyone had said the same thing. The [General] tapped a claw on the table.

“What I mean to say is that her death matters, Ilvriss. We know who the enemy is.”

“Yes. The Necromancer. Holed up in a castle in the middle of nowhere, forming an undead army. Sending his…servants out to eliminate his enemies under disguises.”

Slowly, reassuringly, Ilvriss’ brows came together. He shook his head and winced.

“Pieces, Shivertail. It feels as though I can see part of the spider’s web around me. I’d heard of freak deaths, the disappearance of a good friend—assassinations. All that is usual in our world, but now I think of every one and wonder…”

Zel nodded. Was it Az’kerash, weakening the Drakes? How long had his spies been moving? Looking at the history of Regrika Blackpaw, it truly did seem like she’d sprung out of nowhere a few years back. Everyone had a story of her past exploits, but send a [Message] spell to ask for the source of it and there was no record of her ever being born to the Blackpaw tribe, or of her growing up. He’d already begun to look into her travels and noticed the pattern of deaths or ‘accidents’ following her around.

“We have to spread the word. Carefully. Miss Ryoka Griffin’s life, and the lives of other innocents are at risk if we do not keep the secret. Not to mention we might force the enemy into acting before we are ready.”

“Do not tell me my business, Shivertail. I will reach out to my allies. I have done. Subtly. But also do not presume to lecture me now. I am grieving.”

“Through the bottom of a mug?”

“If I must!”

The two Drakes glared at each other as Ilvriss half-rose out of his chair. The door opened. Olesm walked in, precisely on time, juggling a sheaf of papers.

“I’m sorry, am I late? I was just receiving the latest reports from the Mage’s Guild and the [Scribe] was delayed—”

“Not at all. In fact, no one else has turned up.”

Zel nodded to Ilvriss as Olesm hurried to a seat opposite the two Drakes. Olesm bobbed his head awkwardly to the two of them, looking intimidated at being alone with two famous Drakes. Zel knew better than to try and strike up small chat; instead he leaned over towards Ilvriss and hissed at him under his breath.

“At least keep him out of your drinking sessions. Some of these young Drakes work hard for the future of the city and don’t need you stepping on their tails and holding them back.”

“I care about the next generation, Shivertail. Don’t lecture me—and besides, we were celebrating young Swifttail. He reached Level 28 yesterday!”

“So soon? That’s impressive.”

“I have a mind to recommend his name when I return to Salazsar. He’s wasted here, and if he joins that army of sellswords he’ll languish there as well.”

Zel grimaced at Ilvriss’ jab at Liscor’s army. He had been a close friend and student of General Sserys, former [General] of Liscor and leader of the famed mercenary army. He couldn’t deny that the army had suffered in the decades since then, but it felt disrespectful to his mentor’s memory to agree.

Changing the subject, he glanced at Olesm. The papers he was spreading out could only mean one thing.

“There’s news from Esthelm at last, Olesm?”

Olesm jumped and nearly dropped the papers he was spreading around.

“Yes sir! It came in just as I was checking this morning. I brought it here right away and sent Street Runners to gather the Council. I hope I wasn’t being presumptuous?”

Ilvriss smiled at Olesm and waved a languid claw.

“Not at all. I’m sure that General Shivertail appreciates your forwards thinking and quick action, as do I. But tell us, what is the news? I don’t feel like waiting for the rest of the Council to drag themselves out of their beds.”

He and Zel exchanged a grimace. The Council in Liscor was made up of various Guild heads and what passed for politicians in the city, but given Liscor’s relative isolation, they were hardly a premier group of leaders. Liscor generally trusted to its natural geographical defenses and strong walls as well as its powerful army to deter threats, and hadn’t suffered a real crisis since the last Antinium War. Olesm nodded and glanced towards the windows.

“Zevara, that is to say, the Watch Captain seems to be delayed. I think she got a report and is relaying it to Klbkch, that is to say, the representative of the Hive—”

He coughed, glancing anxiously towards Zel and Ilvriss. Zel suppressed any reaction and nodded mildly.

“I understand. If you don’t mind repeating the message, you can give us the short version now.”

“Certainly. To summarize, we finally received a message from Esthelm…a day and a half since the Goblin Lord was predicted to have passed by its walls. It seems that delay was unavoidable—every tail has been needed to tend to the wounded.”

The two Drakes exchanged a glance. Zel frowned.

“Dire news. But the fact that there are wounded seems to indicate they survived the Goblin Lord’s passing.”

“Yes sir. I have the full report here, but to summarize, the Goblin Lord assailed their walls with a portion of his force as his army marched by, was repulsed, and left Esthelm alone.”

“Intriguing. I wouldn’t have thought he’d leave any city standing, much less one as poorly defended as Esthelm.”

Ilvriss frowned as he accepted a parchment detailing the battle. Zel frowned at it, but nodded slowly.

“No, it falls with what Olesm predicted, Ilvriss. Esthelm’s citizens were ready to fight—nearly all of them have combat classes now, and the Antinium repaired their walls. Add that to the fact that there’s really not much for the Goblin Lord to take a second time, and it’s a fairly unappetizing target.”

Olesm nodded and coughed again.

“It uh, seems that way, General Shivertail. However, Esthelm had to prove that it wasn’t going to be taken so easily. They had to fight off several waves of Goblins and make them pay for each foothold they established before the attacking force dispersed. The casualties…”

“A quarter dead and over half the population wounded in some way. I see.”

Zel closed his eyes, imagining the carnage. The Humans had held their city, kept it, but at a terrible price. He pushed the parchment back and looked at Ilvriss. The Drake was grimacing, rubbing at his temples.

“It seems we’ll have a quick meeting. There’s not much we can do but wait for reinforcements from Liscor’s army and the second suppression force to arrive. And that will take a week at least.”

“You’ll have to repeat that six ways before the Council’s reassured, sir.”

“I know.”

Zel grimaced and Ilvriss growled some very insulting words about ‘spineless slug-like lizards’ under his breath. Meetings with Liscor’s Council were never easy. But then Zel smiled as he thought of his news.

“Well, perhaps the meeting will be long, but I will leave it to you and Ilvriss to sort it out. And I must apologize in advance, because the Council probably will take a great deal of reassuring.”

“And why’s that? If you’re intending to leave, Shivertail—”

“I’m afraid that’s just it, Ilvriss. I received a letter earlier this day through Celum.”

“What?”

Ilvriss broke off in snapping angrily at Zel. The [General] stood up, and smiled. He controlled the trembling in his claws and tail as he looked casually at Olesm, who was staring at him with wide eyes.

“Please explain it to the Council like this, Olesm. I’m leaving. I have a meeting with someone further north. I’ll be traveling to Celum, and then, hopefully, further north even than that. I’m aware of the dangers of the Goblin Lords and the Humans, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

“What?”

Both Drakes shot to their feet. Well, Ilvriss. Olesm had already been standing. The Wall Lord stared at Zel in disbelief.

“If you go north, half of those damn Humans will interpret it as an act of war! A Drake [General] hasn’t gone past Liscor since—”

“The last Antinium War. I know.”

Zel looked around the room calmly. He glanced towards the door and saw it open. Watch Captain Zevara strode in, looking breathless. She saluted as she saw Zel Shivertail.

“General Shivertail, I apologize for my delay. Is—is the rest of the Council not here yet?”

She looked incredulous and disgusted.

“I’ll send guardsmen to rouse them at once. My apologies—”

“Thank you, Watch Captain Zevara. But please, you might want to wait a moment. I was just telling the others that I was leaving the city.”

“Leaving the—”

Zel Shivertail smiled and straightened. The other Drakes were staring at him, and his heart was pounding wildly. But now he’d said it. It was too late to turn his tail and make another choice. He looked around the room.

“I’m going. Don’t worry Ilvriss; I’m still concerned with the Goblin Lord’s threat and—other matters. But I’m going to tackle it my way. I’m going north. To meet with someone.”

The room was silent. Ilvriss stared at Zel, and his eyes slowly narrowed.

“Who?”

The Drake [General] grinned at the Lord of the Wall as if he were two decades younger. Zel turned and strode out of the room without replying. The room was silent for two thundering heartbeats after he’d closed the door, and then all three Drakes charged after him. But it was too late. Zel was already running for the gates.

—-

In Liscor, a Drake [General] ran towards an inn and reappeared in a Human city nearly a hundred miles north in moments. That was a small miracle of transportation. However, once in Celum, Zel Shivertail’s ability to travel would be severely reduced. No other city had magical doors from a bygone era lying about, and if he wanted to travel with magic, Zel would find his options severely limited.

If you wanted to move fast, you had a few very improbable choices available to you. It was, in theory, possible to teleport people hundreds or thousands of miles, but only a few very high-level mages could do that. In fact, the most common use of teleportation was sending hand-sized parcels from one continent to another. That was the limit of most mages’ abilities. If you wanted to teleport a person from Chandrar to Terandria for example, you’d need a group of skilled [Mages]. Or an Archmage.

And if you didn’t have access to that many mages, there were only limited and ancient scrolls or magical artifacts that could help you. Scrolls of long distance teleportation were rarer than moon diamonds however, and not to be used lightly. A powerful kingdom might horde such artifacts for the most important of circumstances for generations.

So if there wasn’t magic, how else could one travel? By horseback? Wagon? By air? It was true that there were species that could fly, like the Garuda in Chandrar, but such travel was dangerous and highly impractical for other species. As for horses—yes, a [Rider] with high levels could travel at speed and a [Caravaner] might possess Skills that allowed him to travel at faster speeds, but the stark truth of it was that the size of Izril and indeed, the world, meant that travelling across a continent took weeks or months.

To move faster was an impossibility for almost everyone. Even famous [Mages] and celebrities would travel by carriage, where levels and magical wheels would allow them to reach up to a hundred miles per day. That was the limit of this world. No one could move faster. No one. Why, you’d need a Pegasus to go faster, and they were all extinct! You’d have to ride a Dragon’s back, or cast the [Fly] spell. Or ride a magical carriage.

Far to the north of Celum, hundreds of miles north in fact, a bright pink carriage shot down a small road meant for foot travel. The carriage was large, grandly ornamented with gold and careful woodwork embellished by some long-dead master carpenter, and now, casually painted over with eye-searing pink. Four misty, semi-translucent horses pulled the carriage, running faster than any living horse in existence.

The carriage barreled down the dirt path, weaving to follow the curving road, almost soundless thanks to the magic enchanting it. And there was a lot of magic on the carriage. Without it, the vehicle would never have survived the speed of the journey, or managed to turn as nimbly as it did in response to the driver’s movements.

A young man wheeling a handcart was heading down the road in the opposite direction, pushing a few sacks of produce or something else ahead of him and not looking where he was going. Why should he? Aside from monsters, bandits, or the uncertain nature of causality, he was perfectly safe. After all, there was no such thing as cars in this world.

The magical carriage drifted around a bend in the dirt road, shooting out behind a line of trees, a blur of pink death. The young man had only a moment to look up and see it coming at him, faster than thought. He put up his hands and screamed his last words—

Seconds after the carriage had shot past him, moving off the road for a split-second and continuing its mad course across the countryside. The young man stood where he was, frozen in fear. He would later abandon his cart and suffer reoccurring nightmares and maintain a distinct aversion for all things pink for year afterwards. But he was only one obstacle in the road, one skillfully avoided by the magical carriage’s driver.

And it was notable that this famed carriage, belonging to none other than Magnolia Reinhart, did not routinely run over pedestrians. In fact, it was known for only being decorated with the blood of bandits or monsters. Aside from the heart-stopping fright it generated, people who had seen it travelling reasoned it was safe. After all, who would be so foolish as to enchant a coach to move that fast and not give it the ability to avoid collisions?

—-

“Blood on my grave, that was close.”

Reynold muttered to himself as he turned the coach down the road, shooting past a quiet village. The world blurred around him, and the freezing wind blew hard at him as he sat in the driver’s seat of Magonlia’s pink carriage. Only the magical enchantments kept him from shivering in his butler’s uniform.

“Reynold? We’ve slowed. Is everything alright?”

A voice came from the carriage behind him, and the sliding panel connecting him with the interior slid open a fraction. Reynold coughed and raised his voice to be heard.

“My apologies Lady Reinhart. We’re passing by a village and I must navigate us over a river.”

“Ah, bridges. How tiring. Thank you, I completely understand.”

The panel slid shut. Reynold didn’t have to look behind him to know that it had been Ressa who’d both opened the panel and closed it. The silent [Head Maid] who accompanied her mistress everywhere was quiet as a falling leaf when she wanted to be. In fact, she could be right behind him and Reynold wouldn’t notice. It had happened before.

Part of Reynold wanted to turn his head, but he didn’t dare look away as he guided the coach over a small footbridge that left bare inches on either side for the wheels—all at a speed a bit faster than Ryoka could run. The horses and indeed, wheels of the carriage turned precisely as he adjusted the reins in his hand—moving as much from his mental orders as his physical motions.

Reynold cleared the bridge, scanned the road quickly, and accelerated to a velocity that would have left the average unladen Swallow, European or otherwise, far behind in the dust. The world blurred into a tunnel once again and Reynold could only trust to his Skills and his reflexes to spot obstacles in the road ahead.

“Reynold?”

The panel slid open as Reynold guided the carriage out of the forest and upwards towards a hill. He cursed as he spotted rocky terrain ahead and whispered a word.

“[Flying Wheels]—yes, Lady Reinhart?”

“I have some delightful chocolates here, and Ressa tells me I’m not allowed to eat them all in one sitting. Would you like one?”

The carriage’s wheels rose off the ground and shot over the rocks in front of them, climbing effortlessly as Reynold tried to find the best incline that wouldn’t send them crashing into the hillside. His knuckles were white on the reins as he sent the coach upwards at dizzying speeds, but his voice was level and only a bit high-pitched as he replied.

“You are most kind Lady Reinhart, but I ah, am quite satisfied at the moment. Thank you.”

“A pity. Ressa will have to eat them I suppose, or my other guests. Oh, we are travelling upwards, aren’t we? Reynold, make us fly, won’t you? I do enjoy that.”

“Yes, Lady Reinhart.”

Reynold nearly screamed. Instead of decelerating as he crested the top of the hill, he willed the carriage to go faster. The pink coach shot over the top of the hill and flew through the air for several heart-stopping seconds. Reynold heard a delighted laugh from the carriage behind him as he spoke a hurried word, activating another enchantment.

“[Featherfall]. [Featherfall!]”

Slowly, he saw the world approaching below him. Reynold jerked the reins and the coach smoothly turned left, avoiding a rock and a lake and returning to ground smoothly and finding the road again. He breathed a sigh of relief, and then spoke another word.

“[Grounded Wheels].”

There was a slight rumble and increased traction as the wheels met solid earth again. Now they were on a straightaway headed through some flat, lovely, open plains. Reynold could have cried in relief. He turned, and nearly jumped out of his skin as he saw Ressa, standing next to him. The [Maid] had climbed out of the carriage’s door and to the front without him hearing a thing.

“Reynold.”

“Yes, Miss Ressa?”

Reynold’s eyes jerked ahead of him as Ressa’s low voice spoke in his ears. The [Maid] eyed the road ahead and nodded to the magical horses pulling them ever faster.

“Don’t use the [Flying Wheels] enchantment if Lady Magnolia asks again. It wastes magical energy and we don’t have time to spend recharging the mana stones more than necessary.”

“Yes, Miss Ressa.”

“Spoilsport!”

An indignant voice called from within. Reynold breathed a sigh of relief as Ressa turned and pulled herself back into the carriage. He heard them talking for a second.

“We’re close to our destination. It looks like thirty minutes more.”

“Excellent. I’m tired of sitting and I could use a chance to stretch my legs before the next trip. Also, I’d like lunch.”

“It should be ready by the time we arrive. Without tea, this time. You don’t need to have that much sugar and we don’t have time to stop and let you pee every fifteen minutes.”

“That was a poor batch of tea, Ressa. Honestly, it happened once.”

“And it won’t happen again.”

The panel slid shut and Reynold breathed a sigh of relief. He guided the carriage onwards, spraying mud and snow as he travelled across the countryside. Not the roads—even in winter, colliding with an errant traveler was too likely. He kept his head scanning the horizon for threats, points of interest, and to make sure he was going the right way.

This was his job. He was a [Butler], one of the many servants in the Reinhart employ. But he was also one of Lady Magnolia’s personal aides, which meant that he had…other…competencies. One of them was driving this carriage.

No one else could do it at this speed, which is why Reynold had driven north to escort Lady Magnolia wherever she needed to go. Also, Reynold was a long-time servant to Lady Magnolia and Ressa had personally approved his ability to be discrete in all situations. That was a very important quality to have, Reynold knew. Lady Magnolia’s bathroom habits were the least of the secrets he sometimes heard.

The carriage eventually drew close to a large city, and Reynold was relieved to finally slow to something less than death-speed. However, he didn’t have the luxury of driving into the city and being forced to obey the speed of local traffic—no, Magnolia Reinhart was far too busy for that.

She had an estate on the outskirts of this city. She had estates everywhere, but this one was rather small and not meant as a place for her to stay in. Rather, a delegation of [Maids] and other servants was already waiting for the carriage as Reynold stopped it in the middle of the frozen road outside the villa.

“Are we here? Good!”

The door opened and Magnolia hopped out before Ressa or Reynold could open the door or lower the half-step. Magnolia stretched and Reynold carefully dismounted as well, surreptitiously stretching his tense lower back as Ressa emerged.

“Food, fuel. Reynold will handle it. Now, are Lady Bethal and the Chevalier Thomast here? I trust they are being entertained.”

Frightened servants parted like a wave before her, and both women strode into the villa. Reynold sagged for a moment, and then waved at one of the [Maids] hurrying towards him at the head of a small procession. He knew her; his job meant he was acquainted with most of Magnolia’s staff.

“Janica, greetings. Tell me that’s hot bacon I keep smelling? I’m half frozen and I could use a bite to eat. And I think the mana stones on the coach need replacing.”

“You can have it on the road! Not now, you glutton! You need to show me and the others how to replace the stones—I can’t remember how and you’re the only expert.”

The [Maid], Janica, slapped Reynold’s hands away from the basket she was holding. The other servants nodded to Reynold deferentially—he outranked them all as one of Magnolia’s special [Butlers]. The [Manservants], [Porters], and generic [Servants] descended on the coach. Reynold sighed as he walked around to the back of the carriage and pulled out a large key. He unlatched a hidden compartment on the back and turned to Janica. She was an older woman with grey hair, but she peered keenly inside the inner workings of the carriage as if she were a girl seeing her first artifact.

“It always amazes me to see how it works! You say an Archmage invented this?”

“Apparently. It’s all runes and spellcraft to me, but here’s where the mana stones go. Hold on, are these all certified to have the maximum charge?”

The large, hand-sized gems presented to Reynold on a soft pillow were some of the most expensive objects in the world. He tiredly grabbed them and popped the ones in the carriage out of their sockets with an experienced hand. The [Porter] with the pillow trembled as Reynold placed two of the nearly spent mana stones on the pillow. One was a ruby, the other one a perfectly cut emerald.

The process that turned perfect gemstones into vessels for magic made them expensive enough that Gold-rank Adventurers could only afford the smallest of them. The ones that Magnolia Reinhart used for her carriage were beyond the pay grade of most Named Adventurers.

“Have them replenished at the Mage’s Guild. Don’t worry; they know how to do it, although I suspect it will take them a week or more. And these ones will last half a day if I keep travelling. Janica, take pity on me. I’d rather not eat and drive at the same time if I can help it.”

The elderly [Maid] was supervising the loading of the carriage. Reynold could see [Maids] cleaning out any trace of dust or crumbs carefully as platters and neatly-wrapped baskets were placed in the storage compartments above and below where passengers could sit. He coughed.

“Put the written reports under the table. Just there. There’s a compartment. It slides out—hold on, I’ll do it.”

He clambered into the carriage and showed the others where to load some of the supplies. While it was true that Magnolia’s personal carriage ran on mana stones, Reynold personally thought that it ran on two other things as well: food and information.

“You think she’ll have a chance to read all of this while she speaks with her guests?”

Janica frowned as she straightened a pile of papers before placing it inside the hidden drawer under the table in the center of the carriage. Reynold nodded.

“I believe Ressa will pull it out in the first fifteen minutes. You do know that Lady Reinhart eats and catches up with all her informants from here, don’t you?”

“I do…but it’s hardly what one expects of her. I mean, she could spend an hour or two in the villa—”

Reynold shook his head.

“She’d never waste time that way. We can be a hundred miles from here in an hour. Now, about the food?”

The [Maid] sighed.

“Oh, you. Here. Bacon-wrapped pork loin. Careful with the wrapping—you don’t want to get grease on your suit.”

The [Butler] could have cried as she presented him with a piping-hot delicacy. He did indeed take exquisite care to eat it while gripping the wrapping paper tightly, and to Janica’s disapproval, he scarfed it down in minutes.

“Honestly! Do you know how long our [Cook] worked on that, especially when it was requested specially by Lady Reinhart? You should consider yourself privileged that she’s thinking of you, ordering such greasy fare—”

“As I recall, she wanted it for herself Janica. Is that fresh bread I see? And is there a chance of a drink?”

“What do you think? Here, I’ve hot spiced wine—”

“No wine.”

“Excuse me?”

She looked taken aback. Reynold smiled at her apologetically.

“I can’t drink while driving.”

“What, not a drop?”

“It makes me slower to react. I’ll have hot milk if you have any. Hot water, otherwise.”

“I’d be a poor [Maid] indeed to let you go off with hot water! You there! Hot milk for Mister Reynold, and be quick about it! I want the coach buffed and polished by the time the [Ladies] return.”

Reynold grimaced.

“Don’t bother with that. The first puddle we go through, it won’t matter. And you don’t have time for anything more than the milk I think; Lady Reinhart will be here in minutes, never mind her guest.”

“What? Don’t be silly—”

Just as Reynold had predicted, he barely got a hot flask filled with goat’s milk before Lady Magnolia was striding out of the villa, followed by Lady Bethal and the elegant Chevalier Thomast at her side. Forewarned by Reynold, the other servants were standing at attention and the carriage was ready to go. The [Butler] was already in the driver’s seat.

“Ah, thank you Reynold. Lady Bethal, I’m sure you’ve met my driver before?”

“I have! Reynold, is it? Good day to you, sir. I trust Magnolia isn’t keeping you too busy, what with how she’s been travelling across the continent?”

Lady Bethal was all smiles and delicacy—when she wasn’t thorns and fury. Reynold bobbed his head to her politely, recalling the stories of her famous Rose Knights. Thomast nodded to Reynold but remained silent as ever.

“It’s my privilege to serve Lady Reinhart and you, Lady Bethal. If there is anything I can do, please do not hesitate to ask.”

“Oh, but he is well trained, isn’t he? I could just steal him away to be one of my personal attendants, Magnolia! Perhaps I will!”

Magnolia’s lips quirked up in a smile as Bethal let Thomast help her up into the carriage.

“He is. Well-trained, that is. I’d take it amiss if you stole him, Bethal. He’s one of the few servants I can rely on, the only one who can get me where I want to go fast enough.”

“You say that about all of your servants, Magnolia. But I want a [Butler] who can keep up with me! You seem to have monopolized all the best ones.”

“All the ones with interesting talents, at least. My advice is to train them to be [Butlers], not train [Butlers] to be interesting. Now, let us be off. Reynold, I need you to drop Bethal off by the village of Neunham. You know, the one that was raided by Goblins yesterday? If you need a map, I think we have one. Ressa, where are the maps?”

“There is no need Lady Reinhart. I know the way. We will be there in about two hours by my rough estimation.”

“Excellent.”

The door slammed shut. Janica barely had time to bow with the other servants before Reynold accelerated the coach out of the villa’s gates and into the snowy plains again. He sipped from his canteen, feeling the warmth in his cold body. With one hand, Reynold put down the canteen and fished around in the wrapped basket next to him. He felt something warm and pulled it up, sniffing at it.

“Hot rolls? With butter? You are a lifesaver, Janica.”

He ate, carefully guiding the coach onwards. It was cold outside, and the food kept him feeling alive. Inside, he could hear the muted buzz of conversation. Ironically, for all the enchantments, there wasn’t a spell of silence within the coach, so Reynold could pick out bits of conversation.

“…had my Rose Knights head out two days ago, and I sent them a [Message] spell to gather at that village. Of course, I hardly want to camp out longer than necessary, so I was relieved you were picking me up.”

That was Lady Bethal. Reynold listened with half an ear as he drove westward and south. One of the things that made him a capable driver was his knowledge of the continent. He could plot a route to Neunham in his head. He heard Lady Magnolia laugh lightly and reply, sounding slightly muffled.

“It is the least I can do, Bethal. Especially since you’re doing me a favor and sorting out that problem. But you don’t have to go with your knights in person.”

“Nonsense! If I’m not there, how will I know if they’ve done their jobs? Besides, it is a mission of gallantry and I wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to see my Thomast fight for anything.”

“As you wish. I have to attend to business, but I will send a carriage to pick you up whenever you are done. Please do stay in touch via [Message] spell, won’t you?”

“Very well. But isn’t that large army you’ve gathered north of here? I’d have thought you would have stayed north to lead them towards the Goblin Lord.”

“I hardly feel the need to lead an army myself. That’s what officers are for. The soldiers are heading this way on their own. I’ll meet them when they arrive, and I have business in Invrisil…”

“Oh? What about?”

“Hmm. I had a report from one of my servants that troubles me. Ressa, do pull out the reports. Anything from Sacra?”

Sacra? Reynold frowned. He knew Sacra—she was one of Magnolia’s special servants, like him. Only her specialty was undercover work. She’d trailed Ryoka back in Invrisil and he hadn’t seen her in the mansion after that, so he’d assumed she was carrying out one of Lady Reinhart’s requests. She was very good both in combat and in disguising herself; she’d been furious that Ryoka had managed to identify her so easily.

“Nothing else, Lady Reinhart. Although there is a report about the ah, adventuring group you’re patronizing and Esthelm—”

“Esthelm? Dead gods Ressa, forget the children. Tell me, is the city standing?”

“Barely. It seems the Goblin Lord was repulsed a day and a half ago, but casualties are high…”

“Send gold and more help through Celum if possible, and add that to my list of things to discuss with Liscor’s Council. I will have to do that today—ah, how infuriating. At least there is the door. Bethal, have you heard about this? Some adventurers found a magical door of all things, and you’ll never guess what it does. It teleports people, so they somehow managed to create a link between Celum and Liscor—”

“My word! And the Drakes allowed it?”

“I don’t believe they had a choice. It’s in an inn, you see, just outside of the city—”

“Miss Erin.”

Reynold mumbled to himself around another mouthful of bread. He nearly choked and washed the food down with milk. He drove on, half-listening as the voices talked on of plans. But in time, he stopped listening. There were some things he preferred not to know as a butler, and the rushing world around him was peaceful. Reynold sat as the wind howled silently outside of the carriage, feeling the cold around him, hovering on that delightful edge where warmth and cold made him appreciate every layer he had on.

He felt alive.

—-

An hour and a half later, Reynold slowed and Lady Bethal and Thomast left the carriage in front of a village that had clearly seen fighting. Reynold knew combat, and he could see a story in the way the gates had been smashed open. But there was even more of a story in the dead bodies hanging from the roofs of houses. The villagers had managed to cut some down, but a few bodies remained and the ropes showed how many had been there.

“Troubling. I hope Bethal can sort it out.”

Magnolia murmured to herself as she stared into the village with angry eyes. Ressa looked at her.

“You doubt she can?”

“I think she might grow bored if she can’t find the attackers within the next few days. If she does, they die. If not, we add this group to the list of targets. Reynold, take us away. To Invrisil.”

The [Butler] had been staring at the carnage and remembering the past. He broke out of his trance and grabbed the reins.

“At once, Lady Magnolia.”

—-

Invrisil was a hop and a skip away from Neunham in terms of distance, but the journey was extremely taxing given how many people filled the roads even in the winter, even with Goblins about. Reynold had to slow the coach and work hard on avoiding hitting anything. His driver’s job was mentally and physically exhausting, and so he was very, very grateful when he sped into the grounds of Lady Magnolia’s mansion.

“We’re back!”

Magnolia was all smiles as she walked up the stairs to her estate. There was no welcoming line of bowing servants as was customary in the main Reinhart estate; Magnolia and Ressa were of the opinion that it wasted time for everyone involved, and was particularly unkind in the cold weather.

Reynold parked the carriage in the stables, rubbing his hands together as the cold caught up with him. He hurried through the back entrance and found one of the stable boys waiting.

“I think the mana stones need replacing, Jefry. They’re fairly new, but if Lady Reinhart has me driving about, I don’t want to have to rely on the spares or hope that we pass by one of her estates.”

“I’m on it.”

The young boy slipped into the cold without fear of the chill, something which the older Reynold envied. He hurried further into the mansion, greeting maids, and heading towards the kitchens. He dearly wanted something hot to drink and something to snack on while he sat and rested. He was exhausted from driving; it took a high toll on his nerves.

He never got there. One of the [Maids] he knew well—a Gnoll named Bekia, was just whispering to him that Sacra had come galloping back towards the mansion with important news she dared not send by [Message] spell a week ago when he heard Magnolia’s voice echoing from her personal sitting room.

“There’s a what living on my continent!?”

Every servant in the halls winced and some ducked. Reynold and Bekia hovered closer to the door Magnolia was shouting from behind. They heard her voice and Sacra’s muffled reply.

“In a small village? Riverfarm? Where is that? How long ago—what’s this about Lady Rie? Why didn’t anyone mention—this morning? How long ago?”

The door burst open. Reynold saw Lady Magnolia striding towards him, Sacra meekly following behind and Ressa following back after both of them. Magnolia snapped at Reynold as he was bowing.

“To Lady Rie Valerund’s estate, Reynold. Quickly!”

Another trip. Reynold groaned inside, but raced out into the stables to get Jefry to prepare the carriage. In minutes he was driving out into the cold again. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to sit down.

—-

“Here we are, Lady Magnolia.”

Reynold was cold and sore from sitting for so long, and very tired despite it being only just past midmorning. But he’d been driving since before dawn, so that was excusable. Magnolia burst out of her carriage and took one look around the destroyed town and then turned towards the mansion at the top of the hill.

“Damaged, but intact. I assume Lady Rie is alive. She had better be, or I will hold every adventurer here accountable.”

There was a large group of Silver and Gold-rank adventurers present, many still on horseback. They had prevented Reynold from getting any closer to the mansion, but as they turned and saw Lady Magnolia, they parted like the sea as she strode through the town.

Reynold followed, after finding a place to park the carriage. Sacra hopped down from the front. At least he’d had company on the drive here, and she’d caught him up with the incredible story of her undercover mission to find out exactly who the stranger that Ryoka had met with was. Reynold could hardly believe it. An [Emperor]? Here?

“You’re sure he’s not some [Lord] or a—an [Earl] or something, right Sacra?”

She glared at him. The woman who called herself Odveig and pretended to be a simple Silver-rank adventurer looked completely different from the austere [Maid] dressed in her uniform who strode after Lady Magnolia. Her voice was waspish as she replied.

“I’m sure. I don’t make mistakes and it’s not like he concealed the fact. Reynold. And you met him as well—didn’t you feel he was special?”

“Yes, but, well, an [Emperor]? Truly?”

Reynold shook his head. He could remember the urge to bow before Laken Godart, but as for the rest…he picked up his pace as he heard Magnolia shout in front of him.

“Where is Lady Rie Valerund?”

Hands pointed. Magnolia strode up to the damaged double doors of the mansion. The enchanted wood that had held back hordes of Goblins parted in an instant before her. Reynold strode inside after her and saw a woman in a gown overseeing her servants. They were packing everything of value in the mansion.

“Lady Rie! A word.”

Magnolia walked towards her and the other [Lady] turned. Servants, curious adventurers, and the guards who had followed her froze in place. They couldn’t help it. Only Reynold, Sacra, Ressa, and Rie herself could move. Magnolia studied the preparations for flight and smiled at Lady Rie.

“My apologies, Lady Rie. I did not receive your message until just now. I am delighted to see you well, but what is all this? You are leaving?”

“Lady Reinhart.”

Rie’s voice was cool, but Reynold had met enough [Lords] and [Ladies] to tell that Lady Rie was pressured by Magnolia’s appearance in person. She was a low-level [Lady] and Magnolia was the biggest shark in the ocean. She gestured to the frozen people around her.

“I regret to say that I no longer consider my home safe after the Goblin attack. I would have been dead but for the intervention of a certain man. Have you ah, heard of an individual known as Laken Godart?”

Lady Magnolia’s smile was sharp and bright.

“I have just now. I would love to hear about him. Why don’t we sit in what is left of your parlor and talk? Ressa, find us some chairs.”

She swept Lady Rie towards the parlor, and only now did the people around her find the ability to move their legs again. Ressa headed after the two [Ladies], but a man broke away from the crowd, seemingly determined to go after them.

“You there. Refrain from interrupting Lady Magnolia.”

Ressa interposed herself between the man and Magnolia in an instant. The big man, who was bald and wearing armor, slowed. He ducked his head.

“Pardon me, Miss, but I am Lady Rie’s Captain of the Guard. I should be with her if—”

He didn’t finish the thought, but left the rest unspoken. If Lady Magnolia, famed for her temper, decided to do something. The Reinharts were feared not only for their power, but for their role as arbiters and enforcers of their law across the continent. Ressa frowned at him and looked towards Reynold and Sacra.

The two servants leapt into motion without a word. Reynold intercepted the Captain of the Guard, adroitly pivoting the big bald man out of Lady Magnolia’s path before the man quite knew what was happening.

“Pardon me sir. May I know your name?”

“Uh, Geram. But I have to—”

“My apologies, Captain Geram. I am Reynold, a [Butler] in employ of Lady Reinhart. I assure you that she intends only to speak with Lady Rie on a number of pressing matters. Such discussions are best left to the nobility however, without personal interference.”

“But I—”

“Why don’t you sit here, Sir?”

Sacra didn’t quite kick the legs out from under Geram, but he found himself sitting, and, suddenly, holding a cup of tea. Reynold and Sacra hovered around him, and the [Maid] whispered to Reynold.

“Reynold, I have to go to Lady Reinhart. She’ll probably want my opinion. Can you handle him?”

He nodded and Sacra briskly stepped into the mansion. The big man, Geram, bit his lip.

“I should be at Lady Rie’s side.”

“Surely not for a simple discussion, sir?”

Geram hesitated.

“She and Lady Magnolia are uh—I’m sure Lady Reinhart is well thought of, but Lady Rie is a bit—bit—”

Frightened of her. And for good reason. But you’d only cause more trouble, going in. Reynold bit his tongue on the rest of the words and smiled politely.

“I am sure Lady Rie will rise to the occasion, Captain Geram. But while I have you, may I ask what transpired here? I see you have fought off an attack. Was this all the doing of Goblins?”

“Goblins? Uh—yes. Yes they were. We would have been got by them surely as I’m sitting here, if not for Emperor Laken.”

Emperor Laken. Reynold winced internally. Lady Magnolia would not be happy about that. And true enough, she wasn’t. In fact, she began shouting.

It took some doing to restrain Geram—Reynold succeeded mainly by getting the man to have a drink and telling him that if he did interfere, Magnolia Reinhart would put him into a box and leave him there. Whether in pieces or intact would probably depend on her worsening mood.

After about an hour’s time, someone came out of the parlor and headed straight for Reynold as he was miserably drinking water while Geram slowly finished a third cup of strong spirits. Reynold stood up at once as Ressa approached him. The [Head Maid] was holding a [Message] scroll and scowling, which never boded well.

“Miss Ressa, is something amiss?”

She nodded curtly.

“We have a problem, Reynold. You will have to take the carriage and head south. Towards Celum.”

Celum? If it hadn’t been for his [Butler] class, Reynold would have groaned aloud. That was a day’s journey and a hard drive even if he was full of energy, which he was not. He was hungry, cold, tired, and his butt hurt. But Ressa was clearly impatient. He hesitated.

“Am I to understand that I will leave you and Lady Magnolia behind?”

“That’s correct. We will send for another form of transport and make the journey back to Invrisil where we will await you.”

Reynold frowned.

“But surely we could send the other carriage—”

Magnolia Reinhart possessed two magical carriages, where most kingdoms didn’t have one. Her personal carriage was maintained at all costs; the other one was powerful, but often suffered from a lack of resources and [Mages] of the caliber needed to fix them. Either one was far, far faster than any other form of transport, however, which is why he was surprised he had to take Magnolia’s personal carriage. But Ressa just shook her head.

“The other carriage refuses to start. There must be something wrong with the enchantments.”

The [Butler]’s heart sank.

“Again? I could drive back and see if I could—”

“No. The carriage was supposed to pick up a very important guest. You need to drive to Celum and pick up the traveler—he will be waiting with a red cloak and you will recognize him on sight.”

“Yes, Miss Ressa. But the trip will take hours. I won’t be back until late in the night and I’ve been driving since this morning. I am…slightly exhausted, Miss Ressa.”

He knew complaining to Ressa was a dangerous idea, but Reynold had to say it. He hesitated as the [Head Maid] glared at him and pushed his luck further.

“Could I not drive back to the estate and switch drivers? I believe it would not take—”

“Reynold.”

She stared at him and Reynold shut up. Ressa shook her head briskly.

“No. The carriage should have left this morning, and I was not informed until now.”

She gritted her teeth and Reynold cringed and knew that heads would roll when they returned to the mansion. Ressa went on.

“Our guest requires the fastest driver to get him here. Time is of the essence, and the route goes past the area where the Goblin Lord is said to be marching.”

That was true, too. Reynold knew he was the best driver for the job, but the world was swimming and he was just a bit angry. He tried one last time.

“Miss Ressa, I understand, but my condition now—”

Ressa looked at him, and put a hand on Reynold’s arm. She didn’t grip his arm or pull out one of the daggers he knew she carried. It was a soft touch, and so intimate and unlike her that Reynold froze in an instant. Ressa looked into his eyes and lowered her voice.

“Reynold. This is important.”

He fell silent, and realized Ressa was telling him that there was no time to argue, or even switch drivers. After all, the next best driver was Alkran, and he had broken his arm when the assassins had attacked. It still hadn’t healed properly. So Reynold straightened and nodded.

“Please forgive me, Miss Ressa. I will return at all speed.”

“Good. Go. And Reynold—please hurry.”

He had seldom heard Ressa use that tone. Reynold turned and ran for the carriage. In less than a minute he was on the road, and driving as fast as he could. But even going as fast as he dared, it would be six hours to Celum. Well, maybe five if he drove fast enough to really be dangerous.

He did. He drove for hours, until he came across the Goblin Lord’s army. They swept across the landscape like a horde of green locusts, burning and destroying anything without walls in front of them. Reynold drove wide of them, until he saw the people.

—-

This is the despair of [Butlers], the despair of the man who sees all and can do so little. Reynold knew it. He was not a powerful man; he was a servant in employ of a powerful woman. But he could do little more than assist her. That was his role.

So why did he have to see this? The carriage slowed as he saw the scene. It was the same scene you saw on battlefields, from the safety of your home. It was the scene that was universal and yet always unique.

It was tragedy.

They were refugees perhaps, a village that had evacuated in the face of the Goblin Lord’s armies. But this one had moved too slowly, or the Goblins had moved too fast. Whatever the case, the wagons and stream of villagers had been caught by a group of Goblins.

Not just a group. The advance force of the Goblin Lord’s army. Reynold had driven to avoid them, but the Goblins were spread out in a huge wave going north. They filled the horizon, and Reynold shuddered as he’d driven away from them. He was staring at war, a terrible army capable of sacking a city. How many Goblins were there? Tens of thousands.

And part of their force had decided to attack the villagers. A group of Goblins riding Shield Spiders rode ahead of a whooping mass of Goblins, charging at the villagers as they screamed and fled from their wagons, running towards the hills where they might find safety.

But too slowly. The Goblins were closing. Reynold saw it all as he drove past, and knew there was nothing he could do. Nothing. If he tried, he would surely be overwhelmed by the mass of Goblins. Running over a group of [Bandits] was one thing and dangerous enough, but this? There were hundreds of Goblins streaming towards the villagers and thousands more behind them. Tens of thousands behind them.

And yet, the villagers saw him. Some ran towards him, screaming and waving their hands, only to be cut down by arrows. Others were lifting children in their arms, turning, trying to get his attention. Reynold cursed them as he drove. Why were they stopping to get his attention when the Goblins were right on top of them?

“Run, run you idiots!”

It was too late either way. The Goblins were too close. They were already beginning to cut down the villagers from behind. Reynold saw it all so clearly. Even if they got to the hills, it was too late. Even if they had a lead, the Goblins would just track them down. It was too late to help too late—

They were cutting down men and women, children. Laughing. The red eyes of the Goblins turned towards Reynold as he drove past them. Some loosed arrows, but he was going far too fast for them to ever hit him.

It was his duty. He couldn’t risk the carriage or even himself, no matter what. Reynold tried to close his ears to the screaming. He told himself he was doing his job. He was just a [Butler].

A [Combat Butler].

Reynold’s carriage crashed into the first group of Goblins, scattering bodies. The ghostly horses trampled the Goblins in front of him to the ground; others bounced off the sides and front of the carriage. Reynold shouted as he drove towards one of the Goblins who looked like a leader. He was mounted on a Shield Spider. He snarled as Reynold unsheathed the sword he carried everywhere.

“[Sickle Cut]!”

A blade flashed and lightning crackled. Reynold’s sword beheaded the Goblin and the electricity earthed itself on the Goblins around him. The [Butler] snarled as he drove into the Goblins and turned the carriage.

“Drive, drive!”

He’d lost momentum as he crashed into the Goblins, turning their advance party into a mass of broken bodies. The ghostly horses surged and Reynold felt the carriage regaining traction. The villagers were running, but the Goblins were right behind them. How much time could Reynold buy? A minute? Five?

One was too many. The Goblins were loosing arrows at him. Reynold dodged one and shouted.

“[Burst Speed]!”

The carriage shot out of the mass of Goblins, avoiding the rest of the arrows. Reynold turned the carriage. Not yet. He had to get their attention, buy time! He drove at the Goblins again and they scattered. But his control was precise. Reynold hit another group.

That’s the way. Scatter them. He chopped downwards as he passed by a Hob and felt the shock of his sword cutting into bone. It was the same feeling as being on horseback, of charging the enemy.

He had been a soldier, once. Reynold shouted something as the blood thundered in his ears. He saw an arrow speeding at his chest and twisted. It cut across his side, a line of fire. More Goblins. They were everywhere. How long had it been?

Seconds. Reynold spun the carriage, throwing Goblins off as they tried to climb on. He rode the horses over a Hob as it tried to grab the carriage. A small Goblin landed on the roof and Reynold stabbed it, the electricity shocking the Goblin’s skin, making it let go.

He had to get away. Circle for another charge. There were so many arrows—one hit Reynold’s arm but glanced off the cloth. Bad shot. Another—hit him in the shoulder. Reynold pushed the horses and then saw something black flying at him from the left. He spun the coach and felt it shudder from the impact.

He’d run over Trolls and not felt anything. Reynold turned his head and saw part of the pink carriage’s woodwork was splintered. What had hit him? A spell? Who shot it—

Black eyes. White pupils. A distant face. Reynold’s blood ran cold. He saw a Goblin standing in the distance, raising his hand as black magic swirled around him. The [Butler] shouted.

“[Invisibility Field]!”

The carriage vanished. Goblins snarled as they jumped for where he should be, loosing arrows, trying to slow the coach’s momentum with their bodies. Reynold spun away as more black bolts of magic flashed by his head. A Goblin clung to the carriage door—he cut it off. One stabbed him from behind and he threw it off as he fought with the reins. Where were the villagers? Gone?

Reynold burst out of the group of Goblins as more arrows shot after him. He reached for the potion that he kept in the compartment under the carriage. His world was growing dark. He found the bottle, and looked back.

The villagers hadn’t made it to the hills yet. They were nearly there, but the Goblins were reforming, coming after them. Quick! Reynold gritted his teeth. One last time. He turned the coach.

Blood was sticking to its sides, making it visible despite the spell. Reynold drove it onwards. He saw the Goblin with black eyes raising his hand, felt the black bolts of energy make the carriage shudder and groan. He drove into the Goblins. A duty.

He had a duty—

An arrow slammed him back in his seat. Reynold turned and saw a Hob leaping towards him. He raised his sword—

A duty.

—-

The sun was low in the sky, as a traveler in a red cloak stood by the gates to Celum and waited impatiently. He had waited all day, and it was practically night time already. He was considering leaving—in fact, he’d tried to several times, but something drew him back.

The first was the knowledge that this meeting had been arranged, and that Magnolia Reinhart was not one to break her word. The second was that he knew that it was a meeting worth pursuing. Still, the lack of any vehicles on the horizon had left him worried, and so he was debating stepping inside the city limits for food or a drink and sending another [Message] spell when he saw it.

On the horizon, a shape. Something moving incredibly fast down the road, headed towards him. The traveler stepped forwards in relief as he heard [Guardsmen] call out warning on the battlements above. But that relief turned to alarm as he saw the carriage approaching in more detail.

It was pink, or it had been. But red splatters of blood had dried on the front. The carriage was damaged in multiple places, and the driver—

“Dead gods.”

As the guards on Celum’s walls shouted the alarm, the traveler saw the carriage heading straight towards him. It turned and drifted for a moment before stopping in shower of mud and snow which barely missed the traveler. The driver paused and leaned forwards over his reins as the ghostly horses stood in the cold. He was covered in blood and an arrow was sticking out of his leg. He turned his head towards the traveler, and smiled weakly.

“I presume you are my guest for this trip? I do apologize for the delay.”

“Ancestors, are you alright?”

“Never better.”

Reynold pulled an arrow from his thigh and splashed a healing potion onto the wound with shaking hands. He glanced at the traveler as he pulled back his hood and froze.

“You? That is to say, er—I am delighted to be driving such an esteemed personage, uh, sir—”

“You’re sure you’re alright? You look like you’ve been through a war!”

The traveler seemed more concerned with his health. Reynold straightened.

“Not to worry, sir! I merely had a run in with a few thousand Goblins. I assure you, I will be taking an alternate route on the return trip. If you will step into the carriage?”

“You’re sure you don’t need a [Healer] or another healing potion? What happened to you?”

Professionalism. Reynold gave the man his best smile as he sipped from the healing potion.

“Goblins, sir. Nothing to worry about. There is a cheese platter in an overhead compartment, I believe. Please help yourself and accept my deepest apologies for any mess that may have occurred. I would also like to render my sincerest regrets for the delay, which was caused by errors of my colleagues. And for the blood.”

He stared down at the traveler as guardsmen on the walls and gates shouted at him. The traveler hesitated. He looked around and realized that there were only moments before they were surrounded by Humans. He looked up at Reynold.

“Tell me, young…man. Are all of Magnolia Reinhart’s servants like you?”

Reynold grinned a bit manically at the traveler. He laughed, which was a serious breach of etiquette, but given the circumstances, understandable and worth it.

“Only the best of us, sir. Only the best. Shall we go?”

“I suppose. Yes, I supposed there’s no backing out of it now, is there?”

The traveler hesitated at the doors, but eventually stepped in. Reynold heard the carriage doors shut, and turned the carriage. Guardsmen shouted at him, trying to get him to stop. Reynold brushed hands away and flicked the reins. The carriage shot into motion, leaving the shouting people behind.

“I regret to say that our journey may be delayed by an hour or two, sir. Damage to the carriage has reduced our speed, and I must drive out of the way of the Goblin Lord’s army.”

“You mean you’ve seen them?”

“I believe parts of them are still stuck to the undercarriage, sir. May I take this moment to inform you of our wine selection?”

There was no response. Reynold laughed to himself. He was—was a bit disoriented himself. As he sped away from Celum he saw little black spots swimming in his vision, and felt his body swaying. He was…tired.

But he kept driving. He was a [Butler]. And a butler never abandoned his post. He owed Magnolia Reinhart too much for that.

Slowly, one of the wounds that hadn’t completely healed opened up again and spattered blood onto the front of the carriage, mixing with the rest. After a while, Reynold sipped more of the healing potion and the wound closed.

“Dear me. My attire is ruined. I should get that cleaned…as soon as I stop to rest.”

He sighed, and kept his eyes on the road. The last of the daylight burned away, and Reynold felt his body freezing. He was cold. It was dark. He reached for more energy, more fire, and felt himself drifting lower. But that was just his body. At the moment Reynold was full of life. He’d rest when it was over. For now he drove.

And inside the carriage, the traveler watched the driver through the panel. He stared anxiously at the man, but saw Reynold driving without faltering. And perhaps it was the unfamiliar sensation of riding in the carriage, or the instinctual understanding that Reynold wouldn’t stop until he’d completed his duty, but the traveler soon felt himself growing tired.

He slept. And then he dreamed.

—-

It was the past the traveler dreamed of. It was a memory that surfaced in his mind, an old conversation between him and a friend. It was ancient history, decades old, but it came to mind because of what he was about to do. He recalled a tent, the smell of wine, a slightly rough chair, and—company. He sat down, not remembering what the joke he’d just laughed at was, and saw his friend sitting across from him.

His friend. A long-dead face swam into focus in the traveler’s dream, and a voice spoke.

“I think I met a monster today.”

“Oh, really? What kind?”

“Hah. Not a real monster. I was speaking metaphorically. I met a Human girl. A young one. You might know of her. Magnolia Reinhart.”

“I don’t know the first name, but I recognize the last one. Well, well. One of the scions of the Five Families has come to our aid?”

“It seems like it. She’s responsible for that army. And this is the scary part—I’d swear she’s not even seventeen years of age. Maybe less; I don’t know Humans that well.”

“What, all of it? Is she some kind of [Commander]?”

“Hardly. She’s a [Lady]. And she’s certainly no warrior—I caught her throwing up after battle.”

“Why’s she come, then?”

“Because no one else would come to our aid otherwise. She came herself and brought an army capable of ending this war with her.”

“I’ll drink to her, then. Why’d you say you met a monster? Surely she’s not that hideous—”

“Don’t be a hatchling. I was being serious. I thought she was a monster when I met her. Now…I’m convinced.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“Let me say it another way. She’s a…Demon. You know, the ones from Rhir? Or maybe she’s something else. What I’m saying is that she scares me. She’s not like other Humans.”

“So? She must be outstanding to lead an army so young. She’s high level…so what? I’m not following you.”

“Hm. Perhaps I could say it like this. She’s like…a god.”

“The gods are dead.”

“Yes, but you know what I mean, don’t you? She’s like a god, or the opposite of one. Does that make sense?”

“Perhaps…she frightens you and she’s that different from her kind, is she?”

“Yes. Perhaps that’s the easiest way of saying it. It was the look in her eyes. I won’t forget it. She was throwing up when I saw her, but when she finished and turned—she was the one who rallied the Humans. All by herself, I’m sure of it. And they followed her. A coalition army of Humans to rescue we, the Drakes. Do you understand?”

“I think I do. But surely that’s not—”

“Just listen. I had a chance to talk with her. Just a short moment—you know how politics are. But it was when we had a chance that she really frightened me. I asked her what had prompted her to come to our aid when our species have been enemies for so long. And you know what she said?”

“What?”

“Just guess.”

“You know I’m no good at guessing. Tell me.”

“It was the same thing they said long ago. The same thing that the Five Families, the original Five Families said that they wanted as they were invading us, driving us back the first time. The same word, and I’ll wager, the same look of conviction.”

“I don’t know that word. So you’re saying she’s some kind of leader? A dangerous one for the future?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that I’m as wary of her as I am of the Antinium. That look in her eye, the way she speaks—it’s not that she’s not charismatic or a natural leader. Other people are—you and I lead. But it was the look, you see? The look and the conviction. She believes wholeheartedly in what she’s doing, and that’s what scares me.”

“Just tell me the damned word already, will you? What does she want?”

“Peace.”

“Peace?”

Zel Shivertail paused as he sipped from his cup and raised his head incredulously.

“That’s what I said.”

The Drake sitting across from him nodded. General Sserys, hero of the First Antinium War, smiled crookedly.

“A little girl leading an army to fight the Antinium. For peace. To save the world, she said. And you know what? She looked like a child then, with vomit dripping off her chin, but when I asked if it was possible, she just smiled. And then she looked like…I don’t know. Not a [Queen] or a [Lady], but something more. Like the opposite of a god, if they were alive. She stuck out her hand and said that I should join her. Together we could end the war and save the world.”

“And what, did you take it?”

Zel waited. Sserys shook his head.

“I didn’t get the chance. We were interrupted by some other Humans—[Lords], you know. But it stuck with me. Her offer. I felt like she was sucking me in, that she could see something I didn’t. I was afraid, Shivertail, and I won’t ever admit that to anyone else. I was afraid of her peace, of what she saw.”

“Afraid of a little Human girl. General Sserys, [Spear of the Drakes]. Afraid of peace.”

“That’s right.”

General Sserys looked at him, and Zel Shivertail paused for a second before bursting out laughing. The other Drake grinned in acknowledgement of the joke, and then he filled Zel’s cup. The two Drakes raised their cups in a silent toast and Zel raised it to his lips—

—-

“Reynold? My goodness. Ressa! Get him healing potions and help him off of the carriage, quickly!”

A voice woke Zel Shivertail from his slumbers. He jerked awake in the carriage and realized he’d stopped. And then he realized who was speaking and froze. He sensed people rushing towards the carriage, and heard a sharp voice.

“Was it [Assassins]? How badly are you injured? Is the guest safe?”

“No attack—just Goblins. I do apologize Lady Reinhart—I made a decision to protect a group of travelers—I have also bloodied my uniform Ressa, for which I apologize.”

“Never mind that. Ressa, get the man inside. He’s frozen! Why is he so cold? Are the heating spells on the carriage broken again? And what about—”

The voice stopped as Zel opened the carriage door. The Drake [General] stared out into a dark world illuminated by bright mage lights and blinked down at the figures clustered around the [Butler] who was being held up by two servants. They were all Humans—well, all save for one of the [Maids] who was a Gnoll. And they stared at him with a mixture of awe and fear.

They knew him as a legend. One of the [Maids], a tall woman, moved slowly backwards towards a shorter woman, keeping her eyes on him. It was too dark for Zel to make out details, but the way she held herself, and her voice—he had never met her, and she had never met him.

But they knew each other. Zel Shivertail lowered his head slightly as he stepped from the carriage. Magnolia Reinhart moved past Ressa’s protective body and smiled.

“General Shivertail. I’m glad you decided to come. My apologies for the delay.”

Zel paused and nodded to Reynold. The [Butler] was still on his feet, being fussed over by two [Maids].

“Your man looked like he’d driven through a war and back to get to me. I commend his spirit.”

“Happy to serve.”

Reynold mumbled. Magnolia glanced at him, and then at Zel. Cautiously, slowly, she held out her hand.

“We have never met, but I hope we can speak freely, Zel Shivertail. I have long wanted to meet you, as you are no doubt aware. I hope we can set the issues you put forward in your letter right.”

“I have no doubt we can. But I have one question to ask you first. Something I have to know.”

Zel didn’t take Magnolia’s offered hand. He looked her in the eye and sensed Ressa staring at him warily, felt the prickles on his spines that told him the other servants were dangerous. But it was only Magnolia’s face he searched.

“Tell me why.”

“Why…what, precisely?”

“Why you’ve gone to all this trouble. Why you’re willing to help. Why all the things you promised me. What’s in it for you?”

Magnolia lowered her hands and tapped her lips.

“Nothing, perhaps. But it is my mission, shall we say? My ambition, most definitely. I have one dream, General Shivertail.”

“Which is?”

Zel held his breath. The world did. Magnolia Reinhart smiled, and in her eyes was a bright light. She held out her hand once more.

“Peace. To save the world. I will do anything for that goal. Will you help me?”

Zel Shivertail looked into her eyes. For a second he saw what Sserys had, decades ago. That light, that certainty. The other Drake had called it the look of a devil, a monster, or a god. And then he blinked, and saw something different. He hesitated, and then his claws rose. Gingerly, somewhere in the past of what might have been, the Drake [General] shook the Human girl’s hands.

And then they were back in the present, in the now. Zel looked into Magnolia’s eyes and smiled.

“Let’s save the world then, Miss Reinhart. Tell me, where should we begin?”

She laughed lightly, in relief, as Ressa let out a huge breath behind her and Reynold fainted.

“With the Goblins, my dear Zel. With the Goblin Lord first. And then Az’kerash. And then the Antinium.”

“And then?”

She smiled wider.

“We’ll see. Now, shall we discuss this inside? Say, over a cup of tea?”

4.39 G

“Fools!”

The instant Garen Redfang heard about the failed attack on Lady Rie’s mansion, he stormed into the feasting hall where Tremborag sat. The self-styled Great Chieftain of Goblins looked up as he clutched an entire roast sheep in his claws. Garen snarled as he strode down the length of the messy hall towards him.

“Garen Redfang. What has you so angry this time?”

Tremborag’s voice was huge and surprisingly intellectual, but tinged with the same irritation Garen had been feeling lately. The few Hobs and other Goblins accompanying him at this moment—many of them female—eyed the Goblins behind Garen.

The Redfang Tribe had largely abandoned Garen when Rags had fled the mountain. But many was not all, and already more Hobs and competent warriors had joined Garen Redfang’s faction within the mountain. He was the pinnacle of martial ability to aspire to, and if his new ‘tribe’ was not as well-trained as his old one, they were a fighting force Garen had led on many raids.

And it was the raids that were the issue. Garen glared at Tremborag and spat.

“The Goblins who went to attack the [Lady] are dead.”

The huge Hobgoblin paused. A bit of grease dripped from his hands. The Goblins around him froze.

“All?”

Over twenty Hobs had been chosen to assault the mansion, as well as one of the [Shamans]. It had been considered overkill for such a small town and even a [Lady]’s personal residence. Unlike the Five Families, most of the minor nobility lacked huge arsenals of magical defenses.

And yet, the attackers had been destroyed. Garen spoke sharply.

“They were slaughtered by a Human alliance! They are gathering as I said! And you provoke them with more raids. No more. No Goblins will go to that place; none return anymore. I forbid it.”

His command of the common tongue had increased markedly since he had stayed in the mountain. Or rather, he was having to speak more often. As he had in the past with his friends. Garen pushed the memory back. Tremborag dropped the sheep and stood.

“You forbid? I am Great Chieftain under the mountain.”

“And I am Garen Redfang, who knows raiding and Humans ways. Continue to send more raids and they will die. Fool.”

The hall had gone silent. The Goblins around Tremborag had retreated and Garen’s Redfang warriors were eying Tremborag uneasily. The Great Chieftain’s crimson eyes flared with fury. He and Garen growled at each other, drawing closer.

The air was hot with bloodlust. Garen felt his hand tightening on the hilt of his famous red sword and Tremborag suddenly looked taller, less fat and more like the monster he could become. But both Goblins forced themselves back. They were allies.

“Hah! You have not dulled your fangs since coming here.”

Tremborag broke the stalemate first. He sat and picked up the sheep and ripped into it with one hand. Breathing hard, Garen sat at a table, facing him.

There was a reason for the irritation between them, and not just because of Rags’ escape. What had she taken? Some of the magical items? Most of the truly powerful artifacts had been spread across the Hob lieutenants and other warriors in Tremborag’s tribe. Goblins didn’t hoard practical treasures. And food? Again, not an issue. The Human women—

No. Garen ground his teeth together. There was only one true reason for their anger.

“The Goblin Lord comes.”

“Yes.”

Tremborag ate savagely, crunching bones in his mouth. He spat a fragment onto the ground.

“I feel him coming. He comes for you and I, Redfang. We are the only ones who could oppose him. But there are others he calls.”

“Others?”

Garen was surprised. Tremborag laughed.

“You think you are the only famous Chieftain, Redfang? Far to the north there are other tribes who make Humans tremble, just as there are ones to the south and on other continents. Two I think of. A pyromaniac witch and a brute who loves combat.”

“Would they join us? Or would they join the Goblin Lord?”

Again the Great Chieftain laughed.

“I have asked, and they have refused me. They would refuse him too, I think. The witch, she refused the Goblin King as I did. As for the brute, he accepts no one as his master. No, they will wait, I think. The Goblin Lord comes for only we.”

“Unless the Humans come first. You provoke them.”

The Hob crossed his arms. Tremborag nodded.

“They have forgotten why they fear us. Let them come to the mountain. We will break them in the tunnels, lure them in and crush them. And in their fury, they will hunt that wretch, that thief, the Goblin who takes a Human name!”

Rags. Angry as he was, Tremborag still refused to speak her name. Garen stared at him and turned.

“And when the Goblin Lord comes? Then what? Will you sit and eat until he comes to your doorstep with a host far vaster than yours?”

“Let him. I am the Great Chieftain of the mountain. I will bow to no Lord, no King. And one last thing.”

Tremborag’s voice boomed as Garen strode out of the hall. The Hob turned. Now Tremborag was serious.

“Go to the mansion and destroy it, Redfang. If the [Lady] remains, slaughter her people and bring her back to the mountain.”

Garen stared at him. Vengeance, retribution. An eye for an eye. Tremborag was very Human in that regard.

“And if they are not there? If they are under the protection of the one who builds those wooden markers, who calls himself an [Emperor]?”

The whispers had reached the Goblin ears as they skulked around the edges of that strange land. Tremborag grinned and his eyes were fury.

“In that case, we will destroy every village, town, and city in that place until all is gore and ash. After the Goblin Lord or perhaps—before? Go.”

For the moment he was Garen’s Chieftain, so Garen went. He took a massive force of Hobs and Goblins to the home of the Valerund House and found the mansion deserted. He burned the mansion and determined that there was no point riding after the lady.

Garen had Skills from the [Raider] class that allowed him to appraise targets. And so he destroyed a town many miles to the north instead, robbing it of many lumps of gold recently acquired from a mine. And as he rode back to the mountain Garen wondered what Rags was doing. The Humans would not suffer the Goblins much longer.

Already, they had begun to counterattack.

—-

The Goblins in the Flooded Waters tribe weren’t restless. At least, most of them weren’t. They raided roads on a daily basis and clashed with monsters and small bands of Humans regularly. Moreover, they were secure in their semi-permanent home in the forest of tall trees around the lake. Already, the Goblins were beginning to think of it as their base. But more importantly, they were filling their bellies from their raids and they were not in danger, not in want. They were content.

But the Goblins who thought of the future, those who were leaders like Noears, Poisonbite, Redscar, the Rockfall Chieftain, and other Hobs of Tremborag’s mountain thought otherwise. They could tell what their Chieftain wished because they were connected. They were part of the same tribe. And what those Goblins understood was that Rags was…aimless.

“She does not know what to do.”

Poisonbite declared this as she sat with her unit of female Goblins around a fire. She had a few guests. Two Hobs from Tremborag’s faction, Noears, the Rockfall Chieftain, and Redscar. They were just guests. But that they were here, listening, was significant.

Each one had their own agendas. Noears, who was very intelligent and dangerous because of it, played with a spark of electricity, letting it crawl over his hands. The other Goblins looked around surreptitiously.

They were looking for Rags. Or Pyrite. The Goldstone Chieftain was staunchly loyal to her, which might be troublesome if he heard anything. Not that they were doing anything; they were just talking. But in Tremborag’s mountain, talk was dangerous enough.

Here it was…a sign of wariness. Noears flicked the spark into the fire, making it jump, and looked up.

“She is aimless, but not, I think, lost.”

The others nodded at that. Noears continued.

“She does not know whether to stay or go. This is a good place. But not what she wants. She wants to go south. But the Goblin Lord is there.”

“Dangerous.”

Redscar grunted. He wasn’t talkative. He flicked a dagger up and caught the blade between two fingers.

“Should go.”

He wanted to return to the High Passes. Noears scratched at the ragged holes where his ears had been and shrugged.

“Perhaps. But she is—”

He broke off as a Goblin that was known to be too talkative for his good passed by the fire. The other Goblins stared blankly at him and looked around the camp. No Rags. She was snoozing by her fire. And Pyrite? Sitting under one of the gargantuan trees by the lakeside.

Safe. Noears stuck a finger in his earhole and came out with some sticky earwax as he went on.

“Chieftain wants to go back. Goblin Lord is dangerous. So she waits. Not lost, but waiting. For right chance. Smart. I agree, which is why I follow her.”

The Rockfall Chieftain nodded at once. She was a supporter of Rags, which is why her listening here was good. All opinions mattered. But Poisonbite was restless. She was no Hob, but it was the opinion of those around the fire that she had the same rank as one. Just like Noears was the strongest [Mage] in the tribe by far—being small didn’t mean weak. Rags was an example of that.

“Still should do more. Build base here. Raid harder.”

She disliked only robbing travelers on the road, especially since they were growing fewer as of late. Redscar nodded his approval as did two of the Hobs. Noears frowned and looked around.

Rags? No sign of her. Pyrite was on his feet, breaking up a fight between a few Goblins. He grunted, but it was another Hob who spoke.

“Chieftain. Needs fight. Goblin Lord.”

A simple sentence, but one with nuance, as his jiggling leg indicated. The idea of fighting a Goblin Lord was of course, wrong, but if he was like what Garen Redfang had claimed, what other choice was there? He used dead Goblins, raised the dead. And he slaughtered Goblins who did not obey him.

“Should talk first.”

Noears was the first to dissent. Redscar glared, and the argument descended into infighting. It was just talk. They kept glancing over towards Rags, just to reassure themselves she was asleep. And now Pyrite was tending to a fire, sniffing hopefully at a stick of mushrooms roasting by it.

“Chieftain is young.”

“Yes. Needs help.”

Scoffing from other Goblins.

“Help? Like Garen Redfang? Another Chieftain? Two?”

Hand wave, claw clenched into fist. Subtlety, of course not the first interpretation, but a more nuanced answer.

“Not Redfang. But advisor. Someone strong.”

“She is not strong?”

“Not strong.”

All heads turned. Rags didn’t appear to stab them. Pyrite was lifting a Goblin child up, grunting as he peered at a rash. All turned back to the talk.

“Smart, though.”

“Yes.”

Waggled finger. More nuance. Smart is not enough necessarily. Goblins need a daring leader and a cautious one is not as good. However, the raised eyebrow indicated skepticism of this very idea. The Rockfall Chieftain surprisingly spoke up next.

“Good to have mate.”

All stared at her. There, it was said, and by one of Rags’ own at that! Mate. Yes. Have sex. Or rather, have someone who could guide your opinions, a capable lieutenant. Only—

“Pyrite is good.”

Poisonbite said that and all agreed. Pyrite was. He was capable, solid, a good fighter. And he was calm, a perfect second-in-command. What he wasn’t though was aggressive. Noears chewed on his lip and frowned.

“Good, but simple. Has odd companion. Old. Greybeard.”

That was true too. Every head turned as Pyrite bent to talk to a Goblin sitting by a fire next to theirs. Greybeard grinned as he slurped at some soup and chattered to the big Hob. Poisonbite scowled and Redscar looked at her.

“Old Goblin. You know?”

“My unit. Good at running away, better at not be cut.”

She flicked her fingers dismissively and Redscar nodded.

“Never met Goblin with beard.”

“Hah! No point. But if not Pyrite, who?”

Who indeed. All eyes shifted to Noears and Redscar, the most probable choices. Noears shifted and Redscar growled. Neither one was particularly into the idea. It was common knowledge that Noears liked big Hob females, and Redscar liked Goblins who had certain body parts that Rags lacked. Added to that, no one wanted to imagine Rags being swayed by one side more than the other.

And yet—aimlessness. The other Goblins hesitated. Noears grimaced.

“Chieftain must do something.”

“Why?”

Poisonbite rolled her eyes as someone asked that. Her voice was laced with open scorn.

“Because aimlessness is bad, stupid.”

“Really?”

She growled.

“Yes! Why we talking if not?”

She turned angrily to the speaker and her green face went white. Pyrite stood over the fire, crunching on a giant Barkeater Beetle. He waved at the group calmly.

Where had he come from? The other Goblins stared in shock. Pyrite had appeared without them really paying attention from across the camp. He’d snuck up on them like—like a mountain, always in plain sight, but never really noticed. He sat and all the Goblins edged away from him. All save for Redscar, who just looked wary.

“Chieftain is aimless.”

Pyrite’s voice hushed the other Goblins. He nodded and offered the giant beetle with huge mandibles around. No one wanted a bite. He went back to crunching as the beetle’s guts oozed out the back.

“Aimless. Young. No sex. Not Hob. Not warrior. Not going to war and not building base.”

He paused, having summarized the complaints of the others. They waited. Pyrite fished a wiggling leg out from between his teeth and crunched at it for a second.

“So what?”

Every eye was on him. Pyrite shook his head. A voice cackled—they realized Greybeard had appeared at their fire. The elderly Hob was sipping from his bowl and glancing at Pyrite. The former Goldstone Chieftain nodded.

“So what? Young is young. Aimless is temporary. Chieftain is Chieftain. Will grow.”

“So he says!”

Greybeard laughed into the thoughtful silence Pyrite’s words had caused. He clapped Pyrite on the back and the Hob grunted. The old Hob sighed.

“Wait and see? Is good plan if nothing coming!”

“But is?”

Poisonbite had been alarmed at Pyrite being here, but the Hob was clearly as affable as ever despite the…talk. Greybeard on the other hand was a nuisance. She wouldn’t have suffered him if Pyrite clearly didn’t favor him. Come to that, he was always hanging around the old Hob. Poisonbite didn’t see the point. But then, Greybeard only really talked to Pyrite.

Noears wondered what he said as he stared at the Hob. Greybeard looked up, beard soaked with soup, and his eyes flashed.

“Something is coming. Can’t you feel it, younglings?”

The other Goblins stared at him, surprised by the sudden change in his tone. Pyrite stopped crunching his beetle and looked up. Then all the Goblins in the camp heard the horn call in the distance. Rags shot out of the hammock she’d built by her fire and one of the Goblin lookouts perched in the trees shouted. Something was coming.

Humans.

—-

“My, but they are upset, aren’t they? Look at them looking around like ants. Or is that because we’re on a hilltop?”

Lady Bethal Walchaís stood on the hilltop and stared down at the Flooded Waters tribe as the Goblins shot to their feet and began reaching for weapons. By her side Sir Thomast the Chevalier and her husband said nothing. Neither did the ranks of [Knights] dressed from head to toe in red-pink armor. They were her personal order of warriors, known appropriately as the Knights of the Petal or as she sometimes called them, her Rose Knights.

And they were here to kill the Goblins. However, one of the oddities of the scene and probably the reason why the Goblin Chieftain hadn’t ordered the attack was the disparity in numbers. There were several thousand Goblins below. Probably six thousand. Eight? Not all were combatants obviously, but they were enough to become a sea of green. Whereas Lady Bethal had brought half of the [Knights] under her command and left half to guard her fiefdom.

That meant just over forty Rose Knights were arrayed in a line on the hilltop. And yet, Lady Bethal looked unconcerned. Dressed in elegant riding clothes and mounted on a stallion as she was, she might have been out for a ride with her retainers. She peered down towards the Goblin camp and pointed.

“There. That is their Chieftain.”

A small Goblin riding a Carn Wolf and carrying an outsized black crossbow was her target. Bethal clapped her hands and her Rose Knights stood straighter.

“Kill the Chieftain, and destroy as many Hobs and high-level Goblins on your way to her as possible, please. I will allow six to guard me, including you, Thomast.”

He looked at her. Bethal’s tone softened for a second.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. We spoke about this! Or rather, I did. You know it has to be done.”

He stared at her in silence. Bethal’s tone sharpened. Her fingers dug into his arm. Thomast wore no armor; the silk doublet he wore would have fit just as well at the party where he and Bethal had met with Lady Magnolia a few weeks ago. Neither did he flinch as Bethal’s long nails dug into his arm.

For a second the air around Bethal was thorny, and then she was letting go, withdrawing her nails, clearly upset. She brushed at his arm and drew herself closer to the taller man. She spoke softly.

“They are raiders and they slaughtered those villagers, Thomast.”

The Chevalier said nothing, but his silence spoke louder than Bethal’s words. She shifted.

“Yes, they killed off a Goblin tribe. What of it? Magnolia has asked me personally to settle this, and so I shall. These Goblins cannot be allowed to continue disrupting trade, and if they joined up with the Goblin Lord—ah, honor’s end, Thomast! Do you see them using pikes and crossbows? What if all the Goblins fought so? They must end here and now.”

She glared again. He was silent as the wind ruffled his hair. Bethal’s anger collapsed.

“I know! But—oh, Thomast.”

The Goblins had begun forming up into ranks, and the front rank was holding terribly long pikes, while a group of mounted Goblins on wolf back circled through the forest. They were approaching as a single mass, and yet no one interrupted Bethal’s soliloquy. Or was it a monologue? It was hard to call it a dialogue.

“What must be, must be, my love. Do not begrudge me for ordering you this.”

Thomast bent his head and Bethal wept as she clung to him.

“It must be! I—a small wrong, an evil to make the world better for some. So Magnolia says and so I believe. But do you? Will you fight for me, my love, even if I am wrong? Even if the world would judge me so? Would you abandon honor for me? And would you love me after, my heart?”

His arm encircled her body. Thomast bent and whispered a word.

“Always.”

The two stood thusly for a second, and then turned. The Goblins were streaming out of the forest, lining up in formations. Already some were taking ranging shots with their crossbows or slings, but the small Goblin mounted on a Carn Wolf was ordering them to hold their fire. Bethal sighed.

“Let us begin, then. My Rose Knights—advance!”

And they did. The Rose Knights of Walchaís charged down the hill with a roar, crashing into the ranks of the disbelieving Goblins.

—-

Rags had been having a bad day. Indigestion had plagued her from the Barkeater Beetles that Pyrite had convinced her to try, and she was certain someone was talking behind her back. More than that though, she’d felt horribly aimless and out of sorts, feeling the Goblin Lord’s approach and not knowing what she should do. All her certainty about how she would ride out and confront him had melted away.

So she’d been pleasantly surprised by the news of the [Lady] and her small escort. Robbing a rich noble blind and finding out what her magical artifacts did would be a pleasant diversion. So why—why—

Why were they losing?

The thirty or so armored Humans ran straight into the ranks of the twenty-foot-long pikes that Rags had drilled her Goblins with. They could stop a charging group of cavalry and had done so more than once. It was suicide for anyone to run into that wall of spikes. Or it should have been.

The first Rose Knight was struck by two pikes in the chest and shoulder. The Goblins hadn’t been content to wait for him to come; Rags had ordered the charge and they’d rammed into him at high-speed. Impaling speed.

But the tips of both pikes just glanced off his armor. Another one caught him in the midriff and Rags saw something improbable happen. Instead of the armor deforming under the pressure of the blow, the shock of impact travelled down the sturdy pike and made the eight Goblins running with it slam into each other.

The pike had struck the Human in armor head-on and his armor had been the victor. The Rose Knight ran past the pike, the axe in his hands raised. He charged into a Hob and took a heavy mace hit to the head. He ignored it and cut the Hob down with one tremendous blow. Across the line of pikes and infantry, the same was happening. That was when Rags knew she was in trouble.

Enchanted armor! She waved her hands desperately and shouted. Goblins who had been assigned to watch her in the middle of battles picked up on what she wanted and the scrum of infantry around the Rose Knights drew back. They left eighteen Hobs dead and over fifty more Goblins when they did.

So many casualties. Rags’ eyes burned as she raised a fist and clenched it. The Rose Knights looked up as Goblins wielding crossbows—hundreds of them—sitting in trees or line up in formations, loosed as one.

Steel and wood-tipped bolts struck the armored knights from every side in a huge semicircle the Goblins had formed so as not to hit one another. For a second, the air was filled with so many projectiles that Rags could see nothing amid the splintering bolts and—

The Rose Knights strode out of the hail of arrows, unscathed. Their armor gleamed pink and red with blood. The Goblins stared. Rags’ eyes slowly travelled up to the woman standing with an escort of six knights around her. She could have sworn the [Lady] was smiling at her.

Unacceptable. Rags’ eyes flashed. She raised her voice and shouted as the Rose Knights charged once again.

—-

“Mages! Hobs!”

Pyrite heard the call and knew it was a bad one. It was the only one Rags could make, but it was still a bad one. He shifted as the rank of Hobs around him surged forwards. Pyrite charged forwards and saw a press of huge bodies in front of him, fighting the strange pink knights. But already, Hobs were falling.

Their enemy was too strong.

Magical weapons cleaved through the air, splitting steel shields, emitting jets of fire or in one case, leaving sharp after-trails of light in the air that cut whatever they touched. The Rose Knights were unstoppable. Because of their armor.

It was too strong! And though Rags had had a good idea, the thinking part of Pyrite, the calm part that analyzed everything told him that if an enemy had come here, they would have taken measures against mere strength or spells. Sure enough, the Hobs failed to damage the armor even when they swung with their full strength. And the lightning coming from Noears and the other [Mages] glanced off the armor harmlessly as well when it should have shocked the wearers to death.

Impressive magic. Was it not metal they were wearing? Pyrite’s eyes narrowed as he came face-to-face with one of the Rose Knights in the scrum of bodies. He swung and the Rose Knight raised his shield as he countered with a thrust of his sword.

Bad trade. Pyrite halted his swing and backed up. The thrust missed him, leaving a trail of freezing cold in the air behind it. The [Knight] paused, and then swung again, raising his or her shield.

Nope. Pyrite knew they were waiting for him to strike so they could exchange blows. It didn’t matter if they got hit. He knocked aside the blade with his axe’s head, feeling the chill on his hands. Enchanted blades, enchanted armor—

“Withdraw!”

The roar was going up from the Hobs around him and they were scrambling to get back as the Rose Knights cut them down. Pyrite was glad to hear it. Rags was no fool. She’d realized the Hobs would only be slaughtered and now she was bringing in—

Pyrite glanced over his shoulder as the [Knight] thrust at him again. Casually, Pyrite knocked the blade away again; it was easy if you kept backing up. Goblins were drawing back, inviting the Knights into one-versus-hundreds battles in every direction. And the pink knights were taking the offer.

That was bad. Pyrite walked backwards quickly, letting the knight charge towards him. Other Goblins were jabbing at the pink knight from all angles, but he—or she—had clearly decided Pyrite was dying first. The knight ignored the attacks on his armor, beheading a Goblin with a cut to one side.

Pyrite’s eyes narrowed. He slid to one side as the knight lunged and brought his axe down like a hammer on their back.

[Power Strike]! Pyrite hadn’t learned a more advanced Skill, but he had once cleaved through a warhorse’s armor and spine with this blow—

His axe shattered as he struck the Rose Knight. The armored warrior stumbled mid-step and then turned towards Pyrite. The Hob and the Goblins around him stared at the Rose Knight and then backed up. This wasn’t fair at all.

A group of Goblins with pikes charged into the pink knight, holding them off for a few moments. Pyrite backed up again, and saw the battle was going the same way throughout the forest. The Rose Knights were carving their way through the Goblins trying to damage their armor with impunity. It was carnage, and Pyrite felt the fury in his heart rising as he saw his people dying.

Yet the cold part of him still approved. This made sense. How did you destroy an enemy most efficiently? You sent in warriors—you didn’t have to have many—to fight. Warriors the enemy could not harm in any way.

Because of levels. Because they didn’t have enough enchanted weapons or Skills. Or if they did—Pyrite saw one of the Rose Knights raise his shield and it was like a wall the Goblins couldn’t break through. Another was cutting with his battleaxe as if it were light as a feather, and one more had used a Skill that had sent a group of Goblins flying.

They were high-level too. And so Pyrite realized what Rags would do next. What she had to do.

Retreat.

But where could they go? The Rose Knights would harry them, cut them down or aim for her. A group was already cutting towards Rags. And she was pointing—at the [Lady]?

“Ah.”

Pyrite realized what she was doing. Harm the leader if you can’t hurt the soldiers. A rain of crossbow bolts fell like rain from the sky at the unarmored woman. She in turn raised a hand and—

“[Tranquil Skies].”

The bolts and arrows parted in the sky—as did the clouds, in fact. Pyrite, Rags, and the Goblins who had time to look stared as the [Lady] smiled. The bolts rained down around her and her escort, in a huge circle of—of tranquility around her. The clouded sky was blue above her head.

That wasn’t fair. It was ingenious, but not fair. Rags was practically screaming as she ordered a second volley. The [Lady] couldn’t do that twice!

She didn’t have to. As the crossbows raised a second time, one of the Rose Knights roared. For a second he towered over the Goblins, his armor twisting, the gaps in his visor shining with terrible light. He was a monster—every bow and crossbow turned towards him and loosed at once.

The knight took the hail of death without flinching. Pyrite rubbed his eyes and the illusion was gone. But another Knight had begun hammering on their shield, using another Skill which created a target for the Goblins to hit.

They were dominating the battlefield with their Skills. And as a group of Hobs and Redfang warriors charged into the escort around the lady, Pyrite saw the only other unarmored man on the battlefield step forwards.

He was a [Fencer] if the rapier was anything to mark him by. And he was good. The man stabbed five Redfang Warriors through their guards as they charged him at once, and the six pink knights cut down the other Goblins without budging from their place surrounding the [Lady]. She wrinkled her nose as blood fountained into the air.

Death. Pyrite felt it in the air. He looked around—Rags was sitting on her mount, looking stunned. The Carn Wolves and Redfang warriors, her elite, were dueling the Rose Knights now and still, the knights took no damage. They were invincible.

The Goblins had to retreat. Pyrite grunted as the knight who’d been pursuing him broke past the pikes and began cutting towards him. He glanced over his shoulder. Only water behind. The lake would cut their retreat off. Rags would have to run them through the forest, but what if there was a second force waiting? Or what if they had ways to catch up with them? The lake’s waters were turning red as blood ran into them—

Water. Lake. Pyrite blinked and turned as the freezing longsword swept towards his head again. He backed up, then turned and ran.

The knight followed. Pyrite splashed past ranks of Goblins in the water. They’d already been pushed this far? He turned and raised the haft of his broken axe as he stood in stomach-deep water. Predictably, the knight had followed him. His blade was freezing the water around them as he waded towards Pyrite. That was interesting.

And they were clearly not thinking straight. If they had been, they would have realized that the water slowed both Hob and knight. Yet the sword came swinging at Pyrite all the same, and he had to admit—it was dangerous.

Pyrite ducked. The knight cut into the water and was rewarded with an impact at last. Blood spurted up in the water, but the blow hadn’t been decisive, slowed as it had been by the liquid. The knight raised their sword for a final strike—

And Pyrite fountained up out of the water. He body slammed the knight and they crashed into the lake together, underwater. He felt the knight flailing, sensed them trying to get up and reached for their neck.

Flaw. The Rose Knights were strong, but a Hob was still stronger. And in the water, they were slow enough to be caught. Pyrite seized the visored head and felt the Rose Knight twisting. Too late.

Second flaw. Everything had to breathe. Pyrite thrust the head down and then stepped on the struggling body. He ground the knight into the lake’s muddy floor and felt them struggling frantically. All things breathed. Unless they couldn’t.

“Chieftain!”

Pyrite’s deep voice bellowed across the battlefield, turning Goblin heads. He saw Rags turn to him, eyes wide, and then he lifted the rose shield in his hand. The knight was struggling under his feet, but he was standing on them now.

Rags understood at once. She screamed and horns blew; the Goblins retreated as one towards the lake. But now the Rose Knights were determined to stop them. They formed a line of death and marched into the Goblins, cutting them down, aiming at Rags now. Pyrite groaned. They were going for her! And he couldn’t be there to stop them.

He grunted, dove into the water and pushed away a frantic hand. The Rose Knight was still struggling! He—or she—was getting air from somewhere, or they could hold their breath incredibly long. Pyrite surfaced and turned, desperately.

There was only one Goblin who could—where was he? He scanned the battlefield frantically as he put the weakening knight in a headlock underwater.

There. Greybeard was fighting with his old greatsword, laughing as a knight with a battleaxe traded blows with him. But the elderly Hob had dodged every blow. He could—

A dagger stabbed into Pyrite’s side, a blade that froze his innards. He gasped and tore the blade out of the knight’s hand. He refused to let go, though the knight was pounding on his wound.

Stupid. Should have thought of—Pyrite saw the [Lady] turning her head towards him. Greybeard. He had to be—oh, of course. Why have [Knights] only specialized in swords? Some had bows, others had spells.

Stupid not to think of it.

—-

“Take down that Hob.”

Bethal pointed, and one of the knights by her side abandoned his weapon to draw the bow on his back. The enchanted bowstring thrummed once, and the Hob who’d manage to down young Lady Welca Caveis—a knight-errant in training who Bethal had accepted into her ranks—fell, two arrows in his chest. The Rose Knight surged upwards, searching for her weapons as the Goblins roared and the one on the wolf’s back screamed fury and drove her mount into the lake after him.

“Is young Welca alive? Oh, I see she is.”

Bethal sighed as the knights around her closed ranks once again. The Goblins had given up assailing her; Thomast’s blade and the piles of Goblins’ bodies had proven the futility of it. And the rest of her warriors were too experienced to be lured into the water like that.

“A pity. That Hob looked almost intelligent.”

Thomast turned to her, a hint of reproach in his eyes. Bethal sighed.

“I know. I know. But a monster who kills is…we could fish him out afterwards if Welca lets him live. Or maybe—I say, what’s going on over there?”

She frowned, and pointed to a spot where Goblins were fighting the Knights of the Petal. Almost all of them had retreated, leaving hundreds of dead bodies behind them. But one Goblin hadn’t retreated.

Greybeard had been dueling the Rose Knight with the battleaxe—Sir Kerrig Louis—as soon as he’d crashed into Poisonbite’s formation. He alone hadn’t been cut down, although the battleaxe’s head burned in the open air and Sir Kerrig was a master in using it.

Instead, Greybeard had pushed the Rose Knight back, landing heavy blows on the man’s armor and making it ring. The halt in their advance had drawn the attention of the other Knights of the Petal and they’d come to assist Sir Kerrig in dealing with this troublesome foe.

Now there were six of the Rose Knights surrounding him as Greybeard struck and countered each blow in a whirlwind of steel. The advance of pink halted and Lady Bethal’s eyes widened as she noticed the disturbance.

“Thomast, who is that Goblin?”

The Chevalier had no reply, but his eyes narrowed as he saw Greybeard fighting. The other Goblins stopped too, as the old Goblin dodged two blows and countered three at once, his greatsword flashing in a ringing arc. He twisted, and simultaneously countered one blow and parried another. When he spun and kicked, a Rose Knight was knocked off his feet and into the muck.

“Oh dear.”

Lady Bethal’s eyes widened as she saw the Goblin fight. And not just for that. She saw and sensed the battlefield turning against her.

—-

The Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe stopped their retreat as Greybeard fought. The sense of desperation, of hopelessness that dragged down their limbs evaporated as more and more of them saw the sight of a Goblin who hadn’t fallen. They pointed and roared, and Rags saw a flicker of victory in the darkness.

It was inspiring. A single Goblin held down eight [Knights], forcing them back, his sword singing through the air as he laughed. Pyrite stood in the water, blood dripping from his wounds. Noears found more lightning and hurled it through the air. Goblins stopped retreating and held their ground. How could they not?

They had seen a hero.

On her Carn Wolf, Rags saw the battlefield shift. She raised her sword and screamed.

“Charge! Charge!”

There was no tactic in her words. Rags simply felt a current, far vaster than the one she could create, sweeping her ahead. And as she kicked her mount forwards, her tribe did the same. Goblins streamed across the muddy ground, shouting. They rushed towards the surprised [Knights], ignoring the enchanted blades, pounding on the enchanted armor.

The momentum had turned against the Humans. They backed up rather than be swarmed, forming a wall of steel around their [Lady]. She glared and pointed. Her voice crackled like lightning across the battlefield.

“Thomast!”

And there he was. The [Duelist] at her side strode forwards, and his blade lashed the air. Goblins fell before they drew close to him and then there was a pause in the fighting.

The battered Rose Knights fell back as Greybeard lowered his sword. He wasn’t panting, but a light sheen of sweat steamed off his body. Thomast raised his rapier and saluted the Goblin. Greybeard grinned and lifted his greatsword.

They leapt forwards as the Humans and Goblins drew back and met in a clash of blades. Only, there was never any true contact of metal meeting metal. The two struck at each other simultaneously and Thomast’s rapier was faster. He flicked the point towards Greybeard’s eyes and the Goblin twisted his head around the blade. He cut—impossibly fast for a sword so large—towards Thomast’s chest and the [Duelist] stepped back, letting the blade pass a fraction of an inch away from his clothes.

And then they danced. There was no other word for it. Rags had seen the Redscar warriors fight, all precision and grace, but the [Duelist] and Greybeard were on another level entirely. Each strike was so quick and fluid, and led into the next. Rags couldn’t imagine herself trying to fight one or the other. She would be dead in the first blow.

But neither one had scored a hit on the other yet. Thomast stepped back, frowning, and then slashed his rapier through the air. There was a good distance between them, but Greybeard twisted his body out of the way. Behind him, a Hob cried out and fell, blood streaming from his chest.

He was cutting the air! Rags’ eyes narrowed as she stared at the Human’s rapier. Now the [Duelist] cut and Greybeard had to close with him or risk the Goblins behind him taking injuries. So he did, in a lunge that took him low across the ground. And Thomast was waiting.

“[Double Cut].”

As he thrust, a silvery blur struck simultaneously, so that it appeared as if Thomast suddenly had two arms in the place of one for a fraction of a second. Both were aimed at Greybeard’s heart and both—missed. The lunging Greybeard vanished, and Thomast turned.

Two Greybeards were standing at his back. They struck simultaneously and the man leapt out of the way, the first ungraceful move to come in the duel. And when he landed, three Greybeards were waiting for him.

Was it an afterimage caused by speed, or a Skill? Rags didn’t know, only that Greybeard had suddenly multiplied. A mirage of the old Goblins cut as Thomast backed up, his flickering rapier now on the defensive, warding off the apparitions.

And then—Thomast lunged forwards, shooting across the ground at what had to have been the true Greybeard, his rapier thrusting. It was a lightning-fast blow. And still Greybeard was ready. His greatsword skated down the length of Thomast’s rapier and gently, oh so gently opened the man’s chest and stomach up in a single strike.

It was elegant and, Rags had to think, intentional. Thomast staggered, turned, and clutched at his chest. Blood streamed from cut arteries and a woman’s voice screamed.

“Thomast!”

Bethal rushed forward and so did the Rose Knights. They formed a wall in front of the grinning Greybeard. Only the tip of the Goblin’s greatsword was bloody. Bethal threw herself across her husband’s chest as a knight knelt, fumbling with a healing potion. She shouted as the knights seized the wounded Chevalier.

“Withdraw! Knights, shield my husband with your lives!”

They were retreating? Rags stared in disbelief, but the fallen man was clearly more important than anything else. The [Lady] stood, her riding dress stained with blood, and her eyes were murderous as she stared at the grinning Greybeard. She tossed her head and spoke in the silence.

“Prepare yourselves, Goblins. Tomorrow I return. Flee before then, or I will come back to crush you.”

Then she turned and hurried away with the Knights of the Petal. The Goblins let them go without another word. The cost of a battle was too high and besides—

There was Greybeard.

—-

He stood in the remains of the battlefield, untouched. Where strong Hobs and veteran Goblins had been cut down like wheat he alone was unscathed. Rags rode over to him and noticed how her Carn Wolf shied away from him, refusing to draw near. So she dismounted and strode over to him.

“Chieftain.”

This time the old Hobgoblin didn’t bow to her. And Rags was sure he shouldn’t. She stared at him, seeing none of the old innocent dementia of age in how he carried himself now. She had never seen an old Goblin. She had no idea Goblins could be old. And now she felt like a fool.

“Who are you?”

He just grinned at her. Greybeard turned, planting his sword in the ground and looked.

“Where is Pyrite?”

The Goblins turned. In an instant, they’d located Pyrite. He was being tended to; Rags had used her best healing potions on him, but the two arrows to his chest had come close to his heart. Only his fat had protected him. He staggered upright as Greybeard walked over.

“Old one.”

“Good thought! Smart. You were always smart. But invincible is invincible, eh? Good that you meet Humans like that now rather than later. There are always warriors like that. Should make you train harder, you lazy dreamer, you!”

Greybeard praised Pyrite, patting him affectionately on the head and shoulders as Pyrite grunted softly. Rags had followed the two; all the Goblins had. She waited until Greybeard had turned to ask again.

“Who are you? You are not…”

“Not Graybeard, Chieftain? Not me? I never said who I was. I am just old Goblin. What is surprising about me knowing how to fight?”

The old Goblin spread his hands innocently. Rags narrowed her eyes, taking in the collection of scars across his body. She was angry at being lied to, and perhaps Greybeard saw it.

If he did, he didn’t care. She opened her mouth a third time and Greybeard laughed. And the laughter consumed words and sound alike. He walked back to his greatsword and turned. All of the Goblins stared at him. And now he was taller.

“Who am I? I am Greydath.”

The name meant nothing to Rags or the other Goblins. Save for Noears. He moaned aloud and fell to his knees. The old Goblin laughed again. He stood tall and his voice echoed in the forest, across the lake. And now he was taller still. A giant contained in a small body.

“In years past they knew me across the world. They shouted my name. Enemies, allies. The world trembled as we built, and then destroyed. And though many have forgotten his face, so long as one Goblin lives, his dream continues. I served Velan the Kind. And he named me his servant of arms.”

The old Goblin was decrepit, scarred by thousands of battles, missing most of his teeth. An elderly, battered warrior. And then he drew his sword out of the ground and he was different. His eyes blazed, his smile could eclipse the sun. He raised his blade and Goblins fell to their knees around him. His voice echoed as he raised his sword, proud, unwavering. Another Goblin, dignified, ancient, and vast as the sky spoke his name to the world.

“I am Greydath of Blades. Once, a Goblin Lord.”

He bowed, mockingly, towards Rags. She felt her skin chill and freeze. A low sound swept through the Goblins, like wind, like the heart of a storm.

Here stood a Goblin Lord. Out of nowhere. It was impossible and yet—who could deny it? Surely no other Goblin had his skill, his strength. And no other Goblin could lie, would lie about this.

Something was wrong, though. Rags searched Greydath for any sign that he was who he said he was. And found nothing. He had no pull among the tribe, no mental draw or connection that told him he was her greater. He had no aura that marked him as unique, or even as a Hob. That was something intrinsic to all Goblinkind and he lacked it.

The awe the other Goblins held him in was a product of his might, not anything else. Rags had felt the pull of Chieftains, weak and strong. She felt the distant call of the Goblin Lord, urging her to heed his call. All Goblins called each other, all were connected. But here stood a Goblin Lord, a true Lord, a vassal of the previous Goblin King himself and she felt nothing.

He…was like a ghost in the world. He didn’t fit with the others. He didn’t pull at her, didn’t meld with her being like other Goblins did. Why? Or more probably, how?

Rags narrowed her eyes. She didn’t know if this was Greydath’s choice or…a consequence of the last Goblin King’s death. And yet, she did not doubt for a second he was telling the truth. Greydath stood with his rusted and battered greatsword stuck in the dirt beside him, ragged grey beard waving in the cold wind, and still he crushed everyone with his presence.

But why had he come here—no, why had he revealed himself now of all times? Because the enemy had been too great? From the way he had simply wounded the Chevalier, Rags was certain that wasn’t it. She stared at him and forced saliva into a dry mouth.

“Why are you here?”

The old Goblin’s wrinkled brows raised. He grinned at her with his remaining teeth.

“To see whether you are worthy.”

“Am I?”

He pondered the question as the hearts of thousands of Goblins thundered in the silence. Here stood a Goblin Lord. And his reply was simple.

“No.”

He shook his head and Rags stood, staring at him. She felt crushed, though it was one word. She felt small and worthless. Greydath looked at her and she was a child, looking up at him.

“Why?”

“You are too young. Too small. Too weak.”

He stooped, bending down to look at her, a kindly Goblin who had brought down empires.

“But most of all? You are not enough.”

“Enough?”

“You do not crush others with who you are. That is all.”

Rags did not understand and Greydath saw it. He turned and raised his sword. His voice echoed across the lake. He swung his blade and there was a tearing sound, a howl. Goblins threw themselves flat. Across the lake, the waters parted, cut by something Rags could not see. They flowed together and Greydath roared.

“Overwhelming! Goblin Lords define themselves by their overwhelming talent! In combat, with sword or axe or bow or magic! With their minds, or hearts! Goblin Lords must stand above all others!”

He swung his weapon again and a tree fell. Hundreds of feet high, it tumbled into the waters. Greydath raised his sword and roared.

“A Goblin Lord rules over other Goblins! They are unmatched! I am the greatest of blades, the one who could not be defeated by force of arms! I am Greydath! And you would be a Lord? Equal to me?”

Rags couldn’t answer. The air grew tight around her throat and she gasped for air. Greydath laughed and turned away. She coughed, breathing in painfully.

“You. You are not enough, child Chieftain. Tremborag is not enough. He is old, lazy, fat on his arrogance. Garen Redfang is complacent in his strength. That is what I see. But I wonder, is the Goblin Lord truly as flawed as others claim?”

“Is he—he—”

Is he like you? Rags could barely breathe. Greydath laughed mockingly again.

“No. He is young. But he must be worthy of his position. But even if he is—I rode with the Goblin King. He is not my equal. And you are not worthy, child! Not yet. None of you are worthy to even remember the face of the Goblin King!”

Where had the kindly old grinning Goblin gone? Greydath swung his sword again and this time Rags felt a hammer drive her flat into the ground. He’d struck her! With something—air?

She gasped and curled up into a ball, feeling flashes of pain. Now the other Goblins moved. Instinctively they tried to protect their Chieftain. One paused as he stepped in front of Greydath—the Goblin Lord swung his sword and the Hob flew through the air, crashing into others. Other Goblins surged forwards; Greydath sent them flying or crashing down with casual swings of his sword.

Overwhelming.

“Old one. Stop. Stop.”

Pyrite stumbled forwards. Greydath paused, sword raised.

“Brat.”

Deferentially, Pyrite bowed his head to Greydath as Rags uncurled, gasping.

“Too far. You are too much.”

“I am.”

There was no apology in Greydath’s tone. He turned.

“I am going, young Pyrite. Going to see what the Goblin Lord is. Your Chieftain is too small, yet. She may be something if she grows, may be not. I will not wait.”

He began to walk away. Rags croaked a word, and then she scrabbled after him. She grabbed Greydath’s foot as he walked away, ignoring the mud that clung to her body. He stopped and stared down at her.

“Why?”

Rags could only say that word. But what she meant was why everything? Why was he in hiding? Why did Pyrite know him? Why had he not—not—

Why had he not led his people as they died? Greydath bent down. His voice was low as he met Rags’ eyes for the first time. She saw sorrow in the depths of his crimson gaze. Sorrow, a burning hatred that had lasted for ages, and something else. Regret?

“Because I cannot be King.”

Then he lifted Rags up by one hand and casually tossed her aside. Rags tumbled through the air and landed poorly on the ground. The other Goblins backed away as Greydath strode through the destroyed camp, out of the forest and into the distance. When Rags picked herself up, he was gone.

—-

The Goblin Lord had been here all along. He had hidden himself, a legend from the past, among them. Poisonbite was almost out of her mind, gnawing at her hand, remembering every time she had been around the old Goblin. And he had stayed in Tremborag’s mountain for years! Why?

No one knew. But they had all seen him, all heard his words. Their Chieftain was not ready to become a Goblin Lord. That was natural, perhaps. But to see him and to see the small Goblin who’d picked herself up afterwards—

Overwhelming. That was the word that defined Goblin Lords. So Greydath had said. Overwhelming. He had been unmatched in battle. The Humans who had decimated Rags’ careful strategies had broken themselves on his blade. And now he was gone.

The Goblins longed to follow him. Noears was sitting, pale and quiet by the fire. Redscar was staring at his sword, as if he suddenly realized he’d been playing with sticks all his life. The other Goblins were the same. They would have followed his back, abandoned their tribe without a second’s thought if he’d but asked. But—

He was like a ghost, like Rags had sensed. He had a physical presence, but no mental connection to the tribe. He had been a Goblin Lord once, yes, but he was not one now.

“Not yet.”

It was Noears who said it first. The other Goblins looked at him. He nodded to Rags. She was sitting where Greydath had tossed her, staring at the ground. He looked around.

“Not yet. Maybe not ever?”

Would that be a bad thing? A Goblin Lord was rare. And yet…Noears was staring at the place where Greydath had stood. His hands were trembling.

“Another tribe could be. Could be—”

A Goblin Lord. The thought made all of them shudder with fear and longing. The Goblin Lord to the south was not worthy, but everything in their natures cried out for one. A Goblin Lord, and a Goblin King. If Rags could not be one, then—

“No.”

A voice spoke. Noears spun. Pyrite stood over them, rubbing at his newly-healed chest. He shook his head.

“Not go. Chieftain is young. Small. But not unworthy.”

His voice gave the other Goblins pause. Yet in the face of what they’d seen—one of Tremborag’s former Hobs raised his voice, speaking in a wheedling, obsequious tone.

“Chieftain is young, yes. But you are strong. One of Greydath’s students? Could be Chieftain?”

The other Goblins held their breaths. He was suggesting treason. Pyrite stared blankly at the Hob, and then raised his hand. He made a fist and punched at the Hob’s head.

The other Hob was a warrior, and a good one. He raised his arm, yelping denials. He was going to block. So Pyrite changed the angle and arc of his punch mid-blow. He casually walloped the other Hob in the head without missing a beat. The sound was heavy and satisfying, but the blow itself made all the other Goblins gape. Across the camp, several Redfang Warriors sat up with interest. Redfang stared at Pyrite, impressed.

“Good punch.”

Pyrite shrugged as the other Hob toppled over. Redfang stared at the fallen Hob and narrowed his eyes.

“Greybeard—Greydath teach you anything?”

The big Hob paused. He shrugged impassively, not a flicker of emotion crossing his face. He was either simple as he seemed or—the other Goblins recalled Greybeard’s false persona—a truly magnificent actor. Pyrite scratched at his belly as he replied to Redfang.

“Teach some. Some. Important things, not important things. Some.”

The other Goblins looked at each other.

“How much?”

Pyrite shrugged again.

“Not much. Old things. Stories. But I left mountain long ago. Made own tribe. Long past.”

He flicked his hand and no one bought it for a second. Poisonbite narrowed her eyes.

“Rags beat your tribe.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Lots of arrows. Can’t dodge good. Plus—Garen Redfang. Good not to fight, I think.”

Pyrite steadily returned her gaze. He turned and bowed his head.

“Chieftain.”

Rags stood behind the Hob, small, looking pale. The other Goblins hesitated a second before getting to their feet. And she saw it. Rags stared at Pyrite, and then at the other Goblins.

“Not yet.”

She said the words bitterly. None of the other Goblins could look her in the eye. Save for Pyrite. He nodded and moved on.

“Chieftain, Humans are coming back. What to do?”

She blinked at him. The listening Goblins blinked at him. But Pyrite just waited, patiently as ever, for Rags’ orders.

The small Goblin hesitated. She scuffed at the ground.

“Should run.”

“Humans hunt.”

Pyrite pointed that out and she glared at him. Rags opened her mouth to tell him fighting was impossible, that Greydath had been the only one who could fight! Then her eyes caught something at Pyrite’s side. She stared.

“Broken axe.”

He blinked and looked down. The axe Rags had given him—her first gift to any of her followers after the raid with Tremborag—had broken. He lifted it and shrugged.

“Sorry.”

He handed it to her and Rags stared at the broken metal and wood. She looked around. The forest was full of trees. Tall ones. And yet, Greydath had toppled one in an instant. She stared at the fallen tree, and the Goblins saw something flicker across her face. The small Goblin was small. But then she smiled and she was a bit taller.

Their Chieftain turned to face the others and lifted the axe in her hands. She hefted it with a grunt and looked towards the trees.

“Get cutting. We do not run. We prepare.”

The Goblins looked at her and then at each other. Then they stood up. Pyrite spoke for all of them.

“Yes, Chieftain.”

—-

The next day, forty Rose Knights, Lady Bethal, and the Chevalier Thomast stopped in the same spot and saw the Goblins had not fled. If they had it wouldn’t have mattered; the Knights of the Petal were as adept at fighting on horseback as they were on foot. That they had to dismount to maneuver in the forest mattered not at all.

However, one thing had changed. Lady Bethal’s brows rose as she saw a few trees had been felled in the interior of the forest. And out of the wood the Goblins had built—

“A fortress.”

Thomast had healed from his wounds of yesterday, but still Bethal had refused to let him be first into combat. Should the Goblin with the greatsword appear again this time, he would be dealt with by others. The Rose Knights would surround the old Goblin and wear him down with numbers and magical artifacts instead. Only, it seemed that rather than send their champion out and base their strategy around him this time, the Goblins had been building.

A wall of wood, a mighty barricade from which Goblins could repel any attacking force. There were four such walls, each one twenty feet in height, forming a box amid the trees. There the Goblins had decided to make their stand, in their fortress of wood amid mud and snow. It was a worthy place to be besieged from. Bethal could spot more Goblins behind the walls, ready to hold it for as long as it took. She sighed and shook her head.

“How ingenious. They did that in one day? I would say it is commendable—but I won’t. Thomast? Destroy the walls.”

Her Chevalier nodded. Reluctantly, Bethal thought. Even after he’d been nearly killed—her heart beat faster in fury. He was too kind. He nodded at one of the Rose Knights standing next to him. The Goblins watched, curious. They had heavy shields on their walls and barriers made of thick wood. They were probably confident they could withstand however many arrows the Rose Knights had brought.

One of the Knights of the Petal who looked less bulky than the others raised a staff in their pink, gauntleted hands and pointed it towards the walls. He spoke a single word, pointed. One of the Goblins on the walls with no ears shouted an alarm—

Too late. The [Grand Fireball] spell shot through the forest and burst across the walls. Goblins screamed and disappeared into an inferno and the flash and smoke blinded everyone for a second. When it was over, a huge hole had opened up in the thick walls and thousands of Goblins were suddenly afforded a spectacular view of the Rose Knights. And vice versa.

“[Knights] can be [Mage Knights] too, little Goblins. Advance!”

Bethal’s voice snapped and the Rose Knights charged once more. They raced towards the Goblins who met them with a roar. Only, now they were boxed in, trapped by the fortress they had worked so hard to design! The Rose Knights charged towards them, intent on holding them in place and capitalizing on this mistake.

—-

The ruse lasted until the first pink knight was nearly upon her Goblins. Rags, sitting on one of the back walls, gave the order. She raised her hand and Pyrite pointed. Goblins hidden behind one of the huge trees saw the signal and pushed.

Goblins and trees. Of course, they’d cut a few down to build this stupid little fort, but they’d spent the rest of that time carefully, carefully sawing at the base of the trees, making sure they were still standing upright, but able to be pushed—

The first tree, an ancient guardian hundreds of years old, fell with a thundering crash upon the Rose Knights. They cried out, unprepared for a few thousand pounds of wood to hit them. Rags clenched her fist as two of the Knights went down, pinned by the branches. And one more had been directly hit! She shouted in celebration—

Until she saw the knight was still moving. Weakly, yes, but the impact had only dented their armor. Rags stared. The other Knights were lifting at the tree, trying to recover their comrade—

“Next tree.”

She pointed to Pyrite. He nodded and pointed to two more trees. The Hobs and Goblins hiding behind them heaved and down the trees went. It was hard to aim them of course, but it was fortunate the pink knights were such a colorful target.

One huge tree was aimed straight at Lady Bethal. She blinked at it. Ten of her Rose Knights roared as they leapt towards the tree. They braced themselves and caught the tree as it fell towards them. Rags gaped.

“More trees!”

Four more trees were toppled, but the Rose Knights were retreating out of the forest now. Two of their comrades lay on the ground—unconscious or dead, it was hard to tell. Some of the other Rose Knights had dented armor.

It was a paltry victory in Rags’ mind, but the Goblins around her cheered wildly to see the invincible Humans retreat. And without Greybeard! She could see them staring at her, and sat a bit straighter.

Overwhelming. She knew she was weak as a warrior, but her mind? Rags narrowed her eyes. What would the Human [Lady] do next? Burn the forest down? Attack from afar? Rags had prepared herself for everything, but she was still not ready for what Lady Bethal did next.

—-

“That little minx.”

Bethal narrowed her eyes as she stared at the downed trees and eyed the Goblin fortress. She couldn’t spot the Goblin Chieftain this time; if she had, she might have had her shot from afar, never mind Thomast’s objections.

One of her Rose Knights who’d survived having a tree dropped on him saluted her. His helmet was dented and he was unsteady, but his voice was clear and worried.

“Milady, they are attempting to surround our position.”

He pointed to the Goblins as they streamed slowly out of the forest. Did they have another plan or was this a feint? Were the two of her [Knights] alive? Bethal’s heart ached and her head hurt trying to figure out what might happen next.

“Sir Kerrig, it seems we’ve been caught off-guard. What do you propose we do? If the Goblins can take out two of my Knights of the Petal, is it worth risking more of your lives?”

He bowed, fearless, wobbling only a bit as he straightened.

“My Lady Bethal, we do not fear death when valor awaits! Only give the word and we will slay the leader of these Goblins. With your permission, we can retreat you to a defensible location while a core of us strike at the Goblin Chieftain. If we kill her, the rest of the Goblins will lose their command—”

“No.”

Bethal said it suddenly and decisively. Sir Kerrig and the other Rose Knights stared at her. He wavered.

“Milady?”

Lady Bethal looked at the two Knights pinned underneath the tree, thought of the old Goblin, and looked at the Chevalier Thomast. Her voice held a note of complaint in it as she addressed her husband.

“Thomast, I’m not in the mood to hunt Goblins any longer. Let’s go home.”

He blinked at her. Bethal stared back. Thomast turned.

“Sound the retreat.”

The Goblins wavered when they heard the horn call and saw the line of pink knights moving backwards in tight formation. Rags frowned as she saw Lady Bethal unhook one of her earrings—she’d worn earrings to a battlefield—and lightly touch the gem. She began speaking into the gemstone, and part of what she said drifted through the wind and was picked up by Rags’ keen ears. And the ears of the rest of the Goblins.

“Magnolia? It’s me. Yes, Bethal. I’m not hunting the Goblins anymore. What? No, I see them. They’re right in front of me. But I’m giving up. Okay? Wait—stop shouting!”

There was a pause as Bethal listened to someone on the other end. Rags’ jaw dropped slowly. Bethal’s voice rose, indignant.

“I lost two of my Rose Knights. Two! You said they’d be easy to—no, don’t shout at me! There were unforeseen circumstances that—how many were killed? A few hundred…maybe a thousand. Yes, there are lots more. No, I’m not doing it! There’s too much risk and I don’t feel like it. Yes, I don’t feel like it. I’m going back to my estate. Send a carriage to—hello? Hello?”

She threw the earring to the ground and stomped on it. Thomast bent to pick the earring up from the frosted ground. Bethal tossed her head angrily.

“The nerve of that woman! I was about to tell her about that old Goblin—not that he was that much of a threat. You underestimated him, Thomast.”

“I did not.”

She stomped her foot.

“Yes you did! I keep telling you not to and you do! You could have beaten him—”

“He reminds me of an old story.”

“Hm?”

Thomast straightened, cleaning the earring with a handkerchief one of the Rose Knights offered him. He watched the unmoving Goblins over Bethal’s shoulder as he spoke.

“During the Second Antinium War, there were mighty Goblin Lords. Each known for their abilities in some way or another. One was known as the greatest warrior, someone whose skill at arms let him cut the air itself, a Goblin who could match any [Blademaster], any [Sword Dancer] or [Duelist]. He was called Greydath, I think. Greydath of Blades. That old Goblin reminded me of him.”

Bethal stared at her consort for a second and then burst out laughing. She patted his arm lightly, chuckling and wiping tears from her eyes.

“Don’t be silly, Thomast. The Goblin Lords all died out. They fell when their King did, or led their armies into oblivion shortly thereafter. He’s just an old Goblin. A veteran of the Goblin Wars, perhaps. You are prone to your silliness, aren’t you?”

“My apologies, milady.”

He bowed to her and she pouted.

“Call me ‘my dear’, or ‘wife’, or Bethal. Oh, Thomast, I’m feeling invigorated after all that fighting. I don’t know how I’ll explain the loss of two of my Rose Knights to Magnolia or their families. Comfort me?”

She clung to him. Thomast shook his head.

“Not here.”

She sighed.

“Prudish. Do be a dear and find us a nice deserted house so we can be alone. Or a tent. Or a bush. Or we can just find some grass and order everyone to look away.”

He smiled and lifted her into his arms as the other Knights of the Petal coughed or looked away. Slowly, Thomast turned and, still carrying Lady Bethal, he began to march with the other knights into the distance. It was as if the Goblins had completely been forgotten by all of them.

Chivalry, valor, passion, and dignit—and virtu—and nobility. Such were the aspects that governed Lady Bethal and her house. The Rose Knights marched away as the Lady of House Walchaís let her husband carry her off into the distance. The Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe watched them go in silence. Rags closed her mouth after a while and looked around.

Blood and death remained. The scars of battle were fresh in the memories of the Goblins; they had burnt their dead out of respect. And there were fallen on Bethal’s side. Yet the lady turned away. And there was something admirable about that as insane as she clearly was. She lived for her whims. And there it was. Valor, passion, pride—it was something like that.

Rags scratched her head. Goblin Lords and [Ladies]. Pink knights. She really wished Erin were here to explain things to her.

—-

“House Walchaís? Um…they’re one of the larger houses in Izril. They’re not one of the Five Families, obviously, but they came soon after the original noble families did and they can trace their roots back to Terandria.”

Lyonette paused and looked up. She was scrubbing the bar with Erin, a rare moment when the two of them could chat. She frowned, her forehead wrinkling as she tried to answer Erin’s question precisely.

“They’re mad as loons, all of them. They’re the kind of nobility who love to go on quests, and who train [Knights] and duel people over insults. From what I can remember…Lady Bethal Walchaís is the current scion of the house. She married a famous [Duelist] after eloping with him and then came back to establish her own branch of [Knights] and take control of her family. She’s arrogant, prickly, and her husband has killed twelve people in duels of honor.”

Erin blinked as she raised her wet dust rag and scrubbed at a stain.

“Whoa. That’s a lot. I think. Is it? No—twelve people? That’s a lot.”

“And those are just the ones killed, remember. Lady Bethal has many friends, but many more enemies.”

Lyonette grimaced and took a drink of cold water before wiping away a bead of sweat. Now it was coming back to her, all the little squabbles and ever-shifting networks of names and political alliances. She smiled as she recalled something Erin might like.

“She’s also known for her flights of passion. Did you know she once bought five hundred prime horses to establish her own horse breeding industry? Only, within a month she’d gotten bored so she fenced off twenty thousand acres of land and let them roam wild. They kept repopulating until there were so many that her lands became famous for exporting war stallions anyways.”

“Whoa. Hey, how do you know all of this? Do you know these Wal—Wallchase people personally?”

The [Princess] turned [Barmaid] rolled her eyes and laughed.

“Erin, I was a [Princess] who took part in the politics of the realm. I have to remember all of it. Only, I was a bad student so my tutors always despaired. I suppose memorizing orders as a [Barmaid] helped my memory. But why do you want to know about House Walchaís anyways? Do you have an issue with them or know them somehow?”

Erin opened her mouth and frowned.

“You know what? I have no idea. Oh. Right! I didn’t mean to say Walchaís, I meant to say Welch’s juice. You know—grape juice? Oh right, you don’t know. Anyways, they make grape juice. I wish I had some.”

Lyonette stared at her. Erin stared back and then raised her hands.

“Right! Back to work!”

They went back to cleaning the tables. After a while, Lyonette raised her head.

“I wonder if there are any vineyards around here. Terandria has a lot, but do Drakes or Gnolls raise grapes? Do they even grow in this climate?”

Erin frowned.

“Good question.”

They stared at each other and shrugged. The Goblins were downstairs, sleeping off a food coma, the inn was quiet, and for the moment there was tenuous peace. After a while, Mrsha rolled across the floor, chewing on a magic wand.

It was a relief to have a peaceful day in the inn. Especially after all the trouble with the Goblins they’d had. And all the trouble they were about to have. Erin shook her head.

“I sort of wish I was with Rags right now. I bet she’s keeping nice and quiet, you know, keeping her head down while all this Goblin Lord business sorts herself out? She’s smart.”

She tapped her head. Lyonette nodded obligingly.

Mrsha sneezed.

4.40 L

Beneath Liscor, the war continued. It was a quiet war, one that the Drakes and Gnolls living above were unaware of. It had gone on for years; it could rightly be called a war of attrition, although neither side truly viewed it as such. How could a war of attrition take place when both sides were functionally inexhaustible?

The Hive of the Free Antinium versus the monsters of Liscor’s dungeon. Both groups were able to reproduce at speeds that allowed them to continually clash with one another. The monsters in Liscor’s dungeon were numerous and had established vast nests within the dungeon. The groups that continually assailed the Antinium Hive were a drop in an ocean of bodies. So long as they were not purged in their homes, they would keep coming.

On the other end, the Antinium were adept at repopulating themselves. They had developed it into a science, such that they could weather any number of losses with few issues. After all, so long as their Prognugator and more importantly, Queen survived, what were the deaths of a few hundred Soldiers that died to stop a group of Flesh Worms, or the Workers who perished each day rebuilding their tunnels and fortifications?

Neither side cared. Not the Queen and certainly not the monsters. But if anyone had bothered to ask the Workers and Soldiers, they would have said…

Nothing. Soldiers did not speak and Workers had few opinions of their own. They were born loyal to their Hive and fought and died in service to it. What was despair to a being that had been alive for hours? New Soldiers hurried to the front lines, fighting monsters with the fluids of their creation still wet on their carapaces. They were faceless, voiceless. And alone. There was no one to champion them.

In a section of tunnels adjacent to the dungeon, a group of Soldiers struggled alone. They fought desperately against an equal number of enchanted suits of armor. These metal guardians were the equals of Soldiers; incredibly tough and difficult to kill, they cut down the Antinium one by one as the Soldiers hurled themselves desperately against their foe. The newly born Soldiers fell back, desperate. Fighting. Dying.

And yet they fought on. Because if they fled, who would fight? The Soldiers ignored the wounds on their bodies, and yet despair crept into their limbs, weighing them down. They cried out, silently, without a voice to speak, without words or knowledge of what they wished for. They needed someone to give them hope, to give them a reason to fight. Someone, something they could believe in. In their darkest moments the knowledge of their Hive was not enough. They needed—

One of the suits of armor bashed a Soldier down with a mace. It strode forwards, red light leaking through the slits in its visor as the enchanted guardians approached. A Soldier raised a broken arm as the other three battered the armor of its foe futilely. He knew he was going to die and the knowledge was bitter and cold. But then he heard a different sound.

Click.

It was thunderous, collective, a sound made of many parts. A hundred mandibles snapped together. The enchanted armor paused, and the Soldier heard it again.

Click.

This time the echo was louder, and there was a drumming noise, the sound of heavy footfalls. The Soldier stumbled backwards through the tunnel and saw something running towards him.

A foe? No. Another Antinium. But this one was different from the Soldiers and Workers, the faceless multitudes. It was…bigger? Bigger, yes, a bit. But what set this Antinium apart was the color. The young Soldier with the broken arm stared.

Yellow splatters of paint covered the Soldier who ran down the tunnel towards the enchanted suits of armor. They turned, weapons covered with green Antinium blood. The mace-wielding armor turned towards the Soldier, weapon ready. It swung and the young Soldier tried to look away rather than see this new Soldier cut down—

The mace struck the Soldier with yellow splatters on one raised forearm. The chitin cracked under the force of the mighty blow, but unlike the other Antinium who had broken from the crushing impact, this Soldier’s body was tougher. Two of his arms shot out, pinning the arms of the enchanted suit of armor. The other two began to pound it, making the ancient steel ring with the impacts.

The other Soldiers stared. The enchanted suits of armor abandoned their foes to help their comrade, but now more Soldiers were streaming through the tunnels. The Soldier with the broken arm stared. These Antinium were like the one who had charged into battle. They were all painted, all colorful! One had a star on its forehead, another a rainbow of droplets all over its body, like rain.

They were all unique, all—all different. And as they charged down the corridor, the young Soldier saw an Antinium holding a strange, object that released plumes of sweet smoke every time he shook it. The Worker pulled the Soldier with the broken arm out of the battle, shielding them as the colorful Soldiers charged ahead. And the young Soldier now had an image, a name for what he had cried out for in his last moments.

He stared at the Soldier with yellow splatters as he pointed and the other Soldiers charged ahead. Yes, that was what he’d wanted. Someone to lead them, to show them—hope. He had no words for what he felt, for what the other Soldier was. But if he had heard the word, he would have agreed with it immediately. The other Antinium were different, braver, more certain, and they fought for something rather than because they had been told. They were unique. They were hope.

They were heroes.

—-

Yellow Splatters ran down the tunnel, his legs pumping as his arms rose. He didn’t feel the cracked chitin on his arm. He was alight with battle fury. And each second he ran was another second, another life he could have saved. He charged into the backs of the second group of monsters on the front lines and caught a suit of armor with a two-armed lariat. He flung the hundreds of pounds of armor to the ground and began stomping on the metal guardian, ignoring the other suits of armor as they turned towards him.

Enchanted armor this time. At least they didn’t seem to be accompanied by any other types of monsters. Yellow Splatters had learned to dread monsters working in tandem with each other. At least the enchanted suits of armor were few in number.

But deadly. This corridor was filled with the bodies of Soldiers and Workers alike. Yellow Splatters had arrived too late. He gave vent to his fury as the other suits of armor assailed him. They cut at his body, struck him with metal fists and tried to bear him down. But Yellow Splatters refused to fall. He couldn’t.

He was a [Sergeant]. The Soldier felt another part of his outer layer of chitin crack as something struck him in the shoulder. But the blade that cut into his side, the fist that smashed him in the side of the head, none of those blows could fell him. He had a Skill. [Tough Carapace].

One Skill, but it made so much of a difference. And another—Yellow Splatters turned and his fist sent a metal suit of armor flying with a dent in the chest plate.

[Power Strike]. The other suits of armor closed in, fearless. Yellow Splatters raised his arms to guard his body and saw one of the suits of armor disappear. A Soldier had crashed into it with a running tackle. This Soldier had white wings painted on his back and he rolled around on the ground, bashing the armor’s helmet in.

The other Soldiers had arrived. Yellow Splatters abandoned his guard and leapt into the attack again. He and another Soldier tore the arms off a suit of armor, and then he found himself bashing at another suit with the arm he’d ripped off. And then?

It was all over. At least, for now. Yellow Splatters rose, breathing heavily, and heard a voice.

“Sergeant Yellow Splatters, we are ordered to take Tunnel E4J!”

He turned and saw a smaller Antinium standing at the back of the group of Soldiers. Pawn, censer in hand, was bending over a wounded Soldier. Yellow Splatters rose and immediately pointed. The Soldiers under his command—forty of them—raced down the tunnel.

War. That was what he fought. Yellow Splatters slammed into another group of monsters—large maggots that spat acid at him, and then found himself fighting a horrific moth that was so large it had to crawl down the tunnel. The Face-Eater moth, one of the large insects that the dungeon housed, ripped off a Soldier’s arm and buried its mandibles in another before it died.

Both had been marked. After the giant moth was dead, Yellow Splatters stood over the dead Soldier. His body had been shredded, but Yellow Splatters could remember what had been drawn on his chest. A white circle with a question mark drawn on the inside. In black paint. Yellow Splatters didn’t know what it meant, but that wasn’t important. It had defined that Soldier.

And now he was dead. The symbol would be redrawn on the walls of the barracks. He would be remembered so long as the walls and the Soldiers living within remained—but the Soldier was dead.

In the aftermath of the battle, as the remaining monsters retreated back to the dungeon or were finished off, Yellow Splatters found Pawn again. The Worker was standing with two other Workers, both of whom were poring over maps of the Hive’s tunnels. These maps were a new thing; all Antinium knew the layout of the Hive through the collective mental link they shared, and their Queen knew all, so what would be the purpose of maps? But these two Antinium were [Strategists], and they had insisted on the need to make them.

Belgrade and Anand, the two coordinators of the Hive’s defenses, were speaking with Pawn as Yellow Splatters waited to be given orders. The fact that they were Workers and he was a Soldier was important; they could talk and he could not. Thus, they gave orders to the Soldiers, and Yellow Splatters, the highest-level and only leader among the Soldiers was often tasked with implementing commands.

He led the Individual Soldiers, the ones who had distinguished themselves with paint and begun to level within the Hive. They were a small unit assigned to Pawn, but they were growing and they had distinguished themselves in battle, holding ground and defeating monsters with far fewer casualties than regular Soldiers and Workers.

But the casualties did occur. Each day, there was usually one death. On bad days, there were more. And of late—Yellow Splatters ached inside, remembering the deaths. Holding the dungeon against the influx of monsters who attacked regularly was difficult, but it had been harder of late as well. In fact, the Workers were discussing that very issue now.

“We have held the tunnels nearest the lowest southeastern breach into the dungeon. Casualties were…minimal given the attack. I regret that my static defenses were overwhelmed. Thankfully Anand had already redirected your division, Pawn. And there have been no other attacks today.”

Belgrade was pointing to a map. Yellow Splatters knew he was pointing to the location he had just been in. He stared at Belgrade.

It was a new idea, to think of each Antinium as separate. A few weeks ago Yellow Splatters would not have been able to understand the concept. But now he did, and he had already begun to appreciate the difference between Belgrade and Anand. Both had taken over for Klbkch and the Queen in leading the defense of the Hive, usually from the dungeon attacks. And both had different styles.

Belgrade was a fan of fixed formations, of chokepoints and static groups of Soldiers who would hold a particular tunnel while he reinforced areas at risk at need. By contrast, Anand seldom kept Soldiers and Workers under his command in one place. He preferred to send roving strike forces out to attack monsters, usually choosing to ambush them or attack from all sides with superior numbers.

Apparently, that preference for strategy was derived from the games of chess both played, and Yellow Splatters understood that Anand was considered the better player—and [Tactician]—of the two.

He agreed. Yellow Splatters had developed opinions in the time since he had become [Sergeant], and one of his opinions was that Belgrade’s method of defending was too costly. If a powerful monster—like one of the giant Face-Eater Moths, or a Crypt Worm—attacked, regular Soldiers would be quickly killed. By contrast, luring the enemy and setting up tactically advantageous situations was infinitely better and saved lives.

That wasn’t to say that Yellow Splatters didn’t appreciate the need for Belgrade—he was efficient at intercepting smaller monsters or ones that tried to dig into the Hive. But wherever possible, Yellow Splatters would prefer Anand to lead. And that was often the case when both [Tacticians] were on duty and neither one was injured.

So why had today’s battle seen Belgrade take the lead? Two tunnels had been overrun by monsters, two tunnels that were practically entering into the dungeon. They were not the usual areas of conflict.

“It seems like the radius at which monsters will begin to attack each other is indeed around four thousand paces from the dungeon’s outer walls. As you said, Anand.”

Belgrade turned to the other Worker, who nodded. Anand’s voice was different from Belgrade’s. While both had the same body, Anand spoke more confidently to the softer voice Belgrade had.

“Indeed. Holding these areas—”

He touched on four spots on the map, each one indicating an entrance from the dungeon into the Hive through a collapsed wall or open breach in the dungeon.

“—is far more costly than if we pulled back. Redirecting the monsters into kill zones where they become aware of each other and reduce their numbers is the most expedient strategy.”

Precisely put. Yellow Splatters shifted from one foot to another. His upper right arm—the one he’d used to block a mace earlier—was dripping blood from between the cracks. Since it was the only wound he’d taken and very minor, he ignored it and the pain. He waited, trying to understand why no one was listening to Anand’s sensible advice. Why were they so close to the dungeon, taking casualties? Was this Belgrade’s idea? It was foolish. Stupid.

Wrong. Yellow Splatters thought the word deliberately, although he couldn’t speak it. Belgrade nodded.

“I think it will be difficult to hold this area. But of course, we must. For now, I recommend doubling the Soldiers guarding each entrance, and keeping Colored Antinium in reserve. Pawn, how many of your Soldiers can you spare?”

Pawn hesitated and glanced at Yellow Splatters for the first time. The [Sergeant] willed Pawn to give the correct answer.

Colored Antinium. That was what the two [Tacticians] had begun calling the Soldiers with paint. As if they were…different. And they were. They were elite warriors, in a Hive where there had been only uniformity before. They were few, though. And growing fewer. It was hard to show a Soldier what it meant to be Individual, and daily losses meant they were slowly losing more than they converted. Yellow Splatters thought on that often.

“…I can spare twenty, I think, Belgrade. I would like to rest the injured, and if I am not here to pray for the wounded, casualties seem to—”

Belgrade was already nodding his agreement. Neither he nor Anand ever really contradicted Pawn, except in matters of strategy. The sole [Acolyte] and first Worker to become Individual was deeply respected by all of the Antinium. Yellow Splatters considered Pawn a fine helper. But he was not a leader.

At least he had given a good number. Twenty. Yellow Splatters had a running tally of wounded Soldiers under his commands and the ones who were tired from battle. Twenty to be sent for active duty left a margin of around…sixty three for emergencies and tomorrow’s combat. Acceptable.

“Agreed, then. Send them here and I will keep them in reserve. No sense losing any if it can be avoided.”

Belgrade was speaking to the others. His words made Yellow Splatters…hurt. What he said was of course correct, but by preserving the lives of the valuable Individual Soldiers, he was sacrificing more regular Soldiers instead. To Yellow Splatters, any Soldier’s death was unacceptable. He had been a regular Soldier, once. Now he was a leader, the leader of Soldiers. He would save them all if he could.

And indeed, as the Workers turned they had to look up at him. Yellow Splatters was a Soldier and taller than Workers, but he was actually taller than other Soldiers as well. Just by an inch or two, and his body was a tiny bit larger, but it was noticeable given the uniformity of other Antinium. Pawn had speculated that it was a product of his leader class. Yellow Splatters felt it was a mark of rank.

“Sergeant Yellow Splatters, thank you for your efforts. I believe today’s wave will be all for the next four hours at least. The dungeon seems to influence monsters to attack at semi-predictable intervals…you may rest for now.”

Yellow Splatters nodded his head towards Anand, deliberately shifting his body so he wasn’t nodding at Belgrade. If the other Worker noticed it…no, he did not. He was still looking over the maps.

Holding the tunnels closest to the dungeon. Why? They should be fighting in the more distant tunnels and blocking these ones with dirt to slow the monsters as they burrowed to the Hive. Yellow Splatters fumed as he marched back with Pawn towards the other Soldiers. They were all waiting for him and all, save for their one fallen brother, relatively unharmed. There would be no need for the precious few healing potions that Pawn had been given by Klbkch.

“Yellow Splatters, let us return. I would like to speak with you in the barracks.”

Pawn deferentially let Yellow Splatters proceed in front of him. Yellow Splatters pointed, and the Soldiers formed up into a double line and marched out of the distant tunnels and back towards the heart of the Hive.

The [Sergeant] tried to grapple with his anger as he marched down the main tunnels, letting Workers move quickly out of his way. However, emotion was a rare feeling for him. It was practically unheard of among Soldiers. But Yellow Splatters had begun having opinions. Again, it was probably part of his class, but those opinions made him question things.

Things like his place, orders he’d been given, and certain things Pawn said. Of course, it was necessary for Soldiers to fight, and guarding the dungeon was essential to preserve the Hive. Yellow Splatters was loyal to his Queen, despite never having seen her. But orders that wasted lives, like the ones Belgrade had given and continued to give? Hold the entrances? Why? Yellow Splatters disagreed with those orders.

And sometimes, with Pawn. Yellow Splatters turned his body as he walked to look back at Pawn. The Worker was maintaining the censer he’d used, cleaning it of incense as he walked. He was important. He had given Yellow Splatter identity, promoted him to [Sergeant]. But he did not understand war and battle by his own admission. And yet, he commanded the Soldiers?

Was that wrong? Yellow Splatters turned forwards and noticed the staring. Soldiers and Workers alike had paused in their endless commute to stare at him and the other Colored Antinium. They usually did, but today Yellow Splatters sensed that most of the gazes were on him.

Because of his height. Of course. It was probably less than an inch—more like a few centimeters. In a crowd of Drakes, Gnolls, Humans, or any other race it would have been completely unnoticed. But among the Antinium it was like someone was shining a beacon on Yellow Splatters.

He stood tall as he marched towards his barracks. He was not proud; that was a foreign emotion to him when Pawn had explained it to him. Rather Yellow Splatters was dedicated. He fought enemies. He killed to save as many of his fellow Soldiers as possible. He mourned the deaths of his comrades and strove to level up further, to become stronger in order to save more. That was all that there was to live. All that was meaningful.

—-

The barracks of the Individual Soldiers had changed in several ways since Pawn had first wandered into it. It had been expanded and given several access points for convenience and a speedier connection to the front lines in the Hive. Space had also been cleared on one wall for a…mural of sorts.

Symbols decorated the wall, each with their own space, but each close enough so that it seemed they formed a pattern. The marks of fallen Soldiers rested there. Yellow Splatters looked up and saw patterns he recognized.

A paw print in white. Eight lines and a curvy wave. A golden quartet of stars. So many already. And a Soldier was already dipping his finger in white paint, drawing out the circle and question mark onto the wall.

It hurt. But Yellow Splatters embraced this pain. It was right that the wall be here, reminding the Soldiers of who they had lost, who they had sacrificed. This is why they fought. For the Hive, for the Queen, but for each other above all else.

A few more details of the changed barracks caught Yellow Splatters’ eye as he turned from the mural. There was now a storage area in the barracks, a place where a small crate of healing potions had been placed, a stockpile of bandages and other healing agents usually reserved for the most wounded of Antinium—

And in one corner, slightly dusty from lack of use, a pile of books. They had been Pawn’s latest addition to the barracks.

No one had touched them. Yellow Splatters stared at the books. He considered them a waste of space. He understood—vaguely—that these books had images in them and were meant to tell stories like the ones Pawn told to the Soldiers each night. However, what was the point?

Stories were fine for helping new Soldiers become Individual. But they were not practical, not useful for Soldiers who were already Individual. If a Soldier had realized his potential, it was more important to do other things.

Like train. Yellow Splatters strode over to a cleared area in the barracks where several Soldiers were already sparring. It was an unheard-of idea for Soldiers, but once Pawn had suggested the idea, Yellow Splatters had immediately seen it was one of the Worker’s good suggestions.

The Soldiers were fighting in pairs and sometimes in groups. It could be a duel between two Soldiers, but since battle was rarely that fair, sometimes there were as many as five Soldiers beating on one. Not hitting with full force of course; that would be too dangerous. But they swung fast and hard enough to sometimes crack chitin, dodging, punching, learning to fight more efficiently.

A Soldier approached as Yellow Splatters walked into the sparring area. He was a new Soldier, one with a pink stripe on either side of his face. Twin Stripes raised his four fists, each one a bludgeoning tool that could gouge, grab, or bludgeon as necessary. Yellow Splatters raised his own arms and the two Soldiers charged towards each other.

At first, Twin Stripes went to grab Yellow Splatters, but the [Sergeant] punched him back. Twin Stripes circled, lashing out with careful punches and keeping two arms back for a guard. Yellow Splatters ignored defense and went for a full-out assault. He—gently—hammered Twin Stripes, dominating his opponent. Despite that, Twin Stripes kept fighting, doggedly avoiding blows and blocking where he could until Yellow Splatters decided it was time to rest.

Exhausted, the new Soldier lowered his guard. The exchange of blows had been intense, and the carapace on his upper right arm and shoulder was slightly cracked. Nevertheless, he was ready for Yellow Splatters to continue.

Good! Yellow Splatters radiated approval and the other Soldiers sensed it. This is what was important. Not books, not stories—this was practical. Aside from rest and food, this was all a Soldier needed. Because the next battle would be upon them soon, and when it occurred, Yellow Splatters wanted his unit as prepared as they could be for it.

…Oddly, it seemed fewer of them were leveling up as fast as they used to be. Of course, higher levels meant they slowed down, but even Yellow Splatters was only a Level 12 [Sergeant]. The other Soldiers should be leveling faster, not slower.

He wondered why that was. Maybe the training was too light? But full-power blows were too dangerous. Well, at least the Soldiers were learning to fight in their off-time. Yellow Splatters beckoned to three Soldiers, wanting to increase the intensity of his sparring when he heard a voice.

“Sergeant?”

Pawn. Yellow Splatters paused and reluctantly turned. The Worker was waiting for him next to the pile of books. The Soldier trotted over and noticed Pawn carefully dusting the books off, arranging them to face the barracks. He stared at the books and then at the Worker, impatiently.

“I mourn the loss of one of our Soldiers. I prayed…but my prayers do not always work. Nevertheless, thank you for fighting as you did. Those Soldiers might have been slaughtered had you not charged in.”

The Worker looked up at Yellow Splatters and he nodded. Pawn always thanked Yellow Splatters and the other Soldiers after a battle. However, this time the Worker hesitated. He clicked his mandibles lightly together and made a weak clicking sound—the Antinium equivalent of clearing his throat.

“I wonder, though, if you are not becoming too brave, Yellow Splatters? It was a very risky maneuver you made. Brave, yes, and it did save lives, but it put you in great danger.”

The [Sergeant] stared at Pawn uncomprehendingly. Of course he had been in danger, charging ahead of the others. Shouldn’t he risk his life?

Pawn seemed to understand his point. He usually did. The Worker nodded his head, clutching the censer with one hand to his chest.

“It is important. I know. But I worry about you. If you should fall—”

The other Soldiers would lose their leader. Yellow Splatters understood at last. That would weaken them, possibly leading to more casualties. Already, he was able to influence his unit as a whole in small ways, like leading a charge with his Skills and so on. He readjusted his view of his usefulness in combat. He was a leader and care was important. Still, Yellow Splatters couldn’t fault his actions. Saving a Soldier’s life was paramount.

Pawn seemed to agree, because he dropped that line of conversation. He looked to the books again and opened his mandibles, then hesitated.

“I ah—notice you have put yourself on combat duty every day for the last two weeks.”

Yellow Splatters nodded. Pawn reached out and touched at Yellow Splatter’s arms. The blood had stopped, but Yellow Splatters had broken chitin on multiple places on his carapace. Pawn looked distressed.

“It is important to have a [Sergeant], but it is not necessary that you fight every battle, Yellow Splatters. You need rest.”

Not yet. The Soldier stood tall, disregarding this suggestion from Pawn. Once he had agonized over everything Pawn said; now he recognized the Worker spoke out of ignorance at times. Misplaced worry and concern for his wellbeing, true, but ignorance all the same. He had to fight, to keep fighting. The battle was all that mattered. So long as his people were dying, he had to fight.

If Pawn understood that, he didn’t show it. Rather, he looked down at the censer and then up at Yellow Splatters.

“I believe you need rest. Or rather, a different kind of rest in addition to your regular sleep, Yellow Splatters.”

Sergeant. Yellow Splatters had no eyes to narrow, but he stared hard at Pawn. What did he mean?

“I am assigning you to tonight’s surface patrol, Yellow Splatters.”

The Soldier recoiled. A surface patrol? That was…ludicrous. He didn’t need to go above!

Above was different from below. Below was real combat, dangerous fighting. Whereas above…Yellow Splatters could remember the joy of first seeing the sun, of walking around and staring at the strange Drakes and Gnolls and people and buildings and…everything! But that enjoyment had become a distant memory. Now he only cared for what really mattered, which was doing his duty.

He wasn’t some new Soldier who needed to become Individual. But Pawn clearly disagreed. He rested a hand on Yellow Splatter’s arm, speaking softly.

“Some food and different scenery will help, or so I believe. And I would like you to meet the Soldier in charge of leading the patrols aboveground. I am considering making him the next [Sergeant].”

That got Yellow Splatter’s attention. He stepped back, letting Pawn’s hand fall off his arm. Another [Sergeant]? Yellow Splatters would be only too willing to see another leader to help protect the Soldiers, but who? Of course he shared the barracks with all the Individual Soldiers, but he was not familiar with the one Pawn mentioned. He had not gone aboveground since he had been promoted.

“The Antinium in question is named Purple Smile. I believe he is taking some Soldiers and new Individuals up in a few minutes. Over there.”

Pawn pointed, and Yellow Splatters saw a group of Soldiers gathering to go to the surface. Among them was Twin Stripes. Yellow Splatters strode over, cutting the rest of what Pawn was saying off and saw the Soldier in charge standing by one of the exits to the barracks.

He was a Soldier. And in that, he was like the others. Only, this Soldier struck Yellow Splatters as somewhat odd instantly. He had paint markings on his body of course, but instead of putting them on his arms, legs, chest, or back, he’d put them on his face.

In fact, he’d carefully painted a purple ring around both of his insectile eyes, and drawn what looked like a smile across his mandibles and lower face. The effect was well, horrific if you weren’t another Antinium. But it was a smile on his face, and his posture wasn’t the military-straightness of most Soldiers either. He leaned against the dirt wall. Since Antinium had problems bending backwards—their carapaces got in the way—he was doing a crazy tilt with his body, leaning his head back against the wall.

It looked ridiculous to Yellow Splatters. However, Purple Smile seemed to be enjoying the activity, and two other Soldiers had already tried to copy him. Yellow Splatters marched over and Purple Smile propelled himself off the wall. He nodded and Yellow Splatters nodded back.

The Soldiers had nothing as elaborate as hand signals. In battle, Yellow Splatters could direct other Soldiers with his mind to a limited degree, which is why pointing is all he needed to do. By contrast Purple Smile pointed, waggled his fingers, and walked them in mimicry of what they were supposed to be doing already. He led the way out of the Antinium Hive at a relaxed, slow pace.

Yellow Splatters already disliked him. And he could not understand why this Soldier of all Soldiers was being considered for a [Sergeant] position!

They went above. Yellow Splatters strode out onto the cobblestone street, not pausing to stare up at the sun or around at the city like all the new Soldiers were doing. Even the ones who’d been above once or twice, like Twin Stripes, were staring.

Purple Smile let them do it. In fact, he kept staring up at a cloud so long that Yellow Splatters had to click his mandibles to get him to move. At last, the other Soldier led them down the street, towards the western gates and the inn that was their regular starting point for each patrol.

It was a mark of the trust Liscor had in the Antinium that a patrol could now be led by one of the Soldiers and not by Pawn himself. Yellow Splatters marched, staring directly at Purple Smile as he meandered down the street. Of course, non-Antinium still got out of the way for their patrol, but Yellow Splatters appreciated that.

What bothered him was the clear awe the other Soldiers held their surroundings in. Every now and then Purple Smile would let them stop to stare at a passing Drake, or at a brick wall, or—or a patch of melting snow!

It hurt to see Soldiers like Twin Stripes, who were pathetically grateful to see the sky, who stared upwards with awe. It hurt because Yellow Splatters understood how mundane the sky was. These other people, the Drakes who passed by on the other side of the street, the Gnolls who sniffed the air and sneezed as they passed by, they saw the sky every day! But most Soldiers would die without this smallest of privileges.

Yellow Splatters snapped his mandibles together irritably and Purple Smile turned to look at him curiously. Pointedly, Yellow Splatters looked ahead and Purple Smile reluctantly picked up the pace.

At last, they marched out of the city and through the wet snow to the inn. There Purple Smile knocked on the door. It was some time before it opened, and when it did, he heard muffled voices and a lot of shuffling sounds.

“Hi, hi! Sorry for the delay!”

The door opened and Erin Solstice opened it, smiling widely. Yellow Splatters stared at her, and saw Purple Smiles open and raise his mandibles in a smile. Erin peered at him and then smiled back.

“Hey, it’s you! Scary-purple-smile-guy! How’s it been? You’re here for food, right? Where’s Pawn? Not with you this time? Well, come on in and—”

She opened the door wider and Yellow Splatters froze. Inside the inn were monsters.

Goblins. Five of them, sitting around a table, eating. They froze when they saw the Antinium. One reached for a sword until another grabbed his arm. Yellow Splatters was quicker, though. He raised his fists and the Soldiers around him stared. Belatedly, copying his example, they raised theirs. Erin’s eyes went round and wide.

“Wait, what are you doing?”

The Goblins in the inn reacted to the threat. They surged upwards, pushing their chairs back and now all of them did draw their weapons. Immediately Yellow Splatters and the other Soldiers tensed up, grouping together, getting ready to rush in.

Goblins! Yellow Splatters buzzed with anticipation. So, there was real fighting to be had above, was there? He hadn’t ever met this kind of Goblin before—they were far larger than the pallid, small Goblins who sometimes rushed the tunnels, but he’d take them down anyways. He began to charge when a set of four hands grabbed him.

Purple Smile yanked Yellow Splatters back and barred the way into the inn. He pointed at the Goblins and shook his head, to the surprise of all the Soldiers. Meanwhile, Erin was yelping, waving her hands and saying the same thing.

“Don’t attack! They’re friendly! I thought Pawn told you—these are good Goblins, okay? There’s no need to fight! Does anyone read the sign?”

Erin looked exasperatedly towards Purple Smile. He raised an authoritative hand and Yellow Splatters realized that Pawn had said something of the kind, only he’d walked away too fast to hear. Slowly, reluctantly, he lowered his fists and the other Soldiers copied him.

“That’s the first time I’ve had to—who’s the big guy? Wait, we’ve met, haven’t we?”

The [Innkeeper] stared at Yellow Splatters curiously. He returned the look for a second and then glanced at Purple Smile. The Goblins sat down cautiously and Purple Smile walked into the room as if nothing was the matter. Warily, Yellow Splatters followed.

The other Soldiers entered the inn, sitting at a group of tables far away from the Goblins, staring at them curiously. Those who’d been to the inn before were clearly eager for food. Yellow Splatters sat in a seat with a good view of the Goblins—just in case—and focused his attention on the young woman rushing in and out of the kitchen, calling for help.

“Sorry, sorry! I was feeding Mrsha—oh! The Antinium are here! I’ll be right with you all with your orders!”

Lyonette rushed downstairs, smiling as soon as she saw the Antinium. She seemed to know Purple Smile too, and waved to him as he hurried into the kitchen. Yellow Splatters continued staring at Erin every time she came out.

He couldn’t understand why Pawn held Erin in such high regard. He had taken Yellow Splatters to see Erin, and told him about how he had become Individual thanks to her. And yes, Yellow Splatters acknowledged she was willing to cook for the Antinium and had taught Pawn to play chess. What of it? Could she help save Soldiers’ lives?

Her soup could. But the food that was placed in front of the Antinium wasn’t the enchanted mixture they sometimes ate before battle. Rather, it was a scramble of eggs, bacon, and cheese, a hot bowl of filling food. It was ideal since Antinium couldn’t handle gluten. And it was also useless.

Useless. Yellow Splatters felt his innards gurgling as he stared at the food and inhaled its aroma. He wanted to eat it, and yet something stayed his hand. Purple Smile was already munching down his food with gusto, as were the rest of the Soldiers, but the longer Yellow Splatters stared at his bowl, the angrier he got.

It was hard to explain. Yes, the food smelled wonderful. However, Yellow Splatters couldn’t focus on it. His thoughts were below, with the Soldiers whom Belgrade had assigned to the dungeon’s entrance. How could he eat while they were suffering? There were Soldiers dying in the Hive right now. Soldiers who would never taste this food. And here he was being served this—while his people might never have such luxuries!

Yellow Splatters didn’t know what he was doing until he was on his feet. Erin had paused as she was coming out with hot honey milk for all the Soldiers. Yellow Splatters lifted his bowl. Deliberately, staring at her the entire time, he overturned it, letting the hot food fall to the floor.

Erin blinked. The Soldiers sitting around Yellow Splatters froze. He folded both sets of arms, looking around challengingly. The Goblins had paused in eating and they were poking each other and staring at him, muttering. But Yellow Splatters didn’t care about that.

He looked at the other Soldiers. They were free to eat if they wished, but Yellow Splatters wouldn’t waste the Hive’s resources purchasing food when there were more important things to do. He received enough nutrition from the food in the Hive. This patrol aboveground, paying for food, eating with monsters—it was all pointless!

The other Soldiers stared at him, and then at Purple Smile. The Soldier had paused when Yellow Splatter overturned his bowl. He looked at the splatter of food on the ground and bent. He scooped up the fallen eggs and cheese and bacon and slopped a handful into his bowl.

“Oh don’t do that—I can make more. If you don’t like it, I can uh—what’s the matter?”

Erin raised her hands, looking uncertainly at Yellow Splatters. But then the other Soldiers moved. As one, all except for Purple Smile, they pushed back their bowls and stood up. Yellow Splatters saw Twin Stripes hesitate before pushing back his bowl of eggs, untouched.

“What?”

Erin stared around, and Lyonette poked her head out of the kitchen, disbelieving. Purple Smile stared around in silence, and then clicked his mandibles together softly and got up without a word. Yellow Splatters looked around the inn, at Erin, at the Goblins, and then turned.

The Antinium left the inn as one. They marched quickly back into the city and into the Hive. Once there, they began to train. Or rather, Yellow Splatters did and the others followed his example. Yellow Splatters worked his arms and legs, trading blows, pushing himself harder. Pawn wasn’t there—probably thinking he’d be out of the city for several hours.

Yellow Splatters didn’t mind the patrol with Purple Stripes after an hour of sparring and then eating brown paste at one of the mess halls. He felt good about the entire affair, actually. He had established what should be done and the other Soldiers had followed his example. Hopefully, now they’d stop going above altogether and they could focus on what was really important.

Fighting. Fighting in order to save lives. Compared to that, eating, seeing the sky…it was all pointless.

—-

“You did what?”

It was perhaps the first time Pawn had ever raised his voice when speaking to a Soldier. He stood in front of Yellow Splatters, his mandibles opened wide and lowered in disbelief. Yellow Splatters looked ahead, waiting for Pawn to finish talking.

“The patrol is what Soldiers look forward to each day! The food was already paid for—why waste it?”

Yellow Splatters didn’t bother trying to explain to Pawn. He was a Worker. That was becoming more obvious. He glanced towards the pile of unread books and then away. Yellow Splatters turned.

“Sergeant! I am not done speaking with you—”

But he was done listening. The Soldier marched back to the sparring area and raised his four fists. The other Soldiers stared at him uncertainly, looking back towards Pawn. Yellow Splatters ignored them and gestured.

They’d have to expand the fighting area soon. It was too confined to allow more than a fifth of the barracks to practice at once. Too, they needed a larger barracks. More Soldiers should become Individual. Yes, a lot more. Pawn could take them on patrols to the surface rather than waste time here.

Yellow Splatters looked around for a partner since none were coming to him. He spotted a familiar Soldier, punching weakly with another one in a corner of the sparring area. Twin Stripes wavered as Yellow Splatters approached, but he put his fists up and tried to spar.

This time Yellow Splatters made Twin Stripes go on the offensive, blocking blows, thrusting aside weak punches. He put force behind his blocks, making Twin Stripes work hard for every hit he landed. He kept the spar going until someone thrust himself between the two Soldiers.

Pawn again. The Worker pushed Twin Stripes back since Yellow Splatters wouldn’t move. He clicked his mandibles together repeatedly, looking angrily at the [Sergeant].

“Enough. He is exhausted.”

The Soldier looked towards Twin Stripes. Yes, he was wavering on his feet. So what? That was the point. Soldiers had to fight when they were tired. Sparring like this was the only way to level up, to become stronger. He tried to push past Pawn, but the Worker barred his way.

“I said, enough! I am your leader—I order you to stop, Yellow Splatters!”

Yellow Splatters stared at Pawn. Then he carefully put one of his spade-like hands out and pushed the Worker out of the way.

The barracks, never loud to begin with, went completely silent. Every Soldier stared at Yellow Spatters and at Pawn, frozen where they stood. They stared at Pawn. The Worker seemed as stunned as the others. He looked to Yellow Splatters. The Soldier turned his back on the Worker and raised his fists.

Every Soldier in the room stared to their [Sergeant], and then to Pawn. They hesitated. They looked back and forth, and then, silently, chose. They turned their backs on Pawn, looking to Yellow Splatters instead. He smiled, and turned to Twin Stripes. The other Soldier was looking at Pawn, but he jerked back towards Yellow Splatters. He too raised his fist and Yellow Splatters beckoned. He lashed out and Twin Stripes dodged back wearily.

Helplessly, Pawn stood, watching the other Soldiers. Now they were all sparring, all carefully not looking at him. He looked around, but none of the other Antinium would meet his gaze. Guiltily, they looked away and followed their leader, Yellow Splatters. He smiled as he continued to spar.

Yes, this was how it should be. Pawn was a…Worker in the end. He had his role, but that was only to assist the Soldiers. They were doing the important job. Fight, train, and die. Fight to make sure the other Soldiers would live longer.

Wasn’t that all that mattered? Yellow Splatters looked into Twin Stripe’s multifaceted eyes and saw his reflection looking back. Yes. It was the only thing that mattered.

—-

The inn had never been so quiet, never been as empty as these last few days. Lyonette sat at one of the tables, cleaning up bowls of food, barely touched. She poured some lukewarm eggs from one bowl into another and paused.

“It’s so much. We can’t waste this, can we?”

“Dunno.”

Drassi shrugged, looking concerned. She had arrived a few minutes ago to help with what should have been the evening rush. Instead, she was helping clean up from the Antinium after they had left abruptly. Lyonette had no idea what had happened there, only that it had something to do with that strange Antinium with the yellow splashes on his body.

“I know the Antinium have eaten some of it, but it seems a shame to waste. Couldn’t we…feed it to someone? Give it away somehow? I mean…”

She didn’t really want to eat food the Antinium had been nibbling on, but it did feel like a shame. Drassi paused and eyed the table.

“What if we scooped it all up and found some pigs to give it to? There’s at least one [Farmer] around here who keeps pigs. Or goats. We could give it to them. I know this old Drake who raises these huge pigs that taste really great—I could ask him if you want. I don’t think the pigs will mind the bacon, I mean, they eat everything and I mean everything.”

“That’s a good idea, Drassi!”

Lyonette smiled. The talkative Drake [Barmaid] grinned at her and emptied another bowl into a larger container. Then she froze and her scales turned pale as she looked up. Lyonette turned her head and froze.

A Goblin stood in front of their table. He was just standing there, but the Hobgoblin was taller than either Drake or Human, and both their eyes were drawn to the sword hanging at his belt. He was wearing pants and a belt—awkwardly, but that didn’t disguise his Goblin features, only emphasize them.

“Uh—uh—”

Drassi trembled and took a step back. Lyonette made herself stand taller and smile at the Hobgoblin, although her heart was pounding.

“Hi there. Headscratcher, isn’t it? Can I help you?”

The Goblin nodded. Gingerly, Headscratcher pointed to the bowls of eggs and mimed eating them. Lyonette blinked.

“What, you want them? Don’t you mind that they’ve been eaten?”

Headscratcher shook his head. Lyonette traded glances with Drassi.

“Okay then—uh, let us bring them over.”

She waited until Headscratcher retreated to the table where the five Goblins were sitting. They were already eating a pile of greasy bacon—and several loaves of buttered bread, but Lyonette knew their appetites were endless. She turned to Drassi and the Drake gave her a pleading look.

“Lyonette, I—”

“You just collect the bowls here, and I’ll bring them over, okay?”

The Drake gave her a pathetic look of gratitude. Lyonette hurried over to the table. The Goblins cleared a space and the one called Badarrow grunted in what might have been thanks. He was definitely the grumpy Goblin of the five. Not that Lyonette had gotten to know them that well; they kept to themselves.

They kept eating, and Lyonette finished putting the last bowl on their table. She retreated to finish cleaning up with Drassi. Both [Barmaids] got out rags and soapy water and began to scrub, chattering amongst themselves.

“That scared me. I mean, I’ve been here two days with them and I know they’re…okay. But I just come in and—”

“I know.”

Lyonette sighed as she looked back towards the Goblins. She caught one of them—Numbtongue—looking at her and both Goblin and Human quickly glanced away. Lyonette grimaced.

The Goblins. Of all Erin’s ideas, and she had had many good ones, crazy ones, and extraordinarily bad ones, this might be the worst. Not that Lyonette didn’t have sympathy or understand why she’d done it. It was just that the consequence of her actions had really sunk in by now.

The inn was deserted. No one had come in today, from Celum or Liscor save for the two adventuring groups staying here. Added to that, the one employee who came by—Ishkr still hadn’t returned after Brunkr’s death—was scared stiff of the Goblins. If it came to that, so was Lyonette.

How could she not be? They were Goblins, no, not just Goblins, but Hobgoblins, the terror of little children’s dreams! You heard stories of Hobs sneaking into houses to kidnap children, and the way they could kill Silver-rank adventurers. It was all very well for them to sit around and just eat, but every time Lyonette saw their crimson eyes or caught them staring at her, she felt afraid.

And she never knew what they were thinking, either. The Goblins rarely spoke, just poked each other and grunted. And if they did speak, it was in their own guttural language. She couldn’t tell if they hated her, if they liked what was going on or anything. Whenever they came out of the cellar Lyonette felt like she was walking on eggshells.

Drassi clearly felt the same way. She was chattering, as usual. And whenever Drassi was upset, she chattered more than usual. Lyonette had gotten used to it and tried to tune most of it out.

“It’s just, I mean, I’m cool with Gnolls. Grew up around them my whole life, dated two—not that fun, let me tell you. Gnolls get so serious when you’re in a relationship, talking about the tribe, never wanting to just have a fling—and they’re furry. Hair everywhere, especially in beds. Scales I can handle, but hair? I don’t know how you Humans stand it. But then, you don’t have much hair, do you? But Gnolls…and the Antinium are fine. I don’t see them much. Klbkch has been around ever since I was young, so I’m totally used to him—”

“Mhm.”

“And Humans? Hah, totally cool. Okay, every year there are drills and alarms when the Humans send an army to the Blood Fields and we’re not supposed to like them and ancient history and all that but, Ancestors, at least they’re fun to party with! That door to Celum is great—and the plays! I liked them, I really did, although a bunch of my friends hated the Juliet and Romeo one. You know, because of interspecies relationships? I dunno, I don’t mind, do you?”

“Yeah.”

“Exactly! So Goblins. Totally get what Erin’s saying. I think. No killing Goblins. They don’t kill us, we don’t kill them. Easy. Except for the Goblin Lord. And Goblins who steal. That’s a problem. But I wish they’d talk, you know? Raise their voices? It’d be better than scaring my scales off—I might go bald! At my age! If they just said something—”

Too late, Lyonette realized where Drassi was going and saw a Goblin moving. One stood up from his table and Drassi shut up quick. She backed up and Lyonette stepped in front of her. The Goblin who was walking towards them was…Numbtongue. She smiled at him, remembering where Erin had told her all of Octavia’s alchemy weapons were hidden.

“Hi, sorry about that. Drassi was just talking.”

“Hm.”

He narrowed his eyes are her. Lyonette could feel Drassi shaking. She smiled, and then, amazingly, Numbtongue grunted and spoke.

“No offense. Clarify. To Drake. Why Goblins not speak.”

She gaped at him. Behind him, Drassi had frozen.

“You can speak?”

Numbtongue gave her an exasperated look and nodded. The other four Goblins were leaning out from their table, peering at his back. They looked away as Lyonette’s eyes slid towards them. Numbtongue grumbled a bit, and then looked at Drassi. He narrowed his eyes at her and spoke again.

“Goblins can speak. Speak all kinds of word. And can hear. Can listen. Don’t speak because we don’t need. Understand?”

The Drake quivered and nodded repeatedly.

“Y-yes! I totally understand! You’re good? That’s good! I’m glad everyone’s good! Please don’t get mad! I was only—”

Drassi shrank back against the wall, serving platter clutched in front of her like a shield. Numbtongue looked at her, snorted, and then stomped away. Lyonette wavered between going after him and comforting Drassi. She chose the latter.

“Don’t worry! He was just trying to—to well, explain, I guess. Goblins can speak, they just don’t want to. And they can hear us, okay?”

“Got it! Got it. I was just—I was talking and I didn’t mean—”

“I’m sure they’re not offended.”

Lyonette peeked at the Goblins. Badarrow rolled his eyes and shook his head. Shorthilt looked up, halfway through inhaling a rash of bacon, and waved a hand. Drassi relaxed a bit.

“Okay.”

“But why don’t we talk about something else instead? Or not talk?”

“I can do that, I think. Not talk. I did that for an entire day once, on a dare. Selys bet me two silver coins I couldn’t do it, and it was worth it seeing her face. And I don’t talk all the time, I just like to talk, you know? Who doesn’t talk to people? It’s better to talk than not talk is what I say, which is why I thought about being a [Receptionist], but Selys said that if I applied she’d quit, so I decided—”

Smiling, Lyonette rolled her eyes and turned around. She frowned as she saw a flash of white by the stairs.

“Mrsha?”

Every head downstairs turned. The Gnoll cub froze as she crept downstairs, the wand she’d stolen from Pisces in hand. Her eyes went wide as she saw the Goblins looking at her. She looked to Lyonette.

“It’s okay. They’re just eating. Sorry—”

Lyonette looked at the Goblins and they turned back to their food. Erin had explained to the Goblins that Mrsha was afraid of them, although they hadn’t brought up the details of Goblins actually slaughtering her tribe. Lyonette approached the stairwell, holding her hands out. Mrsha was trembling as she stared at the Goblins’ backs.

“Mrsha, honey—”

The Gnoll looked at her, made a hissing sound, and fled back upstairs. Lyonette nearly went after them, until she heard Erin’s voice.

“Okay, I am done making bread! I’ve made enough bread for an entire month, so if we need it—bread’s done! Whew!”

She emerged from the kitchen in a small cloud of flour, dusting her hands. Erin had been cooking a lot in order to keep up with the Goblins’ appetites. She spotted the Goblins and waked over to them, smiling carefully.

“Heeeeeey.”

They looked up at her warily. Erin paused a few feet from their table and raised her voice. She was trying a bit too hard to be friendly, Lyonette thought.

“How are you guys doing? Good? Sorry about the Antinium. Don’t know what was up with that. You liking the food?”

They nodded. Erin stared at them.

“How’s the bacon? Good? Anyone want more?”

They nodded, and then shook their heads. Lyonette stared at Numbtongue, but he didn’t seem inclined to say anything. Erin hesitated. Clearly she would have preferred conversation.

“You’re cool? I mean, you don’t want more food?”

The Goblins nodded. Erin stared helplessly at them.

“Okay, then. Let me know if you need…anything.”

They did not. And when they were done eating, they got up, went to use the outhouse, and then opened the cellar door and went into the basement without a word. Lyonette collected the bowls and utensils. They’d been licked clean.

“I guess you can wash these if you want.”

She suggested that to Drassi. The Drake nodded, and then looked anxious.

“Lyonette, look…I haven’t been doing much, and there’s not a lot for me to do right now. Are you sure I should be here? I can work less time if you think—”

Lyonette forced herself to smile at Drassi reassuringly.

“What, and rob you of your pay? Don’t worry about it. Erin tells me we have a lot of money, and I don’t want to wash all these dishes.”

“Still, wiping a few tables and washing dishes isn’t exactly a lot, you know?”

She had a point. Lyonette thought and replied carefully.

“If you want to take care of the Horns of Hammerad and Halfseekers when they come by, I could use a break. How about that?”

Drassi beamed in relief.

“Oh, yes, thanks! I can’t just go back and not do anything; I’d feel like a total sponge, just like Wessa! Have I told you about her? Dreadful. She’s got no class—or classes! I think she’s what, a Level 2 [Laborer]? She sponges money off of everyone. Now, I try to talk to her, but she never listens. Do you know what she told Selys one time? Selys nearly decked her for saying it. Okay it was—”

Lyonette listened to her for a few more minutes, nodding mechanically, and then excused herself to go into the kitchen while Drassi wiped the Goblin’s table down. Erin was sitting in the kitchen, in front of about forty loafs of pristine bread. Lyonette stared at the bread pile and then looked at Erin.

“Everything…okay, Erin?”

“Yes. No.”

Erin stared at the bread she’d baked all day, looking glum. She turned towards Lyonette.

“No. It’s the Goblins.”

“What…precisely about them?”

The [Innkeeper] sighed.

“I don’t know if they like it here, Lyonette. I don’t know if I’m talking with them or if it’s all pointless, you know?”

“I think I do.”

Erin nodded, ticking off problems on her floury fingers.

“They don’t like chess, other games, talking, or hanging around upstairs, Lyonette. I guess I can’t blame them, since no one likes them. And no one will come here until they’re gone, which I know might not be a bad thing, but if they go now—”

“You want to be friends with them first?”

Lyonette rested her backside on the counter. Erin looked at her, shrugged, tried to laugh, and gave up.

“Not that. I don’t need to be friends with them, but I want them to understand me. I want to understand them, just a bit. Or—or I want them to leave and know how I feel about them. I’m just trying to tell them—I don’t know.”

Erin sighed, her shoulders slumping. She looked at Lyonette, worry in her eyes.

“If they disappear in the middle of the night Lyonette, or decide to try and find Rags or—or do anything, I think they’ll be killed. Zevara’s watching the inn—I can feel it. And I’m not sure the Halfseekers wouldn’t follow them either. And if they got around all of them, if they go back north—the Goblin Lord’s soldiers will kill them, right? They’re the enemy tribe.”

“Maybe. But they’re used to living alone, aren’t they? Don’t you think they’d prefer to find their own people?”

Carefully, Lyonette peeked at Erin. The young woman sighed.

“Probably. It’s just that I don’t think they know where Rags is. And…they’re lost, Lyonette. Lost. That’s what I get from them. I want to help them a bit. And I just don’t know if I can, or if they’re willing. I can’t understand them.”

“I think they understand more than they let on.”

“Yeah. Probably. But even if they do, that’s not the same as connecting with us, as liking us or—or getting to really know us.”

“Mm. Maybe they don’t want to. Have you thought about that?”

Erin looked up. Her gaze firmed a bit as she met Lyonette’s eyes.

“I have. And I don’t believe that. Rags wanted to know. I think these Goblins are just—afraid.”

Afraid? Only Erin would characterize them that way. Lyonette sat with her, not knowing what else to say.

“They’ll have to do something sometime. They’re already starting to eat less.”

“Yeah. I think it’ll end soon, one way or the other. Thanks for putting up with this, Lyonette. I know Mrsha’s…”

“Yes.”

Mrsha. She refused to eat downstairs anymore, and she had grown increasingly agitated as days went by. She refused to play with Lyonette, refused to give back Pisces’ wand—not that he’d tried hard to recover it—and Lyonette knew she was growing more upset. She might have tried to get Selys or Krshia to look after her, but Mrsha refused to go. She refused to leave and she refused to go anywhere near the Goblins.

Both girls were silent for a moment, and then Erin looked up.

“Thank you for all the help, Lyonette. Can you bear with it for a while longer? I think it won’t be long.”

“I can, don’t worry about me.”

“Thank you.”

Lyonette smiled. And she was telling the truth. But as she left Erin to sit by herself in the kitchen, she thought that she wasn’t the one Erin needed to be worried about. The inn had been empty for days, Drassi was afraid, Mrsha wouldn’t go downstairs or interact with Lyonette, and the Goblins were growing restless.

The Horns of Hammerad and Halfseekers barely came back except to eat and sleep, and sometimes not to eat. And the Antinium had been acting very odd lately. Especially the one who’d refused to eat his food. If they all started refusing to eat at Erin’s inn, how long could it stay open with almost no revenue?

Yes, she wasn’t the one Erin should be worried about. It was everyone else.

—-

Night fell. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t work to do. Yellow Spatters knew the dungeon sent monsters to attack be it day or night, so he took the first rotation on the front lines. They had been pushed up right to the dungeon’s entrance, so he took nineteen Soldiers, including Twin Stripes, to be on alert.

They clashed with monsters twice, both times smashing the enemy—a wave of Shield Spiders and then giant centipedes—into pulp. Yellow Splatters kept the Soldiers at their post for four hours, and then brought them back to the barracks.

He was tired now, but he still had enough energy, so Yellow Splatters began to spar with the Soldiers on the night rotation. Train, train! He wanted to get to Level 13 today or tomorrow. He was so engrossed in his mock combat with the two Soldiers that he only noticed Twin Stripes when he walked into the sparring arena.

The new Antinium Soldier was battered from his day’s activities. The cracked chitin from Yellow Spatters’ blows, the fatigue of going above and then patrolling with the other Soldiers—he was clearly tired, but Yellow Spatters appreciated his willingness to spar. He stepped towards Twin Stripes, ready for a bout, when the other Antinium began to suddenly shudder.

Yellow Spatters stopped in surprise. Twin Stripes was trembling in place, in the center of the sparring area. He was shaking, bending to clutch at his antennae, backing up from Yellow Splatters. His mandibles clashed together wildly, and then his body convulsed.

His head lowered, and then it rose. All four of Twin Stripe’s hands clenched into fists, and as he looked up, towards Yellow Splatters, there was something different about his gaze. His mandibles opened as wide as they could, and a strangled, half-scream emerged from his mouth.

The Soldiers in the barracks froze. Soldiers didn’t speak! They couldn’t make real noises, but Twin Stripes—

There was madness in his gaze. No, not madness. Something worse. He trembled as he lurched towards Yellow Spatters, and the [Sergeant] Antinium realized with a cold chill what had happened.

Aberration. Twin Stripes had become an Aberration.

But how? He was Individual! He shouldn’t become—Soldiers almost never became—

It was too late for questions. Twin Stripes lunged at Yellow Spatters, hands reaching to tear him apart. He bit, his mandibles trying to pierce Yellow Splatters’ body, his fists pounding on the larger Antinium.

Other Soldiers rushed forwards, yanking Twin Stripes off Yellow Spatters. There were over a hundred in the barracks, but Twin Stripes fought with possessed strength, throwing Soldiers off him, battering the ones who tried to hold him down, all the while trying to attack Yellow Spatters.

In the end, Twin Stripes was contained, bars of iron bent and hammered into crude restraints to prevent him from attacking anyone. He still thrashed around on the ground though, staring at Yellow Splatters. With…hate in his eyes.

It was incomprehensible. Yellow Spatters lay where he had fallen, even when Pawn and Klbkch rushed into the barracks, demanding answers. He stared at Twin Stripes, as the Aberration gazed in fury at him and was taken to a holding cell. A holding cell that had to be constructed before he could be taken there.

Yellow Spatters lay on the ground, seeing Soldiers look at him, avoiding Pawn’s despairing gaze and sensing Purple Smile staring at him across the room. But all the while, he was looking at Twin Stripes, at the Soldier who had abandoned who he was. Why? For what reason? They were doing this for Soldiers like Twin Stripes. Everything Yellow Spatters had done—the war was still continuing. Why had Twin Stripes become Aberration?

He did not understand.

—-

Miles from where Yellow Spatters lay, far higher and aboveground, a young Gnoll was awake. Mrsha had not slept, though Lyonette was already wrapped up in her blankets in the room the two shared. No, Mrsha had been awake. Her nose twitched as she padded past Lyonette’s head, tail tucked between her legs. How could she sleep when there were monsters, killers, murderers in the same building?

She crept around in her room, her nose full of the smells of the Goblins slumbering below. She could smell them throughout the inn now, no matter how much she buried her face in the comforting smells of Lyonette’s pillow or opened the windows to let the cold air in.

Killers. Tribe murderers. Monsters. Mrsha could remember them streaming through the snow, cutting down her friends, family. The Stone Spears tribe, everyone—

Urksh.

The memories tore at Mrsha. Mrsha, the [Lone Survivor]. That knowledge weighed on her hardest of all. She sniffed, and knew the Goblins were sleeping. They were right below her, right below.

She prowled, and her teeth ground together as her claws clicked across the floor. The wand she’d stolen from Pisces was grasped awkwardly in her paw. Mrsha swung it again, but it didn’t do any magic.

They were here. And they would be in the inn, eating, laughing, living, while her tribe was dead. Not right. It was not right. Mrsha growled, and Lyonette stirred. The Gnoll quieted, but the feeling remained in the silence. She sat up as the night grew longer, her paw gripping the wand tightly, smelling the Goblins.

Hating, hating, hating.

4.41 L

Yellow Splatters woke up a few hours after dawn for his shift. He got up, ate the pinkish-brown paste he was served, and marched at the head of his unit of Soldiers to the front. Pawn was not there. Neither was Twin Stripes.

It felt wrong. And yet, this is what Yellow Splatters had wanted, wasn’t it? The thought threw the [Sergeant] as he set a quick pace down the tunnels. Yes. No. It was…different from what he’d wanted.

He hadn’t wanted Twin Stripes to become an Aberration, obviously. That was simply an anomaly, something Yellow Splatters couldn’t explain. Weakness, perhaps. As for Pawn, he just wanted the Worker to know his place. And that place was helping Soldiers, not—not running off!

“Ah. Yellow Splatters. You’re here.”

The Soldiers stopped and the thirty Soldiers he’d brought paused behind him. Anand, Belgrade, and Pawn were all standing around the command ‘table’, which was really just a folding table made of wood they could put a map on. Pawn met Yellow Splatters’ eyes as the Soldier approached, but said nothing. Yellow Splatters did his best to pretend he didn’t exist.

If Anand was aware of the situation he didn’t show it. The [Tactician] was rapidly giving out orders to Soldiers and Workers around him. The dungeon’s attacks weren’t exactly like clockwork—not that the Antinium were familiar with that concept anyways—but they could be predicted with a good deal of accuracy. And right now it was about to get dangerous.

“I’m already receiving reports of movement around two of the dungeon entrances. I want to be ready when they hit. Yellow Splatters, divide your command into three equal groups for today. I will be using them to strike targets of opportunity while you engage the most dangerous foes that appear.”

Yellow Splatters snapped to attention and turned. He gestured, and the Soldiers moved with mechanical precision. Gone was his indecisiveness of earlier, his worries. This was what he was made to do. War. It was so simple.

Anand nodded in approval and immediately sent Yellow Splatters towards the nearest signs of monster activity. The other two groups were assigned to Pawn and a Soldier as Yellow Splatters left. He didn’t like Pawn being in charge, but there was no time to dwell on it.

The monsters were coming.

—-

Trivipers, a group of armed Raskghar and Cave Goblins, a small horde of Shield Spiders and worst of all, a Bagrhaven. The monsters seemed unusually agitated today, or perhaps there were just more of them than usual. Yellow Splatters didn’t care. His group of ten Painted Soldiers smashed into each new threat, sometimes accompanied by other Soldiers, sometimes not.

It didn’t matter. They won each time. Yellow Splatters fought as hard as he could, relishing the simple brutality of it. He didn’t have to think when he was in combat. Actually, he did—but it wasn’t about difficult things.

Like Twin Stripes. Or Pawn. Yellow Splatters couldn’t get his mind off them, no matter how hard he tried. It wasn’t his fault that Twin Stripes had become an Aberration! No. No it wasn’t. Twin Stripes had…done something wrong. Or maybe he was wrong from the start. But Yellow Splatters had shown him what to do, what was right and he’d become an Aberration on his own. That was all there was to it.

The Soldiers under Yellow Splatters’ command retreated after slaying the Bagrhaven, their carapaces damaged by her long claws. Personally, Yellow Splatters thought they could fight longer, but Anand had given them the order to pull back.

The [Tactician] was leading the fighting around all three dungeon entrances today. Belgrade was giving no orders, which both puzzled and relieved Yellow Splatters. He would have been happy if the Workers had left everything to Anand, but distressingly, they were still holding the ground around all three entrances, far closer to the dungeon than made sense. Anand’s mobile strategy was far more difficult to employ in the few tunnels they were holding.

The [Sergeant] marched his unit back behind the lines of Soldiers and Workers flooding ahead to hold the breach and clear away monster and Antinium bodies, thinking hard. Was it because Anand was worried monsters might slip through into the rest of the Hive? Or was it Belgrade’s stupid ideas taking hold in him as well? He wasn’t sure, but he was angry. And he got angrier when he saw the stone.

In the tunnels where his unit had been pulled back to rest in was a sea of Workers, far more than usual for the front. Workers were poor combatants compared to Soldiers and usually only repaired tunnels or hauled away dead bodies. But these ones were here for a different reason. They were hauling blocks and chunks of stone towards the dirt tunnels, deconstructing walls, opening the area up. Yellow Splatters stared in disbelief.

What were they doing? They were removing the tunnels he normally fought in with his Soldiers—the area in which monsters would begin to attack each other if given the chance. And worse, they were using stones! Stones? Who used stones?

In the Hive, construction began and ended with dirt for the most part. The Antinium could pack dirt so tightly together and create support beams out of the stuff. Only rarely did they need to use wood, and stone they left alone unless they had to dig through it. It was too cumbersome to use and unnecessary since a group of Workers could excavate a tunnel or rebuild one in less than an hour.

But for some reason, stone had been ordered and here it was. And of course, one [Tactician] was supervising it all. Belgrade was overseeing whatever construction was going on here. Yellow Splatters stared at him with distrust and suspicion until he was ordered back to the front.

This time it was to stop a group of Crypt Lords that were rampaging forwards with a small army of zombies. It was a huge push, and Yellow Splatters arrived at a run to find that one group of the Colored Antinium was already fighting the undead with every Soldier and Worker in the area.

Purple Smile led a group of ten Painted Soldiers, smashing zombies down and stomping the corpses to bits. Yellow Splatters froze when he saw the other Antinium. Anand had put him in charge of the other soldiers? His soldiers? Why?

But there was no time to wonder. A Crypt Lord charged into a group of regular Soldiers, a gaping mouth spewing black poisonous blood everywhere. Yellow Splatters ran at the hulking monster and began tearing it apart with his Soldiers.

Advance, tear, punch, rend. Rip. The way Yellow Splatters fought was simple. He trusted to his [Tough Carapace] Skill and used his other abilities to inflict as much damage as possible. The Crypt Lord went down after knocking one of the Painted Soldiers into a wall and spitting black blood over the second.

Yellow Splatters immediately sent the Painted Soldier running back towards the command area for an antidote potion and turned to see how Purple Smile was doing. He was a Soldier, after all. That meant he had to be good at fighting, right?

To his outrage, Yellow Splatters saw that across the wide tunnel, Purple Smile was running away. The Colored Antinium had all of his Soldiers in full retreat as two Crypt Lords lurched towards them. Why was he running? They had to hold this place! Yellow Splatters ran forwards as the Antinium withdrew. He only froze when he heard a voice shouting at him.

“Sergeant! Hold!”

It was Anand’s voice. The [Tactician] had come to the front himself. The Antinium had fallen back as the Crypt Lords moved further into the tunnel. The zombies were nearly all destroyed, and as Yellow Splatters watched, he saw Purple Smile and his Soldiers moving around the Crypt Lords, flanking them from behind. Anand raised his hand and bellowed an order.

“Charge! [Decisive Blows]! [Evasive Tactics]!”

The two Skills immediately took effect and Yellow Splatters charged into the first Crypt Lord. Every time he swung into the rotting undead’s flesh he felt like he was punching as hard as he could. And when the giant monster swiped at him, Yellow Splatters and the Antinium around him were forewarned and already moving out of the way.

The battle ended with both undead torn to pieces. Not a single Soldier or Worker had been hurt or even wounded. Yellow Splatters looked at Anand with appreciation. This was real tactics! The Worker nodded at him and pointed back down the tunnel.

“Pull back your Soldiers for now, Yellow Splatters. I think the worst of it is over. We will discuss the after battle reports with Belgrade and Pawn.”

Yellow Splatters nodded and raised a hand. All twenty Soldiers in the tunnels fell in behind him. He felt proud, tired, but exhilarated with the combat. This was right! And none of his Soldiers had fallen in battle today. That proved he was doing the correct thing! His satisfaction lasted all of two seconds, until Anand turned to Purple Smile.

“Good work, Purple Smile. Your tactical decisions were most astute.”

The other Soldier nodded as Anand turned. Yellow Splatters turned to stare at him. His heart began to beat faster and his mandibles snapped together angrily. Purple Smile had done a good job?

What?

—-

“Work is proceeding smoothly. Today should be the end of it, unless I run into an unexpected situation.”

Belgrade was addressing the other two Workers at the table while Yellow Splatters stood at attention, fuming. Partly because he was being ignored, and partly because he had company. Purple Smile stood more or less at attention; he was slouching and rubbing at a cut in his armor with one hand. Yellow Splatters stared at him and clicked his mandibles together sharply and quickly until Purple Smile reluctantly straightened.

The other three Workers always discussed casualties, unexpected monsters and so on after each attack when they were together. It was sensible, but today Yellow Splatters didn’t want to be here, especially since no one would ask him his opinion. He was impatient and determined not to show it. Anand nodded to Belgrade as the first [Tactician] bent over the map.

“In that case, we will plan for the worst and assume another day of fighting. We are certainly able to keep the containment for another day at least. Casualties were higher, again, than usual, but thanks to the Colored Antinium we were never in any danger of being overrun.”

“Is that so?”

Pawn glanced at Yellow Splatters as the Soldier stood straighter. Anand nodded, glancing over to him. Then he looked at Purple Smile and lifted his mandibles.

“Yes. Actually, I was delighted to see how Purple Smile reacted today when the Crypt Lords attacked. Your group was efficient, Pawn, and Yellow Splatters subdued more threats than any other, but Purple Smile retreated when the Crypt Lords first attacked, choosing only to fight zombies and buying time for me to send reinforcements. Indeed, his defensive strategy may have saved more lives than if he’d attacked blindly.”

It felt as though Anand had taken a stick and jabbed Yellow Splatters in the insides. He stared at Purple Smile as the other Soldier lifted his own mandibles and waved with two hands at the Workers. Anand bowed slightly towards him, and Belgrade looked approving as well.

“That is fortunate. Indeed. No wonder you suggested he become a [Sergeant] as well, Pawn. I have witnessed Purple Smile’s efficiency in combat as well. He is not as powerful as Yellow Splatters of course, but his lateral thinking is very impressive. If I may compare it to chess…when I command Yellow Splatters I am reminded of a Rook. Direct, powerful, but limited in that sense. Whereas Purple Smile might be more like a Knight. Less useful in all situations, but able to maneuver around the enemy in many useful ways. In many ways, he fights like you, Anand.”

That last remark threw the [Sergeant] terribly. He had been getting angrier and angrier at Belgrade’s praise, until he’d heard that. Purple Smile? Like Anand?

Inconceivable. And yet—a part of Yellow Splatters pointed out that pulling back to strike a decisive blow later was a classic move Anand liked to use. Was he really as good as a [Tactician]? Purple Smile?

Yellow Splatters turned to look at the other Soldier. Purple Smile was trying to wipe a bit of liquid off his carapace with his hands. He didn’t even appear to be listening! Yellow Splatters’ mandibles ground together angrily.

No, he wasn’t like Anand at all. It was…different. Yes, it wasn’t right because Purple Smile was neither a [Sergeant] nor a [Tactician]! What right did he have to give orders like that, or make decisions on his own?

“Yes, it is useful to have different types of units at your disposal. Our Hive is sadly uniform, so it is difficult to respond to individual threats with specialized counters, as the other Hives seem to possess. Had I some Antinium in armor—or better, one of the Silent Antinium, I would feel far better able to eliminate threats with less casualties.”

The other Workers had kept chattering away as Yellow Splatters stewed. Anand sighed as he stood over the map, playing with one of the chess pieces he and Belgrade were using as markers. He lifted a rook and showed it to the others.

“The problem is that when we speak of units with self-preservation instincts, the autonomy to make their own decisions and so on…the chess analogy falls apart. While I appreciate the game, it really does not reflect the battle I have been through, Belgrade.”

The other Worker nodded hesitantly.

“And yet, Anand, it is still important because it teaches strategic thinking. Why else would so many [Tacticians] and [Strategists] play the game?”

“Because it makes one level. That is self-evident. My issue is that I do not understand why [Strategists] level because of the game.”

Anand frowned, the Antinium equivalent of lowering his mandibles and drawing them together slightly.

“I could understand a low-level [Tactician] benefiting from the game, but earning more than five or six levels seems incredibly suspect. That a high-level [Strategist] could level up by playing a game with set, finite rules that is so far removed from a real battle or war is…odd. I would almost suspect an error in the way we level.”

“An error in the way we level? That means an error in the world.”

Belgrade stared at Anand. The other [Tactician] merely shrugged.

“I only state what is apparent. Regardless, exploiting this benefit is useful to us and the Hive as a whole. Shall we play a game once you are done with your duties?”

“Yes. Pawn, would you like to join in?”

“Hm. I do not know. I have things I should be doing…but chess is a tempting offer.”

Pawn glanced hesitantly at Yellow Splatters. He tried not to shift from leg to leg in impatience. He wasn’t interested in chess at all. Why was he still here?

Someone apparently agreed with him. Purple Smile raised a hand and all four Antinium stared at him. When he was sure he had their attention, Purple Smile faced the Workers and pointed with two of his arms down the tunnel. With his other two arms, he mimed walking with his two spade-like hands. It was clumsy, but it got the message across.

“Oh, I apologize. We did not mean to keep you, Yellow Splatters, Purple Smile. You may go of course.”

Anand straightened, twitching his antennae apologetically at the two. Yellow Splatters stared in disbelief. He didn’t feel relieved to be dismissed. He was angry. Again.

Purple Smile had no right to—the effrontery of—why hadn’t Yellow Splatters—he stomped after Purple Smile as the other Soldier wandered off. Yellow Splatters pointed, and the other Soldiers hastily fell into a line behind him as he marched back to the barracks. All the while his mind was racing.

Purple Smile. Pawn. The Workers. They were all so, so…shortsighted! They didn’t appreciate Yellow Splatter’s opinions, didn’t care, didn’t ask—and Purple Smile was inferior to Yellow Splatters! He was the [Sergeant]! He knew what was best! He had done everything right. Soldiers had to fight. They didn’t retreat, they didn’t run—and yet, Purple Smile had been praised. He was being considered for [Sergeant] as well, as an equal to Yellow Splatters!

Unacceptable. Why? And why had Twin Stripes become Aberration? Why was he locked up? Was it his fault? Why did Pawn look at him like that? Why were they fighting near the entrance? Why did he feel like he was losing control? Yellow Splatters’ mind was confused. He marched, not seeing the Workers he nearly ran over, or the way his Soldiers hesitated as they followed him—the wrong way—through the Hive. He was too preoccupied, too caught up in his anger and frustration.

He did not understand.

—-

It was all going wrong. Lyonette had felt everything going south the last few days, but the final confirmation was seeing the Goblins smuggling some of their breakfast into the basement. That meant one thing. They were planning on leaving soon. And meanwhile, the tension in the inn was so thick that even a knife could bounce off it. She had to talk to Erin. Unfortunately, after an incident in the morning, that meant doing it as she slowly poured a healing potion over Erin’s feet.

“Ow, ow! It hurts! Do you have anything to get the shards out with, Lyonette? I can feel one stuck in my foot!”

Erin moaned and winced as she sat in a chair, her bare feet pointed towards Lyonette. Blood dripped onto the floor, but Lyonette could still see the shards of porcelain that had buried themselves in the sole of Erin’s foot.

“I see it, Erin. It’s big. I’ll try to get it out. Hold still.”

Lyonette had a handkerchief in one hand, a healing potion in the other. She gently tried to grasp the bit of pottery, but it was slippery with blood and she didn’t want to break it and leave it in Erin’s skin. Neither did she want to use the healing potion right away; that might mean flesh growing over the shards and that would be bad. Erin whimpered as Lyonette concentrated; Mrsha sat anxiously by the table, eyes wide, watching.

It had happened this morning. Someone had broken an empty cup on the ground in front of the trap door leading to the basement and sprinkled the shards around. The porcelain was sharp and would have cut the Goblin’s feet badly if they had stepped on it. Unfortunately or perhaps, fortunately, Erin had tried to go to the basement first and gotten several shards through the light soles of her shoes.

“Stop wiggling, Erin. If I slip—”

“I’m trying, but it hurts! Ow! Okay, do it.”

Erin gritted her teeth and stopped moving. Lyonette took a deep breath, then grabbed the largest shard with her handkerchief and pulled. It came loose with a horrible, tearing sensation and she saw Erin bite into her lip, drawing blood. Lyonette pulled the shard out and immediately poured healing potion on the spot. The wound closed and she saw Mrsha’s wide eyes going to the bloody shard.

“Do you think the Goblins did this?”

“No. There’s another piece—”

“I see it.”

Neither girl looked at Mrsha as they spoke. The Goblins had been the first to hear Erin scream, and Headscratcher had carried Erin to the table. They’d let Lyonette take over, and, because Mrsha was there, they were in the basement now. Lyonette could only imagine what they thought of all this.

She glanced at Mrsha and saw the Gnoll staring with wide eyes at the blood dripping to the floor. Lyonette felt her chest twist and saw Erin looking at the Gnoll as well. Both paused for a second, and then kept talking about the Goblins because that was easier, for the moment.

“I think they’re leaving, Erin. I saw, uh…Shorthilt hiding several biscuits in his pants when he was going downstairs. And Badarrow had several sausages—he wasn’t trying to hide it. They’re going, Erin.”

“Biscuits? But those pants aren’t large enough to—where were they hiding—never mind. Look, if they go…they go. But I’m going to have them upstairs and having fun today Lyonette, if it’s the last thing I do!”

Erin gritted her teeth as Lyonette’s fingers slipped on the second shard. Lyonette stared at the [Innkeeper].

“Why are you doing this, Erin? Really? Do you want them to stay? The Halfseekers haven’t eaten dinner here the last few nights, and no one’s coming in. We can’t keep doing this.”

“I know. I’m just—ahh! Just trying to get them to talk to me, Lyonette. If I can do that, I think it’ll be okay. I just want to talk to them, to understand them before they go. But it’s not happening no matter how hard I try.”

Erin closed her eyes as the second shard came out. Lyonette stared at it, pulled sliver out of Erin’s foot, and then healed the rest. Some of the color rushed back into Erin’s face and she got up very gingerly.

“Thanks, Lyonette.”

“Don’t mention it. Okay, look, talk to the Goblins. I’ll—clean up I guess—”

“I’ll do it!”

Drassi had been hovering by the two Human girls the entire time, wringing her claws and looking horrified. She had already swept up the other fragments. Lyonette nodded gratefully.

“Okay. You do that Drassi. Erin will serve the Goblins breakfast and I’ll—go upstairs with Mrsha and have a talk.”

Erin paused as she looked down at the white Gnoll sitting by her feet. Mrsha wasn’t looking at anyone and she was trembling slightly. She looked at Lyonette and nodded.

“Okay.”

She stepped gingerly towards the trap door, keeping an eye out for fragments as Lyonette washed her hands in a bucket of water and then looked at Mrsha.

“Come with me, young lady.”

The Gnoll flinched and followed Lyonette upstairs to their room. Once there, Lyonette sat, heart pounding, as Mrsha sat near her bed and pretended to be very interested in the covers.

How was she supposed to do this? She didn’t remember her mother ever sitting her down like this. Her father—his disapproval had been frightening, but he’d never really talked to her one-on-one before. And yet, Lyonette had never done something like this. She’d caused trouble, but it had been her [Tutors] and other guardians who had taken her to task for it. But this?

She did what she could. Lyonette spoke, voice trembling but trying to sound stern rather than heartbroken.

“That was a very bad thing that happened to Erin, don’t you think, Mrsha? She looked like she was really hurt.”

The Gnoll glanced up at Lyonette, and then away, swiftly. Lyonette paused.

“It looked like it hurt. It was very bad. Wasn’t it?”

The Gnoll nodded slowly. She still wouldn’t meet Lyonette’s gaze. That was what broke the girl’s heart. Oh, if only she could blame it on the Goblins or anyone else. But Mrsha was a poor liar. She folded her arms and tried not to let the stinging in her eyes become tears. It wasn’t right what she’d done. It wasn’t right, but Lyonette understood it.

“Do you know anything about this?”

The Gnoll shook her head half-heartedly. Lyonette paused, gulped, and raised her voice.

“Mrsha, look at me.”

Reluctantly, she did. Lyonette met her gaze, her fingernails digging into her arm.

“Do you know anything about this?”

The Gnoll looked away. That was an answer. Lyonette paused.

“Erin was in a lot of pain because of that, Mrsha. She could have been hurt worse. What if she’d stepped on the shards and one broke off in her foot? She’d need a [Healer] to cut it out of her, then.”

Mrsha began to tremble in place. Lyonette felt her heart breaking and stopped because she couldn’t go on.

“Maybe it wasn’t meant for her. Maybe that—trap—was meant for someone else. Like the Goblins. Well, if it was, it still wouldn’t be nice, understand?”

Something changed. Mrsha’s head slowly rose. She stared at Lyonette, and the guilt and sadness in her eyes dried up. Lyonette realized she might have chosen the wrong words.

“Mrsha. Hurting the Goblins isn’t right. Understand? You can’t—”

Mrsha’s hair was rising. She sat up straighter, and glared at Lyonette. The Human girl hesitated.

“I know how you must be feeling—”

Wrong words. Mrsha looked away from Lyonette and the young woman snapped.

“Mrsha! You can’t harm the Goblins! These are Erin’s guests and they’re all Hobs, understand? If you cause trouble, I will punish you. In fact, I’m already punishing you—no lunch!”

The Gnoll looked back towards Lyonette and now her eyes were glaring. Lyonette glared back.

“No lunch, and it’ll be water and bread for dinner unless you go to Erin and apologize, understand? And if I ever catch you doing that again—are you listening?”

Mrsha reluctantly turned back towards Lyonette. Her ears were flat, her eyes alight with anger. The Goblins. Lyonette wavered between compassion and anger, and lost.

“Look, Mrsha. You don’t have to go near them. You can go to the city if—no? You don’t want to stay with Aunt Selys? Okay. But Erin’s very hurt, even if she didn’t say it. You know it hurt? Don’t cry. Don’t—come here.”

She reached out and gathered up the Gnoll into her arms. Mrsha wept silently, big tears rolling down her furred face. Lyonette hugged her, as her mother never had, and tried to say the right things. Only, she’d never heard them herself.

“It’s okay. I know you’re sorry. You can apologize—we’ll do it together. Its okay, Mrsha. You’re not a bad girl. It’s just—”

She didn’t have the words to express it. Lyonette held Mrsha for a long time, until the tears had stopped. Then they went downstairs.

Erin was cleaning up the tables, and the Goblins were finishing their breakfast. Lyonette froze and Mrsha’s claws dug into her clothing, but she made herself go downstairs. Erin met them by the stairs, smiling, and Lyonette had Mrsha apologize there, while both girls shielded the Goblins from view. Mrsha still smelled them, though. Her nose kept twitching even as she licked Erin’s face and hugged her and was hugged in return.

“Hey, at least I can get Drassi to buy some more cups. We need more—specially designed ones, I think. The Soldiers can’t hold the regular ones, and I’d like them to have better bowls, too.”

The tone Erin used was light and playful as she spoke to Mrsha, but from the disappointment in her eyes, Lyonette knew she hadn’t gotten through to the Goblins today either. She’d seen Erin sitting at the table, trying to get them to talk to her, telling bad jokes, showing them how to play chess—there was no real connection there, and no one else was trying. Lately, Erin had gotten desperate and inventive.

“I’ve got a guitar that no one needs, now. I saw it in the market and I thought it would be so cool to play, but—I don’t know how.”

Erin showed Lyonette and Mrsha a strange instrument that reminded Lyonette of a warped lute. Mrsha plucked at a string and her ears perked up at the sound. Lyonette stared at Erin. The [Innkeeper] tried to play something, and the guitar made a strangled noise.

“That’s a what, Erin? A gui…”

“Guitar. It’s an instrument. Don’t they have them where you come from? The Gnoll said it’s not very popular, so he sold it to me cheap!”

“I can see why.”

Lyonette looked at the guitar, at Erin, and then back at the guitar.

“Why did you buy this?”

“Oh, you know.”

Erin made a face and nodded covertly towards the Goblins. Lyonette saw and felt Mrsha tensing up. She shifted with the Gnoll cub in her arms.

“Erin…”

“I know. Look, if I could play it—turns out they don’t know how. I think they thought it was a weapon. I guess music isn’t…never mind.”

Erin turned towards the Goblins, smiling, and they all looked away from her. They had been looking, Lyonette thought, but she was distracted by Mrsha’s claws digging into her arm.

“Ow! Mrsha, honey. You’re hurting me.”

The Gnoll withdrew her claws, but she remained taut in Lyonette’s arms. She was shaking, and Lyonette thought it was time to go back upstairs. The Goblins were glancing their way. She saw one of them, Headscratcher, looking furtively at her. Lyonette looked away and realized he’d done the same. And like that, in a flash, she realized the Goblins knew she was afraid of them. It was obvious with Drassi—but they could probably tell that Lyonette was too.

“Erin, I’m taking Mrsha upstairs. Sorry, but I won’t be down for a bit.”

“That’s okay. Drassi’s here and it’s not like we have much business, right?”

Erin gave her a strained smile. Lyonette thought about returning it, and didn’t. She turned towards the stairs as Erin went back towards the Goblins. The girl sat close to them, but not close enough to touch. The Goblins stared back, and there was that invisible wall between them that Erin couldn’t breach.

“Hey…so, sorry about that. I uh, have I showed you this guitar? Yes? Okay. Um—”

It wasn’t working. Lyonette didn’t know if it was something Erin lacked, or something she wasn’t doing, but as it was, she thought she’d wake up tomorrow or the day after and they would be gone. And would that be such a bad thing?

Part of Lyonette wished they would leave. Maybe it was for the best. Mrsha stared at the Goblins as Lyonette carried her upstairs. Her eyes narrowed and she growled. She still hated them. Erin getting hurt had done nothing to change that, and so Lyonette resolved to watch the little Gnoll until they were gone.

It was all going wrong. And that was before the Antinium came again. Then it went wrong and got worse.

—-

Yellow Splatters decided that Purple Smile was unfit to be a [Sergeant]. He might be unfit to be a Painted Soldier. Could he stay somewhere else? He was so…so different! He didn’t spar when all the other Soldiers were copying Yellow Splatters’ example, he liked going aboveground, and he didn’t fight like a proper Soldier.

He didn’t belong in Yellow Splatters’ unit. And that thought was incredible and troubling. So Yellow Splatters didn’t think about it. He stared at Purple Smile as the other Soldier wandered around the barracks, following…what? He’d rolled up a ball out of dirt and wet it with some water. Now he was rolling it around, following after it, picking it up and tossing it, and following it again.

He was too strange. Yellow Splatters didn’t know how to address it, but he was working up to some good ideas when Pawn walked into the barracks with eight Workers and spoke.

“Purple Smile? Your patrol for this morning awaits. Please take these Workers above as well with the regular group of Soldiers.”

Purple Smile turned and nodded. Yellow Splatters looked at Pawn in astonishment. Hadn’t he made it clear what a waste that patrol was? But then—Workers. They were…acceptable? Yellow Splatters was undecided. But he froze when he saw the two Soldiers standing behind the Workers and saw eight more of the Painted Soldiers, his Soldiers coming forwards.

They stopped when he looked at them. Yellow Splatters struggled internally. He’d made it clear—but if they wanted to eat—but he had shown them—maybe it was only for security? Pawn stared between Purple Smile and Yellow Splatters, and then nodded to Purple Smile.

“I have no objections to you taking Painted Soldiers. Go. And remember what I told you.”

Purple Smile nodded to Pawn, and pointed. The regular Workers and Soldiers lined up meekly, and the eight Painted Soldiers fell into line behind them after a moment’s pause. None of them looked at Yellow Splatters. He stared at them and felt an emotion rising in his being. He had to struggle to find the word to express it.

Disobedience. Betrayal. He raised his head and stared at the Soldiers, and then at Purple Smile. This was his fault. But what could he do? The other Antinium was already leading them out of the Hive—

The convoy of Antinium jerked as Yellow Splatters strode towards them. But he fell meekly into place behind the last Soldier. Purple Smile stared at him for eight seconds, and then slowly moved the procession forwards again. Yellow Splatters raised his mandibles. He was just coming along, that was all. Just to remind the other Soldiers, remind Purple Smile who was in charge.

They made it to the inn just past lunchtime. The Goblins were eating, and the Horns of Hammerad had found their way into the inn as well. The Halfseekers were silently talking in one corner of the room and eying the Goblins. A Gnoll had come from the city for the first time in over a week, and Mrsha had crept downstairs with a wand in her paw without anyone noticing.

—-

Apista was napping by the faerie flowers blooming on the windowsill. The Horns of Hammerad were arguing, covered in mud after hunting a pack of regular, hungry wolves. Erin was hugging Ishkr. Lyonette smiled as she wiped a table and listened to them talk.

“I’m so glad you’re back! Are you okay? If you need more time off, I understand. I just…”

The Gnoll looked embarrassed as he stood in the inn, his red-brown fur engulfing Erin as she hugged him. He growled apologetically.

“I am fine, Miss Erin. I apologize for my absence. It was inexcusable. If you wish to dock my pay—”

“Don’t be stupid! How could I not get it? I know—I can’t believe Brunkr—”

Erin wiped her stinging eyes on Ishkr’s fur. The Goblins stared furtively at the Gnoll and he looked at them.

“I see we have new guests. I did not believe it when I heard the rumors, yes? Miss Erin would you like me to serve them? Miss Erin? Would you let go of me?”

“Oops. Sorry.”

Erin let go of Ishkr and smiled with genuine pleasure for the first time in days.

“We’re getting lunch out. If you don’t mind serving that’d be great. And we could use some more water, although it’s wet.”

“I can get it! Nothing like wet Gnolls to stink up a place. Hi Ishkr!”

Drassi smiled and waved at the Gnoll. He smiled back, not seemingly bothered about the wet Gnolls comment and began serving the Goblins with only a moment of hesitation. Ishkr was quiet, but he seemed resolved to do his job today.

That was all Erin and Lyonette wanted right now. The Antinium had come back as usual, only, Lyonette was sure it wasn’t like usual this time.

“Erin, that Soldier with the yellow paint is back. And I think he and Purple Smile are not getting along.”

Lyonette hissed at Erin as the Antinium took a table close to the doors. It was a mark of how the relationships in the inn were different that when they sat, it was next to the Horns of Hammerad while the Goblins sat on the other side of the room. Add in the Halfseekers, and there were three zones of tension and a very narrow pathway down the center of the inn that was in theory, neutral ground.

Erin and Lyonette stood there, talking, while Drassi came in with more water, complaining about melting snow and Ishkr brought out plates. The Halfseekers and Goblins were staring at each other silently, but Lyonette could only devote half an eye to them—she was more worried about the Antinium. As far as she was concerned, the way the Antinium with yellow splatters was acting required an eye and a half. At least.

“He’s that guy who poured his food on the ground, right?”

Erin frowned at Yellow Splatters as the [Sergeant] sat at his table, looking around with all four arms folded across his chest. Purple Smile was waving at her and she waved back with a smile to him. Then she turned to Lyonette.

“Okay, serve him last and let the other Antinium begin eating first. If he does that again, I’ll talk to them. But I’m worried about the Halfseekers too. Jelaqua’s not looking happy.”

“Of course she’s not! But she probably won’t start a fight.”

“You sure? Right, just don’t serve her anything strong, okay? Feed her, don’t let her drink. A happy Selphid’s a fat Selphid. Or something.”

Lyonette smiled and hurried off. Erin circulated the tables, smiling at everyone and not getting many smiles in return. The Goblins were muttering to themselves, the Halfseekers looked like they were having an argument. Ceria and Ksmvr were helping get some mud off Yvlon and Pisces was complaining about his order to Erin. The Antinium were just—just sitting there, waiting for their food.

And then it happened. There was a yelp and Headscratcher sat up in his seat. Instantly, the room tensed. Erin turned, and saw Jelaqua and the Halfseekers half-risen from their chairs.

“Wait, wait!”

She shouted at them as Lyonette stared at Headscratcher. He was grimacing, raising one of his arms. It rose over the edge of the table and, hanging from it, her teeth still buried in his arm, was Mrsha.

“Mrsha!”

Lyonette cried out in horror and rushed forwards. Headscratcher regarded the Gnoll, wincing as she growled and bit into his arm. She refused to let go, and the Goblin didn’t seemed inclined to make her let go. He had frozen with the other Goblins. Badarrow watched Lyonette tensely and moved back, eying the Halfseekers and Lyonette went over to Headscratcher and Mrsha.

“I am so sorry. Mrsha! Let go now, little miss! I mean it! Let go now or—”

Mrsha let go and dropped onto the table. She growled, her eyes flashing. Her mouth was red with blood. Lyonette froze. There was more than a bit of feral animal in the small Gnoll. Ishkr growled something at her and she snarled wordlessly at him. Erin turned back towards the table, concerned. Across the room Ceria whispered to her team.

“What’s wrong with Mrsha?”

The Gnoll was growling at the Goblins. Headscratcher leaned back, not so much afraid as wary. Lyonette seized Mrsha and waved desperately at Drassi and Ishkr.

“Keep serving! I’ll—Mrsha, you’re apologizing. Now!”

The Gnoll fought her, clawing at Lyonette, snapping. Lyonette could barely hold on, and Erin was hurrying over to her when the second thing happened. Ishkr went over to the Antinium, holding bowls of ground beef seasoned with hot pepper and a fried egg on top. He passed it to Purple Smile, and the Soldier passed it to a Worker. And Yellow Splatters lost his temper.

—-

Yellow Splatters had seen Mrsha sneaking downstairs and underneath the Goblin’s table. The Gnoll was quite good at concealing herself despite her white fur. Perhaps only he had seen it; the other Antinium were too focused on the smells of cooking and the other people in the room were all glaring at each other.

He didn’t care, but when Mrsha bit the Goblin, Yellow Splatters appreciated her ferocity. The smell of blood and the sudden, sharp spike of tension and scent of fear—he felt like he was on the battlefield again.

That was good. But he stared at Purple Smile and hated the other Antinium for everything he was, everything he was not. Part of Yellow Spatters knew it didn’t make sense, but he didn’t care. He was just angry. Frustrated. He was in charge, but eight of his Painted Soldiers had still come here! And Pawn and Anand and Belgrade all liked Purple Smile. And why had Twin Stripes become Aberration?

Then the Gnoll with red-brown fur came over and handed a bowl of food to Purple Smile. He shouldn’t have done that. He should have served Yellow Splatters first, but the [Sergeant] was prepared to overlook that. What he wasn’t willing to forgive was when Purple Smile took the bowl and handed it to a Worker.

A Worker. Not a Soldier. Not one of the warriors who risked his life to fight day and night for the Hive, who gave their lives—Yellow Splatters’ four hands clenched into fists as the Worker hesitantly accepted the bowl. It looked up at Purple Smile, and the Soldier raised his mandibles and gestured for the Worker to begin eating.

That was it. That was the last straw! Yellow Splatters rose and flipped the table over. The Worker and other Soldiers flinched back as he charged around the table at Purple Smile. The other Soldier leapt to his feet, and then Yellow Splatters was punching at him, trying to bash the Antinium’s head in.

“What the—”

The Horns of Hammerad were on their feet. Ksmvr leapt to his feet and thrust Yvlon back as the adventurers reached for their weapons. Purple Smile and Yellow Splatters ignored the cries of alarm throughout the rest of the room. There was only the two Soldiers, face-to-face, mandibles nearly touching, each one throwing punches, blocking, dodging as they fought.

Yellow Splatters knew he had the advantage. He was bigger, stronger, thanks to his classes, and he had the [Touch Carapace] and [Power Strike] Skills. Only, he wouldn’t use [Power Strike]; he’d just beat Purple Smile within an inch of his life to prove to everyone who was right! He lashed out and Purple Smile dodged backwards, two hands raised protectively, the other two warding off punches.

“You two Antinium desist! I am Ksmvr, former Prognugator of the Hive and you are causing a public disturbance in—”

He was doing it again! Yellow Splatters clashed his mandibles together, throwing punches at Purple Smile. He was retreating! Running away! The Soldier was dancing backwards, refusing to let Yellow Splatters get a clear shot at him. All of Yellow Splatter’s blows were blocked or deflected. The other Soldier tried to express his fury as he charged forwards.

This wasn’t right! He should be undefeatable. Purple Smile shouldn’t be fighting equally with him! No one should listen to him! It was Yellow Splatters who had all the answers! Only his opinion mattered! He was right! He couldn’t be wrong! He was right! hE wAs RIghT!

“Enough!”

Erin was pushing towards them, but two of the Goblins were thrusting her back. One had a sword in his hand and was rising, wary and tense. Another was fiddling with a bow. Across the room, the half-Giant was arguing with his companions, raising his staff. The Horns of Hammerad were similarly caught in indecision, tense, waiting for the stalemate between the two Soldiers to break. Every eye was on the Soldiers now, and Lyonette’s grip on Mrsha had loosened.

The Gnoll took the chance. She wriggled out of Lyonette’s grip, kicked off from the stunned young woman and leapt onto the table with the Goblins. They were all distracted. The Gnoll reached for the wand she’d hidden with a bit of string on her furry body. She tore it loose and ran towards Badarrow. She raised the tip of the long, thin, pointy magical wand, and then she thrust it into his ear.

—-

Time slowed. Lyonette saw Mrsha thrusting with the wand, the hard, thin stiletto of wood. It was aimed right at Badarrow’s pointed ears, and it went into his earhole, towards his brain.

Only Badarrow’s warrior reflexes saved him. The Goblin twisted at the last moment and the wand was torn out of Mrsha’s grip. It flew across the room, and Badarrow clutched at his left ear. Blood trickled from it as the Goblins jerked and stared at Mrsha. She snarled, bared her teeth—

“Mrsha!”

Erin’s voice was shocked. Lyonette didn’t wait for words. The horror of what Mrsha had done, tried to do, moved her body. She grabbed Mrsha. The Gnoll wriggled, hissing, biting in her grip—Lyonette flipped her over and began to spank her with all her might.

At first, the shock of what was happening froze Mrsha, but then she was wriggling, yowling in pain, trying to get away. Lyonette held her in place, spanking the Gnoll hard, tears in her eyes.

“You do not do that! Understand? How could you? You do not do that, Mrsha!”

The Gnoll was crying now, from the pain as much as Lyonette’s shouting. Lyonette kept going, trying to tell the Gnoll, remembering the tip of the wand going into Badarrow’s ear—she only stopped when someone grabbed her hand.

Headscratcher stopped Lyonette’s arm as it rose for another swat. The Goblin looked at Mrsha, and Lyonette saw the Gnoll’s face was streaked with tears. Mrsha leapt from the table and raced upstairs. Lyonette sank to the floor, sobbing.

Across the room, the fight between Purple Smile and Yellow Spatters had reached its conclusion. The [Sergeant] had cornered Purple Smile and was bashing through his guard. The other Soldier was blocking but his guard was failing. A few more blows and Yellow Splatters would be tearing his carapace off, beating him into piece—

The cold prick of metal jabbed into his side, painful, making his break off. Yellow Splatters turned and froze. A shortsword was at his neck—an arrow trained on his face. Ksmvr held both his shortbow and shortsword with his three hands. He shifted the arrow to Purple Smile.

“Hold still, both of you. This fight is over.”

The two Soldiers froze in place, staring at Ksmvr. The Antinium’s voice wobbled a bit, but steadied as he continued.

“I am a former Prognugator of the Hive. That gives me no authority.”

He paused. The Soldiers glanced at him and each other. Ksmvr pressed his sword further into Yellow Splatter’s side.

“No authority. At all. But I am led to understand that this sword gives me all the authority I need. Move and I will injure you non-lethally but in a very painful way.”

The two Soldiers didn’t move. The other Antinium were on their feet, staring at them. The Goblins were clustered around Badarrow. He looked expressionlessly around, one hand clamped to an ear leaking blood. The Halfseekers were staring, the Horns of Hammerad were ready to defend Ksmvr. Lyonette was crying, Drassi and Ishkr were uncertain.

And Erin knew what she had to do. She stepped towards Lyonette and Apista buzzed off the windowsill. She flew around, stinger protruding dangerously. Erin took a cautious step and Apista landed on her arm. Erin looked at the Ashfire Bee and lost her temper.

4.42 L

The inn was tense silence. Erin’s heart was in pieces over Mrsha, and she was afraid for Ksmvr, confused about the Antinium. She looked at Badarrow, bleeding, expressionless, and her heart broke in a different way. And then there was the bee.

Apista fanned her wings dangerously as she slowly extended her stinger on her abdomen. Erin stared at the Ashfire Bee coldly.

“Sting me and Lyonette will have to sweep you up, Apista. Understand?”

The air around her froze and the bee hesitated. Slowly it withdrew its stinger and flew off Erin’s arm. It landed on a table and hid behind a mug. Erin nodded. She took a deep breath.

“Okay. Everyone? Freeze.”

It wasn’t so much the words as the atmosphere that came with it. A chill and a pause swept through the inn, which halted the adventurers, the Antinium, and the Goblins where they stood or sat and drew every eye to Erin. She nodded.

“Good. Now, the first person who moves I will personally break their arm. No one stands, draws a sword, or does anything until I say they can. Got it? Good.”

She looked around. The room was quiet. Erin bent and went to Lyonette.

“Lyonette?”

The young woman was crying.

“I had to—I couldn’t—”

“I know. But Badarrow’s fine. Lyonette, look at me.”

The [Princess] did, eyes red, nose dribbling. Erin gripped her arms.

“Go upstairs.”

“But—”

“You don’t have to go into the room. Just sit outside it and make sure Mrsha doesn’t go anywhere, okay? Can you do that?”

Lyonette hesitated, and then brushed at her nose. That only made things worse.

“I—I can. Okay.”

She got up slowly. Erin looked around. Next? Goblins. Antinium. The Goblins were staring. She pointed at Drassi and the Drake flinched.

“Healing potion, Drassi! Give it to Badarrow. Now, as for you—”

She turned to the tableau of frozen Antinium. All three of them stared at her as she walked over. Ksmvr had the tip of his shortsword jammed into Yellow Splatters’ side. A trickle of green blood was running down the length of the blade. Erin stared at Ksmvr.

“Put your sword down.”

He hesitated.

“Miss Erin—”

“I said, down, Ksmvr. Bow as well.”

He reluctantly obeyed. The other two Soldiers shifted when he did. Yellow Splatters began to raise his fist and Purple Smile tried to slide away across the wall. Erin stamped her foot and there was a localized tremor. The Antinium went still.

“You three, sit. Now.”

They looked at her, confused. Erin stared at them. There was a…look in her eyes. A suggestion that she might be willing to beat all three to death with her bare hands if she was not obeyed. The look of a Prognugator of a Hive.

“I said, sit.”

All three Antinium sat down. The two Soldiers and Ksmvr looked up at Erin from their cross-legged positions on the floor. She eyed them but decided not to comment.

“Good. Now, keep sitting. If any of you three move, I will have Moore come over and hit you. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll get Jelaqua to do it.”

She nodded at the Halfseekers. They stared at her. Erin flashed them a smile and walked over to the Goblins.

“I am very, very sorry about what Mrsha did.”

She said that to Badarrow first off. He stared at her and his face twisted into a sneer reminiscent of Pisces. He had already poured healing potion into his ear and was tilting his head to hold it in. Erin hoped his eardrum hadn’t been punctured or if it had, the healing potion would fix it. She looked at him and around the table.

“I mean it. That was inexcusable and shouldn’t have happened in my inn. You have my word she won’t do it again.”

The other four Goblins shifted in their seats and looked at each other. One gave Erin a half-hearted nod, and another shrugged.

There. That was what Erin felt, had been feeling this entire time. That sense of…disconnect. They didn’t believe her. Or if they did, they thought she wouldn’t be able to keep her word. Or—they were Goblins. They were used to being attacked. That was life.

And that was wrong. Erin hesitated just for a moment. But this was it. She felt what she had to do at last. She reached out and touched Badarrow. She grabbed his hands with hers, feeling his hands—warm and real, in hers.

He jerked, a trickle of potion and blood spilling out of one ear. Reflexively he tried to pull his hands away but Erin wouldn’t let him. She held his hands. His fingernails were long, yes, and his skin was green. Of course. But they were warm hands, and she could feel his pulse. It was accelerating. He was nervous. And as she stared into his crimson eyes, she saw a person there.

“There you are. I knew you were like me.”

He didn’t understand. Erin smiled at him. She leaned closer, and now she could smell him, and he couldn’t look away. She looked into his eyes and spoke.

“I am sorry about Mrsha. But she has a reason to hate you. Goblins killed her tribe.”

He flinched at that. All the Goblins did. They looked at Erin and away. They understood what she meant in a heartbeat of course, but they tried to distance themselves. They tried to hide in what they were and what she was. Goblins and a Human. Two species destined for conflict. They had given their hearts away once and lost them. They didn’t want to feel. But Erin was too close. Badarrow couldn’t look away.

“It was recently. A few months ago. And when she came here…I think she’s afraid you’ll kill her. I know you won’t. But I’m asking you to forgive her. I know she tried to kill you. But she’s a child. I’ll try to get her to come downstairs. I’m not asking you to do anything—but I hope you understand.”

Badarrow glanced into Erin’s eyes and away. He tried to turn his head, but she kept drawing him back. And then he looked at her as if intoxicated. They were close. She was real. And so was he. He nodded, slowly and Erin smiled.

“Thank you. And I want you to know that I had a friend, once. Her name was Rags and she was a Goblin. She and I didn’t always understand each other, but I thought of her as a friend, as a person. I think you’re people too.”

The Goblins stared at her. Badarrow’s face was filled with expressions the other Redfang warriors had seldom seen. Shock, surprise, and then…a smile. As if he couldn’t help it. Erin smiled and looked around.

“Wait, please. Ishkr? Give them food and make sure everyone has something to eat. I’ll be down shortly.”

She strode towards the stairs and took them two at a time. She looked back only once. Badarrow was staring at his hands and another Goblin, Shorthilt, was prodding at his palms. He looked up at and met her eyes. And she smiled at him and knew he was embarrassed. All that Goblin mystique, all the tension, the uncertainty—she’d forgotten that if you looked into someone’s eyes, you could see their soul. And it shone brightly in the Goblin’s gaze.

Upstairs was different than below. The murmuring below and thawing of shock was at odds with the sound of crying above. Mrsha was sobbing and Lyonette was in tears. Erin strode towards the door to their room and opened it. Lyonette hovered at the doorway. Erin turned to her.

“I think I need to talk to Mrsha by herself.”

Lyonette hesitated, and then nodded. She went downstairs and Erin went inside. She found Mrsha curled up in her bedroll, quivering and making sobbing sounds, although of course she couldn’t fully articulate them. She had no voice, but some things were wordless. Erin reached out and the ball jerked under the covers. A head poked out and Mrsha stared at her.

“Mrsha—”

The Gnoll swiped at her with a paw. Erin caught the paw gently and looked at the Gnoll.

“We need to talk.”

Mrsha didn’t want to talk. She wanted to be sad. She wanted to hurt. Erin understood that, but she also had to be heard. So she compromised. She held Mrsha’s paw and stroked it. At first, the Gnoll tried to pull away, but then she gave up and lay there, weeping, as Erin patted her head and stroked her fur. After a while, Erin felt it was time to speak.

“I should have talked with you a long time ago about this, Mrsha. About the Goblins, I mean.”

The Gnoll froze up and her paw was suddenly sharp with claws in Erin’s hand. The young woman adjusted her grip and sighed.

“Mrsha. Listen to me.”

The Gnoll didn’t want to listen. She pulled hard, and Erin pulled right back. Surprised, Mrsha tumbled out of her bedding and met Erin’s eyes. The [Innkeeper] bent her head and spoke in a quiet, direct voice.

“Mrsha. Hating the Goblins is not wrong.”

The Gnoll Cub froze. She looked up at Erin and the young woman nodded.

“No, it’s not. I should have said that to you earlier. Hating the Goblins isn’t wrong. They killed your tribe, your friends—why shouldn’t you hate them?”

Confusion. Mrsha stopped pulling and listened. Erin tugged her closer, until she was sitting across from Mrsha, very close. She met the Gnoll’s eyes.

“It’s not wrong. Anyone would hate them for that. Hating Goblins isn’t wrong. But hating all Goblins, hating these Goblins—that’s not right, either.”

The conversation had only one voice, but it was not one-sided. Mrsha narrowed her eyes and Erin went on.

“Listen, Mrsha. I am going to tell you something important. Something you have to learn. And it’s this: people are not the same. Understand?”

A silence. Uncomprehending. Pain.

“That’s all there is. People are not the same. Where I come from Mrsha, people look…well, we’re all Human. But we’re not all the same. Some of us have black skin, some have white skin, others have long hair—some are men and some are women. We are not all the same. Not all Humans are the same, right? That’s simple. You’re smart. You know that Lyonette and I aren’t the same, right?”

A smile and in return, a small nod. Puzzlement.

“But some people think that, oh, because Lyonette and I are both female that we’re the same. Or—they think all people with black skin are the same. And that’s not true. There are good people and bad people, Mrsha. And they might look alike in some ways, but they aren’t. I could look at Ishkr and Brunkr and if I was really silly, I’d say they look alike. But they’re not, are they?”

A quick shake of the head.

“No, no they aren’t. But some people think that way. In fact, most of us do it. We don’t mean to, but we do. And that means we judge everyone by the actions of a few. Like Goblins. They are not all the same.”

Eyes widening. Looking away, tense.

“Mrsha. Not all Goblins are the same. That is what I have to tell you. Just that.”

Just that? Looking back. A nod.

“That’s it. I’m not going to tell you all Goblins aren’t evil, or they aren’t all murderers, because then I’m talking about all of them. I’m just telling you that you can’t judge all of them without seeing them. Like the ones downstairs. They’re Goblins. But they haven’t hurt anyone. Aside from evil goats, that is.”

Looking down. Paw clenched. Erin lowered her voice softly.

“You don’t have to like them. I won’t ever make you do that.”

Mrsha looked up.

“I promise. You don’t even have to go near them. But you can’t hurt them. Because they’re not the ones who killed your tribe.”

The Gnoll began to shake. Erin drew her closer and hugged her.

“I’m sorry, Mrsha. They’re not. They might look like Goblins, but they are not the same. They didn’t know. And you don’t have to like another Goblin if you don’t want to. You don’t have to forgive. Not right now. But you can’t blame them all for the same thing. They’re different. Like you and like me.”

Silence. Trembling. Erin tried to explain the last bit. The most important bit.

“I’m letting them stay here. Not because I think they’re innocent, but because I don’t think they’re bad. And Mrsha, they’ve given me no reason to distrust them. If they did, I would kick them out in an instant. Believe me. But they’ve done nothing bad. So that’s why I’m giving them a chance.”

She whispered to the Gnoll as she hugged her.

“They might not deserve a second chance. But everyone deserves a first one. That’s what I think. And you don’t have to like that. You don’t have to like them. But you do have to accept that that’s what I believe. And if you try to hurt them again, Mrsha—that can’t happen. Understand?”

The Gnoll looked down. She wasn’t crying now. She was just…lost. Erin looked at her.

“Here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going downstairs to sort the rest of this out, Mrsha. And you’re going to come with me.”

The Gnoll jolted in fear. Erin held her.

“You don’t have to do anything. You can sit with the Halfseekers. With Moore. And you’ll be safe, Mrsha. The Goblins won’t do anything. If they hurt you, if they do anything bad, you tell me and I will cut them up into little pieces. But I don’t think they will. If you see them doing something bad, you tell me. Otherwise, you come down this once, and then you can do what you want, okay?”

A long pause. Erin waited as Mrsha thought about this, as she struggled—and then nodded slowly. Erin bent and kissed her on the head.

“You’re very brave. And I know you’re hurting. Just remember what I told you. People are not the same. Now, let’s wipe that blood off and bring you downstairs. You can eat something hot and we’ll sort the rest of this out, okay?”

She reached out and a small Gnoll took her hand. And if Mrsha was afraid as they went downstairs, if she flinched from the Goblins, that was okay. She went willingly and sat next to Moore and Jelaqua, holding both their legs for support. That was all Erin had hoped for.

A start.

—-

This was how it got better. With food, with enforced sitting, as the blood cooled and regrets took over. With an [Innkeeper], going around to each table, talking to people, holding hands—treating them as people. Yellow Spatters sat very still and didn’t look around. He could sense the other Soldiers and Workers looking at him.

And he was lost. He didn’t know what he’d done. He’d tried to kill Purple Smile at the end of it. Another Soldier. One of his brothers.

One of his people.

He was barely conscious of Erin moving around the room, and then her exasperatedly arguing with the Gnoll, Ishkr, over an object.

“Why did you buy this if you cannot play it? It seems like a waste of money, yes?”

“I thought I could learn! I want music, Ishkr, and I don’t want to pay for a [Bard] or something. If I could teach myself—”

“Why not let me play?”

“Wait, you know how to play?”

Erin stared at the Gnoll in disbelief. Ishkr looked embarrassed and scratched behind one ear as Lyonette and Drassi passed out strong drinks for everyone.

“I play a bit. Not this instrument, but I have earned coins doing it before. Hrr. Ahem. This is similar to instruments I know, though. Still.”

He frowned at the guitar, looking at it dubiously.

“Why not an oud, or a mandolin? I’ve played a gittern, but this?”

Ishkr poked the guitar with one claw, looking dubious. Erin stared at him anxiously.

“I have no idea what those other things are. Most of the music from my country is on this…well, I guess there’s the violin, cello, and so on. Ukuleles…look, if you can play this, that’d be great.”

“Hrr. I can try.”

The Gnoll lifted the guitar and slung the strap around his shoulder. He strummed across the strings, making a sound that Erin hadn’t been able to after ten minutes of trying. Erin gasped with delight and hurried into the kitchen. Lyonette stared as Ishkr played a chord quickly and easily.

“Don’t your claws get in the way?”

Ishkr smiled at her.

“They do. I cut them short, but I’ve also learned to play with them. Many Gnoll instruments are made to be easier for my people to play anyways, though. And this is one.”

“Oh. No wonder Erin couldn’t play it.”

“Hrm? What? Humans could play it without much difficulty. Perhaps she is just, ah—”

He broke off as Erin came out of the kitchen. She had a bit of parchment in one hand and thrust it at him anxiously.

“I tried to write down songs in my spare time. Good ones from home. I can remember the lyrics, but the notes—I uh, I think I’ve gotten it mostly down. Could you—could you try playing this?”

Ishkr accepted the parchment and studied it. After a second he looked up.

“This—is not music, Miss Erin. I cannot read it.”

“What? No, it’s good music! Pop songs! Why can’t you play it?”

The Gnoll looked incredulously at her, and then shifted the parchment and pointed at a section.

“It says here…twang, twang, higher-pitched twang? How am I supposed to play that?”

Erin turned bright red and snatched the parchment back from him. Across the inn, a Goblin laughed out loud and then fell silent as everyone stared at him. But the laughter was good.

“I’m not good with music, okay? Look, how about this? Can you play something like—”

She hummed, and Ishkr tried to copy the sound. Erin broke off.

“No, not like that. Do it more like—double the sound here. Good! And make it lower. Longer—don’t glare at me! I know how it should sound in my head! Try another string. No, not that string. This string!”

As she argued with Ishkr, Lyonette went around the room, trying to serve the three different groups in the room and praying none of them would cause trouble. Surprisingly…they didn’t. The Antinium were sitting in a kind of meditative silence, Purple Smile and Yellow Splatters sitting and staring at each other and at Erin. Yellow Splatters had his arms folded, but he didn’t look like he was going to start another fight. He looked like he was sulking, actually.

The Goblins were listening to Erin and Ishkr, wincing every time he played a discordant note. But they seemed more entertained by this than they had by anything else. As for Mrsha and the adventurers—she was having her fur stroked by three different sets of hands at once as she stared at the Goblins. All was tranquil for now, and Lyonette conspired with Drassi and several mugs of alcohol to keep it that way.

“We’ve never served the Goblins ale!”

Drassi hissed at Lyonette as they filled up mugs by the bar. Lyonette shook her head. Really? They hadn’t? But everyone drank. And yet, Lyonette couldn’t remember ever serving the Goblins a real drink besides milk, juice, or water. That felt a bit…wrong, to her.

“So what? They’re guests, Drassi. Fill the mugs and serve them, and help me find the stronger stuff. Where does Erin keep it? We’ll try them on it, and if they don’t like it, well, Jelaqua and Seborn drink like mules!”

The Drake grimaced, but didn’t object. She pointed to the kitchen.

“Erin keeps it hidden behind the potatoes, remember? After Mrsha tried drinking some—”

“Right. Thanks!”

And then there was music. Lyonette went back into the common room and heard something. A melody. It was quiet, and had a few mistakes at the start, but there was a…feeling it carried. Just a few repeating notes on a guitar played by a Gnoll. But then Erin began to sing.

At first her voice was out of place. The guitar and her words were not enough. Erin frowned and looked around.

“Guess I don’t have an immortal moment. Hold on, we need a drum for this to work properly.”

She ran into the kitchen and grabbed a long wooden spoon and a wooden tong. After a moment Erin grabbed a large bowl and ran out. She plonked the bowl onto a table in front of Numbtongue. He stared at it.

“Can you give me a beat? And you—Headscratcher. I bet you can match my voice, right? I need a chorus.”

The Goblins gaped at her. But now the guitar solo had an accompaniment. Erin began to clap her lands rhythmically and Headscratcher was the first to copy. She turned.

“Come on, then! I need some help! Numbtongue, give me a beat.”

The Goblin picked up the spoon and began to hit the bowl. The sound was high—too high. Erin made him slap the bowl and then the Goblins began to pound on the table. She turned, and then she needed voices.

“Ceria? I know you can sing. Yvlon—Ksmvr? Pisces? Aw, don’t be like that. All you need to sing is this—now, I want a beat! Come on Numbtongue, hit that table!”

The Goblin slapped the table and there was something like a proper drumbeat. Ishkr bent over the notes, playing, and now Erin had a crowd. She pointed at the other Soldiers and Workers.

“I could use some clapping! Join in any time? Okay? Let’s start. I’ll start and you join in like this? Ready? One, two, three!”

And then there was music. It started out disjointed, and then it grew louder. Erin began to sing as the guitar’s melody became only one part of a symphony. Voices joined with hers, and the Goblins clapped and slapped the table to music. The first music they had heard.

Sitting by himself, Yellow Splatters tried to ignore it. He did. He tried to tell himself there were things that mattered more. He sat, hunched, trying not to listen. It was just sound.

But then he heard a Soldier begin to stomp on the floor. The voices of the singers blended with the beat. Yellow Splatters stared at the Soldier. He was thumping the floor with his feet, and then clapping his hands together clumsily. He knew Yellow Splatters was watching, but the other Soldier didn’t care. And then another Soldier stood up. He began to beat a rhythm on the table with an empty cup, and the others joined in.

Now the beat ran through the inn. Erin stood in the center, laughing and singing. And one of the Goblins was singing too. Numbtongue had memorized every word. Across the inn, Moore was gently thumping the table as Mrsha bounced up and down. Jelaqua, Ceria, Yvlon—even Pisces was joining into the chorus. Drassi and Lyonette were singing as they passed around drinks.

And now the music was reaching into Yellow Splatters’ mind, into his body, tugging at his heart, searching for his soul. He couldn’t help it. He uncurled and his leg began jiggling to the beat. That was the start.

Erin paused the music and amid cheering, began to teach them another song. She started with Ishkr, and then gave the others a beat and words to sing to. And the words reached into a place that Yellow Splatters had forgotten he had. He listened to Erin, a Human who knew nothing of his pain, sing. And somehow, the words were meant for him. She sang about home, about belonging, and the music broke Yellow Splatters’ heart and healed it at the same time.

That was how it began. Erin knew a hundred songs, some which required guitars, some which required a beat, others which were solo. Some were sad, others tragic. Others made the people in the inn sit up and made the hearts beating inside race. Others made them dance. Erin grabbed Headscratcher and linked arms with him. She began to dance with the surprised Goblin.

“Hey all of you! Is this a party or not? Come on! Show me how you dance!”

That was how it began. Yellow Splatters found himself dragged up and spun around. Soldiers didn’t know how to dance. But he found that there were no rules to it. He saw Purple Smile doing a two-step with Ksmvr across the floor, taught by an amused Erin. At one point Jelaqua took the dance floor and began what the Antinium could only term enthusiastic flailing. But it was so enjoyable that a Worker, Mrsha, and Drassi copied her.

Dancing was different. The music demanded it. Yellow Splatters found himself whirling, arms wide, spinning in place. And that was fun! And then Erin told them they were only getting started. He looked at her and felt like crying. Because at some point he’d realized he was wrong. And when Purple Smile looked at him and offered him a mug of ale, Yellow Splatters searched for the pain and anxiety and anger in his chest and realized it was gone.

The music had taken it away.

—-

The party in the inn had music, people, food, and more importantly, a need. After so many days of tension and anxiety, all of that emotion had to go one way. And so Erin took it and released it. She filled her inn with music and people heard.

“I heard an odd sound. What is going on? Oh. Hello Ksmvr, other Antinium I do not know. Are you having a good day? Good. I am Bird.”

The Antinium on the roof came down, swept up by the music. He found himself shouting at Badarrow about arrows as the Goblin admired his bow. Bird quite enjoyed that. He kept waving his arms and shouting over the music.

“You shot me! It was a good shot! I said good shot! Show me how!”

That was the first. Then a Worker took a wrong turn going to the bathroom and Octavia poked her head into the inn, looking outraged.

“Hey, what’s all that noise? I’m trying to wor—hey, what’s this music?”

She came in. And she was the last. No one would come to an inn with Goblins, after all. No matter what they heard.

—-

A group of Drake and Gnoll [Guardsmen], or rather [Guardspeople] since there were [Guardswomen] among them as well was patrolling around Liscor, searching for monsters nests and so on. They heard the music echoing from the inn on their way back.

“Hey, that’s a good song.”

One of the Drakes looked up as she heard the beat coming from the inn. Another Drake leaned on his spear and sighed.

“Huh. That’s loud.”

The other [Guardsmen] looked at each other. One coughed.

“There’s Goblins at that inn now.”

The others nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Damn Goblins.”

“Can’t imagine what that innkeeper’s thinking.”

“Eh. She was always crazy. Remember that time she was singing and there was all that music? Good food. Dancing…”

“Yeah. Shame she has all those Goblins there.”

“Yeah.”

The [Guardspeople] stared towards the inn, where the music was flooding the wet landscape. On this grey day, it was as if someone had taken the sun and brought it inside. It was as if the light was music and it was flooding out of the inn. One of the Drakes sighed.

“Damn lucky Goblins.”

—-

“Good night! Good night to you all! Don’t get lost on your way back! And don’t fight with each other anymore, okay? Or I’ll come over and kick both your butts!”

Erin said goodbye to the Antinium just before midnight. Her voice was raw and her legs hurt. She wasn’t the only one.

The Goblins had passed out downstairs. Numbtongue, true to his name and past, had practically lost his voice. He could actually sing! And he had taken the guitar. Ishkr had signed off with a hefty overtime bonus, complaining his claws hurt. But he had been smiling.

As for the others? The Halfseekers went to sleep tired, but beaming. None of them had danced with the Goblins, but as they had found there was room in the inn for both of them. The Horns of Hammerad had passed out in their room already. And Mrsha was in her room with Lyonette.

Healing. It was a long process. But if Erin was good at one thing, it was bridging gaps. Between people, in hearts…Yellow Splatters walked slowly back with Purple Smile and thought about all the mistakes he’d made.

Because he’d been wrong. The Antinium needed Erin Solstice more than they needed him. They didn’t need more training. They needed to stare at the sky.

And he had forgotten that. Because…because he’d seen too many of his people. Because he’d forgotten what had made him Individual to begin with. Because he was a fool.

And that knowledge left him quiet and empty. Despair over Twin Stripes crushed him. His failures hung about him. If the music and food had not filled him with hope and happiness, Yellow Splatters might have been lost. As it was, he was simply sad.

He reported back to his barracks and sat for a long time by himself. The other Soldiers had brought gifts for the others. Food from Erin’s inn—still fresh, one of Mrsha’s balls she’d given them to throw around, and even a small keg. The Soldiers mainly just stared at that since they’d forgotten to bring bowls.

As for Yellow Splatters? He looked at Purple Smile and thought the other Soldier would be a good [Sergeant]. And he wondered if he could be one as well. He looked around the barracks, at the sparring area, and then at a space that had never really been used.

A few pieces of carefully-bound paper sat in a corner. Just ink and paper. But Pawn had seen the value in them. Yellow Splatters went over, and, with many Soldiers watching him furtively, sat down and picked up a book clumsily.

It was very hard to turn the pages, and the lighting wasn’t good. When Yellow Splatters got the first page open he saw there was a Drake child on the page. A Drake child with a magic sword.

He had no name. The book had no words. It was just pictures. But there was a story there. Yellow Splatters read the book slowly, turning the pages laboriously, but caught up in the little Drake’s story.

He had a sword. A magic sword, surely, because when he found it, it glowed. And it slew a Mothbear, a Wyvern, a horde of undead, and then it carried him into the sky to fight a Giant on a mountain. The Drake became a hero. He had friends. He led an army. And then they crowned him as he sat in a city he had built.

It was a simple story. A simple story for a child, with no real moral other than that magic swords were amazing, and that slaying monsters was good. But it was the first one Yellow Splatters had ever read. And it was magic.

When the Soldier looked up from the book, he found he was not alone. Someone sat across from him. Pawn. The Worker looked tired, but smiled as Yellow Splatters froze and looked at him.

“I did not want to disturb you from your reading. Forgive me. I did not see you at the front as usual so I grew worried.”

The front? But that was in—Yellow Splatters checked his internal clocked and realized it was long past dawn. Morning, in fact. He’d read the book for—he shot to his feet in a sudden panic. The fighting! The monsters!

He’d abandoned his post. He would have run towards the front had Pawn not caught him.

“Be calm, Yellow Splatters. There is no need for fighting today. Hopefully…not tomorrow or much at all.”

What? Yellow Splatters stared at Pawn uncomprehendingly. The Worker nodded.

“It will be easier to show you. Come.”

He took the [Sergeant] down the tunnels, past groups of Soldiers who did not march to their deaths but rather wandering around, looking confused. Yellow Splatters arrived at the place where they normally fought and found something else in its place.

A barricade of stone and dirt. High walls—intersecting tunnels filled with disguised pits filled with spikes, tunnels designed to collapse once triggered. And wide areas designed to funnel monsters into each other so they would kill each other. Belgrade was explaining all of this at length to Klbkch and Purple Smile when Yellow Splatters arrived.

“You see, it takes advantage of the dungeons’ radius. Monsters will pass by this point and into this room and begin to attack each other. We have set it up so monsters will arrive at roughly the same time. After they have reduced each other’s numbers, we have many, many trapped tunnels which they will be forced to travel through. And if they survive that—”

“A kill zone.”

Klbkch studied the final room, in which rows of Workers stood. Workers, not Soldiers. There were Soldiers at the ready, but they had yet to fight today. Instead, the Workers were armed with the Antinium’s crude bows and arrows. They stood behind battlements that had been constructed to let them fire behind shelter, and they had slaughtered the few monsters that had made it to their position with massed volleys. Belgrade nodded proudly.

“Pawn has long said this and both Anand and I agree. It is time for Workers to take charge of defending the Hive as much as Soldiers do. Moreover, we need an archery-based unit. Thus, we have found those Individual and regular Workers who seem to have an aptitude for aiming and equipped them. You will note in the budget report I sent that I am requesting better bows and arrows.”

The Revalantor flicked through several pages of parchment and nodded.

“I see. And your prediction?”

“Over 86% reduction in casualties taken and a greatly reduced need for constant combat. True, the material costs rise by a small margin, but this would allow our Hive to allocate resources and bodies—”

“Yes. I see. Am I to understand this was your undertaking, Belgrade?”

Yellow Splatters stared at the [Tactician]. Belgrade nodded as Anand walked over, munching on an apple. Purple Smile must have offered it to him.

“That is correct, Revalantor Klbkch. Recently, my acquired Skills have shifted in nature. Both Anand and I have received Skills, but while his pertain to rapid movement and assaults, I have obtained Skills suitable for static defenses. My two latest Skills—obtained from reaching Level 20—are [Simple Trap Construction] and [Basic Fortification Construction].”

“Very useful.”

Anand munched down the rest of his apple. Pawn nodded. He stepped forwards as Klbkch turned to him.

“It is a project all of us have worked on tirelessly, Revalantor Klbkch. Were it not for the Painted Soldiers, we would not have been able to hold the areas around the dungeon’s entrance to construct this defensive network.”

Yellow Splatters and Purple Smile turned to Pawn. Realization flashed between the two and Yellow Splatters trembled inside. Klbkch looked around, clicking his mandibles, seemingly at a loss.

“Very…good. Unexpectedly good. Carry on. I will relay this to the Queen. I do not doubt she will be very…well, good.”

He walked off. The Workers stared at him, and then gathered around to celebrate.

“I think he was impressed.”

“I owe it all to Erin. And you, Pawn. And you, Anand.”

Belgrade seemed overjoyed, his antennae trembling with emotion. He spoke, fondling a chess piece on the command table as he did.

“It is as Erin said, every time I despaired of beating you in chess, Anand. Practice can defeat talent. And when I applied that to the real world—preparation and planning will win battles in advance of reactionary tactics. I may not have your gift Anand, but I can contribute to the Hive in my own way.”

“I did not doubt it for a second, Belgrade.”

Anand grasped Belgrade’s shoulder, speaking softly. He indicated the maze of defenses.

“This is beyond me. This is your accomplishment. And the scope of it—you have won battles before I needed to fight them. I believe this understanding is key to what it means to be a [Strategist], and not simply a [Tactician]. That is why you will reach that class first, Belgrade. Be proud of what you have done.”

The Worker quivered in place. Anand hesitated, and them embraced him. The two Workers hugged as the other Antinium looked on. After a second, Belgrade spoke in a more normal voice.

“While I appreciate the gesture and am very emotional Anand, I do not seem to have acquired the ‘warm and fuzzy’ feelings that Erin spoke of.”

Anand let go and nodded.

“Neither do I. Perhaps it is an error in our methods? Our expertise?”

“Let us ask her when we next meet.”

“Yes. For now…I think we have earned a break. Pawn, we shall be sleeping now. You know how to manage the defenses—”

“And I will wake you if needed. Rest, you two. You deserve it.”

Pawn let the two Workers stagger off, and then turned. The two Soldiers stared at him. Pawn nodded.

“We will need a few Painted Soldiers in case of dangerous enemies, but far fewer than before. You two are relieved of duty for now. We will have to find more ways to occupy you two in the future. More patrols perhaps. Or maybe…books.”

He looked at Yellow Splatters as he said that. The [Sergeant] just stood in place. No more fighting? His people wouldn’t die? He was…what a fool he’d been.

Perhaps Pawn sensed it, because he put a hand on Yellow Splatters’ shoulder. And surprisingly, so did Purple Smile.

“I know what you have been going through, Yellow Splatters. And some of the fault is ours. We did not want to speak of what we were doing, should we fail. But we should have told you. As for the rest…I am glad.”

Glad? Yellow Splatters looked at Pawn in astonishment. After all he’d done, after what he’d done. Perhaps it could be forgiven. But Twin Stripes? Never.

Again, Pawn read his mind.

“Come with me. I have one last thing to show you. And this is my accomplishment.”

He led the two Soldiers away, through tunnels, to a new area. A small room had been hollowed out and a door installed. Two Soldiers stood aside as the Worker opened the door. Yellow Spatters froze as he saw Twin Stripes chained to the ground.

“Ah.”

The Aberration Soldier was thrashing. Pawn bowed his head and stepped forwards, but both Yellow Spatters and Purple Smile moved forwards protectively. Twin Stripes was trying to move, trying to get at Yellow Spatters. The [Sergeant] wanted to let him.

But it was Pawn who moved. The Worker walked forwards, heedless of the Aberration struggling in his manacles. He bent, and raised something.

A hand. And in it he held light. Or…was light drawn to his hand? He reached out, and Twin Stripes froze as it touched his head gently.

Two more hands rose. Pawn’s other hands reached out and touched Purple Smile in the chest, and Yellow Splatters on the arm. The Worker’s mandibles opened and he uttered a word.

“Hope.”

It was the simplest of messages. A quiet word, breathed into the silence, spoken with all the sincerity in the world. And with it came forgiveness, peace.

A blessing.

Yellow Splatters jerked, feeling warmth and light entering him. Twin Stripes stopped thrashing and Purple Smile touched his chest as Pawn withdrew his hands. The Worker bent over Twin Stripes and the Soldier looked up. The Soldier, not the Aberration.

“This is my gift. Three times per day I may use [Benediction of Hope] to ease those in need. I think it calms the thoughts. It gives our people hope, a small blessing. And perhaps—understanding. Of what it means to be Individual.”

Yellow Splatters looked at Pawn. He was shaking. He should have been exhausted after being up for over a day. But now he felt fresh. And the despair that had gripped him, the pain and guilt—it was still there. But something else was in him, balancing it out.

Hope.

And he looked down at Twin Stripes and knew the Soldier was back. Slowly, Yellow Splatters bent and freed the Soldier. Twin Stripes got up slowly, and Yellow Splatters bowed his head. The two were silent for a moment before Purple Smile seized both of them up in a hug. The Soldiers struggled, and then went limp. It was not warm and fuzzy at all. But it was…perfect.

Pawn looked at the Soldiers and smiled. He bowed his head.

“Congratulations, [Sergeant] Purple Smile. I think you and Yellow Splatters will be a wonderful team.”

Yellow Splatters looked at Purple Smile as the other Antinium let go. Purple Smile tilted his head to looked at Yellow Splatters, and the [Sergeant] saw the weight of command settle on his shoulders. But that was the thing about Purple Smile. He just brushed the weight off.

And that was the word for it. At last, Yellow Splatters realized what was missing. He looked around. Not leader. Not alone. That wasn’t what he was. At last, he knew. He was one of many. Not the lone leader. He could rely on others.

He had a team. A people. A mission.

A family.

—-

One last thing. In the Wandering Inn, as Erin went back to her kitchen to snore and Lyonette lay in her bed, sleeping in a quieter manner, a small Gnoll sat in her room and listened. She heard only silence.

She had had a big day and she was tired. She had been angry, sad, happy…Mrsha knew she was still in trouble and she still had a lot of being sorry to do. But the music had helped. The food had helped. And Erin…

The words were still in her. She did not have to forgive. And she hadn’t. Mrsha had been afraid, so afraid when she’d gone downstairs. But the Selphid had leaned down and whispered to her, and Moore had smiled and given her a bud that bloomed into a flower in her hands. Mrsha had felt safe with them.

She did not forgive the Goblins. But she had sat in the inn and watched them all day. Not all people were the same. And yet, Mrsha couldn’t forget it was their people who had slaughtered her tribe.

Each time one of them laughed, Mrsha hated all of the Goblins and their entire species. When they smiled, she wished their happiness would go away. It was easy to hate them, then.

It was harder, much harder, to hate them when they cried. When they shed a tear for a sad song that made Mrsha curl up inside, or when they hugged each other and looked around as if they expected there to be others with them. Then it was hard.

Mrsha had gone upstairs, but she could still smell them in the basement. Sleeping. She could even smell they were sleeping. Their scents were one of many in the inn. Only, she’d been focused on them for so long she had forgotten the other ones. Now she could smell Lyonette next to her, comforting, and Pisces in another room, playing with dead bones. And Yvlon—still smelling of fire and burning.

The Goblins were below. Mrsha knew that. She still hated them. And maybe she always would. But she stopped waiting for the moment when they would draw their swords and kill her. Mrsha curled up into a ball and slept.

At some point, Apista crawled out from a mug downstairs and looked around. She had miraculously survived the raucous party simply by the expedient of hiding in the mug and scaring the daylights out of anyone who reached for a drink. She fanned her wings and flew up to the ceiling, where she perched by a windowsill and fanned her wings in the warm sun.

Everyone was sleeping of course. Partying did that to people. As for insects, well, their opinions were less well recorded on the matter. Apista consumed a bit of nectar from the faerie flowers. She might not be a person. But she was happy.

Previous Chapter

4.43

“I’m going into the city now. Do you want to come or stay?”

The next day, Lyonette was sitting in front of Mrsha, talking to her. The small white Gnoll was chewing on the tip of her wand and looked up curiously at her. Lyonette went on.

“The Horns of Hammerad are resting. Ceria got bit badly on the leg and butt yesterday and no one wants to do much after the party, so the Halfseekers might be here all day too. You can stay with them or come with me. Which is it?”

Mrsha rolled backwards and then slumped onto her side, accidentally jabbing the inside of her mouth with the tip of the wand. She yelped and Lyonette sighed.

“I told you not to play with that! Give it here, Mrsha. You can’t keep—”

The Gnoll scuttled away from Lyonette, holding her wand possessively. She glanced at Lyonette and after a moment, shook her head and pointed to the floor.

“You want to stay here? You’re sure?”

Mrsha hesitated. But then she nodded. Lyonette smiled a bit.

Progress. After yesterday, it seemed like she could leave the inn without Mrsha coming with her. The Gnoll seemed secure if she was around the adventurers, especially Jelaqua and Moore who doted on her. It felt like all the anxiety and stress everyone had been under was a memory of months ago, rather than yesterday. Lyonette was grateful for that beyond words.

But there were still things she had to put her foot down on. She and Mrsha had done a lot of reconciling since yesterday, but one thing had to change.

“No more wand. Come on, give it here.”

She held out her hand. Mrsha clutched the magical artifact worth hundreds or thousands of gold pieces to her chest and shook her head rapidly. Lyonette sighed.

“Mrsha, I know you like biting it. But it doesn’t bother you where that wand has been?”

The Gnoll paused as she put the tip into her mouth and stared at Lyonette. Clearly, soap and water cured all ills in her book. She shook her head and darted back as Lyonette tried to grab the wand.

“I’m sorry, but you’re still not keeping it! Come here, missy!”

A short chase and struggle later, Mrsha was reaching for the wand and making unhappy sounds as Lyonette walked downstairs. She walked over to a table where the Horns of Hammerad were relaxing in good spirits and plonked down the wand in front of a surprised Pisces.

“Here. Your wand. Please don’t let Mrsha take it again.”

Pisces stared askance at the wand which was wet with drool. He picked it up gingerly with two fingers and stared at Mrsha. The Gnoll stared back.

It had become either a game or a contest between the two over possession of the wand. Pisces would keep it every time Lyonette managed to wrest it out of Mrsha’s paws, and the Gnoll would try everything in her power to steal it back. She’d hide under tables, try sneaking into his room at night—her latest trick had involved ambushing Pisces right as he left the outhouse.

The game amused Mrsha and Pisces, but not Lyonette. She glared at the [Mage]. He smiled at her.

“I shall endeavor to keep it out of young Mrsha’s possession, Miss Lyonette.”

“Don’t endeavor. Try.”

She turned away before Pisces could tell her that was what he’d said. He couldn’t ruin her good spirits. She found another group sitting at a table and gingerly approached.

“Miss Jelaqua?”

“Kill me.”

The Selphid was draped over the table, groaning audibly. She winced as Mrsha hopped onto the table and patted her head. Jelaqua sat up with a wince as Mrsha pulled a bit at the stitching around her head.

“Don’t pull at that, Mrsha. I’m no Stitch-Woman and if the head comes off, you’re going to see something you won’t like. What’s up, Lyonette?”

“I need someone to look after Mrsha while I go into the city. Erin’s going and Ishkr’s going to be busy, so I was hoping…”

“We can take care of her.”

Behind Jelaqua, a slumped figure sat up. As usual Moore was sitting cross-legged on the ground, there not being a chair large enough for him. He smiled tenderly at Mrsha and she waved one paw at him. Lyonette looked over and a shape in dark clothing groaned at her. Seborn looked more dead than alive, and the crustacean side of his body looked like it was leaking some kind of liquid.

“Mrsha’s fine to stay with us as long as she wants, Lyonette. I don’t think we’re in any condition to do…anything.”

Jelaqua informed the [Barmaid] as she winced herself upright. She was clearly feeling the effects of heavy drinking last night. She looked longingly towards the door to Celum.

“We won’t go far, although we might go to Octavia’s shop and see if she sells any hangover potions. Otherwise I think Seborn will shank himself to end the misery.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

Lyonette grinned as Seborn looked up. Drowned Man he might be, but Seborn drank like a sailor, at a pace only matched by Jelaqua’s enthusiasm and Moore’s capacity for alcohol.

Very quietly thanking the Halfseekers, Lyonette walked stealthily away from them and towards the kitchen. She was nearly there when she heard a terrific crash of falling pots and pans. She looked over her shoulder just in time to see Seborn twitch and Jelaqua’s eyes roll back into her head for a moment.

“Oops, sorry!”

Erin cheerfully poked her head out of the kitchen and waved at two of the Goblins sitting at a table who’d looked up. Headscratcher and Shorthilt looked at the smiling young woman and then went back to sharpening their swords with a grunt. Lyonette passed by them, staring as they carefully maintained their well-worn steel blades.

This was how things were better. Lyonette didn’t guiltily look away when Headscratcher noticed she was looking. She just smiled politely and the Goblin tried to do the same. There was still a strong sense of…of distance between her and the Goblins, but the fear had mostly gone.

The inn felt better. It truly did. And as Lyonette walked into the kitchen, she saw Erin was smiling for the first time in what felt like weeks. She was masterminding a grand operation with a harried Ishkr, and by the looks of it, she was generating enough dirty dishes to keep the Gnoll busy all day.

“Okay, frosting’s done! And the batter is good—I’m sticking it in the oven now, Ishkr. You’re sure you can take it out after thirty minutes or when it looks done? Remember what I told you about sticking a fork in?”

The Gnoll [Waiter] nodded, licking a bit of frosted white sugar off the hair on his arms.

“I will not forget, Miss Erin. And I can smell when cooked food begins to burn.”

“Awesome. Okay Lyonette, I think I’m ready! Is Mrsha coming or staying?”

“Staying. I think she’s tired from yesterday.”

Lyonette smiled as Erin took off her apron and the two young women walked out of the inn. Erin waved at the Horns of Hammerad, pausing only long enough to ask where Ksmvr and Yvlon were. Both Ceria and Pisces pointed, and the two Human girls found the [Warriors] outside, sparring.

Ksmvr was dodging back and forth while Yvlon struck at him with a crude wooden practice sword. He had two wooden swords as well, although both were wearing what armor they possessed. As Erin and Lyonette watched, he leapt up into the air, incredibly high.

“Whoa!”

The Ring of Jumping let Ksmvr soar upwards. Erin and Lyonette heard a voice from above.

“Oh. Hello Ksmvr. How are you d—”

Bird didn’t get a chance to finish. The Antinium landed behind Yvlon and lashed out. But she, forewarned by the jump, was already stepping forwards. She poked Ksmvr in the chest and he raised his swords.

“I have died again.”

“Stop saying that. I keep telling you, it’s ‘lost’. And you did well. If you could just jump less high, I wouldn’t have time to react. As it is, you’re a target.”

“I agree. Unfortunately, I miscalculated. I had intended to land on your head.”

“Please don’t do that. My helmet might not survive the impact. My head definitely won’t.”

The two disappeared as Erin and Lyonette walked down the hill. Both girls had to work hard not to slip in the slushy snow. Erin wobbled as she walked in her thick winter boots.

“Whoa! Slippery. It’s really getting warmer, isn’t it? Only, there’s so much snow that it’s still not melting.”

“True. It’ll probably be a week or two before it melts. But I can feel a layer of water underneath now. And if I walk into some of the valleys, I’ll be waist-deep in water and drenched before I blink.”

Lyonette made a face as she walked. Erin nodded.

“Yeah. According to Olesm, it’ll get worse when it starts to rain. I can’t imagine what that’s like. I guess you won’t be harvesting any more honey, right? I mean, putting them to sleep is one thing, but the snow’s your emergency fallback. I don’t think I’d be okay with you not having a way to get away if the faerie flowers don’t work.”

“Maybe. I was thinking there might be another way to distract the bees in case something bad happens. A distraction—something Octavia might have. I’m going to ask her about it, if you’re okay with me spending some gold.”

“Sure. Ashfire Bee honey makes us a lot of money. Just don’t let her sell you any other potions while you’re at it.”

Their conversation was light, revolving around business and life in general. And that was what they wanted. In these days when it seemed like every two seconds there was another report about the Goblin Lord burning a village or marching here or there…this is what they wanted.

Peace. At least for a day. So Erin and Lyonette walked into Liscor and did normal things. The first thing they did was visit Krshia.

—-

They hadn’t been sure that the Gnoll [Shopkeeper] would be at her stall today. She had been absent since Brunkr’s death. And while Erin had visited the Gnoll in her apartment, it was a relief to see her at her small stall like usual.

“Erin! Lyonette. It is good to see you two, yes?”

The Gnoll turned with a jar of ointment in her hands. The two Humans waited patiently while Krshia closed her deal—selling an ointment for dry scales to a harried Drake woman. Then they had time to talk.

Was it a sign of how Krshia’s fortunes had changed that she was stuck on the edges of the market, in a far smaller stall than the one she’d used to have? Then again, it could be argued that her enduring business was a sign that her popularity among customers hadn’t waned.

It still hurt Lyonette to see the stall and remember what she’d done. But Krshia and Erin acted as if there was nothing to remember. They chatted happily, not giving voice to darker memories. It was something everyone there understood. The voices that whispered and the images that rose unbidden at night and in quiet times would come regardless of happiness in the day. They clung to better moments like sailors adrift at sea.

“I did not think to see you without young Mrsha today. But then, I have heard that you reached an understanding of sorts yesterday with the…Goblins.”

Krshia sniffed at Lyonette, and the girl was reminded that Gnoll noses, like Gnoll hearing, picked up far more than their owners usually let on. Erin smiled teasingly.

“You just happened to hear it from Ishkr?”

“Hrm. He is a distant nephew and a dutiful one. But many heard it themselves. The music your inn played was audible to many [Guardsmen] on the walls. Several complained about missing the fun as they saw it, yes?”

Erin laughed.

“If they wanted to have fun, they could have come! The Goblins aren’t dangerous.”

“So you say. But I am afraid it will take more than your words to bring others into your inn. For me as well, I regret to tell you.”

“Really?”

The Gnoll smiled gently at Erin’s crestfallen look.

“Memory runs deep, Erin Solstice. This city and this continent still remember the Goblin King and what he did. But I will trust you, even if I will not visit for now. Now tell me, why are you here? To chat, or buy as well?”

“Oh! Well, we could use more sugar. And eggs. And meat—everyone eats a lot of that and I want to make a hotpot. Of course, we could use a lot of alcohol—a few kegs, actually. I know the Street Runner can’t carry that many, so maybe you could let us know when we should come and pick them up? Ishkr and Bird can do it since…I don’t want to. And I’d like to order some pottery bowls the Soldiers could use. I was thinking they could be bigger and easier to hold…”

Erin ran down a very long and rambling list of items as Krshia nodded and scratched at a piece of parchment with some charcoal. She probably had around a tenth of the items Erin was requesting in her shop at best, but she knew everyone who sold what Erin wanted, and would talk to them and get it all sent to Erin’s inn for the young woman.

It was an interesting system that Lyonette hadn’t experienced in Terandria. But as Erin had remarked, it was worth however many coins Krshia charged to have the Gnoll do her shopping for her. In fact, that was one of Krshia’s main sources of income—she was the Gnoll a lot of her customers went to in order to avoid hours of shopping.

“Hmm. Costly this time. I will have it all ready for you by tomorrow at the latest. Give me…hrr. Yes, six gold coins for all of it. The pottery being custom-made will be expensive. But I may be able to talk the [Potter] down. I will let you know.”

Erin handed over the gold coins and Krshia swept them into a small bag. She glanced up at Erin, and then, looked sideways at Lyonette.

“I have a thought. Lyonette, if you are willing, would you come to my apartment after I close my stall for the day? I will only be open for another hour or so; I have many orders like Erin’s to begin filling. I would like to chat for a few minutes if I may.”

“Of course.”

Lyonette exchanged a surprised glance with Erin. She made plans to meet with Krshia and the two said their goodbyes. As they walked away, Lyonette leaned over to Erin at the same time the other girl was doing the same. They nearly knocked heads.

“What was that about, Lyonette? I didn’t know that Krshia liked you enough to invite you into her apartment.”

“I have no idea, Erin! I know she forgave me a bit, but—what should I do?”

“Dunno. Just go and see what she wants I guess. Oh, and eat lots of the raw meat. It’s good and also, polite.”

“R-raw meat? Do I have to…?”

The two young women walked on. They had things to do, or rather, not do. It wasn’t that Erin was a huge fan of shopping in general; she had better things to do than spend her money on personal expenses like clothing and so on, especially when she had her inn to think about. But window-shopping was relaxing, as was finding which [Merchants] had come with expensive and rare magical artifacts to sell.

“Ooh! A magic ball that runs away when you chase it!”

Erin admired a minor artifact that was attracting a lot of children. She thought Mrsha would love it—although the price tag was far more than she was willing to pay. A few dogs were also trying to go after the ball, but the [Merchant] who owned the object was determined to protect his wares, lest dog drool drive down the price.

“It’s so weird seeing a Gnoll owning a dog.”

“Why? I’ve seen Cat-Tribe Beastkin who have their own cats. They’re just animals. Plus, I hear Gnolls and the Beastkin make great pet owners since they establish themselves as pack leaders easily.”

Lyonette looked at a Gnoll who was indeed leading a large mastiff around with ease. The Gnoll growled at the dog as it tried to run after the ball and the dog froze, whining a bit. Erin noted the lack of a leash.

“That’s cool. But don’t Gnolls also eat dogs?”

“Well…so do Humans. And it’s not all of them. Just a few tribes and some Humans. Honestly, I’d be more worried about Ceria. I know for a fact that half-Elves will eat dogs.”

The Gnoll dog-owner looked at Lyonette and Erin, horrified, and hurried her dog away as if she was afraid they would break out the forks and plates right then and there. Guiltily, Erin and Lyonette walked away.

Life was good. Tranquil. Placid, even. Both girls weren’t exactly waiting for the ball to drop, but when it did, they weren’t surprised. They were just about to split up for Erin to go visit Klbkch and Lyonette to see Krshia when they heard someone shouting at them.

“You there! Human!”

It was a vaguely familiar voice. Erin turned around, frowning, and saw a Drake wearing fancy clothing striding towards them with a small host of Drakes following behind. A few things struck her at once.

The first was that she’d seen him before, although her memory was a bit fuzzy. The second was that this Drake was rich. He had fancy clothes on, and a number of sparkling rings on his claws that were clearly magical. And lastly, he was drunk. The Drake was walking well, but there was a certain unsteadiness in his steps that told her he was some degree of sloshed, and early in the morning as well.

“Can I help you?”

The Drake stumbled as he approached Erin and she took a step back. He looked at her, slightly unfocused. He reeked of drink and looked…well, Erin had seen Relc on a bad day with his scales flaking off, bloodshot eyes, and reeking of sweat and grime. This Drake was pretty much all those things except richer, which meant he’d covered up the smells with cologne and his clothes were new at least.

“You’re that Human. The one who owns the inn.”

He looked at her and Erin recognized him at last. Wall Lord Ilvriss was hard to recognize without his armor and in his disheveled state. But he still managed to sneer at her and project quite a bit of arrogance into his tone.

“Human. I have business with you.”

“My name is Erin Solstice. And I remember you. You’re the lord-guy who was with Zel. You ran into my inn with Olesm two days ago, right after him! You knocked over two tables and nearly stepped on Mrsha’s tail!”

Erin put her hands on her hips and glared as the rest of Ilvriss’ escort caught up. She spotted Olesm hovering at the back of the group of important-looking Drakes. She waved at him.

Ilvriss sniffed. He glared at Lyonette.

“I am Wall Lord Ilvriss, [Innkeeper]. I have confidential business I wish to discuss with you. Your employee may leave.”

It was ironic, Lyonette thought, that she was on the receiving end of the treatment she’d used to give Erin and other people. She glanced at Erin and the young woman made a face.

“If you want to go Lyonette, I’ll handle Wall-Face over here. It might take a while so meet me back at the inn when you’re done.”

“Okay.”

Lyonette backed away, half-wanting to stay as Ilvriss narrowed his eyes at Erin. The young woman turned back to face him, frowning.

“So what do you want? Hey, didn’t I throw a pan at your head once?”

The Drake blinked, and then frowned at Erin.

“Yes. I recall. You should consider yourself fortunate that at the time I had not activated my rings for battle. You are equally fortunate I overlooked that transgression. Now—”

“Wait, your rings? How would that help?”

There was a muted gasp of collective outrage from behind Ilvriss as Erin interrupted the Wall Lord. She didn’t care; she was enjoying herself. From Olesm’s face, he was equally horrified and amused.

Ilvriss paused. He was clearly drunk and hung over, and thus behind even Seborn in terms of mental acuity at the moment. He stared, irritated, at Erin and raised his hand slowly. Two fat rings, one made of ruby, the other sporting a large topaz in the center, glinted at her.

“I am a Lord of the Wall, one of the Drake nobility, you ignorant Human—I am naturally equipped with many magical items that ensure my safety. But my attire is not why I wanted to speak to—”

“Oh yeah? What does that one do?”

Enjoying herself now, Erin pointed to one of the rings. Ilvriss blinked.

“That ring sets my scales aflame with magical fire. Stop interrupting. I—”

“And what about that one? The shiny yellow gem one?”

“A projectile shield. Would you—”

“And that?”

“Strength enchantments. Wait—stop asking questions!”

The scales around Ilvriss’ face grew redder, and Erin saw his escort shifting their feet and twitching their tales. She heard a strangled noise and saw Olesm trying valiantly not to burst out laughing. He was having chest convulsions trying to hold it in.

Ilvriss glared around and massaged his temples, seeming to wake up a bit more. He growled and stepped closer to Erin. She stepped back to avoid the fumes of his breath.

“You stink. Have you been drinking? It’s not healthy, you know.”

“I don’t—stop talking—I came here to—”

“I should know. I’m an [Innkeeper].”

“Shut up!”

Ilvriss finally roared at Erin, and she did shut up, if only to wipe spit off her face. The Wall Lord breathed heavily for a few seconds, and then straightened.

“I came here to discuss a mutually profitable arrangement, Human. You need not speak—no, be quiet! Simply listen. You are in possession of a powerful magical door that is enchanted with the [Teleport] spell.”

“Yup.”

Erin smiled as the Wall Lord nettled. She didn’t exactly dislike him—she thought he was a rude jerk, but he had helped her before and she mainly just enjoyed annoying him. Ilvriss purpled a bit, but he went on slowly.

“I understand your magical door connects to the Human city of Celum, a hundred miles north of here. I wonder if it could be attuned to another location?”

“You mean, another city? Sure. I was planning on getting it to link to Invrisil, but then there was that Goblin Lord business…why, do you want to take a trip somewhere?”

Ilvriss nodded, and several of his adjutants murmured as he straightened.

“I am in need of rapid transportation, Human. Obviously I am reluctant to ask your ki—I would like to make a trip to my home city, of Salazsar at all speed. How quickly can you connect your door to that location?”

Erin blinked at the Wall Lord.

“Salazsar? Oh…that’s one of the Walled Cities, right?”

She’d assumed nothing could make Ilvriss more irate, but that off-hand remark seemed to drive his annoyance with her to another level. He opened his mouth, closed it, and then replied as his tail thrashed the ground angrily.

“Salazsar is the premier Walled City, the hub of Drake civilization and an icon of the continent you ignorant—ape!”

“Fine. No need to be rude about it. Okay, how far away is it?”

Her cavalier attitude seemed to be stumping Ilvriss. He paused.

“Does that matter?”

Erin nodded.

“Yeah. You see, my door can only go as far as Invrisil in terms of distance and even then, it’d only be able to transport one person at a time and it would take a day to recharge each time.”

The news elicited a groan from the Drakes behind Ilvriss. The Wall Lord frowned.

“Really? Is there no way of improving upon the enchantment?”

“Nope. At least, Typhenous and Pisces didn’t think so. I could probably recharge it fast if I had mana stones, but that doesn’t mean I can make it go further.”

Ilvriss glanced over his shoulder at one of his aides. The female Drake was doing calculations on an abacus, which intrigued Erin. She glanced up at the Wall Lord and nodded.

“That would save us at least a week of travelling, Wall Lord, not to mention the dangers of the journey.”

“Very well.”

He grunted and turned back to Erin.

“If the limit of your door is to Invrisil…that puts it at around four hundred miles…then I request it be linked to Pallass. That is a Walled City, Human.”

“I knew that! I think. And I’d be okay with that, Mr. Rude Drake, but I can’t do it just like that.”

Erin glared at Ilvriss. He glared back.

“Why not?”

“Because…I need to put an anchor at the place I want to go before my door can connect to it. So, sorry, but until I get someone to run all the way to Pallass or Invrisil, I can’t make the door connect anywhere else. I was going to get a Courier to do it, but then the Goblin Lord appeared and…”

Erin shrugged helplessly. Ilvriss rubbed at his face and growled.

“Ancestors preserve me. The door needs an anchor? Very well, I will employ the Courier in this city to take whatever this…anchor is. I assume it is not heavy, or at least, portable via a bag of holding?”

“Oh, it’s really small. But I already asked Hawk and he said—”

“I don’t care what he said! He will begin his journey this day on my orders, threat of Goblins or not! I am a Lord of the Wall, not some [Innkeeper] with a few gold coins!”

Ilvriss snapped at Erin. She raised her hands.

“Well excuse me. It’s just my door that you want to use. What if I said no?”

By now their discussion had attracted a few people who were watching with interest.. Ilvriss’ jaw worked silently as he glared at Erin.

“You are in no position to refuse—”

“My inn, my rules. I’ll let you use the door if you ask nicely.”

Erin folded her arms and smirked. Ilvriss looked like he was swallowing his tongue. Olesm was doubled over and clutching at his stomach, much to the concern of the Drakes around him. When Ilvriss did find his voice, it was strangled with the effort of restraining himself.

“I will send one of my people to the building you call an inn. Give them whatever instructions you need. And when the door is connected to Pallass, I expect to be the first person through. If not, I will ensure you regret it.”

There was nothing to really say to that. Erin stuck out her tongue and Ilvriss recoiled as if it were a snake. He took a step back, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Then he turned and snapped at his escort.

“Come. We’re returning to the Tailless Thief. At least there the innkeeper knows how to treat people above his station with respect. Swifttail, with me.”

He beckoned and Olesm reluctantly trotted over. The [Tactician] glanced apologetically at Erin as Ilvriss began to walk off. Erin could hear the Wall Lord speaking loudly as he walked.

“I appreciate you not gagging in front of the Human. I understand the reaction, but they do become hard to deal with.”

He clapped Olesm on the shoulder and Erin scowled at Ilvriss’ back. She cupped her hands to her mouth and shouted at him.

“Hey! You’re a jerk, you know that?”

Her voice, amplified by her [Loud Voice] Skill, echoed down the street. Ilvriss froze mid-step and the people around Erin gaped at her. She looked around and shrugged.

“What? Someone had to tell him.”

Ilvriss stormed back down the street, furious. Erin waited until he was close and then spoke.

“You’re also drunk and smelly, by the way. You shouldn’t wear so much cologne. It stinks.”

“I should cut you down for your insolence. Were you in a Walled City, I could have you flogged for your tongue!”

“Really? Well guess what? You’re not in one, and unless you want to walk the rest of the way back, you’d better be nice to me!”

Erin shot back. Ilvriss rumbled in his chest.

“I could confiscate that door—”

“Try it! If you do I’ll hit you with another pan, you jerk! And I have Gold-rank adventurers in my inn! And evil Goblins! Lots of them! You won’t take my door alive! I’ll help you, but only because I don’t want you around, got that?”

Erin shouted back at the Wall Lord. He looked ready to throttle her, and Olesm and another Drake had to hold Ilvriss back. She grinned at him, and privately thought she’d pushed her luck as far as she could. Erin turned.

“Smell you later!”

“Don’t walk away from me! I am a Lord of the Wall! You do not leave without my consent!”

Ilvriss roared at her back. Erin turned and stuck her tongue out again.

“Oh yeah? Watch me!”

She began to walk away, faster this time. Ilvriss tore himself loose of his escort and charged after her.

“You do not walk away from a Lord of the Wall. I depart, and you wait. Stop, I command you!”

There was something incredibly sad about the way he tried to bar Erin’s path. She danced around him and he blocked her. And then Ilvriss pointed.

“I said stop.”

He used a Skill. It had to be one, because his aides, the people on the street, and Erin’s own feet immediately halted in place. She froze, and felt Ilvriss’ command holding her still. It lasted for all of two seconds, until Erin got mad.

“You don’t order me around!”

She felt a flicker in her chest, a…feeling. It was like when she’d used her own [Inn’s Aura] Skill, or resisted Magnolia’s charmed voice. Erin reached inside herself and pushed back. It was very hard, but she began to move her feet. Ilvriss gaped at her as Erin laboriously began to walk again.

“How are you—stop! I command you!”

He pushed again, but Erin was ready and pushed back. Her feet kept moving and Erin began running away. It was very hard to resist Ilvriss’ command and she decided she’d had enough. Time to go back to the inn. Unfortunately, Ilvriss didn’t know when to quit.

“Halt! I will not be disobeyed!”

The street was frozen as the Wall Lord chased after the Human girl. She ran, making rude gestures at Ilvriss as he unsteadily staggered and shouted at her. Olesm, halted in mid-stride, could only stare at Ilvriss’ back as the two disappeared down the street. It was over a minute before his limbs could move again.

On the whole he reflected, that had not been one of Ilvriss’ finest moments. But he also had to admit, it had been incredibly funny. Olesm giggled to himself as Ilvriss’ aides debated going after him in hushed voices. He was in a good mood today. Or maybe he’d just had too much to drink already.

It was probably the latter.

—-

“Why would a Lord of the Wall want to speak with Erin Solstice? It is curious how many famous and powerful people she attracts, is it not?”

Krshia shook her head as she refilled Lyonette’s cup. The Human girl sat tensely in her seat across from the Gnoll and nodded.

“It is. But Erin’s…special. I think she can handle him.”

“True. But I hope whatever he wants does not lead to another incident. Erin Solstice is adept at causing those as well.”

Krshia shook her head as she sipped at her tea. She picked up a cube of meat and popped it into her mouth, and then offered Lyonette the bowl. The girl eyed it and reluctantly took a cube. She bit into it and her face changed.

“This is good!”

“You think so? Truly?”

“Yes! I mean, I don’t eat raw meat because it leads to disease. Not that I’m saying this meat is bad, but us Humans—”

“Yes, I know of your customs.”

Krshia smiled, interrupting Lyonette’s babbling. She nodded at the bowl.

“Be at ease. We Gnolls know how to prepare such food. We ensure it is clean and prepared correctly. You need not have any if you are uncomfortable.”

“No—I’ll have some more.”

Lyonette helped herself to another cube, making Krshia smile. That mattered to the young woman. She shifted.

“I wonder if I could make it. Or take some for Mrsha? I’d like her to have her people’s food to eat. Erin makes great food, but the taste of home…”

“Hmm. It is not good to transport such food, but I could teach you the recipe. And you could bring Mrsha here more often. It would be good to teach her more of our ways. Although she was born to a tribe that lived in the wilderness…she may know more than I do of some things.”

Krshia sipped at her tea and Lyonette nodded. The girl paused as she sipped from her cup. It was hard to forget how she’d been raised—she was acutely aware of her posture and the way she held her teacup. She felt as though she were back in court, sipping tea with nobility. Only, there was no such thing as a Gnoll [Lady]. That was a pity.

How strange life could be. Lyonette looked at Krshia, and remembered the sensation of being grabbed by a huge paw, staring into the Gnoll’s eyes and seeing huge fangs as a stall burned behind her. She was ashamed of that. But now she was sitting in said Gnoll’s apartment. The same place where her nephew had lived. Where Brunkr had…

Lyonette’s eyes moved around the room and Krshia noticed. The [Shopkeeper] lowered her cup.

“There is little of Brunkr here, I am sorry to say. His shield and sword remain, but he arrived here as a warrior, not meaning to stay long. I have only my memories to remind me of what he was.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I was just—”

“I take no offense, Lyonette. Actually, it is that I wished to talk with you about.”

Krshia put down her tea cup and Lyonette felt her heart begin to beat faster. The Gnoll sighed, and in the privacy of her own home, she slumped. She seemed tired, old, and sad all at once. When she looked at Lyonette, there was loss in her brown eyes.

“I still wonder if I could have known. If I had paid more attention, if I had not been blind to that traitorous Regrika Blackpaw’s true nature—she is no true Gnoll. And she will be hunted. But if I had only had the foresight to question instead of being blind—would he be alive?”

Lyonette sat still, not knowing what to say. Krshia shook her head.

“These are useless thoughts of course. What is done is done. Only justice and mourning remain. But I am plagued by them. Yet I would not burden you with my grief, Lyonette. No. I wanted to call you here to thank you, instead.”

“Thank me? But why—”

“For making him a [Knight].”

Krshia spoke plainly, and Lyonette’s heart constricted with fear. The Gnoll looked at her, not accusingly or with suspicion, rather, with certainty.

“I know you are a [Princess], Lyonette. And I know you gave your blessing to Brunkr to make him a [Knight].”

“How—how do you…?”

The Gnoll snorted.

“I have ears. Brunkr is not good at keeping secrets. As for the rest…it is enough that I know.”

Lyonette was frozen in place. Krshia shifted, watching her carefully.

“Mistake me not. I do not seek to profit from this knowledge. I have no other motive than to give my thanks.”

“But I didn’t do anything.”

Lyonette whispered. Krshia shook her head again.

“No. You did much. True, he only had the class for a matter of days. But becoming a [Knight] was Brunkr’s dream. It was thought that he would never achieve it, since Gnolls have no [Lords] or other noble classes that could bestow such a class. But you gave it to him, and I must think it made him happy in his last days. For that small gift, I thank you.”

She bowed her head and Lyonette burst into tears. For a few minutes there was just her snuffling and Krshia offering her a handkerchief, wiping at her own eyes. Silence. Words unspoken. Lyonette managed a few words after she had finished.

“I don’t deserve thanks. All I did—”

“Water.”

Krshia raised her hand as if catching raindrops and tossed it away. She sighed.

“You have done much to offend. Much it is true. But that is the past and you have changed. The debt has been paid, and while I might hold a grudge—no. My nephew’s life is worth more than mere hatred. I forgive, Lyonette. And I thank you for changing. Not least for taking care of Mrsha.”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

Laughing, crying. Krshia smiled and Lyonette grew calmer over time. At last, the two sat, drinking and returning to something like normal conversation. But now the secret was out, Lyonette felt compelled to speak.

“The reason why I ran away—it may seem silly to you, but I really felt like I had to. I was wrong—stupid, arrogant—but if my family knew where I was, I’m sure they’d send someone after me. They might be looking already, but they have no idea where I am and I’m not exactly a First Princess or high-level, so…”

“I understand. I shall say nothing of it if you do not wish me to.”

“Thank you.”

After a while, Krshia spoke again.

“It is curious how you were able to make Brunkr a [Knight], though. He said you spoke only a few words and he gained the class that night. Is it truly so easy?”

Lyonette hesitated. But now was not the time to keep royal secrets. She nodded.

“It’s…well, it’s not supposed to be that simple, you understand. But in practice you can make someone a [Knight] with only a few words. It’s usually a matter of ceremony because it’s so important, but if you’re in a hurry you can skip all that. At least…I can. I think [Lords] have to work harder at it, you know, have a crest, induct the person into their service and so on.”

“But a [Princess] is able to do the same more easily? Because your class is superior?”

“Maybe…well, no. I think Mother explained it once. You see, a [Princess] has a different role from a [Lord]. They have their own households, vassals, and so on, so they can support quite a lot of [Knights] depending on how rich and powerful they are. Whereas even a high-level [Princess] has a limit on the amount of [Knights] she can appoint. Mine are personal protectors, you see, so I can choose them quickly and as I please, whereas a [Lord]…”

“Must set up such circumstances. So I see. That is fascinating.”

Krshia nodded. Lyonette smiled and went on.

“It’s a feature of royal classes. Obviously a [King] can appoint a lot more classes, like [King’s Champion], specialized knighthood orders and so on. I can’t do any of that—the only other thing I can do is royally appoint some business I like.”

Krshia had been chewing at her raw meat. Now she paused and gulped.

“Royally appoint? I am not familiar with this.”

“It’s simple. I can bestow a royal class on someone. Like…say you’re a [Gardener], right? If I want, I could make that person a [Royal Gardener]. Although that’s rare and I can probably only do that for one person. Father has a [Royal Chamberlain], but it’s not common to do. Although it does help!”

“I imagine it would. Such a class…hrr. Am I right in thinking it offers better Skills, or perhaps more unique ones?”

Lyonette nodded cautiously, trying to dredge up half-remembered lessons.

“I think so. It’s just an addition, so you can change classes and transform it like normal. It just makes, you, well, better.”

She paused as Krshia mulled this over, and then had a crazy thought. She spoke before her courage failed her.

“Would you like me to give one to you?”

Krshia choked on her tea and nearly sprayed it all over Lyonette. When she’d finished coughing, she looked at the [Princess].

“You are joking.”

“No.”

Lyonette met her gaze, her legs trembling wildly.

“I’m serious. I could give it to you if you want.”

“Why? I am not your subject. And such a gift—”

“I gave Brunkr a [Knight] class. I think…well, I just think that he’d want me to help you if I could. And that’s the only thing I can do.”

Krshia looked at Lyonette. She sat back in her chair, speechless. When she spoke, it was distantly.

“Say I accept. I would receive a royal title and…nothing else? It would be a gift, yes, not an obligation?”

Lyonette hesitated. She frowned and gulped some tea.

“I don’t know. It’s been years—decades, really since my family gave their blessing to anyone. We make [Knights] and [Lords] and so on, but businesses are different. It’s…I can remember my grandmother knew a fruit seller who she made royal. I think it helped her business, but I can’t remember if it did anything else. You don’t have to, I’m just offering…”

“I see. But if it is so useful, why have your family not appointed more? Surely it would help your kingdom. What stays their paws…hands?”

“Trust, perhaps.”

Lyonette looked wistfully up at the ceiling. She shook her head in response to Krshia’s confusion.

“It’s just…you see, it’s so political back home. If my family gave a [Merchant] a royal blessing and he started working for another country, or denounced our kingdom, it would be a scandal, you see. And it’s not as if my family meets with many ordinary people that often. Not that I think you’re ordinary! I…”

“I know what you mean. So. That is what you offer and it is for me to accept or not. From what you say the risk is small. However.”

Krshia got up and walked back and forth for a few seconds. Lyonette looked at her anxiously, regretting opening her mouth. Why had she said that? And yet—she remembered Brunkr and couldn’t regret offering.

At last, Krshia slowed. She sat down heavily in front of Lyonette and looked around. Lyonette did too. Krshia’s apartment wasn’t large, but it was comfortable, and showed many years of care and hard work. The [Barmaid] remembered that Krshia had apparently come to Liscor decades ago to work.

“It has been long, and I have worked hard to get to where I am. I lost much.”

Krshia raised her paw to forestall Lyonette.

“Much. Material goods and money…but I received a gift far greater than that in return from Ryoka Griffin. I do not begrudge you that. As for my nephew, I ache. Now I must rebuild, and yet I asked myself the other day whether it was worth trying, if I had the strength to do so another time. And now a gift is offered, unprompted. Would I be a fool not to take it?”

Lyonette held her breath. The Gnoll nodded.

“All things change. This is what we Gnolls know. To stay the same is to be a fool. So you offer and I respond thusly: yes. Lyonette, if you will give me a blessing, a royal title, I would accept with gratitude.”

She stared at the [Princess], and Lyonette stood. She trembled with nerves as much as anything else. She raised a hand and Krshia looked up.

“Hrr. Should I kneel?”

“No. I can…no. I just need to say a few words.”

Lyonette took a few breaths. She felt…she remembered staring at a Gnoll’s back, her legs and arms covered in sweat, holding a sword and feeling the skin of her palms sting. She blinked, and Krshia was looking up at her, waiting. Lyonette spoke, and felt a shiver as the words spun out from her heart. Ancient words. Familiar words. True words.

“I, Lyonette du Marquin do solemnly grant you, Krshia Silverfang and whatever business you pursue my royal favor, now and unto perpetuity. You who have forgiven when we did not deserve it. You, whose kin we called friend however briefly. You, who have lost much—we offer our small blessing. Let the world know you are favored and that favor grant you all the riches you wish for.”

She reached out and touched Krshia on the brow. The Gnoll bowed her head and Lyonette waited a second. Then she withdrew her hand. It was over.

“Did it…work?”

She looked at Krshia. The Gnoll blinked and touched the spot on her head, wrinkling her brows. She rolled her shoulders and sniffed the air and looked at Lyonette, tilting her head from side to side and shrugging.

“Hrm. I do not know. I do not feel different. But perhaps…let me sleep on it.”

She grinned, showing her teeth, and Lyonette smiled as well. There was a moment where the past was forgotten and they were just enjoying themselves. Two people, one step closer to becoming something like friends. Then it passed, leaving everything different. Krshia raised her tea pot.

“More tea?”

Lyonette gulped. She looked at Krshia and smiled guiltily.

“Maybe. But first…could you tell me where the bathroom is?”

—-

“Bow, Human worm!”

“No, you bow, you jerk!”

The Wandering Inn was full of shouting voices. Two in particular. Ilvriss staggered as Erin hit him with her authority, trying to force him down. The air was thick around the Drake, but his own aura of command pushed hers back. He pointed.

“I will not stomach such insolence from a Human!”

“Oh yeah? Oh yeah?”

The Drake [Lord] and Human [Innkeeper] circled each other like angry pigeons, trading insults, fighting with their respective auras. They circled rapidly, and then walked, and then finally sat and snapped at each other. Erin wiped sweat from her forehead and accepted a glass of water from Ishkr. Ilvriss looked up with bloodshot eyes and waved at the Gnoll.

“Give me a drink.”

Ishkr looked at Erin. She nodded and leaned back in her chair, exhausted. Mrsha leapt onto the table and licked her face.

“Give him something, Ishkr. I’ll kick him out if he’s being a jerk.”

“I’d rather leave…than stay at a Human inn.”

Ilvriss sat upright, looking hung over and miserable. Erin pointed to the door with a hand that shook.

“Go for it, buddy. It’s a nice walk through the slush.”

Ilvriss considered this and leaned back in his chair as Ishkr came out with a cup of cold water.

“I don’t answer to you, Human.”

He grimaced as he drank from the cup.

“Water? What am I, impoverished? Get me something stronger! Alcohol if you even serve it. Not some cheap ale, but a proper Drake drink, like Firebreath Whiskey!”

The Wall Lord snapped at Ishkr, forcing the Gnoll to hurry behind the bar. The Drake did drink the water, though. Erin eyed Ilvriss.

“Haven’t you already had enough? You’re drunk already.”

“So? My affairs are none of your business. I will have you know that I am in mourning. I grieve and my drinking is thus excusable.”

Ilvriss grimaced as Ishkr came back with a mug brimming with the fiery orange liquid that had done so much damage to Seborn and Jelaqua yesterday. Erin glanced at the mug and then at Ilvriss.

“Is that because of Ulrien? Or Brunkr?”

“Who?”

The inn went quiet. Ilvriss looked around and grimaced.

“Ah. The two casualties of the Named Adventurer and her accomplice? No. This is…personal.”

He lifted the mug and drank down what must have been at least five shots of whiskey. Erin saw Jelaqua put a hand to her mouth, but Ilvriss only swayed a bit in his seat as he finished. He thrust the mug at Ishkr and the Gnoll sighed. Erin stared at him and raised her voice.

“No alcohol for the Wall Lord, Ishkr. Give him something else like milk and honey.”

“Milk and—who are you to dictate what I drink?”

“The [Innkeeper]. And it seems like you’re pretty upset, buddy. Why don’t you tell me about it?”

Erin scooted her chair over towards Ilvriss’ table. He eyed her, but seemingly didn’t have the energy to move away. Instead he put out a long-suffering sigh as Ishkr came back with warm milk and honey, a Mrsha favorite.

“So this is how far I’ve sunk, to be denied drinks at a Human establishment. If Periss could see me now…”

He shook his head, slumping in his chair as the shots of Firebreath Whiskey hit him all at once. Erin looked at the Wall Lord.

“Who’s Periss?”

“None of your business. And if you think I’ll drink this swill—what are you doing?”

Ilvriss was pushing away the mug when Mrsha leapt up onto his table. The Gnoll was staring at his mug and the Wall Lord instinctively drew it closer to him. Erin smiled.

“That’s Mrsha. She wants a drink. Ishkr! Can you make one for Mrsha? Thanks! Try it, why don’t you? It’s good?”

The Drake stared at Mrsha, who was eying his drink with clear desire. There was possibly no better endorsement than the longing on her small face. Cautiously, he sipped at the milk and his eyes widened.

“Sweet!”

“Isn’t it? We get Ashfire Bee honey here so we can make a lot of sugary stuff. This is a house special.”

As Erin had observed, sugar was a rare treat even for the rich in this world. Ilvriss began sipping at his drink and Mrsha, once she’d gotten her own mug, began happily lapping it up. Erin looked around.

The Horns of Hammerad were staring at her, and the Halfseekers were eating a very, very late breakfast. As for the Goblins…Ilvriss glanced at Headscratcher and Shorthilt as they paused in maintaining the small bucklers they carried into combat.

“So those are the Goblins. Hmf. I can see why this inn is abandoned. Tell me, Human. Are you insane, or just odd as Shivertail claims?”

It took Erin a moment to realize he was talking about Zel, not Selys. She made a face at him.

“I’m not odd! I just think Goblins are people, and they saved my life! Besides, they haven’t hurt anyone. If you’re afraid they’re going to mug you, well…they won’t!”

Headscratcher nodded. Shorthilt paused and eyed Ilvriss’ rings until the other Hobgoblin jabbed him in the ribs. Ilvriss snorted.

“I am not afraid. Disgust keeps me from patronizing this establishment, not fear. I am capable of slaying however many Hobgoblins that infest this inn myself.”

He put a hand on the hilt of his sword and both of the Hobs growled. Headscratcher eyed Ilvriss, and Erin sat up, scowling.

“Stop bullying them! Can’t you not be a jerk for five seconds? I thought [Lords] were supposed to be noble, but you don’t act like it!”

Ilvriss glared back.

“I am a Lord of the Wall. I realize that means little to you, but it is my sworn duty to defend my city and Drakes as a whole from enemies of our king. Goblins are one such threat. Traitors the other, which is why I fought to defend you with Shivertail in this very inn despite my hatred for all Humans. Do not lecture me about duty.”

Erin fell silent. She saw Ishkr pause as he went about the inn and the Halfseekers stop eating.

“Oh. Right. You did help. Thank you.”

She hadn’t asked for his help, but when she’d talked to Zel before confronting Regrika, he’d mentioned that he would bring someone he thought could help. By all accounts, Ilvriss had risked his life fighting in the city when he and Zel had been teleported.

There was a silence as Ilvriss looked at Erin and then around, noticing the silence his words had caused. Mrsha stopped lapping at her drink and curled up into a ball on the table. The Drake stared at her and then at Erin’s face. Then he sighed.

“…I should be the one apologizing to you, Human.”

“What?”

Ilvriss sat a bit straighter and his voice was less slurred as he looked at Erin.

“It was my weakness that allowed Regrika Blackpaw and the traitor with her to escape. That they slew a Gold-rank adventurer…this was my fault and I apologize to you for it.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Erin spoke automatically. Ilvriss glared at her.

“It was. Do not interrupt! It was my fault. Perhaps we were all at fault for underestimating our foes. Perhaps. But while Shivertail may have been the highest-level warrior there, I am most at fault. For I am a Lord of the Wall. When I fail, my failure is greater than any other. Thus I take responsibility. If you have any hatred, any regrets for what transpired, know that I am to blame.”

He sat straight and tall, both apologetic and proud at the same time. Mrsha uncurled to look at him and Erin closed her mouth. She frowned at Ilvriss.

“You keep saying you’re a Lord of the Wall. But what does that really mean? You’re a [Lord] in one of the Walled Cities, right? Is that really that special?”

Ilvriss’ eyes flashed.

“More than special! We are nobility whose lineage extends back to the age of Ancestors, of Dragons! We built the Walled Cities with their help, to shelter our people. And though millennia have passed, my role is the same. To lead and inspire Drakes, to defend our home from any invaders, to pass justice as I see fit, to hold others of my station accountable. It is an honor, a calling, and a privilege. That is what it means to be Lord of the Wall.”

There was a brief silence after he had finished. Then a lapping. Mrsha tilted her mug and slurped loudly. Ilvriss looked at her. Erin rested her chin on her hands.

“So if you’re that important, why did you come all the way to Liscor? Shouldn’t you be at your Walled City, defending it?”

The Drake hesitated. He bowed his head.

“Yes. I should be. But I came here searching for the truth. The truth which your Runner friend hid. And which…I have now uncovered. Ah. Periss.”

He slumped again, and Erin saw Pisces look up at his table speculatively. She wondered what she should do, but it was Mrsha who padded over on the table and awkwardly patted Ilvriss on the shoulder. He stared at her and she sat by him, sipping from her mug.

“It sounds like she was really special to you.”

“She was. She was glorious, brave, a fine officer and more. If I had known….”

Perhaps it was the drink, perhaps it was the absurdity of it. Ilvriss sat and drank his honeyed milk. Erin pulled her chair up to the table and patted his shoulder as the Drake bent over his mug.

“Come on, tell me all about it.”

He did. It was a confusing story, full of forbidden romance with a subordinate, chance meetings, battlefield exploits and close calls. And sex. Erin carefully put her hands over Mrsha’s ears when Ilvriss got to any lewdness. He was drunk and not a good storyteller, despite what he might have believed, but one thing was clear.

He had loved her. And now she was gone. Ilvriss finished one mug of milk, and then two and Mrsha matched him for every sip. And when he had finished, Erin sat with him and patted his shoulder.

“I’ll get you back to Pallass. Don’t you worry.”

“I—thank you. I have no remains to inter, but I must notify her family in person and—and see to fitting funeral arrangements.”

Ilvriss stared at the table. He looked so wretched that Erin called for some food. Mrsha wagged her tail. Ilvriss looked up as Ishkr brought him lunch.

“What is this?”

“Soufflé. It’s egg and cheese and carrot and…it’s good, okay? Hot, too.”

“There is no way you could have made it quickly. Unless—is the Gnoll a [Chef]?”

“Nope. I’m the cook around here. But I have a food preservation skill. Go on, try it.”

“Human cooking? I think I’ll pass—”

Ilvriss’ stomach rumbled as he pushed away the bowl. He stared at Erin and she grinned at him.

“Go on. Or Mrsha will eat it. Mrsha, no. You’re getting your own. See? Ishkr has it right there. Be a good girl and sit down. Not on the table.”

The Gnoll did, patting the table happily as Ishkr gave her a fork and warned her not to eat fast since the soufflé was hot. Grudgingly, Ilvriss emulated Mrsha’s example. He was clearly trying to eat just so he could disparage Erin’s cooking, but soon he was scraping the bowl with his fork.

“Not…bad. I will have another.”

“Really? Good! Hey, when you go to Pallass, I wonder if I can find a way to make the door transport a bunch of people at once. I bet the Drakes there haven’t had anything like my cooking!”

Ilvriss coughed, looking somewhat more alert after what might have been his first meal of the day. He hesitated as he glanced towards the magical door.

“Pallass. Yes. I forgot how inconvenient that might be.”

“What?”

Erin looked at him. The Wall Lord grimaced.

“The Courier is not the issue. It is…personal. As a Wall Lord of another Walled City, my entering Pallass will result in political strife. I have enemies who would impede me.”

“Oh. There are jerks in Pallass too, huh?”

“It is amazing how your crude Human expressions come so close to the truth.”

Ilvriss sighed. He looked at the second soufflé and poked at the puffy crust with his fork. Mrsha waved for a second one and Ishkr sighed again.

“Well, I will not have to worry about that issue for a few days at least. Enough time to make preparations.”

He began to bite into his meal. Erin saw Pisces sit up.

“Pardon me, but you said a few days? How far is Pallass exactly? Most maps I ah, have read refuse to give the exact distance as a matter of Drake security.”

The Lord of the Wall might have been persuaded to talk to Erin and Mrsha, but he clearly wasn’t happy about being addressed by Humans. He gave Pisces an arch look which the [Mage] returned and grudgingly replied.

“About the same distance as Invrisil. Four hundred miles give or take. More like three hundred and eighty.”

“Whoa. That’s far. You sure a Courier can get there in a few days and not…weeks?”

Erin was hazy on distances, but three hundred and eighty miles seemed like a lot of distance to cover even if you had a car. Ilvriss sighed and cast his eyes to the ceiling.

“The average Courier can outdistance a horse over the course of a day, regardless of whether they could outrun one in a race. It will not take the Courier long. Hawk, I believe his name is.”

“Hold on, not long?”

Jelaqua frowned. She too had come alive with food and she was eating her fifth soufflé. Erin hadn’t made that many and she was worrying Ishkr was running out in the kitchen. The Selphid began counting on her fingers.

“A mounted rider with an able mount can travel up to sixty miles per day without Skills. So that means it’d take…six days? Seven?”

Ilvriss sneered over his cup at Jelaqua.

“I said horse, not horse and rider. And Hawk is a veteran [Courier], not some City Runner who has barely achieved the rank but still has the [Runner] class. He is able to travel over a hundred miles in a day.”

Erin stared at Ilvriss.

“So it’ll take four days for him to get to Pallass. Maybe three. You know, you could just say that and not be a jerk about it.”

The Wall Lord growled at her. Mrsha poked him with a claw. He stared incredulously at the Gnoll and then glared at Erin.

“Why are you sitting here?  I am used to the dignity and space my station deserves. Were Peslas serving me, I would feel far more comfortable.”

“You’re staying at the Tailless Thief?”

Erin’s brows rose. Ilvriss smiled.

“Indeed. It is the only acceptable inn in the entire city.”

The [Innkeeper] shrugged.

“If you say so. I thought Peslas was kind of a jerk when I met him, though. But then, he’s sort of like you.”

“Stop calling me that!”

Ilvriss’ left eye began to twitch. Erin grinned at him, and then frowned seriously.

“But he really is one. You know, the Halfseekers were staying at his inn until he kicked them out. Just because Jelaqua’s a Selphid and Moore’s big.”

The Lord of the Wall looked up. Jelaqua waved at him and raised her voice.

“We don’t mind! We’re used to it. Besides, here is nicer. Oi, Ishkr! More soufflés! Give me three more! Moore and I are hungry!”

The Drake eyed the Halfseekers and looked troubled for the first time.

“Peslas ejected them? He should not have done that. I am familiar with the Halfseekers. A Gold-rank team that has featured two Drakes among their number. You there, Selphid.”

Jelaqua looked up, spoon halfway to her mouth.

“Me? I have a name. It’s Jelaqua.”

“Ivirith the Tempest. I recall. What became of two of your number? You had a Scorchling in your ranks a few years ago. Halassia Evergleam. What became of her?”

The Halfseekers paused and all three looked up. Moore’s face twisted and he bowed his head. Seborn looked at Ilvriss as Jelaqua glanced at the Redfang Goblins who had paused in their seats. That was all the answer Ilvriss needed. He bowed his head.

“I see. I trust her remains were sent back to her family?”

“They didn’t want them. We buried her ourselves.”

There was a strained note in Jelaqua’s voice. She stared at Ilvriss. Erin looked from her to the Wall Lord. She felt like she shouldn’t ask, but she had to.

“Um…what’s a Scorchling?”

“A half-Drake.”

Seborn answered for both of them. The Drowned Man gulped down another glass of water as he spoke, his deep and echoing voice somber.

“They’re a kind of Oldblood Drake. Only, the way their heritage manifests isn’t in wings or the ability to breath fire. They’re born burnt by the fires within them. Most die with their mothers, but the few who survive live with their curse. The fire in their bodies makes their scales flake off, and causes them pain. Scorchlings are half-Drake and half ash, or so it’s said. In truth, they’re just people with a curse.”

“Shunned.”

Moore spoke the one word and closed his eyes. Ilvriss nodded.

“They are. But some make a name for themselves even so. I knew of Halassia. She was born in Salazsar. That she considered you her allies, and that you took her in—I remembered your name, Halfseekers. For the kindness you offered Halassia when her kin would not, I thank you.”

He bowed his head, surprising everyone again. Erin looked at him.

“You don’t think Scorchlings are cursed?”

He glared at her.

“Half-Drake, you mean? Do I look like I’m afraid of ancient curses or believe in that superstition? No. And even if I did—half a Drake is still worth more than any Human, Gnoll, or any other species in this world. I personally believe such children cursed by our blood have the heart of true Drakes and should be treated as such.”

His little speech caused a hush, and made the Halfseekers look at him differently. Erin too. She leaned over and whispered to Mrsha.

“Now I can’t tell if he’s a jerk or just pretending.”

The Gnoll nodded. Ilvriss stared at both of them.

“I am going to leave now. Unexpectedly tolerable as this inn may be, I prefer the company of my own kind.”

He rose, rummaging at his money pouch. Erin interrupted him.

“Oh come on. You have to stay for dessert at least. I was going to save it for dinner, but—Ishkr! Bring out the cake!”

The word ‘cake’ made Mrsha choke on her soufflé and everyone in the room looked up. Ilvriss looked confused.

“Cake?”

It was a memory that Ishkr brought out of the kitchen, carefully set on a large plate. Erin saw the others in the room look at the cake and remember. She had first served it the night Brunkr had died. Erin stroked Mrsha’s head and smiled.

“It’s just cake, Ilvriss. It’s…good. I think you’ll like it. And it’s good to eat.”

She looked around, meeting the eyes of the Horns of Hammerad, the Halfseekers…Mrsha. Erin personally cut the cake and offered two slices to the Goblins, inviting them to call their friends. Ilvriss sniffed at his cake and watched as Mrsha hesitated over her slice. She looked sad for a moment, but then began to scarf the cake down. He pushed his own fork into the generously frosted slice of cake and bit. His eyes widened.

A sugar rush was not something Goblins had ever experienced. Erin saw Headscratcher’s eyes go round and Shorthilt immediately hunch over his cake as if he was afraid it would be stolen. She encouraged them to take three more slices down to their friends, but then decided to call them up—she feared the two Goblins would eat the extra cake themselves.

When she came back up, Ilvriss was scraping his plate with a fork and Mrsha was licking hers. She smiled expectantly at the Wall Lord. He cleared his throat, avoiding meeting her eyes.

“Mediocre at best, but I suppose it is original. I will have another piece. And some to take back with me. This is one dish that I have not encountered and I suppose I should share it with my subordinates. Unless…no, I’m sure Peslas can make the same.”

“I can give you another slice, but I’m afraid I have limited supplies of cake and I don’t want to sell it to someone who thinks it’s mediocre. Plus, you won’t get it anywhere else, Ilvriss.”

“What?”

Erin smiled evilly as the Wall Lord looked at her.

“As far as I know, no one has any baking powder or baking soda in this world but me. So that means my cakes are unique. No one can make anything like them even if they tried to copy it. Without me, the cake is a lie. No stupid Human, no cake.”

She paused and reconsidered her statement.

“Well, I suppose you could make cheesecake or angel food cake without baking soda. But that’s not real cake! Plus, I have whipped cream as well. Whoops! I forgot! Ishkr, for the second helping bring out the whipped cream!”

This time Ilvriss made the cake disappear as fast as Mrsha. He couldn’t really find an excuse for that this time, so he just mumbled about being hungry. That only made Erin laugh, and Mrsha giggled, on a sugar high of her own. And maybe it was the sugar, the alcohol, or something else, but Erin could have sworn she saw Ilvriss smile as well.

Just for a second. Then he was frowning at her and demanding to know how the cake was made. She laughed.

“With lots of sugar! And eggs! And flour and…well, it’s not good for you. You should probably exercise a bit.”

“I should?”

Ilvriss stroked at his face and then seemed to realize the state he was in for the first time. He felt at his eyes, his mussed clothing, and sat straighter.

“Dead gods, if Periss could see me—once I return, I’ll have to lead those lazy subordinates of mine in running laps around the walls! Ten to begin with, and I might as well teach Swifttail some sword drills while I’m at it.”

He sat straighter, and Erin saw a bit of fire ignite in his eyes. Maybe it was just burning pride, but it was what he needed, and she was glad of it. She smiled.

“Okay, but for now, I guess I will sell you that cake. And I have a special drink you might want to try before you go. It’s made with flowers.”

“Hmf. I suppose I can try—did you say another cake?”

“Yup. You can pay me a lot of money for it and give some to Peslas. Tell him he’ll never make it in a thousand years since I have an ingredient he can’t copy!”

Erin smirked, thinking of the way her pizza and hamburger recipes had been copied. Well, she’d have a monopoly on cake until people realized that Octavia was selling baking soda. She saw Ishkr bringing out the second cake and had to hold Mrsha back from getting at it.

Badarrow, Numbtongue, and Rabbiteater were having their slices of cake—and punching Headscratcher and Shorthilt who’d nibbled at the frosting—and Ilvriss was fumbling at his money pouch as Ishkr gave the second-to-last slice of cake to Yvlon. She’d eaten slowest out of everyone in the room.

By contrast, Ceria, Pisces, and Ksmvr had inhaled theirs. Actually, it was easier to say that of the inn’s guests, only Moore, Seborn, Erin, and Yvlon had shown restraint; everyone else had scarfed their first and second pieces down. Ksmvr was practically vibrating in place.

There was another whole cake sitting pristine in front of Ilvriss. Mrsha was nearly dribbling over it. Erin was asking Ishkr to bring up the last slice to Bird and Yvlon was fighting off Pisces and Ksmvr as she laughingly held her slice of cake up in the air. She turned to the doorway, holding her plate in her hands and froze.

The plate and slice of cake fell from her grip. The plate shattered onto the floor and Ksmvr and Mrsha dove for the cake. Pisces caught it in one hand and fled both of them. But Yvlon took no notice. She stared towards the open door, her face suddenly pale. Erin turned.

Someone was standing in the doorway, his body silhouetted against the setting sun. She shaded her eyes and a silver flash revealed a [Knight] in armor. He strode through the doorway, followed by a half-Elven [Mage] and a Dwarf dressed in full plate armor. The knight looked at Yvlon and removed his helmet. She gasped and spoke a name.

“Ylawes?”

Ylawes Byres smiled as he looked at his younger sister.

“Yvlon. At last I’ve found you.”

His eyes swept across the room and his warm smile froze for a second as he spotted Jelaqua, Moore and Seborn. Then he saw the Redfang Warriors sitting at the back of the inn. They shot up from their table, grabbing at their weapons and yelling. Ylawes swore and grabbed for his sword. He unsheathed it as he tore the shield from his side and raised it—

A cake smashed into his face. Erin sighed as the [Knight] blinked and frosting spattered off his once-gleaming armor and onto the floor. Mrsha was giving Erin a betrayed look. Erin raised her hands.

“See, this is why you always bake three cakes. Ishkr, go get me another.”

She sat down as Ylawes blinked at her and the Dwarf by his side began to laugh. Erin sighed, and then smiled. Her inn was getting weird again. Weirder, she should say. She looked at Ilvriss and he stared at her.

“Is your inn always like this, Human?”

Her laughter was his only reply.

4.44 M

Chaos reigned at Lady Magnolia’s estate outside of Invrisil. Servants of all stations rushed through the expensive and expansive hallways or gathered together talking urgently in small groups. Such confusion was not normal for any location under Magnolia’s—or rather, Ressa’s—authority, which made the scene all that much worse to behold. But perhaps it was inappropriate to describe the situation that way.

Chaos reined over the Reinhart estate, pulling it out of its carefully controlled environment. If every house had an owner and every household its own ruler, then Magnolia and Ressa were the two monarchs of the estate. One was a tyrant, the other a generally benevolent ruler with a penchant for sweets. However, their rule had been upset, their authority overturned and chaos had gleefully seized the metaphorical reins and driven the household into madness.

Or did chaos as an abstract concept rain over the household? Yes, perhaps that was it. Chaos, that most insidious of forces trickled down from the heavens or whatever nebulous plane of existence it resided in, filling the hearts of the people below with confusion.

It was said that Magnolia’s servants were like her fingers. Some, many, were mundane [Maids] and [Manservants] who actually did what their classes suggested. They cooked, swept, and cleaned her many estates and enjoyed a protected, if sometimes unusual, lifestyle under their mistress’s authority. But as anyone in the know knew, some of Magnolia’s servants had…other functions.

They were assassins, spies, warriors, mages, and occasionally, rude. And when they went out into the world at her command, they resolved her issues. Magnolia’s fingers danced across the continent and sometimes the world, influencing events, securing power, removing obstacles—giving her the reputation of ‘The Deadly Flower Blooming In the North’. That was a rather longwinded way of saying she was a flower, a [Lady], delicate, unsuited to war in her Skills and classes, but nevertheless possessed of thorns.

And she could make her fingers play an exquisite melody if she so chose. So what had let chaos—in any way, shape or form—into her mansion was that the hand that guided said fingers was different today. It was scaly, rather larger, and at the moment, clenching a sheaf of papers as the owner strode about Magnolia Reinhart’s mansion, shouting at people.

It was probably easier to say it that way. There was chaos at Magnolia Reinhart’s household. A simple sentence and easy to grasp. But then, what is chaos without context?

—-

“Details!”

Zel Shivertail’s voice boomed through the hallways, making two [Maids] jump and nearly drop the trays they were holding. They gingerly approached the huge Drake [General], wincing at the volume of his voice as he shouted loudly enough for half the mansion to hear.

“I want details! Get me every report, every message from every cities that’s sending soldiers to the front! And if they haven’t written down the exact specifications of the soldiers they’re sending—levels, classes, how many per unit, if there are officers leading—send a message back and demand an immediate reply! How hard is it to ask? I don’t care if it’s nightfall—this is a military matter and they should know where their damned soldiers are at all times!”

He whirled and one of the Human [Maids] flinched. Zel stared at her and carefully plucked the single piece of fine white paper off of the tray she held. He looked at it and then bellowed again.

“And stop bringing me reports one at a time! Collect them, organize them, and—in the name of the Ancestors, stop sneaking up on me like that! Raise your voice if you want my attention!”

He turned and the [Maids] both fled at once. Zel raked a hand across the spines on his head and neck, muttering as he read down the short page. He crumpled the delicate and expensive paper with one claw.

“Ridiculous! ‘400 soldiers from the city of Befton will meet at the location provided as requested?’ That’s not a reply! It’s not coded, it’s not specific—what routes are these soldiers taking? Are they [Soldiers] or a militia? Do they have an officer? What are their levels? And when will they arrive? Do Humans not have any sense of organization?”

“I believe we do. However, you would not know it to look at my household at the moment. General Shivertail, has it occurred to you that our people do things differently for a reason?”

A calm voice interrupted the [General]’s ranting. Zel Shivertail swung around and pointed a finger at Magnolia Reinhart as she sat in a chair, sipping at a cup of tea. Splayed around her largest sitting room were tables that had been hurriedly carried in and filled with different reports on paper and parchment, communications by [Message] spell across the continent.

It was an impressive sight and being added to every second by servants hurrying into the room. Still, Zel was not happy and so he growled at Magnolia.

“Don’t patronize me, Reinhart. I don’t care if you Humans enjoy dancing around rocks while singing naked in the moonlight—this is a matter of organization and I can’t lead an army if I don’t know where it is or who I’m leading! You promised me an army! This is a nightmare! Don’t you have any [Strategists] or [Lieutenants] or—anyone who could have warned you what a nightmare this was?

Magnolia Reinhart sighed and lowered her cup. Her face was calm and she was sitting still in an elegant dress, but her right foot jiggled—a sign of an impending sugar rush. She put aside her cup and another hand, Ressa’s, took it away before it could be refilled. The [Maid] tilted the cup so she could see the slurry of sugar mixed with tea and grimaced. Magnolia took no notice, but replied quickly and directly, focusing entirely on the Drake.

“While I know many such individuals, I do not, as a rule, consult with them on most matters, General Shivertail. I regret to say that I am woefully ignorant of all military affairs, which is why I sought a [General] worthy of the name to lead the army I was raising. My apologies—I thought simply requesting the soldiers would do. I had no idea coordinating their arrivals were so important.”

Zel Shivertail, the famous Lineholder, hero of two Antinium Wars and feeder of hungry Gnoll cubs everywhere, eyed Lady Magnolia sourly but relented. He nodded curtly and adopted a slightly more civil tone.

“I see. My apologies Lady Reinhart, but this is a critical issue. Your army might actually appear, scattered though it is, but the instant the first group of soldiers arrives they’ll want to have a place to camp, food to eat, orders—and if they don’t have them, it will take days to sort out the disaster that will unfold by the time all of them get there.”

Magnolia winced and sighed.

“I see. Well, you have my support and my staff has a direct line with every city and town on the continent. I suspect we’ll be waking up many from their sleep—”

“They don’t have aides or officers stationed around the clock for calls like these?”

The [General] stared incredulously at Magnolia. She looked at Ressa, and her [Head Maid] shook her head.

“I’m afraid not. Perhaps some cities do, like Invrisil, but there are no laws and it’s very much dependent on the [Mayor] or whatever leadership is in place. Oh dear. I fear we do look rather bad compared to the Drake chain of command, don’t we?”

Zel took a deep breath. Yes, it was true. Humans were disorganized, at least, in general. Or maybe it was Drakes who were too organized and judged other species by too high a standard? Whatever the case, Zel had grown up in the south of Izril, where even in the smallest Drake city-states, there was a clear chain of command at all times, the lines of communication were always open, and there was always order, even if the orders were incredibly stupid. Whereas here…

He looked around. The pink drapes, purple couches, cream colored walls, and deep red-and-violet carpets in the room made him feel like he was sinking into some kind of primeval swamp. He wasn’t used to elegance, had no sense or vocabulary to describe the subtle colors around him, and really didn’t care for the richness of Magnolia Reinhart’s mansion. Oh, he could admit it was pretty in some ways, but her luxuriant lifestyle was at odds with his simpler outlook.

But here he was. A Drake [General] in a Human [Lady]’s mansion. A first, if you didn’t count stories of Drakes burning and destroying Human settlements during war. He was here in the name of peace, or rather, war for peace. He was her ally and she had invited him here, four hundred miles across the border that was marked by Liscor. And he had accepted.

The world might never be the same. Zel shivered at the thought. How many Drakes would call him a traitor once the news was out? How many Humans would be up in arms? But it had to be done. He was here, talking with one of the most dangerous Human women in existence because he needed her help and apparently, she needed his. To lead her armies, if nothing else.

But still, it was odd. Zel had had the most amazing of introductions to one of Lady Magnolia’s servants—Reynold—when the man had driven up to the gates of Celum, late by over half a day, his carriage practically drenched in Goblin blood. However, he’d given Zel a completely uneventful ride to Magnolia Reinhart’s estate, and she had welcomed Zel with open arms—as soon as she’d had her man Reynold pried from the driver’s seat. They had talked briefly, and Zel had jumped on the first issue he’d spotted.

Rudely, he supposed. Zel sighed. He knew this was not how you treated your allies, much less a [Lady], but he was uneasy being around Magnolia and he was a [General], not a [Diplomat]. Zel Shivertail tried to make his tail stop twitching and took stock of the situation again.

“Let’s go over this. You promised me an army. I thought you had one already, but apparently this one is comprised of levies from every city north of Invrisil. And you have delivered if all these [Messages] are to be believed.”

“I do believe they are. It isn’t rare for people to lie to me, but they seldom have the courage to commit it to writing.”

Magnolia inclined her head, smiling slightly and looking around for her tea cup. Zel grunted sourly.

“Well then, I’ll have an army at least forty thousand strong. But I have to warn you—it’s not going to be a good one. I’d rather have half again as many soldiers to take on the Goblin Lord.”

“Really? Why? I thought we had fine numbers. Or is it the quality of the soldiers you’re unhappy with? I can assure you they’re decent. Probably.”

Magnolia sat up with a frown. Zel sighed and shook his head. Civilians. He tried to explain patiently, as if he were talking to…Lyonette. Or Erin. Or Mrsha.

“You have the numbers Lady Reinhart, but that’s not an army. If I had ten thousand young men with swords, would you call that an army? And no, before you speak, it doesn’t matter if they’re all [Soldiers] because they’re all soldiers of different cities. They haven’t trained together, don’t necessarily know the same orders or fight the same way—and I don’t know how many officers there are.”

“And that’s a problem? You are a [General].”

“A [General] without a trained army is like a sharp mind and an unresponsive body, Miss Reinhart.”

“Ah. Oh, I do see now. Oh dear.”

Magnolia frowned. She wasn’t unintelligent, Zel could readily admit. She tapped at her lips and glanced at Zel.

“If it’s a matter of officers…I can see about levying some from more cities. Will that help, or will their unfamiliarity only exacerbate the issue?”

Zel shrugged.

“I don’t know. They could be useful…or not. I’m afraid I don’t know how well you Humans train your soldiers. I’ve seen good leadership and bad on the field of battle, but you don’t standardize your training.”

“While Drakes do. I am familiar with that. Your military chain of command is quite renowned across the world.”

The Drake grunted in response to the compliment. He looked over another sheaf of [Messages], speaking sourly.

“I’d give one of my claws for a few Drake [Lieutenants] or a battalion to fight with. A pity no Drake armies could cross north of Liscor without starting a war.”

“Hm. That’s very true. I did think about it, you know. But of all the mercenary groups in Izril—and there aren’t many—the only one of note was Liscor’s own army. And while they are for hire, I’m sure they wouldn’t respond to my requests and if they did…”

Zel looked up from the reports.

“No.”

“Indeed not.”

The [General] shook his head.

“That army is…not the kind you want if you value peace. I’m sure they’d manage to start a war if they came north. And given the uniqueness of their army, my Skills as a [General] would be least effective leading them.”

“That was my understanding. It is a pity though. They are formidable, for all of their detracting factors.”

Magnolia sighed. She found her teacup at last and wrestled with Ressa briefly before retrieving it. The [Head Maid] reluctantly filled her cup and Magnolia sipped it. She mused out loud.

“How does the saying go again? One Drake’s trouble, two is a fight, and three will burn your house down?”

She glanced at Zel swiftly, but the Drake didn’t react openly to her comment. He kept reading another report in silence and jotting down notes on another piece of parchment. After a minute he looked up.

“What are four Drakes, then?”

“A war, I believe.”

The [General] grunted. It wasn’t quite a laugh. Magnolia watched him cautiously and flicked her eyes up towards Ressa. The [Maid] shrugged and Magnolia pursed her lips. After another short break she spoke lightly but cautiously.

“We have not had a chance to speak long I’m afraid, Mister Shivertail.”

Zel didn’t react to being called Mister either. He turned one eye towards her and flicked his tail slightly.

“We didn’t. My apologies, but I decided to sort this out right away once I realized the issue.”

“Quite, quite. But ah, aside from our commitment to work together, you and I have quite a few issues we should discuss.”

“Really? It seems simple to me. You need a [General], I want to kill the Goblin Lord. And Az’kerash. Who you knew was alive for years and never did anything about.”

His claws tightened slightly on the parchment and Ressa tensed ever so slightly. Magnolia subtly leaned back to pat her friend on the leg and spoke.

“Yes. However, you never gave me a chance to explain my reasoning.”

Zel paused, and looked up. Two [Porters] paused with twin stacks of reports. He nodded approvingly and they hurried over to the table in front of him.

“Good. These are—organized? Excellent.”

The Drake blinked in surprise and began crossing off names on the list he’d compiled, checking estimated arrival times with each city and creating a master list, a big picture of his army for him to look at. He wasn’t good at this kind of work—it was the kind of thing he liked to let [Strategists] sort out—but he could do it in a pinch. He got a rhythm going before he addressed Magnolia again.

“Fine. Tell me why you let him live.”

“A few reasons spring to mind. To begin with, I’m embarrassed to say that I thought he was more your people’s problems than mine and uninclined to start trouble so soon after the last Antinium War.”

Magnolia leaned forwards, speaking crisply despite the late hour. She gestured to the map of the continent that Zel was using as a reference on one of the tables.

“This was the same Necromancer who caused so much harm during the Second Antinium Wars and proved so difficult to defeat—and not even kill, it seems. I knew he must have lost nearly all his undead after his defeat, so I was content to let him go into hiding.”

“And replenish his forces? How long were you willing to wait? Until he appeared and started destroying Drake cities?”

“Hardly. I was more hoping that he would reappear and the Antinium, Drakes, and everyone else in the nearby vicinity would join up to destroy him. You do recall that he made rather fierce enemies of every species on the continent.”

“I do.”

“Yes, well, I decided he could be left alone for those reasons. Additionally—he may be powerful, but he is still only one [Necromancer]. The limits of his powers were rather neatly pointed out in the last Antinium War. He can raise a powerful army—one that can level cities and rout lesser armies true, but only one army of finite size. That’s not as grave a threat as six Antinium Hives or a Goblin King, is it?”

Zel caught himself nodding and stopped with a grimace. Magnolia smiled and went on, watching his reactions.

“Add that to a final consideration, General Shivertail. A [Necromancer] is a powerful mage, but specialized. He can raise armies, but not throw around spells that destroy armies by themselves. He is defined by his creations and while those creations can be terrible, they are linked to him. If the [Necromancer] dies, his army is leaderless, mana-less.”

The pieces clicked. Zel looked up as his brain switched over from corroborating reports to what Magnolia was saying.

“You were going to assassinate him.”

“Indeed.”

Magnolia smiled brightly and sipped at her tea cup. She reached out to grab a sugar cube—Ressa snatched the bowl away.

“My intention was always to kill Az’kerash. Sooner rather than later, but I knew I had only one opportunity, so I wanted to be sure, absolutely sure, of my success. That meant I had a short list of about six individuals who could do the job. I did consider asking an Archmage, but that could be tricky…the problem was that of the six, there were only two I could contract discreetly and be sure of. Neither one accepted my offers, and I did offer quite a lot.”

“Huh. That’s the problem with [Assassins], I suppose.”

Zel raised a magical quill and scribbled on his list, highlighting a discrepancy for later. Magnolia laughed.

“As a matter of fact, only one of the six I was considering for the job was an actual [Assassin]. I wanted the best, General Shivertail, and I don’t underestimate my foes. My first pick for the job would have been the infamous leader of the Forgotten Wing Company, Three-Color Stalker.”

The Drake looked up and his tail twitched in surprise.

“Her?”

“She is one of, if not the most deadly [Rogues] in existence. And she is more adept at slaying enemy [Commanders] on battlefields than most conventional [Assassins]. Who better to deal with a target that is functionally immune to poison and is no doubt warded with many magical artifacts?”

Magnolia swirled the tea around in her cup. It was minty, although you would never have known that with as much sugar as it held. She lifted her cup.

“Do excuse me, Ressa, but pass me the bowl of sugar or I’ll throw this at you. And I should ask again as a good host—would you like tea, General Shivertail? Something else? A snack, perhaps?”

Zel and Ressa both shuddered, having tasted Magnolia’s tea. The [General] was shaking his head and then paused. He looked up. He was in the mansion of one of the richest [Ladies] in the world, after all.

“If you have it…milk with honey.”

“Milk with honey?”

Magnolia blinked. Zel smiled.

“I recently developed a taste for it. Milk with honey, if you have it. Ashfire Bee honey to be precise. And if you have bacon or sausage, wrap it in dough and fry it a bit.”

“I’m sure my [Chef] can make that. Ressa, see to it, would you? That’s an intriguing dish. What is it called?”

Zel grinned to himself as Magnolia blinked at him, uncomprehending.

“Pigs in the blanket. It’s a Human dish.”

“Not one I know. Ressa? I want some too. Add lots of honey to my milk.”

The [Head Maid] had slipped out the door and whispered briefly with a servant stationed outside. She swiftly returned to Magnolia’s side. Zel eyed Ressa. She was wary of him and he could sense she wasn’t just someone who cleaned around the mansion. Well, whatever. He nodded at Magnolia.

“So Three-Color Stalker denied your request?”

Magnolia sighed loudly.

“I don’t believe she ever read it. She’s an odd individual. I sent her a number of cards and paid the [Couriers] to report back on how she received them. As I understand it, she ate two of them, gold leaf and all.”

“What?”

“That’s what I said. I’m not sure if it was an insult or just her personality. And she has never replied to me. Well, not in words. I believe after my sixteenth letter she sent me a message back by City Runner. I received a badly decomposed muffin that had been in transit for about six months. It had travelled across the sea by boat and was delivered to my house. I thought it was poison when I got it.”

“Huh. That is odd. I’d heard there was something weird about each of the leaders of the Four Great Companies, but…”

Zel frowned as he went back to his reports. A muffin? That was Baleros for you. War-loving freaks. Not that he could really speak as a Drake. He looked up as a thought struck him. It had to be asked.

“…What kind of muffin?”

“What kind?”

“Was it blueberry? Plain? Apple? Insect?”

Magnolia traded a swift glance with Ressa.

“You know, I didn’t think to…that could be a clue. Or something. If Commander Foliana—Ressa? Make a note. Find out if anyone recalls what the muffin looked like.”

“Yes, milady.”

Zel eyed the [Head Maid] as she bowed slightly. He coughed.

“That’s an interesting maid you employ, Miss Reinhart.”

Magnolia laughed.

“Oh, Ressa? Don’t mind her glaring. She is protective of me. And nagging.”

“And armed.”

The [General]’s calm look made Ressa shift, and the impassive woman’s face hardened a bit. Magnolia stopped smiling and glanced at Zel.

“She is my protector, General. Rest assured I didn’t invite you here to kill you. I’d like to think I’m a bit smarter than that.”

“It never crossed my mind.”

Zel lied as he worked his way down the first stack of papers. He glanced at Magnolia and Ressa again and decided to ask another one of the questions that was on his mind.

“Very well. Say you’ve convinced me your intentions were good around the Necromancer. That still doesn’t explain why you wanted me, a Drake, to lead your army against the Goblin Lord. You have capable leaders in the north. Why not let your famous Lord Tyrion Veltras handle the Goblins?”

Magnolia’s face went sour at Tyrion’s name and Zel recalled too late that the Five Families weren’t exactly enamored with each other. He cursed internally. Human politics. Even at his best, he could barely stay aware of what went on in Drake lands.

“I don’t want to give that idiot a chance to shine, General Shivertail. Moreover, I don’t want a [General] for a few weeks or even a year. I had hoped you would see the long-term benefits of working together.”

“So your letter hinted. And what exactly did you have in mind?”

“Well…”

Magnolia sat up and was about to launch into her carefully-planned speech at last when a knock sounded on the door. She slumped and Ressa scowled at the unlucky interrupter.

“Enter.”

“Your pardons, Lady Reinhart.”

“Reynold?”

Magnolia sat up and Zel turned as Reynold stepped through the door. The [Butler] was wearing a new, pristine suit and his hair had been combed. More to the point, all of his wounds had been healed and he was no longer drenched in blood. He bowed to Magnolia and Zel as a [Maid] stood at his side. Sacra, or as Laken would have known her, Odveig, bowed as well, her eyes flicking to Zel and then to her mistress.

“Reynold, I thought you were asleep! You should be resting—thank you for running over those Goblins, by the way. I received a missive from Wales that you had saved quite a number of people by buying them time, but really! You should be asleep!”

The Lady Reinhart wavered between scolding and praising Reynold by turns. He bowed crisply and spoke carefully, keeping his eyes on Zel as the [General] appraised him and Sacra.

“I do apologize Lady Magnolia, but I was told that General Shivertail was concerned with the state of the levied forces from the cities. As I have experience in that field, I believe I can manage the reports and let the general concern himself with more important issues.”

Zel could tell Reynold and Sacra were both warriors at a glance. The way they stood, the way they looked at him—their uniforms did nothing to hide that from his gaze. He nodded at Reynold as he set down a piece of parchment.

“Thank you for driving me…Reynold, is it? Are you a former [Soldier] of some kind?”

Reynold hesitated and behind him, Magnolia’s eyes flicked to him. But then the [Butler] nodded.

“I was a [Lieutenant], sir. An officer in charge of a cavalry unit. I have…experience in combat. And in war. I fought twice against Drakes in the Bloodfields.”

He waited for Zel’s response as the room went still. The Drake stared at Reynold and saw his companion, the [Maid] called Sacra, tense ever so slightly. He simply nodded.

“I understand. I’d be glad to let you take over, Reynold. And can I assume your companion knows war as well?”

Reynold bowed slightly.

“Miss Sacra is also familiar with military matters, General Shivertail. With your permission, we will tabulate a full list for your appraisal within the next few hours.”

“Excellent! Thank you, Reynold.”

Magnolia shot to her feet, clapping her hands lightly. She looked at Ressa and turned to Zel.

“I forgot Reynold and Sacra could be helpful. Do forgive me. Why don’t we let them take over—Ressa, they’ll need stamina potions, food, drinks, whatever they want. But I want those wrapped bacon snacks myself. General Shivertail, let us retire to another location.”

Zel raised his brows, wondering if he should protest. But one look at Reynold and Sacra as they began poring over his work reassured him they were competent. He let Magnolia steer him out of the room and down a corridor.

The next sitting room he found himself in was more intimate, and would have been familiar to Ryoka and Erin. Zel shifted and wondered why the couch had to be pink. But he had to admit, he was grateful for a chance to relax and by this point the milk and snacks had arrived.

“Oh! What a treat.”

Magnolia was salivating over the crisp, hot rolls of bacon wrapped in dough. She chewed on one, sipped from her honey and milk drink, and promptly ordered another plate made. Ressa took one look at the bits of bacon and cancelled the order.

“Ressa!”

“You don’t need that much food.”

“I can have it if I want. Look at General Shivertail. He’s eating.”

“He’s bigger than you are and a warrior. He can burn the energy. You’ll just get fat. Fatter.”

“How dare you! This dress is very slimming, I’ll have you know.”

“Yes. Too bad it can’t work miracles.”

Zel watched the [Lady] and [Maid] bicker like old friends for a few seconds before coughing. Instantly, both Magnolia and Ressa looked at him, all business.

“So I’m here to help you kill the Goblin Lord, and then the Necromancer. But from what you keep hinting at, you want more than that. Lady Reinhart, it’s time to stop dancing around before we trip on our tails. What do you really want with me?”

Lady Magnolia Reinhart grew still. She sat across from Zel Shivertail and looked him in the eye. Once, Magnolia had sat at this very couch—or one much like it—and bullied and played games with two young women. That was then. Now, she sat and addressed Zel Shivertail as an equal. Her voice was steady and unadorned with any Skill as she spoke.

“I asked you to join me Zel Shivertail, because I want to work with you. I have sent you letters—hounded you, I will freely admit—over the years because I wanted you and none other. Not just to guide my armies, but to form an alliance with me. To defend this sorry continent and deal with the many problems of our world. And if you accept, you will be the first.”

Zel sat in his seat, back straight, not touching the snacks or his drink. He looked at Magnolia and felt the hum of danger in the back of his head. It was distinct, far-off. Danger to him? Or someone else? He sensed that he was facing an important decision and wished he was sure of how he’d respond or what she would say.

“The first? What do you mean by that?”

Lady Magnolia straightened her dress.

“I have sent many letters to many individuals across the world, General Shivertail. But two I have bothered most consistently. It is my hope that if you announce your decision to work with me, the second individual I have contacted will lend his great strength to me. You see, I have a plan that involves you, and you are the first.”

“Who is the second?”

“Niers Astoragon. The Titan.”

The name fell into the room and silenced it. Zel felt his heartbeat accelerate as thunder rumbled in his head and pieces started to fall into place. He felt like he was staring at a picture and was only uncovering it one piece at a time. But the grand scheme of it…he wondered whether Magnolia’s ambitions were what Sserys had feared or what he hoped for.

“The famous strategist of Baleros. Why do you want him?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Zel grunted at Magnolia’s disapproving look. He understood what, but not why.

“An army. You want us to lead an army.”

She nodded. Her fingers were laced together, and Ressa was looking from her mistress to Zel. They hid their emotions well, but Zel could tell they were nervous. Magnolia went on.

“It is similar to a thought exercise, General Shivertail. How would you go about creating the most powerful army? I am no [Strategist], so I thought of an answer that involved people. Two. A world-famous [General] and an unbeatable [Strategist]. Two of the highest-level individuals on the planet, men or rather, a Fraerling and Drake that all recognize of sound character and honor. You two could lead any army, and I would give you an army of legends. Magical artifacts, arms, mercenaries…my coffers can fund whatever is needed.”

“That sounds…plausible.”

It sounded insane. Why would Niers Astoragon, a [Strategist] whom Zel had never met in his life, travel from Baleros to Izril? But if Magnolia was serious—and her eyes were purely focused and honest as far as Zel could tell—she had a point. Still, Zel felt compelled to point out an obvious flaw.

“If you’re talking hypothetically about a perfect army, even in the abstract, you only have two parts of the puzzle. A [General] to lead and a [Strategist] to coordinate is a solid combination, but the wildcard that can take an army apart is a [Mage]. Without a powerful spellcaster, there are ways to destroy even the best-equipped army.”

Magnolia smiled.

“I know that. But the [Mage] I already have. I know a…magic user beyond any other. If I had you and Niers, I think he would join too. And there are many more I would reach to, many whom I think would join once they saw what I was attempting to create. So I would have a leader, a planner, and a spellcaster. Three to lead an army.”

“And do what? Carve out an empire?”

“No. To create a resolution to this world’s issues.”

Zel stared. Magnolia steepled her fingers.

“Consider this, Zel Shivertail. In this world of ours, there is war. Always war. From Baleros to Terandria, there is always a conflict going on. And some threaten to destroy entire species. We are threatened by the Antinium, a menace we have never seen before. Twice we have gone to war and twice made peace. But I think you and I know they are planning for a third war. A final war and I am not of the opinion we can be so complacent about them this time.”

Zel thought of Pawn, of Klbkch, Xrn, and nodded slowly.

“No. They are…changing.”

Magnolia nodded.

“And that is only the tip of the iceberg. In Rhir, the Demons fight with the Blighted King. As they have always done, and yet…there was an attempt on the Blighted King’s life last week. Imagine what would have happened had it succeeded? And the King of Destruction stirs from his slumber at last. Meanwhile, a new [Emperor] has emerged in Chandrar, the Emperor of Sands who already controls a good sixth of the continent. Either one could threaten the world.”

“You seem to be listing a lot of problems. But is this hypothetical army of yours a solution?”

“Not a hypothetical army, Zel Shivertail. A very real one that could become reality. Nations and species fight, but we do not have to. If we could resolve the Antinium issue in Izril, make some kind of peace between Drakes and Humans, we could turn our attention to the real issues in this world! But it is the Antinium and the Necromancer I think of now. The Drakes are disunited and we Humans fight each other. We need a powerful force—beyond what one [Lord] or Walled City can raise. A truly powerful force, one made up of every alliance that can be forged. You and I have seen it before.”

“General Sserys’ army.”

Another piece fell into place. Zel walked backwards in time, saw a massive army of Drakes, the hope of the continent. Humans, riding south to fight against a common enemy. Death and silence. A destroyed army and Sserys’ last words.

The past met the present. Magnolia nodded. She had been there too.

“I believe that if we Humans had marched with you, if we had all committed as one or given General Sserys more time, worn down the Antinium by parts rather than risk a final confrontation…perhaps we might be living in a different world. But yes, that is what I refer to. Another army, only this one led by you, Zel Shivertail. One that would either destroy or push the Antinium off this continent for good.”

The idea rocked Zel back in his chair. Not because it was daring, not because it was impossible—but because it was what he had been saying for years. Hadn’t he told those idiots in the Walled Cities and councils the exact same thing? Zel’s words came back to him. Drakes should be uniting against a common foe, forging alliances, focusing on the real threat. He looked at Magnolia and saw her looking at him.

“I have ears throughout the world Zel Shivertail. And what I dreamed of, you shouted. You have been ignored by your people, but I agreed with every word you said. Except that I think the Antinium are only the start.”

“You want to create a force powerful enough to destroy both the Necromancer and the Antinium? And what then, end the war between our species? End that idiocy at the Blood Fields that happens every year?”

Magnolia nodded. Zel shook his head.

“Impossible. Every Drake city would—you’d have to shove peace down their throats while you held a blade in the other hand. And I bet the Humans would be the same.”

“If that is what is necessary, I would do it. We must have peace, General Shivertail. Peace! This war is senseless and it wastes lives. I would end that.”

“How?”

Magnolia’s gaze was steady as she met Zel’s.

“I would open the High Passes and encourage Humans and Drakes to settle in each other’s lands. Peace might not arrive in a year or a decade, but exposure to one another and peace—by whatever means—would bridge old wounds, or so I feel. At the very least, I think the Gnolls would welcome the opportunity to travel the north as well as the south.”

The thought of that—Zel’s mind spun as he imagined the High Passes opened. That would let armies though—but also trade. It would mean war if the Humans and Drakes weren’t already at peace, but if they were…

“And what then? You’ll disband the army?”

Magnolia snorted.

“Hardly. There is far more to do. Far more pressing issues that may well lead to a world war, a conflict between continents. If I could stabilize one continent, I see no reason why I shouldn’t turn my attention to another one.”

“So say you do. What would you fix?”

Slowly, Magnolia Reinhart began to count on her fingers, her voice echoing in the sitting room.

“The Demons of Rhir. The Emperor of Sands in Chandrar. The King of Destruction. Those idiots in Terandria, and the state of war in Baleros. Oh, and those disgusting slavers in Roshal too. Those are the major issues I see in the world.”

It was like she was making wishes on a shooting star. Zel shook his head. Any one of those issues was unsolvable in his eyes. Oh, he could see parts of how to fix the issues—smashing the King of Destruction’s armies and beheading that idiot would solve a lot, but the scope of what Magnolia was proposing was…

A [Strategist] like Niers Astoragon could probably see what she was proposing, though. The Titan? Zel had met two Fraerlings in his life. He wondered what the Titan would say. If they met, would they even be able to work together? A good [General] and [Strategist] were like a married couple. If they didn’t agree—

Ridiculous. It would never happen. But part of Zel wondered. Magnolia was rich. Niers Astoragon was a mercenary, for all he was a commander. And he was renowned for being able to travel vast distances at the drop of a hat, appearing on a battlefield hundreds of miles away from where he had been spotted in a day’s time. He was also open to communication. If she sent him a letter, or if Zel did—

Impossible. But the [General] kept listening.

“An army solves many issues. I have no doubt you and Niers Astoragon could push back the Demon King and rout his armies if you were joined with armies from the other continents. As for Chandrar—the King of Destruction and the Emperor of Sands are already at war. One could destroy the other, but neither can be allowed to overtake the continent. The other issues can be solved with diplomacy, but one must be a world power to make other such powers agree to talk.”

Magnolia was speaking as if it were all set in stone, as if it were all possible. Zel shook his head.

“You’re overestimating me, Reinhart. I may be a high-level [General], but I wouldn’t bet on a battle between me and the King of Destruction, even with the Titan commanding my army. You need more than one army.”

“So I shall have more. Many more. That is why Izril is the start, General Shivertail. Bring peace to Izril, and I can send five, six, eight armies to do battle with the King of Destruction if need be. And other nations will do the same. You see, what I want is peace. And for that, I need an army. Not just one army, but a collective of every nation that wants peace in the world.”

A coalition. Zel shivered. Magnolia went on, her eyes shining with a distant future.

“Imagine it. A centralized peacekeeping force made up of forces from all nations. A governing body that exists beyond [Kings] and has the authority and strength to deal with threats to our world. It could be possible. The Goblin Lord and the Antinium are the first step. Eradicate them, and consolidate a base of power, and more will follow. That is why I need you, Zel Shivertail. You can lead an army. You and I represent a force far greater than our individual strengths.”

And like that, she lost him. Zel looked at Magnolia, suddenly broken out of the trance her words had caused. She was still looking ahead, still staring at that vision—and he remembered what Sserys had said.

Peace.

And Zel understood a bit of what had scared his mentor and friend. He shifted, and Magnolia broke off speaking sharply. The moment of—inspiration—flickered out.

The Drake carefully reached out and snagged one of the pigs in the blanket. He bit into it and chewed. It was cold, but the food was still good. And it was grounding. He took a sip and spoke softly.

“It sounds like an amazing dream, Lady Reinhart. But I’m afraid I don’t quite buy into all of it. I don’t think it will work.”

Magnolia looked at him and the light in her eyes faded a bit.

“Why not?”

“It’s an abstract idea. It’s a plan with a thousand moving parts. It assumes you will get the Titan’s attention, he will come here, that we won’t all be defeated in a battle, that you can make peace…and that I stay after dealing with the Goblin Lord and Az’kerash.”

Zel sipped at his drink, keeping his tail still. Magnolia stared at him.

“I see. But you agree the Antinium are a threat, don’t you? Why would you—”

“I don’t know if I’ll stay. Because I don’t trust you.”

Zel stood up abruptly. He saw Ressa tense, but Magnolia held up a hand. The [General] ignored Ressa and stared down at Magnolia. She looked up at him, fearless, but wary.

“I don’t like you, Human. I don’t mind most Humans, but you I judge from what I’ve heard and seen over the years. I don’t trust you, Magnolia Reinhart. You speak of peace, but you would see it through war.”

“How else?”

Magnolia blinked calmly at Zel, and he lost his momentum.

“How else? What do you mean?”

“How else would you do it, General Shivertail? You must know there are foes that will not be dissuaded by any amount of talking. There are tyrants and monsters who wear flesh like costumes and parade around pretending to civility in this world. They must be ended. How else would you do it besides war?”

“That’s not what I mean. It’s the fact that you’re the one taking charge that I object to.”

Zel shook his head. He felt frustrated—because he partially agreed with what Magnolia had said. And yet—

“No one person can be above others. Drakes have no [Kings] for that reason. If you went about ‘solving’ issues and removing whomever you liked, what would make you better than they are? What would allow people to trust you?”

“Nothing at all. I understand that. I have a reputation for trickery and underhandedness. I understand that General Shivertail. Which is why I need you and Niers Astoragon. I need people who are what I am not. Honorable, trustworthy. And that is why I propose a council, an alliance of people to manage this attempt, this army. I invited you to my estate as an equal, and I propose that you and I find other equals who can balance our opinions and make the right choices.”

The words made sense, but the mouth they came from—Zel shook his head again.

“No. I can’t trust that. I will not. Not alone, at any rate.”

Magnolia rose too, slowly. She was eying him with concern, and he felt like—

A Drake [General] stared at a young Human girl as she held out her hand. Peace. He looked into her eyes and saw war.

“I won’t agree to your plans. It sounds…unreal. And I don’t trust you. I’m sorry, but I came here for aid against Az’kerash. I will help you with the Goblin Lord, and in exchange you’ll help me with the Necromancer. That is why I came here. More than that I won’t promise.”

Magnolia took Zel’s words silently. For a few moments she stared at Zel, face impassive, and then she slowly nodded.

“I see.”

“Don’t mistake me. I think our peoples should work together. But you—I won’t ally myself with you blindly. If I did commit to an alliance, if I even thought about raising an army and tying my name to yours for a greater cause—it would have to be after I talked to the Titan himself. Him and this ‘magic user’ you’re hinting about.”

Magnolia’s eyes widened. Zel turned to her and bared his teeth.

“You have too many secrets, Reinhart. I don’t trust you at all. But I will admit—you make sense. And you have money, which funds armies and wins wars. Given that—if you can introduce me to people I can trust, I might, might come back with them and agree to your insane plan.”

Lady Magnolia Reinhart’s face was completely blank for a second, and then she burst out laughing. It surprised Zel so much he took a step back and nearly tripped onto the couch. Magnolia sat, chuckling, and Zel saw her wipe tears out of her eyes.

“Oh dear. That is the most—Ressa, I hoped for fortune and I received something like it. You want to meet my magic user and the Titan? Well, I can’t promise either, but I will ask! And oh my, if I arranged such a meeting…time to use every carrot and stick I think, Ressa.”

“Indeed, milady.”

Zel glared suspiciously at the two Human women.

“What’s so funny? Who is this magic user?”

Magnolia shook her head and brushed away a tear with a finger.

“Secrets, my dear General Shivertail. I cannot reveal who he is…yet. And I have a few more matters I’d gladly discuss with you and him—perhaps that’s the very key to getting him to agree, Ressa. Bring up the children—I’m sure I could get one of them to give him one of their devices if he’d agree—”

“One of those ‘tablets’, perhaps?”

“Indeed. Why, we could arrange it within the week if we put everything together. After the Goblin Lord of course, but if we sent Reynold to collect one and I sent a [Message]—”

The two were suddenly chatting with each other, talking about the magic user. Zel couldn’t make heads or tails of the conversation though, and cleared his throat. Magnolia broke off and smiled apologetically.

“Do forgive me General Shivertail. But I think I can convince you after all. As for the Titan—I will indeed try to talk to him.”

“I…see. Well, I’m willing to meet with either one.”

Zel wasn’t sure what he was talking himself into, but curiosity had taken hold and…he was already in trouble for coming this far. He might as well have something to show for it. Magnolia nodded briskly, suddenly all business. She looked at Zel—far more concretely now, and with none of the idealism she’d shown when talking about the future.

“For now it seems like we are allies of convenience, General Shivertail. I’ll give you an army—ragtag and disorganized though it may be—and you’ll help me deal with the Goblin Lord. After that, we can discuss Az’kerash.”

She hesitated and raised a finger.

“I may also need you to squish an annoying pest that’s popped up close to my lands. I seem to have a problem with [Emperors], or at least one…”

Zel folded his arms in disgust. One second she was talking about peace, the next…an [Emperor]? How? Wait, hadn’t he heard Erin saying something about an [Emperor] to Ryoka one time? It had been a passing conversation…Zel brushed that aside for the moment.

“I’m not your sword to be pointed at anyone you please, Reinhart. Besides, you’re the scion of a famous house. Why can’t you assassinate them in the middle of the night or crush them yourself?”

Magnolia smiled in embarrassment.

“I ah, seem to have a problem with loyalty and hired killers at the moment. Which is another problem I’d like to discuss—as for dealing with him myself, I was aware of the issue, you know. I had hoped he’d be content with a village or two, but it seems this damnable Goblin situation had sent people rallying to his banners. And while I’m sure our cultures are different, you must agree that attacking a local hero is not generally helpful to one’s reputation.”

“True. So why deal with him at all? You’re afraid he’ll take your lands? Can’t you…talk to him?”

Zel grunted. Magnolia hesitated.

“I don’t like [Emperors]. Every one I’ve met has had a few tricks up their sleeves. Nasty ones. And as a [Lady], I am regrettably disadvantaged when opposing them. Hierarchies and social classes, you know. I prefer not to get near this one if I can. I had a particularly bad experience with the Emperor of Sands in Chandrar. You know, the new one? He was quite objectionable and I had trouble dealing with him. Of course, she was worse now that I think of it…”

That was another odd statement that didn’t make sense unless you knew more about the Emperor of Sands. Zel shook his head.

“[Emperors] are none of my business. Goblin Lord, Necromancer—that’s all I’ll help you with. You want to deal with him, do it yourself.”

“Cheapskate.”

Zel grew exasperated.

“Don’t you have a Skill that controls other people? Use that on him. I’ve heard about you and your charmed words.”

“Believe me, I would if I could, but my Skill is not powerful enough to sway anyone with a powerful class—or strong will. I’ve learned that the hard way recently.”

Magnolia made a face, which surprised Zel.

“I would have thought a high-level [Lady] would have more persuasion Skills than that.”

“Oh, Skills. I have lots of those, but charming others isn’t a vital Skill for me by any means. I have Skills in far more useful areas I’m pleased to say.”

“Such as?”

She clicked her tongue dismissively.

“Skills that boost the welfare and safety of my lands, Skills that help me train servants, protect myself, manage my estates…”

“And your highest-level Skill?”

Magnolia Reinhart hesitated and eyed Zel for a second.

“Why do you want to know?”

He shrugged.

“We are allies. It’s helpful to know what your best Skill is. I’m sure you know mine.”

“Hmm…I suppose so. Very well. My highest-level Skill is [Aegis of Grace].”

“I’m unfamiliar with it.”

“Not surprising. It’s a powerful Skill that extends across my lands. To simplify, it wards off any settlement affiliated with me from attack. Thus, my mansion, Invrisil, and other holdings deter casual [Bandits], monsters and other unsavory groups from attacking them. Attacks do occur of course, but that is one of the reasons why Invrisil had grown so prosperous of late. Adventurers do their bit, but my Skill—and the reputation I have worked so hard to dismay you with—also protects my people.”

Was that a joke? Zel blinked and nodded. Magnolia smiled at him.

“It may not seem like much considering your Skills can literally turn the tide of battle, but I suspect one of the reasons why all these Goblins have been raiding other settlements and cities is due to that Skill. After all, peace brings prosperity and with enough money I can do a great deal.”

“I can appreciate that. Thank you for telling me.”

Zel nodded to Magnolia. She dipped her head graciously, and then put down her empty cup and stood up.

“Well, I do believe that was a profitable little talk. However, I think that you and I have gone over…most of the points we wished to discuss. You aren’t beholden to me, and I am your ally of circumstance. For now.”

Her eyes twinkled and Zel suspected she planned to turn him into an ally for good. But he made no comment, simply rising to his feet.

“I’m fine with that. If you’ll show me the way, I’ll finish assessing my army and sending out instructions—”

“Oh psht. That can wait. Reynold and Sacra are very good at their jobs and I have something for you. I was going to give it to you tomorrow, but I suppose that since we’re tentative allies, now is the best time. You do need to know what you’re working with after all. Follow me.”

Magnolia was either a night owl or she’d had far too much sugar, because she strode towards the doors and down the hallway at a brisk pace. Zel followed, his legs and tail almost asleep. Magnolia led him down a flight of stairs, through a hallway full of [Maids] and [Servants] who stared at Zel, past a Gnoll [Maid]—

“A Gnoll [Maid]?”

Zel had to take a step back to look at that. Magnolia walked back to him as he saw a Gnoll [Maid] serving a plate of food to a man dressed all in black in a small sitting room. Both Gnoll and Human glanced up and froze as they saw Zel peeking in. He turned away and saw Magnolia and Ressa peeking as well.

“Oh, don’t mind her. Bekia’s been in my service for years. As for the rather young and nervous [Assassin] there—that’s Theofore.”

“Theofore?”

Zel looked blankly at the [Assassin], who’d gone pale at the sight of a famous Drake [General]. Zel tried to remember what the open bounty on his head was and forgot. He’d gutted more than one [Assassin] after his life, which was probably why the young man was so afraid. Magnolia nodded sympathetically.

“A young fool. I have some…trouble with the Assassin’s Guild, and he was blindingly unaware of the entire affair. Suffice it to say he’s marked for death by his own guild, which is why I’m letting him stay here. Rather charitable of me I know, but I suppose I’ll need at least one [Assassin] once I’m done cleaning up.”

Both Zel and Theofore eyed Magnolia as she turned away. The [General] followed Magnolia into the main hallway, and then, to his surprise, out of the doors and into the garden.

“Why are we going out here?”

“Oh, don’t worry—I keep my estate’s weather controlled by magic.”

Magnolia reassured Zel without answering the question as she strolled out into a pleasant, cool night that was at odds with the dour wet cold of the fleeing winter outside of her mansion. Zel followed her into a veritable labyrinth of hedges, flowers, and trees staring at a giant cloud floating very low overhead.

“You have a lot of magic in your mansion.”

“Yes, don’t I? I collect it. Mind the ground—looks like the cloud’s just been through. Oh, and Ressa, do make sure it doesn’t shoot lightning by accident, will you? I’d hate for anything to strike our [General], especially as he is wearing armor.”

Zel eyed the passing raincloud warily and walked a few steps away from it. Magnolia was preoccupied however. She walked through a hedge maze, calling out loudly.

“Nalthal! Nalthaliarstrelous! Please don’t make me call your full name again! Where are you?”

There was a rustle and Zel turned and saw a dour-looking old man in dirty robes appear out of the hedges like a dirty, scruffy ghost. Unlike every other servant in Magnolia’s employ, he was not professional, did not bow to her when he appeared, and instead leaned on the hoe he was carrying and glared at Magnolia, Ressa, and Zel all at once.

He made the Drake’s scales prickle. Magnolia smiled as she greeted Nalthal, her [Gardener]. The old man grunted as she approached.

“Nalthal, I do apologize for the late hour, but I was hoping you had my two you-know-what’s around here? In the maze perhaps? And I’ll need the rest of the artifacts my grandfather gave me.”

The old [Gardener] grunted and eyed Zel. The [General] felt his scales prickle again and took two steps backwards. Magnolia frowned.

“Oh please, General. Nalthal doesn’t smell that bad. Although I do agree he is rather…pungent.”

“It’s not that. I’m just getting out of his range.”

Zel folded his arms and stared hard at the ‘gardener’. He noticed Ressa was also standing away from the old man. Nalthal muttered something incomprehensible and scratched at one armpit. Magnolia looked at him and then at Zel and her eyes widened.

“Oh! Warrior’s instincts, is it? Ressa hates standing near Nalthal too. Although that may be the smell again…Nalthal, I do appreciate your display of animosity, but my grandfather’s things?”

He grunted irritably at her. Unperturbed, she poked him and he shuffled off through the hedge maze. Ressa brought up the rear and Zel kept narrowing his eyes at the [Gardener]’s back. There was definitely a field around him that Zel didn’t want to enter. He looked at Ressa as the [Maid] frowned at Nalthal’s back.

“Excuse me. Miss Ressa. That [Gardener] is a warrior, isn’t he?”

Ressa nodded shortly.

“He is. Although he’s no warrior, but rather a mage.”

“Really? What kind?”

“[Druid].”

Zel paused. He looked around at the garden, and realized it was not so much a beautifully tended delight of flowers, but an infestation of greenery just barely curtailed from overgrowing the mansion.

“And she lets him tend her gardens?”

Ressa’s face said it all. Nalthal, the dangerously irritable [Druid] led them through the maze and several twists and turns. It didn’t seem that protected, but Magnolia explained to Zel as he walked.

“You see, I had a break in last month…terrible business and I have some rather powerful artifacts here, so I decided to place them with Nalthal. I do have a treasury, but some of the items are ah, rather large and Nalthal is quite good at his job. I believe his shrubbery ate two [Assassins] when they attacked. Oh, here we are!”

“Ancestors!”

Zel roared and nearly dove out of the way as he rounded a bend in the maze and came face-to-face with a giant metal monster. A Golem, a monster with knives for hands and a huge metal body inscribed with runes and armored like a Dullahan stared down at him. A glowing white light shone from its mouth—it had no head, just a giant opening which was his mouth and eyes and face all at once.

It was huge. And it was one of a pair. The second battle Golem loomed over Zel, a mass of metal and magic that shone with inactivated spells and deadly intent. The [General] backed up fast from the two Golems, staring at Magnolia.

“Dead gods, are those War Golems? Where did you get these things from?”

“Oh, the Reinhart family vaults of course. I have a grandfather—whom I would very much like to kill if you and Niers do agree to join me—who has a few lying about. I thought they would be a fine addition to the army. They certainly are good at killing things.”

Magnolia twinkled at Zel. She walked over to the hulking War Golems without fear. That was more than Zel could do—his heart was beating out of his chest as he recalled stories of how War Golems would wade through armies leaving a trail of death in their wakes.

Ressa clearly had heard the same stories, because she was eying the huge metal monsters with the same trepidation. Both War Golems were over twelve feet tall and were more than a match for any monster they encountered. Only Nalthal’s overgrown hedge maze could have hidden them. The [Druid] seemed unimpressed with the War Golems as well. He kicked one and walked around it, muttering as Magnolia explained.

“I requisitioned some soldiers from my estate as well. They’re already at the meeting place—oh dear, I hope they have food—well, I’m sure they’ll be fine. They’re [Knights], and [Mages]. A small force and they don’t see combat much, but they are well equipped.”

“And the two War Golems? They’re for me?”

Zel stared upwards, scarcely able to believe a relic from the past would be put under his command so easily. If he’d had both of them before, Ilvriss would have thought twice about attacking him. Any army would. A War Golem was worth at least a thousand soldiers used correctly. Ancestors, no wonder Magnolia Reinhart could speak about creating a perfect army! Give him a hundred of the War Golems and he’d take down a Walled City!

Well, maybe not a Walled City, but anything up to that point—Zel’s mind spun with the possibilities of how he’d use them in battle. He wondered what a [Strategist] would make of them.

Magnolia smiled, and then turned as she saw Nalthal dragging something across the ground. She cried out in dismay.

“Oh come now Nalthal! That’s not the way to treat General Shivertail’s armor!”

“My what?”

Zel looked over and saw Magnolia fussing over a huge and clearly magical breastplate. She couldn’t lift it herself, so Ressa and Nalthal had to pick it up. It was dirty, but the dirt couldn’t hide the impressive nature of the armor. The golden-red metal shone in the dark night, and seemed to blaze as if a flickering fire was right in front of the armor. Nalthal sneered at it and nearly dropped his end until Ressa kicked him.

“This is a set of armor from the Reinhart vaults, General Shivertail. I selected it myself. It’s a powerful artifact and—”

“It’s stolen.”

Zel folded his arms. Magnolia blinked and broke off.

“Excuse me?”

The Drake [General] glared at Magnolia and Ressa alike. He pointed to the armor with a trembling claw.

“I recognize that armor! That is the Heartflame Breastplate, one of my people’s national treasures! We thought it was lost after General Ironscales was slaughtered and her corpse disappeared two centuries ago—you Humans had it this entire time?”

“Oh dear. Did we Ressa?”

“Probably.”

The [Maid] shrugged and glared at Nalthal as he dropped his end of the armor and stomped away. She offered it to Zel unapologetically.

“The Reinharts steal everything. Regis Reinhart acquired it and we had no idea it was in his possession until we asked. It’s yours now.”

“Mine?”

Zel stared at Magnolia in disbelief. He lifted the breastplate gingerly in his claws. It was indeed heavy, but if legends were true, it could stop an enchanted lance thrust to the heart without a problem. Magnolia smiled at him as the Drake looked at her in disbelief.

“Of course! The Golems are here to protect you and the breastplate should help you in battle if it’s that famous an artifact. I’m hardly one to be stingy with my wealth General Shivertail, and you deserve to have as many artifacts as one of the Lords of the Wall in your Walled Cities.”

“And wear a hundred rings and amulets at all times? Hardly. But I will take this armor. I don’t need enchanted gear, but this—”

It was like he was a small child again and being given an actual magic sword. Zel’s claws trembled as he unbuckled his breastplate. Once upon a time Sserys had ordered a set of magical armor made for Zel and he had refused. He didn’t need armor thanks to his Skills. But this?

When Zel stood, his armor burned on his chest and he felt warm, stronger. Magnolia clapped her hands in delight and Ressa carefully wiped some dirt off of the gleaming enchanted metal. Zel looked at her and felt conflicted.

“You have a thousand magical artifacts, Reinhart. Countless secrets, powerful servants, and more wealth than I can dream of. How is it that you haven’t taken over this continent already?”

The Deadly Flower of the North smiled at Zel and he thought she looked rueful. Just for a second.

“Honestly? Because money cannot buy everything, Zel Shivertail. I have artifacts, yes. Money, yes. Servants? Oh, they are strong, but they are not champions. The Goblin King swept through these lands because he was mighty. I am a [Lady], not a warrior, General Shivertail. To back up my charming words and wealth, I need a sword, an army. Do you see why I approached you?”

“I do. But I’m sorry to say—”

“Yes, yes. You’re not my sword. Not yet.”

Magnolia waved a hand, looking put out. Zel grinned. He opened a claw and looked up at the War Golems.

“I was going to say that you don’t have a sword. I’m a defensive [General]. If you want offense, get the Titan or bring back Sserys. I hold the line. Occasionally I charge into the enemy and redefine the line, but I’m best suited defending. You have a shield, Reinhart.”

She looked at him, her lips pursed, hands on hips.

“I know that I should appreciate that statement as it is, but a shield hardly sounds useful for dealing with a Goblin Lord.”

“No? You can give me one and I’ll beat him to death with it.”

Zel grinned and flexed his claws. He felt ready for a battle. The Goblin Lord might have an army, but Zel did too. Probably. And he had two Battle Golems, magic armor, and…well, that was about it. He just needed his claws and he’d tear a hole in that Goblin Lord’s chest.

At least, he hoped he would. In the worst case he might have to avoid a battle. It depended on the Goblin Lord’s army and how strong they’d be when Zel’s forces met him. Forty thousand soldiers was good, but the [General] hadn’t lived as long as he had by taking stupid risks. You took stupid risks only when you had no other choice.

“Well, I think I’ve got a few more things to think of. Lady Reinhart, shall we return to your mansion? I have a battle to plan.”

Magnolia smiled at him.

“Call me Magnolia, will you? And I will call you Zel. After all, we are allies and I hope, friends.”

Zel stared at her. Magnolia smiled. He coughed.

“No. We’re not friends.”

“What?”

Her smile vanished. Zel shuffled his feet. Ressa snorted.

“We’re not friends, Reinhart. I still don’t trust you.”

“Oh come now!”

She tried to grab his arm and he walked away. Magnolia sighed loudly.

“We are allies! Comrades-in-arms! I gave you that armor!”

“You can’t even lift my armor.”

“I am trying to be friendly.”

“You don’t have to be. We’re allies, not bedfellows.”

“This is really distressing me, Zel. I felt we had reached an understanding, a connection.”

“Don’t call me that, please.”

“Zel—”

“I’m going back to the mansion.”

“Fine! Unbelievable. Stubborn Drakes. Ressa, let’s go.”

“Okay.”

“Right. We’re off. General Shivertail? Which way are—”

“I don’t know. Which way’s the way out?”

“Of course it’s that—no, I suppose not. Or this way? Hm. Nalthal! Which way is…Nalthal?”

The two Humans and Zel looked around. The [Druid] turned [Gardener] did not reply as Magnolia called his name. They looked around and realized they were lost in the hedge maze, between towering thick walls of greenery that were at least sixteen feet high. Now that Zel really thought about it, you could probably die in a maze. He looked at Magnolia. Ressa looked at Magnolia. Magnolia looked around and sighed.

“I hate my [Gardener].”

4.45

The hour was late. Across the continent of Izril, it was nighttime. Of course, in Baleros it was morning and Kenjiro was awake and negotiating the cost of paper with Xalandrass the Naga. In Chandrar, it was just past midday and Trey was ‘sparring’ with Gazi, which mainly meant her kicking him about until he couldn’t move.

But things were happening everywhere. Meetings of note were occurring. In Magnolia Reinhart’s personal estate, the famous [Lady] was ordering her two War Golems to blast a hole in a walled hedge maze. And while the ensuing battle between Ressa, Zel, and an enraged [Druid] gardener might have been amusing to witness (if not experience), other important conversations were happening. Cakes were being thrown.

And that was the thing. Despite its subpar nature as a weapon of war, cakes had the unparalleled value of both comedic effect and surprise on their side. They could start a fight or in this case, halt one. Fragments of the large cake Erin had made dripped off of Ylawes’ armor and onto the ground, a capital waste of sugar. But it had stopped him from charging at the Redfang Goblins.

This was the scene. Ylawes stood in the open doorway of Erin’s inn, sword drawn and shield raised. He’d been struck by a flying cake—mainly because it hadn’t registered as a threat until too late. Even though he was frosted, he was still eying the Redfang Warriors warily. And they had recognized him.

All five of the Redfang Warriors were on their feet, holding their weapons. Badarrow was aiming an arrow at Ylawes’ chest, but they weren’t attacking. Rather, they were frozen.

Around the room, the other adventurers were also on their feet. The Halfseekers were eying the Goblins and the Horns of Hammerad were eying the new adventurers. Yvlon’s face was pale. Ceria was blinking as she stared at the other half-Elf standing behind Ylawes. Pisces was fighting with Mrsha and Ksmvr over a slice of cake. Everyone else was waiting for everyone else to make the first move.

Lyonette stared as Erin sat back down at her table. The [Innkeeper] looked around, seemingly satisfied with her handiwork.

“See, this is why you always bake three cakes. Ishkr, go get me another.”

That broke the silence. Ishkr blinked as half the eyes shifted to him, and then one of the new adventurers began to laugh. The Dwarf, standing by Ylawes’ side, started chuckling and then guffawing loudly.

He did it well. Erin had never heard a proper guffaw, but the Dwarf was so boisterous, so unashamedly loud and amused that it broke the tension. By his side, the half-Elf lowered her staff with a sigh and Ilvriss sat up. The Wall Lord eyed the new adventurers and looked at Erin.

“Is your inn always like this, Human?”

She began to laugh as well. The room relaxed. Jelaqua began to laugh, Moore covered his mouth with one hand, and Seborn sat down. Only Ylawes, the Goblins, and Yvlon remained tense. The [Knight] in caked armor stared suspiciously at the Goblins and then at Yvlon. He called out sharply.

“Yvlon! What are Goblins doing here? Get behind me—”

“Ylawes—”

It was clear that Yvlon and Ylawes were related, and not just from their names. Ylawes’ hair was a darker blonde, but they both had fair features and a certain angular and European cast to their faces. Mainly though, it was the way they dressed. Both wore silvery armor—although Yvlon’s was more mismatched due to it being a collection of enchanted armor—and their eyes were both light blue.

Yvlon looked at her older brother helplessly, stunned by his sudden appearance. Ylawes was more focused on the Goblins, though. He held his sword and shield grimly, ready for a fight.

“Why are Goblins—”

“They’re guests, Ylawes. Can’t you tell?”

The half-Elf standing behind him interrupted Ylawes by tapping him on the shoulder with her staff. He turned his head, disbelieving.

“Impossible. Goblins in an inn? That has to be—”

“Why else would they be here? Besides, there’s a sign.”

Erin stopped laughing and sat up as the half-Elf informed Ylawes coolly. The [Knight] hesitated.

“A sign?”

The half-Elf woman sighed loudly. She nodded to the open door, which was letting in cold night air. Erin was tempted to ask them to shut the door, but she didn’t want to interrupt.

“It says ‘No Killing Goblins’ on the sign outside, Ylawes. Didn’t you read it? You were warned.”

“It does?”

The [Knight] turned in astonishment. The Dwarf by his side snorted and Ylawes looked down.

“Just like a Human not to notice what’s at his feet! Well, what now, lad? Are you going to break some skulls and break the rules or sheathe that sword before it gets rusty?”

Ylawes hesitated, looking around the room. It was tense—the Redfang Goblins were all clearly ready for a fight, and the other adventurers were tense. Maybe they weren’t on the Goblins’ side, but the sight of Moore peering at you with his massive staff held in one hand…he was such a considerate, gentle soul, but he could also push a thumb through your face if he chose.

After a second, Ylawes sheathed his sword. Erin smiled broadly and stood up.

“You read the sign! No one reads the sign! For that you get a free drink! On the house!”

The new adventures looked at her. The Dwarf tugged at his thick beard and spoke with a deep, booming voice.

“Free drinks? Hah! Maybe coming all this way was worth it after all! I’ll have five mugs to start with and whatever you’re eating. That thing you hit Ylawes with will do to start with.”

He stumped across the inn and took a seat at the nearest table. Erin blinked at him.

“Wait, I said free drink. You have to pay for the others…”

“This inn serves Goblins?”

The [Knight] addressed Erin, still peering at the Goblins. They’d sat themselves back down the instant he sheathed his sword. Badarrow and Rabbiteater made expressive gestures at the armed warrior from their seats. Erin only smiled.

“That’s right. Welcome to the Wandering Inn! You get a free drink on the house for reading the sign—one free drink.”

“I heard you!”

The Dwarf shouted back. He was waving at Ishkr. Ylawes opened his mouth, probably to ask the obvious questions Erin normally got, but he broke off as he looked at his feet. Something white and furry was circling his armored boots. Mrsha had snuck forwards and was greedily stuffing the remains of the cake into her mouth. Lyonette cried out.

“Mrsha, no! That’s disgusting! Stop that!”

The Gnoll looked up completely unashamed, frosting covering her face. She bolted as Lyonette came towards her with a mop and the [Princess] chased after the Gnoll. Ylawes followed them for a few seconds, blinking, and then looked at Erin again.

“Your inn serves Goblins?”

“Yup! And you are…?”

She stared at him expectantly. Ylawes worked his jaw for a few seconds, and then recovered and bowed slightly.

“Pardon me, Miss. Ylawes Byres at your service. I lead the Silver Swords, an adventuring group dedicated to fighting monsters. I am a [Knight], and as such, offer you my sword and shield if you should ever be in need.”

His eyes flicked to the Redfang Goblins as he spoke. Erin smiled at him.

“Hi. I’m Erin. I don’t think I’ll need your sword and shield, but I guess I’ll ask if I’m in trouble. I’m an [Innkeeper]. Sorry about throwing the cake at you.”

Again, Ylawes found himself at a loss for words, so Erin relented a bit and dropped a bit of her oblivious act. She briskly nodded to the Redfang Warriors.

“I serve Goblins at my inn, Mister Ylawes. They don’t cause trouble and I don’t let people stab them with swords. If you don’t like that you can leave—although it seems like you know Yvlon. Are you two related?”

“I’m her brother. I’ve been searching for her for weeks—you truly let Goblins come in and out all the time?”

He really seemed to be having a hard time getting over the entire idea of Goblins, or at least, Goblins as guests. Erin frowned at Ylawes, but the half-Elf by his side came forwards next.

“Please excuse my companion, Miss Erin. We will abide by your rules so long as we remain at the inn. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Falene Skystrall. At your service.”

“Oh!”

Erin blinked at the half-Elf and took her in for the first time. She had light red hair, unearthly features like Ceria, but where the two half-Elves differed was age and bearing. Ceria was down-to-earth when you got to know her. Whereas this half-Elf was clearly older and conducted herself with the grace and dignity that Erin ascribed to typical stories about Elves. As Falene introduced herself she bowed elegantly and made a complicated gesture with her left hand. Erin bowed back awkwardly, feeling clumsy compared to the other half-Elf.

“Uh—uh, hi! Welcome to my inn.”

“Thank you. Allow me to apologize for Ylawes’ actions. We do not often meet Goblins that aren’t openly hostile…although it seems like this month is the exception to that rule. I am also surprised to meet another of my kin. Greetings, sister.”

She looked towards Ceria as she said that. The other half-Elf was staring at her. Falene made another gesture with her hands and bowed again to Ceria.

Ceria nodded and didn’t bow or make any gestures with her hands.

“Uh, I’m Ceria Springwalker. Pleased to meet you…sister.”

Falene’s eyebrows rose slightly. She looked at Ylawes and nudged the [Knight] again with her staff.

“I believe that concludes our introductions. Ylawes, you might want to ask for a towel and some water to wipe yourself off…then you can speak with your sister. As for myself, I believe I’ll enjoy my drink.”

“It’ll take more than that to clean all that cake off.”

Erin felt a bit bad for Ylawes, splattered as he was with drying frosting. Falene eyed Ylawes and nodded.

“True. Well, this should get most of it off.”

She raised her staff and tapped Ylawes on the breastplate. There was a loud knocking sound and then the frosting and cake stuck to his armor, face and hair immediately dried and fell to the ground. Erin whistled, and Falene nodded in satisfaction. She followed the Dwarf to the table as Ishkr hurried back with a few drinks.

Ylawes looked around, at a loss for a few seconds. Then he grimaced.

“This is not how I envisioned finding my sister.”

He stomped after his two teammates and sat at the table. Erin looked around. Mrsha was running about wildly on a sugar high, Ksmvr was eying the remains of the cake on the ground, Pisces was licking his fingers, and Ceria was staring at Falene with a frown. The Halfseekers were pointing at the Silver Swords and clearly about to wander over and introduce themselves, Ishkr and Drassi were busy getting more food from the kitchens, and Ilvriss was looking around, discontented that no one was paying attention to him.

Erin sighed. Another day at the inn. She smiled, and grabbed Mrsha as the Gnoll ran past. She handed the wriggling Gnoll to Lyonette and shooed Apista away from the faerie flowers. She took three flower bulbs and squeezed them lightly, flicking the nectar into a mug. And then she got to work.

Getting to know people.

—-

Ylawes Byres had come here to meet Yvlon Byres. He sat with his sister, talking quietly in a corner once he’d been served a deflated soufflé. Erin had to apologize for that.

“I guess my food preservation skill doesn’t save them from gravity. And I just made them today! Oh well. I’ve got pizza and lots of other food if you want it.”

“I’m grateful for the food, Miss Erin. We’ve been travelling for days now, and our last proper meal was as we were passing through Remendia. There was scarce food to be had in Esthelm as it was.”

Ylawes assured Erin as he poked at the sad soufflé with a fork. At another table, the Dwarf spoke up loudly.

“Not to mention you had to give half our dinner away! If we hadn’t arrived at Liscor tonight, I’d have eaten you, lad.”

Erin grinned, and Ylawes twisted in his seat to glare at the Dwarf.

“You’re barely a decade older than me, Dawil.”

“So? I’m a Dwarf. You’re a Human brat. I can call you lad if I want.”

The half-Elf sitting at the table raised her elegant brows and looked reprovingly at both of her companions.

“Which you only do when you’re trying to be aggravating. Let Ylawes talk with his sister, Dwarf. Or have you forgotten I’m older than both of you combined?”

“I hadn’t forgotten, grandmother.”

The Dwarf grinned to himself for all of five seconds until Falene tapped him on the head with her staff. He roared in outrage as the dark brown hair on his head began to smolder and doused the flames with his free drink. Falene stood up to walk over to Ceria as Dawil hurled his mug at her back. It flew towards her head then froze and gently floated onto another table. The Dwarf returned to his table, muttering about half-Elves who couldn’t take jokes.

The Silver Swords, the new adventuring group were spread around the room now and Erin dearly wanted to listen to the conversations all three adventures started. She was extremely interested in them all, not least because they were an almost stereotypical group of adventurers. A half-Elf, a Dwarf, and a Human? If a Hobbit walked through the door, Erin would have to get some autographs.

And it was the Dwarf that Erin was most interested in. He was focused more on food than conversation, and loudly calling for more drinks to go with the shepherd’s pie he’d been served. Erin was working out just how to approach him when Ksmvr did the job for her.

The Antinium had been instructed on some of the niceties of social conversation by the Horns of Hammerad. He demonstrated his learning in the subject now by grabbing his tankard and a half-eaten Ashfire Bee, standing up, walking over to where the Dwarf was seated, and sitting down across from him. The Dwarf looked up at the Antinium and stopped chewing.

“What?”

Ksmvr stared at the Dwarf intently. He raised one of his hands and waved it.

“Hello. I am Ksmvr.”

The Dwarf stared back at him. After a second he grunted and nodded.

“I’m Dawil. Of the Ironbreaker family.”

He took a long drink from his mug and eyed Ksmvr. After a second, Dawil spoke again.

“You’re one of them Ants, aren’t you? I thought you lot were all murderous killing machines without a thought between ye.”

“I am not. Although I appreciate the comparison.”

Ksmvr nodded happily. Dawil snorted and choked on his drink. He cast one eye around the room, taking in the half-Giant, Selphid, Drowned Man, Gnoll cub…when he returned to Ksmvr he shrugged, apparently resigned to the fact that an Antinium was talking to him.

“What’s that you’re eating? Some kind of bug?”

“It is an Ashfire Bee. Very tasty, especially with honey and butter. Would you like to try a bite?”

The Antinium nodded and lifted his plate so Dawil could see the bee. The Dwarf paused again, but the sight of the half-eaten bee didn’t seem to put him off his food either.

“I don’t eat bugs. Anyways. Isn’t eating one of them bugs like eating your own kind?”

“Is it?”

Ksmvr paused as he broke off a bee leg. He thought about this as he crunched it down.

“No. Is eating a cow or a rat cannibalism for Humans or Dwarves?”

“It’s disgusting is what it is. I don’t eat rats.”

“No bugs, no rats…this is very sad. I see you are a Dwarf. Do all Dwarves not eat good food?”

Dawil snorted.

“Not unless we’re starving to death we don’t! I’d rather eat my beard than chew on insects like some half-Elf living in the forest.”

He shot that at Falene. The half-Elf raised her eyebrows.

“I don’t eat bugs, Dawil. That’s a stereotype about half-Elves. Hardly any of us resort to that.”

All of the Horns of Hammerad immediately looked at Ceria. The half-Elf [Cryomancer] coughed and looked the other way. Dawil laughed loudly and then broke off as something buzzed his way. He swatted at it and Apista flew away from his mug. The Dwarf stared at the insect with a mixture of horror and incredulity and then stared at Ksmvr. He pointed at Apista.

“Isn’t that a bee as well? Why is that thing flying around?”

“It is a pet of Lyonette. She works here. It is called Apista and I think, very tasty. But she is off limits for consumption.”

Ksmvr stared as Apista flew away from their table with his mandibles slightly parted in longing. Apista was noticeably larger than the Ashfire Bee that Ksmvr was eating. Dawil stared at Ksmvr.

“A pet? By my beard…and you’re eating one of its kind right in front of it?”

Ksmvr stared at Apista. He slowly raised the bee to his mouth and crunched off another part.

“Yes. That is what I am doing.”

Over her time with Apista in the inn, Erin had noticed that while the Ashfire Bee would hover around sweet drinks and food when they weren’t being attended, it would never go within arm’s length of Ksmvr or any of the Antinium. Now the bee flew after Mrsha. The Gnoll was being carried upstairs by Lyonette, visibly upset and cranky after eating so much cake. Dawil watched the bee go with some relief and turned back to Ksmvr.

“This is one hell of an inn. I’ve been to magical taverns in First Landing and Invrisil and they’re boring compared to this inn. This [Innkeeper] girl—she just lets Goblins and Ants eat here and doesn’t worry about being killed in her sleep?”

“Oh no. Miss Erin is very good at killing things. And she employs one of my kind. His name is Bird and he lives on the roof. By the way, I have never met a Dwarf. Are you happy, being a Dwarf? Is there a special racial advantage to being a Dwarf or are you relatively useless like Humans?”

“Hey!”

Erin had to come over at that. She took a seat at the table and smiled at Dawil. He eyed her, probably wondering about Ksmvr’s endorsement of her killing prowess. Erin smiled at Dawil, hesitated, and blurted out the first thing on her mind.

“You’re tall.”

The Dwarf blinked. Ksmvr tilted his head. Erin blushed.

“I mean—sorry, but I’ve never met a Dwarf either! And I didn’t expect you to be so, so…”

Tall. For a Dwarf, that was. Dawil grunted and sat up straight. He was a few inches over five feet in height, which was short for a Human, but far taller than Erin would have expected of a Dwarf. And he seemed amused by Erin’s interest.

“Hah! Not met many Dwarves, have you, girl? Oh wait. You said. Well, I’m a pure Dwarf, don’t you worry on that account! Pure as any Dwarf living, which I’ll grant isn’t what it used to be.”

He rumbled to himself as he took a huge spoonful of ground beef and potatoes and shoved it into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and then went on.

“Y’see, I’ve got a bit of Human blood in me. My great, great, great grandma, she was Human, and so was my great, great, great, great, great, great…uh, grampa. ‘Course, my Dwarf side’s too strong to let a bit of Human dilute my true ancestry, but over the years it mixes with our blood. Almost every Dwarf is a bit taller because of that. Not like how we used to be—short and yay-high!”

He gestured, indicating a height around four feet high. Erin nodded.

“That’s cool. Mixed heritage, I get that. I’m one hundred percent Human. My name’s Erin, by the way.”

“Right I heard. Got ears, don’t I? And I already told the Antinium bugger my name. I’m not wearing it out.”

The Dwarf took another huge bite. He wasn’t rude—well, he was—but Erin wasn’t offended by it. He had a rather likable, straightforward personality in fact. Erin grinned at him.

“So you’re an adventurer in the Silver Swords?”

Dawil eyed her as he reached for his mug.

“Do you state the obvious all the time, lass? ‘Course I am! Hey, you don’t have anything stronger here, do you? I feel like I’m drinking water!”

“I have actual water if you want it—”

“Hah!”

“Okay then, how does Firebreath Whiskey sound? It’s the only strong stuff I have in stock right now. But it tastes like someone poured habaneros into a sock and mixed it with mouthwash.”

“Ah! A proper drink!”

Dawil brightened. He drained his mug in one go which impressed both Ksmvr and Erin and waved a hand at Ishkr.

“Firebreath Whiskey over here! Give me a full mug and another plate of the potatoes and meat!”

“One for me as well.”

Erin turned as Ksmvr tried to imitate Dawil and nearly drowned from his own mug. Ilvriss was sitting upright, looking annoyed at the lack of company and morose again. Erin intercepted Ishkr before he could deliver the Drake a drink.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

Ilvriss growled at Erin. She put her hands on her hips.

“No Firebreath Whiskey for you, Mister. You came here drunk and you had an entire mug of the stuff earlier. I’m cutting you off.”

The Lord of the Wall narrowed his eyes.

“You can’t cut me off. I am a Lord of the Wall!”

“Too bad. You can have this drink instead if you want. It’s a specialty of the inn. Faerie Flower ale. Here, try it. It makes you feel better. Or worse.”

Erin presented Ilvriss with the special mug she’d made. The Drake took one look at the drink and turned his head away.

“Ridiculous. I won’t settle for an inferior Human drink. If you refuse to serve me, I’m leaving. I have better places to be anyways—”

He moved to rise unsteadily. Erin barred his way and shoved the drink into his face.

“Try it. Come on. You tried the cake.”

“That was different. Wait, is this like the cake?”

Ilvriss eyed the mug again. The Faerie Flower ale was indistinguishable from regular ale…pretty much because it was. The only addition was three drops of the special faerie flower nectar Erin had added. She smiled encouragingly.

“You won’t know unless you try it.”

The Drake hesitated. He took the mug, grumbled about substandard alcohol, and took a gulp. His expression soured, and he was about to shove it back at Erin when his eyes widened. Erin took a few steps back as Ilvriss slowly sat back down.

“And now we wait.”

She muttered to herself as she walked back to Dawil’s table. Erin hadn’t forgotten Ilvriss’ grief when talking about Periss. She only hoped the drink could do for him what it had for Halrac the first time the [Scout] had tried it.

“Oh, Halrac.”

Erin had to pause and close her eyes for a second. The [Scout] hadn’t shown his face in the inn since the night Ulrien had been cremated. But she could only take a moment of her time to think of him. At the table, Dawil was arguing with Ksmvr.

“What? Battle tactics? Strategic maneuvers? What do you think our group is? We’re adventurers! We charge in and sort things out afterwards. I hit things with my hammer, Ylawes hits things with his sword, and Falene twiddles her fingers and shoots sparks at monsters while she hides behinds our backs. It’s a sound strategy!”

“It sounds like the exact opposite of strategy.”

“Which is why it works! Now, what are you—Silver-rank? Dead gods, I didn’t think there were Antinium adventurers. Well, never mind. What you do is, when you see a monster you run at it. Screaming.”

“Screaming?”

“Yeah. A good old war cry. Then you hit it. Use a Skill if it’s big, and if it’s really big go for the kneecaps. That always works.”

“What if it is a giant slime? Giant slimes do not have kneecaps. I point this out not as an attempt to be confrontational, but merely to question—”

“Slimes? What are you doing fighting slimes? That’s when you get a [Mage] to handle the job!”

“But you said—”

“I know what I said! Remind me!”

“Kneecaps—”

“Well, if they had them, it would be a viable strategy!”

It was like watching a comedy duo in action, even better than when Pisces and Ksmvr did it. Erin hated to break up the fun, but she had to. She cleared her throat as she slid back into her seat. Dawil and Ksmvr looked at her expectantly.

“Sorry, but I had a thought. You’re the first Dwarf I’ve ever met, Dawil. I mean, I’ve seen half-Dwarves, but you’re the only full Dwarf I’ve ever seen.”

“Not surprising. My kind live mainly on Terandria and we don’t like travel. Too much water and boats get us seasick.”

The Dwarf shuddered as he reached for a second plate of steaming shepherd’s pie. He had an incredible appetite, but then, he was very muscular and stocky. Erin smiled.

“Well, yeah. But I was thinking…I have this coin you see. It’s well, sort of a mystery and no one can tell me what metal it’s made of. I was wondering…”

The Dwarf paused as she fished out the special coin she’d received. He eyed it, and then glared at Erin.

“What, do you think I know about metals just because I’m a Dwarf?”

He looked mildly outraged. Erin waved her hands frantically.

“Oh, no! No, it’s just—well, yes, actually. Sorry. I just thought that since you’re a Dwarf and uh…if you don’t know, that’s fine. But no one else I’ve talked to has a clue, so…”

The Dwarf grumbled into his beard, but then stuck out a hand.

“Alright, give it here then. Not like I’m a [Forgemaster], but I reckon I know a bit more than any Human or Drake [Blacksmith]…”

“Ooh. I probably should have asked one of them to look at it. Right. Oops.”

Dawil snorted as Erin handed him the coin. It flashed in the firelight as he held it up, not quite silver but pale, reflective. Ksmvr stared at it and the Dwarf grunted, his expression of annoyance growing more intrigued.

“Hold on, that’s not an alloy of silver…it’s got no silver in it in fact. And it’s no alloy. Wait a second…hey, innkeeper! Where’d you get this?”

Erin shrugged self-consciously as Dawil stared at her.

“Um…one of my guests gave it to me as payment. I mean, it was sort of a gift, not proper payment. Why? Is it worth a lot?”

The Dwarf grunted.

“Depends on how you look at it. It’s either priceless or worthless. You see, this metal’s not silver, gold, or any of your common metals like that. It’s pure mithril, or close enough.”

“Mithril?”

Erin’s raised voice made every head in the room shoot up. Quick as a flash, Jelaqua was at their table.

“Hey, did someone say mithril and Dwarf in the same sentence? I could really use a new flail and armor—”

“Back off, Selphid! No one’s forging you lot anything! I just said this thing’s mithril—no need to get worked up about it! Yes, this is mithril. So what?”

Dawil cleared his throat, realizing he had an audience. Seborn, Jelaqua, and an interested Ishkr were hovering around the table. He handed the coin back to Erin and she held it as if it were magic. Which it might be. The Dwarf was less impressed, though.

“What are you waiting for? The coin to start floating in midair? It’s mithril, I told you! It’s just a metal.”

“But it’s—I mean, its mithril!”

Images of mithril chainmail and magical artifacts were spinning around Erin’s head. Dawil shook his own head sadly.

“Pah. It’s just a bit. You couldn’t make anything out of it—not that I’d want to try. That’s why I said it’s worthless or priceless. Sure, it’s rare to find a coin made purely out of the stuff—I can’t think of how old it must be—but who’s going to want something like that? It’s got no real value except as a collector’s item.”

He was too casual about the coin. Erin held it, trying to feel something out of the metal. All she felt was a bit of stickiness from where some drink had landed on it.

“Still, I mean—shouldn’t it glow or something?”

“It might. Buff it up a bit and it could look better. The coin’s covered in dust and the outer layer’s bonded with enough crap over the centuries. Scrape at it and it might look better.”

Dawil conceded grudgingly. He looked at Jelaqua.

“What’re you looking at, Selphid?”

“You wouldn’t happen to be a [Blacksmith] as well as a warrior, by any chance?”

She looked at him hopefully. Dawil guffawed in her face.

“Me? Do I look like I enjoy sweating in front of a forge fire? Count me out!”

“It’s just that I really would like better gear. I have this flail you see—by the way, I’m Jelaqua Ivirith, leader of the Halfseekers—”

“Oh, I’ve heard of you. Dawil of the Ironbreaker Clan.”

“—right, pleased, and I’d really love some better gear. Seborn’s got enchanted daggers, but no one makes enchanted flails. And I’ve heard that you can get Dwarf-made weapons for cheap. I was told mithril might be a good buy…”

The Dwarf shook his head as Erin sat at the table, polishing her coin with a tankard of water. It didn’t seem to work. She scrubbed hard but concluded she might actually need to scrape at it with a knife or something. That wouldn’t hurt the mithril, right? Or the faint engravings? It was supposed to be hard stuff. Erin went to look for a butter knife. Meanwhile, Dawil was beginning to argue with Jelaqua about weapons.

“Mithril? It’s things like this that make me regret ever leaving home! Every two-bit adventurer comes up to me asking for a magical blade—do I look like I carry a forge around on my back? And aren’t you lot an experienced Gold-rank team? What are you asking me about weapons for? We’re a new Gold-rank team.”

“Sorry. But it’s just that we don’t meet many Dwarves, and you hear rumors. So mithril weapons…?”

“Eh. Steel’s just as good.”

“What? Aw, come on!”

The other adventurers looked at Erin. She was heartbroken, as if Dawil had just punched her in the stomach. She looked so downcast that the Dwarf had to explain.

“It’s just like you beardless lot to think one metal’s best! Mithril? Hah! If you want lightweight armor, sure, use a mithril alloy. But making plate armor out of the stuff? Do you know what that would cost? Plus, mithril’s not all it’s worked up to be. Sure, it’s stronger than steel, but it’s too malleable—you need to cut it with a stronger alloy. Then of course it’s better than regular steel, but for the cost—and forget about putting it in a weapon!”

“Well, if it’s the cost—”

Jelaqua began but Dawil talked over her.

“Not just cost! Unless you’ve got the sharpest blade in existence, you’ll have no weight behind your blows! Mithril’s not worth its weight in gold! Now, a composite metal made by a master is more preferable.”

“Okay, but what kind—”

“Oh, you’ll hear the words ‘adamantium’ and ‘orichalcum’ and ‘star metal’ and so on thrown around a lot, but that’s all rock crap. Real [Blacksmiths] who aren’t trying to take your money will tell you that pure metals are useless on their own. What you want to be asking is what level of refinement they’ve achieved and then asking what kind of alloys they’ll be making with said rare metals. Eh…how much they have on hand is also a good idea. It’s rare stuff and you don’t want to be waiting months for a shipment to arrive.”

Erin saw Jelaqua open her mouth, but the Selphid couldn’t get a word in edge-wise. The Dwarf kept going, as unstoppable as an avalanche. She realized that she might have opened a door she couldn’t close and resigned herself to listening as Dawil went on.

“If they tell you they can work in an adamantium alloy into your armor, well, they’re either lying or Level 50, because let me tell you, I can count the number of times I’ve seen anything with adamantium in it, and I grew up seeing the Old Elders about, and they can forge anything in the world. Not that you’d know it to look at them. Hah, real Dwarven smithing today is all about quality and efficiency. Take Dwarven steel for example. Good stuff will do you just as well as a fancy artifact, and let me tell you, if you want to order well, all you need to do is—”

Sitting and listening to Dawil, Ksmvr nodded repeatedly as the Dwarf kept talking. He was so focused that he didn’t notice Erin, Jelaqua, Seborn and Ishkr edging away from the Dwarf. Neither did Dawil. The Dwarf kept talking as he drank and ate, loudly proclaiming the virtues of metal for all to hear and managing to slip in several insults about Human and Drake craftsmanship while he was at it.

—-

“It looks like Dawil’s started one of his rants about blacksmithing. It will be hours before he stops. For a Dwarf that hates blacksmithing, he enjoys lecturing others about it too much.”

At another table Falene Skystrall lightly observed her companion as she sipped from a cup of wine and cut into one of Erin’s pre-cooked steaks. She had been pleasantly surprised to find out how many different dishes were on the menu, and more surprised at how fast it had appeared. Now she ate with excellent manners, sitting in her chair across from Ceria. And Pisces.

The [Necromancer] had invited himself to the table after washing his hands of cake and neither half-Elf had chased him away. Ceria didn’t have the heart for it and Falene didn’t seem to mind. In truth, Ceria was slightly grateful for Pisces’ presence. She felt awkward in the company of another half-Elf after so long.

Especially since Falene had given her a very traditional, very old-fashioned greeting. She was clearly a traditionalist and she had to be at least eighty years old! True, she looked barely older than her late twenties, but Ceria knew there was a big shift in perspectives depending on the age of a half-Elf. They were half-Human after all, and like Humans, they changed far more rapidly than their distant ancestors had.

“I hope Dawil doesn’t talk your companion’s ears off.”

“He doesn’t have ears, so he’ll be fine. I think Ksmvr’s the only person who’d actually enjoy a lecture like that.”

Ceria grimaced. Falene raised two eyebrows at her, the model of composure. Ceria bit the inside of her lip. Yup, definitely a traditionalist. Falene was the kind of half-Elf who tried to act like she thought true Elves had. That was to say, almost graceful, always elegant, and the voice of logic and reason within any group. You’d never catch her squatting in the bushes after eating something that didn’t agree with her system.

And she was also a [Mage]. A good one—Ceria could tell that just from sitting next to her. Falene had an air of control and power about her that Ceria hadn’t sensed in anyone since Wistram. Well, Typhenous and Moore were powerful too, but there was something about her magical presence that was familiar…

“I am surprised to meet a fellow half-Elf so far from Terandria, sister. Especially in the company of one of the Antinium. That is unheard of. It must have been quite a set of coincidences that landed you in each other’s company.”

Ceria blinked as Falene addressed her. She waited for a beat, and then shrugged.

“Yeah?”

What was she supposed to say to that? Half-Elves went places. So did Humans. Falene smiled.

“I don’t mean to judge. But it is strange—my party has travelled very, very far in search of Ylawes’ sister. We came all the way to Celum to look for her, then took a detour in Esthelm before heading north again…who would have thought all we had to do was go further south to find her?”

Ceria grunted.

“You could have spared yourself the trip. There’s a magical door that leads straight from Celum to Liscor. You can walk between the cities whenever you want now.”

The other half-Elf’s eyebrows shot up and she cast a glance at the door.

“So that’s what I was sensing from that door. Incredible. I had no idea a magical artifact that powerful had been found. And it’s sitting in an inn? Is this [Innkeeper] that high-level? I didn’t get the impression…”

She was being chatty with Ceria, as if they were friends. Just because they were of the same species. That bothered Ceria…mainly because it was a very typical half-Elven thing to do. Forget Drakes—half-Elves were notoriously insular. And if you were of the same species, you naturally stuck up for one another.

But then—they had to. Ceria sighed. She was just being irritable on purpose. After the news about Calruz and—well, it was hard to meet someone who was like you in many respects but more accomplished. She cleared her throat, trying to adopt a more civil tone.

“No, Erin’s not that high-level, although she’s pretty high. Uh…the door’s there because we gave it to her. My team found it in the Ruins of Albez.”

“Albez—you’re the famous Horns of Hammerad we’ve heard about?”

Ceria and Pisces both coughed and looked away as Falene exclaimed. Pisces looked pleased and Ceria felt pleased and embarrassed.

“That’s us. We got lucky, honestly. We’re a Silver-rank team—hoping to be Gold-rank soon. That door was one of the treasures we obtained you see, and we owe Erin a lot, so it was her take of the treasure…”

Falene listened with interest to Ceria’s account of the events that had led them in salvaging the door from Albez. Adventurers swapped stories as a matter of course, and Ceria was humble enough not to embellish. Especially because she had heard of the Silver Swords in passing, and they were an actually famous group. Most Gold-rank groups made a name for themselves, although Ceria usually only knew the names. Now she tried to recall any of the Silver Swords’ exploits and failed.

“I am quite impressed! And from what I can see, your group is rather unusual. Two out of four of your group are [Mages]…it’s usually the case where there’s only a lone [Mage] unless the adventuring team is quite large. I sometimes wish I had another magic user to help guard my companions.”

The half-Elf sighed and glanced at Ylawes, who was deep in conversation with Yvlon, and Dawil. Ceria glanced at Yvlon—the young woman seemed tense and not quite at ease. Falene noticed her glance.

“Don’t worry. Ylawes is merely concerned about his sister. When he heard her adventuring group had been destroyed in Liscor’s dungeon he insisted we head south right away. It’s taken us weeks to journey from Invrisil.”

“That’s some commitment. I guess that’s family for you. But Yvlon seemed determined not to meet him. Do you know why that is?”

Falene sighed.

“I think Ylawes is intent on escorting Yvlon back to their home.”

“Ah.”

“Oh.”

Pisces looked up from his cup and glanced at Ylawes before raising his eyebrows at Ceria. She made a face at him—yes, she didn’t want that, but they were family! Falene looked between the two.

“I’m sure he won’t force her. Or if he does, Dawil and I can talk him out of it. Ylawes is stubborn as a boar, but he can be persuaded. Given time.”

Ceria nodded at Falene in appreciation.

“Seems like you’re a good team. That’s surprising. I’d never expect one of us to be travelling with a Dwarf. Given how much they don’t like us—”

“Bad blood. It’s not as if our animosity is recent. I was more surprised that a Human wanted to journey with me after Terandria. But Ylawes is an excellent leader, and not prejudiced against us in the least. A delightful change from home, wouldn’t you say?”

Falene glanced at Ceria and the half-Elf nodded reluctantly.

“Speaking of home…Pisces is from Terandria as well.”

“Oh, I apologize. I didn’t meant to assume. It’s just that it’s rare to meet Humans who don’t have at least a bit of mistrust of half-Elves. Especially if they’ve grown up in some of the kingdoms…allow me to introduce myself again. I’m a generalist [Mage], although I’ve recently achieved the [Battlemage] specialization in my class.”

Both of Pisces’ brows shot up and Ceria sat up a bit in her chair.

“This is impressive. You have quite the magical flair about you, Miss Falene. May I inquire as to where you studied?”

The half-Elf laughed.

“Why, Wistram of course! I graduated from the academy three decades ago. A lifetime by Human standards. But I remember it fondly, and I count myself privileged to have studied there. So many [Mages] are powerful, but lack the discipline Wistram provides. That half-Giant for instance. Moore? Such a lovely person, but his aura is unrefined. You two on the other hand…”

Falene broke off, glancing from Ceria and Pisces.

“Yes, you two have more focus to your mana flow. Are you students of Wistram, perhaps? Taking a sabbatical? That was all the fashion when I was learning.”

She couldn’t have known how her words would make Pisces and Ceria tense up. The two [Mages] exchanged a glance, and Ceria saw Pisces’ knuckles grow white on his mug. What should she say? There were so many things she could say that were lies and untruths—but would they hurt less than the truth?

She didn’t get a chance to decide. Pisces was the one who spoke. The [Necromancer] smiled, a slight glint in his eyes as he nodded at Falene.

“We are both from Wistram, indeed, Miss Falene. However, you mistake our natures. We are graduates, the two of us.”

Ceria held her breath as Falene blinked. She looked at Pisces and then at Ceria, and then she smiled.

“Hm. Are you? In that case, it seems like the standards have lowered quite a bit since when I last attended.”

Calmly, and quite oblivious to the reaction her words had caused, Falene gently levitated her cup of wine up to her lips and took a sip.

—-

“You should have sent word to me immediately when you were injured. I would have come sooner, but there was a situation with a city—Esthelm. And we stopped to help villages along the way…you should have told me. I would have sent gold, hired a carriage to take you north—”

Ylawes and Yvlon sat at a table in the corner of the inn, removed from the discussions happening elsewhere. The Goblins sat forgotten at their table, watching Ceria and Pisces bristle with interest, their ears perking up as Dawil’s voice droned on. Ylawes ignored them. His only concern was for his little sister.

As for his little sister, she was not happy. Yvlon stared hard at her brother, trying not to envy the shining silver armor that had given his group their name, the family crest etched proudly on his armor and shield that identified him as a [Knight].

He was everything she aspired to be. Everything she dreamed of. But he was not who she wanted, not now. And yet here he was. He’d ridden here hundreds of miles to save his younger sister, to champion the weak and innocent. Like he always did. But she was neither weak nor innocent and Yvlon tried to tell her brother that in no uncertain terms.

“I didn’t tell you because it was my mistake, my weakness that got my team killed, Ylawes. And afterwards, I was adventuring with another team. We had our successes. We found treasure in Albez—”

“And you were injured for it. Your arms, Yvlon! Silver and steel, I’m glad mother didn’t hear of it! All the family knew was that you’d taken some injury that couldn’t be healed by a potion.”

Yvlon closed her eyes, remembering the burning heat that had raced up her arms, the pain, the melting and then—

“Yeah. But I got this injury protecting my team. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

“And I’m proud of you for that. But see reason Yv! We have to get you north. There’s bound to be a [Healer] who can help mend your arms.”

“There isn’t. The metal’s in my bones, Ylawes.”

“Even so. A [Mage], perhaps? Money’s no expense. I have a small fortune and I’m sure father and mother know many people we could reach out to. We’ll have to wait a while for the Goblin Lord’s army to pass by, but we can send word at once and begin asking—”

“I’m not going, Ylawes.”

Ylawes broke off, staring at his sister in disbelief. Yvlon shook her head.

“I’m not going back home. Not yet. I have too much to do here. I’m in a team!”

It took her brother a second to find his voice, and when he did, it was angrily.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Yvlon! You can’t fight with those injuries! With your arms the way they are, any prolonged battle will risk you breaking them again. Or worse! One good blow will—”

“I know that! But so what? I’m not going to be flailing around trading blows with my enemies, Ylawes! I have a sword with the weight enchantment applied to it—a better sword than the one you have! I can fight, even if my arms are weaker than they were. If they break, I’ll heal them—Pisces can repair the bones!”

Yvlon pointed towards Pisces, neglecting to mention the [Necromancer]’s class. It didn’t matter. Ylawes had changed tactics. His voice was soothing now as he stroked at the stubble on his chin.

“Of course you’re right to be proud. A magical sword at your age? Father will be so happy when he hears. But be reasonable Yvlon! You should at least have a rest, or visit our estate. A month of rest and we can go adventuring together. I’m sure your companions won’t mind—why not ask them to come with you? There’s sure to be enough requests around our home to—”

“I said no.”

Yvlon snapped the word loudly, making heads turn in the mostly empty inn. She tried to calm herself.

“Ylawes, I appreciate that you were concerned. But—couldn’t you have asked if I was well before coming all this way to help me? I’m a grown woman, and you don’t need to worry about me. Honestly, I’m as fine as anyone is in this profession.”

The [Knight] looked troubled as he looked at his younger sister.

“Are you, Yvlon? I had to plot a huge course around the Goblin Lord’s army on the way south, Yvlon. And before that—I clashed with one of his raiding armies. They’d already sacked a city and they were coming back to slaughter all of its inhabitants and turn them into undead. This Goblin Lord’s a true threat, Yvlon. I’d heard the Goblins were dangerous, but using the undead? There was one skeleton I met in Esthelm that—”

He broke off, shaking his head. Ylawes turned back to Yvlon.

“I can only hope the army being assembled to the north will be enough to destroy the Goblin Lord and his army completely. I would have ridden myself in answer to Lord Tyrion’s call, but father sent enough forces from our household that will do. I hope. But that just proves my point. You’re in more danger around Liscor—there are Antinium here! Have you any idea what—”

He hadn’t realized Ksmvr was in her party. Yvlon closed her eyes, and then part of what Ylawes had said struck her like lightning. She sat up, cutting her brother off.

“Wait a second, we sent aid to Lord Tyrion? But Lady Magnolia was levying all the city-states around Invrisil!”

Ylawes frowned.

“You hadn’t heard? Lady Reinhart sent out a levy, true, but Lord Tyrion did the same. We sent reinforcements to him—as many [Soldiers] and [Guards] as father thought we could afford.”

Yvlon stared at her brother in horror.

“What? Not to Lady Magnolia? Ylawes, House Byres has always supported the Reinharts! Aunt Magnolia is a close friend of mother’s!”

“I know.”

“So why—”

It wasn’t so much what Ylawes said as the way he said it. His gaze shifted and he didn’t exactly meet Yvlon’s eyes as he spoke. She sat, heart pounding as he replied softly.

“Recent events have called her authority into question. There were several assassinations—of [Ladies] tied to Magnolia no less! Father was worried that…well, it doesn’t matter. Lord Tyrion’s levy on the city-states came at the same time as Lady Magnolia’s. So we answered his call while a smaller group was sent to Lady Reinhart. She will have an army, but it will be Lord Tyrion’s that sweeps the Goblins away. Or so father thinks.”

“What? But that would mean you’re supporting Lord Tyrion. While Aunt Magnolia…”

“It’s just strategy, Yvlon. Lady Magnolia did not request for any [Lord] or any [Generals] to lead the army she’s assembling, and she’s no leader herself. Without a high-level commander, her army doesn’t stand a chance. She could hold Invrisil I suppose, but Lord Tyrion is one of our best war leaders. Moreover, he has his own personal army and is creating a vastly superior force to Lady Reinharts’.”

That was true. Lord Tyrion was a famous [Lord]. And yet, he was at odds with Magnolia Reinhart, and she was one of the most powerful figures on Izril! If she wanted an army, she could raise one. Yvlon stared at Ylawes.

“But Magnolia is clearly trying to challenge the Goblin Lord. Otherwise, why would she assemble an army?”

“I don’t know. For defense, perhaps. All of the forces she requested are assembling just west of Invrisil by all accounts. I suspect that the officers of each unit will withdraw around Invrisil to protect it if the Goblin Lord tries to take the city. They’ll protect the citizens.”

“And if Aunt Magnolia orders them to attack the Goblin Lord?”

Ylawes still didn’t meet Yvlon’s eyes. He traced on the table with a gauntleted finger.

“I…suspect they will politely refuse her request.”

She stared at him, open-mouthed. Ylawes looked away.

“It’s not a lack of faith in her, Yvlon. It’s just…strategy. Magnolia Reinhart will have to be reasonable and see sense. She can’t ask the impossible. No one can.”

He said that, but Yvlon knew otherwise. The Reinharts—Magnolia in particular—were not known for being ‘reasonable’ about anything. They got their way. And if they didn’t, what did that say about the political situation in Izril? About the influence of the Reinharts, of Lady Magnolia?

It was all too big. Too far. Yvlon shook her head, putting distant conflicts with other nobles and the Goblin Lord out of her head. She looked at Ylawes.

“Be that as it may, I’m still not going north, brother. I’m staying here. I have a friend that might be in trouble and I won’t abandon my party.”

She folded her arms. Ylawes glared at her and blew out his cheeks slowly.

“I could drag you back—”

“No you couldn’t.”

“By all rights I should write to father and have him order you—”

“He can’t order me. This is a matter of honor, Ylawes. I belong with my group. I swore to fight with them. And besides—there’s a teammate of ours who might be alive. From the dungeon.”

“Truly?”

That threw Ylawes. Honor was important to him. It was to all of the Byres family. Yvlon explained about Calruz and saw his stubborn expression change. Ylawes wavered, rubbed at his eyes, and then came to a decision.

“You really won’t come back, will you? I was so sure…”

“No. I won’t.”

Yvlon felt triumphant as she looked at her brother. He was wavering, but he seemed to accept her decision at last. He looked at her with a rueful expression—and then dropped a house on her.

“In that case you won’t be alone. I’m staying too.”

He smiled at Yvlon, a [Knight] in shining armor. She stared at her brother, a famous Gold-rank adventurer, a hero, in horror.

“No. You really don’t have to.”

Ylawes faltered.

“Yvlon, I can’t just leave you—if mother heard, I’d be disowned within the hour. I have to stay and protect you!”

“I’d actually prefer it if you go.”

“Yv—”

“Stop calling me that. And I swear, if you think your team is going to babysit mine—”

Ah, family love. Across the inn, Erin polished her super-special and probably magical mithril coin with a cloth, watching Yvlon and Ylawes talk. They were clearly engaged in a serious debate. It was so nice to have a brother. Or so she assumed. She wondered what it was like.

And what the heck they were talking about.

—-

Around midnight, Yvlon and Ylawes stopped arguing and rejoined the table. By this point, everyone who was awake was sitting around a table. Ceria and Pisces, Falene and Dawil, Jelaqua—Ishkr, Drassi and Lyonette had all been relieved and Erin was filling a few cups, but all was quiet.

Moore and Seborn had already gone to sleep, and Ksmvr had gone up to speak with Bird. About what was anyone’s guess, but the air in the inn was generally convivial.

Generally. Sort of. Ceria and Pisces sat across the table from Falene, and Yvlon and Ylawes glared at each other like true siblings. Erin happily looked around and noticed Ilvriss slumped at his table, his mug cradled in one hand.

Decisions were being made. Ylawes didn’t beat about the bush as he walked over to his two companions.

“We’re staying, at least for now. We’re challenging the dungeon in Liscor. Apparently there might be an adventurer stuck down there and Yvlon won’t leave until he’s found.”

“I won’t leave anyways.”

Yvlon growled under her breath. Falene looked interested and Dawil pulled himself upright. The Dwarf’s breath was practically toxic with alcohol fumes, but then, Jelaqua usually drank that much as well.

“What’s this about an adventurer? Someone got themselves lost in the dungeon?”

“No.”

Ylawes related the possibility of Calruz being alive as Ceria shot Yvlon a silent glance over the table. The armored woman gave Ceria a helpless shrug of her shoulders.

The silence that followed Ylawes’ explanation was long. Erin looked around and recalled a similar scene the time Pisces had broken the news.

Okay, so there was a possibility, however faint, that Calruz could be alive. However, and this was a huge however, if he was alive he could be anywhere in a huge dungeon the size of a city. The odds were that he was dead, and the dungeon had killed everyone but the two Gold-rank teams who’d gone into it. And they had to be very cautious as well. Erin remembered days when Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers would come back looking beat on, talking about monster ambushes and traps.

“So this Silver-rank team that might be Gold-rank is planning on finding their missing buddy all on their own, are they? You’re right Ylawes; that sounds exactly like the idiocy you’d get us tangled up in!”

Dawil groaned aloud and slapped his forehead. Ylawes glared at him and Ceria cleared her throat for everyone’s attention.

“You don’t have to help. We can’t pay—not anything worth the risk—and there’s no reward in it. This is our companion. We’ll find him. If he’s alive, he’ll stay that way after so long. If not…we’re working on it.”

They’d been taking requests to earn money for potions and so on, gathering experience. Pisces nodded as he played with his mug and Yvlon’s face was set. The Silver Swords looked at each other as Jelaqua glanced at the ground. Erin knew the Selphid hadn’t volunteered her team.

She couldn’t fault Jelaqua on that. That was the sane decision. Which made the Silver Swords’ one all the stranger. Ylawes looked at Falene, who raised her hand palm up, and then at Dawil, who muttered but nodded. He turned back to Ceria.

“We don’t need payment or a reward, Miss Ceria. The cause itself is enough. Any friend of Yvlon’s is a friend of ours. And if there is truly an adventurer in danger in Liscor’s dungeon, we will do everything we can to help. We, the Silver Swords, champion causes wherever they may be found, regardless of reward or risk!”

He said the words simply, as if they were a fact. He stood proudly as he said them, and his armor glinted in the faint firelight. Everyone else stared at him with open mouths. Slowly, Ceria leaned over and whispered to Pisces very softly.

“Is he…real? Or just completely insane?”

Pisces sniffed.

“Addled from one too many hits to the head is more likely. Or perhaps he suffers from some kind of martyrdom complex. No doubt a sad affliction of the [Knight] class.”

He didn’t bother to lower his voice. Ylawes glared at Pisces.

“Helping others in need is simply common sense, sir. If you saw a traveler on the road who was in trouble, would you help them?”

Pisces frowned.

“Would this be a man or a woman? Human? Drake? How rich are their clothes? Is there any danger nearby? How far am I from civilization? What kind of road is it?”

Ylawes stared at Pisces. The [Necromancer] smirked at him and Ylawes looked away, disgusted. Erin clapped her hands, breaking the silence.

“Good! You’re staying. And you’re helping Yvlon! Yay. Now, are you staying here? I have rooms.”

The Silver Swords looked at each other. Ylawes looked uncomfortable as he bowed slightly to Erin.

“My apologies, Miss Erin. But I don’t feel at ease sleeping under the same roof as…Goblins. I would like to use your door to find lodgings in Celum.”

“Or you could go all the way back home.”

“Yv…”

“That’s okay. I think the Goblins don’t like you anyways. Sorry, but that’s how it is.”

“Ah—yes. I’m…glad that we can all feel comfortable.”

Ylawes stumbled over his words and turned back to the others as a whole.

“I must apologize for my conduct earlier. I was not aware of the…peculiarities of this inn. However, as Yvlon’s older brother I thank you most sincerely for aiding her. She is of House Byres, and a credit to her family. I hope that you will all continue to aid her in the future.”

Yvlon covered her face with her hands, blushing. Ceria and Pisces exchanged a glance. Jelaqua raised a mug.

“I’ll drink to whatever that was! House Byres, huh? I knew Yvlon came from a rich family, but I didn’t know she was nobility! Fancy that.”

“We’re not a famous House, actually, Jelaqua. Far from it. We’re minor and we don’t get political. Until now.”

Yvlon glared at Ylawes as she spoke. He nodded.

“House Byres has always supported itself with a healthy business in silver. We have a mine…and several of our family are [Merchants]. Some, like Yvlon and myself follow the family tradition of taking up arms to defend the common people.”

“Wow! You’re like a real [Knight] family, huh?”

Erin looked approvingly at Yvlon. She scowled.

“In decline. Ylawes and my other siblings help provide for the family, but we’re not rich, Erin.”

“True.”

Ylawes frowned.

“In the past our family used to be richer. Alas, there’s less call for quality silver now, which is one of our main exports. In the past of course, we were a household name, but the disappearance of the Vampires has reduced our estates too—”

“Did you say Vampires?”

Erin was at Ylawes’ side so fast she could have teleported. The [Knight] blinked at her.

“Um, yes. Vampires. Indeed. They used to be a scourge on Izril and had several large infestations that were wiped out over the centuries. Our family, House Byres, was famous for rooting them out. And our silver was a key component of their destruction. It used to be said that if you wanted to survive a Vampire attack, you would wear a necklace of Byres silver.”

“Or garlic.”

Pisces muttered under his breath. Ylawes scowled at him. For once, Yvlon seemed to appreciate the [Mage]’s remarks. She shook her head as Erin looked disappointed.

“Vampires are gone, Erin. Or if they’re around, there’s not thousands of them like there were. My family’s well-enough off, even if some of us are more protective than they should be.”

She glared at Ylawes, and Falene smiled. She looked at Erin, one hand resting on her staff.

“That is House Byres for you, Miss Erin. They are rather infamous locally. Honorable, prolific, and stubborn as mules. I believe that’s what’s said behind their back.”

Erin laughed as both Yvlon and Ylawes turned to glare at Falene. She smiled and looked around.

“Well, I guess I have more regulars in the inn, even if you’re not staying here. That’s cool. I’ll show you guys how to get through Celum and back—it’s really easy, but I have to make sure you don’t trip over any of Octavia’s stuff when you go through the first time. She’s an [Alchemist].”

She showed the Silver Swords how to get to Celum as the others went to their beds. It was late—so late that Octavia was asleep, which was lucky. A midnight sales pitch was the last thing Erin wanted. She went to sleep happy, but exhausted, in a silent inn.

[Magical Innkeeper Level 33!]

And then Erin sat up and remembered Ilvriss was still there.

“Darn it, I forgot I spiked his drink!”

She looked around her dark kitchen, wondering if she should wake the Drake up from whatever memory he was seeing. But then she decided it wasn’t worth the effort and went back to sleep.

“A brother coming to rescue her, huh? That’s nice. But I wonder what’s up with Lady Magnolia? And the Goblins? It sounds…not good.”

Erin’s eyes slowly closed. She went to sleep, dreaming of Goblins and silver and flying spaghetti monsters. Because it was a dream after all.

And in the inn, slumped over at his table, Ilvriss spoke one word.

“Periss?”

—-

“Periss?”

He knew he was dreaming. Ilvriss could tell by the little clues. The windowless room, the way there was no real smell, no sense of beginning or end to this place, and the tiny Corusdeer leaping about the table in front of him. He stared at them for a few seconds before looking up.

There she was. Even if it was a dream, it was the only one he’d ever want to have. Periss, his second-in-command, his secret lover, stood across from him. She was standing over the table, which was in fact, a map.

It was the most realistic map in the world. A little world, the map of Izril surrounded by the ocean, had been replicated in minute detail down to the very trees on the table. Animals too. Ilvriss could see herds of tiny Corusdeer bounding across the melting snowy landscape, and a miniature Hollowstone Deceiver, a Rock Crab, snagged one and tore it apart in a bloody mess as he watched.

The map was in fact a replica of one of the magical map rooms in the Walled City of Salazsar. It was depicting the Goblin Lord’s forces as he moved steadily northwards towards Invrisil. It seemed remarkably accurate for a dream map.

Ilvriss didn’t care. He only had eyes for Periss. But she was studying the map intently, not looking up at him. She brushed a claw over the light blue scales near the spines on her head, a gesture so familiar that Ilvriss could have wept.

“Periss!”

“I heard you Wall Lord, there’s no need to shout.”

Periss looked up with a slight frown. Ilvriss would have run over to her, but he couldn’t move. He was fixed in place on the other side of the map. He stared at her. She was so real! In this place, she was the only thing aside from the map that had any presence. And the dream had copied her down to the last detail. The faint odor of her body, the smell of her armor and the polish applied to it, the sounds her claws made as they faintly rasped against the map.

So real. It was pain, seeing her. Ilvriss would have strained to move, but in this dream, he couldn’t. He couldn’t try. It was a dream rule, and he was powerless. So he spread his arms.

“Periss. Come to me.”

“Not now.”

The Drake woman didn’t look up from the map. She was tracing the path of the Goblin Lord, frowning. Ilvriss raised his voice.

“Periss! Come away from the map! I want to touch you. I want to hold you. It’s been so long—”

“It will have to be longer, Wall Lord. We have business here, or have you forgotten the Goblin Lord?”

“Damn the Goblin Lord. I don’t care about him or the Humans.”

Ilvriss spoke urgently. Periss looked up for a moment and smiled—his heart leapt in his chest.

“Neither do I. But they are potential threats. Just look here.”

She traced a claw along the Goblin Lord’s route. Ilvriss saw black smoke rising from a collection of burnt houses, fresh.

“He’s been destroying villages, one small town…but avoiding all of the cities, even the ones he could take. He’s conserving his forces, trying to move fast. Why? To avoid a Drake army coming from the rear? Or something else?”

“Periss…”

“And here. He’s going to hit Invrisil unless he turns. The Humans are assembling a force to stop him, but will it be enough? Magnolia Reinhart’s not known for her prowess in battle. Whereas Tyrion is assembling a force here, but it won’t be in time to save Invrisil. If the Goblin Lord attacks.”

It was agony seeing Periss standing over the map. Ilvriss tried to move again and failed. She went on, focused, gnawing at a lip as she did when she was thinking hard.

“It could all be open-and-shut if the Goblin Lord is defeated. But what if he’s not? I know there’s a small force coming to defend Liscor and another army coming north. If they’re needed, if the Goblin Lord isn’t stopped by the Humans, we’ll want to be ready.”

“Who cares? Let it all burn. Just come to me and I’ll leave it behind.”

Ilvriss would have damned his home to ash and fire just to reach out for her in that moment. Periss looked up and glared at him.

“Don’t say what you don’t mean. Look, it’s all predictable, unless the Reinhart woman has a trick up her sleeve. Her army might be able to fend off the Goblin Lord, but never destroy his army. Not without a leader. The key is what General Shivertail knows. Why did he disappear? Unless…no, he wouldn’t do that. Would he?”

It didn’t matter. None of it did. Periss was here, but she was ignoring him. Ilvriss collapsed onto the floor. He begged out loud, he who had never begged before.

“Please, Periss! Touch me. Come here. Speak to me!”

He shouted the last words, cursing the dream he was in, this nightmare, this cruel torture. There was only silence in reply. He wept, clutching the map table, feeling the ocean and land crumbling under his claws. And then he heard a voice.

“Oh Ilvriss.”

Periss walked around the table. Disbelieving, Ilvriss looked up. She knelt, and then slapped him.

He gaped. Periss was no weakling. She was a trained warrior and her blow made his head ring. She hit him on the other cheek and Ilvriss reeled.

“Get ahold of yourself!”

She shouted at him. Ilvriss raised his hands to the real, stinging pain in his cheeks. Periss glared at him.

“I’m dead for less than a month and this is what you’re reduced to? You’re not the Drake I chose to follow, the leader I fell in love with! You drink and abandon your duties? Because of me?”

“Periss—”

“Stop saying my name like that.”

She glared at him and Ilvriss recalled that she didn’t like him saying her name, even in private. It was always [Lieutenant], then [Captain], and so on as she rose in rank. She disapproved of flirting before the battle was over, too. It was business while they were in the middle of a battle.

Suddenly, Ilvriss was conscious of how drunk he was, of how dirty his clothes were—clothes, not armor. He’d stopped putting it on. While Periss was in her armor, in the prime of her life, ready for action. He felt ashamed and looked away.

“Ancestors, look at me. Look at how I’ve fallen apart. No wonder you look at me like that. I am worthless.”

He sunk downwards in misery. Of course she hated him. This was what he’d become. Instead of avenging her he’d chased Ryoka this far, failed to stop Az’kerash’s minions from taking two lives, and then given up. The Necromancer. The grief had hit him too hard.

Now he had lost it all. Ilvriss couldn’t look at Periss. He heard her sigh in exasperation, and then felt a touch. He froze as she clumsily drew him towards her. Periss had never been one to hug, and so her embrace was crude, and uncomfortable as he pressed against her armor.

But it was real. Oh, so real.

“I know it was hard after I died. But you can’t keep doing this.”

“I tried.”

“I know. I know you did.”

“I fought Periss. I tried, but—you are gone! Gone and I am alone.”

“I know. And I’m so sorry.”

She was here. In that moment, Ilvriss forgot decorum. He forgot his station and his appearance and began crying as if he were a hatchling. And Periss held him as she had never done, but as she would have if he had cried. Ilvriss clung to her, feeling her heartbeat. And he begged the world for this moment to continue, even in his grief. Another second. Another moment.

Please.

“You can’t waste away. You have a future and more importantly, a duty.”

The Lord of the Wall wept into her arms, clutching at her, feeling the realness of her body.

“I know! I know, but I can’t let you go. I can’t continue—”

“Of course you can. And you will.”

Periss gripped him on the arms, hard, looking into his eyes. Ilvriss grasped at her.

“I can’t just forget you and move on. I cannot, Periss. I—”

He couldn’t finish. The weight of moving without her, of waking from this dream and knowing she was gone was too heavy. Periss looked at Ilvriss and sighed, as if he was an idiot. He’d heard that sigh before, too. He’d used to hate it.

“You don’t have to forget me. I’d be insulted if you did. But you have to stand up. Your people need you. I need you.”

I need you. What choice did he have? Ilvriss stood, though the effort cost him more than words could say. He looked into Periss’ eyes, holding her. And in his heart he knew the dream was ending.

But not yet. Please, a moment longer. He had something he had to say. Ilvriss drew Periss closer and kissed her. She wasn’t good at that either. Neither was he, but it was genuine, real. And then he confessed his sins, the weight of his heart.

“I wanted to say sorry. To ask for forgiveness.”

She looked at him and laughed in his face.

“What forgiveness? For sending me after a lone Human girl? That was a sound decision. Although sending all those elites after me wasn’t. You should have kept the rest back so you could defeat Shivertail.”

Ilvriss blinked at her, surprised. But then he laughed too.

“You know what I mean!”

“Maybe I do, but the strategy was sound. And that’s what matters. You couldn’t have known. Now you need to move forwards. You know what the enemy looks like, where he is roughly. You know, and you can protect your people.”

Periss held Ilvriss, pointing towards the map. He looked and saw the undead rising around the Goblin Lord’s army. For the first time, hot fury flickered in his heart, drowning out the sorrow.

Then it faded. Ilvriss looked at Periss and held her tightly. She wasn’t fading or disappearing, but he sensed his time with her was ending.

“Don’t go. I have so much I want to do. So much I want to say.”

She raised one brow at him.

“As fun as it might be, I don’t think this is the right place for a tumble together. Maybe some other time.”

He laughed against his will.

“Will I ever see you again?”

She looked at him tenderly, and one of her claws intertwined with his.

“Maybe. If you have more of that strange drink Erin Solstice gave you, perhaps. But I’ll always be here.”

She pointed to the war map, the living continent of Izril, their home.

“Because that’s what you need to focus on. Not just the southern half. All of it, Ilvriss. And this inn in particular. There’s more for you to see, more to do. I can’t do anything anymore. But you can.”

Ilvriss closed his eyes. The weight of his duties fell upon his shoulders, but this time he could bear it. He had to. He spoke to her, feeling her claws in his.

“I swear I will. I will protect our home. I will find the Necromancer and make him pay. And if the Goblin Lord threatens, I will protect our people. I won’t slip back again Periss. I swear it.”

“Good.”

He felt a kiss. When he opened his eyes, she was gone. But the memory remained. And as Ilvriss turned he opened his eyes—

And woke up. Ilvriss jerked upright at his table, and the nearly-empty mug of Faerie Flower ale tipped over. He grabbed for it and looked around.

It was pitch black in the inn. The fire was ash, and everyone had gone to sleep. Ilvriss stared at the mug, and then clenched his hand. He could still feel her, still hear her voice.

Had it been just a dream? The Human girl, Erin had said—was it magic? A drug? Something more?

It didn’t matter. Ilvriss looked around the room. He was so tired. And then he looked into the mug. There were just dregs left.

Oh well. It would have to do. Ilvriss closed his eyes, and then sat up. He raised his mug and spoke into the silence. His voice echoed in the empty inn, coming back to him.

“To war. War, ever changing, always taking…to war. It’s the Drake way. And I—”

He drank and let the mug fall onto the table. The dream didn’t come back, but he hadn’t really expected it to. Ilvriss looked around, blinked, and then toppled off his seat. He slept on the floor, tears trickling from his eyes. His heart was bitter, sore, and broken. But it was there, and it beat on, reminding him he was alive. Ilvriss slept and whispered her name as the map and colors and the promise of battle whirled in his dreams.

“Periss.”

4.46

When she slept she forgot where she was and what had happened. It was only when she was awake that she remembered. Sleep was her one reprieve. But it was a coward’s way out, so she woke up this morning as the sun hit her face. There was no running from the truth.

A young woman sat up in a tent, her body aching. She was alone. Far from home. For a few seconds, she looked around in the darkness. Then she inspected the restraints on her hands.

No good. They were as secure as they had been yesterday. The young woman thought about gnawing at the raw leather bindings, but gave up the idea. Her captors inspected the cords regularly.

There were no restraints on her legs, though. So the young woman stood up and walked around the tent. She could go to the bathroom so long as she didn’t mind being watched. She could wander around the camp, and run about if she so chose. So long as she didn’t cause trouble she was free.

That freedom would disappear if she tried to escape, though. And while the young woman knew she could run quite fast…no, it was still impossible. She was surrounded by the enemy. If she ran she’d be caught.

The same went for grabbing a weapon. She’d be overwhelmed in a second, and while the idea of going out in a blaze of violence was tempting, it was also wrong. She had to live. The young woman knew that. She had to live. It was her duty.

Still. In the confines of her dark tent, the young woman could tell it was just before dawn. She stretched as best she could with her bound hands, plotting another escape attempt. The guards around the camp were numerous, but if she could get beyond the limits of the camp undetected, and have half an hour’s, no ten minutes’ head start, she might outrun any pursuit.

“To hell with running. If I could fly—”

Osthia Blackwing grunted as she reached to touch her scaly feet with her arms. She twisted and tried to eye the black metal restraints that had been placed over the two leathery wings on her back. It was rather difficult; the young Drake woman couldn’t see that far behind her. Normally she’d use a mirror to inspect her wings for injuries or flaking scales. However, she didn’t have to look to feel the cold metal constricting the movement of her wings. She could move them, but she couldn’t unfurl her wings.

It was agonizing. The Goblins who’d put the bindings on her probably hadn’t any idea of how torturous that binding could be. In fact, they’d been extremely generous to her by the standards of prisoners; she could move about and eat whenever she wanted, she was left by herself unless the Goblin Lord wanted her, and she had her own tent. It was far better than how Drakes treated their captives, and Osthia might have been grateful were it not for her wings.

She longed to move them. It was like having her legs bound or—or having her eyelids forced open. All she wanted to do was flap her wings once. But of course, if she had that opportunity she’d be flying away in an instant.

And the Goblins weren’t fools. If they afforded Osthia small freedoms, well, that was a peculiarity unique to her and only her. There were no other prisoners in the Goblin Lord’s camp. None. They could treat one prisoner well. That she wasn’t being raped or tortured didn’t fool Osthia. She’d seen what the Goblins did to every other enemy soldier they’d captured.

—-

After an hour of stretching and pacing around her tent restlessly, Osthia had to go out. It was that or go insane in the dark tent. She pushed through the dirty flaps of her tent, glancing around in disgust as she did.

The Goblin Lord’s camp was already bustling as the first rays of daylight shone down on the continent of Izril. Osthia looked down rows of orderly tents, which slowly devolved into sleeping bags, and then just small campfires and cleared patches of dirt which Goblins slept around.

Despite the magnitude of the camp—meant to hold tens of thousands of Goblins each night—it was still organized. Central pathways lead into the center of the camp and outwards, giving the streams of thousands of Goblins access to food, places to relieve themselves, social areas where they could squat, poke each other and grunt in their foul language—

Osthia looked around, her face twisted into a scowl of disgust. She would rather be dead than a captive here. But she had no choice. As tempting as it might be to ambush a passing Goblin armed with a knife or sword, Osthia knew she couldn’t die here. She had to survive.

Someone had to live to warn everyone. To tell them that the Goblin Lord was a pawn of Az’kerash, the Necromancer. At least one soldier had to return—few had seen the truth, or realized what it meant. Osthia had witnessed two entire Drake armies eradicated to the last soldier, only the stragglers on the outside escaping to tell of the Goblin Lord’s incredible comeback. But she had been at her uncle’s side. She had stood next to Thrissiam Blackwing and realized the truth.

The Necromancer had created the Goblin Lord. And he was sending his minion to wreak havoc across Invrisil. He had made the Goblin Lord, taught him necromancy, given him orders. It was because of him that two Drake armies had died. Osthia’s stomach tightened at the thought.

Thrissiam Blackwing. Garusa Weatherfur. Two heroes of the Drakes had perished in battle. How long had it been? Weeks? A month?

It felt like yesterday. Osthia could still remember her uncle, Thrissiam, ordering her off the field. She could still see him cutting down the other general, the Gnoll he had loved for a short few days, Garusa, and then falling to the horde of undead. She wondered if he had been torn apart. Sometimes she hoped that was the case.

The undead stood silently at a good distance away from the Goblin Lords’ camp every night. They were always there, no matter where the Goblins travelled. A silent group of tens of thousands of undead, motionless, swaying occasionally in the breeze. Their foul rot was usually too far away to smell, but occasionally a strong breeze would waft the scent of death towards Osthia.

She stood at the edge of camp, ignoring the Goblins passing by who stared at her and pointed, staring at the undead. It was one of her habits. She would stare at the undead, picking out each Drake zombie or ghoul that she could see. Each one she’d search for some clue as to their rank, their identity in life. She’d recognized comrades, officers…but never her uncle. She prayed she never would. Still, if she saw him—it was so tempting to bring him a final peace, even if it meant becoming one of those horrors herself.

No. Osthia looked away fighting down the dark urges again. Duty. As a prisoner she had to cling to her duty. If not, what was the point? So many Drakes had died—she owed them her life. Even if it meant living in this camp another day.

Against her will, her stomach rumbled, reminding her of the requirements for survival. Osthia turned, smelling the Goblin cooking pots hard at work. And realized she had an audience.

A group of tiny Goblins had gathered around the Drake. They were Goblin children. Osthia had never seen a Goblin child before, but she’d learned that was because Goblins were only functionally children for about six months to a year. After that, they could fend for themselves.

Well, Goblin babies learned to walk after about two weeks. After that they shot up in height rapidly. The children who’d gathered around behind Osthia stared at her with keen interest. They were short, unevenly dressed—some were naked—and picked at their noses, leaned on each other, or scratched themselves as they watched her.

“Get lost you little monsters!”

Osthia snapped at them angrily and the Goblin children scattered. A few passing Goblins looked at her warily, but the Drake knew better than to back up her words with any kind of action. And unfortunately, the Goblin children knew it too. As she stomped towards one of the cooking stations they followed her in a mass.

It was a game. They’d gather up behind her, trying to sneak up on Osthia and edging closer and closer. If she didn’t look at them they’d poke her in the leg and then flee. Osthia hated it. She scattered the Goblin children with sharp words as she stomped towards the cooking pots.

Of course, the children weren’t as bad as the adults. The Goblins that were eating breakfast stopped to stare at Osthia. They had no compunctions about staring openly, and several of them nudged each other and pointed at Osthia. The Goblins never got tired of her. Osthia ignored them all and strode up to the front of the line.

“Food.”

She growled at the female Goblin ladling hot soup into bowls. The Goblin woman glared at Osthia and pointed. Back of the line. Osthia knew what she meant without having to interpret the Goblin’s crackling language. She stomped into line and waited, grinding her teeth until she was handed a bowl. When the Goblin filled it, Osthia raised the bowl to her lips and sniffed suspiciously at the broth.

She knew the Goblins ate their own. And worse, that they ate Drakes and other species. If it hadn’t been for the presence of the undead, Osthia would have refused to eat at all for fear of eating Drakes or Gnolls. However, she’d checked and the Goblins had yet to use the meat of people in their broths. Fortunately or unfortunately, their stores were fat from raiding villages and towns, and they had more than enough meat from cows, horses, sheep, and sometimes, Corusdeer.

Not that they generally kept that. Meat was a luxury and day-by-day the Goblins lived on thick, filling soups made of whatever vegetables, grains, and what they had on hand. They seasoned their soups with a tiny bit of whatever meat they had.

At least it was palatable. Osthia grunted as she sipped at her bowl. The Goblin children who’d followed her were now pestering the Goblin server for a second breakfast. Osthia smiled grimly as the Goblin woman chased off the youngsters by smacking them with her serving ladle. Then she finished her soup, gulping down the hot mix and tossing her bowl in a pile with the other empty bowls.

Immediately three children jumped at Osthia’s bowl and fought over it. Because the Drake hadn’t licked it clean like all the other Goblins. She refused to, but the other Goblins left their bowls so clean you could eat your dinner out of them, which usually resulted in them being reused at least twenty times before needing to be washed.

“Disgusting.”

The Drake sneered at the children. It annoyed her she couldn’t apply that word to the soup. The Goblins might be savage monsters, but they had their own [Cooks] and [Stirrers] who could make the soup halfway tasty. The Drake would have died rather than acknowledge that, though. She walked away from the mob of children now fighting for her bowl, ignoring her stomach that protested it wasn’t entirely full yet.

Time to observe. Osthia had no real restrictions in the camp, and so she could wander about. She took advantage of that freedom every day to scout out the Goblin Lord’s army as it moved from place to place. It was probably futile, but Osthia comforted herself in thinking that it might be useful if she managed to escape before the Goblin Lord’s army was destroyed.

Firstly. Organization. The Drake paced through the camp, staring at the lines of tents that had been used to house supplies and bodies. They were all looted from her army’s camps! The Goblins wasted nothing. Indeed, most of the Goblins warriors she passed by were carrying arms made out of Drake steel. Every time she saw a Drake insignia on a scavenged breastplate or helm, Osthia ground her teeth.

It would be so easy to call the Goblins simple thieves and dismiss everything they did, but Osthia was actually bothered by the efficiency of the Goblin Lord’s camp. While his army moved at a snail’s pace, the camp still had to be disassembled and rebuilt every night. And it was, with what was worryingly close to military organization.

The Goblin Lord’s forces were a far cry from an undisciplined Goblin tribe. He had sentries, regular patrols, and latrines! He’d stolen all of these ideas from other races. But that was the Goblin Lord. Osthia knew him better now. He was a thief. He stole everything. And he was terrifying because of that.

A Goblin found her as Osthia was watching a Goblin quartermaster handing out weapons to waiting soldiers. They’d even set up a temporary smithy, where a team of Goblins was crudely repairing holes and damaged armor! Others were coating new armor with a black resin, a sticky substance that gave the Goblin Lords’ forces their distinct black armor.

“Color coordination. Who gave the Goblin Lord the idea to mark his troops with colors? The Necromancer? Ancestors, he’s managed to figure out how to organize them into battalions with officers! Did the Necromancer teach him that too?”

“No. Goblin Lord took idea from Drakes.”

Osthia whirled as a guttural voice spoke behind her. A Hobgoblin grinned at the Drake, a female Goblin wearing steel armor. She had no weapons at her sides, but Osthia recognized her at once. The Hobgoblin was short for a Hob, but her head was unnaturally large. And as she grinned at Osthia, the Drake saw two rows of metal teeth glinting at her.

Snapjaw. She was one of the Goblin Lord’s top lieutenants. Her teeth were a product of her class—some kind of fusion of enamel and steel. She grinned at Osthia and pointed to the Goblin smithy proudly.

“Goblin Lord see. Drakes hammer metal. Bang bang. Goblin Lord watch. He copy. Now we have armor.”

Her voice was rough, and her words heavily accented. But she could speak the common tongue. Osthia narrowed her eyes and her tail lashed the ground as she looked at Snapjaw.

“Stolen armor, you mean. You can’t forge it yourself. All you can do is repair the armor you loot.”

The Hobgoblin woman looked at Osthia blankly.

“True. Take armor off dead. Fastest. Not enough time to make armor out of rocks. You stop staring now.”

“Why? Afraid I’ll bother the Goblins?”

“No. Goblin Lord wants. You come.”

Snapjaw pointed vaguely behind her. Osthia held her ground. She resented being ordered.

“And if I’m busy?”

“You don’t come and I bite.”

The Hob grinned at Osthia, her teeth glinting in the daylight. The Drake stared into her crimson eyes for a moment and then nodded grudgingly. Snapjaw looked vaguely disappointed, but lead Osthia through the camp at a quick walk.

As they moved, Osthia looked around. The smithy was already packing up; the Goblins were preparing to disassemble the camp. It was another day of marching. She wished she knew where they were going; she had no landmarks to guide her in the Human lands, but she knew they were heading north. The Goblin Lord had marched past Liscor, past Esthelm, and away from every major city. North. Why?

She might get an answer today. Osthia squared her shoulders and her wings tensed against their metal bindings as Snapjaw walked towards the heart of the camp. It had been nearly a week since the Goblin Lord had summoned her last. She had to memorize everything. Every clue, everything he said—

It was all she could do.

—-

The Goblin Lord’s tent mocked her every time she saw it. It was the former command tent of Thrissiam Blackwing, and it served the same purpose it had when the Drake [General] had been alive. Only now Goblins stood around it, black-armored Hobgoblins who looked at Osthia with unfriendly glances. She returned the looks.

“Open up. Got Drake.”

Snapjaw swaggered up to the front, grinning her unsettling grin at one of the Hobs. He shifted and replied again, in the common tongue.

“Goblin Lord talking. Meeting.”

Osthia saw Snapjaw glance at her, and the Hob nodded. She walked into the tent and the Hob barred Osthia from following her. She stared at the Hob and the fat Goblin stared down at her. He had a halberd in his hands, clearly looted, but he looked like he could use it.

It bothered her how many Goblins had learned to speak in common. No, it bothered her how much they’d copied an actual army. They didn’t salute and their military structure was haphazard, but Osthia could see Goblin soldiers training in ranks from where she stood. Goblins. Training. It chilled her to see.

Osthia was a [Captain], and she’d graduated from the Pallass military academy with high marks. She understood the threats each species represented, and Goblins were ranked low as a general threat. However, that came with a huge condition that their numbers were regularly kept low by destroying tribes. If they were allowed to grow in numbers, Goblins quickly became a threat on par with the Antinium or Humans. In the worst case of a Goblin King, they were ranked as a threat that could pose a danger to multiple continents.

One of the reasons Goblins weren’t a threat when there wasn’t a Goblin King was that they were disorganized. Only when Goblin Lords brought them together in numbers would they actually be a danger to cities. If they actually became a proper army on top of that—

The voices coming from the Goblin Lord’s tent grew louder. Osthia stepped back as the tent flaps opened and a huge, gigantic Hob emerged. He was seven feet tall and instead of fat, his body looked like a solid wall of muscle. This Goblin was another of the Goblin Lord’s foremost commanders. As far as Osthia could tell, his name was Eater Of Spears. She eyed his massive jaws. Eater of Spears looked down at Osthia but said nothing. He walked past her without a second glance, striding into the camp.

She’d never heard him speak. Osthia stared after his back, her eyes narrowed into slits. She could…probably take him. Not with a sword or spear obviously, but if she spat acid—

At the thought, Osthia felt a trickle of the corrosive bile spilling into her mouth from the glands in her throat, ready to be sprayed out. That was the one thing the Goblins couldn’t restrain, and the reason why the Hobs were looking at her so warily.

Actually, they could put a muzzle on her, but the Goblin Lord had forbidden it. He’d offered Osthia a trade. She could walk around mostly free save for her wings and bindings on her wings. If she did melt anyone with her acid breath attack, he’d cut out her tongue and all of her claws.

It was still tempting. Osthia looked over her shoulder and saw more of the Goblin Lords’ lieutenants filing out. Snapjaw, two Goblin [Necromancers], the Goblin known as Blacktide who rode a huge Shield Spider and commanded a horde of spiders himself, a Goblin with no face…

They were all former Chieftains, all Goblins who lead thousands of their kin into battle. Osthia stared at each one, memorizing their faces. When the Goblin Lord’s army was slain she would hunt them down herself. They couldn’t be allowed to live.

The Goblin lieutenants stared at Osthia as they passed. Some laughed at her, others watched her warily. However, none were afraid of her. They did not fear what she represented, the might of a Walled City, or the promise of vengeance. They drew strength from their ruler.

Yes, when Goblins were mere tribes they were easy to handle. But when a Goblin Lord emerged they became an army. And each Goblin Lord was dangerous. They were all the equivalents of high-level [Generals]. And this one…Osthia saw the Hob guards holding open the tent flap and gesturing at her. She took a deep breath and stepped into the tent.

The Goblin Lord was waiting for her. He stood over a table with a map on it, looking downwards and not at her. For a second, Osthia thought he was staring at someone else. Her uncle. Then the Goblin Lord looked up and she realized his armor was black and his eyes were midnight, with white pupils. She clenched her jaw and her tail thrashed as she walked into the tent.

“Blackwing.”

The Goblin Lord greeted Osthia with interest, staring at her with his unnatural pupils, appraising her with a glance. He was looking at a map of northern Izril. Osthia recognized it. It had belonged to her uncle. She nearly lunged at the Goblin Lord right then, but held herself back.

“What do you want with me?”

“Everything.”

He grinned at her. The Goblin Lord was neither heavy nor tall. He was the size of the average Human, not built like a warrior. And he wasn’t. He was a [Mage] and wore robes rather than steel. Osthia shifted, thinking she could break his neck if only she had a moment—

But he was a Hob. And his control over magic was immense. She had seen him resurrect hundreds of bodies at the same time, and create black bolts of magic that consumed the life of everything they touched. The Goblin Lord watched Osthia as she circled the table around him.

“Cannot kill. Cannot run. Is good you are not causing trouble. But if you are frustrated, attack me and not my people.”

She jumped as he stared at her. How had he—? She saw his eyes appraising her from head to tail and turned her head away, scowling.

It was a peculiarity of the Goblin Lord. He didn’t seem to need truth spells to tell when she was lying. And he was uncannily good at guessing her thoughts from her posture. Yes, that was his nature. He was a thief. The Goblin Lord has stolen all the ideas that made up his army, from the way he organized the camp and drilled his soldiers to the secrets of smithing. And if it was just that he wouldn’t be terrifying. But the Goblin Lord was a master among thieves in his own way. He stole just by looking.

“What do you want?”

Osthia repeated the question, staring around the tent. The Goblin Lord kept his personal tent mostly empty. He had no personal effects, none of the gristly trophies or magical tools she would have expected of a [Necromancer]. There was only a cot to sleep in, a trunk that might have held his belongings, scrolls, books on a table, the map, and, strangely, a vase with a flower sticking out of it. Osthia blinked.

It was just a wildflower, yellow with delicate petals. The Goblin Lord saw her looking and smiled.

“A gift.”

“Whose?”

“A child. He offered it to me when I healed his wounds with a potion. Gift for gift.”

The Goblin Lord smiled at the flower. Osthia stared at him blankly. The Goblin Lord shifted his black gaze to her and then his smile was a memory. He pointed at the map.

“We are approaching a city. A large one.”

“Does it have a name?”

“The Origin of Seeking Death.”

The Goblin Lord saw Osthia’s blank look and shook his head.

“That is Goblin name for it. It is called…Invrisil to others.”

He pointed at the map. Osthia blinked as she realized where they must be. Invrisil? They had travelled much further than she’d thought if they were approaching that city! But why would he attack there? It was one of the biggest Human cities, and sure to be defended. Unless he had a plan? The Goblin Lord watched her reaction carefully.

“The City of Adventurers. We know it. Many strong warriors live there. But adventurers. Not an army. Not a Drake city. Can it be taken?”

Osthia didn’t know. Invrisil was a city famous for its population of high-level adventurers, but it wasn’t fortified like Drake cities. It had an army and wealth, but if the Goblin Lord’s army swept in, could the adventurers make up for a lack of numbers? She didn’t want to answer either way.

Unfortunately, the Goblin Lord needed no answers. He grinned at her.

“You don’t know.”

“There are countless Gold-rank adventurers in the city. Sometimes Named Adventurers. If you want to try it while Human armies sweep in and attack you from every side—”

“You don’t know. But you fear I could do it. Which means there is a chance.”

Osthia bit her tongue and shut up. She tried to keep her tail still as possible. It was always like this. The Goblin Lord spoke and she spoke—sometimes shouted—but he always seemed to come away with far more than she did. Now he turned back to the map and frowned at it.

“Strong city. Rich city. But not well-protected. Could take. But what if I said Humans were gathering an army?”

He glanced up and again Osthia went still.

“An army? How many soldiers are in the army? Who’s leading it?”

“Tens of thousands of soldiers. Forty? Sixty? Goblin scouts say many. Big army. Big as mine, without undead.”

Osthia looked away as the gears churned in her head. An army of that size should be superior to the Goblin Lord’s, especially if it fought defensively. Add in Gold-rank adventurers conscripted to defend the city…but without a [General], their army would be at a disadvantage—

She could refuse to speak, but she couldn’t turn off her mind. The Goblin Lord nodded as if Osthia had said it all out loud.

“Not good to attack. But army is too small to do anything but defend. Good appraisal. What my officers thought, too.”

He traced a curve around the city. Osthia glared daggers at him. The Goblin Lord stared at her, and then turned his head. He stared across his tent, towards the cot on his bed. There was a small scroll there. It was some kind of specialized [Message] spell. Osthia had only seen him use it once. To contact Az’kerash. A shadow fell across the Goblin Lord’s face and he looked at Osthia.

“Tell me more about him. The one who calls himself my master.”

So it had come to this. Osthia sighed. Every time the Goblin Lord summoned her he eventually asked the same question. And the problem was that Osthia had very little she could tell him. Granted, Az’kerash was the only topic she’d willingly advise the Goblin Lord on. But her knowledge on the Necromancer was…spotty at best.

“I’ve told you all I can remember. The Necromancer is famous. He lived on Terandria and was expelled from Wistram hundreds of years ago—”

“Yes. And is famous. But you know little of him. Famous is not important?”

The Goblin Lord interrupted, frowning at Osthia. She lashed her tail on the ground as she replied.

“Famous isn’t important if you’re dead. And we thought he was! I studied his actions of the Second Antinium Wars from a military perspective, not to understand how he thought!”

“So you know nothing more? Not why he attacked the Humans, not how he gained his powers? Not why he was expelled from this Wistram?”

When he put it like that, Osthia felt embarrassed. She tried to fold her arms, remembered she was manacled, and glared.

“No. He was—is—was—a Human. We don’t memorize their histories. If you want to learn more, read a book. If you can read, that is.”

“A book?”

The Goblin Lord looked sharply at Osthia and she bit her tongue. But the Creler was out of the bag and it probably couldn’t hurt. She nodded reluctantly.

“There is a book about him. Well, about the Antinium Wars, actually. It was written about both wars. The Necromancer is mentioned in the second war. If you want to read about him…go find a book.”

“Hm. A book. What is it called?”

Osthia shrugged.

“The History of the Antinium Wars, I think. Sometimes it’s in two parts, but most copies have both parts in them. If you want to learn about Az’kerash outside of finding some kind of Terandrian history book, that’s your only option.”

The Goblin Lord eyed Osthia for a few seconds and then nodded.

“Book. Good. I will see if it is found. I have several already.”

He turned and pointed to the table in his tent. Osthia saw six books, all worn, sitting together. Her heart jumped painfully as she recognized one of the books. The Triumph of Scales. It was a classic military book. This particular copy had been Thrissiam’s. She turned hostile eyes towards the Goblin Lord and then realized what he was implying.

“You can read?”

The Goblin standing over the tables shrugged as if it was natural. Which it wasn’t. Not all Drakes knew how to read more than basic words and numbers—of course, literacy was universal in the largest Drake cities, but in villages and towns? How had he learned it?

“I knew how to read before the Necromancer found me. It is why he took interest in me.”

“How? And why did he want you?”

It was a question the Goblin Lord refused to answer every time Osthia asked it. Again, he dodged it, peering at the map and smoothing a corner on the table.

“I taught myself. Before and after he trained me. He gave me spellbooks. Scrolls. I read more and more and learned from what I read. Now I read all I find. I would have more, but when my army loots cities, they forget books. Food is more important. And swords.”

He looked up at Osthia and tilted his head.

“What other books do you know of? Books on strategy? War?”

Osthia changed the subject quickly. She pointed at the map.

“Is the Necromancer ordering you to attack Invrisil? Is that why you summoned me here?”

He tilted his head at her and seemed to ponder the question. At last, he shook his head.

“No orders. Death, destruction, chaos. Not names. Not attacking Invrisil anyways. Going around. To this mountain.”

He pointed to the map. Osthia walked closer and saw he was pointing to a lone mountain northeast of Invrisil. It was a ways away, but clearly he’d have to pass by Invrisil to get there or take a long detour. Still…why that mountain? She stared at him.

“Is there something important in that mountain?”

“Yes. Goblins.”

He smiled at her surprise. The Goblin Lord walked around the table and Osthia backed up. He wasn’t afraid of her—he had a ring that could combat her acid breath and he might be as strong as she was physically. Still, the proximity to him made her want to try and—she walked back as he spoke.

“I need more Goblins. More tribes. And there are more past Invrisil. One is in mountains. The other…close by. I will have them join my army.”

“How do you know?”

The Goblin shrugged.

“I can sense them. Other Chieftains. Other Goblin Lords, too. Bright. In the distance like…lights.”

The Goblin Lord reached out, his claws touching for something invisible. Osthia shivered. Other Goblin Lords? Impossible! Unless they were hiding? Maybe in the deep jungles of Baleros—or Chandrar? It was possible they could be anywhere, in the mountains, in caves…Goblins lived in almost every climate. But Goblin Lords?

“Where are these other Goblin Lords?”

The Drake tried to keep her voice casual. The Goblin Lord stared into the distance and shook his head.

“Cannot tell. Too far. Only know two…three Chieftains close here. More distant. And many, many more further away. Across oceans…no Goblin Lords on this continent. Just I. And I am brightest.”

“Brightest? What, do you mean strongest?”

That would have reassured Osthia, but the Goblin Lord shook his head.

“No. Others are…dimmer. Do not call other Goblins loudly. May be strong, may not. But they do not say ‘come here’. Other Goblins cannot sense. But I? I shout. And all hear, although all do not obey.”

That made no sense to Osthia. Shining? Dimmer? It was probably a Goblin thing. But if he could sense the others, that confirmed at least one theory about their kind. She filed the information as well as the knowledge of other Goblin Lords away in her mind and stared at the Goblin Lord.

“If you think the Humans will just let you march around the city, you’re wrong.”

“Am I?”

The Goblin Lord looked at Osthia, tilting his head from side to side. She bit her tongue and he laughed.

“You don’t know. A Drake [Soldier] and you don’t know so much. That knowledge tells me much. What you know and don’t know. So. Come. We are moving. Around Invrisil. You come as we march.”

Around the tent, Osthia could hear Goblins shouting at each other and the sounds of activity. They were striking the camp. And today the Goblin Lord wanted Osthia following him around? As a trophy? Or unwilling advisor?

“What if I don’t want to go with you? Will you drag me around?”

The Goblin Lord was busy folding up the map, taking great care not to damage it. He looked up at Osthia, amused. He shook his head slowly, mocking her.

“You will come. To see. You watch me. You want to know what I do. You would not turn down this chance. You watch and I watch.”

He tapped one eye, grinning at Osthia with his white pupils. She shivered and opened her mouth to deny it. But she couldn’t. Instead she walked out of the tent. But not far. He was the enemy and Drakes did not run from the enemy. She would watch.

That was all she could do.

—-

Within the hour, the Goblins had struck their camp. A huge, winding mass of Goblins marched north, flooding across forests, around lakes, over hills and grasslands, the youngest Goblins and those not suited to combat flanked by the Goblin Lord’s main army. Other raiding groups of thousands of Goblins were already further afield, scouting or pillaging and sending riders back to the main host.

Goblins rarely rode, and apparently only a few tribes had learned to ride, much less domesticate animals. And when they did…Osthia saw the Goblin Lord riding on top of a massive Shield Spider, larger than a warhorse, slowly crawling at the head of the army. They were a peculiarity of his tribe, and many normal Goblins rode large Shield Spiders of their own.

They couldn’t be used to pull wagons though, so the Goblin Lord’s army had taken every horse, pony, mule, and donkey they could grab. The excess wagons and carts were pulled by groups of Hobs who churned across the ground with little effort in teams of six.

It wasn’t a quiet march of course. Armies marching never were. Even the most disciplined of Drake armies seldom marched in silence; Osthia was used to hearing Drake war song and loud jokes. Instead, she heard the Goblin equivalent. They chattered loudly at each other, screaming insults, laughing—sounds that were so normal, so Drakeish that they disturbed her.

In the background, she could hear war drums booming, sounding the Goblin Lord’s advance across the landscape. They were meant to frighten and terrify, but the Goblins who heard the sounds appeared reassured. This was their army, an army of their people, and it had brought them out of hiding. Where the Goblin Lord’s drums sounded, there was safety.

And apparently, word of the Goblin Lord or his ‘presence’ was enough to attract more Goblins. As Osthia marched behind the Goblin Lord she saw small groups of Goblins appearing in the distance, streaming towards the army. Individual roamers, small gangs, and tribes would appear as the Goblin Lord marched, swelling his numbers. The Goblins were quickly assimilated into his army and usually without a hitch.

The one irregularity in the day’s march came around midday as the Goblin Lord’s army had paused for a meal. Osthia bit into some beans and porridge, watching the Goblin Lord feeding his Shield Spider parts of a horse that had died on the march. The huge spider snapped greedily at the meat and Osthia shuddered to see the Goblin Lord patting it on the head. Then she turned as she heard a commotion.

A Goblin had wandered up to the Goblin Lord’s personal fire and was being roughly turned away by the Hobs who guarded him at all times. The Goblin Lord looked up and raised a hand and Osthia saw the intruder stumble forwards.

It was a Hob, but—one with a beard? Osthia stared as a Hob with a long and ragged grey beard stumbled forwards. She had never seen, never heard of a Goblin with facial hair. And this Hobgoblin looked old, for all he was still physically in shape. The Goblin Lord seemed equally surprised.

“Old.”

He walked towards the grey-beard Goblin and the old Hob fell to his knees, gabbling in the Goblin tongue. The Goblin Lord answered him, gesturing around the camp, and then tilted his head and asked a question. The Hob, looking relieved, replied, and then the two spoke in common to Osthia’s surprise.

“How did you come here, old one? And how are you so old? How old? I have never seen Goblin with…”

Goblin Lord stroked at his chin and turned to Osthia. He pointed.

“What is the word?”

“Beard.”

Osthia replied after a moment’s hesitation. The Goblin Lord looked bemused. He repeated the word, tasting it.

“Beard. Beard. You are…Greybeard?”

“Yes, Goblin Lord! I am humble traveler. Once had tribe, but lost it! Too old, but too tough to die! Heard Goblin Lord’s call and came. Old Greybeard is so tired. Didn’t mean to intrude! Will go if unwanted. But asks Goblin Lord’s mercy!”

Greybeard practically flung himself at the Goblin Lord’s feet. The Goblin Lord looked amused as Osthia stared at the old pathetic Goblin in disgust. To her surprise, the Goblin Lord helped Greybeard up and invited him to sit and eat with him.

“Old one. You are welcome to my tribe. If you can fight, I will make you a soldier in my army. Otherwise, you will stay and help others. In camps, cooking, making arrows. You will have food and a place to sleep regardless.”

“Too kind! So kind! Is true, Goblin Lord protects. He calls and protects! With army! With swords and black armor! And undead!”

The Hob known as Greybeard eagerly grabbed the bowl of beans and began shoving them into his beard and mouth as if he were starved. Osthia edged back from him. The Goblin Lord had gone silent meanwhile. He stared over to the army of undead that had marched silently alongside his own. Greybeard didn’t appear to notice.

“So mighty! Crusher of Drakes! Has one prisoner! Mighty lord of undead! And slayer of Drakes! Take this one for torture? Ransom? Pleasure?”

He grinned lewdly at Osthia and she debated kicking him. The Goblin Lord frowned at Greybeard and shook his head.

“No, old one. That is not permitted. This one is for information. And undead are to protect. Will turn Humans, Drakes into undead.”

“And other Goblins?”

Greybeard looked up, a glint in his eyes as he stared at the Goblin Lord. Around him Osthia saw the eating Hobs look up and shift. The Goblin Lord glanced around and then looked at Greybeard and nodded.

“Yes. If must. Other Goblins. But only warriors. Only those who give permission.”

“Permission! To be undead after dead? Good joke!”

The old Goblin crackled with laughter, spraying bits of beans. The Goblin Lord frowned, looking vexed.

“Not joke. Undead are…tool. Sword. If they die instead of Goblins, good.”

“Hmm. Yes. Maybe. Goblins not like undead. But if make for Goblins to live, good? Better? Good question! Since Goblin Lords says, is right!”

It felt like Greybeard’s obsequiousness wasn’t earning him points among the other Goblins. Osthia looked around at scowling Hobs, but the Goblin Lord was patient.

“Old one. Anything is good to survive.”

“True. True! But how much? Bad question. Goblin Lord is Goblin Lord and that is good! But I hear things. As I come. Relieved that Goblin Lord protects!”

“Oh? What things?”

Osthia saw the Goblin Lord straighten. Greybeard glanced at him and again, she saw a glint in his eyes that belied his senility.

“Many things. Goblin Lord uses undead. Goblin Lord is not-Goblin. Foolish things by angry Goblins I think. But then I hear something else. I hear you are a slave.”

He grinned, crunching down on an uncooked bean. And then there was silence. Every Hob warrior sitting around the Goblin Lord looked up. The Goblin Lord froze, and Greybeard looked around, as if belatedly realizing he had said something wrong.

“Not slave? Goblins lie?”

Osthia held her breath as the old Goblin cocked his head, seemingly ignorant of the effect his words were having. The Goblin Lord stared at Greybeard. When he spoke, it was without a smile.

“Who said that?”

“Goblin only say—”

“Who said that?”

Greybeard flinched and dropped his bowl. He cowered as the Goblin Lord appeared bigger for a second and raised two hands protectively.

“Just hear! Just hear! Goblins say. Bad Goblins! Rumors of Necromancer, that all!”

Osthia stared at Greybeard as he hunched over. That was a good question. How had Greybeard heard that the Goblin Lord had a master, the Necromancer? Did other Goblins know? She would have pressed him further, but the old Goblin was close to—no, he was wetting himself with terror. The Goblin Lord relented as he edged backwards.

“Old one, calm. Not angry. If Goblins said slave, well—it is true. I have a master. One who teaches me magic.”

“Teaches? Teach Goblin? A master?”

Greybeard was open-mouthed. He suddenly brightened.

“Good, then! Master protects Goblins! Goblins are twice as safe with powerful master!”

The Goblin Lord laughed hollowly.

“Not, old Goblin. Master is death. Master of death. Casual death. Death of giants. You understand? He uses undead as tool, as sword. He uses me and Goblins as another sword.”

He pointed around the camp and Osthia saw the other Goblins looking down. Greybeard stared at the Goblin Lord.

“Not good master then. Slaves. If Goblin Lord is slave, are we all slaves? Are we all dying casual death, death of meaninglessness?”

“No.”

The Goblin Lord’s voice brought up the heads of the Goblins around him. He looked around and stood. The Goblins, Osthia, and Greybeard looked at him. The Goblin Lord nodded and tapped one of his eyes, so unlike the crimson eyes of regular Goblins.

“Am slave, old one. Am pupil with master. Am tool and sword. But not to die. A slave learns. A slave grows and lives. Necromancer gave me strength. I created army.”

“But army is just tool. You said. Is being slave and sword good?”

Greybeard looked up slyly, and the Goblin Lord laughed. His laughter startled Greybeard and Osthia. He reached down and grinned at Greybeard.

“Better than being dead, old one. Slave will live. Slave may be sword, but sword will not break. And one day, Goblin Lord will not be slave. And until then, Goblin will do everything to survive. That is Goblin. Understand? Tell other Goblins that.”

He reached down and picked up the bowl of beans that had been overturned. The Goblin Lord offered it to the old Goblin. Greybeard picked at the beans, popping some into his mouth and ignoring the dirt. He smiled.

“Not tell other Goblins. They bad Goblins. Not like Goblin Lord. Slave is good, yes! Goblin Lord is wise.”

The Goblin Lord turned his head and glanced at Osthia. He smiled and she shivered.

“Not wise, old one. Learning. Learning is better than wise. Now come. Old one is wise and old. Will march with us and eat and sleep. Safety I promise.”

And that was that. To Osthia’s discontent she found herself marching alongside Greybeard. He smelled like fresh urine and dirt and he chattered constantly at her. She ignored him and marched after the Goblin Lord. She disliked to admit it, but the Goblins set a hard pace that a Drake army would have been impressed by. Even the children could keep up, though; it was actually the beasts of burden that tired before the Goblins.

They were passing along a large plains when a group of Goblins came riding hard towards the Goblin Lord’s army. They blew horns and waved their arms, and the Goblin Lord rode out to meet them. Osthia couldn’t understand what they said until she caught up, but she recognized a patrol when she saw it.

“Army! Army!”

The patrol was ponies, a mule, and one horse ridden by regular Goblins. Only their leader was different. The Hobgoblin patrol leader was mounted on a horse, and his command of language was limited to say the least. The Goblin Lord nodded.

“Where?”

The patrol leader pointed over his shoulder and gabbled in Goblin. Then, apparently remembering, he switched back to the common language.

“Human city. Got army.”

“How many?”

The Goblins in the patrol conferred and the leader came back.

“Five thousand. Some horses. Many Humans on…feet.”

“Foot. Infantry.”

The Goblin Lord corrected his subordinates and grinned. He turned to the Goblins who’d all stopped to watch them and raised one hand. He pointed in the direction of the Human city, waved a hand, and raised two fingers, pointing at his lieutenants of Snapjaw and Eater of Spears.

It was incomprehensible to Osthia, but somehow the Goblins understood at once. The main army began marching again, but a group of eight thousand Goblins broke off smoothly from the main mass. Osthia eyed the Goblins as the Goblin Lord himself rode forth.

“You don’t think you can take a Human army with similar numbers, do you?”

“Can. Must.”

He grinned at her as he pointed and the Goblins in his army roared and cheered. Osthia saw Snapjaw and Eater of Spears marching their units towards the Goblin Lord. She stared in disbelief.

Eight thousand Goblins versus five thousand Humans? It sounded like one of those trick questions back at the military academy. Unless all five thousand Goblins were Hobs, she would expect eight thousand Goblins to be routed by any professional army. Even a Human one.

But the Goblin Lord thought he could win, and so his small detachment broke away from the main army. Osthia expected to be left behind, but to her surprise, she was marched in the Goblin Lord’s own private escort towards the Human city. More surprising was that Greybeard came with them.

“Can fight Goblin Lord! Have sword.”

He did indeed have a greatsword strapped to his back, rusted and battered though it was. Osthia personally doubted he could lift it, but the Goblin Lord seemed to have taken a liking to the old Goblin so they both marched in between a double wall of armored Hobs.

They were the Goblin Lord’s elite. He had thousands of Hobs, all of whom wore the best armor looted from other soldiers. They were strong, disciplined, and formed the core of his army. Added to his regular Goblins in their black armor and the Goblin Lord has a decent army. But Osthia would have still given the battle to any regular Drake army with a competent [General] if it wasn’t for the factor of undead.

They doubled the Goblin Lord’s army and could pull off maneuvers like digging themselves into the ground and ambushing the enemy, or sending out special exploding Goblin corpses to tear holes in an enemy’s line. With them, the Goblin Lord could overwhelm many armies with sheer bodies.

And yet, not one of the undead came with the Goblin Lord! It was a battle of eight thousand versus five thousand after all! Osthia didn’t understand it. But the Goblin Lord was clearly bent on winning this battle without an advantage.

She hoped the Humans speared him through his arrogant face.

—-

The Human army and their city came into view within twenty minutes. It was a rather large city that had grown up around a river. Their walls were short though, and the city had grown around the original keep. It was clear that the Humans wouldn’t be able to withdraw behind the walls, so the army had come out to buy time for the people to evacuate.

They hadn’t expected such a small force to attack them, though. Osthia’s keen eyes spotted a sizeable section of horsemen, but there were mainly infantry in the army. They didn’t look like veterans, but to her surprise she saw a [Commander] leading the army. A Human on horseback wearing plate armor. He was rallying the army, marching them towards the Goblin Lord’s forces.

“Commander. Lots of [Riders].”

Snapjaw commented to the Goblin Lord, licking her lips as she eyed the horses. The Goblin Lord nodded. He seemed eager for battle; he’d spread his Goblins out and was marching them in a large box-formation that Osthia was laughing at inside. It was a valid tactic, but it clearly showed the Goblin Lord’s lack of experience. If Thrissiam or Garusa had been in command, they would be employing a far more dynamic formation designed to draw the Human cavalry in and annihilate them.

All the better, then. Osthia was on the Human’s side here. She hoped the Human [Commander] was high-level. The Goblin Lord might not be experienced, but his Skills could turn the tide if the Human was only Level 15 or something.

She got her answer as both armies closed with each other. The Goblins were cheering, ready for battle and clearly confident. Whereas the Humans had to know there was a massive force at least ten times their size marching past them. The Human [Commander] had halted them across the plains from the Goblins and was shouting at his men. Osthia could barely hear his voice, and then she heard him shout.

The Humans cheered, waving their weapons overhead, their voices reaching the Goblins as a faint roar. Osthia heard chuckles from the Hobs around the Goblin Lord. And then the Human [Commander] raised his voice and shouted.

“[Battle Roar]!”

There was sound, and then, as if someone had turned the volume up suddenly, the distant shouting became a roar that blasted over the Goblin Lord’s army. Goblins cried out in surprise and alarm as the voices of the Humans became a crescendo of sound.

The howling that came from the Human army was far louder than it should have been. It was bestial, as if it came from a group ten times as large. It made the Goblins around Osthia hesitate and she found her heart beating rapidly as her mouth dried.

Fear swept through the Goblin ranks, making them hesitate. Osthia saw several Goblins and a few Hobs looking over their shoulders as if suddenly wishing they’d brought more of their friends. Strangely, Greybeard wasn’t one of their number. He just poked a finger into his ear and scraped out some earwax.

The Human cheering was demoralizing the Goblins, sapping their energy to fight. But the Goblin Lord didn’t waver. He stared at the other army as they screamed at his and then raised his arm. The Goblins around him looked up, and the Goblin Lord thrust his arm up and roared a word.

“Goblin!”

It was almost lost amid the tumultuous noise, but every soldier saw him shout it. They stared at their leader, the Goblin Lord, and Osthia saw their backs straighten, and the hesitation leave the Goblins around her. The Goblin Lord paused, looked around, and then thrust his arm up again. He shouted one word and this time every Goblin in his army joined in.

“Goblin!”

The word deafened Osthia and pushed back the howling chorus from the other army. She heard the voices of the Humans waver. The Goblin Lord thrust his arm up again and the Goblins around him howled.

He was trying to outdo the other army without a Skill! Osthia heard the Goblins around her howling and stamping the ground. The other army was shouting too—she could see the Human [Commander] raising his sword, shouting at them. But all she could hear was the Goblin Lord’s army. They howled again.

“Goblin!”

The ground was shaking. Osthia saw the Human army waver, and then the Human [Commander] was shouting orders, riding forwards with a group of mounted warriors armed with lances. They were heading into battle. The Goblin Lord pointed and his army moved to meet them.

From her position in the center of the army, Osthia could see the battle unfold smoothly. She had given up looking for an opportunity to run; that would only come if the Goblin Lord’s forces began to rout, and if that was the case she’d go for the Goblin Lord himself in that moment. Instead, she watched as an observer, free of the tension of fighting in the battle.

The cavalry charge of the Humans was one of their defining features that kept them on equal footing with the Drakes. Osthia had seen how their heavily-armored riders could smash into groups of infantry and rout them—their maneuverability was best on open fields like this. She had hopes they could charge through the Goblin’s ranks despite the presence of Hobs. Until she saw the Goblin Lord’s foremost ranks fall into line, Hob and Goblins alike forming a row of spears.

A spear wall! Osthia gasped aloud. That was a Drake formation, a standard of their armies! It was a proper formation too—the Goblins held position shoulder-to-shoulder, bracing themselves for the enemy charge. Behind them, more Goblins were readying themselves. The Humans would charge into the spear wall and as their momentum slowed, be hacked apart by Goblins in the next ranks.

It was a good plan. It might have worked too. The Human [Commander] lead his men in a charge straight towards the Goblin lines, ignoring the arrows coming his way. Then at the last moment he raised his arm and jerked his mount sideways. The Goblins braced for impact stared as he and the thousand or so [Riders] turned.

The cavalry galloped left, narrowly avoiding the Goblin’s front lines. And behind them, no longer concealed by the waves of horsemen, a line of archers and infantry appeared like magic. The archers began to loose volley after volley, catching the Goblins by surprise. The Goblin Lord blinked and Osthia exulted as a rain of deadly arrows streaked into the ranks of the surprised Goblins, cutting them down as the horsemen circled and crashed into the left side of the Goblin Lord’s forces.

“Hit them and away! Move!”

She could hear the Human [Commander] ordering his men, taking advantage of the chaos to strike the Goblins and then gallop away before they could be surrounded. It was a classic Human tactic. And meanwhile the Humans were outdistancing the Goblins with longer bows while their infantry advanced in a knot, clashing with the Goblins on the right side.

They were trying to crush the Goblins from two angles while they bombarded the Goblin’s stationary lines from afar! Osthia saw a lone mage shooting a fireball into the Goblin ranks and for a second she dared hope. Then she saw the Goblin Lord raise his hand.

The [Mage] who’d cast the fireball spell was hidden behind a knot of infantry. The Goblin Lord aimed at the Human man and a streak of black energy formed around his fingers and shot towards the Humans. They tried to block it, but the black bolt went through their shields. The mage and eight soldiers in front of him fell forwards, dead in an instant. The Goblin Lord nodded, and then he pointed.

“Pull back! Goblins move here! Spears go here. And here! Move!”

He raised his voice as the Human cavalry charged again. The goblins shifted according to his orders and a line of spears raced to block the Humans. Rather than charge, they went around again, hitting another weak spot. The Goblin Lord narrowed his eyes.

“Snapjaw charges the right. Eater of Spears forward. Pull back those. Move archers behind Hobs there.”

The Goblin Lord pointed and spoke, and the Goblins around him shot into the army, shouting. Somehow each unit of Goblins heard the orders and moved with incredible speed. Osthia gaped. She would never have expected any non-Drake army to react so fast, let alone a Goblin one! But they had an almost telepathic ability to read each other. The Goblins reformed, changing out of their box formation and into…Osthia saw the Human [Commander] waver and stare in disbelief.

The Goblins had changed their formations entirely. Battalions of archers stood behind lines of infantry, while a wedge of Hobgoblins and elites had broken off from the main army. It was a mirror of the Human army. For a second Osthia saw the Human leader waver, and then his face twisted in disgust under his helm. He pointed and his cavalry charged in as the Humans threw their infantry at the Goblin line.

Only this time the Goblin Lord was ready. He stared at the Human and nodded.

“Charging left. Move Hobs.”

Instantly, the line of Goblins shifted. The Human cavalry turned from their intended target and did indeed swerve left. Only this time rather than hitting an unprotected side they ran up against a wall of Hobs who were already ready with halberds, pikes, and spears. Worse, a group of Goblin archers was already loosing, aiming for the gaps in their horses’ armor.

The surprised cavalry pulled back as Goblins began peppering them with arrows. The Goblin Lord grinned and pointed.

“You charge! There and there!”

This time a group of Hobs took the offensive. Around eight hundred Goblins lead by a core of Hobs charged straight towards a group of Humans [Pikemen], only to swerve and hit the Humans in the side. Behind them, a second wave of Goblins charged forwards. A group of eight Goblin [Mages] began blasting the Humans with magic of their own.

“Impossible.”

Osthia stared at the Goblin Lord. He’d just copied the Human [Commander]! And as she watched, the Goblin Lord pulled back a group of infantry right as the Human formation charged into them. The Goblins melted backwards and fifteen Hobs stood up. They’d been hidden behind their smaller friends and now smashed into the surprised Humans from the front.

The Human [Commander] was at a loss. He charged again, this time hitting the Goblins hard, but they were ready, pulling back and letting him run into groups of Hobs and archers protected behind ranks of soldiers. And when the rest of his army tried to come to his aid, the wedge of Hobs circled around and hit them from the sides. They had to fall back and protect their exposed archers, while Goblins advanced from all sides, pulling off the same feinting maneuvers.

The enemy army was drawn into an unfolding trap of shifting Goblins as battalions would change positions, concealing each other’s movements and surrounding the Humans in waves of oncoming Goblins. Osthia saw Humans fighting desperately, pressed in from all sides. She hoped their training would prove superior, but for all that the Humans were taller and stronger than the average Goblin, they were equally matched with the Goblin warriors.

And the Goblin Lord had brought his lieutenants and Hobs. He might have taken only a small force, but he had intended to crush his enemy all along. Now, hemmed in at all sides, the Humans came face-to-face with his officers.

Snapjaw raced into the ranks of Humans, her mouth gaping wide. She took a huge bite out of a Human, swallowing half of his head, helmet and all. She gulped, turned, and a Human stuck a sword tip into her mouth. Osthia expected the Goblin to fall, but Snapjaw just bit and then the Human stumbled back, missing an arm. The Hobgoblin woman leapt on him as her soldiers pushed the rest of the Humans back.

In the center of the army, the Human cavalry had run into a wall of Hobs. They charged forwards fearlessly, intent on trampling the Hobs. The collisions between rider and Hob were terrible and left crippled horses and Hobs as one or the other broke from the impact. But the Humans had lances and if they could dodge the spears aiming at them or their mounts, they could take down a Hob in a single strike.

One [Rider] with a lance was charging Eater of Spears from the side. The Hob was finishing off a [Knight] on the ground. He turned too late and the rider charged the lance into his chest. Eater of Spears stumbled backwards and Osthia heard a snap.

The lance broke. The rider was thrown off his horse from the impact. Eater of Spears tore the lance out of his body with a roar and stomped on the [Rider]. Then he grabbed a potion, smashed the bottle into his side, and kept fighting.

Overwhelming. Overpowering. Without a superior strategy the humans lagged behind the Goblins at every turn. The Goblin Lord calmly blasted every [Mage] and high-level [Archer] he could find with his magic. Within ten minutes, the Humans were falling back, their army a fraction of what it was.

“Good strategy. Goblin Lord isn’t bad.”

From his position in the Goblin Lord’s escort, Greybeard looked approvingly across the battlefield. The Goblins had lost far fewer than the Humans. Osthia ground her teeth together, tail lashing the ground.

“It’s not over yet.”

And it wasn’t. The Human [Commander] was pulling back, pointing at the Goblin Lord with a bloody sword. His cavalry had formed into a wedge, and the rest of his soldiers were massing up.

“They’re trying to cut a path straight towards the Goblin Lord!”

It was their only choice if they wanted to strike any kind of blow. Osthia admired the Human [Commander] for his bravery. There was no way he’d survive, but taking that chance to strike a blow was a very Drakeish thing to do.

Of course, the Goblins could see what the Humans were doing. Eater of Spears and Snapjaw were both waiting in the middle of the ranks of the Goblins facing the Humans, ready to defend their leader with their lives. The Human raised a hand, ready to charge, when the Goblin Lord spoke.

“Clear a path.”

Every head turned as the Goblin Lord pointed. The Goblins hesitated, but he repeated the order and his army slowly parted like the sea. The Humans stared in disbelief as the Goblin Lord ordered his Shield Spider mount forwards. He was looking straight at the Human [Commander].

“Ancestors, is he serious?”

Osthia breathed the words. The Goblin Lord couldn’t really be taking the Human’s gamble seriously, was he? But yes, the Goblin Lord had unsheathed his sword and was gesturing towards the Human in armor.

It was a duel. For a few seconds Osthia thought the [Commander] wouldn’t take it, but then the Human spurred his mount and charged. His army roared as he charged towards the Goblin Lord. Around Osthia, the Goblins were shouting and screaming as the Goblin Lord ordered his Shield Spider forwards.

“He’s insane!”

Osthia shouted the words out loud as the Goblin Lord charged towards the Human [Commander]. Was he an idiot? He was taking on a warrior—him, a [Mage]! Whatever the Human [Commander]’s level, he was clearly a warrior and what was more, he was armed for mounted combat.

He was charging towards the Goblin Lord, lance raised, surging behind his shield. Whereas the Goblin Lord only had a sword, a poor weapon for any kind of mounted combat. Osthia watched with baited breath. A [Lancer] could take down a far larger foe, even a Wyvern with a precise strike. The Goblin Lord was no [Warrior]—there was a chance!

“He could kill the Goblin Lord.”

“Hah! Hardly likely.”

Osthia turned. Greybeard was watching the duel. He looked amused as he looked at her.

“Think a Goblin Lord can be beaten so easily? Watch.”

The Drake turned back to the battle. And then she saw the Goblin Lord act. As his Shield Spider charged across the grass, the Goblin Lord raised his sword and spoke a word.

“[Arc of Midnight].”

His sword extended. The plain steel blade turned pitch-black and grew until it was a massive sword made out of darkness, as long as the Human [Commander]’s spear and three times as wide. It was a massive magical blade and Osthia saw the Human hesitate. But they came on.

Now the battle was up in the air. Osthia held her breath. The Human could still do it—he was rising in his saddle, trying to strike first! The Goblin Lord and the Human were fifty feet apart when the Goblin Lord raised his other empty hand and pointed casually towards the horse the Human was riding on.

“[Deathbolt].”

Black magic swirled around his finger and blasted out in the form of a long spear of darkness that sucked the light into it. The Human cried out and tried to swerve, but they were too close. The magic struck his horse.

The stallion stumbled and fell as the black bolt carved through its body, turning the horse’s body grey and lifeless. The Human fell, cursing, and drew his sword. The Goblin Lord leaned down as the [Commander] stood. He swung the shimmering blade of magic as the Human charged at him.

There was silence as the Goblin Lord’s Shield Spider raced past the downed horse. Osthia saw the Human [Commander] falling—in two halves. The Goblin Lord raised his midnight blade, the arc of black magic shimmering in the air and sucking in light. He shouted and the Goblins around him howled in victory.

“That bastard. That cheating—”

Osthia stared at the Goblin Lord through tears as the Human army shouted their despair and fury. Some charged at the Goblin Lord and others loosed arrows, but the rest were retreating as the Goblin Lord’s army surged forwards. Without a leader, it was a massacre as Goblins cut down the fleeing Humans one by one.

“Cheating? He offered a duel and the Human took it. Not his fault if he thought a [Mage] would joust. More idiot, he.”

Greybeard leaned on his sword, watching the Goblin Lord leading his soldiers forwards. He was being shot at, but the arrows swerved before they could reach him. His ring of protection might have saved him from the lance thrust if he’d taken it. Osthia stared at Greybeard with pure hatred.

“You think he’s a hero, don’t you? That monster—you called him a slave, but you Goblins follow him even if he turns all of you into undead.”

“Not all. Only soldiers. Only those who ask. It makes a difference. And if he uses undead, so what? Velan hated undead. But our King is dead and a Goblin Lord is a Goblin Lord. He protects. The undead don’t matter.”

Greybreard turned his head to look at Osthia. She blinked.

“Why are you speaking—Velan? Velan the Kind? How do you know what he hated?”

The old Goblin grinned at her. They were alone now, the Hobs having left to guard their leader. Greybeard nodded towards the battle as the Goblins began looting the dead.

“Slave. A Goblin Lord who is slave to a Necromancer. That is new. I have known weaker Goblin Lords, but I have never met one who was a slave. But he is a Goblin Lord, however small.”

Something was off about Greybeard. He wasn’t acting like before. And his eyes—Osthia eyed the old Goblin. He was musing aloud, watching the Goblin Lord with narrowed eyes and stroking his beard.

“A coward, a child, and a slave. Interesting. And each one claims to be true Goblin?”

He laughed at that. Osthia stared at him.

“What are you talking about? A coward and a child? Do you mean other Goblin Lords? Or…other Goblin Chieftains?”

“Mm. Yes. All would be Goblin Lords of a kind. But which one would be best? A question for you, captive Drake.”

He grinned at her. Osthia glared.

“It sounds like any one of them would be a disgrace. If that’s the standard for a Goblin Lord, I pity your race.”

Greybeard raised his eyebrows, not drawn in by her insult.

“You don’t understand. That’s not the problem. A child? So what? A coward? So what? A slave?”

He paused.

“They are Goblin. Any of them might be worthy. One stands out more, though. Redfang. But he is not a true Goblin.”

Garen Redfang? Osthia had heard of him, seen his name on bounty posters. His tribe was dangerous, more than a match for one or two Gold-rank teams. His was the kind of tribe that would take an army to root out. Why had Greybeard mentioned him? Was he mixed up in all of this?

“What does Garen Redfang have to do with the Goblin Lord? Is he working with him?”

The old Goblin laughed at Osthia.

“Garen? Work with a Goblin Lord? He might become a Goblin Lord. And then there would be two. Or one if they clash. But that won’t happen.”

“Why not?”

Greybeard’s eyes glittered.

“He slaughtered his tribe. Adventurers. Other species. It matters not. He called them tribe and cut them down for a relic of our King. For hope. But he still cut them down. And so long as that is true, no matter how many false tribes he builds, no matter how strong his sword, he will never be a true Chieftain, much less a Lord. But if he changes…yes. Time to see him. This Goblin Lord will do anyways, if the others fail.”

He nodded at the Goblin Lord, and Osthia stared at Greybeard. He was like no other Goblin she’d met. Not even the Goblin Lord. He wore a mask, and it had come off. A Goblin with a beard. A Goblin who hid his identity.

“Who are you?”

Greybeard grinned at her.

“Just old! Don’t you mind. Tell Goblin Lord I liked his beans. Going now. Keep secret or I cut off tail. Drakes hate that.”

He turned. Osthia spat acid. Greybeard’s form blurred and he vanished. She saw him dash away from the spray of acid she’d shot at him and race across the plains. Only his laughter remained. She thought about running after him. But the Goblins were headed back her way and now the Goblin Lord was riding towards her as his Shield Spider chewed on a bloody body.

The Goblin Lord dismounted, still on a battle-high after his victory. Osthia stared blankly at his soldier and their blood splattered armor and fresh acquisitions. Behind them, she could see hundreds, thousands of zombies and a few ghouls rising. More warriors. The Goblin Lord’s army grew.

“Where is the old one?”

The Goblin Lord stared at Osthia and looked around with a frown. She replied numbly.

“He left.”

“Where?”

“Don’t know. He wasn’t who he seemed to be.”

“I know.”

The young Drake woman stared at the Goblin Lord. He shrugged.

“Old Goblin with beard? Very suspicious. Knew too much. Wonder if I’ll see again. Doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“He is Goblin and I am Goblin. We are all Goblin.”

The Goblin Lord was calm as he explained. They were of the same species, so they were on the same side. Osthia stared at him, uncomprehending. That wasn’t how Drakes looked at each other.

Instead of replying, she looked around. The Goblin Lord’s army had destroyed another Human army. Another one. And they were sending soldiers to pillage the city for supplies. At least the rest of the Humans had escaped. And that all begged the question: why?

“What is your goal? Why are you going north? Just for a few Goblin tribes? Or do you want something else?”

Osthia stared challengingly up at the Goblin Lord, ignoring Snapjaw’s glare and the way Eater of Spears looked at her. The Goblin Lord shifted on his throne of chitin, patting his Shield Spider on the head. He smiled at her.

“To survive of course. It is easy. I win three battles and my people live.”

“What? Three battles?”

He nodded calmly and cast his eyes north. The Goblin Lord sat straight as he spoke, the other Goblins hearing his words and passing them on to the others.

“Goblins need a home. Goblins cannot be separate. We are too weak. We are hunted. So I will build one. I will win three battles. One against the Goblins who rebel. Another against the Humans. And a third, defending our home. I will build it in the mountains. And when all three battles are won, Goblins will know peace.”

“Impossible. The Drake high command would never—”

“Drakes? Drakes don’t go north! Drakes don’t trust Humans and Humans don’t like Drakes. If I find a place for my people, one side will send armies and the other one will squabble and do nothing. We will be a thorn for one and good for the other. You know that.”

The Goblin Lord pointed at her. Osthia opened her mouth and stopped. If he settled and made a Goblin city? She could imagine the Walled Cities sending an army north, but surely the Humans wouldn’t think of that as a declaration of war, right? But the last time a Drake army had gone north…

The Goblin Lord raised his voice, addressing his army.

“Three victories. One against Goblins. Then my army is strong. The second against Humans to show them we cannot be defeated. The last to defend a home, to show them that we are here to stay. It is possible! I have an army. I have a people. I have everything you Drakes have, what Humans have. If I am strong, my people will live. And I am strong!”

He raised his arms and his soldiers cheered. Osthia looked around. The Goblins in black armor shouted and cheered in their own language, shouting for the Goblin Lord. For a home.

She was alone among them. And as the Goblin Lord dismounted, as he pointed and his Goblins began to march back to their army, he looked at her. His white pupils surrounded by blackness were too knowing, too intelligent.

“This was good training.”

“Training?”

Osthia Blackwing looked back at the bloody battlefield, at the dead Humans and the undead shambling after the Goblin Lord’s army. She stared at the Goblin Lord, all her fury replaced by…

“Is that what you call it? What you call this? Training?”

“Hmm. Wrong word? Learning, then. I learn. How to hide troops, how to send them here and here. Your Drake [General] and Gnoll [General] taught me how to lead an army. Now I learn how to fight best with one. Learning, always learning. That is what makes me strong.”

He grinned at her. Osthia swallowed hard.

“The Necromancer made you strong. Without him you’re just…”

The Goblin Lord’s eyes flashed and she fell silent. He shook his head slowly.

“Necromancer made me stronger. But I was always strong. Goblins are weak. But we grow. We learn. And we take. From you. From Drakes, from Humans, from everyone. We take and take. And someday we won’t need to take any more. Someday we will be like you. And we will have a home.”

He stared at her and Osthia felt it. Creeping into her heart, like poison. She could deny it, pretend it wasn’t true, but it was. The Goblin Lord was more than a threat. More than a menace. She was afraid of him. And that promise in his eyes. The word he kept repeating.

“Home.”

Goblins had no homes. They were monsters. Savages. Tribal nuisances that had to be put down. Or they had been. Now, the ones in this army were something else. Osthia Blackwing looked into the Goblin Lord’s eyes and he smiled.

“Soon.”

4.47

[Lieutenant] Gershal of Vaunt was an unhappy man. He was not an important man, which factored into his present unhappiness. He was a low-level officer from a small city north of Invrisil. He commanded a group of disciplined but fairly low-level [Archers] and [Swordsmen], and he liked to think of himself as a decent soldier, albeit one who hadn’t fought in any wars.

He and his men fought monsters, patrolled, kept the peace, and occasionally went to aid other cities, usually in suppressing a Goblin tribe or dealing with a monster infestation. They had never been levied for one of the annual battles against the Drakes, and Gershal hoped they never would be. When he’d heard about the Goblin Lord he’d been concerned for the other cities of course, but he’d assumed the Goblin threat would be taken care of long before they got close to his city.

What he’d never expected was to be part of the solution. When the levy request had come from Lady Magnolia Reinhart to Vaunt, the city [Mayor] had panicked. When another request came hours later from Lord Tyrion Veltras, Gershal had known there would be trouble. When two important nobles wanted the same thing, appeasing one and not the other could have terrible consequences, and yet, both requests had demanded a large force be sent, making appeasing both an impossibility.

Vaunt had made the logical choice. They’d sent four hundred [Soldiers] to Lord Tyrion Veltras, who, after all, was known as a battle-ready [Lord] and who would probably return most of the soldiers in one piece. They’d sent Gershal with two hundred of his men to Lady Magnolia.

The sacrificial lamb. Gershal strode about the camp he’d been assigned to, nervously tightening his sword belt and eyeing the other soldiers and officers milling about. Lines of orderly tents ran in every direction, each one inhabited by an officer from a different Human city.

“Dead gods, what a hodgepodge collection of units this is. Lady Reinhart wants to stop the Goblin Lord with this?”

Gershal groused to himself as he walked past a group of officers dicing and drinking wine together. His throat cried out for a taste, but the [Lieutenant] moved past them. Drinking on duty? That wasn’t a custom in his army.

And that was the thing. Magnolia’s requests had drawn in so many disparate groups of soldiers from across the continent. Gershal was amazed their arrival to the camp just outside of Invrisil hadn’t been a disaster with them all arriving at once. Somehow he’d found there was a space ready for his soldiers to camp and a personal tent. That was something at least. But now he was waiting for orders and impatient with it. So Gershal walked through the camp, looking for anyone he might recognize.

As luck had it, he was recognized first.

“Gershal!”

A woman’s voice made Gershal turn. He saw a woman in armor striding up to him. She raised a fist and Gershal, knowing what was coming, winced as he put up his own.

The sound of two gauntleted fists colliding made several officers look up. Gershal shook out his stinging knuckles and looked at the other officer who’d given him her city’s unique greeting.

“Lieutenant Salvia. I should have known you’d be assigned here. Who did you offend to get this duty?”

“It’s [Captain] Salvia, you dour oaf! I specifically requested to come here—might as well be first to fight the Goblin Lord, eh? How’s Vaunt? Still making cheeses all year? How many soldiers did you send? Two hundred? Three?”

“Two. Half [Archers] and half [Swordsmen].”

“What, you mean those Level 5 [Farmers] who’ve barely trained with a bow more than a month? Poor show!”

“Better than a bunch of [Riders] who spend all their time looking after a bunch of flea-ridden nags all day.”

Gershal and Salvia stared at each other for a second, and then she laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.

“You don’t change, do you? Come on, let’s have a drink!”

“I shouldn’t. We are on duty…”

“Don’t be like that! There’s no commander about and unless Magnolia Reinhart graces us with her presence in person, we’ve nothing to do but talk. I have a bottle of wine in my tent. Let’s take it out and drink something. Pshaw! This weather’s not warming fast enough for my taste!”

In short order, Gershal found himself sitting with Salvia at a table, drinking cheap wine from equally cheap tin cups. It wasn’t what Gershal would have preferred, but he was too polite to say otherwise.

Besides, he knew Salvia. Her city, Nonelmar, was close to his and they’d gotten to know each other over the years. Nonelmar was more prosperous owing to its richer soil which provided it with grazing pastures and bountiful fields alike, but Vaunt could pride itself on producing some of the best cheeses on the continent. In fact, Gershal had some of his city’s famous cheese with him and soon he and Salvia were sharing slices of the spicy cheese known as Peppermort, exceptionally fragrant and long-lasting. It also went well with wine, even cheap wine.

“Good stuff! I can’t tell you how much I miss your city’s cheeses. I tried to buy some in Invrisil as soon as my soldiers settled in, but you wouldn’t believe the prices!”

“They are high right before spring. You’re lucky you met me—I hear some of our cheeses are going for eight silver pieces per pound at the moment.”

Salvia swore and Gershal smiled, although he was slightly jealous. He hadn’t even contemplated a trip into Invrisil, for all it was a few miles away from the officer’s camp. Vaunt couldn’t afford to pay its [Lieutenants] that much, and a [Captain]’s salary allowed for far more luxuries.

Rather than ask how Salvia had gotten her promotion, which would be polite, Gershal looked around the camp.

“You say your soldiers got here yesterday? We only arrived this morning. Do you think we’ll be waiting long to see what Lady Reinhart does with us?”

Salvia bit into a slice of cheese and sipped some wine, shrugging.

“Can’t say. Your group is one of the last to arrive or so it seems. We’re nearly full in the camps, and the soldiers are restless. Could be we’ll just sit here until the Goblin Lord arrives and if he attacks, we’ll do our bits. Otherwise…”

Gershal frowned, worried. He leaned forwards over the low wooden table towards Salvia.

“She won’t order us into battle, would she? Lady Reinhart has to know that a force like this won’t stand up to a regular army—even a Goblin Lord’s. Without a commander of some sort…”

“She might have one. Invrisil has a few [Strategists] and it’s not like she couldn’t send for a [Commander] from one of the larger cities.”

“Be reasonable Salvia. A local [Commander] is no match for a Goblin Lord. If it comes to a battle, I could see our groups holding the line in the city with adventurers. But an offensive is suicide! Lord Tyrion is gathering an army of his own, and it’s going to be twice as large as this one. Let him take care of the Goblin Lord. Not Lady Reinhart, who is, with all respect, not a general.”

Gershal looked around as he said this. It wasn’t wise to badmouth Lady Magnolia, but he had to state his opinions, which were close to fact in this case. Salvia made a face.

“I know. I know. I have orders not to participate in any assaults on the Goblin Lord unless I’m sure I can pull my boys out safely. And I’ll bet half the officers here won’t commit to an assault either. You’re not alone Gershal—just don’t say it anywhere Lady Reinhart’s people might hear.”

“They’re not here, are they?”

The [Lieutenant] looked around, worried. Salvia shook her head and pointed to a pair of [Knights] in pinkish-red armor who were striding through the camp.

“Not her people exactly, but see those two. They’re [Knights] in service to Lady Bethal.”

“Oh.”

Gershal knew that Lady Bethal Walchaís and her house were strongly aligned with the Reinhart family. Still, the two [Knights] did little to strike fear into his heart.

“Aren’t those the Knights of the Flower or something? I’ve heard about them. Arrogant hotheads or so I’ve been led to believe. All the more reason why this army lacks cohesion. If I have to fight with those eyesores—”

Salvia kicked Gershal under the table, making him wince and clutch at his leg. She glared at him, tin cup held tensely in her hand.

“Don’t say that within earshot, you fool! The Knights of the Petal take any insult against their [Lady] or their order to heart. They’ve thrashed officers who’ve laughed at them and they’ll break bones if you insult Lady Bethal.”

Gershal shut up. Salvia put down her cup and reached for the wine bottle to refill it.

“They might dress like pink flowers, but they’re the real deal on the battlefield, Gershal. I hear their armor is all custom-made Dwarf work, enchanted by Wistram mages. They’re nigh-invincible against mundane arms and they all have magical weapons. If there’s any group I’d want to be charging into the Goblin Lord’s ranks, it’s them.”

“Oh.”

Instantly Gershal reevaluated his opinion of the two Rose Knights. Dwarf-made armor? His armor was iron, and not exactly top-rate iron at that. He’d be grateful for some high-quality steel, let alone a piece of armor from the Dwarf forges of Terandria. Yet the presence of Lady Bethal’s knights still didn’t assuage his concerns.

“That’s one elite group. But I don’t see any other notable force. By all accounts Lord Veltras has gathered a far larger army—he called for six thousand horse from the Terland family and they sent it! At least a quarter were [Knights], whereas I can count the number of crests here in the hundreds.”

“Yes, yes. I get what you’re saying Gershal. But we were called here to protect Invrisil from the Goblin Lord.”

“I have no problems with that. But doing it alone—”

Gershal broke off, knowing he was belaboring the point. His heart ached for the villages and towns that had already been destroyed by the Goblin Lord. But he was, if nothing else, a pragmatist. Without a true leader—or twice as many soldiers, he feared that any attempt to do battle with the Goblin Lord would only level up his Goblins and create more undead.

He was worried and unhappy, and unfortunately, the alcohol only made his mood worse. Gershal and Salvia had finished half the bottle and were sharing his cheese and her wine with some other officers they’d met when they heard a horn blowing to the east of camp. Everyone looked up.

“That’s odd. They haven’t announced anyone since Lady Bethal and her escort rode in.”

“Might be a small [Lord] leading his soldiers personally. Poor fellow if he is—I doubt he’ll see much battle on defensive duty.”

“Hang on—listen. There are more horns. This is no local lord.”

Indeed, more horns were blowing, heralding the arrival of someone important. Gershal rose to his feet and saw a man on horseback riding through the camp.

“All officers! Assemble at the center of camp! Lady Magnolia Reinhart has arrived in person! She will be discussing the coming battle against the Goblin Lord!”

“Oh, dead gods.”

Salvia paled and Gershal felt his heart jump in his chest. Coming battle? He looked around at the other officers. They were all looking uneasy.

“We’ll—just have to see what she says. Perhaps she intends to hold the city.”

“No problems there. But he said ‘coming battle’. If she wants us to attack…”

“We’ll just have to tell her it’s not feasible. There’s a few [Captains] and some [Lords] among us—they can say it to her face.”

“Not I.”

Salvia looked pale at the idea, and the officer who’d suggested it paused.

“Well, we’ll just have to say it together. She can’t object to all of us stating the truth.”

Silence followed his words. Gershal stopped himself from pointing out that Lady Magnolia Reinhart could do what she very well pleased. If she grew angry at all of the officers present…he sighed.

“We’d better see what she wants.”

“True.”

The officers began moving in a mass towards the center of the camp, where a wooden stage had been placed. Gershal had wondered what it was for—now he realized it was for the Lady Reinhart. He prayed she wouldn’t make the wrong decision.

“Someone has to destroy the Goblin Lord.”

Salvia muttered to Gershal as they walked. Gershal nodded. He’d wrapped his cheese carefully in wax paper and was tucking it into his armor. Cheese. It was a local superstition among his city. A cheese had once stopped an arrow that had gone through a [Soldier]’s armor. Now all of the young men and women who left Vaunt carried a cheese when they went into battle. It was a good field ration and it reminded them of home.

He wondered what the traditions of the villages and cities around Invrisil were like. Gershal felt a pang as he imagined the Goblin Lord’s army laying waste to them. Someone had to stop the Goblin Lord, indeed. But—

Not this army. Not them. They were too small. Gershal closed his eyes. And then he heard a susurration, saw the ranks of men and women parting, and knew Lady Magnolia Reinhart was approaching. He had never met her before in his life, but Gershal knew the rumors surrounding her. She was cunning, deadly, manipulative, and, it was said, cold-hearted as the snow itself. But she had never been called a fool.

He hoped that today wouldn’t prove the rumors wrong.

—-

“Lady Reinhart? General Shivertail? We have arrived.”

Reynold’s voice came from the front of the carriage, slightly muffled. He guided the pink magical carriage to a stop as the camp full of officers came into view. It was the smaller camp to the sprawling campgrounds next to it, where the soldiers from each unit were waiting.

The ground was cleared, and the melted snow had revealed wet but sturdy earth. The growing plant life had been trampled by thousands of boots. Now it was muddy, and Ressa wrinkled her nose as she stepped out into the mud.

“You shouldn’t have brought a dress.”

“Nonsense! How will they know it’s me if I don’t wear a dress? Besides, aren’t these enchanted to resist stains?”

“Your legs aren’t. Step carefully and try not to fall on your face.”

Lady Magnolia scoffed and exited the carriage carefully. She took one step into the mud, grimaced, and turned to Ressa.

“Ah. Perhaps the high heels were a mistake. However, we shall endure. General Shivertail, are you ready? I believe the officers have assembled; once we reach the stage it will truly begin in earnest.”

Zel Shivertail sat in Lady Magnolia’s coach and felt his scales tingling. He looked up, and saw Reynold fussing with the carriage. He looked to one side and saw Lady Magnolia Reinhart standing in the mud, peering up at him.

It felt like he was dreaming. Only, as he ducked his head and stepped from the carriage, he knew he wasn’t. He could see Humans in the distance, hundreds of them. All gathered around a wooden platform. They’d seen Lady Magnolia’s carriage of course, and now their faces were turned to him.

Humans. And here he was, a Drake [General], about to lead them. Of course, Zel knew that was the plan. It had been the plan ever since Magnolia had sent him a letter suggesting just that weeks ago. But though he’d replied, though he’d thought of the Necromancer and the Goblin Lord and thought about the need for a Drake-Human alliance…

It still felt like he was dreaming.

“Are you alright, General Shivertail?”

Magnolia might have had a Skill, or else she could see his unease on his face. Zel straightened and felt at his armor. It was light as a feather, yet the fiery-gold metal shone as if internally ablaze. The Heartflame Breastplate made Zel feel warm in the chill air. A relic of his people and he was wearing it.

“I’m fine, Reinhart. Let’s do this.”

She nodded. They began to walk towards the center of the camp, Ressa and Reynold following a few steps behind. Zel scrutinized the closest Humans to him. They looked like officers, sure enough. Soldiers were the same the world over. But this?

It wouldn’t be the first time a Drake had gone north. There were quite a few Drakes who’d decided to live in Human lands, for all they were actively discouraged from doing so by the Drake cities. But while they hadn’t invaded each other in decades, the Humans and Drakes were still nominally at war.

If a Drake [General] led his soldiers past Liscor, or a Human [Lord] moved past the Blood Fields it might be war again. And yet here he was. And already, the Humans had begun to notice him. Some were pointing, others turning.

Zel strode forwards with Lady Magnolia at his side. He spoke to her as he walked, still feeling as though someone else was taking every step. The world felt like it was…echoing…around him. It was a dream.

But it was real, too. Zel’s heart beat faster than it had in years.

“It feels surreal.”

“Oh? What part?”

Magnolia looked up towards Zel. Her face was composed as she walked across the muddy ground. Many eyes were on her too. Waiting. She had to feel the momentous nature of what was occurring. But she looked calm. Zel hoped he did, too.

“All of it. You know that my people won’t accept this. And yours will probably riot as well. The continent could change from this.”

“Of course it will. That is the point, General.”

Zel shivered but kept his head high. Now all the Humans were turning and some had recognized him. He heard muffled exclamations in the crowd. His heart was beating too fast.

“Two days ago I was in a small inn outside of Liscor. I ate, I drank…it was peaceful. I could forget I was a [General], then. Here…”

“Yes?”

Magnolia looked sideways at Zel as they approached the stage in the center of the camp. The Drake was silent for a moment.

“What will happen after I speak, I wonder?”

She shrugged, smilingly slightly.

“I believe I will find out. Spies and so forth. But it depends on what you say. They are waiting for you, General. Are you ready?”

Now all the Humans were looking at him. Zel put his foot on the first wooden step. The wooden stage was simple, but solidly built. Good. That was all he needed. He looked at Magnolia and thought he saw her hands tremble. Just for a second. But then it was gone. She looked him in the eye, fearless. He grinned then, and felt the dream break.

This was reality. Zel offered Magnolia a claw and she took it. They ascended to the top of the stage together. Zel looked over a sea of faces. Human faces. He thought of a young woman named Erin Solstice, of a [Barmaid] named Lyonette. Of an inn. Of a girl named Ryoka Griffin. Of the Necromancer. Zel’s tail curled slightly and then straightened. He nodded.

“Nothing will be the same. Good. Let’s do this.”

This is what the officers saw. Lady Magnolia and a tall Drake wearing shining armor stood on the stage, flanked by a [Maid] and a [Butler]. It was Lady Magnolia Reinhart who spoke first. She took a step forwards and spoke in a loud, cheerful voice.

“Good evening.”

Her words were amplified by a spell she carried, or a Skill because they were clearly audible even in the back of the crowd. The officers waited, some seeing her for the first time.

Magnolia Reinhart was neither tall nor thin and lithe. She was not, by her own admission, a dashing beauty, although she was quite pretty. But she did have a presence that eclipsed her body. When she spoke, every eye was on her.

“I am Magnolia Reinhart. No doubt you all know why you have been called here from your respective cities. A Goblin Lord threatens the north. He marches towards Invrisil as we speak, with an army of tens of thousands. Worse, he raises the undead from each city he destroys. He has slaughtered our people, my people for too long. He must be stopped.”

A sound ran through the crowd. No one dared speak, but there was a sighing, a sense of unease. Stop the Goblin Lord? Magnolia gazed from face to face, hers betraying no fear.

“Yes, Lord Tyrion Veltras is assembling his own forces elsewhere. Yes, the Goblin Lord’s army is considerable. It has destroyed two Drake armies already. However, Invrisil is no plum ripe for the picking. Its people will not be prey to Goblin swords, and nor shall it come under attack while I live. That is why you are here. You will repulse the Goblin Lord and destroy his army.”

Now there were voices of dissent. Murmurs—those speaking feared to do more than groan aloud. Ressa shifted in place, her gaze finding those who made noise and piercing them with her glare. Magnolia raised her hand and there was silence.

“I realize many of you have reservations. Only naturally. The army assembled here is, alas, smaller than I had hoped. You all hail from different cities; it is only natural you would feel concern about going into battle against another army without leadership. I am aware of the problem.”

Magnolia paused and Zel waited. His heart had grown calm in his chest—either that, or he could no longer hear it. He waited, knowing what was to come.

“To that end I have asked a suitable [General] to lead this army against the Goblin Lord. He stands before you now. I present to you your commander who will lead you against the Goblin Lord.”

Lady Magnolia stepped to one side. She gestured simply at Zel. He stood, waiting. For a second there was shock, then silence. And then someone began to shout.

“A Drake?”

Faces paled, turned red, or changed into expressions of fury as the officers realized what Magnolia was implying. One, a huge man got to his feet. He was shaking as he pointed at Lady Magnolia.

“You asked for a Drake to lead us? Have you no shame!? Outrageous! How dare—”

He was cut off as his friends dragged him down. But the discontent was evident in the faces of the soldiers and officers alike. Magnolia concealed her inner emotions as she smiled graciously and nodded to Zel. She raised her voice again, cutting over the shouting from the crowd.

“I will let the General speak for himself. And I will have silence until he finishes speaking, is that clear?”

This time her request was not honored. There were still voices sounding off. Magnolia frowned and clapped her hands. The sound her hands made was soft and suddenly there was silence. No one could speak. They stared up at Magnolia. She looked around, eyes glittering dangerously. Then she smiled.

“Thank you. Now, General, I cede the floor to you.”

She bowed ever so slightly, making the Humans blink and shift in surprise. Zel took two steps forwards and took a breath. This was it. He realized now, dimly, that he hadn’t really prepared a speech. Oh well. He knew what to say. He looked over the ranks of outraged, confused, and skeptical Humans and began.

“Many of you may not recognize who I am. I realize all Drakes look alike to most Humans. However, I am no ordinary Drake. I am a [General]. And as Lady Magnolia has said, I am here to lead you against the Goblin Lord.”

The crowd shifted. Zel could see they were resistant, hostile even. He went on, his voice raised. He needed no Skills or spells to speak to the crowd. He had addressed larger armies, shouted over the roar of the battlefield. This? This was easy.

“To those of you who do not know me: I fought in the First Antinium War and the Second, side by side with Human armies, with Gnoll tribes and pushed the Antinium back into their Hives. I battled the Goblin King’s armies. I have fought longer than some of you have been alive. Perhaps my history means little to you, but you may know me for one of my deeds. I fought the Necromancer at Liscor. I slew him.”

He thought he had. Zel remembered grabbing Az’kerash, remembered the sensation of tearing him apart—a lie. But of all his feats, this was the one Humans recognized. The one the world had recognized him for. Now all the eyes on him were filled with comprehension. He could hear murmurs, despite Magnolia’s invocation of silence. Yes, they knew him.

“My name is Zel Shivertail.”

A gasp ran through the crowd. And a cry went up, short and sudden. Some of the officers took a step back, others looked around in disbelief. Some appeared stunned. They had heard his name before, yes, but few had expected to ever meet him. He was a figure from history, someone whose name had been shouted from the rooftops during the first and second Antinium Wars. Zel heard the name shouted again and closed his eyes.

Tidebreaker. The Drake [General] who had broken the Antinium advance. Zel Shivertail, the hero of the Antinium Wars. Here, on Human lands.

Now there was true silence, as everyone stared at Zel, wondering what he would say next. Zel looked across the ranks of faces and nodded.

“I am here at Lady Magnolia Reinhart’s request. To do battle against the Goblin Lord.”

“Why?”

The shout came almost at once. Zel saw a man in poor armor shouting up at him. Of course. He was a Human and Zel was a Drake general, an enemy [General]. It didn’t matter that he was a low-level officer. Humans had their pride, like Drakes. They wouldn’t suffer an enemy [General] leading them, even if Magnolia ordered them. It was Zel’s job to convince them otherwise.

So Zel answered the man simply.

“The Goblin Lord is here. He is coming. Perhaps not for your city, sir, but for Invrisil. He has destroyed villages and towns and cities already. His army grows. You have heard that he defeated two Drake armies? Well, we sent two armies against him, both led by high-level [Generals]. Both were destroyed down to the last [Soldier].”

Silence. Zel looked around.

“I don’t have to tell you all what that means. An army grows from its victories, and the Goblin Lord has only won his battles. He also has an army of the undead that has grown with every slaughter. And he is coming. Why am I here? Because he must be stopped.”

Now Zel’s voice rose. He walked down the wooden stage, looking from face to face.

“I am a Drake. You are Humans. I understand that. But when I looked north, after the Goblin Lord had passed Liscor, I saw no Humans rushing to destroy him. I hear Lord Tyrion Veltras is forming a grand army. If so, that is commendable. But he is too late. And he is too far. He is not here. In a day or two, the Goblin Lord’s army will be upon Invrisil. Will Lord Tyrion wait and watch another Human city destroyed? Will he allow tens, no, hundreds of thousands of civilians to be slaughtered?”

No one responded. Of course, that was what would happen if they didn’t defeat the Goblin Lord here. Invrisil was Magnolia’s holding. If it was attacked she would lose influence and Tyrion would gain. That was politics. And it was shameful. Zel put all the scorn he could into his voice.

“That is not right. It is not acceptable. Drakes defend their own when they are attacked. So do Humans. And when Lady Reinhart asked me to lead the defense of her city, I agreed. Not because I am abandoning my people, or because I will be paid. No. Because it is the right thing to do. This is Human land, yes. But this is my continent. This is our home. And I will defend it to my death.”

Face to face. Zel looked into eyes and saw they were like Drake eyes. Different yes, but his words struck some chord in his audience. He went on.

“Drakes do not run. That was a…favorite saying of a friend of mine. It seems it’s become the expression that defines my people. But from what I’ve seen, Humans don’t run either. When the Goblin King landed on your shores, you didn’t flee his armies. Over a million Goblins invaded Izril and still, your people refused to run. You fought. And you were not alone. From every continent other nations, other people sent their armies to fight. You fought shoulder-to-shoulder with Gnolls, Drakes, half-Elves, Dwarves…together. And when we fought together, Izril was undefeatable! I should know. I saw it all. I was there.”

Memory. The Second Antinium War. Burning skies filled with smoke and flame. Goblins, the undead, the Antinium marching from every corner of the continent. Some of the men and women below had lived through those times, or had grown up in them. He saw them shudder, and then saw the burning in their eyes. Yes, that was what he wanted. Zel stopped and pointed at them. He roared across the crowd, his voice thunder.

“This is your home! This city may not be yours, but every city here was built by Humans. You claimed these lands. You spilled blood for them and held them against Drakes, Goblins, the Antinium, and every other threat that sought to claim them for thousands of years. Now the Goblin Lord marches north, his armies growing with every victory. Will you give him another city, the lives of your people? The Humans I know would not do that! The Humans I know would drive his army into the sea and fight till their dying breaths before they gave ground to their enemy!”

There was a growing momentum in the crowd, a shifting. Backs straightened, eyes locked on Zel’s. He looked at them. Soldiers. That was all. They were all the same.

“Drakes squabble. Human nobility argue. But [Soldiers] fight. We do our duty and then we go home. Well, I am no [Lord]. My own people think I’m troublesome because I think we shouldn’t be at war with your people. I’m no politician; I’m a soldier like you all. And I see the enemy. Now, I don’t know what you think of me, but there’s no Tyrion Veltras here. No other [Lord] or [General]. Just me. And I won’t retreat until the Goblin Lord’s army is shattered and his undead are buried in the ground again! I will fight! But I cannot do it alone! Will you do the same?”

Zel raised one fist and stared across the sea of Humans. He waited. He had given them no grand speech, no rousing promise of victory. He had spoken to them like soldiers and now he waited. What if they said nothing? What if they refused? Would it all fail? Were they too alike? What if—

A voice rose in the crowd. At the back, Zel saw a man in battered iron armor raise his voice. He shouted as heads turned, his eyes blazing with emotion.

“I am [Lieutenant] Gershal of Vaunt! I will fight with you, General Shivertail! We do not run from Goblins! I will protect Invrisil with my men if you will lead us!”

His voice rang out in the silence, proud and alone. It was what Zel had been waiting for. Because on the heels of his declaration came another voice. A woman, standing next to him raised her fists.

“My cavalry will ride with any man, Drake or Gnoll against a common foe! I pledge my unit to your command!”

“And I!”

An officer next to her unsheathed his sword, nearly cutting the man beside him. More Humans spoke up. A [Lord] stood and shouted.

“For Invrisil! I will fight to defend the city! I pledge my warriors to Lady Reinhart’s army!”

“I will follow any [General], Drake or Human to defeat the Goblin Lord!”

And then the voices became a shout. Zel waited, standing atop the podium, as the officers and soldiers gathered began to shout his name.

“Shivertail! Shivertail!”

“Tidebreaker!”

And last, but most importantly, a word. Not his name, not a word that represented Zel or Magnolia. The word Zel had been waiting for.

“Izril!”

“Izril! The Dragonlands! The unconquered!”

“Izril!”

And then there was cheering. Officers shouted, swept up in a fury to defend their homes. Zel stood on the platform, absorbing their energy. This was the key. They had been disunited before. Now they had a common enemy. They were an army, however disparate. He waited until the cheering had settled and then gave orders.

“Prepare for battle. We will engage the Goblin Lord if he comes any closer to the city. If he goes around, we will pursue and drive him into a corner. But I promise you this: he will burn no more villages, despoil no more lands. This army will be his end. Officers, I will begin assembling you into groups within the hour. Prepare yourselves; I will assign commands based on rank and level. When we go into battle, it will be as one united force.”

Zel turned as the cheering began again. That didn’t matter. The fact that they’d accepted his command, that they’d agreed to be led by him was all that mattered. He could sort the rest out later. Now…

He walked towards Magnolia, Ressa, and Reynold. They were applauding him with the others. Zel glanced at Magnolia and she descended the wooden platform with him. They walked through ranks of officers, Zel exchanging words with them, reassuring, standing tall, showing them he was worthy of being followed, until they had a moment to speak.

“I’ll stay here. I’m leading this army now; I’ll stay in the camp.”

“I thought you’d say that. There is a tent waiting and I believe Reynold has a number of lists for you. I will retire to my estate for a while to let you sort things out. Well done, General. Did you use a Skill to impress the crowd so?”

Magnolia paused as she got into her carriage with Ressa driving. Zel shook his head.

“I did not. A Skill might let me drag the army blindly into battle, but it won’t last. I need an army willing to fight, not a bunch of unwilling soldiers.”

“Hm. Interesting. Well, it was quite a rousing speech you gave. Lord Tyrion is not here. I would quite like to see his face when he hears that.”

Magnolia chuckled. Then she paused.

“Still, I do think you could have given a more rousing speech. All the quiet moments and the pauses—I should have liked a bit more vim to it all. A bit of shouting perhaps? What do you think, Ressa? I give it six points.”

Zel stared at Magnolia as she turned to her maid. Ressa tilted her head, thinking. She nodded at Zel as she replied.

“Four out of five. Not the sort of speech you give on the precipice of a battle, but stirring enough.”

Both women looked at Reynold. The [Butler] flushed and stroked his mustache furiously.

“I’d ah, give it a hundred points out of a hundred, milady, Miss Ressa.”

He avoided their accusatory looks with his eyes and bowed slightly to Zel, speaking to the Drake [General].

“You said what they needed to hear. None of the soldiers here want to risk their lives for glory or believe in noble causes. But defending home and family? They understand that. I felt…inspired myself.”

“Typical. I suppose I’d have to be a [Soldier] to appreciate a speech like that. Come on Ressa, let’s leave General Shivertail to his work. I will speak to you tonight, General.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Zel lied as he watched the carriage drive away. He turned and saw Reynold waiting for him, as well as a number of officers.

“I never expected to be cheered. I hoped I wouldn’t be shouted off the stage. If this was a Drake army, I’d have been wary about being dragged off were I a Human.”

Reynold smiled at Zel.

“We Humans are a bit more impressed by titles, sir. And you are a hero. When I was younger, I heard of the Tidebreaker slaying the Necromancer in battle. There were celebrations in the streets when it was announced. We remember, sir.”

He coughed, turning a bit red and Zel smiled. Then his smile faded. The Necromancer. The Drake shook his head.

“I’ll try to live up to expectations, Reynold. Now, let’s meet these officers. We have a lot of work to do.”

He strode forwards. And the Humans came to meet him. And even as Magnolia’s coach drove away, rumors were already flying by [Message] spell and people running towards the city. There was a Drake [General] leading Humans. And not just any Drake.

Zel Shivertail, the Tidebreaker.

The world might never be the same.

—-

Lady Magnolia sat in her carriage, scraping mud off her high heels onto a cushion. Ressa, sitting in the driver’s seat, frowned over her shoulder.

“Stop that. Maids will have to clean all that up.”

“I hate mud, Ressa.”

“Don’t make me come back there.”

“Fine. What did you think of General Shivertail’s speech, Ressa? Truly?”

The [Maid] turned back to the road and twitched the reins. The carriage dodged around a convoy of wagons as the [Wagon Driver] in front screamed and raised his hand as if that could stop the oncoming impact.

“Just what I said. It wasn’t a flashy speech, but it did the job.”

“Mm. I still prefer his famous ‘Defiance on the Roshharn Plains’ speech, or the ‘Liscorian Address’. ”

Magnolia was unconvinced. She grumbled to herself as she settled back into her seat. But then she brightened as she glanced over her shoulder.

“I say, there’s a woman on horseback racing towards Invrisil. Do you think they’re already starting to gossip?”

“I imagine so. I saw several using artifacts. Word is probably already spreading about Zel Shivertail’s speech.”

“Oh good. I do so love an enthusiastic audience. Speaking of which…you have the recording?”

“On the cushion. The spell caught most of his words perfectly, although the angle was slightly off.”

Magnolia found the small crystal Ressa had mentioned and touched it. Instantly, a projection of Zel sprang into life, and his voice echoed throughout the carriage. She stopped the magical memory with a finger and sighed happily.

“I think I’ll put this one in my personal collection. After we copy the spell and sell it of course. How much do you think I should tell my agents to charge for it? A thousand gold pieces for each copy?”

“The first one will earn the most.”

“Mm. I wonder who pays most for this sort of information? Ah, well, I suppose any worthwhile [Informant] would sell to multiple sides at once. Hurry up now Ressa; I want to be the first to sell the information about Zel!”

“I’m hurrying. I can’t control this thing as well as Reynold, though. I nearly killed that man on the road just there.”

The coach drove onwards. Magnolia settled back into her seat, already plotting how to disseminate the information about this new alliance in ways that would profit her. But she broke off from her calculations and looked out the window back towards the camp.

She smiled.

“A Drake [General] leading a Human army. Isn’t that something? It’s like a story. Or a dream, I suppose.”

Ressa’s voice was muffled from her position in the front, but it still conveyed a bit of emotion in her words.

“Yes. You did it, Magnolia.”

“At last. We finally took a step. At last.”

Magnolia smiled with genuine happiness. Then she laughed.

“And what will they say about it? Oh Ressa, the world is changing.”

And within the hour, word was spreading by spell and bird and foot. And the world took notice.

—-

Important events were subjective across the world. Obviously news like the return of the King of Destruction was worthy of worldwide reporting, but even then, the news of his return was not nearly so vital in Rhir as it was in Chandrar. Thus, gossip about the latest marriage between royals or wars won or magical artifacts unearthed travelled at varying speeds depending on how useful it was.

But in certain circles any news of political value was transmitted instantly from nation to nation. The latest developments in the world stage could be worth hundreds or thousands of gold pieces—but of course, such news decreased exponentially in value every minute. And again, few individuals in Baleros were willing to pay for news about Terandrian politics, however dramatic.

But news about a Drake allying with a Human? Much less a Drake whose name was known around the world and a Human woman who could boast the same? That was news worth thousands of gold pieces to some. And Magnolia Reinhart’s informants earned a lion’s share in the hours after Zel had addressed his army.

And as luck would have it, one of those informants spread word to Olesm. Of course he couldn’t afford to pay in gold for the news; he could only afford silver. But he still got the news by [Message] spell, and within ten minutes he’d called an emergency meeting of Liscor’s council.

Watch Captain Zevara strode into the room at the same time as Wall Lord Ilvriss. Olesm was already there, having beaten them by about a minute. He was panting, his eyes wide, and when he turned to them both Drakes knew the news was serious.

“Out with it.”

Ilvriss didn’t wait for the rest of the Council to assemble. He was dressed in armor and looking more alert than Olesm had seen him in days, if slightly hung over. Olesm was grateful for that. The Drake nervously lifted the folded bit of parchment and read out loud from it.

“T-this is the news I just received from Invrisil. It came by one of my informants—I’m sure it’s trustworthy. Here’s what it says. Zel Shivertail, the famous Lineholder General, the Tidebreaker and hero of two Antinium Wars…has formed an alliance with Lady Magnolia Reinhart. He has assumed command of a Human army gathered around Invrisil and is preparing to destroy the Goblin Lord’s army—”

Olesm choked on his words. Ilvriss gaped at him. Zevara went to go sit down and missed her chair. She landed with a crash on the ground. Olesm winced as the Watch Captain stared at him. Then Zevara shouted.

“What?”

“It’s what it says!”

Olesm flinched as Zevara leapt to her feet. The Watch Captain grabbed the parchment and read it herself. Ilvriss didn’t come over. Instead, he stared at Olesm with a pale face. He seemed almost…calm, which put him at odds with Olesm’s state of near-panic.

“You’re sure of this?”

“I can’t imagine my informant would lie or exaggerate something like this. They’d never be trusted again—the news is everywhere, Wall Lord! That’s what General Shivertail meant when he left—what do we do?”

“Do? He’s gone to the Humans! There’s nothing to do Olesm, he—he’s allied with Magnolia Reinhart? Why would he—just for the Goblin Lord?”

Zevara crumpled the parchment with her fist, looking confused and distraught. Ilvriss looked at her, and then at the first Drakes filing into the room.

“This situation is serious. Olesm, brief the other council members. I am returning to my inn. I need to retrieve a magical artifact.”

“Why? Uh, I mean, why, sir?”

Ilvriss paused, his claw already on the doorframe.

“This requires direct consultation with my peers. And I think, the rest of the continent. Prepare yourself and get me every map and piece of information you can on the Goblin Lord and Reinhart’s forces. This will be a long meeting.”

Then he disappeared out the door. Olesm looked at Zevara, and then he ran for his office.

—-

“This is Ilvriss. Do you hear me?”

“We hear you…Wall Lord. We have an image of you, but it is unstable. The spell seems to be working however. Proceed.”

Ten minutes later, Wall Lord Ilvriss was standing in the meeting room, speaking into a crystal orb the size of his fist that had been placed on the table. Olesm stood against the wall clutching rolls of parchment. He stared into the orb with wide eyes. The magical ball was reflecting another room, a grand chamber that kept wavering in and out of focus. But what it showed was clear enough.

A room full of sixty or so Drakes were all seated in a round chamber, on benches arranged into a semi-circle. They were all dressed in rich clothing or armor, and each one of them was looking towards Ilvriss. Olesm was scared to even breathe. These were the nobility of Salazsar, the ruling elite of the Walled City. Each one was a Lord of the Wall or a Lady of the Wall, and they were all staring at him. Well, not at him, but at Ilvriss, but the pressure alone was making Olesm nervous.

Ilvriss seemed at ease talking with his peers. Indeed, his voice was the only calm one in the room at the moment. He walked back and forth in front of the orb, speaking loudly.

“There isn’t much else I can elaborate on. Zel Shivertail is gone. I mentioned as much by [Message] spell, and you received the news about his alliance with Magnolia Reinhart before me.”

“But you were with him two days ago, Ilvriss! You have to know why he changed sides!”

The voice that came through the orb was angry, but distorted. Ilvriss grimaced and shifted the orb and the voice warped and warbled. Olesm looked at him and Ilvriss shook his head. Zevara muttered into his ear.

“Bad connection. Looks like the magic spells are faded or there’s some interference. This is as good as we’ll get.”

Magical communication was very tricky. [Message] spells were common, true, but actual real-time conferences were extremely difficult to organize. And while Wistram could devise any number of complex spells to facilitate conversations, everyone else had to get inventive.

The way Ilvriss spoke to the other Lords and Ladies of the Wall in his city of Salazsar was by using a scrying orb. It gave him a view of their conference room while they did the same to him. Both orbs were extremely expensive and it had to be said, annoying to use. Ilvriss already had a headache as he stared into the small orb and saw a distorted, fish-eye view of a room full of Drake nobility staring back at him.

“I can’t speak to Shivertail’s thoughts. You know he came north pursuing information about the Goblin Lord. And he was delayed in Liscor due to the Antinium…situation.”

“Ah yes. Was his departure related to that, do you think?”

Ilvriss paused before he replied. Another issue was that the use of two scrying spells meant that their conversations were completely public if anyone wanted to listen in. Ilvriss kept his replies as devoid of confidential information as possible.

“Our findings with the Antinium were unusual and troubling…but not unduly so. Whatever threat they might pose, it’s clear that General Shivertail thought the Goblin Lord was a far more important threat.”

“I see. But then why would he ally with Humans? And with her of all people?”

“I don’t know. But it seems futile to speculate. These are the facts, Wall Lord Menoss. What we should be focusing on is what will happen next.”

Ilvriss gritted his teeth and kept his tail from lashing. Zel Shivertail’s alliance with Lady Magnolia wasn’t an issue solely important to the Drakes in Salazsar of course. No doubt every Walled City was in a panic right now. And for good reason!

“He really went over to Magnolia Reinhart’s side? This isn’t some—some ruse of hers, is it?”

“All indications are that it is not. Zel Shivertail has decided to ally himself with Humans. He has defected, Wall Lady Rizzia.”

There was a pause from the other end. Ilvriss subtly adjusted the orb and a few Drake faces swam into focus. One spoke up, looking worried.

“He can’t do that. Shivertail’s always been an agitator, but this? We must have him back.”

“Have him back? That traitor?”

“Well, he is a [General]. He’s one of ours, he can’t just—”

“He’s not ours. He’s part of the Trisstral Alliance. I wonder what those cities think of this. If they authorized his departure, they’ll have another thing coming—”

The other Drakes were arguing amongst themselves. Ilvriss ground his teeth together. They were missing the point! He slapped a claw on the table and there was a sudden silence.

“Lords and Ladies, please! Forget about the reasons. Instead of thinking of Zel Shivertail’s actions as a matter of dissent, look at it another way. The highest-level Drake [General] in the entire world has just gone over to the Humans’ side.”

The room—both rooms—fell silent. Ilvriss stared around at the suddenly grey faces and nodded.

“Zel Shivertail has never gotten himself involved in politics. He’s a career soldier and one of the reasons why we can afford to fight amongst ourselves. If he starts leading Human armies or worse, participates in battles on their side—”

“He wouldn’t do that.”

“Wouldn’t he? Why not? He has nothing to lose here! We’ve refused to hear him more times than I can count. What’s stopping him from joining with Humans who will give him an army and backing? Face the facts! We have just lost our best [General]! We shouldn’t be arguing over the politics, but looking to our safety!”

Ilvriss’ words caused a hush. Olesm held his breath, thinking of all the ramifications. True, no one [General] was influential enough to define the Drake cities or weaken them too much in their absence, but on the other hand…if the Antinium attacked or another nation invaded, it was widely assumed Zel Shivertail would be the first to lead Drake armies in defense. More than that, he was a symbol. People felt reassured—he had beaten the Antinium in two wars after all! If he was gone…

Ilvriss was speaking. Olesm wrenched himself back into listening mode. The Wall Lord was the voice of reason today, which was surprising. Had he really changed that much from his time at Erin’s inn?

“Well if anyone could do it, it would be Erin.”

Olesm mumbled to himself and got a jab from Zevara for speaking. Ilvriss went on.

“I suggest we first contact the other Walled Cities to hear their reaction. And then we reach out to General Shivertail. Otherwise he may decide to stay in the north after he’s finished crushing the Goblin Lord.”

There was a pause as the nobles in Salazsar considered his words and then one of the Wall Lords closest to the orbs spoke.

“We shall reach out to the other cities and attempt to begin a larger discussion. Wall Lord Ilvriss, please hold.”

“I will do so.”

The orb went dark and Ilvriss sighed. There was an audible exhaling of breath around the room and Ilvriss looked at Liscor’s city council. They were [Merchants] and low-level officials, and they looked to Olesm like they were going to be sick. Discussions of this level were several grades above them. However, Ilvriss seemed to regard Olesm and Zevara as worthy sources of input. He turned to them.

“Shivertail’s absence is panicking my people. No doubt it will cause trouble elsewhere, but the question is how much damage it will do abroad. Thoughts?”

“No one’s going to invade Izril just because Zel Shivertail is gone. We’re most at risk of trouble coming from the Humans. However, we might be pressured by foreign powers. We need a united front.”

Zevara replied first and Olesm nodded. Ilvriss nodded as well absently and Olesm dared ask the question that was probably bubbling at the top of everyone’s minds.

“Do you know why General Shivertail would work with the Humans, Wall Lord?”

Ilvriss blinked, looked up, and shrugged.

“Why not? That idiot has talked for years about the need for an army to fight the Antinium for a united front with the Humans. It shouldn’t surprise you that he’d do this.”

“But the Humans—he’ll be called a traitor! And he’s a hero! I just can’t see why…”

Olesm trailed off. Ilvriss looked at the young [Tactician] and shook his head.

“A hero. I forget I’m in Liscor. The facts aren’t so straightforward, young Swifttail. True, Zel Shivertail is a hero of the Antinium Wars. No one denies that. But as to his influence among our people…he’s been the target of a number of smear campaigns among the Walled Cities over the years. He’s been called a rabble-rouser, a traitor for opposing the war with the Humans, and more. Not in Liscor; your city would probably hang anyone who spoke a word against him here. But he’s been a target for years by politicians.”

“But that’s just—”

Olesm broke off before he said something that could get him in trouble. Ilvriss smiled bitterly, sensing what Olesm was going to say.

“It’s funny. After all these years, he may be more popular among Humans than he is among Drakes. And now, having lost him, every city in the south is looking over their tails nervously.”

He shook his head and looked back towards the orb. He muttered under his breath, loud enough for Olesm and Zevara to hear.

“What a mess. Periss was right. We can’t keep doing this.”

“Sorry, sir?”

“Nothing.”

Ilvriss looked up, and he was all business again. He nodded to the orb.

“Shivertail’s out of touch for now. I doubt he’ll respond to any [Message] spells at the moment…what we can do is work on things from our own end. Getting idiots to do what we want is a good start. Fear and paranoia move politics far faster than anything else, Swifttail. Give them a few more minutes to stew before you open the communication spell again.”

“Yes sir.”

Olesm busied himself with laying out maps on the table, just in case. Ilvriss sighed, reached for a goblet full of wine, and stopped himself at the last moment. He looked around, found a cup full of water and picked it up. He stared gloomily into it and then turned as the orb flickered into life. He bared his teeth as Olesm backed away from the orb.

“Time to get to work, Swifttail. There’s no room for error or weakness here. The world is watching.”

And indeed, the world was paying attention. Although how each group reacted was a separate matter entirely.

—-

In Rhir, the news of Zel Shivertail’s alliance with Lady Magnolia hit the court of the Blighted King just past lunch. Most of the diners were in the banquet hall and received the news from the [Herald] with polite amazement or frowns. But a group of Drake [Soldiers] sitting at a table reacted explosively to the news.

“He did what?”

One of the Drake [Commanders] leapt up from his table, ignoring the eyes on him. He roared in outrage as the trembling [Herald] repeated the announcement.

“That traitor! He’d ally with Humans? And for what? To stop a Goblin Lord? Let the Humans take care of it! That tailless, backstabbing—”

“Shut up you newt!”

A fist smacked the first Drake in the face as another Drake rose. He knocked the first Drake down with a punch and raised his voice.

“General Shivertail’s a hero! If the Tidebreaker’s a traitor than your entire damned Walled City is full of backstabbing worms! Zel Shivertail is doing what he’s always done—protecting our home!”

“Protecting it by siding with the Humans!”

“Yes! Yes! This is what I’ve been saying all along! We need to fight together! The Humans aren’t a threat! If we work together, we can eradicate the Antinium. And a Goblin Lord? Ancestors, does anyone want another Goblin King? Huh? No! Shivertail’s working with Magnolia Reinhart—”

“That traitorous Human can’t be trusted!”

“Better her than the infighting idiots at your city!”

“You take that back!”

“Make me! I’m with the Tidebreaker all the way! He’s got my support!”

The Drake spun and grabbed one of the banners at his table that marked his delegation. He started shouting as he got up on the table and began waving the banner.

“Shivertail! Shivertail! Izril, the greatest continent in the world!”

The rest of the diners in the room stared at the Drake. At the same table Cirille covered her face with her claws.

Across the room, Richard and most of the Humans who’d been summoned to this world sat at a table with some of Rhir’s nobility. They were confused, but the Rhir nobles around them were mainly contemptuous. One [Lord] shook his head as the Drakes shouted across the banquet hall.

“Drakes. They’re so noisy.”

“Izril!”

The Drakes argued and fought until they were ejected from the banquet hall. They were all commanders and over two thirds supported Zel Shivertail. As for the rest of Rhir, the news wasn’t as important. Drakes? Humans? They were on another continent. If it meant more aid to Rhir, all the better. Otherwise, it mattered little. On Baleros however, the opinion was sharply different. At least, for one Fraerling.

—-

“Play it again.”

Niers Astoragon was still in his night clothes, but the messenger had dragged both him and Foliana out of their beds. He scrubbed at his face, willing the fatigue to vanish as he listened to the recording of Zel speaking.

“Dead gods. And this is going out across the world? It will upset the entire balance in Izril. What is that Reinhart woman thinking?”

“Mm. Probably that this is a good idea. Tidebreaker vs Goblins. Bad for Goblin Lord. Good for her.”

Foliana perched on a couch, staring at the image of Zel Shivertail. Niers stared too.

“The Tidebreaker. A [General] like that allied with someone with the Reinhart fortune behind her…that’s a dangerous combination.”

“Only if they do bad things.”

“That’s practically a given, isn’t it? Magnolia Reinhart isn’t known for mercy. But Zel Shivertail agreed to help her? Maybe that means he—”

Niers broke off. He stared around. They were in his room and he was sitting on his desk. Unbidden, his eyes went to the gold-encrusted letter that Magnolia had sent him. Foliana noticed the look.

“Magnolia Reinhart sends me letters every month. Mm. Yesterday she sent me a letter and a muffin.”

The Fraerling [Strategist] looked up sharply.

“You didn’t eat it, did you?”

“Mm…”

“Foliana! There are more spells and poisons than we can test for—”

“It had blueberries in it. And lots of sugar. And she sends you letters too.”

“Yes, and I don’t eat my letters!”

“So? You read them. Which is worse?”

Niers choked but couldn’t reply. He stared at the letter and listened to Zel speaking in silence.

“Defending home, huh? Doing the right thing. I’d never expect to hear someone allied with Magnolia Reinhart saying that—no, I suppose that’s exactly what she’d say. Only I believe it, coming from him.”

“Reinhart defends her home. Did it in the last Antinium War.”

“Yes, but that was—she’s not the same as him.”

“No. But they both fight for their home. You did, too.”

Foliana turned vaguely accusing eyes to Niers and he looked away.

“Curiosity. That was all, Foliana.”

“Mm. Well, maybe he was curious.”

“Who?”

Foliana pointed at the tiny Drake standing in the magical crystal on the table.

“Him. Maybe he was curious.”

Niers fell silent. He didn’t see Foliana leaving, but he knew she was gone after a while. The Titan sat on his table, replaying the image of Zel speaking again and again, late into the night.

—-

On Chandrar, various individuals took note of the politics in Izril, but only a few were in any position to care. One, the Emperor of the Sands, considered that the move was unfortunate for his nation since it had the potential to strengthen Izril.

The other, the King of Destruction, was mainly confused.

“Who?”

“The Tidebreaker, my King.”

Orthenon spoke in front of Flos’ throne. The King of Destruction frowned.

“Tidebreaker? The title seems vaguely familiar, but I cannot place it. This Tidebreaker is a Drake [General]?”

“Yes, a famous one. You may not recognize him because he rose to prominence after your slumber, my liege. He defeated the Antinium during two wars and fought the Goblin King and the Necromancer himself. He is considered to be the highest-level [General] the Drakes possess.”

“Interesting.”

Flos’ eyes lit up and a smile crossed his face.

“He sounds fascinating. I suppose this alliance bodes well for Izril, does it?”

Orthenon paused.

“It could be. On the other hand, it could result in turmoil if the Drakes and Humans enter conflict over his switching allegiances. Either way, I do not think this is fortunate news for us. A [General] of his level allied with Magnolia Reinhart is a considerable threat.”

“I am aware. It seems this Goblin Lord is outmatched. A pity. I always wanted to meet a Goblin King.”

“Do not jest please, your majesty.”

“Who says I’m jesting? Ah, come now Orthenon. I missed the Goblin King and they only appear every few centuries! What a disappointment. Come to think of it…be sure to instruct Trey and Teres about the Goblin King, would you? That is an important battle to remember.”

“I shall, your majesty. Now, while the news is important, I do not predict it will affect the situation locally in any significant way. If General Shivertail strengthens his alliance with Magnolia Reinhart we may run into trouble when coming into conflict with Izril, but that is far enough away to be safely ignored for now. For more pressing concerns, we seem to have rats in one of the granaries. I would not trouble you with the news, but it seems these rats can teleport, so I would request…”

Flos sighed as he leaned back on his throne. Chandrar was safe. The other continents listened to the news from Izril, but with no real alarm. Only interest and sometimes scorn.

—-

“It would be one of the Reinharts that would agree to such an alliance.”

“Indeed. Allying with a Drake against Goblins? Has she no shame?”

“Then again, the Reinharts have always been a meddlesome family.”

“Indeed. Indeed.”

“I suppose the news is important, however obliquely. I would rather see the Veltras family succeed than the Reinhart house. They at least object to the presence of Drakes.”

“True. An embargo may be called for. Tariffs at the least to express our discontent.”

“It will be a matter for debate. Let us see what the other kingdoms do first.”

“Hm. I suppose.”

In Terandria, scorn was everywhere. Not that it was particularly informed scorn; it was more of a neighborly disdain for everything they regarded as inferior. Teriarch sighed as he cut short the conversation between two Terandrian nobles with a wave of his claw.

It wasn’t hard for the Dragon to intercept communications between mages and magical artifacts, even the encrypted ones. That was the problem with mages of today. They were so, so…complacent. Every spell was the same, which meant all the flaws were the same too.

The Dragon sighed. If he tried, he could actually hear the reports about Zel Shivertail’s alliance with Magnolia passing across the world. So much news and over so little! All he’d done was ally with her. It wasn’t the first time Humans and Drakes had worked together.

“But perhaps it is significant for this age. When was the last time they formed an alliance? A hundred years ago? No. Four hundred? Wait, there was that marriage—hrm. Hmf. I suppose it is important. No wonder Reinhart is bothering me so.”

Teriarch flicked a claw, dismissing the [Message] spells he’d received from Magnolia. He sighed and curled up a bit more in his cave.

“What was it she said? A [General], a [Strategist] and me? Pah. That hatchling’s barely a [General]. I suppose he’s of a decent level, but as for his speeches, I’ll pass. Good speeches have more fire to them. When I was young, I heard some good ones. How did the one with the Human in purple armor go again? Something about eating the tails of their foes? Or did the Gnoll say that? Hm…”

The Dragon trailed off blankly and curled up in his cave. Another [Message] spell appeared and he flicked it away with a twitch of his tail.

“Not yet, girl. Not yet. One isn’t two and besides, I promised nothing. You think you can order Dragons around? We’re…very noble species…unacceptable. Going outside is…quite dull…anyways.”

His voice grew lower and sleepier as Teriarch drifted into a nap. He slept, as the world panicked. He had seen it all before and would see it all again. There were no surprises for immortals. Not for those beyond death.

—-

“What?”

Az’kerash froze, one hand outstretched over the heap of flesh and bones. Ijvani shuffled her feet, disliking the surprise she saw written over her master’s face.

“Zel Shivertail has taken command of an army formed by Magnolia Reinhart, master. He is preparing to defend Invrisil from the Goblin Lord’s attack or pursue his army should the Goblin Lord avoid the city.”

“Shivertail? Ally with a Human? Impossible. How can that—”

Az’kerash abandoned the grisly remains on the table and began to pace back and forth. He was visibly shaken by the information, but as he paced, his agitation disappeared and a calculating look passed over his face instead. The black skeleton was relieved to see that. She waited while the Necromancer mused out loud.

“Is this an opportunity or a trap? No—if Shivertail has given me this opportunity, I must seize it no matter how remote the chances of success are. Thank you, Ijvani. Now—”

He flicked a hand and muttered a spell. The air opened up and Ijvani saw Az’kerash speaking to the air.

“My apprentice. Heed my words now.”

—-

Across the world, the news of Zel’s alliance was heard, but it could be argued it mattered little to most. In Izril, the news sent Lord Tyrion Veltras into a rage and confused a certain blind [Emperor] until the politics of Drakes and Humans were explained to him by a certain Lady Rie Valerund. It reached the ears of Erin Solstice and made her rub them for a while. But the magnitude of what had happened was only understood by a few.

Klbkch of the Antinium and his Queen were silent at the news. They debated what might occur in hushed tones and thought of the past and the future. Ilvriss convinced his people to avoid denouncing Zel Shivertail outright, and to approach him carefully as well.

But that was all politics and it really didn’t matter. For instance, neither Rags and her tribe nor Garen Redfang and Tremborag had any idea of what had occurred. Neither would they have cared, largely. Alliances were all very well, but it was battle that mattered. If an angry Drake [General] was coming their way, no sane Goblin would fight him. They’d just run.

So perhaps the news mattered only to two individuals. A Necromancer and his apprentice. Because as Osthia Blackwing watched the Goblin Lord argue and then kneel in agony to his master, she felt the world change. And as he rose, bitter and furious and tore the map apart, she knew one thing before he turned and spoke.

“We attack Invrisil. We go to slay the one named Zel Shivertail.”

The Goblin Lord spat the words, turning to his lieutenants. The other Goblins stared at him, and Osthia felt her stomach lurch. She spoke and every head turned towards her.

“You won’t defeat him. Not General Shivertail.”

The Goblin Lord looked at her, his black eyes and white pupils dilated with rage. His voice shook—the first real display of emotion she’d seen out of him.

“We are ordered. So we will. Or die.”

And so the world turned. Gossip and rumors floated about, but there was only one certainty. Zel Shivertail sat in his tent and felt the certainty just like the Goblin Lord. He turned his head and the Goblin Lord turned his. Across many miles their gazes locked. And there was only one word on the lips of both.

“Death.”

Interlude – The Antinium Wars (Pt.3)

(This book, The Second Antinium Wars, a History, was widely sold across Izril in the years after the Second Antinium War ended. It has been widely criticized and subsequent editions included the Introduction section as well as substantive revisions to the text. The accuracy of the following narrative is not guaranteed.)

Introduction –

The tale of the Second Antinium War may not need writing in this moment. The scars of that great conflict still loom large in the public consciousness, and history may yet reveal details that shed new light on the events during and preceding the war. It is also true that history requires the removal of years to be viewed in an objective light.

However, I, Krsysl Wordsmith, do not wish to wait for the dust to have metaphorically settled. I began writing this book six months after the Second Antinium Wars had ended. I consider this historical narrative a first step towards a full record of the war as a whole. No other history has been written as of yet and one must be made now, before the details of the conflict fade from living memory.

Does it have inaccuracies? Yes! Bias? Perhaps! But my word stands on its own and I will be remembered by history as the first [Writer] willing to collate the scattered viewpoints and accounts of the war into a single, understandable story that future generations can use!

I will not bow to lesser writers or indignant critics who decry my work! I have worked tirelessly in creating a truthful account that is only colored by my love of people and continent. Regardless of the slanderous attacks on my reputation, I can assure you good readers that the following narrative is as true to fact as any history written. I remain humbly and accurately,

—Krsysl Wordsmith

The Second Antinium Wars –

Our tale, dear readers, begins, as it always must, with the species that has become the bane of the civilized world, the nightmare that haunts Izril to this day. The Antinium. Once a distant threat, a mysterious bogeyman race in Rhir used to frighten hatchlings at night. No longer. The previous Antinium War of only eight years ago had seen the upset of power in Izril and the dramatic emergence of a new national power in the appearance of the Antinium.

Their six Hives and foothold in southern Izril remained a threat to all Drakes, Gnolls, and Humans on the continent. Only the hard-won peace kept any sort of balance between the races, and tensions between Antinium and Drakes remained at a boiling point as both sides prepared for what would surely be a second conflict.

Drakes do not forgive. And the Antinium had demonstrated their ceaseless appetite to anyone with eyes. The peace they had agreed to was only a reprieve. Now the world waited with bated breath for one side to loose the opening shot.

The year is 3 A.F. and Izril remains tentatively at peace. The Drake cities, humbled by the Antinium, have rebuilt and strengthened their garrisons. Meanwhile, the Humans to the north have waxed arrogant, untroubled in large part from the last war. Those pompous, tailless fools neglected to watch their borders, which is how the Second Antinium War grew into the mess it did. But I suppose not all the blame can be assigned to Humans. Some must rest on the Drakes who began the war as a whole. But I get ahead of myself. Some background is essential first.

Before the Second Antinium War began, the world as a whole was not at peace. It never is. And while recording the machinations of each individual nation would interfere with the narrative, it is important to note several events in the world which would directly impact the Second Antinium War in the future.

To begin with, of the five continents in the world, only Izril and Chandrar could be considered calm by any stretch of the word. Chandrar was still recovering from the collapse of the King of Destruction’s empire and nations were rebuilding. Or in the case of the emerging Empire of Sands, slowly growing their borders and absorbing smaller nations. However, such conflicts were small and thus Chandrar could be considered peaceful.

Similarly, Izril was at peace, although it was hard-won. The six Antinium Hives and the foothills in their proximity were designated as forbidden zones. The Drake cities sent regular patrols near the borders of the Hives, but for a few incidents where Drakes patrols crossed over the lines and disappeared there was no military action. Any Antinium found crossing the border were swiftly executed and while each incident raised tensions, no wider breach of the peace treaties had yet to occur in the eight years since. The continent was peaceful, even if that peace was a façade.

As for Rhir, conflict is a way of life in that continent, and the Blighted King’s forces occupied themselves battling the Demons as usual. No, it was Terandria and Baleros where momentous events were occurring.

In Terandria, the Necromancer had appeared once again. This elusive specter of death, the infamous outcast of Wistram, the fallen Archmage, had plagued the continent for over a century, leading armies of death against the living. He would destroy and despoil kingdoms, his undead armies beaten back only after much effort and then disappear before he could be slain, returning after years or sometimes decades. Each time stronger.

Now he had returned leading a massive army against the port-Kingdom of Desonis. He quickly overwhelmed the kingdom’s army but did not approach the capital. Rather, he seized a local port and vanished.

Speculation would run rife about the Necromancer’s whereabouts, and Wistram, fearing an attack, would prepare for a conflict with the Necromancer’s army. However, incredibly, news of the Necromancer was only a backdrop to the larger event occurring in Baleros. And that was the emergence of the Goblin King.

The Goblin King. To preface speaking about him, I will note the facts that have been observed about such individuals, few though they may be. Goblin Kings emerge every few centuries at most and each time herald destruction and death without fail. They appear to be a naturally occurring phenomenon, a rare individual born out of the Goblin population that has immeasurable talent, much like Goblin Chieftains and Goblin Lords.

However, while those lesser leaders of Goblins can lead small armies and be reasoned with, Goblin Kings are different. Each one is incredibly difficult to kill and lays waste to every civilization they encounter. They lead massive armies formed from Goblins that emerge from every part of the world and flock to the Goblin King’s banner.

Only the combined efforts of nations can stop Goblin Kings, which is why almost every nation in the world has signed a treaty which requires their aid in destroying a Goblin King, should one appear. Such is their threat that Goblin Lords are actively hunted down to prevent them from becoming Goblin Kings.

The race of Goblins itself is a threat, but one widely accepted as a reoccurring nuisance given the perceived impossibility of eradicating their kind permanently. Yet efforts have been historically made to coexist in peace with their kind. This humble writer trusts that the rise of the last Goblin King, known as Velan the Kind, will prove how futile that endeavor is.

In the year of 14 A.F, the Goblin Lord known as Velan the Kind had existed in a peaceful and even harmonious relationship with the nations of Baleros. While his autonomous tribe of Goblins was not recognized as a formal power by most nations in the world his company of Goblins was regarded as one of the strongest on the continent. It was rumored to be the fifth Great Company of Baleros and Velan’s own commitment to peace and trade had earned him the grudging respect of other species. It was hoped his example could be spread to Goblins worldwide, putting an end to Goblin raids and their threat as a species.

Unfortunately, in the waning months of spring, Velan the Kind fulfilled an unknown criteria and ascended or otherwise transformed into a Goblin King. Not much is known about the actual event—only that shortly afterwards Velan the Kind appeared with his entire tribe in the Balerosian city of Zexil and razed it in a single day. In doing so Velan broke eighteen separate treaties of nonaggression.

His army destroyed the city utterly and left no survivors. He then proceeded to execute every messenger sent to him and began razing city after city, his army growing with every battle. His only message to the confused leaders of Baleros was a single word, conveyed by a half-dead Courier.

“Vengeance.”

Thus began the war with the Goblin King, as every company on the continent agreed to a truce to deal with Velan’s threat. However, the Goblin King was joined by many Goblin Lords and their tribes, creating an unassailable force. He seized and leveled the port cities on the eastern side of Baleros and proceeded to construct thousands of ships. He sailed from the continent in the beginning of summer, leaving only destruction in his wake.

That is the setting of the conflict, dear reader. Both the Goblin King and Necromancer occupied the public consciousness at the time. Yet it was the Clash on the Jessal Highlands that would begin things in earnest.

Five days after the start of summer, a Drake army marched past the Antinium’s border and laid siege to one of their Hives, catching them by surprise. The army had been formed by three of the Walled Cities and a number of lesser city-states for the sole purpose of exterminating the Antinium once and for all.

On that warm, humid summer’s day, the Antinium must have been desperate as a mighty Drake army appeared and proceeded to lay waste to one of their Hives, exterminating the Workers and Soldiers and using the rain-based tactics to flood the tunnels of the Hive.

And perhaps they might have succeeded in removing the Hive! I urge you to imagine it, dear readers. If they had succeeded in this first punitive strike then history might recall this as the day the Antinium downfall began. Alas, it was not to be.

“Wow. I thought this was supposed to be a happy story. Hey Klbkch, didn’t you say you were reading an appropriate bedtime story?”

Everyone looked up. The Antinium sitting in the barracks of the Painted Soldiers all stared at Erin as she crunched down on some popcorn. Klbkch, who had been chosen to read the book out loud, clicked his mandibles together gently.

“I was under the impression that this ‘bedtime story time’ event was to be undertaken without commentary, Erin.”

He looked around the room at the rows of silent Workers and Soldiers. They sat on the floor, each one cocooned in layers of blankets and pillows. Most of the Antinium had mugs of hot milk and honey in their hands, or bowls of popcorn. Some had roast bees, others fish congee—Erin had outdone herself in preparing for tonight. She had received special permission to come into the Hive itself and participate in the bedtime event.

She just hadn’t realized that this was the story Klbkch would choose to read out loud. Erin blamed herself. She should have offered to tell everyone the story of Winnie the Pooh, or Alice in Wonderland. Instead, they were reading about the history of a war.

“I’m just saying that it’s dark, Klbkch! Really dark!”

“I can request more light if you want.”

Pawn turned to Erin, solicitously offering her one of the lanterns scattered around the room. They gave the large barracks a comfortable glow. She sighed.

“Never mind. But are you all really enjoying yourselves?”

She looked around. Belgrade, Anand, Garry, Pawn, and Bird all nodded happily. Bird was playing with his pillow, pulling out feathers and identifying them under his breath.

“Goose. Goose. Goose. Oh. A duck’s feather. I am very content.”

“So are we. I feel warm and comfortable. It is a unique experience to have while resting.”

Anand nodded. He was swaddled in a blanket and crunching on some buttery popcorn. Erin turned to her right.

“How about you?”

She addressed a huge Soldier who was nearly engulfed by three blankets and six pillows. The Soldier’s head poked out of his cocoon of blankets, staring at Erin. It was horrifyingly cute or just…horrifying if you couldn’t see past their exoskeletons. Still, Erin thought the Soldier looked comfortable. He was certainly clutching his pillow tightly with all four arms. She smiled at him.

“Aw, okay. You’re good. But I still think this is really violent stuff!”

“Wars usually are. But as I was reading—this writer has a very objectionable description of our species. I was present at the battle and I do not believe the Antinium ‘trembled like the insects we are’ or ‘barely mounted an effective counterattack’. As I recall, myself and Xrn were the only two Prognugators close enough to respond. We marched on the attacking Drake army and found them dug into the area. They had created a kill zone with [Mages] and [Archers] and a wall of [Spearmen]. We could only assault them head on, which is what they desired. It was…unpleasant.”

“You were there, Revalantor Klbkch? Will you tell us the story from your perspective?”

Belgrade sat up eagerly, holding a warm mug of milk. Klbkch hesitated.

“There is not much to say. We charged. They held. We charged again. Still they held. And then we charged a third time and they broke. That was all there was to it.”

Klbkch shrugged awkwardly, almost embarrassed by the question. Belgrade looked disappointed.

“Surely there must have been more to it than that. The Drakes were ready for you, were they not? It seems incredible that they would be defeated so easily.”

His observation made Klbkch look down at the book. He casually reached down and tore out a page and crumpled it up into a fist.

“‘Cowardly attack? A victory of deceptions?’ This book is more inaccurate than I had assumed. No. That is not how we won. Yes, they were ready. Very well, I will relate the story as best I can. The Drakes had provoked our armies into attacking them by striking at our Hive. They had lured us into a trap with no good solution.”

Klbkch’s mandibles clicked together and he shook his head as he stared into the distance. His Antinium audience watched him, spellbound.

“Either we attempted to overwhelm their positions, which was not a given even if we threw all available forces into the battle—or we lost one of our remaining Queens. Naturally, we chose to fight. But the casualties were high. With every wave we sent in, Soldiers were cut down by the thousands by magic and arrow, unable to penetrate the Drake lines.”

He paused, and his mandibles lowered as his voice grew low. Every Soldier and Worker leaned forwards, hanging on his words.

“Xrn and I were desperate, waiting for reinforcements that were too far away, knowing the Queen’s chamber was being flooded, that we had less than an hour before her demise at best. At that moment, I—”

“Popcorn! Get your popcorn here!”

A low voice interrupted Klbkch. Every head turned as Erin marched down the rows of Soldiers, passing out large bowls of popcorn.

“I have hot milk and honey! Lots of it! And snacks! Would anyone like a hot fish or roast Ashfire Bee? Speak up! Or—wave your hands! You sir, you look like you need food! Don’t be shy!”

Erin offered a bowl full of fish congee to a Soldier and looked around.

“What? Am I being too loud? Sorry! I’ll keep it down.”

Klbkch cleared his throat meaningfully with a dull clicking sound. He looked around as Erin tiptoed about, ladling soup into bowls and passing around supplemental pillows. Soldiers gently held the pillows, feeling the softness against their chitin—an alien sensation. And they could keep the pillows? They didn’t disappear after you slept? Wonders never ceased.

At the head of the room, seated in the one chair, Klbkch opened the book and looked around. The Free Antinium watched him, waiting for him to continue. He nodded slowly.

“It was desperate. We had not expected this assault, and there were but seven Queens left. Seven out of what had been hundreds. You were all created far too late, but once the Antinium had more Queens than Hives. Once we were mighty. Now, we feared losing a single Queen and so we fought desperately. To save her. To save our kind. Xrn and I led this desperate army against the Drakes. If we had had time we could have rallied a larger force. If we had time, we would have destroyed them easily. But we were out of time. So we paid the cost in the lives of the fallen.”

His voice sharpened. Klbkch gestured, and the Antinium saw the twin swords at his hip shine as he unsheathed them. Klbkch stared at the silvery glow of his sword blades as he spoke.

“Antinium. Listen well. This is the tale of the first battle of the Antinium Wars. This is the tale…of how I met your Queen.”

He paused and looked around the room.

“Obviously I had met her before. But this was our first significant meeting which preceded the creation of Liscor’s Hive. I felt the need to clarify that statement.”

He looked around, shrugged, and began to speak.

—-

Fire from the sky. Death below and above. Lightning blew apart a group of Soldiers as they charged towards the Drake lines; the earth exploded in front of a unit of frantically digging Workers and arrows cut down the rest. Klbkch and Xrn stood on the bluff overlooking the Fourth Hive and the Drake army. Klbkch shook his head as the tide of Soldiers broke against the line of Drake speakers.

“We cannot break their formation with a piecemeal attack, Xrn. And they are prepared for our tunneling; they have flooded every tunnel our Workers have dug.”

“And their [Mages] are too powerful. Too many. I cannot fight them at this range. If I focus on one, the others shield with spells and counterattack.”

Xrn agreed, clutching her staff in one slim hand. She conjured lightning and hurled it towards the Drake army. It vanished halfway towards her target and a flurry of arrows and spells shot towards both Centenium. The two Prognugators took cover behind a rock, and Klbkch’s mandibles clashed together angrily.

“Oath breakers! They violated the peace treaty! And they are about to flood the Queen out. Xrn, we must launch a full-scale attack.”

“What?”

The azure Antinium turned to Klbkch. She shook her head.

“Impossible. We cannot order the Soldiers into that slaughter! They will break and run, Klbkch! They have their limits.”

“Then I will lead them myself.”

Klbkch grimly raised both his silvery swords with two of his four arms. The other two held daggers awkwardly. Xrn stared at him and grabbed his shoulder.

“Unacceptable. You are still not used to your new body. Don’t throw your life away, Klbkch! If you perish—”

“If I do, enact the Rite of Anastates.”

“You have died too many times! I will not lose you like Rehab or Mellika! One Queen is not worth it, Klbkch! Wait for Wrymvr! When he arrives we will crush the Drakes. But we cannot lose you! You are Centenium!”

Klbkch was silent as the two stood together. He shook his head slowly as he stared down into the battlefield below, where a storm was raining down into the entrance tunnels, flooding the Antinium Hive.

“I was Centenium, Xrn. I lost my form, my levels—we have seven Queens left.”

“And we have but three Centenium. Don’t go.”

Xrn pleaded with him, but Klbkch simply raised his swords. He looked sideways at her.

“Take out as many [Mages] as you can. Stop the rainfall. I will break their lines.”

He strode forwards, towards the head of the Antinium army. Xrn let her arm fall helplessly. She heard Klbkch shouting as the ranks of Soldiers and Workers turned to follow him.

“Antinium! The enemy is attempting to slay a Queen! They are destroying the Hive! They must be stopped! Follow me! Give no ground to our foe! Charge!”

He charged down the slope and the Soldiers charged after him in a silent wave. Xrn stood on the cliff, frantically shooting down the wave of spells that came from the Drake army, trying to protect the lone Antinium in the front. She saw Klbkch charging across the muddy ground, running into the wall of Drake spears. Then there was a flash of silver—frenzied fighting—falling Soldiers and Workers—

Chaos. The Drakes had not been prepared for a suicidal charge and their front line wavered as their [Mages] and [Archers] enacted a terrible vengeance upon the Antinium. Xrn raised her staff and tried to destroy the enemy Drake [Mages].

“[Venomous Snow]! [Thunderstrike Volley]! [Chaos Flamewheel]!”

Her spells blasted apart Drakes in robes, lightning and jets of fire arcing through Drake lines. But they didn’t break. And an arrow struck Xrn in her chest. She stumbled backwards.

“Not yet.”

She snapped the shaft off, ignoring the blood. The Antinium were wavering. She looked around in desperation and saw thousands of Workers standing around helplessly. Their crude bows did not have the range needed to strike the Drake army from this distance and it would be death to advance any further into the kill zone.

“If it is slaughter, then it must be. Workers! Prepare for a second charge! [Glorious Radiance]!”

Xrn’s spell made the Antinium shine like beacons. She pointed her staff towards the Drake army. She could not see the flash of silver among their ranks. Where was Klbkch?

“Charge!”

A second wave of Antinium charged down the slopes, some of the Workers tripping and falling in the mud. Xrn raced down the slippery incline, hearing thumps as spells blasted the ground around her, hearing only the roar in her mind. Black arrows streaked down towards her forces—she waved her staff and they broke on a shield in the air. The Drakes were ahead of her now.

“Break their ranks!”

Xrn ran past a struggling knot of Soldiers being held at bay by Drakes with spears and swords and planted her staff in the ground. She concentrated and then thrust her fingers forwards.

“[Repulsion Wave].”

The Drakes in front of her—and Soldiers—were blasted into the air. Xrn pointed towards the gap in the lines and the Antinium flooded through. Now the Drakes lines were collapsing, but there were still so many! Xrn struggled, fighting other [Mages] hand-to-hand, burning them with spells, until she heard a sound above the noise of battle.

It was a voice, a roar, a screeching that no animal or person could ever make. The piercing cry echoed and made the Drakes look up. Xrn did too, staring towards the north. And then she saw him. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“At last. Wrymvr.”

A dark shadow flew across the sky. A tiny shape—but growing larger with each passing second. The Drakes turned, their [Archers] sighting at this new threat. But then the singular shadow multiplied, and grew, spreading across the horizon.

“The Flying Antinium!”

Xrn shouted, knowing the Drakes had no idea what was happening. They were trying to form a second line to deal with this new threat, but the Antinium were closing in too fast. The dark shapes became visible now, and it was apparent that the Antinium weren’t actually flying—they were gliding down, hopping forwards like grasshoppers and propelling themselves forwards with their wings incredibly quickly. Only one figure, larger than the rest, truly flew, and he screeched again, a wordless scream of vengeance.

The Flying Antinium crashed into the Drakes from the side and Xrn raised her staff. The light from her eyes shone bright red, the color of battles and Drake blood. She shouted.

“Charge! Forwards, all Antinium!”

She ran forwards as the Soldiers and Workers crashed into the Drakes like the tide. This time the Drakes could not stop them. Xrn ran forwards as Drakes died, searching, hunting for any color in the black mass. And then she saw it. A flash of silver.

Klbkch.

On that day the Antinium liberated the besieged Hive and the youngest of the Antinium Queens. Klbkch personally rescued her from drowning and she would later go on to lead the hive in Liscor. The Queen of the Free Antinium lived that day, and the Drakes learned to their cost what war with the Antinium was. It was sacrifice. The Antinium could not be broken so easily. And their retaliation for this treachery would soon engulf the continent in flames.

—-

“Did it really happen like that? Truly, Prognugator Xrn?”

Xrn opened her eyes. She looked around the campfire at the other Antinium watching her. Tersk, Pivr, her Prognugator-Guardians and the other Antinium assigned to her escort were all staring at her. Slowly, the Small Queen looked around and then remembered the book she was holding. She nodded.

“That was what the battle was truly like. We triumphed, but barely. Were it not for Wrymvr’s arrival, we might have been too late to save the Queen.”

“And yet, it appears that Revalantor Klbkch took a great risk in attempting to save her. Did you not say that it would be more prudent to avoid risking his life—and by extension, yours—to save a single Queen?”

Pivr observed as he fanned his own wings at the fire, looking smug about the role the Flying Antinium had played in the battle. Xrn gave him a long look, which deflated Pivr quite nicely.

“Perhaps. But that would not have been Klbkch’s nature. It was a risk, true. But he has fought for the Antinium longer than your Queen has existed, Pivr. He understands sacrifice.”

“And yet, he disregards his worth. The Centenium are a unique group of Antinium that can no longer be reproduced, are they not? Surely Revalantor Klbkch should take his safety into account.”

Tersk spoke up quietly, polishing his armor. Xrn nodded. She played with her staff, twirling it and making the fire change colors as she stared around the night sky.

“Perhaps he should. But again, that is not his nature, Tersk. Klbkch, Wrymvr and I all served during the Second Antinium War. And while it is true Klbkch lost much of his strength and his original form, we three still defined the war. Each one of us led the armies of the Antinium. Wrymvr and I were unstoppable in battle. As we had been created to be. Klbkch was forced to lead through strategy rather than personally most of the time. But each of us claimed many victories through our strength.”

Tersk nodded.

“So I understand. But I have never met Prognugator Wrymvr. Is he similar to you or Revalantor Klbkch, Prognugator Xrn?”

The Small Queen hesitated.

“…No. Wrymvr is different. He and Klbkch and I were all created to serve different roles. Klbkch was a warrior, meant to assassinate the Antinium’s enemies and fight on the front. I was meant to cast magic. And Wrymvr was meant to defend the Grand Queen. He was created to be undefeatable.”

“He must be the most powerful of the Centenium, then!”

Pivr looked up, his eyes shining. Xrn’s own eyes flashed purple with annoyance.

“He is a fool. But yes, he is strong. Perhaps that is the only thing this book gets correct. Wrymvr the Deathless was a threat. And in this war the Grand Queen released him from his role as protector. We unleashed him against the Drakes, as well as the Flying and Silent Antinium. It was enough to win a few battles. But unfortunately not enough. If we had more variants, more Centenium, then perhaps we might have won the entire war. But we did not.”

The other Antinium were silent as Xrn opened the book again. Only Tersk dared ask the question hanging in the air.

“Prognugator Xrn?”

“Yes?”

“What are the Centenium? Why were they created?”

Xrn stopped with her finger on the next line of the book. She looked around, at the other Antinium. They were so close to home, to their Hives. And yet, these poor copies of true Antinium would never know home, would they? They would never know the grandeur of the true Hives, the might of what the Antinium had been. She looked at Tersk, the finest warrior of his Hive. An ill-made clone of Galuc with armor. She shook her head and her voice was kind as she spoke to him, an adult to a child.

“The Centenium were made long ago, Tersk. Long ago, on another continent. For one purpose. The Grand Queen made many Antinium in many shapes to serve every role imaginable, but one hundred of us she labored upon, gave individuality to, gave names and strength beyond the rest. We were not made to be spent and replaced like the other Antinium. We were made to be one thing and one thing alone.”

“And what was that, Prognugator Xr—”

“Heroes, Tersk. We were made to be heroes.”

—-

The battle on the Jessal Highlands ended in disaster. The surprise attack on the Antinium had failed, leaving only regrets and recriminations from the other Drake city states that had not been aware of the surprise attack. A request to end hostilities was made immediately, but the traitorous Grand Queen of the Antinium, no doubt sensing an opportunity, ignored the pleas of the Drakes and launched a vicious counterattack at once.

Within a day of the battle at Jessal, the Antinium armies were on the march again. The Black Tide rolled forth, but the defenders of the greatest continent in the world had not been idle in their preparations. Drake armies marched against the Antinium, armed with the knowledge of their inability to swim and weakness against high-level magics and warriors.

However, the Antinium had not been idle either. The second battle against the Antinium took place between an army led by Wrymvr the Deathless and an army from Pallass. It was assumed that boxing in the Antinium and flooding their position would decimate their army, but the Drake high command received the shock of a lifetime as new Antinium warriors overran their formations in minutes, slaying the [Mages] and throwing the army into disarray.

The Antinium fielded two new variants of their species in the Second Antinium War. Whether they always had such creatures or had somehow altered their own warriors with magic or alchemy is unknown and the subject of much speculation. However, the facts are clear: the Antinium had created a flying warrior capable of leaping across vast distances known as the Flying Antinium, and a stealthy infiltrator capable of camouflage and deadly surprise attacks known as the Silent Antinium.

These two new variants bridged the gap in the Antinium’s formations, allowing them to swiftly flank their enemies and mount surprise attacks on vulnerable targets. The Drake armies which had relied on [Mages] for superiority fell backwards as the Antinium willingly sacrificed hundreds or thousands of their flying warriors to take out [Mages]. Meanwhile, the Silent Antinium infiltrated army camps and cities, slaying high-profile targets in the night.

The news of the new Antinium was devastating for morale across the Drake cities. And indeed, the fear the Silent Antinium created was such that many cities locked down their gates, refusing to open them for fear of infiltration. And yet the Silent Antinium crept behind their walls, locked gates or not, creating a wave of terror across the continent.

What ended up stopping the Silent Antinium in main was not any one military action, but rather, the existence of another, opposing force on the Drake side. The Assassin’s Guild in the south of Izril took the existence of the Silent Antinium as a direct threat to their own way of life and put out a universal contract on every one of the Antinium’s assassination insects. Thus, a quiet war began where [Assassin] dueled assassin-bug in the shadows.

This hidden conflict would become known as the War of Sighs, kept mainly out of the public view. The only evidence of the battles in shadow and darkness would be the corpses of the Silent Antinium and Drake [Assassins] appearing on doorsteps or in buildings, slain where they had fallen. In Drake cities, inhabitants would wake up and discover dead Antinium gutted in the middle of a street or an [Assassin]’s head placed next to the bedsides of slaughtered Drake officials.

The most notable such event occurred at a meeting of Drake nobility in a private meeting room in the Walled City of Oteslia. The Lords and Ladies of the Wall conducted their meeting for ten minutes before an unpleasant odor led to them investigating the tables they were sitting at. They discovered the bodies of six Silent Antinium and four [Assassins] hidden under the tablecloths.

It is impossible to tell how many [Assassins] or Silent Antinium died in the conflict due to the elusive nature of both forces, and this writer has refrained from questioning the Assassin’s Guild on the subject out of personal concern for his own safety. However, it is safe to say that the costs were tremendously high on both sides, such that the Assassin’s Guild in the south of Liscor has yet to recover, unlike the flourishing Human guilds to the north.

It is simply another example of Drake integrity one supposes, that fewer Drakes have the inclination to stab enemies in the back. An honest Drake stabs from the front. But I digress…

The war between the Drakes and Antinium had taken a turn for the worse. While the Silent Antinium’s assaults had been blunted, the armies led by Klbkch the Slayer, Xrn the Small Queen, and Wrymvr the Deathless seemed undefeatable by all but the most famous of the Drake [Generals].

Zel Shivertail managed to rout the Slayer’s army in a pitched battle and the Small Queen’s army found itself attacked by multiple armies, stalling her advance, but Wrymvr the Deathless rampaged unchecked behind Drake lines. This monstrous Prognugator of the Hives truly deserved the title of ‘Deathless’, because despite concerted efforts by multiple armies, the Prognugator refused to be slain and actively hunted down Drake commanders during battle.

The Antinium pushed forwards, again relentlessly overtaking city after city. It was as if the first Antinium War had returned with a vengeance as the Drakes found themselves on the back foot once more. And this time their Human allies were too preoccupied in the north to send assistance. For you see, the Necromancer had landed to the north, and his arrival had heralded a plague that swept the Human cities while his armies grew in number.

Az’kerash. The Necromancer. The bane of Terandria and now, Izril. His undead forces were never as numerous as the Antinium, but where his personal army went the Necromancer left only death in his wake. Where other [Necromancers] have raised armies of tens of thousands of zombies, ghouls, or skeletons, Az’kerash created far darker armies.

His forces consisted of Draugr, advanced and incredibly powerful zombies, wraiths, Crypt Lords, wights, and worst of all, Bone Giants. This foul horde of abominations moved ever southwards, heading towards Liscor and despoiling Human lands on the way.

And for what purpose? For what reason did he turn his gaze so suddenly to Izril? This befuddled writer has no notion dear readers. Perhaps the Necromancer sensed the confusion caused by the Antinium, or had grown bored of Terandria. Then again, what rational thought can be ascribed to such a horror? It is enough to say he went south, and his undead armies distracted the Humans in the Drake’s darkest hour.

“Dead gods, this [Writer] really does drone on a lot. Doesn’t he realize how biased he is? It’s not as if the Humans had a fun time fighting all those dead, you know.”

Ceria complained out loud and Pisces broke off from reading the very battered book in his hands. Pisces sniffed in annoyance as he looked up from reading and glanced about the inn.

“I personally find it incredible how dismissive he seems to be of the Necromancer’s true intentions. Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised; Krsysl Wordsmith’s works have never been—how shall I put it?—particularly innovative. The best he can do is parrot other authors’ analyses and commentary.”

He sniffed again, but his audience seemed disinclined to support his opinion. Mrsha scratched at one ear as Lyonette held her on her lap. Jelaqua looked up from her cup, eyebrows raised, and Moore and Seborn looked up from their game of cards.

The inn wasn’t that full this late at night. Drassi and Lyonette were manning the inn, but their own guests were the Horns of Hammerad, the Halfseekers, Mrsha, and the five Redfang Warriors who were sitting at a distant table, jabbering to themselves. They had been having a rather idle night with Erin gone, until Pisces had produced the book and begun reading from it.

Since he was a good reader no one had minded—until now. Ceria wondered if she’d made a mistake in interrupting. Pisces loved to poke holes in other people’s statements and he wouldn’t shut up if he thought someone was wrong.

The half-Elf sighed as she sat at the table with Pisces, Ksmvr, and Yvlon. She eyed the book in Pisces hands and raised her eyebrow at the [Necromancer] she thought of as a friend.

“If you don’t like him so much, why do you have a copy of his book, Pisces? And why do you insist on reading it aloud?”

“It is impossible to point out the flaws in his arguments without first hearing them. Besides which, I am offended by the lack of knowledge in this room! Ksmvr has never heard a history of the Antinium Wars, young Mrsha and Miss Lyonette have received only the scantest of summaries, and as for Yvlon and Miss Drassi—”

“I know the history of the Second Antinium War you jerk!”

Drassi called out from across the room. She propped her hands on her hips and glared at Pisces.

“Every Drake knows the history! And I bet Miss Yvlon knows her history too!”

“I did study the war, Pisces.”

Yvlon raised her eyebrows at Pisces. He curled his lip.

“Ah, education. And did you receive your wonderful education from this book, Miss Drassi, Miss Byres?”

The two young women hesitated. Pisces nodded.

“I thought so. How unfortunate. This ‘historical narrative’ is riddled with flaws. Oh I suppose as a form of propaganda it has some merit, but as an accurate insight into the minds of those who fought in the war? Hardly.”

“If you’re so smart, you tell us what the Necromancer was thinking. You like dead things. Why’d Az’kerash invade Izril all of a sudden, then? And don’t tell me it’s obvious because that means you don’t actually know.”

Ceria growled at Pisces. She looked over at Mrsha; the Gnoll was yawning widely, not particularly interested by the debate. Pisces noticed the look and frowned. He eyed Mrsha and then twirled his fingers.

A wind blew through the inn, making everyone look up. Ceria glanced towards the windows, and door, but they were closed. Pisces smiled as the wind blew at his robes, and then flicked his hands.

“You want a story based in facts, Springwalker? Very well, I suppose I can oblige you.”

“I never said—”

Too late. The lights in the room dimmed. Ceria looked around as the light from the fireplace seemed to grow behind Pisces and his shadow grew large on the wall. Mrsha looked up as Pisces snapped his fingers and sparks erupted in the air around him. Yvlon shot back from the table, swearing, and Ksmvr ducked. Ceria just batted at a flurry of glowing embers that flew past her.

“Stop the illusions, Pisces.”

He grinned at her, the air around him aglow with lights.

“Atmosphere is important, Ceria. Besides, if I am to tell a story, I might as well do it justice. Now…”

He coughed and his voice grew deeper, more resonant. Pisces turned his seat so he was facing Mrsha and the Redfang warriors, all of whom stared at him with sudden interest. He gestured dramatically and the shadows on the wall grew behind him as he spoke.

“Az’kerash. The Necromancer. You want to know his true intentions? Why he truly came to Izril? Well then, understand he was no mere [Necromancer]. He was once an Archmage of Wistram, acknowledged universally as one of the greatest magic users of all time. And though he was cast out and his name besmirched, his power in undeath was unmatched.”

“We know that. Get to the point.”

Pisces glared at Ceria, but went on, his shadows transforming into a vast and hooded figure behind him. Mrsha stared at it with wide eyes as Lyonette hugged her reassuringly, seeing lurching and shambling forms moving across the walls. Pisces’ voice was a low echo throughout the room.

“While the Antinium fought, the Necromancer sowed chaos among the Human cities in the north. He marched south, his small army growing with each day from the dead. However, his target was never any lone Human city—no. He travelled south, towards the Drake lands with a purpose. Not simply to destroy.”

“Oh really? You’re going to tell us he had a plan? Did it involve getting himself killed?”

Ceria smirked at Pisces, making him stop and frown at her again. She smiled, and then stopped when she saw Ksmvr putting a finger in front of his mouth. She looked around and realized she was the only one not taking Pisces seriously.

“Go on. What did the Necromancer want if he didn’t want to just kill people? Did he want something the Drakes had?”

Jelaqua leaned over her table, looking casually interested. Across the room, the Goblins were pointing at the shadow illusions Pisces had conjured and trying to make their own with their hands.

He grinned, and the room went dark except for flickering lights around his face. Mrsha squeaked. Ceria sighed.

“The Necromancer? He desired the treasures of the Walled Cities, of course. Not what was contained in the cities themselves either. Oh no. What he wanted was the secrets of the walls themselves.”

“Hey Pisces? I know you’re being dramatic, but I can’t see, and I’m trying to clean up the plates. Can you make it a bit brighter?”

Drassi interrupted, waving her claw in the air. The room grew a bit lighter and Pisces looked put out. He cleared his throat meaningfully as the Drake walked around the room, gathering plates.

“As I was saying—the Walled Cities contain a powerful secret. Consider them, for a moment. The famous Drake cities whose fortifications are practically impregnable against attack. Constructed in the age of Dragons, a bastion for Drake kind. Why is it that no other Walled Cities were ever made in the millennia since? Were they truly the product of great magics or is there another secret to their construction? The answer is simple: there is a secret, and it is one that is hidden in plain sight in the history books. Although perhaps only a [Necromancer] would be able to see it.”

“Oh really? You know the secret of how the Walled Cities were built? Well color me impr—”

Ceria felt something wet splat into the side of her face and yelped, breaking off from her heckling. She saw Mrsha glaring at her, a paw full of tonight’s dinner—spaghetti and meatballs. She’d hit Ceria with a meatball.

“Mrsha! Stop that!”

Lyonette scolded the Gnoll as Ceria ate the meatball, resigned to silence. Pisces smirked victoriously and went on. Against the wall, armies of shadowy undead marched, pursuing fleeing Humans.

“Oh yes. The secret is out there. But as I say, hidden. Let us look at the facts: the last Walled City was built right as the age of Dragons ended. As the Dragons went into hiding and their species as a whole dwindled in number. The Walled Cities were meant to defend from Dragon and while many have fallen over the thousands of years that have passed, those that still stand have the same strength as they did in the days of yore. What magics could last so long? No—what materials could hold such enchantments without waning in power? Stone is weak compared to the onslaught of years. But what if there was another ingredient, another part of the walls that gave them their mythical strength? That is what Az’kerash discovered, what he desired above all else.”

“This is better than one of those street performances in the big cities.”

Jelaqua whispered to her teammates as everyone leaned forwards. Ksmvr spoke, his voice quivering with anticipation.

“What is this secret, Comrade Pisces? Tell us.”

Ceria resolved to kick Pisces if he didn’t have a good answer. The [Necromancer] looked around, his eyes glinting in the fire’s light.

“Why, Dragon bones of course. The Walled Cities are made with the strength of Dragons. The Drakes took the skeletons of their ancestors and placed them in the walls. That is why the Walled Cities are unique, why they are so powerful. And it is why the Necromancer marched south.”

At Pisces’ words, there was a gasp across the inn. Ceria froze, foot poised to kick. And then everyone jumped as they heard a crash of breaking pottery. Drassi had dropped the stack of plates she’d been carrying. She stared at Pisces, ignoring Lyonette as the young woman leapt to her feet to make sure Drassi wasn’t hurt.

“Are you serious, Pisces? Dragon bones?”

Pisces nodded, smiling in satisfaction as everyone gaped at him. He raised a finger, and the broken pieces of the plates danced into the air, neatly piling themselves up on a table.

“Of course I’m certain, Springwalker. I can’t verify the facts myself, as the Walled Cities’ secrets are jealously guarded, but I imagine the Lords and Ladies of the Wall know the truth. I wonder how those arrogant Drakes reconcile that fact? Perhaps they take comfort knowing they hide behind the bones of their ancient parents. Whatever the case…Az’kerash must have known, and so he marched his armies ever southwards, intending to form an army capable of razing a Walled City for himself.”

“But he failed. That’s the point, isn’t it? He never got past Liscor.”

Yvlon stared hard at Pisces, clenching her fists gently and rubbing at her metallic arms. Pisces nodded.

“Naturally, the Necromancer’s plans failed. His armies did indeed cross past Liscor while he besieged the city, and caused much damage to Drake lands, but he failed to achieve his goals because he failed to take into account the other factor in the war.”

Ceria looked around.

“The Goblins?”

Pisces grinned, and the shifting mass of shadows on the wall behind him turned into the silhouette of a huge Goblin with a crown. The Redfang Warriors looked around, suddenly the focus of the room. Pisces opened the book he was reading.

“Indeed. The Goblins. Or more accurately, the Goblin King.”

—-

Antinium in the south. The Necromancer to the north. It seemed like Izril was in chaos, but there was no despair in the tails of the Drakes as they fought back against the hated Antinium. The war was winnable, and indeed, if the Humans could muster some backbone, the Antinium could be defeated again. That was the prevailing mood. At least, until the Goblin King arrived.

Velan the Kind had conducted a bloody war in Baleros, but it has to be said that he refrained from leading his armies deep into the jungles of that continent. Rather, he consolidated his forces, calling mighty Goblin Lords and Goblin Chieftains to his cause, swelling his army. He must have known the futility of any advance—the Four Great Companies of Baleros were all united against him, and a vast host had been formed to destroy him. But before the Balerosian forces could clash with the Goblin Lord, his entire army vanished into the sea.

That was the Goblin King’s master plan. That was why he had seized so many port cities—not to create a foothold, but to flee across the sea, to an easier target! And the naïve commanders of Baleros, the much-vaunted mercenary companies had given him the time to create enough ships for his armies in their cautious advance.

Yes, this historian will say it if no one else will! If the forces of Baleros hadn’t dragged their feet so, the Goblin King might have been eliminated before he could attack Izril! For that was exactly where his vast armada sailed.

The Goblin King’s armies crossed the oceans from Baleros, winning two notable battles at sea. The first, against a fleet of Minotaurs sent from their isles and the second at Wistram. The overconfident Minotaurs had expected to destroy the Goblin King, but their ships were no match for his Goblin Lords and the Goblin King himself.

It must be noted that the Goblin Lords each possessed a might on par with any Named Adventurer, and the Goblin King himself was reckoned a match for all but the strongest warriors in the world. Speculation has been rife as to what would have been the outcome if a famed warrior such as Mars the Illusionist had met him in battle. Alas, the outcome of such a duel will never be known, especially because the Goblin King’s armies prevented any surgical strikes against the Goblin King or his lords.

Nine Goblin Lords sailed with the Goblin King, each of different ability. Some were infamous for their might, such as Greydath of Blades or the Goblin King’s right hand, the Goblin Lord [Shaman] known as Tallis the Stormbreaker. Others were less distinguished, but the true terror of their abilities was displayed in the second battle as a force from Wistram sought to interrupt the Goblin King’s crossing.

The Archmage Balkizat sailed against the Goblin King’s army himself with a small army of [Mages], determined to sink the Goblin King at sea where his army was weakest. There he dueled Tallis the Stormbreaker in a magical battle that lasted for nine hours. On the ninth hour, Balkizat was slain by the Goblin King’s [Shaman] and the forces of Wistram retreated, hiding behind their magical walls until the Goblins had passed.

The defeat of an Archmage of Wistram marked a turning point in the perceived Goblin King’s threat worldwide. Other nations that had viewed themselves as removed from the struggle began to respond to requests for military assistance. But that would come too late for Izril. The Goblin King landed with the bulk of his forces in Cape Heathshell on the northwestern edge of Izril. From there he began invading the Human lands with a fury that exceeded that of the Antinium and Necromancer alike.

Faced with this new and dismaying threat, the Humans finally roused themselves to definite action. Unfortunately, hubris still gripped their addled minds, which led to the disastrous decision by two of the Five Families to send an army against the Goblin King, as if he could be swept away so easily. A force of about a hundred thousand [Knights] and [Lancers] was formed and led by Fulviolo El and the famed twins, Petria and Ulva Terland.

This army met the Goblin King’s vanguard in a pitched battle three days after his forces landed. By all accounts, within ten minutes the Goblin King’s soldiers had routed the Human army and the Goblin King personally beheaded Fulviolo and Petria, while Ulva Terland escaped with her life. With a single stroke he broke the backs of two of the Five Families and obliterated their personal armies so thoroughly that less than a hundred survivors escaped the battle.

Despair had come for the Humans, and it was in the shape of Goblins it came, not from the Necromancer’s undead or the Antinium. The Goblin King’s armies rolled over all Human opposition, pushing towards what many considered the Human’s capital, First Landing, their oldest and grandest city on the continent.

Obviously, oldest and grandest is a relative term, since the Walled Cities predate the construction of First Landing by at least six thousand years, but it was the Human’s only claim to glory, and the metaphorical heart of their people. If the capital city of humanity on Izril fell, there would be no rallying point for the Humans.

Thus, the Five Families and every noble house within six hundred miles of the city gathered their forces for a desperate stand at the city walls. Eight Goblin Lords besieged the city for three weeks, leading charges that resulted in bloodbaths for both sides. But they were unable to take the city by sheer force of arms. At least, in the beginning.

The Five Families, the legendary founding houses that first invaded Izril from Terandria millennia ago are known to be fractious and distrustful of one another. However, as the Goblin King’s armies assailed the walls of their city and his forces ravaged their homes, the banners of all five families were raised in unison for the first time in over a thousand years.

Each of the five houses opened their garrisons and sent their scions to the front. Of their number, Lady Magnolia Reinhart and Lord Tyrion Veltras were most notable for their accomplishments during the war. It was Lord Tyrion who took command of the defense of the city, establishing his prowess as a military leader while Lady Magnolia marshaled the rest of the land’s nobility in defense of their home. And it was she who implemented a tactic born of sheer desperation as the Goblin King’s forces began to overwhelm the city’s defenders.

While every [Lord] had been called into military service at the start of the conflict with the Goblin Lord, the [Ladies] of the realm had refrained from taking part in the fighting, due to some Human notion of sentimentality. However, the desperation of the Human defenders finally spurred the female nobility to act. Two weeks into the slaughter, Magnolia Reinhart and every [Lady] in the city appeared on the front lines and lent their Skills during the battles against the Goblin Lord.

It is at this point that some explanations are required for readers unfamiliar with Human culture. It is a peculiarity of Humans that their female population, especially their nobility, refuses to take part in most battles unless specifically trained in combat. The idea of gender segregation is, of course, completely foreign to Drakes, Gnolls and most other species, but it remains a romanticized Human notion. And indeed, up until this point, although every [Lord] had taken part in the fighting, no [Lady] had entered battle in person.

Now however, the [Ladies] appeared en masse, going into combat with their personal escorts and lending their Skills to the Human warriors. Most [Ladies] possessed only the lowest-level of combat Skills, but as any [Tactician] worth their salt will note, the heat of combat rapidly increases one’s level and grants combat-based Skills. Thus, although weak, the Skills of hundreds of [Ladies] were multiplied across the battlefield, allowing the Humans to push back the surprised Goblins. It must also be said that the psychological impact of seeing their female nobility willing to risk their lives in battle strengthened the Human soldiers’ resolve, adding to their sudden strategic advantage.

This daring tactic surprised the Goblin King, as did the unusual skill and courage of the Human defenders, a rarity in their species as a whole. He quickly realized the nature of the Human’s comeback however, and enacted a plan of his own to destroy the Human’s vestiges of hope. The Goblin King ordered his vassals to target the relatively undefended [Ladies] as they hid behind the front lines. And there began the slaughter known to the world as the Sacrifice of Roses.

The Goblin Lords pinpointed the ranks of the [Ladies], leading charges in person to slaughter the helpless nobility where they stood. The defining aspect of the battle however, was that the Humans, uncharacteristically, refused to run when their death was imminent. Rather than flee and break the battle lines, they fought to the last woman, holding their ground long enough for their soldiers to enact blood vengeance on the Goblins who had pushed so far into their lines. One of the lesser Goblin Lords, Murmar, was confirmed to have been slain as the result of these defensive actions. However, the cost came at the near-total annihilation of each [Lady] targeted.

This valiant defense of their home at the cost of their own lives became a defining moment in the Human resistance against the Goblin King, an icon that demonstrated the courage of Izril even in the face of overwhelming odds. The Sacrifice of Roses became a rallying cry across Izril and has been lauded to this day as a defining moment of courage.

Perhaps too much so. If this humble [Writer] may be so bold as to interject his own opinion at this point, much has been made of the sacrifices of the Human nobility of Izril during the Second Antinium War. However, I would characterize their sacrifice as valorous, but not above that of any Drake or indeed, Human [Soldier]. Accounts of Ladies of the Wall participating and falling in battle are verified and recorded—why should Humans take more credit for what was, in truth, a rather costly and ineffective strategy employed in a single series of battles?

Lest I remind you dear readers, the Human [Ladies] of Izril only took to the front lines as a last stand. Is their singular moment of sacrifice worth more than any bereaved Drake family mourning the loss of a [Soldier]? It was an acceptable measure taken in a desperate situation, not, I feel, a moment of true heroism as has been claimed by others.

“Stop reading that.”

A hand reached down and closed the book in front of Lady Bethal. She looked up, surprised, as her husband, the [Chevalier] Thomast, frowned at her. She sat up in bed, looking around the tent they were sharing in the army’s campgrounds outside of Invrisil. The two had come to the battlefield to fight against the Goblin Lord’s army. Lady Bethal had declined Magnolia Reinhart’s offer of hospitality so she could stay with her husband on the night before the battlefield.

She had been reading the history of the second Antinium wars in a delicately-bound pink book in the bed her [Knights] had carried ten miles to the camp site. Now she closed it, her hands trembling slightly as Thomast looked at her.

“I was just reading, Thomast. Is that a crime?”

Her eyes sparkled with her infamous temper. Thomast, renowned for his silence and lack of temper in contrast to his wife’s moods, simply shook his head.

“Not a crime. But you know it’s not true.”

“It’s what’s written, isn’t it? That Drake [Writer] thinks we Human [Ladies] are cowards. And perhaps we are? Isn’t that why you’re sending me away, rather than letting me watch the battle?”

“You would not watch if I was in danger. You would try to save me and we might both perish. I can’t allow that.”

“Allow? I’m your wife.”

Bethal’s eyes widened and her nostrils flared. She sat up in her bed and Thomast carefully avoided meeting her eyes, as if she were a wild animal. He looked at her hands instead. They were shaking ever so slightly as they rested on the book.

“You are my wife. And this is a war. General Shivertail is commanding—he can’t have unpredictable elements interfering with his strategy.”

“I can take orders! I have fought in a war before, Thomast.”

“I know. And I know you can fight. But not this time. Stop reading about the past, please.”

He reached for the book. Bethal clutched it to her chest. She was breathing faster now, her voice rising in agitation.

“Why can’t I read, Thomast?”

“Because it’s not true.”

“It’s what’s written!”

“And it is not true. Bethal—”

“We fought, Thomast! All of us! We fought and we died and this arrogant worm of a Drake has the nerve to question our bravery! As if we didn’t know our soldiers were dying? But we still died, and for what? If this is how history remembers us, wouldn’t it have been better to run? To be remembered as cowards, but be alive? Rather than—than this?”

She hurled the book across the tent. Thomast sighed and stroked at his mustache.

“It’s not true. You know that. I know that.”

“And what about everyone else? What about children, what about people who read this book and don’t know the truth? How can he write this? How can—”

Her husband was silent, gently sitting still as Bethal shouted. She wanted him to yell back, but found it was hard to look at him. Her vision was—swimming.

Bethal reached up and found her eyes were full of tears. She wiped them away almost absentmindedly at first. But the tears kept coming. She tried to keep her voice steady, but it began to break.

“It’s—we knew what would happen, Thomast. Magnolia told us. She said—we all agreed. No quarter. No mercy. But we still did it. We—we—”

“I know. Love, I know.”

Thomast reached out and held Bethal. Her shoulders began to shake. She kept talking, stumbling, choking, but forcing the words out.

“I remember the banners. There were so many to begin with. But each time the Goblin King charged—there were so many Goblins. Each time he charged the banners disappeared. More and more of them. Just—missing. I was separated from the others in the fighting. And when the Goblin King retreated I looked for mother, but she was gone. So were Maisy and Lady Alvita and Eruvie—all gone. Father was gone and then the horns blew again and he charged and—so many. They were gone, Thomast. All gone.”

She began to weep. Thomast held Bethal, hugging her tightly. She whispered, tears streaming down her face.

“We held the line. None of us ran, not even when the Goblin Lords appeared. Even when they cut us down. I still dream of that night. I know it shouldn’t matter, but when I read this—”

“It is not true.”

Thomast said it fiercely. Bethal clung to him.

“Say it again. Louder, please.”

“It is not true!”

The [Chevalier]’s voice raised, and Bethal lowered her head. Time passed slowly, and her shaking stopped. Thomast offered her a handkerchief to wipe her face and blow her nose. Bethal did so, and then turned to Thomast with the smallest of smiles.

“Do you know how I first heard of you, Thomast? It was before we met at the ball at Magnolia’s estate. I must confess I had planned running into you. Although I had not planned to actually run into you, much less dirty your clothes. I was determined to meet you. You see, I had read the open letter you had sent to this Drake [Historian].”

“Oh?”

Thomast knew what Lady Bethal was referring to, but he let her tell her story, stroking her hands. Bethal smiled up at him.

“I still remember what you wrote. Do you? I’ll repeat it. I memorized it by heart.”

“Tell me. What did I write?”

“You wrote to that horrible Drake. That Wordsmith. You said—oh, how did it begin? Oh yes, Dear Sir.”

Dear Sir,

I am writing to you in regards to the popular book you recently published, entitled The Second Antinium Wars, a History. I take issue with several passages within your historical narrative, most notably the paragraphs where you question the sacrifice of the [Ladies] of Izril during the Sacrifice of Roses.

I find it incredible that you would attack the deceased, much less from the safety of your quill, far from any actual danger. It appears that it is easy for you and others who enjoy the contempt of peace to criticize those who gave their lives in battle, knowing full well the odds against them. I hope you have a tenth of the courage it takes to stand your ground wearing nothing but a dress and holding a dagger against an oncoming Goblin army.

I trust you will retract your comments and issue a public apology swiftly as to avoid further disgracing this historical account. Your attack on the courage of the fallen is a disgrace to your class and to the truth. Species matters not. The honor and bravery displayed by Drakes, Humans, Gnolls, and every other species during the war should not be called into question, much less by someone who never fought in either war. I was there and I will never forget their sacrifice.

Sincerely,

Thomast Veniral, [Fencer]

“I fell in love with you just a bit after reading that.”

“Mm. I regret writing that. I was young and it only put his back up. I was challenged to eight duels within the week.”

“So?”

Bethal gripped Thomast’s hands fiercely, her eyes blazing.

“You were right! And that Drake will never admit it, but you spoke the truth. You were right, Thomast. Never regret telling the truth. And it was the truth. We knew what we were doing. We—”

Her voice broke again. And again Thomast held her. This time he kissed her gently on each cheek and then on her lips. Bethal’s voice trembled.

“That night the roses fought and fell. But we never ran. We marched on, through the rain and mud and death. So many of us. So few afterwards. And when the Goblin King charged we blazed and died like fireflies in the night. But we stopped him.”

“You did.”

Thomast embraced his wife. She sobbed into his vest.

“Thomast? Kiss me please.”

He did. The book lay on the floor, forgotten. But the pages went on, flawed fiction mixing with grains of truth to tell a story. Such was history.

Whatever the case, the defense of First Landing and the subsequent Sacrifice of Roses blunted the Goblin King’s attacks. The loss of the first of the Goblin Lords shook the Goblin King and he withdrew his forces after it became clear the Humans were too well-entrenched to uproot without sacrificing part of his army. Instead, the Goblin King ordered his Lords to conduct a campaign of fire on the landscapes, razing farmlands and smaller targets while he maintained the siege, intending to starve the Humans out.

The advance of the Goblins had stalled for the first time, a cause for celebration perhaps. But the cost was passing high. In cases where Goblins succeeded in overrunning or bypassing the Human lines and engaging the personal retinues led by said [Ladies], casualties were absolute. Over 60% of the [Ladies] who took to the front lines perished in battle along with their escorts.

Their deaths, along with their [Lord] counterparts, has led to a vacuum in the ranks of the landowning classes in the Human lands that has persisted to this day. Conversely however, those [Lords] and [Ladies] who did survive the Second Antinium War all obtained high levels and absorbed vast tracts of land into their estates.

And of course, the battle for First Landing was not yet over. The Human defenders might have faced months of deprivation and slowly dwindling food supplies under the siege warfare, but for an unexpected attack on the Goblin King’s armies from the Reinhart estate.

Magnolia Reinhart, one of the leading figures of the First Antinium War, led a counterattack from her estate on the Goblin King’s forces. Despite having committed virtually all of her family’s soldiers to the defense of First Landing, she appeared two weeks after the Sacrifice of Roses with another army a hundred thousand strong.

To the amazement of all, she drove the Goblin King’s army back with a magical army of constructs. She had summoned this vast force with the use of an artifact known as the Crown of Flowers. This artifact is known as one of the great treasures of the Humans of Izril, and is in fact rumored to be the very same artifact used to conquer the Drake cities when the invasion of the continent first took place thousands of years ago.

Not much is known about the Crown of Flowers as its powers are a well-guarded secret. Indeed, they are considered so potent that Magnolia Reinhart was forced to strike a deal with the Assassin’s Guild to ensure her life and the artifacts would not be targeted for the duration of the war. This was the first incident where she struck a deal with the Assassin’s Guild, but it would lead to her widespread employment of [Assassins] throughout the years following the Second Antinium War. But that is beside the point.

It is not clear why Magnolia Reinhart did not employ the Crown of Flowers as soon as the Goblin King’s forces reached Izril, but prominent [Mages] speculate that she may have in fact done so. The army summoned by the Crown of Flowers was comprised of powerful plant-based constructs which grew in power the longer they existed, ‘blooming’ into their full power over time. It may be that it was only after weeks had passed that the Crown of Flowers had been able to summon the army at this desperate hour.

Whatever the case, the interlude in the fighting had given the crown’s powers time enough to work. The army of constructs summoned by the Crown of Flowers grew out of the ground and assembled around the Reinhart Estate near First Landing and marched south. They attacked the surprised Goblin King’s army and, in tandem with the Human defenders, forced him to retreat.

This unexpected victory forced the Goblins back and earned Lady Magnolia the Reinhart the title of ‘The Deadly Flower Blooming in the North’. She had shown the Goblin King her thorns and his armies withdrew, giving the Humans some breathing room, however small.

The sudden retreat by the Goblin forces may have been due to the Goblin King’s absence from the battlefield at that time. Confident in the abilities of his Goblin Lords to maintain the siege, he had vanished from the battlefields. Reportedly, the Goblin King had rapidly moved south with a small force, entering the High Passes. There he vanished for eight days.

What he did during that time is largely unknown, but it is speculated he personally cut a path through the treacherous High Passes, fighting the myriad monsters that formed their lairs in that place. And after eight days had passed, the Goblin King appeared south of the High Passes. He had opened up a gateway between north and south Izril, bypassing the defenses of Liscor entirely. Thus, the Goblins were now able to reinforce their armies on both sides, giving them another strategic advantage over the separated Drake and Human forces.

A note at this point. While I have written exclusively about Drakes and Humans, it would be wrong to write further without touching upon the contributions, or rather, lack thereof by the Gnoll species during this time. The Gnoll tribes did indeed take part in resisting the Antinium advance and fought against the Goblin King in some numbers, but their presence was mostly seen in a defensive role, as with the First Antinium War.

The Gnoll tribes’ insular and cowardly attitude towards battle may have been seen most disgracefully in regards to the Necromancer, however. The Gnoll species as a whole has more reason than most to hate his existence—after all, the Necromancer earned his name over a century ago when he slew the beloved Chieftain of the Gnolls who some had labeled the first ‘King of Gnolls’. The Necromancer killed the Gnoll Chieftain Kerash and was thus dubbed Az’kerash, or ‘Slayer of Kerash’ by the Gnolls.

And yet, as his armies travelled south, the Necromancer faced little opposition from the Gnolls, who seemed more fearful of his advance than enraged. The Gnoll tribes contributed little to the defense of the land, and indeed, are conspicuously absent in most major battles of the Second Antinium War.

“We fought! What nonsense is this?”

Krshia’s paw slapped the book’s pages. The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] growled out loud and snarled at the text as she got up and paced around her apartment.

“We fought! We did! Not all tribes, but did all Drakes fight? No! My tribe fought, and countless others! We did not fear the Necromancer, no! How dare this Drake write otherwise? He calls himself a historian? I have seen more accurate histories written on shopping lists!”

She hurled the book to the ground and stomped on it before picking it up and checking it for damage.

“Hrr. I can still sell this, though. Perhaps I can even sell it for more if I rip out these pages. They would make good toilet paper, no?”

Grudgingly, Krshia flicked the book open and kept reading, although her tail was angrily thrashing back and forth.

Regardless, the Necromancer advanced south, largely undeterred by the war going on between Goblins and Humans. To my understanding he only clashed with the Goblin King’s forces once, and the battle ended as a stalemate between Az’kerash and the Goblin King. It appears both forces largely ignored each other after that, and the Necromancer exploited the fractured militaries of both Humans and Drakes by marching his army to Liscor unimpeded.

It was there the Necromancer’s armies besieged the Drake city and cut the continent in two. The Drakes could not assist the Humans and vice versa. Perhaps this was to aid the Goblin King after all, because it meant neither side could assist one another while the Goblins enjoyed the use of the High Passes. And meanwhile, the Necromancer’s forces spread out, heading south of the Blood Fields and harvesting more bodies for his army.

The siege of Liscor is of course a famous and heroic tale of defiance by the courageous Drake defenders and I fear I can do it little justice with only a few pages of writing. However, let us begin by saying that the Liscorian army had withdrawn around their city in advance of the Necromancer’s assaults, and held the walls of their city as the Necromancer concentrated the bulk of his forces in an attempt to bring it down.

Liscor had never fallen to siege once since its creation as a city-state. The natural geography of the city combined with their advanced walls and powerful army meant that they were able to repel most assaults with ease. However, the Necromancer had brought armies of powerful undead and the aforementioned Bone Giants to assault Liscor’s walls. The Liscorian army was forced to fight the undead on the walls and slew the giants only at great cost. And though the Necromancer’s giants failed to break Liscor’s walls, they had done such terrible damage that there was no hope of Liscor repelling the undead alone.

A truly grueling siege of Liscor began, as the Necromancer inflicted plagues on the city’s inhabitants, launched rotting corpses over the walls and personally unleashed his magics on the city’s defenders. It was an onslaught that would have felled a lesser city, much less a Human one in a single day. And yet, Liscor held on. Against all odds, they endured first one week, then two, and then four weeks against the Necromancer’s onslaught. Every citizen fought to defend the city, hoping against hope for relief.

And it came from none other than Zel Shivertail, the Tidebreaker himself. The Drake [General] had heard of Liscor’s plight and abandoned his battles against the Antinium to march north. He, the former student and friend of General Sserys of Liscor would not abandon Sserys’ people in their hour of need. Shivertail did not march alone either; three other Drake [Generals] joined him with their armies, and they cut a path to the Necromancer and assaulted his army at Liscor.

This climatic battle would be known as one of the most famous battles of the Second Antinium War. It began as Zel Shivertail’s forces attacked the Necromancer’s entrenched army around the city. Accounts of the battle have been verified and multiple perspectives have been recorded. To summarize the tragic opening to the battle, I will be brief.

On the first day, Az’kerash slew [General] Hekiss. On the second, [General] Vusso fell and two hours later, [General] Misa. Only Zel Shivertail remained as the Necromancer’s forces threatened to overwhelm both the city of Liscor and the attacking army.

Interlude – The Antinium Wars (Pt.4)

Dear readers, it is not in my nature to exaggerate or lie. I, Krysyl Wordsmith, attempt to tell you the most unbiased of accounts possible. But I cannot suppress my patriotic pride for my people. And the following account of the Siege of Liscor by the Necromancer, Az’kerash, is almost impossible to tell without appreciating the grave odds of the struggle, the desperation, and above all, the hope and courage exhibited by the brave Drakes of Liscor and the hero Zel Shivertail himself.

Consider it, dear readers. Liscor imperiled once more and this time the Necromancer unleashing his undead hordes on the gateway to the southern continent, attempting to succeed where the Antinium had failed nearly a decade ago. And oh, but he was succeeding. Liscor’s defenses had been improved since the last war, their walls built higher and spelled with new enchantments. But the Necromancer had brought an army capable of destroying all but a Walled City, and with every fallen soldier his forces grew.

And what was the Drake high command doing? Nothing! They were fighting the Antinium on every front and now facing a Goblin King’s invasion as well. Who could they send? Who could rally an army strong enough to destroy the Necromancer and break his siege?

The Tidebreaker would. For his late comrade General Sserys, to save his friend’s beloved city he gathered three other Drake armies, each lead by a [General] of the Drake cities. I urge you to imagine it. Four [Generals] marched on the Necromancer. And each one increased the strength of the combined army they led until it was unstoppable.

This technique of ‘stacking’ high-level commanders and leaders has been used to great effect across the world; indeed, in the last Izril-Terandrian war, the Human armies were pathetically crushed by superior Drake forces who sent in multiple [Commander] classes into each battle, allowing them to utilize Skill-based tactics and enhance their army’s fighting quality far beyond the Terandrian armies. (Of course, the individual ability of each Drake soldier over the Human soldiers may have also played a part in such victories.)

Zel Shivertail had created a force capable of wiping out the Necromancer despite his great power. Four [Generals] should have broken the back of his army within a day. But instead the Necromancer slew General Hekiss, Vusso, and then Misa with his fell magics, turning the tides of battle in an instant.

How? How could he slay the pride of the Drakes with such contemptuous ease? It seems that the Drakes, the Humans, and perhaps even the Goblin Lord and Antinium underestimated him. The Necromancer was no mere distraction from the war—he was a side unto himself! He had the magical prowess to destroy enemy armies and [Generals] from afar; shielded by his undead he could fight at his leisure, overrunning cities with ease.

He destroyed every army that he encountered, save for the Goblin King’s army. Even an Antinium army sent north was obliterated, although not made into undead. It appears even the Necromancer has standards for his undead—or that the Antinium made for poor corpses.

Regardless, the hope of salvation for Liscor had turned into a nightmarish situation as the Drake army sent to liberate the city found itself on the brink of being wiped out. And perhaps they would have been. The Necromancer ordered his undead to encircle the army and Liscor, hoping to swell his deathless horde further. But he failed to destroy the Drake army on the third day, and the fourth, and every day after that. For one simple reason:

He could not kill the Tidebreaker.

Not by magic, not by overwhelming numbers or ambush! General Zel Shivertail remained on the battlefield despite Az’kerash’s repeated assaults on him day after day. The famed [General of the Line] refused to retreat, and it was his rallying presence and Skills that kept the Drake armies and the valiant defenders of Liscor from folding under the Necromancer’s devastating attacks.

And yet, dear readers, Zel Shivertail’s weakness became apparent as he failed to dispatch the Necromancer despite charging into enemy lines again and again. The Tidebreaker is known to be the best defensive [General] in Liscor, and indeed, perhaps the world.

Unlike the late General Sserys who was known for his offensive strategies, Zel Shivertail’s Skills mainly revolve around defensive formations and holding the line, despite his exceptional personal combat prowess. Thus, he was unable to launch a decisive strike and corner the Necromancer—when he would charge Az’kerash’s position the Necromancer would screen himself with his undead troops or disappear.

And so the battle became a deadly stalemate, as both armies refused to retreat. So long as the Necromancer lived, the undead would continue rising, empowered by their dark master. And so long as Zel Shivertail refused to fall, the Drakes fought on. And yet, and yet dear reader, the undead began to triumph.

For every Drake that fell at Liscor, an undead zombie or ghoul would rise in its place. And Az’kerash’s own magical mastery allowed him to create a number of greater undead each day. Meanwhile, the people of Liscor and Zel Shivertail’s own army were finite in number. The siege wore on as Zel Shivertail requested urgent reinforcements to defeat the Necromancer. Alas, the Drake high command was once again unable to act.

The Antinium were sweeping down from their Hives, and worse, the Goblin King’s armies had also begun to march. Unlike the Human campaign in the north, Velan the Kind left the strategy in the south to only one of his Goblin Lords, if the mightiest of them.

Tallis the Stormbreaker.

The great [Shaman] of the Goblin armies came late to the war between the Antinium and Drakes. He began by sacking port cities along the western coast, and then slowly moved inland. The Drake armies were no match for his overwhelming magical might, and he routed armies with contemptuous ease. Drakes across the continent despaired hearing of Tallis Stormbreaker’s advance, because the Antinium were already sieging Pallass and Zeres, threatening to once again cut the continent in two.

But here history takes a fortunate turn. Because as luck would have it, the Goblin Lord’s advance sent him perilously close to an Antinium Hive. And the thoughtless, foolish Antinium saw his armies not as a potential ally, but simply as another threat. They sent Xrn, the Small Queen to deal with Tallis Stormbreaker as they had every other army. And here the Antinium suffered their first great defeat of the war. The Stormbreaker annihilated the Antinium army with a single spell within ten minutes of the Antinium charging his army.

“That cannot be right.”

Pivr stared at Tersk as the Prognugator of the Armored Antinium paused with the history book in his hands. Tersk didn’t reply. He was staring in shock at the words on the page. He had not known the history of the Second Antinium War in any great detail. To hear of an army destroyed so easily—

“An entire army? Destroyed by a Goblin?”

He looked up and across the campfire at the blue Antinium sitting there. Xrn looked up, her eyes shining with bright orange and red lights that illuminated the dark night like distant stars.

“Prognugator Xrn. Is this true?”

“It cannot be! We cannot have lost to Goblins!”

Pivr insisted loudly. He fanned his wings in agitation, moving around the fire and grabbing for the book Tersk was reading from.

“Give me that.”

He snatched the book and read the passage. He recoiled in disbelief and turned to Xrn.

“This book is lying. It must be.”

“Must it? Why must it lie, Pivr? Because you do not like the truth? This Krsysl Wordsmith exaggerates his history and twists the facts to suit his narrative, but he does not make up false events. Tallis Stormbreaker destroyed the first army we sent against him. And the second and third.”

The other Antinium stared at Xrn in horrified silence. Pivr’s wings fanned wide and his mandibles leaked a bit of the acidic bile he had been engineered to produce. Tersk snatched the book back before the acid could land on it.

“That is—we are the Antinium. We cannot be defeated so easily. You were there! This book said you led the first army. How could you have allowed him to triumph?”

The Antinium went still. Xrn sat up slowly and Pivr broke off speaking, realizing he might have erred. He backed up a bit as the warm lights in Xrn’s eyes became cold, turning blue and frosty grey.

“Allowed? I allowed him nothing, Pivr. The Stormbreaker took. That was the might of the Goblin King and his Goblin Lords. They destroyed the army I led against them, and I was helpless to fight back. We underestimated the Goblins, Pivr. We did not know what they could do. As it says in the book, Tallis broke my army with a single spell.”

“How?”

Tersk leaned forwards, his hands shaking on the book. He’d read ahead and seen no details of the battle. Xrn looked at him and the cold lights in her eyes changed. They became a swirling vortex, a mass of colors vanishing into a pinpoint in the center of her eyes. Tersk shuddered and looked away, but Xrn’s voice was kind and sad as she replied.

“Oh, it was very simple. Tallis Stormbreaker was the Goblin King’s personal [Shaman]. He possessed the might of his people and his magic reflected that. When we charged his army he cast one spell. One simple spell, with such a simple effect.”

Xrn looked past the others, into the depths of the fire. The wind began to blow as she continued, her voice lost in the past.

“He opened a hole into the sky.”

—-

There was a hole in the sky. A hole as small as your hand at first. So small you’d never see it. But then it grew, widening until the clouds were sucked into it, until it became a vortex, a gaping rift that dragged everything upwards, tearing up trees, sucking up rocks and dirt and everything below it.

Xrn saw the spiral appear in the sky as the Antinium army around her surged across the dry flatlands. They charged towards the Goblin army, towards the Goblin [Shaman] whose hands shone like the sun.

So brave. So simple. Xrn screamed at them to stop. She raised her staff and tried to dispel the grand magic overhead. But it was like throwing all her weight against a mountain. The hole in the sky widened and then began to pull.

Antinium Soldiers, racing across the ground in the tens of thousands began to slow as they lost their traction on the ground. And then they lost their footing and began to float. Xrn saw their arms flailing in confusion as the winds blew them upwards. She heard the howl now, a terrible sound that was louder than a tornado and deeper than the roar of the ocean. The sky tore and her army was sucked into that void in space.

Across the battlefield, Tallis Stormbreaker raised his arms and the gyre widened further. Sea and sky became one. Xrn looked up, her magics barely keeping her rooted as Workers and Soldiers were pulled helplessly into the air. Even the Flying Antinium were at the mercy of the winds—they were dragged into the sky hundreds of miles up and hurled into the ground.

The Goblin Lord laughed and his laughter was thunder. Xrn hurled fire at him, but the other Goblin [Shamans] and [Mages] broke her spells and hurled spells at her. She fled as her army fell up.

—-

There was only horrified silence as Xrn finished her story. The Antinium sat frozen around the campfire as the wind blew in sympathy for Xrn’s tale. The Small Queen looked up and met Tersk’s eyes.

“We did not know of Goblins. We did not know of the Goblin King or what his armies could do. We underestimated them and paid for it.”

“But how? How could they be so strong?”

Tersk’s voice shook as he looked at the book he held. Xrn shrugged; she had no easy answer. She stared at the Prognugator of the Armored Antinium, wondering if her story had broken his spirit. But to her surprise Pivr spoke up.

“If that was the power the Goblin Lords held, how could we defeat them, Prognugator Xrn? For we surely did not retreat. The Antinium do not retreat. How did we fight them? How did we win?”

She looked at Pivr, surprised. The Revalantor of the Flying Antinium fanned his wings, his multi-faceted eyes ablaze with passion. For all his faults he was brave. So Xrn answered him truthfully, drawing her answer from both past and present.

“It was a grand spell that Tallis Stormbreaker used. He could not call upon it the second time we sent an army towards him, nor the third. He still broke our armies with his magics, but he grew more exhausted with each spell he cast. The Antinium could have paid the price that way, taking his life with mountains of our dead. Or if we had more of our great warriors of old, more of our lost technology we could have overwhelmed him with might. As it was, the Grand Queen chose neither option. She looked at the Goblins as a threat and gave her Prognugators three separate orders. Klbkch, Wrymvr and I were ordered to break the Goblin King’s might at any cost.”

“And did you?”

Pivr’s gaze was steady. Xrn’s mandibles opened and lifted. She smiled at him and the other Antinium and nodded at the book.

“Read and find out. But my presence should be all the answer you need.”

—-

Three armies. Three disastrous defeats, against a single Goblin Lord no less! The Antinium had been humbled, and at last, after three total routs of her forces, the Grand Queen finally reconsidered the mindless tactics her armies had employed. She ceased battling the Goblin Lord’s army in open engagements and instead began harassing the Goblins in the south of Izril, attacking them at night, through tunnels and with her Silent Antinium, wearing them down as her armies kept a stranglehold on the Drake cities on the eastern front.

The Goblins, perhaps unaware of the situation within Izril, must have received a shock to find such a widespread and fearless enemy already vying for control of the continent. In many ways the Antinium resembled the Goblins with their overwhelming numbers, general lack of intelligence, repulsiveness…but any hope of an alliance between the two verminous species was ruined with the first battle with Tallis Stormbreaker. They became enemies, which in turn eased the pressure off the Human and Drakes defenders as these two powers collided.

Much like the Goblin King, Tallis Stormbreaker was too powerful to rout in a single pitched battle, as his command of massive battlefield-wide spells was especially suited to destroying the Antinium. However, by the same token, his armies failed to uproot the Antinium who would flee the Goblin Lord and then destroy lesser Goblin armies with their ceaseless suicidal attacks.

And meanwhile, the Necromancer was occupied at Liscor, battling with Zel Shivertail. The southern continent of Izril was deadlocked, dear readers, which, sadly, forces us to refocus once more on the Human battles with the Goblins to the north.

The Goblin King’s advance had slowed and even been turned away for the first time at the city of First Landing, although at great cost. Now the Goblin King’s forces split up. Unable to take the city, they began burning and pillaging in a wide radius around the continent, attempting to force the Humans into a pitched battle which they might win, or slowly wear the Humans down.

Several of the Goblin Lords marched west, burning a path across the continent. The rest clashed with the Human defenders. The new generation of [Lords] and [Ladies] showed some resistance here, as Lord Tyrion Veltras demonstrated his military competency against the Goblins and Magnolia Reinhart employed numerous artifacts to slow the Goblin’s progress.

But there were too many Goblins and the Humans were unable to slow their progress. It seemed as if the Goblin King’s armies might well destroy the entire continent as they marched east, undeterred by the Humans’ desperate and uncoordinated resistance. But here they ran into yet another obstacle, this time in the shape of a famous ally from across the world. It was as Greydath of Blades was threatening to defeat a small army of Humans on the Plains of Saltes that he appeared on the battlefield, surprising the world at large and Greydath in particular.

Niers Astoragon, the Titan. The small [Strategist] of Baleros reportedly strode onto the battlefield and made his presence known by taking command of the Human army. It is unknown how he arrived so quickly across the world—especially given how he was seen in Baleros one day prior to this battle. Travelling so far and so fast is practically impossible, and yet the Fraerling [Strategist] managed it somehow. For reference, the most world-famous Couriers making use of the fastest ships and artifacts still require at least four days to make the journey across from Baleros to Izril, and that is only the sea voyage.

It is speculated that he must have had a particularly powerful scroll of [Teleportation] or employed the services of some exceptionally powerful mage or group of mages—and it is noted that all of Wistram’s [Mages] deny helping the Titan at this juncture—but whatever the case, the Titan used the surprise his appearance had caused to push Greydath’s army back and win one of the first victories for the Humans.

This was not the only battle Niers Astoragon would win either. The tiny second-in-command of one of the Four Great Companies quickly assumed control of the Human armies in the area and proceeded to win or stalemate the Goblin Lords in the area. This sudden rallying in the east gave the Humans a second wind, despite the obvious irony that they were placing their hopes on such tiny shoulders. Still, this writer supposes that if any shoulders were equal to the burden, it was those of Niers Astoragon, the Titan of Baleros himself.

The Titan is of course famed for having defeated one of the King of Destruction’s Seven, the Gambler of Fates, Queravia, among his other accomplishments, but he rose to greater heights during the Second Antinium War. As one of the highest-level [Strategists] in the world he was able to fight on the same level with the Goblin Lords and his grasp of strategy would see him outmaneuvering the Goblin Lords despite possessing a weaker or less numerous force in the battles he fought.

It is unknown why Niers Astoragon chose to risk his life as he did and fight the Goblin King’s armies head on, especially since Baleros was already in the process of sending armies across the sea to defend Izril. Perhaps it was guilt that prompted the Titan to fight directly against the Goblin King.

After all, it was his company who first agreed to peace with Velan the Kind when he was a Goblin Lord. The Fraerling [Strategist] must have attempted to repay his considerable debt to the people of the world, and it has to be said, his impact on the battlefield was not as minute as his stature. He pushed back the armies of two Goblin Lords at once, fending both off with the skill that prompts some to call him the greatest [Strategist] in the world.

However, as with all non-Drake heroes, it appears Niers Astoragon had a fatal flaw. In this case, it was that of cowardice, for he refused to do battle with the Goblin King. Velan the Kind appeared on battlefields across Izril, pushing his armies east, south, north and west, his armies enjoying victory after victory when he fought among them. And whenever he would appear on the eastern fronts, Niers Astoragon would retreat from battle, allowing the Goblin King to gobble up cities and entire provinces rather than risk any kind of engagement with him.

Shockingly, it appeared that the Titan’s spine was far weaker than that of the lowest-level Drake [Soldier], as he would go on to end the Second Antinium War without ever participating in a battle where the Goblin King was present.

When questioned about his fearful retreat from any actual conflict with the Goblin King, the much-vaunted [Strategist] of Baleros had only this to say:

“I’m not an idiot.”

He then refused to reply to any of the letters this humble [Writer] sent to him, leaving this questionable page in history unfortunately blank. At least Niers Astoragon’s strategy bought time for the Humans, but in the larger scale of things, his retreats allowed the Goblin an equal number of effortless victories, balancing his contributions out on the whole. Whether his aid was truly that monumental is a debate for [Tacticians], but this Drake has his own doubts on the matter.

“That clod-footed village-smasher. I told him not to print that!”

Niers Astoragon frowned down at the tiny book in his hands. He considered ripping it up, but books were expensive, and books that were made for Fraerlings were hard to obtain. They were almost twice as expensive in fact—not because of the costs of production, which were minute, but because a Fraerling [Bookbinder] and [Scribe] had to labor hard to copy texts in minutiae.

So he reluctantly put the book down before he tossed it into the burning wax candle that sat next to him. Niers got up and paced about the table, kicking aside a tea bag as he vented his emotions.

A large furry hand reached down and picked up the tea bag. Foliana, sitting at Niers’ table in his quarters, raised the tea bag and began nibbling at it. She had no tea cup. In fact, she had nothing to drink at all. She did have a muffin, which she held in her other hand.

“Mm. He doesn’t like you.”

“Who? The author? He does not. I’ve met petty Drakes, but including all that nonsense because I refused to let him interview me and entertain all his idiotic questions? That’s a new low.”

Niers scowled but tromped back to his miniature armchair, sighing as he picked the book up and sat back in his chair. He looked up at Foliana as she perched on a much larger stool by their table.

It was a custom the two had to sit together and relax when they could. In this case, the relaxing component was debatable, but Niers still thought it was important to keep reading. He grunted as he flipped through the pages, trying to find where he’d last been reading.

“This business with the Goblin Lord has me uneasy, Foliana. There are too many parallels to the past. Zel Shivertail, Magnolia Reinhart…”

“Could be her plans. She did want to involve us.”

“True. I just don’t know…oh come now. ‘Fraerling courage is clearly in short supply?’ He calls himself a writer? This is the most biased, petty—”

Foliana reached down and patted Niers on the head. He shoved her paw away, irritated. She shrugged and went back to consuming the tea bag. After the Fraerling had calmed he looked up at Foliana and sighed.

“He is right on one count, though. We did allow this. If I had any inkling that Velan would have become this, I would have destroyed his tribe when we first met him.”

“Would have been tricky. He was strong back then.”

“And sane. Dead gods, Foliana, what happened to him?”

“Became Goblin King. Went crazy.”

Foliana shrugged, nibbling at the tea grounds. Niers frowned. He stroked at his beard, thinking hard.

“There has to be more to it than that. You met Velan once, Foliana. What did you think of him?”

“Sane. Smart. Kind. Like his name. Cared about his people. Also strong.”

Niers grunted.

“That was my impression as well. He was so calm and intelligent for a Goblin that I found myself taken with him in an instant. His sudden change though…it’s one of the mysteries I intend to unravel.”

“Like chess? And the dungeon?”

“All of it fits together somehow Foliana. I’m sure of it. If I only had time, I’d go to that new dungeon in Liscor, and the old one they found in Terandria. I could put together clues. But there’s never enough time, is there?”

The Titan sighed, and Foliana broke off a piece of her strawberry muffin and offered it to him. He took a crumb the size of his head and chewed on it glumly.

“I suppose it does seem cowardly, doesn’t it? But I knew any battle with Velan would be disastrous, so I did what I could. The army I had to work with was dispirited and lacked unity. I couldn’t see any way to pin down Velan without him tearing a hole in every formation I sent at him. Do you think I was wrong not to try to occupy him?”

Foliana was silent as she sat on her chair. The candle dripped beads of wax slowly until she began to nibble at the candle as well. Niers snapped at her and she abandoned eating the candle and spoke at last.

“Niers, you remember what I told you when all the others were telling us to come fight, don’t you? They wanted us to send our company to Izril. Across the oceans. I said no. I don’t like water and you were there. That was enough.”

“I recall you saying so. You refused to cross to Izril.”

“Mm. And you know why that is?”

“Besides you not liking water?”

“Mhm. But also another reason. Do you know?”

“No. Why didn’t you go?”

Foliana stopped nibbling at her muffin and looked at Niers with her tri-colored eyes.

“I’m not an idiot either. Even if he ate muffins, I would get killed before I scratched him.”

She sat back on her chair. Niers looked thoughtfully at the book in front of him and then frowned.

“This author really is insufferable. Yes, we were in full retreat. But that was in the expectation of reinforcements! Which we received, I might add! You remember, don’t you, Foliana? We were negotiating for every company we could get to cross the seas, and then—”

“I remember. I offered them a muffin if they’d go.”

“I recall that. You need to work on your tact or let our [Emissaries] sort negotiations out, Foliana. I can’t believe you got the companies to actually agree to help. How did you do it? And don’t tell me it was a muffin.”

“It was.”

“They sailed across the sea and fought the Goblin Lord for a muffin?”

“Well, it was made of gold. And I did offer them a few baskets.”

—-

While the Goblin King’s armies pursued the Humans across the continent, the world was slowly beginning to wake up to his threat. The desperate pleas from the Humans and Drake requests for assistance went largely ignored in Chandrar, who had seen too much death from the King of Destruction already. But Baleros, enraged by the Goblin King’s treachery, had sent countless mercenary companies across the ocean. Rhir sent a small army as well, honoring the treaties as the Blighted King always has, but it was Terandria who was first to act.

The shorter distance between Terandria and Izril and the continent’s own history with the previous Goblin King, Curulac of a Hundred Days, meant that the normally short-sighted [Kings] and [Queens] were aware of the Goblin threat from the start. Thus, an army of two hundred thousand Terandrians landed on the northern shores of Izril at the end of the summer.

They met the Goblin King’s forces right away. Velan the Kind had been caught off-guard by the Human’s arrival and was in the middle of pulling his forces back to face this new threat. To buy time he personally assailed the Terandrians as they were landing ships with five thousand of his Goblin elites.

This writer realizes that the idea of five thousand Goblins attacking a force numbering over two hundred thousand seems ludicrous, but the Goblin King was cut of the same cloth that the King of Destruction, Flos, was made of. Tales of his ability in battle are widespread, and this writer will omit any tedious recitals of his feats in combat. Suffice it to say that the Goblin King was known for defeating enemy [Generals] and [Mages] in combat, and his Goblin elites were similarly powerful.

The vanguard he led into battle was comprised of Hobs who were all as powerful as Gold-rank adventurers. They carried magical weapons and armor into battle and some were reportedly as tall as half-Giants. Whether these rumors are entirely accurate is unknown, but they were certainly a force to be reckoned with, as the Terandrians found to their cost.

The sheer daring of the attack on their ships caught the Terandrians unawares. The Goblin King managed to sink several ships before the Terandrians drove him off, and he successfully beat back the Terandrians in battle after battle, once again proving the futility of placing any kind of hopes on Humans.

However, the Terandrian forces were only the first wave. More fleets began arriving on Izril, all of whom began to come under immediate attack the instant they landed, sometimes before they reached ground. The Goblin King’s armies reformed into a spear that fought off the foreign armies, and the war in the north became a stalemate.

Yes, even with so many continents lending their aid, the battle against the Goblin King had only shifted from a losing battle into one on equal footing. Worse, it was feared that Tallis Stormbreaker would abandon his campaign to the south to support Velan the Kind.

The [Shaman] in the south had broken the Drakes and Antinium forces sent against him. And though the Antinium had stymied his forces, the Goblins would soon strike the larger blow. After a series of Antinium strikes against his forces, the Goblin King personally appeared in the south. He swiftly encircled an Antinium Hive and after wiping all the Antinium on the surface, led his army into the Hive and slew the Queen inside himself.

The fact that the Goblin King had succeeded in the very tactic that had cost so many lives of Drake armies must have shaken the Antinium terribly, for they immediately ceased attacking the Goblin King’s armies and pulled back all their armies to defend their remaining Hives. This cessation of assaults meant that Tallis Stormbreaker was free to maneuver his armies, which in turn gave him the opportunity to move through the High Passes and join the fighting in the north if he so chose.

If the Goblins concentrated all their forces in the north, the continent might be lost entirely, especially because the Necromancer had cut off the only safe land route north. And as the fighting drew into fall, it seemed like the Drakes might lose Liscor for good. No aid had reached the embattled forces of Zel Shivertail—Tallis Stormbreaker’s armies lay in the way, as did the Antinium forces. Zel Shivertail’s urgent missives were met with denials or silence from the Drake cities. Day by day his forces decreased and the Necromancer’s increased.

But still, Liscor fought! Against all odds dear readers, the Siege of Liscor had continued not for days, not for weeks, but for three months by the time they had reached the breaking point! Every adult in Liscor had taken to the walls during this time, and Zel Shivertail’s army continued to assail the Necromancer, holding the battle lines and shielding Liscor from the full brunt of his attacks.

Yes, if there is any battle to commemorate the spirit of Drakes, it would be that one. A single Drake [Spearsman] would stop a charging Draugr that Gold-rank adventurers might struggle to subdue. The Drake civilians, led by the core of their army, fended off wraith attacks and the undead giants with their indomitable spirit.

What courage, what valorous acts must have been seen every day! This writers longs to have been there, to see the heroism of Drakes at our finest. Despite the dark hour, the Necromancer had yet to take the city. And though it seemed like the final blow would be struck any day now, the Drakes still held on. Valiant, undeterred, full of the courage that is such a byword of the Drake species as a whole—

“Grandma, you’re grinding your teeth. If you don’t stop I’m taking the book away.”

Selys Shivertail sighed and looked up, unable to take the noise any longer. She didn’t live with her grandmother in the same apartment—that would have been a nightmare—but she visited the elderly Drake often. Selys usually found herself in her grandmother’s home at least once a week.

She told herself it was because she liked her grandmother, Tekshia Shivertail. And that was true, but it was also true that Tekshia Shivertail was the Guildmaster of the Adventurer’s Guild in Liscor. In other words, she was Selys’ boss as well as her grandmother and she wasn’t shy about withholding Selys’ pay unless her granddaughter showed up regularly.

It usually wasn’t a problem, but Selys would rather be out partying on a night like tonight. Instead, she was stuck with her grandmother, listening to the old Drake’s teeth grind and her tail thrashing.

“Stop reading that history book, grandma. You always get mad when you do, and remember what the [Healer] said?”

Tekshia Shivertail looked up. Her scales were grayer and had a lot less luster than Selys’, but she was still spry and quite attractive with her dusky purple coloration. She lashed her tail irritably as she glared at her granddaughter across the table.

“What the [Healer] said? He said I’m in better shape than you are, girl. I’m fit, you’re not. I can still outrun half the Gnolls in this city and you’re too lazy to get out of bed until the sun’s halfway overhead!”

“…Right. But he said that you get angry and that’s a bad thing.”

“For other people maybe!”

Tekshia slammed a fist onto the table and Selys jumped.

“Yeah, and I’m other people, grandma! Remember when you sent that poor Gnoll to the healer’s?”

“What of it? I have a right to be angry, especially when I read this nonsense!”

Tekshia waved the book angrily at Selys. Her granddaughter peered at the book.

“What’s that? The Second History of the Antinium Wars? I thought the author was very complimentary about us.”

“He is. Too much! That idiot’s practically licking our feet and wagging his tail over our ‘heroic sacrifice’. Heroic? There was nothing heroic about the siege and the Necromancer! It was the most miserable, nightmarish three months I’ve ever lived through and I’ve lived a long time! But to hear this Wordsmith fellow tell it, we were all having a grand time! Here, just listen to that.”

Selys’ grandmother read the offending passage out loud and Selys winced.

“Okay, he might not understand how battles work. I don’t think this Drake has ever seen a zombie, much less anything scarier than that.”

Tekshia snorted, her tail curling around the leg of her chair in irritation.

“That’s clear enough. A single Drake [Spearman] stopping a charging Draugr? Hah! Those damn things will run down the length of your spear and gut you before you can blink twice! And fighting off wraiths with swords? What does this [Writer] think we did, yell at them and hurt their feelings?”

“At least he thinks we’re heroes. It could be worse.”

Selys tried to calm her grandmother down, but Tekshia was too incensed to let up. She got up, muttering, and poured herself some tea, angrily spilling some on the book.

“Ancestors take it! Get me a cloth before the ink runs, Selys. Not that one! That’s my good cloth! Yes, that! Bring it over here!”

She dabbed at the pages of the book with the second-best cloth as Selys sighed loudly. Tekshia ignored her and went on.

“Being called heroes is almost as bad as cowards. And he completely neglected to mention how we felt! It’s as if our situation didn’t matter, as if we could hold our ground despite the odds! We were begging for reinforcements. But oh no, he would have everyone thinking we were just too lazy to beat the Necromancer when he was slaughtering us day by day!”

She ground her teeth again, sipping at her tea and making a hissing sound deep in her throat.

“If that coward—this Wordsmith fellow ever dared come here, we’d show him what we think about his ‘history’ book. It’s a shame our army isn’t near his home, or I’d ask a few of the boys to go to his house and teach him a lesson.”

“Grandma!”

Selys shot out of her chair and glared at Tekshia, looking horrified. The older Drake was unapologetic.

“What? A few sticks and rocks and a beating is how we used to settle things! Street justice is swifter than the Watch—and more efficient too! It’s not like I’d ask them to kill him—just break his hands, maybe.”

“That’s just as bad!”

“Is it? He can write what he wants and get away with it and we can’t tell him how we feel? Not while I’m alive. Get me my quill and ink and some parchment, would you, Selys dear?”

“Absolutely not.”

Selys folded her arms. Tekshia eyed the younger Drake balefully, but then relented.

“You’re right. I’ll send a [Message] spell instead. Much quicker. Anyways, at least this Wordsmith fellow got one thing right.”

Tekshia opened the book again, ignoring her granddaughter’s spluttering. She tapped one claw approvingly on a line in the book.

“It was Zel Shivertail who rallied us. Without him we would have been lost. That much is true.”

“Uncle Zel? He never talks about the battle around me. What was it like with him fighting the Necromancer? Was he really as big a hero as everyone says he was?”

Selys leaned over the table, peering at the book. Tekshia tilted the page to show Selys. She sighed, her anger giving way to nostalgia.

“He was a giant. That silly young Drake with his battered armor, fighting on the front lines, surrounded by undead. Taking shots from Az’kerash himself and standing right back up and charging back into the fray—how could we not follow him? I remember when he would visit the city as a child. That hatchling became a fine [General]. So long as he stood, we could keep fighting.”

“It’s so strange. He never mentions any of that to me. He’s just Uncle Zel when he visits. He eats pies, beats up [Thugs]—I can’t ever picture him being a big hero on the battlefield.”

Selys shook her head and Tekshia smacked her niece’s claws before Selys could reach for a fruit tart.

“Those are mine, you thieving little hatchling! If you want a snack then bring me those ‘cookies’ or some of that ‘cake’ you keep bragging about eating! Honestly, if you know this Human [Innkeeper] so well you could at least bring me some of her cooking! And you don’t know how important your uncle is because you’ve never been on any battlefield! If you wanted to know what it was like, why didn’t you ask him when he visited?”

“Uncle Zel never talks about the siege, grandma. He’s too embarrassed whenever people come up to thank him.”

“That hatchling. We’re grateful to him. But he’s just like your father used to be. Embarrassed when people praise him for what he did. It explains why he left without visiting me.”

“He visited you once, grandma.”

“Once! Hah! He’s fearless on the battlefield, but he can’t handle me asking him about marriage! I keep telling him to settle down with a nice young Drake or at least have sex—he doesn’t have to marry them! He can make a few hatchlings and then—”

“Grandmother!”

Selys glared at her grandmother, scandalized. The old Drake flicked her tail at Selys’ face.

“You prudish youngsters! You’re all so timid. What happened to all the real Drakes? The kind who’d never bend their tails for any threat, who’d stand tall no matter what tried to beat them down? Your mother was as brave as could be, and she wasn’t shy about grabbing your father. And I’m sure they would have given me at least one more grandchild if—if—”

Tekshia’s ranting slowed and she stopped, suddenly acutely aware of her audience. Selys’ tail went still and Tekshia cleared her throat, avoiding her eyes.

“I’m sorry dear. I shouldn’t be reading this after all. You’re right. Too many bad memories come up. Especially with the siege. You might be too young to remember, it but—”

“No, I remember.”

Selys closed her eyes. She had been there. She could remember Liscor’s siege. Not the fighting, but the hiding in her house, the screams, the wounded and the stench—her grandmother patted Selys on the knee gently.

“I do talk too much, don’t I? I’ll stop. Let’s talk about happier things.”

She made to close the book, but Selys stopped her.

“No, go on. Keep talking. You hardly ever do and no one else will. Tell me about what it was like?”

“Again?”

Selys gulped. The young Drake woman stared at the book and then at her grandmother.

“Yes. Tell me. Tell me about all of it, and the parts you won’t tell me. Tell me about my parents. And…how they died.”

A flash of pain crossed over Selys’ grandmother’s face. Tekshia Shivertail closed the book and closed her eyes for a second. Selys waited, her heart twisting. She had been young then. But she could still remember her grandmother walking through the door, her armor covered in blood. She remembered asking for her parents and seeing the answer in the tears on her grandmother’s face.

Once. Tekshia looked away, raising a claw to scratch at the greyed scales on her neck.

“I told you, they died on the walls. Most of us did. Hah—the Necromancer couldn’t break our gates, and he could only send waves up the walls. We held him with spears and swords. Axes too. We’d toss rocks at the Draug that climbed up, cut them down before they could get onto clear ground. Because when they did—”

“That’s when it happened?”

The old Drake didn’t reply at first. Her voice was distant when she eventually spoke.

“We didn’t have enough [Mages]. I keep telling those idiots who run the Walled Cities—I say it all the time. We don’t have enough magic-users. Drakes don’t take to magic like other species. We say it’s dishonorable, too easy—not military. So what? If we had as many [Mages] as we had [Sergeants] in the army we would have beaten the Necromancer without help. Instead, our wonderful army of idiots died one by one as Az’kerash sniped them with spells. And on that day he sent the wraiths to harass us.”

Her eyes were distant. Selys remembered the sounds she’d heard from her house. The unearthly screams, the boom of magics, the only thing that could harm the spectral wraiths. And her grandmother’s voice went on, softer.

“They cut us down before Zel could get a [Mage] unit in position to help us blast them away. That gave the Necromancer’s army time to send up, oh, fifteen of the Draugr into one spot.  Fifteen, and one of those giant Carcass Walkers for good measure. It barely needed to climb to get up. I remember seeing it towering over the others and thinking this was the end.”

“But it wasn’t.”

Selys’ grandmother stirred. A bit of anger flashed into her eyes and she sat up.

“Of course not! Your father would never allow it. Your mother either. She was already shooting those Draugr off—using the last of her enchanted arrows. I told her to hold on to them, to wait for a good shot to and put one between the Necromancer’s eyes, but her arrows gave us a chance to rally. That brave idiot. If she’d just held onto one rather than save us, then maybe she would have taken the wraith out. But it got her from behind. And your father—”

Selys’ eyes were dry. She’d heard the story too many times. But her claws scraped at each other as she gripped her hands tightly together. Her grandmother’s eyes were distant, her head turned to the very walls.

“Your father saw the Carcass Walker start tearing us apart. And more undead were coming up the walls. The Necromancer knew we were about to break so he sent everything he had at us. Another minute and the Walker would have cleared us all off. So your father charged into it. He used a Skill—[Ram’s Charge], that silly, silly move. And he knocked it off the walls. And he went over with it.”

“And did he—when he fell, I mean. Was it—”

Selys’ throat closed over the next word. Was it quick? Her heart was twisting like her hands, twisting and twisting until she thought it might snap. But it never did. It just hurt. Tekshia shook her head.

“I don’t know. I was fighting—I couldn’t look around. Your father was brave, strong—I have to imagine he survived. He must have took down a score of them before they overwhelmed him. We never found his body, but he must have—”

Her voice trailed off. For a second she looked so lost. Selys hugged her. Tekshia stiffened, and then came back to reality. She was still for a second and then her voice returned to its usual snappishness.

“Enough sobbing over the past. Your parents died like the heroes they always were, Selys. We might have all died had the siege gone on a day longer. It wasn’t glorious; we fought because we had no choice. We fought and died, and only those of us who were there will ever know what it was like. And no idiotic [Writer] can change that.”

She busied herself around her kitchen, pushing the plate of tarts towards Selys. The young Drake woman took one and chewed it slowly, coming back from those dark times. Tekshia’s mood returned to normal too, and soon she was grousing about incompetent adventurers, who had been stronger, smarter, faster, and cleaner back when she’d been young.

“It’s a disgrace when there’s not one Gold-rank adventurer in Liscor who’s a Drake! Not one! Where did all our adventurers go? And just look at the Human ones who keep coming here! Now we have [Necromancers] walking about the city! I can’t understand why you tolerate that Human one, Selys. You of all people!”

Selys sighed, predicting another argument with her grandmother. She adopted a patient, if slightly strained, tone.

“He saved my life, grandma. During the attack on Liscor by the undead. And before you say anything it wasn’t his fault! He saved me and Erin too and he killed more undead than anyone else I saw that night.”

“So? Thank him and then kick him out of the city, that’s what I say! But no, he’s just a nuisance, not a threat. Ridiculous. At least you could kick him out rather than letting him in the Guild! If your father and mother could see you now, holding tails with a [Necromancer]…”

“Grandma! I’m not dating him!”

Selys rolled her eyes and her grandmother grunted. She returned to the book, flipping through pages. And again, the past uncurled and swept through the room, reaching out from the parchment and engulfing the two Drakes. Tekshia’s voice was soft as she spoke to herself and her granddaughter.

“Yes, it felt like it was over that day. We had the wall, but the Necromancer was still pushing, and Zel couldn’t get to us this time. Not enough soldiers. We were going to break, I felt it.”

“Just like that?”

“You say it as if we hadn’t been on the verge for months. This was it. We didn’t have the strength to fight for another day and night without rest Selys. I was thinking of you, thinking of trying to get away with you when the lines fell, get you to Zel and away from the battle if I could. And that’s when we heard the horn calls in the distance. We turned, and saw them.”

Tekshia’s claw closed on her teacup, so hard that the ceramic cracked. She didn’t notice. She stared into the distance and Selys remembered too. The shouting, the screams, and then the cheering.

“There they were, Selys. We thought they were our doom when we first saw them from afar. But then we realized they were our salvation. They came down like the sea itself and broke the Necromancer’s armies. That is why we opened our gates to them. That is why we signed the treaty here. Because they saved us.”

Selys nodded. She stared at the book, which was so complimentary of the Drakes of Liscor and had omitted one of the most important points. Zel Shivertail was a hero of Liscor, true enough. But Liscor had another hero, whose tale was largely untold in this historical narrative. They had broken the siege, delivered the people of Liscor from the Necromancer at the last moment. The most unexpected of allies, those strange invaders from another continent, another world.

“The Antinium.”

Interlude – The Antinium Wars (Pt.5)

“The Black Tide! The Black Tide marches!”

“The Antinium are to the south! Watch the walls!”

“Rally on me!”

Zel Shivertail’s voice was a roar as he turned his soldiers to face the new threat. His heart sank as he saw the waves of black bodies marching towards the city, a seemingly endless mass of Soldiers. Liscor didn’t have the strength to fight two enemies! And even if the Antinium overwhelmed the Necromancer, what then?

There was one desperate shred of hope that Zel clung to. He unfurled the dirty little bit of parchment the Courier had sent him two days ago, the mysterious note from the Drake high command. It had one simple message that had infuriated and puzzled Zel. After his countless requests for assistance, they had sent him a single reply that consisted of one line:

Prepare for irregular reinforcements.

The parchment crumpled as Zel clenched his fist. He stared at the approaching Antinium army. This couldn’t be what they’d meant, could it?

There was someone leading the Antinium, a figure that stood out from the rest. Klbkch the Slayer stood at the head of his army, two silvery swords in his hands. He alone carried weapons; the other Antinium were uniform. He raised his voice as Zel could hear it, amplified by some spell or Skill over the battlefield.

“Our target is Az’kerash, the Necromancer! Soldiers, the Drakes are allies for this battle! Do not injure any Drake soldier for any reason! Now! Target the Necromancer’s position! Destroy his undead army! The first rank will charge!”

The Antinium moved like lightning. Before the Drake army and the undead had quite digested what was happening the Soldiers in the first rank were already charging across the ground towards the Necromancer’s army. The undead turned to meet the Soldiers and the Antinium crashed into them like a breaking wave.

Zombies were crushed in an instant while Draugr held their ground and grappled with the Soldiers. Zel, frozen, saw one of the monstrous hulking undead crush a Soldier before two more bore it down. The Soldiers stomped on the fallen undead, brutally pounding them with their fists. But the undead army was full of horrors and the Soldiers stalled. Again, Klbkch’s voice echoed as he raised one of his swords.

“The second rank will charge!”

Another wave of Soldiers set forth. This one raced towards the undead just like the first. Zel expected them to slow and join the fighting, but the Soldiers didn’t slow down. The Drake gaped.

“Are they insane? They’re going to hit—”

The second wave crashed into the backs of the first wave of Soldiers, not slowing even as they ran into the backs of their comrades. They trampled ally and enemy alike, pushing forwards without regard for casualties on their side. The undead were unprepared for the savage momentum that carried the Soldiers forwards, and their lines began to cave in.

“Dead gods! They’re actually doing it!”

The undead formations that had withstood Zel’s army were crumbling, unprepared for the savagery of the Antinium. Zel could see the Necromancer, shielded by a Bone Giant, turning in surprise. Zel thought he could see Az’kerash’ eyes widening in surprise as the Antinium ignored Zel’s forces altogether.

“The third rank will charge!”

Klbkch’s voice heralded another wave of Antinium. Zel saw them coming, saw the undead buckling and knew this was it. He raised his fist into the air and roared so all his soldiers could hear him.

“All forces, follow me! This is it! Hit the Necromancer! Bring him down!”

He sprinted to the front of the line and smashed into a pair of Draug. The Drakes behind him, caught up in the surge of momentum from the Antinium, roared and poured into the breach. Zel heard Drakes on Liscor’s walls cheering, saw arrows flying from the walls and the spells blasting into the Necromancer’s army.

Az’kerash held his ground, trying to stop the attacks from Zel and Klbkch’s armies. But then Liscor’s gates opened and a group of Drakes poured out. Attacked from three sides his army was engulfed. And Zel, fighting through the undead, found himself face-to-face with the Necromancer for the first and last time in the battle.

“You!”

Az’kerash was cutting down Drakes and Antinium with black magic, reanimating their corpses and hurling them at his enemies. He snarled as he saw Zel and he turned to run. He fired a jet black beam of energy at Zel’s head.

The Drake ducked and lunged. He shouted as his claws swiped left to right.

“[Antimagic Slash]!”

His blow caught the Necromancer on the chest and tore through whatever protection the mage had on him. Az’kerash stumbled as Zel laid his chest open. He snarled.

“You fool! Do you really th—”

Zel’s claws went through his chest. The Tidebreaker roared as he tore the Necromancer apart, throwing both halves of Az’kerash to the ground. There was a moment of stunned silence as the fighting Drakes and Antinium saw the Necromancer falling in two bloody halves and stopped.

And then the undead around Az’kerash stumbled and then began to fall. Zel turned and saw one of the remaining Bone Giants begin to crumble, unable to sustain itself without its master’s mana. He heard cheering and raised his bloody claws, roaring in victory. And then he turned and saw Klbkch, standing across the battlefield, his two silvery swords covered in gore. The two locked eyes as Liscor cheered their heroes.

Drake and Antinium. Zel stared at Klbkch the Slayer for all of three seconds and then charged him with a roar. Klbkch charged as well and the two collided in the center of the battlefield, cutting at each other, shouting as their soldiers tried to pull them apart—

—-

“Wait, what?”

Erin sat up suddenly, the empty bowl of popcorn tumbling to the ground. All the Antinium looked at her and Klbkch broke off.

“Is something wrong, Erin?”

“You two fought? I thought you were on the same side! Didn’t you say you went to Liscor because the Grand Queen ordered you to help the Drakes?”

Klbkch hesitated. He raised one finger.

“Nominally. I was ordered to consider the Necromancer a target and assist the Drakes. However, Zel Shivertail and I had clashed on numerous occasions before this. Our animosity was such that we began fighting despite our victory. It still persists to this day, in fact.”

Erin stared at Klbkch. She had noticed how neither Zel nor Klbkch liked being in the same room and how they never met each other’s eyes, but this?

“What did you do? I know you didn’t kill him, but—was it just like hitting each other a few times?”

“No. I believe I stabbed him in the chest before our forces separated us. With this sword.”

Klbkch indicated the sword on his left and then paused. He unsheathed the sword on his right and stared hard at it.

“Or was it this one? I cannot recall.”

He looked at Erin’s gaping mouth and shrugged.

“What? He survived. And he tore off my arm. I was quite upset about that.”

“But you stabbed—”

Erin’s voice rose, but before she could shout someone poked her in the side. She looked over and saw Bird glaring reproachfully at her. The Worker raised a finger to his mandibles.

“You are interrupting the story. Be shush.”

He shushed her, ignoring Pawn, Belgrade, Anand and Garry’s horrified looks. Erin stared at Bird and then looked back at Klbkch. She coughed.

“Sorry. Go ahead, Klbkch.”

The Revalantor nodded and flicked to the next page.

“As I was saying, that battle marked the end of the Necromancer’s threat, as well as the end of hostilities between the Antinium and Drakes. At least for the duration of the war. For our aide against the Necromancer and promise of aide against the Goblin King, we signed a peace treaty. The terms of which included establishing a Hive in Liscor.”

“And they agreed to that? Really?”

Erin raised her voice. Bird reached out to poke her but Pawn slapped his hand. The two Workers stared at each other as Klbkch nodded.

“Neither Zel Shivertail nor I liked the peace, but we did abide by it. Well, eventually…”

—-

The unexpected arrival of the Antinium had saved Liscor and prompted an opportunity to turn the war around for the Drake high command. Against the urgings of Zel Shivertail and a number of Drake [Commanders] they signed a peace treaty with the Grand Queen, giving the Antinium a number of small concessions in return for their aid and an immediate cease to hostilities. This writer believes any peace with the Antinium is foolish, but at the time the Drakes had no choice. And perhaps the Antinium felt the same way. The Goblin King was too great a threat, and so the Peace at Liscor prompted an unlikely alliance.

What is notable about that period is the reaction of the two leaders in the field at Liscor. Klbkch the Slayer and Zel Shivertail both objected to the peace and engaged in several clashes before their armies separated. However, the rest of the Antinium and Drake armies were able to coordinate without the same incidents occurring. While no Drake army ever fought with an Antinium army, the two sides were able to focus solely on the Goblin King’s army and divide targets between themselves.

Now the Goblin King found himself at war with all of Izril, and only now did the tides of fortune begin to turn against him. While the Drakes were occupied with the Necromancer and Antinium they were at the mercy of the Goblins, but now the hammer of the Drake armies was free to march against their foe without needing to guard their tails.

With the Antinium. And the Humans. And some Gnoll tribes. And armies from three other continents who had landed their forces. But it was the Drakes who spearheaded the assaults on the Goblin King’s armies! And it was they who drove the Goblins back at last, winning battles, defeating the Goblin Lords in a series of victories!

But never the Goblin King. Alas, the fortitudes of the Drake armies had been sapped slightly by the two wars they had fought beforehand and even their [Generals] were unable to defeat the Goblin King in a pitched battle. It became clear that the Goblin King was still unassailable in his main army, which continued to win victory after victory, forcing the defending forces to retreat rather than suffer defeats at his hands.

Part of the issue lay in the scattered nature of the forces fighting against the Goblin King. Some, like the Terandrian armies, had joined with Izril’s humans to create a powerful army while other groups like the Balerosian companies fought alone on their fronts. The Antinium were naturally impossible to work with and the cooperative Drake armies suffered from numerous communication failures with other forces, leading to a number of uncoordinated attacks and defeats.

In this writer’s opinion, part or most of the blame can be assigned to the Humans in the north, who had squandered their advantage by separating their strength. The Five Families of Izril who had united in its last defense against the Goblin King did not fight against him together after the battle.

Instead, each of the five houses fought against the Goblin King in their own way. Lord Tyrion Veltras pursued an aggressive campaign against the Goblin King with his forces while Magnolia Reinhart focused on linking up with Niers Astoragon’s forces and maintaining a defensive perimeter to halt the armies of the Goblin Lords. Had they but worked together, the Goblin King might have fallen sooner. Alas, their disunity cost the continent weeks of continued warfare. A typical Human failure of course; putting their own self-interest before the greater good.

“A poor analysis. But I should expect no better from a [Writer], much less a Drake.”

A cold voice interrupted the narrative. Lord Tyrion looked up as he sat in a chair in the dark candle-lit room. A small voice spoke up by his left hand side.

“Father? Did you really fight with the Reinharts?”

Tyrion Veltras, the famous [Lord] and scion of the Veltras family looked over at a young boy of twelve or thirteen. The young boy had dark brown hair and a slightly flushed face. He was caught between youthful energy and sickness, so that it seemed as though his vitality couldn’t be contained with his frail body.

“Lie back down.”

Tyrion ordered his son and the young boy did so, wheezing gently. Tyrion Veltras paused and an expression of distaste crossed his face as he chose how to reply.

“It was an alliance of necessity, Sammial. I would not ally with Magnolia Reinhart for anything less than the safety of Izril, but in that she and I are united. For all her many flaws, Magnolia Reinhart is at least dedicated to the safety of the realm, unlike some of our peers. But the way she pursued that safety during the war was at odds with the way I chose to fight. So we separated our forces. It was not a tactical error so much as a necessity; if we had stayed in one place we might have been crushed by the Goblin King, a fact that this author fails to note.”

He turned his gaze to stare at the book, making the man holding the book flinch. However, if Tyrion had hoped his words had impressed the seriousness of the situation on his son, he was instantly disappointed. Sammial shot back up indignantly and glared at his father.

“My name is Sammy! I keep telling you and you keep forgetting!”

Lord Tyrion sighed slowly and spoke with clear patience in his tone.

“Sammy is not a name appropriate for a [Lord]. Your name is Sammial, a fine name—”

“It’s gross! I want to be Sammy!”

“You will refer to yourself as Sammial. Is that clear?”

Lord Tyrion’s eyes flashed and Sammial hesitated. He bowed his head sulkily and lay back, breathing harder. Tyrion eyed his son  and turned his head to look at the other occupant of the bed.

“You would do well to copy your older brother, Sammial. Hethon listens before he speaks. Do you have any questions about my strategy, Hethon?”

The other boy in the bed sat up nervously.

“No father.”

“Very well.”

Tyrion nodded at his second son, Hethon, who was perhaps fourteen. Hethon didn’t have the same sickly complexion as Sammial, but he was thin and nervous, hardly as imposing a figure as his father. Tyrion turned his head and his son breathed a sigh of relief. The [Lord] nodded and spoke in a crisp, commanding voice.

“Continue, Ullim.”

The man sitting across the bed on a stool jumped. The [Majordomo] of the Veltras estate nervously flicked to the next page and read in a steady voice.

Of course, Lord Tyrion was too busy to read to his sons, which was why he had ordered his [Majordomo] to keep them entertained at all times. That normally meant bedtimes as well, but this was a special occasion.

Lord Tyrion’s rage upon hearing that Magnolia Reinhart, his hated nemesis, had allied herself with Zel Shivertail had led to the destruction of his personal parlor, including the slashed drapes, broken windows, and two complete suits of armor, now looking quite battle-worn. His anger had frightened his two young sons, which was why he had agreed to sit with them for a bedtime reading.

That was uncharacteristic of Lord Tyrion, who had been absent from the household of late. The loss of his late wife had driven a rift between him and his sons. He was not, Ullim reflected, the most intimate of fathers in any case. Even now he sat on a chair next to his son’s beds rather than in them, sharpening a dagger with a whetstone.

The balding Ullim cleared his throat and read out loud as clearly as he could. He had served the Veltras’ for years as had six generations of his family, but he was aware that a single terrible mistake could end in his dismissal. Lord Tyrion valued loyalty, but he did not tolerate incompetence or betrayal.

“The ah, ‘failing Human armies’ had yet to repel the Goblin King, forcing the Drakes to once again come to their rescue. However, it seemed as though Velan the Kind was determined to fight to the bitter end and his Goblin Lords refused to give in, slaying [Assassins] sent to kill them, beheading Human [Lords] and [Generals], and escaping when defeat threatened their armies. While the Goblin King and his Lords lived, there could be no true victory.”

“Father? Is the Goblin Lord going to destroy Invrisil?”’

Ullim stopped reading and Lord Tyrion looked at Hethon. In keeping with his nature, he did not reassure his son, but pondered the question as he would any military matter.

“We shall see if Zel Shivertail’s claws have dulled with age. He was defeated by the Goblin Lord once—I can only trust that he will either repel the Goblin Lord or retreat before the battle is lost.”

He scowled, not reassured by what should have been positive news for his people.

“Either way, I must hope that the Goblin Lord’s army remains strong enough to enact my plan. Curse Reinhart. It’s as if she is determined to ruin all of my designs, even the ones she knows nothing of!”

He slapped his knee and sheathed the dagger at his belt in a brisk motion. Hethon and Sammial watched their father, almost as fearfully as Ulliam. Tyrion strode towards the windows and stared out into the dark night. It was Sammial who asked the next question with all the recklessness of youth.

“If the Goblin Lord is strong, how strong is the Goblin King? Could you beat him, father?”

Ullim flinched and Lord Tyrion turned from the window. His voice was glacial as he replied.

“Most likely not, Sammial. Not without the ancestral relics and more risk than I would care to take. But an intelligent [Lord] would not gamble victory so in any case. The Goblin King was a threat, yes, but he was one that we could deal with. This Drake would have you believe we were struggling to defeat his armies—the truth is that we had a plan and we were enacting it. His forces were pulling back across the continent, giving us concrete targets to strike at, opportunities to rout his forces. We were winning even if we had to sacrifice thousands of soldiers to cut down his own.”

“Why? If he was stronger than everyone else, doesn’t that mean he’d win?”

Sammial wrinkled his nose, confused. Tyrion laughed shortly and shook his head.

“The war was won by numbers and strategy, not the heroics of a single figure, Sammial. The Goblin King had not the strength to fight on so many fronts. Despite his hordes, he left himself exposed. Vulnerable. We could not defeat his main army so we crippled his limbs. We went after his Goblin Lords. Remember that, Sammial, Hethon. If a foe is too strong for you to take on from the front, bleed him to death.”

Lord Tyrion’s eyes blazed fiercely and his children shrank in their beds. Ullim the [Majordomo] thought it was a shame. Even when Tyrion Veltras smiled he still lacked fatherly warmth.

But who better to fight a Goblin King? He had been there, and seen his fall. Ullim gulped and continued reading as Lord Tyrion brooded, recalling the past and the ending of the Second Antinium War.

—-

The strategy that ended the Goblin King was simple: take out his Lords. The Goblin King was, after all, only one Goblin. Like any [King] or [General] he required subordinates to coordinate his massive army efficiently. Additionally, his Goblin Lords were all powerful combatants and their ability to act autonomously had allowed Velan to challenge so many armies at once.

However, with the Antinium and more reinforcements arriving each week, even the Goblin Lords were finally outnumbered. They had to retreat or be overwhelmed from every side. The Goblin King attempted to break through the encircling armies, but Antinium armies advanced from the south, drawing away a good portion of his forces. Wrymvr the Deathless even slew a Goblin Lord in personal combat, further damaging the Goblin King’s leadership.

It was the fall of Tallis Stormbreaker that truly told the world the Goblin King was on the verge of defeat. Three Archmages of Wistram cornered the Goblin Lord’s army with their own and engaged him in a magical battle that lasted for two days and two nights. On the second day, Xrn the Small Queen and an Antinium force attacked from the Goblin Lord’s side. It is thought that the unpredictable magics employed by Xrn combined with the might of the Wistram’s Archmages overwhelmed Tallis the Stormbreaker. As the Goblin [Shaman] fell he unleashed a storm which battered Izril for a week with drenching rain and hurricane winds. But he had fallen.

At this point the Goblin King had a handful of Goblin Lords left. It is hard to tell how many truly existed or remained at this point since his Goblin Chieftains could lead huge armies of his own, but the Goblin King had lost many of his vassals and abandoned his multi-sided war across the continent. He formed his remaining forces into one massive army and marched straight towards the combined armies of the world, meeting them in a battle that would last four days and decide the fate of the Antinium Wars.

Eighteen companies from Baleroes. An army of [Knights] from Terandria. The battle-hardened forces from Rhir. A small detachment from Chandrar’s kingdoms. The might of Wistram. The Humans of Izril and of course, the glorious armies of the Drake cities. This is the force that engaged the Goblin King in the final battle, while smaller forces drew away his Goblin Lords.

It was a daring plan. The Antinium and Niers Astoragon both cut off parts of the Goblin King’s army, forcing several of his Lords to battle them and leaving the Goblin King exposed. In that brief window, the allied armies attacked, aiming for one goal and one alone: the death of the Goblin King.

The battle opened with a direct charge on the Velan the Kind by six [Generals] and an army of [Knights] and mounted adventurers, including three Named Adventurers. They sought to best him by strength of arms—and failed.

The Goblin King slew two of the [Generals], a [Lord] of Terandria and Ironheart Calecum, the Named Adventurer in personal combat, forcing the vanguard to retreat in disarray. The Goblin King chased after the retreating soldiers and found himself in a mage bombardment that cut him off from his army.

Unbeknownst to the Goblin King, a separate detachment had been created apart from the main army that was clashing with his forces. It was led by the three Archmages of Wistram and the majority of the high-level [Mages] and [Archers] began to rain death on his position, attempting to destroy the Goblin King at range.

They too failed.

The Goblin King survived the area of attack spells and arrows meant to take his life. However, his personal invincibility did not extend to his army and his vanguard was wiped out to the last Goblin by the powerful spells concentrated on his position. The Goblin King was now left in a precarious position. His army was being subjected to massive attacks from the detachment led by the Archmages, yet any attempt to charge their position led to destruction.

Without Tallis Stormbreaker the allied world forces had an overwhelming magical advantage that they intended to use to decimate the Goblin King’s forces. There was no one who could survive the magical onslaught even at a distance to close and destroy the mages. The end of Velan the Kind seemed to be on hand at last.

“No!”

A groan went up from the Goblins clustered around the book. The lieutenants and former Goblin Chieftains in the Goblin Lord’s tent crowded around the open history of the Second Antinium Wars lying on his table. They had found the book faster than Osthia Blackwing had anticipated—raiding cities and libraries for this very copy.

The lone Drake prisoner sat in the Goblin Lord’s tent, watching Goblins read their own history. They did not know it, which surprised her. Oh, they knew the broadest of strokes. They knew their King had been slain, but not how. Now Snapjaw bared her metal teeth, snarling.

“Cowards! They attack from afar! Not fair!”

Fair? Osthia wanted to laugh at her. What was fairness in battle? But she didn’t speak, knowing the mood in the tent was murderous.

And full of grief. The Goblins acted like their King’s death was fresh and personal, which surprised Osthia. They didn’t seem to be acting. But Goblins, grieving over Velan the Kind? It was hard to accept.

“How? How does it happen?”

Another Goblin pushed forwards, a tall Hob. He jabbed at the book. Snapjaw, one of the more literate Hobs in the tent, peered at the book. She read, her face screwing up with the effort.

“It say—Goblins dying. Mages from Wis—Wis Tram attacking. Killing by thousands. Goblin King sees. And he—he—”

She choked on the words. Osthia looked at her, knowing what had happened. But Snapjaw couldn’t say it. Her eyes filled with tears as the others looked at her, prodding her to speak.

“Say! Say!”

“Cannot. Cannot. Too—”

Snapjaw shook her head. A voice interrupted the Goblins as they pestered her.

“Leave her. I know what happened next.”

A Goblin standing apart from the others spoke. Osthia looked around, and saw the Goblin Lord standing, looking out of the tent flaps. Her eyes narrowed. He hadn’t read the book—he’d just listened while the Goblins had torturously read page after page. How could he know?

But he did, somehow. The Goblin Lord turned. His eyes were distant, staring back at another battlefield in the past. All of the Goblins in the tent looked at him. The Goblin Lord’s eyes were filled with tears. Osthia stared.

Tears. They were clear and ran down his face from his white pupils. Ordinary tears, bitter and filled with regret. The Goblin Lord answered in place of Snapjaw.

“What did he do next? What he could. The only thing he could. To save his people, for victory, he did all he could do.”

A tear fell from the Goblin Lord’s eyes and he caught it. It glimmered in his hand. Wet. Memory. The Goblin Lord whispered into the silence.

“He charged alone.”

—-

Alone! Into the heart of the maelstrom, through fields of fire, weathering the spells of three Archmages and bombardment from all sides! The Goblin King advanced on the small army of mages, his forces struggling to come to his aid, his Goblin Lords scattered on the battlefield.

The Archmages of Wistram threw death towards him. They broke the earth and unleashed magics that burned the air itself. They struck him with lightning, they ensnared him with magical nets and the lesser [Mages] and [Archers] filled the skies with fireballs and arrows.

And yet the Goblin King came on. Velan the Kind charged ever onwards, his magical defenses slowly failing in front of the incredible assault. His flesh burned, the spells tore his body apart.

But still he came on. And here we come to one of the mysteries of the Second Antinium Wars, one of the places where history clearly diverged. Because of chance, dear readers. The Goblin King was approaching the first ranks of the mages, unstoppable. And one word separates this history from being a triumph to a tale of despair.

If.

If Velan the Kind had survived to rampage among the mage’s ranks, the battle might have been lost despite the combined armies. His Goblin Lords had yet to begin falling, and the Archmages of Wistram might have well decided to flee rather than confront the Goblin King in person. And if they had, there was no guarantee of their survival, given how Velan had survived their most deadly spells at range. Had he lived, Velan might have rallied his forces and cut apart the allied armies, rallying his Goblins and dooming Izril.

But it was not to be. The Goblin King’s charge that had crushed the finest of soldiers, gone through spell after spell and through an elite group of Gold-rank adventurers stopped before it could cause disaster. And it was stopped by the simplest of things:

A single arrow through the eye.

It was incredible, unprecedented. The Goblin King’s protections had been destroyed by the magical attacks on his person, but his body was still as tough as diamonds, his reflexes unhindered by the damage he had sustained. He was almost upon the first rank when a lone Silver-rank adventurer half-Elf by the name of Elia Arcsinger loosed an arrow that hit the Goblin King in the eye. She used the Skill of [Piercing Shot] and at nearly point-blank range her arrow was able to do what every other arrow and spell could not. The lucky shot pieced the Goblin King’s skull and killed him in an instant.

To this day, the death of Velan the Kind remains a contentious point among [Strategists] and [Tacticians] alike. Many argue that Velan the Kind should not have perished as he did, regardless of luck. While it is a known fact that a stray arrow or blade can kill all but the most well-defended warriors on the battlefield many [Strategists] argue that the Goblin King should have been able to dodge the shot.

That the arrow was capable of killing the Goblin King was not in dispute. Elia Arcsinger was in possession of an enchanted Arrow of Slaying known for its piercing properties and was using a similarly enchanted longbow certified by several Gnoll [Bowmakers] as capable of propelling arrows as far as four hundred meters across the battlefield.

Combined with the [Piercing Shot] Skill, her arrow would have stood a good chance of piercing even the Goblin King’s skin at point-blank rank. That she struck him in the eye resulted in the fatal injury, all of which is understood to be accurate by most who take up this debate. The crux of the issue is that the Goblin King did not avoid the arrow, which most [Strategists] concede he should have been able to do.

The general argument is that the Goblin King had been known to catch arrows and dodge them in other battles. That he failed to do so in this case might have been due to the chaos of the battlefield, or the effects of one of the spells he endured. Nevertheless, there remains a vocal minority who claim that Elia Arcsinger used a special Skill or had some other enchantment on her body she herself may have been unaware of. Or perhaps her latest abilities were the reason for her miraculous shot.

After all, the half-Elf’s fame for killing the Goblin King has resulted in Elia Arcsinger becoming known as one of the greatest Named Adventurers of this age. The title of Kingslayer and her famous [Line-Ender Shot] Skill obtained from killing the Goblin King do seem to indicate that the credit for the Goblin King’s death should lie with Elia Arcsinger and no other. And yet, many [Strategists] still argue the event to this day.

To this writer’s mind there is little purpose speculating overlong as to the cause of the Goblin King’s death. It is enough to say that he died, and the world will ever be grateful to Elia Arcsinger for her steady aim in that last hour of desperation. So let this bring an end to pointless debates. The Goblin King should have dodged. But he did not. And history will note that as fact. There is no point arguing over what occurred, especially when more important issues demand the attention of [Strategists] and their ilk.

“But that’s so suspicious!”

Olesm leapt to his feet, tail thrashing as he forgot where he was and shouted in his small office. He angrily waved the book he was holding about, shouting at it as if his voice could reach Krsysl Wordsmith if only he was loud enough.

“That’s the entire point! If the Goblin King should have survived, why didn’t he? Was it a spell or a Skill or what? Was it betrayal like some theories indicate? Or did an Archmage cast a spell? What about the interview where Elia Arcsinger said herself she doesn’t know why the Goblin King didn’t dodge? Don’t just gloss over all the important details, you egg-headed moron!”

He collapsed into his chair, panting, and held the book open.

“How did it happen? Why? Why did he die there when he should have won? Was it just luck? Really? Or was it something else?”

Olesm stared at the book, and turned the next page.

“This is a terrible historical account. I hope no one takes this seriously.”

He read on, knowing what had happened next. What had happened, yes, but not the why. The why of it was lost to Olesm, a precious secret that no [Strategist] or [Archer] had even been able to puzzle out. Why didn’t Velan the Kind dodge? What did he see? What happened?

Only the Goblins knew the truth. And even then, only a Goblin King could explain why it had happened. But it had. And that was that.

Or so the book said.

—-

The battle finished minutes after the Goblin King’s death. Although only a fraction of the Goblins present had witnessed the event, every Goblin on the field and perhaps every Goblin in the world sensed Velan the Kind die the moment it happened. Witnesses report seeing Goblins falling to their knees or throwing down their arms, allowing the combined armies to cut them down, too grief-stricken to fight back.

While it may be amusing to readers to imagine Goblins exhibiting any kind of grief, it does appear this was the case, as the Goblins fled, their morale broken by their King’s demise. And with that, the last battle of the Second Antinium Wars was won. The Necromancer had been destroyed, the Goblin King slain, and the Antinium had been pacified. At least for the moment.

However, I would urge you good readers to consider this last warning—

The story ended. The Goblin King died on the pages as he had on the battlefield, and across the world, readers closed the book and looked up.

Some wept to hear of the Goblin King’s death. The Goblins around the Goblin Lord bowed in grief, and with that grief harbored their terrible rage against the world. Others, like Tyrion, smiled and promised his sons the same truth in the world—that evil would always be vanquished and good triumph.

And some, like Erin and the Antinium, just closed the book and sat in silence for a while, absorbing this tale of what had been. It was a flawed history, true, but one with grains of truth. Those readers would sit in a moment of introspection, as time flowed strangely around them and they felt, just for a second, as if they could see the very fates that had led to that moment in history.

And then the moment would break and Erin would offer everyone popcorn with yeast, which was, as she claimed, the only way to eat popcorn. And the Antinium would eat and Klbkch would let Erin take over to tell another story—Charlotte’s Web, a story which would cause much emotional distress on the part of every Soldier who had killed Shield Spiders.

Life went on, sometimes informed by the past, other times going on in blissful ignorance of it. Erin Solstice’s attempts to comfort a Soldier and explain that Charlotte was a special spider would be entertaining if confusing, but that story was only a backdrop. The narrative had not ended yet, and one pair of readers continued on. They flipped the page and continued the history, reading the final notes of Krsysl Wordsmith.

However, I would urge you good readers to consider this last warning before closing this book. Yes, the war was over. The last of the Goblin Lords died as they hurled themselves into battle. Without their King, the Goblins fled, only to be cut down to the last Goblin by the victorious armies. The world was at peace again.

And yet, what a hard-won peace! And at such a cost! Velan the Kind’s rampage might not have been as devastating as the last Goblin King’s path of destruction across Terandria, but it was certainly catastrophic to the Humans. More importantly, the battles with the Necromancer, Antinium, and the Goblins had laid waste to the beloved Drake cities and would be the work of years rebuilding.

Unfortunately, that also meant the truce with the Antinium had to be honored. The allied armies declined to attack the Antinium despite the urging of many sensible minds. Foolishly, the various world leaders decided they were sick of war and let the Antinium remain a threat. Worse, they allowed the Antinium to establish a Hive in Liscor, one of the stipulations of the peace treaty!

Why the heroic people of Liscor allowed this is beyond this writer—indeed, the Liscorian army criticized and then resisted this move, leading to a rift between the public and army. Subsequently, the Liscorian army has rarely returned to its home city and spends much time on the campaign. A true shame.

But Liscor’s problems are, alas, the world’s problems. The Antinium are the one enemy side that survived the Second Antinium Wars, and their ‘help’ only highlights their threat as a group. Their victory was forestalled by the greater threats of the Goblin King and the Necromancer, but that does not erase their menace. They surprised us all with their advancements since the First Antinium War—I dread to think of what they might do if given time to prepare again.

It is my hope that this book will serve to warn readers of the Antinium and present them with a greater understanding of Drake sacrifices. We must stand together against the Antinium threat. Alone we are prey to menaces like the Goblins. Let this history be a record: the Antinium have been our enemies once, and our allies of convenience a second time. But they will never be our friends. They remain our invaders and we must resist them. And it falls on the world to lend us their aide, lest the fall of the Drakes herald the death knell of the world.

We have survived Goblins, the undead, and the Antinium in this second great war for Izril. Let there never be another one in this writer’s lifetime. But if there is, I, Krsysl Wordsmith will document the war and history to the best of my ability. History must not be forgotten and I will retell it as it should be again and again. Thank you for reading. I remain yours, most humbly,

–Krsysl Wordsmith

At last it was over. Zel Shivertail lowered the book and closed the cover slowly with one claw. Then he looked over at Lady Magnolia.

“What a terrible book. Why did you have me read through it again?”

She smiled sweetly at him and sipped from her cup of sugar and tea.

“Oh, perspective. My dear General Shivertail, don’t tell me you object to such a glorious retelling of Drake history?”

Zel grunted. He felt like he should wash his claws after touching the book. He pushed it across the table towards Lady Magnolia.

“I do, actually. History should be impartial, not biased and certainly not glorifying one species and insulting others. We all fought the Goblin King—to say any one species did more is insulting to all of us.”

“Ah, well, your opinions are not that of Mister Wordsmith’s. I said as much to him when he first published the book, but I’m afraid he didn’t listen to me. A pity you weren’t there; I think he might have listened to a fellow Drake, let alone the famous Tidebreaker. I think he admires you.”

“Ancestors.”

The Drake [General] shuddered and shook his head. He was sitting in a tent—his personal tent—at the small table he’d requested. This wasn’t the command tent so he had little to look at, but he did have a smaller map of Invrisil and the surrounding landscape he was studying.

Lady Magnolia and her [Maid] Ressa were sitting in Zel’s tent as if there was nothing odd about them being there. They had dropped by unannounced earlier that evening and Lady Magnolia had forced the history book on Zel. He wished he’d refused.

“I heard about this book coming out. And I heard how widely it was criticized so I never bothered to pick it up. I understand quite a lot of copies were made—why would you ever fund something like this?”

“I? I wouldn’t put my name on this book if Krsysl Wordsmith paid me.”

Lady Magnolia’s eyebrows shot up. Zel glanced at her.

“I thought you funded this.”

“I funded the first history. Not the second.”

She corrected him. Lady Magnolia frowned and sighed as she put her tea cup on the table. She picked up the book and flipped through it sadly.

“I paid Krsysl Wordsmith to write the history of the First Antinium Wars shortly after it had ended. He was an eager young [Writer] and he did an excellent job of writing the history. It was widely praised as you know.”

“I do know. What went wrong with the second one?”

“The fame went to his head I fear. And he decided to take the money that had made him rich from writing the first book and invest it in the second. He wrote the second as a patriot, thinking it would make him beloved. Instead, it earned him criticism from his own people. Although he does have quite a number of Drakes who still think of him as a good writer. I did try to persuade him to write a more unbiased history, but he detests me I’m afraid.”

“That idiot.”

Zel grunted. He picked up the book and shook his head as he flipped through pages of commentary, maps of the battlegrounds, sketches of the Goblin Lords—and one of himself. Zel stared at a rather flattering image of himself holding the Necromancer’s head with Liscor in the background.  He shook his head in disgust.

“This helps no one. The answer is simple and this author should have seen it. We have to fight together. That’s how we beat the Goblin King. Peace between Humans and Drakes is more important than pride.”

“Some would say that peace with the Antinium is just as important.”

Lady Magnolia spoke cautiously, watching Zel. The [General] looked up.

“If you believed that, why invite me here? No, the Antinium don’t believe in peace. And neither does the Necromancer.”

“True. That is my view as well, which is why I have been preparing ever since the Second Antinium War ended. But some do say such things. And there is a…thought that the Antinium of Liscor might be less dangerous than the rest of their kind.”

The Drake paused. He didn’t know how Magnolia had heard that, but it didn’t surprise him. He thought about Klbkch and his claws clenched into fists. But then he thought about Pawn and shook his head.

“Perhaps. I wouldn’t know. But one Hive is far from all of them.”

“Indeed. It is a thought though, and I want you to be aware of the opportunity that exists there. However, you are correct. The Grand Queen of the Antinium rules over her kind and she…bothers me. She will seize any opportunity she feels is right.”

“So will the Necromancer. I can’t believe he survived me ripping him apart.”

“Mm. Next time we’ll see about using a spell. I intend to make sure he is dead this time. But you can see why I haven’t pursued him yet.”

“Because he’s south of Liscor? A Drake problem?”

“Well, yes. Frankly, the problem is that both he and the Antinium are south of Liscor. Let’s assume the Drakes attacked one. The other would surely seize on that opportunity to force the Drakes into a war on two fronts.”

“Not a problem if we had Human help.”

“Indeed…but I am afraid that Human help might not turn up at all. Many Human [Lords] and [Ladies] would leave your people to fight alone, in the hopes of swooping in and defeating the victor. Or worse, your help might turn into a dagger in the back if Lord Tyrion were to march an army south of Liscor. He still dreams of conquering Izril, you know.”

“Wonderful. No wonder you wanted a Drake [General].”

Zel sighed. He felt old after hearing so much history. He had lived through most of it, true, but it felt like another lifetime. He was so old. He could still remember the First Antinium War. And the Second…Zel wondered if he’d live to see a third one. He didn’t want a third one, but what other choice was there?

A thought occurred to him as he pushed the book around on his table. Zel looked up at Magnolia with a frown.

“Where was your powerful magic-user ally during the Second Antinium War? Did he take part in the fighting at all? Or does he hail from another continent, like Niers Astoragon?”

Magnolia’s expression changed slightly. She pursed her lips together and looked slightly annoyed. She toyed with her teacup as she replied.

“He…excused himself from the war. The Goblins are not his enemy and he refused to battle them, much to my displeasure. He did succeed in stalling the Goblin King for a few days in the High Passes, though. I suppose that I owe him some credit for that.”

“Wonderful. So I can’t expect help against the Goblin Lord?”

“Do you need it?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I’d like more certainty, but if I can’t have it then I’ll fight and see how it plays out.”

Zel stood up. He paced around his table, looking at the small map. So close. He’d plotted the Goblin Lord’s advance relative to his army. Magnolia Reinhart turned to face him. Her foot was jiggling just the slightest bit as she asked the question that had to be on everyone’s mind.

“How soon?”

“The day after tomorrow. Or tomorrow if he really marches his troops. He won’t, though. So it’s the day after tomorrow at some point. Day, night…I’ll force him into a day battle if I have to. I won’t let him play any tricks with the undead this time. It’ll be a straight-up battle.”

Zel Shivertail’s voice sounded loud in his ears. His heart pumped a little faster, thinking of it. So soon.  But the Goblin Lord had turned towards Invrisil, against all expectations. He was coming here. And Zel was ready.

“I have given you all the tools at my disposal. We shall go over all of my estate’s resources tomorrow once more. If there is anything you need—”

Magnolia’s voice was brisk as she stood up. Zel turned his head and nodded absently at her.

“Battle Golems, that magical artifact…I’ve reviewed it all. I could use more adventurers if you can hire them.”

Magnolia pursed her lips.

“They don’t want to fight in a battle. This is technically not the defense of Invrisil so I can’t conscript them easily. But I will double the reward for Gold-rank adventurers.”

She paused and looked at Zel.

“Are they so necessary?”

“Necessary? No. I think I can win this. Even without any adventurers. But I like stacking the odds in my favor. Call it the wisdom of age or something.”

Zel sighed. Magnolia stood next to him in silence for a few seconds.

“You will win, won’t you?”

“Probably. I don’t make promises before a battle. But yes, probably.”

“The Goblin Lord—”

“—Is not Velan the Kind. Your history book proves that. He’s a threat, a danger, and one I refuse to underestimate. But he’s no Goblin King.”

“Not yet.”

Magnolia’s words hung in the silence. Zel shook his head.

“Maybe not ever. A Goblin King is something rare. Something…I saw him during the final battle, you know. From a distance. I was on the front lines against his regular army. Holding the line. I saw him charging minutes before his death. And I thought he seemed so—so—”

“Dangerous? Strange? Frightening? Lonely?”

The Drake shook his head.

“Sad. As if he knew what was going to happen next.”

Magnolia stared at him. Ressa blinked. Zel turned away, embarrassed by the confession.

“It was just a feeling. But it stuck with me. And if that book you read taught me anything, it’s that we don’t know much about Goblins. Not truly. We don’t know why Velan ran berserk, why he died like he did…nothing. And this Goblin Lord is the same. We think he’s allied with the Necromancer, but is that as an equal, or as a servant?”

“Some questions have no answers. At least, none we can discern. I suspect the Goblin Lord is the only one who could answer your questions. Besides Az’kerash, at any rate.”

Zel nodded. His claws tightened on the book and he tossed it to one side. His head turned south, towards the coming battle. Soon. Tomorrow? The day after. Zel felt his heart beating faster. The Second Antinium War was over. The Goblin King was dead, but here was another Goblin Lord. Was he connected to the Necromancer?

“In that case, I’ll ask him when I have a claw around his throat.”

He turned and left the tent. Magnolia Reinhart’s gaze traced the same invisible line in the distance. She tapped a finger to her lips and whispered.

“We’ll see. Nothing is set in stone.”

Then she turned and kicked the book on the floor. Magnolia scowled at the book, rubbing at the tips of her toes and grimacing.

“I truly do hate history books. Honestly, I think I’ll hire a Gnoll to write the next one.”

She stomped out of the tent, leaving The Second Antinium Wars, a History lying on the ground. After a moment Ressa picked it up and followed her mistress and Zel Shivertail outside. The stage was set, the pieces all in place. It was time for another page in the story of the world to begin.

Soon.

4.48

Time was peculiar. Lady Magnolia knew that well. Some days, some moments could seem to last forever while entire years could flash by. It was all a matter of how much was happening. When it seemed like the world was ending and dire news was the headline of each morning, time could be at a standstill as every day became an unfolding disaster. By the same token though, when there was too much to do and time was precious, it slipped away like shadows in the sun.

She planned with Zel Shivertail, letting the [General] take command of his forces, assisting where she could without getting in the way. Magnolia pulled strings, marshalled all the resources at her immediate disposal, flattened gossip in places and encouraged it in others, and heard reports from [Scouts]. A day passed like that and then it was time.

The Goblins were here.

The first sign of their presence was the distant drum beats that echoed across the grasslands like thunder. The last of the winter’s cold fled with their arrival, and the dark skies and overcast day heralded a wet, if temperate battlefield.

“Muddy. Bad footing. I wish we could have had better weather for today’s battle.”

Magnolia Reinhart turned her head as she stood on those same fields. She had been staring at a black mass in the distance. Now she looked at an armored woman by her side. The woman was dressed so she looked nothing like the [Maid] she was—wearing thick metal armor and carrying an enchanted mace, she was the spitting image of Odveig, the former leader of the Celestial Trackers. But Sacra had many disguises, many faces. And Magnolia appreciated the depth of her knowledge in moments like these.

“Why is mud disadvantageous, Sacra? Aside from the obvious reasons. I would assume that the danger of slipping applies to Goblins as equally as Humans.”

Sacra bowed her head slightly, not taking her eyes off of the distant Goblin host.

“Your pardon Lady Reinhart. But Goblins are experienced in fighting in almost all forms of weather and terrain. Humans are not. Some of the soldiers here won’t have practiced in these conditions. They’ll be at a slight disadvantage.”

“I see. Hopefully General Shivertail will be able to compensate.”

Magnolia turned her gaze back towards the Goblins. They had been marching steadily towards Invrisil for two hours now, across the plains outside of Invrisil. The Human army had decided to meet them four miles outside of Invrisil’s suburbs. Any closer and the Goblins might use the houses and buildings as cover, or worse, scale the outermost walls and threaten the city itself.

Invrisil had not come under attack since the Second Antinium Wars. It had grown without fear, safe from [Bandits] and monsters due to the high number of adventurers who lived within its confines. But now, in the face of the Goblin Lord’s armies those same adventurers were in hiding.

All but a few. Magnolia shifted her gaze and stared at the army of Humans that had formed up ahead of her, in the path of the approaching army. The armor of thousands of [Soldiers] gleamed in the light drizzle from overhead, and Magnolia could see hundreds, maybe thousands of banners, each proclaiming a unit from a different village, town or city.

Just over forty thousand soldiers. A vast army. And yet the Goblin Lord’s forces were reported to be almost double that number. True, his forces would be comprised of noncombatants as well, children, pregnant Goblins, the elderly…and a good half of his army was the undead horde.

Even so, the numbers alone made Magnolia’s heart beat quicker. She stared at the Goblins until another voice spoke up.

“It’s not right.”

“What is?”

Lady Bethal stared at the Goblin Lord’s army. It was spreading out across the grasslands, growing larger by the second. So many. Magnolia tried to count and gave up. Bethal’s voice was pained, the only sound in the silence.

“We should have brought twice as many soldiers to this battlefield. Three times. These are Goblins. Why hasn’t every city within a thousand miles turned out their garrisons to support us? This isn’t a matter of politics! Why are we so divided? But instead Lord Tyrion siphons off soldiers we need, and so we have to send a Drake legend in with a half-formed army—”

“I know.”

Magnolia cut her friend off. She sighed.

“I know, Bethal. But we Humans do not always act in the best interests of our people. We are selfish, paranoid, petty…I should have known my enemies would fight me even in this. They would let a city of hundreds of thousands burn to hurt me.”

“Fools.”

“Not fools. Not entirely. Just…uncaring, I think. To his credit, Zel Shivertail realized how lackluster a force he had been given. But he chose to lead it anyways. He thinks he can win, not just defend, Bethal.”

Magnolia stared out across the ranks of Human soldiers, at the lone figure standing on the front lines. Zel Shivertail’s armor glowed in the dim light, a beacon for all those who looked for such things. Bethal shook her head.

“I pray he’s right, Magnolia. My Thomast is out there and almost all of my Knights of the Petal. If they are lost—”

Her eyes flicked to her husband, lost in the seas of soldiers. Magnolia could spot the iconic [Knights] in their light pink and red armor. She tried to soothe Bethal, although she didn’t feel that calm herself.

“Your husband is quite competent Bethal. As for your [Knights]—they are the most elite force on the field, bar none. We must commit all we can to this battle. And remember, if you should see Thomast in trouble, you have given me your word not to go into the battle.”

“I know.”

Bethal sighed loudly and Magnolia eyed her. That had been the condition she’d imposed on Bethal before she’d let the other [Lady] observe the battle. Magnolia and her small retinue stood at a distance from the army and battlefield itself. Close enough to observe, but far enough in theory that the Goblin Lord would not trouble himself with them. And if he did…

Sacra stood with both feet planted on the ground, mace by her side. She was joined by eighteen other [Maids] and [Servants]…none of whom were wearing their usual uniforms today. They were all former spellcasters and warriors and they were all armed with magical artifacts.

A small guard. Magnolia had put her faith in Zel Shivertail. She wasn’t here to fight herself; she was an observer in this battle. Well, an observer with a small role to play. Magnolia’s flicked her gaze to the two huge covered wagons parked by her small escort. Both lacked mounts to pull them anywhere and were sinking slightly into the ground at the moment. Each one was large enough to hold several horses if you managed to get them up into such a confined space, and they were large enough to take shelter behind.

But again, if it came to that then something had gone wrong. Magnolia trusted Zel Shivertail to win this battle. And as if her thoughts had summoned him, she saw his figure heading her way.

Zel Shivertail rode a horse briskly towards Magnolia and her escort, and Magnolia walked forwards to meet him. She had been only vaguely surprised to learn Zel Shivertail was a competent rider—he never rode horses when fighting, so it was rare that he got a chance to show off his skills.

“Is there something wrong?”

“No. I’m changing the plan, though. Hold the secret weapons until the Goblin Lord makes his move. Don’t unleash them unless you think you have a shot at him.”

“Why, pray tell? They could cause extensive damage—”

Magnolia bit her tongue as she realized she was asking questions of a [General]. She was no [General]; she should just let him do his work. Zel answered her curtly as he eyed the distant Goblin Lord’s army.

“I don’t like the looks of the Goblin Lord’s vanguard. I took a look at them with a spyglass—it seems like he has a very strong escort and he’s entrenched himself in his army. It will be hard to get a clear shot at him unless it’s by surprise.”

“I understand. I will wait for the opportunity, then.”

Magnolia smoothed her skirts, glad the magical fabric couldn’t get dirty or wet. She looked at the Drake [General] and couldn’t help but ask a few more questions.

“Do you believe you’re prepared? There are still a few more contingency measures we could take. The magical artifact my grandfather gave me—”

“That thing?”

Zel turned his head and eyed the strange tube-like object that Magnolia had brought with her. It was resting on a small pedestal, guarded by two of her [Maids]. He shook his head.

“Unless the battle turns badly, don’t use it. I’d rather save that for the Great Chieftain you were talking about. And I’d rather not risk collateral damage since we don’t know exactly what it does.”

“Very well. And I see you have equipped the artifacts I gave you. Excellent.”

Zel frowned as he scratched at the pair of rings on his fingers. Magnolia knew he also had a pendant around his neck. They seemed to be annoying the Drake.

“Yes. I’m grateful, really, but I don’t like rings. I fight with my claws you know. These things can catch when I hit something.”

Magnolia pursed her lips, unsympathetic.

“I should imagine their effects outweigh whatever awkwardness you feel, General. They will protect you from unfortunate teleportation, curses, metal attack spells…they should be standard fare to someone of your rank. I can’t understand how you survived this long without them!”

“Probably because everyone thought I had them on and never bothered to test whether I had them or not. And I’ve survived nasty spells before. One time I got teleported off of a cliff…”

Zel grunted. His eyes were going back to the Goblin army. They were coming so slowly. Magnolia tried to keep her voice light and bantering. She and Zel were both icons after all. They had to pretend to be calm for the sake of others.

“I suppose Drakes don’t bother with magical protections, then? You, what, trust the strength of your scales?”

“Hardly. You should see some of them. I know a Lord of the Wall that has rings on every finger. No, I was never supported by the Walled Cities so I had to make do without. And any artifacts I used I returned. Well, I’ll try to get these ones back to you in one piece.”

“Please, consider them a gift. It would hardly do for me to be seen as stingy and I have quite a few ugly rings in my collection.”

“Thank you.”

They traded words like that for a few more minutes, both keeping their eyes on the Goblin Lord’s army. And then Zel nodded towards the black host in the distance.

“It’s time. Remember what I said. Wait for the Goblin Lord to be exposed. And as for the rest…”

He paused. Magnolia waited, her heart beating fast, her face composed. Zel Shivertail just shrugged.

“It’s time.”

“Fortune in battle!”

Magnolia called after Zel’s back as he turned his horse. She heard Sacra and the others around her saying something similar. Magnolia shook her head. Such old sayings. Such trite words. As if that would help one whit.

This was a battle. And as the Goblins came close enough for Magnolia to see their faces in the distance, she heard the drum beats striking louder now, the thumping in rhythm with her chest.

Doom. Doom.

The sound was like the steps of a giant. Only this giant was made of tens of thousands of black-armored Goblins, hordes of shambling undead. Magnolia stared across the ranks of Human swordsmen, mounted riders, archers, nervously staring at their foe. She wondered how they could look at that massive army and not run. There were so many! But the Humans were numerous too. The Goblins approached, spreading out like a breaking wave. Closer, closer—

And then the drumbeats ceased. Magnolia’s heart skipped a beat as the absence of sound affected her more powerfully than the noise. She stared at the Goblins and then saw him.

A Goblin sitting on a massive Shield Spider. A figure dressed in robes. He didn’t shine with an aura or radiate malice, but there was no mistaking him. The Goblin Lord rode his mount to the head of his army and raised his hand.

“Sacra, what is he—”

Magnolia turned to Sacra, about to ask her opinion. Without Ressa she was acting as commentator and analyst of the battle. But she never got a chance to voice her question. Because as the Goblin Lord raised his hand the Goblins around him raised their weapons and shouted one word.

“Goblin.”

The noise broke the silence and rippled across the plains, causing a physical ripple in the army of Humans. Magnolia’s ears rang and she saw the servants around her wince. Only Sacra, Bethal, and Magnolia didn’t flinch.

The effect on the Human army was just as effective. Magnolia could see ranks of Soldiers waver for a second before standing straight. Just one word had caused their morale to waver.

And it wasn’t over. The Goblin Lord raised his hand again and the Goblins shouted.

“Goblin!”

The noise was fury and bloodshed, monstrous, the very definitions of what Goblins could be. Magnolia calmed herself with a Skill, looking across her army. They weren’t breaking, but the Human soldiers were clearly unnerved by the sound.

“He’s trying to shatter our morale!”

Sacra shouted at Magnolia, explaining the obvious. Magnolia nodded, noting that Sacra had taken the mace from her belt. Again, the Goblin Lord raised his hand and the sound rolled forth.

“Goblin!”

Again the massed voices of the Goblins struck the Humans. Magnolia had to admire the simplicity of it. It was like being attacked, but there was no way to fight back. A few of the Human officers tried to raise their own cheers, and Magnolia heard the cries taken up, but only by a small percentage of the army. And the wavering voices made the Goblin’s earth-shattering chant all the more terrifying.

“Idiots. You can’t beat Goblins in a shouting contest.”

Sacra shook her head as she twirled the mace in her hands, eying the Goblin army restlessly. Magnolia raised her voice to be heard.

“How do you do it, then?”

“What?”

“How do you beat them?”

“Like that!”

Sacra pointed. Magnolia stared until she saw the lone figure standing at the head of the Human army. Zel Shivertail. He had advanced a few paces ahead of the front rank of swords and pikes so he was visible by most of his army. He stood, his armor shining, arms folded as the Goblins shouted again.

“Goblin!”

They had spotted him, Humans and Goblins alike. The Goblins were screaming, their noise filling the air and the Humans were shouting too. They wanted Zel to raise his hands, to fight sound with sound. But Zel did nothing.

He just stood. Waiting. And as Magnolia watched the Goblin Lord exalting his army again she realized what Sacra meant.

The Goblins roared at him, screaming, tens of thousands of Goblin voices howling their rage and fury. And still, Zel stood with arms folded. Waiting. And as they screamed, the Goblins stared at him. And their voices began to falter.

They all knew him. Foolishly, the Goblin Lord had studied Zel Shivertail, had read his stories. Tidebreaker, [General of the Line], hero of two Antinium Wars. The greatest [General] of the Drakes. And so rumors had spread. Zel Shivertail had trickled into the Goblin consciousness like poison. And now he was here, and that knowledge was magnified by his presence.

Zel Shivertail was huge. It wasn’t just his physical appearance, which was already imposing. He was like a giant shrunken down and contained within a much smaller body. He dominated the attention of the battlefield.

And he stood there, listening to the Goblins cheering, staring at the Goblin Lord. Just stood. But as Magnolia stared at his back she felt the apprehension from the Goblin’s chanting vanish. The Humans standing behind Zel stood straighter. His armor shone like fire and Zel waited.

Slowly, the Goblin chanting stopped. They stared at Zel, frustrated, angry, and perhaps, afraid. Because of what he was. What he represented.

There stood one who had fought the Goblin King, had fought his Goblin Lords. He was right there. And he was terrifying.

The silence had regained the battlefield. Magnolia saw the Goblin Lord waving his hands, shouting, frustration clear in his motions as the Goblins advanced again. By her side, Sacra nodded approvingly.

“We might not have won the battle of morale, but we certainly didn’t lose.”

“And now it begins.”

Bethal stared at the Goblins as they began to march rapidly on the Human army. Magnolia waited, her heart beating loudly, her eyes scanning the battlefield. She realized that the waiting, the chanting, all of it, had just been the most basic of preludes. The battle began in earnest as the Goblins streamed towards the Humans, shouting, marching in black ranks.

The arrows came first. Magnolia saw a company of [Archers] led by one of the few Gold-rank adventurers raise their bows. The highest-level [Markswomen] and [Snipers] among them had the Skills and enchanted weapons to fire across hundreds of feet and began loosing arrows into the front rank of Goblins. Black bodies tumbled downwards, just a handful, and the Goblins raised their shields higher, snarling and trampling over their fallen.

And they had archers of their own. Magnolia saw arrows flying back towards the Human army—just a few at first, but more and more as the two armies closed in distance. The Gold-rank adventurer in the archer’s group—a Gnoll woman with a longbow—dodged as an arrow shot towards her head. She nocked an arrow and loosed it—Magnolia saw the Goblin who’d aimed at her fall, clawing at an arrow in his chest.

The duel between archers halted abruptly as the Goblins came within a hundred feet. Now Magnolia heard [Captains] calling out orders.

“Hold! Draw! Wait for it—loose!”

A rain of deadly projectiles shot across the muddy ground towards the front rank of Goblins. Several fell, but the black armor the Goblins wore shielded them from the worst of it, as did their shields. They were coming faster now. The Goblin Lord pointed and his voice snapped an order. The front rank of Goblins surged towards the Human army.

And now Magnolia could see the Hobs. A line of over a hundred Hobs charged towards Zel Shivertail and his army, giant green warriors coated in black armor, holding massive weapons and roaring as they came. The Human [Archers] were aiming at them, trying to bring them down but for every one they, felled ten more came on.

“Dead gods. They’re going to be overrun!”

Bethal stared at the front rank. The Humans there were low-level. They weren’t [Lineholders] or experienced warriors! Hobs were a Silver-rank threat! Magnolia watched as well. She bit her lip and whispered.

“Come now, General Shivertail. Tell me you know how to deal with this.”

—-

“Oh, dead gods.”

Lieutenant Gershal of Vaunt felt his heart stop as he saw the Goblins charging. He had been assigned to the front ranks with his unit and had lamented the fact with the other sympathetic officers. But he hadn’t realized what it meant until this moment.

A wave of Goblins was coming at him, as endless as the sea. And at the head of them—

Hobgoblins. The closest one was a head taller than Gershal and three times as wide. Gershal could see the flecks of spit, see the frenzied crimson eyes staring at him, the gigantic maul in the Goblin’s hands—

“Steady.”

A voice snapped Gershal out of his trance. He looked to one side and saw another officer, the [Captain] assigned to the area speaking to him. Gershal realized he’d taken a step back. The soldiers around him were doing the same. Horrified, Gershal realized the entire front was pulling back in face of the Goblin’s charge. He shouted at his men, ashamed and terrified.

“Hold your positions! Hold, damn your cheese-rotted heads!”

Cheese-rotted heads. It was a petty insult children used in Vaunt. But it worked. The soldiers jumped and half-looked towards Gershal before snapping out of their fear. They reformed the line, men and women holding shields, pikes trained on the Goblins, swords ready for when they broke past the pikes.

Gershal carried a sword and shield as well. He breathed heavily, his eyes on the Drake in shining armor ahead of him. If he stared at Zel Shivertail he could hold his ground. But the Hobs! They were seconds away. What was going to happen when they hit? They’d be swept away, all of them!

Zel Shivertail hadn’t moved in the face of the Goblin’s charge. Now, as they were about to hit the front line he shifted. He raised one claw and spoke. Gershal barely heard his voice over the roar of the Goblins.

“[Stonewall Formation]. [Chargebreaker Guard].”

Something filled Gershal and he gasped as his shield felt warm. His footing on the slippery mud and grass felt firmer. But he couldn’t analyze the feeling. The Goblins hit his line and the entire army in a roar and crash of metal on metal that dwarfed every sound Gershal had heard in his life.

The first wave of Goblins smashed into the soldiers around Gershal. He saw a gigantic Hob charging towards him. The [Lieutenant] raised his shield, heart pounding. The Hob had a massive hammer and swung towards Gershal. It was too late to dodge, but Gershal knew he’d never block the blow. He braced—

And the hammer glanced off his shield. Gershal gaped and the Hob staggered. Gershal stumbled back. The blow had been incredibly strong, but it hadn’t smashed through his iron and wood shield! Both Human and Goblin were so surprised that they stared at each other for a moment.

And then instinct took over. Gershal swung his sword desperately as the Hob raised his hammer. His sword glanced off the Hob’s gauntleted arm and again the hammer came down! And again, it was blocked.

Gershal staggered under the force of the blow. It was tremendous! He could feel the incredible impact, and yet his shield and body held. No—more than that! With one arm he thrust the hammer away and the Hob stumbled backwards. Gershal charged into the Hob, screaming and thrust his sword towards the gap between his chest plate and leg armor.

The Hob howled as Gershal’s blade struck him in the thigh, glancing off bone. He swung his hammer and Gershal darted back. The two traded blows and again, Gershal found his shield could handle each of the Hob’s devastating attacks! But the Hob was quick and powerful. He blocked each of Gershal’s thrusts, snarling, trying to strike around Gershal’s shield with his slower weapon.

So caught up were the two in their duel that neither one realized where they were. Gershal backed up from the Hob’s swing and collided with something from behind. He turned—

And another Hob twisted around, her axe covered with blood. This Hob was taller than both Gershal and the hammer-wielding Hob. She was standing over a Human soldier, or what remained of them. The pike in their hands had been hacked in two from the Hob’s blows. Now both Hobs closed in on Gershal from either side.

He jabbed at them with his sword, trying to back up. But the Hobs were fearless. The female Hob swung her axe and only Gershal’s shield saved his head from being split open. The hammer-wielding Hob charged, roaring, his weapon aimed at Gershal’s back—

And a flash of green charged into him. Gershal spun and saw the Hob falling. Gershal stared.

The Hob was falling to the ground. His black armor, impervious to Gershal’s iron sword, was torn open and his chest was a bloody mass. And standing over him was a Drake in shining armor.

Zel Shivertail.

Gershal stared. He heard the female Hob scream and Zel turned. The Drake caught the blade of the axe as it swung towards his face and his left hand slashed across the female Hob’s chest. His claws were long and cut through the Hob’s armor like it wasn’t there. Gershal stared as the female Hob sagged. Zel dropped her and turned towards Gershal.

“You’re out of line! Get back!”

He roared and Gershal thought he was reprimanding him for a second. Then he realized—he was out of line! His duel with the Hob had carried him out of the line of Human soldiers and into the Goblin army. He backed up as Goblin soldiers streamed forwards around him, jabbing at him with spears, swinging swords he barely blocked with his armor and shield—

Zel Shivertail turned. He kicked a Goblin into eight of his friends, so hard the black metal bent and the Goblin screamed, and then slashed with his claws. Left, right, left! Each time a Goblin fell, their armor rent and torn open by Zel’s claws. He caught their weapons with his bare hands, impervious to the cutting edges and cleared a space around him, cutting down Goblins while Gershal found his unit.

“Hold your ground!”

The Drake roared as the Humans pushed back the first line of Goblins. He turned and charged towards a Hob—seconds later the Hob was dead and Zel was finding his next target. The Human [Soldiers] and Gershal himself roared in response to their [General]’s heroics. Gershal felt like his arm was ablaze with energy—he blocked a Goblin’s thrust as if it was nothing and cut the Goblin down, shouting. They could win this! They could win!

And then the arrows came and more Goblins. Gershal held the line with his soldiers, fighting, falling, dragging wounded friends to safety while more [Soldiers] rushed forwards to fill the gaps.

That was the first five minutes of the battle.

—-

“It’s working! They’re doing it!”

Bethal clutched at Magnolia, shaking her shoulder as they watched the battle from afar. Magnolia endured the shaking. She was a [Lady] and she couldn’t display an undignified countenance.

Of course, Bethal was a [Lady] as well, but they were quite, quite different. Magnolia eventually got Bethal to let go by grabbing her hands.

“I see that Bethal. Sacra, it looks like the Goblin charge has failed.”

“For now.”

Sacra eyed the Goblins as they clashed with the front rank of Humans, led by Zel. It was a slaughter on both sides, but one that was definitely favoring the Humans. They were holding, reinforcing gaps in their lines while their soldiers cut down wave after wave of the Goblins. The Goblin Lord’s Hobs, his elite shock troopers that gave him an advantage over the Human soldiers were being stalemated by Zel’s defensive Skills.

But that was only the beginning of the battle. Magnolia saw the mass of Goblins that had crashed against Zel’s front line moving left and right, trying to flank the Humans. Correspondingly, battalions of Human soldiers were racing across the ground.

“We don’t have the numbers to keep spreading out like this, surely?”

Magnolia pointed the extending front line out to Sacra, worried. The Goblins were racing to encircle Zel’s army. Sacra shook her head.

“We don’t have to. Look—we’re holding them off across this line while our archers hit them. Our mages are slowing their advance—”

Fireballs and lightning were blasting ranks of Goblins apart where they clustered most heavily. The Goblins were answering in kind—Magnolia saw flashes of magic blasting into Humans soldiers, shards of ice splintering off shields and acidic splashes causing some to drop their weapons and claw at their faces.

“—And our cavalry’s moving. If the Goblin Lord splits his forces too far trying to encircle us—yes, there they go!”

Magnolia followed Sacra’s gaze and saw a wedge of mounted Humans smash into a section of the Goblin line where they’d extended themselves too far. She saw the mounted riders hacking their way through, cutting off that group of Goblins from their main army. Surrounded, the Goblins quickly succumbed to the encircling Humans as the riders broke away.

—-

“That’s right! Hit them and away! On me!”

Captain Salvia laughed and shouted as her [Riders] cut into the Goblins. She raised her sword and whirled it, spraying Goblin blood. At once, the mounted warriors under her command wheeled their horses. The Goblins were already surging after them, loosing arrows and trying to catch her soldiers. Salvia grimaced as she saw an arrow pierce a horse’s side and both animal and rider went down. The Goblins on foot charged the fallen soldier, intent on tearing him to shreds.

Not yet. She galloped past the man and caught his outstretched hand. Her own stallion slowed as Salvia pulled the man into her saddle. She patted him and prayed he could hold their weight. Just a little further!

“Break away! Back to the lines! Move it, move it!”

Her soldiers streamed away too quickly for the Goblins to catch. Salvia let the horseless man drop as soon as they were close to their lines—he sprinted towards the back where more warhorses were ready to go. She turned her mount, listening for the next order from General Shivertail or a [Strategist].

The Goblins were floundering, surprised by their inability to break the Human front line, unprepared for the lightning-fast attacks. Their own spider riders were too slow to catch up with the Humans and that meant they were prey to Salvia’s forces. She grinned, her heart still pumping fast in her chest.

“This is the way to fight a battle! Come on lads, let’s hit the Goblins again!”

She spotted an opening—a gap in the Goblin lines at the same time a [Messenger] rode towards her, pointing and shouting. Salvia kicked her horse into a gallop and she rode towards the break, her soldiers screaming war cries behind her. She hoped Gershal and his cheese-eating lot were alright. But then the battle overtook her and Salvia’s only thoughts were to cut and block and turn her mount.

They were winning! At least—for the moment.

—-

“Too fast!”

Goblins. Osthia Blackwing was chained and muzzled as she stood by the Goblin Lord’s personal guard. He’d dragged her onto the battlefield although she’d fought her captors. She wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or curse; he was using her as a tool to gauge the enemy’s tactics. Now she watched as the Goblin Lord gave rapid orders, trying to overtake Zel Shivertail’s forces and hammer them from all sides.

She’d watched his disastrous first charge with grim satisfaction. The Goblin Lord had known Zel Shivertail was a defensive [General], but hearing that and seeing a Hob being bested by a low-level [Soldier] with a shield and spear was something else entirely. Now the Goblin Lord was raging as the Human cavalry stymied his force’s advance.

“Move! Order undead—there!”

He pointed and a ripple went through the Goblins around him. Goblin [Necromancers] and [Shamans] began pointing and chanting and Osthia saw the undead horde move at last.

Tens of thousands of zombies, some halfway towards skeletons themselves, lurched into motion. They’d been circling the Human army, ignoring the arrows and spells that had cut down their number by the hundreds with each passing minute, and now they advanced on the Humans from the left.

Slowly. Only a few of the zombies were ‘fresh’ enough to run, and only the Goblin Lord could make them do that. A few hundred Ghouls raced out of the ranks of undead and surged towards a group of Humans who’d formed a line to meet them.

The Ghouls lunged into the ranks of Humans, tearing, biting with unnatural speed. They were outnumbered and quickly dispatched, but they’d dragged down quite a number of soldiers before they fell. And they were just the first wave. The zombies met the Humans and died as the soldiers sliced the slower undead apart.

But a second wave was already crawling over the first, grabbing at shields and advancing despite being speared through the chest. They threatened to overwhelm the Humans by sheer numbers, and Osthia saw a giant Crypt Lord belching bile over a group of Humans, making them vomit and fall to the ground—

“Good! Now. Break lines.”

The Goblin Lord was pushing on two fronts. The undead were now threatening Zel Shivertail’s left and he had to pull his forces back. [Archers] and [Mages] began hitting the undead, easing up pressure on the Goblins from the front. Osthia saw the Humans begin to struggle a bit as they fought the Goblins without support. Still, Zel’s Skills were holding the ground and creating a wall of steel the Goblins struggled to break. If that was all—

A Hob was on the front lines, fighting a knot of Humans with pikes. He was unable to break their shields with his large club despite his massive strength and as Osthia watched, a pike pierced the crude black iron armor on his chest. He stumbled backwards, mortally wounded.

The Hob stared at the blood gushing from the wound on his chest and looked up. His eyes flickered—he reached behind him and grabbed something. Osthia saw the Hob lift a small figure onto his back and charged the pikes, roaring.

They speared him halfway. The Hob sagged and Osthia saw the Humans cheering. But that small figure on the Hob’s back was moving. It slipped from his body and stumbled towards the Humans. Osthia saw a Human with a sword turn, puzzled by the tiny Goblin. She shouted, her words lost by distance and the leather restraining her mouth.

No! But it was too late. The Human impaled the Goblin with his sword. No, not the Goblin. The Goblin child. The undead Goblin child.

The undead Goblin exploded. Osthia heard the roar of the blast from her position near the Goblin Lord. She had to look away as the explosion engulfed the Humans and nearby Goblins—when she could see again the entire group of Humans was gone and Goblins were flooding into the gaps.

Exploding undead. The Goblin Lord’s secret weapon, courtesy of Az’kerash. Osthia turned her head and stared at the Goblin Lord with pure hatred. She saw the Goblin Lord staring towards the sight of the blast, claws clenched into fists.

His hands were bleeding. Osthia stared as his claws dug into his flesh, red rivulets of blood dripping down his hands. The Goblin Lord turned, and the pain and fury in his gaze found her. He stared at Osthia for a second and then pointed. His voice was cold.

“Destroy the front lines.”

Osthia turned and saw more explosions. The undead Goblin children were slipping through the ranks of struggling Goblin and Humans and detonating themselves or being killed. They destroyed the Human’s lines, turning them into chaotic battles as Goblins capitalized on the broken formations and charged ahead. Osthia stared in silent despair.

The exploding undead! Zel Shivertail had known about this, surely! He had to have heard the reports—but how could you deal with such a tactic? He couldn’t just retreat, and yet, each time the Goblins detonated his army was thrown into disarray! She saw Zel Shivertail turning, shouting orders as the Humans scattered to reform their lines. And then she saw the first pink [Knight] striding forwards.

“What is that?”

The Goblin Lord’s eyes narrowed as he spotted the first Rose Knight. The armored warrior stepped into place where a Goblin child had detonated. The Goblins were charging into the gap, trying to fill the space before the Humans could replenish their ranks. They ran at the pink knight as he raised a halberd. The [Knight] swung—

And a row of Goblins disappeared in a blaze of flames. Osthia’s eyes widened and the Goblin Lord sat up on his mount. The Rose Knight twirled his halberd and stabbed—flames shot from the blade and burned through a group of Goblins, making them scream and roll on the ground to quench the magical flames. The [Knight] calmly held his ground as regular Human [Soldiers] pushed forwards, resetting their lines.

And across the battlefield, more Rose Knights were on the front. They stood on the front, calmly cutting down the Goblins. Holding the line. Osthia saw one Rose Knight strike down a Goblin and then crush an undead Goblin with his foot. He vanished in an explosion, but when the smoke cleared he was getting back on his feet, stunned, but still alive.

“Pink-armored warriors too strong! Cannot kill!”

The Goblin Lord snarled as a Goblin cried out. He narrowed his eyes as a group of Human [Archers] began sniping at the explosive undead Goblins scattered in his ranks. One shot took an undead Goblin through the throat—the blast eradicated a pair of Hobs and a group of Goblins in the back lines of his army.

“No more undead! Move to left!”

He pointed, and Osthia saw the undead children lurching away, joining the mass of undead. Osthia grinned. His tactics were failing. The Goblin Lord stared at the Rose Knight with the halberd. He was cutting down a Hob, unscathed, his armor painted red with Goblin blood. The Goblin Lord made a sound of outrage. Then he stood up and pointed.

“[Deathbolt].”

—-

Magnolia was listening to the cheering from the Human army when she saw the black bolt of magic fly across the battlefield and strike the Rose Knight in the chest. She saw the armored man stumble as the magic splashed across his armor, almost like a liquid. He raised his halberd and struck down a nearby Goblin, but his movements were palpably slower. And the Goblin Lord wasn’t done. He pointed and another black bolt flew across the battlefield.

This time the Rose Knight tried to dodge. But a group of Goblins surrounded him and seized him, weighing him down. The black magic struck the Rose Knight twice more in the chest, splashing across the pink armor in quick succession. The [Knight] wavered, stumbled, and as the third spell struck his head he collapsed.

“No!”

Bethal stared in horror as one of her elite [Knights] fell, struck dead by the Goblin Lord’s magic. The Goblins swarmed over his body, cheering, seizing his halberd and using it against the Humans around him.

“Sacra, what was that?”

Magnolia snapped at Sacra. The [Maid] shook her head.

“I know what that was.”

A voice spoke up. The three women turned and saw Reynold, dismounting from Magnolia’s pink carriage. He was breathless—he must have just arrived because the tracks in the mud were still oozing back into place.

“Reynold, do you know—”

“One company of Gold-rank adventurers, the Fire Fingers and a Silver-rank team, Embryion’s Delight agreed to your terms Lady Reinhart. I just dropped them off. They’re fighting the undead.”

Reynold pointed and Magnolia saw a group of Dwarves and [Mages] fighting their way into the undead from the left. She nodded in approval. A few adventurers had been enticed by her offers and Magnolia had quadrupled the gold reward in the last hour. Reynold had been assigned to deliver whomever was willing to fight to the battlefield.

“Thank you, Reynold. Now, what happened to Lady Bethal’s knight?”

“Sir Evimore.”

Bethal whispered through pale lips. Reynold clenched his jaw grimly.

“I’ve seen that spell before. It’s death magic. The Necromancer used a similar one. It’s instant death to anyone below Level 20. That might not be the same spell—maybe a weaker one, but it’s powerful enough. Look, he’s going to continue casting.”

The [Butler]’s face was grave as he pointed. The Goblin Lord was drinking from a bottle and as he downed the last dregs of the mana potion one of the [Archers] shot an arrow at him. The arrow swerved as it neared the Goblin Lord and bounced off his Shield Spider’s carapace. The Goblin Lord turned his head and casually pointed a finger. The black magic shot across the battlefield and the archer and four of his fellows fell over, dead in an instant.

“He’s taking out our high-level soldiers!”

Magnolia exclaimed in horror. The Goblin Lord was casting the [Deathbolt] spell rapidly now, and another Rose Knight found himself under attack. The armored woman was forced to dodge the black magic, which left her open to a Hob. He smashed her across the head with a glowing mace and her helmet bowed in slightly. The Rose Knight stumbled, another [Deathbolt] hit her from the side and she fell.

“Why isn’t that armor working! I thought it was supposed to protect those knights from practically anything!”

Magnolia turned to Lady Bethal. The [Lady] shook her head. Her face was white as a second of her prized [Knights] fell, the second in minutes.

“There’s no armor in the world that will protect against every kind of magic. Magnolia, tell that Drake to pull my knights back before they’re slaughtered!”

She grabbed Magnolia, pointing to Zel as the [General] turned, seeing the effects the Goblin Lord’s magic was having on the battlefield. Magnolia shook her head.

“I am in no position to tell Zel Shivertail anything. He must see the issue—yes, look!”

The Rose Knights were retreating from the front. Faced with this separate threat they were regrouping. A wall of forty or so took up positions on the right flank of the battlefield and Magnolia saw the Goblins backing up fast rather than charge their position. The Goblin Lord pointed and another [Deathbolt] flew, but this time it failed to strike down a Rose Knight.

One of the armored pink knights raised his shield and the magic burst against the shield. He failed to catch the second bolt that struck him in the chest, but as he staggered his fellows dragged him back. They shielded the [Knight] with their bodies as he staggered upright and opened his visor to down a potion. The Rose Knights locked formation, anchoring themselves against further death magic.

“That’s good! We won’t lose any more of them.”

Sacra was approving, but Reynold frowned.

“True, but we’ve just lost our advantage on the front.”

Sure enough, the concentration of Rose Knights on one side of the battlefield meant that the Goblins could now push forwards while they stalled the Rose Knights with expendable infantry and undead. A group of Hobs was rampaging towards the front, through the Soldiers who had lost the benefits of Zel’s Skill or were just too low-level to stop them.

The Hobs were cutting a line straight through the humans, trying to separate an entire group of them to be overrun. Magnolia saw eight Hobs, fighting in step. They turned as the Humans surged against them. Eight—no, was it seven? Magnolia blinked. Seven Hobs, wait, there were only six—

Another Hob fell as she watched. Magnolia gaped, seeing the Hob falling without spotting what had caused his death. Then she saw a shape moving around another Hob with a greataxe. The Hob turned, snarling, but Thomast was too quick. The [Duelist] ran his opponent through from behind, his enchanted rapier spearing the Hobgoblin in an instant. Quick as lightning, Thomast turned and his blade cut the air, wounding two Hobs from afar as they tried to encircle him.

“Thomast!”

Bethal’s voice made Magnolia’s ears ring. The [Lady] Walchaís was beside herself as her husband took down all eight Hobs and began rallying the Soldiers around him.

“We have the higher-level warriors it seems.”

“We do, but far less numbers. And the Goblin Lord is eager to reduce our count of elites.”

Sacra and Reynold were debating the battle amongst themselves. Magnolia turned her gaze across the battlefield, searching for the Goblin Lord once more. He was pushing to the front, but still entrenched well behind his army. Not yet. She spotted him at the same time Bethal did.

“What is he—no! Thomast! He’s aiming towards you!”

The Goblin Lord had spotted Thomast’s heroics on the front and his finger was aimed, black magic swirling around his hands and arm as he carefully targeted Thomast’s location.

“Thomast!“

Bethal would have run forwards, into the battlefield herself to warn her husband. He was too far away to hear Bethal’s screams as Magnolia and Sacra had to hold her back with their combined strength. It was too late anyways. The Goblin Lord fired another [Deathbolt] as Thomast was fighting on the front.

The black streak of magic was streaking through the air, fast as an arrow, towards Thomast’s back. He was dueling a Hob, and he stepped forwards to pierce the Hob through his unarmored neck.

The Goblin Lord’s spell flashed towards Thomast’s back as he stepped forwards. The Chevalier pierced the Hob’s throat, and then spun out of the way, sidestepping the bolt of magic and letting it pierce the Hobgoblin instead. His foe fell, lifeless and bleeding from a hole in his throat. Thomast flicked his rapier, spraying the Goblin’s blood across another foe’s face and turned towards the Goblin Lord.

He bowed slightly and raised a hand and coolly beckoned to the Goblin Lord across the battlefield. Magnolia saw the black-eyed Goblin’s gaze widen slightly in incredulous anger. Lady Bethal stopped fighting Magnolia and Sacra and made a besmitten sound. Magnolia dropped her.

The Goblin Lord declined to answer Thomast’s challenge and instead turned his magic towards other targets. Again he blasted a group of archers, taking out the unprotected Humans in small knots. They were helpless to defend themselves. However, the Goblin Lord’s spells were only a single factor in a battle where thousands of arrows and spells were flying every minute. If that had been all he would have done nothing. But then he pointed and Magnolia saw a group of eighteen bodies rise where they had fallen. The Humans turned in horror as eighteen Ghouls got up and began tearing into their unguarded ranks.

“Dead gods! He’s starting to reanimate the undead behind our lines! Our archers and mages will be slaughtered!”

Reynold was aghast as he saw the undead begin to stir all across the back ranks of the Human army. Zombies and Ghouls were indeed rising as the Goblin Lord and his own [Necromancers] began to raise the dead. Sacra grabbed Reynold’s arm as he started forwards.

“Calm down! General Shivertail planned for this!”

“How—”

Reynold was pointing at the carnage as the Ghouls began fighting the archers at close range. Then his eyes widened. He saw the flicker of black at the same time Magnolia did. She spotted a shape moving out of the shadows behind a Ghoul, stabbing it in the back, and another, slicing a Ghoul across the neck. Reynold gaped.

“Miss Ressa?”

—-

The first Ghoul was an easy kill. It didn’t notice Ressa as she stabbed it in the back. Her magical dagger, the Vision of Grasses, went into the undead’s body with ease. It froze up as she pulled the dagger out.

The dagger that she had been given by Regis Reinhart wasn’t meant for combat against the undead, but at least one of the myriad poisons it had been coated with still worked on an undead’s nervous system. The Ghoul fell, paralyzed, and Ressa turned. She slashed across the face of another Ghoul as the archers around her shouted, surprised by both the undead and her appearance.

By her side, a man in black sliced across a Ghoul’s throat. It was a good cut, but the undead was still alive. He had to hack at its neck as it fought to slash him. Only when he’d severed most of its head from its body did it fall.

“This is not how [Assassins] are meant to be used!”

Theofore the luckless [Assassin] screamed at Ressa as he turned his blades, slashing at one of the reanimated Ghouls. She grunted as she slid around another Ghoul and beheaded him with a slice with her dagger. Enchanted weapons were very nice to use. Theofore had to struggle as he repeatedly knifed another Ghoul in the chest.

“None of my Skills work on Ghouls! I can’t poison or paralyze something that’s already dead!”

“Shut up and stab.”

The two turned as more undead began to rise. Ressa moved like a shadow, flicking from target to target as Theofore struggled to keep up. Across the battlefield more disguised [Maids] and [Butlers] appeared. Not all of Magnolia Reinhart’s staff were good at domestic help. True, few of them were [Assassins], but they were high-level and enough to turn the tides.

For now. Ressa’s eyes narrowed as she gazed around the battlefield. She was no [Strategist], but she had a sense of how the battle was going. They weren’t losing, but she wasn’t sure they were pulling that far ahead of the Goblins anymore. And then she heard the Goblin drums begin to beat and heard the shout.

“Commander charge!”

—-

Commander charge. It was a term common to this world. It meant at least two [Commander] class leaders were leading a charge. And that mattered because such leaders were always high-level. When they charged a line, they could cut holes right through an enemy army.

And this time the Goblin Lord had sent all of his commanders. Former Goblin Chieftains, now his lieutenants, charged into the Human lines with their personal vanguards. And where they charged, Humans died.

Snapjaw, leading a group of Goblins on horses. Her teeth sank into a Human [Captain]’s throat, bearing him down as her Goblins charged through the broken Human unit. Eater of Spears, towering over the Hobs around him, breaking a group of seasoned [Lancers] as their weapons broke on his tough skin.

A Goblin with no face blasted ranks of Humans with fire as a [Beastmaster] Goblin rode a Shield Spider as large as the Goblin Lord’s mount into battle, his spider snatching up Humans and tossing them screaming into the air. Across the battlefield the Goblin commanders were charging, and the Humans lines began to buckle at last. Snapjaw grinned, raising her bloody head, turning her head to survey the landscape of despairing Human faces. Across from her, Noface was blasting Humans with fire magic. On her other side, Illbreath was leading his Hobs forwards. This massive Hob had once swallowed an artifact that produced poison. Rather than die from ingesting it, he’d begun to breathe poisonous vapors. Now he advanced in a toxic cloud, the Humans ahead of him coughing and gagging, unable to put up a fight.

“Push! Push Humans!”

Snapjaw raised her sword, her teeth gnashing together. In front of her, the Humans were retreating! They were winning! She saw Goblins pushing forwards. Illbreath’s unit was pursuing a group of fleeing Humans, cutting them down one by one—

And then Snapjaw got a bad feeling. A bad feeling. The kind she only had when death was imminent. Warned by her [Dangersense], the Hobgoblin turned and saw a blur heading her way. She screamed a warning to Illbreath.

“Tidebreaker!”

He turned. Zel Shivertail charged through the ranks of Goblins, trampling them, ignoring the blades that glanced off his armor and body. He collided with Illbreath in a clash of claws on steel. Snapjaw wheeled her mount, shouting, and saw other Goblin Chieftains running to the Hob’s aid.

There was only thirty feet between her and Illbreath, no distance at all! Snapjaw saw the Hob breathing poison in Zel’s face, raising his mace. The Drake [General] turned his head, coughing, was struck by the mace—

And then he grabbed Illbreath’s head and tore it off his body. Snapjaw froze. Zel tossed the head to one side as Illbreath’s corpse collapsed. He wiped at his eyes, sighed, and then blocked Snapjaw’s sword with one hand.

Casually. Just like that. She screamed at him, lashing at the Drake with her sword, but his arms and claws were harder than steel! He punched her mount and the horse screamed and fell. Snapjaw tumbled off the side, losing her grip on her sword. She saw the Drake [General] appear over her. His claw shot towards her face. She sat up and bit.

Her teeth had bitten through steel, through weak enchanted armor—even through a Wyvern’s hide! Snapjaw’s jaw engulfed Zel Shivertail’s hand with a snap, just like how she’d earned her name. She felt her teeth digging into his scales, piercing the General’s tough hide! Then she heard his voice.

“Ow.”

Zel Shivertail lifted his hand. Snapjaw rose, trying to bite into his tough skin. He punched her so hard her head rang, and then threw her. Snapjaw flew screaming through the air and hit a group of Goblins. She landed on their armor, shields, and a sword. The Hob rolled off the groaning Goblins and reached for the healing potion at her belt, gasping. She downed it and her vision cleared and the wound on her back closed. And then she looked towards Zel Shivertail and saw despair.

He was holding Noface’s head. The Drake [General] raised the faceless Goblin’s head, giving Snapjaw a clear view of the scar tissue that had replaced the Goblin’s entire face, the legacy of an encounter with a Human [Pyromancer]. He showed the Goblins their dead officer and then threw the head to the ground. The Goblins howled at him in rage. Zel waited.

And they did not advance. The Goblins held their ground, screaming, some daring to loose arrows at him or cast spells, but all too afraid to get in range of those deadly claws. Zel Shivertail towered over the Goblins, staring at them. Snapjaw froze in place, fear holding her heart. The Humans were one thing. But this?

The Tidebreaker turned away. He charged into another group of Goblins where the Human lines were faltering and Snapjaw heard her people screaming. The Humans regained ground, shouting. Where the Tidebreaker went Goblins retreated.

He could not be stopped! Snapjaw found another horse, shoving a Goblin out of the saddle. She rode back towards the Goblin Lord, retreating. She had to let him know.

They could not kill Zel Shivertail. So they’d have to kill his army. That was the only way. Then they could surround him, beat him to death. But kill him with smaller numbers, with an army at his back?

Impossible. That knowledge was bitter on Snapjaw’s tongue.

—-

“They’re pulling back! Look! I think General Shivertail’s taken out another one of their commanders!”

The Humans standing and watching the battle cheered as Zel Shivertail downed another Hob. Where he went, the Human lines surged forwards and the Goblins retreated. He was truly inspiring, and Magnolia understood now how one [General] could defeat any number of [Strategists] or lesser officers. If you couldn’t slay the [General], you couldn’t stop him from tearing apart your army.

And yet, that was also a weakness. Sacra was the first to spot it.

“We’re starting to buckle. Our lines are beginning to collapse.”

“Surely not. We’re winning on the front.”

Magnolia pointed to the spot where Zel was fighting. Sacra nodded.

“Yes we are. And where the Rose Knights are fighting. But everywhere else—Sir Thomast is holding his side with General Shivertail’s support, but our left flank is being overrun by the undead!”

She indicated the left and Magnolia saw for the first time how far they’d been pushed by the undead. The overwhelming tide of bodies was thrusting the Humans back. The zombies didn’t care if their fellows were dying like flies—they’d push past their fallen friends and tear out a Human’s eyes while he was occupied with three more undead. And now some of the highest-level undead were advancing.

A Draug Drake was throwing [Soldiers] around, ignoring the arrows a battalion was sending into his body. He’d taken several cuts to his body, but nothing short of a solid axe blow would slow him. He was a juggernaut, and the other Crypt Lords, Draug, and higher undead were similarly hard to kill. Even the few Gold-rank adventurers were hard pressed to fight with them as undead crowded around from every angle.

“There’s just too many! The Goblins can push us on all sides and we can’t crush them in any one spot for fear of being overrun!”

“But we are winning, yes?”

Magnolia sharply looked at Sacra and the [Maid] nodded slowly, twirling her mace.

“If it’s a count of how many we’ve killed compared to how many they’ve killed, we are. But Lady Reinhart, numbers aren’t everything in a battle. A superior position could reverse all our gains in a moment.”

And as if her words were prophetic, Magnolia saw a disaster unfold right before her eyes.

The Human cavalry, some six thousand horse in total, had been a pivotal part of the battle despite their fewer numbers. The Human cavalry was a famous part of their fighting force, and they had employed their superior mobility to great advantage, circling around the Goblins, striking from the rear and then moving away before they could be caught.

Now the Goblin Lord had focused on them. And Magnolia saw his [Deathbolts] begin to strike the cavalry at the same time two groups of Goblins on horseback and Goblins riding Shield Spiders set out to encircle them.

If they had been free from attack, the cavalry might have been able to make their escape. But a wall of seemingly preoccupied Goblin pikes shifted and revealed a battalion of hidden Goblin [Archers] that cut off one escape route with a deadly hail of arrows. Reynold groaned aloud as he saw the riders being cut down by the hundreds.

“Those idiots! Evade! Don’t they know how to dodge?”

—-

“Incoming fire!”

Captain Salvia saw the Goblin Lord’s death magic strike the first group of [Riders] and turned her horse, trying to present as narrow a target as possible. She saw arrows and other magical spells blasting into the riders around her and screamed.

“Break formation! [Scatter Gallop]! Weave and dodge—don’t stay in one place!”

Her unit of [Riders] immediately broke out of their wedge formation and began to scatter, moving in unpredictable ways left and right as they fled. However, the rest of the cavalry had never trained in such techniques and fell prey to the arrows and spells hitting from the side.

And then the Goblins charged into their flank. Salvia saw a Goblin with gleaming metal teeth and another Goblin riding an enormous Shield Spider leading the charge. They began tearing up the lines of her fellow riders, encircling them, threatening to tear their entire force apart!

That couldn’t be allowed to happen. Salvia screamed an order and turned her horse.

“This way! Break up those Goblins! Keep moving! Hurry!”

She led her unit back towards the Goblins on horseback, trying to cut a path free. But the Goblins had the riders well and truly encircled now, and they were cutting the helpless riders down by the dozens with each passing second.

—-

“Those fools! We’re going to lose our horse! If they don’t break out of that encirclement now—where are the [Commanders]? They should know how to escape!”

Reynold groaned aloud as he stared at the entrapped cavalry in the distance. Magnolia’s hands were clenched. She glanced at the two covered wagons and then at the destructive tube artifact.

“Sacra, is there anything we can…?”

“Nothing we have will reach that far Lady Reinhart. And General Shivertail most likely doesn’t have the Skills to help them that far away. I’m afraid they’re lost.”

Sacra’s face was pale as she stared at the slaughter. Reynold turned. Magnolia stared at him anxiously.

“Reynold, you were a [Lieutenant] once. Do you know what they could do?”

“They need to pick a weak spot and break out! There’s ways to slow down a pursuing force while escaping—I could do it myself if I—”

The [Butler]’s hands were clenched helplessly as he stared at the cavalry and then he broke off. His face changed and he turned to Magnolia with a curious, desperate light in his eyes.

“I may be able to save them. Lady Reinhart, may I have your permission to escort these good [Soldiers] to a safe spot? I fear I might place your transportation in jeopardy however.”

Magnolia’s eyes widened. She stared at her carriage.

“Escort them? Go, man! Run!”

He ran. And as he threw himself into the chair and flapped the reins, Magnolia saw the pink carriage shoot across the battlefield. Sacra stared at her mistress, worried.

“Lady Reinhart, is this wise? If we lose the carriage—”

“Sacra. Desperate times call for running people over. With an enchanted carriage.”

Magnolia interrupted her [Maid]. She watched Reynold streak across the battlefield as heads turns and the Goblins noticed him.

“Besides, I’m sure that Reynold will be perfectly civil to the Goblins. He does have a way with monsters. I think we’ve scraped off more [Bandits] from the sides of the carriage since he began driving than we ever did with all my other drivers. He does have a knack.”

—-

Snapjaw was cutting down Humans on horseback, biting the necks of horses, when she heard a Goblin’s voice.

“Fast-fast magic pink death thing coming this way!”

That was a loose translation and Snapjaw’s head turned, in confusion. She realized at once what the Goblins meant. The pink carriage of nightmares hurtled towards her group of Goblins and Snapjaw screamed an order.

“Run!”

The Goblins turned too late. The pink carriage moved hundreds of miles per hour, faster than anything else on the battlefield. It splattered the first rank of Goblins and curved through their lines, headed straight for Eggsnatcher, the Goblin [Beastmaster] on top of his giant spider.

The collision between pink carriage and Eggsnatcher’s mount was tremendous. Snapjaw saw several Goblins go flying, thrown by the impact, and then saw the Human [Butler] in the front of the carriage hacking at Eggsnatcher with a gleaming sword. The two traded blows as the carriage turned and sped away. Snapjaw breathed a sigh of relief for all of two seconds until she realized the horrible truth.

The carriage was coming back.

—-

“This way! Move your mounts you flea-bitten slugs!”

Salvia’s head jerked around as she heard the roar of an officer’s voice. But it was coming from the well-dressed [Butler] riding the pink carriage! In any other situation she might have had a few questions to ask, but here the voice of authority was a light in the darkness. She turned her mount and rode desperately.

Behind her the cavalry streamed out of the gap Reynold’s attacks had opened. The [Butler] drover his carriage around the horses, effortlessly weaving the massive vehicle through them, shouting.

“Break up! Stop galloping in a cluster or I’ll pull your damned helmets off and feed them to you! Move! I’ve seen wheelbarrows that rolled faster than you worthless sacks of shite!”

The profanity was nonsensical, abusive, exactly what the soldiers needed to hear. They moved, ignoring the Goblin death that was hot on their heels. Captain Salvia saw the [Butler] shift his grip on the reins and then spin the carriage. Quick as a flash he rammed into a group of Goblins that had nearly caught up to her unit and scattered horses and Goblins onto the ground. In pieces.

The impacts had to be taking a toll on the carriage, but the [Butler] kept it moving. He circled the Goblins, hitting the giant spider repeatedly but failing to knock it over. His attacks saved the cavalry, but the Goblins, frustrated by his attacks on them, began to circle the carriage instead.

Salvia was about to order her [Riders] to go back for the [Butler] when she heard him scream a word as he raced away from the Goblins towards an oncoming group of Goblin pikes.

“[Flying Wheels]!”

She turned her head and gaped as the pink carriage began to fly. It soared over the Goblin pikes as they gaped in amazement, up high over the battlefield. It was heading back away from the front lines. Salvia cheered as she saw the pink carriage make its escape, and then saw the Goblin Lord raise his hand.

He pointed, and a midnight bolt struck the [Butler] in the chest. He slumped in his chair and the carriage plummeted into the ground, scattering Humans and Goblins alike as it crashed across the front lines.

—-

“Reynold!”

Sacra screamed as Magnolia’s heart stopped. She stared at the [Butler], slumped across the front of the pink carriage as Humans and Goblins alike surged around him.

He wasn’t moving. The Human [Soldiers] were valiantly trying to shield the [Butler] as the Goblins tried to climb onto the carriage. Magnolia’s hands dug into her palms. Was Reynold alive? The Goblin Lord’s spell had hit him squarely in the chest. But he was a high-level warrior and [Butler]! Maybe—

She could see Zel turning towards the [Butler], aware of Reynold’s plight. But the Goblin Lord was closer. And as Magnolia Reinhart watched, he began to move.

“The Goblin Lord is charging!”

A cry went up across the battlefield. The Goblin Lord and his vanguard began charging towards Reynold’s position on the field. Over a thousand Hobs and the Goblin Lord’s personal Shield Spider tore through a group of Humans, overrunning three Rose Knights and burying the Human lines in a sea of green. He was coming for Reynold. He wanted that carriage.

“It’s time.”

Magnolia took a breath. She pointed towards the Goblin Lord and her voice snapped across the battlefield.

“In the name of the Reinharts, I order you to slay that Goblin!”

To the side, the two covered wagons that had been so curiously abandoned in the mud exploded. Magnolia, Sacra, and Bethal ducked and a [Butler] held a parasol up as chunks of wood rained down around them. And standing in the remains of both wagons, two giants of metal unfolded. A glowing white eye turned to Lady Magnolia and a faceless Golem stood. His hands extended and his ‘fingers’ spread. Five razors splayed out and the War Golem, a full twelve feet of towering magical metal, stormed towards the lines of Goblins and Humans.

Screaming.

Magnolia Reinhart hadn’t been prepared for that. The War Golem emitted a terrifying shrieking sound as it ran—on all fours, like some demented dog—emitting a sound like a hundred shrieking children filled with pain and rage. It drew the Goblin’s attention. And as both Golems rammed into the Goblin’s ranks from the side, they began to fight.

War Golems. Behemoths made from another era. These weren’t Archmage Zelkyr’s personal creations, but they had been made during the same era his Golems had dominated the world stage. They had been made to slaughter enemy armies by the thousands. And that’s what they did.

The first Golem swung a hand full of razors as it crashed into a group of Goblins. It beheaded a group of them and then the glowing white light in its ‘mouth’, the only actual feature on its face turned red. It spat a beam of blazing red light across a rank of Goblins, incinerating everything it touched in an instant. By its side, the other Golem’s body glowed and it began to arc bolts of lightning, which struck nearby Goblins and Humans alike and earthed themselves on their armor.

Goblins fell as the two Golems raced through their lines, straight towards the Goblin Lord. He turned, and Magnolia was glad to see his eyes widen in fear or horror for the first time. He raised a hand and a black [Deathbolt] struck one of the Golems squarely in the chest—

And did nothing. The Golems were neither alive nor dead. They raced towards the Goblin Lord, overrunning even Hobs with their sheer size. He was turning his mount, retreating, but too late. The first Golem was about to leap on him when a gigantic Hob tackled it.

Eater of Spears, one of the Goblin Lords’ lieutenants knocked the first War Golem off-balance. The huge Hob snarled. He was actually shorter than the War Golem was by a few feet! But he began trading blows with the metal behemoth, ignoring the crimson beam that set his body afire. He roared as he fought and the second Golem found itself surrounded by Hobs who beat at the metal monster as it fought to get at the Goblin Lord.

“He’s going to get away!”

Magnolia’s hands clenched. The Goblin Lord was retreating, scattering the Humans who were pursuing him with his black magic as his warriors screened him from the two War Golems. Soon he was well behind enemy lines and Magnolia had to call the War Golems back or risk them becoming overwhelmed in the sea of Goblins. The Goblins weren’t idiots—they were trying to pull the Golems down with ropes and crack their metal bodies with mauls and sledgehammers.

“It looks like General Shivertail’s reached Reynold!”

Sacra cried out as Zel Shivertail reached Reynold’s coach. With the War Golems screening him, the Drake shook Reynold. Magnolia and the others cried out in relief as the [Butler] woke up, looking disoriented. He weakly drank the potion that Zel offered him and then sped away from the battlefield. To Magnolia’s surprise, Zel Shivertail rode with him.

“General! Are you alright?”

Magnolia strode towards Zel, concerned, as Sacra and Bethal helped Reynold down. The [Butler] was very pale, but he was alive, and so Magnolia focused all her attention on Zel.

“I’m fine, Magnolia.”

Zel panted as he wiped sweat and blood from his face. He uncorked a second potion and downed half the bottle, grimacing.

“I’m exhausted. Been fighting—if this goes longer we’ll have to rotate groups, feed the soldiers—but it shouldn’t.”

“How is the battle going?”

Magnolia watched the Drake’s face carefully. Zel turned back towards the battlefield and grimaced. He pointed with one claw.

“It’s still too even for my liking! That damned Goblin Lord—he’s forced us to withdraw those pink [Knights] and he keeps aiming for our high-level warriors! We’re getting pushed too far by the undead—there’s too many of them! [Surge of Strength]! [Scything Arms]!”

He pointed to a group of struggling Soldiers and they began to push forwards, their blades suddenly hacking apart zombies with ease. Zel sighed.

“I’m using my Skills, but it’s a draw so far. I can keep cutting down Goblins all day, but the Goblin Lord’s doing the same and they have more Goblins…those two War Golems are tearing up their flanks, though.”

“I’m ashamed to say I might have used them too early. If I had waited—I was concerned for my [Butler], General Shivertail. I do apologize.”

The Drake shook his head, pouring water over his face and chest as a [Maid] handed him a canteen.

“It was the right call. That carriage was too powerful to fall into their hands. I’d question using it, but your butler saved all our remaining horse—good man. Drop the honorifics, Magnolia. Call me Zel when we’re in the field.”

She smiled, surprised by the sudden change in attitude. Zel looked around, dripping, and his eyes narrowed as he found the Goblin Lord’s form, again entrenched behind his soldiers.

“I don’t like this.”

“We are winning, aren’t we?”

The Drake shrugged.

“We’re cutting down more of them then they are of us…but that doesn’t matter since they outnumber us two to one, does it? I don’t want this to become a battle of attrition, but the Goblin Lord’s realized I’m hunting down his lieutenants. If I can’t get to him or the other important Goblins, this could get ugly.”

He sighed, his eyes focusing on the War Golems as they held a section of the line, tearing up the Goblins around them.

“We should have unleashed the Golems earlier. That was my fault. I didn’t think the Goblin Lord would hesitate to charge in for so long. But if they had gotten him—”

“How do you wish to proceed? Is there a way to corner the Goblin Lord? Or must we simply eradicate his army first?”

“I’m thinking. That trick with the carriage—can you make it fly again?”

Zel addressed Reynold, who had come over. The [Butler] saluted, pale-faced.

“I can, General. But I’m wary of flying it once more—that Goblin Lord is an expert shot. I was attempting to dodge but—”

“I understand. Magnolia, if I propose a dangerous strategy would you lend me Reynold? I can’t guarantee either he or I will survive, but it might end the battle now.”

Magnolia hesitated. She looked at Zel and at Reynold.

“Do you think it will work? Is it worth the risk? What am I saying; it must be if you’re asking. Go! We will support you as best we can!”

“Thank you. Reynold, I need you to drop me off by Thomast’s position first.”

“Yes sir!”

The carriage spun back across the battlefield. Magnolia watched them go and turned to Sacra.

“Do you agree with General Zel’s assessment?”

Sacra ducked her head.

“I do milady. This battle’s had its turns, but neither side is crushing the other. If there’s a way to end it faster, I’d agree with General Shivertail that it’s worth attempting. The longer this goes on the more exhausted our forces become, and the Goblin Lord can start rotating fresh troops in or use his undead. We can’t.”

“I see. Then we must trust—”

Magnolia broke off. There was a group of Goblins approaching her small escort, and she could see more Goblin archers turning towards them.

“Oh dear. It looks like the Goblin Lord has finally noticed us.”

Indeed, Reynolds’s contribution to the battle, not to mention the appearance of the War Golems and Zel Shivertail’s impromptu conference had drawn the ire of the Goblin Lord. His archers sent a shower of arrows flying through the air towards Magnolia’s position. She sighed.

“Bethal? It’s time.”

Both [Ladies] straightened, and as the arrows flew downwards, Magnolia lightly gritted her teeth and whispered a Skill.

“[Deft Hand].”

She reached up and pushed the arrows out of the sky with a flick of her wrist as Bethal used her [Tranquil Skies] Skill to the same effect. It was a thousand times harder than nudging someone across the ballroom or accidentally pushing a [Waiter] so he spilled a drink at the right moment, but Magnolia was a high-level [Lady]. She saw the flight of arrows hit the ground a good twenty paces to her right and sighed in relief.

“Now for the cavalry. Oh, I see we have some of our own coming to our rescue.”

Indeed, a group of riders led by Captain Salvia was racing towards them, but the Goblins would arrive first. Magnolia sighed again, and this time as the Goblins were about to trample over them she raised one hand and flicked it.

“[Polite Deflection]. Shoo.”

The Goblins swerved before colliding with the [Lady] and her escort, much like an unfortunate suitor deflected on the dance floor. Magnolia saw their charge slow, and then her [Maids] and [Butlers] charged into their number with Sacra at their head at the same time the Human [Riders] hit them from behind. The Goblins were routed in a matter of moments and Magnolia enjoyed seeing the Goblin Lord’s baleful stare.

She was a bit disappointed he didn’t try casting magic at her—she’d never reflected a spell with [Deft Hands] before, but she was sure she could send it right back at him with a bit of practice.

“Milady, are you unharmed?”

Sacra returned with blood on her mace and Magnolia gently pushed Sacra back with the tip of her finger before the woman could get blood on her dress. It wasn’t for vanity’s sake either.

“I’m fine Sacra. I know you’d rather have me run around in armor and a shield, but my Skills as a [Lady] only work if I am sufficiently ladylike. And while Bethal may run about in the nude and keep her Skills, I am, alas, a bit more genteel than that.”

“You used to run about naked with me, Magnolia. Don’t act so prim and proper.”

Bethal scowled at Magnolia and both ladies watched the servants push away the corpses of the Goblins with some satisfaction. A [Lady] might be a rose, but a rose had thorns. The Goblins had learned that during the last Antinium War as well.

“Well, enough of this. I want to see what Zel Shivertail has in mind.”

Magnolia turned her head across the battlefield, forgetting about the dead Goblins around her. She spotted Zel as he cut a path towards Thomast. Her eyes narrowed as the two conferred and then Zel headed back towards the carriage.

This was it. Magnolia knew that the Drake was planning something that would end up with the Goblin Lord’s head. It could be a simple ploy or a complex one, but her intuition told her that simple might work far better than complex. Either way, the battle hinged on Zel Shivertail’s ploy.

They were winning. She kept telling herself that. For all his strength, the Goblin Lord had declined to meet Zel Shivertail in battle and none of his best warriors had slowed the Drake [General]. So long as Zel Shivertail remained standing there was hope. No, more than hope, they could win!

So why was she so vaguely uneasy. Magnolia Reinhart didn’t know. She stared at the battlefield as it reached its most critical moment and she edged just slightly to the left. Towards the pedestal with the magical artifact her grandfather had given her on it. A magical tube. It made things explode, or so he’d said. Very dangerous. You could kill a Great Chieftain of the Goblins with it. Or—if need be—

A Goblin Lord. Magnolia waited. It wasn’t as though she had to use it. It was just in case things went south. She just hoped her aim was good. Well, even if it wasn’t it would probably be spectacular.

4.49

Outside of Invrisil, a battle was being fought between an army of Goblins and an army of Humans. The cold, muddy ground was warmed with blood and fresh bodies. Both sides struggled against each other, shouting, and the clash of arms filling the air. The battle had been long. The battle had been short.

To Osthia Blackwing, held captive in the heart of the Goblin army, it felt as though the battle had gone on for a week, and yet, at the same time, it had felt like it had rushed by in the course of minutes. She estimated that the true length was just over two hours. She had been forced to watch it all, as Goblins crashed into the ranks of Humans with their undead allies.

Crashed and broke. Despite their superior numbers, the thousands of elite Hobs and the presence of the undead, the Goblins had failed to overwhelm the Human army time and time again. And indeed, they had been forced back, humbled by one figure who had made the battlefield swirl around him.

Zel Shivertail.

Now Osthia watched him streak back across the battlefield, carried by a pink magical carriage that scythed across the Goblin front-line, running down any Goblin careless enough to get in its way. She was not the only one with her attention on the Drake [General]. The Goblin Lord sat astride his massive Shield Spider mount, staring at Zel Shivertail with narrowed eyes. He spoke, his voice filled with hatred and frustration.

“Why is he so strong?”

Silence greeted his question. The Goblin Lord’s lieutenants stood around him. Eater of Spears, Snapjaw, the Goblin [Beastmaster]…none could say it aloud. Their numbers had been cut down by Zel already. Now the Goblin Lord’s eyes turned to Osthia. She glared at him, her mouth gagged.

“What is he doing?”

Coming for you. She glared, her jaw working against the tight leather strips holding her mouth shut. The Goblin Lord nodded. He stared at Zel, and then turned to his lieutenants.

“Prepare. He is coming.”

The Goblins shuddered. He was coming. The hero of the Antinium Wars, the famous [General of the Line], the Tidebreaker. Those titles had been just words before. Now they were all too real. The Goblin Lord’s army was superior to the Human one, but the Goblin Lord had yet to meet Zel Shivertail on the field of battle. Now that was going to change.

Osthia could feel it. Zel Shivertail was not the kind of [General] who would risk a prolonged battle against the Goblin Lord, whose army was matched against his. He was coming.

She hoped he knew he was walking into a trap.

—-

Faces. That was what you saw in a battlefield. Faces. Even if you didn’t want to—at close range, that was all you could see. You saw the enemy as you gutted them with your claws or with a sword. Their faces, sometimes covered beneath helmets, sometimes full of hate or despair. It was easy to see only the enemy in them, but it was strange how there was a person behind each [Soldier]’s face. The Goblins looked like people sometimes.

Zel Shivertail gripped the side of Magnolia Reinhart’s carriage, feeling the wind blasting off his scales. He saw the battlefield flash by him. Hundreds, thousands of faces turned his way. Human [Soldiers], cheering as they saw the Drake [General] flash by, Goblins, drawing back in fear and hatred. Zel glanced ahead and saw Reynold driving the coach with minute flicks of the reins. The [Butler]’s face was pallid and his hands shook a bit, but he was still upright, still driving with impeccable accuracy.

“Good man.”

Zel waited until he saw his target in the crowd. Another man who stood out in the sea of armored bodies. The [Chevalier] Thomast fought in a doublet of red and gold cloth, much of which had been stained a deeper crimson still by blood. Not his. The clothing was probably enchanted, but Thomast had yet to take a blow. The [Duelist] and [Chevalier] fought with rapid thrusts and lunges that took down his opponents before they could strike. He turned as Zel leapt, scattering enemies and allies with his landing.

“Get ready to execute the plan! Turn and pick me up!”

Zel roared at Reynold and saw the coach speed off and turn—into the Goblin lines. Again the green-skinned monsters scattered, screaming and crying out in pain and horror as the carriage crushed them mercilessly.

Monsters. People. Zel turned his head and looked at Thomast. The [Duelist] was breathing heavily, but like Zel, he was ready to fight. They were the highest-level warriors on the field, or so Zel sensed. Funny, he didn’t know if he’d ever said more than a few words to the man.

“I’m turning over control of the left flank to you! Hold your ground or we’ll be overrun!”

“Leave it to me.”

Thomast nodded as Zel pointed, shouting over the roar of Humans and Goblins clashing. There were a thousand things that he could have said. The [Duelist] could have pointed out his lack of experience or Skills in battlefield command, the dangers of turning over strategy to someone else, or simply asked what Zel was doing. He did none of those things and instead turned his attention back to the battle. Zel was grateful. He ran forwards, cut down a charging Hob with a slash of his claws, leapt—and caught hold of the carriage as it streaked by the other way.

Three Goblins had grabbed on as well and had been crawling towards Reynold with daggers in hand. They took one look at Zel and let go. Zel saw their bodies disappear into the mass of Goblins as the coach turned. He gritted his teeth as he pulled himself closer to the front. All the pieces were in a row.

“Let’s do this. You ready?”

Reynold nodded. The [Butler] flicked the reins and the two spoke at once. Reynold uttered a command as the carriage sped towards the edge of the battle.

“[Flying Wheels]!”

Zel felt the coach lift up, and felt his stomach drop. He ignored the sensation and raised one claw.

“[Rapid Maneuvering]! [Hold the Line]! [Vanguard of Steel]!”

He felt the Skills take hold on the Human army below him immediately. Zel looked down as Humans changed formations, obeying orders he had given. Below him, the battlefield began to shift.

—-

“What’s he doing?”

From her vantage point apart from the battle, Magnolia Reinhart saw the established lines of battle break and Human [Soldiers] adopt a strange formation. They pushed past the undead and Goblins, encircling them from the right with cavalry and infantry alike crashing into the Goblin formations. A thin wave of Human [Soldiers] trapped the Goblins from the right, but so few that they were a single line compared to the green mass that began pushing back against them.

“That cannot be sound strategy. Sacra? What is General Shivertail thinking?”

“He used a Skill. [Vanguard of Steel]—can’t you feel it?”

Sacra turned her head, breathing heavily. Magnolia frowned and pinched herself.

“No, I can’t.”

“I can. General Shivertail’s Skill is—look!”

Sacra pointed. Magnolia saw the thin wave of Humans that should have been immediately overwhelmed by the Goblin numbers holding their ground, roaring as they traded blows with the Goblins. She saw a young woman in armor take a sword strike to her unguarded neck. But rather than drop, the sword bounced off her skin.

Steel bodies. Magnolia’s eyes widened.

“I say, how long will the effects last?”

“Not too long. But they don’t need to.”

Indeed, the Goblins were in disarray as their opponents suddenly became immortal foes, almost impervious to harm. They drew back, and Magnolia saw another strange event take place. Pink, armored [Knights] began striding across the battle lines, hacking their way through Goblins, spacing themselves out across the center and left flank where the undead were pushing at the Human [Soldiers].

“He’s broken up my Knights of the Petal again. What is he doing? The Goblin Lord will begin attacking them again.”

Bethal stared as her Rose Knights began pushing the Goblin lines back. Magnolia glanced up, towards a flying carriage moving across the battlefield.

“I believe the Goblin Lord is about to have his hands full, Bethal.”

Every head looked up. They saw the pink carriage flying over the Goblin Lord’s army. A black bolt rose to meet it. Magnolia’s hands clenched as she saw Reynold frantically swerve to avoid it. But then they saw the carriage dip, and dive. A second lance of death magic shot forwards—a clawed hand blocked it. Zel Shivertail clung to the side of the carriage. He was right over the Goblin Lord’s head now. Magnolia saw his arm tense—then he let go and dropped.

—-

A hundred feet. Fifty feet. Twenty. The ground—

Zel landed with an impact that knocked the wind out of him. The thud was more like an explosion. He could feel dirt fountaining up around him, feel the crushing pain of impact. For a second the Drake lay there, stunned. Then he moved.

Up Zel rose. A claw shot out and slashed a Hob who’d tried to swing at him, thinking Zel would be too slow to react. Zel felt his claws shear through the Hob’s armor and flesh like parchment. He withdrew his hand and the Hob fell.

Goblins. Zel stood and looked around. There were thousands of them, all staring at him. Many had open-mouths. Some were still staring at Reynold as the [Butler] carried his carriage out of danger. They were stunned, unable to believe Zel had survived the fall.

Strength. Zel’s body hurt a tiny bit from the fall. But he had fallen further and survived. He’d fallen off a cliff once. And the danger of dropping into the middle of an army of Goblins? Zel had fought against Drakes, Humans, Antinium—all without more than basic steel armor and his claws. What was this compared to fighting a Drake Lord of the Wall?

And yet, they stared as if he were the monster. Zel wanted to laugh at them. They were afraid of him for surviving a fall from the sky? This was normal. This was what high-level battles were like. The first breath of air in Zel’s lungs was sweet. He inhaled, and then roared.

“Goblin Lord!”

His voice caused a hush across the battlefield. Zel turned, staring around for the Goblin Lord’s figure, or that of his spider. He saw neither. The Goblins were moving to surround him. Where was the Goblin Lord? Zel twisted around again as he heard a voice.

“General Shivertail!”

Someone was shouting his name. And the voice—Zel saw a bound shape. A Drake with bright yellow scales was fighting on the ground, her arms and legs bound.

A Drake? Zel stared, shocked. She was an Oldblood Drake. A captive? She’d managed to loosen a leather muzzle on her mouth. Now she screamed at him.

“It’s a trap! Get away, sir! The Goblin Lord—”

She turned and sprayed acid from her mouth at a Hob. He screamed in agony and another clubbed her down from behind with a mace. Zel looked around. All he saw were Hobs. And they had enchanted weapons, wands, bows—

The first arrow Zel blocked on an arm. The other eight glanced off his scales. The bolt of lightning made his side tingle and ache, but his armor caught most of the magic. The Drake turned and caught a sledgehammer blow to the side. He grabbed the Hob who’d hit him and pressed his claws into the Hob’s eyes. Digging deep. She screamed and died.

Turn. A sword slashed across Zel’s face. He felt the tip cutting through his outer scales, drawing a line of blood. An enchanted blade. Zel twisted before it could keep cutting and lashed out. Another killing blow. The Goblins stared as two Hobs fell. Zel wiped the blood from his scales and looked around.

Goblins all around. They closed in, their faces afraid, staring. Zel laughed and spread his arms wide.

“For Izril! Sserys and the Drakes!”

They were afraid to come to him, so he went to them. Zel charged alone, into the ranks of the Goblins. He cut them down, trying to find a single figure in the midst of the army.

Where was the Goblin Lord?

—-

“Incredible.”

Sacra breathed the word, her eyes wide. Magnolia saw the blaze of golden-red armor, the sole Drake in the center of the Goblin’s army. Zel Shivertail was a whirlwind, cutting Hobs down as they rushed him from every angle.

It was a sight to motivate the Human army, which was pushing back the Goblins, riding on the momentum of their [Vanguard of Steel] effect. And yet, Magnolia felt nothing but anxiety as she stared into the heart of the battle.

“Where is the Goblin Lord? General Shivertail is alone.”

No one answered. Bethal, Sacra, and the other servants were transfixed, staring at Zel. Magnolia looked around and then kicked Bethal in the rear. The other woman stumbled.

“Magnolia—!”

“Stop gaping and look, Bethal! If the Goblin Lord escapes then General Shivertail will be well and truly cut off. I don’t think Reynold can get back to him!”

It was true. The pink carriage was under attack as Goblins loosed arrows and spells at it. Magnolia knew that the carriage wasn’t that invulnerable—the enchantments might well be breaking. Reynold was already trying to steer it away from the battlefield. She kicked Sacra and gave the same order.

“Find the Goblin Lord! We are the only ones who can look!”

The other servants and Bethal turned their gaze to the battlefield. Magnolia stared through the sea of Goblins, trying to connect the Goblin Lord’s visage to the milling crowd of Goblins. It was damnably hard—and not least because the Goblins did look alike at this distance! And yet, he had to be out there. If only she could find out where before he escaped completely. Zel Shivertail had been nearly on top of him and the Goblin Lord couldn’t have moved that far—

A swirl in the army caught her attention. Magnolia saw the Goblins moving slightly, eddying around something. The [Lady]’s eyes narrowed. She was no battlefield expert, but she’d seen more than one ballroom where one person was at the center of attention. She was the attention most of the time.

“There!”

Bethal had seen the same thing. She pointed a finger and Magnolia saw the Goblin Lord. He was dismounted, leading his Shield Spider away through a screen of Hobs. He hadn’t gone more than fifty feet in the chaos and he was moving slowly, confident that Zel couldn’t spot him through the waves of Goblins surrounding him.

What arrogance. For a second Magnolia could almost admire his casual retreat. Then she smiled and a glint appeared in her eyes.

“A shame you and I will never meet in the realm of politics. You might have done better there than on the battlefield.”

Sacra glanced at Magnolia, only having heard the last of what her mistress had said. She stared at the Goblin Lord, her hands clenched on her mace.

“There he is. But how can we get General Shivertail’s attention?”

“Oh, that’s quite simple.”

Magnolia’s fingers raised and she carefully flicked her hand at Zel Shivertail as he cut down another Hob with his claws. She pitched her voice so and tilted her hand as if she was cupping his chin in her hand. She turned her hand and whispered.

“Look over there.”

Across the battlefield Zel Shivertail’s head turned. Magnolia saw his body jerk and his eyes widened. He stared for a second and then charged into a Hob who was running at him. The Drake lifted one hand as he used the Hob as a shield. One hand, raised in thanks. Then he was charging. And she heard his voice.

“Turn and face me, coward!”

And the Goblin Lord turned. There was only a hundred feet separating the two as Zel Shivertail and the Goblin Lord locked eyes. The Goblin motioned and a wall of Goblins surged forwards. Zel Shivertail roared and charged.

“Golems!”

Magnolia’s voice was distant but the two War Golems heard. They raised their heads and abandoned their posts, charging into the Goblin army and heading for the Goblin Lord. She heard Bethal shouting at her Rose Knights and saw them slicing into the army. Suddenly, the Goblins were trying to hold back pink [Knights] and a pair of armored giants and Zel Shivertail himself. All headed straight for the Goblin Lord.

To his credit, he held his ground. The Goblin Lord refused to run. He mounted his Shield Spider and began firing black bolts of magic at Zel Shivertail. The Drake absorbed the magic, letting it splash over his enchanted armor, dodging others. Charging.

Unstoppable! The Goblins tried to block him with spears, grabbing at the General, throwing their bodies in front of him. But nothing worked. Zel came on, roaring, and Magnolia saw a pair of Goblins moving forwards to stop him.

—-

He was coming. Snapjaw’s mouth was dry with fear as she heard Zel Shivertail roaring. He was cutting a path through her people like they were made of grass! And he was heading to the Goblin Lord, her hope, the hope of her people.

He had to be stopped. She ran forwards with Eater of Spears. The two Hobs were ready to die to stop the Drake. Snapjaw raised her enchanted sword.

“Go left!”

She screamed at Eater of Spears. He roared and charged towards the Drake’s left. Snapjaw ran right. She could stab him from behind. She’d poisoned this blade. All she needed was one good strike and—

Snapjaw’s legs carried her past Zel Shivertail as he spun to face both her and Eater of Spars. Snapjaw blinked, tried to turn, and failed. She ran past the Drake [General], unable to turn. It was as if someone was holding her in place! And then she heard a voice.

A Human woman’s voice. It whispered in her ears.

“This way, my dear.”

Snapjaw fought against the voice, tried to slow her legs. But the voice was powerful and it held her. For three seconds. That was all. But in the time it was too late. Snapjaw turned, weeping, and saw the end.

—-

There he was. The Goblin Lord was sitting across his giant Shield Spider, only a few paces in front of Zel. The Drake [General] clenched his fists.

A huge Hob blocked his way. Zel looked up as Eater of Spears blocked his path. The Hob was a giant. His face was set, his eyes locked on Zel’s face. The two paused for a second as Goblins drew back, seeing one of their heroes facing the Drake [General].

Zel spoke.

“You can’t stop me.”

Eater of Spears paused. He stared at Zel, his face solid, grim, unflinching. He spoke, a bass rumble.

“Can try.”

He charged forwards, fist swinging fast. Zel leapt forwards as well and the two met in a clash of fist and claw. The Drake [General] slipped around the Hobgoblin’s fist and slashed left-right across Eater of Spears’ chest. He tore the Hob’s front open but the Goblin refused to fall. Bleeding, his body staining crimson, he lashed out and hit Zel in the chest with a mighty punch.

The Drake grunted and spun with the impact. He slashed again—this time Eater of Spears made a sound like a groan and Zel’s claws bounced off bone. His ribs. Flesh sundered, the Hob was too slow. Zel sprinted past him and Eater of Spears fell backwards, grasping weakly for the last healing potion at his belt. Only, Zel had crushed it sometime during the exchange of blows.

Unstoppable.

There was one last wall of Hobs between him and the Goblin Lord. Zel counted. Six—four—three—two—

The last two Hobs fell back, fighting furiously, until they heard a voice. They moved backwards, and Zel saw the Goblin Lord staring down at him. The Goblin was tall as a normal Human man, and proportioned in much the same way. He was no giant, no inhumanly large monster. But then, Velan hadn’t been either.

This Goblin was no Goblin King. But he still faced Zel, unafraid. His hands grasped a black blade of magic. He pointed it at Zel and the [General] opened his crimson claws. They stared at each other for a second.

And then Zel charged. He roared as he came, and in the distance the Human army screamed and shouted. The Goblin Lord charged, and the Goblins around him howled defiance.

The Shield Spider lashed out at Zel, trying to trap him with its legs, biting. The Goblin Lord swung—Zel ducked under both black and legs and found the Shield Spider’s belly. He cut into its center and tore pieces of carapace from its body.

The Shield Spider screamed. It bled as Zel dodged back, a pale blue ichor. The Goblin Lord raised his finger and shot a blast of death magic at Zel. The [Deathbolt] pierced Zel at point-blank range. He stumbled. But did not fall.

“Not enough. [Titan’s Cut]!”

Zel raised his claws and slashed. The arc of his claws traced through the air, and the air itself bent as he cut. An imprint of four claw marks opened up across the Shield Spider’s entire body and it screamed. The massive strike severed one of its legs, crushed another at the base and opened up its bulbous abdomen. The giant spider collapsed in a bloody pool and the Goblin Lord tumbled from its back. Zel walked forwards, claws ready.

The Goblin Lord had fallen behind his spider’s abdomen, out of view. Zel walked around the side, trying to get a good look. He saw a foot—then the Goblin Lord. The Goblin rose, pointing at Zel’s chest—

“[Bone F—]”

“[Antimagic Slash]!”

Zel’s claws went through a barrier of magic and into the Goblin Lord’s side. He tore—the Goblin Lord screamed as Zel ripped his stomach open.

Blood, red and wet, splashed to the ground. The Goblin Lord stared down at his open stomach and then up at Zel.

“Oh.”

That was all he said. It was such a normal word. Zel nodded. He stepped forwards, his claws open.

Goblins screamed as they saw their leader fall. They swarmed Zel. He turned and cut them down. Regular soldiers, fighting a [General]. He was five steps away from the Goblin Lord.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One—

—-

“Do it!”

Gershal of Vaunt screamed the words as he carried Salvia away from her downed mount. His voice joined thousands of others. The Humans roared, cheering.

“Finish him.”

Magnolia clenched her hands as she saw Zel cutting down Goblins left and right. They were all over him, leaping on the General’s back, trying to hold him back—trying to save their Lord. But Zel stepped forwards. He was close. So close. She saw his claws raise—

And then a pillar of white blocked her view. Magnolia blinked. She saw something—a yellowish-white thing—erupt from the ground. A pillar? No, more like a spike of ivory. A wall of bone. Magnolia stared.

And then she saw another. A spire of bone shot out of the ground, implaling a Hob and two smaller Goblins. More bone pillars began rising out of the ground in a circle around Zel and the Goblin Lord. They grew like obscene flowers, stained red with the Goblins they impaled, raising higher, higher—

“Magnolia. What’s happening?”

Bethal stared at the bone walls as they knitted together, forming a dome in the middle of the battlefield. A circular wall of ivory engulfed Zel and the Goblin Lord, blocking them from view from every direction. Magnolia stared. Bethal looked from her to Sacra, her face pale.

“Is it a spell or—”

“I don’t know.”

Magnolia whispered. Her heart was suddenly beating very fast. She stared at the dome of bone. It couldn’t be the work of the Goblin Lord. If he could cast that spell he would have done so before Zel reached him. But if not him, then there could be only one other person who cast the spell.

Az’kerash.

And now Magnolia truly felt afraid. She stared at the ivory wall as Goblins began to bang on the impenetrable bone with their weapons. She turned to Sacra.

“Get me all the [Mages] you can find! Open that dome now!”

—-

Zel twisted as he saw the bone spires rising from the ground. He saw the Goblin Lord’s eyes widen, and felt that sense of unease at the back of his mind spike into bells of alarm. He turned, ignoring the Goblin Lord, and saw the walls of bone close, obscuring the sky overhead. Suddenly, everything was dark.

Only his enchanted breastplate shed any kind of light in the enclosed space. Zel eyed the smooth ivory walls, wondering if he could break them. Then he felt…something.

Magic. It was a palpable presence at times, when great spells were cast. Zel could feel it being concentrated here, a tingling on his scales. He looked around and saw the air shimmer.

It wasn’t a tear in space, or a portal. It was more like a bridge or an—opening—that someone stepped through. The air twisted, and a shape stepped out of the shadows. Zel saw a bone-white woman, no a woman made of bone, a giant wearing bone armor and holding a sword and shield step out. She stared at him with green eyes that blazed with undead light.

And she spoke. One word.

“Venitra.”

The air moved. Zel turned and saw more shadows flickering, becoming people. Four more figures stepped into place. A skeleton of black bone, dressed in a [Mage]’s robes. The flames in her eyes glowed gold as she twirled the staff in her hand.

“Ijvani.”

A woman, a rotting corpse walked out to Zel’s left. By her side, a strange figure dressed in a trench coat, a humanoid creature with no face, features concealed by a hat.  The rotting undead spoke for both of them.

“Bea. And Oom.”

And the last, a Gnoll dressed in armor. His eyes glowed blue. His body was dead, but for the light in his eyes he might have been alive. He was powerful, taller than Zel, and he had a sword that glowed with magic in one hand. He spoke last, his voice deep, booming in the enclosed space.

“Kerash.”

The five undead stood in the dome. Zel’s heart was pounding in his chest. He stared from face to face. They had entered this place with a spell. Not [Invisibility]. He would have sensed it. No, the spell, the way they seemed to appear—[Teleport]? [Greater Teleport]? They had to have used an artifact.

There was no time to ask what was happening. No reason to either, really. Zel looked from face to face, and focused on Kerash. The undead Gnoll raised his sword and pointed at Zel’s chest.

“Surround the Drake.”

The five undead moved around the dome, trying to flank him. Zel backed up until his back was at one of the bone walls. Bea and Oom took his left side, while Venitra and Ijvani his right. Kerash stood in front of him. The five undead readied themselves, waiting. Zel eyed them as he shifted, his stance low, his claws open.

Five. Each undead was clearly unique. They all radiated danger, but—he appraised them quickly.

Venitra, the undead bone woman was clearly some kind of [Knight]. She looked like a kind of golem. Dangerous, but not unbeatable. The skeleton by her side—the way she held her staff reminded Zel of something. Had he met her before? She was a spellcaster, but that too was manageable.

The real threat was coming from Zel’s left. He had no idea what the rotten ‘Bea’ could do, but all his instincts screamed at him not to let her touch him. As for Oom—Zel risked a glance and saw a featureless, smooth face. Oom’s body was black, almost translucent, and the way he stood—the trench coat and hat were concealing something. He had no face. Was he even humanoid?

Kerash was the last. Zel thought he was a Draugr of some kind. They were powerful, hard to kill and strong, but it was only the enchanted sword that could hurt him. Get rid of that and—

Too many. Zel knew he was tired, but even if he had been rested, five high-level enemies at once would be—his eyes narrowed. He glanced towards the Goblin Lord, but the Goblin was trying to hold his guts in. Good. Even a healing potion wouldn’t heal that quickly. He had been shocked to see the bone walls go up. So he hadn’t planned this.

“So you’ve sent your minions to do what you’re too afraid to do in person, Az’kerash?”

The undead shifted when Zel spoke their master’s name. As if they were surprised. But who else could it be? Zel looked from face to face. Yes, who else?

“It seems you’ve planned this well. Did you plan on stabbing me in the back or were you always hoping that I might walk into a trap like this? Come out and face me yourself, coward. I know you’re watching.”

His words made the fires in the eyes of the undead glow brighter. Zel watched the bone woman—Venitra’s—eyes blaze bright green. So they could feel emotion. That was important to know.

A cold, precise voice filled the air in the dome, echoing. Zel had only heard Az’kerash speak a few times, but he could never forget that voice.

“I had intended to slay you at Liscor, but circumstances forced me to abandon that plan. Nevertheless, a strategy may be utilized again. My apprentice was the crux of this trap, though he did not know it. I am afraid I have little time to risk myself in battle, General Shivertail. It is my children you fight today. And it is they who will claim your life.”

That voice. Zel snarled, twisting around. But the Necromancer wasn’t here. He was speaking through his minions.

“Too afraid I’ll kill you a second time?”

Again the undead servants rustled. Az’kerash had called them his children? What had he done in the years since the Second Antinium War?

“Hardly. My battle was never with one individual. I wage war with Drakes, with species as a whole. The living are my enemy, Shivertail. You do not merit my presence. My creations are enough for you. Each one is a masterpiece, unique among their kind. Look upon them and despair, for they are your betters.”

“So you say. But you sent five.”

Again, Zel studied the undead. They had names; they had some kind of personality—were they Revenants? Spirits bound to flesh? Yes, they had to be. But two of them bothered Zel. Ijvani—he could have sworn he’d seen that staff before. Zel’s eyes widened as he recognized it.

“Ikriss.”

The flames in the skeleton’s eyes flashed at Zel’s voice, and Venitra shifted. The Necromancer’s voice was amused.

“Yes. You encountered Venitra and Ijvani before. A shame neither one managed to accomplish their tasks. Tell me, how did you realize I was still alive? It seems you were…informed of my survival before now.”

His voice was…probing. Zel lied as he tried to think. The bone walls were meant to hold him. Cutting his way out while the undead attack from behind was suicide.

“It wasn’t hard to figure out. Your illusion spells aren’t as potent as you thought. And you have enemies.”

“Only naturally. But was it Magnolia Reinhart who told you I was alive, or someone else? I had suspected she was aware of my deception. Did she warn you about me, or had you known before that?”

There was a pressure in the air that made Zel want to talk about Ryoka. Truth spells. He bit his tongue and focused on the other undead. Ijvani was one thing. But Kerash? The undead Gnoll was clearly the leader, but there was something else about him.

Draugr weren’t too dangerous to Zel. They were strong, but there was a limit to their strength. They couldn’t exceed the capability of their bodies in life. So unless this Gnoll had been particularly powerful, he wasn’t as dangerous as, say, Venitra. But that name—

“Are you really Kerash, the Gnoll Warrior-Chieftain who died over a hundred years ago?”

Zel addressed Kerash. The Gnoll shifted his grip on his sword, his eyes never leaving Zel’s face.

“I am my master’s loyal servant. That is all you need to know before you die, Drake.”

“Well spoken, first of my Chosen.”

Az’kerash’s voice was approving. Zel’s eyes narrowed. So. Kerash. That might be…his eyes flicked again to the five undead. What were they? Assassins? Vanguards? But why have them at all?

“Children, you said? You created these horrors, Necromancer? That’s strangely sentimental for someone who uses the undead as disposable tools.”

“Hardly. These are my champions, my chosen few. They are created to be superior to all other undead, to lead and instill despair among my foes. You gave me the idea for them, in fact. After my defeat and ‘death’ in the last war I reflected on my weaknesses. These five, my Chosen, are my answer to that flaw.”

An answer to a flaw? But the Necromancer’s greatest weakness was—Zel’s eyes widened. He murmured out loud as the pieces fell into place.

“So that’s why you made them. I see. They truly are your masterpieces. Your…hope. And if I crush them, your plans are set back, aren’t they?”

There was a pause. Az’kerash’s voice did not reply. Zel smiled as the undead shifted. When the Necromancer did speak, there was a twinge, the slightest sense of uncertainty in his voice.

“Enough of this! Kerash, finish Zel Shivertail off.”

“Yes, master. Everyone, on my mark. Attack as one.”

Kerash’s voice rumbled as he gripped his sword with both hands. Venitra raised her shield and both Oom and Bea took a step forwards. Oom’s hands were in the pockets of his coat; Bea’s rotting palms were turned towards Zel. Ijvani raised her staff.

Silence. The five undead and one Drake waited. For one eternal, immortal moment, there was nothing but the pumping of Zel’s heart, the burning eyes of the undead. Then he saw Kerash’s mouth open. Zel moved before the undead could speak. He sprinted right, into Venitra and Ijvani and slashed.

“[Lightning Slash]!”

Ijvani cried out as Zel raked a claw across her arms and ribs, slicing across her black bones. Zel grunted as he hit her bones—they were metal, or coated with it! He recalled the same sensation as when he’d fought her the first time. But his slash had cut deep across her ribs and sent her stumbling back. Zel turned and saw Venitra rushing at him, ready to stab.

“[Bonebreaker Headbutt]!”

Another Skill. Zel stepped forwards and smashed his head into Venitra’s. He heard a crack, and saw her stumble back. Zel whirled, and sidestepped as Kerash charged him with his sword. Zel kicked and the Gnoll stumbled. He would have leapt on Kerash and torn the sword from his hands, but Oom and Bea were on his left, and Zel moved away rather than let either get close to him. They were just approaching. Were their attacks touch-based?

He turned, looking for Venitra, and saw a black, skeletal hand. Ijvani pointed with her staff and uttered a spell.

“[Blackfire Fireball].”

And then there was flame. Zel roared as the flames engulfed his body, burning every exposed part of him not covered by armor. He struck at Ijvani but she was already fleeing. And then Venitra crashed into his left, stabbing. Zel stumbled, regained his footing and pushed back as she tried to bowl him over.

The two titans struggled as Oom and Bea circled. And then Kerash was closing in with his sword. He stabbed Zel in the arm as the Drake fought. The [General] turned and roared again. But he was alone. And outnumbered.

—-

“Bring down that dome!”

Sacra screamed the order and over a hundred [Mages] blasted the dome with spells from afar. Humans, a few half-Elves, and Goblins. Both armies were trying to crack the shields of bone, although the Goblins had switched to a defensive strategy to keep the Humans from nearing their Lord’s last line of defense.

Or so they assumed. Magnolia knew this had to be the work of the Necromancer. She stared as the rain of spells and enchanted arrows ceased.

“Nothing. Not a scratch.”

The bombardment hadn’t left a mark on the ivory surface, just cleaned it of the Goblin blood staining the outside.

“It’s impenetrable! Focus your attacks elsewhere! I want covering fire on our [Knights]! Take down that Crypt Lord!”

Sacra ordered the [Mages] to begin targeting Goblins. Magnolia knew it was the correct decision, but she would have rather kept trying to bring down the dome. Zel Shivertail could be in peril—

No, he was in peril! She knew it. Magnolia cursed, and saw a shape flick into the shadows behind her.

“Ressa, give me the weapon.”

Magnolia raised her hands and Ressa put the strange tube that her grandfather had given her into her hands without argument. The [Maid] stood behind Magnolia, her maid’s uniform covered in blood.

“Are you sure?”

“Zel Shivertail cannot be lost! Hold on, I’m aiming!”

Magnolia snapped as she raised the tube. She was no [Markswoman], but the dome was a big target and she felt like accuracy was not a requirement. She hesitated as she felt the magic contained in the artifact.

“How did grandfather Regis say to activate it? What was the command spell? Thaurmodesium?”

“Thaurmodenasium!”

“Yes, that! Thaurmodenasium! By my command, fire or—”

Magnolia felt the tube warm slightly, felt it kick in her hands, and heard nothing.

Precisely nothing. A cone of silence had burst from the tube. Magnolia felt it leave her hands and stepped back as the tube floated in place. It was a simple metal tube, inscribed with glowing runes on the inside and outside. Now these same runes glowed brighter and brighter, so brightly that they became a beacon.

Heads turned. Goblins and Humans alike stared as the tube glowed, and then emitted a series of—sparks. A few paltry sparks jettisoned out of the front of the tube. Magnolia stared as they flickered forwards and turned to Ressa.

“Is that it? Because if it is, I’m going to the family estate and burning it down—”

Ressa gripped Magnolia’s arm and pointed. Magnolia turned her head back just in time to see the sparks of lightning continue forwards. They were just flickering bits of energy, but for some reason, they neither earthed themselves nor dissipated. Instead, they hung in the air, and changed.

They became…diverse. Or perhaps they created more copies of themselves, because the air was suddenly dancing with bolts of lightning. They played over the Goblins and Humans in front of the tube, making the soldiers yelp and drop their metallic weapons. And then, from the tube, there came more lightning.

It was like lightning had come to life. Magnolia stared as a dragon made out of lightning took wing, emerging from the tube and flying forwards. She saw ships made of lightning, proud warriors and [Knights]—it was a light show! The lightning danced over the heads of both the Human and Goblin armies, making soldiers look up in awe. And as the Dragon soared overhead, doing absolutely no damage to the Goblin army, it left a trail of words in the sky.

The script was elegant, cursive, and hard to read. It was a different writing script than Magnolia had ever seen, but ancient as it was, it was still perfectly legible.

From the armories of the Emperor of Storms: a gift. To his enemies, see light and sound, ever fleeting, the wrath of the skies. Behold the advent of lightning.

And then there was light from the front of the tube. Magnolia blinked at it. The opening of the tube glowed and that was the last thing she saw for a while. She felt the impact as the air shattered, though. It threw her backwards and only Ressa catching her saved Magnolia from breaking her neck.

A bolt, a beam, a cascade of lightning burst forth from the mouth of the tube, cutting through the bemused ranks of Goblin soldiers and some of the Humans too close to the radius of the blast. The lightning did not fry those it touched—rather, it vaporized them. It left a trail of melted ground and smoke around fifteen feet wide as it shot across the battlefield. It hit the bone of dome—

And cracked it open. The bone splintered, the Necromancer’s magic broke. For a second, Ressa could see six shapes struggling in the darkness—then the magic of the lightning flashed around the opening. It obscured the rest, as the tube earthed its charge on the dome of bone.

It had been broken open, but as the shock of the spell reverberated across the battlefield she could see the walls of bone shudder and begin closing. The spell was reassembling itself.

“No! Get in there! War Golems, go to General Shivertail’s aide!”

Magnolia struggled to get up. She thrust away Ressa’s hands and stumbled upright. Her ears were bleeding, her vision still blinded. Still she pointed. And the War Golems, cutting through the Goblins, turned.

They charged, shrieking, racing across the ground. Goblins raced to stop them, screaming. The first War Golem blasted them with a beam of fire. The second blasted the rest with lightning, far less powerful than that of Magnolia’s artifact, but still strong enough to shock and kill.

“Go, go!”

Magnolia screamed the words, Ressa holding her back. Across the battlefield, the Goblins were screaming the opposite.

—-

“Stop them!”

Snapjaw raced at the second Golem, seeing Goblins with chains and rope trying to slow it. But the massive beast was unstoppable. She grabbed a chain and felt herself being dragged along. Lightning blasted her, travelling down the chain. Snapjaw felt her body shaking, saw flashes—she hung on.

Goblins seized her from behind. Two more Hobs grabbed a chain. Snapjaw saw them jerk as they held on. One Hob spasmed—she could see him dying as he held the chain. His heart—hers was fluttering, stopping. Still, they dug their heels in the mug.

“Stop!”

The Goblins had formed a chain twenty bodies deep on each rope, but the War Golem had only slowed. It was still moving forwards. Still moving—

A shape blocked its way. Eater of Spears roared as he charged into the War Golem. He swung a fist and the massive metal monster punched back. It’s dagger-fingers sank into the giant Hobgoblin’s stomach, tore. Eater of Spears roared in pain and Snapjaw tried to drag the War Golem back.

The rift in the walls of bone was closing! They just had to hold the Golem—hold it—

Snapjaw wasn’t sure when the next bolt of lightning stopped her heart. She saw everything flash—found herself lying on her back. She sat upright, saw the Golem pounding Eater of Spears down. Saw him hold on to its legs.

The first Golem was at the opening. It pushed inside as the bone began to flow around it. The second threw aside Eater of Spears and raced for the opening. It crashed into the gap, made it halfway inside—and lodged in place. The bone covered it, entrapping the struggling Golem. It fought, and then, slowly, began to die. The magical dome was crushing its insides, bending the enchanted metal of its body. The Golem stopped moving and Snapjaw saw the bright light in its mouth dim and go out.

It was dead. But one of the Golems had entered. Snapjaw hoped it would be enough. But she had no idea what was going on inside. She only knew her Goblin Lord was alive.

The rest was a mystery.

—-

Zel Shivertail was alone. He had been alone before. But never like this.

The undead surrounded him. Venitra cut at his left—Kerash his right. Zel blocked with his arm and leg. Both blades bit into his flesh. He roared and slashed at Kerash—a wall of oozing gelatin blocked him.

“Eat him, Oom!”

Bea cried out, circling Zel, afraid to get cut by his claws. Oom extended his ‘arm’, letting Zel’s claws sink further into his body. The Drake roared as he felt his scales burning and yanked his arm out.

“My second eldest creation, Oom. He was made to destroy you, Shivertail.”

Az’kerash’s voice was calm as the undead continued their attack. Ijvani blasted Zel with a spray of something black that tried to obscure his vision—he blocked it with his hand, and kicked at Venitra as she charged. But the bone woman was so heavy—her body was solid bone and the momentum of her change carried her in to him. She knocked Zel over and he grunted as her sword stabbed towards his head.

“Not—”

He threw her off her with all the strength he could manage. A sword stabbed at his breastplate and failed to penetrate his armor. Kerash slashed at Zel’s head and again the Drake blocked with an arm as he rose. More blood—another cut—the blade was terribly, terribly cold, but Zel could handle the pain.

What was worse was Oom. The undead creature had tangled around his legs, engulfing them. Zel tried to break free, and failed. Ijvani scorched him with another fireball made of black flames.

“Slimes! It’s not undead, it’s a damned—”

Zel roared as Oom tried to engulf him. He swung a fist and part of Oom’s body sprayed outwards, but the rest kept sticking to his body. The Necromancer’s voice was amused.

“Indeed. An Acid Slime, given sentience and far more power of course. It is rare for such a creature to form naturally, but a simple matter for me. Oom is your natural enemy, Shivertail.”

The acid was burning Zel, and if Oom covered his mouth, he’d be in Zel’s insides, suffocating him. Zel heaved and part of Oom splattered across the bone walls.

“Not yet.”

He moved his feet, but they were still stuck. Now Venitra and Kerash were on either side. Venitra swung and this time her blade cut deep into Zel’s arm. He staggered and Kerash sliced into his leg. Both blades hit bone.

Falling. Zel felt it. He twisted, reaching for a potion at his belt, but Oom was pulling him down again, trying to hold his arms. He had to—Zel felt more fire burning him, opened his mouth and felt it scorching his body. And Bea was reaching for him with a rotted hand.

And then the wall exploded. Zel felt the impact, felt something lift his body, Oom, and all the undead and throw them into the far wall. He slid to the ground, stunned, and then got up.

“What—”

There was daylight! Something had blown open the wall of the dome! Zel saw shocked Goblin faces turning towards him and heard the Necromancer’s voice.

“How—what artifact was—Kerash! Do not let Shivertail escape!”

His voice was urgent. Kerash and Venitra threw themselves in the way of the gap. Zel charged and his fist collided with Venitra’s shield. For the first time in that battle, Zel ran up against something he couldn’t push back. Venitra struck at him with her sword and he dodged left. The gap was closing! Zel ran at Kerash, not caring if he took a blade to get out—

And then Oom abandoned his trench coat. He surged out of his clothing and into the gap, creating a wall out of his body. The slime formed a wall and the undead created a wall in front of him. Zel halted. He stared at the undead and thought for a second.

Then he backed up. Kerash stared and Venitra lifted her sword uncertainly. She took a step forwards, but too late. Zel had a potion at his belt and was downing it.

“Stop him!”

Ijvani tried to cast a spell, but Zel sidestepped the bolts of lightning. The undead wavered, but if they moved they would have to abandon the closing gap to the outside. Grimly, Zel downed two more potions, feeling his wounds close and his body surge with energy.

And the gap closed. He couldn’t escape. Oom and the four other undead flowed away from the gap as it narrowed. Then Kerash’s head turned.

“What is that sound? Oom?”

Zel heard a shriek. The slime turned—and was splattered as one of Magnolia’s two War Golems surged into the gap. It turned, its glowing mouth appraising, and immediately slashed at Kerash. The undead scattered.

The gap in the ivory walls closed. Zel saw another Golem racing at the opening, saw it get caught—he was already leaping at Ijvani.

“Golem, cover me!”

He roared at the War Golem as it slashed at Venitra and Kerash. The two warrior-undead scattered to either side, blocking the Golem’s sharp dagger-fingers and cutting at its legs. Both their blades cut into the Golem’s enchanted body more easily than Zel’s flesh.

“Help me!”

Ijvani screamed at the other undead as Zel savaged her with his claws. He was trying to destroy her head, but her bones were tough and she was blocking with her staff. He ripped one arm off and then felt a cold stickiness engulf his left arm. His scales began to burn at the same time.

“Oom! Hold him so I can touch him!”

Bea dashed forwards. Zel kicked at her and she stumbled back. She was least agile of the undead. But she managed to distract him long enough—Oom finally managed to engulf Zel’s torso.

“Finish him, Oom!”

Kerash roared as he cut at the Golem’s legs. The Golem was on its knees—it couldn’t handle the onslaught of both undead at once. Zel saw its mouth glowing red and shouted.

“Golem—fire on me!”

The War Golem looked up. It focused on Zel and he saw a fiery inferno grow in its mouth. The fiery laser erupted from its mouth and blasted Zel and Oom as they stood locked in place.

“Oom!”

Bea screamed. The undead woman lurched forwards. Too late. The slime screamed, a soundless wail as the fire blasted its body apart. Zel felt Oom’s body vaporize around him. He stumbled, felt his scales flaking off. But his hands were reaching. Where—

There. He found a core in the slime’s body. A mana stone, his heart. It was large, as large as Zel’s fist. Oom’s gelatinous body wriggled around it, burning Zel, trying to infiltrate his body, burn it. Zel gripped the stone tightly.

All four undead were staring at him. Bea raised one hand. Her eyes were wide. Why had Az’kerash made her so much like a normal Human woman? Her voice shook.

“Don’t—”

Zel’s grip tightened. Oom screamed as the mana stone broke. And then there was silence.

The slime dripped from Zel’s body as he stood. The Drake swung his arm and the acid that had been Oom’s body splattered across the ground. He tossed the shattered mana stone to the ground and looked around.

The War Golem collapsed as Kerash drove his enchanted blade into the back of it’s head. Venitra rose, her shield smoking after having blocked a second fiery beam. The four undead stared at Zel Shivertail.

He was burned. His arms screamed—he could feel his bones cracked in places, feel the acid eating at him. But still Zel stood. He looked around at them, the confident undead, now, suddenly aware of their mortality.

“That’s one. Who’s next?”

“Oom.”

Az’kerash’s voice was a hiss. Kerash raised his sword as he and Venitra flanked Zel again.

“You will pay for that.”

Venitra’s voice was deep. Zel laughed at her.

“Venitra, don’t rush in!”

Kerash stopped Venitra before the bone woman could charge at him. The Gnoll pointed.

“Ijvani, lock down the Drake’s movements. Venitra, cover me.”

He advanced, sword at the ready. Zel gritted his teeth as Ijvani tossed a spell at him. It was some kind of ooze—like Oom it stuck to whatever it touched. He got some on his leg as he pivoted to dodge—Kerash slashed at Zel’s eyes and was blocked. Venitra charged with her shield and Zel scored her twice across the chest with his claws. He could cut her body! But the strikes weren’t deep and the impact jarred his hands. Zel snarled, raised his claws.

“[Rending—]”

And Bea touched his body.

It was quick, just a touch on his arm. But the instant her pallid flesh made contact with his, Zel felt a hot flash run down his arm. And then—a terrible uneasiness.

He whirled, seeing Bea’s hand stretched towards him. The undead woman had lunged at him, ignoring the danger. Zel’s claw took off her arm as she tried to retreat. But the second touch felt just as bad as the first. And as Bea stepped back there was a sense of…satisfaction in her eyes.

“What was—that?”

Zel sensed the other undead moving back. He grabbed at his belt and shattered a potion bottle as he smashed it over his arm. The liquid splashed across the spots Bea had touched him at. But instead of healing the spots she’d touched, the burning sensation ran down Zel’s arm. And—pain.

“Excellent job, Bea.”

Az’kerash’s voice sounded satisfied again. Bea picked up her arm and retreated. The undead watched Zel as he clutched at his arm. His arm and his claws hurt. Whatever the burning was, it was spreading like wildfire. Why? Because of the touch?

No, because of the potion. Zel realized his mistake too late. Healing potions healed most things, but they weren’t cure-alls. They couldn’t regenerate lost limbs, and they could only heal what a normal person could be expected to get through. That was because they amplified a body’s healing process, made it faster. And while that worked on damaged flesh and bone, it didn’t work on—

“Plague.”

Bea spoke the words mockingly. Zel coughed, and stared at the blood on his claws. His lungs burned as the magical disease coursed through his body. He looked around. The undead grinned at him. Four mocking eyes. Zel closed his and straightened.

Then he smiled. The undead hesitated. Zel opened his claws as he tossed his belt and the healing potions to the ground. He nodded to them, and clenched one fist.

“Well then. Let’s end this, shall we?”

He charged Venitra first, ignoring the blade she stabbed into his side. His claws were sharp. And there was nothing holding him back anymore.

—-

The battle had been long. The battle had been short. To the Goblin Lord, it felt as though the battle between Zel Shivertail and the undead had gone on forever. He knew it couldn’t have been more than…no, how long had it been?

Five minutes? Ten minutes? Twenty minutes? Half an hour? It continued. Zel Shivertail whirled, striking left and right, refusing to let the undead regroup. They had burned him, cut him, smashed his bones, poisoned him, infected him—and yet he stood.

The Goblin Lord had seen it all. He had lain where Zel had fallen, clinging to life with his own magics as the undead and the Drake battled. Now, he desperately uncorked a healing potion, one of the ones Zel had dropped and poured it over his stomach.

His organs began to heal. The Goblin Lord pushed them into his stomach, trying not to scream as Zel cut at Venitra. The Drake [General] was gasping, his green scales mottled with the disease as it spread unnaturally fast. Part of his body was simply black with ash and soot—his scales were flaking off. Yet still he attacked. Venitra raised her shield as the claws slashed across them. Zel hit her with a punch that cracked her pristine face.

“You dare—”

She cried out in outrage as fracture lines ran from one cheek. Venitra swung her sword and Zel grabbed it.

“Weak!”

He roared as he yanked the blade away. Venitra abandoned her shield and raised a massive fist. She swung and Zel punched. The Drake’s fist shattered her nose. His next blow cracked her bone chest plate.

The Drake lifted Venitra, her entire massive body and threw her at Bea, who’d been sneaking up on him from behind. The blow sent both female undead tumbling to the ground and Bea’s body broke as Venitra landed on her. Zel turned and Kerash’s sword lanced into his shoulder. Zel’s slash opened the Gnoll’s chest, exposing his ribs.

“[Blackfire Fireball]!”

Ijvani fired the same spell again, engulfing Zel in flames, giving Kerash a second to retreat. Zel turned, his body blazing, and kicked Ijvani. The skeleton broke into pieces and crashed to the ground. Venitra struggled to her feet and Az’kerash’ voice spoke in the silence as Zel paused a moment to gasp for air.

“Still?”

The Goblin Lord could hear Zel’s lungs wheezing for air. The Drake took a step towards Kerash and stumbled. The Gnoll backed up. His chest hung open, the dead flesh severed. Venitra raised her sword unsteadily.

“Hold.”

The undead paused. Az’kerash’s voice was sharp as Zel coughed more blood up.

“[Flesh Regrowth]. [Mend Bones]. Venitra, support Kerash! Your role is to take his blows not charge in alone! Ijvani, advance! Use more powerful spells to decimate the area—the other three will survive your magic! Bea, attempt to find the Drake’s back!”

“He’s still standing, master! He shouldn’t be—he should be dead by now!”

Bea cried out as she circled Zel. The Drake turned to face her, his eyes burning. He was slowing though. The Goblin Lord could see it. And yet, it was Zel who made the first move. He slashed at Bea, cutting into her stomach as she leapt back. Again, the contact with her body made whatever infection that was coursing through Zel intensify, but he ignored the spreading stain on his claws. He stood and beckoned at the other undead as they circled him warily.

“Come on. Come on! I thought you were supposed to be monsters!”

His eyes blazed beneath the blood and burnt scales on his face. Again, the four hesitated. But they attacked as one, moving in perfect unison.

Venitra low, Kerash high. Bea from the left, Ijvani from the back. Zel cut Kerash and seized Venitra’s head. He twisted and the bones forming her neck began to crack.

“Weak!”

Again Zel roared the word. Venitra managed to loosen his grip on her and stumbled back. The undead retreated as Zel swung at Ijvani, staring. Zel stumbled.

“You cannot win this battle, Shivertail. I am impressed you are still standing. But—”

“Four left.”

Zel regained his balance and grabbed Kerash’s blade as it swung at his head. His claws bled as the enchanted metal dug into his claws. He hit Kerash in the face, bashing the Gnoll’s face in. Kerash stumbled back. Bea leapt at Zel and he kicked her. The tip of his foot pierced her abdomen and he stomped her to the ground. She gasped.

“Your minions can’t kill me.”

Zel rasped as he ground Bea’s body underneath his foot. She was grabbing at his leg and he was ignoring it. Venitra and Kerash attacked with Ijvani, but Zel refused to budge.

“You think you understand strength! I am the shield of the Drakes! I am a [General]! And a general does not fall!”

He bent and cut Bea in two. She gasped and stared at her lower half, separate from her torso. Zel turned.

“Three!”

He charged into Venitra, trading blows with the bone knight. It was she who fell back, cracked and broken. Zel ignored Kerash as the Gnoll cut at his back. And the Goblin Lord moved.

Slowly, ever so slowly he rose. His body was weak, and he had no more magic for a spell. But Venitra had dropped her sword as Zel continued his assault. The bone blade was heavy, but strong. The Goblin Lord grabbed it stealthily.

“Drake!”

Kerash was dueling Zel as Venitra fell to one knee. He was falling back—Ijvani was cowering, her body nearly torn to bits. The Goblin Lord crept up on Zel from behind, sword raised. He aimed for Zel’s neck as the Drake beat Kerash down with blows that cracked the undead Gnoll’s shoulders and arms. Wait…Zel’s claws were on Kerash’s head. He began to twist—

Now. The Goblin Lord leapt forwards. Zel turned, fast as a snake. He kicked the Goblin Lord and the Goblin felt his ribs crumple from the blow. He fell, gasping, as Zel flung Kerash backwards.

“Idiot.”

He coughed more blood out as he kicked the Goblin Lord before he could go for the sword again. Kerash stumbled up—Zel’s fist cracked his skull.

“Now.”

The Drake [General] was slowing, but he still charged Venitra as she came at him. The two grappled, desperate, Venitra’s body breaking. The Goblin Lord tried to get up. He grabbed the sword and slashed at Zel’s legs. The Drake grunted as the blade pierced his thigh. He turned, grabbed the Goblin Lord and raised a claw as he shoved Venitra back. The undead woman stumbled, and the Goblin Lord looked into Zel’s eyes.

“I—”

Someone moved behind the Goblin Lord. He saw Zel’s eyes widen, felt the Drake release him. Too slow.

“[Diamondshard Spray].”

A hand rose and pointed. The Goblin Lord felt something flash past his face—tear through one of his ears. Zel stumbled. Glittering shards of diamond shot through the air, some as long as daggers, tearing into his face, his body. The Drake turned towards Az’kerash as the Necromancer raised his hands. He moved.

“[Accelerate Spell]. [Stone Lance].”

Zel’s head twisted. The Goblin Lord saw a flash, felt the impact on the far wall as the lance of stone broke. And as Zel Shivertail turned his head back, the Goblin Lord saw part of his head was missing.

“[Deathblast].”

Again, the Necromancer pointed. This time the black magic that washed over Zel was a wave, far stronger than anything the Goblin Lord could create. It sapped the last of the Drake’s energy, rendered his body stiff. Az’kerash pointed, at the Drake’s chest and uttered the spell again.

“[Deathblast].”

The dark magic struck Zel. He stumbled, his leg moved—stopped. He stood in place, eyes vacant.

“[Deathblast].”

There was no light in his eyes. The Goblin Lord wanted to cry out. Treachery! He had attacked from behind! But that was how Goblins fought. And yet the Necromancer…Az’kerash’s black eyes were locked on Zel’s own. The Drake’s gaze was unmoving.

“[Deathblast].”

The fourth spell was the last. Zel didn’t move as the spell struck him. Az’kerash lowered his finger then, and looked around.

“Ah, my apprentice. Your timing was quite useful. For that distraction I thank you.”

The Goblin Lord stared up at his master, at Az’kerash. The Necromancer was here. Here. He must have used one of his Scrolls of Greater Teleport to come here. The Goblin Lord knew he had only eleven left. No—four now. He had spent those valuable artifacts for this.

For Zel Shivertail. The Necromancer turned his gaze back to the Drake. Zel Shivertail stood in place, part of his head simply…gone. He had dodged the worst of the Necromancer’s spells, but a shard of diamond had taken his left eye. And his body was burnt black in places, cut from a thousand blades, and discolored from where Bea’s plague touch had spread.

And still, he had fought through it all. And if the Necromancer had not come at the last—the Goblin Lord looked away.

“Master!”

A voice interrupted the silence. Bea crawled towards her creator, her body badly damaged. The Goblin Lord moved away from her as she dragged her torso towards Az’kerash. She was holding a broken stone in her hands.

“Ah, Bea.”

Az’kerash greeted her with obvious satisfaction in his voice. The undead woman did not share his joy. She held the pieces of Oom’s mana stone in trembling hands.

“Oom! He’s dead, master. Can you—is he—”

“Gone.”

The Necromancer’s voice was cold and dispassionate. Bea stared up at him, her legs separated from her body, cradling what remained of Oom.

“But he fought! Master—”

“I warned him to safeguard his mana core at all costs. He was foolish, allowing that War Golem to damage him so. No, perhaps it was Shivertail I underestimated. Or was it the capabilities of my Chosen? Venitra, Kerash, rise. I am disappointed in you both. And perhaps you most of all, Ijvani, how is it you failed to damage Zel Shivertail in any meaningful way throughout the battle?”

The other undead, the Necromancer’s Chosen, began to rise, shamefaced. Venitra had to have Kerash’s help to stumble upright.

“Master. We are grateful.”

Kerash’s voice rasped. Az’kerash eyed him.

“You are badly damaged, Kerash. I must restructure your body when we return to the castle. All of you. Prepare yourselves for transit. I will destroy the enchantment protecting this place momentarily. Ijvani, you will make your way back with an invisibility spell; there are no more scrolls of teleportation.”

“Yes, master.”

The Goblin Lord stared at the black skeleton as she stumbled away from the others. Bea still pleaded with her master.

“Master, what if I took the fragments back? If I put it in Oom’s special place, maybe—”

“He is gone, Bea.”

Az’kerash’s eyes flashed with annoyance and the undead woman shrank back. He turned, his face displeased, and then relented as he looked towards Zel again.

“Ah, General Shivertail. What a formidable opponent you were. Perhaps if you had been a touch faster in battle, or escaped Bea’s touch a moment sooner, I might have reconsidered arriving myself. But for all your strength in life, you will be the finest of my servants in death. For that I thank you.”

He walked over to Zel, his hands reaching out to touch the Drake’s chest. The Goblin Lord saw Zel’s eyes flicker, saw the Drake’s claws move.

“[Antimagic Slash]!”

The cut was fast. It scythed through the almost-invisible aura of protection around the Necromancer’s body, cut into his neck—but only just. Zel was too far away. His claws only opened the Necromancer’s throat. And as the Necromancer staggered back, his black eyes wide with shock, Zel collapsed.

“What—”

The Necromancer’s throat did not bleed. He covered his pale flesh and stared at Zel. The Drake looked up at him, fallen, unable to move. Just looked.

“Return! Apprentice, finish the Drake! Secure his corpse!”

Az’kerash’s voice snapped. He grabbed for a scroll at his side and vanished. The undead around him stared at their master—Ijvani disappeared in a pop as she cast [Lesser Teleport] and the others fled, pulling out scrolls of their own. The Goblin Lord looked around, stunned by the sudden absence of the other undead.

“Hah. Hahaha. Coward.”

Zel Shivertail lay on the ground, laughing. He was still alive. Somehow. The Goblin Lord could see into his head, but the Drake still clung to life. His eyes turned to the Goblin Lord.

“I’m sorry.”

The Goblin Lord said it as he knelt by Zel’s side. He stared down at the Drake, seeing how the enchanted armor had failed in places. The magical metal had been melted in one place, pierced in two. Zel Shivertail stared up at the ivory ceiling overhead. The enchantment was breaking up—the dome was collapsing in places, letting sunlight in.

The Goblin Lord could hear Humans and Goblins shouting outside the dome in confusion. There was still a battle going on. But in this moment he only had eyes for Zel. He felt he should say something.

“I’m sorry. It was not a worthy death. Cowardly. It was—”

He got no further. A hand shot out and grabbed him by the throat. The Goblin Lord choked, tried to move back. He couldn’t. Zel Shivertail sat up, his grip crushing the Goblin Lord’s throat.

“I’m not dead yet.”

He stared at the Goblin Lord with his one good eye. It blazed with a strange light. How could he still move? How could he—the Goblin Lord was choking.

“I could kill you. It would be so easy.”

Zel Shivertail said the words casually. He stared at the Goblin Lord, and then, suddenly, released him. The Goblin Lord stumbled backwards, gasping for air.

“I don’t feel like it. Not anymore.”

Zel stared ahead. His head was—blood dripped from the missing part of his head. His voice was distant.

“I feel so tired. So this is how it ends? Funny, I always thought it would be—quicker.”

He turned his head. The Goblin Lord stared at him. But Zel was no longer looking at him. The Drake [General] looked ahead, and his voice was very distant.

“Sserys, old friend. I couldn’t lead them. I couldn’t inspire them like you did. But I tried. I wonder, would you say this was a job well done? I couldn’t kill the Necromancer, in the end. I only got one of his minions. And…”

His voice trailed off. Zel’s head drooped. His voice was lower. The Goblin Lord moved forwards to hear. Zel’s voice was a whisper as he looked ahead, looked at the past.

“My mentor, my friend, wings of my heart, did I do a good job? Defending our people? It was so very difficult without you. Will I see you, I wonder? Will you say I did a good job or a bad one when we meet?”

“You did.”

The Goblin Lord spoke, his voice trembling. He reached out, hesitated. He spoke, as gently as he could.

“You did. You protected them. Your people. You did it. It was a good job.”

Zel stirred. His eyes focused on the Goblin Lord’s face and he frowned.

“I’ll let Sserys tell me in person, Goblin.”

He stared at the Goblin, and then smiled. It was such a strange thing that the Goblin Lord nearly smiled back. The Goblin brushed at his eyes and was surprised to find water on his claws. Zel looked at him.

“Do you have a name?”

“No. No name. Just Goblin Lord. Apprentice. Goblin.”

The Goblin Lord sat next to Zel as the dome broke. The Drake looked up at the sky. He sighed.

“How strange. Everyone should have a name. It doesn’t seem right. You—should have one.”

The Goblin Lord was silent. Zel stared up, blood dripped slowly from his wounds. And then stopped.

“How about Reiss? It’s a proper Drake name. If I had a son—Sserys always talked about wanting to raise a boy and name him that.”

Reiss. The Goblin Lord stared at Zel for a second. The Drake laughed.

“Take it if you want it. I don’t think Sserys will mind. And—no, never mind.”

“I will. And I will avenge. Avenge you and my people. I swear it. The Necromancer will die by my hand.”

The Goblin Lord looked at Zel. The Drake eyed him, and then shrugged.

“Good. I hope you do it. But I won’t be around to see it. And truthfully…I would have liked to…”

His voice trailed off. Reiss looked into Zel’s eyes and saw the Drake’s vision had gone distant again. Zel whispered as the Goblin Lord wiped at his eyes again.

“A good job. Did I do it?”

He laughed once.

“I suppose I’ll never know. But I did try. I did—”

Reiss waited a long time, but Zel never finished his sentence. He sat there, the last traces of laughter still on his face. The Tidebreaker stared up at the sky as the walls of ivory finally broke and both armies could see into the dome at last.

There was just silence at first. Reiss sat with Zel, head bowed, until he realized that it looked like both he and Zel were dead. He stood slowly, and heard the Goblins roaring. But from the Human side there was no noise.

There was only silence. Then the Goblin Lord heard a groan from the Humans. It sounded like something living had been torn from them. He saw the armored ranks of men and woman falter, saw some fall to their knees and others begin to weep. The news dawned on the army slowly as they saw the Goblin Lord standing over the distant form of their [General].

Zel Shivertail was dead. The Tidebreaker had fallen.

And the Goblin Lord had slain him.

It was not the truth. Reiss wanted to scream it out loud. But he couldn’t. And the Goblins roared as they saw the fallen Drake and their victorious leader. They streamed towards him, screaming, staring in awe at the fallen Zel Shivertail.

“Dead! Dead, dead, dead!”

Snapjaw shouted the words in triumph. She and the other Goblins were fighting to get to the Goblin Lord, offering potions. One Goblin reached to push Zel Shivertail aside. Reiss whirled and shouted.

“Stop!”

The Goblins froze. The Goblin Lord looked around and pointed to Zel Shivertail’s body.

“Leave body. Anyone who touches, dies.”

They stared at him, and then at the fallen Drake. Reiss wiped at his eyes. He said one word.

“Withdraw.”

He turned and walked away. Uncomprehending, the Goblins stared at him and then followed. Reiss the Goblin Lord led his army away as the Humans stared at the slumped figure in shining armor. They wept, and the cry went up. It echoed across the battlefield, across the city of Invrisil, and out onto the rest of the continent. The words shook the world.

—-

Magnolia Reinhart wept as she retreated from the battlefield. Ressa, beside her, was dry-eyed, but her hands were tight on her mistress’ arm as she guided Magnolia away. The Lady Reinhart spoke only once as they retreated behind the procession bearing the Tidebreaker’s body away from the battle.

“I am offering a hundred thousand gold coins. No, I will offer a million gold coins or whatever artifacts I own. Spread the word among the Assassin’s Guilds, in every part of the world. I will have the Necromancer dead, Ressa.”

“Yes, milady.”

—-

A’kerash strode through his castle, his damaged servants, his Chosen trailing after him. They were four now, and they dared not speak to him. The Necromancer had triumphed today, but that victory was hollow as well.

“Oom’s death was unfortunate.”

That was all Az’kerash said as he halted in front of his rooms. The four undead looked at him. Bea’s face was a mask of grief. The Necromancer looked at each of them and then away.

“I see I have overestimated your capabilities. Or perhaps underestimated that of my foes. The next generation of your brothers and sisters will lack your weaknesses.”

They bowed their heads. Az’kerash turned.

“I will repair you all shortly. Rest, and regain your strength. I have need of you yet. I have eliminated one of my greatest foes today.”

He turned and smiled bitterly. And from his castle, the same words were repeated. They broke upon the Walled Cities, and shattered the hearts of the Drakes. The end of a legend. The death of an era.

Fear for the future.

—-

The news struck Liscor like a wave. Grief-stricken Drakes stood in the streets, weeping, and the Gnolls were little better. Zel Shivertail was dead. The hero of the Second Antinium Wars, the shield that had protected Izril for so long, had fallen.

In The Wandering Inn, Klbkch saw Erin weeping at the counter and Lyonette slumped at a table. Mrsha was howling from the top of the inn. He turned, and left the building.

Klbkch did not weep. The Antinium did not cry. He slowly walked through the streets of Liscor, hearing the horns blowing, seeing grief in every corner. He walked into the Antinium Hive and heard a hush. The Workers and Soldiers did not understand the grief and fear, yes, fear that gripped the hearts of those above.

Well, that was their nature. Klbkch descended through the tunnels, walking by memory, and came to a large room. The Queen of the Free Antinium looked down at him.

“Klbkchhezeim.”

“My Queen. Has the artifact been installed to your satisfaction?”

“So it seems. The Courier delivered it to the door of the Hive this morning. I have placed it here.”

The Queen indicated a mirror made out of black glass, a tall frame that was far too small to reflect her entire body. Klbkch stared at it. It did not fit in this room, but it was a powerful artifact and there were few good alternatives.

“Have you activated it yet?”

“No.”

The Queen of the Free Antinium stared at Klbkch as he slowly walked over to the mirror. He placed a hand on it and the surface rippled. It changed. Instead of reflecting the Queen and Klbkch, the surface swam until it was reflecting another room.

It was quite similar to the one Klbkch stood in. The only difference was that this room was carved of stone, and there were quite a number of tunnels leading to and from this cavernous room. And the Queen in the center was far, larger than the Queen of the Free Antinium. She was massive, bloated, and rested on a huge dais in the center of the room. She stared towards the mirror.

“Klbkchhezeim? The connection is strong it seems. How fares the Free Antinium?”

“Zel Shivertail is dead.”

Klbkch’s voice was flat. The Grand Queen of the Antinium went still. In the frame, Klbkch saw one of the Antinium gathered around her turn. Xrn stared at him. The Grand Queen was silent as she stared at Klbkch. Then her mandibles parted and rose.

“Good. We have much to do, Klbkchhezeim, my Queen of the Free Antinium.”

She waved a languid feeler. The Antinium turned to face Klbkch, and the Grand Queen spoke.

“The Goblins are moving once more. The Humans stir for war. The Drakes have lost their shield. And the Antinium will rise.”

Klbkch nodded. He stared at the Grand Queen of the Antinium, and his hands tightened on the hilts of his sword. He said only one word.

“Perhaps.”

End of Volume 4.

Author’s Note:

So, we come to this at last. At last, the volume ends. And I had planned to write this last chapter directly before the break. Perhaps it’s better that I didn’t. Perhaps it would have been better had I not had the break.

We’ll never know. But it is done, and the world is changed now. Zel Shivertail is dead. And what follows will be…different.

This is the darkest end to a volume, and speaks of what is to come. And yet, and yet, our story is about Erin, about hope, and about more than just war. But it does feel like war and conflict threaten us despite our best hopes. As in this world, so in ours.

Thank you for reading. I had a good break, and I think it was appropriate—I hope to take a week long break after every end of volume, if only to recharge a bit. I have a lot of ideas for the next volume and a lot of story yet to come. Some of it will be tragic, some horrific (hopefully not due to bad writing), other parts hopeful, or sad or silly or…

Thank you all for supporting the story, whether it be from pledging or talking about it, or simply reading. I have a lot I want to do, from releasing the e-book to fixing typos and plot points and adding a glossary. I have a lot to do, but what I start and end with is this: writing. I hope you enjoy the story and if you do, I have a lot more to tell.

See you soon. I’m back to writing and Volume 5 begins in two days. I’ll put the monthly side stories poll up soon too, and maybe another short (non-canonical) piece side story I wrote during my vacation. Thanks for reading as always,

–pirateaba

The Depthless Doctor

Author’s Note: I wrote this chapter as a non-canonical side story for my grandfather. He is a fan of the story, and while I don’t ever intend to write in real people as characters, or write fan-characters into the series, this was a birthday present.

Bear in mind this is a story written for fun, a myth if you will. The main character will never appear in the story, but legends about him might be mentioned. However, the other details about the story, the lore of the world is true.

Our hero, the mysterious Captain Ad, is not my grandfather. But there is a bit of him in Captain Ad. Truth and myth are intertwined with each other, and perhaps only the [Bards] can tell where fact ends and legends begin. Hope you like the story!

On land, it is often said that each continent has a claim to the title of the greatest. Citizens of all five continents argue over such things as if it matters. For instance, in Izril, the Drakes will proudly boast of their Walled Cities, pointing to these relics of an era when Dragons flew through the skies as a marker of greatness. The Humans on Izril speak more quietly of a land won by steel and magic, a place where they bow to no [King] or monarch—a place to be free.

Of course, were you to go north to Terandria you would hear much the opposite. The people of the myriad kingdoms on that continent think of their enduring generations of rulers as a treasure, and point to their ancient castles and ruins as a symbol of their status. Too, Terandria is the only home to Dwarves, those master-craftsmen of metal and stone. A place where legends remain. Surely that alone speaks to Terandria’s greatness?

Perhaps though, that is not the measure by which a land can be judged. The enduring folk of Chandrar must survive arid lands and the might of the largest desert in the world bar none—yet that hardiness leads Chandrarians to declare themselves the true survivors in a soft world. They scoff at the soft lives led by those in Terandria and Izril, and are in turn sneered at by the people of Baleros. For what is a harsh land to that of one where war is both a way of life and economy?

And Rhir…the less said about the struggle of those desperate people, the better. But woe to any who might suggest Rhir somehow falls behind the other four continents. The citizens of Rhir claim with some accuracy to be the most courageous, most resilient and stubbornly hopeful of all five continents.

And so the debate continues. From every land, every species will shout their greatness. Much to the amusement of those who have no home on land of course. Greatest continent? It is a laughable joke to compare such tiny specks of earth to the infinite depths of the sea. There is but one land under the waters of the world, and it is more terrible and more awe-inspiring than anything above it.

The sea. The only land where cities have yet to be built in great number. A vast abyss from which monsters emerge that Gold-rank adventurers and Named Adventurers can only dream of in nightmares. This place is the home to the Drowned People, the damned souls who have given their bodies to fuse with other creatures and breathe water as freely as air. Drowned People, the rumored Merfolk, [Pirates] and [Sailors] who merely float on the surface of the ocean, all call the sea home.

But they would never claim to rule it. No. Go down far enough and the sea will engulf you. The abyssal depths stretch deeper than any mountain, so deep that there are places magic itself begins to fail. The deep ocean is a place where an Archmage would find her magic lacking, where the greatest of [Warriors] would find his strength worthless. It is so dark down there, and one can sail for days, weeks, months, without seeing anything in the darkness.

But it is not always quiet. There are songs in the darkness, if one but has the courage to listen.

Most do not. To listen to the siren call of the blackness is to invite madness or worse—sanity. So the crew of the Kraken’s Horn made it a policy to cover their ears as they worked. This crew of Drowned Men and Women had sailed for many years in such places and knew what measures must be kept.

Maintain the bubble. Deafen the ears. Shine no lights above decks. Speak no word of ill against another crew. Such were the litanies of the crew. Each rule was sacred, inviolate.

Maintain the bubble. That was first and foremost. While each of the Drowned Men and Women—former Humans fused with the aspects of crabs, fish, or other sea creatures—could breathe underwater, the crushing pressures they sailed at would smash their bodies into pulp, as well as their ship, in seconds. Were it not for the magical wards that formed a protective sphere around the ship, the Kraken’s Horn would be gone in a moment.

So each sailor checked the runes on the ship and watched the mana stones to make sure the enchantment was not failing. That was their first rule. The second was for safety and sanity. Listen not to the whispers and songs of the ocean. Many a crew had vanished or slaughtered each other when the ocean had talked to them in the depths of their paranoia and fear.

As for the prohibition against lights—more safety. Light attracted attention, and attention underwater was the last thing any sailor wanted. Horrible things craved the light and sought it out.

As for the last rule, it was just common sense. A crew was a crew, and while a crew could brawl and fight over the smallest of issues, the instant it began turning on itself it was finished. It might seem incredible to the land folk that a crew could go for months without quarrel, but that was the law of the sea and the sailors of the Kraken’s Horn usually obeyed this last law without fail.

But today, the arguments between the [Captain] and [First Mate] of the ship came perilously close to breaking that rule. The two sometimes [Sailors] and sometimes [Pirates] strode along the broad deck of the ship, talking in hushed voices.

For them, that was shouting. It was an unspoken corollary to the rule of no light—keep your voice down. Noise travelled far in the waters, after all. But some things had to be said above decks, rather than down in the hold where they might be heard.

“—Ridiculous! I won’t hear of it.”

“She’ll die if we don’t go up, Captain. Or the babe will.”

“We’re tens of thousands of leagues from any port, and that’s without the risk of surfacing so quickly. And for what? A squalling babe? I won’t have it! We’d starve ourselves for your mission of mercy, Rendala. No more arguments!”

The [Captain] was a big, swarthy Drowned Man, as befit a man of his rank. He had once been a huge Human with a beard like a fireball—now his left arm and part of his chest were translucent and elastic. He had merged with a Blackwater Jellyfish, and his body was part monster.

Some might have seen the [Captain]’s tendril-like arms as a weakness, but the poison contained in the [Captain]’s body made up for any defects in appearance. He could paralyze a whale with a touch and his body could heal from wounds that would cripple normal flesh. Now he was staring with no little ire at his [First Mate].

She had been a Gnoll. Only, like all Drowned People, she had merged with a monster. In her case it had been a swordfish and she had lost her arm but gained an unparalleled cutting weapon on her right side instead. It was a tradeoff many would consider not worth the cost, but such was the nature of Drowned People. They did not choose their destiny. The ocean claimed them.

Rendala didn’t speak like most Gnolls did, with ‘yes’ and ‘no’ endings to her sentences. She had left her tribe as a child and like all of the crew of the ship, she spoke like a sailor.

“Captain, she’s fit to bursting. And the babe’s difficult—you know it’s already half fish! She needs a [Healer] or she’s like to bleed to death in the hold. And what would we do then? Jettison her body? That’s no way to do a sea burial and the blood would have predators in the water in minutes.”

“So we do what? Try and surface? Even if we survived moving up that fast there’s little to no chance we’d find a [Healer] out on the open ocean.”

“It’s standard for all ships to have a medical officer. And we wouldn’t be in this place if we had a [Doctor] on board, Tugrim!”

“Bah. Old Sawlegs never did more than hand out healing potions. We have enough on board—why not use them?”

Captain Tugrim had sailed his vessel for over a decade and served with Rendala as his First Mate for over half that time. Still, he couldn’t ever recall her giving him a look with as much scorn as she did now.

“Childbirth ain’t that easy, Captain. There’s ways to lose a babe or the mother that no healing potion’ll fix. Or if it does fix the problem—it’ll fix it wrong, as if the child weren’t ever there. There’s a reason why [Midwives]’re employed when we have magic and potions about.”

The Drowned Captain growled under his breath as he stalked the deck. His footsteps echoed eerily in the silence of the ocean depths around him. He kept his voice to a low hiss as he replied.

“This is all that damned idiot’s fault! Who goes to sea when they’re pregnant?”

His words wavered treacherously close to violating the law of the sea. But Rendala kept her mouth shut. She understood Tugrin’s feelings, she really did.

“I’m not saying it’s right! But you’ve a duty to your crew now.”

“Aye, but it’s the crew I’m thinking of. The crew or the crew, Rendala. What’s worth more, a life we might not save or an empty hold?”

The Drowned Gnoll fell silent. Tugrim was right. Their ship, the Kraken’s Horn, wasn’t an easy vessel to keep repaired and afloat underwater or above it. The mana stones they used to power the ship’s bubble cost hundreds of gold coins and the crew needed pay. Added to that, there were the costs for oil, food, the supplies of healing potions and other enchanted items…

To pay the costs, the crew were [Pirates] of opportunity, [Scavengers] and [Treasure Seekers] whenever they passed by a sunken wreck, and occasionally honest [Sailors] carrying cargo as well. Right now they were on a trawl for sunken wrecks on their way to a Drake port city on the south-eastern coast of Izril. Surfacing would mean going back the way they’d come, costing them precious days in time and resources.

“I can’t believe it’s come to this. We should have turned back the instant we found out.”

Rendala shook her head. Her fur became scales halfway down the side of her neck on the left side. She gestured with her sword-hand.

“It was too late by then. She’d pretended for too long. Sea’s salt, how could we not see it? The vomiting in secret, the eating—”

“I thought she was just getting fat. The depths does that to the best of [Sailors].”

“Well, there’s little more it can do at the moment. Right now it’s us. Up or onwards, Captain?”

Rendala looked at Tugrim, waiting. The [Captain] paced along his decks, navigating in the near-pitch black darkness more by memory than sight. He walked heavily towards the bow of the ship, back along the main deck, and then spun and went towards the bow again. When he walked back, shoulders heavy, Rendala knew what his answer would be.

“We surface, First Mate. And may the seas have mercy on us if a larger fish senses us. We’re too far from a safe zone, but we must ride the Rower’s Currents if we’ve any chance of getting her to safety in time.”

“Aye, Captain. I’ll give the orders.”

The Gnoll woman saluted in relief. It would cause trouble along the ship and no doubt a few unkind words spoken in the privacy of the crew’s heads, but she would gladly take that squall than face a death of both a mother and child on board without anything being done. Besides…the thought of what the blood of childbirth might attract in these depths made Rendala shudder.

She and Tugrim were about to head below decks when they sensed a change in the sea around them. The waters were so black this deep that only the faint light from the runes on the ship itself provided any sort of illumination. So finely trained were the eyes of the two Drowned Sailors that they could see in this blackness. And now the blackness was growing brighter.

“Captain—”

“I see it. Quick, towards the wheel.”

Tugrim and Rendala crept towards the stern of the ship. Neither Drowned Sailor reached for a weapon—their weapons were their bodies. Rendala’s sword-hand cut the air in small circles as she crouched low, keeping an eye out for something—anything—in the blackness.

What could it be? Angler Ghouls? Phantomlight Sharks? A light-based leviathan? All she knew was that if trouble came calling, they had to be close to the wheel.

There was a [Sailor] at the wheel. There always was—it was known as the Ghostwatcher’s Time. The ship needed no real direction most of the time—the [Sailor] on duty simply had to watch out for oncoming obstacles. But the mind would play tricks, so you’d see phantoms coming up on you in the distance. The trick was separating the illusions from a real threat approaching in the murk.

“Sailor. What do you see?”

Tugrim approached the half-squid Drowned Man at the wheel. The man turned, his beard a mass of wriggling tendrils and replied, eyes wide.

“Nothing, Captain! Just a light. Growing brighter?”

“Headed this way? Avoid it!”

“I have! Twice I’ve turned and twice it follows.”

“Then we’re hunted. Rendala, prepare to shout the alarm.”

Tugrim seized the wheel and turned the ship. Not away—there was little use running from something locked onto them. They had to see the threat before they judged whether it was worth the noise of fighting—or fleeing. Rendala nodded as she prepared to yell. A loud voice would wake the entire ship in this silence.

“It’s getting brighter!”

Now the glow was an almighty shine. Rendala had to squint to see, but she could tell the light was coming from something ahead of her. Not too big…which was a relief if it was a monster. But what was that light?

“Ahoy! What have we here?”

There was an exclamation, a sharp intake of breath as Tugrim saw something in the depths that Rendala could not. He spun the wheel and she heard a splash as something breached the bubble of the ship.

“Hold! Who are you? Answer or we attack!”

Tugrim roared into the silence as he faced the source of the light. Rendala raised her sword-arm, staring into the blinding glare. And then—suddenly—the light winked out. In the darkness the spots in the Gnoll’s vision took a few moments to clear. Then she saw him.

Standing at the edge of the bubble surrounding the Kraken’s Horn was a man. He was standing on top of a metal…tube. It was some kind of vehicle—a metal contraption of steel that had opened to let him climb out. The vehicle was beyond strange, but it was the man who drew Rendala’s gaze.

He was dressed in some kind of uniform, a pristine white cloth. He had a white cap with some kind of gold insignia on the front—hardly a proper [Captain]’s hat like the swaggering broad-cut monster of a hat like Tugrim wore. And yet, he was clearly part of some army, albeit one neither Tugrim nor Rendala had were familiar with. Two black epaulets with gold tassels sat on his shoulders along with four black stripes. He stood erect, his back straight as a rod, and his eyes—ah, his eyes.

They were the eyes of the deep itself. Piercing, unwavering—they bore a hole into the three stunned [Sailors] as the Human man descended off his strange vehicle onto the deck of the ship. The maniac glare the man gave Rendala and Tugrim was at odds with his calm voice

“Hello.”

They stared. The man with the steely eyes waited for a response. When none was forthcoming he spoke again.

“My name is Captain Ad. This is my submarine.”

He gestured towards the metal vehicle he’d emerged from. Rendala stared at it.

The black metal contraption was as foreign to First Mate Rendala as any eldritch horror she’d seen dragging itself across the sea bed. It defied her understanding of how a ship should be. And yet, the long, oblong shape, the way it sat in the water rather than swam—it had its own symmetry, its own grace.

And clearly, it could move about the depths without an enchantment of its own. That alone gave her pause, and clearly made Tugrim think twice about a rash move. She could see her Captain shifting and knew he was ready to lash out with his poisoned hand should this strange ‘Captain Ad’ prove dangerous.

“The Peace of the Drowned upon you. I am [Captain] Tugrim of the Kraken’s Horn. What business have you in these waters? No—what foolishness led you to shine a light this far down?”

The question seemed to puzzle the other Captain. Ad stared around, his burning gaze making the other Drowned Sailor flinch.

“It was dark. Darkness needs a light. Or how else would I navigate?”

“You’d sooner end up in the belly of a monster like that!”

The lack of common sense clearly shook Tugrim. He gestured to the submarine, his eyes on Captain Ad’s face. He didn’t dare meet the Human man’s eyes—the piercing stare was too much even for Tugrim’s seasoned years.

“Either you’ve a deathwish or your strange ship can destroy titans, stranger. Which is it? And why did you seek me out?”

“I had a feeling I was needed.”

Once again, Captain Ad gave an incomprehensible reply. Tugrim exchanged glances with his First Mate—it was Rendala who responded.

“What do you mean, a feeling? What is it you do?”

Rather than answer, Captain Ad’s gaze once again swept the ship. He spoke in a distant voice.

“Is there, by any chance, a pregnant woman on board your ship? I have a Skill that senses them.”

Rendala’s eyes widened. Tugrim swore a sailor’s oath.

“Storm waters take me! How did you—”

“I’m an [Obstetrician].”

Captain Ad replied coolly. Tugrim paused.

“A what now?”

“An obstetrician. I deliver babies. If you have a pregnant woman on board, I can help her give birth.”

“Truly?”

Rendala’s skepticism was warring with a sudden hope. Tugrim took a step back, his eyes narrowed.

“Now hold on. How can we be so sure we can trust—”

Captain Ad turned his paralyzing stare on Tugrim and the [Captain]’s words died in his mouth. Slowly, Ad reached into a pocket. Rendala tensed, but the man just took out a strange, long, cylindrical object out and put it into his mouth. She stared.

It was a pretzel. Ad mistook her look and pulled out another.

“Want one?”

“No. No, I—”

“Take me to the patient. Time is running out.”

Rendala hesitated and Tugrim gave her a look. But they had no choice. She beckoned, and Ad strode after the Drowned Sailors, still chewing on the pretzel.

“I have toffee if anyone wants it.”

—-

Below decks, the crew of Kraken’s Horn were in a small panic. They were clustered outside one of the cabins where the pregnant female [Sailor] had been housed. Until this moment only ghastly groaning noises had echoed from that place and it had been avoided by all but Rendala and the [Cook] who brought the poor woman food. Now Rendala, Tugrim, and the rest of the crew peeked around the doorframe as Captain Ad tended to his patient.

“You’re sure you know what you’re doing?”

Tugrim glared at Captain Ad, breathing heavily. He was protective of his crew, but pale-faced, ill-at-ease in this situation that called for neither steady hands nor a heart of steel. Well, actually, it called for both things, but Tugrim would have happily fought a Kraken naked in a lifeboat than be called on to assist a birth.

Captain Ad nodded. He’d eaten his pretzel and now donned a pair of white rubbery gloves.

“I told you, I’m a medical officer. And this is my patient. Let’s see how she’s doing. Miss, breathe slowly for me. In, out, in, out…”

It had to be his soothing voice that calmed the pregnant [Sailor]; it definitely wasn’t the piercing glare he trained on her. And yet, despite the sudden appearance of this intense, strange man, Rendala saw the young pregnant woman calm down a bit, and after a cursory inspection Captain Ad straightened and nodded.

“She’s due any minute now.”

Nothing could have thrown the crew of the ship into a worst panic. Nothing, except hearing the pregnant [Sailor] cry out and realizing the pregnancy had shifted from being imminent to in progress. Screaming occurred, and only some of it came from the mother-to-be.

And yet, there was an icy void of calm amidst the chaos. Captain Ad calmly delivered the baby with the help of the ship’s crew, ordering Drowned Men and Women to bring hot water, tools from his submarine, scissors of all things—

Rendala watched with a mixture of horror and awe as the baby was born. Tugrim fainted as the head poked out. But in short order it was done, and Captain Ad held up the squalling infant and regarded it.

“It’s a…hmm. It’s a…well, it’s got scales. And tentacles. And a beak.”

“Is he—is the curse—”

The weak mother struggled up. She was afraid. All Drowned People were, to give birth. The ocean’s taint on their bodies could pass on to their children in odd ways. But when she saw her son she cried out and took him from Captain Ad with trembling hands.

“He’s beautiful.”

“That he is. We can’t thank you enough, sir. What can we—”

Rendala was about to ask how they could repay their mysterious savior when she heard a shout from above. Her blood ran cold.

“Leviathan to port! All hands! Leviathan!”

A monster of the depths had found them. The jubilation below decks ended in a moment. The Drowned Child wailed as the [Sailors] scrambled above decks. What they saw terrified Rendala to her core.

A fish thrice the size of her ship was circling them, its wide, gaping mouth showing rows of teeth as it eyed their vessel through a set of multi-colored eyes along its length. It looked like a salmon if you mutated it, gave it wings like razors, three more eyes on each side, a serpentine tail, teeth—actually it looked nothing like a salmon at all.

It looked like death, though. The sea monster had noticed the Kraken’s Horn, that, or it had heard the noise or seen the light in the waters that Captain Ad’s arrival had prompted. Either way, it was here and there was only death now.

Captain Ad had strode onto the decks after Rendala. He was the first to break the horrified silence. He calmly put the pretzel in his mouth, staring up at the giant fish monster as it opened its jaws wide, wide, trying to engulf both ships.

“Well, darn. That’s big.”

The moment was broken. The [Sailors] scrambled across the decks, shouting, firing the magical cannons towards the fish. Rendala scrambled across the deck, towards the steering wheel. The First Mate screamed at Captain Ad as she furiously turned the wheel of her ship.

“Run! We’ll all be eaten by that damned thing if we hang about!”

There was a gas petal by the steering wheel that allowed the ship to rise and sink as need be—she was pressing with all her might to get it to rise as the sea monster swam closer, maw closing in on her ship.

She had to get her ship away, even if it meant abandoning Captain Ad’s ship to the depths. But the man was already swinging himself into the hatch of his vehicle. He gave her a reproachful look as he paused with the hatch’s lid in one hand.

“There’s a time and place for foul language, Miss. And that’s never. I have a plan.”

She stared at him. Captain Ad was turning his submarine. She could hear his voice, echoing out of the sub as he turned it to face the giant fish.

“Now look here, you. I’d reconsider anything you were planning to do. Turn around, swim away, and we’ll all go home happy. Understand?”

The gigantic fish stared at Captain Ad. Perhaps it was his devilish stare, which pierced the fish through the layers of his submarine, or maybe it was his calm, implacable voice, but the monstrous fish hesitated for just a moment.

“Give up?”

The fish hesitated for just one moment and Renalda held her breath, incredulous. Then it made up its mind and swam forwards, not towards the Kraken’s Horn, but towards Captain Ad’s sub. She heard the man’s voice speaking faintly in surprise.

“Oh my.”

The gigantic sea monster’s jaws closed around the submarine. Rendala, pushing her ship upwards as Captain Tugrim marshalled his crew for a desperate defense, saw the ship disappearing into the fish’s mouth. And then there was a flash, an underwater explosion, a wave of heat—

—-

It was a strange farewell the crew gave to Captain Ad on the surface of the ocean. Strange, awkward, and made all the more surreal by the giant floating fish’s corpse drifting just off the bow of their ship.

“You killed it. Just like that.”

Tugrim was staring at the fish, large enough to feed a city for weeks. It had been blown apart from the inside. Captain Ad hadn’t wanted it, so it was the property of the Kraken’s Horn. Rendala had no idea how they’d transport it—the sharks were already beginning to circle and nibble at the corpse.

“I’m not a [Hunter]. I’m a man of peace. With a submarine.”

Captain Ad answered calmly, sucking on a piece of toffee he’d produced from somewhere. He hadn’t wanted any part of the feast—although the teeth alone were probably worth a fortune in ivory. He had accepted a small payment for delivering the baby, nothing else.

“How’d you do it? Where did you learn all those Skills? Are you some kind of high-level [Captain]?”

The man shrugged in response to Rendala’s questions.

“I am a [Captain] as well as a [Doctor]. But high-level? I like to think it’s just skill.”

“Skill?”

Captain Ad nodded.

“Underwater naval combat…dodging fish, delivering babies…it’s all like tennis. I play it all the time. Underwater tennis, aerial tennis…I’m a [Tennis Player]. I’d like to think I’m good at the game.”

The [Sailors] of Kraken’s Horn stared at him. Captain Ad chewed thoughtfully at the lump of toffee.

“Or ping pong.”

He nodded, and then, with a casual turn of the shoulder, walked over to his sub. He opened the hatch and began to descend.

“It was a pleasure meeting you all. If you should ever have a medical problem, I’ll be sure to drop by.”

He saluted, and then was gone. The submarine sank out of sight. Rendala and the crew of the Kraken’s Horn stared at the spot where a few bubbles rose upwards for several minutes. Then Rendala turned to stare at Tugrim.

“Who was that?”

Legends. Each continent has them. They have heroes, Named Adventurers, famous [Generals] and so on. But what people forget is that the sea has its own myths as well. How could it not? But you seldom see those legends in person. You only hear of them, perhaps on the lips of a sailor who knew a man (or woman!) who knew someone else who’d seen the legend in person. And one of those legends that was told by the now-rich crew of the Kraken’s Tooth was the tale of the mysterious man with the piercing gaze, the fearless Captain Ad.

They say he sails to this very day, the man with the piercing glare, cutting through the depths of the ocean with his metal submarine. Occasionally chewing on a pretzel or toffee. More than one baby owes him their life, or so it’s said.

But who would speak such stories? Who would carry his tales above? Not sailors. Some stories, the real stories are too good to jabber on about like some land-locked fool. Some stories are true.

Or close enough.

5.00

Zel Shivertail was dead.

Four words rocked the world in the first days of spring. Like wildfire, the news spread across Izril and then to every continent in the world at the speed of magic. Zel Shivertail had fallen. The Tidebreaker had been slain. The legendary Drake hero of both Antinium Wars had been killed in battle—and by a Goblin Lord, no less.

The world was vast. There were countless nations, hundreds of minor [Kings], any number of [Generals], self-proclaimed heroes and adventurers, figures of renown whose names were known only locally, in one country or a handful of cities. But there were also Named Adventurers, and world leaders, famous [Lords] and [Ladies] and Archmages whose names were known even in lands where they had never set foot. Zel Shivertail was known to the world. And his absence left a hole in the imagination.

He was dead. A Goblin Lord had slain him. In Izril, in the north, the Humans who heard the news were stunned. Not only had the mighty hero of the Drakes fallen, but the power of Magnolia Reinhart, one of the leaders of the realm had been shattered as well. Her army fled the field in disarray, striking a political blow whose effects would ripple from that event for months.

Yet, if the Humans were stunned, it was the Drakes, the people who had grown up associating Zel’s name with history who were truly devastated by the news. When his death was first announced there were riots across southern Izril, pandemonium in the streets. The next day there was only silence. And tears.

The Gnoll tribes were similarly affected by Shivertail’s death. However, instead of making their reactions public the majority of the tribes withdrew from sight. Massed Gnoll howls dominated the plains, and they too mourned. Zel Shivertail had been a friend to their kind, if not their hero.

The Human cities were relatively calm as they weren’t caught up in the loss of a national hero, but fear was the undercurrent that ran across the continent. A legend had fallen. The veil of safety had been torn, and now Humans, Drakes, and Gnolls alike feared what the Goblin Lord might do next.

That was Izril. Across the world the reactions of other species were muted. They did not know the Tidebreaker except as a name. However, those who understood strategy or had a grasp of world events felt the significance of his departure. That a Goblin Lord, a single Goblin Lord, however mighty, had felled a Drake [General] of that level was cause for alarm. To be that young and that mighty meant he might well be another Velan the Kind, or worse, a Curulac.

The leaders of other nations faced the very real possibility that a Goblin King might arise once more in their lifetimes, and the small Goblin conflict in Izril became a much more serious topic of conversation. Plans were hatched. Diplomacy begun. But such were the machinations of only a few.

After all, it was only politics. The rest of the world did not wait overlong after hearing of the fallen Drake [General]. A moment of shock, a pang of regret or fear, and the world kept moving. Zel Shivertail’s death was news, but to the common man…or Lizardman…or Drowned Woman…or Selphid, Zel Shivertail’s passing was just news, a change in the wind.

But return to his home continent and the reaction was far different. Zel had been known. He had been loved. And he would be missed.

Across Izril, there was mourning.

—-

Erin Solstice woke up at dawn because she was used to it. She stared at the ceiling of her kitchen and then turned over. There was no point to getting up. No one would be awake. Or if they were, they wouldn’t be hungry. Erin lay in the tangle of sheets that was her bed in the kitchen of her inn and just lay there for a while, not quite awake but unable to return to sleep.

In the end she got up. Erin wandered around her kitchen. She opened a drawer, pulled out a toothbrush, towel, and some of the simple toothpaste they used in this world. She brushed her teeth, gargled, realized there was nowhere to spit, and walked outside.

It was cold and wet and the mud and grass squished between her bare feet. Erin paused, stared at her feet, and then walked to one side into a pile of snow. It was dirty and mostly melted. Erin walked back in, scraping her feet against the welcoming mat she’d put there for this very occasion.

She washed her feet more thoroughly with some water from a bucket when she got back to the kitchen. Erin wandered back into the common room of her inn and sat at a table. Her stomach rumbled, but she ignored it.

After a few minutes she heard a faint shuffling sound from upstairs. She looked up and on cue a young woman holding a white ball of fur descended the stairs. Lyonette looked like a ghost. Erin immediately got up and went over to her. She hugged Lyonette silently. The two stood like that for a minute and then Lyonette went over to a table. She put the ball of fur on top of it.

“Mrsha?”

The small Gnoll didn’t move. She lay on the table, looking like a white ball of fluff. A large one. She’d grown a bit since she first came to the inn, as children did. But she was still so small. So young.

Erin patted the Gnoll cub on the head. Mrsha twitched, but made no other sound. There had to be a limit to how much despair, how much sadness someone could feel. Erin knew Mrsha had loved Zel.

And now he was gone. Unconsciously, Erin looked around. It felt like yesterday that the Drake [General] would be sitting at a table, eating pancakes, talking with Lyonette, teasing Mrsha and offering him some of her food.

And he was gone. Just like that. Dead, having fought the Goblin Lord hundreds of miles from here. It didn’t seem real.

It had been three days since the battle at Invrisil. Three days since Olesm had burst into the inn in tears and Erin had heard the Gnolls howling, heard the horns blaring from the walls of Liscor and Selys’ scream.

Three days. It still felt like she was dreaming. Erin busied herself by taking some food out of her pantry for Lyonette and Mrsha. Oatmeal, seasoned with honey. Mrsha refused to eat. Lyonette tried to feed her, but gave up when the Gnoll refused to move. She only ate half her bowl herself before pushing it away.

“I’ll give the rest to Mrsha when she’s hungry.”

“Right.”

Erin realized she hadn’t eaten either. She ate a bowl of porridge mechanically as more guests came down the stairs.

“Morning.”

Ceria waved tentatively at Erin, her face bleak. Erin waved back. The porridge was hot, filling, and some part of her craved the sweetness and warm food. But the rest of her felt sick from eating.

People walked down the stairs. A half-Elf. Ceria. A young man in white robes who was uncharacteristically silent. Pisces. A black-brown ant man with three arms. Ksmvr. A woman in silver armor. Yvlon.

The Horns of Hammerad. They accepted bowls of porridge as Lyonette got up to serve them and ate quietly. They left quietly, too. They were keeping busy with requests. Small hunts, extermination of small monster nests. Erin understood. It was keeping active that matters. Dwelling on things hurt more.

“Is that porridge I smell?”

Someone else came down the stairs after the Horns of Hammerad had left. Jelaqua Ivirith, pale-skinned, her body dead, slightly ravaged by combat and the damage she had taken, walked downstairs. The stitching around her forehead looked slightly…loose. The flesh appeared pallid. Rotting. She only smelled a bit and covered the scent with a strong lavender smell. Erin didn’t mention it.

“There’s porridge. Are Moore and Seborn…?”

“Coming. We’ll be in the dungeon today. Probably be back around noon, though. Don’t want to push too far and we haven’t seen Griffon Hunt for a while so…”

“Got it. I’ll make lunch.”

“Thanks.”

The Selphid smiled quietly, looking tired. Sure enough, Erin heard Moore’s heavy tread and turned her head to see Seborn, the Drowned Man, slipping downstairs. He was quiet as a shadow and his crustacean half—and his claw-hand—didn’t impede his progress at all. She served him porridge as well as a small bucket of water to keep him hydrated. Then she got out a huge bowl for Moore.

“Thank you, Miss Solstice. You’re too kind.”

Moore always said the same thing. Erin smiled up at him, for a second before her features flickered back to empty blankness. The half-Giant was huge as he sat around the table with his two teammates. He looked at Mrsha with concern as the Gnoll lay on her table. The half-Giant’s face twisted with tender concern. Then he noticed the large bee that flew across the room and landed on the Gnoll’s head.

Apista, the Ashfire Bee waggled her antennae as she walked over Mrsha’s head. It was her habit to rest on top of the Gnoll and she did so now, oblivious to the Gnoll’s grief. Erin eyed the bee, but forbade comment. Lyonette put out some honey in a small saucer and the bee crawled towards it.

This was the morning in The Wandering Inn, Erin’s home and place of business. It was subdued, quiet, and Erin had experienced the same morning for three days now. She finished her breakfast by taking a tray and heaping it with five large bowls. Not quite as large as the mixing bowl she’d used for Moore’s breakfast, but certainly oversized portions.

She filled each with porridge, added five tankards of weak ale, realized that was too much to carry, and let Lyonette take the drinks. Erin walked over to a hatch by the kitchen and opened it with one hand. She called down into the darkness, sensing rather than seeing the figures below.

“Breakfast’s here. Porridge. You want to come up?”

In the shadows, a Goblin shook his head. Erin nodded and passed the tray down. Green hands rose to take it. Sitting at their table, the three adventurers eyed Headscratcher as he took the tray carefully from Erin and walked back down the stairs. Lyonette handed the drinks to Shorthilt and the Goblins disappeared into the basement.

Goblins. Hobgoblins, to be exact. Erin was grateful they hadn’t come up. The Redfang Warriors had been tactful these last few days, barely going above when there were people around. They understood the mood in the inn, crazy as that might seem.

Crazy? Erin frowned as she sat back at a table. No. They were Goblins, but they were people too. They could understand grief. And they were smarter than they seemed.

“I’m going to the city, Lyonette. I’ll be back with food for lunch.”

“Okay.”

Erin walked silently to the door, finding her boots and putting them on. It was muddy outside and slippery. She walked out of her inn, tromping through slush and staring up at grey skies overhead. Winter had passed. Spring had yet to begin. The world was dark and grey and miserable. It was perfect weather for a day like today.

The walk to Liscor was short and uneventful. Erin didn’t think of much, but she amended her opinion of the Goblins as she entered the city. Even if they weren’t socially aware, they’d have to be idiots not to sense the mood in the city.

Black banners flew on the battlements as Erin walked through the western gates. She saw they were all at half-mast. The [Guardspeople] at the gates and on the walls made no sound as she entered. She thought the Drake [Guardswoman] at the gates was crying.

The streets weren’t silent as Erin entered. They never were. But there was a quiet nonetheless. No one laughed or shouted here. Erin walked past houses, seeing flashes of blue on each door.

Erin hadn’t known this, but Zel Shivertail’s crest or family symbol was a sprig of blue flowers, curled like a tail. As she walked through Liscor she saw blue flowers everywhere. There was so much demand that some [Traders] and [Shopkeepers] were ordering alchemical dyes to color other flowers. They were selling them for silver pieces on the street.

She had her own bouquet on her door. It was carefully arranged by Lyonette with Mrsha’s help, a splash of color in the muddy landscape and melting snow. It felt small and worthless to Erin. Everything did.

There was not silence in Liscor. But the sounds were worse than silence. Drakes, normally stoic and reserved, wept openly in the streets. Erin saw them standing in groups, talking quietly, touching each other, heads bowed. Some just stared blankly ahead. Others looked at her and then turned away.

Gnolls also walked the streets, in fewer numbers, but they were just as subdued. No tails wagged and they went about their business quietly. They had not lost an icon of their people, but they also grieved. Erin saw more than half of the shops that were normally open at this time were shut, their windows shuttered.

Three days, and Liscor had yet to recover. Erin could remember the days after Skinner and the undead had attacked the city. They had not been like this. During that time the city had been noisy. Full of grief and lamentation yes, but noisy. She remembered the people moving about, some weeping for the fallen, others trying to repair, rebuild. It was not like that this time.

The Goblin Lord had not killed a single citizen of Liscor. He had not damaged their city. But he had killed their hope. He had ripped away part of Liscor, part of the soul of the Drakes. Perhaps if Zel had fallen on Drake lands it would have been different. But no, he had died in the north, at the head of a Human army. And that mattered.

There were very, very few Humans on the streets. Erin walked quickly, head bowed. She was trying to get across the city without incident. She failed. She was walking down a large street when something hit her on the side. She jerked, turned, and ducked as a second clump of mud and snow flashed by her face.

“Goblin lover! Traitor!”

A Drake with light purple scales raised his fist and shouted at her. Erin raised her hands as he threw another clump, but his aim was bad. He missed and a splatter of mud hit her on the cheek.

“How dare you! You Humans are what caused all this! You and your damn cowardly kind! If it hadn’t been for you—”

He choked on the words. He was young, perhaps a year or two younger than Erin. She backed away from him as he advanced.

He was angry. And she was a target. Worse, Erin had Goblins in her inn. That was a known fact. Erin saw other Drakes turning their heads. Many gave her looks akin to the one the mud-throwing Drake had given her. Thankfully, none of them joined in the shouting, but neither did they stop the Drake.

“Your kind should be kicked out of the city! We should burn that damn inn to the ground with the Goblins inside! You race-traitor, you pathetic, damned—”

He was coming. Erin’s pulse accelerated and she braced herself. The Drake didn’t look like a [Warrior], but he was angry and Drakes had sharp claws. She didn’t want to hit him. If she did, the street might turn on her. But if she didn’t—she turned, ready to run.

“Come back here!”

The angry young Drake was quick. He ran at Erin, claws clenched into fists. Erin turned, realizing she wouldn’t get away. She braced herself, ready to take a hit first before she hit him back. The Drake was nearly on her when a hand yanked him off-balance. He stumbled, and Erin turned.

A Drake with light green scales and a huge, muscular body caught the purple-scaled Drake. He grinned at him, showing off his pointed teeth. He had a [Guardsman]’s armor on—a mixture of steel and leather, and carried a spear in one hand. He grinned at the smaller, younger Drake.

“Hi, I’m Relc.”

The Drake blinked at him. Erin blinked too. Relc waited a heartbeat, and then head-butted the other Drake. It was so fast that Erin didn’t have time to blink twice. The other Drake wobbled, and then fell over.

“[Relc Headbutt]!”

Relc raised both his hands over his head like he was a wrestling champion and then looked around. The street was staring at him. He waved at a group of Drakes.

“All taken care of! No need to worry! Senior Guardsman Relc is on the job! Hey, Erin, help me move this guy over here so a wagon doesn’t roll him over, huh?”

He lifted the Drake and with Erin’s help, dragged him to one side of the street. Erin stared at the Drake as Relc casually laid him down next to a building and then at Relc.

“Um. Aren’t you going to bring him somewhere?”

“What? Nah, here’s good enough. He’ll wake up in a bit with a sore head. It’s not worth bringing him to the barracks.”

Relc straightened, casually dusting his claws off. He grinned at Erin.

“Good thing I was here, right? Lots of Drakes are angry at you. But we can’t attack Humans randomly! That’s against the law. I think.”

He grinned cheerfully at her. It was such an alien expression that Erin didn’t know how to react to it. She stared at Relc and then at the Drake.

“Um. Thanks. I hope you don’t get in trouble for hitting him, though.”

“What? Nah, nah. I won’t get in trouble. Probably. I was doing my job. Defending the innocent and all that. Hey, what’s with the long face? How’s the inn going? You still have all those Goblins there, right?”

“I do.”

“Weird.”

Relc shook his head. He looked around, more animated than anyone Erin had seen all day. He fidgeted, shifting his weight from one leg to another, and then scratched at his stomach. He eyed Erin furtively, with a surreptitious look he probably thought she didn’t notice.

“You doing good in that inn? Lots of inn-like things happening?”

“I guess?”

Erin stared blankly at him. Relc nodded. He bounced on the heels of his feet, looked around, and lowered his voice.

“Uh, got any plans for lunch? I’m kinda hungry and I thought I might drop by if you have something good to eat.”

He misinterpreted Erin’s blank stare.

“It’s just that, y’know, there’s a lot of restaurants closed right now and all the guys in the taverns tell me to shut up when I’m eating. And your place has good food, so…”

“You want to have lunch at my inn.”

Erin said it like it was a question. Relc stared at her.

“Well yeah, that’s what you do, right? Food? Inns? Have you stopped serving food? I’ve got money, I can pay—and I won’t cause trouble with the Goblins. Promise!”

The Goblins. Erin stirred. This wasn’t the first time her keeping Goblins in the inn had caused trouble. She hadn’t dared enter the city on the first day. A small crowd of Drakes had chased her away. She’d asked Bird to watch out for trouble for that reason. He’d had to chase away four Drakes already at night. She looked at Relc, remembering.

“You just want food?”

“Um. Yes?”

“And you’re not going to cause trouble? Really?”

She scrutinized his face. Relc stared at her, perplexed.

“Hey, I don’t cause that much trouble! There are plenty of taverns I’m still allowed to drink at!”

“I’m sure.”

Erin wasn’t convinced. She remembered how Relc had attacked Rags before. And that had been Rags, and that had been before Zel Shivertail had been killed by a Goblin. Her throat closed for a moment and Erin had to pause. Relc waited, uncomprehending, almost insultingly energetic. At last he frowned, sensing Erin’s hesitation.

“Why can’t I come over? Don’t you trust me? Hey—are you still mad at me? I thought I got a pass after Christmas! I got a present from Santa, didn’t I?”

Christmas. Erin nearly laughed at the memory. She controlled the impulse and glared at Relc.

“You did. But as I recall, you hate Goblins. And I have Goblins at my inn.”

“Right.”

Relc stared at Erin. She waited, and then gave up.

“So you’re not planning on attacking them?”

“Why would I do that?”

Erin bit her lip. Relc’s wide-eyed look of confusion was annoying her. She began to feel angry rather than numb. She snapped at the Drake.

“Because you did it last time! You hate Goblins!”

“And you kicked me out. I want lunch. I’m not going to cause trouble now. Duh.”

The Drake spoke as if it were obvious. Erin folded her arms. He sighed.

“Really? Fine. I won’t cause trouble, I promise.”

“Why?”

“I’m hu—”

“Why?”

The Drake grumbled. He fidgeted, spun the spear in his hand and nearly hit Erin on the head, twitched his tail back and forth, and then answered while avoiding Erin’s eyes.

“I miss the inn, okay? And I’m hungry. I can handle some damn G—I won’t cause trouble again. Okay?”

Erin stared at him. Relc looked away and the scales around his cheeks turned slightly red.

“What?”

“You really miss the inn?”

“‘Course I do! It’s got pasta and blue fruit drinks and fun stuff! It was fun to—look, I don’t have to go. It’s just that—it’s the Goblins, right? I can handle them. Really.”

“But I thought you’d be angry at them. You know, with Zel—”

Erin broke off. Relc’s tail drooped and for a second he lost his energy.

“General Shivertail? Yeah. You’re not wrong. I mean, the entire city’s depressed. I bet the other cities are all like this. Those Goblins…but that’s the thing, right? Those Goblins aren’t your Goblins.”

Erin blinked.

“What?”

Relc scratched the spines on his head, trying to explain.

“Well, I mean, they’re not the Goblins who killed General Shivertail, right? Those are probably the only Goblins that I’m sure didn’t do it. So…they’re innocent. Sort of. You keep saying not all Goblins are alike, right? I know those Goblins didn’t do anything. So I can handle being around them.”

It was possibly the most logical thing Relc had ever said. Erin gaped at him. Relc looked uncomfortable.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just thought you’d be angrier. At the Goblin Lord. But that’s—”

“Oh, the Goblin Lord? We’ll kill him. Don’t you worry about that. He killed General Shivertail so we’ll hunt his entire army down and cut his head off, put it on a pike and mount it over the General’s grave.”

Relc grinned, showing all his teeth at Erin. He didn’t loom, and he didn’t make any provocative gestures, but in a moment his eyes changed. He went from friendly Relc to someone who had killed and was imagining killing. Erin felt a slight chill, but she kept her face straight.

“You think the Drakes will really do that?”

“We’re already forming another army to deal with him. You think we’ll trust the Humans to do it? No—he’s dead. Him and his entire army.”

Relc’s gaze darkened. Then he caught himself and grinned at Erin again, trying to sound light.

“But like I said, your Goblins are uh, okay. I won’t pick a fight with them if they don’t bother me. Just get me a seat facing the wall maybe. So…what do you say?”

His tail wagged hopefully. Erin paused. She still felt like a ghost, a specter without feeling. But the sight of Relc made her feel grounded in a way she hadn’t felt like in days. He looked alive. Alive, and not gripped by despair. She couldn’t help but ask him about it.

“You’re really more energetic than everyone else, aren’t you? I thought you’d be angry or sad about Zel—I mean, General Shivertail.”

Again, Relc paused, and again, Erin saw his tail stiffen. But whatever sorrow possessed him had a fleeting presence. Relc smiled crookedly and yes, sadly, as he played with the long spear in his hands.

“Of course I’m upset about General Shivertail. He’s a war hero, a legend. He was, I mean. But he died in combat, y’know? It happens. I drank myself silly three days ago, and then the day after and today…well, I feel better. I know everyone else is still upset, but there’s not much I can do for the General. He’s gone.”

The Drake shrugged his broad shoulders, glancing around to see if anyone else had heard. He edged a bit closer to Erin as he continued in a low voice.

“Besides, he was a warrior, a [Soldier]. That’s how most of us go out. We don’t die in bed. And even if your buddy dies, even if you lose a friend, a brother, a [General]…life goes on. You know? You can’t mourn forever. You march on and someday the pain goes away. Well, mostly.”

Relc paused and coughed, looking embarrassed. The ghost named Erin stared at the Drake, and she felt her body warm. She blinked. And then she smiled.

“Huh. That was sort of smart. Okay, let’s have lunch. My treat.”

“What—really?”

Relc did a double-take as he scratched his tail. Erin smiled at him, feeling her facial muscles strain slightly with the motion. But the smile stayed, and it felt—oh, it felt good to smile.

“I’m sure. Come on—I’ll treat you to a meal on the house. And I’ve got alcohol now. You want Firebreath Whiskey? I’ve got an entire keg of the stuff and it’s nasty.”

“Oho! Things do change for the better! And it’s on the house you said? Is that because I saved you from that Drake? You can kick him if you like. No? Where are we going?”

Relc followed Erin down the street. She walked with a spring in her step. Just a small one, but it was there. Erin felt like she was waking up and for once, Relc’s chatter helped. He followed her, tail wagging like a dog, pestering her with questions as his stomach rumbled loudly.

“Does that mean one plate, or two? Can I get a free refill? How about an extra helping?”

“You can have a few plates for free. And I’ll refill your drink if you don’t break anything.”

“Ooh, really?”

She smiled. And that smile illuminated the street. Perhaps it didn’t stop the tears of a Drake child. Perhaps it made some of the passersby angry that she could be happy while they were not. But perhaps it did help in some way. It certainly helped her. She talked with Relc as they walked down the street, two living people in a city full of ghosts.

“Really. Do you like pork belly? I’m told Gnolls like it so I was going to pick up some from a [Butcher] Krshia knows for dinner.”

“Pork? Give me a belly, tail, liver, whatever! I’ll eat it raw! Wait. Don’t give me a tail or liver. And I’ll eat it cooked.”

“Okay. But I might need you to carry it.”

“I can carry a pig!”

“Awesome. And how do you feel about milkshakes?”

“Say what now?”

—-

The inn was quiet, like a wake, like a funeral. It was silent like the grave. It was a place of quietus, the silence of a passing soul hovering over it, casting a shadow on every action. Lyonette sat at the table, next to Mrsha, staring blankly ahead. She could hear the Gnoll’s belly rumbling, but Mrsha had refused all offers of food and Lyonette had given up trying after a while.

There was no one in the inn. Well, the Goblins were there, but they were staying in the basement. The adventurers had left and neither Drassi nor Ishkr were coming in. Erin had given them time off. It wasn’t like there was any business, anyways.

General Shivertail was gone. Zel was dead. Lyonette felt like someone had torn out her guts. She couldn’t believe it. She sat, remembering every time she’d talked to him, every time he’d made her laugh or she’d smiled or—the inn was like a crypt, like a mausoleum, like a sigh, a last goodbye—

The door slammed open. Lyonette jumped and the ball of fur and Ashfire Bee both jolted. Insect, Gnoll, and [Princess] looked up in alarm as Erin Solstice barged into the inn, arguing with a huge Drake carrying a huge package of meat wrapped in wax paper.

“I said, get rid of the spear! It’s dangerous and you always poke people with it!”

“I can’t go anywhere without it, Erin! I’m a [Guardsman]! A Senior Guardsman! And I get lonely without a spear. It’s my security spear! I need it to sleep!”

Relc protested as Erin took the meat from him. He clutched his spear possessively as he edged towards a table and saw Lyonette, Mrsha, and Apista.

“Oh hey! You’re that thief-girl! And there’s the weird Gnoll kid, and—is that a bee?”

He stared goggle-eyed at Apista, who fanned her wings warningly at him. Lyonette just stared. Mrsha did too. Then they saw Erin approaching. The [Innkeeper] smiled at them, looking strangely upbeat.

“Hey Lyonette, get some plates out! I’m making lunch and I could use some more water. Oh, and Mrsha honey, if you haven’t had anything to eat, get ready because I’m making pork belly! It’s going to be delicious, so you wait right there, okay?”

She gently touched Mrsha on the nose. The Gnoll stared at her. Lyonette did too. She rose, feeling her legs protest the sudden motion and hesitation before going over to Erin.

“Um, Erin. What’s going on?”

“Lunch!”

Erin beamed at her. She was already moving into the kitchen before Lyonette could ask another question. Erin spread the choice cuts of pork over the counter and whipped into action. Oil? Spices? She thought she’d make a pork belly sandwich. That sounded very lunch-like, and she had a lovely spread of condiments. Even some mayonnaise! Mrsha would love that, although it was a royal pain to make the stuff.

There was no sound in the inn except for Relc calling for a drink and Lyonette hurrying to get him one. Erin began to hum to fill the silence. Yes, that was what her inn needed now. Noise.

Relc was right. Strangely, he was. There was a time for sadness, and a time for not-sadness. Erin knew she’d continue being sad, so she made an effort to be happy, if only for a moment. There was always time to be sad, but happy? She was good at making people happy.

Noise. Erin clattered around with pots and pans, lighting fires, shouting at Lyonette that they might need more pepper, and felt the inn stir a bit. She began heating up the oven. Apparently, you needed to prepare pork belly ahead of time with spices and stuff. Erin had never made it before, but her [Advanced Cooking] Skill had warned her of the time requirement. Thankfully, there were Gnoll [Butchers] who sold pre-prepared pork belly. The spices looked good and Erin scraped them off before shoving the meat into the oven for some cooking.

“I’m hungry! How long until I get food?”

“Fifty minutes!”

Erin shouted at Relc from the kitchen. She heard an anguished cry.

“Fifty!?”

“Maybe more! It’s not even past morning yet! Hold on—I’ll get you some snacks!”

Erin finished setting up her kitchen and came out with some bread and soft brie cheese for him. It was a very nice and aromatic cheese from some place called Vaunt. Apparently, they made really high-quality cheeses and Erin had been lucky enough to get some when she’d been in Celum.

“Ooh! Cheese! Is this free too?”

“Yep! But if Mrsha asks you have to share!”

Erin winked at the Gnoll and saw Mrsha stir a bit. Relc eyed the Gnoll child and protectively encircled the bread and cheese with a claw. It was the worst thing he could have done. Mrsha got up, padded over, leapt onto his table and stared at the food. Relc looked at her, grumbled in his throat, and passed her a heel of bread. She began to eat.

There were ways to cure a broken heart, or make it stop bleeding. One of them was food. Food, and other people. Erin had learned this lesson long ago, and she put it into place now. Lyonette arrived with two buckets of water and hesitated before going over to Erin as she prepared lunch. The young woman had a saucepan full of sugar, cream, and milk on one of the stovetops and was grumbling about a lack of ice.

“Oh, Lyonette. Good timing! I need some ice. Can you get it? It’s about the only thing that doesn’t last in this inn. I might need to buy a freezing rune after all.”

“I can do that. But Erin—are you sure it’s time for such a big lunch? I mean, it’s so much and…”

Lyonette eyed the production on the counter. Erin paused, turned and saw the [Barmaid]’s face. Lyonette looked blank and lost, much like Erin had been. The young woman thought for only the merest fraction of a second before winking and nodding her head to the common room.

“I know it’s soon Lyonette, but…we’re cheering Mrsha up. She needs to eat, you know?”

“Oh!”

Lyonette’s gaze refocused. She blinked, and like Erin, woke up. She nodded at Erin and slapped herself lightly on the cheeks.

“Of course. She hasn’t eaten all day and she barely touched supper. You’re making that ice creamed thing again? I’ll get some ice.”

“If you see the Halfseekers, tell them we’re having food in an hour! And if you see that grumpy Drake, tell him he’s invited too!”

“Who?”

Lyonette paused at the door as Erin shouted after her. Relc was busy fighting over the last slice of bread with Mrsha. Erin poked her head out of the kitchen.

“Ilvriss!”

—-

“I am not a grumpy Drake.”

That was the first thing Ilvriss said upon entering Erin’s inn. The Lord of the Wall glanced around Erin’s inn with his customary sneer, but he didn’t insult her immediately on walking inn. Erin thought that was as close as a ‘hello, good morning’ as she’d get.

“Okay, you’re not grumpy. But you are stuck-up. Do you want a pork belly sandwich with mayonnaise or without?”

“With what?”

The Drake turned up his nose-holes at the sandwich Erin presented him, but she could see the way his eyes followed the glistening sandwich packed with pork belly, fresh veggies, and slathered generously with mayonnaise. He put on a long-suffering sigh as Erin served him the sandwich and only picked it up when her back was turned.

It was gone by the time Erin came back. She looked innocently at the empty plate with a few crumbs.

“Like it?”

“It was—acceptable.”

The Drake tried not to meet her eyes as he drummed his claws on the table. He instead frowned at Relc as the Drake lay in a mini food coma at his table. He’d eaten four huge sandwiches.

“I see your clientele is as unkempt as ever.”

“What, Relc? He’s a friend. And he cheered me up so don’t be mean. You’re like his boss or something, right?”

“Hah!”

Relc sat up slightly at the same time as Ilvriss’ brows wrinkled. The Wall Lord answered for both of them.

“I would not have a soldier like that in my army. I am a Lord of the Wall of Salazsar. That [Guardsman] is a former [Soldier] of Liscor. I have no authority over him except in the most dire of situations. Thankfully.”

“Yeah, and I don’t take orders from—hold on, I think the fourth sandwich is coming up—”

Relc covered his mouth with a claw. Ilvriss looked away in disgust and Erin laughed.

“I told you not to scarf them down! Anyways, Ilvriss—”

“Wall Lord.”

“Ilvriss. I was so down and Relc cheered me up. After Zel—”

She broke off. Sitting at her table, eating a smaller sandwich, Mrsha’s ears suddenly flattened and the Gnoll dropped her food. Lyonette, who’d taken over the churning of ice cream, came out and Ilvriss looked at his claws. The Wall Lord didn’t weep, and his eyes didn’t glisten. They were hard as they stared at the table. But Erin saw the feeling buried beneath the gaze.

“Yes. Shivertail was…a fine [General]. I regret letting him leave the city. If he’d only taken a few Drake soldiers instead of that Human army he might have—he will be avenged, I promise you that.”

The Lord of the Wall turned his gaze towards Lyonette and Mrsha. The Gnoll stared at him. She looked at her food and pushed the plate away, but before she could curl up again Lyonette was there. She stroked Mrsha’s head comfortingly and whispered to her.

“I know, I know, Mrsha. It’s alright. It’s going to be alright. You heard the Wall Lord, didn’t you? Keep eating. You need to eat! Who’s a lovely thing? You are! Do you want Erin’s uh, special new food? I’m sure it’s sweet!”

“Very sweet! It’s liquid ice cream!”

“What?”

Relc shot up from his table. Erin made up for her slip by disappearing into the kitchen and coming out with some lumpy milkshakes in cups. Mrsha looked up, sorrows forgotten by the promise of something new.

“Want some?”

Erin teased Ilvriss. The Wall Lord sniffed. He took one gulp of the milkshake, put it down, and pushed it aside.

“There is a such a thing as too much sweet, you know.”

“Not in my book!”

Relc was downing his milkshake with record speed. He got halfway through his cup and clutched at his head.

“Gaah! The pain!”

Erin laughed at his brain freeze and then frowned at Ilvriss. She handed Relc the milkshake instead.

“You don’t like sweet stuff, huh? You liked the milk with honey.”

The Drake gave her an arch look as Mrsha lapped at the milkshake and her tail began to wag again. She had to fight with Apista to have the drink—the Ashfire Bee was buzzing excitedly around the milkshakes and Lyonette had to shoo her away.

“I am a connoisseur of food. I appreciate sweet food in moderation, Human. This has all the subtlety of a bag of sugar mixed with milk, which I highly suspect it is. Serve me another half a sandwich and a quality drink. Goat’s milk will do, I suppose.”

“Fine. Jerk.”

Erin grumbled into the kitchen and grumbled out just in time for the door to open. The Halfseekers walked in, looking dispirited and tired. Jelaqua had an arrow sticking out of her shoulder, but they all brightened as they saw and perhaps sensed the change in the inn.

“Hey, is that food I smell? Let me at it!”

Jelaqua waved and grinned at Erin. Erin stared at the arrow. The Selphid noticed and grimaced.

“What, this? Arrow trap, don’t mind me. It’s barbed so I don’t want to get it out yet. Poisoned too, probably. Seborn missed it.”

“I did apologize. I told you something was off about the corridor.”

The Drowned Man looked apologetic. Jelaqua rolled her eyes as she sat at a table and peered at the milkshake Relc was holding.

“Yeah, that’s why I went first instead of you two. ‘Always send a Selphid first’, remember? This body’s nearly done for anyways. Hey, what’s that stuff the Drake’s drinking?”

“It’s sugar. Sweet sugary cold stuff.”

Relc dreamily grinned at Jelaqua. Ilvriss snorted. The Selphid glanced at him and then raised a hand.

“One of those for me! Seborn, Moore?”

“I’ll try it.”

“None for me. But I will have whatever’s for lunch.”

The half-Giant and Drowned Man sat at the same table, and Erin was soon bustling around, asking how the dungeon trip had gone. Ilvriss sat, looking grumpy, chewing on his sandwich, but as Erin had observed, deliberately being here rather than elsewhere.

“Thisissogreat. I’llhavethiseveryday. Ilovethisstuff.”

Relc was vibrating in his seat after his second milkshake and Erin decided he’d had enough. Unlike Ilvriss, Relc couldn’t get enough of the drink, and only her finite amount of milkshake stopped him from racing into the kitchen and running off with the entire batch.

“I bet you could sell this on the streets and you’d earn a bit. It’s good—although it probably is the wrong season for it. I’d love this in the summer.”

Jelaqua commented as she sipped at her milkshake. Relc nodded rapidly and repeatedly.

“Why don’t you sell this stuff more often? It’s great! Beyond great! I’ll buy it all the time! I’ll buy it every day! Why isn’t this on the menu everywhere?”

Erin made a face at Relc as she handed Lyonette a handkerchief. The [Barmaid] cleaned Mrsha’s face as the Gnoll scarfed at her food, appetite restored.

“Because it’s expensive, Relc. I’d have to charge a lot for it—and the price of sugar keeps going up!”

“Right, right. Because it’s got to be shipped here and it’s winter. Sugar comes from Baleros and all that. Damn.”

Whatever sugar high Relc was on slowly subsided as the Drake stopped shaking. He had an amazingly quick metabolism. Ilvriss just snorted. When Erin looked at him he dismissively pushed his plate back.

“That drink is disgusting. It might sell well among Humans with no palate and a few Drakes with similar deficiencies—”

“Hey!”

“—But it is no drink for the people. You would do well to avoid selling it, except to children and the easily-satisfied. However, I will give you credit for your other creations. That condiment you used on the sandwich. What is it?”

“What, mayonnaise?”

“Is that a Human creation of some kind?”

“Sort of…I think only I make it. Why? Does it make my inferior Human cooking good?”

Erin smiled at Ilvriss. He stared haughtily at her.

“It is acceptable. I will collect the recipe from you before I leave the city. I’m sure my personal [Chef] will be able to adapt it more suitably into his cooking.”

“Sure, sure…but it’s a trade secret on how to make it! No one else knows. I think. So I could charge you!”

She’d meant to tease the Drake, but the Wall Lord didn’t blink twice.

“Only naturally. And if you would keep your mouth shut about the creation of this mayonnaise, I would offer an additional fee. It would be a suitable surprise for me to entertain my guests with when I return to Salazsar. I will have one of my aides discuss the matter with you.”

“Wait, really?”

The [Innkeeper] faltered. Jelaqua sat up and whistled.

“Ooh, [Lord] money. Nice!”

“It is customary to secure new inventions and developments ahead of time. You Humans might not grasp the idea of secrecy, but even small creations are a political tool to be employed at will. The difference between a successful banquet and an unsuccessful one can be worth a war’s gains in the realm of politics.”

Ilvriss informed the room at large with his haughty tone. Erin blinked at him and stared down at the pot of mayonnaise in her hands.

“Whoa. Mayonnaise diplomacy. I’ve seen everything.”

Lyonette giggled and Mrsha smiled as Erin lifted the mayonnaise high overhead theatrically. Jelaqua snorted, Seborn ate quietly, and Moore smiled. Ilvriss just scowled while Relc laughed and asked for a fifth sandwich.

This was The Wandering Inn. It wasn’t perfect. Some of its guests were missing, but in that moment it was whole again. The shadow of Zel’s passing lingered, but for a brief second there was sunlight peeking out behind the clouds. And then someone opened the door.

Not the door to the rest of the world, to the floodplains of Liscor. No, it was the door on the far wall, the magical door. Erin turned her head, wondering if Octavia was hungry or if a guest had come in from Celum. However, instead of seeing the [Alchemist]’s shop she instead was blinded by a sudden flash of bright sunlight. Loud horns and drums suddenly echoed in the confines of the inn, and she saw a tall figure standing in the doorway. Half-blinded, Erin shielded her eyes and then exclaimed as she recognized the door opener.

“Hawk?”

The Courier stood in the daylight, his vest stained with sweat. He looked windblown, covered in dirt, but he seemed alive, burning on a runner’s high. The Rabbit Beastkin’s fur was dark and he was still breathing heavily. There were tears in his eyes. He stood in the daylight, on a stone ground, and the sky was blue and bright behind him.

He was somewhere else. Somewhere hundreds of miles away, yet he was connected with the inn through the magic of the door. Erin stared as she heard the distant drums beating and horns blowing. It sounded like there was some kind of celebration or—Hawk stared at her through the doorway.

“It worked. Dead gods.”

His voice was rusty and he coughed as he spoke. Breaking out of her reverie, Erin went to the door. She spoke through it, peering through the other side. She could see houses behind Hawk. He was in a city. No—if he had opened the door that meant—

“Hawk, is this…a Walled City?”

The Courier blinked at Erin. He nodded slowly.

“That’s right. I arrived in Pallass this morning. I didn’t know—I hadn’t heard about the General until then. After that…I found this spot and set up the door like you said. It took a while to figure out how to activate the stone that Pisces gave me. But it worked.”

“Dead gods.”

Someone whispered the words behind Erin. She stared at Hawk, not quite sure she was hearing him right.

“So this is a Walled City? I mean—”

Just like that. Erin stared through the door. It had opened, and suddenly—it was another city. Hawk nodded. He looked tired, but he still seemed surprised as Erin.

“I can barely believe it. I knew that was what you wanted, but—Erin, I ran for the last four days to get here. It wasn’t my fastest run, but I’m a Courier. And now I’m staring at you—that’s one major magical artifact you’ve got here.”

“Wow. I mean—yeah. I knew that, but—a Walled City? Pallass, you said?”

“Pallass! So your door works as you claimed, Human. This is excellent. Extraordinary, even.”

Ilvriss strode towards the door, inspecting it, staring at the place where Erin’s inn stopped and the other city began. Erin stared at the sky. It was the same sky, the same time as far as she could tell, but the sky was bright and blue here. There was no threat of rain around Pallass. It was stunning to see.

“Mind if I come through? I could use a place to sit and rest.”

Hawk gestured to the door. He would have stepped through if Ilvriss and Erin weren’t crowding through. Erin moved aside and them remembered and hopped back in place.

“Hold on! The inn doesn’t have enough mana or whatever to let the door transport more than one person at a time! I think that’s what Pisces said. If you come through, we have to wait twenty four hours.”

“Really? Damn. I suppose there had to be a catch.”

Hawk sighed. Erin hesitated and raised a finger.

“Well, you can come through. I just meant that if you want to go back you have to wait—”

“Oh. In that case—”

“I will be using this door first. I commissioned this new portal, after all.”

Before either Erin or Hawk could react, Ilvriss strode through the door. He walked into the streets of Pallass and looked around.

“Incredible.”

“Hey!”

Erin shouted after him. She raised a fist and shook it at Ilvriss.

“You can’t do that! You jerk! What if Hawk wanted to come back?”

The Wall Lord turned back to look at Erin. Hawk stared at the Human, askance.

“Um, Miss Erin—”

“I hardly need your permission to use the door I paid access for, Human.”

“That was a deal to let you go through, not monopolize the door!”

“Erin, did you just—”

“I required a route back to my home city of Salazsar. The conditions I specified were quite generous. You gave me access to this magical door of yours and I would not only pay you for the use of it, but hire the Courier to install your doorway in Pallass. Which, I might add, is still a long distance away from Salazsar itself.”

“Yeah, I get that, but Hawk could have had a break! Now we have to wait for the door to recharge! And what are you going to do without your aides?”

“About that. Miss Erin, Wall Lord Ilvriss, have you noticed—”

“I will survive on my own for a day. And I am not used to being addressed like a fool. Understand me, Human. You may have satisfied some of my requirements with my inn, but the needs of a Lord of the Wall take far more precedence than—”

“Excuse me!”

Both Erin and Ilvriss turned. Hawk stared at both of them and cleared his throat.

“I appreciate the two of you are arguing, but have either of you noticed where you are?”

“What?”

Erin looked at Ilvriss, confused. He looked back at her and then at Hawk, looking irritated at the delay. Then he paused. He stared at Erin. Erin stared at her feet.

“Um.”

Her feet. They were on stone. Not wooden floorboards. Erin stared down at the smooth, paved stone at her feet. She was standing on a massive block of stone—rather like sidewalk, actually, but smooth-cut. It was cream-colored, only slightly grey and dirty from the passage of many feet and years. Nice stone, in other words.

Definitely not part of her inn. Slowly, Erin looked around. She saw blue skies, tall stone buildings and other, newer buildings of wood. She heard the pounding of drums, trumpets sounding some kind of marching music. And then she turned and looked back at the doorway.

The empty, plain doorway that was set into a stone wall. There was a wood door there, with a gem set in the center of the door, the same mana stone that Pisces had attuned to the door back in Liscor. And in theory, the doorway should be showing Erin’s inn, ready to let someone step through to the other side.

In theory. That theory fell apart if the door was out of mana, however. It only had enough to carry one person across from Liscor to Pallass. Or…perhaps Pisces had been wrong and it was two. And perhaps, just perhaps, Erin had stepped through the doorway to harangue Ilvriss.

“Ah.”

Erin stared at the blank doorway. She stared at Ilvriss. The Lord of the Wall had a very, very curious expression on his face as he stared at the blank stone wall and at Erin. She thought he was trying with all his might not to laugh in her face. She looked past Ilvriss and up at Hawk. The tall rabbit man stared at her and at the blank doorway with chagrin written all over his face.

“That recharges, right? Tell me that recharges.”

“It does! It does! I just takes a, uh, day.”

Erin hastily reassured him. Hawk nodded slowly. He looked at Erin and at Ilvriss, and squared his shoulders. Then he coughed.

“Right. Well. Miss Solstice, Wall Lord, welcome to Pallass, north-most of the Walled Cities.”

He gestured helplessly around the city made of stone. Erin scuffed at the ground. There wasn’t much to see here—Hawk had set the door in an alley. But she heard the drums, heard the horns, and in the distance, the sounds of many voices cheering. She stared at the blank doorway leading back to her home, chewed her lip, and then shrugged.

“Aw, what the heck. I like new places. You said this place is called Pallass? I always wanted to see a Walled City. Let’s go exploring!”

She walked out of the alley. Hawk choked as he stared at Erin, and then back at her door. Ilvriss stared at Erin’s back in shock for a second and then stomped after her.

“Hold on! I go first! Are you completely unaware of protocol? And why did you follow me through—”

“Shut up, shut up! It was an accident, okay?”

Hawk heard the two arguing as they walked out into Pallass. He stared longingly at the door and poked the wall through the doorway as if hoping it would restore power to the magical artifact. Then he shook his head and hurried after the Drake and Human.

“No one pays me enough for this job.”

And then Erin was there, in a Walled City. Just like that. It was sudden, unexpected, but it was real. It had happened. And there was no going back. The world was slightly different for what had passed. She could be shocked about it, but only for so long. This was how things were. It had happened.

Just like that.

Previous Chapter

5.01

A Human, a Drake, and a Rabbitman walked through a city. Not just any city, but Pallass, one of the six Walled Cities of Izril. If the premise of their sudden adventure sounded like a joke, well, it was fairly funny. To Erin, at least. Her companions were less amused.

“I’m just saying, it sounds like a joke! A Human, a Rabbit-dude and a Lord of the Wall walk into a bar. Or through a magical portal. There’s a joke there somewhere!”

“The only thing remotely amusing is your simplicity.”

Ilvriss growled at Erin as he walked down the wide, stone street, glancing from side to side at the rows of apartment buildings. The Drake looked north, down the street and turned his head as he followed the sound of the echoing drums and trumpets. Erin and Hawk followed him, mainly because they didn’t have anything better to do.

“Look, okay, maybe we’re stuck here for a day, but that’s not a bad thing, right?”

“I don’t know. I’d love to be lying down in Liscor right now, or having a hot meal and a drink. You do know I’ve been running for four days straight, don’t you?”

Hawk glanced down at Erin and she winced. The Human [Innkeeper] was shorter than both Ilvriss and Hawk, and noticeably smaller, too. The Lord of the Wall wore his fancy metal breastplate over his clothing and walked with a swagger; Hawk strode along with long, languid strides as his runner’s jacket shifted to reveal his stunning physique underneath his clothing. Erin just walked.

“Oops. Sorry Hawk. That was my bad. But since we’re here, we might as well make the best of it, right? Just think about it! We’re all here, in Pallass, about to meet all kinds of new people! In theory.”

Erin looked around. The streets were empty. The buildings were there, and they were quite grand—she thought she was walking through some kind of housing area, because all the apartments looked alike. They were…well, apartments. You could go up six floors and find yourself in what was probably a decently-sized home. But there was no one in said homes, at least as far as Erin could tell.

“It’s really deserted, isn’t it? I wonder why that is? Hey, Ilvriss. Where’s everyone?”

The Lord of the Wall turned his head as he strode forwards, looking peeved.

“I have told you before, Human. I am a Lord of the Wall, one of the few Drake nobility on this continent! I am not to be addressed so casually.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. Refer to me by my title and with proper respect if you wish to converse with me and I may deign to reply. If not, keep silent. I did not come here on a whim and I have pressing business to attend to.”

With that, Ilvriss turned his head and kept walking. Erin stared at his back as Hawk eyed her oddly. She took a deep breath.

“Hey Ilvriss. Hey. Hey, are you listening? Ilvriss? Drake guy? Hey Ilvriss! Ilvriss! I’m calling your name! I can see you listening! Hey! Hey, listen! Heeeeey. Hey! Hey, hey, hey, hey—”

There was no response, although the Drake’s tail lashed the stones behind him a bit harder than before. Erin stared at the paving stones for a second. They were lovely flat blocks of smooth stone, widely cut and smooth from countless years of use. It actually felt nicer to walk on this stone street than the concrete sidewalk back home. Better to look at, too; the walls, streets, and other buildings of Pallass had been made with a sandy-cream colored stone that was easy on the eyes.

“The streets in Celum aren’t this nice. Liscor either. They have paving stones and stuff. I wonder how this Walled City was made. With magic? It’s three hundred feet high, but are we high up or on the ground? Actually, wait, we’re high up. I can tell because there’s no wall, right?”

Erin pointed past the roofs of the apartments. There was a clear blue sky behind them, but no wall. Hawk nodded.

“We’re high up. I thought that might be the best place to put the magic door. I have to admit, I chose the first empty spot—I thought you could move it later.”

“Right, good idea. Hey Ilvriss where do you think—”

“Shut up!”

The Wall Lord turned and shouted at Erin. Hawk backed up a step. Erin just wiped her face.

“Don’t spit. Hey, do you think the city’s been abandoned?”

Ilvriss stared at Erin for a second. He looked incredulous, and then resigned. He turned and Erin went on, keeping pace with him.

“I’m just saying, maybe something awful’s happened, you know? We haven’t seen anyone.”

“We’ve walked down one street, Human.”

“Yeah, but it’s a long street, isn’t it? And I know we can hear those drums and horns, but what if they’re like…an illusion? But for our ears? What if the city’s empty and something awful has happened? Like—everyone’s turned into zombies!”

“That is the most idiotic—”

Ilvriss paused. Hawk coughed as he caught up with the Human and Drake on Erin’s side.

“It’s not empty, Erin. I saw people not five minutes ago when I was climbing to the top. They’re here.”

“Right, but did you see them or was it all an illusion? Or maybe it was in your head? That’s how they get you! Illusion Zombies! We’ll walk around the corner and then bam! Zombies in your face! We have to survive for an entire day before we get back to Liscor and raise the alarm! It’s a classic scenario!”

Erin waved her hands over her head. Ilvriss and Hawk stared at her and then exchanged a glance that said it all. Erin saw Ilvriss rub at his temples and lowered her arms.

“Okay, I’ll stop being silly.”

“Wait, that was an act?”

Hawk stared at Erin. Ilvriss shook his head.

“Impossible. No one can pretend to be that stupid—”

He broke off, eying Erin hard. She grinned at him and Hawk and shrugged innocently.

“Maybe? I’m just a stupid Human, aren’t I? Oh look, I think we’ve found people.”

She walked ahead as both males halted in their tracks and stared at her back. Ilvriss made a fist with one clawed hand, and then stopped. Because they’d found the citizens of Pallass at last.

The residential street opened up onto a much larger thoroughfare ahead of them. Erin stared. She’d seen streets, and she’d seen roads. This was a mega road, so broad that it could have probably been compared to the six-lane highways of Erin’s world. And it was filled with people.

Drakes, hundreds of them, filled the road, their backs to Erin, Ilvriss, and Hawk. And as they walked closer they saw that the Drakes were lined up down both sides of the street in either direction. They were standing shoulder-to-shoulder, some standing on stairs for a better view, others holding small Drake children up to see.

They were waving flags, and many were armed. But this wasn’t a mob scene—rather, Erin could hear thunderous cheering! She stared and the pieces fell into place. A Drake waving a flag emblazoned with a city and potion and hammer on it? It had to be Pallass’ symbol. And the drums and trumpets? Now Erin was close enough she could hear they were playing a tune.

The Drakes were cheering, their voices one huge mass ahead of her. Erin nodded to herself, seeing a Drake child eating some roasted nuts out of a small hemp bag he was holding. There was only one thing this could be in her mind.

“It’s a celebration.”

She stared at the banners flying from the tops of buildings, as she walked to the back of the line of waving Drakes. Ilvriss shook his head as he eyed the crowds of cheering pedestrians. He gritted his teeth and his tail lashed the stone walkway.

“No. It’s a military parade.”

“What?”

Erin turned to him in surprise. Then she listened and realized he was right. Erin had never done well in music class, but she could tell the drums in the distance weren’t the huge booming drums but a marching drum, playing a very familiar military rhythm. And the trumpets and other horns just added to the similarities. Erin was reminded of the 4th of July back in her home. The music was different, but the effect was the same.

Erin had grown up seeing parade floats going down the street, gotten used to gathering candy thrown from the backs of cars and seeing the American flag waved on those national holidays in her homeland. So as she reached the back of the crowd and stood on the tips of her toes she expected to see something similar. She was wrong, of course.

To start with, there was no candy. And there were no cars. There was a Drake on a horse, though. He was riding with his tail tucked over the left side of the horse, curled around its belly. He was holding a flag with Pallass’ insignia on it and lifted it into the air. The Drakes around Erin roared and waved their flags, cheering him as he rode down the street.

Erin turned her head and saw a rank of Drake soldiers, six abreast, marching down the street after him. She saw a battalion of Drakes pass by her position. The Drake [Soldiers] proceeded down the street, each one armored and carrying weapons. They marched forwards in perfect lock-step, their heads held high.

“The 3rd Infantry Regiment of Pallass!”

A huge, magnified voice suddenly roared in Erin’s ears surprising her.

“Whoa! That’s loud!”

Erin shouted, although her voice was lost in the crowd. The Drakes around her cheered louder. She saw the Drakes marching past her salute as the voice continued, setting off another wave of loud cheers.

“The Linebreakers recently served on the Vellir Fields outside of Rheist! Following them is the 4th Cavalry, which heroically fought in the same engagement!”

As the Linebreakers or rather, 3rd Infantry marched past, Erin saw more mounted Drakes pass by. She saw four mounted Drakes, one of whom was missing an arm, and two more that had scars over their arms. She saw nine more file past and then…nothing.

“Wait, where’s the rest of—”

Erin turned her head and saw more Drakes following. But they were on foot. She looked back towards the mounted Drakes and saw them saluting as well. All eleven of them.

“Hmf. They’ve pulled up every regiment in the city, by the looks of it.”

Ilvriss stood by Erin’s side, staring across the parade. She stared at him, and then at the soldiers. And then it hit her.

They were active soldiers, not just military personnel. When the voice shouted that they’d seen action recently, it meant they’d fought in a war. And the eleven remaining Drakes in the 4th Cavalry were all that had survived of their battalion. The sight was enough to make Erin’s heart twist, but the Drakes around her clapped and cheered the eleven riders with all their might.

And why not? Yes, this was an army that fought, an army that actively defended the city. Of course the citizens of Pallass would cheer them. Some regiments would pass by with only a handful of soldiers in their number. Sometimes they were injured, Drakes with missing eyes, lost limbs—the crowd cheered louder when they passed by. Erin stared at a group of old Drakes marching in polished armor, and saw the tears in their eyes as they saluted.

She felt alone in the crowd of Drakes. There were no Humans she could see, and few Gnolls. She did not applaud or cheer as the soldiers marched past. But then, neither did Ilvriss. Hawk clapped along with the crowd, but the Human and Lord of the Wall stood silent. And then Erin heard the invisible announcer shout as the last group of armed Drakes passed her position.

“And now, the hero of the First and Second Antinium Wars, the legendary Tidebreaker, [General] Shivertail!”

A hush fell over the crowd. Erin’s heart stopped. She looked down the street and saw a small group moving down the street. In the silence she heard Ilvriss mutter an oath and saw Hawk cover his eyes. But all of Erin’s attention was on the next group.

She saw a group of eight Drakes marching down the street holding a…coffin. They bore it together, two of the Drakes in front holding flags. Erin put her hands over her mouth as she saw the Drakes marching forwards with the casket. It couldn’t be. Zel was—he had died in Invrisil! It couldn’t be.

“It’s empty.”

She hadn’t heard Ilvriss move up next to her. Erin jumped and turned. The Wall Lord was staring at the coffin-bearers. His eyes blazed and his claws were tightened into fists. Erin looked back at the coffin. The empty coffin.

A blue wreath of flowers had been placed on the top of the coffin. As it passed by her position, Erin saw the Drakes around her go silent, staring at the flowers. And then as it passed they screamed louder, waving their flags, shouting Zel’s name.

“Shivertail! Shivertail!”

If they knew the coffin was empty, it didn’t seem to matter. Erin heard ringing in her ears and dimly heard the voice again, roaring with emotion.

“Zel Shivertail was a hero who went north to fight for the peace of our continent! He fought against the Goblin Lord to protect our borders! He fought and the Humans failed him! Their army fled and broke as he fought the Goblin Lord’s army alone! They abandoned General Shivertail! They were too weak, too cowardly! But he did not run!”

The crowd roared. Erin turned her head wildly, trying to find the announcer. She felt like she’d been slapped.

“He went north for us! Shivertail died for us! Don’t let his sacrifice be in vain! Zel Shivertail was a hero of the continent, a hero of the Drakes!”

“That’s not right. Zel didn’t—it wasn’t like—”

Erin’s words were lost in the next wave of cheers. She could only listen, helplessly, as the announcer kept shouting to the frenzied crowd.

“Never forget General Shivertail’s sacrifice! Vengeance on the Goblins! Vengeance! Vengeance!”

They roared the word with him. Vengeance. Erin saw the Drake child with the bag of nuts who had been so happily now snarling, shouting with the rest of the Drakes. Their anger was a physical thing and Erin shuddered to feel it.

The parade ended. Erin saw the marching band move past last, and then the Drakes began to break up. She stood back, letting the Drakes move in a huge swarm out of the street as they went back to their normal lives. So many Drakes. She turned and saw Ilvriss and Hawk behind her. They were standing, watching the crowd. Hawk was in tears. He hadn’t known about Zel Shivertail’s passing until today. And Ilvriss—

He stood with folded arms, looking around the city. He had neither cheered the Drake parade nor shouted. He was an outsider, for all he was a Drake. He wasn’t from Pallass, but from another Walled City. Salazsar. And as he looked at Erin and their eyes met, he nodded.

“Welcome to Pallass.”

He paused, looked around, and sniffed haughtily.

“Salazsar is better. Come on, let’s find some figures of authority.”

He turned and Erin slowly walked after him. She walked three steps, saw someone waving, turned, and saw Jelaqua striding towards her through the crowd. She raised her hand and was tackled to the ground as sixteen armed Drakes appeared out of the crowd and charged towards her, Ilvriss, and Hawk with their swords drawn.

—-

About ten minutes ago, Jelaqua Ivirith was standing in Pallass right outside of the door in the alleyway, looking around and talking through the portal to Lyonette on the other side. The [Barmaid] was anxious and Jelaqua was trying to reassure her.

“Relax! I don’t see them around, but they can’t have gotten far. I’ll go ahead with Seborn and uh, Relc.”

She nodded to the other two figures beside her. Relc was looking around with clear interest in his eyes and Seborn had already stepped out of the alleyway to look around. Lyonette looked anxious as she replied.

“I’ll stay here in case Erin comes back. But what happens if you find her and we’re all stuck here?”

Jelaqua shrugged, unconcerned.

“We’ll find a place to sleep. There’s bound to be plenty of inns in a Walled City if we can’t bring everyone back at once. And Moore managed to juice this door up once already—he can at least bring Erin back.”

Lyonette turned and looked up at Moore. The half-Giant was leaning on his staff, looking winded. He nodded at Jelaqua.

“I can recharge the door again. It takes a lot of mana, though. I’m nearly tapped out myself. I could come through if I used a mana potion, though.”

Jelaqua looked around and then shouted back through the doorway at Moore.

“Nah, don’t sweat it. Stay there, Moore! I don’t know if the door’s got enough mana to transport you and you’re beat. If you need to charge it up, use a mana potion but don’t kill yourself until we know what we’re doing for sure. We’ll find Erin.”

The half-Giant nodded tiredly. Jelaqua waved to Lyonette and turned away from the door. Her two companions had already reached the mouth of the alleyway. Relc looked around, jaw gaping slightly as he peered at the buildings around him and stared around, goggle-eyed.

“It is Pallass! I can’t believe it!”

Jelaqua laughed a bit as she walked over to join him. The Selphid had kept her two-handed flail, but she wasn’t wearing armor at the moment. She didn’t think she needed the flail either in truth, but no Gold-rank adventurer would walk around without at least one weapon at all times. She eyed Relc, who had both spear and armor on. She didn’t know the Drake, but she could sense he was no ordinary [Guardsman]. She gestured at the stone buildings as Relc exclaimed.

“What did you expect? You know Erin’s magical door can teleport people far away.”

“Yeah, but Pallass? That’s…far! And this is a Walled City, not Celum. It’s not like you can just walk in here! Normally you have to wait at the gates and they get really mad at you if your city is at war with theirs. And now we’re here!”

Relc indicated the city as a whole, his tail wagging excitedly. Jelaqua nodded.

“And so’s Miss Erin. Let’s start walking and find her first. Seborn, thoughts?”

“I see some fresh fur this way. Looks like the Courier went this way, and I’d assume that the Wall Lord and Erin went with him.”

Seborn stood up and let a miniscule pinch of fur drift to the ground. Jelaqua nodded. She set off at a steady pace with Seborn ranging ahead and Relc caught up after another few seconds of staring.

“Hey, why aren’t you more impressed? We’re in a Walled City! Isn’t that amazing?”

“Sure is. But I’ve been travelling back between Celum and Liscor for over a month now. This is special, but not as surprising as the first time it happened.”

Jelaqua replied casually. The truth was that Erin’s magical door had been incredible the first time the Selphid had laid eyes on it. Even now she was impressed by its capabilities, and not a little bit jealous of Erin’s good fortune in obtaining it. It was like a free [Teleport] spell! And the Horns of Hammerad had given it to Erin as thanks for funding their group? Jelaqua wondered if that was friendship or folly.

As for being in a Walled City…she could only shrug in response to Relc’s indignation.

“I’ve been in large cities in Baleros before. Liscor’s small compared to some of the cities owned by the Four Great Companies. I know this is one of the Drake capital cities, but surely Liscor’s comparable to Pallass?”

“Comparable? Are you joking? I mean, our army’s good, but Pallass is at least three times the size of Liscor! And it’s a major military power. The army here is seriously bad news—I hear it was deployed a month ago at Rheist. They tore up a bunch of other armies in a big battle there.”

“Wait, there was a war between the Drakes? I didn’t hear anything about that!”

Jelaqua frowned. A civil war was huge news! But Relc just shook his head.

“What, that? That’s normal. That’s politics and stuff for you. It’s not a war, war, right? It’s more like an argument.”

“An argument that ends up in a pitched battle?”

“Yup!”

Relc twirled his spear happily. Jelaqua stared. He tried to explain.

“Well, the Walled Cities fight all the time. You know, some Lady of the Wall calls a Watch Captain an ‘eggsucking lizard’ and there’s a big war. Obviously no one conquers the Walled Cities, but lesser cities get stormed now and then, and sieges can go on for months sometimes. I think there’s a siege going on around one of the other Walled Cities right now. Liscor’s army is fighting there.”

Jelaqua shook her head at Relc’s description of Drake politics.

“You make it sound so casual. One Drake insults another and you go to war over it? In Baleros, it’s all about gain. We fight over land, over precious resources, magical artifacts, fishing waters…”

“Oh, we do that too. It’s just that we fight each other even if we don’t need those other things.”

Relc happily assured the two adventurers. Seborn grunted as he looked around. There were very few people about and the Drowned Man was looking wary.

“Pretty empty for the middle of the day. Aren’t the Walled Cities supposed to be full of people?”

“Eh, this is a residential district. They’re probably all having fun somewhere else. Hear the horns and drums? That’s a military parade going on. Everyone’s probably watching. Hey, I bet that’s the way Erin and the others went!”

Relc pointed down the street and Jelaqua heard the parade in the distance. She nodded and strode towards the noise, talking to Relc as she went.

“So what’s this you were saying about not being able to walk into the Walled Cities? Are we going to be stopped because we’re not Drakes?”

“Nah.”

Relc waved one hand, looking unconcerned. He strode along, light on his feet, chattering away as he looked around.

“It’s more likely they’d stop me because I’m a famous [Sergeant] and I fought against Pallass in two…no, three wars. Small wars, but they really hold a grudge. Adventurers of all kinds are welcome in the Walled Cities so long as you don’t cause trouble. Selphids, Humans…they’ll let anyone in if they’re not known criminals.”

He pointed to his chest with his thumb, looking proud. Jelaqua exchanged a glance with Seborn, but didn’t comment. Relc nodded as if they’d agreed wholeheartedly with everything he’d said.

“Yeah, the last thing you want is to have the Pallass Watch on your tail. Those guys do not play around. Walled Cities have really, really strong City Watches, better than Liscor’s. They—oh hey, there’s Erin!”

He pointed. Erin was standing at the back of a crowd of Drakes. The parade had just ended and the Drakes were moving in a huge mass down the street. Jelaqua walked to one side to avoid the flow of bodies and waved to Erin. She did stand out. The Drakes of Pallass had green scales, red scales, blue scales, yellow scales…some very vibrant colors, others muted, but none of them had the fleshy pale tones of Human skin. Erin was standing with Ilvriss and Hawk and hadn’t spotted Jelaqua yet.

“Erin, hey, Erin!”

Jelaqua shouted, waving at the Human girl. She saw a lot of the Drakes looking at her, surprised to see a Selphid walking about. Jelaqua ignored the attention. She was used to it. Selphids weren’t a common sight in many parts of the world. She could see a few groups of armed [Guardsmen] or perhaps Drake [Soldiers] marching down the street to Erin. She hoped that the girl wouldn’t walk off and waved her arms furiously.

“Hey Erin!”

At last, the [Innkeeper] noticed her. Jelaqua took a step towards her and felt someone grab her arm. She turned and saw Seborn. The Drowned Man looked suddenly wary.

“Jelaqua! Those soldiers are headed right for Erin and the Wall Lord. And there are more behind us!”

“What?”

The Selphid spun. She saw armed Drakes step out of alleyways and a whole platoon marching down the street. She turned and was about to shout at Erin when she saw a Drake in yellow and silver armor hurtle out of the crowd. He tackled Erin to the ground as four other Drakes charged Ilvriss and Hawk. Jelaqua’s eyes widened and then she felt an impact in her side as a Drake charged into her.

The world slowed. Jelaqua stumbled with the impact, and then felt the muscles in her body tense. The Selphid pushed at her body, ignoring the straining tendons, forcing her damaged Human form to push past her limits. She heaved and the Drake who’d charged into her went flying. He crashed into a group of Drake civilians who screamed. Jelaqua saw Seborn’s daggers flash and another Drake staggered back, shouting in pain.

And then there was chaos. Drake [Soldiers] charged down the street as the citizens screamed and ran. Jelaqua’s flail was in her hand and she whirled it in a fast arc. The Drake [Guardsman] who’d charged towards her grunted as the spike flails caught him in the chest. The impact dented his armor and sent him stumbling back. Jelaqua struck low—the flail’s heads struck the Drake in the shins and he dropped.

“Seborn!”

She backed up and the Drowned Man was at her back. The [Rogue] had his enchanted daggers at the ready and there was already blood on the blades, but like Jelaqua he’d struck to wound, not kill. The Selphid had no idea why the Drakes were attacking, but she was acting on instinct. Jelaqua began spinning her flail in dangerous arcs, gritting her teeth. Of all the times to forget her armor! The Drakes charged and she moved into them, lashing exposed arms, chests, backs—

But why were they attacking?

—-

“Don’t move! You are under arrest!”

The Drake on top of Erin was screaming in her ears. She was screaming back.

“What? What? Get off of me!”

He had her arm up behind her back and was pushing Erin’s face into the cobblestones. She tried to move, but the Drake was holding her in place. Erin could see running feet around her, and then felt an impact. Someone kicked the Drake off of her and Erin felt a wrenching pain in her arm.

“Ow!”

“Get up!”

Ilvriss strode over to her, his blade bared. Erin staggered upright and saw he was standing over two fallen Drakes. They were rolling on the ground and clutching at deep cuts in their sides. Ilvriss’ sword had gone straight through their armor.

“Erin!”

Hawk turned to them. He hadn’t been knocked down by the sudden attack either. The two Drakes who’d gone for him were lying on the ground, their chest plates dented. The Rabbit Beastkin hadn’t bothered with a weapon—he’d just kicked both Drakes.

“What’s happening?”

Erin shouted at Ilvriss, but the Wall Lord was busy. He was turning as more Drakes charged down the street. They were armed with halberds, pikes, swords—and they were very, very angry.

“Evacuate the streets! Get the civilians out of here and surround the intruders!”

A Drake [Guardsman] in bright yellow armor was shouting orders. Erin saw Jelaqua, Seborn, and Relc fighting other Drakes to the side. The street was suddenly full of soldiers! She backed up as she saw more Drakes coming towards her.

“Throw down your weapons! You are under arrest!”

One of the Drakes shouted at him as Ilvriss slashed a halberd in half. Only now did his words reach Erin’s brain. She was being arrested! She wavered, but the sight of a dozen pointy blades aimed at her chest convinced her. She threw up her hands and saw Hawk doing likewise.

The Drakes hesitated. They stared at Hawk, but their attention was grabbed in a dramatic way by Ilvriss. He’d charged into a group of three Drakes and with three cuts of his sword, brought them all down.

“Get that Drake!”

Most of the soldiers rushed past Erin and Hawk while several kept their weapons trained on her. Erin felt her heart beating wildly and she could hear Hawk groaning aloud.

“Oh, no, no, no! I’m a Courier! Look, I have a seal—”

He tried to reach for his belt pouch but the Drakes screamed at him and he raised his hands again. Erin turned her head, searching for Jelaqua and the others.

There they were! Jelaqua was spinning her flail, keeping Drakes back as they attacked from every side. Erin saw a pike thrust at her from the side and the Selphid turned. Her flail whirled, smashed the pike down. Instantly, Jelaqua turned and caught another weapon, knocking it aside before slamming a flail into a Drake’s shoulders. The [Guardswoman] fell, but several more were there to take her place. Seborn was fighting with his daggers, but both Gold-rank adventurers were outnumbered.

“Archers! Stop that Selphid!”

There was a shout and Erin saw more Drakes rushing forwards. With bows. Her eyes widened and she cried out.

“Jelaqua!”

The pale woman turned and her eyes widened. Jelaqua turned her Human body to dodge, but too late. Erin heard a thud and saw two arrows sprout from Jelaqua’s chest and shoulder. She screamed. The Selphid staggered back, eyes wide, and then roared as she smacked a Drake on the head with her flail.

“That hurt, damnit!”

She whirled, and another arrow flashed past her towards Seborn. The Drowned Man ducked incredibly fast and a Drake cried out as the arrow struck him instead.

“What’s happening?”

Erin shouted at Hawk, but he had no answer. She heard a roar as the Drakes pushed Jelaqua and Seborn back. They were screaming at them to put down their weapons, but neither Gold-rank adventurer was complying. Erin saw a Drake with a sword rush at Jelaqua to the side as her flail got tangled around another Drake’s shield. The Selphid turned, raising one hand to block the sword and—

“[Relc Punch]!”

A fist shot out and knocked the charging Drake flat. Erin gaped as Relc charged forwards, spear whirling. The Drake [Guardsman] struck two Drakes on the heads through their helmets, incredibly fast. Erin’s heart stopped as the Drakes fell, but then she saw Relc had hit them with the butt of his spear. They fell, unconscious, and Relc whirled.

“[Triple Thrust]!”

His spear shot out, appearing to strike three Drakes simultaneously for one dizzying second. Then Relc was spinning his spear, knocking an arrow down and bashing a Drake on the head. Pallass’ [Soldiers] drew back for a second, unprepared for Relc’s sudden attack. There was a moment of confused shouting, and then another voice rose once more.

“Hold! I said hold, burn your tails!”

The [Soldiers] drew back. Jelaqua, Seborn, and Relc paused and Erin saw Ilvriss standing unharmed in the center of a circle of Drakes with weapons. The Drake in yellow armor strode forwards. He pointed at Relc.

“There’s only one Drake in the world stupid enough to shout his own name. You there, the Drake with the spear! Are you from Liscor by any chance?”

“Hey, do we know each other?”

Relc was holding his spear warily, but he brightened as he stared at the Drake in yellow armor. The Drake snorted.

“We’ve never met, but I know your name. Relc Grasstongue, [Sergeant] of Liscor’s army, is that right?”

“That’s right!”

Relc grinned. He turned his head to Jelaqua, who was staring at him as she stood with her back against a wall.

“Told you I’m famous.”

The [Commander] seemed to agree. He nodded at the guards, and then raised his voice.

“You heard him! That’s Relc Grasstongue, the damned Gecko of Liscor! Make sure he doesn’t break the encirclement and watch him—he’s fast! Someone get me some more battlemages and more [Guardsmen]!”

“Aw. Crap.”

Relc backed up as the soldiers on the street moved towards him. He raised his spear and Jelaqua shouted.

“Why are you lot attacking us? We haven’t broken any laws! I’m a Gold-rank adventurer—”

“You teleported in with an unauthorized spell!”

The [Commander] roared at Jelaqua. Her eyes widened and Erin’s heart skipped a beat. She turned her head to Hawk and saw him closing his eyes.

“Oh, dead gods.”

“We tracked your position! Put down your weapons. You are all under arrest for unauthorized entry to the city, assault on the City Watch and illicit magical activity within the confines of a Walled City!”

“Oh shit.”

Jelaqua covered her face. She took one agonizing look around, and then threw down her flail. At the same time, Seborn tossed his daggers to the ground and put up his hand and claw. Relc looked around and groaned.

“Aw! Every time I go to a Walled City I get arrested! Fine, fine! Stop aiming those arrows at me!”

He threw down his spear as the City Watch surrounded them. Now there was only Ilvriss left. He stood with his sword bared. Over half a dozen [Guardsmen] lay on the ground, bleeding or being treated with potions by their comrades. The [Commander] shouted at him.

“Drop the weapon, Drake! Drop it I said, or—”

“Silence.”

Ilvriss’ eyes flashed. Erin felt a weight on her shoulders and stumbled. The Lord of the Wall’s aura made the Drakes around him flinch, and one actually fell. Ilvriss raised his blood-stained blade, staring at the Drakes in front of him with the same haughty arrogance he always had.

“I am Ilvriss Gemscale, Wall Lord Ilvriss of Salazsar! Lower your weapons now!”

The [Guardsmen] around Ilvriss reacted to his name and title. They hesitated, and the [Commander] in the yellow armor hesitated. He called cautiously at Ilvriss.

“Wall Lord or not, your intrusion here breaks the laws! Put down your blade, Wall Lord, and surrender peacefully!”

Ilvriss’ scorching gaze made the [Commander] flinch. The Wall Lord turned, his blade drawn. He stared down the street filled with [Guardsmen], daring them to attack. His voice rang across the street.

“Unacceptable! I, surrender? Put up your blades, soldiers of Pallass! Or if you intend to strike, strike true, because you won’t have a second chance. If it is war your city wants, mine will happily paint your walls red over my death!”

He brandished his blade and the Drakes nearest to him backed up. Erin’s arms were tired so she lowered them and massaged her shoulders as she waited to see what the Drake [Commander] would do. There was a moment where he hesitated, then he gave the order.

“Blades down. Someone get a Street Runner and find me a representative of the Assembly of Crafts!”

“Oh, I can go—”

Hawk took one step and put his hands up as the Drakes around him raised their weapons. He stared glumly at his feet as the soldiers in the street milled about and several took off at a run. Hawk didn’t quite avoid Erin and everyone else’s gaze as they stared at him. He coughed.

“Okay, how was I supposed to know that was against the law?”

Erin looked at him and then around. She grinned helplessly as the Drakes eyed her.

“Um. Oops. Sorry?”

The Drakes of Pallass’ City Watch stared at her, their expressions hostile. Erin looked at one of the Drakes lying on the ground and moaning from where Ilvriss had cut him. She looked about, and raised her hands again.

—-

Zevara was the Captain of Liscor’s City Watch. She was a hardworking Drake who didn’t deserve half the news she got. Particularly any of the news involving Erin. For the first five seconds after the Gnoll [Guardsmen] delivered his report about Erin’s new portal to Pallass, Zevara just sat at her desk with her mouth open. Then she began shouting.

“She did what? You’re telling me that there’s an unregulated portal to Pallass open and no one’s informed the security there?”

“I think so, Captain. We didn’t hear about it until just now. The Human [Barmaid] at her inn—the former thief—went to the city to let us know that Wall Lord Ilvriss and the [Innkeeper] had gone through the door about twenty minutes ago.”

The Gnoll [Guardsman] saw the scales on Zevara’s face turn dead white. She leapt up, sending her chair clattering.

“Get me a [Mage] and send a [Message] spell to Pallass right now! Tell them I want to talk to the Watch Captain on duty now! This is an emergency!”

Zevara didn’t wait for the Gnoll to start moving. She ran out of her office, shouting for the [Mage] on-duty in the barracks to send a message at once. She was swearing, cursing Erin’s name with every bad word she knew—and that was before she learned that Relc, a [Guardsman] from Liscor, had been arrested after attacking several members of Pallass’ City Watch. If there was one bright spot, it was that the prisoners in The Wandering Inn hadn’t been hurt.

—-

The door to Pallass had been open for about twenty minutes when Lyonette noticed a few shadows around the doorway. She was busy keeping Mrsha from chasing Erin through the doorway and feeding Moore a bracing snack so she didn’t have time to investigate it. The Redfang Warriors were all peering at the doorway, and it was only when Lyonette heard the Drake [Captain] right outside the doorway that she realized there was trouble.

“Now!”

Lyonette heard a roar from the door and turned in time to see a Drake’s hand tossing a potion into the room. The bottle smashed onto the floorboards and erupted into a plume of bright purple and white flames. They shot towards the ceiling and vanished in in instant. But the eruption of smoke billowed upwards. Lyonette shouted, and heard the voice from outside roar again.

“Charge in! Take down the half-Giant and Hobs first!”

A Drake in bright yellow armor, a [Captain], charged through the doorway. He was followed by another Drake with plain steel or maybe iron armor, holding an axe. The two Drakes ran through the doorway as the rest streamed forwards—

And the portal went dead behind the second Drake. The Drake [Captain] faltered as four hundred miles south of his location, twenty armed soldiers thudded into the stone wall with commendable force. He slowed and the Drake behind him paused and stared behind him. The two [Guardsmen] looked around the inn at the five Hobs and coughing half-Giant. Lyonette had dived to cover Mrsha. The two got up slowly, coughing, and stared at the pair of Drakes. Neither Gnoll nor Human looked happy as the smoke began to clear.

The five Redfang Warriors traded a glance. All of the Hobs were on their feet with swords in hand and they casually spread out to surround the two Drakes. Moore raised his staff, looking annoyed by the smoke that was making his eyes water. The Drake [Guardsman] behind his commander gulped as Apista buzzed around his head, agitated by the smoke and fire.

Faced with a sudden lack of bodies and cut off, the Drake [Captain] did the most sensible thing he could. He hesitated, and slowly sheathed his sword and raised his hands.

“We surrender.”

—-

“Okay, so we didn’t mean to illegally enter your city. It’s just that I have a magical door, and we thought, y’know, it’d be cool to have a portal between Liscor and Pallass. Okay? I mean, Ilvriss—Wall Lord Ilvriss, that’s what he likes to be called—said it was okay to do. And if he didn’t know it was illegal, well…it’s not like anyone died, right?”

Erin grinned hopefully at the Watch Captain across the table from her. An hour had passed. In that time she’d first been searched, and then, at Ilvriss’ insistence, left untouched. The Lord of the Wall had demanded both the Gold-rank adventurers and Relc be unshackled and treated as guests rather than prisoners City Watch had been unable to refuse his request.

After that, there had been some awkward standing around, many questions asked, and Jelaqua had asked someone to pull the arrows out of her chest. Then had come the urgent messages from Zevara, a bit too late, and also a notification of the prisoners that Lyonette had taken in The Wandering Inn.

Now Erin sat across a table from the Captain of the Watch on active duty. The Drake was wearing bright yellow armor and massaging his temples with one clawed hand as he listened to her convoluted explanation of what had happened.

“Let me see if I understand you correctly, Miss, ah, Erin. Your inn has a magical doorway capable of teleporting a user over four hundred miles.”

“Yup!”

“And you happen to know a Lord of the Wall who is seeking passage to his home city. And so you and Wall Lord Ilvriss hired a Courier to install this…portal doorway…in my city.”

“That’s sort of how it happened.”

“And—and I can’t believe this is a detail—your inn also has five Hobgoblin warriors and hosts a Gold-rank team of adventurers.”

“And a Silver-rank team. The Horns of Hammerad. They’re nice people, but they weren’t around.”

“I see.”

The [Captain] stared at Erin’s desperate smile and then looked back at the report in front of him. He massaged his temples again. Erin felt rather bad for him, actually.

“So…are we in trouble?”

“Let me see here. Thirteen wounded members of the City Watch, illegal entry, illegal use of a high-grade magical artifact, resisting arrest—”

“Hey, I surrendered! My hands were up the entire time! Mostly the entire time.”

“—resisting arrest, taking two members of the City Watch prisoner, sheltering Goblins—”

“Sheltering and feeding.”

Erin helpfully interjected. The [Captain] buried his face in his claws. Erin reached across the desk and patted him on the shoulder.

“Please don’t do that.”

“Sorry. But are we in trouble?”

The Watch Captain looked glum.

“I should arrest you. I would arrest you, but Wall Lord Ilvriss has asserted his rights. He is in the wrong, but as you were all acting on his orders…I could arrest the others for assaulting [Guardsmen], but he would object.”

“And that’s a bad—”

“That would cause a diplomatic incident that I am not qualified to handle. For now, you’re not under arrest, but we’re keeping the Selphid, guardsman Relc, and the Drowned Man here. Their weapons are being impounded until we sort this out with Liscor.”

“Oh. That’s uh, okay, I guess. But what about Hawk and me?”

The Drake shook his head gloomily. Hawk had already left the barracks after showing them his Courier’s seal.

“The Courier? He fulfilled his request to the letter. That he was unaware of Pallass’ laws is a matter for the Runner’s Guild. We’ll send a formal complaint to them. As for you—”

Erin gave him her most winning smile. The [Captain]’s eye twitched a bit.

“—You’re free to go. But given that your uh, magical door is in use right now for the purpose of communication, I must insist you stay in the city’s limits.”

“Okay, I can wander around—”

“No.”

The [Captain] shot out of his chair. He eyed Erin, and then sat.

“You are part of Wall Lord Ilvriss’ entourage so I am bound to assure your safety—”

“I am? He said that? Wow, that’s so nice of him!”

The Watch Captain ground his teeth together.

“That is what he claims. Thus, I cannot detain you against your will. But I must insist you be accompanied during your stay here. I will arrange for a guide to show you around the city. Is that acceptable?”

“Oh, totally. Um, does this mean I can—”

“Go.”

Erin nodded. She got up and tiptoed to the door. She opened it, slipped out, and then peeked back into the Watch Captain’s room.

“Uh, sorry for all the trouble.”

He stared at her until she backed away. When she was gone the Watch Captain buried his head in his hands. He’d been Captain of the Day Watch for over eight years and he’d weathered sieges, monster attacks, and political strife without flinching. Now he was close to tears. It was a feeling Watch Captain Zevara would have sympathized with very well.

—-

Erin left the Watch Captain’s barracks and looked around. A lot had happened. A lot of important stuff. She felt quite bad for the Watch Captain, but relieved that she wasn’t in trouble and no one had died. A lot of people had gotten hurt—mainly by Ilvriss. But the Wall Lord’s strutting around and acting arrogant had helped, for once. He really was a big shot, so much so that he could stab someone in the middle of a street and then boss people about as if he was the injured party.

“Wow. Wall Lords are important. I guess I should be more respectful after all. Too bad I won’t be.”

Erin murmured to herself as she stared around the street. The City Watch’s barracks had only been a street or two away, so she hadn’t seen much of the city. She yearned to look about, but the Watch Captain had said she’d have a guide. Now where was—

“You there! Are you the Human I’m supposed to be showing around?”

Erin’s head turned. She heard a young male voice and saw a Drake with light orange scales striding up to her across the street. She smiled and went to greet him.

“Hi! That’s me! I’m Erin Solstice. Who are you?”

“I’m Nelliam Hailwing, your guide. Technically I’m a [Greeter], but we don’t have many actual [Guides] and I was the only one nearby. I hear you’re some kind of troublemaker. Did you have something to do with that fight an hour ago?”

“No…what gave you that impression?”

Erin tried to look innocent as Nelliam scrutinized her from head to toe. He was a young Drake, and Erin would have said he was in his mid-teens if he was a Human. He stared at her curiously.

“Well, the rumor is that a crazy Human [Mage] teleported a bunch of Gold-rank adventurers into the city to cause trouble. Apparently she’d been hired by a Lord of the Wall to do it! A Wall Lord from Salazsar if you can believe that.”

“Whoa. I have no idea about that. That’s crazy. And not me. I’m just a visitor to the city.”

Erin lied as convincingly as she could. Nelliam looked skeptical, but then he shook his head.

“I guess you don’t look like a [Mage]. Okay then, you want a tour, right? Where should we start?”

“How about from the beginning? I mean, this is a Walled City and I’ve never been here so…I guess my first question is where the walls are.”

“The walls?”

Nelliam looked blankly at Erin. She pointed to the blue sky.

“Yeah, I mean, where are the walls? Aren’t they like, three hundred feet high? Shouldn’t I be able to see them?”

The young Drake stared at Erin and she knew she’d said something stupid. He coughed.

“Um. This is the highest residential level. You can’t see the walls because we’re so high up.”

“We are? I mean—we are?”

The Drake stared at Erin.

“You did climb all the stairs to get to the top of the city, didn’t you? You do remember going up all this way, right?”

“Uh…no.”

Nelliam stared at Erin. Erin stared back. The Drake blinked and scratched at the back of his head.

“Okaaay then. Let’s show you the city as a whole first! This way, Miss Erin.”

He led her down the street. Erin walked past groups of Drakes, seeing a few Gnolls and other species in the crowd, but mainly scaly bodies. Nelliam kept her moving at a quick pace, talking rapidly and steering her clear of knots of people in the crowd.

“Mind your step, Miss Human! People walk fast in Pallass and if you aren’t careful you’ll be run over! There’s not really many wagons this high up of course, but you have to learn how to walk with the traffic!”

“Where are we going?”

“To see the city! There’s a nice overlook just ahead—are you sure you haven’t seen Pallass before? How did you get up here?”

“Uh…I guess I just wasn’t paying attention!”

“Huh.”

Nelliam shook his head, but he at least seemed used to guiding odd people about. He launched into a prepared speech as the traffic thinned and Erin sensed them heading towards the end of a street.

“Well, if you’ve never been here before you’re in for a treat! Pallass is one of the Walled Cities, one of the jewels of the Drake lands! It’s a massive city—far larger than almost all the Human cities, and much better defended! These walls have never fallen to invasion, and Pallass is the most important northern Drake city!”

“It is? I thought that was Liscor!”

Erin exclaimed. Nelliam snorted and his tail swished across the paving stones.

“Liscor? They’re just a small city that occupies a trade route between the north and south. We’re the real gateway to the north. Our armies are close to both the Antinium and the Blood Fields—if the Humans send their armies we’re the first city to respond. And we manufacture more arms and potions than any other city on the continent! Our [Alchemists] and [Blacksmiths] are second to none! That’s why Pallass is famous across the world!”

“Really?”

Erin stared round-eyed at Nelliam. He faltered. He was guiding Erin towards the end of the street, which didn’t end with a wall so much as a vertical drop. Erin could see a huge wall beyond the edge of the drop. A city lay ahead of her, and she found herself speeding up to see.

“Well, yes. We’re famous. You have heard of us, haven’t you? Pallassian steel? Our potions? You’ve never heard of our latest technological developments?”

“No…but I don’t get out much. You make stuff?”

“Not just stuff!”

Nelliam tried to rally. He raised his voice again as he strode towards the drop ahead of them. Erin was glad to see there were stone guardrails, placed at chest level so no one could accidentally trip over the edge. Closer now. She could see a huge wall stretching across the gap, and what looked like levels with houses on them. They were still a ways away and now Nelliam was chattering to her about Pallass’ many inventions.

“Just the other month one of our [Craftswomen] figured out a way to harness the power of the wind to crank our siege weapons! We invented the smock mill!”

“The what?”

“The—it’s a more lightweight version of the tower mill. It’s designed so you can build it with wood and metal rather than out of stone. It was a huge achievement! You can use it to drain swamps, build them near farms in a tenth of the time since you don’t have to wait for mortar to dry—”

“Oh, right. I bet that takes a long time, even if you blow on the concrete. Or do you heat it with fire magic to make it dry faster? Is there a special fan you use? Wind magic?”

The Drake turned his head and gave Erin the fish-eye. She stared back innocently. He hesitated, and then shook his head.

“Humans. Look, we’re inventors! It’s in our blood. That’s what Pallass is known for! The other Walled Cities might have our specialties, but we stand on the cutting-edge at all times. Our city creates wonders for the rest of the world. And here we are! Look!”

They reached the end of the street. Erin approached the stone railing and Nelliam threw a hand out. He shouted in triumph as Erin got her first true glimpse of the Walled City.

“This is Pallass, the City of Invention!”

Erin stared over the balcony. Out, and down. She stared thousands of feet, perhaps miles across the balcony, to a huge wall in the distance. It was high and long, and was one of four walls in each of the cardinal directions. North, south, east, and west, the walls of Pallass rose, impenetrable stone towering in the sky. But it wasn’t the walls that took Erin’s breath away. It was what had been built in the city.

She was standing on the highest level of Pallass save for the battlements. Erin hadn’t realized that before. That was why she hadn’t seen the walls, because she was too high up. But now, staring into the heart of the city, Erin could look down and see the city below her.

She saw thousands of tiny houses built on ledges that protruded from the walls. Water, actual water being pumped up some odd conveyor belt to tiny gardens hanging below her! Crisscrossing streets filled with minuscule people, a sea of rooftops, four giant stairwells descending into center of the city from each of the walls—Erin’s eyes strained at the enormity of it all. Nelliam grinned in pride as he gestured.

“Welcome to Pallass. Amazing, isn’t it?”

Behind Nelliam, Pallass stretched outwards and downwards, a sprawling city made of multiple levels. Yes, that was the word for it. Levels. Erin was standing on one of the highest points of the city and she could look down into other streets, plazas, and buildings far below.

Pallass had been built so that the urban center of the city was at the lowest point, or ground level. That looked much like a normal city, but where the Walled City had changed was in the four massive staircases that rose upwards towards the walls. It was possible to ascend higher and reach an entirely new ‘floor’ where more buildings had been constructed.

Each new level was progressively smaller and circled the interior of the walls, so that Erin felt like she was looking at an inverted pyramid. Or a bowl. The effect was hypnotic as well as grand, but what struck Erin most was the organization of it all. She could instantly plot a route from her position to the lowest part of the city or anywhere she wanted to travel. Ramps were neatly placed at intervals to allow someone access to a higher or lower floor, and the four central staircases made getting lost impossible. Walk far enough in one direction and you’d get to one of the four staircases.

“Wow. It’s so organized.”

“Of course it is! Did you think we’d build a disorganized city?”

Nelliam looked insulted. Erin shrugged, thinking of cities like Venice or London.

“I guess not. But we Humans build weird cities all the time. I guess I didn’t expect it to look so neat.”

“You Humans. So messy.”

The Drake shook his head and pointed down into the city.

“Any new construction has to be approved by an [Architect] and an official who understands the layout of the city. We build in expectation of usage, and our craftspeople move in. See—we constructed the new Blacksmith’s Quarters two years ago in response to complaints about the smoke and noise. They occupy the second-highest level, there, you see?”

Erin looked where he was pointing and saw a plume of smoke rising from a series of buildings. It was very far away but she thought she could see tiny figures hammering industriously on pieces of metal. Or was that her imagination? The Walled City might not have had the horizontal landmass of a megacity like, say, Chicago, but Erin was still breathtaken by the size of Pallass.

Breathtaken, and a little queasy. Erin backed up from the edge of the wall.

“I think I’d like to not look down so much.”

“Visitors always say that. You’ll get used to the heights soon enough if you stay here. Now, let’s head down, shall we?”

“Down? How? You mean the stairs?”

Erin pointed towards one of the four grand stairwells. The nearest one was to their left and looked a good walk away. But Nelliam only laughed.

“No! I told you, Pallass is the city of inventors! We’ve come up with a much faster way to travel between floors! Look, over there, see?”

He pointed and Erin stared over at a place where the stone balcony ended and an odd contraption had been built into the stone. She stared at an…elevator.

Yes, it was an elevator. It was a wood and metal platform with guardrails, controlled by a pulley and system of gears. Nelliam walked Erin over to it and she stood on the wood platform as he fiddled with the hand crank. Then he nodded to her with a huge grin on his face.

“Ready? Don’t be scared—this isn’t magic, but its close! We’re going down, nice and easy!”

He turned something, and Erin felt the elevator begin to descend. She expected them to drop, but to her surprise she saw a gear turning as the elevator slowly descended, regulating the speed at which they went down. Nelliam smiled broadly at Erin, expecting her to be amazed.

And she was, just not for the reasons the Drake expected. Erin stared at the elevator and then put her hand on a lever that was turning slowly. The elevator stopped with a jolt.

“Whoa! This is an elevator!”

“Hey, stop that!”

Looking alarmed, Nelliam made Erin let go of the crank. They continued their descent, and the Drake edged Erin back from the controls.

“Please don’t fiddle with the gears! This is a new piece of technology—it’s a platform which raises and lowers itself without magic!”

“Right, with gears!”

“Exactly—wait, how did you know?”

Nelliam looked shocked and then suspicious. He frowned at Erin.

“You have gone on one of these before, haven’t you? Well, we’re headed down—we’ll take the scenic route. Look, you can see the entire city!”

He pointed and Erin saw that he was right. The elevator was going down level after level, passing by Drakes who were walking down a street with trees planted at intervals, down another level where Drakes were marching in formation, and all the while Erin could see the grand staircase closest to them and Drakes moving up and down the stairs.

“Wow, look at those stairs!”

They ran from the bottom of the Walled City to the top. Erin had to guess there were thousands of steps, and although few Drakes seemed willing to make the entire journey, thousands of them were using the stairway to go up or down a level. It was one of four stairwells and each one had a side for Drakes moving up the stairs and a side if you wanted to descend.

Organization. Nelliam smiled proudly but a bit condescendingly as he pointed to the Drakes heading down the stairs. They were close enough so that Erin could catch fragments of conversation and see the Drakes carrying baskets, goods, and so on with them.

“That’s the old way of moving through the city of course. You’ll have to use the stairs to go up—it’s too much work to crank the platforms up when you’re standing on them. But this is a lot faster and easier than walking down the stairs. It’s only the old-timers who refuse to use this method these days.”

His raised voice carried to a group of Drakes that was descending the stairs near the elevator. Erin saw a few of them look up in annoyance. One of them, an older Drake woman, raised her fist and shouted at Nelliam and Erin.

“Real Drakes use steps!”

Nelliam’s tail twitched and he bellowed back at her.

“Shut up, you old hag!”

The Drake made a rude gesture and Nelliam nearly copied her until he remembered that Erin was watching. He turned his back on the Drake as they descended past her and coughed, his cheeks flushed.

“Sorry about that.”

Erin stared at the Drake lady who was descending much slower than her elevator.

“Who was that?”

“My aunt.”

Nelliam shifted, clearly embarrassed and pointed out something else to Erin as they went.

“See those Drakes running down the middle of the staircase?”

Erin turned her head and saw that there were figures running down the center ramp that separated the streams of people going up and down the stairs. The middle of the staircase was wide enough that they could race or slide down the middle several people at a time. The Drakes and Gnolls wore armbands and carried packages. Erin gasped as one leapt from the middle and landed on a level below him, taking off running as soon as he hit the ground. Nelliam smiled.

“Those are Street Runners and City Runners. They use the middle because it’s faster and they don’t run people over. Some of them jump from level to level, although that’s dangerous. But if you need something delivered across the city quick, all you have to do is find one of the drop-off points and write down your address!”

“Wow. I’ve seen Runners before, but I didn’t know it was so different here!”

Erin exclaimed as the elevator descended to what was nearly the bottom level. Nelliam stopped it before they could get to the ground floor and pointed.

“Pallass is a lot different from most Drake cities. Humans ones too, I bet. We’re at the bottom now, and you can see the walls, right?”

He glanced at her somewhat mockingly. Erin looked up. From the ground, the four walls towered over her, casting huge shadows. She stared up towards the sun and shaded her eyes as she peered at the different floors built into the walls.

“Yep, I can see them now. That’s a lot of floors. And a long way up. Hey, does this mean I have to climb all those stairs if I want to get back up again?”

The thought was dismaying, but again Nelliam laughed at her.

“No! Okay, for the small elevators there’s no way up and you have to crank them back up if you want to get down. That’s a pain in the tail, though, so we’ll take one of the magic-powered elevators up.”

“The what now?”

Nelliam pointed and Erin saw another elevator, far larger than the platform she was standing on, shoot upwards. The gears moving the elevator were blurring with speed—but not from any mechanical force she could see. Nelliam smiled.

“Those elevators are powered by mana stones. They’re expensive, but the city has a number of them to let people go from the bottom floors to the top ones when they need to. We’ll take it back up so you can stand on the battlements. Unless you want to look around the bottom levels first?”

“I want to ride that thing.”

Erin stared at the elevator as it went up at dizzying speeds. It looked like fun to her, a girl for whom roller coasters were an attraction rather than a nightmare come to life. Nelliam grinned, sensing her anticipation.

“Okay then! We’ll join the queue.”

He led her at a brisk walk over to the elevator. Erin stared at the line of Drakes and Gnolls, most of whom looked older and thus were in need of the elevator’s convenience. She fidgeted, feeling a bit guilty.

“Is it okay to use this? I can walk if we’re in the way.”

“You’re a tourist. It’s okay, especially if you haven’t ridden one before. Just please don’t be sick. People throwing up over the sides is awful, especially because it gets everywhere.”

Nelliam reassured her as they stepped onto the elevator. Erin saw a Drake conductor standing at the side, waiting for everyone to file in. When he’d judged the elevator was full, he touched a glowing red stone to another stone embedded in the elevator.

The gears began to turn. Slowly at first, and then with increasing speed they propelled the elevator up. Erin felt her stomach drop and clung to the guardrail as Nelliam grinned wildly. She looked around and saw the older Drakes and Gnolls holding on for dear life. It looked like they had fought a battle between the exhaustion of climbing the stairs or the fear of riding the elevator and only barely won.

“Isn’t this amazing? We’re trying to get all the elevators to do this, but without the magic!”

Nelliam shouted to Erin around the rushing air. She looked at the city falling below them and felt a strange sense of familiarity. This was so much like an elevator from her world! Only, it was going a lot faster than most elevators she knew, and she’d never been in an elevator that was exposed like this. Only the guardrails kept her from tumbling off.

“How would you make all elevators like this?”

“With wind! We’re trying to attach a windmill to the elevator gears, but it’s not working! We think we can make them wind themselves up eventually, though! Then we’ll be able to ascend and descend anywhere we want!”

The Drake hollered back just in time for the elevator to slow as they reached the top floor. Erin wobbled out with Nelliam helping her and an elderly Drake. He grinned, used to the sudden ascent.

“Wasn’t that amazing? Just think, someday none of us might have to use the stairs again!”

“I hope I die before that day comes.”

The old Drake muttered as he walked unsteadily out of the elevator. Erin felt he had a point, but then she was on top of Pallass’ walls. She stared around and realized that while she’d been near the top of the city she’d never looked out over the walls.

She did so now. The walls of Pallass were exceptionally wide. So wide in fact, that there were emplacements where trebuchets, catapults, and other siege weapons had been installed and room enough for armed [Guardsmen] to patrol and citizens to walk along the wall. It was so wide that Erin could have had a tennis game on top of the walls with room to spare if she hadn’t been worried about the ball falling off. Because if anything did get knocked off the top of the walls, there was a long way to drop.

“Oh my god we’re high up.”

Erin stood at the battlements of the Walled City, grateful for the guardrail. She looked down, down, and down some more. Below her, muddy ground stretched out, hills, and forests, brown and white in some places as the last of the winter’s frost melted. Nelliam smiled as he pointed to a series of exceptionally high mountains towering over the Walled City in the distance.

“See that? That’s the High Passes, north of here. And if you look left, you can see the roads heading west. And over there—see it? There a village down there, and if you look really close you can see people! You can pay for an enchanted spyglass. Lots of people rent them and sit up here watching. Just mind the wind. It doesn’t usually blow people off, but it can get really strong up here!”

There was indeed a terrific wind blowing at Erin’s hair. It was colder than she would have liked, but she couldn’t tear herself away from the magnificent view. Nelliam grinned smugly as he saw Erin gaping.

“This is three hundred feet high?”

It felt higher, or maybe Erin had been away from home for too long. She’d been far higher—in airplanes and skyscrapers, but standing on the top of Pallass’ walls felt more immediate. Nelliam shrugged.

“It’s actually taller in places. We say its three hundred feet high just because it’s exactly that short in some spots. Impressive though, isn’t it? Have you ever been this high in your life?”

He was clearly expecting Erin to say no. She nodded absently.

“Yes. Higher, actually.”

“What?”

She could look down and see people entering and exiting Pallass’ gates far below. She could look straight down, in fact. Erin did and felt vertigo nudge her stomach at last. She thought she might faint or trip and hastily backed away from the edge. She had to take a few steadying breaths until she was feeling better.

“The height huh? It gets most people the first time. Some people who’ve lived here their entire lives won’t look over the edge. My mother won’t, and she was born here, same as the rest of my family.”

Nelliam leaned over the railing, completely at ease. Erin swallowed and looked around. It seemed the City Watch was fine with letting civilians on the walls so long as there wasn’t trouble. More than a few Drakes and Gnolls were standing at the balcony, looking through spyglasses. Some were more daring, leaning over the battlements or standing on top of them—

Erin blinked. There was a Gnoll standing on top of the battlements, on one of the stone blocks that archers could use for cover during battles. He had a pair of feathery wings strapped to each arm and as Erin watched he flapped them encouragingly in the breeze. But he wasn’t going to jump, right? That would be—

He leapt from the top of the battlements. Erin shouted in horror as she raced towards the spot he’d dove from. She screamed at Nelliam who hadn’t seen.

“Hey, that Gnoll just jumped!”

“Where?”

Nelliam’s head turned, as did several of the [Guardsmen] on patrol. They instantly relaxed when they saw the plummeting figure.

“Oh. You had me scared for a second.”

“What? He jumped—someone do something!”

Erin was in a panic. What could they do? The Gnoll was dead the instant he hit the ground! But Nelliam looked unconcerned.

“Relax. That Gnoll always comes up here. He won’t get hurt. He’s trying to fly.”

“Fly?”

Erin remembered the wings. They’d looked silly, as silly as those old movies of people riding off cliffs with bicycles with wings. She stared at the falling shape, wondering if the wings were magical. The [Guardsmen] behind her were laughing and pointing, making bets on whether or not the Gnoll would fly.

“Looks like—he might make it—aw, no!”

The Gnoll was flapping wildly with his makeshift wings to no avail. They dragged at the air and eventually the left wing snapped off his arm. He plummeted and Erin covered her eyes as he neared the ground. She peeked at the last second, though.

Before the Gnoll could splatter messily onto the ground, his body suddenly slowed in midair. He fell the last fifty or so feet, flapping with his one good arm and looking quite upset. Nelliam shook his head as the Drakes on duty laughed and tossed a few coins towards the bet maker.

“He always does that. That’s the second time this month. I don’t know where he finds the coin for those Featherfall Potions, but he’s wasting them trying to fly. He’s not an Oldblood Drake and his wings break half the time. And when they don’t he just wobbles in the air before he lands.”

Erin stared as the Gnoll landed on the ground and tore the last wing off his arms. He began to stomp on them and she looked at Nelliam.

“Do a lot of people do that?”

“No, just him. He’s weird, isn’t he? But you were lucky to see him—he doesn’t jump often and people like to watch when he does. Too bad he’ll never succeed. A few of the Oldblood Drakes with wings sometimes fly from the walls, but a Gnoll won’t ever fly. Not without a powerful magical artifact or spell, anyways.”

“Oh really?”

Erin cocked her head, a bit surprised by Nelliam’s dismissiveness. She knew Humans couldn’t fly by themselves in her world even with technology, but what about gliders and wing suits?

“I thought Pallass was the ‘city of inventions’. Why don’t you think a Gnoll can learn to fly?”

Nelliam scoffed.

“There’s a difference between invention and things that are just impossible. Everyone knows that. If you want to fly, hire a [Mage]. We’re making things that everyone can use, not wasting our time trying to do ridiculous things like that.”

“Hmm.”

Erin didn’t immediately reply to the young Drake. She stared at the Gnoll who was trudging back to the city with his tail literally between his legs. She smiled.

“Maybe it’s impossible. But I bet all the great inventors did impossible things.”

Nelliam snorted.

“Yeah, but none of them strapped wings to their arms and jumped off walls. That Gnoll’s broken more bones than anyone in the city! If you’re done with the walls, do you want to continue the tour? I can show you our gardens next. Or how about we visit the Blacksmith’s Quarter? Or—”

He was turning Erin away when she saw a familiar Drake in yellow armor striding up to them. The Watch Captain looked harried, and he stopped abruptly in front of Erin and Nelliam.

“Miss Solstice, we’re going to have to cut your tour short. You’re needed back at your magic…portal thing. The Assembly of Crafts, our ruling body, has met with some of your city’s leaders and come to a decision.”

“The Assembly of Crafts? Wait a second, you mean the Human who caused all that trouble is her?”

Nelliam stared wide-eyed at Erin and the Watch Captain. She winced as the [Captain] took her arm. The Drake [Greeter] wanted to hurry after them, but a [Guardsman] blocked his way.

“Wait, you’re the Human [Mage]? Why didn’t you tell me?”

The Watch Captain ignored Nelliam as he steered Erin away. She waved at the young Drake apoplectically.

“Sorry! I didn’t teleport anyone! It was my door!”

“What?”

“My door!”

The Drake and Human walked off as Nelliam disappeared behind them. The [Captain] was silent, but Erin was curious so she began to pester him with questions.

“What’s so important about the door? Is there more trouble?”

“Not exactly. A few members of our Assembly—that’s ah, like Liscor’s Council only we elect numerous representatives from all of the major Guilds to vote on issues—a few members met with Liscor’s council. They used the door to communicate. I gather that Wall Lord Ilvriss will be fined, but there will be no criminal charges.”

“Oh. Good. So why do they want me?”

The [Captain] avoided Erin’s gaze. He coughed.

“I think the existence of such a powerful artifact that can transport people between locations is the issue at stake. The convenience and possible security risk means you, as the owner, need to be present in case the artifact is subject to fines or confiscation.”

“Confiscation? Hey, wait a minute…that’s not right!”

“I’m just doing my duty.”

“Oh yeah, well what if I have a problem with people taking my door?”

“It is a possible security risk to Pallass. If necessary we may be forced to seize it—”

“Seize it? If you do, I’ll shove this fist so far up—no, wait, that’s gross. I’ll shove the door so far up—”

“It’s not decided yet. Please, follow me.”

The Watch Captain edged away from Erin as he led her back towards the doorway. Erin stomped after him, muttering.

“Some city this is. First they arrest me, and then they try to take my door? We’ll see about that.”

She narrowed her eyes. Erin stomped through the streets after the nervous Watch Captain and found a crowd around the alleyway with the magic door. There were a lot of Drakes in expensive clothing forced to stand elbow-to-elbow in the cramped alleyway. A few Gnolls too, which was surprising. The Assembly of Crafts looked at Erin as she stormed up and she saw Ilvriss, Relc, Jelaqua, and Seborn all standing outside the door. Hawk was there too, sheepishly hiding behind a tall Gnoll.

“Hey! Are you jerks trying to steal my door?”

The important-looking Drakes and Gnolls stared blankly at Erin and then one of them, a Gnoll with a paunch and bright reddish-brown fur, spoke.

“We are considering impounding this magical artifact due to the potential security risk it poses as well as the economic advantages it confers. You are the [Innkeeper] and owner of this artifact, correct?”

“That’s right. I’m Erin Solstice. Who are you?”

The Gnoll blinked down at Erin. He was wearing an expensive vest and had a skullcap on his head—the first time Erin had seen a Gnoll wearing any kind of hat.

“I am Errif Jealwind, a [Merchant] and the current head of the Merchant’s Guild in Pallass. I am one of the Head Speakers for the Assembly of Crafts. We have reviewed the incident involving Wall Lord Ilvriss’s intrusion into this city and are debating what punitive measures may be taken.”

“Okay. And you think you can take my door, huh? Why? Because it’s a threat?”

The Gnoll blinked as Erin glared at him. She wasn’t impressed by his titles. He nodded.

“And because it can open up trade between any city we want. Imagine the possibilities!”

“But it’s my door.”

This fact didn’t seem to impress Errif. He flicked a furry paw.

“We will of course, compensate you for the artifact. However, this is a matter of security. We cannot just have visitors entering the city magically. Wall Lord Ilvriss’ intrusion was highly illegal and his noble status does not render him immune to the laws. Once he is fined we will require his return to Liscor.”

“Wait, what? You’re making him go back to Liscor?”

Erin looked at Ilvriss. He was standing with both arms folded, practically smoldering with anger. The Wall Lord snapped at Errif.

“And it seems Pallass intends to make off with your artifact as well, Solstice. I underestimated how shameless a Walled City could become, but I should have expected nothing less from a city ruled by a democracy.”

Errif and the other Drakes and Gnolls didn’t appear bothered by the insult. He gestured, and Erin saw the [Guardsmen] surrounding Ilvriss, Jelaqua, Relc, and Seborn move a hair closer. The Gnoll didn’t quite smile as he stroked at the hair on his chin.

“Laws are meant to be enforced, Wall Lord Ilvriss. You broke our laws first, and so long as this door exists as a gateway outside our city, it is a threat to the security of Pallass. Thus, we are free to confiscate it. Your ejection is simply another matter of course. We are well within our liberties to deny you access.”

“I see. And here I thought Ilvriss was a jerk. But you guys are double jerks!”

Erin narrowed her eyes. Errif blinked as she took a step forwards. He seemed surprised that Erin was taking part in the conversation at all and glanced meaningfully at the Watch Captain.

“I think there is little need for more debate, Captain. Now that the owner of the, ah, door is here, we may inform her of the confiscation and arrange due compensation.”

“Hold up! Don’t I get a say?”

Erin protested. Errif ignored her.

“Escort the Wall Lord through the door. And the other intruders please. I trust the door has enough mana for the trip?”

A [Mage] Drake standing by the door raised his head and wiped sweat from his brow.

“We have charged it as far as we can, Senator Jealwind. We’re maintaining the connection with our mana reserves. It should be more than enough to send a group through, but I advise moderation.”

“Good. In that case—proceed.”

Errif motioned and Erin saw Ilvriss herded through the door with Jelaqua, Seborn, and Relc following after at spear point. She heard Relc complaining loudly.

“This always happens. Every time! I get arrested, I get kicked out. It’s not like I cause trouble each time, either! I—oh, hey Captain.”

“Now then. We will send a battalion through to secure the door and transport it back. It will take some time no doubt, but I am confident that once we have the artifact in our possession we will be able to open up new trade routes between Pallass and the north. Or perhaps between this city and another Walled City. The possibilities are endless, and I’m sure you’ll agree that it will be a powerful incentive when negotiating—”

Errif was animatedly talking with the other senators, ignoring Erin. She stared at him, thought about kicking his stupid wagging tail, and realized that was the stupidest thing she could do. The Watch Captain was apologetic but he would definitely arrest her again if she caused trouble.

They were going to march into Liscor and take her door! Just like that! Erin wondered if Zevara had agreed to this. Either way it didn’t matter. She couldn’t stop them. They would take the door and bring it back with him! Her magic door! And there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t fight and her door was wide open for all the big Drakes with swords to march through.

Wide open. Doorway. Erin stared at the door and then edged towards it. The Watch Captain immediately grabbed her arm, but she glared at him.

“I’m going back through the door, alright? Jeez! I thought you wanted to get rid of me!”

Errif turned. He saw Erin going to the door and nodded.

“Let the [Innkeeper] go, Captain. I am relieved that she is open to reason, unlike Wall Lord Ilvriss.”

A few of the Drakes around Errif laughed. One of them spoke up, playing with a pendant at her neck.

“I thought he might draw his sword on us. Wall Lords from Salazsar are so…temperamental.”

“Hotheaded. Quite unable to negotiate. It’s one thing to bargain from a position of strength, and yet another to stride into our city and begin making demands. Especially given that he was the one responsible for General Shivertail’s…”

Erin gritted her teeth as she walked through her doorway. She was back in her inn in a moment. She saw Zevara and a group of Liscor’s [Guardsmen] standing anxiously in front of the doorway. The Watch Captain looked upset, and Ilvriss did indeed look like he was considering going back through the doorway and stabbing Errif. Erin saw Lyonette wringing her hands anxiously.

“Erin, I’m so sorry—”

Erin cut her off with a hand. She stared back at Errif and raised her voice.

“Hey you! Mr. Gnoll! Yes, you, the fat, ugly one!”

The Senators of Pallass looked around. Errif’s jaw dropped in shock. Erin stepped back through the doorway.

“You may be a big shot in Pallass, but you can’t just take my door! It’s mine! And all your stupid stuff about security? That’s a lie, isn’t it? You just want my door because it’s cool. Well, you can’t have it.”

Errif stared at Erin for a second, and then turned back to his fellow senators and laughed lightly, dismissing Erin with a wave.

“Humans, they’re so…Watch Captain Venim, please deal with her, won’t you?”

The Watch Captain apprehensively raised his hand, but Erin wasn’t done. She pointed at Errif as she edged back into her inn.

“Not so fast, jerk! I’m not letting you have my door! And I’m going to make sure you guys can’t steal it!”

Errif’s brow furrowed.

“What is she talking about?”

Erin stepped forwards again, into Pallass.

“You think you’re so smart. Well, guess what? I can just change whether or not this door opens in Pallass. I’ll cut you off! How about them apples? Then there won’t be a security breach! So you can’t have my door!”

The Gnoll hesitated. One of the Drake senators, the female one, looked concerned.

“Can she do that? That would mean legally—”

Errif eyed Erin apprehensively. The young woman stared challengingly at him. He stared at the door set into the wall and spoke with forced confidence.

“The door is open. It’s a clear threat.”

“Oh yeah? Well, send your City Watch through this door and it’ll be a lot more threat. Anyone puts a claw through my door and I’ll hit them with a pan! And I bet Ilvriss will totally stab them! And I have a bunch of Goblins who’ll beat you up! And an Antinium guard!”

Erin backed up through the doorway, fists raised threateningly. The Assembly of Crafts stared and saw a black hand waving from the back of the crowd in Liscor.

“I believe that is me. Hello, Erin.”

“Antinium.”

Several of the Drakes paled and Errif backed up. He looked at the Watch Captain.

“Those are the Antinium of Liscor? Dead gods, I thought those Drakes were insane, but in an inn? Watch Captain, move your soldiers—”

“Not yet!”

Erin leapt through the doorway. Errif blinked at her, but Erin hopped back through to Liscor. She ran back through to Pallass again, feeling slightly stupid. But then there was a groan from the Drake [Mage] by the doorway.

“Senator Jealwind, the Human is draining the magic—”

“She’s what?”

Too late, Errif and the others realized what Erin was doing. Erin ran back into Liscor, hopped through into Pallass, hopped back into Liscor, hopped through to Pallass—she did three more side-hops and then leapt into Liscor as one of the Drakes grabbed for her. Erin panted.

“Wow, that’s a lot of mana. I didn’t know you could charge it up this much.”

“Keep the portal open! Watch Captain, send your men in now!”

Errif shouted as the [Guardsmen] barred the door. He strode forwards, as if he meant to go through himself. He got right up to the portal’s edge and then ducked. A chair sailed over his head and smacked two Pallassian senators in the faces. They cried out and Errif scrambled to his feet.

He rose just in time to see Erin grabbing another chair to throw, and then the portal winked out. Errif stared at the blank brick wall in shock and then looked around. There was a nasty silence in the alleyway except for Watch Captain Venim, who breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

—-

On the other side of the portal, Erin stared at the wall of her inn. She had never been more relieved to see blank wood in her life. She turned and smiled. The rest of the inn stared at her. Ilvriss, the Halfseekers, Bird, the Redfang Warriors, and Zevara, Relc and several [Guardsmen] of Liscor. Erin smiled, edged over to Lyonette and hugged Mrsha. Then she looked cheerfully around the room.

“Well, that’s that. Hey Ilvriss, those Pallass guys are jerks! Why don’t we undo the connection to Pallass and forget this all happened, okay?”

Everyone stared at her. Erin grinned sheepishly.

“No? Yes? We can always put it back later, right?”

It was Moore who broke the tableau. He carefully reached out and pried loose the colored mana stone that Typhenous and Pisces had attuned to the door. Four hundred miles south, the [Mages] in Pallass reported the link between the doors was broken. Errif and the other senators stormed off, their plans ruined. Ilvriss looked thoughtfully at Erin and smiled.

“That was quite cleverly done. For a Human.”

“Thanks! I guess you’re one of the cooler Wall Lords around too. At least, by comparison with those guys.”

She grinned back at him. For once they were in accord.

All was well. Pallass, the City of Inventions, could wait. Erin smiled as she began to talk excitedly about all that had happened with the others. She couldn’t help but feel as though she’d forgotten something, though. Something rather important…

—-

Hawk the Courier stared at the blank wall as the [Guardsmen] set up a cordon around the alleyway and the Assembly of Crafts dispersed. He wasn’t angry. He was just footsore, hungry, and a bit hurt. Just a bit. He looked at the blank wall and shook his head.

“Screw the Runner’s Guild regulations. I’m charging them triple for this.”

Then he turned away and glumly found somewhere to sleep for the night. He had a feeling the door between Liscor and Pallass would be staying closed, at least for today. The Rabbitman muttered to himself as his stomach growled. This was why he hated visiting the Walled Cities.

“Politics.”

5.02

Four days after the battle at Invrisil and the death of Zel Shivertail, the Goblin Lord’s army marched. Four days was enough time for the Goblins to finish looting the Human [Soldiers] who had died on the battlefield, to finish eating and for the wounded Goblins to begin healing—or to die.

There had not been enough potions for the Goblin Lord’s army, not nearly enough. However, those Hobs who had been gravely injured had lived thanks to the precious healing liquids, as had the Goblin Lord’s commanders. The injuries that the Goblin Lord himself had taken during his now-infamous duel against Zel Shivertail had been healed within minutes of his victory.

The Goblin Lord. Rumors spread faster than birds could fly of this new and extraordinarily powerful Goblin Lord. He had slain Zel Shivertail, defeated an army backed by Lady Magnolia Reinhart, and managed to destroy a pair of War Golems by himself. He was both [Necromancer] and Goblin Lord. And now he had a name.

Reiss. It was an odd name, a strange name. But then, few Goblins had names at all. Velan had been named in the style of Baleros, and others, such as Greydath and Tremborag, took their names from places they had grown up in, or been given those names for their infamy. Names were names.

But it was a sword that cut doubly deep in Reiss’ case, because his was a Drake name. Not a common one, and perhaps it could have been a Human name as well, but it was close enough to sting, especially in the wake of Zel Shivertail’s death. Some speculated that the Goblin Lord had chosen it to mock the Drakes, or perhaps in recognition of a worthy foe.

Magnolia Reinhart had no time to speculate. She stood on Invrisil’s ramparts four days after her retreat from the battlefield and stared at the approaching Goblin army through an enchanted spyglass. Next to her, the Watch Commander of Invrisil, the [Mayor], and several low-level [Lords] and [Ladies] shifted uneasily, but said nothing.

“It seems the Goblin Lord is coming after all. Watch Captain, hold back your soldiers until he begins attacking the city. I fear it will be a battle in the suburbs after all, unless you mean to cede a third of the city to his forces without issue?”

The Lady Reinhart’s voice was cold and crisp in the morning air. The Watch Captain made no response. His face was pale and green at the same time and he’d disappeared three times already to vomit. Magnolia eyed him and then turned her attention back to the Goblin Lord’s army.

She was in command of the defense of Invrisil, because there was no high-level commander ready or able to accept the burden and because she was the [Lady] of the land. Magnolia was no [General], but she had done all she could. Invrisil’s population had been evacuated behind the walls of the inner city and the army that Zel Shivertail had once led was stationed on the walls and in the suburbs, ready to repel the Goblin Lord’s army.

The army. Magnolia cast her gaze downwards, seeing the dispirited Human troops below her. Their morale was nearly shattered by their retreat from the Goblin Lord’s army. Zel Shivertail’s death had broken their will. But, ironically, there was still over two thirds of the army left intact. They had managed to withdraw quickly and the Goblin Lord’s army had not pursued them at all.

“Still, an army without a [General] is a body without a head. It will be ugly, Ressa.”

Behind Magnolia, the tall [Maid] nodded. She had her enchanted dagger in one hand and the [Mayor] of Invrisil kept glancing at it nervously. Magnolia sighed and refocused on the Goblin Lord’s army.

It would be close if it came to a battle in the city. The Humans had the lay of the land and the streets and buildings could restrict the Goblins. But buildings could be climbed and burned, and Invrisil was not a Drake city. It had been built with walls, but those walls only protected the innermost part of the city—the suburbs had long since grown up around Invrisil, and if the Goblins overran the Humans, it would be a quick siege.

So it would not come to that. Magnolia saw Gold and Silver-rank adventurers in the forces below her. Unlike the battle with the Goblin Lord’s army, adventurers were required by law to aid in the defense of a city against monsters. They could not refuse, and their contributions might well turn the tide of the battle, even if it meant their deaths.

Of course, adventurers were by and large not keen to fight dangerous battles for scant pay, and several groups had tried to slip out the gates in secret in the days prior. They had been caught by the guards and turned back two nights in a row until Magnolia Reinhart issued a public promise. She would personally see to it that any adventurer that fled Invrisil would be found and punished.

She did not specify what that punishment would be, or if it would be survivable. Or short. The adventurers, after a night of debate, stayed put.

So they were ready. Magnolia waited on the walls, her heart pounding. She felt little fear in this moment though; it was almost all fury. The city leaders drew back from her slightly as the cold air heated up around Lady Magnolia. Steam rose around the Lady Reinhart, until it began to obscure her spyglass. She wiped the lens with a cloth, muttering, and then snapped her gaze back at the army.

“They’ve stopped.”

—-

The Goblin Lord’s army paused before Invrisil. Reiss the Goblin Lord looked out across the vast city, seeing places where Humans in armor had been stationed. He could see the guards on the walls, and also spot the single Human in a pink dress at a distance. He could feel her ire, like a physical thing.

Reiss shifted. He was sitting on a smaller Shield Spider, his former mount having been slain by Zel. His Goblins looked up at him, watching his every move. Waiting. Humans and Goblins held their breaths as Reiss considered Invrisil.

He looked around. The landscape was mud and wetness, and the snow was mostly gone. Winter had ended. And with it, the world was beginning to warm. It was a dark, dismal day. The Goblin Lord stared at the city again and then made up his mind.

He raised his hand. The world grew still for a second, and the Goblin Lord spoke one word.

“Left.”

He pointed, and the Goblins moved. The Humans stirred, but the Goblin Lord’s army marched left, past the city, around it, skirting the Humans as they scrambled to reposition without incident. The Goblin Lord marched past Invrisil, towards a mountain in the distance, deeper into the Human lands. His army left Invrisil in peace.

It was said later that the Goblins were too wary of Invrisil, that they had been too badly damaged by Zel Shivertail’s army. The Drakes laid the credit at their fallen hero’s feet, the Humans declared it was their unflinching resilience in the face of the enemy. But all agreed that the Goblin Lord would have attacked if his army had not been so battered by the recent conflicts.

Goblins were, after all, savage monsters who preyed on anyone they could. They couldn’t think and they had no sense of honor or mercy.

Or so it was said.

—-

In Izril, war was a mixture of politics and self-interest, a product of countless factions and individuals plotting against each other. In Chandrar, those who served in military positions knew better. War was war. You killed your opponent and left them to the sands, and sold off prisoners as slaves. It was simple in that regard.

Unless you had bad orders. Or a bad commander. For Brigadier General Khal of the Empire of Sands, he was experiencing both unfortunate events at the same time. His force of eight thousand men had been sent across the border of the great desert to hunt down an enemy force that had been harassing the empire for the last few months. A force that had eluded pursuit, destroyed small villages and towns, looted, instilled havoc among the empire’s citizens…and routed six other armies sent against them.

The Garuda. It was a tribe of flying bird-people native to Chandrar that was doing the raiding, but that wasn’t what had Khal’s stomach in knots. He’d fought the Garuda before, learned how to combat their kind in the innumerable tribal conflicts that arose as the bird-people migrated and sometimes raided civilized nations. No, what made him afraid was this particular tribe that was led by one famous member of their species.

Takhatres, Lord of the Skies. One of the King of Destruction’s vassals and a sworn enemy of the Empire of Sands, which had declared war with Flos Reimarch not four months ago. His name would make men greater than Khal tremble. And yet here he was, leading an army of eight thousand against Takhatres’ tribe.

It would be a mistake to attempt this even if he outnumbered the Lord of the Skies’ forces with his own. But no matter how many times Khal explained this to his superior he was ignored. But then, his superior was young.

And noble. The Emir Riefel sat astride his camel with obvious experience, but his skin was lighter than Khal’s, not having been tanned by months outdoors. He had a flashy magic scimitar at his belt that the Brigadier General doubted he knew how to use and he wore light cloth, not armor. It was infinitely more preferable in the heat, but not if you were about to go into battle.

And he was an emir, a rich lord of the Empire of Sands. His family had enough influence to appoint him as the head of an army and so he had organized this latest force to fight the Garuda. And it seemed that Brigadier General Khal was the sacrifice being sent to die with him.

If, that was, Khal couldn’t get him to turn around. The man urged his mount closer to the head of the line, bowing his head as he approached Riefel’s guard. There were but five of them and they weren’t so much guards as the man’s drinking buddies. Riefel had a flask in his hand that Khal strongly suspected contained not water but wine, and he waved at Khal as the armored man approached.

“General Khal! Given up your naysaying to ride with us? It is a fine morning for it—if the sun does not scorch my skin off, this plodding camel will grind my family’s heirlooms to dust!”

“What, you haven’t sold them already, Riefel?”

Another man on horseback joked. Riefel laughed and drank from his flask.

“There’s not a [Merchant] with enough coin to buy them in the world! Kfaw! There’s no shade here at all! I’d sooner be at an oasis than riding. Do you think we’ll find the twice-cursed Garuda this morning, Khal? I’d say they’re running scared of us!”

He laughed and drank again. Khal lowered his head as he drew up beside Riefel.

“No sighting of the Garuda yet, highness. If we do see them, it will be when they are on top of us with no time for warnings. But I beg you once again to reconsider this attempt.”

“Agh! Once more, Khal? I am no weak woman to be swayed by hearing the same words over and over!”

Riefel grimaced. Khal bowed again in the saddle. The lordling was drunk! And while on campaign! Still, he went on with his plea, taking a different angle today than he had in the past.

“I do not mean to question your judgment highness, or the worthiness of this expedition. However, I fear your army and my humble self might let you down. We hunt Garuda, but we are few in number and ill-prepared for the task, though it pains me to say it. Sir, with due respect, I am a [Sand Brigadier].”

“Yes, and?”

Riefel’s blank look was as insulting as it was embarrassing. Any proper commander worth his salt would know what that meant! Khal ground his teeth together. But he kept his voice level and as placating as possible as he replied.

“I am specialized in sand combat. Close, infantry fighting, highness. I can hide my armies in the dunes, fight in sandstorms if need be—but my Skills are not specialized towards fighting aerial foes.”

The arrogant young emir cast his head from left to right, taking in the dry, cracked ground and sparse vegetation.

“There seems to be enough sand for you, General Khal. So what if you haven’t the experience to fight the Garuda? I specifically brought along twice as many archers as infantry for that reason.”

“Yes sir. And I advised against it. The Garuda cannot simply be shot from the skies like hunting fowl. They will sweep through our formations after the first volley and cut our archers to bits!”

“Hah! Those birds? They have wings General Khal, and precious little armor! What could they do against warriors wearing steel?”

More than you could imagine, you sun-blasted fool. Khal bit back his retort. A sharp tongue against a superior could see his head removed. Or worse. Why did Riefel have to be a Human?

Khal was Human. A majority of Chandrar was Human, as befitted a race that had spread to all five continents in the world. But in the Empire of Sands another species held predominance. And while their appearance was like Humans, they were far better desert fighters than most Humans. One of them would never make this mistake fighting the Garuda; they would know all too well the danger. But Riefel just laughed again, drunk on youth and alcohol.

“You worry too much, Khal. We shall see the Garuda, vanquish them, and be celebrating with a comely woman in bed by the end of the week!”

He tossed his head, laughing at one of his female companions who made a rude gesture beneath her sand veil. As he did, he tilted his head up just a fraction too high and something caught Khal’s eye. A tiny flesh-colored line of stitching around the base of his neck, covered by the scarf that Riefel wore to protect his face when the sand was blowing.

Stitches? Riefel noticed Khal’s gaze and tilted his head the other way inquisitively. The faint line around his neck was gone so fast that Khal thought he had imagined it. The Brigadier General jerked his gaze away and laughed politely in response to a question. But his mind was whirling. Stitches? But that would mean—

“Garuda! Garuda in the skies to the west!”

Someone screamed. At the same time the horns blew, a wailing siren that echoed across the flat arid ground. Khal cursed and turned, his heart plummeting in his chest. It was too late now. Too late.

“They’re in the skies! The sun devils are coming!”

A panicked voice rose from Khal’s left, and then a scream. The [Brigadier General] looked up and saw a shape. He wrenched his camel left, but the beast fought him. Khal didn’t try to fight—he dove from his saddle in the nick of time. He heard a thump, a gristly impact on flesh, the dull crack of bones and the camel’s death scream. When he rose he saw the camel was lying on the ground.

Its back was caved in, the animal’s bones and flesh torn and ripped from a terrific impact. Khal saw the culprit lying on the ground a few feet away. It was a stone.

Just a stone. Jagged, covered in blood. It couldn’t have been more than ten pounds in weight. But it had been dropped hundreds of feet from overhead. Khal heard more impacts and shouted.

“Spread out! Archers, target the fliers! Everyone else prepare for combat! [Quick Arrows]! Loose, loose damn your hides!”

He heard his army scrambling to react. Khal could see flying shapes above him but knew not to look up. The Garuda were attacking with the sun at their backs, dropping stones on the army, flying out of the skies. But this wasn’t their real attack, not yet. The archers around him began to loose arrows upwards and Khal saw two Garuda fall to the ground with sickening thuds, struck by the quarrels. The rest dispersed as his forces began to counterattack.

“What—what happened?”

A quavering voice spoke behind him. Khal saw Riefel getting to his feet, his face white and pale. Miracle of miracles or perhaps, curse of curses, he and his five companions had survived the Garuda’s rock dropping. Khal grunted at him.

“Garuda. They have found us, highness. I would advise you to armor yourself, but it is too late now. They are coming.”

“But those impacts—one took my mount. How—? Rocks?”

Riefel looked confused. Khal turned, shouting.

“Form into a box! Infantry in front, archers, prepare to loose! Box formation! Protect his highness Riefel! The Garuda are going to charge!”

He turned, his sword already up. Khal was scanning the flat horizon, looking for what must come next. The Garuda fought like this, attacking and retreating, but this tribe was known for launching terrible assaults with their leader. Where was he?

“I see. So it’s to be a fight is it? Well then, the Garuda will taste my steel!”

Riefel unsheathed his sword and took an awkward stance and his five companions did likewise. Khal spared only a grimace for them. Two women and four men, and they looked like they had never killed another person before. They spread out in the center of the box Khal’s army had created, looking around warily. And then Khal saw it.

“There!”

He roared and all heads turned. Khal had spotted a flash of blue and green, speeding across the ground. It moved unbelievably fast, leaving a trail of dust behind it. Khal’s blood ran cold, though the sun was scorching. A soldier next to him whispered.

“The Lord of the Skies.”

“Takhatres. One of the King’s Seven.”

He was coming. The Garuda raced across the ground towards Khal’s army, and at the same time as he approached Khal heard a cry.

“To our rear! More Garuda!”

He turned and saw hundreds, thousands of flying shapes approaching through the sky. They were spread out at any angle and flying in—but slower than Takahatres. He called out as the soldiers wavered.

“Do not move position! The east flank will prepare to fire! Prepare! The west will fire when the Garuda are in range!”

“It’s just one Garuda. What can he do?”

Riefel’s voice was too loud in the silence as the soldiers turned their attention to their respective fronts. Khal’s hand was slippery on his sword’s hilt. He waited as the blur approached, trying to gauge the timing. As if it mattered.

“The eastern flank will loose!”

Thousands of bows hummed as arrows left the string. The air was filled with a rain of black death that shot towards the Garuda. Khal saw the lone figure turn and run left. The first volley missed him easily as he sped away from them. The second missed too.

“So fast!”

Someone groaned. Khal was silent. He hadn’t expected to hit Takhatres, but seeing the speed the Garuda possessed was terrifying in itself. He raised a hand and roared an order as the archers fumbled with a third volley. They wouldn’t have time to fire, he knew.

“Brace yourselves! The fastest warrior on the continent is about to attack!”

The blue and green blur was nearly upon them. Now a shape was visible—a Garuda, wings outstretched, running towards them. His face was a bird’s with a large beak, and his wings were that of a bird’s too, ending with talon-like hands. Yet he stood as a man, and ran like one. He did not fly. He could not fly.

And he was fast! One second he was running, then he was here! The front row of swordsmen cut at him—too slow. The Lord of the Skies turned and ran down the line of warriors, ducking, cutting, a blur, and Khal heard the screams begin. He braced himself, hoping the Garuda would retreat or get tangled up by the press of bodies. He couldn’t fight so many even with his speed! Takhatres turned as the archers trained on him. He ran towards them as arrows flew and leapt.

Khal looked up and saw death land in the center of his formation. Takhatres was lightly armored. He wore cloth, over his body, padded, but nothing more. He had a dagger in each hand and he cut down a soldier with a bow as he landed. Khal’s heart raced, but it was slow compared to the Garuda. There was a moment, just a moment as the Garuda landed that he couldn’t touch the ground, that he was slow. In that moment Khal lunged.

“Lord of the Skies!”

He cut at the Garuda’s chest. Takhatres’ clawed feet touched the ground. Khal’s sword was a foot away from his chest, half a foot, three inches—then the Garuda disappeared. He took five steps back and ran around Khal’s sword, and it was he who cut at Khal as the man stumbled and tried to pull his sword back.

He had small blades in his feathered wings, and daggers on his claws! Khal tried to cut at Takhatres’ unprotected arms, but the Garuda blurred past him. The Brigadier General stumbled, feeling an impact on his side. He raised a hand and felt at the spot and yanked his hand away as something sliced his hand open.

“Blood?”

It was from his armor! His armor had cut him! The Garuda’s attack had cut straight through Khal’s steel armor, opening it into a dangerous gash. But the blades had gone further into Khal’s side. He stared into layers of white flesh, only now reddening with blood as it flowed from his body.

The [Sand Brigadier] stared at the bloodless cut for a second and cursed. He grabbed for a healing potion and smashed it over the wound before his body could realize it needed to bleed. Then he turned.

Takhatres was fighting in the center of Khal’s formations, slaughtering the archers while the infantry stood at the outside of the formation, helpless to fight back. And while they were thrown into confusion the rest of his tribe had attacked from the west! The bird people flew down, dropping stones, cutting at Khal’s soldiers from overhead, screeching and sowing fear among his warriors.

It was a disaster. Khal saw the Lord of the Skies cutting his men down like wheat. The Garuda was too fast to catch, too agile to stop! He danced around blades and arrows as if he were the one normal person in a world full of snails. He dashed into a group of soldiers and again and again his arms shot out, cutting here, slashing there, never stopping until he burst out of the group from the other side.

He left a trail of fallen soldiers behind him, bleeding from deep cuts on their bodies. Only a few of the wounds were fatal—the rest left soldiers wounded, demoralized, and in need of healing potions or medical aid.

“What a monster!”

A loud voice made Khal’s head turn. He saw Riefel turning to follow Takhatres, his blade held in his clumsy hands. He did not run as the Garuda rushed towards him. Instead the foolish young man cried out.

“I am here! Come bird man! I will cut your wings off!”

Did Khal see a smile cross Takhatres’ face just for a moment? Perhaps, because the Garuda turned and sped towards him. Riefel paused, surprised, as he realized his taunt had worked. It was a stupid expression to die with on his face. And then Takhatres was charging him—Khal wanted to turn away.

Riefel stared as the Garuda flashed towards him. Still looking dumbfounded, he changed his grip on his sword and slashed.

“[Flash Cut]!”

Khal gaped as the young man’s sword flashed through the air and he saw the blue blur that was Takhatres shift out of the way. The Garuda leapt back and Khal stared, dumbfounded.

[Flash Cut]? A Skill? Yes, Riefel had used it! And his form, his technique! That was no unseasoned nobleman’s cut, but an experienced warrior’s attack. Now Emir Riefel abandoned his awkward posture and stalked towards Takhatres on the balls of his feet, the scimitar held out from his body as he gripped the scabbard in his other hand. Riefel spoke in the sudden hush.

“Lord of the Skies. The Emperor of Sands desires your death.”

His voice was suddenly lower, and his tone calmer. The Garuda stared at him warily, mocking smile gone, and Khal saw five more shapes appear out of the chaos of wounded and fighting soldiers. Five men and women, the same indolent companions that Riefel had been drinking with moved forwards, fast and light on their feet, their weapons held at the ready. They did not wait but attacked at the same time.

A pair of daggers here, a scimitar lashing out here! A pike, tip coated green, and a thrown dagger! The five warriors were a blur of blades as they attacked Takhatres from either side. They charged him as the Garuda blurred. And they missed.

Khal didn’t see the Garuda move. He didn’t see Takhatres weave through the storm of death, parrying blades and dodging the rest. He only saw the end of it, the Garuda moving away, leaping out from the formation, racing across the sands as [Archers] futilely fired at where he had been. Khal saw the six warriors standing where Takhatres had been moments ago, weapons lowered.

One of the six assassins dropped to her knees and Khal saw her clutching at her throat where blood was already spilling to the ground. Emir Riefel grimaced, and Khal saw he’d been cut along the side of his neck. An inch to the left and it would have severed an artery. He ignored it and turned to Khal, his expression suddenly rueful.

“Ah. It seems we are too slow. Humiliating, is it not? All this preparation and waste.”

He indicated the battle, where the Garuda were pulling back, having cut Khal’s western flanks to ribbons. The [Brigadier General] could only stare. He pointed at Riefel, at the man’s bare neck. His scarf had come loose and now Khal could see it.

A faint ring of stitches colored like flesh around his neck. The Stitch-Man bowed to Khal, confirming the man’s suspicions. He spoke casually, his eyes on the Garuda as they retreated, winging into the skies and flying in a huge formation around the skies, like vultures.

“General, sound the retreat. Our assassination attempt has failed. We will hold our ground with some of your men and buy time for the rest of your people to retreat. I doubt the Lord of the Skies will follow for fear of a second attempt on his life.”

“Emir Riefel—you are not coming?”

Khal saw the fake emir grin at him and press one hand to the blood dripping from his neck. By his side the female assassin had bled out. He bowed to Khal once more as a distant shape began running towards the army.

“Tell the Emperor of Sands that Takhatres cannot be slain by any number of [Assassins] of my caliber. Also, tender his Majesty my sincerest apologies that I cannot report in person.”

His Majesty. He had sent the assassins? Khal hesitated, countless questions in his mind. But there was no time. Riefel’s voice was harsh as he turned, scimitar in hand.

“Go. He is coming back.”

Khal turned and shouted the retreat. Horns blared and he fled, finding another camel and riding it as he heard Riefel make his last stand. He heard the Garuda descending, felt one descend behind him and cut it down with his sword. He fled with his shattered army, completely defeated as the Garuda landed to loot their prey.

Defeat. Khal’s heart was filled with fear as he remembered the Lord of the Skies, imagined the Garuda coming after him. He was a nightmare given flesh. And he served the King of Destruction? Khal’s nightmares would be filled with the image of the Garuda. And yet, he dreaded telling the Emperor of Sands the dire news even more.

—-

“Dead?”

The voice was loud in the silent room. Too loud for such a spacious chamber, for it echoed. It was masculine, imperious, the voice of youth, but also tinged with a command beyond the speaker’s years. And it was filled with wrath.

“Dead, your Majesty. All, as well as the bulk of my army. The Garuda cut many of us down as we retreated.”

Khal’s voice quavered in the audience hall. He knelt on the cold, cool stone, usually a comfort and respite from the heat of the desert sun. Now he sweated despite the chill and saw a bead of sweat splash onto the black marble beneath him. He prayed the Emperor of Sands would not notice.

“Raise your head. Did Riefel say anything to you before his death, Brigadier General Khal?”

Slowly, Khal looked up. He saw a young man, sitting on a silver throne. His posture was poor, one leg idly hanging over the arm of his throne. He was a young man in the prime of his existence, almost unable to sit still with the burning energy within him. Though his clothes were royal he disdained much of the garments of his station, preferring the light and easy to wear cloth that allowed free movement. And he was angry.

It was in his eyes. They flashed emerald as the Emperor of Sands leaned forwards on his throne. His voice was rough with impatience. Khal could see the stitch-marks around his fingers as the Emperor of Sands made a fist.

“Speak, man. Did Riefel say why the assassination failed? Or did you see it yourself? Did he have time to attack Takhatres or not?”

“He said—he told me, your Majesty—”

Khal licked his lips, trying to recall the exact words. His throat was parched from days and nights of ceaseless riding to return to the capital. The Emperor of Sands saw the movement and motioned impatiently.

“Get him some water or wine! And speak!”

A veiled attendant instantly approached. Whether the servant was man or woman Khal didn’t see—he gratefully accepted a cup and drank a mouthful, feeling it wash down his throat.

“Pardons, Majesty. Emir Riefel said this to me in the moments before his death. ‘The Lord of the Skies cannot be slain by any number of [Assassins] of my caliber.’ He also wished to give his Majesty his apologies that he could not report this in person.”

Khal bowed his head, the cup trembling in his grasp. He heard a faint grunt, dared to look up, and saw the Emperor splayed across his throne. His face was thunderous, bitter.

“So. That is what Riefel believed?”

He eyed Khal but did not give the man the order to speak. The Emperor of Sands shifted position and then stood up. He paced across the dais of his throne and Khal dared to peek around the grand throne room.

This was the audience hall of the Emperor of Sands. One of the lesser audience halls, a more private setting where his court was not expected to gather. Veiled attendants stood around the room, silent, dressed in dark fabrics, but besides them and the shadows that Khal had spotted behind the throne—and on the ceiling—he was alone.

With the Emperor of Sands. The ruler in charge of the largest nation in Chandrar, a monarch who had built his empire in the years after the King of Destruction’s fall. His armies were legion and his reach stretched across much of Chandrar. Though his armies had yet to conquer the great desert that separated east from west, he was poised to sweep across the south and Khal was but one small officer in his armies. He could have Khal beheaded in a second and for that and the rumors Khal had heard of the Emperor, he trembled.

However, the Emperor seemed to have lost all interest in Khal. He paced back and forth on the dais, brushing back his short hair, muttering to himself. His voice was loud in the throne room, too loud, as if the Emperor was used to addressing crowds of thousands and had forgotten what silence was like.

“So my [Assassins] fail. And Riefel was a good one, if not the most capable. None of his caliber would succeed? Does that mean an army would fail to catch the Garuda? Agh! Of all of the King of Destruction’s vassals, why was that the one sent to harry me? How did they cross the desert so quickly? The Garuda are quick, but this mighty in battle? I did not credit it. Now they are destroying villages and looting. Must I recall my armies, chase them down? Must I?”

Khal dared not move as his Emperor paced back and forth. He saw a drop of sweat drip into his cup of wine. Then the Emperor spun.

“Fine then! If the bird flies and screams defiance, let it be so! Send forth my armies! Recall the fourth legion and the fifth! And the eighth! Make war on the Garuda, hunt them down and crush them to dust! While my empire stands no bandit or raider shall know peace! If it is war the Lord of the Skies wants, it will be war and war unrelenting he shall have!”

His eyes blazed, and Khal felt his heart leap as the Emperor of Sands strode down the dais. He seemed ready to go to war at once—until a voice interrupted him from above.

“The Garuda cannot be chased, Emperor. They are like sand flies, disappearing into the desert with every chance footstep and breeze. To hunt them down requires more than just numbers and brute force.”

Khal jumped. He had thought they were alone! He stared up, forgetting himself, but saw no ledges, no place where a person might stand in the audience hall. Yet—someone had spoken. The Emperor of Sands halted and scowled upwards.

“What then? Am I to let this provocation by the King of Destruction go unchecked?”

“No.”

The voice came from above—yet from a different place. Khal craned his head to see before remembering and lowering it. There was no one up there! They had to be speaking from the walls! Through the walls? He shivered as the disembodied voice continued.

“You are hasty where you should consider. The Garuda are a pest, nipping, hoping to provoke. Tread slowly, deliberate. Rush in and you will jeopardize your plans elsewhere, give the King of Destruction and your enemies time to prepare themselves.”

The Emperor of Sands lowered his head, his youthful features frowning, contemplating the words. When he raised his head it was with resignation.

“Perhaps you are right. I am…impatient. Angry. Things move too slowly! I should not have slain the Architect, provoked Flos so soon. But I am tired of waiting! I am—”

He raised his voice, frustrated, and then paused. Slowly, the Emperor of Sands lowered his hands.

“So then. I require a different perspective. It has been too long.”

“Yes.”

“Too long. Too set in your ways.”

“War is not the only tool of empire.”

Voices from overhead. Khal shuddered and the Emperor of Sands closed his eyes. He gestured.

“Let it be so. To me, my attendants. Open the second box. Let it be done now. Khal, you will wait. I suspect I shall have words for you shortly.”

Khal, frozen, confused, stared up at the Emperor of Sands as he walked slowly back to his throne. The veiled servants rushed around him, holding sheets up, creating a wall of cloth between him and his Emperor. Khal saw a male attendant move forwards with a pair of scissors, saw the Emperor of Sands bare his neck. There were black stitches around his neck, like the ones that Riefel had had, but more noticeable. The scissors opened. Khal’s heart raced. He couldn’t be—

Snip. The scissors cut through the stiches around the Emperor of Sands’ neck. His head came loose, the body crumpled. Khal uttered an oath and nearly rose, but his was the only exclamation in the room. The attendants covered the Emperor of Sands’s body with a cloth and spirited it away. More surrounded the head. And the scissors snipped again.

Hair came loose. The Emperor of Sands stared ahead, his head now bald. His eyes stared down at Khal and the Brigadier General was transfixed with awe and horror. And shame. He saw the Emperor of Sands, his head removed from its body, an attendant threading a needle with black string as a second covered body was rushed towards the throne. Yet in that moment before he had a new body the head stared at Khal. He was not the young brash man he had been before. Nor was that face that of a man.

His face was—neither male nor female in that moment, but something that contained elements of both sexes. Or perhaps it was a gender unto itself? The [General] looked away and saw the attendants move forwards, holding bundles wrapped in cloth. He heard rustling for a minute, and then dared look again.

A woman sat on the throne. She was bald, but her hair was already being carefully stitched to her head. Her body was tall, elegant. Each limb looked as though it had been made of flesh far superior to the crude and dirty skin that Khal wore. The Empress was sculpted, perfect in every line. And very naked.

Khal jerked his eyes away, his face flushing with heat. But his eyes strayed back towards the woman sitting on the throne. No command could have stopped him from looking twice. And the veiled attendants made no attempt to block his view. They moved around the woman, clothing her, stitching closed the gap between neck and head. And when they moved back the Emperor of Sands rose. Only it was not he, but she who looked down and touched at the stitches around her neck, on the joints of her fingers and her arms, flexing them. Then she smiled and her voice was low and soft.

“A new perspective. A new line of thought. Khal, stand.”

He did, fighting arousal and shame and fear at the same time. The Emperor of Sands descended her throne. Was it the Empress of Sands now? No—she was still the Emperor. She had always been the Emperor. But now she was different.

The Emperor of Sands in her feminine aspect gazed down at General Khal. Her eyes were as brilliant as sapphires gleaming in the night sand. Just as cold, too. She raised a hand as she descended the dais. Khal stared at it as she stopped in front of him. The Emperor of Sands raised her eyebrows.

“Will you not give your Emperor your assistance, Brigadier General Khal?”

He realized she was waiting for him to offer her his arm. Flushing, Khal did so. The Emperor of Sands took his arm gently and smiled at him. It was a bewitching smile, deep with experience and meaning. Khal turned bright red and stammered.

“Where to, your Majesty?”

“Outside. A chariot will take us through the city. I have it in mind to visit the northeastern section of the capital. Water runs low there and I must attend in person to see the issue rectified. You will accompany me.”

Khal lowered his head and both he and the Emperor walked towards the doors of the audience chamber. They swung open and they left the palace. Perhaps a chariot had not been there before the Emperor had spoken, but since she had spoken it was there and ready to go by the time they left the palace.

“Go.”

The Emperor spoke one word and the chariot driver took off. Khal stood next to her, uneasy, and yet with no desire to be anywhere else in the world. He couldn’t stop staring at her. The Emperor noticed his gaze and smiled. She touched around the black stitches of her neck.

“Surprised, Khal? Surely you knew your Emperor wore many faces.”

“I had heard rumors your Majesty, but—words do not do it justice.”

Khal wrenched his gaze away from the Emperor’s face, remembering etiquette too late. He heard a light laugh.

“So Humans always say. But you have lived in the Empire of Sands and on Chandrar all your life. Surely you know my people now.”

She waved across her city as her chariot sped down the streets. Khal looked out and saw faces rushing by, people turning. There was only one chariot for whom the roads were cleared and they began shouting, cheering on their ruler as she passed. Khal saw Human faces, the faces of a few Garuda in the crowd, some other species, but mainly dark-skinned people. They looked like Humans, but they were not.

“Only partly, your Majesty. We are alike in appearance, but in nature—”

“Ah, in nature we are different. That is true. I cannot fathom what it is like to be Human, to never change your form. If your bones shatter you must heal slowly. If you lose an arm it is gone for good. Whereas I can but unravel the strings of my arm and attach a new one.”

She touched at the black stitches around the joints of her right arm. Khal stared at it, stared at the way the slightest sheen of sweat coated her skin, glistening—he turned his head, shuddering. The people were waving, cheering her—and him. Khal was no [General] in command of one of the Empire of Sand’s legions, but they cheered him nonetheless. Human faces, other species, and those faces that were Human but for the stiches that held their bodies together.

The String People. They who create themselves. This was their continent, and this was one of their greatest empires. The Empire of Sands, whose people were born of cloth, who could replace limbs, eyes, and yes, apparently even bodies at will. Khal had never heard of any Stitch-Person doing so before, but the Emperor of Sands was an exception.

“Yes, my people change. Quicker than any other species, like thought. One day my body may be made of cotton, the next, hemp or other fabrics. For war we change ourselves. For pleasure too. Utility. You see Khal, each body I have grants me different perspective. Male and female, warlike and peaceful. This body was made of silk. You see?”

She raised a hand as the sun lowered. Khal saw her skin, practically luminescent in the sun’s rays. Elegant. Silk. He remembered touching her arm and shuddered again.

“Your Majesty, I throw myself on your mercy. I failed to keep your servants safe and the Garuda—”

“That was not your fault, General. I sent you to do battle against them in ignorance, unprepared, thinking you were the subject of foolish orders to lay a trap. That trap failed. So it falls to me to decide what must come next. But I do not blame you for fulfilling your orders.”

Her voice was soft, lilting. It drew him in—Khal shifted, hoping his arousal was not being made clear. He thought the Emperor knew and grew more embarrassed as she laughed again. She looked free and calm in the breeze, waving to her people, hearing their adoration and returning it with a smile. You could love an Emperor like this with all your heart, just as you could follow the young man she had been into battle in an instant.

The capital of the Empire of Sands was vast, but eventually the chariot did slow. The Empress descended, Khal once again holding her arm. She even smelled different. Khal tried not to breathe as they walked down the street.

“Here.”

The Emperor of Sands stopped and pointed to a spot on the ground. He saw veiled attendants and soldiers rush forwards. The Emperor tilted her head and nodded.

This area of the capital city was far from any wells. As such, it had failed to grow at the same pace as the rest, as people struggled to make the commute of miles for their daily water. The Emperor of Sands spoke to the small crowd of people who flocked around her, drawn by her presence, held back by her guards.

“This spot shall be dug and water will fill the ground two days hence. An oasis shall begin here, and water pure enough to drink from will flow forth without fail. On the eve of the second day, return and break ground. This is my proclamation to you all.”

Her words were greeted with cheers. Khal stared at the Emperor of Sands, but he did not doubt her for a second. She was the ruler of the Empire of Sands, a empire set in one of the driest parts of the world. But she had managed to make her people flourish despite that thanks to her Skill.

[Sanctuary of the Desert]. An empire-wide skill that allowed her to draw from deep aquifers and springs, literally drawing water into dry soil and bringing life to the merciless desert. The Emperor of Sands smiled, waving as her people cheered her and blessed her for the water. Then she turned to Khal.

“Sometimes I forget myself, General. There is more to an [Emperor]’s duties than war. And yet, it is war that Chandrar thrives on, is it not?”

“So it seems, your Majesty.”

Khal ducked his head. The Emperor of Sands smiled.

“And so empire rises and turns to dust, on the weight of the battlefield. Blood is worth less than water here, and so I must be warrior as well as ruler. But perhaps I can be wiser than my younger male self. A good [Emperor] acts, but a better one listens to her subordinates.”

“Emperor?”

Khal stared at her. The Emperor was looking at him, right at him. She moved closer and whispered in his ears.

“Come to my chambers tonight, General. We shall discuss what your thoughts on the King of Destruction are then. I would hear your insights and—counsel.”

She moved away from him, stepping back to her chariot. Dumbfounded, Khal saw her step up, wave to the cheering crowd, and then depart. Only after she’d left and was no longer in sight did he realize she’d left him there.

As the crowd dispersed, talking eagerly about the new oasis, Khal stumbled back in the direction of his lodgings. His mind was whirling. Tonight? She wanted his input? But she had [Strategists], [Generals] of her own! Did she really think his encounter with Takhatres would give him any insights? Wait—how would he fight the Garuda? Well, if he had the Empire’s resources he might—

My chambers. Tonight. Khal turned beet red and a passing Stitch-Woman eyed him with interest and amusement. He was overthinking things. Wasn’t he? Only, the Emperor of Sands’ conquests in bed as well as in war were legendary. But that had been him, not her. Or were the rumors mixed up?

The Emperor of Sands. Ever-changing, ever shifting like the dunes she reigned over. At once sexual, commanding, frightening—as General Khal thought about tonight, he wondered if she would have changed back into one of her male aspects then, or whether she would remain as she was. He wondered which would be worse. Then he wondered if it made a difference.

Such was Chandrar. Such was the Empire of Sands and its strange ruler. Feared for her—his—their ambitions, yes, but hated and despised too. Not for their policies, or the way they made war and peace as their personalities changed, no. Simply for one reason. A petty one? An important one to some.

Yes, the Empire of Sands was hated. Because they were different. But as the Goblins might have observed if anyone thought to ask them, different did not mean evil. It just meant you were a target.

—-

So then. In Chandrar, war. In Izril, war. It seemed like the world was at war sometimes and the [Kings] and [Queens] and [Lords] and [Ladies] plotted endlessly against each other. And that wasn’t even counting [Emirs] and [Sultans] and [Emperors] of varying sexuality and [Quarasses] and [Sultanas]…

The point was that grand schemes were afoot. And while it might have been entertaining to return to the Emperor of Sands’ private bedchambers that night (and perhaps instructive), such grand schemes were a distant remove from the rest of the world. The schemes of empires moved slowly and impacted the world a bit at a time. Chandrar had its King of Destruction and the Emperor of Sands. They would clash in time.

But some things were more immediate. Some things were above politics. Literally above.

Erin heard a tap on the glass pane of her window as she was polishing a table. She peered at it and saw a streak of water running down the glass. She blinked, and heard another tap.

“Hey, I think it’s going to rain!”

“Really?”

Across the inn, Lyonette and Mrsha looked up. Mrsha was gnawing at a piece of hardtack Erin had cooked up this morning. She had done a good job; such a good job that the hardtack would probably last for years without her inn’s magical preservation field. It would also probably last that long despite or in spite of any attempts to eat it. Mrsha had been gnawing at it for the last fifteen minutes and her sharp teeth hadn’t made any real dent in it.

“Mrsha honey, stop trying to eat that. Erin made it with magic ingredients; you’ll just break your teeth trying to bite it.”

Lyonette absently spoke to Mrsha who rolled away from her with a growl, possessively gnawing the hardtack. The [Princess] gave up and walked over to Erin.

“I think you’re right. It’s going to rain.”

“Yup. Grey skies. I guess that mean’s winter’s over!”

Erin brightened up. There were still a few pockets of very melty snow, but that was only in the deepest valleys where the snow had really fallen. She was looking forwards to some rain and spring—the plains had turned to mud of late and she had stepped in deep puddles that turned out to go up to her thighs more than once.

“Do you think we’ll get a lot of rain? I’d hate to have to walk to Liscor like this. Or in the city, come to think of it.”

Lyonette looked up at the dark clouds a bit apprehensively. Erin shrugged.

“Eh, it’ll be fine. If it’s too wet tomorrow you can go to Celum if you need to shop. If you paid Octavia I bet she’d get you the stuff you wanted herself. And hey, look at it like this! If it rains we can just put some buckets outside! No need for water!”

“True. Speaking of Celum, have you heard anything about…the door?”

Lyonette looked at the door and Erin glanced at it. It was still set against the wall and still technically active. The only difference was that it wasn’t attuned to Pallass’ doorway. Pisces had worked a long time with Moore and Typhenous to figure out a way to make it so Erin could switch the door’s magical portal by tapping a mana stone against it. He’d been really, really upset to learn she’d cut the door off from Pallass, possibly for good.

“Nope. Not a peep. They can’t get in without me reactivating the connection anyways. And I hid it in a special place—far away from where Mrsha can get it.”

Erin smiled proudly. Lyonette nodded dubiously. She glanced at Erin.

“You never did tell me all about what happened in Pallass. Was it really that bad?”

“What, Pallass? Nah. It looked really cool, actually! It’s just…those jerks at the end were really something, weren’t they? Trying to take the magical door on trumped up charges—I’m glad I managed to cut the connection!”

Erin nodded to herself. Lyonette peered at her, choosing her words cautiously.

“So you don’t think there will be trouble? I mean, you did break the laws of the city. And didn’t you get hauled into the Watch Captain’s office? How’d you get out of that?”

“Oh, I talked my way out of it. Don’t worry, it’s cool.”

The [Innkeeper] waved a hand airily. She paused when she saw Mrsha’s head raise to stare at her and Lyonette’s flat look.

“What? Don’t you believe me?”

“Um…no.”

“Come on! I’m not stupid enough to cause trouble!”

“That’s not what Wall Lord Ilvriss said. He said—”

“That I acted like an idiot?”

Erin folded her arms, smiling slightly. Lyonette paused.

“Uh, well, he was a bit ruder than that. But yes. Erin, you can be a bit aimless. I just think that—”

Erin rolled her eyes.

“Lyonette, that was the point.”

“What?”

The [Barmaid] stared at Erin. The young woman grinned, spreading her arms out wide.

“Of course I acted like an idiot! We were in huge trouble and there I was, in another city getting yelled at by some very angry—and very heavy—Drakes! I bet you they would have thrown the book at me, but I pretended everything was Ilvriss’ idea and that I had no idea what was going on!”

Erin tapped the side of her nose knowingly.

“You see Lyonette, there’s one good way to make angry people less angry at you and that’s to pretend to be as stupid as they think you are. Like a dumb Human tourist.”

She grinned as Lyonette gaped at her. Then she pitched her voice higher and made her eyes widen innocently.

“Oh, I just happen to have a magical door, [Captain]! What’s that? It’s illegal? Well, no one told me. And hey, you can’t take my door!”

She grinned, abandoning the fake voice.

“And then, while they’re all laughing at you behind your back, you move your knight to F7 and wipe the smug looks off their faces! Hah!”

She punched her fist into her hand and smiled. Erin looked around the inn. Mrsha and Lyonette were staring at her.

“What? I do it all the time. You’re telling me you’ve never seen me acting stupid? Like I did with Ylawes the other day? No? I thought it was obvious!”

Erin looked from face to face. She frowned.

“Wait, don’t tell me you thought I was just being stupid. You don’t think I’m actually dumb enough to do all those things on purpose, right? Right?”

Lyonette avoided her gaze. Mrsha turned around and pretended to be interested in her hardtack. Erin covered her face.

“Aw. Really? Come on!”

“It’s a really good act, Erin. I had no idea.”

It was hard to meet Erin’s eyes, so Lyonette compromised by pretending to be interested in Mrsha’ hardtack. The innkeeper glared in mock outrage at both Lyonette and Mrsha.

“Everyone thinks I’m an idiot, is that it? Well in that case, I guess I’ll pretend to be even dumber!”

She struck a silly pose and waved around, giving Lyonette and Mrsha her most vacant expression. Mrsha started giggling and Lyonette managed to grab the saliva-covered hardtack out of her jaws at last. Erin began walking around, pointing at things and exclaiming.

“Look at me, I’m a stupid Human! I don’t know what things are! Is that a wall? Wow? And hey look, a table! I bet you could eat your dinner off that! Wow, walking is fun. Too bad I’m so dumb I can’t even walk straight. Dum dee dum dee dum—”

She stumbled across the room acting like a drunken zombie. Mrsha was rolling around on the ground laughing silently and Lyonette was grinning. Then the door opened.

Zevara strode through the doorway. Erin froze. The Watch Captain eyed her and sighed.

“Human, we need to talk.”

She stopped in place and eyed Erin as the girl froze with both arms waving. Mrsha sat up and Lyonette turned with the wet sticky mess in her hands. Zevara coughed.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Erin lowered her hands and sighed.

“Just fun. Come on in Watch Captain. Is this the part where you yell at me and call me a stupid Human?”

She ushered Zevara over to a table. The Watch Captain sat, looking serious.

“I’m not here to reprimand you, Miss Solstice. That incident with Pallass was a disaster, but Wall Lord Ilvriss instigated the mess and I can’t hold you responsible for the rest of it. With that said—”

“I know it was bad. I’m sorry.”

Zevara blinked. Erin sighed and she waved at Lyonette.

“Lyon—can you get us some drinks? When you’ve gotten rid of that stuff and washed your hands obviously. Mrsha, no, don’t chase after it. Just let it—I’ll get the drinks.”

She got up and disappeared behind her counter. Zevara blinked as Erin came back with a mug of ale for her and milk for herself.

“You don’t drink?”

“Eh, I have [Alcohol Immunity] or something like that. There’s no point and milk tastes better. Is this good? You want something stronger?”

Zevara peered into her mug and shook her head.

“This is fine…thank you. I’m ah, here today because of the incident in Pallass. Have you heard of the fallout from that encounter?”

“Let me guess. I’m in trouble for throwing a chair at the senators? Or…Hawk’s been arrested? Or is it worse than that?”

Erin looked glum. Zevara shook her head.

“None of that, actually. In fact, we’ve had several exchanges with Pallass. The Assembly of Crafts is not happy at all about what you did, but they’re prepared to let the matter rest…”

“…In exchange for the door.”

“Correct. They say they’d drop all charges and offer you compensation if you agree to sell it to them.”

The Watch Captain saw Erin groan and massage at her head. She coughed.

“I understand that you had reason to defend yourself, and I am on your side in this matter, Miss Solstice.”

“You are? Even though I tried to throw a chair at—”

Zevara nodded. She looked annoyed as she took a draft from her mug.

“I was negotiating with Pallass right up until you arrived. They were prepared to march their troops through the doorway and seize the door regardless of Liscor’s laws. And they told me—and Liscor’s council—that if we didn’t comply with their demands there would be consequences. They began making good on their promise this morning.”

“Wait, what? How?”

The Watch Captain took another drink from her mug.

“So long as the door is not returned to them, we will be subject to a trade embargo. No goods from our city will enter Pallass—which isn’t such a huge loss—but they will cease all exports to our city until their demands are met.”

Erin gulped.

“That sounds…bad. Is it?”

Zevara nodded grimly.

“Over half of the arms our City Watch uses are made in Pallass. Have you heard of Pallassian steel? You have?”

She blinked, shook her head and went on.

“Well, Pallass exports both weaponry and alchemical goods. We don’t have more than one or two low-level [Alchemists] in Liscor, and if they decide to cut off supplies we suffer. Not to mention, Pallass is on the trading route north to Liscor. They can easily create a trade blockade with their military.”

“Ah. And uh, this is all over the door.”

“The door which you own and which violated their laws once. But they’re claiming that since the doorway can be activated at any time it represents a current and pressing security risk, never mind that they could toss their side of the portal off their walls anytime they choose. It’s become a political matter I’m afraid.”

Zevara finished her mug and Erin went to get her another. She looked tired and frustrated, and Erin could understand the problem. She spread her hands on the table as she sat, thinking hard.

“Okay, so Pallass is making a fuss for no good reason. If they don’t get the door, Liscor suffers. Which isn’t fair.”

“No. You’re not a citizen of the city. They’re essentially telling us to take the door from you and give it to them. And they know they can threaten us because we need their supplies!”

Zevara ground her teeth together.

“Cold-tailed bastards. I always thought we had an amicable relationship with their city, but it turns out that they’re willing to cut us off in an instant for a single magical artifact.”

“To be fair, my door’s really cool.”

The Drake woman glared at Erin and the [Innkeeper] raised a hand.

“Sorry, but that’s sort of how it is, right?”

Zevara sighed.

“You’re not wrong. Moving anyone four hundred miles in an instant is magic on par with something Magnolia Reinhart might own, or, well, another Walled City. It’s a powerful artifact even if it does have limits. They want it and Liscor’s council might cave in rather than suffer a trade war. Our economy can’t handle it.”

Erin was silent for a moment. She could see what was coming. She looked at Zevara.

“So is this the part where you ask me to hand over the door before you have to take it?”

She thought she might give it to the Drake if it came to that. If it came to that—Erin’s heart ached. What could she do? Fight?  Let Pallass bully Liscor? Or could she give it away, maybe, get rid of it? But to her surprise the Watch Captain looked incredulous.

“Me? Give in to those thugs? You have my intentions all wrong, Solstice. I’m not here to comply with Pallass’ demands. I’m here to resolve the situation.”

She stood up. Erin stared at her for a second and then stood up too.

“Okay, you have my attention. What’s the plan?”

Zevara walked over to the magical door, the source of all the strife. She tapped it curiously.

“I need you to activate it and open the portal…magic teleportation…whatever, to Pallass. Not Celum.”

“To Pallass? But isn’t that the problem?”

The Watch Captain nodded.

“It is. But I’m only asking you to keep it open for a few seconds. Then someone will come through. You’ll have to let them back out, but if it’s only uh, active for a few moments no one should detect it.”

She waited, her eyes on Erin. The Human hesitated, but then she nodded.

“Okay, I can do that. For a few seconds. Lyonette! Take Mrsha upstairs!”

She went into her kitchen to grab the mana stone. She also carefully put two kitchen knives on the counter and made sure her frying pan was within easy reach. Alchemist’s potions over there…Bird was on the roof. Well then.

Erin walked back out, smiling innocently with mana stone in hand. Zevara stood well back of the door, her eyes on the stone. It was green and glowed in the light. It had been cut from an emerald—gemstones were the basis of mana stones, apparently.

“Do you need to cast a spell or do some sort of—”

Erin stuck the stone on the door. It latched onto place, as if held by a magnet. She turned to Zevara.

“There. All done.”

Zevara stared at the door. She stared at Erin. The young woman smiled.

“Well?”

Slowly, Zevara opened the door. Another wall appeared, the wall of a building in another city. Zevara stared into the alleyway of Pallass, and then looked to one side. Erin saw a shadow in the alleyway, heard a voice. She tensed.

“—hold your positions. I will be back shortly.”

Someone walked towards the door and into view. He hesitated in front of the portal and then stepped through as Zevara stood to one side. Erin stared in shock.

It was Watch Captain Venim! The Drake was wearing his bright yellow armor that made him look like a giant dandelion. Erin gaped for five whole seconds and then swatted at Apista before the Ashfire Bee could fly over. Zevara stood back as Watch Captain Venim stood in Erin’s inn, looking around and touching himself in bemusement. Then he turned to face her. The two Watch Captains sized each other up for a second, and then Venim lowered his head in a nod.

“Watch Captain.”

“Watch Captain.”

Zevara grasped Venim’s forearms with her gauntleted claws as he did the same to her. It looked like some kind of military greeting, and it seemed to break the ice in a second because the two relaxed and turned to Erin.

“Well then. If you could deactivate this door Miss Erin, we’ll get to it.”

He was carrying a small rucksack over one shoulder. As Erin pried loose the mana stone the Watch Captain set his burden on a table and began taking out pieces of parchment and a quill and ink from the rucksack. She stared at him and Zevara.

“Okay, someone explain this to me. Because I feel like an actual idiot right now. Why is he here?”

She pointed at Venim. Zevara coughed.

“Watch Captain Venim and I have been talking and we’ve come to an understanding, Erin. Or rather, the three Watch Captains of Pallass have all agreed that a trade war and the possibility of an actual war between Liscor and Pallass is unacceptable and we’re attempting to resolve the situation in everyone’s best interests.”

“You’re working together? But how? Does the Assembly of Crafts know about this? What about Liscor’s Council?”

Erin looked from Drake to Drake. Venim coughed as he spread the pieces of parchment out and organized them.

“We have our own means of communication between the cities. Watch Captains keep in touch, and we sometimes act in the best interests of our cities, even if that means bypassing the usual chain of command.”

“Whoa.”

“This is unusual, but the circumstances demand it. Neither Venim or I are here, and any rumors to the contrary will not be spread. We will deny ever meeting. Is that clear?”

Zevara fixed Erin with a steely gaze. The young woman raised her hands.

“Totally. I get it. No one’s here. Just me and Apista.”

She pointed at the bee, which flew away from her. Venim eyed the Ashfire Bee, opened his mouth, saw Zevara’s resigned shake of the head and didn’t ask. Erin looked at him, her head cocked to one side.

“Okay, war’s bad, but tell me something Watch Captain Venim. Why are you here if you care about your city? It seems like Pallass would win any kind of trade war or actual war with Liscor, am I right? Why would inconveniencing Liscor be a bad thing?”

He looked surprised at her question and peered at her. Erin returned his gaze steadily. The silly [Innkeeper] of yesterday was gone and she looked serious. Well, as serious as a young woman shooing away a giant bee every few seconds could be. Venim cleared his throat.

“Politics are one thing, Miss Erin. But military action—especially against a city as strategically important as Liscor—is another. A war between Liscor and Pallass is not in our people’s best interests, and as for the door, it could be more dangerous for Pallass to possess it than not.”

Erin frowned.

“I don’t follow.”

Venim nodded to Zevara.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss and his home city of Salazsar have made it quite clear that if Pallass takes this door, there will be a war. And I can’t help but suspect that more Drake cities and other Walled Cities might take Salazsar’s side in the conflict.”

Erin whistled as a few pieces fell into place.

“Ilvriss said that? And his city would go to war because he said so?”

The Watch Captain of Liscor nodded gravely.

“Pallass and Salazsar do not historically get along. The threat of a doorway that could teleport armies about would be serious enough.”

Venim nodded as well. He looked from Zevara to Erin.

“Watch Captains do not want conflict. That is why I’m here. To resolve this issue…quietly.”

He looked at Erin, serious, and she saw his claws were tight on the parchment. She looked at Zevara and Venim. Both of them were taking a risk by being here. Erin took a deep breath.

“Okay. Okay, how are we going to do this then?”

Both Watch Captains visibly relaxed in relief. Venim offered Erin a sheet of parchment with complex writing on it. Erin blinked at it and went slightly cross eyed at the tight writing. She had learned the Drake written language, but this was incomprehensible. She looked at Venim for an explanation.

“The easiest way to resolve the situation is to remove the Assembly of Crafts’ justification to confiscate your door. They claim it’s a security risk and an unsanctioned magical portal, which is highly illegal…and unique. There’s no real precedent for a magical portal being established and the crux of their argument stems from the teleportation spell. Pallass has a law against unauthorized teleportation into its city.”

Erin frowned.

“Yeah, that’s what you said. So why didn’t Hawk or Ilvriss know that when they entered the city? Well I guess Hawk doesn’t know all the laws, but Ilvriss should have known that! Doesn’t his Walled City have the same laws or do people teleport in and out of that place all the time?”

Venim shook his head.

“It is impossible to teleport into Salazsar. The city has more ward-stones and counter spells than I can count. I imagine that’s part of the reason why they are so alarmed at the idea of Pallass obtaining this doorway. Its magics would probably be countered by the anti-teleportation wards, but if not…”

Zevara rested her claws on the table, nodding to the doorway.

“I imagine Lord Ilvriss intended to conceal the portal’s existence and pretend he had slipped through one of the gates unnoticed. It might have worked too—if we hadn’t been on full alert after General Shivertail’s death, we might have missed it too. It’s not nearly as obvious as a traditional teleportation spell.”

“Okay. That makes sense. And that’s pretty smart of Ilvriss. So how does this thing fix everything?”

Erin waved the parchment at Venim. He smiled.

“Simple. Your doorway is an unauthorized artifact. However, it turns out that in your brief visit to Pallass you had the presence of mind to file all the paperwork needed to authorize your portal and inn as a legal residence in Pallass.”

“Wait, what?”

Erin stared at him. She stared at the parchment. She could pick out a few words from the top. Application…residence…no wait, that read residency…it was a housing permit! She looked back at Venim skeptically.

“You’re telling me that will solve everything? What if the paperwork gets denied?”

Zevara picked up a piece of parchment, studying it, and Venim shook his head.

“Unfortunately a few [Clerks] were processing requests this morning. They ‘accidentally’ signed everything without knowing the current situation. All I have to do is file this and you’re approved. Too late for the Assembly of Crafts to do anything about it.”

He indicated some signatures on the parchment. Zevara nodded as she handed the parchment to Erin.

“It’s not perfect, but it takes away the Assembly’s excuse for pressuring Liscor. Now you’re their problem and technically they’d be breaking the law themselves if they tried to confiscate your door. They might come up with more charges, but it’s an issue between you and them, and Watch Captain Venim assures me that he can talk the senators around given half the chance.”

The two Watch Captains looked at Erin. She studied the documents, a frown on her face. When she looked up it wasn’t with whole-hearted willingness.

“It sounds like I’m a convenient pawn in this situation. I’m the Human with the magic door—so that means Liscor doesn’t get pressured because I’m just a Human who doesn’t know what’s what, and Pallass focuses on me instead.”

Zevara fiddled with her claws and Venim coughed.

“We can’t avoid that. But it stops Liscor from entering the picture and I’ll do my best to convince the senators. Just the idea of trying to transport a magical artifact all the way on foot to Pallass without another force intercepting it is ludicrous. It’s a burden we don’t need and both our cities could benefit from having access to each other, not to mention Celum. I’m sorry Miss Erin, but this is the best we can come up with at the moment.”

Erin stared from face to face and then sighed.

“I get it. With great door teleportation must come great responsibility, huh?”

Zevara and Venim looked blank. Erin scowled.

“No one gets my jokes. I miss home.”

She reached for the quill.

“Okay, where do I sign? And why are there so many pieces of parchment?”

Venim smiled in relief. He stood up and began handing pieces of parchment to Erin as Zevara sat back in her chair.

“There’s no precedent for this, which is why you have these forms here—I’ve filled them out so you’re claiming your doorway as part of your inn. And your inn will be a place of business with a magical artifact that has both a presence in Pallass and outside of it—sign on both these leasing permits, please.”

“Okay. Here and here…whoops, the ink’s getting everywhere. Sorry about that.”

“No—problem.”

Venim snatched the parchment up and blew on it hurriedly before the ink could blotch some of the writing. He waited until Erin had signed all the pieces of paper and then gathered them up.

“I’ll process them the instant I return. Miss Solstice, you’ve done my city a favor, whether the Assembly of Crafts thinks so or not. We’ll work with your city—take it from me, politicians are one thing but Watch Captains support our own. You won’t regret this.”

Erin massaged her hand. That had been a lot of signatures for so few pieces of parchment. She got up, smiling at Zevara and Venim.

“Well, I did cause some of the mess. And I guess it’s worth it to have a doorway to Pallass, right? Your city is beautiful, Watch Captain Venim.”

He flushed with pride. Then the Watch Captain hesitated, and shifted.

“Unfortunately we have one last issue to resolve, Miss Solstice. I hate to ask it of you, but—”

“What?”

Venim looked embarrassed.

“There is a fee—twenty gold coins for both leases, not to mention a six gold coin fee for inspection of a premise containing both monsters and magical artifacts. I’d cover it if I could, but our annual salaries are…and neither Watch Captain Zevara nor I can afford to take it out of our city’s pockets. It will appear in the paperwork, you see.”

Watch Captain Zevara shuffled her feet and coughed. She looked the other way as Erin glanced at her, and Venim’s cheeks turned red.

“We can cover some of the costs ourselves, but we’ll have to account for the rest of the coin somewhere. If you need the coin we can cover it installments…”

Erin covered her face.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

5.03

A light rain pattered down on the roof of The Wandering Inn. Rain, after so many weeks of snow. It was a pleasant sound, and reminded Erin of her world. After all, rain was rain. Some things were the same.

More than a few things, actually. Erin was in another world. A world full of monsters and magic, terrors and wonders. And yet, somehow Erin still found herself filling out forms. It was reassuring and slightly depressing to know that bureaucracy didn’t change across species.

And paying fines. That seemed weirdly familiar too. Not that Erin caused trouble when she’d been back in her world. Okay, maybe she’d gotten a few lectures about setting up lemonade stands inside a school cafeteria, but this?

Twenty six gold coins. In truth, Erin paid only eighteen gold coins as both Watch Captains had added in four gold coins from their pockets, but that was still a lot. The coins disappeared into a pouch at Watch Captain Venim’s side as he stood up.

“Paperwork’s done. I have the coins and I’ll slip this into the approved files tonight. We should see progress tomorrow morning. Watch Captain Zevara, I’ll leave things to you over here. Miss Solstice, I’d expect to receive a [Message] spell by way of Liscor within the week—two or three days from now if I’m a judge.”

Watch Captain Venim headed for the door and Erin got up. She replaced the mana stone attuned to Pallass and the Drake paused before stepping through.

“Thank you again for doing this, Miss Solstice. I apologize for the inconvenience and the fees.”

“Eh. I caused you a lot of trouble so there’s no hard feelings. It’s got to be hard running a Walled City, right?”

She smiled wearily. It was late—going to Pallass and her adventures there felt like a lifetime ago. Venim nodded with a rueful expression on his face.

“You have no idea. And your inn isn’t even the worst of the problems I have to deal with if you’ll believe that. At least it seems well-defended. I can tell the Assembly of Crafts that having a Gold-rank team present most of the time will deter anyone taking the door, including our own forces.”

“Don’t forget the five Hobs in my basement.”

Erin grinned. Venim’s smile slipped and vanished. He stopped, one hand on the door handle.

“Scale rot, I forgot. The Goblins.”

He covered his face with his claws. Erin’s smile disappeared as Venim walked back to confer with Zevara. The sense of relief in the inn trembled under the weight of this new complication.

“There is no precedent for having monsters within Pallass, authorized or not. There are strict laws about allowing monsters to enter the city or keeping non-sentient ones as tamed animals, though. We could argue that the Goblins won’t enter the city, but they pose a risk the council might not ignore…I’m not keen on the idea either.”

Venim glanced at Erin and Zevara as he spoke. Erin hesitated, and it was Zevara who answered with a grimace.

“Don’t bother trying to talk her out of it, Venim. I’ve had the same arguments and she won’t budge. This is technically an autonomous holding within Liscor’s radius of authority, but we’re not pushing the issue and I doubt Pallass will get any further.”

“But this is highly—you’re telling me she has Goblins in the inn before and you haven’t considered—can’t they just be—”

Zevara kept shaking her head and eying Erin. Erin eyed her right back, her arms crossed.

“Those Goblins are innocent. They don’t cause trouble, and they have yet to hurt anyone. They saved me from goats.”

Venim stared at her.

“Goats.”

“Eater Goats.”

Zevara nodded. The Watch Captain from Pallass blanched a bit.

“Ancestors, the things you lot have to deal with over here—those are the same ones that bite even when you behead them, right? Well be that as it may Miss Solstice…”

“No, Captain Venim.”

He glared at Erin, vexed. She glared back, ready to fight on this issue. The air around Erin heated up and Venim edged back in his chair. He looked at Zevara and she gave him a complicated shake of the head and impatient gesture with her chin. This time the Watch Captain’s sigh was loud and unhappy.

“Fine. Stop using your aura Miss Solstice. I’ll try to gloss over that fact with the Assembly of Crafts. The Gold-rank team here does help. If I can claim them as security—I don’t suppose you pay them to guard your inn? Even a copper coin or two would help justify it as…”

He gestured helplessly at the paperwork. Erin shook her head.

“Nope, sorry. But I do have an Antinium Worker with a bow on the roof of my inn. That’s good security, isn’t it?”

Venim covered his face with his claws. Zevara patted him on the back.

“Antinium. Oh, that’s just what I need to convince them. Well, I’ll do my best. I’m leaving before you tell me you breed Shield Spiders as well.”

“Hey!”

Erin watched the Watch Captain go through the doorway. It was dark in Pallass too, although there was no rain in the Walled City. She saw Venim talk to a few figures down the alleyway, nod at her, and close the door. She plucked the mana stone from the door as soon as it was closed.

There was silence in the inn. Erin turned and saw Watch Captain Zevara stretching out her arms and rubbing at the spines on her neck. She looked tired.

“Think it’ll work?”

The Watch Captain looked up. Zevara shrugged, looking tired but slightly hopeful.

“It should. Pallass’ Assembly of Crafts may be arrogant, but they’re not fools if they’re in charge of a Walled City. I think. Those Goblins throw a bit of a problem into the mix, though. If you’d just…”

She trailed off, shaking her head in resignation. Erin looked around her inn. Yes, her Goblins. The reason why her inn was deserted rather than filled with bodies. And it would have had some business even this late at night if Erin had been open. Her inn had been—had begun to be—known as a place with good cooking, interesting events, friendly service, and magic dishes. It had been popular.

But she’d opened her doors to Goblins and so she was a monster. Maybe it was because of the Goblin Lord. Or because they were Hobs. Probably it was both. Either way, her Goblins had driven away business.

Her Goblins. As if she owned them. And Venim thought they might be a security risk? Erin shook her head. The Redfang Warriors stayed out of sight, living in the basement, rarely using the outhouse—being as unobtrusive as possible. They were trying. Even now they were below, and Erin wondered how long they’d been cooped up in the basement.

She looked towards the trap door leading to the basement. It was dark in her inn with the fire burning low. Still, Erin could spot the trap door shift a tiny bit downwards as she stared. Her eyes narrowed and her lips quirked upwards.

Zevara hadn’t noticed. The Watch Captain was staring at her empty mug. When Erin turned to her she stood up.

“Thank you for the drinks. Here—”

She fished around in her money bag but Erin waved it away.

“You already spent four gold coins. That’s a lot. Drinks are on the house.”

“My thanks.”

Awkwardly, the female Drake nodded at Erin. She stood in the inn and Erin fidgeted. It was funny, well, sort of. Erin and Zevara had only ever really met when Erin was in trouble, and their encounters had generally been one or both sides shouting at the other.

“Lots of rain today.”

Erin coughed and commented weakly. Zevara blinked and seemed to take in the rain for the first time. She scowled, her expression sharpening unexpectedly.

“Rain? Damn, I hadn’t noticed. Did it start after I arrived here?”

“Yeah. Oops, you don’t have an umbrella, do you?”

“A what? Oh, you mean a parasol? Why would I need one of those? I’m hardly a [Lady] or pampered noble—I have an oiled cloak or I would if I’d thought ahead. I’ll run for it. It’s just water.”

Zevara grimaced. She cocked her head, listening to the sound of the rain drumming on the inn’s roof.

“It always sneaks up so quickly. Between the dungeon and the Goblin Lord we haven’t been preparing at all. I’ll have to rouse the Watch and check the walls…couldn’t this have waited another week?”

She groused. Erin didn’t really understand.

“What’s the problem? It’s just rain?”

Zevara turned, clearly annoyed, and paused as she considered Erin.

“You’ve never been here during the spring, have you, Solstice?”

“Um…no. Why?”

Bemused, Erin watched as Zevara groaned and covered her forehead.

“No one told you what happens during the rainy season? Ever? Ancestors, well, at least you’re in the right place. If you were living in one of the valleys it would be a disaster. And your inn is Antinium-built. They know what needs to be done.”

She nodded at the walls of the inn. Erin stared at the walls. Had the Antinium done something to them? What happened when it rained?

“Look, I need to be up with the dawn and I can’t explain it now. Ask Klbkch or Relc or anyone from Liscor what the rains mean. And keep your Goblins in the basement. They haven’t caused trouble so far which means I haven’t had to do more than warn people not to go to your inn and cause trouble. So long as they’re hidden people should tolerate them.”

The Watch Captain strode to the door, adjusting her armor and peering out at the rain and cursing. Erin, who had been still wondering about this mysterious rain phenomenon, frowned suddenly.

“What do you mean, keep them out of sight?”

“Exactly what I said, Human. Out of sight, in the basement. That’s sensible of you. No one wants to see Goblins right now. Not after General Shivertail. The last thing I need is a mob attacking your inn to get rid of the monsters.”

Monsters. Erin frowned at Zevara. It was late, she knew, and she was grumpy. But she looked over her shoulder at the trap door to her basement and knew she couldn’t let that go.

“They’re not monsters. They’re people who think. That’s the point.”

The Watch Captain stopped, her back towards Erin. Her posture said she didn’t want to have this conversation, but she replied anyways.

“If you say so. Just keep them out of sight. If not—”

“What? You’ll be leading the mob?”

Zevara turned, her eyes flashing. She stared hard at Erin. Did a bit of smoke escape her mouth? It was quickly lost in the rain.

“No. But I won’t be able to protect you.”

She turned and strode out of the inn, disappearing into the rain before Erin could reply. Disgruntled, Erin mumbled into the sudden silence.

“You never did.”

Annoyed, Erin cleared the table of mugs and scrubbed at a beer stain. Keep her Goblins below? The nerve of Zevara! Never mind that her words made sense. But they only made sense if you thought of Goblins as monsters or animals. People shouldn’t be confined! They shouldn’t be—

Erin passed by her basement and paused. They shouldn’t be locked up. But then, was she the problem to begin with?

Slowly, she set down the mugs in the kitchen and walked back to the trap door. It was shut, but that didn’t fool Erin. She lifted the handle up and peered into the basement.

It was dark below. Nearly pitch-black. Erin knew there was a lantern down there—four, actually, but the Goblins appeared to be asleep. She heard a few loud snores. Erin rolled her eyes.

“I know you heard all that. You were listening, weren’t you?”

The snores paused and then went on, a tad unconvincingly. Erin sighed.

“I know you’re awake. Look, I think Zevara’s right and wrong. It is dangerous, but I didn’t say you should stay below. I just thought—hey, you are awake, aren’t you?”

She stopped uncertainly. The snoring stopped and a head appeared out of the darkness, alarmingly close. Headscratcher had been standing on the ladder this entire time! Erin yelped in surprise and instinctively slapped him on the face with an open palm.

“Gah! Wait, sorry!”

Headscratcher yelped and tumbled backwards. Erin heard Goblins exclaiming in alarm, the sound of a thud and annoyed Goblins voices. She winced and peered into the darkness below.

“Oops. You surprised me. I’m really sorry about that. It was an accident, I swear!”

In the darkness, five pairs of crimson eyes stared up at her. Erin shivered just a bit.

“Sorry. Look, I know I told you to stay in the basement but—come up tomorrow, okay? This is where I wanted you to sleep. It’s not a prison.”

She paused, that thought striking her as important. The Redfang Goblins stared up at Erin, their faces unreadable in the darkness. Erin crouched on the top of the ladder, wondering if she should go down. In the end she spoke into the darkness as the rain fell overhead.

“You’re not prisoners. I mean that. If you want to leave, to find Rags or do something else…you can go. I’ll give you food if you need it. But I think it might be safer here. And if it is—if you think you want to stay despite the risk, I will shelter you. I promise. And tomorrow…tomorrow we’ll see about getting you rooms on the third floor.”

The Hobs started slightly in surprise. Erin nodded. Keep them below? That was such a wrong concept to her.

“I should have done this from the start. It was fine to keep Pisces in the basement, but you? I have tons of rooms. And if you’re going to stay here, it’s going to be as guests, not as hidden monsters. I’m not ashamed that you’re here and you shouldn’t be either.”

Five sets of crimson eyes. One blinked. Erin saw a Hob move his head, do something in the darkness. Wipe his eyes? The rest just looked at her. The [Innkeeper]’s voice was low as she spoke to the Hobs, her back framed by the dim firelight.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a Goblin. I told you that didn’t I? You’re people. Not monsters. Humans can be monsters and Goblins can too. But we’re not all monsters. We’re people. And people don’t live underground or in caves.”

She paused.

“Unless they’re Hobbits. Um. Talk to you tomorrow!”

She waved at the Goblins. Two waved back. Erin shut the door and turned away, feeling embarrassed. She had the distinct impression the Goblins had begun talking amongst themselves the instant she closed the trapdoor.

She hoped they weren’t laughing at her. But she had said what she believed. That was important. Erin stumbled back to her bed, tired, knowing she’d have to get up soon. She pulled some blankets over her body, punched a pillow, and tossed and turned as the rain fell.

“Let’s see. Pallass jerks…Jelaqua…Calruz and the Horns of Hammerad…Goblins…and no money. That’s enough for one plate. Maybe two. Now how do I make everything fit together?”

Erin thrashed about for a while, her mind racing, running into obstacles, backtracking. So many problems. There were always problems, but there were always solutions too. She thought about money and her friends and the Goblins until something clicked. Erin sat up suddenly and snapped her fingers.

“Hmm. That might work!”

Then she immediately fell backwards, pulled the blankets over her head and went to sleep in relief.

—-

Rain fell across Liscor and the grasslands. Rain, a shimmering, endless downpour of droplets, hitting the ground millions of times each second. It was a hypnotic sight if you weren’t out in the middle of it, a beautiful display of nature to be seen by all.

Bird sat in his watch tower and felt a spray of wet, cold droplets smack him in the face. He wiped at the wetness but then the wind shifted and blew a squall of rain right over him. He hunched his shoulders as the rain blew diagonally, pattering off the roof of his watch tower and his body.

It was wet. He was cold. But Bird was still happy. True, it was raining, and true he had been rained on for the last four hours. But he wasn’t dead. It was important to keep things in perspective. Bird felt lucky and privileged to be here, and he tried to be grateful. He wasn’t dead, he was allowed to hunt birds and sit up in his own personal watch tower—he even had his own private quarters!

Bird had the room closest to the staircase leading up to the watch tower. It was a nice room. And it was his. He used to have a bed, but he’d never slept on it so Miss Erin had taken it away.

Antinium couldn’t sleep on beds. The round shells on their backs made it too difficult since they would rock back and forth or just lie uncomfortably. Perhaps Revalantor Klbkch could do it with his altered, slimmer form, but Bird had given up after five minutes of lying on the bed and wondering what was supposed to happen.

When it became apparent that Bird couldn’t sleep on his bed like most other species Erin had come up with a solution. She’d created a stack of blankets and pillows that formed what she called a ‘cubbyhole’ similar to the alcoves Bird used to sleep in in the Worker’s barracks.

However, this sleeping space was so soft and luxurious that Bird was afraid to sleep in it and spent most nights with his back against a wall. It still got a good deal of use; Mrsha had been captivated by the idea of pillow forts and often curled up inside Bird’s bed for naps.

And Bird didn’t need to sleep much. He liked being up at nights. It was his duty of course—he’d chased off a few Drakes yesterday by shooting arrows at their feet when they approached the inn just past midnight. But Bird didn’t mind the late hours. Owls came out at night, and if he waited long enough it would be dawn and birds would be singing and flying about. Perfect targets for an alert Antinium [Hunter].

Of course, it was raining so there would be no birds. The Antinium Worker thought about this and still felt happy. Birds might not fly in the rain because it was wet, but only if they had feathers. What if there were other types of birds he had yet to hunt? His mind raced with the possibilities as the rain pelted him from all angles. Bird was oblivious to it as he thought.

Were there fish birds? Birds that could fly in the rain? Maybe birds above the clouds? Bird looked up and felt happy. The world was a wonderful place! When you didn’t know what it contained, everything was new and fresh. And Bird was completely ignorant. Thus, he sat in his small watch tower as water sprayed him and the rain pounded down. He ignored it all, his crude hand-made bow in hand. It wouldn’t do to get the lovely bow Erin had given him wet, after all. He sang a tiny tune as he searched the pouring landscape.

“I am Bird. I am wet. It is raining. I am wet. Drip, drip, I am Bird…”

“Bird!”

The Antinium turned as someone shouted his name. He looked down the stairs and saw a young Human woman shielding her face as the rain pelted her from above.

“Oh, hello Miss Lyonette.”

The [Barmaid] shouted something at Bird, looking upset. He was alert instantly, wondering if a monster or other danger had come through the door. Erin had told him to watch for threats outside the inn, but Bird was aware that having a magic portal door was a security risk. He did take his job seriously. But that didn’t seem to be the problem here!

“…door! Come…drenched…here!”

He could only hear a few words over the pounding of the rain. But Lyonette was waving so Bird followed her down the slippery steps into the inn. It was very wet. He observed the floorboards were quite wet and the wet had gone into several rooms and down much of the third floor. Hm. He turned to Lyonette as she wiped her face with a towel.

“What is the problem, Miss Lyonette? It is quite wet outside. And in here.”

“Yes, Bird. It is! That’s a problem. And do you know why it’s so wet?”

Lyonette glared at Bird. The Worker tilted his head. A problem. He had never been good at solving problems. He had liked chess well enough, but he had never taken to it as a [Tactician] like Anand and Belgrade had. Erin had called his games the ‘weirdest games she’d ever played’ though, which Bird had taken as a compliment.

“It is wet because it is raining, Miss Lyonette.”

“Yes. It is. But why is it wet inside, Bird?”

Bird looked around. Wet, wet…why was it wet inside? Because there was a hole? No, the inn was sturdy and waterproof. So why was there wet on the third floor? He noticed the water moving slightly and looked behind him. Water was running down the steps leading up to the tower. His tower. Bird’s mandibles opened wide as he realized the issue.

“I forgot to close the door.”

“You forgot to close the door.”

Rainwater had spilled into the inn from Bird’s watch tower above. The Antinium stared at the flooded third floor with interest. Mrsha galloped through the giant puddle, splattering water everywhere. Above her, Apista flew away from the water droplets in alarm. Lyonette sighed.

“Okay, I guess I was waking up in an hour anyways. Let’s get to work.”

“I am deeply sorry. I will assist you with cleaning and return to guarding above.”

Bird lowered his mandibles, ashamed. Lyonette shook her head, looking only slightly put out.

“It’s fine, Bird, really. Just don’t forget again. And you don’t have to go above. I’m sure Erin would want you inside and out of the rain.”

Bird protested mildly as Lyonette ordered Mrsha to grab more towels.

“But I must guard. And I have permission to hunt. I am waiting for fish-birds to come out.”

“Fish birds? Bird, there are no fish birds.”

“There…aren’t?”

Lyonette paused, staring into the Worker’s downcast face. She hesitated.

“Um, well, I’m not certain. Why not? I’m sure there are birds that go out in the rain. Actually, I lied. There are most definitely fish birds, Bird.”

The Worker nodded happily, faith restored in the world.

“I knew it.”

Life was good for Bird. He was especially happy Revalantor Klbkch had ordered him not to kill the Hobs just yet. Bird had kept an eye on them every night under strict orders from his Hive and he wasn’t sure he could kill them, even if he ambushed them. It was good to be peaceful. No one should die.

Except birds, of course.

—-

Erin woke up to the sound of rain. She woke up slightly later than usual, which meant dawn was just breaking as she got up and blearily stumbled around the kitchen.

“Ghrmph. Rain, raining all the time. Gonna be a pain going to Liscor. Where’s breakfast? Right, right…gotta find Lyonette. Lyonette?”

She walked out into the common room but Lyonette was uncharacteristically not already awake. Erin hesitated, not wanting to wake her up and then she heard the sounds from above. They were faint, but as Erin ascended to the second floor and stared past the rooms reserved for the Horns of Hammerad and the Halfseekers she heard the noises coming from the second stairwell heading to the third floor.

“Singing?”

Erin tiptoed up and saw a strange sight. It was Lyonette kneeling on the ground, mopping up water with a towel as Bird did the same. Mrsha and Apista were frolicking around, getting water everywhere as they played catch. They were making the mess worse, but Lyonette wasn’t scolding Mrsha. Instead, she and Bird were singing!

“It’s raining, it’s raining, water’s on the floor, Mrsha at the door, it’s raining, it’s raining—”

“Drip, drip, drip.”

Lyonette was singing a silly made-up song as Mrsha rolled past her, her fur dripping. Bird, wiping the floor with a towel, softly sang as well. He was just singing ‘drip’, but it melded together with Lyonette’s singing in a wonderful way.

Erin stood watching Lyonette and Bird singing the silly song as Mrsha rolled about, a smile on her face. Only when the Worker and [Barmaid] had cleaned up most of the water did she cough.

“Erin!”

Lyonette spun around looking embarrassed. Erin smiled at her and at Mrsha as the Gnoll galloped up to her. She caught Mrsha before she could shake herself.

“Ah! No shaking, Mrsha. You get a nice warm towel instead. Lyonette, thanks for doing that. How’d the rain get in? Bird’s door?”

“It was my fault. I am entirely to blame. I will accept all punishments necessary or my termination.”

Bird stood to attention. Erin frowned at him.

“You’re not getting fired, Bird. It was a mistake! I’d never fire you for that.”

Bird visibly relaxed.

“Oh. Does that mean I can do it again?”

“No.”

Lyonette and Erin spoke at once. Bird nodded agreeably and stared at Apista as the Ashfire Bee hid behind Mrsha. Erin beckoned Lyonette over.

“Sorry I didn’t start getting breakfast ready, Erin. It was just—”

“No, you’re cool. It was better you did this, actually. I’m going to move the Redfang Goblins up here today.”

“The Goblins? But—well, okay. If you think so.”

Lyonette looked dubious but she nodded anyways. She had changed so much! The fact that she was willing to let the Goblins stay under the same roof as her was more than most Humans were willing to do. Erin intended to change that. She shifted, aware her second piece of news for the day wasn’t going to be taken with the same level of grace.

“I uh, had Watch Captain Zevara and that Drake guy from Pallass over last night, Lyonette. Looks like we might get to open the portal to Pallass after all. There’s a lot of political stuff going on, but I think I managed to get it sorted. So there won’t be Drake [Soldiers] from Liscor marching in to take the door away.”

“That was going to happen? I mean, I’d believe it but—good job.”

The runaway [Princess] looked relieved. Erin chewed her lip.

“Tiny problem, though…I had to pay to register the inn and the price was eighteen gold coins.”

“Eighteen?”

Lyonette looked horrified. Erin nodded.

“I took them out of the safe. It’s uh…well, I took a look at what we had left. What do you think? How long do we have?”

Erin was hoping that Lyonette had put some of the inn’s coin somewhere else or had more on her. The young woman’s face said it all. Lyonette counted in her head, doing the same math that Erin had agonized over last night. When she was done she shook her head gloomily.

“Enough coin for a week. Not much more even if we cut back on buying food and supplies…”

“I’ll get us more.”

Erin rested a hand on Lyonette’s shoulder and smiled reassuringly. The [Barmaid] looked uncertain, but Erin grinned at her.

“Money’s not a problem, Lyonette. I have a few tricks up my sleeves. And more in my pockets. And one under my pillow.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! Okay, I have two good ideas. Three if I use my backup plan. I think they’ll all work. I just need to go into the city and uh, make a few deals. If I help serve breakfast, can you manage…?”

“Leave it to me. I’ll get the Goblins settled. Drassi and Ishkr aren’t coming today and I think the Horns of Hammerad are going out on a long trip today. So are the Halfseekers, so it’ll just be Bird, Mrsha, and the Goblins to feed for lunch. Do what you need to do Erin.”

Erin smiled in relief.

“You’re the best. Alright, breakfast is waffles! Hey Mrsha, don’t run down the stairs! Oh well.”

She grinned as the white Gnoll raced down to the common room. Then she paused and both she and Lyonette turned. The sound of rainfall, muted but always present had intensified suddenly.

They stared towards the stairs leading up. Bird paused as the rain pelted him, about to climb back up to the tower. He stared at the water already trickling down the stairs.

“Ah. Oops.”

He closed the door swiftly. Erin shook her head.

“That’s a design flaw. But I guess we can put a towel rack there and get Bird to clean up every time he goes in and out. Speaking of which…”

She looked out one of her glass windows at the rain. It was coming down hard, obscuring the landscape. Already it had washed the last of the snow away so all Erin saw was green grass and brown mud, both dark as the rain drummed on her windows. She turned to Lyonette, looking rueful.

“I don’t suppose you know where I could get an umbrella?”

Lyonette looked blank.

“A what?”

“Darn.”

—-

Umbrellas. Umbrellas were an invention that did not exist in the medieval era, or at least, not in this one. True, it was good to keep rain off one’s face, but with an umbrella? They required a lot of careful stitching, long flexible joints that required delicate wood or metalworking, and were in general a tool for the nobility to use. A [Lady] might have a parasol or rather, have a servant follow her around with one, but everyone else just used cloaks. After all, they were warm, didn’t need to be carried in either hand and didn’t break.

Erin ran with an oiled cloak over her head towards Liscor, screaming as rainwater trickled onto her clothing and mud splashed around her boots.

“I hate cloaks! I hate cloaks! I hate cloaks!”

Not that an umbrella would have helped much either. The rain was coming down fiercely and the guards on the walls looked miserable to Erin. The one at the western gate was at least sheltered from the rain. She waved Erin though and the young woman dashed into the streets of Liscor.

And slipped. The wet cobblestones were slippery and Erin had been running to get to Liscor in time. Erin fell, got tangled up in her cloak, and after a brief moment where she just sat in the middle of the wet street with water pouring over her head, got up and marched through the streets, grumbling about ceilings.

“How hard would it be to put a ceiling over a city? It’s got walls, just put a dome over it! Okay, you can’t see if that happens—how about a glass dome? That’s a lot of glass. A magic dome? I bet Pallass has a fancy magic dome. What about a subway? Now that’s useful technology!”

The streets were mostly empty despite the usual morning press. No one wanted to be out in the rain. The Drakes looked gloomy and ill-tempered, if not quite so depressed as the days before. The Gnolls looked perfectly miserable. Erin splashed down the streets, appreciating that Liscor at least had sewers to carry away the runoff as she marched further into Liscor. It was a wet, miserable day.

But only if you let it be. Erin was determined to make today work. She’d left the inn with Lyonette already showing the Redfang Warriors their new rooms. Now Erin headed towards one spot in the city devoid of rain.

The Antinium Hive. The passage down into the Hive was exposed to the surface, but there was some kind of water flow system in place such that as Erin descended into the darkness, the water coming down from above was sucked into the earth. A few steps out of the rain and the Hive’s walls were wonderfully dry underfoot. Erin let herself drip for a while as she stared around the entrance.

It wasn’t hard to enter the Hive of the Free Antinium. Just go down a few steps into the darkness and you were in a tunnel. Now, Erin had never actually gone into the Hive by herself, but she had gotten permission from Klbkch to enter a week ago for the story time with the Antinium. So she could enter. Right?

There didn’t seem to be any guards, just a long tunnel sloping downwards. It was large enough for eight Erins to walk abreast and made Erin feel small as she marched into the Hive.

“Just gonna see a few friends. Nothing wrong about that, right? No one mind me, just a Human coming in out of the rain. Just gonna—”

Erin got five steps when her [Dangersense] went off like a siren in her head. She froze as the empty tunnel suddenly filled. Sixteen Soldiers stepped out of hidden alcoves, fists raised, bodies tense and lowered, ready to charge. The young woman froze, eyes wide, staring at the Soldiers on every side.

“Uh oh. Um. Hi?”

The Soldiers said nothing. These weren’t the Painted Soldiers that Pawn led but regular Soldiers. On guard duty. Erin was afraid to breathe, seeing the Soldiers clenching their fists, imagining what would happen if one of them punched her. She squeaked, trying to both speak fast and not do anything as provocative as breathing.

“I’m uh, Erin! Erin Solstice! I have permission from your boss to be here! Klbkch? He said it was alright! Okay, he said I could enter this one time and so I thought I could do it again. I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll totally leave if you’re all uh, busy.”

The Soldiers made no move. One of them, the one in front of Erin hesitated just a fraction. He stepped closer to her and she shrank as she stared up at him. He had very long mandibles, perfect for tearing flesh. Not that she thought of the Antinium like that! They were people too, just like Goblins!

And people killed people quite often. The Soldier studied Erin, fists still raised. She tried to smile up at him.

“No, this is a bad time? Okay then, I don’t want to bother you. I can see when I’m getting in the way, so I’ll just…”

She was about to edge away when the Soldier suddenly nodded and turned away abruptly. He didn’t signal, but the other Soldiers instantly lowered their fists and stepped back towards their alcoves. Erin stared at the Soldier as he walked away from her, no longer paying any attention to her whatsoever.

She had the distinct impression he’d just recognized her as Erin Solstice, not some random Human who’d wandered down here by accident. She wondered what would have happened if he’d decided she was someone else and resolved never to enter the Hive without Pawn, Klbkch, or another Antinium with her.

But now she was in the Hive, it was too late to go back. Or at least so Erin told herself as she walked down the wide tunnel into the darkness. She’d been here once, after all! She’d just find one of the Workers she knew, have a quick word, and be off. She could have sent Bird of course, but she was worried he might miscommunicate. He was a silly Worker sometimes. And how hard could it be? It wasn’t like—

Whatever ironic thought Erin was about to have was cut off as she entered into the Hive’s main corridors. The tunnel around Erin turned abruptly and there they were. Antinium. Hundreds of them, marching down a huge tunnel, turning into side passages that sloped upwards or downwards, huge currents of Workers and Soldiers moving in every direction.

The Antinium had no railing to divide the flow of traffic, but the brown-black shapes moved smoothly and without pause, following an invisible line such that the Antinium were able to all move through the massive corridor at once, not having to pause or wait in line at all. They moved in complete silence, so that the only sound in the massive room was the shuffling of feet.

It was hypnotic, terrifying, and completely alien. Erin stared for one entire second and then sneezed. It was unintentional. The noise cut through the room like a gun shot.

The Antinium stopped as one. Every head in the vast corridor turned to Erin immediately. She froze and then raised a hand. The Antinium stared at her in complete silence. The [Innkeeper] gulped and then put on her best smile.

“Hey.”

The Workers and Soldiers stared at her. Erin waved weakly. Her voice quavered a bit.

“Uh, sorry to intrude. I’m just uh—I uh—do any of you know where um, Pawn is? Anand? Belgrade? Klbkch?”

The Antinium stared at her. Erin hesitated. Then as one they turned and pointed. Erin stared at the tunnel they’d indicated and saw the nearest Workers to her make way.

“Oh? Am I supposed to—”

They stared at her. Erin gingerly edged forwards and walked through the gap the Workers had created. The Antinium watched her go, silent, staring at the Human in their tunnels. Vibrant, colorful, alive. They heard her voice as she navigated down the tunnels, echoing back at them.

“Sorry, sorry. Oops—this way, right? Thank you. Okay, I’m going—wow, it’s dark in here. Sorry, I know you’re probably in a hurry, right? I don’t want to get in the way, you can keep walking or doing whatever you—oh boy, Klbkch is going to be so mad at me.”

—-

“So uh, hi.”

Erin stood in front of Anand and Belgrade. They’d met her in one of the tunnels, well, practically run her over in point of fact. They’d swiftly escorted her into a side room, mainly to end the Hive-wide traffic jam. Now they sat around a small table with a chess board on top of it.

This was Anand and Belgrade’s personal strategy room. It had some maps of the Hive, a real chess board and one of Erin’s improvised Go boards, and some pieces of parchment and a quill and ink. Erin stared around the small room, seeing the spot where Belgrade had hurriedly rolled up all the maps of the Hive and stuffed them away. Military secrets, she supposed. She glanced at the Workers again. They hadn’t responded to her greeting.

“It’s not like I meant to cause a holdup. I kept telling the other Antinium to keep going without me. And I uh, thought I could just sort of wander about and find one of you guys. You know, casually?”

She peered hopefully at them. Belgrade and Anand shared a look. Belgrade was the first to speak.

“You are lucky you were not killed within seconds of entering the Hive.”

“Oh.”

Erin stared at Belgrade.

“But I wasn’t. I thought I had permission.”

The Worker nodded slowly.

“Yes. But your exact description was not passed to the Soldiers on duty. It is extremely fortunate they either recognized you from previous encounters or believed your self-identification.”

“Ah. Well, that’s good. I uh—killed?”

Belgrade nodded. Erin gulped.

“Okay, well, I’m not doing that again. I thought—did you guys know I was looking for you?”

Anand shook his head.

“We were investigating the disturbance. When you entered the Hive all flows of traffic halted, which immediately warranted our attention. I have never seen the Hive simply—stop like that before.”

Erin winced. She fiddled with a bishop on the chess board. Anand stared at her for another beat and then seemed to become more alert.

“This incident was surprising to say the least, but minor. Miss Erin, I believe your intrusion has resulted in the best results possible especially given all the outcomes. The Hive was not unduly affected by your presence, and I must believe it is warranted by some need. How can Belgrade and I help you? Or is it Pawn or Revalantor Klbkch you seek?”

He waited expectantly. By his side Belgrade folded his hands—all four of them. Erin looked relieved and pondered how best to start.

“Alright, okay. To begin with…did you know it’s raining?”

The two Workers exchanged a glance. Anand shook his head.

“We did not, Miss Erin.”

“Oh. Well, it is. Just thought you should know. You see, Zevara—you know, the angry Drake Watch Captain lady? She said it’s the beginning of the rainy season in Liscor and I thought—”

Erin got no further because at her words Belgrade suddenly tensed up. His mandibles opened and he shuddered.

“Rainy season? It has begun already? Oh no. Oh no.”

Belgrade’s arms folded around himself. He began to rock back and forth in his seat. Two of his arms gripped the table and he started repeating the words anxiously.

“Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no—”

“Belgrade?”

Erin looked at him, alarmed. Anand put a hand on Belgrade’s shoulders and the Worker stopped rocking, although he kept repeating the same words. Anand looked apologetic as he clicked his mandibles together gently.

“You will have to forgive Belgrade, Miss Erin. He does not do well during this time of the year. He nearly drowned two years ago.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry Belgrade. That’s terrib—wait, how can you drown underground?”

“The water, the rushing water. The walls breaking, the water—”

Belgrade shivered. Anand raised one hand as the other three patted his friend on the shoulder. He pointed to the dirt walls of the Hive around them.

“This season is problematic for the Antinium, Miss Erin. We do our best to ensure the integrity of the Hive, but accidents happen. Water can burst through the tunnels and it is particularly dangerous to us when it does, given our inability to swim. Belgrade only survived by holding his breath until the water could be drained from the tunnel he was trapped in.”

“That makes sense. But all that water comes from above? It’s just rain. There’s not that much water. Unless the rivers overflow?”

Erin stared blankly at the two Workers. They exchanged a look.

“I believe your knowledge of what occurs during this part of the year is…incomplete, Miss Erin. I would elaborate, but I fear that I do not know what occurs aboveground during this period of time. The Antinium do not go above the surface in the first two months of spring.”

“Why?”

“The water.”

Belgrade whispered the words. Erin stared at him, leaned back in her table, and shook her head.

“Okay, I think I’ll have to ask Klbkch about this. Or Selys. I’m going to see her next.”

Anand nodded.

“That would be wise. They no doubt have a more coherent explanation than we. But did you need to see us specifically, Miss Erin? Revalantor Klbkch will doubtless be busy with his duties.”

Erin paused. Why was she down here again?

“Oh, right. I have a proposition for you two. Look, my inn’s in a tight place but I have this idea, see—”

She explained briefly to Anand and Belgrade. Both Workers nodded, intrigued by her idea. Belgrade stopped rocking long enough to give his opinion.

“We can do this for a few more days. At least before the water rises. Tonight we will come.”

“Good!”

Erin smiled, relieved. She got up and the two Workers did likewise.

“I’d love to play a few games, but I have to see Selys next. You said Klbkch is busy, right? Well, I’ll ask Selys about this rain thing.”

“Good. We shall escort you to the surface to reduce delays.”

Anand and Belgrade got up. The Workers flanked Erin as she exited the tunnels. Anand shook his head.

“I do apologize that we could not inform you of the events surrounding the rainfall, Miss Erin. But most Antinium understand little of the world around us. Belgrade and I are privy to some of the Hive’s knowledge, but…”

Erin smiled at him as they walked. This time the Workers and Soldiers kept moving, although she sensed them peeking at her.

“No problem Anand. I totally get it. Your experience is different than mine. But Liscor changes a lot this month, huh?”

The Worker nodded.

“Indeed. Travel is almost virtually eliminated, the city stockpiles what resources it has, the price of food goes up, the price of wood rises—and of course the Antinium earn a small income as we help construct some of the maritime industry’s fishing craft. We could sell you a boat quite cheaply, I think.”

“Really? Cool! I always wanted a—wait, what did you say?”

—-

Water. It was such a simple thing. A necessity to survive, and yet, for some, the idea of water was terrifying. The Antinium could not swim. It was one of their critical weaknesses and as such, the Hive of the Free Antinium was filled with activity as the rain fell on the ground above.

Klbkch, Revalantor of the Free Antinium, strode through the tunnels of his Hive, teams of Workers following him by the hundred. He walked through each tunnel, Workers breaking off to check each part of the walls, tapping and listening to make sure that there were no faults or other weaknesses a thousand tonnes of water might exploit. Any cracks were sealed, any suspect tunnels sealed off. There were many, many drainage tunnels within the Hive designed to carry off water should it flood the Hive, but if it came to that Antinium would die.

And Klbkch found himself caring more about the loss of a Worker or Soldiers’ lives than he had in the past. Perhaps it was because some of them were Individual and thus a precious resource that could not be so easily reacquired. Or perhaps it was the shorter Worker following behind him, anxiously watching as Klbkch directed flows of Workers.

“That tunnel is faulty. Seal it off completely. Fill it with dirt and pack it—I will return later to inspect the area. Forty Workers will go to inspect the dungeon entrances with the others. We must not allow those areas to flood.”

Workers moved as ordered. Pawn moved to one side as they marched past him. He stared at Klbkch as the Revalantor looked around the tunnel.

“Revalantor, how can my Painted Antinium assist with this process?”

Klbkch paused. He had to think of the Painted Antinium and Pawn, as a separate force within the Hive. One that needed orders, could not simply be ordered to wait indefinitely. He nodded to Pawn after a moment’s delay.

“Take the Soldiers not wounded or on combat rotation and assist with filling in the tunnels I have specified. If you finish with that task, report to Anand or Belgrade. They will take over the inspection of the Hive while I return to my duties in Liscor.”

The Revalantor clicked his mandibles impatiently. He had no watch, but his internal clock was flawless.

“I have Watch duty in fifteen minutes. Anand and Belgrade have my permission to act with all the authority required to reinforce the Hive. If they have doubts I will return tonight to inspect the Hive once more.”

“I will tell them that, Revalantor.”

Klbkch nodded and strode through the tunnels, towards the surface. It was a relief to have Anand and Belgrade in the Hive. He hadn’t realized it, but having the two [Tacticians] present meant he could delegate much of the responsibility that usually fell to him or his Queen. And she had kept to her quarters recently, working on some private project, leaving the Hive entirely to him. It felt harder, some years. He hadn’t expected the rain to come so soon, but he should have predicted it…

Was he getting old? Was this the degradation that came with age that Xrn had told him about? Dementia did not affect the Antinium, but perhaps Klbkch, who had lived and been reborn countless times was an exception. Maybe he was getting old, because sometimes he felt tired…

Klbkch sighed as he strode out of the Hive and marched down the streets. He moved quickly as the rain pelted him, nodding to Drakes and Gnolls on the streets. Within five minutes he was at the Watch barracks and putting on his [Guardsman]’s armor. He was ready for duty within two minutes and marching out the door after having signed the roster sheets in the next minute.

Yes, he was getting old. But there was hope. Klbkch clung to that thought. There was hope. He just had to hang on a little bit longer. And then the world would change. The Grand Queen would change it, or Xrn, or perhaps…

Klbkch’s eyes caught a young woman he recognized hurrying down the street. She’d just come out of a tunnel in the ground. He stared. Had Erin been in the Hive? No, surely she had just been…he watched her go, his mind blanking for a second. His mandibles opened unconsciously as he stood in the rain, going about his duties as a member of Liscor’s City Watch. They were surprisingly similar to his duties as Revelator. Klbkch whispered the word into the rain.

“Perhaps.”

—-

“What was that, Klbkch?”

Watch Captain Zevara turned. The Antinium [Guardsman] shook his head as she stomped down the street, the City Watch spread out along the walls.

“Nothing, Captain! My apologies.”

“Don’t be! You’re the only damn guardsman I have who turns up on time, even in the wet!”

Zevara shouted back at Klbkch. She strode down the road leading around the walls of Liscor, shouting at the [Guardsmen] she passed.

“Check for cracks, fractures, or anything out of place! I want all four walls checked by the end of today! Inside, outside—hurry up and I’ll buy you all a round at Furry Wing’s tonight!”

The wet Gnolls and Drakes in uniform cheered as Zevara passed. The Furry Wing tavern was a popular one for the City Watch because it served drinks in huge mugs. Zevara grinned but then added a snap to her voice.

“But don’t miss a spot! I’ll be going over parts of the wall myself, and if I find any spots you’ve missed you’ll all be drinking water tonight!”

She heard a good-natured shout from her guards and nodded to Klbkch. The Senior Guardsman took a section of wall in front of him and Zevara turned away. She knew he could be trusted to check every inch of Liscor’s walls. The Antinium understood the dangers of the rainy season more than most. It was amazing they’d wanted to put a Hive here, knowing what happened…but they were vigilant, and that was everything.

The other Drakes and Gnolls were too complacent. Zevara strode down the walls, repeating her message. She had to push them. They thought that just because Liscor’s walls were enchanted, they would hold. Zevara knew that enchantments could fray and develop weaknesses, just like stone. So she checked and double-checked the walls for any fracture, any weak spots where water might slip through.

“Hey Captain!”

A cheerful voice interrupted Zevara as she went on a circuit of the walls from the outside. Zevara rolled her eyes and turned.

“What is it, Relc?”

The huge Drake [Guardsman] grinned, ignoring the rain which made the other guards cover their bodies more securely with their cloaks. He grinned and pointed to his section of the wall.

“I found a broken part of the wall! Look!”

He indicated a micro fracture at the base of the wall. Zevara eyed it and nodded.

“Good work, Relc. We’ll have a [Mason] take a look at it.”

She turned away, wishing she were indoors with a good stiff drink in her claws. She’d settle for a drink in Erin Solstice’s inn. She had some good ales and her food was excellent, even if weird things happened far too often over there. But before Zevara could continue her patrol she heard Relc call out again.

“Hey Captain, I found another one!”

Reluctantly she turned back and looked. There was another tiny fracture at head height. Zevara sighed.

“…Good work, Relc.”

Relc grinned at her, tail wagging like a dog’s. He cupped a claw to one earhole.

“What’s that, Captain? I think I must have missed that. Lots of rain!”

“I said, good work, Relc.”

Zevara gritted her teeth. Relc pretended not to hear.

“What? Sorry, I must have gotten water in my earhole! One more time?”

The Watch Captain eyed Relc murderously, hating every inch of the wide grin on his face. She turned around and her tail slapped Relc across the face.

“Ow!”

“Good work, Relc. Now get back to checking the damn wall!”

—-

Water. It changed many things about Liscor, but one thing at least was the same. The Adventurer’s Guild was busy as always as adventurers stood in lines, arguing, picking fights, talking about the dungeon and grumbling about the rain. From her desk, Selys Shivertail grinned balefully at the adventurers who’d never been to Liscor before. They thought this was bad? Just wait until they were here a week. Then they’d realize what a spring in Liscor meant. Rain was only the start of what would come next.

There was a reason why armies didn’t bother sieging Liscor. In the winter they froze their tails off. In the summer and fall, well, they had a good window but that also meant Drake armies could march north and break the siege whenever they pleased. And in the spring—

She was already worrying about the dungeon. What if it flooded? What would happen in the spring? Would the adventurers not be able to access it? She didn’t know if she could handle a bunch of angry cooped-up adventurers for two months.

Then again, she didn’t know if she could handle them now. Selys sighed, relieved to have a break for a moment. She eyed the dripping young woman in front of her and silently passed one of the towels behind the desk to her.

“Here.”

“Thanks!”

Erin wiped her face off but didn’t bother with the rest of her body. She’d have to go out in the rain soon enough and she’d given up on her stupid cloak that kept tangling around her feet. Selys eyed her.

“Had fun outside?”

“Oh, tons! It’s raining, you know? Really hard!”

Selys gave Erin a look. It simultaneously invited more obvious information and promised an equal or greater amount of ridicule. She gestured out the window of the Adventurer’s Guild where it was pouring.

“No, really? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Hey, I was in the Antinium Hive and that was big news!”

Erin made a face at Selys. The Drake sighed.

“The Ants—I mean, the Antinium live underground, Erin. I can look out a window. Sorry, I don’t mean to snap, but I’ve been busy telling adventurers all day why going outside is a bad idea. Sure, you think you’re hunting Shield Spiders or slimes or something, but that’s when a Hollowstone Deceiver sneaks up on you. They’re silent in the rain and they hunt aggressively during this season. You should watch out too.”

“What, Rock Crabs? Jeeze! I’d better keep an eye out. I don’t have any more seed cores so I guess I’ll have to find another way to scare them off! Thanks for the warning.”

Erin toweled her hair and handed it back. She stared at Selys as the Drake held the towel with one claw and looked around for a place to put it.

“So look, Selys, about what I was saying—”

Selys sighed. Why was she friends with Erin again? Oh, right. She had a good heart. But she could be incredibly, incredibly strange sometimes. And what she’d asked Selys to do? That was madness.

“I heard you. I think you’re insane, but I can do the paperwork. It will never work, mind you. My grandmother—”

“Just try?”

Erin stared pleadingly at the Drake. Selys raised her claws.

“Okay, I will. It’s not going to work, but I will.”

“Thanks! I know you’re busy—you should come to the inn more often! It’s been ages since we last hung out!”

The young woman beamed at Selys. The Drake nodded.

“I’d like that. I’d like to see Mrsha and chat—but you know how it is. Adventurers keep coming to Liscor and we’re understaffed and in the rain…”

She flicked her tail at the adventurers milling about the Guild. Erin nodded sympathetically.

“Yeah, I hear you. I wish they’d come to my inn, but I guess that’s not going to happen with the—”

She mimed saying the word ‘Goblins’ silently. Selys nodded. She’d already had to tell a number of adventurers that the Hobs in Erin’s inn weren’t threats and that they would receive no bounties on their heads.

“If you think it’s bad now, just wait a week. I’m afraid you’ll get no business from Liscor until the rains stop. Well, maybe some people will come but I really wouldn’t count on it. I hope you have coin saved.”

“Uh—”

Selys sighed at Erin’s chagrin.

“Well, at least you have the door to Celum. I envy you, actually. I’d love to be able to pop over to Celum anytime I wanted. I feel like a prisoner during the spring, you know?”

“No…say Selys, what does happen during the spring?”

The Drake paused, leaning on her desk. She stared at Erin, searching the young woman’s face for any signs of humor.

“Erin, tell me you’re joking. You’ve never, ever heard of what happens to Liscor in the spring?”

“Nope.”

“No one’s mentioned it to you. Not once?”

“Not that I can recall.”

“We’re famous for this! Every year—oh, you haven’t been here that long. Huh. It feels like longer.”

Selys shook her head, amazed at how time seemed to fly and simultaneously drag out. She felt like she’d known Erin for years, but it had only been half a year at most. She sighed. Erin looked around curiously. It was still pouring.

“Anand and Belgrade told me there’s a lot of water and…drowning? Or is that just underground? They said you could explain. If it’s a long story I can come back later—I have to be in Celum now so—”

“I can give you the short version.”

Selys smiled as she took a seat on her high stool behind her counter. She liked Erin, she really did, but she was going to enjoy Erin’s reaction more. The [Innkeeper] looked curiously at her.

“Okay, what’s the short version?”

“In Liscor, it starts raining hard each year after winter. For about two months it’s non-stop rainfall, and the city’s practically closed off during that time. When the summer begins it all dries out, but…think of it like this, Erin. We’re caught between the High Passes on either side. There’s an entrance to the north, and an entrance to the south, but Liscor is one big bowl. The only high elevation are the hills which Liscor and your inn and a few villages sit on top of. And it rains a lot. What do you think happens?”

The Drake waited. Erin looked blank.

“Bowl, rain, lots of mountains and valleys. Wait, you don’t mean—”

Her eyes widened. Selys grinned. She leaned over the counter and raised her voice so the adventurers behind Erin could here.

“That’s right. It floods.”

Erin stared. She gave Selys the blankest, most surprised look that the Drake had ever seen. Then she looked out the window at the pouring rain. She stared at Selys, at the rain, and then grinned.

“Hey, good one Selys! I nearly bought that for a second!”

The Drake stared at her. Erin stared back, her smile faltering. Selys sighed and slowly covered her face. Erin’s eyes widened.

“Wait, you’re serious?”

5.04

The Floodplains of Liscor. So named because of the valley that had been formed between the High Passes, one of the two routes between northern Izril and southern Izril. At least, for most of the year. For two months out of the twelve, the floodplains would fill up with water as the spring rains poured down. All but the highest hills would be engulfed in water until the rains stopped and the water drained. It was an annual process, a well-known feature of Liscor.

“I had no idea. I mean, I know they’re called the Floodplains, but I guess I just assumed it was a weird name. I didn’t know that this happened, you know?”

Erin was still in a state of shock. She stared hopefully at the young woman across the counter. Octavia looked up as she painstakingly made a bunch of matches. She was leaning over a bowl filled with red liquid, dipping wooden sticks into the bowl and attaching the wet matches to a small device she was rotating with her other hand.

“I knew that. Even I know what happens in Liscor.”

“Even you?”

Erin stared in shock at Octavia. The dark-skinned Stitch-Girl shrugged.

“Yeah, it’s common knowledge. It rains in Liscor and trade ceases for two months out of the year. Big deal. So what?”

Erin was speechless. It seemed like a big deal to her, but then, Octavia had lived here her entire life.

“You don’t think that’s cool or weird or—I dunno, special?”

“Eh, it’s water, Erin. I never planned on going to Liscor in my life. Maybe past it, but—look, would you move back? This mixture is flammable and I don’t feel safe with you hovering about.”

The [Alchemist] shooed Erin back a step or two as she continued dipping the set of match sticks into the bowl. Erin watched, keeping a respectful distance although she resented the implication that she could make the matches catch fire by breathing on them. For a few minutes she just watched Octavia make matches.

It was a fascinating process. Octavia had created a red liquid she was dipping a series of uniform sticks into. This was the liquid form of the match heads and the [Alchemist] had to rotate the matches to prevent the matches from dripping. She’d managed to create a turnable ‘wheel’ of sorts she used to dry the match heads but as she’d explained to Erin, it was an involved process.

“I’m trying to figure out how to air-dry them without the match heads dripping. That way I’ll be able to triple my output if I don’t have to manage them. I can get up to fifty boxes done each day if I work at it with my other projects, but I’d like to be able to do up to three hundred without any effort eventually.”

“Wow. That’s a lot of work.”

Erin stared at the neat little wooden boxes that Octavia had filled with the matches. She’d wrapped each bundle of matches in wax paper to avoid the heads rubbing against each other or the box and igniting. Octavia nodded proudly, showing Erin a line of boxes ready to be sold.

“I’m making money hand over stitch thanks to these things! True, anyone with a fire spell can light something, but how many people don’t know fire magic? And this is so much easier to carry about than a flint and steel—and a lot more fun, too! I’ve got [Traders] and [Merchants] asking how many I can make.”

She paused and pursed her lips.

“A lot of [Alchemists] want to know my recipe as well. I’ve tried to make sure they can’t get their hands on my formula, but it’s only a matter of time before someone figures out my secrets! I want to flood the market before that. And of course I have a lot of potions I’m making with all the gold! Take a look at this!”

She showed Erin a crate of bottles, each one labeled and filled to the brim with glowing, or sparkling liquids. Erin whistled.

“Ooh. That’s so cool.”

“And don’t touch! Some of those are dangerous!”

Octavia slapped Erin’s hand away. She protectively edged in front of Erin, guarding her precious wares. It wasn’t often that Erin hung out in Octavia’s shop these days, but the [Alchemist] clearly didn’t trust her any more than she had when Erin was experimenting with her magical cooking.

“I have to deliver this to that scary Gnoll [Shopkeeper] of yours and I don’t want my first delivery to be delayed! Thanks for telling me about the rain, though. I’ll have to cover my matches so they don’t get wet.”

Erin blinked at the crate and the bag that Octavia was busy stuffing her wares into.

“Wait, are you going to Liscor? You never leave your shop!”

The Stitch-Girl snorted.

“I leave sometimes. For food and ingredients and…stuff. And I’m not going into Liscor, what, do you think I’m crazy? I’m not ducking those giant Crab Rocks or whatever you call them. No, I’ll leave my potions and matches in your inn. That Gnoll lady said she’ll send a Street Runner to pick them up. Just show them where it is, okay? And no touching!”

She waved a match stick at Erin. The [Innkeeper] frowned as she studied Octavia.

“Wait, so you’re going to bring your goods to Liscor through my inn.”

Octavia didn’t look up as she dipped more matches.

“That’s right.”

“And you’re going to sell them through Krshia, who I introduced you to.”

“Yep. She gets a cut and I get a cut. Apparently Liscor imports most of its potions from Pallass. Hah! I can beat the [Alchemists] with my prices since I don’t have to ship them a few hundred miles! Plus, my matches haven’t been seen in Liscor yet. Even with that damned Gnoll’s cut I bet I’ll turn more of a profit this week!”

“Uh huh. And the matches were my idea. Mine and Ryoka’s since she told you how they were made.”

“Well yeah, but I had to figure out the exact formula. Phosphorous? Heh, that’s not nearly as combustive as powdered Corusdeer Horns and some Fire Beetle shells…”

Octavia smiled to herself as she plucked a dried match from her drying wheel and poked at the head. Satisfied, she transferred it to a box of completed matches. Erin nodded, watching the [Alchemist] work. Then she dropped her bomb.

“Shouldn’t I get paid for all this then?”

The Stich-Girl dropped one of the matches into her bowl. Cursing, she grabbed at it, tossed it into a bin at her feet, and then gave Erin a fish-eye. Erin smiled sweetly as she leaned over Octavia’s counter. The [Alchemist] stared at her and then gave her a big and not-entirely-genuine smile.

“Erin, Erin, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

“I guess.”

The [Alchemist] sidled up to Erin, putting her arm around Erin’s shoulder. She squeezed tightly, smiling like a used car salesman selling her most corroded piece of junk.

“Of course we are! You and me, we go way back. We’re practically sisters! Well, I think of you that way. You’re an [Innkeeper], I’m an [Alchemist]—but we do the same things! Remember when you made all those magical dishes in my shop? Great times! And remember how I was encouraging you the entire time?”

“Nope.”

“Erin, it’s all in the past now. I know we had our differences, but I am so grateful—did I mention how grateful I am?—so grateful that you are helping me grow my business. And I know it’s a small imposition that you let me work through your magical door—which I’ve installed in my shop by the way, just because you asked. I still haven’t fixed my front wall, you know. It gets drafty at night…”

“I paid for that.”

“And so you did! But Erin, business is one thing and I’m a small-time [Alchemist]—I hardly have my head above water most days. Hah, water, it’s a heck of a thing isn’t it? Imagine Liscor flooding all the time? Well, I’m sure you see my predicament, but I want you to know that I care, and so I can give you uh, these potions as a sign of friendship.”

Octavia eyed her shelves and grabbed a few bottles. She pushed them into Erin’s hands.

“I insist, a token of our friendship!”

She was smiling desperately and a slight sheen of sweat covered her forehead. Erin, smiling as well, looked at the bottles.

“As much as I’d like a stamina potion, hair-regrowth tonic and…ooh, one of Ryoka’s stink potions, I think I want an actual deal, Octavia.”

“Okay? Okay…we can deal.”

Octavia looked wary, but she immediately grabbed a seat and dusted it off for Erin. She gave the young woman another big smile.

“What were you thinking? A monthly convenience fee? How about we talk about it over dinner? My treat? We could go for a, uh, a deal where I give you six—no, twelve match boxes each week? And a potion?”

Erin declined to sit. Instead she loomed—just a tiny bit—and gave Octavia one of the scary grins she’d seen Ryoka give other people.

“That’s one idea. But how about this? A non-negotiable surcharge on every match box made and a copyright fee as well as a fee for using my door and a finder’s charge for introducing you to Krshia and storing your goods in my inn, which also adds a protection fee, a delivery fee, a storage fee, and city taxes, since Liscor is importing the goods from Celum.”

Erin was no businessperson and she had no idea what she’d actually said, just that it sounded complicated and expensive. Anyways, it didn’t matter. Erin could say something entirely stupid so long as she delivered her lines with the right attitude. And the result was impressive—Octavia went dead white. She gaped at Erin for a moment and began speaking rapidly.

“Look, Erin, let’s not be hasty! I mean, you’re a businesswoman and I—we don’t have to do this! We’re friends! Why, I’m sure we can strike a deal that’s not this harsh! Did I insult you with the potions? Let me take them back! Forgotten! Let’s try again, and why don’t I buy you a drink and dinner? Five drinks? Come on Erin, don’t throw me under the wagon, have a heart—”

She looked so desperate that Erin couldn’t help but laugh. She spread her arms as Octavia stared at her.

“Kidding! I’m not that much of a jerk.”

The [Alchemist] sagged against her counter, weak-kneed with relief.

“Dead gods, Erin, don’t do that! Do you know how worried I was?”

“Well, now you know how I feel every time you try to con me. Besides, I have a point which is why you got nervous.”

Erin smiled triumphantly. Octavia grumbled and kicked at an empty bottle lying on the floor. It sailed across the shop and shattered loudly. The [Alchemist] winced.

“Okay, point. I guess I owe you something. But Erin, this is my livelihood!”

“Which is doing better thanks to me. I’m not asking for much, Octavia. And remember, I’ve got all kinds of cool ideas. But my inn needs money since I have Goblins in it and apparently that’s a bad thing. We can deal, but equally, okay?”

Octavia sighed.

“Goblins. I forgot about them. No wonder no one’s asked to go to your inn for a week now. I did wonder, but they must have slipped my mind. Fine, we can talk gold.”

“I don’t need much. And I won’t charge you for doing business, but some money for my ideas each week would be nice. Say two coppers for every gold coin?”

Erin saw Octavia brighten and waggled a finger.

“But I do want some matches for myself! For free, Octavia. I’ll give you new ideas, too. That’s worth all the gold you can bargain for. When you finally figure out that penicillin stuff you’ll be really rich, trust me!”

“That will take a while. Those molds are hard to figure out. And Erin, some of your ideas are good, but there is no way I can make an anti-gravity potion because you thought it would be ‘cool’. I need ideas that are real, not imaginary.”

Octavia grumbled as she went behind her counter. For all she moaned about coin, she was surprisingly good-natured and Erin pocketed a handful of gold and silver coins and came away with several matchboxes and two potions. She let the [Alchemist] complain about unfair business practices as she lugged her crate of potions and matches into her inn and then opened the door to Octavia’s shop.

“I’m going into the city, Octavia! Don’t be scared if you see Goblins and tell Lyonette to keep Mrsha away from your stuff!”

“Wait, they’re wandering about? Where are—aaah!”

The Stitch-Girl spotted one of the Redfang Goblins heading down the stairs and ran screaming for the doorway. Erin shook her head as Rabbiteater stared at Octavia brandishing a potion at him. It would be fine—Lyonette could sort it out, Erin was sure. Probably.

She turned and strode out the doorway, confident that Octavia would either bargain for her life or start selling matches to Goblins. Octavia was all very well, but a deal with her was small potatoes compared to what Erin had in mind. The [Innkeeper] walked through Celum, staring at the Humans walking past her.

“It’s not raining! Huh, I guess the storm’s only around Liscor.”

It really was amazing. If Erin turned her head she could see dark clouds in the horizon to the south, right where Liscor was. But she’d come a hundred miles north to Celum in a single bound. And she could go to Pallass, which was five hundred miles south of here from her inn! The possibilities of her door were endless. As were the dangers. But that wasn’t what mattered now. What mattered was…

“Goblins.”

Erin sighed as she walked down the street. Several of the people around her gave her strange looks. Celum had heard about Erin’s Hobgoblin population and they had likewise boycotted her inn. Erin hadn’t cared about that as much as Liscor, but now she did. Her Goblins were a problem? Well, they’d be an even bigger problem after this! She was nearly at the Runner’s Guild when she heard a voice shouting angrily behind her.

“Turn, hellhound, turn!”

The voice was male, authoritative, and echoed down the street. Erin whirled around, grinning. She saw a man dressed in bright clothing pointing at her as all the pedestrians on the street turned to see who had shouted.

The man lowered his hand and strode down the street towards her, a broad smile set on his face. Wesle had changed markedly since Erin had first met him. Where he had once been a competent if slightly resigned low-level [Guardsman] in service to Celum he was now a confident [Actor]. He now led the troupe of actors in Celum the first of their kind with his leading co-star, Jasi.

“Wesle! Just the guy I was looking for!”

Erin walked over and hugged Wesle. He smiled down at her, and his voice was deeper and more resonant than she remembered when he replied.

“It seems I have impeccable timing, then! I was just walking down the street for a bite to eat when I saw you leaving Miss Octavia’s shop! What brings you into Celum? And do you have time to talk with a humble [Actor] such as myself?”

“Of course! You’re one of the reasons why I’m here! I want your help and I have a cool offer for you and Jasi and all the other [Actors]—I was going to the Runner’s Guild first, but now that I think of it, you’re better. Let’s get to one side and chat, okay?”

They were in the middle of the street and Erin was wary of rogue wagons, especially after what had happened to Ryoka on these same streets months ago. Wesle stroked at his clean-shaved lips and chin.

“We can certainly do that, but it ah, might be better to step inside somewhere. I think we’ll attract a crowd if we linger outside.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

Erin turned and saw to her amazement that a crowd of onlookers had already gathered around Wesle. She saw a young woman push forwards, a [Baker] or a baker’s apprentice by the looks of her. She had eyes only for Wesle.

“Mister Salkis, I’m such a huge fan. I know you must be busy, but could you possibly spare the time to…?”

She blushed and pushed back her sleeve. Wesle gave Erin an apologetic glance and then gave her and the crowd a huge smile.

“Of course! What is your name, mistress?”

“Colina, sir.”

The young woman blushed. Wesle pulled something out of his pocket with a flourish and Erin blinked as she saw a piece of black chalk or—was it charcoal? The tip looked almost wet as Wesle unwrapped it from some waxy paper. He gently pressed it to the young [Baker]’s arm and to Erin’s astonishment, began to sign his name!

“Well then Miss Colina, I am delighted to meet you. What play do you enjoy the most, pray tell?”

“Oh, Hamlet, sir! When I saw you on stage, calling your uncle a false [King], well, I—it was incredible. And that line you delivered just now! I know Sir Macduff always performs it and it’s Mister Pralcem who plays the part, but I would so love to see you play his role as well!”

“An intriguing idea! Perhaps we’ll mix up the roles next time. Thank you for your support, Miss Colina.”

Wesle smiled and the young woman nearly fainted with embarrassment and pleasure. He turned, the charcoal in his hands.

“Anyone else?”

There was a chorus of voice. Erin saw the people line up and Wesle went from person to person, signing arms, hands, and a cheek! The people beamed as he spoke with them. When it was done Wesle walked towards Erin, looking pleased and slightly apologetic.

“Let’s hurry inside somewhere before another group finds us. It’s not always I get stopped, but once someone asks…the Runner’s Guild will keep them away.”

He hurried with Erin towards the Runner’s Guild. There too Wesle’s face instantly drew attention. A [Receptionist] hurried forwards, beaming at him, and when Wesle requested a private room he immediately got it—despite not being a Runner and much faster than Ryoka had when she’d asked.

There was even the cheese platter. Erin sat across from Wesle as he signed the [Receptionist]’s palm. He smiled at her, embarrassed, and she shook her head when they were alone.

“Wesle, you’re a star! When did this happen?”

Wesle flushed and stroked his lips where his mustache used to be.

“I don’t know about a star, Miss Erin. I feel like I’m a [King] in his court sometimes, but it’s all flash and show, it really is. As for when it started happening, well, it began about a month ago. We’d been putting on plays each night when we started getting requests to go to other cities and put on a performance for the [Mayor] and well, people started coming up to us on the streets after that and saying how moving they thought our acting was.”

He looked happy, red-faced, and excited all at the same time. Erin just grinned at him.

“Wow. Look at you! I knew the plays were cool, but—just wow!”

“We owe it all to you.”

Wesle bowed his head slightly. Erin waved it away, feeling embarrassed herself. She had been the one to come up with the idea and then teach Wesle and the others a play, but she could never have dreamed it would turn into something like this! He was an actual celebrity, and somehow, without her involvement he had already begun signing autographs and having groupies follow him around.

Some things were the same across worlds. Erin sat forwards in her seat and talked around a piece of gooey brie cheese on a cracker.

“Okay, tell me. What’s with the charcoal? You sign your name with that? On people’s bodies, not paper?”

“Paper? Most folk can’t afford paper. Although I have signed parchment for some of them. They keep it as mementoes. And we can’t walk around with a quill and inkpot, so one of the [Alchemists] in the city made this up for us. It’s sticky and makes a mess, but it shows up well.”

Wesle offered the bit of charcoal to Erin. She touched it and found it was more like an oil-based marker than actual charcoal. She drew a smiley face on her arm and Wesle raised his eyebrows.

“What’s that?”

“A smiley. You should draw one on the next person! I bet it’s easier than a signature. And you could have your own special symbol, you know?”

Erin showed Wesle a few more symbols from her world and he was stunned.

“Once again you have new ideas Miss Erin that…well, it’s always something wondrous with you. We—the Players of Celum we’re calling ourselves for now—owe you a huge debt. Jasi and Grev talk of you all the time and if you could spare the time we’d love to have you meet our troupe. We’ve taken on a lot of new [Actors] since we started and we now have our own warehouse to practice in. Hah, we’ve had to hire [Guards] and [Mercenaries] to keep people from watching us practice! It would mean the world if you visited.”

It was amazing to hear that the [Actors] had already become this successful. Erin shook her head again.

“Of course I’ll come! But I’m just a humble [Innkeeper]—”

“Nonsense!”

Wesle’s ringing denial was far grander than the acoustics of the room should have allowed. His pose was equally impressive—his body radiated a fierce refutation of Erin’s modesty. Was it one of his new Skills? He leaned over, giving Erin a look that was both genuine and serious.

“You, Miss Erin, are our patron and muse! We would never have started this without you and as I say, we owe you a great debt. We’ve put on plays in Ocre, Remendia, and Wales because of you and we’re thinking of travelling further abroad once we have enough [Actors] for two groups to perform at once. Not to mention, we’d love to know if you have more plays you could teach us.”

He coughed and winked at Erin. It was such a theatrical move that she burst out laughing.

“Not that there’s any shortage of [Writers] clamoring to have us perform plays they’ve come up with. Not just [Writers]—we’ve gotten submissions from countless members of the public already! None of it holds a candle to the stuff you’ve given us, mind, but we’ve been paid good coin to put on some performances other people want to see.”

“Amazing. And you’ll probably get more. I bet [Lords] and [Ladies] will want you to perform. Oh, Wesle, I’m so glad this is working out for you!”

Erin rose and hugged the man. He smiled at her.

“And to think it all started with a [Washer] and a [Guardsman] in an inn. That’s a play in itself and we may have to perform it sometime. But I talk too much now, don’t I? Why did you want to see me, Miss Erin? Anything we can do, anything at all…”

“Well, I was actually hoping you’d say that! I’m in a bit of a pickle you see. I haven’t been in Celum for a long time because I’ve had so much to do. Have you heard about it?”

Wesle grew serious and once again reached for his shaved mustache. That habit hadn’t changed at least.

“I did, Miss Erin. I saw some of it, or pieces at least. That business with the false Named Adventurer, the tragic death of that Gold-rank adventurer and Gnoll…Zel Shivertail himself coming north and falling in battle…and now I hear your inn is hosting Goblins.”

Erin shook her head, her joy fading as she recalled all the trials of the last few months.

“It’s always hosted Goblins, Wesle. Only now people are scared and my inn’s suffering. I’m actually in a bad spot financially. So I was going to ask—this is really difficult, but—”

“Say no more.”

A finger raised towards Erin’s lips. Wesle shook his head as he leaned across the table.

“We’d be the most wretched of ingrates if we didn’t offer you what we’ve earned, Miss Erin. You never asked for a cut of our profits and you deserve it for teaching us the plays, let alone giving us our classes! We can offer you quite a lot of gold—I’d have to ask Jasi how much we earn per week, but we could give you at least—”

“Wesle, I don’t need donations!”

Erin cut him off, laughing with relief. Wesle blinked.

“You don’t? But see here, Miss Erin—”

“If you want to give me some money that’s great and I’ll accept. I’m not going to say I can’t use it. But I don’t need you to give me money for nothing. Actually, I wanted something a bit more from you that I really hope you’ll agree to. Listen—”

The young woman sat forwards on the edge of her seat and Wesle did likewise. His eyes widened as Erin explained her idea and he frowned, but within minutes he was nodding and pacing around the room excitedly.

“That can work! Of course it can! Just the other day Kilkran—he’s one of our new [Actors], a man you haven’t met. A former [Blacksmith], but a voice that could shake the rafters of a barn, I’ll swear! He was saying that we needed to think about the long-term. And this idea is perfect!”

“You don’t think it’ll drive away business? It’s a risk, Wesle.”

Erin warned the man, wanting him to be clear on what he was agreeing to. Wesle dismissed her concerns with one shake of the head.

“Business? We could divide our troupe and still earn enough for all of us to live on. Besides, this is better. This is right. And if you think this will stop people from watching us—hah! The power of the stage will draw them in, Miss Erin. Just you wait! I don’t want to speak for everyone of course, but I can’t think that any of the original cast will say no, and the new [Actors] will come round once they know all you’ve done for us!”

“Well, I’m relieved. If you want to tell them, I can settle things in the Runner’s Guild. Or maybe you can help me? I think they’d believe it if you said it.”

“Of course. And we must have a drink at your inn as well, Erin. That is to say Miss—”

“Erin!”

She laughed and Wesle laughed too.

“You kept telling me that before as well. All this business about your magical door and the Goblins sound incredibly difficult. I wish you’d come to us months ago, or that we’d known you needed help!”

Erin shook her head.

“You guys had to do your own thing! You’re stars; and I didn’t have as much trouble until Zel and…well, and Pallass. Those jerks are making stuff difficult but I’ll win in the end! And think of this, Wesle! With my door you guys don’t have to just go to Human cities! You could put on a show in Liscor and even Pallass!”

She looked at Wesle. His eyes widened.

“A Walled City? But that would be—dead gods, could we do it?”

“First Liscor, then the world! I bet the Drakes and Gnolls would love you! But let’s do this first. Okay?”

Erin headed down the stairs with Wesle and the [Receptionists] and Runners in the Guild looked up.

“Mister Salkis!”

One of the [Receptionists] hurried forwards and Erin smiled. Wesle’s last name was Salkis apparently, and it seemed like everyone was too shy to call him by his first name. Wesle greeted the woman and explained Erin’s idea. The [Receptionist]’s eyes went wide and she took a step back.

“But—well, of course we can spread the word, Mister Salkis. But you’re sure? You’re going to—I mean, there are rumors—”

She stared at Erin who folded her arms.

“Hey! I’m standing right here, you know!”

The older woman blushed and Wesle bowed slightly. His voice could be heard at the back of the room as he replied.

“Miss Bellia, I can assure you we will be perfectly safe. Safer, in fact, which is the point of this little announcement. Now, I have to get to my troupe, but please send the bill to us. And if Miss Erin has anything else she needs done…”

He looked at Erin expectantly. She hesitated.

“Is Fals here? Or Garia? Has anyone seen Ryoka?”

The [Receptionist] shook her head, her brow creasing when Erin mentioned Ryoka’s name. The Runner’s Guild in Celum still hadn’t forgotten the incident with the Frost Faeries.

“They’re all out on deliveries in other cities, Miss Solstice. Well, I can’t speak for Miss Griffin. Shall I ask them to call on you when they arrive in Celum next?”

“Please. I haven’t seen them in a while.”

The woman nodded and Erin strolled out of the front door with Wesle. He was smiling at her. She peered at him suspiciously?

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s just that life is never dull when you’re around, Erin. I think I’ve had enough excitement and then you turn up.”

“Well, I do like interesting stuff. I’ll go back to the inn, Wesle. Meet you later?”

His eyes twinkled. Wesle took a step back in the street and swept Erin a dramatic bow that drew all eyes to him once again.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. We’ll be there.”

He strode off. Erin watched him go, shaking her head and smiling.

“What a showoff.”

She thought it suited him perfectly. Humming, Erin walked back to Octavia’s shop, a spring in her step. Everything was going according to plan! Now, there was just one last step.

—-

“It’s perfect.”

Erin breathed the words that night. She stared around her inn, stared at the Humans crowding around one side of it where the tables had been shoved aside, stared at the Redfang Goblins, and stared at the bit of cloth she’d been writing on all day. Lyonette peered at Headscratcher.

“It’s insane, Erin. Even for you, this idea is crazy. It’ll never work!”

“It’ll totally work! It has to work! It’s already working! It’s the most amazing idea I’ve come up with yet! Lyonette, this is going to blow people’s minds!”

Erin waved her hands over her head excitedly. Lyonette shook her head, but she couldn’t help smiling in amazement.

“It’s something alright. But do you really think Watch Captain Zevara and that guy from Pallass will like it?”

The [Innkeeper] didn’t hear her. Erin looked around her inn and strode over to the group of Humans at the far wall. The Players of Celum turned to greet her. They were all dressed up, some wearing face paint or other cosmetics, others dressed as [Guards], the nobility, wearing swords at their hilts or practicing fencing with dulled blades. Two, a Drake and a young boy, turned as Erin approached and exclaimed.

“Erin!”

“Jasi! Grev!”

Erin hugged first the young Drake woman and then the boy. Jasi and Grev had both changed as well. Gone was the young timid Drake that Erin had met in Liscor. Jasi had been bit by the acting bug and if she wasn’t as flamboyant as Wesle, she had an inner poise of her own. She dominated space despite her small frame.

Grev looked better too. His thin frame had filled out and he was wearing good, new clothes. He was also helping set up props at the far wall.

“Erin, it’s been so long! I’m so glad to see you again! When Wesle ran in and told us you want us to perform here, I was overjoyed!”

Jasi gushed as she held up her arms to let one of the other actors attach shimmering crystal bracelets around her. They were magical and radiated a chill, but Jasi seemed used to the cold. Erin smiled at her.

“Thanks for doing this, really.”

“We should be thanking you! This is the least we can do. And we’ll be happy to perform here as many nights as you want! It’s so obvious I can’t believe I didn’t think of it—here we are trying to find the best place to perform and you have your own inn! After we left Miss Agnes’ inn on bad terms we kept bouncing from place to place without remembering you!”

Jasi gestured around The Wandering Inn, her bracelets catching the light and glittering. Erin laughed.

“I didn’t either! But isn’t this a good idea?”

“The best.”

Wesle strode up to them, dressed in a woodcutter’s outfit. He looked entirely like a rustic outdoorsman, sinking in to his role with ease. He gestured around Erin’s inn, at the tables she’d pushed to one side to give the actors room.

“This is a big inn as well. We need all the space we can get—I wager we’ll fill this inn every night after this first one. My word on it!”

Erin nodded, hoping that would be the case. She looked at the other actors as they bustled about. This was her big plan. Her inn was starved for coin and company, so why not bring the most successful and popular show in Celum here? She hadn’t known if Wesle and the others would agree despite his promises, but they had shown up enthusiastic and early. Now the stage manager, a heavy, short woman, bustled up.

“Miss Solstice? We’d like to attach some [Light] spells to the rafters. They’ll fade away soon, but for the snow it’s all about lighting you see.”

“Oh, go ahead! Just watch out when you cast the spells—my inn’s charged with mana so things will get really bright! Other spells too—they get bigger, apparently.”

“Really? That’s—wonderful!”

The woman brightened. She turned and shouted at a [Mage] and two [Actors] fussing in one corner of the room. As she hurried to them waving her arms and explaining, Wesle leaned over.

“That’s Emme, our stage manager. She loves the stage though there’s fewer parts for someone of her height. She’s often the lower half of an animal or a moving prop—she likes this play because she can have a leading role. She’s got a bit of Dwarf blood in her.”

“Oh.”

Erin watched Emme gesturing at the ceiling and saw a bright ball of light appear. It shone, illuminating the entire stage and the [Actors] cried out in surprise. Grev shook his head as he popped up next to her.

“Magic inn, good food, and you know more plays. If Wesle wasn’t in makeup he’d kiss you, Miss Erin.”

Wesle turned red and Erin laughed as the man raised a mock-threatening fist and Grev skipped around Jasi. He turned back to Erin.

“We’ll bring you coin, have no fear, Erin! But that’s only half of your plan, isn’t it?”

“That’s right.”

Erin smiled slyly and looked back to where Headscratcher was standing awkwardly with Lyonette. Business and coin for her inn was one thing, but the real masterstroke of Erin’s plan was actually in the Redfang Warriors, or rather, the fact that they were standing in her inn with Humans about.

The Players of Celum walked warily around the five Hobs, but were too consumed by their tasks to stare. Much. They looked nervous, but Wesle, Erin, and Jasi had reassured them again and again that the Hobgoblins were no threat. But perhaps it was the special addition Erin had given each of the Hobgoblins that helped.

Each Hob was wearing an armband, nothing more than a white bit of cloth tied around their arm. It was nothing special, save for the single word emblazoned on each one. ‘Security’ had been written on each amband in big black letters. The Redfang Goblins poked at their armbands and stood around trying to look menacing, which wasn’t very hard given their natural aptitude in the field.

“Goblin bouncers. Or rather, Goblin guards for an inn. Break my legs, I never thought I’d see the like.”

Wesle shook his head as he saw Badarrow standing next to the door. The Hob looked grumpy, but also interested as he followed the Humans around with his eyes. He was clearly trying not to show it. Erin smiled.

“I offered them the job and you know what? They took it! I think they’re bored and I need more protection. And this way no one can say the Goblins are a threat because they’ll deal with any threats!”

It was the perfect plan. Erin had hit on it when Venim had suggested paying the Halfseekers to guard her inn. The Redfang Warriors would be out in the open, allowed to walk around as proud employees of her inn! And if people didn’t like it they could sit on five pins, because Erin was doing this. She turned back to Wesle.

“Are you sure you want to perform every night over here?”

He nodded.

“Absolutely. We had an ongoing contract with the inns in Celum to perform in each one night to night, but having a permanent place to perform is just as good. Better. We can store some of our props in the basement and this way half of our members won’t walk to the wrong inn on the other side of the city!”

“Not to mention, you have [Advanced Cooking]. Your inn serves better food than most of the ones in Celum and we do like good food after we perform.”

Jasi interjected. Grev was nodding as well.

“You have a big enough inn for us to perform in, and no one’s gonna interrupt the stage with them scary Goblins hanging out.”

He pointed to the Hobgoblins, clearly more at ease with them than the adults. Grev turned as a small white shape moved in the corner of his eye. He saw Mrsha staring at him until the Gnoll fled upstairs.

“And even if people don’t come right away, I have an audience for you. That way you’ll earn money, guaranteed.”

Erin was speaking to Wesle and Jasi. She’d actually made tonight’s show private, despite the news going up around Celum and Liscor at the moment. Despite this, the inn was packed. Erin pointed to the quiet audience of black and brown bodies. The Painted Soldiers and Workers sat quietly around their tables, eating from bowls and eying the popcorn in the middle of the tables. The Antinium had readily agreed to send enough guests to fill Erin’s inn. All the pieces had lined up as Erin had gone about her day.

Her only fear had been the Players of Celum balking from either the Hobs or the Antinium. It had seemed like they might at first, but Wesle had reassured them. However, they were eying the mass of silent watchers nervously. An older man or rather, an [Actor] dressed up as an older man wearing a [Lord]’s costume sidled up to Wesle and Jasi.

“We’re nearly ready to go, Wesle. But are you sure—?”

His eyes flicked to the Antinium silently. Wesle didn’t glance at Erin. He put his arm around the other [Actor] and gestured dismissively at the Antinium watching them. Erin resolved to buy some curtains tomorrow as soon as she could. For now they were using bed sheets for the scene changes.

“Relax, Esbell. They’re an audience, same as any other! They might not clap or gasp, but Erin tells me that’s normal. We do our show—our best performance! If you don’t have the guts to stand on stage in front of the Antinium, what will you do when you have a crowd of folk booing you and demanding their coin back?”

“Exactly. We’ll give them a show, and we’ll all level. There’s nothing like a new audience for that. Cheer up Esbell, you might get that [Loud Voice] Skill you wanted tonight!”

Jasi stepped forwards, her dress radiant. The [Actor] nodded and squared his shoulders. Erin saw the Players of Celum congregating around the backstage they’d set up, and then the bright [Light] spell dimmed overhead.

The play was beginning. Erin rubbed her hands, looking at the Antinium, the [Actors], at Lyonette and Ishkr serving tables, at Mrsha, stealing popcorn from a bowl, at the Redfang Warriors keeping an eye out but watching with interest, and at Octavia, sitting at a table at the front of the room and looking very confused.

It was all so wonderful Erin wanted to cry. This was it! This was it. She muttered to herself as she watched Wesle stride out on stage.

“You can stay away from the inn if you want, but if you want to see an amazing play every night you’d better get over yourselves and come here! And I have the best security! Hobgoblins! You make trouble and they’ll toss you out, even if you’re a Silver-rank team! I uh, think I’ll let Gold-rank teams cause trouble.”

She saw Wesle raise his hands and went silent. The man looked around the room, pausing a second for dramatic effect. Then he spoke.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! Antinium! Gnolls and Drakes, please, allow me to introduce the performance for tonight. We are the Players of Celum, here to bring you all a performance of the tale of Frozen. What follows is a tale of family and loss, magic and secrets, love and betrayal. We ask that you remain seated and do not speak during the performance. All that passes on this stage is an act—please do not attempt to interfere with the play. At this time, please put away any wands or magical artifacts that may interrupt the viewing experience for other watchers—”

Wesle stood on stage, his voice ringing, the lights shining on him, larger than life. Erin smiled as she saw Emme the part-Dwarf woman waddling around in what was meant to be an Olaf costume. Only in this world, the people’s idea of a Snow Golem was a lot less friendly looking!

It would be a great play. And the first of many. Erin turned her head and saw Bird peeking down the stairs.

“Bird, you don’t want to watch?”

“I will watch. But I like high places so I will sit here, Miss Erin.”

Bird perched on a higher step as the curtains drew back and a young girl appeared on stage. Not all of the Players of Celum were old, and the children took to acting with as much, if not more passion than the adults. Erin took a seat next to Bird.

“You’re not mad at me for hiring more guards?”

“Should I be? They are guards. That is important. They can guard the ground. I will guard us against birds and other threats from above.”

Bird replied calmly. Erin smiled at him. Jealousy didn’t seem to be an Antinium trait. She looked around, got up, and came back with a bowl of popcorn. She offered it to Bird.

“Popcorn?”

“Ah, bird bait. Yes, I will have some.”

The Antinium took a handful and crunched it down. Erin laughed as the play began and a model of a ship appeared on a blue background meant to be the sea. She wondered if Jasi’s magical bracelets actually shot snow or would just do magic tricks. And she wondered if her inn’s magical supply would make the effects more spectacular. Bird looked appreciatively at the play.

“I quite enjoy this. Is it over now that everyone has died at sea?”

Erin grinned.

“Oh, Bird. You’re so sweet. No, you haven’t seen anything yet. This is just the opening act. There’s more to come, I promise you. Lots more.”

Bird paused. He turned and looked at Erin. Then he smiled.

“Good.”

—-

“She did what?”

There wasn’t any surprise left in Zevara’s voice. She stared at the report Olesm had given her on Celum and then the more formal report from Klbkch. Olesm couldn’t help but smile as he showed Zevara the written details.

“She’s apparently hired the Hobgoblins as guards for her inn. And—get this, she’s invited a group of [Actors] from Celum to perform in her inn. Apparently they put on these wonderful, uh—”

“Plays. And she’s gotten the Antinium to watch them, and—oh yes, told everyone about it. Loudly.”

That was in the Olesm’s report. Celum’s Runner’s Guild had spread the word to Liscor and other local cities as well as told Runners to pass on this latest news: the Players of Celum would now perform exclusively at The Wandering Inn where they would be guarded by Hobgoblins and an Antinium no less. The inn was open to all species and prohibited violence against all guests. Admission was free but there was already talk of obtaining tickets to prevent overcrowding the limited space…Zevara paged through the report and shook her head.

“She’s insane, Olesm. Completely insane.”

“Well if she is, it’s a good kind of insane. If Erin gets support from Celum and Liscor, then even Pallass will have to acknowledge those Hobs aren’t a threat.”

The Drake pointed that out. Zevara shook her head.

“If only I believed that. But that’s not the only thing she’s done.”

“Oh?”

Olesm looked surprised. He hadn’t heard about the second point of news, which had been imparted to Zevara just minutes ago. She stared glumly at a second report. It was short, barely half a page, but it had a lot of underlined words.

“You’ll never guess what she did in the Adventurer’s Guild.”

“What?”

—-

There were some things Selys would do for friends, and then, there were things she’d only do for Erin, and only because she’d been talked into it. She stood on the second floor of the Adventurer’s Guild, holding a piece of parchment between her trembling claws. She whispered a few words before she knocked on the door.

“Oh, Ancestors.”

“Selys? Come in.”

Selys walked into the office of the Guildmaster of the Adventurer’s Guild. Or rather, Guildmistress. Tekshia Shivertail, Selys’ grandmother, looked up from her desk. She and Selys were the only two people left in the guild at this hour.

“Hi Grandma, I just wanted to give this to you before I went home.”

The young Drake [Receptionist] nervously approached the desk. Tekshia sighed.

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“Well, I just got done writing it up so…here. I’ll see you tomorrow, grandma! Love you!”

The Drake put the piece of parchment on the desk. Tekshia frowned up at her, sensing Selys’ odd behavior.

“What’s this about, you scamp?”

Selys grinned and ran for it. Tekshia Shivertail stared at the application on her desk. It was a simple one, a standard request to form an authorized Bronze-rank team. The only curious thing was the name of the group and the five members applying for it.

“The Redfang Goblins. Members are Headscratcher, Badarrow, Rabbiteater, Numbtongue and Shorthilt. Exact levels unknown. Classes unknown. Four [Warriors] and an [Archer]. Species: Hobgoblin.”

The old Drake stared at the form. She stared at the doorway and listened to the sound of Selys’ running feet. Then she took a deep breath.

“Selys!”

—-

And then it was night. The [Actors] left in good spirits. The Antinium, who had given them a standing ovation for five minutes straight had gone, happily, if somewhat bloated on the popcorn they couldn’t quite digest. Erin understood it was a special snack given the Hive’s recent lack of conflict.

Lyonette was asleep. Mrsha was already passed out. Bird was upstairs…probably not asleep but happily sitting in the rain. The Redfang Goblins were in their rooms, pondering their new state of existence.

And Erin was happy. She knew she had caused a lot of trouble, not least for Zevara, but she felt it was worth it. Her inn had been filled tonight, and the Goblins were walking about in the open. It was a first step. An important step. It was what she could do so she lay in her mess of blankets and pillows in the corner of the kitchen and smiled to herself.

“I don’t need you to protect me, Zevara. The Goblins will do that.”

Her eyes closed. Erin listened to the drumming of the rain overhead. It was still raining, pouring, rather. She wondered if the Floodplains would fill up tomorrow or the day after. Or maybe…?

Her breathing slowed. Erin’s mind drifted off. She felt darkness, warm and soothing engulf her—

[Magical Innkeeper Level 34!]

[Skill – Inn: Grand Theatre obtained!]

“Gah!”

Erin shot out of bed. She banged her head on the kitchen counter, stumbled out of the kitchen, swearing loudly and stopped. The common room of her inn was in front of her, empty, deserted as it should be. But it was not as it had been.

The common room. It had been large before, capable of holding a crowd. Now it stretched out in front of Erin, impossibly large for the dimensions of the inn. It was twice—no, perhaps three times as large as it had been? Erin couldn’t tell in the darkness. But it was vast, and at one end she could see the stage that the Players of Celum had set up. Erin stared around the common room, at the theatre hall ready for crowds. She blinked, raised her hands into the air and screamed.

“Whoo! Alright!”

She danced about, shouting, until she heard a thump from overhead. Jelaqua shouted through the floorboards.

“Hey, we’re trying to sleep!”

It was the first time Erin had ever heard the Selphid in a bad mood. Erin lay down in the middle of her common room, feeling small in the vast chamber. She grinned at the ceiling and listened to the rain fall for a while before she fell asleep.

—-

Drip.

There was one last thing. The rain fell across Liscor in unending droves, but it did not patter down in all places. In some locations there was simply no space for the rain to fall, and so it trickled down as water from above, landing on an invisible barrier overhead.

Drip.

The sound was loud. The water fell, splashing down and filling the underground chambers with sound. It was not nearly as loud as the screams or shrieks or sounds or combat that sometimes filled this place, but it had its own insistent, persistent ability to get in the head.

Drip, drip.

It was just noise, and it should have bothered very few people in this hour when almost all were asleep. And yet, it did bother one person. One being sat up, unable to ignore the sound. He could not sleep. And as the sound repeated itself, two purple flames brightened with annoyance in the empty chambers of his skull.

Drip.

Toren the skeleton looked up as he sat below the chasm leading up and out of Liscor’s dungeon. He stared at the invisible barrier keeping the water from crashing down over his head and gnashed his jaw furiously. He was getting really tired of hearing that sound. Yet the rain continued to fall and the skeleton moved.

Drip, drip, drip.

He reached down and picked up a mask lying next to him, regarded it once. Toren hesitated and then put it over his face. As she lowered her hand, Toren turned and drew her sword. The water dripped but didn’t bother her any longer. She grinned behind her mask.

It was her turn now.

5.05

Beneath Liscor was the dungeon. It had always been there. Waiting. In a time long before the city of Liscor had been built, before the foundations had been laid, the dungeon had been buried beneath the earth. Perhaps an earthquake had concealed the entrance, or the natural shifting of lands buried it. Or maybe it had always been so deep.

A city had been built there, once. Far underground. A nation long forgotten by the living. It had fallen and the dungeon had been built out of its ruins. A legacy, a challenge to those who might seek the treasures of the past, an invitation.

Bait.

The dungeon was filled with monsters and traps. It was vicious, a living, shifting labyrinth that contained every nightmare its inventors could contrive. Dark things waited in the passageways, waiting to be awakened.

The dungeon was a grave concern to Liscor, and not just because of its alarming proximity to the city. It was a massive threat and Watch Captain Zevara had lost sleep and scales worrying about how to combat the dangers of the dungeon. She had already called for aid against the Goblin Lord and Liscor’s army had sent back some of their own to guard the city.

But that might not be enough. Zevara had not told Erin Solstice this, but making peace with Pallass had served the interest of Liscor in more than one way. Zevara hoped to appeal to a Walled City to aid her city against what she perceived to be a real and pressing threat. That the dungeon had only disgorged a few groups of monsters yet was luck in her mind. She did not know of the Antinium’s silent war beneath the city that had lasted for a decade.

So the Watch Captain waited and worried, praying the dungeon would not send any truly dangerous foes her way. But she had no idea of the true horrors that stalked the halls. If she had, she wouldn’t have slept at all. There were things that dreamed of the surface, things that thought and had every reason to hate the living.

Monsters. And one of them walked through the dungeon now. She walked away from the entrance to the dungeon, the chasm that led all the way to the surface. It was a rift in the earth, an abyss that you could fall into. Rainwater poured down overhead, but strangely, did not enter the dungeon. Instead it pooled a few meters overhead, a wall of water suspended in midair. Toren stared curiously at the water.

Drip.

Interesting. The dungeon wouldn’t allow itself to be flooded. Well, that was something. The skeleton stared up at the water falling from the sky. She wondered what the land above looked like now. Probably wet. She longed to go see, but she couldn’t.

She was a prisoner down here. Toren stared at her hands. They looked like hands, or rather, hands covered by wrapped, dirty cloth. They looked like there was flesh beneath the wrappings, if you were to remove the covering. But that was an illusion. A lie. The skeleton felt at her mask, securely attached to her face.

Mask, clothing, sword. To look at her, Toren was a thin, masked warrior, her body covered entirely in cloth. She was definitely a she to judge by the slight bulges around her chest, and it would not be inaccurate to think she was an adventurer hunting by herself in Liscor’s dungeon. But that was a lie.

Beneath her clothes, Toren’s body was bone. Just that. Bone. No flesh or other organs made up Toren’s body. She was a skeleton, an undead being. But for all that she was unique.

She had a class. She was a Level 24 [Skeleton Knight], a Level 2 [Barmaid], a Level 4 [Leader], a Level 5 [Tactician] and now, a Level 3 [Sword Dancer]. Those classes defined her. No other undead could level, but Toren could. And she could think. Truly think, not just hunt the living as the other undead did. She was special, but also a prisoner of this dungeon.

She could not go above. Toren stared at the grey sky, obscured by the layer of water overhead. Her body was too weak. She was too weak. As a skeleton, Toren lived on the mana in her surroundings. If she ran out of magical power, her body would fall to pieces and she would die. She could survive anything short of that—crushing blows, cracked bones, even disintegration if she had enough mana. But if she did not, she would be gone.

In the dungeon the mana gave her enough strength to live on. Above…no. Toren’s body consumed more mana than she could absorb from most locations, thus her entrapment. If she had had a master, a [Mage] or other being to provide her with mana, she would have been able to go above as she pleased. And she had had a master, or rather, mistress, once. Once upon a time she had served someone. Until she rebelled and left her master to die. So long ago it seemed now…

She turned away. The skeleton walked away from the light that shone down into the dungeon and into one of the many tunnels around her. The dungeon was dark, but she could see in pitch black. Toren walked through the dungeon, glided, rather, walking with her sword at the ready. Her movements were smooth, graceful, as if any second she could transition from walking into the deadly dance of swords. She was deadly, graceful, and hauntingly alone.

After a few steps Toren abruptly halted. Her hand rose against her will and plucked the mask from her face. Toren fought, trying to put it back, but her hand threw the mask aside. The skeleton halted, and the purple flames in her eyes dimmed for a second. Then they flared and he looked around, shrugging his shoulders and reaching for the shield at his side.

Toren the skeleton looked around the dungeon. Much better! He hated it when she was melancholy. It wasn’t a word that had ever applied to Toren. Why be sad that she—that was to say—he was alone? That was what he wanted! He had been a slave, and now he was free.

Yes, a slave. The skeleton’s jaw clattered as he looked around the dungeon. He had served Erin Solstice in her inn when he had first been created, when he had been weak. But he had escaped! He had tricked her, broken her command over him, left her to die in the snow and been freed to kill whomever he wanted, do whatever he pleased!

And she had died. The skeleton paused. Erin had died and her supply of mana, her connection to him had ended. Just like that. He hadn’t expected that, in truth.

The skeleton realized he was bending over, picking something off the ground. The mask was halfway back to his face when he realized what he was doing. The skeleton angrily clattered his teeth together.

No! The mask couldn’t go on his face! When it did, she came out. He had no idea why she’d appeared, but the clothing he wore, his new [Sword Dancer] class, all that was a result of the new personality that had appeared in him. When he wore the mask he was no longer he, but her. And he hated her.

So Toren tossed the mask into a wall. After a second his hand came up and punched himself in the skull. Toren stomped over to the mask, grabbed it, hung it from his waist, and walked into the dungeon. He was in charge, thank you very much. He’d been here first, and it was his time!

This was Toren. A skeleton, a killer. He marched, the incendiary purple hellfire in his eyes shining in the darkness. He did not glide. Gliding was what birds did. He walked, his posture perfect, his stance set. He had a sword and a wooden buckler in hand. He fought with shield and sword, loving the brutal arithmetic of blocking and parrying, the feeling of cutting into his enemies’ flesh and hacking them apart.

Though he was still wearing the clothing, Toren felt better. It was too much work to remove the clothing every time he changed personalities. If he took off his clothes, she would put them back on painstakingly each time. And if he tried to get rid of the clothing—

It wasn’t worth the effort. Toren irritably poked at his chest. He could understand the clothing in truth. It was a good disguise and the cloth did add some protection to his bones. But why these things? Erin had them, and so did other females. But what was the point?

He rearranged the balled-up cloth on his chest, removing the impression that he had breasts and gave himself some nice shoulder pads instead. There, much better. Toren marched on, feeling ready for a fight. After all, he was the greatest skeleton in the world! He could kill many things. He was strong, he was mighty! He was—

Clang. Clang.

Toren heard a rhythmic metallic thumping. Instantly he went still. The skeleton listened, and then, realizing the sound was getting closer, immediately panicked. He turned around, hesitated, and then dropped to the ground. They were coming.

It was a curious thing that happened. The skeleton, full of life a second ago, instantly crumpled to the ground. The purple flames in his eyes went out and his skull rolled away from the rest of his body. He looked like a pile of rags and bones, lifeless. Just in time too. The thumping grew louder and in seconds a tall shape passed by him, a giant metal knight in armor.

Only, it was just armor. A suit of armor, rather. The visor glowed red as the enchanted suit of armor looked around the passageway. It spotted Toren and studied the bones for a second, but kept moving. It was followed by three others of its kind.

The scattered bones lay lifeless on the ground as the patrol of the armored suits marched past, helmets swiveling. Toren didn’t breathe but if he did he would have held his breath. Only when the sounds of the armored patrol had faded into the distance did he dare reassemble himself and stand up.

Close. That was far too close! Toren had nearly died, and if the armored suits crushed his bones he might have died in truth. They were close to impossible to kill with a sword and shield, Toren knew. The stupid metal things had no hearts or convenient weak spots—you had to bash them into pieces until the enchantment faded.

It was lucky he’d learned how to disassemble himself on purpose. That fooled most of the monsters Toren encountered in the dungeon. It was playing dead in the truest sense of the word. Toren didn’t like doing it, but…

He was mighty. He was strong. Toren grumped along the corridors, kicking at the ground. He was! He was very strong, the strongest. It was just that he couldn’t fight most of the dungeon’s denizens. It was…tactically suicidal.

The monsters. Toren had never seen so many dangerous monsters before! Back above when he’d been around Erin’s inn, the most dangerous creatures he couldn’t kill were the giant Rock Crabs who lived in their armored shells. And that was only because their bodies were too hard. Down here the Rock Crabs would have been prey to over half the things that moved through the dungeon.

Flesh Worms, Crypt Lords, enchanted armor, Golems, oh my! It was a carnival of things that Toren’s instincts told him to avoid in no uncertain terms. The strong monsters he ran from. Of course, there were plenty of lesser monsters too. Worms, oozy things, squiggly things, bats, Goblins, even a Minotaur for some reason. But Toren couldn’t fight them either.

Any monster pack he ran from. He might be able to slay them, the glowing worms that hunted in groups of six, or perhaps the Cave Goblins scurrying about—the lesser monsters he could kill, but the noise of battle would attract their friends or larger monsters. And if they came—

There were things in the dungeon that Toren knew, knew without a shadow of a doubt that he could not defeat or harm. There was no bravado to give the skeleton false hope. He was weak.

Or his body was. Toren thought of himself as strong, but his body? Not so much. The skeleton walked silently down the corridors, thinking over the problem as he saw it.

His bones were…bad, if that made sense. Toren hadn’t really realized it before, but he was a very fragile monster, even by undead standards. That was the lot of a skeleton. Zombies had all kinds of wonderful flesh they could afford to use, fat and tissue to weather heavy impacts. But Toren? Punch him hard enough and his head would fly clean off his body. How fair was that?

There was a limit to how strong he could be. Toren had no muscle, no flesh to train. He had only his classes, his level, and his Skills to compensate for his frail body. There was only so much force he could put into his arm before the bones snapped or broke. That didn’t matter if he could slay his enemies first with a sneak attack obviously. A fleshy Human? One good sword through the face and they died and that was that. But the monsters down here…

He couldn’t fight. Instead, Toren ran or hid from everything he encountered these days, which was very annoying. Of course, he could ambush foes or lure them into the dungeon’s many traps, but the monsters around here had memorized the dungeon’s layout as well. It was easy to pop a few Shield Spiders now and then, but that wasn’t fighting.

He wanted to kill things. He wanted to get stronger. Toren had thought about how to take down the larger monsters time and time again. The problem was that while he had only two good options and neither worked. The first was to charge at the enemy and hack at them until they died. That didn’t work down here. The second was to use his newfound ability, his Skill that allowed him to reanimate dead bodies and control them.

[Command Lesser Undead]. It was a wonderful Skill. Toren had envisioned creating an undead army to overwhelm the stupid monsters in the dungeon. However, he’d realized the flaw in his plans very early on.

There were no bodies to reanimate down here. None!

Okay, there were a few. Things died all the time in the dungeon. But precious few were suitable to be zombies, ghouls or skeletons. Toren couldn’t reanimate large bodies or things that weren’t alive—he could command lesser undead, and that was a problem since there were few enough bodies to go round as it was.

Monsters ate bodies. And since they were hungry, they usually ate or at least gnawed on the bones as well. Toren had scoured the labyrinth at first for corpses, and found precious little to work with. True, adventurers had come down in groups to begin with, but they were looted, swallowed whole, or turned into undead by someone else.

It really wasn’t fair. All he wanted was one or two zombies or a nice ghoul to keep him company! Toren kicked at a wall, feeling down. He hadn’t been able to find or hold onto any zombies in weeks. Sure, he could reanimate a Goblin, but what then? It got eaten by the next giant thing with ten sets of teeth that came along. Toren had watched more than one of his creations get devoured while he played dead.

He’d gloomily reanimated the corpse of a mouse with poisonous fangs and watched it shamble-scurry about just the other day. It had bitten a Cave Goblin’s toes for a good minute before the Goblin finally stepped on it.

Life wasn’t fair. All he wanted was to kill things. Was that too much to ask? But no, monsters actually defended themselves. Toren kicked along, turning left and right, following a route he’d memorized a long time ago. It wasn’t fair! It was all someone else’s fault. Toren was hazy on the details, but he blamed Lyonette. Or Mrsha. Yes, it was that stupid white Gnoll’s fault he was down here! Or Erin’s—

The undead paused. As he did, his left hand moved suddenly and grabbed the mask. Before Toren could react, he’d jammed the mask back on his head. The skeleton rearranged her body and replaced her breasts, dusting off her clothing and adjusting the mask on her face.

She couldn’t stand his whining. It was all someone else’s fault? He’d killed Erin. He’d left her to die and now he was trapped. She was trapped. This was…fitting.

The skeleton had no notion of karma, but if she had, she would have agreed with it. Erin Solstice was dead. Despite her many faults, she had been Toren’s master. And the skeleton had let her down. Because of that she had lost her freedom, her purpose. She was alone and that was fitting. Now all Toren could do was remember. She couldn’t forget. She could never forget. But though memory haunted her, at least Toren could use her memory to make something in the dark hell to which she’d been exiled.

Down a small corridor barely wide enough to let Toren edge through sideways. Up a flight of stairs, left down a corridor that had spikes on the ceiling. Toren tiptoed around the numerous pressure plates. She was nearly back home.

Home. Yes, incredibly, Toren did have a home. Though the dungeon was dangerous, the skeleton had noticed several features about it from the time she’d been down here. There were secrets to the dungeon, she was sure. The first one that she’d observed was that there were…flows to the dungeon.

Was that the right word? The skeleton pondered as she carefully crawled underneath a swinging axe blade. Of course, the axe was an illusion and the real axe was swinging a few feet in front of the illusion. The skeleton straightened.

Yes, flows. The corridors she was going down were filled with traps and thus not populated by most monsters. Whereas some corridors led directly into nests, where monsters had occupied the area by the tens of thousands. Like the massive Shield Spider infestation. Toren had realized that the monsters were deliberately organized such that they didn’t crowd each other. Thus, they could prey on each other and keep their populations flourishing while any adventurer would run into one group of monsters no matter which direction they went.

And as such, there were places where monsters almost never went. Safe spots. Toren was approaching one she’d claimed now. She walked down a tunnel and entered a large, circular room with four entrances. It was a big space and had contained a single fountain from which clear water flowed—until Toren had altered it.

There was a door in front of her. It was barely a door in truth—a collection of wood held together with rope, a glue made from Shield Spider webs and luck, but Toren carefully opened it and stepped inside. She looked around approvingly.

It was a strange room that Toren had created. Gone was the empty room. Instead, rocks and wood had been piled up into crude seats around the wood and ‘tables’ were likewise set about. It had been the work of weeks to push or shove the heavy stones that Toren had found around the dungeon to this spot. But it had been worth it.

Her home had a bar, a small storage area, doors on all four entrances—and cups and plates! They were the remains of armor that Toren had hammered into vague approximations of what they should be, and were ready to be served. Toren had a few daggers for cutlery, and best of all, food.

She checked on a barrel standing next to her bar. It was filled with a soupy orange-green mess that was liquefied maggot guts and fungi. Toren stirred it with one finger, and checked on the fungi growing from the top. Good! She could probably harvest that as an alternate food if it kept growing.

Food and drink. Toren turned to the fountain in the center of the room. She strongly suspected the clear ‘water’ flowing forth was in fact a deadly poison, but it looked like water and that was good enough for her. She sat at her bar and polished the rough surface with her hands. Yes, this was her home, her safe place in the dungeon. It was hers. She had built it.

Her inn.

Toren’s hand shifted as she polished the bar. Her other hand rose and nudged the mask aside for a second. Toren grumpily looked around the room. It was her project. Hers, not his. He, the male Toren, hated it.

An inn. Why an inn? What was the point? Toren replaced the mask and slapped the side of her head. The point was that Erin had done it! The point was that they needed Erin, need her guidance.

Needed her? The mask landed on the bar as Toren scowled, his jaw clattering together nosily. Erin had never helped them! She’d never cared about Toren.

That was untrue. The mask on Toren’s face slipped slightly as she shook her head. Erin had cared. She was just—even if she hadn’t known that Toren could think, she had given them orders, given them a place to be. They needed her more than she needed them.

Again the hand tore the mask loose, this time breaking the strap that held it in place. Toren nearly broke the mask on the counter, but knew that if he did there would be trouble. He trembled in place, his anger rising.

Need? Erin? She was a fool! Erin had given them nothing! Nothing but bad orders and boredom! She’d ignored them, made them do trivial things, given them the bells. There was no point to this!

He nearly kicked over the barrel of monster guts, nearly smashed the bar he was standing at. Toren had picked up a ‘chair’ that was just a large rock when he hesitated. He put the rock down, sat at the table.

Erin was dead. She had never needed him, and he was better off without her. That was what Toren told himself. And yet, he sat at the inn, staring at the piled up stones and bits of moldy wood and saw a different inn in his mind. He heard singing, saw a young woman smiling as she played chess and sat at a table. For a second Toren heard her calling his name.

He turned away. He stood up and gently picked up the mask and hung it from his belt once more. Toren left the inn. There was nothing for him here anyways. Nothing but memory.

And regret.

—-

She needed a new name. That was what Toren concluded after walking about the dungeon. He did that most days, when she wasn’t in charge. He hunted for monsters he could kill or interesting places in the dungeon. Many spots were too dangerous to enter, but Toren was mapping out the dungeon room by room. Someday he’d kill everything living down here, and until that day he made notes.

But she needed a name. Something to separate her from him in his head. Toren wasn’t good with names, but he thought that she should have one. Obviously he had a name. Toren was his name because he was first. She could be someone else.

Torina, perhaps. Torena? Toren walked along, thinking of names. How about Torene? That was appropriate?

Toreya? Torin? Tofu? He’d heard Erin say that word once. To…Torere? Torren? Taren? Talene? Tirian? Torenscialicus? Torja? Torka? Maybe he was being too hung up on the name being like his. A name could be anything, after all.

Toyan? Rebecca? Towai? Westrica Emerset the Fifth? Tohen? Tohan? Tuhill? Clarencia Valtross? Zanzibar? Manifood? Food? Lieutenant Bones? Papyrus? Toiren? Nekhret? Bonesy? Laya? Seredifany? Tofu? Sans? T…Timothy?

None of these names worked. Toren sighed, predicting another fight. Why was she here, anyways? Why did she exist? Why had she appeared when he’d put on the clothes? It had just been a thought, and yet here she was. She controlled his body, argued with him, and had her own goals. She even fought differently from him. Maybe she was—

A light in the darkness ahead of him. Toren froze and hurried backwards. He’d come around the corner of a very long tunnel filled with arrow traps. He peeked ahead into the darkness. What was that he’d spotted? Toren’s eyes pieced through the darkness. He saw, far in the distance, a figure moving slowly down the corridor. There was a light, a bright blue crackle of magic in the darkness. The flames in Toren’s eyes grew bright as he recognized the figure.

Him!

The hunter had come again today. He was prowling the corridors, a shimmering, distant speck of light. Toren quickly pulled back his head before the hunter looked his way.

Dangerous. Oh, so dangerous. The hunter would kill him if he looked at Toren, even if it was at the end of a distant corridor. He couldn’t be ambushed, not him. He was clever; he avoided traps and noticed groups of monsters coming his way. And he was strong. He could kill the strong monsters roaming the dungeon. Not all of them, not the truly terrifying things, but far more than Toren.

And he wasn’t alone, was he? He had the other two with him. Together they could help the hunter kill so much. Toren was jealous, but he hid, creeping in the opposite direction, ready to collapse into a pile of bones. The hunter would kill him forever if Toren revealed himself. He’d killed Toren once, so long ago…what was his name? He had been there, in the inn. What was his name? Toren tried to remember as he hurried away. Ah yes, how could he forget? He couldn’t. Not really. The hunter’s name was—

Halrac.

—-

“Halrac?”

The [Scout] stared down the long tunnel and didn’t acknowledge the voice. He stared intently at the place where the corridor turned right. He didn’t quite draw the enchanted arrow he held in his left hand, but it was resting against his bow. He could have it in the air in a fraction of a second if he needed to.

But the question was, had he seen something. The [Scout] waited in the darkness, searching for signs of movement. His eyes were superior to an owl’s in the pitch blackness thanks to the Skills that enhanced his vision. He waited.

Nothing. Whatever he’d seen was gone. Halrac didn’t relax, but shifted his attention away from the corridor. If whatever it was reappeared he’d hit it from afar.

“Halrac!”

The voice called out impatiently behind him. Halrac turned. The glow of a lantern made him squint. Revi lowered the lantern.

“Sorry. But you have to respond when I call your name.”

“Keep back.”

Halrac’s tone was brusque and his voice was rusty from disuse. Revi halted before entering the corridor. She sniffed.

“I’m not an idiot. Have you swept it for traps?”

“Too many. I’m heading back.”

The Gold-rank adventurer turned abruptly. He walked back down the tunnel the way Revi had came, his footsteps making no noise. Halrac was dressed in dark clothing and leather armor. His face was set, focused, devoid of any hint of laughter or a smile. He was a Gold-rank adventurer and a member of Griffon Hunt, a well-respected Gold-rank team.

He looked grim. That was appropriate, given that his unofficial nickname was Halrac the Grim. But those who knew him well would have agreed that his mood today was troubling. One such person followed Halrac. Revi was hardly as quiet as he was although she did try. The Stitch-Woman was in her late twenties and sighed impatiently.

“Okay, we’re going back. What’s the problem? Too many? Too many what? Too many traps? Too many tripwires?”

“Too many arrows.”

Halrac grunted. His eyes roamed the tunnel constantly as he walked towards a second source of light. Typhenous, an old man with a white beard and a glowing staff, raised his head warily as they approached, but relaxed as Halrac made a gesture. He returned it and stood.

“It has been quiet. Did Revi convince you to come back, Halrac?”

Revi rolled her eyes. She and Typhenous were also Gold-rank adventurers and also members of Griffon Hunt. Both were [Mages] although they were widely different in specialization. Revi was a [Summoner] who could conjure spectral warriors and animals to do her bidding. Typhenous was a generalist mage, specializing in defensive magic and wards.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask him. He’s not talking to me.”

“Ah.”

Typhenous shifted his grip on his staff as he looked at Halrac. There was sympathy in his eyes, as well as resignation. Halrac ignored both mages as he walked down the tunnel. Revi glared at his back but followed him after Halrac had gotten a head start of about forty paces. She and Typhenous walked together, talking quietly. Halrac heard them as they talked behind him.

“He’s not said more than two sentences today. Which is progress, I suppose.”

The Stitch-Woman’s tone was acidic and though she kept her voice low her words were aimed at Halrac. Typhenous sighed and stroked his beard.

“Do you expect more of him, Revi? The man is doing his job.”

“That’s not what I’m complaining about and you know it, Typhenous! Halrac shouldn’t be down here. He should be above, not scouting the dungeon! You know that it’s risky for him, especially after—”

“And what should he do above, pray? Sit about and do nothing? He is mourning in his own way.”

“It’s not healthy. I know he’s grieving, but he hasn’t said a word to me. We’re his teammates! It’s not like we don’t understand. We knew Ulrien too—”

Halrac closed his ears, or tried to. He walked further ahead, eyes scanning every inch of the tunnel. There was a junction ahead. They’d come from the left, so Halrac turned right. Typhenous’ voice was low as he replied.

“I know. But Revi, they were comrades who knew each other for decades. We joined the party not two years ago.”

“That’s enough! Does he think we didn’t care? I was there, and so were you! How could we not be affected? But we can’t just go down here day after day—”

Revi’s voice had risen beyond a whisper. Halrac stopped and turned his head back.

“Quiet.”

The Stitch-Woman fell silent at once. Halrac waited a beat and then turned back to the corridor. It was too still. Halrac’s [Dangersense] was ringing silently in his head. He knew from experience that monsters like to lie in ambush, and this corridor had opened up to a very high ceiling. The [Scout] stared up silently as the two adventurers waited far behind him.

This was Halrac’s job. As a [Scout] he was both guide and trap finder, capable of analyzing threats and leading his groups away from ambushes. In the dungeon his role was essential. Halrac peered up.

It was dark at the ceiling of the tunnel. Too dark, even for the shadows up there. The [Scout] noticed something shift and reacted immediately. His bow came up and the crackling blue arrow sped upwards. It struck the creature hanging there and Halrac heard a scream and the crackle of lightning.

“Halrac!”

Revi’s voice was a shout now as whatever was on the ceiling dropped to the ground. Halrac heard her and Typhenous running forwards. His hands were already moving towards his quiver.

“Bagrhaven!”

He shouted the word and put an arrow to his bowstring, drew, and loosed in one movement. This arrow was plain wood, though tipped with steel and it sped towards the giant raven woman. The Bagrhaven, a deformed Human woman with long arms and razor sharp talons and teeth, stumbled as the second arrow struck her in the chest.

She regained her footing and charged as Halrac sent another arrow into her stomach. Bagrhavens were very tough and didn’t register pain or damage until after a battle was over. Undeterred, Halrac loosed another arrow and another as the Bagrhaven charged him down the narrow tunnel. He could hear more screams behind her.

“There’s a nest!”

“I hear it! Give us a second!”

Halrac did just that. His hands were a blur as he plucked more arrows out of the quiver and loosed them, keeping two in his fingers as he did. Three, two, one, grab more arrows. Three, two one…

The Bagrhaven screamed as she charged down the tunnel. The noise was terrific in the enclosed space and magical, designed to spread fear into the hearts of her opponents. Halrac’s heart jumped wildly, but he overrode the trembling that threatened to affect his aim.

The fear effect must have struck Revi and Typhenous too, but they were seasoned adventurers and had their own ways of coping with lesser fear effects. Halrac saw Typhenous come to a halt next to him. The mage’s robes swirled about him as he raised his staff and aimed it at the other Bagrhavens coming out of the shadows.

“[Sticky Webs]. [Barrier of Air].”

A sticky thread shot across the gap, tangling the Bagrhavens’ claws and at the same time a whirling barrier of air appeared. Behind the Bagrhavens. They fought to get free of the webs, turning and realizing they were trapped as Halrac’s arrows finally downed the first Bagrhaven. She stumbled and fell, her chest scorched by his arrow of shocks, the rest of her body pincushioned by his arrows. Halrac switched targets and his next arrow struck one of the Bagrhavens in the eye, eliciting a scream.

As Typhenous webbed more Bagrhavens, Revi completed her preparations. She had in her hands a bit of calcified horn and both it and her hands glowed as she raised into the air.

“Burn them to ash and dust! Corusdeer, heed my call!”

Revi pointed and a flaming apparition cantered into life. Halrac felt the incredible heat as the Corusdeer charged the other Bagrhavens. Caught between Typhenous’ barriers and Halrac’s arrows, the raven women fell to the Corusdeer’s blazing horns as it impaled one and trampled the other.

It was over. Halrac put several arrows into each corpse and saw one twitch as Revi’s flaming Corusdeer disappeared. Still, he was the only one to go over at first. Halrac knelt, stabbed each Bagrhaven around their throat and then got to work.

—-

It was a gristly task, dismembering corpses. Bagrhavens resembled Humans enough to look like naked feathered women under a certain light. Halrac ignored their filthy, scorched bodies as he sawed at their arms and plucked feathers. Revi, wrinkling her nose at the smell, did likewise. She had put on gloves for the task. Typhenous, who had not, stood back, his staff glowing, keeping an eye out in both directions.

“See, it was good we were here, wasn’t it, Halrac? If you’d had to tackle that nest by yourself, what would you have done?”

“Poison arrows.”

Halrac grunted as he put the feathers into a bag. The Bagrhaven’s talons he stowed in the same spot. His personal bag of holding couldn’t hold much, but the only valuable parts of a Bagrhaven were their claws and feathers. Revi scowled at him as she dropped a pile of feathers in front of him.

“Ass. You’d waste more money using enchanted arrows – or good poisons – hunting Bagrhavens than you’d earn.”

“Not the point .They were guarding something. Up ahead.”

Halrac stood, pushing the rest of the feathers into his bag of holding. Revi glared.

“You can’t keep going down here solo! Halrac, you need to talk to us!”

The [Scout]’s silence was a reply in itself. Revi stomped back to Typhenous as Halrac cautiously entered the room at the far end of the hall. He was wary, expecting a nest and eggs perhaps, but what he found was far better. A glittering mound of jewelry was piled up around a feathery nest, the hoard of the greedy Bagrhavens.

For a few seconds Halrac just stared at the glittering gems in the darkness. He didn’t feel happy to see the treasure. A month ago he might have been excited. Wary of course. He would have signaled his group and Ulrien would have cautioned everyone not to touch the rings and broaches and necklaces until they’d been analyzed. Needlessly of course, but the warning would have been reassuring. He would have given Halrac a nod and a slow smile—

The [Scout] closed his eyes, taking just a moment to think of his friend. Ulrien. He had died weeks ago, in an inn battling a traitorous Named Adventurer, Regrika Blackpaw. He had died and Halrac had lived. That was all there was to it. Ulrien had died and his team had broken, just as Halrac’s heart had broken as he sent his friend off.

Now Halrac was alive and that was all. Nothing mattered anymore. He raised his voice and called back towards Revi and Typhenous.

“Come on in.”

He didn’t mention the treasure, but Revi’s gasp and Typhenous’ murmur proved they could see. Neither [Mage] took a step towards the nest, though. They scrutinized the room warily. Revi looked at Typhenous and Halrac.

“Traps?”

“None that I can see.”

“Nor I. What are the chances the rings are cursed, though?”

“Certain. Look.”

Halrac pointed with an arrow at one ring. He’d spotted a bit of rotten flesh still stuck to the inside of a ring. Revi wrinkled her nose.

“Great. The Bagrhavens probably plundered some other part of the dungeon. Okay, who wants to pick it up? I’ve got an empty bag of holding—”

“Give it to me.”

Halrac took the bag and approached the treasure pile. He didn’t touch any of the jewelry but carefully shifted it into the bag, using an arrow to pick up the items one at a time. He was ready to jump back but nothing happened. Halrac closed the bag and handed it back to Revi.

“Any good [Enchanters] in Liscor?”

“None worth mentioning. We’ll have to send this to Invrisil by Runner to get it analyzed I bet. There’d better be at least one good ring in there or I’m going to be upset.”

Revi shook her head as the adventurers retraced their steps. She eyed Halrac as they came back to the passageway with the one remaining unexplored passageway.

“Going to continue?”

“Are you?”

He looked at her. Revi folded her arms.

“If you stay, we stay.”

Halrac stared at her, grunted, and then walked back the way they had come. Revi sighed but followed.

It was a quiet walk back to the chasm where they’d come in. Halrac stared up towards the sky, noting how the layer of water between sky and dungeon had grown since he’d passed through via rope. This wasn’t the official entrance to the dungeon—that way led through a maze of trapped rooms. It had yet to be cleared and though Griffon Hunt had been working with the Halfseekers to go through the more cautious way, of late Halrac had been coming into the dungeon through the rift in the ground. It was far more dangerous because the escape route was perilous, a long climb back upwards, but Halrac didn’t care.

“Dead gods, I hate climbing back up. Revi my dear, would you be so kind as to lend me one of your spirits?”

Revi sighed as she summoned two spectral warriors.

“Fine. Just wait until they climb up. You can hold onto the rope, can’t you?”

Halrac grunted impatiently as Typhenous nodded. The summoned warriors reached the top, climbing swiftly through the water barrier and up to the surface. They grabbed the long ropes that hung down and both Revi and Typhenous hung on as they began to pull the [Mages] up.

“Coming, Halrac?”

“Yes.”

The [Scout] gave the [Mages] a head start and then climbed up his rope himself. He paused as he got to the barrier of water over the dungeon’s ‘roof’. It was just water, prevented from entering the dungeon by some kind of barrier. He took a breath and climbed rapidly into the water.

Instantly he was wet and felt the water swirling around him. Doggedly, Halrac climbed up through it. Two feet, five feet, eight…he broke through and felt rain pouring down on top of him.

“Gah! I forgot it’s still raining!”

It was another world above. Revi’s sour voice came from overhead as she and Typhenous were hoisted up by the summoned spirits. Halrac shook water out of his eyes and kept climbing. When he reached the top Revi offered him a hand. Halrac didn’t take it. He clambered onto the wet grass and began hauling the rope up behind him.

“Halrac! Just let the summoned warriors do it!”

Revi was impatient as Typhenous cast a shield of air above them to keep the rain away. Halrac let a shining warrior that looked like a long-dead soldier haul up the sodden rope and deposit it into his bag of holding. It was a practice all good adventurers followed—don’t leave an exit for monsters to use. Many could climb and a hanging rope was an invitation for disaster.

“Back to Liscor?”

Typhenous looked inquiringly at Halrac. The man nodded and they began their slow walk across the Floodplains to Liscor in the distance. It was a wet, slippery walk in silence. Halrac eyed the pools of water forming in the valleys as he, Revi, and Typhenous stuck to higher ground. How long until the water rose to the point where it would become impossible to walk anywhere? By that time both entrances to the dungeon would be flooded. What then?

Revi must have been thinking the same thing. She looked hesitantly at Halrac, scowled, and spoke.

“Okay, I know I’ve been bothering you all day. But you have to talk eventually, Halrac.”

“About what?”

The [Scout] looked at her. Revi glared back.

“About? About anything you flax-headed idiot! You’ve been going into the dungeon at the crack of dawn each day, not talking to us, your teammates! We have to follow you everywhere since you won’t tell us what you’re doing! This is not how a Gold-rank team should act!”

That was true. Halrac paused a second, feeling guilty. Ulrien would have been ashamed. But he was dead.

“Ulrien’s gone. We’re a team without a leader. Understrength.”

“The Halfseekers have only three members.”

“The Halfseekers have a [Warrior], a [Rogue], and a [Mage]. We have two [Mages] and a [Scout].”

The Stitch-Woman pursed her lips sourly, but Halrac had a point. Smaller groups of adventurers demanded at least one front-line fighter or risked being overwhelmed by numbers.

“Then why are you trying to solo a dungeon?”

“That’s my choice. I didn’t ask you to join me. In fact, I told you not to come.”

“And leave you behind? What kind of team would we be if we did that? But I’m telling you Halrac, if we keep doing this one day the Bagrhavens will get the drop on us and we’ll all be—”

“Then quit.”

Halrac turned on Revi, his patience exhausted. She stopped, eyes wide, and Typhenous halted as well. The [Scout]’s voice was curt.

“Quit. I’m not asking you to stay. Ulrien held us together and he’s gone. We’re not a team any longer. So leave and find a better team.”

He meant that sincerely. Revi was young and a gifted [Summoner]. She could find another group easily, as could Typhenous. [Mages] were in high demand with most groups. To his surprise, Revi glared. The Stitch-Woman had changed her hairstyle for the wet season to short-cropped hair. But she tossed her head as if she still had her long ponytail.

“Are you an idiot? Us? Quit? Do you think we’re the kind of adventurers who run off the instant our teammates die? What would other people think if we did? Typhenous and I would be blacklisted in an instant!”

That was true. Halrac grunted.

“Then stay and let me do my work.”

“Oh, and let you die I suppose? And how would that look? First we lose our team leader, then we let our [Scout] wander off and get himself killed?”

Revi snorted. Halrac glared at her, but she was right on both counts. He knew what he’d do if he had a teammate going rogue. Typhenous’ voice was diplomatic, but his tone was no less firm as he stepped up besides Revi.

“We are a team, Halrac. I know we are new compared to Ulrien and the former members of Griffon Hunt, but we are a team nonetheless. And a team looks after our own.”

“Precisely. If you keep running off I’ll summon my warriors to hold you down and Typhenous will web you to your bed.”

The [Summoner] glared at Halrac, her eyes bright. She stared at Halrac as he met her eyes, no emotion showing on his face. Revi blinked, and then blinked again. Her voice was loud and angry, but tinged with more than just anger.

“It’s not fair that you shut us out! It’s not like we weren’t there! It’s not like we don’t miss him. Ulrien—don’t you think I think about how I could have stopped it? I would have summoned all my warriors if I’d known—it was too quick. I—”

She broke off, turning her gaze away. Halrac felt a pang. He saw Typhenous rest a hand on Revi’s shoulder, her shrugging his hand away. Typhenous’ voice was soft.

“The fault is not yours alone, Revi. I was completely caught off-guard by Regrika Blackpaw as well. Her abilities, that of her companion—we underestimated her far too badly. Had I a second chance, I would have fought differently. But there is no way to turn back time. Ulrien was our leader. He was first into battle, first to fall. Defending us.”

“And we failed him.”

Revi’s back was turned. Her voice was thick. Halrac looked at her and nodded as the rain soaked his back.

“We did.”

The Stitch-Woman looked up and Typhenous glanced at him, brows furrowed. Halrac stared distantly towards a hilltop next to Liscor, at an inn sitting darkly on the hilltop. He spoke quietly.

“We did fail him.”

That was all. He looked at Revi and Typhenous, his teammates. They stared back somberly, wet with the rain, quiet. Halrac averted his gaze, began to walk towards Liscor. He did not walk towards the inn, did not say anything more. Revi and Typhenous followed after a minute. Not much had changed, and yet, Halrac had said it.

We failed him. We. The group walked quietly towards the city, passing through the gates, dispirited, quiet. Halrac walked down the empty streets until he heard a scream.

“Help!”

It was a panicked shout from a street over. Halrac heard other voices raised in panic and broke into a run. Behind him Revi and Typhenous jerked. They both took a step in the same direction, ran into each other and fell. Halrac raced down the street. He was no [Guardsman], no hero or citizen of the city. But he was an adventurer, and adventurers are bound to help those in need.

—-

“Help! Monster attack! Ancestors, help me!”

The voice was loud and high-pitched. It came from a Drake, a male one, running for his life and screaming at the top of his lungs. He fled down the rain-soaked street as something lurched after him, a huge bulbous mass of liquid, oozing towards him, mouth agape. It was dark green and brown and oozed as the rain pelted it. A Sewer Slime, engorged and massive. It had oozed out of the drainage system and set on the first prey it could find. The Drake ran, calling out for help.

And it was adventurers who found him. Liscor was rife with adventurers due to the new dungeon. True, many were low-level, local adventurers who had come here to brave the dungeon but reconsidered when they heard stories of the dangers lurking within. But there were some, a chosen few who had come from further abroad. They were the only groups to enjoy any kind of success in the dungeon, the elite among their kind.

Some might call them heroes. The team of Thunder’s Kiss would never refer to themselves by such a title of course, but they weren’t about to stop anyone from saying so. They raced down the street. Their leader, a big Drake with a warhammer shouted triumphantly as they saw a Drake running towards them.

“Don’t worry, help has arriv—”

He broke off as he saw two other groups of adventurers turn towards him. The team of Thunder’s Kiss skidded to a stop, two of their number slipping and falling with a crash onto the street. There were a lot of adventurers in Liscor. Fifteen of them now stood in the street, answering the call for help. They exclaimed as they saw the slime following the Drake.

“Dead gods, it’s massive!”

The eight adventurers stopped as they saw the Sewer Slime chasing the Drake. It was lurching along, extending a small part of itself to grab at the Drake and then rolling forwards. It wasn’t quick, but it had a good momentum going on the slick cobblestones and the Drake was having trouble both avoiding him and running on the wet paving stones.

“Help me!”

He called out at the adventurers desperately. They looked at each other. They were the third team to arrive, but the other adventurers in the street looked just as confused as how to tackle the huge slime.

“Spread out. Let’s get ready to engage!”

The team leader called out uncertainly to his companions and the four Humans and three Drakes hesitantly spread out across the street. All of them looked nervous. They were a Bronze-rank team and while they’d killed slimes before, they’d never seen one this big.

“How are we supposed to kill it?”

Thunder’s Kiss was a melee-focused team with no ranged support. They saw the other two teams attacking the slime from afar, one [Mage] pelting it with small orbs of fire that sizzled out on contact and some loosing arrows futilely into the slime’s side. The Sewer Slime seemed to enjoy the attention and it rolled towards the adventurers who backed up.

“You kill a slime by removing the mana core, right? Or crushing it?”

One of the Human stared at the slime. Normally it was easy to pull out a slime’s core, but in this one? The Sewer Slime had come from the sewers and as such it was comprised of waste. Specifically fecal matter, urine, dead rat corpses…the adventurers shuddered at the idea of putting a hand into that thing, let alone stepping into it as they’d have to do.

“Uh, let’s cut at it. Thotiss, Remar, take the left. We’ll attack and fall back, got it?”

The adventurers were hesitantly moving down the street, shouting in confusion at each other as the Sewer Slime rolled forwards. It looked completely unconcerned by the adventurers in front of it, and the leader of Thunder’s Kiss realized with a sinking heart that all three teams were Bronze-rank.

He gulped as the Sewer Slime rolled forwards and then heard pounding boots. He turned and saw a man running down the street. He had a bow in hand and his face was instantly recognizable to some of the adventurers. One of the Bronze-rank adventurers cried out and pointed.

“It’s him!”

“Who?”

“That’s Halrac! Halrac the Grim!”

Instantly the Bronze-rank teams sagged in relief. They turned to look at Halrac as the [Scout] took in the scene in a moment. He stared at the Sewer Slime with narrowed eyes. The adventurers waited for him to kill the slime, but to everyone’s surprise, he turned to the leader of Thunder’s Kiss.

“Are you the team leader of this group?”

“Me? I uh, yes, I am!”

The Drake faltered. Halrac nodded to the warhammer in his hands.

“Can your team kill the slime? The mana core is in the upper left hand side. If your team charges it you can probably scatter it enough to remove the core. If you can’t do that, stall it long enough for my companions to arrive.”

“Us? But you’re a Gold-rank adventurer!”

The Drake looked at Halrac with wide eyes. The [Scout] frowned at him.

“I’m an [Archer]. That’s a slime. You can destroy its body. Send your team in.”

It was an order not a question. The leader of Thunder’s Kiss looked at the slime and shuddered as he saw its foul body. The ‘water’ that made up its round body was practically opaque with filth. He tried to argue with Halrac as the slime broke off from the adventurers and turned towards a house, looking inquisitive.

“Look, Mister Halrac, we’re a team of our own. Thunder’s Kiss? We can help you fight the slime, but telling us to charge into it is a bit—”

Halrac ignored the Drake, keeping his eyes on the Sewer Slime. He cursed as it stopped rolling forwards and turned to one side. It pressed itself against a doorway, and to the horror of the Bronze-rank adventurers they heard a scream as the Sewer Slime began leaking into a house, going through both the cracks in the closed shutters and windows.

“Oh no! We’ve got to stop it!”

“Move around the back! Let’s go! We’ll hit it from behind!”

The leader of Thunder’s Kiss ordered his group and they started towards the slime. Halrac shook his head.

“Too late. Back up.”

So saying he produced a glowing arrow that crackled as he set it from his bow. The Bronze-rank adventurers, seeing it, backed up at once. Halrac drew the arrow to the bow and calmly sighted down the shaft as the Sewer Slime continued to leak into the house. He aimed directly at the small glowing stone floating in the mess of the Sewer Slime’s body.

“[Piercing Shot].”

The arrow sped into the slime’s body, directly towards the mana core. It penetrated deep as the slime’s body consumed it, and then detonated in a flash of lightning. The team of Thunder’s Kiss averted their eyes as the slime’s entire body lit up. They saw it shudder, and then saw the mana stone had cracked. The slime slowly collapsed, its body turning into a tidal wave of foul liquid that splashed the nearest adventurers to their horror. Inside the house, the screams of terror had turned to screams of deep offense.

“It’s dead!”

The other adventurers stared at Halrac in awe. The [Scout] was scowling and shaking his head. The leader of Thunder’s Kiss stared at him.

“If you could do that, why didn’t you do that earlier?”

Halrac just glared at him. He turned his head as someone shouted behind him.

“Halrac!”

Revi and Typhenous, drenched and muddy, ran up. They looked winded and scraped from their fall. Revi looked about.

“What happened? Was there a monster?”

“Big sewer slime. Had to shoot it with an arrow of shocking.”

“What?”

Revi shouted in outrage. She looked at the adventurers. More were still arriving in the street, as had four members of the City Watch. They milled about, asking what had happened and what that smell was. Revi listened to a scrambled account of what had happened—and then rounded on the leader of Thunder’s Kiss.

“You! What were you lot doing just standing around? Halrac told you to attack the Sewer Slime and you lot just argued with him?”

“He told us to charge into that thing!”

The burly Drake protested as Revi glared at him. He was twice as large as she was, but she was a Gold-rank adventurer and he was Bronze. He quailed as Revi’s eyes flashed with fury.

“He told you to charge the slime because arrows are practically useless against it! Dead gods, are you rookies all idiots? All you had to do was splatter the slime so you could reach the core! Instead, you made Halrac deal with it and to kill the slime he had to use a magic arrow!”

She pointed accusingly at Halrac’s bow.

“Do you know how much an enchanted arrow of shocking costs? It’s better to have a warrior attack slimes, or mages! But no, you lot had to make Halrac go and waste an arrow! A cracked mana stone is barely worth the cost of an enchanted arrow, and that’s without the hassle of having to sell it!”

Her ranting had silenced the street. The Bronze-rank adventurers shuffled their feet, not daring to look Revi in the eye. Typhenous sighed and felt at his sore back. Halrac ignored Revi as he squatted over the cracked mana stone, eying it with distaste. He pulled out a canteen and washed the mana stone before putting the pieces of it into a bag of holding. Revi stormed away from the team of Thunder’s Kiss as the City Watch began taking notes of the damage and assisting the female Gnoll whose house had been partially flooded.

“Amateurs! Sands save me from greenhorns without an idea of how to fight the most basic of monsters!”

Revi groused to Halrac and Typhenous, not bothering to lower her voice. The Bronze-rank adventurers were crimson with humiliation and most of them left in a hurry before people could connect their faces with her words. Typhenous shook his head as he surveyed the Sewer Slime’s remains with a wrinkled nose. He waved his staff as the liquid and…other remains began flowing out of the house and into the street, much to the relief of the Gnolls and [Guardsmen] inside.

“Help me with shifting this, would you, Revi? Don’t be too hard on the adventurers. Fighting a giant slime is dangerous.”

The Stitch-Woman grumpily complied with her wand. Together they forced the liquid out of the house and back into the sewers where it hopefully wouldn’t reform into another slime.

“I’m not saying they had to beat it by themselves, but when a Gold-rank adventurer gives them an order they should obey it! If this had been more serious—”

“It’s not. The slime’s dead. Drop it, Revi.”

Halrac cut her off shortly. Revi sighed but closed her mouth. She was aware that her words carried a lot of weight in the adventuring community. Gold-rank adventurers were celebrities to low-level adventurers just starting out. It wasn’t good form to badmouth them too harshly, but it was a bit insulting to see how incompetent some of them were! Revi eyed her befouled boots and sighed.

“Let’s go wash up. I want a bath and we have to arrange for someone to look at the treasure we found. Halrac, how about we—oh what now?”

She turned and scowled at the team of five adventurers who were standing behind her. They smiled nervously. Typhenous nudged Revi and she sighed.

“Hello? Can we help you?”

This team was a group of five adventurers. A tall Jackal [Mage], a short woman with Dwarfish blood, a Drake with black scales, a Gnoll, and a woman with a curved sword. Revi felt like she’d seen them about before, but they were clearly not Gold-rank. Silver, probably. The Jackal Beastkin cleared his throat.

“Excuse me, Miss Revi? We’re a team of Silver-rank adventurers, Vuliel Drae. Could we trouble you for a word about the dungeon?”

Revi ground her teeth together. The last thing she wanted was to talk. She wanted a bath and to replace the stitches around her right arm. They felt like they were coming loose. But it was a courtesy to exchange information.

“Yeah, we can do that. Are you planning on going in? I’d advise against it. Silver-rank teams shouldn’t enter that dungeon.”

She was aware of Halrac and Typhenous appraising the other group. Both Griffon Hunt and Vuliel Drae were at the center of attention, and Revi could see other groups pointing to both teams. She heard whispers. Was this Vuliel Drae a big deal or something?

“We appreciate that, but we can handle ourselves, Miss Revi. We’ve been in the dungeon once before. We were hoping to compare notes, ask what direction you’ve gone in. We’re hoping to find another artifact today.”

The black-scaled Drake raised his voice as he replied to Revi. His leader, the Jackal, frowned at him, but the other three members of the group seemed to enjoy the murmurs that remark caused. Typhenous raised an eyebrow.

“That’s quite ambitious of you.”

He didn’t remark that it was also rude to assume that Griffon Hunt would just hand over the maps they’d worked on. Adventuring was a competition after all. The Jackal seemed to sense that and spoke in a placating tone.

“I think my teammate is being presumptuous. My apologies. We are a Silver-rank team, but we have faith in our abilities and we’d of course be willing to pay for information. We just don’t want to tread through used tunnels. If you’re willing we’ll pool our knowledge and return the favor when we return—”

“No deal.”

Halrac interrupted the Jackal. He shook his heads at the astonished team of Vuliel Drae. He nodded to Revi and Typhenous as he addressed them and the crowd.

“We’re not helping Silver-ranks kill themselves. Go find another request to do. This dungeon will be classified as Gold-rank or higher.”

“Gold-rank?”

“Is he serious?”

Halrac’s words provoked a stir in the adventurers around him. It was customary for Adventurer’s Guilds to rank a dungeon to tell adventurers what the minimum rank should be to enter. It was very common to rank a dungeon as Silver or Bronze. But Gold? The team of Vuliel Drae looked dismayed by Halrac’s words, but then the short Dwarf-woman thrust her way forwards. She thrust her bearded chin out at Halrac.

“You might think we’re your run-of-the-mill Silver-ranks, but we’ve handled ourselves in the dungeon before, tall-legs! Haven’t you heard? We were the first group to find treasure in the dungeon!”

There were nods at that, and Revi saw the other adventurers eying the five adventurers as they held themselves proudly. She frowned skeptically.

“You lot? What did you say your group’s name was?”

Her question dismayed the five adventurers. The Drake with black scales coughed.

“Vuliel Drae? We’re uh, the team that went into the dungeon and found a Gold-rank weapon?”

Typhenous, Revi, and Halrac exchanged glances. Halrac scowled and shook his head, remembering. Revi frowned until Typhenous whispered in her ear. She snapped her fingers.

“Oh, you’re that stupid team that got lucky? Good work, thanks to you eight other parties have gone into that dungeon and gotten slaughtered.”

She glared at the other team. Vuliel Drae looked shocked. The woman with the katana looked offended.

“It’s not our failing if the other teams died.”

“No, you just made it seems like it would be easy to find treasure. You just had to wave about that mace you found and brag about how easy it was, didn’t you? Good jobs.”

Revi’s voice dripped acid as she turned away. Halrac was already walking down the street, Typhenous following. Dismayed, Vuliel Drae watched them go. Revi had a few cutting words before she too left.

“I heard you only survived because you had help! Don’t count on it a second time, and don’t bother us about collaborating! Getting lucky is not the same as skill!”

With that she stormed off. The adventurers could hear her shouting at her two companions.

“Dead gods, what is it with newbies these days? At least the Horns of Hammerad actually treated us with respect. Hey, Halrac, slow down! Hey! Slow down!”

—-

There was a nasty silence after the team of Griffon Hunt had gone. Vuliel Drae, the five Silver-rank adventures who had become famous for entering Liscor’s dungeon and emerging with a mace worth thousands of gold coins stared at each other in embarrassment and anger afterwards as the adventurers dispersed around them. It was Dasha, the part-Dwarf woman who broke the silence.

“What a load of arrogant jerks! Those Gold-rank adventurers, hah, I don’t care for them! Especially the Stitch-Woman. Too full of herself, that [Mage].”

She stroked her beard, looking offended. The rest of her team nodded hesitantly, but their leader, the Jackal named Anith, looked disapproving.

“I can’t say I enjoyed being lectured, but they are Gold-rank adventurers, Dasha. They seemed to be acting in our best interests and we were quite rude to put ourselves on their level. Insill.”

He stared pointedly at the black-scaled Drake and Insill shifted his feet. It was the Gnoll, the fifth member of their group who hadn’t spoken until now who came to Insill’s defense.

“They might be Gold-rank, but they are still wrong, yes? We’re going into the dungeon their words or not.”

He looked around and got nods from his teammates, even Anith. Vuliel Drae, the Silver-rank team, weren’t famous like Griffon Hunt or the Halfseekers, but they had succesffully entered the dungeon and come back with treasure, making them local heroes. There were five of them.

Anith, their Jackal leader and [Mage], Dasha, a Human [Warrior] with Dwarven ancestry and a full chestnut beard, Insill, a Drake [Rogue] with black scales, Larr, their [Archer] and Pekona, a rare foreigner with a curved sword who was a rare type of warrior known as a [Blade Dancer]. They had adventured together for two years now, and they were confident in their abilities, even if their ego had just taken a blow.

“Let’s go to the dungeon.”

Pekona was the one who took charge. The silent woman usually didn’t say much, mainly because her command of the common tongue was weaker than the others. She truly was unique in that her people who lived on the Drath Archipelago spoke a different language than the rest of the world. Vuliel Drae left Liscor, talking, carrying along full packs. Dasha grumbled as she splashed through the grasslands, her armor sodden with rain.

“Stupid String People. Snooty Gold-rank adventurers. Griffon Hunt? Hah, as if they’re something special! The Silver Swords, now that’s a real team. They’ve got a proper Dwarf and everything. One of my people! After we get back from the dungeon let’s see if we can meet them. I wouldn’t mind tangling my beard with his if you get my drift!”

Her other teammates groaned aloud, but Insill just grinned at Dasha. She was more bluff than talk and often referred to ‘her people’ as Dwarves, despite having more Human blood than Dwarfish.

“You liar. You just want to meet their leader, Ylawes Byres. I saw you waxing your beard and trying to introduce yourself when he was in the Adventurer’s Guild.”

“You scaley rat!”

Dasha turned red and roared at Insill. She chased him for a few steps, but the [Rogue] was nimble on his feet and dashed away. The other adventurers looked amused until Anith, frowning, called a stop to it.

“Dasha, Insill, there are monsters out here. Please control yourselves.”

The Drake and part-Dwarf woman did, grumbling. Anith led them to the chasm and Insill groaned as he saw the ropes were gone.

“Where’d they go? Don’t tell me that Griffon Hunt removed them? It’s a pain having to anchor them again and again!”

“We’ve got our own and it’s not hard. Hey, is that water at the bottom? We’ll have to swim down the last few feet!”

Dasha looked down apprehensively. Anith stared at the water and shook his head.

“There must be an enchantment over the dungeon. We might not get another chance if the water keeps filling up—we would have to swim down hundreds of feet to get to the dungeon if the rain fills the entire hole.”

“Oh, it will. I’ve lived here all my life. This entire place will be underwater soon. Guess we’ll have to dive off a boat or find another way in soon.”

Insill assured the others. Dasha shook her head, grumbling.

“No proper Dwarf likes water.”

“You’re not a proper Dwarf, Dasha. You’re not even half-Dwarf.”

“I have Dwarfish blood in me! My heritage strikes true!”

“Yeah, the Human half.”

“Hrr. Yes. I agree. You would not have to buy hair growth tonics if you were truly Dwarvish at heart.”

“Shut up, shut up! You’re all just tall-legged bastards!”

The adventurers joked as they readied the ropes and then descended into the chasm. They were a good team, easy in each other’s company, able to laugh in the face of the dungeon. They reached the dry bottom of the dungeon, passing through the water barrier, joking and keeping calm. It was a miracle they weren’t eaten in the first five minutes as they tethered the ropes to rocks, still making far too much noise to be safe.

Where Griffon Hunt was barely more than a few angry whispers at their loudest, Vuliel Drae broke the silence with loud arguments and laughter. But then, that was why Toren liked them. They were silly and stupid and maybe that was what would keep them alive. They reminded her a bit of Erin.

“It’s you!”

Vuliel Drae reacted as they saw Toren step out of the darkness. To them, it was as if the masked swordswoman had been waiting for their return, which indeed, she had. Actually, a group of Raskghar had been waiting too, with poisoned arrows, but Toren had already finished them off. The masked skeleton bowed slightly and Insill’s tail began to wag slightly.

“Um, hello.”

Shyly, the Drake went over to the masked woman, smiling. The dark mask stared at him, but the Drake ignored the impartiality of the mask. He’d dreamed about what might lay under the mask.

“I thought we wouldn’t see you again. I thought—have you gone above at all? We just met Gold-rank adventures who said they’d been down here. Griffon Hunt. Do you—did you see them?”

The mysterious swordswoman shrugged then shook her head. She spread her arms wide, indicating the scope of the dungeon. Insill nodded as Anith bowed slightly and the other adventurers formed up.

“We were actually hoping to meet you. Would you care to explore the dungeon with us? We’d pay you of course—we actually owe you for last time! That mace you gave us was worth a fortune, so we bought this in case we met you again.”

He looked at Pekona and the [Blade Dancer] produced a longsword from her right side. It was a gleaming steel blade with a long forked rune etched onto the metal. The swordswoman stared at it as Insill offered it to her.

“It’s a cheap blade—barely enchanted, really. It’s got a tiny durability and cutting enchantment on it. I know it isn’t much, but I noticed your sword was really old and—”

He broke off as the masked woman dropped her old sword and raised the magic blade. She stared at it reverentially and cut the air—perilously close to Insill. He flinched, but then the masked woman turned to him. She hesitated, then drew a happy smile across her mask.

“You like it?”

He grinned and she nodded. Vuliel Drae smiled too, and Anith spoke.

“Miss Swordswoman, I regret that we don’t know your name. Please tell us, why do you stay below? We did not know any adventurer lived down here, but if you haven’t returned to the surface yet—why do you stay?”

For a second it seemed like the masked woman froze, but then she turned to Anith and gravely shook her head. She didn’t speak—it was clear she was unable or unwilling to, but she raised one finger and carefully tapped her chest. The adventurers stared at her as she drew a line down the side of her mask, under one eye socket. Then she pointed up towards the surface. Insill frowned, trying to make sense of it.

“Sorrow? Going up is—sad? Can you go up?”

A shake of the head.

“Are you cursed?”

Hesitated. A shake of the head.

“Something else?”

“Nod, nod.”

“What?”

A shrug. She was unwilling to say if she knew. The adventurers looked at each other and conferred.

“What do you think? Is she saying she just doesn’t want to go up?”

“That makes no sense!”

“Hm. Some adventurers are loners, yes. But why else not?”

“Maybe she’s on a mission. Maybe she’s decided to challenge the dungeon—or die.”

Anith nodded.

“A [Doomseeker], perhaps. It is not for us to ask.”

He bowed to the swordswoman who bowed back slightly.

“Forgive us for asking, but we are curious. We would be delighted to journey with you nonetheless. Shall we?”

The swordswoman nodded. She motioned with one hand, pointing in the direction that she judged to be safest, for a given value of safe. The team of Vuliel Drae followed, Insill in front, Dasha and Pekona next, Anith behind and Larr bringing up the rear. It was strange. For all she had been agonizing and for all he had proclaimed to hate other people, there was something about this that Toren had missed. She had missed other people, seeing Insill’s happily wagging tail, hearing him chatter and then realize he should be silent and looking for traps. It was…fun.

Toren walked into the darkness of the dungeon, the adventurers following. She would do her best to keep them alive. After all, she knew the dungeon well and they had given her an enchanted sword. An enchanted sword! She couldn’t wait to lord it over him when they were alone. And they would survive the dungeon. After all, how would the adventurers bring her more wonderful weapons if they died here?

This was the dungeon as it was. Alluring yet deadly, it was a crisis for Liscor, a talking point for adventurers in the area, but hardly a matter of worldwide or continental concern. The Drake and Human cities had far more pressing issues to deal with, and the dungeon was not yet rated by the Adventurer’s Guilds and thus it was regarded by many as a minor dungeon. After all, new ruins and abandoned fortresses were found quite often. They usually contained very little of worth.

To Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers, the dungeon was a gamble, a place for untold treasures or death. To the other adventurers it was a place of opportunity, and only the terrors within kept them from flooding the dungeon. To Watch Captain Zevara, it was a disaster waiting to happen. But to many in Liscor and elsewhere, the dungeon had lost much of its interest. It was a thing for adventurers and did not concern anyone else. It was safe, for a given value of safe.

Until now. It was a simple thing that triggered the change. A simple conversation between a group of inexperienced adventurers and a skeleton. It happened as they stumbled across a hitherto unexplored corridor and it began with Insill’s disgusted exclamation?

“Hey, are those eggs? Gross!”

He shone his lantern across the tunnel. The other adventurers reacted with revulsion.

“Disgusting. Look, there’s tunnels filled with them! We should burn the entire mess.”

“Got enough kindling for all of that? How about poison?”

“I do not believe it would be safe. Something laid these eggs. We should pull back.”

“Hrr. Yes. They look familiar to me. What if we took one and—”

Crunch. It was such a faint sound. The team of Vuliel Drae looked around. Toren in her disguise as the masked swordswoman happily crunched one of the bulbous eggs underfoot, then, another, and another. She was having such a good time that she only realized everyone was staring at her after the eighth egg. She stopped and looked at them, wiping her foot on the ground. Insill opened his mouth, and then Pekona raised a finger to her lips. She tilted her head.

“…What’s that sound?”

Vuliel Drae and Toren listened. Then they saw what was coming down the tunnels and fled. They survived, of course, hiding in a room Toren had found that had a door and a tunnel too narrow for most of the things to follow. But that was only the precursor. Something moved in the dungeon, joining the swarm, leading it. It pressed against the walls, seeking a way out. The wall of water and rain deterred it only for a single day until, well—

They came out.

5.06 M

There were momentous things happening in the world. In every continent it seemed there were stories to follow, epic tales of adventure or tragedies of dark design. Comedies, farces, the whimsical games of fate, there were so many stories to be told.

In Chandrar, The King of Destruction rode across the sands with the twins Teres and Trey, followed by his faithful servant, Gazi to a mining town to see about having a new sword made for himself. His enemies plotted against him and his allies prepared to march as spring finally arrived.

In Baleros, Niers Astoragon spent an outrageous sum of money commissioning an enchanted Go board as this new strategy game swept across the continent. He played his 37th game of Go in preparation for it reaching his unknown adversary in Liscor.

In Terandria—well, perhaps some things are better left unsaid. Perhaps there were too many stories to focus on. For while it might have been entertaining to witness the current political struggles in Wistram, or peer into the mind of the only [Clown] in the world and hear his tormented madness, why not pay attention to the doings of Goblins?

Surely the two Knights of the Petal that had been captured by the Flooded Waters Tribe were of interest. What of Tremborag and his mountain home? Or the steady growth of the Unseen Empire, the new relationships forged by Emperor Laken and his people? How about Minotaurs? Or a Minotaur? No? Perhaps not, then.

So many stories. Too many stories. While a certain skeleton walked below Liscor and stomped on some eggs with a team of adventurers another tale was taking place above. It was humbler than other stories that could have been told, and perhaps, yes, perhaps it was a trivial event to focus on but perhaps not. Sometimes it is the small things that matter. The tiny blades of grass in the growing storm. So then, this is not a tale about legends or empires or figures of great renown. This is a tale about Gnolls. One Gnoll in particular.

This is the legend of Mrsha, the Great and Terrible.

—-

Mrsha woke up to the sound of the rain falling. She got up, yawned, stretched, and stared out her dark window. Was it night or day? Her body told her it was day, but the dark skies outside and pouring rain said otherwise. Mrsha stared out through the glass panes at a world consumed by the downpour, an unending tyranny of water threatening floods, changing the very landscape.

She smiled and raced around her room. It looked like a fun day!

Adults were boring and tired. They groaned about rain and complained about waking up back pains, work, and so on. But Mrsha was young. She was excited by the heavy downpour. She would have been excited to see the sun too, though. She was happy in all weather. She would have been happy if it was raining frogs.

A new day. Mrsha was already full of energy on waking up. She leapt over her bed, ran past her window on all fours and saw a large insect stir from the nest she’d built on the windowsill. Apista the large Ashfire Bee fanned her wings and took off from her perch. She landed on a head sticking out of the covers. Mrsha stopped and wagged her tail as the third occupant of her room turned over.

“Apista, please. Give me five more minutes.”

One hand rose and lethargically covered Apista. The bee struggled to get free as Lyonette groaned and turned about in her bed. Mrsha ignored Lyonette. She was grumpy when she woke up. Apista struggled free of the hand and flew into the air, looking offended. Mrsha grinned. She liked Apista. The Ashfire Bee landed on her head as she padded over to Lyonette and poked the young woman in the side, eliciting a groan.

She didn’t understand why Lyonette hated morning. Mrsha loved waking up. She loved sleeping too. The feeling of curling up in her warm bed next to Lyonette when she was tired and waking up to a fresh new world and the smell of Erin’s cooking was the best thing in the world. Carefully, the small Gnoll poked Lyonette through her bedding again.

“Ow! Mrsha, your claws!”

Lyonette sat up with a yelp. She scowled blearily at Mrsha as the Gnoll leapt back. Lyonette blinked, rubbed her eyes, and then suddenly lunged for the Gnoll. Mrsha yelped and scurried away.

“Come here, you little troublemaker, you!”

The [Princess] and [Barmaid] chased Mrsha and Apista around the room for a grand total of three seconds before she collapsed. She groaned as Mrsha walked around her excitedly and Apista crawled onto her head. Mrsha tried to copy her. Lyonette sighed.

“I’m awake. Please get off me, Apista. Mrsha, why don’t you go downstairs and see if Erin’s done cooking breakfast?”

Lyonette’s ploy worked. Mrsha raced to the door, all too willing to pester Erin for scraps. She had to stand on two legs to operate the door handle, and then she was out in the corridor—

And a Goblin was standing in front of her. Mrsha froze and her hair stood up as one of the Redfang Warriors turned. He froze as he saw her. Headscratcher and Mrsha stared at each other for a frozen second, and then the Hobgoblin nodded carefully at Mrsha. He was still wearing his security badge. Mrsha didn’t nod back. She edged towards the stairs leading down and Headscratcher warily walked the other way down the hallway. The Gnoll and Goblin stared for another few seconds and then they both turned and fled, one up the stairs, another down.

Goblins. Mrsha dwelled on them as she hurried down the stairs, trying not to slip and fall head-over-heels as she did when she was racing. She hated Goblins. They had killed her tribe. Mrsha was afraid of Goblins. However, the Redfang Warriors were different Goblins and so Mrsha merely disliked them. They were big and scary and green. She forgot about them in an instant as she smelled breakfast.

Meat. Cooked meat and spices and—Mrsha’s stomach rumbled—fried egg. Her nose was extremely good, even for a Gnoll, and Mrsha could tell that Erin was cooking with a hint of caramelized sugar, fatty oils, and there was fresh bread baking in the ovens!

It was overwhelmingly delicious. The Gnoll immediately headed for the kitchen. As she did she slunk low along the ground, as if she were prowling in the grass. She made herself as small and unnoticeable as possible. Normally this would not have helped; a small white Gnoll creeping along the floorboards of an inn is usually not hard to spot. But Mrsha had a secret. Three of them, actually.

Her first big secret that no one knew was that she was a Level 8 [Last Survivor] and that she had a Skill. [Natural Concealment]. It made Mrsha less noticeable so that she could sneak up on people. Now she used it to sneak into the kitchen. Peeking around a counter, Mrsha saw a young woman moving in a flurry about the kitchen.

Erin Solstice hummed as she worked, checking on her bread, frying something in a pan, sliding scrambled eggs into a large bowl, and then getting out a jar of honey and the butter. Mrsha’s stomach rumbled. Erin was making what she called her Classic American Breakfast. What that meant was fresh, fluffy bread made with the strange baking powder that Octavia had given her, hot eggs, butter, honey, and bacon. Only today, Erin had changed her breakfast’s lineup slightly because Mrsha saw she was flipping small sausages in her pan!

They were nice and oily, but Mrsha’s keen nose detected another surprise. The sausages were what smelled of sugar! Erin had mixed some spices and sugar together and glazed them. Now they were roasting away in the pan, giving Mrsha the most wonderful of smells to start her morning.

The Gnoll couldn’t help it. She knew she wasn’t allowed in the kitchen when cooking was happening, but she wanted a taste. Slowly, carefully, she reached up to the counter. It was taller than she was, so Mrsha got up on two legs. She reached ever-so-slowly for a bowl filled with finished sausages on the counter. Slowly, slowly—

“Gotcha!”

Erin whirled around and Mrsha jumped. The [Innkeeper] caught the bowl before Mrsha could knock it over and then grabbed Mrsha before the Gnoll could flee. She lifted Mrsha up, laughing.

“I knew you were there you little thief! Trying to steal from me? I told you, no sneaking in! Honestly, you’re worse than Pisces with his [Invisibility]! No, wait, you’re not. But if you don’t scat right now I’ll make sure you get none of my sausages! Understand?”

She stared at Mrsha and the Gnoll nodded her head rapidly. The fear of no sausages made her flee Erin’s kitchen. By the time Lyonette came down with Apista, Mrsha was sitting at a table looking as innocent as possible. Somehow, that didn’t fool Lyonette who glanced at her suspiciously and then headed into the kitchen. Mrsha heard the adult’s voices as she doodled on a table with a claw and Apista flew over to the windows and the bright yellow flowers growing there.

“Morning, Erin. Did Mrsha cause any trouble? I sent her downstairs, sorry about that…”

Mrsha heard a laugh as she slid off her chair and hid behind the table’s leg.

“She tried to steal one of my sausages!”

“Oh, did she now? Well maybe she shouldn’t have any for breakfast.”

Mrsha’s heart broke. She turned towards the kitchen, begging for mercy. Erin chuckled.

“She didn’t get any so I think she can have some. But if she does it again, maybe we’ll take them away next time.”

“Mm…”

Lyonette returned to the common room and stared at Mrsha as she hid behind a table. Mrsha gave her a pleading look as the [Barmaid] sighed.

“Next time you’re getting no sausages at all young miss, understand?”

Mrsha nodded rapidly, trying to look as guilty as possible. Lyonette eyed her and then looked back towards the kitchen.

“I’ll start setting up, Erin! Are the Goblins…?”

“I fed them right when I woke up! They get up at the crack of dawn. It’s just the Halfseekers today. The Horns are still out.”

“Got it.”

Relieved that her trial was over, Mrsha slid back into her seat and swung her legs back and forth, barely able to wait as she heard the clink of pottery and silverware from the kitchen. She stared hungrily at Lyonette as she brought out a small stack of plates and cutlery. The [Barmaid] began setting two tables but she stared pointedly at Mrsha as she did.

“Mrsha? Do you have something to do before you eat?”

The Gnoll blinked at her, and then Mrsha’s eyes widened. She slid off her seat and looked around. Lyonette pointed to the door.

“The bucket’s just outside. It’s raining so pull it in—and don’t get wet!”

Mrsha carefully opened the door and stared out into a truly tremendous rainstorm. The roar of the rain and millions of drops hitting the ground entranced Mrsha for a second. It wasn’t blowing hard, but every time the slightest breeze blew, she could see sheets of rain pelting the ground. It was wild and tremendous, and Mrsha felt her heart skip a beat as she stared at the world, loving the primal nature of it all. A voice called from inside.

“Mrsha! Hurry up! Don’t let the rain in!”

Adults had no time for rain. Mrsha obediently reached out and grabbed the bucket sitting just outside. It was full to overflowing and she slopped some of it coming inside. Lyonette watched Mrsha push the bucket across the floor to the windowsill.

“One cup, remember?”

Mrsha gave her a look of scorn. Of course she remembered! This was her special task! She’d done it every morning for two weeks now. She reached for the cup that had been left on the windowsill next to the large boxes filled with dirt. Tiny yellow flowers, as bright and gleaming as the sun stood out of the soil. They were special flowers, Mrsha knew. Faerie flowers. She dipped the cup in the bucket of water and filled it to the brim. Then she carefully poured it into the first box of flowers, standing on the tips of her toes to reach up that high.

One full cup in each of the gardening planters. Mrsha carefully poured the water in, watching it drain into the soil, staring at the bright yellow flowers and the new ones budding out of the soil. They were growing! She felt proud. She had made them grow!

It was her special job. Lyonette had suggested it and Erin agreed. Mrsha had to have some responsibilities, so she was in charge of feeding Erin’s flowers each morning before breakfast. For her hard work Mrsha received four whole copper coins each week! It was enough to buy a snack or two snacks in Liscor and thus a lot of money.

Mrsha put the cup back as she finished her job and stared at the line of flower boxes along the windowsills. They were all growing nicely. Flowers didn’t grow much in the winter even in the warm inn, but there were always enough for Lyonette to use a few every week to gather more honey. That was because of Mrsha. Not just because she watered them, no. It was part of her second big secret.

She was a Level 2 [Gardener]. Mrsha stared at the glistening flowers, willing them to grow big and strong. As she did, Apista flew over. The Ashfire Bee crawled onto the box Mrsha was standing next to and delicately extended a red ‘tongue’ out of her pincers to lap at the flowers. Mrsha watched Apista eat with interest. Lyonette fed the bee honey, royal jelly, and sugary water as well, but the bee seemed addicted to the tiny flowers despite her size. Erin called Apista’s tongue a ‘proboscis’, but Mrsha knew a tongue when she saw it. The bee was larger than both of Mrsha’s paws combined and slowly getting bigger each week. It seemed like the flowers shouldn’t be that important to her, but every day when Mrsha watered, Apista ate.

“All done, Mrsha? Breakfast’s ready!”

Lyonette called and Mrsha immediately abandoned the flowers. She raced to the table and sat, jiggling in place with impatience as Lyonette ladled four lovely sausages onto Mrsha’s plate, some eggs, and a small bit of bread with honey and butter. She began eating at once.

So delicious! So hot! Mrsha’s face was a scene of contented bliss for Lyon and Erin who both watched her eat with amusement. Mrsha had milk today, and she greedily reached for it and her bread. Only to find Apista was there! The Ashfire Bee Queen loved honey as much as Mrsha and she was snacking on Mrsha’s breakfast! The Gnoll instantly swatted her on the head. Not hard, but enough to surprise Apista.

“Mrsha!”

Lyonette scolded the Gnoll as Erin ducked. Apista took into the air, agitated, and Lyonette reached for her. But though she was clearly upset as she crawled onto Lyonette’s hand, the Ashfire Bee did not seek vengeance on Mrsha. Erin was puzzled by this and she stared at Apista with a frown.

“She must really like Mrsha. I’ve had her try to sting me when I shooed her away from my honey. Of course, I told her I’d feed her to Bird if she did so she doesn’t bother me, but just the other day she tried to sting Badarrow when he was drinking mead. Why’s Mrsha safe?”

“Maybe she knows I’d never let her hurt Mrsha. But you shouldn’t do that either, Mrsha!”

The Gnoll ignored Lyonette as she chewed happily on her bread. Apista was smart. She knew she was stealing food and she knew it was Mrsha’s. So Mrsha was right to smack her! Besides, she’d never be stung. Mrsha had a Skill that allowed her to understand and be understood by the Ashfire Bee in some ways. She had the skill [Wild Affinity], which made her Apista’s friend.

That was her third secret. She was a Level 1 [Beast Tamer] too, just like Lyonette! Mrsha knew that most children didn’t get classes until they were older, until they were closer to grownups. But she’d grown up a lot and so she’d gained the classes. They weren’t much, but they were hers. Her special secret.

The adults talked about boring things while Mrsha finished breakfast. Things like where the Horns of Hammerad were, food supplies, money, paying the [Actors]—who were very exciting Mrsha would admit, but only when they were here—and her faerie flowers.

“They’re blooming nicely although we haven’t had much sunlight. I wonder why?”

Lyonette peered at the boxes of yellow flowers. Erin smiled as she stacked plates, shooing Apista away and getting a warning buzz for her trouble.

“I bet it’s because Mrsha has taken extra good care of the flowers every day, isn’t that right, Mrsha?”

Erin patted Mrsha on the head and the Gnoll smiled, her secret kept hidden away in her chest. Lyonette smiled and then glanced out the window and sighed.

“Ugh, that rain really keeps coming down. I really don’t want to walk in it but—I’m taking Mrsha into the city now, Erin.”

“Into the city? Why?”

Perplexed, Erin frowned at Lyonette. The [Barmaid] paused as she reached for the dirty dishes.

“She’s going to stay at Krshia’s for a while, remember?”

“Oh. Right! Well, cover up! Take one of those stupid cloaks—it’s pouring outside!”

Lyonette nodded. In short order she and Mrsha were bundled up in cloaks and heading out into the rain. Apista stayed at the inn—upstairs in Mrsha’s room since Bird was coming down for breakfast. He was having ‘bird babies’ today, which meant a big bowl of scrambled eggs. That would be nice, although Mrsha privately thought that meat and eggs in a big bowl would be better.

But then she was out in the rain. Mrsha splashed about happily and Lyonette sighed.

“Come on, let’s go get to Krshia. Stay close, Mrsha.”

They walked out into the storm. Mrsha smiled. It was going to be a fun day! She walked with Lyonette as the young woman winced and muttered about the wetness, crossing over the high ground. Mrsha stared down at the valleys they passed. They were filled with water! If she went down into one of them she could swim about! Lyonette kept a tight grip on Mrsha’s hand as if she could read the Gnoll’s thoughts. She seldom let Mrsha have fun. But that was okay. Mrsha would have forgiven Lyonette any number of sins. Because of one important fact.

She loved Lyonette. Wholeheartedly, without reservation. Mrsha couldn’t remember her mother. She didn’t know what a mother should be, but she had seen other mothers and their children. She thought Lyonette was as good as a mother. No, better. Mothers ran away from their children. Lyonette had taken care of Mrsha even though she hadn’t given birth to her. That was better.

It was a simple story Mrsha had grown up knowing. A fact of life. She had been a child of the Stone Spears tribe and her parents had both been [Hunters]. When she was born they had listened for her crying and heard only strange sounds. They had feared she was crippled or sick in some way. And they had been partly right. Mrsha had been born unable to speak. She could make guttural sounds, and she had learned to howl, but words and other coherent sounds were beyond her. It didn’t matter to Mrsha, but then again, it did, because it had mattered to her parents.

A simple story. Her parents had tried to abandon her when it became clear that Mrsha was mute. For that, their tribe’s Chieftain, Urksh, had exiled them. Being unable to speak was not a crime worthy of death, or so he had said. The Stone Spears tribe had agreed. Mrsha had never known her parents. But she had known Urksh. He had raised Mrsha like a father until he was slain by Goblins. Her entire tribe had died so one might live. And so Mrsha had been carried to a new home, and in time found someone to love her like the mother she never had.

Such cruelty and love was part of life. Mrsha accepted it all, with the unthinking innocence of youth. This was the way the world was and no one had ever told her it should be different.

She was happy now. Ryoka was gone, and Mrsha thought of her sometimes, but it was O.K. because Erin had said Ryoka would come back. And if she didn’t, well, Mrsha would find her when she grew up. In the meantime she was gaining levels. [Gardener] and [Beast Tamer] weren’t good classes yet, but Mrsha could have lots! Just like Lyonette.

Happy, content, the white Gnoll cub splashed across the ground. She had to walk on two legs in the little boots that Lyonette had bought, but that was fine too since Lyonette was holding her hand tight in case Mrsha slipped. And she was going to see Krshia! There were always snacks at her apartment and she had secrets too. Mrsha knew all about Krshia’s secrets.

Lyonette grinned at Mrsha.

“Excited to see Krshia? I’m sure she’s ready for you. And it’s probably best that she’s not out in the rain. Still, it was nice of her to agree to give you lessons, wasn’t it?”

Mrsha nodded along until she heard the bit about lessons. Wait, not those! She looked at Lyonette in horror and the [Barmaid] bit off a curse as she realized she’d given away the secret. She held on as Mrsha tried to turn back to the inn.

“No, Mrsha, you can’t go back! You have lessons! Darn it, Erin was right, I shouldn’t have let that slip! Mrsha, come on! You’ve done this before! It’s not bad, and I’ll be back in two hours! Mrsha!”

The Gnoll ignored Lyonette, pulling and slipping in the mud as she tried to run back to The Wandering Inn. She had been tricked! This wasn’t going to be fun at all! She had lessons? Mrsha tried to pull away but it was too late. She was caught.

It had been a trap!

—-

“What is change for one gold coin if I have bought eighteen silver pieces’ worth of goods? Mrsha?”

Mrsha was in hell. Not that she had any concept of what hell was. It was just a phrase she’d picked up from Erin. If Mrsha had been told what hell was supposed to be she would have pictured the crevice on the mountainside where she’d fallen, or the battlefield at night and Ryoka’s scream. But since she only thought about the past occasionally now, she regarded the idea of ‘hell’ as Krshia’s apartment where she had to sit on a high chair and learn.

The Gnoll child hated learning. It wasn’t the new things that got her down, or the act of sitting, but the boredom of it all. She stared dully at the coins on the table.

“Mrsha?”

A kind but somewhat stern voice prodded her. Mrsha looked up at the brown Gnoll sitting across from her. Krshia was sipping some tea and eying Mrsha sternly. She’d get mad if the Gnoll didn’t answer. Mrsha sighed through her nose and pushed two silver coins across the table. Krshia smiled.

“Good! Hrr. It is surprising, yes? You know how to change coins well. Very quickly! You have been practicing since we last met, just as I said, yes?”

Mrsha nodded obediently although that was a lie. She hadn’t practiced math. Rather, she’d been taught by Erin.

Education was very important to all of her guardians. Erin had suggested it after she realized Mrsha hadn’t had any formal lessons in the inn and Lyonette had talked to Krshia and agreed to teach her. All three women had begun teaching Mrsha everything from advanced reading—a subject which Erin herself struggled with—math, geography, history, and so on.

Mrsha liked learning some lessons and hated others. Just the other week Krshia had told her stories about Gnoll history, many of which Mrsha had known from growing up in her tribe and read from a book about the Second Antinium Wars. Sadly, the stories had ended and Krshia had decided that Mrsha needed to learn how to count.

They were changing money. It was a practical example of math and Krshia kept giving Mrsha harder questions.

“What is change for two silver coins if I buy three copper coins’ worth of goods? You may only give me copper coins, Mrsha.”

Mrsha hesitated and counted. One, two, three…she patiently counted up to seventeen and pushed the head of coins across the table. Krshia smiled.

“Good! Arrange the coins so, Mrsha. In fives, stacked up. That way it is simpler to count.”

She demonstrated. Mrsha sighed again. She didn’t want to learn this! Krshia eyed her sternly and the slouching Gnoll sat up reluctantly in her chair. Krshia stroked her chin.

“You know math well. Strange, it takes other children longer to learn this. Hmm. If you answer this next question correctly, I may reward you.”

That made Mrsha’s ears perk up. She listened to Krshia’s question. Then she pushed a gold coin and five copper ones across the table. Krshia blinked at her.

“Hm.”

She got up and found a sweet biscuit for Mrsha. The Gnoll ate it happily. Krshia shook her head.

“A gift for numbers. It is good! Surprising, but good. I am glad you understand it so well, Mrsha.”

The Gnoll rolled her eyes as she licked crumbs off her fur. It wasn’t surprising at all! Unbeknownst to Krshia, Erin and Lyonette had both taken their shots at teaching her math beforehand, to varying degrees of success. They each had their own strengths. Lyonette had taught Mrsha about royalty and politics and secrets of leveling passed down through her family. Erin taught Mrsha math and science and about silly things that couldn’t be seen like germs and ‘oxygen’.

And her math lessons were a lot harder than Krshia’s. Erin had not only taught Mrsha how to add and subtract perfectly, but she’d started Mrsha on multiplication and division. The Gnoll hated those lessons even more than Krshia’s practical ones. Math got silly when Erin taught it.

At least Krshia understood how math really worked. The next question the Gnoll gave her was a stumper.

“I have given you twenty gold pieces by accident to buy goods worth eleven gold pieces, four silver, and three copper. How many coins will you give me back?”

The correct answer was eight gold pieces, fifteen silver, and seven copper pieces. Mrsha mulled it over and pushed eight gold pieces and fifteen silver across the table. Krshia stared at her expectantly and Mrsha folded her arms.

That made the older Gnoll laugh.  She ruffled Mrsha’s head as she growled approvingly.

“Good answer! Yes, that is what I would do.”

Mrsha brightened up. Krshia reached for the coins and Mrsha hoped it was to end the lessons. But she paused and her ears perked up. Mrsha had already smelled Tkrn coming up the stairs and she heard him knock once.

“Wait here.”

Krshia went to answer the door. Mrsha heard her and Tkrn talking as she peered at the Gnoll. He was a junior [Guardsman] in the City Watch, but like most Gnolls in the city he was under Krshia’s unofficial command. She led the Silverfang Tribe in Liscor and was one of the leaders of the city-Gnolls here. If there was a crisis, Krshia would be one of the ones who decided what the Gnollish response should be.

It was hard to be a Gnoll in Drake cities. The Gnolls had to look out for each other. Mrsha understood that Liscor was good as Drake cities went—the Watch didn’t allow Drakes to gang up on Gnolls and there was only a little conflict between species. Still, Gnolls watched each other’s backs which was why Tkrn had come to tip Krshia off about a buying opportunity.

“…had to put down many cows and calves that were injured. It is a shame, but the meat is fresh and good! However, many [Shopkeepers] and [Butchers] and so on want the meat, so an auction will take place in the hour! Aunt Krshia, if you bought the meat for the others—lately all your deals have been excellent and you could save us much coin. Lism is there with his Drake friends and they are planning to buy all the good meat. Do you think you can outbid him or find the best cuts?”

Krshia nodded.

“Hrm. Yes, I do think so. I have a new Skill that allows me to select goods of the highest quality. I should go in person to get the best cuts of meat. Lism, vindictive as he is, may try to outbid me. But I would win either way. However—”

She glanced at Mrsha and the Gnoll waved at Tkrn. Krshia looked conflicted.

“I must take care of Mrsha.”

“Please, Aunt? We’ll have nothing but gristle and too much fat otherwise! The Drakes, they are trying to crowd out our stores ever since you lost your place as one of the top stalls in the market!”

The younger Gnoll pleaded with Krshia. She scratched at her head, growling under her breath, and then nodded decisively. She turned to Mrsha.

“Mrsha, I must go to this auction. It may take a while, so you must wait. Stay indoors, understand? You may wander, but you are not to touch anything fragile or sharp. Understand?”

She gave Mrsha a look, and the Gnoll nodded carefully. In Gnoll tribes, the young were expected to know what was off-limits after they were old enough to stand on two legs. If she broke anything, Krshia would spank her, Mrsha had no doubt. So she wouldn’t. Reassured, Krshia nodded.

“I will be back soon. Now, Tkrn, lead me to the [Butcher] before that scale-flint Lism gets away with all the choice cuts of meat!”

She and the other Gnoll hurried out of the door. Mrsha watched them go, not terribly disappointed by the development. She waited until the scents of the two Gnolls wasn’t fresh and then decided to go peek at Krshia’s secret.

If it seemed wrong of Krshia to leave Mrsha unattended, well, it was because she wasn’t. Not really. Mrsha was smart enough not to stab herself in the eye with a knife and there was no danger of a fire or [Thief] breaking into the apartment. Because Krshia had secrets. Mrsha was aware of them. Krshia thought that Mrsha couldn’t smell the Gnolls who took turns watching her apartment, but she was wrong. Mrsha’s nose was so good she could smell their blades, or their oiled bowstrings and the glue on their fletched arrows.

There was always a guard on Krshia’s apartment, watching and waiting. They were supposedly housewives and mothers, but a Gnoll mother could still put an arrow though a would-be [Burglar]’s eyes at fifty paces. Krshia’s apartment was important. And Mrsha knew why.

This wasn’t the first time she’d been left alone. Mrsha, knowing she was alone except for the Gnoll woman sitting in an apartment across the street and watching the door, padded over to Krshia’s kitchen. She rummaged around in the top drawer of one of the counters and found the secret compartment there. She slipped the key out, padded into the living room, and grabbed the second key that was hidden inside a fold of the couch. Then she walked into Krshia’s bedroom and paused.

She could still smell Brunkr’s scent here, faintly. Mrsha rubbed at her nose and tried to think about the secret. Which key was first? Kitchen key, it was very important. She found the false floorboards under the bed and pulled them out, one by one. There was a very large chest hidden in the crawlspace there. Mrsha put the first key in the lock, twisted it, then removed it and put the second one in.

Kitchen first, and then living room. If the keys weren’t in the right order or someone tried opening the chest with just one, the chest would fill the room with poison. Mrsha had heard Krshia whispering about it with the other Gnolls. What she hadn’t known was what was inside. Mrsha opened the chest, heart pounding and saw—

A book. The little Gnoll stared at it. It was a big book that filled the chest—a massive tome with golden lettering and fancy symbols and colorful illustrations on the cover, but a book nonetheless. Mrsha knew that such a book was probably worth thousands of gold pieces, but she was a little disappointed nonetheless. She had heard Krshia talking with the others about their great treasure, the thing that would make the Silverfang Tribe great.

They were going to offer this at the Meeting of the Tribes, which would be soon. Mrsha knew about the Meeting. It was the biggest Gnollish tradition. Every tribe would gather and offer something to benefit all of Gnollkind. They would discuss important matters, help tribes that were suffering and dispense justice among their own kind and on others.

The Stone Spears had been preparing a massive bounty of alchemical ingredients that could be sold or made into potions before they had been destroyed. Tribes worked hard to bring good gifts because they would receive benefits from the Meeting as well. The Silverfang tribe was rich. And this was all they were going to bring?

It didn’t seem right. Mrsha wrinkled her nose at the book. She had been taught how to read and could read better than Erin, but she had trouble deciphering the script on the front of the book. It didn’t look like the Drakish script, or the Human one which looked like Erin’s English language, or the secret writings that Gnolls sometimes used. Was it in another language? Mrsha opened the book and blinked.

Words on the page. Meaning—see here and comprehend. That which is stone is mutable. The earth sings; the stone resists flow. So shape it as a firm object in your head. A sword of stone, the edge keen. Touch a blade, feel the sharpness. The same sharpness of stone, and the entire blade. Visualize it all as one object, for stone is a complete thing. Then call it out of the ground. Shape it there and draw together all it requires. If sand is all that is there, draw into the sand. The elements are as follows. Take them, meld them, create a sword—

Mrsha jerked backwards and the book closed. She sat up, banged her head on the bottom of Krshia’s bed, and clutched at her skull as the words receded. What was that? She’d opened the book to a random page and the words had been—

They weren’t words. Not proper, written ones. Not language. The symbols had shone into Mrsha’s head and spoken there, instantly comprehendible. They were…well, it was like Krshia’s lesson, only vividly being shown in Mrsha’s mind. It was amazing—and painful. The effort of understanding gave Mrsha a migraine, but she understood! Oh, she understood.

What the page had been telling her was how to make a sword. No, not make one, conjure one out of the ground. If Mrsha had read through the rest and if her mind had been able to grasp it all, she would have been able to cast a spell. [Stone Sword], or perhaps [Blade of the Earth]. Mrsha’s understanding was incomplete from that brief glimpse, but the other page had shown a faceless warrior drawing a blade out of the earth. Mrsha’s paws trembled as she held the tome up, marveling at how light it was. Now it made sense.

This was a spellbook! It was worth infinitely more than a mundane book. And if the entire book held spells—Mrsha stared round-eyed at the book. If Krshia’s home had been filled with gold coins it might not have been worth enough to buy this book. This was what the Silverfang Tribe was going to offer at the Meeting of Tribes! It was ambitious, worthy. And risky.

Mrsha understood the gamble. It hinged on Gnolls wanting to use the spellbook, the tribes considering it worthwhile. Because if not…it was just something to be sold, worth only gold and even then, it would be gold that wouldn’t reach the other tribes in time for the meeting. If Gnollkind desired to learn magic, it was a princely, no, a kingly gift. If not…

Here was the issue. Gnolls couldn’t learn magic, not the magic of [Mages]. That was a fact across the world. They had no aptitude for it, no interest, and most tellingly, no representatives of their kind in Wistram, home of the mages.

Gnolls had tried to send one of their kind to Wistram, oh yes. But their great representative had been cast out of Wistram, laughed at by the [Mages] there. For that insult, no Gnoll would trade with Wistram. It was a grudge of decades. Of course, the tribes didn’t really need to have their own [Mages] since Gnolls were able to become [Shamans], who were just as good, if not better in some areas.

But there had never been a Gnoll [Mage] in living memory—the tribes had no spellbooks and few [Mages] wanted to have a Gnoll apprentice, and fewer Gnolls wanted to risk wasting their time trying to learn if it was impossible. So there were no Gnoll [Mages]. Some said Gnolls couldn’t learn conventional magic. But Mrsha had read the spellbook.

What did that mean? Mrsha had no idea. But she didn’t think overlong on the subject. People said Gnolls couldn’t learn magic. But she didn’t really care. Magic. If she could learn it—with a trembling paw, Mrsha slowly opened the spell tome again to a random page near the middle.

Words. The meaning is simple. Complex in nuance. The earth lives. It harbors magic. It harbors life and the memory of it. Where there is memory, create an echo. For a brief time reach into the past and call out a reflection of the self. Grass springs forth from soil and wood—even stone. But caution. Memory is strongest where life begins. Draw forth a tree from the ground, but never from uncaring rock. With more magic comes more growth. Diversify—seek more understanding, more knowledge of the green. Grow, and such creations shall last until magic is gone or until destroyed. Grow, the earth calls. And remembers.

Grow.

The spell struck Mrsha’s mind, burning itself across her thoughts like a brand, etched there, unfading. It was a simple spell, but with infinite variations. It was a spell of the earth, a spell worthy of a novice.

[Grow Grass]. Nothing more, nothing less. Mrsha struggled with the images in her head, telling her how the spell could be used, how to provoke the earth to conjure magical grass that would last for minutes or possibly hours. Her head ached and Mrsha reached for the book, to hunt for another spell, the spell of the stone sword, when she heard and smelled something.

Meat. Blood. The faint odor of gold and silver and copper and emotion. Satisfaction. Wet fur and a bit of sweat, the hint of spices and other goods on her paws.

Krshia was coming back. Mrsha slammed the book closed in a panic and shoved it back in the chest. She heard the chest lock itself as she ran with the keys, remembering to put the kitchen one in the drawer and the living room one in the couch. By the time Krshia opened the door to her apartment looking smug, Mrsha was sitting at the table, stacking gold and silver into a tower and trying to look innocent.

Perhaps if Krshia had been more alert she would have noticed Mrsha’s guilt. But the Gnoll [Shopkeeper] was elated, high on her success.

“Hah! That fool Lism had no idea what happened! He couldn’t tell a prime cut from entrails, but I could. Four of the best cuts and plenty more for our [Butchers] to sell! We will earn triple what I paid, at least!”

She strode around the apartment and Mrsha’s tail wagged in unison with Krshia’s. Mrsha was happy, understanding a bit of what Krshia meant but mainly picking up on her mood. Krshia was exultant, and then guilty.

“But I am sorry, Mrsha. I have left you for over an hour and a quarter, far too long! I must apologize to Lyonette and thank her—come, we will meet her outside. And I must buy you a snack to make up for it.”

She took Mrsha by the paw. The little Gnoll was astounded. An hour had passed? But it felt like minutes since she’d opened the book! She stared in awe at the wet street. The wet street, but the rainless skies. The rain had stopped pounding sometime while she’d been in that trance. Krshia sniffed as she took Mrsha down the street.

“Here. A snack. Hejor, give young Mrsha a meatball. No, two. She deserves a treat.”

A Gnoll was frying meatballs at a stand covered by an awning on the street. Mrsha’s stomach rumbled as he carefully took two large ones and put them in a little bit of wax paper. Erin’s hamburgers and other fast food delights were still popular in the city—now you could buy a hamburger at any number of taverns or food stands, and these meatballs were a popular variation on the concept. Mrsha greedily licked her lips as Krshia offered her the meatballs.

“My treat. No, save your coins Mrsha. A good [Trader] takes what is given freely, unless the debt is too great. Now, let us meet Lyonette since it is time.”

She led Mrsha onwards, the Gnoll nibbling at her steaming meatballs as she went. Mrsha smiled happily, then her eyes went wide and vacant as she stared at a cobblestone. Grass could grow from it. All she had to do was reach into the earth and call the memory of—

Her grip slipped and Mrsha nearly dropped both her meatballs onto the street! The Gnoll quickly popped one in her mouth and chewed as she walked on. Krshia didn’t notice, save to warn Mrsha not to scarf down her food and ruin lunch. She also told Mrsha not to let Lyonette or Erin know she’d been abandoned and Mrsha nodded dutifully. But her mind was racing. The book’s spell still burning across her memory, and when she looked at the ground she could feel the spell in her mind, ready to be cast.

But surely it was impossible to learn a spell so quickly? Unless the book was special? Unless Mrsha was special? The Gnoll was confused.

What had just happened?

—-

They met Lyonette at the city gates just as she was coming in. The young woman looked relieved to be out of the downpour and she said as much as Mrsha ate her second meatball.

“Rain’s stopped. I’m glad—it’s a pain trying not to slip and tumble down a hill on the way here.”

Krshia nodded. She cast an eye up at the dour skies.

“A short reprieve. The rain will be back in a day or two at most. It will rain all month and the next and then the flooding will stop. But already some valleys flood, yes? Soon we will be unable to travel except by boat so tell Erin to prepare well.”

“I will. Thank Miss Krshia, Mrsha.”

Mrsha waved at the tall Gnoll and Krshia bared her teeth in a slight smile.

“Go well, Mrsha. Stay out of trouble.”

They returned to the inn. Lyonette asked Mrsha if her day had been fun and if she’d learned a lot. Mrsha’s deep nod of conviction seemed to please the young woman and they returned to the inn to find the Halfseekers sitting about, talking, rather than being out in the rain.

Mrsha would have loved to go to her room and put her head under the pillows to make sense of what had just happened, but her ears perked up as she saw the three Gold-rank adventurers sitting at a table. Normally they’d be in the dungeon, but as they were telling Erin, they were taking a vacation today. Jelaqua grimaced over her mug as she waved at the wet landscape outside.

“Not every day’s a good day to adventure. Today is all politics—we’re trying to get the city to build the dungeon entrance higher. The official one, that is. Not sure how you’d stop that rift in the ground from flooding. And it’s important to have at least one entrance open if we want to continue challenging the dungeon this spring!”

“Can’t you, I dunno, let the dungeon flood and kill all the monsters?”

Erin was writing down notes for a new play on a piece of parchment. She waved to Lyonette and Mrsha and nearly knocked ink over the entire table. Jelaqua grimaced. Moore leaned over. The half-Giant [Mage] shook his head as he politely eyed Erin’s notes.

“I believe you’ve misspelled hawthorn, Miss Erin. It’s a ‘w’ not a ‘u’. And the dungeon is protected against flooding. Water will not enter past a certain point to prevent adventurers from using the tactics you just described.”

Erin grimaced as she crossed out a word.

“Oh, thanks Moore. Jeeze, this is hard. Even if I can remember all of King Lear, my head hurts from trying to write down all the lines! Stupid Skills…so you want to make sure it doesn’t flood since it won’t work, right Jelaqua?”

“That’s right. Anti-flood and earthquake measures are standard for magic dungeons, but I don’t feel like swimming to the entrance every day. We need to build a rampart from the city to the dungeon or at least create a fortification around the entrance. But the Antinium refuse to work in the downpour and there’s practically no [Diggers] in the city besides that lot! The city’s content to just let the dungeon flood because they think monsters will be trapped inside.”

“Bad idea. Lots of monsters like water and it’s a nightmare fighting them in those conditions. Take it from me. There’s a reason why I left the sea.”

Seborn leaned over, his claw-hand gripping a mug. Jelaqua nodded seriously in agreement. Erin thought for a second.

“Sounds rough. Yeah, the Antinium are really scared of water. And they’re busy in the Hive, or so Bird says. Look, if the issue is finding people to dig…why not see if you can hire some people from Celum? I don’t know if they’re as good as digging as the Antinium and they’ll probably charge more, but you could probably hire a lot of help between them and Liscor. Krshia could introduce you to some Gnolls who’ll work for a day I bet.”

Jelaqua snapped her fingers together and grinned.

“Oh, of course! I’m a vine-cursed idiot. Moore, Seborn, why didn’t either of you think of that?”

“Because you’re an idiot?”

Seborn ducked as Jelaqua swung at him and Moore smiled gently. Mrsha padded up to him and the half-Giant looked down.

“Hello Mrsha.”

He very carefully lowered a finger and stroked her head. Mrsha smiled up at him. Moore was as gentle as could be and he was always nice to her. She loved him. Jelaqua spotted the Gnoll and reached over to ruffle her head as well. Mrsha smelled her rotting body and the Selphid’s true form within. She didn’t flinch, although she could tell that Jelaqua’s body was falling apart.

“Hey there, kid! How are you doing?”

Moore waved at the Selphid who grinned at her. Jelaqua was loud and laughed a lot, and she was nice too. She liked Jelaqua. Seborn she wasn’t sure about. The Drowned Man just nodded at Mrsha. Sometimes she couldn’t smell or hear him at all, which was spooky. Jelaqua stood up after giving Mrsha another ruffle. She nodded at her companions.

“Come on, let’s go see if we can hire a group. It’ll be pricey, but I figure we can talk the Adventurer’s Guild into reimbursing us the costs. I don’t want to ask Griffon Hunt to chip in, but—whoops!”

She was striding over to the door when it opened and Octavia came out. The [Alchemist] stopped before she ran into Jelaqua and the bottles in the crate she was carrying clinked together.

“Whoa! Hey, careful!”

“My mistake, Miss [Alchemist].”

Jelaqua edged around the Stitch-Girl and Octavia put the crate on a counter. She wiped at her forehead.

“Hey Erin, got another delivery for that Gnoll [Shopkeeper].”

“Krshia?”

“Yup, that’s the one. I’ll bring some more potions through. The ones I made sold really well—hah, of course they would! You know, I undercut the prices from the regular potions since I can buy from Celum and Liscor and manufacture cheap. And I don’t have to sell my stock to a [Merchant] or [Trader] who has to lug his goods all the way from Pallass to Liscor—we can earn the same profits and sell for a lot less! Hey, can I leave this here?”

“What, on the table? No! How about over there?”

“Can’t put it by a fire, Erin. Some of this stuff—well, let’s just say I’m glad I didn’t run into that Selphid lady.”

“Okay, how about over there?”

“Uh…is that an Ashfire Bee I see hovering around those flowers? How about you put it over there?”

“How about over there?”

Mrsha crept away now that the boring adults were doing boring things again. Her head still hurt from reading the book. [Grow Grass]. She knew the spell! But could she cast it? Mrsha hesitated, and then pointed at a floorboard as she ascended to the second floor. She concentrated, did what she’d seen in the book. She pulled—and nothing happened.

Nothing. Not one thing. Mrsha poked at the ground, stepped on it, and then realized something was wrong. She knew the spell. But…she didn’t know how to cast it.

She needed something. Mrsha furrowed her brow as she tried to understand the spell searing in her mind. To cast a spell you needed…how had Lyonette explained it? Oh, yes. Mana and a catalyst. Mana was the fuel a spell burned and it came from the world and the mage. But a catalyst was important, too.

A toe or a finger was a bad catalyst for magic because all the flesh and bone got in the way. Only a good mage could work around the issue, like Pisces, and even then, a catalyst made the magic easier, boosted spells.

She needed one of those. And as she had that idea, Mrsha realized she’d had a catalyst all along! She raced up the stairs and into her room. There she rummaged around in a pillow and pulled out her prized possession: Pisces’ wand. She looked at it, slightly guiltily because she remembered the bad thing she’d done with it.

It had been a very bad thing, trying to hurt Badarrow with the wand. It had been taken away from Mrsha after the incident, but she’d snuck into Pisces’ room and taken it back. It wasn’t the wand’s fault and Pisces kept forgetting about it. The wand was lovely and hard and Mrsha liked gnawing on it—it was practically unbreakable as far as she could tell, since neither her teeth nor poking at logs in the fireplace had harmed it in any way. It was special.

And now it was important. Mrsha closed her eyes as she lifted the wand. She raised it, swished it, and tapped the ground. She cast the spell in her mind.

[Grow Grass]. Mrsha waited and stared at the floorboards.

Nothing happened. Mrsha frowned, licked her nose, and tried again. [Grow Grass]. Nothing happened. She growled and peered at the wand. Maybe it didn’t work? Maybe that was why Pisces didn’t use it. She tapped the ground again and reached. This time she found something in her chest.

A burning feeling, a howl. A cold beyond cold. The sight of glowing shapes, Ryoka’s arms around her. The earth as it froze. The feeling of warmth in the snow.

Magic.

And the floorboards shifted. Mrsha leapt back as a single blade of grass grew out of the floorboards, shimmering, flush with life. Mrsha touched it, awestruck. She plucked the blade of grass and saw it shimmer. Mrsha tore it in half and the pieces dissipated in her hands. She stared at the floorboards and they were completely untouched. She felt a pang of exhaustion in her body and stared at her wand.

She’d done it. Magic. Real magic.

The next few minutes saw Mrsha running around the room, the inn, howling with excitement. Lyonette, Erin and Octavia ran upstairs, but Mrsha was unable to explain. She just pointed at the floorboards and waved her wand, which was regarded as cute, if ultimately pointless. Mrsha didn’t know if she should tell them about her new spell—she had a feeling that looking at Krshia’s magic book would earn her a very big spanking, and the Gnoll spanked a lot harder than Lyonette.

It was her secret. Mrsha let the adults go back to arguing over where Octavia should put her potions—Erin had the opinion that the picky [Alchemist] could put it up somewhere and Mrsha wondered if they were going to put it on the third floor. She didn’t care. She stared at her wand as she went to the common room. The adults were busy and Mrsha?

Mrsha was a [Mage]. She was an adventurer. The Gnoll had dreamed of being a [Warrior], of being a hero in the tales that Ryoka and the Gnolls of her tribe had told around the campfires. She’d dreamed, but never believed she could actually be one. Now it was all different.

The Gnoll stared out a window. It wasn’t raining outside. She’d been cooped up for days now, and she suddenly had a burning desire to be out. She wasn’t supposed to be—Lyonette had to come with her, but wasn’t everything different now? Mrsha could do magic. Surely that means she could break the rules! She was Mrsha, Mrsha the [Mage]. No—

Mrsha the Great. She’d become a world-famous [Mage], a Gnoll who could cast magic! Mrsha swung her wand excitedly as she wandered out of the inn, unnoticed by Octavia and Erin who were fussing over the potions. Lyonette might have noticed Mrsha, but just as Mrsha opened the door there was a crash of breaking glass and a scream.

“No one touch anything! Get back in case it explodes! Don’t panic—I’m an [Alchemist]!”

“Oh my god, what’s that smoke?”

“Don’t panic! I said, don’t p—”

Mrsha closed the door. Exciting as that sounded, she had places to be. She looked around the soggy landscape, wand in hand, and noticed Apista had flown out with her. Well, that was good. It was time for an adventure! Mrsha knew it was dangerous outside, but now she knew magic! Or at least, one spell. She was going to be Mrsha the Great! Not just great—she’d be Mrsha, the Great and Terrible! The Gnoll wandered off in search of an adventure.

And found it.

—-

This was the adventure of Mrsha, the Great and Terrible. She left The Wandering Inn with her magic wand and her trusty companion, Apista. The Gnoll and Ashfire Bee travelled down the hill, ready for adventure, monsters, and maybe treasure!

They found a frog. Mrsha the Great and Terrible chased after it and the frog hopped into a pond forming in one of the valleys. It was vanquished! Mrsha raised her wand triumphantly and grew some grass. It was hard work! But she could make it grow larger outside of the inn. Apista landed on a cluster of stalks and then Mrsha spotted a rabbit.

A monster! The rabbit monster fled as Mrsha the Most Excellent Mage cast her spell and grass stems erupted around the startled creature. Another monster defeated! Apista waved her antennae encouragingly as Mrsha decided to go over one more hill. The inn was still in sight after all, and Mrsha the Brave and Responsible wouldn’t get scolded if she went a bit further, right?

As Mrsha the Explorative crested the next hill she saw an amazing battle taking place below her. A small, colorful, blue and yellow slime was fighting two horrible aggressors! A pair of large, ugly, green and brown poo slimes was attacking it, smacking it with their bodies, trying to splatter the poor slime! The magic slime was clearly magic; its insides swirled with color and it glowed. It was bright blue with a yellow streak running down the center.

The magic slime was beautiful, and thus, clearly important. Mrsha hesitated, unsure if she should actually fight monsters. But she was an adventurer wasn’t she? Apista fanned her wings agitatedly and Mrsha made up her mind. She raised her wand and howled as all three slimes turned to stare at her.

The epic battle of the grasses went like this: Mrsha the Great and Terrible charged into battle, wand waving. She brought her magic wand squarely down on the center of one of the poo slimes. It was barely bigger then she was and her wand went splash into it. The slime turned to her and Mrsha the Tactically Unsound realized she might have made a mistake.

So began an epic chase as Mrsha the Quick to Flee ran and the first poo slime pursued her! It stank horribly and it kept trying to swallow her legs! Mrsha the Fiercely Hygienic kicked at it and part of the slime splashed away. Apista, her loyal friend tried to stab the slime with her stinger, but the slime was all liquid and the Ashfire Bee nearly got swallowed! She flew away as Mrsha, She of Stinky Paws, punched the slime and splashed its nasty body everywhere.

The poo slime retreated and Mrsha, In Dire Need of a Bath, pursued. She leapt on the slime and, remembering what she’d been told, grabbed the small glowing stone in its body. The slime constricted around her hand and Mrsha cried out, feeling it twisting her paw, digesting her fur and skin! She pulled at the core, ignoring the slime as it resisted. The slime reacted, trying to engulf Mrsha entirely, but the Gnoll plucked its heart out and the slime was no more!

Panting, covered in very nasty liquid, Mrsha the Stinky triumphantly raised her wand and saw the second poo slime had been defeated as well! The glowing slime had engulfed it and was now jettisoning a steady stream of liquid out of its body. It ‘spat’ the other slime’s body away and as Mrsha watched, ate the other slime’s core. The magic slime’s body glowed and it rolled towards her, reaching for the slime core she held.

Mrsha had to take a break for a second to wipe her face and try not to retch at the horrible smells around her. But then, the slime was engulfing her leg, reaching upwards with its bulbous body for the mana stone she held. Aha! The damsel in distress was in fact a brigand! Mrsha thumped the slime with her paw, making it retreat.

A standoff ensued. Mrsha the Perplexed stared at the glowing slime. It looked familiar. The slime quivered as Apista circled it menacingly. Was it friend or foe? Mrsha the Merciful decided it was probably okay. She handed the mana stone from the second poo slime to the magic slime and watched in fascination as it ate the stone! It had a mana stone of its own and the slime’s core grew as it absorbed the first stone.

It rolled around Mrsha, lightly touching her, and the Gnoll, fascinated, gently patted the slime. At first she was nervous and at first the slime was nervous, but Mrsha was a [Beast Tamer]! She and the slime became friends or at least, didn’t try to kill each other. Mrsha decided this slime would make an excellent companion with Apista. She patted the slime and gingerly poked her paw into its side. The slime pulled away, but Mrsha felt her sore paw heal instantly!

Wide-eyed, Mrsha the Surprised pulled her paw back and realized this slime was no ordinary magic slime, but some kind of amazing healing slime! Just like Erin had talked about! Healing slimes were real, and this slime had healed her! It was also, apparently, hungry.

The healing slime crawled across the ground, examining the remains of the poo slimes and the grass and mud. It absorbed some of the water and horrible sewer remains and promptly spat out the sewer stuff. It plucked some grass, spat that out too. It found a grey flower hiding among the grass and ate that, and a cluster of spotted white mushrooms.

It was a picky slime. It was only as half as big as the poo slimes had been, for all it seemed energetic. Maybe there wasn’t enough for it to eat? What did healing slimes eat anyways? Mrsha the Keen Observer watched and decided her new friend could use some help. Thus, Mrsha the Great and Terrible went back home.

There was uproar in the inn, and Mrsha the Unobtrusive heard a lot of shouting as she pushed open the door and padded inside.

“Okay, no one step on the glowing puddle! I don’t know how it’s going to react!”

Octavia the Very Panicked was shouting and waving her hands near the kitchen. Lyonette and Erin were shouting too with buckets and mops. Mrsha the Slightly Interested decided that watching might not be a good idea, especially when she saw a small fireball rise up and all three young women scatter.

She snuck behind the panicking adults and into Octavia’s shop which was, ironically, probably the safest place to be at the moment. Mrsha the Inquisitive stared around at the shelves full of bottles. She felt a bit guilty, but this was an experiment! She stared around at the potions on the bottom shelves, looking for a good one. A large bottle at the end caught her eye. It was purple and had green flecks, tiny shimmering stars contained within the dark liquid.

The purple potion with green stars called to Mrsha. She picked up the bottle and shook it gently, watching the glowing colors swirling together. Yes, this would do. Mrsha the Daring Thief snuck back through to Erin’s inn. Once again no one noticed her—they were trying to put the fire out, and stymied by the fact that adding water just made it grow.

“Try oil!”

“Oil? Are you trying to burn my inn down?”

“What about dirt?”

“It’s all wet! What about this? We have uh—flour?”

Lyonette grabbed a bag of flour and both Erin and Octavia tackled her.

“Get the beans! Smother it with beans! I have two whole bags here!”

Mrsha the Vastly Entertained watched for a while, and then decided her new friend needed her more. She walked back outside and found the healing slime wandering about. It froze when it saw her and Apista again, but Mrsha patted it on the head and offered it the potion. It accepted the bottle into its center and Mrsha, fascinated, saw the glass begin to crack as the slime tried to digest it. The bottle broke and the magic purple liquid filled the slime.

Mrsha the Prudent took a few steps back as the healing slime froze. Its swirling center turned purple and the yellow sparks within it swirled brightly. For all of three seconds it seemed to fight the new colors within, and then—surprisingly—it changed color!

First it was the bright blue and yellow color it had been before. And then, suddenly, it was purple with green spots! It rolled about and then suddenly blue blossomed around the core and it shifted back into its original configuration! Mrsha the Amazed stared at the slime and padded over to it. She gingerly poked a finger into the slime as it turned from blue to purple and licked a bit of the purple potion.

She immediately spat it back out. Whatever was in Octavia’s potion, it tasted horrible! Too horrible to consider tasting! Mrsha scrubbed her mouth with some grass as the slime rolled about. Was it…faster? It zipped around Mrsha, a purple blur and she blinked and chased after it.

Now it was a race! Mrsha and the purple slime ran about the plains! It was quick! Fast as Mrsha was, she could barely keep up and the slime seemed to enjoy shooting up and down the hills, avoiding the small lakes. Fast, fast! Mrsha ran after the magic slime, leaping after it, watching it race around her tail, turning, and then—

And then she ran over a hill and saw the Fortress Beaver. It was limping along, a huge gash cut down the side of its body. It was larger than she was and as Mrsha halted, she, Apista, and the magic slime faced the large beaver. It made a wary chattering sound and Mrsha backed up, ready to flee. The magic slime made to run as well.

But wait, wasn’t she Mrsha the Great and Terrible? And she was a [Beast Tamer], a friend of Apista’s! She had [Wild Affinity], so surely she wasn’t a threat? Mrsha the Generally Peaceful edged forwards and the beaver retreated a step. She raised a paw and waved at the beaver. It stared at her and then decided she wasn’t a threat. It collapsed, lying down, and Mrsha the Horrified saw that it was still bleeding from its wound!

Whatever had cut the beaver must have been poisonous, because the wound looked greenish. The beaver was foaming a bit around the mouth and Mrsha the Healer realized something had to be done. She stared at the magic slime, and then stared at the beaver. The healing slime trembled as Mrsha padded over to it, but it reluctantly rolled towards the beaver and inspected the wound. It stared at the dying creature and Mrsha saw it shift from purple to blue. The slime slowly rolled over the wound and before her stunned eyes, the beaver’s wounds closed. The Fortress Beaver sat up and Mrsha the Savior of Beavers saw it lick the healing slime and then walk over to her! She patted it on the head and felt it whuff as it smelled her.

Another triumph! Another victory! The beaver seemed to realize that Mrsha and the slime had saved its life, and it seemed to want them to follow it. Mrsha the Great and Terrible followed the beaver with her band of trusty followers in tow. Apista seemed to enjoy licking the healing slime with her proboscis and the healing slime kept trying to swat her away, but that was okay. They were all friends and Mrsha was their great leader!

The Fortress Beaver led her over two hills and then Mrsha saw a group of Beavers chattering around the entrance of a cave! They were all Fortress Beavers and all very big. When they saw Mrsha and the other beaver they clustered around her. They were all hurt for some reason. Mrsha the Confused wondered why. Then she saw the beaver she had saved walk into the cave, followed by his kin.

Of course, Mrsha the Generally Inquisitive had to follow. She marched into the cave, head held high, ready for an adventure. She walked into the darkness, her eyes adjusting to the dim light, and saw the beavers tense. Mrsha the Suddenly Wary stopped, and she saw a shape lying on the ground.

It was…a Fortress Beaver. It was dead. The back of its head had been torn away and it was being ripped apart from the back. Something was tearing at it, savaging it. It crawled over the top of the beaver as Mrsha and the other Fortress Beavers stared and she saw an orange glowing body, protected by an exoskeleton of black and bloody red chitin. The Gnoll’s heart stopped as she realized what it and the other shapes clustered around the beaver were.

Crelers. The scuttling horrors with too many legs and teeth looked up as they dug into the flesh of the rotting Fortress Beaver’s corpse. Like a wave they scuttled towards Mrsha and the other animals. Their pincers and maws were red with blood and Mrsha saw a headless Corusdeer lying on the ground, the remains of three Shield Spiders. The Crelers came at her, hissing.

And suddenly it wasn’t a game anymore.

This was how the battle went. Mrsha fled as the Crelers attacked the Fortress Beavers, howling in panic. This wasn’t a game! Apista flew after her, just as afraid and the magic slime was zipping out of the cave! They were being pursued. Two of the Crelers had followed her and they scuttled out into the daylight after the Gnoll with alarming speed. Mrsha ran, howling, her magic and adventure forgotten. She tripped as she tumbled down a hill and fell—

Into a Shield Spider’s nest. The ground collapsed and Mrsha saw a flashing, rolling vision of large bodies, white egg sacks and then—a Shield Spider. It stared down at her, mandibles wide. Mrsha went very still. She tried to will herself to be invisible, to use her Skill to hide. But the Shield Spider had seen her! It opened its mandibles as more flooded into the pit—

And the Crelers charged into the nest. One leapt onto the Shield Spider standing over Mrsha and the second shuddered down the side of the nest. They began biting, tearing into the armored spiders as if their bodies were nothing more than paper! Alarmed, Mrsha retreated and the Shield Spiders shrieked and attacked the invaders.

It was a battle between the two species! To her horror, Mrsha saw the Crelers were tearing apart the Shield Spiders. They were too strong, too quick, and too tough! Their bodies were made of something stronger than the Shield Spiders and no matter how hard the spiders bit they couldn’t deliver more than superficial injuries. Whereas the Crelers could literally dig into their opponents and tear them apart!

It was terrible. And once the Crelers were done with the spiders, Mrsha would be next! She looked around desperately but there was no good way out. She saw a Creler leap off an eviscerated spider and scuttle towards her. It reared up—

And a bee smacked into it from the side! Apista, wings stretched wide, stabbed the Creler in its soft underbelly with her stinger. The Creler reared back and the Ashfire Bee flew around it, furiously attacking! Mrsha saw the other Creler break off as a whirling purple mass leapt at it. The magic healing slime engulfed the Creler into its body and Mrsha saw the creature fighting mightily to get out. But her attention was on the Creler in front of her.

It was trying to leap onto Apista! Mrsha raised her wand and smacked it on the back. The Creler whipped around, fast as a snake. The Gnoll leapt back and the Creler might have bit her then, but for the other Shield Spiders! They swarmed onto the creature, biting, fighting it in a mass of writhing limbs as the Creler thrashed about. It was a horrible battle and Mrsha saw more than one Shield Spider stumble away, practically ripped apart by the Creler’s claws. But then the Creler was dead, torn apart, and the second had fallen to the healing slime. It drifted in the slime’s body, its body twisted and mangled by the internal pressures put on it.

A silence fell over the Shield Spider nest as they realized there were still three uninvited guests. The spiders limped around Mrsha and she, realizing it was do-or-die, grabbed the healing slime and began splashing the spiders with its liquid. The spiders scuttled away at first, but then realized their wounds were healing! They crowded around Mrsha and she did her very best to convey that she was not prey. She pointed, and tried to convey a simple message.

There were more Crelers above. The Shield Spiders looked at her. They opened their mandibles wide and Mrsha the Great and Terrible held her breath.

The Fortress Beavers had retreated again. They had left six of their dead in the caves this time and killed only one Creler. They were all wounded, all poisoned by the Creler’s toxins. And yet, the beavers did not retreat. It was death or victory here. They had lost most of their colony to the Crelers already and they would not run.

This time they waited outside the cave, knowing the end was coming. The Crelers were eating their kin, laying their foul eggs. But they would not wait long, knowing more prey was ready to be slain.

The Fortress Beaver young stayed behind their parents as the beavers formed a semicircle around the cave. This was it. They heard scuttling, and then, to their astonishment, a howl! They turned and saw an unexpected ally. The white Gnoll had returned! In this dire hour she raced towards the cave, towards certain death. The Fortress Beavers stared at her and then at her strange companions.

An Ashfire Bee, a magic slime, and a Gnoll? Surely that wouldn’t be enough. But then they saw Shield Spiders scuttling across the ground behind them! The Fortress Beavers braced, but it was not the beavers that the Shield Spiders had come to slay. The scuttling grew louder as all sides heard the sounds from in the cave grew louder. There was a shriek, an inhuman noise that no animal would make either.

The Crelers had come. They poured out of the cave and the Fortress Beavers slapped their tails and chattered in fury. The battle was joined as Mrsha howled in alarm and Apista and the healing slime charged the creatures. It was a thin line of Fortress Beavers and Shield Spiders that rushed to meet them, but they were not alone! To her astonishment, the Gnoll saw more Shield Spiders pouring out of other pits, crawling across the grassland, drawn by some unknown message between their comrades. They set upon the Crelers, ignoring the Fortress Beavers, biting and clawing at the horrific things.

Mrsha understood as she saw the whirling bundles of legs and fangs turn and attack the large spiders. The Crelers bit into the armored shells of the spiders, tearing them apart, fighting the Shield Spiders as the massive Fortress Beavers tried to bite and pound them into submission. This wasn’t about predator and prey, this wasn’t about sides! The Crelers were a threat to all species!

They had not been born of this world. Not like animals. They had not sprung into being. They had been created, and they were malice and death. Mrsha understood that in a flash, connected by her tenuous bond with the animals. They had to be stopped. She saw the healing slime engulf another Creler and then Apista stabbing at a second one as a Fortress Beaver tried to smash it onto the ground.

The Creler leapt and bit the beaver’s throat. As the huge furry defender fell it turned towards Apista. This time the young Ashfire Bee was too slow to fly back and the Creler bore Apista to the ground with a powerful leap. It fought Apista as the Ashfire Bee grappled with it on the ground. The Creler was biting, tearing with all its claws and pincers! It was going to kill Apista! Mrsha didn’t realize she was running until her wand was stabbing into the Creler’s back.

The earth remembers. Call it out, diversify. Change what is, shape it to what it must be. Tell the earth what could happen. Combine memory and thought.

Make it grow.

Mrsha cast the spell. Grass shot up from the patch of earth around the Creler as Apista struggled free. The bee crept away, bleeding, as Mrsha held her wand in place. Bright green tendrils of grass snaked around the Creler as it turned towards her, weaving around its legs, its body.

The grass grew in a spurt around the Creler, weaving together, snaring it, pulling it down towards the ground. Surprised, the Creler scuttled at Mrsha, but she held her concentration. The grass tightened around the Creler as it fought to break free, holding it against the ground. It struggled there, helpless, as Mrsha staggered backwards.

The world greyed out and Mrsha fell backwards. She felt like the life had been sucked out of her. She saw a dim shape, and saw Apista crawling towards her. Her trustworthy companion had been savaged; she was bleeding from her abdomen, her sides. She crawled onto Mrsha’s hand as the Gnoll closed her eyes. They lay together as the darkness consumed Mrsha and the sounds of battle raged around her.

—-

And then Mrsha woke up. She felt a wet sensation on her face and sat up suddenly. The heavy gelatinous mass slid off and Mrsha got a glimpse of a bright blue glowing form, and saw the healing slime slide away. She stared at it and then looked around wildly. Apista, where was—

The Ashfire Bee flew onto Mrsha’s head and clung to her! The Gnoll, stunned, stared at the bee and then looked around. She saw devastation in the cave, blood, broken body parts, and the Crelers.

They were all dead. The alliance of spiders and beavers had won, if barely. Mrsha saw Fortress Beavers and the carcasses of Shield Spiders strewn about the cave. And yet, more were on their feet and moving about then she would have imagined. Mrsha stared at the unhurt beavers and spiders and then realized who was responsible. The healing slime rolled towards a beaver that was missing a leg and engulfed the bleeding stump. The beaver stopped bleeding. The leg did not regrow, but the beaver seemed to visibly perk up. It turned around and licked the slime and the healing slime rolled away.

The healing slime. Mrsha approached it and the slime retreated warily. She waited and it rolled back. Mrsha gently patted the slime and the slime engulfed her paw and then let go. She looked around the cave and saw countless beady eyes on her. The Shield Spiders and Fortress Beavers stared at Mrsha and there was something intelligent in their eyes.

Intelligent, yes. Thoughtful—no. Mrsha saw no words in the eyes of the animals and spiders. But as some of the beavers surrounded her and began to groom her fur, Mrsha realized something.

Fortress Beavers could think. The slime could think. The Shield Spiders…well, Mrsha got more simplistic thoughts out of them. But they were wise enough to avoid a second battle in the wake of the war. They left, carrying their dead, as the Fortress Beavers reclaimed their cave. They began to tear apart the Crelers with their claws, not to eat, but to make sure not a hint of life remained in any of them. And they made sure to destroy the eggs as well.

The eggs. They were bright orange and red and contained swimming shapes within the dusky orbs. They had been laid in the bodies of the dead Fortress Beavers and Shield Spiders. Ruthlessly, the beavers smashed each one. Mrsha stared as a lone Creler egg rolled towards her. She picked it up and stared around the cave.

This had been a battle. An actual battle. Mrsha stared at the magic slime, at Apista, looking fierce and triumphant, and at the Fortress Beavers grimly reclaiming their home and pushing their dead out. She felt triumphant and tired. She was done playing. She wanted to go back home.

And so it was that Mrsha the Great and Terrible, hero of the Battle of the Cave, left the Fortress Beavers and the healing slime behind. It seemed content to roll about the caves and it apparently liked the dead Crelers enough to keep eating them. Mrsha hoped it would survive. But as for herself, she was going home. She walked back proudly to the inn, bearing the spoils of her travels with her.

“And where have you been?”

Erin propped her hands on her hips as Mrsha walked into the inn just in time for dinner. The Gnoll guiltily avoided Erin’s look. Erin peered at her suspiciously and then sniffed.

“Eurgh! You smell awful, Mrsha! Did you fall into the outhouse? Lyonette, we’re going to need to give Mrsha a bath!”

“Us too!”

Jelaqua raised her hand. The Selphid was covered in dirt, as was Moore and Seborn. They were tired, but happy. They’d found their diggers and done a lot of digging themselves, apparently. Mrsha padded over to them, noting the blackened spot of floorboards in front of the kitchen. She wondered if they’d put the fire out.

“Beans are a wonderful extinguisher for magical fires. I learned that today. Also, we’re out of beans. I’m definitely not serving the ones we burnt on the fire and I really hope they don’t grow.”

Erin announced this to the room as she carried out a pot of macaroni and cheese for the hungry adventurers and Mrsha. The Gnoll sat happily at the table with the Halfseekers, thinking it was about time that she joined their ranks. Moore smiled at Mrsha.

“Did you have a good day, Mrsha?”

The Gnoll nodded. She began placing her treasures on the table. Jelaqua laughed as she leaned over to look.

“What’s that? Oh, you’ve been outside, have you? Let’s see, you’ve got a lovely flower, an empty potion bottle—where’d you get that, then? And an egg. Huh. What’s that?”

She stared at the orange, translucent egg with a frown. Moore and Seborn leaned over too as Mrsha rolled the egg towards the Selphid. Jelaqua frowned as she stared at the egg and then her eyes widened.

“Dead gods!”

She flipped the table as she leapt to her feet with a shout. Erin watched her pot of macaroni fly everywhere. She stared at Mrsha. Mrsha stared around the inn as Seborn stomped on the Creler egg. She thought about the future and what it might hold. Every eye turned towards her. Erin folded her arms. Mrsha slid from her chair at the table and gave everyone her best, most innocent smile.

Then she ran for it.

—-

One last detail. As Mrsha, the Great and Very-Much-In-Trouble fled from the inn with Lyonette, Erin, and the Halfseekers pursing her, a predator of the skies took wing. A Razorbeak, a massive avian similar to a pterodactyl with sharp claws and sharper teeth flew overhead. It was known to Erin as a Dino-Bird, and as it spotted the small Gnoll it began to dive.

It was a large creature, bigger than an eagle and fully capable of grabbing the Gnoll and lifting her up into the air where it would happily tear her apart. It dove as Mrsha hid from Lyonette behind the crest of a hill, beak pointed at the Gnoll’s back, talons outstretched—

An arrow pierced it through the chest. Surprised, the Razorbeak had only time for a strangled squawk before it fell. It landed dead on the ground and Bird lowered his bow and hummed his song.

“Birds, birds, I shoot birds. Because I am Birds. La, la, birds…”

It was the eighth bird he’d killed in the last hour, and all thanks to Mrsha. Bird nodded happily as he mentally marked the spot where the Razorbeak had fallen for picking up later. He watched as Mrsha disappeared behind the crest of a hill, pursued by the angry adults.

She’d been going out a lot today. He wondered if he should have stopped her, especially given that she was so young. But she had a wand and that meant she was a [Mage]. And mages could defend themselves, right? Bird happily went back to waiting for the next bird to try to carry Mrsha off.

Life was good.

—-

[Beast Tamer Level 6!]

[Gardener Level 3!]

[Mage Level 2!]

[Conditions Met: Mage → Druid Class!]

[Class Consolidation: Gardener removed.]

[Class Consolidation: Beast Tamer removed.]

[Druid Level 2!]

[Skill – Spell: Wild Growth obtained!]

[Skill Change – Wild Affinity → Peace of the Wild!]

[Skill – Peace of the Wild obtained!]

Mrsha woke up in the middle of the night. She rubbed at her sore bottom, and then rolled over and went back to sleep. And thus the tale of Mrsha the Great and Terrible ended.

For now.

5.07

(Volume 1 of The Wandering Inn is now on sale as an e-book on Amazon! Please read this short message about the book!)

It began with a quiet in the morning, a hush as the incessant rainfall ceased. Erin Solstice woke up and looked out into a soggy landscape at the crack of dawn. She heard shuffling feet and knew there were others who had woken up at the same time as her.

The door to her inn opened as Erin got up and blearily brushed her teeth and changed clothes.

“I should probably get my own room. Yup, yup. Why do I sleep down here anyways? Because the kitchen floor is soft? Well, it is, actually. But I need a dressing room, at least. The actors could use one and so could I.”

“Probably. Then again, I don’t mind the view.”

Erin whirled around.

“Jelaqua!”

The Selphid grinned at her, looking tired. She was up early. She eyed Erin as the young woman finished dressing.

“Hey Erin. Nice forearms.”

Only a Selphid would compliment someone about the state of their forearms. Or someone really concerned about body fitness. Erin sighed.

“Morning Jelaqua. Breakfast’s not ready yet so you can go back to sleep.”

“I know that. Normally I’d be in bed, but I couldn’t help it. I heard that lot getting up so…”

Jelaqua nodded over her shoulder. Erin walked out of the kitchen and stared out of one of her inn’s windows.

“What, the Goblins? They do this every day.”

“Really?”

“Every day since I gave them their rooms upstairs, yeah.”

“So they’ve done this today and yesterday is what you mean.”

“Um…yes.”

The Selphid woman and Erin stared out the windows. The Redfang Goblins were standing outside in the dewy grass in that not-quite-darkness that was the sky before the sun fully rose. Actually, standing was a bad word. They were sparring.

Five Hobgoblins, each taller than Erin, each green, and each strong and fit. They kicked and punched at each other, sparring in pairs or two-on-one and then switched to swords in scabbards and calisthenics. That meant Headscratcher would wail on Badarrow with a sword as the other Goblin cursed and dodged while Rabbiteater did pushups and Shorthilt and Numbtongue sprinted up and down the hill.

Jelaqua shook her head as Erin readied breakfast. The Selphid stared hard at the Goblins as they performed a demanding workout. It wasn’t just physically tough—the Goblins hit each other hard and Erin had seen them draw blood with their swords while sparring.

“Plague corpses, that’s unnerving.”

“What is?”

The Selphid absently picked at the stiches around her crown. A bit of skin fell off around her skull and Erin made a note to bar Jelaqua from the kitchen. The Selphid was a bit smelly at close quarters and her body looked decidedly worse than it had when Erin first met her. Jelaqua noticed Erin flick the dead skin off the table and wipe the offending spot and grimaced.

“Really sorry about that. My body’s not doing too well right now. It’s time for a change, but I haven’t been able to find a fresh corpse for the life of me. No one in Celum or Liscor’s eager to sell a body to a Selphid, you see.”

“Not a problem. Just don’t uh, drop any part of yourself in today’s breakfast. You got hurt defending my inn, after all.”

“Huh. I suppose I did.”

Jelaqua scratched at her stitches again, seemingly surprised that Erin remembered. She stared at the Goblins and shook her head again.

“They’re like clones of Garen.”

“Who? Oh, that’s the Hobgoblin that betrayed…”

Erin broke off. Jelaqua nodded, her face unreadable.

“Yeah. I know I shouldn’t think they’re the same, but damn me if Garen didn’t teach them to fight and train like him. He learned those exercises from us. And seeing these Goblins do the same…”

Her fist clenched. Erin nodded slowly.

“Hard?”

The Selphid paused.

“Nah. They’re different, in the end. That’s what I keep telling myself now, thanks to you. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy the view. Look at those calf muscles! And the way those sweat glands are working!”

She licked her lips, staring avidly at the way Shorthilt’s pectoral muscles moved as the Goblin charged up the hill with Numbtongue right behind him. Erin stared at Jelaqua. The Selphid really did have the oddest interests in people. Namely, their bodies. There was a lot to look at as the Goblins sparred in their loincloths, and their sturdy big toes weren’t normally the subject of interest for most Humans.

Most Humans. Erin saw Jelaqua break off from ogling the Goblins to look at her with a grin.

“This doing anything for you?”

Erin stared blankly at the five Goblins as Badarrow began loosing arrows at the other four Goblins. The Hob was using arrows that had no arrowhead, but he was aiming at close range and the other Redfang Warriors were getting hit hard. She heard a yelp as Badarrow shot Rabbiteater in the groin and shook her head.

“Nope. But uh, I’m not thinking of the Goblins in any kind of intimate sense.”

“Mm. I could give it a shot. I mean, Goblin bodies are—well, it’s a bit daring if you get my meaning, but what Selphid would turn their tendrils up at one of these specimens? But I totally get that you’re not into having sex with Goblins.”

“Thanks for understanding?”

It was weird talking with Selphids. This wasn’t the first time either. Jelaqua knew more about the Human body than Erin did, and that was despite Erin’s education in biology. There was just something a bit off putting about someone who could tell you exactly what you felt like from the inside.

But Jelaqua was a good person. Erin leaned over the windowsill, watching the Goblins. The Selphid stared at them again.

“Funny though, they really do look sort of like Garen. Do you ever get confused by them? They look mostly alike to me.”

“Really?”

Erin looked at Jelaqua with a frown. The Selphid nodded.

“Oh, their bodies are different, but I can’t tell them apart. Can you?”

“Yup! They’re all unique. It’s easy to tell them apart when you know how. Here, let me show you. The easiest one to spot is Badarrow. That’s him with the bow.”

Erin pointed to the Hob who was shooting at the other Hobs, trying to keep them from attacking him while they ducked and tried to avoid his arrows. The [Innkeeper] smiled.

“He’s the bad-tempered one. He always looks grumpy and he’s always grouching to the others. He really likes bows and arrows so he sometimes stares at Bird’s bow. I think he’s jealous.”

“Huh. I do get that vibe from him. [Archers] love bows. The entire Gnoll species seems to love them too. We had a half-Gnoll that always—well, never mind. Who’s the Hob charging him?”

Erin saw a Hobgoblin charge up the hill, willingly taking an arrow in the shoulder to tackle Badarrow to the ground. There was triumphant shouting as the two Hobs rolled around, punching each other.

“That’s Headscratcher. He’s like the cool emotional leader guy. The other Hobs listen to him mainly and he’s always leaping into the fight. But he has a soft side.”

“You sure?”

Jelaqua watched Headscratcher put Badarrow in an arm lock before the other three Goblins decided it was time for two-versus-three battle. Headscratcher and Shorthilt charged the other three with wild shouts, fighting ferociously. Erin nodded knowingly as she stared at Headscratcher walloping Rabbiteater.

“Oh yeah. Total softie. He cried during the play last night you know.”

“You’re joking. No? Okay, it made sense. Moore was blubbering on me and I would have cried, but my tear ducts are all clogged up. Seborn’s a cold-hearted bastard though. Who’s the other Hob with him?”

“Shorthilt? Weapon dude. He likes sharpening swords. He’s always maintaining that sword he has and he doesn’t let the other Goblins touch it. He’s like a snob-Goblin.”

Erin saw Shorthilt pirouette with his blade, warding off Badarrow and smacking Numbtongue with a fast cut to the shoulder. He was probably the best of the Hobs with his sword. Erin frowned, a bit vexed.

“I think he’s a good guy. Silent type. But he means too well, you know? He sharpened my knives one time and I nearly cut through my cutting board!”

“Huh. Okay, what about that Hob?”

Jelaqua pointed and Erin saw Numbtongue backing up, cursing loudly as he tried to flank Shorthilt and the Hob kept him and Rabbiteater at bay.

“Oh, that’s Numbtongue. Easy to spot too. See how he’s the only Goblin saying anything? He’s the only one who can really talk.”

“I have never heard one of the Goblins say more than five words together, Erin.”

“Yeah, but he could if he wanted to. Remember when I was singing? I swear he was singing the entire song with me after the first go round. He’s got a great memory, and I’m pretty sure he’s memorized both plays by heart.”

“A talking Goblin who doesn’t talk.”

“That’s right. And so we have our last Goblin. Rabbiteater.”

Erin stared at the Goblin, who looked grumpy as he and the three defeated Goblins watched the victors of their mock battle, Headscratcher and Shorthilt, celebrate. Jelaqua looked at Erin.

“So what’s his special feature?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Nope. He’s good at most things and he likes to eat. He’s a hard worker and the other Goblins like him because he doesn’t get on their nerves. He’s a Hufflepuff, poor guy.”

“A what?”

“That’s like…you know, someone who works hard but doesn’t have any defining features?”

“Oh, a loser?”

“No! They’re good people and Rabbiteater’s good in a lot of ways! He just doesn’t stand out. Hufflepuffs are nice! Okay, I was a Gryffindor, but…”

“I have literally no idea what you’re talking about, Erin.”

“I know.”

As the Selphid and Human girl talked and the Redfang Warriors trooped inside for breakfast—fruit and oatmeal with honey—more people began waking up and walking downstairs. The Wandering Inn woke up as Drassi arrived for her morning shift. But the small crowd would soon have some more visitors. A band of three Gold-rank adventurers set out from Liscor, walking through the wet grasslands, arguing as they headed to The Wandering Inn.

The Silver Swords were a group of three adventurers, known for their championing of just causes and for protecting those in need. They had grown famous in the north, enough so that their name was recognizable in most Adventurer’s Guilds across the continent. Rarely did they stray so far south, though, and while they were a solid team who had worked together for six years already, they were known for arguing. Mainly because each of the three members of the Silver Swords hailed from a different race.

Their leader, Ylawes Byres, was Human. He was a [Knight] who strode ahead of the group. Next to him walked the half-Elf Falene Skystrall, a [Battlemage] who had graduated from Wistram. Behind the two, stomping along and muttering into his beard was Dawil, a Dwarf [Axe Champion] dressed in full plate armor.

Such an unusual combination of species was rare to see, not least because half-Elves and Dwarves were known for their distaste for one another. That was a long-held stereotype at least and while it might not have fit in general, it seemed to fit with this group, for whom the word stereotype was sometimes understated.

It was Dawil who was complaining this morning, his deep voice loud in the morning hush. He stomped along, growling at Ylawes’ back. All three adventurers were armored up despite the early time—Dawil’s armor and Ylawes’ silver plate shone bright in the sunlight, as did Falene’s magical robes that caught and enhanced the light. None of that made the Dwarf’s mood any better.

“Bah! We had to get up early and for what? Breakfast in that inn? Hah! I’d rather have Drakes rubbing their tails all over my head and Gnolls shedding in my soup than have Goblins stinking up the place! And you! Why are you walking in front of me, you giant shining lummox? Bad enough that I have to get up at the crack of dawn when we’re not on an adventure. I’m not staring at a flashing mirror all day!”

He cut ahead of Ylawes, grumbling about [Knights] and polished armor. Ylawes sighed, but it was Falene who cut Dawil off. The half-Elf looked down her nose at the Dwarf.

“If you’ve stopped grumbling, I’ll present my findings, Dwarf. I was telling you about the group Ylawes’ sister has found herself with.”

“Oh good, the half-Elf has done some research. Let’s all applaud her woodsy majesty then!”

“Dawil…”

Ylawes’ tone was patient. The Dwarf grumbled, but let Falene go on as the Human [Knight] nodded to her.

“As I was saying. It seems the half-Elf, Ceria Springwalker and the [Necromancer] Pisces truly are Wistram graduates. I had my sincere doubts, but I received a brief note from a colleague in Wistram affirming their claims. However, it seems they left Wistram prematurely…I sense there was an incident that the academy is attempting to cover up. I’ve sent follow up letters and hope to know more soon.”

“Two [Mages] from Wistram, eh? And one’s a [Necromancer]? I didn’t know that the mages graduated [Necromancers]. And didn’t I hear you say that you’d never work willingly with someone who raised the undead, Byres?”

“The mages don’t let [Necromancers] join the academy. At least, they don’t encourage it. And my family has fought against the undead and those that command them for generations, Dawil. I don’t understand why my sister would work with this [Necromancer]. As for the Antinium—anything, Falene?”

Ylawes turned to Falene hopefully. The half-Elf hesitated and shook her head.

“Nothing. The Antinium are supposed to be a mindless mass. Why one of them would join an adventuring group—much less have a name—is a mystery to me. He could be a Prognugator, but those are supposed to be exceedingly rare. And why would he be exiled from his Hive?”

“Outcast, probably. So let’s see, we have a half-Elf with a missing hand and a [Necromancer], both of whom left Wistram under dodgy circumstances, and an Antinium from the Hives. Tell me again how your sister’s mixed up in all this, Ylawes?”

The tall [Knight] grimaced. Ylawes could have walked out of a painting of a knight fighting a Dragon. He frowned at the inn as he ascended the hill with his companions.

“I don’t know. Yvlon lost her team in Liscor’s crypts and I think she fell in with this group by accident. She knew the half-Elf—Ceria Springwalker—from the expedition. As for the [Necromancer] and Antinium…she refused to say. But I’ll take her back north safely regardless of whatever mess she’s gotten herself into.”

“If she’s willing to go. You’ve already committed us to finding a lost adventurer. In Liscor’s dungeon no less.”

Falene looked sideways at Ylawes. The man nodded grimly.

“It’s a just cause and if there really is a Minotaur down there who’s survived this entire time, he deserves rescue.”

“And we deserve a big bag of gold for finding him, but will we get that? No, it’s another one of your noble causes.”

Dawil grumbled. Ylawes gave him a stern look.

“If need be I’ll pay the reward out of my own pockets, Dawil. I told you that I was looking for my sister and we might not find work here. You were free to join another team—”

“And leave you to get killed? Hah! Maybe the half-Elf would do that, but we Dwarves understand loyalty!”

Dawil thumped his chest. Then he pointed at Ylawes.

“But mark me, Byres. I’ll gladly eat and fight monsters in this city so long as there’s pay to be had and food in my belly, but if you’re really trying to get your sister to come back with you you’ll take my advice. You’ve pestered your sister for a week now and for what? Nothing. Listen, I might be a Dwarf but I’ve lived for thirty eight years—”

“And I’ve lived for twenty seven. Dawil, if you’re trying to give me sage advice…”

“Just listen! Y’see, I’ve been around for a while. Not as long as Miss Snooty half-Elf I’ll grant you, but—”

Ylawes rolled his eyes and Falene looked resigned as Dawil stroked his beard knowingly.

“Women aren’t so easy to manage. Sisters either. In my opinion, women are like metamorphological magic theory.”

Ylawes, who’d been opening his mouth to tell Dawil his advice was unwanted, stopped. He stared at the Dwarf. Falene stared as well.

“Go on.”

The Dwarf smiled.

“You see, it’s simple. Women are like metamorphological magic. I don’t understand it, and you don’t either. The half-Elf might, but if you go blundering about trying to tug your sister one way, it’ll do no good. Probably make things worse. Why not ask for advice before you keep prodding her with a stick?”

He looked up at his companions and saw them looking at him thoughtfully. Ylawes nodded.

“You know Dawil, you might be right.”

“Of course I’m right! Been around longer than you, haven’t I?”

Falene smiled drily.

“I suppose that sage advice comes from meeting women? You do seem oddly popular. Just the other day that Silver-rank adventurer was making passes at you. Remember? The part-Dwarf [Warrior] with the beard? She was quite handsome. Were you interested?”

“Her? Gah! Not on your life! Did you see that beard she had? It looks like she grew it with hair tonic and the way she talked! Tall folk this, us short folk that! She’s not Dwarfish at all. No, I’d rather make eyes at a Drake. False beards are really disgusting.”

Dawil shuddered and shook his head. The Silver Swords laughed as they climbed the hill. Ylawes pushed open the door for his comrades and they strode in. They paused as they saw the Redfang Warriors in the corner, and the inn stopped for a second in surprise.

Drassi was serving tables with Lyonette, Erin was chatting with the Halfseekers, and the Goblins were eating alone and massaging their bruises. The Silver Swords walked forwards and Ylawes cleared his throat as he looked around. He nodded slightly to Erin.

“Is Yvlon—?”

“Not here! She’s still out on her mission-request thing.”

Erin cut him off brusquely. Ylawes looked disappointed.

“She told me she’d be back today.”

“Yeah, well, she told me the same thing. Maybe they couldn’t find enough Corusdeer?”

The [Innkeeper] shrugged as she offered the adventurers a seat. The Horns of Hammerad had been absent for the last four days on a big contract for Esthelm. They’d been hired to provide meat for the city as Esthelm’s food supplies were low. To that end they’d been asked to slay Corusdeer, which was a task that seasoned [Hunters] might balk at due to the danger.

Late-season Corusdeer were dangerous as they migrated and Ceria had told Erin to expect them to take at least this long. Ylawes looked like he wanted to ask more, but Dawil was already sitting at the table and his stomach was rumbling loudly.

“Your sister’s not here, Ylawes! Too bad! Now let’s eat! I could eat a horse. What have you got?”

“Oatmeal! With fruit and honey!”

The Dwarf’s face fell. Erin smiled.

“I have ham and mayonnaise sandwiches and two fried steaks I could heat up if you wanted it.”

“What? You didn’t tell me you had steak!”

Jelaqua shot up at her table. Dawil chuckled.

“Steak? I’ll have one of those and that oatmeal mush. And what do you have to drink?”

Ylawes and Falene sat as Erin hovered over their table. Erin smiled as Lyonette hurried out with bowls of freshly chopped fruit and oatmeal for all three and began heating up Dawil’s steak on the pan. It was so easy to serve food! All you had to do was heat up something Erin had cooked twelve days ago and bam! Ready to eat! The only thing that didn’t last with her [Field of Preservation] Skill was soufflés.

“I just got some wine in today. I’m expanding my stock. So in addition to ale, mead, and whiskey, I’m now serving wines from Liscor and Celum! They’re local stocks, imported from Wales and uh, I think Sasil. That’s a Drake village south of the Blood Fields.”

“Hm. Wine, eh?”

Dawil looked interested, which surprised Erin since she’d expected Falene or Ylawes to want wine instead. The Dwarf nodded at the bottles Erin had put up against the bar.

“I’ve heard of the white wines that Drakes make, and I’m fond of a bouquet now and then. I could have a cup of the red and wash it down with that mead!”

That sounded weird to Erin, but she nodded agreeably. Falene smirked slightly at Dawil.

“Really, Dawil? Wine and mead? What happened to your Dwarfish pride?”

“A Dwarf can like both, you prissy snob! And don’t pretend to be all elegant and refined you hypocrite—I know you drink hard spirits when no one’s watching!”

Dawil pounded his hand on the table, making his bowl of oatmeal jump. Falene shook her head as she turned to Erin. The half-Elf’s smile was just a bit too knowing as Dawil growled under his breath about judgmental half-Elves.

“I would gladly have a small cup of the Walesian Red—do you have a recent vintage or an older one I could sample?”

Erin gave her a blank look.

“Um. We have red wine if you want it? Or did you mean the maroon wine?”

Falene paused.

“I meant the Walesian Red. I assume that’s the bottle over there?”

Erin looked over her shoulder.

“Oh! Right. It probably is. I don’t use the names of wines. I just call them by how they look. I’ve got red, off red, sort of red, greenish yellow, maroon…hey, why do we call all those wines white if they look green? What about green wine? What’s wrong with calling it that?”

Falene stared at Erin for a long moment. Dawil roared with laughter as the half-Elf just stared at Erin, completely unsure of what to say. Erin gave Falene an innocent look of puzzlement.  At last, the half-Elf coughed delicately and pointed.

“In that case I will have the second bottle to the left.”

“Sure thing! Coming up! And what about you, Mister Dawil?”

“The same.”

The Dwarf grinned widely and then his eyes widened as Erin turned away from Falene and gave him a conspiratorial wink. She returned with two cups of Walesian red, which met all expectations. The Silver Swords ate without further incident and Dawil was ready to admit that the oatmeal made for a filling breakfast—if you added a steak on the side that was.

The Gold-rank adventurers might not have quite fit in with the rest of the inn’s guests, especially given their wariness around the Goblins, but they were adventurers and the Halfseekers seemed at home with another experienced team nearby. Jelaqua leaned across their table and called towards them as she finished her bowl.

“Hey Ylawes, guess what? There was a Creler infestation near here.”

“Really?”

All three Silver Swords turned at once, interested and concerned in equal parts. Ylawes put a hand on his sword.

“How big is the nest? Did you see any adults?”

“Nothing so bad! We actually got tipped off when Mrsha here came in with a Creler egg!”

Jelaqua pointed at Mrsha, who was sitting tenderly and rubbing her bottom. The Gnoll looked up guiltily as Jelaqua went on.

“Turns out she’d found them in a cave not two miles away! Can you imagine?”

“I take it you cleared the nest then?”

Again, the Selphid shook her head.

“Nah, the place was clear when we got there. Lots of Creler bodies, no live ones. Looks like they invaded a Fortress Beaver colony and the beavers barely wiped them out. Cuddly little varmints must have been really lucky and fought only newborns or something. I thought about hunting a few of the beavers for their pelts, but Moore wouldn’t let us. He’s too fond of animals.”

She elbowed Moore and the half-Giant grunted. He placidly dipped a huge serving spoon into his bowl of oatmeal. Drassi, who’d been waiting the adventurer’s tables since she was still nervous around the Goblins, looked interested.

“Really? The Fortress Beavers killed them all? Why’s that? I thought they were really placid animals—unless you started breaking their dams, that was. They’re a real threat when it rains since they like to create huge forts but I’ve never heard of them being aggressive—hey, anyone want more oatmeal?”

“Here!”

Jelaqua and Seborn raised their bowls. Drassi moved over to them with the serving pot. The Drake was in her element with people to talk to. The more people the better. It was Falene who answered her, sipping her wine and speaking so the room could hear.

“Even non-violent animals will attack Crelers, Miss Drake. Animals hate Crelers as much as the thinking races and for good reason. A nest of Crelers will systematically wipe out all life in the area if left unchecked and then colonize a new location—or burrow underground to feed and reproduce.”

“So that’s why they have such huge bounties. Huh, Selys always talks about that and how it’s so hard to award coins to adventurers since they don’t collect trophies or all the Crelers are smashed to bits.”

Drassi looked interested. Ylawes nodded seriously.

“Crelers are a considerable threat. Hatchlings and baby Crelers are manageable for Silver or Bronze-rank teams if the nest is small, but larger nests and juvenile Crelers are a match for Silver-rank teams. Any larger and Gold-rank teams have to step in. And once Crelers pass into their adult stage they’re a threat worthy of any Gold-rank team on their own.”

“Not fun. The bounty on them is high but I’d rather kill sewer rats all day than fight one of those bastards! Gah, we used to send out suppression teams of three Gold-rank teams together to fight really big nests in Baleros!”

Jelaqua shuddered. Seborn raised his one eyebrow as he wiped oatmeal off his crab claw hand.

“Ever tried fighting them underwater?”

“Don’t joke, Seborn.”

“Who said I was?”

—-

The day began in earnest. The Silver Swords ate breakfast and chatted with the Halfseekers as Erin, Drassi, and Lyonette got about the business of business. Erin actually got to relax for most of it—her [Barmaids] were good at their job and there wasn’t really that much to do. If it weren’t for her nightly performances Erin would have been seriously concerned with paying Drassi, but as it was she assured the Drake that she’d have a full load tonight.

“And I get to watch the play, right? I heard all about how it’s like a performance and a story in one. Selys says it’s amazing—she said you took her to a performance once and she’s dying to see another one. I can’t wait to see one myself. It’s already the talk of Liscor!”

“How is it the talk of Liscor? I haven’t even advertised it yet! Most of Celum just found out about the plays today!”

Erin frowned in bemusement and Drassi smiled.

“Well, I heard about the plays from Selys and then Lyonette told me that’s what I’d be doing today so I’ve been telling everyone about it all day!”

“Without having seen a play?”

“Yup!”

The [Innkeeper] had to shake her head. Selys had warned her that Drassi was a gossip on an entirely different level. She even had that as a class! What happened if she got to a high level in that class? Did she turn into a [Chatterbox] capable of whispering around the world? Erin was listening to the Silver Swords quizzing the Halfseekers on the dungeon—hinting that they might want to join in today’s exploration it seemed—when the door to her inn opened.

“Miss Solstice?”

Watch Captain Zevara strode in. Erin turned, surprised to see her. The Watch Captain looked busy as usual and she cut to the chase.

“I’m here on duty Miss Solstice. I won’t take much of your time—but I’ve just gotten an official message from Pallass. They’re ready to open the door to your inn and I’m told that the Assembly of Crafts had dropped all sanctions against our city. As far as they’re concerned your inn is off-limits.”

“What, really? That was fast!”

Erin stared at Zevara and hurried to get her mana stone. Her guests stared at her with interest as Zevara nodded.

“You can thank Wall Lord Ilvriss for the rapid response. He’s been in communication with his Walled City for days now—there’s been a political struggle going on between Pallass and Salazsar and it looks like Salazsar won.”

“Whoa, this was a big thing, then?”

“We’re just pawns in the larger conflict. But yes, this is meaningful. I’ll be making an announcement in Liscor later today—I’ll try to explain the limited capacity of your door, but you might get a lot of people wanting to walk through to Pallass. I’m here to tell you not to let them use your door. Celum’s fine, but you only have enough mana to send two people through, is that correct?”

“Without recharging, yeah.”

Zevara nodded.

“In that case, we’ll be offering a request form to be filled out at the Watch’s barracks. Citizens and interested parties can sign up to travel to Pallass. If they’re approved—and most will be—I send a [Message] to Pallass and get confirmation. That way, they can clear individuals from their end and deny entry if they choose. And if no one from Pallass wants to return, we’ll send two people through. If they want to come back they need to follow the same protocol in Pallass or pay a [Mage] to charge up the door enough to let them return.”

Erin frowned as she placed the mana stone on the door.

“Wow, that’s so complicated. Official, too! Hey, thanks for doing this! I guess it would be bad if people kept trying to go to Pallass. This way it’s slow, but people can get on a waiting list!”

The Watch Captain nodded.

“It’s not ideal, but it will allow for a small bit of traffic per day. I’d like to ask you to expand the door’s capabilities if it’s possible—ideally Liscor would like to send five or ten individuals through and have the same number coming into our city per day. But I told the Council that might impossible.”

She looked quizzically at Erin and the young woman gnawed at her lip.

“Yeah…my inn’s already filled with mana apparently, but I have no idea if it’s all going to the door or what. Pisces might know. He was working on it with Typhenous or Moore. When he gets back I’ll ask him to get all his mage buddies together and do some more experiments, okay?”

“Just so long as it doesn’t cause another diplomatic incident.”

“Hey! That was—okay, that’s fair. Uh, the door’s ready. Are we supposed to wait?”

“Watch Captain Venim should be on the other side already. He’ll be making the same announcement on his end—he might have done so already. I can pull up some [Guardsmen] if there’s too much of a crowd from Liscor—I want to handle this calmly and without incident, Miss Solstice. You might also have a few members of the Council here to make a speech when the first person from Pallass arrives and we send our first visitor through.”

“Whoa! It’s going to be that big?”

The Drake nodded. Erin looked at her with round eyes and then opened the door.

“Okay then, let’s make my inn fam—oh. Hi, Watch Captain Venim.”

Sunlight poured through her doorway. Ylawes stood up in astonishment and the other guests in the inn stared in fascination as the blue skies and huge city of Pallass appeared in the doorway in front of Erin. A Drake was standing on the other side of the door, dressed in yellow armor. He had a helmet under one arm and saluted Watch Captain Zevara.

“Watch Captain Zevara, I’m pleased to see you.”

“Likewise, Watch Captain Venim. My apologies for the slight delay. I was just letting Miss Solstice know what to expect.”

Watch Captain Venim nodded. He was standing in the sun, and Erin saw to her great surprise that she was no longer looking into the alleyway! It looked like they’d been placed on some kind of side street. She stared at Venim in fascination.

“You moved my door! Hey! That’s so cool! I forgot I could do that! Maybe I’ll move my door out of Octavia’s shop!”

She peered around the street excitedly. There seemed to be a crowd behind Venim! She hoped they wouldn’t rush through the door. He didn’t seem to have many [Guardsmen] posted to keep them back. Zevara saluted, looking slightly worried as she eyed the gathering.

“Watch Captain Venim, a pleasure. Have you already made the announcement on your end? We’re not quite ready here for the ceremony although we could speed it up if there’s excitement on your side. I hope you haven’t had to keep the mob from the doors.”

“The mob?”

The Drake in yellow armor looked blank and then stared over his shoulder at the crowd.

“Oh. Ah, no, Watch Captain Zevara, it’s peaceful here. I understand the door’s inactive until Miss Erin connects it so we’ve installed it here. It should be perfectly fine. We announced the doorway this morning with the regular morning news. I believe the [Belldrakes] have spread the word and there is some interest.”

“Good thing you opened the door now before a huge crowd appeared!”

Erin excitedly looked at the Drakes and few Gnolls in the crowd. She waved, expecting them to gasp or cheer in return. The Drakes stared at her with raised eyebrows. A little Drake child waved back and a few adults peeled away from the crowd and walked down the street.

Erin frowned. So did Zevara. Venim didn’t notice the confusion on the other side of the door. He was talking, waving a small sheet of parchment in front of Erin to get her attention.

“Watch Captain Zevara has informed you of the waiting system in place, Miss Solstice? We have our own sheet in the Watch Barracks. I don’t think we’ll get much interest at first, but we’ll inform you or the city of Liscor if any of our citizens intend to pass through your doorway. Otherwise we’ll arrange a time to open the doorway each morning, say, just past midday?”

“If your people want to come to Liscor? But—wait a second, don’t they all want to come?”

Erin pointed at the crowd of Drakes, dismayed. More were leaving. Venim hesitated.

“I believe they’re just looking, Miss Solstice. Pallass did have a deep interest in your door, but that was with the intent of moving large bodies of goods and people through. Since the Assembly of Crafts was appraised of the strict limits on your doorway—and that your inn was in fact a focal point of magic to begin with—they’ve lost interest in its economic viabilities.”

The Drake smiled as if it was good news. Erin and Zevara just stared at him.

“We may experiment with transporting a set number of objects through the door instead of people per day, but the [Merchants] are still arguing about how to set up such a system. They want a representative of their own on Liscor’s side to handle the influx of goods and none of their senior members want to cross over—”

The penny dropped. Erin stared at the disinterested Drakes, at Watch Captain Venim’s apologetic expression, and realized what he was saying.

“Wait, people don’t want to come to Liscor? Why not?”

Her incredulous question provoked a response from the crowd at last. A Drake with a slash of red across his blue scales raised his voice.

“What do you mean, why not? What’s Liscor got that Pallass hasn’t, Human?”

Erin stared at him. That was a silly question! Liscor had—Liscor had—she opened her mouth and drew a blank. Okay, Pallass was bigger…and a Walled City, but Liscor had stuff! It was different, wasn’t that enough?

Apparently not. Another heckler in the crowd raised her voice and drawled sarcastically.

“Wow, Liscor. I’d just love to see the…what do they have over there? Grass? Shorter walls? More smelly Humans?”

There was a laugh from the crowd. Erin stared at the Drakes, dismayed. Zevara looked dumbfounded.

“You don’t think Liscor’s cool? Come on, it’s another city! Four hundred miles north! There’s this new dungeon filled with monsters that just appeared and everything!”

“Oh yeah? So what? We have three dungeons in the area!”

“Exactly! What’s this about travelling? Who wants to do that? Do I want to spend a week in Liscor, home of the rain, the Antinium, and boredom? Your city is a border city! Maybe I’ll pop by to visit Celum, but only if I feel like talking to fleshy Humans all day! Pallass is six times larger than Liscor!”

“I thought it was eight!”

“With walls that short, how would you be able to tell? Hah! Got ‘em!”

The crowd laughed and joked as Watch Captain Venim leaned closer to the door. Zevara was just staring as Erin weakly protested and got ribbed for her trouble.

“I delivered your report to Pallass’ Assembly of Crafts, but they didn’t take it too seriously, Watch Captain Zevara. Monster raids from dungeons aren’t uncommon and you are due reinforcements soon. Liscor’s army sent a detachment of their forces north and Pallass spotted them over a week ago. They should be arriving soon if they’re marching at a steady pace. But as for Pallass sending aid to help guard the dungeon…”

He grimaced and spread his claws helplessly. Venim looked apologetic as he continued, nodding to the crowd that was breaking up behind him despite Erin’s best efforts.

“Well, we’ll approve your visitors and I’m sure some [Merchants] and perhaps some adventurers will be coming through from time to time on our end. Who knows, there might be some tourism your way, but we’ll approve both people you want to send through today. I uh, think we could get one or two of the senators to arrive for a small ceremony as long as it doesn’t last too long.”

He stepped back. The crowd of Drakes had grown tired of heckling and was breaking up. Venim saluted again.

“Just send a [Message] spell when you want to send someone through. We’ll have a small escort ready and a few [Guardsmen]. More if I can get one of the senators to show up.”

He nodded and eyed Erin and Zevara’s faces. Somewhat sheepishly, Venim closed the door. There was a faint thump, and the portal closed. Zevara and Erin stood in front of the doorway, staring. At last, Erin looked at the Drake. Zevara’s face was pale and she looked stunned. Erin shuffled her feet and then raised her voice.

“Wow. People in Pallass are jerks. They really don’t think Liscor’s cool?”

“Apparently.”

Zevara looked like she’d been stabbed. Her expression was the shock of someone finding out that their home wasn’t as well-respected as they thought it was. Erin could practically sense the thoughts running inside of Zevara’s head because they were parallel to her own. Of course Liscor wasn’t a Walled City, but wasn’t it a strategic landmark and all that?

Wasn’t Liscor famous for the Antinium, for defeating the Necromancer and…and more? But people thought it was just a rainy, boring place? That wasn’t fair! Okay, it wasn’t a major Drake city and it was far from the others, but—

She wondered what Liscor’s Council would say if Zevara told them what had happened. No, what would Liscor’s citizens say? They had a lot of pride in their home and they’d believe until now that their home was the best. Mainly because visitors who badmouthed a city got in trouble fast and because they’d never actually met a bunch of people from Pallass all at once before. But now…

There would be trouble. There would be anger, indignation, and hurt feelings. For now, Erin stared at the doorway with narrowed eyes. She kicked the blank wall with her foot.

“Whatta bunch of arrogant snobs.”

Zevara paused. The Watch Captain’s pale face returned a bit of color and she almost smiled at Erin.

“Absolutely. Well…thank you for your time, Erin Solstice. I have a report to deliver to the Council. And I’m sure they’re not going to like it.”

She walked off. Erin stared at the doorway. Pallass wasn’t all that great! All it had were huge walls, tons of cool things to see, magic elevators, about eight times as much horizontal landmass and about the same amount as much vertical space and…

“Darn it. Liscor’s cool.”

Erin scuffed away on the floor with her foot and walked away. The doorway remained closed. And underneath Liscor something, many somethings moved in the dungeon.

—-

The warning signs began just after midday, as the Horns of Hammerad were returning from their long stay abroad. They were covered in muck, tired, sweaty, and currently sitting on a wagon. The wagon being pulled by undead bears.

It was not a smooth ride. Bears, unlike horses, moved with a loping gait and the wagon jerked along, making the occupants quite, quite uncomfortable. It had been a long four, no, five days and they were understandably unhappy. They argued as they rode over a hill, skirting the puddles of water. Another problem with undead bears was that if you didn’t pay attention to them, they’d drive you right through a pond. Or into a tree.

“All I’m saying is that it’s not our fault if we don’t see you when you’re invisible, Pisces! How was I supposed to know you were in the radius of my [Fireball] spell?”

“I told you I was going to attack one of the Corusdeer from behind, Springwalker! At what point does that not translate into my proximity to said creature?”

“I thought you were picking the ones off on the outskirts, not right in front of me! And Ksmvr, stop gnawing on the Corusdeer horn!”

“Itsh tasty.”

Yvlon sighed as Ksmvr hunched over his horn. Her stomach rumbled. Loudly. She stared up at the grey skies, grateful it had stopped raining at least.

“I’m not blaming anyone, but how did we run out of supplies a day ago? We’re hunting for food for Esthelm; how did we not take our own supplies into account?”

Ksmvr looked shamefaced as he opened his mandibles.

“I take full responsibility for my actions, Miss Yvlon. I bought supplies in accordance to Antinium policy for this trip.”

“Which means?”

The Antinium shifted guiltily.

“…Antinium policy is that we eat our foes on the march. Or our own dead. We are able to march most effectively with the reduced burden you see, and…”

He trailed off. The other three adventurers exchanged glances. Ceria covered her face with her good hand.

“Okay, Ksmvr doesn’t buy supplies next time.”

“Agreed.”

Pisces and Yvlon said it at once. Ksmvr deflated.

“I apologize for my continued failures.”

Yvlon patted him on the shoulder. When the Antinium looked up she gave him a warming smile.

“We all make mistakes. Don’t worry—it’s not like we’ve starved and we can eat as much as we want at The Wandering Inn. We’re nearly back.”

“About time too.”

Pisces sniffed. The [Necromancer] had, surprisingly, fared best out of all the four adventurers in the Horns of Hammerad. Despite Ceria being a half-Elf used to living in the forest, despite Yvlon Byres’ training to become a [Knight], despite Ksmvr’s hardiness, the [Necromancer] had endured the lack of food simply by the expedience of having a meal’s worth of snacks hidden away in his private bag of holding.

It had been the subject of much ire once it had been discovered. Ceria kicked him and the [Necromancer] glared at her, but didn’t dare retort back. His stomach growled noticeably less than his comrades and he devoted his attention to steering the undead skeletons of the bears he had summoned towards the inn in silence.

That was the Horns of Hammerad. Ceria the half-Elf, the [Cryomancer] with her skeletal left hand, Pisces, a [Necromancer] with a haughty attitude and a rapier hanging at his belt, Yvlon, a [Wounded Warrior] whose armor didn’t gleam like her older brother’s, and Ksmvr, a three-armed Antinium cast out from their Hive.

They weren’t the best team around, and they had only adventured for a few months but…well, that was about it. They were a Silver-rank team on the verge of ascending to Gold-rank, but they were new. They’d survived one literal trial by fire, but they had yet to adopt the camaraderie of the Halfseekers or the Silver Swords. But they were adventurers.

And they were nearly home. The inn was in front of them, warm and inviting. The wagon drove up the hill and the Horns piled out before it had pulled to a stop. Pisces wasted no time in ending the spell that held the skeletal bears together; the bones fell into a heap and he pushed them into his bag of holding as the rest of his team headed straight for the doors. Visions of hot food and warm beds assailed Ceria and she could smell the lunch being served within. She put her hand on the door handle and froze. Yvlon and Ksmvr stared at her, practically dancing with impatience.

“Ceria, what is it?”

“Hold up, do you feel that?”

The Horns stopped as one. Pisces, hurrying to catch up, stopped and looked around warily. A new team they might be, but they were used to heeding each other’s warning. Ceria looked around, puzzled.

“My [Dangersense] is going off. It’s faint, but I feel like something’s…coming.”

The Horns of Hammerad stared around but they saw nothing. Uneasily, Yvlon gripped the handle of her sword and Ksmvr reached for his weapons. Pisces, frowning, looked at the wet landscape and shook his head.

“Let us enter the inn, Springwalker. Inside will be safer regardless of what occurs.”

He made sense. Ceria nodded and opened the door. She walked into The Wandering Inn and saw the warm fire, people sitting around tables, five Goblins hunkering in a corner, a Drake serving drinks to a table of adventurers, and then a beaming face as Erin Solstice turned.

“Ceria! Yvlon! Ksmvr! And Pisces! Hey, how have you guys been?”

She strode over to them and Ceria saw a man in silver armor stand up. Yvlon, who had been distracted by the heap of waffles that Mrsha was digging into with a fork, froze for a second as Ylawes strode towards her with a welcoming smile. She managed one of her own.

“Oh, brother.”

“Oh brother.”

Pisces muttered under his voice as Ylawes strode towards his mud-spattered sister. Ksmvr poked Pisces in the side.

“Comrade Pisces, why did you say that? He is not your brother, is he? Or is he?”

The [Necromancer] was saved from the intimates of language and Human genetics by Erin ushering the Horns of Hammerad to a table.

“Come in, come in! Ylawes, don’t bother your sister. Whew, you’re all covered in mud! Sit, sit. Hey, Pisces’ robes and Ceria’s are nice and clean. Can’t you get your armor to do that, Yvlon? Lyonette, drinks for everyone! Drassi—”

“Waffles, hot from the kitchen! You want honey and butter with that?”

The Horns of Hammerad could have cried. In between grabbing for plates and elbowing Pisces out of the way, they simultaneously said hello, explained where they’d been and why they were so hungry, and talked about Ceria’s strange episode at the door.

“What, you too, Ceria? I felt the same thing! I thought it was just a funny feeling until I realized it was my [Dangersense]. What could it be? Did you see any monsters about on the way here, Ceria?”

“Nothing worth mentioning. Has anything happened over here?”

Ceria talked with a mouthful of waffle, spraying crumbs onto the table and making Falene shoot her a disgusted glance. Erin shot a glance towards the door to Pallass and shook her head hesitantly.

“I…hm. Anyone want more waffles? I’m planning on a big dinner tonight—hey, you won’t believe what happened! I’ve got the [Actors] coming here to do a play each night, Ceria! Remember them? They’re going to put on a performance and I’m going to fill this inn with hundreds of people and earn tons of money!”

“Actors? You mean that play? That’s a brilliant idea, Erin!”

Ceria smiled and Pisces sat up at his table with interest. Ksmvr, about to poke, was stopped by Yvlon as she whispered in his earhole. Ceria frowned as she wiped dirt and food off her mouth.

“I can imagine you’ll have tons of guests. But—hundreds of people? Are you planning on holding the shows outside? It’s going to keep raining Erin, and unless you want to set up a second roof—”

“What, no! I’ll have them all in here of course!”

Erin waved at the common room of the inn. Ceria and the other adventurers stared around the common room. Jelaqua raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Uh, how? By packing them in like tadpoles?”

“No! I’ve got plenty of room! Wait—oh!”

Erin looked around the inn and slapped her forehead.

“Oh right, I disabled it. Of course you think I’m an idiot! Okay, watch this! I got this Skill two days ago and I totally forgot to show it to you all! Ready? [Grand Theatre]!”

She clapped her hands together. The eyes of everyone in the room were on Erin. They heard the clap, and then the echo. The sound was deeper, larger than it should be. The others looked around the room and gasped.

The perspective of the common room had changed. One second it had been small, still large enough to hold a crowd, but hardly enough for the hundreds Erin had described. But now, in the blink of an eye it was vaster. A dark, massive room stretched out behind the guests, barely lit by the dim glow of the fireplace. The common room had tripled in size and ended at a stage at the back of the room, clearly visible above the tables and chairs.

The extended common room was devoid of any furniture. The floorboards were of the same quality as the rest of Erin’s inn, as were the walls, but the windows hadn’t been copied further than the walls. The extended part of the common room was dark, like an indoors theatre, and the sound of Erin’s clap continued for a little bit in the silence. The room was waiting, welcoming, expectantly waiting for noise and drama to fill the room with life.

Erin’s guests stared. Pisces’ jaw was fully open. Yvlon’s eyes were wide. Moore was quietly choking on his waffles. Seborn looked around in disbelief and Mrsha was hiding behind Lyonette with Apista. Dawil fell out of his chair and Falene dropped her cup. It shattered with a crash in the silence as everyone stared around the gigantic common room.

Ceria looked at Erin. The young woman grinned at her. The half-Elf took one deep breath and then another. She left for five days. Just five! She looked at Erin and couldn’t help it. Ceria shouted.

“Erin! What in the name of trees is this?”

And the inn exploded into noise. Mrsha ran across the common room as the adventurers and other guests clustered around Erin. The Redfang Goblins, forgotten for a moment, stared at Erin as Badarrow and Shorthilt slapped Rabbiteater, who’d fainted. Erin grinned as she raised her hands and tried to explain over the shouting—

And that warning feeling in the back of her head twinged. Erin stopped smiling and looked towards the windows.

Something was coming.

—-

Watch Captain Zevara had felt it too. She strode onto Liscor’s walls, shouting for the Drake officer on duty to find her. To her surprise and pleasure, it was Olesm who hurried up.

“Olesm! I thought you were off-duty today?”

“I was! But I felt my [Dangersense] go off and—you felt it too?”

Zevara nodded grimly. She surveyed the empty Floodplains around Liscor. She could see Rock Crabs on the ground, a few Razorbeaks and other birds in the air, but nothing else. But her [Dangersense] had interrupted her meeting with Liscor’s Council and Zevara did not ignore such warnings lightly.

“Have you seen anything?”

“Nothing, Captain. I thought about sending a message to you, but I knew you were in a Council meeting—glad to see you.”

Olesm smiled and Zevara’s heart leapt a bit in her chest. She still carried a small candle for the Drake [Tactician] and hoped they could be more than just fellow civil servants. But right now they needed to focus on business, and Zevara was just glad Olesm was here. He was the city’s best [Tactician] and if he wasn’t that high-level, he was sharp and good in a pinch.

“How many [Guardsmen] are on the walls right now?”

“Just the usual rotation. I’ve told them to be alert, but I didn’t want to make anyone nervous by requesting more.”

“Well, I’m already nervous. And I’d rather call the alarm now than be caught off guard.”

Zevara turned.

“Street Runner!”

She bellowed, keeping her voice loud and deep as possible. Why was it that people said female leaders screamed while male Drakes could shout as much as they wanted? She wasn’t a shrinking flower! But raise your pitch just an octave and your men thought you were panicking. Zevara had worked hard to earn her reputation as a steady Watch Captain, and she’d be damned if she showed weakness now.

A Drake had heard her call and one of the Street Runners that hung out near the wall ran up the stairs swiftly. Zevara eyed the young Gnoll and pointed.

“Run to the Watch Barracks and have them send me every off-duty [Guardsmen] they have! If you find more in taverns get them! I want ten Street Runners getting [Guardsmen]. Go, now!”

The Gnoll’s eyes widened and he raced down the steps, already shouting at his friends. They scattered as Olesm turned back to Zevara. She tried to look calm and collected, like she knew what she was doing.

The [Guardsmen] around her had also heard her orders and they scanned the Floodplains with increasing alertness. Some looked to Zevara, but they were well-trained enough to keep their attention where it should be. Olesm looked at Zevara as his gaze flicked back into the city. She could tell he was calculating how long it would take them to have more [Guardsmen] on the walls. Five minutes if they were ready, ten or fifteen otherwise. They could have six hundred members of the City Watch on the walls soon, but would they need them? Zevara’s stomach ached.

“You’re not going to sound an all-call, Captain?”

The Watch could blast a horn throughout the city that would alert everyone to muster on the walls—or warn the citizens they were under attack. Zevara shook her head, keeping her voice calm though she didn’t feel that way inside.

“No reason to. Not yet. It could be that the danger’s not near us, or that we can handle it on the walls. Remember the Carn Wolves prowling the Floodplains three years back? That had everyone’s [Dangersenses] warning them not to go outdoors, but we were safe.”

“You’re right.”

Olesm tried to sound confident. Zevara tried to believe her own words. She scanned the landscape, waiting. She kept her eyes on four spots as she glanced around the landscape. The first was the raised rampart of dirt around the dungeon’s official entrance. Ancestors, was it the dungeon? It might be the dungeon. Zevara bet it was the dungeon.

“Damn those Pallass fools. They think this dungeon’s like their three dungeons? They’ve cleared all three of their spots, and I know those are Bronze and Silver-rank dungeons! That’s nothing like the one we have here! We have no idea how large it is, and how dangerous—we could use some of their soldiers!”

She muttered to herself anxiously. Olesm glanced at her.

“Pallass denied your request? I thought we’d settled things with them.”

“We did. But they’re still not going to help us in any way. Once they realized they weren’t getting Solstice’s magic door without a fight, they lost all interest in it—and us! All they want to do is ship goods to Liscor. No one in their scale-rotting city wants to visit Liscor. They think we’re a backwater city with nothing interesting to see!”

Zevara ground her teeth together. Olesm spluttered.

“Well that’s not—who thinks that?”

“All of them. And our dungeon’s not a concern to Pallass.”

She stared at the second landmark, the place where a rift led down into the dungeon from the Floodplains. That entrance should be partially flooded already, but it was another spot of worry. She’d considered having it filled with dirt, but hopefully the water should deter some of the monsters.

Zevara shifted her attention to the next spot—the road leading north. If the Goblin Lord had sent his forces south or a hostile group of monsters had come out of the High Passes, it would come from that direction. But Esthelm would have warned them, surely? Or did they not have enough [Mages] capable of casting [Message] spells anymore?

No way to know. Zevara would send a message to them if nothing happened in the next few minutes. She stared at the last spot of worry—Erin Solstice’s inn. It was the target of more strange happenings than Zevara had ever seen. Rogue Named Adventurers, undead skeletons, Hobs, portals to other cities—Zevara’s stomach clenched and did backflips at the thought of what the young woman might have done in the short hours since she’d seen her.

Dungeon entrance, rift, road, inn. Zevara alternated between then until she heard pounding boots and turned. The rest of the City Watch poured onto the walls. A Senior Guardsman stopped in front of her. The Gnoll saluted, his hand on his sword.

“What news, Captain?”

“Nothing yet. My [Dangersense] is going off and so is Olesm’s. Have everyone spread out along the walls—west side a priority and shout if you see anything!”

“Yes, Captain!”

The Gnoll began ordering the [Guardsmen] around the walls. They spread out, and Zevara saw more marching down the street, called to action by the Street Runners. She heard a loud and familiar voice grousing as Relc climbed the stairs.

“What? We don’t know what’s out there? Come on, it’s my day off! This better not be like the time with the Carn Wolves or I’m gonna get mad!”

“Shut up, Relc! Get your fat tail moving or I’ll kick you off the walls!”

Zevara bellowed at him and the nervous [Guardsmen] laughed. She was privately relieved to see Relc as he grumbled and raised a single claw in her direction. The [Sergeant] was a famous [Soldier] when all was said and done, and there were far worse people to have at your back. She turned back to ask Olesm if Erin had mentioned anything, anything unusual when it happened. Her [Dangersense] blared an alarm into her skull and Olesm jerked. Zevara’s head spun wildly.

Inn, dungeon entrance, road, rif—there it was. The rift was hidden from her sight by a large hill, but Zevara clearly saw the geyser of water spraying into the air. It shot upwards as both she and Olesm watched, propelled into the air by a massive force. And then she saw a leg rise above the crest of the hill. It was long, insectile and—furry? Zevara only got a moment’s glimpse before it lowered and she saw water spraying down.

“What in the name of the Ancestors is…?”

Olesm never got a chance to finish his question. Something rose out of the rift, something massive. Zevara saw a head poke above the line of the hill, wet, covered with hair, a giant furry head and then a long, long body. A huge abdomen shook; gargantuan wings unfolded and exposed a staring pattern of black spots and brown chitin. Two fuzzy antennae swiveled and Zevara saw the jaws open.

The mouth, oh, but it shouldn’t have a mouth! But this species, this horrible offshoot was known for its mouth, infamous for it! The razor-sharp opening gaped wide as the gigantic moth shook its wings, spraying water everywhere. Zevara’s heart stopped as she saw its body rustle. Thousands of smaller moths were clinging to the adult, and as the mother spread her wings, they began to take off as well. The Drake stared at the moth as it fanned its wings, ridding itself of the water. Olesm’s voice quavered in the silence .

“Face-Eater Moth.”

It was larger than Erin’s inn. The Face-Eater moth flapped its wings once and sounded like thunder. Its carnivorous children flew upwards searching for prey. The huge swarm covered the sun. Zevara looked up and screamed. Anyone would have screamed.

“Sound the alarm!”

Her voice snapped the [Guardsmen] around her out of their stupor. They stared at her and then rushed to the walls, some running to grab more bows, more arrows, others racing to the north and west walls. Zevara turned to Olesm and grabbed the Drake.

“Get the command spells for the wall! Prepare to activate Liscor’s defenses!”

He nodded and ran for the small box of scrolls that would operate Liscor’s enchantments. Zevara turned and found the nearest [Guardsman].

“You! I want all citizens indoors! Take a squad—get the Street Runners! Clear the streets!”

He nodded and ran for the stairs. Zevara looked around. The Face-Eater Moths were still flapping their wings, still drying them. Some were beginning to fly, and they were moving in a swarm. They would eat anything and everything in sight. One giant moth, countless smaller ones.

Smaller? Zevara could see some of the moths at a distance, as large as wagons. She saw the mother flap her wings and tried to count. They could hit the mother with spells, fry the storm with magic. They had arrows; they could hold the walls so long as they could keep the moths there! She kept calm. She kept calm until she saw the second leg coming out of the ground.

Zevara froze as another gigantic moth began worming its way out of the rift. She turned. The [Guardsmen] around her had gone silent. The Watch Captain screamed into the silence.

“Summon the Antinium!”

—-

“Oh my god.”

Erin stood at the windows, staring. The second moth was just as colossal as the first. It crawled out of the rift, miles away from the inn and yet it still seemed huge. From her vantage point Erin could see it awkwardly pulling itself onto the grass, and she could see the thousands of smaller moths clinging to its body. She heard a faint sound behind her.

“Jelaqua? How bad is…that thing?”

“Bad. Very bad.”

The Selphid’s face couldn’t go whiter, but her hands shook as she gripped her two-headed flail. The Selphid stared at the giant moth as it opened its mouth again. Moths shouldn’t have mouths. Not like the gaping hole that opened and closed sharply. Were those teeth around the edges of the mouth?

“That’s a Face-Eater Moth.”

“A Face-Eater…that name’s a joke, right?”

“Nope. They do exactly what you think. Ever seen one bite someone’s face clean off? They won’t stop with faces either. They can bite through arms, tear flesh off—and they’re huge. Dead gods, the big one is larger than this inn.”

“And there are two!”

Lyonette hugged Mrsha to her chest. Her eyes were wide as the second moth extracted itself and began fanning its wings. The adventurers stood at the windows, nervous, holding their weapons. Erin looked from face to face, afraid. She’d never thought she’d see a monster that would actually scare her more than Skinner, but the two giant Face-Eater Moths made Moore look like a tiny puppy!

“Jelaqua? Ylawes? Are they going to attack?”

There was a pause as both captains stared at each other in silence. Moore was the one who answered. The half-Giant kept his voice low.

“There are a few things that could happen. In the best case scenario the moths go back into the dungeon. But that’s not likely. They’re mostly likely hungry. Something—or someone woke them up. And so they’ll probably search for food.”

“And that food’s us, right?”

Drassi’s voice quavered in the silence. Moore nodded. He didn’t take his eyes off the moths. There were thousands and they were beginning to fly in a huge cluster.

“But perhaps—perhaps they might go elsewhere. Or only a part of the swarm remains. That would be ideal.”

“And the not-ideal?”

No one answered Erin. She stared at the two giant moths. Each one was larger than her inn. She imagined them attacking Liscor, flying over the walls and—her eyes widened as she saw another head rising from the rift.

“Oh you have got to be kidding me.”

Another Face-Eater Moth was climbing out. This time Seborn swore long and loud. Jelaqua looked stunned.

“Three? How large is their nest? They were just sitting in that damn dungeon the entire time? Ylawes, have you or your team ever seen something like this?”

“Never. I didn’t think they got this large. The biggest one I’ve ever seen was mounted on a wall and it was only as large as a Troll.”

The [Knight]’s face was grim as he adjusted the straps on his shield. Erin stared at the moths. There had to be tens of thousands of them now. More were coming out of the rift. More and more. But they might fly away, Moore said. If—if—

If no one provoked them. Erin saw the smaller moths flying around in a widening circle. Their wing beats—it wasn’t like the deafening buzzing of bees. It was more like distant thunder, vast and terrifying. Erin saw the moths flying closer to the Walls of Liscor. She could see [Guardsmen] on the walls. She saw the future and held her breath.

“Don’t—”

Someone said it in the silence. Erin saw the [Guardsmen] raising their bows as a group of moths flew closer. They might have had orders. Or maybe one of them lost their nerves. Erin saw a single arrow fly, saw a Face-Eater Moth jerk and fall. The moths swirled in alarm; more arrows flew. The moths fell, landing on the ground and wriggling, some still alive. Erin saw the giant moths turn their massive heads. She saw their mouths open and their wings spread.

And then she heard chittering. It came from the moths. It was high-pitched, terribly loud. It almost sounded like laughter, loud and hysteric, coming from a thousand, ten thousand bodies. The moths flew. Erin heard a scream from inside the inn. The sky turned dark. The moths flew up and blotted out the sun. Then they came, all of them. They chittered as they flew towards Liscor. And towards the inn.

“Lyonette?”

Erin’s voice was terribly calm as she turned her head. She felt like the world was moving in slow motion. She saw the [Barmaid] turn, her eyes wide. Mrsha was in her arms, holding onto the [Barmaid] tightly. The small Gnoll looked at Erin, trembling with fear.

Slow motion. And then fast. Erin grabbed Lyonette.

“The door! Now!”

She pointed. Lyonette looked. Not to the door of the inn, but the magic door. She stared at Erin. Erin shouted. Time went back to normal as the inn erupted into chaos.

“The door! Drassi, now!”

She ran to the door as the adventurers shouted and began racing about the inn. Erin ran to the door and tore the mana stone to Pallass away. She opened the door and saw Octavia look up.

“Erin, hey.”

The [Alchemist] paused.

“What’s that s—”

“Inside!”

Erin practically threw Lyonette and Mrsha into the doorway. She rushed Drassi through and Octavia shot to her feet.

“Erin—”

“Liscor is under attack! Get the Watch! Get help!”

Erin screamed at her and then slammed the door. She looked around her inn and ran for the kitchen. She should run, she knew. She should escape. Ceria screamed at her as Pisces, Ksmvr, and Yvlon began overturning tables, pushing them into barricades against the windows.

“Erin! Go through the door!”

“Not yet! Not yet!”

The [Innkeeper] ran into her kitchen. Knife, frying pan—she ran to her pile of blankets, threw them aside, pulled out a crate which clinked.

The inn was full of thumping, banging as the Goblins and adventurers raced to secure the building. They were shouting, and from the walls of Liscor blared horns. They screamed an alarm.

—-

In the city Selys looked up, heart suddenly pounding.

“Those are siege alarms!”

The adventurers in the Guild stared at her. Many of them were Human. They had no idea what Drake warning signals sounded like. Selys sat upright and stared out the window. She heard Runners shouting as people screamed and fled into their houses. She turned and shouted at the staring Humans.

“Liscor is under attack!”

Then she raced to bar the doors of the Adventurer’s Guilds, shouting at anyone on the streets to come inside. The civilians hid as the horns blared onwards. And in the inn the adventurers waited. Erin stood behind a window she herself had boarded up with nails and spare boards, peering out the cracks. Everyone was indoors.

Almost everyone.

—-

Bird stood in his watch tower at the top of The Wandering Inn, staring at the mass of Face-Eater Moths as they flew towards him. He stared. His bow felt suddenly very small. The Antinium looked up at the largest moth and then at the tens of thousands behind it. He reached for an arrow.

“That is a lot of birds. A very big lot.”

He drew the arrow to his chest and loosed. A moth fell. Bird drew a second arrow and just as swiftly a second moth fell. He stared at the endless swarm, so numerous that they defied counting. He looked thoughtfully at the quiver at his side.

“I might need more arrows.”

The moths had seen him. They flew at him as the Antinium began to loose arrows again and again. Protect the inn. Guard it. He shot moths down until they were right on top of him, swarming his tower. More and more. Bird had one thought, one desperate realization as the moths closed in around the inn and the city. Just maybe, just once…there could be a thing as too many birds.

The Face-Eater Moths were everywhere. They came, flooding the walls of Liscor, clawing at the glowing field of energy that sprang up around the Drake City, biting at the magic barrier, swarming over the inn. They chittered as the magics slowly began to fail. The noise—a fourth giant moth crawled out of the rift, and then a fifth. They chittered as they came. The noise filled the air, made the walls and ground vibrate. That chittering, that infernal squealing. It was everywhere, deafening. And worse—

It sounded like laughter.

5.08

(Volume 1 of The Wandering Inn is now on sale as an e-book on Amazon! Please read this short message about the book!)

They were coming. They were already here. The Face-Eater Moths flew and crawled across the Floodplains of Liscor, chittering. There were so many that Erin couldn’t see the sky. Already they were crawling over her windows, their legs scraping the glass. She saw one moth press its body against her window and backed away.

“Erin!”

A hand yanked her into the middle of the common room. Erin whirled. Ceria’s face was pale and she was holding her wand in her other hand. She shouted over the terrible rustling of thousands of bodies.

“Get into the door! To Celum! We’ll fight them here!”

“What? No!”

Erin shook her head. The half-Elf stared at her incredulously.

“Erin, there are thousands—”

“Tens of thousands. Moore, block that window!”

Jelaqua snapped as Moore heaved a table up and rammed it against the window. Erin stared around the room. The adventurers were all boarding up windows or preparing for combat. They looked grim as they checked their gear. She saw the Halfseekers downing potions, the Silver Swords pointing out a crack in the window and arguing—the other Horns of Hammerad were upstairs with the Redfang Goblins, trying to seal off the windows there.

Glass windows. For once Erin regretted the beautiful, expensive, fragile glasswork. She saw a Face-Eater Moth clawing at the window and then saw Ylawes striding towards her.

“Miss Solstice.”

His voice was clipped and he was holding his shield and sword as he stared around the inn. The common room had returned back to its normal size and it felt cramped, as though they were in a tiny box. Erin could hear movement all around them, things battering at the wall.

“I advise you to leave through the door to Celum. We’ll cover you and try to slaughter the moths, but we’ll have to fall back as soon as this inn starts going down.”

“It’s not going down. And I’m not leaving.”

Erin snapped at the [Knight] as he tried to escort her to the doors. He and Ceria both looked at her.

“Excuse me? Did you see the size of those five moths, Erin? One of them could flatten your inn just by landing on it!”

“Not my inn. I have a Skill.”

The young woman folded her arms. She could feel her inn groaning under the weight of so many bodies, but amazingly they had yet to break a window despite the pounding impacts that now came from every side. Moths were hurling themselves at the windows. Ylawes stared at her.

“You’re sure your inn will survive? That changes things.”

“It’ll hold! Moore couldn’t break my walls. My windows though—”

There was a crack as something massive struck a window near the kitchen. Erin saw every head turn. Ylawes stared at her and then looked around.

“In that case we have an opportunity. We can hold this ground; use it to shield our backs.”

“Shield our—what are you talking about?”

More voices. Erin saw Yvlon. She’d come down the stairs. Pisces and Ksmvr were behind her.

“We boarded up as many windows as we could and closed the doors. Hopefully that buys us time. But how long are we planning to hold out here?”

Yvlon pointed back upstairs. Pisces looked around. The [Necromancer]’s gaze was sharp as he eyed the Silver Swords. Falene and Dawil were standing by the doors, the half-Elf holding a staff and the Dwarf a hammer in both hands. He nodded to them.

“The most expedient solution would be to retreat into Celum. But that isn’t your brother’s intention, Yvlon. He intends to take the fight to the Face-Eater Moths.”

“Exactly.”

Ylawes had produced a helmet from somewhere. It was a classic knight’s helm with a visor. He put it over his head, his voice muffled as he spoke.

“We’re going out there. The moths are already breaking the windows and trying to get in—we’ll distract them. Yv, you and your team hold this inn. If Miss Solstice is right we can rely on it to shield our backs and rest if needed. But we won’t win this battle sitting and holding out.”

“Win? Ylawes, there are thousands of—”

“I know.”

His voice made Yvlon go quiet. Ylawes looked around and Erin saw him open his visor to look at his younger sister.

“Yv, this is our duty. My team’s duty. We’re Gold-rank adventurers and Liscor is under siege. We need to take down those giant moths. Liscor only has a limited window before the city is overrun and we are bound to fight.”

“Sounds about right.”

Jelaqua strode over. The Selphid wasn’t smiling and her hands gripped the two-handed flail tightly. She nodded to Ylawes as the Gold-rank adventurer turned.

“You’re thinking the same thing, Ylawes? Head out and smash those bugs?”

“We’re going to aim for one of the five giant moths. You?”

Erin and the Horns of Hammerad stared open-mouthed as Jelaqua grinned with bloodless lips.

“Nothing so grand. Moore’s magic can’t hit aerial targets and Seborn and I aren’t cut out for it either. We’ll just mow down as many moths as we can. You want to coordinate?”

“No. We’ll just foul each other. Let’s stick within range of the inn, though. We’ll take the front.”

“Fine. We’ll try to hold that ground too.”

Jelaqua nodded. She struck Ylawes’ shoulder with a gauntleted fist as he nodded to her. Yvlon was still staring.

“Are you insane? You’ll be torn apart if you go out there! Ylawes—”

“Don’t argue with your brother!”

To everyone’s surprise, Jelaqua snapped at Yvlon. She looked around. The Selphid’s eyes flashed as she nodded to the door.

“This is a Gold-rank adventurer’s responsibility. It’s not the same as being Silver-rank. When you reach our level you swear an oath to fight. We don’t run, not when a city’s at stake.”

“Exactly. Liscor won’t survive that onslaught for long. Their magic barrier is already weakening.”

Ylawes’ words were punctuated by a thump in the distance. Erin’s eyes widened.

“What was that?”

“Attack magic. Came from Liscor.”

Seborn announced from his position by the doors. Erin heard a thunderous roar and the chittering of the moths stopped for a second as a tremendous thwoom of noise made the windows of her inn shake. She looked around wildly as the press of bodies let up on the outside for a second. She ran to look out a window, ignoring Ceria’s warning.

Moths were flying about in confusion. Erin could see the magical barrier around Liscor flickering and then a flash of orange and red blinded her. The giant moth flew back, keening, as hundreds of its smaller kin fell burning from the air.

“Good use of fire magic. But it won’t last. They only have a limited number of enchantments on their wall.”

Falene announced as she stared out the windows. Indeed, the moths were already attacking the barrier again. They hurled themselves at the blue shield surrounding Liscor and Erin could see it flickering with each impact. Two of the colossal Face-Eater Moths landed on the barrier and she saw it go out for an entire second.

“Dead gods. Are you really going to fight that?”

Ceria’s voice was soft. Ylawes nodded. He looked at her and the other Horns of Hammerad.

“Hold the inn. Don’t let the moths in. If you can’t, pull back into Celum and don’t open that door for any reason. We’ll survive.”

“Ylawes—”

The [Knight] turned and looked at his sister. Erin couldn’t see his face through his visor, but she thought he was smiling.

“I’ll see you soon, Yv.”

There was a crash from upstairs and the sound of splintering glass. Pisces cursed and he and Ksmvr rushed up the stairs. Erin looked around. Where were the Redfang Goblins? Ylawes looked up and nodded to his team.

“Ready?”

“A moment. The mana here is strong. I’m trying to harness it.”

Falene closed her eyes. Erin gasped in surprise.

“Oh! My inn’s got lots of magic! Can you use it?”

“Of course.”

The half-Elf opened her eyes and regarded Erin severely. She shifted her gaze to Ceria.

“Ceria Springwalker, you are a mage of Wistram. I trust you to hold this ground until we return.”

“I’ll—do my best.”

Ceria looked pale. Erin stared at her and then at Falene. The half-Elf was beginning to glow. Dawil grumbled and moved backwards as Falene’s body sparked, jolts of electricity arcing from her body to the ground and tables.

“Hot! Watch it, Elf!”

She made no reply. Across from her, Erin saw Moore raising his staff. Jelaqua’s voice was calm.

“We’re going in, boys. Slaughter tactics. No need for speed or maneuverability out there. Moore, can you cast your armor spell on all of us?”

“Yes.”

The half-Giant’s voice boomed. His eyes flashed green as he brought the staff down. There was a rumble and Erin saw vines covered in huge thorns worm out from beneath her floorboards. They covered his arms, his legs—she saw the same was happening to Jelaqua and Seborn!

“Dead gods.”

Ceria breathed the words. She was staring at Falene. Now the half-Elf was surrounded by a crackling aura of lightning. It was contained—Erin saw the bolts of electricity trying to earth themselves on Dawil and her tables and Falene drawing them back around her. The half-Elf’s voice echoed as her eyes flashed.

“Magic is limited only by the quality of the mage, Ceria. This inn is a place of power. As am I.”

She turned. Her body shone with lightning. Dawil grumbled.

“And I’m a place of metal. Keep your [Lightning Shroud] spell under control until we’re clear of the inn, Elf!”

“Ready?”

Ylawes strode towards the door. His armor shone as Falene and Dawil took up places behind him. Erin heard more crashes above and shouts. She looked up. Were the moths getting in above already?

“We’re ready.”

Jelaqua’s voice came from a shape cloaked in vines. Erin stared. The Selphid was covered in green armor, her body engulfed in razor-sharp thorns and twisted vine. Only her eyes were visible and then, only just. Seborn looked equally fearful, but Moore—

Two giant eyes stared at her out of a mass of barbed plant matter. The half-Giant turned and Erin, Ceria, and Yvlon backed up a step. A towering creature rose, a hand covered in razor-sharp blades gripped a staff. Ylawes glanced at the Halfseekers.

“On my count, then.”

He put his hand on the door as Dawil knocked aside a barrel that had been pushed in the way. The barrel fell and broke, spilling alcohol across the ground.

“Oops.”

The Dwarf’s voice was loud. Erin heard the chittering, the rustling, saw something smash through the window across the room. It began thumping against the table blocking the way. Ylawes didn’t look around. He waited three seconds and then lifted his shield. He shouted as Ceria and Yvlon ran to attack the moth coming through the window.

“Silver Swords! Let’s go!”

He threw open the doors. Erin gasped as she saw moths swarming around the entrance. A giant Face-Eater Moth taller than the door itself reared up, its razor-sharp mouth opening. Ylawes raised his shield and it flashed white. He roared as he charged.

“[Shield of Valor]!”

A bulwark of silver light formed around his shield. Ylawes rushed forwards and the moths found themselves swept up, pressed helplessly against the shield as he rammed them together. Hot on his heels was Dawil. The Dwarf roared as he smashed a moth flat and swung his hammer into another with a crunch.

“Come on you flying sacks of crap! I haven’t got all day!”

Behind him strode Falene. Erin heard her speaking as she raised her staff. Spells erupted from the tip of her stave too fast for thought.

“[Blue Lightning], [Flash Fireball], [Water Arrows], [Sand Spray], [Aerial Burst]—”

The lightning around her flashed and Erin heard hundreds of moths shriek as the electricity blasted in every direction. As they tumbled from the sky Jelaqua led Moore and Seborn out, screaming a warcry. The Selphid plunged into the ranks of moths, her flail knocking them aside, creating a space as she whirled through the first rank of moths around the inn. Seborn was already stabbing with his enchanted daggers as Moore smashed moths with his hands and staff.

“The door!”

Ylawes roared and Erin ran for the door. A moth the size of a large dog flapped towards Erin. She saw its ‘mouth’ opening and shutting as it flew towards her face. Instinctively Erin raised the frying pan.

“Get lost!”

She smacked it and the moth fell down. Erin slammed the door on it and struggled to drag the half-drained barrel in front of the door. She heard more cries as the adventurers began fighting outside the inn and more sounds. The moths were attacking in full force now.

“The windows! Yvlon, take that side!”

Ceria shouted as more moths began bursting through the windows. The one on the far wall had been decapitated by Yvlon’s sword—Erin saw its torso hanging obscenely out of the wall, dripping onto the floorboards. Ceria pointed as more dark shapes squirmed in the window behind it.

“[Ice Spikes]!”

She fired with her wand and skeletal hand. Erin heard shrieks as the forms fell back. Yvlon ran to the other side and lopped off a moth’s leg that had penetrated a glass window.

“Erin! Get to Celum, damn it!”

“No!”

Erin shouted back. She ran into the kitchen and dragged out the crate of rattling potions. She heaved it onto a table, taking care not to break the bottles within. These weren’t the potions Octavia had broken by accident the other day. She’d bought these over a month ago. Healing potions, alchemist’s fire, mana potions—she shouted at Ceria.

“Potions are here! Get them!”

“Potions? Good!”

Ceria turned and cursed as another moth tried to crawl through the broken window. A shimmering wall of ice pinned the insect against the window and then sheared it in two as it blocked the window off again. Ceria pointed and another wall of ice blocked off another broken window. The moths began hammering on the ice again. There were so many!

“I’m going to see what’s happening above!”

Erin ran for the stairs. She could hear more fighting above. She took the stairs two at a time and saw chaos on the second floor.

“Comrade Pisces, the moths are coming through your room!”

“I see them!”

Pisces and Ksmvr were holding the second floor, trying to cover the eight rooms, each of which had moths crawling through the broken windows. They were not alone, though. Erin gaped as three giant bear skeletons tore into the moths above, biting and tearing at the insects. She froze as Pisces impaled a moth on his rapier. The [Necromancer] turned to her, his face alight with battle fury.

“Erin! Get below! We’ll hold the moths off as long as we can! The Goblins are doing the same one floor up!”

“They are?”

“Yes! Bird is wounded!”

Ksmvr shouted as she cut at a moth with three arms. Erin paled.

“Bird!”

She ran for the third floor, ignoring Pisces’ shouts for her to come back. She’d forgotten about Bird! Was he—

Moths covered the third floor. Erin froze in the hallway. Moths. They were pouring in from the staircase leading up to Bird’s watch tower, filling the corridor. The only thing stopping them was a line of five green warriors. The Redfang Warriors were snarling, cutting moths down as they swarmed through the opening. Behind them an Antinium lay on the ground, bleeding green from dozens of wounds.

“Miss Erin. I regret to inform you that I have failed my duties.”

Bird looked up weakly. His body looked like it had been sliced by thousands of razors. His bow was broken and Erin could see his internal organs pulsating from a place on his side where his exoskeleton was just gone. She reached for the potion at her belt and fumbled with it.

“Bird—hold on!”

One of the Hobs turned. Badarrow’s blinked as he saw Erin and he shouted something guttural at her, pointing at the stairs leading down. He was standing behind a pile of moths. The Hobs had already killed so many that they were forming a barricade in the hallway. Erin saw Headscratcher cutting at two moths, roaring, as they tried to fly in the tight space.

Badarrow loosed an arrow and saw Erin struggling with the potion bottle. He ran over, grabbed the bottle and unceremoniously smashed it against Bird’s chest. The bottle broke as the healing liquid splattered over the Antinium’s wounds.

“Ow.”

Bird’s wounds began to close as Erin dragged him back from the fighting. She saw Shorthilt and Rabbiteater both cutting down moths coming from the doors. The Redfang Warriors fell back a step as more Face-Eater Moths crawled over their companions. And more were coming down the stairs each second.

“Many! Many!”

Numbtongue was shouting in frustration as he kicked a cat-sized moth and speared another with his sword. He howled in agony as the small moth he’d kicked latched onto his arm. As he tore it off and stomped on it Erin saw a circular chunk of flesh had been torn off his arm.

“The door! The door to the watch tower! Can you close it?”

She shouted as she pointed to the stairs the moths were streaming down. Bird shook his head as he rose unsteadily. He pulled a dagger from his belt and stabbed a moth crawling among the dead bodies towards Badarrow.

“They broke the door. And my tower! And my bow!”

He rose and Badarrow grunted. Bird looked around and walked into his room, past Shorthilt. The Goblin shouted something at him and charged in after the Antinium. Erin shouted for Bird and the Antinium reappeared a moment later with his old crude bow in his arms.

“I have a spare. Miss Erin, you are in grave danger! Please go below!”

“What about you? Come on, get downstairs!”

“No.”

Badarrow growled at her. He shot another moth at point-blank range as Bird took a position beside him. Bird nodded.

“We will hold this spot until we must fall back.”

The other Hobs growled agreement. Numbtongue stumbled back, cursing, as more moths forced him to pull back from the doorway he was holding. Instantly Headscratcher, Shorthilt, and Rabbiteater took a few steps back and formed another line a few feet further back down the hallway. Numbtongue turned to Erin.

“Need potions! Got more?”

“Yeah, lots! Hold on!”

Erin ran down the stairs. Pisces and Ksmvr were fighting in the hallways now, battling  back-to-back. Erin froze as she saw deformed skeletons, huge shambling horrors smashing moths.

“Wha—Pisces, are these all yours?”

“I am a [Necromancer]!”

He looked irate as he stabbed a moth behind one of his Bone Horrors. Erin saw Ksmvr pushing a moth into a room and nearly slipped on the blood.

“Hold on, I’m getting potions for you all! I—gah!”

A moth that had been stabbed through the chest fluttered up. Erin reacted instinctively.

“[Minotaur Punch]”!

She caught it on the abdomen and felt her fist go through the moth. Erin screamed in horror as the moth squirmed on her arm. Ksmvr tore it off and threw it to the ground. Erin stared at the gore on her arm and didn’t throw up. That was a challenge. She ran downstairs, her stomach roiling and saw the situation on the ground floor had gotten worse.

“There’s too many!”

Yvlon and Ceria were fighting a hard battle. Despite Ceria’s ice magic the moths were flooding through the windows and unlike the second and third floors, there were no hallways or doors to block them coming in. Yvlon whirled and cut a moth down as Erin ran for her crate of potions. Ceria was screaming obscenities as she shot moths with her [Ice Spike] spell.

“Hold on, just hold on!”

Erin ran back up the stairs, dumping some potions on the ground and then hurled the crate at the Redfang Goblins. Headscratcher grabbed one bottle instantly. Somehow the Goblin recognized the potion and hurled it across the corridor. Erin, knowing what the potion did too, threw herself to the ground.

She heard a roar and felt the wave of heat blast her. When Erin got up, the third floor was a mass of flame as the moths burned. The corpses that the Goblins had stacked up became flaming barricades and the assault slowed. And yet, still the moths came, screaming as they burned, smothering the flames with their bodies. The Goblins took the brief interlude to snatch more potions out of the crate, eying them and snapping at each other as they braced themselves for the next wave of scorched insects.

“Hey! One of you come with me!”

Erin screamed at them. The Goblins turned. Headscratcher shouted what sounded like an order in their crackling tongue—Shorthilt raced after Erin as she ran back downstairs. She slipped on the blood coating the stairwell and crashed onto the ground. Erin scrambled up, feeling a searing pain in her elbow and side.

“Are you good?”

“What?”

Pisces screamed back. Erin shouted.

“Can you hold?”

“Wha—yes! For a while!”

His Bone Horrors had pushed into each of the rooms. Erin could see them smashing and cutting the moths apart. She nodded and ran downstairs.

“Ceria! Yvlon!”

The half-Elf and woman looked up as Shorthilt raced downstairs. The Hob charged towards a moth that had come through a window and cut. He slashed the moth in two and then raced across the inn to cut another moth to ribbons.

“Thanks! How are the others doing?”

Ceria shouted at Erin.

“Good! Bad! I don’t know, there are way too many!”

“My brother’s outside in all of this!”

Yvlon screamed at the other two. Erin nodded. She had no idea if the Silver Swords or the Halfseekers were even alive, but she had to trust they were. She looked around. Her inn was filled with shouts, thumping, screeching insects. She had to do something! But what?

Fight? Erin realized she was holding her frying pan and hurled it at a moth that had burst through a window behind Ceria. It clonked the moth and it was stunned long enough for the half-Elf to turn and blast it with shards of ice. Erin backed up towards her kitchen as Ceria yelled at her to keep back. No, fighting was out. She was no [Warrior]. Then what?

It was a flash of inspiration. The door! Yes, why hadn’t she—Erin ran for the door and yanked it open.

“Erin!”

Octavia nearly cut her with the kitchen knife she was holding. She was standing in front of the door with Drassi right behind her. Erin saw the [Alchemist]’s eyes widen as she took in the chaos behind her.

“Erin, get through quickly!”

“No! Octavia, I need potions! And the Watch! Where’s Celum’s Watch?”

“Watch? Lyonette ran to get them! Erin, how many are—”

“Thousands! Liscor’s under siege and we’re barely holding! I need all the potions you’ve got, understand? Healing potions, mana, explosive—put them in crates and wait for me to open the door, understand?”

“What? But—”

Octavia hesitated for only a second. Then she nodded.

“I can do that! Give me five, no, two—”

She looked around desperately.

“I’ll open the door soon! Get the Watch to come! Tell them we need as many [Guardsmen] as they can spare!”

Erin shouted at the [Alchemist]. Drassi looked confused.

“Erin, what are—”

“Pallass!”

Erin slammed the door. She ran into the kitchen, hearing Ceria cursing and Shorthilt shouting a warning behind her. Mana stone, mana stone! Where was—

There! The bright yellow mana stone gleamed at her in the bowl next to the door. Erin grabbed it and rushed back out. She slapped it on the door and opened it.

Pallass! An entire Walled City lay in front of her, the sky blue, the streets filled with people going about their business. For a second Erin just stared. Then she waved her arms and screamed.

“Hey! Help! Help!”

Heads turned in surprise. Erin shouted as Drakes stared at her. They just stared at her as she shouted and waved at them.

“Come here! It’s an emergency! Come here!”

They just stared at her! At last a few Drakes walked over, looking confused. One of them, a Drake with dark purple scales looked amused.

“Human, what’s this about? What—”

He caught sight of the fighting behind Erin and recoiled.

“Ancestors, what’s going on?”

“Liscor is under attack! There’s monsters everywhere! Get the City Watch! Tell them we need reinforcements, now!”

“Liscor, under attack?”

More Drakes came over. They stared over Erin’s shoulder, alarmed, but not afraid. The Drake eyed Erin’s inn through the door.

“Are those…moths? What’s happening, Human?”

“There’s an attack on Liscor! Get help!”

Erin screamed at him. She would have run through to yell at them, but she knew her door only had enough power to let her enter and exit. And she needed an army! The Drakes around the door looked unconvinced.

“This doesn’t look like an attack on Liscor. How do we know you’re telling the truth?”

“Do you see the giant face-eating moths behind me?”

“Yeah, but that could be just your inn.”

For a second Erin just stared at the purple-scaled Drake. She raised one fist and punched him through the doorway. Then she seized the entire door itself and began dragging it across the common room.

“Erin? What are you doing?”

Yvlon caught sight of Erin as she sliced another moth in half. Her face was covered in sweat and her armor was already streaked with the yellowish blood of Face-Eater Moths. Erin didn’t answer. The door was heavy, but she was fueled by desperation. She reached her own door to the inn and yanked it open.

“Erin! Are you crazy? Come back!”

Ceria screamed at her back. Erin saw a sky filled with motion, thousands of crawling shapes. She heard a roar and saw Moore swinging his staff. The half-Giant was covered in his armor of thorns and the moths were literally cutting themselves to pieces as they swarmed him. The Silver Swords and Halfseekers were fighting outside the inn as the moths flew overhead, landing on Erin’s inn.

Falene was blasting insects out of the sky and she had created a space around her, a bubble that slowed the moths as they flew towards her. Ylawes and Dawil were keeping her safe, battling a moth twice as tall as Moore. Erin didn’t hesitate. Though her every instinct screamed to get back indoors she heaved the doorway out and pushed it against a wall. Moths came flying towards her. Erin scrambled back as a shape blurred past her. Seborn stabbed the moths with his daggers, twisting the blades as the moths screamed. The Drowned Man turned to Erin, his eyes flashing behind his armor of thorns.

“Get back inside!”

“Wait!”

Erin shouted at him. Seborn couldn’t reply as he turned, cursing, to fight the moths converging on her. Erin set the door against the wall and then yanked it open. Again, Pallass appeared in front of her. This time the purple Drake was standing in front of a crowd of Drakes, talking with an officer of the Watch.

“—Just here, [Guardsman]. I was telling you, she was screaming about moths and Liscor being under attack. Then she punched me! Typical human—”

He broke off and turned. The [Guardsman] turned. The crowd went still. They stared as Erin finally looked around and took in the scene outside for the first time.

It looked like a vision of hell. The sky was filled with thousands of dark shapes. They were swarming over the walls, held back by frantic warriors on the walls. Lightning and fire crackled from Liscor’s battlements, blasting moths apart and arrows felled more, but there were a hundred for every one that fell.

And in the distance five giant moths loomed over it all, giant behemoths that blocked the light. Two were on Liscor’s walls, biting at the [Guardsmen] there. Another was flying across the Floodplains, hunting a scuttling Rock Crab. Two more were coming this way, flapping their wings.

Erin saw the Silver Swords struggling to contain their small bubble of space, the Halfseekers cutting down the moths coming towards her inn. She heard Liscor’s horns blowing, heard the chittering laughter of the bugs. It was a roar that filled the air. They flew towards her, so many that it seemed like they would drown her inn with the sheer weight of bodies.

For five seconds she stared and the people of Pallass stared with her. Then Erin heard a Drake woman scream.

“What are they?”

“Monster attack! Monster attack!”

“Summon the Watch! Call the army!”

“Liscor is under attack! Raise the alarm! Dead gods, raise the alarm!”

They fled as the lone [Guardsman] backed up, holding his spear and shaking. Erin stumbled back as Seborn, Jelaqua, and Moore closed on her position. The moths had seen the light of another city and were flooding towards it.

“Erin!”

Jelaqua shouted, her armor covered in gore. Erin pointed at the door.

“Keep the moths away! Reinforcements are coming!”

The Selphid stared at her and then the door. Understanding flashed in her eyes as Erin pointed to Pallass. Erin slammed the door and ripped the mana stone off. This time she opened the door to Celum. Octavia was piling potions into crates. Erin began yanking them through as Drassi pushed them towards her. She shouted at Ceria, Yvlon, and Shorthilt as she dragged the potions into the inn. She shouted at Pisces and Ksmvr as they came down the stairs with the Redfang Goblins, retreating into the common room.

“Hold on! Just hold on! Help is coming!”

She prayed that was true. The Face-Eater Moths were everywhere. How was Liscor still standing? Could they hold on? They had to have help!

Before it was too late.

—-

The [Message] spell that was sent out from Liscor was short and simple. It was marked with the highest-priority reserved only for emergency messages as per Drake protocols. It read as follows:

Emergency. Liscor is in immediate danger of falling to monster attack. Repeat, Liscor is in danger of falling to overwhelming monster attack from dungeon. Face-Eater Moths have attacked the city in tens of thousands. Five colossal moths sighted.

That was it. There was no request for reinforcements, no plea for tactical advice or support. If it came it would be too late. If help came within the day it would be too late, let alone in weeks. There was no force that could reach Liscor from any of the Walled Cities to which the [Message] spell was sent in time. It was just a warning.

The reaction of the other Drakes cities was immediate. A group [Message] call was set up within minutes, using established emergency protocol. The messages from one Walled City to another were transmitted to all parties and read off as each city’s leaders debated on the content. Initially only the six Walled Cities took part in the call, but such was the extraordinary nature of the event taking place that soon other parties across the world were sending [Message] spells, demanding answers.

Indeed, Magnolia Reinhart’s assembly of [Lords] and [Ladies] and a military camp in Lord Tyrion’s command tent were also aware of the situation. They clustered around the uncomfortable mages relaying the [Message] spells, listening intently. This was raw news as it was happening for anyone with the informants and a [Mage] capable of ‘listening in’ on the situation in Liscor, and the discussion of the Walled Cities.

Fissival is present. What is Liscor’s situation? They have not responded to any [Message] spells.

Oteslia. The city is under siege from monsters. Does any city have more details?

Manus. No.

Zeres, likewise.

Salazsar can confirm. Our Lord of the Wall reports exceptionally dangerous monsters. Swarm of Face-Eater Moths with individuals exceeding the forty feet in height.

Oteslia. Surely an exaggeration? How were such moths not spotted?

Salazsar. Our Wall Lord reports it crawled out of Liscor’s dungeon.

Manus. Can your Wall Lord confirm danger of threat?

Salazsar. Unknown. Our Wall Lord is currently engaged in combat.

Silence then, as every Walled City waited for details. Magnolia Reinhart sat in her chair lightly, listening to the [Mage] as the older man sweated and waited for more [Message] spells to be sent to him. Across from her, a [Lord] muttered under his breath.

“Goblin Lords and monster swarms from a dungeon? This is the last thing we need.”

Minutes passed, and then—

Pallass. Can confirm monster attack. Visual confirmation.

Oteslia. How?

Zeres. Is it possible to share visual input via spell?

Pallass. Standby.

Salazsar. We have visual input as well. Scrying orb. However, our [Mages] are unable to transmit imagery.

Manus. What does Salazsar see?

Salazsar. Overwhelming numbers. Our [Strategists] predict one-in-three odds of Liscor being overwhelmed in the next thirty minutes.

Fissival. To Pallass, request nature of visual confirmation.

Pallass. Visual confirmation is…visible. We have a [Mage] capable of [Scrying] at the location of a portal to Liscor.

Oteslia. Please confirm, Pallass. ‘Portal?’

Manus. Keep up with current events, Oteslia. Pallass, can you send visuals via [Scrying]?

Pallass. Standby.

This is Wistram. If Pallass has a [Mage] capable of casting [Scrying] we will amplify the spell to all interested parties. Our mages are ready to link at a moment’s notice.

There was a ripple of shock throughout Lord Tyrion’s command tent. He raised a hand and spoke drily.

“Of course Wistram would be spying.”

There was a nervous chuckle around the tent as the [Lords] and [Ladies] and lesser officers stared intently at the young woman, the [Mage] in charge of relaying what was happening. She gulped, but began to speak again, repeating the conversation after the moment of hesitation by all six Walled Cities.

Zeres. Wistram is not invited to this conversation. Remove yourself at once.

Fissival. Wistram was invited by our request for magical consultancy.

Zeres. The mages are not authorized.

Oteslia. If Wistram can send [Scrying] spell, do so at once.

Fissival. To a vote. All in favor? Fissival votes yes to Wistram magical aid.

Oteslia agrees with Wistram’s request.

Zeres reluctantly acknowledges.

Salazsar permits. Act quickly.

Pallass will comply. Standby.

Wistram awaits. Our circle is linked and led by two of our Archmages. We will send a magical projection to all individuals with appropriate receptive capacity.

Niers Astoragon instantly sat up. He turned to Peclir Im who was listening quietly behind Foliana and several of the Forgotten Wing company’s officers and [Strategists].

“Get a scrying orb at once.”

“Or a mirror. Hand mirror. I have one in my room.”

“Too small. And yours is weak, only capable of lesser scrying. I want an orb.”

Peclir dashed out of the room and several of Niers’ students looked at the [Grandmaster Strategist]. Niers frowned as he peered at the magical slate upon which the [Message] spells were appearing. Foliana munched on a carrot muffin as she sat next to him.

“Looks like a lot of people are listening.”

“Of course. I wouldn’t be surprised if this conversation was appearing across the world. Liscor falling at this moment to a monster attack from a dungeon? If Wistram really does send the projection, I wouldn’t be surprised if the King of Destruction himself watches. Assuming he has a scrying device.”

There was a ripple around the room. Niers flicked his eyes across the slate. A single message had appeared. And then another. Foliana offered Niers a crumb.

“Muffin?”

He ignored it. Every eye was on the slate.

Oteslia. Pallass, your status?

Pallass. Standby.

—-

“Hold the line!”

Watch Captain Zevara was fighting on the walls. She screamed at her [Guardsmen] as they fought the moths crawling over the walls and flying overhead. Arrows were being loosed overhead and the few [Mages] in the Watch were blasting the larger targets, but there were just too many moths. As Zevara turned her attention back to the space in front of her she saw a cloud of moths come up and the [Guardsmen] with shields and spears crying out in dismay.

“Duck!”

She shouted and the Drakes and Gnolls flattened themselves as Zevara inhaled deeply. She exhaled a huge gout of flame. The moths fell as the fiery cloud engulfed them. Zevara gasped for air, feeling her lungs strain to absorb enough oxygen. She’d always had trouble breathing—it was worst when she inhaled too much smoke. Now she coughed and tried to inhale.

More moths fluttered up at their position. Zevara spat fire again, feeling the world go dark around her. She gasped, and felt a hand steady her.

“Careful!”

Olesm had a scroll in one hand. He unrolled it as Zevara straightened and aimed with his claws. A shower of spectral arrows materialized overhead and cut down a swath of Face-Eater Moths attacking the wall fifty feet down. Zevara nodded.

“Good job! Ration those enchantments though! We only have so many left!”

“I’m hitting every big target I can see!”

Olesm reached for another command scroll for Liscor’s defenses. Zevara, her head clearing, saw a group of [Guardsmen] cry out down the wall and scatter as a huge moth landed at their position. It wasn’t one of the five giant moths, but it was still large as a house and simply ignored the jabbing spears and arrows the Watch sent into it.

“Olesm! That moth!”

“I see it!”

The Drake [Tactician] fumbled with the scroll, trying to open it. He had it open and ready to cast when he froze. Zevara was about to shout at him to cast the spell already when she saw what he’d spotted. A Drake in full magic armor was racing up the steps, shouting, cutting down moths and heading straight for the huge moth on the walls. Zevara could hear Ilvriss’ voice clear as day.

“Drakes of Liscor, rally to me!”

He used a Skill. He must have, because Zevara stood straighter and sensed the Drakes and Gnolls around her standing tall, catching a second wind.

“Don’t let these vermin scale the walls! Push them back!”

Ilvriss charged down the wall, shouting as he and his escort flooded into the breach. His enchanted sword flashed twice and the giant moth staggered back, keening in pain. Zevara saw his blade stab into the moth again and again, carving through it easily as he and his small group of followers retook the spot.

“Good! Now all we need is ten more of him!”

Zevara shouted at Olesm. The Drake grinned and aimed his scroll at a giant moth climbing up the walls. A jet of flame shot downwards and Zevara saw the moth fly off the wall and flap wildly in agony.

“I’ll try to bring that one down!”

“There are four! Two are here—where are the other three?”

“One’s flying north! The other two are at Erin’s inn!”

“What?”

“The inn! It’s still standing! The moths are being held off there!”

Zevara turned, incredulous. She hadn’t thought of Erin’s inn, except to wonder if the young woman had fled or been killed. Her tail twitched as she saw the flash of swords and color of magic. The inn was ablaze with motion, covered by moths, but still it stood! And shining out of a door set against the front wall was another city. Zevara’s heart skipped a beat as she realized what Erin was doing.

“Ancestors, of course. Pallass!”

—-

Zeres. Pallass, what is taking so long?

Pallass. Standby.

A pause, as around the world the wealthy and powerful leaned forwards, some actually leaning on the unlucky [Mages] who had to relay what was happening. In Terandria, a group of nobility sat around, eating snacks and laughing lightly.

“What fun!”

“This is far more entertaining than anything I could have hoped for today.”

“I say, let’s have a bet on whether Liscor falls. Any takers, say, a hundred gold pieces?”

“Make it two hundred and I’ll take that offer.”

“Four hundred on the city standing but being gutted.”

“Ah, wonderful! Let’s see if these Drakes manage to get something for us to look at, shall we?”

Pallass. We have visual. Stand by for Wistram to relay!

Oteslia. At last!

The image swam into place slowly, a blurry scene coming slowly into view. Flos, the King of Destruction, leaned over the tiny marble-sized scrying orb and looked at Gazi.

“Are you sure this is the only orb we have, Gazi?”

She looked apologetic.

“My lord, that is my personal orb. I thought we had a larger version in our posession.”

Orthenon rubbed at his face, shaking his head.

“We did—until we were forced to sell them for food two winters back.”

“No matter. Is this from the perspective of the [Mage] in Pallass? A wonder that Wistram can transmit it to so many locations. Now, what have we here?”

Flos leaned forwards, as did the rest of the people in the room. Trey stared in wonder at the magical portal set into the wall, at the crowd of Drake civilians clustered around the door. There was even sound! The [Mage] was standing next to a Drake [Guardswoman] as she argued with an important-looking officer in yellow armor. It was probably not a conversation that Pallass meant for the world to hear.

“Hurry up! We need reinforcements now!”

Erin stood in her doorway, shouting at Pallass and unknowingly, the world as the battle raged behind her. Moths were falling from the sky, blasted by Falene’s lightning and a shower of thorns Moore sent upwards like a flight of arrows. The Drakes in front of the door stared at her, but Erin’s words were meant for Watch Captain Venim as he stood with a company of Drakes in armor. They hadn’t entered the door although they’d been standing there for the last ten minutes.

“Watch Captain? Our [Mages] have the doorway open and ready to go! Give the order and I’ll take my men through.”

The Drake was a [Captain], nearly hopping with impatience as she eyed the battle in Liscor. But Watch Captain Venim just shook his head.

“I do not have permission to send your troops in, [Captain].”

The Drake turned her incredulous gaze on him. She kept her voice low so the anxious crowd of Pallass’ civilians couldn’t hear, but she was standing right next to the Drake [Mage] who was mightily concentrating, his face beaded with sweat as he stared at the portal.

“And why not? Liscor is under attack! Those flying moths will overwhelm the walls within the hour if we don’t clear them away! Ancestors, my company might not be enough! We need to push as many soldiers through as that doorway allows and do it now!”

Venim closed his eyes.

“The Assembly of Crafts is debating. We do not have authorization to support. Prepare to close the door if the inn is overrun.”

The Drake inhaled sharply.

“Watch Captain? You can’t be serious—”

“You have your orders, [Captain]! So do I! We wait until the Assembly responds, is that clear?”

Venim snapped at her. He broke off as the Drakes looked at him. One of the civilians stared at the soldiers and then at the battle.

“Why aren’t we sending our army in?”

There was a murmur from the crowd. Many Drakes had left the streets rather than look at the hordes of monsters, but the stronger-willed civilians were present. Indeed, several richly-dressed Drakes were inspecting the carnage with a great deal of interest.

“It’s Liscor. It’s not our city.”

One of the Drakes spoke up hesitantly. A Drake with a monocle in front turned, looking offended.

“Excuse me? Liscor is a strategic asset. If they fall, the Humans might easily sweep through or claim Liscor as its own. Not to mention that this dungeon threatens us all. If monsters occupy the area around Liscor or if that dungeon has more swarms of this magnitude—”

“Hey! Where’s the army?”

Erin shouted through the doorway. The Drakes turned back to her. Erin ducked as a moth came for her and the crowd screamed. Quick as lightning, a Drake [Archer] standing in Pallass shot an arrow straight through the doorway. The moth fell, and Erin got back to her feet. She was shouting through to the other side now.

“I don’t know! I said I don’t know, Jelaqua! They’re just standing there! Can you hold—aah! Run away!”

She fled as another house-sized moth landed with a thud that made the crowd draw back. The Drake [Soldiers] in Pallass rushed forwards, but before the moth could approach the doorway, a Selphid charged into it. Jelaqua cursed as she hit the moth’s face body, legs, and wings, her flail smashing the insect back.

“Good job that Selphid!”

The Drake with the monocle applauded as the rest of the Drakes in the crowd looked at him. He nodded to the other Drake on his left.

“I say, did the Human call her Jelaqua? That must be Jelaqua Ivirith, a Gold-rank adventurer! She leads the Halfseekers.”

“Splendid flail work!”

The other Drake agreed. They inspected the battle, unaware or simply uncaring of the looks they were getting. The other anxious Drakes stared at them, and then one with purple scales and black eye spoke up.

“Well go on, what about the Halfseekers?”

The Drake with the monocle and his buddy looked surprised.

“Well if you must know, the Halfseekers are a group of three Gold-rank adventurers. They used to be a group of eight and quite well-respected, on the verge of Named Adventurer status as a group. However, they’re solidly Gold-rank now. Their team isn’t specialized for this kind of fighting. Oh—see the half-Giant? That would be Moore, a specialist in earth magic. He’s using…my word, is that a mass-variant of the [Armor of Thorns] spell?”

“It must be. It takes quite a lot of mana to use that spell—I wonder if he’s exhausted himself already? But the defensive benefits are considerable.”

“Naturally, naturally. Oh look, Noass! Do you see that?”

“I do indeed, Sir Relz. That flash of movement, there? That would be Seborn, their Drowned Man and [Rogue]. He’s a Crab-type Drowned Man and very adept at close-quarters combat. Not ideal for the number of flying moths, but he’s keeping mobile with his team, shielding this inn.”

“Shame that none of the Halfseekers can take the fight to the giant moths. Look, one’s assailing the walls. I can’t think that it will be repelled with just the forces th—”

“Ancestors!”

A cry broke through the commentary. Across the world people leaned forwards, trying to get a better look as the Drake [Mage] was buffeted by the crowd. They saw him pushing forwards, staring through the portal at a flash of light. One of the five giant moths was on the wall, climbing over, but a flash of light tore a part of its face away and then another.

“Look! On the walls! Someone’s shooting at it!”

“Who?”

The two Drake commentators, Sir Relz and Noass, pushed forwards as the crowd and the world held its breath.

—-

The gargantuan Face-Eater Moth had nearly climbed over the walls and was threatening to enter the city where it would cause havoc unchecked. The City Watch was trying to hold it back but the massive moth simply ate the defending Drakes and Gnolls or speared them with its massive legs. It was just crawling over the battlements when an arrow sprouted between its head and exploded into a shower of spikes that tore part of its face away. The Face-Eater Moth reeled back, keening, and heads swiveled for the unknown shooter.

He was coming up the stairs. Halrac raised his bow and loosed another arrow. It streaked towards the giant Face-Eater Moth and exploded into a cloud of green dust. Poison. The moth shook its wings as Halrac shot a second arrow which froze a portion of its left wings. It dropped, and Halrac shifted his aim and shot a moth the size of a wagon instead. The fireball that engulfed the winged creature consumed it almost entirely.

“Griffon Hunt!”

A cry went up as Halrac shot again and again, his enchanted arrows finding their mark each time. The [Guardsman] rallied behind Halrac and pushed the moths back to the wall. Halrac advanced and behind him came Typhenous and Revi. The Stitch Woman shouted in fury.

“Come forth, spirits! Drive back these monsters!”

She pointed and the City Watch saw a wave of ghostly warriors and archers charge up the stairs behind her. Spectral warriors flooded the battlements, fighting the Face-Eater Moths. Revi pointed and a flaming Corusdeer galloped past her while two bright eagles made of light harassed moths flying overhead.

“Typhenous, we could use a shield!”

Revi shouted at the old man behind her. Typhenous raised his staff.

“[Wall of the Winds]!”

A howling gale sprung up along their section of the wall, hurling the moths climbing or flying there away. Typhenous raised his voice as the [Guardsmen] cheered.

“Keep shooting! The wall works one way!”

Halrac grunted as he loosed an arrow. It passed straight through the wall of swirling winds and exploded in the face of the Face-Eater Moth as it tried to fly back up. Outraged, injured, the moth flew backwards.

“Keep me covered. I’m bringing that thing down.”

He spoke curtly to Revi. She paused in exhorting her summoned minions.

“You think you can?”

Halrac glared at the giant moth as it circled, flying overhead to bypass the windy barrier Typhenous had conjured. He pulled five glowing, cherry-red arrows from his quiver.

“Let’s find out.”

He drew and loosed and the explosion consumed the moth. It fell amid the cheering.

—-

Pallass confirms one of five giant Face-Eater Moths is down!

Zeres. We have eyes. We saw.

Oteslia. What’s this about Pallass not sending reinforcements to Liscor? Explain yourself!

Pallass. Standby.

Zevara’s claws tore the parchment slightly as she stared up from the hastily scribbled [Messages] and at the smoking corpse of the giant Face-Eater Moth that had fallen onto half the wall. The ink was still wet and the Street Runner was already dashing off the wall to safety.

“The Walled Cities know about this? And they’re watching? How in the name of—the inn!”

“Are they sending reinforcements?”

Olesm called hopefully as he surveyed the wall. He pointed.

“Fall back! [Rapid Retreat]!”

A group of [Guardsmen] fled at speed as a group of moths swarmed over their location. Zevara shook her head, looking at the rest of the messages.

“No! Damn Pallass! They’re still holding back!”

She stared around the city. The walls were holding, but the moths had just flown over the walls in many spots. Now the fighting was in the streets of the city as moths attacked homes, buildings, and [Guardsmen] indiscriminately.

“Report! How bad is it in the city?”

She snapped at a second Street Runner as he dashed up the stairs. The young Gnoll panted and wheezed as he spoke.

“Gnolls are on the rooftops, shooting down moths entering the city! Miss Krshia has anyone with a bow in the center, but she says they can’t do more than protect their area.”

“The Gnolls? That’s excellent!”

Zevara stared at the small shapes on the rooftops below. The Gnolls were shooting down moths as they came. She spotted more flashes of movement in the streets.

“Are those adventurers?”

—-

“Go, go, go! Get out there and fight!”

Selys was distributing potions, shouting at adventurers, and herding civilians into the back rooms. The Adventurer’s Guild had turned into chaos as the Drake [Receptionist] tried to force the lower-ranked adventurers to leave the building. They didn’t want to go.

“I said get out there! The city is under attack! You’re adventurers, this is your job!”

“But there are so many! We don’t get paid for—”

“You don’t get to live if they slaughter us all! Move!”

Selys shouted at a young man with a sword. She had a bow by the doorway. She snatched it up as she heard heavy wing beats. A group of moths landed in the street and the adventurers flinched. Some rushed out, but before they could fight the small swarm a shape flashed by them and kicked the first moth so hard its head collapsed. Hawk the Courier spun and kicked rapidly, smashing the fragile moths’ bodies. He spun, ready for more, and spotted the staring adventurers and Selys.

“Hawk!”

Selys shoved the Bronze-rank adventurers into the street. She pointed.

“Guard that street! Just take down any moth you see! Go!”

She turned to the Rabbit Beastkin. Hawk was panting, but unharmed. He wiped moth fluids and body parts from his foot as she approached him.

“Stamina potion?”

“Thanks. I’ve got better ones. Ancestors, this is the second time I’ve had to defend Liscor in months! First the undead, now this!”

Hawk looked around. He straightened as more moths flew down through the air. Two fell to arrows, but the rest landed on roofs, eliciting screams from the people within. Hawk leapt up and Selys saw him kick off a wall and onto the roof where he began smashing the moths. She looked around frantically. Liscor was still fighting, still surviving, but there were more moths coming every minute and no end to them in sight. She shouted the question that was on everyone’s tongue.

“Where are the Antinium?”

—-

“Flood the tunnels! Workers with bows, fire into the kill zone! Collapse tunnel G-43E! Activate the traps in cluster JF-42!”

Belgrade was at the center of chaos as Workers and Soldiers streamed around him. Anand could barely see for all the bodies, but the sight of the Face-Eater Moths flooding the tunnels was enough to chill the Antinium to the core. If not for the kill-zone he and Belgrade had created, they would have overrun a good deal of the Hive. As it was, over sixty percent of the Hive was currently fighting and the rest was on reserve.

“Take down that giant moth! [Combined Arms]!”

He pointed, and a group of Soldiers charged forwards, their fists swinging as one. The giant moth reeled back as Soldiers and Workers swarmed onto it. The giant room that was the end of the kill zone was filled with moths and Anand saw Antinium fighting and dying, desperately trying to keep the moths from entering the rest of the Hive. The Face-Eater Moths were numerous and strong. They tore Soldiers apart, trampling them. One giant moth rushed forwards and stopped as it impaled itself on two silvery swords.

“Advance.”

Klbkch’s voice was met with a wave of Soldiers who pressed the moths back. The Revalantor fought, his blades flashing in the gloom as the Antinium held the line. In a lull he ran back to Belgrade and Anand as the two struggled to keep ahead of the moths as they dug through the earth and tried to enter the Hive via other sections.

“Belgrade, abandon your command of the lower-eastern section. The Queen has assumed command of the Workers and Soldiers there.”

“She has? That is a relief!”

Belgrade sagged. He turned his attention to another area as Anand paused to stare at Klbkch. The Revalantor had fought for six hours straight already without pause.

“Revalantor Klbkch—”

“Speak quickly.”

Anand nodded.

“We have received another urgent request for aid from Liscor. It seems the Face-Eater Moths have declined in ferocity after the slaying of their eighth mother-type leader. Should I take some Soldiers and reinforce…?”

“No. We have allocated all we can. The Hive must stand. Tell Liscor that reinforcements are on the way.”

Anand nodded. Reinforcements were on the way. And as the battle dragged into its seventh hour in the Hive, the Antinium appeared aboveground.

—-

“The Antinium! The Antinium are coming!”

“At last! What took them so long?”

Zevara’s head turned in relief. She expected to see a wave of black bodies flooding out of the tunnels. What she saw instead surprised her. She saw color.

“What? Are those—?”

The Painted Soldiers charged onto the streets. Zevara saw a Worker with a censer point and then two Antinium, one a giant with yellow splatters, the second painted with a ghoulish purple smile lead two groups into the city. They began smashing into the moths on the ground. As she watched the Soldiers charged a wagon-sized moth, bearing it to the ground and stomping it to death. More flooded up the walls and began hurling themselves at the moths there.

“Watch Captain! The team of Griffon Hunt says their [Scout] is out of enchanted arrows!”

“What? Damn! Give him every one we’ve got and get more [Guardsmen] to reinforce his position! Another one of those giant moths is coming! Let the Antinium hold the wall!”

Zevara saw [Guardsmen] race to where another giant moth had landed. The Antinium were now on the walls, ruthlessly crushing moths, fighting with reckless disregard for their safety. She saw one Soldier with bright blue circles on his body jump off the wall and onto a wagon-sized moth climbing up. Both Antinium and moth fell and landed with a crunch below. The Drake winced as she saw the yellow-striped Antinium leader pull another Soldier back from doing the same.

“Push them back! The Antinium are here—push the moths back!”

She shouted at her [Guardsmen], feeling a surge of hope for the first time. Zevara turned as Olesm downed the second giant moth with a flash of lighting. She heard a cheer as the moth fell and the Soldiers in the streets covered it, tearing it apart piece by piece. Three left! They could do this! Three left!

—-

“Another excellent lightning strike by that [Tactician] on the walls! Good shot, I say!”

“Are those Antinium reinforcing Liscor? Of course, this is the only Drake city with a Hive. Why weren’t they deployed earlier?”

“That’s unknown, but they seem to be pushing the moths back quite quickly where they are! Hold on—do you see what I’m seeing, Noass? Those Antinium have paint on their carapaces! Is this some kind of new Antinium variant?”

The two Drakes who were commentating in the crowd probably had no idea their words were being broadcast to countless other people across the world. However, their words were highly significant to the many people watching. In Baleros, Niers Astoragon leaned over.

“My eyes aren’t what they used to be. Umina, do you see what those Drakes are talking about?”

The Lizardgirl stared hard at the image in the orb.

“I think so. The Antinium have…well, they have something on their bodies.”

“Color? Paint? But they appear to be the standard Soldier types. Is this a trick or does it have more meaning?”

Niers leaned back in his seat, thinking hard. Foliana munched on her muffin.

“Mm. Looks good. Think Liscor can win it?”

Every head turned to Niers. The tiny Fraerling smiled, knowing his reputation could rest on a correct answer.

“I wouldn’t place all my coin on them just yet, Foliana. They’re putting up a good fight, but the adventurers around this…inn are tiring. They’re—wait, it’s that Human girl.”

He sat up as the young woman appeared in the doorway again. She waved at the crowd.

“You lot coming through yet!?”

The Pallassian soldiers shifted uncomfortably. The young woman glared at them, and Niers laughed as he saw her raise one expressive finger.

“Fine! Stay that way! You guys are all assholes, you know that? You and your stupid Walled City!”

Then she slammed the door shut. Niers blinked as the Drakes cried out and the portal vanished.

Salazsar. What is going on, Pallass?

Pallass. Standby. Human interference.

Zeres. Stop saying ‘standby!’ Recover the image!

Pallass. Standby.

It took five gut-wrenching minutes for the image to reappear. Magnolia saw Erin arguing with another Human in armor as the portal reopened. She leaned forwards.

“What has that young woman done now?”

“Look, guard the inn! Inside! Just hold on—they’re coming through the third floor and my guys are tired! Take over and don’t let them come down the stairs!”

The Human in armor nodded and Magnolia saw a group of [Guardsman] rush into the inn. Their arrival had surprised the Drakes in Pallass.

“Is that the insignia of Celum’s City Watch?”

“You’d know more than I, Noass. What are they doing in Liscor?”

“Using a magic door.”

Magnolia muttered to herself, ignoring the intrigued looks the others in the room were giving her. Ressa frowned as she stared at the adventurers fighting the moths. Magnolia glanced up at her.

“Ressa, it looks like Liscor will survive. Unless you disagree? The Antinium are there, there are Gold-rank adventurers on the wall, and two of those horrid moths are down. All good, or do you disagree?”

The maid shook her head.

“The moths are still numerous. And there is a problem.”

“Which is?”

“The adventurers who have been attracting a lot of the attention.”

Ressa pointed at the Halfseekers and the Silver Swords. Magnolia peered at them.

“What’s wrong?”

The maid’s face was grim.

“They’re getting tired.”

—-

It happened in an instant. One second Jelaqua was there, twirling her flail, the next, the giant moth descended. The Selphid tried to move but her leg slipped in the muck and blood. Erin saw legs snatch her up and heard Jelaqua’s shout.

“Let go of me, let go!”

“Jelaqua!”

Moore roared as he ran to grab her. He was too slow. The moth flew up and Jelaqua’s voice grew fainter. There was a shout and then Erin saw something falling. She saw Jelaqua’s pale face, her arms flailing—

And then the Selphid hit the ground. Her body thumped on the ground and bounced. She didn’t move.

“Jelaqua?”

Moths covered her. Erin shouted in horror and tried to run forwards. Seborn was already there, cutting, dicing. Moore thrust aside moths and scooped Jelaqua up. Part of her face was missing—the moths had torn her body to shreds in those brief moments. Her mouth was moving but the rest of her body was limp, twisted.

Broken. Moore ran for the inn and Erin shouted for Celum’s [Guardsmen] to cover them. They obligingly filled the air with arrows, but it wasn’t enough. The giant moth circled and this time struck Moore. He screamed as a leg went through his stomach and the broken armor of thorns on his body. Seborn cursed. This time the moth landed, mouth open wide to eat the half-Giant whole.

“Silver Swords, on me! [Knight’s Challenge]!”

A voice shouted. The gigantic moth turned as Ylawes struck his shield and it rang like a gong. It and the other moths converged on the silver [Knight], buying time for Erin to run out with the Horns of Hammerad and the Redfang Goblins and drag Moore and Jelaqua inside. The moth charged Ylawes and struck his raised shield. Though Ylawes was guarding, the impact sent him staggering backwards. He raised his shield again and blocked a leg as sharp as a needle before it could strike his chest.

“Dawil! Take out its legs!”

“On it!”

The Dwarf ran around the giant moth. He swung his hammer.

“[Thunder Blow]!”

The impact snapped the giant moth’s leg in half. The insect jerked as Ylawes sliced at its head, and it tried to bite again. The Dwarf ran around as Falene raised her staff.

“[Grand Fireball].”

An explosion cooked the insect’s abdomen and it shrieked. It turned, and the half-Elf ran swiftly backwards. Ylawes struck his shield again and the moth turned. Before Dawil could cripple its other leg it grabbed the [Knight] and took off.

“No!”

Erin heard Yvlon shout. The young woman raced forwards as the giant Face-Eater Moth flew higher. Ylawes was a speck overhead. She could see him cutting at the moth, into its belly as it tried to bite him. Falene raised her staff.

“[Blue Lightning].”

The bolt hit the moth in the wing and tore a hole open. It flinched, but kept flying. Dawil knocked a moth aside, panting, his beard covered in gore.

“Think our boy can do it, Falene?”

“Never say ‘our boy’ and my name in the same sentence again, Dawil. And I think he’s done it.”

Erin stared up at Ylawes high overhead. She couldn’t hear what he said, but she saw his sword tear a hole in the giant moth’s abdomen. It screamed and fell and he fell with it.

“He’s gonna splat! Someone do something!”

Erin shouted in horror as Ylawes fell. Falene sighed.

“I am. Don’t block my aim. Wait…wait…[Featherfall].”

She pointed and Ylawes’s body slowed twenty feet from the ground. He landed with a grimace, his armor covered in gore. Dawil ran forwards and buried his hammer in the insect’s head, splitting its brains open and putting an end to its convulsions. Ylawes raised his sword and Erin heard the cheering.

It came from Pallass. She turned back to the door, annoyed and angry.

“Those jerks! They haven’t done a thing, just watched!”

“Don’t need to! There’s only two of them moths left and we’re thinning out the rest of the buggers at last!”

Dawil marched over to the others, panting, his face red with exhaustion. He grabbed for a stamina potion at his belt and downed it.

“Damn things aren’t working anymore. Hey, one of you mind killing the next giant moth?”

He looked around and realized he wasn’t the only one swaying on his feet. Falene leaned over her staff, her elegant face marred by her sheer exhaustion and Ylawes stumbled, barely able to stand.

“We’ve got to rest. Stamina potions aren’t enough.”

“Okay! Rest! The inn’s secure—I’ve got guys from Celum holding it!”

Erin pointed to her inn. It was scarred from the outside, every window broken, and Bird’s beloved watch tower had been smashed, but it still stood. The Silver Swords stumbled inside and paused.

“Huh.”

Dawil stared around Erin’s common room. It had been enlarged again, and over thirty members of Celum’s Watch stood behind the windows with crates of potions at their feet. The bodies of Face-Eater Moths littered the floor and Erin had used the extra ‘stage’ part of her inn to clear the bodies and broken furniture away. It looked awful, but the Silver Swords just collapsed on the ground, ignoring the blood that was on their floor and armor.

“How’s Jelaqua? Is she?”

“Injured.”

Seborn looked up as he crouched next to his teammates. Jelaqua wasn’t moving, but her eyes and mouth twitched. The Drowned Man grimaced as he poured a healing potion into her mouth.

“Her body’s broken from the fall and her real form took damage from it too. I’m trying to get a healing potion into her, but there’s no saving her body. She can’t move it or do more than speak.”

“What about Moore?”

“Healing. He took a bad injury but he’ll be fine with rest.”

The half-Giant’s eyes were closed and his head was covered in sweat, but the [Guardsmen] from Celum had covered him with Erin’s blankets from the kitchen and his wound had closed thanks to the healing potions. Erin looked around.

“Ceria, Pisces, Yvlon, Ksmvr, you all okay?”

“We’re good.”

The Horns of Hammerad looked up. They were exhausted too, but the arrival of Celum’s Watch had kept the pressure off them. Likewise, the Redfang Goblins were sitting together, sharpening their blades, keeping a wary eye on the open doorway. They were being given a wide berth by Celum’s [Guardsman], but after seeing the hundreds of moths the Redfang Warriors had slaughtered to keep Erin’s inn from being overrun, it was hard to call the Goblins anything but an ally.

Especially now. Erin peered out of her inn at Liscor’s walls, still filled with fighting.

“You think we’ll be okay if we rest? All but two of the huge moths are dead and there aren’t as many of the other ones. I think we’ve won. Right?”

A grunt answered her from inside. Dawil, on his feet and still pale with exhaustion, looked troubled.

“Battle’s not over until we take out the last two. And there’s enough moths to cause trouble. Hey—watch it!”

He pulled Erin back as the [Guardsmen] in her inn loosed another flight of arrows. The moths approaching her inn fell, pin cushioned, and the ones who got to the walls died to a mixture of spears, swords, and axes. Celum’s Watch might not be as well-trained or as numerous as Liscor’s, but with Erin’s inn they could easily hold the moths off. Erin nodded as she spotted some of them downing Octavia’s potions.

“Okay, two big ones, but once we get rested we can take them down, right?”

“Right. Liscor’s walls might recharge enough to blast the suckers. Or maybe they can shoot them down. Was that Halrac the Grim I saw on the walls? He took out one of those things himself!”

Dawil nodded approvingly. Erin did too.

“Yeah, that’s right! I think we can do it!”

She broke off as she heard voices. Erin peeked around the door and saw the Drakes from Pallass standing in front of the door. They were still doing their commentary, by the looks of it.

“—seems like Liscor’s managed to repel the worst of the assault, Noass.”

“That’s right, Sir Relz. The swarm seems to have been broken and the last two Face-Eater Moth mothers are circling around in disarray.”

“That’s indeed so, Noass. Did I hear you right? You called them ‘mothers’?”

“Apparently those exceptionally large ones are brood mothers that lay thousands—tens of thousands—of eggs, Sir Relz. It’s a disgusting process.”

“Quite, quite. But they definitely have morale and it is failing. See how they’re circling around just out of bow shot of Liscor? Not a smart move, but then, when have monsters ever thought tactically?”

“Indeed, indeed—oh look, it’s the Human who owns this inn.”

Erin peered through her magic doorway at the crowd standing in Pallass’ street. She eyed Watch Captain Venim who wouldn’t meet her eyes and then the two rich-looking Drakes standing in front.

“Excuse me, some of us are fighting for our lives here.”

“And some of us are watching the show, Miss Human. You seem to have things well in claw anyways. Do you think some of the adventurers who just fought out there would mind coming to the door so we could congratulate them? The Silver Swords did an excellent job, as did the Halfseekers. Taking down a Face-Eater Moth in the sky like that, my word, what a show!”

Sir Relz, the snobby-looking Drake applauded lightly and the crowd murmured agreement. Erin glared at him.

“They’re all tired from nearly dying. And stop telling us it’s nearly over! We get to say that! You get to watch! Besides, those moths aren’t just flying around in a panic!”

“Oh really? Flying in a circle seems to be rather unintelligent to me, wouldn’t you agree, Sir Relz?”

The Drake called Noass smirked. Erin stared at him.

“You’re stupid. And that’s not a random spot. That’s the spot where the Face-Eater Moths crawled up from to begin with!”

Sir Relz, who’d been smiling condescendingly and sipping from a goblet of wine, paused. He stared at Erin.

“It is?”

“Yup.”

Erin glared around. She eyed a Drake in fancy robes who was staring hard at her and the battle outside.

“And what are you looking at?”

She waved at him but he didn’t respond. He looked like he was concentrating hard. Sir Relz on the other hand looked more and more concerned.

“Miss Human.”

“Yeah?”

“When you say the moths crawled ‘up’ out of the ground, do you mean to say you didn’t see the entire swarm fly in? They appeared out of the dungeon, correct?”

“Yup. Five of the nasty ones. Came right out with a shower of water. Like a geyser. Why?”

“Well…how do you know their entire population consisted of only five moths?”

Erin stared at the Drake. Sir Relz stared back. Erin closed her eyes and then someone screamed. She looked over her shoulder as a Drake pointed and groaned.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Another Face-Eater Moth mother crawled out of the hole in the ground. She spread her wings and her brood flew into the air, fresh thousands flying upwards. Erin stared. Then she saw another Face-Eater Moth mother crawl out of the hole. And then another. And another.

Six giant moths flew through the air, chittering, their voices making the wax in Erin’s ears vibrate. She stared at them as the crowd in Pallass went silent and the defenders of Liscor’s walls froze. Her voice was very audible in the silence.

“Oh, we are so dead.”

—-

Zeres here. The situation looks unwinnable. Our [Strategists] predict destruction of the city unless the Antinium are capable of fielding an army large enough to repel the moths.

Pallass. Our [Generals] concur. We are prepared to send a company of [Soldiers] into Liscor to evacuate and hold the walls until the citizens can flee into Celum.

Oteslia. Only now are you sending your forces in? Too little, too late!

Salazsar. Liscor must not be abandoned at any cost. Surely Pallass can send in multiple companies.

Pallass. There is no known limit to the population of moths. We recommend evacuation.

Fissival. Are there any reinforcements that may be called in via Celum? Can Wistram assist?

Wistram. We are unable to send reinforcements. If Liscor could hold out for a day we would be able to teleport a single Archmage to the battlefield.

Manus. Untenable. We may only watch and see what transpires. Let us hope for a miracle.

Silence. The world waited as the Face-Eater Moths flew in a gathering swarm, chittering, angrier and angrier. They seemed equally focused on Erin’s inn as the city—waves of them were already hammering the inn, driven back only by arrows and the exhausted [Mages]. Erin sat in her inn, staring at the six giant shapes.

“We can’t beat them. I mean. I thought we could. We got three! Three! But now there are six. It’s not fair. How big is the dungeon, anyways? Why are they all out here? Why…?”

“Fair’s never a word you should use in adventuring, lass.”

Dawil stood with his hammer in his hands, staring at the swarm. He sighed.

“It was a good fight. Other side cheated, but then, don’t we all? We’ll have to hold this spot. Don’t know what’ll happen if the big ‘uns come for your inn. Your walls might not hold, but we have to stop them long enough to get all those people in Liscor through the door.”

“It doesn’t have enough power for that.”

“It must. Or—could we hide them somewhere else? The dungeon? The Antinium Hive?”

Erin didn’t know. She stared up, helpless. Pallass’ [Soldiers] were going to come through any minute, but she’d heard them talking. They were going to evacuate people, not fight. The moths blotted out the sky, flying higher, laughing at her. She looked up and knew despair. The Gold-rank adventurers couldn’t beat them. Who could?

“Erin.”

A voice spoke softly in her ear. Erin and Dawil turned and saw Pisces. His robes were white and pristine, enchanted against bloodstains and dirt, but his face was sweaty, grimy, and he had a gash down one arm. He looked up at the swarm of insects, and shook his head.

“A calamity if ever I saw one. A truly terrible threat to any city. And yet—I think I have been too arrogant.”

“Pisces. What are you talking about?”

Erin stared dully at the [Mage] as he spoke. Pisces seemed tired, but almost relaxed as he stared up at the swarm.

“I call others fools. I judge harshly—out of pride and vanity it is true, but also a sense of my own self-worth, my own recognition of my talents. But I must admit—I am as idiotic as the next self-satisfied peon at times. We are all fools, and it is wrong of me to judge based on a moment’s failing. But perhaps it is only the truly intelligent that see the truth? Ah, hubris.”

“Pisces, this really isn’t—”

Erin broke off. She had a feeling. A small certainty, a spark of inspiration in her gut. It had nothing to do with her knowledge of magic, of battlefields, or monsters. It had everything to do with how she knew people. She stared at Pisces.

Look at him. Look at his face, his posture, the way he seems to be holding back a smile. Look at his eyes, alive with hope.

Hope.

He knew something. Erin rose slowly.

“Pisces.”

He turned to her, his gray-green eyes dancing.

“I have a plan.”

“You do?”

Dawil stared at him. Pisces nodded.

“It may work. It may drive them off or at the very least, cripple the moths.”

He gestured to the swarm flying higher. More were breaking off, coming for the inn and the city now. She could see the City Watch retreating, pulling back from the walls.

“Pisces, are you sure?”

He looked at her.

“Trust me, Erin.”

She stared at him. Pisces, the unkempt, rude jerk. Pisces, the [Necromancer] who’d tried to rob her ages ago. Pisces, the genius who had been outcast from Wistram. Pisces, who had made Toren.

“What do you need?”

“This space. Your inn has mana—I need as much of it as I can gather. I need Falene’s help, and perhaps Moore’s and Ceria’s as well. But most of all I need to be outside. And the moths will certainly come for me.”

“You need us to cover you. Buy you time.”

Erin looked at Pisces. He nodded. His eyes were on her face, searching, asking for a chance. She stared at him. Then she nodded.

“Let’s do this.”

—-

“And another wave is coming in—looks like five hundred by my count Noass!”

“Five hundred! They need to be downed with arrows—looks like Celum’s [Guardsmen] are taking out some and—Ancestors, look at that bolt of lightning from Liscor’s walls! Looks like that [Tactician] up there had enough mana for one more spell! Good shot too!”

“And here they come. The Silver Swords and Seborn of the Halfseekers are on the front line of course, chopping them down, but there’s only so many blades to go around! Hobs on the right—strange how they’re here but let’s not question it at the moment—oh! And an excellent [Ice Wall] spell from the half-Elf!”

“Indeed Sir Relz! This team of adventurers is quite good—not Gold-rank yet, but they’re a name to watch. Anyone have the name of their team? I think—yes, I think this is the ill-fated Horns of Hammerad, of course known for their defeat in Liscor’s dungeon and then subsequent revival and miraculous find at the Ruins of Albez! This is of course a team that mostly focuses in the north of Izril, but they seem to have come south at just the right time—or is it the wrong time?”

“We’ll know soon. Another wave coming up on the left—”

Erin threw a knife and saw a single moth falter. The Drake [Soldiers] from Pallass raised their shields and one of their [Captains] spat lightning as the moths flew at them. They fended off the assault, to cheers from the Pallassian citizens behind them.

It was so strange. So surreal. It felt like the end of a football game. American football. The crowd was cheering, the players—moths, were trying to score a touchdown—Erin felt sick and tired, but she couldn’t rest. The moths flew overhead, chittering, trying to kill them. But they just had to keep the goal safe. Touchdown line. Whatever.

Pisces stood in a circle with Falene, his arms raised, his eyes closed. She and Moore stood with him, arguing. Well, Moore was sitting—the half-Giant’s face was screwed up with pain as he clung to his staff.

“You don’t know how to perform linked spell casting? What kind of an amateur mage are you? You said you graduated from Wistram!”

Sweat streamed down Pisces’ face as he stared up. He still found the energy to glare at her.

“I did graduate. That was not a subject I studied.”

“It is a basic theory that was taught to all third-year students when I—”

“Shut up or I’ll hit both of you.”

Moore interrupted them both. The half-Giant’s normally kind face was strained with pain and exhaustion. Pisces and Falene glanced at him and fell silent. Erin thought they were only arguing to keep from feeling the strain. The three [Mages] were literally glowing with magic. They were channeling it through Pisces as he did…something. Erin wasn’t sure what, only that it was his plan. Ceria would have joined in, but she was essential to keeping the moths away from the [Mages]. She raised another ice wall as more moths flew and scuttled towards them.

“You’re sure you know what you’re doing?”

“No! Shut up! You’re worse than Ceria ever could be!”

Pisces snapped at Falene, a vein throbbing on his forehead. He stared up again.

“I read this in a spellbook and I haven’t had a chance to try it out! Actually, I read about a completely different spell, but the theory should be the same. It only takes a little bit of energy if done correctly—”

“Hurry up, then!”

Pisces gritted his teeth. He looked up.

—-

“You know, we might not make it. Funny, did you ever think of that?”

Revi gasped for air as she sat on the ground behind the battlements. Her face was white, and she was shuddering. She was using too much mana, Typhenous knew. But her summoned warriors were the only thing holding the wall. The Watch had pulled back, but the moths kept coming and they had to stop them or be completely surrounded. He offered Revi another mana potion but she shook her head. She’d had too many already—she’d thrown up and started coughing up blood. Any more might kill her.

“I always wondered where I’d die. Today might be it. A shame—moths aren’t exactly a glorious death.”

Typhenous straightened. His barrier of winds had grown to encompass the area around them. It was taking all of his mana and he was feeling faint himself. He saw Halrac grimly loosing arrows into the swarm. The man’s fingers were bleeding. Funny, Typhenous could feel nothing but affection for him in this moment.

Revi saw the look. She bared her teeth.

“Good old Halrac. Hey—make sure he doesn’t die before we do.”

“Perish the thought. Oh, look. That Drake is still fighting.”

Typhenous pointed and nearly fell over. Across from them Relc spun and slashed in a sea of dead moths. Some of the Drakes and Gnolls in the City Watch had fallen from exhaustion, but Relc kept fighting, snarling at the moths as more landed around him.

Heroes. They held the wall. Tekshia Shivertail with a barbed spear, Krshia and the Gnolls, grimly fighting with Liscor’s civilians to let the [Guardsmen] rest—and the Antinium. The Painted Soldiers fought on, despite the green blood that oozed from innumerable wounds on their bodies.

Typhenous smiled to himself. Now he regretted his choice of words. There was nowhere he’d rather be in this moment. He stood, proud of the people he was fighting besides and held the barrier of winds for another moment. It was a race. Would his heart stop or would his magic give out first?

“Typhenous. I just wanted to say—”

Revi’s eyelids were fluttering. If she didn’t release her spirits now—Typhenous thought about knocking her out with his staff. But if he did, would they die? He stared up.

Up. There was something going on. Typhenous was no Wistram mage but he could feel it. He stared around, perplexed by the powerful mana he could sense. Where…? Ah, Erin’s inn. Of course. It was a font of magic—no wonder the [Mages] there could keep fighting after so long. But what were they…?

“Typhenous? I lost my magic.”

Revi looked up. The spirits had vanished. Typhenous realized that his control of the barrier had slipped away too. The moths flew closer. Two of the giant ones landed on the wall.

“Two! Alright! Come on then! I guess I get to kill twice as many giant moths today!”

Relc roared as he ran towards the moths. Typhenous barely heard. He stared towards Pisces, Moore, and Falene, and then looked up again.

“Of course! It’s so obvious! Of course!”

“Ty—what?”

Revi looked at him. The old [Mage] grinned at her wildly. He pointed.

“He’s doing it! Young Pisces! Can’t you feel it?”

“No, you know I can’t sense mana like you c—”

Revi paused and looked up. Overhead, the clouds were dark and grey. They’d always been dark and grey. It was the rainy season. But unlike the last day and a half, the clouds were darker now. Stormier. The sky was filled with water after all. It just needed a push. Revi blinked.

And a drop of water fell from above. The Stitch-Woman blinked as it landed on her forehead. Typhenous stared. Another drop fell and struck him on the side of his cheek. He looked up.

It began to rain. First droplets, and then a flurry, then a squall. Then the clouds opened up. The rain fell harder than Typhenous could ever remember seeing, a deafening roar that struck the wet earth, washed the blood from Liscor’s walls—

And hit the moths. The Face-Eater Moths keened as they fell to the ground, unable to fly. The giant moths fell out of the sky as if struck by an invisible hand and they began crawling desperately back towards the rift in the ground. Six fled, slipping on the ground, joined by their brood that drowned as the lakes in the valleys grew and marched. They climbed down into the rift, slipping on the water, fleeing the storms.

Six fled.  Soldiers from Pallass flooded across the landscape, easily dispatching the fleeing moths. They downed one moth with lightning, two with alchemist’s potions, and one with arrows and spears. Two escaped. The rest of the moths disappeared into the rift as Pallass celebrated and the viewers around the world did likewise.

—-

“We’re alive.”

Zevara stood on the walls, unable to lift her sword, barely able to believe it. Her entire body ached. She swayed. The rain fell down, cool and soothing on her scales. Slowly, Zevara looked around.

Olesm sat on the ground, exhausted from directing the battle. He sat on a dead moth—the battlements were covered with them. The Floodplains were filled with dead or dying moths, come to that. Zevara could already see Rock Crabs and Shield Spiders coming out to eat the corpses and soon more scavengers would arise. The corpses would rot—

A problem for later. She stood on the walls, staring at the wounded, the people of Liscor, and the adventurers. A soft footstep made her turn. Tekshia Shivertail stood, leaning on her barbed spear. The elderly Drake looked more alive than Zevara despite her age. She spoke calmly as the storm raged on.

“By the authority of my position as the Adventurer Guild’s [Guildmistress], I, Tekshia Shivertail, declare that Liscor’s Dungeon is Gold-rank. Let no adventurer of lesser standing challenge it. Come, Drakes and Humans and Gnolls of legend. Come challenge this dungeon. Come, for foes and treasure await.”

She stared out across the Floodplains, to where the last giant moth was disappearing into the hole, pursued by Pallassian [Soldiers]. Zevara looked at Tekshia. The elderly Drake smiled at her. Zevara nodded in gratitude and then fainted.

—-

“Excellent work! Did you see that battle! I recognized two of those adventurers. The woman in armor, part of the—what was it? Horns of Hammerad? Yes, that team! And the Silver Swords. Both are Byres children! Dead gods, is that what Yitton Byres lets children do?”

“More like, is that what all of his children do?”

A babble of voices broke out in Lord Tyrion’s command tent. Noble [Lords] talked excitedly, energized by the victorious battle. Tyrion leaned back as the Drake [Mage] in Pallass finally cut the connection.

“I haven’t bought Byres steel in ages. I should place another order—if that’s what their sons and daughters do, I’d hire another team led by one of their family in an instant!”

“Not to mention Griffon Hunt, was it? I know that man, Halrac the Grim. Unfriendly fellow, but did you see him take down that moth?”

“What team had the half-Giant again?”

“Astounding. Absolutely—I shouldn’t think that Liscor’s dungeon would be anything less than a Gold-rank dungeon after this. What treasures must it hold? No, what other threats?”

“Liscor’s survived then. A pity I suppose, but the Drakes do fight like Demons when their tails are pressed against a wall!”

Tyrion looked up at that last comment. He stared at the map of the continent on the table in front of him. The position of the Goblin Lord’s last sighted forces was marked there, as were the locations of a number of other armies, including Liscor’s forces. He nodded to himself.

“A pity indeed.”

—-

“I want reports on all four adventuring teams. The Horns of Hammerad, the Halfseekers, the Silver Swords, and Griffon Hunt. Particularly on that [Mage], the one who cast the weather spell.”

Niers ordered the excited soldiers and students as he and Foliana retired to his quarters. He poured himself a cup of wine, barely able to sit still himself. A dungeon like that, hosting a monster nest of that size! And that was only one monster type in the dungeon, surely. It made him want to go adventuring again. Why, the treasures such a dungeon might hold—

“Interesting battle. Good Liscor’s standing. You’re glad too, right?”

Niers looked up at Foliana as she appeared next to him. He nodded.

“I can only hope that—”

“Your mysterious chess friend is okay? Mm. Think they had something to do with the battle?”

“I have no idea. But I did notice that Drake—Olesm Swifttail? He was commanding Liscor’s defenses. An excellent job for a [Tactician] of his level. I wouldn’t be surprised if he jumps two levels, perhaps three.”

“Mm. Liscor’s a place to watch?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Niers grinned to himself. Dungeons made heroes. Dungeons could make legends. The Forgotten Wing Company had become famous after they had cleared a dungeon like Liscor’s. It made him remember the past and he glanced at Foliana.

“Think we could clear a dungeon like that?”

Foliana blinked slowly at him.

“Hmm. Want to find out?”

Niers stared at her. He could never tell if she was serious. He smiled.

“Got a plan?”

She paused.

“Nope.”

—-

The magic [Scrying] ended, and with it, the need to continue the link. The mages of Wistram relaxed, rubbing at sore shoulders in exhaustion as they finished the spell. They had sent the image of Liscor’s dramatic battle to the entire world—and reaped the benefits of course.

A scrying orb could be used to see what was going on somewhere else. What the viewers around the world didn’t know was that the mages of Wistram had been watching their reactions and listening to their conversations at the same time.

However, the speculations and intrigue would have to wait. The spell had taken its toll, despite two of the Archmages being present. One of them, a half-Elf with a long white beard, looked up as a [Mage] approached him.

“Archmage Feor, did you recognize that young man who cast the rainfall spell? And the half-Elf who cast the [Ice Wall] spell. You don’t think—”

Feor nodded shortly.

“It seems they are still alive. However, I saw one of our graduates, Falene Skystrall, as well. It may be wise to direct any inquiries through her.”

“Of course, Archmage.”

The old half-Elf waited until the [Mage] had gone, then he stared back at one of the many scrying mirrors placed around the room. One of them had shown a large man with reddish-gold hair. Feor frowned.

“What are you up to, King of Destruction?”

The mirror didn’t answer. Feor frowned. Was it just entertainment for Flos? Or something else? He turned away. Magic and mystery and dungeons. He was getting too old for this. Feor spoke to another [Mage] as he left.

“Investigate that door. Make an offer if the [Innkeeper] is willing to sell it. If not—I may have a task for some of our recent graduates.”

“Yes, Archmage.”

—-

So it went around the world. From Magnolia to Wistram, people speculated and plotted. But in Liscor itself, there were no schemes. Just a bit of peace.

Funny how it all worked out. Erin stood in the rain, letting it clean her off, grateful for its presence. Oh, her inn was getting wet, and there was blood and dead moths all over. And all her furniture was broken, and Jelaqua was paralyzed and Octavia probably had a bill worth thousands of gold pieces. And the dungeon was still a threat, and people had died.

But that was all for later. They’d survived. And funnily enough, it had been Pisces who’d saved them all. He stood by himself, just smiling up at the sky. Pisces, the hero. It didn’t sound so bad when you thought about it.

Time enough to weep for the fallen, to heal, to thank all the people who’d fought and look to the future. For the moment, Erin was just grateful. She stood in the rain until she noticed something crawling near her foot. She looked down.

A small Face-Eater Moth was crawling through the rain, trying valiantly to still walk as the water ran past it, trying to carry it into the growing lakes. It looked up at Erin and fanned its wings weakly. It wasn’t so scary when you made them small. Erin stared at it and bent down.

Face-Eater Moths. The first threat of many, perhaps. They’d nearly won, oh, so nearly. But they’d underestimated Liscor and the weather. Erin peered down at it and nodded.

“Welcome to Liscor.”

She smiled at the moth and it waggled its feelers at her. Erin raised her foot and stomped it into the ground. Then she made a face.

“Ew.”

Interlude – Flos

(Volume 1 of The Wandering Inn is now on sale as an e-book on Amazon! Please read this short message about the book!)

“—And it looks like the rain has truly broken the spirit of the Face-Eater Moths. What a dramatic end! A simple climate change spell has reversed the entire battle and indeed, saved the city of Liscor, a stunningly intelligent move by that young mage, wouldn’t you say, Noass?”

“Indeed, Sir Relz. Although I would point out that it was destined to rain sooner or later given Liscor’s unique climate. However, actively encouraging the climate change was a smart move. I can see our fantastic [Soldiers] from Pallass finishing the last of the moths off now. No doubt this will be a hotly debated topic in the days to follow.”

“Without a doubt! This dungeon is unlike any I’ve seen before and it’s—I’m told that it’s being considered a Gold-rank dungeon, and that will play a major role into the politics of the Drake cities and perhaps the Human ones. Adventurers will be coming to claim the dungeon’s riches, but the strategic danger of the dungeon cannot be underestimated. I wonder if Liscor is prepared to handle the influx of both monsters and adventurers into the city?”

“They’ve certainly incorporated a few adventuring teams well. The Halfseekers, Griffon Hunt, and the Horns of Hammerad—all names to watch! Now, let’s go back to the battle. I wonder if we can find someone to talk to? Ah, it’s the [Innkeeper]. Hello Miss, are you—”

Erin gave the two Drakes a bright smile and then slammed the door in their faces. The two chattering commentators went silent. The crowd from Pallass burst out into complaints. They tried to open the door again but it only revealed a brick wall. The magical connection had been severed, at least for the moment, and with it, the [Mage] in Pallass apparently decided his work was done too. The image of the Drake city disappeared and the connection broke.

Across the world, people looked up from their scrying orbs, scrying hand mirrors, enchanted magical pools of water and in one case, a shield enchanted with [Farseeing] and [Clairvoyance]. Some pondered what had occurred while others laughed and went about their lives, thinking of Liscor’s battles as a pleasant diversion, a distraction.

Magnolia Reinhart did not think of it that way. She was immediately in conference with Ressa and a few [Ladies] and [Lords] whom she trusted. Lord Tyrion did not speculate, but rather adjusted his plans slightly. The Walled Cities began arguing with each other and Pallass found itself defending its decisions as all five other Walled Cities blasted the Pallassian army’s lack of support for Liscor.

So it was in Izril. However, in other places, other continents, the reactions of those who had seen Liscor’s struggle was different. The King of Destruction put down the marble-sized scrying orb at last and stretched. Then he began pacing around excitedly.

“What a battle! Tremendous! Those are the kinds of monsters that live in Izril, are they? And they emerged from a dungeon? I had heard of legendary dungeons filled with monsters, but to think they could grow to such size! What treasures must they be guarding? What ancient nation constructed such a dungeon I wonder, and to what end? Gazi, you never spoke of the scope of Liscor’s dungeon!”

He turned, his eyes shining with excitement to stare at the woman sitting across from him. Gazi looked up. Two of her four smaller eyes focused on Flos, her king, while the other two moved around restlessly in their sockets. She opened her mouth and smiled at him with sharp teeth.

“I did not know the extent of the dungeon, my King. To my knowledge, Liscor’s dungeon was only a two-level crypt filled with undead. The true extent of the dungeon evaded my sight. Although I did note the Antinium Hive had dug extensively underneath the city. Their activity may well have concealed the dungeon from my gaze.”

“I see. Perhaps they were aware of the dungeon before now. Ah, but what a city! The Antinium, the fabled scourge of Rhir and Izril, living in peace with Drakes and Gnolls? I saw those—what did you call them? Soldiers? They were painted for battle.”

“Yes. That is new.”

“Intriguing.”

Flos grinned. His face was not as alien as Gazi’s. Where the half-Gazer’s skin was orange-brown and her face was loosely based on a Human’s, Flos was entirely Human. Gazi had no nose, four smaller eyes and one large central eye and ‘hair’ tied back into a braided ponytail. Flos had red-gold hair, a strong nose and features worthy of a statue. He was a [King].

Not just any king. The King of Destruction, a ruler who had once ruled over almost all of Chandrar and been poised to invade the other continents of the world. Flos’ name had been known by every nation under the sun until he had suddenly and unexpectedly given up his dreams of world domination.

He had entered into what many called his ‘slumber’ and his kingdom had fallen to pieces. Most of his vassals had left him and his lands had been reclaimed by his enemies and other nations. He had slumbered for over a decade until two Humans from Earth had appeared in his throne room.

And then the King of Destruction had woken up. He had called his vassals back to him, reclaimed his throne and found the spark of ambition to once again rule. He had called his most trusted followers to him, his Seven, a group of legends that had helped him conquer years ago.

Only three had responded. Of the seven, three were dead. Queravia and Tottenval had been slain before Flos had entered his slumber. Another, Drevish, had been killed by the Emperor of Sands. His head had been sent to Flos and the King of Destruction had vowed to slay the Emperor of Sands himself. And one more, Amerys, had not responded though she was known to live in Wistram, the home of [Mages]. Four of the Seven were absent. But three had come.

Takhatres, Lord of the Skies. The bird-man who led his tribe of Garuda against the Emperor of Sands at this very moment. The fastest being on Chandrar and perhaps, the world.

Mars, the Illusionist. A mighty [Vanguard] and a champion of Flos’ armies. Practically undefeatable in battle, Mars took the appearance of a beautiful woman with magical artifacts while concealing her true nature.

And finally, Gazi Pathseeker, known as Gazi the Omniscient. A Named Adventurer and [Scout] feared for her ability to spot any threat, deception, or spell from miles away. She had returned from Liscor blinded, her central eye damaged by an encounter with a certain [Innkeeper].  She sat before Flos now in front of the campfire.

It was night. In fact, it was so late into the night that it was closer to dawn than not. Liscor was far removed from Chandrar and thus evening in Liscor was deep night for Flos. His excitement had forbade sleeping however, and as the [King] walked around his fire more people sat up.

“My King, it’s late. Wouldn’t it be better to rest now? We have a long day in front of us and it will be dawn in a few hours. Why not lie down until then? My bed is open.”

A sultry voice spoke from the side. Flos glanced over and looked at a beautiful woman lying on the ground. She was half-naked underneath the stars and her skin was dusky and flawless. She looked like some vision of the sands, unreal under the moonlight and the surrounding arid desert. To look at her was to be entranced and one young man sitting around the fire gulped and looked away. Flos just stared blankly. Gazi rolled two of her eyes and tossed a bit of sand.

The image of the beautiful woman flickered just a hair as the sand struck her in the face. For a fraction of a second a shorter, less enthralling woman could be seen wiping sand from her face. Then the illusion returned. Mars glared at Gazi. The half-Gazer only smirked.

“Bad illusion. You need a new artifact.”

Mars the Illusionist narrowed her eyes. She drew the simple blanket more firmly around her body.

“Maybe I’ll get one tomorrow. What about you, Gazi? Going to get a new eye?”

There was an intake of breath from the two other people sitting around the fire. Gazi just grinned, not affected by the jest. She pointed to her closed central eye.

“Perhaps one made of gold. It would do me no worse than my current eye. And look better. Would you like to see what my eye looks like now? It has yet to recover.”

“Pass.”

Mars shuddered and looked away. She gestured alluringly to Flos. He was still staring at the scrying orb, as if hoping it would show Liscor once more.

“Well, my King?”

“What? I suppose you’re right, Mars. Why not, let us sleep for a moment. The bazaar awaits after all. Although I shall hardly sleep a wink after such excitement.”

He sighed but made to lie down. Mars scooted her bedroll closer and Gazi sat up as if to do the same. Flos ignored both and lay down on the ground. He closed his eyes and began snoring within minutes.

Mars and Gazi stared at him. They turned around and looked at the other two companions around their fire. Trey and Teres, the two twins from Earth looked at them. They hurriedly turned.

“Time to go to sleep.”

“Night!”

They rolled into their bedrolls which provided them sanctuary from the cold night air. Mars and Gazi eyed each other and then went to sleep as well. This was Chandrar and this was the King of Destruction’s camp. He was far from his Kingdom of Reim at the moment, having travelled for three days at speed. He was headed to the Jerios Bazaar. Trey still wasn’t sure why.

—-

Morning came too quick and too early. Trey woke up as someone kicked him in the ribs.

“Up.”

He shot out of bed. The kick hadn’t been hard, but the second one would be worse. The young man from England rolled out of bed and looked around blearily. It was still dark! But the smiling half-Gazer didn’t seem to care. Gazi nodded to the campfire where a pot was already simmering. Trey could smell the mild aroma of Yellats cooking with grain. It was a slightly spicy, filling soup and his stomach rumbled at the thought of breakfast.

But breakfast came after pain. Trey got up, grabbing the staff at his side and looked at Gazi.

“Training?”

“Training.”

She grinned at him. Trey groaned in mild resignation. This was always how his day started. At the break of dawn Gazi woke him up. He raised his staff as she led him to a spot just away from the fire.

“Now, cast.”

“[Flash]! [Sand Arrow]!”

The staff that Trey held was expensive and the orb held in place at the top flashed with blinding light as an arrow of sand shot across the desert. It flew past a group of three training with swords. Flos, Mars, and Teres looked up as Gazi nodded.

“More arrows. Hit that rock, there.”

She pointed to a hand-sized rock twenty paces away. Trey squinted to see it and aimed.

“[Sand Arrows]!”

More arrows flew and hit the ground right around the rock. It was a good shot; Gazi looked mildly disappointed. She thumped Trey with the flat of her huge greatsword.

“Aim better.”

Sweating already, Trey did. He kept shooting arrows of sand until Gazi made him switch to casting [Flash] and the other few spells he knew. Trey was a [Mage]. His sister Teres was a [Warrior] aspiring to become a [Blademaster]. Or perhaps aspiring wasn’t the right word.

They were the personal servants to Flos. Or companions. Vassals? It was hard to tell. Trey and Teres followed the King of Destruction around. They were hardly as useful as the rest of his servants like Orthenon, his [Steward], or the other vassals like the stern Venith or his wife, Maresar. But they had knowledge from another world and Flos claimed it was they who had given him the inspiration to wake from his slumber.

So for that reason they were indispensable. And Flos’ vassals had taken it upon themselves to train Trey and Teres to be worthy of accompanying the King of Destruction. There were few [Mages] in the Kingdom of Reim, Flos’ nation, so Gazi was training Trey in the use of magic.

He hated and enjoyed it. Trey wiped sweat from his face in the brief moment Gazi allowed him to rest. He hated Gazi’s strict requirements regarding his aim, the flow of mana in his body, and the speed at which he cast spells. Too slow or off-target and she’d hit him with her blade. But he loved magic.

“Good. You hit the target six times out of eight.”

Gazi didn’t have to turn her head to count Trey’s strikes on the tiny rock they’d been using as a target. Her four smaller eyes could all move independently and they were powerful enough to see through walls and indeed, her head. Trey wondered what her large eye was capable of. He also wondered who would have dared to blind Gazi. She was fearsome, unreadable, and very deadly.

She was also his only friend. If they could call themselves that. Gazi hung around Trey more often than anyone else. She was a loner, but she had formed a bond with Trey after he had objected to a practice the King of Destruction and his nation allowed: keeping slaves. He hadn’t realized it, but the entire continent of Chandrar kept slaves or sold prisoners of war and criminals to the Slave Traders of Roshal in exchange for coin.

Chandrar was the biggest exporter of slaves in the world and Flos had sold off the first army he had crushed to feed his impoverished kingdom. Trey understood the reasoning but he couldn’t accept it. He had argued—futilely—against Flos’ decision and the ensuing fight had driven a rift between both him and Flos and Trey and his sister.

There was still a gap, months later. Trey stared at Teres as she trained with Flos and Mars. The other two warriors took it easy on her despite Teresa’s skill with her sword—she had improved in leaps and bounds and was already a Level 18 [Warrior], soon to become a [Swordswoman] according to Orthenon, her teacher. Trey didn’t know how he felt about his sister becoming a warrior.

He didn’t know how he felt about being a [Mage] to be honest. It still felt like he could pinch himself and wake up from the dream he was in. The King of Destruction? Magic? Levels? He was in a dream—

Smack. Trey staggered as Gazi hit him with the flat of her blade.

“Ow!”

“Enough rest. Give me five casts of [Sand Veil] in quick succession. Change directions each time.”

Okay, maybe he wasn’t dreaming. Trey rubbed the back of his neck and did as she instructed. Training with Gazi was hard. Speaking to Gazi was hard sometimes. But she was a friend. She understood how he felt about slavery. She had been a slave, once.

“Breakfast!”

Flos roared the words at last and Trey sagged in relief. He trudged back to the campfire, already wrung-out by casting so many spells so early. He’d feel better after an hour and some rest; his internal reservoirs of mana would refill. It was important to keep pushing himself, though. According to Gazi, most [Mages] were lazy and didn’t use all the power their bodies were capable of. She intended to make Trey a [Mage] beyond all others. He feared she might succeed.

“What have we here? Yellats? Grain? Ah, what a familiar meal. It feels as if we’ve had it for the last four days in a row!”

The King of Destruction laughed in good humor as he peered into the cooking pot. He was a huge man, muscle without fat, and he always seemed to be bursting with energy. He was also, apparently, over forty years old. He looked more in the prime of his life than Trey did. Flos took a seat on the arid ground and looked around.

“Has the rest of the camp had breakfast, Gazi?”

“They are eating now, my lord. We’ll be on our way within half an hour. We should reach the bazaar just after morning.”

“Good! I haven’t been to Jerios’ Bazaar in over two decades! I hope everything has changed.”

Flos rubbed his hands together. Trey, sitting exhausted next to his twin sister, looked up.

“Your Majesty?”

“Yes, Trey?”

The [King] looked up, pleased to be asked a question. He had striven to bridge the gap caused over the winter and Trey’s willingness to ask him questions was a first step in mending their strained relationship. Trey hesitated.

“Are you—is it truly alright for you to leave your kingdom for so long, your Majesty? Especially right now? You don’t have much of an escort—”

Trey broke off, aware that he was in earshot of the other people sitting at campfires further away. They did not intrude on the King’s personal campfire, but they still sat close enough to defend their ruler at a heartbeat’s notice.

Their escort was a mixture of [Warriors] and [Mages], all of them elite. The band of String People warrior-mercenaries known as the Serpent Hunters and the small coven of [Mages] known as Parasol Stroll had joined Flos’ kingdom during the winter. Both groups of his former vassals were incredibly dangerous and they had been selected to follow Flos wherever he went.

Flos only smiled as he saw Trey looking at the robed men and women holding parasols over their heads and the silent men and women with stitch-marks around their arms and legs wearing dark green armor.

“My escort is more than enough to handle any [Brigands] or monsters by themselves, Trey. We could handle a small army with Mars and Gazi! Never fear that I’m undefended. Besides, we are travelling to Jerios and the Bazaar does not tolerate armies marching upon it. As for your second question—this is an important trip firstly, and secondly, my kingdom is well-attended in my absence.”

“But you just fought a war. Two wars—”

Trey had been there. He had ridden with Flos as the King of Destruction had fought off the first armies that had come seeking his destruction. After his grand defeat of the coalition army besieging his capital city at Reim, the King of Destruction had led his army north against two of the kingdoms that had caused him harm.

The Kingdom of Germina ruled by the Quarass and the Kingdom of Hellios. Both nations had sent an army to trap Flos by slaughtering his people as they fled towards the city and very nearly succeeded. In return, Flos had marched his armies into their kingdoms and destroyed both. The memory made Trey shiver and Flos saw it. The King of Destruction smiled gently, not quite looking at Trey.

“Orthenon is more suited to the job of managing the kingdom, Trey. He is quelling unrest in both nations and ensuring law and order. A [Steward] can do such things, oft times better than a [King] can. Besides which, my face would only spark more hatred in both nations at the moment.”

That was certainly true. Trey remembered the sight of Flos’ armies besieging the capital of Hellios and fighting Germina’s armies on the field. It had been a slaughter. With the defeat of the coalition army, no other nation had been willing to come to the aid of either kingdom. And in a one-on-one battle against the King of Destruction, no small nation had a chance.

It had been so quick. Before the winter had begun to set in, Flos’ armies had marched north at speed. He had taken Orthenon, Mars, and Gazi, leaving Maresar and Venith to guard the kingdom in his absence. The conquest had taken less than two weeks. Hellios had surrendered unconditionally as the King of Destruction’s armies had marched across their borders and crushed their army. The Kingdom of Germina had not.

—-

Blood. It ran hot on the dry ground, quenching it. There was smoke in the air, though there was precious little to burn. The kingdom of Germina built its city out of mud brick and stone. Now Flos’ army flooded through the streets, forcing frightened civilians back, pursuing the stragglers of the Quarass’ army.

Trey rode ahead, following Flos as the King of Destruction charged his mount towards the squat palace that was home to Germina’s ruler, the Quarass. It was an ancient building, grand because it was so old. It had been decorated with reliefs showing previous rulers over thousands of years. Flos rode into the building, his armor bloodied. Gazi followed, a swift shadow by her king’s side.

“Trey, come on!”

Teres’ eyes were blazing. She had fought in the last battle, though she had mainly been protected as she rode with the King’s vanguard. Trey had stayed with the [Mages] and thus not had to fight. He felt sick. The battle had been a one-sided slaughter. The King of Destruction had rode through the lightly-armored ranks of Germina’s army, cutting the [Soldiers] down by the thousands with his army.

The twins pursued Flos and his personal vanguard. Trey could hear shouting behind them as the rest of the army spread out to seize the city. Orthenon was overseeing the surrender and Mars was fighting the last of Germina’s forces that had refused to surrender.

It felt wrong. Too easy, almost. It was hard to call war unfair, but after seeing Mars fight, after seeing how helpless Germina’s army was against the high-level vassals Flos commanded…Trey thought Mars could have destroyed Germina’s army by herself if she had enough time. She’d slain the Quinfer, the Germina army’s champion, in a duel that had lasted only a minute. Then she’d charged into the ranks of the army, ignoring the soldiers as they tried to batter her with their weapons.

Unfair. But the Quarass had sent a [Mage] to kill Flos. He had slaughtered the civilians that Flos had rallied to fight the army that had ambushed him. Flos had given the Quarass one chance to surrender. She had refused, sending his messenger back without the hand that had delivered the message. Now Flos rode into her throne room, Trey and Teres following just in time to see the Quarass rise from her throne.

She was an old woman, older than Flos. For all that she had an imposing presence, an aura of authority. It was powerful and made Trey halt. But if she was a candle, Flos was the sun itself. He dismounted from his horse as Gazi slew two of the soldiers who rushed towards him. The King of Destruction strode towards the Quarass, his bloody blade in hand.

The Quarass didn’t flinch. She raised a hand as Flos approached her.

“Wretched [King] of Destruction, I would speak with you—”

She never got a chance to finish. Flos strode up the dais and beheaded her. It was so quick that Trey was left gaping. Flos turned as the throne room erupted into screams. The Quarass’ court threw themselves at the soldiers following Flos or fell to their knees. Flos raised his sword and bellowed.

“The Quarass is dead! Throw down your arms or join her! Her crimes are not Germina’s! Join her, loyal citizens or surrender!”

His words had provoked a bloodbath in the throne room, but the streets went quiet. Soldiers and citizens of Germina had fallen to their knees, weeping, and Flos’ banner had flown over the city. Trey remained in the throne room, just staring. The Quarass’ head had been placed under a shroud but her headless corpse sat against her throne where it had collapsed. He thought she was still staring at Flos.

Staring at him.

—-

“Trey?”

Trey jerked and realized he’d been lost, staring into the fire. Teres was looking at him. He knew his feelings were written on his face and turned away. It didn’t help. Teres had been born only moments before he had and the twins shared the closest thing to a psychic connection.

“Hey, it’s over.”

Hesitantly, Teres hugged Trey. He let her do it, although the contact was awkward. Everything was so much harder now. He hadn’t forgotten their fight and she hadn’t either. But she was comforting.

The King of Destruction had slain the Quarass. Trey didn’t understand Chandrarian politics, but he understood that it was a massive event that had scared and outraged the other kingdoms. However, they were loath to march against Flos and risk the same. So they had secured their borders and threatened war should Flos so much as sneeze in their direction. The King of Destruction had been content to simply claim the lands of Hellios and Germina for now and thus no further wars had taken place yet.

At least Hellios’ ruler was still alive. Queen Calliope and her son, Prince Siyal, were captives in their own castle. Their deaths would have sparked a bloody uprising throughout their nation. Their lives prevented the same—Hellios’ army had laid down their arms almost to a man rather than keep fighting. A good thing too—Flos had made it clear that he would behead both royals in an instant had they attempted to stir insurrection.

The image of Flos with bloody sword in hand was at odds with the man peering into the cooking pot and asking Gazi what seasoning she’d used. When he was not at war or enraged, Flos was full of life and energy, hard to anger and impossibly fascinated with the most minute details of his citizen’s lives. He seemed bigger, and drew the attention in any room he entered. Mars had once joked that Flos could pass wind and still appear more kingly than half the [Kings] on the continent. Trey believed her.

Flos was one of the highest-level [Kings] in the world. Perhaps the highest—his true level was unknown, a closely guarded secret. But his Skills were incredibly powerful. They were all geared to war, making his kingdom prosperous in times of strife and impoverished at all other times.

Hence their meal. Flos waved away a hovering Stitch-Woman who inquired whether he’d like a meat breakfast or lizard’s eggs or any of the other luxuries his people would be only too happy to provide him. He’d been asked the question every morning and his answer was always the same.

“I like simple food. I will be fine, Xeritha. Thank you for your concern.”

The Stitch-Woman withdrew. Trey, who sometimes thought his purpose in life was to ask the obvious questions to amuse Flos, raised his voice.

“What’s wrong with your breakfast, sire?”

It seemed that people really objected to Flos eating the stringy, spicy vegetable called Yellats. They were a staple of the Chandrarian diet and tasted a bit like sweet potatoes if you made them spicy. Trey quite liked them.

Flos exhaled slowly as he peered into the simmering cook pot. He took out a bowl—a wood-and-silver carved piece that Trey was sure was not standard for camping and filled it with a bit to taste. He replied as he gently smacked his lips together, savoring the hot stew.

“Yellats are considered a poor man’s food, Trey. They are filling and easy to grow on this continent—more so than any other plant in fact. This poor soil and the heat will kill potatoes in a drought, but Yellats can survive extended dry spells. They are ideal in my opinion and I have grown up enjoying them. But to other nations they are a symbol of poverty. Other monarchs would starve themselves before eating a meal such as this.”

Flos shrugged, not at all concerned by this fact. He began pouring the hot soup into bowls and passing them around the fire. The King of Destruction delighted in such things, apparently. To him, activities like serving others or cooking was a luxury to be enjoyed when he was travelling abroad. In his palace and with his subjects Flos was waited on hand-and-foot.

“Come, let us eat and be off quickly! I wish to be at Jerios soon!”

He began to eat his food rapidly and Trey quickly blew on his food and did the same. Life moved at Flos’ pace, which was to say, fast.

Within twenty minutes they’d struck camp. The String People loaded their bedrolls and supplies onto the pack horses and camels. Trey had been surprised that Chandrar had as many horses as camels—his image of the Middle East was limited at best. He was just as glad to mount the placid mare that Flos had picked out for him. He knew the camels were tetchy even with experienced [Riders] or [Animal Handlers]. He’d seen one spit right in the [Packmaster]’s face one time.

“To Jerios!”

Flos shouted in good spirits and his warriors cheered and set off. The King rode up and down the line of warriors and attendants, talking with them briefly, sometimes clapping a hand on a shoulder. His presence seemed to inspire regardless of whether he spoke for a few minutes or just a second. Trey watched the King of Destruction leave his subjects with glowing smiles.

“He is beloved. It isn’t just his Skills—a [King] who truly cares for each of his subjects is a rare sight in any land.”

Gazi rode next to Trey, at ease on her stallion. He glanced at her. The half-Gazer wore her brown scale armor like always. Her greatsword she carried around sheathed on her hip—but only when she rode. It was actually too long to carry that way when she was walking on the ground so Gazi kept it on her back. When Trey asked if it was hard to draw the sword, Gazi had just laughed and told him that anyone trying to catch her off guard would have to be very fast indeed.

Now the half-Gazer stared at her King with one eye, her other three scanning the desert landscape for danger. It wasn’t all desert of course—there were places with a lot of greenery and life. But the lands close to Reim had big arid spots due to the lack of water. Water was a resource prized as much as gold in Chandrar. Although gold was important too. Which was why their trip to the Jerios Bazaar intrigued Trey so.

“So this bazaar. Why are we going again?”

Gazi half-turned in her saddle although all of her eyes remained focused in other directions. Trey tried not to shudder as the half-Gazer smiled at him. It was her fake, small smile she always wore.

“Simple, Trey. The Jerios Bazaar is an annual gathering of [Merchants] and other sellers of goods. It has more treasures to be bought and sold than most nations will ever possess. It is an important place to visit should you desire valuable artifacts.”

“Right. So why does the King of Destruction want something from there? And if he wants something—why not take it?”

“His Majesty is not a thief.”

Gazi looked reprovingly at Trey. She turned and nodded to a speck in the distance.

“Besides which, if my lord wanted to seize the treasures of the bazaar he would have to send a very large army to take it. As it stands, we who have come with him are a capable escort of defending him, but little more.”

“You’re joking. Aren’t you a Named Adventurer? And isn’t Mars—”

Trey looked at Mars riding ahead of them, making ribald jokes with a [Mage] carrying a parasol. Gazi nodded.

“Mars is formidable. But the [Merchants] have many guards and artifacts to defend themselves with. She is only one person in the end. As for myself—I would not arouse the wrath of the entire bazaar at any cost. The sellers and buyers unite in the face of threat and there are most likely a number of individuals there that could best me.”

“Really?”

A nod. Gazi gestured to her closed middle eye. Trey had never seen it open, but he had seen the pus and liquid that had trickled from it in the first few days when Gazi had returned to the kingdom. He wondered if it could heal—Flos had talked about finding a healing potion strong enough to regrow Gazi’s eye.

“Without my main eye I would be considered a high Gold-rank adventurer, not Named. My lord as well.”

“Flos? But he’s—”

“Strong! But not that strong, Trey!”

Flos had overhead their conversation. He rode back, laughing as he gestured to the sword at his hip.

“I am strong, Trey, and an experienced warrior. I could best a Gold-rank adventurer with the strength of my arm alone, but that does not make me a Named Adventurer! To become a famous hero known across the world I would have to be truly outstanding in some way. Gazi obtained her title thanks to her eye—she is virtually impossible to ambush with it and she can cast spells with it. Her armor and blade is also of the highest quality.”

“But you’re the King of Destruction!”

Flos laughed again.

“What is a [King] without an army, Trey? The answer: he is still a [King], but again, without an army. And this king lacks both armor and sword. Had I my old arms I might have been a Named Adventurer, indeed. But I have neither armor nor sword nor any of my enchanted rings or other equipment. That is one of the reasons I ride to Jerios—to find a sword capable of surviving more than a few blows in my hands.”

He gestured at the steel sword at his waist. Flos did have a habit of wrecking the swords he was given. His remarks made Mars turn her horse backwards, frowning.

“What? My King, what happened to your old blade?”

“I gave it away.”

Flos smiled as Mars gaped at him.

“That was a national treasure!”

“I know. But I had no need of it and so I gave it to a [Soldier] when I went into my slumber. I wonder where it is.”

“But your sword—what about your armor? Your helmet? Your lance?”

“Those too. I gave each piece away.”

“Your rings? The [Ring of Health], the treasure that you took from the treasury of Armil?”

“And that. All gone. I regret it in hindsight.”

Flos laughed hugely as Mars spluttered. He waved a hand as if brushing away all his lost treasures.

“Mars, they served no purpose in my grief. Besides, it is more entertaining to rebuild my armory this way. I hated my old armor anyways. It was enchanted with a [Featherweight] spell and I hated having to strap it down or have it bounce about every time I moved. I’m in mind for some heavier armor, enchanted of course, but with a different focus…”

They rode on as Flos began talking animatedly about armor with Mars arguing for certain enchantments, vouching for armor enchanted with magical shields, disputing the notion that swords enchanted with [Sharpness] were better than swords enchanted with [Weight] and so on.

Trey listened with half an ear. It sounded like a discussion between people playing a tabletop game or a video game, but it was all real and those discussing it were deadly earnest. He watched as a collection of tents came into view.

The Jerios Bazaar was based around an oasis and it was a sprawling, noisy affair this early in the morning. It was also magical. Trey could see [Shopkeepers] and [Traders] displaying artifacts, showing them off by conjuring water out of the air or letting customers test their products. But he also saw signs of the visitors’ wealth—there were summoned servants flying through the air, djinni who appeared as sometimes humanoid, sometimes outlandish shapes that were half-corporeal, embodying the element of air or fire or some other aspect.

And beyond them? Trey saw someone sitting on an elephant arguing with a man on a camel on where he could rest his mount. He saw a magic carpet flying through the air and a screaming man drop—

The entire caravan groaned and Flos grimaced as Trey looked away.

“Ah. That’s why no one rides those things. Looks like the bazaar is just waking up.”

“You call that just waking up?”

Trey stared as a [Mage] arguing with a [Merchant] at a stall turned and vanished in a puff of smoke. The Jerios Bazaar was filled with amazing people and surprisingly, very few of them looked inclined to cause trouble. Indeed, if there was thievery it was only going on in an economic sense. Pickpockets and thieves were in grave danger in the bazaar. Trey saw a man turn as someone grabbed a pouch at his belt.

“Stop, thief!”

The cloaked figure ran with incredible speed through the crowd. He got fifteen paces before a man with a huge chest full of hair and a skullcap stabbed him in the chest. The [Thief] ran backwards, screaming, and was enveloped in flame, shot with two arrows and struck by a being made out of lightning. His corpse was quickly tossed out of the bazaar.

“Don’t cause trouble.”

Flos smiled as he approached the bazaar. Trey eyed him with trepidation because the King of Destruction was nothing but trouble. However, Flos touched an amulet on his chest and Gazi and Mars both twisted rings and they turned into different people as they approached the bazaar. Flos grinned down at Trey through a face ten years younger with dark skin and black hair.

“Surprised? I wouldn’t walk into the bazaar with my face, Trey. Believe it or not, I can be cautious.”

“Won’t the [Mages] be able to tell you’re under an illusion?”

“Oh, most definitely. But anonymity is prized at the bazaar—many of those visiting are wearing a disguise of their own.”

Flos flicked his fingers dismissively. He eyed Gazi—the half-Gazer had turned into a woman with long flowing locks of blue hair and starry eyes.

“Gazi, that illusion is ridiculous.”

“Blame Mars. She lent me the rings.”

“They’re for my use, not yours.”

Mars, a redhead dressed in impractically revealing armor shot back. She gave Flos a charming smile.

“Shall we, your Majesty?”

“Indeed. Let’s set up camp a ways away from the Bazaar. Hasil, Fellif—”

The leader of the Serpent Hunters and the [Mage] who spoke for Parasol Stroll rode towards him. Flos nodded to the bazaar.

“Don’t let more than eight of your people enter the bazaar at once. Keep the rest at camp—I will be going into the bazaar for the day.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

Hasil, the dark-skinned Stitch-Man bowed, his hand on his poisoned scimitar. Fellif, the Human [Mage] with a sharp goatee nodded.

“Do you require an escort, your Majesty?”

“No. Mars and Gazi will be enough. Trey and Teres will follow me naturally; I will browse quietly. Weapon stalls I think, although Gazi will look for a healing potion for her eye.”

“We’ll split up? How much coin do you have, Gazi?”

The half-Gazer reached for her belt pouch.

“Hm. Enough. I have several thousand gold pieces and enough to barter with. My lord?”

“I have ten thousand gold pieces in my bag of holding.”

“Ten—”

Teres choked as she stared at the small bag at Flos’ side. This one wasn’t the typical leather pouch that inconspicuously hung at Gazi’s waist—it was a black-and-ruby affair, taken from the Quarass’ treasury. As had the contents of the bag, Trey suspected.

“That’s not much to buy with, sire.”

Mars looked concerned at the small amount that Flos had brought. The King of Destruction smiled.

“I have a number of jewels I found as well. But I intend to spend lightly, Mars. Most of the gold must go to my kingdom and arming my soldiers. I simply wish for a decent quality sword. You recall I broke the last one?”

“Wasn’t it enchanted?”

“Poorly. Spells can break just as easily as steel if you swing hard enough, Teres. We might see about getting you a blade as well—Mars, how much gold do you have?”

“More than you. I fought as a mercenary for a decade, my King. I could buy you armor as well—”

“Mm. A few artifacts might not go amiss. A shame djinn are so difficult to manage or I’d seriously consider a flying army of them. Remember the Kingdom of Oleis? Fantastic at harassing the enemy. But now that I think of it, a flying carpet—”

They began heading into the bazaar. Flos had elected to dismount so they all walked on foot, joining the crowds of people walking past the open tents that had been set up. Some were magical, so the tents were larger on the inside than the outside.

Trey gaped at the objects on display—there were magic scrolls, floating orbs, and then things that didn’t look so magical like rich saffron being sold by the pound, sheaves of high-quality paper, food and ice being offered by some food merchants—it was a feast for the eyes, ears, and nose. Almost overwhelming, in fact. Trey looked at Gazi. She was following Flos as he looked around animatedly, talking loudly to Mars and Teres.

“Are you going to shop by yourself?”

Gazi turned. She had no eyebrows to raise, but Trey saw her skin move in the same way.

“Would you like to come with me?”

“I…wouldn’t mind.”

Gazi smiled. It wasn’t that Trey wouldn’t mind following the King of Destruction, it was just that he liked Gazi’s company.

“Very well. My king—”

She broke off as their group of five passed by a crowd. The man who had fallen off the carpet had survived his fall, but had broken both his legs in multiple places. He was screaming for help as [Traders] clustered around him, offering him a number of objects.

“Sands, my legs! My legs are—healing potions, please!”

“Can I interest you in a bone regrowth potion sir? The finest to be had for miles—”

“Pain numbing tonic? Just a whiff and you’ll be free of pain—”

“Would you like me to retrieve your carpet sir? My djinni can find it for a nominal fee—”

The poor man reached for his money pouch as Flos passed by. The King of Destruction turned his head as he looked around.

“Blacksmithing…I’m sure there’s an entire row of tents devoted to weapons. Ah! Well, we’ll find our way there eventually! Gaz—I mean, Gabrielle, are you going?”

The half-Gazer bowed slightly.

“I will return within the hour, sire. May I take Trey with me?”

“Oh? But I had hopes to enjoy—well, if you wish.”

Flos frowned slightly, looking almost hurt that Trey wouldn’t follow him around. It would be him asking Trey exactly what he found familiar from his world and his opinion on everything, Trey knew. Teres was giving Trey a look that told him to stay and join in her suffering. Trey gave her a guilty grin.

“I’m sorry, your m—sire.”

“Far be it from me to distract you. Besides which, you might keep Gazi occupied. Don’t start a fight if someone insults my name, Gazi. And keep Trey safe!”

Flos sternly instructed Gazi before turning and staring at a stall filled with scrying orbs and mirrors and so on.

“Now here’s a shop that catches my interest! I could have watched the battle at Liscor far more easily and without hurting my neck with one of these. [Shopkeeper], how much is this orb?”

He held up a yellow sphere that shone with inner light. The man who hurried up to him with a welcoming smile had a turban on his head and silk clothing.

“Ah, a good eye sir! Eight thousand gold pieces.”

“For an orb this small?”

Flos looked dismayed. The man bowed his head slightly.

“Ah, it’s not just scrying, but records memory as well! Hence the price. Did I hear you say you observed the most entertaining affair in Liscor?”

“We did! However, my scrying orb was only so big—”

Flos indicated the marble-sized object. The [Shopkeeper] tsked.

“A true shame! For a distinguished personage such as yourself, you should have one at least the size of a man’s head! Allow me to walk you through my wares—did you know more broadcasts are occurring?”

“No! Truly?”

“Yes!”

The [Shopkeeper] smiled as he showed Flos a huge orb which a crowd of people were staring into. Trey and Gazi paused to stare at another image flashing across the orb.

“It seems Wistram’s ability to link the orbs of scrying is a service they are willing to offer to more than Drake cities. Look—this is a mock battle by the Titan himself in Baleros!”

A tiny figure was standing on a podium in the sphere’s image. As Trey watched, whoever was keeping the image steady shifted, and he saw a row of soldiers with wooden spears fending off a cavalry charge. The projection was being watched with fascination by the crowd.

“One of the Titan’s students set it up. There are [Kings] and [Lords] and countless others watching this at the moment. I believe Wistram intends to offer this service at a great price.”

“I see.”

Flos narrowed his eyes as the ‘Titan’ stood on a dais, shouting orders that were transmitted out to his army. Trey saw his hands clench for a second and saw Mars and Gazi shift and look at their king.

It was Niers Astoragon who slew Queravia, the Gambler of Fates. Trey shivered as he saw Flos’ gaze darken for a moment. But then the King of Destruction was talking animatedly with the [Shopkeeper].

“So any orb can be turned into a…a recording device for such a projection? Is such grand magic possible?”

“If Wistram wills it…ah, but I believe a mage must transmit the image. These humble orbs only convey the image that Wistram sends. Speaking of which, may I interest you in…?”

“This way.”

Gazi murmured and tugged Trey’s arm. He followed her into the crowd, peering back over his shoulder and for a second regretting not staying with Flos. Then he turned back to Gazi. He had to focus on her back to avoid getting lost in the crowd!

“Where are we going?”

“Healing potions.”

Gazi raised her voice to be heard. She led Trey through the crowd. The young man looked around from stall to stall. So many things on display at once! He thought he saw the row of tents Flos had mentioned, where armor and blades were being sold. And…were there actual [Blacksmiths] making weapons at this moment? He heard a clang, looked to ask Gazi about it and realized he’d lost her.

—-

“I’m telling you, this isn’t a good blade. Show me a better one.”

A few minutes later, Flos was arguing with a [Merchant] over a blade. Teres and Mars found him pointing at a shimmering saber that sparked with lightning. The disguised [King] looked disgusted as he held the saber up. The [Merchant] pursed her lips.

“What is wrong with that blade? You picky Humans! This one is enchanted to shock your enemies! Simply but tap your opponent and they won’t be moving any time soon!”

She was a Stitch-Woman. Flos shook his head.

“It’s fragile. The enchantment’s no good and the blade’s—what, pure silver? An enchantment on that won’t last.”

“Oh? And you’re an expert on blades?”

The [Merchant] was either inexperienced or had misjudged Flos entirely. He smiled.

“Give me a warhammer. Ma—Maven?”

Mars plucked a warhammer off the racks and tossed it to Flos. He set the saber back down and raised the warhammer. The [Merchant] raised her hands and screeched.

“What are you doing?”

“Any good sword can take a blow like that! Any enchanted blade should be able to take an unenchanted maul’s strike, or the enchantment is no good!”

Flos raised his voice. He’d attracted a crowd, which listened to him speak about blades. He raised the faulty saber, pointing to the silvery metal.

“A blade is only as good as its [Blacksmith], regardless of the magic put on it! If you bought this blade for anything more than four hundred gold coins you lost your deal, Miss Merchant! This is a half-decent enchantment but the blade will shatter far, far too quickly! I’d rather have an unenchanted blade of quality metal than an enchanted blade that will break after hitting a shield!”

He tossed the saber back on the rack as the [Merchant] went pale. Several people in the crowd nodded appreciatively, agreeing with Flos’ assessment. The King smiled and turned to Mars and Teres who’d gone shopping elsewhere.

“Any good shops?”

“Some decent swords among the trash. I’ll show you.”

Mars led Flos and Teres through the crowd, pointing out the good picks she’d spotted. Teres watched attentively. She had her own sword that Orthenon had given her, but the magical swords fascinated her. Flos just shook his head time after time, though. He stopped at a well-stocked tent and spoke to the [Merchant] waiting on his customers.

“Have you no enchanted swords worthy of a Gold-rank adventurer or better?”

“Ah, sir, I have this new blade that is enchanted with [Petrification]—”

“But the steel’s poor!”

Mars and Flos objected almost at the same time. Teres stared at the blade, unable to tell the difference. Flos looked dismayed.

“I could pay to have a better enchantment put on the blade here, or have it done later! What about your unenchanted blades? Show me your best—do you have any Dwarven-made blades?”

The sweating [Merchant] hurried into the back and his slaves came out with an assortment of blades. He was on trial as the crowd that followed Flos had gathered again. The [King] was simply too loud and too amusing to ignore, and his opinions solid. Flos inspected one blade and grunted.

“Better, but this is still only adequate for an enchantment. Do you truly have no masterworks? Something made by a Level 40 [Blacksmith] or better?”

“Honored guest, these are Dwarf-forged blades.”

“I have no doubt. But I’m talking about real Dwarven craftsmanship. Not just their mass-produced arms.”

Flos turned away when he realized the [Merchant] had no idea what he was talking about. He walked through the bazaar, talking to Mars and Teres.

“Perhaps I thought too highly of Jerios’ markets. Then again, truly masterwork blades would be rare…I wonder if it wouldn’t be better to have a blade forged myself and enchanted here?”

“We can look among the [Blacksmiths], but I don’t know their levels or the metals they work with, sire. I saw one tent claiming to work with pure mithril. A blade like that would hold an enchantment, but pure mithril? I suspect it’s a trick.”

Mars made a face. Teres stared at the blades Flos had so dismissively discarded.

“What did you mean, ‘real’ Dwarven craftsmanship, Flans? Do you mean all that’s fake?”

“Not at all.”

Flos grinned at Teres, enjoying his fake name. He pointed at another row of Dwarf-quality blades on display.

“Dwarven-made weapons vary in quality, but the Dwarves are good [Blacksmiths] and their steel is pure. It’s an indication of quality, but most of the blades are simply better than regular. You might as well turn to a [Blacksmith] on your continent with a higher level for a good sword. However…I know there are better arms made in their mountain home, however seldom.”

“Really?”

Both Mars and Teres stared at Flos in surprise. He nodded and bought a few kebabs for them to eat while he explained. Flos tore the hot meat off a skewer as he spoke.

“Back when my kingdom first expanded, before I had met you, Mars, I decided to invest in my army. I had obtained a fortune from the kingdoms I had destroyed and so I ordered a massive shipment of Dwarven arms from Terandria. We sent a fortune to the Dwarves, in exchange for arms for over a thousand soldiers as well as personal armor and a blade for Gazi.”

“And they delivered?”

“No! That was the curious part of it. The Dwarves failed to provide a tenth of the arms I paid for—they had overcommitted and suffered a disaster in their forges or so I was given to understand. They were unable to repay me either—so they sent me a set of armor and blade for Gazi instead.”

“One blade and suit of armor?”

“The very one she wears. And if it seems a poor repayment Mars, it was not. I don’t know what [Blacksmith] made the armor, but it was worth far more than I paid—than I could have paid at the time, I believe. You know Gazi’s scale armor, Teres, and her blade? Neither one is enchanted.”

“What?”

Mars raised her voice, attracting attention. She lowered it and hissed at Flos.

“It has to be! That armor’s been through more wars than—I’ve had to replace my armor three times and I buy the best-quality armor money can afford!”

“Nevertheless. It was made by the truest of experts. I’ve never inquired as to the make of the armor as I doubt any of my [Blacksmiths] could hope to replicate it. It’s a masterwork, Mars. In the mountains there are some Dwarves who truly know metal.”

“Incredible. And you hope to find a blade like that here? I think I would have noticed such a weapon.”

“Indeed, it would be a long shot. And I am more interested in that scrying orb in truth. What that [Merchant] said about anyone broadcasting their image…”

Flos looked back in the direction of the scrying orbs then turned to Teres.

“You said it’s familiar to something from your world, Teres. What was it you mentioned?”

“Television.”

“Ah, of course! You did tell me about it, but I had imagined something entirely different. And this is similar?”

“Well…”

Teres hesitantly explained as Flos listened with growing interest. She didn’t like the look in his eyes when she talked about news appearing all over the world. Teres cursed Trey and hoped he was having fun wherever he was. She was going to kick his butt for leaving her behind when she met up with him again.

—-

Nawalishifra Tannousin tossed her head and grabbed the hilt of her dagger. She was nearly out of patience with the man in front of her. She would have drawn her blade and stabbed the man twice if she could have gotten away with it. But doing so would scare away other customers and she and her people needed this sale. So she kept her voice pleasant, though her every instinct railed against her acting like a common [Merchant].

“It is simple, you oaf, you! Look, this is Naq-Alrama steel! Pure ingots, forged in the heat of my people’s forges, may the dunes take me if I lie! It is not some metal you find lying about on the streets or melted out of cheap steel! It is magic and enchantable and I am selling it to you!”

She glared at the dark-skinned [Trader] who was blinking hard in obvious confusion. Though he looked accustomed to the sun, Nawalishifra was sure he was a city-dweller, not a true son or daughter of the sands. If he was, he would not ask so many foolish questions.

Her skin was far darker than his, and Nawalishifra had to shift her veil not to inhale it as she talked. She knew she was not what he had expected—there were few women in her clan who could swing a hammer, and she was the only [Blacksmith] in her clan worthy of the class. That was the problem, sadly.

“I don’t understand. This metal’s special? But it’s an ingot. Why haven’t you made it into a sword? It’s useless as it is.”

Nawalishifra turned red and gripped the hilt of her dagger. She didn’t know what would come first, dagger or sharp words, but another young man pushed forwards. He had too wide a smile and was too unctuous as he bowed to the man in front of him. She wouldn’t have minded it save for the fact that he was her brother, Allaif. He stepped in front of Nawalishifra as she glared at him.

“Sir, please excuse my sister, ill-tempered though she is from standing out in the sun! She does speak a truth however. The metal is yet to be smithed, but surely an outstanding buyer such as yourself can see the merits of buying the steel as it is! It is ready to be shaped, into shield or sword or mace or arrowhead! And the metal is magic, as my unmarried-and-ill-mannered sister says.”

His ill-mannered sister glared and folded her arms. They were standing in the shade, in near darkness, in fact! The tent’s flaps had been veiled to let as little light in as possible—too much might spoil the quality of the ingots before they could be smithed. Her ears burned with shame—because Allaif’s frantic explanations covered up the truth that the buyer had gotten too near to.

The ingots were less useful, for all they were pure Naq-Alrama metal. It would be far more proper to sell a blade and Nawalishifra was sure it would be ten times as valuable as the next cheap artifact she’d passed on display in the bazaar. But her clan couldn’t forge and sell such a blade—at least, not sell and forge it.

Allaif’s talking had gotten the interest of some other buyers. They clustered around the metal. One, a rich [Merchant] dressed all in silks, sniffed as he eyed the metal. He knew the worth of Naq-Alrama metal, Nawalishifra was sure. But he was skeptical.

“I can see the value of forging a blade, but can any [Blacksmith] manage such a feat? I am told the metal is tricky beyond belief to manage.”

The question threw Allaif, but it was Nawalishifra who interrupted. She gave the men her best smile and felt like her teeth were falling off as she gestured to the ingots.

“Not so, good sirs! The metal is tricky and requires smithing only under the moonlight until quenching, but the trick of shaping the metal is easy indeed. Why not let my humble self show you?”

She led the men outside and, cursing at having to waste the precious metal, took one of the wasted ingots that had been damaged by sunlight on the journey here. Nawal hammered the metal rapidly in the shade, pointing out how to hammer the metal just so to make it move correctly.

“It is all about temperature, honored guests. And the striking must be precise. Six strikes here, see? One, two, three—and then another two here! Thus the metal moves. And care must be taken not to allow it to reduce in heat below a threshold—the forge must be hot, and no magic fire can be used at any time. Fold the metal and then apply the powder and oil mixture before quenching the blade in light-bathed waters—”

She went down the list of details and specifications, noting the dismay on the faces of her customers. Allaif was grimacing at her to stop, but Nawal had memorized this routine by heart and she knew misleading a customer would ruin the metal and throw her clan’s name into the wastes. If selling the ingots as they were wouldn’t do so already, that was.

“So many steps!”

The knowledgeable buyer shook his head. Allaif hurried over to him, fawning in a disgusting manner.

“We can repeat and write down the instructions to your pleasing, good sir. The metal is ready to be forged and any high-level [Blacksmith] can make a blade beyond all others out of it!”

Nawal glared at her brother. Write down the secrets? They were already compromising all of their clan’s crafts by giving away the ingots! But they had no choice. She would have rather torn off her veil and walked the bazaar naked, but their clan depended on the sales they earned from the bazaar. If they had to sell secrets to survive this year, so be it.

“I will think about it. Perhaps I will return on the morrow again.”

That was all they got from the well-informed buyer. The rest left without so much as that vague promise. Allaif walked back to Nawal and she glared at him.

“I think he might buy if we lower the price more, sister.”

“What? We will barely have enough to eat with on what we are selling already! And what was that disgusting display, you dog, you?”

Nawal snapped at her brother. He glared at her.

“Do not blame me for making the best of a bad situation! We must sell the ingots, and it is more profitable to sell them and earn goodwill with a [Merchant] or other faction than to hold onto them and starve with them sitting uselessly in our homes.”

“Useless? A blade forged of pure Naq-Alrama steel is—”

Nawal choked on her words. Her brother shook his head slowly and pityingly.

“Useless since no one can forge the metal in our clan but you, dearest sister. And what manner of fool or coward would use a blade forged by a woman?”

That was true. Nawal knew that no self-respecting warrior in the Bazaar would do so. She hung her head as Allaif turned away. Her clan lived closest to the desert and made their fortune with their signature steel. However, calamity had struck them not half a year ago and thus the metal they had meticulously refined over the course of the year was useless. She turned away, despairing, as Allaif looked around.

Their tent was guarded by other members of their clan, warriors armed with weapons that were mere alloys of Alrama steel and not pure metal. Nevertheless, the weapons shone in the light such that they looked enchanted when they had yet to receive a [Mage]’s enhancements. They were still magical, though, so there was truth to the glimmer. It was all the advertisement their tent needed; in truth, Nawal’s clan would have had visitors queuing up to bid on their blades any other year and her clan’s warriors would be needed to guard the tent. But not this year.

“I must make arrangements. I believe I can sell the ingots. For a better price than we might get if we had swords! Just hold here and—do not scowl at anyone who comes in!”

Allaif made extravagant promises as usual as he hurried out of the tent. Nawal glared at his back, suspecting that he was going to get drunk and cause trouble as usual. How could the same seed of her father’s loins be so useless in him and the wrong gender in her? If he was alive he might have died again just to see this sight. She turned away from the stacks of beautiful ingots and saw someone pushing into the tent’s flaps.

“Hello? Are you looking for our blades? We only have ingots for sale.”

Nawal called out, too tired to pretend to be happy to see the visitor. To her surprise she saw a pale-skinned foreigner enter the tent. His skin was far too pale for the hot sun and he jumped at being addressed.

“Ingots? Sorry I’m—a bit lost. You don’t sell swords? I’ll be going.”

He backed up towards the entrance and Nawal’s pride flared.

“We used to sell swords. The finest blades you will ever see, my word on it! Don’t back away, you milk-skinned fool, you! Come and see true metal, if only once in your lifetime!”

Her words made the young man stop. He approached the table and gasped as he saw the Naq-Alrama steel.

“That’s…is that magic metal? Some kind of special metal?”

Proudly, despairingly, Nawal nodded.

“It is Naq-Alrama steel.”

She looked at the young man’s blank face and scowled.

“Naq-Alrama steel! Have you never heard of it?”

He hadn’t. She grumbled under her breath.

“Ignorant foreigners. Listen well. This steel is magic, forged of the sands, refined through heat and kept from any—any sunlight! Such is the nature of the metal that it can endure any pressure when quenched in sun-filled waters. It will hold enchantments with ease and the blade itself cuts through magic like water. If there was ever a blade for one who seeks to do battle against [Mages], this is it! You could make a blade worthy of a [King] out of these ingots which we will sell for handfuls of gold!”

She raised a fist and nearly struck the metal, but held back, knowing the blow would only freeze her skin to the ice-cold ingots. The young foreigner looked impressed, which warmed her heart slightly.

“That’s incredible. If you’re selling them so cheaply, why not have someone make a sword out of—”

“We used to do that, you idiot, you!”

She shouted at him and the young man flinched. One of the [Caravan Guards], Hesseif, poked his head in and Nawal gestured to him that it was fine. He gave her a nod and resumed watching for thieves. Nawal sighed as she looked at the young man.

“We had a [Blacksmith] of renown who shaped the blades. He created less than ten per year, but they earned enough for our clan to thrive! But he died—his heart gave out last year.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. But can’t you get someone else to—”

“No. The techniques are too hard to learn overnight! It takes years of practice and of all whom my father taught, only I learned enough to shape the metal.”

The young woman laughed at the young man’s confusion.

“But if you can do it, can’t—”

“Who would use a blade forged by a woman?”

Who indeed? Women could be warriors, but they weren’t capable of making steel, that was a fact. It was a truth among Nawal’s people that women were impure—the metal grew to develop defects if they shaped it. Her father had broken with tradition because he needed a helper, but he had forbidden her from entering the forge whenever her blood flowed throughout the month and of course Nawal was forbidden from shaping any blade herself.

She could make armor so long as no one knew who had done most of the forging and goods like nails and so on, but never blades. So her father had said while she hammered in the forge and he claimed to have made each blade himself with her ‘help’. He had given her a chance, but he was dead and no one else would touch a blade she made, however keen.

The young man didn’t seem to understand that. He was a foreigner and wrinkled his brow. Was he a [Mage]? He was certainly no warrior of the sands, accustomed to blood and glory.

“I don’t know about people in your tribe, but I know someone who probably won’t care if you forged the blade. He just wants the best blade in the world. And if your uh, Naq-Aama—”

“Naq-Alrama.”

“Right. If that steel’s the best he might buy it. Why don’t I ask him?”

Nawal stared at the young man, and a sprig of hope entered into her heart.

“You? You have a master?”

“What? No! I’m not a slave—”

“But he’s wealthy? A man of power? How much might he spend?”

“Uh—he said he has at least ten thousand gold pieces, but I think he might spend more—”

Ten thousand gold pieces. It wasn’t a lot, but the thought of actually selling a blade had Nawal’s mind racing. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? Sell to foreigners! Surely there were some who wouldn’t mind how a blade was made so long as it was sharp! Drakes, perhaps? There were rumors that there was a great dungeon filled with monsters on their continent. Perhaps if she—

“Sister! Wondrous news!”

A loud voice came from outside. Nawal’s heart sank. She hurried out of the tent, making sure that the layers of flaps prevented any sunlight from touching the inside of the tent and came outside with the young man to see Allaif, standing in front of the tent and grinning broadly.

He was not alone. The rich [Merchant] from before and a man with a whip at his side were behind them, along with a group of armed thugs. Nawal eyed them with distaste, noting their cheap iron weapons and marking the man with a whip for what he was—a [Slaver]. Not of Roshal, clearly; he was probably just a local [Slave Trader] who dealt with the impoverished and desperate.

Nawal glared at her brother as he smiled broadly at her. He looked too happy, as if he was pulling one of his tricks on someone. They had always landed him and the people around him in deep trouble.

“Allaif, what is this? I have a buyer for our steel—”

“As do I, sister! All of it!”

“What?”

Nawal’s eyes widened and she saw the other members of her clan start. Allaif had found a buyer? But—she looked back at the young foreigner. How much had he compromised to sell all of their ingots? Allaif rubbed his hands together, looking proud of himself.

“We will earn as much as we would for a commission on blades, sister! This generous [Merchant], Sir Redif, will buy all the ingots from us at such a price!”

“At what cost?”

There had to be a trick. Nawal eyed the [Slaver] with apprehension. Allaif spread his hands, looking wounded.

“Sister! I made the best deal I could, for the clan! I gave away only one thing to honored Redif.”

“Which was?”

“You.”

Allaif smiled at Nawal as the ground fell away under her. He spoke quickly as a rumble sprang up from the other clansmen.

“It is the best offer! The best! We will be paid richly and you, dear sister, will be sent to show any [Blacksmiths] how to forge Naq-Alrama metal! You will be able to continue helping around the forge—and find a husband if honored Redif is generous. It is for the clan, sister.”

Nawal just stared. Slavers? Her father had banned slaves from the clan two decades ago, before she had been born. Metal forged with the weight of shackles was impure as that of metal made with dishonest deeds or blood, or so he had said. She stared at her brother, her brother.

“You cannot sell me, Allaif.”

A flash passed across Allaif’s eyes, one of his dark moods nearly escaping.

“I can and will. I am our representative and I speak for our family and clan with our father’s death.”

“You are not worthy of licking his boots, you spineless worm!”

“How dare you!”

He raised his hand and Nawal gripped her knife’s handle, making Allaif hesitate. The [Merchant] interrupted impatiently.

“Enough! This isn’t a debate. I have papers proving my ownership of both the Naq-Alrama metal and Nawalishifra Tannousin.”

He brandished a sealed parchment, signed in blood. It was a binding contract. Nawal looked at it and felt her stomach drop. He’d actually signed it. Without asking, without thought. Allaif smiled victoriously as the other Tannousin clansmen muttered curses.

“Sister, is it really too much to ask? You will be well treated, privileged even! Our father was mad for letting you hold a hammer, but I have given you the same honor. Do not make this harder than you have to.”

“No struggles, girl. I’ve broken more new slaves than I care to remember.”

The [Slaver] grinned as he unslung his whip and his thugs drew their weapons. Nawal walked slowly over to Allaif. He smiled at her.

“Ah, sister. Do you see reason?”

“Goodbye, brother.”

Nawal stared into her brother’s eyes. He tried to look remorseful, but just looked insincere. He bent to embrace her and she drew the dagger. And plunged it into his chest.

Allaif gasped and his eyes went wide. There was a shout from behind him, but too late. Nawal’s voice was low as she felt blood rush over her blade.

“I renounce you, I renounce you, I renounce you.”

She whispered it into Allaif’s ears as he choked, and then twisted the dagger. He gasped and clutched at her shoulder. Then he fell backwards.

The [Merchants] and [Slave Trader] stared at Allaif in shock, and then backed up as Nawal retrieved her dagger from her brother’s body.

“There will be no sale. And I am no slave. Honored buyers—I regret to tell you my brother erred in selling me and my clan’s wealth.”

Nawal smiled very politely at the pale-faced [Merchant]. The man gaped at her and then colored with outrage.

“Insolent woman! You may have killed Allaif, but the contract—”

He flinched as Nawal swung her dagger and spattered the contract and the [Merchant] with blood. She cleaned her dagger with a handkerchief as she spoke calmly.

“I have renounced him three times. He is dead to my clan and I, and no longer of our blood. Any contract he signs is dust.”

Her clansmen appeared behind her, and Nawal was relieved to feel Hesseif’s presence at her back. The [Slaver] eyed her and cracked his whip.

“Is that so? Well, I have a contract and I say we enforce it right now. There’s always room in my train for more slaves, and breaking a contract is a crime!”

He raised his whip to strike at Nawal and there was a flash of light. Nawal blinked as the young foreigner blinded the [Slaver] and his thugs, making them hesitate. She felt Hesseif shift and readied herself for a bloody battle, but in the moment the light had flashed someone had appeared next to the [Slaver].

“I wouldn’t start a fight.”

A tall woman with blue hair and starry eyes, a vision of perfection, stood next to the [Merchant] and the [Slaver]. She wore brown scale armor made of a metal that Nawal had never seen before and held a greatsword in one hand. The woman smiled slightly as she held the greatsword underneath the slaver’s throat. He gulped and cut himself.

“I am a [Slaver]—”

“With a bad contract. You heard her.”

The woman nodded at Nawal. The [Merchant], pale-faced, backed up a step.

“Harming a [Merchant] in the bazaar—”

“Who said anything about harming? I’m simply defending a [Shopkeeper] from being illegally made into a slave. If you want to try and enforce your contract, I’ll defend her. And myself. Starting with your head.”

Her voice was loud enough for the other people watching to hear. Nawal admired her poise. This foreigner woman had the respect of the bazaar, and could slice apart the [Slaver] and his thugs without repercussion if they called her bluff. And the [Merchant] knew it. He backed up and the [Slaver], realizing the same, fled. The thugs he’d hired melted away as the young man turned.

“Gaz—”

She slapped a hand over his mouth and he staggered. She stared at him and his eyes widened.

“Gabrielle! I thought you’d lost me!”

“I didn’t lose you. You wandered off and I was waiting for you to find me. But you found something interesting so I decided to wait.”

Gabrielle, the mysterious woman, turned to Nawal. She had a slight smile on her face.

“So you’re a Tannousin [Blacksmith]? You, a woman?”

She knew about Clan Tannousin! Nawal straightened, pride in her voice.

“I am. Though I may be a woman, I am the only successor to my father’s craft, master that he was. I can forge true blades of Naq-Alrama steel, woman-touched though they may be!”

Her announcement drew a murmur from the crowd, a disapproving one, but Nawal only had eyes for Gabrielle and the young man. They looked at each other and the young foreigner spoke.

“I think our uh, master won’t mind that Gaz—Gabrille. What do you think?”

“I think he would accept such a blade gladly, no matter what hands touched it.”

Gabrielle looked thoughtfully at Nawal.

“Do you truly claim to have your father’s skill?”

Nawal drew herself up, her eyes flashing. She raised her voice as she stood with her brother’s dead body lying at her feet. She would grieve for who he was and who he had been later. But this was pride and steel—it was the pride of her clan.

“Lead me to your master, foreign warrior! Pay my cost and I will forge your master a blade sharper and finer than any he has laid eyes on in his life! My oath on it! I swear it on the body of the man-who-was-my-brother, cursed be his name!”

She pointed at her brother with her dagger and the young man flinched. But Gabrielle just smiled wider.

“Good. In that case, come with me.”

She turned and began to stride through the bazaar. That was a bit too sudden even for Nawal. She hesitated as the young man turned.

“Um, this way. Sorry, I never got your name—”

“I am Nawalishifra Tannousin, a [Blacksmith]. Who are you?”

She stared at the young man, all pale skin and awkwardness. But he had surprised the [Slaver] with magic. And he clearly knew this Gabrielle. Who was his master? The young man smiled at her and Nawal drew her veil further over her face in embarrassment.

“Me? I’m Trey.”

—-

Trey had had weird days, but it felt like they all paled in comparison to an ordinary day around Flos. Even when he wasn’t here, things got weird. He now stood in a bazaar with Nawalis—Nawalishif—Nawal, a [Blacksmith] wearing a veil. She seemed calm, despite having stabbed her brother through the heart moments ago.

Gazi was equally calm as she stood at ease, sheathing her blade on her back. She didn’t seem bothered by the death either.

“It was her clan’s politics. Her brother would have died had she gone with the [Slaver]—his people would have beaten him to death the instant they were alone.”

“Oh. But Nawal—”

Gazi smiled. Her illusionary face stayed the same, but Trey knew one of her eyes was fixed on Nawal as the dark-skinned young woman began shouting at the rest of her clan standing behind her.

“Well done in finding her. I’ve heard of Clan Tannousin before. They can outsmith a Dwarf. Most Dwarves, at any rate. If this young woman can truly smith  Naq-Alrama steel, she must be at least Level 30. Probably higher.”

“What, her?”

Trey stared at Nawal as she shouted animatedly at her fellow tribes people, cursing them and exhorting them to clean up the body and keep the light out of the tent at all costs. He turned to Gazi, embarrassed.

“I didn’t do much. I just wandered in by accident and when I heard how good the blades were, I thought of his M—you know who.”

“Indeed. And I thought the same thing and let you enter the tent.”

Gazi smiled as Nawal strode over to them. She looked far more cheerful despite having just lost a brother.

“Lead on then, Trey and Gabrielle! Take me to your master and I will see what blade he wants! I will offer him a discount he does not deserve—more if he will buy all the metal we possess! Assuming he has coin of course.”

“He has that, and he will buy every blade you can forge.”

Gazi assured Nawal as she led them through the bazaar. Trey couldn’t help but notice that they were being followed by some of Nawal’s clan members. Probably for her protection, although Trey didn’t think he’d stand a chance. She’d moved very quick with that knife of hers.

“So where is he? Have you a camp? We must talk details and I must see your coin.”

Nawal was impatient. Gazi just smiled. She looked amused for some reason and Trey began dreading why.

“He is just up ahead. At that tent.”

It was a familiar tent, the very same one they’d passed by upon first entering the bazaar. It was the one with the scrying orbs and as Trey saw the huge crowd gathered around it, he heard Flos’ voice. He was shouting loudly, standing in the middle of the bazaar, and his illusion was gone.

Flos, the King of Destruction, stood in front of a [Mage] from Parasol Stroll who was holding a scrying orb up at him. He was speaking into it, his voice booming, the people around him looking awestruck or terrified as the Serpent Hunters and Parasol Stroll formed a protective wall around him. Mars stood behind the King of Destruction, as he spoke into the scrying orb, addressing an unseen audience.

The entire world.

“I am the King of Destruction! I have returned! If there is any nation that seeks my end, come! Send your armies to me! But I will not make war on any nation that treats my people and my kingdom as friend! Let any who crave glory flock to my banner, and any foe of mine quake behind your walls! I am Flos of Reim and I have awoken!”

Trey covered his face. He wished he was dreaming. He turned and saw Nawal staring at Flos, her face suddenly dead-white. He could hear the voices.

“The King of Destruction, here?”

“Impossible.”

“Amnesty? He wants adventurers and warriors to join him?”

“He won’t declare war?”

Flos continued, his voice a roar.

“The Empire of Sands is my foe! I will slay the Emperor of Sands myself! As for Wistram, send Amerys to me! Return to me my [Mage] or I will sail upon your walls and break your academy into dust! I say again, I will make war on no nation that does not attack my people! But the blood of Drevish stains the Empire of Sands and I will return the favor a hundred thousand times over!”

He went on, shouting into the orb, his image captured, his words projected across a thousand scrying orbs in a thousand spots across the world. Gazi turned to Nawal and smiled.

“That is our master.”

“Him? You mean—”

The young woman had lost her self-assurance. She stared at Flos as if he were, well, Flos, the King of Destruction. Trey saw her pale as she recalled her bold claims of a moment ago. Gazi just smiled wickedly.

“So, a blade worthy of a [King], and one my lord has never seen before. Your oath on it.”

She looked at Nawal and the young woman glanced at Trey and then at the King of Destruction.

She fainted. Trey caught her just in time and looked up to see Flos, the King of Destruction, grinning at him out of a thousand scrying orbs. He gestured, and the world followed his every word. In a bazaar, standing in front of a dusty tent filled with scrying orbs, Flos sent the pillars of the world quaking and laughed as nations and [Kings] scrambled to catch up. Somehow, Trey had expected nothing less.

5.09 E

I dreamed I was sleeping in my bed, with worried voices speaking loudly overhead. I couldn’t tell who had trespassed here, only that they had come in secret and stood around me, speaking anxiously and quickly. As I was dreaming I missed most of what was said, but I knew it was important. I tried to remember, to grasp the words as they flitted by, but like memory and water they flowed away, leaving me only with an impression. Snippets of a conversation.

“Is it time…?”

“I don’t think so.”

“…sure?”

“….we’re early. We….here!”

“…trouble!”

“Let’s….”

“Wait!”

“…We’re not…”

“…remember to….”

“…!”

“And…! …okay? Remember!”

“Quick…before—”

And then I woke up.

Day 85

As dreams went, it wasn’t the worst I’ve had by far. Not the best either—it was mainly confusing. I’ve had good dreams and bad dreams aplenty. Of course, I don’t remember most of them and I never ‘see’ dreams.

Because of course, I’m blind. Hello, I’m Laken Godart, [Emperor] of the Unseen Empire. Protector of Durene’s Cottage, sovereign of the village of Riverfarm, Windrest, Tunslaven, Kiquel…and so on.

I’ve got a lot of titles. A lot of power. And yet, it feels like only yesterday that I was a normal young man walking around in San Francisco. Forever ago and yesterday. Strange—I sometimes forget what my friends’ voices sound like. There are so many around me each day, asking me questions.

“Laken, do you want eggs on your uh, weird potatoes, bacon and onions?”

Sometimes the questions are good questions and come from people you love. Nevertheless I roll my eyes as I get up.

“No eggs for me. And it’s call bratkartoffeln, Durene. Honestly, I keep telling you. How hard is it to remember?”

“Hey! I try, but—oh, you’re joking.”

I smile to myself at the sound of Durene’s voice. I can tell she’s in the kitchen, delicately stirring the fried potatoes with a long-handled spoon. She transfers the hot food to a plate and comes to sit by me as I dress and move towards the small table in her cottage. I have a chair—she uses the floor. We’re still pretty much on the same level because she’s a good bit taller than me. Bigger, too.

She’s half-Troll. And a [Paladin]. It’s a long story. I eat breakfast happily with Durene, talking about the day until a loud squawk interrupts us. A large and, apparently, blue bird is making a racket. She smells breakfast and wants in.

“Shut up, Frostwing.”

I toss some bacon at her and sense her catch the bit of meat and worry at it. Placated for a few moments, I turn back to Durene and keep eating. It’s wonderful to be able to sense where every part of your meal is on your plate. It’s what I always imagined sight to be like, but better, since I can sense everything in my domain. And that means I can sense everything from Durene scratching her leg to Frostwing behind me, to the Mossbear snuffling around our front door—

“Um, Durene. He’s back.”

“Is he?”

Durene gets up and I sense her opening the door. Feel it too—it’s no longer cold and the breeze actually feels quite nice. Spring is finally here. Durene shouts at the large bear outside.

“Go on, shoo! I’ll feed you breakfast later!”

The bear whuffs and I raise my voice.

“Bismarck—heh. Bismarck, go on, leave the door alone!”

I snort a bit as the bear obediently backs away. Yes, I named the bear Bismarck. I think it’s funny and it needed a name. Especially because it’s now my pet. Or something.

[Lesser Bond: Bismarck]. I received it yesterday after I finally came up with a name for him. Bismarck was just called ‘Unnamed Mossbear’ before that. Apparently I tamed him by feeding him and having him fight in a battle alongside my people. Now he lets me ride him, hangs around the cottage for food and in general pesters Durene.

“Shoo! I’ll give you potatoes later! And don’t you dare dig up my garden! It’s all growing, understand? Leave my plants alone!”

Possibly only Durene could push a bear off her property. She’s actually stronger than the Mossbear, and the Mossbear’s bigger and tougher than normal bears to boot. Durene chalks it up to her [Enhanced Strength] and her other new Skills, but I wonder. Trolls are said to be extremely strong and tough, but they can’t gain classes or level.

As a half-Troll Durene seems to have the benefits of both her Human and Troll heritage. Not that it helped her before she met me. She was an outcast, barely tolerated by the village. Only when I became an [Emperor] did everything change.

“Oh, how much it changed.”

I mutter to myself as I stroke Frostwing’s head. My lovely, stupid bird snaps at the meat I offer her.

“Soon you’re going to have to hunt for yourself. You can fly, and it’s a waste of good meat to keep feeding you cow and pig. How do you feel about rats?”

She poops in her nest. I sigh. Animals, Durene…what else? Well, there’s the young man waiting patiently outside the gate. I keep telling him not to do that, but Gamel is my [Knight] and seems to believe I should be attended at all times. Since the villagers agree with him, it’s hard to tell him to stop. Plus, it is convenient.

Time to start my day! I stride outside as Durene, grumbling, chucks potatoes at Bismarck. Apparently bears can eat potatoes and he chases after a spud as I walk past. I wonder if this is what it’s like having a dog?

“Good morning, Gamel.”

“Your majesty.”

Gamel bows. Quite smoothly too. He must have been practicing. I nod at him and square my shoulders.

“Time to start the day. Durene, I’m heading into the village.”

“Wait for me! I just have to—no, Bismarck, there are no more potatoes! Go eat some berries!”

Disappointed, the Mossbear ambles out of the cottage gates as Durene hurries into her cottage. I sense Bismarck heading into the forest now that breakfast has been served. He’ll scavenge for food until dinner or when I call him. I’m fine with that. I know some people would prefer me to ride him around everywhere but I like walking and Bismarck is not that comfortable to ride.

“I wonder if someone can make a saddle for him.”

“The bear, sire? I will ask Mister Prost about it right away!”

“No…”

I grimace and wave a hand. This is the problem with being an [Emperor]. Everyone takes my words as a command. And that can be a big problem.

“We have more important things to do than waste time with saddles for bears, Gamel. Maybe once we finish construction and get everyone settled.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Right.”

I wait until Durene comes out of the cottage. She’s got a greatsword and she’s tying it to her belt. It’s old and she doesn’t have a sheath—the greatsword is made of iron, not steel. Even so, she’s killed two Hobs with it and a score of Goblins.

Durene, my [Paladin], and Gamel, my [Knight]. Their lives were shaped by me. I saved Gamel’s life. Kept him alive when he was dying. I ordered him to live and he lived. He has never told me whether he resents that order.

The cottage that we leave behind is mine. The dirt road that we walk down is mine. The village we enter is mine, as are all the people inside. I claimed it. I claimed the land around here, marked it with totems proclaiming the borders of my empire. So I can ‘see’ the entire area around the village if I concentrate. I can sense the hundreds, no, over a thousand people in this area alone busy at work this early in the morning.

I sense houses going up, people carting timber to the areas under construction, the [Farmers] hard at work to the north in the new fields, the [Blacksmiths] at their forges, working to produce nails and hinges and so on for the construction. Riverfarm was a small village of just over a hundred people. Now it is turning into a city.

There’s a method to the chaos. It might seem chaotic at ground level—I wouldn’t know. The babble of voices greeting me, the sounds of horses and people shouting at each other is confusing for a blind man. But I can view the village from above and get a very reliable idea of how things are laid out.

“Good, we’re still on track. Gamel, is Prost supervising the building?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“We’ll go see him, then. Durene?”

“I’m going to help carry stuff, Laken.”

“I’ll see you later, then.”

I part ways with Durene, knowing she’ll be carrying trees around and helping people lift things too heavy to carry without a team. I’d like to stay with her, but I have my duties too. I am an [Emperor], and my job is to oversee…this.

An empire. Or the beginnings of one. It’s small, and by small, I mean that it only has a few thousand people in it, but that’s a frightening number of people to house, feed, and protect every day. They’re all villagers, the people of Riverfarm, Windrest—villages that were raided by Goblins. Oh, and a town. The town of Trottvisk declared itself part of the Unseen Empire just the other day. It happens.

So much to do. I wouldn’t know where to start—but I have some advantages. My Skills as an [Emperor], my knowledge from Earth, my home, and my counselors. I might not know how to take care of so many people myself, but if there’s one thing I know from Earth, it’s that delegation is key.

In fact, my coming from another world is probably my biggest asset. One day I just appeared in this world. And while all the scientific knowledge in the world wouldn’t protect me from monsters or starving to death by myself, it does help when I’m a leader of a large group of people. One of the things I brought from my world to this one was the idea of sanitation.

Obviously, people didn’t eat everything with dirty hands in this world before I came along, but they didn’t consider washing hands essential and they sometimes built their outhouses and latrines way too close to the water.

That’s changed now. I walk towards a man directing people to dig the latest public outhouses away from the river that gives Riverfarm its name. He stops, turns to me, and bows the instant he notices I’m here.

“Emperor Laken, sir!”

Prost, my [Steward] has also changed markedly since I first met him. He was a [Farmer] who barely tolerated Durene and couldn’t accept that she and I were living under the same roof. Now he’s my right-hand man who oversees construction, settles minor disputes, coordinates things like food, housing—all the things I’m bad at. I nod to him.

“Mister Prost, how are we doing today?”

“Another four houses built since you last visited, sire!”

“Four? But I was here last night!”

Prost beams. I can sense it and hear it in his voice.

“Yes, your majesty. But we had a night team working and they’re quick! Don’t fear that people minded the hammering—we sleep like rocks unless there’s an alarm called!”

I have to shake my head. Another of my Skills is [Blessing of the Hearth], which allows people a comfortable night’s sleep even if they’re lying on the floor. I had no idea it could be used this way, but that’s the thing about leading, or so I’ve learned. It’s about combining multiple perspectives to achieve the best result.

“Well, carry on Mister Prost. I just wanted to see if there were any new developments.”

“In the construction? No, sire. We’ve been keeping to the directions you gave—it’s very simple to understand!”

“Is it? Good, good.”

My directions. As I said, I can see the entire village and my empire with a bird’s eye view. That means I’m uniquely able to visualize the layout of the buildings in my head and organize it as best I can. However, there’s a lot to take in.

“Just let me know if you see any issues arising regarding wells, proximity to the outhouses and so on. We want everything within reach and I’d hate to know that we didn’t build a large enough road or something.”

“Yes, sire. Don’t worry, I’ve talked it over with the other [Village Heads] and [Farmers] and so on. They all agree your plan for the city is sound.”

One of Prost’s new talents aside from all his organizational skills seems to be reassuring me. I leave him to it. The village does look good in my head. I tried to copy it over as best I could to a map, but sadly I still can’t read books with my [Emperor] senses. I had to describe it and trust that everyone understood what I was talking about.

Creating a village. Planning it out with access to water, food, keeping houses away from [Blacksmiths] who are noisy, and organizing a central road that splits off into smaller paths—it would be a challenge for an [Architect], and I have absolutely no training in this area. However, I did my best. In fact, coming up with a design for my new empire reminded me a lot of video games—or rather, what I imagine video games are like.

It’s hard to play a lot of games when you’re blind. Board games sort of work, but anything with a strong visual component? No thanks. I did have friends who told me what it was like, though. The friend I was hanging out in San Francisco with, Zoe, she told me about a game. Age of Empires II or something. She described it like this, where you direct people around, lay out your kingdom, and defend it from enemies.

In my head, I’m thinking of where monsters or bandits might come from, how we’re going to expand—because we will expand, I’m sure of it—the placement of other villages, and of course, how to patrol the entire area I’ve claimed to keep it safe. I get headaches just thinking of all the problems. And people do this for fun?

“Gamel, I think I’ll look at our crops today. I see Wiskeria and our guest are near the farms so we’ll visit her on the way.”

“Very good, sire.”

Though Prost is my [Steward], I’ve assigned him to worrying about construction and farming for the most part, which he knows the most about. However, I have two other people I regard as my counselors. I go to meet both of them now. They’re standing near the farms, talking with their own crowds of people.

One is a woman on horseback with a pointed hat and spectacles, overseeing the deployment of armed men and women. The other is a woman wearing a dress, out of place among the more simply dressed folk. But she is also in the thick of things, speaking eloquently as people bow to her and hurry off.

“Lady Rie, Wiskeria.”

I greet them as I approach. The two women break off immediately and come to me. Rie curtsies and Wiskeria dismounts to bow slightly. Wiskeria is a [Witch] and my [General] tasked with defending my empire. Lady Rie is a [Lady], formerly the landowner of some of the villages and towns around here.

After Goblins attacked her mansion, Lady Rie pledged herself to my service. I was the one who led an army to save her, but I was surprised by her request to become my vassal. It’s been three days since she came to Riverfarm and she’s already assisted in numerous ways.

“Good morning, Emperor Laken.”

“Morning, sire.”

The two greet me, Rie formally, Wiskeria informally. I nod to Wiskeria and incline my head to Lady Rie. There is a difference and according her the status of her rank is important. Lady Rie is good with people. She is a [Lady] after all, and as the last member of the Valerund family she knows how to organize and settle disputes.

“Lady Rie, thank you for your help. May I ask if there are any new developments?”

“None worth speaking of, Emperor Laken. However, I urge you once again to entertain the notion of an audience with some of the local nobility. I could arrange the meetings quite easily.”

I grimace and cut the motion short. Lady Rie has been floating the idea past me for the last few days.

“I understand your desire Lady Rie, but I have no desire to enter the political world just yet.”

“I fear it is far too late for that, your majesty. Your presence alone is significant, and I worry that the other nobles will take your expanding empire as a sign of…”

Rie hesitates delicately. I fill in the gap for her.

“Danger?”

She shifts ever so slightly.

“Perhaps. Which is why an audience may allay their worries. I have no doubt the other [Lords] and [Ladies] who own lands in the area have already investigated your presence, your majesty. They will be cautious, some afraid—but the truth is that there is a surplus of lands and not enough of the aristocracy to manage the land. Your presence may be quite beneficial so long as the other nobles are assured that their lands will not be encroached upon. And you are needed. Many villages lack a local [Lord] or [Lady].”

“Is that a bad thing?”

The practice of landowning seems medieval to me—not the act of owning land, that’s as common as landlords, but the idea of owning everything on a piece of land, including the people. I don’t see why anyone would want that, but Lady Rie seems surprised by my question.

“Having a [Lord] is quite beneficial, Emperor Laken. Some would consider a village or town not protected by some kind of landowner to be very dangerous indeed, or at the least, troublesome.”

“How so?”

Wiskeria stands patiently to one side, listening, and I sense the crowds of people either moving away on business or waiting for me to finish. I feel as though I’m interrupting important work, but I am the [Emperor]. Teaching me important facts is quite necessary if I’m to lead well. Rie explains as I stand patiently with Gamel behind me.

“When my family was alive we managed a huge area of land. It is not simply protection we offer, but justice. We enforced laws, settled disputes, collected taxes, and dealt with disasters and monster attacks as they emerged—ruled in short. Each [Lord] is a [King] of his own domain, or so it is said.”

“I see. And there’s a lack of nobility in the area?”

Rie pauses.

“The Second Antinium War was…devastating to put it mildly. Many of the aristocracy lost their lives defending their homes from the Goblin King. As such, there are many unattended lands that lack any local ruler.”

“I see. Well, if it will reassure the other [Lords] and [Ladies], I suppose I could consider an audience. But on the same note Lady Rie, would you prefer to stay elsewhere? I know Riverfarm’s accommodations are less than what someone of your station might expect. Several of the local cities and towns have offered to give you their finest lodging.”

I float the idea by Lady Rie, wondering if she’ll bite. She declined the offer the first time I made it, but will she have changed her mind in the three days she’s been here? Lady Rie shakes her head instantly, and then recalls that I’m blind.

“I am quite content here, Emperor Laken. I would like to see my home restored to me—but so long as the Goblin threat persists, I do not believe I would be safe anywhere but here. As to staying in a city or nearby town—if you will allow me to say so, I see greater opportunity in making myself useful to you here, your majesty. If you will permit me to stay, I would do so gladly.”

I nod.

“I won’t turn away aid, and I do consider you quite invaluable, Lady Rie. Your people are quite helpful as well. Although as I recall, your man—Geram?—was insistent on staying by your side.”

Adamant, in fact. He didn’t say so around me, but I got word of the argument through Prost. All of Lady Rie’s servants follow after her and treat me with the utmost respect, but it can’t be normal having an [Emperor] pop up all of a sudden. Rie’s voice is apologetic.

“Do forgive him, sire. He worries for my safety, but I assured him I was quite safe in the village.”

“I quite understand. I believe he will be quite an asset to Wiskeria’s army.”

Geram is one of Lady Rie’s more notable servants. He’s a huge bald man who fights with his fists. He’s apparently a former [Street Brawler] of some renown—an odd choice for a captain of the guard for a [Lady], but he does seem tough. He took down several Hobs himself while defending Rie’s mansion. I wonder if he’s romantically involved with Lady Rie, or the other one, Nesor, her [Mage] is. He’s a young man with a lot of anxiety and isn’t the best [Mage], but I’ll take any magic-users I can get.

“I’m grateful for all the soldiers I can get, Lady Rie. On that note—Wiskeria, how goes training the army?”

Wiskeria steps forwards smoothly. She’s in charge of defense, which is a lot simpler since I can tell if anything enters my lands. Wiskeria can send out a patrol to deal with most problems at once, which is why she devotes most of her time to actually creating an army to fight with.

We have a small core of adventurers and retired [Warriors] and so on, but I’ve had to rely on other towns and cities by using another Skill – [Imperial Levy]. I can request their soldiers to fight if a huge group of monsters or bandits come along, but I’d prefer to have a force at my disposal. Wiskeria’s been working in that area, but training [Soldiers] up from scratch is hard.

“We have a number of recruits interested in fighting, Emperor Laken. I suspect we’ll have less after the rigorous daily training, but then again, perhaps not. They are quite dedicated. However, we do have an issue.”

“Oh?”

She nods.

“There’s not enough weapons to train all the potential recruits, and many skilled workers—[Bakers], [Carpenters], and so on—don’t have the tools or space to ply their trade.”

“That was my observation as well. Too many villages fled without packing their supplies and lost them to Goblins or thieves.”

Lady Rie sighs. I nod. The Unseen Empire is comprised mainly of villagers who fled their homes and as such it lacks most of everything.

“I’m aware of the problem, Wiskeria, but I consider getting a roof over everyone’s head the first priority. Most of the villagers are still sleeping in barns—that can’t last forever. If they’re not training, send your soldiers to help with everyone else. That goes for our experienced craftspeople, Lady Rie. We have a lot of hands. Anyone can help lift or hammer nails, or help make rope and so on. We’ll use that to get everyone housed quickly, and then focus on specialized buildings and tools. Our [Blacksmiths] can only work so fast and I need them making nails before swords.”

Wiskeria nods reluctantly, but Lady Rie clears her throat softly.

“We may be able to procure some arms and tools without needing to forge them ourselves, Emperor Laken. If you will allow me to make a few inquiries, I believe I could obtain a good deal of supplies at a cheap price.”

“From the other cities?”

“Indeed. I could put in an order to Invrisil and further cities abroad as well. The transportation fee would be somewhat steep, but it would allow General Wiskeria and other craftspeople to begin working sooner. If you consider it wise? We have enough money.”

I shift uncomfortably.

“It is your money after all, Lady Rie.”

Perhaps it’s my Skill – [King’s Bounty]. Or perhaps it’s just how things worked out. But Lady Rie’s fortune is now part of the Unseen Empire. She told me it was mine to use and I reluctantly accepted it. That money could buy a lot of tools—I just wonder how I’ll repay Lady Rie.

I’ll think about it later. And Lady Rie seems to regard it as an investment.

“Consider it a gift for saving my life, Emperor. Very well, I will send a few [Message] spells with Nesor’s help. If you will excuse me.”

She bows slightly and moves away. She’s graceful, intelligent, and extremely helpful. I can’t help but think that I lucked out in having her pledge her loyalty to me. I wait until she’s out of earshot to speak quietly to Wiskeria.

“You’ve been watching her?”

“Yes, Emperor. She’s done nothing out of the ordinary. She uses her personal mage to send [Message] spells, but her people have settled in well. Fairly well. The [Servants] were arrogant until Prost settled them down and I believe Lady Rie had a word with them.”

“Sounds good. But keep a discreet eye on her. I will too. In my own way.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

Saving Lady Rie was an easy decision. Accepting her as my vassal…well, I didn’t have any reason to refuse. She’s competent, in need of a home, and knowledgeable on things like politics and trade, something neither Wiskeria nor Prost know that well. I haven’t had any reason to doubt her and neither has Wiskeria.

However, after Odveig, neither of us are quite so trusting. Lady Rie seems perfectly willing to put herself behind me with coin as well as her help. Maybe she’s grateful. Or perhaps she thinks I’m a rising star and wants to secure as much influence as possible. I’m fine with either option, but I do worry.

“All’s quiet so far?”

“You would know that better than I, Emperor.”

Wiskeria’s voice is a little less formal without anyone else to hear. She treats me more like a person than Prost or Rie or anyone else besides Durene, which I’m grateful for. I smile.

“True, but I do worry. It might be my senses can’t detect hidden threats or…well, it puts my mind at ease to know your people are patrolling.”

“Of course, sir. I think it reassures the other towns and cities too. But I have only a limited number of warriors at my disposal and I prefer to keep most of them here in case you sense anything.”

“Right. Speaking of sensing—Beniar’s riders dispatched the [Bandit] group on the western road.”

“Ah. Any casualties?”

“None. They took them out in the middle of the night.”

I relay the news to Wiskeria with the utmost certainty despite Beniar being over fifteen miles south east of here. I sensed him attack the [Bandits]. I felt it. It was almost like I was there.

—-

Darkness. The night is pitch-black, so dark that the distant stars and obscured moon do little to provide light. It’s so dark that the few lazy sentries outside of the camp of [Bandits] can’t see much. And why should they worry anyways? They’re hidden well off the road, far from any settlements. They can hide and strike at people on the roads at their leisure.

Or so they think. But galloping hooves break the night’s silence. I imagine the sound of galloping, anyways. I can’t hear, only sense. What I do sense is the [Bandits] on watch looking up in sudden alarm. They reach for their weapons, peer into the darkness. One goes to rouse the others.

Too late. The first rider appears out of the darkness like a ghost. He rides down on a sentry who screams once—the sword takes him in the chest and he falls. Beniar, my [Cataphract] and [Captain], turns his mount and more riders appear out of the darkness behind him. They charge the sentries and into the camp of bandits.

The ragged men and women are ready for a fight. What they’re not ready for is for Beniar to scatter their torches and campfires, plunging them into darkness. Again, I have to imagine the shadows flickering and the riders streaming through the camp. I don’t have a problem with seeing since the images in my head aren’t really visual.

I sense Beniar and his [Riders] cutting the confused [Bandits] down as they flail at shadows. My riders have no problem seeing in the darkness, and as they cut down the last of the [Bandits] they cheer. I roll over in my bed miles away and go to sleep at last, relieved.

—-

[Blacksky Riders]. That’s the name of the last of my new Skills. After the battle at Lady Rie’s mansion I gained a new Skill that allows my soldiers to become, well, terrors of the night. It was hard for me to figure out what my Skill did at first, but after one exciting night it all became clear.

My Skill allows a group of chosen riders to see in the night. Not only that—the effect extends to their mounts and lets them dampen the light when they so choose. Thanks to that, Beniar’s group of mounted warriors have become night ambushers who can attack in the darkness with ease. It’s a powerful Skill and has already led to rumors that the people of my empire don’t need eyes to see.

Just like their [Emperor]. I was relieved that none of the riders were hurt, though, and Wiskeria seems equally relieved. Losing just one soldier or horse is dangerous.

“Beniar should be on his way back. I think he’ll arrive after midday, but I’d like to put a [Mage] with his group. Someone who can send and receive [Message] spells.”

“I agree. Unfortunately, that young [Mage] that Lady Rie employs can neither ride nor send [Message] spells reliably. There are artifacts that can do the same, but they are quite expensive.”

“More problems. We’ll put that on our list until later, Wiskeria. At least I can tell where everyone is. But keeping the lines of communication open is one of the key principles of war. I think I read that somewhere.”

“Hm. I agree. But aside from Lady Rie’s personal artifacts we have nothing of our own. And I would rather buy more swords and bows and so forth than purchase a single artifact.”

“They’re that expensive?”

“Oh yes. On that note, may I speak with you about the crops your [Farmers] are growing? Food is essential I know, but they could easily devote a few fields to growing some crops that [Alchemists] would buy. Or a few varieties of mushrooms? I’m familiar with what sells well and I could obtain some seed samples with enough coin…”

“You have my attention.”

The work never ends. There’s always something to do, which isn’t bad, but it means that I always feel like there’s more I could be doing rather than taking a break. I’m sure that’s unhealthy, but I have energy and it’s not like I’m running about. Just talking and listening.

In any case, the rest of my day is devoted to managing things with Wiskeria. She’s quite sharp despite only having been a Silver-rank adventurer before I made her into a [General], and I value her insight. We spend an entire day talking about how to use Beniar’s riders most effectively and hunting without depleting animal populations. It feels slightly wrong that I can tell where every deer herd is, but I have to keep my people fed. I work and then I go to sleep with Durene in the cottage.

It’s another day in the life of Emperor Laken. That is, until Nesor wakes up screaming and rouses the entire village.

Day 86

Zel Shivertail is dead. The army raised by Magnolia Reinhart at Invrisil has been defeated. The Goblin Lord is marching towards the city, only a few days away from this area. And like that, I’m facing another crisis. The same crisis I’ve always had to face, in fact. The enemy that has defined Riverfarm’s struggle, the nemesis of the Unseen Empire in my mind.

Goblins.

“Nesor, calm down and give me answers. How badly was Magnolia Reinhart’s army defeated? How did General Shivertail die? Where is the Goblin Lord’s army headed?”

It’s early morning. Rie, Prost, Wiskeria, and I are all standing in the large cottage assigned solely to Lady Rie. Nesor, a young man who failed to graduate from Wistram is sitting at a table, face pale, hands shaking. He’s stuttering, barely able to speak.

“I—I just got a message Lady Rie. It said General Shivertail was dead and the Goblin Lord had won! It was a warning to all the nobility in the area so I got it—”

“Nothing else?”

“N-n—”

He shudders. I look at Wiskeria. She has an impatient look on her face, the same one I’m trying to suppress.

“You can’t send [Message] spells, can you, Wiskeria?”

“I never learned. That kind of magic is more difficult for my class.”

“Nesor, calm down.”

Lady Rie is soothing Nesor. She looks at me apologetically.

“I apologize, Emperor. Nesor, send a [Message] spell back to—oh, First Landing? It must be chaos in Invrisil right now and I don’t know that we’ll get a quick response. This might take a while.”

I nod and step out of the house with Prost and Wiskeria. I turn to them and see the same worry and fear in their eyes that I’m feeling. Only they’re looking to me for help. I can see lights in the houses nearby and a lot of people are standing in the streets, looking worried. Time to do my [Emperor] thing.

“Okay. Prost, calm everyone down. Don’t mention specifics, but let people know there are Goblins near Invrisil and—leave it at that. Tell them there will be an announcement later and that we are still waiting for details.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

Prost hurries off. I turn to Wiskeria and drew her aside.

“Wiskeria, explain what Nesor said to me.”

“What part?”

“All of it. I know the Goblin Lord was marching north, but who’s General Shivertail?”

Wiskeria’s voice is surprised.

“You don’t know?”

“I have never heard of him before. Assume I’m from far away and have no idea of anything. Who is he, and why is this so important?”

I can sense Wiskeria looking at me. I never told her or anyone besides Durene that I’m from Earth, but Wiskeria isn’t stupid. She’s already expressed surprise at the things I know and don’t know. Right now I don’t care. I might tell her everything just in case—Ryoka would object, but I need people I can trust in possession of all the facts. For the moment, Wiskeria takes me at my word.

“General Shivertail is—was—a hero of the Antinium Wars and the highest-leveled Drake [General] in the entire world. If he’s dead, then this Goblin Lord is extremely dangerous.”

“Antinium Wars. Wasn’t there a book on the history of the Antinium Wars? I never found a copy to read. Please explain all of it.”

“Yes, sir.”

I walk with Wiskeria to her private house and she brews me some tea while she speaks, summarizing decades of history while the sun rises. Her home, like Rie’s, is hers alone. It’s a bit extravagant especially since a lot of people are still sleeping crammed together, but rank has privileges and as soon as we get personalized housing built Wiskeria will move out and let a family take this home. She wants a forest cottage with a garden for mushrooms and other alchemical ingredients. And a place to brew potions where there’s no one to smell it.

Anyways, her explanation of Zel Shivertail and the Goblin Lord fills me with dread. The news we get just after morning is no better. Nesor finally got through to First Landing and all the reports are of the battle, and the Goblin Lord’s army.

Tens of thousands. That alone is enough to panic me. I could muster a force of a thousand soldiers. Maybe two thousand if I pressed every city and town in the area to turn out their garrisons. That’s all. If the Goblin Lord comes here—

“What should we do, Emperor Laken? People will panic if word spreads.”

“It’ll spread.”

Wiskeria glances sideways at Nesor. I grimace. The young man sounds like he couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. Funny, I’m probably only a few years older than he is.

“I won’t lie to people or hide the truth. Prost, we’ll tell them what happened. But when you do, tell them this: the Goblin Lord’s army is not headed our way just yet. They’re moving towards Invrisil, which is close by, but I haven’t sensed any Goblins in our radius and I will know if they approach.”

I sense Prost nodding in relief. I don’t talk about my abilities, but people need reassurance now.

“If an army comes calling we’ll evacuate or fight, but until then, there’s no reason to panic. Wiskeria will send out more patrols and alert all the settlements nearby in case they haven’t heard.”

“I’ll send riders now.”

“Good. Lady Rie, if you would keep communicating with First Landing?”

“Of course.”

I nod and stand.

“In that case, Prost, you and I will calm people down.”

And so we do. Prost shouts the news and I tell people what I just told him. It doesn’t calm them down exactly, but no one screams or runs. And once we get people moving about their tasks things calm down. I walk around the village, reassuring people, being there, and it does help. Everyone looks calmer when I’m around and more than one of Riverfarm’s original villagers recounts the battle in the village to the others.

Everyone’s calm. But me. As I lie in bed next to Durene I toss and turn and eventually wake her up.

“Laken, why are you so restless?”

“Why aren’t you? Durene, I promised them everything would be okay, but I have no plan if the Goblin Lord actually comes this way. We can’t fight and we might not be able to escape.”

“You’ll figure out something. If you can’t do it, no one can.”

I laugh in the darkness. How does she believe in me?

“I wish that were true.”

“It’s true! Now come over here.”

She pulls me over and I forget about Goblins for the moment. It’s nice to have someone with you who can take your worries away. For a while I’m not an [Emperor], and the cottage is intimate.

A bird screeches, surprising both Durene and me in the silence. Frostwing objects to being woken up. I throw my pants at her.

“Shut up, Frostwing.”

Day 87

Today I consult with Rie and Prost. Reassurances are all very well, but I want to be prepared for a fight if it comes to that. Ironically, Wiskeria’s not on my list—she’s training her forces and there’s little I can do to help her. I don’t want to be a distraction.

However, there are things I can control and one of them is my project that Prost’s been in control of. Siege weapons. Ryoka Griffin taught me the fundamentals of how they work and the rest has been trial and error. I have a few [Carpenters], one [Blacksmith], and three new [Tinkerers] on the job with some other eager young men and women.

Lady Rie stares at the two prototype trebuchets and ballista and I realize that she’s never seen them before. We keep the siege weapons far, far away from the town in case of more accidents.

“Prost, how are the trebuchets working?”

“Well, Emperor. I haven’t been here all day, so I’ll let Miss Tessia explain. Tessia?”

Prost gestures and a young woman steps up. She’s got red hair and loose work clothing. I first met her when I helped dig her out of the snow after an avalanche. She’s Gamel’s girlfriend and her timid personality has been replaced by what I can only consider an engineer’s mania.

“Emperor Laken! We’ve finally gotten one of the trebuchets working! We can throw a twenty pound stone over two hundred feet with each shot, and I think that once we make a new trebuchet we’ll be able to hurl a stone twice as far!”

She grins as behind her the people crowded around the trebuchet step back. It fires and I hear a creak as the arm comes up and a stone is hurled through the air. I stare at the sling as it releases a stone and sense it fly into the distance. The people cheer as two boys run after the stone to see how far it’s landed. Lady Rie just stares.

“Is that a…a catapult?”

“It’s a trebuchet, Miss!”

Tessia either hasn’t heard that Lady Rie is a [Lady] or doesn’t care. She begins excitedly talking about range and the ballista they’re building while I inspect the trebuchet up close.

“Amazing. And can you aim it?”

“We’re figuring it out now, sire. The lads—and lasses—have been firing it nonstop. I’d say Tessia’s got the best shot. She can hit a house from two hundred feet five shots out of eight!”

“Please tell me we’re not actually hitting houses, Mister Prost?”

“Oh, they built one out of spare wood, don’t you worry, sire. But I reckon that we could build two more trebuchets within the week! Those would make the Goblin Lord blink twice, don’t you think?”

“Indeed they would. But I want those trebuchets inspected carefully and tested thoroughly. The last thing we need is for someone to get hurt.”

“Yes sire. I had to knock a few heads together when some of the lads kept wanting to rush things. But don’t fear—after the second time, Tessia started doing it for me! The lasses are much more careful about making sure no one’s in danger of being thumped by the arm and standing back and so on.”

Prost beams with all the pride of a former [Farmer] now constructing weapons of war. Lady Rie looks dazed as she comes over to me.

“Emperor Laken—your majesty, may I ask whether this was your invention?”

I smile slightly.

“Not my invention, Lady Rie. I know about the theory, but the villagers of Riverfarm built all this.”

“I see. But you know how to build siege weapons?”

“Is that uncommon?”

Lady Rie stares at the trebuchet as people begin to load it again.

“Oh…slightly. I believe the Walled Cities have such devices. Pallass creates them, but the secret of such weapons is zealously guarded and they refuse to sell to Humans. Other nations have them…but they are not mass-produced. And you’re building them here?”

“And we’re training [Engineers]. We have [Tinkerers]—I hope they’ll level up when I get them building some other inventions. War chariots, maybe. Or an irrigation system.”

Lady Rie stares at me. I smile. The sight of the trebuchet firing again gives me an idea and I turn to Prost.

“Mister Prost, it occurs to me that most of the villagers haven’t seen the trebuchet in action. Maybe a test would impress them as much as Lady Rie and reassure them of their safety. Could you move the trebuchet to an open space and set up a target?”

“Of course, sire!”

“And why not make it a contest? Let Tessia and the other workers have a contest who can hit or get nearest to a target. The winner will receive…well, how about a few mugs of ale and a small coin prize? You decide.”

Prost smiles.

“I think that would motivate them greatly, sire. But could I extend the offer of ale for the entire team? They’ve been working like Demons to get the trebuchet done.”

“Of course. Lady Rie?”

I leave my [Steward] to set it all up and walk a few paces back with Lady Rie. She still keeps staring at the siege weapons.

“You know, that is the true treasure of your village.”

“Excuse me?”

“Those.”

Rie points to the trebuchet as Prost begins speaking and Tessia and the others mill about in excitement. She nods to the path to Riverfarm behind us.

“If you’ll permit me to say so, Emperor Laken, Riverfarm is hardly a rich village. With your help I have no doubt it will be quite self-sufficient, but planting cash crops as Wiskeria has suggested will only earn the people a modest income. However, building siege weapons? Exporting such devices would earn you a fortune.”

I nod slowly. I hadn’t considered it except as a form of protection, but…

“The war industry is always a profitable one. I don’t know that I’d like for my empire to be known for that, but at least we’ll be able to defend ourselves.”

“It is your choice of course, your majesty.”

“Choice. Yes, well, I’d like my people to have the same. I’m building trebuchets and teaching people to become [Engineers], Lady Rie. But I’d like them to be able to become [Alchemists] or [Blacksmiths] or [Scribes] or whatever they desire.”

“That is rather ambitious, your majesty. I suppose it might be possible, especially with your communal farming system. There will be less need for [Farmers].”

I shake my head.

“Less need for as many [Farmers], perhaps, Lady Rie. I intend to provide them with oxen, ploughs…Riverfarm used to consist of subsistence farming where each family tended a small plot of land. By creating large fields we can provide for a large number of people with only a few [Farmers].”

“And you intend to let the next generation grow up to become artisans instead?”

“That’s the theory. Or [Soldiers]. But to do that they need to survive and this place needs to be standing in a week’s time. The Goblin Lord’s army…I was hoping you had some thoughts on the matter. Is there any force that can stop them?”

Rie nods.

“Of course! There is already talk of Lord Tyrion’s army. He gathered one at the same time as Lady Magnolia and his is by far the superior one. I doubt Lord Tyrion Veltras falls far behind General Shivertail regardless of level.”

“Huh. Lord Tyrion Veltras.”

The name’s only vaguely familiar to me, like Magnolia Reinhart. There are so many influential people in the world and I feel like I’m a small fish in my corner of Izril.

“Tell me about Lord Tyrion, Lady Rie. He levied a vast army, but does he have his own private force? Do lords and ladies have armies of their own? I recall your mansion was defended, but…”

I can hear Lady Rie’s rueful smile in her reply.

“The Valerund family was…much diminished by the time I became its sole heir, Emperor Laken. Aside from the small number of guards I employed, I had no standing militia to speak of. I would have relied on the forces of towns and villages to root out threats. But my example is hardly indicative of more powerful nobles. Lady Magnolia Reinhart has many, many servants trained in espionage and combat. She often employs them to clean up…problems in her domain.”

I think of Odveig, the perfect spy masquerading as a Silver-rank adventurer.

“I can believe that. Does Lord Tyrion do the same?”

Rie shakes her head.

“The Veltras family has a conventional army. As do the Reinharts, although theirs is far smaller and guards their family estate. Most powerful [Lords] and [Ladies] train their retainers. For instance, there is a Lady Bethal Walchaís who commands a knighthood. Her Knights of the Petal are elite and quite, quite dangerous.”

“I see. Everyone has their personal force on top of regular garrisons.”

“Yes, your majesty. I see you have started your own army as well.”

“My own army? Oh—yes, Wiskeria is doing her best.”

“Not just her.”

Lady Rie puts a gentle touch on my arm and I jump. She withdraws her hand quickly.

“Forgive me. I meant no disrespect.”

“It’s nothing.”

Is she standing closer to me? Yes, she is. I clear my throat and keep my head turned towards the trebuchet which is being pushed to another spot. I don’t have to look at it of course, but people get nervous when I talk about things behind my back that I shouldn’t be able to ‘see’.

“What were you saying, Lady Rie? My own personal force?”

“Indeed, Emperor Laken. Your ah, Sightless Riders have already developed a reputation.”

“My what? Oh—Beniar and his people? Yes, I could see that. That was due to a Skill, but perhaps I’ll obtain more.”

“One can only hope. But such specialized units are the hallmarks of any powerful ruler. And it is my sincere hope that your initiatives keep your empire safe. I know that I am eternally grateful for your intervention in my hour of need.”

She gently touches my arm again. I hold still and think.

Okay. She’s definitely flirting with me. That’s not hard to figure out. The question is—does she know Durene and I are an item?

I don’t get to ask, if I was intending to ask. Prost comes back and Lady Rie stands demurely at my side. I continue the inspection and watch the trebuchets being fired for an enthusiastic crowd without any more incidents. But I do recall the touch. Was it just a casual touch? Am I overthinking things?

Her fingers were very soft.

Day 89

Between my personal assurances and the trebuchet demonstration, my people are calm enough not to panic at news of the Goblin Lord’s army. They trust me, because I’ve protected them from Goblins before. However, that faith doesn’t apply to the other local towns and cities. They were all too willing to offer me a tribute so I’d protect their roads, but the Goblin Lord’s army is justifiably terrifying.

As such, I spend most of today entertaining audiences. I have no throne room, but one of the first non-essential buildings that went up was a meeting hall. It’s mainly a storage area, but someone decided it had to have a throne despite the lack of beds. So here I am, sitting on a wooden throne decorated with carved eyes. My [Carver], Jelov, is a famous man in the village. From a recluse who sold small trinkets, he’s now got eight apprentices and more work than he can handle.

“Of course my people will alert your town the instant Goblins cross my borders in force, [Headman] Filk. And I am committed to defending all the cities under my protection. My army will hunt down any stray monsters and bandits, as promised. Only an army could resist my forces.”

“Just as you say Emperor Laken. Forgive me for troubling you. It’s just that the Goblin Lord has an army and—”

The man standing and bobbing nervously is the leader of a town nearby. I forget which one. I hope he’ll mention the name again in conversation. I shift on my throne. Why did Jelov not include a pillow?

“Indeed. The Goblin Lord has an army and if he did march in this direction I would be unable to stop him. But consider this, Filk. Lord Tyrion Veltras and Magnolia Reinhart have both committed their forces to stopping him. Do you truly believe they would allow the Goblins to rampage unchecked?”

“Lord Tyrion? Well, your majesty—Lady Reinhart might—but Lord Tyrion does have an army.”

There’s a question in his voice. His town—what was the name again? Started with a ‘g’, I think—doesn’t have a [Mage] who can receive [Message] spells. I nod.

“He has been gathering an army for weeks now, Headman Filk. A substantial one that outnumbers the Goblin Lord’s army by all accounts. I would trust him to take care of the Goblin Lord. And if any raiding parties should head this way in the meantime…I will deal with them.”

That relieves the man. He raises his head, bowing again awkwardly.

“I had no doubts, your majesty! I’m terribly sorry to take up your time—of course Lord Tyrion’s got his army! And you’ve got yours.”

“Of course.”

I smile at him and he smiles back. Nervously. I feel his gaze on my closed eyes. I think the audience is over, so I gesture subtly to Prost, standing at the back of the room.

“You must be tired from your trip. Please, allow me to offer you refreshments before you go.”

“Oh—sire, I also meant to give you this!”

Filk nearly falls over himself as he rushes to the back of the room. He comes back with a small chest carried by several people from his town.

“It’s just a token of our appreciation, your majesty. Some of our local produce, a few bundles of cloth—rough stuff, but we wanted to show our thanks. The town of Gec isn’t prosperous as those big cities, but we’re grateful that we can sleep in our beds thanks to your men!”

Gec! Of course, how could I forget a name like that? I smile at Filk.

“I appreciate the gifts, Filk. They are not necessary—I have sworn to protect your town and I mean to keep that pledge. Please, tell the people of Gec that I appreciate their faith in me. I would love to sample their produce—are those apples in the chest?”

“A few, sire. We have this cellar with runes of [Preservation] and—oh, pardon me for taking your time! It’s just a small token, hardly—thank you once again!”

He retreats, embarrassed. I smile as Prost moves forwards to take the gift. This is the fourth emissary to visit me today. People are worried, and they’re coming to me to hear what they already know. There is a Goblin Lord, but Lord Tyrion’s got an army. I can defend them from everything but a massive force and…that’s it. But they feel better because I’m an [Emperor].

That’s people for you.

—-

My day is occupied by entertaining guests and appearing as confident—and dignified—as possible. Lady Rie takes over for Prost and it’s quite something when a [Lady] is personally greeting visitors and leading them into my throne room. It’s a long day, but I do get a pillow after my butt gets too sore to sit still.

“You may receive another pledge of loyalty from one of the nearest towns, your majesty. Headman Filk of Gec was quite taken with your village.”

“If they join, I’ll have to figure out a way to manage their town from here, Lady Rie. Perhaps I could send you to oversee it for a day or two? We can’t have more people coming here!”

The thought of my empire growing to encompass other cities and towns gives me a headache. Rie offers me a cool drink of water and I take it gratefully.

“I assume that the news of the Goblin Lord means that politics are on hold for the moment?”

“On the contrary, your majesty. It means that the aristocracy is even more desperate to find allies. You have a number of missives that just arrived.”

“More letters? I would have thought the City Runners in Invrisil wouldn’t dare venture out.”

“Mm. Apparently they’re willing to risk it for enough coin. And your lands are known to be safe for Runners. Would you like me to read them to you?”

“Please.”

I sigh and sit back on my throne. I want to see Durene. Maybe I can have a day off where I just go walking with her? The woods are nice and I could pretend to be inspecting it for valuable mushrooms or building spots or something. We haven’t had a quiet time to be together lately except at night. And sex isn’t the only part of a healthy relationship.

Lady Rie stands next to me as I sit on the throne. Her voice is soft as she reads through one letter.

“To [Emperor] Laken, I am Lord Tilwa Petroms of Invrisil. I have heard of your recent accomplishments and must congratulate you on your newfound success. Hm. Lord Tilwa is a known schemer, but if he’s acknowledging you openly as an [Emperor] he must feel you have quite a lot of power already. It seems he wishes to meet with you in Invrisil.”

“Oh? I’m not keen on travelling at the moment.”

If I leave my lands I can’t ‘see’ anything with my [Emperor] senses. Lady Rie shakes her head. Is she standing closer again?

“An [Emperor] should not travel to meet a [Lord] in any case, your majesty. Lord Tilwa is testing you with this letter. Leaving him without a reply for a day or two should unsettle him slightly.”

“Oh? I’m good at ignoring [Lords] and [Ladies]. I think I responded to two dozen letters with polite nothings.”

“Including mine, Lord Laken?”

“You sent me a gift, as I recall. Are you saying I should demand something from Lord Tilwa?”

“Perhaps. He might send you a gift instead, if he hasn’t already.”

“I don’t recall. I think I left the letters lying around. It might be good to see if Prost remembers.”

A rustle. Yep, she just stepped closer. What is her game?

“I have no doubt that Lord Tilwa wishes the same thing from you that all the nobility do.”

“Which is?”

“Influence. Power, derived from your name. At the moment your financial and military capacities are unknown and you control very little land for someone of your class. Thus, your power is mainly in lending support, verbal or otherwise. However, if you can establish Riverfarm as a powerful exporter of goods or military might—”

“Defending areas under my protection or selling siege weapons?”

“As I understand it, Lord Tyrion himself lacks siege weapons. Your empire could be quite powerful economically as well as militarily. Lord Tilwa understands that and is attempting to test the waters, but he can wait. There are more important individuals to address. Now, the next letter—”

I hear the rustle of paper and then a sharp gasp. I sense the letter fall from Rie’s hands and her quickly bending to snatch it up with trembling hands. I sit up.

“Lady Rie?”

“My apologies, Emperor Laken. But this next letter—it must have been mixed up and not placed at the top. City Runners normally organize such missives meticulously by rank—”

“Maybe one of the villagers mixed it up when they were giving it to you. Who is the letter from?”

“Lady Magnolia Reinhart.”

I pause. Magnolia Reinhart. My stomach doesn’t exactly sink with dread, but it does flutter a tiny bit.

“Isn’t she in Invrisil? Right where the Goblin Lord’s army is?”

“She is apparently still able to send letters. And this one—I will read it with your permission.”

Lady Rie opens the letter without waiting for me to say yes. I hear the crinkle of paper as she reads in silence, and then what sounds suspiciously like a curse.

“Lady Rie?”

“The letter is—well, I shall skip the greetings. Magnolia Reinhart writes—To the [Emperor] Laken Godart of Riverfarm, I extend my warmest greetings. I had no idea such an august personage had arrived in Izril until this moment and must render you my deepest apologies for not contacting you sooner.”

“That’s a lie.”

“It is. She goes on. I am so deeply apologetic in fact, that I feel the only thing I can do to express my sympathies in full is to host a small gathering of my fellow [Lords] and [Ladies] in your honor. Naturally, I would be remiss if I did not invite you, but I would hate for the pressing commitments of station or distance to dissuade you from attending. Thus, I have taken it upon myself to—that scheming bitch!”

“Lady Rie?”

“I—I am deeply sorry, your majesty. Please forgive me. Lady Magnolia writes—Thus, I have taken it upon myself to host this little gathering at your estates in Riverfarm.”

“What?”

“No need to thank me. I will most likely be too busy to attend the gathering myself, but I believe about thirty of the local nobility will attend, as will a close friend of mine, Lady Bethal Walchaís. I have scheduled this event to take place a week from today. I trust this gathering will be most informative to all parties, and I hope that you will allow one of my most trusted servants, Sacra, to convey my personal regards.”

Lady Rie paused.

“The name ‘Sacra’ is underlined heavily, Emperor Laken.”

“I understand what she means.”

I grit my teeth as I sit back on my throne. She’s sending Sacra? I mean, Odveig? Why? And a gathering? Here? For what reason? Lady Rie hesitates and I see her looking at my face.

“Ah—there’s a few more lines, Emperor Laken. I trust you will entertain this small soiree in your honor, Emperor Laken. I am mistrustful of [Emperors] and royalty in general, but I feel that we will all be more secure when we get to know each other, possibly over a few light snacks and conversation? Lady Bethal shall tender you my warmest regards. Sincerely…”

Lady Rie folds up the letter without finishing. I sit back. The two of us wait in silence for a long time. At last, I speak.

“Lady Rie, how well do you know Lady Magnolia?”

“Not well, Emperor Laken. I have met her several times. The day before I travelled to your village, in fact.”

“Really? And what do you think of her?”

“As a person or as a [Lady], your majesty?”

“Either.”

“She’s dangerous, ruthless, and cunning, your majesty.”

“Do you think this is a trap?”

“Without a doubt. She might want to humiliate you by hosting the event here, gain more information about your empire, poison the other nobles against you, threaten you, or…”

“Or?”

“Kill you. It would not be unheard of in Izril.”

I sit for a long time on my throne. Lady Rie’s words send a chill down my spine. Goblins. Politics. I can’t decide which is deadlier. But I do know one thing. One or both is coming my way. The Goblin Lord or the hand of Magnolia Reinhart herself. And I’m not ready.

Not yet.

5.10 E

“Ressa, how do you suppose an evil tyrant laughs?”

“I have no idea, milady.”

Magnolia frowned mildly as she sat on her pink couch, nibbling at a jam tart.

“It’s just that I’d like to be as authentic as possible. If I’m truly a—what did that girl call me? A ‘cold-hearted tyrannical bitch’, I might as well enjoy myself.”

“As opposed to how you loathe existence in general?”

Ressa stood behind Magnolia, hands calmly folded, watching her mistress snack. Magnolia smiled.

“Yes, well, I imagine tyrants enjoy excess to the fullest. One would hope that a tyranny allows for such indulgences. But enough about the children from another world. If they’re alive, they can stay that way. They may return to one of my holdings—if they can conduct themselves properly around my servants, that is. Servants are not slaves, Ressa. They are not expected to fawn over adolescent children as if they were royalty. I would remind them of that.”

“I shall make a note. Putting aside children for now, Lady Reinhart—we have received a quick response from all the nobles you have selected for Emperor Godart’s gathering in a week’s time.”

“Ah, yes, that.”

Magnolia paused in eating her tarts and a sour expression crossed her face. She half-turned in her seat to the second [Maid] standing behind her.

“Sacra, tell me. Do you think Laken Godart will refuse the invitation outright, or play along?”

“I can only speculate, Lady Reinhart.”

Sacra, clothed and looking like a perfect [Maid], bowed her head. She was not wearing her adventurer’s guise or holding the mace she preferred to use in combat, but Magnolia was quite sure she could use a vase or something similar to cause quite a bit of damage. Magnolia Reinhart smiled at her. The right [Maid] for the right job was something her grandmother had always said. As Magnolia recalled, her grandmother used to employ Selphid [Assassins] and had at least one Minotaur [Butler].

“Speculate away, Sacra. You have met the man in person. What was your impression?”

Sacra was silent for a moment. Magnolia saw her eyes flicker as Sacra recalled her time undercover, posing as the Silver-rank adventurer known as Odveig. She had many identities. It was a shame that Odveig had been outed as a spy, but such was the cost of her work. At last Sacra nodded.

“Laken Godart. He is quite intelligent and cautious. He is aware of far more than his blindness would indicate and he is willing to listen to others’ opinions. If he has a flaw, it is his inexperience.”

“As would befit someone coming from another world. If that is his identity. Go on.”

“I believe he would entertain the gathering simply to avoid offending so many noble families. However…he might be swayed if one of his advisors objected strenuously.”

Magnolia nodded.

“And of those advisors he has…a former [Farmer], a [Witch], and Lady Rie Valerund.”

Ressa grimaced lightly.

“It would be Lady Rie who would object. She was quite opposed to your presence when you two met, Lady Magnolia.”

Magnolia raised her eyebrows.

“You saw that too, Ressa? She hid it well, but she quite hates me, doesn’t she? Hates and fears—an unfortunate combination. However, she seems to have flocked to Emperor Godart’s camp so I doubt she would sabotage him quite so easily.”

“It might be for the best. Her aiding him is a part of your plan, isn’t it?”

Ressa stared at her mistress. Magnolia nibbled another tart and nodded absently.

“It is. Lady Rie is at least adept enough to know that cancelling the gathering outright is a bad move. She will undoubtedly attempt to help Emperor Laken deal with the situation. And therein lies the test.”

“Test?”

In some ways Ressa knew Magnolia quite well, having grown up around her all her life. But where the two differed were their skillsets. Ressa was good at serving tea, managing a household full of servants, and cutting throats. Magnolia was, when you got down to it, a people person. She played political games like she ate tarts—often, and with quite a bit of expertise. She could see how events would play together where Ressa could not.

Magnolia smiled as she turned to look at her [Head Maid].

“Of course. It’s all a test. Lady Rie will help Laken to spite me—or to curry herself favor. It doesn’t matter. She will do her utmost to prepare carefully for my trap. She will be quite poisonous to our good [Emperor], I think.”

“How? Did you threaten her? Manipulate her with a Skill?”

“I didn’t have to. It’s simple, Ressa. Lady Rie will cause more harm than good just by being as helpful as possible. The key is whether or not Laken Godart notices this, and how he represents himself at the party. That is why Sacra is going, and Lady Bethal and Thomast as well.”

“To evaluate him if he fails.”

Magnolia nodded.

“Or if he does too well. There is more than one way to fail a test. With that said—Sacra.”

“Yes, milady?”

Sacra stepped forwards as Magnolia gently pried a ring off her middle finger. She handed it to Sacra and Ressa eyed the ring with serious misgivings. Sacra, noticing, accepted the ring very gingerly.

“I’m giving you this ring in case all else fails. Twist it and aim, Sacra. It’s not hard—just aim at a target and ah, don’t stand too close.”

“Magnolia, that ring could destroy—”

“Ah! It’s just in case.”

Magnolia raised a finger as Sacra held the ring away from herself and looked at Ressa. The older [Maid] made a note to tell Sacra exactly what it did. She prayed no one would recognize it—Magnolia’s wearing it was an open display of power and a threat. Sacra wearing it would be a declaration of war.

Bringing a ring like that into another noble’s home was tantamount to bringing an elite [Assassin] in with you—worse, since all you had to do was point the ring and wait for it to destroy half the building you were standing in.

“Just in case. Worst comes to worse and all that. Either Laken Godart proves himself, or…”

Magnolia left it at that. Ressa nodded to Sacra and the other [Maid] edged out the door. Magnolia sighed as she hunted for another cherry tart on the tray filled with snacks. She mumbled to herself as she did, a sign of stress. She’d lost weight over the last few days with the Goblin Lord’s army on the march, despite her stress snacking.

“The Goblin Lord is headed straight for the Great Chieftain of the Goblins. If he joins his forces with this—this Tremborag, his army might grow strong enough to destroy major cities. You know this, Tyrion. Why are you hesitating to attack? This isn’t like you. What is your plan?”

“He might be building his army further, waiting for the opportune moment—”

“Tyrion? Nonsense! He has an army. Why grow it unless he intends to completely crush the Goblin Lord’s army without a hint of a struggle? He could already win. And this [Emperor]—”

Magnolia broke off, sighed, and shook her head. She looked up at Ressa.

“I’m tired of dancing to other people’s tunes, Ressa. Truly tired of it. Laken Godart has one chance to prove he’s worthy of his class. If not I’ll destroy him and his empire where it stands.”

“Is that wise?”

Magnolia paused, a cherry tart halfway towards her mouth.

“I’d like to think so, Ressa. But we’ll just wait and see, won’t we? How long did I give him?”

“A week.”

Day 89

“Is it time yet?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think we’re early. We—”

“Emperor Godart?”

I wake up with a start. For a second, the voices keep going in my head, but they grow distant and I can’t recall what was spoken as I open my eyes and look around. That dream. I know it was important, but I still can’t recall what was said. And now I’m not going to. I sit up a bit and realize I was slumped over in my throne, dozing.

“I’m sorry, Wiskeria. What were you saying?”

Wiskeria smiles ruefully and adjusts her pointed hat. It’s late. I rub at my head and sit up straighter, although I’m not in the public eye for the moment. The ‘throne room’ I’m sitting in is empty save for Wiskeria, Prost, and Lady Rie. We’ve been discussing Magnolia Reinhart’s sudden invitation—well, demands, really—all day. For a little bit I’d hoped this was just a threat or trick of some kind. But apparently, Magnolia Reinhart means everything she says. This gathering is going to happen, whether I like it or not.

“How many letters have we received today, Lady Rie? Seventeen?”

“Twenty three. That would account for almost all the nobles attending—there are a few families—and I believe the rest will arrive tomorrow via City Runner at the latest.”

Lady Rie’s voice is strained from talking into the night, but she sounds far more elegant and composed than I feel. I turn my head towards where I sense Prost standing.

“So that’s where we are. Mister Prost, we have a small army of the local nobility descending on Riverfarm in a week’s time. They will be expecting a banquet and perhaps lodgings for the night. It’s a social gathering, which means they’re coming here to appraise me and my empire. All of this is taking place at Lady Magnolia’s request. Lady Rie believes it’s a trap or a trick of some kind meant to embarrass me. Your thoughts?”

I hear Prost gulp. It’s an unfair question to ask him, really. He might be a [Steward] but he was a [Farmer] all his life. Still, he rises to the challenge with awkward pride in his rustic voice.

“Trap or not, it seems you have little choice, your majesty. I’m not expert as to the games that nobles play, but Lady Reinhart is a powerful woman. If she wants a gathering, well, why not entertain them nobles and show them as much hospitality as they like?”

“The problem isn’t the gathering. It’s what Magnolia Reinhart has planned. She might be trying to embarrass Emperor Laken, or force an incident at the banquet. It’s risky, and I have no idea what she wants out of this!”

Rie cuts in, her voice frustrated. She’s been explaining this all night, ever since we got the letters. I sense Wiskeria shift and look towards her.

“Wiskeria?”

“We don’t know what Magnolia Reinhart desires. But we’ve debated for hours about the same thing. We can either accept the invitation—not that we have a choice—or cancel the gathering.”

“Which will cause trouble.”

I don’t bother to turn my head as I sense Lady Rie nodding. Wiskeria nods as well.

“In that case, what choice is there? As Mister Prost says, we must entertain the nobles.”

“Not as easily said as done.”

Lady Rie sighs. I nod, but Wiskeria’s summed the matter up nicely. I clear my throat softly and all heads turn towards me.

“I agree, but we have no choice in the matter, Lady Rie. The nobles are coming in a week’s time and I for one don’t see the merits in debating why Magnolia Reinhart has done this any longer, or what she has planned. For now we must ready Riverfarm. Can it be done?”

I have no idea. But Lady Rie nods decisively as all heads turn towards her. I wish I could make out all the details of her face with my not-sight. But I can hear the determination in her voice.

“It can. It will be difficult, but I am a [Lady] of the realm and I have hosted a few small gatherings at my estate and attended larger ones. I will begin advising your majesty on preparations for the gathering at once. I realize it will be an imposition, but there is much work to be done.”

“Ah, of course. Food to be prepared, entertainment, and so on. Not to mention—houses for the nobles? I suppose we could move people out or try and build a few in the week we have left.”

I grimace as I think of all that we’ll have to do. Not for the first time I find myself grateful that Lady Rie’s helping. I sense the woman shift and after a pause she speaks.

“Yes, your majesty. But not just that. I fear that Mister Prost will have to devote all of his workers to building a reception hall at the very least. This ah, throne room is all very well for audiences with other towns and cities, but we will need a building four times as large to hold a proper banquet.”

I hear Prost draw in a breath sharply and I sit up on my throne. Wiskeria mutters what sounds like a curse word. I turn my head towards Lady Rie.

“Are you serious?”

Day 90

“I think we’re early. We shouldn’t be here!”

She was serious. As soon as I rise with odd voices bouncing around my head, it’s all business. I find Lady Rie already coordinating people in the center of Riverfarm by the time Durene, Gamel and I reach the village square.

“We’ll need to clear a wide space for the banquet hall. It should be built out of the highest-quality lumber available. And furnishings—I will put in an order to Invrisil as I doubt any of the local cities will have the quality required for such an order.”

Lady Rie is talking to Prost, and from the way his shoulders are tensed I can already see that there’s a lot to do and not enough time to do it in. Both turn and bow as I approach.

“Emperor Laken.”

“Your majesty.”

“Do you truly believe we can build a banquet hall in seven days, Lady Rie? Let alone furnish it?”

I sense her pursing her lips.

“It’s not a question of ‘if’, but must, your majesty. Hosting a dinner outdoors would certainly be acceptable, but not if the implication is that it is due to lack of an appropriate facility to begin with. Not to mention, we must impress the nobles coming here. I am afraid an outdoor event with a village in view would not be…”

“Impressive?”

“To say the least.”

Lady Rie nods and I sense Durene shift by my side. I haven’t really asked Durene about Lady Rie—they haven’t talked that much as far as I know. Of course, Lady Rie is a [Lady] and Durene is often helping out around the village. Right now Lady Rie is too busy to speak with anyone but me and Prost hurries away to get her ambitious project underway.

“Speaking of decorations, Emperor Laken, I’m afraid we must consider a large investment in goods from Invrisil. Ordering so much so quickly will be costly, but I am told you have connections in the Merchant’s Guild that might be willing to offer you a discount?”

How does she know that? I nod, trying to keep up. It’s not an hour past dawn yet and my head feels stuffed!

“I do. But what will we be buying? Chairs? Cushions? Drapes? We have [Carpenters]—”

“—Who make chairs adequate for sitting, but not dining, your majesty. At the very least we should add cushions. The necessary goods will be everything from decorations to silverware, I fear. I did not bring more than a few sets of silverware from my mansion before it was destroyed, and there is nothing worse than a mismatched set so we shall have to order enough for all the guests—”

“Silverware?”

I turn my head blankly towards Lady Rie. I sense her nodding.

“Of course, your majesty. Have you—have you not attended a banquet before in your homeland?”

“I—”

I haven’t. Obviously not. And while I know that Durene knows the truth, I don’t feel like spreading the fact that I’m from another world. So I lie.

“I’m afraid that my memory of dining and so on is limited, Lady Rie. What I experience is ah, very little compared to others owing to my blindness.”

I gesture towards my face. Lady Rie starts.

“Oh! I most humbly beg your pardon, your majesty. I—I hadn’t considered.”

“No, no. Please don’t worry. But I lacked any sort of vision growing up, and my ah, ability to sense my surroundings did not manifest itself until this year, so…”

“I see. Please excuse me, your majesty. Well, I will gratefully fill in any—gaps in your understanding. You see, cutlery…”

Flustered, Lady Rie stumbles over her words and I breathe an internal sigh of relief. It’s not good to lie, but people do get uncomfortable when I bring up being blind for fear they might offend me. Good to know I can use that as an excuse for not being up to date with all the conventions of my rank.

However, as Lady Rie goes on I realize that there’s a lot I don’t know. Not just about the social dictates of hosting nobility, but everything from how many forks someone needs to eat a salad to how many waiting staff we’ll need to serve food—and how they should be dressed. I nod along desperately as Lady Rie goes on and on.

And now I find myself stuck. For the first time, I have no idea what to do. It’s like I’ve suddenly run up against a brick wall in my head. Because for all I’m an [Emperor], for all I have Skills and come from another world and want the best for Riverfarm and my people and so on, I’m lost. Because I have no idea how to host a party. Or a gathering. Or any kind of social event at all.

Let’s be clear: hosting soirees is not a skill most blind people acquire. Having a friend over? I can get snacks out, or make sure there’s a meal ready. I could host someone for a day or two. But this?

“Forks, Lady Rie? What’s wrong with the forks we have?”

“They are not what I would give a [Lord] to eat with, your majesty. We have a lack of good cutlery in general. I believe we’ll be able to get by with some well-honed knives for serving, but we simply must have appropriate utensils for our guests.”

“I understand it’s not elegant, but what’s the difference?”

Lady Rie pauses.

“…I believe it would be easier to show you in person, your majesty.”

She takes me to her home and brings out some of her silver cutlery while Durene gets some of the village’s utensils. I find myself holding a wooden fork, which is more of two long prongs, a metal fork more like the ones back home, and a delicate silver one engraved with detail.

“Damnit. I had no idea—I completely forgot about forks!”

It’s not like I have a habit of touching forks, after all! And while the difference in quality might be obvious to someone with eyes, it’s only the weight of the fork and the shaping of the metal that speaks to my fingertips. Lady Rie’s fork does feel far more expensive, but again, I can’t do anything but compare the metalwork of the forks with my fingers. I can’t see silver and appreciate how much better it is than pot metal!

Frustrated, I run my fingers along the fork, feeling the difference with my fingertips. And yet, when I compare the two in my mind with my [Emperor]’s senses, they’re almost indistinguishable. One works as well as the other, but it’s this kind of detail that I lack.

“It seems as though my lack of sight is a hindrance here, Lady Rie.”

“Only slightly, your majesty. But if you would advise me on your nation’s culture of dining and etiquette, I might adjust the banquet to suit your tastes.”

I pause and bite the inside of my lip. My culture? Back home I’d rather just microwave something than eat expensively. I choose my words carefully as I reply, handing the silver fork to Durene who takes it gingerly in her hands.

“The nation that was my home…honestly, Lady Rie, my nation was so different from this one that you would find it very alien. It is impossible to compare the things to which I was accustomed to here—especially because I was blind. Riverfarm meets all of my needs quite well, and I am content with that. However, if you think more needs to be done, I am willing to listen, although my input will be shallow.”

“I see. In that case, I would be delighted to go over my list of preparations with you.”

Lady Rie puts a soft hand on my arm. I sense Durene stirring and nod.

“Thank you. I hope we have the coin for all of this?”

“We may have to borrow, Emperor Laken. Or perhaps not. It depends on how many things can be done without. Tables for instance—I had a thought. If your [Carpenters] can design a long table and it can be engraved and polished in a week’s time, it might well serve in place of a purchased one.”

“No doubt. Can we do the same for chairs?”

“I will make inquiries at once.”

Lady Rie rises and leaves her cottage. I ball my fists up in frustration. Lady Magnolia Reinhart. If there was ever a good way to frustrate me, planning an elegant banquet I can’t see would be a good start.

“Laken.”

I turn as Durene gently puts the fork on the table. My half-Troll lover looks at me. I try to put a smile on my face.

“Durene? I’m sorry. I know you probably want to help out around the village. I’ll coordinate things with Lady Rie.”

“Well…I could stay with you today.”

“Huh?”

“Just for today. You know. While you’re with her.”

There’s a possessive note in Durene’s voice that reminds me of when she met Ryoka. I pause.

“Durene, Lady Rie is—a subject.”

“And a [Lady]. Laken, she’s flirting with you!”

“Is she?”

I did wonder. It’s hard to tell. Someone touching me on the arm isn’t unusual, but Lady Rie did act unusual around me. But then, I’m not used to flirting in general. Back on Earth, the people I knew weren’t exactly adept enough to flirt. It was more straightforward. But Durene clearly thinks Rie’s flirting and isn’t exactly keen to let me stay with her.

“Durene, I’ll be fine. I’ll talk with Lady Rie, but it doesn’t matter.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m with you, remember?”

Durene pauses.

“Oh.”

“Silly.”

I hold her hand. Embarrassed, Durene squeezes my hand gently and flees. I stand up as Lady Rie comes back with a group of [Carpenters] only too willing to make however many tables I need. They just need, oh, instructions on what the tables should look like, how long they should be, how tall, what kind of wood they need to use, and so on. I sigh and get to work with Lady Rie. She doesn’t flirt. But she does touch my arm twice more throughout the day.

Day 92

“We’ll get in trouble!”

“Let’s go, hurry!”

Who’s in trouble? Why are they hurrying? Away? I open my eyes, annoyed that I can’t understand. I get out of bed with Durene, walk down into the village to see what’s happening, and immediately sense a problem.

Over the last day, the giant banquet hall that Lady Rie envisioned has been going up. Quite quickly too—they laid the foundations in one day and began dragging freshly-cut parts over to create a scaffold. That was how it was when I went to sleep, and there was a night team working on it. Only, during the night the scaffolding for the building has collapsed and I can already here shouting going on around Prost. He hurries over to me the instant he sees me.

“There’s trouble, your majesty.”

“What kind?”

“An accident at the site. Two of the night workers—a [Builder] and [Carpenter], were working on adding a section and it collapsed. Neither one was hurt, but they both claim it was the other’s fault.”

I rub at my hair, groaning internally.

“What happened?”

“One says it was an unsteady section that wasn’t checked properly. The other says that everything tore loose because the first fellow wasn’t paying attention. They both blame each other and got into it.”

“Can you tell who’s right?”

I hear Prost’s grimace.

“No, your majesty. I’ve told both of the men to take a break and let tempers cool. They’re both good workers and they’re both furious over the delay—it’s not so much the time lost as the fact that it could have been avoided. I’ll get everyone back to work, unless you’d like to judge the situation yourself?”

And do what? I have no idea who’s right and I’m no building expert. I had no idea what the difference between screws and nails were until I was fifteen, because my parents were too afraid that I’d hurt myself touching them! I shake my head.

“I trust your judgment, Mister Prost.”

He nods and hurries off. I sigh. I’ve been doing a lot of trusting of judgment recently. I don’t have a choice, but it means that I can’t do my one job—namely, deciding things as [Emperor].

Case in point. Later that day I find Prost and Lady Rie coming up to me with another problem, this one directly related to the nobles attending the gathering.

“A lot of the families are worried about having their daughters serve at the banquet, your majesty. They’re afraid that they might be asked to bed the [Lords] attending or be carried off.”

“What?”

I turn to Lady Rie. Her tone is acerbic.

“And I told Mister Prost and the other families that was nonsense, your majesty. They need not fear for their daughter’s chastity—”

“Chastity’s the least of it! What’s to stop one of the young lordlings attending the ball from carrying a young girl off—or a [Lady] doing the same to a young lad and having him murdered to hide the evidence?”

“Mister Prost! Those are rumors—”

“I know a village not two miles from here that had that happen to the [Headman]’s son—”

The two begin arguing and I have to raise my voice to get them to quiet down and explain what they’re arguing about. When they come out and say it at last I get a bad feeling in my stomach.

[Lords] carrying off village girls who catch their eyes. [Ladies] finding young men to have an affair with and killing them to hide the evidence. Apparently it’s happened in the past. I recall something similar from my world. Droit du seigneur in French, or the medieval ‘right to a first night’ practiced among the nobility. Apparently that law doesn’t exist in Izril, and Lady Rie is insistent that nothing else happens either.

“Your majesty, I understand Mister Prost’s worries, but they are groundless. Such events never happen—and if they did, it was one or two truly depraved individuals from decades past—and it would not occur on your lands, not when these nobles are coming to visit you! They wouldn’t dare offend you!”

“No? And what about if they used their privilege and station to force a girl into saying yes?”

Prost folds his arm as he glares at Lady Rie. For the first time he and she seem to be at odds, and Lady Rie seems exasperated by the argument.

“Any girl may refuse, of course—those rights are sacred, and these nobles live next to Lady Magnolia Reinhart herself! She does not stand for any coercion of the young or unwilling. That is one of the few things she does well. The Reinharts have always maintained order among the aristocracy and meted out justice.”

“Too little too late. That won’t save a broken-hearted girl and her love.”

“She can say no—”

“To a [Lord]? Without bringing down wrath on her family?”

I have to hold up my hands to stem the argument again. When Prost and Rie are quiet, I look at Lady Rie.

“Lady Rie, can you assure me that the things Mister Prost is describing would never take place?”

She hesitates as Prost folds his arms.

“Well—I cannot pretend that some instances of this behavior never occurred, but at this gathering I am sure any young woman would be safe—”

“Hah!”

“Mister Prost. How often is it that this sort of thing occurs? Are there truly that many instances of it, or are all these rumors just that—rumors of someone in a village being carried off by a noble?”

“Well, sire…I never did hear the village’s name.”

“You see?”

Rie sounds exasperated. Prost flares up again.

“Just because it never happened in recent years, doesn’t mean it won’t at this gathering! There are young men among the nobles attending, and the families here are worried, your majesty. And with good cause!”

“I understand.”

What a mess. And again, I don’t know what the best solution is. I turn to Lady Rie.

“Could we address the issue? Tell the nobles attending that the serving staff are off-limits for…everything?”

Rie inhales sharply.

“Simply mentioning that would cause great offense, your majesty! I can assure you it will not occur, and I would stake my reputation on that fact.”

“But the people are worried. There’ll be more than one family that hides their daughters on the day, and I’ll stake my class on that fact too.”

Prost turns to glare at Lady Rie and I try not to clutch at my head. What am I supposed to do? Both are looking towards me.

“Emperor Laken, your decision?”

“Your majesty? What should I tell the families?”

I don’t know. I bite my tongue on the words again. In the end I tell Prost that the serving women won’t be touched and Lady Rie agrees to have older people wait the tables. It’s not a good compromise and I worry that more than one family might try and hide their sons or daughters on the day. If only that was the least of my worries.

As night falls I sense a fight breaking out between a group of men. I send Durene to break it up and sit up anxiously in the cottage, sensing Prost hurrying to the scene, Durene holding one man by the leg and gently slapping another man off his feet.

Trouble.

Day 93

“Wait!”

“Shh! We’re not supposed to be heard!”

Wait? Why wait? Why aren’t they supposed to be heard? Today I get up with a full migraine. It gets worse as I go about my day.

“The fight last night, Emperor Laken? It was between the two men who quarreled over the collapsed scaffolding yesterday. Never mind that we repaired the damage yesterday.”

Prost comes up to me with a sour tone in his voice. I shake my head.

“That was more than two men brawling, Prost. There were at least eight of them and more joining in before Durene got there.”

“Ah. Those would be the friends and other workers. They’ve started taking sides. You see, one fellow, Mister Horst, is a [Carpenter] from Windrest, and the other’s a [Builder]. Mister Wellim comes from Tunslaven. Since they’re quarrelling, folks have begun taking sides—”

“And now it’s a feud. I understand. Wonderful. Mister Prost, what do you suggest I do?”

I rub at my head as the man thinks, chewing at his lip.

“I’ll separate the building teams today—put Horst and his lot to building the tables and chairs with your permission. That’ll keep arguments to a minimum, but I’d better have some lads making sure there’s no fighting after work’s over. Or Durene. No one’s likely to throw a punch with her watching.”

“Good. Do that. I have to talk to Lady Rie about…everything.”

Prost hurries away and I find Lady Rie speaking with Durene of all people. They’re arguing too. I draw closer, listening. For once the two women are so heated that they don’t notice my presence. Durene’s voice is loud as she snaps at Lady Rie.

“I don’t see why I need to stand during the banquet! Why can’t I eat when everyone else is eating?”

Her voice echoes off the houses nearby and I sense heads turning. Lady Rie’s voice is much quieter, but waspish as she replies.

“You are neither nobility nor formally engaged to Emperor Laken. It would be an indiscretion of the highest order to seat you at the head table, and nowhere less would do! You have no manners—”

“I have plenty, thank you very much!”

I sense Rie rolling her eyes.

“—No manners suitable for formal dining and you are supposed to be a [Paladin], a defender of his majesty, aren’t you? You should stand in attendance! You wouldn’t want to embarrass Emperor Laken, wouldn’t you?”

I open my mouth and hesitate. Durene would never embarrass me, but I can imagine her struggling if she were sitting with me and chatting with other nobles. And yet—she is Durene. But Lady Rie knows this social world best and so I hesitate. Durene herself deflates at Rie’s word. She gulps.

“No. I wouldn’t want to embarrass him. But—”

“Good. Then it’s settled. We’ll see if Master Helm can put you in armor. Otherwise…we might find a [Tailor] able to sew quickly. But armor would be more impressive, I think. A [Paladin] would be quite impressive to our guests.”

Lady Rie claps her hands and turns brusquely away from Durene. She and Durene both jump when they see me standing behind them. I cough.

“You’re sure that would be the best fit, Lady Rie?”

“Emperor Laken! I do believe so. I am not familiar with the [Paladin] class, but it is impressive—as is Miss Durene herself. Having her stand at attendance at your side while a list of her achievements is read out would be most impressive. Don’t you agree?”

“Hm. Durene?”

I turn my head towards her. Durene smiles—she knows I can sense when she does it—and only hesitates for a second.

“I—yeah. I could stand next to you, right Laken? I’d be imposing and impress all those nobles. That’s the best way to do it, right?”

I pause. And perhaps it’s just as well that another argument breaks out—this time between a whole group of angry workers clustered around the banquet hall. Rie sighs distractedly.

“We’re far behind on the building without this sort of distraction! Emperor Laken, by your permission I’ll sort it out.”

She converged on the arguing workers at the same time Prost and Wiskeria do. I see Wiskeria break up the prelude to a fight with a burst of magic. Durene turns.

“I should go over too. Just in case. I’ll uh, see if I can get Mister Helm to make me some armor. You said I should have some anyways, right Laken?”

She hurries away. I stare at her back. The words in my mouth die unspoken. But I’d like Durene to sit with me. She belongs there. But what if it causes trouble? What’s the protocol? If I let her sit with me, what happens?

I don’t know. Wiskeria breaks up the fight and cools down everyone—literally, by shooting sprays of water everywhere. She’s declined to weigh in on all the preparations, claiming ignorance as a [Witch]. I wish I could do the same. I don’t know what to do. And the words keep repeating themselves as I go to sleep, dreading the half-formed dreams, hating my indecision, my inability to figure this out!

I don’t know. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know—

I can feel my teeth grinding together as I toss and turn that night. I don’t know! And I’m afraid to tell Lady Rie she’s wrong, but something’s wrong! I can feel it.

It’s not right! This gathering is—flawed, somehow! It’s going to go wrong.

Damn Magnolia Reinhart. What did she do?

Day 94

“Shut up! Hey! Hey, remember to tell them to bring—”

“And—”

Blank words in my head. Missing pieces of a puzzle. I get up blearily, eat, walk into Riverfarm with Durene, and listen to the day’s issues. Everything’s behind. Lady Rie frets while Prost talks the situation over. Wiskeria listens quietly.

“The arguments over the building are costing us precious hours, Mister Prost!”

“I know. But I can’t help that! We’re already rushing as it is—we’ll try to get a roof up the day after tomorrow, but every mistake sets us back—”

“We can hardly afford to wait until the day after tomorrow! The decorations are arriving and we must set to work making the inside presentable quickly!”

“We can sand and polish everything quick once it’s up. The tables and chairs look good at least—”

“Those are the least of my concerns. If another brawl breaks out, simply arrest everyone involved.”

“All forty of them?”

“If necessary! This petty feud between the two craftsmen must be resolved, Mister Prost.”

Prost shakes his head.

“Perhaps Emperor Laken could speak to the two men. They’ve been clamoring for a ruling, and both sides want to hear his opinion—”

“On what?”

I raise my voice. Both Rie and Prost fall silent. I look up, my head aching. I try to keep the annoyance out of my voice but I can’t. Not today.

“I’ve listened to the arguments, Mister Prost. Neither man can prove the other caused the problem and it’s far beyond that now. Both sides want me to punish someone, which I can’t do without proof.”

“And truth spells don’t work if both sides think they’re right. Or if they don’t know to begin with who’s wrong. Not that anyone can cast [Detect Lies] here anyways.”

Wiskeria looks up as she fiddles with a pouch full of ingredients. She’s been riding patrols with Beniar, escorting City Runners arriving here with bags of holding full of purchased goods. She meets Prost and Rie’s annoyed looks calmly. Then she turns towards me.

“Emperor Laken, I’ll watch the building today and stop arguments from breaking out. That will let Mister Prost handle the rest of the village.”

“That might work. We’re baking and preparing as much food as we can, but it’s not enough, according to Lady Rie.”

Lady Rie sighs.

“Hardly. There’s a [Chef] I’ve been speaking to who could prepare all of the finer dishes we need to present, but he lives thirty miles north of here and is reluctant to make the commute. And I don’t wish to empty the treasury to purchase her services. But we must have a suitable meal ready. And then there’s the issue of gifts…”

I raise my head.

“Gifts? Don’t tell me we have to give our guests—”

“Oh no! That’s not the custom at all. Quite the reverse!”

“What, then?”

Rie smiles slightly, the first smile I’ve sensed all day.

“It’s a custom for visitors to offer a present to those hosting such gatherings. Especially those of high-rank. I imagine an [Emperor] would merit quite a large present, but no one knows what might suit you, Emperor Laken. You recall the gift I gave to you? Well, we’ve received a few tokens like that, but there have been a number of discreet inquiries as to what you might enjoy.”

“What I might enjoy? I get to ask for my gifts?”

The notion sounds ridiculous to me, but Rie nods seriously.

“Indeed. I was rather hoping for this, actually. In fact, this is how Magnolia Reinhart can claim she’s doing you a favor. If we approach the nobles the right way, we might come away with more than we spent to host the gathering.”

“I don’t follow. You mean…ask them for money?”

“A…monetary contribution. Or something similar. Minor artifacts, perhaps much-needed supplies…it all comes down to the phrasing and way the invitations are couched. I would like to speak with you regarding some of the ideas I had in that regard later. If you are willing?”

It’s wrong. My head throbs.

“Of course.”

I lie to Rie and sense her smiling. Prost stands up wearily.

“I’ll get back to work. There’s a few of our [Mages] and [Hedge Mages] willing to try and put on a show—that is, the first stage of entertainments. I’ll see to them.”

“And I will see to the attire.”

Lady Rie sweeps off. I sit on my throne, massaging my head. I sense Wiskeria getting up.

“Your majesty? Everything well?”

“Not really, Wiskeria. I’m not sure how well this party—gathering—whatever, will go.”

She nods.

“Lady Rie’s doing her best. But this was forced on her early.”

“It was. By that damn—do you think we’ll make it?”

“I’m not sure. But I worry that making it or not making it isn’t the problem, your majesty?”

“Then what?”

Wiskeria tilts her head, her voice thoughtful.

“I don’t know. But I don’t think how we impress the nobility is the point. Otherwise, wouldn’t Magnolia Reinhart have made the gathering a few days away and not given us enough time? No, I think it’s something else she’s after. I just don’t know what.”

I turn my head towards her. She’s right. There is something else. But what? What? After a while, Wiskeria gets up. And I, lost and confused, go after Lady Rie. I find her with Durene, consulting with Master Helm.

—-

“This armor’s too tight! And it’s not real armor, it’s far too thin!”

Durene complains as she models the new armor that Mister Helm, the [Blacksmith], has forged. It was a collaborative work given Durene’s size, and several other [Blacksmiths] are standing around her and consulting with Lady Rie. The noblewoman smiles and claps her hands together.

“Functional armor is not the point, Miss Durene. The armor looks quite good on you, although I see some parts that could be—ah, well, it will do. It only remains for us to forge you a suitable shield to go with your sword. And polish the sword, I think. Could it be plated, Mister Helm? With something akin to gold leaf? Silver? And I think…yes, I think we could add one more thing.”

She regards Durene thoughtfully as the half-Troll girl catches sight of me. She tries to wave, but the stiff armor doesn’t let her. Durene speaks distractedly.

“What else? I can barely move in this as it is.”

Rie’s voice is soft and thoughtful as she speaks out loud.

“A helmet, perhaps? Yes. That would be quite impressive. A helmet would be just the thing.”

“A helmet?”

Durene half-turns to look at Lady Rie. The [Blacksmiths] around her fall silent. My heart sinks when I realize where she’s going with this. Rie nods.

“Yes…with a visor? Can such a thing be done, Master Helm? It would be a grand spectacle, to see Miss Durene armored like a [Knight].”

She looks around brightly at the men and two women around her. Durene goes very quiet. I stand there, my heart suddenly beating very quiet. A helmet? A helmet with a visor. There’s only one reason why Rie wants that.

To cover her face. But no one says it. I sense Durene hesitate, her face grow angry—and then twist into uncertainty. She hesitates, and I see her look at me, and then at Lady Rie. She’s supposed to be quite beautiful. Lady Rie, that is. I’ve never heard Durene talk about what she looks like. She’s too afraid to tell me.

In the end, Durene’s voice is very quiet.

“I…guess so. I could wear a helmet.”

“Wonderful! There are quite a number of designs that might work. Mister Helm, I’ll sketch a few, shall I? You can tell me what would be easiest.”

“Ah. Yes, Lady Rie. We’ll do our best.”

Mister Helm’s voice is quiet as he turns towards Lady Rie. I sense him looking back at me. Durene’s staring at her feet. I take a step forwards and feel a hand on my arm. Lady Rie’s touch.

“Emperor Laken? What do you think? I imagine Durene in full armor would be quite a sight to see—ah, begging your pardon. Quite a spectacle, and certainly impressive, wouldn’t you agree?”

No. I open my mouth. Hesitate. I can tell that Mister Helm is looking at me. So is Lady Rie. She’s gripping my arm with her hand, trying to tell me not to object. She’s right. She knows how the other [Lords] and [Ladies] would react. I close my mouth.

To hide Durene behind a helmet. To not let her eat with me. To do things as they should be. Because a half-Troll doesn’t belong with Humans.

Things crystalize in that moment. I feel the same flash of heat I felt once before, listening to an angry [Farmer] shout the same thing. Not in the same way, not in the same words, but the same thing. And I think about a banquet, about entertaining nobles, about doing things just so.

And I realize what the trap is. I jerk my arm free of Lady Rie and open my mouth.

“No.”

The word cuts through the air, blissfully free. Lady Rie pauses. I sense Durene look up as every head turns to me. Rie’s voice is low as she speaks to me, too close to my ear.

“Emperor Laken, I don’t mean to gainsay your opinions, but I truly think—”

“I said, no, Lady Rie. No helmet. The armor can stay. But make it real armor. And Durene doesn’t need the armor for the banquet. She’ll be sitting with me at the head table. Give her a dress instead.”

Silence. My heart is pounding, my head feels clearer. Lady Rie draws in her breath sharply.

“Emperor Laken? I really don’t—”

“Enough.”

I snap the word and Rie’s mouth closes in an instant. I look around. Durene is staring at me. The [Blacksmiths] are staring at me. I stand taller. When did I start hunching my shoulders? I point.

“Mister Helm?”

He jumps.

“Yes? Your Majesty?”

“Thank you for Durene’s armor. It’s quite, well, I can tell it’s quite impressive. A showman’s piece, no doubt. But let’s aim for functional armor when it comes to that.”

“Of course, Emperor Laken. We’ll get right to work—”

I hold up my hand.

“Not necessary. There are more important things that we need for now. Nails, for one. Hinges—there’s a lot of metal that goes into houses. Let’s get our [Blacksmiths] back to work on those houses, shall we? Don’t worry about the banquet. Durene? Follow me. Someone get me Prost. And Wiskeria.”

I stride off and sense Durene shrugging out of her armor. Still muted, Rie follows. I can sense her eyes on my back and feel Prost and Wiskeria hurrying towards me.

“Mister Prost?”

“Yes, Emperor Laken? I heard you had the [Blacksmiths] working on construction materials for the houses. Should I—?”

“Get your workers back to building houses. We’ll keep a smaller team on the hall, but take it slower, Mister Prost. We won’t be using it for the gathering.”

I feel the electric shock go through the people around me. Durene exclaims.

“We won’t? But I thought—”

“Would we have gotten it ready in time? And would you trust the building not to collapse on us, Mister Prost?”

I nod at the half-finished building. Prost grimaces.

“It’d be close and that’s without furnishings, sire. But what did you have in mind if not that gathering hall?”

“Easy. Get the tables and chairs done. Then put them in a meadow. That one just past the new farmland sounds good. Clear us a wide space—we have plenty of folk who can do that and it won’t take us a day. We’ll serve our guests there.”

“What?”

This last bit is too much for Lady Rie and she manages to speak despite my order. She turns to me, aghast.

“Emperor Laken, it’s not proper. Your guests will be expecting the highest honors. They’re nobility, and if Magnolia Reinhart was hosting—”

“She’s not. I am. Be silent, Lady Rie. Thank you.”

I cut her off again. Lady Rie falls silent and I can sense her lips quivering as I turn my head. I can sense them there. Durene, Wiskeria, Prost, and Lady Rie. I sigh.

“I’ve made a mistake. Lady Magnolia Reinhart invited the nobility here, which forced my hand. But my error, the trick she forced me into was playing her game. I don’t think she expected me to put on a formal display for the nobles. Nor should I.”

“But that’s what they’re expecting.”

Durene sounds confused. I smile slightly.

“Yes, they are. That’s what’s traditional. But I’m an [Emperor], Durene. Why should I do things their way?”

“Um…I don’t know.”

“Exactly.”

I nod, almost laughing as I sense Rie’s dumfounded look. I look at Prost.

“Don’t worry about [Chefs], Mister Prost. Tell our [Cooks] to make the kind of food they know everyone will enjoy. As much as they can get ready beforehand and we’ll do a lot of cooking the day of. Now, I want you to have our [Carpenters] make more tables as quick as they can and lay them out in the village square. We’ll feed our people at the same time as the nobility.”

“With chairs and so forth, your majesty? That would take a lot more work.”

“Do we need them? No—in fact, have only a few chairs brought to the gathering place. We’ll have people stand and eat. They can socialize while we put on a display. We’ll have the trebuchets do some test firing—maybe let the nobles try them themselves. As for the issue of young women and men serving—”

I can sense Lady Rie shutting her eyes tightly. I look at Prost.

“Have we parchment? Large sheets we can use as signs?”

“I could have some. Are you planning on making a declaration, sire?”

“Just something posted on the main roads. Have it read as follows: ‘I, Emperor Laken, declare that anyone taking advantage of another person upon my lands without consent will be summarily shot and executed, regardless of their rank or gender.’ Or something to that effect.”

Wiskeria draws in a sharp breath. I see Prost shoot a glance at Lady Rie. Funny, he seems uncertain.

“That’s a bold statement, sire.”

“I’d think it would be the least of what you’d expect from me. Have the posters put along the main roads—on those handy totem poles Jelov keeps carving, for instance.  Make sure all of my guests see them. Just in case. Oh, and Prost? Add some images.”

“What? Sire?”

I’m enjoying myself now. I gesture.

“Images. You know, illustrations! A bloody headsman’s axe and a few heads lying on the ground, or a body feathered with arrows for emphasis. Be creative. You can have some of the children decorate them if you like. Now. Wiskeria.”

“Emperor?”

She’s smiling at me, I can tell. Wiskeria tugs at her pointed hat as I point towards the meeting hall and my throne room.

“Those two men who keep starting fights. Find them and put them in my throne room to wait for me. Tell them that if they start a fight before I arrive…well, just warn them what might happen.”

“Yes, Emperor.”

“Now. Lady Rie.”

She’s practically vibrating. When I speak her name she waits a beat as if she didn’t want to cut in and shout at me this entire time.

“Emperor Laken?”

“I take it you object to most of what I’ve just said?”

“Why, what gave you that idea, sire?”

Her voice is sweet. Too sweet. I turn to face her.

“I don’t disagree with your choices, Lady Rie. By all means, decorate and find proper utensils to serve our guests. But if we serve them, it will be my way. Riverfarm’s way.”

“And if the nobility take offense?”

“Let them. This gathering wasn’t my idea. It was Magnolia Reinhart’s. If it doesn’t have the amenities they’re used to, they can take it up with her. Speaking of which, I’ve decided what they should give me.”

“Oh?”

Lady Rie pauses.

“What would that be, your majesty?”

“Food. They can bring food. Tell them I would like for them to bring as many delicacies as they can carry—not just for themselves, but for my people. They’ll be feeding all of us, so advise them that a pack horse or wagon might be in order.”

I grin at Lady Rie and wonder if her face has gone pale. Durene laughs out loud in delight.

“Emperor Laken, are you quite sure? That would hardly be what they expect—although I’m beginning to realize that is quite the point.”

“Indeed. I don’t want money. I don’t need their charity. That isn’t what an [Emperor] needs. Perhaps a [Lord] might ask for such gifts, but all I need is something to amuse my people. Yes, food—and entertainment. Do they have [Jugglers]? [Bards]? Are there such things as [Actors] in this world or…or [Players]? Tell them to bring those too. And—”

Memory flares. A bit of a dream. I stop.

“Pudding.”

“Pudding?”

“Yes—pudding. Tell them I’m fond of sweet foods. Have them bring as much of those as possible. And while we’re at it, Durene?”

“Yes, Laken?”

“Why don’t we take a break for a bit? Let’s go for a walk in the woods. I’ll be back in an hour, Lady Rie. Let me know if the sky’s fallen when I return.”

I take Durene’s arm and smiling, walk away. Lady Rie just stares at my back. I walk off with Durene and laugh for the first time all week. She’s smiling too.

“Wow. What happened to you, Laken?”

“I stopped worrying about what other people might say, Durene. Remember? That’s the point. Lady Rie had her heart in the right place, but she did what people wanted her to do. What Magnolia Reinhart wanted to her to do. I’m doing what I want to do. Which is walking with you.”

“Oh. Right! Hey Laken?”

“Yes?”

She gives me a quick kiss as a reply.

—-

It was a nice walk and we stretched it out to two hours. The two hours came from me sitting down to rest my aching feet while Durene offered to carry me. In the end we just sat and talked, which was wonderful. So wonderful that I forgot that the two men were waiting for me in the throne room. When I finally got back and walked in, they jumped. They hadn’t been sitting, but standing at opposite sides of the room. I felt slightly bad that I didn’t think to give them chairs, but only slightly.

“Mister Horst. Mister Wellim.”

I look at both of them. They open their mouths, uncertain, and I walk past them to sit on my throne. I sit, and the two men shuffle forwards. They wait for me to speak.

I don’t. The uncomfortable silence stretches out as the two men shift uneasily. Actually, I don’t feel uncomfortable at all. I just sit, sensing them grow more and more nervous with each passing second. At last, one of them musters the courage to open his mouth. Quick as a snake, I raise a finger and he freezes.

I wait until he closes his mouth and keep sitting there. The two men stand in place, sweating. I can practically hear their hearts pounding. And I just sit. When I finally open my mouth, I think both of them nearly have heart attacks.

“Gentlemen. Why are you here?”

They stir. And look at each other. I sit there, a young man on a throne. Blind, probably half the age of either of the men in front of me. But it’s they who can’t meet my eyes figuratively or literally. I am blind. And young. But I am an [Emperor].

“Emperor Laken, about our uh—our—our quarrel.”

One of the men, Mister Horst, begins hoarsely. Again I cut him off.

“Quarrel, is it? A quarrel is two men fighting. It gets broken up and both men need a day to heal their bruises. The worst is a broken bone. This is a feud, gentlemen.”

Silence. I look from man to man, opening my eyes briefly for effect.

“Both of you claim the other made a mistake which caused the scaffolding to break. What was it, three days ago? Now there are brawls of thirty people or more. What, exactly, is the point?”

They don’t have an answer. I go on, speaking calmly, shifting my attention to the man on the left.

“Mister Wellim, I know of you as a [Builder] who made or repaired half the homes in your village. You’re a community figure and a father of three.”

He starts. Yes, I asked Prost about all that before walking in here. But it still works. I shift my attention to the man on the right.

“And you, Mister Horst, are a [Carpenter] respected by everyone I’ve talked to. You’ve been running your own business for twenty years.”

He hangs his head at this detail, a representation of his hard work over the years. I turn my head to each man.

“Why are we here? If you, Mister Wellim, were dealing with a fight between two of your apprentices, how would you handle it? By smacking a few heads together? Separating the two? What if they kept fighting? What about you, Mister Horst? Would doing any of that do any good? Why are two of your best workers fighting, anyways? What is the point?”

I slap the armrest of my throne. Both men jump. After a moment I sigh.

“No one can rule who caused the problem. Both of you were there, and both of you claim the opposite thing happened. You come to me as if expecting me to know the truth. Well, I wasn’t there and I’m no god. But again, I have to ask, why do I need to be here? Correct me if I’m wrong, but shouldn’t we be building houses right now?”

Neither man speaks, but I get the slightest nod from Horst. I go on.

“Construction is dangerous. Or so I’ve heard. If there’s an issue of one person not paying attention, that’s a problem. If it happens again and there are witnesses, there may be need for punishment—or maybe not. Accidents happen. But this feud has already seen violence. If someone dies from all this hatred and anger, who will be to blame? You, Mister Horst? Or you, Mister Wellim? If someone dies, I rather think it would be my fault.”

They both look up sharply. I nod.

“I am an [Emperor]. This is my domain. Shouldn’t the blame fall to me? If things get worse—only they won’t get worse. Because we will sort this out. One of you made a mistake, or neither of you did. Either way, it’s a matter between you two, not two villages. We are working together here, all of us. We are all part of this—this nation. And I expect you to remember it.”

A beat. For a second I open my eyes again and hold their gazes. Then I close my eyes. It’s hard not to blink. I should probably exercise my eyelids, but what’s the point?

“You’re not children. If you want to hold a grudge, hold it. If you know you’re right, watch the other man until he makes a mistake again and point it out for all to see. But the feuding ends now, as does the gossiping and sabotaging each other. You don’t have to like one another. In fact, if you want to start a fight, now would be a good time. I’ll turn my head if you don’t want me to watch.”

I smile at that and turn my head sideways. I can sense the two men looking at each other. Then one of them clears his throat.

—-

Fifteen minutes later I walk out of the throne room as Horst and Wellim walk out. They’re not holding hands, but they’re talking to each other like people, even managing to smile. I find Prost waiting for me.

“I think we’ve come to an understanding, Mister Prost.”

“Good, Emperor Laken. Whose fault was it?”

“Rot in the timber, perhaps. A bad nail. Bad lighting. I think we’ll stop building at night. It’s efficient, but both Mister Horst and Wellim agree that night work leads to mistakes.”

“Very good, your majesty.”

Prost eyes the two men walking off. He looks at me and I sense a knowingness in his gaze.

“Did they brawl?”

“Not as such. They might throw a punch at each other while working, but I expect that will only be if one drops a piece of timber on the other man’s toe. They’re not friends, but they’re quite reasonable people when they get down to it.”

My [Steward] nods and I nod too.

“Only, you knew that, didn’t you Mister Prost? All of the times you broke the fights up and told them to work it out—or hinted to me that I should intervene—was to get me to do what I just did, wasn’t it?”

“Why would you say that, Emperor Laken?”

Prost bashfully looks the other way. I smile.

“A [Farmer] probably learns more than one or two tricks over the course of his life. A father likewise. Tell me, why didn’t you deal with it yourself?”

“I couldn’t do it, your majesty. Both men, well, they’re proud men and not keen to listen to a new [Steward]. An [Emperor] on the other hand…”

“Young as I am?”

“You saved their villages and drove the Goblins off. I don’t think either of them thought of your age while you were sitting on that throne, sire.”

I shake my head.

“All I did was ask them to settle things like adults, Mister Prost. It could have backfired or not worked at all. I didn’t know if what I was doing was the right thing. I just guessed.”

“But it did work, your majesty?”

I nod. Prost smiles.

“Then it was the right thing to do.”

“Yes, but what if it’s the wrong thing next time?”

He just shrugs at me. Prost speculatively looks across the village as the sun begins to set in the sky.

“Maybe it wouldn’t work any other day, and maybe it won’t work again. But it did work this time and that means what you did was the right thing, even if you didn’t know it was the right thing you were doing. And most of all, because it was you, Emperor Laken who did it, it was the right thing to do. Because [Emperors] don’t make mistakes.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re [Emperors], sir.”

“What if I made a mistake?”

“Then I’d suppose you weren’t acting much like an [Emperor] in that moment, sire. Or maybe it wasn’t your fault because things went wrong for no reason. Maybe it couldn’t be helped and it would’ve happened that way anyways. But [Emperors] don’t make mistakes because they know what they’re doing. Otherwise, why would they be [Emperors]?”

I frown as I mull over his convoluted statement.

“That’s circular logic, Mister Prost.”

He pauses, and then shrugs again.

“It may be circular, but I rather like it, sire. And it works. ”

I laugh.

“Good enough. Now, how’s Lady Rie doing?”

“Chomping at the bit, begging your pardon, sire. But she’s doing a good job, and now that there’s no need to worry about food—or a building—she’s got us figuring out seating arrangements and the like.”

“Much more manageable?”

“Much.”

We walk together, and for the first time I realize that Prost might not be in awe of Lady Rie as much as I was.

“I feel rather foolish, Mister Prost.”

“Do you, your majesty? I think you did a good job today. It was a hard decision.”

“But one I should have made, not anyone else. We wasted a lot of coin and time dancing to Lady Magnolia’s tune.”

“I expect the drapes and other things will make the great hall that much better anyways. And silverware’s good for entertaining folk, sire. It’s an investment for the future.”

“Were you always so optimistic, Prost?”

“No, your majesty. Not as smart, either. But I’ve changed a lot over the last few weeks. Done a lot of thinking ever since a young man pulled my son out of the snow.”

“Huh. Well, I hope I won’t make this mistake again. Mister Prost?”

“Emperor?”

“Let’s get to it.”

He smiles.

“Yes, sire.”

We walk back to work. Work being whatever I care to focus on. Lady Rie has her ideas, and I’m inclined to follow them. When I don’t have anything better in mind.

It’s a silly lesson I learned today. Relearned, rather. I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel like that all the time. But I do know something more important: no one else knows what they’re doing, either. And so I’ve got to make the decisions, even if I’m wrong. Even if they’re the wrong ones.

Because I’m an [Emperor].

Hm. I feel like I finally understand. All the little pieces are coming together. If I add all the fragments up, that nonsense dream I’ve been having, then—I have an idea. Or rather, I had an idea. I’m just a few days ahead of myself.

Day 95

“Shut up! Hey! Hey, remember to tell them to bring lots of sweets!”

“And pudding!”

Aha! I wake up with a smile. So that’s what it was all about! I stretch, walk out of my cottage after spending a leisurely breakfast with Durene and find Prost in good spirits.

“Emperor, we’ve got two more houses built and I reckon we can get another field sown today if we push it.”

“Excellent, Mister Prost! Any trouble from Mister Horst and Mister Wellim?”

“Not that I know of, sire. They’ve been working well. Not on the same team, but they go to each other’s sites and shout insults at each other. In a good way.”

“As opposed to a bad way?”

“It’s more like competition than it is anger, your majesty.”

“I’ll take that, then. Lady Rie?”

She bows her head, slightly…sullenly? She’s still not happy about my changes, but she’s working within my design and she’s stopped touching my arm.

“We have the clearing set up. I’ve taken the liberty of setting a few braziers up. I think [Light] spells would be more appropriate given the warmer weather, though.”

I nod.

“Good, we might actually do this. Now, I know we’re expecting the nobles to bring food, but have a few of our [Cooks] see me within the hour. I want some of Riverfarm and the local dishes on display and a lot of sweet foods.”

I turn to Prost as Wiskeria rides into the village, her [Hunters] carrying a dead buck between them. I wonder if a [Witch] has any party tricks? What am I saying? I wonder if she’ll agree to perform a few. I’d rather like to see her turn someone into a frog.

“I’ll also need some dry corn for an experiment, Mister Prost—we’ll make popcorn and a few other dishes from home. How good are your sausages, by any chance? Do we have any fresh pork sausages or could we make some?”

“Sausages, sire? Let me find you a selection…”

Back to work. Only this time it feels right. Uncertain, but right.

Day 96

“And pudding! Sweets and pudding, okay? Remember!”

“Quick, let’s go! Before—”

Yes, yes. I rise, and feel a hum of anticipation in the village. Lady Rie’s pacing nervously before I have a chance to meet with her.

“I’m just not sure we have enough entertainment, Emperor Laken, I don’t know how long you expect us to be occupied with trebuchets, but at some point we will be out of diversions!”

I smile at her, noticing for the first time how stressed she sounds. I wonder how much strain she’s been feeling? I feel great, incidentally.

“We’ll make do, Lady Rie. Mingling and conversation will suffice if we have nothing else at the time.”

“Conversation? If you say so, your majesty. And will you tell me at last what the other seats are for? You aren’t intending to seat more of the villagers with the nobility, are you? Your Mossbear, perhaps?”

Apparently Lady Rie also gets sarcastic when she’s peeved. I like that—it’s more honest of her.

“Trust, Lady Rie. We may have some unexpected guests. Or not. Now, let’s go over my actual conversation topics one more time. Tell me about trade goods coming from the south. You say it’s rare for Drakes to sell their goods past Liscor? What items are in high demand around here and what role did Riverfarm and the local villages fulfill up till this point?”

She sighs, but proceeds to lecture me at length. I wish I could take notes, but my stupid phone is completely dead. I hope I can get it fixed soon. Didn’t Ryoka say that a [Repair] spell charges it up? How come no one in my entire empire can cast the spell?

I wonder how you recruit mages? Reel them in with promises of free room and board? Spellbook on a fishing line? Maybe Wiskeria knows some people. Heck, maybe she’s part of a coven.

One day left. And as I sleep, it all falls into place.

Day 97

“Is it time yet?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think we’re early. We shouldn’t be here!”

“We’ll get in trouble!”

“Let’s go, hurry!”

“Wait!”

“Shh! We’re not supposed to be heard!”

“Shut up! Hey! Hey, remember to tell them to bring lots of sweets!”

“And pudding!”

“And pudding! Sweets and pudding, okay? Remember!”

“Quick, let’s go! Before—”

This is what I dreamt, over a week ago. The voices stir and echo around me, not quite here, but not quite in my mind either. They’re…like real memories, if that makes sense. Memory that becomes reality as you remember it? There’s just one thing missing from the conversation, one little clue.

Today, as I wake up I feel the village come alive. I eat breakfast with Durene, smiling at her as she paces around nervously.

“Are you sure it’ll be okay, Laken? What if they get angry? Maybe I should wear a helmet! Or a hat!”

“I hate hats. Durene, it’ll be fine. Besides, your suit looks quite nice.”

“You wouldn’t know! You can’t see!”

I laugh. Durene’s been dressed for today, against Lady Rie’s objections. She decided a dress did not suit her, and instead wore a suit—at my suggestion. If women can wear pants and suits, why not Durene? And apparently she cuts a rather bold figure with the cloth my [Tailors] had labored over.

“It’ll go well with my clothing, Durene. I’ve got enough cloth for a dress. We can say we switched roles for the banquet.”

“Laken!”

I’m not wearing a dress, but robes that are quite long and showy. All the better to give me some additional gravitas, according to Lady Rie. She tried to get me to wear lace and I refused. This was the best compromise we could come up with. I’d rather walk around naked than wear a suit with more lace than fabric.

“Looks like Lady Rie’s already pacing outside of the cottage. Prost’s here too. I thought the nobility were supposed to arrive this evening?”

“Maybe they’re early?”

“Not as far as I know. Pass me a fried potato, will you Durene? No, Frostwing, that’s not for you. Stop pooping so loudly, please? I’m trying to eat.”

This is how it goes. I go outside, tell a joke, and only Durene giggles. Gamel’s too uptight with his suit, Prost is distracted tugging at his, and Lady Rie’s far too high strung. Wiskeria just doesn’t like my sense of humor.

No one arrives in the morning, although we had prepared for a few early guests. Apparently I’m so intimidating, the entire group of nobles is arriving together. Or maybe that’s due to the presence of Magnolia’s servant, Sacra, and the famous Lady Bethal Walchaís. I sense a rather large caravan of people headed this way just after breakfast and Beniar’s riders report the nobles are coming in a train.

“A rather large group. They may arrive an hour late. I don’t think they were expecting to carry quite so much on the trip here.”

Lady Rie stares accusingly at me. I just smile.

“And their escort?”

“Light, for a group of nobles travelling. I counted sixty armed guards.”

“So two per noble? A bit less? That is trusting. If they’re staying the night, they can sleep in the houses for the nobles or outside. It shouldn’t rain today.”

“I doubt they’ll stay the night. And I’m surprised Lady Bethal isn’t travelling by magical carriage. Apparently Magnolia Reinhart lends it to all her closest friends. I wonder if it’s broken?”

“Magical carriages? Hold on, explain that to me? Someone?”

The day wears on. I try not to let my nerves get the better of me. I have a plan. It’s not a good one, and it’s based on guesswork and a dream I had. But it’s all I’ve got. As evening wears into dusk, the first nobles ride into Riverfarm, a group of laughing young [Lords] and [Ladies] and their retainers. They freeze the instant they see me.

“Lord Andres, Lady Cimeca, Lord Pattin, welcome to Riverfarm!”

Lady Rie calls out more names as the mounted nobility draw back, staring at me in alarm and awe. I smile, and gently let Frostwing flap her wings. Beneath me, my mount shifts and growls, making the noble’s horses back away skittishly.

That’s right, I’m riding Bismarck, my Mossbear. If you’ve got a Mossbear and you don’t ride it to meet people, what kind of [Emperor] are you? Durene stands by my side, practically vibrating with nerves. I try not to show anyone that my legs are trembling as they hug Bismarck’s sides.

A flurry. A torrent of bodies. Rich men and women dressed in finery, armored warriors—I can only rely on Wiskeria and Durene’s whispered explanations. Their voices sound like any other, perhaps a touch more refined and breathy—the nobles ride up to me on their horses while I let Bismarck snuffle at them. And then I hear a voice I recognize.

“Emperor Laken, I bring you greetings on behalf of Lady Magnolia Reinhart, who apologizes for the inconvenience of this small gathering.”

“Odveig. Or would you prefer to be called Sacra?”

“Either is fine.”

I turn my head to the [Maid] standing and staring up at me without a trace of fear. I can sense Wiskeria tensing besides me, but Sacra pays her no notice as she bows and introduces the last of my guests. I smell a floral perfume and hear a light voice.

“My, is that a Mossbear? Thomast, look! How exciting! Do you think I could ride it?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Emperor Laken, may I present Lady Bethal Walchaís and Sir Thomast?”

The man and woman step forwards. I get nothing from my image of them in my head. Lady Bethal is wearing a dress and Thomast some kind of doublet. They’re attired much like the others I suppose—my [Emperor] senses don’t extend to color or detail well. But the two do have a kind of…presence in my mind.

Lady Bethal feels like a rose, or a bush covered in thorns. As if I could walk into her and be stung. It’s an aura about her, and Sir Thomast—just seems too poised. He stands as if he could leap into action at any moment and there’s a grace about his movements that makes me think he knows how to handle the rapier at his side. Both bow to me and Lady Bethal’s first words after her greeting are about Bismarck.

“Is he tamed, your majesty? I had heard there was an [Emperor] who commanded the hearts of both beasts and men, but until Magnolia told me about you, I was quite under the impression that it was all rumor! Oh, but do forgive me—I do forget myself. Thomast, why don’t you ever stop me?”

The [Chevalier] says nothing. I get the feeling he’s staring at me, not at Durene, for all Bethal is now gushing over Durene’s suit and greeting Lady Rie. From the way Rie goes stiff and quiet, I get the feeling that Lady Bethal’s spiky aura isn’t for show.

Big players. Large fish in small ponds, or however the saying goes. Bethal strikes me as a shark, though. The nobles wait for me as I finish greeting Lady Bethal. They’ve already spotted the clearing filled with food that their servants are busily unloading and I think their mood is—intrigued. Some of them appear dismayed from the way they shift and lean closer to talk to each other, but I’ve made an impression.

So here’s how it ends. I raise my hand and make a small speech in the silence as every eye falls to me. As the light fades I quell the butterflies in my chest. Is this the right thing to do? Is this the right thing to say? I’m an [Emperor]. It better be.

“[Lords] and [Ladies] of Izril, I greet you. I am Laken Godart.”

They stir as I don’t give myself any titles. I could have proclaimed myself ruler of the Unseen Empire, or any number of things, but I’m here to make friends, not scare them. I go on.

“I am aware that you are here at Lady Magnolia Reinhart’s request. I was unaware of this gathering until she arranged it in my honor, and I am grateful for her aid in doing so. For your enjoyment, my people have created a small setting in which we may mingle and talk. I look forwards to meeting each one of you in person. But before that—”

My heart skips a beat in my chest. Here it is.

“—But before that, I believe there are a few more guests I have yet to invite.”

Murmurs. I see heads turning and Thomast tense ever so slightly beside his wife. I ignore the confused nobility and look up.

“I greet the nobility of this land before me. I offer them the warmth of my hearths and the bounty of my lands. I would be remiss if I did not extend the same invitation to my own vassals.”

I look up towards the sky. Please be there. Please don’t be a dream.

“My lords and ladies of the court? I invite you to share this banquet at your discretion. My lands are open to all those of my empire on this day. Come, if thou would.”

I offer a hand up towards the heavens. And wait. There’s only silence. After a moment, a long moment in which I curse and wonder what the hell I should do next, I lower my hand. The silence around me is broken by a low voice muttering out of the group of nobles.

“What was that?”

I hear a titter and someone shushing the speaker. I turn, keeping my face calm, not letting blood rush to my cheeks. It was a long shot. A perhaps. And I am an [Emperor]. So I keep up the charade, as I turn to look at my [Steward].

“Mister Prost? We may have visitors this night. Keep a place at the tables open should guests arrive. Now, I believe we are ready to be seated?”

“Of course, your majesty.”

Prost breaks the silence by gesturing. The young men and women dressed in fine clothing step forwards and quite elegantly lead the nobles to the tables. I dismount Bismarck and do the same, pointedly standing. It’s going to be a standing dinner, a time to chat. Less formal which means less risk of me making a mistake. I turn my head to the buffet and try to remember my lines? Thank Magnolia for her hospitality again? No, wait, maybe I should talk about the Goblins—

I freeze as I hear a giggle. It’s a soft sound, but it cuts through the quiet murmuring like a bell ringing in a snowstorm. The sound is bright and cheerful and makes every head turn in confusion. I feel my heart beating faster.

The giggling stops abruptly. But the air is suddenly warmer, and the sky brighter. The clearing illuminated by braziers and mage light warms, and it feels as though everything is lit by a subtle glow. I feel the wind blow strong for a second, and smell wet earth, flowers, the smell of nectar, growing grass—

Spring.

Oh, that’s what I was missing. I hear the voices overhead, crystal clear at last. Unearthly voices, voices that rustle and leap with life, the voices made of magic.

“Is it time yet?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure?”

“I think we’re early. We shouldn’t be here!”

“We’ll get in trouble!”

“Let’s go, hurry!”

“Wait!”

“Shh! We’re not supposed to be heard!”

“Shut up! Hey! Hey, remember to tell them to bring lots of sweets!”

“And pudding!”

“And pudding! Sweets and pudding, okay? Remember!”

“Quick, let’s go! Before—”

A clamor of quick voices, arguing, talking rapidly and urgently. And then an authoritative voice, singing out above them all.

“Too late! It’s time!”

I hear laughter. And I look up and smile. The skies open. The nobles gape. Durene looks up and gasps. Lady Rie nearly swallows her tongue. I just laugh as the wind blows and they step downwards, step out of the forests, dance into the meadow. Of course, why would they be cold and frozen in the spring? I look at one of them as they wink and blow me a kiss. They bow, mockingly, and I shake my head.

“Took you long enough.”

“Same to you!”

And then my banquet really begins as they descend, bringing spring and chaos in their wake. The tricksters, the harbingers of spring and snow. The beings of myth and magic. The Fair Folk.

The fae.

5.11 E

“What a pathetic little province. Aunt, are you sure an [Emperor] lives here of all places?”

Lord Rael of Veniford twisted in his saddle to speak to the older lady riding next to him. He stared down the dirt road, at the shabby signpost at the crossroads and the distant houses in the distance. He could see small shapes working as the evening light turned the world orange. Peasants building more houses, by the looks of it. He wrinkled his nose in distaste.

The woman riding next to him gave Rael a sharp look. Like him, she was dressed in fine riding clothes, attired as befit her station. Her dress was impeccable but it stung Lord Rael’s pride that it was the same dress she’d owned a year ago. His family, the Venifords, could not afford to dress in the latest fashions so they repaired their clothing rather than replace them at year’s end. Rael was acutely aware of the stitching down the left side of his pant leg—practically unnoticeable, unless you cared for good cloth.

And it was presumable that everyone in the small procession cared about such matters. They were all the nobility of Izril. The Human nobility, that was. Rael wouldn’t have ridden with a Drake—if they did know how to ride at all—for any amount of money. He was a [Lord], an owner of a large province of land bordering Invrisil. Unfortunately, said land was not nearly as profitable as, say, Lady Magnolia Reinhart’s holdings and their family had fallen on harder times since his birth.

If the Venifords had one treasure, it was their matriarch and Rael’s aunt, Lady Bevia Veniford. She was an old warhammer of a woman in Rael’s opinion. She’d survived two husbands and both Antinium Wars and she was a high-level [Lady] adept at social graces. Her ties had brought income to Veniford in the form of trade and so on, but it made Rael angry thinking of how his aunt lowered herself to make deals with [Merchants].

He had been raised to be proud of his class by his father, Lord Willam Veniford until his demise during a hunting session at the horn of an angry Corusdeer. It was just another litany in the list of Veniford’s woes. And this—being forced to attend a social gathering in the middle of nowhere at Lady Magnolia Reinhart’s request was just another injustice Rael intended to correct when he assumed control of the family. Unfortunately, his indignation did not seem to impress his aunt. She leaned over and quietly spoke in a cutting tone.

“You will keep your remarks to yourself, Rael. We are in the lands of Emperor Laken and while we are here you will behave properly, or I will put you over my saddle and spank you myself.”

Rael jerked and his cheeks flamed. His head swiveled quickly, but none of the other riders were close enough to have heard. He glared at his aunt.

“This is beneath us! We are nobility—why is there no escort? And look at that village! It can’t hold more than a thousand peasants!”

“It can. Riverfarm has expanded of late. And they are putting up new houses quite quickly. I had heard they were in the middle of rebuilding not a week ago, with barely more than half a dozen homes standing. There must be four times as many houses. Quite impressive of this young [Emperor].”

Lady Bevia straightened in her saddle, giving the town an appraising look. Rael fumed, trying to see what she did in this rundown countryside. Bevia shook her head slightly as she regarded her nephew with disapproval.

“You have too much of your father in you, Rael. Look beyond appearances. Lady Reinhart herself has taken the time to organize this gathering—at a time when the Goblin Lord is marching through her lands! This [Emperor] is the first of his kind to appear on Izril in over a thousand years.”

“He might not be a true [Emperor]. Why would one appear here?”

Rael muttered sulkily as he brushed at his hair. It was wet, conditioned with an [Alchemist]’s tonic he’d bought half-price while in Invrisil a month ago. It felt too slick—perhaps the mixture was going bad? He cursed to himself as he impatiently adjusted his posture on his mare. He should have been riding a stallion at the head of this band of nobles!

Laughter came from the fore of their procession. Rael scowled at the young [Lords] and [Ladies] pressing their mounts ahead. Not everyone invited to the gathering was as old and tiresome as his aunt. A number of young nobles had come with their families. Rael itched to join them, but he was worried about his hair. And the stitches on his pant leg. He tried to tell himself that no one would care.

Bevia eyed Rael as she drew her mount around a fresh pile of horse dung dropped by a rider in front. She cast her eyes back to the wagons filled with foods following their group at a good pace.

“I do not believe Magnolia Reinhart would make mistakes. Nor do I believe Lady Rie Valerund would pledge her loyalty to a charlatan. This Laken Godart is an [Emperor], I have no doubts. So if he appears before us in rags you will bow and address him with respect.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Rael grumbled. Bevia sighed through her nose.

“Rael, you are beginning to test my patience. I brought you on this outing because Lady Magnolia requested I bring you, and I agreed against my better judgment.”

“Lady Magnolia asked for me specifically?”

Rael’s heart jumped in his chest. Bevia shook her head.

“She had a list. Do not let it get to your head. Now, if you wish to ride with the younger men and women, do not let me stop you. But remember—respect. Hold your tongue, Rael.”

She raised a finger. Rael nodded absently. Magnolia Reinhart knew his name! He kicked his mare forwards eagerly, riding past the other older nobles.

“Rael! It’s about time! What, were you going to hang back with your aunt until we got to the village?”

A young man called out as Rael trotted his mount forwards. Lord Andres of Lelk turned his stallion and rode back as Rael slowed. A group of six young nobles turned to him and Rael recognized all of them. Three were young men and three young women. They were all local nobles, none from exceptionally large houses. Of the six, Lord Andres probably had the wealthiest lands although Lady Cimeca of House Tellis probably had more holdings.

Rael would have been placed at the lower rung in terms of both wealth and size of his lands, right above Lord Pattin of Vaunt. Rael was glad to see him and smiled arrogantly at Pattin. The young [Lordling] was heir to a small city and a few villages that produced cheese and little else.

“I decided to keep my aunt company. She’s getting on in years and I didn’t want to abandon her until I was certain she could do without me, Andres. Cimeca, you look well.”

Andres laughed as the young woman with red hair turned her head to look back at him. Rael’s heart skipped a beat as Cimeca politely smiled his way. He urged his mare forwards and he was soon part of the group. The young nobles laughed as their older counterparts hung back, talking quietly. Soon Rael was repeating his comments about the landscape to the laughing crowd, heedless of his aunt’s warnings.

“Aye, it’s a poor province. Riverfarm and the surrounding area earn a pittance compared to lands managed by proper [Lords]. I heard all of this was once Valerund land until the family lost all of its members during the Second Antinium War.”

Andres nodded around the countryside, shaking his head at evidence of unused cropland long abandoned. Rael nodded, but Lord Pattin cut in.

“First Antinium War, actually, Andres.”

“What? The Antinium didn’t invade our lands during the First Antinium War! Pattin, are you sure?”

Haviet Meliope turned her head, her emerald earrings sparkling as she looked at Pattin. She was dressed well, although she was no beauty in Rael’s eyes. Still, her clothing was a far cry from Pattin’s worn riding clothes and sad mare. Pattin nodded, undeterred by her skepticism and his poor fortunes. He twisted a ring on his finger as he talked absently.

“We were never invaded, it’s true, but Lord Quail Valerund was one of the first to pledge his forces to Lady Magnolia when she led our armies to fight the Antinium at Liscor. He perished in the battle—one of the only nobles who fell. He was Lady Rie’s grandfather and a powerful [Lord]—he was succeeded by his daughter and her husband of course, but the loss of such a high-level [Lord] hurt the family and they never quite recovered. Then of course the Second Antinium War happened and they lost control of almost all the rest of their lands along with their garrisons. That was why Riverfarm and the surrounding areas are so poor—”

“Argh, enough talk of history!”

Rael burst out, annoyed by Pattin’s lecturing tone. He spurred his mare and his horse trotted forwards a few steps as Rael raised his voice.

“No one cares why this place is so poor, Pattin. But why an [Emperor] of all people would deign to live here is beyond me. I wouldn’t let a Drake [Lord] live here—if they’d ever come out of hiding behind their Walled Cities, that is!”

He smirked as one of the young women laughed and Andres chuckled. However, Haviet smiled nastily at Rael. She and he had hated each other ever since he’d made an ill-advised comment about her appearance to a few of his male friends a year back. She’d heard and never forgiven him for it.

“I wouldn’t speak so loudly, Rael. If your aunt Bevia hears of it she’ll put you over the saddle right here and now.”

Rael turned beet red as Andres, Pattin, and Oswalt howled with laughter. The other ladies laughed too. He glared at her.

“How did—”

“Haviet just learned the [Long Ear] Skill, Rael. Haven’t you heard?”

Andres grinned as the others kept chuckling. Haviet smiled at Rael and he glared at her. He was a low-level [Lord], as was she and the rest of their company. He didn’t know their exact levels, but they couldn’t be much higher than he was, a Level 13 [Lord] and Level 4 [Warrior]. He glared at Haviet and came up with the most cutting response he could.

“[Long Ears], eh? Well, it can’t hurt Haviet’s looks even if she started looking like a half-Elf. Who knows? It might even be an improvement!”

His words made Haviet flush beet red and provoked another laugh from Oswalt and an unwilling one from Andres. Pattin didn’t laugh though, giving Rael a troubled glance. Rael cared not one whit for his opinion. Cimeca gave him a frosty look, however, which wasn’t part of his plan.

“I think any Skill is to be commended, Lord Rael. Besides which, Emperor Laken Godart has invited us into his domain and that merits a certain degree of respect from all of us.”

She swept her gaze past Andres and Oswalt who immediately stopped laughing and cleared their throats awkwardly. Rael turned his head away, face flushed with anger and shame. After a pause in which all seven nobles trotted forwards, it was Oswalt who spoke.

“I say, there are a number of nobles I don’t quite recognize. I know all of our families, but who’s the woman riding with that man in the doublet with the rapier behind us? Is he her bodyguard or is she single?”

He nodded covertly and everyone turned in their saddle to look. Ellia Cantras, third daughter of the Cantras family, known for their beekeeping, peach orchards, and small population of [Mages], glared at Oswalt. She and he had been in an unofficial relationship for two years until it came out that Oswalt had been cheating on her with local peasant girls and visiting brothels.

“That’s Lady Bethal Walchaís, Oswalt. And if you have half a brain you’ll keep away from her if you don’t want her husband to run you through. Sir Thomast is a [Chevalier] and ten times better with a rapier than anyone here.”

All the young men turned to stare at Sir Thomast. Andres whistled.

“That’s him? I thought he’d be bigger! And that’s Lady Bethal? I heard she’s a firebrand.”

“In bed or out of it?”

Haviet and Ellia rolled their eyes at Oswalt’s joke. Cimeca frowned.

“Don’t offend her, whatever you do, Oswalt. And don’t touch her without her consent.”

“Why?”

“Because you could lose your hand.”

“What?”

Rael stared at Cimeca. She hesitated and lowered her voice. The other nobles moved their horses closer to hear.

“She’s got a Skill that makes anyone who raises a hand against her suffer. She learned it during the Second Antinium War. The rumor is that she provoked Lord Elmha at a ball six years ago and he slapped her. Apparently he tore half the flesh off his hand and that was before Lady Bethal demanded he duel her husband for the insult. Lord Elmha took three cuts to his right shoulder and apparently hasn’t been able to move his arm or hand since.”

Andres shuddered and Rael found himself glancing backward in alarm. That was Lady Bethal? He knew she was a very influential [Lady] with a powerful estate, but that? Lady Bethal was laughing as she turned in her saddle to talk to Bevia who’d ridden up behind them.

“You’re quite lucky, Rael.”

Pattin was the first to break the thoughtful silence. Rael jumped and stared at him.

“How?”

The impoverished young lord gestured to his aunt.

“Lady Bevia is quite good at making deals. She’s made connections with everyone in this party except Lady Bethal and if anyone might negotiate a favorable deal with this emperor, it’s her. I don’t expect Vaunt to come away with much, but if Laken Godart is offering anything I’m sure Lady Bevia will secure a piece of it.”

Andres sighed.

“If he has anything to offer. I still don’t know why Magnolia Reinhart herself went to the trouble of arranging the meeting. I’m just here for the outing, but I’ll be damned if I know why my father sent both me and my elder sister all the way here at her request. Why would she want to help him?”

Oswalt snorted.

“Why not? He’s an [Emperor] and she’s the highest-level [Lady] in the realm.”

“That’s not a good reason! She’s hardly pledged herself to him. And this isn’t exactly helpful—it could be a ploy to embarrass him, my mother says.”

Haviet leaned forwards. Andres rolled his eyes.

“With a social gathering?”

“If his village really is poor—”

“I thought he owned the lands around here? Anyone know if he owns the local cities?”

“I don’t know much. Only that he calls himself ruler of the Unseen Empire.”

“Unseen?”

“He’s blind.”

“What?”

Rael turned to stare at Haviet. She nodded.

“Hadn’t you heard? He’s blind but apparently he sees everything. Somehow. Don’t ask me, but apparently his army has slain every Goblin, [Bandit], and monster in the area for the last few months! The roads are completely safe, which is why my father wants a trade deal with him.”

Andres leaned forwards conspiratorially.

“I also hear he commands beasts. He’s got a half-Giant for a bodyguard and a [Witch] for a [General].”

“No!”

“Yes, and—get this—he’s also able to protect his people from harm. He can magically sense when they’re in danger.”

“That has to be false. Unless there’s really a Skill like that?”

“I’m just reporting on what’s said! But apparently there’s a rumor that when he first appeared, he went to Invrisil and bought supplies for his village with gems and gold! People say he’s an exile from Chandrar—”

“I heard it was Terandria!”

“Terandria? Are you mad? They don’t have [Emperors] there. Unless he’s of some old lineage.”

“Hey, what’s that? Someone’s coming this way!”

The noisy gossip broke off as Lady Ellia pointed. Rael looked ahead and saw a group of mounted warriors galloping towards them. He stared in fascination as they slowed and then jerked in surprise as the mounted [Guards] and [Warriors] escorting the party moved forwards, protectively encircling the young nobles. Rael gripped at his new longsword, irritated. He wanted to declare that he could handle himself, but he never got the chance.

Cimeca stared as the lead rider approached the group. The head of the [Guards] rode forwards to meet them and they conversed. The rider nodded and then kicked his mount forwards. Rael stared at him in appreciation. He was wearing heavy mail armor and his horse was covered in scale barding. He looked like a seasoned veteran and the [Guard Captain] was clearly wary of him.

“My Lord and Ladies of Izril, I am Beniar, a [Cataphract] and [Captain] in service to His Majesty, Laken Godart. I have been tasked with escorting you safely through his lands. I bear you my liege’s compliments and his gratitude for your long journey.”

Beniar bowed in his saddle to the older nobles and then flashed the young women a smile that made Haviet and Ellia blush and fan at their faces. Rael saw Cimeca’s cheeks were slightly red as well and scowled at Beniar. There was a pause as the nobles conferred, then Bevia raised her voice.

“Sir Beniar, we are grateful for your escort. We eagerly await meeting his majesty soon. Tell me, are we close to Riverfarm?”

“Indeed, my lady. We are less than an hour’s ride away.”

Beniar bowed again and the procession, heartened by the news, began moving again. Beniar and his escort fell in line with the nobles and their guards. Soon he was the center of attention as nobles—not just the young women—surrounded him. Rael had to grudgingly admit that Beniar was a good emissary. Not only was he a former Silver-rank adventurer, but he was a [Cataphract], a class unknown to everyone in the group. Rael tried not to be impressed as Beniar described fighting for Laken Godart against Hobgoblins.

“You said the village is just up ahead? Can we ride to it safely? I’d bet my mount could give yours a run for its money with or without armor!”

Andres looked eager to race his horse against Beniar. The former adventurer only smiled politely.

“It is up ahead. I’m afraid I must stay with the procession, but if you wish to go ahead, feel free. My Emperor has assured me the roads are clear.”

“And does that mean they are?”

Rael challenged Beniar and was infuriated when the other young man chuckled in reply.

“If Emperor Laken says the roads are safe, then they undoubtedly are, Lord Rael. Nothing moves or enters his domain without his knowledge.”

There was an impressed pause as everyone considered Beniar’s words. Rael considered scoffing, but he didn’t quite dare. Andres laughed at last.

“Good enough for me! Anyone coming? Pattin? Andres? Cimeca?”

“I’ll go.”

“And I!”

The young nobles hurriedly chimed in, all save for Emile and Haviet who were asking Beniar about a scar on his cheek. The five nobles raced ahead, laughing, and Rael spurred his mare hard, trying to catch Andres’ stallion. He lost, much to his disgust. Though he managed to make his mare beat Oswalt, he was outdone by Andres, Cimeca, and to his absolute disgust, Pattin. The poor lord might have had an old horse, but she was quick and he rode flawlessly in the saddle, nearly catching Andres as they raced into the village.

“Good sport!”

Oswalt laughed, not at all put out by his loss. Rael stared dismissively around the village. Now that he was up close he could see the houses under construction and the milling people at work. It looked just as pathetic as he’d thought! Still, he held his tongue and turned his panting mount as he heard a woman’s voice calling out.

“Lord Andres, Lady Cimeca, Lord Pattin, welcome to Riverfarm!”

A [Lady] was standing in the center of the street, dressed as if she were ready to go to a ball. The laughing young nobles straightened and tried to wipe sweat off their foreheads as Lady Rie Valerund swept forwards. She was a beautiful woman and Rael couldn’t keep his eyes off her neckline. That was, until he saw the giant bear walking down the street.

“Mossbear!”

Pattin cried out in alarm and Andres and Oswalt paled. Rael fumbled for his sword but before anyone could act, they realized the bear had a saddle. And someone was riding it.

“Please do not be alarmed. My young lord and ladies of Izril, may I present His Majesty, Emperor Laken Godart.”

Lady Rie bowed slightly as the bear stepped forwards. Rael gaped. There was a young man riding the bear! He was only a few years older than Rael, and his eyes were closed. He turned his head to the nobles as their horses shied away, smiling.

“Good evening. I am Laken Godart, Emperor of Riverfarm. I thank you for coming all this way. Please, be at ease. Bismarck is not dangerous.”

He gently patted the green bear’s head and it made a whuffing sound. Rael’s heart raced. He stared at the [Emperor] as the young man turned his head unerringly to look straight at him. His eyes were closed, but somehow he knew where Rael was!

“Lady Rie, will you introduce me?”

“Of course. This is Rael Veniford. His lands are a good bit southeast of Invrisil, and he is the sole male heir of his family. Lord Rael, may I presume Lady Bevia is riding with you?”

“Aunt? Ah, yes—she’s on her way here. Greetings, your majesty.”

Fumbling, Rael bowed in his saddle and saw the [Emperor] nod in return. He felt off-guard and unsure what to do but was relieved to see his companions were little better off. Lady Rie smiled.

“You are no doubt exhausted from the trip. Please, allow our [Handlers] to care for your mounts. We have refreshments ready and I am sure you would enjoy touring Riverfarm on foot while we wait for the rest of the nobles to arrive.”

She whisked the young nobles away as Laken Godart remained seated on his bear, patiently awaiting the arrival of the other nobles. Soon, Rael found himself greeting Laken Godart all over again as the other nobles arrived. He was relieved to see they were equally dumbfounded to be greeted by the [Emperor] riding a bear, but they concealed their surprise well. His aunt only blinked once before gracefully bowing in her saddle.

“Emperor Laken, I am Lady Bevia Veniford. I am delighted to make your acquaintance. You do live up to the rumors, your majesty.”

“Oh? There are rumors about me?”

Laken Godart smiled as if he was unaware of the speculation and gossip that had followed his every move for the last two months. Lady Bevia smiled.

“Merely a handful, your majesty. And please, allow me to be the first to apologize for intruding on you at this busy time. I understand Riverfarm is undergoing extensive construction and Lady Reinhart’s gathering was something of a surprise.”

“Ah, well, I am told Lady Magnolia Reinhart enjoys such surprises. And it would hardly do for an [Emperor] to refuse an audience, would it not? I am delighted by your presence, Lady Bevia. I only trust that my hospitality shall not disappoint.”

“I cannot imagine that it would.”

Bevia nudged Rael and he bowed, stammering another greeting. They withdrew as another noble drew forwards to greet the Emperor. As they moved away, Bevia whispered.

“Unexpected.”

“What is?”

Rael looked at her uncertainly. His aunt blinked and he realized the comment must not have been aimed at him.

“That was a true [Emperor], Rael. He has poise—and a sense for drama! Greeting us on a bear of all things. And he called this an audience? Lady Magnolia was right to draw attention to him.”

“Why?”

Bevia squinted at Rael as if to tell whether he was trying to be deliberately obtuse.

“Because it will benefit her to be the one to introduce Emperor Laken to Izril’s high society, of course! And because he is a true [Emperor]. Leaving him alone would be dangerous and risky. Acknowledging him is a safe maneuver.”

“But she hasn’t come herself. Isn’t that a slight?”

“She sent Lady Bethal, a close friend, and her maid.”

Bevia pointed back to where a maid was standing politely on the ground. She was attracting glances from the local peasants, who’d probably never seen anyone wearing a maid’s uniform before. Rael shook his head.

“A maid?”

“Her spy. Don’t try and woo her. Keep up, and try not to fall over yourself bowing next time!”

Soon all the nobles were dismounted and led to a small clearing out in the open. Rael wrinkled his nose at the outdoor setting, but he had to admit that the banquet was certainly impressive. Each noble had brought a variety of foods, and as such the tables were heaped with delights. Bevia nodded appreciatively.

“And without spending a copper coin he has us host ourselves. Clever.”

Rael stared at the [Emperor] as he slowly walked forwards to the head of the table. He needed no guide despite walking without opening his eyes. He was flanked by a giant half-Troll…female in a suit and Lady Rie on his other side. Rael wrinkled his nose as he eyed the half-Troll.

“Clever or not, he’s made us come all the way here. And he only controls this village, Aunt. This is the least he should do for nobles of Izril.”

He’d gotten over his shock of meeting Laken Godart on the bear and was determined to treat this outsider with more scorn than the other nobles fawning over him. Bevia gave him an irritated glance, and Rael saw Cimeca look over. He smiled to himself as he realized the other nobles around him were giving him speculative looks. Cimeca leaned over, keeping her voice low.

“You’re not impressed, Rael?”

“What, by the bear? That was a trick. What else has this [Emperor] got besides a monster for a pet? We are still [Lords] and [Ladies] when all is said and done. We come from powerful houses—this [Emperor] is wise to greet us as equals. He must win our respect.”

Rael saw a few other nobles nodding in agreement, older men and women. He puffed up with pride as Bevia stared at him.

“Be quiet.”

She nodded to Laken Godart. The young man waited for silence and began to speak.

“[Lords] and [Ladies] of Izril, I greet you. I am Laken Godart.”

Rael sensed a stir among the crowd. He nodded to himself. The [Emperor] wasn’t using his title. He was being humble. He shot his aunt a triumphant look, but her focus was on him. Laken Godart continued.

“I am aware that you are here at Lady Magnolia Reinhart’s request. I was unaware of this gathering until she arranged it in my honor, and I am grateful for her aid in doing so. For your enjoyment, my people have created a small setting in which we may mingle and talk. I look forwards to meeting each one of you in person. But before that—”

He paused for a second and Rael frowned. He was already hungry. What did he want, an official greeting? Entertainment?

“—But before that, I believe there are a few more guests I have yet to invite.”

There was murmuring. Rael frowned. Someone else was coming to the gathering? Who? It had better not be the staring peasants. He leaned over.

“Aunt, who is he talking about?”

“Quiet!”

“I greet the nobility of this land before me. I offer them the warmth of my hearths and the bounty of my lands. I would be remiss if I did not extend the same invitation to my own vassals.”

Laken Godart looked up towards the darkening sky, his eyes still closed. He gestured, as if inviting someone from above.

“My lords and ladies of the court? I invite you to share this banquet at your discretion. My lands are open to all those of my empire on this day. Come, if thou would.”

For a few second there was stunned silence. Rael looked around, and then couldn’t help it. He laughed.

“What was that?”

Bevia’s head whipped around. She glared at her nephew, but Rael was busy watching Cimeca and the other young nobles. He saw her giggle, covering the motion, and heard chuckles around him. Bevia’s fingers dug into his arm and Rael suppressed a yelp. His aunt gave him a look that deflated Rael’s good spirits. It promised trouble.

The [Emperor] seemed not to have noticed Rael’s comment. He looked towards an older man standing to one side, dressed in a suit.

“Mister Prost? We may have visitors this night. Keep a place at the tables open should guests arrive. Now, I believe we are ready to be seated?”

“Of course, your majesty.”

The man bowed and began leading nobles to the tables. Rael was about to walk forwards and find himself a seat away from his angry aunt when he paused. He heard something. A laugh from high above. It was faint, but unmistakable. It cut through the voices, the sound of wind, the chirping of insects—a giggling laughter. You couldn’t not hear it. It was as if it was the one true sound in the world and everything else Rael had heard over his lifetime was fake noise. He looked up in bewilderment and felt a breeze blow.

It was fresh and warm, filled with life. It stirred his hair and heart. Rael inhaled and caught a scent in the air, like morning dew, like the fresh air of forests, like spring. He heard more laughter and looked around. The breeze blew. The forest around the meadow stirred. And then he saw a glow of green, a figure dancing among the trees. By his side Cimeca gasped and Rael heard someone inhale sharply.

A woman stepped out of the forests, laughing. She was dressed in wild green and red clothing and her skin was tinted green. Her eyes danced, and the air brightened around her. She walked forwards, spinning, her steps light on the ground. Rael stared at her. She was the most incredible thing he had ever seen in his life. It wasn’t her appearance that caught him like a fish on the hook, but her otherworldly nature, the depths of her eyes, the way she moved.

And then the forest rustled. The air opened. Green figures began descending, walking out of the darkness, dancing down like birds from above. Wild folk, dressed in wild clothing with eyes that shone. Proud folk, that put the assembled company of nobles from Izril to shame. Fair folk, the fairest and most beautiful folk Rael had ever seen.

Fae folk.

—-

This is how they came. I stand, stunned, as the fae come out of the skies and shadows of dusk. They weren’t so large before! And these fae are full of life and motion, bearing the aspect, the very essence of spring itself. The Frost Faeries I knew were small winged creatures full of mischief and laughter.

At least the laughter is the same here. The fae come forwards, laughing, showing off. Yes, that’s what they’re doing. Showing off. Each one is the center of attention, a one-person performance that demands all the attention in the world. They dance into the meadow, shining stars that glow in my mind’s eye.

The fae.

Dancing and laughing, appearing out of the air like spirits. Called by my voice. The fae descend on my gathering, brightening the dusk with their presence. They walk or run or leap about, dressed in wild clothing that’s both rich and free. Their garments shimmer with beauty, almost as much as the fae themselves.

Or so I imagine. I, Laken Godart, can’t see. But I can listen. I heard the nobles and people of Riverfarm around me gasp with the beauty of the fae. I can only sense them as shapes in my mind for all their voices are like magic to my ears. But there is a difference. And what I sense is that difference without the allure of their physical forms.

The fae are tall. Thin and lithe, their bodies are different than Human ones. Their arms and legs are actually a bit too long for normal. And their faces are more angular than Human ones. I can’t sense what their eyes look like, but I can tell their ears are pointed. Each fae is different, but I sense some with wings.

Insect’s wings. Perhaps I’m the only one who notices them at first. The others are spellbound. I am too, to be honest. But I can’t see the fae, so their effect is muted on me. The fae come out of the forests, at least thirty of them. Perhaps more. I can’t tell—they don’t seem to stand still in my mind. But they stop on the opposite side of the banquet table, laughing, and then fall silence as one speaks.

“So you call us, Emperor of Men! You invite us to your feast, you who gave us the titles of your empire. Do you offer us the hospitality of your lands? Do you open your doors to us?”

I start, surprised to be addressed. The magic of the moment breaks and I remember who I am. Laken Godart, [Emperor]. And I have a job to do. I have to remember. I planned for this. I wasn’t sure they would come, but now they’re here. So I choose my words carefully.

The fae. The fair folk from my world. Not all legends about them are wonderful. In fact, the further back you go, the more sinister they appear. I remember reading of Wechselkind or Changelings, children replaced by faeries. So I answer carefully.

“I offer you the hospitality of this banquet, lords and ladies of my realm. Food I offer you, and company within this meadow. Feast and revel to your heart’s content here, but nowhere else I ask of you.”

“Ah, a wise host!”

The speaker laughs at me. Which of the fae is it? I can’t tell. None of them step forwards. And the voice isn’t distinctly male or female. Neither are the fae.

Strange. I could have sworn the Frost Faeries were female, all of them. But these fae—I can’t tell exactly, but some give me the impression of masculinity. Others are clearly feminine—but the lines are blurred. I can’t tell what they are, only that they’re here. The fae mill about.

“There is iron here! Cold metal in the tables! Does he give offense, this leader of men?”

“In the tables, the nails! Is it a slight or oversight?”

“Not much iron. And we are outdoors. Food is offered. A feast in our honor! We have not seen such in millennia. Sisters, brothers, do we accept?”

“Within the meadow, aye! For a night, aye! Such are the terms!”

“Then we accept! The deal is struck!”

They speak all at once, in a rush. And then they move all at once, making the Humans in the meadow start. The fae descend on the table and snatch up the filled glasses and plates, filling their plates, beginning to eat without so much as waiting for anyone else. They call out to my diners.

“So then, mortals! Join us!”

“Yes, come and revel! Come, sit.”

“Join us!”

Every eye is on me. By my side Lady Rie is trembling. I hear Durene’s voice.

“Laken, who are they?”

“The nobles of my court.”

I turn from Durene and address the stunned nobility.

“[Lords] and [Ladies] of Izril, I present to you my guests. Those you see here are the nobles of my court. The fair folk.”

“The fair folk?”

One of the [Ladies] speaks. Bevia, the older noblewoman. She stares at the fae and at me.

“I have never heard of their kind, Emperor Laken. These guests of yours, are they Human or—or something else? Please tell me. From what land do they hail?”

To her credit, Lady Bevia’s voice barely trembles although I know she must be as shaken as I am to be in the presence of the fae. At her words, a few of the shining folk laugh and call out.

“Avalon, mortal woman! That land beyond lands! The eternal realm”

“Shh! They don’t know where that is!”

“Hark, the emperor speaks! Let him explain!”

I nod. How can I explain them?

“As they say Lady Bevia. They come from lands far distant. And they are not Human. They are the fair folk. They have come here in honor of the banquet you have brought with you. They will dine with you. But before we sit, I have a few words of caution.”

I hold up my hand and speak loudly, over the laughter in the table in front of me. I can see the nobles staring at the fae, entranced. But this has to be said. Caution hums in my veins now that the first moment of wonder is gone. Remember the legends.

“I caution you. The fair folk are neither enemies nor friends. Make them no promises and speak no untruths to them. Stay within the meadow and if they ask you to leave with them, politely refuse. They are nobles, but they are not mine. I was honored to give them titles. But they do not answer to me.”

I hear laughter from the fae.

“Well said!”

“The emperor understands!”

“No man, no gods! No ruler save for our ourselves!”

They cheer and raise glasses, already drinking their third refill, some of them. I gesture towards the table.

“Please sit or stand and eat at your leisure. Tonight is a night for talk and entertainment. We will have a magical display and I believe, a demonstration later. But for now enjoy yourselves.”

It’s abrupt and not that refined, but it’s all I can do. Lady Rie isn’t helping—she’s staring like the rest. I have to nudge her before she starts and begins ordering people about.

“Mister Prost, let us break out more wine for our—our guests. And please, let us find a seat for you, Lady Bevia. Lady Bethal, will you sit or stand? Emperor Laken, may I offer you a seat?”

I shake my head. Bethal hurries off and Durene steps over to me. I sense her bending down as the confused nobles hesitantly approach the table with the merry diners. It feels like a dream.

“Laken? I didn’t understand that.”

“I’d be surprised if you did. Durene, remember the Frost Faeries?”

“Them? I remember. What about them?”

“These are the Frost Faeries. Or some version of them.”

“What?”

“It’s something from my world, Durene. There are…legends about them.”

“What legends?”

Lady Rie is coming up behind me. I turn.

“Lady Rie?”

“Emperor Laken, the nobles are dining with your other guests. Hesitantly. Would you explain to me exactly what they are?”

There’s a note of panic and fear in her voice. I understand. The fae are brilliant, magical—clearly otherworldly. They entrance just by existing, and unlike the limited magic I’ve experienced in this world, there is something off about them.

They touch this world lightly. I shiver. Awe and wonder can easily become terror at the unknown. I turn to Lady Rie and realize I haven’t prepared her at all for the fae. I didn’t know if they’d come. It felt like a long shot. But now they’re here. I sense Prost approaching, and Wiskeria.

“I should explain. All of you—step over here.”

We move back a few steps so we’re still in the meadow. The sunlight is fading and I can tell the illumination in the meadow comes mainly from the magelights and braziers now. We stand near one and I speak as clearly as I can to Durene, Prost, Rie, and Wiskeria.

“Those are fae. Fair folk. I don’t know if there are legends about them where you all come from, but in my homeland we have tales of them. They are…well, I suppose the best word for them is spirits.”

“Ghosts?”

Lady Rie’s voice trembles. I smile, hearing the fae’s unearthly laughter.

“Not quite. They’re more like magical beings. Very powerful, very mysterious. They’re spirits of nature. They play pranks on mortals, they live deep in forests and in mounds. It’s said there are portals to their world scattered in ours.”

“Dead gods. This sounds like a children’s tale! And they’re real?”

“Reality is stranger than fiction, Lady Rie. Much stranger, apparently. But what you need to know is that the fair folk have rules. After a fashion. They obey bargains and they don’t lie—but they twist the truth. If you don’t try to deceive them and don’t try to make deals or follow them, they’re harmless. Probably. And don’t threaten them either.”

“How would you hurt one of them? Hypothetically speaking.”

Wiskeria turns her head to stare at the fae. I hesitate.

“Cold iron. That means pure iron. Or horseshoes. I think they don’t like bells either. I don’t know—I’m not an expert on the folklore. But they’re masters of illusion. If they offer you gold—don’t take it. It’s probably just flowers.”

“Flowers?”

Lady Rie’s voice is high-pitched. I can sense the nobles looking at us uncertainly. I turn to her.

“Lady Rie, please calm down.”

“You didn’t tell me anything about this! Where did you meet these—these fair folk? Am I to believe they’ve been hiding here all this time? What do they mean, calling us ‘mortals’? Are they?”

“Lady Rie, calm down.”

She quiets. I take a deep breath, and then another for good measure.

“I’m sorry I didn’t warn you. I didn’t know if they’d come. I didn’t expect this. But they are here. And the danger is…acceptable.”

“So long as we don’t make deals or follow them. What about the village?”

I turn my head to Wiskeria.

“They’re supposed to stay in the meadow. That’s the deal. But…it might be best if you keep an eye on the children, Mister Prost. And you, Wiskeria. Don’t ride patrols. Just make sure everything’s lit and keep an eye on everyone. If you see anything moving—tell me.”

“We can do that.”

To my relief, Prost sounds far more stable than Lady Rie. He turns to Wiskeria.

“I’ll head into the village and tell everyone not to stray. We’ve food set out and we can make an early night of it.”

“I’ll tell everyone else. And find some horseshoes and iron weapons.”

They hurry out of the meadow. I look at Lady Rie. She’s breathing hard, but she does seem to have calmed down a bit.

“I’m sorry, Lady Rie. Are you feeling alright?”

“No. But I suppose this is what an [Emperor] does, isn’t it?”

She looks at me, and I half-smile. Lady Rie shakes her head. She turns back towards the nobility sitting and standing around the banquet table.

“We’ve been speaking too long. We are worrying our guests. Emperor Laken, I believe it is time to socialize. I can only hope that you know what you have summoned to this gathering, your majesty.”

“I wish I knew. Durene?”

I reach out and touch her. Durene stares at the fae.

“They’re beautiful. Frightening and beautiful.”

“I know. I can only hear them. But…I know. Do you want to go to the village?”

She pauses. One of her hands finds mine.

“No. I want to meet them. But stay by me?”

“Of course.”

We walk forwards, following Lady Rie. And at some point I find myself dreaming, or something close to it. I hear a humming as I walk towards the fae. Their laughter engulfs me, and there’s a buzzing in the air, just below the surface. And I feel color.

Color. I have never seen color before in my life. I have no idea what it might be. But the fae represent more than just the idea of spring. They are spring incarnate, and when they speak, when I feel them moving about the meadow, I am struck by flashes of—of something that I can’t explain.

Vision. Is this what it’s like? The experience is disorienting. Frightening, even. But I think it’s a color. It can’t be anything else. It speaks to me, I who know no color. They speak and I hear green.

The fae laugh and eat merrily, talking amongst themselves while we mortals move like we’re underwater, watching, listening, talking more quietly. At first I’m overwhelmed, and then I find myself back in the world. And then I’m dreaming again.

The young nobles are clustered around the fae, trying to keep up, staring in awe at these wondrous guests. The fae are caught between genders, some of them. I know they’re the same Frost Faeries I met, but some are decidedly masculine. They flirt with both genders unashamedly, attracting the young nobles—and the young men and women on serving duty—around them like flies. I don’t focus on them for the moment and instead turn my attention to the older nobility.

The wiser ones are nervous as well as entranced. The rest are just awestruck. I sense Lady Bethal chatting to one of the fae while her husband, Thomast, keeps a wary hand near his rapier. Sacra sits far back, her eyes wide in her face.

“Your majesty?”

A voice interrupts me as Durene stares at a male-ish fae laughing and eating a slice of roast beef with his fingers. I turn and sense Lady Bevia.

“Emperor Laken? I was wondering if I might have a word. I am Lady Bevia—we spoke briefly when we first met.”

“I recall. Greetings, Lady Bevia. Let us sit. There are some private tables. Durene? Would you care to join us with some food?”

“Oh! Right!”

I move back with Lady Bevia to one of the newly-made tables made for intimate diners. Each one is decorated with a fine tablecloth and candles—a necessary expense according to Lady Rie. She spent lavishly on the banquet even without the need for food. I don’t know if it was worth it, but I’m at least grateful for the silver cutlery. Would the fae have come if we had spoons and forks made of iron instead?

“I’m grateful that you accepted the presence of my other guests so readily, Lady Bevia. I do apologize for their sudden arrival, but my court is…fickle at best.”

“I see. I was unaware of the presence of so many nobles. Tell me, do they live on Izril? Are they part of your new empire, your majesty?”

Awestruck or not, Bevia’s voice is sharp as she sits and Durene hurries over with plates heaped with food. She hovers around the table timidly. I cough and realize that Lady Bevia is eying Durene with some surprise.

“Lady Bevia? May I introduce my consort, Durene?”

Durene squeaks when she realizes I’m talking about her. I sense Bevia blink, but once again she reacts with nothing but grace.

“My word, I had no idea your majesty was married. Do forgive me. Lady Durene, was it?”

“Hello. I’m—I’m not a lady! I’m not married. Laken and I are just—”

Durene stammers as Bevia gets up. She actually retreats a step. I interject again.

“Durene saved my life when we first met, Lady Bevia. I was quite lost and helpless. Blind as I was, I met Durene and we quickly grew close.”

“I see. I am charmed to meet such a forthright young woman. Tell me, Miss Durene, are you the famed warrior I have heard so much about? I have heard of an imposing hero who slew a score of Hobs by himself in service to Emperor Laken, but the rumors neglected to mention your lovely appearance.”

“Me?”

I can sense Durene is blushing even if I can’t see it. Lady Bevia smiles and I’m grateful to her extreme tact.

“I would be honored if you would sit with us.”

“Oh. Okay—I’ll just sit on the ground—”

Durene sits down awkwardly. I smile at her and pat her arm underneath the table. Then I turn back to Lady Bevia.

“I thank you, Lady Bevia. Where were we? Ah, yes. To answer your question—no. The fair folk do not live on Izril. Nor are they part of my empire in truth. My gift of titles was just that—a gift in exchange for a service they rendered to me. They owe me nothing and in truth, I believe they would not come at my behest no matter the situation. This is a…special occasion.”

“A feast. I understand. Do pardon me if I admit to some relief. Your court is intimidating, to say the least.”

“I imagine so. But so are Izril’s nobility.”

I sense Bevia smiling.

“Ah yes. This little gathering was organized by Lady Reinhart. I understand it was something of a surprise. I apologize if we have caused you any inconvenience.”

“Very little.”

I lie through my teeth and sense Bevia knows it. She delicately spears a sautéed mushroom on a fork and nibbles at it as Durene tries to eat as much meat as possible while appearing polite. The rich food is a treat to her and the villagers, I have no doubt. I can barely touch my plate for nerves.

“Ah, this food is quite well done if I might say so myself. I believe Lord Imral provided the mushrooms, and Lady Fel the beef Miss Durene is enjoying so much. Tell me, Emperor Laken, have you ever met Magnolia Reinhart in person?”

“No. I would like to at some point. However, I have interacted with her servants.”

“I see. Well, I would hate to color your impression of her before you two meet in person. She is an impressive [Lady] and a credit to my class. If difficult to work with on occasion.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“By all means, Lady Bevia. Color my impression as much as you would like—sight is hardly an issue when it comes to meeting new people for me.”

Bevia’s startled laughter makes a few heads turn and Durene nearly drops her drink.

“Hah! You are quick, aren’t you, young man? Well, I don’t think I can say anything Lady Rie has not. However, I would ask that you think of her kindly. She has held together the squabbling nobility for far too long. This is her being kind, if you can imagine that. She was far more direct in her youth.”

“Really? And may I ask if you were more direct when you were younger, Lady Bevia?”

“Oh, slightly.”

She twinkles at me. I smile back and find the appetite to have a roll of mustard and beef. It’s actually quite good and I find I have an appetite after all.

“Lady Bevia, I am an unsophisticated [Emperor] with little in the way of subterfuge.”

“I appreciate the lie, your majesty.”

“No, truly. I prefer straightforward conversation. That’s why I fell in love with Durene, after all.”

I hear a choking noise to my right and ignore it.

“You may well imagine this gathering was somewhat difficult to set up, but now you are here, I would be delighted to talk openly and frankly about the possibility of friendship between my empire and yours.”

“Indeed? Well, well. It is refreshing to be straightforward. I did come here in hopes of making friendships, your majesty. However, I have some slight reservations…”

Lady Bevia delicately pats a cloth napkin to her lips. She pauses, and I sense her bite her lip ever so slightly. She might not know I can sense her movements. Or is she doing that on purpose? I remind myself to be careful—Bevia seems a lot more intelligent than her nephew. What’s his name? Rael?

After a pause, Lady Bevia cuts to the heart of the conversation I was expecting.

“Forging friendships is all very well, Emperor Laken, but I would imagine any noble would be concerned about your empire. Monarchy is an alien concept to Izril. We have done without [Kings] and [Emperors]. It is why our ancestors fled Terandria. To have an [Emperor] appear so suddenly would panic some of the nobility. They might fear you would annex their lands in time.”

“Quite understandable. What if I told you I had no intentions to govern more than Riverfarm? That other towns and cities came to me asking for protection?”

“I would not be surprised. The question is what would occur if a city under the domain of say, Magnolia Reinhart were to ask you for similar protections?”

“I suppose I would decline. I have no intentions of taking land or making war, Lady Bevia. I realize that’s a poor reassurance.”

“Ah, from an [Emperor]? I would not doubt your word, your majesty. When a monarch speaks, I would assume it was true.”

“What if I could swear it was true? On a truth gem? That I have no intention of taking over your lands or any other? That I am willing to work peacefully in hand with the nobles of Izril?”

Bevia pauses. She narrows her eyes slightly. Then she smiles.

“Well now, I believe that I might assume a bit more if that were the case. Tell me Emperor, where were you raised? And may I offer you a stuffed egg? They are quite excellent and come from my [Chef]’s kitchens, by the way.”

“I should be delighted, Lady Bevia. Now, Lady Rie tells me your estates import a good deal of food crops. I don’t know if I can interest you, but I do expect to expand Riverfarm’s farms twenty-fold and I was wondering if you were interested at all in produce…”

—-

My conversation with Lady Bevia is short. Short, for a wide-ranging discussion on everything from agriculture to trade to monster incursions and the need for security across Izril. We part after Durene’s finished her third plate and I get up, feeling as though someone’s hit me with a few footballs in the face. For an old [Lady], Bevia is sharp.

“How did it go?”

Lady Rie appears at my side as Lady Bevia moves back to a small cluster of nobles, laughing lightly. I nod and lower my voice. One of the things Lady Rie warned me about was the Skills of [Ladies] and sometimes [Lords]. They can listen to a conversation across a noisy banquet hall if not guarded against. Still, all that I’m saying should be fine to hear.

“Good. You were right—she sought me out straight away. Do you think she’ll relay my words to the others?”

“Without a doubt. Lady Bevia could be considered an emissary of sorts. The others will probably approach you after considering what she tells them.”

“I’ll meet them as they come, then. How are the fae doing?”

I sense the laughing folk at my tables. By this point the fae have eaten a good portion of the food the nobles brought—and they brought enough for four times our number! At this point they’re drinking and talking with the nobles. Most of the older ones continue to stay back, but the young ones are completely engaged.

I sense some of them clustered around a young man with a cup in one hand. Laughing, they surround the young [Lord], laying hands on his body, touching him, flitting away. They provoke him and lead the young man on like a game, and I sense his face flush. He reaches for a female fae and she spins away, laughing. The young man pursues her and nearly lunges until he’s caught by another young man. The second [Lord] says something to the drunk one and I hear a loud, slurred voice.

“Keep off, Pattin! No one wants your opinion. Damn you and your poor house!”

His voice is a bit too loud. Not that the fae care. They ooh and laugh as the young [Lord] named Pattin flushes. He replies as I slowly move closer, on the pretext of asking Gamel if he’s got enough wine to go around.

“They outrank you, Lord Rael. It’s not seemly to pursue them like that.”

“Rank? We’re all [Lords] here, you daft idiot!”

The young lord Rael shakes Pattin’s grip off. I remember him now. He’s the one who laughed after I invited the fae. He doesn’t strike me as hugely bright. Pattin on the other hand interests me. Lady Rie appears like a fae herself and whispers in my ear.

“Do you want me to stop them?”

“No, let them talk. Remind me where Lord Pattin comes from?”

“Vaunt. A small city with a few villages. Very small holding, but they make excellent cheese. Unfortunately, they can’t produce a large amount owing to sickness among their cattle six years back. They have yet to replenish their herds and have fallen on hard times. Young Lord Pattin is considered a very intelligent [Lord] though, and I believe that when he replaces his father, Vaunt will prosper.”

“I see.”

I sense Rael staggering forwards until he’s intercepted by his aunt. I can’t hear what she whispers to him, but it sobers him up fast. She bows to the fae lady that Rael was pursuing.

“I do apologize, for my nephew’s rudeness. May I inquire as to your name, Lady…?”

The fae woman draws herself up and I don’t have to see the mischief in her eyes. I can hear it in her voice.

“I am a Baron, foolish mortal! Kneel before me!”

“A Baron? Do you mean a Baroness?”

Bevia sounds startled. The fae woman laughs at her.

“Why would I be a Baroness? I asked to be Baron and so I am! Will ye not kneel?”

“I’m afraid [Ladies] do not kneel to [Barons].”

“Truly? Pity!”

The fae woman loses interest instantly. She dances away and I hear her begin to bother someone else. The fae call out to me as I pass by their table.

“Come sit, Emperor!”

“Drink with us!”

“Eat with us!”

“Dance! Dance with our kind! Come!”

I decline as best I can as they whirl around me, laughing, snatching at my robe. Durene moves forwards protectively.

“Hey, keep away! You can’t just—”

“Ooh, the half-child is angry!”

“Come, daughter of Trolls! Dance with us!”

“Walk the woodlands in with us!”

“Eat and drink, half-child! It has been too long since we have eaten with your kind!”

“Wait, what? I’m not—I should—hey, Laken!”

Durene yelps as the fae press drinks and food into her hands. I turn back, but Durene’s objections are quickly muted as the fae cheer her on. She sits with them and begins a drinking contest with one fae. I don’t think she’s in danger, so I move on.

“Emperor Laken? A pleasure to meet you. I am Lord Tourant—”

“Your majesty? Might I have a word? I am humbly Lady Fel of—”

“Do you have a moment, sire? I was hoping to have a quick conversation about—”

The nobles of Izril converge on me, the one person they understand in the sea of strange folk around them. I fend off invitations to sit as best I can and greet everyone I can remember by name. But I move on, breaking out into the edge of the gathering as the fae begin luring more and more [Lords] and [Ladies] to sit and dine with them. They eat and drink with the nobles, talking quietly, listening to the Humans, and laughing.

I don’t know what’s said but I have a feeling those who sit with the fae would tell them anything and everything. Ah, well. I walk on, until I’m standing by a brazier that’s gone out, on the far side of the meadow. I stand there and concentrate. It was just a dim feeling before, but now I’m closer I’m certain.

There’s someone here. I have another guest, one I’ve overlooked. She stands at the far end of the meadow with another silent figure. Another fae. Only these two are different from all the rest. They’re nearly invisible to my [Emperor] senses—more like vague shapes than anything specific. I don’t know if they’re visible to anyone else. I walk forwards slowly.

It’s colder here. The heat of the other braziers doesn’t reach this far. And as I move forwards I sense one of my guests is eating something. The other is quite, quite still.

And armed. My hazy impression of the two changes. One is female, standing alone, greedily devouring a plate full of food. The other is silent. A tall, armored warrior standing by the side of the fae woman. He—and it is definitely a he—makes no move as I approach, but I can tell he watches me. So does she. And as I draw closer, she speaks.

“Emperor of the Unseen. I was not invited to your banquet. I am not one of your court, nor do I wish to be. Yet my kin come, and I was permitted to join them. Will ye cast me out or give me the hospitality of your hearth?”

I start as I hear her voice. Blue! The word springs to mind along with the color. This fae is different from her kin. The air around her is cold, and I feel like her body is different from the other fae. This fae seems surly, almost annoyed at being spotted.

She stands out from the rest of her lively kin. They shine with life and laughter, the embodiment of spring itself. But she stands alone, dour and silent, eating while the silent warrior stands to one side. Watching her.

“I would be only too glad to offer you the hospitality of the banquet. But not of my hearth. What lies in the meadow—”

“Yes, yes. Well then, I shall eat and drink. ‘Twould be uncharitable if I did not offer you my gratitude. So. There.”

I wait until I realize that was it. I cough.

“May I ask why you’re standing here alone? And why I didn’t notice you before? Who is your companion?”

“Yon silent statue? Take no notice. He is here for me, not you.”

There’s a grimace in the fae woman’s voice. She picks up a egg and eats it carefully. Again, that’s surprising—her kin eat and drink with reckless abandon, but this fae is deliberate, mannered.  I wonder—

“We’ve met before.”

“We have?”

“Briefly. You might not recall. You met many of my sisters and gave them titles they rejoice over. But I met you alone. In the city.”

Memory strikes me. I gasp.

“You’re Ivolethe!”

The fae woman smiles.

“Aye.”

“But I thought—where’s Ryoka? And why are you still blue? Is this your true form?”

Ivolethe pauses.

“True? Form? What would you like me to say? As for where Ryoka Griffin is—you would know better than I. I have not seen her since my punishment began. This is the first time I have come to this world since. I know naught.”

“Punishment?”

“Yes. Punishment. I am forbidden from returning to this world. Yon guardian is proof of my King’s ire with me. He is here to ensure I do not flee.”

Ivolethe flicked a bit of food at the silent warrior standing behind her. He doesn’t move. But I don’t see the specks of food land on his armor. I stare at Ivolethe, unsure of what to say.

“Can I ask why you were punished?”

“You can.”

I pause.

“Will you tell me?”

She grins for the first time.

“Nae.”

I’m starting to remember her more now. Ivolethe pauses as she drinks from a wine glass she was not holding a second ago.

“‘Tis not my decision to withhold the truth. You need not know what happened, save that I broke the rules of my kind. I interfered with what would be and for that was punished.”

“By exile from this world?”

“Aye. A harsh punishment. I may go where I please, do what I please. But of this world I am banned from returning save for this one moment.”

“That doesn’t seem harsh.”

Ivolethe’s glare is palpable on my skin, like a blast of winter air.

“You think so? Here is where my friend lives, mortal. Here she lives and here she will die. I am banned from entering this world until her death. Understand? That is my punishment. To know my friend lives and to not see her triumph and failures. To live until she is gone and chase memories. That is pain! That is how I suffer!”

Her voice rises. I feel the air chill further and for a second, a cold wind blows through the meadow, cutting off conversation and turning heads. Then the chill fades. Someone laughs, and the moment is lost. The warm magic of the spring fae overwhelms Ivolethe’s cold fury. I stand with her, silent.

“I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry. Hah!”

Bitterly, Ivolethe drinks deeply. Then she shakes her head.

“Save your tears, mortal. ‘Twas a fitting punishment by my King. How else would you punish the fae? Our hearts are hurt only by those we give them to. I broke the rules and so, I suffer. No more, no less.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

She looks at me blankly then grins.

“Do? What arrogance of mortals! There is nothing to do, Laken Godart. Nothing you could say would change the fae. Do not mistake your influence.”

“Sorry.”

She stares at me. Then hesitates.

“Well, there is something.”

“What?”

“Could you—could you tell Ryoka Griffin I live? That I did not die when my form was broken? Tell her I am punished, nothing more. And—”

For the first time the armored warrior stirs behind Ivolethe. She breaks off sharply and scowls. I stare warily at the armored figure. His armor is dark in my mind. His figure hazy. I don’t know what he is—another kind of the fae?—only that he scares me. Ivolethe stares silently at me for a moment.

“Naught else. Tell her that if you meet her again, Laken Godart.”

“If I meet her? Do you know if I will?”

Ivolethe shakes her head.

“I see perhapses and maybes and what could be. I see the lines of if and when. But the future changes. If you meet her, Laken Godart. Remember me.”

“I will.”

“Good. Then we have little else to discuss. Yon food is quite good. I would tell you to eat as much of it as possible before my kin devour the rest.”

Ivolethe returns to eating from her plate. I stare at her, surprised by the sudden change in conversation. The frost fae stares at me.

“What?”

“I have a thousand questions.”

“Do ye? I have a thousand answers: no. I am not permitted to speak. Go back to your dream, mortal child. Enjoy the presence of my kind, for thou shalt soon wake from the dream. And be wary, lest it become nightmare.”

Ivolethe glares at me. She gestures to the spring fae again and I turn my head.

“Nightmare?”

I start as I sense Ivolethe baring her teeth behind me. They’re pointed. She grins at me.

“Aye. Or did you really think you could invite the fae to dine with you without dangers?”

I turn back to her. Then I hear the buzzing begin. The night has taken over the meadow and the braziers are burning low. I see shadows shifting across the table. And then I see the fae shapes beginning to move.

They creep across the ground, laughing, dragging the Human nobles into shadows, eating, growing more and more excited as they drink further. The fae enter a frenzy as the pitch of their laughter changes. They seem to grow as the shadows deepen. I see Oswalt, enthralled, follow three giggling fae into a shadow. He disappears.

“Oh no.”

“Indeed.”

Ivolethe grins at me as my heart begins to race. I see Durene surrounded by fae, Lady Rie speaking in a trance to one who smiles at her. I can’t tell how many there are, only that they’re moving faster, and…humming.

There’s a buzzing, a thrum in the air. It was a distant sound when I first met the fae. Now it’s growing louder, like the thundering of insect wings. I look around. Where did Oswalt go? Where’s Gamel?

“Ivolethe, what are your kin doing?”

“What we always do. You know the legends, don’t you? You summoned the Spring Court, Laken Godart. What did you think they would do?”

I turn to her, desperately.

“What do I do?”

She tilts her head towards me.

“Have you any bells?”

“Bells? I don’t know!”

She nods.

“Then I would find out. Quickly.”

—-

Rael knew he was dreaming. He didn’t care. He reached out to one of the beautiful women as the buzzing grew louder. She laughed and let him try to touch her breasts, her face, her arms, always ducking back or stepping just out of reach. He followed her, grateful that Pattin wasn’t anywhere to stop him. But some part of Rael wanted Pattin to stop him.

The fae woman was beckoning to him, telling him to follow her where the lights weren’t so bright in the meadow. Rael stumbled after her. He saw movement in the shadows. Frenzied, urgent, violent. He didn’t know if it was what he thought or—

There was a humming in his ears. Rael stared at the fae woman. She was beautiful. He couldn’t say how or why she was beautiful, only that she was. More beautiful than Cimeca could ever be. Rael was dimly aware of grabbing for the laughing woman’s hands, of telling her something.

Everything.

There was something wrong. He was drawing further away from the meadow and he recalled that being unwise. But he couldn’t stop. The fae woman’s face seemed to change the further she got from the light. Her features melted until her eyes were dark. They looked almost insectile. But she was still beautiful. Staggering, Rael saw other young men and women following him. He saw Cimeca leaning into the handsome man—or was it a woman?—and heard the distant buzzing grow louder.

“Come. Touch me. You want to.”

The woman taunted him. Rael reached out and touched her. She felt—

Quick as a flash, the woman tilted her head down and bit. Rael cried out in pain and pulled his hand back. Part of the flesh on his forearm was missing. The fae woman laughed as blood dripped from her mouth. She beckoned him.

“Come. Join me. Just a bit further.”

She shifted her dress. Rael stared. His body flushed and he took a step after her. Just a few more steps and they’d be out of the meadow. He saw someone lying on the ground just a little bit away, being dragged onwards. Oswalt? Rael heard buzzing in his ears—

And then he heard a bell ringing. It was faint, but the hum faltered as it rang, clear and piercing through the night. Rael stopped stumbling forwards and looked around. The fae woman looked up.

Again the bell rang. And again. It was chiming loudly. It was a hand bell, and the humming sounded as if it might overwhelm the noise. Then another bell chimed, and another.

The humming faded, grew less urgent. The flush in Rael’s body continued, but he could think around the tightness of his pants. He became aware of the blood leaking from his arm and stared at the fae woman.

“You bit me.”

She shrugged. The frenzied light in her eyes had dimmed. The bells continued to ring, and Rael turned to see the [Emperor] ringing a bell with a number of his servants. They spread out around the meadow and the dim braziers and faded [Light] spells brightened. The world came back into focus. Rael backed away from the fae woman as she smiled.

“Leaving? You will never know what waits beyond yon boundary.”

She indicated a space just past the meadow. Rael stared and smelled spring, the scent of pollen in the air. And blood. He backed away. He would never forget the sight of the fae woman stepping  back and the urgency in his blood. And the fear. He turned and ran back towards the banquet as the bells continued to ring.

—-

I ring the bell as loudly as I can in my hands. The sound it makes is loud and high—it’s a sheep bell, designed to be heard by shepherding dogs. I ring it again and see Gamel ringing a cowbell. He looks disoriented, but as the sounds of the bells carry, the confusion fades.

The humming from the fae dies down. I see the excitement fade from the spring fae around me and the humans in the meadow start and shake their heads as if waking from a dream. Those who left the banquet table, the young men and women mainly, stumble back. Not all of them are the same as the ones who left.

I sense Rael returning, covering his arm. One of the young women’s clothing is mussed. Another has a sprained wrist. But the worst is Oswalt. Three of the fae were standing around him. I sense him get up, make an incoherent sound and stumble away.

Bloody. As he approaches I hear Rie gasp. I keep my voice steady.

“Gamel, get a healing potion.”

Oswalt is in one piece. He’s alive. But he’s covered in blood. His arms, his neck, and places hidden by his tunic are dark with blood. He’s been bitten or…scratched.  Part of his ear is missing.

“Oswalt!”

A [Lady] runs over to him, pale-faced. His mother. She pushes a fae woman back and the fae retreats, laughing softly. I sense the fae draw back, and the buzzing grows softer as the bells continue to ring.

“Well done.”

A voice speaks in my ear. I whirl and sense Ivolethe standing in front of me. Her silent warrior guardian is right behind her. She nods to Oswalt as Gamel rushes over with a healing potion.

“Almost too slow. But not quite. Yon fool will live, although he will remember.”

She grins at me and I shudder. The memory of the fae creeping about, pulling their victims out of the meadow—

“What would have happened if he’d left the meadow?”

“Oh, he would have been outside the laws of hospitality. Perhaps he would have gone for a trip and come back older. Or perhaps he would have woken up naked a few miles yonder. Or perhaps…”

Ivolethe shrugged. There are a thousand things her shrugs hints at. I turn my head away.

“This was a mistake. I thought your kind would obey the rules of hospitality!”

Ivolethe’s eyes glint.

“And why would you think that would make you safe? The summer court is not like the winter. You were lucky that you only invited my kin, not…others.”

“And are we safe now? What if others come?”

The frost fae considers my question. She nods.

“I would draw a circle of salt around your village or at the very least, the houses. Put an iron horseshoe on each door if ye must. But do not fear; those of us who would play mischief are fewer now than we were.”

“Not reassuring.”

“Is it? You know the myths. You invited us anyways. Will you complain and say you weren’t warned?”

“No, but they might.”

A voice interrupts my argument with Ivolethe. I sense Lady Rie come forwards. She seems pale, but unaffected by her experience. Of course—those who weren’t lured away by the fae were merely charmed. Durene is shaking her head and saying she feels like throwing up, but the nobles wise enough to stay put are just shaken. It’s their outrage that bothers me.

“How dare you! You’d assault a [Lord] of Izril?”

A man is shouting. Oswalt’s father, I think. He has a sword in hand as he faces one of the female fae. She laughs in his face and I see two [Lords] trying to hold Lord Tourant back.

“Did ye fear for your son? You were warned, mortal man! What passes is not your choice but his!”

She points at the silent Oswalt. His wounds are healed and save for the tip of his ear he’s fine. But he’s pale and shaking. Lord Tourant trembles with fury as he steps forwards the fae woman.

“If you were not a woman I would cut you down—”

He raises his blade and the fae woman leaps forwards. Before he can, react, she grabs the steel blade—with her bare hands. There’s a cry of shock and Lord Tourant nearly drops his blade. The fae laughs as her hand bleeds crimson onto the blade. She holds it, her blood coating the metal, without pain or fear.

“Steel? Hah! If you’d duel us, bring cold iron and star metal! Bring blades forged of magic and legend! And if you thrust, do it with your heart in your hands for we’ll pluck it out if you miss!”

“Yes, come!”

“Come and dance the dance of blades!”

“Bare your sword, lordling of men! Shed blood and life like wine on this night!”

“Come.”

More of the fae spring forwards and surround Lord Tourant. The excitement in them isn’t completely suppressed by the bells. Tourant backs up as the fae woman offers the blood blade to him, hilt-first. He hesitates, and then another [Lord] curses and reaches for his sword.

“Damn these outsiders. Tourant! Let’s teach them a lesson!”

He nearly has his sword unsheathed when a voice rises.

“Stop.”

Both men turn. I sense Lady Bethal striding forwards. Her eyes are ablaze with passion and she seems—her dress is very rumpled. I don’t think a fae did it either, because Sir Thomst follows her, adjusting his doublet. Lady Bethal interposes herself between the two lords and the fae.

“You were warned, Lord Tourant. As was your son. Emperor Godart told you the perils of following them. I won’t see you or anyone else dead over this quarrel, and Thomast assures me it would not be our mysterious guests who perish should it come to blows.”

Lord Tourant pales, but his face is still red with anger over his son. He points to the stricken Oswalt with a trembling finger.

“He was bewitched! That was magic!”

Lady Bethal folds her arms.

“If it was, it was no magic I’ve encountered. It was passion. Quite enjoyable passion, but passion nonetheless. You controlled yourself as did your wife. If young Oswalt had the sense not to chase skirts he would not have injured himself. As it is he has lost part of an ear—hardly a disfiguring mark. Indeed, a lost ear due to passion is quite attractive to some.”

Sir Tourant stares at Lady Bethal. He hesitates.

“My son—”

“Sit down, Lord Tourant. You are in Emperor Godart’s presence.”

Lady Bethal turns and all the nobles seem to start and recall I’m here. The man next to Tourant hesitates.

“With respect, Lady Bethal, this is hardly a matter for you to—”

“Sit down, Lord Melbore.”

“I—”

“Sit.”

He nearly sits down right then and there. The two men back down and sit at the banquet table. Lady Bethal turns. She smiles widely at me.

“That was a most enjoyable interlude, Emperor Laken. May I ask if you have more entertainments planned for the night? Your strange guests are most entertaining.”

I hear laughter from the fae. One steps forwards and kisses Bethal on the cheek.

“Yon mortal could be one of us!”

“Almost!”

“A pity she loves only one! Lucky mortal man!”

“Unlucky mortal man! Hah!”

Slowly, the mood returns to something like normal. The fae resume feasting and laughing, but this time the nobles sit across from them at their own table. I find Lady Rie again.

“How bad do you think this was?”

She purses her lips.

“Honestly? I have no idea. Your fair folk certainly frightened the nobles, but whether they’ll hold a grudge against you is different. But watch yourself—she’s going to speak with you next.”

She nods, and before I can turn around I feel thorns. I turn and Lady Bethal is right in front of me with her silent husband.

“Ah, Emperor Godart! We didn’t have a chance to talk. May I have the privilege of a few short words?”

“Of course, Lady Bethal. Are you thirsty? Gamel, could you fetch us some drinks?”

The cups of wine are practically all empty, but Gamel hurries off promising to find some. Lady Bethal laughs lightly as she watches him go.

“Most impressive how many devoted servants you have, Emperor Laken. Am I correct in understanding that young man is a [Knight]?”

“You are, Lady Bethal.”

“Fascinating. You know, I have a small order of [Knights] whom I fund. They are quite energetic. And decent fighters, although of course not as adept as my Thomast. You’ve met him. Say hello, Thomast.”

She waves her husband forwards. He bows slightly and murmurs a word, but, I note, keeps his attention firmly focused on Ivolethe. No—not her, the warrior standing behind her. I’m impressed he can even see the two fae—they’re being ignored by practically everyone else in the meadow. Wait—I think Bethal and Bevia can see them too.

“I’m honored by your presence, Lady Bethal. I understand you’re a close friend of Magnolia Reinhart?”

“Close? Well yes, we did grow up as friends and I do occasionally help her out with small matters. But you know, Magnolia does have her obsessions. And while I understand her, it does grow tiresome worrying about everything, doesn’t it? I prefer to simply act and face the consequences later.”

“Hm. I can admire that way of thinking. I fear that I take the opposite approach. Acting without caution is slightly dangerous when you can’t see.”

Bethal laughs.

“Oh, forgive me! It must be different. I am simply referring to…well, let’s just say I enjoyed myself immensely tonight. I came here expecting to simply eat and dine and chat, which is frankly dull, but this was well worth the trip! I won’t forget tonight. You know, your visitors are enchanting. Who did you say they were? Fair folk? They certainly have wonderful complexions! Do you know if I could visit them?”

I try to fend off her questions, smiling politely, and see Gamel heading towards us at speed. He has a wineglass in each hand and I’m not ashamed to admit that I plan to use him as a conversation topic to steer Bethal away from questions about the fae. He’s nearly upon us and I see him offering a cup to me when a hand shoots out and knocks the cup away.

“Stop!”

One of the spring fae shouts, his voice drowning out all sound. He seems enraged and Gamel staggers back, surprised. I whirl as the fae leaps forwards and snatches the cup from Gamel’s hand. Several of the Human [Lords] leap to their feet with a hand of their weapons, but the fae are faster. The one with the cup raises it above his head and shouts.

“Treachery! A poisoned cup!”

The other fae shout in outrage. Their good spirits change to fury in a moment.

“What?”

“Who dares break the law of hospitality?”

“Who offers violence?”

“Find them! Hound them! Tear them apart!”

They begin shouting all at once, their beautiful faces suddenly twisted with rage. I hear buzzing again, loud and furious. Gamel backs away and the nobles of Izril freeze in fear as the fae turn, their faces masks of anger. A buzzing fills the air, a loud, low drone that makes the tableware rumble and the air shake. I sense the people around me freeze as the fae cry out in outrage. I raise a hand and shout.

“Stop!”

The fae halt. They turn towards me. I look at the cup the fae is holding.

“Are you sure it’s poisoned?”

“Yes! ‘Twas not yon servant who poisoned it, but death runs through this cup! A treachery, a breach of sacred hospitality!”

I don’t doubt the fae. I turn to Gamel. He’s pale as every eye fixes on him.

“Gamel, what happened to the cup?”

He trembles, spreading his hands, his face white.

“Your majesty, I swear I put down both cups for a moment to find an untapped keg of wine. When I turned back—it must have been then! Only I don’t know who might have touched it!”

He points to a place where the wine cups were standing. I try and sense whether there are clues or any sign of who might be there. But the nobles all could have gotten up and walked over, and no one’s left a handy bracelet on the ground or incriminating sock. I shake my head.

“So you have no idea who might have put poison in the drink?”

“None, sire.”

“And it is poisoned? For transparency, let us test it. Good folk, please.”

Lady Rie walks forwards, her face pale. She takes the wine glass from the fae and place something in it. A fork. I have no idea why she’s doing that until I recall—all the silverware is made of silver.

After a moment Lady Rie takes the fork out. I can’t tell if there’s a difference, but the nobles all gasp as one, so I suspect the silver’s changed somehow. Apparently it reacts to many poisons. Rie nods slowly.

“Someone was trying to kill Emperor Laken. Someone in this gathering.”

The meadows goes silent. All the nobles and stare at each other, pale-faced. My people surround me protectively, as if that could save me from the invisible assassin. One of the [Lords], Tourant, speaks hoarsely.

“Surely you don’t suspect us, Lady Rie? We never touched the cup!”

“Indeed, how could it be us? What about a servant?”

“Anyone could have touched the cup! Why, it could be these strange folk—”

The [Lady] who speaks breaks off as the fae closest to her hiss in outrage.

“You dare question our honor?”

“Kill her!”

The buzzing begins again, loud and fierce. The nobles shrink in their seats and once again I raise my voice.

“Peace, fair folk! Please, peace!”

They subside, looking at me. I take a few deep breaths. Poison. I never sensed it. And it was coming to me? Why now? Was it—where’s Sacra? I speak as calmly as I can, sensing for her. She’s…wait, she’s in the village. Because she’s not a noble, that’s right! But could she have…? I try and focus, speaking to the crowd in the meadow as calmly as I can.

“Peace. I understand and appreciate your outrage, fair folk. However, no harm was done. This is a time of feasting and I would not besmirch the honor of my guests with accusations without fact. I ask you to sit and eat, lords and ladies of the fae.”

They hesitate. At last, one of them shrugs.

“So long as hospitality is not broken entirely and the host agrees, we abide. But a second breach and we will hunt. Honor demands it!”

I nod.

“I would expect nothing less.”

Satisfied, the fae sit. Soon they begin laughing as if nothing’s happened, but the nobles of Izril are well and truly frightened. They stare at me, grateful to be saved from the wrath of the fae. I sense Ivolethe moving through the crowd. She plucks the offending cup of poison and sniffs at it.

“You have enemies, Laken Godart. Take care you survive to meet Ryoka Griffin.”

She takes the half-full cup from the serving tray and downs the liquid inside before I can stop her. Bethal gasps audibly, but Ivolethe just laughs.

“Fear not, mortals. ‘Twas not the danger to us that offended my kin, but the insult to hospitality. There are few poisons in any world that we fear.”

She tosses the cup down and turns away. Bethal breathes out slowly.

“I see. Well I for one am glad of that. Emperor Laken, I am appalled at this assault on your life—at your own gathering, no less! Please rest assured that I will investigate this matter personally. And please be assured that Magnolia was not responsible for this heinous attack.”

I’m breathing hard. Durene is right behind me, and I know her fists are clenched, ready to hit something.

“You seem very sure of that, Lady Bethal.”

She doesn’t move and her voice is steady.

“I am. Magnolia does not employ poisons. She is far more direct. If she wanted you dead without a shadow of a doubt, well, I realize that is hardly a comfort, but there it is. She intended this gathering as a way to test you, Emperor Godart.”

“And did I pass her test?”

I snap and sense Thomast shift ever so slightly. Lady Bethal nods slowly.

“I would say you did. Please do not mistake Magnolia’s actions for hostility. She must be sure of her friends and enemies. I would elaborate, but I think Sacra is tasked with explaining the rest of Magnolia’s thoughts.”

“I will see her directly then. Lady Bethal, I apologize for the abruptness, but—”

“I understand completely.”

Lady Bethal smiles, bows slightly, and retreats. I turn. Ivolethe is standing behind me.

“What?”

“It seems this banquet is at an end. The food is nearly eaten and the wine is almost gone at any rate. I believe my kin are leaving.”

Sure enough, the fae are gathering. I hesitate as they laugh and call out farewells to the nobles of Izril. Only Bethal waves and smiles in return.

“Are they offended by the poison?”

Ivolethe grins her pointed grin.

“Only in your name. In truth, I think they rather liked it. A banquet is not complete without bloodshed and intrigue, after all. I thank you on their behalf since they will not, arrogant fools that they be.”

“So you’re going? Just like that?”

She nods. I have a thousand things to ask her, and I sense the warrior behind her and know I won’t get an answer to any of them.

“There’s so much I need to know. Will your kind return if I host another banquet?”

“Most likely not. This was special, Laken Godart. You know that. If it happened twice, would it be as special? Nae, do not look for wonders twice in the same place. We are not permitted to interfere in this world.”

I frown at Ivolethe.

“But you did. That was poison meant for me.”

“Aye. But we were allowed to come here.”

I pause.

“That makes no sense.”

She laughs.

“You are like Ryoka. Foolish. Don’t you see? The rules we have against interfering are not rules set in stone or graved on the world’s heart. They are just rules. Made by our King. He thinks we should not interfere, so we do not out of respect to him. But there is no reason why we cannot.”

“But then why is he…?”

Ivolethe shakes her head.

“Caution, Laken Godart. Caution and memory. Our King does not wish our deaths. He fears that to interfere would mean the end of one of us, and that is a cost far too high.”

“He fears for you so much?”

The winter fae nods. Her voice grows tired, older, even as her spring cousins laugh and dance about, making the most of their last moments on earth.

“If one of our kind should perish every thousand years, it would be far too many, emperor of men. We are old.”

“How old?”

I feel a frozen finger jab me in the throat and flinch.

“Must you mortals ask a question of everything? Old, fool! When your kind was learning to build with stone and wood, we were already ancient. In ages past we danced with gods and demons and made war and peace across worlds.”

She pauses.

“Once our courts were filled with the fae and we filled the forests with laughter. We are fewer now. Far fewer.”

“But you are immortals. Aren’t you?”

She just sighs.

“All things die, Laken Godart. All things. So our King forbids us to do more than spread winter on this world. And that is a boon based out of obligation. But he let us attend this banquet because it was special.”

“Why? If you don’t mind me asking.”

She just sighs.

“For the memory of such things, I think. Our King desires not to interfere in this world’s doings, but he remembers. We all remember what was and what might be again, and we long for these gatherings. We love acknowledgement, and for that the Faerie King would bend his own rules to allow us a few moments to dance and make merry. For this kindness, you were granted a wonder. If the world changes because of it, well, such is fate. And we enjoyed ourselves, so that’s all that matters.”

She smiles wickedly. I find myself smiling too, but it’s bittersweet.

“I wish—”

She cuts me off. I feel a kiss on my cheek, a sweet kiss like a snowflake, like frost. Ivolethe dances back from me, elegant, mischievous, as Durene gasps.

“Hah! If wishes were so easily granted! Take your gifts, Laken Godart. I do not think we will ever meet again.”

I rub at my cheek.

“Don’t you know?”

She shakes her head.

“If we knew everything, what would be the point of anything? Go well, Laken Godart.”

She laughs, a bright, cold sound, and bows. I bow back and Ivolethe turns. In a moment she and the strange warrior are gone. The other fae dance forwards. One steps forwards and bows to me, mockingly.

“‘Twas well done and cleverly played. You asked for naught but our presence, and the boon is granted. So we go.”

I bow again.

“That is all I wished for. You have already done me a grand favor, fair folk. I would say that I am in your debt, but I am told that is unwise.”

“True!”

“This emperor is wiser than most!”

“No debts, no payment!”

“Well then, farewell, wise ruler! Remember us, mortals!”

They bow, laughing. All of them. I don’t expect it, but the unruly mob lowers their heads in unison. And then they shout as one as the nobles of Izril look on.

“To the Emperor of Eyes! To the Ruler of the Unseen! To the Protector of the Cottage!”

And as the last echo of their voice fades in the meadow they are gone. Gone, just like that, leaving only that most precious of things behind. A memory.

—-

The night was filled with activity long after the fair folk left. The nobles of Izril were almost panicked by what they had seen and experienced. There was the issue of poison hanging in the air, and the fear of suspicion. For the [Emperor] and his people, there was the issue of Magnolia Reinhart’s maid to attend to.

She would have an audience on the morrow—for tonight the [Emperor] insisted on drawing a circle of salt around the village, a tricky task, but a necessary one. The nobles found themselves sleeping in newly-built houses, and if they grumbled about the poor treatment, they found their beds were as soft as any they had experienced in their homes.

Only two people stayed up long after the banquet. Tired though they were, Bethal and Thomast walked just outside the village, ignoring Laken’s warnings. Bethal was chattering into an amulet at her neck, talking animatedly though there was no one but Thomast to hear. And she was not talking to him.

“Oh, Magnolia, I had a wonderful time. The food was quite good—rustic, you know? Of course there were a few delicacies, but I enjoyed the ambiance. We had an open-air dinner and the most intriguing guests. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed myself so thoroughly. Well, maybe the time we were at Lord Faltifant’s, you remember—well, I was getting to that!”

She huffed as she listened to the voice speaking on the other end.

“Yes, it was quite surprising. All very well done—I enjoyed the décor, for all it was outside. You know, the setting was really—yes, he passed! Splendidly, too! He had these strange guests as well, Magnolia. I don’t know what they were! I said I don’t know—no, not which species! I’m not even sure they were real! But they were quite engaging! Would you like me to tell you about them? Really? Well, listen!”

She began speaking rapidly as Thomast scanned their quiet surroundings for any movement. Bethal finished and added a few remarks to the silent amulet.

“Thomast says he couldn’t kill one of the warriors there. No, not a chance. It was one of the strange visitors, the members of Emperor Godart’s court. No, Thomast says he’d lose, but you know how modest he is—wait, talk to him? I can relay—he’s my husband, Magnolia. I know you know! But I—”

She paused and turned to Thomast.

“She wants to talk to you.”

The Chevalier accepted the amulet, continuing to scanning the landscape. He spoke quietly and matter-of-factly.

“I’m not sure what I saw. But whatever it was, that warrior wasn’t Human or any species I’ve seen. And I’m sure it—he—could have killed me in a duel. I don’t think I could have hurt him with my blade. But perhaps—does the phrase ‘cold iron’ mean anything to you?”

He listened, and then after a moment lowered the amulet and handed it to Bethal. He whispered to her as he passed the jewel back.

“She’s shouting obscenities.”

Bethal covered the amulet and made a face.

“That actually meant something to her? What does she know?”

Thomast shrugged. Bethal raised the amulet and adopted a cheery tone.

“My, that’s an earful, Magnolia! Do you know what—? No? Okay, but I will ask you later—come on, Magnolia, I met them! They were quite alluring in a primal sort of way. You would have—what do you mean, the poison? Oh, right! Yes, the poison. Quite dreadful, but those strange visitors discovered it straight away. Quite luckily too! No, I have no idea who could have done it. But it’s a short list, isn’t it? I doubt one of Laken’s servants would have—you have to go? But I had hardly finished describing the food! Oh, very well. Treat that Emperor Godart as a friend, do you hear me, Magnolia? A friend! Yes, that’s my suggestion! I’m not being swayed! Fine!”

She lowered the amulet and made a face. Bethal dropped her cheery tone as she turned to Thomast.

“She’s going to look into it. But I really doubt she’ll find proof, Thomast. Sacra’s not exactly adept at this sort of investigation.”

Thomast nodded. He looked at his wife as she massaged her throat. The Chevalier considered his words, and spoke at last.

“Why didn’t you tell her the poison was meant for you?”

“I didn’t want to worry her. And she should treat it as an attempt on Laken Godart’s life, not wonder if he’s a threat. My impression was that he was an ally of sorts, not someone Magnolia needs as an enemy.”

Thomast nodded.

“I felt the same way. But that doesn’t change the fact that someone tried to kill you, Bethal.”

“My rings would have protected me. Probably. Thomast, we need allies and Laken Godart didn’t plant the poison. If he had, those angry folk would have said so, I have no doubt. We’ll think of who it could be. But let’s leave Magnolia out of this.”

“She sounded tired.”

Bethal nodded slowly.

“She’s tired. She’s being nice. Trying to keep the continent together as always. If only she had some help.”

“Do you think this [Emperor] is the help she needs?”

“Possibly. I don’t think he’ll make things worse. On the whole, I’d trust him over her enemies. The Circle of Thorns has spies everywhere. Perhaps it was one of them who planted the poison. Or perhaps I just have enemies.”

Bethal sighed. She stood with Thomast as the night drew on. The events of the last few hours swirled around them. Fae and magic. Poison and plotting. Bethal looked up.

“Thomast?”

“Yes?”

“Did you enjoy the banquet?”

He thought about this. The banquet had caused a stir. Laken Godart had either terrified or impressed the nobles of Izril. He’d saved himself from being assassinated by Magnolia Reinhart—Bethal and Thomast had been sent to kill him in a duel of honor if they deemed him too dangerous. All in all, Laken had proved himself an adept [Emperor], if a young one. He had mysterious forces at his command, loyal servants, and that most important of qualities—luck.

The banquet had been a wonder, a moment of strange magic in a time of strife. Thomast nodded to himself as he recalled the fae.

“I hated it.”

Bethal kicked him in the shins.

“Spoilsport.”

5.12

The rain fell. The pounding drops soaked into the already saturated soil of Liscor, pooling into lakes and ponds in the valleys, relentless. The rains covered the grass and chased the living indoors. And brought the waterlogged corpses of the Face-Eater Moths to the surface.

From the walls of Liscor, the Floodplains could be seen stretching to the base of the gargantuan mountains in the distance. In every direction, the grounds were filled with pale white corpses of moths, some bloodied yellow, others scorched or torn to pieces. The moths were dead. Most of them. Some still moved weakly, dragging their wings across the ground. But they were no threat anymore.

Liscor had won. The walls were still littered with dead bodies. And yet, the cost had taken its toll on the city. They had paid in blood to hold the walls.

Not that you would know it to stare at the walls today. As Watch Captain Zevara wearily greeted the rising sun, she saw only Face-Eater Moth corpses being hammered by the rain. Liscor’s dead had already been recovered and cremated, buried, or otherwise laid to rest. Otherwise they would have had to deal with the undead this morning as well.

“Report.”

She turned her head, feeling her body protest the motion. Zevara had barely put her head down more than an hour since the battle on the walls yesterday—just long enough to level up twice. She hadn’t gained a Skill, though. That was a sour plum that made her resent her long watch through the night. But when she stared at the Antinium sitting next to her she reconsidered voicing her bad mood.

Klbkch was sitting next to the battlements, letting the rain wash his body clean. The Antinium’s head was bowed, his carapace cut and still covered with fluids from battle. He looked tired. In Zevara’s experience, if an Antinium looked tired, it meant they were exhausted beyond belief. He didn’t seem to have heard Zevara’s statement. She wondered if he was asleep. She hesitated. But duty was duty.

“Senior Guardsman Klbkch.”

He started and nearly unsheathed the twin swords at his side. He had been asleep! Zevara wondered how intense the battle in the Hive had been, for Klbkch the Slayer to have passed out during his duty. He stirred, realized he had been sitting, and leapt up.

“Watch Captain, my apologies—”

“Sit back down. You need rest.”

Zevara yawned. Klbkch hesitated and then leaned on the battlements next to her. It still felt strange at times to have an Antinium—much less the infamous Slayer—under her command. But at the moment Zevara just saw another [Guardsman]. One of her best, in fact.

“Klbkch, report.”

“Walls are secure. The Face-Eater Moths have been driven off. The Hive is still recovering, but we estimate damages will be repaired within two days at most. We have Painted Soldiers on standby should more threats emerge. As per your request, I have allowed my subordinate, Pawn, to relieve your [Guardsmen] by posting his Soldiers on the walls. He has not reported any incidents as of yet.”

“Good. Did I—did I ask you that before?”

“I believe so.”

“Ancestors.”

Zevara closed her eyes briefly. She turned her head and stared down the right wall, where Antinium Soldiers were indeed standing to attention. The rain battered their dark shells, but failed to wash away the bright colors on their bodies. She wanted to ask Klbkch exactly what the strange patterns meant, but he had been evasive every time she asked. She eyed the lone Worker walking from Soldier to Soldier, pausing to talk to them.

“That’s your subordinate? Pawn? I thought the Antinium—”

She yawned hugely.

“—thought they didn’t have names. Isn’t he supposed to go crazy?”

“That is a misconception. Aberrations arise in most cases revolving around an Antinium’s name. But Pawn is an Individual, capable of thought and action.”

“That’s new?”

Klbkch nodded. Zevara yawned again.

“Dead gods, the Walled Cities won’t like that.”

She realized she’d said that out loud and her heart leapt in her chest. But Klbkch only nodded.

“I believe they will not. But include in your report that they are few in number at the moment. And we are committed to honoring our agreement with Liscor. The Painted Soldiers are a new unit dedicated to this effort.”

The Watch Captain turned to Klbkch. He knew she was reporting to the other cities? Wait, of course he knew. He wasn’t an idiot. But hearing him address her secret duties out loud was—

“The Painted Soldiers? Is that a formal designation? Some new creation of the Antinium?”

Maybe he was tired enough to reveal something by accident too. Klbkch shook his head.

“It is an informal phrase. The Soldiers are functionally no different from other Soldiers. Their unique appearance is meant to foster trust.”

“Well, it certainly makes them stand out.”

Zevara shook her head, eying the Soldiers. It was very rare to see Antinium in Liscor in any numbers. Normally having them on the walls would be the cause for alarm. At the moment though, Zevara imagined that Liscor’s citizens slept soundly knowing they were there. They certainly allowed her to give her guardsmen a night’s rest.

“I’m grateful, Klbkch. Just tell me one thing—your Soldiers won’t panic because of the rain, will they? Or the heights?”

Klbkch had been nodding off. He jerked upright.

“The water? I do not believe so, Watch Captain. The heights are no obstacle to the Antinium, and the rain is only rain. Once the Floodplains fill to capacity, the Soldiers may experience…uneasiness. Until then, they should be unhindered.”

Uneasiness? What did that mean? Zevara clenched her jaws to avoid yawning again.

“Right then. Well…how much do you trust your man—Antinium—Pawn?”

“Pawn?”

Klbkch hesitated for the first time. Zevara noticed it, although she was too tired to wonder why. He nodded slowly.

“Pawn is…quite capable. He will lead the Painted Soldiers into battle competently, if that is your question.”

“Could he hold the walls?”

“By himself? Against most threats, yes.”

“And he’ll alert you if any danger threatens the city?”

“That is correct.”

“Well then.”

Zevara was swaying on her feet. She looked around, lowered her voice, and then slowly lowered herself below the line of the battlements. Klbkch stared at her.

“I am still on duty. Wake me if something happens or when the other [Guardsmen] start reporting. Until then I’m taking a nap. You’re welcome to do the same.”

She leaned back and felt her head loll against the hard stone almost immediately. Klbkch stared at her. Then he saluted.

“Excellent orders, Watch Captain.”

He sat back down. Within moments both he and Zevara were asleep. The rain fell onwards, covering the landscape. Liscor slumbered. It had won, but no one was celebrating. They were all asleep. The day after the battle was quiet. Liscor’s heroes slept.

This is how they woke.

—-

Pawn was still awake the day after the battle. He walked the walls, past unmoving Antinium Soldiers standing in the rain. More still patrolled the streets below. Pawn would visit them soon, though his body cried out for rest. But the Painted Soldiers had been fighting nonstop all day yesterday. How could he lie down before them?

And he had a duty. The incense censer was heavy in his hands and the rain pouring down threatened to extinguish the embers within. He protectively covered the top of the censer with two of his hands as the other one swung the censer, wafting incense as he passed down the wall.

It was barely noticeable, what with the smell of dead moths and rain all around. But it was noticeable and that was what mattered. The Soldiers stood as he passed behind them, speaking quietly.

“We remember Blue Circles, who leapt from the walls to bring down an enemy four times his size.”

Click.

The mandibles of the Soldiers standing on the wall snapped together. It was a faint sound, but every Soldier on the wall made the same motion. All at once. All four walls of Liscor echoed with the sound as Pawn paused a moment. He spoke again.

“We remember Jilted Lines, who fell while holding the southern wall against the moths.”

Click.

The sound was one. Pawn’s head was bowed. The rain washed over his carapace, unrelenting. He saw a Soldier standing in front of him, bleeding faintly from one leg. Pawn rested a hand on his arm and muttered a prayer. Perhaps it didn’t help. Perhaps it did nothing. But the Soldier stood taller as Pawn passed. The Worker spoke on.

“We remember Leaves of Trees, who was crushed by a giant moth as it landed.”

Click.

The Soldiers stood, proud, wounded, sentinels watching for movement. If a moth so much as twitched they rushed over to stomp it to death. They stood on the walls, listening to Pawn as he passed on round after round. Even when they could not hear him, when Pawn was on a distant wall, their mandibles still snapped together.

Click.

They listed the dead by heart, each one of them. Again and again, as Pawn prayed they would find a better place beyond. The Soldiers stood quietly as the sun rose and the skies brightened. But the rain poured on, on the dead, the wounded, and the living.

Click.

—-

Olesm thought he heard a strange clicking sound as he wearily got to his feet. He shook his head, rubbed at his earholes, and blearily looked out his window. The rising sun made his eyes open wide and he shot out of bed.

“I’m late!”

He was supposed to report to duty on the walls every day at—Olesm flailed around his room wildly until his sleepy panic was replaced by memory. Oh! Liscor, the battle, the moths—Zevara had told him to rest until he was ready to replace her. Wearily, Olesm rubbed his face. He could have slept another day, but he knew Zevara was on duty until he relieved her.

The Drake hurried to toss some clothes on his body, avoiding the dirty rags he’d tossed in one corner of his room. He hurried out of his small apartment and onto the streets. The streets, filled with dead moths. They littered the ground like so much trash. So many. The Drake still couldn’t believe that Liscor had fought them off. If he closed his eyes he could remember the laughing moths coming up the walls, the sounds of screams, the boom of the enchantments going off—

For a few seconds the Drake’s pulse raced and he reached for the sword at his side. Then he remembered. They were dead. The moths were dead. The rain had chased them off. Olesm stared at the sodden bodies and shuddered as he saw something move underneath a moth’s wing.

“Dead gods, what…?”

He carefully approached the wing and nearly leapt out of his scales as a tiny moth scurried out from beneath the wing of a larger, dead moth. He cursed and stomped at it, and then yelped in horror as he saw several larvae oozing out of the same place.

“Ancestors!”

Olesm wasn’t willing to stomp on them with his boots so he drew his sword and speared the larvae. They oozed as he cut them and the Drake backed up, shuddering as he stared at the other moth bodies.

“Are they infesting the other corpses? Damn it, we’ll have to burn the lot!”

“That was my thought. Although it’ll be a trick getting the bodies flaming in this deluge. Young Swifttail, it’s good to see you up!”

Olesm whirled. He saw a Drake in gleaming armor marching towards him, followed by several Drakes on patrol. Wall Lord Ilvriss looked tireless despite not having slept for over a day. He nodded to Olesm as the Drake stared at him. His escorts were certainly showing signs of fatigue.

“Wall Lord! I didn’t expect to see you up!”

Olesm hadn’t expected to see anyone up at this hour. Wall Lord Ilvriss just smiled, turning his handsome face to regard the moth corpses with disgust.

“Did you think I’d be asleep, young Swifttail? Far from it! Remember, Liscor’s citizens are already waking though her defenders are catching up on rest. I’m patrolling to show everyone there’s nothing to fear. Although these damned moths do worry me even in death!”

He glared at the body and larvae that Olesm had killed. Ilvriss nodded at a Drake standing behind him.

“Burn it.”

The Drake [Mage] raised her hands and wearily shot a jet of fire at the corpse. It didn’t want to burn, but the sustained flames eventually cooked the moth. Olesm saw a few wiggling shapes trying to escape the burning moth and shuddered. Ilvriss nodded in satisfaction and the mage lowered her claws, panting. The moth’s corpse hadn’t been incinerated, but the heat had probably cooked anything inside of it.

“Good work. We’ll have to come up with a more effective solution soon. Consider the issue, Swifttail—I’d appreciate your thoughts.”

“You are too kind, Wall Lord.”

Olesm bowed. He hadn’t actually wanted to meet Ilvriss, certainly not this early in the day. He liked the Wall Lord—well, sort of—and Ilvriss liked him. And Olesm certainly respected the Drake. He’d seen Ilvriss cutting down Face-Eater Moths left and right during the battle without pausing to so much as rest. But the Drake was a bit much to deal with.

“Well, I ah, I’m honored that you’re working so hard for the good of the city, Wall Lord Ilvriss. It truly is inspiring. I was intending to go and relieve Watch Captain Zevara of her duties.”

“Were you? I saw you off not six hours ago! Good soldier! That’s the kind of spirit we need!”

Ilvriss’ smiled approvingly. Then he looked Olesm up and down.

“You seem taller, young Swifttail. Tell me, did you level at all last night? I thought you must have!”

Olesm gulped. He really hadn’t wanted to get into it. Oh well, nothing for it.

“I did, Wall Lord. I ah, gained two levels?”

“Two? Excellent! We’ll celebrate that later—ah, but I’ll hold off on drinking. Nevertheless, it deserves a party! Several of my men leveled as well. Did you gain any decent Skills by any chance?”

The young Drake hesitated. He shouldn’t say it. It would definitely make Ilvriss focus on him and Olesm really did want to relieve Zevara. But he was bursting to say it. He fought silently for a moment and gave in. Ilvriss would find out sooner or later and he’d be hurt if Olesm didn’t tell him right now. Besides, Olesm really wanted to say it.

“As a matter of fact…I obtained my [Strategist] class from leveling up, Wall Lord. I’m now a Level 30 [Strategist]. I gained the army Skill – [Vigor of Champions] as well.”

Ilvriss had been nodding to some of his men, scanning the street. At Olesm’s words his head whipped around and his eyes went wide. He stared, and then was roaring and clapping Olesm on the back in the next moment.

“Strategist?”

His voice was so loud that Olesm saw Drakes and Gnolls opening their shutters to stare. Ilvriss shouted as his escorts crowded around Olesm, slapping him on the shoulders and making the young Drake wince. Ilvriss was ecstatic.

“A Level 30 [Strategist]? My dear young Swifttail, how did you not mention that right away? Ancestors! By the walls of my city that’s a cause for celebration! Don’t be modest! A Level 30—most [Tacticians] take another 5 levels to reach that class! We have a prodigy here! And what Skill—”

“You’re too kind, no, it’s really not—”

“Nothing? Ancestors, Swifttail, there’s such a thing as being too modest! That Skill’s not anything to dismiss either! I’ve heard of [Vigor of Champions]. That’s a Skill any [General] would be proud to use! Come, use it on us!”

He gestured at his escort. Olesm hesitantly did so, visualizing Ilvriss and his men as part of his command. Instantly he saw several of the weary Drakes straighten. Ilvriss clenched his fists experimentally.

“Incredible. The fatigue’s not gone by any means, but I could fight another battle here and now! Young Swifttail, this is more than just a level up. This calls for—Weille, run to the Tailless Thief. Tell that [Innkeeper] to prepare a celebratory feast for young Swifttail! We’ll toast his new class! And invite his friends and family too! I’ll buy out the inn for the day!”

“That’s really not necessary Wall Lord. Really—”

Olesm tried to back away, but Ilvriss wouldn’t hear of it. He had a hand on Olesm’s shoulder like a steel vice and he was beaming widely as his tail wagged on the ground.

“Swifttail! Modesty has its place, but this is phenomenal news! I insist you come with me—and I should give you a gift to celebrate the occasion! Come, let’s go and—”

“Wall Lord!”

At last, Olesm managed to raise his voice enough to slow Ilvriss. The Drake blinked as Olesm tried to find an excuse to get out of an all-day party.

“I truly am grateful, Wall Lord Ilvriss. But though I’d be glad to celebrate with you—at another time—I feel I must replace Watch Captain Zevara on duty. She’s been awake all night, and I would be remiss if I abandoned my duties to celebrate!”

He bit his tongue as he finished, hoping Ilvriss wouldn’t take his words amiss. The Drake [Lord] stared at Olesm for a long moment, and then he nodded slowly.

“Well said, that Drake. Well said!”

He clapped his hands together and his escort, following his lead, applauded as well. Ilvriss kept nodding his head as he turned to his followers.

“You hear that? The model of a Drake! This young Drake—no, this [Strategist] is exactly what we need in Salazar’s army! Not an hour after gaining a new class and he still thinks about his fellow Drake! By all means, relieve Watch Captain Zevara, young Swiftta—Olesm. She certainly deserves her rest. We’ll continue our patrol as well!”

He nodded authoritatively and Olesm saw several of the Drakes behind him wince, clearly longing for their beds. But Ilvriss was animated, filled with energy from Olesm’s Skill. The young Drake coughed.

“Well, I’ll be going Wall Lord. I’ll ah, look forwards to seeing you later.”

“Certainly! We’ll postpone the celebration. Mind yourself on the walls though.”

Olesm paused.

“Is there danger, Wall Lord?”

Ilvriss grimaced.

“Possibly not. But the Antinium are currently holding the walls and patrolling the streets. Those damned colorful ones. They appear to be doing their job, but keep an eye on them and watch your tail.”

He glowered, as if Antinium Soldiers doing a Drake’s job was a personal affront. Olesm nodded. He’d rather have the Painted Soldiers on duty while the City Watch caught up on their needed sleep, but he kept that to himself.

“I will. With your permission Wall Lord—”

He backed away. The noise of his meeting with Ilvriss had stirred some of Liscor’s residents out of their beds. Drakes and Gnolls cautiously emerged from their houses, staring with revulsion at the moth corpses. Some waved to Olesm and the Gnolls, having heard everything Ilvriss shouted and probably everything Olesm said, congratulated him on his new class. Olesm smiled, ducked his head and tried not to wag his tail as he hurried towards the walls.

“Watch Captain Zevara? I’m relieving you. I’m terribly sorry, but I—oh!”

Klbkch and Zevara both started as Olesm came up the stairs. They got up fast, pretending they hadn’t been asleep. Olesm coughed as Zevara rubbed at her face.

“Olesm! We were just resting while Pawn—what time is it?”

“Just past dawn, Watch Captain.”

She scowled as she blinked blearily.

“So early? Go get more sleep. I can uh, keep watch—”

“You should rest, Watch Captain! I can handle things—we only need an officer on duty. I don’t have to be on the walls all the time, just on call. The Antinium are holding the walls—let me relieve you.”

Zevara tried to protest, but she yawned hugely and gave up.

“Alright. Alright I’m—I’m going to sign off. Just until noon! I’ll be back up and relieve you then. Senior Guardsman Klbkch—you’re relieved as well. Get at least four hours of sleep.”

“Yes, Captain.”

The Antinium and Drake stumbled down the stairs, nearly slipping on the soaked stone. Olesm shook his head as they left, and then looked around the walls. Antinium Soldiers on duty turned towards him and then swiftly away. They didn’t stop scanning the landscape. Olesm had no idea what to do with them, but he spotted a familiar figure doing the rounds.

Click.

There it was! That strange sound he’d woken up to! Olesm hurried towards Pawn as the Worker waved some kind of smoking object in front of him.

“Pawn!”

“Olesm?”

The Worker looked up. Olesm smiled in relief. He hadn’t been sure the Worker was Pawn—they all looked too alike—but Pawn was somehow familiar. Olesm gestured to Pawn and the Soldiers standing on guard.

“How are you? How are your Soldiers? What’s ah, the clicking about?”

The Worker tilted his head as if confused.

“I am well, Olesm. My Soldiers are able for duty. Those present are only minimally wounded. We are conducting a mass for the departed.”

“The depart—oh.”

Olesm’s good spirits sank for a moment. He stared at the Antinium and remembered the Soldiers fighting on the walls with the guardsmen. Too many Gnolls and Drakes had fallen as the moths swarmed. Antinium too. True, Pawn’s Soldiers had come later in the battle and only a few hundred had entered the fray, but Olesm had heard Klbkch’s report. Moreover he had seen—

The Drake turned his head and stared down into one of Liscor’s main squares. He could see a bit above the roofs of the houses from this point. Not much, but enough to see the heads of fourteen giant Face-Eater Moths that the Antinium had carried out of their Hive.

When Watch Captain Zevara had angrily demanded why Klbkch hadn’t sent up every Soldier under his command he had offered the heads as proof of the Antinium’s battle underground. Just the thought of how many Antinium must have died to fight that many moths made Olesm shudder.

“Your Soldiers. Did they take many casualties?”

“Many? Not many. Not by Antinium standards. But more than none, which is too many.”

Pawn shook his head. Olesm stared at him. The Antinium Worker seemed different than Olesm remembered. Just as quiet, but more reserved. More…somber, perhaps. Olesm stared down into the streets where an Antinium patrol was marching.

“Your Soldiers saved a lot of lives, Pawn. The city is grateful.”

Indeed, the Soldiers on patrol weren’t getting nervous looks so much as amazed glances by the citizens who had heard of the Antinium’s underground battle. Pawn nodded slowly, as if that had never occurred to him.

“The city’s gratitude…is a good thing, I think. My Soldiers simply did what was ordered. What was needed.”

“Nevertheless. As Liscor’s [Strategist], I offer you my heartfelt thanks. Without you we could not have held the walls.”

Olesm bowed slightly and felt a tingle in his chest. Liscor’s [Strategist]. He felt giddy at saying it out loud, and then guilty as he saw Pawn hunch his shoulders.

“Yes. I only wish less could have died.”

And what could Olesm say to that? Pawn was right, but he seemed focused on the dead. The Drake coughed and looked around for inspiration. With nothing coming to mind he defaulted to what he knew.

“Well…I’m sure Liscor will offer you a formal sign of gratitude. And uh, we’ll probably give the Hive a war gratuity for your fallen. I know that isn’t much, but I hope it will help your Soldiers’ uh…family? Friends? Comrades?”

He looked hopefully at Pawn. The Worker paused and one of his hands reached up to scratch at the top of his head.

“War gratuity? What is that?”

Olesm hesitated. He tried to explain.

“War gratuity’s well, money paid to fallen soldiers for fighting. It goes to their families…uh…to their closest relatives…to…”

Pawn just looked blank.

“The Antinium have no such practice. If the city is offering coin for the sacrifice of Soldiers, I am sure the Hive will appreciate the money.”

“But it’s for the Soldiers. I mean, they deserve something for their efforts. Do they get a—a break or a reward for fighting?”

“A reward? We will rest after being relieved of duty.”

Pawn noted Olesm’s dismayed face and shrugged.

“A Soldier does not ask for benefits, Olesm. He exists to fight. There is no need to reward his duty.”

“But he should get—”

Olesm broke off. He stared at Pawn and shook his head.

“Never mind. You know what? Can you stay in charge for the moment? If there’s trouble, send a message to Wall Lord Ilvriss or Watch Captain Zevara. I’ll be back in less than twenty minutes!”

“We will stand watch. That is what Revalantor Klbkch has ordered.”

Pawn nodded and Olesm hurried down the stairs. He knew he shouldn’t leave the city, but he had to. Maybe Pawn and his Soldiers wouldn’t receive any recognition besides gratitude from Liscor’s citizens. Maybe their Hive didn’t reward them for service or honor the fallen. But Olesm, as the Liscor’s new [Strategist] could probably see to it that the Antinium got a hot meal while on duty.

He remembered something about them not being able to eat bread or wheat products. But fortunately he knew one [Innkeeper] that specialized in meals for Antinium. Olesm practically ran out of the gates as the Soldiers on watch obligingly opened it for him. He stared in dismay at the sea of corpses and the actual sea of water filling up the plains. It was already deep enough in parts that he had to splash ankle-deep through some of parts as he tried to keep to the highest hills.

Tomorrow he’d probably have to swim to get to Erin’s inn! And that was only if he was suicidal—the moth’s corpses bobbed on the water, but they wouldn’t be there long. The rising waters meant more creatures would be appearing soon, and they ate anything in the waters. Olesm ran, slipping, the rain pelting his scales, and grinning wildly. He was a [Strategist]! He was a [Strategist]!

Then he fell into a giant valley filled with water. The Floodplains were flooding. Hence their name. And soon the city would well and truly be impossible to attack. As for the inn sitting on the hill, well, it might get a lot less customers. Because the waters were rising.

—-

It was raining. Erin stared at the droplets falling as she got up. The water was hypnotizing as it came down in droves. It was almost exciting to see it fall, to watch it cascade downwards and show off nature’s unrelenting power. It was also a bit too close for comfort, as Erin was currently watching it pour down through a hole in the side of her inn.

“I think that’s not a good thing, you know?”

She sat in the ruined common room of her inn and stared around. Her inn was wrecked. Dried moth blood was mixing with rainwater and dirt on the floors. Glass and broken wood littered the floor in places, and all of her windows were smashed in. If Erin turned her head she’d be able to see a huge theatre stretching far behind her—filled with Face-Eater Moth corpses. They’d been piled up, pushed out of the main room to clear a path to move around. And that was just the ground floor. Erin knew her second and third floors were still filled with their dead bodies.

She was sitting on one of two remaining chairs, staring at the rain. Snoring filled her inn, despite the wreckage. It came from the basement. Of all the spots in Erin’s inn, the windowless kitchen and basement had been untouched. Bird and the Redfang Goblins had elected to sleep there. The others were in Octavia’s shop, or in Liscor. There was nowhere else they could rest as the rain poured in from the places where walls and windows should be.

“Holes in my inn. Holes in my inn. I have a holey inn. Which isn’t that funny.”

Erin blinked around at her inn. She didn’t actually feel that bad. She just felt grateful to be alive, really. After yesterday she would have been grateful to be sitting out in the rain. Well, not grateful, but it would have beaten having her face eaten off by a horde of angry moths.

They’d won. Liscor had fought off the moths. But the cost—Erin glanced out of a hole in her inn. Well, the cost was just a bit problematic, that was all.

And yet, she was up. She was alive and—Erin’s stomach rumbled—hungry. And Erin had no doubt her guests would be just as hungry when they woke up. And they’d probably be happy, despite not having beds…or chairs…or rooms anymore.

Because they’d probably leveled up. Erin understood that leveling was like having a birthday. It was almost always a good thing and a cause for celebration. Okay, maybe not if you’d just become a Level 4 [Laborer], but a Level 43 [Foreman]? When people reached Level 20 or Level 30 they often hosted massive celebrations with tons of celebratory gifts.

She wondered who had leveled and what they’d gotten. Erin knew she’d leveled, but she was sort of ambivalent about it. She’d become a Level 35 [Magical Innkeeper]. But she’d gained no Skills. And when she stared around her wrecked inn, her desire to wildly celebrate sort of drained away.

“Woo. Yay.”

Erin waved her hands weakly as she peeked out one hole of a window.

“Darn it! They wrecked my outhouse! Both of them! How am I supposed to pee? Just squat over the hole and—wait, that would work. But it’s raining!”

She scowled around the inn and turned her head to the dead moth bodies.

“This is all your fault, you know.”

They didn’t reply. The moths were very dead, cut to shreds, pierced by magic, burned, crushed, and in one case bitten to death. Bird had done the biting. Erin went over to kick the nearest dead moth. She had second thoughts when she stared into its open stomach. And she had third thoughts when something inside the moth wriggled and came out.

“Gah!”

The young woman screamed and leapt back as a yellow larvae wormed its way out of the dead moth. It wriggled towards her on the floor and Erin reflexively stomped. She wasn’t wearing shoes. After a horrified moment where she felt the squish and stared at her bare feet Erin ran screaming outside. She began wiping her feet in the mud and grass and then realized something.

“Hey. Where’d the land go?”

Her inn stood on a hill. A very tall hill compared to the rest. It was one of a few tall hills around—the rest were shorter and of course there were as many valleys as hills. Only, Erin couldn’t see the valleys or more than a few hilltops. Everything else was submerged in water.

It was only a few feet deep in places, or just barely covering the grass. But the water was rising. Erin saw the water rippling as the rain poured into it in every direction as she stared around her hilltop. In the distance, Liscor was surrounded by water. If it rose five feet higher it would start flooding into the city. Erin’s inn was too high up for the water to conceivably flood—but soon almost everywhere else would be covered in water.

“Oh wow.”

Erin stared. Then she felt something wriggle on the bottom of her foot and freaked out again. She dragged the sole of her foot across the ground, avoiding the other dead moths lying around her inn. There were so many! Some were floating in the water around the inn and she could see hundreds more sunken beneath the water.

“Oh my god! How the heck am I going to get to Liscor now? And what do I do about food? And guests? And there are infested moths in my inn! What’s left of it!”

Erin clutched at her head, staring at her dilapidated inn. The second and third floors were mainly intact—if you ignored the smashed-in windows and moth bodies piled inside—but Bird’s watch tower was nothing but smithereens. The entire place needed reconstruction.

“Antinium reconstruction! They can totally build it! Yeah! All I have to do is ask Bird to—”

The [Innkeeper] turned. A thought struck her as she stared at the watery landscape. She opened her mouth.

“Wait a second. Antinium…can’t swim.”

She looked at the water. She looked at Liscor. She looked at her inn. Erin cursed. Then she saw a Drake swimming in the water. Erin hesitated. It was still early morning and she could barely see in the rain. But she thought the Drake looked familiar.

“Is that Olesm?”

“Erin! Erin! I have incredible news I have—oh.”

The Drake was swimming through the water over a valley to get to the inn. He stumbled out of the water, completely drenched and ran up to her inn. He stopped when he saw the ruined building.

“Oh. Your inn.”

“Hey Olesm. How’s it going?”

Erin smiled at him. The Drake looked at her cheerful expression and then at her inn, shock on his face.

“Erin I—I’m glad to see you’re okay. But—”

“I’m glad to see you’re okay too! Yeah, my inn’s sort of busted up. But that’s nothing some wood and nails won’t fix! If I can get someone to fix it cheap. It uh, got smashed when the moths attacked. But I’m so happy you weren’t hurt! I saw the fighting on the walls and I was so worried! I was trying to get help from Pallass, but those jerks didn’t do anything until the last minute! And then Pisces made it rain, can you believe that? He saved the day and—”

Olesm was just standing and staring at her inn. He looked heartbroken. Erin stopped talking. She walked over and gave Olesm a hug. The Drake started.

“Hey. Are you okay?”

He gaped at her. Then he realized what she was doing and hugged her back, fiercely.

“I’m so glad you’re okay! And I’m fine—in fact, I’m better than fine! I levelled up and gained a new class! But your inn. Erin—”

She laughed and hugged him harder. For some reason Olesm’s concern over her inn had banished hers. Seeing him put things in perspective for her.

“The inn? Don’t worry! It’s fixable. And everyone inside is safe. All I need to do is—all I need to do is get my friends to help out a bit. I can deal with my inn. But I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Thank you.”

The Drake seemed startled. Erin just smiled. Her inn was gone, but the people were safe. Not like last time. This time it had gone right. Well, mostly right. She thought about Liscor and her heart skipped a beat.

“How’s Krshia? Selys? Zevara? Klbkch? Relc? Ilvriss?”

“All—all okay. I think. There weren’t many casualties inside the city and I heard it was mainly the adventurers who went out to fight. Everyone who stayed inside was fine and Miss Krshia actually led some Gnolls in shooting down moths—I know Selys is okay, and Wall Lord Ilvriss. I just saw Zevara.”

Erin sagged in relief.

“That’s great. Really. Wait—what about Pawn and Belgrade and Anand and—”

Olesm cut her off as she looked towards Liscor.

“Pawn’s okay! And according to Klbkch, the Antinium fought off the moths! They killed fourteen giant moths, Erin!”

“Fourteen!?”

“Yes! Their heads are lying in Liscor’s main square right now! Apparently the moths invaded from an underground dungeon entrance—one the Antinium say just opened up—and started attacking! That’s why the Antinium didn’t reinforce us until later and I became a [Strategist]!”

“What?”

Erin’s eyes widened and she released Olesm. The Drake blushed.

“Sorry, that slipped out.”

“No, that’s amazing! Did you get any Skills? That’s so great, Olesm! Isn’t that your dream? You have to tell me about it. But—”

She hesitated and looked back towards her inn. Olesm gazed around at the dead moth corpses in wonder.

“What in the name of the Ancestors happened over here, Erin? I saw glimpses, but—you killed a giant moth here, and hundreds of the smaller ones!”

She waved a hand in denial.

“I didn’t. That was all the adventurers. We had [Guardsmen] from Celum, the Goblins, the Horns of Hammerad, the Silver Swords, the Halfseekers—oh! Jelaqua!”

She grabbed his arm.

“Moore and Seborn rushed Jelaqua into the city! Do you know if she’s okay?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t visited the Adventurer’s Guild, but I can check. Where’s everyone now? Did anyone…?”

The Drake was clearly relieved when Erin quickly shook her head.

“No one died. Jelaqua got hurt, and Moore, but we healed him up. The Silver Swords went into Liscor with Drassi after the battle, and the Horns of Hammerad stayed here. They’re sleeping in Octavia’s shop and the Goblins are sleeping in the basement since everywhere else is a mess. Lyonette and Mrsha are in Octavia’s shop too.”

“That’s good. That’s good, but—what about your inn?”

“I’ll fix it.”

Erin raised her eyebrows as Olesm gave her a look of disbelief. She felt more confident after hearing about her friends.

“What? It’s doable! My walls are pretty intact—okay, there’s a hole in one wall and my outhouses are gone, but the only real damage is around the windows. And Bird’s watch tower. If I can get a team of Antinium here…”

“They won’t leave the city, Erin. The Antinium don’t leave their Hive during this season ever. They can’t swim.”

Olesm looked like he hated to be the bearer of bad news. Erin gnawed on her lip.

“Okay. Well…I might be able to hire someone from Celum. Or Pallass. Eh, that takes too much mana. Look, I’ll figure it out. But why are you here? Is something wrong?”

The Drake started guiltily.

“Me? Oh no, no—I just uh, well, I was hoping to get you to—nevermind.”

“What? Come on.”

“It’s uh—well, Pawn and his Soldiers were deployed to the walls and they’re standing guard. I was hoping to treat them to a meal, but…”

He gestured at the flooded landscape, at Erin’s ruined inn, and the dead moths. Erin looked around. Dead moths, inn, waters. It was a sight to bring despair to any [Innkeeper]. Any normal one, at any rate. Erin just raised an eyebrow. Thoughts swirled and coalesced into crazy ideas in her head. She had a good one right now, in fact. She smiled as Olesm stared at her.

“No problem! Do you want the food to go or have them come here on their break?”

—-

The Horns of Hammerad woke up on the floor of Octavia’s shop almost at the same time. That was because when Ceria opened her eyes she moved her leg and kicked Pisces in the side. He sat up, which pulled the blankets off of Ksmvr. The Antinium jerked and Yvlon, who’d been sleeping under a table, sensed the movement, and banged her head as she tried to get up.

“Ow!”

Everyone in Octavia’s shop woke up, including Octavia herself. The Horns of Hammerad sat up groggily, their bodies aching, their heads still filled with fog. They stared around, remembered what had happened yesterday, and then woke up.

“Tree rot! How long have we been out?”

Ceria leapt to her feet, staring around wildly, and then turned and beamed at Pisces. He blinked at her.

“We made it! We’re alive!”

“That was certainly my inference as well.”

He winced as she jabbed him with an elbow. Yvlon got up, wincing as she rubbed at her back. She was still wearing her armor and covered in moth gore.

“Silver and steel, I’m aching all over! I haven’t slept in my armor since—Ksmvr, Ceria, Pisces, how are you?”

“We are alive. I believe this is the reason for Captain Ceria’s celebration. I am ecstatic to be alive as well.”

Ksmvr sat up as the other sleepers slowly got up. Lyonette stumbled upright as Mrsha sat up and yawned. Octavia pulled herself up from behind the counter.

“Whuzzat? Why’s everyone—oh.”

She glared at the adventurers as Ceria laughed with giddy relief. Mrsha ran over to them but recoiled as she smelled all four adventurers. They hadn’t bothered to wash last night  and had literally fallen asleep out of sheer exhaustion. Everyone had, but in the morning the stench was unbearable.

“Ugh! Anyone got soap and a bucket of water?”

Yvlon shook her head as she examined her armor and hair. Ceria realized she was covered in guts and sniffed at her arm and gagged. Pisces brushed at his pristine robes. He was barely dirty, save for sweat and a bit of blood on one cheek. The monster guts and blood had fallen right off the enchanted clothing Ceria had bought for him. By contrast, Ksmvr looked like the survivor of some kind of massacre. He had yellow bloodstains all over his body and shallow cuts on his carapace.

Octavia eyed her guests with dismay. She opened her mouth and pointed to the door to Liscor.

“Hey everyone, thanks for sleeping in my shop. I’d be happy to sell you all a cleansing potion and some water. Why don’t you all go to Erin’s inn and then come back when you’re clean? We can talk payment then.”

“Payment? What for?”

The adventures turned to her in surprise. Octavia gave them a look.

“For sleeping in my shop. And oh, I don’t know, for using all of my potions yesterday?”

She glared and pointed. Ceria stared at the [Alchemist]’s shelves full of potions, or rather, what would have been shelves full of potions. There were barely more than two dozen potions remaining, and the rows of mana potions, healing potions, and so on were all missing. Ceria winced and heard Pisces whistle.

“Oh.”

Octavia folded her arms.

“Oh indeed. My entire stock of potions is gone. And since I doubt Erin can pay for all of them, may I ask who’s going to pay? How much gold do you lot have on you right now?”

She had a dangerous look in her eyes. Ceria eyed the Stitch-Girl and looked around.

“I uh, think we have some gold with us. Not much.”

“How much exactly?”

Ceria hesitated. The [Alchemist] was twitching slightly. She hadn’t made much of a fuss yesterday, not with Celum’s City Watch returning through her shop. Or maybe the Horns of Hammerad hadn’t heard. But now, with the absence of her entire supply clearly visible in the light of day, Octavia looked like she was about to snap.

“We’ll uh, talk with Erin. Why don’t we step through and—”

“You lot used forty one healing potions, thirty five mana potions, every tripvine bag I have, all of my combat supplies, over six crates of stamina potions—”

Pisces yanked the door open as Octavia began to shout. He grabbed Ksmvr and pushed him through as Lyonette scooped Mrsha up.

“Through the door!”

The Horns of Hammerad rushed out of Octavia’s shop as the [Alchemist] shouted at their backs. Octavia’s voice followed them before Yvlon could slam the door shut.

“Tell Erin I want payment or I’ll—”

The door cut the last of her words off. The Horns of Hammerad stared at each other sheepishly, and then stared. Lyonette, who’d followed them with Mrsha in her arms froze. The Gnoll cub whimpered.

Erin’s inn lay in front of them, gutted by combat. The bodies of the moths lay where they had fallen. Shattered glass on the floors, splintered wood—the memory of what Erin’s inn had been jarred with the image in front of him. Ceria leaned against the door.

“Oh, tree rot.”

The half-Elf stared blankly at the desolation. She’d remembered seeing the inn destroyed, but that had been in the heat of battle. She hadn’t thought about what it would mean. But now—

“Oh no.”

Lyonette looked close to tears as she gazed around her home. Mrsha looked up at her with wide eyes, and at the moth corpses, the holes where windows should be. She gazed at Lyonette for reassurance, but the [Barmaid] had none to give. Pisces muttered an obscenity and Yvlon echoed it with something worse. Ksmvr just clicked his mandibles together softly.

“It’s all gone.”

Ceria stared around, wondering how on earth Erin could fix this. She looked towards the kitchen and wondered if Erin was asleep. What could she say? Would Liscor pay to fix all this? No—could it be fixed? And the bodies—

“Hey guys! Good morning! Is everyone okay?”

Erin walked into her inn, beaming. She was drenched with rain and smiled at her friends. They stared at her.

“Erin.”

“Hey Ceria! Are you guys okay? Yvlon, how are your arms? Ksmvr, how are your three arms? Pisces, good job with the rain! Can you turn it off for a while? Lyonette, Mrsha, how are you two? How are you Mrsha, hungry?”

She went over to them, still smiling. The others looked at her, concerned. Ceria hesitated before putting a hand on Erin’s shoulder.

“Erin, are you okay? Your inn—”

“What, this? This isn’t a thing. Holes in the wall? What holes? Nothing a few boards and nails won’t fix! The important thing is you’re all okay. Hey, anyone want breakfast?”

Before she could be interrupted, Erin swept into the kitchen and came out with a plate full of strange wrapped objects drizzled with red sauce. The Horns of Hammerad stared at the steaming plate of hot food. Pisces and Mrsha’s stomachs rumbled as one.

“Enchiladas! Sort of. I made them as close to the real thing as I could, although the hot sauce tastes different. Here! I think I have one table that’s not destroyed or covered in dead moth.”

She ushered the bewildered adventurers, Lyonette, and Mrsha over to a table. In short order Erin came back out with cups, milk, and utensils. Though Ceria was very confused, she began eating and realized she was famished.

“How did you make all this?”

Erin gave Yvlon a blank look as the woman tried to talk and inhale her food at the same time.

“What, this? I have [Field of Preservation], remember? All my food in the pantries is good! Heck, the dead moths are probably still preserved too. Which is sort of a problem because it turns out there are things living in them.”

“What?”

Every head turned to stare at the moths. Erin nodded.

“Olesm came by this morning! Swam here, actually. He told me there are larvae living in the moths! And small moths hiding too. We need to clear them out of the inn before they lay eggs. Pity—I was going to see if I could fry them.”

It felt like Ceria was half a step behind Erin’s train of thought. She saw rain falling through a hole in Erin’s wall as the [Innkeeper] beamed and refilled Mrsha’s mug.

“Fry them. Moths?”

“Yup! It was going to be this promotional thing, you know?”

Erin stepped back and raised her hands, pitching her voice like a food vendor.

“Breaded moth legs! Moth wings glazed with honey! Get your roasted moths here—first plate is free!”

She dropped her hands.

“But I don’t think people want to eat moth larvae, so that’s out. Anyways, I was hoping I could get you to help with some stuff after breakfast. Anyone want seconds?”

The Horns of Hammerad stared at her. Lyonette started to smile and Mrsha sat up, tail wagging happily. Yvlon blinked at Erin and then pointed.

“There are holes in your inn, Erin. Aren’t you concerned?”

“What, those? Nah. They can be fixed.”

Pisces leaned forwards, looking amused.

“And the dead moth bodies?”

“Cleanable! Lyonette, we’re going to need a mop. Or maybe to buy some mops since I think they all got smashed. Can you go into Celum and get some?”

Lyonette opened her mouth. Ceria had to cut in.

“How are you going to fix all this, Erin? How in the world…?”

She waved her hands to take in all the mess. Erin just smiled at her.

“I’ll do it one step at a time, Ceria. It’s a lot, but hey, I’ve handled worse. Remember when my inn exploded? I’ve rebuilt before. And this time I know how to do it right. Speaking of which—hey, you lot how’s it going?”

She turned and waved. The diners at her table jumped as Bird and the Redfang Goblins walked in. They were all wet and as Erin waved at them, they waved back. Well, Bird and two of the Goblins did. Headscratcher and Rabbiteater waved, the other three Hobgoblins just nodded or grunted or in Badarrow’s case, ignored Erin entirely. They moved towards the pile of moth corpses and as Ceria watched, began hauling them towards the doors.

“Everyone good? I’ve got more food if you want it! Just let me know if you need to take a break! Headscratcher, you good? Badarrow? Badarrow? Okay fine, you’re good.”

Erin waved at them. Bird paused and waved back with one of his four arms.

“Look Erin, a baby bird-moth.”

He picked up a tiny Face-Eater Moth that had scuttled out from behind one of the moth corpses he’d lifted. Bird snatched it up and inspected it. The tiny moth shrieked and tried to bite his hand. He lifted it up and crunched it between his mandibles.

“Ew.”

Erin’s optimism wavered as Yvlon made a face and everyone else at the table save for Ksmvr and Ceria had to pause in eating. She pointed at Bird as he ate his snack.

“No eating moths where we can see, Bird. And no eating larvae either.”

“They are not birds. I will not eat them.”

The Antinium Worker nodded happily. He carried the moth out and Erin turned to the others.

“I’ve got the Redfang Goblins dumping the moths outside. We’ve already tossed all the other moths in the water.”

“The water?”

Ceria had to go look and see. She gasped when she saw the flooded landscape. Yvlon whistled softly and Ksmvr groaned. Pisces just shook his head.

“That would be problematic.”

“I heard this is what happens, but it’s another thing to see it in person.”

Yvlon shook her head, amazed at the rising water level. She stared at Liscor in the distance.

“It’ll be a tough trip to Liscor. We might have to swim part of the way—and I don’t want to try that in armor. Are there monsters in the water, do you think?”

“They emerge during the rainy season. Whether or not they will appear during the start of the season is unknown.”

Pisces spoke calmly, his eyes darting to the moth corpses being hurled into the water. The Redfang Goblins seemed cheerful enough, and they were still wearing their ‘Security’ armbands in the bad weather. They’d slept in the basement since their rooms were destroyed and seemed well-rested, as if yesterday’s fighting had been a normal day for them.

“I guess we can find a boat but—”

Ceria was turning to confer with the others when they noticed Ksmvr was shaking. The Antinium stood in the doorway of Erin’s inn, staring at the water and trembling violently. Yvlon looked worried.

“Ksmvr. What’s wrong?”

“The water. So much water. Water.”

The Antinium’s voice was a whisper. Pisces glanced at Ksmvr and his brows rose.

“Ah. The Antinium cannot swim.”

“Oh. Oh. Oh no.”

Ceria and Yvlon exchanged glances. Ksmvr was shaking as he looked at the water around him. Ceria knew that the Antinium Hive was based underneath Liscor. She wondered if Ksmvr had ever seen so much water before, or if he had stayed in the Hive all his life. She gently pulled him back.

“We can stay in Celum, Ksmvr. You don’t have to go to Liscor. It’s alright.”

The Antinium jerked and turned to Ceria. To her surprise, Ksmvr shook his head violently.

“I cannot abandon my team! I will take a b—boat. I am not weak or insufficient to the challenge! Please, allow me to—”

He fumbled for words. Yvlon laid a hand on his shoulder and he stopped himself.

“Ksmvr, it’s alright. If you can’t swim it’s natural to be afraid. The Antinium must fear the water after the last Antinium Wars…”

“They do. It is terrible. So much of it. We—”

Ksmvr babbled as the Hobgoblins passed by. He stopped as Bird lugged another moth out of the inn and trundled down the hill. The Worker happily tossed the moth into the water right by the edge, ignoring the rain pelting him. He was singing another nonsense song.

“Water, rain, water, rain! Throwing birds in the water in the rain! If I fall I will drown! Water, rain, water, rain!”

He walked back up the hill and past the Horns of Hammerad, singing happily. Ceria stared at him and then at Ksmvr.

“Okay, most Antinium fear water. But it’s okay.”

“I would never disgrace myself—”

“Hey! Look at all that water, huh? That’d make getting the Antinium over here really tough, right?”

Erin cheerfully popped up, making the Horns of Hammerad jump. She smiled at Ksmvr.

“Hey Ksmvr, don’t worry about the water. I’ve got a plan! It involves fixing my inn and all I need is Pisces’ help!”

“You do?”

The [Necromancer] looked startled, and then blinked.

“Ah. Wait a moment. I understand completely.”

“You do? Well of course you do.”

Erin rolled her eyes as Ceria and Yvlon gave her uncomprehending looks. She nodded to Pisces.

“Think you can…?”

He smiled slyly.

“It would be a few minute’s work, provided I can gain access to Liscor and locate a suitable location.”

“What location?”

“For my door, of course!”

Erin grinned at Yvlon’s suspicious look towards Pisces. She pointed towards her inn, at the magical door.

“I have one to Pallass and Celum—and I can connect it to more places too, you know! Pisces, I have a few of those mana stones Typhenous ordered. Can you give it a look?”

“At once.”

Pisces rose, smiling with his self-importance. Erin winked at Ceria.

“Magic doors solve everything. Think I’ll have trouble getting the Antinium to work on my inn? Well, if they don’t have enough wood I’ll get some from Celum. The only trick will be making sure someone isn’t waiting on the other side! I wonder if I can make the door switching from place to place automatic?”

The half-Elf shook her head.

“Erin, you amaze me. That’s a brilliant idea!”

Erin snorted.

“No it’s not. It’s the same idea I’ve always had. I’m just doing the smart thing with it. Anyways, that means you can go to Liscor easily, Ksmvr. No boat, no risk of drowning!”

“Oh.”

The former Prognugator stopped shaking. He looked at Erin and then at the water.

“But I was willing to risk my life for the group.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to.”

“But I should. I should ride a boat to demonstrate my willingness to—”

Yvlon put a hand on Ksmvr’s shoulder and he stopped. The armored woman smiled at the Antinium.

“Ksmvr?”

“Yes, Comrade Yvlon?”

“Be quiet.”

The Antinium went still. Erin smiled at the Horns of Hammerad and they grinned back. She leaned on her doorframe.

“So, anyone level up last night?”

Ceria, Yvlon, and Ksmvr all raised their hands. Erin grinned.

“Wow! Who got what?”

They looked at each other. Ceria opened her mouth and then Octavia kicked the door open, slamming it into Pisces as he approached with a mana stone. She glared at Erin.

“Money!”

Erin turned to look at her. Octavia opened her mouth to shout and took in Erin’s destroyed inn. She stared at the Face-Eater Moths, the broken furniture and glass, and then at Erin. A flash of guilt crossed over the Stitch-Girl’s face.

“Okay, we’ll talk about it later.”

She guiltily went to close the door and saw Pisces glaring at her. He had a bloody nose. Octavia paused.

“I have a healing potion for that. Want one? It’s only…”

She hesitated. Pisces was giving her a death-glare as he pinched his nose to stop the bleeding. Octavia sighed.

“Let me get you a bottle.”

Erin stared at Octavia’s back.

“So she’s got a conscience. Who knew.”

She smiled. Ceria looked at Erin.

“Octavia was talking about how many potions we used. I’d like to repay her, but the cost…you don’t happen to know how to deal with that, do you Erin?”

“…Nope.”

The [Innkeeper] drummed her fingers on the doorframe. Ceria sighed. Erin laughed a bit.

“One thing at a time, Ceria. One thing at a time. Now, tell me. Can you fix the holes in my walls? I really want the rain to stop pouring in. A bit of ice magic would probably keep it out long enough for me to do a patch. Yvlon, do you mind helping the others haul dead moths? If you don’t mind the ick. And Lyonette’s going to mop—once Mrsha has breakfast. Now, once Pisces opens the portal to Liscor…”

—-

It was evening by the time Senior Guardsman Klbkch found himself checking into Liscor’s City Watch barracks. He signed himself in, noting his irregular hour, and then mustered with the other [Guardsmen] on duty. Watch Captain Zevara was addressing a tired group of Gnolls and Drakes. She nodded to Klbkch as he entered the semi-circle. She looked tired, though she had slept for half the day.

A Drake looked over and grinned as he saw the Antinium. He nudged Klbkch.

“Hey Klb.”

“Relc.”

The Antinium nodded to his partner. Relc grinned as he flexed an arm, looking no worse for wear.

“You missed a heck of a fight up here. Tons of moths came out of the dungeon. Crazy fighting on the walls and explosions and huge monsters!”

“I am aware. The Face-Eater Moths attacked the Hive before the siege of Liscor. We were engaged with the enemy while you fought above. So I was thus in fact participating in the fight, albeit in my respective area.”

“Oh yeah? Well…we got like ten of the huge bastards. What do you think of that?”

“I believe we slew fourteen.”

“What? No way!”

“We presented their heads in Liscor’s central square earlier today. Did you completely miss their presence?”

“Um…no?”

“Attention!”

Both Antinium and Drake instantly stopped talking and the other Gnolls and Drakes stopped their chatter as well. Watch Captain Zevara looked around.

“Senior Guardsman Klbkch, good to see you up and about. Do you have another report on your Hive?”

She and the other [Guardsmen] looked to Klbkch. He paused.

“No further news to report, Watch Captain. The moth attacks have ceased and the Hive continues to repair. Casualties in the Hive were…substantial. However, we held our ground thanks to my subordinate’s efforts. We might have lost three times as many were it not for our fortifications. As it is we stand fully ready to support Liscor in reconstruction if needed.”

“Thank you, Senior Guardsman. I doubt we’ll need the Antinium’s abilities for the most part. The walls held and the damage to the city itself was minimal. But the rains are falling and I want to be sure there are no leaks in the walls! The water’s rising fast and this monster attack came at the wrong moment. Added to that, we’ve received word from Olesm, our new [Strategist]—”

Zevara paused to let the murmurs of surprise die down.

“—that all these moth corpses might be hiding larvae or smaller moths. Wall Lord Ilvriss has recommended to the Council and me that we collect the bodies and burn them with mass mage spell. Or dump them off the walls. Either way, that means we have a fun new activity to keep us busy!”

The [Guardsmen] groaned and began to mutter complaints. Zevara raised her voice.

“Stow it! This is a city-wide issue. If we don’t control the corpses we’ll be swimming in those bastards soon enough. Tell them, Klbkch.”

She nodded to the Antinium. Once again all eyes swung to Klbkch. He nodded and clicked his mandibles together precisely before speaking.

“The assessment of [Strategist] Olesm and Wall Lord Ilvriss is correct. Insectile monsters survive eradication by allowing their young to infest new sites and lay thousands of offspring when they reach maturity. A city that fails to properly account for after-battle cleanup may find itself dealing with a permanent population of such insects in the future.”

The Drakes and Gnolls standing around him blanched. Watch Captain Zevara turned and gave the other guardsmen a weary nod.

“You heard him. Double shifts for all but wounded and we work around the clock until the bodies are gone. We can’t clean the ones up outside the wall though, Klbkch. Will that be a problem?”

“No. The water will eradicate the young, as will the local wildlife.”

“Good. Then here’s what we’ll do. We have [Laborers] and other volunteers working already, but I want [Guardsmen] assisting and patrolling for moths down every street. Be vigilant! Not all the moths might be dead and the last thing I need is for someone to get their tail bitten off. Here’s how we’ll patrol. Klbkch, Relc, you head down Ancestor’s Walk. Circle the city. Guardsmen Tkrn, Euriss, check Market Street. Guardsmen…”

The [Guardsmen] named began forming up in pairs or checking their gear. They were still grumbling, but that was the nature of all guardsmen, universally. Klbkch and Relc heard the others chattering as they walked towards the doors.

“Ancestors, I hate those things. First we kill the damn moths, now we have to carry them?”

“And in the rain of all things? Dead gods! Let’s just toss them off the walls, why bother cremating?”

“You fancy hauling a stinking carcass up all those stairs?”

“At least that way they’ll be eaten. Water’s rising. Soon we’ll have to lock the gates. Tonight, maybe.”

“The fish’ll be coming any day now. Once they swim up from whatever hole in the ground they live in. Or come down from the streams.”

“At least they’ll have plenty to eat. That means we pull in more of a harvest.”

“Yeah, but what they’re eating is bugs. You think of that? That means we’re eating bugs because we eat the fish.”

“They can’t be that bad. I heard that crazy Human girl shouting about selling cooked moths from the walls. Did you see her inn? Completely wrecked! There’s a sea of dead moths floating around the hill!”

“Cooked moths? You’d trust her cooking? She sells acid flies!”

“To be fair, they’re really good if you add honey.”

Klbkch and Relc exchanged a look.

“Interesting. Hey Klb, did you hear how Erin’s inn was?”

“I believe it survived the battle, though it was heavily damaged. She incurred no casualties.”

“Really? Wow. Hey, are you free from your stupid Hive duties tonight?”

“My ‘stupid Hive’ is well-attended in my absence, yes. Although I resent the implication.”

“Yeah, yeah. But do you think we could take a look?”

“I can’t swim. Or are you suggesting you carry me the entire way there?”

“Hah! You wish! I could totally do it, but nah. Guess what I saw on the way here?”

“What?”

“Guess?”

“I refuse.”

“Come on…”

“You will tell me eventually.”

“Nuh uh.”

“Your childlike response only solidifies my certainty.”

“Okay, fine. Guess what I saw?”

“Again, I refuse to guess.”

“Oh, come on…”

The two [Guardsmen] walked out of the doors on patrol. Klbkch and Relc, the Senior Guardsman duo. They were a good pair, if odd. One was a precise, almost perfect example of a [Guardsman] who happened to be Antinium. The other was a war hero who slacked on his job and was tolerated for his ability and little else.

They lifted moth corpses, argued, and worked tirelessly for six hours until they stopped at a door set into a wall. It was plain, inconspicuous, and was definitely not supposed to be there, given that the wall in question was Liscor’s western wall. Klbkch opened the door and stepped through.

“Hello? Miss Erin—”

He raised his voice as he entered a dark inn. Boarded up windows leaked rain into the inn, and the fireplace and [Light] spells illuminated the rest of the inn. Klbkch and Relc blinked as they saw something scuttle across the floor and heard an angry voice.

“Argh! It’s another one! Mrsha, get me a boot! Not that boot, get me my bad boot!”

Erin and Mrsha chased the tiny moth across the floor. Erin raised the boot as the Gnoll handed it to her and threw it. The boot spun through the air and crushed the moth. Erin cheered and looked around. Her eyes widened as she spotted the two [Guardsmen].

“Klbkch! Relc!”

“Hey! I thought this place was totally wrecked!”

Relc walked into the inn, laughing and looking around. Klbkch entered after him and his mandibles opened wide with surprise.

“Ah. This is unexpected.”

Pawn looked up as he, Olesm and the Horns of Hammerad ate at the one good table in the inn. They were the only ones sitting on chairs. But the floor, newly cleaned and washed was covered with bodies. Painted Soldiers sat and ate from bowls filled with stew, and sipped from special tankards designed to be held by their awkward grips. They looked up as Klbkch stared around.

“Hey, did you hear about the special dinner for the Soldiers? Come on in! I don’t have any more tables, but I’ve got plenty of food still!”

Erin ushered Relc and Klbkch into the room, beaming. She took the boot from Mrsha and made a face at the oozing carcass.

“Ew. Mrsha, can you wash this outside? Thanks!”

“Whoa. What’s with the huge room?”

Relc gaped at the giant common room, stunned by what he was seeing. Klbkch stared at the empty stage and wide room. He tilted his head thoughtfully.

“I detect the presence of a Skill.”

“Gee, you think? But what the heck is it?”

“Like it? It’s my [Grand Theatre]! It was filled with dead moths and stuff, but we’ve been working all day and we’ve washed it clean! I also have the second and third floor cleared up! Well, mostly. I think Bird’s tossing moths off the roof right now.”

On cue, Relc and Klbkch heard a muffled thump outside and Bird’s voice.

“One moth goes splat, two moths go splat-splat. Three moths go splat-splat-splat.”

And then another voice which neither [Guardsman] recognized.

“Splat, splat, splat.”

“Ooh, Numbtongue’s singing! I bet he thinks we can’t hear him.”

Erin grinned up at the ceiling. Relc shook his head in amazement.

“What’s with the big room, Erin? I heard you had Goblins—which is totally fine by me!”

He raised his claws hurriedly as Erin turned back to them.

“Totally fine. I’m just here to eat. I’m not gonna cause trouble, okay? Klbkch and I stopped for a drink since we heard your inn got trashed. Looks better than I thought, actually. Right Klb?”

“Indeed. My partner’s wild speculations are quite groundless. Erin, I am pleased that you are well.”

“Hey, I’m glad you’re well too, Klbkch. How were things in the Hive? Are Belgrade, Anand, and Garry…?”

“All unharmed.”

“I’m good too, Erin! I killed tons of moths! Hell, I held the wall pretty much on my own.”

Relc waved a claw excitedly. Erin laughed at him.

“I bet you did. Come on, take a seat and I’ll get you some food. Or rather—Ishkr? Can you get drinks and stew for Relc and Klbkch?”

A Gnoll came out of the kitchen. Relc chortled with glee as he saw the dark beverage in his glass mug.

“Alcohol? That’s good stuff there! When did this happen?”

“A lot’s been going on! Come on, sit. There’s a nice place by the fire.”

Erin sat with the two [Guardsmen]. She smiled broadly at them and Relc grinned back as Klbkch raised his mandibles. For a few seconds they recalled another moment, a long while ago, where they had been in a similar situation. Then the inn had been run-down and old. Now it was filled with Antinium Soldiers and they ate on the floor. But as Erin added a log to the fire and Klbkch and Relc argued over who got the bigger bowl of stew, it felt like not much has changed.

“So Klbkch.”

“Yes, Erin?”

The Antinium looked at her as Erin twiddled her thumbs together. Relc was inhaling his stew and washing every bite down with a gulp of ale, happy as could be. Erin looked somewhat nervously at Klbkch as she spoke.

“My inn’s wrecked. Klbkch, can I pay you to fix it? Bird says the Hive is probably a mess right now, so I can make do for now. But if you could spare a few Workers…”

She trailed off hopefully. Klbkch pondered her request as he ate stew and then nodded.

“The Hive is indeed recovering, but there is a finite number of Workers and Soldiers needed to remove the corpses. The tunnels can barely accommodate a single giant moth as it is. Your request will not impose a strain on the Hive’s resources. I will send a small team up shortly.”

“Oh, really? Wow, I’m so grateful!”

“I appreciate your gratitude. However we will have to charge a fee, and lumber will be an issue.”

“Don’t worry about that! I can get some from Celum and I have coin! Olesm gave me money for tonight and I’ve got acting money coming in! Well, I’ll have more once I get the inn fixed up again.”

“Acting money?”

Relc and Klbkch exchanged a glance. Before they could inquire further, a sorry-looking Stitch-Girl sitting in a corner of the inn far from the fire raised her mug,

“That money had better come to me, Erin!”

Octavia’s eyes were bloodshot and she looked despondent as she drank. Erin coughed. Relc gave Octavia a weird look.

“What’s her problem?”

“Octavia’s sort of upset. We uh, used her potions up during the battle. And I can’t pay her back just yet. I haven’t seen the Silver Swords or Halfseekers yet, and I don’t know if they want to pay her back.”

“Sure, just leave me without any coin for all my hard work!”

Erin winced as Octavia came over to complain. She glared at Erin, Klbkch, and Relc although she kept well back from the fireplace.

“My stock of potions is gone, and I’m ruined without some kind of reimbursement! Why, the cost of the ingredients alone is—”

“Miss Octavia, may I assume that all the potions lost were used in the defense of Liscor?”

Klbkch calmly interrupted the [Alchemist]. She paused.

“That’s right. And without me charging a single coin, by the way! I did my civic duty—to another city no less! And do I get a word of thanks. Nooo—”

The Antinium nodded.

“We will reimburse you the costs of your lost wares, Miss Octavia.”

“Say what?”

The Stitch-Girl broke off. Klbkch tapped his fingers against the side of the bowl, speaking clearly.

“Give me a full receipt of your lost items tomorrow morning. I will have you sign under truth spell and we will offer you a fair sum close to market value for your lost potions. Liscorian law states that services or items used in the defense of the city must be repaid at appropriate price to their respective owners. You may be able to claim some money yourself, Miss Solstice.”

“Really?”

Erin brightened up. Klbkch nodded.

“Your inn was used as a staging ground for multiple adventuring parties and both Celum and Pallass’s City Watch. You may also be able to charge all three cities for use of your magical doorway in transportation, although the cities may claim fair use of a magical artifact in times of war. I will review the relevant information and inform you of whatever reimbursements I deem fitting.”

“All right! You heard that, Octavia? You get money and I get money! Thanks, Klbkch!”

The [Innkeeper] smiled. Octavia looked stunned. Klbkch nodded towards her.

“Will that be satisfactory, Miss Octavia?”

“What? Um. Yes. Thank you. Thank you! Pleasure doing business with Liscor! And might I add that I hope my potions were of great service to the city? I would be more than happy to provide as many potions as necessary—”

Erin rolled her eyes and pushed Octavia back towards her seat. Relc watched her arguing with the Stitch-Girl and sighed.

“Reimbursements?”

Klbkch nodded.

“Part of Liscorian law. A staple of most Drake cities, in fact. You would be aware of this if you ever took the time to review the laws you enforce.”

“That’s what I’ve got you for, Klbkch old buddy. You do all the boring stuff.”

“That is sadly accurate.”

Relc laughed. The big Drake sat with Klbkch on the floor, drinking lightly. He looked older than Klbkch remembered. But then, they’d been partners for nearly seven years now. Relc looked into the fire.

“Hell of a week, huh, Klb?”

“Indeed, Relc.”

“Glad you made it out of there. When that scrawny Worker guy, Pawn, or whatever, came out of the Hive, I got worried, y’know?”

Klbkch paused with a spoon of stew raised.

“I…was not aware of that.”

“Hey, it’s not like I thought you were dead or anything. But you did die once.”

“That is true.”

The two sat in silence for a second as Erin circulated the room, offering more stew to the Soldiers who raised their bowls silently.

“Seems like this dungeon’s causing lots of trouble, huh?”

“To put it mildly.”

“And there’s an entrance that leads right up to your Hive, huh?”

“A recently discovered breach in our security, yes.”

Relc eyed Klbkch.

“Right, right. Just like how the dungeon suddenly appeared one day. The Antinium had no idea whatsoever. You guys just happened to know exactly where the entrance was.”

The Antinium was unmoved by Relc’s stare. He casually lifted his mug and drank.

“Your skepticism is wounding and hurtful.”

“Tell that to Captain Z.”

“She is aware of much of the Hive’s doings.”

“Yeah, and I bet you tell your Queen everything we’re doing too.”

“That is a fair assessment, but flawed in one respect.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t bother her with your trivial antics.”

The Drake glanced at his partner. Klbkch’s face didn’t change one iota as he drank. Relc grinned.

“Bastard.”

“Not precisely.”

“Glad you made it safe. Glad Erin’s good. Even if she does have a weird inn.”

“Indeed.”

“Magic doors, huh?”

“They appear to be quite useful.”

“Well here’s to that. And surviving another day. Moths are one thing, but Captain Z’s going to work us both to death. Glad you’re with me old buddy. And it’s a good thing the Soldiers are pulling the morning shift too, because I’m not rolling out of bed for dawn patrol!”

“You never do. I agree to your optimism however.”

Relc grinned and lifted his drink. Klbkch raised his hand and the Drake and Antinium gently chinked mugs. They drank, and then Erin came back.

“Sorry! The inn’s a mess, but all the bodies are out and all I need is a few Workers to fix it all up! Plus, I’ve still got my customers! We’re actually doing really well if you ignore all the moths and water outside.”

“Really? You’ve got customers coming in later tonight?”

Somewhat skeptical, Relc eyed Erin. She grinned at him.

“Hey, I know the inn’s a mess, but the Players of Celum said they’re still willing to put on a show and there’s plenty of people willing to stand if it means seeing them! Once the Soldiers finish their meal, I’ll call them through and start making popcorn. You want to see a play?”

The two [Guardsmen] exchanged a glance. Relc frowned. Klbkch clicked his mandibles together.

“What is a ‘play’?”

“You mean you haven’t seen one yet?”

The two shook their heads. Erin’s smile grew wider. Relc and Klbkch looked at each other again.

Some things stayed the same. Other things changed. But there was always something new here.

—-

The Wandering Inn glowed with light. Not far distant, Liscor was illuminated by light as well. The walls stood as the rain continued to fall. Neither monster attacks nor the rising waters could bring Liscor’s walls down. They were a symbol of comfort, of reassurance to all who knew them. They meant safety, security.

Home.

A group paused at the entrance to the Floodplains on a distant hilltop. The dark waters were still being churned by the rainfall. Those gathered on the hilltop took no notice. A Drake spoke curtly.

“We’ve come too late. The water’s risen. Have the company prepare for aquatic travel and pitch camp tonight. We’ll make for the city at dawn tomorrow. I want us in the city before the underwater monsters arrive.”

“Yes, Commander Grasstongue!”

The Drake nodded her head. She turned to another [Soldier] with markings on his armor that identified him as a magic-capable officer.

“Send word to Liscor’s High Command via [Message] spell. Liscor’s 4th Company has returned home and is prepared to reinforce the city. We will reconnoiter the area and stand ready to secure Liscor against any threats. Monster, Goblin, or Antinium.”

The [Soldier] saluted. The company of Drakes began to make camp, posting a vigilant watch, keeping their weapons dry, ready for battle at any time. They were part of Liscor’s army, a hardened elite known throughout Izril. They were Liscor’s sons and daughters, come to defend their home in Liscor’s hour of need against the threat of the Goblin Lord and the dungeon.

They had marched day and night and had forgone rest in any of the Drake cities they had passed to reach their destination sooner. They were a force to be reckoned with, despite their few numbers.

And they were late. Just by a day or two. But they didn’t know that. Liscor’s army camped as the rain fell onwards, the waters rising. And as they did, the fish came out. The animals and monsters who made the annual trip to Liscor began to swim up from dark recesses or crossed through mountain streams and rivers to reach this temporary haven of life. It was spring. And the exciting times were just getting started.

5.13

The next day, Erin closed up her inn just after dawn. She waved farewell to the Players of Celum who’d done two performances, and let the Soldiers march through to their Hive or to resume their watch from the battlements. The last of her guests she said farewell to were Relc and Klbkch.

The two [Guardsmen] had enjoyed their night at Erin’s inn. They argued as they left, good naturedly. Relc had been blown away by the stage and had applauded both plays when he wasn’t asking if he could have a try. Klbkch on the other hand was actually a born critic, and had made a few observations on the quality of the [Actor] portraying Claudius in the second play. He reminded Erin of her English Literature teacher in that sense.

She closed the door to her inn tiredly, wishing she had a few more hours before the sun rose. Erin had to get up soon! Or maybe she could nap and let Lyonette take over? She was so tired she nearly ran into Apista as the Ashfire Bee floated past her, trying to get outdoors.

“And where do you think you’re going, huh?”

The bee buzzed around Erin as she shooed it back inside. Apista reluctantly floated back to the faerie flowers as Erin closed the door to Liscor. She’d never hear the end of it from Lyonette if she let Apista fly away.

As it happened, the Ashfire Bee had survived the entire battle with the Face-Eater Moths by hiding in the kitchen and devouring a jar of honey as large as she was. Erin had found her squeezed into the glass jar when she’d gone to open the cupboards. It had not been a nurturing experience, although it had relieved Lyonette, who’d been anxiously searching for her pet.

So much for bees. Erin yawned as she staggered back to her kitchen for bed. She could get a few hour’s nap. But she paused as she passed by a boarded up window. It was a bad patch job and she could see outside. She stared through the crack into the wet landscape. The waters had nearly engulfed everything, but a few hilltops were visible. And as the skies lightened, Erin’s eyes caught a few odd details out in the Floodplains.

“Hey. What are all those Drakes doing swimming over there?”

Erin peered at the distant figures swimming towards Liscor from the south. She thought about it, shrugged, and went back to sleep. And the swimming Drakes approached the city. Their home.

—-

The sun had yet to rise when the soldiers struck their camp. Armed Drakes and a few Gnolls rolled out of their tents, ate dry rations without a fire in silence, and were on the march within twenty minutes of waking.

Only they weren’t quite marching as they traversed the waters between their hill and the city of Liscor in the distance. The [Soldiers] moved single-file as one of their [Scouts] moved ahead, venturing from hilltop to hilltop and attempting to cross as little water as possible. Avoiding the water entirely was simply impossible; the waters had risen so that most valleys were flooded at least twenty feet deep. The [Soldiers] had to march with their heads barely above water or, if it came to it, swim to the next elevated ground.

It was a challenge, not least because the company of a hundred and twenty odd Drakes and Gnolls were all armed and armored and carrying their gear. All but the best swimmers sank like rocks and had to hold their breath as they crossed a valley on foot…underwater. However, the [Soldiers] had been trained to do just that and they emerged from the water, gasping, but making little other noise besides that.

As they reached the top of a hill close to Liscor, a Drake mounted on a horse raised a clawed hand and the [Soldiers] froze as one.

“Company, halt.”

She inspected the city, only a few hilltops away from their position. Home, at least, the place Liscor’s army called home. They were always on the move, so the city was a distant memory for most. Yet not even their commander could suppress a small stir of excitement in her chest as she regarded the city.

“Looks like Liscor’s not seen any battle with the Goblin Lord. Or if they have, there’s no damage to the walls. What’s that structure over there? Some kind of inn? Anyone recall that being here three years ago?”

She pointed to a distant building on a hill just west of Liscor. One of her subordinates peered at it.

“That’s a new building, Commander Grasstongue. I recall an old, abandoned inn two hills over—there. But it’s been razed by the looks of it.”

He pointed and the Drake shifted her gaze towards the hilltop. She frowned.

“Hm. Well, the presence of an inn suggests the city hasn’t come under any kind of major attack. Or it would have been razed. Who’s the scale-cursed idiot who authorized a building outside of the city without any kind of fortifications, anyways? Captain Halliss, who’d we leave in charge of Liscor?”

“A [Tactician] by the name of Olesm Swifttail and Watch Captain Zevara Sunderscale, Commander.”

“Huh. We’ll have to question them about that inn. Any sign we’ve been spotted by Liscor’s City Watch?”

“None, Commander. The watch-lanterns are out on the walls as well. Unless the guard has night-vision they’ve shirked their duties.”

The [Captain] saw his commander swish her tail restlessly. She growled.

“Poor security, especially with the Goblin Lord’s presence. No wonder the Council called for a detachment to return. What in the name of the Ancestors does this Watch Captain think she’s doing?”

“Watch Captain Zevara is well-thought of. High Command’s reports on her stated her trustworthiness and competence.”

A grunt. The Drake commander eyed the dark walls.

“Is that because she’s Oldblood? From where I’m sitting, it doesn’t look like she’s nearly as competent as the reports claim.”

The [Captain] was silent as the Drake considered Liscor. Beneath her, the horse fidgeted. It was wet and wanted to graze. The commander kept her mount in check as she came to a quick decision.

“Let’s test their sentries a bit. See how close we can get before they challenge us. If we get within two hundred feet of the city without them raising an alarm I’ll have that Watch Captain’s head.”

She raised a hand, pointed, and drew a line across her face in the air. The [Soldiers] of Liscor’s army saw the movement and instantly checked their wet armor, cinching it and any loose items tight. Quietly, they crested the hill and began crossing to another hilltop some fifty feet away.

To the Drake commander’s extreme displeasure, the company of soldiers made it within one hundred feet of Liscor’s walls without so much as a peep of warning. She glared up at the dark battlements overhead.

“What in the name of the Ancestors…? If we were an enemy force we could take the walls by surprise! Who’s up there?”

One of the Drakes wearing solid plate armor raised a claw as he stared up towards the walls. He had a spyglass in hand and the brightening sky finally revealed the figures on the battlements. He swore loudly, breaking the silence.

“Commander! I see Antinium on the walls!”

“What?”

Every [Soldier] immediately reached for a weapon. Swearing, Commander Grasstongue leapt off her mount and stormed over to the second [Captain]. He offered her the spyglass and she took one look before uttering an oath.

“There are Soldiers up there, hundreds of them! They must have taken the city!”

Shouts of outrage broke the dawn air. They were immediately silenced. The Drake commander turned to her officers, her expression dark. She reached for a spear—one of two she carried with her horse.

“Prepare to charge! Get me a [Light Bridge] spell now! We’re taking those walls and slaughtering every Antinium we see. There might be civilians left alive! Get ready for combat!”

The Drakes and Gnolls rushed into formation as the commander mounted her steed. Sensing the mood, her horse reared, and the [Commander] soothed her mount. The Antinium still hadn’t raised the alarm—if they could maintain their advantage for a few seconds longer, they might be able to mount a surprise attack. She gazed towards the walls, her heart beating with rage. Rage, and a bit of fear. She spoke under her breath.

“Hold on, old man. If you’re still alive in there—help’s on the way.”

Then a Drake [Mage] stepped forwards. Commander Grasstongue nodded at him and he raised a staff. A shimmering walkway of light shot forth and struck the ground as it built itself towards the walls. In seconds, a [Light Bridge] spell had formed. Liscor’s 4th Company shouted in fury as their [Commander] pointed.

“Take back the city! Slaughter the Antinium bastards!”

—-

The Antinium Soldiers were on guard detail. They’d taken over for Liscor’s [Guardsman] in shifts—rotating out so that the Painted Soldiers could see one of the two plays being put on before returning back to man the walls. Or Soldier the walls. Antinium the walls?

Verbs weren’t important. But this duty was. Liscor’s Watch was in sore need of rest from the battle, so Zevara had readily agreed to let Pawn’s Soldiers hold the walls another day at least. This did mean that the Soldiers were running on four or less hours of sleep across two entire days of staying awake, but that was fine. They could operate for up to three days without rest entirely before they began to suffer complications.

And of course they’d spotted the Drakes heading towards the city nearly an hour ago. Yellow Splatters was on command duty with Purple Smiles since Pawn was watching the second play at The Wandering Inn, and he’d been staring at the Drakes splashing about with curiosity. He hadn’t thought to inquire about why they were trying to swim in armor—they were Drakes. Liscor was filled with Drakes. He was on the lookout for monsters, so his only interest in them was to wonder how they managed to swim at all.

It was only when he saw one of the Drakes raise a stave that his instincts told him they might be the enemy. When the stave projected a wide ramp of golden light towards the wall he was standing on, he was sure. The Drakes began lining up, shouting angrily, and he saw one on horseback point towards the walls. They were going to climb onto the walls via the ramp!

Yellow Splatters instantly changed his opinion of the Drake group. They weren’t friendly. If they were, they’d come through the gates. But the walls? This was a siege maneuver! Antinium used the same trick, although without magic, forming living ladders to climb the walls. This magical ramp would let the Drakes charge onto the battlements and they were all armed.

The [Sergeant] made an immediate call. The Drakes were enemies. Ergo, Liscor was under attack! All the Soldiers around him instantly raised their fists. Yellow Splatters turned his head—another Soldier was already running. The Soldier, painted with blue grass and yellow flowers, charged towards a large bronze bell. He didn’t bother fumbling with the bell hammer. He drew back all four fists and began punching the bell as hard as possible.

The bell tolled loudly with each punch. The ringing jarred the dawn air, echoing. The light bridge spell finally finished materializing and the Drakes below looked up, alarmed. It had been less than two seconds since the Drake [Mage] had cast the spell! But that was the nature of the Antinium. Yellow Splatters’ analysis and decision had conveyed itself to the Soldiers around him, and like a single organism they had moved, ringing the alarm and racing to defend the site of attack.

Two seconds had passed and the bell’s ringing had already reached every corner of Liscor. The Drakes were still assembling around their ramp made of light. The speed of reaction had caught them off guard—the Soldiers were already closing around the top of the ramp as Yellow Splatters charged into position with Purple Smiles.

There the Antinium braced themselves, the Soldiers standing shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the light ramp. Without further orders they would repel the Drakes here. They waited for the first charge as the Drakes pointed. There was at least one [Mage] in the group and they looked ready to rush up the ramp. The Painted Soldiers would hold until they were all dead, or the enemy retreated.

That was guard duty.

—-

Watch Captain Zevara was asleep in her office. She’d passed out sometime during the night, after a full day of work. Technically she should have been in bed, but the Captain of the Watch had learned long ago how soft a wood desk could be—if you were tired enough, that was. And it was a hard-earned sleep, a sleep born of security. After all, she had eleven whole hours to sleep thanks to the Antinium taking over the walls. That was the best gift Zevara could ever have asked for: more sleep.

Olesm would take the first shift in the morning, which meant Zevara could drool and sleep on her desk as long as she wanted. There were [Guardsman] in the Watch’s barracks of course—there always were. But the sounds they made below couldn’t wake Zevara. She could sleep through anything. Fights, offending Drakes, Humans, and Gnolls being tossed into jail, laughter—

Clang. Clang.

Zevara’s eyes opened and she jerked upright. She could sleep through anything, at any time. Except a call to alarm. She sat up, wiping the drool from the side of her face and prayed that she’d just been dreaming. It did happen. Sometimes she dreamed of an alarm—

Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.

It was no dream. Zevara froze as she heard one of the bells on the southern wall tolling. The urgent alarm made Zevara’s pulse skyrocket. That was the call to alarm! There was no other bell that sounded like that in the city by law. And there were no horns but—of course not! The Antinium couldn’t blow horns! They were on the wall right now. That meant the Antinium had spotted something!

Had the moths come back? Had something else? Zevara didn’t remember charging out of her office or running down—she found herself running through the barracks, drawn sword in hand. [Guardsmen] turned to her in slow motion as Zevara ran, still blinking sleep out of her eyes.

“Get to the walls! I want every [Guardsman] in the city on the South Wall now!”

She screamed at the Drakes and Gnolls on duty as they scrambled for their gear. A dozen of the Watch charged out the door after Zevara and she ran with the speed of panic towards the stairs leading to the battlements.

There were a hundred and sixty eight steps leading up to the top of the battlements. Zevara took them two at a time, counting each step. She burst onto the ramparts and turned.

“Where—”

Then she saw light. Not the dawning sky, but bright, shimmering mage light, the kind that came from a spell. Zevara shielded her eyes and then took in the scene in one moment.

The Painted Soldiers stood in a mass in front of a ramp of light, a [Light Bridge] spell used to siege cities. Coming up the ramp was a small unit of Drakes, only a hundred or so strong.

“What in the name of the Ancestors?”

A Drake was riding a horse up a ramp made of light towards Liscor’s walls! She had a spear in hand and she was being followed by the Drakes, four abreast, who were shouting as they charged a wall of Painted Soldiers.

Zevara wondered wildly if they were an attacking force from another city. But—Drakes didn’t attack Liscor! They had no enemies! Liscor was the border city that held the pass from Humans! And it was surrounded by water at the moment! Then her blood ran cold.

Was this an attack by Pallass? She listened to the Drakes shouting as she wavered.

“For Liscor!”

“Wipe the Ants out!”

Liscor? Zevara’s eyes widened. She stared at the armored Drakes, and then put everything together in a sudden rush. She ran towards the Antinium Soldiers, shouting desperately.

“Wait! Stop! Hold! I said, hold!”

Too late. Her voice was too weak and she was too out of breath to shout properly. Zevara saw a few Soldiers twitch, but her real target, the charging Drakes, were too far away to hear and too caught up in the moment. Zevara frantically ran towards the Antinium slipping, cursing, as a mild shower of rain pelted her. She had to stop them! If the Drakes killed an Antinium Soldier or the Antinium killed the Drakes it might be war!

She wasn’t going to make it. Zevara knew that and so she paused and shouted.

“Stop! Stop! These are friendlies! Stop!”

The Drake on horseback didn’t hear. The rain fell. Zevara watched the Antinium brace as one as the Drake leveled her spear at the Soldier with yellow splatters on his body in front. She closed her eyes and heard a voice bellow from behind her.

“Soldiers! [Rapid Retreat]! Clear the area now!”

It was a loud voice, louder than Zevara had ever heard Olesm yell before. One of the Soldiers turned. He had a purple smile drawn across his mandibles and face. He saw Olesm pointing, saw Zevara waving her hand, and raised a hand. Every Soldier looked at him and then moved.

The Antinium didn’t hesitate. They instantly turned and charged out of the way, moving with the speed of Olesm’s Skill. The charging Drake pulled up her spear, confused, as she found the battlements ahead of her empty. She wheeled her mount and faced the Soldiers on her left.

“Hold! Hold!”

Zevara had finally gotten her breath back. She dashed forwards and nearly slipped. She ran straight at the confused Drake as more [Soldiers] poured over the wall. Zevara could see Drake [Captains] in armor followed by [Sergeants] and regular infantry, screaming wildly as they came over the ramparts and stopping in confusion. The Drake on horseback, their leader, stared incredulously at Zevara.

“What’s going on here?”

“Hold! I am Watch Captain Zevara! Tell your men to stand down!”

“Watch Captain? But—”

“Stand down!”

Zevara bellowed at the Drake. This [Commander] was young—younger than Zevara herself. She had light red scales, too bright to be called pink, and her spear tip crackled in the rain. Lightning enchantment. Zevara strode towards her.

“Commander, I am Watch Captain for Liscor! Why in the name of the Walled Cities did you decide to attack our walls?”

Confusion and anger flickered across the younger Drake’s face. She gestured with her spear at the Soldiers, who were staring silently at the [Soldiers].

“I—we spotted the Antinium on the battlements. Why are they here?”

Zevara groaned internally. Liscor’s army had returned! Part of it. The hundred or so [Soldiers] couldn’t be more than a single company. They would have been a welcome sight about a month ago when the Goblin Lord was breathing down Liscor’s neck. As it was, they had chosen the worst moment to arrive. Which was typical. She should have expected it, honestly.

“I’ll explain everything in a moment. For now, have your men stand down. Antinium Soldiers—”

One stepped forwards instantly. Zevara recognized Yellow Splatters, who Klbkch had introduced her to. He was a [Sergeant] and the fact that he had a class like that was definitely going on her next report. Zevara turned to him almost sheepishly.

“These are friendly soldiers. Liscor’s army. I regret the confusion. Please take your…your men back to their stations. I’ll handle things here.”

The Antinium Soldier stared at Zevara silently and nodded. She had no idea what he thought, if he had any thoughts. The Soldiers instantly dispersed across the battlements. The soldiers glared after them. Zevara clearly heard one of them mutter.

“They’re working with the Ants? Ancestors, what the hell’s happened to the city?”

“Stow it!”

The [Commander] snapped angrily and the soldiers straightened. They’d sheathed their weapons, but from the way their hands hovered near their hilts, they didn’t trust the Soldiers now staring out into the wet, drizzling landscape. Zevara shook her head. Then she turned as she heard more pounding of feet.

“Watch Captain! What—”

The [Guardsmen] coming to reinforce the walls stopped in confusion as they saw the unfamiliar [Soldiers] standing there. Zevara cursed internally. She turned to Olesm.

“Olesm, we need to call off the general alarm.”

“On it.”

The young Drake nodded. Zevara caught his arm.

“Excellent work, Olesm. You saved us there.”

She squeezed his arm. He smiled at her, looking only slightly shaken.

“Just doing my job, Zevara. I’ll have someone blow the all clear.”

He hurried off. Zevara watched him go, and then turned to the [Guardsmen]. One of the Senior Guardsmen, a Gnoll in his mid-forties with black and grey fur, looked relieved.

“So we’re not under attack, Captain?”

“Nope. It was a false alarm. Almost false. I’ll issue a statement in an hour. Get everyone back off the walls—and back in bed if they’re up. This lot spotted the Antinium on the walls and thought the city was under attack.”

“Who would do—oh.”

The Gnoll stared at the Drakes and his eyes widened. He sniffed and growled under his breath, then turned to the other members of the Watch beside him. He conveyed the news in the simplest of terms.

“The army’s back.”

Zevara heard half the [Guardsmen] behind him groan. She saw the soldiers shifting impatiently, and turned to the [Commander] who was looking more and more annoyed.

“Watch Captain, what’s the situation?”

She was asking for a report. Zevara nearly laughed. The Captain of the Watch looked around, at the Painted Soldiers, at the wet landscape and the moth bodies floating in the water, and at the inn visible from the battlements to the west. She wiped some water out of her face and stared up.

Drizzling, but not raining too heavily. That was good. Clear skies would be better for the event later today, but drizzling was clear skies at this time of year. She looked at the [Commander], all military discipline and efficiency and gave her the most unprofessional shrug of her career.

“Where should I start?”

—-

An hour later, Zevara stared at the slight stain on her desk. She was pretty sure that was where she’d been drooling. She wondered if she should get a cloth and wipe it off—or if she could put her head down and get back to sleep. She certainly felt like it. Unfortunately, the visitor in her office was too important to ignore. She wasn’t sitting like Zevara was—she was pacing restlessly, her scales still damp from the rain.

“Did I hear you correctly, Watch Captain? The dungeon—Liscor’s dungeon, which was unearthed just four months ago—has been classified as a Gold-rank dungeon by the Adventurer’s Guilds of Izril? Are you sure that’s not a misclassification?”

“Not at all.”

Zevara watched the younger [Commander] pace back and forth. She wished she were that young. Well, maybe not that young, but she wished she had that kind of energy in her. The young Drake’s scales were bright red and she was in the physical prime of her life. Red scales were rare on Drakes—green was most common, and very bright or very dark scales were the least likely to be seen, especially without patterns.

This Drake might have been considered nobility if her scales had that bright glow or unique flame coloration of Zeres’ nobles. Or if her scales were midnight black like Pallass’ few lines of noble birth. Regardless, this [Commander] must be gifted to be in charge of an entire company at her age.

Unfortunately, youth and genius didn’t make her any easier to work with. The Drake turned back to Zevara, her gaze intent.

“The Guild Master of Liscor’s Adventuring Guild is Tekshia Shivertail, correct? Or has she retired and let someone else take over?”

“It’s still Tekshia.”

“And is her judgment sound? Guildmistress Shivertail is a respected war veteran, but…”

The Drake let the word hang in the air. Zevara scowled.

“Tekshia Shivertail is in full command of her facilities, commander. Moreover, her decision was ratified within a day by the other Adventuring Guilds in all six Walled Cities and by Invrisil! Both Humans and Drakes agree with her classification. I remind you that the battle was seen by most of the known world!”

“Through a magical doorway that is in the possession of an [Innkeeper].”

The commander’s voice was flat. Zevara winced. When she put it like that…

“As I said, this [Innkeeper] is a known asset to Liscor. And her inn contained adventurers who slew hundreds of the moths and one giant one. Not to mention the actions of one adventurer in calling the rain, which may have well saved Liscor!”

And wasn’t that a surprise? Pisces, the [Necromancer] of all people! Zevara could barely believe it, but the reports had been quadruple-checked by her [Guardsmen]. She might actually have to trust that damned mage for all his previous crimes of extortion. Hadn’t Olesm submitted a report about having Pisces clean Liscor’s sewers with an undead? Zevara had shoved it into a pile and told him she’d consider it. Where did she put it…?

“And the Antinium? Manning the walls, sending Soldiers into the streets?”

There was a level of hostility in the other Drake’s voice that Zevara usually only encountered when speaking to other Watch Captains in other cities about the Antinium. But that was Liscor’s army. That was why they stayed away from the city, in large part. Zevara narrowed her eyes.

“The Antinium gave their aid to Liscor, [Commander]. Which I requested. They sent Soldiers to fight the moths and slew thousands of them in the tunnels of their Hive! The Antinium were honoring our contract. They died to hold these walls, Commander. Just like my [Guardsmen] did.”

She stared at the young Drake until the commander looked away. Zevara could see her tail sweeping the ground in long, rapid strokes. She was upset, but not agitated. Good.

“Why wasn’t High Command informed of all these developments at once? The dungeon, the presence of General Shivertail and his departure—not to mention this magical doorway! We had only the report of the dungeon and a belated report of General Shivertail’s departure—a week before his death! Why were reports so sporadic?”

Because I forgot. And I had more important things to do. Zevara grimaced.

“Honestly Commander Grasstongue, the High Command was the least of my concerns given the distance between the army and the city. They were in no position to influence the events taking place here and Liscor’s Council was more than adequately advised by General Shivertail and Wall Lord Ilvriss until recently.”

The mention of Zel Shivertail gave both female Drakes pause. But then the [Commander] shook her head.

“I’m sure the Council was served well by General Shivertail’s input. But a Wall Lord from Salazsar? Why not consult with the High Command? Why trust only his opinion? The High Command deserves to know—”

“And I’m sure they will, now that you’re here to give them regular updates.”

Zevara had had enough. She stood up, pushing her chair back, and rested her claws on her desk as she stared at the red-scaled Drake.

“Commander Grasstongue, I have more important things to deal with. The dungeon could spit out more monsters any day now, and the Floodplains are underwater! This month the city will be stockpiling fish, casting nets—and that’s a chore for two Watch Captains without the danger of monster attacks or Goblins!”

“I understand the issue. But I was sent to secure the city against threats.”

“And I am pleased your company made it here, Commander. Despite being late by a month and arriving with only a single company—rather than the three I originally requested.”

The two Drakes locked gazes.

“We were delayed arriving here. We were besieging Zeres and had to avoid military confrontation with the other armies allied to the Walled City in the dispute between Oteslia and Zeres.”

“A dispute that Liscor’s city does not share. Liscor’s army may be under contract to fight for Oteslia, but I would hope that ties to home matter more than gold, commander.”

The staring contest went on for several minutes as Zevara refused to blink or turn her head. At last, the other Drake turned abruptly.

“You can remove the Antinium from the walls now, Watch Captain. We will take over until the Watch is prepared to resume their duties.”

Zevara folded her arms.

“No.”

Commander Grasstongue whirled.

“Excuse me?”

“The Antinium are trustworthy, commander. I won’t remove them and insult their Hive. Moreover, they are more than capable of holding the walls and reacting to any threat. As your company personally witnessed.”

That was a step too far for the young Drake. She leaned forwards over Zevara’s desk, breathing heavily, her tail curling in frustration. Zevara felt heat at the back of her throat. It was a bad idea to annoy an Oldblood Drake capable of using breath attacks, but this officer was too angry to care. She took a deep breath as she glared at Zevara.

“Watch Captain Zevara, I am Wing Commander Embria Grasstongue, 4th Company Commander of Liscor’s army—”

“And I am Watch Captain.”

Zevara cut her off, in surprise as much as anger. Embria? Grasstongue? Wait a second. Grasstongue wasn’t that unordinary a name, but could she be—? No, Zevara had to settle this now. She put steel and fire into her voice, trying not to breathe smoke at the younger Drake.

“Commander Embria, this is my city. Your company has come here at my request to protect your city. Your home. Only it appears that your idea of protection is to start a war with the Antinium. Do you have any idea of what might have occurred if you had slain the Antinium Soldiers in cold blood? At the very least you would have broken Liscor’s contract, which we have honored for nearly a decade of peace, and at the worst you would have thrown us into a third Antinium War!”

Her words made Embria pale slightly. The Drake opened her mouth. Zevara noticed her tail had uncurled and was swaying uncertainly, though.

“I was acting with the best intelligence I had at the time—”

“By attacking Antinium Soldiers? Without hailing the city? They were standing watch, commander! If they wanted you dead they would have been raining arrows at you with Workers! If the city had fallen you would have heard about it! No! I don’t want to hear about the High Command. I’m concerned with this city, and up till this moment I have had to defend it with the Antinium’s help, with the help of adventurers and Pallass and Celum’s help! They sent their City Watch to fight when the Face-Eater Moths were attacking. But there wasn’t a single Liscorian soldier on the battlefield.”

She leaned over her desk and felt a trickle of smoke come out of her mouth.

“Where were you two days ago, when we needed you most? Where was the army?”

There was nothing Embria could say to that.

“We were moving as quickly as we could. If we had been aware—”

“You would have gotten here yesterday. Too late. And now you have the gall to come into my office, into my city and demand to take charge?”

Zevara hissed softly. Embria held her ground, although the air was getting hot around Zevara. Most Drakes would have backed up, but to her credit Embria was no coward. And more to her credit—she wasn’t a fool either. She looked at Zevara and rapidly retrenched. Embria took a few steps back, hesitated, and spoke placatingly.

“Watch Captain Zevara, I apologize for my rudeness.”

Zevara paused. She waited as Embria paused and the room metaphorically and literally cooled down. The [Commander] nodded and studied Zevara as she spoke carefully.

“I would take back my rude words and offer you my sincere regrets if I could, Watch Captain. I realize my sudden arrival may have stepped on your tail, Watch Captain. For that I apologize. We were…hasty in our attack on the Antinium. However, we are here to help, to protect and serve Liscor. That has not changed, although the situation in Liscor clearly has.”

She gestured towards her armor, upon which was emblazoned a symbol of her rank.

“My company is at your disposal, and the Council’s. I will appraise High Command of the new developments, but I expect they will offer you nothing but support, as will I and my officers. I commend your hard work and again, issue you a heartfelt apology.”

Smart kid. Zevara had to admit that she hadn’t expected such a neat turnaround. But this officer was intelligent enough not to want to make Zevara her enemy. She nodded as she felt her internal fires dying down.

“Apology accepted, Commander Embria. Let me also apologize for my statements.”

Which statements they were didn’t matter. Embria smiled politely.

“We are both protectors of Liscor, in our own way. I hope we can work together in the coming months to fulfill our duties, our pasts aside.”

She held out a claw for Zevara to shake. It was a good gesture and would have laid to rest their earlier quarrel. However, Zevara wasn’t yet sure she wanted to take the claw. She hesitated, and then looked sharply at Embria.

“We respect the army and I acknowledge your rank, Commander Embria. But let me make one thing clear first.”

She tapped the desk as Embria withdrew her claw.

“In this city, at this moment, I am the commander of all military matters. A Drake Watch Captain is second only to a [General] in her own city and I won’t have any incidents occurring, especially between the Antinium and your soldiers. Are we clear?”

Embria was silent for a long moment, studying Zevara’s face. Then, slowly, she nodded.

“Absolutely, Watch Captain.”

She held out her claw again and Zevara shook it. There was no posturing, no squeezing too long or staring contest like she had to deal with when she ran up against a male Drake of the same rank who didn’t like her position. But then, there were other daggers female Drakes used on each other. Embria smiled, but Zevara was still a little angry. She was missing her sleep when all was said and done, and she still didn’t trust Liscor’s army.

Dead gods, what will I tell the Council about all this? If I’d known they’d cause me more headaches I wouldn’t have bothered asking for their help in the first place!

“Let me show you downstairs, Commander Embria. I’m sure the Council will want to speak with you soonest, and we can have a longer discussion with our resident [Strategist] when things aren’t so hectic.”

She led the other Drake down the stairs. Embria sounded surprised as she followed Zevara.

“Strategist? I was under the impression that Olesm Shivertail was a [Tactician].”

“Correct. But he recently gained the [Strategist] class. We’re celebrating that fact, among others, later today. Speaking of which, you might want to ready yourself now. I’m sure the Council will insist on your presence later today.”

“What for?”

Zevara halted with her hand on the door to the Watch Barracks. She stared back at Embria, only slightly annoyed.

“You’ve been gone from Liscor for a while, I understand that. But try to remember how we do things. We just survived one of the worst monster attacks in living memory. What do you think we’re going to do?”

Then she opened the door. Embria frowned as she left the Watch House. The [Soldiers] of the 4th Company were waiting for her, lined up, [Sergeants] and [Captains] awaiting her order. The Drakes and Gnolls on the streets were giving them curious looks. The word was already spreading. The army was back! It didn’t exactly seem to be the most exciting news in the world to Liscor’s citizens.

“Commander?”

One of the [Captains] looked questioningly at Embria. She scowled, dropping her polite expression now that Zevara’s back was turned. She nodded to the soldiers under her command.

“Tell the soldiers they have leave for two hours. They can visit their homes or stow their gear in the headquarters. Get those on punishment detail cleaning the place out. Watch Captain Zevara says the place hasn’t seen use since we were last there. But I want everyone back here two hours from now with armor on and polished.”

“What’s the occasion?”

Embria turned. She sighed as she watched Watch Captain Zevara stride back into the barracks and begin shouting at the [Guardsmen]. She had indeed been away from Liscor for a while. Six years since the last time she’d visited, in fact. But contrary to what Zevara might have thought, she did remember how things worked. It was true of every Drake city, really. Embria eyed the drizzling weather and polished the breastplate of her armor with one claw.

“We’re going to a parade.”

—-

This is how they gathered. They came together, small groups of three and four, sometimes six and sometimes as many as eight. Seldom more. Seldom less. They clustered in their groups, talking amongst themselves. Many were embarrassed, or a mix between pleased and embarrassed so close that there was no dividing line. But none were ashamed. They were proud.

They were adventurers. As Ceria looked around the gathering of Bronze, Silver, and three Gold-rank teams she noticed the rain had lessened. The canvas roof that had been erected overhead had to ward off less raindrops than before.

“Good. Less rain. Means we might not slip and break our necks while we’re walking down the street.”

“That’s hardly a concern. Falling might be, though. I’d watch your step. You don’t want to be the first to trip on an occasion like this.”

Ceria jumped. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud until someone else addressed her. Falene Skystrall stood beside Ceria. Tall, glamorous, the picture of what half-Elves aspired to be—in a clichéd way—the [Battlemage] made Ceria feel short and ungainly. Still, they were both half-Elves and so Falene kept talking to Ceria as if they were familiar.

Which they were, if you got down to it. There were certain things only half-Elves could talk to each other about. They supported each other if they could, generally. After all, if you didn’t look out for one another, no other race would.

That meant Ceria could talk with Falene a bit more personally, even if she did think the other half-Elf was stuck up. She made a face as she gestured at the rain.

“You’ve done this before?”

“Eight times.”

“Eight?”

Ceria’s raised voice attracted attention. She saw three other members of her group drift over. Ksmvr was nervous as he stood alone. Pisces, keeping him company, raised his eyebrows as he walked over with the Antinium. Yvlon was talking to another female Bronze-rank adventurer. Ceria addressed her friends.

“Falene says they’ve done this eight times before.”

Yvlon whistled and Pisces raised his eyebrows. Ksmvr looked blank.

“Done what eight times?”

Falene smiled not-condescendingly, which made her a bit condescending.

“It’s not like we seek it out, but we have had our victories. But haven’t you done this?”

“Once. But it’s not like we rehearsed or anything. It just…happened. Not like this.”

“Ah, well, preparation is rarer. But Drakes like organization and I think it simplifies things, this way. All you have to do is walk. And again, not trip.”

“Not be the first to trip is what you said.”

Falene smiled.

“True! Better not to trip at all, but there’s always a few who fall. It happens and you’ll be laughed at, but the first to fall always gets remembered. Just watch your step—you will be the first to go out.”

The Horns of Hammerad looked uneasily at each other. Yvlon muttered as she adjusted her polished, slightly mismatched enchanted armor.

“I don’t understand why it’s got to be us.”

Pisces shrugged. He was wearing his usual white robes, not having made an effort to dress up. Ksmvr had—he’d donned his magical cape and oiled his body so it shone, and Ceria had messed around with her hair. But Pisces was deliberately casual, as if what was about to happen was just another day for him. Ceria had to admire his guts. And hate them at the same time.

“Politics, I suppose. I am a persona non grata in Liscor, nominally speaking.”

Yvlon frowned.

“A what?”

“Comrade Pisces, please ex—”

“An unwelcome person. That phrase is a remnant of old language, a curious addition to our lexicon which—”

Pisces looked around, sensed his only possible audience was Falene, and gave up.

“Never mind. It’s an expression. Allow me to clarify my statement. What I meant was that since I am unwelcome, the city did not wish to honor me by putting me last in line. However, my contributions to the battle were substantial. I did call the rain.”

“Poorly.”

The older half-Elf smiled as Pisces narrowed his eyes to look at her. He sniffed.

“A spell of necessity that I had never had the chance to practice or cast before? I will accept a poor result if the salvation of Liscor is the price for my inefficiency. In any case, my contributions are recognized, but we are only a Silver-rank team at the moment—”

“So we get to go first. We’re special. I get it. Thanks, Pisces.”

Ceria rolled her eyes. Ksmvr nodded.

“Yes, thank you Pisces for giving us this opportunity. I will endeavor not to slip and embarrass myself.”

“Just relax. This is in honor of us, after all. And you are hardly the only team participating.”

“Exactly! This happens once in five blue moons, so enjoy yourself!”

A loud voice interrupted the conversation. The Horns of Hammerad turned with Falene and Ceria saw a young Drake striding towards them, grinning broadly. She waved at the Horns of Hammerad.

“Hey guys, miss me?”

They stared at her. The Drake spread her arms wide. She had grey-green scales, a scar along the side of her mouth, and a fit body. Ceria was sure she’d never seen this Drake in her life. But Pisces just smiled.

“Ah. Jelaqua.”

“Jelaqua?”

The Horns of Hammerad jumped. Ceria peered at the Drake and realized the greyish scales weren’t just color—but a lack of it! The Drake was dead and her body—she stared into Jelaqua’s eyes and saw that internal intelligence staring back. The Selphid grinned.

“Aw! Pisces got it! I was betting with Seborn that you’d all freak out. Hey Seborn! I owe you ten gold coins!”

“Told you.”

A Drowned Man appeared out of the crowd of adventurers, and Ceria saw several teams respectfully part ways to let Moore walk towards them. The half-Giant had to bend over to walk without disturbing the canvas roof overhead. The Halfseekers smiled as they joined the conversation.

“Jelaqua! It’s great to see you. You got a new body?”

Yvlon clasped forearms with Jelaqua. The Selphid laughed, practically giddy with good spirits.

“Sure did! And just in time too, eh? I got this body and it feels great. I can feel things when I touch them! I love fresh bodies. Hey, Ksmvr, poke me!”

Ksmvr did. Jelaqua laughed.

“It tickles! Ain’t nerve endings great? Hey Falene, where’s your team?”

“Talking with the others. I think Dawil and Ylawes are trying to get away from that team, Vuliel Drae.”

Falene pointed and the adventurers saw that Ylawes and Dawil were indeed being mobbed by the female half-Dwarf woman and several other female adventurers. Ceria frowned.

“Vuliel Drae? Oh. The lucky team. I didn’t see them earlier.”

“Huh? Oh, me neither. They showed up with a bunch of wounds after the battle. Apparently they got ambushed by the Face-Eater Moths and had to hide out on their way to the dungeon. Took down a lot of them by themselves by the number of heads they brought in. Anyways, check this out! I’ve got a tail!”

Jelaqua turned around and nearly swept Pisces’ legs from under him. He caught himself and Seborn grabbed Jelaqua warningly.

“Hey. Watch it.”

“Sorry! I’m just really in a good mood!”

The Selphid grinned. Pisces eyed her tail with interest.

“Do you have to compensate for your new body, or is the process fairly automatic?”

“Hah, spoken like a [Necromancer]!”

Jelaqua had to think for a second as Yvlon and Ksmvr greeted Moore. The half-Giant was smiling, looking pleased at Jelaqua’s wellbeing. He’d refused to leave the stricken Selphid in the Adventurer’s Guild until now, Ceria recalled. She turned back to Jelaqua as the Selphid swished her tail and nearly tripped a passing adventurer this time.

“Nah, it really does feel normal after the first hour. It’ll be harder getting back to a body without a tail, you know? Only problem is I might forget about it and get it ripped off. I did that to my last Drake body.”

The Gnolls and Drakes in earshot winced when Jelaqua said that. Ceria saw more than one team staring at their group with interest. The Horns of Hammerad, Halfseekers, and Silver Swords were pretty much the highest-ranked teams in this gathering. Jelaqua seemed used to the attention, though. She shrugged in answer to another of Pisces’ questions.

“Yeah, the tail’s weird, but I like the scales. Sure they get caught on things, but it’s better than hair. That stuff catches and tears my skin—hey, do you have anything to eat? I want to give these taste buds a workout before they start to decay!”

“Not yet. But Erin’s got an after-party planned. She’s going to have cakes. Multiple cakes, according to her.”

“Whoo! Cake! Alright, let’s get this started!”

Falene interrupted Jelaqua as she headed for the tent’s opening into the street.

“Not just yet. We’ll get word once the City Watch finishes their march. And the Horns are going first, Jelaqua.”

“Right, right. Sorry. Forgot. Oops. Hey, don’t slip you guys! Otherwise Seborn and I will laugh at you.”

“Don’t be cruel, Jelaqua.”

A large hand flicked the Selphid on the back of the head. She staggered.

“Aw come on, it’s funny, Moore!”

“Wait, one thing I don’t get. You’ve been looking for a body for ages, Jelaqua. Why’d you suddenly get one now?”

Ceria interrupted the two Gold-rank adventurers. Jelaqua smiled.

“Oh, that? That was thanks to the law, believe it or not! Remember, I was injured defending Liscor. According to the standing agreement with the Adventurer’s Guild, Liscor is required to provide me with a suitable corpse.”

She gestured at her body.

“This is from one of their [Guardsmen]. A junior one, I think. Just got the job. Her parents agreed to give it to me—they got paid a lot I think. Dead gods, I hope I don’t see them in the crowd, but I explained about how Selphids work and I promised them—never mind. Selphid stuff.”

She sighed, losing some of her good cheer.

“It’s an ideal body. But that poor kid. She died of blood loss after a moth sliced the artery in her leg open. Lost her healing potion or didn’t think she needed it and died on the street. Amateur mistake.”

She shook her head sadly. There was a brief moment of silence as the adventurers all paused, remembering the heat of the battle. Few of them had died, but they were used to fighting and had magical gear. On the other hand, Liscor’s City Watch had paid a price for their defense of the walls. Their moment was broken when more adventurers walked over. Ylawes and Dawil, and the team of Griffon Hunt.

“Looks like you all made it.”

That was the first thing Revi said to the others. She, Halrac, and Typhenous looked no worse for wear despite Ceria not having seen them for a long time. She looked at them, trying to see if they were still in mourning over Ulrien’s death, but if they were they kept it to themselves. Halrac folded his arms and grimaced as Typhenous greeted Moore and Falene.

“Hey guys. Halrac.”

Jelaqua nodded somberly at Halrac as the Halfseekers greeted Griffon Hunt. Halrac just grunted.

“Silver Swords?”

“That would be us. A pleasure to meet you, Mister Halrac. I realize this might be inappropriate, but may I buy you a drink later? I was shocked when I heard of your captain’s death. I knew Ulrien briefly and I regret that such a capable warrior fell to treachery.”

Ylawes stepped forwards and held out a hand. Ceria wondered if Halrac would tense up or leave—the [Scout]’s face had frozen when Ylawes mentioned Ulrien’s name. But he grudgingly extended a hand and shook it.

“He was an adventurer. Heard your team took down a mother moth.”

“As did yours. But we have the Horns of Hammerad to thank for ending the battle. My sister belongs to that team. I believe you’ve met?”

Halrac nodded to Ceria, who nodded back. The [Scout] eyed Pisces.

“Rain spell. Good idea.”

Revi rolled her eyes.

“I can’t believe no one thought of it beforehand. Why not? It’s so damn obvious but—good work. Especially for a Silver-rank team.”

She nodded at Ceria. Typhenous smiled as he stroked his beard.

“Indeed. You’ve shaped up to be a quite decent party.”

“Yeah! They held the line! Those Goblins and the Horns? Whew! I saw what they did when they pulled me back inside! Moth bodies stacked like firewood! Not bad for rookies, huh?”

Jelaqua threw an arm around Yvlon, laughing. The Horns of Hammerad blushed under the praise. Dawil, looking around, grunted with displeasure.

“Enough slapping each other on the backs! I can’t reach and Ylawes has his armor on. Let’s get to the good stuff. Hands up. Who here leveled after the battle?”

He raised his own hand and the Horns all raised theirs. Moore raised his hand, as did Seborn, and so did Halrac. Revi scowled.

“Damnit.”

“You’re telling me you all didn’t level?”

Yvlon stared incredulously at her brother, Falene, and the others. Ylawes smiled.

“I’ll probably level in the next week or month at the latest. But remember, most of us are past Level 30—”

“All of us, right?”

Jelaqua looked around and Typhenous coughed politely. Falene smiled.

“A [Mage] never tells.”

Dawil rolled his eyes as he addressed Yvlon.

“Point is, this lot doesn’t level every time they go into a hairy situation. But if we don’t level today, it’ll be close. But what about Skills? I got nothing.”

He spread his hands. Halrac grunted. Moore shook his head. Seborn didn’t respond when Jelaqua nudged him and the Horns all looked at each other and coughed.

“Aw come on, don’t be coy. Tell us! Or at least participate in the tradition!”

“What tradition?”

Pisces looked suspiciously at Jelaqua. She laughed and it was Falene who answered.

“Tradition is that when adventurers gain their levels as a result of saving a city, clearing a dungeon, or so on, they show off any new Skills or spells during the parade.”

“Or just make a scene. Just fire off a spell and don’t reveal your newest Skill. I’m not showing anyone, Jelaqua. Leave off.”

Seborn got tired of Jelaqua’s encouraging elbow and stamped on her foot. She yelped.

“Agh! I forgot how much that hurts!”

“Wait, we’re supposed to put on a show?”

Revi sighed loudly.

“You’re adventurers. Of course you put on a show! Just do something to impress the crowd. We do it—its how you get people to recognize you! Unless you get your own personal parade. You want to be a famous Named Adventurer? This is one of the things you do! Honestly, newbies!”

She threw up her hands. Typhenous put a hand on her shoulder.

“Steady, Revi. Apologies—she’s just had to field too many enthusiastic adventurers today.”

“Too many admirers?”

Falene gave Revi a teasing look. The [Summoner] just glared.

“Says the big-shots who’ve gone through a parade eight times. We’ve gone five—that’s five total for me. I think Halrac’s at six?”

She looked at Halrac, who shrugged. Both teams looked at the Halfseekers. Jelaqua scratched her head.

“Yeah, funny. We don’t get invited to parades often no matter what we do. I think we’re only two.”

“And the Horns are one. Well, let’s add another to the list. Remember, don’t slip.”

Falene cautioned the others with a teasing smile. She pointed—Ceria could see a Drake jogging towards them and waving at the adventurers in the rain. Her heart began to beat faster.

“Oh boy. I think this is us.”

“Break a leg!”

“Don’t.”

“You deserve this.”

“Enjoy it!”

“Good job, sister.”

Ylawes caught Yvlon as the Horns began to walk forwards. He nodded at her and she smiled. The four adventurers moved to the head of the group of adventurers, conscious of all eyes on them. Then they walked out into the rain.

At first, it felt silly. Ceria felt a drizzle on her head but didn’t see anyone. She walked down the street—they’d been put at the east gate, at the back of where the parade would start—and began marching down the street  with Pisces at her side and Yvlon and Ksmvr following. No one was there, although she could hear fanfare and drums in the distance.

And then she saw the people. They were lined up on the streets, some covered by awnings, others holding parasols or cloaks in hand. Most simply let the rain fall. Drakes and Gnolls and some Humans, scattered at first. Then, suddenly, a mass of them. All at once the faces turned into a sea and Ceria felt her heart beating faster.

There was noise in the air. Cheering, shouts—and a voice calling names out. Ahead of her Ceria could see the last of Celum’s Watch marching. She spotted Relc, waving a hand and shouting at the crowd. The other Gnolls and Drakes were also marching, waving at friends and family, some still bearing wounds. Missing eyes, a broken limb—one Gnoll had to be helped along. His left leg was gone. But the crowd cheered them, their city’s heroes.

They fell silent as the Horns of Hammerad began their march in the parade. Drakes and Gnoll stared at Pisces. They knew him. They stared at Ksmvr, and at Ceria and Yvlon. Pisces was a [Necromancer]. Ksmvr was Antinium. As for Ceria and Yvlon, they had participated in one of the biggest expedition failures in recent memories. Ceria saw some of the Drakes hiss at Pisces and saw his shoulders go up.

“Give them a show.”

She muttered under her breath. Pisces looked at her. She looked at him. Two images flashed into her mind. Pisces, standing in from of Wistram’s [Mages], shunned. And Pisces, walking down Remendia’s streets, a hero. He was both these things to Liscor.

“Think you can give them a trick or two? No Skills—just magic?”

She asked him challengingly, feeling her words were too loud in the silence. Pisces blinked, and then smiled.

“You first.”

“Coward. Okay. I was going to show you later. Watch this.”

Ceria pulled a wand out of her robes. Conscious of every eye she raised it and pointed it to the sky. The grey skies were drizzling. Ceria concentrated.

“[Frost Bloom]!”

A chill condensed around the tip of her wand, a bubble of hoar frost held for one magical moment. Then it expanded and shot outwards. Ceria heard a gasp as her spell shot out twenty, maybe thirty feet overhead. The crowd cried out in surprise as the water droplets fell to earth as hail, breaking. The ground in front of Ceria was coated with a light layer of frost, a product of the chilling temperature of her spell.

“Not bad!”

Yvlon smiled, took a step, and nearly fell. Ksmvr caught her just in time and Ceria heard a few chuckles. Pisces stroked his chin.

“Well, we can’t have that. Let me try.”

He raised his hand, and green and gold fire shot forwards. The crowd oohed as the flames licked the street, turning the ice back to water. Then Pisces let the flames spiral upwards. They turned into miniature dragons which roared soundlessly before evaporating.

It was a powerful spell—and part illusion. Ceria held her breath as she tried to see if it had gotten the crowd on her side. She heard silence and felt her heart sink—and then heard someone yell in among the onlookers.

“Awesome! Go Pisces! Do more!”

Heads turned. Ceria saw Erin, waving wildly, laughing as Lyonette held Mrsha up beside her. She began to clap as Pisces, bemused, conjured another gout of fire which turned itself into a small horse which galloped through the air.

The Drakes and Gnolls stared at the fire, stared at Pisces, and then they started to applaud. Yvlon, grinning, tossed her sword up and caught it as it rotated back down. That wasn’t a Skill, but it was a good trick. Ksmvr waved all three hands. The applause grew louder. More adventurers followed the Horns down the street.

The crowd applauded more as Ceria and Pisces showed off their spells. Ksmvr leapt into the air, incredibly high, and passed through a hoop of fire Pisces conjured. The people gasped. Then they began to cheer.

The three Gold-rank teams saw the Horns of Hammerad begin to receive whole-hearted applause at last. Jelaqua grinned and punched Moore in the thigh.

“They did it! Told you they could!”

“Our turn.”

Griffon Hunt moved into place before the Silver Swords and Halfseekers. Halrac looked annoyed, Typhenous pleased.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

“The Horns did a good job getting the crowd interested. Think we can top that, Revi? Halrac?”

Typhenous pointed at the other Bronze and Silver-rank teams. They were also doing tricks with magic, if less showy than Pisces and Ceria. Some were trying to do tricks with their swords, but the parade was really a place where [Mages] shone. Revi rolled her eyes as she took something out of her bag of holding.

“Rookies. Stand back, you two.”

She held a large piece of amber with part of a moth’s wing encased in it. Halrac and Typhenous stood to one side as Revi strode forwards. The eyes of the crowd were on her. Already many were applauding and calling out their names. Especially Halrac’s.

“Halrac! Halrac the Grim!”

“Griffon Hunt! Show us a spectacle!”

Revi obliged. She tossed the wing in amber up and a flash of light stunned the crowds. Then there were screams. A Face-Eater Moth, glowing green, spread its wings wide and the shocked Drakes and Gnolls stumbled back before they realized what it was: a summoned spirit. They cheered and booed Revi as she climbed on its back and the Face-Eater Moth walked down the street. She waved at them regally, like a [Queen] as Typhenous and Halrac watched her take the lead.

“That Stitch-Girl will be the death of us both, I swear.”

Typhenous tugged at his beard, trying to hide a smile. Halrac just grunted.

“Let’s get this over with.”

“Just a moment. Appearances do matter, Halrac. My turn.”

The older mage walked after Revi. He tapped his staff on the ground and smoke billowed up, forming a cloud of Typhenous’ face. It loomed overhead as the [Mage] began to walk forwards, grimacing and making faces that simultaneously terrified and amazed the Drake and Gnoll children watching. Halrac coughed and walked along behind Typhenous, a scowl on his face. The crowd cheered him, though Halrac didn’t so much as turn his head to stare at them. He made it halfway down the first street before he grimaced and stopped.

Halrac paused, took an arrow out of the quiver at his side, and drew it to his bow. He aimed straight up and loosed. The crowd paused and watched the shining arrow fly higher and higher until it exploded with a dull boom and a spray of flames which went out in the light drizzle.

“Waste of a good arrow.”

Ceria heard him complaining as he walked onwards. The crowd cheered wildly, not seeming to mind Halrac’s sour mood. In fact, they cheered him for it.

Next came the Halfseekers. If Griffon Hunt started the show in earnest, the Halfseekers embodied it. Moore was visible over the heads of everyone as he walked forwards. Jelaqua’s pale body and Seborn’s half-crustacean form attracted as many gasps as applause—until they too started performing magic.

Moore struck his staff on the ground and flowers began to bloom in his footsteps. He raised his hand and flowers of every color began to appear over his body and vines grew from his fingertips, twining up his arms and chest. The crowd murmured in appreciation at the gentle spectacle.

The half-Giant left a trail of quickly wilting and vanishing flowers and grass in his wake. By his side Jelaqua threw the bright flowers growing from his body into the crowd, laughing as people caught the magical plants and held them, exclaiming as the flowers quickly faded out of existence. Seborn walked next to the two, looking slightly uncomfortable as people eyed his crustacean half. Jelaqua nudged him.

“Come on Seborn, show the kids a trick!”

“I don’t want to.”

“We’re both doing our part! Just one?”

Seborn looked around and realized he had no choice. Reluctantly he walked faster until he was in front of Moore and Jelaqua. The crowd waited with baited breaths to see what he would do.

Seborn took two steps, did a flip into the air and unsheathed his daggers. They glowed as he slashed and then landed, rotating once and sheathing his blades before he touched the ground. Everyone oohed and more than one child pointed excitedly to Seborn and asked if they could do that too.

Bringing up the rear were the Silver Swords. They followed the last groups of adventurers and received just as much applause. The sight of Ylawes, Falene, and Dawil was a fixture of the battle and more than one story had been told of Ylawes slaying the giant moth. And true to their reputation, they didn’t disappoint either.

“Haha!”

Dawil roared with good spirits as he lifted the hammer over his head. He strode forwards, letting the crowd cheer him, shouting with unabashed good spirits.

Behind him, Falene rolled her eyes, but smiled and raised a wand. She flicked it, and the audience held their breath. When nothing happened immediately Ylawes glanced at Falene, puzzled, until he heard Dawil cursing.

“You damn Elf! Put me down! Put me down!”

The [Knight] saw Dawil cartwheel past his head, weightless, flailing frantically with his hammer in hand. The audience cheered and laughed as Falene made Dawil fly just over the heads of the crowd. The Dwarf cursed her until he started to enjoy himself and pretended to swim through the air. Only Ylawes and the other [Mages] noticed the slight sheen of sweat on Falene’s brow.

“I believe Dawil would call you a showoff.”

“It’s for a good cause. If he’d stop flailing I’d have an easier time not dropping him.”

Falene smiled politely at the crowd as they walked forwards. Ylawes smiled too. He raised one hand and waved as he walked, causing a few Drakes and Gnolls to stare at him admiringly. The [Knight] had no special Skills to show off, but the sight of him walking down the street in shining silver armor was enough for applause.

As the last of the adventuring teams followed the Silver Swords, there was a hush among the crowd. An expectation. The streets behind the adventurers lay empty for a good minute, and then every ear heard the rhythmic sound. Footsteps marching in perfect symphony. The first black body appeared and the crowd murmured as they saw a Worker marching at the head of a row of Soldiers, holding a burning censer in hand. The Soldiers marched in his wake, heads held high.

Silent. The marching of the Soldiers was perfectly uniform, and the cheering crowd that had loved the adventurers was silent. Pawn walked forwards, his censer swaying, his head bowed. A curious feeling stole over the people watching. They had no words for what he was doing, no memory or comparison for the scene they beheld. But the praying Antinium and the solemn procession spoke to them.

The incense wafted through the crowd as the rain fell harder. The Soldiers marched on, their bodies painted in every color. One had yellow splatters across his front, another a terrifying purple smile. Another one had leaves drawn in green as if he were some kind of tree. Yet another was simply marked with a crown of silver. One walking near the edge had no paint at all—until you realized the paint was a black pair of wings on his back, almost invisible in the wetness.

The people of Liscor watched the Soldiers march, silently at first. But then someone clapped. It was impossible to tell who it was in the rain, but it was immediately followed by someone else starting to applaud. More began to clap, and then the applause drowned out the rain.

In the crowd Erin stared around, wide-eyed. She hadn’t been the one who started the applause, and she’d been ready to. But she hadn’t been necessary in the end. Liscor began to cheer the Antinium, and as they marched she could hear voices in the crowd around her. The Painted Soldiers were faceless Antinium, all created in the same image. That was true. But because they were painted, they were all unique. And for the first time those in the crowd recognized individual Soldiers.

“I know that one! The one with the white circles around his eyes? He saved my shop!”

A Gnoll pointed at a passing Soldier. Erin, standing with Lyonette as the rain soaked her, saw Mrsha peer excitedly at Yellow Splatters. She heard more voices of recognition as she applauded, smiling and cheering for Pawn with all the energy she had.

“Hey, that’s the one who killed the moth breaking into our home? Mom? Do you remember? Mom? Mooom!”

The Drake child was pointing excitedly at a Soldier who had turquoise on the tips of his clumsy fingers and his antennae, nowhere else. Erin saw the Drake mother wave tentatively at him, and the Soldier turn his head just slightly. He hesitated, and then two of his four hands twitched, a tiny wave back.

The Drake girl waved excitedly. The crowds cheered. Erin stood in Liscor as the rain fell down and for the first time in history, Drakes and Gnolls and Humans cheered the Antinium. It was a moment for history. She smiled until she thought she’d burst.

“What a great parade.”

—-

“Unbelievable.”

The 4th Company stared at the Antinium passing them in disbelief. They listened to the applause from Liscor’s citizens and practically spat venom when they saw a Drake child waving at a Soldier.

“Is this really what the city’s come to?”

“Antinium? Really?”

“What happened to pride? What about General Sserys?”

“These people, they don’t know what—”

Wing Commander Embria stood next to Zevara in parade rest, her face set, watching the Antinium pass by without a word. Zevara noticed the tenseness in her tail, but the [Commander] wisely kept her opinions to herself.

The parade ended with speeches, as all good parades did. Actually, the speeches were mainly for Liscor’s Council to award the adventurers and members of the Watch with a few awards as many of Liscor’s citizens melted away. But after they’d offered Pawn a brief note of congratulations, the Council turned stage over to Embria. It was, all things considered, a poor note to end the parade on.

“We are delighted to also announce that our 4th Company of Liscor’s Army has returned to safeguard our city! She and her soldiers have marched tirelessly to return to Liscor…ah, I believe Wing Commander Embria has a few words for us.”

The Drake announcing coughed nervously as he abandoned the podium. Embria stepped forwards. The crowd of citizens stared at her. Zevara could already hear the murmurs.

“The army?”

“Now? Are you serious? Where were they when—”

“…Better start going to taverns that don’t serve them. Too many damn fights when they’re drunk—”

“We’ve got the Antinium. Why do we need them?”

Zevara winced at that. She could see Embria twitch as she took the stage and feel the anger of the [Soldiers] behind them. But that was Liscor’s army. They had never had a good relationship with the city at the best of times. They brought chaos and didn’t stay long which was good, but as a result, the citizens regarded them as well, a nuisance.

Thankfully Embria seemed to sense the mood, because her words were curt and to the point.

“Citizens of Liscor, we are delighted to return home after so many years! We regret that our company did not arrive in time to witness the heroic defense of the city. I personally offer you my sincerest apologies for our delay—we were unavoidably detained fighting for the glory of Liscor around the Walled City of Zeres!”

Silence. Zevara heard someone cough. Embria frowned.

“We are grateful to all who contributed to the defense of Liscor during her darkest hour. Henceforth the 4th Company shall dedicate itself to defending the city against any threats to it, be it the Goblins, monsters from the dungeon, or—anywhere else.”

She didn’t quite look at the Antinium, but Zevara sensed the ripple in the crowd. Embria was not having a good time on stage and Zevara dreaded the part where she was supposed to ask Liscor to cheer their returning heroes. She saw a number of Drakes and Gnolls break away from the crowd. And then she spotted a Human walking away with another Human and a Gnoll in her arms.

Maybe Erin didn’t intend to be so loud. But Embria had paused and her voice was just a bit too carrying.

“Well, looks like it’s time to go. That parade sure was fun, wasn’t it? Ending sort of sucked, though. Hey, is that really the army? They look like jerks.”

Zevara stared at her back as Embria stared at Erin’s back. The Watch Captain slowly covered her eyes and groaned under her breath, a gesture seen by the entire crowd. On the whole, the citizens of Liscor agreed that watching their Watch Captain wince through the rest of the speech saved the parade. The army left with a few thousand patriotic Drakes applauding them and Watch Captain Zevara finally got to get back to her desk to sleep.

And after Wing Commander Embria had finished dismissing her troops she took a personal trip to a certain apartment in the city. She knocked once and didn’t have to wait any longer. The door opened and the owner of the apartment stepped out reluctantly.

Relc, Senior Guardsman of the Watch and former [Sergeant] of Liscor’s army, emerged from his home, scratching the spines on the back of his head. He stared at Embria as she stood in the doorway, spear in hand, dressed in her officer’s armor. He stared at her. She waited.

“Hi…kid.”

“Father.”

She stared at him challengingly. Relc avoided her gaze. He looked at her, sighed, turned his head as if looking for help and then gave up.

“Let’s get a drink.”

—-

Time went by. The day drew onwards towards night.  Liscor, finished with its parade, celebrated or mourned in its own way. More than one tavern found itself with twice as many guests as normal as Liscor’s citizens decided that eating alone wasn’t for them. They were equipped for the rush of course; any [Innkeeper] or [Bar Drake] worth their salt knew to stock up in advance and every establishment was hopping.

So it was funny and slightly telling that Relc and Embria found themselves turned away from every inn and bar, even the ones that Relc went to nightly. They were recognized on sight, and while one or the other wouldn’t have made the establishments close their doors, the owners had learned to recognize the father and daughter duo like the way a [Herder] learns to recognize a bull charging them across an open field.

“I can’t believe this. You’re a Senior Guardsman. I’m a [Wing Commander]. How many inns have blacklisted you?”

Embria stormed down the street as Relc followed, wincing. The normally upbeat Drake dragged his footsteps as he followed his daughter.

“I uh, drink there all the time. I think they don’t want us in there after last time.”

“That was six years ago!”

“Yeah. But the tavern owner definitely remembers us. Why don’t we go—”

“No.”

The young Drake woman shook her head, glaring back at her father. Relc shrugged helplessly.

“Come on, kid. I know the owner and she won’t kick us out.”

“She’s a Human. She insulted the army during my speech! And don’t call me ‘kid’!”

“To be fair, it was sort of funn—”

Relc saw Embria’s eyes flash and coughed. He shuffled his feet.

“Look, Erin’s a Human, but she’s cool! Really. And I sort of promised I’d go to this party she’s putting on. Klb’s going to be there…”

“Your Antinium partner?”

Embria hissed the word. Relc shrugged. He had a hard time meeting her eye.

“Well, yeah. We are partners. Sort of how it works. Captain Z gave me the day off and everything…”

“You were going to have a party at her inn? Was I not included in your plans?”

Relc raised his claws defensively.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were going to show up! I totally cancelled when Captain Z told me—look, we don’t have to go. But Erin’s got alcohol. And cake! She said there’d be cake!”

He looked longingly towards the western wall, where a doorway had been set into the side of the wall itself. Embria glared at her father and then relented.

“Fine. What’s cake?”

“Oh, it’s this great thing! You’ll love it, promise!”

Relc brightened. He led the way towards the door, talking excitedly.

“It’s really sweet. Erin’s coming up with all kinds of new stuff all the time. She’s got pasta, blue fruit juice—well, she doesn’t have it right now, hamburgers, pizza…uh, Goblins, tons of cool stuff like popcorn, ice cream—have you heard of ice cream? It’s this thing from Terandria and she knows how to make it—”

Embria halted in the street.

“Did you just say ‘Goblins’? Watch Captain Zevara mentioned there was an inn that had monsters working as part of the staff. That’s the inn you’re talking about? Run by that Human?”

The Drake [Guardsman] groaned. He turned pleadingly to Embria.

“Look, she’s cool! The Goblins are…Goblins, but they don’t do anything. Come on kid, let’s get a drink? On me? I’ll introduce you to Erin—you don’t have to look at the Goblins! Or eat cake! I’ll eat your share!”

It was possible that Embria could give her father a more disappointed look. She turned her back, ready to march away. Desperately, Relc played his last card.

“Did I mention that General Shivertail used to eat there all the time? It was his favorite spot!”

—-

“Hey! Is that Relc? Welcome to the party! Celebration! Whatever! I thought you weren’t going to make it?”

Erin beamed as Relc came through the door. The Drake grinned weakly at her. Erin grinned back, and then froze as she saw another Drake enter behind him. She had red scales, shiny armor, a spear in one hand, and she was giving Erin a death-glare.

“Whoa. Is that your date?”

Relc choked. The Drake behind him opened her mouth angrily and he stepped in front of her. The big Drake cleared his throat a few times.

“Erin. I’d like you to meet…my uh, daughter. Embria.”

At this particular moment Erin was holding a stack of plates and cutlery. It has no bearing on what followed because Erin did not drop what she was holding, but she was very tempted to. She gaped, put her dishes on a table, and then threw up her hands.

“What?”

“She’s back from the army—”

“What?”

“Look, we just need a table and a drink.”

“What?”

“Did I tell you she’s a [Wing Commander]?”

“Wha—you have a daughter? Since when?”

Erin’s raised voice made every head in the room turn. Relc winced as he saw three teams of Gold-rank adventurers, Klbkch, Bird, Olesm with all his Drake and Gnoll friends, Krshia, the Horns of Hammerad, Lyonette, Drassi, Ishkr, the Redfang Goblins and Selys and her grandmother look over. Mrsha poked her head up from underneath a table and stared too.

“It’s uh, complicated.”

“Tell me everything! Wait, this is your daughter? Isn’t she the Drake who was leading all those j—oh.”

At last, Erin realized where she’d seen Embria before. She paused and gave the other Drake a very sheepish smile.

“Um. Hi.”

The red-scaled Drake folded her arms. She stared at Erin and then pointedly looked away. Her eyes focused on Klbkch, Bird, and then the Redfang Goblins who were sitting at a table, still wearing their ‘Security’ armbands. Her eyes narrowed.

“We uh, just need a table, Erin. Somewhere quiet? Please? And far from the uh, Goblins? And Klbkch? Embria’s got a thing with them.”

The young woman’s eyes narrowed and she stared at Embria who returned the gaze.

“How bad of a thing? Selys’ grandmother already had a ‘thing’ with the Goblins and—”

“Erin. I really need this. Please?”

Relc looked pleadingly at Erin. She relented.

“I can put you over here. Next to the stage. Far, far away.”

She seated the two at a table ten feet away from everyone else. Relc ordered a drink and Embria ordered the same. They sat in ice-cold silence as Erin bustled away. Relc’s tail swished nervously as he grinned at Embria. She did not return the smile.

“So uh, this is the inn.”

“Those are Hobs. In an inn.”

“Right, right. But Erin’s got tons of other people in it! Drakes! You know that guy’s our [Strategist], right? And check out this room! It’s huge. Erin’s new Skill. Isn’t that—”

“Why are there three Antinium here? I thought you only had one partner. The Slayer. Or has the Watch started letting more Antinium in?”

“No…no. That guy’s uh, Bird. He’s uh…Erin’s employee too…”

“I see.”

Embria’s arms were folded. Relc desperately looked around, waiting for Erin. After a lifetime of one-sided conversation, she came back with two full mugs.

“Here you are!”

“Oh, thanks! Great! Hey Erin, what’s for dinner?”

“Ooh, we’ve got tons of stuff. We’ve got beef rolls, lasagna, pizza—”

“We’ll have the rolls. Both of us.”

Embria cut her father off as he began to brighten. Relc sighed as Erin looked at him.

“Yeah. Sure. Two please. And—”

He hesitated and lowered his voice as Embria stared at him. Relc looked longingly towards the kitchen from which tantalizing smells poured forth.

“Can—can I have a slice of cake?”

Erin’s answering smile was like the sun coming back up for Relc.

“Cake? Sure! I baked lots! In fact, you can have tons of slices! Only—ooh.”

She hesitated. Relc’s heart sank.

“Ooh what?”

“Well…let me bring you a slice.”

Erin hurried into the kitchen and came back with a slice of cake. Relc stared at it with dismay. It wasn’t that the cake looked bad—on the contrary, it was vanilla cake (Erin had yet to figure out where chocolate came from) frosted generously with rich icing. However, and this was the deal breaker, Erin had decorated the cake with miniature faces. Of Goblins.

Relc stared up at Erin with hollow accusation in his eyes as Embria glared at him. Erin could only shrug.

“We had this big parade and everyone was getting appreciated—except the Goblins. So I…y’know…thought it would be nice. Everyone likes it. Except Selys’ grandmother. And it’s really good.”

“Is there any cake without smiling Goblins on it?”

“Nope!”

“Right. Well uh, I’ll have a slice. Embria?”

“No.”

The Drake watched her father accept the big slice of cake. Relc coughed and began eating as Erin brought out beef rolls stuffed to bursting with bacon, breadcrumbs, onion, and a spicy filling. She eyed the hot food, suspicious at how fast it had come out, but began eating. Her brows shot up.

“This is good.”

“Isn’t it? I love eating here. I used to eat here all the time before—well, now I eat here sometimes. Not often! Just—sometimes.”

Relc chattered nervously. Embria looked at him and sighed.

“I don’t mind you eating out…dad.”

“Really?”

“I know you can’t cook.”

“Hey! I mean, uh, you’re right. Can’t cook. Totally dependent on other people. I’d starve if I didn’t eat out.”

“But you could make an effort to eat at other establishments in Liscor! Not—”

Embria jerked her head to indicate Erin, who was laughing and offering Badarrow a slice of cake while the other Goblins tried to fight him for it. Relc hesitated.

“Look, Erin’s inn is special. Really. She only got the Goblins recently. I mean, they’ve been around a while, but there was only this titchy one before. And Erin likes Goblins. Dunno why. I got in trouble when I killed these other Goblins, see…”

“Good to see you’re doing your job, despite what the Human thinks.”

“Aw, come on. Kid…she makes good food. Like, really good. Try this cake! Here!”

Relc offered Embria a forkful of cake. She brushed his hand away, raised her fork, and eyed the sugary offering. There was a small Goblin head smiling at her. Embria speared it through the eye and lifted a bit of cake and frosting to her mouth. Her eyes widened.

“Ancestors, what is…”

“It’s good, right?”

“It is.”

It looked like it pained Embria to admit it. She shook her head as she began eating Relc’s slice of cake, much to his relief and chagrin. But at last she seemed to be relaxing. She nodded to Relc.

“So is this what you’ve been doing recently? Eating at this inn and guarding Liscor?”

“Um…yep. Same as always. What about you?”

“I made [Wing Commander] last year. I wrote you a letter. You never wrote back.”

“Oh. I read it. I just…sorry.”

“At least you remembered my birthday. Thank you for the message.”

“No problem. Hey, what’s the army doing now? Fighting around Zeres? Must be tough. Those guys don’t let up.”

“We manage. I was surprised to hear that Liscor needed help. I thought you’d be able to handle anything that popped up.”

“Well, yeah, but we’ve got a dungeon! And moths! And did I tell you about this Named Adventurer that turned out to be a fake? She was murdering people and guess who helped fight her off?”

“Fight? You mean she got away?”

“Um…”

—-

“At least it looks like she’s talking to him now. There’s a lot of tension in the air, though. You could cut it with a knife.”

“Gee, you think? You could throw a knife over there and it would stick in the air. Just look at the way her tail is moving! She’s really upset with him.”

“You think she’s mad because of me?”

“No.”

“Really?”

Selys rolled her eyes as she turned to Erin. They were peeking at the talking father and daughter duo from Erin’s kitchen.

“No, I think she’s totally fine with a Human [Innkeeper] who insulted her when she was giving a speech, asked if she was dating her father, and employs both Antinium and Goblins in her inn. That was sarcasm, Erin.”

“Yeah, I got that near the end. But why’s she so uptight?”

The Drake sighed.

“She’s part of the army, Erin. They’re the strictest hard-tail group Liscor has and that’s saying a lot. They hate monsters—no surprise—but they also hate the Antinium. They refused to go near the city for four years after we made the treaty with the Antinium after the second Antinium War and they’ve only been back twice since then!”

“Oh. That’s pretty bad, yeah.”

Erin stared at Embria. She still couldn’t believe that was Relc’s daughter. She was Erin’s age! And she looked really good, with her red scales and so on. Erin would have loved to talk with her, but from the way Relc kept wincing every few seconds she doubted Embria was in a good mood.

“So she’s Relc’s daughter. Does she like him?”

Selys shrugged.

“He is her father. But what a dad. I don’t envy her. Just look at her. And her name.”

“What’s wrong with her name? Embria sounds cool?”

“It is…no, it’s more embarrassing. Embria? Seriously Erin, that sounds like a name of some kind of Dragon. She can sort of pull it off with her scales, but I bet she got teased all the time growing up. Only Relc would give her a name like that.”

“Aw. Poor kid.”

Embria turned in her seat and both Selys and Erin ducked back. Erin looked at Selys.

“So we haven’t gotten to talk much…”

“I wonder why not? Could it be the monster attacks and everyone nearly dying?”

“You’re getting good at sarcasm, Selys. But I wanted to talk to you about all kinds of stuff! Not just work—”

“Good, because my grandmother’s here and she’s going to kick your tail for getting me to try and register those Hobgoblins.”

“Your grandmother? Uh—do I have to talk to her? She’s scary.”

“You don’t know the half of it. Hold on—who’s coming through now? Is that…?”

Selys broke off and Erin got up as she spotted a familiar figure entering the inn through the magic door. Wall Lord Ilvriss and twelve of his followers entered, all of them staring around the inn as if it was a dump. Ilvriss caused a commotion though—he headed over to Olesm’s table as all the Drakes sitting there shot to their feet.

Embria also rose and strode over to the Wall Lord. She saluted as Ilvriss turned to her.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss! Sir!”

“Wing Commander Embria, is it?”

Ilvriss looked mildly surprised as he saluted Embria in return. He glanced at Erin as she hurried over.

“Ah. Solstice. A table for thirteen. Next to Olesm’s table. This is a celebration in his honor. Drinks—water for me.”

“Hey Ilvriss! I didn’t think you’d turn up!”

Embria nearly choked on her tongue as Erin grinned at Ilvriss. He glared at her as his adjutants gasped at her effrontery. Undeterred, Erin looked at Embria, confused.

“Are you Embria’s boss? Sorry, Miss Embria’s. I thought you were in different armies or something?”

Stiffly, Embria turned to Erin.

“Drakes share a common command. We respect each other even when we are at odds. Wall Lord Ilvriss is one of the foremost leaders of Salazsar. He deserves at least a modicum of respect.”

“Exactly. A [General] is still a [General] regardless of which city he hails from. He should be accorded respect in war—not that Humans share our beliefs.”

Ilvriss smiled at Embria who returned the smile, and then looked at Erin.

“The table?”

“Oh! Drassi! Ishkr! Table here! We’ll push it over. So you’re here for Olesm’s party?”

“I promised him I would attend and I am a Drake of my word.”

The Wall Lord replied haughtily. He paused lowered his voice.

“And I was told you were serving…cake?”

Erin grinned at him. The Wall Lord sighed.

“I would like enough for all my followers to eat. Assuming you’re willing to sell me what you have left?”

Erin grinned at him wickedly.

“Oh, I’ve got tons. Only there’s a slight problem…”

When she presented Ilvriss with the cake with Goblins decorated on it, Embria stared at the Wall Lord, waiting for his reaction. Ilvriss eyed the Goblin drawn in frosting and sighed.

“Typical. Fine, I’ll pay for one for every Drake at my table and whatever Swifttail’s bill is I’ll cover for the night. No cake for me. It’s far too sugary.”

“Want some mayonnaise instead?”

Ilvriss sighed.

“Give me your menu, Human. And don’t push your luck.”

He went to sit down at his table. Embria returned to sit with Relc, wide-eyed.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss eats here?”

Relc grinned.

“Told ya. Old Zel ate here too, before…you know. People like Erin.”

“I can’t believe he didn’t take offense. What were we talking about?”

“You said you were ordered to come back here. Was it to see me?”

Embria looked frostily at Relc as he gave her a big smile.

“Hardly. I was ordered to return because my company had few wounded and because we could be spared. I would have argued to stay on the front, but I thought I might as well return to give you this. Here.”

She reached behind her and picked up the spear. Relc eyed it and his eyes widened.

“Hey wait a second! That’s mine!”

She nodded.

“Took you long enough to figure it out.”

“I was looking at you! Hey, are you giving it to me? Did you do your old man a favor?”

“No. I’m just delivering it. The army doesn’t need your spear and they’ve decided to let you have it since Liscor’s gotten more dangerous. You sent them fifteen letters—”

“Hah, I knew that would do the trick! Alright, my old spear! Thanks for bringing it, kid!”

Relc was overjoyed. He grabbed the haft of the spear and grunted. Embria hadn’t let go.

“Um. Kid? Hello? Embria?”

His daughter stared at Relc. Her arms didn’t move an inch.

“Dad. You should come back.”

The big Drake froze. He held onto his spear as he stared at Embria. His eyes slid past her.

“What? Nah, nah, I’m good, thanks. I retired, remember? They wouldn’t want—”

“I talked to my commander. He says you could reenlist. You’d have your old rank back. You could join our company in the city and come back with me after the Goblin Lord’s dead.”

“Look, k—Embria. That’s a nice offer, but I’m done with the army. Can I have my spear now? Please?”

Senior Guardsman Relc tried to smile. Embria stared at him, unblinking.

“Tell me why.”

“I told you last time. I like it here.”

“Still?”

“Staying in one place doesn’t make me stop liking it Embria. I like not being in the army more now, actually. It’s restful being in Liscor. Well, mostly. I get to fight and relax, you know?”

Relc tried to laugh, but Embria looked troubled. She shook her head as if unable to listen to him.

“You’re wasted here. You’re a [Guardsman]—”

“Senior Guardsman! That’s an important rank!”

“A Senior Guardsmen when you were a legend back in the army!”

Relc’s smile faded.

“I was a [Sergeant], kid. Don’t listen to those other idiots. I was just a [Sergeant]—hell, I got paid like one and never got past that.”

“A [Sergeant] who got awarded an enchanted spear for valor? Don’t lie. You were a hero. You could have stayed and been famous!”

A pained look flashed across Relc’s face.

“I was already famous. I wanted to get old, I told you. I retired—”

“No one just quits.”

“Right, they stay even when they’re wounded or old. That’s how your mother died.”

Embria’s eyes blazed.

“She died a hero.”

“Yeah.”

Relc didn’t meet his daughter’s eyes. He gripped the spear tighter. There was a creak from Embria’s chair and the table between then. Neither Drake moved.

“Let me have my spear, Embria.”

“Rejoin the army.”

“No.”

“Give it a moment’s thought.”

“I did. And I did last time you came by. The answer’s no.”

A spark of fury entered Embria’s voice. She tried to pull the spear back with both hands, but Relc’s single arm didn’t budge.

“You’re wasting away here! What are you doing, working with the Antinium? With the enemy? Do you know how humiliating it is to know you’re his partner? That you’re the only Drake from the army who—”

“He has a name. Klb. Klbkch. He’s my buddy.”

“He’s a monster. The Antinium are a threat to Liscor!”

“No, they’re not. They saved Liscor.”

“That’s not what High Command believes.”

“Oh yeah?”

For the first time Relc met his daughter’s eyes squarely. He pulled and her arms moved an inch unwillingly towards him.

“You think the Antinium didn’t save us? That we beat the Necromancer by ourselves? I was on the walls. I was there, kid. The High Command’s got it wrong. The Ants—the Antinium saved us.”

“They just did that to trick us.”

“Good trick. They could have let us die when Skinner attacked—or when the moths did. They’ve fought for us ever since then. For ten years. You wanna give them a bit of a break?”

Embria hissed.

“Forget about them. Just come back!”

“No. Give me my spear.”

“It’s not yours. It’s the army’s until I let go.”

Relc’s huge arm gripped the spear tighter.

“Then let go.”

Embria pulled back, setting her stance, gritting her teeth as her tail lashed the chair legs.

“Make me.”

—-

“What are they doing?”

Erin stared at Relc and Embria as they both held onto the spear. She edged over to the Drakes having fun and ignoring the weird tableau that was the subject of attention and at least five bets in the room.

“Psst. Ilvriss.”

The Wall Lord looked up as he paused in laughing at something Olesm had said. He sighed.

“What is it?”

“Speak to Wall Lord Ilvriss with respect, Human!”

One of the Drakes sitting next to Ilvriss glared at Erin, her tail curled around her chair’s leg. Erin gave her a blank look.

“Sorry, but I’m in a hurry. Besides, Ilvriss isn’t my Lord of the Wall or whatever. He’s cool. I’m cool. We’re on a level.”

The Drakes sitting around Ilvriss inhaled sharply. The angry Drake woman half-rose.

“The nerve of—”

The Wall Lord held up a claw and sighed.

“Enough. What is it you want, Solstice?”

Erin nodded to the father and daughter locked in a silent tug-of-war.

“Relc. And uh, Embria. What’s their deal?”

“Hmm.”

Ilvriss stroked his chin and looked around the table.

“I don’t know that Drake personally—he’s a Senior Guardsman, isn’t he? Shivertail seemed to know him, but I don’t recall. Does anyone here know his history?”

He looked around. One of Ilvriss’ more military-looking followers sat up.

“I do, sir. That’s Relc Grasstongue. Former [Sergeant] in Liscor’s army. The Gecko of Liscor.”

Ilvriss clicked his claws together.

“That’s him! I knew I’d seen him before. And he’s a [Guardsman] in Liscor now? Oddities never cease in this city.”

“The Gecko?”

Erin had heard the name somewhere, but she hadn’t fully connected it to Relc as a title until now. She stared at Relc, confused.

“Is that some kind of fancy title? I’ve never heard Relc call himself that. And he brags a lot.”

She saw some of the Drakes at the table smirking. Ilvriss spoke calmly.

“It’s not exactly a compliment. Are you aware of what geckos are, Solstice?”

“Sort of.”

Erin frowned. In her mind, geckos were small, quick little things that ran away and shed their tails. And sometimes promoted car insurance. She could see why Relc resented the title.

“They run away, right?”

“Exactly. The Gecko – or rather, Relc Grasstongue – was a known figure in Liscor’s army for his speed and fighting prowess. He was one of their best fighters who ambushed enemy officers and then escaped before he could be caught. A valuable skirmisher in other words, but the title stuck.”

Ilvriss nodded as he recalled Relc’s history. Erin was impressed. If Ilvriss, who was a big shot, could remember Relc, then Relc must have been something! Then again, Ilvriss seemed to have a photographic memory where Drakes were concerned.

“Why’s his daughter mad at him, then? And when did he have a daughter? Why’d he leave his army if he was so great?”

“Ocelos?”

Ilvriss looked at the Drake who’d known about Relc. The officer sat up and nodded sharply.

“More details?”

“As much as the Human wants.”

The Drake drummed his claws on the table before speaking.

“The Gecko of Liscor. Relc Grasstongue. From what I can recall he was never formally married, but had a child out of wedlock with another soldier—a [Major]—when he was quite young. And my understanding is that this Wing Commander Embria grew up travelling with Liscor’s army, so I would assume she was raised by both parents as Liscor’s army travelled from place to place. As for Relc Grasstongue himself, he had a notable career for over two and a half decades until he suddenly retired, an oddity among Liscor’s [Soldiers]. Considered highly dangerous…known for his speed which could match a Courier’s…what else? He never made it past [Sergeant], and in an army like Liscor’s that’s telling.”

“Why’s that?”

Erin was curious. [Sergeant] didn’t sound bad to her. It wasn’t great, but…she saw Ilvriss motion for the Drake to tell her.

“Liscor’s army is unique in that they have an officer for every five soldiers. Generally speaking, [Sergeant] is a worthless rank in an army that has hundreds of sergeants.”

“What, really? Hundreds? Isn’t that too many?”

“It’s a tactic they employ to strengthen their army.”

Ilvriss shrugged as he took a drink. He grimaced—he was drinking water. Erin wondered if he’d be interested in milk instead. The knowledgeable military Drake nodded.

“It’s a trick, but a good one. Liscor fields a very small force—two or three thousand generally. They can rise as high as six thousand depending on whether they’re actively conscripting. But their strength doesn’t lie in numbers. It’s their officers which buff their army to the point where they can fight against larger forces.”

“Oh. I get it. And Embria’s higher-rank, right?”

“Considerably. She’s a [Wing Commander]. That’s a variant of the [Commander] class that specializes in—you could think of her as being a few ranks down from [General], Human.”

“What’s her other class? Solstice, most officers have two classes. Sometimes they have just one, but many have two. Ocelos?”

Ilvriss looked over at Embria. She was still holding onto the spear, as was Relc, but the table between them was starting to creak. Erin thought she saw cracks forming in the wood. She wondered if she should stop them, and then wondered if that would get her stabbed. Ocelos pondered Ilvriss’ question for a moment.

“Her main combat class is…a [Spear Hunter] I believe, sir.”

“I’m not familiar with the class. Is it mobile?”

“Yes, sir. Specialized in mobile offensives—sometimes gained by [Hunters] specializing in spear weapons. It’s an upgrade to the [Spear Drake] class.”

“[Spear Drake]?”

“Our version of [Spearman]. Well, she’s not as adept as her father, then. Not that I’d expect her to be at her age.”

“Wait, how good is Relc, then?”

Ocelos coughed.

“Sergeant Relc…that is to say, Senior Guardsman Relc was known as a formidable [Spearmaster]. He earned the class by slaying another [Spearmaster] on the battlefield.”

“And that’s—”

“Yes, Solstice, that’s good.”

Ilvriss sighed.

“With his Skills and speed the Gecko was a terror to [Strategists] and lower-ranked officers. I don’t doubt he’s just as formidable as he was in the past. What was his level, Ocelos, do you know? Thirty three? Hm. A Level 33 [Spearmaster] plus a Level…well, at least a Level 20 [Sergeant] is a formidable combination.”

“But he retired. Why?”

Ocelos didn’t know. Ilvriss tapped a claw on the table.

“Dishonorable discharge, a desire to stop fighting…it could be any reason which is his alone, Solstice. But his daughter clearly resents his retirement. It’s rare for Drakes to retire from military life to begin with and Liscor’s army takes that example to the extreme. She probably wants him to return to his command.”

“And he doesn’t want to go.”

“You have it correct. Does that satisfy your interest?”

“Yeah. I just wonder though, does she love him?”

“Who?”

“Embria? She came all this way for him. Does she love him?”

Ilvriss paused.

“I don’t know. Perhaps—”

He got no further. There was an almighty crack and Erin’s head whipped around as she saw the struggle between father and daughter end at last. Relc pulled his spear towards his body and Embria let go as the table literally snapped between them sending shards of wood flying everywhere. People ducked and Erin covered her face as Relc raised his spear.

“Hah! I win!”

Embria lay on the ground, staring up at him. She got up slowly as Relc lowered his spear. He looked almost ashamed as he offered her a hand.

“Hey kid, no hard feelings, right?”

She stared at his claw and knocked it aside. She stormed away from Relc as Erin rushed over.

“My table! Hey Relc, what was that about?”

“Stuff.”

The Drake sighed and kicked at a broken table leg. He looked around at Erin, at Klbkch, and grinned weakly.

“Sorry. I’ll pay for that. Embria and I were just…you know. It’s difficult. But hey. At least I got my spear, right?”

He tried to laugh. It didn’t work. Erin looked at him, opened her mouth, and decided not to ask. She pointed at his spear instead.

“That’s your spear? The one you kept talking about? Is it magical?”

“Yup. It pierces magic barriers like cheese! Soft cheese.”

Relc twirled his spear. It had a grooved tip and the haft looked thick and made of a dark brown-grey wood. Beside that it looked completely normal to Erin on first glance. She waited for Relc to go on.

“Wait. That’s it?”

He looked offended.

“What do you mean, that’s it? That’s great! I could take on any Gold-rank adventurer with this! I could have given that jerk Gnoll a run for her money and killed that Skinner dude with this! Okay, maybe not killed him—but I could have poked out one of his eyes! Besides, this spear don’t break! Check this out!”

Relc walked over to two more newly-made tables and tossed his spear on top of the gap between them. He leapt up and balanced on the spear’s shaft as both tables bore his weight, grinning at Erin. He hopped up several feet and landed heavily on the spear—both tables jumped, but the spear didn’t so much as bend an inch. Erin stared appreciatively at the spear.

“Cool. Now get off my tables! They’re brand new!”

“Okay, okay. I’m just telling you. It’s a good spear! And Embria brought it all the way here. She’s cool, that kid of mine. I just—”

Relc broke off as Embria stormed back towards him. The red-scaled Drake looked angry, and she ignored Erin completely as she stopped in front of Relc.

“Looks like I can’t bring you back this time. Keep your damn spear, Dad—no one else needs it.”

The Senior Guardsman looked hurt.

“Aw. Embria—”

“Save it. I’m going back to Liscor. I just wanted to say something before I left. Not to you—to the Human here.”

Embria turned towards Erin. Confused, Erin met her sizzling gaze.

“What’s wrong?”

“Half the things in your inn, Human. But those Goblins are the worst. Get rid of them. They’re a threat.”

The Drake nodded towards the Redfang Goblins. The sound in the room stopped as everyone looked up. Erin saw Ilvriss glance at the Goblins, and the Hobs immediately grew tense. She scowled at Embria.

“They’re my security! They work here!”

“They’re monsters. Don’t lie to yourself.”

Embria glanced at the Hobs, not a shred of compassion in her eyes. She looked around the room, speaking loudly.

“You might not be aware of this, but after General Shivertail’s death, all the Walled Cities are increasing their bounties on Goblins fivefold. Liscor’s High Command has agreed with that decision and made it policy to hunt down Goblin tribes we encounter—as have the other Drake cities on Izril!”

Her voice echoed as she turned to face the Redfang Warriors. They sat at their table, the five of them, staring with crimson eyes at the red-scaled Drake. Embria’s voice was impartial, distant, as she continued.

“We eradicated two Goblin tribes on the way here. Small ones, not worth mentioning. The Walled Cities are doing the same and a lot of ordinary Drakes have volunteered for temporary military duty to honor General Shivertail. And we’re not alone.”

She pointed towards the north, where the Floodplains and rains ended and the road led towards Celum and beyond.

“I’m told the Human nobility are mobilizing armies against smaller Goblin tribes. Once that Human with the large army moves, there won’t be a living Goblin north or south of Liscor for a thousand miles. These Goblins might be safe until they cause trouble or until I can convince Liscor’s Council that they’re a threat, but soon enough they’ll have nowhere to go. Their tribe will be wiped out. The Humans are already purging the smaller tribes, just like the Drakes.”

Erin’s heart beat wildly. Rags! Embria kept staring at the Redfang Goblins. They met her gaze, and there was a bit of wild in their looks, a bit of hate. She stared back as Headscratcher’s grip tightened on his mug until it cracked, as Badarrow held back Shorthilt and Rabbiteater. Embria pointed at the five Hobs.

“Run while you can, Goblins. And run fast. Because this time everyone in the world is hunting you.”

Then she turned and stormed out of the inn.

5.14

The door slammed shut. The Wandering Inn fell silent, and every eye turned towards the five Hobgoblins sitting in a corner. They sat still, glancing around, aware that every eye was on them. The room was tense.

It wasn’t as though Embria Grasstongue had been the one anti-Goblin person in the room. Ilvriss hadn’t so much as glanced at the Hobs once and the rest of his escort kept staring at them. Tekshia Shivertail, the old Drake sitting next to Selys, had been giving the Goblins the evil eye all throughout the party. Then there was Relc, the other Drakes, the Silver Swords…

And of those who were on the Hob’s side, well, it might have been only Erin. She stared at the door to her inn, lips pressed tightly together. Then she sensed the mood and looked at the Redfang Warriors.

“Hey, you guys…okay?”

The Hobs looked at her, surprised. They nodded as one. Erin frowned.

“Embria didn’t bother you? I’m sorry about that. She’s kind of a jerk—”

“Hey!”

Relc protested mildly. Erin turned and he paused.

“She’s my kid, you know? Don’t say it, even if it is true!”

“Right, but how about them?”

Erin gestured. The Hobs looked around and then seemed to realize she meant them. Erin looked anxiously at Headscratcher.

“You think Rags is okay? You uh—you’re sure you’re not mad?”

Headscratcher gave the young woman a long, blank look. Then he shrugged. Erin frowned.

“Really?”

The Hobs exchanged glances and poked each other. Eventually Numbtongue, the subject of the most nudges, grudgingly opened his mouth.

“Everyone in the world is hunting. So what? Nothing new.”

He looked around, sour-faced. Erin let out a slow breath.

“Huh. I guess I didn’t think…okay, then.”

She stepped back and clapped her hands together. Everyone looked at her. Erin gave the crowd a smile.

“Sorry about that, everyone! That was Relc’s not-jerk daughter—”

“Hey!”

“—who’s not mean and doesn’t totally miss her dad. I don’t think she’s coming back. Anyone want more cake? Don’t leave just yet and maybe save room for some popcorn—we’ve got a play coming on in half an hour!”

The room filled with murmurs as the Drakes and some of the adventurers present looked up. Most of the people in the inn tonight hadn’t ever heard of a play—they’d just come here for the food.

Other adventuring teams had drifted in, ostensibly to eat food but also to socialize with the Gold-rank teams. Among them was the team of Vuliel Drae, sitting and talking quietly amongst themselves. They looked far more dispirited than the other teams, and Erin wasn’t sure why. She swept into the kitchen as she heard the murmuring.

“A what?”

“What’s a ‘play’?”

“Don’t tell me she’s going to have us play a children’s game.”

“Popcorn? Selys, why didn’t you bring me some of that either?”

“Ow! Stop pinching my cheek, grandma! You’re going to have some tonight!”

“I would have had some weeks ago if I had a granddaughter who cared about me.”

Erin grinned and winced as she heard Selys yelp. She ducked into the kitchen where Ishkr was washing dishes and Drassi was handing the Gnoll another tray of dishes.

“Selys’ grandmother is tough! Hey Drassi, go serve more cake and see if the Goblins want some first. And then get Selys’ grandma a bowl of fresh popcorn, please? I’ll pop it now.”

“Sure.”

Drassi looked resigned as she grabbed some slices of cake on plates and headed out. She could now serve the Redfang Goblins without freaking out, but she still didn’t like it. Erin busied herself with a kettle and the dried popcorn kernels. She tossed oil in the pot, tossed the kernels in, and held the pot over the fire with mittens, waiting for the first satisfying pop.

“Hey Ishkr, how’re you feeling? Good?”

“Hrr. I could use more sleep. Busy day. Yesterday was busy too.”

Erin felt the first pop in the pot and shook it, keeping the lid pressed down tight. The key was to shake the pot so the kernels wouldn’t burn before the rest popped.

“I know. But hey, we’re making money, right?”

“Lots, yes. And a few of my kindred are here. They wanted to see your play.”

“Oh really? Great! Thanks for spreading the word! Actually, the Players should be here any minute and they’re doing a special play for tonight—”

The popcorn was really exploding now. Ishkr paused in wiping a dish clean and eyed Erin’s pot as she energetically shook it over the fire. She was sweating from the heat, but it was fun making popcorn.

“New play?”

“Yeah it’s—whoops, it’s stopped popping. Hurry!”

Erin dumped the kettle back on the counter and hurriedly poured the fresh popcorn out of the lid and into another bowl. She drizzled melted butter over it, added salt, and scooped out a hand-sized portion with a third bowl. Popcorn required lots of bowls.

“Too bad there’s no yeast. Oh well. Popcorn’s ready!”

“And the [Actors] are here.”

Drassi came back in to take the popcorn and divide it into smaller hand-sized bowls. Erin smiled and hurried out of her kitchen.

“Jasi! Wesle!”

The Players of Celum were already getting ready by the stage. Jasi was dressed up in leather armor and she looked nervous—although it was hard to tell these days. Like Wesle, she had acquired an actor’s mask and had a refined quality to her movements. But her smile was completely genuine as she gently hugged Erin.

“Hello Erin. Good to see you. We’re ready for the play.”

“Great! Oh, did I smudge your makeup?”

“I don’t need any right now. Some blood and soot later on, but it’s refreshing not to be wearing anything. The other [Actors] on the other hand…”

Jasi nodded at Wesle, who was grimacing as one of the stagehands applied paint to his face. Erin whistled.

“They’re going all in, huh?”

“We have been working on it. I’m not sure how the Drakes are going to take the play. Especially with the face paint. But…”

The Drake shrugged. She hadn’t grown up in Liscor, so she often had Human reactions to things, having not experienced her people’s culture. Erin nodded.

“If they complain we’ll see. But I think it’ll be good! Oh! Shorthilt, Badarrow! Done with your meal?”

Two Hobs had appeared behind Erin. Jasi glanced at them a bit nervously, but the Hobs just stood with their arms folded. They were both wearing their ‘Security’ armbands. Shorthilt nodded at Erin. He was the friendlier of the two Goblins, which didn’t mean much. Badarrow just grunted as he eyed the stage.

“Cool. I don’t think there’ll be trouble—just stand there and look good. Or sit! The only thing you’ll have to do is tell me if Relc starts shouting at the stage like last night. Wait—I’ll hear that. You want popcorn?”

They shook their heads. Erin nodded.

“Okay, I’ll let you get ready! Tell me when you’re ready to begin, okay Jasi?”

“Got it.”

The Drake watched Erin stride away, and then checked her belt. She was wearing a sword. She nodded to the other [Actors] around the stage, and at Pisces, who’d drifted over. The Drakes, Gnolls, and adventurers in the room eyed the Players of Celum with great interest and they waited to see what would happen next. In fact, more people started coming into Erin’s inn from Liscor as a few people slipped out to spread the word that something weird was happening at the inn again.

Within twenty minutes, the [Actors] had disappeared behind the curtain. With Pisces. Those that weren’t acting, like their playwright, a former [Scribe] who’d been bitten by the stage, was sitting at a table close to the front. Erin clapped her hands together as someone cast a [Light] spell and the front of the stage glowed brightly.

“Thank you everyone for your patience! You are about to watch a play, a story being told on this stage! None of it is real, and it is meant for your entertainment! Please don’t shout, make noise, or approach the [Actors]! If you want something, raise your hand and the staff will come over! Now, without further ado I’m proud to present to you an original play for the night: The Battle of Liscor!”

There was a surprised susurration throughout the room. Erin heard several people questioning what she’d said as she hurried to one side. Then the curtains opened. The audience saw a tall, grey wall covering half the stage. It was clearly a wall—the stagehands had worked hard on it all week with [Carpenters] to erect and paint the thing. And a Drake stood on the wall.

“Watch Captain Zevara! What brings you up here this early?”

Jasi turned, her head raised high, her posture alert. Another ‘Drake’ took the stage. This one had painted scales over his face. He was, in fact, a Human, wearing a fake tail and armor, just like Jasi. Erin heard murmurs and checked the audience’s reaction anxiously as Jasi replied.

“I have a bad feeling, Olesm. My [Dangersense] went off not five minutes ago.”

“Mine as well, Watch Captain! I was hurrying here to check on the dungeon.”

Zevara scowled.

“That damn dungeon has given us nothing but trouble of late. I hope this is just a lesser alarm—wait, what’s that?”

She turned and pointed dramatically. Erin eyed Ilvriss and Olesm as she edged around the room. Both Drakes were staring. Olesm pointed at the stage as his friends stared alternatively at him and the actors.

“Hey, that’s me! What’s going on?”

“Is this a reenactment? Some kind of travelling troupe, like those [Bards] and [Tumblers]?”

“Must be. But when will they start hitting each other and dancing about?”

Ilvriss’ table was less complimentary. The Wall Lord stared hard at the Human playing Olesm.

“Disgraceful! Is that supposed to be a Drake? The nerve! And this is supposed to be a retelling of the battle? What will they have our citizens fight, crude sticks with wings stitched on? I don’t need to see this! I—”

He half-rose and then jumped as a shriek echoed from the stage. Half the room leapt to their feet as a Face-Eater Moth crawled onto the stage. It wasn’t a prop, nor was it an illusion. It was real.

“Monsters!”

Erin saw a Drake leap to his feet, grabbing at his sword. He was Insill, part of Vuliel Drae. The black-scaled Drake was panicked. He began to shout.

“They’re back! They followed us out! Oh, Ancestors, we have to—”

“Silence!”

A bellow from the stage shocked everyone into freezing. Zevara, as played by Jasi, ripped her sword from its sheathe and skewered the moth with a single thrust. It fell back, keening, and the Watch Captain turned to Olesm as every eye fell on her.

“Olesm, raise the alarm! We’re under attack! There are thousands of them below! Get the command spells! Call every [Guardsman] in the city to the wall now! Summon the Antinium!”

‘Olesm’ dashed off stage, shouting wildly. Zevara turned as more moths crawled up the side of the wall. She slew one and battled another, cursing, as the audience slowly realized what was going on.

“They’re undead.”

Ceria smacked her head lightly as she lowered her wand. Yvlon and Ksmvr glanced at her, and then at the backstage curtain. Yvlon groaned.

“So that’s what Pisces was doing!”

“Dead gods!”

Olesm sat back down slowly as the rest of the room quieted. Erin grinned mischievously. Her idea had worked! Just as Ilvriss had said, fake monsters or illusory ones weren’t much fun to fight. But Pisces could animate Shield Spider bodies and he’d concluded that moths weren’t too hard either. More moths approached the stage as [Guardsmen] rushed forwards. Then, suddenly, both [Actors] and moths paused.

The audience watched, confused. The other half of the stage lit up as the [Light] spells changed position. Erin saw…Erin on stage.

“What a wonderful day. Hey, Ceria, anyone want waffles for breakfast?”

In the audience, Ceria choked on a piece of popcorn as a half-Elf walked forwards. Erin and Ceria traded a few jokes and then turned as the moths shrieking filled the stage again. The audience shuddered and Erin did too. Pisces had managed to recreate the sound the moths made with his spells and it was really horrifying to hear. But then Jelaqua, Ylawes, and Dawil took the stage. The adventurers leapt to defend the inn and then the play cut back to the walls.

“Watch Captain! The Antinium are battling the moths below! We’re cut off!”

Zevara, eyes blazing, turned as the [Guardsmen] bravely fought the moths.

“In that case we’ll hold the walls until they can send aid. [Guardsmen]! On me! Hold them back! For Liscor!”

She dramatically led a charge across the stage as the ‘Drakes’ and ‘Gnolls’ pushed the moths back. It was a good fight too—the undead moths acted realistically and the painted Drakes and Gnolls [Actors] wearing fur over their faces all had [Warrior] classes of some kind. The audience began to get swept up into the battle as Zevara shouted defiance from the walls—pausing for a monologue.

Erin watched, feeling embarrassed and pleased in equal measures. It was so bad! It was so cheesy! And yet, she saw Olesm grinning with delight as a spell blasted apart some of the moths. She turned and saw a sour face in the crowd. Predictably, it was Ilvriss. The Wall Lord glared at her.

“Ridiculous! This isn’t what happened! What of the deaths? What of the sacrifices of my people?  I—”

He was halfway to standing up, probably to leave in a huff when another Drake strode onto the stage as the ‘dying’ [Guardsmen] fell backwards, screaming and groaning.

“Stand! I said stand! Liscor’s wall shall not fall while I am here! A Wall Lord of Salazsar does not retreat! Rally to me, brave Drakes of Izril!”

He unsheathed his sword and there was a crackle of magic that lit up the stage behind him. The audience cheered and Ilvriss paused.

“Is that…me?”

He slowly sat back down as ‘Ilvriss’ charged the Drakes, uttering oaths and demanding to know where Pallass was. On the other side of the inn, ‘Erin’ was arguing with a Drake through a magic doorway, pleading for the Walled City’s help.

“Well, it’s not that inaccurate…ridiculous having a Human play me…hah, but Pallass’ ineptitude is well conveyed. Can we record this? Where’s my scrying orb?”

Ilvriss leaned back in his chair and within minutes was munching on popcorn. The play went on. ‘Jelaqua’ gave a monologue about the duties of Gold-rank adventurers. ‘Ylawes’ drew his sword to heroically dash to Liscor’s defense while ‘Dawil’ made snarky jokes. Erin saw the real Ylawes turn beet-red, much to her delight as the audience cheered and groaned through the retelling of the battle they had all lived through.

It wasn’t close to the truth at all. It was inaccurate, filled with monologues and heroic scenes and clever lines and jokes. It was a lie. And it was what the audience needed. Erin saw Olesm’s eyes shining as he watched himself burn some moths with a spell from Liscor’s walls, and heard Drakes and Gnolls cheering their own roles on the walls. The magic of the stage was that it wasn’t real and it was real at the same time, and if you were willing, you could almost imagine that this was how it had gone. Heroics and tragedy, without the real pain and loss.

For a few minutes. For an hour and a half. In the end, the undead moths Pisces had been using could literally not stand up any more and collapsed. The stage was wet with sweat and not a bit of dead moth gore, and Erin resolved to buy some scented herbs from Octavia for the next performance. Because oh, would there be a next performance!

Ilvriss stood on stage at the last stand, daring the Moths to come closer as Relc, Zevara, and Olesm held their ground. Halrac stood like a lone sentinel on the roof—having had literally one line the entire play. The Drake Wall Lord, played by Wesle, roared at the audience and the moths in fury.

“Cowards, cowards! Enough of this! If Pallass won’t send reinforcements then damn their cowardly tails to oblivion! Liscor will triumph alone! True Drakes know no fear!”

From the audience Erin could see Ilvriss nodding repeatedly.

“Well said. Well said. And I believe I did speak something to that effect.”

She grinned. The play ended with the rains falling, as Pisces playing Pisces strode onto stage with a truly hammy Deus ex machina moment. The [Necromancer] reveled in his moment, delivering a monologue to the crowd before the curtains closed and the audience went nuts. Erin laughed and applauded as the Players of Celum came out to bow and shake hands with the real heroes.

Because of course, that was the point. Wesle stood on the stage and bowed to the applauding audience.

“Thank you! You are too kind! Thank you! The Players of Celum are honored to perform this for the true heroes of Liscor who fought to defend the city. In the audience we have the City Watch of Liscor, Wall Lord Ilvriss, the [Strategist] Olesm, the Silver Swords, the Horns of Hammerad…”

He listed each name as the audience, surprised and pleased, now began to applaud each other. Erin saw Ceria blushing and Jelaqua springing up to give everyone a delighted bow. Moore’s face was almost as red as Ylawes’, and Typhenous couldn’t stop stroking his beard with a smile written all over his face. Wesle kept reading from the little list Erin had handed him, until he reached one of the final entries.

“And last but not least, Vuliel Drae, who bravely slew countless Face-Eater Moths in defense of the city!”

There was more applause and Erin saw the group of adventurers named stand up. She frowned as she saw them wave sheepishly. There was guilt written all over some of their faces. Perhaps the others wouldn’t have noticed it, but this was Erin’s inn and she had learned to read people. She frowned at the group as the five, Anith, Dasha, Insill, Larr, and Pekona, waved to the audience and sat down quickly.

Their leader, the Jackal Beastkin Anith, wasn’t showing much emotion. Nor was the Gnoll, Larr. But Insill’s tail was practically curled into a ball, and Pekona was gripping her sword hilt and looking down at the ground. Dasha was practically chewing on her own beard.

“Now what does that mean?”

Erin frowned at the team until she saw Wesle and the other [Actors] descend the stage. She had to hurry to get them food, and to keep the audience from mobbing them with questions. Not that the [Actors] seemed to mind. They were already giving out autographs and Erin was tickled to see that they were selling the audience pieces of paper so the [Actors] could autograph them.

“Now that’s business for you!”

She smiled and hurried around, rescuing Wesle before Ilvriss could tell him every little thing he’d ‘forgotten’ to add to the play, saving the actor playing Relc from the actual thing, watching Emme, the half-Dwarf woman laughing with Dawil who’d loved every minute of his performance, and ducking an angry Revi, Falene, and Typhenous, all of whom wanted to be included in the next performance.

Erin only caught Jasi for a second as the Drake stood among the other members of her species, and noted how many tails were wagging as the Drakes clustered around her. Jasi looked slightly overwhelmed to be meeting so many members of her species and Erin resolved to rescue her as soon as she could. She had to pause and smile broadly at the Drake, though.

“We’re going to make so much money!”

This was the first play Liscor would see. It would not be the last. And as Erin closed up her inn well into the night, she did so with lighter spirits. The adventurers went to bed in the restored second floor, and Erin had to let her guests through to Liscor and Celum respectively. The inn fell quiet, and Apista and Erin were the last souls in the common room of the inn. The Ashfire Bee swooped down and angrily stung something—Erin saw her killing a tiny Face-Eater Moth and shuddered as she tossed the dead thing outside.

“Good work, Apista. You do that again, okay? Now, I’m going to bed—make sure nothing crawls up my nose!”

She put a bowl of honey water out for the bee, a special treat. She was trying to ration what honey she had left since Lyonette had no chance of getting near the Ashfire Bee nest in the rain and high waters. The bee settled into the bowl, Erin went to her kitchen and laid down. She was asleep nearly instantly, smiling broadly, happy, relaxed. The inn was peaceful.

And in the basement, the five Redfang Warriors sat. They’d been forgotten by the audience, stood quietly throughout the play—which they hadn’t been included in—and had now gathered below. They weren’t smiling at all. They were upset. And only now, hidden away from the dangerous eyes of the others could they show it.

—-

It was a quiet conversation. In fact, it was a conversation with very few words actually spoken. The Redfang Warriors rarely spoke the Goblin language and only Numbtongue was fluent in the common one. Like all Goblins they spoke through body language, a complex social interaction.

Not that anyone would have to guess what was running through their heads now. Headscratcher pounded on the stone walls of the basement of Erin’s inn, hitting the stone with his fists. Shorthilt and Rabbiteater slumped, heads in hands. Badarrow was fiddling angrily with his arrows and Numbtongue was gritting his teeth. The feeling each one conveyed was different in nuance, but the same at its core.

How? How could they have forgotten? Embria’s words had affected them, deeply. The Goblins hadn’t shown it, but her words had cut them to the quick. They hadn’t known the Humans were attacking their tribe. They hadn’t thought about it. They’d stayed at Erin’s inn, so happy, so content to be fed and not in danger every waking moment that they’d forgotten their tribe.

How could they? Headscratcher punched a wall and then hit it with his head, venting his fury. The Humans were attacking their tribe! Of course they would. And the Goblin Lord would be coming after their tribe! Garen Redfang had sworn to oppose him. Why hadn’t they remembered? His punches were that question given agonized form. Why, why, why—

Of all the five Goblins, Headscratcher was most prone to fits of anger, just like he had grieved deepest at the [Florist] girl’s passing in Esthelm. He took his pain out on the wall, not caring at the damage he did to his own body.

The thud of his fist hitting the stone made the other Goblins look up. Headscratcher stared at his right first. The impact had split the skin across his knuckles. He didn’t seem to care. He raised his first for another blow and Rabbiteater stood up. The shorter Hob grabbed at Headscratcher’s shoulder, gesturing to his hand.

Enough. Headscratcher turned away. He raised a fist and punched the wall, leaving a bloody streak. Rabbiteater grabbed his shoulder, trying to calm the other Hob down. It didn’t work. Headscratcher lashed out at him, a warning. Rabbiteater ignored it. He grabbed Headscratcher’s shoulder again, growling.

Headscratcher snarled and turned. He punched at Rabbiteater. The other Hob took the blow across the chest. He staggered but didn’t fall. Headscratcher paused in shock at his own actions as the other Goblins looked up. Rabbiteater didn’t retreat. He slapped his chest, glaring at the other Hob angrily.

Hit me! If taking a punch was all it would take, Rabbiteater would take as many as Headscratcher had to give. But Headscratcher was ashamed. He held up his hands and backed away, shaking his head. Remorse. Apology. Rabbiteater snorted angrily and turned away.

It wasn’t anger at Headscratcher. Rabbiteater’s hunched shoulders were mirrored by the other three Hobgoblins. The feeling of oppressive helplessness weighed on them. The Redfang Warriors sat quietly. Headscratcher lowered his head, brushing at his face and leaving blood behind. He sat with the others, head bowed as Rabbiteater sat next to him.

It wasn’t as if the others didn’t understand his pain. Shorthilt looked around the dark basement, his crimson eyes glowing in the faint light from the lantern Erin had given them. He pulled his sword out from its sheath. The worn blade was as sharp as he could make it, but terribly used.

It was a testament to Shorthilt’s care that it was usable at all—it was the only sword to survive the battle with the moths. The Redfang Goblins had been forced to fight with hands and feet near the end as their iron blades had broken from the strain of combat. And in Shorthilt’s hands it was a reminder, a symbol.

Duty. The other Redfang Warriors nodded. Badarrow snapped a faulty arrow and laid it on the ground in front of the others. Broken duty. They had come here with a mission. They’d failed it.

Numbtongue looked up sharply at Badarrow and he made a scathing noise. The other Goblins looked at him. Numbtongue folded his arms, his position clear. Duty? Their duty had been to kill Erin. And that was a mistake! Garen Redfang should have never ordered it.

To Numbtongue’s surprise, Badarrow shook his head. The Goblin rearranged the arrow pieces and his meaning, misinterpreted by Numbtongue, became clear. He pointed the broken arrow towards the sword. It wasn’t their mission they’d failed, but their duty to return once they’d realized the error of their orders.

Of course. The other four Hobs nodded and Numbtongue retracted his anger with a flicked finger at Badarrow. The Redfang Warriors sat silently. It was all too true. They had to go back. But how? They had no idea where their tribe was. If the Goblin Lord hadn’t been marching they could have gone north and searched for other tribes who might know where theirs had passed. If the Humans hadn’t been so alert, they could have roamed freely. But now they were targets.

Rabbiteater grinned. It wasn’t a happy grin, but it made the other Hobs look up. He pointed at his chest ironically. They grinned mirthlessly too as they got the joke.

Hobs. They were all Hobs. They’d left as regular Goblins, save for Grunter. Now they were five Hobs. Five! They were a valuable asset—worth just as much as thirteen regular Goblin warriors, elites or not. They were stronger, faster, and thanks to Erin feeding them, probably in better shape than most Hobs of their tribe. And yet—their faces fell.

The problem was—Numbtongue swung his fist and made a whooshing sound. The other Redfang Goblins nodded. The problem was that there was no way to fight this problem. How could you fight distance, and not knowing where your tribe was? And if you did find them, how could you fight an army? They were as useful as five Hobs. As useless as five Hobs, too.

If they used all their skill, all their cunning and all their life they could take out a group…four times their size. If they were ordinary soldiers. If the Hobs had time to prepare, or advantageous terrain. If, if, if.

And as Badarrow indicated with a slow shake of the head, if’s weren’t enough to win a war. And it was a war that had come to the Goblins. It was always a war. They were only five. If they went back to their tribe they’d be of little help.

Headscratcher shook his head. He grabbed for something at Badarrow’s belt. The archer’s dagger. He held it up, brandishing it as Badarrow glared at him. So what if it meant they would die? They were warriors of the Redfang Tribe! Wasn’t death what they’d all signed up for? If it could tip the scales he would gladly die.

Headscratcher’s eyes were wide, desperate. If it would help—he gestured with the dagger at his throat. Badarrow scowled and snatched his blade back. He sarcastically held it up and dangled it with one finger. As if battles were won that way! But he didn’t mock long. Headscratcher’s statement was too genuine, too true to what they were feeling.

If only they could matter. But five Hobs didn’t matter in a war between the Goblin Lord and Humans, in Goblin tribal battles where each side had hundreds, sometimes thousands of Hobs. They didn’t matter.

But they had to leave. They had to go. It was a certainty in the air, only none of the Goblins knew how to express it. Shorthilt picked up his sword, hesitated, gestured with his sheath, frowned, and chewed his lip, unsure of how to say what he meant. He looked at Numbtongue and nudged him.

The other Hob scowled. Headscratcher nudged him from the other side and Numbtongue folded his arms. He didn’t want to speak. Rabbiteater clicked his tongue, but the Hob refused to open his mouth. Out of patience, Badarrow snatched up the broken arrow and hurled it at Numbtongue’s chest. Say it already! Numbtongue sighed, and then grudgingly opened his mouth.

“This place is too…nice.”

The other Goblins listened to the words, mulled them over, and then nodded in agreement. Too nice. That was a phrase that Goblins had no equivalent for. But it was true. Erin’s inn was filled with food. She was kind to them. The Goblins had a place here. She protected them. And if the occasional Drake shouted at them, or Face-Eater Moths attacked, so what? It was heaven compared to the life they’d lived up till this point.

But they had a duty. Headscratcher was the first to look up. He glanced at Badarrow and held his hand up.

How far? The other Goblin shrugged. He raised two fingers and shook them. Really far. Headscratcher nodded. He looked at Shorthilt, pointed at the sword.

How many weapons did they have? Shorthilt sighed. He silently held up two fingers, nodding at the sword on his waist and Badarrow’s bow. Rabbiteater muttered—Headscratcher made a fist and clenched it grimly. Well, that was weapons sorted out. Shorthilt’s sword was still usable and Badarrow had his bow and some arrows. The other three Goblins had fists.

Hundreds of miles, no weapons, and no idea where to go. That was their mission this time. But none of the Goblins mentioned giving up. They didn’t consider it. They looked around, not at each other, but at the missing spots where they sat, the missing faces. Their nicknames rose unbidden into the air.

Bugear.

Justrust.

Orangepoo.

Bitefly.

Leftstep.

Patchhelm.

Rocksoup.

Grunter.

They’d all died on this mission. A pointless mission. But one that mattered. They’d died fighting the undead, fighting the Goblin Lord’s army. Fighting because it was right. To be people. For a young woman’s last words.

For each other. Now the last of their number stood together. Five warriors out of thirteen. Five Hobs. They stood up and faced each other in a circle. They looked at each other. Brothers in battle. Friends. Comrades. The last few. Some of them might die. All of them might die. But they were committed. The five put their hands together.

Headscratcher, hand bloodied, eyes full of tears.

Shorthilt, hand on his sword, eyes sharp.

Rabbiteater, his fist clenched, his teeth gritted.

Numbtongue, murmuring a word, remembering a Human’s song.

Badarrow, scowling, bitterly determined to see it to the end.

They gripped each other tightly, hands clustered in the center of the circle. For a moment. And then it was done. The Redfang Warriors stepped back.

They were resolved. They would find a way back to their tribe. They would become stronger, strong enough to save the others, to oppose the Goblin Lord, to return to their chieftain, Rags. They would do it.

Or they would die. The Redfang Goblins nodded to each other and they lay down to sleep, relieved, at peace at last. There was nothing else to it. That was what it meant to be a warrior of the Redfang Tribe. That was what it meant to be them.

That was what it meant to be a Goblin.

—-

The next day, the Redfang Warriors got up at the break of dawn and began putting together a plan. They grunted at each other as they went through their morning spar, conserving energy, trying to think.

The problem was that none of them were real thinkers. Oh, Badarrow was cunning and Numbtongue could talk, which was impressive, but in their old group it had been Grunter who’d directed them. True, that was pretty much just the other Hob belching and pointing occasionally, but Grunter had been an older Hob. Hobs were leaders in Goblin tribes, and the older they got, the smarter. You had to be smart to live a while.

They wished Grunter were here. Or Redscar, Garen Redfang’s second-in-command. He was no Hob but he was smart. Or Rags. She was a genius. Bereft of their leadership, the five Redfang Warriors defaulted to what they knew. The first step was to arm themselves. Only two weapons among five was no good. They needed quality weapons. And that meant steal or kill for it.

Only, as Headscratcher pointed out by smacking Badarrow across the back of his head, stealing wasn’t right. Not from Erin. Not from one of two Humans who had ever shown them kindness. The [Archer] Hobgoblin muttered insults as he rubbed the back of his head, but agreed, grudgingly, that it would be wrong. They couldn’t steal from Erin. Besides, she didn’t have enough swords. Lyonette had a sword in her room that she occasionally practiced with, but that was it.

So where could they get weapons? The answer was simple. The magic door.

The Redfang Warriors strode into the inn, trying to look casual. They’d donned their ‘Security’ armbands just in case and they sat at a table as Erin served them breakfast and gushed about last night.

“Wasn’t it great? I’m sorry you guys couldn’t be in the play, but you didn’t say anything and the Players said it would be easy to leave you out. Are you mad? I hope you aren’t—Typhenous and Revi and Falene really wanted to be in the play! I think the writers are going to amend it. Anyone want more bacon? Toast?”

Every hand went up. Erin hurried into the kitchen and the Goblins immediately looked at the magic door. That was the ticket. They were realistic about their chances of sneaking into Liscor day or night—Drake cities were well-guarded and the Goblins would have to swim through the water to get there, already risky since they didn’t know what lived in the waters. But Celum and Pallass? They had a doorway into both cities!

However, getting weapons would still be a trick and a half. It wasn’t as if [Blacksmiths] and [Merchants] left out good swords for anyone to take! It was a hazy plan, but the first step was seeing if they could actually get away with it.

Rabbiteater slid over to the magic doorway while Erin was busy in the kitchen. This early in the morning only Lyonette and Mrsha were up and she was feeding the Gnoll breakfast and trying to get Mrsha to eat with her utensils. The Redfang Warriors casually looked away as Rabbiteater picked up the yellow stone in the bowl by the door.

He’d watched Erin use it enough times to know exactly how it was done. He placed the stone on the door and cracked it open a hair. Pallass’ bright sunlight illuminated his face just for an instant. Rabbiteater paused. If they went through they’d go at night, when—

Death.

It was an immediate reaction, a sense in Rabbiteater’s head that made him freeze instantly. The Hob leaned back from the doorway and shook his head at the others. They froze and Numbtongue got up. He hurried into the kitchen to stall Erin.

“Oh, Numbtongue, you want something?”

“Beets.”

“Beets? Well, I’ve got some—wait, what do you mean, ‘beets’? Beets as in breakfast food? Is there a breakfast that has beets in it?”

The other Hobs listened as Numbtongue desperately distracted Erin. Lyonette looked over, but Rabbiteater had sunk down and she missed him. He listened, his ear to the door. His [Dangersense] had warned him—now he used his senses to confirm what he knew to be true.

The door was open just a crack, but that was enough to let the sounds of Pallass filter into the inn. Headscratcher could hear people walking about, talking, and more distance noises. He filtered that out and listened, his ears twitching. And then he heard it.

Breathing. Perhaps only Rabbiteater would have heard it. The Hob had learned to hunt rabbits in the grass, become the stealthiest of the group by honing his skills in order to feed himself. He raised a hand, pointed a finger left. There was someone watching the door in Pallass to the left.

Badarrow got up slowly and came over to listen. Erin was clanging around in the kitchen.

“What goes well with beets? Potatoes? Eggs? I never knew Goblins liked beets!”

Her voice surprised the listener on the other side. Badarrow and Headscratcher listened to the breathing pause for a second and then go on normally. Perhaps the guard thought the door had opened by accident? Rabbiteater raised two fingers. There was more than one watcher. The two Hobs listened. Breathing. Breathing and then a cough. Sloppy. Badarrow rolled his eyes and mimed putting an arrow through the doorway. Rabbiteater held up a hand. He waited. Then he peeked the door open a tiny bit more.

The Goblin had only a sliver of light to look through, but he pressed his eye to the door for five minutes, until Erin came out of the kitchen with a pan full of fried beets, potatoes, and eggs all made into a hash. By that time the Goblins were sitting down and they happily ate the food while Rabbiteater held up four fingers when no one was watching. Shorthilt shook his head.

Four watchers, then. Probably with a vantage point on the door, ready to summon others. The Redfang Goblins could rush the door, but they’d never get anywhere in the Walled City. They’d be dead within minutes. No good to steal things there. And they didn’t want to cause trouble for the Human.

If that was no good, they had to try the other city. This time they waited until Lyonette was in the kitchen with their dishes and Erin was complimenting Mrsha on the Gnoll’s dutiful watering of the flowers. The Goblins changed tables and Headscratcher opened the door to Celum. They listened and heard someone muttering.

“—hah, show those bastards what’s what! They want to play rough? I’ll buy up all their supply and sell my potions through Liscor! I’ve got two markets to work through—they’ll burn through their coin while I turn a profit! Just gotta get Erin to give me another idea. How in the name of good stitching did she and Ryoka know about matches, anyways?”

Octavia’s voice was tiny through the crack in the door. The Goblins listened, nodded, and Headscratcher closed the door right as Erin turned around. They conferred as she blinked at them.

“Did you switch tables?”

Badarrow nodded. Erin stared at him.

“Okay then.”

She turned away. The Hobgoblins conferred. Octavia’s shop was definitely less guarded than Pallass. They could definitely steal some potions from the [Alchemist]. The question was—could they get away with anything else? They’d have to do some nighttime reconnaissance. Assuming the Human [Guardsmen] weren’t too alert, the Redfang Warriors could locate a blacksmith, scope it out, and break into it.

Then there was securing an escape route. Maybe they could leap over the walls and try not to break anything? Or they could try the gates. They’d have to move fast. None of the Goblins was confident they could break into a shop and get away without being spotted and they couldn’t bring trouble back to the inn.

They’d have to steal food before they went. And build some rucksacks. But it was a plan. A bad one, granted. Badarrow kept wrinkling his nose in distaste. They’d have decent weapons if all went well, food, and potions. That would help, but so what? They’d still be woefully outmatched by any Gold-rank team and maybe some Silver-rank ones.

The Redfang Warriors had had a lot of time to observe all the teams that had gone into the inn, and they’d concluded that while they could take some of the adventurers if they got the jump on them, they might not win even if they took the others by surprise. Moore and Jelaqua, for instance. No matter how many times Shorthilt, their fighting expert, went through scenarios, they always ended up dead before they could take out the Halfseekers. No wonder they were Garen Redfang’s old team.

And there would be many groups equivalent to a Gold-rank team between them and their tribe. Still, that was their only plan. The Goblins sighed and then jumped as one when Erin addressed them.

“Hey. Do you have a moment?”

She stared at the Redfang Warrior’s startled faces.

“It’s cool if you don’t have time. If you uh, want to sit around that’s fine. But I thought you might be bored. So…wanna see what’s outside?”

They stared at each other. Erin had never asked them to do more than lift heavy things or help defend the inn. They’d agonized over whether eating her food and guarding her from non-existent threats was really repaying her kindness. Without a word all five Goblins stood up. Erin smiled.

“Cool.”

—-

It was still raining outside, but mildly compared to before. Erin stared around at the water. It was twenty feet down from the top of her hill where her inn stood. According to Selys, the water would drain rather than rise farther—there was apparently a finite amount of height the waters would rise. But it had well and truly engulfed the Floodplains now. And part of Liscor.

“Oh my gosh, look at that. Liscor’s half underwater!”

Erin pointed at Liscor in the distance and the Hobs muttered. Liscor didn’t sit on a hill as high as her inn, and so the waters had risen around the city, reaching halfway up the walls! Only the faultless stone kept the waters from rushing into the city, as well as the sealed doors. Erin finally understood why Liscor had solid slabs of stone rather than an easier-to-use portcullis—it was to keep the water out during the rainy season!

“But how do they get out of the city, do you think? They can’t stay inside forever. Right? I mean, they’d want to leave. So how…?”

Headscratcher grunted and pointed. Erin looked in the direction of his finger and blinked.

“Oh. That makes sense.”

Drakes and Gnolls were descending Liscor via rope ladders and a wooden ramp! They’d made a floating dock and were literally walking off the battlements down into the water, where a small fleet of boats had already been built. Erin saw several Drakes pushing the boats through the water with spears and nets in hand.

“Are they fishing? Gotta be. There must be monsters in the water. Relc said they were coming.”

“You hear that Mrsha? That means no playing by the water, understand?”

Lyonette had joined the group outside. She raised Mrsha to peer out into the water. The Gnoll wriggled and tried to get free, but Lyonette held her, despite the rain soaking both of them. Erin frowned at the skies.

“Yuck! Does it ever stop raining during the spring? Hey Lyonette, at least we don’t have to get water from the stream, huh?”

“That’s one good thing. But I’d be careful about getting near to the water’s edge, Erin. Remember those flat fish? If they’re in the waters…”

“Ooh. Yeah. Not good.”

Erin shuddered and then saw something move in the water in front of her. She frowned.

“What the heck?”

Something tiny poked its head out of the water. Erin stared. The Goblins stared. Numbtongue pointed.

“Fish.”

It was indeed a small fish! It looked like, well, it looked like a porcupine had merged with a mackerel. The little fish had spines sticking out of its body as it looked up at Erin and the other land dwellers.

“Careful. Don’t get too close! It could be poisonous!”

Erin cautioned the others as she slowly reached for her frying pan. All five Goblins stared at the tiny fish. The spiky little thing gave them all the fish-eye, which looked remarkably like a stink eye. It did not look happy.

“I’m gonna see if I can catch it. I bought this net from Krshia. Why don’t I go inside—Lyonette, take Mrsha inside. I’ll sneak up on it and—”

Erin turned her back. The fish stared at her, and then two of the quills on its back rose threateningly. The Redfang Goblins reacted instantly. They dove out of the way and immediately took cover. Too late, they realized they weren’t the target. The tiny fish shot two of the spines on its body. Straight at Erin.

“Ow!”

The young woman shouted in pain as two spines stuck out of her back through her clothes. Lyonette shouted and Mrsha barked in alarm. The Redfang Goblins cursed and before Erin could move Headscratcher and Rabbiteater grabbed her and charged back into the inn with her carried between them. She heard Lyonette and Mrsha yelp and then all of them were back in doors. Badarrow slammed the door shut as two more quills bounced off the side of the inn.

“What was that?”

Erin twisted, feeling a stinging pain in her back. She grabbed for the quills, but Numbtongue caught her hand.

“No. Dangerous.”

“Dangerous?”

Erin stared at him until she realized what he meant. Her eyes widened.

“Oh my god! Is it poison? Acid?”

Mrsha began to howl. The Goblins put Erin belly-first on the table as Lyonette ran to Celum’s door.

“Octavia, get in here quick! Erin’s hurt!”

“What?”

They heard a crash and swearing as Octavia rushed through the door. She halted when she saw Erin’s back.

“What’s that?”

“I don’t know! This little fish shot me! I didn’t know that fish could shoot things? Do I need a healing potion or an antidote?”

Erin waved at Octavia. The [Alchemist], who’d been pale-faced with worry, paused.

“A fish.”

“Yeah! A small one, the size of my hand!”

The Stitch-Girl passed a hand across her face.

“Stitches, don’t do that to me, Erin! You mean you got hit by a small fish outdoors, right? In Liscor? Those are Quillfish. They shoot little needles at you if you get near them. They can kill other fish underwater. They’re not poisonous. They’re barely a danger to other fish their size!”

Erin paused. Lyonette stopped wringing her hands. Mrsha stopped howling. The Redfang Goblins stared at the [Alchemist].

“Oh. So they’re not dangerous?”

“Only if you get a quill in your eye. Can I go?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

The [Alchemist] sighed and walked back into her shop, grumbling about idiots who didn’t know a Quillfish from a poisonous Roxian Bloater. Erin sheepishly looked around.

“Well…now we know. Be careful going out, guys! There’s more than Quillfish in the water, and if there’s a lesson to be learned it’s that nowhere is safe! Even on land! I—ow!”

She broke off as Mrsha pulled both quills out of her back. The Redfang Goblins exchanged a look.

Okay, so maybe leaving Erin alone was dangerous after all. She’d been smart enough to avoid the water, but she didn’t have the instincts of a Goblin, or the reflexes. The Redfang Warriors peered into the waters, wondering what other creatures had swum into the lake basin. They could see other fish darting around, probably feasting on the Face-Eater Moth’s corpses, but nothing bigger.

Yet. Didn’t the giant Rock Crabs live in this area? The Redfang Warriors had seen them scuttling about. Were they underwater, waiting to attack anything that swam past them? Now that would be dangerous. The Redfang Warriors engaged in a healthy debate, trying to cover up their embarrassment about running scared from a harmless fish with spikes.

It was Rabbiteater who saw the tiny blip of movement that indicated the Quillfish’s return. The Hob peered into the water and saw the spiked head staring at him. It seemed the tiny fish objected to any presence on the hilltop. He stared at it. The fish stared back. It raised its spines and Rabbiteater charged.

He dove into the water. The Quillfish was lining up a shot and realized the Hob was going after it too late—it tried to dive just as Rabbiteater’s hand closed over it. The Hob cursed and Erin threw open her doors to see what was happening. She saw Rabbiteater struggle out of the water and then come up the hill towards her. He was holding the Quillfish, which flopped and gasped as it shot its quills into his palm.

The Hob shyly offered Erin the dead fish. She stared in horror at the spines sticking out of his palm.

“Lyonette, get me a healing potion!”

—-

Twenty minutes later, Erin had discovered that Quillfish were in fact, edible, and made for a nice snack once you removed the spines. She still scolded Rabbiteater for getting hurt—he’d actually tried to refuse the healing potion! He was definitely playing up the tough guy act, just like the other Redfang Warriors.

But they were helpful in discovering what else lay in the waters around her inn. They peered into the waters, pointing and keeping a respectful distance with Erin. Mrsha was allowed to watch, but from further back.

It turned out that Goblins had a practical approach to wildlife. They asked a few simple questions about everything they met. Can it kill me? Can I kill it? Is it edible? And sometimes, how much effort is it worth dealing with this thing? And they refused to take risks. Which was good, because it turned out that Liscor’s waters had more than just a few Quillfish in its stock of predators.

Erin stared as a large, black shape circled the water beneath a school of tiny silvery fish. Its shape twisted and she jumped as she saw a tentacle shoot out of the water and nap a fleeing morsel.

“That’s an octopus fish. Literally an octopus’ tentacles on a fish. It’s huge!”

The fish was probably fourteen feet long and it gave Erin a very, very dangerous vibe. She kept a distance as Badarrow trained an arrow on it and Shorthilt muttered and held his sword. The fish circled the hill and then tried to climb it.

“Holy crap, it has legs! Run!”

Erin screamed as the fish propelled itself onto the grass with eleven black tendrils, each as thick as her leg. She rushed Mrsha inside and the Redfang Goblins howled and charged the fish. To Erin’s horror, only Shorthilt had a sword. She waved at them as the fish began grappling with the cursing Goblins.

“What are you doing? Get your swords! Where are your swords?”

Badarrow cursed as he shot the fish in the side. It didn’t make a sound, but from the way it jerked it didn’t like his arrows, or when Shorthilt stabbed deep into its side. The tentacles grabbed Headscratcher as he kicked the fish in its face and lifted him up. The Hob got a good look at a mouth full of teeth as the other Hobs tried to pull him back. Shorthilt cursed and kept cutting and Badarrow reached for another arrow. Erin was rushing outside with frying pan and knives when she heard a voice from overhead.

“[Piercing Shot].”

An arrow shot down from the rooftop. It went straight through the black fish’s head and lodged somewhere in the middle of its body. The fish jerked and then died as Shorthilt followed the arrow up with a stab right through its brain. Its tentacles drooped and Headscratcher fought his way clear of them, cursing, his skin torn by the suckers on the tentacle. Erin looked up.

“Bird?”

The Antinium was sitting on the second floor of her inn. He waved at her cheerfully.

“I got a new Skill. Hello, Miss Erin. Hello, Security Hobs.”

Everyone looked up. Bird had somehow managed to clamber up through the destroyed third floor and found his way onto the roof. There he sat as the rain fell around him, humming and watching the skies, oblivious to the waters surrounding him. It took Erin a few minutes to find her voice.

“Good shot, Bird!”

“Thank you. I just got up here and saw the fish. It is a strange fish. It has long grabby things.”

“Those are tentacles, Bird.”

“They are not as good as wings. Will more fish attack the inn? I will shoot them with my new Skill. It takes a while before I can use it again, but it is a good one.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes! It even works with my old bow.”

Bird waved his bow and Erin saw he was indeed using his old bow, the crude handmade one.

“What happened to your new bow, Bird? Oh—”

Her eyes widened as she recalled. Bird hunched his shoulders and rocked back and forth on the roof.

“It was broken. The moths broke my bow. I am sorry, Miss Erin. I broke the lovely bow you gave me. It was such a nice bow.”

“Oh, Bird—it wasn’t your fault.”

“Really?”

He perked up. Erin nodded. The Redfang Goblins were busy kicking the dead blackfish and sniffing it, probably for edibility. Erin debated climbing up to hug Bird, but decided she’d just slip off the roof and break her neck. She called up at the Worker.

“You need a new bow, Bird! And a new tower! The Antinium should be sending a group to repair the inn today!”

“That is good! Will I get a new bow, too?”

Bird looked hopeful. Erin hesitated and kicked at a tuft of grass.

“Um…maybe. I’m so sorry your old one got broken. I’d like to buy you a new one, but they’re expensive and I don’t think Krshia will give me another discount.”

“Oh. That is okay. One bow was enough for a lifetime.”

Bird’s casual words made Erin’s heart hurt. She peered up at him and raised her voice.

“Tell you what, if the Players of Celum pull in enough coin I’ll buy you a new one as soon as I can and take the rest out of your paycheck, okay?”

The Antinium paused.

“I get paid?”

Erin gaped at him.

“Bird! What did you do with all the coins I gave you last week?”

“I…used them as bird bait.”

“What?”

Bird nodded enthusiastically, his mandibles opening and closing in a smile.

“They are shiny. If I put them out, birds fly down to grab them.”

He paused as Erin covered her face.

“That isn’t what they’re for? Oh. Buying things. I got in trouble for losing coins when I was a Worker in the Hive, too. I was punished. Will you punish me?”

“No, Bird. Just don’t let birds swallow—you know what? I’ll just save up money for your bow, okay?”

“That is good.”

Erin nodded. Then she turned and shouted at the Redfang Goblins, who jumped.

“And you! I forgot to give you your pay!”

They stared at her. Headscratcher raised a finger and pointed at his chest. Erin grinned.

“Come on inside!”

—-

The Redfang Goblins had never had coin to their name. Oh, they’d taken coin off of dead adventurers and so on, but only to give to Garen Redfang. Goblins had no real use for coin, but Garen would sometimes sneak into rural Human towns and trade for things. It was a risk, even for their Chieftain and so the Goblins had treated coins as toys, good for nothing but ammunition in a sling, or distracting adventurers.

But there was something about the silver and one gold coin that Erin pressed into their hands that was special. The coins felt warm, unlike the bloody metal they’d fished out of dead corpses’ pockets. The Goblins stared at the coins and Erin smiled at them.

“I wanted to give it to you a few days ago, but then the moths tried to kill us. Sorry it isn’t much, but you get this much plus the same amount tomorrow! I pay everyone on the weekend, see.”

Erin paused. The Redfang Warriors stared at her, and then at the coins in their palms. She smiled sadly.

“I had another employee once. I never paid him. I’m not making the same mistake this time.”

The Goblins stared at her. Headscratcher brushed at his eyes. The others just looked…Numbtongue hesitated and opened his mouth. The taciturn Goblins hesitated, and then spoke.

“We have never—”

The door slammed open. All five Goblins dove beneath a table, coins scattering. They had weapons in hand—chairs and Shorthilt’s sword as they rose. Erin whirled. It wasn’t the door to her inn. It was the door to Liscor. The Silver Swords stood in the doorway, faces grim. Griffon Hunt was behind them, and sandwiched between the two Gold-rank teams was Vuliel Drae. Erin stared as Falene stepped into the inn. She eyed the Goblins and the coins scattered across the floor, and then looked around.

“Apologies, Miss Erin. Are the Halfseekers present?”

“Them? Oh—they’re still asleep, I think. So are the Horns of Hammerad. They had a late night and—what’s wrong?”

Falene’s lips tightened.

“We have a situation. Rouse the Halfseekers, please. We need them present to hear this. The Horns of Hammerad too, I suppose.”

She gestured, and the other teams walked through from Liscor. The Silver Swords took a position near the doors, and Griffon Hunt a table. The five members of Vuliel Drae sat at a table across from them. Their faces were pale. Erin saw Insill, the Drake, shaking. None of the adventurers talked.

She hesitated, and then ran up the stairs.

—-

The Redfang Warriors had no idea what was happening. Neither did Erin, but she knew a bit more and explained it to them as the Halfseekers came down the stairs with the Horns of Hammerad, looking confused and sleepy.

“Okay, you see that team there? The five of them? They’re a Silver-rank team. Vuliel…Drae. Or something. They’re sort of big shots in Liscor. They’re not as good as a Gold-rank team, or the Horns of Hammerad, but they’re famous, you know?”

She looked at the Hobs. Rabbiteater gave her a bewildered shake of the head for the others.

“You don’t know. Right. Well, Vuliel Drae they went into the dungeon and uh, got this fancy mace thing. They’re the only team who’s come out with treasure, and it was a powerful magical artifact.”

The Redfang Goblins stirred. Jelaqua was talking quietly with Ylawes and Halrac and glancing at Vuliel Drae as Ceria hovered next to her. Numbtongue exchanged a sharp glance with the others and spoke carefully to Erin.

“Magic artifact? They found?”

“What? Yeah, in the dungeon. I heard it was Gold-rank gear. But why are they here? Could it be because of last night? No—that look. Could it be…?”

The silence in the inn was clearly getting to Vuliel Drae. Each one of the group was looking around nervously, even Anith, their leader. The other adventurers watched them silently, except for the Horns of Hammerad. Pisces was staring at Ylawes’ lips moving while Yvlon and Ksmvr just waited for Ceria to tell them what was happening. As it happened, Insill’s nerve broke first.

“It’s all my fault! I shouldn’t have suggested we go down that corridor!”

“Insill—”

The other members of his team groaned as everyone looked at the Drake [Rogue]. Anith shook his head.

“Wait until we have a chance to speak—”

“Screw that!”

Dasha slammed her fist on the table angrily.

“We didn’t know what would happen, alright? If we had known—”

“But we should have said something earlier.”

That came from Pekona. Her head was bowed. The other adventurers just watched her. Dawil had his arms folded and a look of anger on his face that Erin had never seen before. Halrac’s gaze was flat and emotionless, but Erin could sense anger coming off him. Jelaqua cursed and stomped over to Seborn and Moore, who bent their heads to whisper to her.

“Look, would someone just say what’s happening? The Silver Swords seem to know, but none of us do!”

Revi burst out angrily as she glared around the room. Ylawes and Halrac looked up from their discussion. It was the [Knight] who nodded and stepped forwards.

“Apologies, Miss Revi. We were discussing it, but we think it’s better that everyone know. Briefly, let me explain. I was approached last night by Insill after the play…he came to me secretly about a crime his team had committed.”

Dasha growled and Larr sat up. The Gnoll glared at the Drake who shrunk in his seat.

“You spineless worm. We said we’d agree to talk about it!”

“I thought he—I couldn’t keep it to myself—”

Insill fell silent as Ylawes held up a hand. The [Knight] took a deep breath and went on.

“He didn’t want to give me details, but this morning he returned. With his party leader, Anith.”

Every eye turned to the Jackal who nodded quietly. Ylawes sighed.

“They told me of a—a misdeed, a mistake their team had committed. I immediately shared what I had learned with my team and we decided this had to be addressed. At once. I called the other teams here to listen to this—”

He broke off, shaking his head. Falene’s eyes were fixed on Vuliel Drae. Dawil growled. Halrac, Ceria, and Jelaqua all stood silently, their eyes shadowed. The other adventurers looked confused and worried. Pisces just closed his eyes.

“Well, out with it then. What did they do?”

Revi looked suspiciously around at the silent adventurers. No one wanted to say it. At last, Insill spoke.

“It was—you know the Face-Eater Moths? How they attacked Liscor? Well, we didn’t know.”

He shut up, as if too afraid to go on. Yvlon raised one eyebrow.

“You didn’t know? You mean, you weren’t here for the battle? But you claimed you were.”

“No, it’s not that.”

Anith’s voice was shaky. The others looked at him, and he fell silent, afraid to go on. Erin felt her pulse racing, although she wasn’t on trial.

“What then?”

Typhenous frowned over his staff. Moore and Seborn joined the circle standing around the team of Vuliel Drae. Behind them the Goblins were whispering, pointing out one of the windows towards a spot covered by water. The dungeon.

“It was—look, we had no idea—we were just in the dungeon, and we found a—a corridor, okay? It was filled with eggs and we thought they were d-dangerous, so we—”

Insill gulped, his voice wobbling too hard to go on. The other adventurers stared at him blankly. Erin gasped. All eyes turned towards her.

“Oh no. I get it.”

“What?”

Revi was uncomprehending, whether because she didn’t want to understand or because the fractured sentences didn’t make sense. Erin stared at Vuliel Drae, but none of them could raise their heads. She spoke slowly.

“They were in the dungeon the day the Face-Eater Moths attacked. They were exploring and they found a bunch of eggs. And they—smashed them. Right?”

All eyes turned back towards the group. Dasha’s voice was quiet.

“How were we supposed to know it’d piss all them off? It was that masked woman who did it first. And we thought—”

Yvlon raised her head and uttered the longest, foulest expletive Erin had ever heard from the woman ever. The other adventurers just stared. Seborn leaned forwards.

“You mean to tell us that you set off the attack on Liscor? By destroying the Face-Eater Moths’ eggs?”

It was Pekona who replied. She tried to keep her voice level as she met Seborn’s eyes.

“We hid in a tunnel with the masked adventurer. They kept coming but we had this stone wall we could slide under. We were there for a day and a half, just killing the small ones that came through. We had no idea they came out of the dungeon. We didn’t know—”

Her voice broke.

“We had no idea.”

Dead silence filled the inn. The adventurers stared. Erin’s heart thumped loudly in her chest, the only noise in the world. They’d done it. They’d caused the attack.

Revi looked around. Her face was calm. It was probably the only one that was. Dawil was glowering, Falene’ eyes were flashing. Ceria, Typhenous, Yvlon, Moore—all looked furious. Halrac’s glare spoke volumes. Jelaqua couldn’t look in the direction of Vuliel Drae. Ksmvr was just waiting. Ylawes’s head was bowed, Seborn and Pisces silent. Revi nodded.

“Okay. Thanks for telling us.”

Everyone looked at her. The Stitch-Woman gave Vuliel Drae a smile. Her hand strayed towards her belt. Halrac’s head shot up and Typhenous started. They moved as Revi leapt.

“I’ll kill you, you fucking—”

The Stitch-Woman’s wand sizzled with magic. She would have leapt on Insill, but her team caught her before she could complete her attack. Typhenous dragged her backwards with Halrac as Revi’s wand shot a missile past Insill’s ear. The Drake shouted in terror and knocked back his seat. The other members of Vuliel Drae shot up.

“Let go of me!”

Revi was screaming. Vuliel Drae clustered together. Dasha stared towards the door to Liscor and Falene raised her staff.

“No one else move.”

“I should kick your heads in myself!”

Dawil shouted. Ylawes blocked him.

“Calm yourself, Dawil.”

“Bugger calm! You heard them—”

Across the inn, Ceria was breathing hard. She looked at her team.

“Pisces, Ksmvr, hold me back. Yvlon—”

“Don’t ask me to do anything.”

The woman’s voice was strangled with emotion. Ksmvr obediently grabbed Ceria’s arms. Pisces shook his head.

“No thanks. Put an [Ice Spike] spell through their heads if you’re going to do it, Springwalker.”

“I’m about to. Hold me back.”

Ceria’s eyes flashed as her hand frosted over with magic. Pekona gave her an alarmed look. Erin wondered if she should block Ceria—she was more concerned about the Halfseekers, who hadn’t so much as twitched. The way they were staring—

Pisces just walked forwards and faced Ceria. The [Necromancer] was calm as ice.

“They made a terrible mistake. If you can’t forgive it, kill them now. But I would tell you not to.”

“They got hundreds of people killed!”

Ceria’s voice was murderous. Pisces nodded.

“Yes. And as I recall, you eventually forgave one fool who unleashed wrath upon the innocent.”

She hesitated. The fury went out in her eyes.

“That’s not—”

“Silence!”

Typhenous had had enough of Revi’s curses. He let go and pointed his staff at her. Webbing shot from the tip and engulfed Revi. She struggled and cursed, and then went still as the thick spider webs bound her tightly. Typhenous looked around, angry, his face red.

“We aren’t savages. If anyone else wants to take a swing at this group, do it now while I still feel like casting webs and not something stronger.”

He glared around. To Erin’s surprise it was Pisces who raised his voice in dissent.

“I beg to differ, Typhenous. If this will end in bloodshed, it would be preferable to end it now, rather than later. Is anyone for that motion?”

He looked at Revi, Ceria, and Halrac in turn. Dawil stared uneasily at the [Necromancer].

“Are you serious?”

Pisces nodded, but Jelaqua shook her head. The Selphid’s voice was cold as she looked at Pisces.

“If we were going to do it, it’d be before you asked, Pisces. If Revi had gotten them it would be trouble. If we do it now, it’s murder. Which is a pity, but the Halfseekers don’t kill idiots. We’re unpopular enough as it is. Shame Griffon Hunt doesn’t either.”

The Selphid folded her arms. The implication of what she’d said took Erin’s breath away. But Moore and Seborn didn’t say a word against her. Ylawes stepped forwards.

“No one is killing anyone. This is a meeting to discuss what should be done in light of the truth. Nothing more.”

He looked at both Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers as he said it. Both teams nodded. Reluctantly. Ylawes looked around the rest of the room and sighed. His gaze passed over the Redfang Goblins, who were quietly listening from a corner of the room, past Lyonette who was trying to get Mrsha to come upstairs, past Erin, observing it all quietly. He looked from face to face of each adventurer. This was their scene. Ylawes nodded.

“Let’s sort this out.”

—-

Vuliel Drae’s account of the dungeon took over an hour to run through. It covered everything from their decision to leave the ropes at the dungeon’s entrance to their encounters with the mysterious masked swordswoman to their run through the dungeon before everything went south. They told the story in parts, voices faltering, while the adventurers listened.

Mainly in silence. Sometimes questions were asked. Those who couldn’t keep their emotions in check left the room or were thrown out. That number included Revi, Dawil, Yvlon, Ceria, Jelaqua, Typhenous, and, to everyone’s surprise, Seborn. The adventurers went outside to cool off—or shoot spells into the water and shout while the trial went on.

Because that was what this was. A trial. Erin listened with her hands shaking, trying not to let her emotions get control of her. She couldn’t believe it. It was so wrong. Not only had Vuliel Drae done what the other older adventurers described as incredibly stupid, but they hadn’t told anyone! They hadn’t told anyone after Liscor had—

She understood. She did. Every child knew the feeling of getting in trouble and not wanting to be found out, and this was that feeling times ten thousand. But still. It was wrong.

There were more than just accounts of the mistake in the dungeon, too. Vuliel Drae had been successful in their own way. They’d been led by the mysterious masked woman—someone the Silver Swords, Griffon Hunt, and the Halfseekers all wanted to meet—through a good section of the dungeon, avoiding traps and monsters. Halrac was working on a map of the dungeon based on their account. Erin thought he was doing that so he didn’t punch the Silver-rank adventurers. But the gem of their discussion came when they recounted a corridor they’d passed.

“It had a treasure room at the end. A real one. I’d only heard of them before, but we saw a pedestal and artifacts lying on it!”

Dasha’s eyes were wide as she gestured. The other adventurers leaned forwards. Falene looked down her nose at the team as if she were staring at something small and disgusting.

“Why didn’t you attempt to take it?”

Vuliel Drae looked at each other. Insill spoke nervously.

“The masked woman. She stopped us. We wanted to try—Larr was halfway into the room, but she kept pulling us back and shaking her head. It was real, I think. But trapped. We were going to go back to it, or see if we could ask for help when…”

“Treasure. Dead gods, and the rift entrance is a hundred feet underwater.”

Jelaqua closed her eyes tightly. Anith cleared his throat.

“And there’s more.”

“What, besides enough moths to take out a city’s worth of people?”

Revi’s sarcastic tone earned her a look from Halrac. She stomped outside. Anith nodded.

“There’s something down there. Those Gnoll-things—”

“Raskghar. What about them?”

The other adventurers leaned in. Vuliel Drae gulped as one. Pekona spoke up.

“They’re organized. There are other monsters down there, but those things—they knew we were down there the instant we arrived and we fought then twice! The masked woman helped us evade them, but there are far, far too many.”

Insill nodded rapidly.

“After the moths left they were hunting us! Our friend lured a group away and we barely got out but—there are kill teams patrolling the dungeon. They fight any monsters they come across—the ones they can see, anyways. Sometimes they pass by a group of monsters and don’t see them. And they hunt adventurers. That’s how all the other teams went missing, I think. Most of them.”

“Huge monsters nests, intelligent dungeon dwellers…this just gets better and better. Sure you don’t want to mention a Dragon or two?”

Dawil growled and spat. Erin glared at him and the Dwarf flushed. Halrac leaned forwards and Vuliel Drae leaned back. He’d spoken three times so far, and each time he’d nearly made the adventurers wet themselves.

“This treasure room. Where is it?”

“We can’t tell you that!”

Dasha looked horrified. The part-Dwarf woman looked around.

“It’s our secret! I mean, we made a mistake, but fair’s fair—”

She shut up as Jelaqua leaned over the table. The Selphid was glaring and her being angry was as scary as Halrac.

“I think you’ve forfeited the right to whatever secrets you’ve found. We’ll cut you a deal—you tell us everything and we’ll try to stop Liscor’s citizens from lynching you.”

“Wait, you’re not planning on telling them? You can’t! We live here! They’ll tear us apart!”

Larr and Insill paled dead white. Jelaqua grimly shook her head.

“Oh, they have to know. You think we’re keeping this secret? The first time I get questioned under truth spell I’ll have to talk about this. And the Adventurer’s Guild tests Gold-rank adventurers regularly for corruption.”

“But they’ll kill us!”

Ylawes raised his head. It had been bowed for the last twenty minutes. Now the [Knight] looked grim as he stepped next to Jelaqua.

“If we talk to the Guildmistress of Liscor—and Watch Captain Zevara—we might be able to keep it secret. Make no mistake, you will pay for your mistakes. But it won’t be public knowledge. That’s what we can offer you. If you tell us what you know.”

Faced with that, there was really no choice. Vuliel Drae hesitated, but then Anith spoke.

“It’s off the corridor with the blade trap. Secret door. It’s an illusion you can walk right through.”

The other adventurers paused and looked at Halrac. He made a note.

“Got it.”

There was a sigh. The adventurers exchanged glances. Who would claim that treasure? Would it be a race? Troubled, Ylawes shook his head.

“Let’s settle this later. Now, I think it’s time to discuss what will happen next.”

Erin leaned back in her chair, exhausted. Vuliel Drae had to be just as tired, but they tensed as the team leaders conferred. Erin looked towards her kitchen and realized it was already past lunchtime. She should make people food! Not that anyone looked hungry. She looked around to do a headcount and frowned. Erin’s head swiveled the room. Once. Twice. Then she stood up. She went upstairs. Then she opened the trapdoor to her basement. Then she looked outside.

“Miss something?”

Ceria looked up, exhaustedly, staring blankly in the rain. She’d shot two Quillfish with her [Ice Spike] spell and they were floating belly-up in the water. Erin nodded.

“Have you seen the Redfang Goblins?”

“Them? I saw them take off around the inn a second ago. They were…”

Ceria frowned as she got up to point. She stared at the empty Floodplains behind the inn. Erin stared around. She got a bad feeling in her stomach.

“Where’d they go?”

—-

This was where they went. The Redfang Goblins swam towards the dungeon entrance, keeping from hill to hill where they could. Fish swam around them; the Goblins kept a wary eye in the water, but they were taking a risk so they moved fast and trusted to luck. They reached the spot near where the rift in the dungeon was located and paused on a hilltop. The Wandering Inn was almost out of sight. The Redfang Warriors looked at each other.

Five of them. Shorthilt had a sword. Badarrow his bow, wrapped to avoid getting wet. The Goblins had nothing else. But they did know where the treasure was.

Treasure. A Gold-rank treasure had come out of a dungeon. A weapon. The Goblins stared at each other. It had been a wild thought. But it made sense the way nothing else did.

They were worthless, the five of them. They were Hobs, but that wasn’t enough. They couldn’t sway a battle themselves; they were just warriors when all was said and done. Five Hobs was a force to be reckoned with, but it was a small reckoning.

But what about five Gold-rank adventurers? What about five warriors armed with magical artifacts? What about five Hobs. Five warriors who’d trained under Garen Redfang himself? He’d been a Gold-rank adventurer, once. Five Garen Redfangs, or five Hobs half as good as Garen Redfang…now that might do it.

The Goblins stared down into the turgid waters below. They were black as a cloud passed overhead, and dark shapes swam through the water. And the dungeon was filled with darker things yet. Monsters. The moths were the least of the dangers in there. And the Goblins had two weapons. No plan.

They could all die down there. They could waste their lives. The Redfang Warriors stared into the abyssal depths. It was Numbtongue who spoke.

“Death below. Or useless death above. Shame-worse-than-death.”

They nodded. There was no choice, really. They grabbed the one thing they’d prepared. Rocks. The Goblins stepped into the water, swam towards the center of the rift, and then stopped swimming. They dropped through the water sinking as things drew around them, wondering if they were food.

Fat, dead moth corpses floated around them, half-eaten, disintegrating. Thousands of shapes nibbled at them. Larger things scooped up the bloated bodies. The Redfang Goblins stayed very still. The rift was a gaping black maw below.

Downwards, downwards. They held their breath for a minute. Then two. They were in the rift now, still dropping. They knew the waters would give way to air. They hoped.

They might not make the trip back up. But they had to try. For Goblins. For their tribe. For each other. The Redfang Warriors strained not to breathe.

Downwards.

The dungeon waited below, filled with darkness and dangers. The Goblins sank, their breath dwindling, blackness closing in. Above, something swam and dozens of glowing eyes opened to stare down at them. The rift’s walls drew in closer and the dungeon’s depths swallowed the Goblins.

It was a place of nightmares. A place where only the bravest went in search of adventure and treasure. It was a place of death, a place of monsters. The dark, unexplored heart of the world. It was meant for heroes, meant to kill them and torture the living.

But the Redfang Warriors were no adventurers. They were Goblins. They were monsters. And so they fell. Into the dungeon. And they felt it. They had never been here before, never walked this place before. But death they knew. Danger they knew. At last, they left the inn behind. This was where they belonged.

They were home.

5.15

His name was Tyrion Veltras. And to some he was a legend. To some he embodied the pride of Izril. He was a hero in that sense; the scion to the Veltras family, a military expert who commanded one of the most powerful private armies on the continent.

He had defended Izril from every threat that had encroached upon its soil for decades, and protected Humans, his subjects, first and foremost. There were those who admired him. Admired, but did not love. Tyrion was a hard man to love, for all his accomplishments.

Others thought of him as the embodiment of all the negative qualities of a [Lord]. They called him the closest thing to a tyrant as Izril had ever seen. A war hawk who was a match for the worst of the Drakes in his unwavering pro-Humanity stance. A man who looked down on diplomacy as a weaker alternative to war, who viewed other nations and continents as adversaries in a global competition for which there could be only one winner.

And yet those who hated him had to admit that he had his own sense of honor. The man was tyrannical, harsh, unrelenting, and merciless, yes. But he did not employ [Assassins] like the leading [Lady] of Izril, Magnolia Reinhart. He kept his word. If he was your enemy he came at you on the battlefield with lance in hand. It was a small comfort to those who had died on the tip of his spear or sword, but it meant that no one watched their backs around Tyrion Veltras. They were too busy watching their fronts.

All of this was meaningless to the man himself, of course. Tyrion Veltras had an opinion about himself and as far as he was concerned, it trumped whatever anyone might whisper about him. He did not waste time with idle self-doubt. He thought of himself as a soldier, a leader, a strategist and general and administrator; a [Lord] in short. He rarely thought of himself as a father.

But as Tyrion Veltras sat in his war camp, listening to the rain patter down on the roof of his tent he spared a thought for his sons. They were young—of course, Sammial was eight and Hethon was…twelve? No, he would be thirteen now. His birthday had been two weeks ago.

“I sent him a dagger. Or was it something else? Ullim took care of it. We spoke on the matter.”

The man restlessly shook his head and stood. His [Majordomo] would handle the matter. His sons were well protected and being raised properly. As properly as they could be, at any rate. He didn’t need to think of them when there were more pressing matters.

But Tyrion’s thoughts did stray back to his sons just once more. It wasn’t guilt that invaded his heart, but something more akin to resignation. A cold fact. He would not see his sons for at least another month or two, possibly many more. This campaign would take a while.

But that was necessary. So Tyrion strode out of his tent, grimacing as warm rain instantly buffeted his clothes. Of course his rings protected him from the rain as they would arrows, but Tyrion disliked rain. It was too nostalgic.

“Lord Veltras!”

The [Soldiers] standing guard around his tent immediately straightened as the [Lord] came out. He nodded to them, and then paused when he saw the other man standing in the rain. He had patiently been awaiting Tyrion—that was clear from the rain that had soaked his bright silvery steel chainmail shirt and clothes beneath. But Yitton Byres was not the sort of man to wait with parasol in hand, or have someone else hold one for him. That he had no rings like Lord Tyrion was simply a matter of finances.

“Lord Yitton.”

“Lord Veltras.”

Yitton Byres, head of the Byres family, lowered his head slightly as his grey-brown hair and careful beard dripped with water. Tyrion, who was clean-shaven, eyed the man and nodded in return. He gestured and the two men began striding through the camp.

“You should have entered my tent. Waiting in the rain hardly befits a [Lord] of the realm.”

“I preferred to wait outside. I’m sure you were occupied in preparing for our strategy meeting.”

“Considerate of you.”

Lord Tyrion’s reply was cold and clipped, although that didn’t reflect his feeling towards Yitton Byres. The two men headed for a larger pavilion across the busy camp. They strode past [Soldiers] who saluted, [Knights] who turned and bowed, hurrying [Servants] and [Porters], [Cooks] and [Handlers], hearing the hustle and bustle of a massive army moving around them in the rain.

This was the largest force Izril had seen gathered all year. Tens of thousands of armed retainers and forces from Human cities had come at Lord Tyrion’s command and more arrived each day, by the hundreds or sometimes thousands. It was a massive host, sustained only by the equally large volume of supplies they’d brought with them. And they had been camped in this place for over half a month now.

Over three dozen [Lords] and [Ladies] and other leading figures of Izril had also come. It was they who Tyrion was headed towards now. As the two men walked, Tyrion considered that it was fortunate that Yitton was part of the strategy meeting they were headed towards.

Of course, Yitton Byres was a [Lord], but he was a lesser one. The Byres family was small and the man had brought over a thousand retainers, but it was almost all his house could spare. He was hardly as influential as Lord Tyrion, whose personal army had more than twenty thousand horse in his vanguard. He would not have been readily welcome in the smaller gathering that Lord Tyrion was headed towards normally.

However, Yitton Byres’ fortunes had changed in the last few days. Markedly so. It was nothing the man had done himself, but the incredible images from Liscor had caused his influence to rise sharply. That two of his offspring had helped vanquish the Face-Eater Moths that had besieged the city had made his political value soar to the point where he was included in the discussions as a matter of course. The Byres family had also been approached by several buyers looking to order their signature silver and steel arms, according to the reports Tyrion had glanced at.

That was all welcome to Lord Tyrion. Yitton Byres was known to him and if they weren’t friends or even that close, Tyrion respected the man. He was a good [Lord]. Solid. Unpretentious. He sensed Yitton Byres looking at him before the older man spoke.

“We’ve been camped for nearly three weeks now. Are we to move out within the week, or should I order my men to prepare for a longer wait while the Goblin Lord keeps razing settlements?”

He was also brave. Yitton had said what other, more powerful nobles would have hesitated to mention. Tyrion nodded to himself. Three weeks they’d been camped here, waiting. Any sane strategist would question why. After the Goblin Lord had defeated Zel Shivertail and the army formed by Magnolia Reinhart in battle they had expected Tyrion to march on the wounded Goblins at once. He was known as a decisive attacker, one who didn’t hesitate. But Tyrion had his reasons.

“I intend to keep your men waiting a while longer, Yitton.”

The other [Lord] eyed Tyrion sideways as they walked across the muddy ground.

“How long?”

“Possibly less than a week. I intend to move some of my forces ahead of the rest. I’ll take some of the horse and a few [Mages]. But the main army waits.”

“Why? To keep levying more forces? Is the Goblin Lord that dangerous?”

Tyrion paused.

“He slew the Tidebreaker in combat. Isn’t that enough for caution?”

“For caution, yes. But this seems excessive.”

It did. But Zel Shivertail’s death had given Tyrion a useful excuse. No one had expected Zel to fall in battle. Tyrion hadn’t, for all he’d hoped Zel Shivertail would lose the battle and be forced to defend Invrisil instead. His death was an unexpected boon.

“I have my reasons, Yitton. As you’ll hear shortly. I’m aware the nobility is chafing at the delay. But I will lead the army in the best way I deem fit.”

“Which doesn’t include informing those under your command of your thoughts?”

“At the moment. There are too many factors I must consider.”

Yitton’s eyebrows rose.

“Such as?”

“Rain.”

Lord Tyrion looked up. The rain didn’t fall into his eyes; it flowed away from an invisible barrier a few centimeters away from his skin. Yitton looked up, shading his eyes.

“Rain. Hardly ideal for marching, but you’d have this army wait for weather?”

“I await a single, precise moment, Yitton. Give it time. The Goblin Lord is doing damage, but he’s on the move.”

“Marching towards that so-called ‘Great Chieftain’ in the mountain. I can’t believe he was living under our noses this entire time. If they combine forces…silver and steel, Veltras, tell me you’re not going to let that happen!”

“We’ll move out, Yitton. Trust me.”

“I do. But you have to understand that I have questions.”

It was a dramatic statement, coming from a Byres. They were normally staunch supporters of the Reinharts, who had strong ties to their family. But Yitton had placed his trust in the better commander. Tyrion intended to honor that trust.

“I’m afraid your questions will have to wait. This strategy meeting will be resolved shortly, to no one’s satisfaction, I suspect. But I do have one piece of information that might make us move out faster.”

“Oh?”

“Apparently there’s a new province just southwest of Invrisil.”

“A new [Lord]?”

“An [Emperor].”

“What?”

“The reports are confirmed. An [Emperor] has appeared and he has a rather unusual holding.”

Yitton had to shake his head as he avoided a large puddle of water.

“[Emperors] and Goblin Lords. What next?”

Tyrion smiled. The report he’d received had been intriguing. Possibly helpful. So Magnolia thought she could use him as an ally?

“More to consider, Yitton.”

“But not act on? The Goblin Lord is growing in strength. His forces were down to sixty thousand by most estimates. He’ll replenish his numbers heading north. And if he takes the mountain—”

“Patience, Lord Yitton.”

“An odd word to hear from you.”

“Perhaps.”

Lord Tyrion paused in front of the pavilion. He looked up again. The rain was still falling. It fell over his camp, where countless Humans awaited his order. But he held his ground. He waited, as the continent of Izril and the world waited and wondered why. Soon the rains would stop. And then, or perhaps before then, Tyrion would make his move. He just had to wait. For the right moment.

At least Liscor was hot on everyone’s lips, distracting them from pressing him too hard. The events in the city had truly been newsworthy. Lord Tyrion was keeping a careful eye on the developments there. But he could have had no idea what was going on in the dungeon that very moment.

—-

They fell through the water. Down. Into the rift. Into the dungeon. Their descent was not unnoticed. The dungeon waited for them. As the Redfang Warriors neared the bubble of air that marked the point at which the dungeon began they swam towards the edges of the rift, dropping the stones they held, moving quickly before they ran out of air. The blackness of oxygen deprivation swam around their thoughts.

They gasped as their heads broke out of the water and gravity asserted itself. The Redfang Goblins clung to the sides of the rift as the stones they’d dropped floated downwards through the water. They fell into the dungeon, bringing a small splattering of water from overhead. The Goblins grunted as they watched the stones fall, and began to climb down.

Into a trap. At the bottom of the rift, hidden further back with bows trained on the opening leading upwards were monsters. People.

Raskghar. The huge, furred beasts were larger than Gnolls, stronger, and their hunched forms and long claws and teeth made them look like a cross between an upright bear and lion. But for all their brute strength and muscle, they were intelligent. They held crude bows and they were armed with arrows coated with poison. The Raskghar were not mindless monsters; they had noticed this entry point to the dungeon and begun ambushing adventurers that came down.

The weak ones, at any rate. The Gold-rank teams the silent hunters left alone. But eight out of ten teams had fallen to the ancient Gnoll kin before leaving the entrance point to the dungeon here. Now the Raskghar waited, listening as the stones dropped and cracked on the stone floor.

The adventurers were coming. The not-Gnolls waited as the telltale droplets of water cascaded down from above. The Raskghar kept their poisoned arrows aimed at the stone walls. Waiting. They could pick off the climbing adventurers like flies. They just needed to see all of them. They waited. And waited. And…

After two minutes, the furred hunters began to grow restless. They didn’t do anything as foolish as make sound, but they did look at each other and silently urge each other forwards a few steps. Had the adventurers not come down after all? Had they decided to return above? The sentries had spotted something swimming down through the water above. But why were they taking so long?

Eight of the Raskghar were shifting positions and two had come closer for a furtive look. The lead not-Gnoll edged forwards and peered up at the rift. He moved a few feet forwards—

An arrow sprouted from his eye. He dropped without a sound. The other Raskghar stared at him in alarm and then stared at the rift. They saw something move right where ceiling met dungeon. A head dropped down. Something flashed.

Another Raskghar dropped with an arrow in his chest. He had time to choke and try to roar before he fell. The remaining six immediately scattered. They aimed back at the rift, but the archer had disappeared! They waited, and then the body appeared again—from another spot. The [Archer] aimed, spotted a Raskghar, and loosed. The not-Gnoll howled in pain as an arrow took him in the side. The other Raskghar loosed arrows at the spot where the [Archer] had been—too late. The face disappeared out of view again.

The howling Raskghar fell silent as one of his companions struck him with a clawed hand, silencing him. The five hunters aimed their bows carefully, waiting. Waiting. Then they saw a flicker of movement. A head peered down out of the hole. Crimson eyes blinked at the surprised not-Gnolls. Instantly, all five Raskghar loosed arrows. The head pulled up. The arrows broke against the wall and then another torso dropped down. The Hobgoblin holding the bow loosed an arrow as the Raskghar realized too late that they’d been baited to shoot!

An arrow took one of the Raskghar in the side of the head as she turned to duck. Another struck the wounded Raskghar in the leg. Now there were four of the ambushers left. They saw the Hobgoblin disappear again and looked at each other.

What was happening?

In the rift, hanging from the walls of the cliff leading up, the Redfang Warriors were completely silent. They gestured at each other, communicating the spots of the remaining four archers to their lone sniper.

Badarrow. The Hob hung upside down as Shorthilt and Headscratcher strained to hold his legs steady. He growled a soft order and they lowered him—he shot, cursed, and kicked both legs. They instantly hauled him upwards as more arrows missed his position.

Six shots. Four kills. The seventh elicited a brief howl and then silence. Badarrow raised a finger as Numbtongue poked his head down below and answered with a hand sign. The wounded Raskghar was dead. Three arrows had finally done it in.

Three left. The Hobgoblins didn’t hesitate. They dropped off the cliff walls, landing hard as the hunters began to retreat. The Raskghar hadn’t expected that either. Shorthilt and Numbtongue charged one of the not-Gnolls while Rabbiteater and Headscratcher rushed another. Badarrow’s eighth arrow cut down the third Raskghar.

It was over in a second. The two archers fell to Shorthilt’s sword and the dagger Headscratcher had borrowed from Badarrow. They were strong and quick, but faced with two Hobs each they went down fast, the victim of multiple cuts. In the silence, the Redfang Warriors looked around swiftly. There were no more monsters. The ambush team had well and truly been ambushed.

It had been an easy victory. Perhaps too easy, but the Raskghar had grown accustomed to easy pickings. Silver and Bronze-rank adventurers were easy targets. After all, who expected to be ambushed the first second they entered a dungeon?

Goblins would. Goblins always expected a trap. Badarrow sneered and kicked a twitching claw away as he inspected the arrows the Gnoll throwbacks carried. He grunted as he found fourteen he liked and tossed the bad ones at Rabbiteater along with one of the bows. The other Hob grunted and slung it over his shoulder.

The Redfang Warriors spread out, searching the bodies, still not making a sound. They came away with crude stone axes, one genuine steel waraxe—probably looted from an adventurer—and several iron and steel daggers. No swords though—it seemed the Raskghar preferred axes. The Hobs grabbed the bows and arrows and nodded to each other.

Well, now they had weapons.

—-

This was the dungeon. It was dark. Quiet. But not silent.

The Redfang Warriors walked single file down a corridor. More like a tunnel. They could see well in the dark, but the blackness was oppressive. They could hear distant sounds, echoing down the corridor. The dungeon was filled with life.

But the things that moved in the dungeon didn’t move about loudly. Not unless they were the biggest and most dangerous thing. And that was a relative term. The monsters were all predators and they stalked each other until they met in a brief, loud flash of violence.

Sometimes the Goblins thought they heard a trap go off. The sounds were so faint they were practically inaudible over their heartbeats. But the Goblins kept their breathing silent, their footsteps invisible as they pressed forwards.

This was home. They were used to this. Not this dungeon, but this. Danger. Death. The Raskghar hadn’t known what hit them. They were used to adventurers, not Goblins who’d lived in the High Passes.

This is how they moved. Silently, five walking relatively spaced out down a corridor, following each other’s tracks exactly. Rabbiteater took point. As the only Goblin with [Dangersense], he was suited to checking for traps. But he was aware of his limitations and opted for a different method than Halrac’s precise techniques, or Seborn’s expertise at spotting tripwires and pressure plates and concealed magic runes.

Rabbiteater followed the tracks on the ground, the places where dust and debris had been stirred by passing. Because monsters had obviously learned to avoid the traps. So Rabbiteater followed those spots. That meant of course they would run into monsters, but that beat stepping on something nasty.

These are the things they carried. Healing potions and alchemical weapons, stolen from Octavia’s shop. Weapons from the Raskghar. A hemp bag, three of them, in fact. A bed sheet, stuffed into Headscratcher’s pack. Sharp rocks, a handmade sling of Rabbiteater’s.

Nothing else. No food, no artifacts. To adventurers they would have been horribly unprepared but the Redfang Goblins followed the Goblin way of doing things. Travel light to hide and run. They weren’t here to explore. They were on a mission.

Find the treasure. They’d memorized Vuliel Drae’s explanation of where to go. The Redfang Goblins had to cross about eighteen corridors between the entrance and the dungeon. They made it down two corridors, one filled with flame traps, another completely cleared, according to Vuliel Drae.

It wasn’t. The Redfang Goblins paused as they spotted something oozing its way down the corridor at a distance. Badarrow raised his bow, training his arrow on the…slug? Coming their way. Then the Goblins realized it was a lot of slugs and backed up.

They were headed down an intersection, dozens upon dozens of the long, oozing things. They were giant slugs with razor spines on their fronts. They were following something. The Redfang Goblins peered at the wounded, shambling giant thing that was stumbling from them. A…moth?

A Face-Eater Moth. One of the big, wagon-sized ones. It looked like it had been chewed apart. It was bleeding as it fled. The slugs pursued. The Redfang Goblins exchanged a look. How many moths had survived the battle at Liscor? Had they lost their position in the dungeon? Were things hunting them?

No time for questions. They moved on. This tunnel was odd. It was devoid of traps according to the scattered tracks, but it looked as if that was because it was part of some kind of crossing. The corridor split eight ways, two of the paths sloping downwards. The Redfang Goblins paused. Vuliel Drae had gone left here. They crossed to one edge of the corridor.

Rabbiteater peeked around the corner of the intersection swiftly. His first glance showed him nothing so he moved forwards. The other Hobs kept an eye on the other directions. They moved swiftly, each one tracking a different direction. This was like a hunting expedition in the High Passes.

They watched their surroundings, checking for camouflaged monsters. In the High Passes it was common to run into Gargoyles hiding in plain sight. And that was only the outer layers. Further in there were things that could kill two Goblins in the middle of a patrol without anyone noticing.

This corridor led to a labyrinth of doors, a maze of interconnected rooms. The Redfang Warriors slowed here and made even less noise than before. They crept along, silent, wary. They had to pass through this section—Vuliel Drae had fled though here, pursued by moths and Raskghar.

There were no moths today. But there were many, many doors. The Redfang Goblins paused at the first one. They stood back from it, in the center of the corridor. Their eyes narrowed.

Each Goblin was different. Erin had said so and she was close to the truth. They were all low-level, compared to adventurers at least. None of them had passed Level 20, for all they were elites. Goblins seldom lived long enough to level that high, so Garen Redfang had created Goblin warriors who trained hard and relied on their skills as much as their Skills.

Headscratcher was passionate. Angry, prone to fury in combat. Strongest of the five. Badarrow was an archer. Rabbiteater was a tracker, swift. Numbtongue could speak. And Shorthilt? He was a weapon expert. His sword had been the only one not to break from use against the Face-Eater Moths. He had a Skill, [Keener Edge], which allowed his iron blade to cut flawlessly for the first few blows. It was he who made the first move.

The door was old. Wooden—it looked like someone had broken it, and then rebuilt it with scraps. The Goblins eyed it. Shorthilt moved slowly towards it, his blade held in one hand. He paused, five steps from the door. He eyed it, and then darted forwards. He stabbed through the old wood at knee-height and was rewarded with a scream. The Goblins instantly charged forwards.

They hadn’t known something was behind the door. They’d guessed. The other doors flew open as Raskghar charged out. The furious beast people looked around for their prey—and saw them running down the corridor. They were escaping! Rabbiteater took the lead, dashing from safe spot to safe spot. The other four Hobs raised their bows and loosed arrows, making the Raskghar duck back under cover, snarling.

One, two, ten…there must have been over twenty of them waiting in ambush! They howled as they followed the Redfang Goblins. But the Goblins’ arrows forced them to stay back. And the Goblins knew where to go.

Forwards, down the corridor! Then left, though a low tunnel! Up a ramp—skirt the suspiciously clean section of flooring there. Now, through the right corridor. The howling of the Raskghar followed them. The Goblins ran as fast as Rabbiteater could move. They saw a figure appear out of the corridor behind them. Badarrow snarled, shot. The figure dropped.

He was no ordinary [Archer]! He was an expert, a marksman! Badarrow’s fingers plucked another arrow and he loosed it as more Raskghar poured around the wall.

[Shattershot]. His arrow struck one of the Raskghar. It should have fragmented into deadly shrapnel, but the not-Gnoll was armed with a wicker shield. Badarrow snarled as the Raskghar roared at him.

More arrows flew. This time back at the Hobs. The not-Gnolls charged down the tunnel. Shorthilt, Numbtongue, and Headscratcher went to meet them as Rabbiteater moved backwards, scouting the path forwards.

Raskghar. They were huge, taller than the Hobs, but hunched. They outweighed the Goblin. They wouldn’t have out massed Grunter, but all five of the Redfang Warriors were thinner. The first charge nearly knocked Headscratcher off his feet as Shorthilt cut his enemy. Numbtongue hacked at a Raskghar and was unpleasantly surprised as his axe barely cut through the fur and flesh. The muscles of the monster were thick!

And it had claws. And a stone mace. It struck Numbtongue on the shoulder and he shouted in fury. His axe struck the Raskghar across the face and it threw him backwards. The monster charged and Numbtongue swiveled. Rather than stand up he waited for the Raskghar warrior to leap at him and kicked.

It was a strong blow. The monster’s leap was diverted and it smashed into a wall. Quick as a flash, Numbtongue was on him. He swung with all his might—his iron axe bit into the Raskghar’s shoulder and stuck. It snarled and slashed at him with its claws. Numbtongue felt it lay open his arm and let go of his axe. He punched back, snapping the thing’s head back with powerful blows.

But it was too much beast. The Hob felt the Raskghar’s claws open up his chest, side—he stumbled back and the Raskghar chased him. Right into Shorthilt’s sword. The other Hob had dispatched his foe with a precise cut to the belly and face, hitting the vitals. He stepped back as Numbtongue garbled a word of thanks. They spun—Headscratcher rose from his foe. His steel waraxe was buried in its chest, having splintered the monster’s shield first.

Strong foes. The Hobs exchanged a glance as more Raskghar warriors and archers poured up the ramp. They turned. Rabbiteater shouted—the Hobs ran after him, following his trail.

How many tunnels had they gone down? Badarrow snapped a question as he grabbed Headscratcher’s quiver of arrows. Rabbiteater counted. Six? Twelve more to go! They had to lose their pursuers. The howling of the Raskghar was drawing attention their way!

Time for a diversion. Numbtongue asked a quick question as he splashed part of a healing potion over his injuries. Rabbiteater pointed. Numbtongue grabbed a bag from his belt and opened it. He tossed it to the ground as smoke began to billow forth.

A smoke bag. One of Ryoka’s specialty items, in fact. Only two gold coins and three silver at Octavia’s shop. Free, if you grabbed it when she wasn’t looking. The Raskghar coughed as the smoke obscured the Goblin’s progress. One snarled and charged through the smoke—and howled in agony. The other Raskghar paused and backed up.

The smoke lasted for a minute. Two minutes…it began to clear. They spotted their fallen comrade. He’d ventured onto the trap in the corridor—a pressure plate that had swung part of the wall out and sent a series of needle-sharp spikes into his body. The Raskghar growled and sniffed the air. They coughed. The smoke was getting in the way. But they had their prey’s scent. They followed, cautiously moving down the safe parts of the corridor they knew.

The Redfang Goblins had used their time to flee further. Rabbiteater was working off of Vuliel Drae’s directions still, but he had to check for traps. He was sweating with the effort of his work. Speed or safety? He hesitated, and then ran down a section of the corridor he thought was safe. He didn’t die. The other Hobs followed him.

Rabbiteater was an expert at running fast. He’d caught rabbits, hence his name. He was as close to a [Scout] as the Redfang Warriors had—he would have been one, but he was a better warrior and so Garen had promoted him. Now he ran forwards with reckless abandon. There was a trick to traps. If you were fast enough—

A glow underfoot. Rabbiteater dove and the snaking whip of light went right through his side, rather than his chest. He cried out as the other Hobs paused. They checked the right hand side of the corridor, rushed over to him.

The lance of light had gone right through Rabbiteater’s side. It hadn’t cauterized the wound, strangely. It was just light, not heat. Rabbiteater was already bleeding. He let Shorthilt pour a healing potion into the wound and got up. Headscratcher grabbed his shoulder. Rabbiteater nodded.

Not dead. So long as they weren’t dead, the Hobs could trust to the healing potions to mend their wounds. They’d get tired and lose blood, but they could go on. They’d stolen two potions per Hob. An extravagant amount for the Redfang Warriors, who’d grown used to having one or two healing potions between a group of thirteen.

On! The Raskghar had to be following. Numbtongue had heard a distant howl. The Hobs moved on as Rabbiteater slowed his rapid advance only marginally. They were so preoccupied with advancing that they nearly didn’t hear the heavy tread of echoing footsteps until it was too late.

The Hobs froze. Something was coming. This tunnel had a few alcoves to hide in, so the Goblins did just that. They hid as something came towards them. Whatever it was, it was metallic. Headscratcher saw a huge suit of enchanted armor come walking towards him. It paused as it saw him and raised an old sword. Numbtongue leapt on it from behind and Rabbiteater tackled its legs.

The suit of armor was strong! It threw Numbtongue, but was too slow to stop Shorthilt. He grabbed its right arm. The enchanted armor raised its left and Badarrow grabbed that. It struggled—both Hobs grunted as they used their strength to hold it still. Rabbiteater was holding the legs together and Numbtongue raced to help him. They held the armor still as Headscratcher raised his axe.

The first blow made the armor’s pauldrons ring with the impact. Headscratcher snarled and struck it again with the axe. The blow was heavy with all his force behind it, but the armor barely buckled. The armor was magical! But the Hobs held on and Headscratcher hit it again. And again! And again!

He had lost too many friends. Headscratcher had always been strong, but the grief of losing Bugear, the fury of battle—it had all made him stronger. As a Hob he was twice, perhaps three times as strong as he had been as a Goblin. The third blow bent the armor and Badarrow swore as the impact made his arms go numb. Headscratcher saw the suit of armor struggling to be free. The visored head swiveled back and forth from Badarrow to Shorthilt, outraged, as if demanding to be given a fair fight.

The Goblins didn’t believe in fair fights. Headscratcher raised his axe again.

The sixth blow finally split the armor’s right shoulder. Whatever binding was on the pauldrons came loose and Shorthilt ripped the arm off with a roar. The armor stumbled. Headscratcher abandoned his axe and grabbed the armor’s leg with Rabbiteater as Shorthilt tossed aside his arm and grabbed the head. All five Hobs nodded and they all pulled simultaneously.

The magic resisted the Hobs for a few seconds, and then the weakened enchantment gave. The Hobs tumbled backwards as the suit of armor came apart in a rending screech of old metal. They stumbled upright and grabbed the armor.

Now they had armor. They discarded most of it. The heavy chest piece would slow them down. The suit of armor had been built for a true giant among men. Or some other species. But the gauntlets, the greaves, and other smaller pieces? Loot that could be reused or resized perhaps. The Goblins each took a piece. Numbtongue tried the helmet on and grunted. Too big. He took it anyways. A helmet could save a life when arrows were flying at your head.

The battle had taken minutes. Long. Far too long. The Hobs had expected the Raskghar to appear behind them at any second. But as their heartbeats slowed and the pounding of blood stopped rushing through their ears they realized something was off. They couldn’t hear the howls of pursuit.

Had they escaped their pursuers? They’d run through at least one intersection. But—no. Hunters didn’t give up that easily, and this was the Raskghar’s territory! So why could they hear nothing?

The Hobs listened. Rabbiteater frowned. He had the best ears. And he could hear nothing. Not one sound.

Had something scared the Raskghar off? Or had they found other prey? Were they sneaking up on the Goblins? The Redfang Warriors exchanged a glance. Badarrow drew a finger slowly down his arm and pointed. Rabbiteater nodded. He took point while Badarrow and Numbtongue both watched their backs. This time the Redfang Warriors moved slowly, listening hard.

They knew this game. The Raskghar could be circling around, moving ahead and setting up an ambush. They advanced slowly until the tunnel widened and they entered…a bath house?

The Goblins paused as they entered a larger room. In the center was a long, deep pool filled with water. It would have looked like a swimming pool, if the Goblins had ever seen a swimming pool before. They could only compare it to a bath house, which was in itself a rather abstract concept to them.

It was strange. The Redfang Warriors had listened to Garen Redfang’s exploits time and time again and they were familiar with dungeons. Dungeons came in many forms. Some could be ruined castles, old mansions or cities lost to time. In such places you’d naturally find homes and other rooms once intended for leisure. But this dungeon was clearly a killing field meant to channel adventurers towards monsters and traps. Why was there such a room here?

Perhaps it was for the monsters. They had to drink and eat. The Redfang Goblins edged into the room. Vuliel Drae had described passing through here, but like the Redfang Goblins they’d refused to go anywhere near the water. It looked innocuous enough, but what might be living in the pool?

Something stirred near the far edge. The Goblins froze. They saw something hop backwards and then scuttle out of the room. The Redfang Warriors exchanged a glance and moved on.

How many corridors left? Ten? Eight? They were over halfway there and they hadn’t run into anything after the suit of armor. The sounds of pursuit were gone. That worried them, actually. Numbtongue kept glancing over his shoulder. Of the five Hobs he was probably the weakest, as his duel with the Raskghar had shown. That still meant he was a strong warrior, but if he had a role in the group, it was being smart.

Just…being smart. The fact that Numbtongue could read and speak the common tongue quite fluently made him unique even among other Hobs. He was better at reading and speaking than Garen Redfang, in fact, and it was rumored that he’d learned how to write in both the Human and Drakeish scripts. He was smart. But he was a warrior, which was more important in the Redfang Tribe.

It was Numbtongue who’d memorized every line Vuliel Drae had spoken and pointed left down the next intersection. He was good at remembering. He could remember every word from Erin’s song, the plays he’d listened to…it wasn’t that he had a perfect memory. It was just that he cared about important things. And Numbtongue also thought ahead. He wondered how they’d retrieve the treasure. Apparently it was trapped. Would they have to do the Goblin thing in retrieving it?

Another corridor, a long one. It felt like actual rooms were few and far between. This was a labyrinth, whereas the area that the Halfseekers and Griffon Hunt had so patiently attempted to disarm were room after room of challenges. The Redfang Goblins crept onwards. Shorthilt covered the back as Badarrow glanced down a side passage. The Goblin paused as he saw something behind him.

A face. A head. It was low to the ground. Peeking around the corner of the hallway they’d just passed though. It was…too low to the ground. As if whomever was there were lying on the ground and peeking around the corner. But. Shorthilt’s blood chilled. The distant face didn’t look…right.

It was a Human face, eyes wide and staring. A man’s? Shorthilt thought so. Instantly he spoke a word. Three Redfang Warriors whirled while Rabbiteater kept an eye ahead. They stared at the spot Shorthilt was pointing towards.

But the head was gone. The Goblins glanced at Shorthilt. He pointed, spoke a word.

“Head.”

It was the first word anyone had said since entering the dungeon. The Redfang Warriors exchanged looks. Shorthilt had said ‘head’. Not person. That was because Shorthilt wasn’t sure about what he’d seen. Headscratcher pointed, jerked his thumb. Head back and see? The other three considered it, shook their heads. Badarrow raised a finger and circled with it. Too risky of being snuck up on. He pointed. Rabbiteater nodded.

They moved on. But this time Shorthilt and Numbtongue kept an eye on their rear. They passed down another corridor, lingering to check to make sure nothing was headed towards them. Then they strode into another room.

This one had writing on the walls. Numbtongue paused to stare at it. It looked like…a story? Some kind of warning? He was familiar with Drake writing, and Human writing, and this was neither. It looked vaguely similar to Drake writing but there weren’t any distinguishable words. He shook his head as the others moved though the room. They were on track—Vuliel Drae hadn’t mentioned the words on the wall, though. Numbtongue turned and then cursed.

There was a head staring at them. It disappeared as the Redfang Warriors turned again. It had been fast. Numbtongue had barely seen it. But it had been a head alright.

“Head?”

Shorthilt looked questioningly at Numbtongue. The Hob nodded.

“Raskghar.”

Shorthilt stopped. Numbtongue looked at him, sensing the Goblin’s sudden change in wariness. He raised his shoulders. What? Shorthilt hesitated and pointed back down the corridor.

“Human.”

The other Goblins stared at him. Shorthilt had seen a Human head. Not a Raskghar, staring blankly at him. Numbtongue’s skin crawled. He looked at the others. Headscratcher pointed. He shrugged his shoulders and pointed at the two. He wanted them to explain.

“Head. Low. Here.”

Numbtongue bent down and showed the others what he’d seen. A staring head, low to the ground. Too low. Peeking around as if…as if something was watching them. A Raskghar? But it had looked so…

The other Redfang Warriors looked at Numbtongue’s pantomime as Shorthilt nodded. They looked at each other uneasily. That didn’t look right. Headscratcher pointed. He walked two fingers back slowly and pointed at Badarrow. The Hob nodded.

Slowly, the Hobs left the room. Badarrow took a position at the doorway, watching the entrance. He waited as the other Hobs proceeded down the corridor, and then backed up. Not once did he turn around. Back down the next corridor, Numbtongue urging him backwards with low words. Badarrow did not want to get too far from the group. He kept staring. Now they were far from the room they’d left. He didn’t blink. And as he heard the other Hobs taking a few more wary steps he saw it.

A head, poking around the doorway. This one was a Human head. Male. Balding. Was it the one Shorthilt had seen? It peeked out, not turning but—Badarrow swore and loosed an arrow.

The head vanished before the arrow was halfway towards it. This time the Redfang Warriors froze. They heard the arrow crack against a distant wall. And then silence. They were ready for something. Anything. But the head didn’t reappear. Badarrow muttered. He looked at Numbtongue, gestured. The other Hobs waited for Numbtongue to make sense of it.

“Head not turn…not…not moving right?”

Numbtongue spoke quietly. Badarrow garbled an answer, nodded, showed Numbtongue what he meant. The Hob’s conclusion was quiet.

“Head not turning. Peek out—can’t move. Not like that. Not if it was attached to body.”

The Redfang Warriors looked at him. Headscratcher tightened his grip on his axe. Of course, they hadn’t expected adventurers to act like that. But what could it be?

What was following them? Had it killed the Raskghar? The Redfang Warriors came to a quick conclusion. If it had scared away or done in thirty of the Raskghar…they were no match. Headscratcher pointed towards Rabbiteater, uttered a command.

Faster. They picked up the pace. Down one corridor, around another. They watched their backs. The head popped up every time they rounded a corner. It felt like the head was watching them. And it felt like whatever was following was moving faster each time. A bit faster.

Creeping up on them. And what could they do if it decided it was time? The Redfang Goblins searched for a spot to take cover, to use as a chokepoint. Advantageous terrain. But they were following Vuliel Drae’s directions. And as they were all suddenly, painfully aware, they could find the treasure room. But getting back would mean taking a new route and getting lost—

Or going back and confronting whatever was behind them. Shorthilt nudged Rabbiteater, mimed asking about his [Dangersense]. Numbtongue thought. He made a strangled noise. The Hobs walked faster.

Too soon, the Redfang Goblins were walking down a long corridor when Numbtonuge called a halt. Badarrow muttered an oath—the head was peeking. He raised his bow and the head disappeared. Then two came back.

Raskghar and Human. Both leaned out from around the corner as all the Redfang Warriors stared. Both heads, practically on top of each other. If they had been alive the Raskghar would have had to be lying on the Human.

If they had been alive. But neither face blinked. Badarrow drew an arrow to his string and hesitated. The heads were waiting. Just staring.

“Here.”

Numbtongue’s voice didn’t quite shake. He pressed a hand to a section of wall and it vanished. He strode down the corridor. A long corridor with an open doorway to the left. A secret passageway.

With no way out. The Redfang Goblins hesitated, but there was no other option. They backed into the passageway. It could hold two of them abreast. Better, perhaps. They could hold off an enemy, let Badarrow shoot while they held whatever it was off. But on the other hand…

It was almost an afterthought to see the treasure room. Almost. Numbtongue stared at the pedestal in the center of the room, through a doorway without a door. Pedestals, in fact.

Three of them. One held a bundle of white cloth tied up with golden string. The second, a bell made of bronze and blue metal, half and half. The third? A necklace, a stone darker than obsidian with something carved on it, held on a long chain of glowing silver metal. All three objects made Numbtongue’s breath catch in his throat. He didn’t enter the room, though. He wasn’t an idiot.

The room was trapped. Trapped and deadly, according to the masked woman Vuliel Drae had met. And it must have been some trap to keep adventurers from going for the treasure. Rabbiteater could sense the danger too—he was grabbing at Numbtongue’s arm and shaking his head vehemently. The five Goblins all peeked at the treasure as Shorthilt and Headscratcher stood in front of Badarrow, facing the corridor.

It was coming. They had to make a plan. Fight, obviously. But grab the items first? The Goblins had no idea what the trap was, but they did have a solution. Rabbiteater pointed towards the objects. He could run in and grab one, throw it out and then try the others. It was a maneuver that would mostly likely kill him. But that was what the Goblins had agreed they would try.

A Goblin’s life for an artifact. Any Goblin would call it a good trade. They had had other plans they could execute. Trying to grab the artifacts with a rope, knocking them off the pedestals with an arrow—using a monster or Raskghar to get it. But they had no time.

And they didn’t know how far the trap extended. The five hobs glanced at each other. Rabbiteater’s face was set. It was Badarrow who grunted and shook his head.

Don’t risk it. He pointed towards the end of the corridor. It was coming. Rabbiteater hesitated. He raised his hand and tapped his head. The others looked at him. Rabbiteater made a sound. It was a small scream.

His [Dangersense] was telling them—the Hobs looked at each other. Numbtongue bit the inside of his cheek, drawing blood. He looked around.

Narrow corridor. Treasure room. No way out except the way they’d come. That thing was already waiting there. It had heads. It was—

An uttered oath. Headscratcher had seen a head poke around. Not the ones from earlier. This one was Drake. Female. Staring. It peered at him and Badarrow loosed an arrow. The head vanished. The arrow broke.

So quick! Numbtongue’s blood chilled as he readied his axe. There had to be something they could do! He was smart. This was his job. He studied the group. Healing potions, rocks, sling, bags. He saw Headscratcher arming himself with a vambrace from the enchanted suit of armor. Armor, a scant defense. But there had to be something more! Rabbiteater had his sling out. He was a better shot with that. Badarrow had his bow—

Sheets? Shorthilt tossed his bag to the ground, readying himself for a single decisive strike. The head poked around the corner again. A staring Human with hair. And then a Raskghar. The balding Human. The Drake. And a Gnoll. Five heads. One for each Goblin. They stared blankly. Not smiling, not frowning either. Just staring with wide, wide eyes. Unblinking.

The Goblins waited. Their pulses rose. Badarrow aimed from head to head, but didn’t waste the arrow. Numbtongue’s mind was empty. Heads. Monster. Rabbiteater was groaning, his [Dangersense] telling him what was waiting there. Numbtongue glanced at the treasure room. Salvation was one of the artifacts. But which one? Cloak? Necklace? Bell? He looked at the heads. They pulled back.

Now—Numbtongue turned. He threw something into the treasure room with a crash. Shorthilt’s gaze shifted over, flicked back. He saw something move around the corner—

—-

Darkness. Headscratcher woke up on the floor. He stared up. He could see the corridor above him, dark, the ceiling ten feet overhead. He could hear a shuffling sound. But he couldn’t see what it was. And neither could he move. He lay on the ground and realized he was propped up on something.

Shorthilt. The other Hob was lying at an angle, eyes wide, body slumped against a wall. He was alive—Headscratcher could feel his pulse thundering wildly. But he couldn’t move.

None of the Hobs could. They lay where they had fallen, puppets filled with life as something shuffled around the corner into the secret tunnel.

It was Badarrow who had the best view. He’d fallen into a sitting position, his bow awkwardly propping him up. He saw a head appear around the corner, the bald Human’s. It stared at him, and then moved out more. Badarrow saw the neck come out—and then nothing. He stared as the head seemed to disappear past the neck. Then he realized it was attached.

It was on a stick. The staring Human’s face stared at Badarrow. It was joined by the Raskghar head and the Drake head. And followed by a hand.

It was large. Brown. Not furred, but leathery, a cracked, huge thing with long, thick fingers. And then an arm, as large as Badarrow’s chest. A torso—a—body—

Something shuffled around the corner, holding the heads. Five, three in the left hand, two in the right. It was leathery, skin cracked and old. It had two thick arms with six claws each. The claws were opposable, and gripped long sticks that were jammed into the neck of each head. And the thing that held them?

It had no head. No neck. Just a rounded upper torso with two gaping holes where the eyes should be. The sockets were dark and Badarrow couldn’t see if there were actually eyes in them. They were gaping ruins in its face. And it’s legs. It shuffled closer on stumps of legs. Then Badarrow realized.

It was kneeling. To enter the small tunnel the thing was kneeling. It was tall. And though it looked thick, if it stood to its full height it would be long and—Badarrow struggled with all his might to move.

Move! Raise his bow! Loose an arrow at it! But he couldn’t. He was paralyzed. Forced to stare. The thing rotated a head towards him. Badarrow saw a blank, staring Drake’s face, her eyes wide, unmoving. Was that how it saw?

Then he saw the sack. It was bloody, stained. The thing pushed it slowly over with one hand as it intruded in the corridor. It crept closer, shuffling on its…knees? The gaping sockets peered at the five Goblins.

A claw rose. Badarrow saw the thing stuff the heads it carried into the bag. It crept closer. The Hob struggled. Move a finger! Open his mouth to shout! Something.

Anything. He couldn’t do a thing. Badarrow could see Headscratcher and Shorthilt lying in front of him. Rabbiteater and Numbtongue were next to him. Their chests rose and fell but the Hobs were still. And the thing was creeping closer. It reached down and Badarrow saw it touch Headscratcher’s neck. It traced a line down his neck as beads of sweat ran down Headscratcher’s face.

Slowly. Lovingly. The thing had no talons. Just brute fingers. It bent and Badarrow saw into one of the gaping sockets. It went back too far into the thing’s head. Ruined flesh. And in the depths, something bright and dark. It swiveled to look at him. The thing turned.

It lifted Shorthilt up, a hand on the Hob’s chest, another around his neck. The thing squeezed gently and Badarrow saw the Hob’s eyes widen. Shorthilt’s entire body gave the weakest of twitches. Nothing more.

The fingers of the hollow-eyed thing began to close. They constricted slowly around Shorthilt’s neck, squeezing. Tighter. Tighter. The Hob was trying to move. Badarrow could see Headscratcher’s chest rising and falling faster. He tried to move—

“Nn.”

A voice. The thing turned. It stopped squeezing Shorthilt’s neck, dropped the Hob. It turned to look past Badarrow.

At Numbtongue. It crept forwards, over Headscratcher’s body, past Shorthilt. Badarrow heard the Hobs’ bodies creaking as the thing shuffled over them. It brushed him aside and lifted Numbtongue up. The Hob made another sound.

“Nn.”

It was all he could do. Slumped now, Badarrow saw the Hob staring defiantly into the thing’s sockets. It held him, fingers pressing slowly into his neck. Numbtongue’s face darkened. His flesh deformed. His eyes bulged. And moved.

Something happened. Badarrow saw the thing pause. It stared past Numbtongue. At…what? At something beyond him. In the treasure room. Slowly it dropped Numbtongue. Badarrow struggled to move, to see! He saw the thing shuffle past the Hob. Into the treasure room! It hesitated as it squeezed itself in. And then it passed the threshold—

There was a sound like a sigh. Suddenly Badarrow sat up. He heard a cry, saw Rabbiteater leap to his feet. The Redfang Warriors scrambled up and Badarrow lurched towards the doorway—

And froze. The thing was standing on the doorway, two six-fingers hands pressed up against a shining barrier of light. It was trapped in the treasure room! And whatever effect it had had on the Goblins had ended when the magic trap activated. Now it was pressed up against the barrier. And it was holding something in one hand.

A helmet. A steel helmet. A closed visor. If you looked at it right you could almost imagine it was a…head. Badarrow stared at Numbtongue. The Hob was gasping, coughing as he backed away from the room. The thing inside, the collector of heads, stared at the Redfang Warriors. Just stared.

And then the trap began to activate. At first, all the Hobs could see was a fine mist descending from above. Then they saw the thing’s flesh began to slough off. The acid poured down in a mist, melting the thing. Then fire burned. It engulfed the room, a searing blaze. The thing stood, its flesh smoking, not burning. Its hide was tough.

And then there was a hissing sound. Magic arrows blasted every corner of the room, avoiding the pedestals. The thing stood. The wind turned to blades. Water filled the room as the trap continued. It was melting, dying, its body disintegrating. But it just stared.

At the Redfang Goblins. From face to face, as if it was memorizing them. The five Hobs stood, watching the trap continue.

Water became acid again. And then fire. The trap continued. It didn’t stop. And as the second cycle began, the thing seemed to realize it couldn’t outwait the trap. It drew back a fist and struck the barrier. The Hobs heard a dull thump. The magic shimmered brighter but didn’t change. The thing drew back both hands and struck again.

Thump. The barrier held. The thing hit. Thump. Badarrow backed up from the doorway. The other Hobs drew their weapons as the thing struck again. Thump.

Thump. It was melting. The brown leather had flaked off, revealing something red and yellow underneath. Some kind of skeleton? Something else? It was a mess of blood and melted flesh. It struck the barrier. The blow was heavy.

Thump. Badarrow thought he saw something shift around the doorframe.

Thump. The thing’s hands were melting. It didn’t have—the fingers—Badarrow thought it would quit. Then its torso drew back. It slammed against the magical barrier.

Thump. The stones shook. A puff of powdered masonry dislodged itself. The Hobs backed up against the far wall nervously.

The trap was killing it. But the thing was still alive. Fire consumed its body.

Thump.

Arrows of light tore pieces of it away.

Thump.

Water drowned it. It didn’t breathe.

Thump.

It was staring at them. The barrier was fading. The acid had melted it. Its head was deformed. It was exposed, its brown leather exterior revealing a yellow and bloody red mess. The eyes—

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The Redfang Warriors backed up. Thump. The thing was staring at them. The magic faded. The thing pulled back its melting head. Part of it sloughed off. It slammed its head. Thump. Thump.

Th—

—-

This time it was Numbtongue who woke up first. He saw the empty room, felt a burning pain on his legs and shouted. The other Hobs were up in seconds. They stared around wildly.

The thing was gone. The magic barrier in the trap room had broken, as had the walls. They were partially torn open, stone bricks lying on the ground. The room was still filled with dissolved flesh, part of the thing. But it had gone.

And it had left behind the sack of heads. The Hobs stared around. Badarrow ran out into the main corridor with Shorthilt. The thing had left a trail of flesh and acid. It stopped after twenty feet. The Hobs looked at each other. Headscratcher opened the bloody bag. He stared into it and silently showed what was inside to Rabbiteater. The two Hobs stared into the bag and closed it. They refused to let the other three Redfang Warriors see what was inside. They left the bag where it was and refused to go near it.

The trap room was still filled with traces of acid. Numbtongue had gotten some on his legs and stomach. From where the thing had crawled over him to get away? The healing potion neutralized it, as did scrubbing fiercely at the spots with Erin’s bed sheet. Numbtongue looked into the trap room and took a deep breath. The three objects were still standing on the pedestals. He stepped into the room and waited.

Nothing happened. The magic had been broken. Slowly, Numbtongue reached for the bundle of cloth. He didn’t touch it, but rather poked it into one of the hemp bags, using the handle of his axe. He did the same for the necklace and bell, storing them in separate bags, making sure, very sure that the bell didn’t ring.

Then the Goblins looked at each other. They’d done it. They’d found the treasure. But they didn’t feel relieved. They had no idea whether that thing with the heads was dying or dead. They stared at the sack lying on the floor. Then they turned and ran.

—-

They didn’t run far. That was a way to die. But the Goblin did march quickly back down the corridors. They stared in every direction and Badarrow kept looking behind him. Waiting to see a head peeking out from a corner. He never did, but that didn’t stop him from thinking he did. The other Redfang Warriors moved in silence, shaken.

What they’d seen—what that thing was—it was like something from the High Passes. One of the dark things. Far worse than Crelers. Why had it collected heads? Were there more of it? Why—

It was easy to trace their steps back. But in their haste, the Redfang Goblins nearly walked into the pile of dead Raskghar. Only Rabbiteater’s strangled exclamation warned them before they walked into the silent forms. The Raskghar lay where they had been killed, headless. Nearly thirty of them. The Redfang Warriors avoided the corpses and hurried back. Badarrow kept looking over his shoulder. It wasn’t dead. It wasn’t dead. And it had looked at them. At him.

Memorizing his face. Was it hiding? Why hadn’t it tried to kill them? Maybe it was too injured to keep them paralyzed for long. Maybe—

Two corridors away from the exit of the dungeon Badarrow saw it. A face. It peeked out of the corridor. He screamed, raised his bow and loosed an arrow. In his fear, his shot was wide. The arrow flew past the face and Badarrow heard an exclamation. The head twisted and he realized it wasn’t a disemboweled head! It was a—Goblin.

A Goblin. The small, pallid thing had far paler skin than the Redfang Goblins, and it was small, malnourished. But it was clearly a Goblin. The Redfang Warriors stared. The small Goblin stared at them. It had a sling in its hands. It whirled it and threw. The stone shot past Headscratcher. He stared.

Then they heard a howl. Behind the Goblin a dark shape bounded forwards. A Raskghar, followed by more of its kin and smaller Cave Goblins! They were armed and the Cave Goblins rushed forwards with uncertain shouts, staring wide-eyed at the Hobs.

For a second the Redfang Warriors were stunned. Then their reflexes kicked in. They turned and ran as the Raskghar hunting party pursued them. There were dozens of Raskghar and countless more Cave Goblins. They flooded the corridors, scaring the other monsters away. The Redfang Warriors ran, tracing their route back. Death came flooding down every corridor. But it was almost a relief. They spotted the rift and ran towards the walls leading up. But there were no ropes! They would have to climb.

Badarrow spun and raised his bow. He loosed an arrow and dropped the Raskghar in front. Headscratcher boosted Shorthilt up and turned. He punched a Goblin so hard it dropped, raised his axe, and then changed his mind and kicked another Goblin. They backed away as Headscratcher and Badarrow lashed out with fists, pummeling the small Goblins rather than slaughtering them.

Arrows were flying through the air. Numbtongue cried out in pain as one pierced his shoulder but he kept climbing. Headscratcher swore and pulled something from his belt. Another smoke bag? No, they’d stolen—

The vial broke and Badarrow gagged as Octavia’s stink potion exploded in his nostrils. He nearly vomited there and then, and saw the Cave Goblins staggering back, gagging. They were able to move though and one took a slice out of his calf with a dagger. Badarrow clubbed the Goblin with his bow.

The effect on the Raskghar was ten times stronger, though. The Hobs heard a howl as the Gnoll’s distant cousins writhed in agony, covering their noses, vomiting, or simply running to get out of range of the deathly odor. The Hobs took that opportunity. Badarrow and Headscratcher leapt for the walls, kicking Goblins swarming after them. Numbtongue and Rabbiteater were already at the water’s edge. They raised their arms and pulled themselves up into the water. Shorthilt followed and Headscratcher climbed after him.

Badarrow was about to enter the water when he felt a thud in his back. An arrow from one of the Raskghar! He twisted and another struck him in the shoulder. Headscratcher looked down at his friend and shouted. Badarrow grunted. He didn’t feel—

His grip slipped. He nearly fell, but Headscratcher grabbed him. The Hob hauled him up and somehow pulled Badarrow into the water as the Cave Goblins tried to pull him down. Headscratcher roared and then took a breath. Weakly, Badarrow did the same. Their heads plunged into the water overhead.

And then they were swimming. Or rather, Headscratcher was. One hand stroked and he kicked with both legs as he carried Badarrow with his other arm. Badarrow tried to paddle as well but he felt—tired. Poison? Right, the arrows had been…

It was a long way to the surface. Nearly a hundred feet overhead the light was shining dimly, obscured by moving shapes. Fish. Headscratcher strained, pulling his body and Badarrow’s up with every laborious kick. He struggled towards the light. But it was so far.

And there was blood in the water. Fish were attracted to Badarrow’s wounds. They swam around the two Hobs, some biting, others curious. Headscratcher tried to ward them away as he swam. But he was out of breath. He could swim a hundred feet up if he’d been by himself and hadn’t been exhausted. But two people?

A hand on his arm. The one that was gripping Badarrow. Headscratcher felt Badarrow trying to make him let go. One of them could make it. But Headscratcher refused to loosen his grip. Never. Never again. He’d rather die than…than…

Blackness. Again, creeping at the thoughts. Darkness. Headscratcher felt weary. It wasn’t fair! They’d done it. They’d come away with the treasure. But two wouldn’t make it. At least Numbtongue had the artifacts. At least…

So this was it. Headscratcher struggled, but the sky was far, far away. It was a good trade, in the end. They’d done it. Survived a dungeon. Sacrificed, taken treasure adventurers couldn’t get. That was worth it. That was a good Goblin death. That was good. Wasn’t it?

He wished he could see Erin again. One more time. Say something. Anything. He could almost see her face, smiling, asking him if he was really okay. It was funny. Headscratcher thought he was having a vision of her in the water. It looked like she was right there. Swimming towards him—

Erin reached down and grabbed Headscratcher. He stared at her, the blackness consuming him. Erin pulled something off her finger and clumsily fumbled it onto his. Headscratcher stared. And then he inhaled.

And he felt oxygen flood into his lungs. Pure, clear, air! Only it wasn’t air! It was water! But he could breathe it! He stared at the ring on his finger as he gasped, and then grabbed Badarrow. The Hob’s eyes were closed, but as Headscratcher shoved the ring onto his pinkie finger the Hob’s eyes widened suddenly. He gasped and Headscratcher realized his lungs were full of water. He began to choke and saw Erin was doing the same. Then he felt something yank him up.

Headscratcher, Erin, and Badarrow were pulled up through the water faster than any of them could swim! They passed by a swimming Pisces, making the water boil around a fish, Jelaqua, grappling with one of the giant black octopus-fish, Seborn, nimbly stabbing a swimming Raskghar as he breathed the water like air, and a sinking Dawil, flailing with hammer in hand. And then they broke out of the water and hung, vomiting water and gasping fresh, cool air.

The rain stung Headscratcher’s face. It was pouring! He turned and saw who had carried them out of the water. Falene, Typhenous, and Moore, standing on a hilltop! They pointed and Erin and the two Hobs floated towards them. By their side Ceria was shooting [Ice Spikes] into the water and Revi’s summoned warriors were shooting arrows with Halrac at the fish hounding the other Redfang Warriors and adventurers in the water.

“There they are!”

“Quick, get them out of the water! Damn it, someone get Dawil!”

“Where’s Ylawes!?”

“He’s got a Raskghar! Pull him up!”

The [Mages] were shouting as the other adventurers surfaced and pulled themselves into boats manned by scared-looking Drakes and Gnolls. The waters were churning with motion. The two Hobs and Erin were unceremoniously dropped to the ground. Headscratcher landed and scrabbled for a healing potion for Badarrow. He poured it over his friend, slapping Badarrow’s face urgently until the Hob punched him back. Then Headscratcher just lay back.

“Hey.”

A voice made Headscratcher sit up weakly. He saw Erin, still breathing hard, panting and looking at him as the other adventurers struggled out of the water. She pointed to the ring on Badarrow’s fingers.

“Give that back to Ksmvr later, will you? That’s his. He lent it to me.”

Headscratcher stared at her and then fumbled with the ring. Erin shook her head.

“Later…you okay?”

Slowly, Headscratcher nodded. Erin gazed at him, then she punched him weakly.

“Don’t do that. Don’t…”

She trailed off weakly. Headscratcher hung his head. He hadn’t thought anyone would notice they’d gone. But somehow, Erin had. And she’d known exactly where they were.

“You did it. You actually did.”

Erin’s voice roused him. Headscratcher looked up and saw that she was staring at Numbtongue. The Hob looked drowned like the others, but he was holding the three bags filled with the artifacts tightly to his chest. The other adventurers were staring at him incredulously. Erin breathed out.

“Adventurers. I said you were, and Selys didn’t believe me.”

Headscratcher blinked. He pointed to himself questioningly, then at Badarrow. Erin nodded.

“That’s what you should be. That’s what I tried to get Selys to do. You should be adventurers. Goblin adventurers.”

Adventurers? Headscratcher couldn’t believe his ears. Like Garen Redfang? Like…them? He looked at his friends. His companions. Badarrow, sitting up groggily, Rabbiteater, still coughing up water. Shorthilt, the most unscathed but hopping mad because he’d dropped his sword while swimming, and Numbtongue. The one who’d saved them with a clever trick. All they’d done was go into a dungeon and loot it. Stole from it, really. Goblins were good at stealing things. But wasn’t that what adventurers did? When you really thought about it…

Adventurers. He had to admit, it had a nice ring to it. But it was too much to take in. Headscratcher lay on the grass. He stared up at the sky as rain hit him on the face. It was still raining. He was exhausted, hurt, and still frightened of what he had seen. But he was alive. The Hob lay there and began to laugh. After a while, Erin started laughing too.

They were alive.

5.16 S

“Uncle?”

The Drake was dozing, or just daydreaming absentmindedly. He looked up, startled, and then smiled.

“Selys! I was wondering when I’d see my favorite niece.”

“Your favorite one? What about all the others ones you have?”

Selys Shivertail smiled a bit as she walked over to the table, passing by a white Gnoll cub lying on the floor and snoozing. She sat at the table and eyed the cup and pitcher the Drake was drinking from.

“Drinking alone? Or am I interrupting?”

He chuckled and pulled a chair out.

“Hardly. But don’t drink from the pitcher—it’ll knock you off your tail. I’m always glad for company—I was just sitting and reminiscing.”

“Sounds good to me. And yeah, Erin makes weird drinks. You should have seen this blue fruit drink she used to make.”

Selys sat at the table. It was quiet in the inn, the only sound being the low buzz of Mrsha’s snores. Zel Shivertail looked at Selys with a smile. She smiled, a bit awkwardly.

“It’s been a long time, Uncle Zel. When was the last time you visited? Four years ago?”

“Could be. I’d visit more, but you know how it is. Duties and so on.”

“You mean, fighting a war between the Trisstral Alliance and Salazsar?”

“Ah. You heard about that?”

Selys rolled her eyes and her tail curled slightly in mock annoyance.

“Uncle, you picked a fight with a Walled City! Of course everyone was talking about it!”

“It was more of a trade dispute. Salazsar was trying to enforce its claim over its gemstone monopoly and I was asked so…I won the dispute, as you may recall.”

“And then the Goblin Lord showed up and you followed him here. You stay pretty busy, don’t you?”

“If I said I came here to visit you and your aunt, would that win me any points?”

The young Drake woman laughed. Zel grinned as he eyed her from head to tail. She hadn’t changed much. Selys was a young Drake in her prime, just past twenty years of age. She didn’t look much different from other city Drakes her age.

She was dressed stylishly despite the winter chill—contrasting colors was in—and she was a hard worker, stubborn at times, opinionated at others. But a far cry from Zel who was older, a [General] who still wore his armor in the inn out of sheer habit. But they were family, however distant.

“Favorite niece. I thought you were just humoring me whenever you visited when I was young, but Tekshia told me you’d like me to say hi.”

The younger Drake looked thoughtfully at her Uncle. He shrugged, a bit awkwardly.

“Don’t tell anyone I said that or it’ll cause some kind of incident. But I do mean it. Of all the Drakes claiming to be related to me, you’re the only one who doesn’t treat me like a hero or a symbol.”

Selys frowned.

“Really? There’s got to be one…”

Zel smiled.

“That would be you.”

“Huh.”

The two Drakes sat at the table for a little bit in silence. It wasn’t a bad silence; for all they were part strangers, they had known each other too long to be uncomfortable with each other.

“That’s not good. If I’m your favorite niece, how’s the rest of the family? You see me once every year at most.”

The Drake [General] grimaced and turned his face. Selys still saw it. He replied casually as he could.

“Intimacy leads to strife. At least, among the Drakes. There’s not a single older member of my family who I’ve had a half-decent conversation with. Well, except for a few distant relatives. Your Aunt Tekshia is one of them I’m glad to say.”

“That’s good.”

“Indeed.”

“…Did you see her? She said she’d talked to you.”

Zel nodded. He traced a pattern on the grain of the table’s surface with one claw.

“I visited her on the second day I arrived at Liscor. She kept asking me whether I’ll have grandchildren. Aside from that it was cordial.”

Selys paused. An unspoken secret floated between the two. Zel knew that Selys knew, but Selys avoided the topic as adroitly as any [Receptionist].

“Grandmother is like that. I hope you had a good time otherwise. She likes hearing war stories, you know.”

“I did entertain her with a few tales. She liked me talking about knocking out Wall Lord Ilvriss. He’s in the city, you know.”

“I heard. Why’s he in Liscor? Didn’t he lose his entire army to the Goblin Lord? Is he coming north for revenge too?”

Zel hesitated. Selys didn’t need to hear about his mysterious meeting with Ryoka Griffin or the dark news she had imparted to him. She was a [Receptionist], not an adventurer. Ancestors, a [Receptionist]. It was such a mundane job. And he had known her parents…

The [General] caught himself glancing at Selys, only to realize she was staring at him from the side. She looked away, blushing, her tail twitching. Zel eyed her, and then sighed.

“Ask.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“No, but you were thinking it. I won’t be offended. Believe me, I’ve met Drakes with far less tact than you’re showing, and that was my father. What’s on your mind?”

The Drake waited as Selys mustered her thoughts. He expected any one of a hundred questions for her to ask. He hoped it was nothing that would open a rift between them, but she had been younger when he’d seen her last. And too afraid then to ask. So he waited.

When Selys did come up with a question, it surprised Zel.

“Are you…lonely?”

The Drake blinked at her. Selys looked back at him. He wavered.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t have anyone in your life. And you keep moving from city to city. Everyone always talks about you like a hero—unless you’re telling the Walled Cities how stupid they are for fighting and not dealing with the Antinium, that is. But is it lonely? You don’t have subordinates. You used to teach other [Generals] like Garusa Weatherfur. But now…”

Selys trailed off. Zel looked at her and felt old. What a question. Four years ago Selys was a junior [Receptionist] in the Adventurer’s Guild still arguing with her grandmother. Now she was an adult. He blinked and realized she was waiting for his answer. Zel coughed and replied after a moment’s hesitation.

“I’m a soldier, Selys. A [General]. I don’t have time for personal relationships most of the time, and I’m not inclined to cause a stir.”

“I know. But if—no, never mind. Why are you staying at Erin’s inn, anyways? She said you liked it here because of her cooking. But is that really it? You could stay at any inn in Liscor you wanted.”

Selys’, tail twitched as she smiled at her uncle. She wanted to ask him more, he could tell. But maybe she wasn’t ready. Selys turned the conversation away and Zel felt a pang. Maybe in two more  years he could talk to her about—well, it wasn’t as if he needed someone’s shoulder to lean on, especially not his niece. But he smiled as he replied.

“I like it here. It’s peaceful.”

Selys half-turned in her chair to eye Mrsha.

“That’s true. But only half the time. Erin’s inn always has something weird going on, Uncle. Have you seen her do anything crazy?”

He laughed.

“Occasionally. But I still appreciate staying here. Despite her mistakes, Miss Solstice is quite caring, and her staff works hard. The little Gnoll also keeps me on my toes. I…well, it’s better being here.”

“So you’ll stay here longer? Or are you going? No one asked you to fight the Goblin Lord, you know.”

“No. But it’s my duty.”

Selys’ forehead wrinkled. It reminded Zel of her growing up, making the same expression when she was vexed.

“Don’t you get a break? You’re a hero of two Antinium Wars! Don’t you wish you could tell everyone to leave you alone for a while?”

Zel paused. He’d taken a sip of the drink in his cup and the inn pressed down on him for a moment. He lowered the cup and sat quietly for a moment.

“Sometimes, Selys. Sometimes. But whatever I want doesn’t matter. I have to be the shield of the Drakes—I am that symbol, for however much I’m ignored politically. Drakes are a curious people. We fight, we squabble and tear each other down, but we sacrifice for each other too.”

She looked at him, ready to be angry. But that anger drained away as she looked at her uncle’s face. Zel shrugged self-consciously.

“Sorry about the philosophy. I suppose I’m just nostalgic. Miss Erin served me what she calls her ‘faerie flower drink’ and it’s quite something.”

“Oh, that? Don’t drink that!”

Selys reached over and pushed the cup away from Zel. She rolled her eyes.

“Honestly! I told Erin that’s not a drink you give—are you okay, Uncle?”

“Never better. And I’m quite alright, Selys. Don’t worry about it—it was an interesting experience.”

Zel sat up in his chair as Selys regarded the pitcher with a disgusted look. He smiled.

“Enough about me. I’m sure you’ve heard all the stories—most of them untrue, I’ll wager. What about you, Selys? Tell me about your job. Are you still working in the Adventurer’s Guild?”

“Yes. And there’s nothing interesting about it, Uncle. It’s just a job.”

“Tekshia tells me you work hard.”

“Hah! She never says that to my face! Look, I get paid and then I have fun. It’s nothing, Uncle. I’m not a child anymore.”

“So you’ve given up on being a dashing adventurer?”

Selys’ scales reddened, standing out on her green complexion.

“That was when I was twelve Uncle!”

“I still remember you practicing with a sword and begging me to teach you how to claw fight.”

“Ancestors, please don’t bring that up!”

The young Drake woman covered her face in embarrassment. Zel laughed and relented.

“Very well. Your job is satisfyingly boring, then?”

Selys nodded in relief.

“The most excitement I have is coming here. Did you know I met Erin the first week she arrived here? She walked into the Adventurer’s Guild.”

“Really? Tell me about that.”

“If you insist. Okay, I was working at the desk when she just walked in and asked if this place was a smithy! She didn’t read the sign or anything. Which, if you know Erin is typical of her…”

Selys scooted her chair closer to the table. Zel smiled as he abandoned his drink and his quiet mood. He let Selys talk about meeting Erin, her job, her attempts at dating, the fights she’d had with her grandmother, and then they ate dinner together. They were more friends than uncle and niece and when Selys said goodbye, it was fondly, with a kiss on the cheek.

“Next time you can visit me. Just not when I’m at work, okay, Uncle? If you walk into the Adventurer’s Guild, every Drake and Gnoll will want to shake your claw or kiss your feet or something.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Zel smiled as Selys bade him goodbye. Three days later, he left for the north. Selys heard of his alliance with Magnolia Reinhart two days after that. She never talked to him again. But sometimes she remembered what her grandmother had told her. And she wondered—

—-

“Selys?”

The Drake jerked and sat up. Selys Shivertail looked around as memory was upstaged by reality. She saw Erin looking at her, and realized half the adventurers in the room were looking at her. Guiltily, Selys sat up.

“Sorry, what’d I miss?”

“We were getting to the monster—or thing these Goblins found in the dungeon.”

Typhenous stroked his beard as he stood with his team around the table. Selys, sitting at another table Erin had pulled closer, glanced at the five Goblins sitting in the center of an audience of people. Five adventuring teams filled the inn—the Silver Swords, the Halfseekers, Griffon Hunt, the Horns of Hammerad, and the team of Vuliel Drae. Added to them was Olesm and Selys, both of whom had been summoned at the news of what had transpired in the dungeon—between the Goblins and Vuliel Drae.

It was a headache and Selys was already wondering how her grandmother would take the news. Probably by telling Vuliel Drae to go right back in the dungeon and get eaten. She glanced at Olesm, wondering how the [Strategist] was taking the news. Then she realized the Goblins were talking.

Well, sort of talking. Between the five of them they’d said very little. Their ‘speaker’, the Goblin that Erin said was named Numbtongue was reticent, and the others preferred to gesture with their hands and bodies. They’d plotted a course through the dungeon, pausing to answer questions from the adventures of what they’d seen. It was the mundane descriptions and pausing to ask ‘what does that mean?’ that had made Selys trail off.

Now however, the adventurers were focused listening to the description of Face Collector, the monster that the Goblins had met. The name was what Erin had dubbed him and it bothered Selys that his description was so close to Skinner’s. It bothered the other adventurers too.

“Tell us again what you saw. And one of you answer in words. I’m sick of sign language.”

Revi glared at the other Goblins. They glanced at each other and four of them poked Numbtongue. He glared, but answered.

“Head. Sticking out from around corner. Watching us. Like this.”

Headscratcher got up and hurried over to the inn’s door. He opened it, stared at the rain pounding down, and then hurried into the kitchen instead. All of the adventurers stared as Headscratcher’s head poked out, wide and staring. Selys grimaced as she imagined that staring at her down a dark tunnel.

Erin shuddered.

“That’s creepy! You said there was a head staring at you? Just like that?”

All four Goblins nodded. Halrac looked at Jelaqua.

“Ring a bell?”

The Selphid shook her head.

“Nothing. And I’ve seen freaks in Baleros who collect all kinds of things. But that’s [Soldiers] and [Bounty Hunters]. Not a monster. Ylawes, you run into something like this?”

“Not us. And that paralysis effect—”

“What did the heads look like?”

Yvlon interrupted the Gold-rank adventurers. She stared hard at Numbtongue. He hesitated.

“Bald. Man. Older. Beard.”

He looked at the others and they nodded. Yvlon turned to Selys. The blond woman was grim.

“Does that match any of the descriptions of the missing adventurers?”

All eyes turned to Selys. She hesitated as she flipped through her notes. Adventurers came and went, but she had a few written descriptions of some of the adventuring teams who’d gone into the dungeon and never come back.

“Uh—bald? Human? It could be one of two adventurers that went missing in the dungeon. Oh wait—one of those is female. Probably this guy, then.”

She nodded at the others. The adventures listened as she read a description out and the Redfang Goblins confirmed it. Selys saw two of the members of Vuliel Drae look at each other in horror. It was a grim meeting, for all the Goblins had emerged from the dungeon with treasure.

Treasure! Selys would have been shocked at the latest developments, but today she couldn’t find the energy. She was…occupied. So much so that the continuing discussion was just wearying to her, rather than important.

“Raskghar ambushes, some kind of guardian monster with a paralysis effect—and an excessively punitive magical trap. Think this dungeon’s anything but a vengeance dungeon, Jelaqua?”

Seborn looked up as he sat on a table, cleaning one of his daggers. Jelaqua sighed.

“It’s got treasure, Seborn.”

“I know. But we might be in over our heads.”

Falene cleared her throat politely.

“Let’s focus on what we know before we worry about the dangers. These Goblins acquired the treasures Vuliel Drae noticed—”

“Right! Which means they should belong to us!”

The short Dwarf woman burst out angrily. Everyone turned to stare at her. Anith, the Jackal Beastkin, covered his face.

“Dasha, please don’t embarrass us.”

“What, don’t we get a cut?”

Ylawes looked at his team members.

“That is a fair point.”

“Right. How about we give money to the idiots who didn’t tell us they caused the attack on Liscor?”

Revi looked like she could spit iron. Typhenous sighed.

“Revi, please let it go for the moment.”

“No! Honest adventurers come clean about their mistakes! What do you think would happen if we lied about a disaster like that?”

Ylawes glared at her.

“That doesn’t mean they don’t have rights to compensation for information, Miss Revi.”

“Up yours, Byres!”

The adventurers broke out into loud arguments punctuated by angry flashes of magic crackling through the air. Halrac breathed out slowly, irritation written all over his face.

“Hey.”

Selys felt a tug at her arm. She turned and saw Erin gesturing towards her kitchen. Grateful for a reprieve, Selys followed her friend into the kitchen as the argument got louder. Selys sighed in relief.

“Thanks Erin, I could use a break.”

Erin looked at her Drake friend.

“You alright, Selys? You were spacing out.”

“Spacing…out?”

Selys frowned. Erin corrected herself.

“Going like this.”

She gave Selys a vacant, unfocused look. Her Drake friend looked dismayed. Erin grinned.

“It wasn’t that obvious. But you seem distracted. Something wrong?”

“Oh. It’s…well, it’s a bit of bad news, Erin. Sorry, I know I should be invested. This is my job, after all. But it’s just that—well—”

The [Receptionist] grappled with how to tell Erin. The [Innkeeper] waited patiently, occupying herself by finding a keg she’d stored in one corner of her kitchen.

“Look, it’s—”

“Hey Erin! Revi’s about to pick a fight! Can you do something—oh.”

A Drake edged into the kitchen, looking nervous. It was Olesm. The [Strategist] saw Selys and Erin and broke off. Selys bit her lip and her tail twitched in agitation. Erin sighed.

“Darn it! And I was just about to bring out my secret weapon. Hey Drassi! Help me lift this!”

Another Drake hurried into the kitchen. She waved at Selys and Selys waved back. Drassi was one of her good friends, but the [Barmaid] was on her shift so she headed back out of the kitchen at once with Erin to calm the fight with a stiff drink for everyone. It worked on Revi because, according to Erin, she was nicer drunk than she was sober.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Olesm looked somewhat awkward. He and Selys weren’t friends except through Erin. She shrugged. Selys had a bad feeling in her chest, like a cold lump.

“Forget about it. I was just telling Erin about what’s happening tomorrow. You know, right?”

“Tomorrow? Oh—”

Olesm paused. He looked at Selys.

“You know about that? I got a classified report, but how do you know?”

She glared at him. For a [Strategist], Olesm was an idiot.

“What’s my last name, scales-for-brains?”

“Um. Oh—I’m so—”

The Drake turned red and stammered. Selys shook her head.

“Forget about it. I guess it’s just as well that I had to come here—on my day off—to deal with this. It’s not like my week can get any worse.”

“I’m sorry about that. It’s my day off, too. But this is a matter for the city and you are the best [Receptionist] in the Adventurer’s Guild.”

“How wonderful for me.”

Selys’ mood was dark and she really just wanted Olesm to follow Erin out so she could have a minute to herself. The last thing she wanted was to talk. Unfortunately, Olesm’s sense of tact was horrible.

“I know this is a bad time, but uh, did you get a chance to bring up my proposal? The paperwork’s all done, but I haven’t gotten back a reply from the Adventurer’s Guild. I sent two follow-up requests via Street Runner—”

She couldn’t deal with this right now. Selys flared at Olesm.

“I’m working on it, Olesm! It’s not my call to make! You can recommend your idea as much as you want, but since it involves an adventurer and monsters, my grandmother has to sign off on it. And you know she’s not going to.”

“But the proposal—”

“Take it up with her, Olesm!”

Selys stalked out of the kitchen, her tail lashing so hard it nearly smacked into Lyonette. The [Barmaid] stopped as she held Mrsha.

“Sorry.”

“It’s nothing. I was just taking Mrsha out of the line of fire if there’s another fight. Mrsha, here’s Selys! Say hi!”

The Gnoll blinked at Selys. She’d been running about excitedly ever since the adventurers had come back smelling of blood and adrenaline. Now she was tired out. She waved at Selys and the Drake found the energy to smile at her.

“Hi Mrsha. Are you sleepy?”

“I think she’ll have a nap upstairs. Excuse us.”

Lyonette hurried off as Selys reappeared back in the room. Everyone was drinking, and the flames of anger had reduced to dim embers, so to speak. Selys noticed Pisces hovering next to the three artifacts that had been collected. A bundle of cloth, a bell, and a necklace. No one had dared to unwrap the artifacts, but he was having a go at trying to discern what they did.

“Okay, okay. Let’s agree that the artifacts are the Goblin’s. I guess. Dead gods, that’s insane to say! But what if we paid for them?”

“Up to them.”

“Oh, come on! You can’t be—”

“That’s the law, Revi.”

“They’re Goblins.”

Jelaqua stirred as Revi dragged her fingers through her hair.

“Excuse me, but our team had a Goblin in it. Not a good example, I know. But the Halfseekers have had this argument before. What applies to Goblins gets tossed at Selphids and Drowned Men more than you’d think.”

The Stitch-Woman colored.

“I didn’t mean your team! This is different!”

“What is different? Species? Gender? If you make an exception for those you call monster, how soon until that label applies to us?”

Moore raised his head as he spoke slowly. No one had a reply to that. Revi looked like she wanted to stitch her mouth closed in embarrassment. Selys was wondering whether she should ask what was happening to Vuliel Drae when the door to Liscor swung open.

“Watch Captain!”

Olesm looked surprised as Zevara entered the room. She nodded to him and halted as she eyed the Goblins. And Vuliel Drae. She didn’t comment on either though, and instead made a beeline towards Erin.

“Miss Solstice, I hate to interrupt, but I need a word. Excuse us.”

The adventurers let Erin walk away with Zevara, into the kitchen again. Knowing what this was about, Selys followed. She saw Zevara talking with Erin.

“No, your Goblins aren’t in trouble as far as I know, Miss Solstice. Ancestors, there’s no law forbidding Goblins from raiding a dungeon! And no, I’m not discussing Vuliel Drae either. This is—incredibly—another matter that involves your inn.”

“Really? What?”

“We need to reserve your magic doorway. All day tomorrow and probably the day after that. We’ll have people coming through. We’ll pay you for the time and we’ll work out the mana costs, but I’m telling you now. I know it’s sudden, but—”

“Why? Is something big happening?”

Zevara looked surprised. The Watch Captain glanced at Selys.

“Miss Shivertail didn’t tell you?”

Erin turned to look at Selys, who avoided meeting her gaze.

“No…”

The Watch Captain paused. She glanced from Selys as if asking whether she’d prefer to say. Selys shrugged, so Zevara went on after a lengthy pause.

“I don’t know if you’d heard. But General Shivertail’s body was recovered from the battlefield by the Humans after the Goblin Lord retreated. Magnolia Reinhart took charge of preserving and transporting it. It took a while due to the situation in the north, but a carriage is due to arrive in Celum tomorrow. We will be requesting the use of your door to transport the…remains here.”

Selys felt a jolt in her stomach. She pressed her sheaf of parchment to her chest and closed her eyes. She heard nothing from Erin, and then a faint voice.

“Oh.”

There was a sudden noise that made all three women look up. Upstairs, Mrsha suddenly began howling. Selys closed her eyes.

It was hard to be alive, today.

—-

She couldn’t stay. Not after all that. Mrsha had heard Zevara’s comment despite being upstairs and the ensuing commotion had caused chaos at Erin’s inn. Not least because there were five Goblins in her inn. Selys was still—she couldn’t believe that Erin—she knew that—

Her head was a mess. The [Receptionist] left through Erin’s door to Liscor and stomped through the wet streets. Her wet cloak was being used to shield her notes from the rain, so Selys got drenched on the way back to the Adventurer’s Guild. It was raining. It always rained in the spring. Selys had no idea why, but something about the spring and the fact that Liscor was surrounded by mountains caused the intense rainfall each year. Or maybe it was a magical effect. All she knew was that it made her mood worse, for all the skies reflected her feelings.

The storm drains leading into Liscor’s sewers were overflowing in parts and Selys had to splash through backlogs of filthy sewer water and rain. Something was clogging the drains—dead moth corpses, probably. It was a nightmare because without those drains Liscor would flood, surrounded as it was by water on all sides.

And that was a problem that took top priority in Watch Captain Zevara’s books. So she’d given Selys an order to follow up on Olesm’s request to the Adventurer’s Guild, which had, incredibly, made Selys feel even worse.

“Damn Watch Captain, giving me orders. Stupid tail-wagging idiot. I’d like to see her try and reason with—”

Selys kicked into the Adventurer’s Guild, letting the door rebound off a wall and slam shut behind her. She saw a few heads look up. No one wanted to be in the guild on a night like this. There was a [Receptionist] at the desk and a few Bronze-rank adventurers trying to claim bounties on Quillfish. Selys would have happily stabbed them all to death if it meant having an hour’s peace.

Sadly, that was not to be. The [Receptionist] behind the desk was a younger Drake with pale pink scales named Nolsca. She opened her mouth to either comment about Selys dripping onto the floor which she’d have to clean up, or ask for help with the desk. She met Selys’ gaze and shut up.

“Is the Guildmistress still here?”

“Yes, Selys.”

“Good, I’ve got to see her.”

Selys stomped up the stairs to the second floor, wishing a pox on the idiot who’d decided to put a four copper coin bounty on Quillfish. Drakes were supposed to be filial towards their elders, but Selys didn’t care. A pox probably wouldn’t even slow Tekshia Shivertail down.

The elderly Drake was sitting in her office when Selys kicked the door open. Her grandmother was sitting in her chair, going over reports—and holding a spear in one hand. Selys paused as Tekshia lowered the spear that had been poised to throw at her granddaughter’s chest.

“Selys, what have I told you about knocking? I could have thrown this!”

The old Drake scowled at Selys. Selys, whose heart was slowly coming down out of her mouth, spluttered.

“Thrown it? Who did you expect was coming in here?”

“Anyone. [Assassins], a hired thug, some kind of monster—you don’t get to be as old as I do without being prepared! What have I told you about knocking? And why are you wet? Didn’t you bring a cloak?”

Selys ground her teeth together.

“I did. I got wet covering all the documents you made me take with me.”

“You should have put them in a carrying case! Honestly Selys…here.”

Tekshia tsked as she got up from her chair and fished around her desk. She had a hand towel for some reason and offered it to Selys. Grumpily, Selys accepted the towel and began to dry herself. Tekshia sat back down and eyed Selys disapprovingly.

“Well, how bad is it? Do I have to send a [Gravedigger] out?”

“No.”

“Not enough pieces? An [Undertaker] to record the names, then?”

“No, Grandmother. No one’s dead!”

“You mean they haven’t killed that Vuliel Drae team? What kind of soft adventurers do they let into Gold-rank these days?”

“They’re not murderers, Grandma!”

Selys was mildly horrified at what Tekshia was implying. Her only response was a snort from the old Drake. Tekshia had shrunk with age so she was shorter than Selys, and her appearance was deceptively frail at first glance. She still had far too much muscle for someone her age and her faded and patchy scales were the only real sign of her age. Tekshia had been a beauty in her youth and she liked to say that she was still a match for Selys, much to her granddaughter’s horror.

She was far different from Selys in many respects, not least of which was her old-fashioned views. She had grown up in a time when everything was tougher and Drakes took matters into their own claws, according to her. Selys didn’t doubt it. The younger Drake sighed as she tossed her dry notes onto Tekshia’s table.

“I don’t see what everyone’s so mad about. Yeah, Vuliel Drae caused a disaster, but why are they getting treated worse than the adventurers who survived Liscor’s crypt? We nearly lost the city that time, too! What’s the difference?”

Tekshia’s brows shot together. She picked up one of the scrolls of parchment Selys had written on and tossed it to one side before glaring at her granddaughter.

“The difference, Selys, is that the Horns of Hammerad and the other teams went out fighting. They retreated and immediately tried to hail the city—after all but one team had fallen fighting the undead. They took responsibility for what they did. As you’ll recall, they forfeited all their possessions to the city. This team hid from the moths they provoked and then lied to everyone after they escaped the dungeon. There is a difference.”

“Okay, but…killing them? Really?”

The old Drake shrugged as she played with her spear. It was a normal spear as far as Selys knew. Barbed, a wicked weapon but not the worst thing Tekshia had owned. She used to use an enchanted glaive—but she’d switched weapons for fear of her prized artifact being stolen. Selys couldn’t imagine anyone stealing from Tekshia and living to tell the tale.

“There was a saying back when I was an adventurer, Selys. ‘The weak grow strong. Cowards are fine. The only hero is a dead one. But traitors and liars die first.’”

“Okay, but that was then. Are you really saying Vuliel Drae lying about what happened is the worst thing they did?”

Tekshia shook her head.

“Running away is acceptable—Named Adventurers will flee just like Bronze-rank ones. Even incompetence can be understood. Disasters happen. But failing to take responsibility for your actions? Lying to your fellow adventurers and your Guild? That is the one sin we do not tolerate.”

Selys gave up and threw her claws in the air.

“Fine. If it’s such a bad crime, you can figure out what their punishment is. They’ve confessed to everything—I have Olesm’s statement and his signature, and witnesses from three Gold-team leaders like you wanted. And the Goblins got a bunch of treasures, by the way. Just thought I’d let you know.”

“I don’t care about them. If they found out more about the dungeon, write up a report and I’ll decide who should know what. But those Goblins are not adventurers.”

Tekshia looked pointedly at Selys as she said that. The younger Drake flushed. She had gotten into so much trouble when she’d tried to spring Erin’s crazy proposal on her grandmother.

“They went into a dungeon, Grandma. And got treasure. Three artifacts! Why not let them be a team?”

“I will not have a band of monsters roaming around as a sanctioned adventuring team. This was your Human friend’s insane idea and I don’t have to listen to it.”

“Come on, Grandma! Please?”

Selys didn’t know why she was arguing on Erin’s behalf. That was friendship for you. She could see why Erin wanted it for the Goblins—they’d be allowed to take requests and collect bounties on monster parts. A Goblin team? That would make them…halfway respectable. But Tekshia was more stubborn than a Gnoll with a bone.

“Give me some assurance, Selys. Just one and I’ll agree to it.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“Figure out a way. Now, was there anything else? It’s late and you should be in bed.”

Tekshia eyed her granddaughter sternly. Selys tried not to scream. It was unfair. Tekshia still treated her like a child, despite Selys being the most experienced [Receptionist] in the Guild! Not that that was saying much—it was hard to work for Tekshia, and the Adventurer’s Guild had been a quiet place with little opportunity to advance one’s class until now. But for all she’d worked hard, Selys’ opinions never seemed to matter to Tekshia. She could argue as long as she wanted, but Tekshia never agreed to try out any of Selys’ proposals.

Aggravating. But at least Selys had one card left to play. She smiled angrily at her grandmother.

“Just one thing, Grandma. Watch Captain Zevara and Olesm want me to get you to sign the proposal letting Pisces put undead in Liscor’s sewers.”

“No.”

The reply came back instantly. Tekshia didn’t so much as blink. Selys groaned.

“Come on, Grandmother! The sewers are flooding! I walked through two streets filled with water! There are rat corpses clogging the tunnels, more of those damn moths—none of the adventurers are going to do it!”

“I don’t trust necromancers. Neither should you. This Pisces is a former criminal. If his creations go rogue—”

“They won’t.”

“How do you know? What happened to that skeleton the [Necromancer] made? The one that has an open bounty on it?”

Selys bit her tongue. Why did the facts have to get in the way of every argument?

“That was different! This is a small undead…thing. He’ll let it work and it’ll be under his control. He’ll check on it regularly, that’s what the report says!”

The old Drake leaned over her desk.

“Really? Do you trust him? Will you take responsibility if things go wrong, Selys? Because it is my job to do just that. And I do not know, nor do I care to know this necromancer.”

Selys met her Grandmother’s gaze for as long as she could. It was impossible to stare her down. At last, Selys had to look away.

“I don’t know him, but he says—”

“That’s what I thought. Until you’re willing to give me something, you can tell the Watch Captain what I told you.”

The young [Receptionist] was about ready to punch her Grandmother, family or not. She resisted the impulse, not because violence against the elderly was abhorrent to her, but because she knew that if she took a swing, Tekshia would probably knock her senseless and spank her. There had been an…incident when Selys was eighteen.

Instead of physical confrontation, Selys resulted to words.

“Watch Captain Zevara says she’ll authorize it if you don’t. With or without the Guild’s permission, it’s going to happen, Grandma.”

“Does she now?”

Tekshia’s eyes narrowed. Selys knew her Grandmother was trapped and took bitter satisfaction in this small victory. The Adventurer’s Guild had a say in the city’s affairs, but the Watch Captain could overrule them. It was messy politics, but having a proposal go over Tekshia’s head wasn’t good for her influence. The [Guildmistress] of Liscor’s Adventuring Guild muttered several extremely vulgar insults about Zevara’s tail and other body parts, and then looked up.

“Fine. But you’re supervising him the entire time he and his creation are down there.”

“Me?”

Selys had been all ready to gloat. She felt as though someone had placed a rug under her feet and yanked it out from under her. Tekshia believed in hardwood floors. Easier to clean and they didn’t stain. She gaped at her Grandmother.

“Why do I have to follow Pisces into the sewers? Wait, why does he have to go into the sewers? The entire point is so that none of us have to be down there!”

“I want you to make sure his creation is doing its job. Watch it work for an hour. Or two.”

“An hour—”

“Tomorrow, I think.”

“But that’s—”

“Watch him. That’s an order, Selys.”

Tekshia didn’t give her granddaughter a chance to shout, scream, or throw a fit. She had a Skill she employed in moments like this—[Implacable Order]. When she said something would happen, it would happen and Selys could only obey or try to refuse, not argue about it. For a moment Selys considered refusing. Then a minute. Tekshia looked over Selys’ notes, grunting at the mention of the Face Collector as Selys fought internally. At last, she heard her granddaughter sigh.

“I hate you.”

“Thank you, my dear. What’s this about a monster that collects heads? Face Collector? Why not call it Head Collector instead?”

“It doesn’t sound as good? I didn’t come up with the name.”

“Pah. First this Skinner creation, now this. It makes me wonder what insane group built the dungeon. This fixation with flesh and body parts…it speaks to a disturbing trend. See if you can find any mention of an older Drake nation that focused on necromancy and the like. Or have that [Strategist] do it. I’ll write him a note. Or you can ask this [Necromancer] you like so much.”

“I don’t like him, grandma. He’s an arrogant snob. Although…”

Selys smiled wickedly as she remembered something that would get under Tekshia’s scales.

“…he is a good kisser.”

The elderly Drake looked up sharply. Selys looked innocent. Tekshia breathed out slowly, and then her mood changed. She glanced out her window at the rain pelting the streets below and shook her head.

“Tomorrow at midday will be the time when Zel’s body arrives. Selys, I want you to come, but only if you’re willing.”

Selys froze. She’d nearly been able to forget about that for a moment. She looked at Tekshia and gulped.

“Come? For what? To see…”

“Only if you want to. But I meant after that.”

There was a painfully kind look in her grandmother’s eyes.  She got up slowly, her bones creaking, and walked towards the window.

“His…condition will be a matter for Watch Captain Zevara and I. You don’t have to see that.”

“I want to see.”

“Very well.”

Tekshia’s shoulders were stiff. She paused and went on.

“What I meant was afterwards. Wall Lord Ilvriss has agreed to lend us his scrying orb, so we’ll be in touch with the rest of the family.”

“The rest of—oh.”

There were only two Shivertails living in Liscor. There had once been four—Selys’ father and her mother, who had married into the family. They’d settled in Liscor, but there was a large extended family that Selys had never met. There had been nothing particularly special about them until Zel Shivertail had made their name famous. Now they were considered lesser nobility in some respects, Selys understood. She had never so much as exchanged a [Message] or letter with one of them. And she knew her grandmother didn’t speak to her relatives that much either.

“What will they—what do they want?”

“Aside from seeing him? Legal matters. They’ve moved quickly. Too quickly, the greedy idiots. Couldn’t they have waited…? You’ll need to be present while it’s read to us by the [Mage] they hired.”

“Read what?”

Tekshia looked at Selys, irritated until she saw the honest confusion.

“His will. It’s a matter of deep interest to your relatives.”

Selys closed her eyes. The dull nausea flooded her chest again.

“Of course it is.”

—-

“A will? I didn’t know you had those.”

The next day, Selys was eating breakfast at Erin’s inn, a rare occasion. She had the morning off and Selys really didn’t feel like eating in her small apartment or having a meal with her Drake and Gnoll friends. So she’d come to Erin’s.

In retrospect it was just as bad as hanging out with her friends and eating alone. Erin was helpful, solicitous and she made an amazing omelette, but she didn’t understand Drake culture and Selys had to explain it to her.

Maybe that was better, though. Talking to someone helped. There was also Mrsha to consider. The Gnoll was lying on Selys’ lap, her head being stroked gently by Lyonette. Her eyes were still puffy from crying, but not red—Gnolls didn’t have whites so the difference was harder to spot. But sadness? Sadness was easy.

Selys shifted and offered Mrsha a bite of her cheesy omelette. The Gnoll just curled up, though Selys could hear her belly rumbling. Lyonette shook her head and Selys guiltily ate another bite.

“Of course we have wills, Erin. What do you think we are, savages?”

“Hey, I don’t know what—you don’t have lawyers, well you do, but they aren’t called—look, I thought it was new—although we probably had them in the Middle Ages, so…”

Erin grumbled to herself. Selys waited until she started making sense.

“So you have wills. Got it. And that’s really important in Drake society?”

“Everyone over the age of thirty has one, Erin. Everyone with anything to give away has one. I don’t have one, but that’s because I barely have more than a few gold coins saved up. I should probably make one.”

“Wow. That’s so dark.”

“Dark?”

“Yeah? Why are you thinking about all that? Is it important to Drakes?”

“Of course it is! Erin, how have you lived near Drakes and Gnolls for so long without understanding this?”

Erin looked bewildered. She glanced at Lyonette who was nodding.

“Okay. Someone explain this to me. Why do wills matter so much?”

Selys smiled ruefully. Trust Erin not to get it. She was so observant—and yet, she didn’t like to believe the bad in people either.

“Erin, we’re possessive. Haven’t you noticed?”

Erin blinked.

“Well, yeah. Sometimes I hear about Drakes being greedy and fighting over stuff. But that’s normal, right? Humans do it too.”

“Not like Drakes.”

“Sort of like Drakes.”

“Erin—whatever Humans do, however greedy you get, I don’t think you understand how bad Drakes can be. Remember how I said we have wars between cities all the time? And how we’re descended from Dragons?”

“Okay, so you’re greedy. But is it really…?”

Lyonette was nodding. Erin glanced at her. The young woman cleared her throat.

“Someone once said that if the world was destroyed and there was only dust left, Drakes would fight over who had the most dust.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right. Erin, you’ve only really hung around Relc, me, Drassi, and Olesm, haven’t you? And there’s not much to fight over in your inn. Sorry, but there isn’t.”

“‘S cool. I know I don’t have much. Wait, so what do you fight over?”

“Things that are ours. That’s why it’s not bad in your inn. But let’s say I was living in an apartment with my grandmother. Which I used to. We’d fight over pillows, cups, chairs—and since it was all Grandma’s to start with, she’d kick my tail if I tried to keep it!”

Selys’ own tail lashed angrily at the memories. Erin winced.

“Okay, you fight over stuff. But I mean, that happens…”

“I think we need an example.”

Lyonette leaned over to Selys. The Drake nodded. She and Lyonette barely knew each other, but the Erin education team was a group effort. She cast around and saw a Drake eating breakfast by himself.

“There.”

She pointed at Olesm. Erin frowned.

“Olesm? But he’s nice! He never gets greedy. At all.”

Selys smirked.

“Oh really? Olesm’s not nearly as bad as most. But he does it too. He doesn’t share his food, have you noticed?”

Erin opened her mouth to object, and then closed it. Selys could see her running through all the times when Olesm had been eating here. Slowly, she got up and walked over to his table. Olesm looked up and smiled at her.

“Hey Erin, thanks for the meal! This burger and fries thing is really good for when I’m in a hurry.”

She smiled at him.

“No problem, Olesm! Hey, I’m a bit hungry. Mind if I have a fry?”

She reached for a fry. Olesm gently covered his plate.

“Sorry Erin, but I’ve got to eat and run. Captain Zevara wants me on duty and uh, they’re my fries.”

“I know, but it’s just one, right? Let me have a bite from your plate, come on.”

“Ah…”

The Drake hunched over his plate as Erin edged around him. Erin looked perplexed.

“Just one? I made them.”

“No, come on, Erin…”

Selys and Lyonette watched Erin try to sneak around Olesm and him gently protest while shielding his plate. He was as sociable as ever, but no matter how Erin tried she couldn’t get him to part with a fry and Olesm was gobbling them faster and faster. Eventually she gave up and returned to Lyonette and Selys.

“Okay, I think I get it. But Olesm wasn’t so bad! And it was really funny.”

Selys just looked at her friend.

“Erin, you tried for five minutes. Did you get a French fry? Even one?”

Erin opened her mouth. Then she stood up.

“Hey Olesm! Give me a fry!”

“No!”

Olesm practically shoved the rest of his food into his mouth. He ran out of the inn as Erin tried to get the food. Selys watched Erin try to tackle the Drake and sighed.

“And that’s Olesm. There’s a reason why Drakes have wills and it’s to stop blood feuds over inheritance.”

Lyonette looked at her sympathetically and Mrsha raised her head. Selys sighed.

“Do you think it’ll be important, you being there?”

“No. I’m just a distant relative. But Drake laws says that we should be present or at least told, so…”

Selys shook her head. She got up as Erin tried to pin Olesm to the ground to steal one of his French fries. He punched her and then apologized. Erin rubbed her cheek and decked him.

All in all, it was a fitting start to the day. And it was still raining.

—-

Somehow, for some reason, Selys still had to work at her desk for the morning. Tekshia Shivertail had given her the rest of the day off, but Selys had to cover the first shift. It made her angry. So what if the guild was busy? Her uncle’s body was coming today! Why couldn’t her grandmother give her a day off? Just one?

It was a miserable day, filled with wet adventurers complaining about monsters and petty problems. There was something about the smell of wet Gnoll that Selys couldn’t ignore, no matter how long she stood at the desk. If there was one mercy, and it was a small one, it was that no one mentioned her uncle to her. They complained to her face, loudly, like any other [Receptionist].

No one had ever really connected Selys’ name to the great General Shivertail, the Tidebreaker, hero of the Drakes. It wasn’t as if she’d gone around telling people her last name, anyways. Selys lived in Liscor, far from the city where Zel Shivertail had first risen to fame defending against the onslaught of the Antinium. And Tekshia Shivertail was a known figure, a former adventurer who’d retired and run the Adventurer’s Guild for over three decades now.

So no one knew or cared. And they were rude and annoying, so Selys could vent some of her anger on them as well. She glared at a Human woman who was protesting how she’d been refused service by a Drake [Shopkeeper].

“And then he called me a smelly Human! I told the Watch and they didn’t do anything!”

Selys rolled her eyes.

“So what?”

“So what? I’m a Silver-rank adventurer! That Drake should open his shop to me! What if it was an emergency?”

“Was it?”

“No, but—”

Selys sighed. Loudly.

“Right, well you can file a complaint. Or drop it. And let me tell you that if you file a complaint, no one will care.”

She watched the Human’s face go red.

“This is outrageous! In Celum—”

Again, Selys took a bit of satisfaction in cutting the Human off.

“This isn’t a Human city, Miss. Adventurers don’t get special treatment and [Shopkeepers] can choose who they sell to. If you want your potions so badly, try Krshia. She’s a Gnoll—has a lot of good potions for a low price. You can find her on Market Street every day running her stall.”

“And that’s it?”

“Yeah. Did you want something else?”

It was like watching one of the fish in the waters around here gape. Selys watched the mouth open and close and then leaned around the woman.

“Next!”

For a second she thought there might be trouble. But the female adventurer just stalked off after making a sound like a dying Razorbeak. Selys waved to the next adventurer impatiently.

This was her life. It wasn’t glamorous or fun. It was just a job and Selys took a minimal amount of pride in it. She wasn’t an insane [Innkeeper] like Erin who could reach Level 30 in half a year. Neither was she an adventurer.

Selys had learned to use a sword and bow at her aunt’s insistence, and she had completed her mandatory training course and earned her Level 1 [Soldier] class as all Liscor’s citizens were obligated to do. But she wasn’t about to join the army. She was a [Receptionist], Level 18, thanks. Higher than average, but she hadn’t leveled in…Ancestors, was it eight months, now? She just worked with no expectation of anything, really. She was a normal person.

Or she had been, right up until her uncle had come to Liscor. Right up until she’d met a girl named Erin Solstice. Selys closed her eyes. Now she was running about and the Adventurer’s Guild was suddenly flooded with people.

All this new responsibility was bothering her, too. Her Grandmother was giving her a lot of work. She wasn’t letting Selys give any orders for now, but…she was old. Selys knew her bones hurt in the morning. She wasn’t young. If what was happening was what Selys thought was happening…

She was just a normal Drake. Why did she have to do more than she already did? Selys’ life used to be simple. Work, get off work, go to parties, flirt, have fun. That was all she wanted out of life. When monsters attacked, Selys did her part and hoped that the City Watch or adventurers could handle things.

She wasn’t special. She had a special, unique friend. But her? All her life Selys had known only one claim to fame. A secret she was proud of. She had an uncle who was a hero. A living legend who sometimes visited her and told her stories and gave her money for treats.

And now he was dead. Selys looked at the Gnoll in front of her.

“What do you want?”

—-

Work passed by slowly. As Selys noted the position of the sun she grew more and more impatient. By the time she’d signed out of work and had met her grandmother by the door she was trembling slightly.

“Steady.”

Tekshia’s voice was soft as she led Selys through the rainy streets. Both Drakes kept their cloaks over their heads and they headed towards the city council’s administrative building. Watch Captain Zevara was waiting there to meet them, with a small escort of [Guardsmen]. Selys looked for a…a coffin or shroud and saw nothing.

“It’s already inside. I haven’t touched the bindings. I…will have to be present, but I’ve insisted that no one else be in the room.”

“Thank you, Watch Captain.”

Tekshia Shivertail kept her back straight as she walked into the building. Selys followed her, conscious of the [Guardsmen]’s eyes on her. They had to know what they’d carried. There was an eerie silence to the building. It was never that busy—Liscor ran itself a lot of the time. And it was in the conference room, on the meeting table that they saw—

Selys gasped when she saw the casket. It was black wood, not furnished with any decorations. But the wood was expensive and it seemed to take up the room. Zevara cleared her throat several times as the Drakes stood around the room in silence. A [Guardsman] closed the door behind them.

“This is—I believe it came from Magnolia Reinhart. She was the one who sent the coach.”

“Kind of her.”

Tekshia’s voice was without emotion. She hesitated as her claws touched the lid.

“Did that woman say anything about what…the condition of my nephew’s body is in?”

“She warned us not to touch it. Apparently there were complications with retrieving the corpse. And…no, nothing more. But he died in battle. Miss Shivertail—Miss Selys, that is. Are you sure you want to see this?”

Selys had had that same question. She hesitated, then nodded.

“I want to see. I have to see.”

“Very well, then. I’ll open the casket.”

“I’ll take this end.”

Zevara and Tekshia reached for the lid. Selys couldn’t breathe. She saw a flash of light as the two women lifted the lid—the preservation runes to keep the body from decomposing. She heard a sound as Tekshia lifted her end of the lid and an oath from Zevara.

Then silence. Selys stared into the casket. She was too far back. She saw a leg. A leg she recognized. Then a flash of—gold? Trembling, she stepped closer. Her breath, her heart, everything—stopped.

“Uncle.”

Zel Shivertail lay in the casket, his arms folded, his face staring up towards the sky. What remained of it. Half of his head was gone. His body was—damaged. There was no describing it. His arms and legs looked torn, and his scales had changed color from their regular greenish hue. As if they had been bruised or he had suffered some kind of internal damage before dying.

His body was ravaged. And yet from his neck down to his waist, there was only a single, unbroken piece of armor. A chest plate. It glowed in the dark room, shining gold and red with magic. It was beautiful. But Selys only had eyes for her uncle.

“What happened?”

Selys had seen the dead. She had seen injures. She had never seen so many wounds on a single body. Zel Shivertail looked like he had been burned, cut, battered, and attacked from every angle. But it was his head that Selys couldn’t stop staring at. That had been the blow that ended his life. How had it happened? Who had—

Selys didn’t realize she was standing at the casket’s edge until she was there. She knelt over Zel’s body, too afraid to touch him. His face. His head! What had happened?

Tekshia’s face was pale. The old Drake stared down at her nephew and her voice shook, the first time Selys could remember ever hearing such a thing.

“A Goblin Lord did this? Goblins?”

“Ancestors.”

Zevara was just staring. Tekshia’s claws clenched. She stared at Zel’s closed eyes. He almost looked like he was smiling. It was just half a smile. Regret? Relief? Selys couldn’t tell. Her heart hurt.

Drakes were talking. She heard two female voices a she stared at her uncle. If she ignored the missing part of his head, he almost looked—

“Watch Captain, I want every Walled City to form a strike force. I don’t care what the Humans do. Drakes must answer this ourselves.”

“Guildmistress Tekshia, I’m sure they’ll listen, but that armor—”

“The armor?”

Selys blinked and looked away from Zel. For the second time she looked at the armor and finally took it in. Her eyes widened. Tekshia frowned at the metal.

“Zel never had an artifact so powerful. And this is no common breastplate. What in the name of Izril is—”

She breathed in sharply and backed up. Zevara and Selys looked at her. Tekshia’s voice was a whisper.

“That scheming Human woman had it. This is it! The Heartflame Breastplate!”

Both Drakes gaped at her. Zevara stared at the fiery metal, her eyes round.

“That can’t be! It was lost centuries ago! You’re telling me the Reinharts had it? And she gave it to General Shivertail? Why didn’t she take it back?”

“I don’t know. But it must be. Look at the metal. It’s unscratched! She gave this relic to him. And still—”

Tekshia’s voice broke.

“She left it with him. Why? To honor him?”

“To apologize, maybe.”

Selys’ voice was soft. Both Drake women looked at her. Zevara shook her head, her wonder broken by the reality of the moment.

“If she did—I’m sorry Miss Shivertails, but this has to be reported. An artifact like this—it was General Shivertail’s, but I don’t know what will happen to it after his death.”

“Nothing simpler. It will go to his heirs. His home city, perhaps. Or maybe he left it to a Walled City? Another [General]?”

Tekshia’s voice turned bitter. She flicked her claws at the armor, staring again at Zel’s face.

“It doesn’t matter. It is a pretty gesture. That’s all, Watch Captain.”

They stood in silence again. Selys didn’t know how long. She just stared at Zel’s body. Part of her wished she could imagine him getting up. But she couldn’t. He was dead. And the reality of that was smell and sight and…what was she supposed to do?

Zevara was the first to speak.

“I’ll have someone remove the—the armor before the funeral.”

She sounded guilty, as if ashamed to say it. Selys and Tekshia nodded absently. Taking armor and the possessions of the dead was standard practice. Few people were buried with their artifacts, and those that were, tended to construct entire dungeons to protect their treasures. Grave robbers would loot any corpse for the smallest of treasures and this armor would see every graveyard in Liscor dug up within the week. Selys knew that, but she hated imagining someone touching Zel’s body.

“I…suppose we should attend the next matter. We’ve taken a while as it is. Guildmistress Tekshia, Miss Selys. With your permission I’d like to activate the scrying orb and…let General Shivertail’s family observe.”

“What? Oh.”

Selys started, remembering what Tekshia had said. Her grandmother nodded.

“We might as well. Activate your orb, Watch Captain. And may the Ancestors give them the decency to speak well of Zel.”

That was a curious thing to say. Zevara paused before she lifted the palm-sized scrying orb. Selys didn’t see what she did or said—she was too busy staring. Again. It felt wrong to look at her uncle. She wanted to cover the casket, as if he was naked. She shouldn’t have looked at him. She shouldn’t have been here.

“—Watch Captain. Tekshia. And is that your daughter?”

“My granddaughter.”

A voice made Selys look up. She stared into the scrying orb. An older Drake, perhaps ten years younger than Tekshia, was standing at the head of a crowd of Drakes, all with green or some variation of green scales. The most distant coloration Selys saw was a pale yellow and a light blue.

The Shivertail family. They stood awkwardly, not one cohesive whole. But Selys recognized some of them anyways. If not by name, by the way they stood. Some were dressed richly, others in common clothes. One wore armor, another looked like he was a [Soldier] off-duty. They stared into the scrying orb, crammed too tightly together owing to the constraints of the artifact Zevara held.

“Ah yes. Your granddaughter. I forgot she was living with you.”

The old male Drake nodded at Tekshia. She nodded back without any real love in her eyes. A Drake woman, younger than the male speaker, raised her voice impatiently.

“We didn’t come to exchange pleasantries. We came here to read my brother’s will.”

“And see his body.”

The old Drake looked at her with a scathing glance. She returned it. They were both dressed finely. Was the female Drake Uncle Zel’s sister? Then who was the…?

Zevara cleared her throat uncomfortably.

“The casket has been opened and we have identified General Shivertail. I should warn you, though, Mister Shivertail. Your son’s body is—”

“Show me.”

The word was a command. Zevara hesitated, and then slowly walked over to the open casket. She tilted the orb and Selys heard a gasp of shock from the assembled Drakes. One stumbled back, laughing nervously. Selys heard a scream and saw two Drake children staring at the body, pale-faced. The girl hid behind her mother. The other Drakes closed their eyes, or turned away.

But Zel’s father, if that was who he was, made no such reaction.

“Ah.”

The oldest Drake stared at his son for a second. The sound he made was a bit surprised, but nothing more. Selys waited, but the Drake just looked lost as he gazed into the casket. He looked around blankly at the other distraught Drakes and a flame seemed to ignite in him.

“Stand up. Don’t turn away!”

The other Drakes obeyed him, straightening, forcing their heads back to grimace at the sight in the coffin. Some of them had never seen a dead body, Selys realized. It was something she had seen, however rarely, but these Drakes lived in a place where that was an alien concept.

Until now. Zel’s father stared into the casket while the rest of his family fidgeted or looked away. Only the military Drakes could watch. Selys saw tears in the eyes of the one wearing armor. She envied him. All of hers had gone far away.

“That’s enough. Close the casket, Watch Captain. I’ve seen—my son is dead.”

The elder Shivertail’s voice rasped hoarsely. Zevara nodded to Tekshia and put the scrying orb down for a moment. The lid closed. Selys stared at the black wood, remembering what was inside.

“What was he wearing?”

That came from Zel’s sister. She fanned at her lips with a handkerchief, looking pale. Watch Captain Zevara hesitated.

“That was the armor General Shivertail was wearing when he fell, Miss Shivertail. It was a gift to him by Magnolia Reinhart, I believe.”

“A powerful artifact?”

“Yes, ma’am. Guildmistress Tekshia believes it may be…the Heartflame Breastplate.”

Selys heard a gasp. She saw several Drakes lean forwards and one stared at the casket.

“Can you remove the lid so we can take another look?”

“You greedy hoarder!”

Another Drake exclaimed in disgust. Zel’s sister fanned her face.

“Why didn’t Magnolia Reinhart take the artifact back?”

“I believe she meant it as a sign of goodwill. It was the possession of the Drakes’.”

“And it was lost to war. We forfeited the claim to it as per the rules surrounding artifacts. If my brother died with it on, does that mean it was his?”

Zevara exchanged a look with Tekshia.

“Perhaps, Miss Shivertail. But we really can’t decide—”

“That’s a matter for the will.”

Zel’s father cut in harshly, looking at his daughter. Was she his daughter? There was no lost love in the glance she shot back at him.

“Ah, yes, the will. That is the reason why we’ve all gathered here. Well, let’s open it. We have a [Mage] and my brother’s last written will.”

She gestured to one side and Selys saw a Drake in [Mage]’s robes come forwards. He looked nervous to be at the center of attention.

“My lord Shivertail, my ladies Shivertail…Watch Captain. May I take it that you are the—the witness for the reading of General Shivertail’s last will as to the distribution of his possessions and wealth?”

“I am.”

Zevara nodded, looking pale but standing straight. The [Mage] nodded. He pulled out a sealed bit of paper and showed everyone the magical wax seal on the top.

“This will has not been opened or tampered with in any way. A Wistram [Mage] has certified this fact, as have I. With all members of his immediate family present, I will read the will’s contents.”

“He didn’t leave anything to anyone else?”

Selys blurted the words out. Everyone stared at her. The Drake [Mage] shook his head.

“No others were listed in General Shivertail’s will.”

“To whom else would he have given his possessions?”

Zel’s father stared hard at Selys. She opened her mouth to reply. His friends? Then her throat closed. Her uncle had never mentioned his friends. He was a [General]. He had allies. But he was always busy. After a moment the elder Shivertail looked away from Selys.

“Continue. Please.”

“Very well, I will read the will from start to finish. This was personally dictated by Zel Shivertail…eight years ago, I believe. A long time, but the will is still quite valid. Ah, please save your questions until after I’ve completed the reading. Everything I read is certifiable by truth stone. And I shall begin.”

The Drake cleared his throat a few times and read in a slightly trembling voice. Selys wondered if he was afraid of getting something wrong, or just conscious of whose will he was reading. His voice was a drone though, monotonous despite the moment.

“‘I, Zel Shivertail, do record this will freely of my own will and choice, that my last wishes be recorded and executed to the best of the ability of those individuals who should take possession of my remains…’”

The [Mage] ran through a lengthy and complicated opening to the will, specifying Zel Shivertail’s assets be used to pay for any debts he might have incurred, and that his property be distributed to the best of his ability. Selys had heard the same clauses a thousand times in other Drake wills. Of all the laws in Drake society, wills were treated as the most ironclad. When a Drake gave away their possessions, few laws in any city could challenge that right.

At last, the [Mage] came to the first real line of Zel’s will. He read it slowly as all the Drakes listened closly.

“‘To my family who have gathered here, I know not how I passed away or how I died. I trust I have died in service to Drakes, and wish for only the protection of my people in the times to come. I—’”

The [Mage] choked on his words and Selys saw his eyes glistening. A few of the Drakes behind him looked moved—some did not. That was worst of all, seeing the impatience on some faces, the greed.

How dare they? Selys felt a bit of anger, the first real emotion in her chest since seeing her uncle’s death. Slowly, the [Mage] collected himself and went on.

“‘I have but one request that I hope you will honor. Bury me with my—’”

He paused. This time some of the Drakes made audible sounds of impatience.

“What?”

“I’m sorry. The will states: ‘I hope you will honor…bury me with my…’”

Now all the Drakes were staring at him. The [Mage] read and reread the line in silence and his face went pale. He looked around. Zel’s father stared at him.

“Read it.”

Slowly, the Drake read the rest of the message. There was a perfect moment of shock after he’d finished. Selys’ heart skipped a beat. But that was nothing to the uproar on the other end of the scrying orb.

“He said what?”

“Does he mean—”

“That can’t be right! That has to be a mistake! He doesn’t—”

“Unacceptable.”

Zel’s father stared hard at the [Mage], who was shaking. He snatched the will and read it himself, then looked away.

“That is what the will says. It is a request, not a condition. It doesn’t have to be fulfilled.”

The [Mage] hurried to assure everyone. Selys stared at him. He had to know. Or to guess by everyone’s reactions what Zel’s final request meant. The rest of the Shivertails were outraged.

“Well, it may be a request, but it’s in poor taste to add to his will!”

“It’s his will, aunt! Where else should he put it?”

“We can’t honor it. There is no way. The scandal it would cause.”

“You’d think he wouldn’t cause trouble in his death. But no!”

“Be quiet!”

“Why should I? When we have a, a turnscale—”

“Silence!”

Selys saw the elder Drake whirl, heard a dull thump, and saw another young Drake stagger. The older Drake was furious. He raised his hand and the young male Drake retreated.

“Speak such slander at my son’s funeral—over his body again and I will cut you down. Any of you!”

He whirled, his angry eyes looking through the scrying orb at Tekshia, Zevara, and Selys. Zel’s father looked around, and his voice was iron.

“This will is sealed. No one is to breathe a word of it, understand me? My son’s possessions will be divided up according to his wishes—this line was never written.”

No one said a word. Zel’s father stared at the blank casket.

“We will remember him as what he was. A hero. Nothing less.”

There wasn’t anything Selys could say. Zel’s line burned in her mind. So. Tekshia had told her the truth. She didn’t know what to think. After a while, the [Mage] went on.

“‘To my father, I leave what lands I have been granted, as well as a portion of my estates.’”

There was a mutter from Zel’s sister. The other Drakes seemed to sigh. Selys relaxed slightly. The will was taking place. No doubt these rich Drakes wanted to see what they’d get. Zel had already made them rich, but who would get the rest? He was a [General] and one of the wealthiest Drakes in all of Izril. This is what most had come here for, hoping for a small bit of his legacy.

“‘The division of my monetary wealth held in the respective cities I have placed my earnings with is to be as follows. To my father, I give…’”

It was a lot of money. Zel didn’t name numbers, except in the case of a few Drakes whom he gave a certain amount of gold to, or an artifact, but the sums involved made Selys’ head spin. One Drake alone—and this wasn’t even the father or immediate family—would walk away with at least six hundred gold pieces. And from the disappointed look on his face, he’d been hoping for more.

Tekshia wasn’t named in Zel’s will as the [Mage] divided his money up, and his lands. Nor was Selys. They were distant relatives and it would have been strange indeed for Zel to leave them more than a few tokens. Selys didn’t want anything. But as she looked at the smiling sister—or as Zel had named her, sister-in-law, she felt strongly that no one should have anything else either. If Zel could see this, what would he say?

Would he care? Or just be disappointed? Selys shifted from foot to foot, her tail curling around her leg with her desire to leave until the [Mage] reached the last few lines of the will. It was a simple statement from Zel.

“‘To my Aunt Tekshia, I give her the spears in my armory along with any of my monetary investments, holdings, or other wealth placed in Liscor.’”

“Not much, I fear. We’ll send the spears to you, if you wish.”

Zel’s sister-in-law looked triumphantly at Tekshia. The old Drake just stared back, looking fed-up. The [Mage] coughed and went on.

“‘Any other properties not accounted for in my will shall be turned over to my father or my sister-in-law or nearest relative in order of relation. However, I give whatever personal effects were on my corpse to my niece, Selys Shivertail, in hopes she will one day become an adventurer—’”

Selys heard a gasp. She stared, uncomprehending, as the [Mage] paused. Every eye turned to her.

“‘—or to use as she desires. If said artifacts are lost due to war or the circumstances of my death, I give Selys a blade of her choosing from my personal armory and a sum of coins to equal—’”

“Ancestors.”

Someone breathed the word, interrupting the [Mage] again. Selys just felt blank. An adventurer? He’d actually remembered her. She looked at the casket, and then heard a shriek.

“He did what? That can’t be!”

Selys stared at the sister-in-law. She was pointing at Selys, her eyes bulging and rolling in her head. Why?

“Selys.”

Tekshia, Zevara, everyone was staring at her. Selys didn’t understand. Her mind felt too slow, as if she were underwater. She looked at Watch Captain Zevara.

“What? What’s so important?”

The Watch Captain stared at her. Slowly, Zevara raised a hand and ruffled the dark purple spines at the back of her neck. Her pale blue scales seemed almost ghostly as she looked at Selys. She spoke, her lips pale, her voice shaking.

“Miss Selys. If General Shivertail left you the possessions on his body…that means you are the inheritor of the Heartflame Breastplate and any other artifacts he owned.”

Selys heard the words. She didn’t understand them. She looked at the casket as the Drakes in the scrying orb shouted. She remembered the burning armor. She remembered her uncle’s smiling face. She knew it was important, but she was just empty. She looked around.

“Me?”

5.17 S

“Me?”

Selys stood in a dark room. A flame in an oil lamp gave it light, but it was too dark. A black casket lay on the long hardwood table in the center of the room. It seemed to absorb what little light there was. Outside the rain fell, turning everything dark and obscuring the sky. Selys stood, listening to the screaming.

“Check it again. I don’t care. Check it again! That can’t be what he wrote!”

The [Mage] standing in the scrying orb was being besieged by all sides. He held up the will like a shield as the angry Drake woman shouted at him.

“General Shivertail’s will is perfectly clear! Miss Shivertail, he left his personal equipment to one Selys Shivertail. That would include the—”

His gaze flicked towards Selys, towards the casket. Selys remembered the brilliant armor. But she also remembered her uncle’s face. She didn’t know what to say. Her face was pale. Her knees felt weak. She knew she should be shocked, and she was. But another thought was surfacing in her mind, cresting all the other thoughts.

Why? Why did you have to do that, Uncle?

Her first reaction wasn’t gratitude. Selys wasn’t agog at her good fortune. For a moment, just a moment, she was angry at Zel, angry at her uncle, for putting her in this situation. And then she was ashamed. She looked at the casket and then at the angry Drakes, fighting over Zel Shivertail’s possessions. His sister-in-law was pointing at her and screeching.

“Unacceptable! Unacceptable! That Drake girl isn’t one of the main family! She didn’t even know my brother!”

“Selys.”

Someone shifted the scrying orb. Selys saw Watch Captain Zevara hold the noisy magical artifact away from her. She edged over to Selys and whispered.

“Why did General Shivertail leave…?”

She looked stunned. Selys stared at her and shrugged.

“That’s Uncle Zel for you.”

Watch Captain Zevara gaped. Selys laughed a bit bitterly.

“He must have written the will years ago. Back when I wanted—well, I used to want to be an adventurer. He remembered it and never said anything.”

“Typical of him, really.”

Tekshia looked only a bit shaken. She glanced at the casket and shook her head. She looked almost fond for a second.

“He would accidentally leave you something like that. He never wore fancy armor and he had few magical artifacts compared to other [Generals]. Did you hear that part about giving you a sword? I bet he thought…”

All three Drakes winced as they heard an angry squawk from the orb. Zevara looked at Selys and made a rapid decision. She cleared her throat loudly and stared into the scrying orb.

“Ladies and gentledrakes, I’m afraid I must interrupt. Am I to assume that the contents of General Shivertail’s will have been read out?”

“Yes! And there’s nothing I can do to change it!”

The beleaguered [Mage] was shielding himself from several angry members of the Shivertail family. Zevara nodded.

“In that case, I, Zevara Sunderscale have borne witness and will oversee the distribution of General Shivertail’s will within Liscor.”

“Oh no you won’t.”

The angry sister-in-law strode up to the scrying orb. Selys got a good look at her nostrils and angry mouth as she grabbed it and glared into it.

“That will cannot apply to the armor! Where is this Selys Shivertail? Is that her? Come over here! Renounce your claim to the armor—”

“Enough, Xalia!”

Zel Shivertail’s father angrily grabbed for the orb. He glared into it and stared at Selys.

“This will be a matter for our cities to decide. Watch Captain Zevara, I want you to hold onto the armor until—”

“You don’t give orders here! Give that back to me!”

Xalia fought with her father over the orb. Zevara regarded the skirmishing Drakes with a look of revulsion. She spoke loudly as she held the scrying orb away from her face.

“The will is clear. Zel Shivertail has left his possessions to Miss Selys Shivertail. You may dispute the will’s contents as you please under the law, but until then, I’m afraid we have pressing business to attend to in Liscor. I apologize for the necessity, but we really must go.”

“Don’t you dare—”

Zevara muttered a word and the scream was cut short. The room was suddenly very quiet. Selys looked at Zevara. Tekshia sighed.

“Ancestors, what a mess. Now I remember why I haven’t seen my sister in twelve years.”

“What’s going to happen?”

Selys looked around, her tail twitching uncertainly. The two older Drakes looked at her and Selys was dismayed to see that neither of them had an answer for her. The awkward silence was punctuated by a door opening.

“Watch Captain? Is everything alright in here?”

A Gnoll [Guardsmen] glanced inside quickly. He must have heard the shouting. Zevara looked at him. She glanced at Selys, hesitated, and then snapped an order.

“No. Get me every [Guardsman] you can spare and secure this building! I want Relc, Klbkch—and get me Wall Lord Ilvriss and Embria!”

She turned to Selys and Tekshia as the Gnoll barked an order and someone started running. Zevara sighed.

“You’d better take a seat. This might take a while.”

They looked at Zel Shivertail’s casket.

“Elsewhere. I’ll find you a room.”

Selys stared at the Watch Captain as she strode out the door. Then she looked at the casket as her grandmother began muttering about Wall Lords and the army. A [Fireball] had just landed right in the middle of Selys’ normal life and blown it to pieces. But it had already been shattered.

Zel Shivertail was dead. Her uncle was gone. All that followed seemed oddly appropriate in light of it. Selys took a seat and waited. What else was there to do?

—-

“The Heartflame Breastplate. A national artifact and a symbol of the Drake people. Mentioned in several stories and older myths…the last known sighting was over two centuries ago in a war between the Humans and our people. General Ironscales had possession of the armor and it was deemed lost when she fell in battle.”

Ilvriss stood with his back to the window. His eyes blazed. He was a Lord of the Wall, but he looked as excited as a child who’d peeked into the Adventurer’s Guild for the first time. His tail swished back and forth as he spoke.

“We know the legends. The stories of it stopping an enchanted lance thrust to the heart? It never being broken? All confirmed by history. Of course, I haven’t had the time to properly investigate all the old tales—and Liscor lacks an archive. But every [General] knows the stories.”

“Stories. Myths. An artifact from the legends was sitting in the Reinhart armory for two hundred years. And turns up now.”

Tekshia sat in a chair, looking older than Selys could remember. Ilvriss nodded and the spark went out.

“True. It didn’t save General Shivertail. He—must have been truly cornered to have fought so hard.”

He looked towards the door. They were sitting in another room. Ilvriss had come at once and he’d seen Zel’s body. He looked—Selys had heard of his animosity with Zel, but Ilvriss looked truly unhappy. He shook himself, as if trying to wake himself.

“Speculation about his death is…in regards to the armor, I concur with Watch Captain Zevara’s assessment. It does belong to Selys Shivertail by law.”

“You’re serious?”

Selys looked up. She stared at Tekshia and Ilvriss.

“This had better not be a joke. Grandma, if this is anything like that prank you pulled on my 20th birthday, I swear I’ll—”

“This is no joke, Miss Shivertail.”

Ilvriss stroked at his chin with a claw as he spoke. Selys shut up. It really was intimidating to be around him. Not only was Ilvriss classically handsome in all the Drake ways, he was a Lord of the Wall. That was practically royalty to Liscor, who had no nobility of their own. And Erin had thrown a pan at him? Selys was too nervous to do anything but listen as Ilvriss spoke with the confidence of his station.

“Drake law is specific. We lost the Heartflame Breastplate in a war with the Humans. Whomever had a claim to it lost that claim and it became a possession of Zel Shivertail when Magnolia Reinhart gave it to him. He gave it to Miss Selys via his will, so it is legally hers.”

“Is there a specific law that states that? My extended family will fight tooth and claw if it isn’t.”

Tekshia looked at Ilvriss. He closed his eyes and nodded.

“‘Lands, property, and possessions lost to war are forfeited. A city, group, or individual cannot claim ownership over an object they used for the purpose of making war.’ The Agreement at Osthia, ECL. 426.”

“What a weird law. Why would we give away anything we lose in war?”

Selys shook her head. She’d just had a conversation with Erin about that very thing. Ilvriss smiled drily.

“If that law didn’t exist we’d go to war more often than we did. Like wills, these laws were put in place in order to prevent fights over lost treasures.”

“And conveniently, it means that Miss Selys’ case is rock solid. Anyone who wants that armor will have to overturn universal law to get it. Even a Walled City would have trouble making that case.”

Watch Captain Zevara sighed as she rubbed her eyes. She looked at Ilvriss.

“…And that means we have a national-grade artifact sitting in the other room. Ancestors. I’ve got Relc watching General Shivertail’s body with his partner, but I’ll need more than that if word gets out.”

“I will send my men to secure the building.”

Ilvriss nodded at once. Zevara raised a weary claw.

“Thank you, Wall Lord. But Wing Commander Embria insists her men take that duty. We’ll move everything to a safer location within the hour, as soon as a [Healer] arrives to…”

She broke off delicately. Tekshia snorted.

“Rob my nephew’s corpse? Did you have to tell that army hothead what was happening?”

“I didn’t have a choice! I’m a Watch Captain, Miss Tekshia. It’s my duty and they would kick up a fuss if I didn’t mention it. And I’m sure they’ll want to speak with Selys about…”

All eyes turned to Selys. She looked around.

“My armor?”

Her armor. The Heartflame Breastplate. Selys wanted to think about it, but the image of Zel’s face kept flashing through her mind. Why was no one talking…? Probably because this was easier to talk about. Because this was something they could actually do something about. The older Drakes talked, arguing about what should be done. Selys sat still, not really listening.

She felt like throwing up. Why was all this happening? Before she knew it, it was dark and Tekshia was turning to her.

“Selys, dear. Go back home and sleep. We’ll sort this out.”

“Gee, thanks, Grandma.”

Selys tried to be sarcastic, but her heart wasn’t in it. Ilvriss turned.

“I’ll send someone—”

“Forget it. The rain’s not going to kill me.”

Selys got up and walked out of the room. The older Drakes looked at each other. Zevara sighed.

“But someone else might. Do you think Miss Selys understands what just happened?”

Tekshia sighed.

“She’s young. And she just saw her uncle’s corpse. I don’t think she’s grasped it yet.”

“Well, what should be done?”

Zevara looked from Ilvriss to Tekshia. All three Drakes eyed each other. They were on the same side. Nominally. But the image of that artifact shone in their minds. What would happen next?

Selys didn’t know. She walked through the street, not realizing that half a dozen shadows were following her. She walked into her small apartment, took off her soaked clothes, dried herself, changed, and lay down in her bed. She was too tired. Too tired to…

Selys slept.

[Heiress Class Obtained!]

[Heiress Level 4!]

[Skill –  Increased Income obtained!]

[Skill –  Lingering Presence obtained!]

“Ancestors!”

Selys shot out of her bed, her face lighting up with sudden surprise and happiness. Then she sagged.

“Oh.”

She stared out the dark, rainy window and then covered her face with her claws and wept.

—-

Everything happened too fast. Selys woke up after a night full of troubled dreams. She walked around her apartment, swearing and eating the dried meat and stale bread she had in her cupboards. She opened the door to her house to collect some rainwater to wash, and realized her house was being guarded. The big, burly Gnoll standing right outside her door tipped her off.

She stared at him. He nodded to her and adjusted his helmet. He was standing beneath the eaves of her doorway so the rain didn’t hit him.

“Miss Shivertail. Watch Captain Zevara sends her regards, yes? She would like to speak with you as soon as you’re willing. Before the funeral.”

Selys just looked at him. There were so many things she could say in reply, but none of them came out. Her usual biting remarks were missing. The funeral was today.

“When is it?”

The Gnoll glanced towards the sky.

“Hrr. Four and a half hours from now if I’m a judge. The bells will ring from every wall twenty minutes ahead of time. Everyone will be there. I do not think anyone would miss it, no.”

Selys didn’t think so either. She closed the door and put on her rain gear. She didn’t feel like showering. When she left her house the Gnoll [Guardsman] followed. They met Watch Captain Zevara in Liscor’s largest plaza. The Watch Captain looked like she’d been up for hours. She looked tired and grumpy as she drank a stamina potion.

Selys knew what that was like. Erin had talked about something called ‘coffee’, but all Selys knew was that if you were flagging, a stamina potion would keep you awake long enough to finish your shift. You just felt like you were dead inside the entire time.

“Miss Shivertail. Apologies for the guard. In light of recent events I thought it was best.”

“What’s all this?”

The plaza was full of people. A stage had been constructed in the center of the plaza and Selys could see wet flags, wood barricades already holding back groups of civilians…

“The Council wanted the funeral to be public.”

“Funeral. But I thought we were going to send off his body—”

Zevara paused.

“We were. But a compromise was reached last night. General Shivertail’s family have no objections to holding the funeral here. A delegation from Pallass will arrive and General Shivertail’s funeral will be seen by all the Drake cities. His ashes will be sent to his home for burial.”

Bury me with my—Selys blinked. That was the compromise? She met Zevara’s eyes and the Watch Captain nodded ever so slightly. Then Selys fixed on something else she’d said.

“Ashes? You’re going to burn him? Why?”

The Watch Captain hesitated. She gestured at the Gnoll standing behind Selys and he backed up. Zevara walked closer and lowered her voice, although the rain drowned out the sound of her voice.

“There’s been a concerning development. I’ve kept it quiet, but I thought you and your aunt should know. We had a [Healer] remove the…armor from General Shivertail. However, the Drake complained of an odd feeling and diagnosed himself as sick shortly after touching General Shivertail’s body. He fell ill and passed away within the hour, despite the use of healing potions and antidotes.”

“What?”

Selys stared at Zevara in shock. The Drake woman nodded grimly.

“We’ve decided to cremate General Shivertail’s corpse in light of these events. Magnolia Reinhart did warn us—I exchanged a [Message] spell with her people and they’re convinced that whatever that was only affects those that touch the body.”

“Won’t anyone mind burning…?”

“It’s standard procedure with some burials. It won’t be out of place. We can claim it was in his will. I know this is all very hard—”

“For me?”

Selys stared at Zevara. The Watch Captain nodded uncertainly.

“It must be hard to deal with.”

She saw the [Receptionist] narrow her eyes in the rain. Selys spoke slowly.

“My uncle’s dead. That’s my business. I’m not the one dealing with his dead body killing people. I’ll be fine, Watch Captain. You do your job. I’ll be fine.”

She turned and walked away. Zevara stared at her back. She turned and found someone to glare at. The Gnoll [Guardsman]. He flicked his ears unhappily as the rain pattered off his armor and helmet. Zevara glared at him. Damn Gnoll hearing.

“You didn’t hear anything.”

He saluted.

“Not a thing, Captain.”

—-

Everything was a blur. Meaningless, but inescapable in its own way. Selys stood in the wet square as people worked around her. In silence. The crowd that had gathered was tired, wet, but determined to be there. They weren’t openly mourning—they had shed all their tears a week ago. But they came, Gnolls and Drakes and Humans.

Erin came. So did Mrsha, Lyonette, and the adventurers. Selys couldn’t face them so she stood next to Zevara as the Watch Captain kept the center of the plaza clear. Selys was allowed to be there. She was a relative. People stared at her, and Tekshia when she appeared.

Zel’s funeral was a production of the highest order. He was a war hero and this event mattered. It had to matter. So Liscor had pulled out all the stops it could. So had Pallass. The Walled City had sent a company of [Soldiers] to match Liscor’s own 4th Company. Embria and her men stood in the rain, presenting her arms. Pallass’ dignitaries and senators from their Assembly of Crafts stood with Liscor’s Council for the world to see. Every Drake city was watching.

And yet, there was a limit to how much they could do. When all was said and done, this was a funeral. It couldn’t be a parade and so the grandeur and effort of the cities was in appearance. The funeral itself was shorter. Somber. Quiet, save for the rain.

It happened too quickly for Selys. Pallbearers of the city’s finest Drakes carried Zel Shivertail’s body through the streets, past silent crowds. Ilvriss, Zevara, Embria…a [General] from Pallass, other officers Selys didn’t know, carried the casket. They laid Selys’ uncle down on a pyre of wet wood. Then they gave speeches.

Selys hid behind Zevara. She would have stood behind her grandmother, but Tekshia was too short. There was no such thing as a [Priest] in this world, not anymore. It was more fitting to let Watch Captain Zevara, Embria, and the other Drake leaders give speeches anyways. Zel Shivertail had been a soldier, and this was a military burial.

She didn’t listen to the words. She just stared at the blank casket and the dried brushwood and logs soaked in oil. Liscor didn’t have much wood—they usually imported it and hoarded what they had to last through the winter and spring. They’d had to get this wood from another city. Not from Celum. Pallass had insisted on providing high quality timber, as if it made a difference. Despite the rain the fire would burn hot and bright—courtesy of an [Alchemist] mixture.

After the speeches were done, Watch Captain Zevara stood and spoke Zel’s last rites. She spoke of heroism, of courage and sacrifice, of a [General], a legend. The Tidebreaker. Nothing about Selys’ uncle. She finished with a question Selys had heard once.

“Who will stand to avenge him? Which Drake will honor his memory?”

It was a question asked after Drakes died in battle. It was customary for someone to speak. Selys waited, numb, wet, and cold, and saw the eyes of the crowd.

They were staring at her. Selys turned white with shock, and then red. She was standing in the small crowd around the casket. And she was the youngest Drake there. That sent a cold shock down Selys’ spine. They were expecting her to—

Rumors had already spread about Zel’s will. But even without them, the stares of the crowd—Selys saw a [Mage] transmitting the scene—her face—to the world. She wanted to disappear. Again, Zevara asked the question as was custom.

“Who will stand to avenge our fallen? Who will rise for Zel Shivertail?”

The eyes. Selys felt like they were all focused on her. But what was she supposed to do? She wasn’t an adventurer! She was just—

Ordinary. Selys looked down at her feet in silence. Zevara raised her voice.

“Who among you will answer the call?”

“I will.”

For a heart-stopping second Selys thought it was her. But it wasn’t. Ilvriss stepped forwards, his face grim in the rain. Selys saw some of Pallass’ senators glare at him. Then Embria stepped forwards.

“I will.”

“As will I.”

More Drakes stepped forwards. Some in the crowd, others among the dignitaries. They shouted vengeance upon the Goblin Lord, heroes of the Drakes who wouldn’t let the Tidebreaker’s death rest.

It was a pretty scene. Selys wanted it to end. After the shouting had died down, Zevara turned. This was the final moment. She accepted a torch from a [Guardsman] and Selys saw two other Drakes take the brightly burning torches.

Tekshia and Embria. They had been chosen. No one had asked Selys. It was a custom. An officer for Zel from Liscor. The Watch Captain of the city. And Zel’s relative. Tekshia. They approached the pyre.

The casket was closed. Selys could remember what lay in it. Only, Zel’s body was stripped of the armor now. She wondered what he looked like.

The armor. Her armor. Selys wondered why it was hers. He’d given it to her so she could be an adventurer. She vaguely recalled telling him she wanted to be one. Years, oh, years ago.

It had been just a child’s fancy. But he’d remembered it. She stared as the three Drakes stepped forwards. They stood around the pyre. Waiting.

Tekshia Shivertail was the first. She gently placed the burning torch on the pyre. Zevara was next. She held her burning torch to her side until it ignited and stepped back. On the other end, Embria laid her torch on the wood reverentially.

The fire sputtered in the rain, but the alchemical mixture had been mixed well. There was a moment of silence, then the fire engulfed the casket with incredible speed. Selys heard a sigh from the crowd. She stared at the burning wood.

The flames danced in the rain, searing vision, a bright, living thing in the dark landscape. The pyre burned brightly for a long time, and then the rain reduced the fires to ash, then steaming embers. Selys stood in the rain, watching the ash smoke and fizzle until someone touched her arm.

Tekshia. The old Drake woman leaned on Selys’ arm. She’d stood so straight, so proudly during the funeral. Now she looked tired. Selys unconsciously offered her arm and Tekshia took it.

People were leaving. The after speeches went unspoken. No one wanted to say anything. Rather than leave all at once, the crowd in the plaza just trickled away. Many stayed, staring at the place where Zel Shivertail had been put to rest. Tekshia’s voice was soft as she and Selys walked down the street.

“I’m too old, Selys. Too old to do this again.”

“It wasn’t the same.”

Selys whispered the words. Tekshia looked at her.

“The same as what?”

“As Mom and Dad’s funeral.”

The elderly Drake paused.

“No. It wasn’t.”

That was all they said. Selys walked her grandmother back to her apartment, a lovely spacious one she’d had longer than Selys had been alive. She saw her grandmother off, stood in the rain. Until she realized someone was waiting for her.

“Do you get tired of bothering people?”

Wing Commander Embria stood stiffly in the rain. Her red scales reminded Selys of the embers. She saluted stiffly.

“I apologize for my interruption.”

“Good. For you.”

Selys glared at her. Embria hesitated.

“Miss Shiv—Miss Selys. I know this must be hard for you, but there are some matters we must discuss in regards to your—to General Shivertail’s will. If you’ll come with me?”

—-

The armor sat on a stand. It was a breastplate made of some kind of gold metal. There was really a limit to what you could say about it. Whatever [Blacksmith] had made it had engraved faint patterns into the armor, but the rippling fiery enchantment over the armor made it hard to see. When you stared at it, it was a breastplate that shone like fire and gold, like the dawning sun.

Like a pyre. If Selys hadn’t known what it was she would have thought it was a beautiful artifact, worthy of a Gold-rank adventurer, maybe even a Named One. But because she knew what it was it looked…almost cheap. You would have thought a legendary artifact would light up the entire room or make everyone that stared at it fall to their knees in awe. But it was just magic.

Just magic.

“It’s yours.”

Zevara awkwardly gestured at it. She stood in the small room—one of the unused rooms in Liscor’s city hall—with Embria and Ilvriss. Selys looked at the others.

“Mine.”

“That’s correct. There was an argument—a battle, really—over the contents of the will. But the law was clear and Salazsar and Pallass both backed your right to the armor. The other Walled Cities couldn’t protest, and while the Shivertail family was noisy…well, it’s yours.”

Selys stared at the armor. The Heartflame Breastplate. Just last week she’d had trouble meeting her rent since she’d spent too much on jewelry. Now she had this. This.

“I didn’t want it. I don’t want it.”

The Drakes looked at her with varying degrees of shock. Selys looked around. Military people. [Warriors]. They probably dreamed about getting artifacts like this. But she was a [Receptionist]. What was she supposed to do, wear it in case she was assaulted at her desk?

“This is mine?”

They nodded. Selys looked at the armor.

“What the hell am I supposed to use it for? A paperweight?”

Watch Captain Zevara cleared her throat.

“Miss Selys, I know this is a lot to take in. But this armor—you need to do something with it. We can’t keep guarding it forever. One of the Shivertails let it slip that it was bequeathed to you, and there are already hundreds of [Message] spells asking about it. Soon there will be [Thieves] and people trying to take it at all costs.”

“Someone already tried.”

Everyone looked at Ilvriss. The Wall Lord nodded to the armor.

“Last night one of my people caught someone lurking around the side of the building. They escaped, but there was an attempted break in an hour later. A [Burglar], a local criminal, according to Senior Guardsman Relc, who apprehended him.”

“It’s already started. And it’s only going to get worse. Artifacts like this attract people like flies. And this one—Miss Selys—”

“I heard you. What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Sell it?”

“What?”

Selys looked at Ilvriss. He studied her and the armor with a quick, appraising gaze.

“I would like to offer to buy the armor from you, Miss Selys. I realize I can’t offer you fair compensation for a legendary artifact without a known value, but consider it. You could sell the artifact in exchange for coin, goods, services…this could make you a very wealthy Drake.”

“Wall Lord! Miss Selys hasn’t had time to process any of this. Give her time—”

“It’s an offer, Watch Captain Zevara. I have no doubt Miss Selys will receive countless others by the time the day is done. I simply want her to be aware that I can pay my price up front and out of pocket.”

Ilvriss’ voice was calm. Selys couldn’t imagine how much he was talking about. Ten thousand gold coins? No, for any powerful artifact—

“The army could use the breastplate. Miss Shivertail might consider choosing to give the armor away to someone allied with her interests, rather than an outsider.”

Embria slid smoothly into the conversation, smiling politely at Selys. If she hoped to be friendly it didn’t work. Selys eyed her and Ilvriss. Zevara raised her claws.

“Wing Commander, Wall Lord! Please, let Miss Selys decide for herself.”

“You mean, to sell an incredibly powerful magical artifact. Just like that?”

The Drakes looked at each other. Zevara coughed.

“Not right away. If you have any questions, feel free to ask. Your grandmother is sure to have an opinion on the issue.”

“You don’t have to make a decision today. We can defer the issue.”

“The issue of guarding it will of course be undertaken by my [Soldiers].”

“And my people. There’s no cost of course, but there is a limit—”

“A representative from Pallass is waiting to speak with you and you have [Message] spells from—”

It was like rush hour and she was alone at her desk. Selys looked from face to face as the Drakes who were far, far too important to ever speak with her normally jostled each other for her attention. Then she had a thought.

“I can’t. I’d love to ask—but I can’t. I have to go. I have an appointment. My job.”

“Doing what? I’m sure it can wait.”

“No it can’t. My grandmother gave me a task and it’s today. Now, in fact.”

“Doing what?”

Selys wanted to laugh hysterically.

“I’ve got to go supervise a [Necromancer] in the sewers.”

They stared at her as if she were mad.

—-

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.”

Selys walked down the street. Pisces glanced up and sniffed. He was standing next to a sewer entrance. He wasn’t wet. A barrier of air shielded him from overhead, keeping his spotless robes nice and dry.

“I would complain, but given the circumstances I will refrain.”

“Gee. Thanks.”

Pisces glanced at Selys, and then his eyes flicked down the street. Selys didn’t have to turn to know that a group of figures was not-so-discreetly loitering there.

“I assume that those following you are friendly in some sense of the word?”

“They’re [Guardsmen]. And Liscor’s [Soldiers]. Oh, and I think some of them are Wall Lord Ilvriss’ people.”

“Ah.”

Pisces glanced at Selys, and then at the sewer entrance. It was an iron doorway set into a tunnel that went all the way down to the sewers, Selys knew. It was locked, but Selys had a key. Pisces glanced at Selys again. She just glared at him. She was wet. She didn’t like Pisces that much and she didn’t want to hear a single acerbic comment out of him. She wasn’t Erin who had the patience to deal with weirdos all day. But to her surprise, Pisces cleared his throat.

“I could do this myself. Or we could postpone this task for another day.”

The Drake [Receptionist] blinked at him.

“I have a job to do. And I have to follow you and make sure you’re doing it right.”

“Yes, but if you’d like to take a break I would be more than willing to relegate this errand to a later date. I understand today might be somewhat stressful…”

He trailed off and Selys realized what he was getting at. He was actually being tactful. She paused.

“I’d never hear the end of it from my grandmother if I shirked my duties.”

“You could tell her I failed to turn up. Or that I requested an extension.”

Why was he trying to be helpful? Selys tail curled with stress.

“I—appreciate the offer, Pisces. But Zevara, Olesm, and everyone else are breathing down my tail to get the sewers cleared. Let’s just get this over with.”

“As you wish. I assume you have the key?”

“Yeah. Move over.”

Selys fished around and came up with an old key. She unlocked the doors while Pisces stared over her shoulder.

“Please tell me that your escort isn’t going to follow us into the sewers. Fifteen Drakes and Gnolls crowded down there would be—”

He paused.

“—Fairly entertaining, actually.”

Selys bared her teeth.

“I don’t think they get paid enough for that. Besides, we’re not going in far, are we? Here we are.”

The sewer doors opened and let a terrible stench out. Pisces covered his nose and coughed. Selys gagged. She heard the [Necromancer] mutter a word, and a breeze blew past her. The smell vanished.

“Huh. Thanks.”

“Wind spell. A shame I never mastered scent illusions. Are you alright, Miss Shivertail?”

She was getting sick of being called Miss Shivertail. Selys eyed Pisces.

“It’s Selys. I’ll live. Where’s your undead creation?”

“In here.”

Pisces patted a bag of holding at his side. He hesitated. The steps leading down weren’t wet, but the rain was blowing in and there was a good amount of moss coating the old stones.

“You really needn’t come down with me. Neither of us need be here, to be honest.”

“I’m going. Stop trying to talk me out of it.”

Selys glared and walked past Pisces. She took the steps down as the stench of the sewers grew worse and worse. The steps led down to a very large, very flooded sewer. Selys had been down here only once before, back when she’d wanted to become an adventurer. One hour in here had disabused her of that notion.

The sewers of Liscor. Every decent city had sewers, at least in Izril. It rained too much not to invest in such things. But sewers brought trouble. They were a breeding ground for disease and pests, for one thing. Monsters had a nasty habit of invading the sewers, and as such, it was considered a rite of passage for most adventurers to start at Bronze-rank by slaying giant rats, slugs, slimes, and other monsters in the sewers for copper and silver coins. It was disgusting work, but it was plentiful.

If Liscor’s sewers were different from other sewers in other cities, it was in size. To manage the runoff of water, the sewers had been built larger to withstand the heavy rains that came every year. Selys could see black and filthy water rushing down the main tunnel as she descended the steps.

You’d expect sewers to be filled with green sludge, or resemble some kind of bog. You would be wrong. These sewers were meant to send the water out of Liscor. If they were clogged something had gone wrong. And in fact, it was that very issue Selys was here to address with Pisces.

“Ancestors, what a stench.”

“It’s certainly pungent.”

Pisces seemed more immune to the horrendous smell down here than Selys. He wrinkled his noise and covered his face with one sleeve, eying the moss and lichen growing on the walls of the ancient stone. Selys breathed through her mouth.

“According to Olesm, the sewers are getting clogged thanks to moth bodies and rats. Those damn things stop water flow with their nests. Fortress Beavers do it too sometimes. I saw several streets being flooded since the drains are blocked.”

“That was my understanding. Olesm commissioned me to solve the problem, and I offered the use of my undead. I have my creation ready to deploy. Should I…?”

“Yes!”

Selys just wanted to be out of here. Why was she here when she had just inherited a magical artifact? If she sold it, she’d never have to work in the sewers again. She watched as Pisces rummaged around in his bag of holding, and then produced a handful of bones. He tossed them to the ground and pointed.

“Rise.”

Selys had never seen anyone animate an undead before. She watched in horror—and fascination—as the bones floated upwards and rotated, joining together to create a skeletal…thing on the floor. It was definitely not the skeleton of anything that had once been alive.

It resembled a dead animal that was half dog, half cat, and somehow, half rat. There were too many bones, and it had tearing jaws, long claws, and ‘spines’ of sharpened bones. It looked like it had been born to hunt down other creatures its size. Selys shuddered.

“That’s your creation?”

“Please don’t be alarmed. This creation is totally under my control. It is a variant of a Bone Horror, scaled down for utility. It will not approach you or harm you in any way.”

Pisces spoke quickly, holding his hand out as the bone hunter…thing flexed its body, raising a clawed leg and opening and shutting its mouth. Selys stared at Pisces and then at the undead horror he’d made.

“I’m not scared of it.”

“You aren’t? Ah, well, that is good. As I told Olesm, it won’t take any action without my command and it will follow my instructions most precisely. You need not look at it.”

The thing appeared to be checking its body for faults. Selys stared at it, and then at Pisces. He was half-shielding it from her view.

“Are you afraid I’ll faint or something?”

He sniffed.

“I am aware of your people’s fear of the undead. I would not wish you to faint or become hysterical, especially given our proximity to the water.”

He stared at her with a mixture of disdain and condescension. Selys felt her blood boil. He thought she was going to run away screaming? She’d heard from the other [Receptionists] that they were terrified of him. Selys glared at Pisces. She stared at his Bone Horror and raised her foot. Then she kicked it into the water with a splash.

Pisces gaped at her. Selys glared at him.

“What? Don’t tell me it’s too fragile to take a kick?”

“No, but—that—”

Selys folded her arms.

“I’m not afraid of the undead. I just don’t like them. Is it going to get to work or do I have to kick you into the water after it?”

It was cathartic to see the [Necromancer]’s jaw drop. Pisces raised a finger, and then turned and pointed. Selys saw the water shift, and a dark shape moved out of sight. She waited, and then saw  the undead thing clamber out of the water and lope down the elevated walkways.

“Good.”

Pisces watched it go, and then eyed Selys. He almost looked impressed. Selys got the impression that no one had ever kicked his creations before. She just glared at him.

“What?”

“Er, nothing.”

“Good to hear. How long until that thing gets to work?”

“It should already be hunting down rat nests, ah, Selys. It will locate them, climb into their dens and eradicate them. If it senses a blockage it will excavate the offending area.”

Selys raised one of her brows.

“Excavate?”

“It will, ah, disassemble any corpse or blockage it finds. My creation can dissect most creatures quite quickly.”

“Gross.”

Selys sighed. Well, adventurers did the same thing. That was one of the reasons why it was so hard to get people to do sewer work, despite the higher pay. It was a disgusting job where you had to haul dead and rotten body parts around. And if you fell into the waters—well, if there hadn’t been rain for a while it could get nasty.

“Just show me when it kills things. I’ll stand here, say that you’re not creating an army of undead in the sewers and go home. You can leave and I can go, okay?”

“That sounds like an excellent plan. Selys.”

“I know.”

The Drake folded her arms. Pisces blinked at her, still looking off-guard and raked a hand through his hair. They stood together in silence as the waters flowed past them. There really wasn’t much Selys wanted to look at. After a while, Pisces spoke.

“If occurs to me that we haven’t spoken at length before now.”

“I don’t hang around Erin’s inn that often. And you don’t show up in the Adventurer’s Guild too much.”

“Yes, well, I am aware when my presence is unwanted.”

“Maybe if you stopped making undead and sneering at everyone we’d all like you more.”

Pisces’ eyes flashed.

“My pursuit of necromancy is my choice to make! My spells are useful—even if only a few individuals are willing to acknowledge that fact. The fact that the Adventurer’s Guild refused to consider my reasonable offer after Olesm had approved it reflects more poorly on you than I. Or am I incorrect in thinking you resorted to my services due to a lack of interest in your ‘tried and tested’ methods of clearing the sewers?”

His voice was hurt and waspish. Pisces sniffed haughtily and immediately regretted the action. Selys just sighed.

“Yeah, you’re wrong. I said it was okay.”

Pisces paused.

“You did?”

Selys nodded, keeping her eyes on the dark waters. Why was she here?

“Yup. My grandmother was the one who objected. You know her? Tekshia Shivertail? She hates all [Necromancers].”

“But you don’t?”

The young man in white robes peered at Selys, looking suddenly a lot more interested and a lot less standoffish than before. Selys frowned.

“I don’t like [Necromancers]. Or the undead. But I thought Olesm’s idea made sense. It’s for the rats. I hate those things.”

“More than the undead.”

Selys’ tail curled around her legs with distaste.

“Have you ever woken up to a giant rat creeping around your kitchen?”

“Not as such. But I see your point. Well. I withdraw my former complaint. Am I to assume that it was your intervention that allowed this project to continue?”

Selys shrugged uncomfortably.

“I talked with my grandmother. Don’t thank me. It’s just that we have a sewer problem and I live here. Better a [Necromancer]’s creations than sending adventurers down to deal with it. Do you know how many adventurers die each year in the sewers?”

“I believe that would be a rhetorical question.”

Pisces backed away as Selys raised her foot threateningly. She glared at him and sighed.

“Two. On average, two idiots lose their footing and drown. Or actually die if the rats swarm them. I know that’s not a lot and it really only happens if someone’s careless. But that’s two reports I have to make—two dead bodies someone has to explain to their families. That’s why I’ll tolerate your damn undead, even if I hate them.”

“I see.”

The necromancer fell silent and Selys kicked at a crumbling bit of stone. Pisces was not her ideal talking partner. She’d be happy if they never talked, actually. It wasn’t that he was that unpleasant—not once you took him down a peg—but Selys could live her entire life without needing to engage him in conversation. But here she was. She’d actually kissed him once. Why? Oh yeah. The mistletoe.

If Pisces recalled that incident he didn’t seem to remember. Or care. He was focused on what Selys had said, frowning over her words like a true debater.

“While I appreciate your pragmatism Selys, your statements raise a question for me. If you can see the utility of the undead, why do you despise them? Because of their appearance? Their nature?”

The question didn’t so much hit Selys in the gut as bounce off her scales. But it wasn’t a fun question, either. Selys stared past Pisces, wondering if she shouldn’t answer, evade the question, or kick him into the sewers. But no—that wouldn’t be fair. She sighed.

“My parents died when the Necromancer attacked the city.”

“Ah.”

The young man froze. Selys eyed him.

“Are you going to tell me you’re sorry?”

He wavered.

“I would like to express my condolences. Yes. But it was not my undead that killed your parents.”

Selys’ tail uncurled and lashed a bit.

“I didn’t say it was.”

“No, but the implication is there. And I understand your animosity towards all undead. But if I may—I would place the guilt on the Necromancer.”

“Not the undead?”

Pisces spread his hands.

“They are monsters. Some think. Most are mindless. But they hunger after the living, and yes, cause death and destruction if not stopped. But they are a force of nature, Selys. And to a [Necromancer], they are tools. Servants. And sometimes, yes, sometimes, valuable creations. Works of genius.”

“That killed my parents.”

Pisces shoulders hunched.

“Yes. In that sense the undead can be weapons. And they can be horrific. But it was the Necromancer who made war on Liscor. I don’t ask you to put aside your hatred, but look at my creation and see it as a tool, however disgusting, Selys. I see value in it. I know the bone and shape frightens others, but there is a craftsman’s pride in my creation.”

“That’s what you say. All I see is a horrible bone thing.”

Selys turned away. She heard a sigh. Pisces looked at her back, but didn’t pursue the topic. She felt…well, not angry. Not really. She’d gone over her parent’s deaths too many times to flare up at Pisces. After a while, Selys couldn’t help it. She looked over her shoulder at Pisces, who was busy reading a spellbook he’d pulled out of his bag of holding.

“You should have given it armor.”

“Excuse me?”

He looked up. Selys gestured around the sewers.

“Some of the rats and monsters you see here get big. They’ll smash this thing with their bodies if it provokes them, no matter how many claws and spines you give it.”

“Really?”

“You ever seen a three hundred pound rat body slam someone? They’ll crush your little bone horror. You should have given it armor. And a ranged attack.”

Pisces closed his book.

“That’s not exactly possible with most undead, Miss Selys.”

She snorted.

“Yeah, not with skeletons. But what about Crypt Lords? Skeleton archers? Ancestors, you’d probably have done better than your bone horror if you just animated three skeletons and given them bows and swords!”

That stung his pride.

“My Bone Horror was customized to fight in narrow spaces!”

“By a [Necromancer] who’s never ventured into the sewers in his life! What happens if it runs into a slime?”

“Well—I ah, suppose it would destroy the slime’s core.”

“Not if it’s engulfed entirely. Did you give it a way to deal with armored rats?”

“Armored rats?”

“They get weird. You could have made your bone horror better.”

He flushed.

“And I suppose you have a better idea?”

Selys did, actually.

“Yeah. Armor. And a projectile weapon. Let it shoot bone spikes. There are some undead that do that, aren’t there? That way, it might survive an encounter with some of the nastier things down here. And make a bigger Bone Horror too. Something that can hunt down the huge monsters. That way you can have the little one flush out the tiny monsters while the big one patrols the sewers.”

She pointed down the sewers. The main water tunnel branched off down the intersections, but there were walkways on both sides of the canal where something could patrol. Selys looked back at Pisces and saw him staring at her. She smirked at him.

“If you’re going to create an undead monster, Pisces, do it right. Can you make more?”

The [Necromancer] had to fumble to reply.

“Um. Yes. I can. I lack the bones, but assuming my creation secures enough corpses…I can create another later tonight if that is acceptable. A variant like you described—I haven’t tried—bone spikes, you said? Which undead uses…?”

“Ever heard of a Spiked Stalker?”

“I—well, I’ve heard the name, but I’ve never encountered one…how do you know about them?”

Selys rolled her eyes mockingly.

“I’m a [Receptionist] for the Adventurer’s Guild. I have to memorize monster weaknesses and variants. You’re the [Necromancer] here. What’s your excuse?”

She saw him blink at her, and then, surprisingly, grin.

“My apologies, Selys. I will be sure to brush up on my knowledge of the undead. Am I to take it that you’re approving my creation of more undead to patrol the sewers?”

Selys wavered. Tekshia hadn’t given her permission. But Tekshia wasn’t watching a bit of poo float down the sewers. She nodded firmly.

“Yeah. Do that. Four should be enough if they’re working around the clock.”

“I’ll draw up new plans. And speaking of work—I believe my creation has already cleared out a nest. Would you like to inspect it?”

She was feeling a little better. Selys sighed.

“Might as well. Lead the way.”

Pisces took her down two corridors and into a gap in the sewer walls where the stone had crumbled away and enterprising rats had built a nest. Right up until a certain undead had found them, that was. Selys looked at the ravaged rat corpses with disgust. Blood was already running into the waters. Design flaws aside, Pisces’ creation really was good at its job.

“Alright, I think I’ve seen enough. I don’t need to watch it disembowel a moth corpse to know it’ll do it.”

“Excellent. And there are bones here for me to use. I’ll ah, get to work after you leave.”

“Considerate of you. Well, thanks Pisces. I’ll tell grandmother—I mean, the Guildmistress—that you’re doing a good job.”

Awkwardly, Selys turned away from the bloody nest. She looked around the dark sewer tunnels with dismay. Pisces had created a [Light] spell, but the only other light came from the drains that let a little light in from above.

“Which way leads out of here? I’ve got a lot to do and I can’t stand around watching crap float by with you. However much more fun that might be.”

“Ah. I’ll guide you out. Am I to take it that you’re deliberating on your current predicament?”

Pisces stood up and pointed. Selys followed him, frowning.

“My ‘predicament’? What would you know about what I’m up to?”

She heard a sniff and a cough as Pisces walked in front of her, shining the light orb so they could see where they stepped.

“Gah! An unfortunate habit—Miss Selys, I would wager that the entire city knows the contents of General Shivertail’s will, at least what pertains to you. He left the Heartflame Breastplate to you, and it is no leap of the imagination to assume that every important figure in the south of Izril desires it badly. Have you had many offers to sell?”

Selys bit her lip.

“Two, so far. Well, one to donate to Liscor’s army. Apparently I have more [Message] spells waiting for me. And people.”

“Hmph. No doubt. Well, I would hate to offer my advice unsolicited, but I do hope that you take care in choosing what you do with the armor. Leaving it be is obviously untenable, but selling it or giving to the wrong faction would be politically risky.”

Pisces’ knowing tone made Selys glare at his back.

“What do you know of Drake politics?”

He shot an amused glance over his shoulder.

“Enough to understand that strengthening Wall Lord Ilvriss’ position would undermine Pallass’ authority to restrict his travel through their Walled City. Salazsar and Pallass are currently at odds, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you were immediately approached with a counteroffer to sell the armor to Pallass. And if you don’t agree, I would imagine Pallass would quickly put pressure on Liscor and you to sell the armor to them or one of their allies.”

Selys gulped. That did sound likely, now that Pisces said it. Her little sewer adventure meant she’d missed speaking with the important people waiting to talk to her. Was that really what they’d do?

“You’re sure?”

“Well, I suspect that if you didn’t give away the breastplate within the day, multiple factions would start forming alliances to compete for the armor. Pallass doesn’t have to have the armor—neither does Oteslia, or any of the other Walled Cities. Simply denying it to their adversaries would be enough, and you would be caught in a whirlwind of competing influences, so to speak.”

“Is there a best move?”

Selys felt dizzy at the thought of all that. Pisces laughed.

“For you? For your finances? Or for Liscor? If you are worried about your safety and would rather see this taken care of efficiently, I would gift the armor to Liscor’s army for a small sum of gold. They can hardly afford to outbid a Walled City, but you would be considered a patriot and would offend the fewest number of parties that way.”

They’d reached the stairs leading up. Selys shook her head.

“How do you know all this? Wait—you’re just making all this up! You can’t know all this.”

“Can’t I?”

Pisces gave her a superior glance. He began walking up the stairs backwards, looking down at her as he rattled off a list of facts.

“The Heartflame Breastplate. Last in the possession of General Ironscales of Oteslia. Lost in a conflict with the Reinhart and El family over a dispute regarding trade from Chandrar that resulted in a clash north of Liscor, a rare exception to the traditional conflicts on the Blood Fields. The armor and General Ironscales were lost when her command was routed and she disappeared in the chaos. The Heartflame Breastplate is known for its keen defensive properties and was considered to be unbreakable whether by magic or physical force…”

He trailed off as Selys stared at him. Pisces shrugged.

“Artifacts are of extreme interest to [Mages], particularly ones that haven’t been discovered yet. I confess, I did listen to the gossip. As for politics, I have studied Drake culture as a matter of interest. I am sympathetic to your circumstances, Selys. You have been thrust into an unpleasant dilemma.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Selys groaned. She could smell damp, refreshing air from above. She climbed out of the sewers with Pisces and locked the metal doors. She stank and she wanted a hot bath, but she’d have to make a report. Selys glanced sideways at Pisces.

“Okay, you’re smart for all you don’t know undead as well as you think you do. What would you do if you were in my boots?”

“Me? Do you mean, who would I sell to? No one. Not at the moment.”

“What do you mean?”

The young Drake woman frowned at him. Pisces rolled his eyes heavenwards, a gesture that reminded Selys of herself.

“Simply put, the desire for you to sell or give away one of the most precious artifacts known to Drakes does not seem to be in your best interests, is it? Artifacts appreciate in value. And this artifact, well, it is an unknown quantity in part.”

“How so? It’s the Heartflame Breastplate. Everyone knows about it!”

Pisces smirked.

“Ah, yes, everyone. Tell me, Selys. How much do you know about the artifact you possess? Its history? All of its magical effects? You know a few rumors passed down by Drakes around a mug of ale. Are you certain you know everything about such a legendary artifact? Just like that?”

Selys nearly bit her tongue. She hadn’t thought of any of that. She was still grappling with the idea that the armor was hers! She looked hard at Pisces.

“I don’t suppose you know a lot about it, then?”

He hesitated. Pisces stroked his chin and looked at Selys. He seemed to waver, and then shrugged to himself. He drew closer and Selys heard him whisper as the rain soaked them from above.

“I know where we could find out.”

—-

There was a crowd of Drakes passing through The Wandering Inn. They first came through the door to Liscor, waited impatiently as the connection was switched to Pallass, and walked through without so much as looking around the inn. Sometimes the Drakes would come the other way, and they were forced to wait in queues as they travelled from Pallass to the inn to Liscor.

None of them had much good to say about Humans today, and the [Innkeeper] in charge of changing the doorway from place to place was pretty fed up with it all. She’d just opened the door to Pallass for the umpteenth time when someone spoke her name.

“Hey Erin.”

Erin Solstice looked up in surprise.

“Selys!”

She waved at Selys, who smiled as Drakes poured past her into Pallass. The Walled City was windy today, without a cloud in the sky. Erin eyed the lovely weather longingly. Selys glanced at the doorway.

“Lots of traffic?”

“Everyone wants to come through and back and through again!”

Erin rolled her eyes as a group of Pallassian [Soldiers] in yellow armor marched past her. She lowered her voice.

“Hey Selys, want something to eat? No one’s hungry and they’re all glaring at me. They just want to travel to Liscor which is good because I have the you know whos in the basement.”

She pointed and Selys glanced at the trap door to her basement. It was open a crack and she saw a crimson eye staring at her before the trap door closed. Erin grimaced.

“I feel really bad, but it’s like—you know?”

She waved her hands to indicate that Hobgoblins in her inn was not a safe move right after Zel Shivertail’s funeral. Selys nodded. She edged towards the door.

“I’m not hungry, Erin. Actually…I’m going through to Pallass. Do I need to sign something or can I just walk through?”

“Oh? Well…no one’s signing things today. Go on through, I guess. I’m going to have to let people go to Liscor in a minute, but if you wait you can get back in. I think.”

Erin gestured to some of the Drakes and a pair of Gnolls who’d come into the inn and were waiting impatiently. Selys nodded.

“How long do I have? If I want to stay in Pallass for a while?”

The young woman had to think.

“They’re holding the door open for the next…six hours. Just come back by then, okay? I feel really bad for the [Mages]—they’ve got to work really hard.”

She pointed to a sweating Drake standing by the door in the inn. There were more on Pallass’ side and they were rotating in shifts. Selys nodded. She glanced casually over to her right at a patch of empty air.

“Well then. I’ll see you later, Erin.”

“Sure! And—wait a minute! What’s this about you inheriting—aw, she’s gone.”

Selys had already left through the doorway. Erin sighed and looked at the [Mage] standing by the door. He was frowning at Selys’ back, or rather, the air to her right, but he looked up as Erin sidled over. She leaned over conspiratorially as the Drake glared at her suspiciously.

“Psst. Want a snack?”

The [Mage] stared at her. He glanced around at the unhappy Drakes and then at her inn, perhaps realizing for the first time that it was an inn and not a waiting zone made into his own personal hell. He hesitated, and then replied in a whisper.

“…What kind of snack?”

—-

Selys walked through Pallass, trying to look casual and not gawk. A Walled City! She’d just walked through and now she was here! She looked around and jumped as a young man strolled across the street next to her. Pisces smiled pleasantly and whispered.

“Don’t jump!”

“I thought you were invisible!”

“I just kept the spell up long enough to enter Pallass. Humans aren’t unheard of in the city. I just wanted to avoid suspicion at the doorway, a sentiment which I thought you would share.”

The Drake [Receptionist] glared at him. She was on pins and needles just having walked into Pallass. The idea of it! But Pisces had been so sure. And he’d been right! No one looked twice at Selys. Everyone was entering and leaving Pallass, and so the normally vigilant guard on Erin’s inn had been slack enough for Pisces and Selys to slip through.

Now they were walking down the street, mingling with the crowd—of which there were a few Humans, it was true—looking for a building. Selys followed Pisces as he read signs. The [Necromancer] practically exuded confidence as he walked down the street, as if he had every right to be here.

“Hm. I think that building is it. Right up ahead. The architecture matches what we might expect, anyways. Ah yes, here we are!”

He pointed. Selys saw Pallass’ Archive, the repository of books and Drake knowledge, looming in front of them. It wasn’t so much a library as a treasury of texts. Drakes certainly couldn’t just walk in and take out books. They hoarded their valuable scrolls and books. Normally Selys would have been turned away at the door, but again, Pisces had a solution.

“Name?”

“Selys Shivertail.”

The Drake on duty at the desk looked down at his parchment, did a double take, and stared at her. Selys smiled weakly. He stared at her, opened his mouth.

“Uh—Shivertail?”

“That’s right. I’m uh, visiting Pallass for the day. I was hoping I could read a few books…?”

Selys let the question linger in the air. The Drake stared at her and then at his parchment.

“You’re not on the approved list. But uh—you’re—I saw you on the scrying spell! You were at General Shivertail’s funeral! Standing right there!”

He gestured. Selys felt a pang in her stomach. She felt a nudge in her side and elbowed the air. Hard. She heard a muffled yelp. The Drake librarian didn’t notice.

“That’s right. I couldn’t stay in Liscor, so I wanted to visit Pallass. It’s an amazing city. I know I’m not on the list, but I thought I could just…”

The Drake fumbled for his papers.

“We’re not supposed to let anyone in. But you’re—I mean, you knew—I don’t see what the harm is. If you’re just looking. I can just write you in as…well, I don’t know if I need to write this. Purpose of visit? Why not? I was devastated to hear about General Shivertail passing. Those damn Goblins.”

Selys nodded and made appropriate sounds, sensing someone move past her. Within five minutes she was past the front desk and moving down the shelves. The helpful Drake had even pointed her in the direction of the texts she’d wanted to find. She paused at a shelf and whispered.

“Are you there?”

“You hit me.”

Pisces’ injured voice was a whisper. He needn’t have bothered; few Drakes were in the archive and none of them were in their section. Selys glared in the direction of the voice.

“Be glad I didn’t do worse.”

“Be glad the [Invisibility] spell didn’t fail right then and there! Physical contact makes it break!”

Pisces retorted angrily. Selys paused.

“You should have mentioned that.”

“I didn’t expect to be attacked! Now, take that book off the shelves in front of you. The one with the green cover. That’s the one we’re looking for, or so I believe.”

Selys did so, carefully. She opened the book, noting the title. General Ironscales, Assorted Myths and Factual Accounts.

“Huh. I didn’t know there was a book like this.”

Pisces’ voice was dismissive.

“Opportunistic [Writers]. This one appears to be a compilation of gossip more than a piece by an accredited [Historian]. But myth may be what we need, so long as it’s detailed. Open it.”

Selys did. The words on the page were tightly written and she read quickly. A [Receptionist] had to have the [Speed Reading] skill or go insane. Pisces was almost as quick and he quickly helped her locate the section they were looking for.

“Here we are. The Heartflame Breastplate. Rumored to be worn by…part of a complete set…a complete set? Really?”

Selys glanced up. She felt an invisible hand turn the page of the book she was holding. Pisces voice was animated.

“Fascinating. I had no idea! This armor was known for far more than its defensive properties. Look at this passage. ‘One rumor attributes the armor’s defensive abilities to more than just its intrinsic toughness. Legend has it that General Ironscales would walk into battle surrounded by a barrier of flames that could turn aside arrow and spell alike. This rumor may have been due to her ability to breathe fire, but a separate and verified historical entry notes her ‘protection of flames’, rather than ‘protection from flames’ or other wording.’”

“Is that what you were talking about?”

Selys’ heart beat faster. The Heartflame Breastplate was more than just a powerful piece of armor? Pisces sounded excited.

“This is why I told you that research was essential. No doubt other cities are looking into the myths as well. Too often people assume to know everything, when in fact the truth is only a fraction of the whole! Let’s see if we can find any more references to the armor.”

Selys paged through the book, noting every reference to the Heartflame Breastplate she could. There were more books that mentioned the legendary artifact, and with the helpful Drake librarian’s help, Selys went through lists of Drake artifacts, accounts of wars involving the breastplate, and more fables about Ironscales and the artifact.

“This is incredible.”

Hours later, Selys found herself leaving the archives, head spinning. She had learned so much about the Heartflame Breastplate. It had been part of a set, it had a power—all of the stories pointed to it having some kind of flame enchantment that was activated by means of some kind of secret command—and yet there was so much she didn’t know. She walked down the busy street, talking quietly with an invisible Pisces.

“I had no idea it was this famous. I mean, sure you hear children’s stories, but there are so many! Like the Spear of Kissle, or the tale about Hessca the [Dragonslayer]. None of that’s real.”

“And yet, there is a nugget of truth in some legends. You possess the Heartflame Breastplate. An artifact worthy of any Walled City, any hero. You do. Is that not enough to make you believe in some of the mythology?”

“Yes. No. It doesn’t seem real.”

Selys kept her voice low. Anyone looking at her would just think she was talking to herself. Pisces’ voice was thoughtful.

“You are taking this quite calmly. Are you sure you’re not in a state of shock? I can hardly believe your levelheadedness myself.”

Selys shook her head.

“I don’t know. The Heartflame Breastplate? Me, owning it? Thanks to Uncle Zel? I—I still haven’t really felt like it was mine, you know. It’s so sudden. They just showed me the armor, said it was mine, and told me to give it to someone.”

She walked past a burly Drake who was walking her way and sensed Pisces shifting closer to her. There was a group of Drakes walking and he had to move to avoid them. Selys paused until she felt him nearby and went on.

“It’s all too fast. This wasn’t supposed to happen to me, you know? Maybe to Erin. But not me. I just knew my uncle. And he was a hero, but I—it’s too sudden. I can’t believe it happened. And the armor only belongs to me because he’s gone, you know? It’s like everyone’s forgotten that. But I—”

She looked around and realized she couldn’t sense Pisces’ robes swishing  by her side. Instead, the burly Drake she’d just passed had turned and was walking her way. Too close to her. Selys walked away from him, irritated, but he was right by her side. What was his problem? She turned and glared at him.

“Hey, some personal space here?”

“Selys Shivertail?”

He looked down at her. He had dark orange scales and a scar over his snout. Selys paused.

“That’s me. How do you know my name?”

She looked at him, and realized the big Drakes she’d passed were also standing behind him. A lot of them. In fact, they looked like they were all following her. Selys backed up a step. The Drake with orange scales nodded.

“That’s her. Do it.”

Selys turned and shouted.

“Hel—”

Something hit Selys on the back of the head. She sagged and someone caught her. Selys heard a panicked shout from someone across the street, and then a voice.

“Let’s move!”

The world turned black as Selys felt herself being carried away at speed. She saw the empty street as her head lolled back and Drakes staring at her in alarm, but no one was following her as the thugs ran with her. No one was coming to save her.

No one at all.

5.18 S

“What’s it like, being a [General], Uncle Zel?”

“A general? Hm. That’s a difficult question. Why, are you planning on becoming a [General] instead of a Named Adventurer, Selys?”

“No…I don’t want to join the army. Grandma hates them. I do too. Every time they come home they cause trouble. They tried to kill some Antinium.”

“Ah. I heard about that incident. How is the city adapting to them?”

“Dunno. They’re weird, but I don’t see them often. There’s one in the City Watch. Did you know that?”

“I…did.”

“He’s really strange. He’s always polite and everyone avoids him. Why are we talking about the Antinium? What’s it like being a [General]? Huh? Tell me!”

“What part of being a [General] interests you, Selys?”

“Um…what’s it like being famous.”

“Famous?”

“You know. Everyone staring at you. Grandma said you led a huge army against a Gnoll Tribe last month!”

“The Vaskia Skyhunter Tribe. It wasn’t that large of an army. But yes. I had to do that.”

“So? What’s it like?”

“…What?”

“Being at the center of attention! Is it fun?”

“It’s not exactly like that, Selys. I’m a [General], not a hero. People take orders. It’s not like being an adventurer or a celebrity.”

“But they do pay attention to you, right?”

“They do.”

“I wish they did that to me. No one ever pays attention to me. Grandma’s famous. So are you. I’m just Selys.”

“It’s not everything you might think it is, Selys. Fame is a one-way street. Once you go down it, you can’t go back.”

“Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Er—being stared at by everyone isn’t always fun, Selys.”

“Why do you do it, then?”

“…Huh.”

“Wait, you don’t know?”

“I’m thinking. Hush for one second.”

“Okay.”

“…Why do I do it? Well, I don’t like being famous. Having everyone’s eyes on you, being trusted to lead an army…that’s a heavy responsibility. There’s something unique about being the one person in the world everyone’s watching. That’s true.”

“What’s it like, Uncle Zel?”

“Indescribable.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Does it feel good?”

“That’s hard to say too. Being in command, taking charge…some love the feeling of doing that. Others hate it. I do it because there’s no one else. Because it’s my duty. Because…it must be done.”

“Oh. Okay. Well, I bet that I’ll like it. When I’m a Named Adventurer I’ll visit you all the time, okay? I’ll be more famous than you are!”

“Hahaha—”

“Don’t laugh! I’m serious.”

“I’m sorry, Selys. I know you are. I was just thinking that might be pleasant. When you’re more famous than me, come visit me anytime. It would be refreshing to have a niece more famous than I am.”

“Just you wait. I’m going to do it. Grandma’s teaching me how to use a sword, and I can go into the sewers when I’m fifteen! Evvy’s parents are going to let her try when she’s fourteen, but Grandma says I’m too reckless. I’m not.”

“I’m sure she’s just being careful. And she is the Guildmistress of the Adventurer’s Guild, Selys.”

“Yeah. Anyways, I’ve been practicing with those claws you gave me! Look, I brought them!”

“Oh. Well done. I suppose if you’re here, I should teach you another trick. Unless you want to use a sword?”

“Nope! I’m gonna learn how to do everything. Teach me another trick!”

“Alright. Stand back and give me some room. You’re going to want to be a bit back from your opponent when you do this—”

“Wow! Let me try!”

“Careful. It’s not easy. And remember what I told you?”

“Don’t do this to anyone I know?”

“Right. But the second part—”

“‘Stay out of trouble.’ I know, Uncle.”

“I’m just concerned for my favorite niece.”

“Really? Your favorite?”

“Well, maybe my second favorite—”

“Uncle!”

—-

“Wake up.”

Someone smacked Selys with a claw. She jerked, felt the binding on her wrist and stared at a Drake. He had an ugly, flat face, like a Human’s. And he was standing too close to her. She tried to back up, nearly fell, and realized she was sitting in a chair. Her hands were bound to the back with rope. She saw other Drakes in the room, huge, thickset ones and thought of the worst.

“Touch me and I’ll—”

“Shut up.”

The Drake in front of her glared at her. He had dark orange scales, greasy and uncared for. He also had a knife. Selys realized that when he brandished it. She eyed the blade, but kept talking.

“If you lay one claw on me, I’ll bite your hand off, got it?”

The Drake exchanged a glance with his buddies.

“Cooperate and you won’t be harmed.”

“Yeah. Cooperate or we’ll have to persuade you. Which would be fun for us. And not for you.”

Another Drake leered at her. Selys stared at him. He was shorter, with brown scales. She glanced around. This was bad. Really bad. What was—

The Drake in front of her slapped down a piece of parchment. Selys stared at it. The Drake put down an ink pot and quill. He pointed.

“Sign.”

Selys stared at him. She stared at the contract. It was hard to make out since the only light in the room was a single lantern. But she could make out what looked like a legal contract. ‘I, Selys Shivertail, hereby authorize Watch Captain Zevara to relinquish the artifact in my possession to the bearer of this document. Said artifact is known as…’

The pieces flew together in her mind. The Drake [Receptionist] looked at the parchment, at the thugs, and then relaxed.

“Ancestors, that’s a relief.”

Her reaction caught the Drakes off-guard. They stared at her. Selys glanced around. Dimly lit room, about eight Drake guys—okay, one female skulking near the back, although she was twice as big as Selys so it was an easy mistake—she’d jumped to a far worse conclusion. Not that this wasn’t bad. But Selys felt better. She glared at the Drake.

“You hit me.”

“Sign the document. You won’t be hurt. We’ll keep you here until we obtain the artifact, and then you’ll be let go. Unharmed, if you cooperate.”

“Oh yeah?”

If looks could kill, Selys would have been Liscor’s most-wanted years ago. She glared around and then yanked at her bindings.

“Hey! My hands are tied. How am I supposed to sign anything if I’m tied up? Are you idiots?”

The [Thug] in front of Selys stared at her. She glared at him.

“Untie my hands! Unless you want me to sign that parchment with my tongue? I can’t tail-write, you know!”

Her response caught all the Drakes in the room off-guard. One of them coughed.

“What, you’re just going to sign? Like that?”

“Uh, yeah? I’m not stupid. I’m locked up in this room and you’ve got knives. Give me the quill.”

The Drakes exchanged glances as Selys glared at them. What did they think she was going to do? Resist torture? An artifact wasn’t worth that, no matter what it was!

“Fine. I’ll release you. Don’t move. And don’t try to run.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t. And watch my claws! I got them polished the other day!”

“She can’t be serious.”

One of the other [Thugs] muttered as the Drake with the knife began sawing through Selys’ bindings. Selys tried to breathe normally. She was being mouthy, but she was terrified. She waited until she felt the bindings fall off her claws and then grabbed the quill.

Everyone in the room tensed. Selys stared at them.

“I’m signing the document.”

Slowly, she dipped the quill into ink and scrawled her name across the bottom of the parchment. The Drakes blinked. Selys pushed the parchment back towards the Drake with the orange scales.

“There. How long until you let me go.”

He looked at her.

“Uh—”

The [Thug] picked up the parchment, frowned at it, and looked around.

“We have the signature. Let’s go—pick it up?”

His companions looked nonplussed. The short Drake looked bewildered.

“I thought we’d have to torture her.”

“Why don’t we leave a guard—”

“Just like that? Okay, what if we—”

“You think you’re going? Not a chance. I’ll go with—”

Selys watched them argue, feeling a sense of unreality to the day. First she’d been to a funeral. And she’d been given armor. She’d gone into the sewers, then gone to Pallass, been kidnapped…

She’d been to a funeral. This morning. Selys could barely remember the smell of smoke and long speeches now. It felt distant already. But at the same time—

Her uncle was dead. Zel Shivertail was gone. Those were the facts. Everything that followed, all of this—it was over his armor. The Heartflame Breastplate. Selys had barely seen it more than a minute. Who cared about it? Why was this happening?

She lowered her head as her tail curled around her legs. Dead. But his ashes weren’t even buried and Drakes were fighting over his legacy. That was the worst of what they could be. That was what she’d tried to tell Erin. Drakes were descended from Dragons, yes. That was true. But where Dragons were greedy, Drakes could be so petty.

“Alright! We’ll do it like that!”

Selys looked up. The [Thugs] had come to a decision. Five went over to the door, while two folded their arms, looking annoyed. The one with orange scales came over to Selys.

“We’re going to take the artifact. Where is it being held?”

“I don’t know.”

“What?”

Selys glared at the Drake’s incredulous face.

“Do you think I had time to put it somewhere? Zevara has it! I don’t know where it is!”

“You must have seen where it was last.”

“Yeah, but they moved it! I don’t know where it is!”

Selys folded her arms. The hired muscle looked at each other. One growled.

“Maybe she’s lying.”

“I’m not.”

The young Drake [Receptionist] stared at the thug. He narrowed his eyes and came over.

“I don’t like the way she’s talking back.”

“Oh y—”

Too late, Selys’ mouth finally got her into trouble. The other Drake caught her arm and she yelped as he gripped it hard enough to bruise.

“Tell us where the armor is. You know where they put it. You’re just lying to us to buy time. I want to know where.”

“I don’t know! Let go of me!”

Selys grabbed the arm holding her, but the Drake was far stronger than she was. He grabbed her other arm and spoke menacingly a few inches away from her face. His breath stank.

“Think really hard, Miss. Or else I’m going to have to—”

The Drake gasped and jerked. Selys felt him let go, and saw him jerk backwards. Something was protruding out of his shoulder. The silvery tip of the rapier pulled back as the Drake cried out in agony. Pisces appeared behind him.

“I would ask that you refrain from threatening Miss Selys, good Drakes of Pallass. Or I might be forced to harm you.”

He turned as the Drake he’d wounded grabbed at his shoulder. Pisces whirled, and the [Thugs] in the room cried out in shock. Pisces smiled, his white robes shining in the lantern light, his bloody rapier held at the ready.

“It appears that degenerate behavior is not simply a Human trait. I would have expected this in Terandria. Or Wistram. But here? Is there no regard for grief, no respect for mourning?”

They hesitated. Pisces flicked his gaze from Drake to Drake. There were seven of them, spread out around the room. The [Necromancer] backed up towards Selys.

“I would advise you to lay down your arms. You are outmatched. I am a Silver-rank adventurer and my team—”

The Drake he’d stabbed rose up, punched Pisces with a roar, and the other Drakes charged. Pisces yelped, and Selys saw him stagger back. The injured Drake charged him—

“[Stone Spray]!”

–And received a face full of razor-sharp stone shards. He screamed and fell, clawing at his eyes. Pisces whirled. A Drake charged him with a club. The [Mage]’s form blurred and he lunged—the thrust of his rapier went through the Drake’s chest and out the other side. The Drake stumbled, dropped. Pisces backed up, cursing, as he tried to withdraw his fragile blade.

“He’s a [Mage]! Rush him!”

The Drakes charged. Pisces looked up, let go of his rapier’s handle, and flicked his fingers.

“[Flame Jet]!”

A gout of fire blasted from his fingertips, catching two of the Drakes. They screamed and dropped to roll about on the ground and Pisces turned, forcing the others to back up. He fumbled for something at his belt—

“Watch out!”

Selys shouted. A [Thug] was throwing one of the knives he held in his claws. Pisces blurred as something dropped and appeared three feet to his left. The knife missed him and the [Mage] flicked his finger. Selys saw a ring on his finger glow, and a bolt of white light shot across the room and struck the knife-thrower in the chest. She heard a crack and the Drake folded up with a hole in the upper right hand part of his chest.

“He’s got artifacts!”

“It burns!”

“Get around him!”

The Drakes were shouting. Selys was standing up, but she had no intention of getting into the fight. She backed towards one wall as Pisces looked around. Five Drakes remaining, two of them burned badly. They dodged as he raised his hand and shot a stream of crackling electricity towards them. One had a buckler and caught the electricity on the wooden frame, grimacing. Pisces backed up towards a corner.

“I would advise you all to surrender.”

“Oh yeah?”

It wasn’t witty repartee, but the murder in the eyes of the Drake who’d spoken did a lot for the delivery. Pisces sighed.

“Yeah. Look behind you.”

Amazingly, one of the Drakes actually did turn his head. That saved him. The others were just readying themselves to charge when the long scythe of bone shot out and buried itself in the back of the first Drake’s head. He fell. The others turned. And screamed.

A tall, tall creature of bone stood behind them. It had no face, just a torso without neck or head. Its arms were long whips of bone ending with a curved scythe. It had long legs and a strange, ball-like waist from which it could rotate and bend it’s upper body freely. It did so now, leaning low to the ground and slashing at the other Drakes with its arms, cutting their flesh as they screamed and backed up.

“Ancestors, an undead!”

“He’s a [Necromancer]! Run!”

One went for the doors. The Bone Horror tangled him with its arms, cutting him over and over with whipping strikes that flayed the Drake. Another slashed at it, but Pisces’ creation simply ignored the blows. Pisces blasted a third Drake with a spray of stone, making her scream and back up—

“Nobody move!”

Someone grabbed Selys. She hadn’t seen the fourth Drake running towards her. She’d been too focused on Pisces’ creation. Now the Drake grabbed Selys with one hand, keeping his club raised towards Pisces. The [Necromancer] whirled. The air around his hands frosted with cold as he pointed at the Drake.

“Let her go.”

“Back away or I’ll club her brains out! Tell that thing to leave!”

The Drake was gripping Selys’ arm hard, his claw slippery with sweat. He was shaking. Of his seven buddies, five were dead and the other two bleeding badly. He tried to pull Selys towards the door.

“Don’t be foolish. You have nowhere to run. Let her go and I’ll spare your life.”

Pisces’ voice was cold and somehow, larger. The Drake gulped.

“I won’t fall for that! I’m not turning into a zombie—back off!”

He was shaking with fear. Pisces stared at him. The light from the lantern in the room flickered suddenly, though there was no breeze. The [Thug] jumped.

“Don’t move! You cast a spell and she’s dead, you hear me?”

“Let her go. Do not make me ask twice.”

This time Pisces’ voice was deeper. It echoed and cracked with dark intent. The Drake holding Selys whimpered. Pisces took a step and he raised the club.

“Touch her and you will suffer long after death. Don’t mistake me for a common [Necromancer], fool. I could do things with your body that would make you scream to hear about.”

“S-stay back!”

The Drake nearly let go of Selys in his panic. He stared at Pisces. Now the [Mage] was grinning horribly, and the shadows behind him danced on the wall. There was a stench of graveyard rot in the air, and he seemed to grow as the Drake retreated.

“I could make you a puppet in your flesh. Would you like that? Let her go, or I will ensure you live…forever.”

“I—I—”

The Drake was panicking. Selys stared at him. She stared at Pisces. Neither male was focused on her. Selys looked at her captor and tapped him on the shoulder with her free hand.

“Hey. Look at this.”

“Wha—”

The Drake looked down. Selys’ hand shot up. She raised her index and middle finger and jabbed them into her captor’s left eye. Her claws went into the Drake’s eyeball. He screamed and let her go. Selys stepped back and wiped her claws on her clothes. Then she kicked him between the legs. The Drake fell, screaming. Pisces turned to Selys. She stared at him. He blinked.

“Huh.”

—-

Half an hour later, Selys sat in Watch Captain Venim’s office. She had a cup of hot tea in her claws and Venim was downstairs, supervising the capture of the thugs that had kidnapped her.

Well, capture and cleaning up. Of the eight, five had died to Pisces or his Bone Horror. The other three were badly wounded, and it was a testament to the bloodshed that the one with the least amount of injuries was the one with a missing eye and bruising in the groin. The surviving Drakes were being arrested downstairs. Meanwhile, Pisces stood next to Selys in the office, looking around with interest.

He’d been interviewed at length as soon as the Pallass Watch had arrived. They’d come within minutes of Selys walking out into the street and shouting for help—apparently someone had seen her kidnapping and they had already been canvassing the city. They hadn’t expected Pisces to arrive first, though.

The [Necromancer] hadn’t given Venim or his people much of an explanation as to how he’d saved Selys. He’d made the Bone Horror vanish into the bag of holding he held before the Watch had arrived. With just his rapier in hand he’d greeted the City Watch. They knew he was a [Necromancer] somehow—perhaps from Liscor’s Watch, but they’d been impressed and disturbed by his nearly flawless victory nonetheless.

Now the two waited in silence for Venim to come back to the office. Selys heard Pisces’ robes swishing as he looked around. He walked behind Venim’s desk and eyed a stack of papers.

“I wouldn’t touch that.”

Pisces started and sniffed.

“I’m just investigating. A Watch Captain shouldn’t leave classified documents lying around.”

Selys eyed him severely.

“It’s generally considered polite not to snoop.”

“Polite, but not informative.”

The [Necromancer] sighed, but he backed away from the desk. He looked at Selys.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Thanks.”

Her head had been treated with a splash of healing potion and she was fine, albeit a bit shaken. Selys sipped at her tea.

“How are you? How’s the face?”

Pisces rubbed at one cheek, where the shadow of a bruise was forming. He shrugged.

“A minor injury. I’m more embarrassed about it, in truth. I shouldn’t have let my guard down.”

“Yeah. What was that?”

“What?”

“That! That—appearing and stabbing that Drake before facing them all down. What were you thinking?”

Pisces looked surprised and a bit hurt.

“I was trying to intimidate them.”

Selys glared at him. Her nerves were shot.

“By yourself? You don’t give speeches, you idiot! You’re lucky that Drake on the floor didn’t stab you while you were showing off! You should have stabbed him in the back and laid a trap, rather than played the shining [Knight] in armor!”

The young man blinked at her.

“That’s strangely pragmatic of you.”

“I’m not an idiot! But you were, rushing in there! You could have been killed! [Mages] die after being stabbed, and taking on a bunch of [Thugs] with knives is a death sentence! What were you doing?”

Pisces hesitated. He rubbed at his cheek and glanced past Selys.

“I was…concerned for your safety.”

“Oh.”

Selys sat back. Pisces hesitated.

“I thought that I could distract their attention from you, or ambush them once they’d left. I grew worried when the Drake grabbed you.”

So he’d stepped in to protect her? Selys regretted shouting at him. She shifted uncomfortably in her chair.

“Well—thanks.”

“I only regret that I didn’t stop your kidnapping.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

He shrugged.

“No, but I was there. Invisible, yes. I could have cut the first Drake down, but I elected to follow you.”

The gratitude infusing Selys’ heart faded slightly. She looked up over her cup’s rim at him.

“You what?”

“I thought it best to know the scope of the threat before I stepped in.”

“So you let them drag me away?”

“It was that or fight them all in the street. I had to know their numbers.”

Selys glared at Pisces as he hunched his shoulders. She opened her mouth, thought better, and closed it.

“Well. That was smart of you.”

“You think so?”

“It was the smart thing to do. There was no telling how many of them there were, or if they had more friends. So yeah, good job.”

Selys grudgingly agreed with Pisces’ decision. He blinked at her, looking slightly pleased.

“Well, I’m happy to help. Unfortunately, I fear that this is only the first event of many. I’m sorry you were targeted—although I noticed you were able to defend yourself. That was an ah, appropriately vicious attack you performed.”

“What? Oh, poking that guy in the eye? Yeah…he deserved it. And I wasn’t about to wait for you to scare him into letting me go.”

The Drake [Receptionist] wiped her claws on her clothes for the umpteenth time, shuddering as she recalled the feeling. Pisces flicked his eyes towards her claws.

“Nevertheless, it was an adroitly done maneuver. Did someone teach you how to do that?”

Selys paused.

“My uncle taught me how to fight when I was growing up. I was never good at claw fighting, but he showed me how to defend myself.”

“Ah. By poking eyes out?”

“Not everyone has time to learn how to use a rapier. Anyways.”

The young Drake woman cleared her throat awkwardly. She looked at Pisces.

“Thank you for saving me.”

It was the first time she’d gotten to say it. Pisces shook his head slightly.

“It was nothing.”

“Really?”

False modesty was somehow annoying on Pisces, who was often the exact opposite of modest. Selys raised one of her brows at him. He caught her glance and smiled slightly.

“Well, it wasn’t nothing. But I considered it my responsibility. I did invite you to enter Pallass. I should have considered the risks.”

“The risks. You mean, more of that might happen?”

“Perhaps. You are the inheritor of the armor.”

“Yeah. Damn it.”

Selys closed her eyes. All this, and she’d only held the armor for a day! She was about to ask Pisces who he thought had hired the Drakes when the door opened and Venim walked in.

“Apologies for the delay.”

He glanced at Pisces and nodded to Selys.

“We’ve arrested the surviving Drakes who kidnapped you, Miss Shivertail. We’ll interrogate them—after they heal up a bit.”

“Oh. Thank you. Do you know um, who told them to get me? Or was it just them?”

Venim hesitated.

“That’s unclear. The Drakes didn’t say much—well, only one was conscious, so we’ll have to rely on truth spells when the other two wake up. We’ll charge them for kidnapping and attempted extortion, but my guess is they’re just hired [Thugs] and [Rogues].”

“Do you have any clues as to who might have organized their kidnapping of Selys?”

Pisces leaned forwards over Venim’s desk. The Drake Watch Captain frowned at Pisces.

“No. It could have been anyone.”

“Anyone?”

Selys’ heart sank. Venim nodded.

“You are the owner of the Heartflame Breastplate, Miss Selys. And while I’d like to assure you of your safety…things are moving quickly in Pallass. I’ve informed Watch Captain Zevara and she’s requested that you immediately return to Liscor. I just need the rest of your statement and your…bodyguard’s before you go.”

“My who? Oh, Pisces? He’s not my bodyguard—”

“Oh. Then what was he doing in Pallass?”

Venim frowned at Pisces. The [Mage] smiled calmly.

“I came through. No one stopped me, so I assumed the passageway between Liscor and Pallass was free for public use on this day.”

“You just walked through?”

“Mm, yes. In a crowd.”

The Watch Captain flicked his gaze to Selys, who shrugged, keeping her tail still. Venim grunted.

“Well, the door is open, but I’ll have to ask you to refrain from visiting Pallass without requesting permission first, Mister…Pisces.”

Pisces bowed slightly, smiling.

“Oh, I believe I’ve had my fill of Pallass. What do you think, Selys?”

Selys looked around. Her head didn’t hurt. But she had a headache now. She raised her clawed hand.

“I think I’ve had enough too. Can I go back to Liscor now?”

—-

A large group had formed in Erin’s inn, waiting for Selys’ return. Watch Captain Zevara, Ilvriss, Tekshia—and a member of Liscor’s council! He was the Guildmaster of the Merchant’s Guild and he practically knocked over Pisces when Selys walked through the doorway.

“Miss Shivertail! I’m terribly glad to see you. What an affront, to be kidnapped while walking Pallass’ streets? I want you to know that Liscor did everything in its power to ensure you were found as soon as—”

“Thank you, Guildmaster Fleiss. Please, give Selys some room.”

To the [Receptionist]’s relief, Zevara stepped in and forced the heavyset Drake back. She nodded to Venim.

“Thank you, Watch Captain.”

“My pleasure, Watch Captain.”

He saluted her and left. Selys looked around, bewildered, as the others clustered around her. Erin tried to push past Fleiss.

“Selys, are you okay? I heard about what happened! Are you hurt? Did you—”

“Drakes first! Please! Miss Shivertail, we really must speak about your inheritance. I hate to bring up the subject so soon—”

“Silence!”

Tekshia raised her voice. The others fell silent. The Guildmistress stepped closer to Selys and inspected her granddaughter. She nodded.

“I heard you poked an eye out, Selys. Good job. Next time try ducking before they hit you.”

“Thanks, Grandma.”

Selys rolled her eyes. Tekshia nodded at her.

“Looks like you’ve had a rough time. All these Drakes want to speak with you. I just came to tell you that you can have tomorrow off. But I’ll expect you back into work at noon the day after, understand?”

“What? Grandma—”

“Enough. Don’t whine, it’s unbecoming. Now, I’ll be going. Innkeeper?”

“Yes?”

“Give me another one of those ‘cookies’ you made. A bag, actually. I want to share them with some of my friends.”

Tekshia turned. She paused and glanced over her shoulder at Pisces. He was standing behind the others, forgotten. Tekshia met his eyes.

“Necromancer.”

“Guildmistress Shivertail.”

He bowed very politely. Tekshia snorted and walked away. Selys saw the others looking after her. Zevara cleared her throat.

“You’re ah, well, Miss Selys? Don’t take Miss Tekshia’s words too seriously. She was quite insistent you be found when Pallass informed us of the kidnapping.”

Selys smiled wryly.

“Don’t worry, I know. That was her being considerate and caring. I think. Trust Grandmother not to give me more than a day off for being kidnapped.”

“Speaking of kidnapping…”

Ilvriss broke in. The Wall Lord looked around, his tail wagging furiously.

“This is a disgrace. A citizen was kidnapped in Pallass on the streets? What kind of Walled City allows that kind of crime?”

“The kind that has an inheritor of the Heartflame Breastplate walking its streets, I think.”

Zevara glanced meaningfully at Selys, who flushed. She consulted a piece of parchment.

“Watch Captain Venim tells me they were local thugs, hired to kidnap Miss Selys and force her to sign a waiver allowing them to take the Heartflame Breastplate. They’d take it, drop it at a safe location and receive their payment. Forty thousand gold pieces, allegedly. Not that they saw any of it—they may have intended to take the armor for themselves once they had it.”

“Dead gods, plots already?”

Fleiss shuddered. Zevara just shook her head.

“It was a shoddy plan that never would have worked. Whoever hired them must have panicked when they saw you in Pallass and didn’t think things through. If I’d have seen the document I’d have arrested the Drakes and found out where you were being kept. Fortunately you didn’t have to wait that long.”

She glanced at Pisces, who smiled politely.

“I was accompanying Selys and happened to be in the area, Watch Captain.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Zevara nodded at him and turned her back on Pisces. Ilvriss glanced at the [Necromancer] and then at Selys. He looked quite a bit kinder as he went over to her.

“Miss Selys, I understand you must be shaken.”

“A bit.”

Selys wasn’t going to lie—she was more than a bit unsteady. Wall Lord Ilvriss nodded sympathetically.

“I just wanted to let you know that my offer still stands. I don’t want to force you into a decision, but perhaps it would be best if you allowed some of my people to escort you—”

Selys’ eyes narrowed.

“Ancestors, I just got kidnapped and you’re already trying to buy the armor from me?”

Her raised voice made the others look at her. Selys turned red with embarrassment and anger. Her voice cracked as she shouted at Ilvriss.

“I don’t know what to do with the armor! Leave me alone!”

She turned and ran out of the inn. Zevara called out after her.

“Miss Selys, wait!”

Her voice had the authority of command in it. And she used a Skill. Selys stopped unwillingly. Zevara looked a bit ashamed of herself. She cleared her throat.

“You’re going to need an escort.”

—-

Selys hated everyone and everything by the time she got back to her room. There was a [Guardsman] outside her door—a pair of them, actually—and four had had to walk her back through the rainy streets. Zevara had suggested putting Selys up in an inn—and Ilvriss had immediately offered the Tailless Thief. Selys had turned them both down instantly.

She was miserable. She sat in her bed, tossing her wet cloak to the floor and stomping into her kitchen. She reached for a mug, opened her cupboard, and realized she had nothing to drink.  No tea leaves, no bottles, nothing. She’d forgotten to go shopping.

“Lizard’s eggs!”

Selys shouted. She turned and saw Pisces sitting at her table. He offered her a cup of dark red wine.

“Try this.”

For a second Selys considered poking his eye out. Her heart beat out of her chest. Pisces seemed to realize and coughed.

“Sorry. I should have announced myself.”

She stared at him.

“How did you follow me?”

“As a point of fact, I slipped in before you got here. Watch Captain Zevara made an error. She posted a guard who checked for invisible or concealed intruders before the escort brought you here. There was a window of opportunity as you opened the door. I followed you in.”

His self-satisfied explanation made Selys clench her fists.

“Pisces, I’m not in the mood.”

“I understand that. And I will leave instantly. I just wanted to give you this, actually.”

The [Necromancer] stood up and reached into his bag of holding. He produced a bottle of wine, a plate of steaming spaghetti and meatballs, and a bowl of salad. The salad had spilled a bit and he shook a few leaves of lettuce off of the bowl.

“Apologies. Bags of holding are tricky to use. It’s practically impossible to put a cup of water inside and not spill it all.”

“What?”

Selys just looked at the food and wine, and then at Pisces. Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t had lunch—she’d barely eaten breakfast. The sight of food made her feel faint. Pisces shrugged and smiled a bit as he explained.

“You are under a version of house arrest. Ah, pardon me. I misspoke. You’re being ‘protected’. I thought you wouldn’t wish to eat dinner or go shopping—or subject yourself to a public setting—so I asked Erin to make you dinner. I apologize if I’ve overstepped.”

He looked at her questioningly. Selys made her mouth work as her stomach made a motion for food.

“No, that’s—considerate of you, actually. Thank you.”

He offered her a crooked smile.

“Consider it further recompense for putting you into harm’s way in Pallass. I should have considered the risks. I will leave you alone now, if you’ll open a window to let me jump out.”

Selys hesitated. She looked at the food, and at Pisces.

“You don’t have to go. In fact—here.”

She went and grabbed two cups from her cupboards. She offered one to Pisces. He looked at it, surprised. Selys gestured at the table.

“I’ll let you have the salad.”

—-

It was an awkward meal. Selys had never talked to Pisces, not in any intimate way. She barely knew him, and yet he’d been around Erin’s inn as long as she had. Longer, really. He wasn’t what Selys would call an ideal dining partner, but she needed someone to talk to. She was upset.

“Look, there’s threats to my life, people wanting to buy it from me—I just want to be left alone! Why is that so hard? Why does everyone have to bother me? And it’s just for the piece of armor my stupid uncle left me!”

She was on her fourth cup of wine. Pisces his second. He ate silently as Selys gnashed down a bite of food. Selys paused.

“I didn’t meant that. Uncle Zel—it’s not about him! That’s the problem! I just—I didn’t ask for this!”

“Some might call it good fortune.”

“Yeah? Tell that to the back of my head! And how good is this fortune? Am I just supposed to sell the armor? Get rich?”

“That’s the theory, yes.”

Selys snarled.

“I’d do it in a heartbeat if I didn’t think it would get me in trouble. But everyone wants it. If I sell it to one person, I get in trouble with everyone else.”

“A tricky conundrum, yes. But you would be rich.”

“Rich doesn’t help if everyone hates your guts!”

“You seem certain that would be the case.”

Selys rested her head on her hands and nearly poked herself in the cheek.

“It’s politics. I’ve seen it happen. If you’re not a patriot to your city, if you’re not a good Drake—you get treated like a traitor. If I get in trouble in Pallass for instance, I’ll get blacklisted until the end of my life and treated like a criminal. I don’t need that kind of drama.”

“And yet, you have an obligation to do something with the armor. Surely there is an optimal choice for you.”

Pisces’ reasonable tone made Selys angry. She jabbed a fork at him.

“What would you know? No one likes you! And everyone wants to be my best friend now!”

She paused. Pisces looked hurt. It didn’t show in his face, but his eyes reflected it. Selys paused, ashamed, and her tail drooped.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean—I’ve had a hard day. You have no idea how bad it’s been.”

“I might, actually.”

Pisces shifted in his chair and got up. He walked past Selys to fill his cup—not with wine, but with some water from a jug. It was stale. He grimaced, but sipped it anyways. Selys looked at him, confused.

“How do you mean?”

The [Necromancer] sat awkwardly, resting his weight on Selys’ kitchen table. He studied Selys.

“Well, it’s true that I am a pariah in Liscor. But I would argue you seem to be one too, although your fortunes are the inverse of mine.”

“What?”

Selys sort of got what Pisces meant, but the wine was making actual cognition difficult. Pisces saw this and flicked his fingers.

“Let me speak plainly. I attract attention because I am a [Necromancer]. A criminal. An undesirable element and perhaps not least, a Human. This is not a new experience for me. I have long been a noteworthy individual worthy of contempt. However, you are the same. Everyone knows you as the bearer of the Heartflame Breastplate. A Drake inheriting Zel Shivertail’s will. They all want something from you. But they do not care about you, do they?”

“No. They don’t.”

Selys bowed her head. She was just an ordinary person, changed by circumstance. Pisces nodded.

“So. I understand the feeling. It is not pleasant, even if the attention is envy, or intrigue, I imagine.”

“No. How do you deal with it?”

The young man pondered the question for a moment, sipping from his cup.

“There are many answers. Many personalities would react differently. I ignore the scorn. I weather hatred as ignorance. I am myself. I will not change for societal pressure. But you do not have that luxury, I fear. They want your inheritance.”

“They can have it. It’s no good to me.”

Selys slumped at her table. She heard Pisces sigh. He sat across from her.

“That attitude is defeatist.”

“Consider me defeated. What am I supposed to do?”

“Be honest.”

The words made her look up. Selys frowned at Pisces.

“I am being honest.”

“Are you?”

He challenged her. Pisces looked in Selys eyes. He had gray-green eyes, not vibrant, a dreamer’s, perhaps. But they were serious.

“You have been reacting to all that has happened, Selys. So much has changed for you. I understand that it must be…impossible in many respects. But have you truly taken a step back to think about all this?”

No. There was no stepping back in a hurricane. Selys shook her head. Pisces tapped the table with his cup.

“Then allow me to help. If you would.”

“I would.”

If he could make sense of it all…Pisces nodded.

“Let us ask one question then, and one question alone. Do you want the armor?”

Selys paused. Her instinctive reaction was to say ‘no, of course not’, but that wasn’t a true answer, was it? She spoke slowly.

“I don’t know. I haven’t really looked at it. I didn’t know what it was. Now I know. You showed me those stories in Pallass. And they were amazing! I had no idea that was what it was. I knew it was valuable. But it’s still like—I haven’t looked at it, you know? I didn’t care. When I saw my uncle, lying there—”

Her throat closed. Pisces looked at her. Sympathetically. Had Selys ever seen him look like that?

“Of course you didn’t pay attention to it. And that is the problem. You don’t know what others are so fixated on. You were cursed Selys. Cursed with a conscience. Cursed with affection. You cared about your uncle’s passing more than the armor. If you were greedy and selfish, you would not be in your predicament.”

Like the rest of the Shivertail family. Selys shuddered. That was true, though. She’d watched her uncle’s funeral this morning. It was too soon. But Pisces was also right in that she had to face it.

“Okay. Do I need the damn armor? I don’t know. I want to look at it.”

He nodded.

“Then perhaps you should. That would be an adequate first step. Do you wish to see it now? Or later?”

Selys stared at him.

“Wait, what? You mean…go to it now?”

Rain was pattering on the shutters of her window. Pisces nodded.

“Why not?”

Selys opened her mouth. It was under lock and key! It was being guarded! It was valuable!

And it was hers. She closed her mouth. And stood up.

—-

Watch Captain Zevara was not happy that Pisces had emerged from Selys’ apartment with her. Nor was she happy that they’d forced the [Guardsmen] assigned to her to bring them to her and the room the armor was being kept in. The Watch Captain stared at Selys.

“You want to do what?”

“I want to look at it.”

“Now?”

Zevara was probably off-duty. But she’d come hurrying as soon as Selys had made the request. The Drake folded her arms.

“It’s mine, isn’t it? I want to look at it.”

“Yes, but the security is there for a reason, Miss Selys.”

“And it’s still my armor. Unless you’re not going to let me see it?”

Selys stared at Zevara. The Watch Captain backpedaled immediately.

“No, it’s just that—of course you can look at it. For how long?”

“Is there a time limit?”

Perhaps she didn’t deserve this. Zevara’s jaw worked silently. She looked at Relc. The [Guardsman] was leaning against the wall next to the iron door, snoozing. The [Mage] that Ilvriss had assigned to the door was glaring at him, clearly envious.

“Relc. Wake up.”

“I’m up! Do I get to stab anyone?”

Relc jerked awake. He looked comical as he fumbled to attention and Zevara chewed him out, but Selys suspected that anyone trying to sneak into the room behind him would find that Relc was more attentive than he seemed. Zevara sighed as she looked at Selys.

“Take as long as you like, Miss Shivertail. Relc and Wall Lord Ilvriss’ people have the room warded and under guard.”

“Good.”

Selys put her hand on the door knob and heard the [Mage] mutter something. She paused.

“He deactivated the ward spell. Don’t be alarmed.”

Pisces nodded at the Drake [Mage]. She eyed him warily. Zevara turned towards Pisces with a frown.

“Thank you for brining Miss Shivertail dinner…Mister Pisces. But I’m afraid that this is a restricted area.”

“He can come in.”

Selys thought Zevara might actually inhale her tongue. The Watch Captain turned towards her. Selys put her claws on her hips.

“It is mine, isn’t it?”

“Yes! But do you—”

Zevara bit her tongue on the rest of the sentence. Do you trust him? Pisces pretended not to hear. Selys sighed.

“Please let us in, Watch Captain.”

Zevara was in a bad mood. She looked at Selys, threw up her arms and stalked away. Selys looked at Relc. He yawned.

“Go on in, Selys. Hey, bone-guy.”

“Guardsman Relc.”

Selys and Pisces entered the room. It was fairly large, a meeting room, in fact. It had no windows and someone had cleared out the table and chairs to put a single stand in the center of the room. On it hung a shimmering, golden piece of armor.

Selys’ heart skipped a beat. She stared at the Heartflame Breastplate, taking it in. This was the legendary armor. This was the artifact everyone wanted.

She still thought it looked sort of cheap. It was gaudy. Gold metal, shining colors—it was impressive, yes, but—

Pisces’ inhalation of breath was more fitting for the moment. He stared at the armor as Relc closed the door and began flirting with the [Mage] on duty. The [Necromancer] approached the armor, stepping around it to stare from every angle. He reached out, hands shaking, and then looked at Selys.

“May I—?”

“Go ahead.”

For some reason Selys’ voice was hushed. She held her breath as Pisces touched the armor. Then she felt silly and walked forwards. The metal was warm to the touch. That was all. There was no zap of magic, no aura of power. It was just armor.

But it was magical. Pisces ran a finger over the armor, seeing something that Selys could not. He murmured to himself as he inspected it.

“Warm. What exquisite spellcraft. And the metal—it’s alloyed with gold, but what the rest of the metal is…adamantium? Some spell-metal, perhaps?”

“It’s impressive. I can see why the legends say it was indestructible. It doesn’t have a scratch, even when—”

Selys’ throat closed. Pisces looked up.

“Your uncle—General Shivertail. Was his body…damaged by the battle?”

“It was. It was horrible. Part of his head was missing and his body was cut and burned like—”

Selys felt like she shouldn’t talk about it, but she had to. The words spilled out and Pisces listened.

“Ah. Those wounds are…incredible. But also a sign of the armor’s power, I think. General Shivertail was renowned for his durability and toughness in battle.”

“He was. He could block an unenchanted axe strike with his scales! But still, he—”

Selys broke off, shaking her head. Pisces peered at the armor and coughed.

“Ah, look here. I had wondered about the name, but this truly is a breastplate and not a cuirass, isn’t it? Curious that such a powerful armor would lack rear protection.”

He indicated the armor. It was indeed just a breastplate. In that it only covered the front. Selys was no armor expert, but she knew that a cuirass covered both front and back. It was a strange design flaw. She wondered if that was one of the reasons why Zel had—

“Maybe they lost the other half?”

“It wouldn’t be called the Heartflame Breastplate if it were. Artifacts are seldom so easily dismantled. No, this is simply an oversight. Quite a curious one. One has to wonder why the Drakes who made this didn’t think to shield their backs.”

“Drakes do not run.”

Selys regretted saying the words as soon as they came out. It was such an instinctive response, the kind of thing you heard the army say all the time. General Sserys had coined the phrase and it was a saying among the Drakes. But it was so…

Pisces raised a sardonic eyebrow.

“Drakes might not run, but presumably they do turn around at some point. I believe my point stands.”

She glared at him, and then laughed despite herself. Pisces smiled. That was it. He always seemed to be laughing at his own sense of humor, his mockery of the world. For the first time, Selys was laughing with him. She stopped as soon as she realized.

“Okay, tell me, Mister Intelligent. Why would the Drakes make a mistake like this? Unless they didn’t have enough metal for the back?”

Pisces stroked his bare chin.

“Hm. That is a theory, but I suspect we’ve already obtained the answer. Do you recall the revelation of the Heartflame Armor’s abilities we uncovered in Pallass’ library? It had an enchantment. A fiery ward that sprang up around the armor and user.”

“Huh. That does seem likely. So it would have protected the back. But are you sure it came from the armor?”

Pisces nodded. He gestured at the shining breastplate.

“It seems realistic to assume that the fiery protection on the armor was an effect of the Heartflame Breastplate, especially considering the motif and name.”

That was true. Selys stared at the armor. But no one had mentioned her uncle using the ability, and both Ilvriss and Zevara had just thought the armor was…well, legendary. They hadn’t wanted to test the ability, and she was sure they would have tried had they known.

“Do you know how it could be activated?”

“No, and I suspect Magnolia Reinhart herself may have lacked the information. The true powers of artifacts are often hidden from public knowledge. That is why I considered research—it may have more abilities lost to time.”

“So uncle wouldn’t have known how to use it?”

Pisces hesitated.

“He may not have had time to research it, if he had thought of it. An [Enchanter] would have known to ask such questions, but would a Reinhart have let him inspect the armor? Well…we shall never know if it was inspected before. As for now…”

He pondered over the armor, checking its front and back as Selys gently ran her claws over it. It was warm. Soothing.

“Spell activation is tricky. If it were a ring, it would be activated by twisting, but usually armor is activated by contact or some other set of rules. Touching it in a certain place, striking it with enough force…but the myth of the armor seems to indicate that the protection effect could be triggered at will. Why don’t we try a few activation phrases?”

“You know some? And it’ll work? Don’t you have to put it on?”

Selys couldn’t imagine…it was hers, but could she…? No. And Pisces was shaking his head.

“Simply uttering the right phrase should work, Selys. It’s actually quite difficult to make the armor ‘sense’ who is speaking, so personalizing the command trigger to only activate when the wearer speaks is usually not included in the enchantment’s features.”

“Really?”

Pisces nodded conspiratorially. He smirked.

“In fact, keeping the secret phrase of an artifact hidden is quite vital unless it has been truly customized to a certain vocal pattern. Otherwise an enemy could trigger the enchantment in battle. It has happened on more than one occasion, historically speaking.”

“Okay, then what are some command phrases?”

“Well…why don’t we keep inspecting it? Perhaps there are hidden touch-mechanics. And I will utter as many phrases as I know. Thankfully, we know the common language has remained unchanged forever, although written text often replaces itself. So any phrase would work. It’s the key that could be anything. A phrase, a single word…there are a number of mage-sounds that I will try first. And I will have you do the same.”

“What? Why?”

“It could be that the armor only activates for a Drake. That would be a tricky enchantment, but it is possible. Keep your hands on the armor. Also, if you know any archaic Drake expressions, they would be the most likely activation code.”

It sounded impossible, and yet, exciting, too. A mystery to solve. Selys placed her claw on the armor.

“How about this? Drakes do not run.”

The armor was warm underneath her claw. Selys waited, but nothing happened. She heard a cough. Pisces looked away from her.

“Ah, Sserys’ famous line probably postdates the creation of the armor by at least six hundred years…why don’t we try a few older phrases? Allow me to begin.”

He made a sound and had Selys copy it. She came up with a phrase—nothing happened. Pisces ran through over a hundred different mage-sounds, some of which Selys found nearly impossible to copy. Nothing happened. The two gave up when their voices went hoarse after about two hours. It was a fruitless two hours, but for some reason Selys felt much better afterwards, albeit with a sore throat. She’d had fun laughing at some of the phrases and sounds Pisces came up with.

“Ah, well, activating an artifact is an extraordinarily difficult task in the best of circumstances, and I am no [Enchanter]. A true shame, really. I always wanted to learn that discipline, but I never got the chance in Wistram…”

Pisces was chatting to Selys as he closed the door. Relc stood to attention, as did the [Mage]. Selys didn’t have to look at Relc’s red cheeks to know she’d shot him down. Or slapped him.

Or both.

“Thanks for helping, Pisces. I’m going home—but I appreciate you giving me that advice.”

He smiled at her and hesitated as the sleepy [Guardsmen] marched over to escort Selys back to her apartment.

“I could come back tomorrow. This is a fascinating artifact, and if you would permit me to try and discover the key…”

Now it was her turn to pause. Selys looked at Pisces. He really had been helpful today. Surprisingly so. She found herself nodding.

“Sure. Why not? I owe you one.”

The smile he gave her was surprised, but he made a show of bowing to her as he bade her farewell. Relc muttered about ‘showoffs’ until the [Mage] standing next to him gave him a look. Pisces grinned impudently.

“Good night, Miss Selys.”

She smiled wearily.

“It’s just Selys.”

He nodded and strode into the rain. Selys watched him go, and then looked up. It was raining, still. It was always raining. And then she felt tired. Good moments were only that.

Moments.

—-

The next day Selys woke up, went outside, and visited her friends. She had to. She had to be social and normal or she’d go crazy. To her relief, she managed to find her usual gossip group and circle. Or rather, they found her. They walked through the rain from shelter to shelter as the [Guardsmen] followed, laughing and talking.

Today Selys was the topic of conversation. Drassi was off work so she was here, as were eight of Selys’ female friends and eleven male ones, even the ones Selys didn’t talk to this often. Even the ones she’d been fighting with, and an ex-boyfriend. They all wanted to make up and talk with her. No guesses why.

After fifteen minutes Selys was sick of it. The other Drakes were wagging their tails, agog over the gossip about Selys being approached by a Wall Lord and other cities to sell the armor. They wanted to know everything about it, what the reaction had been when the will had been read out loud. No one asked Selys about who had been wearing the armor.

“Can we…see it?”

One of the male Drakes suggested that quickly. The others leapt on his suggestion. That would be so rude! Selys was busy—and Watch Captain Zevara had it under lock and key. Guarded. No one could see it. But if they could…

“I think Zevara wants to keep everyone away. There are [Thieves] who want it, and there was an attempted break-in already.”

Everyone sighed in disappointment. Drassi nodded, though.

“There was another [Thief], Selys! They caught her this morning! Alive!”

“Really?”

Selys stared at her friend. But Drassi would know. She had both earholes to the ground and she caught rumors like a lizard caught flies. That analogy had caused a fight the last time Selys had jokingly said it out loud.

“Well, I’m sure Zevara can handle it. And Ilvriss. And Embria. I’m so done with talking about it.”

Instantly everyone took the cue. One of Selys friends looked around in the rain.

“I know, right? It’s so tiring talking about politics? Why don’t we go to a bar and relax instead?”

“It’s only just past morning!”

“Well—what if we—”

The others started arguing over the favorite place Selys might like, picking all of her favorites. Selys listened gloomily. It was a bit sickening. And depressing. Selys knew her friends and she wasn’t surprised by how they were behaving. She’d probably act the same way. At least Drassi was open about it.

“All I want to do is tell people I know you, Selys. Everyone’s asking me to introduce them to you, and they want to see the armor! I bet you could get a date with any guy in the city—even the married ones—if you promised to let them touch it. By the way, did you hear about the Goblins in Erin’s inn? They got their own artifacts—”

“No one wants to hear about Goblins, Drassi!”

One of Selys’ female friends, Wuvisa, glared at Drassi. The [Barmaid] rolled her eyes.

“They’re not bad Wuvisa. They don’t cause trouble—or try to slap your tail or butt like the Drakes in the bars I used to work at! They’re really scary, true, but listen—”

“Miss Selys Shivertail?”

A voice interrupted Drassi. All the young Drakes turned. Watch Captain Zevara strode up to them. She was in full uniform and Selys saw more than one of her male friends eye her tail admiringly. What was the saying? There was nothing like a Drake in uniform. Or something. Selys just sighed. She had no time for tails, and neither did Zevara. The Watch Captain nodded to Selys.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to borrow you, Miss Shivertail. There are a number of dignitaries and officials waiting to speak with you. In connection to your inheritance.”

The other Drakes oohed and tried to pester Zevara with questions. Selys didn’t. She looked at Zevara’s unhappy face and sighed.

“Okay.”

—-

Zevara led Selys through the city and into Liscor’s city hall. There was a small meeting room set up, with snacks and drinks. The Watch Captain offered Selys a seat and after a moment, showed a Drake in. Selys rose as a Drake from Pallass—a senator from the Assembly of Crafts—walked in and gave Selys a bright smile. She was the first of a series of Drakes who had requested to meet Selys. All about the armor she owned. Selys sat, nibbling on her snacks and sipping from a cup, bewildered, listening.

Each Drake wanted something from her, and each one phrased it differently. A Senator from Pallass, a [Mage] representing Wistram, a Drake speaking for Zeres, one from Oteslia, a trio of Drakes from lesser cities, Wing Commander Embria…

That last conversation stood out to Selys. At least Embria was short and to the point. She didn’t beat about the bush or offer Selys condolences for her loss or compliments. She walked in, gave Selys a firm handshake, and got straight to it.

“We want the armor.”

“So does everyone else.”

Selys’ arms were folded. Embria nodded.

“I’m well aware of the politics, Miss Selys. May I call you Selys?”

“Nope.”

“Very well. I’m sure you’ve had any number of offers for the armor. Trades, bargains—and threats, no doubt.”

Selys was silent. More than one Drake had hinted not quite overtly that there could be trouble if the armor didn’t come their way. That was a scary threat, especially when it came from an entire Walled City. But a [Receptionist] could at least do a good blank face, so Embria got nothing more than the others. Embria went on without missing a beat.

“I want you to know that your safety is my priority, and the priority of Liscor’s High Command, regardless of what your decision is. Obviously, the army would appreciate the use of such a powerful artifact. We could reimburse you some of the cost, although I’m afraid purchasing the armor outright would strain a Walled City’s military budget.”

“So what’s your incentive? You’ll protect me if all the bad Drakes get angry?”

Embria’s face didn’t move, but her tail gave the tiniest of twitches, telling Selys she was getting to the Drake.

“We hope you could think of your civic pride. If not to us, then perhaps you might consider relinquishing it to the city’s custody? It could still be your possession, but be put to use defending the city itself as the situation demands.”

“Only it’d be yours. I get the point. Thanks, Wing Commander, is it? You can skip the part where I’ll end up dead in my bed if I don’t give the armor to you. I’ll just assume you said it, okay?”

Selys saw Embria’s eyes flash. The Drake stood up.

“Now listen here you ungrateful—”

“Wing Commander Embria!”

The red-scaled Drake snapped to attention. Zevara opened the door, giving her a frown. The Wing Commander’s red cheeks turned darker. Selys waved at Zevara who gave her a resigned look. She’d had to stop Drakes from trying to throttle or attack Selys three times before now. Selys was in a bad mood and she was inclined to share it.

“I think that’s enough for now, Wing Commander. Don’t you?”

“Yes. My apologies, Miss Selys. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. Consider my offer carefully. Liscor’s army is here to serve the city.”

“We didn’t see you when all the moths were trying to eat us!”

Selys shouted at Embria’s back. She heard the door slam and sat back with some satisfaction. Zevara eyed her as she took a seat—and a handful of dried fruit.

“I thought [Receptionists] were supposed to be welcoming.”

“Not in the Adventurer’s Guild. And it’s my day off. How many more do I have?”

Selys sighed. She was tired. Zevara shook her head.

“None for now. Ilvriss declined to take up your time. He just wants you to remember—”

“He’ll buy the armor. Yeah, yeah. And if I sell to him, Pallass might send an arrow into my skull.”

Zevara grimaced as she chewed.

“That’s a threat. I’d like to say it’s an idle one. If they do that, it’ll be a war.”

“Doesn’t help me if I’m dead. All these Drakes—you know, Oteslia offered me thirty thousand gold pieces and food for life? Just that. Food. They’ll feed me. What am I, a [Gourmet]?”

“It’s hard to compete with sheer wealth. Salazsar is rich, Oteslia less so. Other groups will offer you different incentives.”

“One of the Drakes offered me slaves. Is that legal here?”

“It’s rare, but not unheard of. There are strict rules about them, though.”

“Whatever. I don’t want slaves. I don’t want Wistram’s lesser artifacts or the gratitude of Liscor’s army. What should I do?”

Selys looked pleadingly at Zevara. She wasn’t that much older than Selys. Maybe seven or eight years at most. But the Watch Captain felt older. Zevara hesitated.

“I have no idea, Miss Selys. It’s a tricky situation with a time limit, as you know.”

“How long do I have?”

“I’m not sure. Wall Lord Ilvriss is protecting the armor and I believe his escort can ward off any potential thieves. I have Relc and Klbkch on guard duty as well, but Wall Lord Ilvriss is a member of Salazsar when all is said and done. There is some question about him influencing you…”

“Politics. He helped us defend Liscor.”

“My thoughts exactly. And he hasn’t given me any reason to doubt his word. It’s just that giving him aid—and by proxy, Salazar—would put Liscor in a tricky spot, especially with this doorway to Pallass. I can’t make a decision for you, but you should know what might occur.”

Zevara offered Selys a sympathetic look. She glanced at Selys’ empty cup and reached for the tea pot.

“You could just sell it. The amount of gold you’d get from an heirloom like that would set you up for life.”

“But if I sell it to Ilvriss—”

“Sell it to Wistram. Or the army. Those are the safest bets. They might not be able to outbid a larger city, but you’ll get the least amount of trouble for it. I think we Drakes would be happier if none of us had it, rather than one of us.”

“Great.”

Selys buried her head in her hands. Zevara looked at her and cleared her throat a few times.

“Look at it this way, Miss Selys. Make a decision and you’ll be rich for life.”

“However long I have left.”

There was nothing Zevara could say to that.

—-

It was too hard. Selys lay on her grandmother’s desk, groaning. Her grandmother looked at her, and then pushed her off.

“Ow!”

“I have work to do, Selys. This is your day off. Enjoy it.”

“How? I can’t go anywhere without an escort, and I have a magical artifact under lock and key! What am I supposed to do?”

“Stop lying on the floor. It’s dirty.”

Selys got up. She felt wretched.

“What do you think I should do, Grandma?”

“Sell it. Or give it away. I don’t particularly care.”

Tekshia sighed as Selys groaned and flopped back onto her desk. She rapped Selys on the head with a knuckle.

“You’re making too much of a fuss about this, Selys. The armor is armor. You’ll make enemies no matter what you do, so take the best deal and live with your choices! I had someone after my head when I was eleven! You’ll manage.”

“But Grandma—”

“You need to decide for yourself. No moping! Get out there and make a choice, young one! And don’t let me catch you bothering the adventurers downstairs!”

“I know one I can bother.”

“Then go find them. But stay out of my Guild! Until work tomorrow. I expect you on time, escort and armor or not.”

—-

There was no good way out. No right decision. Selys was trapped. And she hated everything. Right now she hated Pisces, despite him being very helpful of late.

“Try these command phrases next. ‘Ia curim law’. ‘What is will be and shall ever be the will of flame.’ Um…‘Drakes rule.’”

Pisces paced back and forth as Selys kept her hands on the Heartflame Breastplate. She looked up at him.

“Seriously? Drakes rule?”

“Any phrase could work, Selys. Any one at all. It’s the most nonsensical that would be chosen so no one would guess.”

“There’s no point. I give up.”

Selys leaned her cheek against the metal, not caring about smudging the legendary artifact anymore. Pisces turned to her.

“Don’t say that. Isn’t this exciting? The challenge. Imagine it! You could unlock the secrets of a powerful artifact today!”

His eyes gleamed. Selys just made a thbbting sound.

“It doesn’t matter. Someone else is going to get the armor. Let them have it.”

“Ah. So you’re inclined to sell?”

“I’m inclined not to die. Which means I have to sell at some point, only there’s no one I can sell it to that won’t make someone else mad! I’ll have to sell it and hire a [Bodyguard] for the rest of my life. How is that good?”

Pisces shrugged.

“You don’t have to sell it.”

“What? And keep it? Zevara won’t guard it forever—Relc’s already complaining about his job. [Thieves] will take it, or someone will kidnap me for it—what other options are there?”

“You could lend it—”

“Hah! That’s the same problem!”

“Not necessarily—”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve got no choice.”

Selys turned her head away. She knew Pisces was trying to help, but she was just done with it all. Erin could handle something like this, but normal Selys had nothing. She’d just sell it to Embria. Or give it to Wistram. That was safe. Then she’d ask Zevara for protection…

What a mess. Selys leaned against the armor as she sensed Pisces coming over. He sat next to her quietly.

“Do you recall what I told you yesterday?”

“It’s not helping, Pisces.”

“Perhaps not. But you never gave me an answer. I asked you if you wanted this.”

“I don’t. Problem solved. Okay?”

Pisces didn’t move.

“That’s not a truthful answer. Truly, honestly, without the issue of pressure, do you want this armor?”

“It doesn’t matter!”

“I believe it does. You should make a choice that is honest to yourself.”

“Honest? Myself? Honestly, I don’t want this! I’m not special, Pisces! I’m not an adventurer like you!”

Selys raised her head. She wasn’t crying, but she was angry. She glared at the [Necromancer].

“I’m not meant for this. I’m just a [Receptionist]. This shouldn’t happen to me.”

“And yet it did. You may be Selys Shivertail, a [Receptionist], but your uncle was Zel Shivertail.”

“Don’t mention him. He’s not like me. He lived in a different world.”

Pisces raised his voice.

“So? You were part of that world. You can’t deny it! You may have only been his niece, but he cared about you enough to give you his armor!”

“It was a mistake!”

“It was his will. And you were part of his life! Enough so that he gave you this, even by mistake! You were part of a legend’s life, Selys. You can’t deny it.”

“Shut up!”

Selys thrust Pisces away. He retreated a bit, hurt. But he didn’t give up. He called at Selys as she wrapped her tail around her body.

“If you want to be ordinary, you can claim ignorance, but you know that you’re at least related to—”

“I said, shut up!”

Selys screamed at Pisces. She was so frustrated and angry that she actually hissed at him. The sound was loud in the small room, an angry viper’s hiss. Selys felt hot with embarrassment. No—not hot. Warm. She saw Pisces staring at her, pale-faced, and felt awful.

“I’m sorry.”

“Selys.”

“Look, I didn’t mean to—you should probably go.”

“Selys!”

Pisces was pointing, his finger shaking. Selys looked at him. Then she turned.

Behind her, the Heartflame Armor blazed. It was on fire. Flickering, ghostly pale red and orange flames licked across the armor, burning without smoke. There was heat without sound, motion without fuel. Selys stared at the armor as it blazed.

“Huh?”

“You did it!”

Someone hugged her from behind. Selys yelped and looked into Pisces ecstatic face. The [Necromancer] danced about the armor, happier than Selys had ever seen him.

“That was it! That was it! Of all the sounds! What genius! What simple—”

“What? What was it? ”

Selys was confused until she recalled what she’d done. Her eyes widened.

“Hissing? But that’s—”

“So simple! Isn’t it? You wouldn’t expect it to be a phrase, and if you heard it in the heat of battle—and it’s something only a Drake would do! Do it again! Turn it off!”

“I’ll burn myself!”

“Try touching it from the inside!”

Cautiously, Selys did. She could feel the heat of the flames, but the inside of the breastplate was simply warm. Selys hissed, feeling embarrassed, but to her astonishment it worked! The flames immediately vanished. Pisces whistled slowly.

“Incredible. Hissing. A simple command, not lengthy, easy to activate and so simple that it would be overlooked by anyone attempting to guess the password. I suspect you can subvocalize the noise and activate the enchantment.”

“Sub what?”

“Make the sound so small, so inaudible that no one can hear it but you.”

She tried it. The flames flickered into life across the armor though the hissing sound barely passed her lips. Selys jumped. Pisces smiled widely.

“Wondrous.”

Selys just stared at the armor. The flames licking across the metal were hypnotic. They weren’t just fiery red anymore—they had shifted to become slightly purple with a white core. As if the flames were reacting to something? It was magical fire, and a magical effect. Selys felt someone standing next to her. Pisces.

“And so I ask you one last time, Selys.”

She stared at him. Pisces pointed to the burning armor.

“Look at it. Selys. This armor was given to you. It was your uncle’s will that you have it. I have but one question for you: do you want it?”

Selys stared at him. She looked at the armor. She closed her eyes. She didn’t need to think of the answer. She’d known it all along.

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

Selys nodded.

“It’s mine. It’s what my uncle gave to me. It’s mine.”

She reached out and turned the enchantment off. Selys touched the warm metal slowly. Mine. Hers. Of course she wanted it. What Drake wouldn’t? And there was a part of her that remembered. She’d wanted to be an adventurer, wanted to be a hero.

Maybe her uncle hadn’t thought of it. Maybe he hadn’t updated his will. But he had known the Goblin Lord was coming. Maybe he hadn’t cared.  Or maybe he’d remembered and decided to do nothing anyways.

“What’s it like, Uncle?”

“Excuse me?”

Pisces was staring. Selys turned her head. There was an epiphany in her mind, a rushing roar of understanding. She felt like her heart was about to beat out of her chest. Everything was slow and fast at the same time. Dreamlike.

“What a strange world we live in.”

“Go on.”

That was Pisces for you. He stared curiously at Selys, waiting for her to elaborate. She stared at the armor.

“Is this real? Or am I dreaming? It doesn’t feel real. It’s like a fantasy. Something I’d imagine. How could this happen to someone like me?”

There was no answer. There never was. Selys was ordinary Selys. A Drake without aspirations, without ambition. Only, that wasn’t true. She’d had all those things, once. She’d just given up on them.

The armor was heavy. Probably six pounds. Which was heavy, for the average breastplate. But it was balanced well. Selys lifted it off the stand. If you wore it, it would be easy to move around in. Far lighter than if you had a back plate too.

It felt like it should be heavier. Selys lifted the armor up. A legend’s armor. It had been worn by General Ironscales, by heroes of the Drakes. It had been worn by the Tidebreaker, and it had seen more battle and glory than Selys could ever imagine. It was an artifact worthy of myth.

And it still looked a bit tacky. Selys inspected the Heartflame Breastplate.

Then she put it on.

Pisces gasped. Selys fastened the straps around her body, feeling the metal shift to fit her form. It was a perfect match, despite having been on Zel’s chest before now. It fit like a glove. And it was—comforting. Selys turned and Pisces backed up. His eyes were wide. He looked awed, in wonder and happy with it. Another emotion she’d never seen in him. Selys smiled.

“I’m going. Are you coming with?”

“Where?”

She laughed. And pointed.

—-

Liscor was busy in the rain. People walked to and fro under awnings, grumbling about the rain but accustomed to the season’s weather. There was a lot to do. Business was business and there was actually more business in the spring. A lot of Drakes were on boats outside the city, hauling in prodigious catches of fish and watching out for aquatic monsters. Others were fishing from the walls, casting their lines into the water and returning with buckets of fish of varying sizes, shapes, and taste.

So there were plenty of people on the streets. Plenty of people who were going about their ordinary days doing what they thought of as mundane things. They looked up when they heard the shouting. They saw an ordinary Drake striding down the wet street. An ordinary Drake, a young woman. A [Receptionist].

Wearing the Heartflame Armor.

Selys heard the shouting. She’d been hearing it since she’d left the room with Pisces following. She had a crowd in her wake. Angry Drakes, [Guardsmen], officials. Shouting at her. Telling her all kinds of things.

“Stop!”

“You can’t do that!”

“Put it back!”

“Who do you think you are?”

Noise. Selys walked through it all. She stopped in the street as Drakes and Gnolls paused, looking at her. The Heartflame Breastplate was warm on her chest. It shone. It would make a good nightlight. But that wasn’t all it could do. Selys took a breath, her heart pounding. Then, ever so softly, so quietly even the Gnolls couldn’t hear it, she hissed.

And there was fire. It sprang around Selys, covering her hands, her tail, her face—but she could see straight through the flames. It was only when she looked at her body that she saw the blue flame. She heard the angry shouting go silent. And then there were voices raised in awe.

They didn’t matter either. It was just Selys, standing in the street. She stood and felt the armor burning.

Heat. Selys closed her eyes. She felt warm. Only, it wasn’t heat. The burning flames around her didn’t touch her scales. She didn’t feel the temperature. But her heart—

Her heart beat fiercely in her chest. Her blood rushed. Selys opened her eyes and felt alive. She looked around and finally took in the crowd.

People were staring at her. Hundreds. Some were running, others shouting. A Drake had fallen to his knees. A Gnoll was staring mesmerized into the flames. Another Gnoll was shaking her head, pinching herself. So many eyes, so many faces.

All turned towards her. It was surreal. Selys had been at the center of attention in the Adventurer’s Guild. She had made announcements, shouted for attention—never this. This was something else. This was a moment she couldn’t forget, a brief window in time where a part of the world had stopped to stare.

At her. Selys looked around and then started walking. She had to. She had to move. The crowd parted before her and trailed in her wake. Selys walked through the rain as it burned and turned to steam on her armor.

She walked with her knees shaking, her head light. Every head turned towards her. Selys felt the world passing slowly. For a second, a minute, she was the center of the world. It was terrifying. Amazing.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. They were staring—Selys shook like a leaf. But she was warm. And that gave her the courage to go on.

Down the street. Through the crowds as every person in Liscor came to a stop. Whatever they were doing, whatever they had planned—Selys occupied their attention. Zevara came running down the street and stopped. Embria paused as she and Ilvriss ran forwards. They became part of the audience.

Left at the intersection. Walking the same path from her apartment she’d always done. Selys looked around, trying to remember this feeling. Trying to capture every moment for the rest of her life.

There was a two-story building ahead of her. The doors were worn with age. Selys put her hand on the handle and opened it. Adventurers rose to their feet. The [Receptionist] on duty fell out of her chair. Selys walked into the Adventurer’s Guild.

Her home. She heard the crowd press at the doors. She saw an elderly Drake walk down the stairs and waved at her. Tekshia stared at her granddaughter, blazing, on fire. Selys walked past the line of wet adventurers, seeing them flinch back from her. She saw the Halfseekers turn. Gold-rank adventurers, staring at her just the same as the children.

The [Receptionist] at the desk backed away. Selys rested a claw on the wood and saw it begin to burn. She lifted her claw and turned. A room full of faces stared at her.

Ten minutes. That’s how long it had taken for her to come here at a slow walk. Ten minutes. That was enough.

For ten minutes she had been a hero. Selys looked at her grandmother and saw Tekshia looking at her with an expression Selys had never seen on her face. Wonder? Awe? Respect? There were no words. Selys stepped behind her counter. She ran a claw over it and saw smoke rising. Then she leaned on the desk. She hissed and the flames died out.

In the silence, the smoke drifting from the desk drifted upwards and vanished. The Drakes, Gnolls, Humans, and other adventurers stared at Selys. She stood at her desk, wearing the Heartflame Breastplate. She smiled as wide as she ever had.

At the head of the crowd was a young man in white robes. Pisces stared at Selys. She beckoned him forwards, as if he were in line. He took a few hesitant steps. Selys leaned towards him.

“So what comes next? Huh?”

Pisces blinked. He stared at her, and then around the room. She didn’t have to say it. She knew he was thinking the same thing. Sometimes, just sometimes, it was good to be the center of attention. At last, Pisces smiled. He looked at Selys, that challenging, excited gleam in his eyes.

“I don’t know. But I’m eager to find out.”

—-

Selys stood in a room with an odd group. Watch Captain Zevara. Wall Lord Ilvriss. Pisces. None of them were people she’d normally talk to. Well, maybe Pisces, but that was so new as well. And yet, she didn’t feel afraid of talking to them anymore. Instead, Selys was all business.

When you wore the Heartflame Breastplate, people listened to you. Sometimes it was because you were on fire. But it was also because you’d dared. Dared to put it on. Even Ilvriss hadn’t dared to try. It was Selys’ armor. Hers.

And she was talking about giving it away. Pisces stood with a sheaf of parchment in hand, reading through his notes, talking animatedly. He’d been using [Message] spells all day. He’d taught himself the spell, apparently.

“…and in light of the new enchantment’s trigger being discovered, all of the cities are bidding desperately. They regard the armor’s powers—correctly—as something that could turn the tide of battle if used to full effect. A [General] wouldn’t need to fear danger and take to the front lines with far more certainty with such a powerful protective enchantment.”

“If my uncle had known how it worked, I wonder if it would have helped him.”

“There’s no telling. But the armor—”

Ilvriss stared at the breastplate. Selys had put it back on the armor stand. People also tended to stare at your chest if you wore it while talking to them. And it got heavy. Pisces nodded.

“I have noted your increased bid for the armor, Wall Lord Ilvriss. Backed by your Walled City, you are of course fielding one of the highest bids for the armor, from a pure monetary perspective.”

“One of the highest? Who else is bidding?”

Ilvriss swung around to stare at Pisces. The [Necromancer] smiled.

“Confidential, I’m afraid. Some of the potential buyers wish to preserve their anonymity, I’m sure you understand.”

Ilvriss narrowed his eyes, but he couldn’t exactly sneer at or ignore Pisces. The young man cleared his throat.

“However, yours is certainly an alluring bid. And Pallass is aware of it. They are concerned about Wall Lord Ilvriss’ ties to Liscor and have come up with a counteroffer, Selys.”

He turned to Selys and smiled.

“They’re willing to offer you a modest sum if you’ll agree not to lend, lease, or otherwise give the armor to Wall Lord Ilvriss.”

“What?”

Zevara and Ilvriss looked at Pisces. He looked smug. Selys stared at him.

“Not to sell it to Ilvriss? But then I’d be getting money—”

“For nothing. Exactly.”

Pisces looked around at the Drakes. He sighed.

“It’s a simple concept! A magical artifact can make money simply by existing and remaining neutral—especially in ideal circumstances like these. Pallass and the other Walled Cities are keen to get their hands on such an artifact, but not at the cost of outbidding each other. They would rather pay a small fee to ensure none of their enemies turn up on the battlefield wearing that armor than obtain it for themselves.”

“That’s robbery!”

Zevara looked aghast at the idea of paying someone for nothing. Pisces laughed. He actually laughed!

“No. Just politics. Terandria has treaties like this in place. That’s where I hit upon the idea.”

“And you’re willing to hold onto the armor? Even if it means risking losing it? We can’t guard it forever, especially if you want to wear it.”

Ilvriss turned to Selys, looking exasperated. She shook her head.

“I still want to earn money off it. More money, I guess. Come on in!”

She raised her voice and the door opened. Ilvriss looked past Selys and up as a giant head appeared. A half-Giant head. Moore stepped carefully into the room, bending so as not to bang his head on the ceiling. Jelaqua strode in after her and Seborn appeared at their backs. Selys shook Jelaqua’s hand.

“You’re serious about this?”

The Selphid stared at the armor. Zevara and Ilvriss, catching on, stared hard at Selys. The [Receptionist] just nodded.

“I’m willing to lease the armor to your team, Miss Jelaqua. Lease, not sell.”

“For the dungeon? How would that work?”

The Selphid scratched at the back of her head, her claws brushing the spines. Her tail twitched and Selys wondered if she could hiss using her body’s new throat. They’d figure something out if not.

“It’s very simple. I’ll let you use the armor to take on the dungeon—or any missions in the area. You’d have to give it back to me after a set amount of time, but you can use it until our contract expires.”

The Halfseekers stared at each other. Seborn raised a hand.

“And if we lose it or it breaks? We’re adventurers. Accidents happen.”

“If you can find something that can break the Heartflame Breastplate, I’d love to see it. From really far away.”

Selys folded her arms. She nodded at a book that Pisces had found for her.

“I’ve been doing some research. With Pisces. Possession of artifacts is very clear. Under Drake law it means that if you die with the armor on in the dungeon, it’s mine. If it’s stolen, it’s still mine. Only in war does that rule not apply. If you lose it in the dungeon, I’ll hire someone to get it back.”

“And it’s not likely to break. Alright. But what happens to you in the meantime? I’ve been hearing rumors that lots of people are targeting you. I’d hate to get my team involved in…”

Jelaqua looked around at the other Drakes and hesitated.

“…politics.”

“That’s a good point. Miss Selys, your life would be danger if—especially if you lent the armor to adventurers.”

Ilvriss looked like he was struggling to find a flaw in Selys’ plan. The Drake [Receptionist] just smiled. She looked at Pisces who gave her a self-satisfied smirk.

“Pisces had an idea about that, actually. It’s the kind of underhanded thing I would expect from him.”

“I shall take that compliment in the spirit with which it was given.”

“Explain.”

Zevara looked at Pisces. It was Selys who replied.

“In the event of my death, the armor doesn’t go to anyone in my family. No matter what I say, no matter what I might sign, it’ll go straight back to Magnolia Reinhart. With instructions on how to use it. That will is good for ten years, at which point I’ll have to renew it or write another one.”

“Back to—”

Ilvriss spluttered in horror at the thought. Selys imagined that would be the reaction of most Drakes. She nodded.

“Back to her. I can’t change it no matter what. That will is solid and sealed by a Wistram Mage—”

“Falene. Pah. As if I couldn’t do the spellcasting myself given a moment’s time to study—”

The Watch Captain of Liscor ignored Pisces. She studied Selys seriously.

“And if she has you killed? Magnolia Reinhart uses [Assassins].”

Selys gritted her teeth.

“Then she’ll have to get through every Drake who cares about the armor to get me. And I’d say one Human [Lady] being after me is better than six Walled Cities pulling me apart, don’t you?”

Ilvriss had the decency to blush slightly. He looked around and sighed.

“Ancestors. You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely. Jelaqua, if you’re willing, I’ll lease the armor to you. I know I could find a team in Pallass or someone else in Liscor—the Silver Swords, maybe—but I wanted to ask you first.”

Jelaqua looked dumbfounded. She looked at her teammates, and then at Selys, rather helplessly.

“Well of course we’d love to borrow it, even for a day! But Selys, we can’t afford—”

“Oh, it’s not about how much you can pay me now. I just want a cut of whatever you get.”

Selys interrupted the Selphid. Jelaqua snapped her fingers.

“You do? Of course! A cut of the treasure!”

“I don’t need artifacts or anything else. All I want is a percentage of anything you find. You can have first rights to artifacts and compensate me the cost.”

The Halfseekers stared at Selys. She held her breath as they turned. Moore covered their heads as he bent his to confer. Jelaqua turned back within a minute.

“Well, if it’s a percentage of our findings, we could offer you thirty percent—but let’s talk this over, okay? How’s a drink sound? At Erin’s?”

Selys smiled. She turned to Pisces and he gave her a thumbs-up.  He looked satisfied as he edged over to Selys.

“I get a cut of the profits, right?”

She stared flatly at him. Pisces lost his smile.

“Ah. Was that the wrong time to ask?”

He yelped as Selys poked him in the side. The [Receptionist] winked.

“We’ll talk.”

—-

It wasn’t over with the Halfseekers. Before they met to discuss the terms of their contract, which would be magically enforced and certified by Liscor’s Watch Captain, Selys strode into Tekshia Shivertail’s office. The elderly Drake looked up as Selys thrust a parchment onto the table for her. Selys didn’t wait for Tekshia to speak.

“The Goblins are going to be a Bronze-rank team. They’ll work their way up through the system, but this way Liscor can take credit for them entering the dungeon, and we get a cut of whatever they find. Otherwise we have five Goblins running about who aren’t under anyone’s control but Erin’s.”

Tekshia picked up the form to create a Bronze-rank team. She studied it. Then she pushed it back across the desk.

“No.”

Selys leaned over the desk. She should have worn her armor.

“Why not?”

Tekshia’s face didn’t change.

“I don’t trust them.”

“I do.”

“So? You’re not the [Guildmistress].”

Selys stared at her grandmother. She glared, and then took a deep breath.

“I’m not. But I say it should be this way, Grandma. If you’ll sign this, I’ll take responsibility for the Goblins. If they cause trouble, I’ll take the blame. Not you. You can put that in writing.”

She jabbed a claw at the parchment. For a second she thought Tekshia would scoff at her, but then, to her astonishment, Tekshia laughed. The elderly Drake grabbed a quill as Selys stared at her in astonishment.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you take some responsibility for your actions? Fine. If you’ll put your tail on the line…”

She signed the parchment with a flourish. Selys gaped at her.

“What?”

“Oh, don’t stare. I’ve waited for ages for you to suggest something and have the spine to back up what you’re suggesting. You’ll never get anywhere by trying to get someone else to take the risks, Selys. An adult takes chances and backs them up! A shame you had to make Goblin adventurers your first big decision. Ah, well.”

Tekshia sighed as she pushed the parchment back towards Selys. The Drake stared and then snatched the parchment up. She peered at the signature. It was real. She glared at her grandmother.

“Wait, was this all another test? You mean all my suggestions—Pisces cleaning the sewers—all that was to prepare me to follow in your footsteps?”

The old Drake paused in nibbling at her quill tip.

“Hardly. I just don’t like [Necromancers]. What’s this about you following in my footsteps?”

“I thought—you were preparing to make me the Guildmaster! Guildmistress!”

“What?”

“You’ve been having me run about, do all kinds of important work for the Guild. And you keep talking about your bad back and how much work there is. I thought…”

Selys trailed off as Tekshia gave her an incredulous look. The old Drake shook her head.

“Guildmaster? You thought I was grooming you to replace me? Hah!”

She barked a laugh and pointed her inky quill at Selys like a dagger. Tekshia grinned, her teeth inky in one spot.

“You can have my place when I’m dead, Selys, and not a moment before! I just wanted you to take some responsibility and start leveling up again!”

“But—”

Selys felt like Tekshia had kicked the rug out from under her. The old Drake cackled.

“I’ll give you a small raise. Assuming you’re not too busy running around in armor?”

“I—but—you—I worked so hard—and you—”

Selys spluttered. Tekshia shook her head.

“You’re not having my job. Too much good fortune is bad for your character, anyways.”

“I hate you! I worked so hard! And for what? I’m not working overtime again!”

Selys raged as she turned and stomped away from the desk. She had to come back for the parchment. Tekshia nearly laughed her tail off. But she stopped Selys as the young Drake stormed for the door.

“It was a smart idea to keep it, Selys.”

Selys turned. The young Drake woman smiled at Tekshia, her anger forgotten.

“I know. And I couldn’t just give it away. After all, Uncle Zel gave it to me.”

Tekshia sighed.

“He did at that.”

The door closed. Tekshia watched Selys hurry down the street through the window and laughed before snorting.

“Guildmistress? Hah! Not this year.”

Then she reached under her desk and produced something round and soft to nibble on while she worked. It was a cookie.

—-

It wasn’t over. Selys sat at a table in The Wandering Inn, talking animatedly with Jelaqua. She was no [Shopkeeper], but she had a certain degree of charm, and she could talk shop with any adventurer under the sun.

“I’m just asking for a reasonable percentage of whatever profits you make. With this armor you can literally walk through some traps unharmed. And the flame enchantment will protect you from all kinds of effects. For a Selphid you’d practically be invulnerable, wouldn’t you?”

“True. But we haven’t tested the magnitude of the enchantments. Forty percent is high. Hell, thirty percent is high! We’re doing all the work!”

“And I have a legendary artifact. With it on you might be a Named Adventurer, Jelaqua. Think of that. If you don’t want it, I could talk to Ylawes…”

The Selphid was thinking, Selys could tell. Jelaqua leaned back to whisper to Seborn, and someone passed by their table.

“Another round?”

Erin lifted a mug, smiling. Selys smiled too. She had barely had time to talk with Erin over these last few days. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Erin had her busy life to lead. She was always getting into trouble or finding something weird. And for once, Selys could relate.

“I’ll have a fruit drink, Erin. No more alcohol. But can I have another kebab?”

“Coming right up! Hey, did you know I didn’t make this for once? Ishkr’s really good at searing the meat. As good as I am with my [Advanced Cooking] Skill!”

Erin left and returned with some hot skewers of pork and chicken. Selys gobbled one down happily as Jelaqua looked resigned. She had her on the ropes! Selys would be content with thirty five percent, actually. It was just a matter of getting the Selphid to agree…

Selys paused as she chewed and swallowed. Her armor was going to be huge, especially if Jelaqua’s team found something. But there was something she had to do as well tonight. It had to be tonight. She’d talked with Zevara and it had to be tonight. Zel’s remains would be transported through to Pallass tomorrow with a huge honor guard. So…

“Erin, I need a big favor.”

“Oh?”

The [Innkeeper] looked intrigued. Selys scooted her chair back to whisper in her ears.

“I need you to pull a few strings to get some people to help me. Here’s what I’ll need…”

—-

Later that night, two [Guardsmen] stood in one corner of Liscor as the rain fell unceasingly. They were on duty—it was customary for the Watch to post a guard here regardless of weather or circumstance. The graveyards of all major cities were well-tended and the remains were disposed of in such a way that the undead couldn’t rise, but you could never be too certain.

It was wet. One of the [Guardsmen] shifted and yawned. He raised his voice and spoke above the patter of rain to his companion.

“Say, Klb, old buddy. How much trouble would we be in if we were caught doing this?”

The Antinium standing next to him paused. Rain dripped off his mandibles as he opened them to reply.

“By saying ‘we’, are you referring to you and I as Senior Guardsmen, the four of us present in the graveyard, or the entire group including Watch Captain Zevara and Miss Solstice?”

Relc paused.

“Any of us.”

“Hmm. I believe in our case we would both be fired or forced to resign instantly, be court martialed, perhaps imprisoned and potentially be executed.”

“Ah. Right. I was just curious.”

“Indeed.”

They turned their attention back to watching. Not watching for intruders, but rather, watching for anyone who might catch the two intruders already in the graveyard. They were holding shovels. One of them whispered to the other.

“Can you hurry up?”

“I’m trying! This would be easier if you let me use an undead rather than do it myself—”

Pisces straightened, mopping dirt, sweat and rain from his forehead. Selys glared at him.

“What, and get murdered for desecrating the graveyard more than we already are?”

“I think this is a treasonous offense either way. The coffin is just a few more feet.”

“You sure?”

“It has bones in it. Of course I’m sure!”

Pisces was irate. He hadn’t signed up for manual labor as he’d pointed out all night, but Selys had trusted no one else. Ironically, the [Necromancer] was her only expert in this field. Digging up a grave.

Not just any grave either. Selys shuddered. She pointed at Pisces.

“Don’t you dare steal so much as a bone from this graveyard. I mean it, Pisces!”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

He sounded sincere so Selys relaxed. Pisces grunted as he hopped back in the hole he’d dug.

“Besides, all the bones are disposed of in such a way that they can’t be used easily. Warded coffins, silver dust…it really is inconvenient. Or so I’ve heard.”

“Please stop talking. You’re standing over his grave.”

Selys closed her eyes tightly. She clutched the urn to her chest as Pisces kept digging. She heard him pause.

“Ah. Here we are.”

Selys looked down. Pisces clambered out of the hole he’d dug and eyed the gravestone in front of the hole. It was a marvelous tombstone, a grand thing that looked a lot better in the daylight. The name of the owner was emblazoned across it. A name every Drake child knew. A name from history.

General Sserys.

“The coffin is right there. I presume you don’t want to open it? It’s probably loaded with enough ward spells to destroy half this graveyard if I managed to break through it at all.”

Selys shuddered.

“No, it’s fine. It just needs to be next to the coffin. Here. Give me a moment.”

Pisces walked back. He stared at Selys as she opened the urn. In the pouring rain, Selys hesitated over the hole. A perverse part of her thought it would be so funny if she tripped and fell in. Then she stared at the urn.

It was so small. Too small. And try as she might, Selys couldn’t find enough sadness in her heart. It was there, but she’d done so much mourning that it was smaller. Truly. And this moment didn’t strike her as sad. She held the urn over the grave and said a few words that were lost to the rain. Perhaps Pisces heard it—perhaps not. The rain was loud. But then again, he could read lips.

Selys poured the urn’s contents into the hole in the ground. The ash fell, a brief cloud, settling into the grave. Selys stood there for a minute and then turned to Pisces.

“Okay, let’s cover it all back up. Hand me a shovel.”

The two got to work, piling the wet, heavy dirt back into the grave and tamping it down. Pisces even levitated the plaque back into place, adding the uprooted turf so it looked like no one had ever tampered with the grave. The two stepped back and there was a moment where they looked at each other. Pisces cleared his throat.

“Turnscale. Not a word I’m familiar with.”

Selys jumped. She glanced at Pisces and he shrugged. Selys hesitated and turned away.

“That’s probably because it’s not a word you’d find in any Drake book.”

He nodded, flicking wet hair out of his eyes.

“You’re most likely correct. But I can guess the meaning.”

“Yeah. It’s fairly obvious.”

“From the context of what you’ve done, I can only infer one conclusion. Selys. Am I right in thinking…?”

Selys looked at Pisces. He fell silent.

“Yes.”

The [Necromancer] looked startled.

“Truly? I can understand General Shivertail. But was Sserys…?”

The Drake [Receptionist] hesitated.

“No one knew. He died long ago and uncle never talked about it. But I think he and uncle were…he wouldn’t have written that if it hadn’t been true.”

Zel Shivertail’s will. The words that had been taboo, unutterable. Unthinkable. They came to Selys, unbidden.

Bury me with my love.

A simple request, nothing more. She had honored it as best she could. Selys turned away. Pisces stared at the grave.

“Could you imagine?”

“What?”

“If it were true. Think of what that would mean for history!”

“It was true. No one talked about it.”

Selys stared at the grave. It felt…good. She’d just dug up a grave, in a sense, despoiled the grave of Liscor’s greatest hero, General Sserys. If Embria had known about this she would have beheaded Selys and Pisces in an instant. Or stabbed them. She did use a spear. But Selys only felt good. It was what Zel had wanted. And she thought it was what Sserys would have wanted.

She lingered over the grave as Pisces walked back towards the entrance of the graveyard, where Relc and Klbkch were waiting. Selys stared at the grave. There was no grave for Zel, no marker of where he had been truly buried. But she thought he might have liked it that way. He didn’t like standing out, in the end. He’d done it out of duty.

And now he was gone. Selys rubbed at her eyes but found nothing to irritate them but grave dirt. It truly was the end. She bowed her head and spoke one last time.

“Goodbye, Uncle. Rest well.”

Above, the rain kept falling. It should have stopped. There should have been a moment of peace, perhaps a brief ray of sunlight or something else. But there was nothing. Selys turned and trudged away. She looked back only once.

She wondered what had been. What might have been. And for an instant, Selys imagined a tall [General], proud and commanding, laughing with Zel Shivertail over a cup in the corner of an inn. For a moment Selys could see it—then it was gone. Selys left the graveyard, empty urn in hand. She had to come back fifteen minutes later to find the lid.

—-

Here’s how it finished. That night, Selys stayed up late, taking care to wash all the dirt off her scales in a tepid bath of rainwater and soap. Then she sat in her small apartment and made a small fire, though the rainy spring night really didn’t call for it. She let the fire burn hotly for a long while, breaking up the decaying logs and embers until it was burning low, and then extinguished it. Then Selys waited some more, until the embers were out. She gathered a dustpan and broom and began collecting what was in her fireplace. She got a good helping—not too much, and sifted through it to remove any telltale debris.

At last, Selys poured the hot ash and dust into the urn, and then set it carefully on her dresser, wiping the rim so it looked polished and untouched. Selys stared at it for a second and then shook her head.

“Have fun burying that with a big ceremony.”

She turned, blew out the candle on her bed, and lay down. She was so tired. Selys hadn’t ever been more exhausted in her life, not even after fighting for her life against the undead! She had worn herself down. But she felt good. Relaxed. Almost at once, Selys drifted off to sleep.

[Receptionist Level 19!]

[Heiress Level 6!]

[Skill – Legacy Whispers: Heartflame Set obtained!]

In the night, the rain poured down. Slowly, the Drake sat back up in her bed. Eyes wide. She heard thunder, and then words. There was no voice that spoke them, no tongue to shape them. They appeared in her head, searing, unforgettable.

To find the helm of fire,

Look to death’s ire;

That village without rest,

Where the Putrid One met his death.

They were there, and then only a memory. But what a memory. Selys sat in bed, clutching her covers to her chest, heart pounding wildly. She looked around.

“Ancestors.”

And then she went back to sleep.

5.19 G

He is coming. He is nearly here. He is coming. He calls. He is a Lord and he calls your name.

Garen—

The Goblin awoke. He lay and stared up at the dark stone ceiling overhead for a second, and then rolled out of his bed. The rough, woven mattress barely bothered his thick skin. He had wool and cloth, scavenged or stolen to make it warmer and more comfortable, but it was hardly luxury.

In this place, other Goblins slept on silk blankets stolen from merchant caravans carrying goods from as far away as Chandrar. But this Goblin liked the simple, undecorated room he lived in. It was bare, without comforts. A warrior’s room.

The Goblin walked over to a pile of clothes and grunted as he kicked through them. Goblins didn’t bother with laundry unless something was really dirty, and many considered clothing an option rather than a rule in most circumstances. However, this particular Hobgoblin was used to wearing clothes and so he dressed himself before putting on his armor.

Simple leather armor. Worn down, but flexible. Unenchanted. In times past, he could remember wearing heavier stuff. However, most Goblins fought in rapid, brutal offensives. Speed mattered more than protection. If you got hit you were dead. And if you were up against enchanted weapons, leather made about as much difference as steel plate.

Clothing. Armor. The Hobgoblin looked around. His crimson eyes were weary as he rubbed at them. But that was a weakness he only showed in this room. By the time he pushed open his door—another sign of his rank—he was wide awake.

“Redfang.”

There were Goblins waiting for him. Two—one a regular Goblin, short by Human standards, and the other, a Hob, thinner than he should be but wiry with muscle. Both male. Garen grunted at them and they nodded.

Guards on his room. Another odd thing in this place. Posting two of his followers at his door had been a hard choice for him. It wasn’t like Garen had anything to steal. And he didn’t want to give away the impression he was afraid of being attacked in his sleep—Garen was confident he could kill anything creeping into his room. Nevertheless, he’d given in. It was a symbol of authority, and while it wasted time, his faction expected it of him here.

His faction. This place! Garen growled under his breath as he stalked the halls. Goblins were always up and about here. The small ones avoided him, rushing about with their work. The Hobs gave Garen space as well. They were Hobs and he was a Hob, but only a fool would have thought that meant he was on their level. And Garen had killed enough fools to make his point already.

This was the mountain. Dwarfhalls Rest, the former home of Dwarves in another age. Now, a Goblin bastion, home of the largest tribe in the north. The domain of the self-styled Great Goblin Chieftain, Tremborag.

And the tribe that had ignored the Goblin Lord’s summons. Here waited those who had refused to join him, who hated everything he represented. Garen bared his teeth and a Hob thought twice about walking near him and edged to one side of the corridor. But not all Goblins in this mountain were alike.

He was Garen Redfang, and if Goblins had anything close to a legend or hero, it was he. His name was famous. Once a Gold-rank adventurer, the only Goblin to ever hold that rank. Garen had infiltrated Human cities under disguise, taught himself to speak. And when he had left civilization he built a tribe like no other, a tribe of warriors trained in his image. And he had settled in a place Goblins called death. The High Passes.

As Goblin Chieftains went, Garen stood above all the rest. Or he should have. His tribe was powerful, and Garen was as strong as any Gold-rank adventurer.

And yet, he had come here. To another Chieftain’s hold. To join with another tribe, fleeing the Goblin Lord’s advance. Because—his tribe wasn’t nearly large enough to defy the Goblin Lord alone. If that were all, it would have mattered little. But there had been an unexpected complication. A young Chieftain, a genius whose talents were a mirror to Garen’s. Young, weak, inexperienced, but able to command a tribe far larger than her own with her ability to command, to lead, to think. Garen’s fist clenched.

Rags. The small Goblin from Liscor. She had left the mountain, claiming Garen was no true Goblin. And she had taken her tribe, many of the tribes he had gathered, and his tribe. His warriors. Over two thirds of them had gone with her. Those that had remained had refused to fight their traitorous kin. They had suffered Garen’s rage that day.

Power, fame, influence. These were Human concepts. In another place, in another tribe, it wouldn’t have mattered. Garen was Chieftain. The idea that his tribe, his warriors, would leave him was impossible. But in this place Goblins learned treachery and to think of things in terms of gain and loss, and not the good of the tribe. They replaced loyalty with ambition.

Politics. In the mountain, Garen was one of many Goblins with the rank of Chieftain. There were multiple Hobs with that status, with the drive and ambition to have tribes of their own. Yet all were somehow part of the same tribe, underneath the Hob that had created this anomaly. The Great Chieftain.

Tremborag.

It was to this Goblin that Garen strode, despite the early hour. The burning certainty in Garen’s mind made him too restless to sleep. He had felt it. The Goblin Lord was coming. Like a blazing bonfire growing brighter, drawing closer, his army was marching on the mountain. Garen felt this knowledge in his core, in his bones, in his very soul. And if he had felt it, Tremborag surely had.

The mountain was not quiet. The halls echoed with Goblin’s chatter, the pounding of Tremborag’s Goblin [Smiths], the creak of the wooden bridges crisscrossing the mountain enduring the weight of hundreds of bodies every minute.

And screams.  Oh yes. Not Goblin screams either, most of them. There were Humans and other species in the mountain. Prisoners. Captives. Some kidnapped, others captured during a raid or battle.

Women. Females. Garen tried to block out the sound. But two voices stood out from the rest. He heard male voices, shouting in agony. Garen remembered them.

Gold-rank adventurers. A scouting team, sent from one of the local cities to investigate this place. News of a Great Goblin Chieftain had shaken the Human cities’ complacency, and they had begun connecting the Goblin raids over the years, wondering if the villages, cities, and towns raided over the last decade could have been the work of one tribe.

So they had put out a request to scout the mountain and a Gold-rank team had taken it. Why not? It was dangerous, but the pay had been provided for by multiple cities. They could always run. And they were Gold-rank adventurers. What could Goblins do to them?

Screams. Garen listened. The adventurers were being tortured. The Gold-rank team had been a group of three. The two males were howling in agony. Somewhere, in a room nearby perhaps, Goblins from Tremborag’s tribe were torturing them. For information? Garen wondered. Perhaps they just enjoyed it. He shook his head. This place was too different. Too alien to what Goblins were. Too…Human.

Two voices. The Gold-rank adventurers had been experienced, strong. They’d infiltrated the mountain well, until they’d gone in too far. Garen had ambushed them, with a group of Hobs. The adventurers probably had no idea that Goblins could detect them even with [Invisibility] spells and other concealing enchantments. They’d put up a good fight. Garen’s side still hurt from where an enchanted blade had struck him, despite the healing potion he’d used. But he had slain more than a few Gold-rank adventurers himself, and Hobs were as strong as a Silver-rank adventurer without magical equipment.

All three had been taken hostage. But Garen didn’t hear the female adventurer’s voice. He suspected she’d killed herself with poison. He’d seen her chewing something as the Goblins had subdued the three. It wasn’t something male adventurers really thought of. He wondered if the two living adventurers envied her foresight.

More screams. Enough! Garen strode faster, outdistancing the sounds as best he could. He headed to two massive, open doors as his corridor widened. The center of the mountain was a vast feasting hall, a place where the Goblins of the mountain ate and feasted. And it was here their Chieftain could almost always be found.

“Tremborag!”

Garen shouted one word as he strode into the room. It wasn’t a meal time, so there were fewer Goblins in the room. Some off-duty Hobs, eating, as was their privilege, scurrying servantile Goblins, carrying food, and a huge Goblin at the head of the room.

An enormous, fat Hobgoblin sat on a ‘throne’, surrounded by female Goblins and some of his most trusted lieutenants. He was eating savagely, and the other Goblins were maintaining a small distance away from him. Tremborag, Great Chieftain of the Mountain City tribe, looked up. His crimson eyes flashed fury for a moment, and he stared down at the approaching Hobgoblin.

“Redfang.”

Tremborag’s voice was a growl. Garen paused, his hand reaching unconsciously towards his sword. The other Goblins surrounding Tremborag stared with fear and envy at the red blade Garen carried. It was that which had earned him his second name. Redfang, for the enchanted blade. Garen, for the name he’d claimed himself. They backed up as Tremborag rose.

Up, up! A mountain of flesh. Tremborag was huge even by Hobgoblin standards. Many Hobs tended towards fat, but Tremborag had surpassed them all. He was massive, gargantuan. Compared to Garen’s lean, trained body he looked too slow and heavy to move. But Garen knew that was an illusion. Tremborag had not created this tribe, arguably the most powerful in the north, by being soft. The two Chieftains glared at each other.

It was always like this. In Tremborag’s mountain, Garen was his second-in-command. He couldn’t be anything else; Garen was too powerful, too influential not to be followed by a large faction, his Redfangs. And yet, Tremborag was his Chieftain. In any other tribe, Garen would have left or fought Tremborag for control. But it was different here.

With effort, both Hobs restrained themselves. Tremborag glared at Garen, his mood sour and savage. He reached for a haunch of meat and tore into it, letting fat and oil drip down his chin.

“What, Redfang. More adventurers, seeking to enter my mountain?”

Tremborag’s voice was deep, booming. It was also fluent in the common tongue. Garen replied less fluently, although practiced from past years of use.

“No. You know what happened. He is coming.”

The Great Chieftain paused in chewing a mouthful of meat. He glanced to one side.

“Leave.”

The Goblins around him scattered. Tremborag watched them swiftly exit the banquet room with the other Goblins, leaving Garen and him alone. Then he looked down at Garen.

“He marched slower than I thought he would. This Goblin Lord.”

Garen shrugged.

“Battle. He fought one at Invrisil.”

“True. But his tribe would heal on the march and grow. The Goblin Lord took his time. He has not sent out any raiding parties, any other armies.”

“Because he is coming here.”

The Chieftain of the Redfang Tribe bared his teeth. Tremborag nodded once.

“Because I am here.”

“We.”

Tremborag grunted.

“Does it matter? He senses the Goblins here. And he is drawn to us. He wants my strength. Our strength, to add to his own. And he will not have it.”

The Great Chieftain crushed the bone he held in his hand. He tossed the fragments of bone aside, snarling. Garen repressed the urge to snarl as well. Both of them knew what the Goblin Lord wanted. Both of them felt his call. And both had refused. Garen, out of disgust. Tremborag…for other reasons.

“I felt it too. His call. The arrogance of it. To command me. To pull every tribe in five hundred miles into his army! But I refused the Goblin King and I refused him. If he comes to my mountain, he will leave with nothing. Or he will die.”

It was reassuring to hear Tremborag say that. Garen shifted his posture, keeping his balance, still wary of the Great Chieftain in front of him. A Goblin Lord. Among Goblins, they were rare. Powerful. Normally a Goblin Lord would be a thing of wonder, of pride. But this Goblin Lord—how could any Goblin follow someone like him? Garen had felt it. How could any Goblin Lord be like him? How could anyone treat with the undead, and worse—be a slave?

His disgust must have been apparent on his face, because Tremborag paused as he reached for a handful of walnuts drizzled with wild honey. He stared at Garen intently. The Hobgoblin shifted again, disliking the look. Tremborag seldom talked with Garen, save to make plans or order a raid. They did not work together well. But the giant Hobgoblin’s voice was thoughtful.

“Redfang. How old are you?”

The question caught Garen off-guard. He glanced up at Tremborag, frowned and thought about refusing to answer. But he reluctantly replied at last.

“Fourteen.”

“Hah! Old for a Goblin. Young for anything else.”

Tremborag laughed as he stuffed the walnuts into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and glanced at Garen.

“You were young when Velan appeared, weren’t you? Do you remember him? Our beloved, late, Goblin King?”

Another odd question. Garen had to think honestly before he could answer.

“No.”

“You never saw his face?”

“No. Heard him appear. Saw tribe leave. Many to follow. Never saw him. Only saw a Goblin Lord once.”

“Because it was war.”

Tremborag’s eyes gleamed. He picked up a pitcher of wine, kicking his foot and offering Garen one of the cups lying about. The Hobgoblin shifted his head a fraction to the left, declining the offer. Tremborag drank, speaking savagely. It was incredible to Garen—he had never heard any older Goblin speak of the Goblin King, Velan the Kind, with anything but regret and longing. But Tremborag’s voice was bitter.

“He told the young to hide. He told the old to hide! He told the pregnant and those afraid to fight, to hide! He took only the warriors, only those willing to follow him to death. So that when he fell, Goblins would quickly would rise again.”

“He knew he would fall?”

“Knew? He expected it! He came across the sea. From Baleros, fleeing his enemies. He knew they would follow. But he fought! He took every Goblin warrior in the world into his army and fought. He knew he would fall, he must have. If he had died in Baleros, he would have ended it all there. But he fought. And he invited us to share his folly.”

Tremborag drained the pitcher, threw it aside. It shattered as the Goblin glared down at Garen, his red eyes flashing.

“The arrogance of him. The waste! You never saw his face. But I? I sat here. On this throne when a Goblin Lord came to my mountain. I refused him then, and the Goblin Lord left. I sat here in this very spot when the Goblin King came here. And I looked him in the eye and refused to follow.”

The words made Garen shudder. He had refused the Goblin King? Tremborag? He tried to imagine it, and failed. He had never seen Velan, only felt the pull as a young Goblin, urging him to war, feeling the fury, the rage of his kin. And then—the loss. But Tremborag had refused the King to his face. Garen tried to see it. All he saw was a fat Goblin. Old, dangerous, but hardly the stuff of such legends. And yet, Tremborag’s voice betrayed that beast, that monster lurking within.

“A Goblin King could not rouse me from my home. Now another upstart claims to be Lord. If he comes to claim me, let him break his army on my mountain home. I am Great Chieftain of the Mountain and I bow to no Lord or King.”

Powerful words. Fighting words. Garen bared his teeth, relieved to hear them. He was coming. The Goblin Lord. And he would find nothing but blades at his throat. That would make all this, all this frustration worth it. And perhaps afterwards…

Garen felt at something in his pocket. Tremborag saw the movement and his eyes narrowed. Garen noticed and took his hand away from the tiny key, his hand sliding over the hilt of his sword. Tremborag ignored that and spoke slowly.

“A secret. I dream of it too. The secret Velan hid. And I will have it, Redfang.”

“We will have it.”

Garen glared up at Tremborag. The Great Chieftain eyed him and Garen tensed. He had magical artifacts, his sword, and his experience from years as a Gold-rank adventurer. But Tremborag was at least twice his age. Neither knew what would happen if it came to a fight between them, but both knew it would be to the death. At last, Tremborag nodded.

“One of us will. When the Goblin Lord is over, we will decide who.”

Slowly, Garen relaxed. He nodded. The dream burned in his mind. Memory. A Goblin Chieftain remembered the past, looked backwards through time. When Garen touched the key he could remember what Velan the Kind had hidden. Not what, but where. With a key. With two keys.

“Ready the mountain.”

Tremborag’s voice was low. He stared at Garen’s pocket, and his claws tightened on the arms of his throne. His voice rose.

“Summon to me my armies. Bar the gates! Sharpen swords and eat! The Goblin Lord comes. And we wait for him. There will be death soon. Death! Let the Goblin Lord come. He will never take the mountain.”

“Agreed.”

Garen bared his teeth in a fierce smile. Tremborag grinned as well, dark mirth. Their crimson eyes shone in the darkness. The Goblin Lord was coming. But all they could do was wait. To the south and west, another tribe, far smaller, was moving. And neither Garen nor Tremborag had forgotten, or forgiven.

—-

“We’re moving.”

Rags snarled the order as arrows sang through the air overhead. None of the Goblins around her argued. They broke into a run, streaming down the hill, as a force of Humans a thousand strong chased after them, loosing arrows and magic at their backs.

“Lotta Humans.”

A Goblin with no ears panted as he broke into a run. Rags was mounted and she wheeled her Carn Wolf. Her hand rose and she pointed.

“Stall. [Firefly]. [Fire Arrow].”

Her words were punctuated by a flying bird or insect made of fire and a trio of fiery magical arrows. They flew into the ranks of the Humans, making them throw up their shields and halt. The Goblin running behind her grinned and pointed back as well.

Lightning crackled. Thunder roared. The ranks of the Humans flew apart as a bolt of lightning blasted the first rows of Humans. Rags heard screams and an order. The Humans held their ground and more archers and mages began filling the air with projectiles.

“They stopped. Move faster!”

Rags snapped at the others around her. A group of Hobs and smaller Goblins ran behind her as she kicked her Carn Wolf in the side. The gigantic wolf with rust-colored fur bounded ahead. Rags heard a snarl as a Hob was struck by an arrow in the back, and a shout of pain as someone was hit by a magic spell. But the Goblins kept moving. The Humans were too far away for their arrows and magic to do much good, and they weren’t high-level. But there were a lot of them.

And there were only about forty or so Goblins. True, nearly a third of that number was Hobs, but the Humans could overwhelm them with bodies. The infantry was slowed, wary of the magic spells that had come their way, but Rags turned her head and saw another problem heading at them fast.

“Horses!”

She snapped as she saw a line of cavalry headed straight for them. The [Riders] were lightly armored, and there were only fifty or so but they could definitely tie up the Goblins long enough for the rest of the army to catch up. Or cut them down on the run.

Rags made a quick choice. She leaned out of her saddle and barked a command.

“Spell and arrow! One volley! Then run!”

The Goblins instantly reacted to her words. Half of the Goblins stopped, raised crossbows or grabbed an arrow and put it to their bowstrings and loose. Rags brought up a black crossbow with both hands, sighted, and fired. One of the Humans riding the horses cried out as his mount went down; the other arrows and another burst of lightning made the riders spread out. The Goblins didn’t pause. As soon as they’d fired they were running again. Enraged, the riders came after them.

“Lotta riders!”

Noears gasped as he ran, both legs churning up a hill. Rags was the only Goblin mounted; she saw Noears was at the back, with several of the fatter Hobs. She urged him on, shouting.

“Hurry!”

The Goblins knew the riders were right behind them. They crested the hill as the first of the riders began to ascend, swearing, swords drawn, spears leveled. The lead rider was aimed at Noears’ back. Rags pointed and an arrow of fire struck the horse in the face. The flame was too weak to do more than burn, but the horse reared, throwing its rider. Rags felt bad for the horse—less so for the Human. Up until this point Rags and her Goblins hadn’t killed a Human! They’d just been looking.

“Faster!”

She wheeled her snarling Carn Wolf and urged it down the hill. Her wolf bounded past Goblins as they sped down the slope. The riders had to slow again when coming down the hill; they weren’t experienced enough to race downwards. But they were nearly on top of the Goblins. Just a bit more! Rags could practically hear their thoughts. Just a bit more and they’d be able to run them down! She glanced towards the forest in the distance. Too far away to reach in time. If you were on foot, that was. She grinned as she heard a horn blaring.

Just in time. The Humans on horseback hesitated when they heard the single, shrill blast. It echoed out of the forest, and then again. Rags heard a Human voice calling in alarm.

“Mounted Goblins coming out of the forest! A hundred of them!”

It was only around eighty. Rags saw a wedge of Goblins riding Carn Wolves, all regular Goblins, not Hobs, riding across the short distance between them and the Humans. They were whooping, holding weapons and screaming war cries. She heard them shouting a word as the Humans rapidly lost confidence behind her.

“Redfang!”

It was a name to inspire fear among Humans. The Redfang Warriors, mounted on the fierce Carn Wolves of the High Passes were a known threat. The Human leading the riders made a rapid decision.

“Retreat!”

It was the only smart thing to do. Rags grinned as the Redfang Warriors raced past her, harrying the Humans who were now on the defensive. They were a perfect counter to most riders; their wolves were lower to the ground and scared horses, allowing the Goblins to tear a mounted brigade to shreds in moments.

There was no tearing this time though; the Redfang Warriors just ran the riders back while Rags and her group of Goblins beat a fast retreat to the forest. After all, there was still an army at their backs and the Redfang Warriors couldn’t fight ten times their number. Well, they could, but Rags wasn’t about to try it.

Soon the Goblins were in the forest and after a few more minutes of running, Rags decided they were far enough away that the Humans would give up the chase. Their foot soldiers couldn’t run that far and they’d be wary of an ambush. She raised her hand and the Goblins slowed from their mad dash, gasping and pausing to pant.

“Five minutes rest. Heading back. Check injuries. Any missing?”

The Goblins looked around and shook their heads. One of the Hobs reached out and patted the Hob with an arrow in her back. The Hob grunted; the other Hob pulled the arrow out fast and applied a drop of healing potion, closing the wound somewhat. The injured Hob only grunted and patted her friend on the back. Hobs were tough.

Rags turned her Carn Wolf, patting it on the head and feeding it a bit of dried meat as it panted. She turned and saw the Redfang Warriors riding into the trees. One of them, a bigger Goblin with a scar over his face, waved at her.

“Orders, Chieftain?”

Redscar, the leader of the Redfang Goblins and former second-in-command to Garen Redfang himself, looked expectantly at Rags. He was older than she was, and more experienced. But he instantly obeyed Rags’ commands, posting several of his warriors on watch and taking the rest of them ahead. They were heading back. As soon as the Goblins had taken a breather, Rags set a quick pace through the forest. She saw Noears looking up at her and hopped off her Carn Wolf’s back to jog alongside him.

“Lots of Humans.”

He grunted at her, grinning as if being shot at was normal. Which it was, if not exactly pleasant. Rags nodded sourly.

“Lots of them. Very wary. No good this way.”

Noears sighed.

“No good this way. No good that way! No good anyway, eh, Chieftain?”

She had to refrain from nodding. Rags scowled and kept her feet and arms pumping. It was like this everywhere. Humans were patrolling, hunting down Goblins in large armies. Rags had led her scouting expedition thirty miles north and run straight into a small army of Humans. She’d been hoping to find a way south, but no joy. The appearance of the Goblin Lord and his battle at Invrisil had set the north ablaze with worry. And Rags and her tribe was caught in the middle of it.

—-

The Flooded Waters Tribe. Originally a small, barely surviving tribe based around Liscor. Now a tribe thousands strong, with many Hobs and a mounted force of Carn Wolves. In any other year, they would have been one of the strongest tribes in the region. But with the Goblin Lord facing off against Tremborag’s Mountain City Tribe, they were the smallest fish caught between two giants. And all the angry Humans. And yet, as Rags and her company of Goblins rode back towards the forest of tall trees, she didn’t see much anxiety among her tribe.

Oh, they were watchful. The Goblins posted in the treetops spotted the approaching Goblins from far away, which was good—Rags would have kicked their butts if they’d missed them approaching. But as she passed through a wooden barricade, Rags saw her tribe was getting about business as usual. Business as usual when they weren’t trying to run or hide or flee for their lives, that is.

What did Goblins do for fun? It was generally eat, sleep, have sex, poke each other and make Goblin conversation, or find something fun to do. Usually in that order. Goblins didn’t always have a lot of free time; scavenging for sustenance was an important job, especially if your tribe was big.

But Rags’ tribe was organized. They had tents, cook stations, supplies of food—a luxury—and latrines, the most important of Rags’ innovations. They’d dug into the forest and made it their own. There was food here, a handy lake for water, and a very defensible position. They’d fought off Lady Bethal and her Rose Knights here not a week and a half ago. Now they were living life well, which was to say, lazing about. It would be a shame to move.

But that’s what Rags had to do. She’d known it the instant she saw the small Human army patrolling the road south of here. She barked a command as she rode into camp and saw Goblin heads turn. The Chieftain was back! Like a ripple, that fact and Rags’ demand was transmitted through camp. She only had to wait a short while until she saw several Goblins approaching her.

“Chieftain?”

A Hob looked up at her, squinting up at her and the Carn Wolf she was riding. The wolf sniffed the Goblin—the Goblin sniffed right back. Rags pointed.

“Moving out. Can’t stay here. Start get—getting—ready. Where Pyrite?”

“There, Chieftain.”

The Hob pointed. Rags nodded and hopped off her Carn Wolf. She pointed.

“Food.”

It was a Goblin word, and the Carn Wolf had been trained to understand basic commands. It joyfully bounded over to a group of Goblins who were coming over with food for the Redfang Warriors’ wolf mounts. Rags strode through camp, feeling all eyes on her.

Rags. She was short, attractive, and just past four years of age. By Goblin standards that made her around twenty years of age, at least developmentally. Goblins could function as adults by the time they turned three, and although that meant they could work and develop quite quickly, there was still a huge gap between having an adult body and actual maturity. Normally, Rags would have been an ordinary Goblin in a tribe, but her fortunes had risen dramatically this last year. As had her levels.

Level 19 [Chieftain]. Level 13 [Mage]. Level 18 [Tactician]. Level 11 [Warrior]. By any standard, Rags had grown exponentially from when she’d first been a Level 2 [Backstabber] and Level 5 [Scavenger] hiding in the grass around Liscor. Her incredible growth was due to her genius. And yet, Rags knew it wasn’t enough. She passed through her camp, grunting as Goblins waved at her, keeping an eye out for one particular Goblin. She found him standing by a tree, eating. That, at least, was predictable. He was always eating.

Pyrite was facing Rags, but he was intent on something cupped in his hands. He looked up as Rags approached and she saw he was chewing on a handful of small, writhing maggots. The tree behind him was partially denuded of bark and Rags saw that there was a colony of some kind of insect burrowed into the wood. The Hob had raided the nest, judging by the angry insects trying to swarm out from the tree. Pyrite chewed on his snack, ignoring some of the biting brown insects on his arm and chest.

“Chieftain.”

He nodded at her. Rags eyed him and nodded.

“Biting bugs?”

“Big ant-things. Bitter. Want?”

He offered her a maggot. Rags eyed it, and accepted one. She popped the squirming thing into her mouth and chewed. Then she shrugged.

“Small. Good rations?”

“Too much work.”

Pyrite shook his head. He mimed clawing his way into the tree and Rags nodded. Pleasantries done, Pyrite walked after Rags. He was a big Hob, classically fat, and deceptively placid-looking. Rags knew he was actually quite sharp at times, although she had trouble reading his face. Pyrite treated words like food; he had some at all times, but he didn’t generally share what he had with others. He was her second-in-command and she trusted him implicitly.

“Going, Chieftain?”

“Yes. Lots of Humans south.”

Pyrite nodded, unsurprised.

“Which way?”

“That.”

Rags pointed past the lake, west and slightly south. Pyrite nodded.

“Will make tribe go.”

He walked off. Rags watched him poke a Goblin and mutter a word and offer a maggot, satisfied. If their conversation had been short and unfulfilling by Human standards, it was simply because Humans had not made their mode of communication as streamlined as Goblins. There were no wasted words between them.

Rags had identified the problem; that their tribe had lingered in the area far too long and needed to move before the Humans encircled them. Pyrite had queried their direction and intent. Rags had given him a direction steering their tribe out of the path of any of the Human settlements she’d scouted. Thus, their tribe had a purpose. Pyrite spread the word and within minutes, the tribe was bustling with purpose.

Goblins loaded food and supplies onto wagons. Others grabbed weapons—crossbows, twenty-foot-long wooden pikes, and a host of assorted weaponry, some of it enchanted. Warriors moved into their assigned groups while children and non-combatants clustered in their assigned spots, gabbling to each other, moving with purpose.

Rags watched it all proudly, occasionally snapping an order and correcting a wayward Goblin. This was her ability, and her tribe. She was organized, and as such, everyone in the forest moved far more efficiently than any other Goblin tribe in the world. They were happy with her leadership by and large. If there were any exceptions, it would be the loud, irritated voice coming from a Human woman dressed in filthy clothing, being herded towards a wagon.

“Don’t touch me, you filthy monsters!”

A young woman with black hair and pale skin from lack of sunlight was snapping at the Goblins around her. They were patiently urging her onwards, trying to poke at her with sticks and sheathed swords. She was having none of it. Welca Caveis, former Knight of the Petal and now captive of the Flooded Waters tribe, swung a fist at a Goblin, making him duck. She lunged at a Goblin carrying a sword and was forced back as the other Goblins poked at her menacingly. Rags strolled over to watch. Welca spat as a Goblin poked her, pointing to a wagon.

“Just kill me already! I refuse to—stop poking me! Give me a sword and fight me like a—stop poking me!”

“Dead gods, stop arguing with them and just walk, Welca! They want you to get into the wagon.”

A tired voice snapped at Welca and the young woman straightened. An older man, his beard unkempt but his clothes in much better shape, walked past Welca. He wasn’t being herded.

“Sir Kerrig! We don’t know what these Goblins mean to do with us!”

The older [Knight] paused and turned to Welca. She was giving all the Goblins around her a look of deep mistrust—which was slightly hurtful, even to the Goblins. Sir Kerrig Louis, another Knight of the Petal who’d been stripped of his arms and armor, sighed.

“They’re moving, Welca. Marching, I have no doubt. And they intend to take us with them.”

“And we should just let them?”

Kerrig turned. His eyes found Rags, who regarded him curiously. He nodded slightly at her.

“It’s that or be forced there. Don’t waste your energy fighting.”

“If they intend to take advantage—”

“They would have done it yesterday, or the day before that. Or last week. They’ve fed us, given us clothing—which you turned down—and haven’t laid a finger on us.”

“They stole our armor! They stole my sword and attacked us!”

“After we slaughtered them. Welca, I am ordering you to get on that wagon as your superior. Stop wasting time.”

Kerrig pointed towards the waiting wagon and Welca hesitated. Neither [Knight] was bound, and after a moment Welca went towards the wagon without another word. Her cheeks were burning as she climbed up. Kerrig nodded towards Rags and followed her. She watched him climb onto the wagon next to a sack filled with looted potatoes and the Goblin driving the wagons clucked his tongue at the pair of mules hitched to it.

They’d captured two of the Rose Knights about a week ago, after dropping trees on them. Incredibly, the armored [Knights] had survived the crushing impact, although it had knocked them out. Lady Bethal had abandoned them rather than continue fighting in the trapped woods, and so the Humans had become Rags’ prisoners. It had been an odd thing, but Rags had elected to keep the two as prisoners rather than have them wander off and get eaten or lead a group of Humans right to them. She still wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with them, actually.

The first night after they’d been held captive and found themselves tied up, the two Humans had tried to escape. They’d overwhelmed one of their guards, stolen a sword, and promptly been flattened by a dozen Hobs. Without their armor, the two deadly Rose Knights were much less of a threat. What had happened after that was interesting, to say the least.

The younger Rose Knight was Welca Caveis, the very same warrior that Pyrite had dueled and nearly drowned in battle. She was defiant, raging at the Goblins, treating her every waking moment in the camp with hostility and suspicion. She feared the Goblins as much as she hated them, and was clearly a very nervous young woman; she feared for her chastity, her honor, her reputation, and a bunch of other things that confused the Goblins guarding her.

All they wanted to do was give her food and clothing so she’d stop smelling bad and complaining. Rags had made her treatment of the prisoners very clear. No one would take advantage of her prisoners, male or female. She had left Tremborag’s mountain for the way he treated his prisoners, among other things, and she would not compromise her beliefs. Nor would the Redfang warriors, who had made it clear what would happen if any Goblins disobeyed Rags’ orders.

Nevertheless, Welca seemed incapable of realizing this fact. Her fellow [Knight] and senior on the other hand was different. Sir Kerrig Louis had cooperated with the Goblins after he realized neither his life nor Welca’s chastity was in immediate danger.

He’d readily answered their questions about his name, whether Bethal was likely to return, and whether he liked raw meat or cooked meat—Kerrig Louis, not likely, and cooked meat—and been bemused when they’d left him and Welca largely alone. He hadn’t been permitted to roam, but Rags had noticed him observing everything with interest. She’d debated talking with him, but she’d been very busy these last few days.

The Goblin Lord was moving. He’d won a big battle and killed someone important, apparently. That was all the Goblins could find out, but it was enough. Like a kicked anthill, the Humans were out for Goblin blood and paranoid they might be attacked next. So Rags had been actively scouting for a way to head south, away from the Goblin Lord. The only route that she’d found that didn’t take her too near Invrisil, the Goblin Lord, or Tremborag’s mountain was west and then south. So that was where they were headed.

Rags saw her tribe was about ready, so she whistled and saw her Carn Wolf bound over to her. She rubbed its head and climbed up its fur. The Carn Wolf waited patiently until Rags urged him forwards, and then he padded towards the head of the tribe. Rags sat and turned in her seat and saw thousands of green faces and crimson eyes staring at her. She felt the eyes of her tribe on her, waiting, trusting her. Rags scowled.

“Hurry up.”

She pointed and the Goblins went. In her wake followed her Hob escort, and her officers. They came out of the crowds, riding or walking behind Rags, a group of their own. Sir Kerrig watched the Hobs pass by his slower wagon and identified each of them at a glance.

Redscar, the normal-sized Goblin riding his Carn Wolf.

The appropriately named Noears, a powerful [Mage], walking next to Poisonbite, another normal-sized Goblin with a pair of poisoned daggers.

The Rockfall Chieftain, a female Hob who had commanded a fairly strong tribe before joining Rags’.

And a Hob from Tremborag’s tribe, nicknamed Quietstab, a seasoned raid leader who represented the rest of the Mountain City Goblins.

They had established themselves as her chief officers, her most trusted and influential lieutenants. Aside from Pyrite, her second-in-command, Redscar could be said to be strongest of the group as he lead the former warriors of Garen’s tribe. After him was probably Poisonbite and Noears, Poisonbite for her large group of female Goblins warriors and Noears’ for his small group of Goblins who could cast magic.

They were a formidable bunch and if Rags compared herself to them, she fell behind. Each Goblin was better at what they did than she was. Noears could throw lightning, Poisonbite was a better fighter, Redscar a better fighter and battle leader, and the Rockfall Chieftain and Quietstab were both probably stronger and definitely older than Rags. But what they didn’t have was Rags’ mind. That was why she was Chieftain.

Rags rode ahead as the Goblins behind her assessed her, judging her performance, arguing about what was the best course of action, but being loyal. Being Goblins. Although, it had to be pointed out that the definition of Goblin was still up for debate.

—-

“Marching south?”

The officers talked quietly as Rags rode ahead, supervising her tribe as it began its march. Poisonbite stared at Rags’ back, looking around at the others. Not exactly challengingly, but questioningly. Noears shrugged.

“Less Humans that way. Lots of scouting. Doesn’t want fight.”

Redscar nodded.

“Ran into Humans. Smaller. Thousand. Not too dangerous but bad fight many.”

The other Goblins nodded at this. Still, the Rockfall Chieftain sucked in her cheeks.

“Must fight soon. Cornered death otherwise.”

Her words gave the other Goblins pause. It was true that running wasn’t exactly an option forever. Still, Redscar seemed positive.

“Good run not fight now. Good food, good moving.”

He looked approvingly at the stream of Goblins marching. It was a multi-faceted comment, speaking to Rags’ ability to get her entire tribe moving very quickly, the way she interspersed Hobs among the regular Goblins to keep order, her patrols of warriors in case of danger, and not least, the speed at which the Goblins moved. One of Rags’ newest and best Skills was [Fleet Foot], a Skill that affected her entire tribe and allowed them to cover far more ground. And Goblins were already good at moving fast!

Grudgingly, the Rockfall Chieftain agreed things had been good with a pat of her belly. Goblins were always hungry, especially Hobs, but they’d been less hungry of late, and what was better, they hadn’t had to eat their own dead. In that sense, Rags was doing very well.

“Going march. Liscor?”

Quietstab looked around. The other officers shrugged. Maybe? Rags’ desire to return to her home was known, and the rumor in the tribe was that she planned on returning to the dungeon. There was food and magical items in a dungeon. True, there was a lot of danger there too, but if they had to choose between a bunch of angry Humans and a dungeon…

It was a matter for debate. Rags’ lieutenants often talked amongst themselves. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust their Chieftain—they’d left Tremborag’s mountain precisely because they trusted Rags more than him. It had been a moral choice. But Rags was young and her tribe was made of very disparate factions, so this…debating had become a normal practice. It wasn’t politics. Rags was Chieftain. But it seemed to the Goblins that she could be more Chieftain at certain times.

Still, if Rags had more than just her mind going for her, it was her right-hand Goblin, Pyrite. The big Hob was respected by all factions. He’d been part of Tremborag’s tribe when he was young, he was a good fighter which the Redfang Goblins loved, and he was experienced and steady, a good match for Rags. The real question was whether he was interested in Rags, which the data was inconclusive on. Goblins didn’t play card games, which was fortunate because Pyrite would have had the world’s best (and first) poker face.

“Pyrite. Where going?”

One of the Goblins decided to put the question to Pyrite himself. They came over as Pyrite was sharing the last of his larvae among some Goblin children. The Hob straightened, frowned, and flicked his ears.

“That way.”

He pointed. Poisonbite ground her teeth impatiently.

“That way lots Humans? Fighting? Or run and hide to Liscor?”

Pyrite thought about this.

“Don’t need fight Humans. Waste time. Hurts. Chieftain smart.”

That was his opinion plainly put out there all right. The other Goblins muttered to each other. Poisonbite folded her arms.

“No fight. Can’t level. If we can’t raid, can’t eat.”

Her words got a nod from some of the others, but Pyrite just scratched his chest. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a dandelion. A handful of them, actually. He offered them to the milling Goblin children, but they weren’t hungry enough to want the bitter things. That was a good sign. Undeterred, Pyrite chewed on the plants before replying.

“Raiding gets pink Humans. Undefeatable death.”

A bit of Poisonbite’s bravado faded as she recalled the nightmarish attack by Lady Bethal and her [Knights]. Hundreds of Goblins had died and only Rags’ quick thinking—and the reveal of Greydath’s true identity—had saved them. She stared at Pyrite and nodded slowly.

“Old Goblin. Goblin Lord. Greydath of Blades. Knew you.”

She pointed at Pyrite. The other Goblins stared at him. Just saying Greydath’s name, knowing that a Goblin Lord had been here, among them was amazing. But it was true. Pyrite had known Greydath. He’d stuck around the old bearded Hobgoblin. Everyone was thinking the same thing: had Pyrite known? He must have. And if he had, had Greydath taught him anything?

Pyrite farted. He let the other Goblins cough and back away and then shrugged.

“Old Goblin. Liked talk. Very secretive. Didn’t know much.”

He chewed another dandelion, passed more gas, and walked away. The Goblins eyed his back. Skepticism was heavy in the air—as was a powerful stink. That had been a very convenient fart.

Still, if Pyrite wasn’t going to speak, there was always more to talk about. Rags’ tribe marched fast, propelled by her Skill and the Goblin’s own quick pace. If anything, it was the pack animals who had to struggle to keep up. The tribe had acquired a lot of them and the plodding beasts were treated with care until they passed on, usually of old age. Then they were eaten as food, but Goblins knew the value of getting someone else to carry stuff for you. Plus, pack animals were a valuable emergency food source, not a primary one.

Soon the tribe passed out of the forest and around the lake and into wilder territory. Izril was vast, and Humans had yet to settle or intrude into some parts of the continent, despite having lived there for millennia. Oh, perhaps they had built structures here in centuries past, but monster attacks or disease or simply bad luck had erased their presence here.

The Goblins were well aware of the risks of travelling in large numbers in the wild and Rags had assigned a heavy scouting presence to match the guards keeping pace with the tribe. She received reports of wild animals, monsters, and steered her tribe accordingly. Redscar, as her subordinate in charge of military matters, got the same reports. His warriors attacked lesser monsters and animals where they could, scaring them off or collecting animals for tonight’s dinner. Only once did the tribe change directions as a whole—in response to seeing an entire colony of skunks.

Soon, the tribe found themselves reaching the first obstacle in their journey. They had entered a humid, wet area. Swampland, or maybe just an area flooded by the spring rains. The Goblins grumbled as they found themselves marching through the muddy ground. That wouldn’t be so bad; it meant few Humans were about since they hated getting dirty, but the passage of so many bodies stirred a far worse menace into the air.

Insects. A biting, flying swarm of midges and larger mosquitos and other pests descended on the tribe. There were so many that Rags had to actually pull her Carn Wolf out of the way to avoid riding right through a cloud of them. They followed her and Rags saw several mosquito-things land on her arm. She smacked them angrily, but more landed on her as her hand squished a trio of the offending insects.

“Bugs!”

One of the Goblins moaned as the insects descended on the tribe. There were so many and they bit and stung! Rags felt her skin swelling and starting to itch. The Goblins in her tribe began to complain loudly and the scouts rode back with bites all over their bodies, reporting that the swampland stretched for miles ahead.

Rags scowled as she heard the complaints mounting. The animals were going crazy as they felt the insects feasting on them and the Goblins were no less happy. She raised a hand and called an immediate halt. Swiftly, Rags called out and a group of Goblins descended on her position.

“Swamp! Bugs! How to fix?”

She’d called all the older Goblins, all the ones whose tribes had lived in areas like this to her location. There were about a hundred of them and Rags’ question immediately got a lot of headscratching. But one Goblin had an idea and she was immediately ushered forwards to Rags.

“Keep off skin. Got to keep bother. Swat fast. With flap thing.”

“Flap thing?”

Rags scowled in confusion. The Goblin woman shrugged and poked her husband standing next to her. He muttered with her, found another Goblin to poke, and set off a chain reaction. Within minutes the Goblin woman found what she was looking for—a bunch of stringy reeds. She shredded them, creating a fine whisk of fibers and bound the lot onto a wooden handle. Then she flapped the whisk, stirring the air and chasing away a cloud of midges around her.

“This, Chieftain.”

It was…Rags stared. What was it? It was like a whip, but made of many small parts. It wasn’t meant to hit things. How could it kill bugs? Then she realized that it wasn’t killing the bugs, it was just scaring them off! The insects sensed the whisk flying through the air and wouldn’t land so long as the Goblin woman kept it flying around her. Rags held out a hand and analyzed the fly whisk the woman gave her. She looked up and nodded.

“Make.”

“How many, Chieftain?”

A Goblin scratched his side as he asked her. Rags pointed to the tribe of Goblins waiting and slapping their arms, chests, legs, and each other’s backs.

“Lots.”

—-

This was how it worked. Each of the Goblins who’d seen the fly whisk knew what it looked like. They wandered into the tribe, poking, describing what Rags had shown them, and the Goblins they’d poked communicated that idea. All of the Goblins who knew anything about crafting immediately poked back with a general understanding of what was needed. Reeds or long plant fibers, sticks for the whisk, and so on. Goblins began gathering the material from the landscape or their stores and assembling the mosquito whisks rapidly. It was a communal effort which every Goblin in the tribe took part in.

Within the hour, these mosquito whisks were being used up and down the line of Goblins and more were being made on the march. Goblins waved them in the air, swatting any bugs stupid enough to land, and the amount of biting insects diminished greatly. This was a great relief, and also a talking point for Rags’ audience. They jabbered to themselves as Noears solved the bug problem around them by creating a charged field of air around his group. The bugs sensed the impending lightning and made themselves scarce as he talked with the others.

Now, how would Garen Redfang have handled a situation like that? Or Tremborag? Or another Chieftain? The other Goblins conferred, assessing Rags’ performance.

Garen would have ordered his Goblins to march through it and ignore the bugs. He probably would have regarded stopping to make anything as a waste of time and told his warriors to ignore the bites and march faster. Not exactly ideal, even Redscar had to admit.

Poisonbite and Quietstab had to admit that their Chieftain wouldn’t have been much better. Tremborag wouldn’t have cared about other Goblins. He’d have made sure he wasn’t being eaten alive and maybe some of his lieutenants would have proliferated the fly whisk designs, but nothing else.

And another Goblin Chieftain might have left the area rather than have to deal with the bugs. On the whole, Rags had reacted quickly and decisively. She’d seen a problem and solved it. With her head! True, she hadn’t come up with the idea, but asking for and implementing a solution wasn’t a natural Chieftain’s skill. Rags had also attended the suffering pack animal’s needs and they were being carefully protected by a few whisking Goblins as well.

On the whole, it was a good performance and the tribe found itself marching onwards without issue. Pyrite, who was suffering the most from the insects coveting his plump form, found himself lagging behind as he tried to make a longer fly whisk that could chase off more insects. He was grumbling and searching for appropriate reeds when he heard a sound.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t touch—”

He straightened instantly and turned his attention towards the source of the noise. Somehow, Welca had veered away from the main group of Goblins and was surrounded by a group of Goblins. Pyrite nearly reached for his axe before he realized it was missing. He began to run.

A group of Goblins and Hobs was surrounding Welca. They were from Tremborag’s mountain. She was shouting and trying to keep them off her—Sir Kerrig was shouting as well, trying to draw the attention of Rags and her tribe. But they were too far away. One of the Hobs caught Welca’s hand and grabbed her other one as she punched at him. He let another Goblin grab at her clothes as he laughed, and then felt a hand like a vice grab his head. He turned around, saw Pyrite, and paled.

There were six Hobs and about nine smaller Goblins. They whirled as Pyrite grabbed the first Hob. The former Tremborag Goblin was Pyrite’s height, but a lot thinner. He was muscled and strong and grabbed Pyrite’s arm. Pyrite squeezed the Hob’s head and heard a scream. He squeezed harder and the Hob punched at him wildly. Pyrite lifted the Hob, smashed his head into the side of the wagon and turned. The other Goblins stared at him.

One of the Hobs raised his fists. He punched and blinked as Pyrite ducked. He looked down and saw a fist coming up that broke four teeth. And his jaw. Another Hob punched Pyrite from behind, pummeling his body with furious blows. Pyrite turned, swung, and the Hob realized that a lot of Pyrite’s fat concealed muscle. He was bigger than all of the Hobs present and when he hit, the other Hobs fell down.

“Get back towards the cart!”

Kerrig shouted at Welca as he struck another Hob repeatedly in the face, dodging back as the Hob swung at him. Unarmed or not, the [Knight] was a better fighter than the other Hobs. Pyrite grabbed a third Hob and head-butted him, and then turned to one of the smaller Goblins. He had a knife. Pyrite raised a fist, pointed. The Goblin considered what might happen if he stabbed Pyrite and threw down his weapon. So did the other Goblins. The two Hobs remaining backed up. Pyrite glared around and raised his voice.

“Chieftain!”

He bellowed across the swamp, making Welca and Kerrig clap their hands to their ears. The sound did what all the shouting could not. Pyrite saw Rags’ head turn and several Redfang Warriors immediately rode towards them, swearing angrily.

All of this had taken place within the protective circle of Rags’ scouts. Within a minute Rags was riding towards the Hobs with murder on her face. One of the Redfang Warriors was gesturing with a spear and the Goblins still conscious were being herded towards Rags for punishment. Some of the Redfang Warriors were already beating the offending Goblins before Rags called them off.

Pyrite had bruises and a cut along one arm from a claw. The Hobs lying on the ground had broken bones, missing teeth, and concussions. He turned towards Welca, who was covering her ripped clothing and staring at him. Sir Kerrig was panting, his knuckles bloody.

“Alright?”

Pyrite looked at Welca. She backed up from him, and then slowly got out of the cart.

“You saved me?”

The Hobgoblin shrugged. Welca looked at him, and her eyes flicked to Sir Kerrig and the busy Goblins kicking the offenders. She hesitated, and then smiled at Pyrite.

“Thank you. I’m very grateful.”

He grunted, eying her. Pyrite turned his head and then jumped as Welca laid a hand on his arm. She smiled again, looking somewhat pained, and then pointed to the wagon.

“I must lie down. I’m very distressed.”

She waited until Pyrite nodded to walk back to her wagon. Welca eyed the Goblins, watched Rags snap orders at an arguing Redscar, and then slowly backed away from the wagon. Then she turned and ran. All the preoccupied Goblins looked up, surprised. Welca might have managed to run for a few minutes, if Pyrite hadn’t known exactly what she was about to do. He picked up one of the unconscious Hobs and threw the Goblin at Welca.

Pyrite was rewarded with a loud cry of pain and quickly stomped over. Welca looked up just in time to see his fist descend. Pyrite hit the young [Knight] over the head. Gently, which meant that Welca was still conscious enough to regret her escape attempt. The Hob slung her into a wagon as he kicked the groaning Goblins awake. He lifted up the Hob he’d thrown and glared at the befuddled Goblin. The Hob jerked awake, saw Pyrite, and tried to take a swing.

“Don’t.”

Pyrite caught the fist. The Hob stared at him and wilted. Pyrite looked back at Rags. She was watching him, and Welca. Sir Kerrig looked at Pyrite as well.

“I take it there are criminals among Goblins as well? What a thought.”

“No criminals. This—wrong.”

Rags spat the words. Sir Kerrig nodded. He looked at Pyrite and the Hob saw the older man straighten. Sir Kerrig had grey hair mixed with his brown. He was in his forties, for all he had the body of a younger man. He bowed his head slightly to Pyrite.

“My thanks, sir. Your people aren’t at all like what I’d given to believe.”

Pyrite blinked at him. The older [Knight] looked tired. He gestured.

“Might we speak? We are your captives, and I know our attack on you merits us no sympathy—but I would be in your debt if we might talk honestly. I’d heard Goblins could be peaceful, but I’d scarcely given it credence after Velan the Kind. ”

His words, the way he looked at Pyrite…the Hob stared at him. He rubbed his cut arm and then nodded. He looked around and waved at Rags. Welca sat up blearily in time to see Pyrite offer Sir Kerrig a slightly muddy dandelion. Pyrite smiled as the man stared at it in bemusement.

“Let’s talk.”

5.20 G

What did they think when they looked at her? Did they see just another Human, another enemy? Did they judge her by her comments, the way she refused to so much as look at her captors or touch anything they handed her? Did they hear the revulsion in her tone and care? Did they even care?

Surely they must. Surely they heard every word, noticed the way she glared at them and tensed, clearly wishing for a sword in her hand. Sir Kerrig had noticed the difference in the quality of the food they’d given him as opposed to Welca, his junior. He received his bowl of soup or baked potato and hot slice of meat first; she got the colder portion or the dregs.

That was unlikely to change Welca’s opinion of the Goblins. But by the same token, Sir Kerrig could not find it in his heart to lower his opinion of her. She and he were of the same order, the Knights of the Petal, sworn to the Walchaís family.

She was from a larger house while Sir Kerrig was of the landlord nobility—that was to say, someone whose only claim to aristocracy came from their small holdings, diminished over the years. Sir Kerrig had inherited a small plot of land from his father, an unused property that had once been home to a village and small estate a century ago.

It had been worthless to him, save as proof he was in fact a lesser [Lord] of the realm. In name alone. Sir Kerrig had become a [Knight] instead, a rarity among first-born sons, and he had risen through the ranks of his order for years. He had seen war, fought against Drakes, ridden against Goblins and monsters for over three decades. To Welca, he was an experienced senior in her order, despite her greater social standing.

All of this meant that they were companions, the two unlucky [Knights] who had been hit by falling trees in the Goblin’s trap. They had expected to die and fought their captors upon waking. Welca hadn’t bitten her tongue or taken the easy way out in that first moment of horror either. She’d fought, resigning herself to whatever fate she might suffer. That she might live and return to her order. Sir Kerrig admired her courage.

How could he in good conscience condemn her hostility towards the Goblins? It was natural and she was young. So he didn’t snap at her or order her to silence. He tried to explain as they sat together in the smelling, bumping wagon. He tried to teach her something the Knights of the Petal wrestled with—something all knights of this day and age had to reconcile. That there was a difference between being a [Knight] and a knight.

“Look at them, Welca.”

“I’ve looked at them enough, Sir Kerrig. There’s nothing to see. They all look alike. Hobs, goblins, males, female—there’s not a shred of decency among them.”

“None?”

“They attacked us! Attacked me not five minutes ago!”

“And we were saved. By another Goblin. A Hob.”

“One of them. I’ve memorized his face. One of the tribe’s officers, like that group arguing over there.”

Welca nodded surreptitiously towards the Goblins. Her head was still ringing from the punch she’d taken from her savior, ironically enough.

The one who’d saved her, the one Kerrig had heard being called ‘Pyrite’, was standing next to the tribe’s Chieftain, a small Goblin mounted on a Carn Wolf. She was scowling and listening to an angry Goblin with a red scar on his face pointing towards the cowering Goblins who’d attacked Welca. The young [Knight] lady glared at all of the Goblins.

“I’ve memorized their faces. One of us has to spread the word when we’re freed. A tribe like this—”

“When we’re freed? Lady Bethal will not send reinforcements. She doesn’t know we’re here. She abandoned us, Welca.”

“She’s expecting us to return to her!”

The young woman’s eyes flashed. Sir Kerrig bit his tongue on a retort. Welca was enamored with Lady Bethal, the leader of their order and patron. Lady Bethal inspired the younger [Lords] and [Ladies] of Izril, to the extent that some had become [Knights] just to serve her. All well and good, but Sir Kerrig had known Lady Bethal since she was a child and he was aware that her passion and noble gestures were only half of who she was. Lady Bethal could be caring, driven, compassionate—or as uncaring as the sun.

“She left us, Lady Caveis. If she had intended to free us, Sir Thomast or a force of our own would have assaulted the Goblins a week ago. You know as well as I that Goblin prisoners do not last long. Lady Bethal left us behind.”

“I know that.”

Welca’s shoulders slumped. Sir Kerrig looked away. It was a hard thing to swallow. He spoke dispassionately.

“It was the correct decision, if a hasty one. The Goblins were dropping trees and I could well imagine they had more traps ready to block a retreat. Lady Bethal is nothing if not pragmatic. I suspect she believed us dead in any case. She probably isn’t aware of our capture.”

“All the more reason to—”

Welca broke off, glancing around suspiciously. There were no Goblins around them in earshot. But she lowered her voice all the same.

“We must escape, Sir Kerrig. Our hands are untied. We could seize arms and make a break for it.”

“And fight off every Goblin that followed us? Assuming we could outrun the ones on foot, the mounted Goblins would hunt us down. They have Carn Wolves, Lady Caveis. Born hunters. They don’t need to tie our hands to recapture us.”

“Then the Chieftain—”

“No.”

The force of Sir Kerrig’s tone made Welca look up in surprise. She glared at Sir Kerrig and he found himself frowning back.

“Sir Kerrig! We are [Knights] sworn to protect our people! If we have a chance—”

“Lady Welca Caveis.”

The older knight’s tone was full of authority. Welca broke off, hearing it. Sir Kerrig sat up against the backing of the wagon’s side.

“As your superior, I am ordering you not to take any action against the Goblins. Or to attempt to escape. Instead, I am telling you to listen. To watch and when that Hobgoblin returns, to talk with them.”

“Why?’

Sir Kerrig glanced towards Pyrite, towards the young Goblin named Rags. He saw Rags turn her head and glance back towards him, her red eyes sharp with understanding. She met his gaze and then looked past him. Sir Kerrig slowly nodded.

“Because these Goblins are not savages. They are not the marauding bandits that have been striking across Izril. They did not kill us. Some of them believe in honor, in the accords of war.”

“So?”

Welca was shivering. She was dressed lightly and she’d refused a change of clothes. Sir Kerrig looked at her.

“I have killed many Goblins, Lady Caveis. More than I can count. Not once did I offer them mercy. I expected the same from them. But you and I woke up as prisoners, not as corpses, or worse. Watch this tribe. See if they are different.”

“Why?”

The young woman’s petulant tone would have been better suited towards a [Lady], not a knight. Sir Kerrig sighed.

“Because it matters.”

Welca looked at him. Sir Kerrig turned his head back towards the Goblins. In silence he watched and listened, and wondered if he’d been blind all his life, or if he’d simply ignored the truth. Because to his horror, when he looked at the Goblins standing and arguing, turning to their leader, ignoring the children running around the muck, brushing away flies, shifting impatiently, talking, thinking, speaking, he was terribly afraid. Afraid that he hadn’t been killing monsters, but people.

—-

Pyrite had a cut on his arms and bruises on his body. Some of the Hobs had hit him pretty hard. Still, it was nothing worth using a healing potion on. He stood next to Rags, resisting the urge to pick at the drying blood on his arm. A bloodsucking insect tried to land on the spot; Pyrite slapped it.

The smack of flesh meeting flesh made the other Goblins look up. Redscar scowled as he pointed at the Goblins sitting and shivering, the Hobs and regular Goblins that had attacked the [Knights]. Against Rags’ orders.

“Punish.”

Redscar said only one word, but it made all the sitting Goblins cringe. There was no sympathy, no compassion in Redscar’s eyes. Just fury. His Redfang warriors had been hitting the Goblins repeatedly until Rags called an end to it. Now Rags sat on her Carn Wolf, listening, a scowl on her face.

Punishment. Redscar’s word meant more than a slap on the wrist or no food for a meal. His version of punishment was digging a hole in the swamp and burying the Goblins up to their necks. If they survived, they were free to live. On the other hand, the Goblins standing across from him in the small circle shook their heads.

“Exile.”

So said Quietstab and his Goblins, the former members of Tremborag’s mountain faction. They glanced at their fellows with a mixture of scorn and sympathy—they had disobeyed their Chieftain, and yet none of them wanted to see their friends die.

“Wrong. Broke rules. Attacked! No honor!”

Another Redfang Warrior, a Hob, growled at Quietstab. The Redfang Warriors muttered agreement, looking at the offending Goblins darkly. They’d taken this offense most to heart; the idea of assaulting anyone, much less a prisoner, ran against everything Garen Redfang had taught them. It was Poisonbite who offered another solution to the stalemate.

“Cut.”

She grinned and flourished a dagger as all the Goblins stared at her. The Goblins sitting on the swamp floor—the male Goblins blanched at the suggestion. The female Goblins of Tremborag’s tribe had their own version of justice, a product of the gender gap in the Mountain City Tribe.

However, that was one opinion. Quietstab vehemently rejected Poisonbite’s suggestion with a slash of one hand. She grinned at him, showing all her teeth. But she didn’t take it further than another fairly explicit gesture. All eyes turned instead towards the true arbiter here.

Rags. The young Goblin Chieftain sat on her Carn Wolf, scowling, thinking deeply. Pyrite stood next to her, swatting bugs away, waiting. And thinking. This incident had placed Rags in a tricky spot. Pyrite had been a Chieftain once, and he could tell what she was thinking.

The problem stemmed from this tribe being made up of separate groups, other tribes. They still lacked unity, for all they acknowledged her as Chieftain. If they had been fully united, this would not have happened. As it was, the situation was tricky. Killing the offending Goblins was simple, but it would make the former Tremborag Goblins very unhappy—the male ones, at least.

Some of them still regarded rape and any form of torture done to Humans as quite acceptable, for all they’d left the mountain. On the other hand, giving the traitorous Goblins a lesser punishment would upset the Redfang Warriors, who loathed such actions to the core. And exiling the Goblins wasn’t a good option either; they’d probably run straight back to Tremborag’s mountain if they managed to survive, and that meant trouble in the long run for the Flooded Waters tribe.

A tricky situation. But not one that Pyrite would have struggled with long. He would have taken Redscar’s suggestion and had done with it. Chieftain was Chieftain. But Rags was different. He waited to see if she would surprise him, give the angry factions the answer he couldn’t. When she finally did look up and swat a fly on her forehead, Rags spoke.

“Punishment.”

She held up a claw as the Redfang Warriors grinned and the sitting Goblins tensed. Quietstab’s objection froze in his mouth as Rags looked at Redscar.

“Punishment. Not burying death.”

“What then?”

The elite Goblin warrior frowned at Rags. She tapped the shortsword at her hilt and then pointed at the Goblins.

“Punishment. Redfang style.”

It took a few seconds for Rags to communicate the idea to the other Goblins with a few additional gestures. Sometimes ideas were hard to express with the Goblin’s intuitive body language reading. When they finally understood, the Goblins looked at each other. Quietstab nodded in agreement. And it was Redscar who grinned.

“Fine. Punishment.”

The sitting Goblins looked up, half-relieved, until the Redfang Goblins glared at them. They cowered. Rags pointed.

“Marching. Enough time wasted!”

The sitting Goblins were forced up and scurried back towards the main tribe, who’d had to patiently wait this entire time, swatting bugs with their mosquito whisks. They were followed by the Redfang Warriors, who muttered insults at their backs and kicked at their behinds to get them moving faster. Pyrite watched. It was a good solution. Thoughtful. He nodded at Rags.

“Want talk.”

“Who?”

She glanced at Pyrite. He pointed.

“Humans.”

“Talk?”

Rags looked blank. Then she shrugged.

“Good. Talk.”

“You, Chieftain?”

She frowned and shook her head.

“Busy. You talk. Talk about what?”

For all her natural inquisitiveness, there was a limit to how much Rags wanted from the prisoners. Pyrite thought she was unsure of what to do with them, which is why she hadn’t released or killed them yet. It wasn’t as if they had anything to give her; Rags had asked them about Lady Bethal and heard about the plan to assault the Goblin Lord at Invrisil.

Beyond that the [Knights] had literally nothing to offer. And Pyrite didn’t know what Sir Kerrig wanted either. The fat Hob just shrugged as he felt something sting his shoulder. Quick as a flash he slapped the spot and stared at a smashed insect’s carcass and the blood it had sucked. He wiped his hand on his belly.

“Dunno. Human things, Chieftain.”

“You talk. I go. Practice. Talk next break.”

Rags scowled and Pyrite nodded. The tribe was moving again. The former Goldstone Chieftain trudged back towards the Goblins as another Goblin rode towards him. Redscar pulled his wolf back before it could slobber on Pyrite’s chest.

“Pyrite. Good job.”

It was high praise coming from him. The Redfang’s number one warrior was usually taciturn, but he looked approving. Pyrite nodded at him.

“Redfangs watch?”

“Yes.”

A group of Redfang Warriors were heading over to replace the regular Goblins on guard duty. Pyrite eyed them and spoke.

“Watch big one. Smart. Strong.”

Redscar nodded. He whistled, and two more Redfang Hobs came over to reinforce the area around Sir Kerrig. Pyrite grunted approvingly. He didn’t think the [Knight] would cause trouble, but if he did, it was better to have good warriors around him. Just in case. Redfang nodded to Pyrite and rode off, more mounted Goblins following him into the swamp ahead.

“Hey there!”

A voice made Pyrite look over. He saw Sir Kerrig seated in the wagon as a small Goblin climbed up and started the donkeys moving again. The Human waved at Pyrite. The Hob waved back. The puzzled look on Sir Kerrig’s face said that he didn’t understand.

“Talk?”

Pyrite waved again. He didn’t feel like shouting. The [Knight] stared at him and Pyrite pointed. Towards the moving tribe. The [Knight] nodded and sat back.

Talk? What a thought. Talk to Humans? Pyrite didn’t know what to make of it. Fortunately, he didn’t have to worry; there wouldn’t be time for talk right now. The tribe was moving and that meant he had a job to do.

—-

The issue of the traitorous Goblins had only taken around ten minutes to settle, from Pyrite finding them to Rags passing her judgment. Not much time was wasted and already the tribe was moving on. They needed a good spot to camp for midday—squatting in ankle deep water wasn’t appealing at all. However, the mud and difficulty of lugging the wagons meant the beasts of burden had to rest. Rags had Hobs take over as the bemused horses, donkeys, and other animals got to plod along next to grumbling Hobs pushing and pulling the wagons.

Pyrite strode back into the convoy as Rags watched. Each of her officers had a duty at times like these. Redscar was usually the scout, occasionally with Quietstab and his Goblins on foot. But usually Rags would keep a few of her better leaders in reserve in case of an attack. Poisonbite for instance usually marched with her warriors. But the rest of her Hobs and officers were spread around the marching tribe. To deal with problems.

What kind of problems? Just…problems. Most Hobs could handle things like a Goblin picking up a stick that turned out to be a biting snake. But sometimes Hobs got into trouble, like one that somehow shoved a stick up its nose and couldn’t get it out. Stupid problems, sometimes fairly dangerous problems. It was that which Pyrite sorted out, pulling out sticks, breaking up fights, making sure wagons didn’t get stuck or run over other Goblins, and so on. It wasn’t Rags’ duty to deal with squabbling; she got to ride along in peace until a major problem occurred.

So Rags occupied herself as she rode. She rode up to a band of Goblins sitting on a wagon, a mark of privilege. Noears grinned at Rags as all the hair on her Carn Wolf tried to stand on edge. Her wolf grumbled, but Rags patted his head and offered him some meat. She rode closer and saw Noears was holding some crackling electricity in his hand.

“Chieftain.”

“What teaching?”

She pointed at the lightning. Noears grinned and pointed around. Rags saw he was surrounded by fourteen adults and eight children, some of whom were clinging to the sides of the wagon since there wasn’t enough space.

Noears was teaching them magic. Rags wanted to know what kind. Noears pointed and the lightning in his hands jumped onto his finger and shot across the swamp. There was a crack and a thwoom of sound—all the Goblins around Rags jumped and several Carn Wolves howled. Rags glared at Noears, her ears ringing. He just laughed and held up his claws.

“[Lightning Bolt].”

All the Goblins around Noears stared at the Goblin [Mage]. He produced another handful of electricity and they ducked. Rags felt her Carn Wolf shift and patted his head. She raised her hands and tried to duplicate Noears’ feat.

Goblins didn’t believe in small spells. The theory was that if you were going to learn magic, you might as well learn something useful. Who needed [Electric Jolt] when you could learn to throw lightning? Noears certainly believed in that theory; he described the spell as the Goblins listened intently.

“Lightning go like this. Build up. In air. In hands. And then—shoot!”

He gestured. The simple explanation made more sense with his gestures, although the concept was abstract. He was telling the Goblins to build up a charge in the air, similar to how it felt right before a really big storm. Then to concentrate it in their hands and reach a critical mass of energy before unleashing it. All the Goblins concentrated, trying to reproduce Noears’ theory with varying degrees of success.

Rags watched the lesson, mildly upset. None of the Goblins here had any formal training. None of them had ever unleashed their magic like Pisces had done for her and Erin. Noears’ explanation of the spell was rudimentary, crude. It was how he’d taught himself. Rags thought of Pisces’ detailed explanations of how a spell should work. If she’d learned more—

But she hadn’t. And Noears was a better [Mage] than she. All Rags knew was how to cast [Firefly] and now [Fire Arrow], a spell Noears had taught her. The Goblins sitting on the wagon were all gifted, prodigies who’d awakened magic within themselves. They’d learn the spell—or not—and their chances of survival would depend on how much they could discover about magic from Noears or by themselves.

There was a bitter sense of fairness to it, in a way. Not even the Chieftain got special treatment. Rags concentrated, trying to form the image that Noears had described. Electricity crackled around her fingers, but failed to coalesce.

Lightning. It made less sense to her than fire. Fire was easy. All Rags had to do was feed it her mana and let it burn. Noears wasn’t good at fire, though. He understood making this energy come to him. How? Rags furrowed her brow, sweating as her Carn Wolf whined under its breath. Lightning, lightning…this was the problem. Noears was a lightning expert and she was fire.

Still, Rags persisted. She built up a charge with the other Goblins, trying to collect energy and not let it slip away. This was magic. It was tough, like wrapping your mind around a problem you only half understood, could only think of in abstract terms. Once you got it you understood. But until then…

“Chieftain? Break?”

Rags opened her eyes. She was sweating and covered in many bug bites. She saw Pyrite walking next to her and realized the tribe had stopped. The swampland had opened up into a slightly drier area and the Goblins were setting up for lunch and a break. Rags looked at Noears’ class and saw most of the Goblins were lying around, listless, having used up their mana. She wasn’t that badly off, but she was fairly tired herself. She nodded and leapt off her Carn Wolf.

“Lunch.”

Pyrite nodded.

“I go talk. You?”

He looked at her. Rags scowled. Noears was making a bit of lightning jump from his hands to a young Goblin child’s, laughing as the small Goblin shrieked with glee. She stomped over to the fires.

“I practice.”

She wished she had a spellbook. Or Pisces. Magic was so difficult when there was no one to explain it! And Rags wasn’t good at intuitive magic, self-taught like the way Noears and the other Goblin [Mages] cast spells. She liked books. She liked reading.

Of course, she liked being a Chieftain more. Her ears perked up as Redscar rode towards her. Rags walked towards him as the Goblin leapt out of his saddle. She didn’t notice Pyrite wandering over to the Humans. They weren’t particularly interesting. What could Pyrite possibly have to talk with them about?

—-

“Thank you for talking with me. And thank you for assisting us earlier.”

“No need.”

“Excuse me?”

“Bad goblins. Disobeyed orders. Punished. No need thank.”

“I see. Well, you have my thanks regardless.”

“Mm.”

They sat in front of each other, eating fish. Pyrite’s was cooked with bones and eyes intact—Sir Kerrig’s had been deboned first. They were wrapped in thick, broad leaves to keep the temperature and by his side, Sir Kerrig saw Welca peeling off the skin of her fish with a look of disgust. She was used to travelling, camping in miserable conditions, and so forth, but always on pre-prepared rations. Welca was a typical [Knight] in that she went on quests, expeditions against monsters. She didn’t live off the land.

The fish was tasty, if slightly bland. The seasoning was light and hunger was the best spice for this meal. Sir Kerrig sat cross-legged as Pyrite casually swatted at a fly and crunched on the bones of his fish. The Hob ate his fish, the leaves that had held it, and then pulled out a bundle. He opened it and produced several rich, fragrant soaps. Welca stopped eating and stared. Her mouth dropped open as Pyrite began eating the soap.

“What in the name of…?”

“Welca.”

Sir Kerrig nudged her. He stared, fascinated, as Pyrite began consuming the soaps, biting off pieces and grunting in satisfaction. The [Knight] cleared his throat and Pyrite looked up.

“Sir…Pyrite?”

“Mm.”

Pyrite’s ears twitched slightly. He seemed to enjoy being called by his name. Sir Kerrig stared at him. He was so quiet, so patient. He’d spoken very little when he’d come over with the fishes, save to speak his name and warn them the fishes were hot. Still, that alone had seemed so…normal.

“My name is Pyrite.”

“Fishes are hot.”

The second sentence was crude, but each word was pronounced correctly and the Hob didn’t stumble. He seemed to be at ease sitting with the Humans, although he kept glancing from Welca to Kerrig. There was nothing for it but to talk. So Kerrig did. He took a deep breath, and spoke.

“What does your tribe want of us, Sir Pyrite?”

The Hob paused in chewing a piece of soap. He swallowed, burped unapologetically, and then shrugged.

“Don’t know. Chieftain decides.”

Welca and Sir Kerrig exchanged a quick glance.

“Do you want a ransom? It may be that Lady Bethal would consider it. But she had no idea we’re alive—”

“Mm. Not really. Chieftain doesn’t want. She decides.”

“So we’re prisoners then? For…?”

Sir Kerrig’s voice trailed off. Pyrite stared at him, shrugged.

“Chieftain decides.”

That was a dead end. Sir Kerrig nodded.

“I understand. Then may I ask another question?”

“Yes.”

The Human paused. Pyrite looked up, face blank. Not a hint of laughter was on his face, not the smallest glimmer of a smile. And yet, it was there, right in his eyes. Sir Kerrig felt himself flailing, off-guard. Welca was just staring. Was this a Goblin? Was this a Hob? Unintentionally, Sir Kerrig asked the important question, rather than a trivial one.

“What does your tribe want? What do Goblins want?”

“To live.”

The answer came back so quickly that it was a shock. Sir Kerrig waited, but Pyrite said nothing more. He chewed and swallowed.

“To live? Surely there must be something else.”

Pyrite flicked his eyes up towards the trees above. He scratched at an insect bite, shook his head.

“No. To live. Tribe wants. Goblins want. To live. Nothing else.”

“But what is your tribe doing next?”

Pyrite frowned and Sir Kerrig wondered if he’d asked the wrong question. But Pyrite just shrugged. He pointed.

“Go that way.”

Both Humans turned and looked. They saw swamp, they saw trees. Dismayed, Sir Kerrig looked back at Pyrite.

“Sir Pyrite. We are your prisoners.”

“Mhm.”

Another pause.

“You’ve treated us well, with hospitality despite the lives we took. I must confess, I did not expect your tribe to be so—civilized.”

“Humans don’t.”

A deadpan reply. Welca glanced at Sir Kerrig’s slack expression and glowered at Pyrite.

“You Goblins have been raiding Human settlements for weeks now! Why?”

Pyrite raised an eyebrow.

“Not our tribe.”

“What?”

He turned and pointed another direction into the swamp.

“Great Chieftain of the Mountain City tribe raided. Not our tribe.”

“Are you serious?”

Pyrite looked blank.

“Am.”

“You’re lying.”

Welca glared at him. Pyrite blinked at her. The young [Knight] clenched her fist.

“Everyone knows Goblin tribes raid and steal constantly! This tribe attacked caravans!”

Pyrite nodded.

“Mhm.”

The [Knights] stared at him. Pyrite waited. After a while he popped more soap into his mouth.

“So?”

“So? You were lying!”

Welca burst out, enraged. Pyrite considered this.

“Not lying.”

“You said—”

The young woman made a strangled noise as Sir Kerrig gripped her arm. Pyrite shook his head.

“Didn’t lie.”

Before either Human could respond he continued.

“You said ‘raided settlements’. This tribe attacked caravans. Didn’t raid settlements. Attack settlement. One. Only took from caravans. Didn’t kill. Not like Mountain City tribe.”

“That’s splitting hairs! You can’t talk your way out of—”

Welca broke off as she realized what she was implying. She turned pale. Goblins? Arguing over the definition of language? Sir Kerrig eyed Pyrite.

“That was why we were summoned. You attacked a small town and killed a number of residents. You hung their bodies from the roofs.”

“Mhm.”

Pyrite didn’t seem to object to Welca’s fiery glare. He picked up another soap, sniffed it. Sir Kerrig waited.

“Why?”

The Hob paused.

“Killed Goblin tribe.”

“Who?”

“Human town. Killed Goblins. Killed adults, killed children.”

The two Humans looked at the Hob. He didn’t meet their glances. Slowly, his claw sank into the soap and he tore a piece off. Chewed it. Swallowed.

“So you killed them?”

“Mhm.”

“For vengeance?”

Welca’s hot tone made the Hob look up.

“They killed Goblins. We killed Humans. Same number.”

“How do you know?”

The Hob’s eyes flashed crimson.

“We counted.”

Silence. The swamp was humid, but the sweat on Sir Kerrig’s skin was only due in part to the climate. Pyrite’s expression changed back to normal and he sat, once again a quiet, affable Hob content to eat soap. Welca tried to find a response.

“It wasn’t your tribe, though, was it?”

“No.”

“Did you know them?”

“No.”

“Why did you do it, then?”

Pyrite stopped eating soap and met Welca’s eyes.

“They killed Goblins. Why did you come to kill us?”

Because Goblins killed Humans. It was a simple logic. Silence. Sir Kerrig felt sweat rolling down the back of his neck. Pyrite seemed content just to sit there. His ears flicked as he glanced at Welca. She stared at him. The Hob slapped a fly that landed on his arm.

“It was because Goblins were raiding that the town did that.”

Welca seemed to feel the need to excuse the slaughter somehow. Pyrite nodded.

“Goblins raid. Because Humans kill.”

“We only kill because Goblins are a threat! You kidnap and rape and steal and murder!”

“I don’t kidnap. Or rape.”

Pyrite’s voice was calm. He squished the soap into a ball and took a bite out of it.

“Sometimes steal. Sometimes kill. Can’t live otherwise. Humans kill Goblins. Goblins kill Humans.”

It was like talking in a circle. Welca’s angry intake of breath was cut off as Sir Kerrig leaned forwards.

“Can there be peace between Humans and Goblins?”

“Maybe?”

The Hob shrugged again. He was out of soap. So he began to eat the wax paper. It didn’t seem like he was hungry—he was just mechanically eating, as if not eating were boring. He spoke as he shredded up the wax paper and munched on it.

“Some Goblins raid Humans. Some Humans kill Goblins. Not all. This tribe only kill Humans when fight. Some tribes never kill.”

“That’s impossible. Goblins always—”

Welca yelped as Sir Kerrig kicked her in the ankle. He leaned forwards.

“Really?”

Pyrite nodded.

“Was Chieftain. Goldstone Tribe. Never fought Humans.”

“You were a Chieftain?”

“Mm.”

The two [Knights] exchanged a glance. Once again, Pyrite waited without elaborating. It was Welca who asked a question next. She couldn’t help herself.

“Goldstone? Why was your tribe called that?”

Predictably, Pyrite shrugged.

“Gathered gold stones. For fun.”

“What? That’s it?”

Welca’s skepticism put a frown on Pyrite’s face for the first time in the conversation. He grunted, stood up. The [Knights] watched him warily. Pyrite paused, farted. Welca recoiled.

“Sorry.”

Pyrite fanned apologetically at his backside and walked off. Sir Kerrig coughed. It was a…floral scent in the air, horribly corrupted by other smells. He looked at Welca.

“Did that question offend him?”

“I have no idea! Sir Kerrig, why are we talking to a Hobgoblin?”

“I don’t know. But isn’t it fascinating that he’s able to respond? His command of our language was rough, but he answered every question!”

“It’s not fascinating, it’s disturbing. Goblins speaking our language? What next? And what was that question about peace, Sir Kerrig? What about Velan the Kind?”

“If there’s a chance, Welca, I’d rather see less death, especially if this tribe takes the offensive. Maybe if we—”

“Hold on. It’s coming back. He—I mean.”

Welca pointed. Pyrite had walked off. Now he was returning with a large hemp sack. It was quite old and very dirty, but it had no holes. Pyrite sat back down next to the two [Knights]. He rummaged in the dirty sack as Welca edged back as much as she could. Sir Kerrig waited curiously. Neither Human was prepared for the glittering, shimmering nuggets that shone in Pyrite’s hand.

“Gold!”

The raised voices attracted some attention from the main Goblin tribe. A few Goblins looked over, grunted, and looked away. Pyrite held up a handful of shining gold nuggets. Sir Kerrig gaped until he realized something.

“That’s not gold. That’s—pyrite.”

Pyrite grunted and smiled. He was holding nuggets of pyrite, the crystalized, hard fool’s gold glinting and rubbing together. Flakes of it fell to the ground as he placed it on the ground. Then he reached into his bag and pulled out another handful. Pyrite, pieces, larger hunks, and there, gleaming among the fake gold—

“Is that a nugget?”

Welca’s breath caught in her chest. Pyrite glanced dismissively at the duller gleam among the pyrite. It was a gold nugget as thick as two of the Hob’s fat fingers put together and nearly as long. Welca stared at it. Pyrite picked it up.

“Hm. Nugget?”

“That means a piece of gold. That is gold, isn’t it?”

“Nugget. Mm. Yes. Is gold.”

Pyrite shrugged.

“Worthless.”

He inspected the gold nugget carelessly and tossed it into the mud. The pyrite gleamed as Pyrite held it up.

“This is better. Lighter. Shiny.”

“What?”

That seemed to be Welca’s phrase of the day. She stared at the pyrite and then pointed at the gold nugget.

“How is that worthless? You could sell this and buy something! Armor! Weapons! Enchanted goods!”

“Humans can. Goblins can’t.”

Pyrite shrugged, which was his action of the day. He turned his head and Sir Kerrig jumped as he saw several Goblin children had crept up on them, attracted by the glitter. They fled when the [Knight] looked at him, but a few of the braver ones edged behind Pyrite. One pointed towards the gold nugget. Another grabbed for it.

The darting hand was quick, but Pyrite was faster. He held up the thieving Goblin child and spoke a word in their crude language. The Goblin child shrieked as Pyrite tossed him—no, her—over his shoulder. The child landed lightly, and then got up and gabbled at Pyrite. She pointed at the gold nugget, clearly desiring it. Pyrite replied without turning his head. The child stomped her feet and then ran off into the swamp.

“What was that about?”

Welca looked blankly at the child. Sir Kerrig looked away. A Goblin child. You saw them in tribes. Not usually among warriors. But when a Goblin tribe had to be eradicated, there were always the children at the end. It was easy if you had [Mages]. They could just cast a spell. Otherwise you had to chase them down, and it was with a sword that you had to—

No one talked about that part of duty. After the first time, it was…easier. Welca had yet to participate in that exercise, Kerrig was sure. He saw Pyrite staring at him and turned his head. Before he could muster the courage to say anything, before he could push away memory, the Goblin child was back. She had a bowl filled with something black and squirming. Welca took one look and nearly leapt backwards.

“What is—”

“Tadpoles.”

Pyrite inspected the full bowl approvingly. The tadpoles had been washed with water, although they were still slimy and wet. They wriggled about in the air, many already still and lifeless. The Hob grunted and the child held it up. She spoke a word and he nodded.

The Hob held the gold nugget out to the Goblin child and in front of Welca’s disbelieving eyes, exchanged the gold for the handful of wriggling tadpoles. Pyrite grunted as the child ran off, cackling and holding the nugget aloft to show to her friends. The Hobgoblin began popping the tadpoles into his mouth, one by one. Welca turned green and gray with horror.

“You can’t eat those!”

“Hmm.”

Pyrite thought about that as he swallowed.

“Can.”

Oblivious to her horror and Sir Kerrig’s lurching stomach, he scooped several of the black things up and popped them into his mouth. When he chewed both Humans had to look away. A short recess ensued until Pyrite finished his bowl. When he had put it down Sir Kerrig pointed at the pyrite lying on the ground.

“You said it’s useless? So your tribe collected the stones for…fun?”

Pyrite nodded, and then seemed to reconsider. He shook his head instead.

“Not always worthless. Sometimes useful.”

“How?”

“Human bait.”

The Hob grunted as both Humans stared at him incredulously. He held up a big piece of Pyrite which shone in the light filtering down from above.

“When Humans come to attack tribe, used this. Toss at adventurers. Or army. Big stone, or many small ones. Shiny red stones, blue stones…makes stop. Causes big fight.”

Sir Kerrig tried to imagine the Hob heaving pieces of gold at an attacking army. Welca made a disbelieving sound.

“That works?”

“Mm. Sometimes.”

“You mean, you threw gold and pyrite at Humans to get them to fight over that? And—shiny red stones? Do you mean rubies?”

“Rubies?”

Pyrite looked blank. Sir Kerrig tried to explain. Pyrite nodded.

“Shiny red stone. Is ruby. What is shiny blue stone called?”

“Sapphires. At least—some kinds of sapphires are blue.”

“Sapphires.”

Pyrite savored the word thoughtfully. He frowned and fished around in his sack. This time he produced a cobalt-blue sapphire gem, the size of an egg.

“Here.”

Welca’s eyes went round as Pyrite offered her the polished sapphire. She nearly reached out to take it, stared at Pyrite, and yanked her hands back. She glared at him, but her eyes kept flicking to the sapphire he held. The Hob waggled it in front of her.

“Take.”

Slowly, Welca held her hands out. Pyrite dropped the stone into her palms and Welca nearly dropped it. She held it up.

“Dead gods. It’s polished! And cut!”

“Mm. Lots of work.”

“You did that?”

Sir Kerrig stared at Pyrite. The Hob nodded. He flicked his fingers at the stone.

“Many stones. Learn to make shiny so Humans fight harder. You want?”

He addressed Welca. She jumped.

“Want? You don’t want it back?”

“No. Keep.”

The young woman stared at him, at a loss for words. Sir Kerrig knew that Welca was a third daughter. Her family had to have gems, but one this big? Perhaps, but the odds of one being passed to a younger daughter was—his fingers twitched and Pyrite noticed.

“Want?”

He fished in his bag and came out with a piece of polished turquoise. He offered it to Sir Kerrig.

“Are you sure?”

The [Knight]’s fingers trembled as he stroked the lovely gem. Pyrite didn’t care so much about shape as much as shine, so the gemstone was somewhat lopsided, but you’d only see quality of this kind in a shop for [Mages] seeking stones for magic, or a high-class [Jewelers]’s. It was certainly nothing Sir Kerrig would ever own himself. But Pyrite just nodded, as if it meant nothing for him to give away.

“Many. Can find in mountains. Not hard.”

The two Humans stared at him. The Hob smiled. He looked slightly proud that his gemstones were the subject of so much attention. Sir Kerrig remembered what he’d said. Human bait.

“Question.”

It was Pyrite who asked a question. Both Humans stiffened and Sir Kerrig carefully lay down the piece of turquoise.

“Yes? I—we would be happy to answer any questions you have, Sir Pyrite.”

He glanced at Welca. She opened her mouth, nearly fumbled the sapphire, and closed it. Pyrite nodded.

“Good. Question. Magic. How does it work?”

Sir Kerrig paused.

“What do you mean, how does it work? Are you asking about how it functions? How magic spells are created? Or cast?”

“Mm. No.”

Pyrite shook his head. He pointed across the tribe of sitting Goblins, at Rags. She was sitting on a log, shooting flames upwards and scowling as Noears talked with her.

“Magic. How?”

“How what?”

Welca’s eyebrows crossed as she started to get annoyed. Pyrite looked at her and scratched his head.

“How everything?”

—-

So the [Knights] explained magic to the Hobgoblin. They sat and talked about it. None of them could cast magic. Welca had very little aptitude so she had decided to be a [Knight] instead of a [Mage]. Sir Kerrig hadn’t been tested so he’d never learned. And Pyrite had too many questions. And try as they might, Welca and Sir Kerrig didn’t have enough answers.

“Magic is a fundamental force in this world. It is a part of everything, to some degree.”

“Why?”

Sir Kerrig paused. He knew enough about magic from spending time with [Mage Knights] in Lady Bethal’s service. Of course, he knew more practical lessons like how to survive a [Fireball], but he still understood magical theory. Except that some questions were just…

“It just is. Magic is a constant in the universe. Mages can draw on it to cast spells.”

“How?”

“They harness it!”

Welca looked annoyed. She raised a hand and a slight breeze blew towards Pyrite. He furrowed his brows and stared at her hands.

“See? There! Magic! Most species have the talent!”

“How, though? How can harness?”

“They exert their willpower and magic obeys.”

“Why?”

“Because—it just does!”

“Where does magic go when used?”

“It takes the shape of what spell was cast.”

“Where new magic come from?”

“From…people? Plants? The ground?”

“Why?”

“It just does! People produce mana. Plants produce mana. Just a tiny bit, but enough in most cases! Mana’s everywhere. Some places it’s stronger, other places it’s not.”

“Mm. What does it want?”

“What?”

“What does magic want?”

Pyrite looked from face to face. Welca and Sir Kerrig traded glances. Welca was the first to speak in a strained voice.

“Magic doesn’t want anything.”

“Mm. It does.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Pyrite shrugged. It seemed to be his response whenever anyone said something he found silly. Welca inhaled, choked on a flying bug, and started coughing. Pyrite sighed. He looked around wistfully. The swamp was filled with insects and Sir Kerrig had already given up on counting his bites. Pyrite didn’t seem to mind the bites on his skin. He rumbled a complaint as Welca spat out the bug.

“Magic makes no sense. Goblin magic makes some sense.”

“Goblin magic?”

“Mm. Like this.”

Pyrite turned and bellowed a word. A hundred Goblin heads looked towards him and several of the Redfang Goblins on watch jumped to their feet. Pyrite shouted a few more Goblin words as Welca and Kerrig winced at his volume. The Goblins stared at him. Pyrite shouted a word at them. The Goblins all nodded and turned back to what they were doing.

“What was—”

Welca gasped as Pyrite turned and held out his hand. A ball of flame erupted from his palm, bright and hot, chasing away the bugs around him. Pyrite held the flame, tossed it up, and then flicked it. It soared past Welca and Sir Kerrig as they ducked, and splashed onto the ground. There it burned for a few seconds before going out on the wet ground. Calmly, Pyrite brushed at his palms as Welca stared at him.

“What was that?”

“Goblin magic.”

“Shamanism. Tribal magic.”

Sir Kerrig’s voice was only slightly shaken. He looked at Pyrite.

“How did you do that?”

The Hobgoblin shrugged. He pointed backwards at all the Goblins he’d shouted at.

“Fire. Told them to think of fire.”

“And why does that work?”

“Because Goblins believe.”

“What? That makes no sense! How does that make fire?”

“Because they believe. Why does magic spell make fire?”

“Because—wait, hold on. That’s not fair!”

Pyrite smiled. Sir Kerrig stared at the smile and found it human. Despite himself, he smiled back.

—-

Somehow, Welca found herself talking with Pyrite. Somehow, Sir Kerrig found himself chatting to the Hob about combat tactics and what it was like being a Goblin. Somehow, they had a normal conversation in the swamp, as bugs buzzed around them and the tribe’s lunch ended and they began to pack up.

It was surreal. But somehow, it felt like they were just talking to a stranger. A green, heavy stranger with a sack full of precious gemstones, and crimson eyes. Named Pyrite.

“Why don’t you use magic if you know how? Why don’t you have the [Shaman] class?”

“Want to be [Mage].”

“Why?”

Pyrite shrugged.

“Shamans concentrate hard. [Mages] use spells like…”

He gestured, flicking his hands.

“Easy. Want that. Too hard to dodge and use shaman magic. Small tribe magic not any good anyways. Also, no other Goblins want to be [Shaman].”

“Why not?”

Pyrite paused.

“Humans kill Goblin [Mages] first. Big target.”

And then there was that. Every so often, every few minutes, the conversation would grind to a halt for a moment. The divide between Goblins and Humans would appear in the most innocuous of place. It hung over the three of them, Sir Kerrig most of all.

You killed us. You kill us. We will kill you and you might kill us. But we’re all sitting around like people. We call you monsters. And you—speak. You gave us gifts.

Pyrite had more questions about magic, questions so simple and yet so complex that neither Welca nor Kerrig could guess at answering them. Why are spells cast from the hand? How can spells be written down? What is a mana potion made of? Why does it work? And perhaps his biggest question—why is there more magic in some places than others?

“How do you know that’s the case? You can’t prove it! How do you know?”

Welca was impatient. Pyrite kept returning to this point, again and again. The Hob stared at her and spoke.

“Magic more here.”

He tapped his chest.

“Than here.”

He waved at the air. Welca frowned.

“That’s…sort of true. But that’s because you’re a person! Things don’t have much mana.”

“Why some things have more mana than others?”

“Like what?”

“Like enchanted things. Like swords and shields. And shiny stones.”

“What? Gemstones don’t have more mana in them! Do they?”

Pyrite nodded. He reached into his sack and this time pulled out a yellow stone. Not gold, but a topaz. It was polished, and the depths were darker. Pyrite showed them the gem.

“Has more magic than this. Why?”

He tapped the pyrite on the ground. Bemused, Welca looked at Sir Kerrig.

“I don’t know. Maybe a [Mage] would know.”

The Hob grunted in dissatisfaction.

“Noears not know. Why magic in stone? Why magic in stone want to be something else?”

“Want to be?”

“Mm. Like this.”

Pyrite held the topaz up to the light. Slowly, he regarded the sparkling depths of the topaz. Then he popped it into his mouth. Welca heard a sharp crack and then the loudest crunching sounds she’d ever heard in her life. She yelped and nearly told him to spit out the gemstone before he hurt himself. But Pyrite chewed deliberately and then held up his hand. He placed it gently on the ground and said one word.

“Sink.”

His eyes flashed yellow. Sir Kerrig leapt to his feet—just in time. The wet ground, already soft, began to turn to liquid. Welca shouted in alarm as she and Pyrite sank into the earth. She thrashed as the ground began to engulf her lower torso. Pyrite held still, his hand and body sinking into the mud. Then, suddenly, he breathed out and Welca felt herself stop sinking into the ground. She yelped as she struggled to get up and found her legs had sunken into the earth.

“What was—how did—”

Pyrite looked up at her, and then at Sir Kerrig, standing to one side. Thoughtfully, he spat out a mouthful of yellow gemstone fragments—and a bit of blood. He wiped at his cut mouth and looked at the [Knights].

“Why did that happen?”

Neither of them could speak.

—-

Rags was just watching the tribe pack up when she felt someone casting magic. She turned her head and saw a flash of magic. From Pyrite. She gaped as he put his hand to the earth and turned it into mud. Whatever magic he’d cast lasted a fraction of a moment—he and the female [Knight] sank into the earth and stopped there. Rags stared and then ran over.

“What?”

The female [Knight] was shouting that word. Rags ran up and kicked Pyrite in the back. He was extracting himself from the ground. He turned.

“Chieftain?”

“What that?”

He rubbed at his back and shrugged.

“Magic shiny rock. Has magic. Can use.”

“How?”

“Chew.”

Rags stared at Pyrite. He mimed chewing and then reached into his mouth with a frown. He extracted a bloody fragment of topaz and grimaced.

“Sharp. Not fun.”

“You can use magic in stones? He cast a spell—or did something! But he’s no [Mage]!”

Welca was pointing at Pyrite, horrified and awestruck. Pyrite just shrugged. Rags looked at him.

“How learn?”

He pondered the question.

“Learn long time ago, Chieftain. Try to eat stones. No good. Can do things with stones if chew. Hard. Not worth doing. So stopped.”

He shrugged, pragmatic as always. Rags stared at him and then pointed to his sack.

“Got more?”

“Mm. Want one? Got many colors. Which one?”

Rags hesitated.

“Give red one.”

“Want big?”

“No.”

Rags waited patiently as Pyrite fished about in his sack. He produced a shining red ruby half as large as her fist, a tiny, luminescent pink-and-cherry gemstone, and a lively currant red gemstone that had yet to be cut out of the rock surrounding it.

“Are those—”

Welca inhaled sharply. Sir Kerrig leaned forwards.

“That’s a ruby, but the gem there—is that a pelica gemstone?”

Rags looked blankly at the tiny, shining pink gemstone he was pointing at. She looked at the three gems and pointed at the biggest one.

“Give ruby.”

Pyrite obligingly handed it over. Rags weighed it in her hands, impressed at the color and polish. It did have magic in it! Just like Pyrite had said—you had to hold it to feel it, but there was magic inside! Could she take it out without breaking the stone? Could she put magic in?

The Hob seemed to sense the gemstone was important. He looked at Rags.

“Good talk. Chieftain. Magic is hard.”

She looked at him. That was what they’d talked about? She raised an eyebrow as she glanced at the [Knights]. Both were watching her speculatively.

“Talk about magic?”

“Mm. And peace. And Goblins and Humans.”

Rags laughed. Peace? She scornfully glanced at the [Knights]. The older male one looked away. Peace? They’d killed her Goblins, her tribe! And she’d killed theirs. She was all for avoiding fighting with Humans, but that was by being strong and smart. Peace with Humans? Rags thought of Relc. She thought of Human adventurers, of the village and the dead Goblins lying where they had been slaughtered.

“Peace? No peace.”

She turned away, trying to put the ruby in one of her belt pouches. It made everything sag, so Rags decided to store it away with her things. She hadn’t known Pyrite had so many useless stones. They were pretty, but only children collected them. It was just another of his weird habits. Then again, these stones might actually be useful. Rags considered her new prize and nodded to Pyrite.

“Get Redscar and other warriors. Marching. But best warriors come here first.”

He nodded and stomped off. Rags glanced at the [Knights]. The older one bowed.

“Chieftain Rags? My name is Sir Kerrig Louis. Might I have a word?”

She stared at him. He was older, not as fierce as the young one beside him. She was holding a blue sapphire in her hands, cradling it. The older [Knight] looked like there was pain in his eyes when he stared at her. Pain. Perhaps regret. He hadn’t given the Goblins any trouble, and he’d been polite and talkative. She met his eyes.

“No.”

Rags turned and strode away.

—-

Redscar, Quietstab, a group of Hobs and three smaller Goblins met Rags with Pyrite. She strode up to them and spoke without preamble.

“Divide up new weapons and armor. Pyrite gets first pick.”

All the milling Goblins brightened at once. They whooped with glee, and their companions, supervising the moving tribe, shouted insults back and shook their fists. Immediately one of the wagons was unloaded and a set of pink armor, two shields, a two-handed battleaxe, and a sword were dumped into the mud. The Goblins greedily peered at the enchanted arms looted from the Rose Knights, nudging each other and pointing. But they deferred to Pyrite, who looked at the enchanted weapons.

“Me, Chieftain?”

Rags nodded. It was an easy decision. She’d really only wavered over selecting a few of the items for herself—she fancied the enchanted sword that Welca had been using. But Rags was a realist and she knew her best warriors could use the magic equipment better than she could. She gave preference to Pyrite because he’d broken the axe she’d given him—and helped beat Welca during the battle. The gemstone he’d offered her also helped, and he was her second-in-command.

After him she let Redscar choose, as her best warrior, and then Quietstab to placate his faction. The Goblins after him she chose in rough order of how good they were and how much she liked them. Impatiently, all the Goblins waited as Pyrite pondered the armor and weapons.

Pyrite was conflicted. Most of the objects on the ground didn’t fit him, having been made for Humans, not fat Hobs. He could use a shield, but the sword and battleaxe struck him as important, especially since he’d lost the good axe Rags had given him. Behind him he could hear the two [Knights] arguing.

“That’s my sword!”

Welca was outraged as she stared at her equipment lying in the mud. She nearly got up, but Sir Kerrig tugged her down with a sigh.

“And that’s my battleaxe. Our equipment is forfeit, Welca. You knew that.”

“But they can’t just divide it up like—like that!”

“Why not? [Bandits] do the same thing. Adventurers too.”

“But my sword—”

The young woman looked almost tearful. Kerrig felt a pain as he saw Pyrite lift the battleaxe out of the mud. It was a fine weapon, enchanted with a flamestrike enchantment and gifted personally to him by Lady Bethal from her armory. Welca’s sword had been the same. Armor and a weapon made a [Knight] as much as their levels. Without it, they were nothing more than elevated [Warriors]. He looked away as Pyrite lifted his weapon.

Heavy.

Pyrite considered the battleaxe. It was definitely a lot bigger than most axes used for war. The head was massive, and it had been made for a world that saw people battling monsters as much as people. You didn’t need an axe this big unless you were fighting something a lot bigger than a Human. It was made under the assumption that you had the strength for it. Like a decently high-level [Knight]. Or a Hob.

“Good weapon.”

Redscar squatted by the pile of weapons, eying the battleaxe approvingly. Pyrite just shrugged. He wasn’t a fan of the two-handed weapons. They were heavier and Pyrite had learned that a quicker blow meant you didn’t give your opponent a chance to stab back. On the other hand, it was enchanted and he’d lost his good steel axe fighting Welca. He grunted as he tested the battleaxe.

Definitely too unwieldy for one arm. Still, the weapon was balanced well. It wasn’t too heavy, although it was quite long. Pyrite could swing it quite quickly and the axe head was simple, without any kind of strange decorations.

Weapon making was an art, and unfortunately the use of magic could create try pieces that were more form than function. Strangely curved blades, useless decorations—you could make a blade like that work by enchanting it to be lighter weight or cut keenly, but form was still very important. And this axe—Pyrite executed a quick cut that made Redscar nod approving—was a good one.

“Want?”

“Good. Yes.”

“Good!”

With that, Redscar picked up the sword off the ground, to Welca’s dismay. He executed several quick slashes and Pyrite felt the cold air swirling around the tip of the blade. He rubbed at his side—Welca had stabbed him with that sword and it hurt.

Quietstab was clearly dismayed not to have one of the two weapons, but he recovered enough to pick out one of the two shields. The other Goblins descended on the armor, jostling each other for a good pick, but held back when Redscar barked an order. He pointed at the twin sets of bright pink-red metal and looked at Pyrite.

“Want?”

It was a surprising question, given that the form was to give one piece of enchanted equipment to the best Goblin warriors. But Redscar clearly thought Pyrite could use the armor more than his warriors. Pyrite considered the offer as he eyed the armor, but shook his head.

“Pink armor. Too bright. Also—”

He indicated his wide stomach. Redscar laughed. The leader of the Redfang warriors gestured and the Hobs and Goblins fought over the armor, each stealing a piece—vambraces, gauntlets, helmet—for themselves. One poor Hob was left with nothing but the boots and stomped off, muttering curses as the other Goblins laughed at him.

—-

Soon, the wagon with the [Knights] was rolling faster, catching up to the tribe ahead. Rags rode forwards, pondering the ruby gemstone as Pyrite and the other Goblins tried out their new equipment. For all the deaths the Rose Knights had caused, the addition of such powerful artifacts was worth it—from a military perspective. Rags smiled to herself, pleased that she now had weapons that might actually damage the Knights of the Petal if they ever returned. True, she only had two, but two was better than none.

Her body itched all over from bug bites, despite her usage of the mosquito whisk. The Goblins in her tribe were tired, but they’d marched for two hours past lunch and the swamp was already giving way to solid ground. Tonight, Rags would see about creating some kind of balm for itchy skin. But she thought her tribe would be in good enough spirits knowing they wouldn’t have to camp in the swamp. In fact, they were passing through a fairly nice lowland with a few bushes with unripe berries. Perhaps they could—

“Chieftain!”

Rags snapped to attention as a voice called her name. She swung around and saw a Redfang warrior racing towards her on a Carn Wolf’s back. He was slung low across the wolf and it was bounding towards them. Rags hadn’t heard a horn call, so she knew there wasn’t’ a battle. But her heart beat faster as Redscar raced to meet the scout and her.

“What?”

The scout’s Carn Wolf stopped itself just before it could run into Rags’ mount. The Goblin on its back opened her mouth now that she’d stopped—it was all too easy to accidentally sever a tongue when riding the Carn Wolves.

“Human army. Moving up ahead.”

Her words made Rags freeze. A Human army? Redscar swore and waved a hand—the Redscar warriors lost their good cheer and began preparing for combat. Rags jabbed a claw at the scout.

“They see?”

“No, Chieftain! Humans are on road. Big road.”

“Big road?”

Dismayed, Rags looked at Redscar as Pyrite jogged up. Had they cut through the swamp just to reach more Human lands? She ground her teeth.

“How many?”

The scout muttered as she tried to do math on her hands. She conferred with Redscar. The Redfang Warrior looked relieved.

“Eight hundred, Chieftain.”

Rags perked up. Eight hundred? She outnumbered that force many times over. Unless these were elites like Lady Bethal’s warriors—which the scout seemed to doubt—they weren’t a huge threat. A big one, yes. But the important question was whether they could be avoided.

“What are doing?”

The Redfang scout’s face turned grim. She pointed in the direction of the army.

“Hunting. Goblin tribe.”

—-

Normally adventurers hunted Goblin Tribes. Normally. But when a tribe got too large, or when they were deemed a credible threat—or nuisance—a Human city might turn out its garrison or combine its standing army with another city or town to destroy a Goblin tribe.

After all, what adventurers excelled at were surgical strikes. They could take out a Chieftain and all the warriors and scatter the Goblins, but eradicating an entire tribe completely was usually too difficult or tiresome for them. But an army could ride down stragglers and rout a large tribe.

Normally it wasn’t worth the effort and the inevitable casualties. But with the Goblin Lord’s victory at Invrisil, inaction was dangerous. And weren’t Goblin tribes a threat? They could join the Goblin Lord or grow in size. It made sense to destroy them.

None of that stemmed the painful, biting sensation in Sir Kerrig’s stomach. He listened to the distant horns blowing, the far-off sounds of screaming and shouts in the distance, and saw the Goblins of the Flooded Water tribe arming themselves.

For battle. Rows of Goblin warriors were picking up the long, twenty-foot pikes and lifting them in teams of four. More Goblins were lifting conventional swords and spears and axes and so on and forming into units. Some had crossbows—there was a small group of Goblin [Mages] being led by the Goblin with no ears. Last but not least were the Hobs, armored and deadly, and the mounted Redfang warriors.

It was a fearsome army. Only an elite group like the Knights of the Petal could hope to defeat it with a smaller force, and they’d still been forced to retreat. Sir Kerrig thought of the Human army marching a mile or two away and his skin prickled.

“Sir Kerrig.”

Welca’s eyes were wide and uneasy as she watched the Goblins readying themselves. She and Sir Kerrig hadn’t heard what Rags had, but they’d put the pieces together easily enough. Those were Human war horns and they were clearly unaware of the Goblin army about to ambush them.

“We have to stop this.”

“How?”

Sir Kerrig stared at Pyrite. The Hob was marshaling a group of Hobs armed to the teeth. He was holding Sir Kerrig’s battleaxe. The smile was gone from Pyrite’s face and he looked nothing like the Hob that had sat with them, showing off his collection of gemstones. As the evening light played off his face and he turned, his red eyes searching, he looked like a monster.

But Kerrig had seen his humanity. The [Knight] got to his feet, his unused muscles protesting.

“We have to try. Welca, stay behind me.”

Grimly, the [Knight] took a few steps forwards and heard a warning sound. The Redfang Hob standing next to his wagon looked at him and lifted his spear threateningly. Sir Kerrig pointed towards Rags.

“I want to speak with your Chieftain. Will you allow me to go to her?”

The Hob considered this. He glanced at his companion, another Hob, and they grunted at each other. Then the Hob went and poked a smaller Goblin. That small Goblin wandered into the crowd, poked another Goblin who poked another and—

Rags was at the center of attention, snapping orders, pointing, sending rows of pike Goblins to various locations. But as soon as the Goblin had begun poking the others her head turned and she looked straight at Sir Kerrig. She snapped an order and hopped onto her Carn Wolf and rode straight at him.

The Carn Wolf was huge and smelled the excitement in the air. It huffed and growled at Sir Kerrig as it bounded over. Welca tensed, but Sir Kerrig held his ground.

“Chieftain Rags! I beg an audience!”

“What?”

She glared at him. Sir Kerrig hesitated. He looked up at her.

“May I ask whom you are preparing to attack?”

Her eyes glinted.

“Humans. Big army marching down a road.”

Sir Kerrig heard Welca mutter an oath. He looked up at Rags.

“Can I convince you to refrain from attacking the army? They have not noticed your force. You could easily evade them.”

She stared at him.

“No. They hunt Goblins.”

Sir Kerrig felt a chill run down his back.

“Your people?”

Rags shook her head.

“They hunt Goblins. Another tribe. So. We hunt them.”

She grinned savagely. Angrily. Sir Kerrig hesitated.

“Can you not drive off the Humans army without bloodshed?”

“Why? They spill blood. We spill theirs.”

Rags growled, her smile vanishing. She stared at Sir Kerrig.

“Humans kill Goblins. Goblins kill Humans. Humans do not leave us alone.”

“I know. But—”

Sir Kerrig tried to reach for the words that would matter, the words that would calm Rags’ fury, convince her to relent and simply scare off the Human host. He was no [Diplomat], no [Courtier]. But he had seen the civilized nature of the Goblins, the humanity showing through. If he could just—

Welca interrupted him. She glared up at Rags and spoke harshly.

“Do you think slaughtering Humans will stop us? If you kill them, we’ll be forced to kill you!”

Sir Kerrig closed his eyes. He heard a growl, and then the small Goblin shifted. She leaned down towards Welca, her teeth bared.

“Kill us? Humans always try to kill us. What new?”

The [Knight] stared into Rags’ eyes, her face pale.

“You don’t have to do this. You could be merciful.”

Rags laughed. It was a mocking, loud sound. One full of regret, disdain, longing—too many emotions to count. She turned and looked at Sir Kerrig and Welca, almost sadly. Rag shook her head.

“Mercy? They started it.”

And then she turned and rode away. And her tribe followed. All the [Knights] could do was watch.

And listen.

—-

They came out of the twilight, as the Human army was pursuing the last of the Frostfeeder Tribe. The Frostfeeder Goblins were running down the road, some breaking off to dart into the trees, the rest fleeing in a great mass down the road.

They had no choice. Those that fled into the trees screamed and died as Human [Riders] cut them down. The Human army was pursuing them with infantry while the cavalry cut off all routes of escape. All they needed to do was encircle the Goblins and crush them with their bows and infantry.

However, the Goblins were proving difficult to corner. It wasn’t that they were fighting back; the bulk of warriors had been cut down hours ago. But the Goblins kept running, so fast that even the horses were struggling to outdistance them. And when the cavalry did charge them to turn them back, the Goblins just kept running. When the [Riders] cut them down, the family of the stricken Goblins would run on, trampling the fallen. Running, running—emotions didn’t come into it. It was run or die and the Goblins knew that stopping was death.

Neither could the cavalry form a wall. They had to be careful and pick off the Goblins—drive into the center of the fleeing Goblin mass and the [Rider] would be dragged from his or her saddle and killed. The Goblins still had teeth.

So it was a test of endurance. The Humans had stamina potions, the ability to rotate their soldiers to stay fresh, and horses. They could use bows to harry the Goblins and send their soldiers ahead to direct their prey. The Goblins could only run and hope to tire out their pursuers.

But they were slowing. And more Goblins fell each minute. The Human army chased them relentlessly, shouting and blowing war horns. The [Riders], a hundred or so, streamed towards the Goblins on the right flank, hoping to drive them back towards their infantry, even if that meant some scattering into the forest.

The Goblins turned, saw that they had no chance of continuing down the road, and made a break for both edges of the road. The [Riders] split into two groups and pursued them. They were busy cutting down the back rank of Goblins when they heard howling. The horses reared and the armed Humans struggled to calm them, looking around and wondering if a wolf pack was nearby.

That was when the Redfang warriors struck. They streamed out of the forest, screaming. They caught the first group of riders completely off-guard and the wolves charged the frightened horses. The Goblins cut down the paralyzed Humans as the running army slowed, stunned by the sudden appearance of the wolf-riding Goblins ahead. Then they heard more horncalls, from their rear and sides and realized they were surrounded.

“Form a square!”

The [Captain] in charge of the infantry was no seasoned commander, but a younger officer. He ordered his soldiers into a box formation, archers in the center, spears and swords facing outwards in all four directions as his [Trumpeters] frantically signaled the remaining cavalry to retreat. The Humans on horseback spurred their mounts, trying to reach the safety of their comrades in time.

They never got there. A Goblin warrior riding a large, black Carn Wolf charged into their ranks, his magical sword cutting down riders and numbing their arms and bodies where it struck. He twisted and dodged a sword that swung at him and ducked an axe meant to cut off his head. His wolf howled and the horses reared instinctively. Their flailing hooves missed the rider as he and his wolf darted out of the sea of horseback riders. And by the time the horses were running again, they’d lost their window of time. The Carn Wolves encircled the riders and the Redfang Warriors closed in.

“Don’t panic! Hold formation!”

The [Captain] struggled to calm his frightened troops. The Redfang Warriors were cutting down the last of the riders, but they could be defeated! The Carn Wolves would fare poorly against his [Soldiers] standing shoulder-to-shoulder, especially with bows and magic attacking them from afar. The [Captain] was ordering a volley when he saw a black mass approaching him from the tree line.

“What is—”

Goblins. They charged out of the forest, a square of them. They were carrying long, long pikes, longer than anything the Humans carried. They charged straight at the [Captain], who could only stare for a second.

“Shoot them down!”

He screamed and the bows and [Mages] blasted the first formation, sending Goblins tumbling to the ground. But for every Goblins that fell, there was another to carry the wooden pikes! And as the [Captain] looked around he realized there wasn’t just one Goblin pike unit coming at his formation. There were dozens.

They charged the stationary force of Humans from every angle. Goblins, carrying wooden pikes. It was nothing compared to the steel weaponry the Humans carried. Nothing! The Humans had shields and spears of their own. But the range—the first rank of Goblins struck the Humans from twenty feet away, their pikes reaching the Humans long before the Humans could strike back. And then the second layer of pikes struck, and the third!

The lines of defenders buckled. Then broke. The Humans had to advance into the layers of thrusting pikes or be torn apart. And once they reached the Goblins they realized the warriors were armed.

And there were Hobs among the regular Goblins. The Hobs tore into the fragmented ranks of Humans, roaring, as the [Captain] struggled to escape the deathtrap.

“Archers! Loose at will! Do you hear me? Archers!”

The [Captain] was shouting as loudly as he could, but the Goblins were screaming and his voice wasn’t loud enough! The group of archers was loosing arrows into the darkness, shouting in panic. A Carn Wolf leapt into their formation, scattering them, and then the [Captain] saw a bloom of fire.

A Human [Mage] blasted the Goblin off his wolf, making the Carn Wolf howl and flee, its fur on fire. The [Mage] whirled, and a bolt of lightning blasted her in the chest. Her charred body fell as a rank of dark figures cut the [Archers] off. The [Captain] saw a gout of flame, but it wasn’t the [Mage]. A Hob cut through two archers and strode fowards. He was holding a massive, enchanted battleaxe in two hands. He headed straight for the [Captain], who raised his ordinary, unenchanted sword.

Pyrite raised his battleaxe and the [Captain] found the courage to charge, sword swinging wildly. The Hob backed up and slashed. The axe bit into the Human’s torso, so deep the man was dead and collapsing onto the fiery battleaxe before he’d taken another step. Pyrite kicked the man off the battleaxe and hoisted it into the air. The unit of Hobs behind him had already cleared away all the archers. They turned to Pyrite and he roared.

“Follow!”

They charged into the Human [Soldiers] struggling with Poisonbite’s skirmishers from behind. It was quick, and bloody. On one side. Pyrite turned his head, searching for new enemies and saw the battlefield was full of running Humans and Goblins in formation and little else. It was a complete and utter rout.

“Chase?”

One of Pyrite’s Hobs had a bow and was aiming at some of the running Humans. Pyrite knocked the bow down and grunted.

“No chase. Chieftain said.”

He pointed. The Goblins looked back. Rags sat on her Carn Wolf in the trees, throwing fire at a group of [Soldiers] still struggling with some of the Goblins on the far right. She turned, her eyes glowing. Behind her, crossbows loosed bolt after bolt, cutting through armor. She held up a hand and the crossbows ceased. the Humans ran. The Goblins remained.

The Frostfeeder tribe looked up in awe. At Rags, at the Goblins who’d saved them, the Redfang Warriors riding Carn Wolves. They had no word for these Goblins, this tribe. But if they had Human understanding, Human sensibilities, perhaps they might have thought of one word—

—-

“Knights.”

“What?”

Sir Kerrig looked at Welca. She was burying her head in her hands, listening to the screams and horn calls in the distance. It was obvious how the battle was going. Had gone. Sir Kerrig looked at the Goblins still present. Elderly goblins and children, mainly. Save for a small guard of Redfang Warriors, Rags had taken her entire army to the front. Now he looked at Welca.

“They may be to Goblins what we are to our species.”

“What, exactly?”

Sir Kerrig sighed.

“Knights. Champions. In their own way. This tribe hunts down Humans that kill Goblins. We hunt down monsters that kill Humans. There is a similarity.”

“A terrible one.”

Welca looked at her hands. They were trembling. She was a [Knight]! How could she just sit here? She felt something hard in her pockets and pulled it out. The glittering sapphire. Welca gripped it tightly and raised her hand to throw it away. Sir Kerrig caught her arm.

“Don’t.”

She tore her arm away.

“Don’t stop me! These Goblins are monsters! They might be able to speak, but they’ll always be our enemy.”

“By choice or by nature?”

“What?”

“You met Pyrite. You met the one who leads them. The one called Rags. You saw they’re capable of reason, capable of emotion. They can be reasoned with.”

“Not enough to stop this.”

Sir Kerrig’s shoulders slumped.

“No. But perhaps they are capable of more. Perhaps—at the very least, they might be taught to live apart from Humans. To take up a trade in peace. Mining, perhaps. Dead gods, at least one has the talent for it! They are not peaceful, but they aren’t unthinking savages, either. They can be talked to. And that means they can be reasoned with.”

“Yes, but—”

Welca lowered her hand as Sir Kerrig let go of her hand. He stared at her.

“Do you understand everything I’ve said?”

“I do. But Sir Kerrig—”

“Not now. It’s time to go.”

“Huh?”

She looked up. Sir Kerrig was looking around. He pointed.

“There’s a horse. See it?”

Welca looked and saw a horse tied to a wagon. It was a stallion and clearly unhappy at being forced to pull the wagon. It was pacing irritably, pulling at its tether. Sir Kerrig nodded.

“This tribe doesn’t use horses. They must not be able to work with the wolves. Take it. Use the gemstone if you have to, but get to a village, a town, anything. You’ll be able to reach Lady Bethal from there.”

“Me? What about you?”

Sir Kerrig smiled slightly as Welca looked at him.

“I’m staying. Their leader is unlikely to kill me. The Redfang faction seems to have a sense of honor as well. But Lady Bethal must know.”

“But Sir Kerrig—”

“No arguments. That Hobgoblin—Pyrite—seems willing to listen to me. If I can influence him, or talk to their Chieftain…I have to stay, Welca. If there’s a chance we can avoid this tribe running amok—it’s unlikely our order would manage to subdue them alone. They would escape again and again, and worse, begin to retaliate. Tell Lady Bethal that, and everything you’ve seen.”

“Sir Kerrig—”

Welca grabbed his shoulder. He looked at her and she stared at him. Then she grabbed his arm.

“I will return.”

“I have no doubt.”

He grasped her arm and then turned. The Goblins sitting around their wagon looked up as Sir Kerrig and Welca jumped out. The Redfang Hob with the spear raised it and then seemed to sense what was happening. He whistled shrilly and more Goblins and Hobs poured out of the darkness.

Five Hobgoblins, eight regular Redfang Warriors. Redfang Warriors, which meant the odds were worse than when they’d been attacked in the swamp. Sir Kerrig looked around.

“I am Sir Kerrig Louis. [Knight] in service to Lady Bethal Walchaís.”

The Hob with the spear laughed. Sir Kerrig eyed him. The Hob was strong, fit, young. Sir Kerrig nodded to him as Welca edged backwards, looking for a way out of the circle.

“Welca, don’t move until I fall.”

“Understood.”

The [Knight] felt the cold air on his skin. The Hob had leather armor. Not metal. Good. Sir Kerrig raised his fists, taking a boxer’s lowered stance. The Redfang Hob blinked, and then grinned. He tossed away his spear and put up his fists, copying the [Knight]. The other four Hobs and eight Goblins watched silently. Sir Kerrig waited until the Hob swung and then blocked the blow with one hand. As the Hob gaped his other fist came up and lashed out.

The trick to being a prisoner was to teach the enemy just how strong you were in a fight beforehand so they’d lower their guards. Welca had yet to learn that.

—-

Victory. Rags rode through the forest, flushed with battle fury. She hadn’t done more than cast a spell, but her tactics had crushed the Humans. It had been flawless, easy, even. Almost disappointing.

Almost. The Humans had fought with their backs to the wall. They’d killed Goblins, Redfang Warriors—exacting a bitter price for victory. Rags glanced at the three Goblins running to keep up with her Carn Wolf. Each one was wounded. Two Hobs and a Goblin. Of the Goblins who’d attacked Welca, only three had survived. All of them had gone in with the first wave, taken the brunt of the Human’s arrows and spells. Those that remained were warriors. They’d paid the price of treachery in battle.

It was a fair thing. Rags put them out of their mind and raced into the clearing where the noncombatants had been kept. She was set to celebrate, to meet the Frostfeeder tribe and rejoice, when she saw the commotion ahead. Several Redfang Warriors were surrounding a shape, a Human sitting by the wagon. A lone Human. Rags’ blood ran cold.

Sir Kerrig was sitting against one of the wagon wheels, surrounded by Redfang Warriors. He was cross-legged, smiling slightly. His face and upper body were swollen and dark bruises stood out on his skin. Around him lay five Hobs and the eight Goblins. All unconscious, some of them groaning.

“What happened?”

Rags said the words stupidly as she jumped down and looked at the Goblins. They were all alive. None of them were holding weapons. Sir Kerrig gestured to them and winced.

“They fought me one-on-one. Each of the Hobs, one after another. Barehanded. I did not expect that.”

“You did? Where is other?”

Rags shouted at Sir Kerrig. He just smiled at her and winced.

“I apologize. But we are similar.”

He smiled at the young Goblin Chieftain as she screamed at him and then ducked when she jumped at him with her sword. Rags didn’t mean to kill him, but it still took three Redfang Goblins to hold her back before Pyrite arrived. The Hob took one look at the situation and then at Sir Kerrig.

“Good idea?”

Sir Kerrig shrugged.

“I have my duty, Sir Pyrite.”

The Hob nodded. He looked at Sir Kerrig and motioned. Sir Kerrig stood up. Pyrite grunted.

“I have too.”

Pyrite swung first and Sir Kerrig dodged back. He was lunging when Pyrite stepped out of the way and kicked Sir Kerrig in the chest. The blow cracked Sir Kerrig against the cart and when he looked up, Pyrite’s fist was the last thing he saw for the next six hours.

—-

That night, Pyrite and the Goblins passed the road where the bloodshed had taken place. Sir Kerrig looked around, his head still ringing, and shuddered at the carnage. The Human bodies had been stripped of armor and weaponry, but they had been piled together and burned. Goblins were aware of the undead threat as much as any other race.

“Were they any survivors?”

“Some. Humans run away, drop weapons. Chieftain say no follow.”

Redscar grunted at him. The Redfang leader was the only Goblin willing to talk to Sir Kerrig. Pyrite was busy and Rags was incensed still. But Redscar and the Redfang Warriors had had something of the opposite reaction; they’d accorded Sir Kerrig a lot of respect for taking out five Hobs in a row. Enough so that Redscar himself was riding his Carn Wolf alongside Sir Kerrig on a pony. There was no doubt that he was going to be under heavy guard from now on.

But it was worth it if Welca could get away. Sir Kerrig sighed. She was a junior [Knight], but no member of the Knights of the Petal was ever admitted without reaching at least Level 20, which was the prerequisite for the [Knight] class anyways. So long as she had the horse she could probably outrun any danger. As for brigands…

“Hey. Big fight. Goblins win. Good thing, eh?”

Redscar grinned at Sir Kerrig, gesturing at the burned bodies and bloody, churned ground. Sir Kerrig opened his mouth to reply and caught himself. Redscar was much like a [Soldier], a seasoned warrior who had no qualms about a bloodbath so long as his side wasn’t the one dying. Mutely, the [Knight] nodded.

“A Goblin victory, indeed, Sir Redscar.”

The Goblin preened. They were happy to be called ‘Sir’, Kerrig had noticed. The [Knight] glanced around and asked a question to change the subject.

“The rest of your tribe is marching to the campsite, but I would have expected your Chieftain to make a speech at least. Have you no songs to sing in victory?”

“None. Too noisy. Brings trouble.”

Redscar grinned. Sir Kerrig looked dismayed.

“If this were a Human army, there would be feasting. Toasts. Do Goblins lack celebration—rituals of any kind?”

“No. Chieftain does Chieftain thing. Sometimes feast. This Chieftain and old Chieftain don’t. But good thing anyways.”

“What thing?”

Redscar didn’t elaborate. Slowly, he and Sir Kerrig rode past the battlefield, towards the ranks of Goblin warriors. Some were injured, but the vast majority were simply tired. Tired and unharmed. They stared up at Rags as she turned her Carn Wolf to face them.

The Goblin warriors waited in silence. Their red eyes shone as they stared up at their Chieftain. Rags raised her sword and fire burned from her hands. It lit up the darkness and the Goblins stared at her. Their Chieftain.

Sir Kerrig didn’t see a signal. No Goblin spoke, not one made a move. But as one, the Goblins raised their hands as one. Those that held weapons thrust them into the air. They held them there, silently, a war cry without sound, a speech without words. And yet every line in their bodies screamed the message to the watching Human.

Triumph. Slowly, the Goblins lowered their weapons and then they laughed, clapped each other on the back, and Rags pointed. The Goblin warriors marched down the road, the rest of the Flooded Waters tribe following. They held their heads high, full of pride.

Sir Kerrig found his eyes stinging, thought he couldn’t say why. Wonder at something he couldn’t comprehend? Empathy? Relief? Disappointment? Regret?

Envy?

Whatever it was, the emotion followed him as he gently urged his pony forwards. The [Knight] rode after the Goblins, a watcher, an observer, a stranger among a strange…people. Watching, listening, judging. And hoping he could change them. So that monsters could be more like people. So the people who looked like monsters could live with real people.

—-

The tribe marched, the tribe camped. The Goblins divvied up the loot, used a mixture of healing potions and some herbs to create a balm for the itchy bug bites, ate, and slept. Afterwards, when the patrols were keeping watch and the rest of the Goblins were sleeping happily, two Goblins met near a crossroads. A signpost pointed north, southwest, and east. One of the Goblins, the bigger one by far, stared at the sign.

“Lots of places.”

“Human places. We go that way.”

Rags pointed south dismissively. She eyed the Human writing. Names. Useless names. She shook her head as Pyrite inspected the words, always curious. The Hob had taken no injuries from the battle, but he still itched a bit from his bug bites in the swamp, especially on his back.

He leaned against a large wooden post planted in the earth next to the crossroads sign. Its surface was rough; it might make a good backscratcher. It was hard for Pyrite to reach his back and it was more fun to scratch his back like bears did. You could learn a lot of tricks from animals, he’d learned. Rags watched him with interest for three seconds, and then got bored.

“Human ran away.”

“Welca Caveis. Human [Knight].”

Rags shrugged.

“Other Human stay. Why?”

Pyrite grunted and shrugged. Rags kicked him. She didn’t have time for his fake ignorance. Pyrite chewed at his lip, and then responded.

“Wants to learn. See Goblins. Thinks Goblins are like people.”

“Like people? Like Humans?”

“Mm.”

Rags made a disgusted noise and spat.

“Goblins are like Goblins. Watch Human. Don’t let run.”

“Other Humans more dangerous.”

The Chieftain nodded reluctantly.

“Other Humans follow. But Goblins move faster. Liscor is not Human place. We go. They don’t follow.”

“Yes Chieftain.”

That was it. The two Goblins stood in silence for a second, and then Rags grunted.

“Get balm for back. Back scratching look stupid.”

She walked off. Pyrite stopped scratching himself like a bear and considered she might be right. Then again, it was sort of fun. He continued scratching his back as Rags went to her bedroll and lay down.

A battle, an escape, magic in stones…it was another Goblin day. An ordinary day? She’d killed Humans. Lots of them. They’d been killing Goblins, but—

“Hey Rags! I didn’t see you there! When did you come in?”

A voice echoed. Rags turned her head towards her campfire and saw another fire. Warmer, welcoming. She heard a voice. She smelled pasta, slightly overcooked, and heard a young woman’s voice. Rags saw her face, staring, eyes open, a hundred times. On the dead. She shuddered.

“Humans kill Goblins. Goblins kill Humans. Humans kill Humans. Goblins kill Goblins.”

She could feel him in the distance. He was close and far. He knew her. He was near the mountain, she was sure. The Goblin Lord. There were Humans hunting Goblins. Bethal and the Human [Lord] and…

She felt uneasy. Bad. As if she was being hunted now. Ever since they’d marched out of the swamp she’d felt bad. Something was coming.

The Goblin Lord. The Humans. Tremborag. Rags curled up into a ball, curling into the blankets. Just for a moment she imagined she was safe and back in an inn, scowling, but secretly pleased, playing chess, drinking sweet blue juice…

“H—h—”

“Hello.”

“Hello, Erin.”

“Hi.”

“Hello. I am Rags.”

“My name is Rags.”

“I wanted to say—want to say—say…”

“…”

[Chieftain Level 20!]

[Skill – Tribe: Scavenger Armor Obtained!]

“Thank you.”

5.21 E

Day 98

“Trebuchet is ready!”

“All clear?”

“…All clear!”

“Right! Three, two, one—”

Rael saw the wooden beam rise into the air and stop. Behind it, a long sling of rope curved up behind it, and the young man saw a large stone fly out of the sling. It was such a smooth, casual motion that it took him a second to remember that the stone now flying high into the air weighed over a hundred pounds.

The massive stone defied gravity for a few seconds, and Rael had to turn his neck and stare with the other Human nobles as it flew across the open ground. Four hundred feet, five hundred feet—when it landed it was a speck in the distance. The plume of dirt fountaining up into the air signaling the impact wasn’t audible—the trebuchet had sent the stone at least seven hundred feet away!

Rael’s jaw dropped. Immediately he heard a whoop and then cheering. Peasants streamed past him, shouting with glee as a rider on horseback rode towards the place where the stone had landed, measuring out the distance. When the distance was shouted back, the nobles around Rael murmured. Gasping would have been too uncouth.

“It went that far? How?”

One of the younger nobles standing next to Rael couldn’t contain her disbelief. Lady Haviet fanned herself lightly while craning on the tips of her toes to see the trebuchet surrounded by the excited people.

“Magic, of course. It has to be. There’s no way they could throw something that heavy without a spell!”

Lord Andres looked excited as he pointed at the stone in the distance. His words made the other nobles murmur, but it was Lord Pattin who shook his head.

“It’s not magic, Andres. I didn’t detect anything from it when we inspected it a minute ago. Did you, Lady Cimeca?”

The young [Lady] shook her head, not taking her eyes off the trebuchet. Pattin nodded as he regarded the war machine speculatively. It was being loaded with another stone, a huge chunk of granite that looked recently cut.

“I’ve heard of these things. Siege weapons. War machines. But they’re supposed to be incredibly rare and difficult to manufacture! Pallass makes siege weapons, but the Drakes don’t sell to Humans. There’s a group in Chandrar that’s known for their weapons and Baleros uses some, but—”

Pattin broke off and bowed politely as an older [Lord] approached. Rael bowed as well, tilting his head towards Lord Tourant. The older man looked interested.

“What was that I heard you saying, Lord Pattin? This is like the weapons the Drake cities make? Truly?”

He looked at the trebuchet and Rael saw the half-Troll girl helping to lift another massive stone into the sling. He eyed her, noticing how her slightly cracked grey skin was covered with sweat. Part of Rael wanted to look away. She was monstrous, and yet she was Emperor Laken’s consort. And there was something…impressive…about the way she held her end of the stone while three men had to lift their side.

“I’ve never laid eyes on one myself and I’ve only seen a few sketches, but the similarities are remarkable, Lord Tourant. This is like a catapult, clearly, but the range and power are completely different.”

“Fascinating. And you’re sure of this?”

“Fairly sure, Lord Tourant.”

Pattin answered politely. Lord Tourant glanced around.

“Good, good. Thank you, young man. Excuse me.”

He walked backwards out of the small gathering of the younger nobles. Rael eyed him cautiously. Tourant was a fiery man and as Oswalt’s father, he had taken it upon himself to punish Rael, Oswalt, and the others when they caused trouble on his lands. But today Tourant was too busy to recall past misadventures. He strode over to the crowd of nobles and Rael heard him speaking loudly.

“Your Majesty, this is an accomplishment! Am I to understand that this design is similar to the devices manufactured by the Walled Cities? A truly wonderful feat!”

Rael’s jaw dropped again. Not a second after he’d gotten the information from Pattin and he was using it to look like he knew everything! Andres laughed and gave Pattin a gentle cuff on the shoulder.

“Not bad, eh, Pattin? Maybe Tourant will come running back to you for more advice! Assuming you’re right!”

The young [Lord] smiled politely, not looking at all offended. He nodded to Oswalt.

“Your father seems quite interested in these devices, Oswalt.”

The young man he was addressing jumped and looked around. The glassy look on Oswalt’s face turned to confusion, and then he realized Pattin was talking to him. Oswalt shrugged self-consciously.

“My father? He’s just trying to get ahead of the others. You don’t need to answer him, Pattin. Just because he knew your father doesn’t mean he should take credit for…”

He trailed off. One of his hands reached up reflexively towards his ear and then Oswalt lowered it. Rael tried not to look at his friend’s ear; a chunk was missing and though the rest had been healed, the missing flesh would never be restored.

Last night. Rael shuddered as memory swam at the back of his mind. He pushed it back and saw the nobles around him doing the same. Cimeca, Andres, Ellia, Haviet…they all shared that moment of recollection, except for Pattin. He’d stayed out of sight during the—the festivities, Rael recalled.

Cimeca broke the uncomfortable silence.

“Pattin, you should talk with Emperor Laken. I’m sure your knowledge would impress his Majesty, and the others.”

“I hardly know much…”

Pattin demurred, but Cimeca gently pushed him towards the group of talking adults. They were surrounding a young man who stood at the center of attention. His eyes were closed and he was smiling, turning his head from speaker to speaker and nodding occasionally. He began talking as the young nobles approached and everyone fell silent to hear him speak.

Laken Godart did not shout, but his words carried and he made people fall silent to hear him, rather than raise his voice. He pointed unerringly to the loaded trebuchet, though it was behind him and his eyes remained closed.

“Yes indeed, Lord Tourant. That does seem similar to a siege weapon from a Walled City. I have never visited Pallass of course, but the design of a trebuchet is universal…assuming you know how to make one.”

The [Lords] and [Ladies] surrounding him exchanged quick glances and Rael could see his aunt, Lady Bevia Veniford, narrowing her eyes. Even a small sentence like this was important. He could practically see her thinking and Rael had learned enough from his aunt to understand what she was thinking.

So, this [Emperor] Laken had never been to Pallass? How did he know how to make a trebuchet? No, wait, he’d said he’d never visited Pallass, which implied he might have visited another Walled City. When every word could be checked with truth spells, subtleties like this were essential.

Oblivious to the racing minds around him, Emperor Laken smiled.

“I’m impressed you know of trebuchets, Lord Tourant. Only a handful of people were familiar with the concept, and that included seasoned adventurers in my Empire. Are they truly so rare in this region?”

“Well, I…I suppose I’ve heard of them in passing.”

Lord Tourant spluttered and turned evasive as Rael smirked. The older man tugged at his mustache and pointed at Pattin.

“Lord Pattin’s heard of them. The same as a Walled City, didn’t you say, Pattin?”

Every head turned towards Pattin. Not at all worried about being put on the spot, he nodded.

“They appear to be very similar to the ones described defending the Walled Cities. But from what I understand, the design is easy to replicate. Is that the case, your Majesty?”

“If you understand the basics, yes.”

Emperor Laken turned his head to smile at Pattin. He had no gaze to tell what he was thinking, but he seemed to smile deeper at Pattin. After a moment he went on.

“These are only a few rough prototypes. I hope to create a market for engineering devices of all kinds. Naturally a…Walled City would dominate the market, but within a year or two I believe Riverfarm would be able to compete in the marketplace for quality, if not quantity.”

“What?”

The exclamation went around the circle of nobles. Laken only laughed lightly.

“Is it such a stretch of the imagination, Lord Tourant? I did not choose to showcase these trebuchets simply as entertainment. Indeed, I’m confident my people can begin mass-producing trebuchets within another month. After more testing is done for safety and efficiency purposes, obviously.”

“But that would be incredible! No one in Izril exports anything like this! You’re telling me—I mean to say that you’re able to create these things at will, Emperor Laken? Your Majesty? Have you an [Engineer]?”

Laken tilted his head thoughtfully as Lord Tourant tried to press him without giving offense. He shrugged.

“I have two [Engineers] already, Lord Tourant.”

“Two—”

“Of course it was difficult for them to construct the first trebuchet, but copying a design is much simpler than creating one from scratch. Naturally such devices would not be cheap and a small team would need to be trained for its use, but it would be one of a few engineered devices I plan to sell—to a select list of clients, of course.”

This time there was silence. Lord Tourant opened his mouth, hesitated, and found himself unable to ask the obvious question. Select clients? More such devices?

“Your Majesty, are you intending to create a market for engineered devices in northern Izril?”

Lady Bevia peered closely at Laken. He smiled.

“It’s a thought, isn’t it? Unless you disagree, Lady Bevia?”

The old [Lady] tapped her lips thoughtfully with one painted fingernail.

“No…but Pallass has long been known to host the greatest [Craftsmen] and other artisans on the continent. Our port cities import new goods, but the Drakes have had a monopoly on innovation for centuries. Surely you don’t intend to challenge a Walled City?”

Rael held his breath, wondering if the Emperor would take offense. But Bevia’s question only provoked an amused chuckle from Laken.

“Why not? Humans are at least capable of what Drakes and other species are. Perhaps more. This device is one small step. But I am sure that humanity has much, much further to go.”

The nobles stared at him. More. Laken turned to his trebuchet, a device that bordered on magic with a proud smile. But that wasn’t what kept Rael’s eyes on him. No.

It wasn’t just pride. It was confidence, certainty that made Rael’s heart beat faster for a moment. Emperor Laken just smiled as he turned to the trebuchet.

Humans can be more. In a world where Humans fell behind other races’ superior qualities—the strength of Minotaurs, the willpower of Drakes, the speed of Garuda, the adaptability of Lizardfolk—they had won by being more well-rounded, more prolific than other races. But Laken spoke about humanity’s potential.

A blind man with a vision. It drew people to him, Rael included. Laken turned back to them and Rael heard the young woman standing next to the trebuchet calling an all clear. She pulled a rope and the machine hurled another boulder far into the distance. The cheering as it landed and applause was deafening. Laken just smiled once more, a mysterious, welcoming smile.

“Believe me, this is only the start. A trebuchet is a piece of technology, an achievement that requires no magic or class to operate. Once built it is capable of being used by anyone. Man, woman, child…so long as they understand how it works. Ah, and I see the second one is loaded. Would any of you like to try aiming and firing it, by any chance?”

He looked around and Rael found himself shouting to be the first to try.

—-

It’s funny, but I think the most surprising part of today’s demonstration was when one of the young [Lords] asked if the trebuchet could throw him. Lord Andres, I think it was. That was slightly startling, but what got me was that everyone thought it was a completely natural suggestion.

I had to explain to the excited nobles, patiently, that it didn’t matter if someone cast a [Featherfall] spell on Andres. The whiplash of being thrown by the arm of the trebuchet might kill him before he had to worry about landing. I’m not about to risk a [Lord] dying on my lands, thanks.

I guess it’s a natural thought to have. If you’re an idiot. Lord Andres strikes me as one of the rash, more impulsive young nobles. They’re not all insane, though. I’ve noticed some of them who seem quite interesting. That Lord Pattin for one. And they’re all a lot less rowdy than they were yesterday. I suppose I have the fey to thank for that.

Hi, I’m Laken Godart. [Emperor] of the Unseen Empire, etc. Last night I hosted a banquet with actual faeries from another world, and today I’m showing off my trebuchets. It happens.

“So you can throw a smaller weight even further. Dead gods, this thing can shoot as far as three longbows! What a wonder!”

I’m standing at the heart of an excited group of nobles from Izril. Mostly men—the women have retired to the shade to watch the trebuchets firing. Those that aren’t getting a chance to aim it and fire it themselves. It’s rather like a carnival attraction, with people lined up, wanting a chance to point it and loose a stone.

We’re using smaller projectiles for this demonstration on a scaled-down model of the trebuchet that Tessia and my people have built. That way we don’t have to cart the gigantic hundred-pound stones back and forth. The trebuchet’s arm keeps swinging up in my mind and then being pulled back to the ground as the excited [Engineers], [Builders], and [Tinkerers] swarm over it.

The attraction has pulled in hundreds of villagers and they’re being rotated in by Prost to get a look before going back to work. The trebuchets are amazing, I have to admit. But I don’t get a chance to admire them; I’m already starting my sales pitch. I smile calmly at the excited [Lord] talking to me and sigh as if I’m a bit disappointed.

“It’s quite an accomplishment. But I’d hardly call it a wonder, Lord Melbore.”

“What? But if you can strike a target a thousand feet away—”

Lord Melbore is a heavy man, standing in front of me. I can sense him in my mind—and smell him too. He’s sweating in the morning sun. I cut him off with a knowing smile as the nobles around me edge forwards to listen.

“A device like this can hurl a stone capable of destroying a city wall—an unenchanted city wall, if it’s not burned or destroyed by the enemy first. It has quite an impressive range, but it’s hardly useful in a mobile battle, is it? And for all the stone is large, I’d imagine it could easily miss groups of running soldiers.”

“True.”

Tourant nods and I hear a few other disappointed murmurs of agreement. The [Lords] here might be lesser nobility of the realm, but they’ve all probably seen actual battle. They have to defend their lands, and that instills a level of practicality in each of them. I nod, letting them know I’ve considered the problem.

“Adaptability is key, gentlemen. If a trebuchet were only useful for this one purpose, it would be a poor defense indeed. However…Mister Helm! Miss Tessia! Would you prepare one of the special rounds for our guests to watch?”

I raise my voice and turn. Mister Helm, the [Blacksmith] of Windrest and Tessia, the young woman that Gamel is besotted with, immediately bow and rush towards the larger trebuchet. Entranced, the [Lords] follow them like curious sheep. I watch, knowing exactly what will happen.

The open fields in front of the trebuchets are clear and no one is allowed to head out into them or near the trebuchets while they’re firing. But now everyone is told to step back and as Tessia loads the special ammunition I see Mister Helm rechecking the sling and frame of the trebuchet.

Good. I’ve gone over the need for safety with the engineering team assigned to testing and building the trebuchets again and again. The last thing I want is someone dying while making one of these things. I’m afraid it’s only a matter of time, but it won’t be today or tomorrow if I can help it.

“Trebuchet clear?”

“Trebuchet’s clear!”

“Alright then! Three, two, one!”

Tessia’s the one to pull the rope. She’s a lot younger than Mister Helm, but she’s one of two [Engineers] and she was not only the first to acquire the class, but she’s the highest-leveled of the two. It was quite amazing to see how she took to the trebuchets—Tessia, a young woman who had lived on a farm all her life and found her vocation making weapons of war.

Because that’s what this trebuchet is. I watch the arm go up in my head. I can’t see it of course, but I can sense the sling lifting its payload into the air. I can sense the small objects before they’re flung across the field and spray into the ground and a few of the trees, cracking and making loud thuds. Few of the stones made it much further than one or two hundred feet away, but the spread of the volley makes the nobles jump.

“What in the name of Dragons…?”

The nobles are staring ahead, trying to figure out what was thrown. I stroll over and interrupt them before they can badger Tessia or Helm. They’re still nobles after all, and they look down upon anyone but Lady Rie and I. So I look down on them, just to make things fair.

“Stones, Lord Tourant. Hand-sized stones, packed up and thrown at speed. With enough trebuchets firing at once, you could take down a charging army—assuming you were able to move and load them quickly enough, of course.”

It’s a simple concept. The trebuchet can be loaded with a heavy stone to knock down a wall, or smaller stones to shred an enemy army. I’m sure armor would protect some people, but a stone hurled that fast and far? It would be devastating. And it makes the trebuchets I’m showing off that much more valuable. As a defense for my empire, and as an attraction for the nobles visiting me. I clear my throat as the [Lords] begin arguing how well that would work against an army.

“Let us resume our demonstrations. Unless anyone wishes to retire? No? Well, I believe there are refreshments available in the shade. I would be happy to discuss a few aspects of the construction and usage of the trebuchets there. If anyone will join me? Ah, Lady Bevia. And Lady Bethal. How kind of you.”

I step to one side as the men jostle each other, wanting a chance to fire the larger catapult. Two women sweep towards me. Lady Bevia, the older of the two Venifords and Lady Bethal Walchaís, followed as always by her silent husband, Lord Thomast.

“Emperor Laken, thank you so much for the entertaining diversion!”

Lady Bethal’s voice is high and light and she gently places her hands in mine as she laughs. I smile back, although I can still feel a bit of a prickling aura around her, just barely there but visible. Behind her, Thomast bows, as silent as a rock. But I can tell he’s watching me.

“Indeed. I had wondered how you might top the banquet of last night, but I find myself underestimating you yet again, your Majesty. Truly a magnificent demonstration. I only fear I will have to drag away my nephew.”

Lady Bevia’s voice is welcoming and warm as well. I smile at both women and keep my guard up. Of all the nobles present, these two strike me as the sharpest—and most dangerous.

“You are too kind Lady Bethal, Lady Bevia. I’m delighted you chose to stay another day. I had hoped this showcase would please you, but do let me know if you’d wish to rest or seek other entertainment. There is a limit to how long one can be interested in throwing stones, I fear.”

“Nonsense!”

Lady Bethal laughs as she half-turns to look at the trebuchets.

“A diversion? To abandon this? You do yourself and your people too little credit, Emperor Laken. I have seen magic shows and curiosities from other lands, but this is truly fascinating. It’s a thing of wood and yet it throws stones as if they’re light as feathers! How amazing. I don’t suppose you’ve settled on a price? Or may I make a bid for the first six of them you care to sell?”

I try not to blink in surprise.

“I must confess I hadn’t given it much thought yet, Lady Bethal. These trebuchets are still being tested and my team is working to perfect them.”

They’re capable of being fired, but accuracy, maximum range, and putting them on wheels are all challenges I’ve given the team of villagers I’ve assigned to the issue. Not that they mind working around the clock; the engineering team loves to fire the trebuchets as much as the crowd and they’d work long into the night if I let them.

It’s all trial and error with them, but the fact that they could roll out two fully functioning trebuchets by the time the nobles arrived makes me feel I should reward them. It feels like only a few days ago that they were still trying to figure out what wood to use. To deflect Bethal’s interest I turn to her husband.

“Lord Thomast, would you care to try one?”

“You are too kind, Your Majesty. But I will be content to watch.”

Drat. The man bows his head slightly but seems determined not to let his wife be alone for a second. And why not? I nearly died of poison at my own banquet yesterday. Not exactly a ringing endorsement of safety. Lady Bethal seems completely at ease, but I have a feeling that her cheerfulness is sometimes feigned. Perhaps not now, though. She claps her hands together.

“Thomast is a bore, your Majesty. He never tries new things. On the other hand, I would love to try firing a trebuchet again. I nearly hit the tree I was aiming at, didn’t I, Thomast?”

“You did.”

I cover a smile. A good actor, perhaps. But I can’t imagine she and Thomast are pretending to be husband and wife. They’re too clearly fond of each other. I have a thought and beckon—Gamel is by my side in an instant.

“Yes, your Majesty?”

He’s been watching me all day, which is uncomfortable, but suits his duties. I think he’s worried about me being assassinated too—Lady Rie, Mister Prost, Durene, and Wiskeria were all adamant that I have at least one person by my side in the midst of the nobility. Never mind that I could spot a knife coming. Although I didn’t spot the poison…they have a point.

Now at least I can get rid of him for a second. I turn my head and whisper a request into his ear and he’s gone in a flash. I make polite conversation with Bethal and Bevia before Gamel hurries back to me with two objects being carried between two men.

“What’s this?”

Lady Bethal turns and claps her hands as she sees two smaller trebuchets being placed on the ground in front of her. I’d nearly forgotten about them, but the prototypes are just as functional as the real thing. I sense Bethal circling around the miniature trebuchets and poking at the sling, exclaiming with genuine interest.

“Oh! They’re like children’s toys! How delightful!”

I cough as Lady Bethal hovers around the smaller prototype.

“Children’s toys that can knock a hole in the wall of a house, Lady Bethal. Please don’t fire it into the crowd. But if you would like to perfect your aim, I’m sure Tessia could show you how to calibrate the trebuchet yourself.”

“Would you? Oh, how kind!”

Bethal is drawn away as Tessia comes over. In a moment she’s hurling smaller stones at a tree with commendable accuracy. Bethal laughs, waving at her husband.

“How marvelous! This is so much fun, Thomast! Go on, give it a try!”

He walks over, leaving me alone with Lady Bevia. She smiles at me and I’m reminded of a grandmother speaking to a grandson.

“You have no end to your surprises, do you, Emperor Laken?”

“I try to please, Lady Bevia.”

“May I ask where all these designs come from? Or perhaps your strange court? I hate to press you directly, but you have been adroitly evading answering anything about your past.”

I pause. My strange court. Bevia glances at me, and I sense her gaze like a physical thing.

“It is quite strange. No one speaks of last night and I barely recall what happened in its entirety. Those strange, wild folk, the things I recall…would you care to explain any of it, your Majesty?”

What can I say? I shrug my shoulders, lightly, remembering.

Green. Laughter, the brilliant folk dancing and singing, and then laughing and buzzing. The bright frost in her eyes.

A memory. That’s what last night was. Forever ago, despite it not having been more than twenty four hours since the fae danced among us. But the next day people woke, some with scars, many with memories both bright and troubling and no one spoke about it. It was as if what had happened was long ago, and even Oswalt, one of the injured lordlings, treated his injuries as if they had just…been.

Acceptance. There was no regret, no fury at recalling. It had happened. It had been done. It was in the past and they had lived through it. None of the [Lords] and [Ladies] spoke of what they had witnessed, although many looked at me differently. But blame, guilt…none of that was in the way they spoke.

Faerie magic. I shiver as I think of it. There’s something terrifying about that, more than there would be if we just forgot. It speaks to me of bargains with the fae, of promises that can’t be broken.

What is, is. What has been agreed cannot be turned back. More than ever I wonder just how much I risked. But the reward is the respect of the nobility. As for Lady Bevia…

“I could not tell you even if I tried, Lady Bevia.”

She regards me for a long while.

“I suppose you could not, at that. Some things even [Emperors] may not explain. But you are strange, your Majesty. You have so many secrets and you have given us precious few answers.”

The memory of last night fades between us even before Bevia is finished speaking. On firmer ground I keep my voice light, put a tiny smile on my face.

“Have I? I do apologize. I mean only to entertain, not drag down the conversation with boring details about my past.”

I turn my head innocently and Bevia laughs quietly.

“Oh, what a charming young man! One capable of subtlety and deceit—your Majesty, you are an enigma! Where do you hail from? Why did you decide to settle in Riverfarm? Would you do me the great courtesy of hinting at one of these questions? For an old lady’s sake.”

Clever old women are to be feared. I waver and nearly give in. There’s something so charming about Lady Bevia that makes me want to answer her, at least in part. But before I can reply, a voice speaks.

“Oh Bevia, you mustn’t press his Majesty to answer anything about his past! He is an [Emperor] after all—monarchs are entitled to their secrets!”

I hear a bright voice and a sigh from Bevia. A woman approaches the two of us, her voice smooth, her dress shifting as she strides quickly across the grass to our position. I feel the urge to confess fading and smile at the woman in gratitude.

“Thank you, Lady Rie.”

She glides past me and I nod to her politely. Bevia mutters what sounds like an insult before she greets Lady Rie warmly. I could almost swear I heard ‘don’t get in the way’, but my ears must be playing tricks on me because Lady Rie greets her warmly and Bevia is just as delighted to meet her.

Knives under the table. I back away as Rie takes my place in the line of fire, laughing and speaking sweet nothings. There’s a lot I have yet to say to Lady Rie, but I’m grateful for her presence today. She takes Bevia off my hands and I back up. Normally I’d stay and learn from her, but something’s just crossed my mind. I frown and turn my head. What is…?

“Laken?”

Durene is walking towards me, sweating but happy. I wave to her distractedly. There’s something in my mind. I cast my thoughts across my empire and barely sense Durene being intercepted by a group of villagers begging for her help in the village. What is it?

There’s something at the corner of my mind. A thought. A…presence. Many presences. I frown, and then my eyes widen.

“Scheiße!”

My exclamation makes several heads turn, but no one speaks German so I pretend I stepped on a rock. Hardly [Emperor]-like, but it makes my reaction. I don’t turn around or give any other reaction—now Bevia and Bethal are both watching me, along with some other nobles. The beauty of being blind and having the ability to ‘see’ in every direction is that I can control my reactions. So I calmly turn my head towards the young man hovering a few feet away from me.

“Gamel?”

“Yes, sire?”

“Get me Wiskeria, Beniar, and…no, only those two.”

“Yes sir!”

He straightens at once, sounding alarmed. I hold up a hand, speaking with a slight smile on my face for those watching.

“Don’t run. But do it quick. And don’t make it obvious what you’re doing. If anyone asks, especially Lady Rie, make an excuse.”

“Yes, sire.”

Gamel turns and hurries off. It’s believable enough that I don’t worry as I turn my mind back to the shadows lurking far in the distance. And to Lady Rie. Should I tell her? She’s with Lady Bevia. Should I tell them?

No—no need to cause drama. And how would I explain knowing, anyways? Some things should be kept secret. How much do I trust the nobles here? Not a lot, despite them being impressed with me. How much do I trust Lady Rie? Well…a bit. But only as far as Durene can throw her. Not as far as a trebuchet could.

I back away from the nobles gathering around the trebuchets, pretending that I need to pee. No, no need to alarm anyone that doesn’t need alarming. Wiskeria is on the outskirts of the village and Gamel has already found Beniar. I’ll walk and meet them. I nod to myself, my mind racing as I count. It’s not bad news. Okay, it is horrible, terrifying news, but it’s not the end of the world. And we’ve planned for this, Wiskeria and I.

Calm. Be calm. I breathe in and out slowly, lowering my heart rate. I have people with skillsets devoted best to one activity. Lady Rie is a negotiator, a diplomat. She can do her job. She doesn’t need to know everything. I nod to Wiskeria and Beniar as both stroll over and try to think of the best spot where I can retire with them. What excuse should I use?

“Emperor Laken?”

They’re hurrying towards me, Beniar on horseback. I wave at them and make them slow. Act natural. Be calm. A leader is calm and leads from appearance as much as anything else. No one else needs to know what I tell them, so I hurry them into Wiskeria’s cottage. And begin to make plans.

—-

Plans. It was already evening by the time Wiskeria strode through the village. She’d been in her home for the last few hours, speaking with Beniar, Prost, and Laken when he wasn’t busy attending to the nobles who wanted his attention. Thankfully the crowd was still occupied with the trebuchets. Laken had expressed incredulity at how long the nobles were fixated on them, but it made sense to everyone else.

A trebuchet was a wonder of mechanical engineering, something as unique as any spell. He treated it like something normal, but Wiskeria knew she could have lived for decades and died before ever seeing such a device. They’d fascinated her when she’d seen the first big one firing. Now they reassured her. Even if they weren’t part of the plan.

She was headed towards her people, her army. They trained and patrolled when they weren’t actually fighting and they stayed out of the village to avoid getting in the way of the builders. Wiskeria needed to do a thousand things, so the only thing that kept her from running was Laken’s order to pretend nothing was wrong. Still, Wiskeria wanted to run.

She was hurrying, her heart pounding with anxiety and determination. Not fear or at least, not much; she had a plan and she trusted her [Emperor].

Her [Emperor]. What a thought! But he had proven himself ten times over, and this latest crisis just showed Wiskeria how right she was to place her trust in him. What would have happened if he hadn’t been there to warn them all days in advance? What would have happened if…? She shook her head.

Wiskeria was hurrying, but she slowed as she saw the woman in the black-and-white frilled dress walking towards her. Sacra’s face was calm, austere, the perfect image of a [Maid]. But there was still a trace of Odveig in her, brash and confident. Seeing her was a shock that put her duties out of Wiskeria’s mind for a moment. The [Witch] slowed and adjusted her pointed hat. Sacra paused as well and the [Witch] and [Maid] regarded each other in the dirt street.

“Wiskeria. I’m glad to see you’re doing well.”

“Odveig.”

“Sacra, please. That is my true name, although I understand that you might be confused after knowing me for so long.”

The [Maid] smiled. Wiskeria did not.

“There’s not much to understand. A traitor and a spy is a traitor and a spy, no matter how well you think you knew her.”

Sacra’s smile didn’t vanish, but it did fade a fraction.

“A traitor? I admit that I deceived you, Wiskeria. But I never intended to cause you or my team harm. I saved you from Emperor Laken’s suspicion as you recall.”

“He was only suspicious of me because you were spying on him.”

“True.”

Sacra shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. Wiskeria stared. Odveig would have blustered or cracked a joke. She didn’t have half the calm aplomb that this strange [Maid] did. And yet she shifted her stance the same way. Her face was the same. Wiskeria gritted her teeth.

“Tell me, was it all fake? All of our close encounters, the way we stood by each other? Was all that just an act?”

“Would you like me to say it was?”

The [Maid] raised an eyebrow. Wiskeria waited, folding her arms. Sacra sighed.

“Wis, I—”

“My name is Wiskeria.”

“Very well. General Wiskeria, I was your friend. And I was your team leader. And I was a spy. I can be all these things at once. I regret fleeing, but I had a mission that transcended friendship. And I have duties that carry me back here.”

Wiskeria thought about tossing fire at Sacra’s face and seeing if her uniform caught on fire. But she held back. Sacra was probably far deadlier than Odveig had ever been.

“Rather tactless to send the same spy that was uncovered, isn’t it? Is Magnolia Reinhart that crude?”

“Not at all. She’s being honest. If she wanted to alarm Emperor Laken, she’d send someone whom he had no idea of. He knows I am a spy, so he won’t waste time with subtleties. There are at least three people watching my every move.”

Three? Wiskeria had heard Laken ordering two people to shadow Sacra. The [Witch] turned [General] filed that information away. Sacra regarded her a moment and then bowed.

“I’d love to talk more, but I’m afraid I have pressing business, Wiskeria. As do you, it seems.”

“What are you doing?”

Wiskeria’s hostile tone had no effect on Sacra.

“I must meet with Emperor Laken. Lady Reinhart has considered his reception of the nobility and his little demonstration of this morning and sent a response.”

She held up a letter. Wiskeria opened her mouth to ask what was in it, hesitated, and turned. She’d wasted too much time and Laken’s name had reminded her of what she had to do.

“I wish you the best of it. Not that I think his Majesty will receive you warmly.”

“I did request an audience. And his feelings towards me are largely irrelevant. I’m sure I will speak to you later, Wiskeria. Until then.”

Sacra walked calmly past Wiskeria. The [Witch] stared after her, angry, wanting to say so much more, and then tugged her hat’s brim lower on her head.

“Later? Not if we’re all dead.”

Then she strode off, her robes swirling around her. And the Emperor of the Unseen Empire received Sacra on his throne.

—-

Of all the people I don’t feel like meeting at the moment, Sacra is probably highest on that list. But I could hardly ignore her request once I got it, so I give her an audience in the meeting hall on my wooden throne. I shift uncomfortably, feeling the smooth, carved eyeball on my armrest with one hand as I scan Sacra in my mind’s eye. She’s a [Maid] from head to toe, without any accessories save for a ring on her finger. No hidden daggers, no concealed weapons I can sense…I still don’t relax. Once the formalities are over I cut straight to the point.

“I hope Wiskeria didn’t treat you with any hostility?”

“Not at all. She was quite polite.”

Sacra smiles, not at all unsettled by my knowledge of their meeting. I’ve been following her around in my head when I haven’t been distracted and she’s done nothing out of the ordinary. Still, I have every reason to suspect her and so I’ve put two watchers on her at all times.

I’m also wary of her being alone with me, which is why Durene is standing next to my throne and Gamel and Prost are standing at the meeting hall’s doors. If it came to a fight, I worry that Sacra might beat Durene like last time, weapons or not. But I don’t think it’ll come to that. And if they need to raise an alarm, I’m sure Lady Rie will raise it.

She’s standing just outside the meeting hall. I refused to let her join in. Not because I think she’ll steer me the wrong way. I think she might do it by accident. Lady Magnolia manipulated both her and me with ease with a simple letter. I’d hate to know what Sacra could do.

“I’m glad Wiskeria didn’t offer you any offense. Although I can’t say I would reproach her for holding a grudge either. It is slightly unpleasant to look at someone you thought you trusted.”

Sacra’s face doesn’t change one whit. She just gives me a small, meaningless smile, the kind any [Maid] would give a disliked employer.

“I do apologize. But Lady Reinhart thought it would be best that someone you knew deliver her words personally, and I was the best choice. You are, of course, free to eject me from your empire, but Lady Reinhart values courtesy in her friends. Her enemies are free to be as crude as they wish, for as long as they live.”

Was that a threat? Durene makes an ominous sound, but I pat her hand.

“I don’t appreciate the warning, Sacra. Why is it that you wanted to see me?”

Without missing a beat, Sacra replies.

“Lady Reinhart has observed your reception of the small group of nobles through me, Emperor Laken. She is quite impressed with your guests…as well as today’s demonstration of your trebuchets.”

How does she know about the fae and the trebuchets? Sacra was not invited to either gathering. Still, I’m not surprised.

“I’m glad she’s so invested, particularly considering that she forced all of this on me.”

“She does apologize for the inconvenience, your Majesty. But trust is a commodity in short supply, particularly of late. Lady Reinhart bids me to inform you that she is impressed with your empire and would like to offer you peace.”

I raise one eyebrow.

“Peace? Don’t I have peace already?”

This time it’s Sacra who interjects a bit of strife into her tone.

“Emperor Laken, please be serious. You know that there is no peace—not between you and Lady Reinhart at least. She has surveyed your lands, tested you, and sent me to observe your qualities as a leader. She has been rightfully wary of you.”

“Why? Why am I so dangerous?”

It feels like everyone’s warned me of Magnolia Reinhart. She’s a cunning monster, a threat, a ruthless tyrant…Ryoka, Lady Rie, everyone’s afraid of her. But what did I ever do to bother her? Start a small empire? From what I understand, Magnolia Reinhart has a hundred times as much land as I do. But it’s Sacra’s response that puts it into clarity.

“Because you are an [Emperor].”

“Ah.”

Sacra stares at me. I sit back in my throne. My throne, where three months ago I was living in Durene’s cottage. Now I sit in my growing village, with trebuchets being built and nobles following me around, trying to curry favor. I can sort of see her point.

“Well, I suppose that would be alarming to a [Lady], particularly one of Magnolia Reinhart’s power.”

“Indeed. But she is prepared to put aside her wariness and offer you peace, Emperor Laken.”

“Peace. You keep saying that word, but what would that entail?”

Sacra spreads her hands.

“An immediate cessation of hostilities. No aggressive or hostile actions towards you or anyone in your domain without formal notification. Recognition of your sovereign rights. Support for your growing empire in the form of connections, trade, political support…”

That sounds good. Good, if a little vague. But I could see Magnolia Reinhart’s acknowledgement helping me deal with other cities, cementing my influence. I lean back in my throne as Durene shifts from foot to foot.

“And what would all of this cost me?”

Sacra smiles, confirming my suspicions. She holds up a finger.

“One request. For the next four months, you will refuse to sell your trebuchets or any other weapons of war to any other party in Izril. You will not gift them, or let the secrets of their manufacture be spread.”

I blink.

“She wants that?”

“Yes, your Majesty. It is a simple request. Afterwards you would be free to pursue whatever business interests you please.”

I frown. Why would four months matter? I eye Sacra, wondering if she’ll answer and don’t bother with that question. Instead I ask the more pressing one.

“Assuming I did agree, what guarantee would I have that Lady Reinhart would keep her word? A contract? Paper and ink are poor reassurance, I feel.”

The [Maid] standing in front of me gives me a slight frown, as if I’ve asked a truly stupid question.

“Lady Reinhart would hardly trust this to a verbal agreement, Emperor Laken. She proposes signing a binding contract, enforced by magic. It is quite common among the nobility when trust or a grave matter is at stake. It would of course be authenticated by a third party—Wistram, for example.”

“I see.”

Crap, I should have known that was how things would work. I keep my face straight as I think of all this. No selling trebuchets for four months? It has to be too good to be true. I could still build them, refine them, market them to others…why wait for months? What does she get? I mull over the possibilities until I realize Sacra is taking something out of her pocket.

“Hey!”

Durene sees the motion and lurches forwards. Sacra withdraws a small letter and raises her hands.

“I mean no harm. I have a letter from my mistress, transcribed, of course. It is not dangerous in any way.”

“I’ll give it to him.”

Durene snatches the letter from Sacra and sniffs it suspiciously. She clearly doesn’t have any idea of whether or not it’s poisoned and looks helplessly towards me before licking the paper gingerly. I cover my face and try not to laugh as Sacra gives Durene the first genuine look of surprise I think she’s made so far. After a second in which Durene blushes fiercely, she hands me the letter. I lift it and sigh.

“Your mistress does know I can’t read, doesn’t she?”

“She does. But some things are best conveyed formally. I have memorized the contents by heart. If you would allow me?”

Sacra waits until I nod and then begins to speak. I feel Durene peering over my shoulder and hear her trying to read the letter. She’s still on the first sentence by the time Sacra finished. The letter is short and Sacra delivers the stunning missive without changing her tone of voice.

To His Majesty, Emperor Laken,

Thank you so very much for entertaining my dear friend Bethal and the other nobles which I so rudely foisted on you the other day. Sacra tells me you handled their reception wonderfully, if slightly unconventionally, and it has put my mind at ease. You have shown tact, deliberation, and restraint and for that I deem you to be a rare exception to your class, a delight.

After some consideration, I have decided that I am quite content to suffer your presence on my continent, your Majesty. And I foresee the potential benefits of a relationship with your empire. But my goodwill towards your empire only goes hand-in-hand with my demands. Sacra has given you my request and I trust you will agree to it, as this agreement would be wholly beneficial towards you and your empire. Keep your damn trebuchets out of sight.

–Magnolia Reinhart

The silence after Sacra finishes makes me wonder whether I should clean out my ears theatrically, or just sit in silence for a while and wait for someone to laugh. But I do neither. I can sense Gamel and Prost giving each other nervous looks, but Sacra waits, as patient and as still as a statue. Her eyes are on me. At last I raise my head.

“And she wants my response?”

Sacra smiles politely.

“By the time I depart with the other nobility. By all means, take your time to consider Lady Reinhart’s proposal, Emperor Laken. But be sure of your answer by the time I leave.”

Her eyes never waver as she curtsies. I keep my face blank and remain as still as possible. This time I’m sure that was a threat.

Day 99

What the hell does Magnolia Reinhart want? Apparently that question is one for the ages because my impromptu council of diplomacy all agrees that few people ever know what the Deadly Flower of the North truly wants. Magnolia Reinhart can be as straightforward as a poisoned arrow to the chest, or as twisted as a garlic braid. That’s Durene’s analogy, by the way. I had no idea you twisted garlic braids. How do you twist garlic, anyways? Isn’t it a bulb? Or is garlic different in this world?

Prost, Rie, and Durene don’t ever answer me on that. What they do do is argue for over an hour over why Magnolia would want me not to sell my trebuchets—their speculation ranging from her desire to corner the market herself, to a suspicion that she doesn’t want nobles killing each other and besieging cities until she’s ready for it to happen—without any real consensus. They agree her outlined terms are good, generous even. They’re only wary of signing any deal with Magnolia Reinhart. Especially Lady Rie.

“The problem isn’t whether signing it would be better or worse for your empire, your Majesty. The problem is whether or not not signing it would be worse, and which option Magnolia Reinhart wants you to pick!”

The [Lady] paces back and forth as I massage my head and try and understand what she just said.

“It sounds like she was fairly clear about what she wanted, Lady Rie.”

“Anything that woman says cannot be trusted!”

Lady Rie grumbles as I sigh and walk around the table in Mister Prost’s home. His house has become something of a planning room for us and I feel bad for invading so often. Maybe I should make this the official meeting room and give him another house. A bigger one. But there are memories here too. Death, the snow, life…

And here we are, talking about [Ladies] and deals involving magic treaties and empires. I smile and run my hands over something on the table. A map. I can’t tell what’s on it, but I can sense the markers that Lady Rie has carefully put on there for my convenience.

“Interesting map. What do the flags represent on some of the cities?”

“Ah. Those would be the cities allied to you, Emperor Laken.”

“Allied to me? I don’t know if that’s accurate.”

“They offer you goods for protection, respond to your requests for reinforcements, and send emissaries to you, your Majesty. What else would we call them? Allies? Or perhaps vassals is more accurate?”

I grimace.

“Good point. Alright then, where’s Riverfarm? Where are we?”

“You’re touching our flag, your Majesty.”

I pause and feel the tallest flag.

“Oh.”

The map slowly appears before me. In my mind I can sense my empire, but the map is different. It skips all the geography and lays the cities, towns, and villages out for me in the plainest of terms. Riverfarm is here, bordered by a forest and river and close to a small mountain.

It’s shielded in one sense, isolated in another. But now it’s growing, connecting to nearby settlements, most of which are ‘mine’. They’re under my protection, within my sphere of influence. But as my fingers move east and north they run into small, round objects.

“And the stones? What do these represent?”

“Those are the cities and towns that are firmly against you, Emperor Laken. They refuse to acknowledge your claim to Riverfarm or trade with us.”

“Huh.”

I remember getting some hostile letters, but I hadn’t realized there were a number of cities that actively boycotted me. I run my hands over the cities—most far from Riverfarm on the map—and recall what Sacra said.

“Maybe they just don’t trust an [Emperor] who appeared out of nowhere.”

“Perhaps. But they might well be influenced by the other nobles to oppose you. Not just Reinhart—it would be just like her to work through fools like Lord Tourant rather than having to intercede herself.”

“Wait, Tourant has a hand in this?”

I frown, confused. Lady Rie sighs.

“Among others. His touch is particularly tactless; he is an old friend of the [Mayor] of Elkhan—here, your Majesty.”

She takes my hand and places it gently on a village. I hear Durene mutter something and Rie lets go. I feel the hard stone underneath my fingers.

“Okay, but what does that give him?”

“Any number of things. Refusing to allow trade caravans through if they’re carrying your goods, refusing to buy or sell…It’s meant to pressure your economy, your Majesty. Perhaps offer friendly lords like Tourant a better deal. That goes for military assistance as well. If you didn’t have your Skill and General Wiskeria’s army, it might be cause for alarm.”

Wiskeria. I nod carefully, searching for her with my mind. Ah, yes, there.

“Well, if they want to avoid us they can suffer the consequences. For now, I’m more interested in our ability to mobilize our allies. Say trouble arises, Lady Rie. Can we contact all of these settlements via [Message] spell swiftly?”

Lady Rie pauses for a moment.

“All of the larger cities, yes, your Majesty. The smaller towns…perhaps not. It depends on whether they have a [Mage] capable of receiving the spell. Most do, but others must be reached via Runner or messenger.”

“Good. In that case we’ll regard all these allies as my assets. And if we sign a treaty with Magnolia Reinhart and trade comes down the main roads…”

I trace my hands east and north, thinking. It would be valuable.  And if her name makes some of these uncooperative cities open their gates…I keep thinking as Lady Rie talks with Prost about the pros and cons of interacting with a huge city like Invrisil.

“You may be able to secure enough trade and deals with nobles as it is, your Majesty. Lady Reinhart does not control every noble of Izril.”

Lady Rie sounds hopeful. I nod thoughtfully.

“True. Something to bear in mind. And of course, that’s what I have to do next, isn’t it?”

I straighten and turn. Lady Rie sounds relieved.

“Yes, your Majesty. We could debate Lady Reinhart’s…offer later. But for now I believe every adult [Lord] and [Lady] wishes to speak with you—privately. As do a few of the younger ones. Shall we entertain them in the meeting hall?”

I sigh. This is what I’ve been dreading.

“I suppose we shall.”

—-

I meet them one-by-one or sometimes in pairs in my ‘throne’ room. They sit in chairs while I sit on my throne. It’s awkward, looking down on them and they seem to feel it too. But keeping them off-guard matters, and Lady Rie is there to ensure that she and I get the best deal for Riverfarm.

Not that I know what that is. I do know how to act, just not what I want. So when Lord Tourant comes in hinting about profitable trade deals, or Lady Fel hints that she might be interested in a trebuchet or two ‘for a friend’ and ‘as a matter of discretion’, I play my game.

An [Emperor]’s game. It’s quite simple. They hope to get something from me and dangle bait, offering me things both precious and petty. I respond by offering bigger bait for them.

“Why yes, Lord Tourant, I could see an exclusive trade agreement doing very well between our estates. If it’s an issue of gold, I might be persuaded to buy your entire harvest of—what was it you said you sold? Cotton? Yes, there’s certainly a need and I’d offer you, say, market price—but that is a large commitment to get into right away, wouldn’t you say? Oh, would you like another cup of wine?”

“Lady Fel, a gift of a trebuchet or two would hardly be fitting. Why not eight? For a friend—well of course this is all hypothetical, but I trust my people to produce them quickly and I feel that a gift would be appropriate for—what? Of course all eight! A gift of one or two would be miserly, wouldn’t it?”

It’s fun listening to people choke on their own saliva and greed. And promising gold for raw iron is entertaining as well. I don’t have gold. At least, not enough to pay for a tenth of what I’m proposing. But what I have now isn’t the point. It’s what I’m offering. It’s the image I’m creating. And as each [Lord] and [Lady] staggers out of my throne room, envisioning riches and having nothing more than the most tenuous of promises, my perceived wealth and power grows.

And that’s the point. I didn’t need for Lady Rie to explain that. I think she’s a bit intimidated at how easy it is for me, actually. But this is easy, in some respects. Flattery and using people against each other isn’t hard. Not like laying out a village is.

One of the final [Lords] I have to talk to is Lord Melbore. I clap my arm around his shoulders and sense him tense up, but I’m jovial, welcoming. And I forestall whatever he wants with a simple question.

“Tell me, Lord Melbore, where do you see your estates in a year’s time. In five years?”

“Me, your Majesty? Well, I—I would be quite interested in a deal with your empire. I’m told you’re generous to your friends, and between you and me, the market can be a cruel mistress. If I could persuade you to buy from me exclusively, I could see my estate booming in five years. I could double production as well if I had—”

I cut the man off as I shake my head.

“No, no. Grander.”

“Excuse me, your Majesty?”

I sigh.

“Think grander, Lord Melbore. I’m told your lands produce high-quality goods! Food, lumber, a modest business in fletching—but is that all you want to see out of your lands?”

“Well, I suppose I could see myself expanding—”

I cut him off again.

“Lord Melbore, I am an [Emperor]. When I came to Riverfarm, it was a small village. It still is, for all that it’s tripled in size. I look at your lands and see—well, I don’t see—unused potential. Don’t dream of doubling your profits in ten years. Dream of cornering the market, of becoming a byword, a staple in cities like Invrisil. How much money can you make? What do you have to offer? What could you do with an investment? Tell me, what could you do with an ally? A…patron?”

Perhaps I lay it on too thick. Perhaps some of them are intelligent enough to see that I’m offering them a cloud with nothing to back it up. But I can hear the gears whirring away in Melbore’s head and by the time he hurries out of my throne room promising me that he would be far better than Lord Tourant at getting me what I need, I know that my job is done. But I keep my guard up, because vague promises are easy to combat. It’s people who know exactly what they have and what they want that become trouble.

“Four thousand gold pieces for a trebuchet.”

“I can’t offer you one just yet, Lady Bethal.”

“Eight thousand.”

“It’s not a matter of gold.”

“Mm. Sixteen—”

“Lady Magnolia has an interest in them.”

“Oh! Magnolia wants them? Why didn’t you say so to begin with? I’m hardly going to bother starting a bidding war with her—why don’t I order the ones after hers? I’d like ten—”

“Lady Bethal, I don’t know when they’ll be ready or what the cost may be—”

“I could offer you horses too, if you want. How does a hundred head of horse sound? Six hundred? I have so many! It’s quite interesting you know—if you have the right Skills it’s quite hard to fail at a business venture. Harder if you have a husband like Thomast. He’s very good with numbers.”

“Lady Bethal, please. I’d be happy to work out a deal, but not at this time.”

The lady peers at me.

“Are you sure? I’d hate to think I was missing out on the opportunity ahead of time. Couldn’t I reserve just a teensy trebuchet?”

“I assure you, when I am at liberty to sell them, yours will be the first name I think of Lady Bethal. I promise you, I am simply not able to accept your money—”

I glance over at Lady Rie, who’s giving me complex signals to take the money now! and sigh louder.

“—at this time. I’m sure I will send you a [Message] spell shortly. Very shortly, if Lady Rie has anything to do with it.”

“Well…I suppose I have no choice. In that case, I would simply like to extend you my warmest gratitude for your hospitality, Emperor Laken. You see, Thomast and I will be departing within the hour and while we would love to stay another night in your lovely, restful beds…we simply must go.”

The sudden change of topic nearly gives me whiplash.

“You’re going? So soon? I was under the impression you were travelling with the other nobles, Lady Bethal.”

She laughs lightly.

“I was! But Thomast convinced me it might not be in my best interests, so we will take our leave before they do. Honestly, he fusses so much about the company we keep…but yes, we will be going.”

“I see. May I send you an escort to my borders, at least?”

Another laugh. I just cannot read Lady Bethal’s voice or her posture—but for an instant I sense the thorny aura around her grow stronger. Caution?

“I fear I must decline. We’ll be moving swiftly, Emperor Laken. And I have two of my Knights of the Petal with me, and Thomast. No [Brigand] has ever troubled me.”

I consider this. It could be bad if she goes now. I have to ask.

“Then may I at least know the direction you intend to travel? As a precaution, you understand. I would hate for you to come to any injury on my lands and my patrols could at least ride ahead of you.”

Bethal considers my request and shrugs slightly.

“Mm. Very well. We’re headed west, I believe. We’ll be travelling by way of Yaist, perhaps staying the night there. After that…? Who can say?”

I think about that. West? Well then…I nod and smile politely.

“In that case, I can only give you my sincerest regrets for the dangers posed to your person while you stayed in my domain, Lady Bethal. And to you, Sir Thomast. I hope that you will remember me with fondness and that we may speak more in the future.”

Bethal laughs lightly.

“Oh, you are so polite for an [Emperor]! I am truly honored, your Majesty. Neither Thomast nor I take any offense. Although…would you consider selling us the tiny trebuchet? As a souvenir?”

“No.”

—-

Last but not least is Lady Bevia, and here I have to deviate from my meaningless platitudes because she has something I need.

“Lady Bevia? Might I trouble you for a small favor?”

“Of course, your Majesty.”

I smile and lean over the edge of my throne to Lady Bevia as she sips some tea. Lord Rael is not with her; he’s getting in more practice shots with the trebuchet. I understand it’s a competition now, and there’s over two hundred gold pieces riding on whomever can hit the targets placed first. At least the nobles are enjoying themselves.

“I understand you have a [Mage] among your escort that is capable of sending and receiving [Message] spells, Lady Bevia. Might I trouble you to borrow her for a small task?”

The old woman pauses and takes another sip from her teacup.

“That is a rather simple request, your Majesty. May I ask what this little errand might be?”

I smile.

“Of course, Lady Bevia. And I would be delighted to tell you—afterwards, that is. I trust your discretion of course, but I fear I cannot tell you ahead of time what I am planning.”

“Really?”

Bevia knows I’m blind so her eyes narrow just a fraction before she stops herself. She taps her ring finger gently against her cup.

“How long would I need to place my [Mage] in your care, Emperor Laken?”

“Two days at most. I would consider myself in your debt, Lady Bevia.”

“Hmm.”

She ponders my request for a moment and then nods.

“So be it. Take my [Mage], by all means. But will I receive a token of trust in the same vein, Emperor Laken?”

I lean back, relieved. That was essential. I nod at Lady Rie and she hurries out, frowning. She doesn’t know what the [Mage] is for, but Wiskeria does. I smile at Lady Bevia, ready to pay for my favor.

“What would you like, Lady Bevia?”

“Nothing taxing. Perhaps a few facts, Emperor Laken. How did you learn to make those trebuchets, for instance? How do they work, exactly? Could anyone make them?”

Again, I feel a push at my mind, but this time I’m forewarned by Lady Rie and push back. I smile at the old woman as the charm effect fades from my mind.

“I can hardly give away the secrets of trebuchets like party favors, Lady Bevia. But I do have some intriguing treats that may be of interest to you.”

“Oh? What new delights will you tempt with today, your Majesty?”

I laugh.

“Nothing so scandalous. But there are a number of treats from my homeland that I have succeeded in recreating here. Many more I’d like to attempt, but my [Cooks] and [Bakers] can only do so much with my poor understanding. Still, I consider these quite passable. Tell me, have you ever had a Franzbrötchen? Don’t be alarmed. How should I put this—a cinnamon roll?”

I clap my hands and I see Lady Bevia’s eyes go wide with interest. Gamel walks forwards, the sweet treat on one of Lady Rie’s ornamental plates. I knew I could find a good use for those fancy things. And of course, there’s nothing quite like sweets for a bit of diplomacy. Especially if you know how to make cookies and no one else does. I smile and lean back in my chair.

It turns out Lady Bevia has a sweet tooth.

—-

“You have the mage?”

“She’s ready. So is Beniar. I’m about to head out myself.”

Wiskeria nods to me. She’s saddling her horse, and all we’re waiting on are a few other riders loading their horses. Their saddlebags are stuffed, and Wiskeria’s own mount is similarly laden.

“You got everything you needed? Already?”

The [Witch] smiles and pats her restless mare on the sides.

“There’s enough hellebore if you know where to look. Your Majesty’s unique Skills also help greatly in that respect. We can send out pack horses and a small team to gather what’s needed. We should be able to collect all of my ingredients within the day and be ready by sunset.”

“You don’t need me to find any more?”

“No, your Majesty. We’ll be ready tomorrow at any time.”

I sigh in relief.

“Gott sei Dank.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Sorry, Wiskeria. If I had to scan every single plant within ten miles of here and check if it was the exact one you needed one more time…”

She smiles at me and adjusts her hat.

“I apologize. But it was an emergency and your…talents are extraordinarily useful.”

“Don’t I know it. Well then, I’ll send word the instant something changes. But if not, contact me as soon as you’re ready and I’ll coordinate the rest with you tomorrow.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

Wiskeria nods to me and climbs onto her horse. She gently kicks her mount and the other riders stream out of the village after her. I watch her go, feeling anxious, practically trembling with excitement and nerves, but sure, sure that there’s nothing I can do. I’m too far away and everything is in motion now. All I can do is wait and watch.

For the right moment.

Day 100

I think the nobles are wearing out their welcome. They’re certainly running out of things to do as three straight days of trebuchet testing is enough for the most enthusiastic of them. Well, maybe not Lady Bethal. And I’m certain that if I actually let the young men throw themselves there’d be a lot more interest. But after eating all of my confectionaries that my hard-working [Bakers] struggled to make, the nobles are finally suggesting returning to their estates.

Lady Bethal’s departure prompted the idea, but no one’s quite ready to pack up just yet. The nobles seem fascinated by the speed at which Riverfarm is developing—I think I saw some of the nobles placing bets on how many houses my people could put up by sunset. And they also seem anxious to get a better deal than everyone else, so they’re hanging about for at least one more day. Which is good, because everything is happening today.

Entertain nobles at breakfast, endure meetings and private audiences until midday, lunch with Durene in private…everyone can tell something is up. At least, Prost, Durene, Gamel, and Lady Rie can. They knew me too well. But they’re all too loyal to ask, except for Lady Rie who keeps hinting that she might need to know if something’s afoot. She’d noticed Wiskeria and Beniar are both gone with part of the army, but she doesn’t know why.

I intend to keep it that way. And I do manage to distract myself with a moment of inspiration just past lunch. I was mulling over Magnolia’s proposal, thinking about what I’ll tell Sacra. I can sign her stupid parchment at any time—that just takes a second. But will I? I’m on the verge of tossing a coin and asking Durene which side landed face up.

And that’s when I had my brilliant idea. It came while I was watching Tessia try to explain to a group of new volunteers for the engineering team how the trebuchets worked. She was trying to explain the idea of gravity to her audience, something I’d had to patiently explain to her. And that was when it hit me.

Of course!

It’s all so clear. All my tentative trade agreements and the proposals crystalize around my new idea, my new understanding of what the Unseen Empire should be. I lean over and poke the young woman snoozing next to me. Durene yelps and sits up with a start. She and I were sitting under a tree in the shade and she was resting after hauling trees around all morning.

“Durene! I figured it out!”

“Wha? What? What’s happening, Laken?”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m awake, see? What did you figure out? Tell me?”

“It was an idea I had. Remember how we’re trying to figure out what we can offer all these nobles? Aside from the trebuchets Magnolia Reinhart doesn’t want us to sell, that is?”

“Yeah. You and Prost and Rie talked about it all day yesterday.”

“I know. You didn’t have to listen, you know. I kept telling you that you could sleep.”

“I wanted to be with you. What did you figure out?”

“Well…I think I’ve got it.”

“Okay. Tell me.”

“Just a second! I want to see if you get it.”

I grin teasingly and hear Durene groan.

“Just tell me, Laken! I can’t guess—I’m not smart like you!”

“You’re very smart, Durene. You just don’t like to admit it. Come on. Humor me.”

“Fine. What do I have to do?”

“Just think. What does Riverfarm have that we can sell, Durene? I’m not talking about basic trade goods like pigs, normal crops, and so on. That earns most villages and towns enough to survive. What I’m talking about is how Riverfarm, how this entire empire can make a profit. What do we have? Any ideas?”

Durene scrunches up her face, sighing and picking at the crumbs in the basket, muttering to herself.

“I don’t know. Crops? You were talking with Wiskeria about poisonous plants and all kinds of alchemical stuff you could sell just the other day. We could grow fields of that. Not that I want to pick poisonous plants by hand. You know she thinks nettles will sell really well? Nettles!”

I cover a smile. A [Witch]’s sense of value is definitely different than a farm girl’s.

“That’s true. We’re trying to cultivate some crops that [Alchemists] will buy up, but we have to feed ourselves first, Durene. Mister Prost will expand the fields as fast as he can, but that’s a long-term investment. What else do we have?”

She scratches at her head.

“Um…land?”

I laugh. Durene fidgets, embarassed.

“I told you I don’t know!”

“No, no! I’m laughing because you’re right, Durene! That’s true! The surrounding area isn’t nearly as developed as some places further north. But Izril is vast, Durene. And unused land is cheap, so long as you can protect it.”

“So it wasn’t right.”

“But it was a good idea. Come on, you can do it. What else do we have?”

“A…military? You can protect roads and charge people money because it’s so safe!”

I nod seriously. Durene is going through all the ideas I had. She’s not slow at all and I’m not as smart as people think I am, not by half. But I do have an advantage…

“That’s right. Assuming we could protect all our land, we would see more trade and people headed towards us. But that relies on us having a truly powerful army and ours is growing—”

I break off and grimace. I have the ability to levy soldiers, but the core of my army, my people are a few dozen [Riders] and a group of infantry who have seen only a handful of battles. My adventurers make up the best part of that force and they’re few in number. And yet—I turn my thoughts northwards.

I can levy a force. I can call on towns and cities and have them send me a few [Riders] each, a handful of [Archers], maybe some [Warriors], and that’s without there being a crisis. I can form an army—but I will need a bigger one. But perhaps for now…

“Laken?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry, Durene.”

I realize I’ve stopped talking and clear my throat.

“You’re really close. But what’s the last thing we have, Durene? The last big thing?”

“Trebuchets?”

“No…but you’re really close. It’s related to them.”

“Um—um—is it—oh! Our [Engineers]! You can get Tessia and the others to build bridges and mills and all kinds of things!”

Durene’s face lights up and I give her a small hug.

“Almost right!”

“What? I got it wrong?”

“Not wrong…but I don’t just mean the [Engineers], Durene. I mean what they do. Engineering.”

There are some crackers at the bottom of the lunch basket. Durene slowly reaches down and takes one. She crunches it down.

“Okay. You—I mean, we have [Engineers]. But our big secret is engineering.”

“That’s right.”

I wait, triumphant and hear a munching sound as Durene cautiously eats another cracker. She thinks for a while longer.

“…Isn’t that the same thing?”

“What? No!”

“It sort of sounds like it. What’s the difference?”

Crestfallen, I try to explain.

“Durene, do you ever wonder why people in this world suddenly get good at something? Like how someone who can barely cook can suddenly make all the basic recipes?”

The half-Troll girls thinks about this as she searches for another cracker.

“Mmm. Nope.”

“Really? It’s not weird how they can suddenly know how to cook, or fight?”

“No! They get a Skill, what’s weird about that?”

I shake my head. I guess it does feel natural to someone in this world.

“That’s not normal. What if you tried to learn something without a Skill, Durene? Why is it fair that someone has to learn all the steps in a recipe to make bread while someone else can just get a Skill and…make it?”

“It’s fair because they have the Skill. Sometimes people don’t get it so I guess they have to learn, but a Skill makes things easy, Laken!”

“Yes, but maybe it makes things too easy.”

“I don’t get what you’re saying at all.”

I run my hands through my hair, dislodging a leaf.

“Look at it this way. When I was telling people how to make trebuchets, I knew how they were made, but not all the details. We were experimenting all the time to figure out how to get them to fire without breaking, how to make sure the sling was the right length—”

“Oh yeah! Remember when it threw that stone straight up? That was so scary!”

I nod.

“Right. We had to experiment, to test our results. But do you recall what happened the next day? Tessia became an [Engineer] and got a Skill. And then she knew the sling needed to be adjusted and the length shortened slightly. But she couldn’t explain why. She had an image of how the trebuchet was firing in her head, Durene!”

“Oh, like you do!”

“Exactly. And that’s the problem.”

“Huh?”

Durene’s forehead wrinkles. I throw up my hands.

“It was too easy! All of our hard work, all of our calculations—it didn’t matter! Tessia got a Skill and she could finish the trebuchet!”

“Which is good!”

“No! It’s terrible! It means—it means we don’t learn anything! So what if Tessia can make a trebuchet? If only she can do it, what’s the point?”

Durene stares at me like I’m crazy. I lower my hands and try to tell her the big secret I hit on, the secret that ties in to something Ryoka told me once. This world doesn’t change. Technologies stay the same, civilizations rise, but then fall and what they create doesn’t last. The world doesn’t change as a whole. Why? Because of the system that governs this world. The system of classes that’s holding people back.

Instinct over knowledge. That’s what runs this world, what allows people to cook, build, create, and repair the things around them. Grace without skill. People act using their Skills and never learn how things work. They have a [Basic Cooking] Skill that lets them cook pasta—when they could learn to do the same by memorizing a recipe!

That’s the problem. And all of the grand things in this world, the buildings, armor, even things like candles, are a result of Skills, of individuals with levels. And when those individuals die, that knowledge is lost.

Some things are based off of actual science, like arch bridges or windmills. But too often, the [Builder] or [Engineer] constructing the bridge doesn’t bother with actual mathematics. They just feel where the keystone in a bridge should be placed, or rely on their Skills to tell whether something they’re building will or won’t work. And that means that too often, people won’t try new things.

Why should they? Their Skills can do everything they need, or someone else’s Skills can. Why write down the schematics for a trebuchet and calculate firing distances and weight and the carrying capacity of wood when an [Engineer] can figure it all out by themselves?

That’s the flaw the people of this world share. They can redesign or perfect, but not innovate. Without a fundamental education, new ideas can spread at a snail’s pace or worse, be lost. This is what Ryoka was talking about. This is why technology hasn’t evolved over thousands of years.

I try to explain all of this to Durene, but she struggles to understand it. Of course. She comes from a world where all this is natural. But I come from a world where learning is passed down, where people can’t get Skills so they either teach each other how to do things or don’t do it at all. And that’s what my big idea is.

“Teach them math, Durene. Teach them how to count, how to read and write. Make blueprints, teach people how to create new things without Skills or classes. Make it so anyone can learn to build a trebuchet and gain a class. If I can do that, then I won’t have one or two talented [Engineers]. I’ll have a hundred. A thousand.”

Durene’s eyes go wide as she imagines it. Riverfarm, exporting talent, hiring out our people to build bridges, construct and build across Izril.

“Wow. But wait—if everyone knows how to do things, what’s the point of getting the class to begin with?”

I laugh.

“There’s always a need for Skills, Durene! It makes things easier—that’s great! But we can’t rely on them. And if I can make gaining a rare class like [Engineer] a certainty, then I’ll have a monopoly on talent. That’s how Riverfarm will succeed. Not with one [Cataphract], but with a hundred. I need to figure out how to make people gain the classes I want. And to do that…”

It’s a little line in the middle of conversation as I stroll into the village with Durene by my side. An aside to the [Lords] and [Ladies] who come to me asking how these ‘cookies’ are made, horribly mangling the German names for sweets. I drop it into the conversation when there’s a lull.

“If you have too many hands, consider sending them here. I believe Lord Tourant was complaining about overcrowding? Well, we have no shortage of tasks to be done, and I would consider it a personal favor.”

The [Lords] and [Ladies] blink in surprise, but at once they’re willing to offer me some young folk, send a few families, half a village that doesn’t really contribute to their estate, to make the journey down the very safe roads. I thank them, smiling, and they brighten up, as if giving me free workers and people would take a load off of their shoulders.

“Of course I could spare a few people, your Majesty. Of course they’re free citizens, but between you and me, they’d jump at the prospect of greener pastures. You might have to take them in hand, but I’m sure there are one or two hard workers among the dregs…”

“I would consider it a favor myself, your Majesty! Too many families in one of my villages. As if they can’t limit themselves to two children at most! And they complain about a lack of jobs—well, they can find work in a city if they’re so hungry for coin!”

“You are too kind, Lord Tourant. By all means, let them know there’s work to be had here, Lady Fel.”

I smile and shake hands and when they draw back to descend on another tray of hot cookies, I shake my head. It’s too easy, sometimes. How did that saying go?

“‘Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses…’”

“What’s that, sire?”

I turn. Gamel is standing behind me, offering me a hot cookie. I nearly laugh, but then I take it and break it in half.

“Oh, nothing, Gamel. Just something I heard once. A lesson, really. A nation needs people to thrive. And talent, raw talent is worth cultivating. Here. Take this.”

I offer him half the cookie. Gamel backs away.

“I couldn’t, your Majesty!”

“I insist. Just don’t let the nobles catch you eating it. They might try to take it from you. Where’s Durene? Does she have one?”

I turn, taking another cookie from the plate as Gamel surreptitiously devours the sweet treat. Durene is hovering around the crowd of grabbing nobles, clearly wanting one. I smile and she turns and beams with delight. She’s never had a treat like this before; sugar is expensive and this is the first time I’ve recreated a food from home. I smile and laugh and make light conversation with the nobility and dance them along on a string. And all the while I wait.

Wiskeria is ready. Beniar is in position. The plan is set.

And it’s nearly time to surprise everyone.

5.22 G

He sat in the dark house, waiting. His breathing was slow, deliberate. His heart beat a touch faster than necessary, but that was all. Everything he had put in motion was coming together and his role was almost exclusively that of a watcher. He had only one task to play.

Still, he was angry. Laken spoke into the silence.

“She lied to me.”

“Sire?”

Someone stirred. A young man, Nesor, sat across from him. The young [Mage] was sweaty, pale-faced. He had wanted to stand, but he’d been so nervous that Laken had made him sit. Nesor could not be allowed to faint. That would ruin everything. Laken turned his head, but not to address the young man. His sightless gaze stretched far into the distance, tracking something Nesor couldn’t understand from where he sat.

“She lied to me. I understand why, but…no. There’s nothing I can do about it. The plan won’t change.”

Laken’s words were bitter, cold. There was no room for doubt or hesitation, not now. Part of him was afraid, but the rest remembered hate. So he sat as Nesor shivered. The young [Mage] kept glancing at Laken and then away. Why? He was only younger than Laken by a few years. He should have more backbone. But he would serve.

They were moving. Laken saw it all unfold in his head. Like a movie, or what he’d always imagined it to be. He sighed.

“You fools.”

“Sire?”

“Wait.”

Nesor sat back uneasily. Laken sat, his chin resting on his hand. He waited, sensing it all coming together. Cold. He felt quite cold. Only it wasn’t his skin, it was in his heart. He waited, for bloodshed, for the right moment. Funny. He had never felt this way before, in his world.

He had thought he knew anger, knew what it was like to despise someone. But this was different. For the first time Laken knew what it was like to hate. He knew what it was like to have enemies. His teeth ground together. He uttered one word, restlessly.

“Wait.”

—-

The tribe had stopped for a break in the trees after a long day of marching when Poisonbite decided to speak to Rags. It wasn’t a spontaneous decision; she’d been contemplating it all day, really. And now, with evening drawing on, there would be little time before it was dark. Rags was a solitary eater and preferred to have her food alone; if there was any time before she slept to talk to her, it would be now.

The fading sunlight played off of metal as Poisonbite walked out of her all-female unit of Goblin warriors. She made her way across the busy camp, grunting as some Goblins waved at her or made suggestive motions for her to eat with them. Some wanted her company, others were more interested in her. A Redfang warrior looked hopeful until Poisonbite passed right by him without so much as a second glance. His companions hooted and laughed at him.

Redfang. To Poisonbite, they were a separate entity, even within Rags’ tribe. They didn’t precisely bother her, but she was always conscious of the difference between their elite group and her warriors. Poisonbite’s raiders had been good within Tremborag’s mountain, but the Redfangs were the best around without a doubt. That irked her, because she regarded Garen’s former tribe as a male fighting force, while hers was made of female Goblins and Hobs.

True, the Redfang elites took in any Goblin regardless of gender if they could fight. But their Chieftain, Garen, had placed his trust in male Goblins more than female ones and his thinking had influenced his tribe. Less than a quarter of all Redfang warriors were female and none of them were leaders. That annoyed Poisonbite, not least because Redscar hadn’t changed anything after he’d replaced Garen.

He was a fantastic warrior, she had to admit. Better than her. And he listened to her and respected her opinion when she gave it, which was good. But she wished fiercely that her raiders would one day be the equal of the Redfangs.

Someday. Poisonbite ignored the other Goblins, male and female, vying for her attention. Friendship aside, sex was not on her mind. Have too much of it and you’d stop being a warrior and instead be a mother. Everyone knew that. And Poisonbite couldn’t stand the idea of not fighting. There was too much to do! Especially now.

It was growing dark and the Goblins of the Flooded Water tribe were gathered around campfires. They could see well in the dark, but even they hated pitch-blackness. Poisonbite smelled cooking and quickened her pace.

She had something on her arm. Both arms, actually. It was a new addition to her armor. She looked down at the bracers on her arm. They were made of bark, of all things. Bark, padded old cloth, and bits of leather. She kept feeling at it, patting the bracer, touching the rough bark and the crude straps the [Hammerer] had made for her.

It was a strange thing. Poisonbite had received it a few hours after she’d woken up. It was one of the first pieces of scrap armor to be made in the tribe and it had been made for her. It was the how it had been made that had mystified her.

[Hammerers] were crude Goblin-versions of [Blacksmiths] who could repair dents and resize some armor, but they couldn’t make new armor this quickly or this well. And yet, all of the Goblin armorers in the tribe had been seized by creative genius upon waking and begun turning out crude armor made from scraps of metal, thick pieces of bark, leather, twine, and anything else they’d found. A good deal of the tribe was receiving new scrap armor to complement their existing armor.

The reason for this sudden boon wasn’t hard to figure out. It was Rags. It had to be. Word had quickly spread that she’d earned another Skill that affected her entire tribe: [Scavenger Armor].

It was no secret. Poisonbite understood keeping some Skills secret, especially in Tremborag’s tribe where infighting was how Goblins lived. But in a regular Goblin tribe? A Chieftain’s Skills were vitally important so every Goblin usually kept track of what their Chieftain’s level and best Skills were.

This was a good Skill. No one was denying that. But it was Rags’ reaction that prompted Poisonbite to approach her fire. Rags was sitting and staring moodily at the flames. Her eyes were shadowed. She’d been quiet and grumpy all day, on a day when her mood should have been happy. No one had asked her why. So Poisonbite took a risk and sidled over to the fire.

“Chieftain?”

Rags looked up. She seized up Poisonbite’s wary stance, her new bracers, and her expression in one glance and understood what the other Goblin wanted. She nodded grudgingly and Poisonbite took a seat.

“Armor. Good?”

Rags eyed Poisonbite’s new bracers. The Goblin [Warrior] chewed her lip and shrugged. She replied as any good war leader would, giving Rags her unbiased opinion.

“Is good. Armor is not like metal but…”

She tapped her chest, shifting her outer layer of clothes to reveal a flash of steel. Rags nodded. Poisonbite indicated one of her prized possessions, the chainmail she wore at all times, proof of her rank. It had saved her life eight times already and had only three holes, one under the armpit, a small tear along the lower back, and a series of torn links near her neck where it had saved her from a farmer’s woodcutting axe.

What she meant was that her new bracers were good, but hardly strong as real worked metal. They wouldn’t stop a powerful blow and they’d break quickly. It was cheap armor, but better than nothing, which was good. For a Goblin, free armor was an amazing gift. It would save lives in the long run, make the tribe that much stronger.

And yet, Rags’ expression remained dour. The smaller Goblin shuffled her feet, irritably swatting at a bug that was biting her arm. Poisonbite heard her mutter a Human curse and decided to ask.

“What?”

She pointed at Rags’ eyes. Goblins had no whites of their eyes like Humans, and their crimson eyes were naturally red, but it was still obvious that Rags had slept poorly. The Chieftain muttered to herself, not wanting to answer, but then she gave in.

“Nightmare.”

Poisonbite shrugged. Oh. That was it? She was almost a bit disappointed. She considered the fire for a moment and asked out of curiosity.

“What?”

This time there was a longer pause.

“Dead Humans.”

Rags stared into the fire. Poisonbite paused in surprise. Then she laughed.

“Dead Humans?”

She laughed and slapped her legs, but Rags’ response was a silent glare. Poisonbite quieted down, realizing she was serious. The older Goblin’s forehead wrinkled.

“Why?”

Nightmares she could understand, but all of her terrors had living things in them. Humans with burning torches, monsters snuffling around her as she hid—but dead Humans? If it was the undead she would understand, but Goblins were specific. Dead Humans. Why would that of all things make Rags unhappy?

Then something hit Poisonbite like a bolt of Noears’ lightning. She sat up and eyed the young Goblin. Was Rags interested in…? She looked around and found the Human in a moment. Even with thousands of Goblins around him, she could pick Sir Kerrig out by the way Goblins moved around him. Some cautiously, others curious. He didn’t belong and the tribe eddied around him. Poisonbite pointed.

“Him? Want?”

“No!”

Rags’ immediate denial made Poisonbite sigh in relief. That would have complicated things greatly. Rags chewed her lip, glaring at Poisonbite, who shrank a bit, realizing she might be prying too far. But Rags only muttered to herself again and then spoke.

“Killed many Humans.”

Poisonbite scratched a bug bite on the back of her left ear.

“So? Killing Frostfeeder Tribe.”

The Humans had been running down the Goblins, slaughtering them. Over half the tribe had died and the remainder were now part of Rags’ tribe. They’d babbled about Humans hunting them mercilessly over the last week, finding all their hiding spots. They’d been exhausted, worn down—the appearance of the Flooded Water tribe had been nothing short of a miracle for them. Poisonbite considered that any Humans hunting Goblins should die painfully, perhaps from a thrust from one of her poisoned daggers. But Rags thought differently.

“Humans will think dangerous.”

“So? Run or kill. Or hide.”

Poisonbite’s dismissive tone made Rags look up. She growled and Poisonbite swallowed hard.

“We are not Humans. We can be better.”

“How?”

The question went unanswered. Rags just stared moodily into the fire. After a while, Poisonbite got up and edged away from the fire. She was done. Food was coming and she had no desire to provoke her moody Chieftain any further. Rags was strange. Smart, but strange. She walked back, intending to get food with her warriors, but then she saw a ripple pass through the tribe.

Goblins sprang to their feet. Some grabbed weapons, and others rushed to put on armor. No one had blown a horn, but they’d spotted other Goblins doing the same. And those Goblins had spotted other Goblins, and so Poisonbite knew something was wrong. Her pulse became electric though she didn’t know why until a few seconds later.

“Chieftain!”

She turned and called the instant she saw a Redfang warrior riding his Carn Wolf through the camp. Rags looked up—she hadn’t noticed the reaction of her tribe—and immediately sprang to her feet. She ran towards the Redfang warrior as more Goblin officers ran over, having already sensed the change in the atmosphere.

“What?”

“Chieftain. Humans riding north. On road. Four.”

The Redfang scout spoke in quick Goblin, gesturing south. Poisonbite frowned. He’d spotted Humans heading up the road? Who cared? Rags’ official policy wasn’t to waylay travelers unless they were carrying something really important, and the way the Redfang warrior had dashed into camp had suggested an attack! She opened her mouth to curse at the warrior, but Rags held up a hand.

“Why matter?”

She glared at the Redfang warrior, but he didn’t shrink as his Carn Wolf huffed and sniffed the ground. Poisonbite stayed well clear of the massive wolf; she didn’t trust the gigantic Carn Wolves. Rags just pushed the giant muzzle out of her face as the wolf sniffed her. The Redfang warrior pulled his wolf back a pace as he struggled for words.

There was no Goblin word for what he wanted. So he spoke a Human one instead, one laden with as much feeling as he could convey. He pointed.

“Her.”

The Goblins around Rags went still. Rags stared up at the Redfang warrior, frowning. Poisonbite froze. There was only a limited number of ‘hers’ it could be. And the first that sprang to mind was—

She stood on a distant hilltop, fanning herself lightly as the armored pink [Knights] advanced. They cut down the charging Goblins, not slowed by the jabbing pikes or blades that bounced uselessly off their armor.

Poisonbite saw a Hob go down, a sword buried in her chest and slashed at the [Knight] in front of her. Her daggers didn’t scratch his armor and she saw the [Lady] turn and point as more of her warriors strode down the hill, killing, as Goblins screamed and died—

“Lady Bethal Walchaís.”

Someone muttered. Poisonbite turned and saw Pyrite. He’d been speaking with the Human, Sir Kerrig. One of the pink knights. He looked at Rags. She had frozen. All the Goblins were tense. Rags looked back at the Redfang warrior.

“Four? Her? Sure?”

He nodded three times, impatiently. There was no way he would have forgotten. How could any Goblin forget so soon? He pointed again.

“Four. Two…[Knights], Chieftain. One her. Other…him.”

The one with the rapier, the one who’d dueled Greydath of Blades. The tension around Rags skyrocketed even higher. Poisonbite reached for her daggers and felt sweat running down her claws. Four? They could beat four, couldn’t they? But was it a good idea? What if there were more? But if it was four—

“More Humans? Any?”

Rags demanded, but the scout just shook his head. No other Humans coming down the road. They were alone. Rags gnawed her lip. She flicked her eyes to Pyrite, to Redscar who was glaring, and then to the Human sitting on his wagon. Sir Kerrig was looking their way although he had no idea what was happening. Poisonbite saw Rags study the [Knight]’s stupid, confused face, and then saw Rags nod. The Chieftain turned and spoke sharply.

“Five—eight pikes. Noears, Poisonbite raiders, eighty Hobs. Six…six crossbows. And all Redfang warriors. Riders surround. Hurry!”

Poisonbite felt her heart leap. They were going to attack! She grinned fiercely and ran as Rags’ words instantly created chaos in the camp. Organized chaos. Units of Goblins raced into formation as the Redfang Warriors took into the trees, silent, racing to encircle the road. Rags whistled and her personal Carn Wolf bounded over, abandoning its meal. Rags climbed up and Pyrite appeared with his enchanted battleaxe. Poisonbite raced back, her best [Warriors] and five of her Hobs in tow. Rags pointed and the Goblins streamed after her as Goblins with the long wooden pikes and Hobs streamed towards her. Rags raised her voice as she rode through them all.

“No attack! Not until I say.”

No attack? Poisonbite stared at Rags’ back then pumped her arms and legs, racing after the small Goblin. What did she intend to do? Lady Bethal was here! It was a chance for vengeance! But—

‘We can be better.’ That was what Rags had said. What did she mean? Did she have a plan? Poisonbite ran, confused, following her Chieftain. What was Rags going to do? Just as importantly, what were the Humans going to do? If they attacked—Poisonbite’s grip tightened on her daggers.

There were only four this time. Let them attack. She could always use new armor.

—-

“Something’s happening.”

“Sire? Should I—”

“Wait. On my command, Nesor. Not a moment before. Wait—wait—”

—-

“Movement in the trees!”

Lady Bethal Walchaís was dozing slightly, riding through the forest and waiting until Sir Thomast decided they should make camp when the voice of one of her Rose Knights split the silence. Her head jerked up and she saw the [Knight] ahead of her, Sir Nil Moxae, unsheathe his blade. His companion, Dame Truvia Cartiil, turned, raising her spear as her mount started. Bethal looked around.

“Movement? From what?”

“I will ride ahead. Dame Truvia, with me?”

“Let’s ride!”

The two [Knights] galloped forwards, abandoning their mistress for a moment. Lady Bethal wasn’t afraid though—the man riding next to her was all the protection she needed. Usually. Thomast’s rapier was already drawn and she could see he was preparing to leap from his saddle if need be. He fought better on foot.

“Do you think it’s an ambush? Were we followed?”

“Impossible to say.”

Her husband turned his mount warily, keeping his eyes on the trees. Bethal couldn’t see anything in the growing darkness, but the enchanted lanterns she and her company carried could only reach so far into the trees. She heard a howl suddenly and jumped; her mare flicked its ears skittishly, but it was too well-trained to rear or bolt.

“Wolves?”

“Perhaps.”

Sir Thomast looked left and right. He frowned and turned.

“Keep your aura up.”

“Of course.”

Lady Bethal had activated her Skill the moment Sir Nil had spoken. The air around her felt barbed and while her mare was safe, anyone touching her against her will would cut themselves on something as sharp as steel. Still, Lady Bethal drew closer to Thomast, looking around uneasily.

“Goblins!”

A cry came from ahead of the two, startling Bethal. She saw both of her Rose Knights riding back, furiously spurring their mounts faster. Dame Truvia pointed into the trees as another howl echoed—this time from their rear.

“Goblins, milady! A score of them in the woods, all riding Carn Wolves!”

“Carn Wolves? But those are—”

“The same Goblins we faced a week ago! They must have driven south! We had no word of them—”

“There are more approaching on foot! We’re surrounded. Sir Thomast, your orders?”

Both [Knights] looked to Thomast rather than Bethal. The [Chevalier] looked around.

“They’re already to our rear?”

“A score of them, sir. The ones on foot are coming from ahead and to the right.”

“We ride back. Bethal, follow me!”

Sir Thomast turned his mount and Bethal did likewise. She kicked her mare in the flanks and the horse shot forwards. Sir Nil and Dame Truvia raced ahead, but they got no further than a hundred yards when they cried out.

“Pull back!”

Lady Bethal jerked her reins and her horse screamed and nearly reared. Sir Thomast stopped his mount and Sir Nil shouted.

‘There are two dozen mounted Goblins ahead of us! More circling!”

“We’re surrounded.”

Lady Bethal looked around. The trees were full of movement now. Sir Thomast glanced at her. Sir Nil turned, his sword and shield raised.

“We can cut through. If Sir Thomast can ward Lady Bethal—”

“Lady Walchaís’ mount isn’t armored. She’ll be dehorsed before we cut through!”

Sir Nil bit back an oath, looking back at Bethal. It was true; neither she nor Sir Thomast was riding a warhorse and neither mount had any barding. He looked around desperately.

“Lady Bethal, let us draw them off. We’ll ride left and attack them from the side. Perhaps then—”

“Don’t be foolish, Sir Nil. They’ve already marked all of us. Goblins won’t abandon one target for another. We break through together or not at all.”

Lady Bethal cut him off calmly. She looked around. Sir Thomast was studying the moving forest around them. She turned to him.

“We were so busy trying to throw off anyone that might pursue us that we forgot to worry about them. The Goblins, I mean. It’s such a silly error, isn’t it, Thomast?”

He didn’t immediately reply. Lady Bethal turned around in her saddle. Her horse was nervous now; it could sense the approaching Goblins. Bethal tried to sound jovial, though her heart was racing. Goblins—

“I wonder, was that why Emperor Laken was so concerned about which way we were going? Did he know, I wonder? We shouldn’t have lied to him. But I thought—”

“Bethal.”

Thomast’s voice made her grow quiet. He looked around and she realized the howling had stopped. Lady Truvia shifted.

“Sir Thomast, if we’re to break out—”

“We were already encircled. We defend my wife. Prepare to dismount and fight among the trees if need be.”

“Yes sir.”

“The Goblins will pursue us unless we make it clear it isn’t worth the effort. I will aim for their Chieftain; you shield her from all attacks.”

“Thomast—”

He turned, his rapier shining in the darkness. Thomast’s eyes were filled with worry. He reached out and gripped her arm. It was so unlike him that Bethal nearly gasped. A sign of the true danger. He looked at her.

“Stay with me.”

“Always.”

There was no time for anything more. Bethal saw the first Goblin riding a Carn Wolf bound out of the trees. Sir Nil turned to face him, uttering a challenge. More mounted Goblins appeared out of the darkness, more and more. From the front, from behind—all sides. Goblins carrying terribly long pikes, more aiming crossbows directly at the four Humans. Hobs, dozens upon dozens of Hobs, striding along.

And then Bethal saw her. A small Goblin, barely larger than a child, riding a large wolf and carrying a black crossbow. She aimed it directly at Bethal’s heart as Sir Thomast and the two [Knights] surrounded Bethal on all sides. Bethal felt her breath catch. Was this how she died at last? Goblins killed her family. Her father, her mother, her sisters—had they finally caught up to her?

She was afraid—

—-

“Now!”

“Sire?”

“Cast the spell, Nesor! Tell her to do it now.”

—-

Rags was afraid. She felt her heart pounding. Her sweaty grip on the black crossbow was bad; she adjusted her grip so the recoil wouldn’t send the crossbow spinning from her hands. She aimed at the woman in front of her and felt it in the air.

Danger. It screamed at her. The man with the rapier was staring at her. The two [Knights] flanked their lady. The Goblins holding crossbows aimed at the four. Hobs stood in the darkness as Carn Wolves growled. There were over two hundred Goblins surrounding the four, but Rags still felt alone.

It was her. Lady Bethal. The one who’d led her army of knights against her tribe. Rags could still remember the battle. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

Kill her. The rush of blood in her veins made every moment feel like years. She could feel Redscar on her left, his sword drawn. Pyrite stood on her right, the battleaxe burning.

“So. Sir Kerrig and Welca perished. I hoped they managed to escape. Alas, I underestimated your kind.”

Lady Bethal spoke first. Her lips were pale and she shook, but her finger alone was steady as it pointed at the sword Redscar held. She shifted her finger and Pyrite grunted. Lady Bethal turned her head, keeping her chin high.

“It was truly a shame. I thought the Goblin Lord was the true threat. I thought a tribe could be left alone, no matter how cunning their Chieftain. Ah, but this is fitting.”

She looked at Rags, right at her. Rags felt a shock and her finger twitched. The man standing next to her raised his rapier. He could strike her from this far, cut the air. The Goblins around Rags tensed. If they fired, the [Lady] died. The [Knights] would not. Neither would the [Chevalier]. Rags exhaled slowly. She raised a hand and the Goblins relaxed a fraction.

Lady Bethal had gone still. Now she looked at Rags.

“Well? What are you waiting for? An invitation? You have it!”

Her voice trembled a bit as she snapped. She was afraid. She was afraid of them. Rags saw it in her. The young Goblin fought as her head told her to fire. Vengeance. But her memory showed her the Humans she’d butchered yesterday. And her heart showed her a face.

Erin stared at Rags, her face pale, her hands gripping the reins of her petrified mare. There was nothing similar about Bethal and Erin. Not in face or body. But that look. That look in her eyes. Rags felt her finger squeeze the trigger. Then relax. Slowly, painfully, she lowered the crossbow.

“No fight.”

She said it once, and then louder.

“No fight!”

The Goblins around her started. They looked at her and then at each other, but slowly the crossbows lowered and pointed at the ground. The Humans stared. Lady Bethal stared as Rags urged her wolf forwards a pace. Rags met the [Lady]’s eyes.

“You killed Goblins.”

Bethal blinked at her. This wasn’t what she’d expected. Rags repeated herself again, urgently.

“You killed Goblins. You. But we—not kill you. You are…prisoner. Like other two.”

“What?”

A scoffing, angry sound came from the male [Knight]. But Bethal held up a hand. She stared at Rags.

“Other two? Do you mean Sir Kerrig and Lady Welca? Are they alive?”

“Yes. They prisoner. You. Prisoner.”

Rags didn’t know why she was saying it. But the image of shooting Lady Bethal through the chest, the thought of pulling the trigger—was hard. She hadn’t attacked this time. She’d been riding. She’d killed Goblins, but Rags had killed Humans. Somehow, it made a difference. Rags pointed.

“Drop weapons.”

“Never.”

The [Knights] behind Lady Bethal bristled. Rags scowled.

“Drop. Or shoot.”

“We will cut down every Goblin here should Lady Walchaís fall!”

One of the [Knights] promised darkly, raising her spear. The Goblins tensed. Lady Bethal frowned.

“Lower your spear, Truvia.”

“Lady Bethal! Surrendering would be a death sentence—”

“I know. Let us go, little Goblin Chieftain. We will not surrender. Let us go.”

Bethal urged her mount forwards a step. The man beside her reached out and she held up a hand.

“Thomast.”

He subsided. Rags stared as Bethal approached. Her gaze bored into Rags’ head. There was a pressure about her. A prickling sensation, as if the air around her were the spines of an animal. But more—she felt vast.

“If my people are alive, I will ransom them. And I will ransom myself and my company.”

“Ransom?”

The word was known, but unknown to Rags. Bethal nodded.

“Pay. It need not come to death, Goblin Chieftain. I will give you a fair price for our safe passage and my people’s return, my honor on it. Will you accept that?”

She pushed and Rags felt the urge to agree. But she bit her tongue, gritted her teeth.

“No. Surrender.”

She raised the crossbow and aimed at Bethal. The [Lady] didn’t flinch, though the two [Knights] and her husband tensed. She stared at Rags curiously.

“So small. So fierce! Are you really a Chieftain?”

The question made the Goblins around Rags shudder with anger. What an insult! Bethal looked around, bemused.

“Are you truly the same kind of Goblins as the ones I know?”

The question went unanswered. Now everyone was staring at Lady Bethal. She looked back at Rags.

“I saw the Goblin King. I met one of his Lords. You are different. Prisoners? Do Goblins do such things? Velan the Kind knew no such mercy.”

Velan the Kind. Rags shuddered. She had to take her finger away from the trigger again or risk pulling it. She looked at Bethal. The woman’s gaze wasn’t hostile. She searched Rags’ gaze.

“Peace, little Goblin. Why do you want us as prisoners?”

“Punish. Hostage!”

Rags growled. Bethal nodded.

“Safety. I understand. But know that my people will not rest until I am returned. I killed your people. I will pay the cost of their lives. In magic and gold.”

“Not enough!”

Her voice was too high-pitched. The Goblins shifted. Bethal didn’t blink.

“It is all I can offer. Please, Chieftain of Goblins. If my [Knights] are truly alive, show me. Offer me goodwill and I will return it.”

“They live.”

“Show me. Let me see them. And I will offer you peace. A boon. Protection from other Humans. Safe passage. Whatever you wish.”

Her words were soft, tempting. Desperate. Rags saw that in her as well. Bethal spoke quietly as Rags fought.

“There is nothing to be gained from killing me. The cost would be too high. But if there is a chance—are they truly alive?”

The crossbow was heavy. Rags lowered it slightly.

“Yes.”

“Are they close? Unharmed?”

“Man is. Female ran. She—”

Rags heard a horn blare in the silence. She jerked. The Goblins around her raised their weapons. The mare danced and Lady Bethal turned as the [Knights] and her husband moved forwards. She looked north, back the way Rags and the Goblins had come.

“What was that?”

Rags didn’t know. She heard the horn blow again, frantically. Three short blasts. A distress call! She looked at Bethal, suddenly afraid.

“What you do?”

“Nothing.”

The woman looked taken aback. Rags lifted the crossbow and saw the man’s grip on the rapier shift. Pyrite lifted his axe. Bethal held up a hand.

“I swear it! On my house and name!”

Rags held her gaze. She turned. Redscar was looking back. The horn blew again, and another one blew, desperately. Rags looked at him. Redscar snarled.

“Chieftain. Trouble.”

They had to go. Rags hesitated. She looked back at Lady Bethal. The woman was watching her. Rags pointed.

“Redfangs! Move!”

The wolf riders dashed into the forest, howling. The Goblins on foot shifted. Rags leaned out of her saddle and snapped an order.

“All go back! Fifteen Hob and half crossbows stay!”

The warriors rushed backwards, leaving only a handful of Hobs and a lot of Goblins with crossbows. They kept their weapons trained on Lady Bethal. Rags turned—Pyrite grunted and pointed. She nodded. He ran. She turned to one of the Hobs in charge and lowered her voice.

“Aim at her. If attacked, run.”

The Hob nodded, glancing at the frozen Humans. Rags sat back upright and snapped at her personal escort.

“Ride!”

She kicked her wolf and it leapt into the forest, following the Goblins running around her. Rags turned her head back and saw Lady Bethal staring at her. For a moment their gazes locked, and then Rags was racing ahead, running. The camp was only a short distance away. What had happened? What—

She burst through the trees and saw shadows flickering through the trees. No light. Just shadows. Flickers of light caught her attention—burning embers from scattered campfires, fallen torches—but no light. She heard Goblins screaming, heard the pounding of hoofbeats—

Hooves? Goblins rode wolves! She turned and saw a Goblin scream as a shadow passed by. A dark shape slashed and Rags saw a sword flash. The Human rode past her, trampling a Goblin. Not one Human. Many Humans! They rode, shouting and cutting down Goblins around her, too fast to track in the near darkness. She heard them screaming.

“Laken! Laken and the Unseen Empire!”

“Riverfarm!”

“Follow the Captain! This way!”

She saw a rider in full steel armor whirl and turn. He cut a Hob across the face as the Goblin ran at him and the riders following him speared the Hob. The armored rider pointed and the Humans on horseback charged forwards again, running over Goblins and Hobs alike.

But that was wrong! Rags gaped. Where were her warriors? They should be in formation, fighting! There couldn’t be more than a few hundred riders here at most! Where was—

“[Light]!”

Rags called a ball of searing white light into being and threw it up. The shimmering orb flew up through the trees and cast the shadows into relief. Rags looked around and saw what she’d failed to see before. There was something in the trees, drifting past her.

Fog? Mists? No. Smoke. It was dark black and green and drifted at head-height through the trees. It was thick and Rags saw it was cutting off over half the camp. The riders streamed away from it, cutting down the Goblins in the clear space. But in the smoke? Where were the others?

Rags saw a group of Goblins stagger out of the smoke. She urged her mount forwards, shouting at them. They were armed! Warriors! She raced towards them and saw them staggering. Falling? Rags stared as, one by one, the band of Goblins collapsed. Half fell, coughing, grasping at their throats. The others weakly tried to raise their weapons, covering their eyes.

Their eyes? Rags saw something leaking from a Goblin’s eyes. He screamed, a rasping, choking cry. He looked to her—and an arrow sprouted from his chest. Rags jerked. She heard a whistling sound and beneath her, her Carn Wolf howled. An arrow had pierced his side! He jerked and Rags heard more arrows thud into the ground. She looked in the direction of the archers, but saw nothing.

They were under attack! Archers, poisonous smoke—and the cavalry. Rags couldn’t see the Redscar warriors, but she could hear howls, spread out in the darkness. How were the Humans seeing? She looked for her warriors, her organized units and saw nothing.

“Rally!”

Rags screamed the word. She raised her hand and shot another ball of light into the air. Her Carn Wolf howled and she saw more Goblins moving towards her. Some were in the poisonous fog. They stumbled out, blind, coughing. And Rags saw the mounted Humans turn.

“Rally! Form line!”

She shouted at them, reaching for her sword. The Goblins ran towards her, many falling, and Rags saw something flicker overhead.

Arrows. One flashed by her chest. She jerked and felt something strike her mount in the head. It fell and Rags cried out as her Carn Wolf crashed to the ground. She rolled away and saw the light above her head go out. Someone had ended her spell.

Thunk. Thunkthunkthunkthunkthunk—

Goblin screams. Rags struggled up, looking around wildly. She didn’t see the Goblins. She heard more arrows landing and ran, desperately. Something was ahead. Rags saw the air darken and jerked backwards. The poison! It was drifting across her camp. Had the Humans put it there? Where was Pyrite? Where was—

“Chieftain!”

A voice amid the screaming. Rags turned and saw a Hob running towards her. He had a spear and his eyes were wide. He couldn’t find anyone in the darkness. She gasped to see him.

“Come! Must get light!”

She ran towards him. The Goblin opened his mouth and then turned. He snarled; Rags saw a shape amid the trees. She heard a shout and saw a black rider flash past her. He cut and the Hob in front of her fell, gasping, clutching at the axe stuck in his chest.

“No.”

Rags ran towards him. The Hob grabbed at the axe as the Human on the horse cursed and rode on. He grabbed the axe as Rags stopped. She fumbled at her belt. Healing potion. She had to have—

“Chieftain?”

The Hob’s lungs were filling with blood. He pulled the axe free before she could stop him. She heard a wet, tearing sound, and then silence. She lifted the potion and saw the limp body on the ground.

“Wait.”

She reached for him, but there was nothing there anymore. Rags slowly corked the healing potion and stood back up. She looked around. She could hear more shouting, see more riders moving through the darkness. Arrows were landing. The poison was moving.

“Rally! Rally here!”

Rags screamed the words, searching for Goblins in the darkness. But there was no one around her. It was as if the Humans had brought madness with them. Rags saw Goblins fleeing into the poisonous smoke, running from riding Humans, shooting back wildly at the archers they couldn’t see. It was chaos. She was alone.

Alone. Rags shouted but no one could hear. The poison mist was drifting through the camp, covering staggering Goblins trying to run. Arrows flew around her, cutting down the Goblins emerging from the poison. And in between the poisonous fog were the riders, galloping, scything down her people. Turning, wheeling.

Humans. They were killing her tribe. Where had they come from? They weren’t Bethal’s people. Rags felt—shocked. Something beyond shock then reached her core. Her head rang. She stumbled, looking for her people.

A poison cloud at her back, the riders ahead. Only the dead around her. Rags raised her head and saw them at last. A flicker of light. A group of Humans far away, aiming their bows. And a cauldron—many bubbling pots and Humans fanning the smoke, blowing it their way. They loosed another volley and Rags heard the Goblins scream. Then the black riders raced past her, cutting down a group of Goblins that tried to form a pike formation with a third of their number.

Oh.

They’d ambushed them. Just like they’d done. Somehow, the Humans had known they were there. Rags nodded. That made sense. She looked around. It was the same. They’d come for her tribe, come for her. She hadn’t expected it. But that was what was happening. They had come and were killing everyone.

Rags felt—pain. Pain, and hurt. But nothing else. She looked inside her heart for anger. She looked for rage, reached for it and found nothing. Because, in her soul, in her inner self, nothing in Rags was surprised. She looked around at the blood. At the silent bodies.

Look at them. All of them. The small ones curled up to the adults. By poison, by blade, by arrow. It was all the same.

This was how things were. Again and again, for years and centuries. Forever. This was what they did. Rags slowly reached for the crossbow she’d tied to her back. Slowly, awkwardly, she drew it and looked around.

The riders streamed past, shouting. Rags raised the crossbow and aimed. She pulled the trigger and felt it kick against her arm. One of the dark shadows fell and a horse reared. Rags mechanically felt at the quiver at her side. The horses rode past her, turning, cutting.

Place the bolt. Cock the crossbow. Rags lifted it and turned. Again she pulled the trigger. Another shape fell.

They were turning. One pointed his sword and Rags knew there was no time. She raised her hand and fire flew. It struck a horse and Rags saw the rider flailing as the animal screamed.

This was how it happened. Every time. She saw the Humans charging, heard the cry. She held her ground. Her finger shifted, another rider fell, burning.

A Human in armor was leading them. He rode towards her, his face obscured by a dark steel helmet. Rags pointed at him and the flaming arrow struck his chest. Too weak; he rode through it. He had a sword in his hand. Rags reached for hers.

Sword. Buckler—she fumbled and dropped it. The rider lowered in his saddle. She thought she could see his face through the helmet. She heard a word as he leaned down. She swung and heard the rushing air, felt her blade bite into the horse. And then she heard his voice as he cut her chest.

“So small.”

It was a whisper, lost among the screaming. For a moment, a frozen moment, Rags looked up and saw his eyes. And then the blade cut into her chest. Rags twisted with the impact, her grip loosening on her sword. The horse screamed as her blade was ripped from her hand. She blinked and looked at the blood streaming from her chest. The rider wrenched his sword and the world blurred. Rags stumbled and she saw him kick his stallion. He raced past her. She heard Goblins scream around her as she sank to her knees.

“Oh.”

Rags clutched at her chest. Blood dripped between her claws. She wavered and felt her knees give. She lay down, staring at the sky.

Her chest was wet. She felt tired. Cold. There was nothing in her heart. No fury. Not enough hate to make her reach for the potion at her belt. She should never have expected anything more.

The Humans rode past her, whooping, shouting war cries, cutting down the Goblins that fled. Ignoring her. Another body on the ground. Rags wanted to tell them to stop. She hadn’t started it. She hadn’t killed the lady. She’d tried—

But they’d killed the Human army. The ones chasing Goblins. And these Humans knew. Or did they care? They were cutting down children and Goblins with no weapons, laughing, screaming. The poison cloud drifted over Rags’ head and she felt her lungs burning.

This was what they did. Rags closed her eyes and coughed once. She thought—

—-

“Chieftain!”

Pyrite turned and shouted for Rags. He couldn’t see anything in the darkness. The darkness was nearly perfect in the forest. All of the campfires were scattered. The torches had been knocked over and the Humans were riding through the forest, cutting Goblins down!

How could they see? How could they know where each Goblin was? Could they see in the dark? The Hob saw a flash and saw an arrow land close to his foot. He shouted.

“Shields!”

The Goblins around him instantly raised their shields. He heard thudding impacts and then a scream. A Goblin fell in front of him. He looked around wildly.

“Where?”

There was no vision! No order! Black and green smoke was obscuring half the forest. Pyrite had sent a scout into it and the Goblin had begun choking halfway in. Poison of some kind. The riders were dominating the other half—they were bearing down on any group of Goblins. There were only a few hundred of them, but they’d scattered the Goblin’s formations. Pyrite had arrived with a group of pikes, crossbows, and Hobs to find nothing at all.

“Where are Redfang? Where is Rags? Where are warriors?”

He shouted desperately. The Goblins around him looked around wildly. Nothing. There was howling from Carn Wolves, but it sounded like it was coming from inside the black smoke. On the other side? Pyrite looked around. Arrows, riders—what was the priority?

He heard a howl from his left and saw a Redfang warrior on a Carn Wolf charging. Alone. He had a bloody blade and was headed towards a cluster of shadows—

No wait. Those were Humans! Pyrite’s vision picked out a dark group with bows and a few flickering fires. A group of Humans, archers! They shot the charging Redfang warrior and his mount dead as Pyrite watched. They had set up in front of three black cauldrons belching smoke.

Cauldrons. Pyrite’s eyes widened. He pointed at the burning vats and shouted.

“Poison! Follow!”

The Goblins around him charged after Pyrite as he ran through the forest. The Humans with bows noticed him running and called an alarm.

“Hob charging! Loose!”

Pyrite heard the bows sing and raised his arm, covering his face. He felt something strike him in the chest and roared as the burning pain filled his shoulder. But the arrow had lodged in his fat; another struck him in the belly, another in the arm. Missed his head. Pyrite lowered his hand and saw the Humans in front of him. To the side were the pots. Pyrite lifted his battleaxe and roared. He swung and the Human [Archer] fumbling with her shortsword disappeared. Pyrite felt the impact as his battleaxe sheared through her and roared.

“Back! Back!”

The Humans screamed as Goblins charged past Pyrite. They rammed into them with pikes, impaling the Humans as Pyrite swung again. The [Archers] fled, shouting in panic.

“Fall back to the horses! Retreat!”

“Follow!”

Pyrite bellowed at the Goblins. He saw a Hob kick over a pot and swung at the other two, knocking the cauldrons to the ground and spilling whatever was inside. Smoke shot up as the flames were doused; Pyrite coughed and felt his eyes and throat begin to burn. He staggered away and coughed before shouting an order.

“Bad smoke!”

The Goblins heard him and avoided the poisonous fumes. They chased the Humans, cutting down half as they scrambled onto their horses tethered nearby. The Humans fled and Pyrite called them back.

“More archers! More pots! Find!”

There had to be. He roared at the Hob who’d kicked over the pots and he and six other Hobs led another group of Goblins back through the forest. Pyrite ran ahead, snapping the shafts of the arrows, bellowing.

“Light! Light!”

They needed to see! A Goblin grabbed a piece of wood and tried to stoke the fire the cauldrons had been burning on. He lifted a torch and Pyrite, remembering his axe, swung it into a tree, bellowing.

The tree caught alight as the enchanted axe set it aflame. Goblins rushed forwards with branches and sticks and Pyrite pointed. The riders were still circling the camp.

“Charge!”

The Humans had spotted the Goblin warriors and charged towards them. Pyrite roared and raised his axe. The first Human had a spear. It was leveled at Pyrite’s chest. The Hob charged forwards and then dodged right at the last moment. Into the path of the horse! The startled animal reared, but Pyrite didn’t give it a chance to strike him with its hooves. He swung and felt an impact. The rider and horse fell and Pyrite kicked. The Human took the blow in the chest and fell, gurgling. More riders came at him. Pyrite swung his axe, roaring.

“Pikes! Wall!”

The Goblins around him remembered their training and set their pikes. The horses ran into the pikes or tried to turn and the riders crashed into the Goblin formation. Hobs and Goblins armed with axes and swords ran between the pikes, and fell on the immobilized riders. Pyrite roared and advanced, his axe cutting down Humans and horses alike.

“Break away! Retreat!”

A panicked voice signaled a second retreat. Pyrite shouted for the Goblins not to pursue. This wasn’t important! They had to find others!

“Light!”

He roared again, louder. The Goblins snatched up branches. Pyrite saw another group of Humans loosing arrows and ordered another charge. This time the Humans ran before he could close the distance.

“They’re reforming! Get away!”

“General Wiskeria’s ordered the retreat! Move to the rally point!”

“Take down that Hob!”

Someone shouted from the left. Pyrite spun and saw an armored Human bearing down on him with a group of mounted Humans. He swung and the Human cursed, pulling his mount away to avoid Pyrite’s strike. He rode past Pyrite, hacking down a Goblin and Pyrite cut down a Human trying to strike him.

“Captain Beniar! We have—”

A man screamed as Goblins swarmed his saddle. Beniar, the armored Human, turned, but before he could charge again, a snarl made his horse rear. A Carn Wolf leapt out of the darkness, riderless, and Pyrite saw more Redfang warriors stream out of the night. Half were coughing, and their mounts were in similar pain, but they bore down on the riders.

“Pull out! Back to Wiskeria!”

Beniar shouted the order and his horses wheeled. They raced through the forest as the Redfang warriors gave chase. Pyrite saw a shower of arrows flying and two riders fell with their wolves. He shouted.

“Stop! Ambush!”

The Redfang warriors pulled away as more arrows began cutting them down. The Human [Riders] rode on, shouting, and Pyrite saw the largest group of [Archers] yet. They were shooting down the Goblins that were trying to pursue. Pyrite took a deep breath and bellowed.

“Stop!”

Every Goblin in earshot turned. They broke off their pursuit and dashed towards him. The Redfang warriors rode over and Pyrite shouted up at one of the leaders.

“Humans with bows! Do not go!”

“Redscar says attack!”

“No! Find Goblins! Find Chieftain! Find Noears and others!”

The Redfang warrior hesitated, and then nodded. He took his riders back, circling the camp, as Pyrite saw the Humans continuing to retreat. He looked around at the Goblins under his command.

“Hobs! Find Chieftain! Find others!”

The Hobs around him nodded and broke up, forming groups out of the smaller Goblins. It wasn’t Rags’ tactics, but traditional Goblin ones. It was all Pyrite could think of; the Humans were running and he had no idea how many Goblins were alive. They needed Rags! Where was she?

Figures emerged from the darkness as Pyrite’s blood cooled a bit and he began to feel the pain from the cuts in his arms and three arrows. He saw lightning crackling, and Noears emerged from the darkness. The Goblin was uninjured, but he was followed by Poisonbite whose eyes were swollen nearly shut. She was wheezing, barely able to breathe.

“Pyrite! Where Chieftain?”

Noears looked around, his hands giving off the smell of burnt air. Pyrite yanked an arrow from his chest with a growl and poured a bit of healing potion on the wound. He shoved the rest at Poisonbite who fumbled for it.

“Don’t know. Search. Need lights!”

“Can light!”

Noears immediately threw a ball of light into the air, illuminating the dark forest. Pyrite nearly hit him—if he could have done that, why didn’t he do it earlier? But the [Mage] clearly hadn’t been thinking of that. And the light attracted more attention.

“Pyrite!”

Redscar rode out of the darkness, his enchanted frost blade covered in blood. He was unharmed, and his Carn Wolf had bloody fangs. He was positively alight with fury. He pointed at Pyrite.

“Where are Humans?”

“Running. That way.”

Pyrite pointed. Redscar snarled.

“Hunt them down! Redfangs!”

He made to ride, but Pyrite caught the wolf and yanked it back.

“No. Find Chieftain!”

The Carn Wolf snarled and tried to bite Pyrite. The Hob punched it. Redscar howled in fury and spat at Pyrite.

“Humans!”

“Find Chieftain!”

Pyrite bellowed at him. Redscar hesitated. Then he turned and raised his war horn and blew two long blasts and two short blasts. After a moment a howl answered him and he turned.

“Smell her! Follow!”

Pyrite ran after him. He ran past Goblin bodies, over one that groaned, past a downed horse, through a burned campfire—so many bodies. He ran through a clearing patch of smoke, eyes burning despite having kept them closed through most of them, and saw Rags.

She was lying on the ground, her head lying at an angle. Goblins stood around her as Quietstab knelt by her side. He had an empty potion bottle by one side. The ground was covered in blood. Pyrite’s ears rang. He ran forwards, nearly throwing Quietstab aside. He reached for Rags.

“Potion?”

“One. Need more!”

The bottle Quietstab had taken was from Rags’ belt. Pyrite reached for his bottle and realized it was empty. So was Quietstab’s. He turned and roared.

“Potion! Now!”

Redscar leapt from his wolf’s back and grabbed a bottle. He tossed it to Pyrite and the Hob tore the stopper out. He reached for Rags and carefully lifted her. She was cold.

“Where hurt?”

“Chest. Healed, but—”

Rags wasn’t responding. Pyrite forced her mouth open and poured the healing potion down her throat. Anxiously, he felt at her chest, put his hand over her mouth. Was she…?

He felt the slightest of heartbeats, the faintest of breaths and a cough. She was alive! Barely. Pyrite sat back.

“Alive?”

Redscar looked worried. All of the Goblins were clustering around, their eyes wide. Pyrite hesitated. Rags was still unconscious. She was breathing. That was what mattered. He stood up and forced the Goblins back.

“Give room! Quietstab, guard!”

The Hob nodded. Pyrite looked around. Redscar glanced at Rags and then turned his head.

“Humans attacked.”

“Ambush. Poison and darkness and arrows.”

Pyrite agreed. Redscar snarled. He slashed with his sword, spraying half-frozen droplets of blood.

“We hunt! Redfangs go. Hobs too!”

“No. Chieftain is wounded.”

“Humans are running!”

“Second ambush!”

Pyrite shook his head. He’d seen it. The Humans were pulling back, but they’d been baiting the Goblins into following so they could tear them apart with bows. Redscar snarled.

“Not enough Humans. We go.”

“No.”

Pyrite grabbed Redscar’s arm. The other Goblin was smaller, far smaller than Pyrite. Redscar froze and looked up at Pyrite.

“Let go.”

His sword raised and Redscar’s eyes narrowed dangerously. But Pyrite refused to let go. His grip tightened. Redscar’s arm groaned and the Goblin stared into Pyrite’s eyes. Pyrite rumbled.

“Your duty is to tribe. Obey.”

“Chieftain cannot give orders.”

“Chieftain is Chieftain! And I am second! Obey!”

Pyrite felt Redscar’s bones under his hand. The Goblin growled and Pyrite growled right back. The two stood together and then Redscar abruptly nodded. Instantly, Pyrite let go and Redscar snatched his hand away. He sheathed his sword angrily.

“What now?”

There was fury burning in his eyes, but he was obeying. For now. Pyrite looked down at Rags. She looked so small, so weak lying there. She had to be alright. She would wake up. He looked around at the wounded Goblins, the destroyed camp and felt a weight on his shoulders.

“Now? Find wounded? Count living. And make ready. Humans will come back. Lots of them.”

The Goblins looked at him. Redscar growled. They all knew it was true. This was only the start. The Humans had found them. And they would be back.

—-

“G-general Wiskeria says they’re pulling back. For tonight. The Goblins aren’t pursuing any longer. She says there are too many to attack. Unless you think otherwise. Do you want…want me to send her another [Message], Emperor?”

“No, Nesor. Tell her to pull back and treat her wounded. The plan is a success. Tell her congratulations and to prepare for another message within the hour. Understand?”

I sense Nesor’s pale face nod towards me. The [Mage] closes his eyes and his lips begin to move, forming the words he’s sending via [Message] spell. He’s a poor caster so it takes him laborious minutes to send my words to Wiskeria’s [Mage]. And even longer to hear her reply.

“She says that she understands and is holding. Emperor Laken?”

He looks at me, sweat rolling down his head. I can sense his fatigue, smell his body odor. He’s kept me in constant touch with Wiskeria this last hour and the effort has taxed him. I nod and rise.

“That’s enough. Good work, Nesor. Take a break; I’ll handle things from here.”

“Thank you, your Majesty.”

He breathes a sigh of relief and slumps in his chair. I look around the dark house. This is Wiskeria’s home, unfurnished in large part. It’s quiet. Dark. I don’t need illumination so I haven’t bothered to light a candle despite the late hour. It must be close to pitch-black for Nesor, but I navigate my way to the door with ease.

“Get some rest. Here.”

“Here? But isn’t this—”

“I may need to speak to Wiskeria again. Sleep here, Nesor. Eat if you need to—but be ready for the morning. I need to speak to the others.”

I pause, thinking. Nesor’s worn out.

“Verdammt! I need to send those [Message] spells. Nesor, send a brief [Message] to Wiskeria and see if Lady Bevia’s [Mage] can do it. If not—”

“I can do it, Your Majesty. I think…if I have a mana potion.”

Nesor fumbles weakly at his belt. I nod.

“Good. In that case, I’ll rely on you.”

I pause at the door.

“Excellent work, Nesor. Lady Rie will be proud, I’m sure of it.”

I sense a smile light up Nesor’s face.

“T-thank you, your Majesty.”

He slumps back in his chair and drinks half his mana potion. After I leave. I watch him with my [Emperor] senses for a few minutes as I stride through the village, but he seems fine. I had wondered if he’d be up to the challenge, but he came through. And it worked! My heart is beating too fast, and I feel blood thundering through my veins, though I haven’t done anything. All I could do was watch.

But I felt like I was there. I saw Beniar and my Blacksky Riders sweeping through the Goblin camp. I saw Wiskeria’s brew do its work, blinding and suffocating the Goblins while her [Archers] shot Goblins from afar. Damn that Hob and those mounted Goblins. If they hadn’t attacked, we might have—

No, focus. This is enough. I have to make the next part count. I stride towards a familiar person in Riverfarm, wrenching my attention away from the Goblins. I can still sense them, on my lands, regrouping, salvaging their ruined camp. They’re still there, many of them. Thousands. But less now. A good number less.

“Prost?”

The man turns and I sense he’s holding a torch.

“Emperor Laken? Is everything…?”

“Fine. The plan’s worked, Mister Prost. Have you called the others?”

“Yes, your Majesty. They’re all there. Some are complaining, but only to each other.”

“They’ll shut up as soon as I tell them. Come.”

I nod and Prost pushes open the double doors to my meeting hall. The audience chamber is cramped with all the [Lords] and [Ladies] present, but they turn as one and give me room to stride towards my throne. I sense Durene in the crowd, and Lady Rie. Both hurry towards me.

“Laken, what’s going on?”

“Your Majesty? Mister Prost summoned us all here—disturbing several nobles from their beds! May I ask what—”

“Silence, Lady Rie.”

I turn my head and she falls still. I reach out and grab Durene’s hand.

“I’ll explain everything in a moment, Durene. Just wait. Gamel?”

The young man stands by my throne, standing at attention.

“Yes, sire?”

“Announce me.”

“At once.”

I hear Gamel take a deep breath, and then shout, surprising the nobles of Izril.

“[Lords] and [Ladies] of Izril! His Majesty, ruler of the Unseen Empire, Protector of Riverfarm and Durene’s Cottage! Emperor Laken Godart!”

I take my seat on the throne and hear a susurration throughout the room. The nobles wince, their ears ringing and stare at me as I sit on my throne. I sense some of them hesitate. I know what they’re thinking. Why are they here? Are they supposed to kneel? Why have I called them? I put their fears and speculations to rest as I raise my voice.

It’s soft after Gamel’s shouting, but I make sure it carries throughout the room. Calm. Loud voice but not too loud. Controlled. I turn my closed eyes from face to face, noting their reactions. They can’t meet my eyes, closed or not.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I bid you welcome. I am sorry for waking you at this late hour, but I have news of grave importance. As you may know, I have sworn to defend the roads and lands around Riverfarm. Yesterday, it came to my attention that another force had entered my domain.”

I hear a murmur and sense the nobles grow apprehensive in front of me. I raise my voice, continuing.

“It is my regret that I must inform you all now that an army of Goblins had entered my domain. A portion of the Goblin Lord’s army is currently camped approximately forty two miles north of here. They number about eight thousand strong.”

“What?”

I hear gasps, and then a cry of horror from the nobles. A [Lady] swoons and her husband catches her. Shocked voices, a loud exclamation, and then Sir Tourant’s voice.

“Emperor Laken! Your Majesty! Are you certain of this?”

I turn my head towards him.

“Without a shadow of a doubt, Lord Tourant. The Goblin Lord has sent nearly eight thousand Goblins by my count. Two days ago, they entered the furthest reaches of my protected lands, laying waste to a local army from the city of Filc in a pitched battle. They came further south after that, marching directly towards my domain. Towards Riverfarm.”

I hear a groan from my audience, and then a sharp voice.

“I take it that you are not informing us merely so that we might evacuate in time, Emperor Laken? Or else you would have informed us yesterday.”

I nod towards the woman standing in the back.

“Correct, Lady Bevia. I have not been idle upon learning of this threat. I immediately consulted with my [General], Lady Wiskeria, and formed a plan to combat the Goblin Lord’s army.”

“Why were we not informed of this?”

I turn, seeking out Lord Melbore in the crowd.

“To prevent a panic, Lord Melbore. If I were to raise the alarm too early, the Goblins would have been alerted that their presence had been discovered. And thus my army would have failed to ambush the Goblins. As it did not an hour ago.”

That gets them. The nobles are in an uproar. Again, Lady Bevia’s voice cracks through the chaos like a whip.

“Emperor Laken, please do not spare us the details. What has happened?”

I incline my head a fraction as the voices calm, waiting for my response.

“In a word, Lady Bevia? Success. I sent a mobile force of [Riders] and [Archers] to attack the Goblins in their camp. Around six hundred soldiers all told, many levied from nearby cities and towns. They proceeded to strike the Goblins in the heart of the night, killing at least a thousand of their warriors before retreating.”

Again, uproar. Again, I wait for the voices to subside. Lord Tourant is the one to question me this time.

“A force of six hundred slew a thousand Goblins? How? How many casualties were there?”

“Less than a hundred.”

“A hundred? How? Were they all asleep?”

A smile.

“Hardly, Lord Tourant. My force triumphed by virtue of superior tactics. My [General] and [Captain], Lady Wiskeria and Sir Beniar, were able to divide the Goblins under the plan I devised with them.”

This time I don’t elaborate and the intrigued murmur goes on for a second. I can see Lady Rie glancing at me. Perhaps she noticed some of my preparations.

The plan was a simple one. Use poisonous gas to cripple the Goblins and [Blacksky Riders] to  strike at night. With more [Archers] to lend them support, they could easily take down the Goblin army.

The key was really in Wiskeria’s brew. She knew how to make a poisonous smoke—a byproduct of another concoction, really—which would suffocate and burn the eyes and make breathing almost impossible. It would cripple any Goblin who inhaled the smoke. All she needed were enough ingredients and hands to brew the mixtures and fan the smoke into the camp. Hellebore leaves, charcoal, a white, parasitic root that grows around old trees…she had me looking for ingredients for hours, but I found enough for the plan to work.

After that, it was just a matter of coordinating. With Nesor and one of Lady Bevia’s [Mages] I could tell Wiskeria exactly where the Goblins were and when to strike. Lady Bethal’s presence only helped the situation by drawing off a good portion of the Goblins. The rest went like clockwork.

Mostly. The Goblins fought back, but I don’t focus on that. The nobles of Izril are clamoring to know what I’ll do next.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please. I am aware that the Goblin Lord’s army is still a great danger. They have been wounded, but their host is still far vaster than my army can defeat. Alone, that is. I intend to levy every city in the region and cooperate with every Human settlement. As it is, the Goblins are still far north of Riverfarm and I assure you, they will be stopped.”

Dismayed, the nobles begin arguing among themselves.

“A thousand dead? But that would leave seven thousand remaining! Can any city stop that?”

“If we can head down the eastern road—we might outdistance them—”

“You want to travel with Goblins about? Madness!”

“Please!”

I raise a hand.

“I have no intention of keeping you here, but I fear that Riverfarm may be the only safe place. If you wish to take your chances, I will attempt to escort you, but my army will soon march to reinforce General Wiskeria.”

“How do you intend to combat such a large force, Emperor Laken?”

“With cooperation, Lady Bevia. The Human cities nearest to the Goblin Lord’s army have standing garrisons of their own; I intend to coordinate with them to push back the Goblins.”

With my levied army I would be outnumbered. But as Lady Rie pointed out, there are a number of cities who don’t like me to the north. Cities that can either bar up their gates and hide from the Goblin Lord or join me and fight. Either way, the Goblin Lord’s forces will be chipped away.

Ruthless. I lean forwards on my throne.

“As we speak, [Messages] are being sent to every city in the region to communicate what I have told you, ladies and gentlemen. We have defeated the Goblins once before and we shall do so again. And now, I am afraid I must coordinate with the other settlements who no doubt have questions of their own.”

I rise from my throne and hear a babble of voices as the distressed nobles press forwards. I raise my hand and they pause.

“Lady Rie will handle any questions you might have. I would welcome any assistance you might be able to bring to bear on this matter, but I must consult with my [General]. I bid you all good night.”

Before they can object, I stride through them towards the door. I sense Lady Rie being mobbed behind me, and Gamel and Prost screen my exit. In a moment I’m outside and in the chill night air, alone. For a second. Then I hear the doors open, hear a babble of shocked voices, and a voice.

“Laken?”

“Durene.”

I embrace her, feeling her rough skin. Durene hugs me, but I can tell she’s shocked.

“Was all that true, Laken? You didn’t tell me!”

“I’m sorry Durene. I wanted to, truly. But I couldn’t let anyone know what was happening or they might run off. And you’re a terrible actor. Not even Mister Prost knew—until tonight. Only Wiskeria, Beniar, and the soldiers knew.”

“I understand that. But the Goblins! Are there really thousands of them?”

I pause and cast my mind north. They’re already marching. Wiskeria told me the effects of the gas would last for days. Hopefully she can press the advantage. I nod, grimly.

“There are. But we did a lot of damage, Durene. Wiskeria and Beniar will harry them and I’m sending the army north tomorrow at dawn.”

“I’m going with them, of course. Right?”

I hesitate. I want to say no. Because I’m not going. Wiskeria and Beniar both insisted and I had to agree. It makes no sense, not if I can use a [Mage] to tell them exactly what they need to know. I’m a liability in battle for all I can influence the Goblins. But Durene—I squeeze her hands.

“You don’t have to.”

“I do! If there are Goblins and everyone’s fighting, I have to fight. I’m a [Paladin], Laken.”

“I know. I know.”

I take a few deep breaths. I knew that Durene would say that. Which is why I sent Wiskeria and Beniar first. Now the Goblin Lord’s army is wounded. And by the time Durene gets there…

“The main army will march towards the Goblins and meet up with Wiskeria. She’ll wear them down as much as she can until then. I’ll have every city send as many soldiers as I can. Hundreds—I can levy at least a hundred warriors from the smallest towns alone. You’ll outnumber the Goblins—barely, I think. Wiskeria will make sure only to pick battles we can win easily. So don’t get hurt, okay?”

“I won’t!”

Durene sounds fierce as she hugs me. I hug her back, hearing the commotion in the meeting hall get louder. I hear a muffled laugh from her.

“They’re angry. Did you have to tell them like this?”

“Oh yes. Because now they’re stuck here. And all the cities have to deal with the Goblins. Not just us. We’re not going to be alone in this fight, Durene. We’ll win, I promise.”

I hug her tightly, taking warmth from her body heat. I whisper to her as I feel Wiskeria and Beniar setting up camp, sense Humans tending to the wounded, the nobles surrounding Rie in the meeting hall, shouting—

And the Goblins to the north. Marching, moving fast, many still coughing, blinded by the fog. They leave behind their dead, not bothering to bury them. Dead Goblins. I count them. Small ones, big ones, it makes no difference. They’ll all die. I won’t let them touch Riverfarm.

Not again. Not ever again. I’ll slaughter them all with traps and poison, whatever I have to use. I’ll crush them.

I swear it.

5.23 G

Lady Bethal stared at the Goblins as the night tore itself to pieces. Screams and drumming horse beats broke the silence in the distance. War horns blew, shattering the calm, making her heart pound every time one blared. But she didn’t move. She held her position on her horse, soothing it. Her poor mare was terrified and exhausted in equal parts and she might have bolted if Bethal weren’t holding her in place. Lady Bethal stroked her side reassuringly and looked up.

At crimson eyes. The Goblins watched her every move, the tips of their crossbow bolts aimed unerringly at her. There had to be at least a hundred and twenty, formed into groups of thirty, all of them standing or kneeling in ranks ten Goblins deep. They surrounded her from three sides so that if they fired they wouldn’t hit each other.

Two [Knights] in pink armor held their position in front of her, shielding Bethal with their bodies. Sir Nil and Dame Truvia held their weapons at the ready, their faces set. They didn’t move.

Next to Bethal, Thomast kept his rapier lowered but she could feel him shifting, readying for action. Ahead of him a group of Hobs held their ground, watching the Humans, their eyes flicking. They didn’t look around as another horn blew, startling the horses again. Bethal saw the Goblins shift. But they refused to move. And the Humans didn’t attack.

It was a stalemate. Thomast could kill some of the Goblins with crossbows before they could fire. He could probably knock down a bolt or two with his rapier himself. Sir Nil and Dame Truvia would shield Bethal with their bodies and her [Aura of Thorns] Skill was powerful—but not enough to stop a crossbow bolt at close range.

Lady Bethal had a Ring of Sufferance on one finger, but even if she survived the first volley, even if Thomast and her [Knights] took out every Goblin assigned to watch them, they wouldn’t be able to escape without the Goblins first raising an alarm. And they would be hunted.

Against the hundreds of Carn Wolves and riders, their odds of escape would be perilously slim on foot. And it would be on foot; the horses wouldn’t survive ten miles with the Goblins trying to hamstring them every chance they got.

So they stayed put, as the majority of the Goblins raced away and distant horns began echoing through the woods. Minutes passed and no one spoke. Bethal felt her heart pounding. She couldn’t make it calm. She had faced death before. But this—this was at the heart of her fears.

Goblins. Their eyes made her shudder so she looked at Thomast to calm herself. He was here. He would protect her. And if he could not—she would not run. That was all there was to it.

But it didn’t come to that. Bethal was listening to her mare relieve herself on the ground and the Goblins were wrinkling their noses when another Goblin burst out of the trees. Instantly, both Humans and Goblins tensed. But the Goblin just shouted something and the other Goblins turned. They stared. Then, as one, they abandoned their formation and ran.

“What on earth?”

Lady Bethal watched, surprised, as the Goblins holding crossbows turned and ran. Only thirty of them held their ground, aiming at the Humans. But now they were backing away, clearly intending just to scare the Humans. Two Hobs stayed with them, holding their ground, raising their axes threateningly.

They were running. What was happening? Lady Bethal turned her head, expecting a trap. But the Goblins were already vanishing into the forest. By her side she sensed Thomast move. She didn’t have to hear him to know what he was thinking.

Now would be the time to strike. Her [Chevalier], shifted his grip and Lady Bethal bit her lip.

“No.”

Her soft voice made the Goblins start. One of them accidentally pulled his trigger and fired straight at Bethal’s chest.

The bolt shot towards her. Bethal blinked. She didn’t have time to think of dodging—it was streaking towards her and then Sir Nil was there. The bolt shattered on his shield and the Goblins froze.

“Wastes!”

Dame Truvia lowered her spear, shouting in outrage. But Bethal’s voice stopped her and the Goblins shifting their aim.

“Stop! Don’t attack.”

She pointed and Truvia held her ground. The Goblins backed up a step, uncertainly aiming at her. Bethal turned to Thomast.

“They’ve left.”

That was apparent, but someone had to say it. Thomast never would. He nodded, watching the two Hobs. They stared at him with grim resignation, knowing they couldn’t beat him. Still, they held their ground, barking orders and making the smaller Goblins aim back at Bethal.

“Something’s attacked the Goblins. Not all those war horns sounded like Goblin signals. If there was a time to make an escape—”

“No. I want to see Sir Kerrig. If he is alive…”

Sir Nils started.

“You want to ride into that? Lady Bethal—”

“If there was a time to find him, it would be now, wouldn’t it? Say, you Goblins!”

The Goblins jerked as Bethal waved at them. They stared at her. Bethal raised her voice.

“I agree with your Chieftain’s demands. We will be your prisoners! Take us back to your camp!”

The Goblins stared. They looked at each other, and then at the two Hobs leading them. They were a pair, male and female. The Hobs glanced at each other and the female one grunted. She shouted in the common tongue, making Bethal blink in surprise. More than just their Chieftain could speak?

“Drop weapons!”

“No.”

Thomast calmly replied, edging his horse forwards. The Hobs raised their weapons. The male growled.

“Prisoners! Drop weapons!”

“No. We’ll keep our weapons.”

Sir Nil rode forwards and the Goblins instantly backed up again. There were thirty of them and two Hobs. One of the [Knights] could rout them alone and Thomast could do it with one arm. Bethal’s ‘surrender’ was meaningless and all the Goblins knew it. All they could do was shoot her and then be slaughtered. The female Hob eyed Bethal and then pointed.

“Sheathe weapons.”

The three armed Humans hesitated. They looked at Bethal and she nodded. The Hob waited until the rapier and sword were at Sir Nil and Thomast’s sides and Truvia had lowered her spear. She hesitated and then nodded. The Goblins lowered their crossbows.

“Draw sword and we all kill you.”

“Very well.”

Bethal inclined her head graciously, trying not to let her nerves show. Believe they’re reasonable. She had no reason to expect it of Goblins! But the Chieftain had spoken rather than slaughter her at once. She’d negotiated—and Sir Kerrig might be alive.

“Follow.”

The Hob grunted and led the Goblins into the forest without a backward glance. Bethal was sure that they were ready to turn, shoot, and then run if Thomast so much as sneezed. She nodded to her escort and they hesitantly followed her into the tree line.

“We should go instead, milady. Let Lord Thomast and I go ahead while Sir Nil remains on the road with you.”

“No, Dame Truvia. We go together. I hardly think this is a ruse. The Goblins had us right where they wanted us. Something’s attacked them.”

“And will whatever attacked them attack us?”

“If it does, we will deal accordingly. But I want to find Sir Kerrig. I thought he was dead, truly.”

“It would be like him to survive. And Lady Welca lives too? If she’s escaped, why haven’t we had word? Unless it was recent—”

“Quiet.”

Thomast’s voice stilled the urgent discussion between Bethal and her [Knights]. He rode ahead as the forest became sparser and Bethal saw ghostly mage-light illuminating the forest. She inhaled sharply as she rode into the Goblin’s camp. Or what was left.

“Oh my.”

Broken tents, scattered fire. Smoke in the air and a foul, acrid stench that reminded Bethal of an [Alchemist]’s shop. Blood, too, heavy in the air. Faint cries—howling from the Carn Wolves. Shuffling feet, but too little sound. The forest floor was dark, trampled. And the bodies lay everywhere. Hundreds. Possibly a thousand.

The camp of the Flooded Waters tribe was destroyed. Goblin bodies lay everywhere, being searched for life by the living. It had been a slaughter. Lady Bethal looked at the still forms of Goblins, some covered in blood, others apparently unharmed but dead all the same.

The Goblins who’d been watching Bethal’s group stood in their camp, frozen by the sight. Bethal saw the pair of Hobs stare around and then raise their voices, shouting something in their guttural tongue. The other Goblins looked around and then ran, their discipline breaking, running into the chaos, shouting. Bethal looked around, confused.

“Wait. What about us?”

The Goblins had forgotten all about the four Humans on their horses. They combed through the wreckage, many of them picking up shapes, shaking them, and then letting them drop. Bethal blinked, her eyes stinging, and heard Dame Truvia utter a warning.

“There’s poison in the air! Lady Bethal, back!”

She was raising a ring that glowed with black light. Bethal looked around. She could see nothing, but she instantly rode back as Truvia covered her mouth with a handkerchief and checked her ring.

“It seems—weak. My ring isn’t detecting more than a low-level miasma in the air. But what happened here?”

“An attack. It must have been. Poison, arrows, and the ground is churned. I see hoof prints.”

Sir Nil had dismounted to check the ground. He coughed and looked around. Bethal felt her eyes stinging—perhaps the poison? She fanned at her face and froze.

“Is that…a child?”

A small Goblin was wandering past the warriors, shouting in a high-pitched voice. She had to be a child. There was no other word for her. The small Chieftain that Bethal had met had been small, even for a Goblin. But this Goblin was no bigger than a toddler. She had none of the knowing look that had been in the Chieftain’s eyes.

Bethal stared. She had never seen a Goblin child before. She expected the—the thing to look evil or to have fangs or some feature, but the child just looked lost. It kept shouting something. A word. And it was crying as it searched the bodies.

Lady Bethal Walchaís drew back and her horse retreated a step. The Goblin child ignored her completely and utterly. It ran over to a downed Goblin and tried to turn the body over. It gave up and bent down to look at the face and then turned away. It looked around, searching, shouting the same word and Bethal saw liquid dripping from its bright, crimson eyes. The [Lady] froze as the Goblin child stared past her, like a deer caught by a [Hunter].

“Tears?”

She had never seen a Goblin cry. She hadn’t known they could. Bethal watched the child turn. In that moment she learned two things. Goblins wept tears just like any other species. The same color, the same look. And secondly, she learned that a Goblin could weep. Bethal stayed put, her heart pounding. Impossible. Impossible. But the truth defied her to her face. Goblins could weep. She had never seen the like.

When the Goblin King rode upon First Landing with his hordes there were no tears. Only screams of rage as his armies hurled themselves upon the walls and pushed through the gaps in the broken masonry. There were no children, only warriors. Bethal could remember the blood, the eyes of the Goblins as she hid among the dead—

“Sir Kerrig!”

A voice broke Bethal’s reverie. The Goblin voices calling out silenced at Dame Truvia’s call. They turned and Lady Bethal saw a Human face among the sea of Goblins. Sir Kerrig was bending over a silent form, doing something. He turned and his face went pale. He broke into a run and Bethal urged her horse forwards a step—

“Stop! Stop!”

Goblins flooded the ground, waving crossbows, aiming at both her and Sir Kerrig. Dame Truvia froze, raising her spear and Thomast appeared by Bethal’s side. But the Goblins weren’t attacking. They shouted at Bethal, pointing.

“Stop! No horse!”

They were pointing at something on the ground. Bethal looked down and realized Goblin bodies were strewn in front of her. She had nearly ridden through them. She hadn’t noticed. She backed up on her horse as the Goblins shouted at her, waving their arms.

“I’m stopping. I’ve stopped.”

They formed a wall, forcing the Humans back. There was nothing Bethal could do but back up and let Sir Kerrig come to her. The Goblins had remembered their unwanted prisoners and after an argument, a group of Goblins took up a position, aiming bows and crossbows at the Humans again. But the rest immediately flooded back into the camp. Confused, the four Humans met Sir Kerrig and Lady Bethal dismounted to clasp his hands.

“Sir Kerrig! We’d assumed you were dead! How are you alive? Dead gods man, are you injured? Let’s get you to safety as quickly as we can!”

Sir Nil clasped Sir Kerrig’s arm, urging him to mount his stallion. Sir Kerrig shook his head. He looked bewildered and there was blood on his hands. Not his own.

“Lady Bethal! Sir Thomast! How did you come to be here? Did you have a part in the—it’s dangerous to be here! If the Redfang Goblins catch sight of you they’ll attack! They’re out for blood.”

“Redfang? What are you talking about? Sir Kerrig, where is Lady Welca? Are you unharmed? What is going on?”

“Let him speak, Sir Nil!”

Lady Bethal spoke sharply and Sir Nil bowed his head instantly. Sir Kerrig coughed and Bethal noticed a rasp in his voice. She immediately motioned and Dame Truvia offered him a high-grade healing potion. Sir Kerrig took a sip and his voice cleared of the rasp.

“Thank you. There was poison in the air. Some kind of mist or alchemist’s brew. I have no idea. As for what happened—I helped Lady Welca to escape not a day ago. I thought she would have reached some kind of civilization by now, but we had passed through the wilderness for the last few days. Perhaps she’s still riding—I had remained with the Goblins until the camp was attacked! Their Chieftain, Rags, rode forth with a good portion of the warriors. Shortly afterwards a group of [Riders] struck the camp, hundreds of them. They doused the campfires and torches and another force began sending a poison gas through the camp and shooting every Goblin that moved!”

Lady Bethal listened to Sir Kerrig’s description of the attackers and his sojourn as the Goblin’s captives, watching the camp as she did. The Goblins were in chaos, but as time passed someone began restoring order. Patrols of Goblins began combing through the wounded and dead methodically, calling out when they found a living Goblin. They also gathered up the trampled supplies and ushering other Goblins back into the center of the camp.

“They’re on the march. The army that attacked them retreated, but I’ve no notion of where they’re based or what their numbers are.”

Sir Kerrig finished and coughed again. His eyes were watering and he poured a tiny amount of the healing potion into his hand to splash at his eyes. Dame Truvia looked at him with concern.

“The poison smoke you described. You were caught in it?”

“Briefly. I immediately escaped when I noticed, but it was powerful enough to kill anyone trapped inside long enough. Most of the Goblins escaped, but they’re unable to breathe or see at the moment.”

“These attackers. Did you see their insignia?”

The [Knight] shook his head in reply to Sir Thomast’s question.

“No, and I have no idea where they came from. I thought perhaps Heldeim, a city to the east of here, but that would be unlikely. They have a small garrison. More to the point, they’re inexperienced, lacking a high-leveled officer of any kind. Hardly able to execute this kind of attack.”

He hesitated, wiping liquid out of his eyes.

“I did hear them shouting some kind of war cry. It was ‘Emperor Laken and the Unseen Empire’. But I’ve no notion…”

He broke off as Bethal gasped and the others shifted. He looked questioningly at Bethal.

“You know them?”

“We just visited them. It’s a small village and the surrounding area. There’s an [Emperor] there. Thomast, you don’t think…?”

Bethal looked at her husband. He nodded.

“Emperor Laken introduced us to his [General]. You remember her? She was a [Witch]. They know how to use poisons.”

“A night-time ambush using poison? Hardly befitting of an [Emperor]!”

Dame Truvia frowned. Sir Nil glanced around.

“Ideal for a larger force, however. Sir Kerrig described only a few hundred [Riders] and mounted [Archers] and warriors. They’ve slain several times their number, at least.”

“It was the absence of their Chieftain that presented the opportunity. Had she been here—”

Sir Kerrig was speaking urgently, pointing to the Goblins. Now they had formed into units again. Bethal saw they were coming towards her and shifted uneasily.

“Sir Kerrig—”

Hobs and mounted Goblins riding Carn Wolves approached them. They formed a semi-circle between the Humans and the camp, staring at Sir Kerrig and then Lady Bethal’s escort. They had weapons, but they stared at the Humans blankly. Sir Kerrig looked wary and Thomast and the two [Knights] moved in front of Bethal again, but she didn’t see hostility in the Goblin’s eyes.

“Why aren’t they angry?”

The Goblins were staring at them. Just staring with a blank, empty gaze. They were aware of the Human’s threat, but it was like they were just going through the motions. Behind them, the Goblins searched their dead, the same empty look in their eyes.

“I think they’re mourning.”

Sir Kerrig’s reply made all of the Humans glance at him sharply. Lady Bethal opened her mouth to say that was impossible, but she stopped as she saw the Goblin child again. It—she—wasn’t the only Goblin child, but somehow Bethal recognized her. The Goblins checking for the living had passed her section of the camp, but the Goblin child had found who she was looking for. She sat next to a bloody body with two arrows sticking out of its chest. Sat and wept, her eyes overflowing.

The Goblins around the child ignored her, going about their tasks. Not once did they glance at Lady Bethal and her shining [Knights], at Sir Thomast. They had to remember. They had to know how dangerous the Humans were. But they were not the ones who’d committed this slaughter. They were not important. So they worked mechanically, eyes empty, moving like puppets. Ignoring the Humans.

And slowly, it dawned on Lady Bethal that her small company didn’t matter to the tribe of Goblins right now. Not at all. They were a footnote unless they chose to attack. It was as if the Goblins were truly grieving. But they didn’t show it. They didn’t cry. They moved, packing up their camp, preparing to march.

They left the dead where they were. More Goblins moved into groups, loading up wagons, calling their fellows away. At last, it seemed as though someone noticed Bethal’s group and decided it had to be addressed. She saw a wave of Hobs and Goblins with crossbows returning and a fat Goblin leading them. Not Rags.

“Humans.”

He said one word, his voice raw, rasping. Bethal saw that the Goblins behind him were already marching. On the fat Hob’s left stood a [Mage] with electricity crackling around his fingertips. To his right rode a Goblin with a scar across his face on a Carn Wolf. He glared at Sir Thomast in hatred.

“Where is your Chieftain?”

“Hurt.”

“I see.”

Lady Bethal waited. The fat Hob just looked at her. She expected him to reiterate her Chieftain’s demands and was preparing to negotiate. She’d promised them wealth hadn’t she? If it came to it, could she get Sir Kerrig—

“Go away.”

Bethal paused. The Hob pointed. He was holding a battleaxe that shone with a fiery enchantment. Sir Kerrig’s battleaxe! And was the scarred Goblin holding Welca’s sword? Bethal looked at him uncertainly.

“Excuse me?”

“Leave. No prisoners. Take Human with you.”

The Hob pointed at Sir Kerrig. Then he turned and began to walk away.

“Wait!”

Grudgingly, the Hob turned back. Lady Bethal looked at him, confused.

“You’re letting Sir Kerrig return to us? Without a ransom?”

“Yes. That is what I said.”

The Hob glared at her. Bethal waited. But there was nothing more. The Hob looked around and issued an order. Some of the Goblins broke away and streamed towards the marching tribe.

“You won’t attack us?”

“No point. Humans too hard to kill.”

“And you’re not worried about what we might do?”

The Hob glanced at Dame Truvia.

“Try it.”

“Truvia! Enough. We had nothing to do with this attack.”

Bethal informed the Hob. She had no idea why she said it. They were Goblins. But the Hob nodded.

“We know. You killed Goblins before. Not now. So go.”

More silence. Bethal sensed Thomast shift. He looked at her and nudged his head. They should go. She knew he was right. But she wanted to—Bethal’s eyes flicked back to the Goblin child. Now she was looking at Bethal. Staring. For some reason Bethal felt guilty. Guilty?

“This was a—harsh tactic. Poison. Not honorable. But surely your tribe expected this. Surely you knew you were being hunted.”

Why was she trying to excuse this? Bethal saw the Goblin’s eyes flash as one. The Hob raised his head and met her eyes. There was no fury there. But a trace of anger flickered past the empty expression.

“We did not attack these Humans.”

“But you attacked Humans before. Sir Kerrig told me. You routed an army not a day ago. This conflict—”

The Hob cut her off.

“We destroyed a Human army. Hunting Goblins. We kill Humans who attack.”

“But—”

“There is a difference. We are not the Goblin Lord army. We are not raiding Goblins. We are not the same. There is a difference.”

There was. Only, Bethal had not ever made the distinction before. This was a tribe and they were not the same as the Goblin Lord’s army. So they told her. She felt ashamed.

“We will leave, then. I apologize for my error.”

The Hob nodded. He looked at her, waiting. He knew she had more to say. So he waited. Bethal looked around the camp. Goblins were streaming away. The child was still sitting there.

“Won’t you bury your dead?”

“No. No burial. Leave.”

“I see.”

Alien. Incomprehensible. How could they not care for their dead? The crimson eyes watched her. Bethal pointed. The Hob turned as she pointed at the crying Goblin child. She hadn’t budged, though Goblins were urging her to get up and leave.

“Why is only she crying?”

The Hob looked at the child and shook his head.

“Tears are a waste of water.”

He turned and walked away. The Goblins behind him hesitated, and then streamed after him. They marched, many of them still wounded, some coughing, eyes streaming. Bethal saw the Hob stump over to the Goblin child and say something. An order. The child shook its head, eyes and nose streaming. The Hob repeated the order.

“I will stay. Someone has to witness this.”

“What?”

Bethal didn’t hear Sir Kerrig’s argument with the others. She watched as the Hob bent and pointed. He touched the body, shook his head. Pointed. The child shook her head. She clung to the body as the Hob reached for her.

“Here.”

Shielding their bodies so the Goblins couldn’t see, Dame Truvia pressed her enchanted dagger into Sir Kerrig’s hands. He slipped it into his clothes and nodded. Bethal saw the Hob pulling, saw the child hold on with all its strength. Clinging, clinging—the Goblin child held the body as the Hob pulled her up and then separated the two. Then she did wail, once. She beat the Hob as he carried her away.

He let her hit him and walked without looking back. He shed not one tear, but he bled as the Goblin child bit his hand. Bled, but didn’t stop. Bethal watched them go until they disappeared between the trees. She glanced down at Sir Kerrig, who was preparing to run after the Goblins.

“I did not know they could weep.”

“Neither did I, milady.”

“Follow them, Sir Kerrig. If you wish it. I will return to my estates. I—”

Lady Bethal never finished the sentence. She eventually turned and rode away as Sir Kerrig jogged after the Goblins. They were marching already, moving swiftly through the forest. Injured. Many wounded. But they still numbered thousands.

If they had wished it, they could have slaughtered Lady Bethal and her escort despite the cost. They could have overwhelmed the [Knights], brought down Thomast by sheer numbers and slaughtered Bethal. They could have. But they hadn’t. They had every right to fury. And perhaps it was there. But their despair, their grief was stronger. It was all consuming. So the Goblins left the [Lady] behind and walked.

They did not cry. They marched, blood dripping in the place of tears. Tears were a waste of water. The Goblins marched away as the night turned to day. They left their dead behind. They left family. They left friends. They left their loved ones, their hearts, and their blood. And they did not weep. Except on the inside.

—-

After a while the blood stopped. The child stopped biting him. Her teeth had left cuts in his hand and she’d torn the flesh as if she was tearing flesh from raw meat. Pyrite ignored the pain. He carried her as she wept, striding past the lines of Goblins. The child was young. So young she hadn’t learned that crying was a waste of water, dangerous sound. He would have told her to stop, but there was no point. The enemy had come and gone. So Pyrite walked.

“Sorry.”

She clung to his shoulder. He bled. The blood ran down his hand, stinging. It dripped into the soil. It was such a meaningless thing. Pyrite remembered the body he’d torn her from.

“Sorry.”

He marched to a wagon with Goblin children and tried to make her let go. She clung to him then, not wanting to. But he made her. He was strong as she was weak, for all she tried to lace her fingers together, grip him tightly. He put her with the older Goblin watching the children.

“Sorry.”

Nothing else to say. Nothing else to do. Pyrite looked down at the child and then ahead. The trees were thinning. He strode past her as the muffled crying grew fainter behind him. Pyrite reached another wagon and looked into it.

“Chieftain.”

Rags lay in the center of the wagon, covered with a blanket, her face pale. She was unconscious. They hadn’t been able to wake her and she’d lost so much blood. Too much for even a healing potion to properly heal. Pyrite walked next to the cart until he remembered he should be doing something.

“You. How many sentries? Where warriors?”

The Hob he pointed at looked blankly at Pyrite. He walked over and poked another Goblin who barely responded. Pyrite shook his head. He had to think. Rags was unconscious. That meant Pyrite had to take charge. He turned to another Goblin.

“Sentries ride ahead. Get Redscar. Put pikes here and here. Move!”

He had to push the Goblins, sending them racing ahead and behind to move the tribe into position. Just in time. Not ten minutes later, Pyrite heard a howl and saw a flash of movement. He saw a group of Humans burst out of the trees. They rode towards a group of Goblins who looked up and stared at them.

Just stared. Pyrite saw the Humans. He knew what they were going to do. But he failed to react. He saw a rider in armor cut down a Goblin and then he woke up. Pyrite saw the Goblins raising their weapons weakly. The Humans trampled them. No. Pyrite inhaled. He shouted at the Goblins who were just staring.

“Humans! Move! Attack!”

Goblins turned and stared at him. Pyrite bellowed. The numbing emptiness in his chest filled. His blood began to surge. Humans. Their leader wheeled, his sword red. They raced down the line, away from Pyrite. He pointed at them.

“Humans!”

He roared the word and the Goblins looked up. Their exhausted heads rose. Their eyes opened wide. Wider. Pyrite pointed and Goblins ran. He heard one scream, an angry, bitter cry. The others took it up. The warriors streamed towards the fleeing Humans. Pyrite wanted to run, but he held his ground. Wait. He shouted at other Goblins who were abandoning their positions.

“Stay! Wait for order!”

They held. Reluctantly, they held. Pyrite heard another howl to the south and this time he was ready. He roared and Redfang warriors streamed towards the attacked site and within minutes he heard a Goblin horn call. All clear. The Humans were gone. They’d attacked and fled.

So this was how it would be. Pyrite closed his eyes. They were already striking again. It made sense. He was exhausted. He was wounded and his tribe was barely able to function. He saw Redscar riding towards him. The Redfang leader was furious. He pointed in the direction of the fleeing Humans.

“Attack! We ride!”

“No! Guard tribe!”

Pyrite snapped at him. He was too tired to convey all of what he understood—that the Humans were baiting them, trying to get the Goblins to chase them, to lure them into a trap. Redscar growled, but he assented after a moment of hesitation. Pyrite looked around.

“Where Noears? Poisonbite?”

The answers came too slowly for his tastes. But they did come. Poisonbite was hurt and among the wounded. Noears was at the back. Pyrite grunted.

“Noears go back. Redfangs spread out! Crossbows ready. Not spread out. Keep moving!”

Redscar growled and nodded. He took the front and Pyrite reorganized the rearguard. The Goblins marched for two hours as the sun lightened. Pyrite had no idea where they were going. They needed to find somewhere to rest, somewhere defensible. But sending scouts out now would be a bad idea.

The Humans hit them as they were leaving the forest. They rode into the tree line, at least a hundred of them and began loosing arrows as soon as the sentries called the alarm. Pyrite growled as he saw they were attacking a spot with heavy pikes and wolves—and few archers! He saw Redfang warriors racing after them and the Humans retreating. Several mounted Goblins disappeared into the trees and Pyrite called the rest of them back.

“No follow. Get crossbows!”

Goblins with crossbows scrambled to the front. Pyrite heard wolves howling in pain and then silence in the trees. The Redfang riders didn’t return. But the Humans did. They rode out of the trees and loosed another volley, shouting triumphantly.

Were there more of them this time? Pyrite kept a wary eye on his flanks and rear as the units of Goblins wielding crossbows returned fire. That surprised the Humans—they’d clearly expected more Goblins to chase. Instead, several horses went down and some riders fell, screaming. At this distance both sides were too far away for accuracy; the clumped-up Goblins suffered more than the Humans. But the Humans did fall.

After the second volley, the archers among the trees vanished. The Goblins waited and Pyrite sent a group of Redfang Warriors to investigate. They found tracks, but the Humans had fled. Pyrite ordered them not to follow to Redscar’s disgust and posted twice as many sentries, twice as far out.

—-

They had to rest. Pyrite knew it, but he was dithering over leaving the tree line. Beyond the forest was a hilly landscape, open, but terribly exposed if the Humans launched another night attack. He followed the forest until the next wave of attacks. This time it wasn’t a full-fledged assault. Pyrite heard a howl as the Goblins tried to sleep and jerked awake. Redscar raced towards him, shouting.

“Sentries gone!”

Half of the sentries Pyrite had sent out to the west had been ambushed, their locations found and the Goblins feathered with arrows before they could raise the alarm. Only the last group had raised any alarm.

“Heard horn call. Too late. Fleeing Humans. Ordered not to pursue.”

Redscar growled as Pyrite tried to wake up and think. Redscar pointed.

“Humans leave tracks! Can follow!”

“Is trap.”

Pyrite repeated himself stubbornly. He knew it was true. Redscar knew it was true. But the Goblin had a different idea about it.

“Let us spring!”

He wanted to take two hundred wolf riders and hunt the Humans. Pyrite shook his head.

“No.”

Redscar growled. Pyrite glared at him. After a second Pyrite nodded.

“Put sentries back. Closer. Split riders. Ready to reinforce any moment.”

He held Redscar’s gaze until the other Goblin nodded. Pyrite was second in charge. With Rags unconscious he led. But neither Goblins spoke what both knew. The Humans would be back, sentries or not.

—-

They had to leave the forest. Pyrite marched the tribe into the hilly plains, watching the sun setting and searching for a spot, any spot where they could put their backs against a wall. He found nothing. He marched the tribe on until nightfall, watching the hills grow closer in the distance. Maybe if they dug ditches? Or camped on the hills?

They never made it that far. Pyrite noticed only when he had to ask why the tribe was lagging behind twice. He strode back and saw the Goblins at the back were gasping for air.

“Can’t breathe, Pyrite.”

Quietstab pointed to a Goblin who was trying to inhale. His lungs were making a terrible rasping sound. Pyrite stared at the Goblin in dismay.

“Bad?”

“Can’t fight. Can’t run. Can’t see. Some. Got rest. Or potion.”

They didn’t have enough potions. And there were hundreds, no, thousands of Goblins who’d inhaled the poisonous gas. Maybe a third of the tribe! Pyrite turned to Poisonbite who was making the same horrible sound.

“How long heal?”

She gasped for air. Her eyes were weeping and she was keeping them closed. She had to try twice before she gestured weakly with her claws. Two claws. Four. She shook them weakly.

Two days or four days. And then—a pause. The fingers clenched slightly. Or two weeks. Pyrite looked at Quietstab. He checked the landscape. Open ground. They should have stayed in the forest. Rags would have stayed. Pyrite had no choice now, though. He pointed.

“Make camp! Get Redscar and others!”

The council of war was brief. Pyrite gathered Redscar, Noears, Quietstab, and any of the Hobs who knew how to fight. He divided them up and posted them around the camp. The trouble was that with so many wounded Goblins, it was impossible to encircle the entire camp and not be spread too thin. Pyrite tried to figure out if they could construct defenses. Ditches? He looked at the exhausted Goblins who hadn’t slept since the day before yesterday and shook his head.

Pyrite ordered the Goblin warriors able to fight to sleep in shifts until the attack came. He kept torches lit and burnt as much fuel as he dared. Because the Humans would surely come again. When they did it was in darkness.

“Horses!”

This time the scream came near Pyrite’s position. He pushed himself up, grabbed his battleaxe and ran. He saw horses flashing in the chaos and more shooting arrows behind. He roared, cut down a Human on horseback, saw another dragged off his horse and watched the rest run. They were good at running! If the Redfangs could follow—

No. Too risky! Pyrite cursed as he watched the Humans leave.

This time the attack was bloody on both sides. The Humans pulled back after a single charge, leaving behind two dozen dead or wounded. But they’d cut down far too many Goblins. They’d attacked where there were no pikes or crossbows ready. How? Pyrite had no idea. The sentries had been hit first, but they had been alive right until the attack and the surviving warriors swore they hadn’t so much as seen a Human. Did they have a high-level [Scout]? Some kind of invisibility spell? A scrying spell?

They weren’t even that high-level. Pyrite whirled as he heard a howl. He saw Redfang riders streaming past him and saw a Goblin shouting and pointing after the Humans fleeing into the darkness.

“Redfangs! Follow!”

“Stop.”

Redscar roared as he tried to ride past Pyrite. The Hob charged at him, forcing the Carn Wolf to halt its dash. Pyrite tore Redscar from the saddle and felt two things happen at once. A painful, familiar cold sting in his right arm and a pair of jaws clamping over his hand.  Redscar shoved his sword into Pyrite’s arm as his Carn Wolf bit. Pyrite made a fist and forced the wolf’s jaws open.

“Release!”

Redscar snapped and his Carn Wolf let go. The Goblin kept his blade pressed into Pyrite’s arm, though. Pyrite roared at him in frustration. Redscar roared back. Around them the Flooded Waters tribe froze, watching the two Goblins in fear. Only then did Pyrite realize what was happening. He was fighting with Redscar! What was the point? He let go of the smaller Goblin slowly and felt the freezing blade’s tip withdraw from his arm.

The two Goblins stared at each other, breathing hard. At last, Pyrite jerked his head.

“Sixty riders. A hundred warriors. No you.”

“Yes.”

Redscar sheathed his blade and called. Instantly sixty of his Redfang warriors charged into the darkness. Pyrite turned.

“Pikes and crossbows! Twenty Hobs!”

Goblin warriors raced forwards at his command. Pyrite pointed and they followed the Redfang warriors. The mounted Goblins were already racing across the plains. They rode after the Humans, howling with rage. Sixty mounted elites and a hundred Goblins on foot, enough to tear apart a force twice their size and harry the riders before retreating in turn.

Pyrite felt the blood running down his arm and rubbed at the wound. Redscar eyed the frozen skin and blood, but Pyrite didn’t reach for a potion. He pointed back to the camp.

“Reform defenses. Humans might attack. Other side.”

Redscar nodded. He whistled and his Redfang warriors followed him back into camp. Pyrite trudged back to his sleeping spot, but he was awake now. He waited as the Goblins who’d been sleeping tried to get some rest. But no one could. They were all listening as hard as they could. They’d been hit by what, a hundred and forty riders? They’d sent more than that after them.

Surely they’d catch their enemy. If they were outnumbered they’d retreat. Redscar would race to their aid the instant they heard anything. Pyrite would let him. If they could bloody the Humans, force them to defend…the instant they heard anything Pyrite would move. He’d defend from the other side because of course that was when the Humans would attack. He waited, listening. Waited, waited…

Three passed then ten minutes. Then half an hour. The Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe waited. They listened for howling, stragglers—anything. They heard nothing. Pyrite thought he heard a distant war horn—once. Then nothing. After that, Redscar did not try to follow the Humans, though the camp was attacked once more that night. Always with perfect accuracy, always in the weakest point, the flawed sections of the camp’s defenses that Pyrite himself hadn’t spotted.

—-

We’re winning each encounter. They’re moving each day, but they haven’t sent any more patrols. Heading towards a city—Lancrel. Orders to keep pursuing?

I tap my fingers together. I don’t have to hear Wiskeria’s reports to know what’s happening. My mind is with her mobile attack force almost all the time. With the Goblins too. I can tell how many have fallen. Hundreds from the raiding. But not enough. There are still thousands, for all they’re still poisoned.

“Your Majesty?”

Nesor’s face isn’t that pale today. He’s gotten used to sending and receiving [Message] spells and he’s faster and has stopped stuttering as much. I turn to Lady Rie.

“Lancrel. Where is it on the map?”

“Here, your Majesty.”

She finds me the place on the map instantly. I touch the spot and try to line it up in my head. Yes, the Goblins are headed that way. Aimlessly, it looks like.

“That’s not one of our cities, is it, Rie?”

“No, your Majesty. Lancrel has refused all messengers and did not reply to your levy. We have appraised them of the Goblin threat, but they declined to send aid. Their walls and gates are thick; I believe they think they’re well-defended.”

“Especially with Wiskeria harrying the Goblins.”

I appraise Lancrel in my mind. A small city. It might hold as many as ten thousand people at most. I don’t bother to count.

“Ten thousand is a small number? They could outnumber Riverfarm three times over.”

“Emperor?”

“Nothing. Lancrel outnumbers the Goblins, and their walls are…probably six meters? How much is that in feet? Twenty? I doubt the Goblins will head towards it. Nesor, tell Wiskeria to keep raiding.”

“Yes, sire.”

I sense Rie standing by my side. I focus my attention on another group moving towards them.

“Nesor. Tell Wiskeria her first group of reinforcements is headed her away. Two kilom—I mean, one mile and a bit south of her. Tell her to find them. They have…some horse, but mainly [Archers] and [Warriors].”

“Yes, sire!”

“They’ll be in position by evening.”

I hear Rie fumble with some figures. She’s changing the map in front of me to reflect what I’m describing. I nod.

“Wiskeria can keep harrying them, but the infantry can’t launch rapid attacks. She can set up a trap and commit all of her mounted soldiers to attacking. No full assaults. The main army will finish them.”

I can sense Durene marching with the bulk of the levied soldiers. [Soldiers] marching in ranks, levied from multiple cities. More cavalry, archers, thousands of them. I add the numbers up again. They’ll outnumber the Goblin army. Barely. Barely, but it’s enough if it’s Goblins. We did it last time. But Durene’s marching and I’m stuck here. I grit my teeth.

“Harry them, Nesor. Tell Wiskeria to harry them. They’ve shifted almost all their crossbows to their west side. Almost undefended towards east, about a hundred paces north of where Beniar hit them two hours ago. I count two groups of pikes spaced out ten meters…scheiße. I mean, thirty feet apart. Tell Beniar that if he approaches northeast, he can slip past them. There are five sentries. If he sends a group of ten, he could take them out and loose some arrows—”

—-

Sleep. Attack. Wake. Attack. The next day was filled with marching and sporadic, deadly raids by the Humans. Always in bad spots. Never in any of the traps. Hidden Goblins lying down with crossbows, Goblins pretending to be napping, Noears hiding in a tent, none of it worked. The Humans knew exactly what Pyrite was doing. Somehow. They’d actually aimed at Noears when he’d been in hiding. They could tell he was a [Mage], where he’d hidden—

How? Noears had suggested magic, but that was too convenient. Redscar was of the opinion some kind of fantastic [Hunter] or [Scout] was spying on them from some incredible distance. It wasn’t anyone nearby. In desperation, Pyrite had sent out the Redfang warriors en masse, hunting for a Human spy. They’d found nothing. No Human [Scouts] for ten miles in any direction. They were sure. So it was something else.

Pyrite didn’t know what, exactly. But he’d come to one definitive conclusion.

“They know where we are. Always.”

“How?”

Quietstab looked around as if the Humans could see them. Pyrite shrugged.

“Don’t know. But can see. Can’t follow.”

“Trap?”

“Trap.”

If the enemy knew exactly where you were and what you were doing at all times, sending out a force to attack them meant they would be surrounded and killed. The only safety was in overwhelming numbers. The Humans were still outnumbered by the Goblins. That was what Pyrite took comfort in. For all of five hours. Then he heard the frantic horns blowing and heard a scream.

“Humans coming!”

Another raid! Pyrite grabbed his battleaxe. He ran towards the shouting and froze. He could see the riders loosing arrows and charging again, but just as quick he was intercepted by Redscar himself. The Goblin was sweating. He pointed southwest.

“Human army approaching!”

“Humans here!”

Pyrite pointed towards the fighting ahead. Pyrite shook his head.

“Big army. Big army.”

An army? Pyrite looked up at Redscar, his heart beating even faster.

“How many?”

“Thousands. Days away. Sent [Scouts]. One survived.”

For a second the Hob’s ears rang. He looked up. Redscar looked grim as he shifted his grip on his sword. Pyrite looked around in desperation. Southwest? Redscar had sent—

No, no time for arguing. Pyrite knew now. He had to move! Keep ahead of the army! Half the tribe still couldn’t breathe. Rags was still unconscious, being carried, her face deathly pale. They had to move.

But the Humans on horses—Pyrite heard more screaming and looked up. There. He saw two of the Humans. One, the Human all in armor who led the raiding. The other he’d spotted. A Human woman with a pointed hat. A spellcaster throwing fire. They were tearing up the Goblins in front of him. No one else could reinforce them! If they did, the Humans would just attack the unguarded spots. Pyrite roared. He pointed at Redscar.

“Guard rear! Quietstab, follow!”

He charged towards the gap in his lines. Goblins surged to follow him. Gasping. Wounded. They were so tired. They just needed a chance to rest. Two more days. They were breathing better. But the poison—

She was the one behind it. Pointed hat. [Witch]. Pyrite was sure of it. He roared as he charged past Goblins, cutting down a Human on horseback. Blood splashed his chest and Pyrite howled. If it was this they could win! If it was a fight the tribe had Hobs, had warriors, had strategy! But they were hurt! They weren’t able to use their strength! Their Chieftain was asleep.

But she would wake up. Pyrite felt a Human slice his back, but it was a shallow cut. He spun and saw Quietstab hamstring the horse. Rider and horse went down and Pyrite heard the Humans shouting.

“Retreat! Let the archers cut them down!”

Flee. The Human in armor was too far away. Pyrite saw the [Archers] on horses loosing another volley. They had to be chased off. Goblins with crossbows were coming. They just had to buy time.

Strong. This tribe was strong. Pyrite looked around and saw Goblins fighting, coughing, some blind, others exhausted. They just had to rest. Everything would be alright when Rags woke up. If it was a fight, a proper fight—

He had to hold on. Pyrite charged at the Humans loosing arrows, preventing the Goblins from organizing their ranks. Give them a target. Pyrite shouted as he ran. The arrows flew past them. One struck his shoulder as Pyrite covered his face. All he had to do was hold on. Another struck his stomach, and another. Something struck his shoulder and burned. Pyrite screamed and kept running.

Believe. All he had to do was—five arrows struck Pyrite’s chest and he slowed. His blood spattered the ground.

Like tears.

—-

When the waters rose, the Flooded Waters tribe ate well. It was dangerous of course, but Rags remembered the rain with fondness. Goblins loved fish. They could hunt fish easily so long as they watched out for predators. All you had to do was find a big school of fish and surround it.

It didn’t matter if they were fast or small. When there were so many you could attack it from every side, find the stragglers, the slow ones. And then you took them. If you were quick enough you could have an armful of fish and your belly would be full. If they couldn’t fight back it was so easy. All you had to do was surround them with some other members of the tribe and then you could eat and eat. Rags had never known what it was like to be a fish.

And then she opened her eyes and the fish were Goblins.

The world swam in front of Rags’ vision. She looked up and saw a blank piece of canvas stretched over her head. A tent? No—she felt rough wood under her back and sat up. She realized she wasn’t in a tent. She was in a wagon.

Someone was crying. It was a high-pitched sound. An unfamiliar sound. Rags hadn’t heard crying in…it wasn’t a Goblin thing to do. But someone was crying and it was a Goblin who wept. Rags was sure of it.

She sat up and felt at the canvas covering the wagon and her. Only, halfway up Rags was seized by a horrible coughing fit. She coughed and pain coursed through her body. Her lungs were on fire! And her eyes burned. She scratched weakly at the canvas and heard a gasp. Someone wrestled with the covering and then there was light.

Rags sat up slowly, her eyes watering, coughing, and saw a hand offer something to her. Blindly, she reached out and drank. It wasn’t a healing potion, but the tepid, stale water did the same job. She stopped coughing and looked into the eyes of a small Goblin. A child.

To be fair, Rags was a small Goblin. This one was a proper child, not adult even by Goblin standards. She stared at Rags and she noticed the child had redder eyes than usual. She’d been crying.

“Stop that.”

Rags growled at the child and coughed. The small Goblin scampered back as Rags got up. Her body ached. Her chest felt terribly, terribly weak where she’d been cut. But she was alive. And she felt it. Her tribe needed her. So Rags rose. She stood up in the wagon and gasped. Coughed. But then stood tall.

Like nibbling fish. Like Goblins slowly tearing apart a school of fish. Like slow death, like a thousand stinging ants. Like blood dripping from a wound.

She felt her tribe’s anguish, even if she didn’t know why. Rags took a step, stumbled. A pair of hands steadied her. She looked at the small Goblin. Had she been crying because Rags was unconscious? No—it was more. Death. Rags could remember that.

“Let go.”

She felt the hands retreat and took another step. And another. Rags made her way over to the wagon’s edge and looked around. She could hear…silence. A lack of noise where noise should be. The tribe had stopped. There should be working Goblins, chattering, movement. And she shouldn’t have been covered in a wagon. This was bad. Rags made to leap off the wagons’ back and paused. She looked back at the child and saw two huge eyes staring back at her. Someone had to tell her.

“Crying is waste of water.”

The Goblin child stared at Rags and shrank slightly. The Chieftain of the Flooded Water tribe held her gaze and then smiled briefly.

“Unless it wakes Chieftain. Then it good.”

She leapt from the wagon, landed hard on the ground and got up. Staggering and then feeling her leg muscles work at last, Rags walked. The small Goblin child leapt off the cart after her. First it was one Goblin.

There was a Hob standing guard next to the wagon. He was healthy, but tired. His arm was bandaged and though he had no wheezing cough, his breathing was still labored. He was dozing on watch, which is why he’d missed Rags waking. She walked up to him and kicked him. He jerked upright, swung at her with his quarterstaff and stopped.

“Chieftain?”

She glared at him.

“Where is Pyrite?”

He looked around wildly and pointed uncertainly. Rags strode past him.

“Follow.”

The Hob saw the Goblin child follow Rags. He slapped himself, grinned as he realized he wasn’t dreaming, and followed, rubbing sleep out of his eyes. And then there were two.

Rags walked through her camp. It was her camp, but it was not her camp. It was all wrong. The fires were too close together. No—there weren’t many fires lit. The Goblins were lying too close! What if they were sick? What if there was an attack? What if they needed to pee? Too many were coughing, and it looked like many hadn’t eaten. Food was low. Water was low. And the wounded—

Too many wounded. Rags stumbled forwards, remembering what had happened. The attack! Poison. The coughing. Pieces came together. She saw Goblins look up, glance at her, away, and then do a double-take. They got up. Rags waved at them, croaking.

“Pyrite!”

They pointed. Rags quickened her pace. She didn’t tell the wounded to follow her, but they did anyways. They got up and the other Goblins saw the motion. They looked at each other and poked each other. They didn’t see Rags, short as she was, but they knew. And then there were handfuls.

The center of the camp was too full. But the perimeter was too sparse. Rags saw Goblins dug into hasty fortifications in the earth. They were in the plains! When had they gotten here? The Goblins on duty were too divided. Rags frowned. Why were they spread out? It was as if the camp was expecting an attack from any direction at any moment. But that wasn’t how you defended. You put your best soldiers where the enemy would attack, not weaken yourself by spreading yourself out. What had happened?

“Pyrite!”

She snapped the word and the Goblin soldiers looked up. They gaped and rose. Some pointed. Rags shouted at the ones who tried to abandon their positions.

“Stay!”

They did. But the shouting, the familiar voice made heads turn. The Goblins in earshot looked around. They stood up, craning to see. And they spoke.

“Chieftain.”

“Chieftain?”

It was an uncertain word, a tremulous question. Hope, and its cousin, fear, wavering for fear of the truth. But the word was repeated. It spread as more Goblins rose, defying exhaustion to see. And then they were many.

“Chieftain is awake.”

“Chieftain Rags.”

“Chieftain.”

They rose and followed. And then Rags was followed by hundreds. And the tribe took notice. Word began to spread from Goblin to Goblin. Rags was awake. And she was headed for Pyrite. Every hand began to point the way before she asked. The broken network of Goblin communication restored itself for one purpose. And as Rags walked her tribe formed itself around her. Around their Chieftain.

When they reached the sitting Goblin they were thousands. Rags stopped as the Goblins showed her to the Hob sitting on the ground. He was drinking from a half-empty bottle as Goblins fussed about him. Blood covered the ground around him. His battleaxe was covered with gore. And they had plucked too many splintered arrows and arrowheads from his flesh to count. Pyrite looked up and smiled around the blood.

“Good sleep?”

Rags stopped in front of him and looked down. Pyrite drank from the healing potion and sighed. She stared. He was bleeding. She couldn’t tell from where. He was covered in blood. He’d taken sword wounds, tearing mace blows, arrows to his chest, his sides, his back, cuts from daggers, burns from fire. And he’d stood among it all. The fat on his body was torn. His blood ran with it. Slowly.

He’d taken so many wounds that the healing potion was failing to recover all of them. Rags saw a gash on his stomach oozing fat slowly knit together and then—stop. She looked around, head spinning.

“Healing potion.”

“Out.”

Pyrite tossed the empty bottle to the ground. Again he tried to stand. This time he did. Rags looked at him. Pyrite swayed, frowned, and regained his balance. He bled. But he stood. And when he glanced at Rags, it was expectantly. He wanted orders. He said not a word about his wounds. Rags looked into his eyes.

“Show me.”

And the Hob smiled for the first time in days. He nodded and turned, his ravaged body as light as a feather. He said the words he’d waited so long to say.

“Yes, Chieftain.”

—-

By night they rode. By day they came. With arrow and sword. With fire and spell. Warriors of the Unseen Empire. From every direction, with traps and quick, lightning-fast attacks. And though they were fought off each time they exacted a price. Hundreds of dead. Hundreds. Rags saw the missing faces. Day after day the Humans had come. And for three days Pyrite had fought them off.

Three days. Three days he’d kept them marching while a third of the tribe was unable to do more than move, struggling for breath.

“Enemy not that smart. Weak leader. But Humans on horse can see at night. And they know where we are. Always.”

Pyrite stood with a crude map of the landscape drawn for Rags. She watched his chest rise and fall. He still bled, but his wounds were bandaged. They’d given him food—dry oats meant for fodder. There had been no time to forage so the tribe was hungry.

“How find?”

“Don’t know, Chieftain.”

Noears grinned at her. His head was bandaged and he looked exhausted, but he couldn’t stop grinning. At her. He gestured around.

“No spell. Can’t sense.”

“Tracker? Scout?”

“No.”

Redscar folded his arms. The Goblin warrior hadn’t shown his elation on seeing her, but he’d arrived as fast as the others. Rags had heard of his disastrous attempts to pursue the Humans. She understood. But—she turned back to Pyrite.

“How? Know?”

“No, Chieftain.”

Pyrite shrugged. He pointed back at the crude map, drawing her attention.

“City nearby. Big. Got walls. Lots of Humans.”

They’d come to a city, fleeing the Human’s advancing army. Pyrite pointed to the Human army, grimacing. Rags grimaced too. Thousands of Humans, approaching slowly on foot. Not the mounted raiders, but far more of them. They’d be able to finish off Rags’ weakened tribe. So Pyrite had taken the tribe away—right into a Human city.

“Not moving. Not yet.”

Poisonbite wheezed as she squatted next to the others. Her lungs were better, but she still had trouble breathing. Rags shifted her attention to her. Poisonbite was wounded, even if it wasn’t a visible wound. Over a third of her tribe was wounded. Vulnerable. The Humans had been chewing apart the warriors as they struggled to defend their helpless tribe from every direction.

“Mistake to leave forest. No cover.”

That came from Quietstab. There was no recrimination as he glanced at Pyrite. Both Hobs nodded, as did the other Goblins. It was a statement of fact. Rags chewed her lip, agreeing. If they’d stayed in the forest they could have built another fortress. Maybe. Or would the Humans have used poison again on a stationary target?

It didn’t matter. She focused on the map.

“Humans on horses. From city?”

“No.”

That voice came from no Goblin. They all looked at Sir Kerrig. He was squatting with them. Rags stared at the [Knight]. He looked up at her and nodded respectfully.

“The raiding Humans are part of the Unseen Emperor. Under the command of one Laken Godart. An [Emperor].”

Sir Kerrig waited for the Goblin’s response. They just stared at him. He coughed, slightly surprised, and went on.

“Goblins attacked his empire once before. The Great Chieftain’s forces, or so I believe. He may suspect you’re part of that force. Or a raiding army sent by the Goblin Lord.”

“Not.”

Rags said that firmly and all the Goblins nodded. Sir Kerrig hesitated.

“I don’t believe the difference would occur to Emperor Laken. Nevertheless, I can tell you that the city—it is called Lancrel, incidentally—is not part of his domain.”

Rags absorbed this information and promptly discarded the details about the name. She stared at Sir Kerrig. Then she turned to Pyrite.

“Why he here?”

“Human [Lady] come. She go. He stay.”

Pyrite shrugged, seeming to enjoy the motion despite how it opened up the wound in his shoulder. Rags glanced at Sir Kerrig. He met her gaze levelly.

“I wished to observe your tribe, Chieftain Rags.”

“Observe this?”

She gestured angrily around at the injured Goblins. Sir Kerrig paused. He looked at some of the injured Goblins. Rags had heard that he’d helped tend to the injured. She didn’t care. At last the [Knight] responded.

“What would you have me say? I witnessed you destroy a Human army. Just or not, Laken Godart’s attacks are in retaliation for Goblin raids on his lands. He is protecting his people with preemptive strikes. He regards this as a war.”

“Against Tremborag. Against Goblin Lord. Not us.”

“He cannot tell the difference, Chieftain Rags.”

“So tell him. Why not stop? Go shout at Humans!”

Incensed, Rags glared at Sir Kerrig. He’d come back here? To do what? Watch? As if it was his choice? Sir Kerrig spoke defensively.

“I am an observer. I cannot speak for your intentions. If I requested peace and your tribe attacked innocents, the blood would be on my hands!”

Rags just stared at the [Knight]. He looked apologetic.

“Chieftain, if you can give me an assurance that your tribe would truly stop fighting, I could attempt—”

She leaned forwards and spat. Sir Kerrig jerked and wiped at his face. Rags turned away.

“Coward.”

She ignored the [Knight] and looked back at Pyrite. He was glancing at Sir Kerrig, half-smiling. So wounded. She saw what he was doing. Could she have done better? Perhaps—she would never know. But now she was awake, Rags understood. An enemy that knew where you were. An [Emperor] with an army pursuing them on horse and a larger one following behind. A city full of Humans.  A stupid, silly Human [Knight]. The pieces fell together and she sighed.

“Humans.”

Her tribe looked at her. Not just her officers, not just the red-faced Sir Kerrig, but all of them. Goblins stood around her meeting spot, waiting. Watching her. Watching their Chieftain. She had led them into this land. She had attacked the first Human army. She had fallen and left them for three days. So they waited, judging her, waiting for her to bring them hope.

Rags closed her eyes. So many dead. The poison. The black riders in the night. All of it. Why? Because—because some [Emperor] thought they were the wrong Goblins? Her heart hurt. Her chest burned. But this was fitting. This was right. This was—

“This is the way Goblins die.”

Her tribe looked at her. Rags stared up at the blue skies. In Liscor, it would be raining. She spoke, still smelling the poison in the air, still seeing the arrows falling. How dare he.

“Running, fighting, protecting, friend and friend. Humans hunt us, monsters to the end. Not people, not anything worth anything. Again, they come, for Goblin children, for Goblin Kings. Forever, forever. All the same in the end.”

She rose. Her officers stood with her. Rags looked around. An [Emperor]? Protecting his people? Replying in kind. How silly. Rags looked at the map. The Humans could be anywhere. They could attack from any direction, at her weak spots. What did you do about that? She jabbed her finger at her answer and the Goblins stared at her.

“The city.”

—-

General Wiskeria of the Unseen Empire was brewing tea in a pot when the [Mage] responsible for receiving [Message] spells, Allais Vermot, ran towards her.

“They’re moving straight for Lancrel!”

“What?”

Wiskeria nearly dropped the ball of dried herbs she was dipping into the kettle. She stood up as Beniar raced over. The former Silver-rank adventurer and now [Captain] and [Cataphract] listened to Allais’ report.

“They’re headed straight to Lancrel as fast as they can.”

“Do they think we’re based out of the city? Or are they trying to take it?”

Wiskeria shook the wet tea bag as she took the kettle off the fire. Beniar’s eyes shone.

“They must be insane! If they try for a siege we’ll hammer them against Lancrel’s walls! Wis, this is our chance!”

The [Witch] frowned and not least because Beniar had called her ‘Wis’.

“Hold on. The main army is still a day or two away at best. We don’t have more than eight hundred soldiers here. The Goblins still number over seven thousand!”

“So? Lancrel can hold its walls and we’ll hit the Goblins while they’re stationary. If they commit—we don’t need the rest of the reinforcements! We can smash them against the walls right here and now!”

It was tempting, Wiskeria had to admit. Lancrel had refused to field its army in response to the Goblin threat. By attacking the city, the Goblins were adding another enemy. She nodded after thinking it over. There was really one thing they could do.

“Move out! Beniar, keep your cavalry back. I want them to start attacking the city before we strike. We’ll pin them there!”

Beniar grinned and Wiskeria sighed as she ran for the horses. She hoped it would all go according to plan. In the worst case the Goblins would dig into the nearby landscape as they constructed siege towers or rams. They could prove difficult to uproot if they remained still, rather than kept moving. Of course, by then the army would get there…

It was all a matter of time. Within the hour she and the entire camp of mobile horses were racing towards Lancrel. By the time they reached the city the Goblins were already closing in on the walls.

—-

“Goblin army approaching!”

Lancrel had seen the Flooded Water tribe coming miles away. And they were warned. By the time the Goblins approached the walls from the east, the majority of the garrison was deployed and waiting. They laughed as they saw the Goblins approaching, though the size of the army was slightly concerning. However, as the Watch Captain reassured his men, there was nothing to worry about.

“There’s twenty feet of wall between us and those damn green freaks! Twenty feet! Keep the ladders off—if they have any—and we’ll slaughter twenty for every one that even makes it on the walls!”

His men laughed, reassured. They watched the Goblins stream towards them. They had wolves, some of them! Huge, loping monsters, three times as big as normal. That too was concerning. But again, the walls were there. It wasn’t as if the Goblins had brought siege towers.

“Hold your ground, men! We’ll push this Goblin Lord back, without this so-called [Emperor]’s help!”

The Watch Captain was still laughing as the first rank of Goblins entered bow-shot range. Instantly some of the [Archers] on the walls fired, their shots going astray. The running Goblins paused and their mounted wolf riders pointed. The Watch Captain nodded.

“See that? They’re going to pull back, send their ladders first. Hold your shots you idiots! Focus on the Goblins with ladders—”

He bit back his words because the ranks of Goblins broke into a run. Straight towards the walls. The Watch Captain looked around wildly.

“Ladders! Aim for the Goblins holding ladders!”

Confused, the Humans looked around. Where were the Goblins with ladders? They weren’t carrying any?

“Watch Captain! Those Hobs have a ram?”

“A what?”

The Watch Captain spotted a few Hobs with a smaller version of a ram. He pointed.

“Aha! Not even ladders! On my mark, bring those Hobs down! Loo—”

Those around him felt a kick and heard the roar after the impact had tossed them off their feet. The unlucky Humans who’d been knocked off the walls fell screaming. The ones around the Watch Captain who’d landed on the battlements looked around. They didn’t see their Watch Captain, only a smoldering corpse. They looked back down and lightning flashed upwards again, straight from the fingers of a cackling Goblin with no ears.

“Goblin [Mage]!”

“Bring it down!”

Panicked shouts came from the walls. The [Archers] began shooting wildly, aiming at the Goblin who’d thrown lightning. He ducked behind a Goblin with a huge wooden shield. And then the Goblins behind him raised something. The Humans blinked. Were those crossbows?

They saw the bolts fly up. The first volley took many of the [Guardsmen] and [Soldiers] off-guard. They fell back, screaming, as the bolts shattered flesh and bone. The Goblins reloaded as the defenders of Lancrel took cover. The Goblins were dangerous! But they still had the high ground and reinforcements. They could hold on the walls so long as the Goblins didn’t—

“Throw!”

A voice shouted the word. The Humans looked around. Throw? Who had shouted that. One of them looked over the walls, ducking as an arrow grazed his helmet. He saw something strange below. A pair of Hobs, cupping hands. And a small Goblin with a glowing blue blade, running at them. The Goblin leapt and his foot landed in the Hob’s cupped hands. They heaved and he flew up, twenty feet into the air. The Human [Soldier] gaped as a hand grabbed onto the ledge in front of him.

“Dead g—”

He raised his sword and Redscar’s enchanted blade went through his helmet. The Goblin reached up and used the dead Human’s body to haul himself onto the battlements. He grinned as, across the wall, more Redfang warriors were launched up by the Hobs.

The defenders of Lancrel gaped at Redscar as he looked around, his enchanted sword raised. It was bloody. A Human jabbed at Redscar with a spear. He sidestepped the thrust contemptuously and swung. His sword sheared through the thick haft of the spear. The Human backed up as Redfang turned. The second swing beheaded him.

“Kill the Goblin!”

Lancrel’s soldiers rushed at Redscar. But too many were armed with bows! The Goblin ducked between the bigger Humans, stabbing in the confined press of bodies. He heard screams and ducked as a sword flashed towards his head. He turned, cut down a Human, and kicked another one as the Human overbalanced from a swing.

The screaming Human toppled over the battlements. Redscar turned, grinning, his face alight with fury as more Goblins flew up to grab the walls. He spun, laughing, and the Humans backed away from the shorter Goblin with the enchanted sword. At last! This was a real battle!

—-

“Goblins on walls!”

“Good!”

Rags saw more Goblins flying upwards, propelled by the Hobs assigned to throwing duty. It was a completely stupid idea. Only regular Goblins were light enough for a trick like this and only Hobs were strong enough. But Pyrite had inspired her with his games of throwing Goblins into the lake. More to the point, it had worked because Lancrel’s defenders were being suppressed by the rain of arrows, bolts, and slings her army was throwing up at them. And Noear’s lightning. Rags pointed and sent a fiery arrow straight into the face of a Human woman with a bow. The defenders of the wall were well and truly occupied. So she turned and bellowed.

“Hobs!”

A group of Hobs answered her call. They thrust their way forwards, holding the smaller rams they’d made on the march. They charged towards the doors as Goblins made way. Hobs. She heard Humans on the walls shouting in alarm. They’d probably never seen more than one or two Hobs. But she had hundreds in her tribe. And the ones who began pounding on the gates were fresh.

This was the Flooded Water tribe’s fighting force. The wounded and sick Goblins clustered against the walls while the Human defenders were distracted by the climbing Goblins. They had probably two thousand warriors they could send. Rags knew the Human city probably held as many as ten thousand Humans. But how many would man the walls? How many could fight? A Human with a few levels in [Warrior] was not the same as a Redfang Warrior. Or a Hob.

And she’d sent her best. Rags watched as the Hobs she’d sent to the gates roared and struck the gates again with their hand-held ram as the rest rammed the door with their shoulders. The impact made the wood crack and splinter. They drew back and struck again as one. Again! Again! Ag—

The gates broke with a thunderous crash inwards and the Hobs roared and heaved. The Humans trying to hold it shut went flying and the Hobs charged in with hundreds of Goblins at their back. Redfang warriors, groups of Goblins with pikes—they smashed into the stunned defenders. The twenty-foot long pikes pierced through the defender’s shields and armor before the Hobs came in swinging. At their head was Pyrite. He roared as he cleaved through a Human’s shield and pointed. Goblins swarmed after him.

Impossible! Rags could practically hear the Humans shrieking the word. She grinned viciously. This was her tribe! This was their might! Then she turned her attention to the Goblins outside the walls.

Most of them were coughing, exhausted, barely able to move after their mad dash to the walls. Many, thousands, weren’t even warriors. Women and children huddled right next to the imposing stone walls, right in range of bowshot and where a vat of boiling oil or water could hit them. But the defenders were fighting Rags’ warriors! Lancrel was at their mercy.

Which meant that the Humans closing on their rear now had a clean shot at all of Rags’ weakest warriors and noncombatants. Rags looked over her shoulder.

There they were. Right on time. She saw Human riders streaming across the plain. Six hundred…eight hundred? A good force to harry. Not to charge an entire tribe. But Lancrel was being overrun. Rags could hear and see the Goblins pressing forwards. She’d committed nearly every Hob and all of her Redfang warriors to the push! Of course it was falling fast. But therein lay the weakness.

Rags tried to imagine what the enemy commander was thinking. Well. The foolish tribe may have gained the city, but now they’re trapped. They’ve sent their warriors ahead, all of them. You could ride them down from behind and slaughter them. They’d barely be able to put up a fight. They can’t breathe. They can’t see. Rags felt the burning in her chest and knew that was true. She watched as the Humans made a quick decision.

They charged. She saw the riders with spears, swords, and axes taking the lead while the ones with bows followed. They’d hit her from behind and pin her tribe against the walls! Packed as tightly as they were, it would be a slaughter. The Hobs wouldn’t be able to return until half of the tribe was dead! All the Humans had to do was strike before Rags could get her tribe inside the walls. She could see the Humans accelerate. Rags nodded to herself.

There was no good way to beat an enemy who knew what you were doing at all times. Not out in the open. Traps wouldn’t work. But what about something you knew was going to happen? She narrowed her eyes. The enemy commander was good at spying. But strategy?

The first line of riders was two hundred paces away from the walls when Rags gave the order.

“Crossbows.”

Every Goblin, child and elderly, sick and wounded, turned. They raised the crossbows they’d been given. The Humans on horseback wavered as they saw the wall of Goblins turn into ranks of waiting archers. Rags pointed.

“Now!”

The wounded Goblins aimed and fired. The first volley of bolts took scores of riders from their saddles, toppling screaming horses. Stones from slings and the weaker stone crossbows landed among the Humans, denting helmets, shattering bone. A few of Rags’ wounded Hobs shot with their bows, taking down Humans with precise shots.

“Reload.”

Rags reached down and pulled at her crossbow, laboriously cocking it. She slapped another bolt into the slot and aimed. Where was the armored Human. Didn’t matter. She focused on a Human with a spear charging at them. Rags sighed, coughed.

“Fire.”

The second wave of bolts cut down more riders. The Humans tried to keep charging, but the falling horses and Humans tripped up the ones behind. They pulled back as whoever was in charge realized they wouldn’t get the walls. There were thousands of Goblins and Rags had hundreds of crossbows firing at once. The force of eight hundred wasn’t enough! The riders circled as Rags continued to order the Goblins to reload and fire, marking targets.

Suddenly, the walls behind them weren’t a trap, but a shield. The Humans on horseback couldn’t circle the lines of Goblin crossbows and Wiskeria’s archers found themselves outnumbered by the volleys of bolts that rained onto their position. They retreated, breaking, falling, racing back.

What now? They had to keep Lancrel from falling! Another gate! They could enter from another gate! The defenders raced to the southern gates to reinforce Lancrel only to find they were too late. The gates were open and Humans were racing out.

“Into the city. Crossbows on walls. Get pikes in gate.”

Rags pointed as her tribe streamed further and further into the city. Humans fled from them by the thousands, wailing, fleeing the Hob’s advance. Rags rode through the city as her Redfang riders spread out, seeking out the Humans who’d continued to fight.

Whomever this [Emperor] was, he didn’t understand war like she did. Count on a city to defend itself? Against a weaker, smaller tribe, perhaps. But Human cities weren’t like Drake cities. They had no enchantments on their walls. Their populace didn’t fight to the death. And their walls were too short.

And worse, yes, worst, the Humans of Lancrel had failed to understand how fast the Goblins could take down a gate made of wood. They could have fought the Redfang warriors off on the walls in time. They could have held. But wooden gates? Rags shook her head as she saw Humans streaming out the other exits of the city. The Humans on horseback wouldn’t gain entry from any of the other ways in, if they’d been stupid enough to try. Lancrel’s citizens were pressed against the gates, screaming, shoving to get out. The Goblins were inclined to let them. They were tired.

—-

“Incredible.”

Quietstab shook his head and stared from his position atop the battlements. He turned to Pyrite, awestruck.

“Took city. Without siege!”

Pyrite grunted. He was feeling a lot better. His belly was full—they’d ransacked Lancrel’s stores and found lots of food. And healing potions. He stood on the walls, watching the Humans slowly marching away from their city. Lancrel’s refugees had immediately turned to the Humans on horseback and the Humans had no choice but to try and guard them—and watch the city. More had arrived on foot. A good two thousand, but they were keeping well back, wary of a Goblin attack.

They had no idea that there was little chance of that. The exhausted Goblins had almost all collapsed after eating their fill. The only ones on the walls were just there to look threatening; the Redfangs were the only group still active enough to keep searching the city for supplies. Pyrite leaned against the battlements as he replied to Quietstab.

“Bad city defense. Other tribes take cities. Mountain City tribe did.”

He was referring to the city they’d taken with Gold-rank adventurers. That had taken more planning, but it had happened. Quietstab nodded.

“But Tremborag leads. Great Chieftain. This time our Chieftain leads.”

“True.”

Pyrite thought about that. Rags led. She’d woken up. And just like that, things had changed. He felt—relieved. Ashamed. He hadn’t thought of this. But she’d woken up and like that she’d saved them.

“Can rest here. Hold walls against twice as many Humans.”

“Mm.”

Pyrite wondered about that. The Humans would come. There were thousands more coming and probably even more that would be angry about the city. They’d bought time, that was all. His ears perked up as he heard a grumbling complaint. Both he and Quietstab turned and saw Rags coming up the stairs.

“Chieftain?”

She had a bag in her hands. Quietstab made way for her and Pyrite eyed the bag. It was full of Rags’ possessions. He hadn’t ever seen inside, but it wasn’t filled with much.

“Chieftain. Want food?”

He offered her a handful of dried nuts he’d been snacking on. She glared at him.

“No. Help me up.”

She pointed and Pyrite lifted her up. Rags perched on top of the battlements, dangerously close to the edge. She didn’t care. She stared at the Human army camped far outside of range of the walls. They were watching the Goblins.

“Lots of Humans. Will attack if leave.”

“Attack them, Chieftain?”

“No. Will run. Probably. More coming.”

Rags grumbled to herself. She opened her cloth bag and glared into it. Then she hurled it at Pyrite.

“Where is? Search. Small red stone. Scary.”

Bemused, he opened the bag and rummaged through it. He found a battered chess piece, the ruby he’d given her, some battered pieces of parchment and then—

Pyrite inhaled sharply. Rags looked up.

“Give.”

She took the object Pyrite handed to her. Quietstab peered, interested, and then stopped as Rags looked at him.

“Quietstab. Get Redscar. Get Redfangs. Mounted ones.”

She glanced at the Humans in the distance. Pyrite watched her gaze, no longer complacent. Quietstab nodded, glancing at the thing she held.

“How many Redfang?”

“All.”

The Hob blinked. Rags glanced at him and he ran. Pyrite looked at Rags.

“Chieftain? What is that for?”

He pointed. Rags held the red stone up. It was shiny. A ruby gemstone. But the way it made him feel—she turned it and Pyrite’s stomach lurched. He looked at her face and his stomach lurched for different reasons.

“Bad things.”

Rags looked up. Behind her, in the city, Pyrite could see Redscar riding towards them. Rags looked at him.

“Not done yet. Pyrite.”

She pointed to the Humans beyond. Pyrite looked at her.

“What next?”

—-

“They’re coming out of the city!”

“Are you serious?”

This time Wiskeria didn’t wait for a reply. She shouted and every [Soldier] under her command leapt to their feet. The Goblins were attacking? She wavered between attack and retreat. How many? She paused as she saw—

“The wolf riders?”

They streamed out of the city, hundreds of them. But only hundreds. They formed into a wedge and raced out of the city, following a pair of short Goblins who rode forwards. Beniar growled.

“They’re making a break for it! Wis, we have to—”

“I know. Intercept! Everyone, towards the Goblins!”

Wiskeria raised her voice and thousands of Humans raced towards the Goblins. The Darksky Riders lead by Beniar raced forwards. Their numbers were reduced, but all they had to do was hold the Goblins there! An easy task. Wiskeria could tear the Goblins apart. Maybe then the disaster of Lancrel could be mitigated.

“Charge!”

She saw Beniar heading straight for the pair of Goblins. One small. The other held the enchanted blade. She saw the small one raise something in its hands. And then—

Something changed. Wiskeria felt her heart stop in her chest. Her beating, wonderful heart stopped dead. For a second. She stumbled and around her [Soldiers] cried out and halted.

The red eye pulsed as the Goblin held it over her head. In its depths something stirred. It looked at Wiskeria. It knew her name. Something called to her. It crawled in her head. It had a name. It was flesh. Putrefaction. It screamed and she screamed. Skinner! She turned and fled, she—

“No!”

Wiskeria shouted, breaking herself free of the [Fear] spell. She turned and saw the soldiers stumbling backwards and then recovering as she had. They shuddered as the gem struck fear into their hearts, but at her urging they kept running. However, it was too late. The [Fear] spell had done its work. Not on the Humans, but on Beniar and the riders.

Humans could withstand the spell. For them it was only fear. But animals were different. The charge of the Darksky Riders broke for the second time that day as Wiskeria watched. Half of the horses turned or reared, some throwing their riders to the ground. Beniar’s advance halted in its tracks as the Carn Wolves raced past them.

If they’d been faster by a few seconds. If the [Fear] spell hadn’t been used. The Goblin lowered the stone as it ceased to shine and tucked it into her pack. Wiskeria watched helplessly as the Carn Wolves outraced the horses, heading into the forests. She saw Beniar turn and whirled.

“Alais! Send a spell to Laken! I need to know where they’re going! Now!”

—-

So this is how it ended. Dreamily, Rags rode with the wind blowing across her body. The Redfang warriors whooped, exhilarated to finally run, triumphant over their small victory over the Humans. Redscar drew his wolf over to Rags and pointed as they slowed.

“What is?”

She offered him the now inactive [Fear] gemstone. It wasn’t that useful, certainly not against Goblins. And it ran out of magic. But it was good for a distraction when she’d remembered it. Redscar eyed it appreciatively and then handed it back.

“What now?”

“Slow.”

They halted miles from the city, having outdistanced their Human pursuers for the moment. Rags turned her Carn Wolf, seeing the eyes of all the Redfang warriors on her. Curiously. She knew she was not their real leader. They had abandoned Garen for her. But they were still Redfang. Still his.

And yet. She looked at Redscar. He paused. The other Goblin had been exuberant since the battle for Lancrel. His fury against the Humans had been quenched in part. But Pyrite had told her what he’d done.

“Chased Humans.”

“When Chieftain was asleep.”

“Pyrite ordered not to.”

Redscar shifted, avoiding her gaze.

“Redfangs know how to fight.”

“So does Pyrite.”

Silence. The Redfang warriors looked away. Rags could sense their good moods fading. They did not want to see their leader be dressed down. She sensed their resentment. But Redscar eventually looked up.

“Angry. At Humans.”

Rags nodded. Anger. It was such a strange feeling. She had woken, feeling her tribe torn. She had seen the empty look in the eyes of her Goblins, heard their grief. But anger? It was in Redscar. But three days of fighting had left only embers.

“Anger. Rage. Orders is still orders.”

A pause. Redscar lowered his head.

“True.”

Rags turned her head. Redfang warriors looked at her or stared at their wolves. Some challengingly. Others unashamed. Some regretful. Anger. Fury. She reached in her chest.

“They killed us.”

The Goblins looked at her. Rags looked around. Fewer faces. Fewer wolves. The Redfangs had survived the fighting more than most by virtue of their superior levels and skill. But they had lost numbers too. Rags could see it when she looked around her tribe.

“They poisoned us.”

Like rats. Rags’ grip tightened on her Carn Wolf’s fur and it whined. She let go. She looked at Redscar and then around at the Redfang warriors.

“Who is Chieftain? Who is leader for Redfangs?”

They looked at each other. Redscar called out, his voice loud.

“You, Chieftain!”

Rags nodded. It had to be said.

“Follow orders. Follow my orders.”

She gave them. The Redfang warriors looked confused. Then, as they realized what she wanted, they sat in their saddles. Their eyes burned. Rags pointed. In the distance Humans were pursuing them on horseback. Too few. Too slow.

“Go. Go and show them.”

She pointed west. The Redfang’s heads turned as one. Rags pointed east. They looked. She pointed north and south and shouted.

“They attacked us! They killed us! So show them same! Show them pain! Show them hate. Show them Goblins.”

She kicked her Carn Wolf and rode past the Redfang warriors. They raised their weapons, shouting. The wolves began to howl.

“Burn the villages and towns and fields. No mercy. No Humans spared.”

Redscar’s eyes shone as he pointed. Redfang warriors roared. Rags reached inside her chest. There it was. Something darker than anger, thicker than fury. She reached for it and a black tingling ran through her veins.

“Kill them. Ride. Burn the playthings—”

She broke off, touched a hand to her head. The Redfang warriors waited. Rags looked up. She saw the Humans racing towards them. She saw Erin’s face, plastered on the corpses. And then she saw the dead, lying on the ground in the darkness. She turned and the blackness inside her spoke for her.

—-

“Emperor Laken? General Wiskeria is asking you for an update. She is in pursuit of the Goblins riding wolves.”

My hands are sweaty. I’m shaking. Reeling, rather. Lancrel has fallen. The Goblin took it in less than an hour. It’s fine, though. They can be defeated. Just so long as the army reaches them—I need to send trebuchets. But this force—I follow it with my mind.

“I see them. They’re headed south. They’ve stopped. Wait—wait. What are they—”

Something’s happening. I see the small Goblin raise her hand in my head. The Goblins roar. And then—they move. But not in one direction.

“Oh no.”

The image of the wolves splinters in my mind, the solid mass of Goblins breaking up into groups of ten, of two, riding in every direction. They race across the ground, not one mass, but splitting up, into smaller groups. Smaller and smaller. In every direction.

“No, no. This can’t be happening.”

“Emperor Laken? General Wiskeria is requesting a location. Emperor Laken? Your Majesty?”

I raise my head, sightless, my hands clenched. Nesor’s sweaty face stares back at me. Lady Rie pauses.

“Where are the wolf riders headed? Emperor Laken?”

“Everywhere.”

—-

Rags rode. The wind felt hot in her face. She was alone. Behind her, Redfang warriors broke up. Riding in every direction, howling. They split up, the single mass of them fracturing. Rags rode alone for the moment. Her head felt light. Something black rose in her chest, as if she could spit it out.

It was so simple. So very simple. Pyrite didn’t see it because he was kind. Redscar didn’t see it because he was a warrior. But she saw it because she was Rags. Because she thought like her opponent. Erin had taught her that.

If you could see everything, if you could see every move your opponent made, what was the way to counter that? A trap? No. You couldn’t trap something like that. But you could overwhelm it. Give it a hundred targets.

They’d found a map of the region in Lancrel. It burned in her head. Villages, cities, towns. Farmers and their fields. All neatly written down. Targets.

Burn the villages. Destroy the mills. Cut them down as they flee. Set fire to forests. Raid their homes. Hurt them. Vengeance.

Across the landscape Redfang warriors rode, howling. They didn’t ride against the pursuing warriors. They rode into villages with flaming torches. They descended on fields, on Humans sleeping or heading to bed. They rode with no goal in mind.

Only hatred. Only fury. It was in her. After the brilliance was done, after the battle and saving her tribe, something else was in Rags. Not a Chieftain’s desires. Not a leader’s thoughts. Something dark. And primal. It was in her heart and she’d opened the door.

No more. They slaughtered her tribe. They used poison. They killed children, those who couldn’t fight. Rags heard the thoughts flash through her head. Excuses. It wasn’t howling anymore. It was a scream. The scream of wind. Of Goblins bringing death. A scream in her mind. She whispered as the screaming grew louder.

“They started it.”

No one replied. No one told her it was wrong. No one had to. But it didn’t matter. Ahead of Rags she could see a farm. A village attached to Lancrel, maybe. It didn’t matter.

It was everything that mattered. The Goblin rode alone as the air grew hot around her. Fire burned in her hands. She saw the dark building rise in front of her and remembered an inn. The two buildings were nothing the same. But they were exactly the same. Rags raised her hand and shot fire onto the roof. She blasted in the windows with flaming arrows. She wiped at her eyes then she drew her sword. Rags heard the screaming, going on and on.

It was coming from her.

—-

One last thing. As the Redfang warriors rode, as Pyrite took charge of the tribe in the city of Lancrel, as an [Emperor] shouted desperate orders too slowly, too late, as [Message] spells moved too slowly to catch the wolves that rode through the night, a [Lady] paused on the open road far north of it all.

She’d ridden far outside of the Unseen Empire and now she stood at the edge of the campfire. A man stood with her, his hand on his rapier. Always watchful, always wary. But the [Lady] paid no notice to the darkness. She spoke into the magical earring she held.

“Do you remember how we met, Magnolia?”

“I don’t care to recall. Is it germane to the conversation?”

The voice that spoke back was crisp, impatient. Bethal shifted.

“No. Perhaps. Yes. I had cause to remember it a while ago. Do you recall?”

“I should hardly forget. You nearly killed me.”

“After you slapped me and told me to run or be cut down with my family. I never thanked you for doing that.”

“Of course not.”

Bethal paused. She glanced over her shoulder. The fire was inviting. Her personal tent waiting. Her two [Knights] traded places for sentry duty. Bethal sighed.

“I’m done killing Goblins for a while.”

A pause.

“I see.”

“Don’t ask for my Knights of the Petal either. You may keep them at Invrisil if you need them. But I want sixteen to meet me.”

“Are you taking a role in this conflict with the [Emperor]?”

“I don’t know.”

“Bethal. I need you closer to home. Tyrion is moving.”

“At last.”

“The Goblin Lord is approaching the mountain. He’s slowed. Gathering more Goblins. But when they meet—”

“Yes, yes. And Tyrion will do what, exactly? Why is he delayed?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you can guess.”

More silence from the other end. Bethal sighed into the earring.

“Which side will win, Magnolia? This Goblin tribe or the [Emperor]? The Great Chieftain, Tremborag, or this Goblin Lord? Which do we want to win? And where will Tyrion fit into all this? Will you tell me or leave me guessing?”

“I should hope at least some of those answers would be obvious.”

“Not anymore. I thought I knew good and evil, Magnolia. But all this? This? This is madness.”

Bethal looked around. Distantly, far distant, she thought she could see sparks of light growing against the dark horizon. She wondered if someone was starting a fire. But at that distance—Magnolia’s voice was calm.

“Not madness, Bethal. This is what has always been. Goblins or Humans. It is always the same.”

“What is?”

“War.”

Bethal closed her eyes. She was still for a very long moment as Thomast put his hand on her shoulder. At last she whispered.

“I don’t think it’s the same. Magnolia. I think it hurts differently each time.”

Without waiting for a response she dropped the earring and turned to hug her husband. And in the distance, the fires grew brighter. And brighter. And darker.

5.24 L

She dreamed of thrones, of bickering voices and tall, frail men and women perched like harpies on towering seats built of tarnished, stained gold. Lyonette saw a court full of people whose faces were masks and whose smiles were as sweet as poison, mingling around the thrones. She walked among them and found herself standing in a town where everyone bowed and never met her eye.

And in her dream, Lyonette thought it all made sense. She saw the masked nobles look at her and curtseyed before the watchers on their squalid thrones. She stepped among the nobility, putting a mask on her face and smiling artificially alongside the rest. She smiled as she saw a golden throne fall, and cheered with the others as another one was built from blocks of the old one. She saw nobles fade as they sprouted daggers from their chests, spat froth and blood from poisoned lips, took terrible wounds by sword or claw or just grew old and passed.

The others mingled and talked and there was something there almost like affection as they slid daggers under their skirts and clothing, waiting for the best moment. She laughed at the common folk and nodded at the few who managed to look up, allowing them to stumble into the room full of watching, predatory masked faces. The monarchs watched, waiting, old and ancient and their thrones grew taller. Lyonette dreamed of all this. It was no nightmare. For a while she was happy. Then someone stuck a wet nose in her ear and she woke up.

—-

It wasn’t, Lyonette thought, a mystical prophecy of any kind. It was just a dream. It might have been caused by stress. But it hadn’t been a bad dream. It hadn’t.

“I used to like it, Mrsha.”

The Gnoll looked up as she ate her breakfast of porridge. She had some of the food caught on the fur around her face. She licked it up with her tongue and looked at Lyonette questioningly.

“Being a [Princess]. It wasn’t a bad life.”

Mrsha nodded agreeably. That made sense. She went back to her porridge. Lyonette sighed.

“But I was frustrated. I never leveled. I never did anything and I felt like I was a failure. I was…sad.”

She looked down at her bowl until she felt a wet nose on her hand. Mrsha looked up at her with expectant eyes. Lyonette smiled and spooned some porridge into her mouth.

“I’m not sad now. It was just a dream.”

Mrsha nodded and pointed at her empty bowl. Lyonette eyed it; it had been licked clean. She thought about scolding Mrsha, but then she recalled that licking your plate was perfectly acceptable, indeed, expected in Gnoll society. So she nodded and smiled.

“Take your bowl into the kitchen and you can play. But remember—”

She held up a warning finger as Mrsha grabbed her bowl. The Gnoll paused and looked back. Lyonette made sure Mrsha met her eyes.

“You can’t leave the inn without telling me or Erin. Remember?”

Mrsha sighed and her ears drooped slightly. But she nodded and scampered into the kitchen. Lyonette heard Erin’s voice for a second before Mrsha scampered out. The Gnoll raced upstairs and Lyonette guessed she was heading straight to her room. She had a ball up there.

Sure enough, no sooner had Lyonette heard the scuffling-scratching sound of Mrsha racing upstairs than she heard energetic thumping coming down the stairs. Mrsha raced down with a soft ball made of corded leather in her mouth. She ran into the center of the common room and looked around.

Normally, there wouldn’t be much space for an energetic child of any species to play in a normal inn. Especially one with guests. But happily, Erin’s inn now featured her [Grand Theatre] Skill at almost all times. The giant room felt slightly unnerving to Lyonette and she often kept her back turned to the extra space. But Mrsha loved it. The dim room was plenty of space for her to toss her ball and race after it, diving beneath chairs and leaping over the tops of tables.

“Careful!”

Lyonette couldn’t help calling out another warning as she watched Mrsha leap over a chair as she chased after her prized ball. Mrsha was going fast! But she didn’t tell the Gnoll cub to stop either. Mrsha needed to play. And given the current circumstances, letting her play anywhere but the common room of the inn would be dangerous.

The young [Princess] glanced towards the windows. Half of them were still boarded up, but two had been renovated by the industrious Antinium Workers. She saw through a glass pane dark skies and pouring rain. Again. It felt like it had been a month already, but barely a week had passed and the spring rains were still drowning Liscor. The waters had now engulfed the Floodplains and only a few of the tallest hills and the city itself stood above the waterline.

It was wet. Unpleasant to be out and about in. Not that Mrsha would care, but the waters presented dangers of their own. Quillfish, octopus-fish with teeth, Rock Crabs creeping along underwater, to name but a few of the dangers. Of course, most of the fish that had entered the waters were by and large harmless, but Lyonette wasn’t about to risk Mrsha at all. She’d had enough close encounters, thank you. So the Gnoll had been confined to the inn unless Lyonette went into the city. Normally that would be fine, but the rain meant that Liscor was less than engaging for a small child.

Rain. Rain and more rain, pouring down at every second. It was enough to dampen the brightest spirits. Or at least, make one think twice about venturing outside unless you had business. Lyonette sighed as she watched Mrsha playing. Then she turned her head.

“Stay out of my drink, Apista.”

The Ashfire Bee creeping up the side of her mug fanned its wings. Undeterred by the gigantic bee, Lyonette plucked her off and tossed her into the air. Apista fanned her wings and flew around Lyonette; the [Barmaid] could feel the bee’s annoyance. But not much; it was a mild thing, like the faintest of itches and Lyonette had learned enough to know that meant Apista was only vaguely upset. And she wasn’t about to let the bee drink her milk.

Lyonette sipped from her mug, savoring the warm, rich goat’s milk. It had a different flavor than cow’s milk but it wasn’t bad. Actually, it might have been a bit sweeter. Lyonette had known worse goat milk before, but Erin got hers fresh from one of Liscor’s few villages and it stayed fresh thanks to her Skills.

Something to savor. Lyonette closed her eyes and sipped again. Without looking she batted Apista away from her mostly empty bowl of porridge. The Ashfire Bee buzzed again, but Lyonette was unmoved.

“I just fed you breakfast! You ate your honey—shoo!”

Disgruntled, the Ashfire Bee flew backwards and Lyonette knew she was going to her favorite spot—the baskets of faerie flowers that were blooming despite the horrible weather right by Erin’s windows. Lyonette knew the bee loved sipping the nectar from the flowers.

“Strange that it doesn’t do anything to you. Everyone else gets dizzy and I knock out bees when I burn the flowers. So why can you drink the nectar and be fine?”

Apista didn’t reply. Lyonette sipped from her mug as Mrsha raced around the tables, throwing her ball off the walls, jumping onto the stage and racing around the props the Players of Celum had left, panting happily. Enticing smells drifted from the kitchen as Lyonette heard Erin banging around, opening cupboards, swearing as she dropped something, and humming.

This was her morning. It was peaceful, enjoyable in its own way. Lyonette savored it until she heard dull footsteps from above. She looked up. The inn’s other residents were waking up. The Halfseekers, the Horns of Hammerad—the Goblins would probably come down now. Lyonette was sure they were already awake. She’d spotted them beating each other in training before dawn through her window. She sighed and reached for her spoon. Time to finish eating. Her day was going to be busy. As always.

—-

Breakfast this morning was porridge, but Lyonette served fried eggs, bacon—even a steak to her guests, which were all three Gold-rank teams and the Horns of Hammerad. And the Goblins. While it was true that Erin made a specific breakfast for each morning, and that she’d made porridge as a healthier and lighter breakfast for Mrsha and Lyonette, her guests were guests and could order anything they pleased. And they did. Lyonette put the steak down in front of Ceria and the half-Elf licked her lips. As she began cutting into the bloody meat, Jelaqua raised her head and spoke around a mouth full of egg.

“Alright, I talked to Hawk yesterday.”

“And?”

The other adventurers instantly looked at her, as did the Redfang Warriors who were demolishing a pot of porridge by themselves. Jelaqua glanced at them and then looked at the others. She shook her head.

“No go. He told me flat out that he’s not running anywhere near the Goblin Lord’s army. And…yeah. I couldn’t talk him around it. Plus, he’s not keen to wait around while an [Enchanter] appraises the artifacts so I’m afraid it’s City Runners or nothing.”

Lyonette heard a groan as she went around with a pitcher of cool goat’s milk. The last they had in stock, actually. She made a note to ask Krshia about getting more. It was hard to get supplies from the villages—they had to be transported by boat. Maybe she could see about food from Celum? She listened with half an ear as she refilled Ylawes’ cup, nodding and smiling as he thanked her quietly.

“So what? We’d have to rely on City Runners? That’ll take a week to get there—and I’m not sure I trust them with magical artifacts.”

Ceria groaned as she sat back in her chair. Halrac grunted. Everyone looked at him. The [Scout] folded his arms.

“Don’t trust them. Not for Gold-rank artifacts.”

“I agree. It’s too risky. Some City Runners are good, but this would be a multi-part delivery. You couldn’t request one to take it specifically. And having one appraise the items at an [Enchanter]…I’m sure most would be tempted to sell that information or run off with an artifact worth thousands of gold pieces.”

Ylawes sighed as he speared a poached egg with a fork. He looked around and all of the older adventurers nodded. Erin looked around, confused. She wasn’t waiting tables but sitting with the adventurers as they discussed the issue of the artifacts.

The artifacts the Redfang Goblins had recovered. Lyonette glanced at the five Goblins. They were sitting apart from the conversation, but they were listening intently. The adventurers glanced at them now and then before looking away. It was a strange situation. The artifacts were the Goblins’ and Lyonette knew they were hidden somewhere by the five Redfang Warriors. However, the adventurers had insisted the artifacts be identified. The Goblins hadn’t protested—they hadn’t said anything, true to form—and so the debate for the last day had been on how to get the artifacts appraised in a timely manner.

“Hold on, why aren’t City Runners a good idea? They’re not trustworthy?”

“Some are, some aren’t. I don’t know any in the area I’d trust with that much gold. And like Ylawes said, it’s different if multiple Runners are carrying an item. Times like these would be when you request a Runner you know is trustworthy—and can defend themselves. If we were up north we’d have a list of contacts. But around here, Hawk is the only good Runner I’d trust.”

Jelaqua sighed. Erin nodded as she thought that over.

“I get it. It’s like getting the best mailman. And Ryoka’s…”

She trailed off. Lyonette looked at her and saw the Horns of Hammerad exchange glances. After a moment, Ceria cleared her throat.

“I know a Runner. Fals. He’s good, and I think he’d be trustworthy. But the distance to Invrisil…no. Is there another [Enchanter] nearby we could use? Someone near Celum, perhaps?”

“Someone who can identify dungeon artifacts? I don’t think so. That’s not something you want to leave to a low-level [Mage]. Anyone know another name?”

Jelaqua looked around and got headshakes from the other adventurers. The Selphid grimaced and twitched her tail. It was still unsettling to see her in her new Drake body, but she’d adapted Drake mannerisms already. She scratched at the scales of her neck with one claw.

“Pallass is an option.”

“I don’t know any [Enchanters] there. And I don’t know the city. It’s not as straightforward there. We might run into obstacles.”

Ylawes frowned, looking mildly concerned. Seborn nodded.

“A Drake city won’t necessarily recognize Gold-rank adventurers from the north. Especially not a Human team. However, the Halfseekers have worked in the south in the past.”

Revi nodded as she tapped her lips.

“That works. I wouldn’t put it past a Drake [Enchanter] to avoid working with stinking Humans, but your group used to have Drakes in it, didn’t you? Think we could trade on your reputation?”

All eyes turned to the three Halfseekers. Jelaqua looked up at Moore. The half-Giant had a huge bowl of porridge and spiced apple. He put down his spoon thoughtfully and wiped his mouth.

“We could always ask. It’s not as if it matters if the [Enchanter] talks about what the artifacts do, does it?”

“But—”

Moore cut Revi off.

“Not if the artifacts are going to their rightful owners.”

He looked pointedly at the Redfang Goblins. The adventurers turned as one. The five Goblins returned the gazes, watchful. There was a pause and someone coughed. At last, Ylawes nodded.

“They retrieved the artifacts. If there is room for negotiation…it should be after the appraisal. Let’s assume we’ll go to Pallass. What about the cost for the appraisal?”

“The Gold-rank teams could all pay a portion of the cost. The question is, how would that be repaid? In the form of one of the three artifacts? To which group? And ah…if not that, how else?”

Typhenous murmured as he inspected his fork’s tines. He glanced up and Lyonette saw the Goblins shift. Erin frowned.

“I can pay! I’ll just take it out of their wages.”

Everyone looked at her. Ceria sighed.

“Erin, I don’t think you understand how much a good [Enchanter] charges—especially for a rush job.”

“How much?”

“Let’s see. Eighty gold coins for an appraisal?”

“Eighty—”

Erin choked as she took a sip from her mug. Lyonette saw the Goblins turn to each other and jabber worriedly. Revi smiled wickedly.

“Eighty? Maybe for a normal artifact. But dungeon artifacts? Try ten times that. More, if the [Enchanter] thinks they might get hit by a curse spell. You could pay as much as two thousand gold coins per artifact.”

“Two th—who’s got that kind of money lying around?”

The Halfseekers exchanged glances and shrugged, but Typhenous smiled as he stroked his beard and Revi smirked. Dawil, Falene, and Ylawes all raised a hand.

“Our groups could pay the cost. As could Griffon Hunt. The question is—would we receive an artifact in exchange?”

“That’s hardly a fair exchange, especially if one’s worth more.”

Yvlon frowned as she pointed that out. By her side, Ksmvr and Pisces nodded, being more engrossed in listening than anything else. Ylawes frowned at his sister.

“We could repay the cost. But we want to be clear about what we might get in exchange. What do the…Goblins think of this?”

All eyes turned to the Redfang Warriors. They exchanged looks. Lyonette went around the tables, waiting for a response. After a long while in which four of the Goblins began kicking the fifth, Numbtongue finally replied.

“Don’t need artifact appraisal.”

“What?”

All the adventures looked incredulous. Numbtongue shrugged and refused to say anything else. Revi leaned over her table, chewing her bacon furiously.

“See here, I don’t care if you lot die in a dungeon, but I’m not having you walk around with artifacts that might do anything! The curse might not affect only you—I once saw a cursed artifact melt everything in a fifty foot radius!”

“It’s their choice, Revi. If they don’t want to—”

“Oh come on! They’re Goblins! We’re adventurers! We saved them! Don’t we get a say?”

“We saved them at Miss Erin’s request. In point of fact, the artifacts were already recovered.”

“Shut it, Typhenous!”

The argument went on as Lyonette went into the kitchen for cow’s milk instead. She could have served a weak ale for the morning, but milk was generally received well. The adventurers were arguing amongst themselves and the Goblins complicating matters with their silence when she returned. Lyonette listened to the argument, feeling…lost.

She just felt a little left out, that was all. Seeing the adventurers anxiously trying to confer with each other and Erin while the Goblins listened reminded Lyonette that all of this was Erin’s doing. She’d set everything in motion so a group of five Hobgoblins, Hobgoblins, could enter a dungeon and come back with treasure.

True, Lyonette had been the one to get the Halfseekers to enter her inn. And Griffon Hunt. But it had been Erin’s inn and the [Innkeeper] was the one who’d charmed them, made them allies and friends rather than guests. That was her talent, the thing that separated her from Lyonette. She’d made this world, where adventurers would negotiate with Goblins rather than just attack them and where Gold-rank adventurers were regulars at her inn. In fact, it was a testament to the way Lyonette had gotten used to it all that she barely blinked an eye when the Halfseekers announced they couldn’t keep debating the issue any longer.

“We’ve got to test the Heartflame Breastplate that Selys is leasing us. We’ll head to the dungeon if we can, Halrac. But we’re going to see exactly what the armor can do!”

Jelaqua grinned, looking like a child stuck in a dead Drake’s body. She rubbed her claws together.

“It’s going to be amazing.”

The other Gold-rank adventurers looked enviously at Jelaqua. If the Goblin’s artifacts were the news of the day, the revelation of Selys lending the Halfseekers the Heartflame Breastplate was the talk of the year. Last night Jelaqua had been so happy she’d bought drinks for the entire inn—thrice! Typhenous leaned forwards, his eyes shining as Jelaqua grinned wildly.

“Can we watch?”

“Sorry. Selys says part of the armor’s secrets can’t be shared. You can watch Moore chuck spells at the armor if you want, though. Or join in yourself.”

“We might have to. Halrac, Revi, I know the dungeon awaits, but this—”

The older [Mage] looked at his companions. Halrac nodded after a moment’s thought.

“Fine.”

“We’d like to watch as well. Obviously finding a way into the dungeon matters. I don’t trust entering and exiting via the rift, so the dungeon entrance must be cleared. But for today…I’d love to see what an artifact like that could do.”

Ylawes looked at his team and they nodded in agreement. Dawil sat up as he finished stuffing another sausage into his mouth.

“Always worth seeing what a good artifact does! And it beats arguing about artifacts that we didn’t get anyways. Let the Goblins have their artifacts if they want.”

“Unless we can appraise them ourselves. That’s one last option. Anyone fancy looking at the enchantments and seeing what they might do? Falene, could you look at the enchantments?”

Ylawes paused and looked at his companion. Falene raised her head and gave him a severe glance.

“I am a [Battlemage], not an [Enchanter].”

“I know. I just thought—”

The [Knight] broke off as the half-Elf woman raised one delicate hand.

“However, as the sole [Mage] present who has been fully trained by Wistram, I will inspect the artifacts and make a preliminary assessment. Free of change. If we are all in agreement?”

She glanced at the Goblins and then away. The other adventurers nodded, more interested in the armor now, but it was Pisces who sat up. The [Necromancer] sniffed loudly, drawing attention to him.

“Miss Skystrall, it seems you are implying that your understanding of enchantments is superior to anyone else in this room.”

Falene smiled archly at him.

“Oh? I didn’t think I was implying so much as stating a fact. You disagree?”

Pisces flushed.

“Immensely, as a matter of fact. I believe my understanding of enchantments would provide just as much illumination.”

“Then both of you check out the artifacts. Typhenous too, if he wants. Look, if we’re not hiring an [Enchanter], stare as much as you want. Just don’t touch it.”

Exasperated, Jelaqua got up. She looked around.

“This has been fun. But I’m getting new armor and as for this Goblin thing—look, Erin. You want to let them go into the dungeon, fine. They’re adventurers now. I don’t know why. And they have magical artifacts. Unappraised magical artifacts. That’s fine too, I guess. Just make sure they understand what the risks are.”

She looked at the Redfang Goblins, nodded to Seborn and Moore, and then the Halfseekers went to the door. Jelaqua opened it, stared through, and closed it.

“Hey, how do you open this thing to Liscor?”

“I’ve got it.”

Erin hurried over to the door and Lyonette saw the other adventurers rise. They followed the Halfseekers, all but the Horns of Hammerad.

“You’re not going to watch?”

“We’d love to. But I think we’ll get a chance later. And we have something Ksmvr’s insisted on doing.”

Ceria looked at Erin as Ksmvr rose. The Antinium was shaking, but he nodded to his team as the Gold-rank adventurers walked through the doorway into the rainy streets of Liscor. Ksmvr looked at Yvlon and Ceria. Yvlon looked worried.

“Ksmvr, are you sure this is what you want?”

“I insist. If I die, know it was in the service of my team.”

“Die?”

Erin looked confused. Lyonette stared at Ksmvr, a stack of dirty plates in her hand. She wondered what Ksmvr was talking about. She found out as she was washing dishes in the kitchen. It was hard to ignore the screaming.

—-

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa—”

Lyonette nearly dropped the plate she was washing the first time she heard Ksmvr screaming. It was coming from outside. She ran out of the kitchen and saw Mrsha staring out a window. Lyonette ran to the door and stared outside. The wet, rainy landscape and churning waters surrounded the inn. She heard the screaming cut off suddenly and looked around.

Where had it come from? She stared down to the water’s edge, where three shapes were standing as the rain pelted them. She saw them heave, and then she heard Ksmvr screaming again.

“Aaaaaaaa—put me back, put me back!”

He was flailing with his three good arms at the water’s edge. Lyonette saw Yvlon and Pisces look at each other, and then the two adventures slowly lowered Ksmvr’s head into the water. Instantly the Antinium began flailing. After a few second they pulled him out.

“Aaaargh! Aaaah! Water! Water everywhere!”

He screamed as water ran out of his mandibles. Lyonette saw Ceria shouting at him as she held his legs.

“Dead gods, Ksmvr! Just stop!”

“No! Put me back! I must conquer my fear!”

The other three Horns of Hammerad exchanged glances. Pisces shrugged and Yvlon nodded. They slowly lowered Ksmvr’s head towards the water. He began screaming before they even submerged him. His wild thrashing nearly made the three let go—they hauled him out.

“Put me back!”

“You’re struggling too hard! Ksmvr, this isn’t working! You panic if your head goes into the water, Ring of Water Breathing or not! We can’t hold you steady.”

“I see. Then drop me in!”

“What? You can’t swim!”

The Antinium jerked as water sprayed off his carapace.

“I must learn to enter the water. I disgraced myself by not joining the other adventurers in fighting underwater. I abandoned my duties!”

“You gave the ring to Erin. She used it!”

“I should have used it myself! I must learn to tolerate the water! Put me in!”

“Okay, but if you start screaming and thrashing, we’ll stop.”

“I will not scream. I may excrete all my bodily waste, however. Is that acceptable?”

“No.”

The Antinium was arguing with his companions as he continued his water tolerance training. Lyonette watched, trying not to laugh. She did feel some admiration for Ksmvr, she really did. But the sight of the Antinium screaming and panicking just looking at the water was funny. She understood why he was afraid, though. That put something of a dampener on her humor and Lyonette decided to get out of the rain—until she saw the white shape sneaking down towards the Horns of Hammerad. Mrsha stealthily snuck up behind Ksmvr as he was arguing with Yvlon and put her paws into the water. She splashed the Antinium from behind and Ksmvr screamed.

“The water is attacking!”

He tore himself loose and ran up the hill as Mrsha chased him, spraying him with water she was holding in her mouth. Lyonette laughed and then shouted.

“Mrsha, stop that! Stop tormenting Ksmvr!”

Mrsha ignored Lyonette as Ksmvr slipped and rolled down the hill, screaming for the others to catch him. She was trying to push him closer to the water as Ksmvr flailed. Lyonette decided this had turned from a prank into cruelty. She snapped.

“Mrsha!”

The Gnoll cub whined and looked up at Lyonette. The young woman felt bad, but she pointed and Mrsha reluctantly abandoned the screaming Ksmvr. She padded up the hill, tail and ears lowered.

“You know you can’t go outside without asking! What did I say this morning?”

Mrsha made a grumbling sound in her throat. Lyonette understood, she really did. But she had to be firm.

“Inside, young Miss. You need a bath now. Let Ksmvr be.”

Ignoring Mrsha’s protests, Lyonette forced her back inside. She could still hear Ksmvr arguing with Yvlon.

“I will conquer my fear! What if you froze my arms and legs so I could not move? Then put my head underwater?”

Lyonette shook her head. Mrsha was still complaining, and now she was sulking. By the time Lyonette made her take a bath, the Gnoll cub was throwing a tantrum and howling. Something had to be done. And as the morning became midday and the rain poured on, Lyonette knew it was time.

—-

“A break?”

Erin paused in talking with the [Actor] in front of her long enough to frown at Lyonette. The [Barmaid] nodded and held her breath. Behind Erin she could see a score of [Actors] and helpers setting up the stage for today’s plays. The Players of Celum were putting on multiple performances today and the inn was already bustling, despite the plays not being scheduled for another two hours. However, that hadn’t stopped curious Gnolls, Drakes, and Humans from entering the inn from both Celum and Liscor.

Word about the new play, The Triumph of Liscor as it was tentatively being called, was already spreading to Liscor and Celum. That, combined with the popularity of the plays in general meant that Erin’s giant theatre actually felt somewhat full already. Erin had been rushing about, coordinating details with the Players of Celum in between cooking, but Lyonette had managed to get her attention at last.

“I think Mrsha’s really unhappy at being cooped up. Normally I’d ask Krshia to take care of her or ask Selys to take her to the playground, but Selys is very busy and so is Krshia. I’m the only one who can supervise Mrsha, so I’d like a small vacation. Nothing too much! Just around…let’s say lunchtime for three hours?”

Lyonette held her breath. Erin blinked at her.

“Mrsha’s cooped up? I totally get that! This rain is getting me down sometimes. And if she needs to run and play—don’t worry about it! Take the whole morning and afternoon off if you need to! Mrsha comes first. I can handle things—Drassi and Ishkr are both slated to be in tomorrow as well, so we’ll be fine.”

“You’re sure? I know you’re so busy—”

“Mrsha comes first. We’ll manage! Besides, the Players just need food and drinks and someone to shout at people to be quiet. I can handle that if I have help!”

Erin smiled. Lyonette smiled too, gratefully. She saw the [Actor] standing behind Erin cough and flushed.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s fine. What were you saying, Kilkran?”

Erin flashed a smile at the [Actor] and he straightened.

“I was going to ask about your interpretation of Othello, Miss Erin. You see, it’s become something of an argument among my peers, and I was hoping you might take my side. Tonight’s play will feature one rendition of the play, and I was hoping you could have a word with the actor playing the part before we began. You see, I regard him as…”

Lyonette saw Erin sigh slightly, but the [Innkeeper] listened as the [Actor] went on and Lyonette went back to serving drinks to the people rushing about. That was Erin Solstice. She stood in her inn, but the inn revolved around her. Yes, there were other people in it, but the one who bound everyone together was Erin. And that was great! Wonderful. It wasn’t as if Lyonette was bitter about that fact.

It was just that she wanted to matter too. Erin was like Jasi or Wesle, one of the stars of the acting troupe. She dominated the stage. And Lyonette didn’t mind that. She’d watched Erin, from the proverbial backstage. She knew Erin now, possibly better than anyone else. The thing about Erin was that she had her good sides and her bad sides. She was good at connecting with people. She was bad at—

“Lyonette!”

A harassed-looking Drake approached the [Barmaid]. Lyonette smiled at Drassi. The Drake [Barmaid] and [Gossip] didn’t return the smile.

“Drassi, what’s the matter?”

“My feet are what’s the matter! Lyonette, Erin told me I need to work tomorrow from morning till night!”

“That’s right. Is something wrong with that?”

“Yes! That’s my day off! Only Erin told me how much business we had and she really needs me to work! I love to earn money Lyonette, I really do. But I need time to spend the money I get!”

Drassi’s tail lashed and she spoke faster and faster as she grew more upset. Lyonette tried to soothe her.

“I understand. I know Ishkr’s been busy too. Look, I’ll talk it over with Erin and see if I can get you your day off sometime this week.”

“Would you? I know we have so much business. But it’s too much for three people! Erin should really hire some [Barmaids].”

“I’ll talk to her about it. Don’t worry.”

“Thanks Lyonette. You’re a lifesaver.”

Relieved, the Drake went back to waiting tables. Lyonette looked for Erin, but now she was talking with Wesle. That was the thing about Erin. She was good at people. But when it came to organization—well, she still slept on the floor of her kitchen next to her cooking ingredients. She could leave things hanging. She was good at focusing on one thing. But multiple things—

“Lyonette. Some of our visitors want to leave to Liscor.”

Ishkr called across the inn to Lyonette. He was carrying lunch and was clearly swamped. Lyonette nodded and hurried over to the door. A group of impatient Drakes was waiting there.

“To Liscor?”

They nodded. Lyon found the corresponding mana stone—a bright green one—and placed it on the door. She swung it open and immediately the Drakes poured out and more poured in.

“Finally! We’ve been waiting here for ten minutes! Why did it take so long?”

One of the Drakes demanded angrily as she shook water off her scales. Lyon tried to apologize as she winced and wondered if they could put the door somewhere else. They had to clean the floor six times a day with everyone tromping in and out. She seated the Drakes, turned around, and saw Erin striding towards her.

“Lyonette! Drassi says we have a problem with schedules?”

Surprised, Lyonette glanced towards Drassi. The Drake winced and flicked her tail—a Drake way of apologizing. She must have mentioned the issue to Erin and the [Innkeeper] had abandoned the arguing [Actors] to immediately talk to Lyonette. The [Princess] nodded.

“We don’t have enough staff, Erin. I know we talked about hiring more. I think we need to, otherwise Drassi and Ishkr will be overworked.”

Erin chewed her lip.

“I know, I know. It was on my list but after Maran and Safry, I didn’t want to. You know?”

Lyonette nodded sympathetically. She paused.

“But we do need more.”

“I get it. Um…”

Erin looked around distractedly, as if new helpers would appear out of nowhere.

“I could ask Krshia for more helpers? And Selys? Or get some people from Celum…only I think I’m being boycotted by the [Innkeepers] there. I can ask around. But doing it today is sort of hard because we’re doing so many plays and I have to be here.”

The young woman looked around the inn.

“I know Drassi and Ishkr are tired, but I’ll pay them double if I have to, Lyonette. So…can we handle it for the next few days? I really, really need to have enough people serving the tables for our plays. I just don’t have time to find good people to hire—but you still take your break tomorrow with Mrsha! Kids first! But—”

“How about I find us some help?”

Erin stopped fretting and looked at Lyonette.

“You think you can?”

Lyon nodded. Why not? It wasn’t as if there was a lack of [Barmaids] and [Waiters] to hire. She gave Erin a confident grin.

“Leave it to me! You focus on the plays and I’ll figure something out.”

“You’re sure?”

“I am. And while I have you, can we do something about the door?”

“What?”

Erin looked blank until Lyonette explained about having to switch the door between Celum and Liscor constantly. And that was without factoring Pallass into the equation. She groaned.

“I didn’t realize it would be such a problem! Pallass barely gets used, but Liscor and Celum—look, I’ll try talking to Pisces, but he says I can’t make it move like Howl’s Moving Castle.”

“What?”

“I can’t make it automatic! Or rather, he can’t. It’s too hard and has something to do with enchantment bindings and limited spell matrix capacity and so on. It would be so much easier if we didn’t have to use Liscor’s door, but what can you do? It’s not like I can get people to swim here, right? Right?”

Erin grinned sheepishly. Lyonette wondered if she’d actually be able to do just that. Knowing Erin…

“Maybe there’s another way.”

“Maybe? If you think of it, let me know.”

Erin sighed. Lyonette heard someone call her name and Erin groaned.

“Gotta go. Tell me if the lack of employment thing gets worse, okay?”

“Okay!”

The two separated. Lyonette made a beeline for Drassi. Ironically, there was no bee in sight; Apista was up in Lyonette’s room with Mrsha, preferring to stay out of the way of so many people.

“Sorry about that, Lyonette. I just mentioned that I talked to you, and Erin was like ‘I’m going to sort this out right now!’ I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.”

“It’s fine, Drassi. Erin’s asked me to sort this out. Tell me, do you know anyone who might be free to work here?”

The Drake paused as she wiped sweat from her forehead.

“Me? Yeah, I’ve got tons of friends! So does Ishkr! Hey, Ishkr!”

The Gnoll paused as he headed towards the kitchen. He strode over and quickly convened with the two [Barmaids] as the diners waited for service. He nodded the instant Lyonette asked about other potential workers.

“I have a handful of friends. And acquaintances, yes? I could ask them.”

“They’re trustworthy? Hardworking?”

Both Drassi and Ishkr gave Lyonette an insulted look. Lyonette returned it.

“I have to ask.”

Drassi twitched her tail.

“Some of my friends slack off a bit. Okay, half of them. But I can ask the good half.”

“And I would not betray Miss Erin’s trust. I could ask a handful of the Gnolls I know to work hard.”

“Do you think they’d leave their jobs to work here?”

“Depends on how much you offer them. A lot of them work part-time. You know, during the spring rains? They could be persuaded to quit—especially if they get to watch plays.”

Drassi gave Lyonette a toothy smile. Lyonette smiled back and did some quick math.

“Tell them that Erin will pay them one silver and two copper per hour for the next three days. After that, if they want to stay on they’ll be paid a regular wage. Less.”

“Whoa! That’s a lot of money!”

Drassi and Ishkr looked shocked. That was nearly as much as Erin had offered Maran and Safry, and that had been an exorbitant amount for their levels and Skills. But the inn could definitely afford it. Lyonette nodded.

“I want them working tomorrow. They can come in with you and learn how to work in the inn. Of course, Erin will pay you and Ishkr the same amount. And for all the times you’ve had to work overtime!”

“Really? That’s great!”

Both Drake and Gnoll looked delighted. Lyonette smiled at them. She was promising a lot, but both workers had been pulling long hours for the inn. She should have brought this up with Erin a week ago! But that was also the thing with Erin. She reacted to problems rather than think ahead most of the time. Lyonette got back to work with Drassi and Ishkr; the patrons were getting unhappy with dry throats. Like a flash, it was already evening and Lyonette was tending to a fussy Mrsha.

“I know you want to run, but you can’t go running about under the tables. You can sit and watch the plays or run about upstairs, okay?”

Mrsha buried her head in her pillow and made a whining noise. Lyonette sighed, but she didn’t have time to argue. She hurried downstairs just in time to see Erin greeting a familiar face.

“Hey Ilvriss, what’s up?”

Wall Lord Ilvriss, arguably the most important Drake in Liscor, glared at Erin but silently took a seat at a table. Lyonette winced as she rushed past Erin. She waved at Drassi who poured her a mug of Firebreath Whiskey and shoved it into Lyonette’s hands.

“You do it? Please? He scares my tail off!”

Lyonette nodded. She took the mug to Wall Lord Ilvriss and smiled.

“Your drink, Wall Lord.”

“Ah. Thank you.”

Ilvriss looked surprised at the prompt service. He looked around at his table.

“I assume more plays will be put on tonight?”

“Absolutely, Wall Lord. We have another performance of The Triumph of Liscor, and the Players of Celum will be putting on other plays throughout the night. I can ask for a list if you would like to hear it?”

“Hmm. Yes, do that. But first, orders. I will have your finest steak—well done, spiced as hot as your kitchen allows.”

He nodded at his table and the Drakes who’d come with him chimed in with their orders. Lyonette fixed all of the details in place in her mind and bowed again before hurrying off. Ilvriss looked slightly pleased when she brought him his food within five minutes of ordering—the steak was done, and Ishkr had only had to heat it up, fry it until it was further done, and dump as many spices as he could onto the meat. Of course, the other orders were also premade and ready, but Lyonette deliberately chose to hold off sending them to the table until Ilvriss’ plate was done.

It was just etiquette, plain and simple. You didn’t serve anyone but the Wall Lord first. And you most certainly did not call him by his name in front of his followers. Lyonette wished Erin knew that. But in a way, that was something Erin couldn’t do. She couldn’t be humble.

Or maybe she could be. But she was bad at doing things she hated. She didn’t treat Wall Lord Ilvriss with the respect he required because she didn’t believe in the superiority of the noble titles. That was all very well and good and Lyonette understood the sentiment—here she was, a [Princess] waiting tables—but it was also a fault. Ilvriss had mellowed out considerably, but there was a difference between pushing him to being more tolerant and insulting him to his face.

What she could do wasn’t what Erin could do. Lyonette served tables as the Players of Celum finally began their play. The Triumph of Liscor was just as overdone as the first time she’d seen it, but the speeches had been refined and more parts had been added. It was as far from the truth as could be and when the play had finished, the applause was thunderous. The [Actors] rotated and another group came on to play Othello. All the while Lyonette was hurrying over to the magic door to let people in and out to Celum and Liscor. She had to change the door every five minutes—or less.

“This is ridiculous! There has to be a better way!”

Exasperated, Drassi slapped a yellow mana stone onto the door and yanked it open. Octavia’s voice could be heard in her shop.

“Come on, buy a pack of matches while you’re waiting! Or how about a stamina potion for the night? You’ll be wide awake until dawn—unless you take one of my drowsiness tonics! A two-for-one offer! Why not throw in a healing potion while you’re at it? You can never be too careful!”

“If we could just leave the door open to Celum, we wouldn’t have to keep opening it to Liscor. Maybe just once every thirty minutes so people know when we open it.”

Lyonette frowned at the door. Drassi nodded.

“But how would we tell them? A sign? Sundial? It’s raining so that’s not going to work. Ancestors, it would be so much easier if Erin just bought a bridge! I have a friend who could sell her one.”

“A bridge?”

Bemused, Lyonette glanced at Drassi. The Drake nodded.

“Why not? It’s not far from Liscor to the inn! It would cost a good bit of gold, yeah, but it would be so much easier.”

“To buy a bridge.”

“Of course! Wait—I forget, you don’t know about bridges! Hasn’t anyone told you?”

Drassi slapped her forehead. She tried to explain as she pointed Lyonette to a window.

“It’s not like we have that many, but if there’s a nearby place we need to get to—I think we connected one from the city to the dungeon. It’s not hard! You just pay a few Drakes or Gnolls to build a bridge over the water! If you’ve got the gold, you can hire one and have it done tomorrow.”

“And it’s safe?”

“Well, it’s not that safe if a monster attacks. But most of them don’t go above the water and if it’s near the city the most you normally get is hit by a Quillfish. And you have Bird on the rooftop, right? He and the City Watch can shoot anything that attacks.”

“That could work!”

Lyonette imagined a bridge connecting Liscor and The Wandering Inn. It wouldn’t eliminate the need for the door, but it would cut down on the traffic. She found Erin in the kitchen and explained the bridge idea. Erin nearly dropped the hot pan in surprise.

“Wait. Are you serious? Relc told me he had a bridge to sell me and I told him he was crazy! That’s actually a thing?”

“That’s right! Drassi says she knows someone who can get to work tomorrow. Do you think you’d be willing to pay for it?”

Erin thought about that for a moment. Then she reached for her money jar.

“How much?”

Five minutes later, Drassi hunted through the crowd of watching Drakes. She’d spotted the very Drake she wanted to talk to and pulled him out of his seat as the next play started. Lyonette heard her whispering to him.

“Hey Meniss! Are you still selling bridges? Because I have a big one for you! But you have to give me a discount. And no building it with bad ropes or wood, got it?”

Soon enough Drassi came back with the news that a team of Drakes and Gnolls would work on a bridge tomorrow and both Lyonette and Erin exchanged a celebratory high-five. They got back to work. Lyonette got into the rhythm of serving, watching familiar and unfamiliar faces come and go until someone special walked through the door to Liscor.

“Pawn?”

The Worker looked up in surprise.

“Lyonette. Greetings.”

“I haven’t seen you in over a week! Where have you been?”

A genuine smile sprang to Lyonette’s lips as she ushered the wet Worker into the room. Pawn nodded, looking tired.

“I have been exceedingly busy. After the attack there was much work to be done. Not only in flood proofing the Hive…I have expanded my unit to include many more Workers and Soldiers and organizing them is a troublesome task. That is why I came here, actually.”

“Really? Tell me about it. Let me get you a seat. I know it’s noisy—we just finished a play. Another one will start soon. Can I get you anything to eat? To drink?”

Pawn wavered as Lyonette ushered him to a seat at the back of the room.

“That is very kind, Lyonette. But I was hoping to speak to Erin. I need her advice.”

“Oh.”

Lyonette’s excitement went out like a candle. She paused.

“Sure. I’ll get her. She’s um, busy, but I’m sure she has time for you.”

She backed away and found Erin in a second. True enough, Erin was more than willing to stop socializing with Selys and pestering her about how her new armor worked. She made a beeline for Pawn.

“Pawn! I haven’t seen you in forever! What’s been happening?”

Again, Lyon watched Pawn raise his mandibles in a smile and turn to Erin. She knew Erin was important to him, but it hurt a bit. She and Pawn had truly gotten to know each other before. She listened unobtrusively as Pawn explained his dilemma.

“…so many of them, you see? And with the rainfall we cannot patrol. I wish to give them some form of entertainment, but books only go so far. What can we give my people without exposure to the above world? Your inn is often occupied and the Antinium cannot indefinitely fund meals at your inn. I was hoping you had suggestions.”

Lyonette opened her mouth and then bit her tongue. Erin patted Pawn on the shoulder, smiling at him.

“Pawn, I’ve got you. Just give me a day or two and I’ll think of all kinds of things your Soldiers and Workers can do! I know tons of games. Not just board games—we could introduce your people to fun activities!”

“Like what?”

“Like…tag! Or musical chairs! Wait, no. That’s a terrible idea. But I’m sure there are fun things to do indoors for everyone. Painting? Well, you already do that. Um. Yoga? No wait, your body parts don’t bend. Tomorrow I’ll have a list. Tonight you relax and have fun! I’ll make you a food basket to take back too, okay?”

“You are most kind, Erin.”

“Nah, nah. But hey look, they’re putting on the next play! I think we’re doing Pygmalion now. I want to do Romeo and Juliet—I mean, Juliet and Romeo soon. That’s gonna be a huge hit. Hey, tell me about what happened in the Hive when the moths attacked! I was so worried when I heard there was fighting! Where were you?”

“Well, I was summoned to the front as soon as the alarm was raised…”

Lyonette saw Pawn gesturing awkwardly as Erin sat with him. She turned her head and saw Drassi and Ishkr struggling to keep up with all the hungry visitors silently waving mugs or empty plates. Guiltily, Lyonette lingered for a minute longer and then hurried off. She had a job to do. And so she did it.

But suddenly, unaccountably, Lyonette felt worse. Okay, fine. Pawn needed Erin’s help. That made sense. Erin had brilliant ideas. From her world. And she had helped turn Pawn into an individual. Lyonette understood how important that made her in his eyes.

It was just—she was a bit jealous, that was all. She watched as Erin bent her head towards Pawn, ushering him towards her chess table where they could sit and talk. Lyonette went to get Pawn a warm drink and some hot food. Not so she could hover around the table. She was just curious.

And a bit jealous. That was all.

—-

Nighttime. Just before midnight the last guests left. Not so much because they were done drinking or too tired to stay up, but because Lyonette had firmly established that there had to be a closing time with Erin. Drassi and Ishkr were practically asleep on their feet when they’d left, and Lyonette was sore and exhausted. Nevertheless, she stayed up as Erin yawned her way into the kitchen.

The adventurers were back. The Goblins were upstairs. Everything was quiet. Lyonette snuck into her room where Apista and Mrsha were sleeping and rummaged around under her bed. She pulled out a sheathed sword that Mrsha was forbidden from touching. Then she crept downstairs.

It was still raining. Lyonette stared out at the rain-slicked grass and shook her head. So she cleared some tables and chairs in the common room instead and took a stance. She held her sword upright, trying to recall how she should grip the hilt.

Here and…here. And her footwork? Her feet moved automatically to the right places, courtesy of her [Basic Footwork] Skill. Good. Lyonette took a few slow breaths, trying to breathe right. She imagined someone standing right in front of her and slowly lifted her sword.

“Strike fast and true. Strike without hesitation, yes?”

The words burned Lyonette’s lips. The memory made her heart hurt. But she forced the feelings back and tried to remember. She awkwardly tried to cut like Brunkr had shown her once before. Her sword whooshed through the air pleasantly, but Lyonette felt like her stance was wrong.

“Like this? No. Like this.”

She tried to stab forwards, to parry. It was an unfamiliar sensation, but the sword was light in her hands. Not at all heavy compared to a tray full of food. And it was balanced well. Lyonette used to think of swords as heavy things, but a well-made sword was easy to use. Still, Brunkr had told her that a good [Warrior] trained not just for speed and strength, but so they could remember how to act, how to strike just so in a moment’s notice.

Strike. She’d learned how to perform a few basic strikes from him, how to parry an oncoming blow. That was all. Lyonette performed the moves again and again until her already tired arms protested. She practiced until she was sweaty and then lowered her sword.

Meaningless. Sometimes it felt like that. Lyonette clumsily sheathed the sword, feeling as though she was unworthy of it. But she deliberately carried it back upstairs, deliberately hid it under the bed and told herself she would do the same tomorrow. Because it mattered. Because Brunkr had taught her how to do that. Because…

She fell asleep without finishing that thought. Her bed was warm even though Mrsha hogged the blankets and Lyonette was very, very tired. She closed her eyes and knew tomorrow would be here too soon.

She didn’t level as a [Warrior] that night, but it was enough. Lyonette was already Level 3, and she hadn’t ever actually fought anything. She wanted to learn, though. She wanted to level. All classes, all levels were worth having. It was better than nothing.

And it was better than being useless.

—-

“Ugh. I am so tired. Does it feel like everything’s harder today? Because it feels like that to me! I hate spring. All the rain and mud and water—does anyone else feel like they could use a nice, hot, dry summer? Anyone? Ishkr, what about you?”

The next day Drassi’s chatter was something Lyonette had to endure for the first few hours around breakfast. She knew the Drake didn’t mean anything by it, but she was tired. So were Drassi and Ishkr. They were pulling full-day shifts in the inn and Lyonette would have been right there with them any other day. But she had another commitment, so as she finished serving and eating breakfast, she found Mrsha.

The young Gnoll was sitting in her chair, eating her food with less than her normal vigor. She looked antsy, and her ears were flatter than usual. She looked up as Lyonette approached. The [Princess] smiled and knelt as Mrsha shifted restlessly.

“Come on, Mrsha. We’re going to Celum.”

Instantly, Mrsha’s ears perked up and her tail began to wag. She followed Lyonette to the door and Lyon bade farewell to Erin.

“You sure you don’t need me to return earlier?”

“We’re good! And Drassi and Ishkr’s friends are arriving soon, so we’re getting reinforcements! I’ve got more plays happening and we’re building a bridge! Go have fun! You too, Mrsha!”

Erin laughed. That was one of her good qualities. She had meant it when she told Lyonette that Mrsha came first. Lyonette grabbed a basket she’d made in the morning for this very moment and she pushed the door open to Celum.

“Hey Lyonette! Hey furry little match-seller! Something you need?”

Octavia beamed at the two of them. Lyonette smiled politely.

“We’re just headed into the city. We’ll be back soon.”

“Sure, sure. Hey, do you think Erin would mind keeping her door closed longer tonight? I sell more stuff if people have to wait in my shop before I get to her! I’m thinking of selling food, actually. You know, for the wait. If she could wait for thirty minutes each time…”

Octavia’s voice trailed off as Lyonette walked outside. She had to shake her head at the [Alchemist]’s avarice.

“Don’t you listen to her. Octavia is a good person. Who does mean things.”

Mrsha nodded as she happily walked along Celum’s streets. It was dry here. The sun was shining, there were few clouds in the sky, and Lyonette felt a cool wind on her clothes. She blinked around the bright Human city.

“Wow.”

Celum was a hundred miles north of Liscor. From the city Lyonette could see the High Passes and darker skies, but the weather that affected Liscor did not reach all the way to Celum. She walked down the street, urging Mrsha to stay close as Humans walked past her and wagons rolled down the street. Mrsha sniffed the air, her tail wagging and Lyonette smiled.

“This is much better than the inn, isn’t it?”

Mrsha smiled happily. Soon, Lyonette was at Celum’s gates and a [Guardswoman] standing there checking people coming in stopped her.

“Is that Gnoll child with you, Miss?”

“Yes. She’s my…ward.”

“I see.”

The Human woman looked curiously at Mrsha, who waved a paw. The [Guardswoman] might never have seen a Gnoll before, or one with white fur. She eyed Lyonette who was adjusting the bag at her side and telling it to ‘stop moving, we’re nearly there’. She made no comment however.

“May I ask where you’re going? It’s not wise to venture too far outside the city. Especially with children.”

Lyonette nodded.

“We won’t go far. Just outside the walls. I hear there are open fields near the city?”

The [Guardswoman] pointed a finger.

“If you’re looking for a walk within sight of the walls, try that way, Miss. Just don’t stray too far.”

“Thank you.”

Lyonette smiled and got a smile in return. She stepped out of the gates and Mrsha looked up. The sunlight warmed her skin and the cool air invigorated her. Both young woman and Gnoll looked around. There was no rain. There was no water. There was hard, firm earth, blooming grass, and flowers. Lyonette felt Apista trying to crawl out of her rucksack. She saw Mrsha squirming, practically vibrating.

“Mrsha, if you stay within eyeshot you can run. Okay?”

The Gnoll looked at her. Lyonette gave her a nod. Mrsha’s eyes went round and wide and then she shot across the open ground, prompting a surprised laugh from the [Guardswoman]. Lyonette laughed too in delight. Mrsha was quick, but out here in the open with nothing to get in her way she was like lightning! She might have outrun a hare and she was grinning in delight as she ran on all fours.

“Wait for me!”

Lyonette ran after her. As she did, the hand that had been holding the rucksack at her side fell open. Something crawled out and then took wing. Apista flew into the air, finally free of Lyonette’s prison, happily flying through the air as Mrsha bounded along. Lyonette ran after both, laughing.

The sun! It shone down on all three as they ran towards a small field of flowers right where the [Guardswoman] had said. It was indeed within a good distance of the walls and here Lyonette told Mrsha she had to stay. The Gnoll took this restriction with nothing but good humor—she was delighted to run about at last and was busy sniffing everything in sight, peering at flowers, chasing after a cricket, and smiling.

The smile was everything. Lyonette had fretted to see Mrsha so depressed. Sometimes she wondered if she was the right person to care for her. But who else was there? Erin? Ryoka? Krshia? Selys? Each one couldn’t look after Mrsha as much as Lyonette could. None of them had been there when Mrsha needed someone. Lyonette had. She was a poor mother though. A poor substitute for the real thing. But she did try. Lyonette sat in the grass and began unpacking her bag.

“Blanket, food—shoo, Mrsha! You just ate! Here. Catch this!”

Lyonette pulled something out of her bag. Mrsha jumped up joyously and one of her paws grazed the ball that Lyonette threw. Her ball. Happily, Mrsha chased after it and threw the ball high, high into the air. She ran for it and Apista buzzed after her. Like the Gnoll, the Ashfire Bee was happy to be outdoors. Lyonette could sense it through the bond they shared. Apista went from flower to flower, delicately avoiding crushing the bright blooms as she inspected each one for nectar. She and Mrsha ran about as Lyonette finished setting up her small picnic. Then Lyonette got up.

“Mrsha?”

The Gnoll bounded over. Lyonette reached down.

“Do you want to play a game?”

Mrsha thought about that and then spat out the ball in her mouth. She wiped it on the grass and then tossed it at Lyonette. The young woman smiled, caught the ball, and threw it back. Mrsha leapt from all fours to catch the ball with her two paws. She tumbled onto the ground, stood up clumsily, and threw the ball back. Lyonette laughed, chased the ball and threw it.

The Gnoll needed more people to play with. Other Gnolls maybe. More games. Next time, Lyonette would see if Krshia could come. Or Ishkr. Or Erin. And there would be a next time. That Lyonette was certain of. Because what Erin had said was right. Mrsha came first. More than the inn, more than her job, Lyonette had a duty to the small, voiceless Gnoll who rolled about in the grass, happy to be out of the rain.

Trouble with Goblins, Pawn’s dilemmas, her inferiority to Erin—it all melted away as Lyonette laughed and twirled Mrsha around. The sun shone and for a while Lyonette danced with Mrsha in the small field of flowers. And Lyonette smiled and laughed—

Until she heard the shrieking.

It came from above, a scream of rage. Not a Human voice, or a person’s. A bright red bird no bigger than Lyonette’s hand hurtled out of the sky, shrieking in fury. It was joined by another bird of equal size, its mate perhaps. And it was chasing something.

Apista. Lyonette cried out in horror as she saw the duo of birds diving at Apista, pecking the Ashfire Bee as Apista fanned her wings and jabbed threateningly with her stinger. But for all her size the two birds were faster and more mobile in the air. They tried to rake her with their claws, pecking, as Apista buzzed in fury.

“Apista!”

Mrsha stopped playing and looked up in alarm. The two red robins dove around Apista, outraged. Had Apista flown by their nest? Or were they just attacking the Ashfire Bee for fear she might bring more of her kind? Lyonette heard the outraged voices of the bird grow louder and then multiply. To her horror she saw robins, starlings, and then a crow fly out of the air. They dove at Apista, acting in unison. And now Lyonette grew truly afraid.

Robins were one thing. But a crow? She saw the large bird strike Apista with a claw and felt the flash of pain through her bond. Apista tried to sting the crow, but the bird was too quick. It flew backwards, squawking, as Apista beat her wings furiously. The other birds besieged her from all angles.

“Apista! Come here!”

Lyonette waved her arms, shouting loudly, trying to drive off the birds. It didn’t work. Mrsha threw something—her precious ball—but the birds easily avoided the missile and kept attacking Apista. The Ashfire Bee was beating its wings, buzzing loudly, refusing to flee.

Apista was buzzing louder than Lyonette had ever heard her. Her wings fanned faster as the birds flew around her, darting at her sides and wings. Lyonette was about to shout at the bee to fly to her so she could shield her from the angry birds when Apista’s buzzing reached a peak. Her wings beat so fast they nearly turned invisible and then the bee burst into flames!

“Apista!”

Lyonette’s shriek of horror was echoed by the birds around it. One of them had been diving at Apista the moment before the flames began. One of the red robins peeled away, its feathers smoking. It fled, twittering in alarm and the other birds hesitated. They took one look at the flaming bee, circling, wary of striking. Then Apista moved. She flew straight at the crow and the startled bird cawed and nearly lost its wings to the fiery attack. It flew with Apista in hot pursuit. Below, Lyonette and Mrsha watched, gaping with astonishment.

The fire didn’t hurt Apista! Lyonette could sense the bee wasn’t hurt, only extremely angry. Apista flew at the other birds, chasing them off. Within moments she was the only thing in the air and the distressed birdcalls were a distant memory. Now Apista flew downwards, like a flaming ember.

“Come here.”

Lyonette called up at her. The bee flew towards her and the fire engulfing her body winked out as she few towards Lyonette. The young woman hesitated, but she held out her hands. She winced as Apista landed, but the bee was only warm to the touch. Gently, Lyonette held her to her chest.

“You silly little bee! Don’t pick fights with birds!”

Apista wiggled her antennae, trying to climb up Lyonette’s hands. She perched on Lyonette’s shoulder, fanning her wings gently. Lyonette sensed exhaustion from the Ashfire Bee, as if it had used up all its energy setting itself aflame.

“Was that magic? Or could you always do that?”

Predictably, Apista didn’t respond. Lyonette looked around. Mrsha appeared with her ball in her mouth. She approached Apista, sniffing anxiously and the bee crawled onto her face. Mrsha carefully lifted her onto her head. Lyonette regarded her two charges and exhaled slowly.

“That was too much excitement. Here.”

She dug around in her pack and pulled something out. A small jar of honey. Instantly, Apista flew over to it. Lyonette uncorked the bottle and let Apista crawl onto it. The bee immediately began devouring the honey and Lyonette saw Mrsha approach the bag. The Gnoll rooted around in the bag and found lunch. She pulled out a toasted sandwich and looked triumphantly at Lyonette.

“Alright, we can have an early lunch.”

Lyonette smiled. She sat with Apista and Mrsha and found her own sandwich. The Gnoll slowly ate her lunch as Lyonette chewed on her food.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised. Ashfire Bees are known to be immune to fire. And they’re dangerous. Why shouldn’t they be able to set themselves on fire?”

Mrsha nodded. Lyonette looked at Apista.

‘I’ve heard they survived forest fires. Only now I wonder if they start them. Is it something only a few bees can do? I still don’t know if Apista’s a queen bee. All I do know is that she eats too much and she picks fights with birds. And moths.”

Apista wiggled her antennae. Lyonette yawned. That fright and playing with Mrsha had exhausted her!

“I’m sleepy. And it’s quite warm. Mrsha, are you…?”

She looked over and saw Mrsha was lying on the blanket, already snoozing. Lyonette laughed. The sun was warm. And while it was cool, compared to the rainy weather, this was just too pleasant. Slowly, Lyonette lay back on the blanket.

“We really shouldn’t sleep here. Especially if more birds will attack.”

That was very true. But the blanket made a counterargument. If Lyonette just lay back and closed her eyes she could think about the dangers in more comfort. Slowly, Lyonette did. She closed her eyes and felt welcome sleep tugging at her mind. She was still tired. She was always so busy at Erin’s inn. But here…

Mrsha was curled up next to her. Her small back rose and fell rapidly as she slept. Lyonette looked at her. There lay Mrsha. Her fur was beautifully white. She could be a handful. Cranky, prone to disobedience, pranks. She’d gone through so much. Too much. And yet, there was no one else in this world that Lyonette cared more for. She’d been a [Princess]. She’d lost her possessions, become an outcast. She’d become an unwilling [Barmaid]. But it had been the need to care for Mrsha that made her truly change. And now she was Mrsha’s guardian. Her protector. Because Mrsha was her…

Her what? Her subject? Her ward? Her…child? Nothing quite fit. Lyonette reached out and felt Mrsha’s warm back beneath her palm. What she was to Mrsha and Mrsha was to her defied proper words. But it mattered. Oh, it mattered.

“I don’t have a kingdom anymore. I don’t have subjects. But I do have you.”

Lyonette whispered and felt the hint of tears spring to her eyes. She brushed them away and put her head back. The warm blanket drew her in and the sun warmed her. Lyonette closed her eyes as Apista buzzed quietly around her head. She felt so sleepy and closed her eyes for a moment.

[Carer Level 8!]

[Beast Tamer Level 5!]

[Skill – Apista: Basic Training obtained!]

“Huh?”

Lyonette sat up. The sun was still shining. The blanket was still soft. But the familiar presence at her side was gone. She looked around wildly and saw Mrsha.

“Mrsha!”

The Gnoll jumped guiltily. She immediately tried to hide what she was holding behind her back. Lyonette got up, her head bleary and saw Mrsha had gathered a pile of moldy pinecones.

“That’s not…how long have I been asleep?”

Mrsha looked innocently at her. Lyonette looked around and saw Apista was resting in a bed of flowers. She stared at the sun and jumped.

“It’s already evening! We’ve been out here for hours!”

Mrsha nodded in agreement. Lyonette looked around.

“That’s long. Too long, maybe. We should get back to the inn. I told Erin I’d come back at some point.”

She looked at Mrsha. The Gnoll was pouting.

“Mrsha, do you want to go back? Have you had enough fun?”

The small Gnoll cub considered this. She nodded reluctantly. Lyonette felt incredibly guilty about falling asleep when Mrsha could have wandered off. She tried to make up for it by packing swiftly. She stuffed her blanket and Apista into the rucksack and made tracks back towards Celum.

“The next time I fall asleep, wake me up! I should be the adult here!”

Lyonette moaned. She saw Mrsha nod happily and felt something rustle in her bag. An outraged Apista tried to climb out.

“Oh no.”

Lyonette blocked her with a hand. Apista tried to crawl past her.

“No, Apista. You have to stay. Otherwise someone will swat you in Celum. Stay in the bag.”

Belatedly, Lyonette remembered she’d just obtained a Skill to train Apista. She pointed at the Ashfire Bee and spoke in a firm tone, just like she’d heard the [Houndmaster] in the kennels speaking.

“Stay.”

Apista fanned her wings defiantly. Lyonette pointed.

“Stop that. Stay! Stay.”

Apista flew out of her bag and defiantly flew rings around Lyonette’s head. Lyonette groaned. Mrsha laughed silently as Lyonette chased after her Ashfire Bee. The smile on the Gnoll’s face lasted even when they returned to the city, with a suspiciously buzzing bag firmly shut at Lyonette’s side.

This was her small accomplishment. Lyonette took pride in that. She and Mrsha took a moment’s reprieve just long enough to buy Mrsha a little spinning top at a local shop and then they returned through Octavia’s shop to The Wandering Inn. Just in time for chaos.

—-

“Lyonette! Thank goodness you’re back! It’s a disaster over here!”

The first person to greet Lyonette was Drassi. Lyonette blinked as the Drake waved a claw about frantically.

“It’s chaos over here! No one knows what to do! All of the Gnolls Ishkr brought are milling about and Erin’s busy with the building team with the bridge! They’re arguing and I can’t get my friends to pay attention!”

She pointed and Lyonette saw that Erin was at the center of a crowd of people vying for her attention. Some looked like laborers, while others were clearly [Barmaids] dressed for their job. Some were [Actors] and one was a stuffy-looking Drake waving a clipboard and shouting about Pallass.

“Hold on! Hold on! I’m trying to—stop trying to get my attention! First people first!”

Erin was trying to shout over the voices of everyone, sounding harried. There were too many people though and she kept getting distracted with each new problem that emerged. Lyonette heard angry shouting and saw that some of the customers were demanding food or drink. Others were just shouting for Erin to keep it down. Ishkr was trying to let people in from Celum and Liscor, Drassi was trying to wait tables and explain how everything worked to the female Drakes following her…it was a mess.

And for some reason, Lyonette felt good about that. Was that a good feeling to have? Probably not. But the sight of Erin turning to her in relief and shouting her name—it did feel nice. Because it meant that Lyonette was important. It meant that she was needed. And perhaps most importantly, it meant that Erin wasn’t perfect.

She was an [Innkeeper], someone who could connect to other people’s hearts, turn even the most taciturn of loners into a friend. She read people like books and created miracles and that made her a [Magical Innkeeper]. But if she had a weakness, just one, it was that she was no leader. Just a friend. And that was fine. Lyonette savored this precious knowledge for all of five second and then took a breath.

“Attention, everyone!”

Heads turned. Lyonette pointed.

“Miss Erin Solstice is extremely busy! Please form a line—I don’t care what order—and wait for your turn. No arguments. I said, form a line. Now!”

She didn’t scream. She didn’t wave her hands or stomp her foot. That was how a fool acted. Lyonette just gave orders and behaved as if they would be carried out. She promptly ignored the people who objected and headed straight for Erin. Half the people around the [Innkeeper] ducked as Apista buzzed over their heads. That helped too, of course.

“What’s the problem? Drassi first.”

“All my friends are here, all the ones who wanted to work, but they don’t know what to do! I’ve been trying to teach them, but—”

“Same here!”

Ishkr walked over. Lyonette nodded. That was simple. She pointed towards the kitchen.

“Drassi, show your friends where we keep the food and have them start passing around the popcorn in bowls to each table. Ishkr, can you show these Gnolls where our drinks are? Have them start filling mugs. We can help each other out once we’re sorted.”

“Got it!”

Relieved, the Drake and Gnoll hurried off, calling to their friends. At once half the shouting patrons stopped, realizing they’d finally get what they wanted. In the newfound silence, Lyonette turned to Erin.

“What else is wrong?”

“I’ve been telling these guys that I’m not hiring a team of adventurers just to watch them build my bridge! I didn’t know that was a cost!”

Erin looked exasperated as she argued with a [Foreman] or perhaps a [Fore Drake] who was supposed to be building the bridge. He growled.

“And how are we supposed to work without protection? Those waters aren’t safe to work in and we’ll be in the water some of the time! Just get the Gold-rank team that’s living here to watch us!”

“They’re busy! And I’m not hiring a Silver-rank team for two days straight! That would cost me too much gold! I told you, I have Hobgoblins—”

“We don’t trust Goblins to watch us!”

All the Drakes and Gnolls instantly burst out into angry protests. Erin folded her arms.

“They’re as good as any team of adventurers!”

That was another fault of hers. Erin was stubborn. She was relaxed about a lot of things, but issues like this—Lyonette listened to them argue for five minutes before offering her compromise.

“What about Hobgoblins and a Silver-rank team of adventurers?”

“What?”

The Drake looked confused. Lyonette pointed to the Horns of Hammerad, who were waiting in line for an unrelated reason that required Erin’s attention.

“If the Hobgoblins stand outside with you and the Horns of Hammerad remain in the inn, will that do? At the first sign of trouble they’ll come out. And we have an Antinium watching from above.”

“You do?”

“Oh yeah. We do!”

Erin grinned as Lyonette went to go grab Bird, who had been sitting in his watch tower and singing his rain song. The Drakes and Gnolls looked somewhat reassured by the Antinium. Ironic, but apparently an Antinium was better than a Goblin, especially to Liscor’s residents. Lyonette turned to Bird.

“Bird, if you see anything attacking the workers, tell us at once. Understand?”

“Yes, Miss Lyonette.”

“Is that fair?”

The [Builders] conferred, but eventually nodded and trooped outside. Lyonette beckoned the next person in line forwards and Erin sighed in relief.

“Lyonette, you’re a lifesaver.”

“I’m just doing my job.”

“I know, but it’s a good job! I don’t know what I would have done without you. Never go on vacation again, okay? Kidding! But not really.”

She smiled at Lyonette. The [Barmaid] smiled back. She turned back to work, pleased. This was her job. She was a helper at Erin’s inn. This was what she could do. She was no [Princess]. She had no servants or subjects. Just an inn, and a friend. She helped Erin sort out the rest of her problems, let the new workers take over for Drassi and Ishkr, and picked out the two best Drakes and Gnolls out of the bunch. With Erin’s instant agreement she decided to hire them as long-term help.

Another of Erin’s faults—no, another thing about Erin that defined her was her unwillingness to commit to huge changes so easily. She saw hiring someone as a huge transition, whereas Lyonette saw it as a simpler thing. You could fire them if you had to. For Erin that was a tremendously stressful activity. But Lyonette felt like she could easily do that. She couldn’t cook, Erin could. Erin could manage the [Actors], and Lyonette could assemble the [Barmaids]. They had their strengths, their weaknesses. But they were a team. Lyonette didn’t know why she’d ever thought it had been just Erin.

That night she practiced with her sword and went to bed, tired, but happy. Lyonette closed her eyes and heard the voice again.

[Barmaid Level 15!]

[Skill – Balanced Posture obtained!]

[Warrior Level 4!]

[Class Conditions: Princess failed]

[Class – Princess lost.]

[Skill – Detect Poison lost.]

[Skill – Royal Tax lost.]

“Oh.”

In the silence of the night, Lyonette sat up for a second. She looked around. She listened. But the voice said nothing more. Slowly, she lay back.

“What happened?”

No one responded. By her side, Mrsha’s chest rose and fell. Apista slept near the window. Lyonette stared up at the ceiling.

It had just been an ordinary day. Just an ordinary day with ups and down and—she’s leveled four times. That was a lot. Was it because she reached Level 15 in [Barmaid]? Was it because she hadn’t been a [Princess] for so long? Because she’d given up?

No one answered. Lyonette stared up at the wooden ceiling over her head.

“It didn’t matter anyways. I never needed that Skill. I never leveled up. I never…”

She trailed off. Outside the rain fell. It pattered on the roof overhead. Lyonette listened to it, blankly. She didn’t feel bad. She didn’t feel sad. If anything, she just felt surprised.

“I lost my class. I didn’t know that could happen.”

She reached inside, searching for pain. For horror. For sadness. But she didn’t find it. She lost her [Princess] class. She was no longer a [Princess]. In name she might be, but in a real way, no, in the realest way she was no longer royalty. It didn’t hurt. Perhaps because she’d lost it long ago.

“Hm.”

Lyonette stared up at the ceiling. She couldn’t sleep. But neither could she find it in her to mourn. And eventually she fell asleep.

—-

The next day, Erin found Lyonette had gotten up before her. The [Barmaid] was cheerfully cleaning up the plates from last night’s play. She smiled as Erin blinked at her.

“Good morning, Erin!”

She kept her voice low as Erin waved blearily at her. A slumbering little ball of fur was lying on a table.

“Mrsha followed me downstairs. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Really? I could use like five more hours.”

Lyonette laughed a bit as she piled up plates.

“Well, I took a nap yesterday when I went out with Mrsha. And I leveled up last night so I stayed up.”

“What, you did? That’s great news! What did you level in?”

Erin brightened up. Lyonette smiled.

“I reached Level 15 in [Barmaid]. And uh, Level 4 in [Warrior]. And I got a Skill. [Balanced Posture]. I know that’s not much but considering that I haven’t been working for more than half a year at most, I thought—”

“No, that’s amazing! What’s your Skill do?”

The [Barmaid] shrugged, smiling, clearly pleased at Erin’s reaction.

“I think it gives me a better posture. I already had [Basic Footwork], but now I feel like I can’t trip.”

“Really?”

“Go on, push me.”

Lyonette invited Erin to push her. Tentatively, Erin did. Lyonette just shifted backwards. She let Erin push her, try to shove her onto one leg, and then let Erin give her a shove. Each time Lyonette had to take a step backwards or adjust her posture, but she was never in any danger of falling. Erin eventually managed to get her to windmill her arms—only by grabbing one leg and yanking it up. Even then, Lyonette felt incredibly steady.

“That’s so great! I mean, okay, it’s probably best for waiting tables, but I bet you won’t drop a bunch of plates.”

“That’s probably the best use I’ll get out of it.”

The young woman laughed as she agreed. By this time Mrsha had woken up. Not to be dissuaded, she had tried to upend Lyonette in her own way by tripping up the girl. It hadn’t worked. Now Mrsha raised her arms. Lyonette dutifully bent and picked her up.

“That’s really cool, Lyonette. Hey, we should celebrate! Nothing fancy—I bet you you’ll get more levels soon, but how’s a little party for Mrsha sound? We can go picnicking out in Celum! I can close up the inn for a while—maybe invite the others? We could all use some sunshine.”

“That sounds great, Erin.”

Lyonette smiled. She picked up the stack of dirty plates and Erin tried to stop her.

“Aw, come on. You don’t have to do that so early.”

“Someone’s got to. Besides, we need to clean the tables. Don’t worry Erin, I feel refreshed.”

“You sure? I feel like all this work is killing me. I’m so glad we got more help! Good work on getting Drassi and Ishkr to call their friends.”

“It wasn’t hard. And we can try out the new workers and give the others a break. I’m just glad business is picking up. Look Erin, don’t worry about it. I’m really glad I leveled. Really. I’ve finally got a class with enough levels that I can be useful.”

Erin sighed, but she let Lyonette take the dishes into the kitchen.

“You were always useful! Now you’re just good at what you do.”

Lyonette laughed. She paused as Mrsha curled back up on her table.

“Come on, Mrsha. You can’t sleep on tables. You know that. If you want to sleep, go back upstairs. I’ll be here when you wake up. I have a job to do.”

Mrsha made a sound of protest. Lyonette nudged her. Erin smiled as the young woman bent over the Gnoll, trying to pick her up.

“Yes, my job. Come on, Mrsha. You get to eat and sleep, but some of us have to work. Some of us have a class. And my class means I have to clean tables. Come on Mrsha. I have a job. Mrsha?”

The Gnoll reluctantly uncurled. She looked up and blinked at Lyonette. Slowly she let herself be picked up by the young woman. Lyonette smiled and saw Mrsha crane her neck up. She felt a rough tongue lick at her cheeks.

“Mrsha! Stop that!”

She tried to stop the Gnoll, but Mrsha licked her other cheek. Lyonette tried to get her to quit, but the Gnoll kept doing it. She turned, laughing.

“Erin! Look at what Mrsha’s doing.”

“Mrsha? What are you up to n—”

Erin poked her head out of the kitchen with a grin. Her wide smile stopped dead on her face. She stared at Lyonette and the smile turned into a look of confusion.

“Lyonette?”

“What?”

“Is everything okay?”

“Aside from Mrsha licking me? I think so. She must be hungry!”

Lyonette laughed. She expected Erin to grin and make a joke or announce what was for breakfast. But Erin just stood there. She stared at Lyonette.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“What? Erin—”

Lyonette frowned. She tried to put down Mrsha, but the Gnoll held on tight. She licked Lyonette’s cheek again. This time the girl tried to brush her away.

“Mrsha, honey, stop that. You’ll get my face wet.”

She scrubbed distractedly at her cheeks with her sleeve. Saliva was everywhere! She looked up, wondering if it was bad enough for Erin to stare. But the look on the [Innkeeper]’s face wasn’t that. Lyonette paused.

“Erin, what’s wrong?”

“You’re crying.”

Erin pointed at Lyonette. The [Barmaid] half-turned and then grinned.

“What? No I’m not.”

She looked at Erin, smiling broadly. Erin just stared. Lyonette felt Mrsha shift in her arms and looked down. The Gnoll looked up at her. Slowly, Mrsha raised her paw. She touched Lyonette’s cheek and then showed Lyonette her paw.

It was wet. Lyonette stared at the wet paw. She stared at Mrsha, and then slowly put the Gnoll down. She reached up and touched her cheeks. They were wet.

“That’s just saliva. Here—”

She wiped her cheeks dry with the hem of her shirt. She smiled at Erin. And then she touched her eyes. She felt the tears trickling down and froze.

“Huh?”

Slowly, Lyonette felt at her face. Her cheeks were wet again. Her eyes were…crying. Weeping tears that rolled down her cheeks. Lyonette looked at Erin, bewildered. The young woman stared at her. Lyonette looked down at Mrsha. The Gnoll looked up, confused. Frightened.

“It—I don’t know what’s going on. It must be something with my body. Or a mistake. Or—”

Lyonette looked around, smiling, realizing her vision was blurry. Erin moved towards her.

“Lyon? Did anything else happen last night?”

“No! Nothing important.”

Lyonette lied. She knew she was lying. Erin drew closer to her. She put a hand on Lyonette’s shoulder.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Nothing happened. Nothing important.”

The young [Barmaid] whispered the words and felt her throat close. She wasn’t sad. She wasn’t sad. But the tears kept falling. Mrsha grabbed Lyonette’s legs and looked up. She was crying. She had no idea why Lyonette was crying, but the Gnoll cub wept.

“Oh Mrsha. Don’t cry! It’s not bad. It’s just—”

Lyonette reached for her. She picked Mrsha up and looked at Erin. The [Innkeeper] looked into her eyes. Lyonette saw a blurry face in her vision.

“Lyonette? What happened?”

“Nothing! Nothing!”

She said the words angrily. Lyonette raised her voice. She felt the world blurring. She was unsteady. So she sat, holding Mrsha. She felt Erin’s hand on her shoulder.

“It was nothing. Nothing. Really. It was nothing. It was—”

A hiccup. Lyonette tried to suppress it, but it grew worse. She felt the hiccup come again, and then turn into shaking. Mrsha clung to her, and Lyonette felt her tears stain her shirt. She began sobbing as Erin held her.

“Nothing. Nothing.”

And then Lyonette wept. She shook and cried as the rain kept falling. It was a bright, sunny day somewhere else. But here the rain fell and Lyonette du Marquin sobbed as the other guests of the inn came down the stairs, searching for the noise. The tears kept falling, again and again. On and on.

It was the beginning of another day.

5.25 L

“And so we pray. Not for a god, not because we are chosen or beloved. We are alone.”

The mass of heads bowed before Pawn. He stood at the small earthen dais at the back of the room. It was nothing more than packed earth. Pawn held a censer in his hands. It was not burning, although a faint cinnamon smell still emanated from it. He had no intention of lighting it; it was just for comfort as he spoke.

“We are alone.”

The words echoed through the chamber over the listening Soldiers and Workers. Painful words. True words. Pawn knew them to be true. He raised his voice.

“However. I believe in heaven. I believe in salvation and the worth of our souls. I believe in you. So if you would, join me and have faith that there is a place for our kind. And if there is none, we shall build it ourselves. Let us pray.”

Pawn lowered his head and put two of his hands together, clasping them as he sensed the other Antinium doing the same. He prayed then, prayed without words. He imagined what heaven might be. He hoped it was real and that his words were not meaningless. For a while he stood thus, and felt better. That was all. He raised his head and spoke softly.

“Amen.”

A susurration ran through the crowd of Antinium as they raised their heads. The faintest of sounds; they did not sigh or speak. The sounds of their hands unclasping, of them standing or adjusting their posture was faint. But there was a change. Pawn nodded.

“Please come forwards and receive your wafers.”

He reached for a basket of round little pieces of flatbread and the Soldiers and Workers fell into line seamlessly. They cupped their hands as Pawn offered them the tiny pieces of bread. It was small enough that the digestion of the Antinium wouldn’t be unduly disturbed by the food. And it was tasty. Pawn offered the wafers to each Antinium in turn until he only had a few wafers in the basket and there were no more Antinium in line.

“Thank you for attending the sermon. You may return to your business.”

The Workers and Soldiers silently savoring the small bits of bread didn’t so much as nod. They instantly broke up. Pawn sighed as he scooped the wafers in the bottom of the basket up.

“Here. For the wounded.”

He offered the wafers to a huge Soldier who approached him. Yellow Splatters took the wafers and nodded. Pawn had to give them away; if he left them alone the Antinium would let them rot rather than eat them without permission. The [Sergeant] stepped towards some of the Painted Soldiers who had been wounded. They looked up and received the wafers silently, regardless if they had prayed or not.

Wafers. They were Pawn’s latest innovation. He’d ordered them ahead of time and petitioned Klbkch to add them to his budget. They weren’t an expense at all, but neither were they strictly necessary. The Revalantor had been confused as to why Pawn needed them and Pawn couldn’t explain properly.

It was a small thing. A nice thing. That was all. It wasn’t an incentive to join his weekly sermon and prayer—which in itself lasted about twenty minutes—but it was nice. Pawn had eventually convinced Klbkch that it was important. He could feed all the Antinium with it; give them a treat between their horrible meals. Even the ones who didn’t pray.

Ah, yes. Pawn raised his head and looked around. Not all the Antinium were eating. Some Workers and Soldiers stood apart from the others, waiting patiently for the others to finish savoring their snack. They had not joined the mass and had declined to receive a wafer, even though Pawn made it clear the wafers were there for everyone regardless of whether they prayed or not.

Not all prayed. What was curious to Pawn, what lifted his spirits was that not all the Antinium who became Individual prayed. He stood in the Soldiers’ barracks that had been converted into the formal meeting place for his unit of Painted Soldiers and now Workers and saw hundreds of Soldiers, and dozens of Workers. Of that number, roughly two thirds had attended his sermon. The rest had not. And, Pawn suspected, never would. They did not believe. And that was fine.

Belgrade would not pray. Anand would, but Pawn wondered if the Worker truly believed. Garry had not ever had time to join one of the masses and as for Bird…no. The Worker had told Pawn that it was more fun to sit in his tower. Even if it was raining. You never knew if a water bird was going to fall out of the sky. That was fine too. Pawn would believe for all of them.

He was two things in this place. An [Acolyte], a believer in something greater than any one Antinium. And a leader of the Painted Soldiers and Workers here. It was the Workers that Pawn turned his mind to now. He stared at the awkward Workers milling about in small clumps of their own, not talking, but rather standing around. Enjoying not working, perhaps.

In the weeks since he had gained his [Benediction of Hope] Skill, Pawn’s congregation had grown. As had the size of his unit of Individual Antinium. It was no longer just the Painted Soldiers but Individual Workers as well. His experiments with the chess boards had created a population of Individual Workers who were not Aberration…but weren’t as distinct as Pawn, Belgrade, or the others.

They could pass the Hive’s tests which other Antinium would fail at. If they were asked what their names were, they would quietly reply they had none. They would not break if confronted with questions about their purpose or identity. They had a spark. But Pawn thought that without Erin, without the time and…affection she had given him, they could not be more.

Workers and Soldiers. Pawn had no idea what to do with so many of them. Klbkch had simple orders: turn them into a fighting force. The Painted Soldiers were already more capable than regular ones and the Workers could use bows and perhaps even swords and shields. Daggers, maces, clubs—he had talked to Pawn about purchasing arms to test this theory. But Pawn knew in his heart that he needed something more. The Workers needed more than chess. The Soldiers needed more than the occasional walk in the sun or bowl of real food.

So what could he bring down into the Hive? What wonders could he carry down from above? How could he show them who they were? Pawn didn’t know, but he knew who did. He turned to the two Soldiers who stood by him. One had returned from attending to the wounded. He was the largest Soldier, distinct because he had an inch or two of height and body mass over the rest. His body was decorated with yellow splatters of paint.

The other Soldier was of equal height with the rest, but his mandibles were painted purple, as was part of his face to give him a strange, purple smile. True to his name, Purple Smile was relaxed, calm, where Yellow Splatters stood to straight attention. Yellow Splatters had been part of the praying Antinium. Purple Smile had not. Pawn addressed both of them.

“I am going to consult with Erin now. Purple Smile, please oversee the chess games. Yellow Splatters, I leave you in charge of training and responding to any emergencies that arise.”

The [Sergeants] both nodded. They turned—Purple smile waved one of his hands at Pawn—and marched towards their designated spot. Yellow Splatters supervised a group of Workers clumsily sparring with wooden swords and Soldiers sparring carefully with one another. Purple Smile wandered over to a group of Soldiers clustered around a chess board on the ground.

The Soldiers could now play with an oversized chess board that Pawn had commissioned for them. It was about six times larger than usual, so the Soldiers could move the pieces about with their clumsy hands. There was only one so far, with two more currently commissioned. Pawn was glad to see that the Soldiers were attentively watching the board as a Worker slowly pushed a piece forwards, trapping the Soldiers’ king.

He saw the Worker pause and the Soldiers stare at the king. The Worker shrank, but the Soldier he had been playing against calmly toppled the king piece. Purple Smile clapped his hands and instantly another Soldier took his place. Pawn shook his head as the Worker hesitantly began to reset his side of the board.

“Awkward.”

That was the only word for it. Awkward. The Workers had no idea how to behave around the Soldiers. They barely knew how to behave with time off with each other. The Soldiers scared them. It wasn’t as if they ever mixed. And the Soldiers themselves seemed to treat the Workers as fragile things to be ignored or carefully avoided. Pawn wanted to bridge the gap between them. They were all Antinium, after all. But he had no idea how.

So he did what he always did. He went to see Erin. It was a flawless plan, except for all the flaws in it. But Pawn did it. He liked seeing Erin. He liked visiting the inn. He had friends there. He hadn’t gone to the inn recently because he had duties in the Hive. And duty mattered. What drove Pawn out of his Hive and onto the rainy streets was duty, not personal pleasure. Okay, and because he liked seeing Erin. And his friends.

—-

The rain hit Pawn the instant he stepped out of the Hive. He jerked in alarm before remembering that this was what happened above. Pawn looked up at the grey skies. Strange. You could forget it was raining in the Hive. The water that poured down never so much as pooled in the entrance of the Hive; it was carefully diverted by many, many tunnels and runoff vents designed solely to keep the Hive safe. Above, Pawn felt exposed by the water. He scurried down the street, hunching as the wind picked up and more water splashed him in the face.

He didn’t like water. It wasn’t as bad as Belgrade, but every Antinium living in Liscor’s Hive who lived through a rainy season knew of the dangers it presented. A tunnel could burst or collapse and water flood a passageway, drowning any Antinium caught there. The Hive was designed to prevent water from filling it if a single tunnel broke, but that was small comfort to the Workers and Soldiers who would slowly drown, helpless, unable to swim.

Not that Pawn dwelt on such thoughts particularly long. It was just hard to forget when the city was surrounded by water. Pawn wondered when the rains would stop. It would be long, far too long before he was able to patrol with his Soldiers above-ground again. True, the waters would drain, but they would leave far too much mud behind for far too long. He needed a distraction, no, an occupation for his people in the meantime. Erin had to have a good idea.

No one stopped Pawn as he hurried down the street. The Drakes and Gnolls were equally consumed with avoiding getting wet and so Pawn made it to the western gate where Erin’s magical door was without incident. He reached for the door handle, opened it, and saw nothing but a blank wall behind.

“Oh. The door is not active yet.”

Pawn was slightly crestfallen. He waited in the rain, awkwardly hunching his shoulders and wondering when it would open. This was a new problem for the inn and Pawn had understood it could be a big problem, especially if no one opened the door for hours.

Happily, he only had to wait for nine minutes before the door opened. Relieved, Pawn stepped aside as someone walked through. Then he froze as a familiar black-brown Antinium walked though.

“Oh. Pawn.”

“Ksmvr.”

Pawn’s good mood took a slight downturn as he spotted the once-Prognugator of Liscor’s Hive. He stared at Ksmvr who paused in the rainy street. The two Antinium regarded each other. They had a history.

“I wish you a good morning, Pawn.”

“Thank you, Ksmvr. I appreciate you opening the door.”

“I was intending to train with Yvlon at the Adventurer’s Guild.”

“Good. For you.”

Silence. The two Antinium stared at each other. Ksmvr eventually jerked his head towards the gates.

“The issue of the magical door not opening will be solved soon.”

“How?”

“They are building a bridge from Liscor to the inn. Over the water.”

“Over?”

Ksmvr nodded. Pawn’s mandibles opened wide in horror. Over the water? He imagined walking on the bridge, while water was all around him, below him—

“I will never use that bridge.”

“Understandable. I, however, will cross it. To prove I am unafraid of water.”

Ksmvr’s voice shook a bit but he stood straighter, as if to prove himself. Pawn eyed him.

“Do you want to die?”

“No. But I must prove myself to my group.”

“But surely your teammates understand that you are unable to swim.”

The former Prognugator paused.

“That is irrelevant. I must conquer my fears. Any fears.”

Pawn shook his head. This was one of the reasons why he didn’t like Ksmvr. The other Antinium was just—Pawn edged around Ksmvr.

“I wish you luck. Truly. But I will go into the inn now. Is Erin there? I wanted to talk to her.”

The other Antinium nodded vaguely.

“She is. Although she is occupied. Captain Ceria told me to leave her and Lyonette alone.”

Pawn paused.

“Why? Is something wrong?”

“I don’t know. The [Barmaid], Miss Lyonette, is crying. She has not stopped.”

“Lyonette’s crying? Why?”

Suddenly Pawn was in front of Ksmvr. Up until this moment he hadn’t been interested in talking with him—he’d been hoping Ksmvr would step out of the way so Pawn could get inside the inn. But now he was keenly, horribly interested in what the other Antinium was saying. Unfortunately, Ksmvr was the wrong person to talk to.

“I have no idea why she is crying. She is not a member of my team. Therefore I only recorded this information as a pertinent piece of gossip.”

“Pertinent to what?”

“I do not know. Would you like me to ask why Lyonette is crying? Would that assist me in social gossip, do you think?”

“I must talk with her. Excuse me.”

Pawn shoved past Ksmvr. The other Antinium called out after Pawn.

“I resent your abrupt departure from the conversation!”

The door slammed shut. Pawn stared around The Wandering Inn, dripping, and looked around. He saw the Halfseekers eating, the Redfang Goblins sitting in a corner, Drassi and a Drake he did not recognize waiting tables—and no Lyonette. Where was she? Normally she’d be here, already hurrying towards him with his favorite drink—warm milk and honey.

“Crying?”

Why was Lyonette sad? Pawn saw Drassi point at him and come over. He stared around, hoping Lyonette would appear from behind a table. Maybe she was in the kitchen? Why was she crying? He’d seen her just the other day! But she’d been busy waiting tables and Pawn hadn’t wanted to distract her.

“Hey Pawn! Can I get you a seat? Are there more Soldiers coming in behind you? Do you want something to eat? To drink? Wow, you’re wet! We need a rug or something here. I should talk to Erin about that. Hey Pawn? Pawn?”

Drassi’s approach to meeting new people was to smother them with words. Pawn glanced at her distractedly.

“Oh. Thank you Drassi, but I am not hungry or thirsty. I came here to see Erin. Or Lyonette. Where is she?”

The female Drake’s face fell slightly.

“Lyonette? Um…she’s in her room. Taking a day off. She wasn’t feeling well. I dunno what was wrong, but Erin says she’s upset and so she won’t be down. But Erin’s in the kitchen. You want me to grab her?”

“Please.”

“Alright. Sure you don’t want a drink?”

“I am sure. Please get Erin for me.”

Pawn sat anxiously at a table, willing Drassi to walk faster as she entered the kitchen. Moments later Erin stepped out, wiping her hands which were covered with flour.

“Pawn! Oh no, I’m so sorry!”

“What?”

His heart beat faster as Erin looked distraught. She sat down as he half-rose and he sat with her.

“I completely forgot about your problem. We had plays all of yesterday and this morning there was this thing with Lyonette—look, I’m really sorry but I can brainstorm with you now if you’d like.”

“Oh.”

Pawn stared at Erin as she gave him a guilty look. The problems with the Workers and Soldiers. He’d forgotten all about that. It was why he was here of course. Pawn shook his head.

“That is unimportant at the moment. I was told by Ksmvr that Lyonette was upset. And Drassi. Is she well? Has something happened?”

“Lyonette? She’s…upstairs. She’s not doing so good. I don’t know why exactly, but I think something happened last night. Or it could be stress. She wouldn’t tell me.”

Erin frowned in worry. Pawn leaned forwards.

“She would not tell you? Why?”

“She didn’t tell me that either. Look, she might just be having a bad day, Pawn. Why? Did you need her?”

“No. I am concerned. May I see her?”

“See her?”

Erin chewed her lip, frowning. She glanced at Pawn.

“Well…I think she’d be happier to be by herself. But you two are friends. We can ask.”

“Please.”

Pawn stood up at once. Erin got to her feet with a sigh. She pointed up the stairs and Pawn led the way. All the while he wondered what was wrong. Why was Lyonette crying? Erin didn’t know. Why didn’t she know? She knew almost everything. Pawn had to ask. Lyonette was his friend. She was more than just a [Barmaid] that fed him and the other Antinium.

She was a [Princess]. Lyonette had told him. It was her secret, one she’d shared with Pawn. Pawn had kept that knowledge tucked in his chest. He didn’t know if she’d told Erin or anyone else. But he valued the trust all the same. He had gotten to know her when Erin was gone from the inn. If there was anything he could do—

“This door.”

Erin came to the first door in the hallway and rapped softly on the door. Pawn listened. He couldn’t hear much from inside, but at Erin’s knock he heard a quiet shuffling. It wasn’t Lyonette who opened the door, but Mrsha. The Gnoll cub stood clumsily on two legs as she pulled the door open.

“Hey Mrsha. Hey Lyonette. Sorry to bug you.”

The [Innkeeper] called cautiously into the room as Pawn tried to look over her shoulder. He couldn’t see past her. Erin stepped into the room as Mrsha stared up at Pawn. He stared back and waved one of his hands at her. The Gnoll didn’t wave back.

“No, don’t get up Lyonette. I didn’t want to bug you but Pawn’s here and he’s worried. You don’t have to—it’s okay? Okay, Pawn? Come on in.”

Hesitantly, Pawn stepped into the room as Mrsha dropped onto all fours and padded back inside. She crept up next to a young woman sitting with a blanket around her shoulders. Lyonette’s eyes were red and she was holding a wet handkerchief. She looked up at Pawn and tried to smile.

“Hi Pawn.”

“Good morning, Lyonette. I am terribly sorry to bother you. I was worried when I heard you were upset.”

“Thank you, Pawn.”

Erin stood up. She looked at Pawn and Lyonette, wavering.

“I have to get back to work. Lyonette, are you okay?”

The younger girl gave Erin a watery smile.

“I’m fine, Erin. Don’t worry about me, please. I know you have a lot to do.”

“Okay. Pawn? If you want to talk I’ll be in the kitchen later.”

Pawn nodded distractedly as Erin left. He kept staring at Lyonette. She was still crying. Tears ran from the sides of her eyes and she kept dabbing at them. Mrsha curled up next to her. Pawn had no idea what to say. At last, he tried to speak.

“I am sorry to bother you, Lyonette. I could come back later if you do not wish to talk.”

“It’s fine, Pawn. I didn’t want to make you worry. I’m just—having a bad day, that’s all.”

“Oh.”

What a wholly unsatisfactory response. Pawn searched for good words and found none. He almost regretted coming upstairs, to be honest. What could he say? He shouldn’t have bothered her. And yet—it was Lyonette. His friend. Was she his friend? He thought she must be.

She had been there when he first started to lead the Soldiers. She had taught him how to act, how to stand tall. She had fed them. And now she was crying and he had no idea why. He hadn’t known. That made Pawn’s chest hurt.

“May I ask why you are upset?”

Lyonette sniffed. She looked away.

“It’s…personal.”

“Oh. I see.”

Crestfallen, the Worker looked down at his feet. He was still wet. He should go. But he didn’t move. After a moment Lyonette looked up at him and sniffed again.

“It’s not that I don’t want to say. It’s just—it shouldn’t matter but it does. I lost it, Pawn.”

“Lost? What?”

“My class.”

Tears trickled down Lyonette’s cheeks. Pawn stared at her. She couldn’t mean her [Barmaid] class. If she was crying, then—

“You lost your [Princess] class?”

Lyonette nodded. Pawn was stunned.

“How?”

The young woman shook her head.

“I must have stopped being a princess. At last. I should have known it would happen. I work at an inn as a [Barmaid]. I’m far from my kingdom. I—I should have known. And it shouldn’t matter.”

She sniffed and Mrsha reached up to pat her leg. Lyonette gently stroked Mrsha’s head. Pawn felt like an outsider. He should not be here. And he had no idea what to say. She had lost her class.

“You should have it back. I will pray for your class to return.”

Lyonette blinked. She stared at Pawn and then laughed. It was a weak sound and there was nothing funny in the way she laughed.

“What? No. Don’t do that. It’s fine, Pawn.”

“But your class—”

Pawn didn’t know what to say. Lyonette was a [Princess]. She was…royalty. As close to his Queen as anything in this world. He knew that was not the same, but it was how he understood her class. It made Lyonette important. How could she not be sad? But Lyonette didn’t seem to see it that way. She cast around.

“You should sit. There’s a chair over there.”

“I will take it. Thank you.”

Awkwardly, Pawn pulled the chair over and sat. He was still higher up than Lyonette and he found himself looking down at her. She sat up and he waited.

“It’s not a big deal, Pawn. I shouldn’t be crying. I shouldn’t. I lost my class because I wasn’t doing [Princess]-like things. That’s all. But I don’t need the class. I was only—only Level 6 anyways.”

“But it was your class.”

“I know. But I haven’t been feeling like a princess in a while. I think I knew it. That’s why I lost my class. And it’s not like I need it.”

“But—”

Pawn didn’t know what to say. He trailed off, staring at Lyonette. Tears flowed down her face and her nose was wet. She wiped it, looking embarrassed and Pawn looked away.

“Surely it was important, though. You are a [Princess]. Were. Was that class not important to you?”

“It was. But I lost it, Pawn.”

Lyonette whispered. She shook her head. Pawn realized he was repeating himself. After a while, he spoke.

“What was it like?”

“What?”

“Living as a princess.”

Lyonette looked up at him. Pawn saw Mrsha raise her head. She smiled sadly.

“What was it like? Being a [Princess] was—well, it was nice at times. I loved the balls and dancing and exciting things that came to court. And travelling wherever I wanted in the kingdom. Having money to buy whatever clothing I wanted. But I wasn’t happy. I never leveled. And when I came here, I gave all that up. So I traded being a [Princess] for actually leveling. That’s why—”

She broke off and sniffed, then blew her nose wetly into the handkerchief. Pawn waited. He was confused.

“Balls? Dancing? Why can you not do any of that here?”

“There aren’t any. No one knows I’m a [Princess].”

“But Mrsha has a ball.”

Pawn pointed at it. Lyonette stared and then laughed abruptly.

“Pawn, that’s not the same! A ball is a formal occasion. It’s where we dress up in fancy clothing and dance in a big open space. It’s not like anything Liscor has. It’s another world. A different world. I left it behind.”

“Which is why you lost your class.”

“Yes. Do you understand?”

He thought he did. It was just that he didn’t understand why Lyonette didn’t want her class back. Pawn mulled it over before he decided he had to ask.

“Why don’t you want it back?”

“Why? Because it’s gone. Because it doesn’t matter.”

“But it was your class. Surely you had Skills—”

“Two. Two, Pawn. And they weren’t that useful. They were—useless. Like my class. It’s gone and I’ll be better. I just need to cry. I don’t know why I’m crying. I should be okay. I just need a day. Then I’ll be better.”

“I see.”

Was that it? Pawn fumbled, searching for something else to say. There had to be something he could say that would make Lyonette feel better. Or—or help her.

“You’re sure you don’t want your class back? I could pray. I could.”

Lyonette laughed weakly.

“I’m sure! Pawn, I appreciate it but all I want is to be alone for a while. I’m glad you came by, I really am. But I just need to be alone.”

“I understand. I will excuse myself. Please forgive me for interrupting you.”

Pawn stood up at once. He felt embarrassed and bad. Lyonette looked up, worried.

“No, I’m not angry! Thank you for coming. It’s just—”

She waved a helpless hand. Pawn nodded.

“I will pray you feel better.”

“Thanks.”

Lyonette smiled at him. Pawn raised his mandibles and turned towards the door. He walked out, feeling helpless. Upset. Lyonette had lost her class. But she didn’t want it back. That seemed wrong.

Downstairs Erin asked if Lyonette was okay. When Pawn told her she wanted to be alone Erin nodded and offered to talk with Pawn about his problems. He declined. He wandered back to the Hive, feeling out of sorts. When he got back he tried to pray. But he couldn’t. Lyonette’s tears kept falling in his mind. She had lost her class. That was terrible. What could he do about it? Pray?

It didn’t feel like enough. And that was strange too. Pawn paced, anxiously. He felt helpless and upset and worried. What could he do? After a while he stopped and clasped his hands in prayer.

—-

Pawn had gone. Pawn had come back. He had promised to come back with ideas. He had returned with nothing. And now he was pacing. This indicated something was wrong, but neither Yellow Splatters nor Purple Smile knew what the problem was.

Purple Smile and Yellow Splatters were both [Sergeants]. It was a new concept to both Antinium and Yellow Splatters was keenly aware of the cost of failure. He had failed once and his Soldiers had suffered for it. He was anxious not to make another mistake, which was why he listened to everything Pawn said.

Only today, Pawn was saying nothing. Not to him at any rate. He had left the Hive and come back earlier than he had said. Now, rather than tell Yellow Splatters and the others about all the new ideas he had promised he was pacing back and forth. Muttering to himself.

“Surely the class is important. It must be! She was crying. She was upset. But is she better off without it? Surely not. But she says she does not want help.”

Yellow Splatters stared at Pawn as he paced back and forth. Other Antinium were staring too. Pawn’s behavior was not normal and the Workers and Soldiers were all paying attention. Pawn usually went to each of them and talked to them. But today he hadn’t. He hadn’t even noticed the biggest thing ever.

The Soldiers and Workers were still standing around the chessboard. They hadn’t moved since the last game. Ever since Pawn had brought the bigger chessboard the Soldiers had played games against the Workers constantly. They had lost every game. The current tally was four hundred and eighteen wins by the Workers…and now, just now, one win by one of the Soldiers.

That was huge. Yellow Splatters had been waiting for Pawn to come back and see and congratulate the Soldier—a new Painted Soldier named Rabbitears—on the victory. A Soldier had won a game. Won a game of chess!

The losses didn’t matter. But the one win? It changed everything. It meant—it meant Soldiers could be—the possibilities were endless! But Pawn didn’t pay attention to this earth-shattering fact. On any other day he would have been asking questions, perhaps ordering a celebration. Today the [Sergeants] watched as he paced back and forth and muttered.

“What can I do? Can I do anything? No, I should let her grieve. Grieving is a natural thing. Erin told me she will be looked after. But she was crying.”

It occurred to Purple Smile that Pawn would not notice the chess game. He signaled and the Soldiers slowly reset the board. The Soldiers did not feel many emotions. Grief, sadness, happiness…nothing much affected them. But now they felt something like disappointment. Nevertheless, they reset the board and Rabbitears began to play another game with a Worker. Pawn paid no attention.

Yellow Splatters looked sideways at Purple Smile. He pointed with one big hand. Purple Smile shrugged. He had no idea what was happening either. The [Sergeants] watched as Pawn kept pacing. They watched him stop and put his hands together. Was he praying? Why? The Soldiers didn’t know what was wrong, but they didn’t take their eyes off Pawn. They were observing. Listening. Learning.

And Pawn made up his mind. He had to go back tomorrow. To check on Lyonette.

—-

The next day, Pawn waited at dawn in front of the door to The Wandering Inn. As soon as the sun rose high enough for it to be actually daytime and not night still he opened the door. To his relief, the door was connected to Liscor. Pawn stepped in and immediately saw Lyonette.

“Pawn?”

She was setting food out for the Redfang Goblins. Lyonette turned, surprised to see Pawn so early. He stepped into the inn, conscious of the rain on his carapace.

“I am sorry to come so early. Am I interrupting?”

“No, come in. And please close the door. I keep telling Erin we need a doormat—let me get you a towel.”

Lyonette hurried into the kitchen as the five Hobs sitting at their table gave Pawn the fisheye. He ignored them. As soon as Lyonette returned with a fresh towel, Pawn thanked her. He sat at a table near the fire and spoke.

“Are you well, Lyonette? Are you feeling better? I was worried that you might still be in distress.”

“You were? Well, I’m better. I feel fine now. I’m embarrassed about yesterday.”

“You’re…alright?”

Pawn stared at Lyonette hard. She gave him a cheery smile.

“I am! I think yesterday was just shock.”

“I see.”

Pawn was confused. Lyonette seemed so much better today. It was completely at odds with how she’d seemed yesterday. She hovered around his table, waving at one of the Goblins who was raising a hesitant mug.

“Sorry, Ishkr’s not in yet. We’re training new staff, but I’m the only person for breakfast. Do you mind?”

“Not at all.”

The Antinium watched Lyonette take the mug that one of the Hobgoblins offered her. She refilled it and when she returned he scrutinized her again.

“So you don’t mind losing your class? Truly?”

“Not at all. I’m glad, actually.”

Briskly, Lyonette mopped down the table.

“But you are royalty still, aren’t you?”

The [Barmaid] shrugged.

“You mean my name? Lyonette du Marquin? Forget about it. It’s just Lyonette now. I’m a [Barmaid]. Not a [Princess]. And that’s alright. That’s perfect, really.”

“Really?”

At last Lyonette looked up with a frown.

“Really, Pawn.”

He met her gaze. She looked annoyed now. Pawn hadn’t intended that. He looked away meekly.

“Okay then. I was simply worried.”

Lyonette smiled.

“And I appreciate it. Thank you, again, Pawn. But I really should get back to work. Can I get you anything? Or did you want to talk to Erin again?”

Of course. He had his duties. Pawn shifted in his chair. He should really talk to Erin. But he couldn’t help but feel like his conversation with Lyonette had gone all wrong. She said she was okay. But was she really? He couldn’t imagine it. She was a [Princess]. She had been. She’d taken pride in it. And now it was gone. That couldn’t be okay.

And yet, if she said so, what could he do? Pawn watched Lyonette turn away. He opened his mandibles before he could stop himself.

“Wait. Can we not talk further?”

She turned back, surprised.

“Talk?”

Pawn hesitated. That had slipped out.

“I do not mean to take you from your duties. But it has been a long time since we have chatted together. Too long.”

“It has been a while. We used to talk back when Erin was gone and I was in my inn. Starving.”

A rueful smile stole over Lyonette’s face. She tossed the dust rag onto another table.

“I have missed it. You’re always busy. And I have a moment.”

“Then you do not mind talking with me?”

Hopefully, Pawn looked up at her. Lyonette smiled.

“Whatever gave you that idea? My problems are one thing, but I always have time to talk with you. Is something happening in the Hive? I heard you talking about more Workers joining your group. Is there a problem?”

She took a seat across from Pawn. He sat up a bit straighter.

“Not a problem, but we lack entertainment. You see, I was going to speak with Erin about the issue of—of boredom. Revalantor Klbkch has given us scheduled downtime, but we lack activities to perform in the rain. I was hoping Erin could help. Unless you have some ideas?”

“Well, why not teach them something? Or read them books?”

Pawn nodded. He relaxed a bit as Lyonette sat across from him, smiling. This felt better. She looked like normal.

“I could do that. But I was hoping for activities they could perform when I am not around?”

“Ah, I see the problem. And your people need activities? Well, have you tried giving them normal activities? Like needlework? Or pottery?”

“Needlework? Pottery? As in making trade crafts? The Antinium are not proficient in such areas.”

Lyonette laughed.

“No! For their own enjoyment! What about games? Surely you have something. Like—tag. Even I played that game growing up.”

“Let me write this down.”

Pawn looked around, patting his side. He had forgotten his belt pouch! Lyonette smiled.

“Erin probably has some parchment and a quill. Hold on, let me find it.”

She got up and went into the kitchen. Pawn waited until she came back. Then he gratefully accepted the quill and ink and began scribbling down notes. He was glad she was well. Only—was she? Lyonette smiled and offered him silly suggestions and good ones, laughing as she asked him whether the Antinium might enjoy learning to embroider. But he couldn’t help but think it was partly an illusion. Pawn sat and talked with Lyonette until Ishkr came in with two of his Gnoll friends and the inn began to fill with guests. Then Lyonette had to go.

“Good luck with your Antinium, Pawn. Let me know how it turns out, alright?”

“I will. Thank you, Lyonette.”

Pawn bade her farewell at the door. He hesitated, opening his mandibles. But Lyonette was already busy giving Ishkr orders. He turned away, still feeling like something was wrong. But he couldn’t put his finger on it.

—-

The next day, Pawn surprised Erin by opening the door right as she was passing by. She jumped.

“Pawn?”

“Hello Erin. I am sorry to come so early. But I was hoping to speak with Lyonette. Is she here?”

Erin blinked at Pawn. It was very early. She rubbed her eyes.

“Lyonette? Yeah, she should be down shortly. Um. Is something the matter, Pawn?”

The Worker paused guiltily.

“The matter? No. I was just…wondering if we could speak more about her proposals.”

“Her what?”

“She gave me some advice as to how I could entertain my Workers and Soldiers yesterday.”

“She did? Good for her! I was going to suggest playing baseball inside the Hive or something stupid like that. Uh, so what did she say?”

“She suggested expanding the barracks to create a communal living space. And introducing a variety of crafts into the Hive. I have done so and wished to appraise her of the progress.”

Erin nodded, smiling and covering a yawn.

“Hey, that’s great Pawn. I’m sure Lyon would love to hear about it. Why don’t you sit and wait for her?”

Pawn nodded obediently. He sat and soon enough Lyonette came downstairs. She was surprised to see him.

“Pawn! You’re back. Again?”

Pawn nodded. He waved at Mrsha who blinked at him and waved back. He nodded to Lyonette.

“I am. I took your advice yesterday.”

“Oh. Good.”

“I wanted to tell you about my results. And perhaps talk more if we had the chance?”

Lyonette glanced at Erin who shrugged.

“Of course I have time. I just need to feed Mrsha. Have you had breakfast yet?”

“No. I would gladly pay for a meal.”

“Hold on, then.”

Lyonette left and came back with some hot eggs which Pawn gladly ate. She ate with Mrsha, awkwardly telling the Gnoll not to gobble her food while she half-watched Pawn. When Mrsha was done Lyonette came to sit with Pawn.

“Okay, tell me about it.”

Pawn nodded and sat up eagerly. He had just finished telling Lyonette about how the Workers were attempting to learn how to crochet when he heard footsteps. He turned around and saw the Horns of Hammerad stumbling downstairs. Lyonette immediately got up.

“It’s already that time? Sorry Pawn, but I have work to do.”

“I understand. I am sorry to have taken your time.”

“No, it’s no problem. I enjoy hearing about the Hive. Really. It’s just…”

Lyonette gestured towards the adventurers. Pisces was yawning and only Ksmvr looked anywhere near awake. They all made a beeline for the nearest table, sitting and staring expectantly at the table in front of them as if willing food to appear. Pawn nodded.

“Please go about your work. I will leave.”

“You could stay. Once I finish I could talk more.”

The young woman’s smile made Pawn glad. He shook his head.

“No, I simply wanted to talk for a while. I have my own duties as well.”

He stood up and looked at Lyonette. He took a short breath and spoke as Lyonette was turning.

“And you are well?”

She froze. Pawn stared at her back.

“You felt better yesterday. Are you feeling as well today?”

Lyonette half-turned and smiled at Pawn.

“I’m fine.”

“Good. Good. In that case I will…”

Pawn backed away. Lyonette nodded.

“Come again, any time!”

She took his plate. Pawn watched her head into the kitchen. She was good. That was excellent. He turned and walked towards the door. He had duties in his Hive now. The fact that Lyonette was well was all he’d come to confirm. He left as Lyonette hurried out of the kitchen with plates and Ceria and Pisces squabbled over who’d get the larger portion. He went back to his Hive and performed his duties distractedly.

The next day he went back. And the day after that. And the day after that.

—-

Yellow Splatters thought that there was a problem. It was Pawn. He didn’t like to think it, but three days had gone by and it was growing clearer to him that something was amiss.

Pawn. The Worker was present in the barracks every day of course. He ate with the Painted Soldiers and Individual Workers, gave orders, and left each morning for an hour or two before returning. That was all right. What wasn’t all right was what he was doing.

He came back each day with new things. Objects. Leather balls made to be tossed around or chewed on, custom chess sets, knitting needles, yarn…every day he would arrive with more strange paraphernalia, bought with the budget allocated to him by Klbkch. And that was fine too. Normally.  Yellow Splatters understood that new things could be wonderful. Like books. He loved books with bright pictures. But this?

“Have a group of Workers try knitting, Yellow Splatters. It is a useful occupation they may enjoy.”

“I have purchased a set of balls for playful fun. You can toss them and catch them. Like so. If anyone is interested, please, let them try.”

“Here is some clay. I think you can make pottery with it. If any Soldier creates something I will inquire about firing it in a kiln.”

The last time Pawn had come into the Hive, he’d brought a mass of wet clay in a wheelbarrow. Now Purple Smile and Yellow Splatters stared at it. The [Sergeant] poked a hand into the wet clay. It squished.

Pottery? It was a word Yellow Splatters had no notion of. He stared at Pawn as the Worker hurried over to his sleeping spot. Yellow Splatters had many questions. What exactly was he supposed to do. What was a kiln? How did one fire clay? With a crossbow?

He looked at Purple Smile. The other Soldier was not smiling today. Nor had he been for the last few days. He sensed it too. Something was wrong.

It wasn’t the new objects. It wasn’t Pawn buying things. All of that was good, in theory. It was that when Pawn went out and came back with new things for the Antinium to try, when he brought wonderful ideas into the Hive or encouraged the Soldiers and Workers to try this, it was always him telling. Not showing.

He…had not paid attention to the Antinium in the barracks for the last few days. That was what was wrong. Before, Pawn had had few items to share. He had saved up copper coins and petitioned Klbkch repeatedly for even a few books, a can of paint. But always, he had shown the Soldiers exactly what to do, experimented with them. Cared and praised them for their accomplishments and failures. But he was distracted now. He did not care.

And that hurt deeply. Yellow Splatters turned his attention to the chess board that the Soldiers and Workers had played at. It was unused. The Soldiers and Workers stood about or sat, not playing again. The board was where it had been left—checkmated. Rabbitears had won a fourth game. And stopped. Because Pawn had not noticed.

He had not noticed. In any other moment, in any other time, Pawn would have instantly shown this to Klbkch. He would have congratulated Rabbitears, spoken to the others. Told Yellow Splatters…something about what it meant. But he had not noticed and the Soldiers and Workers had noticed that. So now they did nothing. They waited, listlessly, not bothering to touch the interesting things Pawn had brought. They stared at him.

And he did not notice. He sat in his special cubicle, sitting as if he was sleeping. But his four hands were clasped together. Pawn was praying. He had prayed day and night when he was not out. Prayed for hours on end, late into the night, before dawn. And that too was good in theory. Yellow Splatters had seen Pawn praying over the wounded. He had heard Pawn lead them in prayer. It was a wondrous thing. Only now…the [Sergeant] stared at Pawn. The Worker was deep in prayer. It was a good thing. But Yellow Splatters was sure, absolutely sure, that Pawn was not praying for them.

He wondered who Pawn was thinking of. And when Pawn would finally remember his people. Yellow Splatters waited, his chest hurting. Now he was certain. It wasn’t just a problem. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

—-

Over the next week, it became customary to see Pawn in the inn before breakfast or in the early morning. He would always come in early unless the door to Liscor was closed. He would greet Erin every morning with a different line.

“Hello, is Lyonette there? I was hoping to get her input on possible embroidery designs.”

“I was passing by the inn and could not help but stop for lunch. Is Lyonette free to talk?”

“I wanted to consult with Ksmvr. Is Lyonette around?”

“It is rainy. I wanted to share that fact with Lyonette.”

The excuses seemed to amuse Erin. She started grinning every time she saw Pawn for reasons unknown to him. Each day he waited for Lyonette, sometimes while eating breakfast or a snack, other times sitting meditatively in silence or whispering a quick prayer. Each time Lyonette greeted him, asked how his Hive was doing and caught up on the latest Antinium gossip, such as it was.

In turn she offered him news about the inn. The Players of Celum were gaining more attention and had nearly finished their run of Othello and The Triumph of Liscor. They were about to switch plays now they had a new audience of Drakes and Gnolls coming in each night. Training the new staff was going well. The adventurers were busy preparing for the dungeon or arguing with each other and fighting over food. And so on. Pawn listened dutifully, nodding along and enjoying the conversation. And each time she finished or had to go back to work he asked her the same question.

“Is everything well?”

The answer was always yes. With a smile or a nod. Pawn accepted that. He came back day after day until the day when Lyonette’s patience finally ran out.

—-

“Good morning, Lyonette.”

“Oh. Hello, Pawn.”

For once Lyonette didn’t smile when she greeted Pawn. In fact, she hadn’t come over when she’d spotted him sitting by himself at lunch time. She’d kept serving tables though the Worker was sure she’d seen him. But it was a good ten minutes before she walked over.

It was almost as if she’d been avoiding him. But after he had sat and waited patiently, refusing to let Drassi get him a drink or food, Lyonette had walked over. Now she stood, looking somewhat tired as Pawn sat. He waited for her to take a seat. She did not.

“Would you like to sit and talk with me?”

“Not today, Pawn.”

Lyonette glanced tiredly around. So did Pawn. The inn was not busy at this time of day, which pleased him. He would have more time to chat.

“Do you want to tell me about the inn? Or would you like to chat about the Hive first? There are a few interesting developments that may intrigue you.”

He had been buying new objects left and right to put in the Hive. Knitting needles, yarn, little balls to play catching games, and so on. Pawn hadn’t seen the Antinium playing with some of the objects, but he was sure they would begin using them soon. After all, the Soldiers used to not read any of the picture books and now the books were the most sought-after object in the barracks. But to his surprise, Lyonette shook her head.

“Not today, Pawn. I’m a bit—busy. Look, why don’t I get you a drink and we can talk later? Next week, maybe?”

That was strange. Pawn hesitated.

“Of course, if you are busy I will come back another time. Tomorrow, perhaps?”

“Um…sure.”

Lyonette looked distracted. And a bit upset. She kept glancing over her shoulder and looking at Pawn. He nodded.

“I will not take up any of your time. But before you go—”

Lyonette was already turning away. Pawn called after her.

“And you are feeling well?”

She stopped, mid-step. Pawn saw Lyonette’s shoulder’s tense, and then she whirled.

“Why are you asking me that?”

Her voice was loud. Too loud. Pawn saw a few of the Drakes and Gnolls eating lunch look up and heard conversations cease across the inn. Erin poked her head out of the kitchen. Pawn hesitated.

“No reason. I am just interested in your wellbeing.”

“Really?”

Lyonette stared at him. Pawn shuffled his legs and looked away.

“Yes?”

“Then why do I get the feeling that you’re still thinking about my missing class?”

Pawn’s heart skipped a beat. He tried to keep his voice smooth.

“I never mentioned it. I never said a word about it.”

“Yes. And you’re not saying it so loudly that I can hear it! You keep asking if I’m well. You keep coming here, day after day, telling me about the smallest things. I wouldn’t care. I’d enjoy it, but you ask me the same question each time. Why?”

Lyonette advanced on Pawn, angry. He tried to scoot back in his chair but the [Barmaid] stood right in front of him. Now everyone was looking at him. Pawn debated lying. He could say—

Lie? To Lyonette? He caught himself as he was about to utter an untruth. Pawn looked up at Lyonette and unwillingly, he answered her honestly.

“…I have been praying every day that your class will return.”

The shock that ran over Lyonette’s face was like a living thing. It drained the blood from her face, made her eyes go wide, and then, quick as a flash, ignited anger once more. Lyonette stared down at Pawn. Her voice trembled.

“Why?”

The Worker shrank. But he replied defiantly.

“I believe you need it back. Your class.”

“You think I need it?”

“Yes.”

Pawn saw Lyonette’s mouth open angrily. He rushed forwards before she could speak.

“I think you need it. I think you should have it back. I think you shouldn’t be content not to have it. So I have prayed for it.”

“I told you I was better off without it! What about what I want?”

Incensed, Lyonette put her hands on the table. Pawn leaned back and then stopped. He spoke, his mandibles quivering slightly.

“I think you are wrong.”

For a moment Lyonette gaped at him. Then she glared.

“Stop it. Just stop it! Don’t pray and don’t tell me what I need!”

She stood up and turned away. Pawn scrambled out of his chair.

“Lyonette, please. I am trying to help—”

“Maybe I don’t want your help!”

She whirled and snapped at Pawn. He felt like he’d been struck. Lyonette glared.

“Why does it matter to you? Why do you care? It’s my class! It’s my life! Why does this matter to you?”

“I just want to—”

She spoke over him, her voice growing louder and louder.

“You want? What about what I want? I liked talking to you, I really did! You and I are friends! But this isn’t right! This isn’t fair to me! Don’t pray for me! Don’t try to change me! Don’t try to give me back what I don’t need!”

She stared at Pawn, and to his horror he saw her eyes were shimmering. Lyonette rubbed at them, and her voice caught.

“Please, just leave me alone! Let me move on! Let me—”

She moved as if to walk away and noticed her audience. She had been shouting near the end. Everyone was staring. Erin looked flabbergasted. Lyonette turned red. Her eyes welled up with tears and she turned.

“I—”

She didn’t finish her sentence. Lyonette ran up the stairs. Pawn watched her go. He felt like something had ripped out his chest, spilling his insides across the floor. Slowly, dizzily, he looked around. Pawn stared at the others, stared at Erin, and then slowly walked towards the door. He opened it and turned his head as rain poured through.

“I am sorry. Please tell her I am sorry.”

Then he stumbled out into the rain.

—-

He had never felt so worthless. He had never felt so small. Pawn sat in the barracks and wished to disappear. He was a failure. He was useless. He sat and he sat and he knew everything was wrong. He wished he was dreaming. He knew he was not. That was worse than a nightmare. If things were a nightmare he could wake up. But he couldn’t. And everything kept getting worse.

Silence. It was horrible. It weighed down the barracks. No one moved. The Soldiers and Workers stood around Pawn as he sat on the floor, curled up into a ball. He didn’t move. He didn’t eat. He didn’t respond when Yellow Splatters approached him, or when Purple Smile poked him. He didn’t move when Anand called his name.

“Pawn. Pawn. What is wrong?”

The Worker didn’t respond. Anand stood over him, anxious.

“Yellow Splatters came to get me. I did not understand why. What is the matter? Are you hurt? Pawn?”

Pawn wished Anand would go away. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to live. He sat still, ignoring Anand’s words until the Worker left. He was the worst. He had made Lyonette cry again.

He had been sure. So sure! He had known that if he prayed hard enough, Lyonette’s class would come back. Then she would be happier. So he had prayed every day. He had gone to see her. But all he had done was anger her. She did not want his help. She did not want to talk to him.

She hated him. Pawn remained still, feeling the hard ground beneath him. He did not respond as Yellow Splatters tried to tug his arms apart. The Soldier was strong but Pawn held on with all his might and there was nothing that the [Sergeant] could do short of breaking Pawn’s arms. Pawn stayed where he was. Until someone kicked him in the side.

“Get up.”

Klbkch’s kick knocked Pawn sideways. The Antinium landed on his left side, but he did not uncurl. Klbkch made a harsh clicking sound and kicked him again.

“I said, get up.”

Pawn did not respond. The kick had cracked the carapace on his side but he did not move. Klbkch grabbed him and dragged him up. Pawn didn’t move. He was a ball of misery.

“You have abandoned your duties. Anand tells me you have not moved for over half a day now. Why are the Soldiers and Workers here unattended to?”

No reply. Klbkch uttered another sound that Pawn had never heard an Antinium make. The Soldiers and Workers around him shrank. Then Pawn heard a rasping sound. Klbkch had drawn his swords.

“I see useless goods, bought with the Hive’s money. I see Workers and Soldiers, listless and lifeless. I see you, unmoving. Respond.”

Pawn did not reply. He waited as he sensed Klbkch move around him. The Revalantor placed the sharp tip of his sword on the back of Pawn’s neck. The Worker did nothing. Klbkch raised his sword and paused. Yellow Splatters and Purple Smile were staring at him. Their hands were not clenched, but the other Soldiers and Workers were…watching. Klbkch waited. In the silence Pawn felt the cold sting and did nothing.

After a lifetime, a second, Klbkch withdrew the point of his sword. He turned away.

“You are a disgrace.”

He turned and stalked out of the barracks. Pawn did not move. If he felt anything, it was bad that Klbkch had not ended it all then and there. He stayed where he was as time passed on. Despairing. Hating.

There was no point to any of it. He had made a terrible mistake. He would never uncurl. He would sit here and starve, like he had once seen another Worker do. He was not Pawn anymore. He did not want to be Pawn. He just wanted to disappear.

And perhaps he would have. Pawn sat and sat until something changed in the Hive. He felt it. At first, it was distant movement. The stepping of many feet. He did not care. But then he heard a voice. Not the staccato click-speech of the Antinium, but a softer voice. A kind voice. It spoke at a distance, and then Pawn heard words.

“…how long?”

He heard a distant reply, crisp and precise, and then another one, quieter, more subdued. Klbkch and Anand. The voice grew louder.

“Wow. Really? And he’s just…okay, let me see.”

The footsteps approached. Pawn heard more shuffling. Soldiers and Workers standing and sitting around him drew back. He heard the voice clearly now. A kind voice. A loving voice.

“Oh no. I think I see the problem.”

He knew her. He wanted her to go away. But he didn’t move. Pawn shook as the voice, the person approached. He feared her. More than he hated himself. He feared what she might do. What she might say. The young woman knelt next to Pawn as he curled up into a ball. She looked around and sighed.

“What a mess. Okay Klbkch, Anand. Give me some room. I’ll try and sort this out, okay? I should have asked Lyonette what was really wrong earlier. As for Pawn…give me a few minutes.”

He heard an answering voice and then the footsteps retreated. Pawn stayed where he was. He felt the softest of touches on his shoulder and quaked.

“Pawn?”

Here she was. The one who would lay out his sins. The one who could move his heart. His creator in some ways. His savior in others. Terrifying, wonderful, magical, and peaceful. Pawn wished she would leave. He feared what she would do. And part of him, a tiny part of him hoped she could make it all better. Because if there was anyone who could, it was her.

Erin.

5.26 L

In the depths of the Hive, Pawn heard her approach. Her footsteps were soft and she walked slowly. He didn’t move.

Pawn was curled up into a ball as if he were sleeping. Only, he wasn’t. He was just like this now. The curl wasn’t just physical, it was in his heart.

He’d hurt Lyonette. Made her angry at him. She probably never wanted to see him again. He’d made her cry. Again.

He’d just been trying to help. What had he done wrong? He just wanted to give her back her class. She was a [Princess]. Had been a [Princess]. Why didn’t she want her class back? Why, why, why—

And now Erin was here. Pawn listened as she walked towards him. Close now. He shivered but didn’t move. He didn’t want her here. She might be able to move him.

He wanted her here. Pawn felt his thoughts jumbling in his head. He told himself not to move. Not moving was easy. No matter what she did he wouldn’t move. He stubbornly thought that as Erin paused.

What was she doing? He could feel her eyes on him. He could even hear her breathing quietly, the only sound in the deserted barracks. Pawn tensed as she walked—

Around him? Erin didn’t immediately approach. She walked around Pawn in a slow circle. Inspecting him. He didn’t raise his head. He was curled up. He wouldn’t move. Pawn anticipated Erin speaking so much that when she finally did say something, it was a shock.

“Hey Pawn.”

That voice. Pawn shivered but refused to uncurl. That voice haunted him. It was unforgettable. He remembered her. She had asked him that fateful question. She had given him purpose, given him identity. No, not given—she had helped him find it.

What about just you? What’s your name?

A kind face, staring into his. A soft hand, placing chess pieces. Tears flowing as she placed chess pieces. A song. From such memories had she defined Pawn’s world. He could picture her perfectly in his head, bending over him. Erin spoke softly.

“Pawn?”

He wouldn’t move. Pawn stayed put. If he did that long enough, Erin would go away. Even she would go. And then he would be alone until he died. That was okay. He felt Erin shuffle closer. Her voice was very soft.

“Hey. Hey Pawn.”

Still, the Worker didn’t move. Erin was right by his earhole now. He felt her breath on his carapace. Pawn held himself still with all of his strength. Don’t move. No matter what she said. No matter if she touched him. Don’t move an inch. He heard Erin softly draw in breath. And then—

“Get up!”

Pawn jerked. He couldn’t help it. Erin’s voice blasted through his body like a physical thing. The entire barracks rang with sound. Pawn half-uncurled and looked up.

Erin stared back at him. There she was, Human, smiling slightly, her hair tied back today. It was longer than it had been when she first met him. But everything else was the same. Pawn met her eyes for one heart-stopping second. Then he tried to curl back up.

“Oh no you don’t.”

Erin instantly grabbed him. But for all her strength, Pawn was an Antinium, a Worker. He could curl up and hug himself so tightly even a Soldier couldn’t pull him apart without breaking his body first. Erin grunted as he curled up, her hands slipping futilely on his body. Pawn curled up into a ball again and Erin had to step back. He couldn’t tell what she was doing, but he heard her muttering to herself. Then Erin seemed to come up with an idea?

“Oh yeah, what about this?”

She pushed Pawn over. Curled up as he was, he just fell onto his side. Then Erin pushed him again. Pawn felt himself rolling across the ground! His back shell made it easy for him to turn over again and again. Erin rolled him like a ball.

“Feel like getting up? Huh?”

Pawn didn’t respond, though he felt dizzy. After a few seconds Erin gave up.

“How about this?”

She sat on him. Pawn didn’t do anything. Erin tried to tickle him. Pawn had no nerves on most parts of his body. Exasperated, Erin eventually tried poking Pawn in the side but he refused to move. She couldn’t make him. He felt a certain satisfaction in that.

Six minutes after entering the barracks, Erin gave up. She sat down in front of Pawn and sighed.

“Alright, that’s enough playing around. Pawn, it’s time to get up.”

The Worker didn’t move. But he did feel…hurt. Annoyed, perhaps. Playing around? He wasn’t playing. He wasn’t having fun. What was Erin going to do? She couldn’t make him move. She squatted by him and spoke directly to Pawn.

“Pawn, you have to move.”

He refused to. Erin breathed out slowly.

“How long are you planning on curling up like this? Until you get hungry? You haven’t eaten in a day! Until you die? Are you planning on dying and making everyone sad?”

That was exactly what he was planning. Only, hearing it from Erin made Pawn realize that she would be sad if he died. And that—hurt. It made him feel guilty. He wavered. Erin went on.

“Anand is worried about you. So is Bird. He wanted to give you an egg. Belgrade is worried, and I’m sure Garry would be if I ever saw him. Klbkch is being sort of a jerk, but he’s worried too. And all of your Soldiers and Workers are very worried. Are you going to ignore all of them?”

No. Yes. Pawn tried to think. He didn’t want to uncurl. But he didn’t want to make them all sad. If they’d just leave him alone for a few days. A week! Then he might be able to uncurl. But if they were sad—Pawn wavered.

He wanted to uncurl, but he was afraid to. He’d made so many mistakes. It was so easy just to hide here. Erin studied Pawn for a second and then she sighed again.

“Pawn, I love you like the son I don’t plan on having, but you can’t just sit here. People need you. All the Soldiers and Workers in your unit have stopped eating.”

She didn’t see Pawn move. The Worker stayed folded up, all four arms wrapped around himself. But then the Worker spoke.

“They have?”

His voice was muffled, quiet. Sad. But it was a voice. Erin nodded.

“All of them. It’s a hunger strike. They refuse to eat, refuse to take orders—it’s so bad that Klbkch immediately came to me. He’s sure and I’m sure that so long as you don’t move, your people will starve themselves to death. Understand?”

Pawn did. And that cut deepest of all. The Painted Soldiers were starving themselves? Yellow Splatters was? Purple Smile? Now he knew he had to move, had to uncurl. But he couldn’t. He was afraid. He spoke to Erin in a small voice.

“Must I?”

Erin paused. She sat cross-legged in front of him. Thoughtfully, she sat with her hands resting on the packed earth floor.

“Honestly? No. You could sit here forever. It’s your choice, Pawn. But some of your people haven’t eaten in a long time. Every second you stay like that, they won’t eat. They won’t move. I know you’re too kind to let that happen.”

She was right. She was always right. Pawn tried to hold himself still. But something inside him responded to Erin’s words. Slowly, one bit at a time, Pawn raised his head. His arms unfolded. He looked up and saw Erin smiling at him.

“There’s that handsome face. Mandibles. Whatever. Good job, Pawn.”

She reached out and slowly patted him on the shoulder. Pawn stared at her. He whispered.

“I am lost, Erin. I don’t know what to do.”

“I know. It must have been bad if you curled up like that. I should have gone after you instead of letting you leave. Want to talk about it?”

Silently, the Worker nodded. He hugged his knees as he sat with Erin. She waited for him to speak. It was so…reassuring to look at her. After a while, Pawn felt like the words were ready to come out.

“I hurt Lyonette.”

“Yep.”

“…Is she alright now?”

Erin shrugged.

“I gave her the day off. She went to Celum for a while with Mrsha. Today she was good. Upset, but she wanted to do her job. And I think she’s not angry at you. Much. But she is still upset about what you said.”

“That is good. Good. Not what I said. But good that she is better. I didn’t mean to—it was not my intention. Does she know that?”

Pawn looked down. He felt very small. Erin watched him for a while.

“I didn’t ask. I’m sure she understands you wanted to help. But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You tried to help her and she didn’t want it.”

Pawn nodded mechanically. He looked up at Erin, hesitated.

“Do you know what we were talking about?”

“I heard the shouted bits. And I got the rest from context.”

Erin smiled slightly. She looked pensive for a moment and then glanced at Pawn.

“I know she’s a [Princess]. That’s what it was all about, right? Did something happen to her class?”

“Yes. She lost it. I was trying to help her get it back. I didn’t think it was right that she lost it. But when I tried to pray—I—”

Pawn broke off, shaking his head.

“She lost it? Really? She didn’t tell me that!”

Both of Erin’s brows shot up. Pawn looked at her, surprised.

“You did not know? She didn’t tell you?”

The young woman shook her head.

“She told me she lost something. Not what. And I know she was a princess, but I don’t know if she ever told me herself. Ryoka definitely told me…um, I forget.”

Frowning, Erin tilted her head. After a while she gave up and shrugged.

“It doesn’t matter, I guess. Lyonette didn’t need to tell me anything. She told you, though. And you were worried, weren’t you? You tried to help her get it back.”

“Yes. And now she hates me. Because I did not respect her wishes.”

The Worker grabbed his knees and rocked back and forth. Erin watched him, concerned. She stopped Pawn with one hand and patted his knee gently.

“Hmm. I don’t know if she hates you. I think you went too far.”

Pawn looked at her, feeling a shred of hope.

“Really?”

Erin nodded.

“I know you don’t understand being social, Pawn. Lyonette understands that too. I think she feels bad about shouting at you. But—how can I explain this? You did do something bad. Just a tiny bit.”

She paused, biting her lip softly and trying to find the best words. Pawn waited. He ached. At last, Erin went on.

“We want to be talked to. We want to be cared about. But sometimes we also need to be alone. Some days we don’t want to talk to our friends. And that’s especially true of when we need to be alone.”

“But she was sad. I tried to help.”

Again, Erin nodded.

“And that was great. Really. Sometimes when you’re sad, you need to hug someone. But sometimes, some people just want to be alone. And that’s fine too. I think Lyonette liked you coming the first time. But after that? After you kept trying to check up on her? And change her? Pray for her to make her get her class back? That was too much.”

“But her class—”

“She lost it. It’s gone, Pawn. If she wanted to get it back, I think she would have asked. But she didn’t ask, did she?”

Pawn didn’t answer. Erin scooted a bit closer. Her hand was warm on his knee.

“Sometimes you can’t solve other people’s problems even if you want to. Sometimes people have to go through their struggles alone.”

A sad look stole over Erin’s face for a moment. Pawn looked up at her and opened his mandibles hesitantly.

“But why?”

“Why? Because you can’t solve everything for other people.”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t, Pawn. It just isn’t possible. It’s their problem, not yours.”

Part of Pawn rebelled at what Erin said. He looked at her angrily.

“But that is not right! If someone is hurting, surely they must be helped. Is not leaving them alone worse? It is not right!”

Erin nodded.

“It’s not good, I agree. But you can’t make someone happy. And trying to force your help on someone makes it worse, Pawn.”

“But—”

This was not what he had wanted to hear. Pawn opened and closed his mandibles, softly clicking, trying to say something in response. But he couldn’t. Erin was right. He had gone too far. And he had made Lyonette angry. It was just that he still wanted to help. Erin stared at him, waiting. At last, Pawn asked another question.

“What is a ‘ball’?”

“What?”

Erin blinked. Pawn hunched his shoulders sulkily.

“I want to know. Lyonette told me about it. A ball is for dancing? [Princesses] do it?”

“Um—well, not just them, but yeah. Balls are for dancing. People dress up and dance in a big open room. It’s a fancy thing.”

“Have you ever done it?”

“Nope. Why, did Lyonette miss dancing?”

“A bit. She said she is not a [Princess] here. She has nothing of her old life. But she was a [Princess]. I thought I could give it back. I thought—”

Erin cut Pawn off gently.

“You can’t make her. You can talk to her. I think she’d be happy to talk to you. But not if you’re trying to get her to do something. If you go back tomorrow and say sorry, I think she’ll forgive you. But you can’t keep…its not good to dwell on her problems. She’ll be fine. Okay, Pawn?”

Pawn looked at the ground. He opened and closed his mandibles softly. Erin waited.

“Pawn?”

“Okay.”

He said it in a small voice. Not because he agreed. Just to make Erin stop asking. He knew she was trying to help. He knew she was probably right.

He’d tried to help Lyonette. Too much. That was what she was telling him. But part of Pawn, a small part, rebelled against what Erin was saying.  It wasn’t that. It wasn’t just losing her class. He thought there had to be something more. He’d wanted to—

Pawn didn’t know. He didn’t feel better. He’d hoped that was what Erin could do. Make him feel better. Make everything alright. But she hadn’t. She’d only made him feel—guilty. Awake again. Conscious of his duties, of the people who were hurting.

His Soldiers. His Workers. His…people. Pawn felt a terrible weight settle on his shoulders.

“I have made everyone upset. I do not know if I can be forgiven.”

Erin’s smile lit up part of  Pawn’s heart.

“Of course you can be, silly. Everyone’s upset, but they’re worried. Even mean old Klbkch.”

Pawn nodded a few times. He looked up, hesitantly.

“Will you come with me?”

“Of course.”

Erin watched Pawn slowly stand up. She smiled and hugged him. He let her. She smelled like a bit of rain, fried food, her inn—and humanity. As she let him go she smiled again.

How wonderful. How beautiful. Pawn followed her as she led him out of the barracks. He felt quiet inside. The grief was still there, but subdued for a moment. The guilt and pain—he could live with. She had helped.

But she was wrong. Pawn felt that too. Erin was wonderful, kind. She made him feel better. But for the first time, Pawn thought she didn’t quite understand what he was feeling. There had to be something else.

But what?

—-

Pawn sat in the barracks. He was not curled up anymore. Neither was he alone. The Painted Soldiers stood around him, or sat. The Workers did likewise, hidden behind their giant kin. They were silent, but it was not the silence of before.

Klbkch was gone. Erin had helped there greatly. She’d taken him away before he could discipline Pawn. As for Anand, he had gone back to let Belgrade and Garry know everything was well. That left Pawn with his Soldiers and Workers.

Slowly, Pawn raised a piece of dried meat to his mandibles. He tore off a piece and chewed. The Painted Soldiers and Workers watched. They slowly ate as well.

Food. It was so good and yet it didn’t fill Pawn up with delight as it used to. It was just good. His body wanted it more than Pawn’s mind. But he ate steadily, knowing the others were doing likewise. They savored their meals—it was a rare treat. A break to their day-long fast. A breakfast. Was that why it was called that?

Pawn looked around. Yellow Splatters and Purple Smile sat with him. Pawn looked at them. The two [Sergeants] watched him as they chewed. There was no judgment in them. Just expectancy. After a while, Pawn looked down at his hands.

“I’m sorry.”

The Antinium stirred. Pawn looked around.

“I am so very sorry. I did not mean to worry anyone. I did not mean to leave you alone. But I—I was distracted. I should not have been.”

They waited, watching him. Pawn looked from face to face. Yes, he had abandoned them. His gaze strayed to the pile of things he’d bought, useless and untouched. Of course they’d been hurt. What were objects? Meaningless. Pawn lowered his head.

“I should not have. But I was busy. I was trying to—it was because of Lyonette. Not because of her, but because I wanted to help her. Because she is my friend. And I wanted to make her feel better. Because I have no other friends.”

The Soldiers and Workers stared at him. Pawn turned the piece of dried meat over in his hands. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he knew he owed the others an explanation. So he began to talk. It hurt for the first few seconds. And then it felt like the words were leaking out of him, exiting the wound inside of his chest.

“I have learned much of this world. Much, and yet there is still more. Always more. I know of buying and selling, of combat, of laws and food and many things. But I had no friends. Not until Lyonette.”

Pawn looked around.

“Erin is not my friend. She cannot be. She is not Anand’s friend, or mine, or Belgrade’s or Bird’s or Garry’s. Or any of the others who died. She helped make us Individual. But she is not our friend. She is to we Workers what the sun is to grass. She made us who we are. She is more than a Human, more than an [Innkeeper]. More than…how can I put it?”

The Worker looked around blankly, seeing the uncomprehending looks in the eyes of the others. How could he explain what Erin was in a way they would understand? Pawn stared up at the dark ceiling overhead and then had it.

“She is the sky.”

The Painted Soldiers shifted. They looked up and then down at Pawn. Yellow Splatters nodded. The sky. Pawn nodded as well. They could understand that.

“So she is not a friend. She must be more. And I have no friends within the Hive. Workers, Individuals such as Anand and Belgrade, Soldiers…we cannot be called friends. We find friends. But we have ever been family.”

Another pause. Pawn’s word echoed in the barracks. Family. It was a foreign word, but perhaps the closest thing to what they were. Pawn went on after a while.

“So I had no friends. None. Erin’s friends were not mine. They were kind, but I did not know them. I only knew her. And you. If there was any…friend I had in this world, it would be her. Surely.”

Lyonette. Pawn looked up.

“She was there when Erin was gone. She had food. She helped me learn to lead the Soldiers. She talked to me when I was alone. She is my friend. The only one I have.”

Pawn told the others about how they had met. He told them about Lyonette, ushering him in to the abandoned inn, giving him honey, food for the other Soldiers. The Antinium listened, hungrily devouring the story while they ate. And Pawn felt better too.

It felt good to speak. It felt good to be honest and open about his problems. But Pawn also felt terrible. Here he was talking about his problems when he’d neglected his duties. When he’d abandoned the others who followed him! Klbkch was right. He was a disgrace.

“I should not have abandoned you. But I wanted to help her. She was a [Princess]. She lost something important, I think. She was crying. I wanted to help. But Erin told me I cannot help.”

Bitterly, Pawn looked down at his hands. He couldn’t help her. Erin had told him that. She had been clear. But he wanted to help. The Painted Soldiers looked at each other, and then at their [Sergeants]. Yellow Splatters looked at Purple Smile. The other Soldier scratched his head with one hand. And then he shrugged.

What could they say? What could they do? Pawn knew his struggle was as alien to the Antinium as laughter. Or tears. And he knew now, he realized that his understanding of Lyonette had been flawed too.

He knew nothing of her past. Nothing about her, except that she was kind now and had once been a thief. He didn’t know what she had been before she came to Liscor. What had she been [Princess] of? Didn’t princesses have kingdoms? Where was her home? Why had she left?

“What can I do? How can I apologize? But I know nothing of her. I still want to help, but should I just do nothing?”

Pawn didn’t know. He wanted to still do something. But he had no idea. The other Antinium looked at each other. They did not speak. But they shared opinion, thought, desire, putting their minds to the problem like a single entity. And it was Purple Smile who had an idea.

He tapped Pawn on the shoulder. Pawn looked up. The Soldier gestured with all four hands. He pointed up, and then two of his four arms rose. He made little spades out of his hands and put them behind his head. Then, with his other two hands he placed them flat on an invisible surface in the air. He opened his mandibles and raised them in a smile.

Pawn stared at him. He stared at the hands behind the Soldier’s head. The flat hands on…what? A counter? He stared at the hands behind the head again. They almost looked like ears. Wait. Pawn opened his mandibles in surprise.

“Her? You think I should talk to her?”

Purple Smile nodded. Pawn stared at him. Then he got up. Purple Smile pointed and Pawn nodded. The Soldier led the way out of the barracks and Pawn followed him. The other Antinium milled about. They did not follow; they didn’t have permission to leave the Hive. And it was raining. But they waited. They didn’t play games. They sat or stood and looked towards the entrance of the barracks.

It was the same as before, only not. This time they were waiting and it felt better than when Pawn had not been paying attention. Because now they were paying attention to him. There was an expectancy in the air. Anticipation. The Antinium had never felt it. For once, they were waiting to see what happened next.

—-

She was at work in the rain when the two Antinium approached. Well, not in the rain. The stall’s slanted roof gave protection, but the blowing winds occasionally showered her with droplets. It was not fun, standing out in the open street. But business was business and it wasn’t like she had a shop.

Sometimes Krshia regretted that. How hard would it have been to buy a shop? She could have saved up and bought a nice little place to do business. But then she would be behind a closed door. She wouldn’t be out in the street where she could call to passersby, gossip, establish a network of clients that was based as much in trust of her good name as it was friendship.

That was how Krshia had earned money these last ten years. By being out in the open, dealing and selling in goods with people. It wasn’t just inventory or quality. Shopkeepers like Lism would never understand that.

Still, it was miserable being out in the rain. Krshia hunched her shoulders. She couldn’t put anything out on display, either. The few people who hurried down the street would either stop at her stall or didn’t have time to chat. They just bought what they needed and ran back indoors. Krshia hated the rain. But she still felt like she might hate having a shop more. Gnolls were outdoor people.

It was a slow day. Despite herself, Krshia kept glancing at the sky, wondering if it was time to pack up. Maybe she could rent a space for the next few weeks until it was clear? Or why not erect a covering over the entire street? Yes, why not? You could build a roof from house to house, a temporary one. Then all the shoppers would be more inclined to stay and talk. You could have the outdoor vendors sell all their food here, make a sanctuary from the rain!

“Doable, yes? But who would do it? I? It would be a hassle, and coin. Why not have the city do it? Only, they would not, no. This is what the Merchant’s Guild should do, yes? Only, they are not as interested in street vendors’ woes. Despite the fact that we are many. This is a Drake city and Drakes rule. But Gnolls have our own groups. Why not? I could petition myself, yes? And if I did it right—”

Her musing was cut off as she spotted a pair of shapes headed towards her through the rain. Krshia didn’t need a Skill to know she had customers. She straightened up and put a smile on her face. A smile which instantly turned into a puzzled frown as she sniffed and noticed exactly what was coming towards her.

“Antinium? In the rain? I thought Klbkch was the only one who left his Hive. Who—ah, Pawn.”

She saw the smaller Worker walk into view. Rain was pouring off of Pawn’s body. It was soaking the Soldier who stood next to him. Krshia eyed the purple paint and nodded.

“Purple Smile and Pawn, yes? Greetings! It is rare to see you above. Have you a need?”

“Hello Miss Krshia.”

Pawn waved at the Gnoll [Shopkeeper] and was rewarded with a toothy grin. He glanced at Purple Smile. The Soldier waved as well.

“I did not know that you knew Purple Smile, Miss Krshia.”

“Hmm. He used to pass by my shop with his patrol. And buy small things for his Soldiers and Workers. Food. I grew to remember him. And you I have not seen for a long time. Are you well, Pawn? Do you need more paint? Food? Supplies, perhaps?”

Krshia grew hopeful as she motioned the two Antinium closer so they could stand under the eaves of her shop. The Antinium were infrequent customers, but by the tribes they were good ones! They bought in bulk and didn’t haggle over prices. And they did all the picking up and delivering themselves. She was disappointed when Pawn shook his head.

“No, I—I do not have business for you, Miss Krshia. Revalantor Klbkch has removed my budget temporarily.”

“That is terrible news! What is the cause of your misfortune?”

Pawn looked down at the street as water ran across the flagstones.

“I neglected my duties. I have made many people upset. Revalantor Klbkch, Miss Erin, my fellow Antinium, and…Lyonette.”

Krshia frowned. Trouble among the Antinium? What could Pawn have done? She shifted, eying Pawn. She had not ever truly talked to any of the new Antinium, but she knew Pawn and he seemed earnest. Simple in a good way.

“That is bad news, yes? But I do not see why you come to my shop. What is my role to play here?”

Pawn shrugged. He glanced at Purple Smile, who had folded all four arms and was looking around, not paying much attention to the conversation.

“Purple Smile thinks you might be able to help. Miss Erin has already talked to me, but you are trusted.”

“Me? Why?”

Krshia blinked in surprise. Her ears twitched in embarrassment. And pleasure. She had no idea she was trusted among the Antinium. Pawn looked at Purple Smile and the Soldier made a few cursory gestures. He made a walking gesture with two hands, put two hands alongside his head as if he were staring, and opened his mandibles and closed them a few times. It was incomprehensible to Krshia, and Gnolls were good at reading body language. But Pawn clearly understood something because he turned back to her and bobbed his head slightly.

“Purple Smile says that when the Antinium go above, you do not look away or say…things. And when we buy food, yours is always good and not rotten. You are fair and, he thinks, wise. Sometimes you chat with him and he thinks you give good advice.”

There was no way to see Krshia blush, especially in the rain with the fur covering her face, but her tail did wag a bit. The Soldier had noticed all that? She remembered calling out to him and chatting while she helped him purchase food for his patrol, but the fact that he had remembered her was interesting! Strange, too. The Antinium were changing. Krshia cleared her throat and nodded at Purple Smile.

“I am grateful for this, yes? I do not consider myself wise, but if you have a problem, I would hear it. Come, step closer—it is raining too much to hear. Tell me what ails you, Pawn. And—yes, have a snack. I have a bit of cheese if you would like to eat it.”

Of course, the Antinium accepted. Krshia ushered them further into her stall as she found a hunk of cheese leftover from lunch. It was small divided up three ways, but it was tasty and offering food was ritual. Krshia offered Pawn her stool and the Antinium sat awkwardly while she and Purple Smile stood. The story that came out of his mandibles was hard to follow at first, but as Krshia listened and the rain thundered down over her roof, she saw everything clearly.

“…And so Miss Erin told me to leave Lyonette alone. And apologize. I am very sorry. And very guilty.”

Pawn finished his story, looking down at his hands. He had not finished his cheese. Krshia saw him pick at it distractedly. She shook her head, amazed by his story.

“And so that is where the matter rests, yes?”

“Yes. I came to you afterwards. I have not met Lyonette since. There is much I should do in the Hive, but—I do not know what to say. I cannot focus on my work when I have hurt her. I am guilty. I wish I could help. I want to help still. But that is wrong. Do you know what I should do?”

Pawn looked up at the Gnoll woman. Krshia shook her head. She felt something bubbling up inside of her. Oh, what a story! That Antinium could be like this? She felt younger, and remembered her tribe. The Silverfang Tribe—ah, if only her sister, the chieftain, could hear this! It was too much. Krshia had to do it. She threw back her head and began to laugh.

“Miss Krshia?”

The two Antinium in her stall jerked with surprise as Krshia chortled and then roared with laughter. She nearly doubled over as Pawn stood in front of her stall. He looked hurt, insofar as she could read Antinium expressions. Krshia tried to control herself, but it was nearly a minute before she could stop laughing.

“Apologies. I am sorry, Pawn. Truly. But your story was amusing to me, yes? Ah, it is good.”

“Is it? I do not think laughter is an appropriate reaction, Miss Krshia.”

Pawn stood up, his antennae vibrating with hurt. He wanted to go, but Krshia waved him back.

“No, no! I am sorry, yes? But Pawn, your problem is amusing. I cannot help but laugh. And I do have good advice to give you, I think. Better advice than Erin’s.”

“That is surely not possible.”

Reluctantly, Pawn turned back to face Krshia. He looked indignant, more indignant at Krshia calling Erin’s advice bad, in fact. He stared challengingly at Krshia as the Gnoll wiped water off her wet fur. She resisted the urge to shake herself; it was a faux pas even among other Gnolls.

“I do not mean to insult Miss Solstice, Pawn. She gave you good advice, yes? The best she could give. But I think she was wrong. Erin is smart, but she is young. Why not let me give you advice as I see it?”

Pawn tilted his head questioningly.

“What do you mean? Is there something you think I should do that could be different?”

“Oh, everything. Everything!”

Krshia chortled again. She wondered why Erin had not seen it? No—perhaps it was a thing of youth. She leaned forwards and smiled at Pawn. So small! She looked at Purple Smile and saw his mandibles rise slightly. She grinned back and leaned forwards to whisper to Pawn.

“There is a better way to resolve this. The best way, I think! It may go wrong, but such things happen. And if you listen to me…you say Lyonette spoke of balls, yes? Because she is a [Princess]?”

Pawn started.

“I never said—that is a secret!”

“Hmm. Yes. One I know. Do not look shocked! Gnolls hear much. And that is part of my plan. Why don’t you do this?”

The Gnoll spoke and Pawn listened. After a few seconds he began to object.

“That is exactly what Miss Erin said not to do!”

“But it is what I am saying to do. And who is more right? I think I am. But listen and then decide. The first thing you should do after that is…”

The rain fell and Krshia grinned. She was suddenly in a better mood. Today had been exceedingly dull. And wet. And miserable. But this made everything worth it.

—-

Lyonette was miserable. She mopped a table, cleaning the surface and watching her dull reflection stare back. She didn’t need to keep polishing, really. The new [Barmaids] and [Waiters] were doing great work and it was a slow day anyways. The Players of Celum weren’t in yet and it was raining still, so only a few Gnolls and Drakes had braved the weather to come in. There were more Humans in the inn right now, honestly. And they were being well-tended to by Drassi. So Lyonette had little to do but clean. Still, she felt awful and she needed to talk.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at him. Not at Pawn. He didn’t know what he was doing. I should have just told him to stop!”

She glanced up and reached for a bucket. She dipped the dust rag into it and squeezed. The soapy water wet the cloth and she industriously polished the table again. Erin insisted on using soap with everything. It was important, she said. Lyonette stared at the wet table as she drew the cloth around in wide circles.

“It’s just that it’s my life. I snapped when I heard he was trying to change me. He didn’t ask—he was doing what he thought was right, but I’ve made my peace with it! You know?”

There was no response. Lyonette frowned.

“I liked him coming over, I really did. But he showed up every morning! When I was feeding Mrsha breakfast! And he was just so insistent! If he would have just come later we could have talked. We’re friends, after all! I think. Anyways, why am I feeling guilty? He should apologize. Even if he is sitting and doing nothing. Do you think Erin really helped him? She says he’s okay now, but is he really?”

No one answered. Irritated, Lyonette glanced up.

“Are you even listening?”

“Mhm.”

Sitting across the table, the young man with brown, disheveled hair looked up briefly. Pisces delicately flipped onto the next page of the spellbook. Lyonette glared at him.

“I said, are you listening? Pisces? Hello?”

The [Necromancer] sighed. He looked up from the charred spellbook recovered from the Ruins of Albez and gave Lyonette a bright, completely fake smile.

“Indubitably. How could I not be? Please go on with your riveting dilemma.”

Lyonette debated flicking her wet rag at him. Pisces was not the person she would have chosen to talk to, but he was the only one who was here. She began rubbing at a piece of crusted something on the table.

“Well? What do you think?”

“About what, pray?”

Pisces ducked as Lyonette flicked her rag at him. The water splashed the cover of his spellbook. He looked up reprovingly.

“I am a paying guest.”

“So? I have a problem and you’re not listening!”

Lyonette snapped. Pisces rolled his eyes and closed his book.

“I have been listening. I simply fail to see what your issue is. You had an altercation with Pawn. And now you feel guilty for wounding his feelings, despite the fact that it was he who was causing you inconvenience. Have I appropriately distilled the essence of your agony?”

The [Barmaid] opened her mouth. She hesitated.

“Well—yes. But it’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?”

Pisces carefully cleaned one fingernail, flicking the dirt onto the table and ignoring Lyonette’s glares as he spoke.

“Pawn came to you every day, facilitating often meaningless conversation which you enjoyed despite the inconvenience of it at times. His fault was in attempting to help you against your will.”

“Yes!”

“And you wish to repair your relationship with him now.”

“That’s exactly right.”

Lyonette felt relieved. She leaned over the table.

“So what do you think I should do? Go visit him? Wait for him to talk to me? What should I say?”

The [Mage] raised his eyebrows and swept a lock of hair out of his face. Pisces sniffed and smiled superiorly.

“I believe that you are rather missing the point.”

“What? How?”

Pisces gave Lyonette an enigmatic smile.

“Consider the events as an impartial observer. I regard your squabble with Pawn as indicative not of his social failings, but another, larger issue at stake. One which you should be aware of.”

“Which is?”

The [Necromancer] rolled his eyes to the ceiling innocently.

“I would hardly like to say. I do wonder if Erin noticed, though. I doubt it.”

“Noticed what?”

Pisces only gave Lyonette a smug smile. She resisted the urge to throw the bucket at him. This was why people didn’t like Pisces. She was about to demand answers on pain of pain when she saw the door to Liscor open.

“Welcome! How can I—”

She broke off the instant she saw the Antinium in the doorway. Her first instinct was to think it was Pawn. But it wasn’t. The Antinium was too large. It was a Soldier, one with a purple smile painted across his face.

“Purple Smile?”

Lyonette hurried towards him. Her next thought was that he was leading a patrol and coming here for food, but he was alone. She had never seen a Soldier by himself! She stared at Purple Smile as he looked quizzically at a little towel rack that Erin had installed by the door. He wiped his feet on the rug and waved at Lyonette.

“Hello! Can I help you?”

Purple Smile nodded. He raised all four arms and pointed. At Lyonette. She blinked.

“Me?”

The Soldier nodded. Two of his arms shifted and pointed through the open doorway, into the streets of Liscor. Lyonette stared at him.

“Go into Liscor? Why? What do you need?”

Purple Smile didn’t respond. Of course, he couldn’t. He just pointed at Lyonette’s chest and then gestured with his other hand, beckoning. The third and fourth hands mimed walking.

It really was amazing how he could convey what he wanted with just his hands. Pisces stared in interest as Lyonette looked around.

“I could come but I have work—Erin’s in Liscor, though—what’s this about? Is it something to do with Pawn?”

Purple Smile raised all four hands and shrugged. Lyonette stared at him. She wavered, and then ran over to Drassi.

“Hey Drassi, I need to go out. The Antinium want me. Let Erin know when she gets back?”

“She won’t be back from her outing with Selys for a while. Do you want me to get someone to tell her?”

Drassi looked concerned as she peeked over Lyonette’s shoulder at Purple Smile. Lyonette shook her head.

“No, just let her know. And look after Mrsha?”

The Gnoll was in her room, reading a picture book that Erin had bought for her. It was expensive because of all the illustrated drawings, but the Gnoll had been delighted and engrossed by it. Drassi nodded.

“I can do that. Are you sure, though?”

“I think this has something to do with Pawn. I’m going.”

Lyonette hurried to grab a cloak. She nodded to Purple Smile.

“Are you taking me to Pawn?”

Again, the Soldier shrugged. He held open the door as Lyonette followed him out, and then stepped into the rainy street. Their departure went largely unnoticed in the quiet inn, but Pisces, sitting at his table, had seen everything. He smiled and flicked something under the table. A small, undead Shield Spider scuttled across the inn, unnoticed. It shot out of the door before Purple Smile could close it.

“Lead on.”

Outside, Lyonette followed Purple Smile through the rain. Neither one noticed their little follower. The tiny Shield Spider scurried after Lyonette, moving fast to avoid the water that threatened to sweep it into a sewer drain.

Sitting in the inn, Pisces sat back and closed his eyes. He could sense the Shield Spider moving, just as he could sense his rat-hunter Bone Horrors scouring Liscor’s sewers. He took direct control of the Shield Spider, letting it scurry in the shadows as it followed Lyonette and Purple Smile. They were headed straight for the entrance to Liscor’s Hive. Pisces smiled wider as he heard Lyonette asking Purple Smile anxiously about Pawn. He murmured to himself as he tapped his lips with one finger.

“Well now, this should be interesting.”

—-

Lyonette strode through dark, claustrophobic dirt hallways. She walked through crowds of Antinium who paused to stare at her. She felt like an intruder. Because she was. No Human had ever been in an Antinium Hive—well entered and survived, that was. This was foreign ground. Alien. But she followed Purple Smile as he led her down into the darkness because she was worried.

About Pawn. Something must have happened if Purple Smile had come for her. Lyonette couldn’t imagine what. Was Pawn hurt? Had Erin not helped him? Or—

Lyonette turned another bend in the dimly lit corridors. There was virtually no light in the Hive. No torches, lanterns or any fire. The only illumination came from some kind of strange glowing mold that the Antinium seemed to cultivate along the walls. It gave off a soft orange radiance, but the darkness was everywhere. Lyonette shivered. She tried not to give into her nerves as Purple Smile led her down a corridor. Then she saw light. She stepped into a brighter hallway, and then saw an opening. She turned and saw the chamber.

It had been a barracks. It probably still was, as the rows of alcoves against the far wall were clearly meant for Soldiers to sleep in. But instead of the cramped, tight chambers where Antinium slept next to each other, someone had hollowed out this room.

And decorated it. On the far wall, in between the sleeping spots meant for Soldiers were painted symbols.

A cup of brown and silver. A paw print in white. A picture of a bee on a plate, clumsily drawn. A smiley face.

Clumsy pieces of art. But all the more precious because they stood out on the plain earthen walls. Lyonette recognized them. They were the same symbols that adorned the Painted Soldiers. But each one was—she covered her mouth.

“I haven’t seen them. Any of them.”

Purple Smile gazed at the painted symbols. Each one was different. Unique. And Lyonette knew, knew that she hadn’t seen any of the Soldiers to whom they belonged. She understood then. That the wall was more than art. It was a memorial to the fallen.

For a second that drew her attention. Then Lyonette stepped further into the barracks and had a shock. She’d thought that it was empty. But the light that burned from two lanterns had only concealed the room’s visitors in the shadows. They stood in rows along the far walls, silent, dark silhouettes.

Antinium. Workers and Soldiers alike, standing to attention. They stared at Lyonette as she stepped into the room. The breath caught in her chest. She was afraid. But she forced the fear down. Hadn’t she seen them eating? Hadn’t she known them? The silence was unnerving, but these were people. She knew that. So she took another step into the room.

And then she saw him. He was standing in between the two lanterns that he had hung from poles planted on the floor. He stood awkwardly in the center of the room. Pawn. Lyonette stared at him. The Worker was looking at her as Purple Smile took a position next to the doorway, next to Yellow Splatters.

“Pawn? What is all this?”

“Thank you for coming here, Lyonette.”

The Worker bowed awkwardly to her. He was standing very straight and the other Antinium were focused as much on him as on her. Lyonette felt her heart pounding, but she didn’t know why. Pawn opened and closed his mandibles a few times.

“I regret calling you here without letting you know why. This is highly unusual. I did not ask Revalantor Klbkch for permission, but I think it had to be done. I hope you will not be angry. I wanted to apologize.”

“Oh. I’m…sorry too. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

Lyonette felt awkward. And terrible. And confused. Was that why Pawn had called her here? Surely not. The Worker was fidgeting. And as Lyonette moved closer, she saw there was something behind him.

“What is that, Pawn?”

He ducked his head and Lyonette caught a flash of something bright. Yellow? The Worker cleared his throat a few times.

“I wanted this to be a surprise. It is an apology and—I hope you will like it.”

He stepped to one side. Lyonette’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth.

“What is—no!”

Pawn had moved to reveal a…stand. A piece of wood, shaped to hold something. A dress stand. Meant to hold a dress. And it held one, a long gown of yellow. It was not elegant. It was not rich, or made of silk. But it was a dress. And it was beautiful in its own way. A dress for someone to wear. And Lyonette understood.

A ball is a formal occasion. It’s where we dress up in fancy clothing and dance in a big open space. Lyonette remembered telling Pawn that. She looked around and saw the newly excavated barracks, the waiting Antinium, the dress. She stared at Pawn as he waited, practically shaking with nerves. And she tried. She truly did. But the hurt in her chest rose and came out.

“Lyonette, I—”

“How could you? How could you?”

Pawn broke off as Lyonette strode towards him. The [Barmaid]’s hands balled into fists as she glared at Pawn. He was a Worker and thus shorter, but she was short too and so they were on a level. She stared at him.

“I told you last time that I didn’t want your help! I told you and you do this?”

She threw an arm out, indicating the dress, the waiting chamber. This was his idea? He hadn’t listened to her at all!

“I—wait. This isn’t—”

Pawn’s stammered, but Lyonette was too angry to care. Incensed, she shouted in Pawn’s face.

“Why won’t you just let me forget? Why can’t you let me be? Why can’t you just listen to me? Why do you have to do this? How could you? How could—”

She felt tears springing to her eyes again. Lyonette turned away. She felt betrayed! Let down. She saw Pawn look down at his feet. The other Antinium were silent as Lyonette covered her face, trying not to cry.

“I’m sorry.”

Pawn whispered the words. Lyonette didn’t turn back towards him. She spoke, her voice thick with sadness.

“Just let me be. Just drop it. Why can’t you do that? I asked you. I told you—”

The Worker bowed his head behind her.

“I know. I know. I understand it is your wish. I understand that it is not right for me to do this. Erin told me.”

“Then why—”

“It’s just that I can’t.”

Pawn interrupted Lyonette. She turned back to him. The Worker stood, awkward, defiant, speaking softly as the other Antinium looked on.

“Why not?”

The Worker stared at the [Barmaid].

“Because you looked so unhappy that day. It can’t be better to lose your class. You were a [Princess]. It mattered to you. You still aren’t over it.”

“But I am. I am, Pawn. It’s fine this way. Fine.”

Lyonette whispered through bloodless lips. She didn’t know if she believed the words coming out of her mouth. And Pawn—he looked her in the eye and shook his head.

“No. I do not think you are. I do not think it is better. Because doing all of this is easier than seeing you cry. Because it matters to me.”

“But it’s my life. You can’t just interfere with it!”

“Can’t I?”

Pawn tilted his head. Lyonette opened her mouth and he rushed on.

“Erin told me it was not right for me to interfere with other people all the time. I understood that. I know it is wrong. Socially. But I had to try. I had to do it for you.”

“Why, Pawn?”

The Worker was silent.

“Because if it were Erin, it would not matter as much, I think.”

“What?”

Pawn shrugged.

“That is what I feel. If Erin was grieving, I would give her space. As I would for others. If it were Relc who was crying I would be concerned. But I would let him be himself. If it were Mrsha who wept I would help and give her space when needed. If it were anyone else…I could do that. But not you. You are my friend. I cannot leave you alone. Not when you are hurting. Not when you are wrong. I am sorry.”

Lyonette was speechless for a moment. She tried to summon the words, to protest what Pawn was saying.

“Pawn, I know you think you know what’s right. But what if you don’t? I’m happy as a [Barmaid]. I still have that. I don’t need my [Princess] class anymore. I’m just a [Barmaid] now.”

“No.”

This time the word was authoritative. Pawn looked up. He stared at Lyonette, and there was something fierce in his gaze. Defiant.

“I am an [Acolyte], Lyonette. I pray. I have faith. I believe. I believe in things that may not exist, may never exist. I believe in heaven for the Antinium. I believe in redemption, in the salvation of souls. I believe there is a place after death for my people, that we might make it ourselves. I believe in gods. I believe in gods. But when you tell me you are a simple [Barmaid], I cannot believe in that.”

His voice rang in the chamber. Lyonette was speechless. She tried to form an argument, but Pawn’s voice was too loud. He spoke to her and her alone.

“You are a [Princess]. You showed me how to lead. You wept for your class when you left it. You have not been happy since you lost your class. I see it. I am your friend and I see your grief. You must have it back. It may not be my place to interfere, but it would be just as wrong for me not to. And if you tell me again not to interfere, to go, I will. But I have to tell you directly. Lyonette, I think you are wrong. And I want to help you. Please. Let me.”

Pawn held out his hands. Lyonette stared at them. She looked up at him and didn’t know what to say.

“You really believe I need my class back?”

“I do.”

Pawn took a shuddering breath, and then another. He looked around, helplessly.

“I am sorry. Again. I did this wrong. I should not have said all that so…suddenly. I should have done it after.”

“After?”

Pawn nodded. He scuffed a toe on the floor.

“After the dancing. You see, this ball is to restore your class. Well, not just for that. It is really for something else. Miss Krshia told me it would be most suitable.”

Lyonette started in surprise.

“Krshia did?”

How had the Gnoll thought that any of this was a good idea? Pawn nodded energetically.

“She told me to come here and tell you how I felt. I did that. Only—she said you might be angry, but I should tell you how I felt even if you shouted. She said you would understand.”

“Understand? Understand wh—”

Lyonette stared around at the ball. She stared at the newly-excavated barracks, the dress, at Pawn, helplessly insisting on helping her, and then thought about Krshia. Her eyes widened.

“Oh.”

And suddenly it all made sense. Lyonette blinked. She looked around and stumbled slightly. Her entire world shifted. And suddenly she looked at Pawn and saw something else.

Pawn. A Worker. He had come to the inn every day after learning she was sad. He had tried to cheer her up, tried in his way to make her happy. And when she had shouted at him he had curled up, refused to talk to anyone. And now, even after knowing she didn’t want help, he had tried to cheer her up. Yes, the ball was for her class. But it was also something Lyonette had said she liked. And that meant…

The Worker was babbling on nervously as Lyonette stared at him, stunned.

“Miss Krshia says that Erin got it wrong. I do not think Erin was wrong, but Miss Krshia told me to do this. She told me to tell you how I feel. About you as my friend.”

“Did she?”

Pawn nodded.

“So I did. I am sorry if it makes you angry, but I had to say it.”

He paused.

“It is strange, though.”

“Oh? How so?”

The Worker hesitated and scratched at his head.

“She asked me if I liked you, Miss Krshia, I mean. I said yes. She kept asking how much. And I told her. I like Erin. I owe her my identity and my life and more than I can give. But for some reason I like you more.”

Lyonette opened her mouth and her head went white. Pawn went on, oblivious.

“Erin is very kind. So are you. But I miss talking with you. I miss the days when you and I talked and you gave me advice. When I looked at you crying, I hurt.  I still hurt when you are angry because of me. But when I don’t see you I feel bad. When I think of you I am confused. But all of that feels good, too. Is it not strange?”

He looked at Lyonette. She shut her mouth, opened it again, and had to turn away.

“Oh no. No, no…is that what all of this was? Really?”

“What?”

Lyonette looked at Pawn. Despairingly. About to laugh. She covered her face. Her cheeks felt hot. How had she not seen it? She spoke, her voice muffled by her hands.

“You like me.”

“I do.”

“You…like me.”

“That is what I said.”

“No, Pawn. You like me. Not as a friend. You like me as…in a different way.”

“Which way is that?”

“Romantically!”

Lyonette burst out. Pawn opened his mandibles wide. Around the room, the watching Antinium froze in shock.

“I do?”

“Yes! Maybe!”

Lyonette was blushing. She looked at Pawn and turned beet red. Of course that was what it was! It wasn’t just concern. He liked her more than Erin? More than Erin? Lyonette didn’t know what to say. Pawn didn’t either. He looked around, confused.

“No one told me. How do you know?”

“I just do! It’s obvious! Krshia must have known. She must have—why didn’t anyone tell me? Why didn’t—”

I believe that you are rather missing the point.

Pisces’ words echoed in Lyonette’s head. She froze. He had noticed. But what he had noticed was different from Krshia. She thought back to what she’d done. Yell at Pawn. Feel guilty for hurting him. When he’d gone to talk to Erin before, she’d been hurt. She’d missed—

“Oh no.”

“What?”

Pawn was vibrating with nerves. But Lyonette was stock-still. She looked at him. She looked at the dress. She wanted to laugh and cry, and felt more afraid than when she’d faced down the swarm of Ashfire Bees. She looked at Pawn and they stood there in silence for a long time. At last, at long last, Lyonette croaked.

“You made this ball for me.”

“Yes. So you could dance and be happy. I bought this dress, too. Miss Krshia helped me pick it out.”

Lyonette looked at the dress. She looked at Pawn. And she giggled as she realized something.

“Wait, dance? By myself?”

“Um. Yes?”

The young woman shook her head.

“You know, a ball isn’t really meant for one person to dance alone, Pawn.”

“It isn’t?”

The Antinium was devastated. He looked around wildly.

“I can fix this! I will get Miss Erin! Or Miss Krshia! Just wait—”

He wanted to run off but Lyonette grabbed his hand. It was so sudden that both [Barmaid] and Worker froze. Then Lyonette spoke.

“Erin isn’t who I want to dance with, Pawn. Neither is Krshia. A ball needs two. So does a waltz. Why don’t I dance with you?”

“Oh.”

Pawn turned to Lyonette. He stared at her hand. She held out her other one.

“Take my hand, Pawn.”

“Your hand?”

He hesitated. Lyonette held it out. Pawn took it. She felt his strange, cool, smooth fingers take hers. The shock of contact made her jump and Pawn’s antennae waved wildly.

“Is this—is this how it works? I have seen Erin dancing.”

“She does it a bit differently. A ball is formal. You have to hold your partner. Here, let me show you.”

Lyonette held her hands up with Pawn. She didn’t know what she was doing. She felt flushed, dizzy. Pisces couldn’t be—Krshia was just—she looked at Pawn. He stared back. Lyonette’s head went empty and she let years of training take over.

“Like this. Raise your arms. Stand closer—and step. When I step forwards, you step back. When you step forwards—yes. Keep your feet together. Like this. See? One, and two, and one, and two—”

“Oh. How fascinating. Is this dancing in a ball?”

“A bit. But you don’t just step back and forth. You turn—yes, like this! And there’s more moves. And there would be music.”

“Music? Oh no. I can get some—”

“No. We can dance without it. If you want to.”

“I think I do.”

Pawn held Lyonette’s hand as she showed him the moves of the dance. He remembered them all well. She had to adjust for his different body, his less graceful steps. But as they stepped together, Lyonette stopped feeling silly and remembered. Yes, this was what it felt like? She turned and suddenly the barracks opened up in front of her. It was truly large. She spun with Pawn and though there was no music, suddenly she felt caught up.

“What a strange activity. How pleasing. I am glad you did not grow angry. And I am sorry again for upsetting you.”

The Worker babbled as he waltzed with Lyonette. She wanted to laugh again and suppressed the urge. They danced past the dress stand, ignoring the yellow dress. It wasn’t needed.

“I want to say sorry too, Pawn. I didn’t notice how you felt.”

“No. I did not either. Are you sure I like you? Romantically? I thought that was a thing only Drakes, Humans, and Gnolls did.”

“I’m pretty sure. The signs are all there.”

“Oh.”

Pawn thought about this as they spun. Lyonette showed him how to spin with her. She felt too close to him. She hadn’t been this close to anyone but Mrsha. But she didn’t pull away.

“Should I do something about it? I understand that romantic interests lead to death and fighting.”

“Who told you that?”

“Revalantor Klbkch. He says that a third of the disputes he must settle are based in romantic conflict. Will I start attacking you? I could not bear to do that.”

“No, Pawn. That’s not—do you understand what I’ve been telling you?”

“…Maybe?”

“You like me. You like me romantically. Pawn, that means you might love me.”

“Love?”

The Worker slowed as Lyonette walked across the floor with him. He copied her flawlessly, absently. It was as if the dance came to him as naturally as breathing. Of course, it was just following orders. It was effortless for him and Lyonette found herself moving into more advanced positions absently.

“I do not understand love. Is it like liking?”

“Yes. Sort of.”

“And I love you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it inconvenient for you? I would hate for that to be so.”

“No. It’s not. It’s…flattering, really. Mostly. Sometimes it can be awful if someone likes you and you don’t like them back. But not always. And I—I think I like you too, Pawn. Maybe.”

“I see.”

The Worker just stared at Lyonette. She turned beet red.

“Well?”

“That makes me happy. Am I supposed to have another reaction?”

“No! Yes! Aren’t you embarrassed?”

Abruptly, Lyonette stopped the waltz. Pawn stopped too. He let go of her hands and took a step back.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know. This is all so surprising. I only know that I like dancing with you.”

“No, don’t be—”

Lyonette was embarrassed again. She looked at Pawn.

“Pawn, this is a mess. I thought you were obsessed with my class. With helping me.”

“I am.”

“But you like me, don’t you see?”

“That is why I want to help you.”

“But does it mean you want my [Princess] class back?”

“Of course! It defines you. It is who you are.”

“But can’t I be someone without it? That’s what I want.”

Lyonette spread her hands out helplessly. Pawn waited, trying to comprehend and she spoke.

“For so long I’ve been defined only by my class! Only by being a princess! Now I have a job. I’m leveling in other classes! I think part of me, a large part, wanted to lose my class. So I could be someone else.”

“But why do you have to be? Why can you not be a [Princess] and everything else?”

“I—it’s because it’s so huge. And I don’t want it. All the things I could never live up to, all the duties I’m abandoning by being here—it’s too much. Do you understand?”

“No. Is the dance over?”

Pawn looked at Lyonette. She threw up her hands.

“I don’t know!”

In the silence Pawn shuffled his feet.

“I enjoyed dancing with you.”

“So did I. We could try again.”

Lyonette reached for Pawn’s hands, but both Antinium and Human turned as they realized they had company. A Soldier stood next to the two. Lyonette stared up at Yellow Splatters. He wasn’t the only one. Every Soldier and Worker in the barracks had abandoned their posts along the walls. They were nearly lined up in front of Lyonette and Pawn.

“Pawn? What do they want?”

“Oh.”

Pawn sounded disappointed. He looked at Yellow Splatters and turned to Lyonette apologetically.

“I am sorry, Lyonette. They want to dance too.”

“With me?”

“No. With me.”

Lyonette gaped. But the Antinium were looking at Pawn. He hesitated and glanced at Lyonette.

“I—”

Someone brushed past him. Pawn and Lyonette saw Purple Smile interpose himself in between Yellow Splatters and the two. He raised two hands and blocked the [Sergeant]. He held up his other two hands and gave Pawn a thumbs up. The Worker nodded gratefully as the other Antinium were shepherded by Purple Smile into their own pairs.

“It seems Purple Smile will take over teaching.”

“Teaching? But they didn’t do anything but watch. How can—”

Lyonette nearly choked on her tongue. As one, the Workers and Soldiers began waltzing in pairs. At first it was only simple moves. Step forwards, step back. Turn. But then they began moving and performing more complex moves. Lyonette watched in amazement as the Antinium performed a minuet, flawless peel off, and then a promenade down the floor. The bulky Soldiers and Workers moved down the floor, passing by Lyonette and Pawn.

“It is a wonderful thing. This form of dancing. It is relaxing. Elegant. Both Workers and Soldiers can do it together. I think it is what we were looking for.”

Pawn looked back at Lyonette. She stared at him.

“This?”

He nodded.

“The Antinium cannot go outside now. Many of us do not know what to do. We have no purpose outside our function. But this? This is not what we were designed for. This is something special that we can do with each other. It is beautiful and we can make it.”

“That’s true.”

Lyonette remembered balls with gold and magic. She remembered rooms packed with the famous, the powerful. She had seen wonderful dancing, seen the Lord of the Dance himself take to the floor. But this was magical in its own way. The dancing Antinium lit something in her. She looked at Pawn.

He was a Worker. The same as so many others. But different. Oh, so different. Lyonette felt it. Did she like him? Did he really like her? She didn’t know, but something in her prompted to hold out her hands.

“Shall we?”

“I would be delighted.”

The two took hands. They stepped out into the pairs of the Antinium. Alone in a room filled with bodies. Together. Lyonette whirled with Pawn holding her.  In that moment as she danced with him they spoke, honestly, close together.

“I’m not a good [Princess], Pawn. I never was.”

“That does not matter to me. I just wanted you to be happy.”

“And I can’t be without my class?”

“I think you could be. But I think you do not have to lose something to be happy.”

“Nothing stays the same, Pawn. Things change.”

“But nothing ever disappears. The past matters.”

“That’s true. But what would I be?”

She felt Pawn’s other two hands pick her up. Lyonette felt her feet leave the ground as he gently lifted her. She felt breathless. The Antinium were made for such a maneuver.  Pawn stared at her.

“You would be a [Princess] in an inn.”

“That’s not enough. I need something else. A [Princess] must have subjects. She must have a kingdom. I have neither.”

“What about me?”

“What about you?”

“I could be your subject. I think I would be a good one. I follow orders.”

Pawn.

Lyonette grabbed his hands and looked seriously into his eyes.

“You have subjects. You can’t abandon them.”

“I know. But I cannot leave you alone either. Is that love?”

“I think so.”

Lyonette closed her eyes. She stepped with Pawn, showing him more forms as they moved on. In silence, they danced. Until Pawn spoke.

“Is that why you gave up your class? Because you left them?”

“Who?”

“Your subjects. Your kingdom.”

“My subjects?”

Lyonette froze. She opened her mouth to protest that they weren’t hers and stopped. Wasn’t she a [Princess]? Weren’t they hers? Even a sixth princess had duties. She hesitated.

“I…I never thought of them.”

“I see.”

Distracted, Lyonette looked away. She bit her lip.

“I might not be able to get my class back, Pawn.”

“I think you will. If you want to.”

“Why are you so certain?”

“Because I know you. Because I believe in you. Because you are wonderful.”

Lyonette’s head turned back. Pawn stared at her. She looked into his eyes. The dark, multi-faceted eyes of an Antinium. Eyes without pupils. But not without soul. And when Lyonette looked into them, she saw something that frightened her. Because in Pawn’s gaze there was nothing else in the entire world but her. For a moment she was the center of the universe.

“You really do like me, don’t you?”

“I am afraid I do. Is it bad after all?”

“No. I think it’s nice.”

The two fell silent after that. Lyonette watched the room spin around her. There was no music. She wore only a [Barmaid]’s outfit. Her partner was an Antinium, naked save for a loincloth. But in this moment, it felt like she was dancing back in a ballroom back home. She whirled and Pawn held her hand as she spun. Lyonette felt tears springing to her eyes.

“I’ll try. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“And Pawn?”

“Yes, Lyonette?”

“Thank you.”

“It was my pleasure.”

—-

She didn’t know how long she danced. Long enough for her feet to tire. Long enough to hurt. But only after they were done. Lyonette curtsied and Pawn imitated her until she told him he should bow. Then Lyonette straightened and looked around.

The Antinium had stopped with them. They looked at Lyonette and Pawn. Some of them still held hands. Lyonette realized she was still holding Pawn’s. She let go and then wished for a second that she hadn’t.

The ball was over. Pawn looked around and noticed Purple Smile standing back. He’d danced less than the others, content to watch. The Soldier was crunching on something. He must have found a bug roaming around, a rare treat.

“Do you feel better now, Lyonette?”

She turned to him and smiled.

“I think I do. But I have to go now, Pawn. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay. I enjoyed the dancing.”

Lyonette waited, but Pawn didn’t seem to have anything else to say. She nodded at last and turned away. He watched her go. Lyonette looked at Purple Smile and the Soldier beckoned. Silently, he led her back out of the Hive. Lyonette walked, trying to make sense of her emotions.

She walked out of the Hive. It was already dark. The rain poured down, drenching Lyonette. She didn’t pay it any mind. She walked into the inn.

“Lyonette? Are you okay? Is Pawn okay?”

Erin hovered around Lyonette. The [Barmaid] looked at her.

“Pawn? He’s fine. I think. I—I’m going to sleep early.”

“Okay. Are you sure you’re—”

Lyonette walked up the stairs. She sensed someone following her and saw Mrsha padding along. The Gnoll sniffed her and Apista buzzed around Lyonette. The young woman managed a smile.

“I’m fine. Thank you, Mrsha, Apista. I just had a talk with Pawn. A dance, actually.”

She went into her room. Lyonette sat and saw the rain coming down through the windowpane. She blinked a few times.

“Was that all?”

She patted her breast, felt her face. She didn’t feel so different. She’d danced with Pawn for hours! She’d looked into his eyes. But she had a bad feeling. Well, not a bad one.

It was just that she wasn’t swept away. She wasn’t head-over-heels in love. And that was bad because Lyonette felt she should be. But she didn’t feel the rush of emotions she’d felt with her obsessions in youth. She didn’t feel…besmitten.

And that hurt. Because Lyonette felt she should be. Pawn was so honest, so earnest! So…new. And he was Antinium. She couldn’t answer his feelings honestly.

That was what Lyonette told herself. She kept telling herself that, as Mrsha tried to get her to play and Apista crawled over her head. She wasn’t in love. And that presented a whole new set of problems. For that matter, what about her class? Pawn had reminded her that she had duties. He had told her he believed in her.

But—Lyonette’s mind drifted back to the dance. She closed her eyes and felt herself whirling in the cool, stale air far underground. She didn’t love Pawn. But she remembered him looking at her.

A dress in yellow, a room full of dancing Antinium. Lyonette told herself it wasn’t love. But she couldn’t forget it either. It was something else. And as she sat in her room and Mrsha curled up next to her, Lyonette wondered.

“Will it happen?”

She put her head back on her pillow, willing herself to sleep. It couldn’t happen. It shouldn’t. But part of her hoped. Why had she lost her class to begin with? Because she had no subjects? No kingdom? Hadn’t she just left it behind?

A [Princess] in an inn. Surely there was something else. Surely there was something more. Lyonette’s head felt foggy. She was falling asleep. She tried to imagine it. But all she could see was a Worker’s face as they danced together in the lantern light. It wasn’t love. But if it wasn’t that, what could it be?

[Class Conditions: Princess met.]

[Class – Princess restored.]

[Skill – Detect Poison restored.]

[Skill – Royal Tax restored.]

[Princess → Worldly Princess Class!]

[Class Consolidation: Warrior removed.]

[Class Consolidation: Barmaid removed.]

[Class Consolidation: Beast Tamer removed.]

[Class Consolidation: Tactician removed.]

[Class Consolidation: Carer removed.]

[Worldly Princess Level 11!]

[Skill – Basic Crafting obtained!]

[Skill – Weapon Proficiency: Sword obtained!]

[Skill – Basic Negotiator obtained!]

[Skill – Basic Leadership obtained!]

[Skill – Flawless Attempt obtained!]

“Oh!”

In the darkness a young woman sat up. She looked around and touched her face.

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

Then she lay back down. Lyonette felt like she should shout. Or celebrate. But she just felt a bit empty. It was almost like all of what she’d gone through didn’t matter. She frowned up at the ceiling.

“Huh.”

It wasn’t what she expected at all.

—-

The next day, Lyonette avoided Erin’s questions about what had happened. She fed Mrsha and Apista breakfast, dutifully helped serve the guests, and felt nothing different at all. It was disappointing. Her new Skill, [Flawless Attempt] was in her mind, but Lyonette didn’t feel like using it. She just…waited. She didn’t know for what. Until when, a few hours past morning, the door opened and Pawn poked his head through.

“Am I too early?”

Lyonette turned and blinked at him. And then she did feel something. Lyonette’s face turned bright crimson. Pawn stared at her.

“Lyonette?”

“Come over here.”

She hurried him over to a table before Erin could poke her head out of the kitchen. Lyonette sat at a table with Pawn. He peered at her anxiously.

“Are you okay, Lyonette? I mean—”

He caught himself.

“I should not ask that. Correct?”

“No, I’m well. Better than well, actually. I…got my class back.”

“You did?”

Pawn half-rose out of his seat. Lyonette grabbed him.

“Sit, please.”

He did. Lyonette breathed in and out until she could control herself. Then she looked at Pawn.

“I guess it worked. The ball, I mean.”

“I am relieved. I had hoped that was so, but I was not sure. Are you…happy now?”

“Happy? I don’t know. I think I’m more surprised than anything else. Classes shouldn’t disappear and come back like that. I don’t know why it happened.”

“I don’t know either. But I am glad for you. Truly.”

Pawn fidgeted in his seat. Lyonette looked at him.

“What is it?”

“I was…thinking about yesterday. A lot, actually. I realize now that Miss Krshia may be right. And you too, of course. I may indeed be in love with you.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I realize this may be inconvenient for you. So I will try not to be. In love, that is. I will remove myself and go back to my duties now you are well.”

Pawn awkwardly nodded his head. Lyonette stared at him.

“No.”

“No?”

Why didn’t he get it? Lyonette hesitated, and then reached across the table and grabbed Pawn’s arm.

“Pawn, you don’t give up when you’re in love. Not like that.”

“But it may be inconvenient for you.”

“But I like you, Pawn. As a friend. And if you love me, how could you just give up and not see me?”

The Worker tilted his head.

“Is that not love? Giving up for someone else?”

Lyonette was speechless. She let go of Pawn and sat back. Eventually, she spoke.

“Maybe. But love is more than that. Much more, Pawn.”

“Will you tell me what it is?”

“Love is…coming back every day. To see me. Even if I’m not crying. Even if I have my class back.”

“I see. What else is it?”

“It’s…a lot of things. And I don’t know if I love you! I like you.”

“I see. And I do not know if I love you. The Antinium have never loved, I think. How might we be able to tell the difference between like and love?”

Lyonette stared at Pawn. He looked so matter-of-fact. She laughed, abruptly, and then held out her hand.

“Maybe like this. Take my hand, Pawn.”

“Are we dancing again?”

The Worker took Lyonette’s hand uncertainly. She held it, and then stood up. As Pawn watched she edged around the table to sit by his side. He shifted, looking at her and his hand.

“How strange. What an odd sensation. Is something supposed to happen?”

“Maybe. But holding hands is sort of the point.”

Lyonette gently squeezed Pawn’s hand in hers. His hand was smooth. Foreign. Cool. But there was something familiar about it. She closed her eyes and remembered dancing. And next to her, Pawn shivered.

“When do you let go?”

“When you want to, I suppose. Do you want to?”

“No.”

“Okay then.”

The Human girl looked at Pawn and then looked away. He looked away as well. Both felt awkward. Embarrassed. They sat there like that, looking away. Lyonette felt her cheeks turning red. She couldn’t see Pawn’s face change and was disappointed—until she saw how violently his antennae were twitching. She felt so awkward and yet she didn’t let go of his hand. She didn’t want to.

Pawn stared at Lyonette and looked around. The inn was the same. Lyonette was the same. He was the same. But he couldn’t help but feel different. He looked at their hands, at Lyonette.

“Is love like this all the time, Lyonette?”

“Like what?”

She looked at him, her face flushed. Pawn searched for the words. Then he spoke.

“Something new.”

She paused. And then she smiled.

“Maybe. It might not be love, you know. I’m still not sure myself. But it could be. Would you like to find out?”

Pawn nodded.

“Yes, please.”

They looked at each other and then away. And they didn’t stop holding hands. Lyonette sat in The Wandering Inn. A [Princess] in an inn. And she smiled. The class had nothing to do with her smile. She and Pawn sat there.

Together.

5.27

There were about two hundred varieties of fish in the waters outside of her inn. Erin had been told at least a quarter of them were objectionable in some way, so she stared hard at the dead Quillfish’s insides.

“It doesn’t look poisonous. And my [Dangersense] isn’t going off. My [Advanced Cooking] says I can cook it—what do you think, Mrsha?”

She held up the Gnoll and let Mrsha eagerly sniff the fish, which had been carefully descaled and dequilled by Erin. She’d been wearing gloves. Now the fish was in fillet form. Mrsha sniffed it a few seconds longer and then gave Erin the nod.

Having passed three of her tests, Erin decided the Quillfish was safe to eat. So she cut the fillet into smaller pieces and found a lemon. She squeezed it, rubbed it into the fillet, and then found flour and put a pan on the stove. The fire was already going and Erin had put enough fuel in the stove to last her a while.

“Pass me an egg, Mrsha?”

Erin mixed the flour up with a bit of dried breadcrumbs and a tiny bit of powdery cheese. Then she pressed the fillets into the mixture. She took the egg Mrsha handed her, cracked it into a bowl, added some water, and then dipped the fillet in the egg before returning it to the flour. Soon she had a coating on each fillet and her pan was hot.

“Oil—thanks, Mrsha. Stay back from the pan, you might get hit by oil spatters!”

The [Innkeeper] ushered Mrsha back as the Gnoll greedily watched her place the first fillet on the pan. The fish pieces browned quickly and soon Erin had many little fried pieces of fish. They were mostly circular and looked sort of like potato chips. They were meant to be bite-sized and the result pleased Erin. She absently smacked Mrsha’s paw as the Gnoll reached for one.

“Not yet. It needs the finishing touch.”

So saying, Erin reached for a dark brown bottle of sauce filled with little seeds and dried spices. Erin tasted a bit. Her eyebrows shot up in approval.

“Mm. Gnolls make good sauces. This one’s spicy. Want some, Mrsha?”

She fed the Gnoll a spoonful of the spicy fish sauce, watching Mrsha lick her chops and then poured it over the fish pieces. Lightly—she could always add more. Erin thought for a moment and then found her mayonnaise. The condiment was hard to make, but she felt it had a place here.

“Chives? Where are…oh, there they are.”

Erin found a bunch of fresh chives sitting out in the open, ignoring all health codes or refrigeration standards. She checked them carefully before she began chopping them up.

“It’s not that they get bad, but now some of my veggies start growing! And bugs still love eating them. You tell me if you see any of them crawling in here, okay, Mrsha?”

The Gnoll nodded and snatched her paw back from the fish flakes as Erin turned her head. She watched as Erin mixed the chives into the yellow mayonnaise, her tail beating impatiently. When Erin added the bowl of chived mayonnaise to her plate Mrsha gave her a look that said quite clearly that she would die without food in the next moment.

“Fine. Here. You may have one piece.”

Erin let Mrsha carefully select the biggest flake and dip it in the mayonnaise. The two sauces mixed as Mrsha chewed the flake carefully. The Gnoll closed her eyes as she chewed and Erin waited. Mrsha’s tail started beating faster and a smile appeared on her face. Erin smiled too.

“That’s a good endorsement.”

With that, she took the food out of the kitchen and into the common room. Mrsha jumped off the kitchen counter to follow her.

“Experimental fish flakes are ready! Anyone want a bite? On the house!”

She approached two of her early-morning guests. They were sitting apart from each other, but both looked up at Erin’s voice. Selys, tail swishing idly, and Ylawes, sitting with perfect posture in his seat.

“What’s that, Miss Solstice?”

“Breaded fish…flakes. Fresh from outside! They look like flakes. It’s a snack. Or dinner if I find a bigger fish to cut up. Want a try?”

Erin offered the plate to him. Ylawes hesitated and she wondered if breaded fish were not a thing he’d ever tried before. But Selys clearly had and Mrsha’s leaping up on the table to peer greedily at the platter convinced him. He took a piece and bit into it. Erin watched him chew and swallow before the [Knight] smiled at her.

“Ah. That is delicious. May I?”

“Sure. Selys, you want in on this?”

“Sure. Hey Mrsha, do you want to eat with me?”

Selys smiled at Mrsha as the Gnoll realized she’d get a helping too. They began eating at Ylawes’ table. The [Knight] glanced sideways at Selys and then helped himself to another fish flake.

“Did you say this was freshly caught?”

“Yup. Bird shot it this morning. He says there aren’t enough birds so he practices on the fish when he’s bored.”

“He can’t swim. How did he fetch them?”

“Oh, I had one of the Goblins go pick it up. Actually, this fish isn’t the one I got. A bunch of Quillfish were nibbling at the one Bird shot so Headscratcher grabbed them all. With his bare hands.”

“Ah, the Goblins.”

Ylawes paused in eating. He looked around, but the Goblins weren’t here. Neither were most of Erin’s guests. It was a bit too early for that; both he and Selys had arrived at the early morning shift, before Erin’s usual crowd showed up. The Goblins were, in fact, busy sparring outside of Erin’s inn. If she listened she could sometimes hear a thud when one of them hit each other particularly hard.

As for her adventurers, neither the Halfseekers nor the Horns of Hammerad liked getting up early. Back when Griffon Hunt had been around they would come down early, but the other teams liked sleeping in.

You got to know your guests. Erin knew she had about thirty minutes before the adventurers would come down so she settled down at the table. She bit into her fish flake and smiled as the hot oil and spices made her mouth water.

“Yum. Spicy, though. Hey, try dipping it in the mayonnaise, Selys.”

“Mm. This is good too. But I like spices.”

“Drakes love spices. But I’ve gotta think about my Gnoll and Human customers. You want a drink, Ylawes?”

The armored man had gotten a hot pepper seed and was flushing slightly. He nodded.

“I would be grateful.”

Erin found a tankard and filled it with milk behind the bar. She passed it to him and Ylawes drank quickly. Selys looked around.

“No Lyonette today? Is she still having…issues?”

Erin smiled.

“The opposite, actually. She’s doing well. I sent her into Liscor to do shopping while we wait to test her Skill again.”

“Oh? She got a new Skill?”

“Yeah. Would you believe it? She leveled again. She won’t tell me what level she is now, but get this—she got a rare Skill! [Flawless Attempt]!”

Ylawes looked up with interest as he dipped a fish flake in mayonnaise. Mrsha looked up as well, her mouth stuffed. Selys frowned.

“That is rare. I’ve never heard of that variation before. I’ve heard of the flawless line of Skills of course—[Flawless Strike], [Flawless Dodge], uh—”

“[Flawless Defence]. That’s a [Knight] or [Warrior]’s Skill.”

Selys nodded gratefully at Ylawes.

“Exactly. They’re good Skills. You can perform a perfect attack once every few hours. But attempt? What does that do?”

“We’re not sure. Lyonette says it’s not like the others. She can’t do things perfectly, but she does it…to the best of her abilities? She made Mrsha an omelette with it this morning.”

Both Drake and Human immediately glanced sideways at Mrsha. She looked up, her face smeared with sauce. Erin handed her a napkin which Mrsha ignored. The Gnoll started licking her fur instead.

“Doesn’t sound too impressive.”

“You’d think so, but this was a great omelette. One of the best! It wasn’t perfect, but it was close! I think that’s what the Skill does. Anything Lyonette can do she does at her best. But we have to wait for it to recharge or something.”

“Right. You can’t use active Skills right away. There’s always a cool down. But that’s a nice Skill.”

Erin grinned.

“Isn’t it? We’ve been brainstorming how to use it best. The thing is, Lyonette doesn’t need to use it for most things. I can cook and I have [Advanced Cooking] so there’s really no point in her using it there. I was sort of hoping she’d use it to play chess with me.”

“Of course, you would.”

Selys rolled her eyes. Ylawes chewed his actual breakfast, a half-finished omelette and took another sip from his cup. Erin shrugged.

“What? She said it would be interesting and my magic chessboard’s been inactive recently. Besides, new opponents are always fun. I hardly get to play as much with all the plays going on every day.”

“I heard about that. A bunch of Drakes I know are talking about visiting tonight. Something about you putting on a new play?”

“Right. We put on the Triumph of Liscor and Othello, but now the Players of Celum want to really draw in an audience so they’re going to put on Juliet and Romeo for our audience tonight. I think it’ll be a hit!”

“I haven’t seen that one. I think. I saw the one with the angry Human who kills his [King].”

“Hamlet. Or maybe you’re thinking of Macbeth? There’s a lot of killing of [Kings] in Shakespeare’s stuff.”

“Well, I’ll watch the one tonight if I have time. But I’m really here just to talk to your Goblins. It’s my day off but Grandmother insisted so here I am.”

Selys twitched her tail as she reached for a fish flake and discovered only crumbs. Ylawes brushed at his clean-shaven face with his handkerchief and glanced at Erin.

“Have they been causing trouble? Your ah, security?”

Erin glanced at him.

“Not a problem. Why?”

The [Knight] glanced at Mrsha and then cleared his throat.

“No reason in particular. Forgive me, Miss Solstice. As an adventurer I worry. Hobgoblins are a far cry from regular Goblins, and ordinary Goblins are dangerous enough. I can’t help but feel as though the ones in your inn are similar to a group I met in Esthelm. Those were dangerous fighters. Although, they were honorable in their own way.”

He broke off, musing to himself. Erin paused as Selys rubbed Mrsha’s tummy. The Gnoll was happily stuffed and content to let the Drake comb through her fur with one claw.

“Well, you can listen to Selys lecture them about becoming adventurers.”

Ylawes nearly spat his drink out.

“Becoming—are you serious?”

“Mhm. Selys got her grandmother to approve the paperwork. They’ll be a Bronze-rank team. They won’t go into Liscor obviously, but this way they can earn money killing monsters.”

The [Knight] stared at Erin, aghast. He shifted his gaze to Selys and the Drake gave him a nod and a rueful grin.

“You are serious. Silver and steel. Miss Solstice, I must protest. Goblins are not—”

“Adventurer material? Funny, I bet people say the same thing about Antinium. And guess who’s on your sister’s team?”

Erin sat back at the table as Ylawes frowned. She glanced at her stairs. Yvlon was probably still upstairs. She always came down with her hair combed and her armor on. That was dedication.

“You’re here to see Yvlon, right?”

Ylawes frowned, caught off-guard by the change in conversation. He hesitated and then nodded.

“I’d like to talk with her, yes. I can’t help but feel she’s been avoiding me of late.”

“Gee, I wonder why.”

Erin rolled her eyes. Ylawes frowned.

“Is she?”

For a second Erin wished she had a mug to polish. That was a very [Innkeepery] thing to do, she felt. She shrugged as she poked Mrsha’s stomach and made the Gnoll giggle silently.

“She’s your sister. You tell me.”

“Would that I could. But I’ve never been able to understand my sister’s mind. I would be grateful if you could advise me.”

Erin paused, frowning.

“I’m just an [Innkeeper]. I shouldn’t have to tell you. Although I could give you psychiatric help. The doctor is in!”

She grinned, struck by a nostalgic thought. Ylawes just looked blank.

“Pysc—what?”

“Advice. For five copper coins.”

Erin didn’t really expect Ylawes to bite. She was just teasing him and indulging herself. But when the [Knight] reached for his belt pouch and produced the coins, Erin had to find a mug to shake them in. Selys and Ylawes watched, although the Drake knew enough to know Erin was just being weird.

“Alright, I’ve had enough fun. You want advice, Ylawes? When your sister comes down the stairs, don’t ask her to come back to your home or tell her your family misses her. In fact, don’t tell her what to do. Just say hi and have a nice chat.”

“I wasn’t going to—”

Ylawes broke off, and Erin nodded knowingly.

“See? That’s honesty. Which is good! You were going to ask her if she wanted to return home, weren’t you? She’d hate that. That’s why she doesn’t want to talk to you. That, and she resents you being here.”

“She resents me being here? Why?”

This time both Selys and Erin sighed as one. Mrsha copied them happily. Ylawes looked at them, confused. Erin looked at him, exasperated and amused.

“Why do you think? You’re her big older brother, coming to tell her what to do and ‘protect’ her when she’s a grown woman! Plus, you’re the thing she wants to be. A [Knight], a Gold-rank adventurer…all the things she failed to become. I just bet she always got compared to you growing up, didn’t she?”

“She did. I never gave it any thought. But how could you know that?”

Ylawes looked stunned, which greatly pleased Erin. She gave him her most mysterious smile.

“Let’s just say I had a feeling. Do you trust me now?”

The [Knight] had to nod. Selys gave Erin an admiring look.

“You’re pretty good at this advice thing, Erin. Is it because of your class? Or a Skill?”

“Nah. I mean, maybe it is but this kind of story was really common back in my—uh country. In any…country, I bet. But you’re right, I am good at this! Hey, maybe I should open up a side business!”

“Before you do that—”

Ylawes coughed and all three females turned their gaze back to him. Mrsha, Selys, and Erin—three races, alike in their exasperation for a brother’s lack of understanding. Well, maybe not Mrsha. She was just pretending. But she was having fun, which was the key. Ylawes stroked his chin, frowning.

“You say Yvlon’s trying to get out of my…shadow. But then why did she agree to let me help her explore the dungeon? And why hasn’t her team entered the dungeon yet? I know they’re prepared. But every time I ask Miss Springwalker I get only evasive answers. That was why I came to talk to them today, actually.”

Erin’s smiled faded a bit. She took a deep breath.

“Hoo boy. Um…that’s a different reason altogether.”

“Would you explain it? My teammates are growing tired of waiting. As am I.”

Again Ylawes reached for his belt pouch but Erin stopped him. She chewed her lip and threw a quick glance up the stairs. No one was coming down yet.

“Alright, but this is secret.”

“You want me to leave?”

“Not that secret, Selys. It’s just—okay, here’s why. Ylawes, I know Calruz might be alive in the dungeon. Even though the odds are like a thousand to one.”

“Quite. The idea of someone surviving down there is remote. But there is a possibility, which makes it imperative to act now. I cannot understand why the Horns hesitate.”

Erin toyed with the empty platter.

“Maybe because of the past. If I told you that Ceria casts [Silence] on her and Yvlon’s room every night, would you understand?”

“Not in the slightest. Why would that be all important?”

Ylawes looked mystified. Erin sighed. Again she looked towards the empty stairs and then lowered her voice.

“It’s because Ceria wakes up screaming every other night. And Yvlon too. Pisces tells me they did it while they were exploring Albez, too.”

“Screaming? Why—”

“Because of the dungeons, Ylawes.”

The [Knight] paused. His furrowed brows unknit and he sat back. He closed his eyes.

“Of course.”

Selys looked at the two Humans and then stroked Mrsha’s head. She shook her own sadly.

“Nightmares about the crypt?”

Erin nodded.

“They still remember it. Obviously. Both of them lost their entire team—Yvlon was in charge. And they fought Skinner and Ceria was trapped for days inside a coffin with nothing to eat. I think Olesm has nightmares too, but he doesn’t talk about them.”

“I can’t imagine he wouldn’t. Even the best adventures have to deal with trauma. We’re told to prescribe sleeping potions and get them to good [Healers], but most never go.”

Selys looked sadly at her claws. Lines appeared around Ylawes’ eyes as he grimaced.

“I should have recalled. Yvlon didn’t talk long about it, but of course—of course she remembers. And fears going into the dungeon again.”

He shook his head bitterly.

“If that’s the case, I should go in with my team and tell her—“

“No.”

Erin cut him off forcefully. Ylawes stared at her. She frowned, vexed.

“Haven’t you been listening? The worst thing you could do is bring that up. Leave them be, Ylawes. Let them enter the dungeon when they’re ready. It won’t be long.”

“But if they fear it—”

“Ceria won’t abandon Calruz. She’s going to enter the dungeon.”

“And if she waits longer?”

Erin shrugged.

“Then the Halfseekers or Griffon Hunt will get in there. They’ve been untrapping the dungeon’s entrance for nearly a month now. Either way, someone will find Calruz if he’s alive. But telling them not to enter, telling them you’ll handle it? Don’t do that. How would you react if someone said that to you?”

Ylawes was silent. Caught, perhaps, with the novel idea of introspection. At last he raised his head.

“I see. Thank you for your advice, Miss Solstice. The best course would be to handle matters…differently.”

She eyed him.

“Planning on entering the dungeon without telling Yvlon?”

The golden-haired adventurer jumped. Erin sighed again. He really was easy to read. Like an open book with big letters and pictures.

“I won’t stop you. If Calruz is alive, someone has to save him. Just promise me—”

She broke off as she heard a creak from the stairs. Everyone looked up as Ksmvr marched down the stairs.

“We are arriving at breakfast approximately two minutes later than average, Captain Ceria.”

“Thanks, Ksmvr.”

A dark brown Antinium descended the stairs, followed by a bleary half-Elf, a yawning [Necromancer], and a woman with gold hair and bright metal armor. Behind them, Moore edged down behind the pale-scaled Jelaqua and Seborn appeared at the foot of the stairs, scratching at the crustacean half of his face with his claw. The Horns of Hammerad were up, as were the Halfseekers. Jelaqua sniffed the air happily and wagged her tail.

“Hey, what’s that smell? Isn’t it great to have a working nose? Well, nose holes. Hey, if it isn’t Ylawes.”

“Brother.”

Yvlon nodded cautiously at Ylawes. Erin shot him a quick glance, but the [Knight] only smiled.

“Good morning, Yv. I was just stopping for the morning. Erin treated me to her latest creation. I won’t be stopping long.”

A look of relief flashed by Yvlon’s face and Erin mentally raised Ylawes’ subtlety score a few points in her mind. She hurried towards the kitchen as the adventurers took seats nearby and saw the door open. Lyonette stumbled into the inn, drenched. Mrsha ran over to her and Erin saw a bee take wing. The young woman was holding several bulky bags filled with food and supplies.

“Lyonette! Good timing! Need a towel?”

The [Barmaid] already had one, courtesy of the towel rack and Mrsha. She wiped her face, smiling happily. And then the front door opened and the Redfang Goblins, wet, sweaty and bruised, trooped in. They paused when they saw the crowd. Erin made a face. Her inn had a habit of getting busy real fast. She counted heads.

“Alright, who wants fish flakes and who wants omelette? Hands?”

Everyone looked at her. They exchanged glances. Jelaqua leaned forwards, excitedly.

“What’s a fish flake?”

—-

The rest of the Silver Swords and Griffon Hunt appeared for breakfast not ten minutes later. They trooped into the inn. Neither team of Gold-rank adventurers was wet—the three [Mages], Revi, Typhenous, and Falene had seen to that. They were just in time to try Erin’s new fish flake snack and get some regular food of their own. The inn was noisy with conversation  as the adventurers began a strategy meeting for the umpteenth time. Selys listened with one earhole as she sat in front of the Redfang Goblins.

“So. I’m uh, a [Receptionist] for the Adventurer’s Guild in Liscor. Erin asked me to talk to you. Well, my grandmother did. She’s the [Guildmistress] and we—we need to make a few things clear.”

She was trying not to babble. But Selys had somehow forgotten how scary five Hobs could be, especially when they were sitting right in front of her. She wished Erin was here. Or Mrsha. But Erin was busy cooking and the traitorous Gnoll had left to go play tag with Apista, which mainly involved her leaping from table to table as the bee flew away. Selys cleared her throat again.

“Erin proposed this, not me. But I agreed to it. The thing is, you’re Goblins.”

The Goblins stared at Selys. They exchanged glances as if this was news. Selys went on.

“And you’re…good fighters. In fact, you went into the dungeon. And came back with treasure. That’s phenomenal. Really. So—and Erin proposed this—we thought you’d be able to earn the city money. And yourselves money. Fighting monsters. As adventurers. We’re going to make you a Bronze-rank team.”

The Redfang Warriors’ jaws dropped. Selys, who had been nervously expecting their reaction, blinked in gratified surprise. The Hobgoblins stared at her and one of them—Numbtongue?—croaked.

“Us? Adventurers?”

“That’s right. We’ll grant you the rank and let you turn in bounties. Uh, by proxy. But you’ll be paid for certified monster kills and turning in useful parts—you could even do a request. If anyone agrees to work with you, that is.”

The Redfang Goblins exchanged glances. They looked dumbstruck. Adventurers. It seemed to matter greatly to them for reasons Selys didn’t understand.

“Does this sound like something you’d want?”

Instantly all five Goblins nodded energetically. Erin, who’d been hurrying to their table with a plate of fish flakes, beamed.

“Did they say yes? Selys, you should have waited! Congrats, guys! I thought it would be a cool thing to do!”

The Goblins stared at her, and then at Selys. The Drake nodded, feeling less nervous than before.

“It is good, Erin. They’ll be able to earn money and they’ll be sanctioned—even if I doubt Watch Captain Zevara would ever open the gates for them. But they can still earn money. They just have to know the rules. There are things adventures have to do. For instance, there is a yearly fee as well as an entrance fee which Erin paid on your behalf—”

The Goblins shifted their attention to Erin. She smiled at them as she sat. The Goblins looked back at the [Receptionist] sitting across from her. Adventurers? Like Garen Redfang? They were agog. They listened with rapt attention as Selys went over their obligations, many of which Erin had never known about.

Adventurers were bound by more than just a varied interest in treasure. There were many small rules that varied between Adventurer’s Guilds, but a few common ones united adventurers universally. They were subject to the Guild’s authority and while that usually depended on the [Guildmaster] for enforcement, it also depended on the city they worked from.

“In times of crisis any city with an Adventurer’s Guild can demand for you to aid in its defense. You can refuse, but you stand to lose your rank and even be expelled from the Guild, especially if your reasons for refusing are bad. Generally if the request is reasonable and you don’t believe you’ll be in mortal peril, you’re required to lend your assistance. And the city is also required to compensate you for your time and effort.”

“Like with the moths, right?”

“That’s a good example, Erin. Also, a city collects a fee on any artifacts recovered within its jurisdiction. As does the Adventurer’s Guild. I think that’s why Grandmother agreed to making you adventurers, really. Next time you recover treasure or anything from the dungeon, you’ll have to pay a small tax on that to the guild.”

The Goblins exchanged a glance. One of them looked worriedly towards a table. There were three mages sitting around it. Typhenous, Pisces, and Falene. All three were inspecting the artifacts the Redfang Warriors had recovered.

A white bundle of cloth. A bell made of two types of metal. And a necklace with a glowing symbol etched on the black stone. All three mages were taking extreme care not to touch any of the artifacts directly and that went double for the bell. Selys noticed their anxious looks.

“Don’t worry. Those don’t count. But if you get items next time—did I mention you could earn money through bounties?”

The glowing red eyes swung back towards her. Selys nodded carefully.

“There’s bounties on all kinds of monsters. Sometimes because they’re a nuisance—you can earn money by turning in dead Quillfish, although it’s not much.”

“Just give them to me and I’ll make food. That’s more profitable.”

“Right. But there’s stuff that’s worth a lot more! Shield Spider shells for instance. An unbroken shell is worth a lot so the Guild will pay you for any you recover. You can earn money from killing the new Raskghar—the city’s put a bounty on them—killing Lurkersnatch Fish, turning in enchanted armor which is good for melting down, and so on. There’s all kinds of stuff you can earn money from collecting! Even low-level monsters can be worth a lot. There are slime cores, Dropbat teeth, Corusdeer horns—”

“Goblin’s ears.”

Numbtongue spoke softly. Selys gulped. Erin sat up.

“That’s right. Only no one’s attacking you. It would be a crime to attack another Bronze-rank team. Isn’t that right, Selys?”

The Drake nodded.

“They would have to identify themselves. But yes, it is illegal to attack an adventurer. So…”

She looked at the Hobgoblins. They stared at each other and made a few gestures she could’t explain. Then they stood up. Selys scooted her chair back as the Hobgoblins looked at her. Headscratcher spoke.

“We do it. We be adven—”

He stumbled over the word. He was a lot less fluent than Numbtongue.

“Adventurers.”

The word was almost reverential. Selys nodded and saw some heads staring her way. Revi shook her head slowly.

“So much for standards.”

Erin glared at her. The Stitch-Woman didn’t so much as blink. The Redfang Goblins stared at her, and then seemed to put her out of their minds. They looked at each other and patted each other on the shoulders. Then their heads turned as Pisces pushed his chair back from the table. He looked around importantly.

“I am positive that the necklace is cursed.”

All the side conversations in the inn went quiet. Ceria looked up as she chewed on her second plate of fish flakes, extra spicy.

“You sure, Pisces?”

“Positive. The enchantment is simply too suspicious. The intent of casting, the gripping spell that would keep it from being removed—I can categorically state that it is cursed.”

“What an astute observation. Which I had made ten minutes ago.”

Falene smiled cattily at Pisces. He flushed and narrowed his eyes.

“You brought up the speculation. I am making a definitive statement.”

“I note the difference. The real question is, are the other two cursed? Or do they exude harmful effects?”

“That is uncertain. And I am getting a headache trying to puzzle it out. Neither artifact is straightforward—the cloth is certainly not spelled as a simple protective garb, if it is clothing at all.”

Typhenous rubbed at his eyes, frowning into his white beard. Pisces looked around, annoyed.

“Well, we have identified one of the possible dangers. It is entirely likely the other two are beneficial—the dungeon makers would have had to hide their treasures somewhere.”

“Assuming they didn’t make everything cursed.”

Revi muttered under her breath. Jelaqua nodded.

“Identifying the scary artifacts is good, kids, but even if you’re fairly certain the other ones aren’t trapped, who’s going to test them out? Any volunteers? I can replace my body and I wouldn’t do it if you paid me. This needs a real [Enchanter].”

All eyes swung towards the Redfang Goblins. They stared at the artifacts. Rabbiteater picked at his nose. Instantly, all eyes swung away in disgust. Erin sighed. It looked like there would be more trouble still. She wondered if she should see about making food in preparation for tonight—there would be a crowd from Liscor for the play! Then she glanced over her shoulder and swore.

“Damnit—Lyonette! When did we last check the door?”

“Oh no!”

Lyonette rushed over to the magic doorway. She checked it—the bright green mana stone told her it was attuned to Celum. The [Builders] still hadn’t finished the bridge to Liscor so the only means of getting to the city was via the doorway. But that meant that if they didn’t check it, no one could get through via Celum or Liscor.

Normally they had Ishkr or Drassi or one of the new helpers change the door every ten minutes. It was a royal pain, but they’d gotten a system working. Unfortunately the help only arrived at lunchtime and until then Erin and Lyonette had left people hanging. Lyonette fumbled with the little bowl beside the door.

“We’re late for our daily check in with Pallass!”

“Don’t worry. Venim just gives us a list of people going through and it’s normally no one. He’ll just be mad is all, but I bet a [Guardsman] will have it if we ask—”

Erin broke off as Lyonette put the yellow mana stone on the door and opened it. She heard the voices.

“—do you think we must wait? Should we perhaps keep one of us here while the others—”

The door opened, bringing in sunshine, a cool breeze without a trace of rain, and an open street. Erin saw through the doorway to Pallass a group of furry people, armed with bows and light leather and hide armor, clustered in front of the doorway. They looked up and gaped as the door opened.”

“By the tribes!”

“At last!”

One of them exclaimed. They stepped forwards as Lyonette backed up. Erin stared as the Gnolls clustered in front of the doorway.

“Oh wow.”

“Greetings! Are you in charge of the doorway? We are requesting entrance to Liscor. We have paid for transport, yes? The [Mage] will—what is the phrase? Supply the door with mana?”

A Gnoll with light grey fur called cautiously to Lyonette. She looked at Erin for instructions. Erin hesitated.

“Uh—sure! Come on in! Yeah! Just…step through!”

Cautiously, the Gnolls did. They came through in single-file, looking around, sniffing the air. Not just one or two of them. Not just three or four. Nine armed Gnolls came through, their pelts in every color from the light grey of their leader to a Gnoll with russet red fur and dark black stripes across his chest and ears. They all had bows of differing style—Erin identified some as composite bows from her crash-course in bows from Krshia, while other Gnolls had different versions. They also carried shortswords, clubs, and in one case, a nasty looking barbed spear. When all the Gnolls were through Erin saw a Drake [Mage] step back.

“Everyone through?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

The Drake nodded abruptly and walked away. Lyonette hesitated by the door and then closed it. Erin stared at the Gnolls.

“Uh.”

They regarded her with curious brown eyes. Even the shortest of them was taller than Erin by a good bit. They were lean and muscled and as they looked at the other silent adventurers, Erin got a definite sense that they weren’t here for a social visit. She knew from the way they stayed together, even the way they deferred to the grey Gnoll. These were adventurers.

And they clearly recognized the others. Some of the nine Gnolls pointed surreptitiously at Halrac and another looked straight at Ylawes.

“That is him, yes? The one who fell?”

The other adventurers exchanged glances as the Gnolls looked around as if they were spectators at some kind of show. Erin still had a lot of questions, but she put on her best smile.

“Hi there!”

All the Gnolls immediately looked at her. Erin waved at Lyonette covertly and the young woman started.

“Sorry about the delay. Really sorry. We were a bit busy and uh, forgot to check the door. Welcome to my inn! My name is Erin Solstice. I’m the [Innkeeper]. Can I get you something to drink? Something to eat? Where are you all from? You’re adventurers, aren’t you?”

The Gnoll in charge blinked down at Erin. He looked younger than some of his companions, but Erin guessed he was around her age. Younger? He bared his teeth and then seemed to realize that wasn’t socially polite in Human culture. He changed his smile to a more restrained, toothless one.

“Greetings, Miss Solstice. I am Nailren of the Fletchsing Tribe. We are adventurers. I am leader of my team—The Pride of Kelia. We thank you for  your hospitality and allowing us use of your door.”

“Oh! It’s no problem. Sorry again for waiting. Wow, you’re a Gnollish adventurer team? I’ve never met an all-Gnoll team before!”

Nailren grinned proudly.

“No? Ah, it is not common in Liscor I suppose. But Gnoll adventurers are a common sight further south. We came north to tackle Liscor’s dungeon. We would be grateful to speak of it to you, yes? And to reach Liscor. We understand this inn is not part of the city and it is raining. Is there a route or boat we may hire?”

“Boat? We have something better! A magic door! But hold on—before you go to the Adventurer’s Guild why not stay for breakfast? Er—brunch?”

Erin tried to usher the Gnolls to a seat. They looked at Nailren and one of them, a female Gnoll with yellowish fur and a feather behind one ear, muttered.

“Look at the teams, Nailren! And this inn was the one in the moving pictures, yes?”

“Yes. That is, we would be honored to stay. Please, may we put our gear somewhere for a moment? We are armed for travel. I would not want to offend.”

“Oh no, I’m not offended! Please put them anywhere! Uh—how about that wall? Don’t mind the bee. That’s Apista. Lyonette, let’s get some drinks for our guests! Everyone else, move back!”

Shooing the other adventurers back, Erin scrambled to get food and drinks ready. Gnolls! They sat after putting their gear away. The other adventurers hadn’t yet spoken but as Erin and Lyonette rushed into the kitchen Jelaqua moved forwards.

“Adventurers from the south? Good to meet you. My name’s Jelaqua Ivirith! I lead the Halfseekers—don’t mind the smell. It’s a new dead body I’m using.”

She grinned at them, showing her teeth. One of the Gnolls sniffed her and audibly murmured.

“Selphid.”

Nailren didn’t miss a beat. He stood up and shook Jelaqua’s clawed hand, baring his teeth in a welcoming Gnoll smile.

“I am honored to meet a Gold-rank adventurer! And one of recent fame! May I ask who else is gathered here?”

The Gnolls in his team murmured agreement, looking at the other teams appreciatively. The  adventurers preened a bit at that and began coming forwards to introduce themselves. As the ice broke, the mood instantly warmed and Erin saw them standing around the table, asking exactly how far the Gnolls had travelled, what their team specialized in, and so on. She saw Mrsha pad forwards, her tail wagging as she stood up on two legs to see the new Gnoll team.

For a second the Gnolls didn’t see her, but one sniffed and looked down. His gaze focused on Mrsha and his eyes widened. The Gnoll leapt up from the table with a shout.

“White fur!”

The other Gnolls looked around. They stood up instantly, staring at Mrsha. She fell onto all fours and her ears and tail went down. Instantly she ran backwards and hid behind Moore. Erin stopped, hands filled with her plate full of fish flakes. Nailren was growling at the Gnoll who’d shouted.

“Hush, Bekr! It is a child!”

“But the fur—”

Nailren turned, saw Erin staring and reached back to cuff his teammate on the shoulder.

“Shush!”

“That’s Mrsha.”

Erin put the plate carefully on the table. She saw some of the Gnolls sniff as the scent of the hot fish flakes reached their noses, but they didn’t take their eyes off of Mrsha. Erin folded her arms.

“She’s a survivor of the Stone Spears tribe. They were attacked by the Goblin Lord. She lives here. Is that a problem?”

“No.”

Nailren replied instantly and authoritatively, although some of his teammates seemed less than sure. He glanced around, growled quietly, and they all sat down. Nailren lowered his head to Erin.

“My deepest apologies Miss Solstice. We are not as…traditional as our tribes. We do not bear hostility or fear towards those with white fur, but it is a surprise.”

“I understand. But Mrsha is friendly. Isn’t that right, Mrsha?”

Erin tried to coax Mrsha out from behind Moore’s back, but the Gnoll child was scared now and refused to budge. Nailren looked at his companions and then growled something softly. Erin had no idea what he said, but he seemed to repeat himself after a second.

Another Gnoll, the female with the feather and yellow fur, echoed the growl and Mrsha slowly came out from behind Moore. She approached slowly as everyone watched and her tail wagged a bit. She stood up and waved a paw at them. Nailren looked confused. He glanced at Erin and she realized the second miscommunication.

“Mrsha can’t speak.”

“Ah.”

That second piece of information did its round across the Gnoll faces. Nailren looked at his companions and shook his head.

“Forgiveness. Again. We are glad to see a Gnoll child, especially after travelling the Drake cities. Please ignore our rudeness.”

He glanced at the others and then quite obviously changed the subject.

“Is this Deki paste that I smell? On fried fish it seems? But what is the yellow-white things? And why do the fishes smell of flour and bread?”

Erin smiled, relieved, as Lyonette gathered Mrsha into her arms and Moore sat back so the Gnoll could watch with him.

“These are fish flakes! Here—try some.”

Crisis averted, the Gnolls sat and the other adventurers found themselves hungry for a snack after breakfast. Erin rushed back into the kitchen and paused.

“Oh damn, I forgot. Lyonette? Check if anyone’s in Celum. Octavia might be starving to death. Again!”

The [Barmaid] put down Mrsha and stood up. Eager to help, Mrsha raced to the door and removed the yellow stone herself. As the others watched she put another mana stone on the door and swung it open. Instantly, Erin heard another voice, a woman’s, speaking loudly and with great irritation.

“For the last time Miss [Alchemist], we are not buying one of your potions. We already bought something out of courtesy. No, we don’t need another healing potion. Or a stamina potion. Or a mana potion. We have plenty! Please take that bottle away before I shove it up—”

There were more people standing in Octavia’s shop. A woman was arguing with the Stitch-Girl, poking her finger at Octavia who was giving her a desperate smile and holding a glowing yellow potion. The adventurer was flanked by five teammates, all Human, and as they turned they stared.

“Dead gods!”

One of them exclaimed. Erin saw the woman arguing with Octavia shift and the weapon on her back, a sledgehammer of all things, caught the light. Her companions were decked out with other fighting gear including ropes slung across shoulders, crossbows, swords, and even a net! They were adventurers too. And they stared into Erin’s inn.

“It really is a magic doorway! Look at that, Earlia!”

“I see that! Hallo there! Is this inn open?”

Earlia, the woman with the sledgehammer, called at Mrsha, who was the one she could see. Mrsha immediately ran for it and hid behind Moore again. Erin hurried into view.

“Hello! Hello! We’re in! Come on through! Anyone want food? I’m Erin!”

The adventurers stared at her and then Earlia grinned.

“Alright then! Pile on through you lot!”

They hurried into the inn with a bit too much eagerness. Erin saw Octavia sigh and peered at her suspiciously. The [Alchemist] waved and then the door closed. Suddenly the inn was full of people! Erin saw the adventurers gaping at the huge space behind her and was acutely grateful for her [Grand Theatre] Skill.

“Sit anywhere you like! Put your stuff anywhere you like! Hi, I’m Erin. This is my inn. I’m terribly sorry for the delay—you’re the second band of adventurers who’ve come through this morning! These are all other adventurers—want food?”

“Dead gods, what a lot of teams! Is this some kind of inn that caters to adventurers?”

Earlia stared around at the other teams. She shifted her warhammer and then caught sight of one of the Redfang Goblins standing at the back of the inn. She immediately changed grips.

“Hobs!”

Her teammates instantly grabbed for their weapons. Erin waved her hands frantically.

“Wait, wait, wait!”

She needn’t have shouted. As soon as Earlia had exclaimed she was shouting at her teammates.

“Hold! Hold, damn it all! They’re not attacking!”

She’d made the obvious conclusion that if the Hobs were in the inn with the adventurers, they couldn’t exactly be rogue monsters. Still, half of her teammates refused to put down their weapons. Erin saw some of the Gnolls shifting uneasily too. She waved her hands for everyone’s attention.

“Excuse me! We have an important rule in this inn! Please read that!”

She pointed to the sign she’d put on the wall right by the doorway. The adventurers read it.

“No killing Goblins?”

They exchanged incredulous looks, but Earlia nodded as if she’d expected it. She whistled softly as she glanced at Erin and then looked around the giant common room.

“So the rumors are true after all.”

“Rumors?”

The adventuress nodded. She stowed her warhammer against a wall and held out a hand. Erin shook it, feeling her rough calluses. Earlia gave her a cocksure grin.

“Sorry about that, Miss. Yes, the rumors! I didn’t believe it myself—though we’d have to travel for another four days to get to Liscor! But we heard all manner of talk the closer we got to Celum. People say there’s a crazy inn just outside of Liscor with Hobgoblin security and a magic doorway. They say the inn’s guarded by Hobs and Hollowstone Deceivers, and that the innkeeper can melt folks with her eyes!”

“They do?”

Erin was flattered. Earlia laughed.

“Not just that! We heard for a fact that the inn’s got more than a few tricks up its sleeve. This place fought off hundreds of moths during the Face-Eater Moth attack on Liscor! It’s famous! Uh, what’s the name of it?”

“The Wandering Inn!”

She didn’t know whether to be indignant or happy. Erin propped her hands on her hips.

“And I’m Erin! Erin Solstice! I told you that. Do people talk about me?”

Rumors had already spread about the attack on Liscor? That made sense—Wistram had broadcast the images of the battle across the world. But to Erin’s great disappointment Earlia bit her lip.

“Uh—no. We heard there’s a crazy Human living here—that you?”

“That’s me! They don’t even mention my name? What about me during the battle? What about the city?”

The adventurers were seated now and Lyonette was running from the kitchen to the common room. They were out of fish flakes so she brought out Erin’s other snacky foods. Earlia grabbed some bread and soft cheese and bit into it as she spoke, talking around her mouthful.

“Not much, honestly! Everyone’s talking about the battle for Liscor, but only how intense it was. We heard all about it as we were headed this way. Second-hand. Apparently there are recordings, but no one had a scrying orb to show us so we got it out of a [Mage] who’d seen most of it.”

“Recordings of the battle?”

Erin saw a stir among the adventurers. It was Nailren who nodded and replied.

“Pallass is selling the recollection. It is an expensive thing. A playback of events. Apparently Wistram has created many minor magical artifacts that replay the battle in its entirety. They call them…what was the word? Movies, yes? We paid to see the battle. The price was dear, but worthwhile, yes?”

“Movies?”

Erin’s jaw dropped. Pisces glanced at her face and his eyes narrowed. The other team of Humans looked envious.

“You saw it? I heard it was a hell of a fight! Of course, some adventurers lived it. Real badasses helped hold the line I heard! Took down a moth as tall as the walls of the city themselves!”

At her words some of the aforementioned badass adventurers turned red. Earlia glanced at them. Her eyes widened.

“Five Houses! Look you lot!”

She pointed straight at Moore. The half-Giant blinked. Earlia’s jaw dropped. Her eyes found Seborn and then, swung to Jelaqua as she identified the Selphid. She got to her feet in amazement.

“You must be the Halfseekers! And are you the Silver Swords?”

She’d spotted Ylawes, Falene, and Dawil as well. The adventurers nodded or bowed or in Moore’s case, waved a gigantic hand. Earlia’s team exclaimed and all stood up. They wanted to shake hands but a loud sound interrupted them.

“There’s another famous team here as well, you know.”

Revi and Typhenous looked disgruntled at not being identified. The Stitch-Woman folded her arms and Earlia’s team of Humans exchanged looks. The young woman stared at Revi and Typhenous and then looked at Halrac. His answering scowl made her eyes flicker.

“Halrac the Grim? Griffon Hunt?”

They nodded and Earlia’s team was star struck all over again. One of them exclaimed as they turned to shake hands.

“I heard you were a team of four!”

“We were.”

And like that, the good mood in the inn went out. Erin looked at Halrac sadly and guiltily and then clapped her hands. Everyone turned towards her.

“Alright, let’s get this sorted so I’m not confused! We have Goblins! Yes! We have Mrsha! Wave, Mrsha. She’s cute. I’m Erin! This is Lyonette! And we have six adventuring teams in here so far! Griffon Hunt! The Halfseekers! The Silver Swords! The Horns of Hammerad! The Pride of Kelia and…”

Erin looked expectantly at Earlia. The adventurer stood up.

“Sorry you all! Should have done that sooner. We’re Gemhammer! A Silver-rank team from the north! The name’s Earlia—I’m the Captain.”

“And we are a Silver-rank team from the south. I failed to mention that. I am Nailren, leader of my team.”

Nailren spoke, bowing slightly. The new adventurers looked around, surprised.

“Three Gold-rank teams here? That’s a sight you wouldn’t see that often in Invrisil! Sorry we didn’t recognize you. It’s just that the Halfseekers are a lot more noticeable.”

Earlia turned towards Griffon Hunt, all of whom shrugged moodily. Nailren looked at the other teams and bowed slightly to Jelaqua.

“The Halfseekers are known in the south of Izril as well. We were impressed by the battling of all three of your teams. Truly courageous. Sir Halrac’s defeat of the giant moth by himself was astounding, as was the Silver Sword’s prowess. But the Horns of Hammerad also astounded, truly.”

At that, Earlia glanced towards the Horns, who were sitting back, slightly overshadowed by their illustrious colleagues. She offered them an apologetic smile.

“Horns of Hammerad? I’m afraid we haven’t even heard of your team. We’re from far up north, past Invrisil. We’ve been on the road for the last month, ever since we heard about the dungeon!”

“They were part of the fighting against the moths. One of them actually cast the weather spell that ended the battle.”

“You did? Incredible! We heard about that? Are you a [Weather Mage]?”

Earlia looked at Pisces, and then Ceria. Both demurred and then Earlia spotted Ksmvr.

“An Antinium?”

“I am Ksmvr. Hello.”

Erin looked around desperately. There was no end to the explanations! She looked at Lyonette and pointed.

“Break out the whiskey, Lyonette. I think we need a few drinks so everyone can get to know one another.”

That idea was received well by all parties, except by the newcomers, strangely enough. Earlia raised a hand.

“Oh, not for us. We can’t drink now.”

“Neither we.”

Nailren nodded. He was looking out the window at the pouring rain and sniffing. He coughed politely and looked to Erin.

“As much as we would delight in talking, we cannot drink or eat overlong. We are bound for the dungeon as quickly as possible. And we would greatly appreciate directions.”

“Same here.”

Earlia nodded and shifted her grip on her warhammer. The other adventurers stared at them. Revi was the first to speak up.

“Are you serious?”

—-

“A Gold-rank dungeon. When was the last time one of those has been discovered? A century ago? Two?”

Earlia shook her head wonderingly. She hadn’t heard the latest news about the dungeon, that Tekshia had proclaimed it suitable for teams of Gold-rank or higher. Neither had The Pride of Kelia. They sat at their tables as Ylawes, Jelaqua, and Revi delivered the bad news in turns. Earlia shook her head.

“I can see why, though. Isn’t the dungeon underwater at the moment? It’d be a hell of a thing for a Bronze-rank team to enter. And the moths that came out—that’s Gold-rank for sure.”

“Exactly. So sorry that the Adventurer’s Guild hasn’t spread the word. But that’s the way it is. You can probably find some work dealing with the fish or something, but I’m afraid you’ve come all this way for nothing.”

Revi gave both teams a sweet, fake smile of regret. Earlia eyed her and looked at Nailren. The Silver-rank Gnoll Captain was looking at his team. He bowed his head, his ears twitching slightly.

“A danger indeed. We have heard rumors about the dungeon. Treasure obtained, monster hordes…it is a threat worthy of the rank.”

“Yeah.”

Earlia sighed. Then she slapped her knees and stood up.

“Alright, let’s go in. Nailren, want to cooperate until we get into the dungeon? Word is it’s a labyrinth so we can split up easily.”

The Gnoll grinned as he stood with his team.

“You read my mind, yes? We can at least hire a boat together. Shall we?”

They strode for the doors. The Gold-rank teams scrambled to stop them.

“Wait, wait! Didn’t you hear? This is a Gold-rank dungeon!”

Revi looked outraged. Earlia stared at her and then frowned.

“So?”

“So? So it’s dangerous you moronic—”

Revi was muffled by Ylawes as he moved to block her. The [Knight] smiled apologetically.

“I’m sorry Miss Earlia, but the dungeon is truly dangerous. A Silver-rank team should not enter it. Even we Gold-rank teams hesitate to venture further in unwary. The Halfseekers have been cooperating with Griffon Hunt to enter via one entrance for two months and they have still encountered many, many setbacks. It would not be right for us to let another team enter when so many have perished or unleashed horrors by mistake.”

Earlia heard Ylawes out, nodding and looking concerned. Then she shrugged.

“Thanks, but we didn’t come this way to turn back now. Gold-rank or not, we’re entering this dungeon.”

She tried to brush past Ylawes. He moved to block her. Earlia frowned and put a hand on her warhammer’s hilt.

“Hey. Stop joking around here.”

“We’re not.”

Jelaqua answered for the others. She folded her arms, her tail curling up around one leg.

“I know you came all this way, but you kids are in over your heads. We can’t let you enter the dungeon. And the Adventurer’s Guild and the city will back us.”

“Really?”

The Human and Gnoll adventurers looked at each other. Earlia stood straighter to confer with Nailren.

“Might be best to head in right now if the Adventurer’s Guild and the city’s going to cause a fuss.”

“Are you insane?”

Revi burst out. Earlia gave her an impatient look.

“Maybe? Move aside, Gold-ranks. We’re going in. My team and I did not ride for a month straight just to turn back now.”

“What about caution for your lives?”

Ylawes folded his arms. Earlia snorted.

“Caution is for Gold-rank teams, old man. We’ll never succeed if we hide and run from every challenge. Or have you forgotten what makes us adventurers?”

She jabbed a thumb at her chest.

“We know the dungeon’s above our pay grade. But that doesn’t mean we can’t handle it with luck and Skill. We’ll go in, get our measure of the place, and go out. We might get killed, we might not. But if we don’t try, who’ll conquer it? You lot? No thanks. There’s treasure down there and we mean to have it.”

“Exactly. We have come for the dungeon. It is wrong of you to try and stop us. If it is death we seek, let us find it and fight it with tooth and claw.”

Nailren growled and his team growled with him. The Gold-rank adventurers looked at each other uncertainly. Earlia tried to step around Ylawes and this time ran straight into Dawil.

“Hold on, Human. You may not know this, but the last group of adventurers set off the attack on Liscor.”

The others looked at him askance, but Dawil went on, never taking his eyes off of Earlia.

“They had no idea what they were doing, bumbling about. How’ll you lot account for the dead if you screw up?”

He looked up challengingly at Earlia and Erin held her breath. But the young woman didn’t so much as blink. She bent down and grinned toothily at Dawil.

“We’ll figure that out when it happens, Dwarf. But if we were good at planning ahead we wouldn’t be adventurers.”

Her team laughed at that, and cheered, lifting their weapons. Earlia looked around and raised her voice.

“We’re going in. Danger or not. We’re adventurers. Not Gold-rank. Not yet. And we’re not running from a challenge.”

Nailren nodded. His ears slowly flattened and he drew his bow.

“It is perhaps best we met you so we could say it to your faces first, no? We will not abide by your rules. We will enter ourselves. And if you would stop us, then try.”

The Silver-rank adventurers raised their weapons. The Gold-rank ones, the ones blocking the way, put a hand on theirs but looked uneasy about a fight. Earlia looked around and called out.

“You! Horns of Hammerad! Are you with us?”

The Horns of Hammerad jumped. Ceria looked at the Humans and Gnolls.

“Who? Us?”

“That’s right! We’re going in. Are you being held back by these Gold-rank teams too? Join us! We could fight down there together or join forces for reconnaissance!”

Ceria looked uncertainly at her team. Erin saw her hesitate, bite a lip. The [Innkeeper] watched as Ceria looked at the two Silver-rank teams, shining with confidence and bravado and hesitated. Ceria’s heart pounded. Her hands, flesh and skeletal, shook. Her mouth went dry.

Terror. Skinner dragged himself down the hallways, the armor of flesh on his body gaping at her. The undead charged forwards as Skinner’s red eyes shone at her. Ceria saw Gerial stride forwards, saw the hand descend. Calruz’s scream etched itself in her ears. The coffin’s stone lid was hard as she pressed her hands against it, trying not to scream.

“I—”

“We’re not letting you through. Any of you.”

Ylawes drew his sword and grabbed his shield. Earlia unslung her warhammer. The adventurers in the inn braced. Erin saw Moore glance at Jelaqua who nodded slightly and Falene stand up, grasping her staff. She saw Revi raise a wand and be yanked backwards by Halrac who said something to Typhenous. But all of that was a blur because Erin was running forwards. She leapt in front of Ylawes and Earlia.

“Stop!”

Her shout echoed in the inn and the pressure that went with it stayed all hands. Every eye fixed on Erin as she stood in front of the adventures. She turned around slowly and the pressure that had gripped everyone but Mrsha, Lyonette, and Apista faded.

“Wait one second. Put away your weapons. Listen.”

She looked at Earlia and Nailren. The two adventurer Captains stared at her with wide eyes. Erin took a deep breath.

“Look. You’ve just got here so let me lay this on you. Liscor is flooded. To get anywhere you need my magic door or a boat. And there are two entrances to the dungeon. One through the main entrance which is aboveground. But there’s tons of magical traps. It’s not been cleared yet. The other way’s through the underwater rift, which is what you’re suggesting. You’d need a boat to get out there, and you’d need to hold your breath just to sink all the way down. There are evil fish in the water. And if you get into the dungeon itself, the odds are you will be ambushed in the first five seconds.”

Earlia glanced at her team. She shook her head impatiently.

“Thanks Miss Innkeeper, but you can’t—”

“Wait.”

Erin’s command halted Earlia’s tongue. The [Innkeeper] took a deep breath and went on.

“The ambushers are Raskghar, the distant ancestors of Gnolls. They’re big, really strong, but can’t level. They can see in the dark and use poison-tipped arrows to shoot you from afar when you enter. That’s how a lot of teams have gotten killed or maybe captured.”

Nailren snarled softly.

“We know the Raskghar. It is one of the reasons why we came. To do battle against our ancient, traitorous brethren. They do not scare us.”

“Yeah? Well, watch out for them when you enter. Get a shield. And maybe try my patented, special magic food. Lyonette?”

Erin turned. Lyonette nearly tripped as she ran forwards with a bowl of what looked like blackened rocks mixed with limes. Erin offered it to Earlia and Nailren, who sniffed it dubiously.

“Free sample. Try it. It tastes awful.”

“Why would we want to try that?”

“Because it makes you stronger? Or how about my scale soup? I have another one that makes you warm even if you’re naked in the snow. I have magic food. It won’t last forever, but it’ll even the odds.”

Earlia hesitated and looked at Nailren. She lowered her warhammer a bit.

“That’s…useful. Are you telling us you’ll sell us the food?”

“And I’ll get you a boat and escort. I know where the dungeon is.”

“What? Erin, you can’t be serious!”

Jelaqua was outraged. The Selphid strode forwards.

“You’re planning on letting this lot enter?”

“Absolutely. And I’m going to need a copy of that map. Which I will buy from you and which other people can buy from me. If you need potions, Octavia can get you extras. And I’d get more because Raskghar are the least of your worries down there! There’s Flesh Worms, undead, giant metal armor dudes, this thing that collects heads—Selys will write up a list.”

“I will?”

Erin ignored Selys. She locked gazes with Earlia and Nailren, looking from face to face.

“It’ll all be here tomorrow. Information, transport, everything. You can find an inn in Liscor or Celum. I’ll keep my door open. Find an inn, get settled, and if you need to, talk with the Adventurer’s Guild. But regardless, come back here and I’ll help you get into the dungeon.”

“Erin!”

She spun and glared at Jelaqua.

“What?”

Jelaqua looked furious. She pointed at the Silver-ranked adventurers.

“You’re going to get those kids killed! This is insane, even for you. If you let them go in—”

“If I don’t they’ll find another way. Or are you planning on beating them up and locking them up?”

Erin challenged the Selphid. Jelaqua opened her mouth furiously and tried to come up with a response.

“We—”

She hesitated and looked at Ylawes and Halrac uncertainly. The [Knight] was scrubbing a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. Halrac folded his arms.

“Erin’s right.”

“Halrac! You too?”

The [Scout] nodded. Erin gave him a grateful look. She turned and faced the others.

“You can’t stop Silver-ranked teams from going in. That’s what being an adventurer is all about, right? However, I can help. This inn will be more than a place for people to rest. If adventurers are going into the dungeon, I’ll try and make sure they come back out.”

“You are insane.”

Revi poked a finger at Erin. She glared back.

“Oh yeah? You do something then! Go ahead and stop them. I’ll try and stitch you back together once the fight is over, but no promises! I’m bad with needles.”

The Stitch-Girl looked around helplessly, mouth open in outrage. But Erin knew she was right. Both The Pride of Kelia and Gemhammer were ready to fight. And they were right, in a way. Erin didn’t quite look at the Horns of Hammerad.

“Playing it safe is all very well, but if they want to enter the dungeon responsibly, that’s their call. All I can do is help. That’s why I’m an [Innkeeper], not an adventurer. With that said—”

She swung back to both teams and looked at them.

“Tomorrow. You don’t rush this. You get some sleep, figure out where you’re sleeping, and come back when you’re ready. You can try going now but I guarantee you that my magic stuff and maps and so on will help. Got it?”

Earlia and Nailren looked at her. It was the Human who lowered her sledgehammer first.

“You’re as crazy as they say. I like you! We’ll do it your way, Miss Erin. You wouldn’t happen to have any rooms for us, would you?”

Erin gave her a wide, relieved smile.

“Sorry. My Hobgoblins took all but two. I have a basement open if you can’t find any inns in Liscor, though. But I’m sure Celum has space.”

—-

Later, Erin found herself carefully writing on a piece of parchment with a quill and ink. It wasn’t easy. She had cramped handwriting and she had trouble getting it to look good, since it was meant to be read from afar. At last she gave up, had a smart idea, and went to get Lyonette.

“Why don’t you do it with your [Flawless Attempt]?”

That made everything incredibly easy. Erin watched with envy as Lyonette wrote huge words on the parchment, even managing to add a rough sketch in charcoal. When it was done, Erin plastered the parchment to the wall of her inn by the magic doorway. She paused.

“We might need a bulletin board. This works for now, though.”

Lyonette went to stand by her. She looked up and read the words she’d so carefully inscripted on the parchment.

Wanted. Information on the sightings of the Minotaur known as Calruz. He has one arm, possibly wields a battleaxe and is bad-tempered sometimes. Credible information provided under [Detect Truth] spell will be rewarded with 50 gold coins.

“Do you think it’ll work?”

“If adventurers are going down into the dungeon? Why not? This way they’ll all keep an eye out, even if they’re not actively looking. And I’m going to make sure they all come through my inn before they enter.”

Erin folded her arms and frowned with determination. Her ears still rang from her shouting match with Revi. But she knew she was right. The dungeon was a threat. It had to be entered. And adventurers would keep going in. And if they were going to go in, they might as well go in prepared.

The Gold-rank teams were smart. They were cautious. They planned ahead. But they were also sort of elitist. They wanted to keep the map, the information about the dungeon, and the right to enter to themselves. Erin understood that, but she knew it wasn’t practical. And if something wasn’t practical, what was the point? She nodded at Lyonette.

“Think the bridge is ready?”

“I think so. The Gnoll in charge told me it was nearly done.”

“Good! Then let’s check it out.”

Erin left the inn and stepped out into the rain. Still raining? Yup. Her cozy, well-lit inn was at odds with the downpour outside. Erin thought she might get more business if she let people from Liscor go to Celum or Pallass for a holiday in the sun. She stared down her hill to where the water met the land.

There was a bridge there. It was simple, made of wooden planks tied onto rope with two rope handrails. The bridge sat on the water and it stretched to a tall pole jutting out of the water. A hill, or the top of one. The [Builders] had anchored the bridge there and stretched it to another hill. Thus, the bridge zigzagged from the top of hill to hill until it reached the city.

“Weird. But they said it’s good, right?”

“It should be.”

Lyonette watched as Erin walked down the hill, slipping a bit with all the wetness, and reached the bridge. As Erin stepped onto the first plank she saw it sink into the water. Instantly, cold water filled the bottom of her indoor slippers.

“Gah! Cold!”

Still, Erin didn’t pull back. She took another step, further onto the bridge, letting it hold her weight. The bridge sunk a tiny bit as she stepped onto the wooden boards, but it was remarkably stable. Erin wiggled her toes and smiled.

“It’s so cool! It’s underwater but not! This is great!”

“It’s also dangerous.”

Lyonette observed as she stared across the bridge as it networked from hill to hill and then finally reached Liscor’s walls. From there one had to climb a ladder up to the battlements. She frowned at the rain-thrashed waters.

“Anything could still pop out. If you’re an Antinium or unprepared for a fight, it could be risky. I won’t let Mrsha go on the bridge and I think I’d prefer to use the magic door too.”

Erin nodded.

“Definitely. But this is a way for other people to get here. Look! I think we already have visitors!”

She pointed. In the distance, Drakes were headed across the bridge. Drakes and Gnolls and a few Humans. Lots of them. Dozens already and Erin suspected there would be more to come. Behind her, she could hear the inn humming with life. The Players of Celum had already set up and they were getting ready for The Triumph of Liscor performed by their second-string cast, before they put on Juliet and Romeo for the first time in her inn for Liscor’s crowd.

“Lyonette, I feel like we’re actually successful, don’t you?”

“If your inn becomes a hub for adventurers on top of a place where plays happen every night, I don’t see how it wouldn’t be.”

Lyonette smiled at Erin. The [Innkeeper] grinned back. She looked speculatively back at the inn and shivered as the rain drenched her.

“Think it’ll work?”

“What, the plan with the adventurers?”

“No. Yes. I mean, the plan to get them to overcome their fear.”

There was a reason Ylawes had stopped objecting. Erin sighed as she looked back up to the inn. Lyonette shook her head.

“I don’t know, Erin. They’ve been through so much. Do they have to do it? Wouldn’t it be kinder to let them—”

“What? Stay here? Keep talking about doing it and never go in? Calruz might be alive, Lyonette. If this is anything like a story—he is. It might be dangerous. They might die.”

Erin gulped as her throat suddenly closed. The thought of her friends dying made her want to cry. But she didn’t. She wiped rain out of her eyes instead and took a deep breath.

“But that’s what makes them adventurers.”

—-

The Drake stood on the balcony, dressed in rich, elegant clothing fit for a noblewoman. She looked down and spoke, her chin raised, her manner refined.

“If they do see thee they will murder thee.”

Below her, concealed in the bushes, a Human man looked up. His clothes were no less fine, but the colors muted. He had snuck here uninvited and his life was in as much jeopardy as she said. But he responded with brash confidence.

“Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye than twenty of their swords. Look thou but sweet, and I am proof against their enmity.”

His words made the Drake smile unwillingly. She opened a fan to conceal her expression and replied. Pisces didn’t have to hear her to know what she’d said. He’d watched Juliet and Romeo performed countless times in Celum. Wesle and Jasi had refined their craft since then, and they embodied the [Lord] and [Lady] they were supposed to be.

“A fine performance, wouldn’t you say?”

He glanced sideways at the others sitting at his table. Ceria looked up moodily from her beef casserole. She hadn’t set into it yet, which was uncharacteristic of the half-Elf; by her side, Yvlon’s plate was equally untouched. Ksmvr was shoveling down his food like there was no tomorrow.

“What? The play? There’s certainly enough people for it.”

She glanced around the room. Erin’s [Grand Theatre] Skill afforded her a room three times as big as a normal inn, already large. It was nearly packed by Drakes, Gnolls, and Humans. Celum’s theater-loving crowd had filled some seats, but Liscor’s citizenry had finally heard of the wonders of the stage and they had come to see what all the fuss was about. So far, they hadn’t been disappointed.

“A standing ovation for The Triumph of Liscor. Subpar writing, an unctuous display of patriotism—from Humans to Drakes, I note—only redeemed by the star of the cast. Me. What would be the appropriate response to a true work of art? Wild orgies in the streets?”

Yvlon snorted and then glared. Pisces smiled, pleased at himself. Ceria grinned unwillingly and then looked morose again. Ksmvr looked up.

“What are—”

“Later, Ksmvr.”

The Horns of Hammerad sat as they looked around the room. The Wandering Inn had risen fast, hadn’t it? From an empty house it was now a full one, and populated by movers and shakers and dancers as it were. Wall Lord Ilvriss was there, sitting with a group of Drakes. So were three Gold-rank teams, and now, three Silver-rank ones as well. The Pride of Kelia and Gemhammer had come back to eat and see the play and they were entranced. Ceria couldn’t take her eyes off them for different reasons. She played with her fork, spreading her cheese around the plate listlessly.

“Do you think they’re right, Pisces?”

He looked at her, distracted by the play.

“Hm? Ah, well, they are certainly forthright.”

“Confident to the point of suicide, perhaps.”

Yvlon frowned, looking at the Human team. She touched her arm unconsciously and Ceria glanced at her.

“Yeah. Yeah. The Gold-rankers certainly seem to think so. It’s just that they’re…well, they’re our level, aren’t they? Silver-rank. And they’re good too, according to what Selys managed to dig up on them.”

“Good isn’t enough for this dungeon.”

The armored [Wounded Warrior] spoke through tight lips. Ceria hesitated.

“Maybe. But they’re still willing to risk it. And here we are. We haven’t gone into the dungeon. It’s been a long time since Pisces told us that Calruz might be alive. So are we—I mean, am I—a coward?”

She choked on the words. Pisces looked up. Ksmvr stopped noshing and Yvlon turned.

“Ceria—”

“I’m the team leader. I was part of Calruz’ team! He was my leader. I should be telling us to go in now, but every time I want to, I freeze up. I know we have to move. I know, but—”

Ceria gestured at her hands. Pisces saw her skeletal hand, holding her fork. It was shaking so badly she could barely hold on. She tried to hold her hand with her other one, but they were both shaking. Ceria shook her head, tears springing to her eyes.

“I’m a coward! I shouldn’t be Captain. But I—I know what’s down there. I know. Things like Skinner. Maybe worse. I’m afraid, but I can’t back down! And you all need a leader! I shouldn’t be a Captain. I—”

“It’s my fault too.”

Yvlon grabbed Ceria’s arm. The half-Elf looked at her. Yvlon looked pained.

“I’m afraid too. I haven’t said anything. I agreed with you—because I lost too much too. I should have asked if we wanted to go in, really wanted to risk our lives. But I was afraid of looking cowardly. I was afraid of disappointing my brother. It’s not just you, Ceria. It’s…I’m scared.”

“I know. It’s not fair to ask you to go in. Not for Calruz. Not when we could die. When it’s so likely.”

Ceria looked at Yvlon, then at Pisces. He met her gaze and then fiddled with his utensils. Ksmvr looked around.

“But you are our Captain, Captain Springwalker. How else should we move, if not by your will?”

“Oh, Ksmvr. I can’t ask you to die for me. And this—I’m not worthy to do it.”

The half-Elf closed her eyes. She sat still as the play went on in the background. Pisces was still for a while, his eyes flicking to the play behind Ceria, and then he sighed.

“And yet, we follow you.”

Ceria looked up. Pisces pushed his plate back and looked at her, looked at Yvlon.

“You are afraid. You fear for our lives, rightly so. You have declined to enter the dungeon. Of course I was aware of this.”

“I was not.”

Ksmvr raised a hand. Everyone looked at him. Pisces cleared his throat.

“Friend Ksmvr. Now you are aware. By her own admission, Ceria calls herself a coward. Unfit for duty. Does that change your opinion of her? Of your position in the group?”

The Antinium cocked his head, thinking. He shook it.

“Never. If Captain Ceria and Yvlon fear to enter, command me. I will go in alone and find this Minotaur. I am part of the team. If my Captain fears, I will be fearless. If there is death, I will fight it.”

He looked around proudly and saw the pain in Ceria and Yvlon’s eyes. Ksmvr hesitated.

“What? You gave me purpose. You gave me a place. How could I offer you anything less?”

“Ksmvr.”

Ceria closed her eyes and Yvlon reached out to grab his hand. Pisces sniffed.

“Well spoken. For my part, I do not intend to die. But neither do I intend to leave this group. I have waited. The other teams prepare. Ceria, Yvlon. If you fear to enter the dungeon, say so. I will not think twice at walking away. But if you do not—”

Pisces’ eyes glittered.

“Then say so and we will follow you into that hell.”

“Even if we die?”

The [Necromancer]’s eyes shone in the dim lighting.

“I do not plan on dying. If you intend to order us to our deaths then by all means step down. But tell me there is a chance of victory and I will seize it. Point us to glory, Ceria. Did we not enter Albez ourselves? Are we adventurers or cowards? If we are the latter, why have we risked our lives and fought together? If we are the former, why are you afraid?”

A shock ran through the other three adventurers. The Horns of Hammerad looked up. Ceria felt strength return to her shaking hands. She made a fist and looked Pisces in the eye. There was a shining light there, a burning passion. She had seen it once before, in a younger man’s eyes. She felt her limbs stop shaking. She opened her mouth and heard a voice from the stage.

“If that thy bent of love be honourable, thy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow.”

Jasi bent to stage-whisper to Wesle. The Drake gave the Human a smile full of young, reckless love. Ceria heard a sigh from the Humans and nothing from the Drakes. And then a voice.

“A Drake marrying a Human? Outrageous!”

A shout broke through the sacred silence of the play. Wall Lord Ilvriss leapt to his feet, bursting with outrage. He tried to rush the stage. Two Hobgoblins ran to stop him.

“This play is a disgrace!”

“Disgusting!”

The Drakes in the audience were getting to their feet. Their beatific smiles were replaced by pure hostility as they hurled drinks and food at the shocked actors. The Humans in the crowd were stunned—until that shock turned to anger.

“What’s wrong with that? Let the girl marry him!”

“It’s not like we like your scaly faces either! Get lost you tailed freaks!”

The audience turned on each other. Shouting about the sanctity of Drake species turned into threats. The Drakes and Humans shook fists and claws and thrashed tails, and then began to hurl things at each other. From their seat the Horns of Hammerad didn’t see who threw the first punch, but as soon as it started a brawl broke out.

Drakes leapt onto tables and kicked Humans to the ground while Humans grabbed chairs, mugs, anything they could get their hands on. The five Hobgoblins began hitting Humans and Drakes alike but the angry mob was too far gone and they turned on the Goblins as well.

“Dead gods.”

Ceria was shocked by the sudden turn of events. She saw Erin trying to restore order—right until someone hurled their plate of spaghetti in her face. On the stage the Players of Celum defended themselves as Drakes rushed at them. Ceria got to her feet and saw the adventurers in the room get mixed up in the fighting too.

Jelaqua was already defending herself from angry Drakes who were using this moment to object in no uncertain terms to her using a Drake’s body. Moore was a target purely based on his size. Ylawes had gotten into a brawl by trying to break it up. Griffon Hunt was standing against the walls as was The Pride of Kelia, but Gemhammer was already on their feet. Earlia punched a Drake, laughing as her friends upended their table for cover from the flying projectiles.

“Whoa. This inn is great!”

The Horns tended to disagree. They were sitting at a far wall, but the fighting was spreading fast. Yvlon spotted Ishkr pulling Drassi back to the kitchen while he tried to shield himself with a platter.

“What a mess!”

There were multiple sides. Drakes, Humans, the Gnolls who seemed keen to either escape or fight indiscriminately, and Erin’s faction. They were badly outnumbered, however. Yvlon saw Headscratcher vault over a table and kick Ilvriss in the chest. The Wall Lord roared, punched the Hobgoblin, and then was struck on the back of the head by an angry [Actor].

Ilvriss turned, decked the Human with a single blow and then grabbed a chair. Headscratcher was borne to the ground by a trio of Humans, but they all staggered as a piece of firewood cracked into their backs. Erin lowered her hands and strode forwards. The Horns could hear her shouting angrily.

“I just bought those. Can I go for one month without my inn being wrecked? One month?”

The Hobgoblins rushed to protect her as Erin expertly poked a man in the eyes and kneed him in the groin. [Bar Fighting] at its best. Ceria shook her head.

“We’ve got to get in there.”

“You’re sure?”

Yvlon and Pisces looked at her. Ceria hesitated. She looked at the other two. She wasn’t talking just about the fight. She smiled ruefully.

“Yeah. I’m sure. Glory? Wealth? Power? I want all those things. I’ll be honest. This thing scares the crap out of me. We lost once. But we have a friend who might be in there. This is about more than pride, more than fear. This is personal. Let’s go kick some teeth in.”

Ceria shook as she spoke. But she was right. She looked at her friends helplessly. She was afraid—until she saw their faces. Pisces smiled and Yvlon grinned ruefully. They nodded and Ceria felt warm inside. Ksmvr stood straight and nodded.

“Well said! I will be the first to fight!”

“Wait, what? Ksmvr! I was talking about—”

The Antinium didn’t hear her. He charged into the melee, received a [Minotaur Punch] from Erin and spun once before a pair of burly Drakes smashed him to the ground.

“Cat guts! I’m going to get him!”

“Get Lyonette too!”

Ceria saw a frightened Gnoll running through the feet, being pursued by Lyonette. A Drake woman tried to attack the [Barmaid] and received a flawless counter in return. Lyonette ran after Mrsha as Apista flew overhead, bravely stinging everything and anyone she could find. Yvlon nodded.

“I’ll get Ksmvr! You get Mrsha and the others!”

“Got it!”

No one had drawn blades yet although there were a lot of pieces of wood and jagged glass being waved around. Ceria knew that bearing steel would make the brawl a lot deadlier. Still, that didn’t mean she was going in weaponless. She made a club of ice with one hand and charged with Yvlon with a shout.

Pisces stayed back. He ducked a thrown tankard and observed the chaos at his table. He sighed. Good art had been ruined once more. Well, it was to be expected. He watched his teammates enter the fighting and rolled his eyes. But he couldn’t help but contain a smile. He muttered to himself, so softly no one else would hear.

“It’s about time.”

Then he grinned, disappeared with an [Invisibility] spell, and entered the fray. Twelve seconds later Ilvriss kicked him over a table. The Wall Lord shifted one of the rings on his clawed hand and grunted.

“Damn [Mages].”

He turned and Erin punched him in the stomach.

5.28

Erin stood in her wrecked inn and looked around. Broken chairs, upended tables, spilled drinks and food marked what had been a very nice setup. She stared aimlessly at a chair lying on the ground with only one remaining leg and then spotted an unconscious Drake lying behind it. She stared around at the comatose bodies, the broken wood, and shook her head.

She knew it was traditional. In stories, that was. She knew it was normal for drunk people to be violent. Sometimes. But, and here was the thing…not everyone who drank got violent. In fact, the aggressive drunks quickly learned that there were some fights you shouldn’t pick. Especially in an inn with Hobgoblin bouncers. And in a world where healing potions cured all wounds but didn’t regrow teeth…being a jerk was a dangerous proposition.

“But here we are.”

Erin kicked at a mug and watched it skitter across the floor. Someone groaned. Erin ignored the sound. Right, so bar fights were traditional. And this wasn’t even the worst aftermath Erin had had to clean up. Just this month the inn had been full of dead moths for crying out loud! Alcohol stains were a lot more pleasant to wipe away than moth blood.

Still, she didn’t have to like it. And she really didn’t. Erin wondered how much it would cost to replace all her tables and chairs again. She mentally added up the damages of broken plates, mugs, bent silverware, and so on until someone interrupted her train of thought.

“So who won?”

“Huh?”

She looked back over her shoulder. Relc was clumsily scribbling on a piece of parchment as he stood amidst the debris. Relc and five other [Guardsmen]—and three [Guardswomen]—had come after the fight had ended. They were now tossing people through the door to Liscor where the rain would wake up the unhappy unconscious Drakes, or forcing their Human counterparts to wait until the door could take them to Celum.

Almost all of the injured guests were Human or Drake and it was telling that Relc was one of only three Drakes that Zevara had sent to clean things up. The Gnolls had stayed out of the fighting by and large and had left peacefully once the fight had ended.

“Well?”

Relc clumsily dipped his quill in the inkpot he held in one huge clawed fist as he stared at Erin. She stared back.

“Who won?”

“Yeah. There’s gotta be a winner in a fight like this, right? I’m so annoyed I missed it!”

The Drake looked around enviously, noting how many unconscious bodies were still there. Erin’s inn had been able to hold several dozen people comfortably within its walls before she obtained the [Grand Theatre] Skill and the room had been packed when the fight broke out. In fact, some people still hadn’t quite realized it was over. Relc spotted a Drake getting to his feet. The drunk Drake looked around, spotted a Human, and lurched towards Erin. Relc turned, punched the Drake off his feet and grinned in satisfaction before turning back to Erin.

“Come on, Erin. Don’t leave me hanging. This is for the report!”

“Well…”

Erin had to think back on the night’s events. Her gaze slid sideways towards the door as it opened. Oh. Griffon Hunt was leaving. They didn’t have a scratch on them. Whereas the Halfseekers had retired to their room with bruises, and both Gemhammer and the Horns of Hammerad had stumbled away looking for healing potions after they’d been woken up.

“I guess if you had to say anyone won, it was Wall Lord Ilvriss and his lot.”

“Really?”

Erin nodded.

“He was the one who started the fight. And he kept it going. He took out Headscratcher, Badarrow, Pisces, Ylawes…all with his bare hands!”

“Claws.”

“Yeah. But he didn’t use his claws. I knew he was good because he was a Wall Lord and all, but he was good. The adventurers aren’t good with fighting with their hands. And all his cronies beat down anyone who attacked him. But still; he was knocking everyone around while I tried to get people to safety.”

What a mess that had been. Erin vaguely recalled punching Ilvriss in the stomach before Ceria and Yvlon had charged him to rescue her. Then it had been trying to restore order with her friends and employees while the main fighting burnt itself out. Erin scowled.

“We did a good job, but even four Hobgoblins had trouble keeping everything contained! In the end everything stopped once eighty percent of the people were knocked out.”

“Yeah, that generally happens in a fight. But what about the Wall Lord guy? I can’t imagine he’d stop fighting just because everyone else was down. I’d have tried to take out everyone standing and then run for it before the Watch showed up.”

Erin glanced sideways at Relc.

“Aren’t you…”

He stared at her expectantly. She decided not to ask and continued.

“Well, he was winning right up until he wasn’t. Mrsha was running around and she nearly got hurt. So then Moore got mad. He grabbed a table and started hitting people with it! Gently. I think Ilvriss tried to stop him—Moore picked him up and threw him across the room. That’s the wall he hit.”

Erin pointed at one of her walls. Relc peered at it. There wasn’t any visible damage thanks to another of Erin’s Skills, but there was a suspicious stain halfway up the wall, as if someone had thrown up a bit when they’d been hurled full-force into the wall. He grinned.

“Awesome.”

The young woman glared at him. Relc raised his claws innocently.

“What? It is! That is one of the coolest bar fights I’ve heard of in a while! And it started because they didn’t like your play?”

“Yup. They didn’t like it. Not one bit.”

Erin sighed. This entire affair had begun over Juliet and Romeo, a slightly updated take on the Shakespearian classic. Unfortunately, one of the updates had been casting a Drake as Juliet and a Human as Romeo. Both Wesle and Jasi had managed to escape the bar fight without many injuries, but the Players of Celum were understandably upset. Erin looked helplessly at Relc.

“Tell me I’m not going to have to replace all of my broken stuff? Please?”

“Nah, you’re cool.”

Relc finished scribbling on the piece of parchment, blew on it, and then tucked it into his leather armor. He waved a claw around carelessly as more people started waking up. It was just past dawn.

“Standard procedure is for us to compensate you for all your broken stuff. Fine the perpetrators all something or toss them in jail if they can’t pay. But since Wall Lord Ilvriss started the fight, we’ll probably just charge him.”

“Just like that?”

“He’s rich. And it’s easier that way.”

Relc shrugged nonchalantly. He spotted Ilvriss getting up—the Wall Lord had used a healing potion and so he looked furious but no worse for the wear. The Drake was having the rest of his retainers pick up the unconscious ones or kick the rest awake as Relc called out to him.

“Hey Wall Lord! We’ll tally the damages and send you a bill for it later, okay?”

Ilvriss looked up. He glared at Erin and shouted back, making most of the unconscious patrons groan and wake up.

“Do what you want! As for, you, Human—”

He jabbed a claw at Erin.

“That play is a disgrace! I demand it be changed!”

“No! Go away, you jerk!”

Erin shook a fist angrily at Ilvriss. She pointed back to her trashed stage.

“That was an innocent love story! What’s wrong with a Human loving a Drake?”

Ilvriss didn’t even deign to respond. His tail curled in contempt as he turned away.

“No self-respecting Drake in Liscor will visit your inn until that bile is taken off the stage! Out of my way!”

He stormed through the door to Liscor, glaring death at Numbtongue who was watching him and the other Drakes. The Hob had a table leg gripped in one hand. Erin shouted at Ilvriss’ back as he walked out into the night and rain.

“Yeah, go ahead and boycott my inn! It won’t be the first time!”

She turned back towards Relc and tried to shrug dismissively.

“He’ll come back after a week or something. No big deal.”

Relc looked skeptical as he glanced around the inn.

“I dunno about that. Drakes like Ilvriss get really touchy about stuff like that play. More than even getting insulted. You might lose a lot of Drake customers. Some Gnolls maybe.”

“So? I can manage. I’ve been a pariah before.”

Erin sighed. She felt tired, cranky, and she wanted to sleep. She gave Relc a pleading look.

“Look, is there anything else?”

He grinned.

“Nope! Looks open and shut to me. We’ll toss the rest of our people out and you can let the poor Humans go to Celum. Oh, and Erin?”

She turned, already heading over to Headscratcher so he could help expedite the cleanup process. She looked at him expectantly and Relc smiled again.

“Next time you put on that play, mind inviting me first? I’d love to bring a few of my buddies. Uh, but don’t tell Embria.”

Erin gave him a blank look. Then she turned and walked away. As she passed by an unconscious Human she kicked him in the side. Sort of gently.

—-

The next day Griffon Hunt and the Pride of Kelia returned to The Wandering Inn for a standing breakfast. There were some tables, but since Mrsha and Lyonette occupied one with the Halfseekers, the Goblins had the second, and there weren’t enough chairs for the third, they elected to stand.

“We should have eaten somewhere else.”

Revi grumbled until Typhenous cast a spell that created a rotating disc of shimmering air for the others to put their bowls and cups onto. The Gold-rank adventurers ate in silence, eying the Pride of Kelia as the nine Gnolls munched on fatty bacon and sniffed the air.

“Still planning on entering the dungeon?”

Nailren looked up and grinned toothily at Revi, ignoring her acerbic tone of voice.

“A bar fight will not stop our team, Miss Revi. We await Gemhammer’s decision, but we will enter the dungeon today regardless of whether we will be joined. We invite you as well, if you wish it.”

“Bah.”

Revi turned away and scowled at Halrac. He shook his head and Nailren nodded. The adventurers looked up and saw Erin hurry over with a plate of hot bacon.

“Sorry! Ow! Sorry! This is hot off the stove! Don’t grab for it, Mrsha! Anyone want seconds?”

Hands were raised across the inn. Erin came over to Griffon Hunt and placed a rasher of bacon on Halrac’s plate. The [Scout] grunted his thanks.

“So…I hear that Gemhammer’s resting up, but they’ll be coming to the inn around lunch and then going to the dungeon after they eat my horrible magic food. What are you guys doing?”

The [Innkeeper] slid into the conversation with all the grace of a bloated wyvern. Typhenous smiled and accepted a single slice of greasy bacon to go with his bread as he replied.

“Ah, thank you Miss Solstice. I believe we will continue our job. That is, untrapping the dungeon’s main entrance with the Halfseekers. If they’re recovered?”

He glanced at the three non-Humans. Jelaqua waved a claw, grinning.

“We’re good! Moore’s the only one who got hurt and that was only after the Drakes rushed him. I’d be more worried about the Silver Swords!”

“My brother’s fine.”

Yvlon spoke quietly from her seat. She kept adjusting the gauntlets on her arms, tapping at them and grimacing. By her side, Ceria was sharpening her dagger on a whetstone while Ksmvr ate. Pisces was reading from a spellbook. They looked like normal on the surface, but the [Necromancer]’s leg was jiggling and Ksmvr was gobbling his food a bit too fast.

“We’re planning on entering the dungeon too. Today, I mean.”

Ceria met Nailren’s eyes. The Gnoll nodded at her.

“Interesting. We would welcome a joint expedition. Unless you plan on entering through the trapped area?”

Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers frowned, but Ceria shook her head. She cast her head sideways and glanced at Pisces who stopped reading.

“We shall be using a different entrance.”

“A what?”

All the adventurers stared at Pisces. He sniffed smugly, clearly enjoying the situation. Revi leaned over and hissed at Halrac as Erin hurried into the kitchen, muttering about buying chairs in bulk from Celum.

“Another way in? How in the name of quilting did someone find—you don’t think they’ve got a leg up on us, do you?”

Halrac shook his head, his eyes flicking from Pisces’ face to Ceria’s nervous motions.

“If they have another entrance it doesn’t matter. We’re all entering the dungeon from different areas and no one knows where our objective is. They’ll be uncertain of their backs and that’s more dangerous than our route.”

“But we’re still untrapping—”

Revi broke off as the door opened. Watch Captain Zevara strode in—not from the magic door, but from the regular entrance that now led across the water. She shook water off her boots onto the rug as Erin poked her head out of the kitchen.

“Uh oh. Here comes trouble.”

“Not yet, Human.”

Zevara looked tired but resigned as she met Erin in the inn, looking around. The first thing she handed Erin was a bag of coins—payment for her broken furniture. Erin’s eyes went round.

“Wow, you’re sure? But I’m not a part of Liscor! Am I?”

The Watch Captain shrugged.

“You are not. But the fight was started by citizens of the city and Wall Lord Ilvriss. And Drake law is clear—we compensate business owners for damage.”

Erin eyed the Watch Captain.

“What about Krshia?”

The Drake looked blank.

“What about her? We compensated her for her shop and goods. As much as we could after appraising the magical items the thief—er, Miss Lyonette’s seized possessions. We don’t pay out of the city’s funds.”

“But what about the—”

Erin hesitated. She bit her tongue as Zevara peered at her suspiciously.

“Well, thanks! I guess Ilvriss has a lot of money.”

“He is a Wall Lord. What about Miss Krshia?”

“Nothing! So, why are you here, Watch Captain? Just to give me money?”

The Drake grunted, folding her arms and peering at Erin. After a while she gave up and shrugged.

“No, I am also investigating the cause of last night’s disturbance. This play. I’ve received a petition with a thousand signatures on it already. Can you arrange a viewing for me? Or recreate the offending scene?”

Erin sucked in her lips.

“Maybe. Let me see if I can find Wesle. If not…well, I’m no [Actor] but I could give it a shot.”

As it happened, Erin was able to send Lyonette into the city and locate Wesle within ten minutes thanks to Mrsha’s nose. By the time breakfast was over and the Halfseekers were conferring with Griffon Hunt, they saw Zevara watching Erin and Wesle acting out the controversial scene in question. The Watch Captain watched as Erin waved down at Wesle with a handkerchief and shook her head. Then the [Innkeeper] and [Actor] turned anxiously to Zevara. She looked at both of them and sighed.

“It’s not offensive.”

Both Humans sighed in relief. Watch Captain Zevara swished her tail as she studied Erin.

“This was played by a Drake, wasn’t it? Not offensive. Or rather, it’s not something I’d arrest anyone over. You can continue putting the play on. Just don’t expect many Drake visitors. Particularly the male ones. And consider staying out of the city for a day or two. There’s an uproar about the content of the play already.”

“Those jerks!”

Erin scowled, but Zevara had already turned her attention to the two Gold-rank teams. The Halfseekers were getting ready to go and Griffon Hunt was already at the door. The Watch Captain stared at the fiery golden breastplate Jelaqua was carefully putting on.

“So Miss Selys really did lease the Heartflame Breastplate.”

“That’s right.”

Jelaqua turned, her pale body illuminated by the magical glow of the artifact. Every head in the room turned towards her. Zevara stared and then coughed.

“I’m told your group is entering the dungeon today? As is a pair of Silver-rank teams and the Horns of Hammerad?”

She stared at the other adventurers who looked wary. Jelaqua nodded carefully.

“That’s right. Do you have a problem with that?”

Zevara hesitated before grimacing and shaking her head.

“I’ve consulted with the Adventurer’s Guild and Guildmistress Tekshia has declined to intervene. I will do the same on a few conditions.”

She turned her head and stared around the room, finding each team leader’s eyes, save for the absent Silver Swords and Gemhammer.

“I don’t care if you lot live or die down in the dungeon. That’s not my role. But the defense of the city is my role, and that means that if you wake up anything in the dungeon, I will hold you accountable for whatever comes out. This is classified information, but a Silver-rank team was responsible for the attack on Liscor.”

Zevara waited for a response, but even the Pride of Kelia didn’t react. Revi rolled her eyes.

“We know. We told you.”

The Watch Captain silenced her with a withering look. She turned up her glare a few notches.

“You have a responsibility as adventurers. I want a [Message] spell sent to the local Mage’s Guild the instant you find anything…extremely dangerous. Something that could threaten Liscor. I don’t care about treasure or adventuring secrets—if there’s something down there like the moths I expect to hear about it.”

She stared around and then grudgingly nodded.

“Please.”

With that, she turned and strode out of the room. Erin looked around as Wesle walked back through the door to Celum. She smiled anxiously.

“So that was nice. You’re all going in then, huh?”

“We’re going right now. Good luck to you.”

Halrac nodded at the other adventurers. The Pride of Kelia came over to shake his hand. Typhenous touched staffs with a Gnoll wearing beads and feathers. A [Shaman]? The Halfseekers did likewise and Jelaqua grabbed Ceria’s hand.

“You stay behind the Silver Swords. They’re good. I’ve seen them in action. It’s never wrong to retreat.”

Ceria nodded, trying not to let her hands shake. To everyone’s surprise, Revi hugged the half-Elf fiercely and then did the same to Nailren.

“Don’t you dare die, you idiotic rookies. I hate having to learn new names.”

She left them at that. Griffon Hunt lined up next to the door to Liscor and the Halfseekers stepped over to join them. Moore looked at the small doorway with dismay and ducked his head.

“Everyone set?”

Halrac glanced over. The others nodded. Erin cleared her throat as she set the door to Liscor.

“I’m going with you.”

The room went silent. Ksmvr choked on his bacon and Ceria nearly fell out of her chair. Erin looked around.

“Just to the entrance. I want to see. I’ll be back to see off the others.”

“Oh come on.”

Revi grumbled, but Halrac studied Erin’s face. She met his eyes and he nodded briefly.

“Come, then.”

Then he opened the door and stepped out into the rain.

—-

The rain fell over Liscor. Unending. A torrent. It seemed some days as though it would never stop. But it would. It had been part of Liscor’s history since the city had been founded. And though the residents quickly grew accustomed to the gray skies, the never-ending background roar, the flooded waters, they never quite forgot the memory of clear skies. Of the sun.

And they were on the streets. Moving from building to building in clumps, or just giving up and letting the rain soak them. The Drakes and Gnolls of Liscor walked in a miserable fugue until they saw the fire.

It walked down the street. A burning, catching the eye. Light. Heat. A Drake walked forwards, her breastplate gleaming as her body burned. The Heartflame Breastplate shone as the Selphid walked down the street. But she was not alone.

A half-Giant walked by her side, his back stooped, a giant staff in his hands. He towered above the tallest Gnolls, made the fiercest warriors think twice about their strength. And in his shadow a Drowned Man dressed in black flickered between shadows. His hands never left the enchanted daggers at his side. One Human hand, one crustacean claw.

Next to them walked a man with a scowl on his face. An unfriendly Human, but one that attracted as many looks as the Heartflame Breastplate. Because his face was a hero’s. His bow did not shine but the arrows stowed in his quiver were magical. He walked silent through the rain. By his side strode a Stitch-Girl, tugging at the strings holding together her body. Next to her strode an old Human, white bearded, his eyes shining with magic.

Six adventurers. They walked out of a door at the western gates, headed straight through the center of the city without pause. The streets cleared before them. It wasn’t a conscious thing. It was simply instinct. The citizens of Liscor watched the Gold-rank adventurers pass and felt the rain intensify as they passed. And they felt a chill. Of excitement? Or fear? It was impossible to say, but the passing of the adventurers struck a chord in those who saw them.

And behind them tripped a young woman, almost unnoticed by the crowds. She followed the adventurers to the northern gates—to the battlements and down a ladder, actually. There was another rope bridge leading north across the waters. The young woman stepped cautiously onto the bridge, watching her feet sink into the waters. Then she looked out at the distant plume of earth visible amid the flooded plains. She followed the adventurers as they headed across the bridge, looking around carefully for dangerous maritime life.

“Whoop, whoop. Whoa.”

Erin unsteadily walked across the bridge as it shifted slightly underwater. The footing was surprisingly firm given the downpour, but the dark skies and the way the bridge would sometimes move underfoot was unnerving. After a while, Revi glanced behind her and muttered to her companions.

“Why do we have to put up with her?”

The Halfseekers ignored her. So did Revi’s team at first. Her complaining was something they had gotten used to. But Halrac turned his head back to answer as they drew closer to the mound of earth guarded by a platoon of [Guardsmen] from Liscor.

“Because she’s helped us before. And because she sells us magical food cheap.”

“Ah. Right.”

Revi grimaced and tugged at her tongue as if she wanted to pull it out. Erin wondered if she actually could. Stitch-People did weird things. The Scale Soup she’d served the adventurers was certainly effective—according to Moore it was like a lesser [Barkskin] spell. But it was also about as appealing as eating a bunch of fish scales mixed with glue, which, it had to be said, were major components of the actual soup. Now her stitch-flesh was tough enough to withstand cuts from an unenchanted dagger. But it was still unpleasant.

“So that’s the entrance to the dungeon?”

Erin called out as she followed Griffon Hunt. Ramparts made out of dirt and stone had been constructed at the end of the water bridge. And in behind them, a large gaping tunnel lead down into the earth. Drakes and Gnolls stood on the battlements, staring into the depths or peeking back at the approaching adventurers.

“That’s right. The Antinium dug up the ground around the entrance. It hasn’t begun to leak yet.”

Jelaqua called over her shoulder. Erin stared at the drenched fortifications ahead. She remembered the entrance sitting out in the open, surrounded by adventurers and [Merchants] eager to explore it.

Now the dungeon was a small dirt fort surrounded by water, abandoned by all but a few groups of adventurers. There was no sense of curiosity or excitement surrounding it anymore. It sat wetly in the pouring rain, the dark opening waiting. In that, Erin thought she liked the dungeon more now. It looked like what it was. A trap.

“Well, here we are. I don’t think you want to come further. You can go back now.”

Revi looked pointedly at Erin as the others began climbing the ramp leading up to the dungeon. The [Innkeeper] looked at the Stitch-Girl.

“You be careful, okay? If you’re in trouble send a [Message].”

“As if you could do anything about it.”

The [Summoner]’s harsh words were betrayed by the way she let Erin hug her. She patted Erin awkwardly on the shoulder and headed into the dungeon.

“Better not hug me. I’m on fire.”

Jelaqua grinned at Erin. She nodded and the girl tried to smile. Moore was next. Erin grabbed his hand. Typhenous let Erin hug him and Halrac merely nodded. Erin looked around and frowned.

“Seborn?”

“Here.”

She jumped. The Drowned Man stood behind Erin. The Human half of his face looked unreadable as ever. Erin looked at Seborn and tried to smile.

“So you’re going in. Are you nervous?”

“We’ve done this dozens of times before. Don’t worry about us.”

“So I should worry about the others? Will they be okay?”

Seborn paused as he checked his daggers. The others were talking with the [Guardsmen] on the ramparts.

“No one’s ever not nervous. But I think we’re determined to make progress today.”

“Because of what the others said?”

The Drowned Man half-smiled. It was a strange look, watching half his face twist while the other half remained still.

“Let’s just say that they reminded us we’re not alone. It’s not pleasant, being called a coward.”

“They didn’t say—”

“They didn’t need to. And they’re right, in a way.”

“Really?”

Erin had never heard Seborn talk this much. It was a sign of nerves. The Drowned Man nodded as he drew an enchanted dagger that sent a fiery spark into the waters.

“We could be more aggressive. It’s true. What the Pride of Kelia and Gemhammer are doing is dangerous. Exceptionally so. But it’s not more than what we did when we were Silver-rank.”

“You did stuff like that?”

An obvious question. But Erin just wanted to let Seborn talk. He nodded.

“Silver-rank teams risk their lives to reach the level of Gold-rank adventurers. We’re more cautious with our lives because we have that much more to lose. It is cowardly, but it’s why we get to keep on living. Sometimes though, we have to remember to be bold. That’s what makes us Gold-rank. Not cowardice.”

“And Named Adventures? What makes them?”

Seborn paused. He looked at Erin and his gaze was…sad.

“They’re the ones who never stopped diving into the abyss. Some of them are heroes. Most are just insane.”

He turned.

“Thank you for coming. I think the others appreciate it more than they’ll say. We’ve done this dozens of times, but adventurers are superstitious too.”

“Hey.”

Erin stopped him as Seborn went for the entrance. He turned and she held out a hand.

“Come back safe.”

He blinked at her. He shifted his dagger but she waggled her hand. Slowly, the Drowned Man held out his claw hand. With exquisite care he closed the crab-like hand over Erin’s. She shook it, feeling the cold, hard shell under her skin. Seborn looked at her and then smiled.

“We truly were thankful to meet you. Keep a table open. I still like seafood, you know.”

Then he turned and walked up the ramp. Erin watched him go. The first group entered the dungeon. The second departed at lunch.

—-

“We’re good. Thanks, Miss Solstice.”

“You’re sure?”

“We’ve got boats. We’ve got rocks to sink with—hell, we could probably do it with what we’re carrying. If we get chewed up on the way down that’s that. But we bought a potion of water breathing and we’ll share it between us so we can get back up if we miss our target.”

“Indeed. Thank you for the soup.”

“I dunno if you should thank me. It’s awful, I know.”

“I’ve never found a potion that tasted great.”

Earlia smiled as she balanced in the rocking boat. Her team was already sitting and there were two more boats. Both were crewed by Drakes hired from Liscor. They were going to head straight for the rift.

“Like Zevara said, send a [Message] if you’re in trouble. You can use that spell, right?”

“Our [Gem Mage] can. Not sure about the Pride’s [Shaman] but we’ll stick together. This is just testing the waters. Maybe more if we get rolling. Alright, we’ve got to go before the boats fill up.”

Earlia nodded to Erin and headed to her boat. Nailren smiled at her.

“Do not be so anxious. Not for our sakes. We are acquaintances, yes? You barely know us.”

“I want to get to know you more. Come back, okay?”

“If we can, we will.”

The Gnoll’s eyes were calm but he gripped Erin’s hand tighter than he had before as he stepped towards the boats. She saw them cast off into the waters.

There were no waves. Only the churning rain. So the boats moved fairly quickly despite the load as the Drake [Rowers] carried the adventurers across the Floodplains. They attracted less attention. They did not shine. But a good number of Liscor’s population were on the walls. They cast fishing lines into the water or sat on the battlements as a social thing beneath temporary canopies. They watched the adventurers head to the rift in silence.

Silence and trepidation. The two teams looked so few in number and the waters swallowed their vessels the further away they got. They floated out further on the waters, where things lurked in the depths. The sky, the mountains around Liscor were tall. But how far down did the waters go? Uncertainty filled the hearts of many. But there were still some, children and adults both who stared at the Silver-rank teams with admiration as well as fear.

They dropped into the water as Erin watched. First one, and then in groups of three. Vanishing below without a trace. The boat Drakes watched the ripples fade and then rowed away. They would come back if the adventurers sent a request via spell. If they were contacted.

And then there was nothing. Erin went back into her inn and felt trepidation. She looked at the last group, at Ksmvr helping check Yvlon’s armor, at Pisces trying to fight Mrsha for her wand and then giving up despite Ceria’s scolding, at Ylawes rubbing his head and Dawil joking with Falene and her not joking back.

“Are you sure?”

“It’s time.”

Ceria hugged Erin, and then Lyonette, and then Mrsha. The Gnoll clung to her, not wanting to let go. She howled as the Horns of Hammerad walked outside. Not to go to Liscor, but to a pair of waiting boats. These ones had no Drakes attached—they’d been leased for the day. Yvlon was next. She held Erin’s hands, smiling.

“We’ll make it. This time is different.”

“I know. I know.”

Erin squeezed gently, trying not to look at Yvlon’s arms. Beneath their gauntlets they looked normal. But metal had become part of her flesh. And that had been in Albez. What would happen…?

“I will defend my team with my life. But I will not die and abandon them.”

Ksmvr nodded at Erin. She hugged him.

“That’s good. Just be careful, okay?”

“Caution is not always a valid strategy.”

She laughed. Next came Ylawes, Dawil, Falene. She didn’t know them as well so they didn’t try to hug her or shake her hand. But they smiled at her.

“We’ll take care of them, Miss Solstice.”

For once Falene’s touch of superiority was comforting. Erin looked at Ylawes.

“Be a good brother, okay?”

“I will try.”

He saluted her. Dawil thrust him aside.

“I’ll take a hug, thanks. It’s nice to be shorter! Humans are at a comfortable level for my head!”

He laughed raucously as Ylawes covered his face and Falene looked disgusted. Dawil’s head was at breast-height. The Dwarf meant it as a joke, but Erin hugged him fiercely anyways.

“You silly Dwarf! Come back and I’ll give you another hug.”

“Ah, lass. I’ve no intention of biting it in this dungeon. Dwarves prefer to die in stone. Which this dungeon has, mind you. But there’s too much water for my tastes. Keep a keg ready when we get back!”

And that was that. The Silver Swords walked out. Pisces was the last one. He stood, looking paler than usual. He smiled at Erin.

“Well Miss Solstice? Will you wish me well?”

“Of course I will.”

Erin hugged him. Pisces looked surprised.

“It feels like we met long ago. But it was not too long that I was threatening you for food, wasn’t it?”

“It does feel like that! And I don’t know why I’m making such a big deal of all this! Just come back, okay?”

Erin sniffed into Pisces’ robes. The [Necromancer] squeezed her ever so hesitantly and then stepped back.

“That you care matters. And this is the first time we are entering the dungeon. I…I will promise you this. It will not be the last.”

He turned and then hesitated. Pisces seemed to fight with himself for a moment and then turned back.

“We will be well.”

He left with that. No smug comments, no arrogance. Erin knew he really was worried. She sniffed as the Horns cast off with the Silver Swords following.

No one watched them go. A few people saw them head out but when they headed away from the dungeon’s rift, they assumed the adventurers weren’t bound for the dungeon. There were more boats cautiously fishing with nets and hooks in the water. The two teams passed all of them by. They headed north, past the city and then towards a hill partially submerged in rain. The adventurers disappeared into the crypt, a spot almost forgotten. The horrors of Skinner were long vanquished. What reason had they to be there? Only Erin knew. She watched as they went. Then she turned.

Lyonette was holding Mrsha as the Gnoll sniffed. Drassi was staring out into the rain anxiously. Behind them, the five Redfang Goblins looked restless. They straightened as Erin looked at them.

“Do you want to go in there too?”

They didn’t respond. But Headscratcher met Erin’s eyes for a second and then looked away. She nodded.

“Wait.”

That was all they could do. So Erin sat at her table. Then she got up and pointed.

“I’m going out. Lyonette, wait there. I’ll be back. I need to set something up. Drassi, how would you like to be paid to sit and talk with people for an entire day?”

“Ooh, what did you have in mind?”

Erin opened the door to Liscor. She stepped out into the rain and strode through the streets. She was waiting. And in the dungeon three teams stepped into the darkness. And the darkness was waiting.

—-

Three groups entered the dungeon. The first halted at a door tagged with glowing chalk. They formed up, Seborn and Halrac in front. The Drowned Man had a dagger in his hands. Halrac had an arrow glowing with frost drawn.

“Let’s begin.”

Behind the two trap experts stood Typhenous and Jelaqua. Revi and Moore brought up the rear. Seborn held up a hand as he inspected the door. They’d come through this door countless times but he still checked it. Not just for traps; for signs someone had opened it.

“Hay’s still there.”

He plucked a piece of straw out of the doorjamb. Halrac nodded. He held up three fingers and counted down. Seborn waited and then yanked the door open. Both adventurers looked into the room. Halrac trained his bow on the first thing he saw until he recognized it.

“Metal pillar. We’ve been here.”

He nodded at a mark made on the far wall. Seborn squinted at it.

“Recheck.”

“Of course.”

Both [Scout] and [Rogue] used their Skills to check the room for changes. But there was no discernible difference so Halrac motioned.

“The pillar’s a blade trap. Stay to the edges. We disarmed it without you but you never know.”

Seborn nodded and Jelaqua relayed the quiet words to Moore and Revi.

“We can get Moore to hit it on the way back out if we have time.”

“Does that…help?”

“He might be able to grow plants over the thing if he can make a gap. Or just break the mechanisms.”

The adventurers made their way through the room. Again, Halrac and Seborn checked the door. This time they didn’t speak as they made their way to the next corridor. The first room was done. The next one would be random as well. Such was the nature of this dungeon; each room was selected from a group of trapped rooms and so the layout was different every time. It was meant to frustrate anyone trying to enter the dungeon safely.

However, there was a flaw to that kind of dungeon making. With time and patience, a good team could neutralize every trapped room and proceed freely regardless of which room they got. The next room was similarly neutralized; Seborn recognized the narrow corridor.

“Pit trap. Metalbite Slimes. We took out the pressure plate.”

“Understood.”

The two moved ahead. They spoke little, but their conversation alone hinted at the good relationship they had. They proceeded through the fourth room and fifth, each time running into a cleared trap.

“This is a record for us. You?”

“We made it this far before. Took out a trap that tried to boil us alive.”

“You mean burn.”

“Nope. Doubt we’ll get lucky again.”

The [Rogue] pushed open the door and nodded.

“Thought not. Look at that.”

This room was almost insultingly safe looking. A bed had been placed in the center of the room, a lovely-looking king-sized bed. It looked enchanted, which was probably the reason it had held up so long. Halrac grunted.

“They’re not even trying. What is—”

A hand blocked his view. Instantly Halrac jerked back. Seborn averted his gaze.

“Some kind of spell on the bedposts.”

“Clever.”

Halrac had barely looked at the bed but he felt something sting his sensitive eyes. He drew back and Seborn shielded him from the doorway.

“Everything alright?”

Jelaqua looked at the two. Halrac relayed news of what lay ahead. Typhenous stroked his beard.

“Rune trap magic, most likely. I can try to dispel it—”

“Don’t bother. It’s not the only trap. They want us to try and get close to the bed. I’m sure it’ll do something. Turn out to be an illusionary golem or something. We’ll take it out from afar.”

“Ah. Let me know if you need a spell.”

Halrac looked back at Seborn. The Drowned Man was fishing at his belt.

“We could use a [Sticky Webs] spell. Or do you think it’s too risky?”

“I was going to try activating the spell by hitting the post with something cutting. See what we’re up against. We can always block off the doorway.”

“You’ve got something that will work? I could shoot it.”

“Too risky. Might activate and damage your eyes. I’ll hit it blind. I’ve got these bags of flour from that [Alchemist]. I’ll fill the room and make a—”

“Dust explosion. I know.”

Halrac nodded. He was familiar with the idea. Back in his village he’d once seen a mill go up due to that very thing. It had been their only mill, in fact. They never built another one. Lost in thought, he waited, averting his eyes from the room beyond. There must have been a compulsion spell mixed in there too because he wanted to walk in there and lie on the bed. He did not.

Seborn busied himself, preparing the bags of densely packed powder. After a while Halrac spoke absently.

“It’s called straw, actually. Hay is feed. Dried grass, legumes. Straw is dead stalks.”

The Drowned Man looked up briefly.

“Really? I didn’t know that. We don’t get much straw at sea. What’s the difference between a hay bale and a straw one?”

“You don’t feed straw to animals.”

Halrac said nothing more. He waited as Seborn tossed the bags of flour over his shoulder. They fountained up, filling the room with fine particles. Typhenous sneezed as everyone moved back. Then Seborn pulled out a tightly stoppered flask.

“Ready?”

The [Scout] nodded. He braced himself as Seborn lobbed the vial into the room. Then he slammed the door shut. Everyone waited. They heard a sound of something breaking, then a thump. Halrac waited behind the door calmly. The magical doorway held, but when he opened the door the room was in flames. There was something thrashing around in the center. Halrac took one look.

“Mimic. Looks like the wards are covered or obscured.”

“Let me cast a spell first.”

Typhenous stepped forwards. Halrac waited until the mage threw long ropes of sticky webs into the fire and then nodded at Seborn. He stepped out, aimed at the mimic and began loosing arrows. Typhenous threw a ball that ate part of the elongated mimic away and made it scream.

So far, so good.

—-

“Watch it!”

One of the adventurers from Gemhammer snapped a warning. The Gnoll from the Pride of Kelia froze. The Human pointed.

“Loose stone. Take another handhold.”

The Gnoll nodded. The descent continued as the adventurers shook water that fell to the dungeon floor below. They weren’t far up, only fifteen feet or so from the place where water met dungeon. But a fall from that height was still dangerous.

“Good catch.”

Nailren was descending with Earlia. The Gnolls were less burdened and moved faster, but Gemhammer was moving well too. Earlia slowly climbed downwards, grunting, taking care not to let the water slip her up.

“Let us go first. We’ve got shields and your people can get up and down faster.”

The Gnoll grunted in agreement. He growled softly and the Gnolls below him paused to let the Humans go past. Curiously, Nailren stared at the Humans. Gemhammer chose their grips carefully. They were not good climbers compared to the Gnolls, but they seemed oddly certain.

“Strange.”

“Not strange. They have Skills related to mining. We were all once [Miners] before we found out we could kill monsters with hammers and pickaxes.”

Earlia was about ten feet from the ground, next to an overhang that would expose her to the rest of the dungeon. She looked up. Nailren nodded and sniffed. He growled and made a gesture with his paws. He showed Earlia two fingers, then three.

“Shit.”

She didn’t say anything more. She looked at the other adventurers that had paused with her at the overhang. Then she nodded. Earlia grabbed the next handhold and moved down. She slipped, cursed, and then dropped.

“Shields up!”

She screamed an order as the rest of Gemhammer dropped. The adventurers swore as they landed but three grabbed heavy shields and pulled them up. Just in time. Crude arrows shattered on the shields and one struck one of the adventurers in the arm. She cried out but the chainmail had absorbed the blow.

“Attack! Drop and take cover behind the Humans!”

Nailren roared as the rest of the Pride of Kelia scrambled down the cliff. He dropped, ignoring the pain of landing and rolled behind an adventurer with a shield. He saw Earlia dive as she tried to bring her shield up. Arrows were flying everywhere. One missed her head.

“Loose!”

There were shapes in the darkness. Snarling. The Raskghar loosed arrows, unpleasantly surprised that they had been anticipated again. They attacked quietly, sniffing. The Gnolls growled as they smelled an ancient scent. They drew their bows and began to loose arrows, eliciting quiet howls.

“Gemhammer!”

Earlia kept her voice to a low snap. She grabbed her shield and raised it, hunkering behind it. The Humans formed a wall of their bodies and shields for the Gnolls.

“Hold the line! When the warriors come up, I want Timgal, Fea, and Blaik on me! The rest keep your shields up!”

The Gnolls kept loosing arrows and the Raskghar moved back. One began to beat the walls in a quick rhythm with a stone mace. The sound echoed down the corridor.

“Calling for reinforcements.”

Nairlen’s voice was tight as he aimed and loosed. He snarled as his [Double Shot] made a Raskghar fall with two arrows in his chest. Earlia snarled herself.

“It was an ambush! Just like the [Innkeeper] said! Hold tight! We’re getting through this!”

The adventurers and Raskghar fought, the sounds echoing but not too far. Both sides kept quiet for fear of what they might attract. But they were already being watched. And as more shapes moved out of the darkness, the adventurers realized there were a lot of Raskghar. And then the brutal ancient cousins of Gnolls moved in for the attack.

—–

“So this is the secret entrance you were talking about.”

Falene shook her head as she stared down the dark shaft of stone leading down that Pisces and Olesm had found. She peered into the darkness and looked back.

“I assume you checked for traps?”

“We did. Conduct your own investigation if you are so concerned.”

Pisces snapped back. He stepped to the edge as Falene whispered a spell. Behind him Ceria looked on with Ylawes.

“Incredible. A third entrance to the dungeon and this one connects to the crypts. One wonders how extensive this dungeon is.”

Ylawes stared into the pit, looking troubled. Dawil was more practical. He grunted as he squatted down over the edge, not bothered by the drop.

“That’s far down. What’s the plan for getting down there? Jump and [Featherfall]? Or rope?”

“It’s dangerous to leave an exit for monsters to get out of.”

“More dangerous than cutting off our escape route?”

Ceria countered, looking at Ylawes. He shrugged.

“I’d be more comfortable letting Falene toss a rope back up when we need to go. She can do it with [Telekinesis].”

“What if she’s dead? Or hurt?”

The [Knight] paused.

“She won’t be.”

Ceria exchanged a glance with Yvlon. The female warrior looked troubled.

“And if she is?”

Ylawes frowned, but in the end agreed to put down a rope for a quick exit. He waited until Ksmvr had declared it secure with Dawil’s approval before nodding.

“You take that rope down. We’ll go in first.”

“What?”

“I insist. We’re a Gold-rank team and prepared to deal with whatever is down there.”

“There should be just bones. Isn’t that right, Pisces?”

The [Necromancer] sniffed.

“There are bones. It is a burial chamber for the Raskghar. I scouted it with a Shield Spider before and one is down there now.”

Everyone stared at him. Pisces raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, come now. Did you expect us to enter a dungeon without proper scouting?”

He looked pointedly at the Silver Swords. Falene narrowed her eyes slightly. Ylawes looked put out.

“So you intend to scout with…undead?”

“Far better than living beings. Unless one of you has a class specializing in trap detection? How were you planning on exploring the dungeon?”

Falene raised her eyebrows.

“I am quite capable of detecting magic.”

“And floor traps?”

Pisces didn’t wait for a response. He looked at Ceria and Yvlon.

“Once we arrive below I intend to reanimate at least eight of the skeletons. They will form an advance guard and scout ahead. I can also fashion a Bone Horror.”

“One of those things?”

Ylawes looked appalled. Ceria just exchanged a glance with Yvlon. The blonde woman nodded. Her mouth compressed to a tight line but she did nod.

“Do it, Pisces.”

The [Necromancer] smiled briefly and began climbing down the rope. Caught off-guard, the Silver Swords watched him climb down and then saw Ksmvr hurry after him. Ylawes gripped his sword hilt, frustrated.

“Incredible. Are you actually serious about this, Yvlon?”

“You knew he was a [Necromancer], Ylawes. What’s the point in having a teammate with that ability if we don’t use it to survive? His undead have saved our lives more than once.”

“Still.”

The Horns of Hammerad descended one at a time while the Silver Swords took a more direct method. They jumped and slowly floated down. Ceria rolled her eyes as Falene drifted past her, Dawil grumbling about his stomach. When they were in the burial chamber they saw Pisces had already gotten to work. Six Raskghar were standing and two more were striding out of the entrance.

“Feh.”

Dawil wrinkled his nose but Pisces ignored him. He pointed.

“There is a trap ahead. It destroyed my Shield Spider the first time. I suggest we proceed carefully down the corridor checking for traps. There may be more that are only attuned to the living.”

“Indeed. I will inspect the trap, then.”

Falene strode forwards but Pisces held an arm out. Affronted, she stared at him. He looked pointedly at Ylawes.

“Should not a warrior go first? In case of ambush? Perhaps Sir Ylawes and Dawil?”

Ceria nodded in agreement. Ylawes looked irate at being ordered, but he stepped forwards with Dawil. He held his shield up as the Dwarf gripped his hammer.

“Alright! Let’s explore this damn dungeon already!”

Dawil’s voice boomed down the corridor. Ceria nearly bit her tongue.

“Shut up! Do you want to attract attention?”

“What? Oh. Sorry.”

The Dwarf mitigated his voice a bit. Ylawes strode forwards, his eyes searching every direction. Ceria stared as Falene followed after them. Pisces blew out his cheeks and Yvlon paused as Ksmvr brought up the rear.

“Hey Ceria. You don’t think—”

“I think so. Rot, rot, rot. How did we not think of this?”

“They never said!”

“Said what?”

Ksmvr was watching the rear as he had volunteered to do. He glanced at Ceria and Yvlon as they conferred. Pisces was watching the two with a frown on his face. The Antinium glanced at his teammates and shook his head. He had a bow in his hand and the enchanted dagger in the other.

“I never understand what is going on.”

—-

Earlia didn’t know when she began shouting. She flung a bag filled with spreading vines ahead and watched the Tripvine Bag engulf a charging Raskghar. The huge not-Gnoll tripped as it tried to leap at her with club in hand. The club was crude stone and wood, but the monster was huge! A head taller than a Gnoll and a third again as wide! Its head was too small, and its claws could lay open her skin as it thrashed wildly.

No time to hesitate. No time to be afraid. Earlia charged with a shout.

“Cover me!”

She rushed the Raskghar. It was fighting to get free. It struggled up as she raised the warhammer and saw the metal head falling. It raised an arm. Too slow. Too late. The blow cracked the arm and the thing howled.

Again! Earlia’s arms strained as she lifted the warhammer. She brought it down hard. This time the blow cracked the Raskghar’s head. It made a horrible gurgling sound and slumped. The Tripvines continued to spread as Earlia staggered back. Something hit her chest—an arrow, breaking on her chainmail.

“Captain!”

A hand yanked her backwards. Earlia fell back behind the group of her people holding shields. She felt at her chest. The chainmail had held. If it had been a better bow, or if the arrow tips had been made of anything but crude stone—

“More coming!”

The Raskghar were assaulting their position. The Pride of Kelia and Gemhammer were entrenched, exchanging shots while the [Warriors] held their ground. But they were outnumbered and frankly, outmatched. The Raskghar were terrifyingly huge and strong. Earlia wasn’t sure if she’d have been able to beat the one in front of her in a fair fight. But there was still a way to victory.

“Hit them with a Pepperspray Potion!”

She roared at one of her teammates. The man fumbled for a potion and the charging forms visibly hesitated. They retreated, howling, as the man lifted the potion. Earlia grinned savagely.

Yes, that was it! The Raskghar didn’t have potions or alchemical equipment. And they didn’t have levels. One of the Gnolls behind her snatched at the air. Nailren lifted the arrow he’d caught and put it to his bowstring and sent it back into the darkness. There was another howl.

“How’re we doing?”

Earlia shouted at him. Nailren’s ears switched as he sniffed the air.

“Many are here! Many more—coming! They are howling for support!”

“Damn! They really want us dead!”

The Human woman cursed, glancing around. They knew they’d be walking into an ambush, but the innkeeper, Erin, had told her that the Goblins had fought off only a handful of Raskghar. Had they lied? Or had the monsters doubled their watch?

“Captain! More coming from the left!”

A wail came from Fea. The girl was the youngest and her finger trembled as she pointed around her shield. Earlia saw a group of eight Raskghar approaching.

“Dead gods. Get me another Tripvine bag! Or one of our explosives! Hurry!”

She saw the adventurers fumbling as the Gnolls began showering the Raskghar with arrows. But the huge hulking creatures were tough! They charged, howling, impervious to arrows. Earlia shouted and Gemhammer rushed forwards. Their warriors met the Raskghar in a melee of blows.

“[Hammer Blow]!”

Earlia used her Skill too early to crush a Rasgkhar’s guard and break the screaming monster’s ribs. The Raskghar were everywhere, hurling Blaik to the ground, fighting with the Gnolls who’d drawn their own weapons. And there was another group coming back on the right! Earlia’s heart beat faster and faster as she swung, keeping the Raskghar off Blaik. Too many!

Then she saw a flicker. Something raced out of the shadows and stabbed through a Raskghar about to leap at her. A masked woman pirouetted and slashed another Raskghar across the back. Earlia gaped.

“Who the hell are you?”

She received no answer. The adventurers closed ranks as the Raskghar howled. Several seemed to recognize the masked woman and beat more frantically on the walls. Gemhammer launched a desperate counterattack with the Pride of Kelia as the masked swordswoman cut and danced gracefully through the battle. She was good! But the fight wasn’t over yet. More were coming.

A lot more. Earlia knew they could beat them if the Raskghar bunched up. They had potions! Alchemy weapons! Spells! She was about to shout at the [Gem Mage] in their company to break a topaz and blast the Raskghar when she saw something move in the darkness.

“What is—”

Something moved. A giant Raskghar roared as he charged forwards. He was wearing armor. Not crude hide armor, not corroded metal or bone. Real armor. It shone and Earlia knew it was enchanted. And then she saw the Raskghar with the bow. He raised it but she couldn’t see an arrow. He made a gesture as if loosing something and she didn’t see the arrow. But something struck her in the chest. It went right through her chainmail. She staggered and saw nothing. And she fell as more Raskghar charged. And behind them were Goblins.

Lots of Goblins.

—-

“Room eight. Think it’ll be another trap?”

“Unless we have to go through all of them, there has to be an end to it. We know there are monsters, even if we’ve only seen the ones in traps.”

“Right. Get ready.”

This time Halrac and Seborn stood well back from the door. Their clothing was ruffled. The last trap had been activated, but the razorblades of wind had nearly cut both men. They were on guard as they swung the door open to reveal—

“A path down.”

Halrac stared at the ramp heading down into the darkness. His internal sense of danger that was separate from his [Dangersense] immediately rang an alarm. Behind hm Jelaqua slowly breathed out.

“Looks like it’s my turn. Change formations. Unless you think it’s a trap?”

“I’ve got nothing. Halrac?”

“No. How do you want to do this?”

Jelaqua pursed her lips. She stared down into the darkness. Halrac’s eyes could see further but even his sight had a limit. There was a larger room below. This might be another trapped room, but his instincts told him they were in another part of the dungeon. They’d done it. The seven layers of randomly generated rooms at an end. Which meant that anything could be beyond.

“Let me and Seborn do it. I’ve got the armor and Seborn’s quick.”

Halrac wanted to argue but he didn’t. That made sense. You sent a [Warrior] forwards when you thought you might run into monsters, with a [Rogue] or [Scout] or [Treasure Hunter] or whatever you had following close behind. He elected to move back to the rear of the group since his bow was useful at all ranges. Moore stayed with him as Revi and Typhenous took the middle.

That was the other thing. You watched the rear as well. Halrac had the group pause at this new juncture to go over tactics.

“First sign of major trouble and we retreat to the doorway. Delaying spells?”

“[Sticky Webs] for me and Revi uses her Face-Eater Moth or Corusdeer summons. Moore, do you have a barrier spell?”

“I could grow vines similar to a Tripvine Bag. It isn’t the most useful spell, though.”

“Huh. You don’t have another one?”

Moore shook his head.

“Not my specialty. Typhenous?”

“I know [Force Barrier]. Should I use it?”

“That spell is horrible. Barrier spells aren’t good at sealing off large spots. Not if something’s coming at us fast! Just web and let Moore use [Thorn Spray] or something.”

Revi objected and the other adventurers nodded. Halrac checked his belongings. He had his own prepared weapons and potions. He nodded at Jelaqua and Seborn.

“Then we leave it to you.”

“Right. Let’s go. Seborn, tell me if I’m tripping on anything.”

Jelaqua stepped forwards, Seborn right behind her. She did not stride forwards but rather walked cautiously, at a slow pace so Seborn could check for traps. If he so much as spoke or tapped her she immediately froze. Halrac was reassured to see that—it was a sign of Jelaqua’s seniority. She did not rush forwards in a panic, and neither was she afraid to press on. The group moved down slowly into the room when they saw—

“Statues.”

Revi breathed the word as the adventurers stopped. They’d come to a large, winding corridor full of stone statues. Between them were scattered pedestals with gleaming necklaces. Only there were a few odd discrepancies. Halrac saw three instantly.

“Hold.”

The adventurers paused as he pointed out what he’d seen in the murk.

“Some of the pedestals are missing the necklaces.”

“You’re right. Hey, has someone come down here before? Or is that part of the trap? We’re assuming those statues are going to come to life, right?”

“Without a doubt.”

Typhenous peered over his staff at the pedestals. It did indeed seem like someone had been here before. Halrac confirmed this by pointing out the other two things he’d seen.

“Look there. The wall is caved in. It’s been resealed with rocks and dirt. But there was someone here. And I think I know how. Goblins.”

He pointed to a small pile of bones next to one of the statues. It was hard to see, but he thought the statue’s fingers still had blood on the tips. Jelaqua muttered an oath.

“Great. Goblins. Well, we knew they were down there. Wonder if they took all the loot.”

“If they did the statues scared them off. I’m sure some of them are enchanted to attack if we get close.”

“What’s the plan then? Hit one and draw back? I can try to bash them up but my flail is not enchanted and they could be pretty hard.”

“They don’t look like good Golems. Why don’t we change up our formation? How about—”

The corridor full of stone statues was still as the adventurers conferred. The deadly stone golems frozen in place did not move. They awaited their victims. When something finally triggered the spell to activate them, the stone statues moved at once. They surged to deadly attention—

“Hiyah!”

Jelaqua’s flail smashed the first one in the face, cracking the crude stone and sending fractures down the body. She immediately whirled and struck another of the statues that had come to life. The humanoid things reached for her but she was already moving back. Her flail whirled, striking repeatedly as a flaming, spectral Corusdeer slammed into another statue.

“[Sticky Webs]. Ah, what a lovely spell.”

More of the Golems found themselves caught in a barrier as Typhenous poured on the webbing. Behind him Halrac calmly shot one statue with an arrow using his [Piercing Shot] Skill and watched it crumble. He waited as the other adventurers fought. Behind Jelaqua, Seborn flicked out of shadows, cutting at the golems and chipping away their bodies and jumping away. The adventurers weren’t doing much damage and the Golems were pushing out of the web. One punched Jelaqua in the chest and his fist cracked. The Selphid grinned.

“I didn’t feel that! This armor is good! Hey Moore, your turn.”

The stone statue raised another fist and a giant hand engulfed its arm. Moore lifted the statue up with a groan and hurled it into its fellows. The adventurers heard a crack and then the half-Giant waded forwards. He brought his quarterstaff down like an avalanche on a statue’s head, swung a vine and thorn-covered fist into a second, and backed up by Jelaqua and Revi’s Corusdeer, began smashing the rest.

It was a brisk fight. It might have been a bad one but for Moore. The stone statues were relentless, but the half-Giant had the strength to break each one to pieces while the others covered him. By the time the last statue lay in pieces on the ground, Moore was sweating, and dusty. Jelaqua offered him two stamina potions which the half-Giant gulped down.

“Amazing work, Moore.”

“That was impressive.”

Typhenous blinked around at the statues. Moore had crushed the one nearest him by swinging the thing into the dungeons’ wall repeatedly until it broke. Typhenous looked back at Halrac.

“Well, it seems these traps are getting simpler. Or am I simply becoming more naïve in my old age?”

Halrac shook his head.

“As traps went that wasn’t bad. It would have been a bad fight if we’d picked it alone. Only Revi’s summons and your spells would have done any work.”

“And I suspect most adventurers armed with a warhammer aren’t as adept at fighting eight stone golems at once. Ah, yes. I see your point. But we have emerged victorious and to the victors go the spoils. I don’t suppose there’s even a chance these ones are safe, are they?”

“Don’t touch them.”

Typhenous nodded. The remaining pedestals did indeed hold wonderfully beautiful necklaces and jewelry, but all six Gold-rank adventurers would have rather gone back and fought twice as many stone golems as touch them. They were too inviting.

“I’m positive they’re cursed. How do you want to transport them? Should we?”

Typhenous peered at a necklace set with a huge diamond and tsked unhappily. Halrac reached for his belt.

“I’ve an empty bag of holding. Push it in here. Unless Revi can use her summons?”

“Stuff that idea! I don’t want to lose one to a cursed artifact!”

In the end, Halrac nudged each cursed ornament into his bag of holding, after Typhenous and Moore had decided  they weren’t going to explode on being handled, of course. The adventurers took a rest in the destroyed corridor and nodded to each other then. Jelaqua grinned.

“Now isn’t this a welcome surprise? Actual progress! And look at that entrance! I wonder if we could excavate it, maybe find a real shortcut into the dungeon? Because we know exactly where we are now. What do you think?”

“Maybe don’t give monsters an alternate route in.”

“True. In that case we need to shore up the wall. Damn. That’s a lot of work. A project for today, you think? We’ve already explored two more sets of rooms which I’m sure will be full with traps the next go around. And we have treasure! If we can get it disenchanted those jewels and the gold will go for something.”

“True.”

Both teams knew they’d done a good day’s work. They’d earned money—deferred, true, but a good amount with the cursed loot which might not be cursed if they were extremely lucky—and gotten to a new part of the dungeon. A wise team would do just what Jelaqua had said and resume untrapping the dungeon before proceeding. However…

It was Seborn who gave voice to their thoughts. The [Rogue] lifted a flask of water and drained half of it.

“Let’s go a bit farther. See what else we can find. We’re all in good shape.”

The other adventurers looked at each other. No one said it. But they were all thinking of what Seborn had told Erin. The other Silver-rank teams. The unspoken accusation.

Cowards. The Halfseekers looked at each other. Griffon Hunt turned to Halrac. He nodded.

“Another room.”

The adventurers got up and headed down the corridor in higher spirits. They came to an opening to their left, inside of which was a huge, circular room. It was vast, a half-dome with an extraordinarily flat floor. While the walls and ceiling of the domed room looked weathered by time, the floor was perfect.

Too perfect. And while there was a door on the far side, the adventurers weren’t about to try crossing the floor to get to it.

“This is clearly a product of bad dungeon making. Look at the walls and ceiling! They might have fooled adventurers centuries ago, but whoever enchanted the floor didn’t think to account for the decay of stone and moss and lichen and so forth.”

Typhenous shook his head sadly as he peered at the floor. Halrac nodded. He stared at the door on the far side.

“What kind of trap are we looking at here, Seborn? Classic pit trap?”

“Something to do with the floor. Want to see what happens?”

The Halfseekers enjoyed setting off traps. Griffon Hunt did not, but Halrac respected the idea. A trap could be deadly, but not knowing what it did could be just as deadly. He nodded.

“Everyone stands up the corridor. We trigger it and get ready to run. Agreed?”

“Let’s do it.”

Seborn waited until the others pulled back, and then found a good chunk of the stone statues. He lifted it, nodded at Halrac, and hurled the stone into the center of the room. It bounced off the suspicious floor and tumbled a bit. Halrac watched it with narrowed eyes.

“No good. Looks like the trigger’s something else. Revi?”

“I don’t want to lose a summon!”

“You only lose your ancestral spirits permanently. What about the Corusdeer?”

“I won’t be able to call on it for a week if the spirit is destroyed!”

“Good enough. Summon it.”

Revi cursed but did as Halrac asked. The [Scout] leaned back as the flaming spirit cantered down the hallway. Seborn, to whom fire and dryness were doubly unwelcome, moved further back. The Corusdeer walked slowly into the center of the dome as Revi crouched by them, controlling it and frowning. The summoned creature pawed at the ground and nudged the stone.

“Nothing. Do you think it’s a trap that reacts to living things?”

“Could be. Or it could be that the trap’s activated by the door. Can you—?”

“Got it.”

The Corusdeer walked over to the door. It lowered its head and butted the door a few times. Halrac waited, his breath held in his chest. The Corusdeer awkwardly scraped its antlers against the door, and then Revi made it bow its head. The handle was a lever and the tall deer’s horns pushed against it gently. Halrac heard a click—

And the floor disappeared. Halrac jerked back as the Corusdeer plummeted, its fiery body falling into the depths. That wasn’t surprising. He’d expected something like that. What was surprising, what made Halrac shiver and Seborn curse and Revi panic was what they saw below.

The half-dome was a huge room. Large enough to hold Erin’s entire [Grand Theatre] and then some. It was also a pit trap. And it went down a long way. But that wasn’t dangerous. Not to a good Gold-rank team or even a decent Silver-rank one. And the dungeon architects had to know that. So they had put something else in there. Something that looked up and sensed the prey above them as the Corusdeer fell into their nest.

Halrac had the best vision. He was standing closest to the newly revealed pit. And the Corusdeer was still falling. He saw it fall down, down, and down past huge webs, past gigantic scuttling shapes that turned and looked up. Halrac stared down a mile of darkness as the Corusdeer fell past a Shield Spider the size of a house, past a giant spider twice as large as Erin’s inn, past thousands, tens of thousands of smaller Shield Spiders, down, until it landed on a web. Instantly, hundreds of smaller shapes smothered the blazing deer, tore it apart. Halrac stared at the spiders as they all looked up. Straight at him. And then they began to scuttle upwards in a silent rush.

“It’s a lair!”

Revi screamed. Seborn tossed a bottle down and Halrac saw the explosion kick off a dozen spiders from the walls. There were several thousand for everyone that fell. He had an arrow in his hands. He was loosing it before he could think. He shouted desperately.

“It’s a lair! A monster lair! It’s part of the damn dungeon!”

“What? What?”

Jelaqua charged down the corridor with Typhenous and Moore. Halrac was too busy loosing arrows and retreating to explain. But it was all clear. The huge, spiraling pit. The traps which were easy—a bit too easy. And the monsters who’d been given time, thousands of years in fact, to reproduce. To grow to unnatural sizes.

The Shield Spiders were here. The Face-Eater Moths had probably been in another trap like this one. And now they were coming out. Halrac’s arrow took the first giant spider that crawled out of the pit and sent it falling back down. A horde followed. And after that came tens of thousands more.

5.29

It was passing strange. A curious phenomenon. An odd thing. Headscratcher couldn’t describe it. He had been a warrior for six years, a Goblin’s lifetime. He had fought monsters far more terrible with his tribe, survived adventurer attacks and climbed the treacherous High Passes all his life. He had faced down great challenges with his tribe, following the back of his hero.

Garen Redfang, a Goblin hero. And all his life Headscratcher thought he had known what strength was. He had leveled. He had become an elite among the strongest tribe of Goblins. Or so he had believed. But only now, over a hundred miles from his home, cut off from all but four of his fellow warriors, having lost his brothers in arms did he feel as though he was changing.

Growing stronger. Headscratcher looked down at his hands. Large hands with jagged fingernails. Clean fingernails, though. Erin insisted he wash his hands before every meal. Absently he chewed at them. Yes, it was strange.

This inn was a soft place. Full of too much food, too much niceness and…and safety. It was not a place Headscratcher would train a warrior in. And yet, and yet—he felt stronger. Stronger than he had ever been in his life. For the first time in the seven years he had been alive, Headscratcher’s belly no longer rumbled when he slept. He, a Hob, was full and didn’t have to worry about what tonight’s meal would be or how much of it there would be.

And he had leveled. So had Badarrow, Numbtongue, Shorthilt, and Rabbiteater. They had leveled defending the inn, surviving all these cold months away from their tribe. They had become Hobs. And now, in this soft inn, Headscratcher felt something in him hovering on the brink of change.

It felt like a gap in his chest. A wide, vast, mysterious feeling waiting to be set free. And his head! Sometimes it felt like Erin had cut the top off and exposed a new world to Headscratcher. A wonderful, strange, frightening, cruel, joyous world. Headscratcher stared at his hands and wondered what he would become. He was not afraid. He wanted to be more. To be like his hero. He wanted to protect his tribe, this inn—

And his friends. Headscratcher looked up. Badarrow was lounging against a window, fiddling with his shortbow. It was small in his claws. Too small for the Hob he’d become. Next to him a box of bright yellow flowers bloomed. The [Archer] Goblin pretended to be staring out into the rain, but Headscratcher was sure that Badarrow was smelling and looking at the flowers.

The rasp of a stone moving down a blade’s edge made Headscratcher turn his attention to the Hob sitting across from him. Shorthilt was sharpening his blade, carefully maintaining the edge. He was engrossed in his work. It seemed as though he could sit there and maintain his weapon forever. It wasn’t in preparation for battle. It was just something the Goblin enjoyed doing in quiet.

Peaceful. That was a word Headscratcher had not known before coming here. He looked to his left, at Rabbiteater. The Hob wasn’t doing anything. He was sleeping at his table. Just sleeping. But he looked so content with that. Sleep was a luxury to Goblins. Rabbiteater’s ears twitched slightly as he dreamed without fear.

Tok. Tok.

Headscratcher heard a slight sound and looked up. He didn’t see Numbtongue, but the sound he heard, the sound of a claw striking the chords of a guitar, was impossible to miss. He stared towards the door leading to Erin’s basement and knew what the other Hob was doing.

He’d stolen the guitar Erin had bought. Again. No one had noticed but Headscratcher’s stomach still knotted up with worry thinking about it. But the sound that came from the basement weren’t just the random sounds of someone that didn’t know what they were doing. The rhythm of Numbtongue’s claw striking the chords was replaced by a note.

The Hob played a note, a single soft sound that only the Goblin’s sharp ears could hear. It wasn’t anything like the music they’d heard once, the beautiful sounds. But each night, whenever he could, Numbtongue would hide in the basement and play notes, laboriously learning each hold on the guitar to make different sounds. Recreating from memory what he’d heard.

Not a [Warrior]’s task. Not something that was useful. But something that was good. Headscratcher closed his eyes as he heard another soft sound. And his heart—he knew it would be soon. He would level. And what would he become then? When he dreamed of battle, he only felt rage. All-consuming. He would throw himself into battle before another of his comrades died. In battle he was fire. But here—

It was peaceful. Just for a moment. Then Headscratcher’s ears twitched again and he listened to the two Humans talking. They sat at the table. How curious they were too. He had been sent to kill Erin Solstice, but now he guarded her inn. He had thought of leaving a hundred times. And he would. But for now he rested under her roof. Until they returned back to the dungeon. Until they risked their lives for more treasure. Headscratcher thought of the strange white cloth, the bell, the necklace, and his claws twitched reflexively. Soon. But just for a moment longer he listened to Numbtongue play. He could die later. For now, he wanted to live.

—-

“There it goes again! See?”

At their table, Lyonette and Erin watched Mrsha’s ears twitch. The Gnoll was closing her eyes as she let both young women comb her fur with brushes. But every now and then her little ears would twitch as she heard something. The other two couldn’t hear a thing, but watching Mrsha react was as amusing as anything else. And it was a distraction.

Erin was worried. She tried not to be restless. Everyone else was lounging around. The Goblins looked content, she was distracting Mrsha by brushing her, and Lyonette was doing the same. Apista waggled her antennae as she ate her honey in a bowl. Everything was quiet as the rain poured down outside.

But Erin couldn’t hold still. She felt worried. The adventurers were in the dungeon. Six teams in all. She hadn’t heard anything from them. It had been an hour—no problem! They could be down there for hours. But she felt worried. Why couldn’t she keep tabs on their progress? Why, yes, why did she have to sit here and worry?

“I should get an artifact.”

“Excuse me?”

Lyonette looked up. Erin gestured distractedly.

“An artifact. You know, like a book that can receive [Message] spells? Or a monitor. A big board on the wall where I can see any [Messages] people send me. Or what about a scrying orb? Would those work in the dungeon? Something so I know what’s happening at all times.”

Mrsha stirred a bit. Lyonette stroked her head.

“Erin, something like that would cost a fortune.”

“So I’ll have to earn a fortune. I could do it! We’ve got a good amount of gold saved up from the plays!”

“Which we had to spend to buy new chairs and tables. And dishes. And cutlery. Never mind that Wall Lord Ilvriss paid a fine. You have employees now, food expenses…and you paid for all those glass windows. We’re not earning that much money. And if the Drakes boycott us—”

“Yeah. I know.”

Erin sighed, feeling her stomach clench unpleasantly. She frowned.

“I don’t get why they’re doing it. Of all the things to get mad about! I’ve done way worse things! I think.”

“But the play had a Drake marrying a Human.”

“So? I have Hobgoblins living under my roof.”

“I’m sure they’re not happy about that. But the play—look Erin, Drakes and Humans sometimes get along, but marrying each other? There’s a reason why most Human cities don’t have any Drakes in them and vice versa. Even Liscor, a border city, has a lot of Drakes who hate Humans.”

“But they have Drakes who like Humans.”

“Yes, Erin. But think of it like this. Liscor is next to Human lands. They’re liberal compared to most Drake settlements.”

“…Ah.”

“And marriage really gets people upset. Back at home there was a couple I heard about. A young [Lady] who married a half-Elf. A mob nearly tore both of them apart before they fled. The parents of the [Lady] disowned her and hired assassins to kill her.”

Erin looked appalled.

“Their own daughter?”

Lyonette nodded.

“Better to kill their daughter than let them marry the enemy. This could be a real problem.”

“I’m not going to ask the Players to change Jasi out for someone else! That’s not right!”

“Well…”

Erin heard the meaningful tone in Lyonette’s voice. It said that Erin was making a mistake. The [Innkeeper] crossed her arms and had another thought.

“I just hope those Drakes don’t come back for more trouble tonight! If they do I’m gonna get Headscratcher and the other Hobgoblins big clubs to keep order!”

The Goblins looked up. Lyonette winced.

“Can’t you stop them from fighting without needing force?”

“You mean with threats? That’s what the clubs are for.”

“No, I mean, with your Skill! You have [Inn’s Aura], don’t you? Why didn’t you calm everyone down with that?”

“I tried!”

Erin protested indignantly. She paused and frowned.

“I tried. I mean, I think I tried. I’m pretty sure it didn’t work because of Ilvriss. And because everyone was so mad.”

“Oh. I guess your aura couldn’t handle the crowd. Or Wall Lord Ilvriss cancelled it with his own.”

“Wait a moment. He can do that?”

Erin sat up. Lyonette nodded. She scratched behind Mrsha’s ears as the Gnoll listened drowsily to the adults talking.

“[Lords] can do that. They have aura Skills, just like anyone else. It’s more impressive you can do anything against him.”

“I remember him trying to pressure me once. Crap. I mean—”

The young woman bit her tongue as Lyonette pointed at Mrsha. She adjusted her vocabulary.

“You know about auras, Lyonette?”

“Maybe. I do have…expertise in the matter.”

“Uh huh.”

The two shared a meaningful look. Erin knew that Lyonette knew that she knew that Lyonette knew that Erin knew…something. About her being a [Princess]. She put her hands on the table, grateful for something to occupy her nervous thoughts.

“Okay, lay it on me. Anything I should know about my Skill? I can’t believe none of these things come with an instruction manual.”

“It would be nice. Sometimes a Skill or class has a secret to it that only a few people know. Auras are rare among most classes, so you don’t hear of them much. Noble classes, leaders, sometimes [Mages]…it’s rare even for them. I can’t remember hearing of an [Innkeeper] with an aura, but it is confined to your inn so it makes sense. Although that’s odd too.”

“What is?”

“People have auras, Erin. Inns, objects, generally don’t. Actually, everyone probably has an aura of some kind. But a Skill lets you manipulate it. Still, anyone can learn to resist most aura effects.”

“Right, right. I think I get it from watching Ilvriss. Or Zel, maybe.”

Lyonette looked sadly down at Mrsha who’d stopped smiling.

“Yes. Zel did have an aura, I think. He might not have been trained, but it would have made him look more…impressive. You can imagine it. A shining [General] leading an army.”

“What about a [King]?”

“They could have auras they make other people kneel to them. See them as shining figures. Or make them afraid. I hear that some royalty have auras so powerful that people kneel before them as they pass.”

“Wow. Could I do any of that?”

Lyonette laughed. Erin looked hurt.

“Hey! I have a Skill!”

“Yes, but you don’t know how to use it, Erin. An aura expert can make their aura visible or even use it as a shield for their body. You can terrify people with it when you’re mad. But you don’t practice.”

“Well, I can practice now. Let me try!”

“If you want. But auras aren’t something you can master overnight.”

“I bet I could stop a fight if Ilvriss wasn’t here.”

The [Princess] shook her head.

“Erin, auras work on the unprepared. I don’t have a Skill, but I doubt you could get yours to work on me. Not if I tried to resist it. Maybe you’d have been able to a few days ago. Now? No.”

There was a newfound confidence in her eyes as she looked up. She wasn’t insulting Erin—rather, she was explaining. Erin smiled.

“But I could practice, right?”

“You could. And I could teach you how to use your Skill on purpose rather than unconsciously.”

Lyonette smiled. She patted Mrsha on the head and stood. The Gnoll looked up curiously. Erin smiled and noticed Headscratcher poking Rabbiteater awake. They had an audience.

“Okay, what do I do first?”

“Get mad.”

“Mad?”

Mrsha reached up and Lyonette scooped her up into her arms. The Gnoll snuggled against her chest as Erin frowned. Lyonette nodded.

“Get angry. Use your emotions. Concentrate—an aura is something you focus like any part of your mind. Focus on what you want to do. Pressure me with your will.”

Erin tried. She reached into the core of her being, searching for…something. The force? A magic power inside her? She gritted her teeth.

“Okay, here goes. I’m getting mad! I’m pumped! I’m focusing my energy!”

“You don’t…have to say it out loud.”

“It helps! Okay! Here goes! Mad, mad—table flip! Getting really angry! I’m awakening my warrior instincts! You can’t stop me! This is not my final form! Graaah!”

Erin raised her arms and shouted, trying to push against Lyonette. The [Princess] and Mrsha stared at her wide-eyed as Erin shouted. In the silence, Erin lowered her raised arms.

“I feel silly.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

The sweet reply made Erin blush. Lyonette sighed as Mrsha smiled, looking not the least bit discomforted.

“Erin, you know how to use your aura. You’ve done it before. Don’t make a show. Just…project your authority. Remember when you used it?”

Erin thought back to when she’d been sitting across from the [Innkeepers] from Celum. Or when she’d yelled at Safry and Maran. She paused.

“Oh.”

This time, Headscratcher and the Goblins didn’t see Erin move. She didn’t make any flashy gestures or say anything. Her brows simply furrowed and when she raised her head, her gaze was—

Something changed in the inn. Headscratcher heard the sound of Numbtongue playing softly below stop. Mrsha looked up. Badarrow looked up and uttered a Goblin curse. Suddenly, the air felt heavy. Headscratcher got up and staggered. He tried to take a step and felt slower, as though something was weighing him down. The other Redfang Warriors exchanged glances.

Erin glanced at them. Her gaze wasn’t angry, but it was focused like the edge of Shorthilt’s sword. She looked intense. She watched the Goblins get up, feeling at their bodies.

“Can you move?”

They could. The Redfang Warriors tried running, vaulting over tables, punching each other. All of these actions were possible and it wasn’t as if they were slowed, but everything took more energy. Headscratcher couldn’t put all of his strength into his hands. He glanced at Erin, impressed. Fighting in her inn would be dangerous! And then he saw Lyonette.

The [Barmaid]—or rather, former [Barmaid]—was standing in front of Erin, looking a bit pained. In her arms Mrsha was squirming uncomfortably and whining. Lyonette took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She did nothing visible either, but when she opened her eyes they had that same, focused look. And something changed.

Headscratcher could see her body relax as the invisible pressure dissipated around her and the Gnoll. But only around them. Amazed, he tried to copy her, but he had no idea what she’d done. Erin glanced at Lyonette and smiled.

“Cool. Okay, I’ll be Ilvriss and you be me. Do you want to put Mrsha down?”

“She’ll be fine.”

Lyonette’s held Mrsha confidently. Erin nodded and frowned harder. Headscratcher felt the weight on his shoulders increase. He sensed something in the air around Erin, a localized disturbance as her aura grew stronger. It concentrated on Lyonette. But the [Barmaid] didn’t move. She met Erin’s eyes and stood tall. Erin stared at her and Headscratcher felt the aura in the inn, her will pushing at Lyonette. But the young woman refused to give in.

The two locked gazes and something clashed in the air between them. The Redfang Warriors watched, holding their breaths as the silent battle went on for seconds, and then minutes. The pressure Erin was exuding was powerful. But it seemed that whatever she tried, she was unable to pressure Lyonette like the others. The young woman stood before Erin, not backing down. And at last Erin had to admit defeat.

“You’re good! Whew!”

The intensity in the air vanished and the sense of conflict evaporated as she sat at a table. Lyonette sat with her and Mrsha hopped out of her arms. The two young women shared a glance. They’d fought, not physically but in another sense. Erin got up and fetched cups for the two of them. She offered Lyonette some wine and the [Princess] accepted. Erin poured her a glass and Lyonette raised it. They touched glasses and smiled.

“Thanks.”

“The experience helped me too. I’ve never done that against anyone before. Not successfully, anyways.”

Lyonette sipped from her cup and shooed a curious Mrsha and Apista away. Erin nodded. She was about to ask Lyonette for more tips—could she use her aura to turn her hair golden and make it stand up, for instance? And then the door to Liscor burst open.

“Erin!”

Drassi stood in the doorway, breathless, panting. She was covered in rain—she wasn’t wearing her cloak! Erin turned and her sense of calm vanished.

“What?”

“Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers have found a Shield Spider nest in the dungeon! There are tens of thousands—hundreds of thousands! They’re attacking!”

“Oh no. No, not again!”

Lyonette gasped in horror. She rose as Erin leapt to her feet. The Redfang Goblins instantly rose.

“Are they hurt? Are they retreating?”

“I don’t know. That was the first [Message] that came through. I ran to get you—the guild sent a Street Runner to summon Watch Captain Zevara and Olesm!”

Erin strode towards Drassi and hesitated. She turned.

“Shield Spiders. A nest. You mean like the Face-Eater Moths?”

“Yes! What do we do? Are we going to be under attack again?”

Lyonette had grabbed Mrsha. She looked frightened. Erin felt terrified. But beneath her sudden panic, a cooler part of her took charge. She glanced out her windows, looked through the door to Liscor at the rainy streets and shook her head.

“No. This won’t be the same. Lyonette?”

“Yes?”

“Get to Bird. Tell him what’s going on. Then open the door to Celum. Warn Octavia, tell Wesle and send a Street Runner to let Celum’s Council know what’s going on. And then get back here.”

“Should we leave Mrsha in Octavia’s shop?”

Erin didn’t have to think.

“No. She’ll be okay here. But warn everyone just in case. Tell Pallass too. Headscratcher—”

She whirled. The Redfang Goblins had grabbed the weapons they’d stolen from the Raskghar. Shorthilt had his sharpened blade at the ready. Erin nodded.

“Stay here. I’ll come back if there’s more trouble or we need you. For now, secure the inn with Bird. Got that?”

They nodded. Rabbiteater rushed down the basement stairs to grab Numbtongue. Erin turned towards Lyonette.

“It’ll be fine this time.”

“You’re sure?”

“Pretty sure. I’ll go to the Mage’s Guild. You let everyone know, but don’t start evacuating. The threat’s not to us. It’s to the adventurers.”

So saying, Erin looked at Drassi. The Drake didn’t need an invitation. She turned and pelted through the streets, Erin following at a run. The Drake ran as fast as she could, but she didn’t exactly have Ryoka’s training. And she kept babbling worriedly.

“Oh Ancestors, what are we going to do, Erin? It’ll be the Face-Eater Moths all over again! Do you think Pallass will send reinforcements? What about Celum? Why are there so many monsters?”

“We’ll be fine, Drassi!”

Erin had to slow or wipe out on the slippery cobblestones. She slowed to a jog as Drassi ran just in front of her. The Drake wailed.

“How do you know?”

“Because we’ve done this before.”

Erin answered with confidence. She felt it. There was a certainty now in her chest. Drassi stared at her side-long as they ran.

“Really? That’s it?”

“Yes. We’ve survived one disaster. And we have experience.”

Experience. That was the key. Erin had survived Skinner. She’d survived fighting Regrika, Gazi, the moths, and Goblins. Each time she’d learned something more. She was no [Tactician], but she’d fortified her inn. Bought healing potions and other alchemical weapons. She pointed up.

“It’s raining. Liscor is flooded. The Shield Spiders have only one way into the city and that’s over a bridge that can be cut. They’ll never reach the inn or Liscor’s walls. Maybe they can build webs and float? Either way, it won’t be the same as last time. The adventurers in the dungeon though are in danger. How long has it been since they reported the attack?”

Drassi gasped for air as she slowed further.

“Six—eight minutes? I ran here the instant I heard the [Message] come in! Like you told me!”

Erin nodded. She’d offered Drassi the chance to sit in the Mage’s Guild and gossip all day long in case an adventurer sent a [Message] in. She ran towards the Mage’s Guild and saw Drakes running through the street towards the Guild as well. Zevara, Olesm, Ilvriss—Erin let them go in first.

It wasn’t the same. Liscor couldn’t fall to the same disaster twice. Each time something bad happened, each time there was an attack, they grew. Erin grew. That was the point of leveling. And this time, Erin swore, she’d do all she could to bring back her friends safely. But that was only assuming they were still alive. She raced into the Mage’s Guild, while rain poured down from above. And below there were spiders.

—-

“Fall back! Fall back!”

Halrac shouted the order as Shield Spiders poured out of the massive shaft that had been converted into their nest. The mile-deep vertical drop was filled with their nests and the spiders, sensing light and life above, swarmed upwards in an unending torrent, intent on consuming all that lay above.

It was a trap. Halrac cursed and loosed two arrows that exploded, sending the first wave of spiders fleeing in burning agony. But more came after. He nearly ran into Jelaqua as she charged forwards.

“Back! We need to form a barrier!”

He roared at her. Jelaqua hesitated, but then raced backwards as Moore and Typhenous reversed direction. Revi sprinted past them, screaming and swearing and Seborn flickered into view, a moving shadow.

“There’s hundreds of thousands!”

“Dead gods!”

“Typhenous, Moore , put up a barrier! Buy us a minute. Revi—”

“Give me time!”

The [Summoner] was already raising the instruments of her trade. Pieces of fallen monsters encased in amber and more precious, ornate talismans manufactured from fallen Stitch-People. Ghostly warriors appeared behind her as Revi summoned them one by one. But the Shield Spiders were already pouring up the corridor full of destroyed statues. Halrac loosed another arrow, watching the explosion barely faze the spider horde.

“Typhenous?”

The [Scout] glanced over his shoulder. Typhenous’ face was concentrated. The spiders were closing. Ten feet, five feet—Jelaqua whirled her flail and Seborn braced. Then the [Mage] pointed his stave. A loud booming voice spoke at the same time he did.

“[Barrier of Thorns]!”

“[Flame Wall]!”

Moore and Typhenous cast the spells almost at the same time. A wall of thorns erupted from the ground as the first Shield Spiders scuttled forwards. The dense brambles engulfed the first group of spiders, making the second wave crash into the branches. Surprised, the spiders tried to climb for a second—before a burning wall of flames burst into life. It ignited the thorns, the spiders, and made the living ones screech. Halrac heard and saw the spiders crash against Moore’s barrier, but it held.

Three living Shield Spiders had been quick enough to escape being caught in the wall of thorns. They were all about the size of sheep, huge, horribly large spiders with armored carapaces and terribly sharp pinchers. One reared up to bite. A pair of glowing daggers sliced its head off. The other two dashed forwards and Halrac’s arrow went straight through the first at close range. A pair of spiked flail heads crushed the other in a single blow. The spiders twitched and fell still.

“We have a minute at best before the barrier fails.”

None of the Gold-rank adventurers wasted time exclaiming. Moore peered at his flaming wall of thorns, glancing back at Typhenous.

“Good spell. I thought you were doing webs?”

“Not against spiders.”

Typhenous grinned. Halrac stared past the flaming barrier. The Spiders were attacking it despite the intense flames. He looked around. At times like this, everything slowed. The idle banter, the sound of the spiders cracking the sturdy brambles, the feel of the bow in his hand—all of it crystallized. He looked around and saw the other Gold-rank adventurers were in the same state of mind. They didn’t speak normally, but in a rush that merged together, somehow making sense.

“We saw hundreds of thousands—”

“Big nest?”

“Illusory barrier. Lost my Corusdeer—”

“Send a [Message] spell to Liscor warning them.”

“Already on it. Plan of attack?”

“Has to be me. My armor—”

“Containment’s key. Can you hold if they rush you? If they knock you off—”

“I’ll cover her with arrows if larger ones appear. We need to narrow the corridor. Killing field.”

“Push them back to the pit. What about creating barriers? More walls of fire?”

“Do that. Revi, your summons will screen Jelaqua.”

“How do we want to do this? Push with warriors? I can use my trump spell—”

“Hold it, Typhenous. Don’t exhaust yourself. Smaller spells until we push them into the pit. Moore—”

“My staff will do the work.”

“Leave the big ones to me. Seborn, guard Jelaqua.”

“Got it.”

“Alright. Go!”

The conference had taken about thirty seconds. The Shield Spiders were already breaking down the flaming barrier when it vanished. A huge spider nearly as wide as the corridor reared up, surprised. Halrac aimed and loosed. The Phoenixflame Arrow he’d chosen was expensive. The flaming head penetrated the Shield Spider’s body and then the enchantment activated. Like a phoenix, the arrow exploded into flames bursting the spider’s body like a bubble of soap. The adventurers charged with a roar as the Shield Spiders rushed forwards.

“Here we go!”

Jelaqua was first into the waves of Shield Spiders. Her body was wreathed in flame, her flail swinging. The spiders were all around her, but the Selphid’s flail tore through them, smashing spiders, spinning, hitting and striking in every direction countless times per second. The Heartflame Armor burned as the Shield Spiders tried to bite Jelaqua. But their mandibles and legs glanced harmlessly off of her fiery body. Not off of an object, but deflected by the magical flames themselves. Jelaqua spun, her flail bashing a spider’s head, tearing another one’s eyes away. Strike, strike, strike, strike, strike—

“Contain them!”

The corridor was wide. Too wide for Jelaqua to hold it alone. Her flail couldn’t even stop all of the ones trying to push past her. But the adventurers were equal to that. Another barrier of thorns burst out of the walls beside Jelaqua, halving the corridor’s width. Moore grunted as he swept his staff like a broom, sending a wave of spiders flying back over Jelaqua’s head. Typhenous set both barriers alight and then there was a choke point. And behind Jelaqua, Seborn and Revi held the line.

“Go! Kill the damn spiders!”

Revi shouted at her summoned Stitch-Warriors as she shot glowing missiles of light from her wand. Her spells were weak—they sent a few Shield Spiders reeling backwards as the magical arrows cracked their armor or burnt their eyes away, but their armored carapaces usually deflected her spells. The summoned warriors were a different matter, however.

Eight glowing figures formed a line of steel and magic behind Jelaqua, cutting off both ends of the flaming barrier Moore and Typhenous had set up. They did not flinch from the flames and moved in tandem. They cut, sliced, kicked, and stabbed every Shield Spider that got past Jelaqua, moving tirelessly, holding the line.

And behind them, a shadow flickered between the gaps, slicing any Shield Spider that managed to pass the summoned warriors. Seborn had neither Jelaqua’s reach nor spells, but his blades were sharp enough to slice a Shield Spider in two and he attacked from the shadows, always catching the spiders by surprise.

“[Light] spells.”

Halrac grunted as he shot an arrow past Jelaqua, catching a Shield Spider as tall as she was and piercing its small brain. Typhenous threw a ball of light up, illuminating the dark corridor. Halrac nodded. He didn’t need the light, but the warriors did. Now the Gold-rank adventurers could see each of their foes. They moved forwards, Jelaqua the tip of their spear. And the Shield Spiders began to be pushed back.

They filled the corridor. Thousands of them, trying to scuttle on top of each other, small ones, large ones—the offspring of centuries of breeding in the darkness. They could overwhelm a city. The giant ones in the pit might be able to cut a tower in two in a single bite. But the Gold-rank adventurers took not one step back.

No one had said retreat. No one had suggested it. The corridor was right next to the nest, but it was the perfect place to hold. And they were adventurers. They might not have faced this threat before, but they were equal to it.

“I’m wading through spiders here! We need to push!”

Jelaqua shouted as she moved forwards. Her flail was striking hard and fast, but the spiders were literally flooding the corridor. Piling up on each other. Soon they’d be too thick to crush and if that happened she would be born down. Her armor might allow her to survive that, but the other adventurers wouldn’t.

“Typhenous!”

“My trump card?”

The white-haired mage turned to Halrac, his staff aglow with magic. Halrac shook his head.

“Fireballs first! Give me five! I’ll hit them with burst arrows!”

Typhenous nodded. He raised his staff and Halrac selected a Lightningstrike Arrow from his quiver. He aimed, waited. A [Fireball] flashed from the tip of Typhenous’ staff. Revi covered her eyes and Jelaqua turned, sensing the movement. The fireball struck the mass of spiders in front of her.

Halrac felt the kick in his chest. He heard a roar, saw pieces of Shield Spiders fountain upwards in flame and smoke. He aimed past the explosion and loosed. His arrow sped past Jelaqua and hit another clump of spiders.

Lightning boomed. Revi, Moore, Seborn, all couldn’t hear it. The ringing in their ears remained at the same pitch. But they saw the spiders blast apart. Jelaqua had been hit by the blast too. She staggered, shook her head, and shouted though no one could hear her.

“Dead gods that’s loud!”

Neither the flames nor electricity had touched her through the enchantment. She saw another fireball flash towards her and flinched reflexively. But as it landed among another group of Shield Spiders she felt only the slightest nudge that knocked her back a step. Another arrow blew the Shield Spiders to bits.

“Forwards! Forwards!”

Jelaqua turned her head. She couldn’t hear Halrac but she could see him pointing. She grinned and charged.

The Shield Spiders were limitless. They were ravenous. But they were not fearless. Nor were they stupid. As three more fireballs and arrows blew the oncoming horde to bits, the Shield Spiders retreated. The noise, the heat, the death was too much. And the flaming Selphid that charged them was invincible! They retreated back into the pit. And the adventurers pressed forwards.

“Revi, Seborn—kill the ones at our backs!”

“Dead gods, this is disgusting!”

The Stitch-Girl hung back, blasting the Shield Spiders that had survived the blasts with her wand as her summons covered the Gold-rank adventurers’ backs. Halrac, Typhenous, and Moore pushed forwards. Halrac kicked a Shield Spider aside as he ran towards Jelaqua. She was knocking Shield Spiders off the ledge, her flail moving.

“Jelaqua! Jelaqua!”

The Selphid spun as the other approached. She raised one hand to her ear.

“What? I’m deaf! I think the blasts damaged my ears!”

Halrac cursed as he realized the problem. The other Gold-rank adventurers had paused to pour healing potion down their ears which had helped them regain their hearing. But Jelaqua’s body was dead.

“Stand back!”

He motioned and Jelaqua sprang back. Halrac stepped away as her flaming armor nearly struck him. Jelaqua shouted.

“I can repair the eardrums! But I need a minute!”

“Okay!”

“What?”

Halrac turned his back on her. The Shield Spiders were swarming back down the tunnel but he could see giant ones crawling up from below. The mother spiders weren’t as afraid of fire and they were coming up, squashing their offspring. He didn’t know if they could widen the dungeon corridor with brute strength. And he didn’t intend to find out.

“We’ve got them pushed back. Typhenous, Moore. I’ll shoot down any spider coming up. Give me your best spells. Typhenous, use your trump card.”

The old [Mage] grinned as Halrac began shooting spiders down from the ledge. He raised his staff and the crystal on top began to glow brightly. He looked up at Moore.

“Do you have a Tier 5 spell, Moore?”

“No. I can use [Thorn Spray] to clear out the spiders.”

“Do that, then. Halrac could use the help. I will prepare my opus.”

The half-Giant nodded. He pointed his staff down and a rain of wooden thorns as large as Typhenous’ hand shot downwards like hail. They perforated the first rank of spiders that swarmed up the ledge. The second shower was equally devastating.

Typhenous ignored the violence below. He raised his staff which shone even brighter. The Spiders rushed upwards and a giant one three times as large as Moore approached, ignoring the thorns and Halrac’s arrows alike. It did not seem to realize the danger.

Typhenous’ eyes began to glow as the magic energy in him reached a critical point. He pointed his staff down and a gentle smile crossed his face. The grandfatherly mage stared down at the spiders and whispered the name of his spell.

“[Valmira’s Comet Storm].”

In the dark shaft, there was light. Not the faint glow of a [Light] spell, but true light. Searing. Intense. The Shield Spiders far below looked up as something fell from above. Something bright which burned and hurled the first giant spider downwards. Vaporizing, crushing. It fell, a bright nova which burned through the darkness.

A comet. It struck one of the giant spiders, crushing its front two legs. The giant behemoth tried to hold onto the wall but the impact and flash of magic knocked it off. It fell, taking thousands of the smaller spiders with it. The crunch as it landed on the floor was like thunder; the spiders around it swarmed the giant, devouring it, ignoring the twitching legs. The rest of the spiders still headed up. They did not realize what was happening. But then the second comet fell.

Jelaqua was still. Motionless. She looked like she’d passed out on her feet, but that wasn’t true. It was just that her body, her real body was in the head of her vessel, busily trying to repair the shattered eardrums. It wasn’t easy. True, she had a lot of material to work with since the body was fresh, but repairs weren’t something she liked to rush. Still, hearing was important so as soon as she thought she’d restored most of her hearing she reconnected herself to her body’s nerves.

Just in time to see the flash and hear the explosion. Jelaqua raised her flail instinctively and saw that it was damaged. The spiked heads of her two-handed flail were horribly dented and the chain linking them to her handle looked like it was fatigued. It would break. Swearing, she tossed it aside and reached into her bag of holding.

“I need a damn enchanted flail! At least I have spares.”

She pulled out another one and strode forwards. Moore, Halrac, and Typhenous were standing at the edge of the pit. But none of them were moving. Jelaqua reached forwards and realized she was still on fire. She quietly hissed and the flames on her armor went out.

“What’s going—”

She stopped as she saw a comet fall. The burning, blazing ball of light was magic, blue and green and red and purple surrounding a white core. It had weight, though. It fell and blew apart a group of Shield Spiders retreating down the cavern. Typhenous’ eyes blazed as he conjured another comet and hurled it down. This time it struck one of the mother spiders. Jelaqua saw the mother’s face vanish and the dead spider fell, curling up reflexively before it struck the ground.

“Dead gods.”

The Selphid whispered as Typhenous continued to call comet after comet out of the air. The attacks were slow, but where they struck, the Shield Spiders just…vanished. Halrac nodded. He reached for a stamina potion and drank half roughly before handing it to Jelaqua. She accepted it and drank. The [Scout] watched her hurl the bottle into the pit.

“That’s his trump card. We used to use it against Griffin flights when outnumbered.”

“It’s Tier 5?”

“Tier 5. His best spell. One of the reasons why Ulrien and I wanted to hire him so badly. As Tier 5 spells go, it’s apparently one of the better ones in the world.”

“I’d believe that. Tier 5. Moore doesn’t know a single one. Where’d he get the spellbook that taught him that?”

The next flash illuminated Halrac’s face. He glanced at Typhenous—the [Mage] didn’t hear him or Jelaqua. His eyes were glowing with magic as he shaped each comet.

“He never said.”

“Could have used that on the moths.”

Jelaqua leaned against the wall. Halrac shook his head.

“No. They’d swarm him because of the light. He has to form each comet close to him. And they could probably dodge some of the attacks. They’re slow.”

“Moths like light. But I get your point. How do you get it to work on Griffins, then?”

“Trade secret.”

Jelaqua left it at that. She felt the adrenaline running through her host body and adjusted the glands to stop it. The battle was over. She began checking the Drake body she was inhabiting for stress fractures, damaged muscles, and so on. Moore sighed heavily and leaned on his staff. Sweat and spider blood covered his face.

“How long will Typhenous’ spell last, Halrac?”

“A few more shots. He might be able to cast a few spells after that.”

Halrac watched Typhenous, keeping an eye on the pit. After a while Revi and Seborn came over.

“He’s doing the spell? We got them?”

“We’ve cleaned up the Shield Spiders here. A few small ones might have escaped.”

Halrac nodded. Typhenous gasped as the last comet flew downwards. He sagged and both Halrac and Revi caught him.

“Easy, Typhenous.”

Revi offered him two potions, a stamina potion and a mana potion. Typhenous reached for the mana potion first. His hands shook a bit with fatigue. All the Gold-rank adventurers congratulated him. Jelaqua slapped Typhenous on the back.

“For an old guy you’ve got spirit! Wish we could contribute like that!”

“Your armor really let us cut those damn spiders off. As for the threat—”

Halrac glanced into the pit. Typhenous’ comets had wrought havoc among the spiders. But there were far, far too many hiding below for his comfort. He grimaced.

“We’ve pushed them back. I doubt they’ll make an attempt for the top for a while. But there’s no way we’ll be able to descend without clearing them out.”

“Not a task I’d relish performing alone.”

Typhenous grimaced as he took a swig from the mana potion. Seborn nodded as he gazed down.

“Clearing them out will be a difficult task. We could try poison. But the important part is making sure the spiders don’t escape up here. We’ll have to seal the entrance.”

“That’s our job. Moore can shift dirt and we can use the caved in part of the dungeon. Excavate some stone, seal it up.”

Jelaqua flexed her arms, and the other Gold-rank adventurers nodded. Typhenous took a few deep breaths.

“All worthy tasks. Still, we do have a captive audience. I feel as though I could hurl a few more fireballs down there.”

“Don’t tax yourself. Depleting a monster nest isn’t an overnight job. And now that we know there’s one shaft like this…I’d bet that if we tried another route into the dungeon we’d run into another shaft. The one the Face-Eater Moths came from, perhaps.”

Revi made a disgusted face.

“You think that’s the way the dungeon is set up? Horde style?”

“It makes sense. How else do you explain two mutually antagonistic monster populations thriving down here? They have to be separated from each other. Not to mention fed somehow.”

Halrac looked at the others and got reluctant nods. Jelaqua’s tail twisted through the Shield Spider blood and remains.

“Wonderful. But hey, we did it! Not much to salvage here with all the bits, but—”

She turned and gave the others a wide, toothy Drake grin. Revi’s scowl turned into a reluctant smile, and even Halrac had to nod.

“We did do it. The Adventurer’s Guild owes us a bounty, I think.”

“Our first mass-slaying bounty for clearing the dungeon. Think they even know what that is?”

“We’ll explain it to them repeatedly.”

The others laughed at Revi’s comment. All the tension they’d been feeling drained and they took another look into the pit. Revi stared dreamily at the huge Shield Spiders clustered at the bottom out of range of any further comets.

“Look at those huge spiders. If we could poison one and somehow get to it with the body intact—Typhenous, I could summon one of them! The mana cost would be insane, but just think of it! Halrac, Typhenous, do you think…?”

“Anything for you, my dear.”

Typhenous stroked his beard. He tapped his staff and a fireball appeared.

“But let’s save collecting monsters until we’ve thinned the nest a bit more, shall we? Not that it appears we need to do more work. There’s far fewer of them left than I thought—my comets must have been aimed well!”

Moore looked up.

“I’m receiving multiple [Message] spells from the Mage’s Guild in Liscor. They want to know how many spiders are down there. They’re threatening to cut the bridge if we don’t respond.”

“Hah. They’re probably panicking. Let them know it’s alright, Moore. I don’t fancy swimming back to Liscor.”

Jelaqua was inspecting her damaged flail to see if it was worth hauling back to be reforged. Halrac was still staring into the dark pit. His eyes narrowed.

“Hold on. Someone pass me a torch.”

“Here.”

Seborn pulled a torch out of his bag of holding and Halrac lit it on the fireball Typhenous had conjured. He hurled the torch down into the pit. The flame became a speck that none of the other adventurers could see as it landed among the spiders. But Halrac’s eyes picked out something and he cursed.

“Moore! Send a [Message]!”

The half-Giant had a finger to his temple. He looked up sharply.

“To the Mage’s Guild?”

“To the Silver-rank team if you know their [Mage]! If not, have the Mage’s Guild relay it! And tell the Silver Swords the same thing! We didn’t kill nearly as many Shield Spiders as we thought. They fled. Into the dungeon!”

“Aw, heck.”

Jelaqua grimaced. The other Gold-rank adventurers looked at each other and shook their heads. They’d stirred the nest and subdued it, but the cost was agitating the Shield Spiders. They’d fled Typhenous’ comets and now they were flooding into the dungeon. They might run into other monsters and traps and that would be good. But there were adventurers down there. Halrac looked at the others. True to his nickname, his face was grim and resigned.

“Warn them. That’s all we can do. They’ll have to handle it. We need to seal this entrance off. Let’s get to work.”

The Gold-rank teams nodded. They allowed themselves a moment longer to enjoy their victory, and then they got to work. They could hear the spiders moving far below, a vast rustling sound as the ones capable of squeezing into the tunnels drained out of their nest and into the dungeon.

—-

The mood in the Mage’s Guild of Liscor was tense. Erin stood behind a gaggle of Drakes besieging the front desk. The nervous [Mage] on duty was not ready to have Watch Captain Zevara, Olesm, and Ilvriss demanding answers of him from all sides. Especially when he didn’t have any to give.

“I’ve cast the spell eighteen times, Wall Lord, Watch Captain! The mages must be busy!”

“Request another status update.”

Ilvriss glared at the shrinking Drake.

“Wall Lord, I did—”

“They can at least spare the energy to tell us whether they’re retreating or whether the spiders are moving out of the dungeon!”

“Wall Lord, I cannot force the [Mages] to respond. I only know what they’ve said.”

The Wall Lord stared at the [Mage] and then turned.

“Very well. Watch Captain, what is Liscor’s status?”

“Prepared, Wall Lord. I have already given orders to my men on the walls and I’ve concentrated everyone on the north and eastern walls. We’re ready to cut the water bridges the instant we see Shield Spiders.”

Zevara didn’t blink. She folded her arms and Ilvriss backed down slightly. From her position at the back, Erin thought she could feel him pull back his aura. Yes, now that Lyonette had mentioned it she thought she could feel the Wall Lord trying to use it to take command! But Zevara was equal to the pressure because she didn’t blink.

“I have command of the walls and Olesm assures me an assault on Liscor will fail, even if twice as many Shield Spiders crawl out of the dungeon than the moths. There is too much water. And Shield Spiders don’t swim.”

“Then we must simply worry about what will happen when the rain stops.”

Zevara nodded slightly. Olesm looked between the two and coughed nervously.

“I think the Gold-rank teams can hold them off. It’s rare that lower-level monsters can overwhelm a good team and there are two currently fighting.”

“Understrength teams. Both have lost members. Although I agree with Swifttail’s appraisal. But they have not responded. Mage, tell them that I am requesting a report—”

Erin heard pounding footsteps and turned. She saw the Mage’s Guild doors flung open. Embria and two of her [Captains] strode into the room. The Wing Commander looked furious.

“Why was my command not informed about an attack on Liscor?”

The other Drakes stared at her. Erin saw Zevara turn her head. Olesm closed his eyes. She audibly heard Zevara whisper.

“Festering scale sores, I forgot.”

Embria advanced and the Drakes in front of her cleared out of the way. She nodded curtly at Ilvriss, and then Zevara. But it was Olesm she looked at.

“What is the situation, [Strategist]?”

Olesm straightened and saluted. His tail wagged nervously although it wasn’t visible by anyone but Erin and Drassi who were watching from the side.

“Two Gold-rank teams report a massive infestation of Shield Spiders in the dungeon, Wing Commander! They claim they’ve discovered an artificial nest containing hundreds of thousands of them! Large Shield Spider mothers similar to the Face-Eater Moth colony that assaulted Liscor. They speculate that the dungeon is a horde-style vengeance dungeon!”

“Horde style? Vengeance dungeon? I’m unfamiliar with these terms.”

Embria glanced uncertainly at her [Captains]. Olesm bobbed his head.

“These are adventurer terms, Wing Commander. It refers to a dungeon constructed solely to eradicate trespassers and damage intruders, rather than test them or safeguard treasures. It is considered the most malignant dungeon type. Horde style dungeons rely on massive monster nests rather than advanced traps or other features, although they may have multiple forms of protection.”

“I see. In that case I will instruct my men to deploy to the walls in case the spiders breach the dungeon.”

Embria raised a claw and Zevara spoke up.

“Not necessary, Wing Commander. I already have my people on the walls. I would appreciate your soldiers holding back until called for.”

Embria paused. She locked gazes with Zevara.

“My [Soldiers] would bolster your Watch, Captain Zevara.”

“I have no doubt, Wing Commander Embria. But this is my city.”

Zevara held her gaze until Embria nodded reluctantly. Erin whistled under her breath. She felt bad for the Watch Captain; Zevara had to deal with both Ilvriss and Embria all the time. She thought Embria was about to ask another question when the forgotten [Mage] gasped. Instantly all eyes turned back to him.

“They’ve done it! Moore of the Halfseekers reports that the Shield Spiders failed to push back their teams! They halted the advance and greatly damaged the nest with a Tier 5 spell! They’ve taken no casualties and are preparing to seal the nest until they can return to it!”

A sigh rose around the Mage’s Guild. Erin felt the tension in her chest ease and saw Drassi’s eyes sparkling. The news would spread around the city the instant the Drake left the Guild. Ilvriss nodded.

“Adequate. Ask them for an estimate of the spiders and—”

“Wait.”

The [Mage] interrupted the Wall Lord. Her eyes flicked rapidly as she held one purple-scaled claw to her brow. Then her eyes widened.

“We have an immediate request! Someone send a [Message] spell to Gemhammer’s [Mage] or The Pride of Kelia’s [Shaman]! The Shield Spiders are retreating into the dungeon and it is Halrac the Grim’s assessment that the other teams may come under threat!”

Some of the other [Mages] on duty immediately raised claws to their temples. Ilvriss looked around, frowning.

“A threat to the other teams? But not to Liscor?”

“Doubtful. The only other entrance we know of is through the underwater rift. We’re still safe.”

“What about Liscor’s Hive?”

“What about it?”

Olesm cringed as the others stared at him.

“Well, they did suffer an attack when the Face-Eater Moths attacked Liscor. It may be that their Hive will be assaulted again.”

Ilvriss dismissed this with a flick of his claws.

“A few Shield Spiders burrowing through the walls of their Hive isn’t a threat worth informing the Antinium over. Let them be.”

“Yes, Wall Lord.”

“As for the other teams—well, their survival is to be hoped for. But it seems this crisis has passed.”

“It does. For us. I’ll request a meeting with both Gold-rank teams when they return.”

Watch Captain Zevara adjusted her belt, looking visibly more relaxed. Erin watched both her and Ilvriss leave the Mage’s Guild. She didn’t feel any less tense. And when a [Mage] looked up and gasped, it was Erin who pushed her way through the crowd.

“The Pride of Kelia’s [Shaman] has replied! They have received the warning but cannot currently retreat! They are under attack!”

“From spiders?”

Everyone’s mind leapt to the same conclusion. But the Drake was shaking his head.

“No. A smaller group of monsters—”

“Where? And what monsters?”

Erin interrupted the gaggle of Drakes. The [Mage] looked irritated but he replied.

“Not Shield Spiders—no. They’ve been engaged with a band of Raskghar for the last hour! Apparently they’ve been fighting just below the rift. They do not intend to retreat, but they claim the enemy has magical armaments. I’m awaiting another update.”

“The Raskghar have magical weapons? That makes them a lot more dangerous. They’re intelligent, and I have every reason to believe they’ve been hunting adventurers. Guildmistress Tekshia should be warned about this threat.”

Olesm muttered to himself as he scribbled on a piece of parchment. The other Drakes weren’t really listening. The threat to the adventuring teams was a low priority and most of the crowd had dissipated to relax now the crisis was over. Embria stormed out of the Mage’s Guild growling about being kept out of the loop. Olesm’s mind was still racing, though.

“I wonder if the Silver-rank teams can handle them. And why weren’t the Silver Swords and the Horns of Hammerad warned? Wait—they didn’t go into either entrance. Do you think they’d be willing to comment on these new developments for me, Erin?”

The Drake waited for a response, but none came. After a moment he looked up.

“Erin?”

She was already gone.

—-

“Captain! Liscor says there’s a Shield Spider nest being stirred up somewhere in the dungeon!”

“What? Who the fuck cares about a nest! Tell them we’re a little busy over here!”

An arrow flew over Earlia’s head, nearly grazing her helmet. She ducked and shouted at her group’s [Gem Mage]. The man was hiding behind a shield and wasting his time on [Message] spells. She pointed.

“Stop chatting with the Drakes and cast some magic!”

She saw the man in front of the mage holding the shield stagger. Nothing had struck his shield. Nothing visible at any rate. But Earlia knew from the burning pain in her shoulder that the invisible arrows the Raskghar with the bow were firing were powerful indeed. Another arrow struck the shield bearer in front of her from the side and she saw an arrow sprout from his leg. He screamed and nearly dropped his shield.

“Don’t you dare lower that shield! Shield your faces!”

Earlia screamed at her team, grabbing another healing potion. She yanked the arrow out of Timgal’s leg and heard him scream. Ruthlessly, Earlia poured the healing potion onto his leg. The potion was a good one—it would neutralize the poison as well as heal the wound.

“Not barbed. Thank the cities.”

“Do not falter! Take cover if you are wounded! Focus on the one with the enchanted bow!”

Nailren bellowed as he tossed another explosive vial of alchemist’s oil at the Raskghar. The flames made them howl in fear and panic and pull back despite the urging of their leaders. Earlia spotted the huge Gnoll in armor waving a maul and pointed at him. Then she saw a flash. The slim [Swordswoman] who’d joined the fight raced into a pack of Raskghar. She heard them howl in pain and saw them fleeing. Earlia grunted.

“Who the hell is that?”

“Whomever it is, they have a death wish. There are too many Raskghar out there!”

The Gnoll Captain followed the masked woman as she dodged and wove among the Raskghar. His prediction of death didn’t come true; the mysterious fighter was adept at striking the Raskghar and fleeing or dodging backwards before they could follow.

With her skirmishing in the shadows they could divide the enemy’s attention. Nailren shot another arrow at a Raskghar threatening to club down the strange ally from behind and then spun as he heard a roar. He growled and Earlia pointed. The armored Gnoll was charging!

“He’s coming! Ready the ropes!”

The huge Raskghar bounded forwards, the magical armor he was wearing shining as the Gnolls tried to hit his unguarded face. But the Raskghar was clever enough to shield his face with a gauntleted hand. With the other he charged the Humans with shields. He would have shattered them with his maul, but Earlia raced forwards with three of her companions. They tossed something at the Raskghar.

Rope. Just plain, sturdy rope. But it was attached to grappling hooks or looped. The Raskghar grunted in surprise as the adventurers split up. They ran past him, the ropes dragging around the giant beast. Too late he realized what they were doing. Entangling him! Trying to tie him up!

The Raskghar immediately swung his maul, forcing one of the adventurers with rope to roll away. But then Earlia was charging him.

“Let’s see you dodge this!”

She swung her warhammer with a roar. If she’d still been able to use her [Hammer Blow] Skill, she would have. The Raskghar blocked the blow with an arm and howled. Earlia felt the impact run all the way back down her warhammer. It hadn’t broken the armor but it had to have hurt to block. Tearing at the ropes, the Raskghar swung at her.

“Hold him steady!”

Earlia wanted to swing again, but the Raskghar tore free of the other two adventurers and stumbled backwards. The other axe and club-wielding Raskghar who’d come forwards with him fell back and the Gnolls who’d showered them with arrows before meeting them in a brutal melee fell back.

“Anyone wounded?”

“Cuska lost her thumb! The Raskghar bit it off!”

Nailren saw one of the Gnolls howling over a bloody appendage. He snarled and raised his bow. One of the Raskghar fell as it retreated. Nailren would have shot again, but his instincts made him duck behind the shield one of Gemhammer’s [Warriors] was holding. The invisible arrow glanced off the shield.

“Stalemate. Everyone, heal any injuries! Captain Earlia, we must break this situation before reinforcements arrive!”

“You’re reading my mind!”

Earlia took cover and downed a stamina potion, feeling the rush of energy fill her limbs. She glanced over the shield she was hiding behind. They’d been fighting for over an hour here, right at the entrance to the dungeon. It had mostly been an archer’s duel with a few bloody skirmishes. And so far it felt like they were winning.

“Miss Swordswoman! Over here!”

In the sudden lull, Earlia took the opportunity to shout at the woman who’d appeared in the middle of the fighting. The slim figure turned, her sword wet with blood. She tilted her head slightly as Earlia waved to her frantically. She strode towards them, ignoring the arrows flying past her.

“Dead gods, you must be insane! Are you Gold-rank? What’s your team? How long have you been down here?”

Earlia grabbed for the stranger, dragging her behind the wall of adventurers. She received a shock—the stranger was light as a feather! The masked adventurer didn’t respond. She nodded at Earlia, pointed at the Raskghar, and made a slicing motion across her neck. Earlia stared. Then she laughed.

“Works for us! Stick with our groups. We’re making a push!”

The woman nodded. Earlia looked around. They had the upper hand now.

The Raskghar were numerous. Strong. But they lacked magic. With two exceptions they were simply strong [Warriors] and both Silver-rank teams had the Skills and magical gear to even the odds. The real trouble was the Raskghar wearing armor who was difficult to kill and the one with the invisible arrows and enchanted bow. But so far Earlia’s team had beaten them back.

The one in armor feared to approach again lest he be caught by Gemhammer’s rope tricks. And the Raskghar archers were losing the duel of arrows for all they outnumbered The Pride of Kelia. Their stone arrows and cruder bows were no match for Gnollish recurves and composites. And the Gnolls could heal anything but a mortal wound with potions.

But the longer the fight wore on, the more the Silver-rank teams would be at a disadvantage. The only thing that gave them the edge were the healing potions. And Erin’s Scale Soup, which had allowed them to survive the Raskghar’s primitive arrows. Earlia looked at Nailren and got a nod. She tapped the man in front of her and he moved forwards. She shouted as Gemhammer pushed towards the Raskghar clustered down the tunnel in front of them.

“Advance! We need that armor or that bow! Don’t let them escape!”

Boldness. The Raskghar expected them to hold in face of their numbers. But the Silver-rank adventurers wanted that armor and that bow. Earlia led the charge and heard the Raskghar howling as they fell back. She saw the one in armor point and then smaller shapes with glowing red eyes filled the space between them. Earlia cursed.

“They’re sending the Goblins forward!”

The small Cave Goblins were fast, far weaker than the Raskghar, but deadly in numbers. Earlia swung her warhammer and felt the tip crunch into a Goblin’s head. She halted as her team began to cut into the Goblin’s ranks.

“Damn, there are a lot of them!”

“Watch for arrows!”

The masked adventurer danced past Earlia, her blade cutting through the air. She beheaded a Goblin, turned, slashed another one across the chest, and speared a third through the neck. She was quick! Earlia was a master of brutal, powerful blows. This stranger used light, swift cuts and relied only on her grace to survive. The two women cut a path through the terrified Goblins. Until Earlia heard a warning call from behind.

“Captain! The Raskghar are retreating!”

“What!?”

It was true. The Raskghar had taken the opportunity given to them by the Cave Goblins to move back. She saw them turn and run as the Cave Goblins broke, fleeing before the adventurers and leaving scores of their dead behind.

“Why would they do that?”

It wasn’t like they were losing that badly. The not-Gnolls were bloodthirsty as any monsters Earlia had ever seen. Mystified, she looked at Nailren. The Silver-rank Gnoll Captain frowned.

“I hear howls of retreat. Of…of danger? I cannot tell. The Raskghar do not sound as we do. But they are retreating.”

“From us? You’re pulling my leg.”

“I am not, no. There is something else at work here.”

Earlia frowned. Her instincts were singing that this wasn’t good, but she wasn’t sure why. She looked back at her team and then at the bodies.

“I’m of the mind to pursue, but I don’t want to run into a trap. There’s a bounty on Raskghar. Let’s collect some heads first. Unless you object?”

“Not at all.”

Nailren grinned savagely. Earlia turned.

“Alright, set a guard and let’s get to collecting bounties!”

She saw the other adventurers in her team groan. They didn’t enjoy the gruesome task of hacking monsters apart to collect trophies they could turn into the Adventurer Guilds. The Gnolls just set to work with grim purpose, finishing off any monsters that moved.

“Miss Adventurer, care to join us? We’d be honored to share the bounty.”

The masked woman hadn’t moved since the Goblins and Raskghar had fled. She was staring into the dungeon. She jumped—literally jumped—when Earlia addressed her. She spun, warily. Earlia paused and gave her a friendly smile.

“How long have you been down here, Miss? We heard rumors there was someone in the dungeon. Are you part of the guild? We’re Gemhammer. That group of Gnolls is The Pride of Kelia.”

The adventurer tilted her head left to right, staring at Earlia. She didn’t respond. Her mask had neither breathing holes nor a place for her mouth. It looked crude, patchwork. But something shone in the eye sockets. A purple glow. An enchantment? Earlia hesitated. She felt…afraid. Just as quickly, the light vanished and Earlia’s nervousness vanished.

Had that been an enchantment? A Skill? Earlia bit her lip. Good form was to introduce oneself, but you got all kinds of strange adventurers in the higher ranks. In the lower ones too, but they tended to die off quick. She’d heard of Named Adventurers that acted like this. Could this woman be that good? No, she was probably Silver or Gold-rank. If she had survived down here, Gold-rank for certain.

“Will you join us? We’re collecting bounties.”

Again, the masked woman didn’t respond. Earlia wondered if she even understood. The Captain of Gemhammer knelt by a Goblin body and the masked woman knelt with her.

“Are you hurt? Do you need a potion?”

No response. Then the woman slowly shook her head. Earlia nodded encouragingly. She could work with this! She tried to chat as she got to the dirty work in front of her.

“I hate this part of the job. Collecting heads. Ears. At least they let us do ears for the Goblins. It’s not worth hauling around a bunch of heads—unless you have a bag of holding. And I don’t have the coin to buy one for my team yet. You know?”

The masked woman shook her head again. Earlia laughed.

“Close enough!”

Back to work. Earlia grunted as she knelt by a Goblin and fished a dagger out. Goblin ears weren’t worth much, but every bit counted when you were saving. She began to saw, cursing at the blood when she heard something. Earlia looked up.

“What’s that sound?”

She listened as the other adventurers looked up. Nailren, who’d already been frowning, shook his head.

“Not just sound. It’s a vibration. Something—”

Someone grabbed Earlia’s wrist. She shouted in alarm. The Goblin wasn’t dead! Earlia raised the dagger but the Goblin wasn’t trying to attack her. Its lips were moving. It gurgled a sound at her. Earlia paused.

“What?”

The Goblin repeated the word. It was in its tongue. Earlia shook her head.

“What’s that? Mercy? Sorry. I’ll make this quick.”

The Goblin twitched. It said another word. This one sounded like common. Earlia frowned.

“What was that? Say it again.”

“Wave.”

She looked up. Nailren was standing over her. He looked at the Goblin. Earlia felt a jolt of surprise as she realized it had died as she’d looked away. The Gnoll frowned as he bent over it.

“It said ‘wave’.”

“Wave?”

Someone laughed. But Earlia frowned. Wave? That was a strange word, especially for a Goblin to use. Especially one in a cave. It couldn’t have seen the ocean. The ocean was hundreds of miles from Liscor and the Floodplains had no tidal action, for all it was underwater. So how—

The masked woman had readied her sword when the Goblin moved. She had frozen when it spoke, but all of Earlia’s attention had been on the strange word the Goblin was repeating. But as Earlia spoke the word she reacted. She backed away from the Goblins and waved her hands. The other adventurers stared at her.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

The masked woman was suddenly panicked. She waved her hands, pointed up at the ceiling, and then pointed frantically with her arms down a tunnel. Earlia tried to make sense of it.

“Wait! Slow down. What do you want us to do? Follow you? It’s too dangerous!”

The masked woman stared at her. She looked over her shoulder, at the Goblins, and then ran. She waved her arms frantically as she sprinted down a tunnel. All without a sound. Earlia ran after her.

“Wait! Don’t go! What do you—”

Too late. The masked woman vanished into the darkness. Earlia stopped, bewildered. What was that about? She turned to look back at the other adventurers. They were just as confused. But now they were afraid. The masked woman knew something they didn’t. Earlia saw one of the Gnolls glance up and perk his ears up. He glanced at his Captain and murmured softly.

“Nailren. The rumbling. It is growing louder.”

One of the Gnolls called out uneasily. Earlia looked up. The distant rumbling was growing louder. And she could feel it now, too. In her bones. A distant vibration. She felt uneasy and shifted. This was like an earthquake underground. She saw the rest of Gemhammer reacting the same way.

“You think this is why the Raskghar cleared out?”

“It must be. But what does the wave mean?”

Nailren looked around. He sniffed the air and then turned. The rumbling sound kept growing louder and louder. Earlia gestured.

“Team, form up. Whatever’s coming, I want to be ready.”

The adventures abandoned collecting trophies. They formed a wall in three directions, their back to the rift leading up. Earlia stared into the darkness. Now the rumbling was a physical sound. She felt her heart pounding. What was this? What was—

Nailren saw it first. He sucked in his breath and made a very un-warrior like whimpering sound. Earlia turned to him.

“What is it?”

“Spiders.”

He whispered the word. Earlia stared at him. She turned to the [Gem Mage] who’d received the [Message] and then to Nailren, uncomprehending.

“Spid—”

Then she saw it. In the distance, the black dungeon corridor suddenly turned into a rushing torrent of motion. A huge Shield Spider charged out of the darkness, pushing—being pushed by—a wall of spiders. They surged forwards, climbing on top of each other, scuttling forwards, crushing, devouring, burying everything in their way.

A wave.

The Silver-rank teams stared in horror for one second. Then Earlia moved.

“Up, up! Climb for your lives!”

The adventurers ran for the rift. But the wave was closing and they didn’t have time to scale the rocky walls! The spiders were closing on them. A hundred feet, fifty feet—

—-

“You are terrible at this. I’m trying to be nice, but I can’t explain it any other way.”

Ceria glared at the Silver Swords. She was this close to firing an [Ice Spike] at Ylawes. She pointed angrily at the dented and battered suit of armor lying on the ground. Half of the visor was melted off and a huge gaping hole had been torn into its chest. The enchanted suit of armor was dead. Inanimate, rather. And the Silver Swords had done the killing.

Ceria was furious. She stood around the downed suit of armor, shaking with frustration as Yvlon backed her up. The Silver Swords stood on the other side while Pisces and Ksmvr hung back. Pisces was interpreting the tense scene for Ksmvr, who, as usual, was at a loss. She raged at the Silver Swords, trying not to shout in the confined dungeon.

“I thought you were going to help us! Instead, your team is a liability!”

“Watch your mouth.”

Falene frowned at Ceria. The older half-Elf looked peeved; her ears were twitching angrily. Ceria didn’t care.

“Watch my mouth? I’m speaking the truth!”

“Miss Springwalker, we are a Gold-rank team and we’ve been together for eight years. I would appreciate a bit of civility. We are not amateurs.”

It was hard to tell who was more annoyed, Ylawes, Ceria, or Falene. The [Knight] looked angrily at his sister.

“Yvlon, your Captain believes we are inept. Please talk some sense into her.”

Yvlon folded her arms and sighed.

“I agree with Ceria.”

The Silver Swords stared at her. Ceria grabbed at her hair. She stood in the dungeon’s corridors, not five turns from where they’d begun. They had made almost no progress in an hour. For one reason.

“See? We’re trying to tell you the truth!”

“Sister, your tone is beyond insolent. I do not wish to be lectured by—”

Falene’s sharp voice was cut off by a rumble from Dawil. He raised his hammer and banged it on the ground loudly.

“Oh shut up, you stinking half-Elf. Not you. Our half-Elf. Although both of you smell.”

Both half-Elves glared at the Dwarf. Dawil appeared not to notice. He looked at Ceria.

“Go on.”

Ceria took a deep breath and tried to be diplomatic. She failed.

“Okay, listen. Your team is Gold-rank. You’re good at fighting monsters. No one’s denying that. Dead gods, you might even be better than Griffon Hunt or the Halfseekers in a straight up fight.”

“Hah. I like how this is starting.”

Dawil grinned. Ylawes and Falene just kept frowning. Ceria sighed.

“But. You’re not a good team for a dungeon. You might be the worst team I’ve ever seen for dungeon diving, and that includes Bronze-rank teams!”

The Silver Swords gave each other incredulous looks. Ylawes coughed into his gauntleted hand.

“You’re exaggerating, surely.”

“Am I?”

Ceria pointed at Ylawes with a trembling finger.

“Every time you see a monster, you attack it! Or challenge it to a duel! In a dungeon filled with traps! You think the best way to get rid of traps is to walk onto them and hope you survive it!”

The [Knight] blushed a bit. Ceria pointed at Falene next.

“As for you—you think that [Detect Magic] is all you need to check for spells! And you won’t shut up when we’re supposed to be quiet! And you always have a snide comment! Even Pisces shuts up sometimes!”

“Why thank you, Ceria.”

Falene sniffed.

“I resent the comparison.”

Ceria nearly screamed.

“That’s what I’m talking about! As for you—”

She pointed at Dawil. The Dwarf blinked at her accusatory finger.

“Why does an [Axe Champion] have a hammer instead of an axe!?”

A moment of silence followed Ceria’s last shout. She colored as she realized she didn’t really have anything bad to say about Dawil. But it had been bugging her. Dawil chewed on his beard for a moment and then fished at his belt.

“I’ve got an axe. Here.”

He raised an ornate throwing axe. Ceria stared at it. Dawil tossed it up and down casually and shrugged.

“I got my class because I won a throwing competition. Drunk. Got crowned as champion and got the class. I don’t like axes as much as hammers. I’ve got one good throwing Skill. That satisfy you, Miss Nosy half-Elf?”

“Yes.”

Ceria rubbed at her head. Dawil nodded.

“Then I think it’s time we headed back.”

Ylawes and Falene looked at him in shock. Ylawes protested.

“You can’t be serious, Dawil! You agree with her?”

The Dwarf nodded calmly. He looked at the other adventurers and rumbled.

“She has a point. Lots of good points, actually. We’ve never cleared a dungeon anywhere near as dangerous as this before.”

“We made good progress. We killed the suit of armor. And the Face-Eater Moth we found. And the pack of ghouls.”

“And nearly walked over an exploding rune trap. And the other one that took out half of my skeletons.”

Pisces sniffed. Ylawes paused, glanced at him, and then away. Dawil nodded.

“Face it, Ylawes. The only thing that kept us from walking on traps were all the [Necromancer]’s little toys that did it for us. None of us have trap finding Skills. More importantly, we don’t do well as a team.”

He glanced meaningfully at Ceria and she nodded reluctantly. It was true. Neither team got along well. They stepped on each other’s toes, argued…and she could tell that Ylawes was willing to admit that, if nothing else. The [Knight] looked frustrated. Dawil stroked his beard and then grinned before bringing up a final point.

“Plus, two half-Elves is worse than one. Stands to reason we’re not getting anything done. We barely functioned as a team with one pointy-earred git holding down the team. With two…let’s call it a day, lad. We can work out a way to solve things over a hot meal.”

He gestured back the way he’d come. This time Falene was the only one who glared. Ceria just laughed. Dawil shot her a sideways grin and Ylawes nodded, resigned.

“If that is how it must be, I suppose we have little choice. I had intended to make great progress, but—”

He broke off, shaking his head. In silence, the two teams trooped back down the corridor, passing by the patrol of enchanted armor they’d destroyed. Dawil paused to kick at one of the helmets.

“Not bad steel here. We could use a bag of holding. Claim the bounties on the moth and ghouls too. Worth a bit of coin.”

“Yeah. There’s that at least. You can have the bounty on the armor and moth. We’ll take the ghouls since Pisces snapped all their necks.”

Ylawes frowned.

“We should split it equally. We are a team, if in name alone.”

The headache that Ceria thought was fading sprang back into her head. She glared at Ylawes.

“Yes, but we didn’t do anything for the armor.”

“But as a team—”

Yvlon groaned and Pisces rubbed at his eyes tiredly as the two began arguing again. Ksmvr, watching the discussion and the way Falene slid herself into the conversation, tilted his head. His antennae twitched a few times and he turned. He clicked his mandibles a few times and raised his voice.

“Ah. I believe we are in danger.”

All the other adventures spun. They readied their weapons but heard nothing. Saw nothing in the darkness. Ceria looked at Ksmvr.

“You’re sure?”

“I detect vibrations down this tunnel. Something is approaching.”

Ksmvr paused.

“Many somethings. At speed.”

Soon, the other adventurers heard it. Ceria swallowed as she felt the vibration in the stone walls.

“Tree crap. We should retreat for the entrance.”

“And be cornered? Whatever it is moves fast. We should hold our ground. See what we’re facing.”

Again, Ceria felt a severe disconnect as Ylawes planted his feet on the ground and raised his shield. Dawil raised his hammer, grunting.

“I’m with you there, lad. I don’t fancy being the last one in a race for the exit.”

“You may retreat behind us. We will wait here.”

Falene glanced at Ceria. The younger half-Elf glared back at her. She looked at Pisces, Yvlon, and Ksmvr.

“Let’s see what it is. Pisces, can you send a skeleton forwards?”

“On it.”

The [Necromancer] pointed and the remaining pair of skeletons rushed into the darkness. They were unarmed, but the Raskghar made for imposing skeletons nevertheless. Ksmvr raised his shortbow and Yvlon raised her shield, taking the other half of the corridor. Ceria and Pisces lined up. She saw his eyes flickering as his skeletons rushed forwards and then he groaned.

“Spiders.”

“Spiders? You mean, the ones Halrac and the others warned us about?”

Ceria breathed a sigh of relief. She’d been concerned when they’d received the message about Shield Spiders, but if the Silver Swords were good at anything, it was a standup fight. But Pisces’ pale face made her think twice.

“It’s not one or two Shield Spiders. It’s a—a wall of them. They are coming down the passage. Tens of thousands. I recommend we flee. Now.”

“A wall?”

The other stared at Pisces. He took a step back and pointed.

“Did you hear me? I said, run.”

“From Shield Spiders? Even in number, they’re not a threat.”

Ylawes looked dismissive. Pisces colored, and then shouted.

“And if there are enough to bury you alive, you incompetent fool? I said there is a wall of them coming! Enough spiders to flood this tunnel from bottom to ceiling!”

He pointed up to the twelve-foot high ceiling above. Ylawes stared up.

“Ah.”

“That’s a lot of spiders. How fast’re they coming?”

Dawil looked ahead uneasily. The rumbling sound was getting louder fast. Pisces turned.

“Quickly.”

He began to run. The other adventurers looked at the fleeing [Necromancer] and then sprinted after him. Ceria felt the rumbling behind her enter her bones. She chanced a look over her shoulder. The light from her [Light] spell didn’t reach far back, but if she stared far into the distance she could see a lot of rapidly moving shapes…

“[Light].”

Falene flung an orb backwards as she ran. The glowing yellow ball of light illuminated the corridor, passed the broken pieces of armor and then—

“Oh dead gods, run!”

Ceria saw the spiders. They crawled over each other, a torrent, a sea of skittering legs, staring eyes. Small ones crawled forwards, crushed by larger members. And behind them pushed a massive spider as large as the corridor. It was rushing forwards like a bull. Ceria imagined tripping, being covered by the tiny spiders as they bit her before the larger one simply crushed her with its weight. They were so many. They could bury her alive just with their numbers. There was nowhere safe. Like Pisces said, they went from floor to ceiling.

And they were fast. Ceria picked up the pace and passed by Ylawes and Dawil and Yvlon. Falene was lagging at the rear while Ksmvr and Pisces and Ceria took the front. But only Pisces was outdistancing the Shield Spiders with his [Flash Step]. The rest were falling behind.

“We’ll never make it!”

Falene shouted at the others. They were four corridors away from the burial chamber, but it was too far. She spun, her robes flashing with magical symbols and planted her staff.

“We need not flee. I will use a barrier spell!”

“Falene!”

Instantly, the other two Silver Swords halted and ran back towards her. For an agonizing moment Ceria turned and saw Yvlon staring back at her brother. Then she halted.

“Pisces! Ksmvr!”

The two turned. Ksmvr immediately ran back, but Ceria saw Pisces hesitate. He looked back at the spiders, and at her and she met his eyes. Pisces whirled—and ran back.

“A spell?”

“Yes. Do not interrupt me. I will cast a barrier across the tunnel. It will hold the spiders.”

Falene was sweating as she raised her staff. She glanced over her shoulder at Pisces and Ceria.

“I would…appreciate any assistance you could give me.”

That was almost a plea coming from her. Ceria bit her lip. She wasn’t an expert with Tier 4 or Tier 5 spells at her disposal! She had one good spell, though. Ceria concentrated, drawing her wand and pointing it at the ground in front of her.

“[Ice Wall]!”

A wall of shimmering ice grew out of the ground. It stretched towards the ceiling, thin as a roll of parchment at first, then thickening as Ceria poured her magic into the spell. She saw Pisces raise his hands and point. A whirling mass of air formed in front of her wall, and then bones began to rise behind it, forming a crisscross pattern.

“[Wind Shield]. [Bone Wall]. This isn’t going to work.”

“Don’t tell me that now!”

Ceria poured her magic into the spell. Pisces bit his lip as the temporary bones he’d summoned out of the ground thickened. The ice and bones mixed into a solid mass. Ceria eyed it hopefully as the wave of spiders approached.

“It can hold! It’ll be four feet thick! Six!”

“That’s not enough. Falene’s spell will not hold either. The spiders are moving too fast and they are too heavy.”

Pisces snapped back at Ceria. She saw the fear in his eyes and wavered. Falene cast a glance over her shoulders. It was full of pride, of scorn, and, Ceria’s heart lurched, beneath it all, uncertainty.

“I am a Gold-rank [Mage]. My [Force Barrier] spell will hold. I will pour all of my mana into it.”

She pointed. Behind the ice and bone, the air twisted as a barrier appeared. [Force Wall], a Tier 4  spell. Ceria stared at it hopefully. Pisces took one look and shook his head.

“Keep running. We have bought ourselves seconds at the price of minutes! We could attempt to go down that passageway there—find an escape.”

He urged the others down the corridor. There was a split ahead, a T-junction. Ceria gritted her teeth.

“We can’t go down that corridor! We’ll run right into a trap!”

“Then run back to the entrance! Hurry!”

“I am pouring my mana into the barrier. It will hold.”

Falene spoke in a half-trance. She refused to budge. Pisces swore and turned.

“Die if you wish! The rest of you, follow me!”

He turned and ran. Ceria hesitated for only a moment. But Pisces was right. And if there was any expert on spells she trusted—no, she trusted his cowardly instincts more.

“Go!”

Ksmvr and Yvlon dashed after Pisces. Ceria saw Ylawes and Dawil exchange glances. Dawil grunted.

“You keep doing your spell, Falene. Don’t mind us.”

He grabbed Falene’s arms and Ylawes grabbed her legs. The half-Elf barely reacted as they ran, Dawil carrying her over his head and Ylawes supporting her legs. The half-Elf spoke slowly. She was putting all she had into the spell.

“It will hold. Do not run. We will be safe. We will—”

The adventurers slowed as they passed the T-intersection. To the left, Ceria saw the dungeon stretching beyond. Unknown. She chanced a look, but it was too dangerous. She halted as she saw Pisces had stopped. Ksmvr was rummaging around in his pack.

“I will endeavor to help as best I can.”

“Too late.”

The [Necromancer] stared back to the triple-layered barrier. Ceria turned and looked too as Ylawes, Dawil, and Falene skidded to a stop. She knew they should keep running. But she couldn’t help it.

The mass of Shield Spiders came down the tunnel like a breaking wave. The spiders were insane with fear and anger. They didn’t care that there was a wall in the way. They smelled living things. And they were moving too fast. They hit Pisces’ spinning barrier of air, hit the wall of ice and bone, and hit Falene’s [Force Barrier] spell with a collision that made the ground shake.

Ceria felt her magic shatter as the wall broke. She cried out—from shock more than anything else. But she had only cast the spell. She hadn’t tied herself to it. Ahead of her she saw Falene’s eyes go wide. The half-Elf convulsed as bone and ice splintered down the corridor. Ceria saw spider chitin flying like shrapnel, saw a confusing mess of body parts and then saw the spiders.

They were still moving. Thousands had been crushed by the impact, but the giant spider behind them was intact. And as more poured forwards, they regained their momentum. The spider wave began charging again. Straight at the adventurers.

“Falene? Falene!”

Ylawes was shaking Falene. The half-Elf was bleeding profusely from both nostrils and she’d bitten through her lip. Dawil cursed and fumbled for a health potion.

“She’s suffering backlash! We need to—”

“Drop her and get ready! They’re coming!”

Yvlon snapped at the two males. The Silver Swords turned. The giant Shield Spider pushed its smaller brethren as they charged. Down the corridor. There was only the corridor to the left now. But even if they ran, they wouldn’t make it. Ceria raised a trembling hand. She could cast a spell. An overcharged [Ice Spear] like last time. But even if she did—

“Everyone, it’s been an honor.”

Yvlon raised her shield. Her sword was steady as she eyed the oncoming spiders from beneath her helmet. Ksmvr was still fumbling in his pack, as if they had anything that would stop that many spiders. A [Fireball] wouldn’t do it. Five fireballs—they should have been shooting them from the start, not blocking!

Another error. If she’d been thinking she would have come up with it. Ceria closed her eyes. She looked at Pisces. He was standing still, his eyes on the spiders. He hadn’t drawn his rapier. It wouldn’t do much good anyways.

“You can still run.”

She looked at him. Pisces met her gaze. He had [Flash Step]. He could outdistance the spiders. Leave them behind. He glanced over his shoulder, back at her.

“That is true.”

He didn’t move. The spiders rolled towards them, and Ceria raised her skeletal hand. How had it gone? Maybe if she put everything she had into it. Maybe—

“Ah. I have found it. It is true that it is always in the last place I look.”

Ksmvr lifted something triumphantly. Ceria looked at him and wanted to laugh.

“Oh Ksmvr—”

He had a small, leather ball in his hands. A toy. It looked like one of Mrsha’s toys. Pisces’ eyes widened while Ceria turned away. At least Ksmvr tried. She saw the Antinium stride forwards.

“Allow me to help!”

“Ksmvr come back! Come—”

Yvlon shouted at him. Ksmvr was approaching the spider horde without fear. The Antinium tossed the little ball. Ceria watched it fly. Not towards the spiders. Left. Down the corridor. She heard it land softly, somehow, between the roar of the oncoming spiders. And then she heard the most terrifying, startling, horrendous shrieking sound she’d ever heard in her life. It was terrible, louder than the spiders, a sound designed to cause physical pain upon hearing!

And she had heard it once before. Ceria clapped her hands to her ears and saw Ksmvr run backwards, waving his three hands delightedly. The effect on the Shield Spiders was immediate. They stopped, slowed, rearing up, some rolling over, agonizing as the piercing sound reached them. It was coming from the little leather ball. The enchanted leather ball. The very one Ryoka had brought back from Invrisil.

An adventurer’s trick for luring monsters. The shrieking little ball rolled down the corridor. Instantly, the Shield Spiders turned to chase it. Ceria watched, mouth agape, as the living flood of spiders turned left and abandoned their pursuit of her team. Only a handful of spiders continued onwards, to be crushed by Dawil’s hammer and cut by Yvlon and Ylawes’ swords. The rest of the spiders chased the little ball as it shrieked and rolled forwards rapidly.

And then? And then the sound was muffled. The rumbling continued. But the spiders couldn’t turn back on their momentum. They flooded past the stunned adventurers, heading down the corridor into the distance. And then the rumbling was faint. And then it was distant.

And then there was silence. Ceria stood in the darkness, her heart pounding, drenched in sweat. She only closed her mouth when a tiny spider crawled into it. She spat and then looked at Ksmvr. He stood proudly in front of his team, in front of the Silver Swords and the comatose Falene. He looked hopefully at Ceria.

“Did I help adequately, Captain Ceria?”

—-

Earlia climbed up, hearing the roar of the wave of Shield Spiders behind her. She knew they were too slow. The spiders would climb up the walls! If they could reach the water they might be safe. But her team was tired, burdened by their armor. The Pride of Kelia might make it. Some. But the rest would die.

She didn’t weep. She didn’t give up. Earlia reached for another rocky handhold and screamed for her team to move faster, damn them. She saw something flash past her face and thought the first spider was coming. She reached for her dagger and saw something long. And light. And sturdy.

A rope. Water showered down onto Earlia as the rope dropped through the enchanted barrier above. She looked up. A rope had fallen. No, three. No, eight. The adventurers stared.

“Someone’s dropped ropes! What in the—”

“Up!”

Earlia let go of the cliff and grabbed the rope. She began to climb feverishly. The others didn’t wait to ask about the ropes either. They climbed. Just in time. The Shield Spiders swarmed up the rocky walls as the adventurers climbed up. They swarmed up the ropes. Earlia saw Timgal screaming, felt the water break over her head, reached back, and pulled him up. The Shield Spiders let go as they entered the water. The adventurers felt the ropes pull and they were moving up.

The way to the surface was so long! Earlia gagged for breath. She saw Timgal’s eyes rolling up and put a hand over his mouth and nose. She felt the blackness close in and then her head broke the surface. She felt rain pounding her, felt the rope dragging her up further still, heard screams and sobs and felt the first breath of air enter her lungs. She sobbed for air and then looked around.

A smiling young woman stood on a large boat crewed by Goblins. They heaved and grunted, pulling the other adventurers on board, hurling one of the dead Shield Spiders still biting Nailren back into the water. Erin grinned at Earlia’s stupefied face.

“Hello there! The Wandering Inn provides you with a Hobgoblin escort to and from the dungeon plus emergency rescue! And we have a boat. Three, actually. Want a lift?”

Earlia looked at her. She could have kissed the young [Innkeeper]. Or wept for gratitude. She settled for passing out.

—-

One last thing. Dawil was surprised after the stunned relief had ended that the Horns of Hammerad insisted on continuing exploring the dungeon. Or rather, he was only surprised until they explained to him and Ylawes their reasoning.

“We have a once-in-a-lifetime shot at this. The Shield Spiders did us a service. We can follow their trail.”

“You must be joking. This is a joke, isn’t it? One of the ones I never understand?”

Ylawes looked from Ceria to Pisces to Yvlon. But they were all serious. Yvlon explained to him as they tended to the unconscious Falene.

“This isn’t like rushing into danger, brother. The Shield Spiders aren’t a threat.”

“How is that the case?”

“They cannot move backwards. At least, a horde of that size cannot. Their momentum would not allow it.”

Pisces pointed the way the spiders had left. Crushed spiders, dead ones or confused stragglers from the pack littered the corridor. But it was true. The spiders had not returned. The [Necromancer] smiled smugly.

“You see, they are able to hunt with this impressive technique, but it has significant weaknesses. Unless they are able to loop backwards—which I doubt given the structure of the dungeon—they will continue forwards. And everywhere they pass will be much safer for us to travel than say, an unknown space.”

“Why?”

Dawil understood this one. Ylawes was a bit slow on the uptake when it didn’t come to being a heroic [Knight] or hitting monsters.

“Ah, because the nasty little things have sprung all the traps, haven’t they? And chewed up anything they find.”

“Exactly. We would have free reign to explore as it were. And following the Shield Spiders is a simple task at the moment. They have left an obvious trail for us to follow.”

Pisces smiled and rubbed his hands together. Ylawes looked at Falene with concern.

“I understand. But Falene is injured. I feel that I should retreat—as you suggested earlier.”

“She’s not in any danger. She just overtaxed herself. Let’s go just a few corridors and see what we find. Alright?”

The Horns urged Ylawes and he couldn’t easily protest. Dawil stared at the Silver-rank adventurers with a frown. They were a bit too eager to explore after they’d almost died. Still, he chalked it up to youthful enthusiasm and followed them.

The tunnels the Shield Spiders had gone down were uneventful. They’d triggered all the traps, and the adventurers noted the effects and locations of each by the corpses left behind. They quickly copied down the branching passageways, and then, as they reached the third intersection since following the spiders, Dawil saw another suspicious thing. He saw Ceria glance at Ksmvr and him nod ever so slightly down another passage.

“Why don’t we head this way?”

“But the spiders went that way.”

By this point Falene had woken up and was well enough to retort, although in a simple-minded fashion. Ceria grimaced.

“I think I heard something. Alright?”

The Silver Swords exchanged a glance. Dawil glanced up at Ylawes and coughed. When the [Knight] glanced at him, Dawil made a covert gesture that looked like he was stroking his beard. Ylawes nodded.

“If you think it is safe.”

“Yeah.”

The Silver Swords followed the Horns of Hammerad down the corridor and came to a surprise. A gap in the sturdy dungeon walls. They stared at the gap. It led into the earth. Ceria’s eyes widened.

“What’s this?”

Dawil glanced at Pisces who looked suitably impressed. Ksmvr he couldn’t read, but Yvlon was a terrible actor. The Horns insisted on exploring the tunnel of course, and the Silver Swords weren’t about to object. They followed it, passing down a corridor filled with…

“Pit trap. Boulder trap. Ooh. This will collapse the tunnel on us if triggered remotely.”

Ksmvr walked forwards, taking point. The Silver Swords edged by all the deadly traps built into the dirt tunnel. It was not part of the dungeon. Nor had it been built by the original architects. Dawil was a poor Dwarf when it came to traditional things like building and smithing, but he was sure of that. His eyes locked on Ksmvr’s back and narrowed. He followed the Antinium until the corridor widened. Ksmvr stepped out into a wide space, already raising his hands. Dawil followed, swore, and tried to back up.

Too late. Ylawes bumped into him. The [Knight]’s eyes adjusted to the dim light and he reached for his shield and then froze. Falene looked around.

“Oh my.”

They were standing in a large room. A chamber from which three separate tunnels entered. It was not a dead end though. A single tunnel led through this spot. But to get to that tunnel…Dawil stared at the barricades of stone and dirt. He stared at the dead monsters, piled up. The Shield Spiders riddled with arrows. Crude arrows, but hundreds could be fired at once. He stared up at the silent Workers standing in alcoves.

“One, two, three…twenty…”

They were lined up on three sides, facing inwards so whomever was funneled into this spot would be assailed on all three sides by arrows. Behind the stone barricades, giant Antinium Soldiers waited, ready to engage anyone who made it that far. And behind them…

An Antinium sat at a table. He was not a Soldier. Nor was he armed. He had what looked like a book in one hand and he had been reading. Dawil stared at the Worker as he slowly got up. The Worker opened his mandibles a few times as he stared at the Horns of Hammerad, all of whom had shocked faces and had raised their hands, and then at the silent Silver Swords.

—-

Belgrade slowly closed the book he was reading and stared at the intruders. Not monsters. Intruders. Adventurers. From the dungeon. He stared at Ksmvr. He stared at the Silver Swords. He looked around at the very conspicuous Antinium fortifications. He looked around. Anand was off-duty. Klbkch was above, dealing with a potential crisis. Belgrade couldn’t exactly gulp, but he could click his mandibles. Which he did.

“Oh dear. This could be problematic.”

—-

“The Antinium have a route into the dungeon. An entrance underground.”

Ilvriss stared hard at Pisces. The [Mage] shifted in his chair and smiled.

“So it would seem. A quite efficient kill-zone. I observed a score of traps. And I believe it is three entrances into the dungeon if the tunnels were any indication.”

He watched Ilvriss exchange a swift glance with Zevara and Embria. The Watch Captain and Wing Commander had joined this little interrogation session in the Watch barracks. Well, interrogation was a strong word.

If Pisces had any thoughts on the issue of betrayal, it was his fascination with what the word constituted. Betrayal. What was the line past which no sins could be forgiven? Was selling secrets that much of a trespass? Surely, putting personal gain above the needs of the group was objectionable, but that was what every individual did. What was the difference between selling a small secret and a large one?

After a while, Watch Captain Zevara spoke.

“We were aware that the Antinium had suffered an attack from Face-Eater Moths during the assault on Liscor. But we assumed they had burrowed through the earth.”

“And your assumption was clearly wrong. The Antinium have ever had a way into the dungeon. Longer, perhaps, than the entrance has existed aboveground.”

Pisces smiled. He put his fingertips together as the Drakes exchanged another look full of meaning and worry. How he did enjoy moments like these. He could practically see the thoughts playing out among them and he couldn’t help but nudge them along to some inevitable conclusions.

“Of course, the Antinium have a vested interest in securing their Hive. It would be unthinkable to imagine they were not aware of such a large underground structure, is it not?”

“So they knew. They knew and unleashed the dungeon on the city.”

Pisces rolled his eyes as the red-scaled Drake made a fist out of her claws.

“No. Wing Commander Embria, I believe it is quite the opposite.”

“Explain.”

Ilvriss fixed Pisces with a stare meant to frighten. The [Necromancer] gave the Drake his smuggest smile in return, noting the way Ilvriss looked disgusted.

“It is quite a simple conclusion, Wall Lord. The Antinium never tried to disclose information of the dungeon, did they? In fact, it was only after the dungeon was ‘discovered’ that they offered their services. Always to help. And they came to the defense of the city quite readily.”

“Their aid could have been seen as slow during the Face-Eater Moth attack.”

“Only because their Hive was actively under siege! No, Wall Lord. I believe the Antinium were entirely helpful in their assistance to Liscor. After all, without Gold-rank adventurers and Liscor’s support, they would never be able to claim the dungeon’s riches for themselves.”

The Drakes sat up as Pisces dropped the obvious clue into their laps. Ilvriss leaned forwards.

“The dungeons’ riches? We haven’t found more than a few magical items in there.”

“And yet, the Antinium seem to regard the dungeon as important. Why else would they leave open a pathway from the dungeon into their Hive? An open wound by which monsters might pour in? And fortifications? Antinium do not build defenses. Yet this kill box they have constructed seems purpose-built to last for years if necessary. And while it is a splendid defense, it would also serve another purpose.”

“As a staging ground for an assault on the dungeon.”

Pisces sighed internally with relief as Embria sat forwards. She pointed to the rough sketch of the tunnel he’d provided and looked at Ilvriss and Zevara with concern in her eyes.

“Wall Lord, Watch Captain. If this Human is correct, the Antinium could flood the dungeon with their numbers at any time.”

“Why? For treasure?”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps they want to claim it? They could double, triple their Hive without us knowing it if they sealed off the entrance. But the idea of treasure—I’ve spoken with Olesm. He claims that even the worst of dungeons hide some kind of treasure.”

All eyes turned back to Pisces. He nodded, still smiling.

“A dungeon is a receptacle for the past, in the end. Even vengeance dungeons are made to hold a nation’s greatest treasures. And one of this magnitude, well. I imagine the greatest treasure recovered from Albez would not compare with what this dungeon might hold. Of course, that is speculation.”

The three Drakes looked at each other. Ilvriss was the first to speak.

“What do the Antinium know that we don’t?”

“Anything. It could be anything.”

Watch Captain Zevara cursed. She stood up and began to pace.

“I could speak with Klbkch. He’s open about his Hive. What he doesn’t tell me reveals more than…”

“Don’t play our hand too early. This requires more thought. High Command should know.”

“As should the Walled Cities. If the Antinium are poised to uncover a grand treasure…Ancestors, how far does this stretch? Was the entire purpose of putting a Hive in Liscor because they knew the dungeon was here?”

Both Drakes looked at Ilvriss and their scales turned grey with shock. Pisces tried not to laugh as the Drakes began panicking. So simple. But he sat up and adopted his most avaricious face as Ilvriss turned to him.

“This information is…helpful. Thank you, Human. We will compensate you. But this stays secret. I will know if you speak of it to anyone. Understand?”

He tried to glare at Pisces while pressuring him with his aura. The [Necromancer] pretended to be suitably cowed and accepted the bag of gold from Ilvriss, peering greedily into it before being dismissed. He left the Watch barracks under an [Invisibility] spell, letting the Drakes continue arguing. Oh, to be a spider on the wall…but they were too alert. Better not to risk it.

Pisces strolled back towards The Wandering Inn, counting the gold and smiling to himself despite the pouring rain. He picked up his pace slightly; he had excused himself from the party at the inn and he was already gone far too long.

All six teams were celebrating surviving the dungeon. None had come out with great treasures, but there were bounties to be claimed and they might level. More importantly, they had lived. They were drinking, toasting each other, and talking about how they’d each survived. It was a jovial mood. For a second Pisces felt a pang that he couldn’t honestly celebrate with the others.

And then he stopped. Someone was leaning against the wall in an alleyway close to where the magic door to Erin’s inn was. Pisces turned, sighed, and stepped into the alley. He reappeared and heard a gasp.

“It is easier if we are not both seen missing from the party.”

The other figure paused.

“I had to know. How did it go?”

Pisces smiled with genuine satisfaction.

“Extremely well. They all paid close attention to the prompts I gave them. They are doubly suspicious of  the Antinium motives. I believe some urgent communications are going out to the Walled Cities now. Which is why I shall be sending [Message] spells with my valuable information as soon as I have the opportunity. Is that to your satisfaction?”

He waited as Ceria brushed water out of her eyes. The half-Elf glanced at Pisces and nodded.

“It is. Are you planning on selling the secret of the Antinium entrances to all the Walled Cities?”

“The Walled Cities—all except Oteslia perhaps since they seldom spend money on purchasing secrets. And the information will be public knowledge among those privy to it soon enough. But yes, the Walled Cities and a select list of nobles in northern Izril.”

Ceria eyed Pisces.

“You have a list? Really?”

“Springwalker, I bought a list of those who might in turn purchase secrets from me. Secrets are valuable wherever one travels and there are those who pay well for any advantage over their competitors. By this time tomorrow everyone will know that the Antinium want something out of Liscor’s dungeon.”

“Yeah. Treasure maybe. Or strategic advantage.”

Ceria shivered in the rain. Pisces nodded.

“I suspect more adventurers will flood into Liscor soon. Far more. And if the Walled Cities do not immediately fund an expedition, well, I would be stunned.”

“Which means there’ll be a lot of competition. A lot more bodies entering the dungeon. The other teams would kill us if they knew we were doing this.”

“Or at the very least, not sharing the profits.”

Pisces hefted the bag of gold. He offered it to Ceria. She swore.

“He gave you that much for talking?”

“He assumed I was going behind all of your backs, so yes. A Wall Lord knows to be generous especially to backstabbing Humans.”

Pisces watched Ceria half-open the bag, and then close it. His old friend closed her eyes, looking pained.

“I know how much trouble this is going to cause. I know. And the other teams deserve to have the first shot at the dungeon. But—”

She looked helplessly at Pisces.

“Do you think they’d understand?”

“We do.”

Yvlon and Ksmvr stepped out of the shadows. Pisces sighed.

“You do know that a sheet over one’s head is not a disguise, Ksmvr?”

“It is not a disguise. I am keeping the rain off of myself and Yvlon.”

“Ah. Carry on.”

The two other Horns of Hammerad joined Pisces and Ceria. Yvlon wiped water out of her hair. Pisces resolved to use a flame spell to dry their clothes before returning to the party. And come up with a suitably unbelievable excuse that hinted at something innocuous. One of them had to be professional about all of this.

“We all talked it over, Ceria. We all agreed. We can’t search that dungeon alone. We’re not qualified. If there is any chance at someone finding Calruz—”

“It’s with everyone fighting to be first into that dungeon. I know. I came up with the idea with what Ksmvr told me.”

Ceria leaned against the wall. She looked at Ksmvr.

“You’re alright with all this, Ksmvr?”

“Yes, for the eighteenth time, Captain Ceria. I am not betraying my Hive.”

Ksmvr stood proudly. He’d acted his part out well. The Shield Spiders had not been part of it, nor had the Silver Swords’ incompetence, but all had worked out in the end. He nodded at his team.

“The knowledge of the dungeon’s entrances will not inconvenience my Hive. I am sure of that.”

Pisces was not, but he watched Ceria pat Ksmvr on the shoulder and the Antinium stand taller without comment. He looked at his team. Fellow conspirators all. He would never have expected this kind of plan from them, but they were always surprising him. Pisces smiled.

“Well, it seems you’ve finally begun taking advantage of my varied and extraordinary skill set, Springwalker, Miss Byres. I hope you will at least enjoy the next phase.”

“Next phase? I thought the next part was that we didn’t talk about this ever again.”

Yvlon eyed Pisces with deep distrust. He sighed.

“Of course, that is part of our design. But we are allowed a bit of enjoyment. Please consider how amusing it will be.”

“What will be?”

The [Necromancer] smiled.

“Why, everything that follows of course.”

He smiled. Above the dungeon adventurers celebrated and grand plots were spun, the outcomes of which only he could guess at. And below the dungeon waited. It had failed to claim the adventurers who had begun to wake it. But there was always more dungeon. And there was always next time.

5.30 G

In Liscor, Wall Lord Ilvriss stood at a table with Olesm, Watch Captain Zevara, and Wing Commander Embria. He had sheaves of reports on the Antinium spread out in front of him and he was talking into his personal scrying orb. At the same time, Olesm was furiously sorting through pieces of parchment while Watch Captain Zevara laboriously dictated messages to the other Walled Cities. Their topic was the Antinium and the recent suspicion of the Antinium’s motives in regards to Liscor’s dungeon had everyone’s tail curled up.

If Pisces could have observed the way his subtle blend of fact and suspicion had sent Drakes across Izril into a panic he would have been beside himself with glee. As it was, the Antinium problem once again dominated the discourse between the Drake cities, overriding lesser politics and infighting.

So many [Message] spells and higher-Tier communication spells were sent back and forth that the covert discussions were soon drawn to the attention of anyone of an ear for magic. The contents of the secret talks would soon find their way into reports read by individuals such as Magnolia Reinhart, the Archmages in Wistram, and so on. And the news of the Drakes’ concern would also pass through other channels to the Antinium, who would begin wondering exactly what the Drakes were concerned about.

Of course, all of this was second to the larger issue in the back of everyone’s minds. The Antinium were still not as pressing as the threat of the Goblin Lord. But as anyone with half a scale’s worth of sense would have pointed out, the Goblin Lord’s army was currently north of Liscor. In Human lands. There was little the Drakes could do about them at the moment.

Sending another army had been debated and then shot down. Moving any force past Liscor would be an act of war and there was no negotiating with the stubborn Humans. All they could do was wait and see what would happen, hence their focus on Liscor and the Antinium.

The Goblins were a Human problem now. But the group best-placed to deal with the growing threat had not risen to the occasion. And far, far north of Liscor, north of Invrisil, the gathering of nobles and leaders who had ridden to Lord Tyrion’s call were growing increasingly anxious.

Yitton Byres strode into the large pavilion and heard the loud voices arguing before he could wipe the water out of his eyes. The spring rains continued to soak the vast war camp of Lord Tyrion’s army and though the downpour was not nearly as harsh as it would have been in Liscor, it still made for an unpleasant walk. The rain and mud soured tempers and the assembly standing in the tent was already angry enough.

“When will we move? I did not ride eighty miles with my army to hide here like a coward while the Goblin Lord marches towards my lands!”

A large, roughly-dressed [Lord] in his early forties shouted as Yitton stepped into the gathering of his peers. Yitton recognized the man at once—the tattoo of a snarling dog on his cheek was enough of a hint, but if he had needed more proof, the smell of wet dog and the way the other nobles stayed well clear of him was another hint. Lord Gralton of Lycit was close to frothing at the mouth as he paced back and forth, his hands closing as if he wanted to throttle something.

“I answered Veltras’ call because I expected to take the battle to the damn Goblins rather than hide like a stinking Reinhart. But it was Magnolia Reinhart who took the fight to the Goblins while we sit here with three times as many men! If this is some joke I’m not laughing! What is Tyrion Veltras doing?”

As he raged, Lord Gralton snarled. He turned and Yitton saw his contorted face. It was no wonder many called Gralton the ‘Dog Lord’ behind his back in jest. Only, no one was laughing now. Gralton looked close to lashing out and a rabid dog was something to be feared. Moreover, he had a point.

“I agree with Lord Gralton. We have been sitting here far too long. Rains or not, we should be pushing south towards the Goblin Lord. How much food has this army consumed so far? A fortune, I should wager!”

A [Lady] fanned herself and pointedly glanced at the appetizers laid out behind the nobles. Some of those in the tent jumped guiltily and pretended not to be hovering around the rich treats. Yitton stood tall, ignoring the food, though he had had little more than cold bread, a bit of cheese and some meat himself. Byres didn’t have the funds to lavish themselves with supplies and he had elected to eat the same as his men to boost morale.

The other nobles murmured, most not openly agreeing with Lord Gralton, but expressing hesitant support. Lord Tyrion Veltras was one of the most powerful [Lords] in the realm, but his influence had limits. The nobles were sick of waiting to take a fight that they would easily win as they saw it. Still, no one wanted to be the first to say something and potentially make the Veltras family their enemy.

Gralton glared about, seemingly dissatisfied by the half-hearted support.

“Cowards. Why isn’t Veltras here himself? Let’s drag him out of his tent and have him explain himself now. No more excuses about the right moment! Does any man among you have the balls to join me?”

The [Lords] in the pavilion tent shifted and several flushed with outrage. But before Gralton’s words could lead to a fight, Yitton Byres spoke up.

“Do you intend to assault our field commander, Lord Gralton? If so, I would rather we come to blows here than suffer mutiny in the camp.”

Heads turned and the nobles made a path as Gralton spun. He eyed Yitton Byres without a shred of fear. Rather, he glanced at the longsword at Yitton’s side as an acknowledgement of what a battle would cost him in blood and flesh and judged it appropriate. He rolled his shoulders and growled at Yitton.

“If Veltras won’t come, what would you do, Byres?”

“Discuss. Object. Perhaps leave with my men, were he that sort of coward. But I suspect Lord Veltras would agree to meet with us candidly—were a delegation sent to persuade him of our discontent. If that is your objective I would be the first to join you, Lord Gralton.”

Yitton met the other man’s eyes without blinking. Yes, exactly like a rabid dog. Gralton bared his teeth, but he nodded with bare restraint. It was said that he trained the fiercest war hounds and the finest trackers in all of Izril. His lands were prosperous, a far cry from Byres’ modest holdings.

“In that case I would put forward my name as well.”

Another [Lord] stepped forwards. He had no sword. He was not a warrior. Yitton glanced at Lord Erill in surprise. Erill was a merchant-lord, a noble who had built his fortunes and amassed enough power and land to be considered true nobility. It seemed that Lord Erill was no stranger to boldness, despite his aversion to battle.

“Well then, I will join you three boys. Let us see if a unanimous front is enough to open Tyrion’s stubborn lips.”

The [Lady] who’d spoken fanned herself and then closed the fan with a snap. She swept past Yitton and only now did he place her face and voice. She had to be Lady Ieka, one of the few nobles capable of performing true magic. She had attended Wistram it was rumored, but had been expelled for reasons unknown after four years.

The four nobles didn’t wait for the other nobility to fall over each other volunteering. They strode out of the tent, Gralton in the lead. It was rainy but the rain only fell hard on Gralton and Yitton. Lord Erill and Lady Ieka were protected by enchantments that kept the rain from ever touching their clothes or skin.

Yitton walked after Gralton, hearing a dog bark as it recognized its master in the distance. He told himself this wasn’t rebellion. He had waited patiently for Tyrion to move after their last conversation. But several days later, he hadn’t seen any changes. Something had to be done. And Tyrion Veltras and this army was the force to do it. Why on earth was the man hesitating? It wasn’t like any of the tales about him.

—-

“Have our guest housed in our tents. Supply her with water, food—clothing. Send for a City Runner if she lacks any amenities. And send a [Message] spell to her family. I am sure they would welcome the good news.”

Lord Tyrion Veltras was instructing one of his retainers. The man bowed and hurried out of the tent. Tyrion turned and strode back towards the desk he had been sitting at. He glanced at the wet chair across from the table—his guest had stumbled in wet, dirty, and quite exhausted. He didn’t begrudge the mess. Rather, the information he had been given along with the latest report—he glanced down at the slip of paper in his hands and grinned.

Lord Gralton would have recognized the grin as that of a hunting wolf. Tyrion’s fingers smoothed the parchment. He had received the welcome news not ten minutes ago. And if he added that the covert [Message] spell he had received…Tyrion spread out a map on his table.

“‘Proceeding south, down Almest Road.’ Hmf. That puts them…here. Poor speed but they have endured a sea voyage. They can catch up. And here—”

His finger traced another route south-west, passing through a forest and marshy terrain, past a city labeled ‘Filk’. Lord Tyrion measured the distance with a bit of marked string, nodding to himself and jotting down notes. In his mind he ran another series of calculations, checking the figures with his internal sense of how fast a horse could run. Then he stepped back and looked at the map as a whole.

“From here to here—and the time is—”

Lord Tyrion glanced at a calendar and eyed the date he had marked. He smiled again. At last, he could see all the pieces falling together. More perfectly than before, in fact.

“Lord Veltras!”

Tyrion turned. His guard at the tent door should have kept anyone from entering, but a brief exclamation was all the warning he received before the guard was thrust aside. Tyrion saw Lord Gralton stride into the tent, followed by Lord Yitton, Lady Ieka, and Lord Erill. The four nobles stopped before his desk and Tyrion saw Erill and Ieka’s eyes dart to the dirty chair. Yitton stood with his hands behind his back and Gralton approached.

“Veltras! We’re done with waiting!”

The man was all savagery and no tact. Tyrion refrained from wrinkling his nose. Gralton had let his class take over too much of himself. The man slammed his hands on Tyrion’s desk and leaned forwards. He was taller and bigger than Tyrion.

“When in the hells are you going to move? That Goblin Lord is a nose away from reaching the mountain with the other Goblins! They could be there by the end of today! And here we sit! Enough talk! Tell us whether we’re moving or not or we’ll—”

“Take your hands off my desk.”

Lord Tyrion’s voice cut through Gralton’s fury. The other man choked and growled, and then looked down. His hands were wet and not exactly pristine to begin with. He was dripping on Tyrion’s expensive maps. He looked up and met Tyrion’s gaze.

The clash of wills in the tent made Yitton grimace. It was unpleasant being privy to a battle between powerful [Lords], even if you weren’t the target yourself. Lady Ieka fanned herself and Lord Erill sighed as Gralton and Tyrion locked gazes. Gralton snarled but then, slowly, took his hands off the desk. Lord Tyrion nodded cordially.

“I thank you. May I assume your objection is shared by the rest of the nobility?”

He glanced pointedly at the other three nobles. Lady Ieka nodded.

“We did not come here to be treated like ignorant children, Tyrion. We waited because we assumed you had a plan. But this idling about is ridiculous. Tell us what you intend or I fear that a good portion of your nobles will quickly desert your army.”

She met his gaze, telling him in no uncertain terms who would be the one to prompt that exodus. Lord Erill coughed delicately.

“I’m afraid I too must insist on some idea of our plan, Lord Veltras. Funding an army of this size becomes pointless if it is not employed to good use.”

Lord Tyrion nodded. He turned his attention to Yitton without betraying any emotion.

“And you, Lord Byres?”

“I have faith in your military expertise.”

The older man met Tyrion’s gaze without wavering. He looked around and bowed slightly to the more powerful nobles around him, all his junior, if only slightly in Gralton’s case.

“However, I agree with my peers. Loyalty is something that must be earned and continue to be earned. Blind faith is not something I demand of my men. The countryside burns.”

“And the Goblins are not just content to stay put as we are. I hear rumors of raiding parties assaulting towns, villages, and cities everywhere south of our position. Not even our nobility is safe—Lady Bevia Veniford has written to me with a request for aid. Apparently the Goblins have surrounded her location. Will you ride to her defense, and the defense of thirty peers of the realm, Tyrion?”

The [Mage Lady] closed her fan and gazed at Tyrion fiercely. He met her gaze. They had been childhood…friends. Acquaintances. It was still poor manners to use his name, but he had observed that [Ladies] bent the rules of etiquette more often than men in their own way. The four nobles waited tensely for Tyrion’s reply. They were all taken aback when he smiled.

“As it happens, Lady Ieka, I have just received the news I was waiting upon.”

“You have?”

She blinked at him. Lord Tyrion lifted the scrap of parchment in his hands. She stared at it with burning curiosity. Tyrion nodded as he passed it to her over the table.

“I have been waiting for a specialized group of reinforcements. They should be arriving at our position shortly. However, I intend to strike the camp before then.”

“Oh my.”

The instant Ieka read the note her brows shot up. Without another word she passed it to Lord Erill who scanned the note, nodded as if it all made sense and handed the message to Yitton.

“One group? We were waiting on one stinking—”

Again, Lord Gralton was about to rage but as Yitton tapped him on the shoulder he grudgingly read the parchment. It took him longer than the others but then his demeanor changed.

“Huh.”

Tyrion nodded decisively.

“Quite. As you can see, the time is now. I am able to put forwards my plan at last. To that end, I am ordering the camp struck. I want our forces moving within the hour. I will briefly inform our peers on our plan of action. However, we may well outpace a good portion of our foot and supply. I intend to move the army now and cover at least fifty miles within the first day. Lord Yitton, I will be taking some of your horse with me and several thousand [Knights], [Lancers], and other advanced rider classes in a scouting party. Lord Gralton, you may wish to prepare your hounds for travel. If they cannot keep up—”

The man strode around his desk, talking rapidly. The other nobles stared as he strode into the rain. Lord Tyrion snapped at the soldier on guard.

“Soldier. Strike the camp and summon my command to the war tent.”

“Sire!”

The man raced off, shouting orders. Instantly the camp buzzed to life. Lord Tyrion strode into the rain, too quick for the others to follow. It was time. He had waited patiently. Men like Gralton could not see the use of waiting. He was a dog, straightforward, refreshingly direct. But Lord Tyrion was the hunter. And his prey was in position.

—-

“Redfang. Redfang.”

Garen Redfang looked around blankly. He glanced up and saw Tremborag staring at him. The huge Hobgoblin was glaring and Garen realized he’d been called.

“What?”

He shifted impatiently on his Carn Wolf. The massive beast paced along, twice as large as any other Carn Wolf. It was still dwarfed by Tremborag. The massive Great Chieftain of the Mountain City tribe was a colossus and with every step the fat on his body jiggled obscenely. He clearly did not enjoy the rain gently showering them from above. Garen didn’t mind. They were on the outermost edges of the storm front and had only been drizzled on sporadically. Still, Tremborag was annoyed. Perhaps it was being outdoors that did it.

“What are you listening to?”

Tremborag’s rumbling voice was tinged with irritation. Garen shrugged. He turned his head, listening again. It was a faint sound he heard.

“Something. Distant sound. Howls.”

The huge Hobgoblin paused.

“The scouts heard nothing.”

Garen shrugged. Tremborag eyed him and grunted. He turned and another Redfang Warrior, one of the few that had stayed with Garen, dodged out of the way, his Carn Wolf yelping in alarm.

“Do you believe it is a trap?”

“Doesn’t matter. We go to meeting place. He goes. After…”

The Chieftain of the Redfang tribe tapped his sword meaningfully. Tremborag bared his teeth.

“True. He brought only a handful of his Goblins. So my scouts say.”

Garen nodded without a word. He ignored the faint howling and turned his attention to the road in front of him. Both he and Tremborag were walking through the forest that surrounded Dwarfhalls Rest, the mountain which Tremborag had made his lair. They had abandoned the safety of the mountain and come out this far with a minimal escort for one reason: to meet the Goblin Lord.

At last the Goblin Lord’s army had arrived at the mountain. His army had appeared in the distance, a winding trail of black armored bodies marching across the landscape. It had taken him far longer than either Garen or Tremborag had expected. The distance had not been that far from Invrisil, but the Goblin Lord must have taken that time to heal his soldiers naturally, without wasting healing potions. He would only have done that if he expected a battle. That was wise.

What wasn’t wise was what he had done the instant he’d drawn close to the mountain. Rather than draw closer and begin the siege at once, he had stopped his army and sent a messenger of all things. Tremborag had nearly killed the Goblin on the spot, but after some debate he had heard the Goblin out.

The Goblin Lord’s message was simple. He had arrived. He was a Goblin Lord. And he expected the other tribes to follow him. Since they had not, he demanded that they meet. Chieftain to Lord, as it were.

Garen’s teeth ground together as he recalled the Goblin boldly delivering the message in the heart of Tremborag’s mountain to the jeering Goblins of the Mountain City tribe. It was a command worthy of a Lord, but coming from him—Tremborag had threatened to crush the little Goblin until he had heard the terms.

“Come alone. Just we two Chieftains and six escorts. He will bring six too. Far too small a number for an ambush. And he would be a fool to try and hide Goblins from Goblins.”

Tremborag mused as he walked through the forest floor, snapping branches that threatened to strike his face. Garen nodded.

“Talk?”

“He must think he can persuade you or I. Fool.”

Tremborag grinned and his red eyes flashed. Garen nodded. His stomach clenched at the thought of meeting the Goblin Lord and his hand fell to the red blade at his side. Redfang, the enchanted artifact that was his greatest possession. His Carn Wolf growled, sensing its master’s mood.

“Take out small Goblins first?”

“You do that. I will rip his head off myself.”

The Great Chieftain flexed his massive claws. Garen nodded and focused on the trail ahead. Of course, the Goblin Lord had come to parley. Of course, it would be treacherous to slay him. But they were going to do it anyways. There was no better opportunity. Two Chieftains versus a single Lord? If it were any other Chieftains, it would have been suicidal. But Garen and Tremborag? They were far too powerful. The Goblin Lord had made a fatal error.

Garen wondered if his tribe would have considered the trap a betrayal. His teeth ground together as he thought of them, somewhere else. He wondered if they would have dared to protest this. And then he thought of Rags. What would she have done? Refused to join the ambush? Or laid a more cunning trap?

Such thoughts were a distraction. Garen shook himself. As he did, his Carn Wolf raised its head and sniffed the air. Tremborag halted.

“Here.”

The two Chieftains slowly entered a cleared space in the woods. The six Redfang Warriors spread out behind them, their Carn Wolves sniffing and growling as they sensed what was ahead. The Goblin Lord and his entourage.

He sat upon a Shield Spider, a massive example of the species. It was dead. Something had ripped its belly apart, and yet the Shield Spider still stood. The magic had reanimated it, given it second life and so it still served as the Goblin Lord’s mount. Next to him rode a Hobgoblin with metallic teeth and too large a head on a horse. Snapjaw, his fierce lieutenant.

On his other side, a Hob nearly as tall as Tremborag stood with folded arms. Eater of Spears was all muscle compared to Tremborag’s bulk and the Hob fearlessly met Tremborag’s eyes as both Goblin parties halted and stared at each other. Four more Hobs stood behind the Goblin Lord. But it was he that Garen looked at. He saw two black eyes with white pupils turn and felt the shock of hatred the instant their gazes met.

“You.”

The Goblins stared at each other in silence. Garen tensed as he leaned over his Carn Wolf. The Goblin Lord’s eyes flicked from him to Tremborag. Weighing. Judging. Assessing. This close, Garen felt the urge to kneel, to follow the Goblin in front of him. But he resisted with every fiber of his being.

There were no flowery speeches, no opening niceties. That was not the Goblin way. The Goblin Lord spoke abruptly, his voice educated, direct. Authority rang through it, commanding with every syllable.

“I am a Goblin Lord. I am Reiss. Your tribes will join my army.”

The two Chieftains looked at each other. They turned back to Reiss and laughed. They spoke as one.

“No.”

The word was as powerful as the Goblin Lord’s request. One of the Hobs behind Reiss actually took a step back before catching himself. Reiss did not move. He looked at Tremborag, and then at Garen. The question was meant more for Garen.

“Why?”

Garen held his tongue. His chest was burning. With betrayal. With hurt. With rage. He stared at the undead spider and it was Tremborag who answered with a booming laugh of contempt.

“You are arrogant, little brat of the south. Who do you think you are, coming to my home and challenging me? I am Tremborag! Great Chieftain of the Mountain! If you are wise you will turn and run. You will never take my tribe, little Goblin.”

His words made Reiss’ entourage shake with fury. Snapjaw glared up at Tremborag and shouted at him.

“Show respect! You speak to great Goblin Lord! Not Chieftain.”

She interjected as much contempt into her tone as she could. Neither Garen nor Tremborag seemed affected by the comparison, though. He glanced at Snapjaw dismissively.

“How the female barks for her master! I am no small Chieftain. I am old! I lived decades ago, when the Goblin King was an unborn seed! I heard his call and I refused him to his face. I am no small Chieftain with the lifespan of a fly! I was here when Velan the Kind gathered his armies. I was here when he fell. I remember the Goblin King’s face!”

“So do I.”

Silence. Reiss looked around the clearing. When he spoke, the past weighed on his words.

“I have seen Velan’s fall. I know his rage but not why. I know our history. And I will make sure it does not happen again. Look at my army. I defeated the Tidebreaker, hero of Drakes. I destroyed Drake and Human armies. Join me and I will make a kingdom for Goblins. I will bring us peace and make other species afraid to strike us! Do you not wish that?”

The Goblins behind him raised a cheer. Garen’s heart felt a twinge and his hand gripped his sword’s hilt. He stared at Reiss. The same words. Good words. But his eyes—

Again, Tremborag snorted. He looked down on Reiss with contempt in his red eyes.

“You speak of kingdoms and peace without knowing the truth, little slave. Grow as mighty as you want. The Humans and Drakes will never let you know peace. You will be hunted. And you will never be a King. A slave cannot lead others.”

And there it was. The hiss from the Redfang Warriors behind Garen said it all. Reiss’ Goblins shifted and Tremborag pointed down at the Goblin Lord.

“You are not Goblin. You are a pet. A thing. You cannot bring peace. You do not even deserve to be Chieftain. Let alone Lord.”

“Yet I am a Lord.”

Reiss met his gaze, unflinching. Tremborag laughed.

“A poor one. Your army is small. You bow to a master. You copy Humans! Humans! We are Goblins. We steal and take. We do not copy formations and armor and—this.”

His wave took in all that was Reiss. From the way he spoke to his eyes to everything else. Tremborag shook his head.

“Turn around little Lord. This is the last time I offer. The Goblin King himself could not unseat me from my home. What makes you think you can?”

The Goblin Lord sat calmly atop his Shield Spider and closed his eyes. When he opened them, his white pupils were unflinching as he met Tremborag’s gaze.

“The Goblin King was kind. He let those afraid to die run. He left your home and your tribe alone, Great Chieftain. But I am not kind. Your tribe is mine.”

Without waiting for Tremborag to respond, Reiss turned his head.

“The ‘Great Chieftain’ declines. But what of you, Redfang? You swore to follow me if I had the right idea. If I had a vision. Do you forget your promise of long ago?”

All eyes darted towards Garen. Tremborag’s expression changed to one of alarm and sudden paranoia. He took a slow step backwards as Garen rode forwards. He stared up at Reiss. The Goblin met his gaze with foreign eyes. Who was he now? Garen spat on the dead Shield Spider.

“Becoming a slave is not good idea.”

“Sometimes it is the only choice.”

Reiss whispered down to Garen. The Hob grinned mirthlessly.

“Better to die than be slave.”

“I disagree.”

The two stared at each other in silence. Garen’s Carn Wolf growled and he tensed, his hand on his sword. The Shield Spider’s dead face was right in front of him. Reiss sat far above.

There was no signal. Garen ripped his blade from his sheath and hacked at the Shield Spider’s head. He shouted as he did.

“[Deeper Cut]!”

It was a basic Skill. But it was all he needed. The enchanted blade sheared the front of the Shield Spider’s face off and it collapsed. The other Goblins around Reiss shouted in fury and alarm. Garen heard Carn Wolves howling as his warriors leapt to attack, Tremborag’s roar. His Carn Wolf leapt towards where Reiss had fallen. He swept his sword up.

“Traitor! Cowardly coward!”

Snapjaw lunged, biting, and Garen twisted to avoid her jaws as they bit for his neck. He twisted and his Carn Wolf snapped at her horse. They circled each other, trading blows.

Behind them, Tremborag had charged forwards and met Eater of Spears. The younger Hob was smaller, but he stopped Tremborag’s charge with ease. Tremborag cursed him and clawed at Eater of Spears’ arms but the Hob pushed Tremborag back. He was trying to pull the Chieftain’s arm off and Tremborag’s howl of pain echoed through the clearing. Eater of Spears felt Tremborag straining against him but knew he was stronger. Then he felt muscle and fat ripple under his claws. He stared at the Hob in shock as Tremborag’s form grew.

Something else grabbed Eater of Spears’ arm. It lifted the gigantic Hob up and something threw him as if he were a toy. It was not a Hob. Tremborag’s voice deepened into a roar as his body changed, grew larger. In a blink the fat became muscle and he turned and tore a head off of a Hob. He howled.

“Weak, brat! Decades too weak to face me!”

Then he charged at the Goblin Lord. Eater of Spears tried to stop him, but a single blow sent him reeling backwards. Tremborag raced forwards on all fours at where the Goblin Lord had fallen behind the Shield Spider. The Hob didn’t waste time circling the fallen undead spider—he picked it up and hurled the thing away, breaking it to pieces as it struck a tree. Tremborag turned, grinning, and saw Reiss pointing up at him.

“[Deathbolt].”

The black magic struck Tremborag in the face. He cried out and stumbled back. For a moment his face went grey, and then he roared and swiped at the Goblin Lord. But the Goblin had already dived for safety. And something burst through the ground as Eater of Spears once again charged Tremborag from the side. A huge hand shot out of the soil and a massive, hulking Human burst upwards. It grabbed Tremborag by the leg as a dozen undead burst out of the ground, surprising the Redfang Warriors.

“Draug!”

Garen snarled the instant he saw the huge hulking undead. He lunged to one side as the first Draug swung at him. They were deceptively quick! He parried a blow from Snapjaw and countered.

The edge of his sword slammed into her open mouth, sending her reeling backwards. It didn’t sear off the top of her head—the blade had struck her teeth! Garen saw several break, but the enchanted blade cut no further. Snapjaw spat blood and jumped at him.

He stabbed her horse. It went down, squealing, and his Carn Wolf lunged forwards and bit once. Snapjaw cursed but Garen leapt past her. He would have rushed at Reiss once more, but three Draug blocked his way. Garen snapped an order and his Carn Wolf bounded back. He cursed and saw another black bolt of light. He instantly leaned sideways and the death magic missed him by inches.

Reiss was standing in a circle of undead and his three remaining Hob warriors, aiming at him! Garen snarled as he cut at the Draugr around him. This was not what he had envisioned! Worse, he saw Tremborag besieged by the undead. The giant Goblin smashed them effortlessly, destroying the powerful undead with single blows, but between Eater of Spears and the Draug he couldn’t charge Reiss. And he was too large a target.

Another [Deathbolt] blasted from Reiss’ fingertip. Not at Garen, but at Tremborag who was unable to dodge. Twice more the spell struck Tremborag, blackness absorbing itself into his skin. The gigantic Goblin roared as if to defy the death magic. But he did retreat, shielding his body, running backwards as he ignored the Draugr battering his legs and stomach.

“Fall back! Back!”

Garen waved his blade and saw his Redfang Warriors retreat. Six—no, five of them fled, one on foot. One Goblin and two Carn Wolves lay dead and another Goblin fell as Reiss picked them off with another [Deathbolt] spell. Garen shouted his fury but fled as well. There were too many Draug! He raced through the forest, hearing Reiss shout an order. Now his entire army would be pursuing them in moments! Still, Garen didn’t fear being caught. Rather, he raced towards the huge shape lumbering through the forest, knocking over trees.

“Tremborag! Alright?”

He called up at the massive Goblin. Tremborag was still in his combat form, but he looked…tired. Three [Deathbolts] had struck him and the Goblin Chieftain was laboring for breath. He snarled as Garen rode next to him and swung at the Carn Wolf and its rider.

“I strong. Go!”

Garen hesitated, but Tremborag’s color was returning quickly and he was picking up the pace. He nodded and rode faster, grabbing at the Redfang Warrior on foot. He pulled the Goblin up and they raced back towards the mountain ahead of them. Behind, he could hear horns blaring. The Goblin Lord’s army was coming now. They would besiege the mountain.

Not what he had hoped for. But he was alive. And if he was alive, he’d get another shot at Reiss. That was his name now? He’d always wanted a name. Garen closed his eyes. His heart beat with betrayal and fury. He was bleeding. Had Snapjaw cut him? Or the Draug?

The air rushed around Garen as he rode. He turned his head up and heard a faint noise again. He could still hear it on the wind. A distant, far off sound. Garen could pick it out in his mind, in his heart. Not here. Somewhere farther away. Miles, tens or hundreds perhaps. It didn’t matter. He could still hear the howl, the howl of his warriors, his tribe.

He heard his warriors screaming, in rage and fury and grief. He longed to be with them. For a moment Garen listened, then he kicked his Carn Wolf in the side and it bounded towards the mountain as the Goblin Lord’s forces rushed through the forest after him. But the howling remained.

War was in the air.

—-

The Goblins rode across the countryside, screaming their fury. They rode terrifying wolves thrice as large as the normal, their fur rust-red, their teeth bared for blood. These were no ordinary Goblins. They were Redfang Warriors and they burned as they never had before with hatred.

Vengeance. Revenge for the fallen, those who had died to poison and steel in the night! They howled as they rode in small groups, in pairs, alone, to villages and farms. They carried torches and crossbows and set every building they came to alight. They burned fields where they could and where it was wet they did as much damage as they could, hounding the Humans, some laying traps before fleeing.

Because they were being pursued. Human [Riders] followed and [Trackers] and [Soldiers] laid deadly ambushes that took down each Goblin that passed. The Humans knew where the Redfang Warriors were, where they were going. So the Redfangs died. But they died hard.

—-

Look—

A Redfang Warrior named Fleetfur breaks off from the group. His friends call out to him, but he raises a hand holding his spear upright. His Carn Wolf is injured—struck by an arrow. He turns back and lifts his spear. Fifteen Humans pursue him, shouting. Fleetfur pats his wolf on the head and hears it whine once. He points and it bounds forward, ignoring the pain. He rides against fifteen, alone, laughing. He takes a horse and rider down and spears another Human before he falls to their blades.

Far east and north of him, a group of Goblins comes across the town of Muerfurt. The night air is cold and the Humans laugh at rumors of Goblins. They hear the howl and fear—but their walls are ten feet high! And they have a row of spikes set across the walls, and their militia is manning each spot with torches. No Goblin will climb up on their watch!

They hear a howl nearby and then a snarl. A Carn Wolf leaps and a sentry screams. The Goblin jumps from its back and lands on the wall. He has a shortsword and buckler in hand. The Humans laugh, shakily as they realize it’s only him. Until another jumps onto the wall. A third climbs up in a different spot. Four, five, eight—the Redfang Goblins are outnumbered ten to one even so. The militia surges forwards, shouting just that. The Redfang Goblins slaughter twice their number and then disappear over the walls, leaving two of their dead behind.

Elites. What pride they have. What daring. A Redfang Goblin stands in the middle of a city street. He has won the walls, killed the three [Guardsmen] with less than ten levels between them, but now he is cornered. A group of Silver-rank adventurers, five warriors and a mage has cornered him. He steps forwards and fights all the warriors at once.

Cut, parry, duck, slash—he is quick. But the half-Elf with the axe is good and he has armor. The Redfang Warrior never stands a chance. He sinks, bleeding, as the adventurers laugh and the crowd of Humans cheers. His nickname is Beetlestare, but it is not at the ground or insects he stares at. He looks up as he bleeds and hears a whistling sound and then the thunk.

The Silver-rank [Mage] looks at the arrow sprouting from his chest. He drops and the second arrow strikes another adventurer in the eyes. Beetlestare looks up and grins. He sees the Goblin in the trees swing away as the Humans notice the attacker. The Goblin flees and Beetlestare laughs and laughs until the half-Elf finishes him.

Dying, fighting, riding on—a group of Redfang Warriors race down a road and see the riders in the dark too late. They turn and find themselves ambushed! Humans race out of cover and more ride out of the darkness. The six Redfangs turn and see their pursuers have caught up. They bare their blades for a final stand and hear a howl. One of the Humans on horseback turns and sees a fiery bird or insect flying at him. It strikes his armor and he bursts into flame. Another [Archer] on the ground turns and she drops as a crossbow bolt buries itself in her chest.

Redfang Warriors race out of the darkness. At their head rides a Goblin with a glowing longsword. Redscar swings once and cuts down a Human. He cuts backwards and catches a second. He shouts his fury and hears a voice.

“Break!”

He turns and points. His Redfang Warriors cut into the Humans a second more and then flee. They shower the Humans with crossbow bolts as they race onwards. They too are being pursued. But they have eluded capture so far. They join the small Goblin holding the black crossbow and she turns. They shout triumph as the Humans attempt to pursue them and more race towards their backs. Rags turns her head and looks back just once.

War.

—-

The word burned in her mind, single, pulsating thought. It did away with notions of mercy, told her to abandon pride and memory and everything else and give in to the bloodlust. It was not darkness. It should have been, but Rags only felt alive as she raced with the Redfang Warriors through the night. She pointed and the group of six Goblins she had saved fell in with the others, cheering.

The Humans had not expected their ambush group to be ambushed in turn, but they had forgotten how many Goblins were racing through the night. And the Goblins might not have had magic spells to communicate, but they could do almost as well by listening to the howling of their brethren.

“To cave! Move!”

The Redfangs followed Rags to a cave she had located nearby and immediately dismounted. Their exhausted Carn Wolves instantly lay down and the Goblins reached for their packs, offering the hungry wolves food and water. Rags pointed.

“Sentry. Watch. Has time. Thirty minutes. Less.”

The other Goblins nodded and went to secure the cave. Rags allowed herself a moment to stretch her legs and then found some dried jerky to feed her Carn Wolf. She swayed on her feet but did not allow herself to sit. If she sat she would be too tired to stand. She had been riding and fighting nonstop for two days now.

Two days, with only time to rest the Carn Wolves. Two days of raiding and destruction. It felt like forever. But while the Humans had sent groups of riders after her, tried to hunt down the hundreds of raiding parties marauding across the landscape, they had failed to mitigate the damage.

Worse for them, Rags had assumed command of a group of forty or so Redfang warriors and had destroyed each group sent after her. The Humans had numbers, especially since Rags had sent only her elite Redfang Warriors out to do damage. But she had something they did not.

Tactics. Ambushes set up in seconds or minutes, like the one she had just pulled off. Rags felt the cerebral rush with each small victory. Yes, she now had an image of her foe. Whoever was leading the Humans on horseback—whether it was the Human in armor or the one with the pointed hat Rags wasn’t certain yet—they were not the one in charge. She knew that for two reasons.

Firstly, they lacked the all-knowing gaze that had been on Rags the entire time she had been in these lands. The feeling of being watched never slackened on her skin. And yet, both Humans had fallen for her feints. If she gave them time to think they would invariably pinpoint her location and sense her ambushes. Somehow. But if they were simply reacting they were as blind as any other Human.

Secondly and crucially, both were poor leaders. Poor strategists without a grasp of true warfare. They could lead armies, but they couldn’t react to Rags’ ever-changing plans. She was not afraid of them. What she was afraid of was losing all the Redfang Warriors who had ridden out with her.

The mounted Redfangs were a limited force. The tip of her sword, her shock cavalry. They were less than four hundred in number and while that was a mighty unit she had split them apart, sent many on suicidal assaults to distract the enemy. She would burn these lands but the Redfangs would pay the price.

“Fine.”

That was all Redscar said as they rested the Carn Wolves in the dark cave interior. The Humans were milling about the entrance, aware that the cave had two openings. They were sending reinforcements around back so they could trap Rags and the Goblins inside. She knew they had five more minutes so she sat calmly, letting her Carn Wolf lap from a helmet she’d filled with water. She looked at Redscar seriously.

“Redfangs will die.”

“Goblins have died.”

He bared his teeth at her. Rags shook her head.

“More Goblins should not die.”

The nuance between them was grief. Redscar expressed his in unrelenting fury towards the Humans. Rags was more measured. What good was victory if she sacrificed her tribe for it? She shook her head, ignoring Redscar’s unspoken rebuttal—that sacrifice was the only way to slaughter the Humans.

“Too many. Pull back. Gather.”

She was cutting short the raids early. Redscar didn’t protest. He rose as one of the Redfang [Scouts] called a quiet warning. The Humans had surrounded their rear.

“How escape now, Chieftain?”

“Easy.”

There were three times as many Humans waiting for the Goblins as they burst out of the front of the caves. This was the largest group of Goblin riders and Rags had made herself a target. They were already preparing to loose arrows and encircle the Goblins when she casually raised the [Fear] gem and Redscar led his riders past the rearing horses into the forest. Of course, they were still pursued. The [Fear] spell worked a bit less each time and the Humans had fresh mounts. They would catch the Redfang Goblins.

Already a group of [Riders] was hot on their heels as they entered the trees. They charged after the fleeing wolves and then the first rank of horses went down, screaming, as they tripped over the line of rope Rags had ordered her warriors to set in advance. The Redfang Goblins rapidly tied more trip lines as the Human pursuers lamed horses and riders died from being thrown and trampled.

Simple tactic. All you needed was rope. Rags shook her head. Some of the rope had been tied in advance—the Carn Wolves could easily bound over the ropes but the Humans couldn’t spot it until it was too late. She led her group away. Another lesson learned—whoever was leading the Humans missed details. They were not all-knowing. Rags clung to that knowledge as Redscar urged his mount to howl a warning to every Redfang within earshot. Their howls soon answered and Rags knew that word would spread.

Retreat. Gather! Return to the meeting spot she had designated. She hoped she would see enough of them return. The raiding was only one step of the battle. It was easy to hurt someone. Far harder to defeat them. She still had no idea how the Humans could tell where she and her tribe were. And it was her tribe she thought of. They were still occupying the Human city, surrounded by Human forces. And more were on the way. A lot more.

—-

Questions. Pyrite sat on the battlements of the city they had captured and thought of them. His wounds ached horribly and the cool air wasn’t doing them much good. But he refused to take a healing potion, trusting to his body to do what it did naturally.

Even with the plundered stores of the city, they had used too many healing potions tending to the wounded. If the others could endure the pain of the poison gas they had inhaled, if the Redfang Warriors could sacrifice their lives to distract the Humans, he could sit here and think without a healing potion.

Distract the enemy. That was how Pyrite chose to think of it. The Redfang Warriors were drawing the attention of the Humans, of this Unseen Emperor away from the city. In order to buy time for the tribe to heal, to be able to breathe. Yes, they were raiding and slaughtering Humans who had nothing to do with the conflict. But in a strategic sense…

Pyrite imagined the carnage. He didn’t have to imagine it, really. He had seen enough Goblin raids before. Humans killed. Girls and women abducted, the rest, children and adults, killed and left to rot. Only, Rags wouldn’t order kidnappings. She would just kill them all and torch the fields. He wasn’t sure if that made it better.

What Pyrite was sure of was that it was necessary. Rags was Chieftain and she had seen what he could not. Their enemy, this [Emperor] could not respond to so many attacks. Rags alone had saved their tribe when he had only been able to run and lose more and more Goblins day by day. That was why she was Chieftain.

But was a Chieftain enough to fight an [Emperor]? Pyrite’s skin prickled and grew cold in a way that had nothing to do with the weather. An [Emperor]. He had gathered the information from Lady Bethal, from the Frostfeeder tribe and Sir Kerrig. That was a danger far beyond any normal Human. They had strayed into his empire. The smart thing to do was run. But somehow, Pyrite doubted the Humans camped across from the city would let them go in peace.

He could see their camp, see the smoke rising in the distance, the picketed horses and the Humans watching him. They were far out of range of bowshot or magic spell. They had been closer at first, perhaps hoping some of their longbows could strike the Goblins from the walls. But Noears’ lightning bolts had convinced them to fall back. Now they waited, staring at the Goblins while the Goblins stared back.

It was a stalemate. Pyrite understood that. Both their mobile cavalry forces were engaged across the region. Meanwhile, Pyrite’s tribe was still recovering from the poison while the Humans couldn’t assault the walls. They’d tried in one bloody skirmish. The crossbows the Flooded Water tribe carried had been enough by themselves to send the Humans running. So the Goblins were safe and the Humans were waiting.

It wouldn’t last. Pyrite knew that with total certainty. Soon the Humans would attack or do something and Rags would counter it. The question he was wrestling with was how he could ensure they would survive.

Rags was a genius. But she was one Goblin and their enemy knew exactly where they were at all times. That was how it seemed. Pyrite understood how dangerous it was to have an all-seeing opponent as your enemy. If he could help Rags pinpoint this [Emperor] or stop them from being seen all the time…

How? It was a question Pyrite had thought in desperation many times while fleeing with his tribe but only now could he devote all of his attention to the problem. He was clear-headed, his stomach was full, and he had time to think. So he engaged the mystery of the all-seeing Humans with all of his mind. It was all he could do to help Rags.

This is how Pyrite thought of it. The Humans could tell where the Goblins were. They could detect ambushes, feints, hidden Goblins, even find gaps in formations to exploit. However, their gaze did not seem to be perfect. They could make mistakes. They needed time to ‘see’ and if they had a lot of targets they couldn’t identify them all.

That spoke to Pyrite of one or two Humans with this ability, whatever it was. Which made sense. If he had to classify this omniscience, he would have explained it as either proper scouting, magic, or a Skill. He knew it wasn’t scouting. No [Scout] could be that perfect and be everywhere at once. And he suspected it wasn’t magic. If it was a scrying spell, why could Noears sense nothing? Also, if there was an enemy [Mage] with that level of magical ability, why weren’t they casting other spells?

That only left a Skill by process of elimination. The trouble was, Pyrite couldn’t imagine a Skill that powerful. Even an [Emperor]’s Skills surely couldn’t be that powerful. Could they? It was all he could think of though, so Pyrite put that as his working theory. Then he turned his mind to figuring out how to stop it.

It was tricky. Pyrite instantly assumed that the all-seeing vision of this [Emperor] probably extended to his lands. If you could see the entire world…no. So they could evade him by running away. Or by killing him. The trick was that this [Emperor] was nowhere to be seen. He could be among the Humans fighting, but Pyrite doubted any ruler would risk himself like that. Thus, the Hobgoblin found himself pondering over the maps of the surrounding landscape, frowning at the names and scratching his head over where the Humans might be.

“What are you looking for?”

Noears stared at the maps with Pyrite. The Hob grunted.

“Big city. Biggest. Fancy name. For [Emperor].”

Noears nodded. He and Pyrite scrutinized the map. The trouble was…there was no city bigger than any other. As Humans reckoned things, the surrounding cities and towns were pretty paltry. None of them was close to a major city like Invrisil, certainly nothing an [Emperor] would stay in. Pyrite did notice an odd symbol next to one of the villages. He squinted.

“River…farm. Riverfarm.”

It looked like someone had marked it as having expanded recently. That was suspicious, but it was still only a small village. Pyrite tapped it and Noears nodded.

Well, the maps were inconclusive. So Pyrite tried his other source—Sir Kerrig. Only, the Human was understandably reticent about giving away information about the mysterious Unseen Emperor.

“I don’t know much. My lady apparently visited him, but if he is your enemy I cannot in good conscience aid you.”

The [Knight] was tending to the wounded Goblins. He had seen poisonous gases before and had instructed the Goblins to gargle salt water. Apparently the salt would draw out the bad humors and toxins. Pyrite hadn’t seen the harm so he’d let the [Knight] do his work. Sir Kerrig seemed caught between pity and regret as he looked at the wounded Goblins. Pyrite only saw innocent children, Goblins who didn’t fight. And he felt…angry. But he kept his face neutral as he nodded.

“No tell where. But who is [Emperor]?”

“I only know a name. Laken Godart. The Unseen Emperor. I’ve no notion why he’s called that or where he comes from.”

“Liar.”

Poisonbite growled. She was sharpening a dagger, glaring at Sir Kerrig. He blew out his mustaches exasperatedly.

“Not all Humans know each other, Miss Poisonbite. His subjects would know, but I doubt capturing one of them would do you any good. As I said, if your Chieftain would consider suing for peace—”

Pyrite turned away. It was that or thump the man. Peace? They didn’t attack first! He knew that didn’t matter to Humans. But it mattered to him. Disconsolate, he wandered through the city, waving at Goblins and listening as they came up to him with problems. Where to poo? Humans had a poo building. Use that. Not enough food? Bring hungry Goblins to him and he would decide. Need healing potion for bad-bad cough? Use tiny bit. Get Noears to use.

The city was a good place. It had food, places to sleep, and walls. The Goblins could rest here. Pyrite listened to a Goblin cough as he passed and noticed the rattling, wheezing sound was better. A bit. If Rags could buy them another few days they could fight.

But fight what? Fight where? The city was a fortress but it was also a trap. The Humans knew where they were and they would send armies. Pyrite stomped through the street, worrying about escaping. Maybe they could find the edge of this Unseen Empire? If he could plot the quickest route away—

The Hob’s ears perked up as he heard a howl and a commotion at the gates. He turned and ran, grabbing the battleaxe he’d strapped to his back. The thing was too big to carry easily. But he was grateful of it now. He saw a group of four Redfang Warriors race into the city and the Goblins at the gates shouting and pushing them closed. The Humans outside were blaring horns and shouting but they hadn’t tried to stop the group once they’d gotten close enough.

“Chieftain!”

One of the Redscar Warriors called out. She was slumped in her saddle and both she and her Carn Wolf looked half-dead. She turned and saw Pyrite.

“Where Chieftain?”

“Out. Not see?”

Pyrite’s heart beat faster in worry. The Redfang Goblin shook her head.

“Hid! Not join—strange thing—hear retreat!”

She was shaking, barely able to stand. Pyrite instantly called for water and food. As the Redfang Warriors dismounted he pointed.

“Sit. Talk. Eat!”

The Goblins sat on the ground and Pyrite watched them devour some cheese and bread as more Goblins ran to get food. He listened intently.

“Bad run. Many Humans. Follow. Burn-kill-run. But too many follow.”

The Goblins described their ordeal since splitting from the others. They had gone raiding like the rest, but their pursuers had forced them to keep on the move. They had lost their friends, burnt down a farmstead, and then been cornered in a valley.

“No good run! So burn—burn too much! Burn tree, grass, big wood not-tree.”

Desperate to strike a last blow, the Goblins had set fire to part of the forest. In doing so they had accidentally destroyed a man-made structure. A strange wooden pole, carved with eyes. That was how they described it. Pyrite frowned. Something about that seemed familiar.

“So? Run? Fight?”

“No! Hide!”

The Goblins nodded as Pyrite blinked, astonished. They had hid from their pursuers? How? It shouldn’t have been possible! But that was what had happened. The Redfang Warrior grimaced as she described it.

“Big not-tree gone, Humans no seek. Confuse-scared. Wait for found-death…not come! Humans go! Big not-tree eyes! Eyes on wood!”

“Not-tree. Big pole? Big wooden pole carved with eyes?”

Pyrite tried to translate the Goblin’s words. The trouble was that they had no word for what they’d seen. They imitated it, standing on each other’s shoulders, drawing symbols in the dust. Pyrite stared at the long, wooden pole carved with eyes and then he remembered where he’d seen it before.

The back-scratching pole! Pyrite’s own eyes widened. That was it! And it was what had given the Humans their sight! It had to be. The Redfang Warriors had lain in the bushes as the Humans passed right by them and heard them worry about the missing marker. They had hid for hours, believing the Humans were just laying some kind of devious trap. But only after they had fled a few miles were they pursued once more.

Was it magic? When Pyrite summoned Noears the other Goblin declared it couldn’t be. He would have noticed an enchantment! But there was no other explanation for it. These Redfang Warriors weren’t the only to survive by finding the secret of the totems either. As more trickled into the city, they revealed that a good number had survived by accidentally chopping down or burning the man-made markers, upon which the Humans lost track of them.

“Totems are eyes. Eyes for Humans.”

Pyrite felt a rush of satisfaction as he confirmed his theory. He no longer felt helpless as he directed the exhausted Redfangs to sleep and rest. An enemy with a mysterious ability was one thing. But this?

This was different. If they could blind their enemy, Pyrite was certain the Goblins could evade the Humans. He selected eighty Goblins and sent them out in bands of two, armed with axes and torches. Their instructions were simple. They’d hide in areas cleared of the magical markers and search for the others, retreating if Humans tried to find them. With a few days’ time the Goblins could completely blind the Humans in a huge radius around the city.

And then Pyrite heard the horn call. By this point he was back on the walls so he was in prime position to see the last of the Redfangs return in a huge mass. Over a hundred battered warriors raced over a hilltop, followed by the Humans on horseback. It was a desperate flight; the army of camped Humans raced to intercept. Pyrite saw one of the riders hold up a red gem and stop the Humans in their tracks for a second. But the Humans riding behind were determined to cut down as many Goblins as possible.

“Crossbows on walls! Noears! Lightning!”

Pyrite roared orders and the Flooded Waters tribe surged to the walls. Lightning began blasting riders back and they quickly broke off their pursuit. The Goblins cheered as Rags rode into the city with Redscar. Pyrite did not cheer. He counted. There were far too many missing Redscar Warriors. Of the four hundred they had sent, less than two hundred and forty remained.

Rags’ face reflected the casualties as she rode up to Pyrite. She nearly tumbled from the saddle but he caught her.

“Chieftain. Good work.”

“Is good?”

She spoke tiredly, without a trace of triumph in her voice. Pyrite smiled. He had good news to give her.

“Is good. Time bought. And know secret of Humans.”

She looked up. A glimmer of hope, that spark of intelligence and passion returned to her eyes.

“Tell!”

She sat on the battlements as Pyrite spoke. The Hob conveyed his findings, his suspicions, and watched Rags sort through his thinking and come up with her own conclusions. That reassured him. More than a full belly, more than walls. This was his Chieftain. She would save them. In the distance, Pyrite saw the Humans pulling back. By the end of the day they would double their numbers in size. By morning they would double their number again.

Day 104

“It’s all burning. They’ve burnt every field they could find. Every village, towns, cities. They’re everywhere.”

I sit in Wiskeria’s cottage, my head in my hands. Nesor hovers around me. I can tell his face is pale, but he doesn’t dare speak. Lady Rie paces by the table.

“But they have retreated, your Majesty?”

“For now. To rest and heal in that damn city. I think they’re all there. I can’t tell.”

I run my hands through my hair, gripping tightly. The place where the city should be is a gaping hole in my mind. I have no sight there. The city is not mine, so it and the surrounding areas are just a blank spot. I can see right up to a certain spot and then the detailed image of grass and stone and trees and so on vanishes. And that’s not the only hole now.

“I’ve lost another totem. Southwest now. Nesor, tell Wiskeria to post guards on the totems if she has to! The Goblins are aiming for them now and another group is—”

I grimace as I see a group of Goblins running towards a totem. One begins chopping at the base of the pole and my image of the area begins growing hazy. It vanishes and I curse and sit back.

“Tell her I want guards on the markers.”

“Yes, sire.”

Nesor puts his hand to his brow and concentrates. Lady Rie sighs and her dress swishes.

“General Wiskeria cannot post guards on every marker, surely.”

“She needs to keep up a field of vision around the city or I can’t help her. Tell Jelov I want more markers carved to replace the ones lost. Today.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

Lady Rie’s voice is too calm. As if she hasn’t been here, listening to me frantically try and chase hundreds of Goblins for the last two days. It was all going so well. And then—what happened?

“Wiskeria says they must have changed leaders. She was unable to hunt the main group of Goblins. She tells me they lured her into ambushes, outsmarted her—I saw some of that myself. She’s identified a Goblin with an enchanted longsword with the frost spell. For all the good that does us.”

“Perhaps she will be able to slay the Goblin leader in battle. I assume that is what she intends to do? Take the fight to the city?”

I nod.

“The main army has arrived. Durene’s group. They took longer than I thought—we had to drag the trebuchets on wheels. Slow. But we have two there now and Tessia and the siege team is in place. Wiskeria tells me she is ready to begin the bombardment but she’s asked me to hold off.”

“Why, pray?”

“She’s concerned about the Goblin leader. She’s afraid of a trap.”

“How strange. That is rather cautious of General Wiskeria, especially given her stunning success earlier.”

I grunt sourly.

“I trust her opinion. Beniar’s ready to attack, but Wiskeria’s asking me to hold off, perhaps call for more reinforcements.”

“I doubt you will receive them. The settlements are terrified. Rather, I believe you will be receiving refugees en masse, your Majesty. All of the displaced are converging on Riverfarm.”

What? I have to blink and rub my ears for a second.

“They’re coming here? To me? Why? I’m the one who’s failed to handle all these damn Goblins so far!”

Lady Rie’s voice is patient and I sense her sit delicately as Nesor edges out of the room, still muttering and sending his [Message] spell.

“That is your opinion, Emperor Laken. But I will remind you that your army is the only force attempting to battle the Goblins. The [Lords] and [Ladies] stranded in Riverfarm are inactive, and the cities and towns have closed their gates.”

“Because none of them have an army. Because I levied their soldiers.”

“True. But the people hardly see it that way. To them, your empire is said to be the one safe place to be in the entire region. I have received two dozen [Messages] begging for your aid or further protection and just as many messengers await you.”

“Wonderful.”

I shake my head. That’s just the lopsided, backhanded victory I need. I squeeze my shut eyelids, willing myself to see—but no, I can only see part of my army camped outside of the city limits. I look for a familiar face among the Humans, but I cannot sense Durene. I know she’s there.

“Sire? General Wiskeria has responded.”

A nervous voice interrupts my thoughts. I sense Nesor edge back into the room and Lady Rie makes a gesture. He gulps.

“S-she sends her acknowledgement of your commands, your Majesty. But she begs you to hold off another day.”

“For what, exactly?”

“She d-did not say, Lady Rie. Only that she wished to consult her options.”

Lady Rie makes a tsking sound.

“This is hardly the moment for prudence. The campaign against the Goblins is under scrutiny by the nobles in Riverfarm as well as powers outside. His Majesty must have a victory here. Is General Wiskeria not aware of that?”

“Forgive me my Lady, I did not—”

“Lady Rie.”

She falls silent. I sit in my chair. No choice. I feel like a fool after all my earlier bravado. People are dying. Dead. All because I didn’t strike the Goblins hard enough. I speak bitterly as I sense them nestled in the city. I can’t see them. But I know they’re there, infesting the spot. Like insects. Murderous monsters. Unthinking. I swore never to let my people suffer them again. And I will keep my promise.

“They’re taking away my sight, Lady Rie. They’re burning my lands. Killing my people. What would Wiskeria have me do? If this Goblin leader is a better strategist than she is—don’t let them run. We need to crush them here. Tell her to surround the city. She has the numerical advantage. Don’t let them escape. Use the two trebuchets and have Tessia construct more on the site if she can. Bombard the city until it is rubble. Let’s see the Goblins escape that.”

“Yes, your Majesty. Nesor? Send the [Message]. Don’t flinch. I will dictate it to you if need be. Emperor Laken, by your leave.”

Rie rises to give me space. I sit, my head bowed, heart pounding. I hate this. The necessity of it? No. I knew that was going to happen. But I hate sitting here while Durene will fight, while my people will fight and die for me as I sit and hide here, miles away. I interrupt Lady Rie before she can take Nesor to the next room.

“Rie? Tell Wiskeria to keep Durene safe, Lady Rie. She has to fight. But tell her—keep Durene safe.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

The door closes. I sit, hearing Rie’s low voice. And wait. In my head the blank spots where the Goblins should be gnaws at my consciousness. They’re there. Out of sight. I can’t see. I can’t…see.

But then I see the two trebuchets being pulled forwards by oxen. I sense the [Engineers] and [Builders] rush forwards and detach the wheels, anchoring it on the ground. In my mind I see them dragging a huge block of stone forwards and then my breath catches.

“Durene.”

She helps load the first trebuchet. I watch her as she steps back, as Tessia adjusts the aim. I see the arm go up and the boulder flies into the air. Out of sight.

For me, at least.

—-

Rags sat on the battlements of the city wall. It was her turn to sit. Pyrite was sleeping. He’d been working ceaselessly while she had been out raiding. Thinking. Figuring things out. It was thanks to him that she now knew the secret of the Human’s strange sight. He had also kept the tribe running, tended to the injured Redfang Warriors. She was grateful for everything.

Now she knew. Rags recalled the brief conversation they’d had after she’d ravenously eaten. The news about the totems had made her hopping mad that she hadn’t figured it out before. But a larger issue had loomed in her mind.

“Can blind [Emperor]. But where is?”

Pyrite had had no answer to that. He’d shown her the map and shrugged helplessly.

“Sir Kerrig not know.”

“Sir Kerrig is smelly wolf poo.”

Rags sighed. She was faced with a stark choice. She could try to retreat and escape this Unseen Empire’s boundaries, stay until the Humans starved or besieged the city, or launch an assault. None of the prospects sounded appealing. But she had to make a move before the option was taken away from her.

At least she had time. The Humans would be stupid to attack her walls. They didn’t seem to have high-level [Mages] and their superior numbers meant very little to her fortified tribe. If Rags could only find their [Emperor] somehow, then she would have a plan. Maybe—

The Humans were doing something in their camp far away. Rags saw them swarming around a big, wooden thing and dragging a huge stone over to it. She didn’t think much about it until she heard a shout. Then she saw something flying towards her. She looked up. She saw a big block of stone hurtling through the air, falling towards the city. For a moment Rags just stared.

That couldn’t be possible. But it was. And it was falling.

Rags stared as the first boulder fell and shattered a portion of the walls. She looked out and saw a strange thing of metal and wood move. She saw an arm of wood go up, and saw a boulder fly high, high into the sky. It was impossible for something that heavy to move like that. It fell deceptively slowly, and landed with a thump that she felt in her bones.

She saw the chunk of stone gouge a hole in the streets and a piece of shrapnel strike a Goblin. She heard a scream and saw them scatter. The trebuchets launched another boulder. And another. Rags stared and turned her head. No matter where she looked she saw only Humans. Waiting.

And to the north, the Goblin Lord’s army marched on Tremborag’s mountain. The Great Chieftain heard them battering on the doors of his fortress home and roared in fury. His tribe rushed to the traps and defenses, shouting war cries as they clashed with the Goblin Lord’s forces. Tremborag bellowed one word to the Goblin Lord, a challenge.

“Come!”

Rags sat on her wall and felt the dizzying rush of thoughts coming together. She saw another boulder fly up and watched it land harmlessly outside the walls. She eyed the Humans, saw them scurry to reload, and nodded. She spoke softly.

“I have a plan.”

5.31 G

They flooded into the mountain wearing black armor. Black, like bugs. Garen had heard of the Antinium, a race of insects. He imagined they must be like the Goblin Lord’s army—a vast, ravenous host without fear or thought.

But the Goblins that besieged Tremborag’s fortress weren’t insects. They were people. For all they were monsters in the eyes of all. They thought. They bled. And they could be broken, Goblin Lord or not.

The first wave struck two hours after the ambush in the woods. Goblins raced up the rocky slopes of Dwarfhalls Rest. As mountains went it wasn’t the largest by far. Compared to the High Passes it was a foothill among giants. But it was large enough. No citadel was taller, and even the climbing was treacherous. But the Goblins were warriors and spurred on by their leader, they swarmed up the mountainside. The battle began when they located one of the entrances to the mountain.

A dark tunnel mined out of stone, partly invisible against the rock face. The first Goblins in black armor entered the passage, shouting back at their companions. They made it in about twenty feet before they were swarmed from the shadows. Other Goblins, not wearing the signature black armor of Reiss’ troops, dropped on the Goblins from above, shot arrows, and charged out of the shadows with blades in hand. They did not wear metal armor by and large, but their blades were no less deadly.

The battle began as the Goblin Lord’s troops poured into the tunnel, shouting furiously. They bunched up, fighting with Tremborag’s Goblins as both sides fought in the narrow bottleneck. However, the battle had been of the Mountain City tribe’s choosing and so the Goblin Lord’s soldiers found themselves at a disadvantage.

Goblins with bows crouched on hidden ledges in the tunnel and more used higher ground to loose arrows or throw stones at their enemies. The rest, Hobs and normal Goblins alike, fought in an unending torrent of reinforcements. They would fall back if injured, fight on if not. The Goblin Lord’s forces found themselves unable to advance another step.

They could hold this spot forever. With that knowledge in mind, the Goblin Lord’s army quickly set about finding more entries into the mountain. They knew there had to be countless routes in. Goblins would have built themselves bolt holes and secret passages over the years. Sure enough, another entrance was located within minutes and more Goblins poured into the gap.

Again, they ran into a choke point filled with Tremborag’s Goblins. Undeterred, the Goblin Lord’s army fought in the tunnel while more scouted for other entrances. They found another. And another.

By this time the Goblin Lord’s army covered the mountainside like the insects they had reminded Garen of. They were already starting to establish a camp at the base of the mountain and the Goblin Lord’s officers were making their way up the slopes to take command of the fighting. More Goblins were circling around, running to find more secret entrances. That was when Garen struck.

Down he came, out of a hidden spot high above with his Redfang Warriors. They howled as they raced down the rocky slopes. The Carn Wolves easily bounded from rock to rock, remembering their home habitat of the High Passes. The band of the Goblin Lord’s soldiers looked up in time to see Garen Redfang charging down at him and hear the rattling of stones as more Goblins armed with bows raced out of the mountain. They raised their weapons and Garen charged into them atop his Carn Wolf.

“Weak!”

He roared as he slashed down at the first Goblin. His sword slashed through the sturdy wooden haft of the Goblin’s halberd and into the Goblin’s face. Garen wrenched his sword up, turned, and cut again. He needed no Skills—his enchanted sword cut through the crude black armor with ease. Before him the Goblin Lord’s warriors scattered as the rest of Garen’s warband cut them down.

Garen finished off the sixth Goblin when he heard the warning shout from above. A shower of arrows flew down and glanced off raised shields. The Goblin Lord’s army had seen the fighting and thousands of Goblins were pouring up the mountain. Garen pointed back up.

“Retreat!”

He and the Carn Wolves raced back up the slope, howling in triumph. They retreated into the mountain passage as the rest of Tremborag’s Goblins harried the approaching Goblins and then fell back. Soon, there was fighting in this passage as well, but again the Goblin Lord’s army found themselves stalemated. Garen raced through the mountain’s interior to another one of the secret passages carved out of stone.

Twice more he fell on the Goblin Lord’s army, inflicting many casualties before retreating. After the second time he was forced to abandon his raids—by this point the Goblin Lord’s army had entrenched themselves thoroughly on the mountainside. That was when the siege began in earnest.

—-

“Snapjaw, take control of west. Eater of Spears, watch top of mountain. No leader enters the mountain. Send only our warriors. Now. Bring me my [Shamans] and [Mages].”

Standing at the base of the mountain, the Goblin Lord named Reiss stared up at the lines of his soldiers moving slowly up the rocky terrain. What appeared to be chaos at first was in fact an organized system. Goblins would divide themselves up into groups, moving towards camps that had been set about each entrance to the mountain. The army was fighting on sixteen different fronts and each one had to receive a constant flow of supplies, reinforcements, and have a spot for the wounded to be brought out.

Not that there were many wounded. Goblins died before they could retreat in the narrow passageways. Reiss stared up at the mountain, listening to a report from one of his Goblins.

“Bad-bad box with Goblin archers! Much raining death and chop death from Goblins! Many Hobs! Many strong-cut death swords!”

“How many [Shamans]? Any special Goblins?”

The smaller Goblin had to think.

“One glow [Shaman]. Other smaller glow. Special Goblins—no. Many Hobs.”

“I see. Go get food. Eat.”

The Goblin nodded and ran towards a spot where food was being passed out to hungry soldiers and Goblins alike. The Goblin Lord’s force wasn’t all soldiers—many of the Goblins around Reiss weren’t armed at all. He had elected to camp on the base of the mountain, rather than ascend any further. Now Reiss stared up at the mountain. His army had covered one face, but the summit and the rest of the mountain had yet to be explored.

“Many holes in mountain. Many ambushes. They have prepared a long time. Do you think it is a bad battle?”

He glanced to one side and saw a stranger among his camp. Osthia Blackwing, the sole prisoner of the Goblin Lord’s forces, glared at him. But she didn’t waste time replying. Her gaze was bitter but calculating as she stared up at the mountain.

“It sounds like this other tribe has fortified the mountain well. Those choke points will be the death of your army—you won’t ever take them by force.”

That had been Reiss’ thought. He nodded slowly, weighing Osthia’s words against the way she moved, her body posture. She was telling the truth.

“But there are many entrances to the mountain.”

“How many?”

Reiss gave Osthia the aimless shrug of a true Goblin.

“Many.”

She eyed him sourly. Her tail lashed a bit.

“That’s a foolish mistake. No Drake fortress would ever have so many entryways.”

“No. But it is a good thing for Goblins. They will ambush from behind. And many ways in means many ways out if they are losing.”

“That’s exactly what I would expect from a Goblin army. Well then, I’m sure there are some places that haven’t been fortified as well. If you attack from ten different spots and gain a foothold, you could push in.”

Reiss nodded.

“Good plan.”

Osthia snorted and turned away. The Drake had lost her armor and her clothes were worn from days on the march. Her wings twitched in their metal manacles as she paced a bit. She glared up at the mountainside.

“You know they’ll ambush you if you don’t surround every passageway, don’t you? And doing that will spread your forces too thin.”

“I know. My lieutenants will begin building defenses soon. We will surround two thirds of the mountain. Leave the back way open with watchers. If they come out, we will kill them there.”

The Drake grunted. It was as much approval as he would get from her. Reiss watched her calmly for another moment.

She wasn’t helping him. She wasn’t—and yet she was willing to talk strategy with him. He could have come up with all the conclusions she’d led him to on his own, but it was good to have another mind to think on these subjects. Reiss knew that Osthia would deny it if he asked her, but she had become more willing to speak to him these last few days.

There was nothing magical about it. He had not coerced her or threatened her or done anything else. It was just that she had been in his camp for so long that she had to talk to someone or go mad. The other Goblins fed her and left her alone by and large. It was the isolation that had turned her into a reluctant advisor. Reiss could understand that. No one wanted to be alone.

A roar from the top of the mountain drew his attention. A Goblin had emerged from a hidden spot and was pointing down at his forces. Reiss narrowed his eyes as he saw the aura of magic around the Goblin. He—no, she was a [Shaman]!

High above, Ulvama, Chief [Shaman] of Tremborag’s tribe cackled and waved a staff. The paint on her bare breasts and mostly uncovered body gleamed as she pointed down at the Goblin Lord’s army. From her staff she shot fire, great masses of it that drifted down and blanketed the grouped-up Goblins. They screamed and fled as the fire baked them in their armor. Behind Ulvama more Goblins streamed out of the mountain. Young Goblins—Hobs and regular warriors. They burned with passion. Ulvama pointed at them. She screamed as she gathered magic to her.

“Go! Kill the weak Goblins! Kill the slave-Goblins! Be wild! Be monsters!”

The Goblins roared as she cast a spell on them. The red lights in their eyes brightened and their bodies grew slightly as they raced down the slopes. Propelled into a battle madness by her [Bloodfury] spell, they hurled themselves against the Goblin Lord’s forces until they were all dead. Ulvama retreated back into the mountain, laughing. It was too easy!

“You’re in trouble. That was a high-level [Shaman], wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Reiss watched as the last of the enchanted Goblins were subdued by his forces. Already he had a sense of how the battle was stacked up. On his side he had more numbers than Tremobrag’s forces. He had an army of over a hundred thousand—although a good third of that number was filled with Goblins who wouldn’t fight unless backed into a corner. Children, heavily pregnant Goblins, those who didn’t want to fight, and so on.

On Tremborag’s side were probably forty thousand goblins at most. But they could hold the mountain so long as they held their tunnels. They knew the mountains. They had left traps—collapsing ceilings, spikes that swung out of the darkness—and they could keep withdrawing into their home if defeated on any one front.

It wasn’t a battle Reiss would have taken normally. But two things made him believe he could win. Firstly, if Tremborag and Garen Redfang fell or were captured, the tribe would instantly join his. He didn’t need to slaughter all of the Mountain City tribe—in fact, he wanted them largely intact. They would make his army half again as large. Assuming he could defeat the enemy Chieftains, of course. And to that end—

Reiss felt the magical auras as a group of Goblins approached him. Many were wearing armor like regular soldiers, although some had found robes both magical and mundane. All held some sort of catalyst, although again, the quality varied from a magical stave or wand seized from a Human to a pointy stick with leaves still growing from it. Reiss turned and his [Mages] and [Shamans] bowed to him.

“It is time. Send in the undead.”

—-

In the mountain, Tremborag was already celebrating. He ate on his dirty throne, laughing, as his warriors not fighting on the front ate and shouted triumphantly. It was an act that boosted the morale of his tribe. Not only could Tremborag feast himself during a siege, he was confident enough not to fight. The Great Chieftain drank deeply from a vessel of wine and turned to Garen Redfang. The Hobgoblin was staring at the indulgent display with contempt. Tremborag waved at him.

“Eat, Redfang! Or are you afraid the Goblin Lord will pop out of the food and slay you?”

He laughed raucously and the Goblins around him laughed too. Garen turned his head and stared silently at Tremborag. He and his faction of Goblins ate lightly, readying themselves for the next battle. Undeterred, Tremborag grinned, exposing all of his teeth.

“The Goblin Lord has not passed through a single tunnel so far. We slaughter his soldiers at each spot! And he will not find an opening into the mountain that is not trapped or watched. What say you? Is this not the battle you wanted?”

“His army is big.”

Garen’s comment made Tremborag laugh all the harder. He slapped one knee, making the fat and flesh jiggle.

“Big? Oh, for a tribe. For a Chieftain! But for a Goblin Lord? His army is weak! Small! Raw. My tribe is greater than his! I have been Chieftain for decades. How long has he been Lord? Half a year? He should never have come to my mountain.”

There was more truth to that boast than not. As armies went, the Goblin Lord’s force was fairly well-equipped and trained. But they didn’t stand out like other forces, or like Garen’s elite warriors who were far superior in individual fights or in equal matches.  On the other hand, Tremborag’s tribe was vast as befitted his title and he had many Hobs and experienced warriors of his own. The Goblin Lord’s forces were made up of many smaller tribes of varying, often mediocre quality—Tremborag’s forces could be said to stand a notch above them in quality.

All of this was true. And yet Garen did not relax. Tremborag lost interest in taunting him and turned back to his food. He was about to call a Goblin female over—why not?—when he heard a distant commotion. He stopped eating and the Goblins around him looked up uncertainty.

The doors flew open and one of Tremborag’s lesser lieutenants rushed into the room. Tremborag rose, annoyed. This Hob should have been overseeing one of the besieged tunnels.

“Great Chieftain! Bad trouble!”

“What is it?”

“Undead! Many-many undead coming! Overwhelming, sneaky death!”

The Hobgoblin looked frantic. Tremborag stared at him and then roared.

“Undead? So what? Kill them! Shoot them with arrows! Chop off their heads!”

“Great Chieftain! Can’t!”

Enraged, Tremborag strode forwards off his dais and snatched the smaller Goblin up. He glared at the Hob as every Goblin around him held their breath and backed away.

“Why not?”

The Hob gasped as Tremborag’s massive clawed hand squeezed him. He looked into Tremborag’s furious face and spoke weakly.

“Undead go boom.”

—-

They walked into the tunnels. Shambling forms. Pallid bodies. All were rotting. The unholy, damned light of undeath shone in their eyes. They moved forwards. Zombies, mainly. A few skeletons. Ghouls in small packs and a handful of the deadly Draug. The Goblin Lord’s living forces moved aside to let them pass. The undead moved into the kill spots and grappled with the Goblins there. They threw themselves relentlessly towards the defenders, ignoring all but the most debilitating of injuries.

If that were all they would have been held back. At cost, but with no more difficulty than the regular soldiers. But mixed among the undead Humans, Drakes, Gnolls, and regular Goblins were…children. Undead Goblins who moved a bit faster than the rest. They snuck closer amid the fighting, directed by far-off [Necromancers] and [Shamans].

And when they were amid the struggling lines of the Goblin defenders or worse, among a group of Tremborag’s Goblins, they would bite at an ankle or strike weakly with their small bodies. Of course, they would be instantly crushed by or speared or hacked apart. And that was when they would explode.

The first few detonations killed dozens of defenders each. Shock and confusion allowed the undead to push forwards. The Mountain City tribe fell back in disarray, not understanding what the sudden explosions had been caused by. They suspected [Mages] and looked for invisible Goblins or ones armed with scrolls or magical items. By the time they realized the small Goblins were the source of the detonations, they had taken heavy losses.

Tremborag stared in disbelief at the steam of wounded Goblins fleeing from the forward tunnels. He saw many were wounded and far more were terrified. Tremborag roared and the Goblins rushing towards him froze. He swung a claw and sent the closest Goblins to him flying with broken bones.

“Cowards! Get back to fighting!”

The Goblins looked at their Great Chieftain and wavered. They weighed the odds of dying with incurring their Chieftain’s wrath and slowly turned. Tremborag growled furiously as he heard more detonations echo distantly back into the mountain.

“Exploding undead? This Goblin Lord has a second army. An army of tricks! Cowardly little tricks!”

“Good tricks.”

Tremborag turned, his eyes narrowed. Garen stood behind him. The Hob stared past Tremborag with a frown.

“The entrances are lost. Too small. Too narrow.”

Tremborag knew he was right. The Great Chieftain roared in anger and stomped about, but he had figured out the same thing Garen had. In the narrow tunnels the exploding undead would utterly destroy the defenders as they bunched up. Tremborag snarled but growled an order to one of his Hobs.

“Pull back! We will slaughter them in the open!”

The Hob raced off shouting to do Tremborag’s bidding. Garen looked up at the huge Hobgoblin.

“More fighting. On bridges, in open. Means fighting in tunnels. Harder to hold. More deaths.”

Tremborag was close to lashing out. He held himself back from striking Garen with effort. His voice deepened with fury.

“We will slaughter them in great numbers, then! You will fight, Redfang. You and your Goblins. And I will hunt down the Goblin Lord’s officers. Tomorrow we will go hunting.”

Garen nodded. Tremborag strode back into his throne room and resumed eating with such fury that no Goblin dared to disturb him. In the mountain, the Goblins pulled back. They abandoned the narrow entrances to the mountain and ran into larger tunnels. They were the last stopgap before the center of the mountain which was crisscrossed with bridges and wood scaffolding. The invading Goblins and undead followed them and clashed against the solid barricades that had been set up, screaming as oil and boiling water was poured on them from above.

—-

Osthia listened to the garbled reports coming into the Goblin Lord’s tent, trying to make sense of it all. The crude language of the Goblins and their partial mastery of the common tongue as well as multiple reports being delivered at once made understanding anything hellishly difficult, but she had learned that part of Goblin communication was body language. Too, she thought she almost understood some of the Goblin’s speech. A few words that were repeated, a phrase here and there—useless, of course, but it helped knowing what was going on.

“They’re fighting in wider spaces. Looks like they’re trapped. Your exploding undead will do less good there.”

“Yes. But they can go through other tunnels. Now the Great Chieftain must defend from me.”

Reiss turned and grinned. Osthia looked at him and tried to find the disgust and hatred in her heart. All she felt was a bit of anger. She’d been his captive too long. She had hated him, tried to kill him after Zel Shivertail had fallen. But she had known it was the Necromancer who had killed him. And Reiss had left his body for the Humans, wept. She wanted to hate him. That would make things simple. Easy. But she couldn’t. So Osthia glanced up at the mountain, aglow with torches.

“What now? Any Drake commander would dig in and find the most advantageous spots to keep slaughtering your troops. How will Goblins fight?”

“Not dig in. Mountain too much stone.”

The Goblin Lord grinned and Osthia realized he’d made a joke. She stared at him stonily. He gave her another shrug.

“Goblin Chieftain cannot ward all tunnels from undead and my soldiers. Now there are spots. I will send in Hobs, strong warriors. Try to find ways towards him.”

“Kill teams.”

“Yes. And he will hunt my officers. Now it is a battle to kill each other’s best warriors. Mages. Special Goblins.”

Osthia nodded. That was another way of fighting. Take out the head of an army, the [Strategists], high-level warriors and so on, and all you had left were fodder. She looked at Reiss and wondered again if she wanted him to win or lose this battle. If he won he would be even stronger. But a Goblin nation—if he conquered a city in Human lands, would that really be the worst? He had promised to set her free if he made his kingdom a reality.

On the other hand, if this Great Chieftain won, what then? The Goblin Lord’s forces would retreat, be forced to raid and build up. And he was the Necromancer’s enemy, or so he claimed. The sooner Osthia could escape and warn her people…

“Will your master join the battle? Or will he reserve his help for when you’re cornered?”

Reiss’ smile twisted into a scowl. He looked at Osthia with his black eyes and then shook his head.

“The further we are from him, the harder it is for him to cast magic. He will not help. And if I go further still—”

Reiss’ eyes travelled back towards the mountain. Osthia stared at it and shivered. An old Dwarven home. It was a powerful refuge. If Reiss occupied it, would this be his Goblin kingdom? Or an outpost? Or would he abandon it? She didn’t know. And as Reiss turned back to issue more orders, Osthia wondered what the Humans were doing. They had to know the battle was going on. Would they wait until both sides were exhausted before moving in? She was afraid that would be a mistake. The Goblins might hate each other, but a common enemy could unite them. Or would they fight each other to the end despite the new threat, like her people?

Overhead the moon rose. As the first day of fighting drew to an end, the siege continued with the undead besieging the mountain while the Goblin Lord’s forces rested. Parts of the army would awaken to night raids and quiet assassinations in the dark. The siege would heat up the next day. Both sides would throw everything into the conflict and it would take only a few lucky strokes for one group to gain a decisive edge over the other.

Ironically, less than a hundred miles away a different siege would be playing out quite differently on the exact same day.

—-

The stones fell from the sky. Like birds falling from the sky. Only, they weren’t birds. Massive chunks of stone fell on the city filled with Goblins, smashing through the rooftops of buildings, sending the cobblestone street fountaining up in explosions of dirt and shrapnel. The two trebuchets fired a stone every ten minutes at most—the Humans swarming over the trebuchet had to pull back the arm, drag over a boulder and adjust the aim each time. Nevertheless, the stones falling on the city were a terrifying thing for any besieged army to contemplate. The Goblins stood on the battlements and stared.

In wonder. It was less fear and more awe that had children and adult Goblins alike sitting on the battlements, watching the trebuchets reload. Of course, when the stones flew the Goblins scattered out of the likely flight path, calling warnings. But until that brief moment they were more impressed than anything else. Where any other species might have felt fear, Goblins were surprisingly resilient.

The sky had begun throwing stones at them. Okay. It wasn’t pleasant, but to the Goblins it was just another way to die. They were more concerned with whether they’d have to stay in the city while the rocks kept falling. It was easy to dodge the boulders if you had sentries on the walls, but what about if you were asleep? And soon the city walls would be full of holes.

Rags had grasped all of that the instant she’d seen the trebuchets. Her vision of a secure city melted in the face of the Human’s strange devices. But her anguish over her ruined plans had been replaced by an idea. A plan.

“Noears!”

The small Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe screamed a word as Goblins ran about the city. Pyrite was making his way up the steps of the walls, looking worried. Rags could see Sir Kerrig below as well. The [Knight] was making the smallest Goblins hide in the shadow of the walls. She understood. Of course—taking shelter in the lee of the walls would be the safest spot since the boulders would either hit the wall or go past it. She called out an order and pointed. Goblins began running to reposition themselves.

“Chieftain?”

Pyrite panted a bit as he crested the stairs. He took one look at the trebuchets and said a bad Human word. Rags nodded absently.

“Human thing. Far-crushing death.”

The big Hob said the bad word again. He stared at the trebuchet as it was slowly reloaded. The arm bent back.

“What now, Chieftain? Leave city? Walls will have many holes soon.”

“Mm. Not too soon. Humans have bad aim.”

They had two massive trebuchets. They must have taken ages to drag across the landscape. And for all that they could hurl huge stones, their aim was fairly bad. Rags’ keen eyes picked out the operators on both trebuchets. It looked like a Human female was aiming one of them. That trebuchet seemed more on target. Two of the three stones it had hurled had hit the walls. The other trebuchet had hit a different spot each time. Yes, give them time and the city would slowly be demolished. However—

“Chieftain, you called me?”

A voice made Rags turn. She saw Noears panting harder than Pyrite. He looked warily at the trebuchets. Rags pointed.

“Big falling stone.”

“I saw.”

Noears grimaced, his face expressing a whole host of emotions. Rags nodded. She could see her lieutenants making their way towards her, keeping an eye on the sky. Yes, the trebuchets could do a lot of damage by accident, but it would be hard to hit a specific target. She could work with that.

“Noears, how much mana? How many potions?”

He blinked at her and scrubbed a hand across his bald head.

“Can cast lots of spells, Chieftain. Got four potions.”

He patted his belt where one of them hung. Noears warily eyed the trebuchets in the distance. He shook his head.

“Too far. Get close is dangerous. Use fire and arrows instead?”

He looked hopefully at Rags, assuming she wanted him to get close and zap the trebuchets. Rags shook her head. She pointed up.

“Good aim? Can hit stones?”

Noears blinked. He looked up, and then grinned.

“Can try.”

The next boulder flew as Rags was calling for more Goblins. It had a good arc and would have plummeted into the city center. Only, as it neared the walls of the city, Noears pointed up and shouted.

“[Lighting Bolt]!”

A flash of lightining and a boom made every Goblin look up. Stone shards rained down from above, making the Goblins on the walls shield their eyes. The boulder tumbled and fell—not on the city center but hitting one of the walls. Rags shook her head as she heard a scream and saw Goblins fleeing the impact site.

“Shoot better!”

She shouted at Noears. The Goblin [Mage] grunted.

“Hard!”

He took a position on the walls. His lightning bolt spell was powerful, but it could only crack or change the boulder’s trajectory. Rags thought he could protect the city for an hour at best. She nodded to herself.

“Chieftain?”

More Goblins approached. Quietstab, Redscar, a few Hobs, and Poisonbite. The female raid leader coughed a bit, but her breathing sounded much better. Rags looked at her.

“Good breathe?”

“Can fight, Chieftain! Want to destroy big wood thing?”

Poisonbite grabbed one of her daggers and pointed at the trebuchet. Rags shook her head. the Human army was camped all around it and they outnumbered her tribe a good bit.

“No.”

“What then, Chieftain? Sit here not good. Slow crush death.”

Quietstab looked apprehensive, but Rags just sneered at him. She struck an arrogant pose, aware that below, Sir Kerrig was watching her.

“Sit here very good! Sit here all we need! Flooded Waters tribe not afraid of rocks, right?”

“Right.”

The other Goblins chorused uncertainly. Rags pointed at Redscar.

“You get nails.”

She pointed at Quietstab.

“Get wood. Break houses!”

She pointed at Poisonbite.

“Got stones! Big stones. Like boulder.”

Finally, she pointed at Pyrite.

“You get lots of Goblins. Wait for signal.”

They nodded hesitantly. Rags turned to the second group of Goblins she’d called. They weren’t Hobs, save for one. Over two thirds of the Goblins didn’t even carry weapons! But they all had a specific class.

[Tinkerer]. [Builder]. [Hammerer], [Armorer], [Scavenger]. They were a group unique to her tribe. Every Goblin tribe had someone good at repairing armor or making crude spears, but Rags’ tribe had learned to create crossbows. They had built their crude armor thanks to her [Scavenger Armor] Skill. And she had aquired a level or three in the [Tinkerer] class too. Rags pointed at the trebuchet.

“Human thing. Throw big rocks. Want.”

The Goblins stared at the distant trebuchet. They scratched their heads. Not a single one told Rags it was impossible. They just stared. After a second, one frowned.

“Big turn thing.”

The Goblin had identified the fulcrum, or axle the trebuchet was rotating on. She pointed it out to Rags and the others. Another Goblin observed the way the Humans were reloading the catapult and triggering it with ropes. A third stared at the counterweight, watching it swing down. Another watched Noears blow the stone out of the sky because that was fun to see.

It wasn’t as if the trebuchet was that hard to understand. Arm went down, arm went up. Stone goes in sling, stone goes flying. The Goblins may not have ever studied calculus or observed more than basic physics, but they had eyes. And the Humans had helpfully given them two trebuchets as an example. The real problem wasn’t even resources—Rags had already sent her tribe demolishing parts of the city for whatever they needed. The real problem was in copying the trebuchet perfectly.

“How big is arm? How long is rope?”

Rags frowned at the distant trebuchet. That was the thing. She was fairly certain that if the rope was too long or the trebuchet was poorly made it would break. In making the crossbows she’d seen how poor wood or faulty recreations snapped in the user’s faces. So she and her engineering team stared hard at the trebuchet, trying to figure out a way to copy it. They hit upon their idea after three minutes of staring.

“Human there. Got helmet.”

One of the Goblins pointed at a Human [Soldier] who looked bored as he stood to attention besides the trebuchet. He was watching it move and was standing close. He was perfect. The other Goblins focused on him and one ran to get a Human-sized helmet. Yes, Human heads varied in size, but not greatly. They began piling up helmets and arguing over how tall the Human was. As they did, they stared at the Human and began comparing his head to the length of the trebuchet arm.

Rags saw several Goblins measuring with their claws and then bringing out little bits of string which they marked with their new measuring unit. How many Human heads across was the trebuchet’s arm? How wide was it? She did her own calculations, poking Goblins and arguing with them. For once they argued back.

The engineering team bickered, threw one of their own off the walls in fury, ducked as another stone flew past them, and then swarmed off the battlements. They descended on the ready supplies, poking other Goblins and conveying through hand gestures and short sentences what was needed. The other Goblins listened, scratched their heads, and got to work.

It was incredible. To Sir Kerrig, the trebuchets employed by Laken Godart’s army were nothing short of miraculous in themselves. The Drakes knew how to build siege weapons, but they had classes! An [Engineer] was as valuable as a [Knight] equipped in full plate armor—more, in fact! If he had gone to any group of Humans and told them to copy a trebuchet they would have laughed at him or given up after a few attempts. But Goblins didn’t say ‘that’s impossible’ or ‘I can’t do it’. They just did it or got a whack from their Chieftain.

Of course, not everything was straightforward. Finding the right timber to use for their first trebuchet was hard since they only had beams from houses to work with. The first arm of the trebuchet they cobbled together broke due to the weight they placed on it. Too, the measurements of the arm were off and so the first trebuchet simply collapsed before it could be built.

To fix these problems, Rags sent a group of Hobs out covertly from the city. It was a risky thing, but they managed to get to the forest and down a tree before the Humans sent a patrol at them. Redscar’s Carn Wolves and a host of Goblins with crossbows on the walls convinced the Human army to let the Goblins do…whatever it was they were doing. Who cared so long as most didn’t escape? They moved along the forest’s edge, encircling the city at a distance from the other side.

Indeed, for the most part the Human army’s morale was soaring. They sat at a distance, jeering, as their trebuchets launched more boulders at the walls of the city. There were already holes in the western wall and Noears had run out of mana and been forced to rest. The army was content to lounge about. Why, within a day or two the city would be so full of holes the Goblins would either run or be dead! They were confident. Right up until the saw they first boulder flying towards them.

—-

To be fair, the first stone wasn’t half as large as the ones that had been flying at the city. And it landed well short of the Humans’ camp. But the fear and shock it caused sent a physical ripple through the besieging force’s lines. It wasn’t just the danger. It wasn’t just the shock of seeing their specially designed, unique trebuchets copied so quickly. It was a basic, simple feeling.

That wasn’t right. That wasn’t fair. Goblins couldn’t create devices! They weren’t smart enough to copy things like that! They couldn’t just replicate something that had taken a team of [Engineers] to build! But as the second and third boulders flew from the city walls, the Humans had to face facts. The Goblins had built a trebuchet of their own.

One. Sir Kerrig could see it being loaded and the arm pulled into place by the team of Goblins as more argued over a second one. It was incredible, but the Goblins worked in perfect synchronization. They had the materials, the manpower, and the motivation. But all of that might have been for naught save for their Chieftain.

There she was, striding past the first trebuchet, snapping at other Goblins and moving the rest. Sir Kerrig stared at Rags. Such a small Goblin! But she was terrifyingly smart. She had organized this tribe, defeated every attack sent against her. She was dangerous. But she could also be reasoned with. That was his hope. There was some goodness, some innate quality that could be redeemed in her. If not her, then certainly in Pyrite. If only he could end this fighting!

Such was Kerrig’s wish. But he had been flatly rejected by Rags once before. That was why he was astounded and not a little bit suspicious when Rags herself strode up to him. And the first thing she said made him warier still.

“Time for peace. You go.”

She pointed at the gates, which had been partially collapsed by a shot from the Humans. Now both sides were flinging stones at each other as fast as they could. Sir Kerrig saw a boulder smash into a wall and send up a spray of stones and stared at Rags in disbelief.

“Now? You must be joking.”

“No. Now is best time for peace.”

She grinned toothily at him. Sir Kerrig frowned at her. He looked over Rags’ shoulder at Pyrite. The Hob was keeping one eye towards the sky as he watched Rags talk.

“Your tribe is willing to offer some assurance of peace?”

“Yes. Those.”

Rags pointed at the second trebuchet being built. Sir Kerrig stared at her. His head began to hurt.

“That is the opposite of what I spoke of. I told you that there must be proof of your goodwill! Proof that you can be trusted!”

The small Goblin stared at Sir Kerrig, tilting her head back and forth. She nodded.

“Trust. We not trust Humans. They attacked us. First.”

She emphasized the word. Behind her, Pyrite nodded. Rags pointed to the trebuchet.

“Humans come here to kill. Bring rock throwing thing. But we have rock throwing thing now too.”

“Trebuchets.”

“Good name. They cannot get rid of us. We cannot leave with them. So trust. They go, we run away. Otherwise we stay and both starve.”

There was a twisted logic to it. But Sir Kerrig felt a fire in his chest as he stared past Rags at Redscar. The Goblin was sitting on a Carn Wolf, clearly enjoying watching the trebuchets firing. He was gesturing at one, asking for a turn aiming it.

“That may be far too late. Your people raided the countryside. You slaughtered innocents! If you had asked me four days ago, my response would have been different. What proof have I now that you won’t immediately strike once you have retreated?”

Rags looked thoughtful. She glanced at Pyrite and he reached for something at his side. He was holding his sack and Sir Kerrig blinked as he pulled out one of his pieces of gold. Rags pointed at it.

“This help?”

“Gold? Are you trying to buy a peace treaty?”

Sir Kerrig didn’t know if he should be outraged or impressed. Rags nodded a few times.

“Good. Buy. Don’t need shiny things. We give for dead. Humans let us go away.”

The [Knight] gritted his teeth hard.

“That does not excuse all the death.”

“No. But enough dead on Human side now. Makes up for Goblins.”

The small Goblin peered at Sir Kerrig. She wasn’t exactly smiling. But her eyes—Sir Kerrig shuddered as he saw the simple calculation in Rags’ gaze. You killed us. We killed you. Now we’re even. Rags pointed at the bag Pyrite was holding again.

“Give to Humans. You take one to big Human leader. General? Emperor? Tell more if go. Humans get shiny things. We keep that.”

She pointed at the Goblin-made trebuchet. Sir Kerrig stared at it.

“You want to keep that?”

“No. Keep know how to make. We take and go. Humans let us go.”

“That’s…”

Sir Kerrig tried to find words for how unacceptable the idea of that was. Goblins with the ability to create siege weapons? And this tribe. He looked at Rags and knew what his answer was.

“Chieftain Rags. I am afraid my answer is no. I cannot trust your motives. I cannot trust you. As for the Unseen Emperor—I am certain I would not be able to convince him of anything you have said either.”

He kept his tone level, wondering if Rags would order him killed or stab him herself. The small Goblin’s eyes flashed at his words. She stared at him and then stomped her foot.

“Trust? Trust? Why Humans only ones who need trust? If trust wanted—get mage! Get truth spell! Get [Emperor] to come here and talk! Then I say tribe is leaving, no want fight. And truth is known to all! We did not start fight. We will end it! If trust you want—get way to trust us!”

Her raised voice made the other Goblins look over. Rags glared at Sir Kerrig. He sat back, surprised. A [Mage]? Truth spells? How did she know about those? Then again, nothing about Rags could surprise him anymore. And the thought was…

“You would swear on truth spell that your motives are genuinely peaceful?”

Rags nodded.

“Would swear. Get Humans to stop attack, we go. Tell [Emperor]. We meet. We talk. Safe ground.”

“No [Emperor] would risk himself that way, surely.”

Rags rolled her eyes.

“Then go shout at each other from far away! Any way works! You go. Ask!”

She pointed towards the gates. Sir Kerrig stared at her. Was she serious? He looked at Pyrite. The Hobgoblin was waiting patiently.

“Sir Pyrite. What do you say? Is your tribe’s goal truly peaceful?”

The Hob considered the question and Sir Kerrig watched closely. Pyrite chewed on something, frowned, chewed again, and then nodded. He spoke slowly, deliberately.

“Goblins want to live. Emperor? Humans? Other tribes? All danger. Want peace. Big battle not good idea. You go best way to let all live. So you go. Or is peace not better than war?”

He looked pointedly at Sir Kerrig. The [Knight] slowly nodded. He stood and looked at Rags. The small Goblin watched him carefully. Warily. He nodded to her.

“Chieftain Rags, if your words are sincere, I will attempt to broker peace with Emperor Laken. I cannot guarantee that he will agree. But give me your message to him and I will carry it. I may need a horse.”

Rags nodded. She whistled and shouted a word. A Goblin raced off. Rags looked back at Sir Kerrig.

“Can try for peace. May work, may not. But now is a good time.”

She pointed at the trebuchets again. One fired and the Goblins cheered as the boulder went flying towards the Humans. Rags grinned.

“Peace is best when both sides have big sword.”

Sir Kerrig looked at her and shook his head. He tried to tell her she was wrong, but she was right and wrong at the same time. So young. He wished he could explain it to her, but he doubted she would listen and now was not the time. He prayed he would have the opportunity to tell her what peace really meant. For now he looked towards the Goblin pulling a horse towards him and braced himself. When he rode out of the city it was carrying a white flag and a golden nugget in a pouch by his side.

—-

Durene’s ears twitched as she heard another thump as a stone thudded into the ground close to where she was walking. She looked back and saw the stone. It had landed and smashed out a small crater a few feet away from the tents that had been set up in the center of the camp. She saw a Human bowman staring at the boulder. It had landed only a few feet away from him. His hands shook as he held the piece of bread he’d been gnawing on.

“Miss Durene! Over here!”

Beniar waved her forwards, urging her closer to the back of the camp. Durene followed him as the former Silver-rank adventurer strode into the large war tent that had been set up. Wiskeria, that was to say, General Wiskeria, was talking with a few low-level [Lieutenants] and [Sergeants]. The allied forces that Laken had levied had sent several officers, but no one was close to Wiskeria’s rank, or even Beniar’s. The Humans straightened and stared at Durene as she ducked to enter the tent. She pretended not to see one of the men gulp nervously, or how he checked his sword belt. She was used to scaring people. And to be fair, she was scarier than normal at the moment.

Durene wore a huge leather jerkin, stitched together to cover her body. She had a gigantic tower shield made from a converted door and a club just as long at her side. Both weapons were crude—Durene had been offered a greatsword and other forms of armor, but the club was actually the best weapon at the moment. She’d broken a greatsword in training and until proper armor could be made for her, this was better. Besides, she’d beaten over a dozen Hobs with the club alone.

“Durene, thank you for coming. Please give me one moment.”

The half-Troll girl nodded and waited, watching Wiskeria discuss the new situation with her officers. Salvia, Gamel’s girlfriend, was here as well. The [Engineer] looked beside herself as Wiskeria spoke to her.

“I don’t know how they did it! Yes, you can make a trebuchet, but that was far, far too quick. They must have copied our design! We have range and power—not to mention accuracy—on them, but I can’t stop them from making more.”

“Can we make more?”

Salvia hesitated.

“We’ve been trying, but few of the [Soldiers] have [Carpenter] classes or so on. And we have to train them to use the trebuchet or else the engineering team will be stuck operating that.”

“That’s a no, then.”

“If we brought everyone from Riverfarm or had more help we could rely on…”

Salvia trailed off helplessly. Wiskeria nodded and tugged the pointed hat lower on her head. She often did that when she was thinking. At last, she looked up.

“Try and aim for those trebuchets. I know they’re hidden. Just…guess. And keep breaking the walls. Everyone else—we have to stay put. If we pull back any further, the Goblins could make a break for it. We’ll set up the sleeping tents and bedrolls out of range, but I want the army to stay put.”

She dismissed Salvia and the others and turned to Durene at last. Beniar growled as he folded his arms.

“Goblins building trebuchets! Those little thieving bastards will steal anything, won’t they?”

“This is the most dangerous tribe I’ve ever encountered. That Chieftain and those wolf riders—I’m almost certain this is the Redfang Tribe we’ve heard about. Only, they belong in the High Passes.”

Wiskeria rubbed at her eyes tiredly. Around Durene and Beniar she slumped a bit. Durene shifted awkwardly.

“How’re you doing, Wiskeria? Do you think the Goblins are going to attack?”

“Not likely. They’re safe in their city. We could attack them, but they’d be fools to attack us. The trebuchets make things more complicated. We could have hoped to bombard them until they had to leave. Instead, they’ll eventually hit our siege weapons or do enough damage to us at the same time. We can either trade shots or—”

“Charge the monsters!”

Beniar made a fist and punched it into his gauntleted hand. He looked excited at the prospect. Wiskeria did not.

“It’s an option. One I’ve informed Laken of. But even if we put another dozen holes in the walls  I wouldn’t be happy with it.”

“Why not? We outnumber the Goblins!”

“And they have the city walls. And they have Hobs, their wolf riders, and at least one [Mage] capable of throwing lightning. They’re dangerous, Beniar.”

“So are we.”

The [Captain] glanced at Durene, nodding confidently. Durene looked back at Wiskeria. The [Witch] was shaking her head. Durene understood the issue, although she didn’t know what the best solution was. She had one real question, though.

“Why am I here, Wiskeria? I’m just a warrior. A [Paladin], yeah, but I’m no good with strategy.”

She was a fighter. It was an odd thought to have, but Durene felt right when she was in the thick of battle. Having people look up to her, being depended on, was a giddy feeling. She trusted Wiskeria to do her job. But it seemed the [General] had summoned her for other reasons. Wiskeria strode over to the tent flaps and closed them firmly.

“I’ve been in touch with Emperor Laken. Via [Message] spell. He’s told me to continue hitting the Goblins. Given the situation he wants to assault the city as soon as possible, rather than risk them making more trebuchets or worse, escaping.”

“Sounds good. When do we go in?”

Wiskeria ignored Beniar. She focused on Durene, meeting her eyes.

“I’ve asked him to wait. And I’d like you to do the same, Durene. I think he’d listen if you asked him to delay for a day or two.”

For a moment Durene was so astonished she couldn’t speak. Wiskeria wanted her to speak to Laken. She stared at Wiskeria and then her brows shot together.

“You want me to talk to Laken?”

“That’s right.”

Durene stirred. She glared at Wiskeria and stood a bit straighter.

“And say what? Not to fight? They’re Goblins, Wiskeria! Look at them! They destroyed the city! Didn’t you see all the homeless people we passed by?”

She pointed furiously, forgetting that Wiskeria had just closed the tent flaps. The memory of the homeless refugees the army had passed was clear in Durene’s mind, though. Wiskeria didn’t reply right away. She tugged on her hat’s brim again.

“I understand your feelings, Durene. But strategically—”

“Laken wants to attack, doesn’t he? He saw how many Goblins there were!”

“Yes he did. But he hasn’t seen this city. His…vision…has been compromised with each lost marker.”

“But he’s still our [Emperor]. Your [Emperor]. Why not trust him?”

Durene glared down at Wiskeria. Her voice was fierce. Durene wanted to grab her club and attack the Goblins. She felt—she had never felt so angry before! Righteous fury gave her strength. But Wiskeria just tugged at her pointed hat and sighed.

“He’s not always right.”

The half-Troll girl hesitated. That was true. But he’d been pretty right so far! She was just about to tell Wiskeria that and ask what else they could do when someone knocked urgently at the tent flap. Durene turned as a [Soldier] pulled the tent flap back.

“General! General Wiskeria!”

“What is it?”

Wiskeria snapped at the [Soldier], clearly displeased about being interrupted without warning. But the young woman who entered was breathless. She pointed back into the center of camp where Durene could see people pointing and gathering.

“General, you have to see this.”

Durene hurried out of the tent with Wiskeria and Beniar following. The half-Troll girl saw clearly over the heads of the people and horses. She saw a lone figure riding out of the city with a flag waving over his head. She blinked, rubbed her eyes, and stared again.

“A Human?”

Wiskeria stared as well. She looked around and found the [Mage] that Lady Bevia had loaned to Laken. She waved at him and raised her voice.

“Send a [Message] to Emperor Laken. He’ll want to know about this.”

—-

Day 105

“You’re serious. A peace offer? That’s seriously what Wiskeria heard?”

“Yes sir.”

Nesor stands in front of me. Again, I sit at Wiskeria’s table. It might as well be our war cottage at the moment. It’s private and we’ve set up all the maps we need. I focus on my mental image of the camp. I can sense a good space around a wooden marker set up right next to Wiskeria’s tent. Heck, I can sense her offering the [Knight]—Sir Kerrig—a cup of tea in her tent. In every direction I see soldiers. A good distance to the left, Tessia is overseeing another boulder being loaded into the trebuchet. But beyond that? Nothing.

In every direction, there’s only blankness. Not blackness, not static. Just emptiness. Every marker in the area has been destroyed and so I only have this one, solitary image of the war camp and the space in front of the city. Of course, I have many more markers set up in the nearby area, but the network is slowly collapsing. The Goblins have sent small teams out and are attempting to destroy each marker, and Wiskeria can’t spare enough men to cover every totem.

I curse as I feel another marker vanish and another part of my empire fade out of my mind. So many holes! If the Goblins wanted to escape, they would only have to run out of the city and take refuge in one of the blank spots. Assuming Wiskeria lost sight of them they could make a break for it.

Would that be so bad? Yes, surely. They’d come back and raid my lands or do damage somewhere else. Or they could circle around, begin harrying Wiskeria’s army.  The Goblins have already done so much damage. Which makes this latest revelation all the harder to accept.

“Peace. Really. This [Knight], Sir Kerrig, has been in the Goblin’s tribe the entire time. And only now does their Chieftain send him to sue for peace?”

“T-that’s what General Wiskeria reports, sir.”

I whistle softly. I can’t believe it. This has got to be a trick.

“Tell me again, Nesor. What exactly did this Sir Kerrig say?”

I hear the [Mage] gulp. Behind him, Lady Rie speaks up.

“Allow me, Emperor Laken.”

I nod and Nesor gratefully steps back. Lady Rie speaks slowly. She’s been here practically every moment she’s not reassuring the nobility. Prost is keeping the village running and Lady Rie—well, she’s helpful.

“This Sir Kerrig rode out of the besieged city carrying a white flag. He was intercepted by General Wiskeria’s soldiers and immediately met with her. He bears a message—this offer of peace—from the leader of this Goblin tribe. The Flooded Waters tribe, apparently. Not one I’ve ever heard of. Not the Redfang tribe that we had assumed they were. At any rate he claims the Goblins can be reasoned with. This tribe is allegedly different. It isn’t part of the Goblin Lord’s forces or the raiding parties sent by this Great Chieftain. It may be that they’re willing to peacefully…negotiate.”

Lady Rie pauses. The silence in the cottage is incredible. Peacefully negotiate. No way. I hear her swallow and go on.

“Your majesty, I don’t know what to believe. This man is a member of the Order of the Petal and General Wiskeria claims he isn’t enchanted, but still.”

“Order of the Petal? Where have I heard that name before?”

“Ah. An order of [Knights] that obeys Lady Bethal.”

“I see. And they’re trustworthy?”

“I have never heard of a member being impugned for lying, Emperor Laken. By Sir Kerrig’s account he was part of a force that attacked this particular tribe and was captured.”

“Lady Bethal never mentioned that to me.”

“I imagine she wouldn’t have wanted to admit that fact. And Sir Kerrig was apparently given up for dead. The idea of a Goblin keeping a hostage alive—or rather, honoring any convention of war—is incredible.”

“And he’s not delusional? Or—enchanted?”

“General Wiskeria says she believes he is genuine, sire.”

I focus on the image of Sir Kerrig in my mind. Yes, I can ‘see’ him, standing in Wiskeria’s tent. He doesn’t look injured and he seems animated enough. He’s…well, he’s in good shape. But everything about what he’s said has turned my mind upside down.

“And Wiskeria wants to hold off the attack because of this.”

“Yes. She’s reiterated her points about the dangers of sieging the city.”

Rie’s voice is cautious. I mutter under my breath, wishing Frostwing were here. Or Bismarck. Both animals have been getting restless without me. But they’d hardly fit in here. At last, I nod.

“Tell Wiskeria to hold off from attacking. Keep bombarding, though. Aim for the Goblin’s trebuchets if you can. How can they make them?”

“Apparently they copied our designs from a distance.”

“Mist! Alright. Alright. Tell Wiskeria that I want her to send this Sir Kerrig to Riverfarm. Give him a small escort. Speed is key. Tell her to be ready to attack, though!”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

Rie goes to confer with Nesor and I sit back in my seat. A peace treaty? Or rather, peace talks? With a Goblin? How can I take this seriously?

No, that’s not what’s bothering me. What’s bothering me is what Wiskeria reported first. These Goblins aren’t like the others. They didn’t want to fight. They’re…peaceful? No. How could that be?

Intelligent Goblins? I can believe that. But peace? I think back to the Goblins raiding my village, the slaughter, the way they laughed and cut down my people. No. Goblins in stories have always been dangerous. Untrustworthy.

And yet, this is a world of fantasy. And Durene is half-Troll. By that logic she would be—

That’s Durene. That’s someone who’s never hurt a fly! Okay, she raised pigs for slaughter. But she never killed anyone. And those Goblins—they slaughtered an army from Filk! I saw them attack the army! Unprovoked! They slaughtered the soldiers there.

However…a thought nags at me. Wasn’t that army chasing another group of Goblins? A tribe? I vaguely recall tipping off the city about a tribe of Goblins in their area.

No. No. If that were true, that would mean—

I look up. Well, I don’t ‘look’ at anything, but I raise my head.

“Lady Rie, tell Wiskeria that I want this Sir Kerrig in Riverfarm by the end of today. Gallop the horses and switch out as many as you need. I want to speak with him now.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

I can sense Wiskeria responding to my orders, giving some of her soldiers directions. Sir Kerrig is already moving, riding down the road. He disappears out of my range for a few moments, and then reappears in another region I can still ‘see’ into. Meanwhile, I sit in the cottage, and feel a twisting pain in my stomach. I know it well. If I had to describe it, it would be if I lost my cane and was wandering around a place I didn’t know. That vague, nebulous fear of the unknown.

Uncertainty. And in my mind, the trickle of doubt becomes a nagging worm of fear. I silently urge Sir Kerrig to move faster. He’s at the edge of my vision, racing down the road with a group of six soldiers. And behind him, sneaking into my lands is another group of Goblins. They rush towards the marker with axes in hand and chop at it. Another spot goes dark. I pray I’m not making a mistake. At least I can still see Durene and my army camped around their marker. I will be able to see the battle if it happens.

If it happens. I was about to order Wiskeria to assault the city by the end of the day or tomorrow at the latest. Now I’m not so certain. I pace back and forth in the cottage, waiting. Uncertain.

Afraid.

—-

There’s nothing I can do for now. Nothing but wait. So I leave Wiskeria’s cottage and go for a walk. It’s hardly restful. The instant I’m out the door I’m besieged by my people.

Ah, my people. They come up to me with greetings, offers to run and get food if I’m hungry, well wishes—all pleasant things, but what they’re really coming to hear is whether or not there’s been a battle. The latest gossip, the facts from my mouth. I understand what they’re feeling but it’s not what I want to deal with, so I let Rie and Prost disperse the crowd.

Of course I understand my people’s anxiety. They’re worried. The confidence of a few days ago, of knowing the Goblins were on the run, is gone. Now they’re biting their nails, same as me. And they look to me for reassurance I can’t give them.

What a mess. Prost hurries up to me and gives me a cursory report.

“More folks are coming in from villages, sire. Families, friends of folk living here—and there’s three messengers screaming to speak to you directly.”

“Let Lady Rie handle it or talk to them yourself, Mister Prost. There’s nothing else I can say right now.”

“Yes, sire.”

I have to be alone. Steady myself. I walk away from Prost, towards the only people I want to be around. Bismarck and Frostwing. My bird has grown to the point where she’s self-sufficient, or at least, able to fly about and poop wherever she wants. And it just so happens that she enjoys perching on Bismarck while the bear lounges about.

“Silly bear.”

I walk up to the Mossbear and pat him affectionately. He snuffles my shirt, and Frostwing shrieks, perhaps sensing my mood. I stroke Frostwing’s head and let some of my tension go with the two animals. Before I know it, a good while has passed. Reluctantly, I pull myself back and check on Sir Kerrig’s progress.

“Damn. He’ll be gone for hours yet! And those Goblins are still taking down my totems!”

A marker behind Sir Kerrig and another a few miles west vanish. The Goblins keep destroying my totems and they take a long time to replace! I should have sent Sir Kerrig back into the city and demanded this Chieftain stop while he came here. Argh. But the city’s still surrounded. I think of that, and then frown.

“Nesor?”

I stride back into Riverfarm’s main street and find Lady Rie overseeing a group of arguing adults. They’re fighting over who gets a house next—a minor dispute fueled by their anxiety. I interrupt them and grab Rie.

“Your [Mage] is with the nobility. Come with me.”

I leave the villagers behind and head to the newest houses that we converted into temporary homes for the nobility when it became clear their stay would be longer than most. The noble’s personal escorts guard the houses, sounding bored as they seem in my mind. They stand straighter as I approach and instantly one of them goes to announce me. I walk into one of the houses and find Lady Bevia Veniford and a small collection of nobles sitting and having tea. That’s not what I mind. What I mind is Nesor, practically sandwiched between two of the younger [Ladies], teacup in hand.

“Why, your Majesty! What a pleasant surprise!”

Lady Bevia rises instantly to greet me. I nod slightly to her as Lady Rie greets Bevia.

“Lady Bevia, it is as always a pleasure to speak with you. I trust you are not too starved of entertainment? I understand your current situation leaves much to be desired.”

She laughs, sounding two decades younger than Lady Rie tells me she is.

“This is far more than I would hope for, given a Goblin army is marauding about the landscape, your Majesty! I am quite content for the moment, as are my peers. We are somewhat starved for information, but we do try to keep up.”

“So I note. I see Nesor has been quite stolen away by the company here.”

The older [Lady] twinkles merrily at me.

“Yes, well, I’m afraid we are simply dying to know what is going on. Do forgive an old lady’s curiosity.”

“Of course. But I’m afraid I’m in need of Nesor’s services once again. Nesor?”

“Yes, your Majesty! P-pardon me, miladies.”

He stands up, sounding relieved, guilty, and regretful at once. I excuse myself quickly from Lady Bevia and get out of the house as fast as I can. Lady Rie is mortified once we have a chance to speak in private.

“I am deeply ashamed, Emperor Laken. I had no notion that Nesor was being sought out like this. This is unacceptable. Please excuse him. Any man—and most women—would be hard-pressed to resist Lady Bevia’s charm.”

“I understand. But that cannot happen again. Nesor knows everything that’s been going on.”

“I will keep an eye on him. Please let me assure you—”

I listen to Rie’s apology, hear Nesor’s stammered plea for forgiveness, and let them go. It’s nothing more than I should have expected, honestly. The nobles have been playing their own game, sending [Message] spells of their own. I sigh and rub at my temples.

“I need a rest.”

“Would you like me to prepare a bed…?”

“No. I’ll nap in Wiskeria’s cottage. Just for an hour or two.”

So saying, I leave Rie and Nesor and lie down in Wiskeria’s bed, which is really my bed since I don’t think she’s used it as much as I have. War cottage indeed. I close my eyes and drift off, hoping that Sir Kerrig will get here by the time I wake. Only, it’s not that which wakes me. At first I think I’m dreaming. But too late, I realize it’s reality and shoot out of bed.

“What the hell is going on now?”

Far, far north of Sir Kerrig who is yet an hour away from Riverfarm at the fastest gallop, I can sense something happening in Wiskeria’s camp. Soldiers are moving. I can sense horses being saddled, see someone blowing a horn. They begin moving as I sense the entire army moving. Horrified, I shout out loud.

“What’s happening?”

—-

Wiskeria looked down at the map of the landscape and cursed. She looked up at the [Mage] who’d just interrupted her in her tent and stared at him.

“You’re serious. That’s what he said?”

“I received the [Message] not a minute ago, General.”

The [Mage] rubbed at the shadows around his eyes. Wiskeria wished she could believe he had misinterpreted the [Message], but she had sent two follow-up spells and received the same reply, each time more impatient. Her knuckles went white as she gripped the edge of her table.

“What does he mean, the ‘situation has changed’?”

The mage yawned and then rubbed his eyes again before standing straighter.

“I do not know, General. But the order is immediate. No delays. If you wish I can query a third time—”

“No. He must know something. Okay, now. Now.”

Wiskeria’s heart leapt in her chest. She stared at the map of the city and the Goblins. Attack. The last three messages had been explicit. She looked around desperately.

“Shit, shit, shit—sound the horns! Get me Beniar, and prepare to advance on the city! I want to hit it from the east and north and keep the Goblins off my back. Tell Salvia I want her firing throughout the battle! Hit those battlements now—”

—-

They’re attacking. I run out of my cottage and shout for Lady Rie. She approaches as I dash over to her and I sense the people watching. But that doesn’t matter right now.

“Rie! The army is attacking the city!”

“What? But your Majesty, you wished to wait—”

I’m already shaking my head. My mind is spinning.

“I didn’t order that. I sent no [Message].”

Lady Rie paled. I grab her shoulder and shake her roughly.

“Where the hell is Nesor? Get him. Now. And find the [Mage] the nobles have been using and stop them from casting any spells!”

“There may be other [Mages] or even members of the nobility capable of casting the spell, Emperor—”

“I don’t care! Get me Nesor!”

I whirl, searching for him. Where the hell is he? Only, he’s gone. I turn in place, but I’m scanning with my mind the entire time and I sense no Nesor anywhere in the village. Anywhere in Riverfarm.

“Nesor? Where the hell has he gone? Where the hell is Nesor?”

Lady Rie has no idea. Nesor’s gone. Where she thought he was sitting in her cottage she finds no one. Only signs of a scuffle. And when I finally locate Nesor, unconscious, a lump on one head, dumped behind a stand of trees far outside the village, it’s too late. By the time I grab the other [Mage], order Wiskeria to pull back at once, the army is already advancing on the city. They’re already fighting. And all I can do is watch.

—-

It was Pyrite who saw the Humans coming. He didn’t expect it. He was rather surprised, to be honest. But when he saw the army coming he didn’t hesitate. He stood and shouted an order. The Goblins looked up, surprised. An attack? But they’d done the peace thing!

It made no sense. But perhaps that was a lesson in itself. Pyrite hefted the battleaxe and stared at the wall of Humans coming at him. He pointed and bellowed orders. Goblins raced to grab pikes and Redscar, Poisonbite, and the other Hobs ran to their units. Pyrite stared at the Humans.

They were shouting as they marched towards the city. Soon they’d be in bow range. Behind them, the trebuchets were still firing. He saw a boulder crash into the wall of the city. He felt the stones shake. He stared at the Humans and felt his blood pumping.

So it would be a battle after all. This is what the Humans thought of Goblin peace? Very well. He lifted the battleaxe and his eyes burned crimson. They had not seen a true battle yet. If they wanted to fight, fine. It was time to show them a Goblin’s war.

5.32 G

They appeared as dawn broke on the second day of the fighting. At first no one noticed. Goblins in black armor raced up the slopes, pouring into tunnels abandoned by Tremborag’s forces. They clashed further into the mountain as larger Hobs and Goblins wearing magical gear began entering at key points. The Goblin Lord was sending his officers into battle and the bloodshed was reaching an intensity far surpassing that of yesterday.

However, that fever pitch only applied to one side of the mountain. The Goblin Lord had elected to guard his camps rather than spread his forces across all sides of the mountain where he would surely be attacked. Thus, while the southern side was under direct siege and the eastern and western flanks were the site of ambush and flanking actions, the rear was silent. That was not to say it was unguarded.

The Goblins on duty weren’t Tremborag’s finest warriors, but nor were they his most incompetent. They stayed still, rotating out regularly in their hiding places, keeping guard in case the Goblin Lord’s forces tried sneaking around back. They’d already killed two such parties at different spots and the Goblins on duty weren’t worried. It would take a dedicated push to overwhelm their trapped tunnels and it seemed like the Goblin Lord didn’t care to take more tunnels than he had. So the Goblins weren’t quite as vigilant as they should have been. Then again, it wouldn’t have mattered if they had been.

One of the tunnels located higher up the mountain was trapped with a collapsing tunnel. Unlike the other choke points or ambush sites, this trap was simple. If one of the six Goblin sentries hidden in an alcove at the back saw anything approaching, they would pull a rope and collapse several tons of rock and dirt on the intruders. The fact that six Goblins were still posted here was a sign of Garen’s watchfulness.

Currently, the sentries were taking turns guarding and napping. Four Goblins had to stay up while the other two got to sleep. It was a good system and it allowed the Goblins to remain still without getting annoyed at the wait. Aside from the occasional snore and sound of someone being kicked, they were silent.

The sentry closest to the tunnel could see the light beginning to grow outside. Dawn was coming and he was looking forwards to being relieved soon so he could eat. Of course, he might be called on to fight, but between eating and possibly dying or not eating, he was willing to take the risk. He’d been stationed here for eight hours and he was yawning when he saw something move.

Instantly, the Goblin grabbed his spear. The other Goblins looked up, alert. They peeked out of their alcove, staring for movement. They saw nothing. Only darkness, which to their eyes wasn’t that dark at all. The hungry sentry quickly relaxed as his mind identified the movement. It hadn’t been large enough to have been any kind of person. Rather, a rodent of some kind had entered the tunnel.

Sure enough, he saw something scurry across the ground. A little white mouse! It looked completely oblivious to the danger. The Goblin sentry licked his lips and lowered his spear. It wouldn’t be hard to grab the little thing and it would be a good snack, if he could eat it before his friends noticed. He edged forwards. The mouse scurried a few feet closer. The Goblin waited, tense, focused. One more foot…

The shadows behind the Goblin moved. A hand shot out and a black blade, invisible in the darkness, sliced across the Goblin’s neck. The Goblin choked. Surprised, his friends looked up. They saw a figure appear out of the shadows. They tried to scream, but the black dagger was faster.

The little white mouse scurried forwards until it came to the hiding place of the Goblins. It paused there, whiskers twitching, as it sniffed the air. Six figures lay in the small alcove. Two had died in their sleep. The other four had died almost instantly. The killer who had blended so perfectly with the shadows turned as she wiped her knife blade. She bent and made the first sound, offering her hand to the little mouse.

“Come on, Keri. Shh.”

The little mouse scurried up her sleeve. The Human woman smiled as she tucked Keri into her belt pouch. Then she took two steps and vanished into the shadows. She made no sound as she moved ahead. The [Rogue] listened carefully as she approached a point where her tunnel opened up into a larger one. She froze a few feet from a torch lit ahead of her and reached for Keri’s belt pouch again.

“It’s us, Minerva.”

Someone spoke ahead of her. Minerva froze, and then stepped into the light. She spotted nine other figures, most dressed in black, some in dark green or grey. She nodded at the man who’d spoken. He was holding a shortbow and crouching over a pair of dead Hobs. Each had an arrow through the eye.

“You’re late.”

His voice was low and reproving. Minerva shrugged.

“I cleared my tunnel.”

“With your pet mouse again? Too slow.”

“It gets the job done. Anyone run into difficulties?”

“None. They had a patrol and I think the two Hobs were about to check on things, but we heard them coming.”

The man nodded to the downed Hobs. Minerva nodded. She glanced around. One of the other figures was kneeling and fumbling with what looked like glowing chalk and a glowing blue mana stone. His grumbling was quiet, no more than a gnat’s buzzing. Still, all of the shadowy infiltrators heard him perfectly.

“Fecking rune inscriptions. Why can’t those idiotic [Mages] figure out a better way to draw this? Using a piece of parchment? Do they know how hard it is to draw on broken ground with chalk that breaks with every second—ah. Got it.”

He straightened and nodded at the others. Minerva saw him place the mana stone in the center of the diagram. To her eyes it looked like a circle with far too many wavy lines moving slowly towards the center in a dizzying pattern. But as the mana stone was placed she saw her leader, Jackal, lower his shortbow and pull a scroll out. He had a quill ready and wrote on the parchment. A short message, barely more than a word. Then he rolled the scroll up and tapped it twice on his palm. It glowed brightly, and then vanished.

“Sloppy. Mages have no idea how much that light travels.”

The grumbler had an opinion on the magic scroll too. Minerva agreed, but she kept her mouth shut as she stood in place. She didn’t have to wait long. The circle on the ground began to glow brightly and the mana stone shone with pure blue light. The nine others stood back and shielded their eyes, preserving their night vision. Minerva heard a low pop and then voices.

“Ah. Here we are. Someone send a [Message] spell back to the others and let them know we’ve arrived safely, would you?”

A half-Elf with bright silver eyes and a few grey hairs looked around. He didn’t appear as old as some of his companions—one was a woman with a classic witch’s hat who looked positively ancient—but he gave Minerva the same impression as her grandfather had. He was carrying a wand whose tip was set with a fiery gem carved to match the wood. His robes shimmered with an odd, pulsating pattern. He, like his companions, practically shone in the darkness.

Mages. They looked to Jackal. The [Ranger] grimaced.

“Can you cancel all those light spells? This is a stealth mission for the moment!”

“We’ll stay well behind you. But some of us need light to see.”

“Fine. Then we’ll take the attack group north. We’ve scouted ahead a small ways. We’ll launch the attack in seven minutes as planned. We’re on time.”

Jackal had a map. As the others crowded around he went over it. Minerva had already memorized it, but she looked anyways. The map was old, positively decrepit, but it was a good guide of what Dwarfhalls Rest had looked like in ages past.

“Remember your orders. Keep an eye out for Goblins in black armor and do not engage if possible. Defend yourselves if need be, but our goal is to cause havoc and retreat at the first sign of danger.”

The old [Witch] made a laughing, snorting sound.

“You don’t have to tell us that, boy. We’re not getting paid enough to die here.”

“Then keep an eye out for this Great Chieftain or his lieutenants. As soon we finish securing the area we’ll move in our warriors. So ward spells first. We’ll detrap if you hold here.”

“Easy.”

One of the [Mages] was already looking towards the tunnel and muttering a spell. Jackal looked towards Minerva.

“While we do that, we’re sending another group on a scouting mission.”

The old half-Elf raised his eyebrows.

“No one spoke to me about that.”

“This isn’t part of our job. Five of us are going to look for prisoners. There’s a team that vanished here on reconnaissance a week ago. Keening Hunt.”

One of the [Mages] nodded.

“I’ve heard of them. You think they’re alive?”

Jackal didn’t immediately reply.

“If they are, we’ll find them.”

“If they are alive, they might not want to be.”

The old [Witch] tilted her pointed hat. Jackal looked at her.

“I have a pass that grants me a personal audience with the Healer of Tenbault. If they’re alive, they’ll be made whole.”

“Ah. Well, best of luck. We’ll hold things here.”

The [Witch] grinned, showing a few missing teeth. Jackal stood. Minerva and four others followed Jackal into the shadows as the [Mages] began casting ward spells, arguing quietly. The other four infiltrators slipped backwards, removing the traps they’d found on their way in. The [Mages] waited patiently in their now secure entryway, until they heard fast footsteps and the jingle of metal on metal. The [Witch] grinned and raised a gnarled staff.

“Alright. Enough waiting. We’re on a time limit, aren’t we? Let’s cause some trouble, children.”

She strode down the tunnel as the first of the Gold-rank [Warriors] and less stealthy classes raced into the tunnel. The [Witch] walked down the corridor until she saw a patrol of Goblins heading her way, to check on the defenders here. They stared as she grinned and raised her staff.

“[Grand Fireball]!”

The explosion filled the tunnel with a roar of heat and flame. The Goblins vanished. The [Witch] cackled and the half-Elf with silver eyes sighed. Then he strode past her, wand raised. The adventurers behind him advanced as the alarm spread throughout the mountain.

—-

“Humans? Why are they here?”

Reiss stared at Snapjaw as he stood over the rough map of Tremborag’s fortress. The Hobgoblin female shook her head.

“Dunno, Lord. But Humans are here! Throwing big spells!”

The Goblin Lord growled. Of all the times! He glanced at Osthia. The Drake was listening intently.

“How many?”

“Small number. Less than…thirty. All here. This here.”

Snapjaw struggled with the common tongue as she pointed to a spot far north of the fighting between Reiss and Tremborag’s forces. Reiss stared grimly at the spot.

“Gold-rank?”

The answering silence was all he needed to hear. Reiss stared at the occupied spot.

“How many dead Goblins?”

“Us? Few. Tremborag? Lots!”

Surprised, Reiss looked up. Snapjaw grinned.

“Adventurers aiming at his Goblins! Not many ours go there. Now big trouble for others!”

That was true. As Reiss studied the map he saw exactly how advantageous the spot was for his forces. They didn’t have to go near the Humans and Tremborag had another front to fight on. Still, the presence of so many Gold-rank adventurers made him uneasy. And the next report that came in from a breathless [Scout] made him warier still.

“Humans marching! Thousands! Thousands of thousands!”

—-

Tremborag roared, throwing his scout across the banquet hall. Garen saw the little Goblin crash into a table and go still. The Great Chieftain of the Mountain didn’t care. He turned, roaring.

“An army? Now of all times?”

The news that came to both the Goblin Lord and Tremborag’s forces was like a physical blow. An army of Humans had been spotted marching towards the mountain. Fast.

“Many Humans coming this way. On horses! Many on foot behind. Moving fast!”

One of Garen’s remaining Redfang Warriors explained the situation, watching Tremborag warily. Garen peered at the map, growling as his warrior traced a huge wave of Humans coming south. Tremborag growled as well.

“Humans! Mounted on horses? And on foot?”

“Rushing. They must be using Skills to move their army here, Great Chieftain. They’ve left their slower forces behind. They’ll be here by nightfall.”

Ulvama’s voice was soft. Sultry. She stood by Tremborag, stroking his arm, trying to soothe him. But Tremborag was enraged. He turned towards Ulvama and she stepped back quickly.

“An army. Coming for the Goblin Lord at last? Or I? They already crawl into my mountain!”

“Gold-rank teams. Good ones.”

Garen had already heard the reports. [Mages], blasting any Goblins who approached down the tunnels, [Warriors] and [Rogues] pushing down other ones. He gritted his teeth, trying to figure out how to take down so many. If his tribe had been here—!

“We are surrounded, Great Chieftain.”

Ulvama tried not to look worried, but she and the other Goblins were clearly uneasy. Tremborag glared at her. Then, surprisingly, he laughed.

“Is my Chief [Shaman] afraid? Do you fear Humans more than the Goblin Lord, Ulvama?”

She didn’t immediately reply. Tremborag bent, staring at her with a giant grin.

“We are surrounded. But it is not just we. The Goblin Lord sees the Humans coming. And they come for him as well as I. But he is in the open. And I have my mountain!”

He turned to Garen. And now Tremborag’s eyes narrowed with calculation.

“We hold the mountain. If the Humans come, the Goblin Lord must fight or run. Is that not so, Redfang?”

Garen nodded. He was trying to imagine what Rags would say in this situation. Lacking her insight, he had to go with his gut, and he knew what Tremborag was thinking.

“Goblin Lord fights now and takes mountain. Or gives up and runs.”

“And the Humans have to choose between trying to besiege this mountain or chasing him. And then we will be fighting Humans in my domain. Easier than Goblins, perhaps.”

Tremborag grinned. Garen nodded too, but he was less certain. He stared at the map. Humans. Coming now. It made sense in one way—they had both Goblin sides occupied. But he felt uneasy, and not just because of the sudden attack. He felt like something else was coming, like a dagger in the night. He turned. Tremborag looked at him.

“Where are you going?”

Garen turned his head back as he drew his sword.

“Getting ready. You should too. Goblin Lord not running yet.”

“No. He will come here first.”

Tremborag smiled once more. He bared all his teeth and raised his voice.

“He will come into the mountain, rather than flee. So come, tribe! We go hunting for the Goblin Lord’s head.”

He roared and his Goblins roared with him. They streamed into the mountain as the waves of black Goblins began pouring in from every tunnel. And among them strode a Goblin with black eyes, surrounded by the undead and Hobs. He pointed and shot death from his fingertips. Tremborag roared as he tore into the Goblin Lord’s soldiers and Garen and his warriors entered the battle. Now they were on a time limit. At the same time, the Human adventurers who’d occupied the northern tunnels stopped advancing and fortified their position. They were waiting.

—-

Day 105

I have never seen lightning. But I have heard thunder. To me it is terrifying. A sound that comes during rain. Only, there is no flash of light to alert me. No hint. Just the boom of sound, sometimes terrifyingly close. I’ve often wondered what lightning must look like. A…fork of electricity hitting the ground? From the sky? I used to wonder.

Now I think I understand. Lightning is a flash of light. Something searing. A bolt of electricity from the heavens, extremely hot, striking out of nowhere. I feel one shoot through my body now, a bolt of pure energy. And the thunder is my racing heartbeat.

It’s too late to stop anything. Too late for anything but regrets. All the pieces are in motion. My army is clashing with the Goblins somewhere out of my range of—vision. I can still sense the two trebuchets, sense Tessia and her team rushing to reload the slings, wind back the arm. But what they are firing at, how the battle is going, I have no idea. All I can focus on is the small band rushing ever closer to my position.

“He warned me of this. I suppose I grew overconfident. Until I came here I didn’t know what seeing was like. So I forgot to watch my back. But I was warned. I wonder how he knew so much.”

“Your Majesty?”

I hear a nervous voice. I am sitting in my throne room, and my advisors are gathered around me. Two out of four, rather. Beniar and Wiskeria are fighting. Prost and Rie stand with me, as does Gamel. It is deathly silent here. They’re all watching me. But I have nothing to tell them about the battle. I’m thinking about treachery.

I was warned. I should have been more vigilant. Odveig, or rather, Sacra was one thing. But I was told by a…friend that spies would be the least of my trials. And they were right.

Someone knocked out Nesor. Someone sent a [Message] from Riverfarm ordering Wiskeria to attack. Or perhaps they didn’t need to be in Riverfarm? Only now do I realize how easy it is to fake a [Message] spell.

I should have established a password. I should have watched the nobles, put a guard on Nesor. But again, it is far too late for regrets. All my focus is turned towards Sir Kerrig, riding towards me.

Too late for peace? Perhaps. But I want to know what he has to say. As I focus on him another part of the landscape vanishes into oblivion. My vision of my lands is breaking, piece by piece. And only now do I see the pattern.

“Clever.”

“What is? Emperor Laken?”

I don’t reply to Lady Rie. She sounds anxious. Prost and Gamel just watch me. Slowly, I stand. Thunder becomes my heartbeat.

“Sir Kerrig will reach the village in minutes. Prost, Gamel, Rie, with me. We have time so we might as well put on a show.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

The two men fall in behind me as I stride from the throne. Lady Rie hesitates only a moment before following.

“Ah, your Majesty. How fortunate we could meet.”

A voice greets me the instant I leave the meeting hall. I turn my head, but I already know who stands there. Lady Bevia. I do not smile towards her as I’ve done before. She’s gathered the other nobles with her. And their retainers. She can sense it too. Or perhaps she knows something I don’t?

“Lady Bevia. Join me if you wish.”

I stride past her. Towards the eastern side of the village. I walk past rows of houses, many unfinished. But if I compare it to what Riverfarm looked like a month ago—we’ve done so much. I can tell my people are watching me, some following. They fear. I haven’t been a good leader of late. Making strategic decisions, managing my lands, all that is part of it. But the other part is being an [Emperor]. So I walk with my back held high.

Somewhere overhead, Frostwing is circling. Bismarck snuffles in the forest, hunting for snacks. I call them as I walk towards the gates. And now I hear hoof beats.

Close. I stop and wait, sensing a group of six riding towards me. The horses are lathered with sweat—they’ve changed them twice. One of the horses has lost a shoe. The riders look tired from the frantic ride. But here they are. I sense a man dressed in worn clothing in front.

Sir Kerrig. Perhaps he’s a handsome man. Perhaps he’s everything a [Knight] should be. Wiskeria seemed to think he was genuine. But in my mind he is just a man. Well-built, clearly muscled, but lacking anything else about him. He has no armor. He has a sword, borrowed from one of the soldiers. And as he draws his horse up and dismounts, I can sense him looking at me.

Behind me the villagers watch as Sir Kerrig hesitantly approaches. He glances past me at the waiting nobility, at Lady Rie and Mister Prost, at Gamel hovering warily at my side. What he thinks I can’t fathom. Slowly, Sir Kerrig bows deeply to me.

“Your Majesty. I beg forgiveness for my rude appearance and the unseemly nature of my request. I am Sir Kerrig Louis, a [Knight] sworn to the service of Lady Bethal Walchaís. I humbly beg a private audience—”

“You are too late.”

My voice is loud in my ears. Sir Kerrig breaks off, confused.

“Your Majesty?”

“You are too late, Sir Kerrig. A battle has begun between my army and the Goblins.”

A murmur sweeps through the people behind me. Anxious. Many did not know. I sense Sir Kerrig pale.

“But I was assured by your General—Emperor Laken, I beg you to reconsider! If there is a chance yet—”

“Be silent.”

The man shuts up. I stare towards the east more for the look for the thing than anything else. Now how would you say this? Old English?

“I am wroth with you, Sir Kerrig. Not just you. I have spies and saboteurs in my empire, it seems. Those who plot against me. Though I do not know what I have done to wrong them. They will be found and hunted. As for you—I am furious towards you, Sir Kerrig.”

I hear him gulp. He’s wise enough not to open his mouth, though. I wait a beat. Yes. I’m sure.

“Goblins. Peace. None of that bothers me. I wanted to listen to you. I held back because I wished to know what you had to say. But I should not have listened.”

“Sire?”

Now. I turn my head towards Sir Kerrig and open my eyes. I don’t know what he sees. I’m told my eyes are different than…normal. A blind man’s eyes stare at him until I cannot help but blink. So I close my eyes.

“Tell me you did not conspire with the Goblins, Sir Kerrig. Swear to me here, on your honor as a [Knight].”

“Your Majesty! I would never do such a thing! I came here to broker peace, but treachery would go against everything I believe in!”

Sir Kerrig’s voice is genuine. I nod.

“I believe you. But that does not change the fact—”

I break off and turn my head east again. At first I thought it was just more sabotage. It was hard to spot a pattern. But the closer he got, the closer Sir Kerrig came, the more obvious it was. A marker falling here. A group of Goblins racing to hack another down. Another blank spot in my mind.

It’s like a spider web of oblivion around the Goblins. But the pattern changes towards Riveffarm. I sense a…path. Heading towards me. And another marker falls ten miles north. I know.

“Your Majesty?”

I turn my head back to Sir Kerrig. I smile at him, wearily. Thunder.

“You were followed, Sir Kerrig. The Goblins followed you here.”

I hear a sharp gasp from behind me. A scream. Someone faints. A noble. In the silence, before shock can become anything else, I turn.

“Mister Prost? Lady Rie? Raise the alarm. I want palisades built in every spot we can find. Arm every villager with weapons. The Goblins are coming.”

I turn and walk back into the village. Sir Kerrig stares at my back as people begin running. I ignore it all. In the distance I can sense the battle raging. And I pray, though there are no gods in this world.

“Don’t die, Durene. Be safe.”

—-

Tyrion saw the [Message] flash into the scroll at his side. The [Lord] didn’t bother to stop riding—he transferred the reins to one hand and rode as his horse surged beneath him. The landscape blurred as he and his escort rode across the ground impossibly fast. Tyrion’s brow creased as he read the message once, and then twice. Then he tossed it over his shoulder.

A hand caught it. The man riding behind Tyrion inspected the scroll and Tyrion Veltras turned his head.

“We are moving too slowly. Advance to a gallop! Anyone unable to keep up will be left behind. Now. [Wildwind Ride]!”

The man behind him raised his fist.

“[Quick Gallop]!”

The lines of riders behind the two sped up as if pushed from behind. The riders sped down the road, hurrying onwards. They had to be on time. Tyrion pushed ahead, demanding more speed from his warhorse. They could not afford to make a mistake. Not now.

—-

Pyrite stood on the walls as the Humans marched towards him. The flurry of movement, the rush to prepare slowed before his eyes into a steady march. He nodded. That was basic. Running all the way towards the city would tire soldiers needlessly. Even a hundred foot dash mattered when a life-or-death fight stood at the end of it.

The way the army moved, the unsubtle way in which the infantry advanced with archers behind and the cavalry forming two wings on either wide, all of it told Pyrite that the army and leader was new. Raw. Inexperienced. For all that they were deadly. He remembered them attacking again and again. Dangerous. He didn’t underestimate Humans.

Around him, Pyrite could hear war horns bellowing. Goblins rushed to the walls with crossbows while more formed into their units of pikes or infantry. All without him needing to bellow orders. That was a testament to Rags’ skill. Pyrite slowly lifted his battleaxe and walked down the broken steps, taking care not to trip on rubble and break something. That would be…silly.

His nerves were humming, but Pyrite’s chest was surprisingly cold. The Humans roared as they advanced, beating drums, shouting a name.

“La-ken! La-ken!”

Pyrite could hear them screaming other words.

“The Unseen Emperor!”

“Riverfarm!”

“Death to the Goblin scum!”

That last one was funny. It was hard to get a group to shout that. Pyrite shook his head. A good chant should be simple. Easy to grasp and repeat. Cadence mattered.

Cadence. What a nice word. It sounded to Pyrite like the measured gait of a horse. He stared blankly up at the blue sky for a moment as he paused before the gates. He could tell that hundreds, thousands of Goblins were looking at him. They were expecting his leadership. The problem was…Pyrite wasn’t angry.

Not at the moment. He just felt tired. Tired, upset—but not angry. And he needed to be. Pyrite understood what the Humans would do if they entered the city. So he dragged his gaze away from the sky and focused.

“Pikes.”

The Goblins at the gates straightened. They were ready to fend off waves of Humans. Pyrite looked around. Poisonbite and Quietstab were running towards him. They would do.

“Quietstab. Walls. You shoot Humans. Aim for archers. Poisonbite, sides. Keep Humans from entering city.”

Quietstab nodded. Poisonbite took one look around in disbelief.

“City has big holes in walls! By myself?”

Pyrite nodded absently. Poisonbite opened her mouth to shout and he looked at her. Something must have been on his face, because she waited for him to speak.

“You guard holes. Take some pikes. Your raiders. Guard. We go out.”

“Out?”

The Goblin stared at Pyrite. He nodded. He raised his voice.

“Pikes! Outside city! Hobs! Follow! Redfangs! Here!”

The Goblins didn’t hesitate. They were trained and more importantly, they respected him. They rushed out of the city, shouting, as Hobs followed them. Pyrite saw a group of Goblins with red stripes on their cheeks and arms approach.

“Pyrite?”

One of them, a female Redfang, glanced up at him warily. Pyrite nodded.

“Special job. You follow. Rest go fight.”

They listened and then ran past Pyrite as he strode past the gates. The Goblins were all clustered in front of the city. The Human army had slowed its advance, clearly surprised. Pyrite was not. He pointed and shouted.

“Big walls are back-shield! Move there!”

The Goblins understood. Instantly, they backed up, until their backs were to the walls of the shattered city. Pyrite nodded. Yes, this made sense. Defending a city with big holes in its walls was hard. Especially since a lot of the weapons the Goblins used would be cumbersome on the battlements. The Humans had reach and the numbers to flood the gaps. But fighting with their backs to the walls would prevent the Goblins from being surrounded. And the Goblins with crossbows now had a massive height advantage over the Humans with bows.

The Humans were coming. Pyrite stared at the rows of pikes. The Humans had nothing like them. Long, twenty plus staves of wood, sharpened to a point and capped with metal tips. Oh, the Humans had spears and shorter pikes of their own, but Rags had drilled her Goblins to use these extreme versions in combat.

They hadn’t done much good against the Humans before. The nighttime raids, the way the Humans had picked apart his defenses—all of that had driven Pyrite to despair. But as Rags had pointed out, that wasn’t how the pikes were meant to be used. And back then his tribe had been suffering from the poison gas. Most hadn’t been able to breathe.

They could breathe now. Pyrite strode towards the front of the army. He passed by rows of Goblins. They looked at him. Some waved. Pyrite nodded to them, grunting. He wished he had something to chew. But he’d choke on that.

“Hobs.”

There was a line of a hundred Hobs waiting just behind the front row of pike Goblins. They turned as Pyrite walked past them. They were all veterans of battle. They all came from different tribes. They grinned as Pyrite passed. A Hobgoblin with feathers behind both ears sharpened her iron axe. Another, gaunt and thin, squatted with two spears in hand. He stood as Pyrite passed and spoke a word.

“Goldstone.”

He was from Pyrite’s tribe. Another Goblin with a crude piercing in her ear grinned at him. She had brighter red eyes than most. Yet another Hob reached out and Pyrite touched fists gently. The Hob grinned, exposing a missing gap in his teeth.

Friends. Pyrite knew some by name. Others had no names but he knew their face, the way they ate. Pyrite strode to the head of the unit of Hobs and stared at the Human army. Closer now. They were slowing and he could hear someone shouting orders, trying to time their charge.

Now would be the time. Pyrite looked up at the sky, and then around. A sea of green faces and red eyes stared at him. There was fear there. Trust too. Pyrite knew this was the moment. But he was still not angry. Not yet. So he looked up and searched the lines of Humans until—

Ah. There. He saw a familiar Human among the rest. One of the riders were covered in steel armor. So was his warhorse. He was gesturing excitedly. Pyrite remembered him riding through the camp, cutting down Goblins, shouting at his soldiers to slaughter them in the dark. The Chieftain felt something jump in his chest.

Then he saw the Human woman in the pointed hat. He remembered her too. He remembered poison, a dark cloud stealing over the camp. He remembered the sound of Goblins choking, the burning in the air. He remembered the dead. He remembered a grieving child.

That was enough. Pyrite lifted his battleaxe. It didn’t feel so heavy now. He let the feeling build in his chest. Helplessness. Fury. Anger. Grief. He had told Sir Kerrig, told Welca Caveis that his tribe didn’t fight Humans. But that wasn’t true. Mostly they’d run. But sometimes you fought. Sometimes it was fight or die. Sometimes it mattered. Pyrite took a deep breath and roared.

There was no word. The sound froze the Humans. It tore through the air, a bellow, a blast of sound louder than the drums, the thump of a trebuchet firing. It was the sound of rage. Pyrite roared again and saw the Humans flinch. He pointed his battleaxe. His voice was raw as he bellowed.

“Charge!”

The Goblins did. The stunned Humans were over a hundred feet away. It was bad to run so far. But it was worse to stand and watch something coming at you. The nerve of the front row broke. They charged, ignoring their officer’s calls to wait for the signal.

Pyrite was not in the first wave. He heard the Goblins screaming, a high-pitched sound mixed with the roars of the Hobs. He saw the pikes reach the Human lines, saw the Humans trying to slow, raise shields. Too late. The front row of pike Goblins speared the Humans and then the second wave ran past the pikes and attacked the survivors.

“Dead gods!”

The scream came from Human lines. The pike charge was deadly. Across the battlefield the front rank of the Human army collided with the Goblins and disappeared. Then the second wave of Goblins rolled in, fighting with the thrusting pikes.

“Hobs!”

Pyrite roared as he charged forwards. The Goblins in front of him heard the sound and moved, some dropping their pikes to get out of the way. The Human soldiers rushed into the gap, and then saw Pyrite leading a hundred of the biggest Hobs straight at them.

Most Humans had not seen a Hob before. They laughed at the idea of a Goblin as big as they were. They screamed as Pyrite charged. The Hob lifted his battleaxe and swung it at the first Humans holding a tower shield. He felt the enchanted axe slice through the wooden shield and felt resistance. He bellowed as he swung through and saw the Human go flying in two pieces.

“Forwards!”

The battleaxe wasn’t like his old axe. When Pyrite swung it, he had to put every inch of force he possessed into the swing. No one could stand around him. With each swing, Pyrite cut down Humans, the enchanted axe burning through flesh, setting Humans ablaze. He struck the earth and watched flames burst from the axe head, scaring the Humans.

Forwards. Behind and around Pyrite the Hobs charged the Humans overwhelming them. The Hob with feathers behind her ears grabbed a shield and pulled it aside before cleaving a skull in. The Hob with two spears charged, throwing one before impaling someone else on the second. The lines of Humans wavered as Pyrite led his group forwards.

But that was one spot on the battle. Pyrite stopped after advancing fifteen paces and stared around. Where was—

There. The Human in armor was circling. He hadn’t been part of the clash of infantry. His cavalry were aiming for the Goblin’s weak spot. And he had found it! An unguarded right flank. The pike Goblins were pressing forwards, forgetting to watch their right in their excitement. And in the Humans came. They charged forwards, whooping, holding their shields up as the Goblins on the walls pelted them with arrows, trying to slow them. Too late. They hit the Goblins from the side.

—-

“We’ve got them! Those damn pikes don’t mean a thing if they aren’t pointed our way! Hit them and cut in!”

Beniar shouted as he charged into the group of Goblins. He looked down at the first Goblin and was rewarded with a green face staring up at him in horror. His blade slashed down—

And the Goblin blocked it. Beniar felt his blade bounce off a buckler. As the momentum carried him forwards, Beniar half-turned his head to stare back. He saw the Goblin stagger with the blow, and then turn. And grin. And then Beniar has to twist in his saddle or be impaled on an enchanted spear aimed for his belly.

“What the—”

The charge of his cavalry had stopped. The Goblins were fighting back! Some had been killed in the first charge, but the rest were dodging and parrying and blocking strikes from above and cutting back with skill. Beniar felt his stomach lurch. These weren’t ordinary Goblins! And then he saw the red stripes painted on the Goblin with the spear that was trying to unhorse him.

Redfang Goblins. They abandoned their pikes and disguises and drew their weapons. Beniar’s cavalry found themselves surrounded by veterans. They shouted in panic, trying to wheel, but the Redfang Warriors darted past them, hamstringing horses and swarming the individual riders.

“Fall back! Retreat!”

The [Captain] howled the words and tried to turn. But the Redfangs refused to let his force go, and then Beniar saw another group headed towards them. Not Humans. Goblins mounted on Carn Wolves. Beniar fought desperately to break free, slashing a Redfang Warrior across the head and cutting down another. He and his [Riders] raced away as the Carn Wolves chased them. They had to pull back towards the safety of their army, which meant that the mounted Redfangs were free to attack with no one to chase them.

—-

Pyrite heard a howl as the Redfangs mounted on Carn Wolves rode past him. They charged into the Humans’ flank from the right. Pyrite pointed and bellowed.

“Squish!”

Instantly he and his Hobs charged towards the same spot. The Humans were crushed between both forces and broke, screaming. Pyrite pointed and the Redfang [Raid Leader] nodded. She whistled and her warriors broke away. They rode back to another spot on the battlefield where the Goblins were struggling to fight the Humans.

Across the battlefield, Pyrite could sense the Human [General] struggling to keep up. He bared his teeth, feeling the blood on his chest and arms cooling. It wasn’t so easy, was it? Not in a fair fight. An ambush was one thing, but this? This was strategy! This was tactics! And his tribe was better than the Humans. He turned, ready to slash across the Humans now their right flank was gone. That was when he saw her.

Among the Humans there was little variation in height. They were tall and they were short, but compared to the Goblins and Hobs they were uniform. Except for one. A tall, grey-skinned…warrior was fighting on the left flank. And she was the tallest person Pyrite had seen save for Tremborag himself.

Her skin was grey, like stone. It had cracks in it, as if her body were still part earth. But though her shoulders were broad and she wore thick leather armor, she was clearly female. A crude metal helmet guarded her face and she carried a massive wooden club and a shield that looked like it had been a door once. Even Goblins would agree that her equipment looked patchwork. But when she swung her club—

Pyrite saw a Hob try to guard against the swing. He saw the Hob raise a round shield, saw the club smash into the shield, deform the metal, crush the Hob’s head. The next swing battered the dead Hob aside as if he were a leaf. The warrior with the club turned and swung at a series of pikes rushing towards her. The blow shattered the thick wood and tore the pikes from the Goblin’s hands. The second swing scattered Goblins, breaking their line.

Humans rushed past the grey-skinned female as she took a breath. She raised her shield and blocked a flurry of crossbow bolts aimed at her. One passed by her shield and struck her in the shoulder. She staggered, but the bolt fell from her shoulder. It hadn’t managed to puncture her skin.

Pyrite stared. What was that strange warrior? She was no Human. He tried to fit her appearance, but it was only after he heard her bellow and swing again that the image clicked in his head.

Troll. Or rather, half-Troll. She was too small to be a true Troll. But half-Troll or not, she was single-handedly pushing his tribe back! Pyrite saw her swing and kill a group of five Goblins charging her. His eyes narrowed. Pyrite pointed.

“There!”

His Hobs turned. They stormed after Pyrite as he charged across the battlefield towards the half-Troll. She turned as he approached and a warning went up.

“The Chieftain’s coming! Durene, get back!”

She refused to run. Durene, if that was her name, spread her arms and raised her bloody club and shield. Pyrite roared as he charged towards her. They met in a clash as he swung his battleaxe and she swung her club.

His swing was too slow. Pyrite realized it halfway and changed his grip. He lifted his battleaxe instead to catch the club as it came down towards his head. He caught the blow on the steel haft of the battleaxe. He was ready for a crushing blow. He braced and then—

Something struck Pyrite from above. He heard a crack as his arms gave way, and then the force of the blow knocked him off his feet. He hit the ground harder than he could remember in years. Pyrite blinked upwards, dazed. His arm felt—bad. Then he saw the club rising and heard the cheers. Pyrite watched it go up and then fall down. Then he remembered he should dodge.

He rolled and heard another thud. The impact alone made his bones vibrate! Pyrite got up, reached for his battleaxe, and realized it was on the ground. He reached for it and saw a wall of wood coming at him.

Durene charged Pyrite with her shield up. Instinctively Pyrite grabbed it to push her back, but she slammed the shield into his face! Again, Pyrite felt his head go white. He reached up and grabbed the arm as Durene raised her club to strike him. He saw her arm tense—

“Hah!”

With one twist, Durene flung Pyrite backwards. He crashed into two Hobs who cried out from pain as he landed. Pyrite felt them push at him and got up slowly. He stared at Durene as the Humans around her cheered.

Strong. Far, far too strong. Pyrite had seen Trolls fight. He’d fought a Troll once. Durene wasn’t as strong as a troll. She was stronger. Somehow.

How? Pyrite’s mind raced as he saw Durene adjust her grip and come charging towards him. His mind worked frantically even as his body ran forwards. It had to be a Skill. A strength Skill. Imagine a Troll with [Lesser Strength] or—

Another swing from the club. This one came from the side, right at stomach-level. Pyrite dropped and rolled under it. He heard a grunt of surprise—Durene must not have thought he could move that fast. On the ground, Pyrite stared up. She was turning, arm raised for another killing blow.

Confidence in her eyes. She knew she was strong. She must not have ever met anyone stronger. And she wouldn’t on this battlefield. Pyrite knew he was too weak. He didn’t have his battleaxe. Still. He stared as the club began to fall and stood. As he did he grabbed the half-Troll girl’s inner knee and pulled up.

It wasn’t easy. Durene was as big as Pyrite and heavy. She was braced and poised well. Another Skill? But Pyrite was strong and he had her leg. He just had to pull up and then Durene was standing on one leg. Her club struck his shoulder hard and Pyrite groaned as he felt another crack, but she had bad posture. Durene waved her arms and cursed and Pyrite pulled her leg up a tiny bit more.

Down she went. Durene felt as the Humans and Hobs fell around her. She lost her grip on her shield, dropped her club to break her fall. She surged up as Pyrite stood and checked himself. He nodded as Durene grabbed her club. Then he kicked her in the face.

She didn’t expect that. Pyrite was fat, but his legs were strong and he was good at balancing. Durene staggered back, tried to stand, and tripped as Pyrite stepped on her foot. She shouted something, fell on her back, and then Pyrite stomped on her stomach. He put all of his body into the blow and felt her spasm. Durene curled up into a ball and puked. Pyrite wandered away.

Strong. Very strong. And tough. She nearly killed him. But she wasn’t experienced. Pyrite thought about trying to keep her on the ground but he’d cut his foot open kicking her in the helmet and he was worried she could tear his leg off if she caught it. So he went for his battleaxe. It was lying in the mud, the head burning. A Human tried to stop him and Pyrite casually punched him. When he lifted the battleaxe Durene was on her feet. And she was angry.

She’d grabbed her shield. With her club in hand she roared at Pyrite. There was no words, just rage. Pyrite nodded. He waited. This time he waited until she was swinging. Durene came at him with another vertical smash. Pyrite planted his battleaxe in the ground, aimed the head, and ducked.

The club crashed into the head of the enchanted battleaxe. The blow drove the butt and haft of the battleaxe into the earth, but the weapon didn’t break. It was magical. And the head bit into the club and set the bloody wood aflame. As Durene jerked it back with a shout of surprise and horror, the weakened club broke in her hands. She stared at the handle in horror and saw Pyrite raise his battleaxe. She lifted her shield and he swung.

“Durene!”

The scream that Pyrite heard came from two places. The half-Troll girl staggered backwards, a hand over her chest. Red blood and smoke dripped from the place where he had cut her. She stared at Pyrite. He raised his axe for another blow and saw the armored rider charging him.

“Face me, Goblin!”

Beniar howled as he charged Pyrite. The Hob shifted his stance and swung. Beniar swore as he turned his horse too late. Pyrite cut down the horse and would have killed Beniar if it weren’t for the last-minute change. Beniar fell to the ground but was up in a moment. He faced off against Pyrite with sword and shield in hand as Humans rushed to pull Durene back, screaming for healing potions. Pyrite saw the Human shift. He was wearing good armor. Pyrite saw his hand lower, and then Beniar stabbed towards Pyrite’s chest.

The Hob caught the sword in his hand. Beniar jerked, and stared as the blade pierced Pyrite’s hand but failed to enter his chest. The Hob lifted his battleaxe with his other hand and swung. Beniar raised his shield. The metal crumpled. His armor crumpled. His ribs broke. He collapsed and Pyrite yanked the sword from out of his hand. Pain made his head swim, but he raised his axe again.

“[Fox Fire]!”

Bright flames burnt Pyrite’s face. He roared, trying to smother the magical flames that enveloped his face. But the conflagration didn’t go out. Pyrite’s hands shot towards his belt and he grabbed the little glass bottle there. He smashed it against his head and the soothing healing potion extinguished the magical fire. Howling in pain, Pyrite looked around as he felt his burnt skin healing. He saw a row of Humans in front of him, felt an arrow strike his shoulder and another land in his gut. He saw them pulling Beniar and Durene back and then saw the [Witch].

She was standing, aiming a wand at him not twenty paces away. Rows of Human [Soldiers] separated the two. She opened her mouth for another spell and Pyrite ducked. The bright flames missed his head. Pyrite saw a Human charge him and felt another lancing pain in his side. He growled and a Hob tore the Human’s sword away and slashed across his face with an axe.

“Pyrite!”

Twofeather covered Pyrite as more Hobs rushed forwards. They fought with the Humans as the [Witch] cast more magic. Hobs retreated, burning and howling while the rest fought. Twofeathers urged Pyrite back. He didn’t want to go.

“Pyrite! Danger, danger! You go back!”

She pointed back a few paces, where Goblins were rushing past him. Pyrite growled, but then stepped back. Only when the bloodlust cleared from his head did he realize how close he’d come to death. It felt like the last few moments had taken hours, but in truth bare minutes had passed. He looked around.

The Humans were losing. Across the battlefield the Goblins were pushing them back. It wasn’t a victory everywhere, but the numerical superiority of the Humans had failed before the Goblin’s superior tactics and experience. The Humans couldn’t face the Hobs or the experienced Redfang Warriors. And with both their cavalry leader and Durene out of the picture they were losing hope.

Pyrite saw it all clearly from where he stood. The [Witch] or [General] or whoever she was still held the line, but she had attracted Noears’ attention. From the walls of the city Pyrite saw a flash and then a lightning bolt blasted apart a group of Humans near the [Witch]. She was forced to flee further back as Noears shot more lightning.

It wasn’t victory. Not yet. But Pyrite knew it could be taken. He just had to push further in, cut the Humans in two. Overwhelm them from all sides. He could do it. But for a moment, a brief moment, Pyrite leaned on his battleaxe. He was tired. Hurt. He could smell his blood, burnt skin, and tell he had cracked bones the healing potion had yet to mend. Pyrite stared at the battlefield, at the Humans and Goblins bleeding and dying, and looked up. Absently he thought of a poem.

Ah, how red, how red

The living and the dead

Dying here with blue sky

Far overhead.

Painful.

Yet for my people living and dead,

Until my last drop is shed,

I’ll dye my hands this crimson red.

Then he came back to himself. Pyrite lifted his battleaxe and roared a word.

“Advance!”

The Goblins heard him and cheering, rushed forwards. The Humans retreated. Pyrite strode forwards and his gaze turned west. It was a battle here. One he would win. It wasn’t one Rags had expected, but she had prepared him, prepared her tribe for it nonetheless. He hoped she would win her own battle.

“Luck, Chieftain.”

Pyrite murmured. Then he lifted his battleaxe and swung. The Humans fell back, screaming, running before him. It was probably something on his face.

—-

As the Flooded Waters tribe fought with the Unseen Empire’s army, a separate group of Goblins raced out of the forest. They had been camped around a broken totem, a wooden marker chopped down and then burnt to charcoal. They had been hiding, moving from marker to marker while sending small groups ahead to destroy the ones ahead. But they were close enough to their destination now. They abandoned their cover and raced out of the forest.

Sixty Goblins riding Carn Wolves rode down the dirt road, shouting, urging their mounts to race faster. They abandoned silence and their wolves howled. Fear raced ahead of them. The Goblins were coming. But not to slaughter. Not yet.

Rags had made that clear. She had told Redscar that if he wouldn’t follow her orders he could stay behind. That he was riding with her now at the head of his Redfang warriors meant he was obeying…or pretending to. She glanced at him as she rode up and down in her wolf’s saddle. His face was set, his teeth bared as he raced next to her with his enchanted sword unsheathed.

No. He had been Garen’s second-in-command. He obeyed and because he was a true Goblin, he obeyed even the orders he didn’t like. It would take truly terrible orders for him to rebel as he had once done to Garen. Something that went against both pride and common sense. And this was not a mistake. This was Rags’ plan.

The village was smaller than Rags expected as she rode towards it. Not that she’d expected a village. She’d assumed the [Emperor] would live in a huge palace. Or a castle. At the very least, a city. She hadn’t believed Pyrite when he’d pointed out the village named Riverfarm as the likeliest spot where the Unseen Emperor lived. But Sir Kerrig had gone straight into the village so Rags was certain.

She had also anticipated defenses, but the most the Humans had come up with was a thin line of stakes at the entry points around the village. They must have truly been caught off-guard. Rags saw a group of Humans installing the crude palisades at another entrance to the rows of houses race into the village, calling an alarm. The rest were already gathered at the eastern gate as she slowed. A sea of Human faces stared up at Rags, most white with terror. A few looked calmer, but all were tense. Her eyes flicked from face to face. Now, which one would be the [Emperor]?

“You!”

A voice shouted at Rags in fury. She looked and saw Sir Kerrig. He was breathing hard. He’d raced here on his horse. If Rags hadn’t had her [Fleet Foot] Skill that allowed her to rest her warriors while running to keep up with the Carn Wolves, they might have been just as tired.

The [Knight] was mounted and holding a plain iron sword and shield. He looked angry. Sir Kerrig pointed the tip of his sword towards Rags’ heart as Redscar surveyed the crowd and silently pointed, spacing his warriors out.

“You lied to me.”

Rags stared calmly at Sir Kerrig. She considered his words and then shrugged nonchalantly. It was a Goblin shrug. Sir Kerrig stared at her, face pale with fury.

“Did lie.”

“I trusted you to keep your word. I trusted your honor!”

The small Goblin grinned at Sir Kerrig. She bared her teeth.

“And this is how much I trust Humans.”

With that she turned and ignored Sir Kerrig completely. Which one? She looked for those without as much fear to begin with. She spotted a woman in a [Maid]’s dress staring at her in the crowd. No. She saw an old [Lady] standing at the head of a group of rich nobles. Rags eyed them, but all the male nobles looked ready to pee. No.

Then Rags spotted an odd group. A woman in a rich dress, an older man who looked like a [Farmer]. A young man with a hand protectively over his sword and…Rags felt a jolt. It was him.

It was easy in hindsight. Out of the entire crowd, only the [Emperor] wasn’t looking at her. His head was turned east and his eyes were closed. The Unseen Emperor slowly turned his head and Rags felt a prickling chill run down her skin. He wasn’t looking directly at her. His eyes were closed. But she knew he was looking nonetheless. This was the feeling she’d felt the entire time she was in his lands. The feeling of being watched.

The Humans stared at Rags as Redscar tilted his head and nodded. His Carn Wolves were surrounding the entrance to the village. There were wooden spikes set into the ground and a lot of the villagers were armed, but few had armor. These weren’t soldiers. If Rags ordered the attack it would be a slaughter. The Goblin Chieftain assessed the crowd, eyed Sir Kerrig and nodded to him. Redscar positioned five of his warriors to face off against the [Knight].

Good. All was set. Rags reached for the crossbow at her back. When she drew it, all the Humans tensed. She saw the Human with the sword move in front of the [Emperor]. Rags casually pointed her black crossbow with two hands towards the Unseen Emperor, her elusive foe. She grinned in the silence.

“Time for peace talk?”

—-

The first time I hear her voice is a shock. At first I can’t believe that this is the Goblin Chieftain. I recognize her of course. Dimly. I have sensed all the Goblins who came onto my land. But while I noticed the fat Goblin with the battleaxe, the one with the enchanted longsword and scar, and so on, I never expected this one to be the Chieftain who has done so much harm.

She’s so small. And when she speaks I know she’s also young. It’s not just her words. All the Goblins apparently sound like non-native speakers. But her voice is so…

A child. A child leading monsters. A child monster. Only—a child and a monster don’t go together. For a moment I’m frozen with shock. But I can’t process the emotions running through me. A crossbow is aimed at my chest and while I’m sure Gamel would throw himself in front of the bolt, it would probably go through him and me. So I stand and brush him aside.

“You are the Chieftain of this Goblin Tribe? The…Flooded Waters tribe?”

The small Goblin looks slightly surprised. She must be wondering how I can see her without eyes. But she nods as if blind men aren’t the strangest thing she’s seen today.

“Am. Am Rags. Chieftain.”

I hear a murmur behind me. I ignore it.

“I am Laken Godart. [Emperor] of these lands.”

“Murderer.”

How casually she says the word. The response it provokes among my people is instantaneous. Half shout in outrage. They might have done more than raise the weapons they hold, but the snarling Carn Wolves made them hold back. I raise a hand for silence.

“Some people would argue that one cannot murder Goblins. Some would say they are not people.”

It’s a calculated risk. I sense the Goblin with the scar on his face recoil, sense the way his hand tightens on the hilt of his sword and the other Goblins tense. But the small Goblin tilts her head thoughtfully.

“Can say that. I say same thing about Humans. There.”

It’s almost funny. For a sick moment I’m tempted to laugh. Then I remember myself and so I laugh anyways. The others stare at me. But they don’t matter. Not right now. In this moment it’s only this small Goblin and I. Rags? We stand alone, talking to each other.

“I thought all Goblins were monsters. You see, a raiding party attacked my empire. They killed my people. They would have killed us all.”

She shrugs.

“Probably.”

“You have nothing to defend their actions?”

A touch of heat enters her voice.

“Why do I need defend? Humans do same to Goblins.”

I nod slowly. Gods. All the pieces are falling together. Listen to her talk! She sounds so—what have I been doing? What have I done? An angry voice shouts out behind me.

“This is absurd! Goblins are not the same as Humans!”

“Lord Tourant, be silent.”

I hear the [Lord]’s voice muffle itself and ignore the scuffle behind me. Rags is tilting her head, inspecting me carefully. Without fear. She’s curious.

“Why close eyes? Bad eyes?”

“No. Blind.”

Head tilt. She squints at me. All the while the crossbow never wavers.

“How can see?”

“Skill. Special [Emperor] Skill.”

“Ah.”

She pauses. I wait a beat but she doesn’t ask anything more. I want—if there was a way—but not now. I fear what will come, but I try anyways.

“What you said? About peace treaty? You want talk?”

She scowls. I sense that quite clearly. She points at me with one hand while she keeps the other hand steady, balancing the crossbow on her wolf’s head. It whines softly.

“No talk bad! I can talk like you. You do not talk like I do!”

“Very well. What do you want? Peace? This is hardly peaceful.”

She laughs.

“Is it not? This way is best way! Peace! I point this at you and if you don’t make peace, I shoot you.”

Outrage around me. I smile. There’s something so refreshing about that.

“If you shoot me, my people will kill you. You will not escape these lands alive.”

Rags gives me a long, blank look.

“Right. That why peace works.”

A stalemate. I slowly nod.

“So then. What is your peace, Chieftain Rags?”

She pauses. It hurts to sense how delighted she is to be called Chieftain. My chest burns with pain.

“Peace is simple. You take army away from city. I take my army away from lands. Your army not follow. I go. You let leave.”

Again, Rags’ words provoke an uproar, but not from my people. Rather, it’s the nobles and Lady Rie who react. She whispers urgently into my ears.

“Your majesty, she can’t be serious! If we let a Goblin tribe roam free your reputation—”

“Prost.”

He pulls Lady Rie back, ignoring her outrage. I tap my chin with a finger.

“And your proof that you won’t turn back and continue raiding my lands?”

Another shrug. It seems very Goblin.

“No proof. You send army if I come back. We fight again.”

“That’s not good enough.”

She shifts on her wolf’s back testily.

“Not good enough? Goblins are stinking cowards. We run away! I make peace. Don’t have to. Could kill you now.”

She lifts the crossbow as proof of her bona fides. I sense Gamel tense again. If it comes to it…Bismarck is waiting behind one of the houses. I have close to a thousand of my subjects here. The rest are hiding with those unable to fight. The nobles have their entourage as well. Not enough. Sixty elite Goblins plus their wolves…that’s like a hundred and twenty warriors. It will be a slaughter.

“How would the peace work? I tell my soldiers to go? What will you do?”

Rags bares her teeth. They’re sharp. Small.

“You send message. Tell them to go. Then we go. We stand here one hour. Then I go.”

She wants us to stand here for an hour? It might work. It could work. I want to laugh. I want to tell her to lower the crossbow, to sit, to let me apologize and ask her—but I shake my head.

“It’s a good plan. It might have worked. But I’m sorry, Chieftain Rags. There will be no peace.”

Behind me, Lady Rie inhales sharply. I see Rags waver. For the first time she looks surprised. Uncertain.

“Why not?”

I wait before responding. When I do, my voice is steady. I can say the words now. Pain—pain has already done its work.

“You came too late, Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe. Our armies have already fought. Someone ordered my army to assault your tribe. The battle is lost. Your tribe won.”

A moan rises from the crowd. I feel the horror rise around me, see faces turn to me with terror mounting. Rags stares at me. The crossbow wavers.

“My tribe won?”

I nod. In my head I sense Humans fleeing, drawing back, fighting around the totem. Where is Durene?

“Is winning, rather. They’re retreating. Your tribe is chasing them.”

The Goblin with the red scar leans over to talk urgently to his Chieftain. Rags listens, half shaking her head. Is he suggesting to kill us now that they’ve won? Rags looks back at me and now her voice is very uncertain.

“Tribe won. Is good. Humans wrong to attack. Stupid. Can still…make peace.”

“No.”

I smile at her. She stares at me, just like a child.

“Why not?”

“You slaughtered my people. You killed them. And Durene—I think you’ve taken too much from me, Rags. Your race started this war. I escalated it. For that I am sorry. But too many have died.”

I spread my arms. I can sense them. I can remember. Each person her Goblins slew. Each child burnt in a building, or mother killed while fleeing. Each father or son or daughter who died. It hurts. And I cannot sense Durene.

Rags lifts her crossbow.

“You fight and you die. Your people die.”

“There are thousands of my people here and sixty of you. I have soldiers too.”

“Emperor Laken, your majesty, let us not be hasty here. Surely there is something we can do to avoid conflict.”

To my greatest surprise, someone interrupts Rags’ reply. An old voice. Lady Bevia. She speaks up as the [Mage] next to her urgently whispers. She brushes him aside and treats me and Rags to a charming smile. I can feel myself growing calmer.

“Chieftain Rags, was it? Your Majesty, this young Goblin speaks sense. I would hate to see needless bloodshed—”

The [Mage]. He’s whispering to her. What does she know? Why is she trying to defuse the situation? I turn towards Lady Bevia and sense Rags spotting the same things I have. She shifts her crossbow’s aim for a second.

“No talk! Stop using Skill!”

“I am only trying to—”

“Be silent, Lady Bevia. There is no more room for negotiation. I have made up my mind.”

Around me I sense a vibration in the air. The atmosphere is taut. My people have gone deathly still. They are waiting. Rags hesitates. She lifts her weapon uneasily.

“I have crossbow. You surrender. Now!”

I laugh. There’s a bit of madness there. He was right. An [Emperor] can do many things. But some things—no.

“Surrender? Never.”

We stare at each other, the small Goblin and I. Without eyes. For a second I waver. So young. If we had met another way, we might even have understood each other. But my empire bleeds. My people are dead. And when I look at her in my mind’s eye, truly look at her, I don’t think she wants peace either. There’s a monster in both of us. Waiting. So I let it out.

“Take the Goblins. Do not let them escape. Do not rest until they are all dead.”

I hear a howl. I sense Rags jerk, see the red scarred Goblin point at me, Sir Kerrig leaping into motion. I can sense her finger pulling the trigger, sense the crossbow aiming at me. I feel Gamel lunge at me, knock me down. The bolt grazes my left cheek, goes into someone behind me. I hit the ground as people rush around me. And I hear the screams.

—-

Rags saw the first bolt miss the [Emperor]. The second wasn’t aimed at him. It took the [Mage] she’d seen straight through the neck. He dropped, nearly falling on the old [Lady] who’d spoken. Rags saw the woman stumble backwards, face grey as her warriors surged forwards. Rags pointed and threw fire into the crowd as she struggled to reload.

Where was he? There! He was moving backwards, fleeing into the village! Rags heard a terrifying roar and turned her head to see a giant green bear charging out of the village towards her warriors. Three Redfang Warriors turned to ride at it. The rest were fighting the crowd. Five were dueling Sir Kerrig!

“Redscar!”

She howled the name as she struggled to reload her crossbow. The Humans were shielding the [Emperor]. She’d never get a clear shot! Redscar looked at her, his sword bathed in blood. Rags pointed.

“Him!”

The [Emperor] turned his head as Redscar charged. The current leader of the Redfangs rode a Carn Wolf larger than all but Garen Redfang. He had raised the wolf cub since he had been born. Now he charged into the Humans with cleavers, pitchforks, and other weapons, ignoring their attempts to unseat him. His Carn Wolf snarled and leapt over the crowd, crushing more where it landed. Its fur resisted the blows around it and Redscar slashed left and right, cutting Humans down. But with each passing second the [Emperor] was drawing further away.

“Stop! Stop this madness!”

Sir Kerrig was trying to fight his way to Rags. She ignored him. Her eyes were on Redscar and the Emperor. Laken. He had run a dozen feet down the street. He was headed for one of the houses. If he could get inside he’d barricade himself in with all the other Humans. Redscar was racing at him.

A Human stood in the way. A young man with a sword and padded jerkin. He was inexperienced but he swung well. Redscar leaned back and slashed him across the chest as he passed. The young man fell, bleeding but not dead.

Next, the woman in the dress. She fled to one side. Next an old man, the [Farmer]. He had a sword too and swung clumsily at Redscar. The Carn Wolf rammed into him, knocking him flat.

The [Emperor] was last. He had run down the street but Redscar charged him. Ironically, Laken’s order had sent his subjects racing towards Rags’ warriors in a blind rage. There was no one to save him. Rags waited as Redscar raised his frosted blade. The [Emperor] was turning. He knew he wouldn’t escape. He turned and stared at Redscar. Rags heard him speak.

“Stop.”

For a moment Redscar did. He froze and his Carn Wolf skidded to a stop. Then Redscar cursed. He leapt off his Carn Wolf and ran at the [Emperor]. Laken ran once more. Rags cursed, but Redscar was a trained warrior. He was still closing on the Human. Closer, closer—

“Chieftain!”

Rags heard the voice. Her head turned. She saw something flash past her Redfang Warriors, heard the galloping hoofs. She turned, raised her crossbow, and shot. Too slow. Her bolt missed the target.

Redscar was sprinting towards Laken. His sword was ready to slash across his back. He raised it as he reached Laken’s back and turned his head as Rags screamed a warning. He saw the blur approaching on horseback and struck anyways. Too slow.

The galloping figure rode down the village street faster than an arrow could fly. Faster than Rags’ fiery magic. Faster than Redfang’s sword. He rode as if the rest of the world were underwater. A lance was in his hand and he aimed it at Redscar. The Goblin saw it coming and tried to dodge. Again he failed.

The lance pierced Redscar’s shoulder. The momentum of the strike spun the Goblin and Rags saw the rider flick his lance casually. Redscar slowed and she saw a hole in his right shoulder. He stared at it and fell, his sword still held in his left hand. The [Emperor], Laken, looked up. The Redfangs stopped fighting and the villagers of Riverfarm stopped too. They turned their heads and saw him standing there. Larger than life. Exactly on time.

Lord Tyrion Veltras. He removed his helmet and offered Laken a slight, stiff bow. Behind Rags, she heard a clarion horn sound and heard more drumming hooves. She turned and saw a hundred riders in full armor charging straight at her. She screamed an order and her Goblins broke away. Tyrion Veltras pointed and the armored [Knights] and [Lords] charged the Goblins. He turned back to Laken Godart.

“Emperor Laken Godart? I believe we have yet to meet. I am Lord Tyrion Veltras. I have heard of you. I believe we could be of mutual benefit to each other.”

“You?”

Laken stared up at the man. Lord Tyrion was tall, and his hair was black. He had a trimmed goatee and clean-shaven upper lip. His armor glowed slightly in the light and he held himself strictly, almost painfully upright on his horse. There was no smile on his face and his dark blue eyes were cold. Nevertheless there was an urgency to the way he moved, a purpose. Tyrion turned his head, looking east.

“I understand your forces are in full retreat following a clash with this tribe. My escort passed by the conflict less than an hour ago. I instructed the rest of my force to ride into battle as soon as they caught up.”

“The rest of your…?”

Tyrion Veltras nodded. His gaze flicked upwards towards the sun, and then travelled across the breadth of Riverfarm. It took in the fleeing Goblins, the hundred or so armored Humans in pursuit, and the lone Goblin racing towards them. Tyrion watched as Rags flung herself from the saddle towards Redscar. He made no move towards them as his lance tip dripped blood onto the ground. Rags dragged Redscar up as the Goblin’s own Carn Wolf approached, whining. She shouted a command and both Carn Wolves began to run, one carrying the fallen Goblin.

“Lord Matthews?”

Lord Tyrion turned his head and called at one of the men dressed in silver armor. A tall [Lord] with red gold hair rode up.

“Lord Veltras! What can I do for you?”

The scion of the Veltras family calmly nodded towards Rags and Redscar, who were both fleeing towards the other Redfang Warriors.

“Mark both targets. The one with the enchanted sword and the small female with the crossbow. Remember your orders.”

“By your leave, Lord Veltras. Formation on me!”

Lord Matthews called out and a wedge of [Knights] and [Lords] raced after him. Laken stared at the fleeing Goblins and the Humans.

“You came all this way for…how did you know about me? About the Goblins? My army—Durene—”

The [Lord] turned his head slightly. He nodded towards Lady Bevia as she stood at a distance. The older lady curtsied slightly.

“I have my informants. Moreover, I received an extraordinary messenger. Your army will be saved, Emperor. I did not come with a hundred soldiers alone.”

—-

The cavalry that drew reign in front of the battleground spotted the fleeing Humans and advancing Goblins from a distance. Their mounts were sweaty, exhausted, and the riders looked just as tired. But the commander seemed confident, casual, even. He shaded his eyes as he peered at the Goblins chasing the Humans down.

“That’s the tribe you informed Lord Veltras of, Lady Caveis? Do you see your comrade among them?”

Welca Caveis gasped for air and wiped sweat out of her eyes. She stared down at the Goblin army and then shifted her gaze to the city.

“I don’t see Sir Kerrig anywhere, Lord Pellmia.”

The [Lord] nodded.

“A pity. But we may still have hope that he is alive within the city at least. Men! Ladies. On my order we will charge the Goblins! Form a wedge on me. [Second Wind]!”

As he spoke, Welca felt energy flood back into her limbs. It was a nervous, temporary rush, but it made even the horses canter as the cavalry moved into place. She lowered the visor of her helm as Lord Pellmia pointed.

“Remember your orders! Scatter the Goblins first and find me the commander of the Human army! On my mark! Charge!”

—-

Pyrite was marching after the Humans, ordering the tribe to harry them when he heard the horns. He turned his head and saw a wall of silver and steel descending a distant hilltop. His blood ran cold. He screamed an order and the Goblins saw the danger. They turned and ran for the city. They ran and ran as the Humans descended on them.  Pyrite stared at the Humans as he ran. Where had they come from? Why were they here?

Where was Rags?

—-

“Report.”

Lord Tyrion was speaking to a bevy of soldiers, his people. He had dismounted and was at the center of attention. Laken was sitting. His knees had gone out. He saw Tyrion listen to a report coming straight from the fighting around the city. The Goblins were running! They’d retreated back into the city.

Just like that. Just…in an instant. Now Tyrion was speaking to one of the [Mages] who’d rode with him.

“Convey my gratitude to Lord Pellmia. Tell him I will return to appraise the situation shortly. Now, I require a second [Message] to be sent to my aide Telmia. Send the message with the identifying passphrase: Benivald Veltras. Await her counter signal identifying him as the 52nd second-son of the House Veltras. Inform her to begin the operation on my mark.”

The flurry of activity around Tyrion ceased. He glanced up at the position of the sun and waited a beat. All was still. Laken felt the world pausing. Tyrion nodded.

“Mark.”

—-

In the mountain, the Goblin Lord and Tremborag met for the second time. The Great Chieftain of the Mountain taunted Reiss from above as his Goblins loosed arrows and threw stones down from above. The crisscrossing network of rope and wood bridges were filled with Goblins as the undead and Reiss’ forces fought below, trying to push upwards.

“You will never take my home, False Lord! Not you, nor your armies! You are too late! The Humans come for you! They will never break my home! I outlived the Goblin King and I will live in my fortress until all is dust!”

He roared down at the Goblin Lord. Reiss stared up, his eyes narrowed and shot black bolts of magic upwards. But Tremborag just laughed and backed away from the edge. Reiss knew he was right.

“Lord, lots of Humans are coming! Lots and lots of Humans!”

Snapjaw was tugging at Reiss, trying to get him to pull back. Reiss snarled, feeling blood running down from the side of his face. Garen had nearly gotten him in the last ambush. He saw his Goblin fighting with Tremborag’s forces in a narrow gap. They couldn’t push in! They had to retreat! But the Humans—

“Redfang!”

A roar from the left interrupted him. Garen Redfang rode out of a large tunnel with his Redfang Warriors, cutting again for Reiss. This time Eater of Spears charged at him and the two Hobs fought in a shower of blood. Reiss snarled.

“Pull Eater of Spears back! Garen is aiming for him!”

The Redfang Chieftain was cutting the larger Hob, bleeding him! He locked eyes as Reiss pointed and the Shield Spider he was riding turned. The two Goblins surged towards each other and then looked up. They felt it at the same time.

Danger. The other Goblins with [Dangersense] looked up as well. They stared up and then saw a flash of crimson light. Heat billowed up and Tremborag turned his head. A network of bridges had burst into flame! As the Goblins watched, they saw a group of distant figures perched high overhead.

Humans. One of the [Mages] aimed a wand down and shot a stream of lava at another network of bridges. The Goblins there screamed in agony as they burned and more fled. Too late. The bridge collapsed, sending hundreds of Goblins falling to their deaths.

“Humans! Pathetic adventurers! Kill them!”

Tremborag was furious. He pointed and thousands of Goblins swarmed upwards. Too many even for teams of Gold-rank adventurers to handle! The [Mages] instantly threw up magic barriers as the [Warriors] closed ranks.

Garen stared up at the Gold-rank adventurers coldly. They were fools. They’d be forced to retreat and some would die because of that poor decision. Goblins weren’t like monsters. They knew how to fight adventurers. Tremborag himself was racing higher. He would tear a score of the Gold-ranks apart by himself. But then why was his [Dangersense] still active? He frowned and then saw a flash of magic. Someone had used [Lesser Teleport]. He saw a distant figure appear high overhead. A flash of blonde hair, a pale face. Pointed ears. And suddenly, Garen was afraid.

Not just afraid. Petrified. He stared up and again the Goblins stopped. Something was…off. They knew fear. But the sight of the half-Elf standing above them filled them with a fear they couldn’t shake. All Goblins were afraid. They learned to conquer fear or die. But this?

Tremborag had halted too when he saw the half-Elf. She stood with a group of four other companions, all of whom held bows. Only one was a half-Elf like her, and that archer was far younger. But it was the blonde half-Elf Tremborag stared at. His voice, normally a grand echo in the cavernous mountain, shook as he stared up at her.

“You.”

The half-Elf had a bow. It glowed brightly with a fierce, silvery light as she drew an arrow from the quiver at her back. The adventurers around her stepped back. Tremborag pointed up at her. Now his voice was a shout, but it was filled with horror. And dread.

“You. I know your face!”

The half-Elf glanced at him dismissively and then away. Tremborag backed up. The huge Hobgoblin was afraid. He spoke, his voice filling every ear.

“You were there! You shot the arrow! You have come for me! Destroyer! Bringer of doom! You are she! Arcsinger! The one who slew Velan the Kind!”

Garen felt his heart stop. He stared up as Ellia Arcsinger aimed her bow down, searching the faces of Goblins. Tremborag pointed. He screamed a word, the name no Goblin had ever forgotten.

“Kingslayer!”

And then he fled. Tremborag leapt from his place, falling, crashing onto the ground of a lower tunnel. He disappeared into it. And behind him Goblins screamed. They wailed and threw down their weapons, turning and running in a panic. Tremborag’s Goblins and the Goblin Lord’s forces. There was no thought behind it. They were gripped by madness. Primal fear. The Kingslayer stood above, the one who had killed Velan the Kind. Even the Redfang Warriors ran, their Carn Wolves howling in panic.

“Stand and fight! Stand!”

Garen roared at his tribe. But his knees shook as he stared up at the half-Elf with the silver bow. He saw her eyes flash towards him and he felt true terror grip his heart. He turned, cursing, and ran.

“Lord! Lord, run!”

Snapjaw was screaming in Reiss ear. He had leapt from his Shield Spider’s back and was running with the other Goblins. They sheltered him, even in their panic. They knew. He knew. She was searching for him. Reiss took one look back above as Ellia Arcsinger looked down below. He shuddered. And that fear was not only of her.

Tremborag’s mountain was lost. Both the Mountain City tribe and the Goblin Lord’s army fled in the face of the Human army. Not just because of the army. Not just because of the danger. Because of her. Because of the memory they could not erase. They fled in a panic on first sight of her, forgetting everything.

All according to plan.

—-

“Excellent. Continue as planned and notify me of any developments. I will return by nightfall.”

Lord Tyrion finished speaking through the spell and turned. He walked over to the young man who was sitting in the dirt street. Laken could still remember where the sword had been. Just a hand’s breath away from his chest. It took him a moment when Tyrion bent to realize the man was offering him his hand.

“Your majesty, there is much I would like to discuss.”

It looked like it pained Tyrion to address Laken by his title, but it would have pained him more not to. Laken looked up into his eyes. He did not immediately take Tyrion’s hand.

“I have heard that you are a dangerous man, Lord Tyrion Veltras. A certain [Maid] came by to tell me not to trust you by any means.”

“[Maids] gossip.”

Tyrion could have been remarking on the weather. He spoke coolly, never taking his eyes off of Laken.

“There are many rumors about me. I would advise you to judge the truth of them for yourself. I have no doubt that many of my detractors have valid points. But I am first and foremost a [Lord] of Izril. I protect my people. This Goblin threat has prompted me to action.”

“Took you a while, didn’t it?”

Lord Tyrion paused.

“Indeed. It is the unfortunate nature of the times. One cannot act without understanding the truth about Goblins. And it is with that understanding that I do execute my plans according to necessity, not compassion.”

“Truth? What truth about Goblins?”

The hand was still outstretched. He should have looked silly, waiting for Laken to take his hand, but Tyrion merely looked expectant. He spoke slowly as Laken stared up at him.

“The truth about Goblins, Emperor Laken Godart, is that they do not matter. Not Chieftains or Lords or Kings. Only one thing matters.”

“And that is?”

“People. Humanity. Responsibility to one’s lands. Safeguarding the continent. Uniting against a common foe, be it monsters or any other threat. We are both men of duty. And I would have your help, Emperor Godart. I offer you my hand. Will you take it?”

Laken stared. He opened his eyes and stared into Tyrion’s own. The [Lord] looked back calmly.  After a moment, Laken slowly reached out. The man hauled him up and Laken stood face-to-face with Lord Tyrion Veltras. He slowly nodded.

“Let’s talk.”

5.33 B

She sat below. He stood above. The distance between the two was immaterial. They were linked and the rock and stone and water that lay between them were no barrier. If they had stood ten miles apart they might have struggled with this trick. But practice made the task easy as breathing here. When she spoke he spoke. When he listened, she heard.

“I dislike interruptions. I am busy. Nor do I care for questions.”

Klbkch bowed smoothly to the two Drakes.

“My Queen greets you with perceived warmth and welcomes your inquiries, Watch Captain.”

Zevara cleared her throat. She looked nervous, although she had spoken with Klbkch often in her private office in the Watch’s barracks. Only, it wasn’t Senior Guardsman Klbkch she was speaking to. Klbkch stood behind her divested of his armor, with only the twin silver swords hanging at his waist. In this moment he was the Revalantor of the Free Antinium of Liscor and she addressed him as such.

“Revalantor Klbkch. Do I have that right? Let me first congratulate you on your promotion.”

“Thank you.”

Watch Captain Zevara waited, but Klbkch did not elaborate on what his new rank meant. She coughed and went on.

“Ah, I realize this is somewhat irregular, but some concerns have been raised about the proximity of the Antinium Hive to the dungeon.”

The Drake shuffled some papers on her desk. Klbkch nodded.

“My Queen is aware of these concerns. She has tasked me with relaying her words. Ask your questions, Watch Captain.”

“Right. Well, to begin with, how long have the Antinium known about this dungeon?”

Beneath the earth, the Queen shifted in her chambers. She spoke in the dim light, her mandibles slowly clicking together as she looked upwards.

“How could we not?”

Klbkch inclined his head a fraction.

“The discovery of the dungeon was quite a surprise to our Hive. I believe we first became aware of it a few months ago.”

Zevara glanced at something hidden in her right claw. Red light shone brightly at her and she grimaced.

“I see. And the entrances to the dungeon?”

“It seems monsters are able to tunnel through the earth. The fortifications discovered by the Horns of Hammerad and the Silver Swords are a natural precaution.”

“Very sensible of you. This wouldn’t also be a, ah, staging ground for the Antinium to enter the dungeon themselves?”

Below, the Queen sighed. She moved her huge body a few feet, ponderously, a giant confined in a cavern too small.

“Tiresome. Why ask what is known?”

“Of course we would leave the exploration of the dungeon to adventurers in all circumstances. However, the proximity of so many threats to the Hive—and to Liscor—necessitates a combative approach that may result in incursions of a preventative nature.”

“Obviously.”

Zevara scratched at the spines on her head and sighed.

“You are aware that under Liscorian law that all items retrieved from the dungeon are technically Liscor’s property? Naturally the dungeon falls under existing agreements with the Adventurer’s Guild’s right to trespass, but that would not apply to third parties.”

“What the Antinium take will never be returned.”

“My Queen is fully aware of the existing legal structure of Liscor and abides by every law placed to the best of her ability. However, it would be remiss for me not to point out that under the agreement signed by Liscor’s Council and the Free Antinium, our Hive is not subject to the legal restrictions of Liscor, nor would the dungeon be considered Liscorian property as the claim to Liscor only applies to the lands around the city, not, in fact, what lies underground.”

Both the Queen and Zevara paused. The Queen raised one massive feeler.

“Is that so, Klbkch?”

Far above, he shrugged. Zevara cursed softly and rifled through her papers.

“Damn. Really? I uh—sorry, Klbkch. Let me just write that down.”

She scribbled urgently on a piece of parchment as Klbkch waited patiently. After a few seconds, Zevara looked up and sat up formally once more.

“I see. Well, as Watch Captain of Liscor I am concerned about the possibility of Antinium and adventurers meeting by accident. I understand the Hive is…dangerous to intruders.”

“Tell her that creeping spies and saboteurs will die as they always have, Klbkchhezeim.”

“The entryways to the dungeon will be marked, Watch Captain. Quite clearly. We cannot take responsibility for anyone who ignores the warnings.”

“Nor can Liscor prevent any accidents that might occur while adventures explore the dungeon.”

“I fully understand.”

Zevara met Klbkch’s eyes and sighed.

“Please tell your Queen that I hope for our continued success working together. I am sure that whatever reservations the Council may have about the dungeon will be assuaged by our meeting. I would like to speak with you further about the possible dangers of monsters attacking Liscor and the Hive…but I think we can do that in your capacity as Senior Guardsman. Send my sincerest regards to your Queen.”

“I shall do so.”

The Queen of the Free Antinium turned her head.

“Tell your Watch Captain that I do not care for her.”

“She thanks you for your interest and wishes you continued success as Watch Captain. My Queen was especially pleased to note your commendation after the siege of Face-Eater Moths. It is well deserved.”

Zevara blinked. Her tail, hidden behind her desk, swished and gently knocked against the table before she caught herself.

“Oh? Oh. Thank you. I ah, thank her and wish her the same. That’s all, Klbkch.”

The Antinium nodded. He left Zevara’s office, marching downstairs and out of the barracks. A few Gnolls and Drakes waved at him. Klbkch waved back as he stepped out into the pouring rain. He strode down the street. After a moment the Queen spoke.

“What commendation was that, Klbkchhezeim?”

Klbkch spoke softly, although no one was around to hear him as he walked down the street. Water glanced off his carapace as he headed for the Hive.

“She received a medal for heroism and competence in the defense of Liscor, my Queen.”

“Medals. They are…”

“Bits of shaped metal that are hung on a body to emphasize superiority for deeds achieved.”

“Ah. Are they valuable?”

“Not monetarily.”

“I see. Do you have more of your duties above, Klbkchhezeim?”

“No, my Queen. I will return below shortly. However, I have been apprised of an outstanding package waiting for me at the Runner’s Guild and will meet the Courier there before returning.”

“Do so.”

The Queen of the Free Antinium felt Klbkch stride down the street and turn before she broke the connection between the two.

—-

Klbkch was gone. He vanished from the Queen’s mind and she no longer sensed the rain falling, saw and heard and smelled what he did. Suddenly, she only had one body and it sat, bloated and immobile in her chambers. It felt limiting. But the Queen had lived so for over a decade and she was used to the feeling.

She settled back in her dark cavern, feeling isolation steal over her. But only for a moment. Because the Queen of the Free Antinium was never alone. If she reached out she could feel thousands of Antinium moving in the space around her, each connected to her by a thread thinner than a spider’s strand. She was at the center of the Hive. She gave them purpose.

The Queen thought, and more Antinium obediently moved towards a passage that had sprung a leak, allowing water to pour in from above. She sensed them battling the waters, retreating, one falling behind. Drowning. The connection disappeared as the Antinium drowned. But there were always more.

While the Queen existed, the Hive moved. They demanded her thoughts. Even if it wasn’t conscious, the Queen was still responsible for the way the Antinium moved in perfect synchronization. It was…taxing.

On busy days when the Hive was at war or in crisis, the Queen devoted all of her mind to allowing the Hive to run at peak capacity. Even on ‘slow’ days, a portion of her intellect was consumed by the task of managing so many. Klbkch did his job but he was only one. The Queen had to send hundreds of orders each second. It was a task that would have killed Watch Captain Zevara and her desk full of papers in a single day. Sometimes all the Queen could do was sit and keep everything running.

But of late, the Queen had found herself with more thoughts, more freedom to do as she wished. The new Individuals were responsible for this. Not all of them. Two, rather. The Queen recalled their names vaguely.

“Belgrade. Anand. [Tacticians].”

They were efficient. Together, they had effectively taken away the burden of managing the Hive’s defenses and had begun to regulate a greater portion of the Hive without the Queen needing to take command. They had freed up her mental space and so she deemed them worthy…if still flawed. Of the five Individuals that had first been created, they were the most useful.

The Queen was aware that more Individuals had been identified of course, but she had not inspected them yet. Klbkch told her they were all inferior copies of the original five to begin with. She had no desire to observe them in their failings.

Five Individuals. Around two hundred lesser Individuals capable of receiving names, but lacking the same degree of autonomy. Or so Klbkch claimed. Of that number an inordinate amount were Soldiers—Painted Soldiers as they had been dubbed. That was not part of the original plan, but they were an asset to the Hive.

After ten years, the Free Antinium had succeeded with part of their goals. But their grand success was still incomplete. The Individuals were still flawed. That dissatisfied the Queen when she thought of it. And yet—she felt an urge move through her body and looked up.

“Food.”

Her words provoked instant movement. The Queen’s head barely turned as a small Worker scurried out of the newly-built side tunnel in her chambers. Garry, one of the original five Individual Workers, practically fell over himself as he pushed out a small cart laden with food.

Cooked food. The Queen felt her appetite rising the instant she detected the scent rising from the hot dishes. She saw glazed pieces of meat, succulent dishes of sweet fruit and delicately roasted vegetables, fillet fish freshly bought and then steamed, baked, or fried, and of course, insects.

“What is that?”

The Queen reached with one huge feeler and picked up a fried ball of something chitinous before the cart had reached her side. Garry squeaked and fled as the Queen greedily grabbed more pieces of food with her other feelers. He retreated rapidly and spoke loudly.

“I have prepared a Shield Spider abdomen by cleaning the insides and then stuffing it with a mixture of lentils and fried eggs, my Queen. I then deep fried the entire dish in oil—”

The Queen gestured and Garry fell silent. She crunched the abdomen, savoring the complex flavors. The hot oil, the way the insides squished as she ate—it was heavenly. Taste! After a decade of eating the paste that the Antinium made, such flavors were as addictive as a drug for the Queen. She consumed the abdomen quickly and then lifted a roast of pork up. She knew she liked that.

“Good. Make more. What is that?”

“That is a Lurkersnatch Fish, my Queen. I attempted to prepare it by—”

Again, Garry broke off as the Queen waved a feeler. She chewed and swallowed.

“I don’t like it as much. Make something else.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

Garry waited until the Queen had finished the cart of food. It took her less than five minutes. The Queen opened and closed her mandibles and then turned away.

“Go.”

The small Worker grabbed the cart and turned it, trundling backwards into the kitchen he’d been assigned to. This was his job—feeding the Queen delicious food every day. It was something the Free Queen enjoyed. In that way, Garry was useful.

“But flawed.”

The Queen stared at Garry as he hurried away. Her feelers twitched with annoyance. He was Individual. But a failure. He was not true Antinium. Nor was Anand or Belgrade or Pawn or…the last one. They had all failed her test. In that sense, they were incomplete. They were not people. They were only useful tools for Klbkch and her to make use of.

The Queen sighed as she sat back in her chambers. So close. Yet their final goal was still so far. She and Klbkch had labored for a decade to bring about true individuality in the Antinium. They had made that the goal of their Hive, while the other five advanced the Antinium’s goals in their way. The Free Queen had gone against her peers, been exiled to this far-off spot with little resources because of her goals.

And she was lonely. Only Klbkch had been here to keep her company these long years and he was so busy. She had no one to converse with. There were only two real Antinium in the Hive. All else were dross. Expendable shells. She stared at Garry as he left, shoulders hunched, scurrying along.

“Alone.”

She shook her head and pulled herself across her chambers. The Antinium Soldiers standing guard stirred, but they did not follow her. The Queen exited her chambers, moving into a private area that no other Antinium save Klbkch could enter. She opened a pair of doors, airtight, and sensed a miasma of foul and strange odors assail her before she crawled through and closed the doors. It was time to work while she still had enough mental space for it.

—-

Hawk the Courier was wet. His large, furry ears drooped as he pushed his way into the Runner’s Guild, muttering about wet fur. He didn’t often enter Liscor’s Guild compared to the Street and City Runners—his job took him across Izril and it was more convenient to visit a larger Runner’s Guild. But there was always paperwork to fill out, and as a resident of Liscor, Hawk had to provide his city with occasional updates.

The Runner’s Guild in Liscor was as usual, mostly filled with Street Runners. There wasn’t much call for City Runners in Liscor, given that Drakes rarely traded with Human cities and other Drake cities were too far away. Thus, most of the Runners in the Guild were part-timers. Young Gnolls and Drakes who wouldn’t ever become City Runners, much less Couriers. They stared at Hawk and pointed covertly as he strode past them. Hawk paid them no notice.

However, he did stop and stare when he saw the Drake with dark orange scales and bright white stripes of color across his face. Hawk broke into a grin.

“Baiss!”

The Courier sitting at the table was looking anxious and restless, but he turned with a relieved look the instant he heard Hawk’s voice. He stood up and grabbed Hawk’s arm.

“Hawk! I hoped I’d see you here!”

“What’s Oteslia’s finest Courier doing this far north? How’s the work going? Did you have a quiet run north?”

“Oh, you know. Dodging Wyverns all the way. I had to take a massive detour rather than go near the Blood Fields.”

Baiss shuddered as he sat. He had white slashes of color across his face and tail that stood out from his darker scales. Some of the Street Runners recognized him and pointed excitedly to their comrades. Baiss was a Courier like Hawk and his abilities were a known quantity to anyone who lived and breathed the world of Runners. He wasn’t as distinctive as Hawk, the only Beastkin Runner on the continent, but a Courier was famous, if only in their home city.

“Had any problems with getting across Liscor? It’s not easy to move, is it?”

The Drake grimaced.

“I don’t know how you can do it, Hawk. [Flash Step]’s no good on water and I thought someone would grab me as I was swimming. I had a bottle of Boneset Marrow in one claw the entire time I was in the water.”

Hawk rolled his eyes as he took a seat.

“Don’t use that! Boneset won’t harden nearly quick enough! Just toss something loud in the water. The explosion scares most things away. Besides, I don’t swim. I jump from hill to hill.”

“Horse crap. You’re pulling my tail. There’s no way you can jump that far!”

“Wanna bet? Some hills are just under the water. I can land on them. You just have to know where you are.”

“Huh. Well, I’m not memorizing the landscape. I’m only here to do this delivery and get out. Can’t say I’ll enjoy swimming back, but I can’t wait to be done.”

Baiss grimaced and reached for a mug. Hawk raised his eyes as he noticed how many drinks Baiss had gone through. The Runner’s Guild supplied liquor on demand, but they were hardly a bar.

“Stressed out?”

“I want to be gone yesterday. Damn rain. Damn water and fish trying to take chunks out of my ass. I don’t know how you stand it.”

The Rabbit Beastkin watched Baiss drink deeply. The Drake did look quite stressed, which was unusual. Hawk thought a moment and then nodded with his head.

“You know, there’s this door from Pallass to Liscor. Magical. You can step right through and be in Pallass in a second.”

“You serious? If I’d known that—”

Before Baiss could throw his drink, Hawk cut him off.

“The [Innkeeper]’s got a deal with the Runner’s Guild, though. No deliveries or anything that cuts into our work. You could walk through it, though. As a traveler.”

“Oh. Well, that makes sense. Good thing for us, huh?”

“I don’t see the point. It’s not like Liscor to Pallass is a good route for Couriers, anyways. Too short.”

“Right. And it’d help keep us out of the water. I’ll ask when I get done with this.”

Baiss shifted again. He looked quite worried. Hawk eyed him and hesitated. Couriers, like Runners, had a strict code that prohibited them from leaking secrets of what they delivered and to whom. It mattered a lot more for Couriers given how much they traded on their reputation, but Baiss looked like he was about to burst. So Hawk carefully chose his next words.

“Can you tell me about your delivery?”

“What? Oh.”

The Drake jumped and looked around. He frowned and Hawk expected him to say no. But to his surprise, the Drake grunted.

“Can’t hurt. It’s not like everyone doesn’t know about it already.”

“Really?”

Now both of Hawk’s eyebrows rose. A Courier usually kept every detail of their delivery private. Even for innocuous deliveries. But Baiss was nodding.

“You have no idea how many Drakes know about this. Not my fault either. I had to get this cleared by so many channels that—well, I should never have taken the job. But the pay was really good and they wanted someone to do it. So—here.”

He put something on the table. A bag of holding. This one was delicate, hand-made and clearly superior to most mass-produced bags of holding. Hawk had seen it before so he picked up the black pouch stitched with red and gold and peeked inside. The instant he opened the drawstrings he recoiled and closed the bag up tight. It took all of Hawk’s effort not to shout.

“Ancestors, Baiss!”

“Yup.”

The Drake drained another mug and waved at the [Receptionist]. The Gnoll on duty gulped and hurried over with another drink as fast as he could. Hawk waited until he was back behind the desk before hissing at Baiss. Couriers used anti-listening charms and other tools to detect observation as a matter of trade, so there was no chance of being overheard by the Gnoll’s keen ears.

“And you’ve been carrying that all the way from Oteslia?”

“Not that far. I was on a trip northwest. Scale me alive, do you think I’d get something like this anywhere else?”

“No. But—are you sure this is alright?”

Hawk looked at Baiss with genuine concern. The Drake nodded slowly.

“It’s been cleared. Through the highest channels. I’ll bet my tail and yours that every official in all six Walled Cities know about it.”

“And they agreed to let you deliver it?”

“It’s a request. It pays well. I just want to be rid of it now. I’m waiting on one of them to pick it up. But—”

The door opened. Baiss looked over Hawk’s shoulder and choked on his drink. The Rabbit man thumped him on the back and turned. He saw Klbkch looking around. The Gnoll on duty hurried towards him and pointed to the table.

“Oh, Ancestors!”

Baiss shook in his seat. Hawk stared at him before he realized that Baiss had probably never seen an Antinium before.

“Calm down, Baiss. That’s Klbkch. He’s known around the city. He’s a Senior Guardsman. As Antinium go, he’s the only one I trust.”

“Him? I heard the Antinium actually walked about Liscor, but—oh, dead gods.”

“Don’t panic.”

Hawk turned and waved at Klbkch as the Antinium approached. Baiss was stiff in his seat, but he remembered to stand.

“Uh—are you—are you—?”

Klbkch nodded coolly at Baiss. He glanced at Hawk.

“I am Klbkchhezeim, Revalantor of the Free Antinium of Liscor. I believe you have a delivery for me?”

“I do. I do! It’s right here—I’ll need a seal, proof of your identification. Uh—”

“I should go.”

Hawk got up to leave, aware that he shouldn’t be listening. But Baiss shot him a desperate look and Klbkch also shook his head.

“That is not necessary. I am sure your presence would expedite matters, Courier Hawk.”

That was true. Hawk sat back down and helped Baiss go through the somewhat lengthy process of making sure Klbkch was who he said he was and receiving confirmation of delivery. The Drake was so nervous and stumbled so many times that he seemed like a Street Runner doing his first delivery.

At last, Klbkch had the bag of holding in his hands. It was Baiss’, but the Runner had assured Klbkch that he could return it to the Runner’s Guild later that day. Hawk thought privately that Baiss would have given his precious bag of holding away if it meant the Antinium would leave sooner. Klbkch marched back out of the Runner’s Guild and both Couriers sat. Baiss was breathing as if he’d run a hundred miles.

“Ancestors. I don’t know how you live with them in your city, Hawk.”

“You get used to it. Did you notice how Klbkch told me I could stay? He knew the delivery was public knowledge.”

A bit of color flooded back into Baiss’ scales.

“That’s true. Damn. I’d better note that in my report. You know, I’m going to have to file twice as much paperwork for all of this? Not to mention I need to do an interview with a [Mage]—it’ll be such a pain to do! I wonder if I can do it in Pallass? Better get it out of the way, you know?”

Filled with relief, Baiss started babbling. Hawk listened, nodding at the appropriate times, but his mind was still filled with what he’d seen in the bag of holding. He thought of Klbkch. He’d seldom spoken with the Antinium, but he’d gotten to know him over the decade that Klbkch had been working in the city. It was true what he’d said. Klbkch was well-liked. Better than other [Guardsmen], actually. He was polite, efficient, and had won over Liscor by hard work.

But still. Hawk shuddered. Sometimes he forgot what Klbkch really was. He reached for Baiss’ drink and drained it entirely. He’d delivered terrible and wondrous things in his line of work as a Courier. But there were still things that made him very, very nervous.

—-

Klbkch walked with the small bag of holding in his hands. His movements were quick. Graceful. His new body was unlike that of the hunched Workers or solid Soldiers he passed as he entered the Hive and strode down the tunnels. Klbkch stood tall with only two arms and a far slimmer body than any of the other Antinium. It felt good. Not that he could recall what his old body had been like very well. But he remembered the awkwardness.

This body was smoother. It had been designed for him. The designer had broken the rules set upon her to make it, but she had done so for him. Now Klbkch strode into her private chambers and looked for her. She wasn’t there. He turned his head and stared at the two stone doors that had been custom-built. He strode towards them and hauled one open. A strange, alchemical scent assailed him and he walked inside, closing the door swiftly before anything could enter. Or escape.

“My Queen. I have received the delivery. It is of great importance. I think you will want to view it at once.”

The inside of this sealed chamber resembled a place of horrors, even to Klbkch. He stared past the sacks of fluid, the heaps of strange minerals and powdered or crushed objects, the vats of fluids, and saw a gigantic, black form turn as it slowly mixed something at the far end of the chambers. The Queen of the Free Antinium turned, her face nearly invisible in the darkness. No lanterns hung here and the only glow came from glowing lichen on the walls.

“Klbkchhezeim.”

“How goes it, my Queen?”

The Queen moved, pulling her bloated body towards Klbkch. Halfway there she paused and stared at one of the sacks clinging to the wall. The membrane was slightly translucent and something was suspended within. But what hung there even Klbkch dared not stare at. In the fluid, something cried out without tongue or voice. The Queen of the Free Antinium looked away.

“Poorly.”

“I see. Shall we enter the main chamber?”

That was all Klbkch said. The Queen nodded and they left the room quickly. She knew he did not like to be there. It brought up too many memories. Nor was entering that place particularly encouraging for either of them. It reminded them of failure. Of what had been lost.

“What have you brought me, Klbkchhezeim? A delivery? Did you buy something for the Hive?”

“No. This was sent from the Hives. The other Hives.”

The Free Queen froze. She stared at the bag of holding that Klbkch held.

“I see. It comes from the Grand Queen?”

“Without a doubt. Would you like to inspect it first?”

“No. Place it before me.”

The Free Queen waited as Klbkch reached into the bag of holding. He had to kneel so whatever would come out would spill onto the ground. That alone told the Queen that whatever was inside was ungainly or heavy. She waited as Klbkch slowly pulled.

The Courier, Baiss, had been terrified and uneasy about what he’d carried. He knew what was inside, of course. Generally Couriers respected the desire for anonymity, but the Runner’s Guild demanded to know the contents of anything sent or received by the Antinium. So did the Drakes. The instant a request had been made—through the most unusual of channels—the contents of the delivery had been known to anyone with power in southern Izril.

It nearly hadn’t been sent. The Walled Cities had been highly, highly suspicious of the package. They would have blocked it, but they had a peace treaty and they did not want to reveal to the Antinium what they knew. Better to have them use a public service than do whatever they wanted in secret. They hadn’t dared tamper with what Baiss carried, but they had studied it as extensively as they could with magic.

There was some genius to the delivery. That Klbkch understood. It was hard to travel from Liscor to the other five Hives, all of which were located far to the west in southern Izril. Such a journey was difficult, especially covertly. That Xrn and the others had made the trip at all was a testament to how important it had been. Or perhaps how important Xrn had made it. But beside that one occurrence, Klbkch had not seen another Antinium from the other Hives for ten years. They had communicated of course, but rarely. But this?

For all their uses, bags of holding had several flaws. It was dangerous to carry multiple bags of holding around on the same person. They had limits on what they could store. They could break, malfunction, and you couldn’t put something living inside. Bags of holding could not contain living things. So what was inside was not living.

A dead Antinium exited the bag of holding. It fell wetly to the ground. It was encased in a thick mucus. Its limbs were wrapped around itself. It was very dead. But the body was preserved. That was not what surprised the Free Queen. Her mandibles clicked together in a sharp gasp. She stared down at the dead Antinium.

“Female?”

For a second she was stunned. And then the Queen picked up the Antinium and ran her feelers over it, swiping away the gel impatiently. After a second she shook her head.

It was not female. This drone had been created in the shape of a Queen, scaled down to a Worker’s size, but the change in appearance was cosmetic. Her internal organs and biological processes were the same as any Worker. She had not the capacity for thought, or the ability to give birth that any true female Antinium would.

By the same token, it would have been wrong to call her ‘male’. The Drone was Antinium, neither male nor female or any sex unless the biological need arose. Still, the Queen thought of the small replica as female, if only because that was her function.

“It is not female, Klbkchhezeim.”

“I thought as much. It is a replica made to imitate a Queen, though.”

“Yes. And I think it only requires revival.”

“The Rite?”

The Free Queen waved a feeler. She placed the drone back on the ground.

“Hardly. It is perfectly preserved. Reactivating the brain will only take a moment. But cleaning out the air passages so it does not choke would be helpful.”

“I will do so.”

Klbkch knelt as the Queen placed her feeler on the Antinium’s head. The miniature replica of the Queen twitched once and then went limp. It was now alive, for a given value of alive.

“It is conscious?”

“No. It has no mind. It is a shell. We must wait for the Queen in charge to realize it is awake.”

The two stood in silence for a while. Klbkch studied the inert Drone.

“I understand part of why it was sent. But surely it cannot relay anything? Not unless they have discovered how to form a Unitasis Network?”

The Free Queen paused, her feelers rubbing together.

“I am unsure. Perhaps—”

Both broke off as the drone sat upright. The Free Queen blinked as it slowly raised something. It had been holding an object in one of its feelers. She saw it raise something that shone. A piece of glass? No. A hand mirror. It stared into it and the Queen saw a flicker of light. Somewhere, far away, the cousin of the mirror activated and magic shared both image and sound between the two.

“Ah. Clever.”

A Queen from the Hives far to the south would not be able to control one of her drones from this far away with any subtlety. Without a Unitasis Network, her range would only extend a hundred miles. At most. But the little scrying glass would neatly bypass the issue. The Drone stared into the mirror and the Queen used the magical link to augment the mental one. Now the Drone stood taller and her posture changed. The mandibles opened and closed and her feelers moved with delicate subtlety as she looked around the Hive.

When she spoke, it was quietly.

“The transport was successful. The Grand Queen of the Antinium sits here. And here.”

She gestured with one feeler, then she saw the Free Queen. She looked up.

“Free Queen of the Antinium.”

“Grand Queen. It has been eleven years.”

“Yes.”

Neither Klbkch nor the Free Queen bowed. The Queen paused, her feelers moving uncertainly. She searched for words. The sudden contact unsettled her. Eleven years. After a moment she spoke.

“I assume this drone was sent after Prognugator Xrn returned to the Hive? I trust that she relayed her findings—”

The Grand Queen spoke over the Free Queen. She turned her head, looking around the cavern as she spoke in what was for the Antinium, clipped, quiet tones.

“This vessel was delivered for the purpose of communication should the need arise. The Free Antinium have been judged to have adequately made progress towards their objectives. They will now rejoin the larger Hive through this relay.”

Her words were abrupt. Almost insulting. The Free Queen bristled until she remembered that this was how the Grand Queen had been. She spoke, concealing her anger.

“Prognugator Xrn has returned to the Hive, then?”

“Yes.”

Silence. The Free Queen paused.

“This network—”

“A series of proxies using magic to facilitate control at range. My design.”

The Grand Queen’s satisfaction radiated through her voice and posture. The Free Queen clicked her mandibles together shortly.

“Is the process one w—”

“Other Queens have their own proxies. This one was sent first. Others will arrive in time.”

“What if I wish to instigate communications with other Hives?”

A pause.

“That is not necessary at this point. Other Queens may contact your Hive as appropriate.”

“I see.”

The Free Queen contemplated the miniature Grand Queen. Perhaps the only thing that kept her from picking up the drone and breaking it was how satisfying it felt to look down at the Grand Queen. The Grand Queen didn’t feel the same way. She stepped backwards until she was able to stare at the Free Queen without tilting her head up.

“Drakes have made inquiries as to the Hive in Liscor. In regards to the dungeon unearthed recently.”

“As I informed you in my latest report. The dungeon is currently the subject of interest in Liscor. A group of adventurers inadvertently discovered a route into the Hive from the dungeon. However, the Hive is well-fortified and—”

“This information has already been considered. Continue probing the dungeon. Commit whatever resources are necessary to acquire artifacts.”

The Grand Queen turned from the Free Queen and looked at Klbkch.

“Klbkchhezeim.”

“Grand Queen.”

He bowed smoothly. The Grand Queen studied him. Her feelers waved. When she spoke next she sounded irritated.

“Your form has been altered. Without permission.”

“It was a necessary side effect of the Rite of Anastases, Grand Queen. This form allows me to fulfill my duties far more efficiently than my old one.”

“…Understood. Do you have anything to report at this moment?”

Klbkch looked at the Grand Queen’s proxy. He glanced up at the Free Queen who was vibrating dangerously.

“Did Prognugator Xrn return to the Hive safely?”

“Yes.”

“Then I have nothing to report.”

“Understood. Maintain this vessel. Other proxies will be delivered in time. Await orders until then. That is all.”

The Grand Queen departed as quickly as she’d come. The drone crumpled and Klbkch and the Free Queen looked at it. Neither spoke for a second. Klbkch clicked his mandibles together shortly.

“That was unexpected.”

“Was it?”

The Free Queen was simmering with slow-burning fury. Klbkch paused.

“I suppose not. She is still angry at you, my Queen.”

“Yes. Because I am here. Because I succeeded where she believed I would not.”

The two looked at each other. Klbkch nodded.

“The other Queens will send their own proxies? It would be good to communicate with the Hives.”

“And receive orders I do not wish to obey. But yes. The connection will be reestablished. Perhaps a transportation network will be built.”

“That would be an undertaking. But yes, it would be welcome. What concerns me is that the Hives may soon move.”

“Too soon.”

“We must say as much.”

The Free Queen turned away from Klbkch.

“You must say as much. She will listen to you. I am renegade. She saw your new form. She was displeased.”

“As well you did not show her your experiments. But if she is willing to speak, perhaps she would lend you the components you require.”

“Perhaps. I am in need of them, Klbkch.”

Klbkch’s gaze went to the sealed stone doors.

“The alchemy ingredients I purchased did not work?”

The Free Queen shook her head.

“Alchemical goods are too complex. Without rendering they are impossible to work with. Magic and body parts—”

The Queen clicked her mandibles irritably. The notion of alchemy, of the so-called masters of potions and craft offended her to her core. To a Queen of the Antinium, [Alchemists] were nothing more than infants playing around with cheap toys. They banged rocks together when they should be rendering miracles out of sand.

Of course, these were metaphors based in the terminology of other species. The Free Queen didn’t think of rocks and sand, or even infants. Her image of the [Alchemists] was of a wriggling larvae with half-formed eyes, squirming about and playing with complex cellulose instead of the most basic of enzymes. The Free Queen clicked her mandibles together, scratching them irritably.

“The Grand Queen boasted of her invention. Magic scrying and remote control. A poor solution.”

“Effective.”

“I saw her Prognugators. She has not altered them in any way. What have the other Queens done in this time? Have they learned nothing?”

Klbkch paused, his antennae moving restlessly.

“I observed the Flying Queen and the Silent Queen’s new combat forms. The Silent Queen has improved on her designs.”

“True. As for the Flying Queen, she has delved further into folly. I saw the Flying Antinium’s forms. Many flaws. Imperfections. Even in her Revalantor! That they move and ‘fly’ is a product of so many faults. So many that they cover for each other.”

“If they function well in battle, her methods have merit, my Queen.”

“She should have spent time perfecting what she had. As I did. I spent four years reconfiguring the formulation of muscle fiber. Two more years after that I spent on balance. Your current form is the pinnacle of that achievement. Not enough. But it is better, is it not?”

The Free Queen looked down at Klbkch. He flexed one arm and nodded.

“I am stronger. Though I have still yet to regain the rest of my lost levels…this form is stronger than my old one.”

“Good.”

“Do you have plans on mass-producing this form?”

“No. It requires too much work. Too many resources. I may update the Workers and Soldiers with the changes in muscle fiber. If I am able. There is much to do, Klbkch. Much, and the Hive still consumes my attention.”

“Belgrade and Anand have helped in that regard of late, haven’t they?”

The Free Queen nodded. She picked up the lifeless Drone and set it in a corner of the room, propping it up. Garry would have to feed it now and then. Tiresome.

“Progress has been made. But there is still far too much to be done, Klbkchhezeim. These Individuals are incomplete and the methods of creating them are far too uncertain. Look at that one.”

She pointed. Garry froze as he scurried out of his kitchen, perhaps to do some shopping. He turned and bowed to the Free Queen and Klbkch.

“Flaw.”

Garry trembled. Klbkch stared at him and then at his Queen. He hesitated, and then stepped backwards, as if shielding Garry from the Free Queen’s displeasure.

“They are not true Antinium, my Queen. But I believe you do them a disservice. Each of the original five Workers has contributed to the Hive’s wellbeing in their own way. Garry is an exemplary [Cook] and I believe his continued leveling is a testament to his hard work.”

Garry’s mandibles opened wide in surprise. Klbkch turned his head and stared at him and then looked up at the Queen.

“You might consider giving him a day off? That is customary for those employed in other races.”

“Is it necessary?”

Klbkch paused. He glanced at Garry again. The Worker looked hopeful.

“…It may assist with his leveling.”

“Hm.”

The Free Queen was already in a bad mood. The idea of not having anything to snack on displeased her, but she put Klbkch’s advice over her desires.

“Very well. A day. Go.”

“Thank you, my Queen!”

Garry bowed. The Free Queen stared at him and he fled. Klbkch sighed. He looked up at his Queen. In some ways she understood very little about the world. She was holed up in the Hive while he had gone above and seen the world. He understood more than she did, he knew. But he had little but admiration for her. She had seen the flaw of the Antinium and attempted to solve it, though she understood little of the solution. He wondered if he could tell her what he had seen, explain to her what Pawn had done.

“I believe these Individuals show promise. Especially Pawn’s new unit.”

“The Painted Soldiers. You have given me the reports and I have observed their efficiency. Yes. I agree. But they are still not…”

“I know. But it seems that we will be able to create more of them. That will strengthen the Hive.”

“True.”

The Free Queen was moody. Unhappy. The Hive would become stronger, but her goal, the goal that she and Klbkch were working for was no closer.

“You say these Individuals show promise. I agree. But we have but five. Five who you claim are…original.”

“Perhaps seven, now, my Queen. Two of the Soldiers show great promise. Yellow Splatters and Purple Smile.”

“What ridiculous names.”

Klbkch had no answer to that. The Free Queen paused.

“Will these Individuals ever be true Antinium, Klbkch?”

“I do not know, my Queen. But they are helpful. If I could turn a thousand Antinium into such Individuals of Belgrade or Anand’s character, I would in an instant. Those of Garry’s quality, likewise. Even Pawn shows promise, for all the trouble he causes.”

“Hmm. What about the fifth one?”

Klbkch paused.

“Oh. Bird.”

“Does he show promise, Klbkchhezeim?”

“…Yes?”

The Free Queen stared down at Klbkch. He looked away from her. She had worked with him, shared her mind and goals with him, for over a decade. She knew he had his secrets. She knew he was, in a way, far superior to anything she could be. A Centenium while she was but a Queen. She trusted him, and took his words to heart, even if she disagreed with his assessment of the Individuals. But she was very sure he was lying to her right now. And because she was frustrated, annoyed with the Grand Queen and her failed experiments and not having anything to eat, she called him on his lies.

“Prove it.”

—-

Bird sang in his little watch tower above Erin’s inn. He watched the rain come down as he sang. It was not a song he knew. He made it up as he went along. Sometimes the song surprised him.

“Rain, rain, go away. Rain on me another day.”

This one was based off a song Erin had taught him. Bird rocked back and forth on the little stool she’d given him, his homemade bow in hand. He missed his other bow. It had broken. Bird had tried to put it back together, but he’d failed. But he still had a bow. And arrows. And what else did you really need? Bird didn’t know, but Erin had told him there was something else.

He didn’t care. The rain kept falling down, pattering on the roof on top of his tower. Bird hadn’t wanted it—how could he look overhead with it there?—but Pawn told him he could take it down when the rain was gone. The rain made a nice pattering sound overhead.

“So rainy. Lots of rain.”

It was the second week of rain. Or was it the third? The fourth? Bird couldn’t remember. But the rain kept falling and the waters were still high. He could see little fish swimming around and bigger ones hiding in the murky water. If he looked really hard he could sometimes see Rock Crabs scuttling in the waters, feasting. They were dangerous. Bird had already heard of people nearly getting eaten by them while fishing.

If one tried to climb up to the inn, Bird would shoot it. He didn’t know if his bow would do any good, but he’d learned [Piercing Shot] and he had lots of arrows. Bird didn’t think of the possible dangers an encounter like that might entail, however. He was watching the water, and the skies too. He was waiting. Waiting for water birds.

They had to exist. Bird had no proof, but water birds had to exist. If they didn’t…what was the point of anything? So he waited, bow at the ready for when the elusive water birds appeared.

They did not. After a period of time that might have been long or short, Bird felt his stomach rumble. He realized he was hungry.

“Food?”

Bird looked towards the trap door leading down to the inn. He decided to go down for food. He had no idea if it was night or day—the sky was always grey and dark. But that didn’t matter. If no one was awake, Bird would just go back to his tower and wait. He remembered sitting up there, listening to his stomach growl for hours.

That didn’t matter. Bird was good at waiting. He could wait for a bird to come closer for hours. That was why he was a [Hunter]. Because he shot birds.

“I am Bird. I shoot birds. La, la, la…”

Bird pulled up the trapdoor and then remembered to be quiet in case he woke anyone up. He closed the trapdoor, wiped the steps with a towel on a little rack that Erin had put there for that very purpose. Then he trundled downstairs.

“Oh! Erin is awake. And so is Lyonette. And you.”

Erin, Lyonette, and Ceria looked up. They were all gathered around a table. Bird stared at the table. Then he stared at what was on it. They were eating from a plate. And on that plate was…

“Pretzels! I’d offer you one, Bird. But it’s all bread so you can’t have it.”

Miss Erin looked apologetic. Bird nodded.

“That is okay. I would like to eat. If that is good.”

“Oh! Sure! What do you want? B—”

“Birds.”

“Why am I surprised?”

Erin laughed. She bit the chewy bread pretzel she was eating and then dipped the uneaten side into a bowl. It was filled with a cheesy mixture. Erin ate the rest of her pretzel.

“Mm. Cheesy.”

“I like the sauces more. The cheese has too much oil in it for me.”

Lyonette had another little bowl of red sauce. She and Ceria were cautiously dipping their pretzels into it. Bird stared at the bowls as Erin went into the kitchen.

“You good with any kind of bird, Bird?”

“Yes.”

Bird sat at a table and listened to his stomach grumble. He wondered how bad it would be to eat a pretzel. Probably bad. He remembered his stomach hurting last time he ate bread by mistake. But maybe the pretzels could be good? Could he use them as bait for birds? Maybe water birds would eat a crumbled pretzel? He was about to ask Lyonette about that when he saw a little bit of white.

“Oh. Bird bait.”

Mrsha poked her head up from the table’s edge and regarded Bird severely. She snatched a pretzel and dipped it in another, dark brown sauce. She savored the flavor and disappeared behind the table.

“Here we are! Hot chicken! Seared wings and some veggies. What do you want to drink, Bird?”

“Milk?”

A big tankard of milk was placed in front of Bird. He happily put down his bow and picked up a fork.

“Birds. Mm. Tasty.”

The food was hot and filling. Miss Erin watched him eat and then frowned.

“Hey Bird, how long have you been up on the roof? I can’t remember the last time I saw you eating down here.”

Bird paused and shrugged.

“I don’t know. Maybe I was here a week ago?”

“A week!?”

“Maybe I was here an hour ago?”

Erin exchanged odd looks with Ceria and Lyonette. She went to confer with them as Bird ate. Good food made him happy. He saw Mrsha sneaking up to his plate and blocked her when she tried to snatch a piece of his chicken.

“My birds.”

“Bird, you need to come down at least twice a day for food, okay? Promise me.”

“Okay. I promise.”

Bird finished his food and felt better. His head felt clearer and his stomach stopped bothering him. He sat as Erin took his plate and when she asked him how it tasted he told her it was good. All things were going well, until Bird remembered something.

“Oh. I forgot.”

“About your promise?”

“No. Today is an important day.”

A special day. Bird had nearly forgotten, but he was sure he’d remembered just in time. He stood up.

“I must go to the Hive today. I have to meet Pawn and Belgrade and Anand and Garry. Maybe not Garry. But the others will be there.”

Erin slapped her forehead.

“That’s right! Pawn did say to remind you! Hold on—I even made a few snacks for you to take with you! Hold on—”

She want into the kitchen. When she came back she had a rucksack filled with nice smelling things. Bird opened the pack and discovered it was more food! His stomach rumbled again.

“Now Bird, remember, this is for everyone. It’s not bird bait. And you can’t get it wet, okay?”

“Okay, Miss Erin. I will go now.”

Bird strode towards the door. He opened it and was halfway down the hill when Erin came chasing after him.

“Bird! Not that way!”

Bird was headed towards the underwater bridge. He looked back at Erin, confused, as she waved at him in the rain.

“Are you crazy? Go through the magic door!”

“But there is a bridge now.”

“You can’t swim!”

That was true. If he fell in the water, Bird was sure he’d drown. But the bridge looked like fun as it swayed just under the water’s surface. Erin dragged Bird back into the inn, though. She made him promise not to use the bridge and fiddled with the door.

“Let’s see—oops! That’s Pallass.”

Bright sunlight shone on Bird’s face. He looked at the blue skies.

“Do you think there are birds in Pallass?”

Erin hesitated, looking at Bird. She bit her lip and looked at Lyonette, who waved her hands and shook her head for some reason.

“…No. I think Pallass has no birds. At all.”

“That is a shame.”

“Yes, it is, isn’t it? Okay, here’s Liscor.”

It was wet and raining. Bird stepped through into the street and heard Erin turn back to Lyonette. He quite clearly heard her voice before the door closed.

“Lyonette, I think you should take Bird when you go with Mrsha to Celum. He’ll be a good bodyguard.”

“If we can get him through the city without causing trouble. I’ll try it next time. Now, these pretzels are good, but they won’t stop trouble at tonight’s play, Erin.”

“That’s why I’ve been practicing with my aura. The pretzels are just for fun. Did you like the cheese sauce or is it—”

The door closed. Bird stared at it for a second and then began walking down the street. Liscor was rainy. Drakes and Gnolls passed Bird on the street, some staring at him, but without much alarm. Bird hummed under his breath, looking around in case there were birds, but not really expecting any.

Soon he came to the Hive. The entrance was dark and rain was pouring in. Bird paused there.

“Dark.”

He didn’t like the Hive. There were no birds in the Hive. He always had to work in the Hive. But he had promised Pawn, so he went down inside. He passed through the entrance into dry dirt. Then he saw the Soldiers.

“Hello. I am Bird.”

They stared at him from their alcoves. Big Soldiers. They would kill him if he wasn’t a Worker, Bird knew. He walked past them, humming. Then his hum vanished. He felt himself enter the Hive.

There was a difference there. A rhythm. A flow. Bird didn’t like it. He had lived in the Hive for almost all his life, but when he entered the lines of Soldiers and Workers moving in perfect synch, it was still a struggle to move with them.

Walk. Stop. Walk. Turn. Step left to let Soldiers go past. Walk. Stop. Turn. Turn.

Each Worker moved in unison with the others. Each one stopped and stepped precisely. The crisscrossing lines of Antinium were efficient. Bird didn’t like it. He shifted, awkwardly holding the rucksack Erin had given him. He wished he’d brought his bow, but he’d forgotten it on the table. He hoped Erin didn’t throw it away.

Walk. Stop. Step left. Turn. Walk. Walk. Turn.

At least he could do this without having to think as hard. So long as he became one with the others, Bird wouldn’t fall out of place. Reassured by this, he began to hum to himself.

“Birds and pretzels, birds and pretzels. I like birds. I cannot eat pretzels.”

He stopped when he realized no one was moving. Bird looked around. All the Antinium in the tunnel were staring at him. All of them. Hundreds. Bird hunched his shoulders. Suddenly he felt bad and his insides hurt.

“I am Bird. I did not mean to sing.”

After a moment, the flow resumed. Hunched, afraid, Bird moved as one. He did not sing again. Soon he reached his destination.

“Bird. You remembered!”

Pawn stood in the barracks. Bird stared at him and waved one of his four hands.

“Hello Pawn.”

He stared around the big barracks. It was bigger than before. And there were more Workers and Soldiers in it. That was Bird’s only observation. He noticed three other Workers waiting for him.

“Belgrade and Anand. Oh. And Garry.”

“Hello Bird. We have not spoken in a long time.”

“We haven’t?”

Bird stared blankly at Garry. Then he shifted his attention to what the Worker had brought.

“Oh. Food!”

The [Cook] nodded.

“I have brought a few treats to share. What is that you are holding, Bird?”

Bird remembered the rucksack. Carefully he placed it on the mound of dirt the Workers were using as a table.

“This is food from Miss Erin. She says it is for me to share with everyone. It did not get wet.”

“How wonderful.”

Anand and Belgrade immediately clustered around the rucksack. Garry and Pawn held back. Bird looked around. Yes, there were more colorful Soldiers around. That was good. Bird stared at Yellow Splatters reading a book, Purple Smile doing something like dancing and showing the other Workers and Soldiers how to do it too, and then he found the special thing. It was always what he looked at. On the barracks, on the far wall, was a white bird. A symbol of one of the Soldiers. Bird always liked staring at it.

“This is delicious. What are these things? Bird? Bird?”

Someone interrupted Bird. He looked around.

“Oh. Those are fish flakes.”

“Fish flakes?”

The other Workers were intrigued. Bird nodded. He explained them as best he could.

“Miss Erin made them. They are fish with bread. Or bread on fish. She says she made some for Antinium with less bread because bread is no good for Antinium. But it still has bread. There is a sauce you dip the fish flakes into. Miss Erin says the fish flakes are good hot and a nice snack.”

“How wonderful. I must copy this design.”

Garry reverentially picked up a fish flake, breaking off a bit and then inspecting the insides to see what was underneath the crust. He nibbled at the food as Anand and Belgrade offered the fish flakes to some of the other Antinium who had passed by. It was Pawn who gave two thirds of the pack’s contents to Yellow Splatters to distribute. The rest went on the dirt table.

“I envy you, Bird. It is a privilege to work at Miss Erin’s inn and experience her cooking each day.”

“It is? Yes, it is good.”

Bird nodded at Garry. The other Worker paused and looked at Pawn. The Worker opened his mandibles and looked around.

“I suppose it is time. Let us speak.”

The other Workers nodded. They sat around the table, eating from what Garry and Bird had brought. Belgrade and Anand had brought real chess sets and so the Workers took turns playing while they spoke. Bird sat, letting Anand play Pawn first while Garry played Belgrade. He listened, staring at the white bird on the walls sometimes. Just in case it moved.

“—An incident while I was on duty. Two adventuring teams entered the Hive from the dungeon. It was the subject of much agitation from Revalantor Klbkch. However, he told me this may be an opportunity for the Hive. He did not elaborate.”

Pawn delicately moved a chess piece, nodding.

“The issue is that of the Drake cities. Or so Lyonette tells me. The Drakes may be upset that we have a route into the dungeon and thus may obtain treasure. By we, I refer to the Hive in general.”

“Surely they knew? It would be obvious that a Hive would have some vectors by which to enter the dungeon given our proximity.”

Anand paused as he pushed Garry across the board with ease. Pawn shook his head.

“I cannot speculate. I only know what Lyonette told me and she is not an expert on Drake politics.”

“But she is a Human. She knows many things. And you danced with her. I did not know this.”

Garry’s tone was wistful. The other Workers had not seen him for over a month. Garry’s duties involved serving the Queen and apparently that meant he did not get much time off. Bird watched as Garry lost the game against Anand.

“Revalantor Klbkch was very upset with you, Pawn. But he has expressed contentment with you as well. I do not know how he regards you.”

Belgrade’s mandibles clicked as he cornered Pawn’s bishop. He was a better player than Pawn. Both Belgrade and Anand were very good. Bird obediently sat as Anand reset the board so he and Anand could play. He enjoyed chess. But not as much as hunting birds.

“I do not know what Klbkch thinks of me either, Belgrade. I hope to work well with him, but I cannot help but feel that I disappoint him sometimes. Other times I feel that I do not disappoint him because he has no expectations of me. By contrast he speaks highly of you and Anand. Your fortifications and traps perform wonderfully.”

“Revalantor Klbkch says that?”

Belgrade’s antennae twitched wildly. Bird watched with interest as he played Anand. Pawn nodded.

“In terms of developments I would hope for your and Anand’s continued growth most. You have already saved many lives with your strategies and I am told your management helps the Queen herself.”

The two [Tacticians] sat straighter. Anand nodded.

“That is most gratifying to hear. I hope that our continued efforts will mean we can visit Miss Erin someday. I would like to play her and see how much I have improved. And play games of Go with her.”

“I also.”

Pawn listened to the two and nodded.

“I will attempt to bring this matter up with Klbkch.”

“Thank you, Pawn.”

“Yes. Thank you. Garry, what of you?”

“I serve the Queen. It is…difficult. But I do level.”

Garry took over for Pawn in playing Belgrade. His four hands moved slower than the other Worker’s. Pawn stared at Garry with concern.

“I have spoken to the Queen only once. How is she to work under directly?”

“She is the Queen. I am a Worker. It is…good to cook. I must not complain.”

The [Cook] looked down at the board. The other three Workers looked at each other. Bird looked at the white bird on the walls. In silence, they played. It seemed Belgrade was suddenly worse because he lost to Garry, and Pawn told Garry to learn to dance and read some of the picture books on his day off. He got up with Belgrade while Bird played Anand. When they came back, Bird was still playing.

“What of you, Bird? Have you done anything of note?”

Startled, Bird looked up.

“I shot a fish.”

The Workers waited. Garry was staring at a picture book and glancing up every now and then. Pawn clicked his mandibles together.

“And?”

“And my bow is still broken.”

“I see.”

Bird looked down at his board. He knew that he should say something else. But it was hard! He tried to think.

“I got paid.”

“Paid?”

Suddenly all of the Workers stared at Bird. He hunched his shoulders.

“Is that news?”

“Yes. Miss Erin is paying you, Bird?”

“She is. She says I can save it for a new bow. She gave me many silver coins and bronze ones. She tells me not to use them as bait for crows. I have put it away in my room. Next to my fortress of fluff.”

“Your what?”

“It is what Miss Erin calls my bedding. She made me a place to sit and sleep. It is made of pillows and blankets and soft things.”

The other Workers stared at Bird. Belgrade opened and closed his mandibles.

“I would like to express my incredible jealousy towards you, Bird.”

“Alright, Belgrade.”

The other Workers kept pestering Bird about his fortress of fluff and what it was like having money and what he was going to do with it. And about Miss Erin and the adventurers, Goblins, and everything else. It was very hard for Bird to concentrate on his game and the questions. Eventually he lost.

Anand frowned down at the board. He stared up at Bird who was chewing on a piece of fish.

“Bird. That was a most curious game we played.”

“Yes?”

Bird tilted his head. Anand looked at the board. Belgrade, Pawn, and Garry crowded around. They looked up at Bird.

“I had the same impression as Anand. Your playing style was incredibly odd, Bird. What was your objective? It seems as though you threw away your Queen and a quarter of your pieces. But your play on the left side was incredible.”

“I played to make the game good. It did not go entirely like I wanted. But it is good. See?”

Bird turned the board. Anand, Belgrade, Garry, and Pawn stared at his side of the board blankly. Bird waited. They looked at him.

“What is good about this, Bird?”

“I made a crow. See?”

Bird pointed. It was lopsided, but a black crow was looking at the other Workers. A white king was the one eye. The Workers stared at it. Belgrade turned his head left and right.

“I do not see a crow.”

“Bird. Was that your objective in playing the game the entire time?”

Anand asked sharply. Bird hunched his shoulders.

“Maybe?”

The other Workers looked at each other. At last, Pawn closed his mandibles.

“That is a good game, Bird.”

“Yes. Yes. I did not expect any of it. What does Miss Erin say when she plays chess with you, Bird?”

“I do not play chess with Miss Erin often.”

“Oh. She is busy?”

“Yes. And I say no when she asks me.”

The other Workers stared. Belgrade grabbed Bird with his four arms.

“Say that again?”

Bird shifted uncomfortably.

“I say no. Miss Erin says I am always ‘weird to play’. But she likes playing me. Especially when I win.”

“You wh—”

All four Workers stopped and turned. Bird looked around and saw what they were staring at. The other Antinium in the barracks had gone still. Because Revalantor Klbkch was striding towards them.

“Bird.”

He spoke and Bird looked up. The other Workers stared warily at Klbkch and Garry shuffled behind Pawn.

“Yes, Revalantor Klbkch?”

“I require your presence. You will come with me.”

“Okay. Where am I going?”

“To meet the Queen. She wishes to inspect you.”

The other Workers froze. Bird nodded.

“Okay.”

He wanted to follow Klbkch, but Pawn blocked their way.

“Revalantor Klbkch. Is Bird in trouble?”

“That remains to be seen.”

Klbkch was taller than Bird and Pawn. Slimmer too. Bird stared at the shiny blades at his side. Pawn glanced at Bird and then at Klbkch.

“May I ask why the Queen wishes to see Bird?”

“She wishes to evaluate Bird’s contributions to the Hive. He will be brought before her and questioned. I will not be present.”

Both Worker and Revalantor paused. They looked at Bird. He looked at them blankly. Klbkch lowered his voice.

“I will feed him answers. It should not be a difficult questioning.”

“But Bird is—”

“I am aware. But the Queen wishes to see him. Now.”

Pawn looked helplessly at Bird. He turned to the other Workers and then hurried to Bird. He pulled the Worker aside, and lowered his head.

“Bird, you must listen to whatever Revalantor Klbkch says. Understand? Whatever he says, you must do.”

“Yes, Pawn.”

“You will be alright. The Queen just wishes to speak with you. Do whatever Klbkch says and do not do anything…abnormal. You will be fine.”

“I will be fine.”

Pawn’s mandibles opened and closed. He seemed anxious. Then he lowered his head and two of his hands clasped together. The other two held Bird’s shoulders gently.

“You will be well. I will pray for you. You will be well, Bird. Be well.”

Bird nodded.

“Thank you, Pawn.”

He walked back towards Klbkch. The Revalantor nodded and Bird walked with him as the others watched him go. Bird stared one last time at the white bird on the wall before Klbkch took him out of the barracks. They walked through the Hive. This time Bird did not walk as one. The Workers and Soldiers made way for Klbkch as he strode forwards.

“You will be alone with the Queen. Answer her honestly.”

“Yes, Revalantor Klbkch.”

“If she asks about your contributions to the Hive, mention your income as well as your role defending the inn. Do not speak overly long or in tangents.”

“What is a tangent?”

“Answer her in short sentences, Bird. Speak only of the good you have done.”

“Yes, Revalantor Klbkch.”

The other Antinium turned to look at him as they neared the Queen’s chambers. Bird had only been there once. He remembered that day. Klbkch had been worried and so had the others. The Queen had asked them questions in turn. She had made Pawn afraid and the others had shook as they stood before her. Now it was Klbkch who seemed on the verge of shaking.

“I am sorry. I did not expect her to ask for you. If you are lucky, she will notice nothing as before. Answer her quickly, Bird. Do not speak about birds.”

“Why? I like birds.”

Bird tilted his head. Klbkch shook his head.

“Simply do not. Now. She is waiting.”

He pointed. Bird stared at the dark hallway where Soldiers stood on guard. He walked forwards. He did not know what the Queen wanted or why Klbkch and the others were afraid. He did not know many things he thought he should know. He had always been like that. Even before he met Erin. He wondered when he could go back and sit in his watch tower again.

—-

The Free Queen watched the Worker and Klbkchhezeim enter her chambers. She saw Klbkch bow precisely, and saw the Worker copy him awkwardly. His gracelessness hurt to see. By contrast, Klbkch had no wasted motion. He had been created a warrior. The thing that stood next to him had been formed as a simple Worker. It had become something more, but the Queen did not see it in him.

“The Individual known as Bird is here, my Queen. If you wish, I will stay to answer any questions you may have. The nature of his task is complex and—”

“Your presence is not required, Klbkchhezeim. Leave us.”

Klbkch hesitated. The Free Queen saw him glance twice at the Worker before he bowed and left. Bird, he had called him. Another strange name. An odd name. Not like an Antinium’s name at all. It rankled the Queen so she spoke harshly.

“Approach.”

The Worker shuffled forwards, staring up at her. He did not quiver, as other Antinium did when they stood before their Queen. She was unlike any other Antinium in the Hive. Where all the Antinium were uniform, she was unique. A colossus sitting in her chambers. Her arms were not based off of a humanoid appearance. She had feelers rather than hands. Her body was bloated, changed by food and the stresses of birth. And she was the Queen. The Worker stared.

“Hello. I am Bird.”

The Queen of the Free Antinium jerked in surprise. He had spoken! Without permission! She stared at the Worker and her mandibles closed slowly.

“Worker, you were not given permission to speak.”

“Oh. I am sorry.”

“Be silent.”

He was. The Free Queen regarded the Worker for a moment. Her feelers twitched. So this was the fifth. She had received regular reports of the exploits of the other four from Klbkch. Anand and Belgrade she had observed herself. Garry was almost always in her chambers. Pawn was…different, but his efforts had been recognized and an assessment could be made off the performance of his unit of Painted Soldiers. But she had never heard of this Worker’s deeds.

“You are one of the remaining Individual Workers formed after the battle against the undead.”

The Worker did not reply. The Free Queen inspected him. He was not different from the others. Not that she had expected him to be. She had heard that one of her Soldiers had grown after receiving his [Sergeant] class. An anomaly like that was troubling.

“Your class is [Hunter]. You provided the Hive with sustenance until you were reassigned to act as a guard for the Human known as Erin Solstice. You now reside in her inn, do you not?”

The Worker didn’t respond. The Free Queen stared at him.

“Is this so?”

He said nothing. The Queen, already irritable, felt dangerously close to true anger. She leaned down, shifting her enormous weight closer.

“Speak.”

“Yes. I am working at Miss Erin’s inn. I shoot birds. But I am not supposed to talk about birds.”

The Worker’s voice was loud and cheerful. The Queen sat back.

“Birds? But your name is Bird.”

“Yes. I am Bird! And I shoot birds.”

“You are a [Hunter].”

“I am. I have a bow. I shoot birds.”

For the first time in years, the Queen had to pause to digest this information. She studied the Worker. Well, he had answered her. He hunted animals.

“And you believe this contributes to the Hive? Do you believe protecting this inn is a task that will further the Hive’s goals?”

The Worker tilted his head back and forth.

“Um. I do not know.”

Uncertainty. The Queen nodded slowly. At least he was aware of this. She peered at Bird again.

“Erin Solstice is a unique individual to the Hive. She has worth of a kind. But will she employ it for the Hive’s use or does she withhold her aid? Klbkchhezeim assures me she is an ally. What is your opinion?”

The little Antinium paused.

“Miss Erin is very nice. She made me a fortress of fluff.”

At first she was shocked by the reply. And then she was suspicious. Darkly so. This time, the silence that came from the Queen was ominous. The Worker seemed to take that as a cue to go on, so he did.

“She feeds me food when I ask for it. And she has many interesting things. She has a play in the inn. And Goblins. And adventurers. And she gave me a bow. Which broke. I like Miss Erin. She plays chess and says I play weird games. But good! When I hunt birds she takes them and cooks them. And she pays me money.”

“Money?”

The Queen latched onto that last word, ceasing the flow of chatter. The Worker nodded.

“I am paid money each week. She gives me silver coins and bronze ones and tells me not to use them to lure crows.”

“And do you give this money to Klbkch—to your Revalantor? Do you return it to the Hive?”

The Worker looked blank.

“Why should I? It is mine.”

Now the Queen was certain. She leaned forwards.

“But you are part of the Hive. You are Individual, but you are still loyal to the Hive. Or are you Aberration? Do you reject the Hive?”

“No. I am Bird. I hunt birds. No one told me to give money to the Hive so I did not. I hunt birds because Miss Erin and Revalantor Klbkch told me I could. I have a bow, but I left it on the table. But I brought the rucksack!”

And there it was. The Queen drew herself backwards. She spoke one word.

“Flaw.”

The word echoed in the chamber. At the entrance, the Soldiers shuddered, the first move they had made since arriving for their shift of guard duty. The Worker looked around.

“Where?”

The Queen ignored him. She sat back, feeling tired. Betrayed? No. Not even hurt, in truth. But she understood now why Klbkch had been so anxious not to let her see this Worker. She had not realized it when he stood with the others. Then, she had been too disappointed, listening to their wrong answers that marked them as not being true Antinium. But now it was clear. She looked down at the Worker.

“You are a flawed creation.”

The Worker stared up at her, neither surprised nor afraid. It did not understand.

“I am?”

The Queen nodded. He—it was a failure. It shouldn’t have surprised her. In a pool size as small as that of the Individuals, there was certain to be at least one. She sighed. Of course, Klbkch would have wanted to conceal an error, especially one that hinted at more faults in the creation of individuals. It was only fortunate that he had concealed the same failings from Xrn and the others when they inspected the Hive. Wearily, she beckoned with a feeler.

“Come closer, Worker.”

“Okay.”

He walked closer. The Queen bent. Her massive face stared down at him and her mandibles opened slowly.

“Your mind is broken, little Worker. Your development was flawed. You never should have been created.”

“I should not?”

“No. The Workers and Soldiers are made to an exacting standard. Something—an imperfection in the growing stage—led to this flaw. It is not your fault.”

The Worker considered this.

“Oh. That is good.”

The queen nodded. She didn’t know why she had told the Worker that. Perhaps it was an admission of her guilt. She did not oversee the process by which new Soldiers and Workers were brought to life. Many were created each week. But she should have paid more attention. Perhaps the flaw was rampant among the others. She would inspect the process herself, order Klbkch to manually check each one of the birthing pods. It would be too late for those already formed however, just as though it was too late for this one.

“Come closer, Worker.”

“I will.”

Bird walked forwards. The Queen stared at him. A pity. But the other Individuals were sound and more could be made. A mistake was a mistake.

“So Klbkchhezeim gave you a position guarding this Human. Sensible. But he should not have hidden the truth from me. You are flawed. And that is unforgivable.”

“It is?”

The Queen nodded. She moved slowly, raising her massive feelers. Just one was large enough to grab the Worker. He stood in front of her, tilting his head back and forth.

“So it is my fault after all? Am I in trouble? I get in trouble with Revalantor Klbkch almost as much as Pawn.”

“I am sure you do. But this is not your fault. And it will be corrected soon.”

“That is good! I want to go back to Miss Erin’s inn soon. I left my bow there and I am waiting for water birds. I have not seen any before, but they will appear someday. Erin says it might happen. Oh, but Revalantor Klbkch says I must not speak about birds. I cannot speak about them. But I like birds. I sit in my tower all day and look for them. And sometimes I shoot fish.”

He babbled nonsense as the Queen slowly drew her feelers around him. She lifted the little Worker up, tightening her feelers slowly. He did not seem to notice. He spoke brightly and cheerfully.

“You are a big Queen. Not at all like a bird. I am Bird. Is it hard to breathe? I am very high. Like a bird! I always wanted to be a bird.”

“I am sure.”

The carapace cracked. Bird made a sound. The Queen found his head. She heard his voice, muffled. Still speaking.

“I always wanted to fly. Belgrade says a Worker cannot fly but I am very high. I am very high. I am very high, all up in the sky. I am Bird. I like to fly. So very high. When my Queen holds me, I am in the sky. Will I die? Fly, fly. Fly.”

And he sang. The Queen froze. Her feeler encircled the Worker’s head. He sang, his voice muffled, the words nonsense. His tune meandered, but his voice was pure. He sang.

She had not heard a song in the Hive. Not since coming to Izril. Not since—the Queen’s grip loosened. She slowly lowered Bird. The Antinium looked up at her. He had stopped singing.

“What was that song?”

The Free Queen stared at him. Bird tilted his head.

“What song? Oh. That song? I made it up. It is a song about flying. Because I flew.”

The Queen stared at him.

“You sing? Workers do not sing.”

“They do not?”

Bird suddenly looked worried, for the first time since he had been here. He looked around and then hunched his shoulders.

“I did not know that. I will stop singing.”

“No—”

The Queen couldn’t help it. She bent down and Bird looked up.

“Do not stop. Workers do not sing. But I desire you to.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I am your Queen. Sing for me. Sing—Bird.”

He looked up at her. The Queen looked down. Bird shrugged. And began to sing.

—-

It was a nonsense song. The first one was. The rest as well. Each one was silly, made up. A child’s song where Bird repeated his own name. There was no melody, no accompaniment. But it was a song.

While Pawn and the other Workers paced anxiously and Klbkch waited, afraid of what he might have to explain to Erin, the Queen of the Free Antinium sat in her chambers and listened to Bird sing. He perched on her feeler, sat, and sang about birds and water and what he saw every day. And she listened. Entranced.

Workers did not sing. They had not been designed to. They had not been given the tools, mental or physical that would allow them to make music of any kind. Yet Bird sang. Somewhere in his flawed mind, he had discovered music. And that was a wonder.

“You are special, little Worker.”

“I am special.”

Bird looked up at the Queen. He was so confident. She envied him that. In his way he had obtained something she could not. She thought of her experiments. The pain and death there bothered her. The failure. For each step she took forwards, she took a thousand back. What she made—the pinnacle of her creation in Klbkch was copying, redefining what was already there.

But in the past the Antinium had created beauty. They had created, and what they had created was unique. Klbkch’s first form had been grace and death and elegance at once. Xrn was a reminder of that. And she had fallen once before as well. They all had.

She was so lonely. The Free Queen sat with Bird on her lap. She touched his head gently as he stopped singing.

“I find you worthy, Bird.”

“That is good. Pawn and Revalantor Klbkch will be happy to hear that.”

“Yes they will. I am pleased with you. And because I am pleased, I will allow you to reside in these chambers. You will sing for me each day.”

Bird looked up. The Queen opened her mandibles and raised them in a smile. The Worker tilted his head, and then he spoke.

“No.”

“What?”

The Queen stared at him. Bird stood up.

“I do not want to stay here. You are nice, my Queen. But I will go back up to Miss Erin’s inn, please. I want to hunt birds.”

“Birds?”

“Yes. There are no birds underground. And I want to hunt them. So I will go back above. And bring Miss Erin her rucksack.”

The Queen stared at Bird. She closed her feelers. He made a small sound, like a squeak.

“I do not wish to let you leave. I would keep you here.”

“But I do not want to be here.”

Bird stared up at the Queen. She stared back.

“I am your Queen.”

“Yes.”

“You should obey me.”

“Do I have to?”

Frustrated, the Queen lowered Bird.

“That is your purpose! You must stay to sing for me. I demand it!”

“But there is nothing to sing about here. And I must go back above. Erin will miss me. She does not mind if I have flaws. She likes me.”

Bird’s plaintive voice struck a chord in the Queen. She lowered her head.

“I like you, Bird. And I will make you whole. Stay here and sing. And I will fix your mind.”

“But I do not want you to.”

This time the Queen paused. She stared down at the Worker as he stood before her.

“What do you mean? You are flawed. Your mind does not work properly. You should be fixed.”

“Should I?”

He tilted his head. Bird patted his chest and waved all four arms about.

“I am Bird. You say I am broken. This is probably so. Pawn tells me I do wrong things. So does Erin and Revalantor Klbkch and everyone else. My mind is faulty. This is so. But if you fixed me, what would I be? Not Bird. Not me. So I will be me, and be faulty. Please?”

The Queen looked at him. Bird looked up. He scuffed at the ground and looked around. The Soldiers stared at him. The Queen of the Free Antinium stared at him.

“If I bring you a bird, can I go?”

For a while, the Queen looked. Then she smiled. She tried to remember an Antinium like Bird. She couldn’t remember a one. She thought of Galuc the Builder. Yes, perhaps Bird was close to him. Ironically, he had something of Galuc in him. Or perhaps he was unique. She lifted him and Bird looked around, excited to be in the air.

“So this is what Klbkchhezeim meant. You are not true Antinium, little Worker.”

Bird nodded.

“I am not. You told me.”

“Yes. But you are Individual. You are worthy.”

“Does this mean I can go?”

The Queen sighed.

“Yes. But you must return.”

“Oh. With birds?”

“Yes. With a bird. And to sing for me. Will you do that?”

Bird thought about this. He tilted his head from side to side and then nodded.

“Yes. I promise. And I do not forget my promises. Mostly.”

“Good. Then sing for me. One last song, little Bird. Sing for me.”

And Bird did. The Queen listened as Bird rocked back and forth, singing a song about the day he broke his bow and there are many birds in the sky. Oh, flying so high. And then they came down and broke his tower too. And there was rain and Bird could not put back together his bow. Even with glue.

He liked to rhyme. At last, Bird stopped singing and the Queen let him go. She gave brief orders to Klbkch when he rushed back in and then sat back as both Antinium hurried out of her chambers. Bird left. He went out of the Hive. But his song remained. And when Garry eventually crept back into the room, the Queen turned and looked at him. And bent low until her head was close to Garry’s trembling form.

“Do you too sing, little Worker? Do you sing…Garry?”

He did not. But that was fine too.

—-

One unusual detail happened in Liscor. Aside from the Drakes that flooded into Erin’s inn to heckle her performance that night. And Watch Captain Zevara delivering her report to Wall Lord Ilvriss and the Walled Cities. And Baiss nearly getting eaten by a fish. But one more thing happened and Krshia was part of it.

It was the curious incident of a Bird in the marketplace. She was called by one of the Gnolls who ran a bowyer’s shop. He was in some distress. Krshia arrived to find Bird inspecting each bow with great curiosity.

“He—it—just arrived ten minutes ago and started looking at bows, Krshia. I cannot make it tell me what it wants! It just says it wants a bird-bow. Can you speak to it?”

Krshia eyed Bird and then approached him with a smile on her face. Bird looked up.

“Hello Miss Krshia. I am Bird. We have met.”

She nodded carefully. Erin had told her about Bird. So had Pawn. He was the strange one, even by Antinium standards.

“We have, yes. Are you here to shop, Bird?”

“Yes! Miss Erin gave me money today. I earned it.”

The Gnoll looked at the other [Shopkeeper] and grimaced.

“Yes, well, that is very good. But bows cost much money, no? It may be you do not have enough.”

“Oh.”

“And it is not good to enter a shop and try merchandise without enough coin, you understand? Maybe you should come back another time. Miss Erin will tell you when you have enough money, surely.”

“I see. I thought I had enough.”

Bird drooped. Krshia felt so bad for him that she threw him a metaphorical bone. Or rather, gave him one since no Gnoll would bother throwing away a good bone without sucking the marrow out first.

“Maybe you have enough. Who knows? Miss Erin may be generous, yes? I can at least tell you how much you must save.”

“That is good! This is what I have. Miss Erin gave me this.”

Bird proudly showed Krshia a handful of silver and bronze coins. The Gnoll sighed. And then Bird pulled something else out of his belt.

“And my Queen gave me this to buy a bow!”

He upended a bag on the table. Gold coins spilled from it, in an unending flow. Both Gnolls’ eyes bulged as Bird emptied the bag of holding on the floor. He pointed at the glittering pile.

“How many more do I need?”

—-

Later that night, Bird edged into The Wandering Inn holding a reflexed composite bow that had turned every Gnoll head on the street. Erin, who’d been shouting at a crowd of booing Drakes while the [Actors] struggled to perform on stage hurried towards him.

“Bird! I was worried when you were gone so long! How was the Hive and—where did you get that?”

She stared at the bow. Bird lifted it proudly.

“I bought it.”

“With what? Oh no—did you take it and leave the money? Bird—”

“No! Miss Krshia said it was alright. She said it was a very good deal, yes?”

“She did? Hold on—”

Erin winced as a Drake threw something at the stage. She turned and Bird felt something ripple in the air. The crowd went quiet and the impending riot stopped, but they began to boo under their breaths. He peered at the Drakes with interest.

“Are they pretending to be birds? They are saying ‘boo’. You told me owls go ‘hoo’. Or ‘whoo’. Did you lie to me?”

Bird gave Erin a betrayed look. She stared at him.

“No, Bird. They’re unhappy about the play.”

“Oh. That is okay then.”

“That bow—”

Erin winced as something else broke. A Human [Actor] stormed off stage and she turned.

“Damnit. I’ve got to sort this out. Bird—get some food if you’re hungry.”

“I am not hungry.”

“Okay, then—stay out of trouble! The Goblins have this. I don’t want you getting hurt, so just uh—”

“Can I go to my tower and look for birds?”

“Yes! Do that!”

Bird walked upstairs happily as Erin went to shout at people. Erin was always having fun. He walked up to his tower and opened his trap door. Rain was still falling. Bird climbed up and sat on his stool. It was wet. He covered his new bow so the rain would not make it bad and wondered where his old one had gone. He would ask Erin about it later. It was good to have a new bow, but two bows was better than one.

It was wet up in his tower. The wind occasionally blew water into Bird. It was cold. There were no birds. But Bird was happy. He had had a special day alright. He sat in his tower. Time passed. After a while, he sang a song.

“When will the rain stop? Maybe never. Maybe we’ll all be washed away. Erin tells me someday, but forever is like tomorrow. Today is today. When will the rain stop? I miss birds and water birds never come out to play.”

And when he was tired, Bird went down to his fortress of fluff and slept in it. He curled up with his new bow lying in front of him. And he heard a voice.

[Singer Level 7!]

[Skill – Soothing Melody obtained!]

That was nice. Bird drifted off to sleep. And in his dreams the water birds came out to play. Bird watched them fly through the water and sky and happily raised his bow. It was about time.

Interlude – Blackmage

It was the silliest of notions. A fanciful request. After all, by his calculations it was probably late March in this world, early April at the very latest. If the months even lined up the same way as they did back at home. It was far too many months away from October, and there weren’t even any children around to begin with.

But to Blackmage’s greatest surprise, it turned out that the Mages of Wistram loved the idea. Within the hour, illusion spells were being cast across Wistram and the banquet hall turned into something right out of his dreams. Sugary treats were heaped up along with the daily banquet of food. No one objected. That was because [Mages] loved dressing up and having fun. If there was anything Blackmage had learned so far, it was probably that. Oh, and how to shoot lightning from his fingers. He was particularly pleased about that, too.

—-

His name was Blackmage. Actually, it was Aaron Vanwell, but he hadn’t been called by his real name since entering this world. Within the Academy’s walls he was referred to as Blackmage and went by that as his name. But since most of the [Mages] found the name incredibly amusing, they often just said ‘new student’, ‘Human’, ‘otherworlder’, or ‘you’.

However, Aaron would admit that every time Archmage Feor, one of the few most powerful spellcasters in the world called him Blackmage, he grew slightly giddy inside. Now he watched as the aged half-Elf sat only a few feet away from him, his silvery-white beard practically glowing as he inspected the hat in front of him.

It was a wizard’s hat. That was to say, it looked like what most people would imagine a wizard’s hat to be, rather than, say, any hat that happened to fall on a wizard’s head. Blackmage had expected glowing stars or maybe a few glowing mystic words, but the [Illusionist] had sneered at such basic spells and enchanted the hat with a nimbus of light that shimmered like the aurora around the hat. To top it off, little flying dragons made out of magefire flew through the colored lights, roaring soundlessly.

The half-Elf who’d presented the Archmage with the hat clearly thought it was an abomination of design that should be burned, but the Archmage laughed instead.

“Dressing up as [Witches]. How amusing.”

Archmage Feor chuckled at the quaintness of the idea. He inspected the pointed hat, smiling at the illusion magics. Then he placed it upon his head.

“As for [Wizards]…well, I suppose the look suits the occasion. Tell me young Blackmage, is this custom of dressing up solely reserved for this holiday in your world? Halloween?”

Two pale blue and silver eyes peered at Blackmage. The pupils were bright in a way that had nothing to do with the ambient light. Blackmage felt a jolt as they met his. That was the real magic. Feor’s hat shone, but the half-Elf himself was timeless. And when he looked at you, you could feel the power in his glance. The young Human man, barely nineteen years old, stammered as he replied to the half-Elf who was easily twenty times older than he was.

“That’s uh, right, Archmage Feor. Well, sometimes people dress up for fun for other events. But the holiday only comes once a year. But I thought it would be appropriate for the new students. Because it’s a celebration. And it’s like Hogwarts.”

“Ah. The fictional magic school of your world.”

Feor’s eyebrows rose slightly. He looked down the banquet table at the other mages. The head table in Wistram’s grand dining hall was reserved for the highest-level [Mages] in the academy. Well, it wasn’t reserved, but any arrogant young [Mage] strolling up to the table probably would be subjected to some kind of hex to put them in their place. It was rare to see more than ten bodies at the long table except for dinner, so Blackmage, Feor, and the third half-Elf had plenty of space to sit.

Not that Blackmage felt quite comfortable up here. He was aware of the staring from the other students and mages in the room, but Feor’s personal invitation meant that he could sit with the other elite mages, none of whom looked younger than forty. He saw half of them were also wearing hats or had spelled their already enchanted robes to look more grandiose for the occasion.

“It is incredible to me that a place of fiction can be known throughout your world. Almost as incredible as the notion that magic does not exist where you come from. I must wonder if our worlds are tied in some way. That both would have a center of magic, an academy where mages gather—if only as an idea in your world—speaks to me of some kind of resonance. And certainly, this idea has quite enlivened the academy. Still, dressing up as wizards and witches…”

Feor laughed again. Blackmage saw his pointed ears raise a bit and stared. He had to. Even after several months of staying in Wistram, seeing Elves or rather, half-Elves in the flesh was incredible. He shifted in his seat and coughed.

“Archmage Feor. May I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

The half-Elf peered at Blackmage and again, the young man had to try not to shiver with delight. There was something entirely too Gandalf-ish or perhaps, Dumbledore-esque about Feor. Not that Blackmage thought of himself as having entered the world of Harry Potter. It was only his favorite book series and movie of all time. He was aware the world he was in wasn’t like that. But still.

“Archmage Feor, I understand that a [Witch] is a—uh, weaker spellcaster in this world than most [Mage] classes, but what about [Wizard]? Why does Wistram have [Mages] rather than…[Wizards]?”

The question made Feor smile, and earned Blackmage a silent glare from the female half-Elf [Mage] waiting patiently by the table. It was a stupid question he was sure, but Feor only pondered a moment before replying.

“A [Mage] or [Magus] is commonly understood to be a general practitioner of magic. By contrast, Wistram does have a few [Wizards]. They would be considered more scholarly and wield magics in the form of prepared spells or items. It would be easiest to understand them as ‘[Mages] who rely on wands’, whereas a [Mage] may choose to use an artifact or not as the situation demands. One is a general class, the other is specific, even cumbersome to obtain. Does that make sense?”

“It does. Thank you.”

“Very good. It would make sense for an academy of magic to boast a higher percentage of [Wizards]. As for [Witches], well, we have had a number of them in our halls from time to time, but they generally keep to their covens. Their magic is more specialized—a blend of alchemy and spellcraft. I do not mean to impugn their abilities, but they are considered weaker in purely magical terms to a [Mage] of the same level. Now, I believe this hat will suffice, and a small demonstration would not go amiss. I shall consider the appropriate spell. The first ships should have already arrived in the harbor—why don’t you inspect the new arrivals as they enter the hall? Teura shall escort you.”

Feor nodded to the half-Elf woman and she inclined her head. Blackmage stood up hurriedly. He’d hardly eaten his poached egg, but a flick of Feor’s fingers sent both his plate and the Archmage’s floating over to a cart laden with used dishes. It turned out no house elves or disappearing plates in Wistram, much to Blackmage’s disappointment. Not that he was comparing the two places! Not at all.

“This way, please.”

Teura beckoned and Blackmage stood. He followed her away from the table, out of the dining hall, and into one of the many corridors of Wistram. Dark stone and bright windows replaced the lit dining hall and Blackmage had to hurry to pass before a giant figure carved of stone. The Golem waited as students passed in front of it, its hands gripping one of the laden carts. The Golem’s face was crude and it looked weathered from years, centuries of service. But it moved with a steady, unwavering pace as it followed Blackmage and Teura into the academy.

This was Wistram. Blackmage’s heart beat faster every time he passed by a gossiping group of Lizardgirls holding wands and spellbooks, or saw a ghostly pale Selphid wearing magical robes flicking colored sparks of magic up into the air. Everywhere he walked, every time he turned his head he saw magic.

To say he was enthralled would be an understatement. Sometimes Blackmage wanted to run about screaming. He was here! In a magical world. When he’d been ten, he’d dreamed of magic, and he’d counted the days until his birthday. When he’d been eleven he’d been crushed. Now, eight years later it felt like he was a kid again.

Of course, it wasn’t all fun and games. Blackmage knew that. In fact, after the jubilation of seeing Archmage Feor wearing a magic hat had faded he stared at the half-Elf he was following with some degree of annoyance and chagrin. She too was a half-Elf and like Feor, she radiated magical power. Unlike Feor, Blackmage would have given anything to not be around her.

His trailing footsteps meant that Teura was moving faster than he was. Blackmage hoped she might turn a corridor and lose him, but she seemed to notice and stopped. She turned her head and he instantly quickened his pace.

Teura was a half-Elf. She had bright red hair, sable eyes, and the kind of effortless grace that made Blackmage flush and stumble every time he focused on her. So he stared past her instead. The half-Elf clicked her tongue softly as he caught up.

“Archmage Feor used to teach one of the highest-level magic courses for students in their eighth year. He still has quite a number of apprentices and fellow mages whom he advises. His private instruction is something you should be honored to receive.”

“I am, uh, Mage Teura.”

“That is most wise. Please try to keep up. And as I have informed you, please do not openly identify any of the new students. Speak to me in private once the banquet has begun.”

“I will.”

She nodded and strode off. Blackmage stared at her back. Identify them? And how was he supposed to do that? Humans looked the same in both worlds! Okay, the ones here sometimes had identifying elements like actual swords at their waists, but it wasn’t as if he could make sure of anything! He stomped after Teura, noting how the students and some of the mages got out of her way.

She was one of the better mages of Wistram, as Blackmage understood it. He didn’t know her level—that was a secret, and the mages of Wistram guarded their secrets as fiercely as a Dragon guarded their treasure. But Teura, like Feor, stood at the higher end of badass. She was senior to many [Mages], having lived in Wistram for over six decades. Too, she was part of Archmage Feor’s personal faction. As was Blackmage himself.

Factions and power and politics. Again, sort of like Hogwarts. But not. Blackmage resolved to stop making the comparison soon. The first month he’d been here he’d annoyed everyone in earshot mentioning Harry Potter references, and they hadn’t even understood what he’d been talking about.

How would he explain it to the others? Blackmage tried to figure it out as he walked. Wistram was…well, it was an academy located on an isle in the middle of the sea. Literally in the middle of the sea. The bubble surrounding Wistram kept it from being besieged by waves, but sail just a bit away from the academy and you could find yourself in the middle of a storm. But Wistram was a safe haven. The citadel sat on an island, large from the outside, but enormous once you passed through the metal doors.

Because Wistram was magical. Within its halls you could run for hours and still not reach from one side of the academy to the other. If there was even a straight line in Wistram. So many mages had built and added onto the academy over the thousands of years that it had stood that it contained more secrets and hidden spaces than anyone could guess at. And it was knowledge of those secrets that defined Wistram. Mages traded in secrets like coin, and they fought with each other to gain more influence, power, and above all, magical knowledge.

There were factions in Wistram. Almost any powerful mage would be in one of the major factions that controlled Wistram’s Council, or allied to one of the big players. Feor was part of a faction in Wistram, the Centrists, but he also had his personal group of half-Elf mages whom he trusted implicitly. Teura was one of his best [Mages] so she watched Blackmage like a hawk.

That would be the downside of it all. Blackmage stared at another Golem he passed in the hallway. This one was sand. Living sand. Its body shifted constantly as it walked, bearing a load of mana crystals which all shone different colors. Blackmage would have loved to follow it and stare, perhaps ask about how it had been made, what it could do. But he had to follow Teura. Because he was a prisoner. Of sorts.

Blackmage wasn’t an idiot. Okay, [batman] had called him an idiot, but she’d sounded really paranoid when they talked. Even if she was right about some things.

It had been months since the day when Blackmage had appeared out of nowhere in the room with the Golems. He remembered walking to the door of his college dorm to get a pizza and opening it—

Before finding himself standing in a room with three Golems. They rose as Aaron stared. One was a being of fire, a creature of burning magma formed into humanoid form. The second was a giant metal knight, armed with a sword that was twice as tall as he was. It couldn’t be real.

Aaron’s gaze turned to the third, a tall, thin creation of metal that looked like it had stepped out of some kind of sci-fi movie. It was too thin, insanely tall! Three giant creations stared at him across the room. The fourth bounded towards him, a creature of stitched flesh and shadows. It rotted as it bared its teeth, its jaws opening wide, wide—

He’d screamed then, and fainted. When he’d woken up he’d found himself staring into a white, porcelain face. She’d called herself Cognita. She had demanded to know how he’d come here. After many explanations she’d summoned four people who called themselves ‘Archmages’. They had debated, cast magic on Blackmage, and then accepted his words as truth. Thus, he had entered Wistram. He had not left since.

A Human from another world. Blackmage understood the significance, especially after he had managed to actually tinker with his phone and get it to actually call the other iPhones in this world. Over eighty [Mages] had linked to perform the spell that he and Feor had worked for two weeks on.

Blackmage could still remember the sweat on his hands as he typed responses and the [Mages] of Wistram debated every line that had appeared in the air. He remembered the shock as they read the King of Destruction’s declaration, realized that someone was spying on the chat. Funny, he’d laughed as he read [twinTrouble_53]’s messages. Now he realized the significance.

He had not left Wistram. For his protection. Teura was there every time Blackmage turned his head, or another one of the half-Elves that Feor trusted. Again, for his protection. The mages of Wistram let him take classes, learn magic, and they’d given him his own personal rooms, spellbooks, and a wand! But they were determined not to let go of him.

One example of the danger he was in—might be in—was Blackmage’s name. He hadn’t asked to call himself Blackmage. But as soon as it was discovered that someone was scrying others by their real names, Feor had informed Aaron never to use his real name in Wistram’s halls. Wistram guarded its own, but an individual could be bought, and a true name could be used for more spells than just scrying.

Sometimes Blackmage stayed up at night thinking about that. But mainly he tried to live in the positive side of things. Magic was incredible. He was learning spells—he’d already reached Level 18 in [Mage], which was incredibly fast! He would have been content to stay in Wistram his entire life, especially if he could find more people from Earth. Just without Teura glaring at him, thanks.

They were nearly at the entrance hall when Blackmage carefully spoke.

“Do you really think there will be any people from…my place will be with the new students?”

“Perhaps. That is what Archmage Feor wishes to know. The first group of students has already disembarked. You will inspect them as they pass. These…decorations and the dressing up is meant to aid in that inspection, is it not?”

Teura had a witch’s hat on her head and she looked good in it. Also peeved. Blackmage nodded quickly.

“Oh, totally. But uh, aren’t the odds really low of anyone coming to Wistram? I mean, I know we’re looking for people from Earth—”

He broke off as he remembered not to mention Earth in public. Teura frowned at him. Blackmage blushed.

“I mean, people I know. But Wistram is hard to get to, right? People have to pay lots of money to get in. Couldn’t you waive the fee or something?”

The half-Elf sniffed.

“And let a horde into Wistram’s halls? That is a Revivalist notion. I will admit, the Council deliberated on that idea to attract those like you. But the change in policy would have been too drastic. We are simply relying on those you contacted to make their way here.”

“Yeah. Okay. I guess that might work.”

“Indeed. As for the others scattered across the world, the Council is preparing to send teams of [Mages] to each continent.”

“I wish they’d hurry up.”

“The Council does not move without due deliberation. Now, we are nearly at the hall. Stay behind me and keep si—”

Teura walked forwards and froze. She looked up and nodded slowly.

“Cognita.”

“Mage Teura. And student Blackmage. Greetings.”

Someone stood in the entrance hall. Not a person. A Golem. A towering woman carved out of stone turned, her dress rippling. She was eight feet tall, a giant. She inclined her head as Teura walked carefully past her.

“Hello, Cognita.”

Blackmage grinned up at her. Cognita was a Golem, the leader of the Golems of Wistram, the mage’s silent, tireless workforce. She alone could think. She was a Truestone Construct, an adjudicator of Wistram’s laws and beholden to no one. Not even the Archmages. He enjoyed seeing Teura get nervous around Cognita. Then he remembered why she was nervous and got a bit nervous himself.

Cognita guarded the upper floors. To pass into the higher levels of Wistram, one would have to defeat her and the other four Golem guardians that Archmage Zelkyr had placed there as a test. To Blackmage’s knowledge, no [Mage] had ever attempted the test and survived. Still, Cognita was unfailingly polite and helpful in all other capacities, so Blackmage edged over to her as Teura stood several paces away and watched the doors.

“Hey Cognita, everyone in the banquet hall is dressed up. Even Archmage Feor. I was wondering if you would—”

“No.”

The Golem woman turned her head and stared at Blackmage with a neutral expression. She had been carved so perfectly that she looked like she really was a living person, albeit eight foot tall and made of stone. Her mouth moved and her eyes blinked, the stone moving like flesh. Blackmage hesitated.

“Please?”

“I will not. My role as steward, protector, and guide of Wistram will not be compromised by your desires.”

“Oh.”

It was fairly hard to argue with that, so Blackmage stood and waited. He did not have to wait long. Within minutes of arriving in the entrance hall, he saw the double doors slowly open. He heard a loud voice.

“New students, welcome to Wistram!”

A Lizardman strode through the doors. Blackmage recognized him instantly. Cessic, his rainbow scales polished and the red frill at his neck bright, stepped into Wistram. He had a hat on his head and a wand in one of his clawed hands. He grinned at Blackmage and turned. Behind him streamed in students.

They had come by ship, through the stormy waters, from every continent. From Rhir, Baleros, Izril, Chandrar, and Terandria, they had paid or been given scholarships for outstanding magical ability and been sent here to learn magic. Blackmage saw young Human faces, a pale Drake with blue scales staring around wildly, a pair of Selphids wearing the bodies of twins—fresh students.

Wistram admitted new students at regular times each year and this spring crowd was the first Blackmage had ever seen. He grinned in delight as they filed in, exclaiming at the mage lights hung in the air, the staircases high above where [Mages] walked, the Golem made of rusted iron who passed by—

“Pay attention.”

Teura’s voice made Blackmage stiffen. He realized he had been caught up and guiltily started inspecting all of the Humans by face. They weren’t a majority in the crowd, but they were the largest minority. Humans were one of the most prolific races on this world, although it looked like this crowd had come mainly from Baleros. Unfortunately, Blackmage couldn’t tell if they were from Earth. They were all staring around wide-eyed.

Everyone jumped when Cognita moved. She had been standing so still she had literally been a statue. Now she strode forwards. Cessic gulped and moved out of the way as Cognita stood before the first crowd of arrivals.

“Oh yeah. Um, everyone, this is Cognita—she’s—uh—”

He was cut off as the Truestone Construct spoke. Cognita’s voice echoed as she spoke loud enough for even the students still climbing Wistram’s steps to hear. The new students stared up at her, some afraid, many simply wondering.

“I am Cognita. I am a Carved Golem, or rather, a Truestone Construct designed to oversee Wistram and its mages. I and my kindred maintain and preserve this building and will assist you for the duration of your stay. In a few moments you will be led to your rooms, but before that I must tell you of the rules of Wistram.”

She stared down at each person in turn, her emerald eyes serious.

“Firstly. You must never venture into the high parts of the castle or the lower reaches unaccompanied and even then, only with great cause. Dangers lurk within Wistram, ancient magics and spells and creatures called here and never destroyed. Too, the very enchantments keeping this citadel intact sometimes fray. Only a mage with true power is allowed into such places. Second. Some of the Golems here were made as I am, but most lack any form of intelligence and simply obey orders. Do not attack or obstruct them in any way or they may react unpredictably. Third. Anyone attempting to cast area-wide magics must first consult with I or an experienced mage. Unpredictable results may occur if a spell affects a wide area of the academy at once. Is that understood?”

No one spoke. Blackmage saw Cognita pause. She stared down at the students and then nodded.

“That is all. Follow me, and I will lead you to your rooms and give you your keys.”

It was the same speech she gave every year. She’d given Blackmage the identical speech, word for word. Cognita strode off and Cessic jumped. Remembering his job he called out.

“First years, this way!”

He winked at Blackmage and the young man grinned in delight. He’d said the thing. He heard Teura sigh as the students hurried after both Golem and Lizardman.

“Did you sense anything from the Humans present?”

The slight hope in her voice was dashed by Blackmage’s denial. Teura shook her head.

“Very well. You will have ample opportunities to study the other students in time. You will be placed into the first-year classes when they begin.”

“What? But I’ve been studying from Feor for months!”

Teura looked reproving.

“Archmage Feor’s instruction has indeed given you far more levels than any typical first-year student should hope for. But the fundamentals of magic theory require years of study. And Archmage Feor does not have the time to personally tutor you.”

“But—”

Too late. Teura was already striding back to the banquet hall. Blackmage stared darkly at her back. So, he was losing his usefulness if they were going to make him a regular student. That was fine. The less attention on him the better. He had a plan of his own tonight. After a moment he followed Teura into the hallway.

—-

The first banquet was wondrous. Archmage Feor was as good as his word and conjured a giant, spectral Dragon to fly across the banquet hall and awe the first-year students. The other mages were dressed up more than usual, and the stunned arrivals found themselves eating and gaping at the magicked banquet at the same time.

“This was a good idea. Dazzling the new students takes little effort and it befits Wistram’s reputation. I cannot believe we were so casual in years prior to this. A little custom and ceremony should be part of our traditions.”

“Indeed. Appearances must be kept up. To that end, I’ve put a motion forwards to tinker with these ah, movies that the academy’s producing.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“I quite insist on adding a mandatory opening to each one. Something that mentions Wistram. ‘This production a courtesy brought to you by Wistram Academy’ or some such. What do you think?”

“I like the notion. Not the wording.”

“Well, what would you write? This is only a motion.”

“Of course, of course. Pass the buttered bread, will you?”

Blackmage saw a basket of bread float past his head. He watched it go to the mages as they talked at the high table. He was sitting a ways down from them, near Archmage Feor and a group of very senior [Mages]. He felt out of place. But Feor had insisted he be present and with good reason. The talk between Wistram’s elite mages—those who sat on the Council or were otherwise in the know enough to know who Blackmage was—turned instantly from the first years to the various subjects of debate that they always had when Blackmage was present.

“These movies. Agh. What a word. I quite like the idea, though. We’ve always had moving images, but mass-producing them and selling the recollections? A splendid notion! If only it were as simple as enchanting a bunch of crystals.”

A Drake sitting across from Blackmage spoke, waving a fork filled with some kind of meatball. The Human next to him nodded and floated over a tureen of soup. Blackmage wished he could do that.

“Production will be extremely limited. However, displaying the siege of Liscor was well worth the effort. We’ve already seen interest from countless [Merchants]—even some of the nobility who might invest in this venture. I agree with the idea of creating ah, movie theatres to view such entertainments in, though. They are apparently quite popular where you come from, young Blackmage?”

She smiled at Blackmage as a grandmother would to a child. He nodded nervously as every eye turned to him.

“That’s right. Movies are uh, a household staple. Where I come from. People who make movies—producers, we call them—are very rich. Very rich. They make billions of d—gold coins each year.”

“Ah.”

The sigh that rippled around the table was long and satisfied. Blackmage bit his tongue. It was hard to speak in code with the other mages. They seemed perfectly at ease. Feor smiled at Blackmage and he remembered the injunction not to talk about certain things. Even among Wistram’s Council, there were things Blackmage had only told the Archmages.

“A profitable enterprise indeed. As was the idea of creating an interconnected communication network across the world. Of course we have Mage’s Guilds, but they are not affiliated with Wistram by and large. A central network produced by the academy would benefit Wistram’s interests greatly.”

A Dullahan nodded, adjusting her head as she fed herself some corn.

“As would a number of other innovations. I am still seeking a number of [Alchemists] to procure a supply of ingredients for our workshops. As for electricity, we have any number of mages, but the [Engineers] and [Alchemists] I’ve spoken to have no idea how to produce what I seek based on vague descriptions. I wonder, Blackmage, if you might have time to do some sketching? Or perhaps some unobtrusive mental divination so we might have a clearer idea of how to produce a few of the more…interesting concepts you have presented the Council.”

She peered over her plate at Blackmage and he felt a jolt. Feor’s smile cut off any response he might have made.

“All in good time, Mage Gelia. Mind magic is by its nature somewhat intrusive. Let us first focus our attention on what is easily producible.”

“As you like, Archmage Feor. But I have detected a number of inquiries in the same vein. Those asking about black powder. A suspicious run on high-quality steel. And I believe my inquiries were also traced back to Wistram.”

All the [Mages] glanced at each other. Blackmage held still. There were more Humans out there. And someone else might have had the same idea. He had no idea how gunpowder was made—or electricity. He had an [Engineer] class, but it was only because he’d painstakingly taken apart his watch and iPhone, relying on Feor’s [Repair] spell to put it back together. Actually generating an electrical current—he wished he’d read a textbook.

Technology was a prized possession in this world, even for the powerful mages of Wistram. True, they could do almost everything he could. Record sounds? They could use a spell. Take a picture? Spell. But the fact that Blackmage could do with ease what a [Mage] had to study for years to achieve was telling. Blackmage wished he could duplicate his iPhone somehow, but no [Blacksmith] could replicate the fine metalwork.

And Feor had told him that the [Repair] spell could mend, but not recreate. Creating new material, new, permanent material like duplicating components of Blackmage’s phone or watch? That was high magic even he didn’t have access too.

“Well, we shall just have to take advantage of what we do know. Movies for instance. I would quite like to see one showcasing Wistram’s splendors. Perhaps with commentary from a few select [Mages]?”

“Like yourself, Foulton? Hah!”

“If you have a complaint…”

“Forget movies for a moment. I’m more intrigued with all of these little cultural advancements. You know, I’ve had a craftsman working on a deck of cards. It should arrive with the next shipment from Izril. I would like to invite you all to a small session. Perhaps with wagering?”

Blackmage saw a few mages look up at that. He hadn’t just told the mages about technology. Things like card games and even chess had been of great interest to them. Especially since chess already existed in this world. Feor had asked many questions about that.

“Gambling already, Welaiat? I should have known a Libertarian would throw his money around carelessly. Just so long as your lot doesn’t want to waste Wistram’s resources, you can enjoy such trivial pursuits.”

One of the Drakes leaned forwards and smirked at the Human [Mage] who’d been offering the card game. The mood at the high table soured. Blackmage groaned as he anticipated what was going to come.

“Of course a Preservationist would lecture me about coin. Still saving copper coins, Failess? Or are your coffers not deep enough to afford enough spellbooks for your newest members?”

The Drake flushed and made a fist. Sparks spat out of his mouth as the mages sitting between the two leaned back.

“The very notion of spending recklessly is the exact reason why you Libertarians keep trying to drag us into continental affairs! You have to keep running back to those with deeper pockets to finance your spending! Whereas a proper, budgeted system—”

“Hah! You’d have us cut everything that attracts prospective students to Wistram! Food, supplies—this is what makes the academy thrive!”

Failess growled.

“And I should blindly vote to take loans to finance projects like these fanciful movies? Ridiculous! Spend what we have, don’t overspend!”

“A loan pays for itself. Moreover, debt is not something that need concern the academy. Any lender knows that what they give will be repaid with interest. It is not a debt, in fact. It is an investment—”

“Hah! Don’t mince words. How can any nation, any institution survive permanent debt? The very idea of being beholden to a band of [Merchants] is surely ridiculous.”

“Not according to our young guest. Blackmage, pray tell us what you spoke about when we talked about ah, the economy of debt.”

Blackmage gulped. Welaiat of the Libertarian faction gestured at him and again the [Mages] stared. He hated this. The Drake known as Failess looked at him.

“Nations from your homeland truly endure crippling debt, Human?”

“Well…yes. It’s sort of how we operate. I mean, we try to balance the budgets, but we always spend more than we have.”

“How could that be viable? The instant someone called in their debts—”

“They don’t. They get interest each year. I think. And my nation keeps repaying debt and getting more, I think. They spend more money than they have to thrive.”

“Spend to thrive. You see Failess?”

The Human Libertarian grinned at the Drake Preservationist. Failess scowled and replied sharply, but some of the other [Mages] were looking thoughtful. Blackmage sat back, sweating, afraid to even touch his food.

He didn’t think he’d explained the way America managed its debt well. The problem was that the [Mages] wanted to know everything about his world and that Blackmage, in a very real sense, knew very little about the underlying economic, cultural, and other structures of Earth. He told them what they could and they used it in their debates. Archmage Feor smiled at Blackmage as the conversation turned into a hot argument about Wistram’s spending budget.

“Teura tells me you did not spot any familiar faces in today’s arrivals, Blackmage. Perhaps tomorrow will be different? It would be reassuring to see more companions, I am sure.”

“Yes, Archmage Feor. I ah, well, I’ll do my best to mingle. Actually, I’m a bit full, so I might go and talk with the other students.”

“Of course. I imagine it’s hardly entertaining to listen to politics. Please, enjoy yourself.”

Archmage Feor watched as Blackmage excused himself. He looked to one side and Teura rose silently. The other [Mages] watched Blackmage go. When he was making his way down the dining hall, they spoke amongst themselves.

“I wonder how aware he is of his position.”

“The Human’s young. Young, even for his age. Naïve, I think. Feor has him on a tight leash.”

“Let him. The Human’s of no interest to us. Whatever Feor learns we’ll learn in turn. The real trick will be if the search teams find anyone else. But filling the roster with our side will be next to impossible.”

“It’ll have to be a balanced team. Maybe even one [Mage] from each faction. Dead gods, imagine how we’ll have to explain it to the mages not in the know. The point is to get them here. And then…”

—-

Blackmage wandered down the banquet hall, disconsolate. [batman] was right. Batman was always right, come to think of it. He was a pawn. There was danger in Wistram. There was danger everywhere, which is why Blackmage was still trying to find as many people from Earth as possible and bring them to the academy, but within these walls he had very little power. Feor’s faction had him and Blackmage’s only bargaining chips, his knowledge of Earth, were mostly exhausted. If he wanted influence, if he wanted freedom—

Secrets ran Wistram. Secrets were a currency here. If you had a big secret, you could trade it. Cash it in with secret brokers, or use it. Blackmage knew that some secrets were worth thousands of gold coins. His secret, the secret of why he was at the head table was probably worth that much. He knew the students and mages were burning with curiosity about him, so he fanned the flames as he walked down the banquet hall.

“Mage Rievan, I’ll be one of the students in your class next week. I’ll be studying with the first-years. I hear great things about your uh, teaching methods.”

Blackmage introduced himself to a group of Humans sitting at one of the tables. The [Mage] he’d addressed, a gaunt fellow who was always looking down his nose at people, looked startled.

“You are? That is to say, I look forwards to it. May I ask where you come from?”

“Oh, I uh—”

Blackmage hesitated just long enough for Teura to step in. The half-Elf quickly nudged Blackmage backwards and not-so-subtly nodded her head. Blackmage moved back, mouthing an apology and Teura turned. The smile she gave Rievan was entirely fake.

“Blackmage’s identity is a somewhat touchy issue, Mage Rievan. Please understand that he is to be treated as any other student.”

“Black—is that his name? Mage Teura, I’ve seen that young man sitting with Archmage Feor. I understand the need for privacy, but I think that if I am to teach him properly, I should—”

Rievan stood up somewhat pompously. He and the other Libertarians did not agree with Archmage Feor’s faction…or non-Humans if it came to that. But he paused as Teura stared at him.

“He is a student. His name is Blackmage. That is all you need to know, Mage Rievan. I would suggest that a mage of your caliber not ask any more questions. Or he might land himself in undue trouble.”

The Human man froze. Teura looked at him, and then at his companions, all of whom suddenly found themselves ravenously hungry. He turned and he sat. The other Libertarians stared at Teura’s back in frustration, but they dared not ask their leaders at the high table for help. They were out of the know. Teura turned, searching for Blackmage. By that time of course, it was already too late.

—-

The instant Teura had been occupied with Rievan, Blackmage had turned and swiftly walked for another table near the back of the great hall. Unlike the tables with formal seating, there were groups of more casual spots for those students whose body types did not easily squeeze into chairs. A ring of couches and plush stools sat around one table he walked towards.

Some centaurs were sitting at a table to the left, but the one he was moving towards was occupied by a pair of students. A Human woman talking with a Dullahan.  The Dullahan had dark metal armor and her head was sitting on the table, alternately talking and munching on food. Both [Mages] looked up as Blackmage approached, a smile on his face.

“Hi there. Mind if I sit?”

“Yes.”

Beatrice looked up flatly and Montressa du Valeros, also known as Mons to her friends, looked up as the young man approached. Neither one was happy to see him. Interested males of any species were not whom Montressa wanted to share her table with. She saw the young man, younger than she was by a few years, hesitate.

“Uh—”

“This table is occupied. By us. Get lost.”

Beatrice was a Dullahan. Her dark, polished metal arms turned her head so she could glare at the young [Mage]. She was not hospitable to begin with and especially not at dinner. Montressa saw the young man gulp.

“It’s just that I was actually hoping to do business.”

Oh dead gods. Montressa tried not to roll her eyes. He had to be a first-year, fresh off the boats. Only a first year would be so blatant about wanting to sell or buy secrets. She was about to advise him to get lost and try Beatrice at another time or get blacklisted when she took a second look at his face.

“Wait a second. Beatrice. That’s him.”

Beatrice paused. She looked like she’d been about to draw a Rune of Pain on her napkin and throw it at the young man’s face. But as she frowned at the young man she recognized him as well. The strange young man who’d appeared in Wistram. The one called—Montressa tried not to laugh—Blackmage.

“Ah.”

The Dullahan glanced around. So did Montressa. Then they moved over.

“Alright, sit. And keep your head down.”

Blackmage sank into one of the padded benches next to Montressa. He seemed nervous as Beatrice put her head on her shoulders and secured it in place. He didn’t look like he was used to seeing Dullahans. Montressa filed that information away. She inspected him from head to toe. So this was the strange newcomer who was attracting so much attention. Rumor had it that he was taking lessons from Archmage Feor. Personally. She didn’t see what made him so attractive. Her sense of him as a [Mage] put him at Level 20. At best.

“So what do you want…Blackmage?”

Beatrice stared at the young man. He jumped.

“You know who I am?”

The Dullahan woman rolled her eyes impatiently.

“I’m a secret broker. Of course I know. Little rats know who you are. Speak.”

Blackmage hesitated.

“Alright. I know you buy and sell secrets. And uh, get things for people. You also do services, is that right?”

“I make connections.”

Beatrice’s eyes narrowed. Montressa winced. Her friend’s patience was getting dangerously thin. Beatrice had never managed to acquire even a shred of Calvaron’s easygoing air, for all she had inherited his network of connections after he had…passed. That people still came to her was because she had a lot of influence, not because she was easy to work with.

Perhaps Blackmage realized he was stretching her patience, because he went on quickly. He kept looking around. Montressa rolled her eyes again as she cast several ward spells to hide their conversation.

“The thing is, I have a secret to sell. And I need something done. There’s this half-Elf who follows me around all the time.”

“Mage Teura. Part of the Centrist faction. Feor’s group. Say things outright or you can go.”

“Uh.”

Montressa couldn’t take it any longer. She leaned forwards and saw the young man lean back. He stared at her. Montressa had grown since the first days she’d stepped onto Wistram’s shores. She was no longer an apprentice looking around with wide eyes but a full student of Wistram, on the verge of being recognized as a [Mage]. Beatrice had long since passed her final test and was now an official mage of Wistram, a [Runeshaper] and one of the secret brokers of the academy.

“What do you want, kid? You want her to stop following you? An accident? If that’s your goal you might as well give up. No secret broker will cross Archmage Feor’s faction whatever you’re offering.”

“What if I said I wanted her distracted for…twenty minutes?”

“Hmm. That would cost you.”

Beatrice’s eyes narrowed. She looked around. Now Montressa saw the half-Elf in question. She swore.

“We’ve got less than a minute before she spots which ward spell we’re behind. Make it fast, Beatrice.”

She began muttering more ward spells, although she didn’t have high hopes of hiding from a mage as experienced as Teura. Still, Montressa had been helping Beatrice out for years now and she knew her way around disguise and ward spells. Blackmage leaned forwards, whispering fast.

“Say that’s what I want. Can you do it? Tonight? Give me a window to slip away and prevent anyone else from following?”

The Dullahan traced a rune on the desk.

“I can do that. The question is how much you have to offer.”

“How about a secret?”

“It would have to be a truly massive secret. Doubt you have that. But give it to me and I’ll tell you what you’ve got.”

Montressa saw Blackmage hesitate. He reached into a pocket and pulled something out. A piece of paper? She nearly laughed. Any [Mage] could read what was on there! If they wanted to look. But she went still as she saw Beatrice unfold the paper. The Dullahan stared at what was written and then blinked. Twice.

“Huh. That would do it.”

“Are you serious, Beatrice?”

The Dullahan looked up. She immediately set fire to the paper and nodded at Montressa.

“He’s good for it.”

“Dead gods.”

Montressa blinked at Blackmage who was looking slightly smug. What kind of secret had Beatrice read? The Dullahan glanced around.

“Teura’s on to us. Human, you want this done now?”

“As fast as you can. Is it possible?”

“Give me five minutes. When Montressa finds you, go.”

Beatrice stood up. Montressa got up casually, dispelling the magics around her. She could see Teura heading towards them. She left Blackmage behind, hoping he wouldn’t be obvious about what he’d been doing. Then again, it didn’t matter. They had a contract.

“He really gave you a secret worthy of that, Beatrice?”

“And then some. I’ll get a distraction ready. Can you help?”

“Point to whomever you want. What if he’s lying?”

“Then he’s blacklisted. But the secret—I don’t think so. How could he know?”

Both older Wistram students looked back at Blackmage. He was wandering around the banquet hall, doing his very best not to look their way. Montressa grimaced. Teura was following Blackmage closely, but she kept glancing suspiciously back at the two of them.

“She knows he talked to us. Bet she knows we’re secret brokers too. Let’s move fast.”

“Agreed.”

The two split up. Montressa and Beatrice walked around the great hall. The new students were gossiping at their tables, talking loudly while some of the older students went over to talk or introduce themselves. Montressa slid past a table of wide-eyed Selphids and found a group of older students, all in their seventh years. They looked up as she approached.

“Hey. Beatrice wants a favor.”

“Really? What’s she offering?”

“Anything you want. The mission is Teura. Distraction. Twenty minutes.”

One of the students, a Dullahan, whistled.

“That’s above our grade.”

“You’ll get help. She doesn’t leave the hall. Think you can do it?”

The students looked at each other. Then they nodded.

“We’re in. Signal?”

“You’ll see it.”

Montressa left them. She circulated the room, tapping other mages on the shoulders. In the hubbub of thousands of [Mages] and prospective mages eating, it was hard to keep track of her. By the time she strolled over to Blackmage, it was ready. She tapped him on the shoulder as Teura got slowed by a gaggle of loudly gossiping Lizardfolk.

“Go. Leave the hall through any entrance and then run for it.”

Blackmage nodded. He steeled himself, and then began to walk speedily for one of the exits. Teura followed like a hound on the scent. She passed by a group of two tables of students and saw one of them raise their wand.

“[Force Beam].”

“[Sticky Webs]!”

“[Stone Barrier].”

A dozen students and [Mages] called out. Teura spun. She raised her wand and was hit by disabling spells from all sides. A shimmering barrier formed around her, blocking the attacks, but more wards and barriers were rising between her and Blackmage. He ran as she cursed and spun.

At the high table Feor looked up. He saw nearly twenty [Mages] casting spells, some dueling Teura as she tore down the barriers. He frowned and pointed.

“It looks like an altercation has broken out.”

His words were pointed. Three more half-Elves rose. They instantly made a beeline for the fighting. Mages attacking other mages wasn’t exactly a criminal offense. The offenders would probably be hexed with something nasty or fined so long as they hadn’t attacked to truly harm. But there were a lot of mages casting spells and even Feor’s experienced disciples struggled to overwhelm the quantity of magic coming at them. And meanwhile Blackmage had vanished.

Feor hesitated. He half-rose, saw the other [Mages] watching him, calculating, and slowly sat. He waited impatiently as Teura and the others tried to battle through the ambush and find Blackmage.

Politics. And the two instigators, Beatrice and Montressa, were nowhere near the action. Beatrice had relocated to a far end of the room and was casually watching the mage duels while counting down in her head. And Montressa had vanished from the dining hall entirely.

—-

Blackmage ran. He wasn’t an athlete, but the excitement gave him wings. At last he was alone! Only, he wouldn’t be when Teura caught up. And she would be mad. So he ran faster, down a corridor and then down a long, winding passageway full of steps.

“I should’ve asked for…thirty minutes!”

He gasped as he tumbled down a flight of steps, dashed down a side corridor, ran through a room, slammed out the doorway, and found another staircase waiting. Wistram was a labyrinth even to [Mages] used to it. The further you went, the more convoluted it got. Even now there were places that kept getting discovered. So many secret places—but the spot he was headed to wasn’t secret.

If the upper levels of Wistram were blocked off, the lower ones were less frequently used simply because of expediency. The dining hall was far away from the basement areas and the proximity to areas like the crypts or dangerous zones where magical experiments might eat an unwary mage didn’t exactly make for good company. Blackmage wasn’t headed down that far, though. He was running to a section of tunnels without any rooms nearby. He’d memorized the route from the dining hall and had gone here twice as practice. When he finally reached the blank section of wall he was looking for, he was out of breath, but he was still on time.

“Fantstalidephoron! Dammit! Fantstalifepheron! Wait. Fanstali-delif-pheron.”

Blackmage recited the word from memory. On the third try it worked. The empty corridor glowed, and suddenly part of the wall rippled and vanished. Blackmage cried out in amazement and then rushed into the opening.

“Oh my god! It’s here!”

Blackmage stared around the room. His first impression was that of dust. And cobwebs. Spiders and dust mites had infested this room, created huge drooping webs. But even the spiders had died from lack of food. The layers of dust covered the chairs and tables and bookshelves. But even they couldn’t disguise the grandeur of the room. Or rather, rooms.

Expensive couches sat in the first one around tables that were free of mold or rot. Brushing at one, Blackmage saw the faint runes carved into the wood that had protected it. He sneezed, wished someone were here to clean all the dust up, and spotted the bookshelves. They sat at the end of the room, next to a fireplace that still burned with light. Magical fire danced there, providing warmth while the rows of spellbooks and tomes stood in shelf after shelf. Waiting.

“Holy crap. And over here is—”

Blackmage ran into the second room and gasped as he saw a mage’s laboratory. Summoning circles drawn in melted gemstones on the ground, mana crystals lined up on shelves, glowing potions—he saw a bottle had cracked in one spot. A very large and very mutated rat was lying in front of it. Dead. Blackmage backed away.

“Holy crap. Holy—it’s real! It’s real!”

He shouted and threw up his arms, racing back into the library room. Library, mage’s workshop—and there were more rooms yet! Then his eyes travelled to something above the fireplace.

The massive magical fireplace roared with life even after the room itself had been forgotten. But it was magic that had made this place and the magic remained. And above the fireplace someone had written…something. Glowing runes had been etched in the brickwork. They shone as Blackmage stared up at them.

It was nothing in any language. Not in the common tongue. It was the words of magic and Blackmage’s brief study wasn’t enough to help him read them. He frowned.

“It says…it says…”

“The Evermote Study. That’s what it says.”

Blackmage spun. Montressa stood in the entryway, staring. The young man looked at her in horror. Montressa looked at him, and then the rows of books, pale with shock.

“You found it. The Evermote Study. It’s legendary. It has to be one of the most sought-after places in Wistram and you found—how?”

She took a step forwards and Blackmage stepped back.

“Oh no. No, no, no! You can’t have followed me! This isn’t right! It’s all ruined!”

“Calm down.”

“Calm down? The secret’s out! You promised me—I thought no one would follow.”

“Beatrice was curious. Sorry kid, but that’s the way it works.”

Montressa shrugged. She’d used an [Invisibility] spell to slip out after Blackmage. He hadn’t even run that fast—not to someone who’d learned [Flash Step]. Her stomach clenched as she remembered who’d taught her the beginnings of both spells. She suppressed the feeling. She’d put it to rest for good soon enough.

“Look, I didn’t hear the passphrase for the room. I wish I had, believe me. It was a passphrase, right?”

Blackmage stared at Montressa, lips sealed. He glared at her. She sighed.

“Don’t be stupid. And don’t reach for that wand—I’ll hit you with a [Flame Arrow] straight between the legs if you so much as try it. I’ve studied magic for years here and I’ve won more duels than you can count. Be reasonable. You’ll never be able to use a tenth of what’s in here, so you might as well make a deal now.”

“With you?”

“Hardly. You think Beatrice and I could shift all this? We’d get so many questions—no. With a haul like this, you’d have to talk to a big player. Someone like Archmage Feor. But why do I think you don’t want to let him know about this place?”

Montressa cocked her head, smiling slightly. Blackmage hesitated.

“You want to make another deal?”

“I’d like a finder’s fee, yeah. Teura’s going to be here any second. She probably can locate you even with the anti-scrying spells we cast on you. You’ll need someone to make contact and I bet you she won’t let you out of her sight. So why don’t we walk out of here, close this place up—”

“It closes itself. I don’t need to say the password out loud.”

“I’ll bet it does. Thanks for telling me there is a password.”

Blackmage shut his mouth. Montressa laughed. She looked around wonderingly.

“Dead gods. One of the legends of Wistram. How did you know? No, first tell me who you want me to contact. Unless your entire plan was finding this place? No, not even a first year’s that stupid.”

The young man eyed her balefully. But he had no choice, so he nodded.

“I want to talk to someone. Actually, I was going to talk to Beatrice again. She’s a Revivalist, right?”

“That’s right. Wait—do you want to talk to Naili?”

“Naili—that’s right.”

“Huh. That is good luck. For you.”

Montressa narrowed her eyes. She nodded after a second.

“Works for me. I’m a Revivalist too, by the way. We’ve never been introduced. Montressa du Valeros.”

“Oh. I’m—Blackmage.”

“Yes, I heard. Afraid of someone learning your true name? It’s not that dangerous. Come on, we’d better get moving if you want to speak to Naili tonight. Not even Feor’s people will follow you that deep into Revivalist territory.”

“Okay. I shouldn’t trust you but—”

“You’ve got no choice. Don’t worry. Secret brokers are as honest as they come. If we’re not we get into more trouble than it’s worth. Let’s run.”

Montressa left the room and saw the door close as soon as Blackmage stepped out. She whistled.

“Incredible. How did you know about this room anyways? It’s a legend in Wistram. You have to pay for the secret about the secret of the Evermote Study.”

Blackmage glanced at Montressa. For the first time since he’d met her, he smiled. This time in what she thought was genuine relief. He was sweaty, nervous. Just a kid. But not just another first-year.

“That’s a secret too. Wanna pay for it?”

The [Mage] glanced at the younger man’s smile and shook her head.

“I doubt I could afford it. Come on.”

She led the way at a run. Blackmage ran behind her. Montressa had to shake her head as she went. Secrets, new students appearing out of nowhere, and politics. It reminded her of her first years in Wistram. She bit her lip as she remembered. But that had been a long time ago. Everything was different now.

—-

There was trouble retrieving Blackmage. He was gone for over an hour, which was far too long. Feor retired to his rooms before he received a [Message] indicating that Blackmage had been returned to his chambers. Feor wondered where the young man had gone.

It didn’t matter. He had made up his mind already. It was too dangerous to have Teura follow the young man around at all hours. A lock spell preventing him from speaking about confidential matters would do the job far more effectively. It would be complex, but Feor had set aside all of tomorrow to cast it with a circle of his trusted allies. They would do the same for the other Humans from Earth, before anyone realized what had been done.

That was Feor’s plan. He meditated in his rooms on the spell before he slept and rose early to do the same. At breakfast he patiently waited, dining on a light meal in preparation for the exertions to come.

Blackmage was not sitting with him. He had been escorted to the great hall, but allowed to sit wherever he pleased. He was sitting with a Dullahan and young Human woman. The same two he had visited last night. Secret brokers. Feor’s brow furrowed. If Blackmage was giving out secrets—he wouldn’t be that foolish. But then again, he was Human. And young.

It was past time to cast the spell. Feor rose and nodded. He had brought six of the experienced [Mages] from his faction, the Centrists, with him. They were all on Wistram’s council. They stepped away from the high table and walked across the floor. Feor kept his eyes on Blackmage. He saw the young man turn and then someone stepped in front of him.

“Oh my, Feor. I hope I’m not in your way.”

The half-Elf looked up. He saw a smiling half-snake, half-humanoid creature slither into his path. She looked like a Naga, but while they were more powerfully built she was slim. Her scales were light white and rose, and across her arms and back ran a pattern of glowing scales which shifted with bright blues and purples and yellows. The lamia’s face resembled that of the Lizardfolk from which she had evolved from. But the brilliant power in her gaze was her own.

“Archmage Nailihuaile. I thought you were secluded in your private chambers, meditating on the theory of using rhinestones to bypass the material components of jewel spellcrafting.”

The lamia beamed at Feor and he cursed her timing.

“I was! But you know how it is with me and spellcraft. I sometimes want to move about and then I thought that I hadn’t eaten in days! So here I am.”

“Fascinating. I would love to speak with you, but later. I have business to attend to.”

Stopping to chat with the most talkative of Archmages was not an option. Feor stepped politely around Naili, but she slithered in front of him. This time he stopped and sensed the trap. Naili bared sharp teeth at him in a grin.

“I know you’re busy, Archmage Feor. That’s why I’m here, actually. I was rather hoping to spoil your day. That little Human you want to take? He’s mine now.”

Feor paused. Behind him, Teura and the other half-Elves and Centrist mages froze. Some of them reached for their wands, others murmured warding spells. Archmage Naili didn’t move. Feor felt the magic in his blood hum as he frowned.

“That would be an unwise decision, Archmage Nailihuaile.”

“Would it? You know how I am with bad decisions. I keep making them.”

She had a staff in her hands. Her staff, the Serkonian Lance. A treasure of the Lizardfolk. Archmage Feor hadn’t prepared for a duel. He eyed her, reciting a list of spells in his head.

“It would be most unwise to engage in conflict now, Archmage Naili. We agreed that the otherworlders were a matter for Wistram as a whole.”

“Yes, we did. Only it seems your little faction has been monopolizing him. Hmm?”

She couldn’t know their plans. There couldn’t be a mole in his faction. Not among his trusted people. Surely this was coincidence. Feor’s brows snapped together. The white-haired half-Elf reached for his wand.

“Step aside, Archmage.”

“Or what?”

She moved, her tail undulating as Feor stepped left. He glanced at the other Centrist mages. Teura gave him a nod.

“If it comes to it, we will use force.”

Again she grinned.

“Oh good. I was hoping you’d say that. Because we’d be only too happy to oblige.”

She turned her head and hissed. Across the room, over four hundred [Mages] stood up at once.

Feor froze. His eyes flicked past Naili to the mages who’d gotten to their feet. He hadn’t checked their faces when he’d come in for breakfast. If he had, he would have recognized them. Each mage, over two thirds of the mages here for breakfast, was part of the Revivalist faction.

Every member of the Revivalist faction present had stood up in the banquet hall. Old mages and young, Lizardfolk, Humans, Dullahans, even rarer species like Garuda and Selphids, walked forwards. Hundreds of [Mages]. They gathered behind the smiling Archmage Naili, forming a wall between Archmage Feor’s few followers and Blackmage.

The banquet hall of Wistram was still as they watched the standoff. Still, but not silent. Mages from other factions and independents whispered to each other, some speculating, some taking bets on what would happen next. Feor stared at Naili.

“This is a mistake, Archmage Naili. Committing to one Human is foolish. If you intend to monopolize him, the other factions will—”

“Come at ours? We welcome it.”

The lamia’s eyes narrowed. She grinned at Feor and he was reminded of the Lizardfolk’s ancestry, that of hunters in Baleros’ swamps. She flicked her tongue.

“You’re outnumbered, Feor. Turn around and go.”

He hesitated, but she was right. Four hundred [Mages] watched as Archmage Feor and his Centrists stepped back. They moved unhurriedly, as if the staring wall of [Mages] were nothing more than an inconvenience. But they did leave. And Wistram’s [Mages] saw it.

When Feor left the grand hall he stopped. The other [Mages] were afraid to look at him. He spoke without turning around.

“The Revivalists have never played their hand so strongly before. They mean to take the Human into their faction and throw their support behind him, not divide his knowledge as agreed upon. Why? What prompted their change?”

No one answered. Feor stared out a window at the clear skies surrounding Wistram. He turned to Teura. She flinched.

“Find out what they know. And call a meeting. This must be discussed at once.”

He strode off, not waiting for a response. Something had changed in Wistram. But what? Feor’s mind blazed as he connected Blackmage to the encounter with Beatrice and Montressa. That missing hour…but Blackmage had been watched every time he left his room. What had he found? What had he done? What did Naili know? Secrets ruled Wistram. Archmage Feor was not afraid of the Revivalists. He was afraid that they knew something he didn’t.

—-

After Feor had left, Blackmage saw the Revivalists disperse. They went back to their tables, laughing, calling for drinks, in a jubilant mood. Their leader, one of the famed Archmages, was no less ecstatic. Archmage Naili lead the way down the hall as Blackmage walked with her. Alone. He tried not to stare at her body, until he remembered Montressa telling him that Lizardfolk liked to be admired. They were also very chatty.

“That was so much fun! I haven’t tweaked the Centrist’s noses like that in over a decade! The look on Feor’s face was magnificent. He and the other factions will be scrambling all night to figure out what we know, which is excellent because most of our lot don’t know what we know!”

For an Archmage, Naili had a down-to-earth side of her that none of the other Archmages had. Blackmage saw her glancing back at him and grinning, swishing her long tail back and forth. Unlike the Drakes who used their tails as support as they walked, Naili’s tail was her entire lower torso and it undulated as she slithered across the ground. She was actually shorter than he was, although the long staff she carried made her seem taller.

“So we get to talk at last, young Human! I mean, we talked yesterday, but that was all negotiations and me saying ‘what, you can’t be serious!’ a lot. It’s nice to meet you! I see you looking at my scales. Aren’t they pretty? I’m a Star Lamia in case you were wondering. See my scales? The glowing ones store magic. It’s very good for spellcasting, although it makes sneaking around very difficult unless I use illusion spells.”

“I uh, that’s very cool.”

She nodded happily.

“Isn’t it? I was so proud when I became a Lamia, and then when I became a Star Lamia! It’s such an honor. Most Lizardfolk don’t evolve at all which is sad! But the majority of the ones who do evolve become Nagas, Gorgons, or Lamia. From there they can change into other forms. It’s very complex and some people think we’re all different species but we’re not. It all depends on what we’re good at! Gorgons are huge fighters. Nagas are smaller, but very strong—it’s the kind of form Lizardfolk turn into most of the time if they don’t have a set path. Whereas Lamia are small, but we have larger brains! Does that make sense? Are you following me?”

“Uh—I think so. Can Lizardfolk become other species? Like…say, a Medusa?”

“Oh! You know about our kind! Or is that something from your world? Wait, was I supposed to keep that secret? Yes I was. No one was listening, were they? Good.”

Naili looked around rapidly. No one was there to listen. Blackmage wondered if all Lizardfolk were as chatty as she was. He’d met Cessic—and so far they were two for two in terms of hyper energy.

“Thanks for agreeing to help me. I don’t know what I would have done if you’d said no.”

“Of course I would have said yes! I can’t let old Feor get away with everything. Us Archmages have to counter each other. And I’m a good match for Feor, magically or otherwise. He hates when I chatter. Thinks it’s ‘unbecoming’. That’s half-Elves for you. Snobs.”

Talking to Naili was like watching a stream of thoughts go past. You had to grab for the one you wanted or get lost. Blackmage chose one at random.

“You’re a good match for Archmage Feor? How?”

“Archmage Feor is a generalist. Quite boring, don’t you think? He wants to be like a proper [Archmage] of old, but he doesn’t have the class. Not yet. And I say generalist, but he prefers to use big spells in battle and everywhere else. Big spells. They take too much time. I like spells to be quick! I learned that in Baleros. You can’t cast [Blackflame Fireball]—silly spell, by the way, why is that considered an upgrade of [Grand Fireball]?—when people are trying to hack your tail off with enchanted swords! Anyways, I specialize in enchantments. I can do artifacts, but I’m best at making scales harder than mithril or casting mass-[Invisibility] spells. Actually, I’m probably the best in the world at it. Aside from this guy in Pallass who’s crazy about physical enchantments…”

“Wow.”

“Yes, wow. You Humans say the silliest things. I’m an Archmage! One of five in the world! Well, six if you count Amerys. I wonder if she’s lost her rank? Oh well, five or six. And all you say is ‘wow’. But I don’t want to judge! Except that I do.”

Blackmage blinked at her. Naili grinned at him, showing entirely too many pointed teeth for him to be comfortable.

“Don’t worry, we’re on the same side now. We have an agreement, and I can’t break my word so easily. Well, I could, but that would be a lot of trouble.”

So Blackmage understood. But he was still nervous.

“Do you—do you think you can really protect the others from Earth?”

“Absolutely. That’s the deal. We get access to the Evermote Study, and in return we’ll protect your friends. Archmage Feor and the Centrists can try, but the Revivalists have the numbers to resist any faction…especially with that many magic tomes to offer our people. I don’t suppose you’d care to sell me the secret of how you knew where to find it?”

“I uh, no. That’s a bigger secret.”

Naili laughed.

“A bigger secret than the Evermote Room? I suppose even I might not afford it. But just remember that every secret comes with a price. And we all pay that price sooner or later.”

She stopped and looked seriously at Blackmage. He paused and his stomach jumped. Then Naili laughed again.

“Hah! Your face is priceless. I’m funny. Okay, let’s see this study. And we’ll find you some new rooms, Aaron. Oh, don’t worry about the name. You’re with us now. You’ve got protectors. Allies.”

“That was the plan.”

“Whose?”

Aaron closed his mouth. Naili stared at him and then grinned.

“This is why I love Wistram. Alright then. Let’s go.”

—-

That evening, the second boat load of new students entered Wistram. They trudged up the steps, staring up at the magical citadel. Wistram was taller than any castle. It soared up in the bubble of calm, its windows shining with light. One tower was entirely aflame, another engulfed by plants. Yet one more was leaking bright blue smoke, the product of a failed experiment. But what lay on the inside only hinted at what was within. The students stumbled up the steps, still on their sea legs.

A small group of weary Humans perked up when they saw the academy. When they stepped into the entrance hall and saw the waiting [Mages], complete with pointy hats, they couldn’t help it. One of them, a young woman, grabbed her friends and shouted.

“It’s Hogwarts! I told you! We’re in Hogwarts!”

That was a big hint, all things told. Blackmage strode through the crowd, staring. He saw a dark face turn, saw eyes widen as they fixed on him. He didn’t know what his face showed, but he raised a hand and pointed.

“Earth? Are you guys—”

He got no further. One of the humans leapt at him and nearly knocked him to the ground. She hugged him, sobbing, as the other bewildered students turned and saw the Humans from Earth gathering around each other, shouting in surprise and hugging each other.

It was a pleasant sight. Or it would have been a day ago. Archmage Feor stood on a balcony high above the entrance hall. He was displeased. The Revivalists had come out full-force and they had made their goals clear. They were going to shelter the Humans from Earth, give them autonomy, support. They were willing to fight with every other faction in Wistram to do it. He had no idea what was giving them the confidence.

He would find out. Wistram always gave up its secrets in time. Feor turned, letting Aaron celebrate his victory for now. Someone had helped him. Not just Naili. That someone would turn up. Or Aaron would make a mistake. And in truth, he mattered less right now. He wasn’t the one otherworlder in Wistram now, he was one of many. And there were more out there, waiting to be found.

Feor flicked his hand and a scroll popped into his hands. He looked at the list of names, nodding perfunctorily as he travelled down the list. The groups were sorted by location, by the routes they would take and the difficulty of their task. He paused as he came down to an entry on the list and turned.

“Teura.”

The half-Elf looked up. Feor pointed to the list of four names on the parchment.

“Have we any more information about Liscor and its environs? Our graduate is located there, is she not?”

Teura nodded.

“Falene Skystrall has indeed been confirmed in Liscor, but obtaining information has been problematic. She has made several requests for information on two of our expelled students. I believe you are familiar?”

“Ah yes. Ceria Springwalker and…the [Necromancer]. A pity. Springwalker might have been one of ours. Falene does not wish to aid the academy?”

“Not in giving confidential information away, Archmage. She claims it would be a conflict that goes against her team’s interests.”

“A pity. Our former graduates do not owe the academy as much as one might hope. It is ironic that we obtain more information from independents. Have you confirmed the Gold-rank [Mage] Typhenous’ report?”

“Yes, Archmage. We have assigned the team to the two additional objectives as you requested.”

“Good.”

Feor glanced back at the parchment. A name stood out to him on the parchment. Montressa du Valeros. He glanced at their objectives.

“Investigate the presence of [batman] and ‘L’. Investigate possible Earth connection to Erin Solstice. Retrieve magical door—‘The Wandering Inn’. Investigate expelled student Pisces location and whereabouts—The Horns of Hammerad. Very good.”

He rolled up the scroll. Feor made it vanish with another gesture and turned.

“Have the teams begin leaving as soon as the first years begin attending class. We are in a race, Teura. These otherworlders are a resource. And Wistram will collect them.”

He turned his head. First-year students were still celebrating. Cognita strode towards them, and behind her the double doors slowly closed. They slammed shut, keeping the mages, the students, and the secrets within the walls.

5.34

A boycott. Of all the trials that The Wandering Inn had faced, Erin would have assumed that would be the least challenging. And she would be right, except that unlike every crisis she’d weathered so far, the boycott hadn’t ended after the first day. Unlike undead invasions, Goblin attacks, angry Rock Crabs or diarrhea, the boycott had dragged into the fifth day without signs of slowing.

And again, if anyone had asked Erin if she was afraid of boycotts she would have laughed in their face while getting them another order of risotto pasta. After all, her inn had weathered far worse scandals, hadn’t it? She was employing Goblins for goodness sake! She’d endured scandal and outright hostility before.

But Erin had underestimated the difference in cultures. When Drakes boycotted a business or location, they didn’t just avoid it like the plague. No, they turned up each day to complain.

“Actually, I think Humans do that too. Why call it a boycott if you still show up?”

Erin slumped at a table, groaning and holding her head. It was late evening in her inn and she had actors on stage, some Humans and Gnolls dining, adventurers sitting at their tables. And a large number of Drakes, sitting at tables and booing each time an actor spoke on stage.

“I’m afraid I do not understand your dilemma, Miss Solstice.”

Klbkch sat at a table across from Erin with Krshia on the other side. Both Antinium and Gnoll glanced up as a Drake hissed and booed Wesle as he tried to woo Jasi in her role of Juliet on stage. Klbkch nodded towards the Drake.

“If the Drake protest is undesirable, why not simply eject them from your inn?”

“Because if I do that, they stand outside my inn and throw rocks and dead fish at my windows. Or wait in Liscor and harass anyone who comes out of the magic door.”

“I see. That is a dilemma.”

“Right. I was sort of hoping you’d be able to help. You know, since you’re a [Guardsman] and all?”

Erin glanced sidelong at Klbkch. He hesitated, keeping one hand on his mug as he watched the stage. If you ignored the quiet booing, the play really wasn’t that bad. But that was if you could ignore the booing. The Antinium shook his head a fraction after a few seconds of thought.

“I am afraid that civil protest is a time-honored Drake tradition. True, I could caution and then arrest the Drakes here if they continued to interfere with your business in tangible ways, but Drakes have always honored the right to insult others in public forums.”

“What? That’s so—well, okay, we do that at home, but that’s not right!”

Krshia sniffed the air and grunted. She was enjoying a plate of fish flakes, dipping each in a fishy sauce filled with spices before chewing the food.

“It is a Drake thing, Miss Solstice, yes? Human too, from what you say. We Gnolls, we simply leave if something is undesirable. But Drakes must tell you over and over why it is not what they enjoy. Hrm.”

“What if I kicked them out? Could you arrest them for throwing stuff at my inn?”

Erin looked pleadingly at Klbkch. The Antinium opened his mandibles and made a clicking, sighing sound.

“It is again troublesome that you live outside of Liscor and do not, in fact, pay taxes, Miss Solstice.”

“Ah.”

“Quite. Watch Captain Zevara could order such a guard detail for a short period of time, but I believe she would be uninclined to support such a decision even if I endorsed it to her.”

“Because she hates me.”

Krshia covered a smile with one paw as Erin slumped in her seat.

“I do not think she hates you, Erin. But you do bring her much trouble. And the city is more concerned with dungeons and fish at the moment.”

“Fish?”

“Sometimes fish attack the walls. Big ones. Like Lurkersnatches.”

“The black octopus things?”

“Yes. They are quite difficult to deter. I would advise you to take caution, but your personal defenses are probably more than adequate to deter most monsters. I trust Bird had fulfilled his duties well up till now?”

“Bird? He’s great. Really great. I was worried when he came back with the bow, but he actually paid for it? With money he got from the…Queen?”

Erin stared at Klbkch. Again, the Antinium nodded. He shifted his gaze. Bird was eating at a table across from them with Mrsha. He was happily enjoying a plate full of eggs and batting a ball across the table with Mrsha with one of his arms. Erin shook her head as she watched the Antinium Worker and Gnoll play.

“I can’t believe it. She likes him? Your Queen?”

Erin remembered meeting her. The Queen of the Free Antinium was many things. Huge. Scary. Heartless. In none of these adjectives did Erin see any possibility of her liking anyone. Klbkch seemed just as confused.

“It is an unusual development. But my Queen expressed great pleasure after her interview of Bird and she did allocate him a large budget to purchase a bow.”

“Which he bought in my cousin’s shop. The highest-quality bow we had. It was quite surprising, yes?”

Krshia popped another fish flake into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Erin shook her head in disbelief.

“The Queen likes Bird. That’s just so…at least he’s happy. He was talking all of today about the bow. And water birds. I uh, haven’t told him they don’t exist yet.”

“Ah. That may be best.”

“Hrm.”

The Gnoll and Antinium sat with Erin in silence and she sighed. The common room of her inn was warm, and the smell of good cooking filled the inn. Ishkr, Lyonette, and two new Gnolls she’d hired – Raelia and Fersh – were serving tables. Again, without the booing the inn would have been a wonderful place to enjoy. However…

“At least they pay to watch the play and eat food. The Drakes, I mean. I’m earning some money each day off of them, but compared to a full house, this isn’t good at all.”

She had probably less than fifty people in the inn, where she was certain her maximum capacity was probably six or seven times that. Krshia nodded as she eyed one of the Drakes sitting at a table close to them. He was booing, but not that loudly. He looked annoyed if his tail was anything to go by—it swept the ground in long, agitated motions.

“I am surprised to be honest, Erin. I would have expected them to throw things. Or fight. Perhaps they are not as angry as you think?”

“Naw. They’re mad. But I’ve got a handle on my aura now. As long as I concentrate, they won’t start fighting or throwing things. Booing is all they can do.”

Erin sighed and rubbed at her head. The effort of suppressing the irritated Drakes was a low-level strain at the back of her head. Krshia looked impressed.

“That is a powerful Skill, yes?”

“It’d be better if I could get them to stop booing entirely. It’s…well, I’m not saying I’m gonna give in to racist jerks and peer pressure, but this is really bad for my inn. I might ask the Players of Celum to stop performing Juliet and Romeo here and switch to a different play if I can’t find a way to make it more…acceptable for Liscor.”

“I am surprised you kept the show on after the first night.”

Erin glared at her hands.

“I didn’t want to take it off! There’s nothing wrong with Jasi playing Juliet and Wesle playing Romeo! If a Drake can’t marry a Human—that’s the entire point of the play! But business is bad. I don’t have a lot of customers and I need to think about the [Actors].”

That was the thing. Erin had grown used to hard times and less income, but she’d never had to worry about a staff. Much less the Players of Celum themselves. But now she was employing ten regular staff and she had a business contract with the Players of Celum. They had families to feed and without a steady flow of coin, they were getting upset. It also wasn’t fun to be booed on stage each night. She sighed and drummed her fingers on the table, counting the Humans in the room.

“The thing is, I was really counting on getting Liscor on board with the plays. Everyone in Celum has seen all of the shows the Players put on six or more times. Interest is dying out. Either they work here or they move to another Human city. So…the jerks win. Again, unless I can fix this.”

Klbkch nodded.

“Do you have any ideas as to how to solve this dilemma, Miss Erin?”

“I’m thinking a trial audience. Maybe change some lines? We’ll do a run through after this play ends. Shouldn’t be long; they’re rushing the lines.”

“Boo! This play is terrible! We don’t need Humans coming to our city, marrying our daughters!”

The angry Drake stood up, fighting off Erin’s Skill enough to raise his voice. Erin swiveled in her chair and frowned at him. He glared at her. Klbkch turned and raised his voice.

“You are making a scene, sir. I caution you to seat yourself and let the entertainment continue in peace or remove yourself from the inn.”

The Drake clenched a fist as he glared at Klbkch. He was clearly drunk and not happy.

“You can’t order me about, you damn Ant! You’re just as bad as those Humans! You…bugs and your secret Hive with entrances into the dungeon—”

“Aw, shut up! That’s Senior Guardsman Klbkch, you idiot. I came to shout at Humans, not get into politics!”

To Erin’s surprise, another Drake called out, waving his mug for a refill. The drunk Drake glared at him. He must have been newer to Liscor because he looked at Klbkch and Bird with clear dislike.

“Antinium. Can’t trust ‘em. I heard Liscor was full of bug lovers, but this? You can’t hide your secrets now! Everyone knows…you’ve got a Hive. Underground. Right next to the dungeon.”

“That is where the Hive has always been, yes.”

Klbkch calmly looked up at the Drake. The drunk waved a claw menacingly. Maybe he was so drunk that Erin’s Skill wasn’t working on him. Erin looked around and saw a Hobgoblin looking over. Rabbiteater made a questioning fist and she shook her head. Her Hobgoblin bouncers were effective, but whenever they started fights with Drakes, everyone tended to pile in. They’d tried to stop the Drakes throwing rocks outside once, but it had very nearly turned bloody when the Drakes drew daggers and clubs.

“The Antinium don’t belong in this city! Who’s with me?”

The Drake looked around for support, but didn’t get it. He glared at Klbkch.

“Senior Guardsman. Hah. What’re you going to do? Arrest me?”

The Antinium shook his head.

“Technically I am off-duty. Therefore I would respond to further provocation or physical assault in the time-honored tradition of bodily harm. However, I would caution you not to start an altercation.”

“Oh yeah?”

There was something universal about belligerent drunks. Klbkch nodded.

“Yes. A brawl would be unfortunate for you. Especially if my partner were to join in. As he often does.”

“Partner?”

The drunk Drake looked around blankly and then spun as a claw landed on his shoulder. He looked up into Relc’s grinning face. Senior Guardsman Relc loomed over the smaller Drake. One large forearm flexed.

“Are we having a bar fight? Awesome! Go on, throw the first punch. I’ll let you have one. No—two! That way Captain Z can’t say I started it. Too bad there’s only like forty people here. Come on, what are you waiting for?”

He grinned toothily down at the smaller Drake. The drunk, who had sobered remarkably quickly, looked at Relc and then at Klbkch. He sat back down silently. Relc drooped.

“Aw.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Dad.”

Relc turned as Erin saw another Drake approach. Wing Commander Embria glared at her father as her red tail twitched irritably. Relc looked guilty as he edged back. He’d been sitting at a far table with his daughter throughout the play. Erin had left them alone—Embria didn’t seem fond of either Klbkch or her. Now Embria frowned and poked Relc in the chest as he looked around as if seeking an exit.

“You’re a Senior Guardsman. You have a responsibility to keep the peace, not cause trouble. Is this really what you do on your days off? Pick fights in bars?”

“I don’t do it all the time—”

“If you were back in the army you’d be put on latrine duty for a month! Your job is to protect citizens, not waste time and money!”

“Yeah, well, I dug a lot of holes back in the army. Let me have my fun! Don’t you like the play?”

Embria glanced over her shoulder at the stage, where the actors were trying not to glare in their direction.

“It’s fine, I suppose. I can see why it’s unpopular, but I don’t mind.”

“Right, right. It’s fun! We’re having fun. Father and daughter. Let’s sit back down and have food. Calmly.”

“We were doing that until you tried to start a fight.”

“I was just protecting my buddy!”

Embria looked towards Klbkch. Her expression turned icy.

“Senior Guardsman Klbkch can take care of himself. Come on.”

She practically dragged Relc away as he gave Erin and Klbkch an imploring look to save him. Erin just waved. She turned back to Krshia. The Gnoll was licking her plate. She looked up unapologetically as Erin stared.

“I do not believe I have ever seen Relc so inconvenienced, yes? It is quite amusing.”

“His daughter is not fond of me. I am fairly confident of that.”

“Hey, you can hang out with me, Klbkch. I’m glad to see you. We don’t talk enough these days. And Krshia, you should come over more. Mrsha likes you.”

The Gnoll smiled as Klbkch inclined his head.

“It is nice, yes? She is getting bigger. She could stand to run more—she eats well here. But she is healthy. And it seems that Bird is a good companion for her.”

The Antinium had finished his plate and was now throwing the ball for Mrsha to catch. Again, it probably wasn’t appropriate in the middle of a play, but they had space and the [Actors] looked resigned. Erin nodded.

“Bird and Mrsha. I’ve got a lot of kids running about.”

She paused as her mouth caught up with her brain. Kids. She glanced at Bird. He was sort of like that, wasn’t he? She knew he wasn’t like Pawn or the others. He wasn’t slow, but he was…well, she understood why Klbkch had been worried about him when Bird had met the Queen. Not for the first time, Erin wondered if Bird being assigned to guard her inn had been so he could protect her, or if she could take care of him in some way. She glanced sideways at Klbkch.

“Are Pawn and the others doing okay?”

“They are performing to and occasionally above expectations.”

“That doesn’t tell me much. Let them visit the inn more often. They’re people, Klbkch. Isn’t that the entire point.”

“I…have received a request to allocate them weekly breaks. I will consider it.”

“Good. Now, I need to get up and be an [Innkeeper]. Check up on people. Give me a few minutes and we’ll brainstorm this play thing. You two want anything?”

“I could eat some red meat. These flakes are good, but unfilling, yes?”

“I would appreciate a refill of my mug.”

“On it! Ishkr, refill and uh, something red meaty for Krshia!”

Erin smiled as she flagged Ishkr. That was the nice thing about having employees. She didn’t have to do all the work.

—-

Ceria Springwalker heard Erin call Ishkr’s name and waved, but too late. The Gnoll was already turning. She sighed, raised her empty mug, and tilted it up. A drop of ale fell into her mouth. She looked around, but the other servers weren’t close to her table. With a sigh she resigned herself to another few minutes of crushing sobriety and leaned into the conversation at her table. She and the other adventurers were sitting together.

The Horns of Hammerad, the Halfseekers, and three members of Gemhammer including their leader, Earlia, were sharing two tables as the play went on in the background. Ceria had given up trying to watch the stage—she’d seen the play already and the booing got on her nerves.

“Okay, so we’re agreed. We’ll team with the Horns while Griffon Hunt works with the Silver Swords on the next expedition. Nothing long-term; just a day or two so we can figure out how good you are at dungeon diving. Sound like a plan?”

Jelaqua was speaking to the group as she leaned over a plate of fried sardines freshly caught out of the water. Behind her, Moore was chewing on a selection of much larger fish that had been put on skewers and stacked up on a platter for him. Seborn sat, quietly picking at his plate of risotto pasta. Across from them, the Horns exchanged glances. Ceria nodded to Jelaqua.

“Works for me. I appreciate it, Jelaqua, really. I know it’s asking a lot—”

“Eh, your team seems competent. And it’s always nice to have backup. We’ll probably do a lot of untrapping anyways unless we get lucky going in from the main entrance. Plus—you really need it. I can’t believe the Silver Swords are that bad at dungeon diving.”

“Neither can we.”

Yvlon sighed. Pisces looked up as he slurped a noodle up. He patted at his mouth with a napkin.

“I can fully believe it.”

“So can I. I was there.”

Ksmvr nodded firmly. Jelaqua laughed as Ceria rolled her eyes and kicked Pisces gently under the table.

“Right. Well, it’ll be good to change things up, anyways. So long as Halrac and his team can beat some caution into Ylawes’ thick head, you’ll be okay going forwards. They are Gold-rank.”

“How’d they hit that rank without ever doing a dungeon? I can’t imagine it. They must have done purely monster contracts.”

Earlia shook her head as she drained her mug. She rubbed idly at her shoulder where her newly-healed shoulder was still tender. Ceria eyed the woman. Healing potions worked instantly, but the body still needed to recover a bit after injuries. Earlia and her team had been resting since their battle in the dungeon. They’d gravitated towards this table instantly, although they had hardly spoken with either the Halfseekers or the Horns before that. Jelaqua smiled through bloodless lips at Earlia. She didn’t seem to mind the company—she and Earlia were both social types, at odds with grumpy loners like Halrac.

“I’d offer your team the same, but I think that’d push it, Earlia. We can’t babysit other teams all the time—not that I think the Horns will weigh us down. But we are working with Griffon Hunt, and they’re damn good. No offense.”

“None taken! We’re a dungeon team ourselves—we don’t need to be carried. Plus, we’re chummy with The Pride of Kelia. Nice to work with a dedicated archery team. Once we’re back to full-strength we’ll challenge the dungeon again.”

“You’re going straight back down there? After you got ambushed?”

Ceria raised both her eyebrows in disbelief. Earlia snorted out some of her ale, laughed, and wiped her face. Pisces looked disgusted. Ksmvr was fascinated.

“Of course! Now we know the layout we’ll bring the right equipment. Those Rashg—Raskghar bastards got the drop on us, but they don’t have Skills. We can prepare. I’d love to take that asshole with the armor on. Or grab that invisible bow. Bet it’s enchanted with some powerful stuff. I’ll have to fight Nailren for it, though. Eh, he can get the bow if we get the armor.”

She grinned around fearlessly. Ceria felt a twinge of admiration in her chest, even as part of her thought that Earlia was beyond reckless. The leader of Gemhammer belched.

“Plus, we have an edge! That masked woman who ran in—dead gods, I can’t imagine how she’s survived down there. Some kind of crazy adventurer, probably. You hear about nutjobs like that. I’d love to meet her again, though. Hey, maybe she’s hungry. Let’s bring extra supplies if we see her.”

“Just watch out. You can never tell with some strangers.”

Jelaqua cautioned Earlia as she glanced around the inn. Ceria saw a few Humans get up and walk for the door to Celum, shaking their heads as the Drakes booing continued. Most of the Gnolls who’d come for the show had gone—it really was a shame. Erin looked stressed as she circulated the room. Earlia grimaced as she tilted her mug up and found it empty.

“I’ve gotta say, this inn was more fun a few days ago. Those Drakes do not like the play, huh? Big thing about a Drake marrying a Human?”

Jelaqua shrugged.

“Species stuff. It’s all about who can bump squishies with who.”

“I hear that! Hey! Anyone got a refill!”

Earlia raised her voice and shouted at one of the passing waiters. On stage Wesle winced and fumbled with his line. It was Erin herself who came over with a flagon and refilled Earlia’s mug. Ceria desperately raised hers and saw liquid relief pouring into it.

“Thanks, Erin.”

“No prob. Hey, how’s everyone doing? Enjoying your early dinner? Can I get you started on a second course?”

“Uh, not us, Erin. We’re going into the city in just a bit.”

Jelaqua looked guilty and coughed, although Ceria was sure that no Selphid had ever had to worry about sore throats. Erin looked shocked.

“What? But we’ve got food here! And we’re doing a uh, rethink of the plays in a bit. I’d love your opinion!”

“Yeah…about that. We’re meeting Halrac and the others for a real sit-down planning sort of thing. Figure out how to deal with more of those monster silos if we come across them. We fixed the Shield Spider nest, but we want to be ready. We’ve got the Watch Captain and that Olesm guy joining us. The city’s taking it seriously.”

“Olesm? But why don’t you have your meeting here?”

“Uh—the thing is—”

Jelaqua glanced at her teammates. It was Seborn who pushed back his mostly empty plate and spoke in his echoing voice.

“The ambiance here is terrible, Erin. No one wants to eat here right now.”

The adventurers winced as Erin’s face fell.

“I’m trying to fix it.”

“We know. But we can’t think in here. We’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Yeah, we’ll, uh, probably be at it all night. Ahem. I think that’s our cue. Moore, you’ve gotten enough fish in you?”

The half-Giant nodded as he wiped his fingers delicately on a handkerchief.

“It was quite delicious, Miss Erin. Our apologies. We’ll be back.”

“Yeah…okay.”

Erin looked despondent as the Halfseekers made their way out of the inn. She looked around and sighed.

“Okay, let’s do this. Hey Ceria, you going to go too?”

“We’re not busy.”

Ceria smiled at Erin and saw the [Innkeeper] brighten a little. She and the others turned as Erin strode towards the stage at the back of the room. Erin waved her hands and Wesle broke off with a vial of poison in his hands on stage. The young Human woman turned and raised her voice.

“Alright! You jerks win! Anyone who’s mad about the play come closer and pull up a seat! We’ll try to make it better if you all agree to stop coming here and causing trouble!”

She glared as the Drakes in the back cheered. Ceria glanced at Pisces, who had moved over to scavenge the food the Halfseekers had left.

“Looks like Erin’s giving in. You want to watch?”

“At the demise of art to satisfy the demands of the plebian masses? I should be so lucky.”

Pisces sneered. Ceria rolled her eyes and got up with Yvlon and Ksmvr. She walked forwards as Erin called the Players of Celum on stage. It wasn’t exactly what Ceria would have called an enjoyable activity, but she was participating for one important reason. Erin had told her drinks and food would be on the house for anyone who helped her brainstorm the play. From the way Earlia was drinking, she’d been told the same thing.

—-

“Alright, so why do you hate the play?”

“No Drakes marrying Human fleshbags!”

A cheer went up from the Drakes sitting in the front row. Erin glared and turned to the Players of Celum. Emme, the stage director and only half-Dwarf in the group didn’t rise to the bait.

“We know you don’t like the pairing. But besides that. Is there anything we can do? Can we change the dialogue, maybe?”

“Why doesn’t she marry a Drake instead? Give us a Drake Romeo and a Drake Juliet! We don’t want to see some Human kissing one of ours! Look at him! He’s not even that attractive as a Human!”

“Hey!”

Wesle looked hurt. The Drakes in front laughed. Emme sighed and raised her ink-covered quill.

“Please, please! We’re trying to make an effort to make this play better for everyone to enjoy, but attacking our [Actors] isn’t helping. Romeo and Juliet is about two species coming together. That’s the point of the play.”

“Well, maybe the play stinks. Did you think about that?”

Erin watched Emme’s bushy eyebrows twitch slightly. The half-Dwarf stared at the Drake heckler. Erin prayed she wouldn’t start a fight.

The brainstorming session or rather, negotiations to alter the play weren’t going well. Erin stared around at the [Actors]. The Humans from Celum were not happy after so many days of bad performances. They stood or sat behind Emme, arms folded, glaring daggers at the Drakes who were drunk on cheerful belligerence…or just drunk and belligerent.

“They don’t even seem as angry as they did a while ago. They’re just being annoying right now.”

Erin whispered to Jasi. The Drake grimaced as she cleaned some of the makeup off her scales.

“That’s because we’re humoring them, Erin. But I’ve heard about Drakes and stubbornness. They won’t budge unless we really do change the cast. I could step aside and have a Human play my role, but—”

“That’s not the point!”

“I know. But we do have to work this out. You might want to get some of your Goblins to be ready, though.”

“In case the Drakes start a fight? I’ve got that covered.”

“No, in case Emme tries to kill them.”

Jasi nodded towards the beet-red Emme. Erin eyed the short woman and nodded.

“I’ll let them know.”

She slid past Jasi and hurried down the common room. As she went, Erin saw something whiz at her head and ducked. She heard clicking claws and saw Mrsha scamper past. The Gnoll leapt and caught the ball with her mouth. Bird waved at Erin as she stared at him.

“Hello Miss Erin. We are playing catch.”

Erin looked back and ducked again as Mrsha threw the ball at Bird. The mostly empty common room was long and large thanks to her [Grand Theatre] Skill. It seemed that Mrsha had decided it was the prime place to play a game of catch in. Worse, Krshia, Iskhr, and the other Gnolls looked interested in playing too. Erin opened her mouth, remembered what Krshia had said about exercise, and closed it.

“Just don’t hit anyone, Bird. And clear off the tables! I don’t want Mrsha getting hurt!”

“I’ll do it.”

Lyonette breezed past Erin and grabbed a few empty tankards. Mrsha leapt onto a table. Erin eyed her, but Lyonette just touched Mrsha on the nose and complimented her on her catching Skills. It seemed like she wasn’t worried about Mrsha getting hurt. After all, the worst she could do was crash into something. In a world with monsters, Erin supposed that a few bumps and scrapes weren’t that bad. She had to admit, leaping onto tables and running about the common room looked fun. Maybe she’d join in.

After they fixed the play. Reminded of her task, Erin looked around and found her quarry. Headscratcher was sitting at a table with an empty plate, staring at the front of the room. He was alone—Erin had spotted Badarrow lounging next to one of the windows with Shorthilt and she assumed Rabbiteater was still in the outhouse. He’d eaten something that hadn’t agreed with him. And Numbtongue was probably in the basement, playing on the guitar in secret. She wandered over to Headscratcher.

“Hi Headscratcher, are you doing okay?”

She saw the Goblin’s head turn. Headscratcher’s green skin reflected the fireplace’s light dully. His pointed ears and slightly angular head made him clearly non-Human. But his body was close to Human. And his eyes. Erin paused as she stared into the glowing red eyes. They turned to her. They were full of tears.

—-

On a day like any other, Headscratcher wondered if his heart would break again. He wondered if he would die. It was a common thought for a Goblin to have. But it hurt more with each passing day, or so it seemed.

He had lost Grunter. Lost Bugear and Orangepoo and Leftstep and all the others. Sometimes it hurt too much to bear. Sometimes the hurt became fury. In moments like those, Headscratcher raged and it was all the other four Hobgoblins could do to keep him from going insane. In battle, Headscratcher was the first to charge in. He’d lost the discipline that Garen Redfang had beaten into him. His heart became fire and he raged. He was a [Warrior], but he felt like a monster at moments like those. That was fine. Better a monster than a weakling. He had lost enough friends.

It was harder being here. In this inn. Some days the quiet moments, the minutes where he sat with full belly at a table with nothing in the world to bother him—some days those were the worst. Because Headscratcher knew such days couldn’t last. Or if they could, it would be at the expense of others. He felt it. Somewhere his tribe, his friends, his people bled. While he was happy.

So he wept. Rage and grief were two sides of the same coin. Especially on today. It was like any other day. But he might lose two of his remaining companions. Or both. Or he might die himself.

But it was what had to be. What made it hard, what made everything worse was her. Erin Solstice.

“Headscratcher? What’s wrong?”

He’d thought he could slip away. But she had come over to him at the worst moment. It was his fault really. He’d been staring at the stage. All the Humans were arguing with the others over there now. But Headscratcher had been watching the play, watching the Human known as Wesle stride about, dressed in bright colors, shouting his lines as the lights focused on him. He had been jealous. Jealous of the Humans who could shine like that. In a way Headscratcher never could.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Erin peered at Headscratcher, worried. He realized he was leaking tears and brushed them away. Tears. Such a silly thing. Such a weak thing! Only Goblin children cried, and only the young ones. He was getting soft. Headscratcher rose and raised his hands. He concentrated, struggled with a word.

“Good. Is…good. I good.”

“Good? You were crying! What’s wrong? Did someone hurt you? Was it a fight? Did Badarrow hurt your feelings? Or is it something…bad?”

Erin advanced. Headscratcher backed away, shaking his head.

“No. No. I good. Good.”

He wished he could speak like Numbtongue. But his words were guttural and he struggled to make them come out. Erin hesitated. Headscratcher turned his head. She was here at a bad time. But it was too late. He heard footsteps and saw Rabbiteater come down the stairs with something in his arms. The Hobgoblin paused as he saw Headscratcher and Erin below. The Human’s head turned.

“Rabbiteater? Weren’t you outside?”

Oops. The secret was out. Headscratcher groaned and saw Badarrow and Shorthilt moving away from the window. At the same time, the trap door to the basement opened and Numbtongue poked his head out. He tsked when he saw Erin. Bewildered, the [Innkeeper] stared at the Goblins as they clustered around Rabbiteater.

“What the—hey, what’s that?”

She pointed at what Rabbiteater was carrying. The Goblin jumped and turned away. The five Hobs shuffled towards the door. She followed them.

“Headscratcher? What are you doing? Rabbiteater? What’s that? I need your help.”

“Later. We go. You wait. We come back soon.”

Numbtongue turned his head. He glared at Erin. She raised an eyebrow.

“Really? I don’t think so. Turn around and show me—”

Too late. Headscratcher reached the door. He opened it. The Hobs rushed outside. It was Badarrow and Rabbiteater who took the lead. They carried death, were perhaps minutes from it. But they didn’t hesitate. Headscratcher ran after them. Death on a day like any other day. It was the Human that made it harder. She made them want to live. And she chased them, that strange Human who made his heart hurt so.

“Wait!”

—-

Erin ran out of the inn after them. She was ready to be drenched, but found only wet, muddy grass and damp air outside. She looked up. The rain had stopped! Only for a moment, though. Erin spied the clouds already gathering over the brief open spot in the sky.

“Wow. It’s nearly a full moon. Full moons, rather. Pretty.”

Two moons hung in the sky, one pale blue, the other yellowish-green. Erin had hardly looked up at the sky of late. The moons glowed, almost completely full. Then a shadow passed over them. Rain fell, striking Erin in the eye and she remembered why she didn’t look up. Cursing, she looked around as the downpour resumed. Where—

There. The Goblins were standing in a circle. Erin stumbled towards, them, cursing, as the rain began to soak her. If this was some kind of prank, she’d—

But it wasn’t. She saw Rabbiteater fumbling with what he held in his arms. He handed something to Badarrow and then shifted the bundle. She saw him grab Headscratcher’s shoulder and the other Hob do the same. Shorthilt slapped Rabbiteater on the back. Badarrow struck his other shoulder. Erin blinked as Numbtongue extended a fist and Rabbiteater bumped it hard.

The Hobs were grinning. They pounded Rabbiteater’s shoulders, speaking words in Goblin that she couldn’t understand. But the meaning was clear. Rabbiteater smiled at them, showing his teeth. He looked at Erin as she approached. All the Goblins did. For a moment Rabbiteater faltered. His smile slipped and Erin saw fear in his eyes.

Fear? She looked at him.

“What’s going on?”

Then she saw what he held. A bundle of white cloth wrapped with golden rope. Only, that hadn’t been safe enough, so it had been wrapped in a blanket so that none of the cloth could touch Rabbiteater’s skin. The adventurers had been very clear about that. She recognized it at once.

“Is that the artifact from the dungeon?”

The Redfang Warriors looked at her. Erin stared. Yes, it was. The bundle of white cloth, one of the three artifacts that had been taken from the dungeon, lay in Rabbiteater’s arms. And as she looked at Badarrow she saw the bell in his. A terrible premonition stole over Erin. She pointed at the bundle.

“Wait. You don’t know what those do. Falene and Pisces said they couldn’t figure it out. It’s dangerous to use that. Or even touch it!”

Rabbiteater nodded. He backed away from Erin as she advanced. The other Hobgoblins stepped back. They looked at him. Shorthilt gave Rabbiteater a thumbs up. Headscratcher said something in his language. Rabbiteater grinned at them.

“Hold on—hold on—don’t! Don’t—”

Erin ran forwards, realizing what Rabbiteater was going to do. Green hands caught her. Headscratcher and Shorthilt dragged Erin back.

“Rabbiteater! Don’t!”

Too late. Rabbiteater walked down the hill, to the water’s edge. Rain fell as he slowly lifted the white cloth up. His hands shook as he pulled at the golden rope. It fell as Rabbiteater slowly lifted the bundle. He touched it and Erin gasped.

The white cloth unfolded in a single flap, turning into a cloak of pure white fabric. Erin and all the Goblins stared. Rabbiteater looked at the pure fabric and turned it in his hands. He turned and grinned, waving the cloak. Then he turned it. He undid the neck clasp and Erin shouted.

“Don’t put it on! I’ll pay for an [Enchanter]! Wait! Wait!”

But it was too late. The Goblins couldn’t wait. They didn’t want to wait. Rabbiteater looked around, at the rain, the city of Liscor, and then back at Erin’s inn and Erin herself. He waved at her and gave her a big smile. Then he lifted the cloak. Rabbiteater looked around and took a deep breath. He unfurled the white cloth and in one movement, wrapped it around his shoulders.

The white fabric billowed as it swept around Rabbiteater. He froze as it touched his skin. The clasp snapped together around his neck and Erin froze. She saw Rabbiteater turn. The Redfang Warriors tensed. And then Rabbiteater cried out. He screamed and fell to the ground, writhing, clawing at his eyes.

“Rabbiteater!”

Erin felt Headscratcher’s hands leave her. The Hob ran forwards, crying out. He and the others were at Rabbiteater’s side as the Hob rolled about, shrieking in agony. Erin caught up to them as Headscratcher turned Rabbiteater over. He had a healing potion in his hands. He wrenched the cork out, lifted the bottle. Rabbiteater jerked and then sat up. He grabbed the bottle before it could be poured over his head and grinned.

“Got! Got! Scared! Ha!”

He sprang to his feet. Erin stopped, jaw agape. The other Redfang Warriors stared at Rabbiteater. He swirled the cloak and laughed. He touched his chest, his eyes, patted his skin, and grinned.

Just kidding! He waved his hands at the others, grinning. Headscratcher, Badarrow, Numbtongue, and Shorthilt stared at him. They laughed shakily. Then they began kicking the snot out of him.

Erin winced as the other four Redfang Warriors began kicking and punching Rabbiteater for his bad taste in jokes. They weren’t light blows either; Rabbiteater shouted as his fellows beat him. If the cloak was magical, it didn’t protect against bruises. In fact, it didn’t seem useful at all! The other incensed Goblins kicked Numbtongue until he rolled over.

Right into the water. Instantly, Erin saw the cloak change. The other Hobs leapt back, cursing, as the white fabric turned transparent. Rabbiteater didn’t’ notice at first. He got up, shielding his face and groin, uttering what sounded like pleas to stop. Then he noticed what had happened. He jumped and turned.

The cloak swirled around him. The pure white fabric had turned into—into water. Erin gaped as it swished gently. It looked as though part of a river was swirling around Rabbiteater! He turned and the water rippled as though it were fabric around him. Slowly, the Hob touched the cloak and his hands entered the water. He yanked them out and water droplets dripped from his claws. He looked up. The other Hobs stared.

“Safe?”

Numbtongue demanded instantly. Rabbiteater felt the cloak, took it off his neck, put it back on, felt his body, and nodded. Instantly, the other Hobs clustered around it. They exclaimed as they felt the cloak.

“What on earth is it? Is it water? It’s—oh wow!”

Erin gasped as her hand sank into the cloak of water. She pushed her hand in, and it went in several inches, until it was nearly up to her elbow! Only then did her hand appear out of the other side and poke Rabbiteater’s side. He jumped.

“It’s all water! It’s a water cloak! A liquid cloak? That’s so cool! And maybe useless! Is it heavy? Can you move with it on?”

Rabbiteater shrugged. He leapt up—surprisingly high!—and then ran about. The cloak billowed behind him, not impeding his movement in any way. The Hobs murmured. Then Shorthilt reached for his side. He pulled out a sword. Instantly, Erin and Rabbiteater backed up.

“Hold on. What are you going to—”

Rabbiteater yelped as Shorthilt thrust the sword at his stomach. Reflexively, he blocked with the cloak. Shorthilt’s blade went through the cloak, slowing as the water rushed through it. The Hob grunted and slashed—the blade sprayed through the water. Slowly. It was hard for Shorthilt to move his sword, just as if it were underwater! He jabbed and Rabbiteater backed up, shouting what sounded like Goblin obscenities.

The water cloak didn’t block Shorthilt’s sword. It was literally just water, so the blade could go through. However, the thick liquid impeded the sword and when Shorthilt kicked, his foot splashed into the cloak, spraying water everywhere. Not that it mattered in the rain. Erin whistled.

“That’s so amazing! I mean, it didn’t’ stop the blade—Shorthilt, don’t stab Rabbiteater! There’s blood! Bl—”

The cloak changed color as Shorthilt’s blade produced a red rivulet from a cut on Rabbiteater’s arm. The Hob stopped cursing his friend and stared in alarm. Suddenly, the cloak was blood red and dark. Erin gulped as a curtain of blood swirled around Rabbiteater.

“Oh man. Wait a second. Is that…?”

Rabbiteater blinked. He dipped a finger into the red liquid swirling around him and pulled it out. Red dripped down his finger. He licked it, smacked his lips, and nodded.

“Blood.”

The other Goblins stared. They patted the cloak, exclaiming as they pulled out bloody hands. Erin backed away. The blood cloak swirled around Rabbiteater as he inspected it. The rain glanced off the blood. But when Rabbiteater cupped just a bit of water in his hand and poured it on the cloak, the blood-red color changed to translucent. Erin clapped her hands together.

“It’s a liquid cloak! I mean, the cloak is liquid! It changes depending on what you pour on it!”

The other Hobs had already come to the same conclusion. They grabbed Rabbiteater and, ignoring his protests, opened one of his cuts. It took more than a few drops, but once the blood had pooled, the cloak changed color again! Headscratcher poured water on the cloak, grunted as nothing happened, and then dipped the blood-red hem of the cloak in the water. Instantly, it changed back. The Hobs shouted in excitement and laughed as Rabbiteater lifted the watery cloak over his head. Erin smiled wildly until she realized one of the Hobs wasn’t laughing.

Badarrow whistled sharply, making every head turn towards him. He was standing twenty paces away from the others, at the edge of the water. He held the bell made of bronze and blue metal in his hands. He looked at the others and Erin saw the mirth drain from them. They looked at Badarrow and she realized what he was going to do.

“Hold on—hold on. You got lucky one time. But this is way too risky! Don’t ring the bell! Headscratcher, stop him!”

The other Hobs looked at Erin and shook their heads. She looked helplessly at Headscratcher. He stared at Badarrow. The Hob grimaced as he held the bell up. He looked at the others and nodded once. Then he rang the bell.

A hollow tone rang out from the bell. It was not the sound the bell should have made. It was a deep, vast sound and it hurt Erin to hear. Her eyes filled with tears and her head rang. She fell to her knees, crying out. She felt the world spin and threw up. The pain lasted as long as the bell’s chime did. When it finished Erin felt the world return to normal. She stood up. The other Redfang Warriors were on their knees. Rabbiteater had thrown up onto his cloak and it had changed into a horrible color. Erin stared around and then saw a motionless form.

“Badarrow!”

This time there was no act. Badarrow lay on the ground, one hand gripping the clapper of the bell. He was bleeding. His nose and ears both bled red as he writhed on the ground. His crimson eyes, when he opened them, were bleeding too.

“Healing potion! Now!”

Erin snapped at Headscratcher. The Hob yanked the cork out and poured liquid into Badarrow’s mouth before applying it to his bloody extremities. Badarrow jerked, and then sat up. The Hobs clustered around him, pressing him down as he tried to get up. Shorthilt reached for the bell, but Badarrow wouldn’t let go.

“Bad. Bad. Not ring!”

Numbtongue exhorted the others. He pointed at Badarrow’s hand and Erin saw how the Hob was holding it. He’d carefully rung the bell once, rather than hold it upright and let it ring multiple times. She shuddered, imagining what might have happened if he had.

At last, Badarrow was able to move. He sat up, shaking blood from his face. When he looked at Erin, it was grimly. He lifted the bell and the others immediately helped him clog the bell’s mouth with dirt and grass. Erin looked at the Redfang Warriors as they patted Badarrow, ignoring him slapping their hands away.

“You guys are insane. You know that?”

They looked at her and grinned sheepishly. Even Badarrow smiled. Rabbiteater swirled his vomit cloak around him, shaking it until Shorthilt kicked him and pointed to the water’s edge. The Redfang Goblins stood together after that, slapping each other’s shoulders. Smiling.

Insane. Completely crazy. Erin had to go up to the inn first to reassure Lyonette and the others who’d come out that nothing bad had happened. She turned back and saw the Goblins standing together in the rain. Now Headscratcher’s tears made sense. He’d known what they were going to do. And it made sense in a twisted way to Erin. You could totally test a cursed object.

“But still. Like that?”

She stared at the Redfang Warriors. They’d risked their lives just to check. Even though Falene and Pisces had been fairly certain two of the objects weren’t cursed, they hadn’t been sure. No adventurer would have dared to try on the cloak or ring the bell. But the Goblins had. It spoke to her about their priorities. She might have said that the Goblins valued their lives less.

But that wasn’t it. Headscratcher was gripping Badarrow’s shoulder so hard that Erin knew he was bruising the other Goblin. Badarrow was letting him do it. Headscratcher’s face shone with relief. He cared. They cared. It was just that they’d risked their lives. For each other. She remembered them fighting the Eater Goats, returning from the dungeon.

“You idiots. Come inside!”

Erin raised her voice. The Goblins turned. Obediently, they trudged up the hill, still gripping each other’s shoulders. Laughing. Like the best of friends. Like brothers. Perhaps they were. Erin didn’t know. She stared at Headscratcher as he stopped at the door. He looked at her, and then down.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just don’t risk your life. Idiot!”

“Sorry.”

The Redscar Warrior’s smiles faded. Erin wiped at her own eyes. Then she flung her arms around Headscratcher and hugged him.

He froze. Headscratcher looked down. He felt Erin’s warm arms on his skin. Wet rain falling from above. He felt her touch. A Human hugged a Goblin in the rain. And the Goblin wept again. Erin laughed when she saw Headscratcher wiping tears from his eyes.

“You big softie.”

The other Redfang warriors laughed. They punched Headscratcher’s shoulders, and then froze as Erin hugged them. Each one went as stiff as a board in surprise. It wasn’t just the intimacy of the hug. Erin wondered if a Human had ever touched them before. If anyone had in a way that wasn’t meant to harm. Probably not. So she did and then pointed.

“Come on. We’ll get dry inside.”

The Goblins followed Erin into the inn. They would have followed her anywhere. It wasn’t that she’d done anything in that moment. She hadn’t helped them identify the objects. She hadn’t changed destiny for them. They’d risked their lives, gambled, and gotten away lucky. All by themselves. Erin hadn’t helped with any of that.

But she had hugged them afterwards. She had cared. That was what mattered.

Erin led the way into the inn and stopped when she saw the commotion at the back of the room. Emme was on stage, being physically restrained by several of the stronger [Actors] from leaping on the jeering Drakes. The mood was ugly and Relc was excitedly looking around and making fists.

Erin stared at the set, as the Players of Celum shouted at the angry Drakes from Liscor and the Drakes hurled things at the Humans and one Drake on stage. She stared at Emme, the lone half-Dwarf. Her eyes widened.

“I’m such an idiot.”

She strode forwards, waving her arms.

“Hey! I figured it out! Hey!”

The Redfang Goblins watched Erin turn, felt the room go quiet. It revolved around her as she smiled and made the arguing Humans and Drakes go still. Then she turned and beckoned.

“Come on! Take a seat and get a towel, you lot!”

The Goblins looked at each other. Then they sat and watched. It was warm and soon Erin had a mug in front of them. It was peaceful again. The Goblins watched, the cloak swirling around Rabbiteater’s shoulders and the bell held firmly in Badarrow’s hands as Erin strode up and down. It was a day like any other. And they weren’t dead. A good day, in short. They sat and watched.

A wonderful day.

—-

By the time Erin had everything in order, it was dark outside. The moons hung overhead, their glow hidden by the rainclouds. She stared up at the stage.

“Okay, how does it look? Audience?”

The Drakes and Humans stared up at the stage and muttered amongst themselves. Over half the Players of Celum were sitting rather than standing on stage. And there were a lot less Drakes on the floor. That was because a large number of them were on stage. As [Actors].

“The Capulets are now an all-Drake family. Which makes sense! Whereas the Montagues are Human. How does that look? Is everyone happy?”

Erin turned and smiled at the others. Seeing the Redfang Goblins together had made it obvious. It should have been obvious before. Of course the Drakes wouldn’t be happy to see only one Drake on stage! It was token representation at best. She folded her arms triumphantly as the Drakes in the crowd deliberated. Then one of them looked up.

“We still don’t like it.”

“What?”

The Drake who’d spoken shrugged. He was a burly Drake with orange scales, although he wasn’t quite as muscly as Relc.

“We still don’t like it. Why does a Human have to marry a Drake?”

“But that’s the point! It’s about love! Forbidden love! Romance! Are you telling me a Drake can’t marry a Human?”

The Drakes grumbled.

“Well…”

“It’s just that—”

“Look at her! She’s the same age as my daughter. I’d never let a stinking Human put his claws on my kin.”

“Damn Humans. Coming into our city, marrying our women.”

Erin stared at the Drakes who’d spoken. Her eyes passed over the complaining Drakes. Who were mainly male. She thought about Ilvriss. Who was again, male, unless she was very much mistaken. She thought about Embria and Zevara, both of whom hadn’t objected nearly as much. Slowly, Erin turned her head.

“Change!”

The actors on stage stared at her, confused. Erin pointed.

“The Montagues are now Drake! The Capulets are Human! Jasi, sorry. You’re not Juliet. Neither is Wesle.”

“I’m not?”

“No! Get me a male lead for Romeo. You don’t have to act. Anyone?”

“Ooh, me, me!”

Relc scrambled on stage and practically shoved aside everyone. He stood and waved down at Embria, grinning like a kid. Erin sighed.

“Now, a female Juliet. Human. Anyone? Lyonette! Can you stand up there?”

“Me? I’m not an [Actor]!”

“No one’s acting! Just stand up there, please? Across from Relc?”

Lyonette hesitantly climbed onto the stage. The audience of Drakes and Humans stared up. Krshia scarfed down a fried sausage at the back with Mrsha.

“Okay, now how about it? We have Romeo—”

Relc waved, grinning.

“—And Juliet.”

Lyonette hesitantly raised a hand. Erin stared at the Drakes. The male Drakes. They looked around.

“Well…if it’s like that, it doesn’t look so bad, does it?”

“He wants to marry a Human, why not? She’s pretty enough. In a fleshy way.”

“I like it. When is the play going to start?”

“Relc’s far too ugly to be up there. Let me play this Romeo fellow! And give him a proper Drake name! Romeoss, perhaps!”

“No, I’ll play him!”

The Drakes began arguing and Relc started kicking the ones trying to climb onto the stage off. Erin stared at them. She saw Embria cover her eyes and heard Jasi groan. The pieces fell into place. Erin grabbed a mug and hurled it at one of the Drakes.

“That’s sexist!”

Across the inn, Klbkch turned to Krshia. The two had finished six plates of snacks together. The Antinium tilted his head.

“It appears the entire objection was not so much of species inclusion, but of sexual dynamics. Is that your understanding, Miss Krshia?”

The Gnoll shrugged and sniffed the air.

“Mm. It is tied together, yes? One cannot have Humans marching into Liscor and marrying young Drakes. However, it is far more acceptable for an older Drake to marry a Human. Silly thing. It reminds me much of how some Gnoll tribes squabble. Is that a fish pie I smell?”

“Is it? I would enjoy a piece.”

“I too. Ishkr!”

Krshia waved. Ishkr sighed and came over. Krshia and Klbkch watched Erin punch several Drakes as the furor slowly died down. Krshia’s paw stroked Mrsha’s head as the Gnoll curled up on her lap.

“I am relieved that Erin has reached a solution of sorts, regardless of the issue.”

“Hrr. Yes. I was wondering how long it would take her to realize the problem. Now perhaps it is time to bring up the second issue.”

“Second issue?”

“Yes! When will Gnolls have a place on stage? I have many pestering me to introduce them to Erin. Her little theatre must expand, yes?”

Krshia grinned at Klbkch. He nodded thoughtfully.

“I see your point. Indeed, that would probably solve the issue nicely. You should bring the issue up with Miss Erin.”

He and Krshia turned to look back at the stage. Erin was chasing Drakes off with a chair while the Players of Celum sat at their tables and stuffed themselves in irritation. Mrsha’s ears perked up at the crash of Erin hurling pottery at the Drakes running for the door.

“Perhaps tomorrow, hrm?”

“That would be wise.”

—-

Four hours later, The Wandering Inn was empty. The staff had gone home, the adventurers were asleep upstairs save for the Halfseekers who hadn’t yet returned, and the Players of Celum had left. They would return tomorrow to begin a round of auditions for anyone who wanted to act in Liscor. Erin had high hopes for that, although she was so annoyed at how everything had turned out that it had taken her the last forty minutes of tossing and turning before she could fall asleep.

But at last, she was slumbering. The inn was quiet. Bird sat up in his watchtower, humming a song. In the basement, Numbtongue played on the guitar. The rain fell on the rooftop, a dull roar. Background noise.

Liscor was asleep as well. Rain turned the stone battlements dark and made the footing slippery. The City Watch patrolled the walls, the unlucky Gnolls and Drakes on duty yawning, occasionally stopping to relight a lantern that had gone out. One of the Gnolls on duty paused by the corner of the eastern wall and sniffed the air. He glanced around, confused. Then he sniffed again and peered over the edge of the wall.

A pair of clawed hands dragged the Gnoll over the edge. His cries were lost in the rain. After a moment, a dark shape swung itself over the edge of the walls. It was wearing the Gnoll’s armor, but the pieces were too small. The shape continued along, imitating the guardsman’s walk until it met a tired Drake patrolling his section of the wall.

“That you, Mersh?”

The Drake frowned sleepily at the figure in front of him. His tired brain processed the wet, furry shape and concluded something was wrong. The [Guardsman] frowned and tried to figure out what was wrong. Something about the size. Was Mersh always that small? Then he saw the figure straighten. It had been hunched. Now it rose and two glowing eyes stared at him. The Drake saw a mouth open and large canine teeth bared at him.

“Ala—”

The Raskghar stepped forward and brought Mersh’s axe down on the Drake’s head. The guardsman crumpled without a sound. The Raskghar sniffed, glanced around, and growled quietly. More Raskghar swung over the walls. These ancient, primitive offshoots of the Gnoll species were huge, and they were armed with stone weapons and crude hide armor. They quickly discarded their weapons in favor of the guardsman’s steel.

Slowly, keeping to the shadows, they pretended to patrol across the walls. They moved fast. The Gnolls who caught their scent on the air were grabbed and subdued in an instant, their limp bodies being carefully lowered off the walls. The Drakes died even quicker to tooth and claw and blade.

The Raskghar did not linger overlong on the walls, however. They swarmed down the eastern ramparts and into the city. The streets were practically empty at night. The Raskghar stole along, loping through the shadows, their eyes gleaming. They paused to inspect the signs, the closed doors, and sniffed the air. They growled at each other, making complex gestures before splitting up into teams.

The first group of Raskghar headed down the main street, garbed in the armor of the City Watch. The Drakes and Gnolls out on the streets vanished one by one as the Raskghar advanced. More disappeared into apartments and came out with limp bodies or with blood on their muzzles. They might have cleared block after block in this fashion but for the patrol that came marching down the street.

Wing Commander Embria frowned as she saw the odd patrol of Gnolls marching towards her. She glanced at the other [Soldiers] following her.

“Captain Vash. Is this the source of your [Dangersense]?”

“And the smell, Wing Commander.”

The Gnoll [Captain] tugged at the brim of his metal helmet. He stared hard at the patrol coming their way. The Gnolls were very large. Embria raised her voice.

“You there! Guardsmen! Halt!”

The patrol stopped. Embria stared at them for one second and then turned her head.

“They’re not giving a countersignal. Raise the alarm!”

Instantly, one of the [Soldiers] raised a horn and blew it. The Raskghar snarled as they straightened. Embria swore.

“What are those?”

“Raskghar!”

Vash howled in fury as the Raskghar loped towards them. Embria charged past him, her spear blurring as she stabbed repeatedly at the first Raskghar. The beast blocked the lightning-fast strikes with a buckler, snarling, as the other Raskghar spread out. Vash raised his head and howled, adding his voice to the horns already blowing through the air.

The Gnoll’s panicked call spread throughout the city. It woke Gnolls from their sleep with the urgency instilled in them from childhood. In her bed, Krshia’s dreams were shattered and she leapt out of it, grabbing for the shortbow she kept under her bed. In seconds she had the bow and her hunting knife and was listening to the howls. Her teeth bared as she listened. She raced out of her apartment naked, and howled into the rain. More howls answered her. Krshia turned her head and ran towards the howls.

She was halfway down the street when she heard the signal howl again. Only this time, something was off. Krshia sniffed the air and spun. She heard the howl, a perfect replica of a Gnoll’s voice, but it came from a hulking shape striding towards her. Krshia didn’t need to smell to know what it was.

A Raskghar. Krshia’s hackles went up and she drew her bow and loosed an arrow in one moment.

“[Rapid Shot]!”

She watched the arrow flash across the street towards the Raskghar. It raised a shield and caught the arrow. Krshia’s eyes widened. So quick! The Raskghar snarled and advanced. Krshia backpedaled, drawing another arrow and loosing it with long-honed reflexes. Again, the Raskghar predicted where the arrow was heading and stopped it before it could strike his left leg. It stared at her. Not it—Krshia smelled the Raskghar’s gender. She. A young she, in the prime of her life.

The Raskghar waited until Krshia grabbed for another arrow and then charged. It was quick! Krshia dropped the arrow and grabbed her knife. She slashed—the Raskghar leapt and caught her arm, bearing her to the ground.

On the street it was muscle and reflexive action. No time to think. Krshia tried to stab, but the Raskghar was too strong. So she tried to bite—only to find a hand at her throat. The Raskghar effortlessly overpowered her, choking Krshia. It was laughing as Krshia tried to kick it—until the whistle. Krshia, choking, felt the pressure on her ease and felt the Raskghar bound away. She lay there, gasping, and heard the voices.

“There’s another one! Surround it!”

“Watch the sides! [Attack Formation]!”

Krshia sat up. She saw Watch Captain Zevara and Olesm leading a squad of eight [Guardsmen] rushing to surround the Raskghar. It spun, trying to find an exit, but Olesm’s voice guided the [Guardsmen] into flanking positions. It spun, a metal shield and axe in hand. The weapons were small in the Raskghar’s paws.

“Are you alright?”

Olesm ran over to Krshia. She gasped and nodded. Zevara was leading the attack.

“Take it down!”

She attacked with two other Drakes while a Gnoll with a spear covered her side. The Raskghar moved quick. It batted away Zevara’s sword thrust with its shield and grabbed the Drake charging it on its right. Ignoring the cut it received on the arm, it threw the Drake into her friend, knocking the two to the ground. Then it turned and caught a strike from Zevara on its shield. Krshia watched, dazed, as the Raskghar and Drake exchanged blows.

“Ancestors, it’s good!”

Olesm exclaimed in dismay as the Raskghar took on Zevara and the Gnoll with the spear at once. Its eyes never left Zevara’s face and when she drew breath, it rushed her before the fire breath could emerge. The Raskghar turned and howled as an arrow sprouted from its shoulder. It looked over and saw Krshia and two Drakes aiming for it. It dove and Olesm cut at it. Again, the [Guardsmen] forced the Raskghar back, this time towards an alleyway. The Raskghar retreated to the narrow space and the [Guardsmen] hesitated. They could only attack two abreast now.

“Pull back. Hit it with arrows!”

Olesm snapped, but a claw brushed past him. Zevara rose, growling.

“I’ll bake it myself!”

“Wait.”

Krshia rasped at the Drake. She stared at the Raskghar. It was glancing from Zevara to the archers, eyes darting rapidly. Krshia stared at it. It was nothing like the stories she’d told Olesm! The Raskghar looked every bit like the primordial Gnoll monster it was, but it was far, far too intelligent. She pointed at it.

“Take it alive if you can, Watch Captain. It is one of many in the city!”

Zevara nodded. The Raskghar glanced at her and then bared its teeth in a menacing grin. It opened its mouth and to everyone’s shock, spoke.

“Many. Many.”

The growling voice froze Krshia for a second. She stared at the Raskghar.

“You can speak?”

Olesm gasped.

“It knows the common tongue? How?”

“Learned from you. Just now.”

The Raskghar grinned at Krshia. It—her eyes focused on Krshia. Then on the other Gnoll [Guardsman]. When the Raskghar spoke it was slowly. Thoughtfully.

“We know you. Enemy. Old enemy. Prey. Blood prey. We know. You make stone city. You come here. Prey. In our hunting lands.”

“We are not your prey, thing.”

Krshia raised her bow. The Raskghar looked at her and Krshia felt a fear worm its way into her. Instinctual, primal.

“It is the time of hunting.”

The droplets on Krshia’s body ceased. She glanced up. Overhead, the rain had stopped falling for the second time this day. The clouds parted for a moment. The skies opened. The Raskghar looked up and grinned. Krshia looked up and swore.

Moonlight fell down from above. The two nearly full moons shone down on Liscor. Krshia recalled the old legends. The Raskghar traded their ability to level for strength and savagery. Only when the moon shone did they regain their intelligence.

And what intelligence. The Raskghar grinned, her eyes glowing with too much knowledge. Her pupils dilated as the moonlight and rain fell into them. She turned.

“Don’t let it get away!”

Olesm shouted and the [Guardsmen] loosed at the same time as Zevara breathed fire. Too slow. The Raskghar leapt and bounded up the alleyway, jumping from wall to wall, her claws digging into the brickwork with incredible strength. She howled as two arrows found her, but kept moving. She raced over the rooftops. Zevara instantly turned.

“After her! There are more Raskghar in the city! I want them all found!”

She raced off. Olesm paused.

“Miss Krshia, you should stay inside!”

“No, no. Gnolls are gathering. We heard the alarm. We must go together. There is safety in numbers.”

Krshia rubbed her throat. She could still hear Gnolls calling each other together. Olesm shook his head.

“You’re making yourselves targets this way! The Raskghar are aiming for Gnolls! They’ve carried off dozens already! Come with me—we’ll find the others and call in reinforcements!”

He raised something to his lips and blew. A whistle. The piercing call made Krshia wince, but it was soon answered by more whistles. Olesm pointed.

“Come on!”

He and Krshia ran through the streets, keeping a wary eye out. Olesm panted as they went.

“Those are Raskghar? They’re nothing like the adventurers described! One of them took on an entire squad! It must be the effects of the full moon! The intelligence—”

“Yes. But it is not the right time! It is too soon!”

“What do you mean?”

Krshia glanced up. The moonlight was fading as more rainclouds began to unleash a second downpour. But it wasn’t the moonlight that mattered.

“It is not the full moon yet. Close. But this lunar cycle will see both moons wax and wane over the next six days.”

“Are you serious?”

Olesm paled. He looked around. The howling continued as more warnings and whistles blew, calling for reinforcements or alarm.

“We need to secure the city first. We’ll triple the watch! Ancestors, we’ll seal all the dungeon entrances if we have to! But we need to catch as many Raskghar as we can. The Gnolls—”

“How many have they slaughtered?”

The Drake turned.

“Drakes? Every one they found. But we haven’t found a single Gnoll body.”

“What? Where are they?”

“The Raskghar took them.”

“Why?”

The Drake and Gnoll stared at each other. They looked around. The streets were dark. Krshia bared her teeth. She didn’t know what the Raskghar were doing. But she sensed it, the ancient fear, a warning from the roots of her species. She raised her head and howled a warning to all that could hear.

Raskghar. Danger, kindred! Danger!

—-

Bird heard the howling first. He looked up from his watch tower and gazed towards Liscor. Howling at night? That was very strange. He had not heard howling at night except when the undead had attacked Liscor. And when Brunkr had died. He paused and stared around.

“The water is wet. Rain is falling. Someone is howling. That is a bad thing. I know this because my [Tactician] self tells me. But I see nothing.”

The Antinium peered into the water. Was it a fish? A bird? A moth-bird? He looked up at the skies. Nothing. But he knew there was something, so he kept staring. It was very hard to see in the darkness, with the rain, and all the water. All he could see was the droplets of water hitting the surface of the water. And a few shadows. Fish swam in the darkness, barely visible even to Bird’s enhanced vision. He paused. A few of the dark shadows in the water were very big. Bird drew an arrow and loosed it. He saw a shape jerk underwater, and then saw the water splash.

“Oh. That is not a fish.”

A furry head rose out of the waters and stared at Bird. He saw glowing eyes stare malevolently at him. Bird raised a hand.

“Are you a Gnoll? I am sorry! I thought you were a bad fish.”

He paused. The furry head looked like a Gnoll, but the creature wasn’t. It was bigger. More bestial. And there were a lot of shapes in the water, heading to Liscor and the inn. He saw another head break through the water.

“That is a Goblin.”

Bird saw more Goblins surface, and more Raskghar emerge from the water. He saw one point at him and growl and slowly drew another arrow.

“I think we are under attack.”

At first he wasn’t sure. Then one of the Raskghar clambered out of the water and Bird was sure. Most guests who came to Erin’s inn didn’t have big axes in hand. Most guests.

“Alarm! Alarm! I am calling an alarm!”

Bird began shouting as he drew an arrow and loosed it. The Raskghar dodged the first arrow which made Bird surprised. The second arrow he loosed was a [Homing Shot] and curved as the Raskghar dodged. It fell, but more were coming. Bird shouted.

“Alarm! Alarm!”

He didn’t know if anyone could hear him. It was raining too hard. Bird stood in the watch tower as more Raskghar and Cave Goblins charged towards the inn. There were a lot of them. He was just glad he had his new bow. If he didn’t die, he resolved to tell the Queen that it was a very lovely bow. More Raskghar thrust their way into the inn as Bird shot arrow after arrow. He would have gone below, but more were trying to climb the slippery roof and get him. Bird hummed as he shot.

“I am Bird, this is bad. If the monsters get Erin, I will be sad…oh, there are many. This is bad, bad, bad!”

—-

Lyonette was sleeping soundly when she felt someone leap onto her. She gasped and sat up as Mrsha hurled herself onto Lyonette’s chest.

“Mrsha! I told you that hurts! I—”

The [Princess] was angry right up until she saw Mrsha’s face. The Gnoll was in a panic. Lyonette looked at her, alarmed.

“What’s wrong?”

She didn’t hear anything but the pounding rain. But Mrsha clearly did. The Gnoll looked around wildly, then sat back and howled. The sound echoed through the inn. Lyonette saw Apista buzz up in alarm.

“Mrsha, what—”

Then Lyonette heard the distant howling and horn calls coming from Liscor. At the same time, she heard a voice from above.

“Alarm! Alarm!”

That was Bird! Lyonette scrambled out of bed. She looked around.

“Mrsha, follow me! Apista!”

She thrust open her door, and then remembered her sword. It was propped next to the window. Lyonette grabbed it and unsheathed it. She stared at the blade as Mrsha howled again. She could hear banging from above and then a crash from below.

“Erin!?”

She ran out of her room just in time to see Ceria thrust her door open. The half-Elf had a breast band on. Another door crashed open and Ksmvr charged out fully armed.

“I heard Bird’s alarm! We are under attack!”

“Where—”

The first Raskghar came up the stairs like a battering ram made of fur. Ceria turned and her eyes went wide.

“Raskghar!”

“Leave it to m—”

Ksmvr lunged with his enchanted shortsword. The Raskghar’s eyes narrowed and it surged left. Ksmvr’s blade missed and it backhanded the Antinium. He spun backwards and Lyonette saw him crash into a wall. The Raskghar charged Ceria who leapt backwards too late. It pinned her to the wall and Lyonette saw its claws open.

The Raskghar opened its mouth, ready to bite as Ceria gasped, but it suddenly paused and sniffed. It brought its head closer and sniffed Ceria’s face and chest. It seemed confused. It lifted Ceria up and then howled. Lyonette’s sword entered the Raskghar’s side. It turned, eyes murderous, and slashed.

“[Flawless—]”

Lyonette’s sword came up and parried the blow. She felt the force almost tear the sword from her grip, but the claw was deflected. The Raskghar blinked at her, and then slashed again. This time it missed because Lyonette was backing up. The Raskghar bounded towards her on all fours and then turned. Mrsha howled as she rammed into it from the side, her small teeth biting.

“Mrsha, no! Run!”

The [Princess] screamed frantically at Mrsha. The Raskghar turned, teeth bared, but then it stared at Mrsha. At her white fur. It sniffed her like it had Ceria, and then reached for Mrsha. The Gnoll ran in alarm, and the Raskghar followed her, only to stop as an angry Ashfire Bee buzzed around it. It growled as Lyonette jabbed at it from the side, looking more irritated than anything else. It turned, claw extended, and Lyonette saw the razor tips aiming for her face—

“[Ice Wall]!”

A sheet of shimmering ice blocked the claw mid-strike. Lyonette saw the thick ice fracture as the claws struck. She saw Ceria getting to her feet and Ksmvr rising, clutching at the broken chitin and green blood leaking from his face.

“Get back!”

Ceria shot an [Ice Spike] at the Raskghar. It howled as the projectile pierced its side and raced backwards. Mrsha fled into Lyonette’s arms and the girl retreated back into her room, shouting for Apista. Ceria swore as she grabbed Ksmvr.

“Are you okay?”

“My injuries are superficial—”

“What’s going on?”

A door slammed open. Pisces looked around, annoyed and bleary. He stared uncomprehending at Ksmvr, Ceria, and the ice wall, and then his eyes widened.

“Springwalker—what—”

“We’re under attack! Raskghar!”

She screamed at him. Pisces’ jaw dropped. The door across from him opened. Yvlon strode out, fully armored. The woman didn’t bother with questions. She pointed.

“Downstairs!”

The Horns of Hammerad turned and ran for the stairs. They could hear fighting throughout the inn. They shot downstairs and nearly ran into the next group of Raskghar. The beasts snarled as they spotted the adventurers on the stairs. Pisces reached for his rapier, remembered he didn’t have it, and swore. He and Ceria shot flames and ice magic as Ksmvr and Yvlon surged down the stairs. The Raskghar retreated, and the adventurers leapt down to the ground floor to find a battle in full swing.

The Raskghar were already in the inn! They were battling the Redfang Warriors, who were already awake. Headscratcher and Rabbiteater were all fighting in front of the kitchen, fending off six Raskghar and a dozen Cave Goblins. The Horns could hear Erin shouting from inside the kitchen.

“Pisces, undead! Yvlon, Ksmvr, the flanks!”

Ceria pointed. The Horns split up. Ceria raised two walls of ice, covering her and Pisces’ sides as the [Necromancer] muttered a spell, reaching for the bag of holding he carried. The Raskghar turned as Yvlon and Ksmvr assailed them from the left. A Cave Goblin turned, screeching, and fell backwards with a spike of ice in its chest.

The Raskghar were quicker, though. One turned as Yvlon swung and raised a hide shield. It screamed as the blade sheared through both shield and arm. The enchanted sword severed the arm, but the Raskghar pulled back before Yvlon could run it through. Two more Raskghar flanked her as the Cave Goblins swarmed Ksmvr.

“Ceria!”

Erin’s voice echoed from the kitchen. Ceria heard a crash and saw a Raskghar jerk back, snarling, its pelt aflame as a potion bottle struck it. It turned and rolled, roaring, and Headscratcher and Rabbiteater charged forwards.

“Erin! Are you alright?”

“I am! Badarrow and Shorthilt are on the roof with Bird! Where’s Lyonette?”

“Safe!”

Ceria prayed that were so. The Raskghar and Goblins were occupied with her team and the Redfang Warriors for now. She raised a finger and pointed.

“[Ice Spike]!”

The projectile shot towards a Raskghar. But before it could hit, the huge not-Gnoll turned and leaned, avoiding the spell! Ceria gaped, and then saw Ksmvr go flying for the second time that night.

“Dead gods!”

It was impossible. There were only six Raskghar. Six! But somehow, they were fighting both the Horns of Hammerad and the two Hobs on equal footing. One of Pisces’ summoned undead bears cracked as a Raskghar pummeled it with blows. Another lashed out and caught Rabbiteater with a terrible blow across the face. The Hob stumbled and nearly fell—he was already bleeding from a gash across his stomach.

“I thought Gemhammer killed a dozen of these guys!”

Ceria aimed again, but the Raskghar she pointed at caught her next [Ice Spike] spell on its shield. The ice pierced the hide and its arm, but only a few inches. The thing snarled and charged Ceria.

“Watch out!”

Yvlon pivoted into the blow. She raised her shield and the Raskghar swung a stone club. The blow made the shield ring and Yvlon cursed.

“My arm—”

Her shield arm had bent from the impact. Her weakened arm twisted horribly and Yvlon lifted her sword, dropping her shield. Ceria threw up a wall of ice and the Raskghar smashed into that.

“Back! Back to the stairs!”

The Horns retreated. Ksmvr leapt into the air over one of the ice walls as Pisces’ second bear went down. Now the Raskghar were on the offensive. The little Cave Goblins streamed forwards. Ceria cursed as she raised another ice wall and the Raskghar began to tear it down. She saw the two Hobs fighting a trio of Raskghar by themselves. Rabbiteater was staggering, battered by a club one of the Raskghar was holding. He fell and Headscratcher threw himself in the way. Erin screamed.

“Headscratcher! Watch out!”

—-

Fury. Desperation. Fear. Headscratcher started to lose himself in the fighting. The Raskghar were strong! Stronger, quicker, smarter than before. He could barely take on the one attacking him with a stone axe. They were—stronger than he was.

Meanwhile, Rabbiteater was fighting two at once. The Hob was wearing his water cloak and was using it to shield himself from the not-Gnolls. The Raskghar howled in frustration as their blows sank into the watery cloak. But then one wrenched aside the protective garment and struck. Rabbiteater’s head reeled back as a club broke open the skin of his temple. Bleeding, dizzy, he looked up. The Raskghar raised the club.

Headscratcher turned. He saw the blow falling. He saw Rabbiteater bare his teeth defiantly.

Bugear. Headscratcher remembered the other Goblin’s death. Never again. He howled and leapt forwards. The club smashed him down in Rabbiteater’s place. Headscratcher felt the darkness take him. The pain smothered his consciousness. He was falling. Failing. His helpless fury writhed in him as Rabbiteater struggled up, fighting three at once. Erin was behind him, throwing pots, pans—she was out of potions. She was shouting for Rabbiteater to get back.

Headscratcher was fading. He tried to find the strength, but he didn’t have—have—

The three Raskghar were advancing on Rabbiteater, trying to attack him from the sides as he held the water cloak up. The Horns were engaged with the other Goblins and the other three Raskghar. The not-Gnolls grinned in delight. They pressed forwards, passed by the trap door leading to the basement—

And Numbtongue thrust the trap door up. He surged upwards in a roar, the wooden guitar in hand. The Raskghar nearest to him turned, surprise written over its face. The guitar went up and smashed into its face. It broke in a musical twang and the Raskghar howled in outrage. Numbtongue cursed and punched the Raskghar. His blow barely made the beast blink. He leapt back as the Raskghar swung at him and howled.

“Headscratcher!”

Headscratcher twitched. He was lying on the ground. His mind was scrambled. He was barely conscious. He flicked in and out of waking. He heard Numbtongue’s voice. The Goblin beat his chest in fury.

“Redfang!”

He swung at the Raskghar. The beast punched back. Numbtongue gasped as his ribs cracked. He swung the guitar, beat a rhythm onto the Raskghar’s raised arm. He howled at Headscratcher, demanding he rise.

“Redfang! Fight! A Goblin’s pride! A warrior’s right! Redfang! Redfang!”

He stomped. His hand slapped the guitar’s broken base.

“Goblin!”

Rabbiteater swung the shortsword. The two Raskghar battered him. The Goblin shouted the same word.

“Goblin!”

The word vibrated through Headscratcher’s body. He tried to rise. The fury in his veins grew. Numbtongue received a clubbing blow on his arm and screamed. Never again. Headscratcher heard the word.

“Redfang!”

His mind flickered. It went out—and Headscratcher heard the voice from above.

[Warrior Level 20!]

[Conditions Met: Warrior → Berserker Class!]

[Skill – Fury Strength obtained!]

[Skill – Overpowering Blow obtained!]

Numbtongue fell back, the Raskghar grabbing his arms. It bit at his neck. He spat at it, biting back. The Raskghar bit for his throat. Hands dragged its neck back at the last moment.

Again. Never again. Never, never, nevernevernevernever—

A howl emerged. Not from the Raskghar, but from the Goblin who had risen to his feet. Headscratcher grabbed the Raskghar. It grunted in surprise as its feet left the ground. Headscratcher lifted it up.

Never again!

He screamed and the air shook with his fury and grief. Headscratcher seized the not-Gnoll monster and lifted it. It grunted in surprise as he lifted it over his head and threw the huge beast across the room. It crashed into a wall. The other not-Gnolls looked at Headscratcher. He turned, the veins in his neck and arms bulging. A crazed red light shone from his eyes. He raised his sword and charged the Raskghar, screaming. There was no sanity in him, no thought of self-preservation. Only rage. Only fury and grief. So the world had named him. So he was.

A berserker.

Headscratcher’s sword swung down. One of the Raskghar raised a crude shield. Too weak! Headscratcher’s blow cleaved the shield. His sword cut through a crude hide shield and then bone and skin. Headscratcher whirled and grabbed a mace as it swung towards his head. He threw both weapon and attacker onto the ground and then kicked them across the floor.

The Raskghar snarled and caught Headscratcher’s sword arm, clawing at him as he kept the quivering blade from his throat. Headscratcher forced his sword down, ignoring the claws that pierced his side, the flesh the Raskghar bit from his arm. He battered the Raskghar with his other fist, hitting it again, and again, and again—he hacked down and the Raskghar screamed. Headscratcher raised his sword and slashed repeatedly, screaming fury.

The third Raskghar scrambled to his feet. He roared at Headscratcher, but before he could move, Rabbiteater charged. The Hob leapt on the back of the Raskghar and a veil of water descended over the beast’s head. The Raskghar howled and then choked as it inhaled a mouthful of water. It flailed, but the cloak was wrapped around its head and however much the Raskghar moved, it couldn’t unfasten the liquid cloth. The not-Gnoll jerked as its lungs filled with water and then fell back limply.

“We got one!”

The Horns shouted as a fourth Raskghar fell, wounded by Ksmvr’s sword and pierced with countless shards of ice. The remaining two Raskghar looked around, realized they’d lost, and howled. They pointed and the four Cave Goblins screamed desperately and attacked the Horns as the two Raskghar fled for the doors. The Horns cut the Cave Goblins down and pursued the Raskghar, but the not-Gnolls disappeared into the water.

“Everyone okay?”

Ceria leaned on an overturned table, gasping with exertion. She saw Yvlon panting, her shield arm bent. Ksmvr was sitting, bleeding from multiple wounds on his body. Pisces was unharmed, but he was covered in sweat. Erin rushed out of the kitchen at last.

“Numbtongue!”

The Hob croaked and waved a hand weakly as she opened a healing potion. He was clutching at his chest and Rabbiteater had decided to lie down with his hands on his stomach. Erin rushed to both and then saw a shape bending and hacking at a mutilated corpse.

“Headscratcher! Enough! It’s over!”

Headscratcher turned, his eyes wide and wild. He stared at Erin, his bloody sword raised. Then, slowly, the light of fury receded from his eyes. He blinked, stumbled, and only then noticed he was bleeding. Part of his arm was missing. Erin scrambled to pour healing potion on his wounds.

“Erin! Are you okay? Is it safe?”

Lyonette appeared at the head of the stairs, clutching Mrsha. She stared wide-eyed at the bodies. Erin turned.

“It’s okay! But what about Bird? Badarrow? Shorthilt?”

“They’re okay! The Raskghar all ran!”

Lyonette walked downstairs, Mrsha in her arms. She looked around.

“Oh no. Is everyone—?”

“We made it. Somehow. If the Horns and the Redfangs hadn’t run downstairs, I would have been dead.”

Erin helped Headscratcher sit at a table. The Goblin was pale, but he was awake. His head still spun, but now the battle had ended he felt…different. He looked at Rabbiteater and the other Goblin stared at him. Headscratcher stared at his hands.

The fury. The despair. It all made sense now. He stared around the inn, forever changed. Gone was Headscratcher the Redfang [Warrior]. In his place sat a Goblin [Berserker], full of rage and grief. Stronger. Different. The rage burned in Headscratcher. The helpless fury over losing his friends. But now it was strength. Strength. Headscratcher clenched his fist.

It had been that which saved him. That which saved Rabbiteater. His fury. The emotions he had despaired at. But not just that. He remembered the voice, the sound that had brought him to his feet. Headscratcher looked up.

Numbtongue was clutching at his ribs. The Hob looked tired, wounded, but he was still fussing over something on the ground. The broken guitar.

Numbtongue picked up the base of the guitar and inspected it critically.

“Oh. Your guitar.”

Erin stared at the pieces. Numbtongue offered it to her and Erin shook her head sadly.

“I’m sorry, Numbtongue. I think it’s broken. We can get a new one.”

The Hobgoblin paused. He looked at the guitar and held the broken handle in place. Two strings had been torn out and the others were slack, but he adjusted the strings and plucked. The guitar sang. Numbtongue played a riff. Erin stared. Headscratcher stared. The Redfang Goblins and the Horns of Hammerad stared. Numbtongue turned and looked around. He smiled.

“Music.”

And Headscratcher laughed. He sat back in the chair, feeling his healing injuries complain at last. But he didn’t care. The pain was nothing. He was alive. Erin was alive. The other Goblins were alive. It was the best of all days. So he sat and Rabbiteater lay down and Numbtongue played on.

One was a [Warrior] with a magic cloak. He had yet to become, yet to evolve. But he would. The other was a [Berserker]. The third was a [Bard].

A Goblin [Bard].

5.35 H

Ceria sat on the floor of The Wandering Inn. The wood beneath her bottom was slick with melted ice water and blood, but she didn’t care. Her arms and both hands, living and skeletal, shook. She was bleeding from a gash down one arm where a Goblin blade had cut her, but she was alright.

The other Horns of Hammerad sat around her. Ceria felt the adrenaline leaving her body slowly. She could still hear horns blaring in the distance from Liscor’s walls. Now that the roar of blood had faded in her ears, she could also make out the pouring of rain overhead, the sounds of Erin tending to the Goblins, Lyonette telling Mrsha to stay put with Apista while she went to help Erin out—

Normal sounds, for a normal life. It stood in contrast to the moments before, where Ceria had stabbed a Cave Goblin through the chest with a dagger and watched it bleed onto her hands. She stared at a motionless body in front of her. A Raskghar lay with its eyes still wide open. Its face was mutilated by a melting [Ice Spike]—Ksmvr’s shortsword had pierced its stomach in three places and Yvlon’s sword had cut through its right arm. It had still taken far too long to die.

Two Raskghar of the six had escaped. The Cave Goblins were all dead. In contrast, no one in the inn was dead. Not Bird or the Redfang Warriors or the Horns of Hammerad, Erin, Lyonette, Mrsha, or Apista. Ceria wished she could have been proud of that fact, but she wasn’t. She stared at the lone Raskghar her team had felled during the fighting, and then looked at the three that had fallen to Numbtongue, Rabbiteater, and Headscratcher. She shook her head and felt the world grey out a bit around her.

“Rot, I’m getting too old for this.”

One of her teammates looked up. Yvlon’s blonde hair was bloodied and damp with sweat.

“You? Too old? Aren’t you sixty years old, Ceria? That makes you twenty in Human years.”

“Something like that. I guess. Sixty’s still old, you know! I’ve been adventuring for nearly a decade. It’s not like I don’t experience each day. Hell, sixty years…if I was an adventurer for that long I’d probably be retired. Sixty years of anything is way too long. Except if it’s in a half-Elven village.”

The armored Human woman eyed Ceria.

“What makes that different?”

“It’s easier to pass years away there. That’s why you get snotty half-Elf brats who’re forty years old and behave worse than Human teens. I spent forty years of my life in a village. Feels like I only started living once I left.”

“…Huh.”

“Yeah.”

Intelligent conversation was not one of Ceria’s strong suits in the best of times. She rubbed her face, realized she was wiping blood into her skin, and stopped.

“Everyone okay? Anyone hurt?”

“I’m good.”

Yvlon reflexively checked herself and nodded. By her side, Pisces raised his head. The [Necromancer] was unharmed but covered in sweat from casting a dozen spells in the course of minutes.

“I am unharmed. I would like a mana potion, though.”

“Suck it up. Ksmvr?”

“I am bleeding from eight wounds. However, my injuries are mostly superficial. I calculate that I will be able to fight with little impairment to my combat ability for twenty more minutes before blood loss—”

“Healing potion.”

“Yes, Captain Ceria.”

The Antinium rummaged around at his belt and lifted a healing potion. He began to apply it to his wounds, using only a drop of healing potion for each spot. Yvlon sighed.

“Ksmvr, pour it onto your wounds. We can afford more.”

“But rationing it—”

“You are worth more to us than a single healing potion. Pour it.”

“Yes, Yvlon.”

In the silence, the Horns of Hammerad watched Erin at work. She had no compunctions about literally dumping half a healing potion onto Rabbiteater’s wounds before making the Goblin drink the rest. Pisces sat up, pale-faced, and Ceria almost relented and told him to take a mana potion. But those were expensive and if they weren’t fighting, it did make sense for him to hold back. Pisces seemed to think so, because he didn’t keep complaining. Instead he looked at the dead bodies and sniffed.

“So. Those were Raskghar. I quite object to their characterization by Gemhammer and The Pride of Kelia. Those were not moderate threats.”

“No kidding.”

Ceria stared at the Raskghar. She glanced at the three the Redfangs had killed.

“How many did Gemhammer say they got?”

“Two dozen?”

“Tree shit they did. Six of them nearly took out our team and three Hobs. We outnumbered them and they nearly tore us to ribbons!”

“In point of fact, they outnumbered us if you count the little Goblins.”

“They don’t count, Ksmvr.”

“Ah.”

“Didn’t I hear that the Raskghar get stronger at weird times? Like during the full moon?”

All the Horns of Hammerad looked towards the windows. Ceria craned her head, peering through the rain splattering against the glass.

“It’s a cloudy night. Who the heck could tell if one of the moons is full or not?”

Pisces wiped his sweaty forehead on his pristine white robes.

“I would surmise that at least one moon is full. Possibly both, although that is a rare occasion. Perhaps the effect of these full moons would be amplified or doubled on such a day?”

“Don’t even joke about that, Pisces.”

“Who said I was?”

The Horns sat, contemplating that thought. It wasn’t nurturing by any means. They were too tired to move—they watched Erin tend to the Redfang Warriors with Lyonette, then rush upstairs. After a moment, one of the healed Redfang Warriors sat up. Headscratcher looked muzzy. He might have had a concussion, but he still wobbled upright and lurched past the Horns. They stared at him as he and the other two Goblins practically dragged themselves to the door.

“What’re they doing?”

“I think they’re…guarding?”

The Redfang Hobs stationed themselves at the door. Headscratcher pointed, and Rabbiteater and Numbtongue heaved a table in front of it. The Horns stared at them and then looked at each other.

“Damnit.”

“We should do that.”

No one wanted to move, but suddenly the aftermath of battle felt a lot less safe. Ceria cursed inwardly at her own stupidity as she forced herself to her feet. The Raskghar could come back! With reinforcements! Was she a Bronze-rank adventurer or a veteran? The Goblins had clearly remembered. The Horns lurched over.

“We can guard too. We’ll take that side.”

Ceria pointed and the Hobs nodded. The adventurers and Goblins went to the glass windows. Ceria wanted to stand, but in the end she found a chair and sat so she could stare out a window with the others. They heard Erin banging around upstairs before she shouted down.

“Bird’s okay! So are Badarrow and Shorthilt! Lyonette, can you get me more arrows from Bird’s room? Then open the door to Octavia’s shop! Grab more potions and some of those exploding bottles if she has any!”

“Got it!”

The Horns listened to Lyonette hurry up the stairs. Yvlon, sitting and rubbing her face with her right hand, looked around.

“Where’s Mrsha…?”

“Over there.”

Mrsha was sitting on a table, sniffing the Raskghar with wide eyes. Ceria whistled and the Gnoll’s head turned.

“Come over here, Mrsha. Don’t get near the dead bodies.”

The Gnoll came over and Ceria heard a buzzing sound in her right ear. Reflexively she ducked and Yvlon leaned back as Apista flew past them like a bee straight out of hell. The Ashfire Bee’s stinger was bloody. She circled once, and then flew away from Ksmvr who was looking hungrily at her. Mrsha sat by the Horns and Apista landed on her head. The Gnoll looked at the adventurers. She wasn’t petrified with fear, but she looked nervous. Ceria tried to smile reassuringly.

“Don’t worry, the bad monsters are gone, Mrsha. If they come back, we’ll chase them away.”

The Gnoll nodded dutifully in a way that said that she didn’t believe Ceria one bit. She had something in her paw. Pisces’ wand. She waved it in the air.

“You’re going to protect us? That’s very brave. But maybe leave the fighting to us, okay? That is a nice wand. Better you have it than Pisces.”

“A hurtful sentiment.”

Yvlon sighed.

“You should take it back. You’d be a better [Mage] with it.”

Pisces shrugged.

“I am used to unarmed spellcasting. Besides which, it is harder to aim a wand in combat. Especially when one attempts to fence with the other hand.”

“Really?”

“Oh, indeed. Why do you think Springwalker shoots [Ice Spikes] with her skeletal hand even though she has a wand?”

“Huh. I never knew that.”

“I never knew that. My master taught me to cast magic with my hands. I thought she was just being strict about it.”

“Fingers are flexible. Wands are not. One can reliably aim spells from the tips of one’s fingers in much more rapid fashion than you would by maneuvering a wand into position each time.”

“So says the self-proclaimed dueling expert of Wistram.”

“If you have any objections or addendums to my theory, Springwalker…”

Ceria did not. The Horns sat in silence for a while. Mrsha edged up to Ceria and the half-Elf began to scratch her head behind the ears. Apista crawled onto Ceria’s arm and was flung off with a shout of panic. After a while, Pisces spoke.

“That was a magical cloak I saw one of the Hobs using, was it not? A cloak made entirely of water? Only, it now appears to be made of blood. Did anyone else notice that during the battle?”

The Horns looked over. Rabbiteater raised his head and the blood cloak swirled around his shoulders. Ceria stared at it.

“Huh. It is a magic cloak. From the dungeon?”

“How the hell did the Goblins figure out how it worked?”

“They put it on, duh.”

“Would that not be dangerous? Comrade Pisces assured me that would be dangerous.”

“Oh, highly. They might have discovered the nature of the cloak…or unleashed a possibly dangerous curse spell or other effect. We are fortunate that the inn was not swallowed by a void spell and dragged into a dark netherworld hell, in which we would be tortured endlessly until our demise.”

“Is that so? I will consider myself fortunate, then.”

The Hobs nodded. They seemed to be listening in. Ceria eyed them and then looked at Pisces.

“But we’re not dead. And the cloak’s magical. It’s…some kind of liquid cloak? That changes depending on what it touches?”

“Apparently.”

She stared at him. Yvlon and Ksmvr looked at Pisces too. He raised his head, still looking pale from mana exhaustion.

“What?”

Ceria coughed.

“Don’t you have a big theory on what it does? Some kind of annoying lecture for us?”

“No. Would you like me to come up with one?”

Everyone nodded. Mrsha scooted closer to Pisces, staring at the cloak with fascination. The blood was rippling every time Rabbiteater moved, as if it were actual cloth. Pisces stared at it for a moment.

“Very well. It is obvious that the cloak is enchanted to take on the properties of a liquid. I would surmise that not all liquids work. Base liquids—that is to say, non-complex fluids like blood, water, and so on seem to be the target reagents of change. It seems the cloak changes rapidly—it may be possible to affect a change with a small amount of liquid.”

The others considered that. Numbtongue, sitting by a window and fiddling with the broken guitar he was still carrying, turned and pursed his lips. He spat. A glistening glob landed on the blood cloak and turned it into a saliva cloak. Rabbiteater swore and threw it at Numbtongue, who laughed until the spit cloak splashed him. Then he just wiped away the spit in silence. Pisces nodded.

“Fascinating. The cloak is denser than it appears on first glance. It would provide a useful bulwark of sorts against physical blows, although I would hesitate to use it as cover against arrows. No, the cloak’s utility in defense is limited. What is more interesting is how much liquid the cloak holds. Therein lies its value.”

Ceria nodded slowly. She’d seen a few artifacts at Wistram and she could follow Pisces on that.

“You mean, you could probably ‘set’ the cloak so it stopped changing all the time, right? And then use it as a portable water source? Or a portable spit source, I guess. But there has to be a limit. What happens when it runs out?”

The Hobs looked up as they scooped spit out of the cloak and slapped it over the wounds that they hadn’t healed. Yvlon gagged in the back of her throat and looked away. Pisces shook his head.

“The cloak would probably revert back to a dormant state while it recharged for a day or so. That makes it a useful tool. But the cloak would not have been designed to transport water, Ceria.”

“What then, oh great and all-knowing Pisces?”

The [Necromancer] paused.

“The true nature of that cloak—in my opinion at this juncture—is to serve as a well of blood. A portable supply that could be used in blood magic. If I were a [Bloodmage], I would pay tens of thousands—no, hundreds of thousands—of gold coins for a reusable supply of blood. That is my speculation. But I do not dabble in such dark magic.”

Pisces shook his head, looking vaguely troubled. The Horns stared at him. The Goblins stared at him. Mrsha stared at him. The [Necromancer] glanced around and flushed irritably.

“What?”

Ceria raised both her eyebrows.

“You wouldn’t use blood magic. You. Isn’t that a bit ironic?”

A haughty sniff was her reply. Pisces drew himself up as high as his low moral ground would allow.

“No. I understand your point, but there is a difference between necromancy and blood magic. Yes, necromancy makes use of the dead. It can be a tool of destruction and misery and that is how it is often employed. But it need not be. I can make use of a cadaver or animal’s corpse without harming the living for it. Blood magic on the other hand demands sacrifice by its very nature.”

He looked around, daring anyone to object. No one did. Ceria stared at the cloak, which had now changed back into a water cloak at Rabbiteater’s insistence.

“Okay. So it’s less useful without a [Bloodmage]. It’s still pretty useful. I saw…uh…”

Rabbiteater looked expectant. Ceria wavered.

“Headscratcher?”

Headscratcher looked insulted. Rabbiteater glared. Ceria tried again.

“Rabbiteater?”

The Hob nodded huffily. Ceria sighed.

“I saw Rabbiteater drown a Raskghar with it. On top of the other two they got.”

Whereas the Horns had killed only one Raskghar. The adventurers shifted uncomfortably and the Hobs looked smug. No one spoke after that. Mrsha leaned against Ceria’s leg with a sigh and the half-Elf resumed scratching. After a while, they heard Erin clattering down the stairs and Lyonette rushed out of Octavia’s shop. She had a crate in her arms.

“Okay, potions! Octavia doesn’t have any exploding potions—she doesn’t know the recipe. But I’ve got Tripvine Bags, the Pepper Potion, a Stink Potion—lots of healing, mana, and stamina potions—”

“Put it there. Anyone grab one if they need it. I’m changing the door to Liscor. No—wait. Pallass first.”

Erin rushed past Lyonette as the [Barmaid] placed the crate on the table. Erin yanked the door open to Pallass and Ceria saw a dark street in front of her. Erin took a breath and shouted.

“Hey! I know there are Drakes watching this door! Get out here! Liscor’s under attack! Again!”

There was a moment of silence, then someone swore. A Drake appeared. Erin waved her over and conferred. The Horns saw the Drake dash off and then another one ran through the doorway. Erin pointed at the dead Raskghar and talked rapidly while the Horns watched.

“We should help.”

“How?”

“Go through to Liscor? Aid in the fighting if there’s any?”

“There’s the City Watch, those angry Drake [Soldiers], three Gold-rank teams, and a lot of Silver-rank ones in the city. And that Wall Lord.”

“Right.”

The Horns stayed put. After a few minutes, they heard pounding footsteps and shouting on the other side of Pallass. A [Mage] must have charged the door because Venim came through with an escort of eight Drakes all wearing Pallass’ yellow armor. Erin closed the door, conferred with Venim, and then opened it to Liscor. She pointed and Venim charged though. Erin hopped about in place anxiously before rushing over to the three Hobs and the Horns.

“Hey guys, Venim’s checking things out. Can you guard the door? I want to keep it open—”

“We’ll do it.”

The Horns of Hammerad stood up. The Redfangs stayed at the actual door. The weary adventurers trudged over and Mrsha padded over until Lyonette stopped her.

“Not you, Mrsha. Stay back from the door. Go play by the stage, alright?”

The Gnoll looked upset. She whined in the back of her throat. Lyonette pointed.

“Come on. You be a good girl, okay? I’ll come over as soon as I can, but Erin’s got me pulling out food—”

“Food?”

All the adventurers and Goblins looked up. Erin nodded as she hurried out of the kitchen with a platter of pre-made bowls of soup now heated steaming hot.

“Food! If anyone’s hurt in Liscor we’ll bandage them up and feed them. Mrsha, listen to Lyonette.”

The Gnoll whined again.

“Mrsha, it won’t be long. Look, why don’t you sit over there and play with your ball? It’s…where did it go?”

Lyonette looked around. Mrsha’s little leather ball had disappeared after her throwing game with Bird. The Horns looked and then Yvlon called out.

“I see it. Here.”

The little ball was lying on the ground next to the wall. Yvlon trudged over to it, her metal armor clanking dully with each step. She reached down with her left arm and paused. Her hand missed the ball. She frowned down at her arm. And then stared.

Everyone stared at Yvlon’s left arm. Her right one was whole—flexible, functional as any arm should be. It slowly picked up Mrsha’s leather ball as Yvlon turned. But her left one? Yvlon’s shield arm was bent at the forearm. The metal armor was still intact, but the flesh and bone beneath had twisted. Ceria’s stomach lurched as she saw Yvlon staring down at her mangled arm, the hand and wrist sticking out at an angle from where they should be.

The armored woman looked around. Ceria opened and closed her mouth a few times. At last she managed to speak.

“I thought you weren’t hurt, Yvlon.”

Yvlon slowly nodded. She stared down at her arm, the same arm that had bent when blocking the Raskghar’s strike during the fight. She grimaced.

“I forgot. I guess. I…didn’t feel a thing.”

—-

That was the thing. She really hadn’t. She hadn’t felt a bit of pain when her arm had broken during the fight. She hadn’t felt it afterwards either, not the entire time she’d been sitting with the others. Yvlon had even leaned on her broken arm. It was lucky she’d still been wearing her armor—she might have snapped the bone clean in half if the armor hadn’t prevented the bones from moving any further.

However, no one could quite believe that. They all knew that Yvlon had the [Ignore Pain] Skill, but it was one thing to know that and see Yvlon wave around her floppy arm without so much as flinching.

“Dead gods, Yvlon, stop that! Okay, we believe you! You can’t feel it! But you need to heal that arm now!”

Ceria’s face was pale as she practically forced Yvlon into a seat. The Human woman almost wanted to laugh at how panicked the half-Elf seemed. What was a broken arm compared to Crelers and the other horrors they’d seen and fought over their careers? She waved Ceria away as she fumbled with her gauntlet. It was hard getting it off at the odd angle and she eventually let Ceria pull the metal off her arm. It came loose with a sucking sound and Ceria’s hiss told Yvlon everything she needed to know before she looked down.

Wet, congealed blood bubbled out and splashed onto the floor. Yvlon stared at the red, puffy skin around her broken bone and then at the places where the skin had torn away. But instead of revealing yellowed bone, the broken bone shone dully in places. Bloody metal mixed with bone. The metal of her old armor that had fused to her bones. Yvlon stared at her arm without changing expression.

She could feel nothing. Ceria on the other hand was fumbling for a potion, cursing with panic.

“Ceria. It’s fine. I can’t feel it.”

“That is not fine! You should have told us your arm was—gods, the bone’s nearly snapped in two! Pisces! Get over here!”

The [Necromancer] appeared next to the two. He peered at the arm with more clinical detachment than Ceria, but there was still a wince in his gaze as he looked up at Yvlon.

“A poor break. I can mend the bone. Put away that potion, Ceria. Or do you want Yvlon to have a stump rather than a connected arm?”

He thrust away the healing potion. Ceria jumped and Yvlon nodded. If Ceria had applied it to her broken arm without at least joining the bones together, the flesh might have grown over the broken bone instead, effectively amputating her arm. Or worse—she’d end up with some kind of freakishly malformed new bridge in her arm made entirely of flesh and no bone. Yvlon had heard all the horror stories about healing potions used wrong.

“Here. Take it. Fix Yvlon’s arm. I need to watch the door.”

Ceria thrust the potion into Pisces’ hands and hurried back to the doorway. Ksmvr was waiting there with his shortbow in hand, watching for Raskghar that might appear in Liscor’s rainy streets. He kept glancing back at Yvlon, though. Anxiously. She smiled and waved her good hand at him.

“Keep still, please. I will need to reinforce the bone. Hm…yes, and regrow as much as I can to fuse it together. Your arm will be weaker for a day or two, but ah, the bones should return to normal after that. Such as normal may be.”

Pisces knelt by Yvlon’s arm. She stared at her discolored, swelling flesh. Funny, she recalled how her old team, the Silver Spears, used to tease her about her flawless complexion, as if she were ready to ride to a ball rather than a monster hunt. Yvlon tried to remember their faces and found it was harder than it should be.

Not so funny, actually. She closed her eyes a moment as Pisces bent over her arm, frowning and muttering.

“By ‘normal’, you mean my arm will still be weak as before, don’t you.”

The [Necromancer] paused.

“I cannot remove the metal in your arm. And it is badly fatigued. So…yes. It will break if you subject it to undue force.”

“Like blocking? I couldn’t take more than one hit. I had to fight the rest of the battle with one arm.”

Shame burned Yvlon. She’d had to fall back, let Ksmvr cover her while she held the Raskghar back with her sword arm. She looked at Pisces. He’d forgotten his rapier, but he’d still burnt the Raskghar, used his undead bears to distract them. Now he was fixing her, the wounded one. The useless one.

“The Raskghar were incredibly strong. And perhaps your sword and shield style is unsuited to your current condition. However, your enchanted sword should allow you to fight with great effectiveness. If you don’t block.”

“Great. So I can hit things lightly. Is that it?”

“You were aware of the complications before hand.”

“I know. I just—”

Yvlon broke off and turned her head. She didn’t like Pisces. She didn’t like him, and yet, she didn’t hate him. Not anymore. He was her teammate when all things were said and done, and she—she was the one who had let him down. Her gaze went over to her shield. The little buckler, the enchanted Forceshield Buckler.

“I forgot to activate the magic on my shield. I just blocked the Raskghar like an idiot.”

Pisces glanced at the inert buckler. He shrugged.

“I did notice. However, I forgot my rapier and my wand. We were caught off-guard, with no time to prepare.”

“I know. I know! But why is it that everyone’s okay, whereas my arms—dead gods, Pisces. I’m so useless.”

“You are hardly useless. You cut off the Raskghar’s arm with a single blow. Highly demoralizing, I would imagine. And you slew two of the Cave Goblins. That is hardly the actions of dead weight.”

Yvlon wanted to laugh. Now Pisces was trying to comfort her of all people! She stared at her arm. Pisces was moving the bones, carefully guiding the broken bones into place. A bit of her blood covered his hands as her skin tore a bit more.

“My apologies.”

“I can’t feel it. I told you.”

The [Necromancer] paused.

“That is…convenient. This would not feel pleasant otherwise.”

Yvlon could certainly agree with that. And strangely, though she couldn’t feel the pain, she could feel Pisces shifting her bones around. It was a strange, uncomfortable feeling. Unnatural. She held still though, gritting her teeth. After a moment of Pisces working, she spoke.

“Pisces?”

“Yes, Yvlon?”

“My arms are shot. I can’t fight with them. Not like this. If I take a bad hit and lose one arm—or two—I’m a liability in combat.”

“Only until I am able to restore your arms. With a healing potion and my skills, your arms can be easily restored. Frankly, it is somewhat shocking how effective my talents are—”

“Shut up, Pisces. Don’t downplay what I’m saying.”

A pause.

“My apologies, Yvlon. But what option do you have? You yourself wished to continue adventuring.”

“I do. I do. But this—”

Yvlon’s head spun. She didn’t want to quit. She couldn’t quit. Abandon the Horns? They were all she had left. What would she do if she stopped adventuring? Sell her gear? Go live on her family’s estates—try and become a [Merchant] and help out with the business? As a failure? A cripple with weak arms? Never. And yet—she looked at Pisces, despairing.

He was a [Necromancer]. She’d hated and distrusted him for that when they’d first known each other. No—that had been when she first joined the Horns. Before that she hadn’t even thought of Pisces. He’d been…just another contemptible person. Someone to avoid, oppose if necessary.

Now? She had to admit his spells were powerful. Useful. Yvlon had to admit that his skeletons had saved their team’s lives more than once. His ability to shape bone had restored her arms when she’d be crippled for months with each break. His undead bears? She’d told him to use their bones. And they had been helpful.

A…feeling stole over Yvlon. A shiver, only it ran through her insides rather than across her flesh. She stared at Pisces. A [Necromancer]. By his own admission, someone who would desecrate corpses. Raise the undead. Pisces was arrogant, greedy, and rude when he chose to be. But he was not an evil man. She had seen enough of him to know that. And his powers—

“I am nearly done fusing your bones together. Please do not move.”

Yvlon jumped. She hadn’t realized Pisces was nearly finished. He gave her a long-suffering look and adjusted his grip.

“As I said.”

The woman held still as Pisces clutched her bleeding, puffy arm. He frowned down at something only he could see, then nodded.

“Very good. Now, a healing potion for the flesh and your arm is restored.”

He gently poured the liquid over Yvlon’s arm. She felt a bit of cold, and then felt her swollen flesh retract, return to normal. Yvlon stared at her whole, unblemished arm. Pisces smiled.

“And there we are. Another fine shaping of bone. A pity I could not do anything about the metal. For now. Miss Byres—”

He hesitated, looking at Yvlon carefully. She glanced up at him as she flexed her arm.

“What was that?”

Pisces gently bit one lip, thinking as he carefully eyed Yvlon. She knew that look. It meant he was about to suggest something he knew she’d object to. However, this time Yvlon didn’t feel any irritation. Any disgust. She waited, patiently.

“Go on. Tell me.”

“I ah, know you have spoken to [Healers] and [Blacksmiths] about your arm. An odd combination, but the metal is grafted to the bone. As they have said, it cannot be removed without essentially destroying the bone itself. It is a miracle any bone marrow remains, frankly, but you were lucky. However, the weakness of your bones has preyed on my mind. It may be—and I only suggest this, I would never force you into any decision—it may be that in time I will gain the Skills or learn a spell to enhance your bones or remove the metal myself.”

Yvlon stared at Pisces as he sat back, visibly apprehensive.

“You? Fix my arms? But you said it couldn’t be done.”

He grimaced.

“Not at my level. A [Necromancer] has extreme, and I do mean extreme difficulty working with living bodies. Manipulating bone? I can crack an unled skeleton in two at fifty paces, but it requires physical, skin-to-skin contact to manipulate a living person’s bone up close—and even then, only when they do not resist. Actually shaping bone or reinforcing it is far beyond my level. But for a Level 40 [Necromancer]? If I found a spellbook with the necessary spells? I am assured that any [Necromancer] above Level 50 would have no problem restoring your arms.”

“Really? Who told you that?”

Pisces shifted and scratched behind one ear.

“Ah, well, assured may be too overconfident a word. I’ve read a few books about more powerful [Necromancers]. I am certain it can be done. Give me time and I will come up with a more complete solution to your dilemma. Until then, do not despair.”

And there it was. Yvlon looked at Pisces. He gave her a hesitant smile. A nervous one. He was waiting to see if she’d thank him or snap his head off. Yvlon felt guilty because she knew that two weeks ago she would have done just that. That was the thing about Pisces. He was unlikeable, hard to work with. He could drive her insane and then turn around and surprise her with…this.

She thought of his bears. Undead bears. When she’d told him to use their corpses to drag the dead Crelers and the team back to Esthelm through the snow she’d been exhausted, out of sorts, and willing to compromise her beliefs. After all, the undead bears might be undead, but they were dead animals. Pisces hadn’t killed the bears and they would be worthless corpses any other way. So why not use them? It wouldn’t hurt anyone. And it had helped her team.

That was how [Necromancers] thought. The shock that ran through Yvlon was electric. She instantly felt guilty, but then wondered why. Why indeed? It wasn’t like using the undead hurt anyone. It was only when [Necromancers] used people—used the undead, which were tools—as weapons. But if it was just bone, just magic—

She was talking herself into something. Again, Yvlon felt a shiver run through her. She stared at Pisces. She had a thought. She’d had a thought, rather, lurking in the back of her head. Ever since she’d seen one of his Bone Horrors.

“Pisces, about your undead.”

“Yes?”

He looked surprised and alarmed at the sudden conversation change. Yvlon nodded over to a pile of bones. The undead bears had been well and truly smashed by the Raskghar, so badly that their skulls and bones were splintered and broken. Pisces hadn’t cleaned them up so they sat on the floor, a yellowed mess of bones. Mrsha was sniffing at one.

“The Raskghar got your bears, didn’t they? Can you still use the bones? I saw the Bone Horror you made.”

“Which…one?”

Yvlon hadn’t known Pisces had more than one.

“The one with the long whip-arms.”

“Ah. My older prototype.”

“Older?”

He cleared his throat.

“Yes. It ah, was brought to my attention by Miss Shivertail that my first prototype Bone Horror could be improved. It was not as efficient as I had hoped it to be, so I have been designing a new one.”

He shifted a bit. For some reason Yvlon found his discomfort hilarious. She grinned at him.

“You mean, your undead wasn’t as powerful as you’d hoped? Aren’t you a master [Necromancer]?”

Pisces colored and opened his mouth before he realized she was teasing him. He blinked at her.

“Ah. Yes? Well, I only have so many bones to work with! The bones of three bears, to be precise. And I have already had to scavenge their forms to create several Bone Horrors to clear Liscor’s sewers.”

“They’re all smashed up now, though. Are the bone shards unusable?”

Pisces shrugged.

“Not if I mend the bones together. True, the problem with dead bone is that it grows weaker with every fracture, but I will incorporate the bone into a new structure. A reinforced cladding perhaps.”

“Reinforce. Like…put a layer of bone armor over an undead bear?”

The young [Necromancer]’s eyes lit up.

“Well, that is an idea. Of course, the undead bear skeletons are useful on their own—as a hasty creation they are my preferred choice—but I wouldn’t normally attempt to reinforce them as they are. Bears are not the most powerful combatants and they are somewhat unwieldy. Flesh and blood bears trade on their crushing weight, and a skeleton is far lighter. However, if I added armor, it might be an interesting project—”

“You really like the undead, don’t you?”

Pisces broke off. He paused.

“Is it that disagreeable?”

Yvlon shook her head. She looked up and sighed. Her heart was beating too fast for some reason.

“No, Pisces. It’s not. I guess—it’s not. Really. I don’t like undead, but I’ve gotten used to them. So you can reshape bone, huh?”

“Dead bone? Bone not controlled by another [Necromancer] or one that is part of an existing magical being? With ease.”

“And you know about anatomy.”

“One must, to create or alter undead. I am an expert in the skeletal form. I know something of flesh too, but zombies are ah, not my forte. They rot and smell, and are generally too slow. Which is inconvenient.”

“Got it. So…tell me something. If you were going to harden a…bear’s leg. So Dawil couldn’t break it in half with his hammer, say. How would you do that?”

Pisces frowned, his brow furrowing as he considered her challenge.

“There are many ways. Armor, as you mentioned, might work. It is possible to fabricate bone armor—but Dawil is a strong combatant. Rather than trust to an exterior defence, I would harden the bone. Thicken it.”

“What if you couldn’t do that? Is there another way to reinforce the bone without…solidifying it?”

“Well of course. I could create a frame around the arm—add in supports. There is a point at which [Necromancy] becomes architecture, you see. It is entirely possible to create a—a network of bone, almost like a spider web. That kind of support becomes far stronger because it distributes weight. If I must protect a lynchpin in the structure, I can adjust the bones around it to reduce the force that is applied to the bone in question.”

“Good. Do that to my arm.”

Yvlon thrust her bare arm in Pisces face. He recoiled. Then he stared at her. Pisces’ mouth opened in complete and utter surprise.

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

The Human woman breathed in heavily, and then out. She was shivering inside, but her voice was steady.

“It’s obvious. I didn’t think of it before because I would have rather died than have you—have anything undead in my body. But it’s just bone, right? I’m sure you can make a bracer—put something around my arm, in my arm—make it so it won’t break in a fight. You can do that, can’t you?”

Pisces sat back. His face was pale. Yvlon was reassured to see that her idea had shocked even him.

“Miss Byres, that is not something I ever considered doing. I understand you’re upset, but I cannot guarantee anything. No—doing something like that would be criminal on my part. If Ceria—”

Yvlon gritted her teeth.

“I’m not asking her. I’m asking you. Can you do it?”

Pisces’ gaze flickered to Yvlon. He hesitated.

“Perhaps. But I will not do it.”

“Why not? I need my arms to work, Pisces. Not later. Not when you’re Level 40 or Level 50. Dead gods, how long would that take? I need my arms to work now and if you can reinforce them with [Necromancy]—why are you hesitating? I’m offering you a once-in-a-lifetime chance to experiment with my arms, to figure out how to improve a living body! You should be leaping on this chance!”

“But you are my teammate. And I do not—will not experiment with the living.”

Pisces voice was soft. Yvlon stared at him. Principles. A needle’s edge of morality.

“Then don’t experiment. Fix me. If you can do it, do it. You know how good you are, Pisces. Prove it. Can you change my arms?”

He wavered. Pisces eyes flicked past Yvlon to Ceria and Ksmvr. He half-rose, and then, slowly, sat back down. He looked Yvlon in the eyes.

“I can. Is that really what you wish?”

She wavered. For a second every story and folktale she’d ever heard about necromancy, about the undead, the Necromancer, flashed through Yvlon’s mind. Then she met Pisces’ eyes. There was confidence there. Yvlon nodded.

“Use the bear bones. Do it. Before I change my mind.”

Pisces held Yvlon’s gaze for a long time. Then, slowly, he reached out. He took Yvlon’s bare arms, stared at the pale skin, white from hiding in Yvlon’s armor for so long. At last, he inclined his head the barest fraction of an inch.

“I will begin with a lattice…”

—-

Yvlon held still, completely still, as Pisces bent over her arms. She could feel her skin moving, feel him cut into her arm, insert bone where it should not be. She felt her flesh and muscles moving as he forced bone into her arm, cut and using a healing potion to…well, she didn’t know.

Pisces had explained his idea, but it hadn’t made sense to Yvlon. A structure of bone like a spider web? Cushioning her bone? Adding in a splint? Well, the last part made sense, but she had no idea how it looked. She did not, by and large, stare into people’s bodies. Nor was she about to start.

The [Necromancer] was working over her arm, shielded from view at the table where they sat. No one paid attention to them. As far as the other occupants of the inn were concerned, Pisces was still fixing Yvlon’s arm. An occasional glance over was all that Yvlon received.

“You are not feeling any discomfort?”

“It feels weird and unpleasant. But I can’t feel pain. You don’t need to keep asking.”

“Very well. I am adding in the splint now. It should keep the stability of your arm even if your bone breaks. After all, what moves your arm is muscle. The bone is simply structure.”

“Right. Never thought of it like that.”

“And I will shield your bone as well. Naturally I will check on your arm after each battle, but you should be able to use your arm without fear of crippling yourself. Both arms, in fact. And I stress once again that all of this can be removed quite easily.”

“Of course.”

“I can pull these bones out with eas—with no proble—with minimal—well, it is a matter of delicacy inserting and removing such bones without ah, tearing through all your skin. But it can be done.”

“Got it.”

“If you have any concerns—”

“I trust you, Pisces.”

He fell silent. Yvlon stared at his face so she couldn’t see her blood and flesh and the bones moving about. This was her second arm. The right one. He’d already finished on the left one. It felt…she could feel it was different. Heavier. But sturdy, too. She made a fist with her left hand. He’d told her she could block any number of Raskghar strikes with that arm.

“So. You didn’t learn this at Wistram, did you?”

Pisces glanced up. He smiled briefly. He was trying to be chatty, reassure Yvlon.

“Oh no. You know my story of course. The…mistakes I made with Ceria.”

Yvlon’s mind flashed back to the long cart ride from Celum to Liscor, when Ceria had told the story. Back then Pisces hadn’t said much, only interject a few comments now and then. She remembered his expression.

“Yeah. You never really told us your side of things. Did anything Ceria say…did you disagree with any of it?”

Pisces looked back down at Yvlon’s arm.

“Nothing worth noting. She was largely correct. I kept my necromancy hidden as long as possible during my time at Wistram. And of course, I had no instruction while I was there. What I know now is mostly a product of trial and error. Of course, I did learn more after I left the academy. I had…encounters…with others who shared the same interests I did.”

“Really? You met other people like you? In Izril?”

“Oh yes. In my travels after leaving the academy, I made it a point to seek out other [Necromancers] and covens of like-minded individuals. Izril is not fond of those who raise the undead, but death magic can be found in every continent. Even Terandria, although it is outlawed there. But if one knows where to look…”

Pisces trailed off. Yvlon nodded. She had heard of incidents involving petty [Necromancers] over the years. It was one of the classic adventurer quests, in fact. Go track down the source of the undead and slay whomever was responsible.

“So? Was it good meeting them?”

The young man shook his head, his lips twisting into a sneer of contempt.

“Hardly. I erroneously believed that I would find kindred spirits among such people. Alas, such encounters were ultimately dissatisfactory. Most of those who practice death magic lack the…standards I hold myself to. Low and twisted though they may be.”

He glanced up with a half-smile. Yvlon couldn’t help but smile in reply.

“Self-deprecation isn’t your strong suit, Pisces. So these other [Necromancers] didn’t impress you?”

“Let us simply say that they lacked finesse in any sense of the word. I joined a local group a year before I came to Liscor—The Krythien Sect, I believe. They might still be operating. A pity. They were nothing more than amateurs. No knowledge of anatomy or spellcraft between all of them put together. They only understood how to animate a body, not how it worked. None of them would be able to do what I am doing now. Speaking of which—”

Yvlon raised her arm. Pisces grabbed it.

“Hold on! I haven’t closed the wound!”

She stared at her arm. It looked like someone had taken a sharp knife and sliced her flesh to ribbons. Pisces poured the healing potion over her arm and she felt the flesh close. She flexed her arm. Swung it.

“How does it feel?”

Pisces watched her anxiously. Yvlon banged her forearm on the side of the table, pushed at it with her other hand. Then she smiled.

“It feels solid.”

She smiled at Pisces and he leaned back in relief. The two sat there for a second, Pisces wiping away sweat from his eyes. Two healing potions lay on the table, both completely empty. Pisces had downed a mana potion and he looked worn out. But it was done.

“Thank you, Pisces.”

“Thank me after you hit something. This is all a trial. If there are any complications, I will fix them. In fact, this is just the start.”

Yvlon paused as she put her armor back over her arms.

“Oh? What did you have in mind?”

Pisces leaned forwards conspiratorially.

“If you would like me to, I could research a way to strengthen the metal in your arms as well. Not with [Necromancy]—a basic [Hardening] spell or some kind of reinforcement magic would allow you to fight quite normally. I am sure one of my spellbooks has the necessary spell listed in it. I hadn’t even thought of it, but the metal in your arms is a foreign object! If we did that, there might be no need for my using bone at all.”

Yvlon thought about that.

“Why the hell didn’t you think of any of this earlier?”

Pisces looked insulted.

“Who thinks of enchanting the metal in one’s arms? Frankly, your idea was so unorthodox that even I, a [Necromancer] trained in Wistram—”

He grinned as Yvlon chuckled.

“—Wouldn’t have considered it! But if you are willing to take a calculated risk, then I will adjust my studying.”

The Human woman thought about this. She felt her arms. Strong. Then she nodded.

“Do it. We’ll keep it between us for now.”

“Indeed. I understand this is, well, it would be a problem if anyone were to learn of it.”

“For them. Yeah. But I think I know how I feel. Pisces.”

Yvlon held out a hand. Pisces looked at it. Slowly, he extended his arm and shook her hand. Yvlon smiled. Pisces smiled too then yelped.

“My hand! My hand!”

He wrestled his hand free before Yvlon could crush his fingers. She laughed. She’d forgotten how good it felt to have an arm again! She swung her arm up and Ceria looked over.

“Oh! Did Pisces fix your arm, Yvlon? Careful.”

“I’m fine, Ceria. Pisces did an excellent job. How’s it going in Liscor?”

“Good! The fighting’s over. The City Watch is combing the streets, but it looks like they fought off the Raskghar fairly quickly. But there are dead. And missing.”

“Missing?”

Both adventurers came over. Pisces massaged his hand as he stared at Ceria. The half-Elf nodded, her expression serious.

“Gnolls. All the Drakes that the Raskghar attacked were killed, but no one’s found the Gnoll bodies. They think they’ve been carried into the dungeon, but as for why…? That Venim guy from Pallass is talking with the others. Doubt we’ll hear any of it for a while.”

“In that case, I shall devote myself to clearing up my ah, tools. Such as they are.”

Pisces gestured to the pile of bear bones. Ceria glanced over and Yvlon held her breath, but neither she nor Ksmvr saw that the bone pile had been somewhat reduced.

“You do that. Hell, there’s blood to clean up too. Dead bodies—we should probably help with that.”

She stared at the pile of Raskghar and Goblins. Yvlon grimaced.

“Toss them into the water and let the fishes eat them?”

“Works for me. Hey Pisces, can you make an undead to do the lifting?”

“I could, but I have about one bear’s worth of bones left intact.”

Pisces grumbled as he inspected the yellowed pile of bones. Ksmvr sat up, looking concerned.

“Only one? But then our three-fold offensive line of bears is no longer a workable strategy. Captain Ceria, this may affect all our tactics moving forwards! May I request an immediate hunt to slaughter as many bears as possible?”

“Uh—you can request that, Ksmvr. But finding bears is not high on our list of things to do. Pisces will just have to make do for now. If we find other animal bones he can use those. But you know what the Adventurer’s Guild says. No using people.”

Yvlon nodded. She could agree with that restriction entirely. But as she looked at Pisces, she once again had a crazy thought. She coughed.

“Pisces.”

He looked up.

“Yes?”

“Do you remember what Selys told you? There was a list of bones you couldn’t use, remember? All kinds of species?”

Pisces grimaced.

“I well remember. It is a tiresome restriction, but I understand the necessity of the law and I will abide. A shame I cannot use convicted criminals or bandits but I understand the difficulty of identifying ah, remains.”

Yvlon nodded absently as Ceria made a disgusted face.

“Right. But I think there’s a loophole you can exploit.”

“If you are referring to using Lizardfolk, I am afraid—”

“Pisces. Look down.”

The mage glanced down at the floor. He stared at the dried blood, and then followed it to the fallen corpses. Raskghar. And Goblins. He stared at them and then at Yvlon. She raised her eyebrows. Pisces blinked.

“I believe I am growing fonder of you by the minute, Miss Byres.”

“Thanks. I think.”

Yvlon turned, smiling, as Pisces walked over to the bodies and began inspecting them, muttering about tossing them into the lake anyways to ‘clean’ the bones. She looked at Ksmvr and Ceria. Both Antinium and half-elf were staring at Yvlon with gaping mouth—or open mandibles as the case may be. She shrugged.

“What?”

—-

The Wandering Inn was not quiet in the hours after the Raskghar attack. It was late night turning into day, but no one was asleep. And in fact, the inn received more than a few visitors. The first was Olesm, who rushed into the building with several [Guardsmen] and a group of Gnolls that included Krshia in tow.

“Erin! Are you okay? Are you—”

He stopped as he saw the Raskghar and Goblin bodies and looked around frantically for Erin. She turned and waved to him.

“Olesm! I’m so glad you’re al—”

All the wind left Erin’s lungs as Olesm ran across the room and practically tackled her with a hug. She hugged him back as Krshia exhaustedly staggered over to a table with the others.

“I’m okay! I’m okay, Olesm! Are you safe? Where’s everyone else? What happened?”

As she and Olesm talked, Lyonette hurried out of the kitchen. She had a plate full of rare, bloody hamburgers steaming hot and she placed it in front of the Gnolls and [Guardsmen].

“Krshia! Are you okay? Here—we’ve got food! Let me get you some drinks!”

The Gnolls’ eyes widened and six furry hands immediately shot for the food. The City Watch grabbed desperately too, and for a few moments everyone was eating ravenously. Lyonette filled mugs rapidly and sent Mrsha running over to shove the drinks on the table. No one minded the mess. They ate, sat back, and became living people again, rather than wet, exhausted warriors.

“Thank you, Lyonette. We have been searching the city for hours. We are well. Those damn Raskghar, they attacked here, yes?”

“They did. The Horns fought them off. So did the Goblins.”

The Redfang Goblins turned. Shorthilt and Badarrow had come down from the rooftop, as had Bird, now that Liscor was secure. They were milling about and Bird was squatting by Ksmvr and Pisces who were trying to figure out how to debone the corpses.

“They are fish bait? But they look like bird bait to me. We should leave them in the water and see if water birds come to eat them.”

“The trick will be retrieving the bones when eaten. I might suggest deboning the corpses or ripping the bones out with [Necromancy] or telekinetic magic, but that would be inefficient. Also, messy.”

Lyonette grimaced and tried not to listen. She served more food until the exhausted Gnolls and [Guardsmen] just sat around in a coma at the tables. By which time more people had come though from Liscor.

“Erin!”

Jelaqua strode into the inn, her armor blazing with fire. She looked around, realized there was no danger, and deactivated the Heartflame Breastplate. Moore and Seborn ran in after Jelaqua. All three Halfseekers looked tired, but unharmed.

“We fought two groups of Raskghar in the city. Both times they fled after we cut them down a bit. Not one of them got past the armor. I was worried you’d been attacked, but we kept seeing the Raskghar and chasing after them. Glad you lot were here.”

The Selphid leaned over the table Ceria and Yvlon were sitting at. Ceria coughed, blushing.

“Well, the Goblins did a lot of the work.”

The Halfseekers glanced at the Redfang Warriors and then away. Jelaqua shook her head.

“Good for them. Hey, Lyonette! Can we get something to eat? I’m starving. There’ll be more people coming too. Ylawes was worried when I spotted him. I saw Halrac on the walls, too. He’ll be along I bet.”

She was right. The Silver Swords and Griffon Hunt both appeared in due time, both groups to check up on Erin. And Yvlon, in Ylawes’ case. Of course, Revi claimed she’d been dragged along by Halrac, but she did check to make sure Mrsha was there before she demanded hot food and a towel.

It was strange, but Erin’s inn only kept getting more crowded as people came by to make sure she was safe, which in turn saved her from having to go out and see if they were safe. Klbkch and Relc stopped by on patrol—Relc grabbed eight hamburgers to ‘share’ and ate three on the way out—Pawn appeared with Yellow Splatters and several Painted Soldiers on the same mission, and even Selys and Drassi appeared with Ishkr in tow.

“Oh Erin! I was so worried about your inn! And Selys said the streets were safe, so we came here and found Ishkr along the way! Do you need help? Are we getting paid for this? No, wait—let me.”

Drassi chattered as she went to help the besieged Lyonette at the counter. They were actually running out of pre-made food and Erin was hurrying to the kitchen to feed the masses when Wall Lord Ilvriss walked in. She stared at him, bemused and touched.

“Ilvriss! Were you worried about us, too?”

The Wall Lord jumped. He was accompanied by a group of his followers. He glared at Erin and adjusted his sword belt unnecessarily.

“Hardly, Human. I just heard that Watch Captain Venim was here and I wanted to speak with a representative of Pallass. And…I was looking for young Swifttail. There he is.”

He pointed at Olesm, who jumped guiltily. Erin smiled.

“Well, can I get you food? Drinks? A towel?”

Ilvriss nodded and then caught himself. He wrinkled his nose at the dead Raskghar and Goblins. They still hadn’t been removed—Pisces was arguing with Jelaqua, who wanted to ‘try’ one of the Raskghar out.

“You may start by clearing those corpses out of the inn. And removing the blood.”

“Ew. Right. Pisces! Get rid of those bodies!”

The [Necromancer] looked up. He sighed and stopped trying to fend Jelaqua off. Ceria pushed herself to her feet.

“Yeah, let’s get rid of them. Pisces, you can figure out what to do when we dump them outside. Ksmvr, Yvlon?”

She turned. The other Horns of Hammerad got up. Pisces grumbled, but helped lift the first Raskghar with Yvlon’s help. He grunted and, red-faced with exertion, staggered to the door. Mrsha opened it and the adventurers disappeared outside.

The Redfang Goblins also got up and began hauling the Raskghar in pairs. That only left the Goblins. Ceria wrinkled her nose as she stared at the motionless form in front of her. She tried not to think of the Goblin as being like Rags, although it was small. This one had tried to gut her with a shiv. She bent.

“Come on, Ksmvr.”

The Antinium dutifully bent and reached for the Goblin’s arms while Ceria grabbed the legs. The Antinium lifted—

And the Goblin’s eyes opened. It sat up with a gasp, clutching at its bleeding chest. Ksmvr leapt back and Ceria shouted in surprise. The Cave Goblin stared around wildly, its little red eyes wide. It focused on the adventurers, the room full of enemies, and froze. Then, quick as a flash, it bolted.

There was no thought to it. The Goblin ran instantly. And because it was moving on instinct, it ran right into the kitchen rather than out the door. Yvlon heard a shout of alarm from within and the Cave Goblin reemerged from the kitchen. Erin dashed out, a cleaver in hand.

“A Goblin! One of them is alive!”

Everyone in the inn shot to their feet as the Goblin fled, screaming. Halrac raised his bow and half the warriors in the room aimed at the Goblin, but they stopped as Erin shouted.

“Don’t kill it! Capture it!”

“What?”

Ilvriss snarled at Erin. He drew his sword and froze as she pointed at him. The air grew heavy and Ilvriss’ tail thrashed. He turned, pointed, and Erin staggered back as if he’d kicked her in the chest.

“Do not do that again!”

“Don’t kill it!”

Moore obligingly reached down, but the Goblin leapt over his hand and ran for the door. Revi snapped.

“Well someone stop it! It’s getting away!”

The door was open. The Goblin fled through it as Ksmvr leapt and missed. The Cave Goblin sprinted out into the rain and then reappeared through the doorway. Upside down. Headscratcher walked back into the inn, dripping with rain. He was holding the Cave Goblin by the ankle as it screamed and twisted. He stared around.

“Mm?”

The inn waited. Headscratcher paused. The other Redfang Goblins came in behind him, and then Pisces and Yvlon. The [Necromancer] sneezed and then stared at the Goblin.

“Ah. Well, this is interesting.”

Numbtongue, Headscratcher, Badarrow, Shorthilt, and Rabbiteater stood around the terrified Cave Goblin as Headscratcher held it up by one leg. The other guests of the inn looked from the Goblin to Erin. Revi was the one to say it.

“Now what?”

“Uh—”

Erin stared at the Cave Goblin. It was fighting to get free, slashing at Headscratcher with a stone shiv. He didn’t seem to mind—he was dangling it out of reach and every time it tried to sit up he shook the Goblin until it hung in the air, gasping for breath. Ilvriss looked disgusted.

“Goblins are bad enough. That…creature was part of the attack on the city. There are citizens—Gnolls—missing as we speak! Kill the wretched creature or throw it outside if you must, Human. But do not sully our presence with it one moment longer.”

There were nods of agreement, not just from the Drakes sitting around Ilvriss. Erin looked at Headscratcher. The Goblin was watching her carefully. She opened her mouth and Olesm cut in. The Drake had gone wide-eyed as he stared at the Cave Goblin and now he raised one hand for everyone’s attention.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss, unless I am very much mistaken, I believe that Goblin is worth far, far more to us alive than dead. We are in need of information following the Raskghar attack. We captured no Raskghar alive to my knowledge. That Goblin could have all the intelligence we seek.”

“Intelligence.”

One of the [Guardsmen] chuckled as if Olesm had made a joke. The Redscar Goblins stared at him flatly. Ilvriss sighed. He smiled patiently at Olesm.

“Information? Young Swifttail, I appreciate your line of thought, but interrogating a Goblin is a fruitless task. Coercing Goblins is surprisingly difficult and more to the point, it is impossible to communicate—”

He broke off because Olesm was staring at him. Just staring. Ilvriss hesitated and looked back. Towards the Cave Goblin. And the Goblins. The Redfang Goblins stood around the wriggling Cave Goblin. Numbtongue was picking his ears. The Hob paused as all eyes turned towards him. Ilvriss’s tail twitched.

“Ah.”

He cleared his throat.

“Ahem. Olesm?”

“Yes, Wall Lord?”

“Send a Street Runner to collect Watch Captain Zevara, Wing Commander Embria, ah… Guildmistress Tekshia, and Watch Captain Venim please. Tell them we have a possible source of information of the highest priority.”

“At once, Wall Lord.”

Olesm nodded to a [Guardsman] and the Drake hauled himself to his feet. Ilvriss didn’t quite meet anyone’s eyes as Olesm and the [Guardsman] ran out into the dark and rainy streets of Liscor. He sat at his table and cleared his throat a few times.

“Excellent talent, that young Swifttail. Excellent. A real credit to his species. A [Strategist] worthy of the name. Indeed. Ahem. Did someone mention a drink?”

—-

It was as full as Erin’s inn had ever gotten in the old days. Of course, since these were the new days and she had the [Grand Theatre] Skill, her inn was still fairly spacious. However, everyone was packed onto the tables at the front of the room, leaving the back wide open. Every eye was on the Cave Goblin who’d been tied to a chair. The little Goblin was practically frothing at the mouth with fear and the bucket sitting below her chair was a testament to the loincloth-wetting fear it was in.

The mood in the rest of the inn was…well, it wasn’t tense, but it wasn’t relaxed either. Gnolls were missing. Liscor had been attacked. Again! It seemed like they couldn’t get a break. Only this time, the threat hadn’t disappeared with the end of the fighting like the moths. The Raskghar had retreated, and so what was taking place in the inn was a war council.

Everyone of note was present. All three Gold-rank teams, Tekshia, Zevara, Venim, Ilvriss, Embria, Olesm, Drassi—alright, some of the people present were there for other reasons, but the Drake population spoke to the gravitas of the moment. They were all appointed officials, and the fact that they were all Drakes was not lost on Pisces.

“Speciesism at its finest. At least they have deigned to include Miss Krshia, Guardsman Klbkch, and the Gold-rank adventurers in the discussion.”

Pisces whispered to Ceria as they sat near the back of the war council. They were, in fact, sitting behind a few plumper, older Drakes who were actually on Liscor’s council. Pisces’ whisper reached their ears and the Drakes turned to frown at Pisces. So did Ceria.

“Shush!”

He sniffed, which was all the commentary he really needed and stood up to get a drink. Erin was catering the council and she’d elected to serve people buffet style. Pisces wandered over to a table and stared at a devilled egg. He saw a little furry paw reach up and snatch it. Pisces peered under the tablecloth and found Mrsha sitting under the table. With Bird.

“Hello Pisces. I am hiding with Mrsha. I am not sure why, but it is fun.”

The [Necromancer] waited for his heart to stop pounding before he lowered the tablecloth and turned without another word. He looked into a pair of yellow, reptilian eyes. Selys paused with a fish flake in one claw.

“Oh, it’s you. You’re alive?”

Pisces paused and straightened his robes.

“Ah, Miss Selys. It is good to see you well. You are unharmed, I trust?”

She nodded and glanced at the tablecloth.

“I survived. Hid in my apartment until I heard the all-clear. Been working at the Adventurer’s Guild sorting things out until Olesm called for grandmother to come here. She pulled me over too.”

She gestured at the hiding Mrsha and Bird as they peeked out and grabbed more food before hiding once more.

“You saw them too? Nearly scared the scales off my tail when I saw Bird down there.”

“There is something about seeing a crouching Antinium hiding in the darkness that wakes one up. I take it you are participating in this meeting as well?”

Selys lifted up the roll of parchment and quill in her other hand and grimaced as she chewed on the fish flake.

“I get to write everything down. My grandmother has me doing it.”

“Ah. Guildmistress Tekshia Shivertail.”

Pisces glanced across the room at the elderly Drake who was giving him the evil eye. Tekshia looked away and Selys sighed.

“She hates your guts.”

“I had noticed. Well, I am quite interested in what we shall learn from this…interrogation.”

Pisces nodded to the Cave Goblin tied up in the center of the room. Olesm was standing next to the Redfang Goblins, nervously calibrating a truth detection stone while the Hobs spoke to the little Goblin. The rest of the room was abuzz with idle conversation as Selys and Pisces made their way forwards. Everyone was waiting to find out what the Goblin knew, but that relied on the Redfang Goblins finding out first. And they seemed to be having trouble. Pisces inferred this detail from the way an impatient Badarrow and Shorthilt lifted the Goblin and chair up and began shaking it violently upside down as it screamed and thrashed and then, threw up.

“Aw, come on guys! Don’t be mean! Just ask it what it knows!”

Erin made the Redfang Goblins stop and put the dizzy Cave Goblin right-side up. Numbtongue, the translator, growled and shook his head.

“It not saying. It is not talking. To us.”

“Well, can you make it talk? I mean, her?”

Pisces blinked at the little Goblin. Was it a she? He could barely tell, but yes, the Goblin did have a modest breast band to go with the filthy loincloth it was wearing. Numbtongue shrugged.

“We can make her talk. With more shaking.”

“Oh come on. What if we tried being nice?”

The Redfang Goblins looked at each other and then laughed. Erin sighed and Pisces smirked. Selys elbowed him.

“Stop laughing. Erin’s too nice for this.”

Pisces rubbed his side.

“That is precisely why I am so amused. It is because of her kindness that we are in this position. No one else would have spared the Goblin. Possibly not even her own kind. And yet, that kindness goes at odds against the Goblin’s own culture.”

“Yeah? Looks like they’re just bullying the little Goblin.”

Selys eyed the Hobs as Headscratcher made a fist and waved it under the Cave Goblin’s nose. It shrieked and Pisces sighed.

“You think so? Goblins normally do not have to threaten each other to get their way. They are a hierarchical species and rarely bully each other. This is an exception—the Cave Goblin is refusing to answer their questions. She is insulting the Hobs by denying that they are, in fact, Goblins.”

Selys looked at Pisces in surprise. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“How do you know that?”

“I listen.”

The [Necromancer] tapped one ear as the Cave Goblin babbled a high-pitched string of gibberish at the Hobs and Headscratcher replied with clear annoyance in his tone. Selys stared at the Goblins and then looked at Pisces in disbelief.

“You taught yourself Goblin? Why?”

“Curiosity. It was more of a hobby than anything else. You will recall that Erin often invited Rags and her small retinue of Goblins to the inn? I occasionally listened to them converse and made a small dictionary of words. It was an amusing puzzle, although I admit, Goblin language is more complex than I had previously understood.”

“And again, why would that help you at all? I mean, really?”

Pisces shrugged.

“The Goblins have secrets, Miss Selys. I wished to know some of them. Secrets are important. Valuable. They are the dark lifeblood of this world. They run thicker than blood and are worth far more than gold.”

Selys rolled her eyes.

“Ancestors, that’s pretentious. And what big secrets do Goblins have?”

The young Human man smiled.

“Well, this one has enough to attract the attention of a Wall Lord, three high-ranking Drake officials, a room full of adventurers, and your good self. Is that enough?”

Selys opened her mouth, swished her tail a few times, and then raised a clawed finger.

“Alright. You get that one. Just what are the Goblins talking about?”

Pisces frowned. His command of the Goblin language was more rudimentary than he’d like to admit. However, he knew a few words and he could infer a lot from body language, which was how Goblins communicated mainly anyways. He hesitated and stroked his chin.

“I think she’s asking whether they’re Goblins.”

The Drake [Receptionist] looked at Pisces in disbelief.

“Are you serious?”

Pisces nodded. He spoke slowly as the Goblins argued back and forth.

“She keeps repeating a word. The Goblin word for…well, their people. And whenever…Headscratcher, I believe that one is…says the word for Hobgoblin, she shakes her head. Indeed, she is saying ‘not Goblin’. They are not Goblins. That is a potent insult in Goblin culture, I believe.”

“Huh.”

Selys slowly unrolled the piece of parchment. She balanced the inkpot on her arm and began to write as she stood with Pisces. She saw several heads turning as well as the ambient noise died down. Halrac, all the Gnolls, Ceria, Falene, and those sitting or standing around Pisces, turned their heads and listened as Pisces went on.

“Yes, the initial argument that Erin interrupted…seems to be all about that. I think the Goblin is willing to talk—very willing—but the Redfang Goblins are angry about being called not Goblin.”

“Are you serious? They’ve been arguing for the last ten minutes about this! Can’t they get past it?”

“I very much doubt it. The Hobs are insistent on being called Goblins. And on being treated with respect, since they are higher in the Goblin society than the Cave Goblin.”

And indeed, the Redfang Warriors were explaining this to the Cave Goblin in a gabble of words, and actions that involved chest thumping, Headscratcher striking a pose, and rapid gestures. The little Goblin’s eyes went wide. Pisces’ own eyes narrowed.

“She’s never seen a Hobgoblin before. Fascinating.”

Selys frowned.

“Get out. Almost every Goblin tribe has at least one Hob. Even the smallest ones! She has to at least have heard of a Hob—”

“Apparently not. Look. I think they have resolved the issue.”

The Redfang Goblins were nodding in satisfaction to Erin. She nodded as the Cave Goblin babbled up at Numbtongue and he replied. Ilvriss, who had been talking quietly with Zevara, turned.

“Is the Goblin finally willing to talk? At last. Then I declare this war meeting begun. Keep the monster quiet until we have need of it.”

Pisces rolled his eyes as Ilvriss took the center of the room. The [Necromancer] stepped back and he and Selys found a table. As the Drake scribbled notes, the meeting began, with the Drakes taking charge of the discussion. Selys had to painstakingly write everything in short-hand, her quill skimming across the parchment. Pisces for his part amused himself by condensing the long-winded discussion down into the appropriate key points as he saw them.

The council started by outlining what was obvious. The Raskghar had attacked both the inn and Liscor. Troublingly, they’d also attacked some of the outlying settlements such as the villages on hills. Reports were spotty given the darkness, but it looked like at least one hilltop was in ruins, the inhabitants dead…or missing.

What was known about the Raskghar was that they had attacked and kidnapped Gnolls while killing Drakes for reasons unknown. Krshia related the legend of the Raskghar in brief—they were ancient offshoots of the Gnollish race who had warred with the Gnolls and lost their ability to level in exchange for brute power. More importantly, they regained sapience each full moon. And it appeared that sentience was putting it mildly.

“Those bastards launched a coordinated attack and moved in small groups. They ambushed my [Guardsmen] on patrol—even disguised themselves as Gnolls when moving through the city. One of the Raskghar spoke, and apparently learned our language in moments after hearing it. They’re stronger, faster, and tougher than they were reported being in the past.”

Zevara pounded a fist on her table. She had a cut over her right brow. Embria looked vexed as she sat next to her father. Relc was scarfing down food until she elbowed him in the stomach.

“A creature that grows stronger with each full moon. What kind of strange ability is that?”

“They’re werewolves.”

Everyone looked at Erin. She looked around disbelievingly.

“Oh, come on. You mean you’ve never heard of werewolves? Really? Dudes that change from Human into uh, furry dudes each full moon? They look sort of like Gnolls. Except more wolfy. I think.”

The Gnolls present in the room looked troubled. The Drakes and adventurers conferred and then shook their heads. Embria looked sharply at Erin.

“We’ve never heard of these…werewolves. Elaborate, Miss Human. Please.”

“It’s only a legend where I come from. I’ve never seen one myself. But, well…werewolves change forms each full moon. They grow stronger, tougher, and they heal really fast. Sort of like Raskghar. Oh, and they transmit their uh, werewolf powers by biting people. I think. It’s like a disease.”

Zevara shook her head.

“Similar to the Raskghar legend. But different. I haven’t heard any of the wounded complain, but I’ll keep them under watch. Is that all, Erin?”

“Yes. Well, no, actually. There’s one thing about werewolves. They have a weakness. Silver.”

“Silver?”

Everyone in the room leaned forwards at that. Erin nodded.

“Silver really hurts werewolves. Don’t know if it’d kill Raskghar better. They uh, seem to die with or without silver weapons. But it might be worth looking into.”

“Silver weapons. Why would anyone make a blade out of silver?”

Embria looked blank. It was Ylawes who cleared his throat.

“To hunt vampires, Wing Commander. If it’s silver you want—I have a silver alloyed blade right here.”

He drew his longsword and placed it on the table.

“Oh, so you’ve got vampires but not werewolves? How does that make sense?”

Perhaps only Pisces paid attention to Erin’s muttering. No—not only him. He noticed Typhenous looking at Erin before he, like everyone else, turned back to Ylawes. The [Knight] was explaining to Embria what the blade meant.

“In centuries—perhaps millennia past, vampires were a common threat. My family, House Byres, made specially crafted arms to deal with them and my family were known enemies of their kind. The last vampires were sighted four hundred years ago, I believe, which has reduced the need for silver arms, but Byres steel always incorporates a bit of silver into the metal in this tradition.”

Embria frowned.

“Huh. So does it work?”

“Sadly, I never had a chance to wound one of the Raskghar. My team elected to protect a large group of civilians during the night and Falene killed or chased away any Raskghar before they could close with us.”

Ylawes looked apologetic. Embria grunted.

“That’s a shame. But—fine. We’ll see if silver hurts these things later. What else?”

The conversation swung back to damage on the city, reports of wounded and missing. Liscor had endured another attack and one of the Drakes on the council, the head of the Merchant’s Guild, was particularly upset.

“Why is Liscor under attack? Why must we endure assault after assault? It’s all because of this dungeon! The dungeon that the Antinium never warned us about!”

He pointed to Klbkch accusatorially, his finger shaking with outrage. Klbkch didn’t react and it was Zevara who came to his defense.

“The Antinium are our allies, Council Member Ulseil. I would ask that you refrain from making any allegations…at this point.”

Ulseil hesitated, but sat as Zevara glared at him. She was in charge in a definite way, Pisces noted. That was in keeping with Drake tradition—a Watch Captain was second to only a [General] when it came to the defense of their home city.

“Revalantor Klbkch. Do you have any information to add about the Raskghar threat?”

Ilvriss looked like he was chewing sour toads as he addressed the Antinium. Klbkch stood up and spoke in a calm, carrying voice.

“I regret the attack on Liscor as much as any other citizen. In my capacity as Senior Guardsman Klbkch and as Revalantor of the Free Antinium Hive, I am authorized to share all the information my Hive has on the Raskghar. Unfortunately, that is very little. The Antinium Hive has regularly fought off monster waves, but all the Raskghar encountered inevitably attack in small groups with other monster species. It is an unusual phenomenon that has sometimes seen Raskghar fighting side-by-side with Crypt Lords and other species that would not normally ally under any circumstances—only to tear each other apart at a later date.”

“A function of the dungeon, perhaps?”

The Drakes looked to the Gold-rank adventurers who shrugged noncommittally. Klbkch went on.

“As for a coordinated attack…the Hive was not assaulted in any capacity during the night. The Raskghar seem to avoid the Hive. I believe that this may be due to their understanding of the dangers of the Hive, or the fact that no Gnolls live within the Hive.”

A brief silence fell as Klbkch found his seat. One of the other Council members, a Drake with light pinkish scales, complained softly.

“Why Gnolls? It isn’t as if we have enough problems. Now we have to look for—”

Someone shushed her. In the silence, Ilvriss looked around wearily. He focused on an elderly Drake sitting near the back of the crowd.

“Guildmistress Tekshia? Do you have anything to add?”

The elderly Drake looked up. Her voice crackled as she sat up in her chair. She was eating from a plate of cookies Erin had taken out. Pisces had not seen anyone else eating one. Not even Mrsha.

“I hear a lot of whining. What do you want me to say? The Raskghar are dangerous? Bah. Stop complaining you thin-scaled cowards. You’ve weathered two—three attacks and you’re upset? You lack perspective.”

Her gaze went around the room. She pushed her plate back, noticed the white furry head appear over the side of the table and smacked Mrsha’s paw away and yanked her plate back. Tekshia covered it protectively with one claw as she spoke.

“Someone explain it to them. One of you Gold-ranks. I call on the most senior adventurer in this room besides myself.”

“Ah. Well then—”

Falene rose gracefully to her feet, smiling as everyone looked at her. She opened her mouth and Tekshia threw a cookie at her.

“Not you, half-Elf. I said senior adventurer, not oldest. Which one of you is it?”

Every eye swung to Halrac. He grunted.

“Not me.”

He looked to his left. Typhenous stroked his beard and smiled, but shook his head.

“I haven’t adventured as long as the esteemed Miss Ivirith.”

He nodded and every eye focused on the Selphid. Jelaqua stood up slowly. She grinned, the pale, dead Drake’s face she wore stretching into a toothy grin as her tail twitched a bit in embarrassment.

“Guess that’s true. Hi. Most senior adventurer here.”

“You? But how old is—”

Erin looked between Typhenous and Jelaqua. The Selphid grimaced.

“I’m fifty one years old. I’ve been adventuring for about thirty three years, which beats Typhenous.”

“By six years. I retired and came back to adventuring twice. And while I may claim to be older than Miss Ivirith, I am afraid that she has more experience than I.”

Typhenous stroked his white beard and smiled. Jelaqua sighed. She looked at Tekshia.

“You want me to say it?”

The old Drake nodded. Jelaqua scratched the spines on the back of her head.

“Alright. Fine. Most Gold-rank adventurers have to say stuff like this. What Guildmistress Tekshia wants me to say, I guess, is that…well, this is normal.”

Everyone looked at the Selphid. Jelaqua raised her hands awkwardly.

“You think this is unique to your city? You think other cities don’t have this problem? You have a Gold-rank dungeon sitting right next to your city. Under it. I’ve seen cities in Baleros fall to a Silver-rank dungeon located ten miles away! Dungeons are bad news. Getting hit over and over is—well, it’s what happens. This is like a siege. A siege from the dungeon. Cities often mobilize their armies to defend themselves. A bad dungeon isn’t just as bad as an enemy army. Sometimes it has multiple armies waiting to come out. So yeah. This is normal. Sorry.”

Jelaqua sat back down. The citizens of Liscor stared at her in horror. It was Ilvriss who broke the silence.

“It seems we have underestimated the nature of the threat once more. We assumed that the water would hold most of the monsters at bay and entrusted the effort of subjugating the dungeon to the Gold-rank adventurers. And while it is true that they have made progress, such as identifying and neutralizing the Shield Spider nest, this latest threat goes beyond any one team. To that end, I am requesting formal permission from Liscor’s Council to instate cooperation bounties on Liscor’s dungeon.”

Pisces paused, caught off-guard by the unfamiliar term. Selys looked up sharply and all the Gold-rank adventures looked up. Tekshia nodded, but the other Drakes looked blank. Zevara frowned.

“I’m not familiar with that term. Would someone explain what a cooperation bounty is?”

“I shall explain.”

Olesm cleared his throat nervously.

“A cooperation bounty is a practice put in place by cities in need of continual aid against some form of threat, usually monsters. With it, any team who satisfies the requirements will earn a weekly fee for fighting against monsters and safeguarding the city. They must remain active, but this allows a city to attract adventuring teams en-masse. It’s uh, rather expensive.”

“We don’t have the coin for that!”

One of the Drakes on the Council protested. Wall Lord Ilvriss cleared his throat and spoke.

“Given the strategic nature of Liscor, I believe that the Walled Cities will offer monetary assistance. I speak for Salazsar at the very least, and so I am immediately allocating a discretionary budget of forty thousand gold pieces to hire any adventurers needed to take on Liscor’s dungeon. To begin with.”

Ilvriss stared around the room at the shocked faces. He adjusted one of the jeweled rings on his claws and went on.

“Salazsar is the richest of the Walled Cities. We will provide whatever funds are necessary to hire more adventurers, as will the other Walled Cities and lesser cites. If need be, I will pay the entire cost myself. It will not come to that, however. Drakes support Drakes. Now, to the matter of finding Liscor’s kidnapped citizens.”

He turned coolly to the Gold-rank adventurers as Pisces caught Ceria’s eye and saw her mouthing the word ‘forty thousand’ at him. He nodded, wondering how much the rumors of the Antinium’s designs on the dungeon had played into Ilvriss’ sudden generosity. He watched as the Wall Lord fixed Jelaqua, Halrac, and Ylawes with a cold stare.

“Your teams will enter the dungeon through the underwater rift and pursue the Raskghar. Find their nest. Recover the citizens of Liscor.”

“We don’t take orders.”

Halrac met Ilvriss’ eyes. The Wall Lord glared.

“There are lives at stake.”

The [Veteran Scout] didn’t blink.

“All the more reason to let us do our work. Our way.”

“And is speed a factor in your work?”

Ilvriss didn’t wait for a reply. He looked at Ylawes and Jelaqua.

“I will not sit by while the citizens of a Drake city perish. If duty will not obligate you, gold shall. In addition to the cooperation fees proposed, I am personally putting up a bounty. One thousand gold pieces for each citizen of Liscor you bring back alive.”

It might have been Ilvriss’ Skill to turn the room full of living people into statues. Pisces’ eyebrows were raised so high he felt as though they might disappear. Erin whistled softly, which in the quiet room was the only sound.

“That’s a big number.”

Ilvriss turned his head and stared impassively at Erin.

“To some.”

Then he looked back at the adventurers.

“You are Gold-rank adventurers. Humans or not. Other species or not. Your duty is to protect and I will demand that you enter the dungeon and attempt to save the lives of those missing, or I will petition the Adventurer’s Guild to remove your Gold-rank status.”

They met his gaze silently. The Wall Lord looked from face to face and then focused on Jelaqua.

“You bear the Heartflame Breastplate. Cowardice will not be tolerated.”

Cool as a winter breeze, Ilvriss turned. He looked over at the Goblins, forgotten in a corner of the room until now.

“Now, onto the last issue before us. Bring forward the Goblin.”

The Redfang Warriors dragged forwards the Cave Goblin’s chair, waking the little creature up. She’d actually fallen asleep. When she saw Ilvriss staring at her she nearly wet herself again.

“Have it tell us all the information it has on the dungeon and the Raskghar.”

Ilvriss ordered Numbtongue. The Goblin looked irritable, but relayed the questions to the Cave Goblin. The little Goblin didn’t need any persuasion. She began to gabble and Numbtongue listened.

“Well, what’s it saying?”

Impatiently, Ilvriss looked at the Hob. Numbtongue grumbled. All the other Redfang Warriors looked at him. Headscratcher poked Numbtongue and the Goblin growled irritably. At last, pressured by dozens of stares, he spoke.

“She says the Raskghar control her tribe. She is Cave Goblin. She says the Goblins serve the Raskghar. They were ordered to attack—big stone city in middle of water. Liscor. And the inn.”

Everyone stared. Numbtongue’s words were surprisingly normal. Shockingly normal. He was more fluent than any Goblin that Pisces had ever met. Numbtongue glared around and folded his arms. He continued.

“She says Raskghar are very…very…”

He searched for the word. Erin frowned.

“Hungry?”

Olesm scratched his neck.

“Angry?”

“Afraid?”

Numbtongue smirked at Embria. He shook his head and gave up.

“Very wanting. They want. They come up here for what they want. Other furry not-Raskghar.”

“Gnolls.”

Krshia growled. The other Gnolls rumbled and the Cave Goblin shrank. Ilvriss held up a claw.

“They will not have them. Goblin.”

“Numbtongue.”

“Goblin. Where are the Raskghar located? How many of them live within the dungeon? What threats are there to be concerned of?”

Numbtongue looked away and refused to speak. Ilvriss stared at him. Erin coughed.

“Say his name.”

“What?”

“Say his name.”

Ilvriss looked like he was about ready to stab Numbtongue to death. He ground his teeth as the Drakes muttered but eventually he spoke two grating words.

“Numb. Tongue.”

Instantly, the Hob turned to the Cave Goblin and issued a series of questions. Ilvriss sat, smoldering, as the Cave Goblin gabbled back. This time Numbtongue didn’t look so at ease. He looked around and shook his head.

“Well?”

“Raskghar have a lair deep within dungeon. She knows where, but there are many twists. Turns. And the lair is not always in the same place. The Raskghar are…ever moving. They change rooms.”

“Nomadic?”

Numbtongue nodded in relief.

“Nomadic. They have many spots. And they spread out. To avoid…bad things finding them.”

“Bad things? Like what?”

The adventurers all wanted to know. Numbtongue shook his head, troubled.

“Very bad things. Army of walking metal things. Big red worms that steal flesh. Headsnatcher. Invisible monsters.”

“Invisible monsters?”

Someone swore. Numbtongue nodded. He turned back to the Cave Goblin and asked one more question.

“There are…many Raskghar. Many.”

“How many is many?”

Numbtongue shrugged. He asked the Cave Goblin another question, but she clearly couldn’t answer. Numbtongue scratched his head and pointed around the giant common room. The Cave Goblin peered around and Numbtongue lifted her chair up with Shorthilt. She craned her neck and then gabbled a reply. Numbtongue’s eyes widened and he repeated the word. She nodded and he put her down. He didn’t want to speak after that.

“Well? How many?”

Ilvriss stared at Numbtongue. The Hob looked around. He looked at the ceiling, the floor, at his fellow Goblins, and then at his audience.

“She says that if this big room is a sleeping hall, then the main Raskghar camp would be six times this large.”

He pointed around the common room, enhanced by Erin’s [Grand Theatre] Skill. Slowly, his audience looked around the huge room, towards the distant stage at the back. This time Ilvriss was the one who swore. And as Lyonette quietly pointed out to Mrsha, it was a very bad word. But it was appropriate for very bad news.

—-

“Okay, that’s a big room. But it still means that there’s only about a few thousand Raskghar.”

“In their main camp.”

“Well, how many camps do they have? And if there are so many, why don’t they all attack at once?”

“Because that would be suicide. No, they have the numbers to raid us rather than take a fight which they’d lose.”

“They’d only lose if they attacked us when they’re stupid. You show me a thousand of those things on a full moon and see who’s laughing.”

“If they’re in the dungeon they’re fighting other monsters as well. They might not even be the dominant species within the dungeon.”

“Oh, wonderful. Now you’ve got me wondering if there’s something worse than Raskghar and Face-Eater moths!”

Ksmvr sat at a table with Ceria and Yvlon and listened to the people argue. He did not join the argument. He was unqualified. After all, if Captain Ceria didn’t speak and Revalantor Klbkch only spoke a few times, what qualifications did he, a disgraced Prognugator exiled from his Hive, have? No. He listened to every word spoken, watching the anxious people debate and talk in circles.

They were afraid. It was a novel concept to Ksmvr. Not fear. He had been afraid when he had failed his Hive. He had been afraid every day since, of being unworthy, of losing his place with the Horns of Hammerad. But it was strange for Ksmvr to see so many others being afraid. Drakes, Gnolls, Humans—why were they afraid?

Ksmvr wanted to speak. He wanted to stand up and ask them why they feared the Raskghar. Yes, the monster attacks were unrelenting. Yes, Liscor had suffered. People had died and there was crisis yet again. But if he could speak he would ask them: ‘so what?’

So what? In Ksmvr’s head he stood and spoke, silencing the loud Drakes turning to Ilvriss and Zevara in fear. Why are you afraid of monsters? Yes, they are terrible. Yes they come again. And yes, this dungeon is a foe worthy of your city. But so what? You are equal to the challenge.

Did not Liscor defeat Skinner and the undead? Didn’t they vanquish a horde of Face-Eater Moths? Hadn’t they endured the worst the dungeon had to offer? And in those moments of despair, did they flee? No. Drakes and Gnolls fought. Antinium fought. That was Liscor’s strength.

Liscor had survived war. It had survived centuries of battle. It had fought off the Necromancer before Ksmvr had even been created. It had beaten back his people. The Black Tide had assailed Liscor and failed to take the city! Liscor had even survived the…water. How could they be afraid of monsters after all that?

Yes, the mood was dark. Yes, Liscor was in danger. But the monsters would be driven back. The dungeon was not an infinite beast of endless passageways. It had an end. It had a limit. The adventurers would enter the dungeon, claim its treasures, lay waste to the traps and monsters within. And when that day came, Liscor would know peace. They would emerge stronger for their trials. Someday the rain would stop. Someday Liscor would emerge proud and triumphant. So what if the night was dark and the rain fell?

So what?

That was what Ksmvr thought in his head. Of course, he did not say any of this out loud. He was well aware that he lacked the social understanding of his team. Captain Ceria was always telling him that. If he spoke now he would only embarrass his team. So Ksmvr kept silent. Better to let the people speak who knew what they were doing.

It seemed like there was a lot of shouting going on. Ksmvr saw the organized council meeting dissolve into panic. He stared at one of the Liscor’s Council as they dropped to the floor in a panic attack and another who screamed at Klbkch. He waited for someone to say the right words. No one did.

Maybe they didn’t know what they were doing. The thought terrified Ksmvr. But all the panicked people in the room seemed uncertain, even the adventurers. Even his Captain. His resolve not to do anything wavered. Ksmvr looked around as people panicked and said the same words over and over again. Slowly, he pushed back his chair. Someone had to say it. He rose to his feet and opened his mandibles to speak.

“So—”

The door to Pallass opened. Ksmvr instantly sat back down. Thank goodness. He’d been about to humiliate himself. He saw Watch Captain Venim reenter the room. Relieved, Ilvriss turned from trying to shout everyone down. Venim looked around, saw the chaos, and raised his tail. He slapped the floorboards of the inn with a crack that drew everyone’s attention.

“Excuse me. Pallass has been apprised of Liscor’s situation. The Assembly of Crafts has carried a motion to aid Liscor.”

“With money?”

One of the Drakes looked at Venim. He nodded.

“In part. However, in light of the Raskghar threat, it was decided in a joint meeting by the Walled Cities that Liscor lacks the population of adventurers necessary for taking on a dungeon of this size. To that end, Pallass will send through adventurers to Liscor.”

The room stared at him. Venim went on as, behind him, Ksmvr spotted shapes marching through the lightening street towards the doorway.

“Some of the teams were already preparing to enter Liscor on their own terms. The rest have been conscripted under Drake law to aid in the subjugation of this dungeon. With your permission, Watch Captain Zevara, we will send them through.”

Zevara looked bewildered, but stood up and nodded.

“You have it, Watch Captain Venim.”

He nodded back and turned his head. Venim called into the doorway.

“Send them through!”

He stood to one side. Erin stared at Venim.

“Wait, more adventuring teams? But we already got the Pride of Kelia and Gemhammer. Wait—Gemhammer’s from up north.”

Venim gave Erin a long, exasperated look.

“Pallass is far larger than Liscor. Did you think the city held only two Silver-rank teams?”

“Uh…no? How many do you have, then?”

Erin turned as the first Drake strode into the room. He was wearing thick, plate armor burnished bright gold. His helmet was open to reveal his face and his scales were bright green. His breath smoldered and smoke poured from his mouth as he stepped through the doorway. He spat a jet of blue flame as three other Drakes wearing the same armor marched through.

The Drake in armor coughed smoke as his team strode forwards. They moved in perfect step and strode forwards towards Wall Lord Ilvriss. They paused before him. The Wall Lord stared at them and the Drake with blue flame saluted.

“Flamewardens. Gold-rank. Here to challenge Liscor’s dungeon.”

His companions saluted as well. And behind them stepped out another team. A pair of Drakes with large wings looked around imperiously. The female Drake bowed as her wings opened.

“The Wings of Pallass. Gold-rank. To protect the city.”

Behind them came another group. Drakes, wearing robes. The leader lifted a wand and traced a symbol in the air.

“Scaleshard Mages. Silver-rank.”

And behind them came more. Drakes walked through the door, some staring at the Redfang Goblins, others visibly recoiling from the Antinium. Ksmvr stared as they entered and lined up. Row after row of Drakes, Gnolls, and occasionally other species.

“Rhine of Blades. Bronze-rank.”

“Tempest Singers. Silver-rank.”

“The Tail of Xil. Silver-rank”

“Meliem. Silver-rank…”

The people of Liscor stared. The adventurers, Erin, all stared in awe of Pallass’ adventurers as they came through in one unending mass. And at last they felt it. A break in the rainy sky. A glimmer of hope. Over a hundred adventurers entered Erin’s inn, fresh recruits from Pallass, from a Walled City itself. Some had come for glory, others for treasure, others because they had no choice. The reason mattered not. The tide had turned against the dungeon. Ksmvr looked around proudly. Pisces’ plan had worked!

After the last adventurer had come through, they stood, waiting for a signal, a benediction, thanks, anything. Ilvriss looked caught off-guard as anyone else, so the air of expectant patience grew strained. At last it was Jelaqua who broke the silence. She groaned and leaned back in her chair.

“Aw, fuck. I hate competition.”

5.36

Ordinarily, on any other day, Erin would have been thrilled to have an inn full of guests. However, today just wasn’t that kind of day. She was tired, upset, ashamed of herself, and currently understaffed. Erin rushed from table to table with drinks as Drassi, Ishkr, and Lyonette all did the same. She was relieved none of the adventurers from Pallass were hungry, but everyone wanted a drink. They were sitting about, Drakes mainly, but a good number of Gnolls, chatting while the team leaders gathered around a table with Ilvriss and the other bigwigs, discussing strategy.

“Innkeep! Firebreath Whiskey for us over here!”

“Not for me! Rum if you have it!”

“Do you have any mild ales?”

“What about wine? Or…a fruit juice?”

That last came from a feathered bird-woman. Erin nearly dropped her tray when she saw the Garuda. The adventurers of Pallass hailed from the southern part of Izril, which was, again, mainly inhabited by Drakes and Gnolls. But exceptions always existed.

“We’ve got juice. What would you like?”

The Garuda brightened. She asked for Erin’s menu then chose some grape juice—which was one of the few juices Erin had, really. Fruit juice was expensive! Especially because it had a shorter shelf life than alcohol. Ironically, you could get a keg of alcohol for less than some good old-fashioned apple juice. Apple cider on the other hand…Erin wondered if she could find a nice farm around here willing to sell her fruits for cheap. Didn’t Ryoka say she’d visited a farm once?

She was distracting herself. Erin went over to her bar and filled a mug with juice. Mrsha popped up, surprising her.

“Oh, Mrsha. Do you want a drink?”

The little Gnoll shook her head. She took a mug, and filled it with ale. Then she scampered over to a table and offered it to a surprised Drake. Erin watched Mrsha run back. She felt her heart squeeze.

“You are so responsible! Good job!”

She patted Mrsha on the head and watched the Gnoll smile, then hurried back to the Garuda.

“Here’s your drink!”

“Thank you. I’d like to drink, but alcohol goes through me faster than normal. And it seems we’ll be busy soon.”

“You mean with fighting? The Raskghar are gone.”

The Garuda nodded. Her companions, Drakes with wings folded on their backs, blinked as Mrsha ran up with two mugs, slopping a bit over the sides. The Garuda sipped from her mug with her beak. She was strikingly brilliant—her feathers were a beautiful spring green color with white and slightly pink feathers patterning down her arms and legs.

Her entire body was covered in feathers and her clothing was minimal—like the Gnolls, she wore only enough for modesty. She had a shortsword by her side and carried what looked like a bag of holding at her belt and nothing else. She wasn’t even wearing armor like some of the Drakes who were practically clanking with metal.

“That’s true, Miss. But the dungeon remains. And that’s why we’re here. My team thought about entering it, but that’s not our usual forte so we held back. But duty is duty. Pardon me, I haven’t introduced myself. Bevussa Slenderscale. I’m with the Wings of Pallass.”

“Oh! The Gold-rank team? But you’re…and your name…”

Erin frowned, confused. Bevussa smiled.

“I’m adopted. My people are known as Garuda. They live on Chandrar almost exclusively, but I was abandoned as a chick and taken in by Drakes living in Pallass. Hence the name.”

Erin slapped her forehead.

“That makes sense! Sorry, I’m a bit muddled. I was fighting off giant angry Raskghar a few hours ago. I’m so glad you’re here. Your team are all Oldblood Drakes, aren’t they?”

She nodded at the others. The Drakes looked surprised that she knew the term for them. Bevussa smiled.

“Correct. We’re a rare group. I got in because I can fly. The others are all Oldblood, as is our, uh, leader.”

The Garuda nodded to the Drake who’d first introduced her group. Erin peered over at the Drake as she stood with the other adventurer leaders at the front of the group. The captain of The Wings of Pallass was tall for a Drake and striking with her wings folded at her back. Erin saw the other adventurers from Pallass giving her some respectful space.

“Wow. That’s cool. Sorry, I’d love to chat more, but I have to keep waiting tables.”

“Of course, Miss…”

The young woman turned and grinned.

“I’m Erin Solstice. This is my inn! Don’t mind the mess! Or the blood. Or the Hobs. We have a sign!”

She pointed at the prominent sign she’d propped up next to the bar. It was the copy of the one some of the adventurers had stared at as they’d entered the inn via Pallass. Bevussa eyed it.

“Huh. This is one weird inn. What do you think?”

She glanced at her teammates. The two Drakes stared at the Redfang Warriors who were doing their best not to attract any attention as they hauled the Cave Goblin—still tied to the chair—to a far corner of the room. One of the Drakes with purple scales and a scar running down the left side of her neck leaned over.

“We were told by that Watch Captain that this inn is unusual, Captain. It even has Antinium in it! Do you think all the inns in Liscor are like this? Or is this about the Antinium entering the dungeon?”

Bevussa grimaced and glanced around. All the other adventurers were busy gossiping. She leaned forwards.

“I told you not to call me that! When we’re in public, Issa’s the Captain, got it?”

“Sorry.”

Disgruntled, Bevussa leaned back in her chair and sipped from her drink. Probably every Gnoll in the room had heard her if they’d been listening in, but it was only the Drakes she was concerned about. She glanced around and then frowned.

“Why’s that Antinium staring at me?”

—-

The adventurers standing around the table were in rapid conference with the officials from Liscor. All of them were team captains and almost all of them were Silver-rank or higher. A few were Gold-rank and they intimidated Ceria. She felt squished as she stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the Silver-ranks. Ceria also felt like a fraud as she looked around at the serious adventurers from Pallass.

Each one of them was an accredited leader of a Silver-rank team. Hell, even Pallass’ bronze-rank adventurers looked like they knew how to fight. Maybe the Drakes had a different standard for adventurers because Ceria had never seen so many scars on a Bronze-rank adventurer before. She shifted, stepped on someone’s tail, and winced. It was packed! At least the discussion taking place wasn’t that involved.

Halrac, Jelaqua, Ylawes, and four other Gold-rank Captains stood around the table. One of them, the huge Drake wearing plate armor who was the leader of the Flamewardens, spoke. His voice rasped and every time he coughed, smoke or blue flames issued from his mouth. He had a lot of space around him, despite the press of bodies.

“We’re honored to help, Wall Lord. And we’ve been appraised of Liscor’s situation. Our teams have studied the recordings of the Face-Eater Moth attack and we’re aware of the annual flooding. Obviously.”

Ilvriss nodded. The Wall Lord straightened in his chair, looking around importantly.

“And I thank you on behalf of Liscor. As Wall Lord of Salazsar, I personally guarantee all of the bounties promised by the Adventurer’s Guild will be met. Tell me, do you have a plan of attack?”

Halrac, Jelaqua, and Ylawes all shifted, looking annoyed. But the Captain of the Flamewardens nodded decisively.

“We have a clear dynamic to how this dungeon must be conquered. If these…Raskghar are strongest at night, we adventurers must move by day. Our team will enter as soon as day breaks. Until then, we will prepare. I’m told this inn isn’t part of Liscor. Where might we seek lodgings inside the city?”

The Wall Lord grimaced.

“There are a number of inns within the premises of Liscor. They are already quite full, but I personally reside at the Tailless Thief. I will speak with the innkeeper and see if any rooms can be made available. As for the other teams, they may have to seek lodgings with Celum if no more rooms can be found within Liscor.”

“Celum? Isn’t that a Human city a hundred miles north of here?”

The other adventurers were astonished. Ilvriss nodded coolly.

“It is. But this inn is unique. The magic door that transported you all here from Pallass will also transport anyone from Liscor to Celum.”

The adventurers stared at the door they’d entered and murmured. Ceria felt a bit of pride—even the Gold-ranks looked impressed. One of the Silver-rank Captains spoke up.

“Does the innkeeper have any rooms to let here?”

“Sadly, I believe they’re all occupied. By Goblins, no less.”

Ilvriss sighed. He looked around at the adventurers.

“I will remind you all that Liscor is allied with the local Antinium Hive. Furthermore, this inn itself has proven itself…useful, so the laws of Miss Solstice, the Human who owns it, are also to be respected. Aside from that, I am honored to see so many brave souls from Pallass arriving to assist Liscor in its hour of need. I personally wish you the best of luck in your expedition into the dungeon.”

“Thank you, Wall Lord.”

The Flamewarden’s Captain inclined his head and Ilvriss did the same. The Gold-rank adventurer looked at Jelaqua.

“We have a limited window of time before we commence the dungeon raid. Does the Adventurer’s Guild have any guides or maps of the dungeon, Miss Selphid? Or can we buy the information from your team?”

Jelaqua folded her arms, her tail tangling the legs of the Drakes standing beside her as it lashed.

“Bold, aren’t you? I thought only the Silver-rank teams were crazy enough to go into a dungeon without prepping.”

The Drake met her eyes levelly.

“We’re ready to fight. And my team hardly intends to go in alone.”

“Exactly. We’ve discussed the issue amongst ourselves and we’ve elected to go in strong. We’ll hit the rift the Raskghar came from. Not as one, but as a united front, yes?”

Another Gold-rank adventurer spoke up. Jelaqua glanced at the Gnoll.

“Your team too? I get that there’s safety in numbers, but this dungeon isn’t something to be underestimated! Fine, if it’s three Gold-rank teams or something…hells, how many are going in today?”

The adventurers looked at each other. The Flamewarden’s Captain bared his teeth and spat a bit of flame.

“Everyone.”

—-

Over a hundred adventurers in her inn. Maybe two hundred? No. Over a hundred. Erin tried to guesstimate the numbers as she ran figures in her head. Guesstimate was a word, wasn’t it? It didn’t sound like it should be one. It sounded…fake.

And they were all going into the dungeon. All at once. Faced with that news, the other teams decided they’d join in too. After all, there might not be safety in numbers all the time, but if an army of adventurers was going in to save the missing Gnolls, you didn’t want to be the one team that stayed behind.

Erin’s stomach hurt as she thought of the missing Gnolls. It hurt harder as she remembered the Raskghar attack. She pushed the feeling down as she waved her hands desperately, trying to attract the attention of the mob of adventurers as they headed for the door to Liscor. They’d already left coins on the table for the drinks. Erin saw Lyonette sweeping them up and wondered how much they’d made already.

“Excuse me! Excuse me!”

They all looked at her. Erin smiled, feeling a bit of sweat run down her back.

“Uh. Hi. I’m Erin Solstice. I run this inn. I uh, hope you all go into the dungeon safe and sound.”

They stared at her. Awkwardly, Erin fumbled with a jar of thick blue soup and held it up.

“The thing is—I also sell stuff to adventurers. My inn is connected to an [Alchemist]’s shop in Celum, and I sell other stuff! Like magic food. I have this soup that makes you warm—uh, keeps you warm. It’s magic. And I have another dish that makes your skin tougher! Come back and try it! I’m selling it at a discount to anyone that needs it. [Guardsmen], adventurers—anyone!”

She looked at Zevara, who was waiting by the door with Relc and Klbkch. The Watch Captain eyed the blue soup and shuddered, but gave Erin a slight nod. The adventurers murmured and some came over to try her Corusdeer soup. Erin had a feeling that no one would want that soup when they entered the dungeon, so she willingly gave out samples and answered questions about whether her food would conflict with other magical enchantments and how long it would last and so on.

“That’s one way to do business. I wonder how many teams will buy from you. We’ll be buying some of your Scale Soup before we go.”

Jelaqua strolled over as the press of adventurers broke up around Erin. The [Innkeeper] stared into her mostly empty jar.

“It’s called Scale Salad now, actually, Jelaqua. I finally figured out how to make it taste a little better. The soup still has all those crunchy bits in it, but the salad’s…well it’s still got crunchy bits, but it tastes palatable. If crunchy.”

“Hey, whatever works. I can turn my taste buds off. And I think any adventurer would gargle rocks if it meant they’d survive an arrow to the chest.”

Jelaqua smiled. The Selphid looked at the press of adventurers lined up to leave Erin’s inn through either doorway and shook her head.

“Dead gods, what a mess. I guess this is a good thing but—damn it, I can’t say I enjoy seeing this.”

“What? All the other adventurers?”

The Selphid nodded, looking miserable.

“Competition. I feel like a stomach ulcer for saying it, but it’s true. All these other teams means we’ve got a lot less of a chance of making it big on the dungeon. Saving the Gnolls would be great, but—”

The Selphid shrugged. Erin nodded slowly. Jelaqua and her team—and Griffon Hunt—had invested a lot into this dungeon. They’d worked tirelessly. It had to be hard seeing so many adventurers come in right when they felt like they were making progress.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. The people come first. And it’s not like they’re stealing anything.”

Jelaqua smiled crookedly. Seborn came over and Moore edged around all the Drakes.

“Looks like we’re entering the dungeon. How much of that foul soup do you have, Erin?”

“I made it taste better! It’s a salad now—well, it looks like a salad if you squint. I’ll have to make a lot more today.”

Moore rumbled as he bent down, looking serious.

“Just be sure to take care of your inn first, Erin. I heard the Watch Captain speaking to Olesm and her [Guardsmen]. Liscor will be fortifying while the adventurers go in. You should do the same. We will be here tonight, but it would be better if you made some preparations. Especially for young Mrsha.”

Erin nodded seriously.

“I will, Moore. Don’t worry. That’s on the top of my list. That’s why I’m pitching to the adventurers, actually.”

It was for the money. Of course, Erin appreciated money in any circumstances, but right now she was desperate for as much as she could get. The Halfseekers left her inn with the Horns and the rest of the adventurers. They wanted to talk more with the new adventurers and most of them had agreed to meet up in the Adventurer’s Guild after they found a place to stay. That news made Selys swear a blue streak and mutter about crowds as long as an ancestor’s tail. She ran off after saying the briefest of goodbyes to Erin.

Suddenly, Erin’s inn was empty. She stared around and saw Lyonette, Drassi, and Ishkr cleaning up with Mrsha dutifully helping. The Redfang Goblins were sitting in a corner with the little Cave Goblin, chattering amongst themselves, and Bird and Klbkch were talking to each other. Aside from that, everyone had gone.

Erin sighed and felt a bit of the mad energy leave her. She looked around and realized that the room was lighter. The sun was rising into the sky and with it came light. Erin blinked at it and realized she hadn’t slept since the Raskghar attack! She wobbled and sat down at a table.

Only now did she feel exhausted. Only now did she remember last night, and let herself give into a bit of the guilt and fear that had been flooding her. Erin rested her forehead on her arm, suddenly too tired to move, but too worn down to sleep.

It was there that Rabbiteater found Erin. The Hob shuffled over, his water cloak swirling around his shoulders. The other Hobs were busy patting Headscratcher’s muscles and pestering Numbtongue to play them music on the mostly broken guitar. But Rabbiteater had noticed Erin’s slump and came over to check if she was dead. She was not, and when she saw the Hob come over, Erin sat up.

“Rabbiteater. Are you okay?”

The Redfang Warrior nodded. Erin eyed him from head to toe. He looked okay. But she remembered him kneeling on the ground, covered in blood as the Raskghar attacked. She spoke softly.

“I feel pretty useless.”

Rabbiteater stared down at Erin. Rather predictably, he didn’t say anything. He hesitated, and then pulled up a chair next to Erin. She glanced up and saw his red eyes staring at her.

Goblins had pupils. It was just that their eyes looked uniformly red at a distance. However, Erin had stared at enough Goblins to know that the whites of their eyes were red, as were the cornea. The pupils, by contrast, were the darkest part of their eyes. She saw Rabbiteater’s focus on her now. The Hob waited for Erin to speak.

“You saved me last night. You and the others. If you hadn’t been there, the Raskghar would have killed me.”

Headscratcher didn’t respond. Erin stared down at her hands.

“You saved me. I didn’t do…anything. I threw pots and pans and knives and those Raskghar just blocked or ignored everything. I’m sorry, Rabbiteater. If you hadn’t blocked them, they would have gutted me in a moment. I was so scared I couldn’t even use my aura on them.”

Erin remembered trying. She remembered throwing her kitchen knife, watching it slice the Raskghar’s arm, as useless as spit. She’d thrown a frying pan at the Raskghar next, but it had done almost nothing. For the first time Erin had been acutely aware of her weakness. She was an [Innkeeper]. Not a warrior. And the Hobs had nearly lost a fight against the Raskghar themselves. After a while, Erin went on.

“I was so very glad to see everyone was okay. Even Ilvriss’s jerk face. He is a good leader, you know. He just happens to be racist, arrogant, and hate cake. But he does care about Liscor.”

Rabbiteater nodded. Erin sighed and rubbed at her eyes.

“I can’t believe how unprepared I was. I thought I could do something if I got attacked. But I keep relying on you guys. It’s a class thing. But I should have done more to prepare. I hope you leveled from the fighting at least.”

She looked up. Rabbiteater nodded.

“That’s good. Really. I haven’t slept yet. But I don’t think I will. As innkeeping goes, defending my inn doesn’t seem like it earns me many levels. Anyways, I just wanted to say thank you.”

Rabbiteater shrugged and smiled. That was the Redfang Warriors for you. They were casual—no, modest about what they did. Erin sighed. Then she leaned over. She gave Rabbiteater a one-armed hug and the Hobgoblin froze. Erin grinned.

“You’re too shy, you know that? You and all the other Goblins.”

Then she got down to business. Namely, the business of defending her inn. Erin’s brows drew together sharply as she thought. The Raskghar would come back. Krshia had told everyone that. The full moon hadn’t even been full yesterday. That meant there would be more nights of attacks. More fighting. Erin was determined that last night’s desperate struggle wouldn’t happen again.

She needed defenses. More defenses than just Bird, that was. It was funny. She’d invested in an Antinium watch tower, Hobgoblin security, and she had two adventuring teams under her roof, but Erin hadn’t yet done anything as simple as setting out some traps. Surely there were some she could buy or manufacture, right?

Erin thought about traps. She thought about boiling oil, pitfalls, giant walls of spikes that swung out, and then thought about how realistic any of that was.

“Mm. Nope. I don’t have the budget for any of that. And I’m on a time limit. What can I put out that’ll really inconvenience a Raskghar coming my way?”

Rabbiteater scratched his head.

“Nail? Sharp rock?”

“Nails? I guess. That’d really hurt, yeah. Sharp rocks…caltrops, maybe? But who makes caltrops? Really? No, there’s gotta be something—”

Erin snapped her fingers together.

“Bear traps! Landmines? Nope. Bear traps. Uh…attack runes? I don’t think I’ve got time to hire anyone for those. So bear traps. They have those in Liscor, right? Krshia knows a lot of [Hunters]. She’s got to have something like that in stock. Hey, Lyonette! I need you to go shopping for something!”

Lyonette looked up, her arms full of empty mugs. She came over as Erin found a piece of parchment and began to write an order on it.

“What’s up, Erin?”

“I need you to buy something pronto. To defend the inn. Go to Krshia and see if she knows where they sell bear traps, okay?”

“Bear what?”

“Bear traps. They have them here, don’t they? Big, spiky things that go snap when something steps on them?”

Erin looked expectantly at Lyonette. The Human girl looked at Rabbiteater and the Hobgoblin shrugged. Erin’s face fell.

“Wait, they don’t have them?”

“Maybe they do. What do they look like?”

The [Innkeeper] frowned. She turned the bit of parchment over and fiddled with the stick of charcoal.

“Well, they’re like two steel jaws that close on anything that steps on them. I know it’s really cruel to animals, but if I was hunting like, giant Rock Crabs or something really evil…like a Troll? I’d use one of these. It looks…like this. See?”

Erin sketched out the bear trap on the parchment and held it up. Rabbiteater took the sketch Erin had made and looked at it dubiously. He tilted his head, frowned, and then turned the parchment upside down. That didn’t help.

“Hey, it’s not that bad!”

Lyonette looked at the parchment and frowned.

“It…are those teeth? I have no idea how that thing works. The teeth come together? How?”

“With a mechanism in the center! It’s like—okay, look. You have this thing here and if you step on it, the trap closes. Over your foot. Or your hand, I guess. Any part of you that lands on the trap, really. Look—does this make sense?”

Erin grumbled as she snatched the parchment back from Rabbiteater. She made another sketch and Rabbiteater began to see what she was talking about. Well, if she put it like that, it was easy, wasn’t it? Two spiky sides would close on anything that stepped on the little thing in the center. Unfortunately—

He grunted and shook his head. Erin looked disappointed.

“What? Why not?”

Rabbiteater pointed to the blueprints and pointed. He mimed the jaws of the bear trap closing on his foot and threw up his hands in surprise. Then he shrugged. Lyonette, who’d been frowning at the trap, came to the same conclusion and put it more succinctly.

“Erin, that trap won’t work. If someone steps in it, sure, it’ll hurt, but unless those blades are incredibly sharp, it won’t do that much damage. I guess it’d do some damage if it snapped really hard, but most times you’ll just step on that and…well, it might slow someone down.”

Erin was incredulous.

“On a bear trap? No way! Those jaws will snap shut and you won’t be able to open them!”

“Sure you can. You just pull the thing apart.”

“No, you can’t. See? It has these springs that’ll hold the jaws closed—”

“Springs? You mean…it jumps up or something?”

And then Erin ran into a problem. She paused as both Lyonette and Rabbiteater looked at her without a hint of comprehension on their faces.

“No, not spring. Springs. You know, the spiral things? Very flexible? Holds things together? Bouncy?”

She didn’t do a good job explaining what she meant. But it soon became clear that springs, or rather, the coiled version of springs that went in bed mattresses and so on, didn’t exist in this world. At least to Lyonette and Rabbiteater’s understanding.

“I’ve never seen one of those things before, Erin. You say this is a little metal coil all wrapped up, right? That sounds like very difficult work, even for a good [Blacksmith].”

“You’re right. You’re right.”

Erin groaned as she thought about how hard making a small spring would be. There was no mass production in this world, after all! She tore up the bear trap blueprints in disgust.

“Great! So I can’t defend this inn. Unless they make landmines here? How am I supposed to guard the inn this time?”

“Well, why not barricade the door?”

Lyonette looked towards the door. The Raskghar had smashed into the inn through the door last time, breaking the wooden latch on the door. Erin looked up.

“Well yeah, I could do that. I could put a big honking bar across the door, and maybe the [Reinforced Structure] Skill would hold it, but what about my windows?”

“What about them? We can barricade them too. There’s already shutters on them.”

Lyonette nodded to the glass windows. Erin made a face.

“Yeah, but the shutters are in the inside. Which means that anyone smashing through’s already broken the glass.”

The [Princess] and Hob stared at Erin.

“So?”

“So, glass is expensive! Do you know how much Klbkch charged me last time to fix all that? I don’t want my windows broken in! Plus, those shutters aren’t made to hold out angry Raskghar.”

“Hm. Well, in that case…”

Lyonette trailed off. Rabbiteater frowned at the windows. He pointed to the window and mimed hammering. Erin sighed.

“Yes, Rabbiteater. That’s what we’re saying. But it won’t save the glass!”

Rabbiteater shook his head. He put up his hand and mimed a window. Erin frowned as Rabbiteater stood on one side of the imaginary window and then walked around. He began hammering…on the outside.

“Oh! You mean, put on shutters on the outside! Rabbiteater, that’s genius!”

Erin sat up in delight. That would work! All she had to do was install big defensive shutters on the outside of her inn. She could close them if she knew something was going to hit her inn—and then open them if it was all safe! Lyonette frowned.

“That’s a good idea, Rabbiteater. But putting shutters on the outside also means we can’t open them to look around at something right next to the inn. And that’s dangerous.”

“Right, right. Um—okay, what about this? We put the shutters on the ground floor windows, but leave the second floor open? I’m pretty sure my windows can’t be broken by arrows. Unless, like, it’s Halrac shooting them or something.”

Lyonette looked at Rabbiteater. The Hob scratched his head. Then both nodded. Erin clapped her hands.

“Alright! That’s phase one! Reinforce the inn! Lyonette, we’ll need some good wood, more nails, and maybe another hammer from Krshia.”

“I can pick those up. What’s phase two for the inn?”

“Uh—let me think it over for a bit.”

Erin stood up and paced about the inn. She was feeling a bit better now, and Rabbiteater and Lyonette both went outside to see how much wood the windows would need. Erin walked back and forth, trying to figure out what she could do. She discarded all of the impractical ideas or the things that’d take too much time.

Really, when you got down to it, the only way to defend her inn was to have enough people inside of it with weapons ready in case something attacked. Erin could build traps in her inn, but it would be easier to have something disposable. So she discarded bear traps and thought about potions. By the time Lyonette came back, Erin had a second plan ready.

“Essentially, I want a big box full of potions and alchemy…grenades? Right here. And Bird gets some of his own in case he’s attacked in his watch tower. And I want a lock on the door leading to the tower so he can get back in the inn if there’s a lot of monsters, like the moths.”

It was what she’d already done, except that Erin was doubling down on supplies. She found her money bags and poured gold pieces onto the table.

“We need a bigger defense budget. We should have, like four Tripvine Bags at all times. And those explosive potions! Octavia can’t make them. I don’t think she knows how. So…we need to go grab some from a better [Alchemist] in the city.”

“She’s not going to like that.”

“Well, she doesn’t have to know. As for the door lock—”

“Not a good idea.”

“Why not? If Bird’s in trouble—”

“A lock’s too much to work with, Erin. And Bird will forget the key. Why not just make it a door bar?”

“That is a reasonable suggestion.”

Both Erin and Lyonette looked up. Klbkch had walked over. He had stayed in the inn, mainly to explain to Bird exactly what a Garuda was and why he was not allowed to talk about shooting Bevussa or any of the Drakes with wings. Klbkch listened to the rest of Erin’s ideas and nodded when she finished.

“All of these additions seem like practical, simple measures that may save your life. I could send a Worker to make the improvements today if you wish.”

Erin waved a hand dismissively.

“What, barricading windows and making a door bar? I could figure out how to do that myself with [Advanced Crafting]. Just give me a few bits of wood and uh, maybe Rabbiteater can carve it a bit? I don’t like splinters. Okay, and maybe I could use some things from Krshia. Lyonette, can you see if she sells…door bar handles? And get me some screws? You do know what screws are, right?”

After Lyonette had gone, Erin turned to Klbkch. The Antinium was looking about the inn.

“Hey Klbkch. Are you okay?”

He turned and nodded precisely at her.

“I am well, Erin. Last night’s fighting did not extend to the Hive, and I was only made aware of the attack after a Street Runner was sent to the Hive. I was not injured. I was, however, concerned about you and your inn. As was Pawn. And Belgrade. And Anand.”

“Tell them I’m alright, okay?”

“I shall convey your words. However…your preparations for tonight’s defense are somewhat troubling.”

“It’s not enough?”

The Antinium paused as he looked around the inn.

“Given your budget and the time available, I would imagine that it is quite appropriate for any lesser crisis. But for a larger catastrophe, such as the invasion of the Face-Eater Moths?”

Erin nodded seriously.

“Yeah. It probably would be like last time. Which we survived! But I could do more. I’ve really been thinking about getting some enchanting done on my inn, actually. But none of the [Mages] I know have the ability to enchant things. I was going to see if anyone from Pallass could do it, but it’s been so busy—”

“No [Enchanter] would be able to perform more than rudimentary wards by nightfall anyways. That is a decent long-term plan. May I offer you a short-term one?”

Erin paused.

“Go on.”

Klbkch studied the inn, his head sweeping slowly down the long common room.

“I assume you intend to put on a play tonight?”

“Not tonight. I’ll tell Wesle and the others. It’s too dangerous to think about.”

“Very wise. That will aid my suggestion as well. I would like to send a squad of Painted Soldiers to your inn. They would be led by Pawn. In addition, they would be accompanied by several Workers armed with bows.”

“Workers? Wait, you want to protect my inn with them? I’ll accept of course! But do you want to be paid or…?”

Klbkch shook his head.

“Consider it an act of friendship. And practicality. Your inn has aided Liscor’s Hive in more ways than I can state, Erin. However, I would like to keep this arrangement secret. Very secret, in light of the current controversy surrounding Liscor’s Hive. The fact that Workers are being armed is to be most secret of all.”

He stared at Erin. She nodded slowly.

“So they’ll stay here tonight?”

“And leave just after dawn. Watch Captain Zevara has already requested a group of Soldiers patrol through Liscor tonight as a precaution. Pawn’s group will be part of that unit.”

This all sounded dicey to Erin, but she wasn’t in a position to refuse. Maybe Klbkch was just being cautious. Arming Workers. It didn’t sound that bad to Erin, but then she remembered that Workers using bows had been part of the Antinium’s strategy in the Antinium Wars.

“Okay, Klbkch. I accept. Thank you.”

“There is no need for thanks. I will excuse myself. I have much work to do in Liscor.”

Klbkch nodded to Erin. He strode through the door. She stared after him as he walked through the rainy streets. Sometimes it felt like Klbkch was more of a stranger than when she had met in the old days. She wished she could sit with him and Relc for a while over a plate of pasta. Then she shook her head.

“Well, I guess the Raskghar are really going to get a surprise if they attack tonight.”

“I’m sure I’ll feel better.”

Lyonette came over. She hadn’t quite been eavesdropping. Erin turned to her.

“Yeah. But the Antinium are just for now. I do want to make upgrading the inn a priority, Lyonette. Not just with structural stuff and enchantments. I’d like some real guards, the kind that will be here all the time. I can’t always hope there’ll be adventurers or Goblins or Antinium in my inn.”

The Human young woman eyed Erin warily.

“What then? You don’t mean something like Toren, do you?”

Erin paused.

“No. I think…no. Well, if Pisces…no. Probably not. I was really thinking about Golems.”

“Golems? How much do you think they cost, Erin?”

“Um…”

The two stared at each other. Erin laughed.

“It’s just a thought! But really, Lyonette, I am a bit worried. We’ll have Antinium here and I’ll be staying the night, but the Raskghar could still do a lot of damage. And there is…”

She and Lyonette both looked at Mrsha. The Gnoll was playing with her ball, bouncing it against a wall and running about. Erin sighed worriedly.

“I wouldn’t risk her at all. Even if I’m like, 99% safe I don’t want to take a chance.”

“Neither do I. But your inn will be the most well-defended spot I can think of. What else could you do?”

Erin paused. She frowned at Mrsha, and then looked to the magic door of her inn.

“Well, I can think of a way to make her just a bit safer. So right after dinner, here’s what we’ll do…”

—-

The Redfang Warriors did not feel good. It wasn’t the aftermath of fighting the Raskghar that bothered them—they actually felt over the moon about that, so to speak. Headscratcher’s changing classes to a [Berserker] and Numbtongue’s [Bard] class was the best news they’d had in a long time.

No, it was seeing all those adventurers that made the Hobgoblins feel bad. There was something about a room full of hostile glances that didn’t do much for the nerves, incredibly enough. More than one team from Pallass had looked like they’d been ready to attack the Redfang Warriors right then and there. Of course, they’d given the same look to the Antinium.

Shorthilt’s stomach still felt bad, but it was restoring itself to something approaching normal as he squatted on the floor, staring at the Cave Goblin. She was still secured to the chair. There would be no sudden escape where she wriggled free—the Redfangs knew how to tie a knot properly. When you tied an Eater Goat to a pole to lure Gargoyles, the last thing you wanted was an angry goat getting loose and munching your face off.

He was confident in his knot. Still, Shorthilt checked again just to be sure. His attention to detail and caution was why he was the group’s best warrior with a sword. He nodded as he found the bindings secure, and then looked at the others. They stared back.

Grimly. Now the adventurers were gone, now that the Raskghar had retreated, at least for the moment, the Redfang Goblins were faced with one last task. The problem of what to do with the Cave Goblin. She’d gone very still with fear when the adventurers had arrived. She’d been terrified the entire time, really. Now the little Cave Goblin sat on her chair, practically panting with fear as the Hobs deliberated what should be done about her.

The logical thing to do, as Badarrow pointed out, would be to toss the Cave Goblin in the water. Without untying her from the chair. After all, there were only two things that could really be done with the little Goblin. The Redfangs couldn’t keep her here. She was the enemy! No matter how securely Shorthilt’s knots were, even if they locked her in the basement, the Redfangs knew from experience how resourceful a desperate Goblin could be.

And a Goblin who escaped in the middle of the night could kill anyone with a knife in the back. No, that was far too dangerous. Goblins didn’t keep prisoners, anyways. So that left letting her go or killing her. And letting her go was a stupid idea. So that left killing her.

It was the smart thing to do, but none of the Redfang Warriors wanted to do it. They were proud warriors! Just killing an enemy Goblin was…well, it was wrong. They’d kill another of their people if they had to, in battle, but not like this. After all, she was the enemy, but she was a Goblin. Like them!

Then again, the little Cave Goblin and her tribe were so not-Goblin that the Redfangs really didn’t know what to do. She and her tribe served the Raskghar! They obeyed a Chieftain who was not a Goblin—they didn’t even have any Hobs! They didn’t even remember Hobs!

It was pitiful. Pitiful and depressing and sad. However, the facts remained that the little Cave Goblin was an enemy in no small way. Letting her go would mean the other Goblins and perhaps the Raskghar would know too much. They owed Erin Solstice more than words could say. So the Redfangs were forcing themselves to come to a difficult decision.

It wasn’t easy. But at last, even Headscratcher bowed his head. They picked up the little Goblin as she was tied to the chair. They wouldn’t drown her—that was cruel. Badarrow would shoot her instead. One arrow through the head was quicker. Badarrow’s face was very blank as he strung his bow.

The Cave Goblin screamed and writhed as the Hobs picked her up. She’d heard the entire discussion of course. The Redfangs hadn’t bothered to hide what they were talking about. After all, what would be crueler than hiding the truth? They marched towards the door of the inn. They could toss her body in the lake afterwards. Better that than become one of Pisces’ undead. If they could, they’d probably dispose of the other Cave Goblin’s bodies that way too.

The little Cave Goblin wriggled desperately and shrieked as the Redfangs carried her. Her efforts made no difference to the Hobs. Unfortunately, the noise and commotion attracted a worse sort of problem. The worst person to be present in this moment, actually.

Erin Solstice turned her head as the Hobs marched past her with death in their faces. She stared at the Cave Goblin.

“I’m an idiot. I nearly forgot about her! Hey, Headscratcher! Hold up!”

The young woman intercepted the group of Goblins. She stared at the thrashing Cave Goblin with concern.

“Is she alright?”

The Hobs nodded. They looked at each other in silent anguish. Numbtongue signaled rapidly. Pretend. Go along with her until they had a chance to go outside. The other Hobs nodded slightly. Erin didn’t notice. They turned and put the Goblin on the ground. The Cave Goblin babbled wildly, but Erin couldn’t understand. She bent.

“Hello. I’m Erin. And you’re the Goblin that attacked my inn. I’m not angry about it. Well, I’m sort of angry, but I’m not going to hurt you. What’s your name?”

The Cave Goblin screamed for help and tried to indicate the Redfangs with her head. Erin looked at Headscratcher.

“What’s wrong?”

“Bathroom.”

Numbtongue spoke the lie quietly. Erin nodded.

“Oh. Sorry. You’re taking her out?”

The Redfangs nodded. They picked the Cave Goblin up. The Cave Goblin shook her head wildly. Erin frowned.

“Hold up. Not bathroom? Can she understand me?”

“No.”

Numbtongue didn’t have to lie there, but the Cave Goblin was doing everything in her power to tell Erin that something was wrong. The [Innkeeper] frowned at her wide eyes and rapid babble in Goblin.

“She seems upset. I guess you guys really scared her. Maybe put her down, okay? What’s her name?”

All the Redfangs froze. Her name? But Erin treated the question as if it were the most natural thing to ask. She looked expectantly at Numbtongue who knew from his questioning. The Hob visibly hesitated before answering.

“Pebblesnatch.”

The other Hobs tried to forget the name as soon as they heard it. Erin smiled.

“Pebblesnatch? That’s cute! Hey Pebblesnatch, we don’t mean any harm. We—”

She extended her hand. Instantly, Pebblesnatch’s head shot forwards and she bit.

“Whoa!”

The small Cave Goblin’s teeth snapped together, narrowly missing Erin’s fingers as she snatched her hand back. Badarrow growled in fury and cuffed Pebblesnatch, making her screech in pain. Instantly, Erin smacked him on the shoulder.

“Don’t do that!”

Erin stared at the Cave Goblin. Pebblesnatch had abandoned hope. Now she was trying to bite, kicking wildly, determined to do some harm before the end. Erin looked at the Redfangs with a frown.

“She seems really upset. You haven’t been hitting her, have you? I told you to be nice to her!”

The Redfang Warriors stared at Erin. ‘Nice’ wasn’t a word they’d ever had to employ as warriors of Garen’s tribe. Nor was it something they thought of as necessary when dealing with their own kind, especially enemy tribes. In this case, ‘nice’ had nearly lost Erin a finger. And nice wasn’t about to happen later. They looked away.

“Bathroom.”

Numbtongue spoke the word and the Hobs lifted Pebblesnatch. Instantly, she peed on them. Headscratcher and Rabbiteater shouted with disgust and nearly dropped the Cave Goblin. Erin leapt away.

“Aw, gross! I’m sorry I stopped you! Quick, take her out and dunk her in the water. I’ll—hey, Drassi!”

“What? Why do I have to clean that up? Make Ishkr!”

“I can smell it better than you can. You clean it up!”

Now. The Redfangs left Erin and the two arguing employees and ran for the door. Pebblesnatch screamed. She screamed and screamed, with the truest terror in her voice as the Hobs tried not to listen. Then she started to cry. And Erin’s head turned. She stared at the Cave Goblin’s face, and suddenly picked up all the little clues—the panic and fear, the tense body language of the Hobs—and spoke.

“Wait.”

The word sapped the momentum from the air. The Hobs slowed and turned. Erin stood up and walked over. She stared at Pebblesnatch who was sobbing in the chair. Then she looked at Headscratcher.

“Headscratcher, are you really going to take her to the bathroom?”

The Hob avoided Erin’s gaze. She narrowed her eyes and then her eyes widened.

“Are you letting her go? No—oh no. You can’t!”

She reached for Pebblesnatch. Instantly, Headscratcher grabbed Erin. He pinned her arms in a bear hug and spoke.

“Go!”

The Redfangs moved. Or rather, they tried to. The air was thick and heavy and their footsteps dragged. Erin, who had been too afraid to use her aura on the Raskghar, kicked and struggled in Headscratcher’s grasp, holding the Hobs in place with all of her might.

“No! No, Headscratcher! There’s a better way! Don’t kill her! You can let her go!”

They couldn’t. The Hobs moved slowly, growling with the effort it took. Shorthilt saw Drassi and Ishkr, frozen with shock at the sudden commotion. Ishkr wavered and Shorthilt drew his sword. The Gnoll froze and backed up.

The Hobs ignored Drassi and Ishkr. Neither of them could stop the Redfangs. Nor could Erin, no matter how much she tried to stop them with her aura. They’d do it quick. If she kicked them out—the Goblins tried not to think about it. It was like the artifacts, like Rabbiteater’s cloak. They had to do it and no one could stop them.

Do what you had to do. Pay the price later. That was what Garen Redfang had taught them.

“Don’t—stop—put me down! Headscratcher! Put me down!”

Erin was struggling. But it was too late. Numbtongue thrust the door open. Rabbiteater and Shorthilt marched to the door. Badarrow pulled an arrow from his quiver and closed his eyes. Erin went still, helpless in Headscratcher’s arms. She looked up into the Hob’s glistening eyes. When she spoke it was very calmly, in a carrying voice that reached across the inn.

“You’ll regret it for the rest of your lives, you know.”

All five Hobs stopped. It wasn’t the aura that held them. Erin stared at Numbtongue’s back. The rain was pouring in through the front of the inn, drenching the Hob.

“You don’t want to do this. I know you don’t. If you do it, you will regret it forever. Don’t kill her. Put her down.”

The Hobs wavered. They wanted to believe Erin. But letting Pebblesnatch go? Showing her mercy? All they could imagine was disaster. Erin spoke again, urgently.

“There’s another way. Believe me. Give me ten minutes and I’ll convince you. Ten minutes.”

And because they really didn’t want to, because they cared, because their souls told them to, the Redfang Warriors turned. Headscratcher put Erin down. He let go slowly. She turned to him. There was no reproach in her eyes. Just a deep sadness. That cut him harder than anger. Erin stared at Headscratcher, then at the other Redfang Warriors. None of them could meet her eyes. She took a deep breath, and then exhaled.

“Let’s play a game of chess.”

—-

A strange gathering took place around one of Erin’s tables. The young woman sat on one side, arranging a chess board and explaining to Headscratcher how the game worked as he sat on the other end of the table with the four other Redfangs around him. Drassi and Ishkr worked in the background, nervously glancing at the tableau every few seconds.

Pebblesnatch sat at a table close by, her head lolling. She was unconscious. The Cave Goblin had fainted, probably so she wouldn’t feel anything. Erin glanced at her as she finished placing pieces.

“You understand? Well, if you don’t, I’ll teach you as we play. Your pieces are white, so you go first. Move a pawn. Or a knight, if you want.”

Hesitantly, Headscratcher picked up a pawn and tried to remember all the confusing things Erin had said. He peered at the board and looked at his fellows for guidance. They stared at the board. At last, Badarrow pointed decisively. Headscratcher placed the pawn. Erin nodded.

“Pawn to F4. Bird’s Opening. That’s what it’s called. Bird uses this opening all of the time. Because of the name.”

She placed a pawn at E5. Erin smiled as Headscratcher blinked. Didn’t she just give him her pawn? He stared suspiciously at Erin, suspecting a trap. He was right of course, but Erin gestured at him.

“Your move. This is From’s Gambit, by the way.”

She waited patiently as the Hob stared at the other Goblins for help. They deliberated, and then Hob took the pawn. Erin instantly moved another pawn up to D6, offering Headscratcher yet another target.

The game began. Each time Headscratcher moved a piece hesitantly, Erin would instantly move a chess piece with supreme confidence. It was unnerving. Within moments she’d reversed Headscratcher’s lead and begun tearing apart his chess pieces. The Redfang Warrior’s playing grew slower and slower as he bent over the board, trying to find an escape from Erin’s relentless assault. But that was the game. As she played, Erin spoke. Conversationally. Casually, as if she were having nothing more than a chat.

“Don’t worry about winning this game. Or losing it either. It’s not about playing chess right now. I just use chess because it’s what I know. In a sense, it’s the only thing I know. I’m an [Innkeeper], right, but that’s only my class. Chess is what I’m good at. People used to call me a prodigy—which wasn’t really true—when I was a child. Well, a prodigy is only really good at chess. I’m far better than I was back then. Because I practice.”

She moved a piece. Headscratcher stared at her. He looked past Erin at Pebblesnatch. Erin went on, her voice pleasant.

“It’s odd, being good at something most people don’t care about. A lot of people say how stupid it is to be good at chess. Or how pointless it is to play a game every day for years, decades, to get good at the game. Sometimes I thought the same thing. But you know what? I like playing. There was a time when I got sick of it, but I came back because I love it. I like playing. I’m good at it. There’s something nice about being good at something. And here, in this world, I’m probably the best player of chess. In the world.”

It was such a casual thing to say. But unlike any other species or people in the world, the Redfangs took Erin at her word. They looked into her eyes and tensed up. The greatest chess player in the world sat in front of them. Erin laughed gently.

“Don’t worry. That doesn’t give me any Skills. Or classes. Chess is a game to me. Just a game. And this is just a fun match. I’m not trying to win repeatedly—I have the magic chessboard for that.”

She pointed at another chessboard, where the ghostly chess pieces sat, playing out a game that had taken place over the course of the week. Erin’s mysterious chess partner had been busy of late. The Goblins stared at her. Erin waited until Headscratcher moved a piece, then cut to the chase.

“So. Why were you going to kill her? Because she tried to kill you?”

She looked at Numbtongue. The Goblin hesitated.

“Because she is the enemy. She will tell the Raskghar what we do. What we are doing if she goes.”

Erin nodded. It was a reasonable fear.

“Why not keep her here?”

“How long? Forever? Little Goblins are cunning. She will escape. Throat cut in middle of the night.”

Another nod. Another logical response.

“And letting her go? Not just outside, I mean. What if we went to Celum, took her outside the walls, and…let her go there?”

The Redfangs exchanged a glance then shook their heads. Numbtongue explained haltingly.

“Can’t let go. She will go back. Or die. A Goblin alone dies to monsters. To adventurers. It is one of the worst deaths. Slow, lonely death. Wandering death. Cruel death.”

The other Hobs nodded as one. Erin looked at them. So. It was too dangerous to keep her, too risky or cruel to let her go. That was why they would kill her. It was practical, like the Goblins. It was also wrong. She sighed.

“Okay. I see what you were thinking. And I think you’re wrong. Let me explain.”

She reached for a pawn, took Headscratcher’s bishop which she’d cornered, and spoke absently.

“Here’s the problem, I think. You say that Pebblesnatch is the enemy. You say she’s dangerous. If we let her go she’ll turn on us. We can’t keep her. So we need to kill her. And I say—why do we have to do any of that? Why can’t we help her?”

She looked up expectantly. Numbtongue shook his head.

“Help? Her? She is other tribe. Other tribe has many Goblins who will kill—”

He emphasized the word.

“—Us. Why help them? We can’t help them. Too many. Too far away. What point? Why help enemy?”

“Good question.”

Erin rested her chin in her hands. She eyed the board.

“Whenever anyone says something like that—we can’t help them, or they’re the enemy, or how hard it would be, it’s sort of like a game of chess. That’s my analogy. I like chess. We’re all trying to get ahead, to survive. We’re all playing chess, if you think of it like that. So everyone wants to protect themselves, their side. The king. See?”

Erin pointed at her king, safely hidden behind her pawns. Headscratcher and the other Goblins eyed the white king on their side. It was being menaced from all angles by Erin’s pieces. They found that ironically familiar. They nodded and Erin went on.

“That’s how people play. Life, like chess. It’s all about sides. Us. Them. Me. You. But here’s the thing. Life isn’t a game of chess. You say that Pebblesnatch is the enemy, Numbtongue? In that case, you’re playing a game. Your side is the Redfangs, you, and my inn, I guess. And my side would be Pebblesnatch. And the Raskghar.”

The Redfangs stared at Erin’s side of the board. They eyed their disadvantaged position. Erin rolled her eyes.

“It’s a metaphor. It’s not representing how things actually are. Look, it’s your side and her side. That’s how you’re playing. But I don’t think that’s a healthy way to look at things. It’s too limiting. Sometimes I think we should do this.”

Erin spun the chess board. Suddenly, her pieces were in check and Headscratcher’s pieces were on the attack. The Hob blinked. He stared at Pebblesnatch, who’d woken up and was trying to bite at the ropes tying her down. Erin smiled slightly.

“Weird, isn’t it? Now you’re winning. Go on, move a piece.”

She waited as Headscratcher did. Erin continued to play, reversing the board yet again.

“The thing about sides, Headscratcher, you guys, is that they’re made up. Chess is a game. It’s not real. But we pretend the sides are real. Just like we pretend there are sides in real life. What makes the Raskghar our enemy?”

“They’re trying to kill us?”

Ishkr blinked as Erin looked over.

“Right. But are they trying to kill us because they’re hungry? Are they just monsters? If they are, I guess we might have to fight. But what about the Cave Goblins? Are they our enemy? Or are they being made to fight?”

The Redfangs looked at Pebblesnatch. They tried to imagine any scenario where a group of Goblins would assault an inn full of adventurers or try to attack Liscor without being coerced. They were silent as Erin went on.

“Sides. Winners. Losers. It’s all part of the gaming mentality. I win, so you lose. But life isn’t like that. Why does Pebblesnatch have to die? Because she’s the enemy? Why does she have to be the enemy? Can’t we do something about her? That’s checkmate, by the way.”

She pointed. Headscratcher groaned as he saw she was right. Erin smiled and swept his pieces off the board, leaving only her black ones behind. She got up and found another of her chess boards and carried it over. The Goblins watched, confused, as she set up the board again, only this time with a twist. When Erin was done, she pointed to the chess board, ready for another game.

“Life isn’t a game of chess. But if it was, I think it would look a lot like this.”

Headscratcher looked at the board. On his side were black chess pieces, lined up, ready for battle. On Erin’s side were her chess pieces, set to their default position. They were also black. Erin stared at Headscratcher over the chess board.

“Okay. If we play a game now, who wins? Who loses? And how can we tell? If I take a pawn off the board, who loses? Me? You? Or the pawn?”

She picked up the pawn and showed it to Headscratcher. He looked at her. Erin smiled very gently.

“Headscratcher. This is what I think about living life like chess.”

She reached for the chess board and lifted it up. Then she hurled the board across the inn. The chess pieces went flying, clattering off windows, the floor, the tables and chairs. The board cracked as it struck a table. Erin stood up. The inn went silent as she glared at the Hobs.

“You don’t have to kill. No one has to lose for you to win. This world is not a game. Why can’t we all win? Forever? Why does Pebblesnatch have to die, Headscratcher?”

He couldn’t answer. He tried. But whenever he attempted to form the thought—she’s dangerous, or it might hurt us, or we can’t keep her here forever—it was somehow not good enough. Yes, all of these things were valid. But it wasn’t enough for him to look at Pebblesnatch and agree to murder her in cold blood.

The Redfang Warriors didn’t quite look at Erin as she stood in front of them. Erin looked from face to face, and then sighed.

“But you are right. It is a problem.”

She stumped over to the chess board and began picking up pieces. Erin grimaced as she collected the black and white pieces.

“With that said, I really like chess. And board games in general. You know what? I should really find a game we can all play. Monopoly, or maybe Risk. Charades? I still have to teach Olesm how to play shogi. Or what about Ur? That game’s fun too!”

She inspected the cracked chess board and shook her head.

“I broke my board. Darn. But hey, it was worth it, right?”

She glanced up at the Redfang Warriors.  They watched her warily. Erin sighed and came back to the table.

“That was my lecture about sides. But you’re right in that Pebblesnatch is dangerous. And it’s probably not good to let her go. So here’s a thought from a chess player. Why don’t we stop playing chess and start playing another game? Why don’t we stop treating  this as a chess game and start playing shogi?”

The Hobs stared at Erin. Now she’d lost them. Erin gestured energetically as she began to talk with the enthusiasm of a board game fanatic.

“You see, shogi is this great game that originates from Japan. It’s based on chess, but the rules vary in a lot of interesting ways. You can promote each piece in shogi like you do pawns in chess, but there’s other things you can do. For instance, and here’s the important bit—you can play any piece you’ve captured from your opponent on your side! Isn’t that cool?”

Erin looked from face to face and realized her audience wasn’t following her. She sighed.

“I knew I should have stuck to the chess analogy. Okay, look. Pebblesnatch doesn’t have to die. Nor do the Goblins. They’re your people. Why do we have to treat them like the enemy? The Raskghar are pretty evil so I’ll agree to shooting them with arrows, but the Goblins? Are they innocent in all this? Or at least, victims? I want to know.”

Erin began ticking off points on her fingers.

“Do the Cave Goblins want to fight Liscor? How many are there? Could they run away? Would Pebblesnatch help us if we fed her? Gave her a healing potion, maybe? Could she warn us when the Raskghar are about to attack or—or figure out exactly where they’re camped for the night? Could she feed them false information?”

The Goblins stared at Erin in amazement. They hadn’t considered any of this. Ever. The idea of turning a Goblin against their own tribe, of using them like spies…it was, well, unthinkable! Goblins didn’t do that. Even a Goblin from a poor tribe was loyal to their Chieftain. If the Chieftain was replaced, then they’d see if they were loyal to the new Chieftain. If they weren’t, they’d leave. Betrayal was…what kind of a Goblin would betray their tribe? Their family? But Erin was right. The Raskghar ruled the Cave Goblins. So theirs was the one tribe any Goblin would betray if it were possible. Erin smiled as the Hobs looked at each other.

“Exactly. Here’s the thing. Everyone’s still playing chess. Ilvriss thinks of Pebblesnatch as a pawn he’s captured. So does Olesm and everyone else. A pawn from the other side. A danger until you remove it. And then it’s gone. Like that. The enemy side is weaker. That’s how they play. But like I said, chess isn’t a game like life. Why can’t I take a pawn, a person—”

Erin picked up a white pawn and placed it on her side of the board.

“—And do this?”

The Hobs stirred. They looked at Erin in amazement as they finally got the entirety of what she was saying. She winked at them.

“Strategy. Not that I’m a [Strategist]. But I’m not always dumb either. I’m just better at making friends than I am at poking holes in people. Now, tell me. What’s going to happen to poor Pebblesnatch?”

The Cave Goblin looked up. She squirmed anxiously and Headscratcher looked at her. Really looked at her, without forcing himself to look away or rationalize her as the enemy. For the first time he saw how young she was. How hungry she looked. He stared at her arms and saw blood. Blood. She’d rubbed her skin off trying to escape. Her face was snotty and she looked terrified.

Headscratcher looked at Erin. He thought about what he’d done and his face twisted. A child. He’d nearly killed—he sank down as tears began to seep from his red eyes. He began to shake as the other Redfangs looked away. Erin came over and hugged him.

“It’s okay. Come on. You didn’t do it. It’s okay.”

The other Redfangs crowded around Headscratcher. He was too emotional. They slapped him on the back and pretended to laugh at him. But some of them had to turn to hurriedly wipe an eye or cough. Erin smiled and hugged them.

“Try something else. They’re your people, aren’t they? It’s okay. We can keep her here. If we can make her an ally—it’s not about food, it really isn’t. I’m happy to try. If we can save your people’s lives, or help—”

The Redfangs looked at Erin. Your people. She really cared. That was what was amazing. She cared about them. As Goblins. It was so strange and wonderful and painful that they couldn’t give words to it. They looked at her—

And then someone blew her nose. Erin and the Redfang Goblins looked up. She saw Drassi and Ishkr staring at them. The Drake’s eyes were running with tears and she was dabbing at them with Ishkr’s handkerchief.

“That was so beautiful!”

The Gnoll coughed. Both he and Drassi had been listening in. Drassi began to babble as she came over, smiling wetly at the Hobs.

“I totally look at you guys differently now! That chess thing made so much sense, Erin! Why do we have to kill the little Goblins? I mean, if they’re attacking us, yeah, but if they’re slaves? To the Raskghar? And you’re right, we can work together! Oh, Ancestors! We’re all on the same team! Give me a hug!”

She tried to embrace Badarrow, who fended her off. The Redfangs looked at each other, dry-eyed now. It wasn’t that they didn’t appreciate the Drake’s sudden change of heart. It was just that they were having a moment with Erin. Drassi was nice…but they didn’t know her. The Drake tried to hug the Hobs as they shared a common thought and nodded at each other sourly. They agreed that Drassi had rather spoiled the moment.

—-

Ceria had to remember that it was, in fact, late morning in Liscor. Despite all that had happened, the Raskghar attack had occurred in the middle of the night and all that had followed had taken place without the blessed relief of sleep. So it was day. Not that anyone could tell, really.

It was still raining. By this point, Ceria would have happily given half the money in her pouch for one day of sunlight. And that was because she had about eight silver pieces in her money pouch at the moment. Sunlight was cheap. But she was getting sick of the pouring rain, the slippery streets, and all the water where land should be.

“Not that it matters where we’re going.”

She looked to Yvlon. The woman grunted as she rowed on one side of the boat across the lake. Yvlon looked up and brushed water out of her face as Ksmvr paused in his rowing so the boat wouldn’t turn.

“You say that as if we don’t have to swim down through the water to get into the dungeon, Ceria. And you’re not the one rowing.”

“Touchy, aren’t we?”

“I don’t like being wet.”

Ceria eyed Yvlon. Or rather, her arms.

“If you want to switch, me or Pisces could take over.”

“Don’t volunteer me.”

Pisces looked up from his position in the back of the boat. He was trying to shield his spellbook from the rain and read at the same time with a [Light] spell. Yvlon shook her head.

“I’m fine. My arms feel good and Pisces says they won’t break.”

Ceria glanced over at the [Necromancer] for confirmation. Pisces looked up and nodded.

“Most assuredly. Let Yvlon row, Ceria. I most certainly will not.”

“If you say so. In that case, hurry up you two. We’re falling behind.”

Yvlon splashed Ceria with her oar. She and Ksmvr dipped their paddles into the water and the boat caught up with the others. Dozens of boats, large and small, patchwork and well-made were making their way towards the rift leading into the dungeon. The adventurers were out in force. They’d commandeered every vessel Liscor had and Ceria could see dozens of cloaked figures sitting miserably in boats.

Some groups didn’t bother with covering themselves—the brave ones sat stolidly in the rain, readying themselves for the fight. The higher-ranked groups didn’t have any problems because their [Mages] protected their boats from the pouring rain. Ceria glanced at the Silver Swords, who were rowing at the head of the group, untouched by the droplets thanks to Falene, who was sitting calmly at the back of the boat and insulting Dawil.

“This is so weird. Have you ever seen a dungeon raid this large, Yvlon?”

“Never. I’ve heard of them, though. It’s amazing to be part of one.”

Ceria nodded. This joint effort by all the adventuring teams was too large to call an expedition. It was what adventurers called a dungeon raid—a true attack on the dungeon, as opposed to exploration or opportunistic treasure seeking. She was amazed to be part of it. And nervous. And worried.

“I’m gonna say it when we get down there. Alright?”

Yvlon nodded. Pisces looked up and Ksmvr raised his voice.

“Captain Ceria, do you believe the other adventuring teams will cooperate with your mission?”

“They should. It’s uh, a courtesy among adventurers, right? Even if we are a Silver-rank team no one’s heard of. I can’t imagine they’d refuse, unless adventurers are that different in the south. Oh look, they’re already going in. Looks like they’re using…ropes?”

The adventurers were indeed casting ropes attached to weights down into the rift. The first teams who went down, the Flamewardens, used the ropes as guides while they dropped into the water. They didn’t even need to hold something to weight them down—their plate armor ensured they went down like anchors. Ksmvr sounded confused as more adventurers went down, some casting water breathing spells, others just holding their breaths.

“I thought that leaving an exit route for monsters was considered amateur by Gold-rank teams, Captain Ceria. Why are they doing what Vuliel Drae was criticized for?”

One of the teams, the Wings of Pallass, overheard Ksmvr. The Garuda, Bevussa, called out as she and her group checked their gear.

“A dungeon raid’s different, Antinium. No one wants to swim back up. And if we’re all dead, well, Liscor’s got a lot more to worry about than a few ropes. See you down there. Ancestors, I hate swimming.”

She leapt out of her boat. Ceria saw her flap her wings and gain a few feet of distance before she hit the water and disappeared. The other adventurers dove and Ceria looked at her team.

“Ready?”

The others nodded. Yvlon took a few deep breaths, Pisces closed his spellbook and sighed about the water and Ksmvr…froze. Ceria stared at him with concern.

“Ksmvr? Are you sure you want to do this?”

“I am quite positive, Captain Ceria. I will not abandon the group. And I will be fine entering the…liquid. I came here all this way of my own volition, did I not? I even helped with the rowing.”

“True. And you have your Ring of Waterbreathing on?”

“Yes, Captain Ceria.”

“In that case, I’m going to take your blindfold off.”

Ceria reached for Ksmvr’s blindfold. The Antinium was very still as she took off the blindfold she’d tied over his eyes. When it was off he looked around at the water and started screaming.

“Aaaaaaah! Aaaaaaaaah! AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

He started flailing about in a panic. Ceria swore and the other teams looked around as Ksmvr screamed and tried to hit everything with his paddle.

“Ksmvr! Calm down! You told me you could handle this!”

“I thought I could! Water! Water everywhere!”

“Ceria! Put the blindfold back on!”

Yvlon grabbed Ksmvr and held him still. Unfortunately he had three arms and he managed to punch both Ceria and Pisces before they could put the blindfold back on. When Ceria finally managed to tie it around Ksmvr’s eyes, he went still.

“Oh. I cannot see the water. I must be on dry land. I am on dry land. I am on dry land.”

“Damn it, Ksmvr.”

“I am sorry, Captain Ceria. I am a disgrace. But please, toss me in the water!”

“After you just panicked? Not likely!”

“Please! It will work if I cannot see the water.”

“But if you’re in it—”

“I have never been in the water. It is a foreign experience to me since if I was ever in the water, I would be dead. Thus, I will not panic. I think.”

Ceria looked at her team. It wasn’t like they could back out now. It was too important.

“If he panics, he has the ring on. We can bring him back. Somehow. Okay Ksmvr, brace yourself—”

“I am braced. Please tell me before I enter the…thing. I wish to prepare myself. When will you—”

Ksmvr screamed as Ceria pushed him overboard. Yvlon glanced at the half-Elf.

“That was a bit mean.”

“He hit me in the nose. Come on, let’s go after him.”

The Horns dove after Ksmvr. To Ceria’s surprise, she saw Ksmvr wasn’t flailing about at all. He was very still as she, Pisces, and Yvlon all sank down, holding Yvlon so they’d fall faster. They fell into the dungeon, catching hold of the ropes and scaling down when the water met the dungeon.

It turned out that Ksmvr’s lack of panic had been due to mind-numbing fear. He shook like a leaf when he was on dry land and curled up into a ball. Ceria shook her head. How were they going to get him back up?

A problem for another time. The adventurers were all gathering, and the area around the rift had been secured by the Gold-rank teams that had gone in first. Griffon Hunt was already checking one tunnel and some of the Gnolls were conferring with the [Veteran Scout].

“…No sign of the Raskghar. I would have thought we’d be attacked soon after entering.”

“They must have known a counterattack was coming. Or they looked up and saw us all coming down. It makes sense they’d hide until nightfall when they’re smarter and stronger. Everyone down yet?”

The leader of the Flamewardens looked around as the last of the adventurers dropped wetly onto the dungeon floor. One team forgot to grab the ropes and crashed down onto another team. The ensuing screams of pain made Ceria wince.

“Stop making sound! And you idiots—make another mistake like that and you can leave. This isn’t a Bronze-rank mission. We’re in hostile territory. Act like you’ve got a brain.”

One of the senior adventurers barked. Shamefaced, the two adventuring teams got up. The Gold-ranks outlined the raid plan to everyone as some of the teams began moving around the perimeter. Ceria had heard the plan already, but she listened intently.

“Our plan is simple. We move in waves, in each direction. Gold-rank teams go first, Silver and Bronze-ranks behind. Each team chooses where they go and coordinates with the others. No one trails on each other’s tails. If your team can’t detect traps or you’re not confident, find a team willing to work with you. Call out for help if you need it, but don’t expect it. We’re adventurers. Let’s do our job.”

That was it. It wasn’t so much of a pep talk as a set of guidelines. In another way, this dungeon raid wasn’t like the expedition that Ceria and Yvlon had been part of. There was no real leader—it was a group effort of individual teams. The adventurers began dispersing, some calling out which way they were headed.

Now was the time. Ceria took a deep breath and shouted.

“Excuse me! There’s one more thing!”

All the adventurers turned. Ceria turned beet red, and stammered.

“I uh—we’re the Horns of Hammerad. We’re looking for someone in the dungeon. A companion of ours was lost. Calruz. He’s a Minotaur. He used to lead our group—we think he might still be alive down here.”

“A missing adventurer? We only heard about Gnolls. Did the Raskghar get him too?”

One of the Drakes looked surprised. Ceria shook her head.

“No, he vanished a while ago. On another expedition in Liscor’s crypt. But he might have arrived here.”

The adventurers looked at each other dubiously. Ceria’s heart pounded. One of the senior Drakes, an old yellow-scaled Drake with a greatsword, leaned on it and frowned at Ceria.

“How long has he been missing?”

Ceria wavered.

“Months. But we never found his body! And there’s a…route from Liscor’s crypts to the dungeon. He might have arrived down here! He was wounded when I last saw him, but I know he had a healing potion on him.”

She felt her heart sinking with every word. The old Drake shook his head.

“Months? If he’s been gone that long, he’s dead. Body’s probably eaten by now or shambling around as a zombie. Give it up, rookie.”

He turned away. Ceria stared as his team walked into the dungeon. The other adventurers began to move again too. Some looked sympathetic and promised to tell the Horns if they saw anything. But the rest just left. Ceria wanted to shrivel up into nothing and disappear.

“You tried.”

Yvlon patted her shoulder. Ceria nodded miserably. Not only had the others thought she was delusional, she’d given away the secret entrance from the crypt to the dungeon. What had she been thinking? Of course they’d think she was mad. How many people swore their missing companion was still alive? Ceria had heard that sort of talk herself—adventurers who’d seen a friend dragged away by a Mothbear, swearing that he was alive days later and that they’d go back and get him. She flushed and then saw familiar faces heading towards them.

“Hey Ceria, you’re with us.”

Jelaqua raised a hand as the Halfseekers strode towards their group. Griffon Hunt was right behind them and the Silver Swords were trailing in their wake. Revi scowled at the old Drake’s team who was already disappearing down one of the corridors.

“That Drake’s an ass. Talk about rude. Can you believe him?”

Everyone gave Revi the fish eye. The Stitch-Woman blushed and tugged at the string around her neck.

“What? We all thought the same thing, but even I didn’t say it. At least they know now. And we’re part of this raid. Hooray for us. We still doing this babysitting job?”

“Teaching job, Revi.”

Typhenous interjected diplomatically. He nodded to the Silver Swords, none of whom looked happy.

“We shall take the Silver Swords and the Halfseekers the Horns of Hammerad. We’ll impart our tactics and switch groups after a few hours. Is that reasonable?”

“Perfectly. Thank you for doing this.”

The other adventurers nodded. Halrac jerked his head.

“Let’s get moving. We’re falling behind.”

The teams split up, the Silver Swords falling in with Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers with the Horns of Hammerad. They headed down the right-most tunnel. Other groups had come that way, but they’d marked where they were going with bits of chalk. Someone had also spattered bright alchemical paint on the ground around a trap on the floor which all the adventurers gave a wide berth.

When both groups came to another intersection, Halrac pointed to a tunnel that hadn’t been claimed yet.

“We’ll take that one. Send a [Message] spell in three hours.”

“Got it. Let us know if you’re in trouble and we’ll come running.”

Halrac nodded. He strode forwards and then put out an arm to block Ylawes from following on his heels. Revi audibly sighed and Jelaqua turned to the Horns of Hammerad. The Selphid gave them a big smile.

“Alright, let’s do this. We’re not going to make this a habit, so if you have any questions, ask. Otherwise, watch and learn from the best. Which isn’t me. Seborn?”

The Drowned Man nodded. He moved forwards, pulling one of his enchanted daggers out.

“Keep behind me. About ten paces. Stop when I tell you to stop. Try to follow in my footsteps. I’ll check the entire corridor, but I might miss things.”

The other adventurers nodded seriously. Ceria saw Seborn move forwards cautiously, then stop. He squatted down to inspect a flagstone, stood up, and took another step. The Horns followed, waiting for anything to pop out. Monsters, a trap, something horrific—they froze as Seborn paused again, this time to inspect a wall. He stared at it, then moved on. Five seconds later he stopped.

Dungeon diving it turned out was boring. At least, it was when you had someone competent leading you. The tension the Horns felt quickly became mild boredom as Seborn moved forwards at a snail’s pace. However, they never quite relaxed. Ceria and Yvlon remembered all too well a similar encounter, and besides which, the dungeon was not exactly reassuring.

They could hear noises in the distance. Fighting. Shouts, and once, a thump in the distance that was either an explosion or an incredibly powerful impact. The other adventurers were making progress. But the Halfseekers refused to be rushed. Indeed, they took a meandering pace down the corridor and even talked as they went.

“What? Keeping silent? Nah, that’s only if we want the drop on monsters. And believe me, Moore’s not capable of sneaking up on anything. If something’s out there, it’ll attack us. We just need to be ready if it does.”

Jelaqua walked at the front of the group, a good pace ahead of the others. She had insisted on it, and no wonder. The Heartflame Armor wasn’t active, but the magical artifact still shone with power in Ceria’s gaze. Jelaqua had fended off over a dozen requests for other teams to buy out the lease contract on the armor from her when they’d seen her wearing it.

The Selphid never glanced over her shoulder despite the magical protection, though. Her flail was ready in her hands and she stayed alert to Seborn’s movements despite her chatty tone. She addressed Ceria in a soothing tone, trying to assuage the half-Elf’s voiced concerns.

“Don’t worry. We’ve done this before. We’ve done this a lot of times. Not like the Silver Swords. You said our formation is similar, though?”

“That’s sort of what the Silver Swords did. Except that they didn’t have a [Rogue]. They put Ylawes in front and had Falene cast [Detect Magic].”

“Not the same at all.”

Moore, the normally quiet half-Giant shook his head disapprovingly. He tapped his staff as he walked next to Yvlon. Moore’s face was serious as he flicked an eye towards Ceria.

“A [Rogue] matters. We may be less disciplined than other groups, but we know our strengths and weaknesses. Seborn is our guide. Without his Skills we would never risk this sort of thing.”

“But you’re not worried about an ambush?”

The half-Giant smiled.

“As Jelaqua said, I cannot hide. And our strategy this time is based around being attacked. Jelaqua wears the Heartflame Breastplate. With it we can take battles we wouldn’t wish for otherwise.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“It’s nice to be invincible. Don’t worry, we’d be quieter if I didn’t have this on. But the Halfseekers have always been the door-kicking type of team. We just do it practically. I can’t imagine walking forwards without Seborn being there to explode first if there’s a trap.”

“Thanks.”

Ceria glanced forwards.

“So this is all good? We haven’t made much progress.”

Indeed, the Halfseekers had barely progressed compared to what Ceria had expected of other teams. Jelaqua nodded.

“Can’t rush Seborn. We take things slow. Don’t worry if we don’t find anything—we can’t rush things. Relax, Ceria. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. The other adventurers can go in hot. We’ll hang back and take things at our pace. That’s one of the reasons why we got here first. Racing isn’t something the Halfseekers do. Again, because of Moore.”

“I’m faster than you are, Jelaqua. Long legs means quicker running.”

“Hah! As if. I could outsprint you any day of the week without pushing my body past its limits.”

“And I could outrun the two of you any day of the week. And swim laps around you two in my sleep.”

The Halfseekers laughed. Ceria winced as the noise echoed, and glanced at her team. Pisces walked along, looking equally wary and bored. Ksmvr looked raptly focused, paying attention to all of the conversation as if it were the font of all adventuring knowledge. Yvlon caught Ceria’s eye and grimaced.

To change the subject, Ceria brought up something that had confused her.

“What’s with the four teams that stayed behind, Jelaqua? Are they going in later?”

“Nah. You saw them, right? They were loaded up with boards and nails and mortar ingredients and stuff. They’ll fortify the entrance, give us a place to fall back to. It’ll help the next time teams go in and they’ll be paid for guarding our backs. Everyone’ll chip in a little bit. It’s a courtesy sort of thing.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well, it’s a dungeon thing. It’s like how we got paid a bit for sharing our map of the dungeon. If the adventurers went through the main entrance, they’d pay us and Griffon Hunt a courtesy fee for untrapping everything. Most teams. Gold-rank teams would. They don’t have to, but it’s etiquette. Don’t worry, you’ll hear all about it if you don’t follow custom. In fact, that’s how we learned about the courtesy fee. It was eight years back, right when—”

The adventurers were passing by a section of wall that curved leftwards. Ahead of them, Seborn raised his head and shouted a warning. The Drowned Man leapt back and the wall evaporated and a horde of Children, the monsters shaped like the offspring of the races they preyed upon, poured out of the gap.

They looked like very young Humans and Drakes. But that was only from afar. Up close their skin or scales was too pale. Their faces were twisted, and their teeth and claws were sharp. They screamed as the adventurers turned. Ceria raised her wand. Instantly, Jelaqua charged forwards, flail blurring.

“Behind us, Horns!”

She swung her flail and crushed the head of the first Child. Moore raised his staff and swung, not bothering with a spell. Three of the monsters went flying as Seborn appeared behind another and stabbed it through the chest with both daggers. The Horns attacked at the same time. Ceria raised an ice wall, shouting for Yvlon and Ksmvr to guard them.

The Antinium and Human woman guarded Ceria and Pisces. This time Yvlon had activated her Forceshield and she deftly blocked a leaping Child with the shimmering shield of energy. She swung and the creature screamed as she slashed it across the chest. Ksmvr cut left and right, warding off the monsters around him.

“Pisces! Undead!”

Pisces was already on it. From his bag of holding he poured bones on the ground which sprang up to form three skeletal Raskghar. They surged forwards and Pisces drew his rapier. He took a position behind Yvlon and Ksmvr, throwing fire as Ceria blasted with [Ice Spike] spells.

They’d practiced this formation. It was a defensive tactic that allowed Ceria and Pisces to cast spells from the back with the ice walls holding off the monsters from flanking them while Yvlon and Ksmvr fought on the front. It was a good strategy for creating a choke point to funnel the Children through, and Pisces’ undead could wreak havoc. It would have worked fine too—except for the Halfseekers.

They had no strategy. At least, not one that involved them taking up positions. Jelaqua spun through the monsters, her flail flashing left and right. She ignored the teeth and claws that fruitlessly struck her blazing form. Behind her, Moore laid about left and right with his staff, only occasionally throwing a shower of thorns or tangling his opponents with a sudden flurry of vines that would burst from the ground. And darting from shadow to shadow was Seborn, watching Moore and Jelaqua’s back, striking and vanishing as quickly as he came.

They got in the way and attracted all of the attention. The Horns found themselves unable to help out for fear of hitting the Halfseekers, and the Children only paid them sparing attention, focusing more on the engaged Halfseekers than the defensive Horns. In the end it didn’t matter. The Children, for all their numbers, were no match for even one of the adventuring teams and soon lay dead. The Halfseekers walked about, finishing off anything that moved. Jelaqua grinned as she wiped blood from one cheek.

“Good fight! Looks like you held together well, Horns! Nice formation.”

“Yeah. Thanks. We uh, tried to help but you were everywhere.”

“Don’t worry about it. That’s how we roll! Formations only work if there’s more than three people in your team. But the Halfseekers never really did any of that even when there were twice as many of us! Hey Moore, you got any cuts?”

“A few. Nothing bad. I didn’t have time to put my thorn armor spell up.”

“I keep telling you to do that first! Hey, nice undead. I forgot Pisces could do that. Good job you didn’t let the other adventurers see them, huh? Drakes really hate [Necromancers]. All right, let’s collect the bounty parts and move on. Seborn, there wouldn’t happen to be any treasure in that secret wall, would there?”

“Guess again.”

“Figures.”

Jelaqua laughed and followed Seborn. The Horns stared after her as the Selphid waved an arm, encouraging them to catch up. Slowly, they moved on.

In the end, they didn’t run into any other monsters. Seborn followed the corridor down to an intersection, took the left passage, ran into a team of Gnolls and turned around. By the time they went down the right corridor and found a particularly troublesome trap that Seborn didn’t want to cross, three hours had passed. The entire time Jelaqua, Moore, and Seborn had been talking. They gave up on the trap and began heading back to the meeting place with Griffon Hunt and the Silver Swords, still chatting.

“So? Thoughts on how we’re doing so far?”

Jelaqua turned to Ceria as they were close to their destination. The half-Elf hesitated. She bit her lip, but she couldn’t lie.

“It was uh, instructive, Jelaqua. Really. But…I don’t think our teams work together particularly well.”

She glanced back at the other Horns and got two nods in reply. Yvlon looked a bit embarrassed. Pisces just rubbed one ear and shook his head. Ksmvr looked confused. He probably hadn’t minded any of it. Ceria winced.

“It’s not your team! It’s just…your style. You’re so laid back.”

It wasn’t like the Silver Swords who were practically foolhardy. The Halfseekers were cautious, but they were also casual. Ceria couldn’t relax like they did and she chafed with impatience every time Seborn double-checked something just to be sure. She looked down at her feet.

“I’m sorry. We really appreciated working with you.”

Jelaqua smiled.

“Hey, what’re you sorry for? It’s not like your team did anything wrong. Don’t worry about us not working together one hundred percent. Teams working together is tricky. It’s like a marriage between strangers—you never know what you’ll get. We’ll switch with Griffon Hunt and see how you do. After all, you don’t need us to dungeon. But now you’ve seen us work—do you understand what your team needs?”

“Yeah. A [Rogue].”

“Hah! Not our charm and wit?”

Ceria grinned in relief. Of course the Halfseekers wouldn’t take offense.

“We’ll do fine without that, thanks.”

Jelaqua was laughing when they spotted Griffon Hunt and the Silver Swords. Instantly, Ceria knew there’d been friction. The two teams stood apart and Halrac looked even sourer than usual. He wasn’t the only one—Revi looked grumpy as usual, but even Typhenous looked put out. As for the Silver Swords—well, Dawil was stroking his beard and wincing as Falene spoke sharply to Ylawes.

“Looks like they didn’t have much fun either. Ooh, this might not be fun, Moore.”

“When is it ever with half-Elves? I can’t stand them.”

The half-Giant winked as Ceria and the others gaped at him. It took the Horns a second to realize that was a joke. Moore kept doing that. He’d make very sly jokes that no one would pick up on. He also had a very deadpan way of telling them. Jelaqua raised a hand as the Gold-rank teams spotted them.

“Hoi there! Ready to switch?”

“Never been happier! Let’s get this over with. We’re burning daylight and the other teams are making progress! One group even found a small treasure chest!”

“What?”

The other adventurers were stunned. Revi smirked.

“Yeah. It was filled with gold and little emeralds and already open. Wonderful—except for the rune on the bottom. When the team captain starting scooping up the money the rune exploded and it flew up like shrapnel. Don’t worry, he’s alive. But he has a chunk of gold lodged in his cheek.”

“Nasty. But that’s what you get when you don’t watch it. Okay, Silver Swords, let’s go for a walk. Horns? It’s been a pleasure.”

Jelaqua waved at the others and pointed back the way they’d come. The Silver Swords trooped after them, looking put out. Ceria wondered if they’d enjoy the Halfseeker’s company. Probably not. She looked apprehensively at Griffon Hunt. Revi sighed.

“Okay. Looks like we’re with you. Wonderful. At least we can tell you all to shut up and follow our orders without backchat. Or are we going to have another problem?”

The Horns exchanged a look. Yvlon shook her head.

“Not from us.”

“Not if the orders make sense.”

Pisces met Revi’s glare with raised eyebrows. The Stitch-Woman looked at Halrac.

“You want to do this?”

The [Scout] nodded. He appraised the Horns, then spoke up tersely.

“If we’re moving together, you need to follow our way of doing things. We keep silent. Nothing above a whisper, and only then when necessary. Speak only when we stop. I move fifteen paces ahead. Watch for my hand signals. If you spot anything, tell us to stop and everyone will stop. If there’s an ambush, we all fall backwards while Revi summons support and Typhenous buys time. What are your defensive spells and positions?”

Ceria blinked. She looked at her team and then stammered to answer.

“We uh, put up an [Ice Wall] first and Yvlon and Ksmvr take the front. Pisces summons undead and then we just…attack. I cast spells with him and he uses his rapier if need be. We try to stay together and not get separated.”

Griffon Hunt considered this. Typhenous stroked his beard thoughtfully.

“A good strategy. But prone to danger in case of ambush. It relies heavily on Ceria’s [Ice Wall] spell, although they do have three good melee fighters. Halrac, I suggest changing our positions. If Miss Byres follows with me in front while we place Ksmvr and Pisces in the rear, we’ll safeguard our two most vulnerable members—Revi and Ceria in the middle. Your thoughts?”

Revi grunted.

“I like the walling idea. Typhenous usually opens with [Sticky Webs], so if he casts it at anything running at us, Ceria has time to put them up. But how strong are the walls? We might want more space for my summons and Pisces’ undead. Or do you always send them forwards?”

To the great surprise of the Horns of Hammerad, the first twenty minutes of their time with Griffon Hunt wasn’t actual exploration, but rather changing and implementing their strategy moving forwards. When they did move at last, everyone knew exactly what they were doing. Halrac took point, and the group followed him in dead silence. They didn’t just rely on him either. As [Mages], Ceria and Pisces were both tasked with watching for the slightest magical glimmers that would indicate any kind of hidden spell or passage. Meanwhile, Ceria and Yvlon alternately watched forwards and back to avoid being crept up on, despite the fact that other adventurers had already secured the passages before them.

It was tense, working with Griffon Hunt. But of all the teams they moved fastest. Halrac pushed relentlessly forwards. Once he’d heard about Pisces’ Raskghar, he’d actually insisted on having two of them move in front of him. That way he could scout for traps and also have a decoy in case of an ambush or a trap he failed to spot. He was constantly signaling Pisces to move or stop his undead.

Ceria found herself constantly on edge and watchful. Not once did she or her team have the luxury of relaxing. Griffon Hunt would push down a corridor, reach an intersection, stop, and only take breaks once they were sure it was safe. They encountered no monsters and avoided each of the traps successfully—Typhenous wondered if all the adventuring and fighting was scaring away most of the monsters—but despite that, at the end of their three hours, the Horns found themselves walking backwards, still in formation, but chatting fairly amiably with Griffon Hunt.

Of all the teams, Ceria thought that Griffon Hunt’s style matched theirs best. The Gold-rank adventurers seemed to agree, because even Halrac and Revi were willing to talk on the way back, albeit quietly with Halrac watching their backs.

“We thought you’d be a disaster like the Silver Swords. Sand in my stitches, I’ve never met anyone as full of herself as Falene. Is that ‘wise half-Elf’ thing she does an act? And does your brother not know the meaning of stealth, Yvlon?”

“He never was good at it.”

“He took offense when we told him to dirty his armor. Dead gods. Only the Dwarf seemed to have a head on his shoulders and he kept trying to make Halrac laugh at his jokes.”

“Not a good team for dungeons.”

Halrac grunted. He stared at Ksmvr, who had a shortbow out. The Antinium nodded a few times. Then he looked at Halrac.

“Please tell me, Captain Halrac. Why do you think we have not found any monsters yet? Or Raskghar?”

The [Scout] considered the question.

“They probably pulled back. Monsters and Raskghar. It means this dungeon’s sentient. Or there’s a controlling force.”

“You think so?”

The Horns looked at Halrac, concerned. Revi nodded.

“The Silver-rank teams were attacked within seconds of entering the dungeon. There’s no way those furry things wouldn’t have spotted us coming down. And it doesn’t take an idiot to run from a hundred adventurers. The real mystery is why the regular monsters are gone too. That’s…not normal. We’ll see if the other teams had the same experience, but I don’t like it. Especially since we covered a good amount of distance. How big is this dungeon anyways?”

No one had an answer. And as the two teams met other adventurers they found that the actual number of encounters with monsters had been strangely low. Halrac grunted as he conferred with Nailren.

“So you have not seen any track of the Raskghar either, Captain Halrac? Nothing specific that might lead us to their den?”

“Nothing. There are crisscrossing fur trails all over the dungeon, but I can’t tell the difference between Raskghar fur and Gnoll fur. What about your team?”

Nailren growled and the Gnolls behind him shifted. Their ears were lowered and they looked slightly ashamed.

“We cannot smell our people. The Raskghar have…marked all the tunnels. The smell is overpowering. Too, they have rubbed blood on the walls to hide where they have gone. Gnoll blood. We followed one trail but we were wary of traps. And when we went too far…”

He hesitated.

“We sensed eyes on us and retreated. It is not brave, but we have marked the tunnel. We will go back next time, yes?”

“Nothing wrong in doing that. Can you mark the route you took? We’ll add it to the map of the other adventurer’s routes.”

Griffon Hunt studied the map they’d made afterwards. Ceria looked anxiously at the lines showing a dizzying labyrinth spreading out from the entrance via the rift. If all the other teams had gone their own route, they’d have a more complete picture. But from the looks of things, they were only covering a fraction of the dungeon so far.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t investigate the spot that Kelia’s Pride found now, Halrac?”

The [Scout] shook his head.

“Not enough time. We’re already in the evening and we agreed to meet in half an hour.”

“But the missing Gnolls—”

Revi interrupted.

“Amateurs. We don’t rush. If the Raskghar are setting up ambushes and hiding, we move slow. Carefully. Creating a proper map of every trap and tunnel in the immediate area is the first thing we should do. This first raid means we’ve found a bunch of traps and know where to go. We’ll try again tomorrow. But we can’t run about and risk getting stuck in the dungeon by nightfall.”

Ceria knew that was true. But her conscience plucked at her.

“What about the Gnolls, though?”

“They’re already dead.”

Halrac’s flat voice made her stop. Revi shrugged apologetically.

“He doesn’t mean that. It’s more like that’s what we’re assuming. Look, Ceria. We can’t afford to be reckless. Not our team. I know the other Gold-rank teams would do it. The Halfseekers have a soft spot for those in need. The Silver Swords are…”

“Idiots.”

Halrac frowned. Revi sighed.

“See? I’m not always the rude one. We’ve got to go back.”

Ceria knew that was true. Reluctantly she followed Griffon Hunt back. As usual, Halrac led the way. But since they were in familiar territory he let the group follow closer on his heels. And for the first time she noticed him doing something to the wall at each intersection he passed.

“What’s Halrac writing?”

“Adventurer sign. Marks that we explored this place already. And the way the exit is. For your Minotaur friend, if we find him.”

“For Calruz?”

Ceria was astonished. Revi raised an eyebrow.

“Of course. It’s not much, but if he’s any sense he’ll notice the markings. Minotaurs are great with mazes, right?”

“Um. That’s a stereotype. But he does know his away around trail signs. You think he’ll spot them?”

“It’s better than nothing. What would you do?”

The half-Elf hesitated. Revi narrowed her eyes.

“What was your plan, exactly? Wander about shouting his name?”

“It was a little more intricate than that…”

The Stitch-Girl rolled her eyes.

“I’m sure.”

She stopped at the intersection as Halrac moved on and pointed. Ceria stared at the faint lines on the wall. Halrac had written in a glowing white paint that was probably hard to remove. The Stich-Girl nodded to it.

“Here. We’ve been leaving these at every intersection. Your friend might see them, might not. But he’ll trust it more if you leave him something he can identify. Tomorrow you can do it at each corridor you pass down. But for now…do you have a symbol, or some code he’ll recognize?”

Ceria thought for a long while. At last, she took a small vial that Revi offered her and dipped her finger into the glowing liquid. She scrawled something on the wall. Revi blinked.

“That’s your secret message?”

The half-Elf blushed.

“It’s all I could think of, okay? We don’t have a sign…but he’d see this and know it was me. Definitely.”

For the first time, Revi chortled. She waved at Typhenous and Halrac.

“Hey, look at this.”

The other two came over and Pisces, Yvlon, and Ksmvr crowded around to see. Typhenous chuckled and Halrac actually smiled for a brief second before scowling. Pisces sniggered and Yvlon laughed. Predictably, Ksmvr didn’t get the joke.

And then they were done. Griffon Hunt reached the entrance to the dungeon and stared up at the teams going up through the water. Bevussa and the Wings of Pallass were overseeing the leaving adventurers as the rear-guard. Halrac and Ceria went to hear what the Garuda was talking about.

“Looks like almost everyone got back. How many teams are still unaccounted for?”

“Four.”

“And the casualties?”

“Three.”

“Three?”

“One stepped on a trap, and two more got killed by an ambush from the dungeon. Silver-ranks. Both from Gekla Raiders. Poor bastards ran into a group of Crypt Lords leading undead and called the alarm too late.”

“Damn. What happened to the team going in front of them?”

The adventurers conferred and waited for the last of the teams to come back, which they all did. By the time they left the sun was setting. The Horns were one of the last groups to go, mainly because Yvlon was worried about holding her breath all the way up to the surface and Ksmvr kept making excuses why he didn’t need to go up just yet. In the end, the Horns got one of the adventuring teams on the surface to haul Ksmvr up after tying the Antinium to a rope and they made it to the surface.

The dungeon remained. It was silent, disturbed and upset by the sudden incursion into its depths. It was also hauntingly empty. The corridors lacked life. The monsters roaming about had vanished in the face of the adventurers. Very few things were brave enough to stir until the ropes had been hauled up, and the last invader gone. Only then did things move and the flow of the dungeon change.

It was in that brief window before the denizens of the dungeon returned that a figure walked down the corridors so recently filled with adventuring teams. It moved slowly, warily, pausing at each trap that had been so clearly identified by the adventuring teams. It proceeded down one corridor, and then stopped as it spotted something on the wall.

A bit of glowing paint. At first it looked like just an odd symbol, but the figure spotted a crusted patch next to it. An old adventurer’s trick. The dirt rubbed away, revealing…an arrow. It pointed to the dungeon entrance. But that wasn’t all. Someone had left another message below it. A personal one.

The marking wasn’t a word, or a symbol, or anything so elegant. It was a drawing, in fact. A drawing of a cow. It was crude, but the cow had udders, spots, and a pair of oversized horns. It was…a joke. An old picture that only one of the original Horns of Hammerad would know. Something Ceria had used to make fun of her team’s leader until he snapped and roared at her that cows were not like Minotaurs.

A bit of the past flaked away on the stranger’s fingers. It—he, sniffed the marking. Then the figure bent and searched the ground. A hair had fallen while the illustrator had worked. It was mixed with a bit of the alchemical paint. The figure picked up the strand of hair and inspected it. He lifted it into the air and his eyes widened. Calruz spoke one ragged word.

“Ceria.”

He stared at the marking and touched it with one broad hand. His scarred fingers ran over the silly drawing of the cow. Then he turned and walked back into the dungeon, leaving the marker behind. Into the darkness. And the dungeon stirred. Enveloping him. Waiting for nightfall.

5.37 G

Death came down from the mountain. Death and despair. The green tide of bodies fled from every tunnel and gap in Dwarfhalls rest. They abandoned Tremborag’s fortress in a panic, both Tremborag’s tribe and the Goblin Lord’s army alike. They were no longer an army. They were a fleeing mass of people. They fled from her. The adventurer with the bow. The one whose face had been burned in their memory.

Kingslayer.

The Goblins, the monstrous race despised across the world, fled while the adventurers secured the mountain. Their leaders hid rather than confront Elia Arcsinger as she stared down, wielding the shining silver bow. And that was not the worst of it. Not by half.

Drum beats rolled across the forest as Reiss’ army fled around him. He could hear them, pounding in the distance. Not his army’s drums—these were a mockery of the same sound that had sent Humans running to hide behind their walls. A vast Human army was approaching. The first wave of riders and soldiers had already appeared on the horizon, a glittering line of polished weapons.

Humans. Reiss wanted to curse them, but he dared not attract the attention of the half-Elf searching for him high above. So he kept his head down and ran.

“Reiss! Reiss!”

Snapjaw was hissing at him. She ducked low as she tried to push the Goblins in front of them aside, to get out of the central chamber of Tremborag’s mountain. Her eyes were wide with fear.

“What do! Kingslayer above! Kingslayer! And many Humans! This is bad-bad. Hunting death bad! Overwhelming death bad!”

The Hob’s command of the common tongue slipped in her fear and she spoke like a Goblin would. Reiss gritted his teeth, refusing to let the primal fear surging in him overwhelm him completely. He glanced back up at Elia Arcsinger. A Skill. She was using a Skill on the entire mountain! It had to be more than just the memory of what she had done.

“Reiss! Run!”

Snapjaw was pointing. Eater of Spears had broken up the press of Goblins running for the exit. He made them clear a path with his huge body. He beckoned urgently to Reiss. The Goblin Lord nodded and ran. But not without purpose. As he reached the safety of an overhanging ledge of rock, Reiss turned and bellowed.

“Goblins! Follow!”

His voice was nearly lost amid the thunder of Goblins screaming and fleeing. But it was the first real sound, the only note of command amidst the chaos. The Goblins around Reiss stopped, and a bit of sanity reached through the all-encompassing fear. They turned to look, and like a wave of the living, other Goblins throughout the mountain turned to stare at Reiss.

And Elia Arcsinger’s head turned. Her eyes locked on Reiss and he felt a jolt of true terror strike him. But he dared a second longer. He held up one hand and made black magic cover his fist.

“Follow me! Retreat!”

It may have been the most redundant order in the history of leadership. And yet, it was important that Reiss had said it. It was an order every single Goblin in the mountain could get behind. And because he had spoken, the Goblins began fleeing in a more organized manner. The press of bodies scrambling towards the nearest exit broke up and Tremborag’s Goblins remembered the other exits from the mountain and ran for them. Reiss’ Goblins didn’t need an invitation to follow.

“Lord! Back!”

Snapjaw grabbed Reiss and drew him further back so that Arcsinger’s eyes couldn’t find him. The half-Elf hadn’t loosed an arrow. Was she waiting? Or had the distance been too far for her to hit him before he could duck away? Reiss’ heart thundered wildly. He turned and barked an order.

“Go! Snapjaw, Eater of Spears, run ahead! Find other lieutenants! Get Goblins to follow! Reform army and move south! Now!”

They stared at him. But Reiss had fought off the fear. He ran past them, still afraid, but determined.

“This is a chance! Tremborag has fled! His Goblins have no leaders!”

He pointed around at the milling Goblins. Some had black armor on, but many were Tremborag’s Mountain City tribe. They looked at Reiss, afraid, looking for guidance. Snapjaw and Eater of Spears understood at once. They sprinted ahead, shouting orders. And they were Hobs, leaders of Goblins. Those around them followed instinctively. Reiss saw the mass of Goblins change once more.

“I am the Goblin Lord! Reiss! Follow me!”

He bellowed and the Goblins around him surged after him. Reiss felt his heart jump in triumph. Disaster had struck the mountain and his army. They had lost Tremborag’s fortress. The idea of taking back the upper levels with so many Gold-rank teams and the Kingslayer herself was impossible. But if he could escape the mountain with most of Tremborag’s tribe and his forces?

The Humans were coming. Reiss had no idea how many there were. A vast army. Larger than his? He feared that might be so. But so long as he lived, so long as his people lived—Reiss closed his eyes for a moment and slowed his pace. He reached out and gave a silent order.

Across the mountain, in the forest surrounding it, the undead under his command turned. They looked north, towards the Human army and lurched forwards. Tens of thousands of undead moved past the fleeing Goblins. Buying them time. Reiss grimaced as he imagined losing all of the undead. But his master’s fury would be nothing compared to the many that would die if the Humans caught them. So he ran on, still grasping at victory. But the Humans were right on his heels.

—-

“Find the Great Chieftain! Arcsinger will handle the Goblin Lord!”

The several teams of Gold-rank adventurers were moving through the mountain as the main force secured the center. A group of warriors and two mages stalked the tunnels. They weren’t run-of-the-mill adventurers either. It would be a mistake to call them [Warriors] and [Mages]. To Garen’s eye they were a [Shield Defender], a [Swordsman] of some kind, a [Pyromancer] and a [Light Mage] or whatever the class was called. He leaned back and covered his eyes as the mage in question threw a blinding ball of light which exploded and made the Goblins the adventurers were pursuing cry out.

Blinded, they didn’t stand a chance. Three Hobs and a score of Goblins went down to the warriors as the two mages burned and blinded the rest. Garen gritted his teeth. He’d been following the Gold-rank team for a while now. They were between him and his Redfang Warriors—pursuing his warriors, in fact. They were looking for Tremborag, but this team wasn’t shy about killing any Goblins they met.

Tremborag’s Goblins, actually. Any Goblin in black armor they left alone unless attacked. Garen didn’t know why. He gritted his teeth and gripped his red sword more tightly. Four Gold-ranks. They didn’t look like the best of the best, but their team was still far more than he could handle alone. The two warriors? Maybe, if Garen could get the other Goblins to jump into the fight. The [Pyromancer]? Definitely. Garen could sneak up and hopefully take her out. But that [Light Mage] worried Garen. A single spell and he’d be blind and dead in moments. He didn’t have a defense against that.

It had been a long time since Garen had been a Gold-rank adventurer. He remembered everything, but he’d lost most of the artifacts he’d had—broken them in life-or-death fights against monsters or in one case, simply misplaced one of his items and never found it again. Garen had an enchanted amulet and his sword on him—and a few high-quality potions. Not ideal against a Gold-rank team covered in magical gear.

But they’d run into the Redfangs soon enough. Garen gritted his teeth as the adventuring team burned another group of Goblins to death. He peeked around the corner again. The team was moving away. He’d step out, charge the [Light Mage] and gut the adventurer if he could. If they pursued him, he’d lose them amid the other Goblins. Garen took a steadying breath—

And saw the shadow move. He twisted and the shadow lunged towards him with a black blade. Garen snarled and used a Skill.

[Blur Dodge]! He accelerated out of the way of the blade and cut with his sword. Garen heard a curse and the [Rogue]’s concealment failed her. A Human woman appeared, holding a knife. She leapt back as Garen slashed at her. She was quick, but not enough. He cut her down the chest and heard her gasp in shock. Garen would have finished her, but he saw an arrow and ducked. The barbed arrow missed him by inches as the [Rogue] stumbled back, reaching for a healing potion.

“Minerva! Get back!”

A loud voice made Garen look up. He saw a [Ranger] aiming at him and two more [Rogues] right behind. He cursed and leapt back—

Right into the corridor where the other Gold-rank team was moving. They turned around in surprise as Garen appeared.

“Hey! Give us a hand here! I think this is a lieutenant!”

The [Ranger] called at the other team. They instantly turned and Garen found himself surrounded on both sides. The [Rogue] team advanced cautiously. They had knives and shortswords. Garen’s crimson blade had the reach on them. Aside from the [Ranger] with the bow, Garen was certain he could fight his way clear of this team. But the team behind him?

Death. Garen bared his teeth, trying to watch in two directions at once. The wounded [Rogue]—Minerva—rejoined the other three adventurers as they spread out to block him from escaping. Behind Garen, the group of warriors and mages called out.

“What’s with that Hob? He’s got enchanted gear?”

“Watch out! He nearly gutted Minerva!”

“Is he the Goblin Lord? Can’t be.”

The adventurer with the bow shook his head. His eyes focused on Garen.

“He’s not on the list. Take him down.”

Garen tensed. He could sense the two [Mages] behind him preparing spells but he refused to turn around. Turn and they’d blind him, he knew. He’d have to dodge whatever spells they cast from behind, fight his way forwards. If the [Swordsman] attacked him—

In the moment before the Gold-ranks attacked, before Garen could move, everyone’s minds were racing. The tension increased, as it did before high-level warriors fought. In a battle like this, a single Skill could mean someone’s death—or in Garen’s case, escape. He saw the team of four [Rogues] staring at him, and then the [Ranger]’s eyes narrowed.

“I know you. You’re Garen Redfang.”

Garen saw the other adventurers visibly react. The [Ranger] growled.

“Team killer. The Halfseekers deserved better. Take him—”

He raised his bow and Garen heard one of the mages mutter a spell. He twisted desperately as both arrow and a shower of flaming arrows flew and threw himself out of the way. The warriors and rogues charged Garen as he slammed into a wall. Garen raised his sword. Four adventurers at once! He saw the [Light Mage] raise his hand. Garen was looking his way! The [Mage]’s hand glowed—

And the wall exploded behind him. The [Mage] disappeared as a huge, green hand seized him and dragged him into the darkness. Garen heard a scream and a crunch.

The adventurers stopped. They turned their heads. A massive face appeared in the broken section of wall. A bestial visage thrust through the dust like something out of Human nightmares. Red eyes, yellowed teeth, dripping with saliva and blood. A body of muscle and fury. Tremborag roared as he charged out of his hiding place in the wall. He struck at the [Pyromancer] with a fist like a boulder. The [Shield Defender] caught the blow and the floor cracked beneath him. The adventurer groaned and Tremborag charged at Garen.

“Trespassers! Human mice! This is my mountain! My mountain!”

The Great Chieftain roared. He struck the [Rogue] menacing Garen from the right and the adventurer crashed into a wall. Garen spun. He cut twice. The first blow the [Swordsman] caught on his sword, but the second cut Minerva’s belly open. She dropped, clutching at her sword as Garen dueled the Gold-rank adventurer. He could hear both teams screaming.

“Dead gods! Back, back!”

“Get Minerva! [Flicker Step]!”

One of the [Rogues] grabbed their stricken comrade and hauled her away. The [Swordsman] backed up as he and the two other Gold-ranks retreated from Tremborag. The Great Chieftain paused and stared down at Garen. His eyes were red with battle fury. Garen blinked up at him. He had expected Tremborag to have fled already.

“Run, Redfang. Run! My mountain is lost. My tribe flees! But I will have them back. And I will hunt these adventurers. Hurt them! Run. Your business and mine is not over yet.”

Then he turned and pursued the group of four [Rogues], who were fleeing desperately down the tunnels. Garen saw Tremborag pursue them, running on all fours, his bestial form filling the corridor as he roared. Only when he was gone did Garen remember to breathe. And then he felt the pain.

Garen checked himself. He had a bad cut down one arm. The [Swordsman] had gotten him. And he had a slash right below his breast. A dagger. Garen didn’t know if the blade was poisoned. He cursed, grabbed a healing potion and splashed the precious liquid on his wounds. Then he ran after the team of warriors and mages. They were still headed in the direction of his Redfangs! Garen rounded the corridor—

And saw the old Goblin. He was sitting on the ground, on the back of the Human in armor. The [Shield Defender]. The Human was dead. He had to be—Humans didn’t let Goblins sit on them. And the slit throat was another clue. Garen stared at the dead Gold-rank in shock, and then at the other two bodies. The [Pyromancer] had died at once. His head lay on the ground next to his body, looking surprised and panicked. The [Swordsman] had fought—at least for a second. But the hole in his enchanted leather armor told Garen how the battle had gone. The old Goblin polished the rusty greatsword with a bit of cloth and looked up. He grinned at Garen.

“Redfang, eh? Good name for a Goblin! Good name. Poor for you. A not-Goblin doesn’t deserve a name like that. Or a tribe. Which is why you lost yours!”

He grinned, showing Garen a mouth full of yellowed teeth. Garen hesitated. He had seen this Goblin somewhere before. He didn’t know where, but his memory told him he’d seen the old Goblin’s face before. The Goblin had a grey beard. A beard, where most Goblins didn’t have any facial hair. He looked old, as old as any Goblin that Garen had ever met. But his body was lean and wiry. And his eyes—

Garen shifted. He gripped his blade, Redfang, with both hands and lowered his stance. The old Goblin grinned. He stood up and flicked his blade. The blood coating the tip splattered on the ground and Garen heard the air rip from the force of the blow. Garen Redfang glared at the old Goblin.

“Who are you?”

“They called me Greybeard here. Greybeard, the old, useless Goblin. Good name, though. Every Goblin needs a name. But decades ago they called me another name. Greydath of Blades. A worthy name for a Goblin. A better name than yours.”

Greydath lifted his greatsword. Garen tensed. His mind raced as he watched the old Goblin approach. He walked casually, but Garen’s instincts screamed at him not to make the first move. He felt like the old Goblin could block him from every angle. And he had the reach on him. Garen retreated. He was trying to think. That face! And that name! Where had he—

His eyes widened. Greydath? But he was d—

The first thrust of the greatsword came at Garen’s chest faster than an arrow. It nearly skewered Garen and only a desperate parry threw the tip of Greydath’s greatsword off target. The second thrust made Garen dodge back and he blocked the third with the flat of his blade. His arms shook and Garen nearly gaped. Greydath was fast and strong. The other Hob gave him no time to breathe, though. He thrust the greatsword twice more, slashing with the tip at Garen’s right arm and then his leg and then he brought the sword up and down in an overhand slash.

Garen didn’t try to block that one. He threw himself out of the way and saw the sword split the packed earth floor like it was butter. Garen charged with a roar, but Greydath pulled back his sword and blocked all six of Garen’s cuts.

[Frenzy Cuts]! Garen howled as he rained strikes down on Greydath, hitting harder each time. The old Goblin grunted as he blocked each sword cut, and then blinked. Garen’s red blade was glowing—

On the sword’s sixth and final blow, Garen activated the magic in it. His crimson blade glowed and the magic within turned the blade transparent. His sword passed through Greydath’s greatsword, seeking his right shoulder. Greydath blinked—and leaned back.

The sword missed. Garen overbalanced and nearly stumbled. He jumped back, raising the transparent blade. Greydath blinked at it and touched his greatsword. It was unharmed—the power of Garen’s infamous Redfang blade was to pass through unenchanted armor and anything that wasn’t living flesh. He had slain scores of his enemies with it. But his secret trick hadn’t worked on Greydath. The other Hob had avoided the sneak attack… with ease. Greydath lowered his greatsword as Garen breathed heavily, waiting. Then the old Hob grinned.

“Good trick! But only a trick. My turn.”

He raised his greatsword. In the corridor Greydath was at a disadvantage in that he couldn’t extend his greatsword without hitting the walls or ceiling. Or so Garen thought. But when the Hob slashed left, his sword cut through the wall and flashed at Garen’s chest impossibly quick! Garen blocked, felt his arms compress, felt the sword slam into his chest and then he felt himself flying. His feet left the ground and Garen gaped at Greydath as the force of the impact hurled him back several feet. When he landed the other Hob was already charging at him.

Left slash, overhand, thrust! Garen parried, attacked, dodged left, blocked, slashed with both hands, took a cut to his cheek, roared and punched with one hand—nearly lost the hand, blocked, fell back, slashed upwards, ducked, retreated three steps, struck and took a wound to the thigh—

He hadn’t fought this hard for years. He hadn’t been this desperate…Garen couldn’t think. All of his body and mind was thrust into fighting, keeping Greydath’s blade from touching him, fending the Hob off. He was losing! Greydath pressed him backwards down the corridor, grinning manically as Garen fought. The sounds of their blades meeting overwhelmed all other sound. They fought like that for hours, days, or so it felt. But possibly only a few minutes had passed before Garen saw Greydath lower his sword. The Hob stopped, panting, covered in sweat. Greydath grinned at him and laughed.

“Good! Haven’t done that in years. You were a Gold-rank adventurer, weren’t you? Strong. They must have loved you and feared you. Your team. Didn’t they? Is that why you killed them?”

Garen didn’t reply. He was trying to get his breathing back. His mind raced, but all he could ask was the obvious.

“What do you want?”

Greydath bared his teeth. It was not a smile. Garen felt a cold shiver as the former Goblin Lord lifted his blade. How could he be alive? He tensed, but Greydath just rested the flat of his blade on his shoulder.

“What do I want? To see how strong Garen Redfang is. And the answer? Very strong. As strong as the coward, nearly. If you two fought and you had a bit more magic, would you win? You are stronger than the Goblin Lord. With the blade. Little else, though. You’d be a fine warrior in any tribe. You are the poorest of Chieftains.”

His words made no sense. But they annoyed Garen all the same. He growled.

“I’m not here…to fight, old one. Leave!”

“Make me.”

Garen hesitated. He couldn’t. Greydath grinned at him.

“A poor leader. A failure who can’t keep his tribe fed. Can’t keep their loyalty. But strong. Strength would be enough. But you are no Goblin. You betrayed your tribe. Your first tribe. That’s what they called you. Even the Humans know you. Team killer. Tribe killer. Not Goblin.”

The words struck Garen like arrows. He gritted his teeth, but didn’t reply. Greydath shook his head.

“Enough. A not-Goblin isn’t enough to challenge a Lord. Not at all. If you changed, maybe. But what did you do? You stuck with the coward, while the child ran away with your tribe. And the slave came and you lost your tribe again. Look around, Redfang. They desert you each time. And why? Because you are no Chieftain. Not worthy. Not a Goblin.”

For the third time he said it. If it had been anyone else, anyone in the entire world, Garen would have killed them then and there. But Greydath he couldn’t kill. So Garen stood where he was.

“What. Do. You. Want?”

“Nothing from you. Not now. I just wanted to see what would happen. The coward’s tribe is broken. The slave runs, but the Humans play games. And they brought her. Look.”

Greydath pointed. Garen risked a glance and realized that the Hob had pushed him back towards the central chamber. Elia Arcsinger was still standing above, watching the last of the Goblins fleeing the mountain. Greydath bared his teeth again. Only this time, he didn’t look amused. A flash of fury crossed his face, and then, disconcertingly, it turned into a grin.

“Good to see her. Good to remember! Good test for all of you. Especially the slave. I’d stay and greet her, but she knows me. And there’s something strange to the south. So I go. I’ll see you and the others soon.”

Garen had no idea what he meant. He watched as Greydath turned, and then the old Hob seemed to think of something. He looked around.

“But before I go…maybe a present for her, eh?”

He reached for something. He’d picked up the dead [Swordsman]’s blade when Garen hadn’t been looking. Garen moved backwards as Greydath advanced. The old Hob grinned at him. Then he stared up at Elia Arcsinger. His arm tensed and Garen braced himself. But the old Goblin wasn’t aiming at him. He turned and hurled the sword straight at Elia, hundreds of feet above like it was a spear.

The sword flew like an arrow. It shot up towards Elia, flashing in the torchlight. At first she didn’t see it. But then one of the adventurers—the other, younger half-Elf spotted the blade. She screamed one word.

“Mother!”

And the Kingslayer turned. The half-Elf’s eyes widened as she spotted the enchanted blade flying at her. Her bow rose. She loosed the arrow as the other adventurers cried out. The shining arrow met the enchanted sword in the air and Garen heard a terrible, ringing screech of sound from above.

Pieces of metal rained down, fragments of the enchanted sword blown to bits. Elia Arcsinger lowered her arm and the other adventurers stared around wildly. They pointed down and shouted.

“There! That Goblin!”

“That’s…Garen Redfang!”

Garen started. He looked around. Greydath had vanished. The adventurers above wavered. Then he heard a voice.

“Kill him!”

A [Witch] standing on a bridge high above pointed. A giant fireball flew downwards. Garen shouted and ran. He dove for the safety of the corridor and felt something hot kick him in the back. His ears rang. He scrambled further into the tunnel as more spells and arrows blasted the ground around him. Garen ran back into the tunnel. He rounded the bend, saw the three dead adventurers—and then a group of Goblins. Garen nearly cut them down until he saw the red paint on their arms and faces.

“Chieftain!”

One of Garen’s Redfang Warriors shouted in relief. The Goblin looked wide-eyed at Garen’s injured body, and then at the Gold-ranks.

“Chieftain kill adventurers? Alone?”

Garen hesitated. He looked around. Greydath was gone. Garen cursed the old Hob. What had he been doing here? Had he been testing Garen? What did he mean by the slave and the coward? The child?

Not-Goblin. He had called Garen that. Lost in thought, Garen blinked as he realized his Redfangs were staring at him. He looked at the dead adventurers.

“No. Loot bodies. Get armor—artifacts! We leave mountain! We ride!”

The Goblins hurried over to the bodies and began looting the Gold-rank adventurers. Garen bent and hurriedly peeled the leather armor off the [Swordsman], grimacing at the blood. Enchanted gear! At least that was something. He stood up and felt the back of his neck prickle. The adventurers were coming after him. More Gold-ranks. They’d find the dead adventurers, blame him for it, no doubt. He pointed and his warriors ran.

Out of the mountain. Garen found himself pushing past the last of the fleeing Goblins, ducking spells as the adventurers spotted him. He wasn’t concerned about escaping—they were far overhead and even the most dangerous spells missed him. [Mages] had bad aim. No, he was worried. About what Greydath had said. About the attack.

Something was wrong. Garen’s crimson eyes narrowed as he stared back up at the adventurers. They were being far too passive, even raining spells down on his position as they were. They could have been throwing [Fireball] spells this entire time, killed thousands of Reiss’ and Tremborag’s forces. But they hadn’t. Why hadn’t Elia Arcsinger moved? Was her only target the Goblin Lord? If so—

He didn’t like it one bit. Garen ran, whistling for his Carn Wolf and praying it would hear him amidst the chaos. He had to find his Redfangs, rally enough Goblin warriors. This wasn’t over. Not yet! Garen cursed the Humans with every step. He hated losing. And he hated traps. All of this felt like one big trap. Inside of another trap.

—-

The Goblin Lord fled the mountain. But to the south and west, another [Lord] stood on the ground, perfectly at ease. He had not fled anywhere. Indeed, Lord Tyrion Veltras looked perfectly at ease as he stood in Riverfarm. His [Knights] and mounted [Soldiers] were pursuing the last of Rags’ Redfang warriors as the relieved folk of Riverfarm watched. Tyrion seemed content to watch. He was speaking to a [Mage] on horseback, and only when another [Message] was relayed did his brow crease.

“How many casualties? Four?”

The [Mage] nodded.

“Yes, Lord Veltras. Apparently, two of the hunter teams encountered trouble while attempting to locate the Great Chieftain. They were ambushed and one team was completely killed. The giant Hob—er, Tremborag—killed one, and it is believed another Hobgoblin slew the other three.”

“One Hob?”

“Yes, Lord Veltras. Garen Redfang. He was identified by adventurers on the scene.”

Lord Tyrion frowned.

“Have a report readied. I will view it when I return to the main camp. For now—”

He glanced at his soldiers. They were pursuing the Goblins. The Redfangs mounted on the Carn Wolves were fleeing east as fast as they could. Tyrion eyed a pair of Goblins clinging to their mounts. Rags was trying to hold up Redscar, who was nearly falling out of his saddle. The [Lord] raised a hand.

“Pull the soldiers back. Let the Goblins run.”

“Yes, Lord Veltras.”

One of the soldiers raised a horn and blew twice sharply. The riders turned and immediately halted their pursuit of the Goblins.

“What are you doing?”

Tyrion looked around. Laken Godart turned from talking with an older man who looked like a farmer and another [Lady]. Though his back had been turned, and though his eyes were still closed, he strode instantly towards the returning soldiers.

“Follow them! That Chieftain cannot be allowed to leave! Don’t let the Goblins escape!”

His voice snapped through the air and took hold of the soldiers. They turned back again and half of the villagers started forwards at a run. Even some of the nobles moved. Tyrion did not. His brows snapped together. He raised his voice and shouted with a battle commander’s voice.

“Hold!”

His soldiers paused again. They started and looked back shamefaced. Tyrion raised a fist and his soldiers rode back towards him. The villagers had likewise paused. Tyrion Veltras strode towards Laken.

“Your majesty, I will thank you to not command my men.”

“The Goblins are escaping. The Chieftain of the tribe that attacked my people is running!”

“Really?”

Tyrion’s eyebrows rose. He glanced back at the fleeing Goblins and shook his head slightly.

“Do not worry, your majesty. I will pursue the Goblins shortly. My men and I are capable of catching the Goblins no matter how quickly they flee.”

“Why not catch them now?”

“I do not deem it necessary.”

“Really.”

Laken folded his arms. Tyrion frowned and stroked his beard. He glanced at his aide and attempted to moderate his tone. For Tyrion, that meant there was a bit less of a snap to his cold voice.

“Emperor Laken. If you wish to pursue the Goblins, by all means send whatever forces you possess. But I have given you my assurance that I will safeguard your lands and your people. However, I must coordinate with my main forces which are currently besieging another force of Goblins.”

“All of this has to do with leaving the Goblins here alone how?”

Tyrion did not quite look around, but his glance to the left pinpointed a woman standing in the crowd. Sacra, dressed in her maid outfit, stood out in the crowd of Riverfarm’s villagers.

“A discussion for a more private setting, Emperor Laken. I look forward to it. Give me two hours time to reconnect with my soldiers to the east. I will handle the Chieftain at that time as well.”

Laken Godart frowned, but Tyrion had given him very little to object to. He hadn’t the soldiers to follow the Goblins, as both men knew. He scratched at his hair with one finger.

“Your army. Yes…there’s a good number of them. All far to the east of here. You think you can reach them in two hours?”

If Lord Tyrion was surprised by Laken’s knowledge, he didn’t show it.

“I have the Skills to move quickly. I will reach them and return in that period of time. In truth, I had intended to arrive with all my forces to provide escort to the nobility gathered here to their lands. The Goblin presence here necessitated splitting my command.”

Laken’s brows drew together.

“I see. I’m sure the nobles will be pleased to have your escort. However, that may be a problem.”

“Indeed? How so?”

“No one is leaving Riverfarm. Not yet. Your men are free to go of course, Lord Tyrion. I doubt I could stop you. But the nobility here will submit to questioning before they leave my empire.”

The nobles, who’d gathered around Lord Tyrion in relief turned to Laken, suddenly confused. Lady Bevia, raised her eyebrows.

“Emperor Laken? This is quite unexpected. What sort of questioning do you mean?”

Laken turned his head, his closed eyes seeming to ‘look’ at Lady Bevia. The effect was unsettling—one instinctively felt that he was aware of everything around him, yet his eyes told the opposite story.

“Someone ordered my [General] to assault the Goblins. Someone abducted my mage—knocked him out and then impersonated him. I will find out who. And until I do, no one in this village will leave, noble or otherwise.”

The nobility fell silent, as did the villagers around Laken. Tyrion frowned. It was another of the nobles, Lord Tourant, who coughed nervously and spoke.

“We did hear about that, ah, your majesty. But surely you wouldn’t implicate one of us—”

His voice delicately indicated he was referring to the nobles, who were, of course, beyond suspicion of any crimes, himself included.

“—of such a heinous deed, would you?”

This time Tyrion watched closely as Laken turned his head with unerring accuracy towards Lord Tourant. The [Lord] had met those blinded before and Laken was too precise, too…accurate in his movements. An intriguing puzzle. The [Emperor] gave Tourant a ghost of a smile.

“Of course I wouldn’t dare to question your integrity, Lord Tourant. This is a precaution, nothing more. It wouldn’t do for the perpetrator to slip away in the confusion, would it?”

“Oh, no. Of course not.”

Tourant relaxed. A hair too soon as it turned out. Laken turned to the old farmer standing next to him.

“But just in case, I feel that we should make a complete investigation. Of everyone. With magic. And when I find the criminal who started all this—Mister Prost?”

“Your majesty?”

The man bowed precisely. Tyrion eyed him. Not a [Farmer], then? No, he had the hands and look of one. But he had the air of a trained majordomo. Another point of interest. Laken grinned, but without any humor.

“When we find the criminal, I have a mind to execute justice on the spot. So…find me an axe. It doesn’t have to be sharp.”

The people went silent as Prost nodded slowly. They looked at Laken, and then the nobility looked towards Tyrion as one. They didn’t quite ask him to intervene, but the suddenly nervous expressions on a good half of the noble’s faces said far more than words could. Lord Tyrion glanced at Laken.

“You plan to behead the criminal who sabotaged your command? What if one of the nobility were responsible? Hypothetically, of course.”

Laken turned back to Tyrion. His head tilted up. The air around him, already tense, grew a bit more intense. The atmosphere around Tyrion froze over as the two looked towards each other, though Laken never opened his eyes.

“Hypothetically? I would consider that an act of war. I might not behead who was responsible right then and there if they were…hypothetically…a noble, but I wouldn’t rule it out, either.”

Something invisible pushed in the air between the two. Tyrion didn’t draw back, although the soldiers around him were wincing and shifting uncomfortably. He slowly stroked his beard, and then, to the surprise of everyone, nodded.

“Very appropriate. Of course I will support any investigation to the fullest. If you would like me to lend you a few of my [Mages] to cast truth detection spells, I would gladly provide them.”

His reply caught Laken off guard. The [Emperor] wavered and the static feeling in the air vanished. He frowned.

“Really?”

Tyrion nodded, cool as an iceberg in the winter.

“If you have a mage of your own capable of casting the spell, I will submit to any test you wish, Emperor Laken. I have nothing to hide. The truth will out. If there is such a traitor in your kingdom, the axe is the least they deserve. And if, by some incredible chance, a peer of the realm was found to have resorted to such underhanded trickery…”

He shrugged fractionally and flicked is gaze towards the nobles of Izril, who were giving him very unhappy looks.

“I will leave it to your discretion. Although I would ask for clemency if a member of the fair sex were to be found to be guilty. Of either gender, I suppose. A more formal accusation would be more appropriate. Were you to desire it.”

“I appreciate the suggestion.”

Laken looked like he appreciated nothing of the kind. His head turned from Tyrion to Lady Bevia, suspicion once again creasing his brow. Tyrion noticed the gesture and nodded.

“Ah. I see your confusion, your majesty. In the interest of transparency, I did receive a number of [Messages] informing me of the Goblin presence in your lands. From Lady Bevia, among others.”

He nodded at Lady Bevia, who gave him a charming, and slightly vexed smile as everyone stared at her. Tyrion went on, undeterred.

“My war camp was also found by a desperate [Knight] in the service to Lady Bethal Walchaís who had escaped the Goblins in question. But that was the extent of my knowledge of this affair. My reasons for seeking you out were of a practical nature, Emperor. But I swear on the honor of my house that neither I nor any of my subordinates took any part in this…unpleasantness. I will swear that on any truth spell you wish, in any framing of words.”

“Huh.”

Laken paused. He tilted his head back, and then nodded. Now he seemed somewhat amused.

“It seems I have no reason to distrust your word, Lord Tyrion. I will hold you to that promise. Later. For now, I will interview those in Riverfarm. I think the answers I find will be…illuminating. Possibly messy. You said two hours from now you’ll return?”

“Indeed. Please excuse me.”

Lord Tyrion nodded to Laken. The [Emperor] stepped back and Tyrion looked pointedly at his aide.

“Reform the company and begin riding back towards Lord Pellmia. I will catch you on the road.”

The aide nodded and spurred her horse. Tyrion whistled and his warhorse trotted towards him through the crowd of people, forcing them to move aside or be knocked flat. He put one foot in the stirrups and paused.

“Ah. Lady Bevia.”

The old woman was making her way towards him, letting her nephew and guards elbow everyone else out of the way. She smiled at Tyrion, although her smile had an edge to it.

“As straight as an arrow as ever, aren’t you, Tyrion? Then again, I’ve seen arrows with more give than you. Thank you for throwing us all upon the mercy of Emperor Laken.”

Tyrion swung himself into the saddle and looked down at Bevia. His lips twitched, and he looked slightly amused.

“I spoke my mind as I saw fit. If you are innocent, you have nothing to fear, Lady Bevia.”

The old [Lady] cackled.

“Who is truly innocent? Don’t worry—it wasn’t me who made a mess of that young man’s army. I would hate to see one of the nobility go to the chopping block for that trick, though. It would make things…complicated.”

Tyrion shook his head.

“Trickery has its place. But leading thousands of innocent soldiers to their death? That is a cowardly, pathetic act.”

“Mm. That’s practically a warm hug among the Reinharts, as I’m sure you know. And half the peers of the realm wouldn’t bat an eyelash if they thought they could get away with something like that.”

“This one would. I am relieved to see you are well, Bevia. However, I have pressing business to attend to. If we might converse another time? I will return to speak with the emperor. You may find me after that.”

Bevia waved a wrinkled hand.

“Yes, yes. You go and play your war games. I’ll stay and convince my peers not to run for it. I do believe young Laken means what he says about the axe. Until we meet again. Bring me back my [Mage], would you?”

Tyrion didn’t respond. He kicked his horse in the flanks and took off, dodging past the Mossbear who ambled past him into the village. It was a mark of Tyrion’s personality that he didn’t allow himself to stare at the green bear who whuffed and sniffed at a fallen body. The [Lord] sped out of the village, moving twice as fast as someone on a horse should. It looked like he and his horse were flying rather than galloping, so fast were the legs of his horse moving. Tyrion caught up to the group of [Knights] and [Riders] within minutes of leaving the village. He slowed and they sped up to match his furious pace. They raced eastwards down the road.

“Lord Veltras! Another report from Dwarfhalls Rest!”

“Speak!”

Tyrion snapped. The [Mage] galloped next to him and shouted. She spoke in an awkward manner—taking care not to bite her tongue as the surging motion of her mount carried her up and down.

“The Goblins are in full retreat! They are moving southbound—not scattering! It appears the Goblin Lord or another leader has taken command! Several parts of the army have reported contact with undead! Lord Byres’ command is entrenched in battle with thousands of zombies, ghouls, and a number of advanced undead!”

“Send him reinforcements. Move forwards slowly. Do not break encirclement. Have the main body of the army move towards the Goblins as soon as they arrive. What of Lord Pellmia?”

“He reported engaging the Goblins, but has not sent another [Message] yet, Lord Veltras!”

“Very well.”

Tyrion turned his attention back to the road. At this furious pace it would be less than an hour before he reached Laken’s army and the Goblins fighting there. However—Tyrion glanced over his shoulder and saw that several of the riders in his company were lagging behind.

They had been riding furiously all day. Even with stamina restoring Skills, there was a limit to how far his men could move. Or rather, their horses. Lord Tyrion raised a hand.

“[Knights]! Fall back to Riverfarm! Anyone who deems their mount unfit will join them!”

The riders in heavier armor immediately slowed, and a handful of the other riders fell back as well. Tyrion checked his mount. The stallion he was riding looked as if it could ride another hundred miles with ease. He smiled and patted it along the back of the barding on its neck.

“Lord Veltras!”

His aide called out. Tyrion looked up. His gaze spotted a group on the road ahead of him. Goblins. The very same Goblins that had been attacking Riverfarm, in fact. They were desperately riding their Carn Wolves down the road and when they heard the galloping they turned and shouted in fear and alarm. Immediately they broke off, riding madly towards the woods.

“Should we pursue—?”

The aide raised her hand and her fingertips glowed with magic. Tyrion shook his head. He calmly eyed the group. Less than two thirds remained and they were almost all wounded. Tyrion’s gaze picked out two Goblins in the bunch. The small Goblin with the black crossbow, and, riding beside her, the Goblin with the scar on his face whom he’d wounded. Tyrion saw both turn. He spoke loudly.

“Ignore them.”

He rode ahead, ignoring the Goblins who found themselves falling behind Tyrion and his men. He turned his gaze back to the road ahead—and then heard another warning shout. Tyrion turned and saw the Goblin with the red scar charging at him.

Redscar’s Carn Wolf howled as he dashed forwards, catching up to Tyrion’s insane pace for a moment. The Redfang leader’s shoulder was healed, though his face was still deathly pale. He raised his sword as he rode at Tyrion, howling. The aide raised her hand, but Tyrion stopped her. He didn’t slow as Redscar drew alongside him.

The Goblin slashed at Tyrion with his enchanted blade, aiming at Tyrion’s stomach, his arms, his legs, his warhorse. His blade blurred with speed.

[Flurry Strikes]! Tyrion’s eyes narrowed. His shield rose and he blocked. The clanging of blade meeting metal became an unceasing drumbeat. Redscar snarled in disbelief as Tyrion continued to block. His arm slowed as he desperately tried to score a hit and then his Carn Wolf slowed. The large wolf gasped for breath and despite Redscar’s urging, slowed its pace more and more, pulling the Goblin out of reach of Tyrion. Redscar fell behind, shouting helplessly as Tyrion kept galloping.

“Not bad. For a Goblin.”

Tyrion lowered his shield. He glanced over his shoulder at Redscar whom the other Goblins were catching up to. His aide stared back at the Goblin with distaste.

“Was that the Chieftain, Lord Veltras?”

“Possibly. I should have asked the Emperor which Goblin it was. No matter. We have two marked.”

The little Goblin was pointing at Tyrion’s back. A fiery arrow shot towards Tyrion. The aide waved her hand and the fiery arrow vanished. They continued ahead, leaving the Goblins behind.

—-

Within the hour, Tyrion reached the site of the battle unfolding between Pyrite and Wiskeria’s army. Or rather, what had been the battle. He slowed as his mount reached the site of churned mud and bodies. Tyrion glanced at the fallen, counting the Humans who’d died at a glance. Then he saw how the tide had shifted, and where ranks of Goblins had fallen, first in droves, and then in scattered groups from behind. He rode towards the first group he saw on the field, a [Lord] wearing enchanted plate and a young female [Knight] dressed in borrowed armor.

Lord Pellmia and Welca Caveis were both talking to someone standing on the ground. A [Witch] of all people, wounded lightly on her arm. She was pointing at the distant city. Tyrion glanced at it. Goblins were clustered on the walls, armed with crossbows. They were staring warily at the large force of Humans on horseback gathered just out of range. The city had multiple holes in its wall and was taking fire.

As Tyrion watched, a huge boulder soared over his head and crashed into the city. At the same time, a much smaller stone was launched back towards the Human army. It would have struck a group of riders, but one of them, another [Mage], pointed up and blocked the falling stone with a shield of magic.

“Lord Veltras!”

Lord Pellmia exclaimed the instant he saw Tyrion. He rode towards him, smoothing his mustache importantly. Pellmia was a broader man in the shoulder and gut than Tyrion, but he still cut an impressive sight on his white stallion. Tyrion nodded to him.

“Lord Pellmia. How goes it?”

“Well! We scattered those pestilential Goblins on the first charge. It wasn’t hard to send them scurrying back to the city. It’s been cleanup ever since. Half of the army was fleeing for the hills and the rest was wounded. I’ve been rationing out healing potions among the wounded and searching for survivors since. I would have assaulted the city, but the damn Goblins have a lot of pikes and crossbows! I’ve been letting them sit while that er, trebuchet keeps pounding them. Damndest thing! Never thought I’d see a weapon like that sitting about in the middle of nowhere!”

He laughed, and then motioned towards the two women.

“Lady Caveis here has been searching for her missing companion. Sir Kerrig. Apparently he rode south. You didn’t happen to see him? And this is the [General] of the army. General Wiskeria. A, ah, [Witch].”

The bespectacled [Witch] bowed towards Lord Tyrion. He blinked at her and then shifted his attention to Welca.

“We did meet your companion in Riverfarm, Lady Caveis.”

“Sir Kerrig? Is he well? Is he unharmed?”

Welca looked worried and relieved. Tyrion nodded.

“Both. We arrived in time to prevent the Goblins from sacking the village. I encountered their ruler. Emperor Laken Godart.”

“So there is an [Emperor] in Riverfarm? Five Houses, that’s another wonder!”

Pellmia whistled. He glanced speculatively at Wiskeria and nodded to the Goblins.

“I suppose he wants these Goblins gone, does he? Give the order and we’ll charge the gates, Lord Veltras. It won’t be pretty, but once we’re past those pikes it should be a rout!”

“Lord Veltras? Lord Veltras!”

The [Witch], or rather, [General] protested loudly. She bowed hurriedly towards him as Tyrion nodded.

“Forgive me. But I keep telling Lord Pellmia that attacking the city would not be wise! He took the Goblins off-guard, but they have incredibly strong warriors! They have hundreds of Hobs and their regular Goblins use twenty-foot long pikes! Any cavalry that charges them will be impaled! Not to mention their crossbows!”

“Nonsense! We have [Knights] who can break their lines.”

Pellmia dismissed Wiskeria’s complaint with a wave. Tyrion frowned at Pellmia, but smoothed his face before the other man could notice. He spoke calmly, nodding at Wiskeria.

“I’d prefer not to take a single casualty if possible, Lord Pellmia. Driving the Goblins from the city is a priority, but I would prefer avoiding a pitched battle in the city.”

The other [Lord] sighed dramatically.

“As you say, Veltras. Still, not a bad job of it, eh? We arrived just in the nick of time! Another minute and the Goblin Chieftain would have cut a hole right through the army!”

“You say the Chieftain’s here?”

That caught Tyrion’s attention. He glanced at Lord Pellmia and gestured towards his aide.

“Fetch me an artifact enchanted with [Appraisal]. I wish to sort this out. Pellmia, I have marked two Goblins as possible candidates. Yourself?”

“One. The fat one with the enchanted battleaxe. Over there. Lady Caveis claims that he might be the Chieftain.”

“I see.”

Lord Tyrion frowned at the monocle his aide handed him. He lifted it with his gauntleted fingers and peered through it with a frown. He searched the walls of the city for the Goblin until he spotted him. A fat Hob with an enchanted battleaxe, as Pellmia had said.

“Lady Caveis, you were captive of the Goblins for a period of time. Was this the Chieftain to your knowledge?”

Welca jumped. She stared at Pyrite.

“I uh—yes. He…might be the Chieftain. I can’t be sure. They all look the same. I advised Pellmia he could be the one.”

Pellmia snorted.

“Not hard to figure out. Dangerous, that fat Hob. He was cutting down [Soldiers] like flies when we charged him. Nearly got one of my [Knights], but we drove him back!”

Tyrion squinted at the distant Hob. He frowned as he slowly read and then nodded.

“He certainly has enough [Chieftain] levels. However—ah. There they are.”

His head turned. Behind him, a group of Goblins appeared in the distance. They spotted the army of soldiers, Tyrion’s five thousand or so cavalry, and then the Goblins in the city. They rode left, making a mad dash for the safety of the walls. Tyrion saw his aide calling back the riders who rode to intercept. As the Goblins fled, Tyrion once again picked out the Goblin with the red scar and the small Goblin. This time his eyebrows rose.

“The little Goblin has nearly as many in [Chieftain] as the fat Hob. The warrior…none. Interesting. He appears to have a Goblin commander class. [Raid Leader]. A powerful combatant then, but not of interest besides that. Mark the small Goblin and the large Hob, Lord Pellmia. Circulate their descriptions.”

“A difficult task given that all Goblins look like the other. At least these two have their size to tell them apart. How tiresome. Shall we disperse the rest of the mob now, Lord Veltras? Those trebuchets are fun to watch, but the Goblins don’t seem particularly deterred by the rocks. They have a few of their own. Annoying things.”

“Indeed. Give me a moment to plan the attack, Lord Pellmia.”

“Naturally.”

The man rode backwards and Welca did likewise. Tyrion dismounted and saw the [Witch] hurry up to him. She hesitated and tried to bow awkwardly again.

“My apologies, Lord Veltras. You’re the commander of this army, correct? Thank you for coming to our aid.”

Tyrion nodded.

“It was my pleasure, General Wiskeria. How many losses did your army take?”

Wiskeria tugged the brim of her hat down.

“Many. We’d have been slaughtered completely without Lord Pellmia’s arrival. As it is, there are thousands dead. I don’t know what Laken—excuse me. Did I hear that Riverfarm was attacked? Laken—Emperor Laken, his majesty. Is he safe?”

“He is. He claims that the order to attack the Goblins did not come from him. He is investigating the matter. I will return to Riverfarm within the hour. It only remains to root out these Goblins.”

Wiskeria gaped at Tyrion in horror. When she managed to recover she stared at the city apprehensively.

“Do you mean to assault the city? As I told Lord Pellmia, that was disastrous for our army. Even your soldiers might suffer if they tried it.”

“That was my analysis as well. Tell me, are you a trained [General], Miss Wiskeria? Pellmia claims you are a [Witch].”

Wiskeria reddened.

“I’m both. I—just obtained my [General] class. I was never trained. I don’t know that I belong in the position. Certainly not after a disaster like this.”

She stared numbly around the battlefield soaked with blood. Tyrion shook his head. He paused and searched for comforting words. He found none and spoke abruptly.

“Every leader fails. This battle was poorly chosen to begin with. Learn from your errors and continue to level. That you were able to lead an army at all without formal command training is impressive. Tell me, how did you obtain your class?”

Wiskeria hesitated. She bit her lip, and then answered slowly.

“From his majesty. It was…a gift.”

She eyed Tyrion from under her pointed hat. He nodded slowly.

“A gift from an [Emperor]. May I assume the trebuchets are also his devising?”

“You might. May I assume that you are an ally of his majesty, Lord Veltras?”

“You may. And I intend to make good on my promise to him. Jericha?”

He turned his head. His aide, the Human woman and [Mage], rode forwards. She had naturally grey hair, although she was only a little younger than Tyrion herself.

“Lord Veltras? Your orders?”

“Gather the [Mages] under my command. Have them form a link and assault the city. I want the Goblins driven out. Lord Pellmia is to take a wedge of the highest-level [Knights] and any [Lords] who wish to participate and assault the gates on my signal.”

“By your order.”

Jericha rode away, calling out orders. Wiskeria watched the soldiers riding forwards and a group of around twenty [Mages] dismount.

“A link? But if they move into crossbow range—”

She glanced apprehensively at the walls. Tyrion shook his head.

“There is more than one way to unseat an enemy from a fortress, General Wiskeria. This trick would not work on a Drake city. But a Human one without enchanted walls—observe.”

He gave a few orders and stepped back as the [Mages] formed a small circle just outside of the range of the Goblins. Tyrion opened his saddlebags and offered his stallion a feed bag. His horse ate hungrily as Tyrion watched the city with one eye. Wiskeria saw the twenty mages plus Jericha link hands. She saw the mana surge around them. To her eyes they shone like a small sun, and in the air between them a glowing orb appeared. White hot fire gathered into an orb, a spell which blazed heat. The Goblins on the wall stared at the ominous spell and looked at each other. By the time the [Siege Fireball] shot from the gathered mages the Goblins were already fleeing the walls into the city.

The thump and roar of sound appeared a few seconds after the blinding flash. When Wiskeria’s vision cleared she saw the gates of the city were blown inwards and the walls around the city—already damaged—were nearly completely caved in. Lord Pellmia whooped and raced towards the city with a group of a hundred or so [Knights] and [Lords], ignoring the crossbow bolts that glanced off his enchanted armor.

“A rout. Not that the Goblins intended to keep the city in any case.”

Tyrion calmly raised two fingers and pointed. Two thousand more soldiers raced after Pellmia’s band through the breach. Wiskeria heard the sounds of fighting in the distance, but didn’t hear the roar she expected. She saw a stream of Goblins pouring from the city’s west side, fleeing Pellmia’s soldiers.

“They were planning on running the entire time?”

“They would have tried sealing the gaps in the wall otherwise. Goblins are predictable. They leave escape routes in almost every situation. The Chieftain—whichever one it is—will have decided to flee rather than fight. But they will put up a token resistance. Perhaps even—ah. Here it comes.”

Another group raced out of the city. Goblins, mounted on Carn Wolves. Goblin elites, although the word made Tyrion’s lips twist. He calmly mounted his stallion as Wiskeria stared apprehensively at the group of Goblins. They were charging at Tyrion by the hundreds.

“They’re attacking you, Lord Tyrion! Should we retreat?”

She looked around wildly for Tyrion’s escort, but there was no one close by. Tyrion shook his head. He drew his sword and kicked his stallion forwards.

“No. This band is trying to buy time. They will disperse once their leader falls.”

He stared at Redscar. The Goblin was locked onto him, howling with fury. Tyrion kicked his stallion forwards. He rode at the Redfang Warriors. Alone. His horse accelerated as Wiskeria shouted something after him. Tyrion didn’t listen. He surged in his saddle, his sword bared, his shield raised. No lance for him this time. His gaze narrowed and he saw Redscar draw ahead of the pack. Tyrion’s voice was meant for him and him alone.

“The truth about Goblins is that they’re predictable. They do the same things. Over and over. The truth about Goblins is that they are a tool. Manipulable. And ultimately—”

He lifted his shield. An arrow glanced off the metal. Tyrion swung and one of the Redfang Warriors fell from his saddle, his side slashed open. The [Lord] slashed again and a Carn Wolf fell, the Goblin warrior riding it howling in grief and fear. Redscar screamed and slashed at Tyrion’s unguarded head. The [Lord] sighed.

“—expendable.”

He cut through the air in an arc. Redscar’s blade slashed across Tyrion’s shield. Tyrion’s blade caught the Goblin and spun him in his saddle. The Goblin fell onto his Carn Wolf’s front. He’d dodged the blade—for the second time, which was impressive. But his entire side was laid open, and at least four of his ribs were cut open. He gasped as his Carn Wolf tried to turn. Tyrion turned his horse, cutting down Redfang Warriors who tried to block him. He bore down on Redscar. The Goblin lifted the blade. Tyrion raised his. He brought it down and the little Goblin riding towards him pulled the trigger. Her crossbow twanged and Tyrion’s shield snapped up.

The crossbow bolt slammed into Tyrion’s shield. He turned his head. Rags flicked fire into Tyrion’s warhorse’s face, making it rear. The [Lord] saw the little Goblin push her Carn Wolf in front of Redscar as a huge Hob caught the fainting Goblin. Pyrite turned and ran with Redscar, letting a Goblin child clinging to the back of his head frantically pour a healing potion over Redscar’s chest. Rags remained. She faced down Tyrion, barking orders as the Redfang Warriors surged around her, pulling back in confusion.

The little Goblin had a shortsword in hand. Not an enchanted blade. And the fire magic she called into her other palm was barely more than Tier 2. Tyrion’s longsword gleamed with ancient magic that had infused it for thousands of years. His armor, shield, and weapon were all heirlooms of the Veltras family. He was a foremost [Lord] of Izril with decades of combat behind him. But the little Goblin faced him without fear.

She had a spark in her eyes. A glimmer of comprehension, of understanding. Tyrion felt a jolt of surprise. She knew. Rags raised her sword and struck at Tyrion’s side with a quick slash. Compared to Redscar’s strikes her blade was slow, but it still cut with deadly force. Tyrion blocked the blade with his sword.

Rags shot fire at his face. The [Lord] adjusted his shield and blocked the stream of fire. Undeterred, Rags shifted her aim and tried to blast his warhorse in the eyes with flame. Tyrion turned his horse sideways. The flames glanced harmlessly over the warhorse’s barding and Tyrion’s armored leggings. Rags growled and threw a [Firefly] spell at Tyrion’s face. He cut the spell in half. She slashed across his side. He blocked the blade again.

The two stared at each other. Tyrion’s sword was light and balanced in his hand. He made no move towards Rags. She stared at him with helpless anger. With frustration. He looked at her. And smiled.

It was a cold smile, a quirking of the lips. Tyrion’s eyes never changed throughout. He stared at Rags, without pity or hatred. As if she were dust. He waited. Rags turned her head, saw the fleeing Redfang Warriors and the rest of her tribe running. She looked back at Tyrion, hesitated. He kept smiling. Then he spoke.

“You have an hour to run. Run quick, Goblin Chieftain.”

She eyed him. Tyrion’s gaze flicked to Pyrite, running with Redscar in his arms. Then to Rags’ face. No, she was the Chieftain. He was sure. There was something in her gaze. Rags looked at Tyrion, shifted her grip on her sword. She hesitated, as if debating trying for another attack. She shook her head and turned. Then she looked back and spat at Tyrion.

A glob of spit flew towards Tyrion’s face. He saw it coming and raised his shield perfunctorily. A sword tip flashed past the shield and flicked. The glob of spit splashed onto Lord Pellmia’s blade and he lowered his sword. Tyrion turned as Rags kicked her Carn Wolf and rode away.

“My thanks, Lord Pellmia. You needn’t have sullied your blade, though.”

“Nonsense. We cannot allow these lesser creatures to insult us.”

Lord Pellmia was flushed with a battle high and his sword and armor were bloody. Not from his own blood. His mount was practically steaming from exertion. Pellmia leaned down and ground the tip of his sword into the earth. Then he sat back upright and frowned at Rags’ retreating back. He turned and Tyrion saw that Pellmia had brought a host of mounted soldiers to ‘rescue’ him. Pellmia gestured at a group of [Archers] mounted on horses.

“Send a volley into the Goblin’s backs as a lesson!”

“No.”

Tyrion countermanded the order, raising an open hand. Pellmia stared at him in shock. Tyrion smiled tightly.

“You might hit her.”

He nodded towards Rags, who was racing ahead to the front of the group. Pellmia blew out his mustache in amazement.

“Dead gods, Veltras! All this to save a single Goblin? Did you mean what you said about an hour’s head start? By Dragons, why would you do that?”

Tyrion wiped his sword with a cloth and then sheathed it. He spoke casually.

“That Goblin is important—at least for the moment. Kill a Chieftain and their tribe scatters to the winds. As for the hour’s reprieve—I thought it might amuse you.”

“Me?”

Pellmia’s eyebrows rose. Tyrion nodded. He smiled again. It had to be said that he was bad at smiling, at least as the activity was meant to reassure or uplift.

“You are by all accounts a sporting man, Lord Pellmia. What would you say to a wager? If you can corner the Goblins in two hours? Say—a thousand gold coins and two head of prime cattle on it?”

Lord Pellmia stared and then laughed. He looked around at the [Soldiers] on horseback, many of which looked tired and not in the mood for a chase.

“With this army? At dusk? Make it two thousand gold and a warhorse from your stable! Damn the cattle—I’ll provide the steak if I win or lose!”

“A deal, then.”

Tyrion took the gauntlet from his hands and shook Pellmia’s bare hand. The [Lords] grinned at one another and Tyrion’s tone became businesslike once more.

“Mind what I’ve told you about the Goblins.”

“Aye, I won’t forget. It’ll be harder keeping most of them alive. Well, a few hundred won’t matter, will it? Not for the bet. I’ll have to leave my son behind, though. He’s too hotheaded to avoid trying to kill the Goblins, never mind orders!”

Tyrion saw Pellmia point at an excited [Lord] wearing gold-leaf plate mail. He nodded.

“It seems he’s slain a few Goblins. A credit to you.”

“You say that without having met him! He’s not half the level I was when I was his age. Still—I hope to raise him at least to Level 20 before we finish this campaign. So, I’ve two hours to round up the Goblins, eh? Don’t you worry. I’ll have them running where you want by nightfall! And I’ll expect to be visiting your stables as soon as I head north! With a steak for your tables!”

Tyrion smiled as Lord Pellmia rode forwards, laughing and waving at the soldiers to follow him. He had to remind Pellmia to give the Goblins an hour’s head start first. Lord Pellmia sighed and rode back.

“I suppose we’ll have to have a late dinner of it, then. Will you be joining us, Veltras? I doubt there’s any good food to be had around here. My [Manservant] has [Advanced Cooking] and [Campfire Chef], though. He’ll make a good meal of it!”

Lord Tyrion shook his head.

“I must return to the main force shortly. I leave this matter in your capable hands, Lord Pellmia. And our bet.”

“Very well. And this Emperor Godart I’ve heard so much about? What if he complains about an army camping on his lands? And what should I do with his army? Let them go?”

Tyrion nodded.

“Do not concern yourself with this [Emperor]. I will deal with him before I leave; focus your attention on the Goblins. If any issue arises, do not hesitate to contact me. Our timing must be impeccable.”

He held Pellmia’s gaze. The [Lord] smiled.

“Over half the nobles in our war camp are still speculating about what you have planned, Veltras. I have an inkling. But I’ll keep that to myself for now. Your orders I’ll carry out. However, if you might indulge an old man?”

He was probably fifteen years older than Tyrion. Which would put him close to sixty years. Still, Pellmia looked like a young man as the evening light faded across his face. Tyrion paused reluctantly.

“Very well.”

“How long have we? According to your schedule.”

Lord Tyrion Veltras paused. He weighed answering, and then replied, knowing that his response may well be circulated to those Pellmia considered his allies and possibly beyond that. But it was a calculated risk.

“Fourteen days.”

The [Lord]’s eyes gleamed.

“Fourteen days, eh? And then what?”

Pellmia never received an answer. Tyrion turned and turned his mount. He set a quick trot back towards Riverfarm. A small escort led by Jericha fell in behind him. Behind him, Pellmia laughed heartily and called for wine before he went to hunt the tribe down.

—-

And the Goblins fled. From the mountain, away from the lands of Emperor Godart, in disarray, in defeat. Demoralized and broken. Reiss ran with his master’s words echoing in his mind, planning, trying to find victory amid another setback, another obstacle. Tremborag escaped, burning with rage, seething at his lost mountain. Afraid of the Kingslayer at his back. Garen rode, confused, angry, the words Greydath had spoken poking at his mind and conscience like hot needles.

And Rags? She turned in her saddle and looked back. She stared at the distant army of Humans, at the blood and death around the broken city. She thought of Laken, and looked at Redscar, nearly dead on the wagon they’d put him on. But alive. She thought of all that had passed, and she felt guilty and bitter and despairing. Her head drooped, and then rose. Rags straightened her back.

Beside her, Pyrite jogged to keep up, his fat body heaving with the effort. He was bleeding, and his expression was bleak. Rags’ tribe stumbled to keep moving. Again they were running. Again in defeat. But Rags kept her head high. Not because she felt good, or because she saw a silver lining in the clouds hanging over her. But because no one else was looking up. Because she was a Chieftain. She sat tall and moved on.

And her tribe followed. They marched after their Chieftain into the night, the little Goblin who kept urging them on. Who had dueled a [Lord] and spat in his face. Who had bested an [Emperor]. She would have won, of course. But the Humans had cheated. They always cheated. But the Goblins still called it victory. They cheered Rags as she rode past them, urging them to pick up the pace. They were hers. And she was theirs. Their little Goblin leader. The genius who had bested Redfang. A bit of hope.

Rags.

[Chieftain Level 24!]

[Skill – Tribe: Rapid Reload obtained!]

[Skill – Flashfire Spellcraft obtained!]

[Spell – Burning Blades obtained!]

5.38

“I think I see them. Alright everyone! Let’s get ready for tonight! Lyonette? Begin Plan A. Numbtongue? How are the windows coming?”

Erin Solstice stood on the hill outside her inn, shielding herself from the pouring rain with a cloak. It didn’t really help; she was already quite wet from being outside and the cloak just made water run down her arms. Still, it beat being pelted by the rain. Erin stared across the darkening waters. Evening had just begun around Liscor and the sky, never light to begin with, was starting to darken.

She could still easily pick out the boats sailing towards Liscor on the water, though. The returning adventurers illuminated the way with [Light] spells, magical torches, and waterproof lanterns. They seemed in relatively good spirits. Erin didn’t see less of them, so she assumed everyone was alright.

“Looks like everyone’s okay!”

“What about the Horns? The Halfseekers? The Silver Swords? Uh, Gemhammer and the Pride of Kelia?”

Lyonette peeked out the inn’s door. Erin shaded her eyes.

“…I can’t tell the difference between the Gnolls, but I think I see Gemhammer! Yeah, Earlia’s got that huge warhammer. And the Silver Swords are bright and shiny! Hm. There’s Moore. That wasn’t hard. And the Horns…aha! They’re in the back with Griffon Hunt!”

Erin heard a loud sigh of relief and echoed it. The Horns of Hammerad looked unhurt at a distance, although they seemed to be arguing loudly with someone in the boat that Griffon Hunt was sharing with a few Drakes. Probably Revi. Erin turned her head.

“Hey, I bet they’ll be starving! Lyonette, let’s get some food prepped!”

“What should I heat up?”

“Uh—the stuffed pasta? I just made it so I want to see how it’s received. What did I call it again?”

Drassi popped her head out behind Lyonette.

“Manicotti. I think. How do you not remember your own dish, Erin?”

“I have a lot on my mind! Right. Manicotti. That’s Italian, you know.”

The Drake gave Erin a blank look.

“I don’t know that nation. Do they make good pasta?”

“Do they make—yes! And I seasoned the stuffing! It’s this delicious cheese filling with herbs and a tiny bit of spice in some of them. I call it Gambler’s Manicotti! You bite the wrong one and your mouth explodes!”

“From a tiny bit of spice?”

“Well, a tiny bit of super hot spices. I marked the plates that have the spice, don’t worry. I want to see if anyone takes the dare. I bet Jelaqua’ll try it.”

Drassi grinned and pulled her head back into the inn. Erin stared past her at the five Hobs industriously banging on the windows outside her inn. They were installing the shutters she’d helped make in preparation for tonight. Erin waved at Numbtongue who hadn’t replied to her.

“Hey Numbtongue! How’s it going?”

The Hob looked up. He spat out a nail into his palm, and pointed. Erin sighed. For a Goblin who could speak as well as any Human, Numbtongue had an incredible amount of disdain for actual conversation. He was telling her to look and see for herself. Erin saw that all but one shutter was fixed into place.

“Okay, good job! Come in as soon as you finish! I’ll have warm towels and dinner—early!”

She saw the Hobgoblins brighten at that. They picked up the pace. Erin’s decision for an early dinner wasn’t just incentive—like Liscor, she was getting ready for tonight, when the Raskghar would surely attack again. Erin saw Headscratcher pound a nail into the inn’s wall and then wave at a little Goblin awkwardly hammering to his left. Pebblesnatch looked up, gabbled a word, and then visibly brightened. She stared at Erin hungrily until Headscratcher made her continue hammering nails.

It was very strange to Erin how relaxed Pebblesnatch was about nearly having been executed a few hours earlier. But after the Redfang Goblins had explained their change of heart, the Cave Goblin had willingly begun to follow their orders. They kept a close eye on her, but she seemed content to help them out with their tasks. Erin had two theories on why that was.

“Numbtongue explained it to me. Actually, I had to bribe him and tell him I’d buy a new guitar since the old one’s broken, but he told me in the end. Hobs are natural leaders. Pebblesnatch will obey the Redfangs because they’re Hobs, probably more willingly than she would that jerk Raskghar Chieftain.”

“Mhm?”

Lyonette was busy setting tables. Erin nodded, watching Mrsha scurry out of the kitchen with a stack of plates balanced precariously on her head.

“That’s right. And I bet Pebblesnatch enjoys hammering nails in the rain a lot more than nearly dying in the dungeon. That’s the theory anyways.”

“Hmm. Right.”

Lyonette replied absently. Erin sighed. The [Barmaid] was too focused on her work. And to be fair, she was setting a dozen tables for what would hopefully be a crowd of adventurers while making sure Mrsha didn’t drop anything and trying to get Apista not to walk all over the plates at the same time. Drassi appeared with a load of silverware and grinned at Erin.

“And you’re not worried about her running off or stabbing you in the tail, Erin?”

Erin brightened. You could count on Drassi to ask questions.

“What a good question, Drassi! No I’m not. Because…Pebblesnatch is going to be sleeping in Badarrow’s room. Actually, she’ll be locked inside and one of the Hobs will watch her. They’ll be up all night, obviously.”

“Right. Say, on that note, are you sure the inn will be safe? I’m going back to Liscor before it gets dark, right? Or am I staying here? I was telling Ishkr that I might be safer here, but, I uh, don’t know. Do you?”

Drassi shifted nervously as she placed silverware next to the plates. Her tail was curled up, though she tried to keep her voice confident. Erin frowned.

“We’ve got the windows on the ground floor all set and the shutters are in place. I thought it’d be harder, but apparently adding onto the inn doesn’t trigger the [Reinforced Structure] Skill. Bird’s got a lock on the door so he’ll be able to run inside if there’s trouble and Badarrow will be right up there with him. And the Horns and the Halfseekers will be in the inn tonight. We should be good. With that said, I still think Liscor’ll be safer, but if you want to stay, you can, Drassi.”

The Drake hesitated and chewed her lip lightly.

“No, that’s okay. I was just curious. And I should probably get back—the Watch has ordered a curfew just past dark for anyone without ten levels in a combat class.”

“Got it. Oh, and by the way, you and Ishkr need to eat before night time. I’ll bet there won’t be any restaurants or taverns open in Liscor, so make sure to get a meal!”

“Right, boss!”

Drassi smiled and saluted Erin. The young woman grinned and turned her head. She could hear distant shouting. It sounded like the adventurers were in high spirits!

“Awesome. Lyonette, make sure Mrsha eats early too. And yourself! I’ll see if I can get some of the adventurers to eat here.”

“Got it, Erin.”

Erin hurried out of the inn, putting on her best smile. Maybe she should wave a plate of food so everyone could see she had some? She stopped when she saw the Hobs. They’d finished with the shutters and were waiting with Pebblesnatch just outside the inn. They hadn’t come in yet because they were watching the adventurers on the water. A giant rocky shell had burst out of the water and two huge pincers were menacing a team of Drakes who were shouting as the other adventurers tried to help them.

“Oh no! Rock Crabs!”

Not just one. Another Rock Crab burst out of the water and capsized a boat. The adventurers shouted in panic as one of the Gnolls was dragged down into the water. The hapless Gnoll might have been torn apart, but five of the [Mages] on the boats threw spells at once and Erin saw several other adventures including Halrac loose arrows.

The Rock Crab that had seized the Gnoll virtually exploded as a bolt of lightning blew chunks out of its shell, then a hail of bright red missiles and a sickle of grey-green light cut their way in. An enchanted arrow sent Rock Crab bits flying everywhere and the second Rock Crab retreated as a Drake in armor leapt onto its body and proceeded to wail on it with a huge hammer.

Still, the aquatic skirmish wasn’t over. More Rock Crabs surfaced, and a pair of black tendrils ensnared one boat. The fish were either agitated or very hungry and the adventurers shouted as they tried to fight the aquatic monsters and not slip into the water. The Goblins cackled with laughter as they watched.

Erin tried not to smile and failed. There was something funny about this battle. She didn’t feel like anyone was in danger, not with all the Gold-rank teams around. At last, the Rock Crabs were fleeing and the Lurkersnatch Fish was floating belly-up, its black tentacles severed and dark red blood staining the water.

“Ew. I hear the bounty on those things is pretty good. Can’t speak for the taste, though. Hey, do you think I can get them to haul it over? Probably not. The fish are already eating it.”

Erin waved at the adventures as the Goblins trooped into the inn, electing to eat upstairs rather than face the adventurers. Erin began shouting as the boats began heading towards the walls of Liscor where ladders were already being thrown down.

“Hey! You want food? We have food! Hot food! Ready to eat! And we have a magic door! You don’t have to climb up to Liscor! Just come on over and walk through!”

It might have been that last comment that brought over a small flotilla of boats to the inn. The tired adventurers swarmed up the wet hilltop, nodding at Erin. She smiled at the Drakes and Gnolls and the rare other species. She kept up a running dialogue as she ushered them in. Another stroke of genius had seen her investing in fresh towels, and soon there was a stack of muddy, wet towels piled up and a bunch of much happier, drier adventurers.

“Hey, how are you doing? How’d the Scale Salad do? Find any treasure? Nasty cut! You should probably pour a healing potion on that. Hey, you. Want a bite? Ask about our Gambler’s Manicotti! That’s pasta. With cheese!”

Erin saw a familiar face as the adventurers passed by her.

“Bevussa, right?”

The Garuda looked up. She was wet, but smiling.

“That’s right. And you’re…Erin?”

“Yep! Want something to eat?”

“We’d love to. All this dungeon exploring has me ravenous. Too bad it wasn’t much action, at least on our end.”

“Really?”

Apparently not. As more adventurers walked through, Erin got a chance to talk to a few teams not immediately stuffing their faces. The dungeon had been quiet—unnaturally so. Aside from sporadic encounters with monsters, most teams had been mapping and finding traps. The fact that they’d already lost three adventurers made Erin’s heart sink, though.

“It happens. Especially with a dungeon this large and so many of us going in. The trap was a good one and the Crypt Lords encounter was just bad luck. Gekla Raiders got caught right up against a trap. They couldn’t run and they were too far away for another group to get to before they lost two of their own.”

“That’s horrible.”

Bevussa shrugged and flicked some water from her feathers.

“That’s adventuring. It’s all a risk. Speaking of which, why is this called Gambler’s Manicotti?”

“Ooh, well if you’re in a sporting mood…”

Erin grinned wickedly. Her spice-filled trap Manicotti had already claimed two Drakes and a Gnoll, who were frantically drinking while the other adventurers laughed at them. It was harmless fun, and that was what the tired adventurers needed most.

—-

The last groups to arrive at Liscor and The Wandering Inn were the Horns of Hammerad and Griffon Hunt. By the time the Horns of Hammerad reached the inn, it was well into evening. It had taken a while for them to get back. Mostly because of Ksmvr. Hauling him up through the water had been a challenge and a half, and the traumatized Antinium couldn’t stop screaming.

“Aaaaah! Aaaaah! Aaaaa—oh. We are not on the water any longer. That is good. Was I an asset to the team?”

The instant Ksmvr got onto dry land he was better. Ceria, Yvlon, and Pisces glared at him and the other adventurers unplugged their ears. The half-Elf opened her mouth and raised a finger, then decided against it.

“Let’s just tie the boats up. Halrac, Revi, Typhenous, do you want to eat in the inn?”

“We might as well since we’re here. We can finish our discussion there. So long as Ksmvr doesn’t scream my ears off.”

Revi grumbled as she sewed her ears back onto the side of her head. Ceria stared as Typhenous took over the needle. She knew other species had odd characteristics—she’d hung around Jelaqua long enough to know that—but this was weird even by Selphid standards. The Stitch-Girl grinned at Ceria.

“Don’t you wish you could do that?”

“I can do that. It’s just that my ears don’t work when I try it.”

That made Revi laugh. Griffon Hunt followed the Horns up the hill. The two teams were fairly amiable towards each other. The understanding they’d developed in the dungeon carried on outside, and soon they were sitting in the inn, warm and dry, with a hot plate of pasta in front of them. Ceria poked at her plate.

“Erin, did you have to make eating a game?”

“No, but it sells better if I do. Don’t worry! This plate of manicotti’s safe. Or is it?”

The [Innkeeper] waggled her eyebrows. Revi glared at her plate.

“I swear, if I eat a hot…whatever this is, I’m taking my tongue out and throwing it at Erin.”

“Don’t worry. None of these plates have spicy manicotti. I checked.”

Drassi moved past the table and gave the others a reassuring smile. Revi didn’t look convinced.

“She could just be saying that.”

Ceria shook her head.

“Drassi doesn’t ever lie, Revi. It’s actually the one amazing thing about her. That, and her ability to talk for nine hours straight without taking a breath.”

“Really?”

The Stitch-Girl stared at the Drake [Barmaid] who was indeed chattering as she made her way around the tables. Revi took a bite of her pasta and her eyebrows shot up.

“Hm.”

In a few moments she was eating rapidly. Reminded of their empty bellies, the other adventurers set to with gusto. Only after they’d consumed their first plate did they rejoin the ranks of the social adventurers and start conversing with the other tables and each other.

“I’m telling you, that dungeon wasn’t nearly as populated as I thought it would be. Our team ran into a small nest of Dropclaw Bats, a handful of zombies…what you’d expect of a small-time dungeon. Where’s all the monsters we’ve heard about? Cleared out because they heard we were coming?”

“Hiding? Maybe they’re organized.”

“How would they be? If there’s a bunch of Face-Eater Moths or Ghouls or what have you, there’s no way that group would work with another group of monsters. Maybe the Raskghar scared them off.”

“Right. Scared an entire dungeon of monsters?”

“Apparently there are thousands…”

“Allegedly. A Goblin said that. And I say…”

“Shame about Gekla Raiders. It’s not like they were Bronze-rank. They got to Silver a year ago. I saw their team leader after the fight. Just devastated.”

“I hate Crypt Lords. What is it with undead getting nastier with age? At least the Flamewardens got there in time to save the rest. You know, I heard the first expedition that went into Liscor’s dungeon got wiped out? Over forty adventurers, most of ‘em Silver-rank. Taken out by undead.”

“What, all of them?”

“Apparently there were like, six survivors…”

It was very hard for Ceria to continue happily eating after hearing that. She wondered if she should turn around and address the team of adventurers. But what would be the point? It wasn’t like they were that wrong. And she didn’t want to give them a blow-by-blow of what had happened either. So she turned her attention forwards. For once, Ceria was thankful that Revi was engaged in another argument with her team.

“This isn’t criticism! Okay, it is, but it’s well-intentioned. Halrac and Typhenous agree with me. Your team’s biggest flaw is your fighting style. You fight like Silver-ranks when you should be thinking of advancing to the next level.”

“I thought we did fine. We handled ourselves when a bunch of Children attacked us. And we’ve fought other monsters well.”

Yvlon looked peeved as she stabbed a fried Yellat on her plate. Ceria thought part of the woman’s annoyance was guilt—she’d said the same thing this morning about the Raskghar. But it was never easy hearing criticism from another team. Revi sighed and looked imploringly at Typhenous, who cleared his throat after taking a sip from his mug.

“Revi lacks delicacy, Miss Byres. But she is correct. As adventuring teams go, your team is good. Excellent for a Silver-rank team, given your magical artifacts. But Gold-rank teams stand on another level.”

Revi nodded.

“I’ll give Ylawes’ team this—they can fight like Gold-ranks. Even if they’re about as smart as rocks when it comes to dungeon diving, they can fight the monsters your group can’t. And that’s all because they’re better on an individual level than you all are. Teamwork isn’t actually your weakest point.”

“I fail to comprehend. Fellow Adventurer Revi, will you give us an example of this difference?”

Ksmvr tilted his head left and right, his mandibles closed and drooping to indicate his displeasure. Revi looked at Halrac. At last, the [Scout] looked up. He’d been patting something under the table. And feeding it scraps from his plate. Mrsha popped her head up, smiling happily. Halrac’s expression defied anyone to made a comment. He spoke curtly.

“Look at Ylawes versus Yvlon. Both have enchanted armor. Both have the same kind of class. Ylawes is better. He has shield techniques like [Shield of Valor] that can hold off a huge monster or an entire line of enemies. He has close-combat Skills like the one he slew the giant Face-Eater Moth with. Yvlon might have a few, but they don’t change a battle like Ylawes can. The same goes for the others.”

Revi nodded. She pointed at Jelaqua, who was dumping milk into Moore’s mouth. The poor half-Giant had gotten a spicy manicotti and he did not do well with hot food, apparently.

“Jelaqua’s another example. She doesn’t use her Skills as much, but she could probably fight as well as Ksmvr and Yvlon put together. I’ve seen her with her flails—the Halfseekers only need her on the front lines to keep their enemies busy. With the Heartflame Armor she’s practically immortal. Plus she’s a Selphid.”

Typhenous and Halrac nodded in agreement. The Horns exchanged an unhappy glance. Pisces blew out his cheeks in exasperation.

“Are you saying that the difference between our teams comes down to levels alone? I happen to be quite high-level. I don’t feel as though I lag behind a Gold-rank adventurer that far.”

“No?”

Revi cast an appraising eye over Pisces. She shrugged as she tugged at an errant thread on her arm.

“You might be high-level, Pisces. But you don’t fight as well as you could if that’s the case. You use weak undead, you fight with a rapier and Tier 2 and Tier 3 spells—really well, but still—and you don’t have a game-changing spell like Typhenous. Look at Falene. She can throw three times as many spells as you can. They’re not high-level, but she’s an expert at filling the air with magic. And that’s because she has a style. You don’t. You’re just good at a lot of things. And that’s great for Silver-rank. But Gold-ranks are experts in their field.”

The table went silent. Pisces bit his lips but didn’t reply, surprisingly. Typhenous glanced around.

“I believe we’ve belabored the point long enough, Revi. This is just our advice. Please don’t take it as condemnation.”

“No, we won’t. And we really appreciate your team helping us out. Really. Your team works a lot like I’d hope our group will.”

Ceria looked around the table. Griffon Hunt looked pleased. Revi blushed a bit.

“Well, we used to work better when Ulrien…”

She trailed off, and then went on.

“…When he was alive. Our formation’s actually a lot weaker since we depended on Ulrien to fight on the front. My summons can support him, but they lack the offensive power he has. So it was reassuring to meet a team that had good melee fighters. And that had an actual brain in their heads. If you wanted to team up again, we might be willing to do another dive in the dungeon together.”

The Horns looked at each other in surprise. They looked at Halrac for confirmation and the [Scout] nodded. Ceria felt a little bubble of elation form in her chest. Griffon Hunt wanted to work with them? She felt a rush of pride, and then concern.

“What about the Halfseekers? Won’t they be upset?”

“Funny enough—you won’t believe this, but I think they’d be happy to go into the dungeon with the Silver Swords.”

Revi grimaced and pointed. Jelaqua was laughing and elbowing Ylawes in the stomach. Moore was talking with Falene and not rolling his eyes like Ceria or Pisces did every five seconds, and Seborn and Dawil were chatting over a drink. The adventurers looked at each other.

“Huh.”

“They really hit it off?”

“They do act the same, I guess. And the Halfseekers don’t insist on silence.”

“Moore’s probably the only one who could tolerate Falene for more than twenty minutes.”

“Hah!”

It was settled, then. Ceria reached over and shook Halrac’s hand, agreeing to work together tomorrow. And just as soon as she’d done that, she found herself walking over with Halrac to a table filled with adventurer team leaders. The Flamewarden’s Captain, who was named Keldrass, had called a meeting. He braced himself on the table, speaking in short bursts so he didn’t accidentally immolate everyone in front of him. Apparently he couldn’t control his flame as well as some other Oldblood Drakes.

“The dungeon was quiet today. But that means we got a lot of ground covered. Our initial fortifications are complete. Some have suggested making a formal outpost or securing a better route into the dungeon, but Wall Lord Ilvriss insists we push in further. Tomorrow we’ll be searching hard for the Raskghar’s lair. Any objections?”

The other team leaders shook their heads. They began to pool information, and Ceria heard a few tidbits she hadn’t gotten from the gossip before.

“The treasure chest that the Belfast Hunters found—the cursed one—was brought back on the boat. Don’t worry about the Captain—he’s resting in Liscor with a bit of gold lodged in the side of his face, but he’ll be fine.”

There were a few sniggers around the table. The Drake grinned a bit and then went on.

“Yes, well, he’ll be able to afford a healer. The gold and jewels in the chest are higher-quality than our gold coins. We didn’t do a perfect test, but Earlia of Gemhammer claims that they’re purer than the metal we make our coins with.”

He looked at Earlia. The woman grinned.

“That’s right. Our gold coins aren’t pure gold, you see. We use an alloy. But the gold that was in the chest? I’ll bet it’s as close to twenty-four karat as I’ve ever seen. That chest was probably worth twice as much as we thought!”

The adventurers murmured. Ceria felt a jump in her chest. Envy and excitement. Another adventurer, a Gnoll, spoke up.

“We ran into an unusual occurrence as well. We encountered a masked adventurer who warned us away from a trap. She fought with us against a pair of giant maggots and then left when the retreat was signaled.”

The other adventurers had heard of the masked adventurer. A Drake exclaimed.

“You too? She appeared in front of us while we were exploring. We tried to communicate, but when we said we were fine she left.”

Keldrass frowned.

“See if you can convince her to return next time. Or at least ask her name and rank. An unknown adventurer wandering about in the dungeon is a danger, not least to herself. Anyone else?”

There was nothing. Keldrass nodded.

“Then it’s time to go. Watch Captain Zevara’s asked my team and several others to be ready tonight. There’s about twenty minutes before it’s dark. Any team requested to man the walls, now is the time to move.”

The adventures broke up. Ceria saw team leaders rousing their groups and heading towards the door to Liscor. It was surprising how organized they were—and how willing they were to follow Keldrass’ orders. Erin, who’d been visibly eavesdropping, expressed the same sentiment.

“That’s the difference between Human adventurers and teams who live in Drake cities. We have a chain of command. And we’re obligated to listen to Watch Captains.”

Bevussa sighed as she drained her mug and then fished around for coins in her pouch. She handed them to Erin and smiled.

“Your inn will be alright?”

“I think so. We’re sending everyone through. Hey Drassi! Ishkr! Want leftovers? And the Horns and the Halfseekers are staying.”

“I won’t worry, then. Until tomorrow, Miss Solstice. We’ll come back to eat that horrible Scale Salad you’ve got.”

“You think that’s bad? Try the soup!”

The Garuda smiled and left. Erin looked around her suddenly deserted inn. Then she eyed the closed windows.

“Night’s coming soon. Ceria, what’s your plan?”

A small knot of anxiety twisted in Ceria’s stomach. She glanced at the Halfseekers for reassurance.

“I think we’ll stay downstairs. We won’t sleep until we know it’s safe. We’ll get some sleep in the morning before the dungeon dive.”

“Dungeon diving by day, guarding by night. That’s not a lot of time to rest! But it’s probably a good idea for this night at least. The Hobs will be downstairs too. I’m going to warn Bird.”

Erin nodded and dashed upstairs. Ceria looked around. The convivial mood that had been filling the inn had evaporated. Now the adventurers looked serious. As four of the Redfang Goblins came downstairs, Ceria saw they were all armed.

“If the Raskghar come, we’ll handle them. Stay behind us, Halfseekers. Jelaqua will have the door. She’s got the armor.”

Seborn was checking one of Erin’s windows. Ceria nodded and drifted over to Pisces.

“Hey, you can make Bone Horrors, right?”

“I have been adjusting my designs. Should I animate one?”

“Maybe hold off. We’ve got enough bodies as it is. But have it ready just in case, okay?”

Pisces nodded. He sat down at a table and stretched his legs out. Ceria thought that was too casual, but then she realized they might be waiting for a long time and did the same. Erin soon came back downstairs.

“Alright. Bird’s secure and Badarrow’s up there too. He’ll make Bird run if it’s dangerous. Now. Lyonette? Is Mrsha fed? Are you fed? Is Apista fed?”

“We’re all good, Erin.”

The young woman was combing Mrsha’s fur with a brush. The Gnoll was sitting in her lap, looking around anxiously. She knew what was happening and she didn’t like it. She hugged Lyonette’s stomach. Erin hesitated. She went over to the magical door and changed the destination. She opened the door and Ceria saw Octavia’s shop appear.

“Okay. I think now’s the time. Hey Mrsha?”

She came over and bent down with a big, fake smile. The Gnoll looked up, instantly suspicious. Erin smiled and pointed to the door.

“How would you like to sleep at Auntie Octavia’s for tonight?”

Lyonette stood up with Mrsha in her arms. The Gnoll looked at Erin in alarm, and then instantly began to howl. She fought wildly to stay, struggling with both Erin and Lyonette.

“It’s just for tonight, Mrsha! Just in case! We’ll be fine!”

Nothing Erin said convinced the Gnoll. She was afraid. Not just of staying at Octavia’s—she clung to Erin until she was pried free. Then she began crying. She was afraid. Afraid to leave Erin behind. Afraid she’d never see Erin again.

When Lyonette finally dragged her through the door, Mrsha’s loud crying was the last thing Erin heard. She closed the door and looked around. The adventurers and Goblins looked away hastily. Erin took a deep breath.

“Okay. It was just in case. We’ll be fine. Okay.”

“You could go through too, you know. You should.”

Jelaqua looked at Erin. The [Innkeeper] shook her head.

“And abandon my inn? What if my [Reinforced Structure] Skill doesn’t work if I’m not here? And I can use my aura skill. I will use it this time! I won’t run away. I have a responsibility to stay here. Plus, I can always run with everyone else if it gets really bad.”

The Selphid met Erin’s determined eyes, then nodded. Silently, the adventurers, Goblins, and Erin settled down. They talked occasionally, making jokes, commenting on some trivial detail or other, but the words grew fewer and fewer. They were waiting. And night fell as the rain continued falling over Liscor.

—-

Watch Captain Zevara strode down the battlements of Liscor’s walls, taking care not to slip. It wasn’t that hard—Liscor’s architects had factored the danger of slipping into the rain and carved small grooves into the stonework that added friction to the slick stone. Still, Zevara placed her feet with care. Every eye was on her and she had no intention of making a fool of herself in front of her men. Or the adventurers. Or Wing Commander Embria.

Part of what made a Watch Captain was their reputation. Zevara had fought tooth-and-tail to get to her post and she was determined not to lose it. She raised her voice and shouted as she passed a group of her soldiers.

“The Raskghar are coming with the night! I want every Drake and Gnoll alert! Watch the waters! We won’t let a single one of those hulking bastards up the walls! We’ve got Embria’s [Soldiers] on the walls and the City Watch has every inch of the walls lit up. Adventurers are waiting on standby and Olesm’s prepped every defensive spell. We’ll be ready! Check your posts! Report any suspicious behavior at once! Do you hear me?”

“Yes, Watch Captain!”

The [Guardsmen] and [Guardswomen] shouted as they passed. They stood a bit taller as Zevara walked down the line. It wasn’t a Skill. Zevara wished she had a Skill, but she hadn’t gotten a good one yet. No, this was just good leadership. She walked the entirety of the walls, repeating her speech at least a dozen times, and then walked back towards the walls that had been assailed last time.

The eastern wall was practically glowing with light. The City Watch stood with their backs to bright [Light] spells—the advanced version known as [Illumination] which allowed the [Mages] who’d cast it to change the angle and intensity of the light. Thus, the light shone from the battlements at the Watch’s backs, blinding anyone who might be trying to scale up the walls while the Watch maintained their night-vision for the most part.

“Are we ready?”

Zevara strode up to Olesm, who was nervously staring into the water. He had his Ring of Sight equipped. She saw him twist the ring on his finger and blink furiously before looking at her.

“We’re ready, Watch Captain. The Antinium are on patrol in the streets, Embria’s soldiers are in position, we have a few adventurers with spells and bows on the walls—oh, and I saw a group of Antinium break off and enter Erin’s inn.”

“Really?”

Olesm nodded. He looked around and hesitated.

“Some of the Antinium were Workers. With bows. They were trying to hide it, but my Ring of Sight…”

He gestured to the enchanted ring. Zevara’s head snapped over to the inn. She stared at the boarded up windows, eyes narrowed.

“Put that on your report to me later. The Walled Cities will want to know.”

Olesm nodded. Zevara thought about finding Klbkch and asking him about the Workers, but she decided not to. She’d have all the time later. She stood on the walls, staring into the waters as the rain fell with everyone else. She could not see the moon rising, but she knew it was there, behind the rainclouds. And sure enough, with the moon came the first contact with the Raskghar.

“Contact!”

It was a Gold-rank adventurer who spotted the first Raskghar. Halrac drew and loosed an arrow before the others could turn to look. The Raskghar jerked as an arrow struck it in the chest. It floated upwards and only then did it become visible, a small, bobbing form amid the dark waters. The [Mages] shone more light into the waters and more shouts sprang up along the walls. Not just from the east side either.

“Raskghar to the north!”

“On the western side too! Goblins as well!”

“Hold your fire!”

Zevara bellowed as the Watch began loosing arrows at the Raskghar who immediately dived. She shouted again and heard her words relayed.

“Hold your fire! Let our high-level [Archers] pick them off! Mages! I want those of you with the best aim to hit the Raskghar when they come up for air! Everyone else—spot the Raskghar in the water and relay the targets!”

The shouting on the walls subsided slightly. Now Zevara heard tense voices calling out targets, and the sounds of [Archers] and [Mages] doing their work. Below, the Raskghar found themselves literal sitting ducks. They tried to dive deep into the waters, but the need for air and the monsters below drove them upwards to the waiting adventurers on the walls. Over a dozen bodies were floating in the water before Zevara sensed the Raskghar retreating. But it wasn’t over. Olesm’s sharp voice made Zevara look around.

“Watch Captain! The inn!”

He pointed. Zevara looked and cursed. The Wandering Inn was under attack! On the far side of the hill a large group had surfaced. They’d been hidden by the inn. Now Zevara saw small forms scuttling up the side of the hill, disappearing behind the inn’s walls. She cursed.

“How many are over there? It looks like at least sixty Goblins and ten Raskghar! Archers! Get over there and start shooting every Goblin you can see!”

She saw adventurers and guardsmen running down the walls. The inn was under siege. Little Goblins swarmed around the windows, trying to open the locked shutters. They gave up and began climbing the walls until the two figures on the guard tower, Bird and Badarrow, began shooting them and the Raskghar off. Then it was the doors.

A pair of Raskghar smashed into the inn. They roared for half a second and then the sound cut off. The rest of the Raskghar and Goblins charged in after them. There was a brief pause in which Zevara waited with baited breath, and then the Goblins ran out, screaming. A Raskghar made it to the door before a spike of ice burst from his chest and he tumbled to the ground. A loud voice thundered from the inn.

“Begone, jerks!”

The rest of the Goblins exploded from the door of the inn as if they’d been hurled out by a catapult. More of the Raskghar tried to flee, but only one got out the doorway and Halrac’s arrow took him in the throat. Zevara blinked. She turned to Olesm.

“What do you think they ran into in there?”

“At a guess? Two adventuring teams, a unit of Painted Soldiers and Workers, Hobgoblins, and Erin.”

Zevara stared down at the inn.

“That would do it.”

Then she frowned.

“Wait. What’s happening there?”

Someone was leaving the inn. The fleeing Cave Goblins were pursued by a group of four Hobs. The Redfang Warriors! They charged into the Cave Goblins and began kicking, punching, and laying about with a sword. The flat of a sword. Zevara stared down incredulously.

“What are they doing? Our archers are shooting at Goblins! Hold! Hold your fire!”

She shouted at the Watch who stopped trying to hit the fleeing Goblins. One person kept shooting, though. Halrac’s arrow took a Cave Goblin through the eye and another through the chest. He ignored the Hobs as he loosed arrows.

“Perfect aim.”

Olesm whistled. Zevara frowned. The Hobs were taking the Cave Goblins apart. No surprise there. But they seemed to be shielding the Goblins as well! One was waving a sword and shouting something at the walls. She couldn’t hear his voice well, but it sounded like he was trying to say ‘stop’ to Halrac. But the Gold-rank adventurer kept firing, hitting the Cave Goblins with each shot.

—-

On the hill outside the inn, Shorthilt, Headscratcher, Rabbiteater, and Numbtongue fought. As Zevara had noticed, they fought with fists and feet and in Shorthilt’s case, the flat of his blade. The Cave Goblins were armed with crude daggers and clubs. There were dozens of them and fleeing though they might be, they outnumbered the Hobs several times over.

It still wasn’t a fair fight. Headscratcher punched a Cave Goblin as the little Goblin rushed at him, then kicked another Goblin in the chest. He whirled, caught a Goblin by the arm as it tried to stab him in the back of the knee, and hurled her screaming into the air. Rabbiteater smacked two Goblins together and then tossed them back towards the inn. An arrow flashed by his head and pierced a Goblin’s skull. Rabbiteater whirled, saw the dead Cave Goblin falling and looked up.

The hail of arrows had stopped, but someone on the walls was still firing! Their aim was incredible—they hit every Goblin they were aiming at. And the Cave Goblins were dying. Numbtongue shouted up at the walls in frustration.

“Stop! Stop shooting!”

It was no use. Another arrow sped downwards and took a Goblin in the heart. Shorthilt snarled. He lifted his sword, narrowing his eyes as he saw the archer on the walls—Halrac—take aim again.

Legends were told of sword masters so skilled that they could deflect or cut arrows in flight. Shorthilt’s arm rose as Halrac shot at a Goblin running past the Hob. His arm shot out—

And he blocked the arrow with his arm. The impact made Shorthilt’s arm shake with the impact, but the arrow was buried in his arm rather than the Goblin’s head. He grunted as the little Cave Goblin shrieked and ran. Headscratcher chased after it. He tackled the Goblin and looked up. Another arrow took another Goblin through the face.

“Stop!”

And then another arrow flew. Not from the walls of Liscor, but from the roof of Erin’s inn. Badarrow took aim at Halrac and loosed an arrow.

—-

“Incoming!”

Zevara instantly ducked with everyone on the walls. An arrow snapped on the battlements just below Halrac and he leaned back. He snarled and drew an arrow. Olesm exclaimed in disbelief.

“That Hob is shooting at us!”

Badarrow was aiming up at Halrac. The Gold-rank adventurer took aim at another Cave Goblin and another arrow shattered on the battlements right next to Halrac’s face. A warning shot. Halrac turned. He shifted his aim and loosed an arrow. His arrow thunked into the wood right next to Badarrow’s right ear. The Goblin and Human stared at each other as they drew an arrow. And then another arrow flew upwards.

This one came from Bird. It shot straight towards Halrac’s chest. The [Scout] saw it coming and ducked behind a battlement. The arrow curved as it followed him. Zevara’ mouth opened as she saw the arrow flying towards Halrac’s chest. The [Scout]’s eyes widened. His hand shot up and he snatched the arrow out of the air.

“[Arrow Grab]!”

The tip of the arrow was less than an inch from his chest. Halrac stared at it as the other guardsmen and adventurers stared at him in awe. He stared down at the inn. His hand tightened and the arrow snapped. He threw it to the ground and snarled.

“Goblins!”

For a second Zevara thought he’d resume shooting, but he turned and stalked back down the walls. Zevara watched him go. She stared back down at the inn.

“Is that Antinium insane?”

Far below, Bird lowered his bow. He clicked his mandibles together.

“That was a good shot. We were shooting at Mister Halrac, yes, Badarrow? I shot him better than you.”

He looked over at Badarrow. The Hob was staring at him with his mouth open. Bird nodded a few times. Then he stared up at the walls and hesitated.

“…Why were we shooting at Mister Halrac?”

—-

Erin only heard about the archery duel and Bird’s nearly fatal shot after the fighting was over. In truth, the fighting had been over the instant the Raskghar had come through the door and been torn to shreds by the adventurers and Goblins. The rest was just mopping up. Headscratcher and the other Redfangs came in, dragging unconscious or dazed Goblins and the adventurers resumed peeking out the windows. Arrows and spells kept flying from Liscor’s walls, hitting any Raskghar they saw.

In truth, after the first hour of excitement the night was quite boring. The Raskghar and Goblins kept trying to get close to Liscor, but only in small groups and never successfully. By the time midnight had passed into the half-light of just before dawn, Erin was exhausted from the tension but relieved no one had been hurt. Except for the Goblins. Only then did she head up to the roof and get the story of what had happened with Halrac. Then she flipped out.

There was nothing Erin could do while Liscor was on high alert. So she stayed in the tower, trying not to shout at Bird who was humming, oblivious to what had happened. Badarrow wisely got out of her way, although Erin knew why he’d decided to act. A score of dead Goblins were lying on the grass, each hit with a single arrow.

As dawn broke, the Raskghar fled for good. Erin saw the few dark shapes that had kept out of bow range swimming back towards the submerged dungeon rift. Her eyes narrowed as she stared at the distant shapes disappearing back into the water.

“That was way too easy.”

“What was?”

Bird looked at Erin. She met his innocent gaze and bit her tongue.

“Come downstairs, Bird.”

“Okay, Erin.”

He followed her downstairs. Erin stared around the inn. The dead Raskghar had been dumped outside. There was blood on the floor, but little else. The adventurers were yawning, clearly exhausted from lack of sleep.

“They’re leaving?”

Jelaqua looked at Erin. The [Innkeeper] nodded.

“Get some sleep. The Hobs will stay up. You’re going back into the dungeon, right?”

“At midmorning. Or something like that. Yeah, time for bed.”

The Halfseekers and Horns trooped up the stairs, swaying silently as they went to their rooms. Erin looked around. The Redfang Goblins stared at her. They were standing guard next to a pile of battered Cave Goblins. Pebblesnatch was staring wide-eyed at the comatose Goblins. Erin nodded.

“Do you think you can control them? Get them where you need them to go? I’m not letting Mrsha and Lyonette back into the inn until they’re gone.”

The Hobs nodded. Erin hesitated, and then pointed.

“Bird. Sit there. Right there. Don’t go anywhere. Pawn?”

She waved at the Antinium standing at the back of the inn. Pawn looked up. He and the other Antinium were sitting together. They hadn’t done much after the first round of fighting, but it had been reassuring to have them here.

“Yes, Erin?”

“I’m going into Liscor. It should be safe. I’ll be back soon. Can you stay until then?”

“That is perfectly fine.”

“Thanks.”

—-

The night’s attack had been too easy. Too small in scale. That was Erin’s conclusion, though her brain was so addled with exhaustion that she couldn’t really think of anything else. But she knew what she knew. The Raskghar had attacked…but for a race of what should have been super-intelligent reverse werewolves, that had been a bad attack. It was probably a ruse of some kind.

Watch Captain Zevara was of the same opinion. Erin could hear her wearily addressing her men as dawn broke. Erin climbed the walls and heard Zevara shouting before she reached her.

“Those Raskghar knew we were ready. They’ll be back tomorrow night. And this time they’ll probably try something a lot bigger. Get as much as much sleep as you can today! We’re all on the night shift tomorrow!”

A stream of weary Gnolls and Drakes came down the steps. They blinked at Erin as she walked up past them, but everyone was too tired to ask silly questions. They were all dead on their feet. Erin bet that the city would be slumbering well into morning. Heck, she’d probably sleep until noon! But she had another task before she could rest.

“Psst, Zevara.”

The Watch Captain looked up as Erin sidled over to her. She glanced around.

“The walls are off-limits to civilians, Human. We are under curfew.”

“Oh. Oops.”

Erin hesitated. Zevara eyed her and sighed.

“Speak.”

The young woman nodded. She took a deep breath.

“I’ve got Goblins.”

“I noticed. One of your people shot arrows at my men.”

“That was Bird and Badarrow. Sorry about that. But we’ve got more Goblins. For, y’know, intelligence?”

Zevara stared at Erin. The young woman hesitated.

“Okay, and because I didn’t want to kill them. I’ll keep them in the basement, okay? And the Redfang—I mean, Headscratcher and the others will find a place for them sometime tomorrow. I mean, today. Soon.”

The Drake paused. She seemed to be wavering between shouting and resignation. Exhaustion and her sore throat won. She glared at Erin.

“I won’t stop you. But your inn is a possible threat. We’ll be watching both entrances to your inn. If one of those Goblins takes so much as a step into Liscor, they’ll be dead. The Hobs—we’re watching them too.”

“Thanks for caring.”

Erin made a face. She hadn’t expected anything more of Zevara. Actually, she’d expected a lot less. She supposed she should be grateful, actually. Another Watch Captain might have tried to kill the Goblins outright. She turned.

“I need to speak to Halrac. Is he up here?”

“Down the wall over there. He’s not in a good mood.”

“I don’t think he would be. Thanks.”

Erin walked off. Zevara called after her.

“Why are you doing this, Erin? To make friends with the Goblins? They tried to kill you.”

“The Redfang Warriors didn’t. They saved my life.”

The [Innkeeper] turned. Zevara shook her head.

“And that means you’ll try to save all the Goblins? They’re enemy combatants.”

“They don’t need to be. The Raskghar are using them like slaves.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that they’re attacking Liscor. I’m not arguing with you. I’m too tired. But here’s something you should know. There was a battle at Dwarfhalls Rest. A mountain far north of here. Apparently the Humans led by that Lord Tyrion Veltras finally made a move against the Goblins. Both the Great Chieftain and the Goblin Lord.”

“Really? What happened?”

Zevara shrugged.

“Apparently, a huge army of Humans is in pursuit of the Goblin Lord’s forces. They’ve even hired Ellia Arcslinger, the Kingslayer, to slay the Goblin Lord. It’ll be public knowledge in a few hours. But the Goblins are on the run and by all accounts, Veltras has an army that outnumbers them.”

Erin whistled. Zevara glanced at her.

“That doesn’t bother you?”

She received a blank look in reply. Erin shook her head.

“There’s a big, bad army of Goblins up north. Got it. What does that have to do with the Goblins here? Goblins are not alike.”

“That’s not how Liscor’s citizens see it.”

Erin frowned.

“Well they won’t see the Goblins, then. Any of them.”

With that, she turned and marched away. Zevara stared at her and frowned at Erin’s inn, visible from the walls.

“What does that mean?”

Zevara didn’t know. But she had a bad feeling that it would mean trouble down the road. She watched Erin walk down the battlements to the [Scout] sitting in the rain.

—-

Halrac had unstrung his bow and stowed it away in his bag of holding. He was not in the mood for conversation, though. The piercing glare that he gave Erin as she walked towards him made her want to turn around. But she walked up to him determinedly. Erin didn’t beat around the bush.

“I want to apologize. For Bird, I mean.”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

The [Scout] growled. He was watching the waters, though most of the Watch and all of the adventurers had gone. Erin bit her lip.

“I know. But I should explain.”

“Explain what? The Antinium nearly shot me through the chest.”

“I know! Don’t you think I’m upset! I can’t believe he did that! But—I can believe it too.”

Halrac glanced at Erin. She scrubbed her hands through her hair.

“How can I explain this? Halrac—I’m not making excuses for Bird. What he did was so bad! But he’s…well, he’s like a child. He doesn’t understand some things.”

“Like shooting people?”

The older man’s look told Erin he was losing patience fast. Erin shook her head.

“I think he didn’t expect the arrow to hurt you. Halrac, you’ve met Bird. You know he’s different. He saw Badarrow shooting at you and thought he should do the same. Only, he didn’t understand that Badarrow was shooting warning shots.”

“So he took his shot. I survived. What do you want me to do?”

“Come with me. So Bird can apologize. And before that, so you and I can explain what he did wrong.”

Halrac’s shoulders tensed. Erin took a quick breath.

“He doesn’t think he did anything bad, Halrac. He has to know. Just come with me. Please? Bird likes you. He admires you! That’s why he has to know just what he did.”

For a few minutes the [Scout] just sat there. Then, at last, he got up. Expressionlessly he nodded.

“Let’s go.”

Erin hurried down the battlements. Halrac followed after her. The two didn’t speak until they were heading down the stairs. At last, Halrac spoke.

“Are you going to explain what the Goblins were doing?”

“Headscratcher and the others? They were trying to save the Cave Goblins. Badarrow—he was trying to get you to stop killing the Goblins. Did you not realize that was what he was…?”

“I’m an adventurer. That’s my job. I’ve seen what Goblins can do.”

Halrac spoke flatly. Erin looked back at him.

“I get that. But, see, Halrac, these Goblins are slaves to the Raskghar—”

“Doesn’t matter. They attacked the inn. They’ll do it again if ordered.”

“But—”

“I don’t trust Goblins. I know you do. I can’t stop you, so I don’t try. I’ll eat at your inn, but I won’t trust those Hobs with my back. And I don’t think it’s safe for you to have them under your roof, either. That’s what I believe, but I know you won’t change your mind. So I don’t waste my breath.”

Halrac folded his arms. Erin stared at him and raindrops pattered off her head. The [Scout] stared at her. Erin was the one who looked away.

“We’re not going to agree on this, are we?”

“No. So let’s drop it. Where’s Bird?”

“Inside. Let me speak first. Please.”

Erin opened the door to her inn. Bird looked up happily.

“Miss Erin! Mister Halrac! Is this who I am supposed to meet? Hello, Mister Halrac. You caught my arrow!”

Halrac’s glare could have peeled paint. Erin took a few deep breaths as she walked over.

“Bird, that’s why we’re here. We need to talk about what you did. You shot an arrow at Halrac.”

“Yes. I did. Because Badarrow was shooting at him. But I shot better.”

“Badarrow wasn’t trying to hit Halrac, Bird! And even if he was, that doesn’t excuse what you did!”

The Antinium paused. For the first time his raised mandibles lowered slightly and he looked less happy.

“Oh.”

“You shot an arrow right at Halrac’s chest, Bird. You would have killed him.”

Erin spoke slowly, trying to convey this to Bird. The Worker looked confused. He hunched his shoulders and looked at Halrac.

“But he is Mister Halrac. A Gold-rank adventurer. He wouldn’t die.”

Erin and Halrac exchanged a glance. Bird looked at both of them.

“…Would he?”

They nodded. Bird paused. He seemed to grapple with this. If Badarrow hadn’t been shooting at Halrac…and he had…and Halrac would have died if he’d been shot…Bird looked up suddenly in alarm.

“Did I do bad?”

“Yes!”

The Antinium began to shake. He looked at Erin.

“How bad did I do. Very bad? Very bad?”

Erin’s heart twisted. But she kept a stern face.

“Very bad, Bird. As bad as bad can be. I brought Halrac here so you can apologize. He might not forgive you. That’s how bad it was.”

Bird looked at Halrac, stricken. He wavered, looked around wildly. Erin held her breath. Then Bird curled up. He wrapped his four arms around his body and he began to rock back and forth.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry—”

“Bird? Bird!”

The Antinium didn’t respond. He seemed petrified and kept babbling the same words over and over. Erin went to stop him, but Halrac caught her hand.

“Let me.”

Erin hesitated, then drew back. She took a few steps away as Bird kept rocking back and forth and took several breaths. Someone put a hand on her shoulder and she turned.

“Pawn!”

The Antinium had been watching the entire thing. Pawn stared at Bird. And then he spoke.

“I have known Bird as long as I have been alive. I understand that he is…different. Even for an Individual. What Bird does not understand is why some things are not permissible and why other things are. Would it be appropriate for me to apologize with Bird?”

Erin stared back at Bird and Halrac. The [Scout] had stopped Bird from rocking. His expression didn’t change much, but he spoke quietly to Bird and the Antinium looked up desperately. Erin sensed a flicker of what might have been pity cross Halrac’s face. Or sadness.

“No, Pawn. I think Halrac understands. You should get your Soldiers and Workers back. Thanks so much for the help.”

“We will be back tomorrow night.”

The Antinium nodded to her. He stared at Bird, then motioned to Yellow Splatters. The Soldier broke off from staring at Bird and the other Antinium followed Erin out the door. She wished she could have talked with Pawn, but she was too tired to think, really. The Raskghar…Erin frowned. They were gone. Yep. Which meant…she glanced around. The Goblins were gone too. As were the Redfangs. Plan A was working. Or was it Plan B? Plan G?

Her mind was fuzzy. When had she last slept? Probably nearly 24 hours ago. She’d been up all day getting ready for tonight, and then up all night. And now it was nearly morning again. Erin stumbled towards the magic door and set it to Celum.

“Is anyone awake?”

“Erin?”

A shape moved into view. Erin jumped as Lyonette appeared, pale-faced, a sword in hand. Octavia poked her head out with a pot for a helmet and two potions in her hands. Both relaxed when they saw Erin.

“Is it safe?”

“I think so. The Raskghar are gone and it’s nearly morning. You can come back now. How’s it over there?”

“Bad! I barely got a wink of sleep! I should charge you for staying the night!”

Octavia rubbed at her bloodshot eyes. She plucked one out and stared at it. Erin looked around.

“Mrsha?”

“She fell asleep after she threw a tantrum. I think she’s—oh. She’s up.”

Lyonette grimaced. A flurry of paws and fur exploded from behind her and barreled into Erin’s midriff. Erin went oof and sat down as Mrsha climbed all over her, licking her face and hugging her.

“It’s okay, Mrsha! The bad Raskghar are gone. We’re all fine. We’re all fine.”

Lyonette walked into the inn as Octavia, yawning, shut the door, muttering about sleep deductibles. The [Barmaid] stared at the floor and the blood and blanched a bit.

“Fighting?”

“They barely got through the front door. The Redfangs captured a lot of Goblins—they’ll be gone most of the day. If they even return by night.”

“Plan G?”

“Plan G. We’ll have to make a takeout meal for them. Uh…”

Erin tried to get up and nearly fell over. She felt like she was drunk, but without any of the buzz of alcohol. She looked around. Halrac was walking towards her.

“Halrac. Did you…?”

“I spoke to Bird. I think I understand.”

Halrac looked past Erin. He hesitated.

“I’ve met people like that. Adventurers, even. I didn’t realize Antinium had the same problem.”

The young woman slowly shook her head.

“Not a problem. Just different. Just…him. He still did a bad thing.”

“Yes.”

Halrac looked as if he were about to say something more, but he decided not to.

“I’m going to rest. I’ll return later today. The adventurers will rally at the dungeon at midday.”

“I’ll see you then. Halrac? Thank you.”

The [Scout] nodded, and left. Erin looked around. Bird was sitting in his chair. He’d stopped rocking, but he was staring down at his legs and he was still curled up. The pose was nearly exactly identical to the one Pawn had made. Erin saw Mrsha pad over to him, looking curious. She patted Bird’s leg with one paw as Apista buzzed away from Bird, still afraid of the Antinium. Mrsha patted Bird and then waved a paw at him. The Worker spoke without looking up.

“Go away. I am worthless.”

Mrsha stood up on two legs and waved her paws. Bird turned, refusing to look at her. He faced towards the fireplace, which was now full of dull embers.

“Leave me. I am not-Bird. I am bad-Bird.”

Unfortunately for him, Mrsha refused to go. She walked around to face Bird. He instantly turned away.

“Mm.”

She padded around his other side. Bird swiveled, making the same unhappy noise.

“Mm.”

Lyonette and Erin stared at the Worker and Mrsha. Erin sighed.

“I’m going to make Bird go to sleep. He’s tired and really upset now that he knows what he did wrong.”

The [Princess] nodded.

“I think we’re all tired…uh, what did Bird do wrong?”

And then Erin had to explain the confusing story all over again. Lyonette clapped her hands to her mouth and then stared at Bird with sympathy and anxiety. Lyonette lowered her voice.

“That’s…I don’t know what to say! He shot at Halrac? And he didn’t realize—do you think he’s getting worse, Erin? I mean, not worse, but he seems more Bird-ish now. Than he was before, I mean.”

Erin nodded slowly.

“I think that’s because Bird’s happier here. He’s always been this way I’ll bet. But he can be more free here than in the Hive. And that’s not a bad thing. Usually. Pawn told me that Bird used to make mistakes before he became Individual.”

“Got it. Well, if he knows not to shoot at people…I’ll take over. You and Bird get some sleep.”

As soon as she said that, Erin realized how tired she was. She yawned.

“Okay. I’ll…get a few hours. Gotta have breakfast soon. But I’ll…short nap.”

She staggered away, urging Bird up and making her way into her soft, warm bed in the kitchen. Then she realized Lyonette would be walking around her and decided to sleep in Lyonette’s room. After a while, a small Gnoll opened the door and stole Erin’s blankets. But she was warm so Erin slept peacefully.

—-

Night passed into day. The sun rose, and the rain let up a bit, so that a light rain fell while the sky lightened. For once, the inhabitants of Liscor could have done without the daylight. They shut their curtains and cursed the daylight—those of them that weren’t still out cold from sheer exhaustion.

Liscor had survived the second night of Raskghar. It had worn everyone out—even people who weren’t standing guard. The city was practically abandoned until around seven hours had passed since dawn, and after that people moved about grudgingly, yawning widely. The battlements were crewed by a smaller force of [Guardsmen], all of whom looked like they resented each second they stood at their posts.

When Erin woke up, she felt like she could have used another ten hours of sleep. But there was noise downstairs, so she got up, had a weird moment where she wondered where the hell she was, and then realized she was in Lyonette’s room. Erin headed towards the door and stopped. A giant bee was fanning itself on the door.

A giant insect was never pleasant to see, much less right upon waking. Apista had one benefit in that she was cuter than a cockroach, but Erin still gingerly shooed her away before opening the door and heading downstairs. And then it was work as usual. With a few twists.

“Big late breakfast, small lunch. We’re going into the dungeon and the last thing we need is to be crapping in corners. It’s really disgusting. Plus, it attracts monsters.”

Jelaqua’s first comment of the day earned her a slap on the back of the head from Moore.

“Don’t be foul. We’re eating.”

The light blow from the half-Giant sent Jelaqua’s head smacking into her plate of eggs. Erin blinked at the adventurers. Both teams were already up, although Pisces was drooling into his bowl and Ceria had to prop her head up with her arm as she ate.

“You’re going into the dungeon at midday?”

“That’s the plan.”

Jelaqua levered herself up and wiped egg from her face. Then she ate it.

“We’re pushing in hard against the Raskghar. Strike while we have daylight, and all that.”

“Be careful. I’m going to try and fortify my inn a little more. You haven’t seen the Redfangs, have you, Lyonette?”

The [Barmaid] paused as she rounded the tables with some butter and fresh bread.

“Rabbiteater came back an hour ago. Swam back, rather. He’s fishing outside. You want to see him?”

Erin nodded. She opened the door.

“Hey Rabbiteater! Let’s talk!”

The Goblin looked up. He was indeed fishing for food, but his idea of fishing was sticking an arm in the water and wiggling it about until a fish came for him and then grabbing it. He’d already caught two of the flat fishes. Erin shuddered as he offered them to her.

“No thank you. I don’t cook with those fishes. I have a bad history.”

Disappointed, Rabbiteater lowered the fish. Erin relented a bit.

“Okay, put them in the kitchen and I’ll see what I can do. I can always wear gloves or something.”

The Hob brightened and went into the kitchen. Erin motioned him to one side. None of the other Redfangs had returned since last night and the Cave Goblins they’d captured were gone too. She could sense the eyes of the adventurers on her. Erin lowered her voice.

“So? How’d it go? Was the place good like you thought?”

Rabbiteater nodded.

“And they didn’t give you any trouble?”

The Hob shrugged. He mimed thumping a few heads together. Erin winced.

“Okay. But you’re good? You sure?”

He nodded. Erin wavered. She wished she could ask him for details.

“Hey, I know I asked for one of you to come back and give me a status update, but wouldn’t it have made more sense to send Numbtongue to tell me what’s what?”

Rabbiteater shrugged apologetically. His expression made it clear that Numbtongue had been his first pick too, but the Hob had probably refused. He made a scowly face and them mimed shutting his lips tightly. Erin laughed.

“That’s true. Numbtongue would probably say about as much as you. Say, for a Goblin who hates talking so much, why is he called Numbtongue anyways? Wouldn’t…Closedmouth be more appropriate? Or Notongue?”

Rabbiteater shook his head. He bent and patted the air at about waist height, then mimed talking rapidly. He pulled out his tongue and bit it gently. Erin frowned, then grinned.

“Wait, when he was a child he talked so much he bit his tongue and couldn’t speak? That’s hilarious!”

Rabbiteater nodded, smiling hugely. The adventurers stared at Erin. Ceria closed her mouth full of food, swallowed, then spoke.

“Erin, how are you getting all of this?”

“What? Oh.”

Erin turned. She shrugged, much like the Goblins did as a catchall expression.

“It’s not hard, actually. Goblins don’t really need to speak most of the time. It’s all body language.”

Rabbiteater nodded. He mimed swimming through the air and then patted his belly. Erin nodded.

“Right, we’ve got food. You can take some back. Uh—it’ll be a lot. Should we do the special thing? No, wait, you don’t have any wood over there, do you? Okay, I guess we’ll just give you a boat or something. Are you sure it’s safe to go alone? Right, you have a magic cloak. But there’s a lot of water and I don’t think you can drown a Rock Crab. But then, what do I know?”

Rabbiteater frowned. He thought about it, and then agreed to come back with someone else. He left the inn as Erin looked around.

“Okay, I’m gonna make a trip into Celum. I don’t think most people in Liscor are awake. Lyonette? I leave the inn to you. Let’s get ready for a lunch rush.”

“Got it! Don’t worry about us over here. Drassi and two of her friends are coming in. Uh—Welfa and Imissi, I think.”

“Awesome. I’ll be back soon!”

Erin smiled. She opened the door and paused. She frowned for a second and looked around.

“Huh. Guess my ears are ringing.”

Then she closed the door and stepped into Celum. It must have been her ears indeed, because the ringing stopped moments after that.

—-

Erin missed the lunch rush of the adventurers. They’d come and gone earlier than Halrac had told her, so all she got back to was Lyonette and the Drake [Barmaids] cleaning up a whole host of dishes. And Mrsha playing leapfrog with Apista. It was adorable. The Gnoll would leap over Apista, then the bee would buzz over her head and land on the floor.

Since the only limiter was Mrsha’s jumping ability, the game carried them over table and chairs until Lyonette caught Mrsha and told her that she had to either help or not jump around all the fragile dishes. Erin dragged in her purchases, swearing and grunting with the effort. Lyonette nearly dropped the stack of dirty dishes she was holding.

“What are those?”

Erin grinned.

“Bear traps! I told you they existed! And without springs, too! Hold on—keep Mrsha clear! I’m going to set them up outside. Uh, we might have to keep her from playing out there in the near future.”

Lyonette stared at the bear traps. Erin had bought three—the only three in stock, actually. To her great surprise the [Blacksmith] not only had known what she was talking about, but had directed her to the Adventurer’s Guild, who apparently sold the things to adventurers hunting large game.

“Can you open the door?”

Erin rubbed at one ear as she dragged the bear traps to the door. Lyonette nodded. She opened the door and blinked.

“Oh. It looks like Rabbiteater’s back. With…Numbtongue?”

Erin looked. The Hob was indeed back! And he’d brought Numbtongue to haul the food via boat. She waved at him as the two Hobs came up to the inn. They stared at the bear traps.

“See! I told you they existed! Bear traps! I can believe Lyonette never heard about them, but I thought you were an expert on survival stuff!”

Rabbiteater frowned. He peered at the bear traps, touched the steel jaws carefully, and then straightened and shrugged at Erin. He held his hands up and indicated that they were quite small compared to what he expected. Then he gave the traps a dismissive flick of his hand.

“Hey! What do you mean, ‘small’? These things are dangerous!”

Erin wasn’t sure if she was outraged on behalf of bears or bear traps. Rabbiteater smirked. Both he and Erin looked at Numbtongue. The Hob sighed, but explained.

“Those traps don’t work on Gargoyles. Or Eater Goats. Or monsters from the…Human name. What is it? High Passes. Bear traps useless there. Maybe useful on Carn Wolves. Probably will just make them madder.”

Frowning, Erin rubbed at her ear again. The distant ringing was back, and louder.

“What? Gargoyles? You have…they’re not friendly, are they? And Eater Goats? But the bear trap would totally work on them!”

Numbtongue shook his head.

“If an Eater Goat gets caught, it will bite off its own leg. Or be eaten by other goats. Doesn’t work.”

The Hob seemed to relish the way Erin’s face fell. Numbtongue smirked until Rabbiteater elbowed him in the stomach. Erin shook her head, muttering.

“Aw. Why do you have to tell me stuff like that? Now I’m going to think about that—hey, I’ve only got three of these. I was thinking of putting them in the grass near the water. You know, if the Raskghar try to sneak up again? Think that’ll work?”

The Hobs nodded. For all they’d pooh-poohed the bear traps they were all too willing to bury them in sod and dirt. Erin carefully memorized the spots where the traps were buried.

“Don’t you go stepping on these, now. I’ll warn Lyonette and the others to draw water only from the front of the inn. And Mrsha can’t play outside now. Not that she could with the fish and Raskghar anyways. Okay, you’re here for the food, right?”

The Hobgoblins nodded. They followed Erin into the inn and soon emerged with packs of food which they began loading into the boat. Dried meat, some flour, a few flasks of oil and water—it didn’t need to be too much. Erin helped them, but she kept pausing to rub her ears. The fifth time she did it, Rabbiteater frowned and pointed at her ear. He mimed shaking water out. Erin shook her head.

“It’s not that. There’s nothing in there. I just keep hearing—”

She paused suddenly. A worried frown crossed her face. Erin looked around, then lowered her voice.

“Hey—you have [Dangersense], right, Rabbiteater? Is it going off for you right now?”

The Hob immediately straightened and looked around. He frowned and put a hand to his head. He waited, but at last shook his head definitively. Erin exhaled.

“Must just be my imagination.”

Still, now that she’d thought of it, the distant ringing sounded a lot like a warning. But Rabbiteater could hear nothing. That was curious. The Hob looked concerned. He pointed back at the inn and mimed sitting. Erin smiled.

“No, that’s fine. The others must be starving. Get the food to them. But maybe come back? If three of you can handle the Cave Goblins…”

Rabbiteater paused and then nodded. He walked over to Numbtongue, poked the Goblin, and jabbered quickly in their tongue. Numbtongue looked up sharply and nodded. Within moments their boat was skimming across the water as both Hobs rowed hard. They headed west, further away from Liscor. Erin watched them go and then turned.

“Right. He couldn’t hear anything. Which means we’re probably safe. Probably. But if we’re not…”

She chewed her lip and looked around. There was nothing to see. Just grey skies, rain, and the occasional ripple in the water from a larger fish. Liscor looked fine. But now that Erin had thought of it, she felt like she was being watched. Or was that her imagination?

There was nothing in sight from Bird’s watch tower. Nothing. Erin looked, but the few hills poking out of the water were wet and muddy but otherwise unchanged. The waters were fine. She would have asked Bird to look for more details, but the Antinium was in his room. He’d really been crushed by his mistake—or rather, realizing his mistake. Erin wanted to talk to him, but she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling.

The ringing persisted in her head. But why? Erin had talked to Rabbiteater and he’d felt nothing. Was it just something in her head? A mistake? Something that only affected her? Or—was it something only she’d noticed?

Was her mind trying to tell her something? What had Erin picked up on. The young woman stared around. The sky was clouded over, but it was definitely day. The Raskghar were probably waiting for nightfall. What did that leave?

Rock Crabs? Lurkersnatch Fish? The…Goblins? Surely not. The Goblins were far away and the fish weren’t a real danger to her inn. Not with the magical walls and Liscor being so near by. Was it the adventurers her [Dangersense] was warning her about? Were Ceria and the others in trouble?

No. [Dangersense] didn’t work like that. Erin tried to remember how it had felt in times before. She frowned and then had a small idea.

“Lyonette?”

The [Princess] came over with a cleaning cloth in hand. She frowned when Erin told her of what she was feeling but she didn’t dismiss the possibility that only Erin was being warned. She frowned as she put a hand to her head.

“I was taught about [Dangersense] once. By my tutor. I didn’t listen too much—and I don’t have it. But I was told that not all threats get detected.”

Erin’s gaze sharpened.

“Really.”

“Yes…it’s fuzzy. Hold on. I think…ambushes get detected sometimes, but the higher-level the enemy or the more stealthy the monster, the less likely it is your [Dangersense] will warn you ahead of time. Sometimes it only goes off right as the attack happens. But high-level [Scouts] have great [Dangersense]. Or upgraded versions of the Skill. Sometimes it goes off for everyone, like when something disastrous happens.”

“Like opening Liscor’s dungeon.”

“Exactly. But usually I think it depends on what you’re able to notice. Like—if you couldn’t detect the trap no matter what, the [Dangersense] won’t go off. Does that make sense?”

“Too much. Thanks, Lyonette.”

The [Princess] nodded, looking slightly worried. She glanced around.

“Should I take Mrsha to Celum?”

Erin wavered.

“No…she’ll fight too hard and we’re doing that tonight anyways. But why don’t you lock the doors? I’m going back up to Bird’s tower.”

Lyonette nodded. Erin went back up the stairs. This time her heart was beating faster. She stared around. But she was no eagle-eyed Halrac. What could she have spotted that he couldn’t. Erin stared around. Then she stared up at the sky.

“No Raskghar. Not until tonight. Jerks’ll probably try to sneak up on us. Good thing we have [Light] spells. Otherwise they’d be impossible to see with all the clouds and rain.”

Erin’s mind twinged a bit. Clouds. Rain. There was something there. She paused and re-examined her thoughts. Clouds and rain. The Raskghar would come back tonight. Why was that odd?

“Because…there’s no full moon. Or rather, we can’t see it. Doesn’t matter, I guess. The moon’s still up there. Both of them.”

Two moons. Erin frowned up at the sky. Well, obviously they won’t be visible now. But the lunar cycle was underway. Stupid double moons that both waxed and waned at the same time. That was probably why the Raskghar got to be reverse werewolves for six days each month.

“For six days each month. And they’re werewolves. Totally. Even though werewolves don’t exist in this world. Apparently. But the Raskghar get powers. Even if the moons…”

Erin trailed off. Even if the moons weren’t visible. She glanced up at the sky. Right. Even if the moons weren’t visible the Raskghar would be out tonight. Why did that phrase make the alarm in her head ring louder and louder? She stared at the sky for several long minutes.

“Shame that I can’t see the moons. I could check on them or something with a telescope. If I had one. Are there telescopes in this world? It has to be possible. I bet there’s a spell that does the exact same thing so no one invented a telescope. Can I get someone to make one for me? Or would Ryoka call that another bad technology to create? Hold on…I bet that if I went to Celum or Pallass I’d be able to see the moons at night! Duh!”

Erin slapped her forehead. Then she had another thought.

“Olesm has that Ring of Sight! I could borrow it, right? Then I could check on the moons. And anything else.”

She hurried downstairs. The [Princess] looked up anxiously. Erin tried to smile reassuringly, but the ringing in her mind made her voice slightly more rushed than usual.

“Lyonette? I’m going to Liscor to borrow Olesm’s ring.”

Mrsha had been playing with her ball. She noticed Erin’s tone of voice and looked up. She whined anxiously. Erin smiled.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Lyonette went over to reassure Mrsha as Erin headed for the door. Drassi had caught the mood. She and her friends hovered around Erin anxiously.

“Did I hear you right, Erin? Are you looking for Olesm? We can help you search if you need to find him quick. I know where he lives and Welfa and Imissi can check the Watch’s barracks and the city hall.”

Erin turned, relieved.

“Would you? I’ll run up to the battlements. Meet me…meet me by the barracks if you find him, okay?”

The three Drakes nodded. All four females ran into the rain. Erin charged up the battlements. She didn’t know why she was running. Only, she felt an increasing sense of urgency. She scaled the walls and surprised the Gnoll on duty. He blinked at her.

“Wall’s off limits to civilians right now, Miss.”

“I know! Where’s Olesm? I need to speak with him.”

“I think he’s in his office. In the city hall.”

Erin cursed and ran down the steps. She wondered if Imissi had already gotten Olesm and then ran towards the city hall anyways. Both Imissi and Drassi met Erin. Olesm was following them.

“I found Olesm heading back to his apartment!”

Drassi panted. Olesm looked from her to Erin. His look of annoyance faded into concern.

“Erin? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!”

Erin shouted the word. She couldn’t help it. Now the alarm in her head was ringing loudly. Erin pointed at Olesm.

“I need your ring!”

“My ring?”

“Yes! I need to see the moon!”

Olesm looked at Erin as if she were insane.

“But it’s not dark outside yet, Erin.”

“I know that! But I need it for something! The moon’ll be out tonight! I just need to see it! Or—”

Erin froze. Her head snapped up. She stared at the dark sky. Clouds. No moon. The Raskghar were still werewolves when they couldn’t see the moon.

They were intelligent even when the moon was out of sight. Suddenly, Erin’s mouth was in her chest. She turned and opened and shut her mouth. Olesm stared at her.

“Erin? What’s wrong?”

The words didn’t come out for a second. Erin was transfixed in horror. Then she grabbed Olesm.

“Sound the alarm! Get everyone to the walls! Get the adventurers out of the dungeon! Now! It’s a trap!”

“What? What?”

Erin didn’t answer. She turned and ran for the battlements. She heard Olesm shout after her and then the Drake was pounding after her down the street. Erin ran with the speed of panic. Somehow she found enough breath to scream—something. A family of Drakes on the street stared at her wide-eyed and backed away. Erin didn’t care. She ran up the steps two at a time and gasped at the Gnoll [Guardsman] she’d met.

“Sound the alarm!”

He stared at her. Olesm, panting, caught Erin.

“Erin, what is it!”

“We’re going to be attacked! Right now! The Raskghar are still smart! It’s still the full moon!”

Both the Drake and Gnoll stared at Erin uncomprehendingly. She nearly screamed in her effort to explain. She pointed up.

“The moon is still up there! It’s still a full moon! It’s the lunar cycle! Time! The moon doesn’t have to be visible! It’s still the right time of the month!”

Still they didn’t understand. But Erin’s [Dangersense] was blaring now. Something only she could detect. No, it was something only she could understand. Only someone from Earth understood that the moon was always in the sky, always orbiting. It just wasn’t always visible. And if it was the orbit, the position of the moon that mattered and not whether it was visible—

“I don’t understand. We can’t see a thing. And it’s early evening, Erin!”

“Haven’t you ever seen the moon on a clear day?”

Olesm froze. He stared up at the sky and then whirled. The Gnoll looked at him, wide-eyed. Olesm put his hand to his earhole and then shouted.

“Sound the alarm!”

The Gnoll grabbed the horn at his belt. He raised it and blew a long, piercing note. For a second the wailing sound filled the air with shock. And then another horn blew. Someone began to ring a bell. Erin turned. She stared out into the waters. No one had been checking for the Raskghar. There had been guardsmen on the wall, but they’d been exhausted. Why would the Raskghar attack during the day, after all? She saw nothing at first. But as the bell began to ring, the waters stirred. A shape moved on one of the hilltops. The Raskghar stood up, exposing itself on the far side of the hill. It pointed to the walls and roared a word. Erin saw a group of Raskghar stand up. They’d hidden themselves behind the hills, right where Liscor’s defenders couldn’t see them. Olesm swore.

“Don’t worry, they’re too far away! We’ll get them—”

These Raskghar were different. They weren’t armored in fur and carrying primitive weapons. One of them was wearing shining plate mail. Another held a staff. It pointed it at the walls. Erin heard a shriek in her mind.

“Duck!”

She grabbed Olesm and the Gnoll and knocked them to the ground. She heard a scream as something ripped through the air and then a hammer of wind knocked every guardsman on the wall flat. Erin felt as though her chest was compressed. She lay on the ground, gasping, and then heard shouting.

“They’re coming up! Ancestors, they’ve got grappling hooks!”

The Raskghar were swimming to the walls. Another blast of air knocked everyone down, and then the Raskghar were throwing hooks upwards. The water was so high that they could reach the walls. Erin saw a hook land, and then a grinning face pull itself up.

The Raskghar grabbed the Gnoll guardsman as he shakily got to his feet. The Gnoll tried to stab him with a spear, but the huge Raskghar pulled him over the wall. The Gnoll screamed and splashed into the water. Erin saw the Raskghar turn to her. His armor shone brightly. He had an enchanted axe in his hands. She backed up—

“Down!”

Erin heard the voice and threw herself down. She felt a flash of heat on her back and then heard a triumphant howl. When she looked up, a shimmering wall had encased the Raskghar and his armor. Zevara spat more fire as Olesm dragged himself up and pulled Erin back.

“Push them back off the walls!”

The Watch Captain roared. The armored Raskghar slashed at her, but she dodged back. More Raskghar followed him. The Raskghar roared triumphantly, but too soon. Erin heard pounding feet and then someone launched himself.

“[Relc Kick]!”

Relc slammed into the Raskghar and struck him in the helmet with the butt of his spear. The Raskghar stumbled back. Another Drake with red scales charged past Relc. Embria whirled her spear and a Raskghar climbing up fell, howling, his left hand a stump.

“Push them back!”

Drakes and Gnolls were suddenly charging up the walls. The Raskghar found themselves being thrown back, cut down. The Raskghar in armor snarled and jumped off the side of the battlements into the water. They’d been too slow.

Forewarned by Erin, the Watch and Embria’s soldiers cut them off before they could launch another sneak attack and secure the wall. Erin felt another blast of air nearly throw her to the ground again, but the Raskghar with the staff was only trying to keep the archers from harrying the fleeing Raskghar.

“We got them! Alert the adventurers! They’ve got Raskghar coming down behind them!”

Zevara shouted at one of the Drakes. Olesm hauled Erin up.

“You okay?”

“I think so. I think—wait. Oh no.”

Erin looked around. Only now that the walls were safe did she have another thought. Erin grabbed Olesm.

“The inn! There’s no one there but Lyonette and Mrsha!”

Olesm paled. Zevara whirled. She roared.

“Get to the inn!”

She ran after Olesm with a squad of guardsmen at her back. But even Olesm wasn’t able to keep up with Erin who sprinted for the door to her inn. But by the time she got there it was too late.

—-

“Lyonette? Lyonette!”

The young woman was lying on the ground. Her head was bleeding. Erin rushed over to her. Lyonette sat up groggily. Her sword was bloody. Her wrist was broken.

“What—Erin?”

“Lyonette! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Fine.”

The young woman’s eyes didn’t quite focus on Erin. She stared around dizzily. Erin heard Zevara shouting orders to search and secure the inn. All of her attention was focused on Lyonette.

“What happened? Where’s Mrsha?”

The [Princess] blinked without looking at Erin.

“I’m fine. They broke through the door. I’m sorry, Erin. They weren’t after me. They were looking for something. They ignored me. Broke my wrist.”

Erin looked around. The common room was trashed. Chairs were upended, a table thrown over—the Raskghar had come in fast. She saw a small shape struggling to move. Apista was lying on the ground, two of her legs mangled. But there was no one else.

“Where’s Mrsha, Lyonette? Where’s Bird?”

“Mrsha? She’s…”

Lyonette looked around stupidly. Then her gaze focused.

“Mrsha? Mrsha!”

She screamed the word. Bird came down the stairs, looking confused. But no matter how much Lyonette screamed, Mrsha didn’t appear. She was gone. Erin shouted her name, running around the inn, throwing the basement trap door open, shifting the magic door to Celum and Pallass. Then she heard the shout of pain from outside and ran for the door, ignoring Zevara’s warning to wait.

Mrsha was not outside. The ground was muddied, and there was no Gnoll—or Raskghar in sight. But someone was out there. Erin saw a Cave Goblin lying on the ground near the water. He was screaming and clawing at a pair of metal jaws fastened to his left leg.

The Cave Goblin was screaming, his leg caught in one of the bear traps. He twisted as Erin approached, fingers scrabbling on the bloody metal. She stared at him, feeling sick. Then she grabbed him. He screamed and tried to bite. Erin head butted him and the Goblin went limp.

“Where did they go? Where did they go?”

The Goblin shook as Erin seized him. She raised a fist and he flinched. Erin hesitated, and then lowered her fist. Then she looked down at the bear trap. Her mind was numb, but she made it work. Mechanically, Erin spoke.

“Got to get that off your feet. Bone’s probably broken. Up to the inn with you. You’re going to answer all my questions there.”

The Goblin had been maddened with pain. He shrank and screamed as Erin grabbed the jaws of the bear trap. But the Human hauled the jaws open. The Cave Goblin jumped back as soon as his leg was clear. He turned to flee into the water, but too slowly.

Erin grabbed the Goblin and he twisted up to stare at her. He met her eyes and stared into her burning gaze. He tried to run again and screamed for different reasons than pain. He grabbed a dagger from his belt and slashed at her. A fist flying at his face was the last thing he saw for a while.

—-

“Looks quiet, don’t it?”

Ceria wished the Drake team would stop talking. It had been bad luck that Griffon Hunt and the Horns had taken the same route as a Drake team. But the first few twists and turns in the dungeon had been marked, so they had to share the corridor with a team of chatty Silver-rank Drakes before they could split up.

After working with Griffon Hunt for one day, Ceria already realized how stupid it was to talk in a dungeon where noise travelled so much further. She glared at the Drake, but he was undeterred.

“You’re the Horns, right? We’re the Tail of Xil. Silver-rank, like your team. This is our first dungeon dive. I hear your team’s been challenging this dungeon from the start, is that right?”

“We have experience. And we prefer to work silently. You never know what might happen.”

Ceria grated out the words. The Drake laughed.

“Yeah, that’s what all the Gold-ranks say. But even they chat sometimes! And we’re safe here, remember? We have these maps—”

He flourished the copy of the map from the first day’s expedition in his claws. It was a twisting maze of tunnels, but it did show clearly what areas had been explored and how many places there were left to check.

“—and we’re in known territory. What’s the harm in chatting?”

Ceria clamped her mouth shut. The Drake sighed. He turned to his partner, a female Drake with pinkish scales.

“Humans. I thought it was all tall tales about them, but they’re just as rude as they say, you know?”

His companion glared at the talkative Drake.

“That’s a half-Elf, thick wit.”

“A half-Elf? But she looks like regular Humans! I mean, sort-of.”

“You’re an idiot, Fess.”

Fess the Drake glowered. He strode ahead of his companions, stalking further down the corridor. Ceria wanted to call him back, but they were in safe territory and he was truly annoying. She could hear Fess talking loudly ahead of them as he stomped forwards.

“I’m just trying to be social! It’s not like I asked for our team to be assigned to a dungeon! I hate enclosed spaces, but we have to follow orders!”

“Shut up, Fess!”

The leader of the Tail of Xil’s team shouted at Fess as he strolled along with a pike propped on his shoulder. Fess turned unhappily.

“I just—”

The Drake took another step forwards and exploded. His body bulged and then overinflated like a burst flask. Ceria saw a red fountain, and felt something strike her in the face. She looked down and saw a chunk of scales and flesh fall from her cheek. The adventuring teams, the Tail of Xil, the Horns of Hammerad, and Griffon Hunt all froze.

“Fess?”

The pink-scaled Drake stared at the spot where Fess had been, stunned. The team leader made a choking sound. He stared at the innocuous spot on the ground.

“A trap? But how? We checked all the corridors!”

He took a step forwards but Halrac thrust him out of the way.

“Stand back!”

The [Scout] knelt, ignoring the gore staining the ground. He peered at the ground, then straightened. When he turned to the adventurers his gaze was sharp. And worried.

“Someone’s erased the markings for the trap. There’s paint residue, but it’s been scraped clean.”

“Sabotage? Who?”

“The Raskghar? We need to tell the other teams at once!”

The adventures broke out into a nervous babble. Halrac raised a hand and then pointed.

“Back the way we’ve come! Now! Retrace your footsteps!”

The adventurers immediately reversed pace. As they did, they began to hear more shouts and thumps from elsewhere in the dungeon. And as if on cue, a long, loud howl echoed through the dungeon. Ceria’s skin crawled.

“What the hell?”

She broke into a run with the other adventurers. Ceria ran back down another ‘safe’ corridor and spotted a group of adventurers running towards them. She could hear them shouting.

“There are Ghouls coming down the corridor! At least sixty of them!”

“Face-Eater Moths! A giant one’s coming down this way!”

“We’re under attack! I just got a [Message] from the other groups! The Raskghar are flooding the tunnels! They’re everywhere!”

“Retreat! Get back to the rift and start going back up!”

Halrac roared the order above all the other voices. The Drake [Mage] turned desperately to him.

“We can’t! Liscor says the Raskghar are coming from above, too!”

Revi seized the Drake.

“That doesn’t matter! We secure our exit or we’ll be surrounded! Back to the rift! Move!”

She and the other adventurers charged back the way they’d come. Now they could hear sounds in every direction. The dungeon was coming alive. And behind them they could hear howls and barking. The Raskghar were closing in. More and more teams flooded back the way they’d come, some injured, some missing teammates. Monsters were hot on their heels. Ceria turned and blasted a giant thing with too many eyes and pinchers for a mouth and then formed an [Ice Wall] with another [Mage]. She shouted at Ksmvr and Yvlon to follow as the adventurers made a line of steel that slowly retreated back from the rift. They ran into the Raskghar from above two tunnels from safety.

“Ahead of us! Raskghar with magic weapons!”

Ceria turned as an adventurer shouted. She stopped firing [Ice Spikes] at the melee of monsters behind her and saw a group of Raskghar charging towards their group. They had burdens on their shoulders—limp or bleeding Gnolls, tied up. They crashed into the Drakes in front as Griffon Hunt shouted for the adventurers to make a wall. Revi’s summons dueled with the Raskghar as Halrac loosed arrows at the Raskghar in front, sending them toppling to the ground. He drew an enchanted arrow and fired.

“[Piercing Shot]!”

His arrow snapped as it struck the Raskghar in the plate armor. The impact made the huge Raskghar pause in his step, but he charged forwards. Halrac rolled out of the way, avoiding a slice from the battleaxe. Ceria saw Yvlon charge the Raskghar. The woman brought her sword down and the Raskghar blocked with a glowing blue shield. He roared as the impact sent him staggering, and then struck Yvlon with his axe. She raised her arm and blocked with her shield. Ceria shouted in horror. The impact—Yvlon’s arm cracked and then buckled. It bent—slightly—and the woman fell. The half-Elf stared in disbelief. But the Raskghar kept coming.

It was fleeing! The adventurers were of less concern to the Raskghar, who were trying to escape with their burdens. Typhenous whirled his staff and pointed. A Raskghar carrying a Gnoll screamed as a flurry of magical arrows burst from his chest. Ceria pointed.

“Block them! Pisces! Form a wall!”

She spun, pointing. Ice sprang up around the Raskghar in the enchanted armor. He snarled as his feet became tangled in the ice but smashed through. He turned to look at Ceria and paused. The Raskghar dropped the Gnoll he was carrying, bent his head, and sniffed.

“Captain Ceria! Beware!”

Ksmvr charged the Raskghar. It swatted the Antinium aside with a huge metal hand. The Raskghar sniffed and then lunged, incredibly quickly. Ceria tried to dodge, but the impact knocked her flat. She saw the Raskghar bending over her, a huge bestial head inches from hers. It sniffed her again and then lifted her up.

“Ceria!”

Pisces bellowed. He appeared at the Raskghar’s back and slashed with his rapier. But the Raskghar turned his head and Pisces’ blade missed entering the gaps in his helmet. The [Necromancer] struck the Raskghar’s armpits and sides desperately, looking for gaps in his armor. There were none. The Raskghar turned and ran as its companions streamed past it into the dungeon.

Pisces sped after them. He blinked and reappeared, using [Flash Step] as he harried the Raskghar in armor. But it didn’t slow. And as the other Raskghar and monsters closed in, the [Necromancer] had to retreat. He stumbled back, bleeding as a cut opened up the flesh covering his ribs. Pisces shouted, but it was too late. The Raskghar were gone. And they had taken Ceria with them.

—-

An hour later, Pisces, Yvlon, and Ksmvr stood in Erin’s inn. They were healed, but many of the adventurers who stood with them had taken wounds that couldn’t be healed with a mere potion. Some had been injured by the traps. Others by the sudden monster attacks. Others were completely fine and had escaped the Raskghar’s ambush unharmed, like the Silver Swords. But no one was smiling.

The scene was familiar. A Goblin was tied to the chair, surrounded by Drakes, Gnolls, Humans…adventurers and people from Liscor. Only this time the mood was murderous.

“Where are they! Talk!”

Of all people it was Moore who was doing the questioning. The half-Giant loomed over the tiny Cave Goblin. His face was twisted with fury. He lifted the Goblin up as the little monster screamed and thrashed. Moore roared.

“Where did they take them? Where did they go?”

The Goblin shrieked. It screamed, turning to the two Hobs standing in the inn. They were surrounded by adventurers who watched their every move with suspicion. Numbtongue shouted up at Moore.

“He knows nothing! The Chieftain moves their camp every night! So adventurers and monsters don’t find!”

“He knows where they were!”

Moore shook the Goblin again. The Cave Goblin screamed. Numbtongue listened.

“He is giving directions! Left, right—long tunnel, up stairs—stop shaking! Neck will break!”

Moore’s hand was white and the chair back creaked and snapped in his grip. Slowly, he lowered the Cave Goblin. It panted wildly as the half-Giant dropped him to the floor. Erin, standing behind the Horns, opened and closed her mouth silently. Moore bent.

“Where is Mrsha. Where is Ceria? Why were they taken?”

The Goblin didn’t know what he was saying. But as Rabbiteater translated he instantly gabbled a reply. Numbtongue translated.

“Take Gnolls! Take white Gnoll! Special Gnoll! Chieftain want! Raskghar want! Also take special-smelling…pointy-eared not-Human! Very important! No Goblins or Raskghar kill or Chieftain kills them! They must have pointy-eared not-Human!”

“Why?”

The Horns looked at each other, confused. Yvlon’s face was white. Her hands bled as her fingernails dug into her palms. Ksmvr was gripping his shortsword, barely restrained in place. Pisces was less calm. He strode forwards and seized the Goblin.

“Why Ceria? Who is this Chieftain? Why does he want her?”

He shook the Goblin wildly. The little Cave Goblin screamed as Pisces bent. The [Necromancer]’s face changed, turning into a rotting mask. Pisces grew as the illusion magic transformed him. His voice boomed and his body contorted, growing into a fleshy monster of undeath.

“Answer me, wretch!”

“Pisces!”

Erin shouted, unable to take it anymore. Pisces ignored her. He kept shaking the Goblin, hitting it, until Dawil and Seborn dragged him off the Goblin. The little creature was sobbing. It shouted a response. Numbtongue listened.

“Chieftain ordered. Chieftain ordered! Must obey Chieftain or die! Chieftain will kill!”

Pisces shouted, struggling.

“Who is the Chieftain? Who?”

The Goblin screamed an answer.

“One arm! One arm! Horn Chieftain! Great Chieftain! Not Raskghar! Not Goblin! One arm!”

And then there was silence. Numbtongue looked around, uncomprehendingly. Every eye stared at the Cave Goblin in shock. Then, slowly, the adventurers, the guardsmen of Pallass, Erin, Lyonette…everyone, turned to look at the Horns of Hammerad. Yvlon’s face went white. She stared at the Goblin.

“It can’t be.”

—-

“Wake up.”

Somewhere in the darkness below, someone slapped Ceria roughly. She came to with a start. She felt a terrible pain in her chest, bruising, maybe a cracked rib. And her head—she groaned, then remembered. Ceria raised her skeletal hand. A hand caught it.

“You’re awake. Good!”

The voice was familiar. But it was odd. Ceria couldn’t place it. The deep, rumbling voice—she looked around wildly.

“Where? The Raskghar?”

It was dark. There was barely any light in the room. Slowly, Ceria’s eyes adjusted. As it did, the hand that was holding hers slowly released.

“Move slowly. You are injured. It has taken me a long time to find, you, Ceria. At last. I’d given you up for dead.”

That voice. It was familiar! But Ceria hadn’t heard it in…months. She looked around.

“It can’t be. Are you—is it—”

A huge figure stood in front of her, barely visible. Ceria squinted up at him. A giant stood in the darkness. Not as tall as Moore, but built of muscle. His body was powerful, humanoid, but not Human. He had short, dark brown fur, and his face was shaped like a cow’s. He had a pair of sharp horns and his hands were larger than any Human man’s.

No. Not hands. Hand. Ceria stared at the figure and squinted. He only had one arm.

One arm. Her breath drew in sharply. The figure smiled. He moved and a bit of light shone down. Calruz grinned down at Ceria, his yellowed teeth flashing in the darkness.

“You’ve returned to me. My precious teammate. My Horn of Hammerad. At last I have someone to rely on. Someone to help me.”

He stepped back. Ceria stared at Calruz, too shocked for words, for thought. Then, at last, she took in the room behind him. She sat in a massive domed chamber, the roof of which had caved inwards in two parts. She saw many, many furry shapes moving about, some sleeping, others eating. And between them scurried a multitude of smaller shapes. Ceria’s breath caught as she identified them.

Raskghar. And Cave Goblins, scurrying around between them. And behind them on the far walls—

“Gnolls.”

They were lined up, held captive in crude cages of wood and hide. The Gnolls of Liscor huddled together, staring at the Raskghar in silence. And held captive in a small cage separated from the rest was a white shape.

“Mrsha!”

Ceria lunged to her feet. She tried to move, but the hand caught her again. She twisted. Calruz stared down at Ceria.

“Hold, Ceria. Those are my prisoners.”

The half-Elf’s jaw worked soundlessly.

“Prisoners? Calruz. Is that you? How are you alive? What are you doing down here? Why are the Raskghar—”

Calruz grinned at her. The Minotaur’s eyes focused on Ceria, looking her up and down. He spoke casually.

“Why, they are my team of course. A new team. A…tribe. I lead them. The Raskghar are my tools to conquer the dungeon.”

“The dungeon?”

“Of course! Why do you think we came down here? This dungeon is far larger than I thought. I miscalculated our first expedition. But we haven’t failed. There are thousands of Raskghar. And they have artifacts! I’ve turned them into a fighting force. And they grow stronger on the full moon. And with the Gnolls, they’ll be stronger still. But most importantly, they found you.”

“Me?”

The Minotaur drew closer. Ceria could feel her bones grinding as his grip tightened on her arm. Calruz’ breath was foul and rancid as he peered at her.

“Yes. My teammate. You’re here. We can finally finish our job. We’ll conquer this dungeon and emerge as heroes! Heroes, Ceria! Imagine it!”

And at last, Ceria understood. She felt the cold dungeon floor beneath her feet, heard the Raskghar growling, saw the Cave Goblins moving about fearfully, and saw the Gnolls watching her. Her and the Minotaur with one arm. But Calruz only had eyes for her. He grinned at Ceria. There was triumph in his eyes. He looked relieved, elated, confident, and he spoke as she remembered. Their fearless leader, ready to charge into the fray. There was only one difference now.

He was completely, utterly insane.

5.39

When she’d first woken and seen him, he had been just as she remembered. Tall. Proud, his horns gleaming in the faded light. A warrior and leader. The Captain of the Horns of Hammerad. That prickly, stubborn, prideful, honorable friend she’d fought with for years.

Calruz. But when the shock had faded and she’d taken in the Raskghar and the captive Gnolls—seen the madness in his eyes, Ceria had seen him as he truly was. Calruz was not the same. Not at all.

It was a thousand different things. The first thing Ceria noticed was his fur. The short hairs on his body were rough and dirty, matted with dried blood in places. She could see scars beneath his fur in places. Calruz looked like a savage. The Minotaur she’d known had cared for his appearance as fastidiously as any [Knight]. This Calruz looked scarred and rough.

His teeth and odor were another part of that. Calruz looked like he hadn’t cleaned his teeth and he stank of rotten meat and sweat. And blood. The smell of blood actually covered most of the other smells. To Ceria, the Minotaur stank like a butcher’s shop. Unwillingly, her eyes drew downwards and stared at his arm.

It shouldn’t have been a shock to see the pinkish stump of flesh at his shoulder, but it still was. Calruz’s right arm, his dominant arm, was missing. Ceria could remember the moment when he’d lost it. She’d had nightmares of that moment, when Skinner had reached down and plucked Calruz’s arm off his chest.

She stared at his other arm. It was whole. Damaged—clearly injured in later battles from the scars—but intact. It looked bigger than she remembered. Dead gods, she’d forgotten how tall Calruz was. Taller than Gnolls or Drakes and Humans. Only Moore was taller. The Minotaur still looked like a mass of muscle. But his eyes and the crazed smile he gave her—

Insanity.

Ceria had seen it many times before. In half-Elves in the village she’d run away from, in [Mages] in Wistram—and adventurers. In everyone, really. Or maybe just the people she hung around. She knew madness. The different kinds that took hold.

The half-Elf villages were isolated bubbles where centuries could pass with little to no change. The elders there had been insane, babbling about the glories of half-Elves and their connection to their ancient ancestors. They were frightening—dangerous old half-Elves who had twisted their minds so firmly around an idea that they couldn’t think any other way.

By contrast, the [Mages] of Wistram had been crazy in a different way. They hoarded secrets and played games of politics in what they thought of as the center of the world. Like half-Elves they were cut off from the rest of the world. Those of them that dreamed of more—Ceria thought of Illphres. She had been insane, but in her own way. She had reached for the height of magic, been willing to risk her life for that end. You had to be insane to do that.

By contrast, adventurers were just normally crazy. They risked their lives for glory, levels, and gold. They would rather die with sword or wand in hand than live a peaceful life. They charged into danger for the reward and thrill of it. Ceria understood and admired that. But Calruz? When she looked at him she saw something that made her shudder.

He was gone. It was something in the way he looked at her, as if he’d found her after getting separated. As if he wasn’t standing in a dungeon, as if he wasn’t leading a tribe of murderous beasts and holding innocent people captive. It was something in his eyes. Or rather, something missing.

“You’ve returned to me.”

Calruz repeated himself. He reached out and grabbed Ceria’s shoulder. His hand was huge, rough. Warm. It squeezed Ceria and she felt a shock run through her. He was real after all. She wasn’t insane herself. She stared up at Calruz as he went on, eagerly, triumphantly.

“I knew one of my team had to be alive. All of our team couldn’t have fallen. But no matter how long I waited, you didn’t find your way down here. You must have…escaped the undead and that thing some other way. How many of the others made it? Gerial? Hunt? Sostrom? Barr? My Raskghar were only able to identify you by smell. If you tell me where the others are, I can send another raiding party to retrieve them.”

He gestured to the Raskghar moving about the large, cavernous room. Ceria opened her mouth, head spinning. Calruz shook his, sending his hair flying. Ceria saw a tiny black speck jump from his fur. He had fleas.

“Later, though. The damned Drakes must be on high-alert after our last raid. I would have captured three times as many Gnolls if they hadn’t discovered my elite team. Those fools must have given themselves away somehow.”

“They attacked the city? Again?”

For some reason that was the first thing Ceria focused on. Calruz turned, looking surprised.

“Of course! A day attack. I misled the Drakes into believing the Raskghar were only able to function at night. I hid a team armed with artifacts above. They were to attack and seize as many Gnolls as possible, but they were spotted somehow and forced to retreat. They returned with you and a few Gnolls, though. So their mission was not a complete failure. I spared them from punishment because they brought you. With you at my side, managing these savages will be far easier.”

He grinned at Ceria again, revealing a cracked tooth. Ceria stared at Calruz. Her mouth worked silently a few times. Then she just said it.

“No. What the hell are you doing, Calruz?”

The Minotaur blinked. He frowned at Ceria.

“Laying out our plan of attack, of course. We have a dungeon to conquer. Or have you forgotten our mission?”

“Our mission? That was months ago! We failed, Calruz! The undead killed everyone! Skinner—that thing in the crypts wiped out our team!”

The Minotaur had no whites of his eyes. Rather, they were yellowish and his pupils were dark brown. He paused and Ceria saw his gaze flick to her uncertainly.

“Nonsense. I’m sure they escaped. You did. They’re in hiding, no doubt. We took—casualties—yes. But they can’t all be—what about Gerial?”

“They’re dead, Calruz! They’re all dead!”

Ceria screamed up at Calruz. He looked shocked, and shook his head in denial. But Ceria couldn’t believe any lie. She had been there. She had seen it all. She remembered Gerial pushing her back, striding forwards towards Skinner. She remembered having to identify his remains. She remembered—she felt sick.

“What is this, Calruz? You’re working with Raskghar? They’ve been killing innocent people! And—and kidnapping Gnolls? Why? Let them go!”

Calruz’s confused look hardened.

“The Gnolls are my prisoners. I told you. The Raskghar are my—my tribe. My warriors. Yes, that’s what they are. I found them. Forged the isolated Raskghar camps together. They’ve expanded since I became their leader. We’ve conquered a good section of the dungeon.”

“You ambushed adventurers. Killed them!”

“Those fools? They knew what they were getting into.”

The Minotaur waved a hand dismissively. Ceria stared at him. Then she looked at the Gnolls.

“Let them go.”

“No.”

Calruz turned his head. He looked irritated.

“I brought you down here to rejoin my team, Springwalker. Not to question my orders!”

“Your orders? Your orders?”

Ceria laughed hysterically. This was unreal! She couldn’t believe it. She wanted to throw up. She pointed at Calruz. Her living hand trembled.

“You’re crazy! Working with monsters? Abducting innocent people? Where the hell were you, Calruz! We were searching for you! We left messages! Why didn’t you try to get out of here? Why did you—”

Calruz was shaking his head, more and more violently. He erupted.

“Enough! Don’t—don’t question me! You are my subordinate! You will obey me! I am your captain!”

Ceria stared up at him. Slowly, she shook her head.

“Not anymore. I lead the Horns of Hammerad now, Calruz. We made a new team. We were looking for you. I wish we’d found you dead rather than like this.”

He jerked. The yellow whites of Calruz’ eyes began to turn red. Ceria’s heart beat faster. She recognized that. That was a bad sign. He was losing his temper.

“You replaced me? Me? I was in the dungeon this entire time! I was fighting! For our honor! For our pride! How dare you question me! Enough talk! You will follow my command!”

“Oh yeah?”

Ceria’s ability to banter was nonexistent. But to an enraged Minotaur, even that was too much provocation. Calruz raised his arm and made a fist.

“Do not test me, Ceria. I tolerate no treachery. None! Stop talking about the Gnolls! Stop questioning my—stop talking!”

She almost laughed. Almost. Ceria remembered that Calruz had been just as bad at witty repartee as she had. She’d always gotten under his skin. This time though—Ceria’s mirth faded. She looked up at Calruz and shook her head. She raised her skeletal hand and raised her middle finger. She waved it in front of the bull man’s face.

“No.”

He roared and punched at her. Ceria ducked. She felt a rush of air over her head and scrambled away. She was suddenly aware of all the Raskghar in the room. Oh hell, she hadn’t thought this through at all! Ceria rolled as Calruz swiped for her and drew her belt knife.

Ceria didn’t have a plan. If she had to put the rush of blood and fear into a plan, it would be to defend herself, and then take Calruz prisoner, somehow get the Raskghar to release the Gnolls, and make a break for it. She slashed at his arm with her dagger. Wound him, get the knife to his throat—

Her blade struck Calruz’ arm with all of her weight behind it as he grabbed for her. Ceria felt the impact, and then heard a ping. She saw the tip of her dagger snap on Calruz’ arm. The piece of metal fell to the ground with a ringing sound. Calruz’ arm on the other hand was unharmed.

“Oh hell. That’s new.”

Ceria raised her skeletal hand. Calruz seized her by the throat and lifted her up. He roared, spraying her with spit.

“Submit!”

The half-Elf pointed at his face. Calruz cursed and threw her a second before the [Ice Spike] shot from her fingers. Ceria landed hard, tried to get up, and felt a huge paw grab her. She twisted and the Raskghar slammed her into the ground.

The world went black and red. Dizzily, Ceria squirmed and felt another blow to her head. Something—the Raskghar held Ceria down. She felt warm blood trickling down the side of her head. The Raskghar growled as he held Ceria. She heard Calruz roaring with fury and then striding over. A huge hand reached down—

And seized the Raskghar. The furry beast man had only a chance to yelp in surprise before Calruz threw the Raskghar to the ground. Then he began kicking the Raskghar. Ceria scrambled to one side.

“Insubordination! You do not touch her without my permission! You dare to injure her? You?”

He pummeled the Raskghar with his feet, striking him with a hammer blow from his good arm when the Raskghar tried to rise and fight back. For all of the Raskghar’s huge size, Calruz was still bigger. And clearly, stronger. He had always been strong, but Ceria thought he had gained some kind of Skill. Calruz turned from the bloody, whimpering body at last and turned to Ceria. The red madness in his eyes made her brace, but suddenly, Calruz was calm again. He strode over to her.

“Did that fool injure you? Let me see your head.”

The half-Elf flinched, but Calruz’ fingers were gentle as he inspected her head wound.

“Superficial cuts. A bit of healing potion will fix that.”

Then the Minotaur frowned and looked down.

“What happened to your hand?”

Ceria blinked up into Calruz’s face. He sounded…normal. Still a bit crazy, but more normal. She swallowed the bile in her throat and tried to respond.

“I uh, lost it when I used a spell to hold off the undead. The magical backlash froze all the skin off.”

“Dead gods. But your hand works! Is it magic? Some kind of spell?”

Calruz stared down at Ceria. She could see the Raskghar behind him trying to get up, keening silently in pain. He’d lost some of his teeth! The other Raskghar growled at him, mocking, but a Cave Goblin scurried forwards with a cloth in one hand. The Raskghar grabbed it and knocked the Cave Goblin back. Pain begat pain. Ceria focused on Calruz.

“My hand? No it’s—I think it’s a half-Elf thing.”

“That creature. That flesh monstrosity.”

Calruz growled. He opened and closed his left hand, breathing heavily. He turned away from Ceria.

“Do you know where it is? I’ve searched for a way back up to the crypt. I fell down a—a hole. But I cannot remember where it was. However, I am sure that this time we can fell the beast. The Raskghar have artifacts. I have a weapon myself that will do the job. How many undead remain, do you think?”

Again, Ceria had to remember what he was talking about. She shook her head.

“Undead? None. That thing—it was called Skinner, Calruz. Remember the poem on the wall? The people of Liscor killed it. And all the undead that came out of the crypt. Almost everyone in our expedition died. But Skinner—they killed him. It.”

This time, Calruz’ brows creased. He repeated her words slowly, as if trying to make sense of them.

“Slain? They slew it? That’s good. That is…all dead? All of them? You saw them? All of my Horns? Are they truly…?”

He looked at Ceria. She nodded slowly. The Minotaur stood very still, and then he sat. He covered his face with his hand.

“I see.”

Ceria took that moment to look around. The Raskghar were staring at her appraisingly. They didn’t look afraid—rather, they looked like predators eying up a main course. But they looked apprehensively at Calruz. Apprehensively, but with expectation as well. He was leading them! And Ceria saw too much intelligence in their eyes. She looked at Calruz. A bit of hope stirred in her chest.

“Calruz. Erin killed Skinner.”

The Minotaur gaped at her.

“The…[Innkeeper]? The Human female? With the skeleton? Yes. Yes, I remember her. She slew the monster? How?”

“Acid jars.”

Ceria watched Calruz’ expression change. Shock, indignation, and then—he laughed.

“Acid jars? Are you serious?”

She nodded. Calruz bellowed a laugh. He turned, made a fist, pounded his thigh. He laughed again.

“We should have bought everything she had! Acid jars? Truly? An [Innkeeper] did what four Silver-rank teams couldn’t? Acid jars?”

He roared with laughter. Ceria forced herself to smile and nod. She cleared her throat as Calruz’ laughter ebbed.

“Right. Erin killed Skinner. And guess what? That white Gnoll? The one your Raskghar kidnapped? She’s Erin’s ward.”

“She is?”

Calruz turned. He glanced at Mrsha, visibly confused. The little Gnoll was peeking out of her cage. She hid the moment Calruz turned, but she had been looking at Ceria. The half-Elf’s heart pounded wildly. If she could pull this off—

“That’s right. She took in Mrsha after Ryoka rescued her. Ryoka and Erin both care about Mrsha. These Gnolls are citizens of Liscor. You need to let them go.”

“Erin. Ryoka. Where is Ryoka? The last we saw her—”

Calruz shook his head. Ceria spoke quickly.

“It’s a long story. But I’m sure Erin—and Ryoka—are concerned for Mrsha. If you let her go…”

A rumble of protest sprung up from the Raskghar. Ceria looked at them, wide-eyed. They were listening! Worse, they understood. Calruz glanced at them and the rumble instantly faded.

“My people spoke of the white Gnoll. They believe she is special.”

White fur. Ceria glanced quickly at Mrsha. The Gnoll was peeking at her.

“She might be. But Ryoka saved her. Ryoka did. And Erin’s been raising her. Calruz. You should let her go. And the others.”

Calruz had been slowly nodding. Right up until Ceria said ‘others’. Then he paused. He frowned and looked at the Raskghar. When he turned back he shook his head.

“No. I told you. They are my prisoners. I have a use for them. You—I told you! That is not why I brought you down here! You will fight by my side! Leave the prisoners alone!”

“No. Let them go and I’ll join you.”

Calruz swung back to Ceria.

“You don’t make demands. I lead here! This is not a negotiation! Obey me or you will share his fate!”

He pointed at the bloody Raskghar. Calruz loomed over Ceria. The half-Elf felt his anger. Her legs shook, but she made herself stand taller. She made a fist with both hands and braced herself.

“Never.”

Again she saw Calruz’ face twist with fury. He raised a hand and Ceria gritted her teeth. She readied a spell. But this time Calruz’ madness took a different turn. He threw his head back and barked another short laugh.

“You always were insubordinate! It’s what I appreciated about you.”

He shook his head and turned away. Ceria lowered her hands. She felt another shiver crawl down her spine. This was not Calruz! He went from fury to humor in the blink of an eye. The Minotaur gestured around the Raskghar camp.

“This is why I needed you. Someone who could speak back when needed. Not like these Raskghar. They’re nothing more than beasts for most of the month. Only when the moon is nearly full do they regain any semblance of intelligence. We must make as many gains as possible now. Come, I need to show you around the dungeon. I plan to launch an offensive with your magics to back up my warriors. Can you cast [Fireball] with that wand or do I need to find you a better one?”

“Calruz—I told you no.”

The Minotaur paused. He looked at Ceria.

“And I do not accept that. You will work with me. I warn you, Ceria. Do not refuse me again. Join me.”

Ceria wavered. She crossed her hands behind her back, flicked her fingers. A bit of light flared, invisible to Calruz. Then she shook her head. Calruz’ eyes turned red again.

“I will not be disobeyed! You!”

He whirled and pointed. One of the Raskghar sitting on the ground looked up. She—it was a she—stood, looking wary. Calruz pointed at her.

“Take one of the Gnolls. Any of them save for the white one. You may perform the ritual. Do it now!”

The Raskghar bared her teeth. Alarmed, Ceria looked at her.

“Wait—”

Calruz swung back towards her. Now the insanity lit up his eyes.

“You did this. You forced my hand.”

She didn’t know what ritual he meant. But the way the Raskghar smiled made Ceria terribly uneasy. She looked at the Gnolls. But he wouldn’t hurt them because of her, surely. He might be insane, but she had never known him to compromise his honor. She croaked as she watched the Raskghar turn.

“Wait, Calruz, I—”

Too late. The female Raskghar stepped towards the cages at the back. They weren’t the typical barred cells that Ceria had seen in Human cities. These were more like boxes, made of metal and wood and tanned hides. For all that, they were impossible for the Gnolls to escape. The Raskghar had taken one item from Liscor’s City Watch—iron shackles. Bound hand and foot, the Gnolls could barely move.

There had to be at least sixty of them in the cages. Ceria saw the female Raskghar sniff, and then look from face to face. The Gnolls tried to edge back. There were children, males, females—Ceria saw the female look at a young male Gnoll. She opened his cage. A terrible foreboding seized Ceria. She ran forwards but a Raskghar grabbed her. Calruz growled.

“Hold her down. Make her watch.”

A pair of Raskghar forced Ceria down effortlessly. She tried to blast them with magic, but the blow to her head made her dizzy. And the Raskghar were forcing her hands down. She couldn’t aim at them. She shouted desperately at the Minotaur as he turned to watch.

“Calruz! Stop! I’ll obey you! Stop! I’ll do it!”

He ignored her. The Raskghar held Ceria down but she could still see. The female Raskghar entered the cell after barking at the others. The Gnoll in the cell jerked and struggled as the Raskghar entered. One ripped the shackles from his hands and legs after unlocking it with a key. That gave the prisoners a chance. Ceria watched, hoping—but in vain.

The Gnoll fought wildly, but he was surrounded. Four Raskghar grabbed his arms and legs and towed him out of the cell. The other Gnolls howled, fighting their restraints. The Raskghar watched. All of the Raskghar in the room had formed a circle. Around—Ceria’s heart stopped—a slab of stone in the center of the room.

It was just a piece of rock, but it was stained dark red. Ceria struggled and the Gnoll did the same. The Raskghar paid him no heed. They were—crooning. Making a soft growling sound as they carried him. All the Raskghar were making the sound. It was low, ominous. Expectant.

The four Raskghar carried the Gnoll to the slab of rock. They slammed him onto the flat surface. The Gnoll groaned and then stiffened as the female Raskghar stepped forwards. She had a jagged bit of stone in her hand.

“Calruz! Calruz! Don’t do this! Don’t—”

A paw muffled Ceria’s screams. The Minotaur didn’t look back once. The female Raskghar looked at him and he nodded. She raised the stone and the crooning sound from the Raskghar stopped. The sudden silence was complete. Ceria could hear nothing, not even her voice screaming. She felt something in the air. Magic? It made her sick to her stomach. She saw the Gnoll struggling, his tendons bulging beneath his fur. Then he looked over at her. His voice echoed.

“Half-Elf—tell my family in Liscor—tell them I thought of them—”

The female Raskghar brought down the chunk of stone. The Gnoll screamed as it pierced his breast. He surged, fighting the four Raskghar holding him, howling. The female Raskghar twisted the stone and he jerked and went still.

Ceria heard a howl, long and loud. The Raskghar lifted the bloody stone dagger and licked the blood from the tip. The Raskghar around her howled in triumph. The four surrounding the dead Gnoll stepped back. The female Raskghar bent and, to Ceria’s horror, began to tear at the Gnoll’s chest. She was eating something.

His heart.

The grisly feast took seconds. The entire time Ceria was staring at the Raskghar. At Calruz, who was watching, expressionless, his left hand clenching and unclenching impatiently. The female Raskghar chewed noisily and swallowed. Something like a sigh filled the room. Something changed.

When the Raskghar raised her bloody muzzle, her eyes glowed with inner light for a second. The Raskghar’s body shifted. Ceria saw the Raskghar grow slightly, her fangs and claws lengthening, her muscles developing. The change was slight, but when the Raskghar straightened she was taller, more fearsome than before. But the worse difference was in her eyes. Again. Only the Raskghar wasn’t mad. Fierce, bright intelligence shone from her gaze as she looked around. She wiped blood from her fur and licked it.

The room was silent. The Gnolls clung to each other, staring at the Raskghar, wide-eyed. Calruz grunted. He strode forwards and the female Raskghar turned to him.

“Well?”

“Good.”

The Raskghar’s growling voice made Ceria jump. She stared at the female Raskghar in shock. This Raskghar looked much like the others to her, but Krshia would have recognized her as the very same one she had met in Liscor. The female Raskghar’s deep voice rumbled as she addressed Calruz deferentially.

“Old way works. Gnolls make us stronger. Smarter. More blood means more power. All Raskghar will drink. Grow.”

The other Raskghar growled expectantly. They stared at the Gnolls. Calruz shook his head. he raised a finger, raised his voice imperiously.

“One for today. One. I will select another worthy Raskghar to conduct this ritual. The best of the warriors. You will take command of Dailre’s Fist. I expect greater results. The Gnolls will not be touched until then.”

The Raskghar female didn’t like that. She licked her lips.

“Want more Gnolls. More—”

Calruz’s face twisted into a snarl. He lashed out at the Raskghar, swinging so fast that Ceria heard the crack before she registered his left arm move. The female’s head jerked backwards. She howled in pain and surprise and lurched backwards, her ears flattening along her head. Calruz glared down at her.

“I decide! You will follow my orders or die. Is that understood?”

The air was tense. For a second Ceria thought the Raskghar would lash out, but she clearly thought better of it. Her eyes flashed with discontent, but she bowed her head submissively. Her tail lowered.

“Yes, Chieftain.”

“Go.”

She bounded back towards the other Raskghar. They made way for her, sniffing at her. Ceria saw the female glance back at her. Then she disappeared. Ceria turned her gaze back towards Calruz. The Minotaur nodded and the Raskghar let her go. He let her get up and looked at her.

Insanity. Or was it just him, now? Ceria didn’t know. She stared dully at the Minotaur. Calruz spoke coldly.

“Every time you disobey my orders I will sacrifice another of these Gnolls. Follow my command and I will let a few go. Perhaps even the white one.”

He nodded at Mrsha. Ceria stared at the Gnoll. Mrsha had seen the entire thing. She was trying to hide in the corner of her cell. She stared at Ceria with wide eyes. Calruz looked at Ceria.

“Well? Do I have to make an example of her?”

“No. No. Please, Calruz.”

Ceria hung her head. Calruz grinned.

“Good! I knew I made the right choice. You and I—we’ll bring the Horns to glory yet. This dungeon is halfway conquered as it is. Isn’t it?”

He waited. Ceria didn’t respond. Calruz instantly turned to fury again.

“Answer me!”

The half-Elf looked up. Calruz took a step back. Ceria was crying. Tears rolled down Ceria’s cheeks. She stared up at him. Silently. Calruz wavered. The fury left him. He stared at Ceria and reached out with his left hand. Then he turned away.

“Follow me. We have work to do. Fourth Company, to me!”

He roared and a group of Raskghar sprang to their feet. They ran after Calruz. Ceria watched him stride away.

“Ceria! Follow!”

Ceria didn’t waver. Her feet moved forwards. Slowly. Her voice was defeated when she spoke.

“Yes. Captain.”

The Gnolls in the room watched her silently walk across the broken, domed room. On the altar, the Cave Goblins were swarming around the Gnoll with knives, rusted swords. Turning him into food. Ceria looked once at him, and then at the captive Gnolls. She whispered two words that they all heard.

“I’m sorry.”

She flicked her fingers again. A spark of light shone. The Gnolls saw a tiny butterfly made of fire and light flicker into life and then disappear. The half-Elf turned. She followed Calruz into the dungeon.

—-

Mrsha sat in her cage. The shackles were tight on her paws. They hurt. She could barely move. And she hurt. A Raskghar had grabbed her, squeezed her and smacked her when she tried to bite. She’d thrown up. She was dizzy. Thirsty. And Lyonette was gone.

She’d tried to protect her. Mrsha remembered it. She saw the Raskghar burst through the front door again, saw Lyonette scream at her to run. Mrsha had run up the stairs, but the Raskghar was fast! He grabbed her on the stairs. And then Lyonette attacked him. Apista attacked him! But he hit Lyonette. Made her wrist bend and crack.

Mrsha could remember the sound. And he’d hit Apista so hard the bee had landed on the far wall. And then he’d run with her into the rain and she’d been dragged underwater, inhaled water and choked until he’d struck her to make her throw up—

And now she was in a Bad Place. A Very Bad Place. Mrsha knew it. She could smell the badness in the air. And the horrible not-Gnolls, the Raskghar made her shudder. She knew, just as certainly as she knew that Erin was nice and Lyonette was warm and that water was wet that the Raskghar were her enemy. She tried not to remember what she had seen. But the Gnoll’s last scream echoed in her ears. Mrsha tried to bury her head in her side, feeling the shackles on her paws. Only when she sensed she was being watched did she look up.

A Gnoll was staring at her. He had dark grey fur, streaked with reddish-brown stripes. He looked old. Not as old as Urksh had been, but older than one of the Stone Spear hunters. He was a Gnoll from Liscor. Mrsha had never seen him, but she could smell that on him. Along with his fear. He was one of the oldest Gnolls in the cages and she could see the others looking to him. Mrsha sat up. The Gnoll stared at her and then looked around the room.

The Raskghar were agitated. Many were clustering around the terrible female who’d performed the ritual. The rest had followed bad Minotaur out of the room. So had Ceria. Mrsha wondered why the Minotaur had captured her. She knew why he’d ordered the Raskghar to catch her. Her stomach turned over when she thought of that.

The old Gnoll was thinking the same things. He eyed the Raskghar. They were keeping away from the cages as Calruz had ordered. But every so often they would look over and sniff the Gnoll’s scent. They stank of blood and death and grown up things. None of them washed, Mrsha was sure. She edged her bottom away from them. The Gnoll glanced at her and then he spoke in a gravelly voice.

“Doombringer.”

Mrsha froze. She stared at the Gnoll. Her heart beat painfully in her chest and her stomach did another flop. The Gnoll shook his head tiredly.

“I did not believe it myself, no. I thought the legends and tales were just that. So Krshia claimed and I believed her. But I see the Raskghar here. Ancient enemies, stories made to frighten cubs. And I see you. And I think the old days are upon us once more. So. Doombringer.”

He looked at her. At Mrsha’s fur. The white Gnoll shivered. She tried to back away, but the older Gnoll shook his head.

“I do not blame you for what you are, cubling. You cannot help your curse. Nor will you escape, I think, no. But know what you are. Doom and death of tribes. Cursed one.”

Mrsha wanted to howl at him. She wanted to speak, to tell him no. But all she could do was hide. Hot shame and fear and too many emotions for words made her burrow her head in her side. She sensed the Gnoll staring at her for a long time. Then he turned his back on her. The other Gnolls stared at Mrsha too. They looked away. She was not of them.

Mrsha had known that. She knew that was why Lyonette didn’t let her play in the city. Because the other Gnolls told her she couldn’t. She’d been fine with that because Lyonette played with her and so did Moore and Erin and everyone else at the inn. But they weren’t here. And this was worse, to be alone with her people who weren’t her people.

The Raskghar were celebrating. They were in a frenzy. They drooled as they yipped and growled at each other, staring at the Gnolls. Like food. Like prey. The Gnolls stared back. Defiance flashed in their eyes. The Raskghar stood up, struck the cages, trying to scare the Gnolls. But they couldn’t.

It might have been a child or one of the younger females who opened her mouth and howled first. The high-pitched sound made the Raskghar growl in fury. The Cave Goblins looked up in alarm. The loud sound echoed through the room. At once, the other Gnolls did the same.

They began to howl. The Raskghar snarled and barked, but the Gnolls howled. Mrsha huddled in her cage, longing to join in. The howling filled the room, echoing, trying to bounce down the dungeon’s corridors, reach above. It was a howl of fury, of grief. And defiance!

We are here! Here! It was a call any Gnoll would know. A call for aid, of kinship. The Raskghar knew what the Gnolls were doing and hated the sound. But the defiant howling was stopped as soon as it had begun. Raskghar, enraged, tore open the cell doors, strode inside and began beating the Gnolls with their bare hands, feet, and stone clubs.

The howling stopped and cries of pain filled the air. Mrsha covered her eyes and ears with her paws and curled up. The beating lasted a long time. When the Raskghar finally strode away, Mrsha saw many of the Gnolls lying on the ground, bleeding, badly bruised. Some had broken bones. The Raskghar emerged from the cages, bloody, sniffing. One came towards her, baring his teeth for violence.

Mrsha backed against the back of her cage. The Raskghar bared his teeth at her, and then yelped as a hand pulled him back. Mrsha saw another Raskghar strike the first savagely and the Raskghar slunk away, growling. But he wasn’t the only one. The other Raskghar kept looking at her. Only Calruz’ order kept them from Mrsha.

Reluctantly, the other Raskghar moved away. The Gnolls stayed where they were, trying to tend to their injuries, beaten into silence. Mrsha sat up desperately. She wished she could do something! Anything! But the shackles were hard on her paws. She couldn’t move.

She didn’t have her wand. Lyonette was gone. Apista wasn’t here. She’d broken her legs. Mrsha had seen the Raskghar hit her out of the air. Erin had been gone. She might not even know where Mrsha was. Or she might be dead.

That was a terrible thought. Mrsha tried to take it back, but she couldn’t. She wiped her running nose on her arm. She tried very hard not to cry. If she did, the Raskghar might hit her too. She wouldn’t cry. Ceria was here. Ceria would rescue her. Or—or the other adventurers would. Halrac was strong. Moore was strong. They would find her. They would rescue her if she didn’t cry. Erin would come, or Jelaqua, or Pisces, or Ksmvr, or Ryoka, or Zel—

But Zel was dead. And Ryoka was gone. She’d gone far away. Mrsha curled up. She tried not to cry. But the hot tears that trickled from her eyes made her a liar. She hid her face and hoped this was all a dream. But when she slept and woke, she was still far below. And no one had saved her.

—-

Calruz. It was Calruz. It had always been Calruz. And in a way, it fit. The disaster had begun with the expedition into the crypt and it had never quite ended. Skinner had come, and Skinner had died. But the misery he had brought had festered. And now, half a year later, one of the very same adventurers who had entered the dungeon was behind the attacks on the city.

There was a horrible order to it. But Erin’s mind couldn’t focus on all of that. She was just thinking about Mrsha and Ceria. They were gone. The Raskghar had taken them. They were gone and Calruz was behind it all. She imagined the big Minotaur, remembered him showing her how to punch. That Calruz was responsible for this. Erin looked around at the adventurers conferring, the Cave Goblin tied to the chair, the grim look in Ilvriss’ eyes as he spoke to Zevara and Olesm and Embria.

All of this.

It was too much. Erin couldn’t take it in so she shut it out. She focused on the only thing she could think about right now. Mrsha. Ceria. They had to be found. Erin looked around at the crowd of worried people and saw a familiar face standing at the back. Lyonette stood, one hand wrapped up, white as a ghost, staring at nothing.

She was cradling Apista. The Ashfire Bee’s legs were wrapped up and they’d been healed with a bit of potion, but the [Princess] didn’t let the bee fly or perch on her shoulder. She had made a little sling and Apista lay in it, fluttering her wings now and then but not moving. Lyonette gently ran her fingers down the bee’s fuzzy body. She looked lost, pale. Her left hand was splinted. The healing potion had mended the bone, but it was still weak according to Pisces.

“Lyonette.”

The young woman didn’t look around the first time Erin called her name. Only when Erin touched her did she glance over. She looked lost. Erin hugged her with one arm.

“We’ll get her back. We’ll get them both back.”

“How?”

Erin had no reply. Lyonette stared at her and then turned. She was listening to a group of adventurers talk. The Gold-rank Captains were standing in a circle. Halrac, Jelaqua, Bevussa, Keldrass—they all looked worried. Some were still hurt. They’d had to fight their way out of the dungeon. There were a lot less adventurers in the inn. They’d all been attacked by monsters and Raskghar. Many were just resting from their injuries or exhaustion. Some were dead.

“We took a score of Silver-rank casualties and we lost a Gold-rank adventurer in the battle.”

“Rebat.”

“We’re lucky we didn’t lose a team. Those monsters were flooding the corridors! My team barely escaped—how did the Raskghar control them?”

“I saw them coming down with artifacts. They’re intelligent—maybe they had one that manipulates monsters?”

“There were hundreds of them. Hundreds! And they have artifacts of their own. How are we supposed to fight—”

“Wait them out? In four days they’ll lose their intelligence.”

“In four days every Gnoll they captured will be dead. I don’t understand that part. Why Gnolls? Vengeance? Food? Breeding—”

“Ancestors, no!”

“It’s a possibility. We have to hunt them down before then. But after what happened—”

“We can’t let Silver-ranks down there. Tekshia was right. This is a Gold-rank only. And we’ll struggle for every step. If there’s no safe time of day…”

“We’re going in. As soon as we replenish our potions and recharge our spells. No question of that.”

Jelaqua snapped. She was flushed, her dead-white skin slightly orange as her true body within manifested itself. Her claws trembled on her flail’s grip. An arrowhead had embedded itself in the Selphid’s body, right in the scales under her cheek, but she hadn’t pulled it out.

“So are we.”

Halrac folded his arms. His face was impassive, but Erin could feel emotion rolling off him, a hot torrent of fury and distress. The other Gold-rank Captains nodded, some dubiously.

“Of course, we’re contracted to go in. But we need a plan of attack.”

“You do. We don’t. I’m going in with my team at first light tomorrow. I’d go now, but Moore’s out of juice.”

“My team as well.”

Bevussa nodded. Keldrass spat a bit of flame from his mouth and nodded.

“The Flamewardens won’t run. We’ve taken this dungeon too lightly and paid for it. Tomorrow we’re going in. Our team will go scorched ground. Your teams will need to steer clear.”

“We’ll be using radical strategy too. Keep away from our team.”

Halrac turned. He strode away from the Gold-rank Captains, towards Revi and Typhenous. The Stitch-Girl was tending to the old [Mage], who had several scrapes on one arm. Halrac spoke sharply.

“Revi, Typhenous. We’re heading to our inn. Tomorrow at first light we’ll go in. We’re using the Griffin-kill strategy we used at Screaming Falls.”

Revi and Typhenous looked up, surprised. Revi hesitated, then nodded.

“I’m going to change up for tomorrow. The Screaming Falls strategy? Halrac, you know that last time we used it, we were banned—”

“We’re fighting Raskghar. Not Griffins. Typhenous, can you cast the spells?”

The old [Mage] grimaced.

“Give me a night’s rest and I will be.”

“Good. Erin.”

Halrac turned and strode over to Erin. The [Innkeeper] looked up blankly.

“What?”

“We need your defense food. The soup or the salad. Tomorrow before dawn. Can you have it ready?”

Erin’s felt a bit of normalcy enter the world. She nodded once, and then again.

“I can.”

“Have it ready to go.”

Halrac whirled and began to stride away. Erin called out after him.

“Halrac!”

He came back. Erin grabbed his arm.

“Save Mrsha. Please? And Ceria. Tell me you can do it.”

She knew she shouldn’t have said that. But Halrac just grabbed Erin’s arm. He looked in her eyes and lied.

“We’ll find them.”

Then he was gone. Some of the other Gold-rank teams left just as fast. A good number of Silver-rank teams looked like Lyonette, uncertain if they were dreaming or having a nightmare. Erin breathed in and out heavily, and then looked around. Yvlon was standing at the center of a group of angry adventurers, trying to answer questions. Ksmvr was being ignored, and Pisces—

“Pisces!”

The [Necromancer] was walking towards the stairs. He turned as Erin called after him. Yvlon spotted him as well and shouted.

“Pisces! Come back here! We need to figure out what to do! Pisces!”

He turned his head and walked up the stairs. Yvlon fought free of the group of adventurers and raced after him.

“Pisces! Stop, damn it! We need to make a plan! We have to find Ceria—”

Pisces turned his head slowly. Yvlon stopped. The [Necromancer] had the blankest look on his face that Erin had ever seen. Anger, regret, sadness—none of it was reflected there. Yvlon let go of his arm. The [Necromancer] walked up the stairs and disappeared. Both Yvlon and Erin stared at his back.

“What was that? Is he insane? We need to prepare for the dungeon! We’ll go in with the others at dawn! Before that! Ksmvr, grab as many healing potions as you can—”

“Oh no you don’t. You’re banned from entering the dungeon.”

Yvlon spun. Falene, Dawil, and Ylawes were standing behind her. The half-Elf frowned at the stairs and then at Yvlon.

“What do you mean, I’m banned? Ceria is missing!”

Falene nodded.

“Which is precisely why you can’t be trusted in the dungeon. You’ll get yourself killed. Plus, your team’s understrength. You’ll stay right here.”

“Horseshit I will.”

The armored woman snapped. She put out her hand to brush Falene aside, but Ylawes caught it.

“Listen to Falene, sister.”

“Don’t try and stop me, Ylawes.”

“We’re doing this for your own good.”

Yvlon’s eyes narrowed. She made a fist at Falene.

“Try and stop me and I’ll tear your ears off. I’m going after Ceria.”

Dawil sighed. He grabbed his beard and tugged it unhappily.

“No you’re not, lass. And we’ll bind you in ropes and hex you until you can’t move if we have to.”

“You b—”

Erin saw a flash and covered her eyes. Ylawes grabbed Yvlon as she sagged. Dawil grunted as he lifted Yvlon’s legs.

“We’ll need to tie her down when she wakes up. I doubt she’ll want to listen to reason.”

Ylawes shook his head, looking troubled.

“She’ll understand once we explain it to her and she’s cooled down.”

The Dwarf looked up at the [Knight] and shook his head disapprovingly.

“You really don’t know your sister at all, do you? Miss Solstice, can you show us to her room?”

“Why are you stopping Yvlon? We need everyone going in after Mrsha and Ceria!”

Erin stared at the Silver Swords. Falene shook her head.

“Adventurers who rush in die. And this dungeon has shown us exactly how deadly it is. Our team will go in and support the other Gold-ranks. Naturally, we could do no less. But not Silver-rank teams.”

She sniffed. Erin stared at her, debated breaking Falene’s pretty half-Elven nose, and turned away before she did. She stormed past the adventurers, ignoring Ksmvr who was anxiously asking whether Yvlon was alright. Straight towards Olesm, Zevara, and Ilvriss. Zevara grimaced as Erin approached and turned.

“Miss Solstice.”

“How are you going to get Mrsha and Ceria back?”

The Watch Captain folded her arms.

“We’ll be doing the same thing we’ve done already. Watch the walls—in the day as well as night, now—and support the adventurers going in. We can’t do anything else. I won’t risk a single [Guardsman] in the dungeon. Even Relc would be outmatched if Gold-ranks are falling down there.”

“But Calruz has Ceria! And Mrsha!”

Zevara glowered.

“We know that. That Minotaur bastard already captured citizens of Liscor! Don’t you think we’ve been doing everything in our power already?”

“Yes, but—”

Erin realized what she was saying and bit her tongue. But this time it was Mrsha and Ceria. Zevara shook her head. She looked sympathetic, but impatient.

“I understand, Miss Solstice. I do. But I cannot help you. And I must get back to the walls in case the Raskghar hit us again.”

She hesitated.

“Olesm tells me that you were the one who raised the alarm to begin with. For what it’s worth, you saved dozens of my guardsmen and a lot of civilians. The Raskghar might have gained the wall without your warning.”

“Yeah. And I wasn’t in my inn.”

Erin looked around blankly. Zevara sighed and swished her tail before walking away. Erin stared at her door. The Raskghar had come right through that. It hadn’t been bolted or anything. Erin had been so sure they’d come at nightfall. She should have sent Mrsha into Octavia’s shop the instant her [Dangersense] had warned her. She should have raised the alarm and gotten Ceria out of there. She should have…

“We’ll find a way to get them out, Erin. The adventurers are working on a map and I’m contacting the Gnoll tribes for more information about the Raskghar. We’ll get them. The Raskghar can’t hide themselves forever. I’ll be working with the adventurers each day, and I’ll get you updates…”

Olesm was speaking to her, trying to reassure her. Erin stared at the unconvincing smile on his face until the [Strategist] had to stop. Ilvriss cleared his throat.

“Swifttail, why don’t you assist Watch Captain Zevara on the walls? And I’m sure Wing Commander Embria would appreciate an update. She has been on duty and I believe her input would be essential.”

“Oh. Sure. I mean, yes, Wall Lord Ilvriss. Erin, I’ll be back later, okay?”

“Okay.”

Erin replied distantly. She watched Olesm back away and then looked at Ilvriss. The Wall Lord studied her.

“Can you do anything?”

He hesitated, and then shook his head.

“If you are asking whether I will enter the dungeon with my people, the answer is no. I will double the reward for returning the missing citizens of Liscor. I can easily afford to pay that out of my own coffers. But that is the limit of my ability to help.”

“You won’t fight?”

He shook his head. There was regret in his eyes. She thought it was genuine. Either way, it didn’t matter.

“I am not an adventurer. Nor am I versed in detecting traps. As a [Lord], my abilities are split between diplomacy, economy, and warfare. I am…sorry. But we must trust in the adventurers.”

“Yeah.”

Erin looked at the bewildered Silver and Gold-rank teams. She shook her head.

“Yeah. No.”

She whirled, suddenly sure of what she had to do. Rabbiteater and Numbtongue were speaking to each other, standing next to the unconscious Cave Goblin. Erin strode towards them.

“Solstice!”

Ilvriss snapped. Erin looked back at him. The Wall Lord eyed her much as Falene had looked at Yvlon.

“I’ve heard about your past exploits. Going into the dungeon would be a death sentence.”

The young woman looked silently back at Ilvriss.

“I know that. I’m not stupid.”

She walked on, making a beeline for the Goblins. Wall Lord Ilvriss stared at Erin’s back and frowned. He tapped a claw on the table and looked around.

“Keep an eye on her. Don’t let her leave the inn.”

—-

Selys jumped. She hadn’t realized that Wall Lord Ilvriss had noticed her there. She stammered and nodded.

“I’ll—I’ll try.”

Ilvriss studied Selys and nodded curtly.

“I must communicate with the Walled Cities. Until later, Miss Shivertail.”

He strode from the inn. Selys watched him go and looked around. The gathering was breaking up fast. All the adventurers were headed for the doors. All save for the Halfseekers, the Silver Swords who were going to stay the night until they could make sure that Yvlon didn’t run into the dungeon, and Halrac of Griffon Hunt. He’d gone for the doors, but Bird had stopped him.

“Mister Halrac. Everyone is very upset.”

The Antinium looked subdued as he clutched his bow worriedly. Halrac looked like the last thing he wanted to do was talk, but he let Revi and Typhenous go before him. He spoke in a voice roughened from shouting.

“Everyone is upset.”

“Oh. Is it a bad thing that has happened?”

The [Scout]’s eyes blazed.

“Yes.”

Bird rocked back and forth as he stood in front of Halrac. He looked uncertainly at the man.

“Is it…is it my fault?”

“No.”

The Worker brightened.

“Oh. That is good. I feel much better.”

He began to hum under his breath. Halrac stared at him.

“Do you not know what is happening?”

Bird shook his head cheerfully.

“No! I was in my room thinking about the bad thing I did. Then I heard many crashes. When I went to look, Lyonette was lying on the ground. So I looked for enemies. I shot at Raskghar. Who are bad. They are bad?”

He waited for Halrac to nod and then went on.

“I shot at them. Then Miss Erin ran up to get me. She said I had to come downstairs. So I did. Many people talked. But I do not know what they were talking about. Raskghar and a Calruz and more things about the dungeon. Revalantor Klbkch says that I do not need to worry about the dungeon so I do not.”

Halrac listened to Bird’s speech. He visibly wrestled with a reply, and then shook his head.

“I need to sleep.”

He stormed past Bird to the door. The Worker watched him go and then turned to Selys anxiously.

“Did I do another bad thing?”

Selys stared at him.

“No. Bird, right?”

He nodded.

“I am Bird. This all seems to be about the dungeon. And Raskghar. I am not worried about it, though. Revalantor Klbkch says that everything is going according to plan.”

The Drake bit her tongue to avoid screaming at Bird. She took a few deep breaths.

“You should worry, Bird. Mrsha is missing. So is Ceria. The Raskghar took them.”

“They did?”

Bird looked alarmed. Selys nodded. Had he not been listening? She thought of Bird and imagined him rocking back and forth, singing about birds. He had not. The Antinium looked visibly shaken.

“But Mrsha is a resident of the inn. And I am supposed to guard the inn. If Mrsha is gone, then I have failed. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.”

He began to rock back and forth. Selys stared at him and took a step back.

“It’s not your fault, Bird. The Raskghar attacked when no one was expecting them. Stop that. Please.”

Bird stopped. He looked around wildly.

“Miss Ceria is gone too. I have failed twice over. She is a resident of the inn. And Ksmvr is gone. I have failed thrice over.”

“No, Ksmvr is here. He’s…”

Selys turned. She searched for Ksmvr, but the Antinium was nowhere to be found. Selys frowned.

“He was here.”

Bird moaned.

“I did not see him go up the stairs. Which means he is not upstairs or in this room. So he is outside the inn! He might have been taken by the Raskghar too!”

“No, he’s fine, Bird. I saw him just a few minutes ago. He’s fine.”

“How do you know?”

Selys had no reply to that. So she backed away. Bird kept rocking back and forth on his feet, muttering to himself about failing. He seriously creeped Selys out. The Drake looked around. She’d almost forgotten what she was doing.

“Drassi! Hey, Drassi!”

The [Barmaid] was cleaning tables. She looked worried and aimless. She jumped when Selys waved at her and then hurried over. Drassi was Selys’ friend. Normally it was impossible to shut Drassi up, but tonight the Drake looked at a loss for words. Nearly.

“Ancestors, oh, Ancestors, Selys! This is so bad! Mrsha’s gone! And Ceria too! I thought we were safe with all the Gold-rank adventurers! What do we do? What can we do? If they can’t find Mrsha—if she’s hurt or—I don’t know what I’d do. I can’t think of it!”

“Drassi! Calm down!”

Selys grabbed Drassi and shook her sharply. She felt panicked herself. Drassi blinked as Selys lowered her voice.

“You need to calm down. I need your help!”

“My help? What can I do? I’m just a [Barmaid], Selys!”

And a [Gossip]. Selys still couldn’t believe that was a class. It didn’t matter. The [Receptionist] shook herself and tightened her grip on Drassi’s arm.

“That’s fine. Keep doing what you’re doing. But I can only rely on you. Ishkr can’t leave the city. The Council ruled that aside from adventurers, no Gnoll is allowed outside the walls. That includes The Wandering Inn. So I need you to be here. Make sure she doesn’t get into trouble.”

“Lyonette?”

Drassi looked worriedly at the [Barmaid]. Lyonette was still standing in the same place, white as a sheet. Selys glanced over at her.

“Right. Her too. I meant Erin. Don’t let her out of your sight. Sleep at the inn if you have to. But don’t let her do…anything. The last time Ceria went missing, Erin went into the crypt and brought her out. This time—keep her here. I’ll try to get other people to look after her too.”

“I’ll try, but—”

Drassi bit her lip. Both Drakes looked at Erin. She was talking to the two Hobgoblins. Selys groaned.

“I know you’re afraid of the Hobs, but try, Drassi?”

“Oh, I’m not afraid of them any longer.”

“You’re not?”

Selys looked at Drassi stupidly. The Drake [Barmaid] smiled.

“Not one bit! Erin had this amazing moment with them. They were dragging the Cave Goblin out of the inn—the other one, I mean. I think they were going to kill her when Erin made them play a chess game! Okay, let me tell you what happened. First—”

“Drassi! Now’s not the time!”

“Sorry.”

The other Drake closed her mouth apologetically. Selys breathed in and out heavily.

“This is a disaster. I need to get back to the Adventurer’s Guild and tell grandmother what’s happening. We need to tend to the wounded—help the adventurers get into the dungeon! I don’t know how many Silver-rank teams will even go back in. The Gold-rank teams are our only hope. They have to find Mrsha. I’m going to light a fire under their tails. You stay here. Get all of Erin’s magical food ready and make sure she doesn’t leave the inn! Got it?”

Drassi nodded anxiously. Selys turned. She felt like she was going to throw up. She had thrown up when she’d heard about Mrsha going missing. The thought of anything happening to Mrsha made Selys’ stomach lurch. She walked unsteadily towards the door and looked back at Drassi.

“The adventurers will save them. They have to. There’s no one else we can rely on.”

Drassi nodded. She looked like she was trying to believe Selys’ words. Selys was trying too. She wished she could. The Drake opened the door and walked into the rain, cursing it, cursing the Raskghar, and praying without knowing what praying was, that Mrsha and Ceria would be safe.

Only the adventurers could save Mrsha and Ceria. Only they could find the Raskghar camp. Selys had meant what she’d said. To her, the words had been true. But they were wrong.

—-

Bird was right. Ksmvr had left the inn. But the Worker was mistaken. Ksmvr hadn’t been abducted. He’d left of his own free will. He marched down the streets, rain glancing off his carapace. Yvlon and Pisces were still in the inn, he knew. But Ksmvr hadn’t told them where he was going. Yvlon was unconscious and Pisces had left. Besides which, Ksmvr didn’t belong in the team anymore. All of this was his fault.

No one had said it because it was obvious. Perhaps they were being kind to him. Ceria and Yvlon were very kind. So was Pisces, at times. But the fact was that everything was Ksmvr’s fault. Ceria’s abduction? Completely and utterly his failure. After all, he had been right there. In the prime position to stop the Raskghar. He had charged in—and been knocked aside as if he were a fly.

Everyone else had done more. Yvlon had struck a blow and actually blocked the Raskghar’s axe. Pisces had chased the Raskghar, even downed another with his rapier during the pursuit. But what had Ksmvr done?

Nothing. He was a failure. Klbkch had been right to expel him from the Hive. Ksmvr knew it in his heart. Ceria was missing. Possibly dead already. So was Mrsha. Ksmvr felt far more strongly about Ceria. She was his Captain. His leader. She had given him a place. And he had failed her.

The streets were empty the further he walked. The adventurers heading to their inns were silent, but they disappeared street by street. At last, Ksmvr was alone. No one walked where he was going. Not even the Watch patrolled this street. There was no point.

The entrance to the Antinium Hive was a dark, sloping tunnel fortified with dirt. It looked like any ant hole, really, but made a million times larger. Ksmvr hesitated at the entrance. He felt afraid as he gazed down into the Hive. He had not returned since he had been cast out.

He would have rather have jumped in the water than entered the Hive. He would do it too, if it meant returning Ceria. Without his Ring of Waterbreathing. But life wasn’t that convenient. Life, Ksmvr had realized, demanded thought. Skill. Sacrifice.

“If that is what will bring back Captain Ceria, death is nothing.”

Ksmvr reassured himself with those words. Then he walked into the Hive. He descended down the dirt ramp and paused.

Though Ksmvr had been a Prognugator for mere weeks, he had been trained to the position by the Queen herself. He knew the Hive and its defenses. Thus, Ksmvr was keenly aware of the Soldiers hidden in alcoves. They would step out and disembowel any intruder. Or rather, crush them to paste since disemboweling wasn’t enough for some monsters. It was the Hive’s first defense against unwelcome visitors. And right now, that included Ksmvr.

Death was nothing. But a meaningless death was worthless. So Ksmvr stepped forwards cautiously. He saw the darkness move and stopped.

Soldiers appeared in the tunnel. A dozen of them, their fists raised. They stared at Ksmvr, clearly warning him off. The former Prognugator hesitated, and then raised his voice.

“Move aside. I have business in the Hive with Revalantor Klbkch.”

The Soldiers didn’t move. Ksmvr hadn’t expected them to. But there was no going back. Ksmvr drew his shortsword and the enchanted dagger. His cloak swirled behind him. Soldiers were tough. If he had to fight his way through he’d have to kill them or incapacitate them fast. So many would tear him apart in moments. The Soldiers tensed—and then paused.

The former Prognugator heard a whisper in his mind. Someone—the Queen or Klbkch—had sent an order. He saw the Soldiers straighten and stand aside. Ksmvr walked past them warily, and then strode into the Hive.

Workers and Soldiers streamed through the main flow tunnels. They moved day and night. They moved like the most perfect of dancers, though their only purpose was to move as efficiently as possible from destination to destination. Ksmvr ran into the tunnel and the flow stopped as a discordant note entered it. The Workers and Soldiers stared at Ksmvr. The Antinium shouted as he brandished his shortsword.

“Step aside! I must speak to Revalantor Klbkch! Where is he?”

The Antinium looked as one, Ksmvr felt a pang of dread as he slowly turned. Workers and Soldiers parted in a wave. Klbkch stood in the entrance of a tunnel. He alone was unique. He had two arms instead of four. His body was slender, lacking the beetle-like shell of the Workers and Soldiers. A pair of silvery swords hung at his sides, as did a belt around his waist.

He stood out from the others, an Individual among the many. Ksmvr felt his stump of a fourth arm throb. He was wearing a cloak and carried the equipment of adventurers. In his way, he was as unique as Klbkch.

“Follow.”

Klbkch turned and walked back the way he’d come. Ksmvr followed as the Antinium stepped aside to make a path. He followed Klbkch, nearly running, as the Revalantor strode down the tunnels. When Klbkch stopped, it was in a place that Ksmvr recognized.

The front lines of the Hive. The place where the Hive met the dungeon. It had changed dramatically since Ksmvr had lived here. The network of tunnels was gone, replaced by a fortified kill zone manned by Workers with bows and a group of Soldiers. Dead monsters were being cleaned up even as Ksmvr watched. A pair of Antinium Workers—Belgrade and Anand—were supervising the defenses. They turned in surprise as Klbkch stopped in the center of the open space.

“So. You’ve returned. I trust you have an adequate reason for attempting to enter the Hive?”

Klbkch’s voice was clipped. Precise. He spoke without hesitation, like the perfect Prognugator that Ksmvr had aspired to be. He terrified Ksmvr. But the Antinium refused to show weakness. He opened his mandibles.

“Yes.”

“Speak, then. Why have you returned? The Queen does not desire your presence. Nor do I consider you to be an asset to the Hive.”

“I know. I am aware of my failings. But my team—the Horns of Hammerad—need aid. The Raskghar captured Captain Ceria. And Mrsha. They are being led by the former Captain of my team. Calruz.”

“Is that so.”

Klbkch’s voice was flat. Disinterested. Ksmvr nodded desperately. He clicked his mandibles together.

“She must be rescued. She is an asset to Liscor! To Miss Erin’s inn! To the Hive!”

“I do not see the relevance.”

“Captain Ceria is—she is a leader! A kind and wonderful leader and mage and—and she will be saved! It is unacceptable that she die. Unacceptable! She must be rescued! I request—I demand that the Hive send Soldiers to locate and retrieve her unharmed!”

Behind Klbkch, both Anand and Belgrade stirred. They looked uneasily at Klbkch. The Revalantor looked up slowly.

“You may demand nothing, Ksmvr. You were expelled from this Hive for incompetence and failure. You are not of the Free Antinium.”

The words pierced Ksmvr’s chest like one of Halrac’s arrows. He actually staggered and felt cold despair—emptiness clawing at his very soul. If he wasn’t part of the Hive, what was he? iF HE wASn’T anTINiUm, wHAT wAs—

A vision of Yvlon flashed in front of Ksmvr.  She was showing him how to hold his shortsword. He saw Ceria offering him one of her raw eggs, saw Pisces brushing his hair back and smiling before a lecture.

The world stabilized around Ksmvr. He stood taller, gripped the hilt of his shortsword. He was a Horn of Hammerad. Even if he had no Hive, he had a team. That gave him the strength. Ksmvr drew his shortsword and the enchanted dagger. He heard Belgrade gasp, and saw the Soldiers and Workers turn as one.

“Hold.”

Klbkch’s voice was flat. He studied Ksmvr carefully.

“What are you doing, Ksmvr?”

“Revalantor Klbkch. I challenge you for the position of Revalantor.”

Ksmvr was amazed at how steady his voice sounded. Klbkch paused. Ksmvr had never seen him surprised, but for a brief moment he thought the other Antinium was. Then Klbkch shook his head.

“The Antinium do not decide such matters by challenge.”

“I know. Nevertheless, I challenge you.”

“And if I refuse?”

Ksmvr shifted his grip on the shortsword’s hilt.

“I will attempt to kill you and take the position anyways.”

“I see. In that case, I accept your challenge. It is meaningless either way.”

Klbkch drew his silvery swords. The sound rang through the large chamber. The Antinium watched in silence. Ksmvr and Klbkch held perfectly still. They did not walk around each other. They did not speak. The instant Klbkch had drawn his swords, Ksmvr had tensed. He had one chance. And it was beyond slim.

There was no doubt that Klbkchhezeim the Slayer was far stronger than Ksmvr. He had led the Hive before Ksmvr had been created, long before. He was a master with the twin blades he carried. Nevertheless, he had a weakness. He had gone through the Rite of Anastases. He had lost his levels. Plus, his swords weren’t enchanted. Ksmvr’s were.

He had an enchanted shortsword and the Flamecoat Dagger. That was his real weapon, the one Ksmvr was counting on. One cut from it and he’d set Klbkch ablaze. And his cloak could probably take a blow from Klbkch’s swords. Ksmvr could use his Ring of Jumping—no, Klbkch would cut him apart as he landed. Keep it simple.

Ksmvr moved first. He lunged at Klbkch, jabbing with his shortsword. At the same time he swung his dagger, aiming for Klbkch’s leg. He was hoping that Klbkch would slice his arm off, give him a moment to touch the Antinium. One touch was all he needed. Klbkch moved the instant Ksmvr did. His swords rose and fell.

Fast.

The Antinium blurred. He blocked Ksmvr’s shortsword with his left blade, forcing the Shortsword off-target. With his other, he batted aside the Flamecoat Dagger. The instant that the silver sword met the dagger, it burst into flame. Klbkch regarded the flaming blade in surprise. Even the handle was ablaze.

That was the gap Ksmvr needed. The Antinium cut at Klbkch’s chest, shouting desperately.

“[Quick Slash]!”

He had gained that Skill after the Face-Eater Moth attack. Ksmvr’s blade shot towards Klbkch’s chest. The Revalantor dropped his flaming blade, gripped his sword in both hands, and leaned back. Ksmvr missed. The Antinium saw Klbkch step backwards and his blade flashed. The silvery light was beautiful as art. It cut as deep as despair.

Klbkch cut twice. His blade sheared into Ksmvr’s carapace both times. Klbkch yanked his blade away. It was green with blood. Ksmvr collapsed. The Revalantor studied him and kicked Ksmvr onto his back. He reached for his belt and produced a bottle. He uncorked it, poured the contents onto Ksmvr, and turned away.

“Take this failure out of the Hive and leave him on the streets.”

On the ground, Ksmvr could only stare up in shock. The cold pain to his insides had come and gone so suddenly he was still processing it. But he knew what had happened. He had failed. But still, as the Workers scurried forwards to reach him, he tried again.

“Please—”

He reached for Klbkch, not caring about pride. The Revalantor stepped away from him, not even deigning to look down. Ksmvr collapsed. He wept and shook without tears. He was a failure. A complete, utter—

“Anand, how many Soldiers have been assembled yet?”

The [Tactician] straightened.

“A full wave, Revalantor Klbkch. Ready to attack on your orders.”

Ksmvr froze. Klbkch nodded, satisfied. He turned back to Ksmvr and spoke casually.

“We are launching an attack on the dungeon. This has nothing to do with your request.”

“You’re attacking the dungeon?”

Klbkch seemed to contemplate whether Ksmvr deserved an answer. He nodded abruptly.

“Of course. Now is the opportune time. For the Hive’s ends. The monster influx has drastically reduced and the presence of both the Raskghar and adventurers have thinned the monster population.”

“Then allow me to help. I will fight. Please—”

“No. The Hive does not need you. Go back to your team and serve them instead.”

Klbkch turned away. The Workers hauled Ksmvr backwards. He stared at Klbkch’s back until it was out of sight. Ksmvr did not dare to hope. If Klbkch was pursuing the Hive’s objectives, he wouldn’t try to rescue Ceria or Mrsha. But Ksmvr hoped anyways. He had nothing left.

—-

When he was sure that Ksmvr was out of earshot, Klbkch turned back to Belgrade and Anand. He nodded as if nothing had happened.

“As I was saying. Belgrade. Your defenses are useful against the monsters. They will crumble against any kind of formation with a magic user in it. I want you to study Antinium pit traps and learn how to dig them efficiently.”

“Pit traps? Revalantor Klbkch? I mean, yes! What kind of pit traps?”

Belgrade started nervously. He was the more timid of the two. Anand, who was outspoken and far more assertive, stared at Klbkch and the trail of Ksmvr’s blood, clearly nonplussed. Klbkch ignored him.

“Antinium pit traps, Belgrade. It is unique to the Hive. A spiked pit trap or one that relies on gravity takes too long. Antinium pit traps were employed by the Hives during both Antinium Wars. A Soldier digs himself into the earth and waits for a target to pass above. With the correct timing and position, he will be able to slay most magic-users and lower-level officers.”

“I see. But wouldn’t that mean the Soldier—”

Belgrade paused. His mandibles pressed together, the Antinium version of a gulp. Klbkch nodded dispassionately.

“Naturally that Soldier would be sacrificed. Anand, I want you to attempt to create a better variety of bow for our Workers to use. Bird’s abilities would be invaluable to have. Our primitive bow designs have not been updated. Take a budget out of the Hive’s treasury and experiment with materials to create a cost-efficient bow and arrows.”

“Yes, Revalantor Klbkch.”

Anand replied promptly, but Klbkch wasn’t satisfied. He studied the Worker’s response. Body language, the way they shifted and looked at each other. It wasn’t something he’d ever imagined having to do before this, but Belgrade and Anand, these new Individuals were…different. Klbkch had never met Antinium like them before. They had personality like true Antinium, and yet they were not. They had…moods. They could disobey. They would disobey. So he watched and waited. After a second, Anand voiced what was clearly on his mind.

“Revalantor Klbkch, may I make a suggestion?”

“Speak.”

“Why are the Workers to be armed with bows made in the Hive? Would it not be more cost-efficient to arm them with bows produced by high-level craftspeople. And on that note, would not a crossbow be a simpler weapon to distribute to Workers?”

Klbkch considered the question. It was a good one. It spoke to Anand’s thoughtfulness. Klbkch had been working with both [Tacticians] of late to improve their effectiveness. And to impress on them what was important to the Hive. He shook his head as he cleaned Ksmvr’s blood off his blade. Klbkch stooped to pick up the other silvery blade, which was slightly blackened with soot. The enchanted dagger had surprised him. It showed that Ksmvr was learning. Good.

“I do not intend to buy the Hive’s arms. And the Drake cities monitor and prohibit mass shipments of weapons to the Antinium. If you are able to design and manufacture crossbows in the Hive, I will consider implementing their usage.”

“I understand.”

“Very well. Send the first wave to the eastern dungeon entrance. They will await me there. Have you any more questions?”

The two Workers paused. Anand delicately scratched his antennae.

“So, Calruz is the leader of the Raskghar? That is fascinating. Revalantor Klbkch, are we to make the Minotaur a target? It appears that his raids have significantly hindered Liscor and the adventurer’s progress in the dungeon.”

“That is so. However, I do not deem it necessary to target the Minotaur. Or the Raskghar for that matter. I will insist on stationing a guard of Painted Soldiers in Erin’s inn at all times, though. The assault on her inn could have resulted in her injury or death, which would have been unacceptable.”

Anand nodded. He hesitated.

“Erin does care for Mrsha and Ceria, though. Revalantor Klbkch, if I might add a secondary objective to your raid?”

“That will not be necessary, Anand. If I locate Mrsha or Ceria, I will do everything feasible to retrieve them.”

The two Workers looked at each other. Anand raised a finger.

“But you told Ksmvr—”

Klbkch sheathed his swords briskly.

“Do not mistake my words to Ksmvr, Anand. He is an asset to the Hive, although he does not know it yet. It suits the Hive that he learn from adventurers. Retrieving Ceria and Mrsha is a priority, if not the main one.”

Anand cocked his head sideways thoughtfully.

“Ah. So you lied to him. Why are you telling us?”

“It is important that you understand the goals of this Hive. As [Tacticians], you are responsible for more than just the security of the Hive. The Queen and I both desire you to take on larger duties. When you are ready, I will inform you of longer-term objectives. For now, it is enough that you consider Ksmvr an asset in development. And it is crucial that he not learn of this fact.”

“We understand.”

Belgrade spoke for the two of them. Anand turned.

“The Soldiers have arrived.”

A rank of gleaming carapaces followed his comment. Klbkch turned and saw a stream of Soldiers marching into the chamber. Their bodies were dark black-brown, gleaming, unscratched and freshly formed. New Soldiers, freshly made to serve the Hive. They formed into perfect ranks and marched down a tunnel past the Antinium. Klbkch nodded.

“I will commence the assault on the dungeon shortly. I expect to take at least 60% casualties.”

“Out of a thousand Soldiers. Devastating.”

Belgrade murmured uncertainly. Klbkch nodded.

“A necessary sacrifice. If I am slain, you will report to the Queen. Another detail. You will not tell Pawn of this operation, especially in regards to the number of casualties.”

Anand paused.

“A curious order.”

Klbkch’s voice was icy.

“I expect it to be followed.”

“Are you not afraid that we will disobey?”

For a second Klbkch felt his hand twitch towards his swords. What a question! If he had not known Anand, he would have assumed the Worker was an Aberration. He checked himself and then responded.

“No. As [Tacticians], you understand that Pawn’s actions are erratic. His abilities benefit the Hive greatly, but he is unable to sacrifice the lives of Workers and Soldiers to achieve an objective.”

“I see. Thank you for clarifying that, Revalantor Klbkch. I agree with your thinking.”

The Worker nodded. Belgrade looked at Anand uncertainly. Klbkch weighed the odds of Belgrade informing Pawn. If it happened he would deal with it. He moved onto the next point in his mind without dwelling on the consequences unduly.

“Stand by to send reinforcements. You will not be risked on this assault, but your abilities will be needed to analyze traps and the dungeon’s layout. An Antinium will be carrying a scrying mirror which you will use.”

Again, Belgrade and Anand were visibly surprised. Anand clicked his mandibles together sharply.

“A scrying mirror? I was not aware the Hive had such artifacts.”

“The Hive has stockpiled a number of magical items. The scrying mirrors in particular are useful to the Queens during battle. Take care not to damage either artifact. They are the only two in the Hive’s possession.”

“What of the one possessed by the strange Antinium in the Queen’s chamber?”

This time Klbkch definitely twitched. He forced his hand away from the blade at his side. This was normal. For Individuals. He looked at Anand and injected as much frost into his voice as he could.

“Your inquisitiveness is an asset, Anand. Do not employ it in matters regarding the Queen.”

“Yes, Revalantor Klbkch.”

“Monitor the progress of the Soldiers. Analyze the monsters and traps and update the existing map of the dungeon with relevant details. I will commence the assault now.”

Klbkch strode down the tunnel before the other two could reply. He did not want to entertain any more questions. It was a relief to stride past the Soldiers who moved silently out of the way. Klbkch reached the entrance to the dungeon—a caved in wall that opened into a dark corridor. The same one the Horns of Hammerad and the Silver Swords had ‘accidentally’ stumbled into. That had been inconvenient in the extreme.

Individuals. Strange new Antinium who were not True Antinium, but were more than the half-made Soldiers and Workers that were what the world knew of as Antinium. Klbkch didn’t know how to deal with them. He had had problems understanding Pawn. By contrast, Belgrade and Anand were easier, but they asked questions that Klbkch was not accustomed to answering.

Drones, the mindless Soldiers and Workers, were easier. Klbkch paused at the entrance to the dungeon. The Soldiers stared ahead, patient as rocks. Klbkch unsheathed his swords and pointed.

“The first rank will follow me! Avoid designated spots and engage any monsters at will!”

The Soldiers snapped to attention. Klbkch led the charge into the dungeon at a run, the Soldiers following on his heels. He pointed with his sword to a spot on the right side of the corridor. Instantly, the Soldiers shifted left, hugging the wall, avoiding the trap.

Yes, this was easier. The drones the Queens had made weren’t True Antinium either, but they were close in many ways. They did not ask questions. All he had to do was order and they obeyed. They were part of the Hive. Not perfectly part of it, but close enough.

Behind Klbkch, a Soldier stumbled. He stepped onto the trap and vanished. Teleported somewhere, or perhaps just disintegrated. He was lost either way. Klbkch saw the Soldiers correct their footing, give the trap a wider berth. Klbkch didn’t waste time grimacing over the lost Soldier. Many more would die before the night ended.

The first group of monsters they came across was a patrol of enchanted armor. The metallic suits immediately charged the Antinium, not heeding exactly how many there were. Klbkch ran straight past them, hearing the crash and thumps as the Soldiers tore the suits apart.

Drones were useful. The problem was, these Antinium weren’t even perfect as thoughtless warriors. Even Soldiers and Workers who weren’t Individual developed…personality after living for a year or two in Liscor. They could be erratic, so Klbkch had requested freshly made Soldiers for this assault. They would not break or hesitate.

“How inconvenient.”

Klbkch sighed as he avoided another trap, leaping over the trapped floor tiles and then sprinting into combat with a group of humongous caterpillars which exploded as Soldiers tackled them. He maneuvered past the traps and led the Soldiers on automatically. His new body felt light and agile and he had memorized the Antinium’s map of the dungeon. Countless raids into the dungeon had allowed the Antinium to perfectly pinpoint all of the traps—by letting Soldiers and Workers run onto the traps in previous assaults. They had been costly. But this time Klbkch’s progress was smooth. The Soldiers trampled all the monsters he came across and soon Klbkch was at his first destination.

A treasure chest sat in the center of a small room, complete with running water and flowers. A bit of sunlight shone down, a final touch of irony by whomever had created the trap. It was so obviously a trap, but the allure of the chest was enough to overcome the sense of danger to most adventurers. However, the trap was deadly enough. Klbkch paused at the corridor and pointed.

“Soldiers will proceed into the room and attempt to open the chest. Move one at a time after the trap has activated. Stand clear until the preceding Soldier has perished.”

The Antinium backed up. Not just down the corridor—this particular trap didn’t just affect the room it was in, but both adjacent corridors. Klbkch pointed.

“Go.”

The first Soldier went. Klbkch heard it charge forwards, and then saw the trap activate. The corridor in front of him twisted. Klbkch heard a snapping sound and knew without looking that the Soldier had been wrenched violently in every direction, like Erin wringing out a rag.

“Next.”

The next Soldier ran forwards without hesitation. Klbkch waited patiently, hearing a group of monsters run into the Soldiers queued up behind him. He had time to think as the trap activated and the next Soldier ran forwards. By the fifteenth Soldier, they had to drag the bodies of their companions out of the way before attempting to open the chest.

The irony was that the Individuals, the five Workers, Pawn, Belgrade, Anand, Garry, and Bird, were actually better than the true Antinium Workers of the past. They could level exponentially quickly by Antinium standards—they were, in a way, closer to the Prognugators, rare autonomous Antinium destined to be leaders. But as for the rest? Klbkch shook his head.

“Individuals triumph as singular entities or small groups. But the true Antinium linked could still tear these Painted Soldiers apart.”

He felt that was true, at least as it applied to the Painted Soldiers of Pawn’s unique unit as they were. If they had ten more levels each? Perhaps. But the true Antinium Soldiers—the ones who were truly of the Hive and not replicas made by Queens trying to rediscover lost forms and techniques were stronger to begin with. And they fought as one.

Any [Drillmaster] would have been offended by Klbkch’s statement. After all, the Antinium Soldiers fought like the most finely-trained unit in the world. But in the past, Antinium Soldiers in Rhir had fought like a single thought. And it was impossible to break their morale. Their will was magnified a thousand times together, as was their ability to react to any situation. Whereas here…

It was possible to break Antinium Soldiers. Not easy, but Klbkch had seen it done in both Antinium Wars. When Soldiers died by the thousands or tens of thousands they lost their will to fight. They became aimless, rather than a disciplined fighting force. Again, not something the true Antinium had ever faced. They had lived and died in service to the Hives. Much like Klbkch himself, death was a necessity, not an end. Which made Pawn’s ideals all the stranger to Klbkch.

Speaking of which…Klbkch looked up. The forty second Soldier had returned. He was undamaged—and he was holding something in his hands. A pair of crystalline daggers, which shone bright pink despite the lack of light. Klbkch eyed them.

“Was there anything else in the chest?”

The Soldier shook his head. Klbkch did the same.

“Deficient. A trap that can only function forty one times before failing is no trap at all. Bring the artifacts to the Hive. You. Smash the chest.”

Another Soldier ran forwards as the lucky Soldier retreated. Klbkch nodded and set off at another dead run. There were two more treasure sites the Antinium had located that they hadn’t managed to plunder. He repeated the ‘trick’ again, waiting patiently as Soldiers went in and didn’t come out. Some traps could activate indefinitely, but most had a finite amount of energy they could expend before having to recharge. The breaks gave him time to think some more.

These Drones. Yes, they were convenient. Yes, they achieved objectives. But they weren’t as good as true Antinium. They just weren’t. He had to order them now along with sending the mental projections only he and his Queen were able to use. In the past, all Klbkch would have had to do was think and it would have been done.

True Antinium were broadcasters as well as receivers. They were linked, not tenuously held together like these half-Antinium. Yet, Klbkch thought of Xrn’s words and felt a pang. She was right. It wasn’t their fault that they had never known what they should be. It was not their fault they were ill-formed. The Free Queen had done her best. And they were still capable of becoming Individual. It was something.

Someone stood in front of him. Klbkch looked up and realized the third trapped treasure room had been cleared. The Soldier was half-dead. A pair of ghostly blades sprouted from his chest. He was bleeding, but he didn’t move. He held a handful of gems carved into eyes in his hands. Were they cursed? Klbkch would find a way to appraise them later. He eyed the Soldier.

“Return to the Hive with a companion.”

The Soldier turned and began running with another Soldier. He left a trail of blood behind. Klbkch studied it, and then did a rough count of the Soldiers remaining. They stood in rows, many damaged from encounters with the monsters or traps.

Five hundred and…twenty one. A good number considering his projections to Anand and Belgrade. And enough that Klbkch thought that it was worth pressing ahead. The Antinium had mapped out the dungeon in every direction, but progress without dedicated trap finders was slow. If he ordered the Soldiers into unknown territory they would die by the hundreds. Not to the monsters so much as the traps. That was why the adventurers were necessary.

But Ceria and Mrsha were missing and Erin cared for both of them. Klbkch made a decision.

“Soldiers! You will charge the next corridor. Move in waves, staggered ten feet apart. Avoid any traps encountered. Slay any monsters. If you come across non-hostiles, hold back and wait for my arrival.”

These Soldiers wouldn’t know what a Gnoll or half-Elf looked like after all. Klbkch checked the Soldiers, looking to see if they would break. They made no reaction to his statement. Good Drones.

And each one of these could be a Painted Soldier. Could be an Individual, like Pawn or Belgrade.

Klbkch paused. Where had that thought come from? He looked at the Soldiers and mentally shook himself. If he started valuing the lives of Drones over objectives, the Hive would surely perish. Pawn had his place, but the Antinium lived by sacrificing. These Soldier’s lives didn’t matter.

And yet, Klbkch’s mind denied that logical conclusion. It reminded him of the True Antinium. Klbkch paused as the Soldiers braced themselves for the charge, for the unknown and death. Slowly, Klbkch walked in front of them. The Soldiers looked at him, expectant. The Revalantor of the Free Antinium looked towards the dark dungeon ceiling. When he spoke, it was not in the voice of command, but in a carrying, loud tone.

“What I am about to tell you probably will not matter. I do not believe many of you will survive. Perhaps none of you will. You are worthless as individuals. And I have no expectations of you.”

The Soldiers stared at him. For the first time in their short lives, they were confused. Klbkch went on.

“You will be sacrificed for the goals of the Hive. This is fitting. However…if you die here, you are dust. You will be forgotten. As if you never existed.”

The Soldiers were silent. Klbkch felt the most inaudible of ripples go through them. This was how you created Aberrations, even among Soldiers. He remembered the old tests he’d done with his Queen, trying to provoke Individuality among the Antinium. Failing. How had Erin done it? He went on.

“If you die, you are gone. You will not be remembered. Perhaps the Soldier next to you will remember, or the one behind. But they will die soon as well. You will be forgotten. You will be nothing to the Hive or to me. But. Fifty years ago, centuries ago…if you died, you would be remembered. By all the Antinium who lived. The instant you were created, you would know why you existed, why you fought. You would never be alone. Those were the true Antinium. And you are only copies. Fragments of what they were.”

The Soldiers were silent. Klbkch lowered his head. He remembered them all. He remembered them all. Every nameless Soldier and Worker and all the Queens and every Antinium who had lived and died. They were part of him. One of the last True Antinium. When he straightened, it was with the weight of his species on his shoulders.

“Those days are gone. They may never return. But for what might have been, what was, and what we seek to reclaim, fight. Fight, and show me what kind of Antinium you truly are. Fight and be remembered. Now. Charge.”

The Soldiers moved in a soundless wave. They made no sound save for the hammering of their footsteps on the ground. They rushed past Klbkch, into the darkness. Into death. Klbkch watched them go and then shook his head.

“A pointless speech. What flaws am I developing?”

No one answered him. Klbkch concentrated. He spoke out loud, projecting his thoughts to the only other True Antinium close enough to hear him. In ages past, Klbkch could have reached out and communicated to another True Antinium a hundred miles away with ease.

“My Queen, we have obtained our three objectives. Permission to send a second wave into the dungeon?”

It will be done. They will rally at the eastern entrance.

“My thanks, my Queen.”

Klbkch ran back the way he had come. He stopped only to skirmish with a pair of Face-Eater Moths. When he reached the dungeon entrance his blades were still wet with their blood. Over a thousand Soldiers and Workers stood ready. The Queen must have determined that they had Workers to spare. Klbkch raised his voice.

“Time to launch the counter offensive. Soldiers, charge the western tunnel! Avoid traps! Engage monsters! Avoid non-combatants! Workers, follow me!”

A thousand Soldiers raced into the dungeon. Klbkch strode forwards. There would be death tonight. Death. But the Antinium knew death. And this dungeon was a foe worthy of every Hive. Too long the Antinium had been on the defensive. Now, for the first time they were fighting back. Klbkch wished he could feel happier about it. But he thought of the Soldiers who would be forgotten. For the first time in aeons, he wondered if he were growing too old. Then he shook off his doubts and charged into the dungeon. And the monsters fled and died as the black tide flowed forth.

—-

Workers and Soldiers rushed into the dungeon, fighting, dying, sending fear into the hearts of even the most primitive of monsters. Shield Spiders fled. Flesh Worms fell, screaming. The Raskghar howled in alarm and retreated rather than fight. The stream of Antinium could not last forever, after all.

And sure enough, the last of the thousand-some Antinium passed down the corridor, their footsteps echoing like distant thunder. Only then did the Worker with the bow dare to emerge. Bird peeked his head around the corner and watched as the last Worker raced past him. He’d pretended to follow Klbkch, but he hadn’t been ordered to join the fighting, so he didn’t. He didn’t like crowds, anyways. Bird stepped forwards, then looked around. He took a corridor none of the Antinium had run down and began walking down it.

“I am Bird. And I have done bad things. I must do a good thing. So I will find Mrsha.”

Bird had understood more than Halrac and Selys had assumed. He knew there was a dungeon. And he knew the Raskghar were in it. And since they had taken Mrsha, it made sense that Bird would find her or the Raskghar if he walked around long enough. That was his plan. It was a good plan, without flaws in Bird’s opinion. He walked along, humming. After a while he began to shout.

“Mrsha? Are you there? Hello? Mrsha? And Ceria? Where are you?”

The dungeon echoed with his voice. Undeterred, Bird kept shouting as loud as he could. It was night. He had to be back by morning or Erin would be angry. She would not serve him his unborn birds for breakfast, or his fried bird flesh that he loved so much. Bird walked forwards, happily carrying his bow. It was his special bow. His Queen had let him buy it.

Around him the dungeon stirred. Things woke up and began to move towards the shouting Antinium. Bird took no notice. At first.

—-

Someone else watched Bird walk down the tunnel. A skeleton. He’d been following the Antinium as well, and had noticed Bird’s aberrant behavior. Toren paused as he bent over a dead Raskghar which had been beaten to death by a horde of Workers and Soldiers. First the angry beast-men got stronger and smarter, and then the adventurers came—now the Antinium? The dungeon was getting crowded recently!

Still it meant more dead bodies. Toren shrugged. He’d take that. The skeleton bent down and began dragging the dead Raskghar back towards his inn. If he had lips and lungs he would have whistled. More bodies for him. He was starting a collection. And she was happy with all the new adventurers too. All in all, both Torens felt pretty good about death at the moment.

He wondered what all the fuss was about.

—-

“You know they’ll come down after you. You have to know that.”

Even if you are insane. Ceria looked up at Calruz. The Minotaur was sitting in his squalid ‘personal chambers’. He had a dirty mattress made up of the cleanest and softest pieces of cloth the Raskghar had, and they had drawn a clumsy curtain around his ‘room’ for privacy. The Minotaur sat, polishing a huge axe with one edge that shone with magic. He grunted.

“I know.”

He raised his head and listened. Ceria heard a Raskghar’s howl, barely audible at the distance they were at, reverberate down the tunnels. Calruz grimaced.

“Antinium. My Raskghar have fought them in years past, apparently. They are launching an assault. There are thousands of them in the tunnels.”

“And that doesn’t worry you?”

“They’ll be dead soon enough. The Antinium do not hold the dungeon. Wise of them. The adventurers will encounter the same problem. There are enough monsters to bury two Antinium Hives down here. Only someone who knows the dungeon will be able to navigate without fighting constantly.”

“Like your Raskghar.”

Calruz looked up, pleased. He was sane, or pretending to be. But he spoke about the death of other adventures and Antinium as if it were the most natural thing.

“Exactly. The adventurers will not find the Raskghar camp. They are too well hidden, too deep in the dungeon and I move the camp nightly between set locations. My expedition will not be set back.”

“Sounds like you’ve prepared for everything.”

Ceria’s sarcastic tone made Calruz raise his eyebrows.

“You disagree?”

“You’re underestimating the adventurers. There are Gold-rank teams. I know some of them. They won’t give up. And the dungeon won’t kill them.”

“That remains to be seen.”

Calruz snorted and turned back to his axe, clearly unimpressed. Ceria closed her eyes. Her hands were squeezed behind her back. She was still numb with horror, but she knew what she had to do. Silently, unnoticed by Calruz or anyone else, Ceria flicked her fingers. The tiny butterfly appeared. It was made of fire and light. Illusion magic. The only one she knew. It flickered between her fingers and then vanished.

If anyone had seen it, it would have looked like a failed spell. But it wasn’t. The butterfly flew—not to any spot around Ceria or in the dungeon—but to the one person to whom the spell was meant to find.

Sitting in his room in The Wandering Inn, Pisces ignored Yvlon’s screams of fury and the argument she was having with Ylawes. He ignored the rain falling overhead, ignored his hunger as he worked. The pile of bones sitting in front of him was enormous.

Bones flew up and rearranged themselves, forming shapes, bending, cracking, reshaping themselves as the [Necromancer] willed it. He stared at the creation in front of him, barely blinking. Sweat ran into his right eye. Pisces didn’t move. Only when he saw the flash of light and the tiny butterfly did he look up.

Pisces remembered. He remembered sitting in Wistram, talking with Ceria when they had still been the closest of friends. His mouth formed the words he’d spoken so long ago.

“Naturally, a [Message] spell is the height of folly in the Academy. Any competent student should understand that. The potential for interception by an older mage is beyond—”

“So what’s the solution, Pisces? Stop showing off your vocabulary. If we want to trade secrets, how do we do it without everyone knowing?”

“We create a spell, obviously.”

“Uh huh. A new spell. All by ourselves. Hey, why don’t I carve a magic wand out of my sideboard while I’m at it?”

“Don’t be so hasty to disparage, Ceria. A simple illusion spell would do the trick. All we would have to do is, ah, customize it. Encode messages so that only we would understand what each spells says. Perhaps a cipher?”

“…Go on. And explain what a cipher is, first.”

Pisces smiled as the little butterfly landed on his finger, flashing a dizzying array of colors only he and Ceria would know to look for, much less interpret. It had taken them months, but in the end not even Calvaron could crack their code, and he had seen them using the spell countless times. It was a spell only they shared, a spell only they could read. Ceria didn’t actually know [Message]. She’d never bothered to learn. But this?

He could read the words she sent him, though the butterfly had to spell them out. The message repeated itself. Ceria had to form it before sending and then it played itself until it vanished. Pisces read the words.

Alive. I’m alive. Gnolls alive. Mrsha alive. Dungeon. Raskghar.

That was the first butterfly he’d seen. The second’s message was simpler.

Calruz. Enemy. Calruz. Chieftain.

“I know. I know.”

Pisces closed his eyes. He rubbed them, feeling exhaustion creeping in. Then he looked at the bones. They rose and shaped themselves into a skull, a creature that had never walked the earth, with three tusks and serrated teeth. Pisces changed the shape of the skull, added more teeth. He abandoned the design and tried to construct a foot.

“I know.”

Unconsciously, he made a fist. His fingernails cut into his flesh. Blood dripped down onto the floorboards. Pisces didn’t notice. The bones kept dancing, long into the night.

—-

Erin stood with Rabbiteater and Numbtongue, staring at the small Cave Goblin. He was bruised. Battered. The questioning had been horrible to watch. She hadn’t stopped it. Nor would she have again. That was what made Erin feel like a terrible person. But she thought of Mrsha.

“She’s down there. She’s alive. So is Ceria. Calruz wouldn’t kill Ceria, and Ceria wouldn’t let Mrsha die. So she’s alive. But only the adventurers are going in and only the Gold-rank teams. They’ll never make it in time.”

Both Hobs looked at Erin. She took a deep breath.

“I know we had Plan G. Well—I’m abandoning it. This is more important. ”

She looked at them, pleadingly.

“You’re an adventuring team. I know you’ve never taken a request—but please. Please. Find them. Find Mrsha and Ceria. I’ll give you everything I’ve got. Find them and I’ll do anything. Please.”

She felt hollow inside. Hollow and useless. And weak. For a moment Erin wished she were as big as Moore, as strong as Dawil, capable of casting magic like Pisces. Someone who could walk into the dungeon and find Mrsha. Someone who could kill—

Erin’s hands shook. She remembered a burning Goblin dying in her kitchen. No. She didn’t want that. But she never wanted to see the dead little Gnoll in her mind become reality either. She looked at the two Hobs, tears in her eyes.

“Please.”

Rabbiteater looked at Numbtongue. The surly Hob hesitated. He reached out and grabbed Erin’s hand. She looked up at him through blurred eyes. Numbtongue’s voice was soft.

“We will.”

The two Hobs turned and strode for the boats. Erin watched them flip the boat over and then begin paddling across the water. She wiped her eyes and prayed for their success. Then she went into the inn. Drassi watched her anxiously from the windows, but Erin had no intention of leaving. She had a lot of cooking to do. It was all she could do and it would matter.

—-

Adventurers. Goblins. Antinium. Pisces. All of them had their own reasons. Their own goals and methods. But as night fell on Liscor, the varied races and peoples of the city, above and beneath, found a common purpose. They prepared. They made plans. They were angry.

The next day they set the dungeon on fire.

5.40

Yvlon Byres woke up and realized two things. Firstly, that Falene had hit her with a sleep spell. And secondly, that she’d been tied to her bed.  With a spell. The magical bindings looked like they were barely more than strips of glowing cloth, but no matter how hard Yvlon struggled and cursed, she couldn’t make the crisscrossing bands of light shift at all. They were webbing her to her bed.

In armor. With the blankets covering her up to her neck. Someone had even put a pillow under her head. Ylawes, probably. Damn him. It was sweltering with both armor and blankets on—it was that heat and the unpleasant sweat that had woken Yvlon up. She struggled, cursed, and then noticed something right in front of her.

Someone else had put a sandwich right on her chest, so that Yvlon could tilt her head forwards and bite it if she was hungry. That was probably Dawil. Yvlon stared at it, and then swore.

“YLAWES!”

Her scream of frustration went unanswered. Yvlon craned her head, trying to look around. The Silver Swords had put her in her room and judging by the three chairs, they’d been present for a good while. But they weren’t here now and Yvlon could see the sky was brighter. Rain was pattering against the window as always, but she would have bet anything it was morning.

“That damn half-Elf put me to sleep until morning? Falene! Take this spell off me! Ylawes! Where are you?”

Normally Yvlon would have expected her brother to be about. He always had thought of himself as her guardian, whether she liked it or not. But he didn’t arrive. And neither did anyone else.

Yvlon strained against the magical ropes holding her down. What was this spell? She hadn’t journeyed with many [Mages]—the Silver Spears hadn’t had any—and neither Ceria nor Pisces were on Falene’s level. Then again, maybe this was just a Tier 3 spell. The only problem was that the ropes bound Yvlon’s arms and legs so she couldn’t exert any real kind of force.

“Is anyone there? Let me out! Hello?”

Yvlon bellowed, but she couldn’t hear anyone. Where was Erin? Lyonette? …Bird? Had the Silver Swords convinced them not to let Yvlon go?

“I have to find Ceria! Let me go! She’s my teammate! If you can hear me—I really need to visit the outhouse!”

That last admission made Yvlon flush, but it was a real and growing concern. Yvlon screamed as loud as she could and, at last, the door opened.

“Hello Comrade Yvlon.”

Ksmvr walked into the room. He looked down at his feet and he was hunched over, appearing smaller than normal. Yvlon stared at him in surprise, then relief.

“Ksmvr! Help me break this enchantment!”

“Miss Falene told me not to. So did Mister Ylawes. They told me you would get yourself injured or hurt if I did.”

“What? That arrogant pointy-eared—ignore them. Ceria’s down below, Ksmvr! We need to save her!”

“But the Gold-rank teams are already in the dungeon.”

Yvlon swore. It was later than she’d thought. She twisted as hard as she could and succeeded in knocking the sandwich off her chest.

“Ksmvr, we need to enter the dungeon too.”

“We will not make a difference. We will only get hurt.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take. Ksmvr, come on.”

Yvlon frowned at Ksmvr. Agitated as she was, she could still tell that something was wrong with him. Normally the Antinium would be jumping to follow her slightest suggestions. She’d expected him to be trying to enter the dungeon on his own. But Ksmvr looked deflated.

“I cannot be a good part of the team, Yvlon. I will not be able to protect you or function as an adequate member of the Horns of Hammerad. I have failed our group twice now. I have no place here. I have been writing my letter of resignation.”

He looked down at his feet. Yvlon stared at him.

“Ksmvr, what are you talking about? You’re not a failure.”

The Antinium shook his head.

“I am. I am worthless. I went to Revalantor Klbkch for help, but I was unable to scratch him or persuade him to help me find Ceria. And it was my failure to stop the Raskghar that led to Captain Ceria’s abduction.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

Yvlon shouted. Ksmvr started. Yvlon’s face turned red as she heaved. She heard the bed crack, but the magical bindings did not.

“You—did—nothing—wrong! We were all there and we—failed—too! Damn! You went to see Klbkch? I got knocked out from a single spell by Falene! If you’re a failure, what does that make me? We both made mistakes, Ksmvr. But are you going to let Ceria die if no one else can find her? Are you her friend? Are you my teammate or not?”

Ksmvr stared at Yvlon. He looked down at his three hands, and then his shoulders straightened.

“Of course!”

He shook his entire body as Yvlon smiled in relief. Ksmvr strode over to the bed and paused.

“What should I do, Yvlon?”

“Uh…pull this magic rope stuff off me!”

Ksmvr obediently reached for one of the shining streamers of magic. He pulled at it, but it was so tightly wrapped around Yvlon that he could barely get a grip on it. And when he did pull, he only dragged the bed and Yvlon a few feet across the room with a dull screeching sound. Yvlon grimaced.

“This isn’t working. Break the bed.”

“But the bed is Miss Erin’s property.”

“I’ll pay for it! Just break the bed, Ksmvr! Hit me! Jump on top of the bed! Give it a good kick, I don’t care! I’ve got armor on!”

Ksmvr hesitated, but he eventually clambered on top of the bed and began leaping on it. Yvlon heard the wooden frame creak and groan and then snap. She yelped and Ksmvr waved his arms and fell backwards as the bed collapsed in a heap. Yvlon heard the wood snap and tried to sit up—only to find that the magical bands had constricted even tighter around her.

“Silver and steel! You have got to be kidding me!”

She wriggled and tried to move, only to find that now she was stuck to part of the broken bed and the mattress. And the infernal covers! Ksmvr crawled into Yvlon’s line of sight, shaking his head.

“I have hit my head. It appears that the spell still remains in effect, Comrade Yvlon.”

She glared at him. Ksmvr reached out and grabbed her with three arms.

“I will attempt to pull you up.”

The Antinium heaved and Yvlon felt her body rise. She was impressed—Ksmvr was lifting both her, her armor, and the bed. He grunted and she stumbled. She was on her feet! Wrapped up like a caterpillar, true, but she was upright! She tried to walk and found her feet were tied together. She could only hop.

“Dead gods, I am going to murder Falene and my brother.”

Yvlon gritted her teeth. Ksmvr tilted his head.

“I believe you are in no shape to take offensive action whatsoever, Yvlon. How will we dispel this magic?”

The Human woman took a deep breath.

“There’s only one way we can do it. Where’s Pisces?”

“In his room. He has not left. Nor has he responded to anyone’s attempts to open the door. It is locked.”

“Help me get there.”

It was hard for Yvlon to say whether she was angry at Pisces or not. Last night she’d been in a panic, and he’d been—what? After he’d threatened the Goblin, he’d gone up to his room. And his face! Yvlon remembered the blank expression. What was that about? She didn’t know.

Yvlon was still angry. She was still filled with panic and dread and confusion with everything she’d learned. Calruz was leading the Raskghar? And he had Ceria? If she stopped to think about it all she’d go mad. So she clung to her fury as the only thing keeping her going. But even she felt quite, quite stupid as she hopped out of her room and down the hall with Ksmvr guiding her. The broken bed and mattress kept falling apart with each hop, and Yvlon left a trail of broken wood and feathers in her wake.

“Pisces! Open up!”

The [Wounded Warrior] shouted as she reached Pisces’ door. Ksmvr knocked politely. There was no response. Yvlon growled and raised her voice even louder.

“Pisces! I know you’re in there! What are you doing? Ceria is down there! Calruz is down there! Open the damn door!”

No response. Ksmvr knocked politely again.

“I am here too, Comrade Pisces. Please open the door.”

“He’s not answering. ”

Yvlon tried to kick the door, but she couldn’t. Instead, she tilted forwards and head-butted the door with all of her weight behind it. The thump left her seeing stars. Yvlon fell onto the floor and stared up at the ceiling, still bound, as Ksmvr tried to get her up.

“Damn it, Pisces! I trusted you! Why the hell are you hiding away? We’re teammates! If we can’t rely on you, then what—”

The door opened. Pisces stepped forwards, his white robes swirling around him. He stared at Yvlon and Ksmvr. His eyes were bloodshot and he was unsteady on his feet. Dust swirled around him, white, as if he’d been baking with flour. He paused.

“What are you doing?”

Yvlon glared at Pisces. She heaved again, but she was still trussed up. The mattress spat out some feathers as Ksmvr tried to pull her up and failed.

“Falene bound me with a magic spell. I can’t get it off.”

“Ah. That would explain things.”

Pisces rubbed at one eye. He blinked down at Yvlon. He looked like he hadn’t slept one bit since last night. She stared up at him.

“Well? Where the hell have you been?”

“Preparing.”

“For what?”

Pisces looked at Yvlon as if she were an idiot.

“To rescue Ceria, of course. What have you been doing? Sleeping? Ksmvr, stop attempting to lift Yvlon. Let’s dispel her enchantment and enter the dungeon. Ceria is alive. She’s contacted me twice. Calruz has her. He’s leading the Raskghar, just as the Cave Goblin said.”

Yvlon and Ksmvr gaped at Pisces. He didn’t pay them any attention as he squatted to inspect the bindings on Yvlon. She spluttered and tried to form a coherent question.

“Wait, how do you know that, Pisces? You spoke to Ceria?”

“Not in words. She sent me a coded message via a spell we know. She only described her location as a large, domed room and told me that she was a captive. And that Calruz killed a Gnoll. Mrsha is alive. Beyond that, we must find her.”

He reached out and touched the magic bindings with one hand, frowning. Yvlon tried to digest all of that and then gave up.

“Okay. Get this off me and let’s go! Dispel the enchantment!”

“I don’t know [Dispel Magic].”

“Are you serious?”

Yvlon began to thrash about, screaming furiously. Pisces raised his voice.

“Stop shouting, Yvlon! The bindings should be easy to break. Just have Ksmvr use your sword.”

Ksmvr and Yvlon stared at Pisces. Yvlon protested indignantly.

“That won’t work!”

“Why not?”

The woman faltered.

“Because…they’re magic bindings?”

Pisces raised one eyebrow at Yvlon.

“Your sword is enchanted. The bonds shouldn’t be able to hold up to that much force. It’s only a Tier 4 spell, I believe.”

“But my sword has a weight enchantment on it. Not one that cuts magic!”

“And this magic is very physical. You’re wearing armor beneath all this, aren’t you? Then let Ksmvr cut at the bindings. Every enchantment has a limit to how much force it can take before breaking. I cannot imagine that Falene put that much energy into this spell.”

Pisces rose, dusting a feather off his robes. He stared disapprovingly at Ksmvr and Yvlon.

“Why didn’t you try that to begin with?”

Yvlon turned red. Ksmvr opened his mandibles and then decided not to speak. Silently, he went into Yvlon’s room and grabbed her sword. Pisces yawned as he listened to the dialogue between the two.

“Okay, cut right there.”

“Right here?”

“I can’t see. Cut right by my side. Can you hit me there? Do it gently, gently—gah!”

He heard a thump, and then the sound of a compressed mattress unspringing all at once. Clattering wood as it hit the ground—and then two solid footsteps. Pisces turned. Yvlon lifted her sword. She looked angry.

“I really need to visit the outhouse. Give me five minutes and then we go. I hope you spent last night well?”

“I was not tied to a bed and magically asleep if that’s what you are asking.”

Yvlon stared at Pisces and then walked past him. Ksmvr followed. Pisces brought up the rear. The three said only a few words as they trooped down the stairs, but they were the right words.

“The Gold-ranks won’t be happy to see us in the dungeon.”

“I couldn’t care less about their opinion. Actually, let me rephrase that statement. I do not care about their opinion whatsoever.”

“Captain Ceria is alive?”

“For now.”

“There’s lots of monsters in the dungeon. Traps.”

“I have a plan. And you?”

“I am ready to die to rescue Captain Ceria.”

“I think she’d rather you live instead. I’ll risk anything. We’re a team. And we’re not losing anyone else to the dungeon. Pisces?”

“I concur. Ksmvr?”

“This team is the reason for my life. Let’s go.”

They walked down the stairs. Pisces in front, Yvlon behind and Ksmvr bringing up the rear. Pisces stepped into the common room and looked around.

Several dozen heads turned. Adventurers were sitting around at their tables, many nursing drinks. Few looked like they were willing to talk—many were progressively getting drunk. They looked defeated.

Lyonette was serving tables. She looked lost. A Drake [Barmaid] was helping her—not Drassi—but she was more keeping an eye on Lyonette. The [Barmaid] looked like a ghost, as if she were dreaming.

A Drake stood as Pisces strode across the room. He had black scales and was short. Insill of Vuliel Drae gulped when Pisces stared at him. Other adventurers got to their feet. Anith, Dasha, Insill, Larr, Pekona—the five members of Vuliel Drae blocked Pisces’ way. Earlia of Gemhammer and Nailren of the Pride of Kelia and a few other Silver-rank Captains stood to one side, not with Vuliel Drae, but watching.

“Move aside.”

Pisces didn’t stop walking. He raised a hand to push Insill out of the way, but he stopped when Larr’s arm shot out. The Gnoll stared down at Pisces.

“You’re not leaving.”

“You’re going to stop us?”

Anith nodded.

“It’s nothing personal, Horns. But the Silver Swords charged us with keeping you here.”

His eyes flicked to Pisces and Ksmvr, making it obvious that they’d assumed it would only be Yvlon they’d have to stop. Yvlon grimaced and put a hand on her sword hilt.

“Our Captain is kidnapped. We’re going in after her. Move or we’ll make you move.”

Dasha crossed her arms.

“Oh yeah? We’re Silver-ranks just like you, tall legs. And every Silver-rank team here got the same order.”

The Horns looked around. Earlia looked away and Nailren shook his head. The other Silver-rank adventurers looked at the Horns and then away. Yvlon counted heads.

“How many people are going to follow orders, then?”

Vuliel Drae glanced around for support. None came. Earlia leaned on a table.

“I remember being told what to do by a bunch of Gold-ranks. Funny, I didn’t become an adventurer to take orders. What about you Pallass teams?”

“We follow orders. That’s how things work in the south, Human.”

A Drake growled at Earlia. He was drinking from a mug. He had a fresh scar on his arm, a deep gouge of recently-healed flesh and scales. He made no move to rise. The Drake took another drink.

“Problem is, sometimes we have hearing problems. A team wants to die in the dungeon? Go ahead. That’s their Captain.”

Earlia nodded. Vuliel Drae wavered. None of the other adventurers were standing up. Yvlon’s hand tightened on her sword.

“Don’t.”

Pekona had a hand on her katana. She and Yvlon stared at each other, tensed. Ksmvr’s dagger and shortsword were both in his hands and Insill looked like he wanted to run. Anith raised his staff.

“This is for your own good. Please don’t make this difficult.”

Pisces had been blinking repeatedly. He rubbed at his eyes and muttered.

“Don’t bother with the sword, Yvlon. We don’t have time for this.”

He reached for his side. Vuliel Drae tensed. Pisces grabbed his bag of holding and they relaxed slightly. Too soon. He upended the bag and bones fell out.

Every adventurer turned and stared as a shower of yellow bones fell from Pisces’ bag of holding. The bones landed with a clatter on the floor. Lyonette, mechanically wiping a table over and over in the same spot, looked up. Insill stared at a bear’s skull.

“What—”

“Stop him!”

Pekona unsheathed her sword in a flash. She was quick! But she hesitated. There wasn’t anything she could do short of cutting Pisces down. Yvlon drew her sword and cut. She didn’t hesitate. Pekona leapt back and Pisces pointed down at the bones.

“Rise.”

Vuliel Drae scrambled back as the bones floated upwards. They stared as the bones rearranged themselves, flying into position, rotating, joining together. They looked down at the thing emerging and their heads tilted back. Anith gulped.

A beast of bone rose from the ground, eight feet tall, arms and body a mass of bone. It looked like some ancient predecessor of a bear, one that had been made of bone and given a spiky body armor. It had an oversized bite and almost nonexistent head. It had one solid, gaping hole for an ‘eye’ and a bright yellow flame burned in the socket. Its claws when it raised them were a solid weapon of bone.

Insill backed up fast. The [Rogue] was deathly pale. Vuliel Drae retreated as the other Silver-rank adventurers got to their feet or leaned back. Pisces walked forwards and the monstrosity lumbered forwards.

“Move out of the way.”

“You can’t leave the inn. The Gold-ranks—”

Pisces turned his head. Dasha choked on her words.

“Stop me. I’d like you to try.”

The [Necromancer] strode out of the inn. Lyonette starred at the Bone Horror following him. Yvlon stared at the huge armored monstrosity and the cold fear that had gripped her for a moment faded. That was Pisces’ creation. He had made it! She forced her legs to move.

“Pisces, hold up!”

The [Necromancer] paused at the door. The Bone Horror was too large to exit, but it was reconfiguring itself to squeeze out bone by bone. It was…impressive to watch. Yvlon nodded to it.

“That’s your secret weapon?”

“One of them.”

“One of—holy steel, what is that?”

Yvlon shouted the instant as she stepped outside. The adventurers swarmed to the windows and then recoiled. Another Bone Horror had come out of Pisces’ window. It was a giant spider made of bone, at least in basic shape. Each part of its legs and the thin abdomen was covered in barbed bone, sharpened to an edge. It crawled down as Pisces walked towards the boats.

“Two Bone Horrors?”

Ksmvr looked from undead to undead. Pisces shook his head. He was sweating and his eyes looked feverish.

“Many.”

Something crawled out of the water. Several somethings. They had come out of Liscor’s sewers. Drenched in slime, and muck and worse, they had climbed the walls and leapt from them, surprising Liscor’s [Guardsmen]. The rat-hunting Bone Horrors resembled rats themselves, but they had been redesigned to be stronger, bigger. And infinitely more deadly. The dead rat flesh and other scraps that hung from their scything jaw-tusks were a testament to their design.

The undead lined up in the rain. Pisces pointed and they turned. They walked or crawled or bounded into the water, sinking beneath the surface. They were headed towards the dungeon rift.

“How long can you control them?”

“Long enough. I have mana potions.”

Pisces walked towards the boats, stumbling a bit in the rain. Yvlon went to follow him and turned.

“Going to try and stop us?”

Vuliel Drae and the other Silver-rank adventurers were staring at her from the inn’s entrance, wide-eyed. At her question they looked at each other and backed up. Someone else pushed past them. Lyonette was still white, but she focused on the Horns.

“You’re going into the dungeon.”

It wasn’t a question. Yvlon nodded.

“We’re going in after Ceria. We’ll look for Mrsha, Lyonette. If we find her, we’ll bring her out.”

The [Princess] nodded. Her hands were red from scrubbing and she didn’t seem to notice that she’d cut her finger. She clasped her fingers together.

“Please find her. Please—I’d go with you if I could.”

“No, Lyonette—”

The Drake [Barmaid] gripped Lyonette’s shoulder tightly. Some of the other adventurers drew closer. Lyonette stared pleadingly at Yvlon.

“Find her? Bring her back?”

“We will.”

Yvlon nodded. Lyonette relaxed ever so slightly. The woman checked her sword hilt and eyed the outhouse.

“I’ll pee in the water. Let’s go, Ksmvr!”

The Antinium strode towards the boats. He actually stepped into the water and shuddered, but then he grabbed the edge of the boat and pulled himself in. Yvlon leapt into the boat and felt it rock.

“Let’s go.”

Ksmvr pushed them off and Yvlon grabbed the oars. Pisces was sitting at the front of the boat. Well, lying, really. He was propped up on the stern and his eyes were blinking rapidly.

“You look exhausted.”

Pisces’ head jerked up a bit.

“I had to design the new combat forms. It took…a while. These ones are better. Should fight better. The armor form is virtually indestructible and the spider…thing is quick. The rat-hunting horrors are deadly despite their size.”

“Good work.”

Yvlon didn’t know what else to say. She looked at Ksmvr. The Antinium was also drooping, nodding off and then sitting up. He rowed erratically with his oar.

“You were in the Antinium Hive, Ksmvr?”

“Trying to persuade Revalantor Klbkch, yes. Then I was dumped outside. I recovered from blood loss and returned to the inn two hours ago.”

Both Pisces and Yvlon looked at Ksmvr. The Antinium yawned, opening his mandibles wide. Pisces turned to Yvlon. His expression was bleak, but he managed to raise an eyebrow.

“Were you sleeping all night?”

Yvlon looked from Ksmvr to Pisces. She opened her mouth and hesitated.

“I’ll row. You two get some sleep.”

The boat cut across the water as the rain fell. Yvlon rowed hard, letting her reinforced arms take the strain. It felt—good. Nothing broke and nothing bent. Her arms were heavier, but she could compensate for the weight. She turned her head to the right.

“Are you going to stop us?”

Earlia grinned as her team pulled alongside the boat Yvlon was rowing. Gemhammer was rowing hard and part of Nailren’s team was sharing their boat. Yvlon turned her head left and saw Nailren and other teams from Pallass following them. Earlia nodded towards Pisces.

“I didn’t much like hanging back, but I was pretty sure that half-Elf would hex our entire team if we argued. The other Gold-ranks were ready to knock anyone else out. Plus, they had a point. Our teams don’t have their firepower. But if you’re bringing that—”

One of the Bone Horrors—the spider—crawled onto a distant hill. There was a shout from Liscor’s walls. The Bone Horror leapt a good twelve feet into the water and Earlia shuddered.

“That looks like it could kill something. And if you’re going in, well, I think you could use some backup. We might not be Gold-ranks, but we can work together. Mind if we tag along?”

Yvlon looked around. Six teams had taken to the boats and were following her. She nodded.

“You know that we’re going to keep going until we find Ceria?”

“I had a feeling. Don’t slow for our sakes. We’ll see how far we get.”

The woman nodded and Yvlon grunted. She put her back into the oars. The Horns rowed to the dungeon entrance and dropped into the dungeon. They entered the Raskghar’s home, where monsters and traps promised an early death. However, they were not the first adventurers to enter the dungeon that day. The Gold-rank teams had been there since dawn. And they’d been fighting the entire time.

—-

“At them!”

Bevussa, Captain of the Wings of Pallass, dropped from the air. There was little room to maneuver in the dungeon corridor, but her team was fighting in a spot with ten feet of clearance on the ceiling. There had been a trap up there—a device that dropped whirling blades to cut anyone below apart. It was neutralized, the mechanism gummed up by a thick orange paste. That hadn’t stopped the monsters from attacking, though.

A pair of large, stone ‘eyes’ were battering one of Bevussa’s teammates. These creatures were covered by a thick shell of stone and only their fronts—which resembled black eyes with white pupils—were exposed. They had long, wiry arms made out of the same stone shell that could easily break bone.

The monsters were Stone Starers and they looked deceptively simple. They could shoot beams from the white holes in their fronts. Those beams could pierce through weak enchanted metal and steel with ease. Going at them from the front was dangerous.

So Bevussa dropped. She flew downwards, angling her wings and calling for her teammate, Issa, to get back. The Drake flew backwards with a flap of her wings and Bevussa stopped her descent. The Stone Starer looked up, eye glowing, and Bevussa kicked.

The feet of the Garuda were talons. Bevussa’s were sharp and she’d trained her legs. Her claws went into the Stone Starer’s fleshy eye and drew blood. It screamed a muffled wailing sound, and fired a white beam at Bevussa. She twisted and dodged right, out of the way. Bevussa’s right hand came up and her shortsword stabbed, plunging hilt-deep into the Stone Starer’s eye.

“Captain!”

The second Stone Starer was aiming at Bevussa. She immediately let go of her blade and back flipped. As she did she flapped, flying all the way up to the ceiling. The second beam missed her and Bevussa extended her hand.

“Return!”

Her sword ripped loose of the Stone Starer. It collapsed as brown blood spurted from its front. Bevussa saw Issa and Zassil land on the second Stone Starer. Before it could target them, they stabbed at it with spear and sword. It collapsed, pooling blood.

“Everyone alright?”

Bevussa landed, panting, flicking blood from the tip of her sword. Her other three teammates landed around her. They were sweaty, and their wings were sore. Bevussa checked all of them.

“Issa, you got tagged by one of the beams.”

The Drake grimaced. She flexed a wing and showed Bevussa a hole in her side.

“It’s nothing. The thing shot through my armor is all.”

“That’s enchanted leather. It should’ve blocked that!”

Zassil muttered unhappily. Bevussa inspected the injury as Issa pulled out a healing potion.

“Looks like it blocked some of it, otherwise Issa would have a hole going right through her. Watch the armor, Issa. I don’t know if the enchantment’s broken. Let’s pull back.”

“I can still fight!”

Issa protested, but Bevussa shook her head.

“We’re tired. How many monster groups is this?”

“Six in the last two hours.”

Bevussa nodded.

“We’re tired and I’ve had to use one of my Skills. We need a break. Come on.”

She led the way back down the corridor. The Wings of Pallass followed, stepping around the corpse of a third Stone Starer and more monsters. Bevussa’s arm wings ached. She’d been fighting since dawn, and even with the high-quality stamina potion she’d downed, she felt worn.

“Who goes there?”

A sharp voice shouted as the Wings of Pallass walked back the way they’d come. Bevussa instantly halted and raised a hand.

“Wings of Pallass! That you, Essa?”

“Come forwards slowly!”

The Wings walked forwards and saw a barricade had been erected in the tunnel. A team of Drakes and two Gnolls were standing behind a pair of wooden barriers fronted with metal. They checked over the Wings of Pallass, one of the Drakes, Essa, staring at them through a pair of enchanted spectacles.

“You’re clean. Come on back.”

“How’s the fighting?”

“We’ve seen action. You nearly had a pair of Flesh Worms hit you from behind. We scared them off, but we’re running low on enchanted arrows.”

Bevussa nodded. The Garuda leaned against one wall.

“Don’t think we’ll be here too much longer. My team’s tired. Yours?”

“We’ve just been sitting here shooting at anything that moves. We can keep going. Head on back. There’s a rally point right where the rift begins.”

“Thanks.”

Bevussa motioned and her team followed them. Essa’s team, the Scaleguards, stayed put. They were watching one of the choke points to the dungeon. The Gold-rank adventurers had taken no chances this time. They’d committed over half their numbers to holding tunnels, making sure that they were secure while their attack groups went forwards.

Bevussa’s group had been clearing tunnels for hours and they’d done…six…since they started. The problem wasn’t the monsters—well, it had been nonstop fighting—but it was also fighting and making sure they weren’t walking into traps.

“This is the worst dungeon I’ve seen. Ever.”

Issa murmured as she walked backwards. Bevussa shook her head.

“This is the only dungeon you’ve seen, Issa. The one south of Pallass doesn’t count. It’s been cleared for decades. This is a real dungeon. Unexplored. But you’re right. It’s a bad one. A vengeance dungeon. If it weren’t for it being right under Liscor and the missing Gnolls, I’d refuse to enter this place.”

“Think we’re making progress? We cleared six hallways.”

“It’s impossible to say. This dungeon could be vast for all we know. And these monster attacks are relentless. Each time we turn a corner we run into another group, always a different species of monster. It almost feels like—”

“Hold!”

All of the adventurers froze. Bevussa’s team turned as one as they heard a dull roar. They immediately spread out, ready to fly backwards.

“What was that?”

“Fighting? Up ahead—”

“Let’s go. Watch for trap signs!”

Bevussa took wing. She and the Wings flew through the cramped corridor, flying around a marked trap. They landed and stopped as they saw what had caused the commotion.

“Enchanted armor! A platoon of them!”

A wave of animated suits of armor had smashed through a barricade set up by Gold-rank teams. Over forty of the metal giants strode forwards, carrying steel battleaxes, greatswords, maces—the Gold-rank team assigned to the spot was falling back, throwing Tripvine bags and shooting spells. But there were so many suits of armor that they had no choice but to run.

“Ancestors! Just what we need.”

Bevussa cursed. She drew her enchanted shortsword, wondering if they should retreat to the Scaleguards or fight. Her team was bad at fighting armored foes. The Wings of Pallass were lightly armored, meant for quick offensives and rapid retreats. She was on the verge of ordering her team into the fighting when she heard a call.

“Clear the tunnel! Flamewardens, breathe on my mark!”

“Back, back!”

Bevussa shouted. She saw another team running forwards and the heavy plate mail and Keldrass’ rasping voice identified them along with their name. She and the Wings of Pallass flew back. She saw the Flamewardens, all four of them, line up. The platoon of enchanted armor charged them, a wave of dull steel. The Flamewardens inhaled as one and Keldrass shouted.

“Ma—”

Bevussa didn’t hear the rest. A roar and then a dull ringing filled her earholes as she recoiled. She saw a flash of bright flame burst from Keldrass’ mouth, and fiery red and orange flames leap from the other three. The flames shot down the tunnel, combining. The sound and wave of heat blasted the Wings where they stood. Bevussa turned away as the Flamewardens exhaled for fifteen straight seconds. When she looked back, the corridor was scorched beyond recognition. And the enchanted suits of armor?

They’d kept charging straight into the flame. The front row had just melted away. Black slag was all that remained of them. Bevussa could see rapidly cooling pools of metal, the scorched remains of a breastplate in the back—nothing else.

“Ancestors.”

Zassil stared at the Flamewardens. His wings trembled before he folded them on his back.

“That’s a Gold-rank team? They have to be Named Adventurers! At least!”

He stared at the four Oldblood Drakes, as if forgetting he was Oldblood himself. Bevussa glanced at Zassil in amusement. He was the youngest of her team and sometimes showed his inexperience. Well, that wasn’t saying much, really. Bevussa was more experienced than the other three by a good bit.

“No, they’re Gold-rank. The Flamewardens have firepower, but they don’t have stamina. The curse of the Oldblood. See?”

She pointed as the Wings hesitantly approached. The Flamewardens were all doubled over. Keldrass was leaning against a wall, gasping for air. His breathing was shallow and it seemed as if he couldn’t take in enough air. He straightened as Bevussa approached, but she waved him back.

“Breathe. That was a hell of a display.”

“Thanks.”

For once, Keldrass’ words didn’t elicit a tongue of blue flame or smoke from his mouth. He’d used up his fires. He took a few deep breaths and reached out to touch the shoulder of one of his team members.

“Breathe, Nautia. In. Out. Slowly.”

The Drake nodded. She gulped in air and the color in her scales slowly returned. Bevussa eyed Keldrass’ team worriedly. It didn’t look like the first time they’d pulled off this trick today.

“Good job on the fire breath. We might have been overrun if the suits of armor had broken through. Your team should pull back, though.”

She nodded at the Gold-rank team who was returning, a bit shamefaced, to guard the tunnel. Keldrass shook his head.

“We…can keep going. We’ll rest for half an hour, burn another tunnel. Scorched ground. We can destroy traps and wipe out monsters this way.”

That was true. The Flamewardens were one of the best teams in the narrow dungeon corridors. But Bevussa was worried.

“Don’t push too far, Keldrass. Your team is tired. If you get ambushed after using your fire breath—”

The reason the Flamewardens weren’t a Named Team was because of their weakness. After they used their trump card, they were literally unable to breathe for a while. But Keldrass shook his head stubbornly.

“Can’t let those…northern teams show us up. They’re still fighting.”

“Still?”

Bevussa turned. She stared down another tunnel, where she could hear more fighting.

—-

“Charge!”

The roar came from Jelaqua’s lips as her team encountered the Raskghar. The Selphid shot towards the Raskghar team, who were visibly surprised to see them. Understandably—the Halfseekers had cut through fourteen corridors to get here. The Raskghar snarled and the Selphid recognized one of them. The Raskghar in armor. The one who had taken Mrsha.

“You!”

Jelaqua ran towards the Raskghar, her flail spinning. She crashed into the Raskghar. He was leading a group of eight other Raskghar. They turned and raised their hide shields as the Selphid whirled into them. The Raskghar howled as the flail struck like lightning from every angle. Jelaqua’s body was a flaming cyclone of motion—the Heartflame Breastplate burned as she struck.

But her movements were slower. Dulled. Jelaqua’s spiked flail heads were deformed and a spike had broken off on one. She’d been fighting for hours and now, at the crucial moment, she was faltering. The Raskghar in armor raised his enchanted battleaxe and ignored the flail heads striking sparks off his armor. He swung and caught Jelaqua in the chest. The head of the axe skated off the armor, but the impact sent Jelaqua stumbling backwards. She swore and shouted.

“Moore! Seborn!”

The other Raskghar turned. A shadow jumped off the walls and Seborn lunged into a Raskghar. He stabbed with both of his long daggers, plunging them hilt-deep into the Raskghar’s chest. The wounded beast woman roared and threw Seborn backwards. Another jabbed at the [Rogue] and he rolled to safety. Jelaqua struck the Raskghar, but saw her flail bounce off its shield. The other Raskghar spread around her, jabbing at her armor, growling as their stone weapons failed to penetrate the magical flames on her armor. Jelaqua lashed out with her flail, and again a Raskghar blocked.

They were so strong! And smart! These weren’t anything like the unthinking brutes that Jelaqua had fought before. And then the Raskghar in armor struck Jelaqua again. The impact sent her stumbling back. She saw the Raskghar raise its battleaxe, aiming at her head. A huge hand covered in vines and thorns grabbed his chest and lifted him. The Raskghar howled in surprise. He twisted and Moore roared in his face.

“Where. Is. Mrsha!?”

The half-Giant was covered in light wounds. His face was dirty and streaked with sweat. His body was covered in thorns and vines, his [Thorn Armor] spell. The Raskghar snarled at him and the half-Giant roared, his mouth opening wider than the Raskghar’s entire head. The Raskghar froze. Moore lifted him and slammed the armored Raskghar into the wall.

“Where is Mrsha? Answer me!”

The Raskghar around him jabbed spears into Moore’s side, howling. The half-Giant ignored them, bashing the armored Raskghar into the wall as it struggled. He only let go when one of the Raskghar struck deep into his side. The spear broke and Moore let go.

“Moore!”

Jelaqua smashed a Raskghar with her flail’s head and then turned. She abandoned her flail, grabbed a Raskghar charging at her, and threw it into a wall. She heard a snap. The Selphid felt her body’s muscles scream in agony, but she didn’t care. She pushed them past the limits and charged to Moore’s side, tackling a Raskghar to the ground. The half-Giant turned. His fist caught a Raskghar and the monster tumbled, bones broken. Moore grasped at the spear in his side, grimacing.

The other Raskghar howled as Seborn cut among them. The one in armor got up shakily. His magical gear had protected him from the impacts, but he looked dazed. He turned and ran on all fours, abandoning his battleaxe.

“Don’t let it escape!”

Moore and Jelaqua charged after it, ignoring their wounds and Jelaqua’s missing flail. The Raskghar ran as one, four instead of nine. They were quick! It was all Jelaqua could do to keep them in sight with the armor weighing her down. She pushed her muscles, ignoring the screaming that warned they might snap. Moore charged after her, roaring.

“Moore, Jelaqua! Stop!”

Seborn flickered into view and tackled Moore’s leg. The half-Giant slowed, but Jelaqua didn’t. She ran after the Raskghar and saw one of them leap over a suspiciously clean patch of the dungeon’s floor too late.

The explosion that engulfed Jelaqua threw Moore and Seborn back. It might have been some kind of fiery detonation—or maybe the air itself had exploded. Seborn rolled with the impact as Moore groaned and fell backwards. The Drowned Man got up, ears ringing and shouted.

“Jelaqua!”

He ran forwards, stopping where the trap had been. Something moved in the smoke. Jelaqua stumbled forwards, her body looking—torn. Flesh had been ripped up and she was missing scales along her tail, arms, face—every exposed part of her body. But she was intact. The magical flames engulfing her body had gone out, though.

“I’m okay. I’m—”

The Selphid wobbled. Seborn grabbed her with his Human hand and let go with an oath. Her armor was still searing hot. Jelaqua caught herself.

“I’m fine, Seborn. The armor…took the hit. Powerful stuff. Glad I wore it. Come on…they’re getting away.”

She tried to turn. Seborn held her with his claw arm.

“You are not fine. Moore’s injured. We have to fall back.”

“No—that was the one! You saw it, Seborn! We have to follow—”

“If we chase it, we’ll die.”

The Drowned Man pulled at Jelaqua. She stumbled.

“But—”

She looked back at Moore. The half-Giant was sitting down. A red stain was spreading from his side. The stone spear had gone through his vine armor. Either the strike had been lucky or the Raskghar had found a gap. Jelaqua swore.

“Moore! Healing potion!”

“I’m trying. I’ll do it. You get the Raskghar.”

Moore mumbled as he gripped the spear. His hands were white. Jelaqua and Seborn rushed over to him.

“Get it out. We have to heal that wound.”

“Trying. I think the head’s spiked. Barbed.”

“Seborn, use one of your daggers. Cut it out. I’ll use the potion—”

Moore groaned as Seborn cut into his side, slicing the head of the barbed spear out. The half-Giant nearly screamed, but then he bit his arm rather than make a sound. Jelaqua poured an entire healing potion into the chunk of missing flesh and saw it begin to close. Seborn sat back, throwing aside the bloody spear. He looked at her. Jelaqua felt her body screaming, and knew he was right.

“We fall back. But we find another team and tell them what we saw, alright?”

“Agreed. Come on, Moore. We have to get to a safe spot.”

Neither Seborn nor Jelaqua could pull the half-Giant up, but they supported him as best they could. The Halfseekers stumbled back the way they’d come, until they heard a shout.

“Who goes?”

“Us!”

As passphrases went, it was simple, but Jelaqua’s voice was enough to assure the other team that they weren’t monsters masquerading as adventurers. She saw a group approaching them and a bobbing [Light] spell, then recognized the group of three.

“Moore!”

Falene exclaimed as the Silver Swords hurried down the tunnel. The three Gold-rank adventurers looked battered. Ylawes’ perfect armor was dirtied by blood and Falene’s face looked drawn. Dawil had a scratch on his cheek and the armor around his shoulder looked crumpled from an impact. They still looked a lot better than the Halfseekers.

“What happened?”

Ylawes pointed at Moore’s armor. Jelaqua rasped.

“Barbed spear. We pulled it out. Ran into a Raskghar group. Same ones that got Ceria.”

“Where?”

“Down the tunnel. Past a trap.”

The Silver Swords stared the way Jelaqua was pointing. Ylawes raised his shield and then checked himself. He turned towards Falene.

“Falene, how many spells can you cast?”

“I’m…I’m nearly out of mana, Ylawes. I’ve used as many potions as I dare.”

Falene wobbled on her feet. She was using her staff for support. Dawil grabbed his beard.

“And I’ve only one Skill left to use. We could be walking into an ambush.”

“That’s the team. I’m sure of it. We can go back as soon as we get Moore to a safe spot. He can’t fight.”

Jelaqua insisted stubbornly. Moore mumbled.

“Just leave me and follow.”

“No.”

All the adventurers said it at once. Moore was in no condition to do anything. If he passed out in the dungeon he’d be dead. Ylawes ran a finger through his hair. It was dirty with blood.

“I don’t know if we can follow right now. We’ve run into two Raskghar teams. Both groups were big. Thirty or more. We…barely fought off the first. The second we routed more easily, but they’re strong.”

“Then we go back for another group. There has to be one around here!”

Ylawes nodded. He strode past Jelaqua.

“I’ll support him.”

Seborn nodded. Ylawes grunted as he helped grab Moore. His head only came up to the half-Giant’s armpit. With Jelaqua, he helped Moore walk down the corridor. They passed by monster corpses, blasted to pieces, squashed, or battered to death. The Gold-rank teams had pushed into the dungeon with a vengeance. But they were losing steam. Jelaqua didn’t know how far they’d walked—it felt like hours to her exhausted mind—before they heard a shout.

“Halt! Who goes there?”

“Us!”

The counter phrase didn’t work as well on the Drake teams. There was a pause and then something appeared down the corridor. The Silver Swords and Halfseekers instinctively reached for their weapons, but it was Bevussa. The Garuda landed and shouted back the way they’d come.

“It’s the Halfseekers and Silver Swords! Get over here, I think the half-Giant’s wounded!”

“’M fine. Go after the Raskghar.”

Moore muttered. His face was pale. Despite the healing potion he was barely conscious from the blood loss and shock. Jelaqua saw more adventurers run forwards.

“We found Raskghar. We saw the ones that got Ceria! That way!”

She pointed back towards them. Bevussa’s eyes widened, but she shook her head after a second.

“We’ll see if we can pursue. But almost all of our teams are running low on supplies. And we’re trying to pull back another team.”

“Which one?”

“Griffon Hunt! They’ve pushed in even further than you have! Come on, let’s get the half-Giant to our rest spot. What’s his name?”

“Moore.”

“Hello.”

“Charmed. Come on big fellow. Hey, we need more claws over here!”

It took nearly a dozen adventurers to half-drag, half-carry Moore past the barricades. The Gold-rank teams had set up in the area below the dungeon’s rift. They hadn’t put much there—just a few crates of healing potions, a spot for adventurers to rest before attempting the journey to the surface—and a table where a Gold-rank Gnoll with levels in [Cartographer] was trying to make sense of the adventurer’s reports.

Jelaqua saw Moore to the rest site and made sure he was being looked over. Then she forced her stiff body over to where Bevussa was conferring with Keldrass. The Drake was sitting—he looked like he’d run out of energy to stand.

“They’re down the tunnel. My team caught up—but we can’t get them to come back.”

“Damn. We need to get them to return! Jelaqua, is it?”

Bevussa turned to Jelaqua. The Selphid nodded. The Garuda stretched out her arm wings.

“Your friends, Griffon Hunt, are going in way too far. There’s no one guarding their backs and we’re too tired to fight. You need to recall them.”

“We can try. But the Raskghar—”

Keldrass coughed a bit of smoke out.

“Another team’s on that. A group of teams. The Horns, Gemhammer, Kelia’s Pride—”

“The Horns?”

Ylawes strode over. He looked shocked.

“You let the Horns enter the dungeon? Are you insane? We have to go after them!”

“They were already down here when I returned! We didn’t stop them because they were ready to fight to get past us! There’s six Silver-rank teams plus the Horns heading towards the spot the Halfseekers mentioned. Plus, that [Necromancer] had…things with him. Bone Horrors. They’re not who I’m worried about.”

Keldrass snapped at Ylawes. The [Knight] opened his mouth and Bevussa cut him off.

“Both Griffon Hunt and the Horns are in the same spot. I’m taking one of my team and a few other Gold-ranks who can still move. We need to grab both teams.”

“But the Raskghar…”

Jelaqua feebly protested. Bevussa turned and looked at her seriously. Her eyes were bright green. Bird’s eyes.

“Miss Jelaqua, they’re too far. We can barely hold the tunnels around here. We’ll pursue the Raskghar—tomorrow. But right now we’re looking at the very real possibility those teams will be ambushed.  We have to pull back.”

Jelaqua knew she was right. The Selphid looked around for her flail and remembered that she’d left it buried in a Raskghar’s skull. She reached for her bag of holding.

“Let me grab a spare flail. I’m going with you.”

In the end, eight Gold-rank adventurers headed out to retrieve the Halfseekers. Jelaqua, Issa, Seborn, Bevussa, Ylawes, Dawil, Keldrass, and Essa moved down the corridor, following the direction Griffon Hunt had taken. They didn’t know their exact location, but it wasn’t hard to catch up. All they had to do was follow the bodies.

—-

“Undead ahead!”

Halrac spotted the undead a moment before the others. The ranks of glowing Stitch-Warriors raised their weapons and Typhenous breathed heavily. He raised his staff and fired a glowing red-and-black orb into the crowd of ghouls and zombies and the Crypt Lord leading them. The orb burned a hole through a Ghoul’s chest and then detonated.

“[Black Burst]!”

Typhenous turned his staff and shot another ball of magic at the undead. Halrac raised his bow and calmly shot a charging Ghoul through the head. He saw Revi’s summoned warriors and her Corusdeer fighting the zombies who lurched forwards and drew another arrow.

“Left!”

Revi called out in alarm, pointing. Halrac turned. The wall had opened up, revealing another tunnel hidden by an illusion spell or hidden mechanism. Another wave of undead poured through. Halrac’s eyes narrowed. He loosed an arrow as Revi’s summoned warriors shot spells and arrows in the same direction.

A Crypt Lord staggered as the first arrow struck it. Halrac grabbed for an arrow. This one was enchanted. The undead exploded as the fiery arrow penetrated its chest and then blew apart in a fireball.

“Fall back!”

Halrac’s team retreated as the undead flowed towards them from two directions. They let the undead bunch up and then Typhenous blew them apart and Halrac loosed another flaming arrow. Revi bent over and panted when the battle ended.

“Another group. Another…hold on, you two. I’m running out of mana. I can’t keep up this many summons.”

She shakily pulled a mana potion from her belt and gulped at it. Typehnous did the same. The old man’s face was drawn. Halrac glanced at both of them, not reaching for the stamina potion at his belt. His callused fingers burned, and his arm was fatigued, but he was unharmed.

“Can you still fight?”

“Another corridor.”

Typhenous leaned on his staff. Revi wiped the mana potion’s bright orange liquid from her mouth and nodded.

“I can…I can do that.”

“Move on, then. Through the illusory tunnel.”

Halrac led the way. He had another arrow ready and as he walked, he reached for something at his side. Very carefully, he opened a small wooden container and dipped the head of his arrow into the mixture, coating it with a dark substance. Halrac raised his hand and his group slowed.

“Raskghar?”

“Yes.”

Halrac had heard the distant barking sound. He raised his bow and Typhenous lifted his staff. The Raskghar team was heading their way. Griffon Hunt moved stealthily ahead, Revi keeping her summoned creatures back lest their glow give the team away. Halrac’s eyes pierced the darkness ahead. The instant he saw movement he held up his hand. Typhenous raised his staff.

The Raskghar approached, sniffing the air warily. They were a group of archers, probably on reconnaissance. They didn’t smell Griffon Hunt in time. Halrac waited until he could see one of the Raskghar perfectly and then spoke.

“Now.”

He loosed the arrow at the same time Typhenous cast his spell. The arrow flew and caught a Raskghar in the shoulder. Typhenous’ staff spat black liquid which spattered across the corridor and hit two Raskghar. Not perfect, but it would do. The Raskghar howled in surprise and the one struck grabbed the arrow in his shoulder and tore it out.

“Revi!”

Halrac snapped. Revi charged forwards and her summoned warriors and Corusdeer filled the hallway. The Raskghar spotted the Gold-rank team and hesitated. There were ten of them, but Revi’s summons evened the odds. They yipped loudly and howled before fleeing. Halrac drew another arrow and aimed high. The Raskghar fled as his arrow flew past them. Halrac didn’t bother drawing another arrow.

“Got them.”

He turned to the others. Revi nodded. She was looking paler than before. The Stitch-Woman’s dark skin looked far too light, and Halrac recognized it as the first symptom of mana exhaustion. Typhenous looked worse. The [Mage] seemed to lurch, and then he spat out a stream of liquid. It took Halrac a moment to realize that Typhenous had thrown up.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m—”

Typhenous wavered before saying ‘fine’. Halrac stared at him and then at Revi. He knew they should fall back. But his mind refused to say it.

“One more corridor. If we can ambush another group…”

Revi and Typhenous didn’t protest. Griffon Hunt made their way back down the corridor rather than pursue this group of Raskghar. Revi kept stumbling as she walked, though she refused help from anyone, even her summoned warriors. Halrac found his gaze unfocusing and he had to remind himself to watch ahead.

They were exhausted. Griffon Hunt had pushed further and farther than any team. Enough so that they’d began running into the Raskghar. But now they were in a dangerous situation. Halrac wanted to keep going. He knew that finding the Raskghar again would be difficult. But his team—

“Who goes there?”

Someone shouted the words up ahead. Halrac’s head snapped up. He grabbed for the arrow, realized he hadn’t poisoned it, and cursed. He shouted.

“Griffon Hunt!”

“At last! Don’t fire!”

Halrac saw a group appear in the darkness. He should have spotted them—the dim glow of their lanterns and [Light] spells gave them away. Eight adventurers appeared. He recognized Jelaqua, Ylawes in his stupid reflective armor, Dawil, Bevussa…the adventurers looked relieved to see him.

“Dead gods, Halrac! We thought we’d never catch up! You must have cleared twenty corridors!”

“What are you doing here?”

Halrac snapped at them. He felt uneasy. If they’d been Raskghar, they would have ambushed his team. He shifted as Jelaqua strode towards him.

“We spotted the bastard that got Ceria.”

Griffon Hunt immediately jerked to attention. Halrac focused on Jelaqua.

“Where?”

“A few corridors back. But no one’s going after them. We need to leave the dungeon. And get that damn group of Silver-ranks!”

Bevussa interrupted Jelaqua. The Garuda eyed Typhenous and Revi and turned to Halrac.

“You need to come with us.”

“No. We’ll go after the Raskghar.”

“You’ll do no such thing. Your [Mages] are nearly dead and you’re tired. If you go after the Raskghar they’ll ambush you. There’s too many of them. We had to fight through a group of twenty. And if they’re sending out scouting teams that big, there must be hundreds or thousands of them, just like that Cave Goblin claimed.”

Bevussa folded her feathery arms. Halrac knew she was right. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood and looked at Revi. She swayed.

“I can go.”

“No.”

Halrac said it and felt the energy leave his arms. He looked at Bevussa and the other adventurers.

“We’ll go back. What’s this about Silver-rank teams?”

“The Horns entered the dungeon. This idiot—”

Ylawes turned towards Keldrass. The Drake gave him an affronted look.

“—didn’t stop them. They went after the Raskghar that Jelaqua saw. We need to go after Yv—after them!”

Jelaqua nodded wearily.

“They can’t have gone far. There’s monsters everywhere. We’ll run after them, pull them out.”

Keldrass growled, eying Ylawes.

“They might have gone farther than you think. I told you, that [Necromancer] had Bone Horrors. At least six of them!”

Halrac’s face twisted. Bevussa nodded.

“All the more reason to grab them. They’ll be a huge target.”

“We need to get them fast.”

Revi bent as the others looked at her. She straightened, still looking pale.

“Bone Horrors probably suck mana way more than lesser undead. I can barely summon that many spirits and I’m an expert. Pisces won’t be able to maintain that many undead for long. He’s probably pushed himself too far. Idiot.”

No one paused to dwell on the hypocrisy of her statement. The Gold-rank adventurers turned. Bevussa looked at Halrac.

“Can your old [Mage] move or do we have to split our team?”

Typhenous frowned at her slightly cross-eyed.

“I…am quite able to keep up, you feathery young lady. Lead on!”

Halrac nodded. Bevussa hesitated, and then turned.

“Okay. We’re searching for the Horns! Follow me!”

They set off at a jog through the dungeon.

—-

“Dead gods.”

Issa muttered as she passed by another group of dead monsters. This one was a cluster of worms—ordinary earthworms, really—except that they were twice as long as she was and had barbs along their body. It was another group of monsters that Griffon Hunt had slain. She thought of the six corridors her team had killed and felt a bit embarrassed. The Oldblood Drake chanced a glance back at Halrac, Typhenous, and Revi. They were lagging behind the brisk pace the others had set, but they were still keeping up.

“They killed that many monsters? Are you sure they’re only a Gold-rank team, Bevussa?”

She leaned towards her Captain, Bevussa. The Garuda was someone Issa looked up to and admired greatly. Ironically, it was Issa who was tasked with pretending to be the captain of the Wings of Pallass in public. It just wouldn’t do for a Garuda to lead a team of Oldblood Drakes, no matter how much more qualified she was. Bevussa turned her head and regarded Halrac.

“They’re good. I’ll give them that. If there’s any team ideally suited for this dungeon, it’s probably theirs. That [Scout] especially. I’ve heard of his name. They call him Halrac the Grim.”

“He’s even got a title? He must be a Named Adventurer, or nearabouts!”

Bevussa nodded as she glanced ahead down the corridor.

“And apparently they lost a team member. One of the better Gold-rank teams. But it doesn’t surprise me they’re not Named Adventurers yet, or that Halrac isn’t.”

“Why’s that?”

“Look at the monsters they killed. That group.”

Bevussa pointed. Issa stared at several crumpled forms they passed.

“Face-Eater Moths. Not too big.”

Not compared to the ones attacking Liscor. These ones were ‘only’ the size of ponies. Bevussa nodded and eyed them.

“Right. But that’s not the important bit. Look at how they died. No spells, only an arrow to their abdomens—they were poisoned.”

“Poison?”

Issa looked back at Halrac. Bevussa nodded.

“They said they were using a tactic they employed against Griffins. I asked about it at the Adventurer’s Guild. One of the [Receptionists] looked up what that might be.”

“And?”

Bevussa shrugged her feathery shoulders.

“Around three years ago, there was a massive Griffin colony plaguing the Nameless Heights—that’s a group of hills and valleys in the north eastern part of the Human lands. Hundreds of Griffins. Apparently a group migrated across from Terandria and they had a massive mating season the year before. Well, they began destroying farms and villages and even attacking cities. Griffon Hunt was one of the teams called in to kill them. They managed to wipe out over two hundred Griffins by themselves, but they were fined and nearly lost their Gold-rank status.”

Issa gaped at her Captain.

“How?”

“Plague and poison.”

Both Drake and Garuda jumped. Typhenous had caught up with them. The [Mage] looked weary, but true to his word he’d caught up with the group. He raised one grey eyebrow at the two adventurers.

“If you wish to know about the event in question, why not ask us?”

Issa’s scales turned bright red and her wings quivered in embarrassment. Bevussa ducked her head.

“My apologies, Mister…Typhenous, is it? We were curious.”

The [Mage] bared his teeth in a very Drakeish smile. Issa had to remind herself that Humans didn’t smile like that to be friendly.

“Many are. The truth is simple. Our team was called upon to deal with this crisis. As experts in Griffin Hunting, Halrac and Ulrien contracted my services and Revi’s. We dealt with the Griffins as we felt we had to when it became clear that the adventurers and local armies couldn’t handle the Griffins.”

“So you poisoned them. And spread diseases. I take it that there were consequences?”

Typhenous nodded.

“We poisoned their nests and killed hundreds of Griffins. But the plague got out of control. My spells…I used the wrong ones. The resulting sickness killed off almost every livestock animal and three cities and numerous settlements fell ill. We were lucky to keep our Gold-rank status.”

“But you killed the Griffins!”

Issa felt that wasn’t fair. But then she remembered the strict standards Gold-ranks were held to. Typhenous shook his head.

“We erred and people died for it, Miss…”

“Issa.”

“Miss Issa. Thank you. We made mistakes no Gold-ranks should have and were punished accordingly. The cost…drove away some of our former members. Halrac and Ulrien stayed with Revi and I, and we have worked hard to regain our status. I never thought we would employ the same tactics in the dungeon, but the Raskghar are not Griffins. And the cause is dire, despite the consequences.”

The entire short story made Issa want to protest on Typhenous’ behalf. In Drake cities, his team would probably have been commended, even if people had fallen sick. Two hundred Griffins versus a plague? But she bit her tongue on her reply. Typhenous walked next to her, looking weary, but determined. He had probably adventured three times longer than she had. Issa had risen to Gold-rank so quickly in part due to her Oldblood heritage and joining Bevussa’s group.

“Apologies. We didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s important that you know. We’ve attacked three Raskghar groups and let them run each time. We hope they’ll bring the poison and sickness back to their camps.”

“What about the Gnoll prisoners?”

Typhenous hesitated and glanced at Bevussa.

“I didn’t use the same spells as…previously. This spell spreads by contact. The Raskghar will rot from within and convey the sickness to anything that touches their infected parts. Unless they’re close to the Gnolls, they should be fine. The disease takes days to kill. If we reach the prisoners, we can cure them. And if not…”

If not, the Gnolls would be dead either way. Issa shuddered, and then wondered what Tier that spell was. And how did Typhenous know it? She opened her mouth to ask and then paused. Ahead of them, Seborn had raised a hand.

“Hold up!”

The eleven adventurers paused. Halrac walked forwards and then he and Seborn motioned. The adventurers moved ahead warily and then they saw it. Issa gasped.

“Dead gods. What is that?”

“Bone Horror!”

Something was walking down the corridor towards them. Something tall—six or seven feet—but far wider. A—a spider made of bone was the best way Issa could describe it. Only, the spider’s legs were meant to stab and cut, and it had no head, no eyes. It had been designed to kill, not ever to live. It was an undead creation. A Bone Horror.

Bevussa stared at the undead in alarm and disgust. The headless spider turned towards them. Its razor-sharp, barbed legs were covered in gore. It scuttled towards them, fast. The adventurers tensed, and then they heard a shout.

“Pisces, stop!”

The undead spider paused. The adventurers saw someone appear from behind it. Yvlon Byres walked forwards. She held her enchanted sword in both hands. Her arms and blade were bloody. Behind her, a giant monstrosity of bone opened its jaws. An armored bear-thing twice as large as it should be lumbered forwards, its spikes covered in blood. Issa imagined what would happen if it charged and rammed into her team. She gulped.

“Yvlon?”

Ylawes’ voice was disbelieving. He stared at the Bone Horrors, absolutely appalled, and then called out to Yvlon.

“Yvlon! Are you unharmed?”

“We’re alright. We’ve been fighting down this way. Is the route behind you clear? Pisces! It’s the Gold-ranks! Everyone, get over here!”

Yvlon shouted back the way they’d come. The Gold-rank adventurers saw a wave of Silver-rank adventurers behind them. They all looked like they’d seen combat, but, amazingly, the teams were all in one piece. It looked like they’d been heading down this corridor, fighting everything they came across. And by the amount of gore on their weapons, they’d found a lot.

“Dead gods. We told you Silver-ranks to stay put!”

Bevussa exclaimed as she saw that several adventurers had recently healed wounds—bad ones. Earlia grinned as she lifted her warhammer.

“Well, you know us. We don’t listen to orders all the time. Glad we found your team, though. We’ve been fighting an hour and I think Pisces isn’t doing so well.”

She gestured behind her. Issa saw a pale young man walking forwards with white robes. There was nothing sinister about Pisces’ appearance—he looked like any other Human male, really. But she shuddered. A [Necromancer]. Even so, Pisces looked quite pale and unwell. Someone—an Antinium, another shudder-provoking sight—was supporting him by one shoulder.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Mana exhaustion.”

Revi tried to push Ylawes out of the way and failed. She walked around him and strode up to Pisces. She stared at both Bone Horrors, appalled, and then at the smaller ones.

“You’ve got too many creations summoned! Look at the size of that thing! Get rid of them or you’ll burn yourself out!”

“I’m fine.”

Pisces’ eyelids flickered as he glared up at Revi. She glared back.

“You’re about to burn yourself out. You can’t sustain this! If you keep going you’ll injure yourself. Or die.”

The other adventurers turned to look at him, concerned. Yvlon wavered.

“Revi’s right, Pisces. We’ve been fighting over an hour and you haven’t slept. We can rest, try again in a bit.”

Pisces shook his head violently.

“I can keep going. I can—”

He faltered. Revi looked around, then made a fist. Before anyone could stop her, she punched Pisces in the side of the face.

It wasn’t a good punch. In fact, as punches went, it was more like being hit by a very soft rock. But it was enough. Pisces blinked, and then lost control.

One of the Bone Horrors took a step. The armored monster raised a foot and it broke apart. Bone scattered across the floor and the undead collapsed. Yvlon caught Pisces as he dropped.

“He’s out of mana. Someone give me another potion—”

“Don’t. He’s had too many already. He needs rest. Someone gather up those bones and let’s get him out of here. I’m nearly tapped myself.”

Revi wavered. Ksmvr lifted Pisces up.

“I can carry him, Miss Yvlon. Please take my buckler.”

He offered her a buckler which was surrounded by a shining force field. Yvlon shook her head.

“Deactivate it. You keep it, Ksmvr. I can’t fight with it as well. My arms are slower—I’ll use this.”

She lifted her sword in both hands. Ylawes frowned at her.

“You weren’t taught how to fight like that, Yv. A sword and shield is how the Byres family fights!”

“Shut up, Ylawes!”

Yvlon rounded on him. Ylawes opened his mouth to argue. Dawil clapped his hands together sharply. Everyone turned towards him. He frowned at Ylawes and Yvlon.

“Argue as much as you want, you two, but do it when we’re safe! While we’re all standing here braiding our beards, we’ve got monsters climbing up our arses! Back to the dungeon entrance!”

The adventurers looked at each other, but no one argued. They turned and followed the way the Silver-ranks had come. Only when they reached an intersection did Halrac turn.

“We have fresher adventurers. The Silver-rank can support me. I’ll head forwards with Jelaqua and pursue that armored Raskghar.”

“No, Halrac—”

Exasperated, Bevussa tried to argue with him. But the [Scout] was already heading down the corridor. Jelaqua and Seborn followed him. The other adventurers wavered for one second and then Keldrass, Yvlon, Dawil, Ylawes, Earlia, and a whole host of Silver-ranks followed. That left only a handful of adventurers behind and after they realized that, they followed too.

“We have injured here! And Pisces is unconscious!”

“Then head back. I want to find that armored Raskghar.”

“You’re going too far! We’ll all die if we go any further and get ambushed!”

Halrac ignored the truth of Bevussa’s statement. He checked his bow and poisoned arrow.

“We have to be close to the Raskghar. We must be.”

He strode down the corridor, past the spot where Jelaqua had stepped on the trap. Halrac rounded a corridor, barely pausing to check for traps. He reached another intersection and cursed.

“Which way?”

Halrac squinted at the ground, looking for fur, tracks, anything. He knelt, wobbled, and braced himself on the ground. Then he scanned the intersection. The adventurers came to a halt. Halrac bit his lip as he tried to make out clues. He was moving too fast and his mind was fuzzy. But they were close. They had to be.

As the other adventurers waited, they leaned against walls or even sat, too tired to maintain their guards. Yvlon tried to keep alert—they’d only fought for an hour, after all—but her arms were weary. She didn’t know how the Gold-ranks had lasted this long, stamina potions or not. The fighting had been relentless! She’d chopped through at least fifteen monsters with her blade alone.

As for Pisces’ Bone Horrors, they’d been scarily efficient. The one team of Raskghar that they’d run into had been slaughtered in minutes by the spider-thing, and the armored Bone Horror had been hit by a boulder and barely needed a few repairs from Pisces which he’d done on the spot. But the toll on Pisces had been immense. Yvlon leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. If they couldn’t find Ceria after all this—she paused as her ears picked something up, on the edge of hearing.

“What’s that sound?”

Everyone looked up. Yvlon frowned as she stared down the left corridor. Something was echoing down the corridor. Something…familiar. She straightened and looked at the others.

“What’s down there?”

Halrac got to his feet. He frowned ahead and motioned.

“Follow.”

The adventurers trooped down the corridor. They made it ten feet and Halrac inhaled. They froze, but he moved forwards. In a few seconds they saw what he had.

A dead Flesh Worm lay on the ground. It was very dead—blood had pooled and dried around it. It was not nearly as big as Skinner had been, and it had no layered armor of skin, but it was still terrifying, a red, serpentine worm monster with teeth and long feelers that could snatch away flesh. But it was dead. Someone had killed it.

The Flesh Worm’s hide was riddled with arrows. It had been shot over a hundred times, and as Yvlon walked forwards, she saw that its eyes—the two protruding bulbs that hung from the top of its head—had been shot off. The Flesh Worm lay on its side, curled up. And a few feet past it—

“Who did this?”

Bevussa stared at a pair of dead Stone Starers, their eyes shot through with an arrow each. Beyond them lay a group of maggots, riddled with arrows. And just past them—

At first, Yvlon nearly missed him. He was sitting against a wall, partially covered by the corpse of a Face-Eater Moth. He was so still that she mistook him for another corpse among the dead monsters surrounding him. Only when Bird began to sing did she spot him.

“No birds in the ground, no birds in the rain. No birds, no flying, only pain. Pain, pain, fly away. Come again another day. No birds underground, no flying here. Only Bird and pain and singing and—oh, hello Miss Yvlon.”

Bird was lying against the wall, covered by the Face-Eater Moth. His new bow sat beside him, propped up against a wall. A small hunting knife was in Bird’s hand and he had armed himself with three sharp rocks in his other three hands. He looked up at Yvlon as she stared at him.

“Bird?”

“That is me. Hello.”

Bird waved the knife-holding hand at Yvlon. He sounded cheerful, but there was a tension to his voice that Yvlon had never heard before. Bird shifted.

“I am trapped. I thought you were a monster coming to kill me. I cannot move. Can you help me move?”

Yvlon nodded. She turned and saw the adventurers were staring. Revi pointed dumbly at the Antinium.

“Is that Bird?”

“Hello.”

“How did he get here?”

“I walked in.”

“How—never mind that! Someone give me a hand!”

The adventurers crowded around Bird. Yvlon bent down and heaved with the others. The Face-Eater Moth was surprisingly difficult to lift. It was sodden with blood. When they got it off Bird, they found he really couldn’t move. His left leg was partially crushed. Dried green blood and pieces of his carapace lay around on the ground.

“Ow. Ow. I am much ouch.”

Bird spoke cheerfully, but the way he jerked when Yvlon reached for his leg made it clear how much pain he was in. The woman bent.

“I have a healing potion. Hold still, Bird.”

“Oh. That feels very nice. Thank you, Miss Yvlon.”

Bird relaxed as she poured the healing potion onto his leg. He tried to get up, but still couldn’t. Yvlon caught him.

“Steady. What are you doing down here, Bird?”

He cocked his head at her.

“I am looking for Mrsha, of course. She was taken by the Raskghar. So I went after her. I did not find her. I found many monsters, though. Hello Mister Halrac.”

He waved at Halrac. The [Scout] was staring around at the carnage.

“You did this, Bird?”

The Antinium nodded.

“I had my bow. It is a very good bow because it killed everything. But I ran out of arrows. So I used my knife.”

He waved the knife. Yvlon stared at the Face-Eater Moth corpse. It looked like Bird had hacked its head apart with the knife. She looked at Bird.

“But why? Bird, this is so dangerous!”

Bevussa made a sound. Yvlon turned her head and the Garuda stared pointedly at Yvlon. Bird stared at her.

“Ooh. Pretty.”

“Bird!”

“What? Oh. I did it because Mrsha is missing and it is a bad thing. And I did a bad thing, so I had to do a good thing to make up for it. And because everyone else went.”

His simple explanation confused Yvlon, but Halrac seemed to understand it. The [Scout] knelt and looked at Bird.

“You did this because you wanted to make amends?”

Bird looked up at Halrac. He nodded slowly.

“I am very sorry, Mister Halrac. I did not find Mrsha, but I tried. Did I do bad?”

He quivered. Halrac paused.

“No. Not at all. You did a—a good thing, Bird.”

“Oh. That is very good. I am happy.”

Bird relaxed. Halrac straightened. He looked at Bird and then turned to Bevussa. He looked around and blinked a few times. For the first time, a bit of sanity seemed to enter his vision. Halrac shook his head.

“We’re pulling out for the day. Let’s go. Revi—have your summons carry Bird.”

“At last.”

Bevussa sighed in relief. Yvlon looked at Halrac. She wanted to argue, but when she stared at Bird, she realized how insane this was. They were way too far in the dungeon. The other Gold-ranks were at the entrance. And if there really were hundreds or thousands of Raskghar ahead—

“We’ll get you up. Can you walk, Bird?”

“…Maybe?”

Bird stood up with the help of two adventurers. He hobbled a bit.

“I can walk. Yes, this is good. I will not die like everyone. That would make Erin very sad and I would not like to make her sad again. All the others died and she cried, you know.”

He looked brightly around at the adventurers. Yvlon frowned, but it was Ksmvr who opened his mandibles.

“What do you mean, ‘everyone’, Bird?”

The Antinium Worker tilted his head.

“Everyone, former Prognugator Ksmvr. They are over there. Everyone died. Or most of everyone. I did not see Revalantor Klbkch die, but many others did.”

He pointed down the corridor. The adventurers gazed into the darkness. They looked at each other. Yvlon walked forwards carefully, and then her breath caught. She stared at the first shape lying on the ground, another smashed against the wall like a—an insect, and the dead Crypt Lord. And then she saw more shapes, lying still, motionless. She whispered as the other adventurers came forwards and gasped.

“Antinium.”

They lay where they had fallen. Broken, some in pieces, others melted or scorched or…the Antinium had died hard. None of them had less than a dozen wounds on their bodies and the monsters that lay around them were a testament to the battle that had taken place.

No, not a battle. A war had gone on in the dungeon. And by the looks of it, the Antinium had lost. Or at least, they’d paid the price.

Hallway after hallway was filled with Antinium corpses. Usually it wasn’t more than a handful, but there were places in which a trap had wiped out dozens. And as the adventurers moved forwards, the numbers of the dead Soldiers and Workers kept increasing.

“There have to be at least a thousand dead Antinium here. At least!”

Bevussa had no skin or scales that could turn pale, but her feathers all fluffed out as she stared at the dead Antinium in shock and horror. Bird reached out and tried to touch her feathers, but the Garuda was too agitated. She whirled and turned to Keldrass and Ylawes.

“This is—the Antinium must have attacked the dungeon at the same time we did. Did they send their entire Hive down here?”

Halrac shook his head grimly.

“There are thousands of Antinium in a Hive. This was just a wave. But it was destroyed. And look—they met Raskghar as well.”

Over a hundred Raskghar were dead in one corridor, and three times as many Soldiers and Workers. It looked like they’d slaughtered each other in the narrow space. Halrac inspected one dead Raskghar and rose, shaking his head.

“We should report this when we return. And…make plans. If the dungeon can handle a thousand Soldiers, if the Raskghar can—we can’t find Ceria or the Gnolls today. We’re heading back.”

No one argued with him. Nevertheless, Yvlon couldn’t help but stare back at the dead Antinium. She gripped her sword’s hilt helplessly. Halrac was right. And yet—

“We’re so close. We must be.”

No one answered her. Yvlon walked back through the dungeon. She felt as though Ceria were just around the corridor. But there was nothing she could do. She walked back, head hung low. All they’d done, all they’d accomplished—it hadn’t been enough. Adventurers, Pisces, the Antinium…the dungeon had swallowed all their efforts.

They’d failed.

—-

“You see? Do you see?”

Calruz laughed as he stood over his war table. It was a slab of stone and the crude parchment and drawings he’d made were a mockery of the detailed plans Ceria remembered him poring over before. But there was something familiar about it. Something close to what she remembered the Minotaur being. She stood by his side, her ears drooping, quiet. Defeated.

The Minotaur turned towards her, his eyes alight with triumph. He had overseen the invasion of both the Antinium and adventurers, moving most of his Raskghar out of the way, sending kill teams to take out vulnerable groups like the Halfseekers. Their failure had sent him into a rage, but now he was triumphant.

“Thousands of Antinium! Gold-rank teams—even undead led by that [Necromancer]! All failed to come close to my outermost camps! And by tomorrow we’ll have repositioned. Send the order to the forward camps! I want them moving by nightfall! Baskel!”

He barked an order at the Raskghar who growled and loped off. Ceria watched it go. Calruz looked at her, grinning through his yellow teeth.

“You see? They’ll never make it this far into the dungeon. It assails them at every turn. It hunts them. It…thinks.”

“I see that. But why doesn’t it hunt you?”

Calruz paused.

“Because I—I know it. No. I’m alone. Yes, that’s what it is. You and I are a small group. We don’t attract attention. And the Raskghar are part of the dungeon. But adventurers? They disturb it. So do the Antinium. The dungeon resists them. But my warriors will be able to conquer it. I told you, Ceria.”

“You did.”

Calruz didn’t notice the half-Elf’s tone. He grinned elatedly.

“You and I have work to do. Tonight, we will assail a part of the dungeon. I’ve considered how to use your [Ice Walls] to the best advantage. We’ll begin our work and then—the adventurers will be months reaching us, if they even manage to clear out enough space to get here. And by that time we’ll have penetrated the heart of the dungeon. We’ll come out covered in treasure and glory!”

The Minotaur paced back and forth, talking excitedly. He didn’t seem to care how many Raskghar had died to the adventurers, or how many Goblins had perished as the monsters had fled the adventurer’s approach and clashed with his warriors. Ceria saw the Raskghar pacing in the background behind Calruz, eying the Gnolls, their Chieftain. Her. The Raskghar who’d performed the ritual was sitting among the largest Raskghar, clearly above the rest. She stared at Ceria. The half-Elf met her gaze and then looked at Calruz.

“I think…you might be making a mistake, Calruz. Everything might not go your way.”

“Nonsense.”

The Minotaur’s face twisted into a scowl. He stared at his map, his eyes too wide.

“They’ll never reach here. Never. My plans are flawless. No foreign presence can enter the dungeon. Only I…only I have the Skill. Everything else is hunted. Except for you. You will be part of my tribe. Yes, that’s how it is. That is how it will be. Nothing is wrong. You are incorrect, Ceria.”

“Whatever you say, Calruz.”

The Minotaur looked up sharply. Ceria looked away. He grunted and rolled up his maps.

“Come. We have work to do.”

—-

In some respects, Calruz was correct. The dungeon was aware, in some sense of the word. And he was right that it hunted. Or things in it hunted. All foreign presences were accounted for. They were…of notice. Not Calruz, but others. Including Ceria.

But what the Minotaur hadn’t accounted for, what he hadn’t thought of was that the dungeon was in some ways, stupid. It only looked at the base nature of things and didn’t account for exceptions. To the dungeon, a Human was a Human. A half-Elf was a half-Elf and a Selphid was a Selphid, dead body or not.

And a Goblin was a Goblin. After all, what was the difference? The adventurers retreated from the dungeon, battered, exhausted. Not beaten, but stalemated. The Antinium survivors returned to their Hive. Pisces left the dungeon unconscious, slipping into dreams where Ceria’s corpse stood in front of him, grinning and asking if this was what he had wanted all along. But one group remained.

On the same day, the Redfang Warriors descended into the dungeon. They had a far, far different experience than the adventurers.

5.41

At dawn, the Gold-rank adventurers entered the dungeon in grim silence, dropping beneath the water into the shadowy halls where monsters flooded forwards, resisting them step by step. Later that day, Yvlon would awaken and together with Pisces, Ksmvr, and six other Silver-rank teams, enter the dungeon. The adventurers would go forwards bringing spell and sword to cut their way through the dungeon and search for both the missing Gnolls and Ceria.

They would all fail. However, at the same time, another expedition took place. It began in Celum, with a young woman banging on the door to the smithy of the best [Blacksmith] in the city. She was accompanied by a nervous Drake, who peered at the sky—still dark since it was just past dawn.

“Hey Erin, it’s really early. Don’t you think we should wait a bit? Maybe until it’s a bit lighter, I mean? I know I wouldn’t like to get up this early, and uh, we are trying to buy from this Human, right?”

Erin turned to Drassi. The [Innkeeper] wasn’t smiling. She looked worried. Tired. Stressed would be too calm a word for her current mood.

“This is the best [Blacksmith] in the city.”

Drassi hesitated.

“According to Octavia and Wesle, yes. Although you did wake both of them up, so they might have said that just to get you to go away.”

“Right. But they said that. And this is the right spot.”

“Right.”

“Okay then.”

Erin turned and began kicking on the door.

“Open up! I know you’re in there! I can see the candle you’re holding!”

She began shouting, and Drassi winced as she saw lights appearing and someone throwing open their windows. The Human began shouting obscenities which Erin ignored. Drassi was less comfortable. She was a Drake in a Human city and while they weren’t at war with the Humans right now, their species had a history. You heard things about Humans. Most of which weren’t true, granted, but…

“Alright, alright! Stop shouting!”

At last someone yanked open the door. The best [Blacksmith] in all of Celum turned out to be a man with arms like melons. In that his muscles were huge, not that his skin was jaundiced. He glared at Erin, one fist clenched, the other holding a candle lamp.

“You’ve got some nerve! My shop opens in the day. If you’re here about a broken pot or something, I’ll call the Watch—”

“I’m here to buy weapons. Hey, move back. I want into the shop.”

Erin put her hand out and to the big man’s surprise, pushed him backwards. He stumbled back and Erin marched into the shop.

“You’re the best [Blacksmith] in Celum, right?”

“I told you, we’re not—”

“Are you? Or do we have to go to your competitor? Jelaqua told me she needed quality steel for her flails. And I’m not buying from anyone but the best. I could have gone to Pallass, but my door can’t handle the magic.”

The burly Human blinked a few times. He opened his mouth, and Drassi could see him trying to process Erin’s sentence. But he got the important bits. Pallass, someone named Jelaqua, flails, and something about magic doors.

“You’re that [Innkeeper], aren’t you? The one everyone’s been talking about? I heard you were a loon who fired hardworking folk and ruined Miss Agnes’ business. And that your inn’s the only place where the Players of Celum perform. Is that true? I’ve been meaning to see Hamlet again, only I heard your inn was closed because of how poor the food and service was.”

“Who told you that?”

Drassi peered at the Human. She loved good gossip, and this sounded malicious. Scandalous, even! Erin was looking around the shop. The [Blacksmith] had a forge, but his best pieces were hanging on the walls. They looked like good steel, although Drassi wasn’t nearly as good at judging such things as Selys was.

She was friends with Selys. Well, friends was a simple word. If Drassi had to explain it to someone who’d never met her before—and she loved to explain things and talk about the latest rumors, that was practically what she lived for, you know—she would have told her audience all about how she and Selys shared a lot of the same friends and grew up in the same neighborhood.

Of course, they’d grown up and Selys had gotten a nice job in the Adventurer’s Guild thanks to her grandmother, and Drassi had bounced from job to job. She’d been fired each time—not for ineptitude! Certainly not. But she talked a lot, and that was a problem when she sometimes forgot to take orders or wait tables. So when Selys had told her about her Human friend who was looking for a [Barmaid], Drassi had been desperate enough to take the job.

And what a good thing it was that she’d taken the job! Erin was fun to work with and let Drassi talk all the time. And there was always gossip-worthy material at her inn. Which mattered a lot to Drassi because she had the [Gossip] class. Yes, really. Most people thought she was lying, but Drassi never lied. Lies ruined juicy gossip and Drassi was a connoisseur of chat.

And yes, she talked a bit too much, but she knew how to keep her mouth shut. Anyways that was enough about her. The Drake peered at the Human expectantly. Where had this obviously false rumor about Erin’s inn come from?

The [Blacksmith] shrugged.

“One of the [Innkeepers] told a customer of mine that. Apparently uh, her inn had huge rats. Food so foul no one could keep it down. Any of that true?”

“Um…no. Erin’s got a big bee in her inn, but her food is amazing. Really, I eat it all the time. And she’s got a packed inn most nights because the Players of Celum are putting on wonderful performances! I mean just great. Sounds like someone’s been lying to you, friend.”

Drassi shook her head and tsked. The Human man frowned.

“You think so?”

He seemed to forget he was speaking to Drassi, a Drake, just past dawn in the middle of his shop as Erin was poking around his swords and pulling them off the racks. Drassi smiled like an old friend.

“I know so. In fact, I bet I know who started that rumor. An [Innkeeper], you said? Was your friend eating at the Drunken Swordsman or Blazehound last night?”

“Yes. Yes he was! He was in The Drunken Swordsman last night. How did you know?”

The Drake smiled triumphantly as the [Blacksmith] gaped at her. She was a [Gossip]. A high-level one, in fact. Being a Level 17 [Gossip] wasn’t bad, especially since most people had never heard of the class. And she had Skills. She wasn’t actively using them now, but [Time to Chat] and [Trusted Voice] meant she could almost always slip in a word edgewise when she wanted to.

“Timbor Parithad’s the [Innkeeper] who runs that inn, isn’t he? He had a run-in with my boss—Erin, right there. She kicked him out of her inn. They were having a dispute over two [Barmaids] she hired—from Miss Agnes’ inn. Do you see the picture I’m drawing? Anyways, those two Humans—uh, I mean, [Barmaids]—were just awful. Let me clear the facts for you. Hey, do you have a place to sit? ”

The [Blacksmith], whose name was Joiah Kellisman, didn’t quite know how it happened. First he’d been at his door, ready to knock senseless whomever was making that racket. The next thing he knew, he’d been nodding as Drassi told him about how awful Maran and Safry had been and agreeing that Erin’s inn—which he’d never visited—really was unique. Over a cup of tea, no less. He jumped when Erin dumped five swords onto his counter.

“I’m done. Hey, how much are these?”

Joiah looked around. He saw the young woman waving one of his best swords—which had been pride of place hanging above his counter—at him. She had four more of his best blades.

“Hey! Hold on, those aren’t for sale!”

“Why not?”

The [Blacksmith] looked around, realized he had a cup of tea in his hands, and put it on the table. Drassi sipped from hers as Joiah tried to regain some kind of mental balance.

“You can’t just come in here and buy my weapons! Why did I open—if you want to talk blades, I can forge you a few or sell you some of my other swords, but this is far too early! It’s not even light out!”

Erin crossed her arms.

“I’m in a hurry. These are your best blades, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“Good. They look like good steel. And Jelaqua needs at least two flails. You can make those, right. Two-handed flails? Steel heads? Sharp and pointy?”

Joiah paused. For the first time the name Erin mentioned rang a bell.

“Hold on. Jelaqua? As in Jelaqua Ivirith? The Gold-rank adventurer? She wants a flail?”

“Two. And I want swords. And Jelaqua happens to stay at my inn. There wouldn’t be a discount on these swords, would there? I’ve got the gold to pay for it all.”

Erin had a hefty bag of gold. She opened it as she put it on the counter. Joiah looked from her to Drassi.

“I don’t have flails in the shop, but I could make a pair—but these are my best blades!”

“And I’m sure Jelaqua wants your best flails. If she shops here. Which she will if I tell her how awesome the swords I just bought were.”

Erin pointedly nudged the tip of a sword on the counter and cut herself. She swore. Joiah stared at her. The young woman in front of him looked harried. He would have said distressed, but she looked ready to hit something rather than cry. And she clearly didn’t know swords, because she’d cut herself on one of his sharp blades.

“Jelaqua Ivirith of the Halfseekers stays at your inn. And she’ll buy from me on your say so.”

“That’s right. Well, I’d suggest it, but I bet she’ll buy here. In fact, I’m sure of it.”

Joiah opened his mouth to say how stupid that claim was. He nearly had the words out when Drassi leaned forwards, clasping her tea with both claws.

“It’s true! Jelaqua’s been staying at Erin’s inn since before I started working there. And she listens to Erin. I’m sure she’ll be by. In fact, I guarantee it. Erin wouldn’t lie. And I never do.”

Joiah looked at Drassi. The Drake gave him a toothy smile. He looked at Erin. He looked at the bag of gold. He pointed at Erin.

“Let me get some sheathes. And in the name of the Five Families, don’t hold that sword like that! You’ll split your head right open!”

—-

“One down. The bow’s next.”

Ten minutes later, Erin had a bundle of swords in her arms. She handed two to Drassi, who lifted them and found they were very light. She’d always expected swords to be heavy, but apparently a good sword would never weigh over five pounds at most. She’d learned that from Joiah during their talk. She liked meeting new people.

“That was a lot of money you gave him. But he’ll probably earn even more from having a Gold-rank adventurer commission those flails. Jelaqua is going to go to his shop, isn’t she, Erin? I don’t lie to people. I told you that, right?”

“You did. And Jelaqua will. Good job, Drassi.”

Erin began striding down the street. The sun was still rising, but Erin moved so fast that Drassi had to jog to keep up.

“Thanks. Wait, what did I do?”

“You convinced that guy that I was telling the truth. Selys told me you were good with words.”

Drassi smiled.

“Well, I am a [Gossip]. Did I tell you how I got my class?”

“No. And you’re not telling it now.”

“Aw. Hey—why are we running around Celum before dawn anyways? What are these swords for?”

Erin turned her head.

“I’m not telling you.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll run and tell Selys exactly what I told you.”

Drassi hesitated.

“…No I won’t. Okay, yes I will. Darn, I can’t lie. How did you know that?”

Erin stared at a street sign and turned left, marching rapidly across the cobblestones which weren’t soaked with rain. As they would be in Liscor where it was raining at this moment.

“I saw you and Selys talking. You’re here to keep an eye on me, aren’t you? That’s also why Imissi’s staying the night at the inn, isn’t it? To make sure Lyonette doesn’t do anything crazy.”

“Um. Yes.”

Drassi cursed a bit inside. Then again, her volunteering to stay the night at Erin’s inn had been fairly obvious. She glanced at Erin.

“You’re not going to do anything crazy, are you? Because I promised Selys I’d stop you.”

Erin turned her head back. Her eyes were very serious. They’d lost her normal humor ever since Mrsha had been missing.

“If I did, could you stop me?”

The Drake nearly choked on her tongue. Her tail curled up anxiously, but Erin had already turned away.

“Come on. We need a bow and arrows.”

—-

A flotilla of boats rowed quickly across the lake that surrounded the city of Liscor. Gold-rank adventurers dropped into the water, watched by Zevara and the [Guardsmen] on the walls. At the same time, another boat rowed east. It was not crewed by typical adventurers. Nor was it headed towards the rift. Rather, it was moving steadily across the basin of water. Heading towards the edge, in fact.

During the rainy season in Liscor, travel was practically impossible. An assault with most armies was almost certainly unfeasible. It was one of the things that made Liscor so hard to assail. Consequently, only Couriers or the truly desperate would contemplate finding a boat and rowing across the entirety of the waters to reach the other side. But the journey was possible. Just not pleasant.

Hollowstone Deceivers, or as they were known to Erin, Rock Crabs, hunted in the rainy season. They were four times as deadly when they could hide underneath the water and ambush unsuspecting fish or people from beneath their shells. Other fish had also entered the ecosystem—Lurkersnatch Fish, the octopus-like fish who sported thick, black skin and had tentacles strong enough to crush heads. The obnoxious Quillfish who could put an eye out and cause damage in large numbers. Walker Carp, Bloat Bursters, Erin’s nemesis, the toothy and aggressive Flatfish…

Of course, a lot of the fish weren’t dangerous at all. But the ones that were made things tricky. So even Liscor’s best [Fishers] liked to stay within view of the walls. But one group had already crossed the lake by boat, braved the treacherous waters to reach the land and the road that headed north to Esthelm.

Only, they hadn’t gone down that road. Yes, if they had kept going, they would have gone north, crossing into drier terrain and out of the rain. Esthelm would have been the first city they spotted until they fully entered Human lands, where cities such as Celum, Remendia, and Ocre were spread out. And if they’d gone further still, they would have passed countless other Human settlements, perhaps even passed by Invrisil, headed a bit north and to the west and encountered a small village named Riverfarm and seen thousands of Goblins running for their lives.

But they hadn’t done that. The group had stopped, barely a few miles away from Liscor, in fact. They’d travelled along the mountain pass, looking for the cleft in the rock they’d known was there. And they’d found it.

It was a gap in the rock. A natural fissure that had opened up at some point. Subsequent centuries and erosion had turned it into a cave. It was fairly large as caves went, and quite defensible. But a few factors made it unique.

The first was the population of Dropclaw Bats that had made the cave their home. These bats were large and fearsome. For bats. They were a danger to the casual explorer. The second thing was the hastily-built wall of stones and dirt on the far wall of the cave. If someone were to knock in the wall, they would find themselves in a room full of smashed statues. In a dungeon, in fact. In the dungeon.

The group of Goblins knew all this. They had never been in this cave. Not the five Redfang Warriors, or the dozens of Cave Goblins who meekly followed them. But Goblins were social creatures. In their way, they were more social than Humans or practically any other species.

The Redfangs had never been in this cave, the cave that Rags and her tribe had found ages ago when they’d seen Toren running out of the dungeon and made one exploration attempt into the dungeon before closing the hole up. The very same cave that Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers had found when exploring the dungeon, right before they’d encountered the Shield Spider nest.

But as luck would have it, Rags’ tribe had encountered the Redfang tribe and once Garen had submitted to Rags, his Goblins and Rags’ had gossiped. As Goblins do. And if there was one thing Goblins talked about, it was about bolt-holes and places to hide from Humans.

Naturally the Redfangs knew about the cave. And when Erin had asked for a place for the Cave Goblins to go, they had immediately thought of it. So they had taken a few boats left outside the inn, herded the Cave Goblins into them, and made the journey across the waters to the cave. They’d marched in, made short work of the Dropclaw bats stupid enough to attack them, and begun setting up a camp.

This was Plan G. Erin had hit on it with their help after meeting Pebblesnatch. She’d realized the dangers of having so many Cave Goblins around—not to mention the likely response that would come from both Liscor and the adventurers. So she’d asked the Redfangs for help, since her basement wasn’t big enough. And here they were.

Headscratcher, Shorthilt, and Badarrow walked about the cave, checking the walls by tapping on them with their stone weapons (and Shorthilt’s prized iron sword) for faults. They’d already known about the sealed-off entrance to the dungeon, but they wanted to be sure this camp was secure.

Next, Badarrow began chasing the rest of the Dropclaw Bats out with precise shots that felled each bat. Shorthilt went to work on the entrance to the cave, designing a way to block it off in a hurry if there was danger—from the inside or out. And Headscratcher went looking for wood. He ended up giving up on finding branches and just knocked down a small tree.

As each of the Hobs walked around, they were followed by a group of Cave Goblins. The smaller, greyer Goblins stared in awe at the Hob’s backs. They followed hesitantly, at first running each time one of the Redfangs looked around. But within an hour they were helping the Hobs with their tasks, piling up rocks with Shorthilt, gathering the dead Dropclaw bats that Badarrow shot, and picking up sticks as Headscratcher tried to figure out how to drag an entire tree back to the cave.

It had to be said that the Redfang Warriors knew what they were about. True, they were inept trackers, but securing a camp and setting up basic defenses was something every Redfang knew about. The High Passes had made them tough—compared to their home, Liscor was a land of milk and honey. Quite literally, when Erin handed both to them in a hot mug.

The cave wasn’t as nice as her inn. But it was defensible and there were resources around to fortify it and set up all the essentials. Badarrow looked up and threw a rock at Headscratcher when the Hob returned, dragging a young tree in with all the Cave Goblins. The [Archer] made Headscratcher take it outside and denude the tree of all the leaves and then chop it up with his stone axe. They had to dry the wood first. The cave had no ventilation, so smoke would rapidly become an issue. Badarrow made all this clear with a few rude and pointed gestures.

Shamefaced, Headscratcher got to work. His stone axe looted from the Raskghar was not meant for chopping, and he ended up splitting the tree, more from the force of his blows than the sharpness of his axe. By the time he was halfway done, his handle was slightly fractured. Headscratcher groaned, knowing it was probably no longer good as a weapon. He wandered back inside the cave and hopefully pointed at Shorthilt’s sword. It was very sharp and would chop up the tree.

Shorthilt grabbed his sword and kicked at Headscratcher. His body language and expression told Headscratcher that he could have Shorthilt’s sword…never. Shorthilt’s possessiveness of good blades and his care for his weapon was why he alone had a sword still—all the other Hobs had damaged their weapons and had to find replacements.

Glumly, Headscratcher walked back outside and saw the Cave Goblins breaking branches off the tree and ferrying them inside. That made him brighten up a bit. He kept forgetting he was a Hob now!

Hobs had privileges. Or maybe the right way to think about it was that Hobs were leaders while regular Goblins were followers. There were exceptions, like Redscar, Garen’s second-in-command, but in general, Hobs bossed around regular Goblins. Their job was to boss, which meant they had to work less.

All Headscratcher had to do was show the Cave Goblins how to break up the log by hammering a sharp rock into it and cracking the wood and they were on the job. He had to lend a hand with the heavier parts that required his strength, but he found himself enjoying standing around with his arms folded while the Cave Goblins industriously swarmed over the tree and disassembled it.

Soon, the Redfang Goblins had a supply of firewood ready to dry out around a fire, a rockslide trap that could seal the cave off, and dead Dropclaw bats. The three of them squatted around, grinning at each other. Now this felt like the good old days. No inn, no fancy beds or food. No Erin, just living on what they could scavenge.

After a few minutes, their smiles faded. Badarrow grunted and fished a sharp stone out that had impaled itself in his butt. Headscratcher looked at the dead Dropclaw bats, which weren’t cooked, were still leaking a bit of blood, and were most definitely not marinated. Shorthilt eyed the ground, which some Cave Goblins were laying grass and bits of brush on to make a bed.

This did feel like the good old days. And it turned out that the good old days weren’t that good. Headscratcher recalled his soft bed—his personal bed—and his feather pillow. Badarrow’s stomach reminded him of manicotti and a cold drink of ale. Shorthilt stared at the dried firewood and tried to remember how to make a fire. The Hobs looked at each other. It was a good thing that this wasn’t all of Plan G.

—-

The second boat that travelled across the waters, heading east towards the water’s edge moved a lot faster than the first group of boats had. Numbtongue and Rabbiteater rowed furiously. They knew where they were headed—they’d gone with the others to begin with, and had come back to report on the progress to Erin’s inn. Now they were rowing as fast as they could.

Bad things had happened. Very bad things. Rabbiteater didn’t have the vocabulary to express how bad it was. Numbtongue did, and he shouted expletives. Mrsha was gone! Ceria was kidnapped! The Raskghar were being led by a Minotaur who was also an adventurer! They’d attacked the inn! Erin was crying!

The two Hobs made the boat fly across the water, ignoring the attention they attracted. They had no time for it. They practically crashed the boat into the grass and leapt to shore. They saw Shorthilt, Badarrow, and Headscratcher were there to greet them with the rest of the Cave Goblins.

“Has food? Blankets?”

Headscratcher pointed hopefully at the boat. Rabbiteater and Numbtongue stared at him and then remembered. That was why they’d gone to Erin’s inn. Plan G had been to provision the Redfangs and Cave Goblins in their new home. The Cave Goblins swarmed over the boats, exclaiming in awe at the bags of flour and salt and potatoes and hauling them up and hurrying towards the cave with them.

“Good food. Eat much.”

Badarrow and Shorthilt crowded around the provisions. Shorthilt shook his head glumly.

“No Erin cook. Bad taste.”

Badarrow nodded reluctantly. He put a finger into one of the bags of flour and licked his finger and grimaced. Numbtongue and Rabbiteater exchanged glances. They waved their hands for everyone’s attention. The three other Hobs glanced at Numbtongue as the Hob drew in a huge breath. Then Numbtongue screamed.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!”

All the Goblins stopped what they were doing and stared at him. Numbtongue took in another breath. He screamed again. It was the best summary he could think of. He drew in air for a third scream and Rabbiteater clapped a hand over his mouth. He waved his hands, wide-eyed, and the other three Hobs realized something was very wrong. They ran back towards the cave. Rabbiteater and Numbtongue led the way after pausing to grab something strange from the boat. A large, wide plank of wood. They didn’t waste time once they got to the cave. Numbtongue summed up the situation in a few terse sentences as Rabbiteater gestured and provided context.

“Raskghar attacked during the day! They’re smart during daytime too! They attacked the inn—took Mrsha. And attacked the adventurers in the dungeon! Ceria—the half-Elf with bone hand—is gone. And the Raskghar are being led by a Minotaur! A former adventurer. He is Chieftain. Erin cried.”

The other Hobs gaped at him. They asked questions, demanded to know more details. Numbtongue and Rabbiteater recounted all they had witnessed and finally dragged in the Cave Goblin who’d been passed out in their boat. The terrified Cave Goblin was still unconscious from his interrogation by the adventurers.

As dawn changed to morning, the convivial attitude shared by the Redfang Hobs was no more. A mood of great tension had descended over the cave. The Cave Goblins watched as Rabbiteater paced back and forth. Headscratcher was punching one of the walls, shaking with frustration and rage. Shorthilt was sharpening his blade. Badarrow was checking his arrows. Headscratcher whirled as Numbtongue grabbed him to stop him from breaking his hands on the rock wall. Numbtongue stared—Headscratcher had shattered the stone with his bare fists.

“We go!”

Headscratcher turned and roared the words. He drew his cracked stone axe. Shorthilt and Badarrow leapt to their feet. There was no hesitation. Erin had asked them. She had asked them to find Mrsha. As adventurers. As Goblins! There was no question they would go. Headscratcher strode towards the wall that separated the cave from the dungeon and began to kick it down. Numbtongue shouted.

“Wait!”

Headscratcher did not want to wait. Rabbiteater pulled him back. The Hob turned with a snarl, but Rabbiteater swirled his magic cloak and  caught Headscratcher’s punch in the water. His water cloak made the other Cave Goblins gasp in awe, but Headscratcher just yanked his arm out and glared at Rabbiteater.

Rabbiteater raised one placating hand. He hurried over to the flat plank of wood and leaned it against the cave wall. He fished in his pockets and pulled something out. Headscratcher frowned. Did Rabbiteater have a…doorknob?

Yes he did. Rabbiteater stuck the doorknob into the piece of wood, hammering it in with one solid blow. The doorknob stuck into the wood, functionally useless, but completing the rough look. Rabbiteater turned and pointed at Numbtongue. The other Hob pulled something out of his pocket and threw it at Rabbiteater. The Goblin slapped it to the door. It was a stone. A mana stone, glowing bright red. Rabbiteater nodded. He threw open the door—

And stared at the blank wall of the cave. The other Redfang warriors stared at the door. Rabbiteater faltered, closed the door, opened it, and closed it again. He scratched his head.

“Not time yet.”

Numbtongue grunted. He sat down on the ground and began to pluck at something. His guitar, crudely mended. Headscratcher wavered. He pointed at the door. Numbtongue nodded. The guitar sang. Jolts of electricity flared to life on the strings. Headscratcher gaped. Numbtongue played a riff. Sparks of lightning shot from his guitar, grounding themselves on the cave floor. The Hobs stared.

“[Electric Chords]. We wait.”

The [Bard] began to play. His guitar sang like no other guitar could. It did not, in fact, sound like an electric guitar from Erin’s world. Numbtongue had heard Erin singing songs from her world, but none of them had been rock or featured an electric guitar. No, his guitar sounded like he was playing chords out of thunder. He strummed and the air crackled and snapped.

Lightning flashed between his strings. It didn’t seem to bother Numbtongue, but when an entranced Shorthilt reached out to touch the guitar he shouted in pain and drew his hand back. Numbtongue grinned as Shorthilt threw dirt at him. But the grin vanished. His fingers plucked restlessly over his strings. The music the guitar made was urgent, quick. The other Goblins listened, their hearts beating faster for the music.

Music. Shorthilt, Badarrow, and Rabbiteater looked at each other. They glanced at Headscratcher, who was massaging his scraped knuckles and staring blankly at the door and Numbtongue who was making music. Both had new classes. Both were…well, beyond the other three Redfangs. Beyond most of the Redfang tribe, in fact.

They had unique classes. [Berserker] and [Bard]. The Hobs had heard of [Berserkers], mainly from Garen and they could appreciate how dangerous and how impressive that class was. But a [Bard]? They couldn’t think of any Goblin, any Goblin that had ever had that class. It made the two special.

There were Hobs in the Redfang Tribe. But just based on his new class, Headscratcher would have been an elite among elites. As for Numbtongue—well, Shorthilt wasn’t sure about [Bard] as a combat class. But after staring at the electricity shooting from the guitar, the Hob concluded that Numbtongue was as close to a [Shaman] as the Redfang Tribe had ever had. That made him…

Incredible. Inspiring. The Hobs were ecstatic for their friends. And jealous. They’d all felt the pulling, the sense of standing on the edge of something. All three wished they’d gotten a class like that. But not yet.

Maybe not ever if they went into the dungeon. That went undiscussed, but it was there. The Hobs remembered the fallen. This seemed like another suicide mission. One they would take on willingly, but still. They looked at each other and nodded. Then they glanced at the Cave Goblins.

Over sixty sat in the cave, staring at the Hobs. They shifted uneasily as the Redfangs looked at them. But their eyes never left the five. The Cave Goblins had never seen Hobs before. They had forgotten there could even be Hobs. They had accepted the Raskghar as their masters—worse, as their tribe. They followed a Minotaur as their Chieftain. They were not-Goblin. But at the same time, they were still Goblins. So the Redfangs sat a bit taller. To show the Cave Goblins what a true Goblin looked like.

The door opened when the sun had cleared the mountain tops. The sky lightened and the pouring rain grew lighter. And an inn appeared in the open doorway. The crude door that Rabbiteater had built revealed a room filled with dim light from the fireplace. And a young woman. The Cave Goblins cried out in fear and flinched as Erin strode through the door. Behind her came Drassi, clutching a pair of swords. The Drake flinched when she saw all the Goblins lined up.

“Oh, Ancestors. What is this place? Erin, this is getting a bit crazy!”

The Hobs scrambled to their feet. Numbtongue looked up from his guitar and leapt to his feet. Erin looked around. She took in the pile of firewood, the cave, the wall to the dungeon, the Cave Goblins, the dead Dropclaw Bats, and the Redfang Warriors. She nodded.

“Numbtongue told me you were set up. Did he tell you the rest?”

“Yes.”

Numbtongue stood. All the Hobs stared at what Erin was carrying. She held three swords in addition to the two Drassi bore. And she had an unstrung bow hung over one shoulder. Erin shifted.

“Someone take this off me. Badarrow, this bow’s for you.”

The Hobs looked at each other. Badarrow pointed to himself, stunned. Erin nodded.

“It’s yours. The rest of you, check out the swords. Let me know if it’s good. I got it from the best [Blacksmith] in Celum. Go on.”

She shifted to let Badarrow cautiously take the recurve bow off her shoulder. The Hob stared at the bow, running his fingers down the oiled wood. He flexed the bow, his usually dour expression now one of complete surprise.

Headscratcher stared at the sheathed blades. The leather sheathe was plain, but when he unsheathed the blade—he nearly dropped the sword as he saw steel glinting at him. The Hob drew the sword, mouth open wide. The other Redfangs did the same.

Five steel swords flashed in the cave. Shorthilt stared at his blade. Tears sprang into his eyes. He looked at the worn, lovingly cared for sword at his waist and slowly took it off. He looked at Erin. She stared at him, the tiniest glimmer of a smile on her face. Her eyes were very serious, but her voice lightened a bit.

“Do you like it?”

The Hob hesitated. Then he hugged her. Erin yelped—Shorthilt’s grip was strong—but then the other Redfangs crowded around her. They didn’t quite dare to hug her, but they patted her on the head and shoulders. Rabbiteater patted Erin on the chest by accident and got a light slap.

“Enough!”

Erin stopped the moment after a few seconds. She smiled wearily. Sadly. At once, the Hobs remembered what was wrong and straightened. Erin pointed to the swords.

“That’s my investment. That’s my fee. I’m asking you as adventurers, as Goblins…find Mrsha. Find Ceria. Go into the dungeon. The Raskghar have both. The Cave Goblins have to know where they are.”

“They said—”

Numbtongue began. Erin cut him off.

“I know, the camp moves. But they have to have an idea, right? At the very least, they know where traps are. Get them to help you. We were planning on rescuing the Cave Goblins—as many as we could anyways. Well, I’m amending Plan G. Find Mrsha and Ceria first. Bring them back. And if you find the camp and Calruz—he’s the Minotaur—”

Erin hesitated. She looked from face to face.

“—Try not to kill him. But do what you have to. Bring them back. Please.”

She bowed her head. The Redfangs reached out. They grabbed Erin by the shoulder, on her arms. She looked up. The Hobs smiled. Erin wiped her eyes.

“Thank you. I know what I’m asking. I won’t send you in unprepared. Drassi! Bring the crate in.”

The Drake jumped. She hurried into the inn, conscious of all eyes on her. It was very strange. The Silver-rank adventurers in the inn and Lyonette hadn’t noticed where the door was connected to. Why should they? People went through to Liscor and Celum and even Pallass all the time. But if they’d come over, they would have seen the ranks of Goblins. Drassi almost shouted at them. Almost.

There was a small crate of glowing potions on the nearest table. Drassi grabbed it and hurried back through the open door, conscious of all the Goblin eyes on her. She offered it to Headscratcher, who blinked at the potions.

“Stamina potions, a Tripvine bag…but mainly healing potions. Octavia’s best. That’s all I can afford. There’s two for each of you. Is it enough?”

Erin looked anxious. The Redfang Warriors lifted the bottles, sniffing at the cork stoppers. They glanced at each other and nodded.

“Enough. More than enough. We will do it. We will go.”

Numbtongue spoke for the others. Headscratcher sheathed his sword. Badarrow strung his new bow, casting his old one aside. Shorthilt placed his iron sword on the ground, stroking the handle once before buckling his new sword to his belt. Rabbiteater’s magical cloak swirled around him as he squared his shoulders. Erin looked at them.

“Be careful. Just go in and try to track down the Raskghar. Don’t fight if you don’t have to. Don’t die. Please.”

The Hobs nodded. They turned and Headscratcher barked an order. The Cave Goblins jumped. Three of them approached out of the mass. The rest looked unhappy.

“We keep rest here. They stay or run. We go with three. Smaller. Faster.”

Numbtongue told Erin. She hesitated. That wasn’t Plan G, and the Redfangs knew it. But they had no choice. They had to go in as one group. The Cave Goblins would probably flee, but it wasn’t as if this cave mattered. And Erin’s inn had adventurers in it. The Raskghar had already attacked it.

“Fine. I’ll try to keep them here. You go.”

The Hobs paused. They looked at Erin. She gestured at the Cave Goblins. Numbtongue opened his mouth to protest, but looked at Erin and closed his mouth. He strapped the guitar to his back and nodded.

“We go!”

He turned. The Redfangs marched to the wall connecting to the dungeon. They paused, running their hands down the packed dirt and stones. Months ago, Rags’ tribe had created this very wall. Now, five Hobs stood in the same spot. Headscratcher closed his eyes, and then he drew back his fist. He punched the wall, cracking the dirt. The other Redfangs broke down the wall, kicking aside rocks, pulling the weak masonry apart. Then they stepped into the room with the crushed remains of the statues and the corpses of countless Shield Spiders. They stared around as the Cave Goblins inspected the room and jabbered to each other. Then one of the Cave Goblins pointed and the Hobs followed. They disappeared.

Erin stood behind as the Cave Goblins shifted uneasily. Drassi looked around, her heart thundering as the little Cave Goblins stared at both her and Erin. But the [Innkeeper] only had eyes for the Hobs. She stood there until the last of their footfalls had vanished. She whispered a prayer.

“Good luck.”

—-

At first they were eight. Five Hobs, three Cave Goblins. The Redfang warriors strode ahead, following the three Cave Goblins who glanced around nervously, their postures wary. But the Hobs were calm. Unnaturally so. They were afraid, but they felt the same icy cool sweep over them that sometimes occurred in the moments right before a life or death battle.

This reminded them of the old days. And by that, they meant four months ago, when they’d been part of the Redfang Tribe back in the High Passes. Back when everything had been simple and there was only death or life and Garen knew what to do.

Of course, simple didn’t mean easy. Back then, the Redfang Tribe had fought against groups of monsters as dangerous as the Raskghar. To maintain their position at the base of the mountain range, they’d often clashed with Eater Goats, Gargoyles, feral Carn Wolves—and those were just the monsters who roamed the lower altitudes.

Normally they’d want at least a hundred more Redfangs at their back and at least a dozen more Hobs. Carn Wolves would be nice, too, even in the confines of the dungeon. None of the five Goblins present had been [Riders], but they deeply respected the massive rust-red wolves and their ability to fight. Plus, Carn Wolves made for lovely pillows at night.

However, all they had were the five of them. The Hobs knew they couldn’t assault the dungeon head-on. They were a strike team, with a clear mission. Track down the Raskghar, get Mrsha and Ceria, and escape. They had few distinct advantages. A few healing potions, steel swords. Numbtongue’s guitar. Headscratcher and Numbtongue’s new class. Rabbiteater’s cloak. And the bell.

The Hobs hadn’t taken the cursed necklace for fear of what it might do. But they did have the bell of pain, for what it was worth. Yes, ringing it caused unbelievable agony to everyone in earshot. But…well, that could be a good thing. And in the dungeon, the Redfangs needed every edge they could get. Badarrow had possession of the bell and he had a plan for it.

Five Hobs versus a dungeon’s worth of monsters and traps. It wasn’t good, but it did feel a bit normal. Headscratcher pointed at the Cave Goblins.

“Where Raskghar?”

“Move tribe! Move tribe not know where! Go find?”

The Cave Goblin squeaked nervously. Headscratcher nodded. The Goblin scurried forwards and conferred with his two fellows, glancing at the Hobs nervously. At least the Redfangs had guides. The Cave Goblins were in awe of the Hobs. And even if they had forgotten much of Goblin culture, a bit of their heritage was asserting itself. The Cave Goblins were naturally predisposed to obey the Hobs over the Raskghar. So long as the Hobs remained within eyesight, at least.

“You know where we are?”

Numbtongue looked around the dungeon sharply. They were standing in a room full of crushed statues. The Hobs had heard Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers talking and they knew this room had been where all the statues had come to life. And beyond that—

The Hobs stopped when they saw the wall. It had been made a lot stronger than the wall that connected cave to dungeon. Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers had bricked up the wall and covered the rest with a quick drying cement mixture they’d purchased from an [Alchemist]. They’d meant it to seal off the Shield Spider nest and the undamaged wall told the Hobs they’d succeeded. Unfortunately, it appeared as though the Cave Goblins hadn’t expected the wall. They stared at it and one of the Cave Goblins kicked the wall and then pointed.

“New wall. Must go through. Big Goblins break?”

She stared hopefully at the Redfangs. The Hobs exchanged a glance. For the first time they wondered if the Cave Goblins might try to get them killed. That seemed incredible—Goblins surely wouldn’t do that to other Goblins! At least, not unless their [Chieftains] ordered them to do battle. But maybe these Goblins were still obeying this Calruz? The Redfangs huddled up. The Cave Goblins tried to join the huddle but were waved back.

“Is trap?”

Headscratcher looked at Numbtongue. The Hob grimaced.

“Maybe. I’ll ask cunning questions.”

The Redfangs nodded. Numbtongue turned. He put on his most friendly smile and pointed to the wall.

“What’s behind that wall?”

The Cave Goblins scratched their heads and conferred. One answered for the others.

“Big long fall death room. And hidden death monster room. And secret down-down room. Is good passage if not die. We show?”

“Hidden death room?”

Numbtongue looked wary. The Goblins nodded.

“Invisible bad-bad things inside. Invisible monsters.”

Again, the Hobs looked at each other. This time they were worried. Invisible Shield Spiders? That sounded even worse. Numbtongue frowned and the Cave Goblins cringed.

“Bad route! Find us another one?”

The Cave Goblins looked panicked.

“Cannot! Behind is many-room traps. Unescape death! Trick death! Cannot go. This way only way!”

“Lies!”

Numbtongue raised a fist, hoping it were true. The Cave Goblins cowered, shielding their heads. Numbtongue hesitated, and Rabbiteater grabbed his arm. He signaled that he wanted to take over. Numbtongue nodded and Rabbiteater crouched. Of all the Hobs, he was best at making people smile. He gave the Cave Goblins a very friendly smile and they stopped shielding themselves.

“Only way? Through death-invisible room?”

They nodded. Rabbiteater pointed.

“What in there? Invisible monsters? Big crawly spiders?”

They paused, then shook their heads. The Cave Goblins frowned.

“Only invisible. No spiders. Big empty room. Long drop. And invisible monsters. And secret passage.”

Rabbiteater frowned. He looked back at the others. That didn’t seem like the room the adventurers had described. He frowned, but in the end he nodded.

“We go.”

It wasn’t like they had any choice. The Redfang Warriors glanced at each other, and then looked at the wall. They had to break a gap. Headscratcher lifted his shiny new sword and Shorthilt smacked him. He made it very plain that damaging the wonderful swords that Erin had given them would not be tolerated. Instead, he grabbed a broken piece of statue and began bashing it on the wall. The other Redfangs did likewise and the three Cave Goblins joined in.

The wall was sturdy, but it had been made rapidly and as a stopgap. It would fool a Shield Spider into thinking there was nothing but wall there, but a determined Goblin could scrape away the mortar and pull the bricks out. Which is what the Hobs did. They opened a hole in the wall large enough to squeeze through and found a blank, empty room on the other side.

A very large, suspiciously clean room, perfectly circular and without any doors on the other side. The Hobs stared at it as the Cave Goblins squeezed through the gap. One beckoned.

“IS good! Follow! No step further than here!”

He pointed to the ground. The Redfangs exchanged a wary glance and pushed through the gap one at a time. They swore as the bricks scraped their shoulders and Badarrow kicked the wall in a bit more so he could get his bow through without banging it. When the Hobs were on the other side they stood at the very edge of the room. The Cave Goblins motioned for extreme caution as they showed the Redfangs what to do.

“Walk here. Grab edge—put feet into here. See?”

One of the Cave Goblins showed Headscratcher a set of tiny grooves worked into the wall, practically invisible. Headscratcher saw the Cave Goblins latch onto the wall with practiced ease. He understood. You could use the grooves as handholds to get across the room. But—Headscratcher’s brow wrinkled—why couldn’t you just walk to the other side?

“No walk! Bad fall death! Bad, bad! Do like this!”

The three Cave Goblins exhorted the Redfangs to follow their lead. They were very serious, and the Redfangs listened to the tone in their voices. They obediently clung to the walls and began to slowly edge around the room. It was no real challenge. The grooves were easy handholds if you knew they were there, and Headscratcher had grown up climbing the High Passes. He wondered what all this was about. Was this really the spider room the adventurers had found? If so—

The Hobs and Cave Goblins were halfway around the edge of the room when the floor vanished. The Hobs gasped as one and held on tighter to the grooves as the floor disappeared and revealed the drop of a lifetime. A mile-deep chamber lay below them. And filling the room, clinging to thick webs and tending to the thousands, millions of eggs, were—

Shield Spiders. Headscratcher’s heart caught in his chest as he clung to the handholds and looked down at a Shield Spider as large as Erin’s inn. His arms froze and his fingers desperately held onto the handholds as he imagined letting go and falling, falling, until he landed in one of the webs and the spider swarmed all over him.

“Is normal! Come, come!”

One of the Cave Goblins smiled at him. Headscratcher turned his head and gaped at it. The Cave Goblin pointed down as it clung to its handhold.

“See? Empty room! Very long fall. Invisible monsters below.”

It looked up and gave Headscratcher a big smile, practically radiating its eagerness to please. Headscratcher gaped at the Cave Goblin and then pointed, realized what he was doing, swore,  and grabbed the handhold for dear life.

“Lying! Shield Spiders below!”

The Cave Goblin’s eyes went wide with horror. It looked around wildly.

“Where? Cannot see!”

Headscratcher and the other Hobs gaped at the Cave Goblin. The three Cave Goblins looked around wildly, not seeming to see the tens of thousands of Shield Spiders nested below. Headscratcher pointed at the largest one, a giant brood queen who still bore marks of Typhenous’ comet spell.

“That one! Big one! Right there?”

“Nothing there!”

The Cave Goblins stared at Headscratcher and shook their heads. He opened his mouth, and saw the Shield Spider look up. Instantly, all the Hobs fell still. The Cave Goblins hissed.

“Too much talk! Hurry! Invisible monsters attack if make sound or have smell-food!”

They began climbing rapidly around the edge of the room. The Hobs saw several of the Shield Spiders stirring. A few crawled upwards idly, as if looking for what had made the sound. But incredibly, they seemed as oblivious to the Goblins as the Goblins were of them. Headscratcher saw a Shield Spider look right at him. His body tensed, but the Shield Spider didn’t react.

He was invisible. And as the Hobs shakily followed the cheerful Cave Goblins, they realized that had to be what was happening. Neither group could see the other. They could hear—but not see. Smell too, probably. One of the Cave Goblins reached the far end of the room, exactly opposite the hole in the wall. He tapped at a stone and then pulled it out.

The wall next to him swung out and the Hobs saw to their immense relief that a stone stairway lead down. The Cave Goblin climbed into the stairwell and helped his friends join him. Headscratcher’s fingers hurt, but he dared not loosen his death-grip for one second until he could swing himself onto the stairwell. Then he hugged the stairs until Numbtongue hissed at him to move.

All five Hobs found themselves on the stairwell in the end. They were covered in sweat and breathing hard, compared to the Cave Goblins who looked as relaxed as they had been in the cave. More relaxed in fact. This was their home. The Cave Goblins grinned at the Hobs.

“Long drop not scary! Only bad if fall—or have hand pain!”

The Hobs glared at the Cave Goblins. Numbtongue pointed.

“That is a Shield Spider nest! Invisible to you—not to us! We see monsters!”

The Cave Goblins went round-eyed. They stared at the Hobs. The Cave Goblins looked at each other and murmured in awe.

“Special Hob power?”

“No!”

The Hobs chorused as one. Then they paused. Probably not? A bit of uncertainty ran through their group. Did Hobs have the power to see things normal Goblins couldn’t? That might explain why they were always grumpy.

No. Badarrow shook his head and reminded the others that the adventurers had seen the same thing. It was only the Cave Goblins who were blind. The Hobs nodded. This was a puzzle, but at least it meant that they had an advantage of sorts. Not that it had bothered the Cave Goblins—they knew there was danger there, just not what kind.

“We go down?”

Rabbiteater pointed at the Cave Goblins. They nodded.

“All down! Into many-tunnels. Long way down. But good secret entrance! Not even Raskghar use! Is good?”

He looked to Rabbiteater for approval and reached out to touch Rabbiteater’s water cloak. The Hob smiled and let the Goblin do it.

“Is good. You lead.”

The Cave Goblin smiled.

“Good! One last thing! Fun thing to do! Watch!”

Excitedly, he went to the other Goblins. One of them looked around and handed the Cave Goblin a stone that had broken off from the wall. The Cave Goblin showed it to Rabbiteater. The Hob frowned. The Cave Goblin pointed to the nest of Shield Spiders. The Hobs stared at the rock, the Cave Goblin’s excited expression. All of them lunged for the Cave Goblin, but too late. He hurled the stone into the nest of Shield Spiders.

The stone fell for several long seconds. The Hobs waited, heard a distant impact, and then an unholy chittering from a million mandibles. The Cave Goblins danced about, laughing, and then ran down the stairwell. The Hobs stared back down into the cave. A hundred thousand Shield Spiders raced upwards, searching for whatever had disturbed their nest. The Hobs stared down in transfixed horror, and then fled after the Cave Goblins.

—-

There were no more trials as bad as the Shield Spider nest. After the Hobs had descended the mile of stairs, they stumbled out into the dungeon proper. A long tunnel lay out before them, this one filled with brightly colored tiles. The Cave Goblins, who’d been thoroughly chastened by the angry Hobs, looked around warily, and then pointed.

“Follow steps! No step wrong one or boom!”

They waved their hands then danced out onto the tiles, choosing their next step seemingly at random. There was no pattern to their steps, but the Hobs followed the Cave Goblins precisely. That was the first corridor down. After that, the Hobs found themselves standing in an intersection between four tunnels. A fountain of water sprayed upwards, the sides bearing faded engravings in the marble. The Hobs stayed far away from the fountain, but the Cave Goblins rushed forwards. They laughed at the Hobs.

“No trap! Just water! Drink!”

They offered some to the Hobs. However, the Hobgoblins refused to drink. They were in battle mode and water would slow them down. Plus, if there was one thing Liscor didn’t lack at the moment, it was drinking water.

“Where are the Raskghar? Do you know?”

Numbtongue asked the Cave  Goblin the same question the adventures had. The Cave Goblins shook their heads.

“Chieftain move camp! Always move. But know where camp was yesterday! And maybe where camp might be. Check many spots. If Goblin lost, must check. Probably die.”

The Hobs nodded grimly. That was what they’d expected. Headscratcher checked his sword. It was sharp. And it gleamed. He ran his finger down the blade and cut himself. Headscratcher admired his reflection in the blade and then found some dirt. He began to scrub it into the mirror polish and the other Hobs did the same. Dirty swords looked less wonderful, but they wouldn’t reflect light nearly so well. He nodded to the Cave Goblins.

“You take us to Raskghar. Keep silent if see. We want to see Chieftain. And Gnolls. And uh, pointy-eared Human with bone hand.”

The Cave Goblins nodded eagerly. They set off, taking the tunnel across from them. The Hobs followed, spreading out into a formation. Headscratcher and Shorthilt in front, Badarrow in the middle, and Numbtongue and Rabbiteater in the rear. They looked in every direction for monsters, trusting the Cave Goblins to look for traps.

They found the first monster band twenty paces in. The Hobs froze. The Cave Goblins kept moving. The giant maggot oozed forwards. Headscratcher hissed.

“Stop! Monster!”

The Cave Goblins froze in terror. The maggot raised its front. It was three times as big as Headscratcher and the trail it left looked caustic, some kind of rust-orange ooze. Headscratcher urgently motioned the Cave Goblins back.

“Monster? Where?”

“There!”

Headscratcher pointed. The Cave Goblins stared blankly at the maggot. They couldn’t see it. They could see the trail it left.

“More invisible monsters? Hobs see? Lucky! Walk through dungeon is sudden-death sometimes!”

The Cave Goblins stared at the Hobs in awe. The Redfangs looked at each other. They stared at the maggot. It could clearly hear, but either it was blind or it couldn’t see the Goblins either. Any of them. The Goblins stared as it oozed past them and made way. The maggot navigated past them. Badarrow raised his bow, but Headscratcher shook his head. Slowly, the Goblins moved on.

They encountered a pair of Children next. The two little white monsters didn’t look like the children of Humans or Drakes when no one was around. They bared their teeth and sniffed the air as the Goblins sidled past them, but again, didn’t seem to see the Goblins. The group of eight Goblins marched around a corridor and ran into a Face-Eater Moth eating something dead.

This time, both groups saw each other. The Cave Goblins screamed and the Redfangs charged with a roar. The Face-Eater Moth reared up and Badarrow shot it through the mouth. Shorthilt whirled his blade and cut off two legs. Rabbiteater stabbed into the moth’s abdomen together with Numbtongue. Headscratcher roared and gave into the rage. When the rage veil of mist cleared from his eyes he was standing over the dead moth. Someone—him—had ripped its head clean off.

Headscratcher looked around. The other Goblins were standing far back, staring at him. The Cave Goblins’ mouths were open. Headscratcher stood up and realized he had blood all over him. The moth’s, not his. Numbtongue frowned.

“[Berserker]. Too much crazy. Don’t do that unless it’s important.”

Headscratcher nodded. He stared at the moth’s corpse.

“What did I…do?”

Numbtongue eyed him.

“You ripped its head off. After stabbing it many times. And then you hit the dead body for a minute.”

He pointed to Headscratcher’s hands. The Hob looked down and saw gore on his hands. He bent and wiped his hands on the dead moth. Then he straightened.

“We saw that. And little Goblins saw.”

The other Redfangs nodded. They looked at the Cave Goblins who nodded furiously. They’d all seen it. Headscratcher frowned and stayed true to his name by scratching his head. Curious. One of the little Cave Goblins glanced around.

“Noise is bad-bad! More things come. Invisible and others. We go?”

The Hobs nodded. They vacated the spot as fast as they could. True to the Cave Goblin’s words, they passed a group of monsters already scenting the violence. The maggot and two of its friends. They didn’t see the Cave Goblins. Nor did the next group of monsters. Or the next.

The Hobs quickly realized there was something to the invisible monsters theory. It wasn’t that all the monsters were invisible to each other. There were times when the Hobs and Cave Goblins clearly saw monsters. In those moments they would retreat or, if it came to it, fought. But at least sixty percent of the monsters were mutually invisible to each other.

That didn’t mean they weren’t aware of their presence. The Hobs saw an incredible battle between a group of Shield Spiders and a Face-Eater Moth that had run into each other. Both sides clawed the air and lunged at each other—clearly not able to see the others, but aware that something was attacking them. In the end, both groups retreated, warily lashing out at the air. And from the way the Cave Goblins moved—slowly, one of them waving a stick ahead of the others—they were also aware of the danger.

But why were they invisible? The Hobs had no answers. They understood why they were invisible with the Goblins, though. They were all Goblins. True, the Cave Goblins weren’t Hobs, but they were all the same species. Apparently that counted. And it meant the Hobs could do what the adventurers could not.

At the same time the Gold-ranks were pulling out of the dungeon, the Hobs were traversing tunnel after tunnel. Thanks to the Cave Goblins, they knew where most of the traps were, and the Goblins were very careful not to go down tunnels they didn’t know like the back of their claws.

The Hobs stared at a tunnel made of earth where strange flowers grew out of the ceiling and ground, a bright, almost antiseptic room full of white tiles that the Cave Goblins refused to go near, and through empty rooms and others which had clearly been designed for some purpose before they had been destroyed.

It was these rooms the Cave Goblins led the Hobs to, again and again. The dungeon was vast, but over the countless years since it had been built, some of the trap rooms had lost their lethality. Other rooms had never been trapped at all, and it was there that the Raskghar, Cave Goblins, and other monsters made their lairs. Unfortunately, none of the rooms the Cave Goblins checked were where the Raskghar had made their camps.

There were signs of their passage. In one large room which was slanted at steep, almost thirty-degree slant, the Goblins saw the remains of camp fires and bone fragments. And poo. They sniffed at the dried excrement and wrinkled their noses, but it was too old to offer any clues. The Cave Goblins led them on, pointing out dangerous places, places that the Raskghar had tried to rob of treasure and failed again and again, safe spots—

The Redfangs tried to memorize all the spots, but even their memories began to fail. Despite themselves, they were impressed. The Cave Goblins might not have many Goblin qualities, but they had adapted for life in the dungeon by memorizing all the dangers around them. And they were legion. It was easy to see that the Cave Goblins and Raskghar could live in the dungeon by preying on weaker monsters and avoiding the strong ones—with a bit of luck that they didn’t run into invisible monsters—but if there was one thing they weren’t prepared for, it was the adventurers.

The Goblins heard the sounds of battle as they approached the dungeon’s water entrance. The thump of impacts, shouts, ringing steel—and then a roar of crackling fire all broke the silence of the dungeon. The Hobs winced every time they heard a shout. Not for their sakes, but because they clearly saw what the effect the noise had.

The monsters heard the sound. And like Face-Eater Moths drawn to an unbitten face, they swarmed towards the adventurer’s locations, searching for prey. The Hobs saw roving monster packs streaming down the corridors, sometimes running into each other and doing battle, but often running into adventurers first.

The dungeon was a huge ecosystem. And the adventurers, as a totally foreign presence had managed to unite all the monsters against them. The Hobs on the other hand were largely unnoticed. And eventually that paid off for them. They encountered the first Raskghar group two hours into their hunt.

“Stop!”

Badarrow hissed at the others. The Goblins flattened themselves against the walls and Shorthilt peeked around the corridor. He saw a group of four Raskghar following six Cave Goblins. This group was heading down a corridor, and by the looks of things, they were hunting for food. The Raskghar were making four of the Cave Goblins carry a dead rat-thing twice as large as a fox, and two more Goblins were scouting the way with sticks. It looked like the Raskghar were using the Goblins as guides.

“Avoid?”

Rabbiteater’s cloak swirled as he knelt with the others. Shorthilt scratched his jaw, thinking. There were only four Raskghar and the Cave Goblins might know where their camp was. He looked at Headscratcher. The Hob bared his teeth as he stared at the Raskghar. The bestial creatures were striding along, at ease.

They growled at each other, grinning, perhaps communicating in their language. They weren’t carrying the dead rat-thing, though the Cave Goblins were staggering under the weight. One of the scouts slowed as it inspected a tile and the Raskghar kicked it savagely. The Cave Goblin scuttled forwards, keening softly. Headscratcher’s heart beat harder in his chest. He bared his teeth and saw the other Redfangs were doing the same.

The ambush was textbook. Or it would be if the Goblins used textbooks. The Raskghar were moving behind the Cave Goblins, relaxed, sniffing the air but not worried. They weren’t near the distant fighting with the adventurers. They did pause as they rounded an intersection and one of them raised a hand. The Raskghar in front sniffed the air as it picked up a foreign scent, but then it relaxed. It smelled only Goblins. It sauntered forwards, bow in hand, and then saw something flash.

Badarrow’s arrow struck it in the head. The Raskghar dropped. The other three Raskghar jerked backwards. They saw a group of four Goblins charge them. Only, they weren’t normal Goblins. These ones were tall, muscled, and they had sw—

The Raskghar never had a chance. The Redfangs ran them through in moments, sending the bestial creatures tumbling to the ground. The superior intelligence, speed, and strength of the Raskghar didn’t matter to the Hobs with surprise on their side. The harder trick was keeping the Cave Goblins from fleeing in every direction.

The little Goblins panicked and screamed when they saw the unfamiliar Hobs kill their masters. They would have fled, but the three smaller Cave Goblins called out and reassured the terrified six other Goblins that the Hobs were, in fact, Goblins. And best of all, they didn’t hit or kill Cave Goblins for fun!

It took a few minutes for the Redfangs to explain what they wanted. The wary Cave Goblins shook their heads when they were asked for the main camp. To the Redfang’s dismay, they learned that this particular group had come from one of the smaller camps of Raskghar. They hadn’t been to the main camp. But they did know where their camp was. The Redfangs brightened and immediately told the Cave Goblins to lead them there.

Then they were fourteen. The Redfangs hurried down the tunnel, following the route the Raskghar had intended to take. The rat-thing lay abandoned with the Raskghar corpses. After a while it got up and began to eat the Raskghar, but by that time the Cave Goblins and Hobs were gone. They turned left, went straight, went through two rooms, and then saw the camp.

There were two dozen Raskghar here. Instantly, Badarrow drew back and signaled that there was no way the Redfangs would be able to take the camp. Headscratcher and the others nodded, but they stopped to stare at the Raskghar camp from the shadows. If they couldn’t fight, they could at least know their enemy. What they saw made their blood boil.

This camp of Raskghar was small. Barely more than an outpost. But despite having only two dozen Raskghar, there were at least fifty Goblins assigned to the camp. That made sense; the Redfangs had speculated that there had to be countless Goblins in the dungeon. But these Goblins—

Oh, it was cruel. The Raskghar were lounging about, secure in their camp which was being watched by Cave Goblin sentries. For fun, they’d tied up a small Cave Goblin and were taking turns throwing rocks at it. They aimed at its head and groin as it screamed and flinched. The Raskghar threw the stones with bone-breaking force. And worse—Shorthilt pointed to a limp body and the other Hobs drew in breath.

They were eating the Cave Goblins. A half-consumed corpse lay at the Raskghar’s feet. The beasts laughed and battered the dying Cave Goblin with stones. They beckoned and another Cave Goblin came forwards dully. The Redfangs waited for the Goblin to run or fight, but it let the Raskghar tie it to another stick.

Slaves. The Hobs had heard of the word, but they had thought it was a Human thing. They could never have imagined something like this. The Cave Goblins weren’t just defeated. They seemed to believe the Raskghar were their version of—of Hobs. They leapt to obey the Raskghar and cringed as the beast-people ordered them about. But what a travesty. A Hobgoblin would never do something like this. The Redfangs knew it. Never. If a Hob had done this in their tribe, Garen would have cut his head off. If Grunter had ever been like this—

Two dozen Raskghar. And the camp definitely contained no Gnolls. There was no point in assaulting it. It was far too dangerous. The Redfangs had a mission. A sacred one, entrusted to them by Erin herself. They couldn’t risk their lives. And yet—they stared as the second Cave Goblin flinched and the Raskghar began hurling stones at him.

Headscratcher felt a hand on his shoulder. Badarrow was gripping him, telling him with his eyes what had to be done. Headscratcher bit his lip so hard he felt his teeth meeting, but he nodded. He turned—and the Cave Goblins were staring at them.

Nine of them. They stood together, looking at the Hobs. Looking at the Redfang Warriors, and at the Raskghar. Looking between the two. There was no judgment in their eyes. They were Goblins. They understood how Goblins thought. But when they looked at the Hobs, there was hope in the depths of their gaze. They looked at the Hobs, giants, a new kind of Goblin. A Goblin who did not fear the Raskghar. Who spoke of Goblins leading Goblins. Who claimed a tribe, spoke a name.

Redfang.

Headscratcher looked at Numbtongue. Numbtongue closed his eyes and lifted his guitar. He checked it and glanced at Badarrow. The Hob reached for the bell. Shorthilt grimaced, but only for a second. He lifted his sword. The Hobs looked at each other, and then at Rabbiteater.

The Cave Goblins stared at Rabbiteater. Blood had fallen on his cloak from an earlier skirmish, and now it swirled, liquid crimson hanging from his shoulders. Rabbiteater straightened. He looked around, and then turned to the Raskghar. The cloak swirled around him as he looked at his fellows. They nodded.

Rabbiteater smiled. He turned to the watching Cave Goblins and gave them a thumbs-up. Then, as the other Hobs moved back, he strode forwards.

—-

The Raskghar were enjoying their target practice game. It was unclear whether they enjoyed hearing the Goblin scream or the challenge of placing their shots more. They didn’t pay attention to the smell of more Goblins in the air. Yes, they smelled different, but Goblins were Goblins. They were relaxed, indolent, confident that they were unchallengeable while the moon gave them power.

They heard the guitar scream and whirled. They didn’t see the origin of the music, but they saw the Hob. He stood in the light, a crimson cloak swirling around his shoulders. The Cave Goblins scurrying about the room turned and stared.

Rabbiteater drew his sword and stuck a pose. He grinned as the guitar sang. Two dozen Raskghar stared at him. Rabbiteater beckoned with his sword. In his other hand he grabbed his cloak and whirled it. The Raskghar stared at him and then scrambled for their weapons. They grabbed them and rose, laughing, and saw the second Goblin appear over Rabbiteater’s shoulder.

Badarrow lifted the cursed bell and carefully took aim. He’d tied the bell to the tip of his arrow. The arrow sagged, but the Goblin was more concerned with keeping it from ringing. He drew the arrow back and gripped the bell’s clapper tightly before letting it fly.

The Raskghar dodged as the arrow flew towards them. The curve was bad and the bell weighed it down. It landed harmlessly and clanged off the ground.

The sound screamed through the air. The Cave Goblins screamed and fell to the ground, writhing, their ears bleeding. The effect on the Raskghar was even worse. They howled and half dropped their weapons. The other half screamed and tried to charge. Rabbiteater pointed his sword. He charged as Headscratcher and Shorthilt roared and sprinted out of the darkness.

“Redfang!”

The three howled as they charged, three versus twenty six. From his position behind them, Badarrow loosed arrows as fast as he could draw them. Raskghar fell, arrows sprouting from their eyes and throats.

The Cave Goblins scrambled up. Ears still bleeding, they fled backwards. They were supposed to defend their masters, but these strange attackers looked just like them! They saw Headscratcher charge the largest Raskghar. It was shaking its head, but it had recovered from the bell. It roared as Headscratcher lunged at it. The Hob’s blade pierced the monster’s shoulder, but the Rasgkhar knocked Headscratcher’s arm aside with a stone club. It brought the club down and Headscratcher caught the not-Gnoll’s arm.

The Hob’s arms trembled as the bestial warrior bore down on him. It was taller than Headscratcher by a head and larger too. The Cave Goblins cringed, expecting the Hob to buckle. The Raskghar was biting at him as it tried to crush him. The Goblins saw Headscratcher’s legs buckle, then the Goblin’s eyes flamed a deeper red. He howled and the Raskghar’s club began to move back. Alarmed, the monster tried to pivot. Headscratcher turned, and, with one hand, threw the Raskghar across the room.

Over three hundred pounds of Raskghar went flying. It crashed into the cooking fire and screamed. Headscratcher turned and brought his sword down on another warrior, splitting its head open. Next to him, Shorthilt’s sword flashed. He chopped at a Raskghar who tried to block with a buckler, his sword went through the enemy’s shield and the bewildered Raskghar stared at the bloody stain in his chest. Shorthilt turned and slashed. His blade was sharp. The Cave Goblins watched as he dueled two Raskghar at once, seamlessly shifting between attacking and parrying attacks.

It was four. No, five. Every eye turned as the Goblin playing the guitar strode into the room. Numbtongue’s guitar crackled with lightning as he played. The music was fierce and the sound of it made the air crack. Numbtongue’s voice was loud as he sang.

“Goblins walk, here, beneath this sorry rock!

Redfang warriors all, to serve an [Innkeeper]’s call!

You monsters who hunt, we fear you not.

We are here, and we died long ago.

This dungeon is a fine death, this trap in which you are caught—

Will be your end. Now fight! You craven vermin.

Rot.”

The sound was more than just music. It seemed to inspire. Headscratcher, Shorthilt, and Rabbiteater moved faster, struck harder. The Raskghar hated the sound. Two charged Numbtongue. Shorthilt whirled and called a warning. Numbtongue hadn’t unsheathed his blade! The Hob turned to face the two of the not-Gnolls. He shifted his grip, grabbed the guitar in both hands and swung.

Lightning flashed. The Cave Goblins shielded their eyes and cried out. There was a musical twang and one of the Raskghar stumbled back, crying out. Its fur was singed and Numbtongue assailed the second with his guitar as the strings flashed with lightning. The Goblins watched, open-mouthed, as Numbtongue charged with a scream, guitar in one hand, sword in the other.

Five Hobs fought. Badarrow kept shooting as the dazed Raskghar struggled to surround the Hobs. Headscratcher and Shorthilt joined Numbtongue and fought with backs to each other. But it was Rabbiteater who attracted every eye. He leapt onto a makeshift table, blood cloak flying around him and hacked at the bestial warriors as they tried to drag him down. His magical cloak absorbed their furious blows, the blood splashing in the eyes of those who struck the liquid cloth. Rabbiteater shouted as he fought.

“Redfang!”

The cry was taken up by the other Goblins. They howled the word, and Numbtongue struck his guitar, thumping out a beat.

“Redfang!”

The Raskghar tried to swarm the Goblins. But they were deafened, and the Hobs fought together, using the terrain against the Raskghar. And there was the music. The beat of Numbtongue’s improvised drum echoed through the room. And while it gave the Redfangs heart, to the Raskghar it was discordant sound, distracting, disconcerting. Numbtongue howled.

“Redfang! Fight! A Goblin’s pride! A warrior’s right! Redfang! Redfang!”

“Goblin!”

Headscratcher roared. He cleaved a Raskghar’s arm from the body and roared. A Raskghar seized him—he broke its grip and head-butted the Raskghar until its face was a bloody mess.

Shorthilt’s blade was never sharper. He swung the steel and cut through bone and wood as if it were cloth. He whirled and saw another of Badarrow’s arrows take down another Raskghar. None of them had come close to the [Archer]—he coolly drew another arrow and loosed it, downing a charging Raskghar with an arrow to the groin.

Rabbiteater swirled his cloak, his bloody sword spattering blood. He whirled for enemies on his left, looked for them on his right, and then turned all the way around. It was a moment before the thunder in his ears cleared and he realized all the Raskghar were down.

They’d won. The Cave Goblins stared at the five Goblins as they stood, bloodied, injured, but victorious. They stared at the fallen Raskghar, some still gasping for life. The Raskghar, at the height of their power during the full moons. But the Hobs were triumphant. One raised his sword, the red cloak hanging from his shoulders. The [Archer] walked forwards and the five looked around.

In that moment, they looked like giants to the Cave Goblins. Taller than anything. Stronger than anything. Beautiful and wonderful. Undefeatable.

Heroes. Goblin heroes. The Cave Goblins crept forwards, staring up at the Hobs. They flinched fearfully as the Goblin in the crimson cape turned, but his smile was warm. The Goblins flocked to him, stepping over the dying Raskghar.

And then there were dozens.

—-

Above, in the cave. Erin stared around. The sixty-odd Cave Goblins stared at her. She looked from face to face and recognized one.

“Pebblesnatch, right?”

The little Goblin jumped and tried to hide behind the others, who immediately abandoned her. She stared at Erin, clearly wary. Erin wondered why the Redfangs hadn’t taken her with them. Maybe because she was too young? Or she didn’t know the way as well as the others?

It was hard to tell how old any of the Goblins were. They were all small. Although, Erin noted that some were clearly more adult than Rags. She stared from face to face and felt—conflicted.

“The Redfang Warriors—the Hobs—are going into the dungeon. To fight the Raskghar. They’ll be back. You don’t go anywhere, understand?”

The Cave Goblin stared at Erin. She detected not a flicker of comprehension in their eyes. Not a bit of trust, either. Erin’s jaw clenched. She realized she was making fists at her side. She unclenched her hands—with effort.

It was hard. Very hard. Erin had preached understanding the Goblins, but the memory of finding Lyonette lying on the floor and shouting for Mrsha was fresh in her mind. And Ceria—she knew the Goblins weren’t the ones who’d ordered the kidnapping. That was Calruz. How could he?

But the Cave Goblins were part of it. And yet, they were slaves. Tools for the Raskghar. Erin knew that, but right now wasn’t the time her brain wanted to be reasonable. She was angry. She’d put all her hopes in the Redfang Warriors and the Gold-rank adventurers finding Mrsha and Ceria. But all these Goblins—

“Drassi.”

The Drake jumped. She was staring at the Goblins, wringing her claws together. Erin looked at her.

“Uh—yes Erin? What are we supposed to do? I mean, with them?”

Erin studied the Goblins. Having them run away would be a decidedly bad thing. She gritted her teeth and thought.

“I guess we’ve got to keep them here.”

The Goblins shifted uneasily at that. Drassi looked uneasy too.

“Keep them here? How?”

“I don’t know. Feed them? Make them sit around until the Hobs get back? I’ll think of something. I need you to go into Liscor. Or Celum. Grab more food. This is a lot of Goblins and I gave the Redfangs almost all of our ingredients. We’ll have adventurers in the inn tonight—I need to cook.”

The Drake hesitated.

“But Selys said—”

She wavered as Erin looked at her. The [Innkeeper] folded her arms.

“I’m not going into the dungeon. You saw what my crazy plan was.  I’ll be right here. Keeping an eye on the Goblins. But I need you to get food. Lyonette’s in no condition. And I am paying you.”

“Yeah, but—”

Drassi’s mouth shut as Erin stared pointedly at her. She looked around, but there was nothing for it.

“Right. I can go shopping. Uh, I’ll take coin out of the money stash. Okay?”

“Yup.”

The Drake backed away towards the door. The Goblins were staring at her and Erin. Drassi knew that Erin was friendly to the Goblins, but seeing so many still made her…nervous. Even after hearing Erin’s chess analogy.

“You’re sure you don’t want me to get someone to um, come through? Like a Silver-rank? Or a team, maybe?”

“Then they will run. Go on. I’ll be here.”

Erin practically shoved Drassi out the door. She waited until the magical door had deactivated, leaving only the stone cave wall behind. Then Erin looked around.

The Cave Goblins stared at her. Erin folded her arms. She glanced around the cave, wrinkled her nose at the dead Dropclaw Bats, and then walked over to the entrance to the cave. She stood in front of it, and eyed the Goblins.

“Well? Your move.”

The Goblins looked at each other. They shifted. Some began edging for the entrance to the dungeon. Instantly, Erin strode towards them. They froze and then ran out of the way.

“Oh no you don’t. You’re staying here. Here! Understand?”

Erin raised a threatening fist. The Goblins flinched back, but a few began to glance surreptitiously at one another behind Erin’s back. They were all feeling the same thing.

Certainty was gone. The reassuring presence of the Hobs had vanished, leaving the Cave Goblins aware of how alone they were. And how furious the Raskghar would be if they found them. Suddenly, all that had happened, being taken prisoner, and then following the Hobs—felt like madness. What were they doing? They had to return to their tribe. Their Chieftain would kill them if they didn’t return. They looked at each other, hearts suddenly pounding, and stared at the Human. A Human female. An enemy.

Erin was breathing hard. She was trying not to be angry, but she couldn’t help it. It wasn’t the Goblins’ fault! But this lot had been part of the attack on her inn! They’d helped the Raskghar! How could they? How could—

Something made a gurgling sound. Erin looked around sharply. Which Goblin had made that sound? She couldn’t tell. She could sense the Goblins moving around her. Not in response to her, but in a coordinated fashion. Erin felt a tingle on the back of her neck and turned. A Goblin was staring at her. She heard an alarm sound in her head.

[Dangersense]. Suddenly, Erin didn’t feel so safe. She glanced towards the door and realized she’d made a mistake. Drassi had closed the door! Of course she had—she’d gone to Celum or Liscor and she had to change destinations. Erin was cut off until she got back.

Well, that was fine. Erin’s teeth gritted together. Her anger was like a red hot piece of metal in her chest. If the Goblins wanted to play rough, she could be a big angry Hob too. She kept turning, making the Goblins scatter. But they were moving deliberately now. And she couldn’t keep an eye on all of them—

Erin heard a sound. A louder gurgle. She looked around, dropped her guard for an instant. One of the Goblins jumped forwards, a small, rusted knife in hand. She turned around and clocked him so fast the Goblin was still shouting as he tumbled over into an unconscious heap. The other Goblins leapt back and Erin whirled, fists raised.

“Anyone else?”

The Goblins backed up, hands raised. But they stared at her. Erin glared from face to face. She wanted to hit them. Of course she did! Was it easy being nice to people all the time? No! Did she sometimes think that Goblins were dangerous? Of course! She waited for the next attack. Next time she’d use [Minotaur Punch], teach them a lesson. Next time—

One of the Goblins moved. Erin whirled.

“[Minotaur—]”

Pebblesnatch froze and cowered. She dropped her outstretched hand and dropped into a ball on the ground, covering her head. Erin stopped her fist. She stared at the Goblin. Pebblesnatch quaked on the ground, clearly ready to be hit. She’d dropped something.

A potato. She’d been offering it to Erin. The [Innkeeper] stared at her. Then at the potato. She heard the same sound and realized what it was.

Her stomach. It was growling as loud as Erin had ever heard. She looked down and realized she hadn’t eaten in…well, at least nine hours. She stared at Pebblesnatch and realized she was hungry. And tired. And stressed. And afraid. And—

And Pebblesnatch was shivering. Shaking. She looked up at Erin, fear in her eyes. Fear from Erin. But at the same time, there was something else. Trust. Maybe the Goblin understood that Erin had been the one who saved her. Maybe she’d just seen Erin talking with the Hobs and associated the two. But something had made her reach out and offer Erin a potato.

The young woman stared down at the Goblin. Pebblesnatch was very small. And very skinny. She couldn’t have been eating anything good in the dungeon. And the Hobs had been just as thin when she’d first met them. She’d fed them feasts and they were only now looking properly healthy. And here she was, beating the Goblins up. Just like a good adventurer.

Or Raskghar.

Suddenly, Erin felt like a fool. She looked down at Pebblesnatch. The little Goblin looked up fearfully at her. She cowered as Erin knelt.

“No, don’t be scared. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—look, I’m not going to hit you. I thought you were going to stab me. Thank you for the potato. I’d eat it, but it’s raw, see?”

Pebblesnatch looked up with wide eyes. She saw Erin kneel, and then a smile appeared on Erin’s face. The Cave Goblins stopped tensing and paused. They’d never seen a Human smile at them before. Most hadn’t seen Humans until now, except as skeletons, really. They saw Erin Solstice bend down and offer her hands to Pebblesnatch. The Goblin crept closer, and then squeaked as Erin lifted her up. She froze in terror, but Erin only smiled.

“You’re light. And you’re just a kid. I’m not going to hurt you. And I like potatoes. Do you?”

The Goblin stared at Erin. She didn’t answer, but her stomach did. Erin heard a rumble and laughed. Again, the Goblins froze. But this time in curiosity.

“You’re hungry too! I bet you didn’t have any food. I was sending breakfast with Numbtongue and Rabbiteater until—why don’t we fix that? If I eat something I’m sure I won’t feel like hitting everything.”

She turned and paused.

“Ah, damn. The door’s gone. Well…poop.”

Erin looked around, frowning. Then she stared at the firewood piled up. The Cave Goblins had neatly arranged her supplies next to the firewood that Headscratcher had obtained. It bothered her a bit that they’d piled up the Dropclaw Bats as rations as well—right next to the salt—but it struck her with an idea. She stared down at Pebblesnatch, who was experimentally feeling Erin’s arms.

“Hey, can you make a fire? I suck at making fires. But I’m a great cook. What say you and I make something?”

The Goblin stared at Erin. She didn’t respond, but this time she hopped out of Erin’s arms. She scampered over to the wood pile and selected a log. Then some dry bark, a few dried leaves—and then she ran over to another Goblin. She argued with the Goblin as Erin watched, and then came back with a rock. She showed it to Erin.

“Ooh. Is that flint? Mind starting a fire?”

Erin smiled as Pebblesnatch nodded eagerly. She watched the Goblin run over to the fire and begin smacking the rocks and creating sparks. Erin still felt—well, she felt shaky and irritable with hunger, but now she knew that was part of what she was feeling. And with that knowledge came a bit of clarity. Erin looked around, pricked again by her [Dangersense].

The Goblins were still spaced out around the cave. And a group of them had been sneaking up on Erin’s back. Several had sharp rocks and rusty weapons in their claws. Erin looked at them and they guiltily hid them behind their backs.

“Try to stab me and I’ll hit you. Don’t stab me and I’ll feed you. Okay? Give me ten—five minutes.”

The Goblins hesitated. But Erin was suddenly confident, and her confidence made them rethink rushing her. The unconscious Goblin at Erin’s feet also added a bit of uncertainty to the mix. They drew back as Erin walked over to the fire.

“Close.”

Erin muttered to herself, feeling her skin prickle. She kept a smile on her face, but she watched her back. The Goblins still might try and get her. They were—well, they weren’t saints. They were people. And people attacked when they thought they were in danger. If she’d struck Pebblesnatch or began banging heads together, they might have swarmed her.

A crackle and light caught Erin’s eye. Pebblesnatch had started the fire! The Goblin pushed twigs and dried pieces of wood towards the blaze and soon she had a fire going. Erin nodded approvingly as Pebblesnatch looked up.

“My turn. Pass me that pan, would you? And the oil? And the salt. And a knife. Watch this. You’re going to be impressed.”

The Cave Goblins watched as Pebblesnatch ran about, doing what Erin said. She had a way about her. An aura that made them hesitate. Slowly, more and more put down their rocks. When they saw what Erin was doing, even more laid down their weapons.

She was making food. First, Erin peeled the potato. She let Pebblesnatch greedily eat the skin, and then flicked thin slices of potato into the pan. She poured oil onto the cast-iron surface, a generous amount, and then held the pan over the fire. Erin added salt, again, a good pinch, and soon had the oil bubbling and spattering. Pebblesnatch scrambled back, yelping as hot oil got on her cheek.

“Watch out! Hot stuff! Hey, I need a fork!”

Erin flipped a potato slice. The sizzle as it landed made all the Goblins look up and realize how hungry they were. Erin looked around.

“Forks and a plate. Well?”

There was a moment, just a moment in which they contemplated rushing Erin. The orders of their Chieftain, the authority of the Raskghar still had sway over them. Two tried it. Erin flicked hot oil into their eyes and the screaming Goblins writhed on the ground.

“Hope that didn’t blind you. But I am not playing games. Never mess with a chef and hot oil. Plates! Forks! My potatoes are already crispy!”

Goblins rushed to do her bidding. Erin slid the fried potatoes onto a plate. She bit one slice and nodded.

“Oily. Salty! I wouldn’t serve this at my inn, but it tastes great here. Here, have some.”

She offered one to Pebblesnatch. The Goblin took it, nearly dropped the hot slice, and bit into it. Her eyes went round.

It was possible the Cave Goblins had never learned to fry food. Cook, yes, but oil was probably rare in the dungeon where the only place they could extract it was from dead things. And Erin bet that Raskghar and Cave Goblins ate their food raw. The Goblins crowded around her plate, snatching at the fried potatoes. Soon it was gone. The others groaned and fought the ones who were eating.

“Stop that! I’ll make more!”

The Goblins stared at Erin in awe. She smiled.

“I brought a bag full of potatoes. There’s food for all. And if you’re nice, I’ll feed you all. No one will go hungry here, understand? If you’re good. I won’t hurt you if you don’t try to hurt me. And I have more food. We can make bread—and I’ve got veggies! I bet we can even make something out of those disgusting bats. I make a great fried bee, after all.”

The Cave Goblins looked at Erin in awe. She took a potato that Pebblesnatch eagerly brought her and expertly peeled it.

“Food. Is good. Food makes people feel better. I can’t save Mrsha or Ceria. I can’t fight Raskghar. But I bet I can feed you. And I just bet you’ll stay for that. What do you say?”

Erin smiled. She tossed the potatoes into the pan and the smell filled the cave. She gestured, and Pebblesnatch brought over some veggies and a bit of dried meat. Erin tossed it all together and stirred the pan with her fork.

“There’s more pans and more food. And hey, we have more wood over there. I bet we can make three fires at once and not smoke ourselves out. Or cook outside. Wait—it’s raining. Nevermind. Hey, you. Want to learn how to cook a stir fry?”

She offered the pan to a female Goblin. The Goblin jerked back, but then, slowly, took the pan. Erin helped her lift it.

“That’s right. Not too hot. Say, can we make a little stove to hold the pan? And I’ll show you how to bread fish. I think I saw a dead one lying over there. Are you with me?”

Erin Solstice looked around. Her smile was expectant. Her voice was soothing. The Cave Goblins couldn’t remember hearing a voice like that in…they looked at each other.  They looked at Erin and thought. They thought about how the Hobs had clustered around her, waited for her. They looked at her hands, at the three groaning Goblins.

Strong. A leader. And then the Cave Goblins closed their eyes. They smelled something new. Something alien to the dungeon and the blood. They looked around the cave. At the magic door. Her magic. And then they looked at each other.

The Cave Goblins didn’t speak. Goblins didn’t usually need to speak. But they broke into groups. Some went to build more fires. Others grabbed pans, a few more cooking knives. A few disappeared into the dungeon. The rest followed Erin, watching. Learning. And perhaps—trusting.

—-

Drassi hurried into Erin’s inn, closed the door, and began fiddling with it. She nearly dropped the mana stone for Liscor.

“Hurry, hurry! Oh no, Selys is going to be so mad at me. But Erin will be fine. Yes? Yes! She told me she once scared away a bear by screaming at it. That’s got to work on Goblins, right?”

The Drake was so preoccupied with the door that she barely noticed the commotion in the inn behind her. Vuliel Drae was arguing with the remaining Silver-rank adventurers.

“What were we supposed to do? It was just our team! And did you see those skeleton things?”

“Never mind that! We didn’t do what they wanted! They’re all going into the dungeon! The Gold-ranks are going to kick our tails so far up our butts that—”

“Drassi.”

The Drake jumped. She looked around and saw Lyonette.

“Oh, hey Lyonette. Are you—”

Drassi bit her tongue. Anyone could see that Lyonette was not okay. The [Barmaid] looked like she hadn’t slept. She looked closer to undead than alive and tears had reddened her eyes. Lyonette stared at the door.

“What’s the red stone?”

Drassi’s claw closed guiltily over the mana stone.

“That? Uh, that’s—”

“Erin’s doing something, isn’t she? With the Goblins? I saw you leave this morning.”

Lyonette stared piercingly at Drassi. Her red eyes focused a bit. Drassi hesitated.

“Well—”

“Will it bring back Mrsha?”

Lyonette’s tone was urgent. Drassi hesitated. She never lied. Not even when it might help. Because truth was more powerful than lies. If you couldn’t believe in truth, what was the point? She shook her head.

“I don’t know. But I think it will help if anything can. Erin’s sent the Redfangs into the dungeon. They’re going to try and find Mrsha too.”

“Good.”

That was all Lyonette said. She swayed on her feet and then stared. Drassi was fumbling with the green stone for Liscor.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to Liscor. Erin wants food. She gave most of her ingredients to the Goblins, you see. I was going to go shopping—”

“I’ll go with you.”

“Oh, no. You should stay. I don’t think Erin would want you to leave the inn—”

Drassi glanced at another Drake who was watching Lyonette. Imissi was trying to wait tables and keep an eye on the [Barmaid]. Lyonette glared.

“I’m going.”

“But—”

“I’m going. You don’t know what to buy, anyways.”

That was true. Drassi had planned on peeking her head into Erin’s kitchen, but she never cooked so she had no idea what was needed. Helplessly, she threw up her claws.

“Okay, but we go and come back quick, alright? Erin’s waiting! Imissi! I‘m going with Lyonette! It’s okay! I think!”

The two went through the door to Liscor. It was wet. It was raining. Lyonette strode forwards, purposeful, Drassi lamely trying to make conversation.

“So…do you think you’ll sleep?”

“No.”

“I uh, I’m really—”

“Don’t.”

“Right.”

Even [Gossips] knew when to shut up. Drassi glanced about. Liscor was quiet. Of course it was. No one could be out and about, much less cheerful after the second Raskghar attack. She expected everyone would be indoors, especially the Gnolls. But to her surprise, that wasn’t the case. There was a gathering down Market Street. A large gathering.

An unhappy gathering. Gnolls and Drakes were gathered around, visibly upset. Some looked as red-eyed and as lost as Lyonette. Nearly eighty Gnolls had been kidnapped. And while Liscor was home to tens of thousands, Gnolls were a tight-knit community. Everyone was someone’s friend or relative. And the Drakes were no less worried. Their loved ones had died to the Raskghar.

Given all the strife, it wasn’t hard to see what was happening. The crowd stood in the rain, some under awnings, listening to a few loudmouths speak. Drassi didn’t like it. She was a [Gossip], but it had to be said, a principled one. She was no agitator and she recognized a bad rumor mill when she saw it. Her heart sank even further when she saw who was speaking at the center of the group, standing on his stall.

“—And the Watch said they would keep us safe! They said it after the moth attack and then after the Raskghar attacked us the first time! But did they? Where were they when the Raskghar were slaughtering us in the streets!?”

Lism, the Drake [Shopkeeper] who was one of the most vocal anti-Human Drakes in the city shouted at the crowd. He wasn’t getting wild cheers, but the silence and the fact that no one was telling him to shut up was ominous. Lism pointed around the crowd.

“They failed us! You lost a loved one, Miss? Didn’t you? And you—err, no? What about you? Yes? Yes! Hah! The army came back and we’re still dying! Why? Because those Human-lovers are in charge! This all started when the Humans came! Mark my words—if we’d kicked out those damn adventurers, none of this would have happened!”

His angry shouting attracted some nods. Drassi frowned. This was bad. Lism had the crowd on his side. It wasn’t hard to see why. People were angry, afraid—and there wasn’t anyone speaking out against him. Drassi could see Krshia, who could normally blow the wind out of Lism’s sails any day of the week, standing at her stall, head bowed. Lism went on.

“The worst of them all is that Human! You know the one I’m talking about! Not only does she employ undead, she lets Goblins—the same Goblins who joined the Raskghar, mark you—work at her inn! How do we know she’s not responsible for this? Maybe it was some of her Goblins who told the Raskghar where and when to strike!”

“That’s not true!”

Lism turned and nearly fell off his wet stall. Lyonette strode forwards, face pale. She pointed a trembling finger at Lism.

“Don’t lie! Erin would never do that! She protected the city! She warned you all about the second Raskghar attack! If she hadn’t—”

“Oh yes? I see one of her workers is here! Aren’t you the same Human who destroyed half of Market Street? You stole from our shops! How dare you come to the city?”

Lism sneered down at Lyonette. The [Barmaid] couldn’t go paler, but she bit her lip. Lism pointed down at her, clearly happy to have a visible target.

“Sure, people say the [Innkeeper] helped, but did she really? Ask yourselves that! Why have all these problems started after she appeared? Maybe she’s not so helpful after all. Maybe she’s a Human spy. I heard that she met with Magnolia Reinhart. That Reinhart. What kind of [Innkeeper] meets with Human nobility? Why do we let her stay outside the city, anyways? Maybe we should do something about it.”

“Maybe you should shut up, Lism. Maybe that would be for the best, no?”

Krshia spoke up at last. Her voice was flat as she stared at Lism. The Drake locked gazes with Krshia.

“You’re friends with her, Silverfang. Afraid you’ll be tarred with her crimes?”

The Gnoll rumbled. Some of the Gnolls in the crowd growled, but far too few. Drassi would have normally expected every Gnoll to jump to Krshia’s defense. That they didn’t was bad, and Lism knew it. He folded his arms.

“Why is that Human here? Why are any of these Humans here? No—let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Why are those damn Goblins here? They’re enemies! Monsters! They killed Zel Shivertail!”

He’d been saving that for his trump card. The rumble that ran through the crowd was angry. Lism smiled. He opened his mouth to fan the flames. Lyonette looked around helplessly, and Krshia hunched over her stall, clearly searching for something to refute Lism.

And it was at this point that Drassi stood up. She couldn’t help it. She was a mediocre [Barmaid], a chatterbox, and yes, she spent too much money. But all that aside, she was a [Gossip] and Erin’s friend and employee. And if ever there was a moment for her, it was this.

“Excuse me? Excuse me! I’d like to say a few words!”

Every head turned at Drassi’s bright voice. She stood up on an empty stall. Lism blinked.

“Uh, what are you doing?”

Drassi waved at the crowd. She liked being the center of attention.

“I just want to clarify a few details! Hello Krshia. Lism. Is that you, Miss Fairfaw? Mister Zeil, what are you doing in the rain? Hello Tellis, oh, and you’ve brought your daughters with you!”

The Drake called names out in the crowd. The Gnolls and Drakes looked up at her. Drassi smiled. Lism was clearly unhappy about sharing the same head height.

“Get down from there! I’m trying to tell the people about the threat to our city! This is no place for one of that Human’s cronies to—”

“Excuse me, I’d just like to clarify a few details.”

Drassi interrupted Lism with years of practice. She smiled around and raised her voice, speaking as if she were chatting with each of the people here one-on-one.

“Point of fact. Erin did warn Olesm and Zevara about the second Raskghar attack. If she hadn’t, they would have taken the walls. I heard Olesm say that myself. In fact, I was there when she tried to raise the alarm. And she does employ Hobs at her inn. Hobs, not Cave Goblins. They helped fight the Raskghar off. In fact, they captured some of the Cave Goblins and made them talk. Without them, we wouldn’t know half of the things about the dungeon we know right now.”

“That’s—don’t confuse the issue! Those Goblins are a menace!”

Lism turned red as the audience stared at Drassi. The Drake calmly shook her head.

“No, they’re not. They’re quite nice, actually. I’ve been around the Goblins countless times and not once have they done anything dangerous. Did you know that one of them can play the guitar? Totally true. And Erin’s working just as hard to fix the problem as anyone else.”

“Ah, you say that, but do you have any proof?”

The [Shopkeeper] glared at Drassi. She sighed.

“How am I supposed to prove that? Wait—I could get Numbtongue to play his guitar, but he’s not here. I don’t have to prove anything, Lism. I’m telling the truth.”

“Hah! As if we’d believe someone hired by the Human—”

“You think I’d lie? Me?”

Drassi’s outraged voice made Lism hesitate. Drassi spread her arms.

“I don’t lie! Everyone knows it! I gossip, but I don’t make things up! Isn’t that right?”

The Drakes and Gnolls looked at each other uncertainly. It was true that Krshia was a known figure in the Gnoll community, and Lism was a loudmouth, but in her own way, Drassi was just as well-known. A Drake muttered to his friend.

“That’s true. Drassi never lies.”

A Gnoll nodded.

“Ever. She’s always honest, yes.”

“Wait, but she—”

Lism realized he was losing the crowd. He tried to shout, but Drassi talked over him.

“That’s right! And I’ve been at Erin’s inn! I’ve seen everything and let me tell you—what’s happening is totally different! Let me tell you—wow, where do I begin? Okay, it started with the Raskghar attack—which Erin did not cause! Believe me, folks. I’m bringing you the facts! Just the facts! Okay, and a story. Here’s what really happened.”

She started shouting to the crowd as they turned to listen her, anxious to hear the truth. Lism kept shouting but eventually he was drowned out and someone knocked him off his stall to get him to shut up. Drassi beamed.

A Level 17 [Gossip] had Skills. One of them was [Social Network]. When Drassi had a story to tell, she could pass the information through her friends circle at the speed of rumor, which was probably faster than the speed of light, sound, and passing wind combined. She grinned and winked at Lyonette who was staring at Drassi with amazement in her eyes.

“Get shopping, Lyonette. Oh, and take this mana stone. Erin’s waiting. I’ll be a while. Tell her I’ll consider this overtime.”

—-

Something was happening. Erin kept cooking food with the other Goblins, teaching them how to cook, really. But every time she looked around there were more Goblins. She didn’t understand it. But then she saw them coming through the dungeon entrance.

First in small groups, and then in a stream. Not because of her—well, not just because of her. The Cave Goblins had entered the dungeon and spread word. Of a group of Hobs—of Goblins who fought Raskghar. And more were in the dungeon, had seen the Redfangs fighting the Raskghar. They followed the band of five, joining the swell of Cave Goblins who flowed after the Redfangs.

The Hobs tried to shoo them away, but it was impossible. They had to abandon their pursuit of the Raskghar for fear of attracting monsters. They made the long journey to the surface, only to find that Erin’s cave was packed.

And then there were hundreds. Erin stared around the heaving cave. Goblins sat on every surface, gobbling from plates while more cooked away on the camp fires. It was hot. So hot that the Shield Spiders who’d crept out of the hole in the dungeon wall had actually decided not to attack. There were eighteen fires blazing in the cave and the dungeon  and a group of Cave Goblins armed with sticks was poking back any smaller Shield Spiders trying to enter.

“Did you find—”

Erin’s face fell when the Redfang Warriors reappeared. They were all wounded, but safe. Still, her heart sank as she saw that Mrsha and Ceria weren’t with them. It was foolish to expect them to be, but she had hoped.

“We’ll go in again. But too many Cave Goblins—can’t go without lots of fighting. We tried to get them to go away, but they followed.”

Numbtongue explained, shamefaced. Erin looked at the Cave Goblins, who were staring at her and the Hobs with open-mouths. Then they filled those mouths with hot food. The Hobs were staring at Erin’s cooking fires with much the same expression.

“I uh, got them to stay. And I don’t know if I can afford to feed you all. We may have to get the Goblins to find food. Can they fish? Are Shield Spiders edible?”

Erin tried to give the Hobs an upbeat smile. But it slipped a bit. She looked down at her feet.

“…Did you find any clues? Anything?”

She didn’t want to make them feel bad. But to her surprise, the Hobs did smile. They motioned and called out. The stream of Goblins entering the cave wavered, and then a group of Cave Goblins pushed forwards. They stared anxiously up at Erin. Numbtongue smiled.

“This group here. We found them. They know where camp with Mrsha and Ceria is. Not where will go, but where it is. Tonight.”

Erin gaped at Numbtongue. He looked slightly pleased, but shook his head.

“Could have tried to get, but it was too hard. Too many Goblins—”

He jumped as Erin hugged him. She laughed in delight as the Goblins stared.

“Never mind that! They know where the camp is?”

The Hob nodded, blushing a bit. Erin tore over to the door. It was connected and Lyonette was staring at the Goblins as she passed them bags of flour. Behind her, the Gold-rank adventurers were sitting around, looking exhausted and unhappy. Erin burst into the room and shouted.

“Hey Halrac! Jelaqua! Everyone! Get over here! Now!”

The adventurers looked over. Pisces, slumped over at his table, sat up and stared sharply at Erin. His eyes focused on her and the Goblins and suddenly he was on his feet. The other adventurers who knew Erin gave each other wide-eyed looks and they stood up.

The Cave Goblins backed away. So did the Hobs. Erin turned, beaming, and realized the Cave Goblins were ready to run. The adventurers, the same ones who’d slaughtered both them and the Raskghar, were headed right for them. The Goblins bolted for the dungeon.

“No, please don’t run!”

Erin shouted. The Goblins paused. Erin held up a hand, forcing the adventurers in the inn to slow with her aura. Slowly, she bent down. A little Goblin was poised to run into the Shield Spider nest room.

“No one will hurt you. Not if you don’t try to hurt them. Not when I’m around. Come on. I’ll feed you. And you’ll be safe.”

Erin bent and held out a hand. The little Goblin stared at her. She stared at the Hobs, who were standing around Erin, at the other Cave Goblins, at the lack of Raskghar, and smelled the strange, inviting scents in the air. She stepped forwards. Erin smiled. The Cave Goblin stared at her. Her lips twitched a tiny bit.

Slowly, she reached out and took Erin’s hand.

—-

A last detail. Sometime after the panic Erin’s news had caused, before the night raid, the Cave Goblins lay in the cave, bloated, fuller than they could ever remember. The Hobgoblins were there too, lying on mattresses dragged in from Erin’s inn. They’d insisted. After all, the Cave Goblins weren’t suddenly tamed from a single feeding by Erin, no matter how good the food had been. They needed Hobs to prevent them from running into the dungeon.

So the Hobs slept. And as they slept, two of them heard voices.

[Warrior Level 24!]

[Warrior → Weapon Expert Class!]

[Skill: Sharper Edge obtained!]

[Skill: Bleed Cuts obtained!]

[Archer Level 25!]

[Archer → Sniper Class!]

[Skill: Doubled Range obtained!]

[Skill Change – Keen Eyes → Eagle Eyes!]

[Skill: Eagle Eyes obtained!]

Badarrow and Shorthilt shot out of their bedrolls as if someone had kicked them. They looked at each other wildly and threw up their arms. The other Goblins panicked as the Hobs began shouting excitedly, but they soon caught the reason for the Hobs’ rejoicing and clustered around them excitedly.

Rabbiteater sat up as Shorthilt and Badarrow shot to their feet. He looked around hopefully and then shut his eyes and perked up his ears. Rabbitear listened for the sound of his new level. He heard a voice from above, that clarion call in his mind.

[Warrior Level 19!]

He waited, eyes closed, tense with expectation. After a minute he cracked one eye open. He saw Shorthilt and Badarrow dancing about, the Cave Goblins surrounding them. He listened, but he heard nothing more. Rabbiteater sagged.

Headscratcher patted him on the back. Rabbiteater looked around, grumbled, and rolled over and covered his head with a pillow.

5.42

“We have defeated the adventurers. They flee this dungeon, too exhausted to fight longer. The Antinium have retreated. Their dead lie in droves and they have failed to take the dungeon once more. My strategy succeeded, as I knew it would.”

Calruz stood at his war table, staring down at his map of the dungeon. The Minotaur’s arm flexed as he cleared the crude pieces of colored stone from the map. For the last six hours he had been overseeing the Gold-rank adventurer’s counterattack into the dungeon as well as the Antinium incursion. Now, as both sides retreated, he gloated.

“I told you they would never reach the main camp. Not with so many monsters roaming the labyrinth. Not without knowledge of the traps and secret tunnels. I told you, did I not?”

“Yes, Calruz. You did.”

The Minotaur glanced triumphantly down and to the side. The half-Elf standing next to his war table stared silently at the map. Ceria’s ears were drooping, and her voice was quiet.

She felt crushed. The half-Elf [Cryomancer] looked at Calruz’s map and tried to guess how many turns and junctions, traps, and secret doors lay between the main Raskghar camp and the surface. Too many to count. She tried to plot a course from the dungeon’s entrance to where Calruz had said they were and failed. Nor did she have time to study the map—Calruz folded the grimy parchment and tucked it into his belt pouch possessively.

“I told you. And we have won. But we will not rest on our horns. Not yet. The outsiders are just a nuisance. You and I have much to do, Springwalker. The Horns of Hammerad will conquer the dungeon yet.”

“Right.”

Calruz glared down at Ceria. She stood a bit straighter.

“I mean, yes Captain.”

He grunted in approval. Ceria turned her head, but she couldn’t help but stand to attention. It was that or risk Calruz’s wrath and—her gaze turned towards the Gnoll prisoners in their cages—she had seen what that resulted in.

The Raskghar camp. The prisoners. Calruz. Ceria had barely been awake a day and it still felt like a bad dream. Seeing Calruz turn and shout something to the Raskghar in their own language was unreal enough. But seeing the warriors hurry forwards and the others stand to attention?

Madness. That was what flickered in Calruz’s eyes every time he looked at Ceria. When he’d ordered teams of his Raskghar to try and kill Jelaqua’s team and ambush the others—she’d tried to argue with him. But he’d ignored her. Worse, he’d threatened to sacrifice more Gnolls if she kept arguing.

So she’d stayed silent. Now, Ceria’s gaze travelled across the cavern while Calruz barked commands in the Raskghar’s foreign tongue. The Raskghar camp was as primitive as she’d expected. Cook pots, butchering areas where monsters were cut apart, sleeping quarters that were really just soft hides or piles of bedding—it resembled a Gnoll tribe’s camp.

Save for the prisoners. The shackled Gnolls sitting in cages were one thing that caught Ceria’s eye. She stared at the little white Gnoll sitting in her cage and looked away. Focus. She had to focus.

The other main difference was the Cave Goblins. They scurried about. For every Raskghar there were ten Cave Goblins, tending to fires, bringing food to the Raskghar, maintaining weapons, butchering—and there were hundreds of Raskghar. Thousands. In this camp alone, Ceria guessed there were at least two thousand Raskghar, almost all of them warriors. All of them were larger than the average Gnoll, stronger. And during the period when both moons were full, they were all incredibly intelligent.

She saw it in a myriad of little ways. A Raskghar puzzling over a locked crate, a group of Raskghar finding a deck of cards in an adventurer’s pack and figuring out how to play a game with them, one more disassembling and reassembling a crossbow. As Ceria watched, the Raskghar with the crate improvised a lock pick and successfully opened the wooden chest. It reached inside, pulled out a strange, decorated cup made of red and white ceramic and stared at it.

“Well?”

Ceria turned. Calruz stared down at her, a smile on his broad face. He grinned at her, revealing damaged teeth. The Minotaur gestured around the camp.

“What do you think of my warriors? My tribe?”

“They’re…powerful.”

Ceria didn’t know what to say. Her answer seemed to satisfy Calruz. And it was true, the Raskghar were the most dangerous fighting force Ceria had laid eyes on. Even the assembled adventurers from Pallass couldn’t compare in sheer numbers or brutality to the Raskghar. Despite their lack of Skills and their inability to gain classes, the Raskghar were deadly. And worst of them all—

There she was. Ceria stared at one of the Raskghar, crouching at the center of the group that was playing with the deck of cards. On first glance, the Raskghar with the dark grey-brown pelt wasn’t too noticeable. She was female—she wore a crude breast band and loincloth—but was otherwise naked save for the stone axe at her side. But what made her stand out from the other Raskghar was her height and the way she moved.

She was one of the tallest Raskghar present. And that made her nearly as big as Calruz, a huge creature of bone and muscle and flesh. But more than that—this Raskghar looked around and Ceria saw her eyes shining with intelligence. Where the other Raskghar were cunning, intelligent by the light of the moon, this Raskghar seemed even more awake. She saw and questioned. She saw and understood.

She was the one who had performed the ritual. Ceria didn’t know what it was—blood magic, or something else, but she had seen that female kill the Gnoll on the Raskghar’s altar. She had drunk his blood and grown larger, smarter. Now she sat at the center of the others and the Raskghar around her deferred to her slightest motion or growl instantly. She looked up and Ceria saw her eyes flick towards her. The half-Elf turned away, and then wondered why.

Why was she being so meek? She glanced around, suddenly upset with herself. Here she was, surrounded by monsters, and she was acting like a shrinking violet, a coward! She was an adventurer! She was a [Mage]! She could throw ice from her hands and she was the Captain of the Horns of Hammerad. Not Calruz. She turned to the Minotaur—

And saw he was looking at her. Ceria’s ears, which had perked up, immediately lowered. Calruz stared at Ceria and then snorted.

“What is that fool doing?”

He turned his head. Ceria looked as well. The Raskghar who’d opened the chest had decided to pour himself a drink from the cup. Intelligent he might have been, but wise he was not. As soon as he put water in the cup, it began to hiss. A thick, black gas began to emanate from the cup and the Raskghar howled in fear as it clung to his fur. As Ceria watched in horror, it began melting into his fur, growing on him.

“Dorak! Keel dorak!”

Calruz bellowed an order as he pointed. Ceria saw the Raskghar try to throw the cup away but he failed. The other Raskghar sprang to their feet. They ran towards the stricken Raskghar holding the cup as it continued to pour black smoke. They hesitated, reluctant to touch the stuff. Calruz charged forwards.

“Do not touch it! Grab spears! Nets! Drag it away if the cup continues to activate!”

Raskghar bounded across the camp, doing what Calruz had ordered. Ceria saw the female Raskghar standing far back as the others formed a circle with the Minotaur. They were braced, ready to act if the cup continued to emit the terrible black gas, but it did not. After it had spewed enough to engulf the Raskghar it stopped. Ceria could see a black mass where the Raskghar had been. It twitched and shook, as if the Raskghar inside was trying to break free. And then the movement stopped.

“No one touch the cup. Bring no liquid near it. Cave Goblins—remove this thing.”

Calruz stared at the black substance and the newly-formed statue sitting in his camp. Ceria saw Cave Goblins hurry forwards with nets, very cautiously approaching the dead Raskghar and cup. The half-Elf blinked.

“Was that normal?”

She stared at the Raskghar. None of the others in the camp seemed too unduly worried about the death of their friend. They walked back to their places, looking unconcerned as they sheathed their weapons. Calruz stomped back towards Ceria.

Now. Ceria drew breath to ask Calruz what the hell that had been about, and wilted as he stared at her. The Minotaur snorted angrily as he walked back to the war table. He had a holster at his back. He was strapping a single-edged axe into place with his one arm, grunting with irritation as he tried to maneuver it into place.

The axe was clearly magical—it looked like it was made of some kind of false gold metal and the edge was bright green. It shone of magic in Ceria’s sight, though she couldn’t guess what kind. The Minotaur finally got the axe sheathed and glared at Ceria.

“That fool. I tell the Raskghar not to activate any magical artifacts, but they are harder to control during the full moon. Their intelligence makes them arrogant. I must keep them busy or they engage in idiocy like that!”

“I see.”

Ceria nodded meekly. Calruz eyed her.

“Another reason you are here. Do you know what that black gas was? Or the cup?”

“No, Calruz. I’m sorry. I’ve never seen an effect like that—it looks like some kind of gas spell, but I have no idea what kind of damage it does. The cup probably converts liquid into the gas.”

The Minotaur nodded.

“That was my thought. Very well. Don’t bother inspecting the cup—I won’t risk you on it.”

“Right.”

The Minotaur nodded and turned away. Ceria sighed with relief. Then she straightened. Why the hell—

Something was very wrong. Ceria stared at Calruz. Her brows crossed. He was busy with his map again. He glanced at her and she felt a pang of fear run straight through her. Not just fear—an overwhelming urge to obey. Ceria felt her ears begin to lower and grabbed them with her hands. Calruz stared at her oddly, and then looked back down at his map.

Only when he’d looked away did the oppressive feeling vanish. And finally, Ceria began to figure out what was going on.

A Skill. He was using a Skill on her. Or maybe he wasn’t using it intentionally—he might just have one. But that was the only reason why she could explain why she hadn’t yet tried to make a break for it or fought back harder. Calruz had broken her will by sacrificing the Gnoll. He’d won the contest of leadership and now he was making her follow along like a good subordinate.

That pissed Ceria off. She glared at Calruz. It was easier to do when the Minotaur wasn’t looking at her.

“It’s been nearly a day since I woke up and all you’ve been doing is sending orders to Raskghar in other camps. If you’re done trying to kill my friends and the Antinium, do you mind telling me what you’re actually doing in the dungeon?”

Calruz glanced up. Ceria felt her confidence drain away, no matter how hard she tried to hold onto it. Unwillingly, she opened her mouth again.

“Uh, please?”

The former captain of the Horns of Hammerad stared blankly at Ceria. She waited for him to rage or snap at her, but instead, he grunted softly.

“You never used to say please for anything. I quite like the change.”

“Yeah, well—”

Ceria searched for words and didn’t find any. Calruz shook his head slightly.

“The reprisal from the adventurers and the Antinium assault needed to be addressed. Now I am certain they will not threaten my camps, it is time to go back to business. Conquering the dungeon. But first, the night’s work. Come.”

He turned. Ceria found her feet moving automatically to keep up. She tried to fight it, but only succeeded in keeping the tiniest bit of demand in her voice. She had to remember to walk with her back straight.

“What’re you doing now, Calruz? Clue me in. You went to all this trouble to grab me, after all.”

The Minotaur nodded absently. He grunted, and then growled and waved at a Raskghar sitting around a fire. The beast-woman looked up and Calruz repeated the word.

“Menz. We’re moving camp. You will come with me. My warriors will scout the way while the rest of the tribe moves behind us.”

The Raskghar looked unhappy, but she sprang to her feet. The Cave Goblin tending to the stew pot turned and scrambled away. Ceria saw the little Goblin repeating the word to the other Raskghar, who stood up, some growling. One swiped at the Cave Goblin and knocked it to the ground as it got up.

“Strike the camp! Scouts, check the tunnels! We move to Rally Point B! B!”

Calruz roared at the Raskghar. Several Raskghar turned and loped towards the exit on the far wall. The Minotaur nodded at Ceria.

“It is easy to command them during the full moon. At other times, the savages can barely remember letters. Come, we’ll move ahead.”

“Just like that?”

Ceria stared at the camp. There were supplies, equipment, and the Gnoll prisoners remaining behind, but the Raskghar were already moving in one huge mass towards the exits. Calruz nodded.

“The Goblins will follow. The Raskghar go to clear the way of monsters. Don’t worry about the prisoners. They will be brought as soon as the scouts report back.”

Another group of Raskghar was busy with the cages. They opened the cages, grabbed the Gnolls, and effortlessly hoisted them onto their shoulders. Any resistance was beaten away and the Gnolls were carried out of the room. Ceria stared at the Cave Goblins.

“There are so many.”

The Minotaur looked up and grunted as the Cave Goblins set to work. Rather than carry the cages, it looked like they were breaking them down into component parts to be reassembled at their destination. He shook his head dismissively.

“Scum. They’re expendable. But useful in that they can perform menial tasks. Or slow down other monsters. The Raskghar have ruled over this Goblin tribe for centuries. Give them orders if you need to. But they’re largely useless.”

He turned.

“Time to go. Follow close and don’t step away from the route the Raskghar take. Come.”

He strode out of the domed room. Ceria followed him. The Minotaur joined a group of armed Raskghar—at least a hundred strong—and they began marching down one of the corridors. The Raskghar in front took a relatively straight path, but every now and then they would walk to one side to avoid what must have been traps. In one spot they paused and deliberately hopped over a patch of the dungeon. Ceria and Calruz imitated them with the rest of the Raskghar. Calruz called out orders as he marched, exhorting the Raskghar around him.

“Faster! Faster! I want to be at the camp in an hour’s time!”

The Raskghar silently adjusted their pace, moving even faster. Ceria puffed as she jogged alongside Calruz.

“An hour? How big is the dungeon?”

“Large enough to dwarf Liscor many times over. And hold hundreds of thousands of monsters. We are headed towards another sector of the dungeon. The labyrinth we stand in has four exits, save for the dungeon rift, all at the outermost corners. They lead up through vast monster nests to a series of trapped corridors. However, closer to the center the monsters and traps grow more numerous. We head to one of the corners now; it will be far from the adventurers and safer.”

“Okay.”

Ceria’s mind spun as Calruz casually dropped that knowledge on her. Four exits? And a nest of monsters? Was that the Shield Spider nest that Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers had found? If so, it meant that the dungeon was a gauntlet of gauntlets—adventurers would have to detrap the random network of trap tunnels, risk activating an entire nest of monsters, and only then find themselves on the outermost corners of the labyrinth and have to work their way towards the center.

Valuable knowledge. On the other hand…Ceria glanced up at Calruz. The Minotaur’s stare was fixed on the dungeon ahead of him as he jogged with the axe on his back. Ceria coughed, glanced up at Calruz, and spoke loudly.

“So, yeah, I’m good. I’ve been working out. Lost my hand, but the bone’s still there. I ate these fish flakes that Erin made yesterday. How’s your day been?”

For a second Calruz didn’t respond. His fixed glare ahead of him wavered, and then he glanced down at Ceria.

“What?”

“Oh, just asking how you’ve been. You know. As one does. Anything happen? Meet anyone fun down here? It’s been what, six months since we talked? Read any books?”

Calruz snorted. He glared at Ceria.

“Are you mocking me?”

The half-Elf halted. The Raskghar behind her streamed around her as Calruz slowed to a stop as well. Ceria glared up at Calruz.

“No. Yes! Don’t you find this weird? At all? One second I’m exploring the dungeon, the next I find out you’re alive and leading Raskghar? How did that happen? Tree rot, Calruz! We thought you were dead!”

Her voice echoed. Calruz clapped a hand over Ceria’s mouth.

“Be silent!”

She hesitated, and then nodded. Calruz blinked a few times and drew back his hand. He scratched at his head. He looked confused.

“I didn’t tell you? How I survived?”

“No.”

The Minotaur’s eyes flickered and he scuffed the ground uncertainly with one foot. He shook his head.

“I’ve dreamed so long of what I would say when I met you and the others again that I…I must have forgotten. Come. We’re falling behind.”

He started moving again. Ceria followed Calruz, and thought for a moment that he’d forgotten again. But then the Minotaur spoke.

“After the ambush—no, after I lost my arm, I fled. There were Ghouls biting me, zombies clinging to me—I had to get away. I couldn’t think. I ran.”

“I know. I saw you disappearing down one of the tunnels.”

“Yes. I should have run back, but—the pain made me stop thinking. I just ran. I must have run into a trap, because I charged right into a room and the floor vanished. I fell. The undead fell with me. Hah, that was what saved me. If I hadn’t landed on a zombie I would have broken my neck. As it was, I was barely alive. But no undead followed me into the hole. I think I’d lost too much blood at that point so I passed out. I must have drunk a healing potion because I didn’t die in my sleep.”

Ceria nodded. That made sense. Pisces had shown her the hole Calruz spoke about—the chute that connected Liscor’s crypt to the dungeon. She remembered the room as well—it had been filled with piles of bones. Raskghar bones.

“The place you fell into—what was it?”

Calruz shuddered.

“A graveyard. Not the same as the crypt above. This one was a Raskghar graveyard, where they interred the bones of their dead. Not that I knew that. When I awoke in the darkness and saw the bones around me I panicked. Only after I’d smashed a dozen piles did I realize they weren’t undead. And then I realized I was lost. I tried to climb back up, but the hole was impossible to scale even if I had rope and tools. So I started exploring.”

“Alone?”

Ceria tried to imagine it. Gold-rank adventurers could barely handle some of the traps in the dungeon. Calruz had survived it by himself? He was a [Warrior], not a [Rogue]! But the Minotaur was shaking his head.

“No. I must have made my presence known to the Raskghar. They came to investigate their graveyard and found me. A group of six attacked me not fifteen paces out of the room. I tried to fight them, but my arm—and my axe was badly damaged. I killed one, wounded another, before they subdued me.”

He spoke the words almost shamefaced. But Ceria looked up sharply.

“You took on six Raskghar and killed one after losing your arm? With your crappy battleaxe?”

Calruz’s steps faltered.

“It was a fine piece of metal.”

“There was more iron in that thing than steel. You bashed it on so many monster’s heads I’m surprised it didn’t snap when you sneezed. But go on.”

The Minotaur turned and Ceria flinched, thinking he would glare at her. But instead he almost smiled.

“Well, I must have impressed the Raskghar because they took me captive rather than kill me. They dragged me across the dungeon to their camp. It wasn’t nearly as large as this camp—barely eighty or more Raskghar. They threw me in a cage. I think they wanted to know how I’d gotten into the dungeon. Perhaps they intended to interrogate me during the full moons. Either way, they never got the chance.”

“How so? Don’t tell me—”

“I broke out that night and tried to kill them all.”

Calruz snorted proudly. Ceria sighed.

“Of course you did. And they didn’t kill you because?”

“Because they admired my warrior’s spirit and my force of will.”

Calruz stared ahead as Ceria shot him a disbelieving look. She kept staring and after a few seconds, the Minotaur sighed.

“Fine. I managed to kill two of the largest Raskghar as they slept. It turned out one of them was the Chieftain, so the Raskghar decided they needed to vote after they recaptured me. I picked up on their dialogue, tried communicating with them. I convinced them to let me go and they made me their new Chieftain.”

“Just like that.”

“Just like that.”

Ceria thought about the odds of that happening. She looked at Calruz.

“Bullshit.”

The Minotaur grinned. It was the first real smile Ceria had seen on his face.

“Well, it didn’t go that smoothly. But essentially that was what happened. There may have been a few other details. Such as a Raskghar female who was attracted to my stunning physique.”

“You’re kidding me.”

He looked offended.

“Why is that so hard to believe? Anyways, the Raskghar soon realized that I was the leader they needed. I was an adventurer. Wounded, but more powerful than they were with my Skills. Moreover, I knew about tactics, strategy. And the nature of dungeons and monsters. And most of all, I wasn’t one of them. Unlike the Raskghar, my intellect does not wane with the moon’s passing.”

“Still, that’s incredible that they’d make you Chieftain.”

“And as I said, it was my force of will that won them over. The Raskghar knew I was their better. So I trained the tribe, gathered the others together. I forged the Raskghar into better fighters, gave them discipline, organization. I began conquering the dungeon sector by sector until the adventurers started appearing. Then I sent my Raskghar above to acquire Gnolls to make them yet stronger. That was when I found you.”

Ceria’s smile faded. Everything until that last part had sounded—well, worthy of a legend, really. But it was Calruz casually mentioning his raids on the adventurers that bothered her.

“Calruz, that’s incredible. Really. But when the adventurers started appearing, why didn’t you try and contact them? Why not get out of the dungeon?”

The Minotaur looked surprised.

“Why should I? I was perfectly placed to conquer the dungeon at that point. I admit, part of me wished to return to the surface, but when I saw the first adventurers striding into the dungeon that I had sacrificed so much for—trying to rob my—our team of our success—”

His breathing became heavier. Calruz’s eyes began to turn red.

“At that point—at that time—”

You’d already gone insane. Ceria stared up at Calruz. Her eyes stung a bit. She tried to imagine it. Months of solitude in the dungeon, with only the Raskghar. Eating dead monsters, wondering if anyone had made it. Losing his arm. It was enough. Ceria didn’t have to make excuses. Calruz had fought as well as anyone else had. He had been honorable, brave. Her captain. He’d just broken, that was all. She didn’t blame him. But how she wished it hadn’t turned into this.

The madness was in Calruz’s voice. His reddening eyes and disjointed sentences added to the unease Ceria felt. She saw the Raskghar ahead of them moving a bit faster. They’d probably seen this a hundred times before. Calruz turned to Ceria, the light of insanity in his gaze—and then it vanished. He stared at Ceria.

“And then I found you. I was overjoyed to learn you were alive, Ceria. Truly.”

His voice was soft. Genuine. Ceria stared up at Calruz. She faltered and nearly stopped. The Minotaur slowed as well. He looked away.

“I knew you had to be alive. I knew it. My team wouldn’t fall so easily. I don’t understand—the others are dead? You’re sure? They’re not in hiding?”

It was the third time he’d asked. Ceria felt her heart twist. What must it have been like, not knowing? All these months?

“I’m sure, Calruz.”

The Minotaur quickened his pace, still not looking at Ceria.

“You’re absolutely sure? You could be wrong. I survived.”

Ceria wished there were some doubt. She kept her voice low, trying not to remember and failing.

“I saw them die, Calruz. Gerial saved me. Skinner got him. Hunt, Corr, Sostrom…they all died. I buried them.”

“I see.”

The Minotaur did not look at Ceria. He paced ahead of her, using his longer legs to move ahead. Ceria stared at his back. She nearly, nearly missed his arm come up. He might have been wiping sweat from his forehead. Or tears from his eyes.

The two marched through the dungeon for fourteen minutes, following the Raskghar. Ceria jogged after the Minotaur and Raskghar, cursing them and their longer legs. The Raskghar loped effortlessly through the dungeon and Calruz looked like he could run at that pace forever. On the other hand, Ceria enjoyed not running a lot more than running and as such, her legs were already hurting.

It was surprising, but Ceria began feeling sweat running down her back. Not from fear or tension—but from the blistering pace Calruz set. Without having to worry about traps or monsters, the Raskghar could move fast through the dungeon and Ceria found herself struggling to keep up.

“Hold up, Calruz. I need a break.”

The half-Elf called out and slowed. She felt at her belt and was relieved to find her water flask was still there. She twisted off the cap and drank sparingly, so as not to overwhelm her thirsty body. Calruz slowed. He grunted in surprise when he saw the water bottle.

“You’ve provisions? The Raskghar have food and water of their own.”

Ceria had seen the Raskghar’s thick water skins, made of some kind of monster hide. Or perhaps Raskghar hide. She shook her head, shaking her water bottle. It was completely full.

“I’ve got water. Should have drunk it before—I’ve got healing potions and mana potions too. We were prepared for the dungeon, you know.”

“Apparently.”

Calruz hesitated, then held out a hand. Silently, Ceria passed him the water flask. Calruz drank, tilting the flask up and pouring it down his throat. He knew she hated other people’s lips touching her water flask. Ceria glared at Calruz and then kicked him.

“Oi. Don’t drink all my water.”

The Minotaur stopped. He stared down at Ceria and fury crossed his face. For a second. Then he blinked.

“I forgot you used to do that. That hurts, you know.”

Ceria found her heart beating rapidly. She’d kicked Calruz reflexively, not even thinking about it. She didn’t feel as…subdued around Calruz. Why was that? Because he wasn’t ordering her around? She managed a shaky grin.

“What’s the point of doing it if it doesn’t hurt?”

Calruz eyed her. Then he handed back her water flask, two-thirds empty. Ceria scowled and drank another mouthful before tightening the lid. Calruz gave her a few seconds and then gestured. They set off again. After a moment, he spoke.

“Tell me about them. This new team you assembled in my name.”

“In your name? I thought we agreed that the team was our idea. Gerial, yours, and mine. We started it together.”

Calruz’ right eye twitched.

“But I was the one who came up with the Horns of Hammerad as the name.”

“So? Doesn’t mean you own it.”

“Yes it does.”

“No it doesn’t.”

Ceria grinned, enjoying the back and forth. That was like normal. What she wasn’t prepared for was for Calruz to whirl and grab her with his arm. He lifted her into the air by her robes to eye-level. The Minotaur snarled at Ceria.

“The Horns of Hammerad was my idea! Mine!”

Madness again. Ceria held very still, staring into Calruz’s eyes with her wide ones. His expression of rage lasted a heartbeat longer, and then he blinked. He dropped Ceria.

“I—I’m sorry.”

He took a step back from Ceria, caught himself, and turned. Ceria adjusted her robes. After a long minute, the two kept moving. Calruz wavered several times, and then spoke as if nothing had happened.

“Who did you recruit?”

“Um. Pisces and Ksmvr. He’s an Antinium—the Prognugator that replaced Klbkch. And Yvlon.”

Calruz looked shocked. And offended.

“The [Necromancer]? And an Antinium? That was your pick? Byres I can understand, but them?”

Ceria bristled.

“I didn’t exactly have a lot of candidates. It was a spur of the moment thing! Besides, they’ve proved themselves. Look, I wouldn’t have even reformed the team. You know, all the other teams and adventurers refused to even speak to me when I returned to the Adventurer’s Guild? I still haven’t gone to the guild in Celum—I was ready to quit adventuring. So was Yvlon. We had no money, no leads…but then Olesm found this map. Of Albez.”

Calruz looked shocked. He half-twisted to look at Ceria and nearly ran into a wall.

“Albez? A map? You don’t mean just an outline, do you?”

“I mean a genuine set of blueprints. With secret rooms outlined and everything.”

The Minotaur gaped. Ceria had to explain the entire story from the start. She told Calruz how she’d led the other three into Albez and found treasure in the very spot where he and she explored many times with little to no success. The Minotaur was agog and insisted on hearing about each of the items they’d recovered and then the ones Ryoka had brought back. He paused when Ceria mentioned how Ryoka had exchanged one of the artifacts.

“Ryoka. Is she well? Did she complete her task in the Blood Fields? I…regret the way we parted. I thought of her when I was down here.”

“She’s…okay. I saw her again.”

“Where. When?”

“Well…okay, she lost some fingers—it happened during the winter. That Gnoll I told you about? It happened like this. Remember the Frost Faeries?”

It was another story, summarized for the sake of time and Ceria’s breath. She jogged with Calruz, giving him her perspective on what had happened with Ryoka, until the Runner had vanished after the disastrous battle with Regrika Blackpaw—whoever she’d been. The Minotaur was equally curious about that. When Ceria was done he shook his head.

“You worry too much. She will return. I told you. She has spirit. This would not stop her. She will return when she is ready. But it is good she is well. A false Named Adventurer. I wish I could have seen that. All that passed above…”

He paused, although his body kept jogging ahead. After a second, Calruz looked back at Ceria. His face was suddenly worried.

“I never asked. But the dead. The fallen. Gerial and the others. We arranged for pay in case of their deaths, but we never envisioned everyone falling. Were you able to give something to the families of our team? Did we…?”

His voice was anxious. Ceria remembered when they’d first started their team. Calruz had insisted on making a name themselves. The Horns would be associated with honor as well as strength in battle. And he was a Minotaur. She nodded, trying to keep her voice as reassuring as possible.

“Yvlon took care of it. Liscor confiscated most of our gear, but we had the money reserves of each team. And I think she might have asked her family to cover some of the debts. She never said so, but I think she did. We paid everyone what we could. We made arrangements.”

Calruz nodded absently.

“We did. We did. And Byres took care of it? I should have expected no less. She was always honorable. She was—”

He shuddered. Ceria reached out, but Calruz moved away. The Minotaur moved ahead of Ceria. She saw his shoulders trembling. All that had happened while he’d been down here. After a second, Calruz raised his voice.

“Let’s go. I want to be relocated within the hour.”

He picked up the pace. Ceria stared at his back. He was in there. Part of him. She reached out—and then lowered her hand. She stared at it. Her skeletal hand didn’t sweat. It was…she flexed it and knew it moved, but she couldn’t feel it. Not anymore.

Both of them had changed. So Ceria let Calruz guide her onwards in silence.

—-

The rest of the march to the Raskghar’s new camp was quiet. Ceria found her legs burning by the end of it. When she finally entered the chamber that was the new camp—a strange room with two sets of staircases running up the sides of the very long, very tall chamber and ending in a raised platform where broken fragments indicated something had once stood—she had to immediately sit down.

“Dead gods, do you do that every day?”

“Every night. You’ve grown soft, Springwalker.”

Calruz didn’t sit. Hundreds of the Raskghar had already made it ahead of him. Some had taken fights getting here—they’d cleared the way ahead of Ceria and Calruz as well. The Minotaur had them tending their wounds and then setting guards on the two entrances to the room.

“The platform had an entrance at the back. I never allow the Raskghar to camp in a room with only one exit. Scouts, report! Have the other camps moved to the auxiliary rally points?”

The half-Elf shook her head as Calruz made the Raskghar tell him the progress of the other Raskghar camps. Minotaurs loved their military formations. In this case it made sense; the Raskghar were too many to cram into one room and that was dangerous. So Calruz had a number of permanent and semi-permanent camps that smaller groups of Raskghar inhabited.

Normally they were safe staging grounds to attack from, but apparently something was wrong. Ceria’s head rose as Calruz began talking to one of the Raskghar. The Minotaur spoke in the common tongue, but he listened to the Raskghar growl his report in the bestial language they shared.

“How many? All? And you found—you’re sure? Are you sure? Very well, abandon it.”

He turned as Ceria got up, her legs telling her to sit in no uncertain terms. The half-Elf massaged her calves.

“Trouble?”

“One of the smaller Raskghar camps was wiped out. Thirty of my Raskghar were found dead. A patrol in the tunnels and the base camp. Slaughtered where they stood.”

“By what?”

Calruz glanced at the Raskghar scouts.

“They don’t know. Which is unusual. There were a number of foreign scents, but nothing stronger than that. They could smell no other creatures. Only the blood of Raskghar and Goblins.”

Only Raskghar and Goblins. Ceria froze for a second as she worked her fingers into her thigh muscles. She glanced up casually.

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. The Raskghar were killed with blades. Well, most of them. It could have been a patrol of enchanted armor. Or perhaps…something else.”

“Like…?”

Ceria wasn’t sure if anyone had told Calruz about Erin’s Hobs. Her mind raced. Had she…? No, they hadn’t come up. And she hadn’t seen a single Hob among all the Cave Goblins, not one. Calruz frowned and shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t know. But my concern isn’t exactly what it was. I’ve abandoned the camp. Things like this happen. Even the largest camps can be attacked.”

“Even this camp?”

Incredulous, Ceria looked around the camp where hundreds of Raskghar were continuing to pour in. Calruz nodded.

“There are things in the dungeon that can take on a thousand Raskghar and win. Large nests—luckily no Crelers. But the four great nests are death to awaken. Well, three nests. One is empty.”

“One is? What are the other three? One’s a Face-Eater Moth nest and the other one’s Shield Spiders, right?”

“Correct. The last is fungus. Just fungus. Some of it moves, the rest is stationary. It’s sealed off. Good thing too. If it had a chance to spread, it would be deadly. Half the spores the Raskghar showed me are toxic. Some explode. Others…”

Calruz shook his head. Ceria paused.

“And the last one? Why’s one empty?”

The Minotaur hesitated.

“Something killed off whatever was inside. All of it.”

He let that sink in, and then turned.

“The camp’s being set up. I’ve a mind to replenish our water supplies before doing anything else. How much water do you have?”

Ceria held up her empty water flask and shook it. Calruz nodded.

“With me, then. We’ll gather water and return. It won’t be more than twenty minutes.”

He turned and called. Forty Raskghar loped over. Ceria frowned as she looked around. A bit of hope blossomed in her chest.

“Water? From where? The surface? Are we that near to the dungeon entrance?”

Her hopes were dashed as Calruz shook his head.

“No. There are multiple natural springs in the dungeon that provide clean water. We’ll go to one of them. You didn’t think the dungeon had no water supply for so many monsters, did you?”

“I hadn’t actually thought about it.”

Calruz snorted. He began striding away with the Raskghar. Ceria hurried after him.

“Oh come on. I’m not an expert at dungeons. You’re the Minotaur. I should have known you’d be an expert on labyrinths.”

“That is a stereotype of my people.”

“A true one, though, right? Didn’t you say there was a labyrinth in your homeland? A famous one?”

“…Come on. We’re wasting time.”

—-

The water flowed up from below. From some deep underground sea of water, apparently. The pool was so dark and deep that Ceria could barely see more than fifty feet down, even when she hurled a [Light] orb into the water. According to Calruz, the Raskghar had tried to explore the depths but never succeeded.

“They fish from this one. There are fish, apparently. Sometimes they’re a threat. It also means anything entering the water might not exit. So don’t get too close to the edge.”

“Got it.”

Ceria felt almost relaxed around Calruz. Not around the Raskghar, but she felt like he was a lot more…well, a lot more like himself now. She watched as the Raskghar filled the huge water skins with water, keeping an eye out for danger. If it was like this, if she took out the parts where they attacked Liscor and sacrificed Gnolls, she could admire Calruz. What if she could convince him not to sacrifice the Gnolls? Could she bring him back like that? Surely not. But if—

The room with the pool of water was a sloping basin with four entrances. The Raskghar clustered around their entrance, watching the other four. The first monster crawled into the room so slowly that Ceria didn’t notice them at first. Then she looked up and froze.

A group of huge bugs had entered the room. They had long, serrated legs and wings. Their bodies were armored plates of chitin and they had huge green eyes. On the tops of their bodies. On the bottom half they were maggots. The insects were half-emerged from their bodies, going through some kind of slow transformation. They were disgusting, to put it mildly.

And the Raskghar hadn’t raised the alarm. Ceria eyed them, but the not-Gnolls were working away without a care in the world. The insects must not have been dangerous, then. Ceria relaxed—until she saw one of the insect staring her way.

“Um. Calruz.”

The Minotaur was overseeing the water collection, impatiently. He glanced up at Ceria.

“What? We’ll be done soon.”

“Right. But about those things.”

Ceria waved her hand at the insects. Calruz glanced in the direction of the maggot-insects and frowned.

“What things?”

“Them. The Raskghar don’t seem bothered and I guess you’re not. But are you sure they’re safe? One of them’s looking at me.”

The insect-maggot was indeed staring at Ceria. But it seemed to decide the water was more pressing. The maggot half of its body oozed forwards and it bent its insect-body to drink. Ceria saw more ooze into the room, some looking exactly like giant maggots that were longer and wider across than she was. Others looked like they’d nearly completed their transformation and they looked like they’d be fast and deadly once their legs were done.

“What things?”

Calruz stared blankly at the space Ceria was looking at. She glared at him.

“Those—”

Then she realized the Minotaur wasn’t seeing the monsters at all. His gaze flashed past the group of monsters without even pausing. Ceria halted.

“Calruz. There are a group of fourteen insect-maggot things at the pool’s edge, across from us. Do you see them?”

The Minotaur froze. He tensed, and then grabbed his axe. He uttered a low growl that made all the Raskghar freeze. They instantly abandoned the water skins and reached for their weapons. Ceria went wide-eyed as Calruz backed up.

“Invisible monsters.”

“Invisible? But I see them.”

“I see nothing. But this is a known phenomenon. There are invisible monsters in the dungeon. A large number of them. If you can see them—where are they exactly?”

Ceria eyed the monsters. They were drinking from the water’s edge, but some had begun moving around the pool. She had a sinking feeling that they were coming over because of her.

“Nine are at the water’s edge. Five more are coming around. Three on the left, two on the right.”

Calruz stared.

“Yes. I can see the water moving. Okay. Quarr. Dret! Yalk.”

He pointed. The Raskghar split up. Half went left, the other half went right. Calruz motioned Ceria forwards. He signaled at her with his hands. She pointed. The Raskghar advanced slowly, tense, until they were less than ten feet away from the maggot-monsters. Then Ceria pointed and Calruz straightened.

“Charge!”

The Raskghar howled and leapt forwards. The insect-maggots reacted immediately rearing up and casting about. They seemed surprised! They stared at Ceria until she shot an [Ice Spike] into one’s head and then began to lurch towards her, ignoring the Raskghar. But the beast people knew they were there, and began cutting the monsters apart.

They couldn’t see, but it didn’t matter. The Raskghar used the tips of their weapons as guides. When they encountered a monster, they immediately struck and leapt back. They howled as they fought in groups, surrounding their enemies, attacking from all sides.

“Attack!”

Calruz and Ceria took on the group on the water’s edge. Ceria shot an [Ice Spike] at another maggot-insect and watched blood spurt around the spike as it lodged in the creature’s side. But the monster was tough. It reared up and scythed at her, making her duck back.

“[Ice Wall]!”

A wall of ice blocked the creature from leaping at her. The ice cracked, but held. Ceria aimed with her wand and two fingers and fired three [Ice Spikes] simultaneously. The monster lurched backwards, but it was still alive. It was tough!

“Ceria!”

Calruz bellowed. He had his axe out and was scything through the air, trying to find the monster. He looked at her. Ceria shouted.

“Left!”

The maggot was oozing past Calruz. The Minotaur turned. The tip of his axe cut into the monster and it jerked in surprise. Calruz instantly brought his axe up.

“[Hammer Blow!]”

Ceria brought up another wall of ice just in time. The thump of the blow was less than she’d expected—because Calruz’s axe head sheared so perfectly through the insect. It split in half and the two pieces fell apart. Calruz grunted in satisfaction. He yanked his axe head up—it had split the floor of the dungeon—and then swung it at the monster’s corpse.

“[Gore Splash].”

The corpse exploded. Ceria saw a rain of body parts and blood fly across the room. She tried not to throw up. But the Skill Calruz had used was more than just decorative.

The blood covered the monsters and Raskghar alike. Suddenly, both sides could see each other because Ceria saw the movements of both the Raskghar and insects change. The insects realized they were outnumbered and tried to run. The Raskghar advanced and cut and hacked them apart.

When the battle was over, the spring of water was dark with yellow blood and body parts. The Raskghar didn’t seem to care. They bent and lapped from the water, washing the few wounds they’d picked up. Calruz wrinkled his nose. He smashed his axe on the wall and the Raskghar looked up.

“Boil the water! Savages! I told you, boil it first!”

He yanked one of the Raskghar back. Ceria, staring at the water, decided she wasn’t thirsty after all. She stepped back as the Raskghar filled their water skins with the bloody water and took a few deep breaths.

“Dead gods. What was that about?”

“I told you. Invisible monsters. They are a plague. But it seems you can see them. Incredible. This is a huge advantage.”

Calruz leaned on his axe, looking pleased. Ceria glanced at him.

“Say what? I have no idea why I could see those things and you couldn’t.”

“Why not? It must be your heritage as a half-Elf. You must be able to see through the [Invisibility] spells.”

The half-Elf frowned, doubting very much that was the case.

“I’ve never seen Pisces when he’s been invisible.”

“Well, maybe it’s a lesser invisibility spell.”

“A lesser invisibility spell? That would be [Chameleon Skin] or something like that. And I wouldn’t be able to see through that either. I told you, Calruz. Half-Elves resist enchantments placed on us. We don’t get magical eyes. That’s Gazers you’re thinking about.”

The Minotaur frowned as he cleaned his axe head in the water.

“Huh. But you clearly have some ability the Raskghar and I don’t. I’ve fought invisible monsters before. I never saw one.”

“I’ve never seen an invisible monster in the dungeon.”

“True.”

Ceria opened her mouth and flushed.

“Wait, I meant—I mean, my team haven’t even encountered one! Neither have any of the other adventurers, as far as I know.”

Calruz shook his head.

“You must have been lucky. They’re everywhere. They attack on sound—or if you run into them. It’s one of the reasons why an active guard has to be maintained on the camps at all times.”

“Wait, so there are lots of invisible monsters. But those insect-things didn’t spot you at all. They were only looking at me.”

That had been curious. Ceria frowned. So did Calruz. He glanced at the dead insects. Ceria did too.

“You can see them?”

“When they’re dead. These things are…ah, the changing maggots. They’re deadly when they reach maturity. But they seldom do in the dungeon. I’ve seen non-invisible groups of this kind of monster, come to think of it. The monsters that are invisible can be anything. Shield Spiders, Flesh Worms, Stone Starers…anything.”

“Wait, Shield Spiders? And you don’t think that’s weird?”

“No. Maybe it’s an enchantment. Some room in the dungeon. Maybe it’s a curse.”

“Or maybe something’s up.”

Ceria’s mind raced as she stared at the insects. She looked at one and realized it was still alive. The Raskghar jumped as it oozed over and grabbed their weapons. The insect-creature flailed weakly with one of its remaining legs. Ceria held up a hand as Calruz turned with his axe.

“Hold on, I think I might know of a way to test this.”

—-

The Raskghar were blind to the invisible monsters, but they weren’t stupid. They could hear and smell and touch the creatures, and so when Calruz and Ceria and the water-gathering expedition returned, the Raskghar were already ready. Dozens of Raskghar aimed bows at the entrance and several Raskghar holding magical artifacts were standing at the ready—until they saw the Raskghar and Calruz. They stopped, sniffing the air, confused.

“Move aside. We have a monster.”

Calruz ordered the Raskghar. They made way, staring at the invisible, bloodied thing in the air. To them it must have looked like some strange ripple in the light, perhaps only visible through the bloodstains and the way the Raskghar held it. But Ceria could see the injured maggot-insect quite clearly.

It was nearly dead. The Raskghar would have happily beaten it the rest of the way to death, but as Ceria had pointed out to Calruz, the monster had to be alive for this to work. The instant it died, the corpse would be visible to everyone. But in life—

“There. Do you see it?”

Ceria approached the Gnolls for the first time. They recoiled as Calruz and the other Raskghar approached. Several stared with hatred and hostility at Ceria, but the rest glanced over her shoulder and gasped.

“Monster!”

They cried out in horror. The other Gnolls stared wildly at the thing the Raskghar held.

“What is it? Invisible?”

“No—it’s some kind of maggot and insect! Can you not see it?”

Astonished, the Gnolls looked at each other. Half—and Ceria noted it was the ones in the cages who’d arrived first—stared wide-eyed at the invisible monster. The rest could see it clearly.

“There. You see?”

Ceria turned to Calruz. The Minotaur snorted incredulously.

“They see it. But how?”

“I don’t know. But it’s not just me. There’s something different to the Gnolls in those cages, the ones who can’t see. Something’s happened to them. But what?”

“I will find out. You—dispose of that thing. And you—”

Calruz took one of the Raskghar to one side as the warriors happily dropped the dying maggot and kicked it to death. The Cave Goblins scurried forwards with butchering knives and Ceria’s stomach roiled as she imagined eating the thing. She glanced at the Gnolls in cages.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to get you out.”

They stared at her, confused, angry. Ceria looked for Mrsha and saw her huddled in her cage. The poor little Gnoll couldn’t move, shackled as she was. One of the Gnolls edged up to the side of his cage and spoke urgently to Ceria.

“How do you know that monster? That Minotaur. Why is he doing this?”

Ceria wavered. She bent and whispered urgently.

“He’s my former team captain. He was lost on the expedition to Liscor’s crypt. He…took command of the Raskghar. He’s…lost it.”

The Gnolls’ ears quivered. The Gnoll in the cage stared at Ceria.

“Can you make him let us go?”

“I can try. What was that ritual?”

The Gnoll lowered her voice.

“Something dark. Something evil. We do not know. A [Shaman] from one of the plains tribes might. Get us out of here before it happens again.”

“I’ll—”

“Ceria!”

The half-Elf straightened. The Gnoll edged back as Calruz marched towards her. The Minotaur was smiling. He ignored the Gnolls completely and beckoned her over.

“We know the difference now. The Gnolls have been fed. But those Gnolls have been watered as well.”

“Watered?”

Ceria stared at Calruz. He nodded, triumphant and furious.

“Water. There’s something in the water! It has to be that. The Raskghar can’t think of anything else that separates the two and they’re certain those Gnolls drank water while the others were waiting for our expedition to return.”

The half-Elf blinked in surprise. Water? It sounded so insane, but it made sense. She wavered.

“We were just at the pool—do you think—”

“Naturally. Faugh! It’s just like these damned dungeon creators to put something in the water! Or enchant it! And that’s what’s kept this dungeon populated; the monsters don’t fight if they can’t see each other! And I’ve been drinking the stuff!”

The Minotaur cursed, paced past Ceria, and whirled.

“This is good to know. From now on, I will drink only rationed water. As will you.”

He turned and beckoned Ceria over to a pile of equipment, mostly untouched. It was all gear that the Raskghar couldn’t use or had no interest in. Calruz pawed through it and came up with a few flasks. He opened the cap, sniffed, poured some clear liquid out, and nodded.

“This was taken from dead adventurers. They should have—hrr. Yes. Water flasks. The Raskghar prefer their hide bags. Here.”

He tossed one at Ceria. She tried it cautiously, and found the water flask held only stale water. Ceria grimaced as she drank a bit.

“What about the Gnolls?”

“What about them? They can drink the dungeon’s water. If I had more supplies, I’d make some of the Raskghar drink clean water, but we’ll have to be the only ones who can see. I hope the effects on me will wear off soon.”

Calruz shook his head, drinking deeply. Ceria hesitated.

“About the Gnolls—”

She quailed as Calruz stared at her. Then she straightened.

“Look, Calruz. If you let a few go—”

“No.”

And that was it. Ceria tried to speak, but Calruz’s Skill crushed her voice. The Minotaur glared at her, and then tossed his head. He sprayed a bit of water at Ceria and looked around.

“This has all been useful. But that is not the reason why I need you. Warriors! Assemble five companies! We fight in the city!”

Ceria kept her head bowed until Calruz turned away. Then she could move and think. She followed Calruz, conscious of the Gnoll’s eyes on her back.

“The city? You don’t mean Liscor?”

The Minotaur turned and grinned.

“Oh no. You haven’t seen it yet, have you? Follow me. Your adventurers, the Antinium—they’ve only entered the dungeon. But there’s a final part of the dungeon yet to be uncovered. The city. And beyond it—the end. Come and see.”

—-

The city lay at the heart of the dungeon. The path to it was long, crossing through rooms with traps, past monsters both visible and invisible to the Raskghar. But Calruz had set up his camps so that he and his warriors—nearly four hundred Raskghar—could move from safe space to safe space. They marched fast, but it was still hours before they reached it.

The city in the dungeon. Calruz paused at a staircase. Ceria stared up it. A huge pair of double doors waited above. They were closed. And writing was etched into the wall above it. The letters glowed faintly. They looked like the same words that had been written on the crypt’s walls. She couldn’t translate them without using a time-consuming spell, but they made her afraid.

“Calruz. What is this?”

The Minotaur turned. He stood at the head of the ranks of Raskghar. They were armed with stone weapons, most of them. A few had coveted blades made of steel or iron. Calruz hadn’t taken any of the Raskghar with artifacts. The Minotaur gestured up towards the doors. His eyes were wide with excitement. Madness or anticipation, Ceria couldn’t tell.

“This is the gateway. There are eight. Eight places where the labyrinth ends. Places where you can enter the heart of the dungeon. All of this?”

He gestured around at the stone corridors, the winding passages he and the Raskghar had traversed.

“This is the labyrinth. But it is not all of the dungeon. There is a center. But no Raskghar has ever come close to it. The city is the last protection before the heart of the dungeon. It is a world unlike this closed space. But dangerous. Do you wish to see it?”

“Do I have a choice?”

Ceria regretted her flippant answer. The Minotaur glared at her and she felt herself shrinking. The Raskghar waited impatiently, glancing between her and Calruz.

“Yes, Calruz. I do want to see it. But those doors—the words. They’re like Skinner’s warning.”

The Minotaur glanced up. His good hand tightened on the haft of his axe.

“I know. And they are not without reason. But this place makes sense. It is safer than the dungeon in some ways. Now. Open the doors. Ikeld! Advance!”

The first rank of Raskghar ascended the stairs. They hauled on the metal doors and heaved them open. Ceria saw red light, almost blinding in the dungeon’s darkness. She saw the Raskghar stream through one rank, then a horde of bodies. Calruz beckoned. Ceria was afraid. For once she didn’t curse the Skill that made her run after Calruz. She climbed the stairs, charged through the door—

And looked up. A ceiling greeted her. Only, it was a ceiling two, maybe three hundred feet above her. Ceria gaped. Red lichen hung from the rocky ceiling overhead, gently glowing. It provided a bright, almost too-bright crimson glow that illuminated the entire cavern. Only, it wasn’t a cavern.

It was like stepping out of the dungeon and into a castle. Or a palace. Or—Ceria’s breath caught as she saw the tunnel open wider, wider—

A city.

The rocky floor opened out past the metal doors. The ground became flat. For a few hundred feet there was only rock and dirt. And then a pair of walls rose. The rock was reddish, tinted by the light from above. Red lichen grew on the stones, but the walls were largely intact. They weren’t tall—not by the standards of Drake cities, barely thirty feet high. But they stretched around the city.

The city in the dungeon. Ceria could see it past the walls. Tall buildings made of crumbling stone, roofed houses, and, as she stepped forwards wonderingly, she could see how vast the city was. The Raskghar streamed towards the walls, barking warily at each other. There was an open gate meant to allow hundreds of people in every second. Ceria jumped and whirled as Calruz came up behind her. The Minotaur stared towards the city, a fierce light in his eyes.

“You see it? This is the true nature of the dungeon. The city in the dungeon.”

“I can’t believe it. This is the center of the dungeon? People? A city?”

The Minotaur shook his head.

“No people. Just the city. And the death lurking here.”

“Death?”

Ceria looked around. The open space between the city’s walls and the metal door was empty. Disturbingly empty, in fact. Ceria felt her skin crawl as she realized how vacant the city seemed. Where were all the monsters? Calruz nodded towards the Raskghar.

“They’re securing the entrance. Follow me.”

He set a quick pace after the Raskghar. They were waiting at the gates. Calruz jogged towards them, speaking over his shoulder.

“This was once a place where people dwelt. Now it is infested. What is not infested is guarded by the enchanted suits of armor. An entire legion patrols constantly and occasionally sends smaller raiding parties out into the labyrinth.”

“The enchanted armor?”

Ceria blinked at Calruz. She’d seen and fought the metal suits of armor. They were the one oddity in a dungeon full of organic monsters. Calruz nodded.

“They have guarded this dungeon for ages, according to the Raskghar.”

“But how could they still be around? Those things break. If they’re fighting monsters or getting damaged—”

“I imagine there were hundreds of thousands of them. Or tens of thousands at the least.”

“Tens of—do you have any idea how much that would cost?”

“Yes.”

Calruz turned calmly. He was too calm. The city’s gates loomed over Ceria, red, the bricks covered in lichen. The half-elf stared around, panicked for the first time. The city was too quiet. This entire room, this cavernous place was too vast! She was being watched. She could feel it.

“It makes sense, Ceria. For a city of this size, and given that they could build a dungeon of this quality, it makes sense they would have a force that strong. Look at this city.”

Calruz pointed up at the walls high above his head. He pointed through the gates. Ceria could see a broken street, red, and broken houses waiting for her. Some had caved in. Many were intact. They all seemed empty. But something was in there. Her skin crawled.

“This city, these walls and the houses—it is bigger than Celum. Bigger than Liscor as well. Imagine how many souls lived here.”

“It must be the size of a Walled City.”

“Close.”

“And the people?”

Ceria took a step forwards and then retreated. She looked at the Raskghar. They weren’t at ease like Calruz. They were tensed, scanning the streets, the houses, the windows. The ceiling. They knew something was there. The Minotaur grinned.

“Everything’s dead. As I said. What is not dead are the infested. They’ll come soon. They know we’re here. We’ll move around the edge of the city. We can’t stay in one place. If we do, we’ll be overrun.”

“By what?”

Calruz didn’t answer. He turned.

“Move forwards! Take that street! Shields in front! Archers, ready!”

The Raskghar moved as one. They were alert, superhumanly quick and intelligent. But they were afraid. Ceria saw it in the tense way they reacted to Calruz’s order and saw the wariness on the Minotaur’s face. They made her afraid as well. She was braced, waiting for anything. She did not have to wait long.

It leapt out of one of the house’s windows. It screamed. The Raskghar froze and the archers loosed arrows. The thing staggered as arrows clattered off the wall behind it and several pierced its flesh. The arrows feathered it. A spike of ice burst out of its face. It staggered and then screamed again, around the [Ice Spike]. Then it charged the Raskghar.

It was a person. Or it had been. Like the lichen, like the walls and street, the thing was red. But a fleshy red. Its skin was too smooth, and it had—holes in its body. More of the others, the infested, came at the first’s call. They charged the Raskghar, ignoring the arrows that pierced their bodies. They charged when filled with arrows. They moved when their heads were off, swinging wildly. Even when they were chopped into pieces they moved for a while, until their limbs ceased.

It looked like something had eaten part of them away. That was the first thing Ceria noticed after she’d stopped screaming. The fleshy creatures, the infested poured out of the houses where they’d been hidden, climbing, falling off the roofs and running at the Raskghar. They were fearless, which was good. Because the Raskghar hacked them apart.

The not-Gnolls were intelligent, stronger due to the full moons. They tore the infested apart with their claws, attacked and dodged with incredible agility and precision. They could have killed any regular group of soldiers with ease. They struggled against the infested.

It wasn’t that the infested were tough. On the contrary, they were just flesh. They moved fast, but only as fast as a normal Human could sprint. The thing was that they had no limits. They sprinted, fought, and screamed without getting tired or winded. And they were incredibly hard to kill. A Raskghar split one of the infested’s head open and it grabbed the Raskghar, clawing at it, trying to bite through the Raskghar’s fur before the furred warrior bashed it into the ground again and again.

They had teeth. And claws. And tails. Ceria whirled, blasting every one of the red creatures she could see with [Ice Spikes]. She heard a roar and saw Calruz swing his axe, cutting through three infested at once.

“[Ice Wall]! Guard our left! Raskghar, advance with me!”

He shouted at Ceria. His voice cut through the panic in her body. She turned and raised a wall of ice, cutting off an alleyway to the left. The infested slammed into it and began to try and climb the walls. But the delay allowed the Raskghar to press forwards. Calruz led them in a bloody charge and his axe sliced the infested apart. They didn’t even try to dodge his powerful blows. They ran forwards and died. But Calruz was advancing too far.

“Calruz!”

Ceria screamed a warning. But the Minotaur didn’t listen. The Raskghar around him fell back. Ceria shot [Ice Spikes] towards the infested, but they were surrounding Calruz. What were the Raskghar doing? They were going to let him—

The Minotaur raised his axe. The green head on the golden metal shone bright. Ceria saw the edge grow, turning transparent, until it was three times larger than the axe head. Calruz turned and cut. At least thirty infested fell as the magical edge of the axe sliced through them like butter. The magical axe swung, and Calruz cleared the space around him with effortless swings.

“Incredible.”

He had an artifact. Ceria burned with awe at the weapon. That was a weapon worthy of a Gold-rank adventurer! Maybe even a Named Rank one! But then she heard the infested scream. She turned and shot [Ice Spikes], bringing them down as Calruz cut them down by the dozen. But there were more of them. More and more and more—

“Ceria! Springwalker!”

Ceria jerked. She raised her skeletal hand and wand, but Calruz knocked her arms aside. He grabbed her.

“It’s over.”

Ceria looked at Calruz. Then she looked around. How much time had passed? Hours? Minutes? Seconds? The ground was covered in blood. Red bits of squirming flesh lay everywhere. The Raskghar were tending to their wounded. And the dead. At least thirty Raskghar had fallen, but they’d killed hundreds of the infested. Ceria looked around. She had blood on her robes and her hand was shaking uncontrollably.

“What—what—”

“Those were the guardians of the city. Along with the enchanted armor. We have a moment’s reprieve. More will come. Breathe. Look at me. Breathe.”

Calruz’s orders made Ceria look up. She remembered to inhale, and felt the world stabilize. A bit. But her shaking didn’t stop.

“That was worse than Ghouls. Way worse than Ghouls or zombies! They don’t scream! That was worse than Crelers—no, just as bad! What the hell are they? What in the name of trees…”

She trailed off. Calruz grunted. He turned.

“You didn’t see? Come.”

He grabbed her and towed her over to one of the corpses. It wasn’t moving, but Ceria stayed well back, expecting it to. Calruz bent down.

“This one’s dead. But see—”

He grabbed it, ignoring the blood, and twisted the torso. He’d cut this thing in half, which let Ceria get a good look at the infested for the first time. She saw a protruding jaw, a humanoid body. Shiny red skin—claws on the hands and legs—a long serpentine tail.

“It looks familiar. But what…?”

Ceria stared at the infested. Its shape was so hauntingly similar to something she knew. But her mind resisted her understanding. It was only when Calruz opened its mouth and showed her the teeth that she realized what it was. Ceria bent over and vomited. She’d eaten very little, but she threw it up anyways. She stared down at the dead infested in horror.

Sharp teeth. A reptile’s teeth. Only, it was important not to ever say that in front of one of them because they’d punch you. A long serpentine tail. Claws and sometimes wings, the relics of their distant ancestors. The infested had all of these. What it didn’t have were scales.

It was a Drake. Skinned. Flesh had grown over its body, and it had holes in parts of its stomach, its legs, arms, as if something had eaten it. But it was a Drake. Ceria looked around. Suddenly, all of the infested looked the same.

Drakes. This was a Drake city. And the infested—

She bent to throw up again. She thought she hadn’t anything left to give, but her body surprised her. Ceria choked on her bile and vomit. Then she felt a hand on the back of her neck.

“Easy. Drink.”

Calruz offered her his water flask. Ceria washed her mouth. When she looked up at him, she spoke two words.

“What happened?”

Even Calruz looked mildly unwell. The Raskghar were staying far away from the infested, warily watching their surroundings. The Minotaur shook his head.

“I don’t know. At a guess, these were Skinner’s victims. Or perhaps they were the creators of the dungeon who fell prey to it themselves. Or perhaps there was something…else. You see, I have not found any records of the dungeon. Nothing I can read. But the Raskghar understand something of the writings on the walls. Ancient Drake. And they found something. We’ll visit it before we leave.”

He took the water flask. Ceria was about to tell Calruz she wanted to leave the city now and burn everything down. But then she heard a scream. It was far off, but it was joined by hundreds more. Her blood ran cold.

“More infested. We have to go. Follow me. Warriors! We cut towards the monument! Move!”

Calruz turned. The Raskghar ran with him. Ceria did too. The infested came, leaping from rooftops, appearing in alleyways, out of windows. This time Ceria blasted them with all the magic she knew. She cast [Fireball] and destroyed a group of them. She didn’t feel guilt, not in the slightest. Destroying these poor Drakes would be the ultimate mercy.

“Onwards! Don’t fall behind! If we are surrounded, we die!”

Calruz roared as he cut a path ahead. The Raskghar were falling—but only a few with each attack. They were too large and tough to go down to the infested, especially since the infested had nothing but tooth and claw. Things got trickier when they ran into the first patrol of enchanted armor.

“Twenty of them!”

“Take the infested! I’ll cut them down! Warriors, on me!”

The Minotaur bull rushed the first suit of armor. When he swung his axe, it bit into the animated metal knight’s chest plate. Calruz threw the animated armor to the ground and battered it with his axe as the Raskghar did likewise. The enchanted armor took longer to kill, but the Raskghar were up to the challenge. The real problem for Ceria and the other Raskghar was holding off the infested. After that battle, Calruz called a break.

“We’ve taken twenty percent casualties. And killed at least a thousand infested. Not bad. Your spells turn the tide.”

“I can’t keep casting spells. Even with mana potions.”

Ceria wiped sweat from her brow. Calruz nodded.

“I’m no fool. But we are nearly at our destination. Come, I want you to see this.”

He led Ceria down a wide street. There was a large plaza, reminiscent of Liscor’s central square. But in the center of this one—Ceria halted. Something had been erected in the center of the square, at the heart of a spiral of red tiles. A large monolith. And something had been carved onto the top of it.

Heads. Three, to be exact. Each one was grotesque. Each one was horrific. But it was the one facing Ceria that made her knees shake. She began to tremble uncontrollably until Calruz grabbed her. He held her.

“Steady. Steady.”

Ceria looked up at the stone face. It was stone. And the creature was dead. But to look at it was to remember. Skinner stared down at Ceria, his flesh mask grinning at her through empty eye sockets.

“Calruz. What is this?”

“A warning. The Raskghar found this when they explored the city. Long ago. The markings on the monolith are hard to read, but they uncovered a few words. It warns that this dungeon is protected by the…the Mother. The Mother of Graves.”

“The boss of the dungeon?”

“Exactly. The Raskghar have never seen her, but they read the rest of the monolith. It tells of three guardians of the crypts who serve her. Three. You know one.”

“Skinner.”

He stared down at her. Ceria remembered him reaching down, grabbing Gerial. Tearing—Calruz hugged her tightly to his chest.

“He is dead. You told me. If he was not, I would kill him. Calm, Ceria, calm.”

She clung to him. Ceria wrenched her eyes away from Skinner.

“The other two.”

The other two heads were facing outwards. Ceria saw a strange, headless torso with two gaping sockets. And another—a long, angular head and wide, wide eyes and a tongue that hung with apparently no mouth. She stared up at them in horror. Calruz looked grimly up at the two heads.

“Skinner. Snatcher. Stalker. They protect the dungeon in the name of the Mother of Graves. This city is their legacy, I think. They were…venerated by the people here. Until something changed. Now the city is a grave of the infested. But they remain.”

“Dead gods. Dead gods. Two more? Two more?”

Ceria shook, but clung to Calruz. His chest rumbled as he spoke.

“One more. And the Raskghar know it. I have seen him before. Snatcher.”

“Where?”

“The labyrinth. That is his home. The Raskghar call him—it—Facestealer. He is dangerous. Deadly. They have been unable to kill him. I have tried, but to no avail.”

That was the thing the Redfang Goblins mentioned. It had to be. Ceria looked around, terrified.

“Is he—do you think he’s—”

Calruz shook his head.

“No. He doesn’t enter the city. There’s nothing for him here. The infested and enchanted suits of armor don’t interest him, I think. He takes heads. And I know that the guardian of this place is gone.”

“How?”

For the first time, Calruz laughed. Ceria stared up at him in shock. The Minotaur shook his head. He pointed to the base of the monolith.

“Look.”

It took Ceria several heart pounding seconds to understand what he meant. At first, it looked like nothing was there. Just the spiral pattern of tiles. Only when she realized that the spiral was wrong, that the tiles didn’t match up, did she realize there was something there.

“What is—”

“Come. There isn’t any danger.”

Calruz led Ceria forwards. She walked hesitantly, and then stopped.

Something was curled around the base of the monolith. Something large. It was so large in fact, that Ceria had to halt ten feet away or touch the body. But she could barely see it. It was camouflaged so perfectly against the tiles that even when Calruz reached down and touched it, she could barely tell it was there. Calruz pointed at the silent shape.

“Behold. Stalker.”

Ceria scrambled back. She raised her wand, and then froze as she made out the final, crucial detail of the body. Stalker was curled around the monolith, a vast shape, hidden from view. But she could make out enough the more she looked to realize something important. Stalker was dead.

Something had torn its head off. And as Calruz looked at Ceria, she figured it out.

“Facestealer?”

He nodded.

“I don’t know what happened. Perhaps they turned on each other. But at some point, Snatcher killed Stalker. And now it lurks in the labyrinth, preying on all those it encounters. Of the three, I think it is the most deadly. Skinner was fear. But Snatch is paralysis. You cannot approach it without falling to the ground. Helpless. And its body can resist enchanted arrows. It collects heads. Puts them on sticks.”

Ceria stared at Calruz, aghast. Snatcher sounded like something right out of nightmares. Even adventurer’s horror stories didn’t come close. She looked at the Raskghar. They were keeping well clear of the monolith.

“How did the Raskghar survive down here with it all this time?”

“They breed faster than it can kill. And there are many monsters with heads for Snatcher to take.”

Calruz’s lip twisted. He turned, then turned back and kicked Stalker’s body. Ceria shuddered as the near-invisible body moved. The Minotaur looked at her challenging.

“Do you fear it, even in death?”

The half-Elf nearly said ‘yes’, but then she recovered a bit.

“I fear whatever’s on your foot now. Haven’t you heard of monsters with acid for skin, you rookie? Poke it with a stick if you have to show off.”

Calruz bared his teeth at Ceria. She tried to smile, and then whirled. Another scream. Calruz grunted.

“We’re out of time. We’ll reach a higher vantage point so I can show you the end. Then we leave. Raskghar!”

He led them out of the plaza. Ceria ran with him, almost relieved to be fighting. The infested were real, but she didn’t want to stand near the monolith. Or think about Snatcher.

They paused one final time on the walls of the city. The infested were coming in a huge wave. Calruz ordered the Raskghar to fight for a few precious seconds and pointed.

“There! You see it!”

Ceria squinted past the streets full of infested rushing at her. She saw the rooftops of houses, tall buildings, and then—blackness. She blinked.

“Is that a…hole?”

“Yes! Move!”

Calruz roared and the Raskghar fell back. He and Ceria raced down the walls as the infested pursued them. They raced towards the metal doors in full retreat, pausing only to cut down the nearest infested twice. When they reached the doors, Calruz shouted. The last Raskghar leapt through, crashing down the stairs while two slammed the metal doors shut.

They’d trapped two Raskghar. The beast people were too slow. Ceria heard them howling in fear and pounding on the doors. Then she heard screams. She backed away as the Raskghar braced themselves. The Raskghar fought until the end, and then there was tearing. Silence.

The Raskghar and Calruz stared at the door. Then the Minotaur nodded. The Raskghar backed away and began tending to their wounds. Ceria wasn’t sure that was safe.

“If they open the doors—”

“They won’t. We’ve fought the infested before. The armor patrols will pursue, but the infested won’t. They go a little ways into the dungeon at most, but then they retreat. And close the doors. I told you, they guard the dungeon.”

He turned his back on the doors. Ceria looked at them uneasily, but the Raskghar were already moving. They headed back towards their camp. Their numbers had been depleted, but they’d eradicated thousands of the infested. Which was part of Calruz’s plan.

“The infested don’t regenerate. They survive terrible injuries, but their numbers are finite. They’re too deadly a foe to face without a vast force—you saw how close we came even with your help. And they react to larger forces entering the city, especially if they stay longer. If I take a thousand Raskghar, ten thousand infested attack. But a small force like this can do great damage, especially on the full moon.”

“How many times have you done this?”

Calruz grinned, his yellowed teeth flashing.

“Many times. And there are less of the infested than before. The Raskghar would never dream of this kind of battle—there’s nothing for them in there. They won’t eat the infested. Even the Cave Goblins won’t. But I see the advantages of a city that can be fortified. And you saw it.”

“A hole. In the center of the city. What was that?”

“I’ve only seen it up close once. It’s a vast hole. It goes down…I can’t say how far. But it’s wide. Half a mile across if I’m a judge. I’m certain that the infested guard it—they cluster around it most of the time which is why they don’t react to us at the edge of the city at first. And in that hole is the center of the dungeon. The Mother of Graves and the dungeon’s treasure, if it exists, lies down there.”

Ceria shivered. The sound of it! She had no idea the dungeon was this large! But to hear Calruz say it like that—

“You’re this close?”

“With the Raskghar, I am. I just need to clear out the infested so we can descend. And as I’ve said, it’s doable.”

Ceria nodded. Her mind was racing in the absence of fear or danger. She looked back at the distant metal doors as an adventurer.

“It’s a war of attrition. If you don’t lose any Raskghar to the infested, or if you kill more than you lose—”

“I win. The infested don’t come back. There are no traps. It is just a battle against them. A fight. An honest one!”

The Minotaur brandished his axe. He’d cut down hundreds of infested himself. He was faster than he had been before the crypt. Stronger too, despite his missing arm. Ceria stared at Calruz. The numb shock in her body faded a bit. Something like amusement tickled her fancy. She felt her lips quirk into a smile.

“Congratulations, Calruz. You’ve finally found a dungeon made just for you.”

The Minotaur blinked.

“I have, haven’t I?”

The two of them looked back at the doors. Calruz whispered.

“It’s right there. I could run forwards and fall into that pit. But I don’t know what lurks beneath. I’m certain that is the heart of the dungeon. And I have been clearing the infested skirmish after skirmish. There are so many of them. And the enchanted armor. But once they’re gone, the city is open. And I will be the one to throw a rope down into that abyss and descend.”

“The dungeon. This one’s so much bigger than we ever imagined. We thought it might be big. We were prepared for multiple levels. Eight floors, even. But I never imagined…”

Calruz nodded. He and Ceria stood together. The Minotaur clenched his hand.

“This dungeon is on another scale entirely. I’ve seen the old dungeons near First Landing, the ones already conquered. Even the magic dungeons don’t come close to this. This—this is on the level of the dungeon Niers Astoragon conquered before he founded the Forgotten Wing Company. This is a dungeon worthy of a Named Adventurer—no, one that makes a Named Adventurer. And vengeance dungeon or not, I’m certain they would have hidden their greatest treasure with this boss monster. The Mother of Graves. The Raskghar have plundered the city and the dungeon and come away with artifacts worthy of any Gold-rank adventurer. This axe alone would make me Gold-rank.”

He pointed to his axe. Ceria stared at it. She remembered how it had grown and thought of the other Raskghar that had magical artifacts. The one with the invisible bow, the warded armor…and she’d seen more Raskghar with similar weapons.

“You have an army. And they know the dungeon.”

“Precisely. I could take ten Gold-rank teams and perhaps not do as much. There are thousands of Raskghar and Cave Goblins. This was just a trial of your abilities. With the awakened Raskghar, the ones who perform the ritual, and with Cave Goblins, we could eliminate the infested within a month. And then—”

And then that abyss awaited. Ceria’s heart pounded in her chest. Anticipation, excitement, fear, dread—it all mixed together. It was a rush, the indescribable feeling of being alive that made her keep adventuring despite it all. She looked up at Calruz, unable to stand still. She saw the same burning passion in his eyes.

This was an adventure! This was a challenge! Ceria grinned at Calruz. They could do it! They could really do it! She reached out—

And then she’d remembered what he’d done. Her smile vanished. Ceria let her arm drop. Calruz saw Ceria’s expression change. His softened expression hardened and he turned.

“Follow.”

—-

Mrsha the Great and Terrible sat in her cage. She felt the cold, hard, painful shackles on her paws. She saw the cage, the bars of wood and hide. She smelled the fear in the air, the blood. She saw the Raskghar pacing back and forth, some training with weapons, others bullying the Cave Goblins. She looked at the other cages full of Gnolls and saw the fear in their eyes, the terror.

Mrsha peed a little. She couldn’t help it. There were no bathrooms here and the Raskghar didn’t let the Gnolls out. She shifted uncomfortably, but she couldn’t help it. She’d already done the very bad in the corner of her cage, and she knew the other Gnolls had done the same by the smell.

That didn’t bother her. It might have bothered Erin or Lyonette or Selys, but when you were a Gnoll, you could smell the outhouse even when you weren’t sitting in it. So long as there were other smells, it wasn’t too bad. Actually, it was sort of interesting because if you were really good, you could tell who ate what and who’d pooed last. Mrsha had a great nose.

…But this wasn’t the time for that. Mrsha could smell the fear on the air, a sharp, urgent smell. That made her feel very scared. It came from the Gnolls. And the Cave Goblins. The Raskghar didn’t smell of fear. They smelled of death and blood. Mrsha didn’t like them. She wasn’t afraid—but she peed a bit more when one of them looked at her.

The Gnolls were talking. That was all that had happened. Mrsha didn’t know how long she’d been down here, not exactly, but she remembered waking up. And then being very scared and trying to get loose, and then she’d seen Ceria and thought everything would be well! But it hadn’t. The bad Minotaur had pointed at the cages and then—and then—

And then the horrible thing had happened. Mrsha still remembered the Gnoll screaming as the Raskghar tore out his heart. She shook wildly and tried to breathe. Don’t think about it. Don’t think. Something had happened, and then Mrsha had been too scared to sleep. But she must have, because the next thing she remembered was a bunch of Cave Goblins lifting her cage and the Raskghar grabbing Gnolls and dragging them through the dungeon.

That had been scary too. But almost fun. Almost. And then the Raskghar had come to this new room, which smelled like they’d been here before. Ceria had come back with a horrible monster that the Raskghar killed and talked about ‘invisible monsters’. She’d said a lot of things, but none of it made sense to Mrsha. Why wasn’t she saving everyone? She was an adventurer. But there were a lot of Raskghar. And the Minotaur was very scary.

And now the Gnolls were talking. They’d been silent ever since the first time they’d woken up. The beating from the Raskghar had broken bones. And after the ritual they’d been terrified. But even that terror couldn’t make them sit in silence forever. Now they were growling softly to each other, talking almost inaudibly.

That was necessary, Mrsha knew. If the Gnolls made anything approaching loud sounds, one of the Raskghar would strike the cages or throw something at the prisoners. Anything after that would earn a savage beating. But since Gnoll ears and Raskghar ears were equally good, the Gnolls could still have a quiet conversation without alerting their captors. And since Mrsha’s ears were even better than normal Gnoll ears, she could hear too. She was young. Plus, she was a tribal Gnoll, not a silly city Gnoll like Miss Krshia and the others. She heard everything clearly.

It was the old Gnoll, the one who’d called her ‘Doombringer’ who was speaking. He was the oldest of the Gnolls held captive, or nearly. And he was the most important. The others deferred to him. His name was Elirr. He spoke, a bruise puffing up one eye as the others, adults, a few children, turned to him.

“In the past, it was said that we were enemies of the Raskghar. It was said that in the time underneath the earth, they broke away from our kind. That they became beasts, unthinking, and hunted us. We thought it was for sport, but the old legends were incomplete. It is clear they performed these rituals and gained…strength from them.”

Some of the other Gnolls nodded. The children tried to hug the adults, but they were shackled. It was very painful. Mrsha had seen the adults try to break the metal shackles, but they had been taken from dead [Guardspeople] and the metal was sturdy. The Raskghar had the keys.

“But how?”

One of the Gnolls whined softly. She was afraid. The Gnolls around her growled softly and her whine lowered before it could disturb the Raskghar. Elirr shook his head.

“It may be a thing of classes and Skills. Or not. The Book of Levels does not mention such things. But I know there is magic of blood, yes. And worse things. Things Gnolls have forbidden as the worst of deeds. Perhaps the Raskghar found such secrets in the darkness. All we can hope is that Ceria Springwalker convinces this Minotaur to release us.”

“How? You saw her. She bows to him. She submits! And he is mad. Clearly mad!”

“Hush. I know. But she is our only chance. You heard what he said. The Gold-rank adventurers cannot reach us. And we have moved camps. Even the Antinium could not best this dungeon. What other chance is there?”

The other Gnolls fell silent. They were afraid. Mrsha could smell it on them. On Elirr, for all he tried to project authority. That was the problem with Gnolls. They could smell your fear, so how could you lead them?

By showing them fear is conquerable. By being brave despite fear. That is what inspires.

Mrsha heard the voice in her head. For a second she couldn’t place it. And then she remembered. Urksh had said that. He had been a good [Chieftain]. Better than Elirr. Better than Krshia. She missed him so much. She cried when she thought of him, but she didn’t cry now. She had to be brave.

But then one of the Gnolls looked at her. Mrsha flinched. It was the female Gnoll, the one who’d whined. She stared at Mrsha and raised her voice.

“What about her? This is all her fault!”

She pointed. The Gnolls looked as one. Mrsha flinched. The brown eyes staring at her found her white fur. And she heard the murmurs.

“Cursed one.”

“White fur.”

“Doombringer.”

One of the Gnolls, a young male, glared at Mrsha. He bared his teeth and she shrank against the far wall of her cell.

“She did this. She brought this disaster upon our people! We should have killed her when Brunkr came! We should never have let her in the city, driven her away! Look what has happened!”

“Vakk, enough.”

Elirr raised his voice. Not to denounce Vakk, but to calm him so the Raskghar didn’t come over. One was looking their way, and the Gnolls had seen how the Raskghar liked to torment the Cave Goblins when they were bored. Vakk lowered his voice, but his growl was still menacing as he stared at Mrsha.

“She is cursed! Just like the legends say! I did not believe it, but look at the misfortune that has struck Liscor! Honored Krshia’s shop—the Face-Eater Moths, the Goblin Lord—”

“Not all that is her fault.”

Another Gnoll spoke up. Mrsha’s ears perked up hopefully, but the Gnoll did not look at her. Vakk growled.

“Too much has happened since she came! Too much! Brunkr warned us. He told us to kill her. We should have listened. He was raised in the Silverfang tribe! He knew the truth!”

“But he changed his mind. And Honored Krshia told us he was wrong.”

“Yes. And look what happened to Brunkr. He was killed by a traitor. And Krshia lost her shop. She nearly lost our great contribution to the meeting of tribes!”

“We gained something of greater value—”

“Enough!”

Elirr’s sharp voice was a whisper, but it quieted the other Gnolls. He looked towards Mrsha and shook his head.

“I do not know enough of the old legends. Yes, rumor says the cursed white fur is the death of tribes, but is it the cause? Krshia did not think so. And I do not know. That it is a sign I will not argue. But perhaps this doom was inevitable and the child was a herald of it. I do not think she caused it.”

“But would her death stop it? And why do the Raskghar value her?”

The other Gnolls went silent. Mrsha trembled. She wanted to cry. But Mrsha the Brave wouldn’t cry.

“Even if she were to die, we would be here.”

Vakk slumped against the side of his cage. The Gnolls looked at each other, despairing. But then Vakk raised his head. He looked at Mrsha, his eyes burning.

“But if she is disaster, let it not be for just us. Doombringer, bring doom on the Raskghar.”

He rose. Elirr tried to grab him, but Vakk twisted away. He stood clumsily, his paws were shackled, but he fell forwards and grabbed the bars of the cage. He stared at Mrsha. And now his voice was loud.

“Do it. Let it be an end to all of us! Gnolls, the cursed Raskghar! Bring death, Doombringer! Use your power and destroy these ancient monsters! Do it!”

He shouted at Mrsha. The Raskghar turned. One of them shouted something. Vakk didn’t listen. He pounded on the cage.

“Don’t just sit there! Do something! Anything!”

“Vakk! Enough! She is a child!”

Elirr barked at the Gnoll. He managed to get up. He grabbed the young Gnoll, but Vakk threw him off. He began to howl, in desperation. Some of the other Gnolls took it up.

“Quiet!”

The older Gnoll ordered desperately, but it was too late. The Raskghar howled in return. They bounded to the cages and opened them. The Gnolls stopped howling as the Raskghar entered and began beating them. Vakk got the worst of it. By the time the Raskghar left, his face was a bloody mess. The Gnolls lay, moaning, weeping. Mrsha hadn’t been touched. She saw them stare at her and heard the same whisper.

“Doombringer.”

Mrsha wished she could tear her fur off her body. She wished she could speak. It wasn’t her fault! She wanted to scream it. But a part of her wondered if it was. And was afraid.

There was no more talk after that. The Gnolls huddled together. The children clung to the adults. One was so young he tried to nurse. The female Gnoll in the cage with him wasn’t pregnant, but she let him try. Mrsha sat, listening to it all. Then she smelled it. Her head turned a good few seconds before the others looked up. The Raskghar sprang to their feet.

Ceria was back. So was Calruz. The Raskghar with him returned, wounded, smelling of—of other things. Sweat. Death. Blood. And something else. A new place. The Minotaur smelled triumphant. Mrsha hid in her cell as he walked into the camp, laughing, in a good mood.

She didn’t trust it. His mood, that was. The Minotaur—his name was Calruz?—scared her. Mrsha could smell his good nature, see it on his face. But she knew it would change in the blink of an eye.

Bad mood. Good mood. Mrsha wanted to scrub her nose each time he passed. There was something wrong about the Minotaur. Something that made her hair stand on end. Sometimes he would be normal. He would speak to Ceria like a person and act like an adult, like a Chieftain and make the Raskghar scurry around efficiently. But then his scent would change.

It was the faintest of things. Something Mrsha could smell and know, but not focus on. It was so faint, so infinitesimal a change that even her keen nose could barely detect it. But she knew it had happened because then Calruz would go crazy.

The other Gnolls couldn’t smell what Mrsha did. The adults had weaker noses and the children were city Gnolls. They didn’t have the practice Mrsha had growing up, smelling squirrels and rodents beneath the earth, or scenting rain in the air.

Not even the Raskghar could smell it. Mrsha could. So she stayed back from Calruz, wondering when his mood would change and the smell would become terrible. He scared her. But the Raskghar scared her more.

“Chieftain.”

One of them came forwards. She was large. Her eyes shone. The Gnolls froze when she passed them. Mrsha thought her heart would explode or stop. She was the one. She had performed the ritual.

She was an awakened Raskghar. That was what they had called themselves. The Raskghar bowed to Calruz, pretending to be subservient, but the Gnolls and other Raskghar watched her. She was different. Special. She was like Krshia. A leader of the pack.

Gnolls were matriarchal. Usually. They respected good leadership over tradition, which is why Urksh had been a leader and why they looked to Elirr now. But the Raskghar were very traditional. And she had performed the ritual.

“I am stronger, Chieftain. Stronger. Smarter. Faster. I hunger for battle. I will be your greatest warrior. I already speak language. And I offer you this.”

The Raskghar had gone hunting. She presented Calruz with the head of something. The other Raskghar who’d gone with her had to drag it forwards. It was huge. The Minotaur inhaled sharply. He moved to one side and Mrsha saw—her hair stood on end.

“A Face-Eater Moth. Tree rot. That’s—is that from a mother?”

The head was nearly as tall as Ceria. It had come from one of the giant Face-Eater Moths, one of the ones who’d crawled out of the dungeon. Mrsha stared at the female Raskghar. She had killed that? By herself?

“You slew it by yourself?”

“Leading sixteen others. Yes, Chieftain. And I located a treasure site. One that may be opened. I puzzled over the solution. I would show you. But I am one. More rituals will mean more awakened Raskghar. More of us.”

She drew closer, touching Calruz. Mrsha knew she was flirting. The Minotaur growled and pushed her back. But then his gaze turned to the Gnolls. And Mrsha was afraid.

“Calruz, you can’t. You don’t need more Raskghar. You need…hostages. We fought in the city just fine. But the Gold-rank adventurers will keep coming so long as the Gnolls are here. If you let them go, or you could strike a deal. Negotiate for items. Potions.”

Ceria’s voice was high-pitched, desperate. She hovered around Calruz, looking afraid. Smaller. The Minotaur glanced at her.

“That is true. But I told you not to argue with me.”

“I’m just—”

Calruz brushed her off. He strode towards the cages. The Gnolls looked up at him. Calruz looked from face to face.

“Who leads you?”

“I do.”

Elirr sat up. He was bleeding from a cut on his mouth in addition to his black eye. Calruz frowned.

“Why were the Gnolls beaten?”

“They began howling. They had to be silenced.”

“Hmf.”

Calruz stared at Elirr. The Gnoll met his gaze, but Mrsha saw his hands clenching. He wavered, and he looked away. Calruz snorted. Elirr spoke hoarsely.

“You are making a mistake. We are citizens of Liscor. The Watch will not rest until we are freed. Nor will the adventurers. And the Drake cities know of the dungeon. You will never be safe if we are killed.”

“Are you trying to threaten me?”

There was a dangerous note in the Minotaur’s voice. Elirr tried to look at him, but the Minotaur was too scary. Mrsha tried to cover her eyes and peek at the same time.

“No. No. But I ask—we beg you for mercy. We will pay any ransom.”

“My goal is the dungeon’s treasure itself. No one city could afford what I seek to find. As for mercy—I have promised Ceria to let some of you go if she obeys me. I keep my word.”

Elirr looked up hopefully. Instantly, the female Raskghar protested.

“Chieftain. The Gnolls are needed. For ritual.”

“Not all of them.”

“All! We must have them. You must—”

“Must?”

Calruz spun. His hand shot out. He was fast. The female Raskghar tried to dodge, but Calruz’s hand was at her throat. She struggled—and then stopped as his hand tightened on her windpipe. The other Raskghar stirred. Mrsha was glad to see they were afraid, even if it was of Calruz. His arm flexed as he drew the female Raskghar closer.

“You speak as if you were Chieftain. But you are not. You are weaker than I am, even with the ritual. Or do you challenge me?”

“No, Chieftain.”

The female Raskghar lowered her ears and head. She submitted and hunched, lowering herself as he let her go. Calruz turned.

“So. My order stands. Not all of the Gnolls will be sacrificed. How many depends on Ceria. I have a mind to spare whomever she picks. And the white one.”

“No. Not that one! She is special!”

Another Raskghar protested in a guttural voice. Quick as a flash, Calruz turned. He backhanded the Raskghar so hard that the beast man lost a tooth. A spray of blood flew—the Raskghar fell.

“Silence!”

There was. Calruz looked at Mrsha. She tried to back into a corner of her cell and landed on her poo as he bent down.

“You. Ceria tells me that Ryoka knows you. And Erin. Why are you special?”

Mrsha quivered. Calruz glared at her. His eyes turned red.

“Answer me!”

She opened her mouth desperately, tried to point at it. The Minotaur grew angrier. He opened his mouth and his hand cracked as it dug into the top of her cage.

“Calruz, stop!”

To Mrsha’s relief, Ceria pushed forwards. She grabbed the Minotaur. Though she couldn’t pull him back, she spoke urgently and quickly.

“She’s mute. She can’t speak.”

“Mute?”

The Minotaur straightened. He looked suspiciously at Mrsha. Ceria nodded.

“She’s been mute since birth. Ryoka befriended her, like I told you. Her fur’s white—that’s probably why the Raskghar think she’s special. But she doesn’t have any powers.”

“I see. Do you think she’s special?”

Calruz glanced at the female Raskghar. Her eyes turned towards Mrsha. The little Gnoll cub flinched.

“Oh yes, Chieftain. White fur is special.”

“Why?”

The Raskghar hesitated. She looked uncertain.

“We…do not know. But we feel it. We know it. Here.”

She pointed to her chest. Calruz grunted. He looked at Elirr.

“You. Do you know why the Raskghar think she’s special? What does white fur mean among Gnolls?”

Elirr hesitated. The old Gnoll glanced at Mrsha and at Calruz. He opened his mouth. The Minotaur cut him off.

“If you lie, I will sacrifice half of the Gnolls here.”

The Gnoll bowed his head. Mrsha stared at him in terror.

“She is cursed. According to the legends of my tribe, those with white fur appear after disaster. Or before it. They may cause disaster or warn of it, but disaster comes either way. They are shunned. I thought it legend myself, but…”

Elirr glanced despairingly at Mrsha and said no more. Calruz straightened.

“So. There is some truth to these legends.”

“It’s all superstition. Come on, Calruz. You don’t believe in that. And Mrsha matters to Erin. To Ryoka.”

“Ryoka.”

The Minotaur paused. A wistful expression passed over his face. He looked at Ceria, at Mrsha, and shook his head.

“I will…deliberate. I will make my decision later. Tonight, before we eat. I will not hear any more arguments.”

“I—”

Ceria opened her mouth. Calruz turned and she froze. He turned away and strode towards the curtain that had been set up at the far end of the room. He disappeared behind it. The other Raskghar backed away too, staring at Mrsha and the Gnolls. That left just Ceria. The half-Elf hesitated, and then bent down.

“It’ll be alright, Mrsha. I’ll figure something out. You’ll be okay. You…and the others.”

She tried to smile. Mrsha stared at her with wide eyes. She might have been young, but even Mrsha knew that Ceria was lying.

That was what adults did. They lied. But Mrsha clung to the lie. She sat in her cage as the Raskghar got back to work. A Cave Goblin scurried by. He picked up the Raskghar’s tooth and checked Mrsha’s cage for damage. Then he brought food for the Gnolls with the other Cave Goblins.

It was monster meat. Cooked over a fire, but monster. Mrsha knew it was part of the maggot. She heard the Gnolls crying out in disgust, but that was all the food that was offered. The water tasted of blood. Mrsha tried to eat and drink, but her stomach roiled. She bit the meat, gagged, and curled up.

She missed Erin’s cooking. She missed Lyonette and Apista and hot food! Mrsha did not cry. She would not cry. She waited until the Cave Goblin took the food away and then as more time passed. And then she heard arguing.

“Chieftain! Please! Gnolls are important. Must use in ritual. Must—”

There was a crack and a howl of agony. Calruz appeared, striking a Raskghar with his fist. The warrior—not the awakened one, another female—retreated. The Minotaur battered her to the ground and kicked her repeatedly.

“I will not be argued with! The Gnolls are mine! Mine! I am the Chieftain! I give the orders. There will be no sacrifices! Not now! And if I demand it, not ever! I will release some of them. Parlay. I want potions. And equipment!”

“You could get fresh water. Maybe a way to remove the blindness curse?”

Ceria hovered around Calruz, looking visibly delighted. The Minotaur turned and nodded.

“Yes. That’s right. We could do that! I could release the Gnolls, order the adventurers to halt the incursions into the dungeon in exchange for a few—or even assault the city. Yes.”

Mrsha sat up hopefully. Her tail began to wag. The Gnolls looked at each other in disbelief as Calruz strode over to the cages. He looked down at Elirr.

“You. If I send a message with your people, will Liscor hear it?”

“Yes. I swear it. We will bear any message you send.”

Elirr looked hopefully at Ceria, who was nodding. The Raskghar were unhappy. They growled, but as soon as Calruz turned they went still. They were more afraid of him than anything. Even the ritual couldn’t make them rebel. Mrsha felt hope.

“We will send one…no, two tomorrow. Two, yes. The Cave Goblins can escort them to the entrance. Make sure they make it to the surface. Or let the Gold-rank adventurers find them. They will make it clear that I am in charge and—and present them a list of my demands.”

“I can help with that. I’ll write the letter, add in whatever details you want. This is the right move, Calruz.”

Ceria smiled, clearly flattering the Minotaur. He stood straighter.

“Of course. I need penmanship. And paper! The Raskghar barely have parchment—I—I should address the Council. And the Gold-ranks. I’m…I should be—”

Mrsha smelled the confusion and madness in him. The Minotaur touched a hand to his head. But for once the madness was working against the Raskghar. He turned to Ceria.

“What should I do? You know them best. What is the best way to convince them of my sincerity?”

He trusted her. Mrsha could smell that too. Ceria smiled.

“Let’s find paper first. Do you have a quill and ink?”

“Yes. You there—bring me—”

The Minotaur strode away. The Gnolls glanced at each other, their eyes perking up. Freedom! Hope was a dizzying rush in Mrsha’s chest. She saw the Raskghar glancing at each other in frustration. The Cave Goblins scurried around, not paying attention to anything.

Ceria and Calruz stood together, talking over the details of his ransom note. The Gnolls and Mrsha listened, hearing Ceria manage Calruz’s madness and his twists of mood. He trusted her, ignoring the Raskghar, lashing out at them when they tried to whine. Mrsha was happy. Even though her belly rumbled loudly and her butt smelled like poo, she felt safer.

Freedom! Maybe she would be one of the Gnolls chosen to leave tomorrow? Probably not. But Erin would do everything to get her back. And so would Lyonette. And Jelaqua, and Halrac, and Selys…

It was hard to tell when it was night in the dungeon. Especially since the Raskghar and Cave Goblins worked in shifts at all hours. But the Gnolls, accustomed to the day and night cycle, felt themselves tiring and began to drift off. Mrsha found herself yawning despite all the excitement in her. She tried to be more comfortable in her cell with the painful shackles—which might come off soon—and saw that most of the Raskghar were getting ready to sleep. Ceria slept in a separate spot behind some curtains, and Calruz went to his bed too.

The room quieted. Mrsha began drifting off, although she kept waking up every time a Cave Goblin pattered by. She turned, shifting a rock out of the way and smelled poo and pee. She turned onto her side the other way and sighed. She felt her thoughts haze—

And then she heard a howl. It was loud, echoing, a note of pure terror from the Raskghar. Instantly, Mrsha shot up. She saw the Gnolls and Raskghar wake immediately and the Raskghar grab weapons. Mrsha saw them look around, trying to place the call, and then felt a whumph.

It wasn’t a loud sound, but a deep one. It went through the ground of the dungeon, through Mrsha’s bones. It was the sound of some incredible impact or explosion. Mrsha’s ears rang and she saw the Raskghar running in a haze of silence. She saw them howling at each other, using sign, language, pointing, rushing past her. Then she saw Calruz emerge, axe in his one hand. Ceria ran out, wand at the ready. He pointed and roared.

A bit of hearing returned. Mrsha heard confused voices.

“—where—ready—did you—attack!”

Calruz pointed. The Raskghar moved, howling. Ceria backed up as Calruz turned on her. She raised her flesh and skeletal hands, her eyes wide. Mrsha tried to hear. It was one voice out of all the shouts and now, the distant sounds of fighting. Calruz was bellowing.

“Did you do this? Was this your plan?”

“No! I don’t even know what’s going on! What’s happening? Who’s attacking?”

“The adventurers! They’re attacking! They’ve found the camp! They found their way here! Without alerting my sentries! How? How?”

“I don’t know! I don’t! Calruz—”

He raised his axe. Ceria raised her hands, frost shimmering in the air between them. Calruz paused for one terrible moment and whirled.

“Defend the camp! Begin retreating! Send the Goblins forward! You! Grab the prisoners! Take them away! Now!”

He roared and the Raskghar moved. They sprang forwards, hundreds of them, running towards the fighting. So many. Mrsha had seen the adventurers. There weren’t enough! And then she saw the Raskghar running towards the cages. The Gnolls tried to fight, but the Raskghar clubbed them and lifted the prisoners onto their shoulders. They ran towards the other side of the room, out the exit the adventurers were not besieging.

“Calruz! Stop! This is a mistake! Don’t! Try to negotiate! Please—”

Ceria tried to grab Calruz’s arm, but he turned. His eyes were red. Fury burned in them. And madness. He struck Ceria with the handle of his axe and she fell. Calruz pointed and roared and charged out of Mrsha’s view. The white Gnoll sat in her cell, wide-eyed. She saw the Raskghar coming towards her and tried to back away. But she couldn’t. And as the Raskghar lifted her cell, she heard Ceria whisper. A single sound amid it all.

“No. Please—”

It was a heartbroken voice. A pained one. It sounded to Mrsha like desperation, shock, incredulity and sadness and grief. It sounded like failure.

It sounded like despair.

5.43

The Cave Goblins fled as the adventurers attacked. The tunnels and passages of the dungeon echoed with shouts and screams and the reverberations of battle. Fire lit up one passage and the Cave Goblins heard Raskghar scream. They ran as the Gold-rank adventurers pressed in, fighting the Raskghar as they poured out of their lair by the hundreds.

Some of the Goblins fought. They ran alongside their masters, bearing the crudest of weapons or fighting unarmed. They died with the rest as [Fireballs] blew them apart, or a shining comet made of light blasted forwards, eradicating everything in its path. At best, their loyalty was not rewarded; the Raskghar used the Goblins as shields, letting the adventurers cut them down while they skirmished with the Drakes, Gnolls, Humans, and other species.

So most of the Goblins ran. They had been warned. And while their subservient relationship with the Raskghar might have made them fight in other times, it did not now. Because a rumor had begun running through the Cave Goblins in the dungeon. A rumor from others of a place where there was food and no pain. Safety, from the whims of the Raskghar and monsters alike.

Of course, even that wouldn’t have made the Cave Goblins leave normally. The Raskghar would just hunt them down. But there was something else. Talk of masters who were better than the Raskghar. A word, long forgotten, that made something in Cave Goblins pause.

Hobgoblin.

Many ran. Some stayed. Others would return, finding their way to the Raskghar camp where it resettled. It wasn’t of concern to the Raskghar. Or the adventurers, so long as the Goblins weren’t in their way. They warred in the dungeon, fighting to reach the Gnolls held captive.

They failed again.

—-

At first it was simple. Textbook. The adventurers moved forwards in stealth, following the painstaking route they’d been given. Traps had been clearly marked out, and the monsters they ran across were silenced by advanced teams like Griffon Hunt. They were aware the Raskghar camp had two entrances and had divided themselves into two groups. The first would strike hard while the other would use spells and traps to keep the Raskghar from retreating. It was at the crucial juncture when they were moving into place for the attack that they were sighted.

“Dragons damn it!”

One of the Gnolls cursed as the Gold-ranks in position for the frontal assault heard a Raskghar howl. It was pure panic and it had come from one of the tunnels adjacent to the one they were waiting in. They heard the thump of a spell and saw a fireball explode ahead of them.

“We said to let the other teams get in position. There’s been no signal!”

“Too late! Someone was spotted! Go, go, go! Get the prisoners! Stick to the plan!”

The Gold-ranks ran forwards, abandoning the concealment of spells and shadows. They charged towards the entrance of the Raskghar camp; a passage which would allow six Raskghar to enter abreast if they squeezed together. The Raskghar were already pouring out.

“Flamewardens! Blast them clear!”

The first volley of flames made half the adventurers near the doors duck back. Dozens of Raskghar burned and the ones behind fled or fell to the ground, screaming. But hundreds more were running forwards. And by this time they’d closed with the adventurers in front.

Halrac and his team were part of the group fighting at the front of the camp. So were the Silver Swords. The Halfseekers had joined the team circling the Raskghar camp. From her position at the back of the line with the [Mages], Revi could hear confused shouts. She aimed her wand, trying to find a target in the darkness, but the flashes of light and melee made her hesitate. Her summoned archers had no such problems—they shot unerringly at the Raskghar. But there were too many. And the adventurers were in the wrong position.

“Fall back! Use area of effect spells!”

“No, push forwards! Hit the Raskghar coming out of the camp!”

“There’s too many! We need a better angle! We—incoming!”

Revi felt the impact, but a [Mage] had thrown up a shield spell just in time. She saw the air in the dungeon move as a Raskghar with a staff sent a blast of pure air forwards. The impact sent both adventurers and Raskghar flying and knocked others to their knees. Revi shot bolts of her light from her wand, covering the stunned adventurers. And then she saw the Raskghar in armor.

She knew him. The Raskghar’s artifact deployed a barrier of magic which deflected every spell the adventurers sent at it. And behind him were Raskghar armed with other artifacts. An enchanted sword that spat bright energy every time it connected with something. A Raskghar armed with a shield with a mouth that bit, a blood-red dagger that constantly bled from the edge of the blade.

The Gold-ranks found themselves stalled. They tried to press forwards, but only a few had the armor to risk being surrounded by Raskghar on all sides. And even they had to fear the Raskghar with enchanted weapons. More than that, the Raskghar were holding the narrow choke point and the spells and arrows the [Mages] and [Archers] shot at them were being blocked.

And then she appeared. A Raskghar taller and bigger than the others. One who moved quicker, and with a clarity that the other Raskghar lacked, even during the full moon. She leapt forwards and bore a Gold-rank adventurer to the ground. Quick as a flash, she slashed his throat with a glowing yellow blade and leapt back as the adventurers tried to kill her. She disappeared behind her kin, who died as the adventurers roared in outrage. But her presence changed the Raskghar. They howled and surged forwards.

“Fall back! Draw them out!”

The adventurers moved backwards, holding the Raskghar back as their battle line crumpled. They weren’t losing—the Raskghar were dying by the dozens with every minute while only one adventurer had fallen—but they could not progress. And then Revi heard another howl. The Raskghar looked up and fled.

Not back towards the camp, but down the tunnels, away from the adventurers. In every direction. Some of the adventuring teams went to pursue, but their captains ordered them back. The Gold-ranks pressed into the Raskghar camp, hoping—

But it was too late. The Gnolls and Raskghar were gone. Out the back exit. And it was only minutes later that the second group of Gold-ranks appeared, battered and exhausted and said the obvious.

“We couldn’t stop them. We weren’t in position. Why the hell did you attack before we were ready?”

Jelaqua strode up to Keldrass, her armor still ablaze with magical fire. She looked ready to kill the bigger Drake. Keldrass coughed a bit of smoke and growled.

“We didn’t! One of our teams was seen. Did you see the Gnolls? Which way did they go?”

“There was no way of telling. We didn’t even catch a glimpse of the prisoners.”

Seborn appeared at Jelaqua’s back. His daggers were bloody and he shook his head.

“They got away.”

“We can chase them—”

“No. We failed.”

The other Gold-rank captains came over. Halrac was the one who uttered that harsh truth. The others looked at him. The former [Soldier]’s face was hard, cold. He gripped his bow with white knuckles.

“We’re too far in. We chase and die. This was our chance and we failed. Got it? We’re pulling out.”

No one argued. Halrac looked around.

“Where’s Pisces?”

“There. Pisces!”

A few Silver-rank teams had been allowed to join the group that would have cut the Raskghar off. Pisces appeared, his face white with emotion. He opened his mouth and Halrac cut him off.

“We’re leaving. Get the door ready. Otherwise monsters will be all over our position.”

“But—”

Yvlon and Ksmvr looked shocked. Halrac turned and glared at them.

“Now.”

Pisces hesitated, but another team was already dragging the plank of wood out from their bag of holding. Typhenous motioned and Pisces produced a glowing white mana stone. He stepped over to the door, which was complete with a handle and placed it on the wood. Pisces opened the door and the adventurers moved forwards.

“Stay behind.”

“I know.”

Pisces stood aside as the adventurers marched through in silence. Their heads hung low. The [Necromancer] looked around the Raskghar’s camp, at the scattered supplies, the embers of fires—all the petty things left behind. But the thing he had come to find, the person, wasn’t there. He stood in the darkness as the last of the adventurers ran through the door, listening to the sounds of many somethings approaching in the darkness. Monsters.

Pisces didn’t care. He beckoned and two Bone Horrors appeared. Their bodies of yellowed bone weren’t even bloodied by combat. He collapsed one into his bag of holding and then motioned. The other stayed behind, the armored bear-thing, a yellow flame burning in its eye socket. Pisces took one last look around and then walked through the doorway.

The door remained open a moment longer, exuding light and warmth in the cold dungeon. Then it closed, leaving the Bone Horror behind. It began smashing the door as it closed, breaking the wood, grinding the mana stone into glowing powder. And then it turned and opened its jaws. Monsters overwhelmed the Bone Horror as it fought. And then there was only silence.

The Raskghar camp lay abandoned. There were no Cave Goblins, no Raskghar, no adventurers. Just monsters who did not see each other as they returned to their lairs.

They’d failed.

—-

Erin Solstice sat in her inn, her leg jiggling. She was awake, despite the late hour. As if she could have slept. She kept her eyes on her magic door, to which was fixed a white mana stone. The light it shed was pure. Artificial. Or no—since it was magic, it was natural white light. It was still too bright at this time of night. But no force on earth would have made Erin remove the mana stone.

Her heart was pounding. Erin kept glancing at the door, and then at Lyonette and Apista who were sitting next to her, and then at the door every few seconds. She barely paid attention to Pawn and the group of Painted Soldiers sitting to her right. The Antinium were silent, watching the door with Erin. She was tensed, waiting for it to open. When it did, she nearly fell out of her chair and then leapt to her feet.

“Get back, Lyonette! What’s happening? Are you—”

The Antinium surged to their feet. The Soldiers readied themselves—and paused. The adventurers walked through the door slowly, without any of the sounds of combat Erin had been told to expect. She saw one of them—a Garuda with bright green feathers and a pink pattern running down her sides.

Bevussa looked up at Erin and shook her head as she walked forwards. She made way and Erin saw a group of five Drakes walk through the door. They were holding a body whose face was covered with a piece of bloodied cloth.

“Oh no.”

Lyonette was on her feet too. She started for the door, but Erin held her back. Both young women kept staring at the magical door, hoping, praying—but knowing the truth. No Gnolls came through the door. Or Ceria. The last person to walk through was Pisces. He closed the door behind him, plucked the white mana stone off and threw it to the floor. Then he stomped on it, shattering the glowing gemstone into dust.

No one commented on that. The adventurers looked at each other, not quite daring to look at Lyonette’s face. Erin felt like hers was a mask. She stared at the door.

“It’s gone?”

“My Bone Horror broke it. Destroyed the connection. It was then destroyed. By monsters.”

Pisces’ voice rasped. He too looked like a stranger, haggard, distraught. Halrac nodded quietly.

“We couldn’t stay.”

“I know that. But we shouldn’t have come back like this. We had everything this time. Everything! Why did we fail? Who was seen?”

Jelaqua looked around. None of the adventurers answered. The Selphid cursed. Her body was still aflame. She brought her arms down on a table.

“Fuck!”

The wood splintered. Erin didn’t care. Jelaqua threw the pieces of the table aside and looked around. Her gaze was despairing.

“What do we do now?”

—-

The Gold-ranks didn’t eat. Some drank enough for five meals, but no one wanted food. They talked, quietly, and then with growing passion. More than one tankard was broken, and more than one table as adventurers pounded on the wood. Jelaqua looked up as a Drake wearing lamellar armor walked over. He had a scratch on his arm, and he had carried a buckler and blade with a curved tip—a falchion during the battle.

“Miss Ivirith. I wanted to apologize. It was our team that messed up the ambush. We were getting in position when we ran across a group of Raskghar scouts. We didn’t get them all in time.”

Jelaqua looked up. The Selphid took in the Drake’s expression and connected him with the body that had been brought through.

“Your team’s…Reldiev Scalers, yeah?”

“That’s correct.”

“I don’t think you need to apologize to me. You lost one of yours to that Raskghar bitch, didn’t you?”

“That’s right. We were trying to get inside the camp. Cassa went too far ahead of the others. I guess that’s two failures. I’m truly sorry about this.”

The Gold-rank Captain’s scales were pale around his face. Almost as pale as Jelaqua’s. The Selphid stood up.

“You don’t have to apologize. Come on. You need some air. Where’s…Cassa?”

The Drake looked around.

“I—in Liscor. We need to prepare her body. Remove the armor. Notify her kin. I should find my team.”

The Selphid laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Not just yet. In fact, you should bring them back here. Liscor’s [Healer] will take care of the body. You shouldn’t have to do that.”

“But I’m her Captain. And she—”

The Drake looked lost. Jelaqua looked around and met Seborn’s eyes. He nodded. Moore was sitting by his side, staring emptily at a table. Jelaqua put an arm around the Drake’s shoulder. He flinched, but the Selphid was gentle.

“Come on. We’ll go together. And then we’ll come back. Or go to your inn. Any inn or tavern, really. You need drinks in you. Forget about the dungeon. I was angry. Has your team ever lost someone before?”

“No—no, we’ve been lucky. Really lucky. I mean, we’ve had wounded, but never this.”

“And your team’s new?”

The Drake nodded.

“We just hit Gold-rank last year.”

“I get it. Come on. Let’s find your team. You need to be there for them. What’s your name, kid?”

“Xess.”

“Come on, Xess—”

She left through the door to Liscor with the Drake. Her departure was noted. When Xess had left, one of the Drakes in Bevussa’s team, Zassil, sat up.

“If they hadn’t screwed up the ambush—”

Fast as a whip, Bevussa turned and slapped him across the back of the head. The captain of the Wings of Pallass hissed at Zassil, forgetting that she wasn’t supposed to be the captain in public.

“Shut up! They just lost one of their own! Show some respect!”

“He is right, though. If we hadn’t been compromised, we could have trapped the Raskghar. Instead, we lost a Gold-rank and they’re gone. Not good. Our one chance of saving our kin is gone. That cannot be ignored, no.”

One of the Gnoll adventurers spoke up. No one could contradict him. But Dawil, sitting and drinking his sixth mug, looked up.

“That’s true. But supposing everything did go according to plan, I’m not sure it would’ve gone the way we planned. We knew there were lots of Raskghar, but the ones with artifacts changed things. Not to mention—did anyone see the special Raskghar? Or was it just me?”

“We saw her. The quick one? The one that got Cassa? She was different. And those Raskghar with artifacts. That’s a Gold-rank threat. If we’d had to cut them down—”

“It’s the ritual. The one Ceria told us about.”

Yvlon spoke up. She looked around at the others. One of the Drakes coughed.

“The ritual? The one that involves sacrificing—”

He paused and glanced at his Gnoll teammate.

“—How could that work?”

“I don’t know. But Ceria said the Raskghar performed a ritual.”

“With your weird message spell. To the [Necromancer].”

All eyes turned towards Pisces. Keldrass frowned at the young man. He was staring blankly at his cupped hands, leaning back in his chair.

“I don’t trust it. Why can’t she use [Message]?”

“She doesn’t know it.”

The [Necromancer] replied absently. Keldrass paused.

“She couldn’t give us detailed information on the camp. Or tell us any important information. We got the location of the camp from Goblins.”

“She’s a prisoner. Being watched. The spell is noticeable.”

“Still—what does the ritual do? Why sacrifice Gnolls?”

Pisces looked up at last.

“It makes them stronger. All other aspects are irrelevant. It makes the Raskghar stronger, which is why they desire the Gnolls. Is that simple enough for you, fool? You saw what that one did.”

The Drake flushed and clenched his fist, but he shut his mouth. Pisces looked around at the others. He opened his hands. A flaming butterfly flew upwards.

“She sent me a message.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell—”

“I was decoding it. Shut up. Sit down.”

Keldrass hesitated. Pisces ignored him. He spoke softly, but no one was making any sound.

“She’s still alive. But—she says we ruined everything. I don’t know what that means. She says the Raskghar escaped. That Calruz suspects treachery. Not in so many words. And she says—he ordered the Raskghar to perform the ritual with twenty more of the Gnoll captives.”

He looked up. The Gold-rank adventurers sat, frozen in their chairs. Pisces gazed around the room and found the figure holding a pitcher near the back. He met Lyonette’s eyes.

“Mrsha is safe. For now.”

But twenty more Gnolls were dead. No one spoke for a long minute. Then the other adventurers began to mutter disconsolately.

“Twenty? How many prisoners are left, then? Can we get to them in time?”

“Ancestors, I saw how quick that one moved. Cassa barely saw it leap at her. If we have to fight twenty more of them—”

“We’ve lost the camp, the Raskghar are on alert now, and we lost one of our own. How’re we supposed to beat them?”

“Wait for the full moons to disappear?”

“And risk everyone else being sacrificed?”

“If it’s that or try and fight them like that again, I say yes! There’s no point in risking our lives if we don’t have to.”

“So we let my people die, is that it?”

A Gnoll stood up, glaring at the Drake. The Drake stood too, more than a little drunk.

“I risked my life for your people! But I’m not going to kill myself or my team for nothing!”

“If that’s what your team wants to do, fine. But my team is going back down there tomorrow. We won’t stop, even if we’re going alone. We aren’t cowards.”

The Drake rumbled and his hand reached for the sword hilt at his side.

“I dare you to say that again, you—”

“Enough!”

The voice was like a cold wind blowing. The adventurers felt a moment of pressure and turned. Erin stood in the center of the room, looking around. She gazed from face to face, angry and helpless at the same time.

“Stop fighting! Stop wasting energy blaming each other! The Raskghar got away. They killed more Gnolls. We’re running out of time. What are you going to do? What’s your plan now?”

The adventurers in her inn looked at Erin. They looked at each other. Some shook their heads. Other just looked away. No one had an answer for Erin. And that in itself was answer enough.

—-

Twenty. Twenty Gnolls died in the dungeon. Upon an altar of stone that ran red with blood. The other Raskghar held them there, and the chosen Raskghar killed them with the same stone. Tore open their chests. Ate their hearts. And changed.

Vakk was the last. He fought the Raskghar, cursing them, and even managed to draw blood with his claws. But that only seemed to excite the bestial monsters. They dragged him over to the altar.

Mrsha didn’t watch. She hid her face in her side and covered her ears. But she still heard the scream. She would never forget Vakk’s last sounds or the ripping noises, the crack of his bones that came after as long as she lived. And when it was over, twenty one Raskghar stood together.

“Good.”

Calruz stood and nodded, his face triumphant. He stared at the dead Gnolls without any recognition in his eyes. And when he turned, the madness-scent hung from him like clothing. He inspected the twenty one Raskghar. They licked their bloody muzzles, sniffed the air. The other Raskghar looked at them as children did at adults, despite their similar forms. The twenty one awakened bowed to their Chieftain. But their eyes—their eyes glowed as they looked at the Gnolls.

The Minotaur didn’t notice. He was talking to himself, to his tribe, and to the half-conscious form at his feet. Ceria barely moved—he’d beaten her with his arm when she’d fought him.

“This was a triumph. My triumph! I was betrayed, but the adventurers could not defeat me. Not here. Not ever! And so I name you. Twenty one of my elites. You awakened Raskghar. You will all bear artifacts, become my vanguard.”

“Yes, Chieftain. We are honored, Chieftain.”

The female Raskghar spoke for the others. She was first of the twenty one, and they deferred to her. Calruz nodded. He glanced around.

The new Raskghar camp was the old one. The circular room with the partially caved-in roof. The Raskghar couldn’t move that far at night, not with the dungeon stirred up. It didn’t matter either way. The adventurers had not followed.

“A great victory. You—you have done well, Nokha. You will lead the awakened. Tomorrow. But I give you leave tonight. This is a celebration. Celebrate!”

The Minotaur turned. He roared and the Raskghar howled in triumph. They broke up, males and females, seeking each other. Some ate. Others forced the Cave Goblins to entertain them. The awakened Rasgkhar looked with interest at each other, but then they moved as one. Towards the Gnolls in cages.

There were still over forty captive Gnolls left. They shrank in their cages as the awakened Raskghar approached. Their eyes were—too bright. Mrsha backed up until she could feel the bars of her cage pressing into her back. Nokha, the female Raskghar, looked around. She had killed a Gold-rank adventurer. She had smiled as each of the Gnolls was sacrificed. Now she bent and looked at the remaining Gnolls. At Elirr. And at last, at Mrsha. She smiled.

“We are whole.”

The Gnolls shivered. Something about her words filled them with dread. Mrsha tried to hide as the Raskghar stared down at them. Then the awakened turned. They joined the others, growling, asserting their dominance. The lesser Raskghar—for that was what they were—gave way at once. The awakened chose from the lesser, males choosing females, females choosing males. They led them away and then the Raskghar paired up.

It was dark in the room. Blood and pain filled the air. The fires crackled. The Raskghar growled. And then they began to mate.

Urgent thrusting motions, low growls, moving shadows. Mrsha knew what was happening, at least in abstract. She’d grown up in a Gnoll camp after all, and privacy was limited when everyone could hear and smell what you were doing, even inside a tent. She didn’t look at first. Then she peeked. And then she was afraid.

The sounds were urgent. Primal. There weren’t just busy sounds. There were howls of pain and snarls too. The shadows danced. The Raskghar’s orgy filled the night as Mrsha hid in her cage. And she wished, oh how she wished that someone would save her. But no one came. So Mrsha covered her ears and wished Ryoka were here.

—-

Ceria heard the Raskghar begin to mate. She saw them move into the shadows, but not out of sight. There was little privacy in this room, save for Calruz’s and her ‘private’ quarters. She felt the ground she was lying on. Her head spun. She felt sick.

Twenty. He had made her watch. When Ceria got up, she had a bloody cut on her cheek and her eye was already swelling.

“So. You see the price of treachery.”

Calruz’s voice made Ceria look up. The half-Elf stared up at her former captain. Former. She couldn’t see anything she recognized in him. Not now.

“You monster.”

He hit her. Ceria felt the world go gray. Calruz pulled her up. Her head lolled.

“I warned you. I gave you my trust! And you led the adventurers here.”

His eyes were red. Mad. Ceria tried to make her tongue work.

“I swear, I didn’t. You know that I can’t cast [Message].”

A lie. She’d told Pisces what she could. But it was true in that she hadn’t brought the adventurers here. She would if she could. But she hadn’t. How had they done it? Ceria’s mind was hazy. They had to do it again. Soon. Before—

“You murdered them.”

“I made my Raskghar stronger. I was a fool to listen to you. One of them slew a Gold-rank adventurer. Twenty more of them will be enough to claim the city. Destroy my enemies! Yes. They have been far more loyal to me than you. And now—”

Calruz looked around. The mating frenzy of the Raskghar didn’t seem to disturb him. On the contrary, he seemed excited.

“Look. My tribe multiplies. This is mine. Mine! And you—you are mine too. Traitor or not. You will be mine. I will make you mine.”

He lifted Ceria up. The half-Elf didn’t know what he meant, until she saw Calruz’s private quarters, curtained off by a moldy sheet. And then she looked down. He was aroused.

“No.”

The Minotaur didn’t seem to hear. He stared at Ceria.

“The Raskghar take long to breed. But the next generation of warriors will serve me. I have them training in their camps. Hidden away. But I have not created any heirs.”

“Put me down.”

“I am your Chieftain. This is your duty.”

Ceria couldn’t breathe. Calruz had her by the throat. She forced her hand to open as he walked with her suspended in the air. She forced her skeletal hand open, tried to freeze Calruz’s arm.

“Touch me and I will kill you.”

The Minotaur paused. He looked back at Ceria and his eyes were red. He didn’t have another arm to hit her with, so he brought Ceria close and head-butted her. She went limp.

“You do not order me! I give orders! I am your chieftain! Obey!”

He roared in her face. Ceria felt spit strike her face. She struggled as he opened his curtains. His ‘bed’ was just a pile of worn blankets. Stained. The Minotaur turned to her, lust in his eyes. Ceria raised her skeletal hand, aimed between his eyes. She had just enough strength for one last retort.

“Ryoka would be so proud.”

Calruz stopped. A bit of sanity flickered in his eyes. He stared at Ceria. She waited, her hand frozen with magic.

The Minotaur cursed. He lifted Ceria and threw her. She flew, striking the ground hard. Her wand bounced out of her belt, rolled into the darkness. Ceria felt a rock cut her through her robes. She lay on the ground as Calruz roared.

“You!”

A female Raskghar came at his bidding. He disappeared with her behind the curtains and then Ceria heard loud grunting, a rhythmic sound. She dragged herself up.

“You monster.”

Healing potion. She reached for it and treated the bruises at her throat, her eye and the cut on her head. Ceria looked around. The Raskghar moved in the darkness. She couldn’t make out the awakened from the other Raskghar. But it didn’t matter. Ceria looked at the Gnolls in their cages. There were less of them. They stared at her. Ceria looked away.

“I—”

There was nothing she could say. Cave Goblins sat around fires, staring at their masters. They parted for Ceria as she staggered past them, watching her cautiously. Ceria paused at Mrsha’s cage. She stared down at the shackled Gnoll. No one was watching the cages. It would be easy to break the cage. It was flimsy. The Gnolls could do it if they weren’t shackled. But she had no way of removing the metal bindings. And even if they ran…

This time she couldn’t say anything to Mrsha. Ceria just leaned on the cage and covered her eyes.

“I’m so sorry.”

Then she turned and walked away, conscious of the little Gnoll’s eyes on her back. Ceria went to her private room, trying not to hear or see. Or remember. But she heard the scream. The last Gnoll had cursed her before he died. He had been right to.

Her bedding was worn cloth too. It was actually comfortable somehow—the Cave Goblins had created a nest for Ceria to sleep in. She had no right to it, but Ceria took it anyways.

Ceria lay down and wept as she heard the Raskghar celebrate around her. Her tears ran down her cheeks, salt and water. They dripped onto the ground and ran together, forming a tiny puddle of water. More ran from Ceria’s open water flask and into her hands. Tears and water mixed, freezing, molding a shape out of the air.

A dagger made of ice. She gave it the finest edge she could and made it sharp. Sharper than her broken dagger had been. Sharp enough to cut a Minotaur’s skin. Sharp enough to kill. It would have to be quick.

It was a terrible thing to think of. To kill your own teammate was the ultimate betrayal. But hard as Ceria tried, she couldn’t find any guilt or sadness in her heart. There wasn’t enough left of Calruz anymore. He was a monster. She told herself that as tears ran from her cheeks and froze. And she knew that she wouldn’t ever leave the dungeon. And neither would he.

—-

It was all falling apart. Erin Solstice woke up the next day and knew that the Gold-rank adventurers had no plan. They had argued long into the night—those that hadn’t left early. But at the end of it, they had nothing solid to go on. Nothing beyond trying to find the Raskghar again.

There were just too many. And they were just too strong while the moons were full. In a day or two the moons would change and the Raskghar would be weak. But by that time, Erin was sure, all the Gnolls would be dead.

Mrsha would be dead.

She had slept in her kitchen. When Erin walked into her common room, she found Lyonette sitting at one of the dirty tables. Dishes were left where they’d been last night, broken on the ground or piled up. The [Barmaid] sat in her chair, Apista in her hands. The Ashfire Bee’s legs had been healed, but it clung to Lyonette’s arm. Even it seemed to know something was wrong.

“Lyonette.”

The young woman didn’t look up at Erin’s voice. She stared ahead blankly. It was just past dawn. The adventurers had been in the inn until midnight. Lyonette might not have slept.

“Lyonette. You have to sleep.”

“They couldn’t do it. Mrsha was right there and they couldn’t save her.”

“Yeah.”

Erin stood next to Lyonette’s chair. She tried to say something in the Gold-rank adventurer’s defense. The Raskghar had been too strong. They’d been unlucky in being spotted too early. It had been dozens of adventurers versus hundreds or thousands of Raskghar. But those were all excuses. Nothing would bring the dead Gnolls back.

“I—I’m going to talk to the Goblins. They have to be able to help.”

“How?”

Erin didn’t know. She looked at Lyonette.

“If—”

She let the word hang in the air. Lyonette looked up, but Erin couldn’t give word to the feelings in her chest. She walked away and went to the door. She looked around, found the red mana stone, and stared at it dully.

It had been such a good plan. The Redfang Hobs had showed her the Cave Goblins that had known where the Raskghar camp was. She’d gotten the adventurers and made the Goblins write down a map so the adventurers could find the camp. They’d agreed to leave the Hobs behind—there was too much risk of unfriendly fire if the adventurers reacted to the Redfang Warriors.

They’d made preparations, calculated a plan of attack. They’d even had an exit strategy. Pisces and Typhenous had gotten their emergency door to work and Erin had set the door to their mana stone. They’d go in, fight their way to the prisoners and get Ceria and Calruz, and exit through the door. Pisces had claimed he could leave an undead to smash the doorway so monsters couldn’t follow. Plus, Erin could always change the door’s connection.

Last night it had seemed so possible. Now, in the light of day, Erin knew better. She opened the door and walked through.

Happy noises greeted her. The Cave Goblins looked up warily as Erin entered, then got back. To cooking. They had eight fires going in the cave, and it sounded like there were more going on in the dungeon too. Hundreds of Goblins sat around in the cave—they’d colonized the room right in front of the Shield Spider nest too, completely at home with the giant spider colony right next to them. And they were cooking.

Fish, mainly. They’d run out of Erin’s supplies as soon as the Cave Goblins had begun pouring out of the dungeon. So Headscratcher had taken Goblins back to the waters outside of Liscor and begun fishing at the edge. The Goblins had dug around for worms and grubs in the mud and after finding and eating a few, had created crude fishing rods. Some just threw the bait into the water and snagged fish with nets. Then they towed them back to the cave and began to cook them.

Erin stared at a fish that had been diced up and was now sizzling in one of the frying pans she’d given the Goblins. It had been deboned, but the guts of the fish and every other part—including the eyes—were in the pan, cooking away. And the Goblins sitting around the fire were chewing the fish bones, crunching them down with satisfaction. As Erin watched, the designated [Cook] reached into a bag and brought out a handful of salt. It sprinkled the salt over the frying fish to the Goblin’s apparent satisfaction. Then it began to divvy the fried fish up.

Every Cave Goblin got a portion. The little children greedily snatched at the fish and then dropped the hot pieces, crying out. The adults were barely more controlled. But they shared. They shared and smiled as they ate, monsters smiling to eat fish with salt. It was a heartwarming sight. But Erin’s heart hurt.

“Where’s Headscratcher? Where’s Numbtongue? The Hobs?”

The Cave Goblins looked up. As one, they pointed towards the entrance of the cave. Erin walked around the little Goblins. They looked up at her, some nervously, but most looking curious. Trusting, even. Erin saw a Cave Goblin wave at her. She stopped and saw it was Pebblesnatch, roasting a dead squirrel. Erin tried to smile and gave up.

“Headscratcher.”

The Redfangs were outside, sparring with a huge audience of Cave Goblins watching them. They looked up and stopped fighting at once. The five Hobs clustered around Erin, looking excited.

“We…win? Adventurers attack?”

Rabbiteater clumsily spoke. Erin stared at him and then shook her head. The Hobs’ smiles vanished. They looked at one another.

“Bad?”

Headscratcher looked at Erin. She nodded.

“Very bad. The Raskghar got away. The adventurers…they lost one of their people. And the Raskghar sacrificed twenty more Gnolls.”

The Goblins looked surprised. Not shocked. They exchanged a glance and then formed a huddle. Erin watched as they urgently signed to each other and then all began smacking Numbtongue on the shoulders. For once, the Hob didn’t need encouragement. He knocked their hands away and looked at Erin.

“We’ll go back in. We will find Raskghar camp. Again.”

Erin blinked.

“You can do that?”

The Hobs looked at each other and then at the Cave Goblins. They nodded decisively.

“We can find. Again. Many Cave Goblins. They know many spots. All we have to do is find other Cave Goblins. We can find. Before tonight! Adventurers try again?”

Numbtongue looked expectantly at Erin. She stared at him, and then felt herself wake up a bit. That was right. They could try again. They had to.

She didn’t know what she’d expected from the Hobgoblins. But this is what she’d needed. Erin nodded.

“If you can find them—I’ll find the others. We have to try again. We have to. Can you locate their camp soon?”

“Will look. Will go now.”

Numbtongue pointed at the others. Headscratcher was already looking around, giving orders in the Goblin tongue. The Cave Goblins scattered. Erin stood a bit straighter.

“Thank you. Thank you so much. Don’t get too near the camp. Please be careful. But find them. And I’ll get the Gold-rank adventurers to—to—”

She wavered. Erin’s face fell. To do what exactly? Try the same tactic again? They’d failed the first time. Even assuming they were willing to give it another shot, the Raskghar would be on alert. And now there were twenty one of the special ones. Could they do it?

What other choice did they have? Erin stared at the Hobs, who’d caught her uncertainty. Shorthilt nudged Numbtongue and made a few gestures. Numbtongue made a face and nodded.

“Old plan failed. Adventurers must have new plan. Do they have one?”

“No.”

Numbtongue paused. Erin saw Badarrow grimace behind him and Rabbiteater scratch at one ear. Erin bowed her head. And yet—Mrsha. Ceria. She scrubbed at her face as the Hobs watched her. There had to be something they could do. There had to be.

Could Olesm help? The Gold-ranks hadn’t consulted him, but he was a [Strategist] now. Then again, Erin had never seen how good his strategies were. Could she get Zevara to send her Watch into the dungeon? What about Embria? Ilvriss? No, he’d refused.

There had to be something. But Erin didn’t know what. She wavered, and then looked up.

“Go find the camp. I’ll think of something.”

“You?”

Numbtongue looked incredulous until Rabbiteater kicked him in the shins. The Hob turned, kicked Rabbiteater back, and then nodded uncertainly.

“We go now. You keep the door open. We’ll tell you as soon as we return.”

Erin nodded. Numbtongue’s grasp of English really was close to perfect. The Hob turned. Headscratcher had a group of sixteen Cave Goblins and was waiting. The Hobs filed into the cave. Erin watched them go.

“I’ll think of something. Who else can?”

The Gold-rank adventurers had given up. They had no idea what to do. But there was a chance. Erin walked back into the cave and back into her inn. One of the Cave Goblins peeking through the door jumped and ran when she walked past him. Erin absent-mindedly walked over to a table. Lyonette was still sitting in the same spot.

There was something on this table. A chess board. The ghostly pieces were set up in a game. Erin looked around for the other chess boards, but they must have been placed somewhere else to make room for all her guests. She looked at Lyonette and decided she didn’t care. She stared at the ghostly chess pieces.

She’d been playing a game with her mysterious opponent. She’d stopped ever since Mrsha had been kidnapped, but it had been her custom to spend at least thirty minutes each day playing a game. Now her opponent had been waiting days for her move. Erin stared at the board, which had been a thrilling back-and-forth game between the two. She swept the pieces from the board and began resetting them.

A black and white side stared at her, completely untouched. Erin stared at the pieces and then moved a pawn. She turned the board around and then, without waiting for her mysterious opponent to make a move—if he was even there—she played his side. Knight to F6. Alekhine Defense.

She didn’t know what she was doing. Erin was certain she shouldn’t be playing chess. But she had to think. She had to think. What could she do? What could they do? If they could find the Raskghar camp—but if the adventurers couldn’t win an all-out attack—her hands moved automatically, sending her pawn forwards, playing the black side against the white. There had to be something. Something that would work.

She had to think. The Cave Goblins staring through Erin’s portal door into her inn stared in awe at Erin’s magical chessboard. They began creeping forwards. Watching. Learning. And Erin played against despair. And thought.

—-

Mrsha dreamed she was in her bed. Just for a moment. But it was a wonderful dream. She dreamed she was lying next to Lyonette, and Apista was lying on her little bed by the windowsill.

It was too early so Mrsha was all curled up, warm, lying next to Lyonette. But soon she’d smell cooking and know it was breakfast. And then she’d run down stairs and sit at the table and Erin would smile at her and tell her what breakfast was, and then Lyonette would come down and tell Mrsha how good she was for washing her paws and setting the table—if Mrsha remembered and—

And then reality seeped into the dream. Mrsha smelled dried urine and feces. She shifted and felt the hard stone beneath her, and her empty stomach. And she opened her eyes and knew she was in the dungeon. In the baddest of places.

Mrsha sat up and remembered where she was. She looked around and saw the Raskghar. They were eating ravenously, satisfied. The Cave Goblins ran about, bringing them food. They’d mated last night and now, content, they were in a good mood. Mrsha wished they would all die horribly. She wished the Frost Faeries would freeze them, or Zel would appear and slash them all to bits.

Not even the Goblins were as bad as the Raskghar. The Goblins were terrible monsters. But the Raskghar were worse. They were like Gnolls, so close that sometimes Mrsha thought she could smell or see something familiar in them. But they did the worst things. They killed Gnolls. Sacrificed them. And then became…

Whole. That was what the female Raskghar had said. And as hard as Mrsha wanted to believe that was a lie, she thought it was true. The awakened Raskghar looked complete. If the ordinary Raskghar were beasts who could think, the Raskghar who had performed the ritual were people wearing the skins of monsters. But not good people. Oh no, not at all.

And now there were twenty one of them. The Gnolls huddled together whenever one of the Raskghar who’d performed the blood ritual passed by. The awakened were each followed by a small cluster of lesser Raskghar. And Mrsha saw that they were standing taller. And she had a horrible feeling of what that meant, too.

Urksh used to say that his position as the tribe’s [Chieftain] was based on two things. Respect and ability. There might have been other Gnolls who were better than him at leading, but part of leading was being trusted. And Urksh had the tribe’s trust in him. But Calruz? The Minotaur?

He had the Raskghar’s fear. And he was strong. That made him their leader, and his ability to think. But when Mrsha looked at the awakened Raskghar, she knew they commanded more than just fear. And they could think. And—she looked at one of them as he glanced around, his gaze full of bright danger. She didn’t think he was afraid of Calruz anymore.

“Monsters.”

One of the Gnolls spoke the word quietly. Mrsha looked at them. Elirr and the other Gnolls from Liscor sat together. They were clearly starving, battered, hungry. But they stared at the Raskghar with as much hate as Mrsha.

One of the Raskghar noticed. The awakened Raskghar, a male with dark grey fur and white stripes, walked over to the cages. The Gnolls drew back as he bent down. He grinned at the Gnolls.

“Prey. You are prey.”

His voice was guttural and his words were awkward. But he spoke! The Gnolls recoiled. The Raskghar bared his teeth, clearly enjoying the reaction. He pointed at Elirr.

“You. Cannot save kin. We kill. We sacrifice. Then we take more. More. More awakened. You first. Then you. Or you.”

He pointed at the other Gnolls, at an older female Gnoll woman, and then at a Gnoll child. The Gnolls clung to each other. The Raskghar laughed. Then he jerked. Too late. The bit of brown struck him squarely in the nose and glance upwards, striking his left eye. He recoiled with a roar and swiped at what was clinging to his face.

Poo. Wet poo. Mrsha took aim with another handful. The Raskghar surrounding the awakened one leapt back, as she threw her poo at them. The one covered in it howled as he tried to scrape it off his face and then got it on his paws. Mrsha raced about her cage, looking for more ammunition, but she hadn’t eaten much so there was no more.

“White one!”

The Raskghar howled in fury, but not too loudly for fear of waking Calruz, who was still asleep. He clenched his paws as the other Raskghar sidled away from him. And then he heard laughter. Immediately his ears flattened. He turned on the Gnolls with rage. They were laughing. But not just them.

Some of the other Raskghar had seen what had happened. The ones who hadn’t witnessed it could still smell what had gone on. Several of the awakened laughed at the unfortunate poo-covered one. And even the lesser Raskghar couldn’t contain their amusement.

The awakened Raskghar didn’t flush as far as Mrsha could see with all the fur on his body, but he looked furious. He glared at Mrsha in her cage. The Gnoll cub raced around inside, sticking her bottom up at him. For once, Mrsha relished the cage’s bars despite the shackles. She could still throw things with her bound hands! And the Raskghar couldn’t kill her. Not until it was time for her to be sacrificed.

The Raskghar growled deeply in his throat. He took a step towards the cage and a warning bark made him turn. The female Raskghar stared at him and shook her head. The awakened clenched his paws, but he glanced at Calruz’s private quarters and hesitated. Mrsha could see him hesitating. Not yet. Reluctantly he turned away.

Mrsha grinned at his back. She saw the other Gnolls straighten a bit, enjoying this moment of victory. Mrsha smiled widely—and then saw the awakened turn. The Raskghar looked around, growled, and then loped over to something. He came back with a key.

The other Raskghar growled warningly at him. But the awakened Raskghar was too incensed to care. He opened the lock on Mrsha’s cage and reached inside. Mrsha tried to run, but she was too slow. He grabbed her, shackles and all, and then lifted her out. She struggled. The Raskghar growled. He lifted Mrsha up and casually, before any of the other Raskghar could stop him, smacked Mrsha into the ground.

The blow was savage. Mrsha’s head and body hit the ground as hard as the Raskghar could throw her. She felt something crack. Pain. She curled up and heard pounding feet. The female Raskghar and two of the awakened snarled and dragged the one who’d struck her away. He let them do it. The damage was done. Mrsha felt huge paws pick her up and shove her into the cage. It hurt. Her mind flickered on and off. It hurt. It hurt! It hurt, it hurt, it hurt, it—

The Gnolls were silent as the Raskghar turned, locking the cage again. Their moment of triumph was gone, replaced by more hate and fear. The Raskghar walked away. The one who’d been struck by poo grinned even after he’d been cuffed hard by the female. He turned, nearly stumbled on a stick lying on the floor, and kicked it back towards Mrsha’s cage with a growl before going to find water to wash himself with. Mrsha didn’t respond. She lay there. It hurt so bad. She just wanted it to stop. All the hurting. All the pain.

It was too much.

—-

Ceria woke up late. She shouldn’t have gotten a good sleep, not with all that had happened, but her body had decided that her bed in the Raskghar’s camp was decidedly better than some of the sleeping spots she’d had while adventuring. So she got up after Calruz and all the Raskghar. Ceria stumbled out of her curtains and heard a familiar voice.

“Prepare the team. We strike at the nest of Children today. The awakened Raskghar will form the spear of the assault. I want to see how effective you are. Maintain a watch on the camp. I don’t trust the adventurers not to try to attack again. Double patrols!”

Calruz was standing at his impromptu war table, surrounded by the awakened Raskghar. They nodded deferentially to him. The Minotaur turned as Ceria walked towards him. The ice dagger was frozen to Ceria’s back. Literally frozen to her skin. The ice didn’t melt and Ceria knew no one would notice. She ignored the freezing sensation—she was used to worse from studying under Illphres and looked at Calruz.

“You’re attacking a nest?”

The Minotaur grinned at Ceria. He was satisfied from last night. His rage seemed like an afterthought, as did his fury over Ceria’s supposed treachery.

“Yes. I want to test the abilities of the awakened. You will come with me of course. Have you had breakfast?”

“Nope.”

“Collect some, then.”

Ceria walked towards the stew pots. It might have been maggot-insect the Cave Goblins gave her in a bowl, or the chunks of meat could have been some other monster. Or Gnoll. Ceria decided not to eat when she thought of that, though she was ravenous. Instead, she went to the pile of dead adventurer’s belongings and fished around until she found some travel rations that were only a bit moldy. She ate that instead and washed it down with stale water.

A fitting final meal. Ceria stood up and looked around. Her eyes went to the Gnolls in their cages. She wondered if there were anything she could do for them. Probably not. The adventurers would have to do something. If they got there in time.

At least she could save Mrsha. Maybe. Ceria tried to figure out what to do. If she could end things with Calruz—the awakened Raskghar were tough, but none of them were mages. There was a chance. A slim one, but there was no other way. She couldn’t sleep in this camp another night.

The Gnolls were awake. They were staring at Ceria. She didn’t want to meet their eyes, but she felt she owed them something. An explanation. Another apology. But she couldn’t give anything away, not with the Raskghar able to hear everything she said. So Ceria just met their eyes, trying to convey her feelings.

Something was a bit odd. The Gnolls stared at Ceria and then looked as one to Mrsha’s cage. Then they looked back at her. That was clearly a sign. Ceria frowned. She got up and walked over to Mrsha’s cage. The little Gnoll was curled up inside. Ceria glanced at the Gnolls, but they were afraid to speak. She bent down and inspected Mrsha.

Nothing looked wrong. The Gnoll wasn’t moving, though. She was alive, but she was terribly thin. She hadn’t been eating, and no wonder. The other Gnolls must have been worried. Ceria straightened.

“I’ll try to get you rations. The adventurers have some.”

She turned, not seeing the frantic shaking of Erill’s head and the way the Raskghar looked up warily. Ceria was too distracted. She looked at Calruz. It would have to be quick. He was stronger than she was. Tougher and quicker than before, too. She had to get right up close to him, under his guard.

“Finished eating? Then we go. Come!”

Calruz was in a good mood. He downed the last of the meat he’d been eating and stood up. The awakened Raskghar and some of his better-equipped warriors strode out of the room. Ceria followed silently. The ice dagger was still attached to her back, radiating cold. The handle was simple, but the edge was keen. Illphres had taught her how to make ice that strong. But she’d always told Ceria that she expected more.

“Your ice is weak. You can make ice solid now, which is something. But you can’t shape it. You can’t design your structures.”

“Like you do, oh great and powerful master?”

“Exactly. Stop being sarcastic or I’ll freeze your nose off. I’ve shown you how I build my [Ice Walls]. It’s not just one solid mass of ice—that’s inefficient and it can break. I structure it, like an [Architect] would design a wall. But at a miniature level, far too small to see.”

“I can’t sense it.”

“Of course you can’t. You’re an amateur. But one day you will be able to. And then you’ll finally be competent enough to shape your spells rather than relying on set designs. Ice magic can create an infinite variety of shapes. Like my mask. It can be armor, a trap, a disguise…now, cast the spell again. And this time, try to put an edge on that dagger, will you? I’ll slice my bread with this and make you eat whatever I can’t cut.”

The memory made Ceria smile. Just for a moment. She walked with Calruz through the dungeon, passing traps, watching with disinterest as the Raskghar skirmished with a group of invisible monsters she didn’t bother to point out. The sense of smell of the awakened Raskghar was stronger, like everything else about them.

Three. She could at least get three. The female first. One good [Ice Spike] between the eyes—or in an eye—would do it. She raised her skeletal finger. Yes, she could dual-cast with her wand—

Her wand. Ceria felt at her belt. Where was it? A flash of panic ran through her. Her wand was missing! She remembered Calruz throwing her and cursed. She must have dropped it!

“Too late to go back for it now. I do this with one hand, I guess.”

Ceria gritted her teeth. The dagger was all that mattered. What came after—well, maybe she’d get lucky and the Raskghar would declare her their new chieftain like they’d done for Calruz. More likely…

Caught up in her thoughts, Ceria didn’t realize one of the Raskghar had fallen back until a finger tapped her on the shoulder. Absently, Ceria looked sideways and froze.

The female awakened Raskghar, the original one, was walking by her. She’d moved without a sound. Now she loomed over Ceria, a hunched, furry shape with bright eyes peering at her in the darkness. Ceria felt fear seize her. The Raskghar leaned forwards. Her breath was rancid as she spoke.

“What are you?”

“What?”

Ceria fought the urge to step back. The Raskghar moved forwards even closer and sniffed. Ceria stepped back, suddenly sweating. Could she smell the ice dagger on Ceria? It was just ice, but maybe—

The Raskghar didn’t seem to notice Ceria’s concealed weapon. She sniffed again and then spoke a word.

“Half-Elf. Chieftain called you that. Half-Elf. What is Elf? Are there more like you above?”

Her eyes were too intelligent. Ceria gritted her teeth.

“That’s none of your business. You want to know what I am? Go ask Calruz.”

“Don’t want to ask him. I ask you. Tell me. You are Chieftain’s. Also Raskghar’s.”

The female leaned forwards, uttering a growl that ran down Ceria’s spine. She was very big and she showed Ceria her canines. She was trying to assert her dominance. Ceria gritted her teeth.

“Leave me alone.”

She raised her skeletal hand. Not to blast the Raskghar, but to freeze her nose off. The Raskghar caught Ceria’s hand in a flash. Her grip was like steel as Ceria fought. The half-Elf was afraid to try and freeze the female. The awakened Raskghar smiled at her.

“I will not hurt you. You are the Chieftain’s. His.”

She let go. Ceria yanked her hand back.

“Oh yeah? Do all the Raskghar mess with his…people? You seem pretty disloyal to him.”

The female Raskghar made a rumbling sound. Ceria thought it was a laugh. She raised her paws.

“Not disloyal. Only curious. We Raskghar need Chieftain Calruz. The Chieftain is smart. When the moons fall, the Raskghar need him. Who else can think then? Only Chieftain.”

She tilted her head, giving Ceria a toothy grin. Ceria stared at her. In that moment, the half-Elf realized something. Something important.

The Raskghar was lying. Intelligent she might be, but she hadn’t learned to control her expressions or body language yet. There was no need to in Raskghar society. But to Ceria’s eye, she could see the tells in the female Raskghar’s body. She was lying. But what had she said—

Ceria realized she was staring too long. She fumbled for a reply to conceal her realization.

“Oh yeah? Well…he needs me more. I’ll save the Gnolls, the rest of them. You won’t sacrifice any more of them!”

“Hrr. You can try.”

The female grinned at Ceria, clearly thinking little of the half-Elf’s threat. She ran ahead of Ceria, joining the Raskghar moving down the tunnel. Ceria stared at her back, and then swore a blue streak. She caught up to Calruz.

“Calruz.”

“Speak.”

The Minotaur looked perfectly at ease as he strode forwards. Ceria glanced up at him and then nodded as casually as she could to the female loping ahead of them.

“That Raskghar. The first one to perform the…ritual. What’s her name? Do the Raskghar have names?”

“They do. They’re not complete monsters like Goblins. That one? She’s called Nokha. She’s…quite intelligent. For a Raskghar. And a competent warrior. She led the raid on Liscor, which is why I gave her the honor of being first.”

“I see. And you trust her?”

There was a moment of hesitation.

“Of course I do. Why?”

“Oh. No reason.”

Ceria dropped it at that. She saw Calruz glancing from her to Nokha. Soon, they reached the nest of Children.

“Springwalker, stay by my side. Nokha, take your awakened. Show me what you are capable of. We will support you if necessary.”

Nokha grinned. She lifted her enchanted blade and the other awakened raised their enchanted weapons. They moved forwards.

The battle was over quick. The nest of Children, the white-skinned doppelgangers that pretended to be children of other species, had been built into a room with numerous porous openings for them to nest in. At the Raskghar’s intrusion they came out, screaming, and swarmed the awakened.

They died in droves. Ceria watched the awakened tear through them with unmatched brutality. The Raskghar were strong and the awakened were easily the equivalent of a Level 35 [Warrior]. At least. With the enchanted weapons they bore, the Children were no match. By the time they were finished, the last of the Children were fleeing, and the Raskghar stood surrounded by blood and gore.

“Magnificent.”

Calruz looked around approvingly. He kicked one of the white-skinned monsters that was trying to crawl away, its guts hanging from its bisected torso. He studied the nest.

“And so another nest of monsters falls. The Children will no longer trouble us. You awakened have done well. I will consider allowing other Raskghar to perform the ritual tonight.”

“Chieftain is kind. Chieftain is wise.”

Nokha bowed her head humbly. Calruz grunted in satisfaction.

“You may return to the camp first. Springwalker, with me. We’ll search for any treasure these monsters may have kept hidden. Warriors, guard the entrances.”

He beckoned. Ceria stepped into the bloody room. Now was the time. She saw Calruz walking past the dead Children, staring into the small tunnels that had been their homes. The ice dagger came loose from her back with a bit of her skin. The pain and cold chill of the hilt made Ceria feel awake. She hid the blade against her arm as she walked forwards.

“Efficient, these Raskghar. Aren’t they?”

“I am pleased. It was right to perform the ritual. A shame I don’t have more Gnolls. With enough, I could make an army capable of taking the city in a single raid. I haven’t committed all my forces, but I should. There are what, forty four Gnolls remaining? Enough for a strong force.”

“I bet. And what will you do when you run out? Raid Liscor for more Gnolls?”

The Minotaur paused as he bent down.

“Perhaps. The city is well-defended and no doubt on alert. It would be a mistake to try after the full moon wanes. Indeed, I will have to pull back into the dungeon, father away from the rift. Bide my time. But if the awakened hold onto even a shred of their intelligence or strength…”

“They’ll be useful. Yeah, I can see that.”

Ceria’s voice was too calm. She felt like she was discussing tactics with Calruz like in the old days. Humoring him, really. He and Gerial would love to get into this kind of debate over a drink. Ceria didn’t enjoy it, but Calruz loved pretending to be a [Tactician].

“You’ll see. The Raskghar will become even more effective under my command. I will lead the awakened into the city tomorrow and see how many infested we can cull. And next month…yes, perhaps next month we will make enough progress.”

“Exciting.”

The ice dagger was ready. Ceria stared at Calruz’s back. She had one chance. It had to be in the throat. She could imagine him surviving a stab to the liver and she couldn’t get through his ribs. But his throat—she had to break his healing potion too.

“I’ve forgiven you, you know.”

“Oh?”

“For your betrayal. You might have been telling the truth. If not, I could understand.”

Calruz reached into the hole and pulled something out. He brushed at the dirt and other crusted substances and revealed a dented gold chalice. He grunted and fished further inside. Ceria edged around him. His head was too far in the hole.

“Kind of you.”

The Minotaur paused and drew his head halfway out. Ceria tensed—but he was looking at her.

“Don’t mistake me, Springwalker. I don’t think you truly follow me. I know you want to return. But when you’re here, I can’t help but feel reassured. I need you. To help me—think.”

“Really?”

Ceria frowned. This was new. She hid the blade as Calruz nodded. He stared at her. His eyes didn’t look as crazy as normal. In fact, they looked lucid. Ceria wished he were raging. That would make things easier.

“I know I’ve done…terrible things. By any standard. I’m aware of that, you know. I know sacrificing the Gnolls would earn me the headsman above. However, it feels like most days that it doesn’t matter. But I do know it’s wrong. Always.”

The half-Elf wanted to laugh. Now he acknowledged it? Too little, too late. She waited for him to turn his head.

“Then why do it?”

“I must. I must find the heart of the dungeon. There’s no other goal larger in this world.”

“Even if it means sacrificing innocent people? Killing your fellow adventurers?”

Calruz bowed his head.

“Even then. You don’t understand, Ceria. I’m doing this for our team. For the fallen. Gerial, Hunt—I’ll conquer this dungeon in their name. What comes afterwards doesn’t matter. Only the glory of victory matters. Only that.”

Ceria shook her head. She could see the Raskghar standing idly by the entrances to the Children’s nest. Blood ran around her feet. Calruz was covered in grime. He looked mad.

“Do you think you’ll really make them happy? Is this what they would have wanted? Really, Calruz? Are you that stupid?”

She expected Calruz to rage. And his brows did draw together. But again, the Minotaur surprised her. He looked down at the golden chalice he’d set on the ground. He reached down and touched it.

“Of course I’m not. I know this won’t bring them back. I can’t give them any of this wealth. But what else do I have, Ceria? What else can I honor them with? What else can I return from the dungeon with, but glory?”

He looked at her. Ceria shook her head. Tears were in her eyes as she tightened her grip on her dagger.

“Glory? Is that all, Calruz? We didn’t need glory. What about honor? Wasn’t that why we made our team? Wasn’t that why we fought?”

“Honor.”

The Minotaur closed his eyes. Ceria hesitated. Her arm tensed—but she couldn’t do it. Calruz opened his eyes and Ceria shifted her posture.

“I don’t have any honor left. I know that. I lost my team. I fell in with monsters. There’s only glory for me. Wretched glory. But they will speak my name for decades for this if nothing else. The Minotaur who lost his team. The failure who became a traitor. But he conquered the dungeon of Liscor. But he did that.”

“Can’t you just leave? Can’t you just go?”

“Death before dishonor. The Horns do not run. I will not retreat. I will not lose. Not again.”

Calruz turned. Ceria blinked the tears out of her eyes.

“I see. That’s like you. I never could get you to change your mind.”

“True! I’d almost forgotten.”

Calruz threw back his head and laughed. Ceria lunged. Her dagger flashed towards Calruz’s throat. He looked back and flung his arm up. Ceria’s dagger went flying. The half-Elf raised her skeletal hand and the Minotaur caught it. He twisted Ceria’s arm and she knelt.

“The Raskghar can smell everything about you, Ceria. They smelled the dagger on your back and told me. I wish that you hadn’t betrayed me a second time. Nokha was right.”

He twisted Ceria’s arm more. She groaned and knew that if he pressed any harder her arm would snap. Calruz’s eyes were calm as he stood over her.

“I understand. But twice is too many times. Once is too many. I need you. And yet, what should I do with a traitor? Break your arm? Too lenient. Cut one off? Perhaps. But I want my teammates at full strength. Should I sacrifice the Gnoll? The white one? Mrsha?”

“No. No, Calruz. Please don’t.”

The Minotaur knelt. He looked at Ceria’s pained face.

“Give me one reason. One reason why I shouldn’t.”

“The Raskghar will betray you. They’re going to soon anyways.”

Ceria gasped around the pain shooting down her arm. She felt the pressure on her joints lessen a fraction. Calruz stared at her.

“Have you any proof of this?”

“The female—Nokha—talked to me. She was asking about half-Elves. But then she talked about you. She said you were essential because you could think when the moon wasn’t full. But she was lying. I saw it, Calruz.”

The Minotaur frowned.

“That’s hardly evidence. You could be making all this up.”

“Would I?”

“I think so. You just tried to kill me.”

Calruz added pressure and Ceria bit back a scream. She could see the Raskghar glancing back and laughing at her. But they couldn’t hear, or so she prayed. She spoke as fast as she could.

“Wait! I’m sure she was lying. I just don’t know why. The awakened performed the ritual, right? Maybe—maybe the ritual does more than just give them strength and intelligence. Maybe it makes them smarter all the time.”

Yes, that was it! It was so obvious! Ceria knew she was right the moment she said it. And suddenly Calruz stopped twisting her arm. The Minotaur let go of Ceria and rocked back on his heels.

“Impossible.”

Ceria straightened slowly, wincing. She held still because Calruz was still very close to her. The ice dagger was melting on the floor. Even if she’d had it, Ceria wouldn’t have risked another attack. Calruz was fast.

“Why is it impossible? Did the Raskghar ever tell you what the ritual did? Or did they just say it would make them more powerful? I bet they kept bugging you to kidnap the Gnolls, though.”

“They did. They…were very insistent.”

“And why was that? So they could grow an inch or two and gain more muscle? No. No, they have one big weakness. And that’s that they can’t think. But what would the ritual do? Give them intelligence all the time. And if they have that, they don’t need you, do they?”

Calruz looked shaken. The Minotaur stood up and walked past Ceria. The blood was drying, but the smell was still overpowering.

“No. No. They wouldn’t dare. They would never—I am Chieftain! They need me. My expertise, my strategy—that’s irreplaceable even if they kept their intelligence.”

Ceria massaged her arm. She tried to inject as much sarcasm into her voice was possible.

“So? They’ve been watching you. It’s not like they can’t figure things out. They learned to speak in, what, a day? Think they can’t copy you? And who do you think they want as a ruler? A grumpy Minotaur with one arm or one of their own?”

Calruz glanced at his stump of an arm. Then his eyes hardened. He snorted angrily.

“This is all just conjecture. If they dared—if they tried to challenge me—I’ve killed challengers before. The Raskghar are no match for me.”

“Sure you have. But have you fought an awakened Raskghar? With enchanted weapons? I bet you could still win against one. But how about twenty one?”

The Minotaur’s face froze. Ceria bared her teeth. Her arm was a knot of pain, but Calruz’s face was worth it. She could see suspicion and paranoia taking over. Madness.

“They’re planning it. That was what Nokha kept demanding more rituals. Of course! If they keep their powers…and they’re armed. With my artifacts. How could I have been so blind?”

“You need to let go of the Gnolls. The Raskghar will perform as many rituals as they can. Get rid of the awakened. No, just run. Run from the tribe. Go to Liscor. They’ll protect you.”

Calruz was nodding, but he stopped when Ceria suggested running. He growled and shook his head.

“Run? Unacceptable! I won’t run from these usurpers. They want my position? I will kill them. And you will help me. If they are more intelligent, then I only have to wait two more nights to see. And if they do challenge me—I will make an example. Yes. There are twenty one at the moment. Too many. But if I…”

He broke off, thinking, his brows furrowed. Ceria straightened.

“I’ll help you. I don’t want the Gnolls to die. And if I help you, you’ll let them go.”

“I should trust you? After you betrayed me twice?”

Calruz glanced at Ceria with a sane, sardonic look in his eyes. She grimaced.

“No, but do you have a better option? Besides, if I kill you, the Gnolls will die. This way I have a chance to save them.”

“True. True…very well. I agree. I’ll spare the Gnolls if you help me defeat these awakened.”

Calruz nodded decisively. Ceria felt a surge of hope in her chest.

“No more Gnoll sacrifices?”

“No more sacrifices. For now.”

The Minotaur straightened. He glanced at the golden chalice and kicked it aside.

“I must return to my tribe. Follow me. You and I have much to discuss about. Where the Raskghar can’t hear us.”

He gestured and Ceria walked after him. The Minotaur called out an order and the Raskghar on duty straightened. They looked surprised, but after Calruz barked, they jogged ahead of him, leaving the two behind. Calruz and Ceria looked at each other warily. Then they began to walk.

She’d been about to kill him. Ceria still felt the cold of the dagger in her hand. But this—this would do. She was relieved, really. She walked behind Calruz as he led her back towards the camp. After a few minutes, the Minotaur looked back at her.

“That was truly an imbecilic plan, by the way. Attacking me with an ice dagger? I have [Thick Skin] now. And you were always pathetic with edged weapons of any kind.”

“I could have cut you with that dagger. One good thrust to the throat and you’d be dead without a healing potion.”

“Perhaps. And what was your plan afterwards? Kill all the awakened Raskghar and my entire tribe by yourself? And how would that save the Gnolls?”

“I—shut up. I was only thinking about you. I was going to improvise.”

“Hmf. This is why Gerial and I never included you in the strategy meetings, you know.”

“Look how disappointed I am.”

The Minotaur grinned and turned ahead. Ceria smiled, just for an instant. She was going mad too. But she couldn’t help but hope. Hope. It had slowed her thrust towards his throat. In the end she was soft. Illphres would have called that her real weakness.

She couldn’t do anything to stop Calruz. But maybe she could buy some time. And maybe, just maybe—Ceria concentrated. She had to focus hard to form the message with her arm aching, but she did it. Her fingers released another little messenger, this one shaped like a flickering firefly.

Raskghar ritual. May make smart all time. Challenge Calruz maybe. Dangerous. I help. Buy time to save Gnolls.

It fluttered upwards and then vanished. Ceria hoped Pisces would see it. They had another day, maybe two before the Raskghar would make their move. Maybe less time. But if they had to die, at least she’d die on Calruz’s side. She wouldn’t run. Not again. There was some comfort in that.

—-

Pisces saw the bright firefly flicker up as he opened his eyes. He sat up and once and cupped his hand. The firefly flashed shapes and colors at him. The [Necromancer] forced his weary mind to decode the symbols and then threw back his sheets.

Dangerous. I help. Buy time. Ceria had to be insane! But it made sense. Pisces cursed as he realized he should have considered the ramifications of the Raskghar’s ritual from the start. He leapt out of his bed and made for the door, not bothering to dress. He slept in his robes since they couldn’t get dirty or wrinkled.

“Erin! Erin!”

Pisces clattered downstairs. As usual, he was late. Yvlon and Ksmvr were already up, but they’d apparently decided not to wake him. They sat in absolute silence, their food practically untouched. Pisces didn’t even see the Halfseekers. The adventurers had given up, or resigned themselves. He felt a flash of anger but quelled it as he looked around.

“Where is Erin?”

“Through the door. She was playing chess in here, but she left.”

Yvlon pointed dully towards the open door. Pisces paused as he saw it was attuned to an unfamiliar place. And were those Goblins sitting around fires? Cooking fires?

The Goblin cave. Of course. He strode towards the door. Yvlon stood up, looking grey in the face.

“Pisces, what’s wrong? What are we going to do?”

Pisces gave Yvlon a strange look.

“Rescue Ceria, of course. I just received another message from her. The Raskghar are intending to revolt against Calruz. She will ally with him—prevent any more Gnolls from being sacrificed in the meantime. We have more time.”

“To do what?”

He didn’t know. But giving up was unacceptable, so Pisces hurried through the doorway. The Goblins looked up in alarm as he strode through. They sprang to their feet and some drew weapons.

Pisces…paused. Only now did he realize that the cave did in fact contain a lot of Goblins. Hundreds, in fact. And he had forgotten both his rapier and his bag of holding containing all his bones in his room this time. He held up his hands.

“I ah, come in peace. I just want to see the [Innkeeper]. Erin Solstice?”

The Goblins stared at him. They did not look friendly. Nor, now that Pisces thought about it, did they look quite so weak. He could easily imagine taking on a hundred Cave Goblins. With preparation. And his rapier and Bone Horrors deployed. But in close quarters? Without weapons?

And then Pisces heard a voice to his great relief.

“Let him through!”

The Cave Goblins looked at each other and parted reluctantly. Pisces saw a familiar shape sitting on the ground, playing on a chess board. Erin didn’t look up as he approached. She had an audience. All the Goblins not eating and a good deal of them that were sat around her, watching as she played a game of chess against herself on the magical chessboard.

It was an impressive display. Pisces saw Erin’s hands moving rapidly and realized she was playing at a level beyond him, hard as that was to admit. He hurried to her side.

“Erin. Ceria contacted me. The Raskghar are intending to revolt. The ritual makes them too intelligent—they don’t need Calruz anymore. She will ally with him. We have time—I doubt he intends to create more Raskghar who could overthrow him. But they might rebel soon and if they succeed, both she and the Gnolls die.”

“Rebelling Raskghar? Got it.”

Erin glanced up from her chessboard at Pisces and then looked down. He stared at her.

“Well?”

She looked back up.

“Well, what?”

“We have to do something!”

“I agree. But without a plan to beat the Raskghar, we’re still stuck. Ceria’s still in trouble and so are the Gnolls. Do you have a plan for that?”

Pisces did not. But he had never let that stop him before. He sniffed and drew himself up to his full height, his mind racing for answers.

“We failed last time to defeat the Raskghar. But the plan was not wholly unsound. We must try again. If we could track the Raskghar—or the Goblins could find their camp—”

“They’re going to find it.”

“They are?”

“That’s what they said. They’ll report back before night if they succeed.”

Pisces wavered. He stared at Erin. Why was she still playing chess here?

“Then—that’s excellent news! We must inform the other adventurers!”

“They won’t go for it.”

“Why ever not?”

“They failed last time. And now there are more super-Raskghar. We need a new plan, Pisces. That’s why I’m thinking on it.”

“By playing chess. In a cave full of Goblins.”

“Yup. Helps me think. What are you doing?”

Pisces was thinking. His mind raced as he stared at Erin. The Goblins could find the Raskghar camp again. Well, that was incredible! If they could launch another attack—he tried to imagine the Gold-rank teams fighting another battle. That was the problem, wasn’t it?

“There must be a way to oust the Raskghar or defeat them without a frontal assault.”

“Yup.”

“Relying on brute force was a mistake. We should have employed a better tactic.”

“Are you going to keep stating the obvious?”

“The Goblins know where the Raskghar camp is?”

“They can find it. And if they can find it, we need to figure out how to get the Gnolls. That’s why I’m here. And you’re distracting me.”

Erin stared at her chess board. Her brow furrowed. She was relentlessly assaulting the white side’s pieces with the black side’s pawns.

“The thing is I’m no [Strategist]. The thing is that chess isn’t like real life. I keep telling people that. I don’t know why it would help level up a [Strategist]. I think the system’s weird like that. Anyways…chess is all about assaulting enemy formations. Trouble is, you can’t ever win or get to the king in one move. You always have to make the enemy open up their formation. Best you can do is win in two moves. But the enemy has to give you that opening. What’s the opening for the Raskghar? Any ideas?”

Pisces had plenty. Most were idiotic. His mind raced as he took a seat next to Erin, nudging aside Cave Goblins. There had to be something. He had considered the problem before, appealed to his new master for help and been flatly rejected. He had tried his own tactics, but he didn’t have the power. Not yet. His Bone Horrors were too weak, and too inefficient. He had the bones of an Archmage but not a third of the mana supply needed to keep such a creation running. But this—

“We have Gold-rank adventurers. Surely they have a spell or a…a Skill that would aid us.”

“If they do, they haven’t used it. Flamewardens have fire breath. Wings of Pallass can fly. Seborn’s nearly invisible…none of this works against the Raskghar’s artifacts and numbers. Typhenous said he poisoned some, but if he did, they went off and died. And he can’t use the really bad stuff without killing Ceria and the Gnolls instead. I thought about trapping the Raskghar in.”

“How?”

Erin gave Pisces a blank look.

“With walls. Duh. Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers made the wall in the dungeon there. Pretty strong. It can block all those Shield Spiders from coming out.”

She pointed vaguely at a hole in the wall of the cave. Pisces paused.

“Wait, this cave connects to that part of the dungeon? And the Shield Spider nest—with gargantuan spiders and hundreds of thousands of smaller ones—is right there?”

“Yup. Behind the wall. Actually, there’s a hole in it. The Goblins keep poking the Shield Spiders when they try to come out with sticks. Go look if you’re curious.”

Pisces’ jaw worked for a few moments in silence. Then he decided not to point out the obvious and moved on.

“So your plan would be…?”

“Wall the Raskghar in. Starve them out? If they can make a bunch of walls in secret, the Raskghar are stuck, right? Reinforce the walls with magic…trouble is, I bet they could smash through. And if they couldn’t, it’s a hostage game, right? They’ll eat or kill the Gnolls before giving up. So that’s a bad plan.”

“Perhaps. But the idea has merit.”

The [Necromancer]’s mind was working as hard as it could. He glanced at Erin’s door. It seemed imprudent to connect her inn to a cave filled with Goblins who might be hostile, and the nest of Shield Spiders. He stared at Erin, and then at the door. Then his brows slowly snapped together. In that moment Pisces knew he was a genius. First the Face-Eater Moths, now this? He’d never let Ceria live it down when they rescued her.

“I have it.”

Erin looked up sharply. So did the Cave Goblins. One of them, a Goblin toying with a few pebbles, looked at Pisces. He ignored the Goblins.

“The plan is simple. We need your door, Erin, and a team of adventurers. Multiple teams that will seal off the Raskghar in their lair as you envisioned. But the real plan needs to come from your inn. We will gather every [Mage] in Liscor—every mage in Pallass and Celum if we have to! And we’ll place one of your magic doors in the dungeon. The adventuring teams will carry it there.”

“And do what? Launch another assault? The Raskghar will see it coming, walls or not. They won’t escape, but they could just kill us. If they have time to mount a defense—we only have the adventurers and they’re outnumbered.”

Erin frowned, but Pisces shook his head. He was trembling with his own insight.

“No, there will be no fighting. Yes, an assault is too dangerous with our numbers, especially since the Raskghar will inevitably detect our assault before we can make it into their lair. However, if we were not fighting them—you see, once the adventuring teams have walled off every tunnel around the Raskghar’s camp, we will put the door’s entrance facing the Raskghar camp and submerge the other end of the door in the water.”

The Cave Goblins gasped. The [Innkeeper] looked around and her brows slowly rose.

“Hold on. You mean you want to go Noah’s Ark on them.”

“Um. What?”

Erin scratched her head.

“Biblical reference, never mind. You’re saying that you want to drown the Raskghar. Put the door in the water and pour through what, enough to drown them?”

Pisces nodded.

“Flood their camp at least. I don’t intend to drown the Gnolls or Ceria, but the water would certainly inhibit them. And if we blocked off all the corridors—”

“They can’t get out. Okay, so they’re facing drowning. Then what?”

Pisces hadn’t gotten that far. He spoke as he thought.

“We do two things. If they are amenable to negotiation, we retrieve Ceria and the Gnolls. If not—we fight. But on our terms. We can arm the Gold-ranks with equipment that will allow them to outmatch the Raskghar. Ksmvr’s Ring of Waterbreathing. And we have a few experts at underwater combat like Seborn.”

“Yeah, but it’s still one against thousands.”

“Thousands who have no experience fighting underwater, I would imagine. And it is possible to use spells like [Chain Lighting] to devastating effect.”

Erin was nodding. But then she frowned.

“True, true. However, all of this puts the Gnolls and Ceria in a lot of danger.”

“It would still give us an advantage!”

Pisces flushed, not wanting to hear criticism. But Erin was staring at her chess board. She moved a bishop and then raised a few fingers, ticking them off.

“A few problems. One, I don’t know how much capacity my door has to transport all that water, every mage in Liscor or not. Water’s heavy and that’s a lot of volume to fill any camp. Two, I don’t know if the walls will hold. How strong can we make them? Three, the Raskghar might detect the Gold-rank teams that have to get into place anyways. Four, we’re risking Ceria and the Gnolls in a hostage situation.”

These were all good points. Pisces inhaled and tried to figure out what to say in response.

“It’s still better than our current plan, which is nonexistent.”

Erin nodded.

“It is. But it boils down to a fight and the problem is, Pisces, the problem always is that the Raskghar have numbers, position, and hostages. Even a water assault means they’re in position. And they can block those tunnels. Yvlon told me what happened. No. I’m sorry, but your idea won’t work. There are too many moving parts. But I agree we need a surprise attack. My door might help. If we can get one person close…there’s something to that.”

She broke off, frowning. Pisces scrubbed a hand through his hair.

“Someone under [Invisibility], perhaps?”

“No good. The Raskghar are used to fighting invisible monsters. They can’t see a lot of them due to something in the dungeon according to the Redfangs. Hold on…invisible monsters. But they can smell. Damn. So what…?”

Erin frowned and smacked her lips. She looked thirsty, so one of the Goblins wandered off and gave her a cup of water. Erin looked up.

“Oh, thanks Pebblesnatch.”

It didn’t surprise Pisces to learn that Erin knew the little Cave Goblin’s name. The Goblin beamed at Erin as the young woman reached for the cup. Then Erin paused.

“Pebblesnatch. Door. Invisible—wait, that part’s stupid. Surprise attack?”

She looked down.

“Chess. Gotta love formations. Hold on. I think I have an idea. Want to hear it?”

Pisces did. He listened as Erin described her idea. His jaw dropped.

“But that plan is terribly risky! If it went wrong—”

“What’ll happen? We get ambushed and die?”

“Yes!”

“Well, it won’t. And it’ll work. The Cave Goblins think it will, right?”

Erin looked at her audience. They exchanged nervous looks. One shrugged, and a lot of them scratched their heads. Pisces was just as dubious.

“Your plan is just as risky as my plan! Erin, you cannot be serious. You’d trust the fates of Ceria and Mrsha—of everyone to—”

He leaned forwards, but Erin wasn’t having it. Her raised finger came up so quickly that it nearly went up Pisces’ nose. He jerked back. Erin stared at him. He had never seen her so serious, so focused.

“It will work, Pisces. It has to. Your plan’s got too many moving parts. It could work, but mine’s got only one moving part and it’s based on something I’m sure about.”

“Which is?”

Erin looked around at the staring Goblins, and then back at Pisces.

“Trust. I might not be a [Strategist]. I’m definitely not a [Mage]. I can’t talk about whether this or that will work, but I do know one thing and that’s people. And chess. Two things. And this? I know I can make this work.”

Pisces opened his mouth to protest and Erin stared at him. Their entire history lay between the two of them. Pisces remembered how they’d met. He’d thought she was just a fool and he had been looking for a meal and some coin. He wondered how he’d come here, squatting in a cave, surrounded by Goblins, plotting to save his friend from the dungeon. And then he realized Erin was right.

“You are sure?”

“I am. Do you think it will work?”

Pisces thought. He ran the numbers in his head, tried to calculate the odds. He was no [Strategist], but no matter how he looked at it, the odds were good. If Erin’s plan worked. If it didn’t—Liscor might fall. Of a certainty, he and she and everyone they knew would be dead. But he didn’t say that.

“I think it will work. If you think—”

“I do.”

Erin stood up. Her eyes blazed. She ignored the chess board, which saw the chess pieces sliding around as her mysterious opponent tried to get her to keep playing the game. The Cave Goblins backed away from Erin and the board. The [Innkeeper]’s eyes blazed with confidence. It made Pisces’ heart leap in his chest.

“Find every Gold-rank you can. Stop them from entering the dungeon and get them back if you can manage it! I need to find Zevara. And Ilvriss. And Embria! And maybe Olesm and Venim if I have time. They’re optional.”

She strode out of the cave and into her inn. Pisces stared around at the Cave Goblins. They’d all heard the plan. Any one of them could destroy it. But somehow, some crazy part of him thought they wouldn’t. Not because they were Goblins or hated the Raskghar. But because of how they stared after Erin with the same look that was in Pisces’ eyes.

Trust. And then Pisces turned and ran after Erin. She had a plan. And despite himself, he had to admit.

It was a good one.

—-

She couldn’t remember what Urksh said anymore. She couldn’t remember. It hurt too bad. Mrsha lay in her cage. Her body hurt. The Raskghar had broken something when he’d smacked her onto the floor. Or fractured something. Mrsha remembered Gnolls who’d fractured ribs during a bad hunting accident, and how they’d lain around, groaning, until the tribe could find a healing potion.

It hurt. It hurt so bad. But she wouldn’t cry. If she did, the Raskghar won. She wouldn’t let them see her cry.

Mrsha the Very Brave snuffled and tried not to cry. Ryoka wouldn’t cry. Urksh wouldn’t cry. Erin and Lyonette…probably would cry. But they would tell Mrsha it was okay. But she wouldn’t. Because she was brave. Oh, so brave.

It hurt very bad. Very, very bad. Mrsha curled up and tried not to move. She wished Ryoka were here. Then she wished she wasn’t. Because Ryoka would die. And Mrsha would soon die. And so would Erill and everyone else.

No one was coming to save them. No one could help them. The Raskghar would eat her heart. Mrsha knew this. She lay still as she heard the hunting party return. The awakened rejoiced. She could smell them.

Even though Mrsha was hurt, her nose worked perfectly. Better, since she was closing her eyes. She could smell the Raskghar, what they’d eaten, the monster they’d killed, which tunnels they went down, the wood in her cage, which Goblins had touched the hide, the Gnolls in their cages, the bugs crawling on the floor, Ceria—

Ceria? Mrsha’s head rose a bit. She could smell Ceria nearby. It was faint, but the half-Elf’s scent was there. Not just from where she’d been standing, either. She could smell something of Ceria’s. Only, she was still gone. Mrsha could smell that, too.

But what was smelling of Ceria? Mrsha turned her head. It hurt. She nearly curled up again, but curiosity got the better of her. She snuffled around and then found it. There. A little bit of Ceria. What was—

A little stick had rolled up against Mrsha cage. A little stick. A piece of wood, really. Relatively pointy on one end, and wider on the other end, with a handle worn smooth and wrapped with a bit of leather to grasp. A little stick that the Raskghar had paid no attention to and the Cave Goblins had overlooked. But Mrsha recognized it.

It was Ceria’s wand.

The half-Elf had dropped it when Calruz threw her. It had fallen to the ground and it must have been near Mrsha. The Raskghar had kicked it over and so it had rolled up against her cage. A wand. Mrsha’s eyes widened. She reached out and grabbed it.

A wand. And as Mrsha touched the little thing, she felt the magic in it. And she remembered something. She was Mrsha. A small Gnoll cub with white fur. Doombringer of Gnolls. Mrsha of the Stone Spears. Mrsha the Great and Powerful.

Mrsha the [Druid].

And she had a wand. Mrsha waved it and felt her arm and ribs scream at her. But she mastered the pain. Because she had a wand. She had left her wand—Pisces’ wand—in her room. But this? This was as good as his wand. And Mrsha knew she could cast a spell with it. The problem was—and here the Gnoll’s face fell—she only knew two spells.

[Grow Grass]. And [Wild Growth]. Of the spells Mrsha would have taken into the Raskghar camp, it wouldn’t have been those two. And unfortunately, she knew exactly what those spells did.

[Grow Grass]…grew grass. It could be thick or sparse and Mrsha had even managed to create blue grass, much to Lyonette’s befuddlement. But it was just grass. As for [Wild Growth], well, Mrsha could make her grass really tall…but that was about it. She’d tried using it on the faerie flowers and made one bloom in moments, but just that had exhausted Mrsha.

None of these spells were useful. But still, Mrsha held the wand. She had nothing else to cling to. Just the knowledge of her own magic. She knew a spell. And because she could, because it was the only thing she could do that was her choice, she cast it.

[Grow Grass]. Mrsha pointed at the floor of her cell and cast the spell. It was hard. The wooden bottom of the cell was old and dried and dead. But the spell worked. Slowly, a clump of glistening green sprouted up. Mrsha stared at it. It was the one bright flash of color in the dungeon. It was soft when she patted a trembling paw on it. It was…

Useless. But it made her feel better, so she grew more. Mrsha had no fear of being caught. The grass could disappear as soon as she willed it and last for hours if she wanted to. It had no purpose. But she wanted to grow it, even so. The Gnoll ran her wand across the bars of her cage, growing the grass. Then she shifted and felt a chafing. She looked down.

Her paws were still manacled together. Mrsha had nearly forgotten them, but now as she tried to manipulate her wand, she remembered them. The Watch had even made shackles in Mrsha’s size. With them on, she couldn’t move. She certainly couldn’t run. Mrsha scowled. She tried to manipulate her wand to point at the shackles. No good. In the end she stuck the wand in her mouth and pointed the tip at her shackles.

It was a childish fancy. If the shackles are on me, I’ll cover them with grass! Mrsha had no idea that the other Gnolls were staring at her. They’d smelled the grass and seen what she was doing. Their eyes were round and Mrsha poked her shackles. There was no good spot to put her wand’s tip, so Mrsha jammed it into the locking mechanism. Then she tried to grow grass.

It was hard. Ten times harder than dead wood. At least! But Mrsha was angry. She hated her shackles, hated the cell, hated the Raskghar. And she had time and determination. And she knew it could be done. The memory of the spell’s instructions burned in her mind.

Grass springs forth from soil and wood—even stone.

If it could sprout out of stone, why not metal? Metal was just a type of stone, right? It came from the earth. Mrsha gritted her teeth and pushed.

Grow, the earth calls. And remembers.

It wasn’t as if she was trying to make the shackles explode. It was just grass. Mrsha felt sweat roll down her fur. She was lightheaded. Hungry. But she fought. And she pushed magic into her wand and felt something give. A tuft of grass sprouted from the hole in the shackles where the key should be. Mrsha grinned. A bit of grass! Then she had an idea. She cast [Wild Growth]. How big could she make the grass?

That was an easy spell compared to making grass grow in the shackles. She saw the magic work instantly. The blades of grass grew, intertwining, and then stopped. Mrsha frowned. It was stuck in the shackles! She pushed more magic into her spell. Grow! Grow! She stubbornly fed the spell energy as the shackles resisted the growing grass. And then something gave. Mrsha saw the grass expand suddenly. And she heard a sound.

She heard the metal crack. Mrsha jerked in alarm and the shackles fell from her wrists.

She stared. The shackles were lying on the floor in two pieces. The grass had split the fatigued metal, tearing open a seam. Mrsha felt her arms rise. She stared at her paws and her free feet. She stood up slowly. She blinked—and realized she had an audience.

The Gnolls of Liscor stared at Mrsha, their mouths open as wide as could be. Erill gaped at Mrsha. At her wand. He pointed at it.

“[Mage]? But Gnolls cannot cast magic. We cannot learn it!”

No one had ever told Mrsha that. She looked at her wand, flabbergasted. But Erill’s surprise didn’t last long. He looked around wildly and then motioned at Mrsha.

“Sit, child, sit! The Raskghar will see!”

Alarmed, Mrsha sat. The other Gnolls looked at each other and then carefully faced away from Mrsha. Erill edged closer to her. He whispered so low only she could hear.

“Child, can you cast that spell again?”

Mrsha stared at Erill. She stared down at her shackles. Then she nodded very slowly. Erill raised his shackles. Mrsha aimed and the Gnoll flinched.

Really, all he had to worry about was having grass grow from an orifice. That wasn’t the real problem, anyways. The problem was that Mrsha had never cast a spell at range before. She tried it now.

It was hard. Oh, so hard! The wand was slippery with sweat and Mrsha was tired and hungry. But she kept trying. She knew what Erill wanted. But she couldn’t do it. She was about to give up when she heard a whisper.

“Do it. Please. Cast the spell.”

One of the Gnolls was whispering to her. Mrsha stared in shock at the Gnoll. It was the young female who’d hated Mrsha! But the Gnoll was wide-eyed and trembling now. She was afraid. And Mrsha was afraid.

“Please, child. If you have the strength…”

Erill trailed off. He stared at her.

“No Gnoll has cast magic in living memory. Not [Mage] magic. But you have it. Use your gift. Use it.”

“Yes. Use it.”

“Please.”

The whispers came from the others. Mrsha stared at them. They had hated her. Hated and feared her. Blamed her, even. But whatever feelings of anger she had, whatever reservations vanished as she saw a Raskghar pass by, scratching at his groin. There were more important enemies. She took a deep breath and pushed.

And grass sprang from the keyhole in Erill’s shackles. He jerked, but Mrsha aimed past him. At another Gnoll. She pushed. Erill leaned out of the way and the Gnoll shuffled forwards. More grass. More growing.

It was impossible to get all of the Gnolls free. They knew that and as soon as they realized how hard Mrsha was struggling, Erill told her to free one Gnoll in each cage. She grew grass in all of their locks and then cast [Wild Growth] almost as an afterthought. The shackles snapped, making several Raskghar look up. The Gnolls winced, but the Raskghar, after seeing the Gnolls were still in their cages, growled for silence and looked away.

But now the Gnolls were free. And though only one Gnoll in each cage was free, that meant a lot. They slowly straightened, flexing their arms, and then, at Erill’s urgent instructions, pretended to be shackled again. There were eight free and Mrsha was so tired she had to lie back against her cage.

“Rest, child. Rest! Perfom the spell again when you have strength!”

Erill urged her. Mrsha lay back and rested. Soon she had the energy to try again. It wasn’t as if [Grow Grass] was a taxing spell. The difficulty was convincing the metal to make grass. But the cost wasn’t high to Mrsha. Soon, the little cracking sound of Gnoll shackles breaking was background noise. Perhaps only the Cave Goblins noticed, because they glanced over now and then at the Gnolls, looking confused.

Twelve. Then nineteen. Then twenty three. At twenty seven, Mrsha fainted. She woke up hearing the Gnolls urgently calling her name. She sat up and realized she had a nosebleed. And that she was sprawled out. She hastily pretended to be shackled and heard Erill’s voice.

“We cannot make her do any more spells today. Later! Let her rest! We must find her food!”

“But if the Raskghar try to sacrifice more tonight—”

“We will see. But they may not! If they do—if not, we will do it tomorrow. Tomorrow! Let the child rest!”

Erill turned to the others. Mrsha lay back against her cell. She didn’t expect anything else, but then she heard a whisper.

“Thank you.”

“Our thanks.”

“Magic. White one, thank you.”

“Thank you. Mrsha.”

Erill looked at Mrsha. He lowered his head, looking ashamed. That made Mrsha’s tail wag just a bit. She’d forgotten the pain. Forgotten her situation. She had done it! She was saving the Gnolls! Over half were freed. And that just left the cage doors. And the cages weren’t that strong. The Raskghar had built them out of wood and hide—not precious metal. They could escape! If they had time, an opening.

And then Calruz returned. The Minotaur stomped into the Raskghar camp, looking more bad-tempered than usual. He snapped at the Raskghar and sent them scampering. Then he stared at the awakened.

“I have decided not to perform any sacrifices tonight.”

The Raskghar stared at him. They looked at Ceria, who was standing behind Calruz. The Gnolls looked up hopefully. Nokha, the female who seemed to lead the Raskghar, growled questioningly.

“Chieftain, why? Awakened are strong. Serve you. Why stop ritual?”

Calruz grunted.

“I will reward those I deem worthy. In my time. It is my decision.”

“But—”

The Minotaur rounded on Nokha.

“My decision! Or do you question my orders?”

Mrsha, staring out of her cage, wondered if Nokha would. Her ears flattened and the other awakened tensed ever-so-slightly. But then Nokha bowed her head.

“No Chieftain, of course not.”

That was a lie. Mrsha smelled it. And she could see that the Minotaur knew it too. And the Raskghar knew that the Minotaur knew. They glanced at each other and Mrsha felt the unspoken danger in the air as the Raskghar glanced at Ceria. The Gnolls did too and grew very still. All of them were thinking the same thing as Mrsha. Let it not be today. If it was tomorrow, it didn’t matter. The Gnolls would run and they would be safe. If it was tomorrow—

“I want to see your awakened fight. If they perform well, I may, may perform the ritual. But we shall see. Prepare yourselves. We enter the city.”

“The city, Chieftain?”

Nokha clearly didn’t like that. She flicked her gaze to the others uncertainly.

“City is dangerous. City is—”

“These are my orders. Prepare!”

Calruz growled at the Raskghar. The awakened hesitated. One flicked his ear at Nokha. She was staring at Calruz and at Ceria, her eyes narrowed. She didn’t move right away.

“I said, prepare. Are you deaf? Or blind?”

The Minotaur’s eyes started to turn red. He raised his arm and the awakened and all the Raskghar in the room tensed. Mrsha saw Ceria’s eyes go wide. If he struck Nokha—

Goblins, Gnolls, and Raskghar held their breath as Calruz’s fist rose. Nokha was snarling, waiting for the blow to fall. Calruz raised his arm high, looking past Nokha, at the Raskghar behind her. His hand hovered near his head, a fist. Near the handle of his axe. He paused—

And then slowly, lowered his hand. Nokha looked up, surprised. Then she saw the look on Calruz’s face.

Fear. The Minotaur was not furious. The red in his eyes slowly faded. His arm lowered and he stared past Nokha. Past the Raskghar. At an entrance to the camp. At something poking out around the doorway. Slowly, all of the Raskghar turned. And they froze too.

A head stared into the Raskghar camp. A head. On a stick. A little Cave Goblin’s head stared blankly at the assembled Raskghar and Calruz. Mrsha, staring at it, felt her hair stand on end.

“What is that?”

Ceria’s whisper was completely audible throughout the camp. Calruz backed up slowly. He whispered.

“Facestealer. Snatcher.”

The Raskghar backed up as one. Calruz turned. Ceria was opening her mouth. And her hand was raised. He grabbed her, covering her mouth with one arm and yanking her hand away.

“Silence.”

The Minotaur’s voice was a bare whisper. The Raskghar looked at each other and then rushed. Not for the exits, but for the cages. The Gnoll cages. Mrsha saw them rush at her and nearly ran. The Gnolls froze as the Raskghar opened their cages. They looked at Elirr. He shook his head just once before the Raskghar were inside. They didn’t seize the Gnolls, though. Instead, to Mrsha’s bewilderment, the Raskghar immediately covered the Gnoll’s mouths!

To prevent them from making a sound. The Raskghar hadn’t noticed some of the Gnolls were free. They covered the Gnoll’s mouths and pressed their arms into their throats, practically choking the Gnolls so they couldn’t speak. The Raskghar stared at the entrance to the room. Mrsha held very, very still, but none of the Raskghar moved towards her. Why?

Cave Goblins stood together with the Raskghar. They stared at the head on the stick. It was just staring. Eyes blank, mouth a bit open. A Cave Goblins’ head. And then another head appeared. A Raskghar’s head, mounted on another stick. It stared ahead.

No one moved. That seemed to be what the Raskghar wanted. They froze, holding the Gnolls. Stiff as statues. Mrsha didn’t understand what they were afraid of, but she sensed the danger. If they moved, if they made sound, whatever was holding the sticks would come out. And it was terrible, she had no doubt.

A minute passed like that. Then five. A third head joined the other two, another Raskghar, and then a fourth. All the heads looked…fresh. Very fresh. None of the Raskghar or Goblins moved. Calruz held Ceria and they stared at the heads. Waiting for whatever was there to go away.

No one could speak. The Gnolls were being held silent, and the Cave Goblins and Raskghar held deathly still as the heads on the sticks rotated left and right in a grotesque parody of sight. Mrsha, silent, saw the Raskghar beginning to relax. Maybe this was a good sign? One of the awakened, Nokha herself, was holding Erill. She shifted as she relaxed. Her arm jostled Erill’s shackles. And they came apart.

For one second Mrsha thought Nokha wouldn’t notice. Erill scrambled to put the pieces together. The Raskghar shifted, looked down, and froze. She stared at the broken shackles. Then she stared at Erill. The old Gnoll’s eyes were wide. The other Raskghar looked disbelieving, and then they noticed that half the Gnoll’s shackles were undone too. They froze, and then changed their grips. Now the Gnolls were held tight, with no chance of escape.

Mrsha felt despair enter her. She stared helplessly at Erill, who was struggling now, to speak or move. He could do neither. Nokha was snarling, and her grip on Erill was tightening. He looked past her, at Mrsha, desperately. She saw the knowledge in his eyes. Death. Death and doom. They’d tried so hard, she’d tried so hard. But it was all for naught.

It wasn’t fair. Mrsha wanted to cry. She felt tears leaking from her eyes and swiped at them. She wanted to say something. Why was it not fair? But she had no voice. No voice. She stared at the heads on a stick. She wished the monster would come in and devour them all. Then the Raskghar would be dead. She looked at Erill. And then her eyes widened.

None of the Raskghar had bothered with Mrsha. Because they’d heard Ceria. Mrsha was mute. But that was a part truth. A lie. And as Erill stared despairingly at Mrsha, he realized the same thing. Mrsha sat up. She let the shackles fall. They clanged noisily and the Raskghar looked over. They growled in fury and one came towards the cage to stop Mrsha from making a noise. But the Raskghar was more concerned with keeping his eyes on the heads on sticks, which had turned towards the noise.

And Erill was looking at Mrsha. Just looking. She locked eyes with him. Mrsha heard a voice, from Vakk. She heard his cry.

“Let it be an end to all of us! Gnolls, the cursed Raskghar! Bring death, Doombringer! Use your power and destroy these ancient monsters!”

He had told Mrsha to end the Raskghar. As if she had the power to cause this. As if this was her fault. Well, Mrsha had no power. None that she could control. But she did have one thing. And this was right. Let there be an end. To the Raskghar, to their tribe, to all the misery and hate of it all. Mrsha saw Erill nod. So she sat back on her haunches. The Raskghar was fumbling with the lock, cursing quietly. Too late.

Mrsha looked around, at Ceria, at Calruz, at the Gnoll and Raskghar. She sat back. The small Gnoll drew in all the air in the world and held it, her lungs bursting for one second. Then she threw back her head and howled.

The sound was piercing, loud, pure. It was a howl of grief, of rage, of loss. It was a call to battle, of warning. It was the loudest sound in the world and it echoed in the room the Raskghar had called home. The heads on the stick had been retreating, pulling back. But as the howl pierced the silence of the dungeon, it woke monsters from their slumber, attracted the attention of what held the heads on a stick, and the ears of the Hobgoblins walking stealthily down a corridor.

And then the heads on a stick appeared. One by one. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. They popped out past the edge of the door frame and stared. The blank eyes of the dead Goblins and Raskghar looked at Mrsha. Straight at her. And then something came around the edge of the door.

The world went black. Mrsha found herself lying on the ground. She didn’t know what happened, but she couldn’t get up. She was paralyzed. From her angle on the floor she could see Raskghar slumped over, and Cave Goblins. And the Gnolls and Calruz and Ceria too. They all lay on the ground, eyes wide, staring, helpless.

And something walked into the room. It was tall, wide. A torso of brown without a head. Two staring dark sockets. Two huge clawed hands which each held four heads on a stick. And a bloody bag hanging from its arm. The thing had a hide of brown skin, but it looked—wrong. Parts of it looked lumpy, as if it had been bigger. But in places the hide had been burnt away, revealing yellow innards or bone. The thing looked damaged. But that just made it more terrible.

Snatcher entered the Raskghar camp, looking around. Holding the bag of heads. It stared at Mrsha. It walked forwards. The Raskghar lay helpless. The Gnolls lay helpless. Mrsha lay on the ground, her wand inches from her paw. She couldn’t move. Snatcher appeared by her cage. He moved incredibly fast, or she’d passed out for a moment. He bent down and looked at her, two hollow eye sockets. Mrsha bared her teeth. It was all she could do.

And then she heard a voice. It was higher-pitched than normal, desperate, but oh, it was glorious.

“Back away from Mrsha, Snatcher. And look this way.”

Snatcher turned. A piece of ice flew and shattered on its face. The thing didn’t recoil. It stood very still. Ceria, panting, aimed her skeletal hand again. Another [Ice Spike] shot across the room and shattered as it struck Facestealer’s front. Again, the monster didn’t respond. It seemed surprised. It shuffled forwards, and Ceria raised her hand.

“Take this!”

She shot five [Ice Spikes] at once. The five pieces of ice shot at Facestealer. Four broke on his brown hide. The fifth struck the yellow flesh exposed by his missing skin. And drew blood. Snatcher had no head to turn, so he couldn’t look down at the black blood running from his side. But he clearly felt it. Mrsha felt her arms and paws move. She scrambled up. Snatcher raised its oversized arms and charged Ceria without a word, incredibly fast. She backed up and screamed.

“Run!”

The Gnolls were getting up. The Raskghar were trying to rise, but they were both equally weak. Mrsha grabbed Ceria’s wand and threw herself against the bars of the cage. Calruz was roaring. Cave Goblins and Raskghar were trying to surround Facestealer. It swung its arms and the Goblins and Raskghar collapsed, paralyzed again. Ceria staggered, but she didn’t fall. She raised her hand and shot another projectile of ice at Facestealer, striking its exposed parts.

“Run!”

And the Gnolls were on their feet. Erill kicked Nokha as he rammed past her. He was out of his cage! More Gnolls were running, trying to drag those with shackles still on with them. Others just ran. The Raskghar were concerned with Facestealer. Mrsha ran about her cage, trying to force the bars open. But she was too weak! She saw the Gnolls running—and then saw a shape run at her.

Erill smashed into her cage. He seized the wooden bars and tore them apart with desperate strength. He reached inside and Mrsha leapt up. The Gnoll grabbed her as Nokha and the other Raskghar rose. The awakened Raskghar pointed at the two.

“Capture!”

“Fight off Snatcher! To me!”

Calruz roared as he tried to charge Facestealer with a body that only half-worked. Erill fled with Mrsha in his arms. Behind him, Nokha and several awakened Raskghar gave chase. Erill panted, his lungs heaving as he tried to run. He dashed out of one of the camp entrances, running down the corridor as fast as he could as the Raskghar pursued. Mrsha clung to him.

They would probably die. They would probably be captured. But for one glorious moment, oh for one second, they were free. Erill looked down at Mrsha. He smiled.

“Doombringer.”

It was the same word. But somehow it meant something different when he said it. Mrsha smiled. And then she howled again. Home. She called for home and the Gnolls howled with her. They were going home.

One way or another.

Interlude – Niers

“I can’t believe it. I can’t. Is it a message? A code? Were they just bored? Or—something else?”

“Mm. I don’t know.”

“It has to be something. It can’t just be nothing. I have to know what it means.”

“You agree it means something, don’t you? Foliana? Foliana?”

The Squirrel-tribe Beastkin looked up. Foliana, leader of the Forgotten Wing Company, head of one of the Four Great Companies of Baleros, and world-famous assassin known as Three-Color Stalker, looked up. She was eating a plate of spaghetti. In a hot tub.

Foliana was a squirrel. Or rather, a squirrel with decidedly humanoid features but still evidently a squirrel. Just larger. She was of the Beastkin, the furred people of Baleros who resembled animals. Naturally, Foliana was of the Squirrel tribe. Her eyes were remarkable; the pupils were a mix of three distinct colors, bright red-pink, dreamy yellow, and clear green.

The rest of Foliana’s body was bland. In fact, so bland that she was often overlooked when people were standing right next to her. And if Foliana so chose, she could literally turn invisible. She wasn’t invisible now. She was sitting in a hot tub, her fur damp, as steam rose about her. And floating across from her in the water, staring at a miniature chess board upon which spectral chess pieces sat was Niers Astoragon. The Titan.

He was a Fraerling, a race of tiny people. He was also the second-in-command of the Forgotten Wing Company and considered to be one of, if not the greatest [Strategists] living. He floated in the hot tub, staring at the chess pieces that until recently had been moving and playing a game of chess all without his involvement.

“They played for over half a day and then just stopped. Dozens of chess games, all against themselves. At least, I think against themselves. The quality of their play was phenomenal. I can’t imagine they had an opponent of that level.”

“Mhm.”

Foliana slurped spaghetti off her plate. It was floating in a wooden bowl and she had a fork. The spaghetti had an ink-sauce that the Lizardfolk liked on top of it and there was a meatball.

If it seemed extraordinary that Foliana was eating spaghetti despite not having known of Italy or Earth for that matter, it shouldn’t have been. After all, there were only so many ways to make pasta and meatballs were meat…balls. It wasn’t exactly rocket science.

Now, if Foliana had called the dish spaghetti, that would have been a lot of coincidences. But both she and Niers knew the dish as a Dullahan favorite called Damcli Noodles. With meatballs. It was just that anyone from Earth would recognize the dish as spaghetti if they were in the room. Which they weren’t.

It was Foliana’s second bowl of spaghetti too. She slurped up more noodles as Niers stared at the chess board, waiting for his mysterious opponent to make another move. He didn’t seem to mind that Foliana was dripping ink sauce into the hot tub and the occasional noodle. Neither did she. She was eating spaghetti. Muffins were dead. Spaghetti was all.

“I just don’t understand. What do you think?”

Niers looked up hopefully. It was his and Foliana’s custom to have a hot bath after a campaign. They’d just finished a dirty series of skirmishes in one of the swampier regions of Baleros, which made the bath doubly important. Although Baleros was hot and humid, people preferred hot baths. It was a luxury and it provided several useful benefits if you had a bath Balerosian-style.

That meant the water was hot enough to scald, which meant it was hot enough to kill leeches and other parasites. And Baleros had plenty of bugs and objectionable things that liked to infest the body. So Niers and Foliana were bathing, as many did. Naked.

In Foliana’s case there wasn’t much to see due to the fur. There wasn’t much to see in Niers’ case, but that was only because he was tiny. Neither Niers nor Foliana was embarrassed or even conscious of their nudity, but it had been remarked upon. Foliana began to eat her meatball as she replied to Niers.

“I think it’s weird that none of your students want to bathe with us. Mm.”

Niers sighed. But Foliana had answered his question in her own particular way. He shrugged, letting his body sink down a bit more into the water. Fraerlings were natural floaters, given that there really wasn’t much weight for them to sink with.

“They’re nervous. Even my oldest students don’t want to share a hot tub. And I think you scare them.”

“Mm. Not all of them. Some didn’t want to join us because of the naked thing. Why?”

The tiny man shrugged.

“Other continents don’t practice mixed bathing. Or nude bathing. Or bathing at all, for that matter. It depends on the culture, but I don’t think that bathing together is a custom in Izril, Chandrar, or Terandria.”

“Weird.”

“Only to us. I’ve heard of foreigners insisting on wearing clothing into the water.”

“Why?”

Niers grinned, forgetting about the chess board for one moment.

“I think they’re afraid to see each other’s genitals. Especially Terandrians. I met a group of noblemen once who nearly fainted at the idea of seeing each other naked.”

“Why? Are they afraid of seeing something scary?”

“Or being seen, I suspect. The noblewomen were far more relaxed about the idea. They even invited me to join them.”

“Naked?”

“I suspect I was less threatening due to my size. Not that their husbands seemed to think so. Anyways, you won’t get my students to join me. Half are too afraid I’ll ask them a question they can’t answer or you’ll stab them—”

“Why?”

“—And the other half is too embarrassed. A shame; I thought Venaz would join us at least, but Minotaurs are surprisingly prudish. Not about seeing each other nude, but he refused to get in the tub with anyone of the opposite sex.”

“Mm…”

“He’s male.”

“Ah.”

Foliana nodded and slurped from her bowl of noodles. She knew who Venaz was of course. She’d met Niers’ students who attended his [Strategist] academy. And she had a very clear image of the Minotaur in her head. But the fact that he was big, muscular, and had a deep voice hadn’t helped her that much. He could have been a flat-chested female Minotaur. You never knew.

Niers realized he’d gotten sidetracked. He scowled and paddled over to his chessboard, which had floated away from him in the hot water.

“Enough about bathing. Back to the game. What do you think? About that.”

“I think it’s weird that your chessboard floats in the water. Mhm.”

The Fraerling glared up at his old friend, but with resignation. Foliana had an odd way of thinking. It was circular and she bounced from idea to idea and was surprisingly stubborn about changing lines of thought.

“Why? It’s a practical thing, to have a floating chessboard. Especially if I want to play while bathing. Like now.”

“But everything you have floats.”

That was true. Almost all of Niers’ possessions that were in any way valuable floated. His map case, his bag of holding, even his sword’s handle was made of highly buoyant wood that would allow it to float in the water. Niers grimaced.

“I’ve told you this before. Fraerlings like to make things that float. It rains in Baleros, if you hadn’t noticed. And if you’ve lost your sword or something valuable, the last thing you want to do is dive into a freshwater sea eight feet deep and try to retrieve it while fish and frogs try to swallow you whole.”

“Mm. So you don’t like ponds.”

“I’m six inches tall. Of course I don’t like ponds! Now will you tell me what you think about the game?”

“…This game?”

Niers splashed water at Foliana. She lifted her spaghetti bowl and kept eating, undeterred. After a few seconds, Niers began talking half to himself and half to Foliana.

“You don’t understand it. But you don’t play chess. I do. Dead gods, people think I invented the game. But this? Look at this!”

He waved a trembling hand at the chess board. Foliana looked into her bowl. It was empty. And the water was cooling. She decided she was done with her bath. She got out as Niers talked.

“My opponent—he—she—it—played twenty six games. All master-class games! At speed! Against themselves! Are they trying to tell me I’m not on their level? Or—was this a demonstration? Are there two players of that quality in this world? Selphid’s tits, tell me there are.”

Foliana paused in toweling herself off.

“Selphids have tits?”

Niers sighed. He rubbed at his face. He had grey and black hair and a sharp beard. And an irked expression. He looked up and glared.

“Selphids don’t have tits, Foliana. You know that. You’ve heard the expression before.”

“Mm. Yes. But how do you know that?”

Foliana waited, but she only heard a sigh.

“Pass me a towel, would you?”

The Squirrel-woman delicately picked up a tiny piece of fabric and passed it to Niers as he climbed out of the tub. She lifted his chess board up and set it on a table before doing the same to Niers. He industriously dried himself—his towel was spelled to absorb moisture and made of the highest-quality cotton grown on Baleros.

Foliana was using a much cheaper towel. She’d probably acquired it from someone else’s bathroom in the citadel. The former palace turned into living quarters for the Forgotten Wing company was their home when not on campaign.

“Selphids look like blobs. You know that. They don’t have tits. And yes, I’ve seen that first-hand.”

“Lewd. Mm. What would the children say?”

“They’re the ones that taught me that expression.”

Niers looked around for some clothes and walked across his table towards them. He walked past his bed, personal belongings, and a small library of books which had all been arranged on the table Foliana was sitting at. Eating a third bowl of spaghetti. This one was flavored with pieces of seaweed and a pink, sweet glaze sauce to cut the saltiness.

“So your mysterious opponent played a lot of games.”

“Yes.”

“And?”

Foliana saw Niers glance at his chess board as he came back, throwing on a pair of leggings and hose.

“And now someone else has a hold of it. An idiot, by the looks of things.”

Someone was moving the magical chess pieces. Only, they weren’t playing a game with them. Many pairs of hands were piling up the chess pieces on top of each other. Niers sighed.

“Someone else has the chess board. Damn! But who?”

They were making a tower out of the magical chess pieces. It had to be children. Niers stared glumly at the board as the tower fell over and then was quickly reassembled. He shook his head. Foliana looked interested for the first time.

“Looks like fun. Can I help?”

“No.”

“Mm.”

The Squirrel Beastkin didn’t look too disappointed. Because she already had a normal-sized chessboard and was piling up the chess pieces to make her own tower. Niers eyed it balefully but let it go. For now.

“I just don’t know what they were doing. They had to know I’d see what was happening. Right? Or they’d do this with another chess board. Unless they’re too poor to—no, they’d have sold the magical chessboard. This is a message. It must be. But what? It could be a code, but it was too fast for me to decipher. Or just a display of abilities? Maybe…”

Foliana paused in piling up a rook on top of her very tall tower of chess pieces.

“Mm. You should stop.”

“Stop? Stop what?”

“Pacing. And acting lovesick.”

She looked at Niers. He was indeed pacing around the magical chessboard, which was tiny compared to the duplicate he’d had made and sent across the world to his mysterious opponent. Niers stopped pacing.

“I’m not lovesick.”

“Yes you are. This is bad. Worse than the time you travelled to Terandria. Remember?”

Niers gritted his teeth and colored.

“I’d rather not.”

“It was when you thought there was a [Lady]. Mm. Who was a strategic genius. Remember?”

“Yes. Please stop talking.”

“And it turned out it was the Lord of the Dance instead?”

The Titan turned beet red and shouted.

“How was I supposed to know it was him? He never mentioned his name! And the stationary he sent me was perfumed!”

“Mhm. You were lovesick then too. You had flowers.”

Niers Astoragon had made his enemies weep. He’d broken armies with nothing more than a quill and ink and a bit of bark to write on. He’d defeated one of the King of Destruction’s Seven and fought other Great Companies. But only Foliana could make him cover his eyes in sheer embarrassment.

“It was a mistake. And this isn’t the same.”

“Really?”

For a second Niers contemplated going over to kick Foliana’s bowl of spaghetti into her lap. He looked up sharply and saw Foliana’s tri-color stare looking right back. That was the last thing many people saw. And Niers’ anger slowly subsided. Because Foliana didn’t look like she was making a joke.

“Go on.”

The Squirrel-woman nodded. She slurped down a noodle and balanced a pawn at the top of her tower, which was several times Niers’ height. The magical chessboard’s tower kept falling over due to poor structural design.

“You used to play chess with your mysterious mage friend from Wistram. You were lovesick. Or obsessed. Mm. Close enough.”

Niers scowled darkly.

“I stopped that.”

“Yes. After you found out it was half the mages in Wistram working together to play you.”

“It was fairly obvious after all the gossip started. Mages can’t keep their mouths shut. What’s your point?”

“You could have kept going. But you stopped. Because it wasn’t one person.”

“No. It wasn’t. I thought it was Archmage Feor. He played the first few games, but he’s not at my level. Not without using predictive magics and boosting his mind, I think. It could have been another of the Archmages…so what?”

“You’re lonely.”

Foliana’s words made Niers pause. Then he shook his head.

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

“I’m not, Foliana. I live in a citadel filled with people. I meet people all the time.”

“Subordinates. Other people. Not [Strategists]. Doesn’t matter. You’re lonely. No one you meet is as good as you.”

“At chess? That’s not—”

“At anything you do.”

Niers fell silent. He stroked his beard silently, and Foliana went on. Her eyes were focused as she stared at Niers around the chess tower.

“You’re lonely. You want to meet someone like you. But you never have. And you’re afraid to meet this person or find out who they are. In case you’re disappointed.”

The Titan scowled. That was the problem with Foliana. She was vague one second, and then focused the next. Rather like how she operated in everything, actually.

“What are you, my personal [Healer]?”

“Nope.”

Niers sighed. He paced away from the chessboard and came back after a moment. He spread his arms, looking up at Foliana seriously.

“I’m fine. I have students. I have a career. We built this company—I don’t want for excitement.”

“But you’re lonely.”

“Yes, damn it! Will you stop saying that? What does it matter? You don’t seem lonely and I know you don’t have anyone in your life!”

Foliana blinked at Niers.

“It matters because you’re you. You like people. You need people. I don’t. Someday I’ll retire. Go somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“Don’t know. Cottage in the jungle perhaps. Be alone. I don’t need people. You do.”

Niers grumbled. He flushed, kicked the chess board and upset a lot of Cave Goblins across the world, and then gave in.

“Fine. So what if I’m lonely? I have my opponent. I can find out who they are. I just choose not to. I don’t want to be spoiled. I want to have this and not have it ruined. Is that too much?”

He pointed to the chess board. The chess pieces were righting themselves on the board, which had flipped back over. Foliana shrugged.

“Not too much. But stop complaining.”

She began eating again and Niers realized he’d been talking to her all throughout their bath, and before that. And he’d brought up his mysterious chess opponent…well, a lot of times. He’d probably talked for at least three hours this time.

“Very well. I’m sorry.”

“Good.”

“And I will be able to play more games soon, you know. I had a new board and pieces commissioned. It took a while, but this new ‘Go’ game should be delivered to them soon.”

Foliana scratched her head. The game of ‘Go’ was sweeping across Baleros, in no small part thanks to Niers, whose love of the game had put a spotlight on it. It had even received attention from those who followed such things in other continents, although Olesm’s name had not been connected to the game. Niers had been inaccurately credited with creating the game. Again. And this time it wasn’t even his fault.

“It’ll take a while for it to arrive. But I’d bet half my fortune that it was my opponent who taught the game to this Olesm Swifttail to begin with. It’s too much of a coincidence. I know they’re in Liscor, or thereabouts.”

Foliana tilted her head.

“Why will it take a while to arrive? You hired a Courier.”

“Yes. But I had to prepare several fake boards, send a bunch of duplicate messages, you know how it goes.”

“Paranoid.”

“Not at all. I am being watched and this would attract a lot of attention. It’s a sensible precaution.”

“And fun.”

The Fraerling smiled.

“Immensely. I enjoy watching all the [Spies] and [Informants] scurry about and reveal themselves. And spreading gossip. I have a mind to send one of the Go boards to the King of Destruction. Although that might be too politically dangerous.”

“Mm. Send it to the woman with flowers.”

“Reinhart? She’d make it a talking point or use it against me somehow. Some people are too dangerous to play games around. Maybe I’ll send it to the Wistram mages. With itching powder.”

“Okay. And you’re not going to find out what the chess games mean? Or who your opponent is in Liscor?”

Niers hesitated. He visibly struggled with himself, and then scowled at the magical chess board.

“No. Not yet. But Liscor is on my watch list for other reasons. Here. Stop eating those noodles and look at this.”

Niers gestured to Foliana. Then he eyed the tower of chess pieces she’d built. He walked over and kicked the support rook out of place. The entire tower of chess pieces crashed down around him. Niers leapt out of the way as a pawn narrowly missed his head. The Fraerling breathed out shakily.

“Jungle rot.”

“That wasn’t very smart. You’re supposed to be smart.”

“Are you coming or not?”

Niers stomped over to his collection of maps. They were quite large and not Fraerling-sized, which was to say Foliana-sized. That was because [Cartographers] willing to illustrate a tiny piece of parchment with a needle were rare and because Niers didn’t mind the larger maps. He could walk over them and inspect them from every angle. The three-dimensional ones that were magical were even more fun.

A map of Izril was laid out on the table. Niers walked onto it and began pointing out details to Foliana. He had a number of pieces on the map. Pins and little flags with notes written on them. Small notes for Foliana, which meant big lists of details all in Niers’ neat handwriting.

“You know they have a Goblin Lord over there. And that there was that attack on Liscor from the dungeon. Well, I have news about the Goblin Lord and the dungeon.”

“Dungeon first. What’s new? Another attack?”

The Titan nodded.

“Something like that. I haven’t received another letter from that [Tactician] in Liscor. Olesm Swifttail, I think. Neither have my students. And reports are spotty—the Walled Cities are keeping a tight grip on things—but it sounds like something’s happening over there.”

“Monsters?”

Niers nodded. He walked across the mountain range that was the High Passes and stared down at Liscor.

“I’d bet my hats on it. A Gold-rank dungeon next to a city’s a recipe for disaster. And this one’s a vengeance dungeon by all accounts. I wish I could see it—”

“Go find your opponent while you’re at it.”

Niers ignored that. He studied the map and shook his head.

“It can’t be good. Especially since I heard a group of Gold-rank adventurers travelled from Pallass to Liscor via that door we saw. Amazing thing. That’s a useful treasure.”

“We have teleporter mages.”

“And that’s a powerful artifact that can do far more than just teleport, Foliana. I’d pay—no, never mind. I’d never get it back here without it being stolen, Couriers or no. That poor [Innkeeper] will lose it soon, if not to Wistram then to someone else raiding her inn for it. Where was I? The dungeon. Something’s going on. It could be like the one we found, you know.”

He looked up meaningfully at Foliana. She paused for the first time.

“If it is, they’re dead.”

“Probably. I just wonder how my opponent—no, forget it. Don’t poke me with that fork. The second bit of news that I can speculate on is this: the Goblin Lord’s been defeated.”

“Really? I didn’t hear that.”

Foliana didn’t pay attention to worldwide news. She relied on Niers to tell her everything, which was a wise move because Niers had a network of information that spanned the world. The Fraerling nodded.

“The reports are that Lord Tyrion Veltras—he’s one of the foremost [Lords] of Izril, one of the Five Families—assembled a massive army of Humans and assaulted them at a mountain. Here. And apparently he hired the Kingslayer’s team to help him defeat the Goblins. They chased the Great Chieftain and Goblin Lord out of the mountain and are pursuing them.”

“Oh. I did hear about that. One of your students was telling the others something like that.”

Niers smiled, for a moment becoming a proud teacher.

“Really? What did they say? I’d be interested in knowing who—and how good their analysis is.”

“Mm. It was the Lizardgirl. Nervous.”

“Umina?”

“Mm.”

“Good child. What did she say?”

Foliana tilted her head side to side as she thought.

“Goblin Lord’s on the run. Lost a big battle. Apparently the Human [Lord] is very good. At…fighting? Leading? Strategy?”

The Fraerling snorted. Trust Foliana not to remember nuance. He’d go ask Umina about her thoughts later. Make her paranoid about what he knew that she knew.

“With Elia Arcsinger demoralizing the Goblins and an army larger than theirs at his back? He’d better win every battle. That’s not skill, Foliana. That’s just good preparation. Mind you, he hasn’t engaged them yet. He’s running them away from their fortress. And that’s curious because I know the man.”

“During the Second Antinium War?”

“Yes. I met him briefly—he was younger—but I’ve been to a few gatherings. Always on Izril. He never travels. And I know reports of the man.”

“Does he like Damcli Noodles?”

Niers looked up.

“No. And I don’t think he has a favorite food. I didn’t care for him. He’s everything I don’t like about Humans. Well, about every species that has men like that, really. But he is a good leader. He can choose when to fight and he hasn’t engaged yet. There are a few reasons why that could be.”

Niers studied the map. He traced the speculative arrows he’d drawn leading away from the mountain and eyed the nearby cities. Invrisil, a section of the map he’d planted a big flag next to and written ‘Emperor?’ on in huge letters. Then he snapped his fingers and grinned.

“Ah. I see what he might be doing.”

“Fast. Sure?”

Foliana spoke around a mouthful of noodles. Niers nodded.

“It’s a good strategy. If it’s what I think he’s doing. I’d say it’s clever, too. It might work. And if it does…well, we might get some work in Izril if things go really poorly. Or well. Otherwise, we won’t be bothered. I doubt his enemies will notice it before it’s too late.”

“But you did. In seventeen seconds. Why?”

The Titan sighed.

“Because everyone’s an idiot? Or because I’ve seen this before. A variation, anyways. I keep telling my students that part of good strategy is just experience. Everyone tries the same little tricks without realizing they’re doing the exact same things over and over again. Depressing, really. And people wonder why I drink.”

“Because you’re an alcoholic?”

The Fraerling raised a finger.

“If the world was filled with an unlimited supply of any alcohol you wanted for a few silver coins, what would you do? There’s a reason why most Fraerlings who visit the city develop bad habits. You big people make things far too cheap for us.”

“Okay. What’s Veltras’s plan?”

Niers hesitated. He stroked his chin and wavered.

“I have a theory. But I’d rather not share it. Hold on. Let me write this down.”

He searched around and came back with a quill and ink. Foliana watched him scribble on a piece of paper, writing large so she could see it. Then Niers bent down and folded the paper. He handed it up to Foliana.

“You can open that in, oh, ten day’s time or so. And if I’m right…hey, stop that!”

Foliana was already opening the paper. She ignored Niers throwing his ink pot at her and read. She nodded, her tail moving a bit with interest.

“Hmm. Oh, makes sense. Hmm. Obvious when you think about it. This is good.”

“It was supposed to be a secret! I could be wrong, you know!”

Niers fumed. Foliana shrugged.

“Don’t think so. Sounds right.”

“Well, give it back. It’s no use now. I shouldn’t have written it down without warding it anyways. You could be scryed.”

“Good joke.”

“Even you could be. Come on.”

Niers held up his hands, but Foliana hesitated. She looked at the paper and then smiled slightly.

“Won’t. I’m going to show all your students so they’ll be really impressed. They’ll keep the secret, mhm. But be impressed.”

“What? Absolutely not! Give that back Foliana, right now!”

The Fraerling leapt surprisingly high, but Foliana stepped back from the table and that was that. She retreated to Niers’ door.

“Going to show them now. Bye.”

She faded from view. But Niers knew she was there and he saw his door open. He roared in fury.

“Dead gods damn it, Foliana! Give that back!”

She made no reply. She was moving and Niers had known Foliana for so long that he could vaguely guess where she was. And where she was going. He leapt from his table, landing lightly on the ground and raced after Foliana. For a small person his voice was very loud.

“Get back here! I could be wrong! This is my reputation on the line! Foliana! [Rapid Advance]!”

He charged after Foliana. She ran through the citadel, and Niers’ students and his subordinates and staff were treated to the Titan running after his commander through the hallways, furiously shouting at her. But Foliana didn’t slow. She ran on, smiling. And despite Niers’ escalating threats, he was smiling too. They were, after all, friends. So Foliana ran and Niers chased.

She was still naked.

5.44

They ran. The Gnolls of Liscor fled the Raskghar camp as Snatcher fought the Raskghar. Mrsha could hear Ceria shouting, hear the screams and snarls. But it was the howl that filled her. The Gnolls howled as they ran into the tunnels, fleeing. Some of the Raskghar gave chase, but the Gnolls ran. They ran into monsters, into traps, dead ends. Fleeing, howling, dying.

Free. Mrsha felt Elirr gasping, heard his lungs struggling as he ran with her in his arms. The Gnoll ran down a corridor. Neither he nor Mrsha knew where they were going. Neither one cared. She was a child, a cub from a plains tribe and he was a City Gnoll, far older. She had white fur. His was dark grey. But it didn’t matter. Right here, right now, they were both Gnolls. Mrsha howled and heard Elirr howl as well. The other Gnolls howled, sounding their locations.

Danger ahead. The Gnoll who cried out howled her death. Elirr hesitated and then ran left, down another tunnel. More Gnolls howled, calling out. The Raskghar were chasing them! And Mrsha heard the sounds of pursuit behind her.

They couldn’t catch her. Better that she be eaten by a monster than be caught and sacrificed. Better to step on a trap. Better—Mrsha held her wand tightly. She didn’t want to die. But at least she wouldn’t be alone. That was a terrible thing.

“Where—”

Elirr’s voice was cracked. He stopped as he came to another intersection. He and Mrsha stared ahead. Three passageways, one leading up, the other two going left and right. Something moved in the right passageway. Elirr ran left. Behind him there was a howl. But it wasn’t a Raskghar. Mrsha moved, shifting her head. She saw a shape bounding towards them, recognized the scent, the form.

Nokha. First of the awakened. Elirr gasped as Mrsha grabbed him tighter. He turned his head and ran faster. It wasn’t just Nokha—three other Raskghar were following. And by the sounds of it, at least a dozen more Raskghar were behind them. So many! They were all coming for her, Mrsha knew.

“I can’t—”

Elirr’s lungs strained as he stumbled. He ran down a corridor, leapt over a patch of dungeon that smelled of fire to Mrsha, and then froze. Something was coming down the tunnel. Elirr hesitated—

A howl rang out ahead of them. Elirr and Mrsha looked and saw a group of Gnolls. They froze when they saw the two.

“We grew lost! That way. Is it—”

“Run! The Raskghar follow!”

Elirr bellowed. The Gnolls whirled. There were at least sixteen of them. A few of the younger ones howled a warning; the rest just ran. And the Raskghar slowly caught up.

They were healthy, strong. The Gnolls had been confined for days and starved. Without the head start, the Gnolls would have already been caught. But it was only a matter of time.

Nokha was fastest. She bounded towards Elirr and Mrsha, snarling. The Gnolls howled and then one fell back. He was younger, and smelled of glue. A [Fletcher]? Mrsha saw him look back, and then brace himself.

“Run!”

He howled as he charged Nokha and the Raskghar. The other Gnolls howled as he bought them time. Mrsha saw the young Gnoll charge the Raskghar, swinging a fist. Nokha leapt and bore him to the ground. She subdued him with two brutal blows and the other Raskghar hauled the Gnoll up. Quick as a flash, the Raskghar were chasing again.

Seconds. The Gnolls looked back and at each other. They might have been City Gnolls, but some had grown up outside of Liscor. They could tell how fast the Raskghar were moving.

“Keep moving!”

Elirr’s voice was strained. His heart was beating too fast. Mrsha could feel his chest heaving. The other Gnolls ran. They heard howls around them. The surviving Gnolls were congregating towards them. But fewer howls. The Raskghar chased. Mrsha stared back at Nokha. The female Raskghar bared her teeth. She was looking at Mrsha.

We are whole.

Even if she died, let it not be like that. Mrsha struggled. Elirr growled at her to keep still, but Mrsha had her wand out. She waved it. Grass shot up, a twisting little catch of grass. A snare, like the ones the Stone Spears tribe had used. She saw Nokha’s eyes widen. The snare caught the Raskghar’s foot—and she surged forwards. The grass was strong, but the Raskghar was stronger. She ran on, on all fours now.

“Monsters ahead!”

A Gnoll called out in despair. Mrsha felt Elirr’s breath catch. She smelled it too. A foreign scent ahead. Blood. But something familiar. The Gnolls hesitated.

“Let it be monsters, then! Run! Run! Better them than the Raskghar!”

One of the Gnolls shouted. They ran ahead. Mrsha saw a confusing sight ahead of them. It looked like dozens of monsters! Other Gnolls were howling panic and danger in ahead of them. But suddenly the notes changed. Mrsha heard the tone of the howl change. One of the howls echoed back to her.

Friend! And then Mrsha identified the scent. She saw one of the monsters look at her. It was tall. It had red eyes, a sword. Green skin. And it—he, was Headscratcher. The Hobgoblin looked up as he and the five Redfang Warriors led a group of at least a forty Cave Goblins. Several of the other Gnolls were wavering.

The Gnolls around Elirr froze when they saw the Goblins. But one of the Hobs—Numbtongue, threw up his hand before they could flee.

“Wait! Friends! Wandering Inn! Come!”

That was enough for the Gnolls. They ran past the Goblins, some nearly collapsing with relief. Elirr coughed and wheezed at Numbtongue.

“Behind us! Raskghar!”

“Run.”

The Hobs pointed. The Cave Goblins were already fleeing, screaming in terror. The Gnolls joined the rush. Mrsha saw the Hobs holding their ground. They stood in a line. Headscratcher. Rabbiteater. Shorthilt. Badarrow. Numbtongue. They looked…different.

Taller. Rabbiteater had a red cloak which swirled around his shoulders. It wasn’t cloth. It looked like liquid. And it smelled like blood. The Raskghar paused as they saw the Hobs.

“We have to—”

Elirr stumbled. Mrsha heard a Gnoll cry out in alarm, and then felt herself slipping. Elirr half-collapsed as another adult caught him. His face was twisted with pain.

“Too much! Someone help me!”

The Gnoll cried out and another younger Gnoll came. They helped Elirr, urging him to keep running. He moved mechanically—he’d pushed himself too hard to sprint while carrying Mrsha. The Gnoll tried to limp after the Gnolls, but they were moving too fast! The Cave Goblins were running ahead of them, and she couldn’t speak. She opened her mouth—

“The child!”

Someone shouted. Mrsha felt a pair of paws scoop her up. Another Gnoll grabbed Mrsha and they fled once more. Mrsha twisted. She saw the Hobs eying the Raskghar. The two sides froze. Five Hobs. Four Raskghar, including Nokha. Then thirteen. Then seventeen.

“They can’t hold them.”

One of the Gnolls gasped. She looked back as the Hobs spread out. Numbtongue had a guitar in his hand. His claws struck lightning. Badarrow loosed an arrow. Rabbiteater whirled his cloak as the Raskghar hesitated. They outnumbered the Hobs, but they were—nervous. They had never seen Hobgoblins before. Nokha growled, sniffing at the Redfang Warriors. She glanced at Mrsha and tensed.

Shorthilt’s sword shone. Headscratcher pointed.

“Redfang!”

The Hobs charged. The Raskghar didn’t expect that. The sounds of battle echoed behind Mrsha. She heard snarls of pain, a Goblin’s voice raised in song. The Gnolls ran.

“Where?”

“Follow—the Goblins!”

The Gnolls fled onwards. Mrsha could hear the Hobs fighting. They were standing back-to-back, trying to block the corridor. But there were so many Raskghar. She saw Headscratcher roaring. He smashed into a Raskghar, picked up the huge beast and threw the Raskghar into the other warriors. Then he turned and Nokha leapt. She slammed into Headscratcher. And she had a sword too.

The Hob was strong. He punched Nokha, making her reel back. He slashed left-right, but she was quick too. She parried the blows, their swords ringing. She moved like lightning. As Headscratcher cut down with a two-handed slash she stepped back. Her sword traced an arc. She slashed open Headscratcher’s side.

Blood flew. Mrsha heard Numbtongue cry out. Headscratcher stumbled. Blood ran from his side. He looked at the gaping wound. Then he bared his teeth. Nokha was grinning in triumph when Headscratcher’s blade cut her across the chest. She leapt back. Headscratcher advanced, screaming fury. His eyes blazed as he turned, cutting at the Raskghar who stepped back. They stared at him. Headscratcher didn’t seem to notice the blood. He whirled, stumbled—then fell. The other four Hobs closed around them.

“Redfang.”

This time the shout sounded different. Mrsha, held in the Gnoll’s arms as the Hobs grew more and more distant, saw them standing around Headscratcher. Rabbiteater had a potion in his hands as the other three tried to keep the Raskghar at bay. But there were so many. And Nokha had cut Shorthilt.

“Keep running.”

Erill had seen it too. He shook himself free of the other two Gnolls, ran on his own two feet. Mrsha kept staring. The Hobs were falling back. But now it was only a matter of time. They were going to die. To buy them time.

Goblins. Monsters. But they had done it for the Gnolls. Mrsha remembered what Erin had said. She stared at Headscratcher as he pushed himself up. They were running now, trying to retreat. The Raskghar pursued them.

It was no good. Mrsha looked around in despair. The Raskghar would cut the Hobs down, and then catch up. They still didn’t have enough time.

Time. Mrsha stared at the Redfang Warriors. Then she looked at the Gnoll carrying her. The female Gnoll was panting with effort. Mrsha closed her eyes. Then she moved her injured legs. She leapt.

—-

So this was it. Shorthilt parried Nokha’s glowing sword as it curved towards his neck. Because he had to. The Raskghar was too fast to let him dodge. But the cost—the Hob grunted as the impact nearly knocked the blade out of his grip. He saw the enchanted blade the awakened Raskghar carried bite into his steel sword. He cursed, stepped back.

“Back.”

Someone grabbed him. Shorthilt stepped back as Rabbiteater threw his cloak around them. Nokha’s sword lanced into the blood cloak, slowing slightly. The blade hissed and steam erupted from where she’d struck the cloak. The Raskghar backed up, eying the cloak as Shorthilt and Rabbiteater stumbled backwards. The other Raskghar advanced, keeping their shields up as Badarrow loosed another arrow.

Too many. The Raskghar were overwhelming. There were…fourteen of them now. A fair fight if the Hobs had the high ground or the advantage of surprise. Or the bell. But they had closed too quickly. And the female—

Shorthilt locked eyes with Nokha. She grinned at him, her blade making her eyes shine in the darkness. He straightened, and Rabbiteater patted his shoulder. For a second, the Hobs locked eyes and nodded at each other.

Five of them stood in a line. Headscratcher, barely able to stand. Rabbiteater, crimson cloak held up as a shield. Shorthilt and Numbtongue, guarding Badarrow. They waited as the Raskghar advanced slowly. Another minute. One more minute. Then the Gnolls might make it. Then they could escape. Shorthilt hoped they would. Then they could tell Erin—

For a second the Hob allowed himself to close his eyes. They snapped open as he heard something. A howl. It was high and echoing. It came from the side. He glanced back behind him with the Raskghar. And saw her.

Mrsha sat behind them. The White Gnoll sat on her haunches, staring at the Hobs. The Raskghar. Both sides paused when they saw her. Nokha’s eyes locked onto the white Gnoll. Mrsha stared at Headscratcher, at Rabbiteater, at the Hobs. Then she threw her head back and howled. The sound was mournful, long. Shorthilt had never heard Mrsha make a sound like that. He had never known she could.

Mrsha got onto all fours. She ran with something in her mouth. Her wand. She limped at first, and then ran. She dashed past the Hobs, past the Raskghar. Both tried to grab for her. But Mrsha was too quick. She leapt and dove, as if she were playing in the inn. She ran past the Raskghar and down the corridor, then left. The Raskghar turned. They stared at the Hobs, and then Nokha barked an order. They turned and ran after Mrsha.

“Stop them!”

Headscratcher bellowed. The Hobs advanced, but several Raskghar turned. They held the Hobs back as Nokha and eight of the Raskghar fled. And the Hobs could hear more howls. Raskghar. They were coming.

“Retreat! Back! Back!”

Numbtongue was the one who said it. He grabbed Shorthilt as the Hob tried to cut past a Raskghar with a shield. Shorthilt hesitated. But Numbtongue was right. He turned, cursing in Goblin, and grabbed Rabbiteater. The three had to pull Headscratcher back despite his weakness. The Hob cursed and screamed at the Raskghar, who weren’t advancing. The beast-people stared as the Hobs began to fall back.

Alive. But more than one Hob wept tears of frustration. They stared back as they began to run, following the Cave Goblins and Gnolls. They heard a voice in the dungeon. A howl. It was desperate, tired. It came from a white Gnoll who ran as the Raskghar pursued her. Trying to buy the others time to flee. The howl echoed in the Redfang Warrior’s ears. A note of warning. Exhaustion.

But not despair. And the Gnolls paused. They looked back and howled. Dozens of voices echoed through the dungeon. They listened. The Hobs listened as they ran. They waited for an answer. But they never heard it. So they bowed their heads and ran. This time there were no pursuers.

—-

She had looked into Skinner’s eyes. She had known fear then. Ceria Springwalker had fled from him as her friends died around her. She still remembered the terror. The helpless paralysis. The despair. Now she looked at another monster just as terrible. Perhaps worse.

Snatcher. Facestealer. One of the guardians of Liscor’s dungeon. His claws were long. He carried a bloody bag of heads on sticks. He had no head. Or eyes that Ceria could see. His eye sockets were hollowed pits. And if Skinner was fear, he was helplessness. As he moved into the Raskghar camp, Ceria fell. She heard the Raskghar and Cave Goblins falling around her like puppets with their strings cut. They lay on the ground as Facestealer walked forwards.

Slowly. Carefully. The giant monster walked around Cave Goblins and Raskghar alike. Ceria didn’t understand what was happening at first. She felt like something had sapped her of strength. She tried to move—and couldn’t.

Spell. It had to be. Ceria could see Snatcher moving. He was heading towards the Gnoll cages at the back of the camp. Towards the Gnoll who’d howled. Towards Mrsha.

“Gh—”

Ceria’s lips barely moved. She tried to get up. Her arms shook on the ground. But they barely moved! What was it? She hadn’t seen the monster cast a spell. Was it an aura? Not a spell?

No. Ceria could feel something restricting her body. Something—it was magic. It had to be. She knew that because she could move. All of the others, Raskghar, Cave Goblins, Calruz, Gnolls—they were all still as corpses. But Ceria could see her arms tensing slightly as she tried to move.

Half-Elf. Descendants of magic. Ceria pushed mana into her arms. She saw ice begin to form at her fingertips, and then frost race down her arm. Not again. Not this time. She felt her arms move. She called more magic to her.

The ground froze. The ice spread around Ceria’s hands. She drew on everything she had as Facestealer walked as if he was taking a stroll. She felt her ring—the Everfreeze Ring emitting cold on her finger. She pulled from it.

And the ice grew. It pushed her hands up. Ceria shook as she stood. But she did stand. And the ice covered her legs, locking them in place. Ceria turned. She lifted her arm.

Facestealer was peering at Mrsha. It was a monster to inspire nightmares. But Ceria had already faced her nightmares in Liscor’s crypt. This time—she raised her voice.

“Back away from Mrsha, Snatcher. And look this way.”

Facestealer turned. Ceria fired an [Ice Spike]. Straight between its hollowed eye sockets. The javelin of ice flew straight as an arrow. It hit Facestealer’s head. And broke.

Ceria wavered. Then she raised her skeletal hand and loosed another [Ice Spike]. It struck Snatcher in the center of his chest. Again, it broke without leaving so much as a scratch.

Snatcher didn’t react. He stared at her. He seemed almost confused, as if he couldn’t believe Ceria was attacking him. The half-Elf panted with the effort of keeping her arm raised. She concentrated. She had to stop him! How? How—

His body was dark brown. Hide of some kind. But it looked lumpy. And in parts, the hide was missing, revealing a yellow interior. Bone? Or skin? Ceria focused on that. She shifted her aim as Snatcher began to shuffle towards her casually.

“Take this!”

This time she fired five [Ice Spikes], one from each finger. It was a bad shot. Four of her [Ice Spikes] missed her target, striking Facestealer’s body harmlessly. But the last hit one of the yellow patches on his body. The tip of her spear of ice struck and dug in ever so slightly. Ceria saw black liquid run from the wound. And like that, the paralysis inhibiting her vanished.

And Facestealer paused. He had no neck so he couldn’t look down. But Ceria felt a wave of terrible fury coming from it. It looked at her. Then Snatcher raised its oversized arms and charged Ceria without a word, incredibly fast. She backed up and screamed.

“Run!”

She saw the Gnolls stirring in their cages. Ceria raised her hand but Snatcher was fast. It swung at her and Ceria dove. She felt something pass over her head. She rolled, conjured a wall of ice. Before it had finished rising something smashed straight through it. Ceria scrambled back.

“Run!”

Snatcher stood over her. It swung one arm and Ceria saw it pass inches from her face. She raised a trembling hand, and then someone smashed into Facestealer from the side. Calruz. The Minotaur could barely stand. He hit Snatcher with a roar, not having bothered to draw his axe. Snatcher held still as the Minotaur struck him, at least three hundred pounds of weight behind his charge.

Snatcher’s body didn’t move so much as a centimeter. Calruz bounced off and stumbled back. He stared at Snatcher and the headless monster stared back. Calruz backed up, fumbling for his axe.

“Fight off Snatcher! To me!”

The other Raskghar and Cave Goblins were rising, some half-collapsing. Facestealer turned around as if surveying the situation. It swung its arms and Ceria felt her body deaden. Half of the camp fell back again, limp. But the effect was weaker.

“Surround it!”

Calruz bellowed. He had his axe in his hand. He raised it and shakily slashed at Facestealer. The blow was slow, weak. The axe head bounced off of Facestealer’s front. It stared at Calruz and then turned. Back to Ceria.

“[Ice Wall]! [Ice Wall]!”

Ceria pointed and formed a double-layered wall of ice, at least five feet thick. Snatcher walked forwards. He paused at the wall and drew his torso-head back. He brought it forwards and smashed through the wall. Then he swung at Ceria.

This time she couldn’t dodge. Ceria jumped backwards as the claw came hurtling towards her. She felt the impact—something compressed her side and then—and then she was weightless. Ceria gaped, half-turned as she felt herself flying—

And then she struck the ceiling of the Raskghar’s camp. And fell. Twenty feet. Ceria landed on the ground and heard something scream. She’d landed on something. A Raskghar. She would have screamed too, but pain overwhelmed every part of her.

She felt something moving under her. Ceria gaped, and then reached for a healing potion. She had to—had to—

The bottle smashed as she squeezed it tight. She ignored the glass biting into her hand, let it pour over her body. Her torn flesh began to knit. She felt the pain lessening. Then she managed to scream.

Another potion. Ceria had two. She grabbed the other and drank it. Her bones were cracking. She rolled as the Raskghar screamed and pushed her off. Ceria stood—and saw chaos.

The Raskghar and Cave Goblins surrounded Snatcher. It was turning, slashing with its claws. Every time it did, Raskghar and Cave Goblins died. One swipe sent three Raskghar flying and caved in another’s head. Facestealer grabbed—and three Cave Goblins were headless. And the weapons of the Raskghar and Cave Goblins did nothing to it! They bounced off Snatcher’s hide. And as it turned, some of them collapsed.

Paralysis. Ceria couldn’t feel it from here. She pointed her finger shakily at Snatcher, saw Calruz bellowing.

“Keep it in place! Archers! Fire! Enchanted weapons, to the front!”

Raskghar tried to obey him. Ceria saw them shooting arrows, but half of them were too weak to move. The arrows landed short of their target or struck the Raskghar and Cave Goblins around Facestealer. He turned and swept his hand. Six Raskghar and Cave Goblins died, bodies broken like twigs. He turned—

And another [Ice Spike] struck him on his yellowed weak spot. Snatcher didn’t react, but he turned. Ceria pointed at him, trembling.

“Calruz! Back me up!”

“Protect Ceria! Form a shield wall!”

The Minotaur rushed forwards. The Raskghar and Goblins tried to block Snatcher’s advance. He walked through them, swinging his arms, slaughtering them. Ceria aimed for his yellowed flesh, but this time the monster blocked the [Ice Spike]. She was backing up when an arrow struck Snatcher from behind, striking his yellowed flesh.

The monster turned. A group of Raskghar with bows was taking aim at him from the far wall. They were shaky, but far enough from him that they could use their arms. They loosed a hail of arrows which bounced off his skin. But a few struck his exposed flesh. Facestealer began striding towards them, and then turned as Ceria landed another shot from behind. He turned towards her, and the Raskghar shot again.

Turn, shoot, turn, shoot. Ceria almost wanted to laugh. But it would have been hysterical laughter—Snatcher was almost comical in how he moved! He went after whomever had wounded him last! Then her laughter caught in her throat as he turned and beheaded a Raskghar. He stared at the shocked face and carefully opened his sack. Ignoring both her spells and the Raskghar’s arrows, he put the head in the sack. Then he turned around. He seemed to realize he was being struck. He turned to Ceria and she felt a chill. Facestealer stared at her for ten long seconds as Raskghar and Cave Goblins battered him from all sides. Then he turned.

Raskghar collapsed around him. Facesnatcher strode towards one of the entrances. He stopped there, turned, stared at Ceria, and then vanished into the darkness. He left a trail of black liquid. It might have been blood.

And then it was over. Ceria stared at the empty spot where Snatcher had been. She was waiting for him to reappear, but he didn’t. She realized that the Raskghar camp was completely still. All the Raskghar and Cave Goblins were staring at the same spot.

“Was…was that it?”

The Raskghar and Cave Goblins jumped and stared at Ceria. She couldn’t take her eyes off that spot. He’d just left. As if he hadn’t felt like being here. And he’d stared at her. As if memorizing her face. She shuddered, then heard Calruz’s voice.

“Raskghar—Raskghar, seal that entrance! Tend to the wounded. Someone—open the supply of healing potions. Double—no, triple the sentries!”

His voice roused the Raskghar. They began to move shakily. Calruz turned. His eyes widened.

“Where did the Gnolls go?”

Ceria whirled. She’d almost forgotten! She saw the Gnoll cages had been forced open. The Gnolls were gone!

Some of them. A few were lying on the ground, pinned by Raskghar. Most were still in shackles. But many of the Gnolls had removed their shackles! And Mrsha! She’d gotten away too! Ceria dared to hope. But then she saw Calruz striding towards her.

“Liar!”

The Minotaur looked as shaken as Ceria, but that didn’t stop him from seizing the front of her robes. Ceria held still as Calruz roared at her. The Minotaur pointed furiously towards the cages.

“You told me she was mute!”

“She is!”

“She howled!”

“She can do that! She can’t speak!”

“Liar! Traitor! You deceived me!”

Calruz roared in Ceria’s face, covering her with spittle. His grip tightened and Ceria braced herself.

“I didn’t know that thing was going to appear! I told you the truth, Calruz! Mrsha can only howl. Or make sounds. She can’t speak!”

“That’s not what mute means!”

“Yes it is! Don’t yell at me because you don’t know the meaning of the word!”

Calruz’s eyes were wide and furious. They were turning red—but then he paused. A curious, affronted look replaced the enraged expression on his face.

“I know the meaning of the word mute. It means unable to make sounds. You are incorrect, Ceria.”

“No, it doesn’t. It means ‘unable to speak’. There’s a big difference, you giant idiot.”

“How do you know that?”

“I read it in a book. Okay, Pisces read it in a book and told me.”

The Minotaur and half-Elf stared at each other. The exchange was furious, tense. But familiar. After a second, Calruz let go of Ceria slowly. They stared at each other. Ceria was breathing hard. She pointed at the splatter of black liquid where Facestealer had been.

“That wasn’t my fault. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t. That was Snatcher, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. He sometimes approaches Raskghar camps. They can usually deceive him into leaving by pretending to be statues. Usually.”

“I didn’t know. And I didn’t lie to you. Knowingly.”

Calruz hesitated.

“That is…true.”

“I could have run. I saved your life.”

The Minotaur paused. He looked at Ceria and nodded slowly.

“Yes. You did.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Then Calruz turned. He looked around his camp and exhaled. Slowly.

“The Gnolls fled. They’ll die in the dungeon. You there! Send a team to retrieve them!”

He pointed at a Raskghar who looked confused. The Raskghar growled. Calruz frowned.

“Already? Who? Nokha? She abandoned the camp when—”

The Raskghar backed up as Calruz snorted in anger. Ceria stared at him anxiously.

“Well? Did the Gnolls escape?”

“Nokha led a team after them the instant they fled. She will not let them run.”

Ceria prayed he was wrong. Calruz stomped away. She saw him begin organizing his camp, directing the Cave Goblins and Raskghar to physically seal the entrance that Snatcher had left by. The mood in the camp was tense, afraid. And angry. The Raskghar forced the remaining Gnolls, barely twenty now, back into the cages, beating them as if to punish them for Mrsha.

“Calruz! Stop them!”

The Minotaur looked over and shouted a word in the Raskghar’s language. The beast-people turned away sullenly and the Gnolls lay in the cages. Ceria expected them to be devastated by the failed escape attempt, but to her surprise—and the Raskghar’s—she heard laughter. The Raskghar turned, disbelieving, as one of the Gnolls sat up.

“You…are cursed.”

The female Gnoll had a bloody lip and her eye looked…wrong, as if it weren’t moving properly. Still, she grinned at the Raskghar as they snarled at her. She lifted her shackled hands, pointed. At Mrsha’s empty cage.

“You captured her. But she is your doom. White fur. Doombringer. You are doomed! Your tribe will end! That is fate! She brought it on you! Mrsha, the child of omens! You—”

A Raskghar bounded over and kicked the Gnoll in the chest. She curled up, choking, until Calruz himself threw the Raskghar back. Then both Gnolls and Raskghar were silent.

It was nearly twenty minutes before Nokha’s team returned. When they did, the Raskghar howled and gathered anxiously at the entrance to their camp, hearing them coming. Ceria ran forwards, heart beating in fear. She heard Calruz roar, saw the Raskghar make grudging way for him—

And then she saw Mrsha. The Gnoll cub was hanging limp in Nokha’s arm. She still held Ceria’s wand. The awakened Raskghar looked displeased. She growled as she walked into the camp. She had Mrsha, and the Raskghar behind her looked wounded. Had they fought monsters? Or had the Gnolls managed to fight them off? Where were the others?

“Is that the only one you managed to catch?”

Calruz’s voice was disbelieving. He strode towards Nokha, hand opening and closing as she slung Mrsha into one of the Gnoll cages with the others. Nokha turned. Her expression was furious.

“Others fled! This one ran other way! We caught! Would have caught others, but strange monsters stopped us! Goblins but not Goblins!”

“What? What? You were stopped? By who?”

Ceria listened with disbelief and bated breath as Nokha described their encounter with the Redfang Hobs. When Calruz realized what Nokha had to be describing he snorted dismissively.

“Fool! Those are Hobs! They are Goblin.”

“No! Goblins are small! Not large! They do not fight Raskghar! They obey!”

Nokha lashed out at the nearest Cave Goblin scurrying around her in fury. The Goblins shrank back as the Raskghar growled at them. Calruz shook his head.

“Hobgoblins are standard aboveground. This must have been a group that wandered into the dungeon. Somehow. They’re intelligent. Good fighters, for scum. You should have overwhelmed the five!”

“They were strong. And little white one ran other way. So we chased.”

Nokha’s ears flattened in displeasure. Calruz snorted. He cast his eyes towards the eastern entrance to the camp and Ceria saw more Raskghar dragging or carrying limp Gnolls.

“One Gnoll versus dozens? Think, fool! At least the others caught more than a single Gnoll child.”

“This one is special. White fur. Cast magic! Will sacrifice now. Get others later.”

The awakened Raskghar bared her teeth as she pointed at Mrsha. The other Gnolls were shielding her from sight protectively. Calruz’s eyes narrowed.

“That is not your decision. I am Chieftain and I say if we sacrifice any Gnoll! Understand?”

He locked eyes with Nokha. The air grew tense again and the Raskghar around Nokha grew still. The eighteen awakened Raskghar stared at her. Three had died to Snatcher. Nokha glanced around, her expression savage. Then she seemed to note the dead Raskghar and Goblins. Snatcher had barely fought save to defend himself and still a score of corpses lay on the ground. She glanced at Calruz and inclined her head ever so slightly.

“Yes.”

There was no ‘Chieftain’, or any other sign of acknowledgment. Nokha turned and stalked towards the Raskghar who weren’t working. Calruz stared at her back. His hand clenched in anger and his brows drew together, but he seemed to think twice about calling her back. He turned to look at Ceria.

“Use a potion if you need to. And find one for your belt.”

He stomped off to shout at the Cave Goblins and Raskghar laboring at the entrance. Ceria watched him go and then looked around. The air in the camp was tense. Snatcher’s attack might not have been Calruz’s fault, but the Raskghar were shaken. And they were already chafing at his restrictions. They kept staring at the remaining Gnolls. And the awakened Raskghar, led by Nokha?

They were looking at Calruz. Not fearfully, but with a calculating look in their gazes that made Ceria shiver. She stared at the remaining Gnolls in cages and at Calruz. The Minotaur looked around. He could sense it too. He adjusted the axe strapped to his back and stood taller.

“Get to work!”

The Raskghar obeyed. But it was only a matter of time. Ceria was certain now. She looked around, and then backed up to the cages. The Gnolls looked up at Ceria.

“Is she…?”

“Hurt. But not critically.”

“I’ll get you a healing potion. For all of you. If I can.”

The Gnolls nodded. Ceria hesitated, and then bent. Pretending to inspect Mrsha, she concentrated. A little fiery bug crawled out from her hands. It fluttered upwards, vanished, carrying a message for Pisces.

Gnolls escaped. Mrsha here. Raskghar rebel soon. Hurry.

The Gnolls stared at the fiery bug as it disappeared. They looked at Ceria. She gave them a slight nod and straightened. None of the Goblins and Raskghar around her had noticed. But then she turned and saw one of them staring at her.

Nokha. The Raskghar had snuck up on her from the side! She stared at the Gnolls and Ceria. At Ceria’s hands.

She’d seen the spell! Ceria felt a chill of fear, but the Raskghar didn’t immediately shout what Ceria had done. Instead, she locked gazes with Ceria and smiled. The half-Elf met her gaze. She glanced at Calruz’s back. She gave Nokha a frozen smile.

“Just try it.”

—-

Erin Solstice paced back and forth in her inn. She had a plan. It was a good one, or at least, it was simple. The best plans were simple. Except that they weren’t in chess. Chess was an ever-moving game of attack and defense and opportunity. You had to think a hundred moves ahead of your opponent. That was why computers were so good. But her plan had only one moving part. She couldn’t adjust it. It worked or it wouldn’t.

It would work. But first, Erin had to know where the Raskghar camp was. And for that, the Redfang Warriors had to return. It had been four hours. The magic door to the Goblin’s cave was open. Only a few people were in Erin’s inn. Pisces had gone out with Yvlon and Ksmvr to bring back the Gold-rank adventurers. Erin hoped she wouldn’t have to tell them her plan wouldn’t work today.

“Lyonette, have you eaten anything today?”

“No.”

“You should.”

“Okay.”

The [Princess] sat at a table and didn’t move. Erin looked at her. Lyonette stared past Erin. Apista buzzed around her anxiously.

“Have you fed Apista?”

Lyonette blinked. She looked at the Ashfire Bee and a bit of life entered her eyes.

“No. I—”

She half got up and had to put her hands on the table. Erin looked around.

“Drassi.”

“On it! I’ll get honey for Apista, and what do you want, Lyonette?”

The young woman hesitated. She sat back down.

“I don’t want—”

“Water and a bit of meat and cheese, maybe. Crackers? Yeah, crackers and meat and cheese. Just have a few bites, Lyonette.”

Erin tried to encourage the young woman. She frowned and tried to remember if she’d had breakfast. Maybe not? Well, she was in better shape than Lyonette. Erin stared back towards the Goblin cave. Then she heard a shout from outside her inn and whirled.

“Erin! Get out here!”

That was Yvlon’s voice! Erin hesitated, grabbed the knife and one of Octavia’s potions she’d put on the table and raced outside. The rain pounded her face. She blinked, nearly cut herself as she went to wipe her face, and then saw the boats. The Gold-rank adventurers had returned! And they had brought—

“Headscratcher! Rabbiteater!”

Two of the Hobs looked up. Headscratcher tried to rise, but Rabbiteater forced him down. The boat rocked as he leapt out of it and began swimming to shore. The adventurers rowed towards Erin’s inn. But another group was heading straight for Liscor. And in them—

“They found the Gnolls! There was an escape! Erin, we need stamina potions!”

“What?”

Erin stared in disbelief. Yes, some of the boats had Gnolls in them! They huddled together, staring around. The Gold-ranks were escorting them to Liscor and a cry went up from the walls. Erin saw more boats headed her way. The Horns and Halfseekers rowing boats with Gnolls in them. And Cave Goblins. And the Redfangs. Erin stared at all of the Gnolls, looking for a flash of white. But there wasn’t any.

“Mrsha? Where’s Mrsha?”

The adventurers looked at each other. Yvlon stood up in her boat.

“They think she’s captured. Erin! We need stamina potions! Now!”

For a second the [Innkeeper] wavered, but then she realized Yvlon was right. She turned and ran into her inn as Rabbiteater ran up the slope.

“Drassi get me all our stamina potions! Some of the Gnolls are back!”

“What?”

The Drake turned. Lyonette shot up, knocking her plate of food aside.

“Is Mrsha—”

“Potions! Now!”

Erin met word with action. She grabbed her crate of potions and ran out with it. The adventurers were still rowing towards her boat.

“Catch!”

Erin threw a potion through the air. The glowing potion flew straight at Pisces who ducked. Yvlon fielded the bottle and yanked the cork out. Erin didn’t know why they needed stamina potions, but when she saw the Gnolls lying weakly in the boats she understood. The adventurers had enough healing potions to cover them, but they hadn’t brought many stamina potions. And the Gnolls looked half-dead.

“Get them in here! Drassi, get me food! Lyonette—”

The young woman ran past Erin. She splashed into the water.

“Mrsha! Is she okay? Where is she?”

The Gnolls in the boat were rousing themselves. Some looked at Lyonette and shook their heads, but one, an older, grey-haired Gnoll with red stripes, spoke weakly.

“She ran back. She distracted the Raskghar. To save us. She freed us too. She is alive, we think. But maybe—”

Lyonette stared in horror at the Gnoll. The adventurers ran their boats aground and leapt out. They helped the Gnolls out as Erin saw the people on Liscor’s walls trying to do the same for the Gnolls there.

In the end, all the boats had to come to Erin’s inn. The Gnolls had exhausted the last of their energy fleeing from the Raskghar and now, in safety, could barely move even with the stamina potions. Erin changed the door from her cave to Liscor and had to step back as the Watch and Gnoll families flooded into her inn. She opened her pantry and soon the Gnolls were eating small portions.

“Not too much. You’ll injure yourselves. Eat only small bits. And we must check you for broken bones and other injuries. The healing potions will not heal everything. They may make some things worse, but the adventurers have taken care not to heal wounds incorrectly.”

A Drake [Healer] was cautioning the Gnolls as they sat at Erin’s tables. They ate slowly, some surrounded by their loved ones. Many were in tears as they ate simple foods. A few spoke to Zevara and the others, recounting what they’d seen and heard.

“It was the child who saved us. She used a—a—”

Erill glanced at the Drakes and hesitated.

“She used her voice! The Raskghar thought her mute, but she howled and brought the monster down on them. We fled in the confusion, but Mrsha, she ran back when it became clear the Hobs would fall. She bought us all time to flee.”

“Mrsha. Oh, Mrsha.”

Lyonette buried her head in her hands, weeping. Erin stared at the Hobs. They were intact, although Headscratcher was still weak. They all looked like they’d healed wounds recently. None of them could meet her eyes.

“You say these awakened Raskghar were smarter? And stronger?”

“They were leaders among the others. Terrifying. The ritual—it must be stopped. And the Minotaur is insane. I saw him beat the half-Elf when she tried to stop him. But I think—I think neither will be alive much longer. The awakened are too intelligent. They will dispose of both if they are not stopped.”

The Horns and other adventurers exchanged uneasy looks. Zevara just nodded. Another Gnoll spoke up.

“We remember where they’ve gone. But I am sure—the Raskghar keep their camps watched. And there are so many. They will surely move their camp tonight.”

“And if we attack them, they’ll just fight us off. We don’t have enough bodies!”

Keldrass pounded a scaly fist into his other clawed hand. Zevara glanced at him and shook her head.

“The fact that any of you were able to escape is a miracle. Mister Elirr, I know you and the others must be exhausted. But if you’ll speak to our [Strategist], I’d be deeply grateful. Rest assured we’ll try to save the others if at all possible.”

Again, she glanced at the Gold-rank adventurers who looked away. Some of them shook their heads. Elirr bowed his.

“We owe Mrsha a debt we cannot repay. To think we blamed her—and the Goblins! They saved us.”

“Yes. Them.”

Zevara met Erin’s gaze. She shook her head.

“We’ll get a full accounting of this later. For now, let’s bring you back to the city. The Council will want your statements and then we’ll issue an announcement. Solstice, we’ll settle the costs later. Is that fine?”

“What? Yes. Go on.”

Erin nodded. She was talking with Numbtongue. The Hob’s head was bowed.

“We tried. But there were many. And the female one—”

“I understand. You weren’t supposed to fight them. It’s okay, Numbtongue.”

The Hob looked up wretchedly.

“But Mrsha—”

Erin grabbed the Hob’s shoulder, squeezing hard.

“We still have a chance. Did you find the Raskghar camp?”

“Yes. But it is…what is the word? Fortified. The adventurers will not take it. And there are many Raskghar.”

“I know. But you know where it is, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then come with me. Drassi! Change the door as soon as I’m through. Then let us back when everyone’s in Liscor!”

Erin pushed past the crowd and headed to her magic door. She slapped the red mana stone on, opened the door, and strode through. She heard an exclamation behind her and an oath from Zevara and slammed the door. She looked around.

“Pebblesnatch! Where’s Pebblesnatch?”

The Cave Goblins looked up. They stared at Numbtongue and raced over. Erin looked around wildly and saw a familiar face. Pebblesnatch and a bunch of smaller Goblins looked up from Erin’s magic chessboard. They’d constructed a very tall tower out of the ghostly chess pieces. They scrambled back guiltily as Erin marched over.

“It’s okay. Pebblesnatch, I need your help. Will you listen? Numbtongue, can you translate?”

The Hob nodded. The Cave Goblins could understand Erin well enough, probably thanks to Calruz, but the Hob translated with word and gesture so Erin was certain that Pebblesnatch understood every word she said. She crouched next to the Cave Goblin.

“The Raskghar are bad. They kidnapped Gnolls. And they’re mean to you and the other Cave Goblins. The adventurers have been fighting them. So have the Redfangs. But the Raskghar have some of my friends. Two people very important to me. I want them back.”

Pebblesnatch stared up at Erin with round eyes. She glanced at Numbtongue and at Erin. She nodded hesitantly, but then gave Erin a Goblin shrug. Numbtongue didn’t have to translate. Erin smiled ruefully.

“Yeah, that’s bad, but what can you do about it? Well, there is something. The Redfangs found the Raskghar camp. And I have a plan to get back my friends. But I need your help. It might be dangerous, but not too much. And it will save my friends. Will you do it, Pebblesnatch?”

The small Goblin looked alarmed. She looked at Numbtongue. The Hob stared at Erin. The young woman looked from Numbtongue to Pebblesnatch.

“I won’t ask her to steal a key or anything. It’s very safe. So long as you can get her there. Can you?”

“We can.”

Numbtongue nodded at once. Pebblesnatch began to quiver. She looked at Erin and the [Innkeeper] could tell that Pebblesnatch was afraid to see a Raskghar again. Erin reached out and touched Pebblesnatch’s hands.

“I know it must be terrifying. But you’re the only one I can ask. The Hobs can’t do it. And you—well, your name is actually important. Pebblesnatch. It’s part of how I came up with my plan, actually.”

All the Goblins looked astonished at that. Pebblesnatch touched her chest. Erin nodded.

“It’s true. And I know this is a lot. I know it’s scary. But I need your help. You’re the only one who can do it. So will you?”

The small Goblin stared up at Erin. She hesitated. She looked at Numbtongue and the Hob nodded. But the Cave Goblin was still afraid. She met Erin’s eyes. The young woman stared into hers.

“Please?”

Pebblesnatch wavered. Then, slowly, she nodded. Erin smiled.

“Thank you. It’s very simple. All you have to do is take these—and do exactly what I say.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled something out. Pebblesnatch’s eyes went round and the other Cave Goblins gasped. Numbtongue stared at Erin, and his eyes lit up in sudden comprehension.

“Ah. Good plan.”

Erin turned and smiled at him.

“I know, right? I thought of it myself. Now, I need Pebblesnatch to go now, but we need to time this exactly right. So here’s what we’re going to do…”

—-

“Keep all the camps on alert. Snatcher may strike at them. I want the watches doubled, but no patrols. They’re dead if they run into him. Go!”

Calruz was giving commands like normal. The Raskghar he was addressing bowed its head and moved with speed. Like normal. But the mood in the camp was on edge.

It was strange for Ceria to think of ‘normal’ and ‘not normal’ after only having been in the Raskghar camp a few days. But she could tell that the Raskghar were growing discontent.  Calruz would have called it insubordinate. Ceria just thought they were finally confident enough not to need him any longer. And the source of that confidence were the awakened.

They were intelligent. They would keep being intelligent when the moons fell. Of that Ceria and Calruz were now sure. The other Raskghar seemed nervous about the absence of the full moon, only one more day away. But the awakened? They moved about without fear, followed by a pack of lesser Raskghar who ran to fulfill their every whim. And Nokha led them all.

It was like two tribes, now, really. Calruz strode about, giving orders, but the awakened did the same. And while they moved when he looked at them and told them what to do, there was an air of…expectancy. As if they were waiting to strike.

But they kept watching Calruz for now. Because he was still important. Ceria saw Nokha listening, pretending to be listening at attention as Calruz dealt with an issue that had reared its head in one of the smaller camps.

“How many sick? And what are the symptoms?”

The Raskghar growled. Calruz frowned and made Nokha translate.

“Hotness. Shaking. Throwing up. Blood in…leavings. And lumps. Yellow pus.”

Nokha gestured and Ceria made a face. Calruz wrinkled his bull’s nose.

“And the cause? Did they not cook their food again? What monsters did they eat?”

“No, Chieftain. They say it was adventurers. A few Raskghar were wounded by…arrows? And spells. They thought it minor, but the wounds grew worse. Now many are sick.”

Calruz cursed. He looked at Ceria.

“Poison.”

“Or plague.”

Ceria felt a bit sick. She knew some adventurers used those tactics, but it was cruel, even against Raskghar. And dangerous. She’d heard stories of adventurers who’d used poison against rats and killed thousands in major cities, or spread disease for hundreds of miles by accident. The Adventurer’s Guild was very strict about that sort of thing. Calruz frowned.

“Quarantine the camp. That means no one goes in or out. Not Cave Goblins, not Raskghar. No one touches the sick. Burn the bodies.”

The Raskghar didn’t like that. They tried to argue until Calruz cuffed the scout across the face. He glanced at Ceria as the Raskghar whined and Nokha barked at him sharply.

“Anything else, Springwalker?”

Ceria had to think.

“No healing potions. That can help with some diseases, but it might spread the plague faster. And…wash with hot water? There’s not much we can do without seeing what it is. And I’m not going to inspect it in person.”

The Minotaur nodded grimly.

“True. If we had an [Alchemist] or [Healer], we might try something. But we don’t. Quarantine the camp. Do as Ceria says. The surviving Raskghar and Cave Goblins will remain in place for…”

He glanced at Ceria. She shrugged.

“Four days after getting better? And don’t bring them here.”

Calruz nodded.

“Four days. They’ll patrol with healthy Raskghar or Cave Goblins to make sure they’re well.”

The Raskghar whined unhappily, but Nokha snapped and he went. Calruz growled under his breath.

“Adventurers. Damn them. I need to make sure they haven’t infected any other camps. Where are my other scouts?”

He looked around and stomped towards some Raskghar who were eating by a fire. Ceria and Nokha were left. The half-Elf eyed the Raskghar. The awakened smiled.

“You know things about adventuring. Like Chieftain.”

“Yup. More than you do.”

Ceria smiled and Nokha bared her teeth.

“True. We need Chieftain. He is smart. Knows much.”

“Even if he won’t let you kill the Gnolls? Even if you’re smart when the moon isn’t full?”

Ceria saw Nokha’s grin waver. The Raskghar looked concerned. She glanced swiftly at Calruz and back at Ceria. The half-Elf kept her smiling mask up.

That’s right. We know.

But far from being nervous, Nokha instead just smiled again.

“Yes. We still need. Someone who knows what we do not. Very important. Chieftain is valuable. Important. But won’t let us sacrifice Gnolls. Too bad.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll have to live with it. Unless you want to take his place? But oh wait, then you don’t have Calruz. Shame about that, especially if you run into something like infected Raskghar, huh?”

The half-Elf smiled mockingly. Nokha nodded. She drew closer suddenly.

“Yes. Very bad. If Chieftain was only one. Good thing we have two.”

She grabbed Ceria’s arm suddenly. The half-Elf tensed. She raised a fist, but too slow. Nokha leaned forwards—

And licked Ceria.

The action was so surprising that Ceria forgot to hit Nokha. She spluttered and tried to back up, but Nokha licked her across her face. Her tongue was rough and wet. Ceria twisted out of her grip. She wiped at her face.

“What in the name of tree crap was—”

She backed up and saw Nokha smiling at her. The Raskghar stood back, smiling. Ceria stared at her, and then remembered something about animals. They liked to mark their territory, didn’t they? Was that—

“Unacceptable!”

Calruz had seen the entire thing. He stormed over and Nokha backed up. The Minotaur snarled at her, much like a Raskghar himself and she backed up.

“Forgiveness, Chieftain.”

“Back to your work!”

Calruz roared at her. His fist clenched, but Nokha moved out of range before he could strike. She sauntered back to the other Raskghar, who had of course been watching. Ceria scrubbed at the saliva, blushing. That had felt like more than just a challenge against Calruz. It had been an attack on multiple levels. She was his companion, and that had felt like an oddly sexual jab from Nokha against Calruz as well. She glanced sideways at Calruz to see what he thought.

The Minotaur was clearly furious. He stared at Ceria, clenching his hand, and spoke through gritted teeth.

“Why did she do that?”

“She was telling me that she only needed one of us for our knowledge. She’s not afraid of you, Calruz.”

The Minotaur breathed heavily.

“No. She’s growing bolder. I should crush her. But if I do, the Raskghar might revolt. I need her to challenge me. That is their custom. This is—provocation. The next time she does that, blast her with magic.”

“I was going to, but she’s quick!”

“Do it faster next time. This is an affront on my honor. On my reputation! I have to make a reply, demonstrate—”

Calruz broke off, muttering to himself. Ceria eyed him and sidled away a step.

“Lick me and I’ll punch you.”

The Minotaur glanced at Ceria. Then he snorted. Ceria laughed and Calruz joined in. The Raskghar looked back at them, and Nokha’s smile vanished for a moment in annoyed confusion. The two adventurers laughed louder, and Ceria felt a bit of madness herself take over. Every day it felt like the old Calruz again. And not. Here they were, fighting to keep him Chieftain of a Raskghar camp. And being licked! She laughed and laughed.

And knew it would be over soon.

—-

Evening fell on Liscor. Not that you could tell in the rain. Relc Grasstongue grumbled as he stood on the walls.

“When’s it going to stop? Next week? The week after next? It should end soon, right? It has to! There’s not enough water in the sky for all this. And why do I have to stand guard duty right now? For the sixth straight day? I wanna patrol, but no…I’m too high-level to patrol in a nice warm tavern for an hour or two. Captain Z makes me stand here because I’m the highest-level [Guardsman] in the city. Which is true. I’m awesome. But still.”

His griping went unheard by the other [Guardspeople] who were actually patrolling the walls. It was a slippery, wet beat and Relc was standing beneath a temporary awning out of the rain. Occasionally one of them would shoot him a dirty glance or make a comment, but they generally left Relc alone. Because if a monster or Raskghar attacked, he’d be the first one into the fight and everyone knew it.

Still, that didn’t meant they had to stand near him. Relc stood alone, leaning on the battlements and yawning while scratching his tail until a pair of crisp footfalls made him look around. He blinked and waved as a Drake with red scales marched towards him. Wing Commander Embria’s armor was polished and she walked swiftly with her enchanted spear in hand. A helmet was on her head and her posture was perfect. Relc waved at her as he leaned on his spear and the wall.

“Hey kid. What’s up?”

Embria stopped in front of Relc. She turned to face him and stared down at Relc, which was a trick since he was taller than she was. Her voice was cold.

“Senior Guardsman Relc.”

“What?”

“Senior Guardsman Relc.”

A note in Embria’s voice made Relc pause. Embria stared at him without a trace of affection.

“We are on duty. You will address me by my rank.”

The Drake paused. He looked at Embria and then straightened and gave her a grudging salute. He looked past her head as he spoke.

“Yes. Wing Commander Embria.”

His voice was hurt. Embria colored, making her red scales turn a darker shade. She nodded and Relc went back to leaning on the battlements, not looking at her. Embria looked around quickly and hissed.

“Stand up straight! You’re on duty!”

Relc looked back at Embria, clearly upset. His tail swept the wet stones beneath his feet as he replied.

“I’m not in the army anymore. The Watch doesn’t make us keep perfect posture except when we’re talking to Captain Z.”

Embria hissed at her father, keeping an eye out for passing [Guardsman] or her [Soldiers]. A few had been assigned to man the walls at regular intervals.

“You’re a former [Sergeant]! You should remember how to stand at least!”

“My former commander never made me stand at attention. He was cool.”

Relc folded his arms, looking peeved. Embria hesitated.

“Wing Commander Weillmet? He’s dead.”

“What? No.”

The big Drake froze. He stared at Embria.

“When?”

The Wing Commander had to think. She shook her head.

“About a year ago. During a holding action at Shivering Straits. His flank was exposed—a division from Oteslia’s Second Infantry overwhelmed his position.”

“Damn. I didn’t know.”

Relc turned away. He stared at the water surrounding Liscor in silence. Embria stared at his back. Her tail moved restlessly.

“You didn’t hear? The army sends back regular reports—”

“I don’t read them. Too many names I recognize and a lot I don’t. Plus, it’s always about where we’re fighting next, who’s paying us. It’s always the same stuff.”

“I’m…sorry. Wing Commander Weillmet was a good officer. I served with him for a few months. He taught me a few spear techniques.”

“Yeah. He always was good with the spear. Nearly as good as I was, but he was a better leader than a soldier. Man…so why are you up here, Wing Commander?”

Embria colored again. She stepped up and stood next to Relc. After a moment she relaxed her posture a tiny bit.

“I…wanted to talk with you.”

“You can find me at my home. I’m on duty. Can’t casually chat and all that.”

“You’ve been pulling double shifts all week.”

“That’s Captain Z’s fault, not mine. I just follow orders.”

Embria bit her tongue. She stared at Relc’s side. The Drake was staring into the waters, his expression bleak. After a moment, Embria went on.

“It’s about the Human.”

“Erin?”

“Yes. I have…questions. You know I’m here for more than just defense of the city, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah. Making sure we’re not getting eaten by the Antinium, prodding the Council in the tails, all that. How’s that going?”

Embria ignored the question.

“One of the things I was instructed to look into were the Antinium. I know what you think—but they’re acting oddly. And the other Hives have been…irregular of late. When Xrn, the Small Queen was sighted in Liscor, the High Command was alarmed.”

“Oh, so that’s why they sent you? Not because of the Goblin Lord running about?”

“It was one of their concerns. Father, you know this is an issue. And the Small Queen and the Slayer—”

“Klbkch.”

“—They both went to her inn. The Human’s.”

“Erin’s. They have names, you know.”

“Why?”

Relc paused. He stared across Liscor’s lake and then responded slowly.

“Well, you know, back in the old days, I guess people were tired of saying ‘hey you’, all the time. So they invented this thing called names, and most people—”

Embria stomped on Relc’s tail. He bit back a shout and whirled. She glared at him.

“Don’t evade the question!”

“I don’t know, okay? Erin’s special! Klb likes her and that blue Antinium likes her too, I guess! She plays chess with Workers!”

“But why? Why do you and everyone else listen to her?”

Embria raked her claws across the spines on the back of her neck, clearly frustrated. She gripped her spear and twirled it.

“Every time something happens, not only does Watch Captain Zevara listen to her, but Wall Lord Ilvriss—a Wall Lord—listens to her! And your [Strategist]! And everyone else! They listen to her opinion even when she says the most idiotic things! And apparently Zel Shivertail himself stayed at her inn! Why?”

“Because she’s Erin.”

This time Relc pulled his tail out of the way of Embria’s foot. He cradled it protectively as she stared at him.

“I don’t know, kid. All I know is that Erin has something. But I have no idea what that is. She likes Goblins, she plays a mean game of chess apparently…and she’s just different. But I can’t say why. I just go to her inn because I like the food. And because she called me a Dragon.”

The Wing Commander snorted and turned away. Relc stared at her back for a while, and then let go of his tail. It curled up a bit, and then he sidled a bit closer to her. He leaned on the battlements.

“You know, I think it’s because people like her. They didn’t at first, but Erin grows on you. Like a mushroom.”

“And what? They don’t like me? Is that why I have to request to join every planning session and why Watch Captain Zevara keeps forgetting to notify me of important events?”

“Yeah. Probably.”

Embria clenched her claws into fists.

“I came here to defend Liscor!”

“Too late. And the army’s never here. And you came in the wrong way, kid. You strode in and expected to take command. That’s not how it works.”

Embria sagged. She leaned on the battlements, looking dispirited.

“I know. I just—I’m trying to do my job, Dad. Why is it so hard?”

Relc eyed Embria in alarm. His tail hesitated, and then nearly went over to touch Embria’s. At the last moment it stopped. He cleared his throat and looked around uncertainly.

“I think it’s because people don’t know you. But I’m sure they’d like you. I mean, you’re my kid. So why don’t we go and say hi to some people? Get your face out there? Buy some people some drinks?”

The young female Drake stared into the lake. Then she turned her head.

“That was your best idea?”

“Yeah.”

“I see.”

The two stood there for a while. Then Embria raised her head. She turned it and stared. Relc looked around as well. Both Drakes heard a loud, familiar voice.

“Yeah, I know it’s off limits! I need to speak with whoever’s up there! Is it Captain Zevara? No? Where is she? Okay, who’s up there? I know it’s someone important? Olesm? Embria? Okay, well then let me talk to her! Excuse me! Excuse me!”

They saw Erin push her way up the steps. The Gnoll [Guardsman] tried to stop her, but not very hard. He stepped to one side as Erin spotted Embria and Relc.

“Great! You’re on my list! Hi, Embria right?”

“What are you doing up here?”

Embria barked at Erin. The young woman paused. Embria grabbed her spear and pointed it at Erin.

“Are you insane? We are under martial law! Access to the ramparts is forbidden! I could execute you here and now!”

“Yeah, yeah. Look, I need to talk to you. Now.”

To the female Drake’s shock, Erin reached out and pushed the spearhead away from her chest. She advanced and Embria stared at her.

“I’ve got a plan. Relc, can you tell Zevara I need to speak with her? And Klbkch! I definitely need Klbkch. Get them to meet me in the inn in like, five minutes. Be there or be square. Got it?”

Relc covered a laugh as Embria spluttered.

“You can’t just order a Watch Captain—I’m a Wing Commander! What are you talking about? A plan?”

“That’s right. And you should be there. Bring a few [Captains] so they can listen if you want. I’m getting Ilvriss and Olesm now. Relc?”

“On it! Is this plan going to be awesome?”

“So awesome. Or we die.”

Erin gave Relc a thumbs up. He grinned. Erin turned to go, but Embria’s spear shot out.

“Hold it.”

Both Erin and Relc looked at Embria. The Wing Commander looked beyond peeved. She stared at Erin, anger written all over her face.

“This is insane! Da—Senior Guardsman Relc, get back to your post! You, Human. Why should we listen to you or follow your orders?”

“Why?”

“That’s right. You’re no [Leader]. You run an inn! What gives you the right to order anyone about?”

Erin gave Embria the blankest look the Drake had ever seen on someone who wasn’t a corpse. She thought for a second, and then shrugged.

“You don’t have to follow my orders. I just thought you’d want to be part of my plan. I don’t need you. I could use your help, but you need me more than I need you. So…see you maybe?”

The Wing Commander gaped at Erin. The young woman went to push aside her spear, but it didn’t budge. Relc coughed. He lifted the spear up and Erin ducked under it.

“Five minutes! Or ten! I can’t run that fast. All the Gold-ranks are going to be there! I’ll tell everyone my plan, then we have to hurry and get ready! Find Zevara and Klbkch!”

She ran down the battlements. The Gnoll [Guardsman] stared at Embria and then decided he needed to follow Erin. Relc and his daughter stood together. Embria looked at Relc. He grinned.

“See that? That’s why. You coming?”

—-

“Yes, I don’t think Pallass can commit any more adventurers. It’s not a question of cost—they’re not willing to empty their city and they’ve sent two thirds of their Gold-ranks to Liscor already. They do have a Named Adventurer, but they can’t force him to comply. Yes, I’ve tried to approach him directly. But I’m banned from entering the city as you know—”

Ilvriss was speaking into his personal scrying orb to someone in Salazsar. He and Olesm sat in the meeting room usually used by the Council in their infrequent meetings. Now it was a war room complete with a map of the dungeon. Olesm was poring over the transcripts of the Gnoll prisoner’s accounts of the dungeon. He was trying to piece together an image of the Raskghar camps. And he was succeeding, much to his chagrin.

“Too many Raskghar. If we fill the corridors like this and this—we can’t complete the encirclement. But without more adventurers, we can’t hold these positions. Especially against the awakened. If they can beat a Hob—what’s Headscratcher’s level?”

Olesm was muttering to himself as he did calculations. Each time he studied the numbers of the Raskghar his heart sank. Just too many to take on with all the Gold-ranks. If they were defending it was doable. But the objective was to free prisoners and the Raskghar could run or encircle the Gold-ranks. They had to do something other than a full-scale assault. Use subterfuge. Unfortunately, even the best Gold-ranks like Seborn had flatly refused to try and infiltrate the Raskghar camp.

“We must do something. Some of the Gnolls are free, but the rest will be sacrificed. Can you hire a Courier to send an artifact—yes, it’s worth the risk! No, the Heartflame Breastplate can’t solve this issue! The Selphid wearing it can fight a hundred Raskghar in it, and there are thousands in the dungeon! I don’t care about the cost! Give me a solution! Salazsar has—”

Ilvriss was arguing passionately with his fellow Salaszarian Wall Lords and Ladies. He had really committed all he could to the dungeon. Olesm had to admire that. But his fellow nobility from Salazsar were removed from Liscor’s situation. Ilvriss had been talking with them for the last hour and gotten nowhere. But Olesm had hopes. If he could get Salaszar to send some of their elites or adventurers of their own—or just one of the artifacts that the Walled Cities held in their vaults, maybe—

“Hey! Let me in!”

The Wall Lord glanced up with Olesm.  They both heard the shout from below. Olesm closed his eyes. He recognized that voice.

“Hey Ilvriss! Hey! I know you’re up there! Your guards won’t let me in! Move aside! I need to talk with you!”

Olesm looked at Ilvriss. The Drake covered the scrying orb with one claw and motioned him towards the window. The [Strategist] looked outside. Sure enough, there was Erin. A pair of Drakes were trying to usher her away, but she was shouting up at the windows.

“I have a plan! I need you to come to my inn! Now! It’s about the Gnolls!”

Ilvriss paused. He looked at Olesm. The [Strategist] gave him a weak grin and shrug, but part of him stirred. Erin couldn’t have a plan. He had no plan and he was a [Strategist] now! But she played chess. And it was Erin…

“Hold on. I need to address this. Stay near the orb. We haven’t finished our discussion.”

Ilvriss snapped into the scrying orb and placed it on the table. He stalked over to the window and unlatched it. He shouted down at Erin as the two Drakes began to haul her back.

“Hold! Solstice, what are you talking about?”

Erin fought free of the Drakes and waved her arms up at Ilvriss.

“I have a plan! It involves you and Olesm and Zevara and Embria! They’re all coming to my inn! I think!”

Ilvriss glanced swiftly at Olesm. The [Strategist] whispered.

“I haven’t heard anything from Captain Zevara. But Erin probably talked to her just before this.”

The Wall Lord nodded. He called down at Erin.

“You can’t have a plan.”

“What? Why not?”

Ilvriss glared at Erin.

“There is no way you can resolve this situation. I’m sorry, but there isn’t. Not in this case. The Raskghar are a threat, not a stain on your inn’s floors you can wipe away. This is not something you can make a difference with, Solstice.”

“I can with your help! Believe me!”

“She is quite good at strategy, Wall Lord.”

Ilvriss glanced at Olesm with irritation.

“Good at strategy doesn’t change facts, Swifttail! There are thousands of Raskghar! We’ve been racking our brains trying to figure out how to assist the Gold-ranks. What can she do that we can’t?”

“Hey! I heard that!”

In the streets, Erin raised a fist and shook it at Ilvriss. The volume of her shouting rose.

“You think I can’t help? I can’t fight, but I can think! And my plan needs you, Ilvriss! It needs you, and Klbkch, and Zevara—it needs everyone! Only I can pull it off. Because I’m me!”

The Drakes hesitated. Olesm stared down at Erin. He put down his papers and grabbed an ink pot, some fresh parchment and a quill. Ilvriss stared at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to her inn.”

“What? That’s ridiculous. Stay here. Swifttail! I command you!”

Ilvriss reached out. Olesm turned. He had a hand on the doorknob.

“Apologies, Wall Lord, but I believe Erin.”

“But she’s just—”

“Erin. She killed Skinner. And I believe she’s the best chess player in this world. Better than Niers Astoragon. She saved me from Liscor’s crypt. I’m going.”

Olesm threw the door open. He disappeared out it. Ilvriss turned back to the window. He stared down at Erin as Olesm hurried past her.

“You can’t do anything. If you could—what can you do that we cannot?”

The young woman stared up at him. Her voice echoed from the houses. The rain fell, but Erin shouted over the roar.

“I am Erin Solstice! I’m the craziest Human you know! And I have a plan! I can save the Gnolls! I can save Ceria! I can save Mrsha! Look me in the eye and tell me I can’t!”

She met Ilvriss’ gaze. The Wall Lord stared down at her. Then he turned. He strode down the steps and out the door. He folded his arms as he met Erin in the rain.

“Let’s hear it.”

She grinned. Erin was wet and sweaty. She was dirty from falling once. But her eyes were alight. And Ilvriss dared to hope.

“I’ll give you the cliff notes as we run to the inn. Come on!”

She ran with Ilvriss following her and cursing at his adjutants to keep up. By the time they got to the inn, Relc, Klbkch, Zevara, and Embria were there. So was Pisces, Yvlon, Klbkch, the Halfseekers, Griffon Hunt, the Silver Swords, and every Gold-rank captain. They stared as Erin ran inside. She turned to face them.

“I have a plan. It’s very simple. Ready? Here it is.”

She spoke. They listened for five minutes. Then they argued, and then agreed. Zevara, Embria, Ilvriss, and Klbkch raced out of the inn. The Gold-rank Captains were hot on her heels. They ran into the city. Erin stood in her suddenly empty inn. She turned and looked at those remaining. Lyonette was staring at Erin with hope. Olesm was smacking himself on the forehead. Relc just grinned. Erin smiled at them all.

“Let’s do this thing. Come on, we need to get ready. Get those tables out of the way! Move, move, move! Time is running out!”

—-

It was early nightfall when the Raskghar finished restoring order to their camp. The dead Raskghar and Goblins were removed or processed into food. Two of the exits were fortified, sealed off in case Snatcher returned. Calruz had the Raskghar on high-alert. And the Cave Goblins were busy at work.

It always amazed Ceria how many there were. And how subservient they were. The Raskghar seemed to have a limitless supply of bodies—Cave Goblins were always moving in and out of the camp, bringing water, supplies from other spots, or fixing stuff up. Perfoming tasks the Raskghar wouldn’t. She saw a group of Goblins butchering a dead Raskghar, carefully removing the bones to be placed with the dead. And another group was constructing mobile barricades.

“We might be able to drag them into place if Snatcher returns. Or block the adventurers. We have a supply of metal and wood—but it’s limited. We have more metal than wood, actually. The Goblins occasionally go above to forage for wood, but Liscor is limited in that as well. Hide works best for most structures.”

Calruz grimaced as he pointed out the old and often moldy wood the Cave Goblins were lugging into place. They had crude nails and hammer and were creating metal sheets. Ceria saw the Raskghar supervising the task. They didn’t do any of the work themselves, but they made the Goblins work faster with calculated blows. She saw one small Goblin flinch as a Raskghar swung at her. She redoubled her pace, bringing nails to the Goblins making a large sheet of metal that could be used to block the tunnel entrance.

“It won’t stop Snatcher. You saw how strong he was.”

“Not if he fights. But you saw him. It. That thing only looked for heads. And it barely paid any notice to anything else, even when it was being attacked.”

“Because we did nothing to it! If it wanted to, I bet it could kill half your camp by itself. And you want to move locations with it hanging about?”

Calruz snorted.

“Of course. The adventurers could have our location. We move again! We’ll take care on the trip, that’s all.”

He glanced around. Ceria folded her arms. The other Raksghar looked at each other. Some shook their heads. Nokha and a few of the awakened growled. She prefuctorily dipped her head.

“Dangerous, Chieftain. Would be better if we had more awakened. Stronger.”

“No. We keep the Gnolls as prisoners. Under watch. And I’ll question the small one now. I want to know how they got out.”

Nokha growled.

“Little white one used magic.”

“Impossible. Gnolls can’t—”

Ceria began to object, then remembered what Calvaron had told her once. She bit her lip and stared at Mrsha. Calruz raised his eyebrows.

“They can’t use magic, correct?”

Before Ceria could reply, Nokha jumped in.

“Can. This one is special. White fur. Must sacrifice. Tonight!”

“I said no.”

Calruz bared his teeth. Nokha’s hackles rose. She looked at her companions. Ceria saw the other Raskghar look up. The Goblins froze as they dragged the sheet of metal towards one of the walls, ready to be shoved into position. There were five entrances to the Raskghar camp. Two had been sealed, and now three metal barricades were in place. The Cave Goblins crept around them, reinforcing the solid slabs of metal. Watching the Raskghar.

They could sense it too. Calruz stared at Nokha.

“Are you questioning your Chieftain?”

The awakened Raskghar hesitated. She looked at the others and then looked back.

“Yes.”

“I see.”

Calruz’s voice was calm, but a dangerous light had entered his eyes. Ceria looked from Nokha to the other Raskghar and backed up a step. They moved back as well. Calruz stood taller. He was still bigger than Nokha, but she was huge. The one-armed Minotaur and awakened Raskghar faced each other. Their voices grew louder. Now everyone was listening.

“I am in command. And I say that the ritual is performed when I desire. I will reward those I see fit.”

“When? Ritual makes Raskghar powerful now. And white one is special. Raskghar will sacrifice her. Grow even stronger. I will sacrifice her.”

Nokha licked her lips. Calruz stared down at her.

“You? And what would you do with all that power?”

“Lead Raskghar better. Grow. Sacrifice. Grow. Hunt more Gnolls. Grow. That is the purpose of the Raskghar.”

“Your purpose is what I decide it is.”

Calruz’s voice was cold. His eyes glinted as he looked around. The other Raskghar were silent, but they were watching Nokha. The Minotaur reached behind his back. He drew his axe and Nokha backed up a step. Calruz looked around, his axe’s head glowing in the faint light.

“I am your Chieftain. I, and no one else! You do not tell me what the Raskghar’s purpose is! I am in command! If you go against me, you are challenging me! My authority! Are you doing that Nokha? Because if it is a challenge, there is only one answer.”

He held his axe up. Nokha bared her teeth.

“You are weak. Chieftain. You are soft! You do not understand Raskghar. You are weak. One armed. And you trust her.”

She pointed at Ceria. The half-Elf’s breath caught. Calruz turned his head. Raskghar were moving. The awakened moved behind Nokha. Calruz looked around. No one had come to stand behind him. He bared his teeth in a terrible grin.

“It seems I should. Ceria, to me.”

Ceria moved forwards a bit. Nokha laughed. She looked from Ceria to Calruz. The awakened were at her back. Eighteen versus two. Calruz muttered to Ceria.

“Keep the others back. I’ll kill Nokha and put an end to their challenge.”

“Oh, thanks. Sure you don’t want me to take on the entire tribe?”

Ceria eyed the awakened. They were spreading out. But she could raise a wall of ice, box herself and Calruz and Nokha in. If they were fast. She tapped Calruz on the arm, drew a circle in his fur. He nodded. He’d clear the area with his axe while she worked. Nokha noticed the motion and bared her teeth.

“You trust her. But she is traitor. You said so yourself.”

“Not as traitorous as you, apparently.”

Calruz stared at Nokha. His eyes were turning red. The muscles in his arm bulged as he lifted his axe. Ceria braced herself. She knew he had Skills she hadn’t seen. And judging from the way the awakened Raskghar eyed him, they knew some of them. The tension grew deadly. But Nokha still wasn’t done. She looked at Ceria and the half-Elf saw her grin grow wide.

“But she told them everything. With a spell.”

A deathly silence fell over the room. Ceria gulped. She saw Calruz freeze. And then, slowly, the Minotaur turned towards her. And when he stared at her, his eyes were red. And oh, so very mad.

—-

Mrsha saw it all. The end. Her body hurt so much. Her head spun. But she was not alone. The Gnolls held her. The remaining ones sat together, waiting. They watched the standoff between Calruz and the awakened.

Around the room, the Raskghar were standing, forming a large, rough circle. They watched Calruz, their Chieftain, face off against Nokha and her awakened. Behind them the Cave Goblins scurried to and fro. They were watching too. They kept their heads low, not daring to make a sound. Mrsha saw the Goblins working on the large metal sheets propped up against the walls. Others were building more cages. She saw a tiny Goblin run past them with a few nails and a piece of unshaped metal. She began hammering it into one of the metal sheets. The sound was background noise, though. The center of the room was silent. Calruz had just turned to Ceria.

“What spell?”

“Fire. A bit of little magic. It flies up and vanishes.”

Nokha grinned. Her awakened were spreading out around Calruz and Ceria. They didn’t have their weapons in hand, but they were tensed.  But the Minotaur wasn’t looking at them. He stared at Ceria.

“A spell. A fiery—you told me you didn’t know [Message].”

“I don’t. I told you that.”

Ceria backed up. Mrsha could see her grinning desperately, holding up her hands. Calruz turned. His grip on his axe shifted.

“But you know other spells. Spells from Wistram. Didn’t you tell me once that you knew a spell to talk with an old friend? With him? The [Necromancer]?”

“Uh—no?”

Calruz looked like he was growing larger. Mrsha felt the madness rolling off him. She stared at him, at Nokha. If he won she wouldn’t go free. If Nokha won—they’d die tonight. Mrsha wished she had Ceria’s wand, but it had been taken. She wished Ceria had her wand.

“Look, Calruz. Nokha’s making all this up. She’s trying to divide us! We have to work together!”

Ceria’s smile was frozen as she tried to desperately talk down Calruz. But now the Minotaur was focused on her.

“The attack. You swore to me that it wasn’t your fault. But you were lying. Did you send them another message after that? Have you told them about the city? Did you tell them about the secrets?”

For a second Ceria wavered. She hadn’t expected that question.

“No—what? I would never—”

“Liar.”

Calruz let go of his axe. He reached out and grabbed Ceria’s arm. She tried to twist away.

“Calruz, listen—I never did anything to hurt you. The Raskghar are going to attack you! Remember?”

“I trusted you. I called you my friend. I told you my secrets. Even when you tried to kill me, I trusted you. And this is how you repay me? With treachery? With this?”

Ceria’s smile was still on her face. She twisted. Calruz stared at her. His voice grew louder.

“Betrayal! I am surrounded by it! Betrayal! Treachery! You will be first, then the Raskghar!”

He let go of Ceria. Then his arm swung. He backhanded her. The blow spun the half-Elf. Ceria heard a crack. It sounded like bone breaking. Ceria’s head jerked. Her head snapped back. She fell. Mrsha made a tiny sound. No.

Ceria lay on the ground. Her face was shattered. Mrsha saw a piece of skin lying on the ground. The half-Elf jerked, looked up. Calruz stared at her.

Ceria’s face was broken. But something wasn’t right. There was no blood. And her smile was still there. But—crooked. Ceria’s smile was frozen on her face. Frozen on her face. No. It was her face. And as Ceria rose, the mask of ice broke. And beneath it she was scowling.

“I’m getting tired of being hit in the face.”

Calruz stared at Ceria. The mask of ice fell to pieces, colored water landing on the ground and melting. The Raskghar stared. Mrsha stared. Even she hadn’t smelled the mask! Had Ceria made it out of her sweat?

And now the half-Elf’s body was changing. Frost vapor poured from her arms, her hands. It formed a layer of ice over her robes, her skin. Her skeletal hand. Ceria’s voice was cold as a glacier.

“Frost armor. Illphres always said her masks were tougher than steel. You want to hit me Calruz, give it your best shot. But watch out for spikes.”

The Minotaur stared at his hand. It was bleeding. Ceria’s ice mask had torn his skin. He looked at Ceria. She grinned at him.

“Yeah, I cast a spell. So what? You kidnapped me. You kidnapped the Gnolls. What was I supposed to do? But guess what? Right here, right now, I’m not your enemy. They are.”

She pointed with a gauntlet made of ice. The awakened stared at Ceria. They smelled wary. Mrsha saw them look at Nokha. The female Raskghar bared her teeth. She had a hand on her sword.

“Your treachery is unforgivable.”

“Probably. But you have bigger problems.”

Ceria shrugged. She stared at Calruz and narrowed her eyes. The Minotaur looked at the other awakened. He stared at her uncertainly.

“Give me one reason why I could trust you.”

The room was silent. The Raskghar waited. Mrsha waited. The Cave Goblins moved and watched. Ceria looked around. She closed her eyes, then spoke.

“Death before dishonor. I’ve lied. I’ve betrayed you. But I haven’t compromised my honor.”

Calruz froze. Ceria pointed at him. The half-Elf stared at the Minotaur.

“What do you have to give them, Calruz? Glory? I don’t have that. But I do have honor. So if you’re coming, come. The Horns of Hammerad don’t run.”

She spread her arms. The Raskghar tensed. Calruz stared at Ceria. He looked at his axe. He bent and lifted it. He and Ceria charged. The Raskghar leapt forwards. Ceria ran at Calruz, her frost armor covering her body. He raised his axe and swung. She ducked.

“[Whirlwind Cleave]!”

The Minotaur roared. He swung his axe and the glowing green edge extended. His arm flashed and he spun. Three of the Raskghar jumping at him were caught by the enchanted axe. Calruz cut through them all. Blood splattered Ceria’s armor. She rose and shot an [Ice Spike]. A Raskghar howled in pain as it pierced his shoulder. Ceria conjured a wall of ice, blocking two more. She and Calruz stood back-to-back. Nokha and the other awakened snarled.

“Horns of Hammerad!”

Calruz roared. Ceria laughed.

“Horns! Forward!”

They spun, taking on the Raskghar, blade and spell. Mrsha saw the lesser Raskghar watching. The awakened advanced slowly, spreading out. The Gnolls clung to the bars, watching, hoping.

And the Cave Goblins backed away. They saw the fighting between Chieftain and awakened. They scurried towards the exits of the Raskghar camp. They disappeared past the metal sheets lying against the walls. Mrsha saw them streaming out, breaking into a dead run. None of the Raskghar noticed. Their eyes were on the battle. But Mrsha caught something as the Goblins moved and stirred the stale dungeon air into a breeze. It blew at her and she smelled something.

Oil. Salt. A warm room and a young woman. The scent of floorboards, of a crackling fire. A place where good food was always there and where she was safe. A loving mother.

Home.

And then Mrsha saw the Goblin who was the source of the scent. She was standing by one of the metal sheets. She had a hammer in hand. She’d pounded something into the sheet. A piece of unshaped metal. A round, crude little thing. On the flat piece of metal it was an irregularity. Excess. But as Mrsha stared at it she noticed something. The round bit of metal was at the right spot. If you looked at it just right, it looked almost like a door—

And then Pebblesnatch reached into her pocket. She pulled something out. A shimmering stone that glowed bright purple. It shone with magic. The stone was small, slightly rounded. A mana stone to be precise. But if you wanted to, you could call it a pebble. And she placed it on the door.

And Mrsha howled. The fighting Raskghar froze. Calruz turned his head as he swung his axe with a snarl. Ceria turned, her finger raised, tracking Nokha. The awakened Raskghar growled in fury. She looked at Mrsha and stopped. Because the Gnoll was pointing.

Every head turned. Raskghar. Gnoll. Minotaur. And Ceria’s. The others frowned as they saw Pebblesnatch standing by the sheet of metal with the crude bit of metal attached. They stared at the glowing mana stone. Ceria’s eyes widened. Nokha stared at her and barked an order, pointing at Pebblesnatch. But it was too late.

The Cave Goblin grabbed the doorknob and heaved on it. The piece of metal the Cave Goblins had built was thick. It was propped up against the wall, just a sheet of metal. There was nothing but dungeon stone behind it. But as Pebblesnatch dragged the door open, light shone through. The Raskghar flinched back, snarling in confusion. They shaded their eyes, and then stared.

There was a room on the other side of the door. A room filled with warm light. Rich, hardwood floorboards filled the common room of the Wandering Inn. A merry fire burned in the fireplace. The air smelled of good food, and the inn was warm and pleasant. But in that moment, what everyone’s eye was really drawn to were the people.

They stood in ranks. Gold-rank adventurers, lined up. The Horns of Hammerad minus one, the Halfseekers, Griffon Hunt, the Wings of Pallass, the Flamewardens. Every Gold-rank team in the city and Silver-rank ones behind. And behind them were the Watch. Ranks of Drakes and Gnolls stood side-by-side with armored [Soldiers] led by Embria. Relc and Klbkch stood behind Zevara. Ilvriss and Olesm stood to one side with the Wall Lord’s personal retinue. Ilvriss’ sword was bared.

And behind them were the Antinium. The Painted Soldiers stood in ranks, led by Pawn, Anand, and Belgrade. Bird sat on a table, bow in hand. The adventurers, guardsmen, soldiers, and Antinium stared at the Raskghar in silence. The Raskghar were frozen.

And then a young woman stepped into view. Erin Solstice stood in the doorway, a broad smile on her face. She had a frying pan in one hand. She waved at the Raskghar with the other. She spoke in the silence.

“Hey. Welcome to my inn.”

The Raskghar stared at her in horror. Erin’s smile widened. Then she stepped out of the way. Jelaqua Ivirith strode forwards. She pointed, her golden-red armor burning with magical fire.

“Charge!”

She leapt through the door, her two-handed flail already swinging. The adventurers roared and surged through the door. Jelaqua bore down on the nearest Raskghar, her flail smashing into the beast-woman’s head. The Gold-rank adventurers charged past her, throwing spells and loosing arrows. Bevussa flew over the heads of the others, slashing at the Raskghar from overhead.

“Silver Swords!”

Ylawes ran forwards with Dawil and Falene at his back. He crashed into a Raskghar, ramming the stunned beast man with his shield. Dawil swung his hammer into the Raskghar’s side and Falene blasted another with a shower of fire arrows.

The Raskghar broke out of their stupefaction. They howled and tried to fight. But the wave of Gold-rank adventurers overwhelmed the first row of Raskghar, and the second. The Raskghar found themselves engaged in a melee as the [Warriors] pressed them from the front. The [Mages] and [Archers] held the back around the door. They poured through as the awakened Raskghar howled in alarm. Calruz spun, shouting orders as he and the other Raskghar tried to stem the onslaught.

There were over a hundred adventurers. But there were at least ten, no, maybe twenty Raskghar for each adventurer. The Raskghar formed a line, rushing forwards. The adventurers held their ground, shouting. Mrsha scrambled to see as the Gnolls howled. Where were the others? But the door was blank. Erin’s inn had vanished. Vanished?

And then Mrsha saw the light.

—-

The last adventurer charged through. Erin slammed the door. She ripped the purple mana stone off and grabbed another one from the tray beside the door. She heard Zevara and Embria shouting as she fumbled with the dark brown mana stone.

“Guardsman! Follow Wing Commander Embria’s soldiers!”

“Captains! Prepare the charge!”

A row of Drakes in colored armor marched forwards. They stood in front of the door as Erin slapped the mana stone into place. The [Captains] shouted, their voices overlapping.

“[Daring Charge]!”

“[Shieldwall Formation!]”

“[First Strikes]!”

“[Bravehearts]!”

Wing Commander Embria raised her spear. Erin reached for the door handle and yanked open the door. The Raskghar’s camp appeared in front of them. But from a different angle. The Raskghar were all clustered on the other side of the room and the Gold-rank adventurers were facing the doorway. They turned in disbelief as the light from the inn poured towards their backs.

“Now! [Blades of Glory]! Charge!”

She raced through the doorway towards the Raskghar. The Drake [Captains] were next. Then the [Sergeants]. Then the [Soldiers]. The 4th Company of Liscor’s finest crashed into the Raskghar like a wave from behind.

“Men! After me!”

Zevara ran through next, Relc and Klbkch hot on their heels. The [Guardsman] of Liscor followed, screaming war cries. Their blades glowed and they threw themselves at the larger Raskghar without hesitation. Erin saw Ilvriss run through with his retinue of personal Drakes. The Wall Lord pointed his sword and shouted.

“To me! Cut them down! Leave none of these monsters alive!”

Olesm ran with him, sword held aloft. Erin waited until the last Drake was out the door and then slammed her door again. This time she heard the Antinium move forwards.

“Soldiers, prepare yourself. We enter combat.”

Anand’s voice rang out as the Painted Soldiers tensed in front of the door. The two [Tacticians] stood to one side, as did Pawn. Yellow Splatter’s fists were raised. He and Purple Smile waited as Erin nearly dropped the black mana stone. She slapped it on the door and looked at the Antinium.

“Ready?”

Belgrade and Anand nodded.

“We have already applied our Skills. Proceed!”

Erin threw open the door. Again, the Raskghar camp appeared in front of her. Again, the perspective was different.

Three metal sheets. Each one had been placed at one of the entrances to the Raskghar camp. Each one at a different spot. Erin didn’t know how Pebblesnatch had managed it, but the logic had been simple. Why attack from one spot if you could attack from three?

Chess.

The instant the door opened Yellow Splatters thundered through. He spoke not a word. And neither did the other Soldiers. They charged silently.

A wall of black bodies smashed into the Raskghar from the side. They were so preoccupied with the Watch and Embria’s Soldiers and the adventurers that they didn’t hear the Antinium. Their only warning was the sight of Yellow Splatters running towards the nearest Raskghar. The beast man turned, eyes wide, and brought up his shield. Yellow Splatter’s fist punched through it and then the Antinium knocked the Raskghar to the ground. He pounded the Raskghar with all four fists as the Antinium streamed forwards, a tide of them—

“We go in too. Pawn, stay with us.”

Belgrade and Anand strode forwards. Pawn walked after them, swinging his censer. Erin wanted to stop them, but the Antinium walked behind the lines of Soldiers. And then it was just Erin. She looked around. Her inn was empty. Her chairs and tables were piled up at the dais in the back. Even so, her inn had been packed. Now there was only her, Bird, Lyonette, and Apista left. Erin stared at Bird. He had his bow out and was aiming it.

“Do I have permission to shoot, Miss Erin?”

“Yes.”

Erin stepped back from the door. Bird nodded. He knelt and drew an arrow. He took aim and loosed in a fraction of a second. His arrow shot past a group of fighting Soldiers, so close to one that it nearly grazed the Soldier’s eye. The Soldier didn’t flinch. The Raskghar that Bird’s arrow struck did. Bird drew another arrow and loosed it. And another. And another. His four hands moved so fast Erin couldn’t keep track. He loosed one arrow and then used his other hands to loose another. The arrows flew in a steady stream, as if Bird didn’t have to aim.

And he didn’t, in a sense. The Raskghar were everywhere. And there were so many of them! More than all the people fighting. But they were boxed in from three sides. And their opponents had been waiting for this moment.

Guardsman. Soldiers. Adventurers. Antinium. One side alone couldn’t beat the Raskghar. The adventurers couldn’t take the fight to them in the dungeon. The Antinium couldn’t bypass the traps. The soldiers and guardsman couldn’t abandon Liscor. People like Ilvriss could fight, but couldn’t handle the dungeon’s confines. But a fight? In a fight it was different.

Erin stared through the door. The Raskghar were disorganized, afraid. They had never expected their enemy to commit so much to one assault. If Liscor’s defenders died here, the city was lost. But that was the thing about strategy. You went all in. And this was all Erin had.

“Bird, I’m changing the door back to the adventurer’s side. They need support.”

“Yes, Erin. The pretty bird lady should not die.”

Erin slammed the door. Bird leaned out of the way as she plucked the mana stone off and slapped the purple one into place. She opened the door and Bird began loosing arrows. The Raskghar howled. Some of them pointed at Erin’s door. She gritted her teeth.

“Yeah, come on. Try getting in here. Bird, you get ready to move back if they rush us. Lyonette?”

Erin looked around. She looked for the [Princess]. Lyonette was staring into the door. She had a sword in her hands. Erin stared at her. Apista buzzed up in front of Erin’s face.

“Lyonette? What are you—”

—-

Chaos. The battle in the Raskghar’s camp was utter chaos. The three sides tried to hem the Raskghar in, but there were so many! The organized battle line began to fracture in places. But the Gold-ranks pressed ahead. The Silver Swords fought back-to-back. The Flamewardens incinerated patches of Raskghar while Bevussa’s team flew above. But they weren’t the tip of the spear breaking into Raskghar lines.

“There. You. Are!”

Jelaqua howled as she spotted the Raskghar in enchanted armor. The Raskghar turned and she crashed into him. The Selphid battered on his helmet with her flail as he struck her armor with his axe. The two cleared a space as they swung at each other. Raskghar tried to come to the armored Raskghar’s aid, but arrows cut them down. Halrac advanced, loosing arrows at point-blank range.

“Halrac! You’re in too far!”

Revi shouted at the [Scout] as he covered Jelaqua from behind. Her summoned warriors were clearing the left flank for the adventurers. Her giant Face-Eater Moth was causing havoc among the Raskghar and Typhenous was blowing apart their ranks with spells. But Halrac was surrounded. The Raskghar charged at the archers.

Halrac loosed an enchanted arrow, blowing two Raskghar apart, and then turned as one with an axe bore down on him. He dropped his bow, and drew his shortsword. He stabbed the Raskghar through the hide armor on its chest and turned. He cut at the Raskghar charging him from the right, dodging backwards, blade flashing. The Raskghar howled in dismay.

“Duck!”

The [Scout] flung himself down. He grabbed his bow and rolled, sheathing his shortsword as an adventurer heaved a trip vine bag at the Raskghar. It exploded, wrapping them in vines as Halrac leapt back. Jelaqua and the armored Raskghar fought on, heedless of the vines. Halrac turned, raising his bow, and an awakened Raskghar charged him. The first arrow Halrac loosed froze the Raskghar’s shield arm and raised buckler, but the awakened Raskghar just hurled the shield down. It charged Halrac, stone axe swinging. Halrac reached for his sword, narrowing his eyes—

And a hand grabbed the awakened. It twisted as Moore lifted it. The half-Giant roared at the Raskghar.

“Where is Mrsha?”

The Raskghar bit and clawed at Moore. In response, the giant threw the Raskghar into a clump of the others. The awakened Raskghar’s body cracked as it landed among the other Raskghar. They fell down, screaming in pain and then looked up as Moore swung his staff. The half-Giant punched and Raskghar disappeared. His body rose above the others as he threw Raskghar to the ground.

“Mrsha!”

Raskghar tried to fight him. But a shadow moved behind Moore. Seborn stabbed a Raskghar in the back, leapt, rolled, and cut another one before vanishing again. To his right, Relc grappled with an awakened Raskghar.

“Gah! You’re pretty strong!”

The former [Sergeant] grunted, his muscles straining as he fought with the Raskghar for possession of his spear. The awakened Raskghar’s eyes widened in disbelief as Relc forced the spear tip towards its chest. It backed up, arms straining—

And Klbkch’s blades pierced its chest. The Antinium twisted his swords and the Raskghar collapsed. Klbkch withdrew his blades and looked at Relc. The Drake blinked at him.

“I had him.”

“Evidently.”

Klbkch turned, blades flashing. Relc grinned and spun his spear. The Raskghar backed away as the two charged forwards.

“Hold the line! Let the [Mages] cut them down! Hold!”

Zevara fought in her section as the Watch strove to keep the Raskghar pinned. While the Senior Guardsmen moved independently, the rest of the Watch fought shoulder-to-shoulder, not budging an inch. Zevara spat fire and cut with her sword. She saw the Raskghar charging on her left and ran to reinforce that spot. But before she got there she heard a voice.

“On the left!”

Embria charged with the [Soldiers] under her command. The [Captains] effortlessly cleaved into the Raskghar as the lower-level [Soldiers] rushed to follow. Embria whirled her spear, stabbed a Raskghar through the throat, and cut another across the face. She turned and saluted Zevara. The Watch Captain returned the salute.

“Salazsar! To me!”

Ilvriss stood on another part of the front lines. The Wall Lord fought with his small retinue of Drakes, not budging an inch. The Raskghar fell back in front of him—the Wall Lord’s fury was a physical thing, pressing at them, beating down like invisible fists. He turned and pointed.

“There! Someone stop those Raskghar!”

A group was headed towards Erin’s open door. The Antinium charged to intercept. Purple Smiles swayed as he jabbed, punching and fighting two Raskghar with his four arms at once. The other Soldiers overwhelmed the group of Raskghar with their bodies, throwing themselves on the Raskghar with a fury even the beast people couldn’t match. But some of the Raskghar escaped. They ran for Erin’s inn, ignoring Bird’s arrows that pierced their hides. One charged at Erin, howling—

And she slammed the door in his face. The warrior collided with the stone wall full-force. He lay there, stunned, until one of the Gold-rank adventurers stabbed him in the back. Light flashed from the other side of the room as Erin opened her door behind the Watch.

The battle was going one way. The Raskghar fell back, howling in fear as they were pressed from every side. They were strong. Cunning! Larger than their opponents! But these other races had magic. They blew apart the Raskghar from afar, and when they were injured they pulled back and used healing potions. The Raskghar, for all their numbers, didn’t have nearly as many healing potions. They had artifacts, but not enough.

And the Cave Goblins were gone. It was only Raskghar who fell and died. The awakened tried to rally them, but the Raskgahr were breaking. Nokha, snarling, turned, and howled for her bretheren. But she heard only three answering howls in the chaos. The awakened were dying! She felt fear run through her and looked around.

They had to flee. This battle was lost. But before they could go, they had to take the special one.

Mrsha. The fighting had kept clear of the cages. Nokha cut with her enchanted sword, killing the [Soldier] who was rushing at her and bounded through the fighting. She leapt towards Mrsha’s cage. The Gnolls inside cried out as Nokha tore the bars open. One tried to tackle her—she ran him through.

Mrsha fought as Nokha reached into the cage. But the Raskghar ignored her biting. She bared her teeth and turned. Flee! She looked towards the exits and then saw someone standing in front of her.

“Put her down.”

Lyonette held a sword in her hands. Nokha stared at her and grinned. She lashed out, her glowing sword cutting at Lyonette’s head. Mrsha screamed. And Lyonette parried.

It was a perfect moment. All the weight behind Nokha’s thrust vanished. Her blade missed Lyonette and the young woman stabbed. Nokha felt a burst of pain radiating from one shoulder. She turned, wrenching the blade out of her shoulder. She swung again, knocking Lyonette’s blade away. The sword tore loose from Lyonette’s hand and went flying. The young woman stared up as Nokha lifted her sword.

“Bee attack! Go Apista!”

Nokha heard the voice, but it made no sense. She turned her head and Apista jammed her stinger into Nokha’s cheek. The Raskghar howled and tried to tear the Ashfire Bee off. Apista flew up as Lyonette scrambled for her sword. The Raskghar whirled. Enough! She turned, eyes blazing—

And saw Moore. The half-Giant’s arms bled, but the thorns and vines covering his body were bloodier still. With Raskghar blood. Nokha’s ears flattened. She sliced at his arm, cutting deep—

Moore picked her up, broke the arm holding Mrsha like a twig, and threw Nokha. She slammed into a far wall, screaming, and vanished in the melee. Moore bent. Mrsha stared up at him. The half-Giant rasped.

“Mrsha. Are you alright?”

She nodded. Moore’s bloody face turned into a smile. He sat with a groan, bleeding. The Gnoll heard pounding footsteps.

“Mrsha!”

And then Lyonette was holding her. The [Princess] clutched the Gnoll and Mrsha clung to her chest. The two stood like that for a moment as the fighting continued around them. And then Seborn appeared.

“To the door! Now!”

They turned. Erin was standing at the door. She waved at them and threw her frying pan. It clocked a Raskghar bearing down on them. Erin waved them into the inn and then saw a Raskghar coming from behind. Bird looked for an arrow.

“I am out of arrows. Oh dear.”

“Out of the way! [Minotaur Punch]!”

The Raskghar’s head snapped back. It snarled—and Erin slammed the door in its face again. She yanked the mana stone off and turned. Lyonette was holding Mrsha. Erin smiled. Then she saw Moore collapse. Seborn yanked a potion off his belt as the half-giant lay on the floor.

“Tend to Moore! This isn’t over yet! Bird, get more arrows!”

“I will find more. Are any shops open?”

Erin ignored him. She yanked open the door. The Raskghar were beginning to break. But now she had only one question left.

“Ceria? Where’s Ceria?”

—-

Calruz stood in the center of the Raskghar ranks. He shouted, ordering them forwards. They struggled to obey. But the adventurers cut them down. They were using [Fireballs], blasting the Raskghar apart. Calruz roared in fury. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be! If the Raskghar could pull back, if they could fight in choke points—

But something in him knew the truth. It was too late. They’d been taken by surprise. It was over. The Raskghar began to break, fleeing for the three exits, some trying to remove the barricades they’d painstakingly erected. Their morale was broken. Some fought on, but too many were fleeing.

“So this is it.”

The Minotaur stared around. His axe was heavy in his hand. He turned, staring at the three sides as they closed in. Despair made Calruz close his eyes. He had been so close! So close—

But some part of him was glad. It was a whisper, but it rejoiced. At last. Let this be an end. Calruz turned. Which side should he throw himself on? The people of Liscor, outraged over the Raskghar’s crimes? The adventurers, conquering the dungeon? The Antinium, the faceless, numberless foe? Each one was fitting. But before he could decide, a voice called his name.

“Calruz!”

He turned. Ceria stood behind him. Her armor of ice was cracked. Blood ran down her head. But she was alive. He was glad of that. But then three others moved to join her. Calruz paused.

An Antinium stood in front of Ceria, wearing a cloak, holding a dagger and shortsword and magical buckler in his three hands. Next to him stood Yvlon Byres, her armor bloody, gripping a sword with both hands. Beside Ceria stood Pisces, holding a rapier in one hand, his other hand glowing with magic. A creature of bone loomed behind him, a horrific spider of jagged edges. Calruz stared.

“This is it, Calruz. You lose.”

Ceria looked tired. Her hand trembled with exhaustion as it pointed at Calruz’s chest. But her eyes were steady. The Minotaur stared at her.

“So this is your new team. They aren’t worthy. Not of the Horns of Hammerad.”

“That is quite debatable—”

“Shut up, Pisces.”

Ceria turned her head to address the [Necromancer]. When she looked back at Calruz, she was smiling slightly.

“So you say. But here we are. The Horns died in the crypt, Calruz. All but you and I. But here we are.”

“True.”

Calruz felt his heart beating as he stared at the four Horns of Hammerad. He looked around, laughed, and raised his axe.

“Fitting! Then let’s make an end of it! Come! Show me what the Horns can do! Grant me death! For honor! For glory!”

He charged. The Horns spread out. Calruz’s first swing was blocked by the Antinium. His buckler emitted a field of energy that blocked the swing. The Antinium swung with his dagger and shortsword. Calruz knocked away both blades. He turned and Yvlon swung her sword.

The impact nearly threw Calruz back as he blocked. The sword was enchanted! He struck her, and Yvlon’s arms buckled as she blocked the blow with her sword. But her arms did not falter. They did not break. She swung her sword and Calruz stumbled back—

And an [Ice Spike] struck his chest. The tip broke off in Calruz’s skin. His toughened hide resisted the force of the blow, but Calruz turned towards Ceria. And Pisces stabbed him from behind.

The tip of his rapier penetrated Calruz’s back. But like the spell, it didn’t go through Calruz’s flesh. The Minotaur turned, swinging his axe and Pisces blurred out of the way. Yvlon blocked another swing and stumbled back. The Bone Horror slashed Calruz across the chest. He roared.

“[Hammer Blow]!”

He cleaved through the thing’s head. It fell, lifeless. Ceria raised a wall of ice as Calruz rushed her. His axe smashed through the thick ice. Calruz turned. Yvlon was trying to flank him. The [Necromancer] was blasting him with electricity. Where was—

Ksmvr stabbed Calruz in the leg with his dagger. The Flamecoat Dagger sparked. And Calruz’s flesh ignited. The Minotaur screamed, his entire body aflame. He swung wildly and Yvlon’s blade cut a wide gash down his front. Pisces hit Calruz with a blast of air that knocked the Minotaur back. He tried to see. But the flames—

Cold. Something struck Calruz. It smothered the flames, put him out. Calruz groaned, pain wracking his body. He looked at what had hit him.

Snow. He looked up. Ceria Springwalker smiled at him. She lifted her skeletal finger and pointed at Calruz’s forehead. The Minotaur met her gaze. And smiled. He dropped his axe—

And the [Ice Spice] struck him between the eyes. The Minotaur fell. Ceria walked towards him. She knelt, her eyes filled with tears. Calruz stared up, his eyes wide and blank. Ceria bent.

“Stupid Minotaur. You always did have a hard head.”

Blood ran down Calruz’s head. The Minotaur laughed weakly.

“I suppose I did.”

He stared up at Ceria and reached out. She caught his hand.

“It’s over.”

“Thank you.”

—-

In the end, they stood and counted the dead. Of the Raskghar, there were too many to number. Of the attackers, well…

Erin watched as Halrac knelt and closed a Gnoll’s eyes. Nailren bowed his head, weeping. The Watch stood around their fallen, as did Embria’s [Soldiers]. The Antinium stared down at the broken bodies of their own. The symbols of the fallen soldiers would appear on the Hive’s walls.

The dead. Was it selfish that Erin had only known a few of them? Her friends had lived. It had been the low-level ones, the brave adventurers and guards who had volunteered to fight the Raskghar that had paid the price.

And yet, the mood wasn’t depressed. It wasn’t joyous either. It was…relieved. The Raskghar had fled. But only a few hundred. Their camps were still there, and perhaps some of the awakened lived. But this attack had shattered them. They would not menace Liscor again.

“It’s over.”

Zevara leaned on her sword panting and coughing exhaustedly. Keldrass was doing the same. He offered her a jar and Zevara eyed it before lifting it up. The air blowing from the magical artifact dried the blood on her face until she held it to her mouth and breathed from it. When she lowered it, she was breathing easier.

“We have lost good Drakes and Gnolls this day. And Humans as well. But this was a victory. A triumph.”

Ilvriss stood straight, although he looked as tired as anyone else. He bore a scratch on one cheek and he had buried two of his followers. But his gaze was clear.

“We saved the people of Liscor. We crushed the Raskghar in their homes. Was it worth the price? I think it was.”

“Not to mention the captured artifacts.”

Embria pointed at the dead Raskghar. The armored Raskghar that Jelaqua had finally killed, the Raskghar with the invisible bow—and far more. They had fallen with their brethren, and the adventurers had dragged their bodies out. Ilvriss nodded tiredly as the Gold-ranks looked at each other.

“We will take custody of the artifacts. We can divide it later according to each group’s contributions. And I will pay the full bounty for the freed Gnolls. Although—”

He brightened up a bit.

“—I suppose that Liscor’s involvement will mean that a portion of the bounty is rendered null.”

“Actually Wall Lord, I think that Liscor would like to claim whatever portion of the bounty possible. If only to provide the Watch pay for exceptional service and compensate the dead.”

Zevara cleared her throat, clearly embarrassed. Ilvriss sighed.

“Of course. But later. We will leave the dead here, I take it. Let the monsters have the Raskghar. We’ll destroy the doors—”

“And the prisoner?”

Everyone fell silent. Erin looked over at Anand. He and six Soldiers stood around Calruz. The Minotaur knelt, shackled, his head bowed. He did not look up, though his body was badly burned and he bled from two wounds. Zevara hissed.

“Take him to the Watch’s prison. We’ll begin the trial as soon as we can figure out all that he’s done.”

Ilvriss nodded coldly. Embria looked at her [Soldiers] and the Antinium made way. The Drakes yanked Calruz to his feet and forced him through the magic doorway. A few of the adventurers stirred. Erin saw Ksmvr, Pisces, and Yvlon look at Ceria. But the half-Elf just shook her head. Her eyes were pained as she watched Calruz go.

“He has to pay for what he’s done. Madness or not. I’ll…be there to testify.”

The other adventurers looked at the Horns. Ilvriss turned and nodded.

“We will look forwards to a full report. But later. For now—”

He wobbled and caught himself. The Wall Lord looked around. At Antinium, Drakes, Gnolls, a Selphid, Humans…for once there was no scorn in Ilvriss’ eyes as he met Erin’s.

“This was a victory. We accomplished it working together. Perhaps…no, let us say no more than that. All races came together in Liscor’s hour of need. Dwarf. Human. Drake. Gnoll. Selphid. Drowned Man. Half-Giant. Garuda.”

“And Goblin.”

Ilvriss looked at Erin. The young woman looked around. The exhausted warriors looked at her. Erin raised her voice.

“And Goblins. You may not like it. You don’t have to change your mind. But this was all thanks to Goblins. They fought for this. And it was a Goblin who opened the way.”

She pointed to Pebblesnatch. The Cave Goblin was staring at a dead Raskghar. She touched her former master and then looked up. She flinched as all the eyes found her. Erin nodded.

“You all fought. I’ll never forget that. But give the Goblins their due. They helped. And that is the truth. And the truth does not change. All of you saved the people I love. And Goblins.”

Ilvriss looked at Zevara and Embria. He wavered, then nodded curtly.

“So be it. And Goblins. And now—and now I think it is time. People of Liscor. Let us return home.”

And they did. The tired adventurers, the Watch, the soldiers and Antinium left the dungeon. The Raskghar camp lay abandoned. The dead remained where they had fallen. In time, monsters crept along. They devoured. And a lone figure walked, collecting heads. A skeleton danced around, giddy, laughing without a voice. But that was the dungeon.

Erin walked back into her inn and saw off every last person, thanking each one she could. She saw Lyonette go upstairs, still holding Mrsha and refusing to let go. She looked at Ceria and saw the half-Elf had changed. But she spoke little of it. She watched as all her friends went to their beds, and then slowly walked into her kitchen. She lay down on the floor in her nest of blankets and sighed. She closed her eyes.

[Magical Innkeeper Level 36!]

[Skill – Natural Allies: Goblins obtained!]

[Inn – Local Landmark: Liscor obtained!]

“Ah.”

Erin smiled for just a moment. Then she fell asleep in truth. And in a cave not far from her inn, a group of five Goblins stood in silence. They stared into the dungeon and then looked at each other. The Cave Goblins watched. The Raskghar were dead. But it was not their new masters that stood in front of them now. The Redfang Goblins turned, their red eyes flashing, and the Cave Goblins watched. They listened, and the ones below looked up. They felt it.

Something new.

5.45

Night deepened and turned to day. The dungeon that had rung with the sounds of battle grew silent. The adventurers, Antinium, and people of Liscor returned to their city through the magic doors, breaking the exits behind them. They returned with the captive Gnolls, with a Minotaur in shackles, and a half-Elf. In triumph. In victory.

And so the Raskghar fled. Broken, they retreated towards their other camps, unable to do anything but run. They had been beaten, destroyed. And so badly that they could not even dream of vengeance. They ran, seeking out their brethren, a shred of hope. But what they found in the darkness was more despair.

The camps were filled with flickering torchlight and screams. Howls of Raskghar as they fought and died. And screams. Cave Goblins swarmed their masters, armed with crude weapons. But they outnumbered the Raskghar. And they had lost their fear of their masters. And they had leaders.

Five Hobgoblins fought, leading the Cave Goblins. They charged the Raskghar. A monster who raged stronger than even the largest Raskghar. A keen-eyed archer whose arrows struck the Raskghar from hundreds of feet away. A Hobgoblin whose sword seemed to shine as he cut down his enemies. The Goblin who sang. And a Hobgoblin who wore a crimson cloak, a hero.

And the Raskghar fled once more. They howled then, in grief and desperation. But no one answered. So they ran and ran, broken, not understanding how all this had come to pass.

All of that passed below as the weary folk returned to Liscor. They knew nothing of what followed. Why should they? The Raskghar were beaten. The uprising of the Goblins was a thing of monsters. Unimportant for now. For now they would rest. The [Innkeeper] slept in her kitchen. A [Princess] hugged a Gnoll tightly and the Gnoll cub hugged her back as fiercely as she could as they fell asleep in a warm bed. An Ashfire Bee crawled onto their heads and lay there, content that all was well in the world.

A weary Watch Captain fell asleep on top of a report on her desk, the ink splotching her face. A Wall Lord drank a cup of milk rather than alcohol and toasted the fallen with his people. A half-Giant laid down in the three beds pushed together and got a night of rest for the first time in days. The [Strategist] of Liscor sat and feverishly wrote, trying to recall all that he had witnessed. A Minotaur looked up in his prison cell, his flesh burnt, his body bleeding. He closed his eyes and bowed his head.

Countless members of Liscor’s Watch stumbled back into their homes, some grieving, all exhausted, but relieved. The adventurers slept, dreaming of treasure and levels. The city rested. Below, the Antinium returned to their Hive and got on with business as usual.

But in the twilight before dawn, one person moved through Liscor’s rainy streets. She snuck from house to house, never staying in one place long. But she moved with the utmost certainty. For her, the pre-dawn morning was the perfect time. The only time, before Liscor roused and heard the news. She crept up to one house in the street, silent as a whisper. A family of Gnolls slept there. They awoke suddenly as they heard a sound at the door.

“What is—”

A female Gnoll mother jerked upright, awakened by an unfamiliar scent at her door. She had slept lightly, for fear of the Raskghar despite the Watch’s assurances. She looked for her partner—but he was on night duty on the walls! She checked for her children. They were still asleep in her room, in the small home the family shared. She hesitated, then heard the knocking on the door. It was polite. Loud. Insistent.

Dread seized the mother. She rose, ignoring her state of undress and crept into the kitchen. She emerged with a wickedly sharp knife. She crept towards the door. Whoever it was stood right outside. There was another knock. The Gnoll held her breath. Then she threw open the door—

“Hello Miss Rykhai! Sorry about the early hour! Mind if I come in?”

Drassi beamed at Rykhai. The Gnoll froze, knife in hand. The Drake went cross-eyed as she stared at it.

“Uh—is this a bad time?”

“Drassi?”

Rykhai stared at Drassi in disbelief. She lowered the knife, her paws shaking.

“I nearly gutted you! I thought you were a Raskghar! Fool, don’t you know that the curfew is in effect? Come in, don’t stand in the streets!”

She ushered Drassi in and then slammed the door and locked it. Drassi looked around. It was very early, but the Drake was decidedly unapologetic. She rubbed her claws together, beaming, as Rykhai turned to glare at her.

“I know. I’m so sorry, Miss Rykhai. I know your children must be asleep. And your husband, Tessil, he’s probably on duty, right? It must be so hard to have someone working the night shift, what with the dungeon and all. Well, I have good news for you!”

“News that excuses me being woken up and frightened out of my fur, yes?”

The Gnoll folded her arms severely. She liked Drassi, and she was one of Drassi’s chat-friends as the Drake liked to call her circle of acquaintances. But this was crossing a line. Drassi grinned.

“Yes, actually! I have good news! Your husband won’t have to work overtime on the night shifts anymore. Because—are you ready for this? You might need a seat! The Raskghar were defeated! The Watch and the adventurers and the Antinium attacked them in their lair and rescued the Gnolls! All of them!”

For a second Rykhai thought she was still dreaming. She backed up from Drassi and sat on the family’s worn couch.

“What?”

The Drake beamed. Rykhai’s three Gnoll children woke up muzzily. Like their mother, their first instinct was unease. But as soon as they smelled Drassi they were bouncing around the living room. And when they heard Drassi’s news they immediately howled in relief.

The noise woke up their neighbors. There was a pounding on one of the walls and from above as Gnolls woke up unhappily, but Rykhai rushed to her windows and poked her head outside.

“Get down here! The Raskghar are dead!”

She heard several yelps and banging sounds from the other houses nearby as more people began waking up. The Gnoll turned back to Drassi.

“They are dead? Yes?”

“Most of them. The rest ran. It was a huge battle! Thousands of Raskghar dead! I heard it all first-hand! I wasn’t there in person, but I was around to help when they came back through. I saw them bringing magical artifacts back, and the prisoners! Say, do you have any tea?”

Rykhai blinked. But then she nodded.

“I can put a pot on.”

Drassi smiled gratefully, her tail wagging.

“Thank you so much. I’ve been to three places before this. I don’t want to be a bother, but my throat is dry. Let me give you a few details before everyone gets here.”

She followed Rykhai into the kitchen as the young Gnoll cubs swarmed around her, asking questions which Drassi was only too happy to answer. The Drake hadn’t slept for over thirty hours, but that didn’t matter. Her smile only kept widening as more Gnolls swarmed around Rykhai’s locked door and then flooded into her home, demanding answers. Were the Raskghar all dead? How had it happened? Were the prisoners well?

To a [Gossip], there was nothing juicier, nothing more delicious than knowing something this big before everyone else. Drassi grinned as more Gnolls living on the street threw their shutters open. Soon Rykhai’s living room was packed and Drassi had a huge audience. Everyone waited for Drassi to give them the details. After all, they’d never known Drassi to lie and she was one of the few people who knew what had happened.

Yes, the Council would probably make an announcement with [Criers] and [Street Runners] later today. But their report would be lacking in details, whereas Drassi had all the juicy ones. She basked as she began to retell the entire series of events she’d gotten out of the adventurers and Erin to her audience.

And when she was done here, she’d visit the next street, and the next…there were a lot of hours before morning, and even then, she’d still be able to talk about what had happened to everyone she knew. Which was everyone.

In this moment Drassi was a [Queen] surrounded by her adoring subjects. She beamed at the Gnolls who stared at her, dying to know what she knew. Drassi felt excellent. After all, she was performing a public service.

And she was doing Erin a favor. After all, a [Gossip] could sway the mood of the public if she was good, and Drassi was an expert. She owed Erin that much. So the Drake [Barmaid] winked and accepted a cup of hot tea sweetened with Ashfire Bee honey and settled back in her chair. She cleared her throat theatrically, and then began.

“I’ll tell you everything as it happened. I heard it all from people who were there. It was adventurers who saved Liscor. But not just them. It was the Watch, the Antinium, Wall Lord Ilvriss, and even the army. But they couldn’t have done it without help from the Goblins. Yes. I’m serious! It was Goblins who helped save the day. And Erin’s magic door. But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself. It started like this. And remember, this is all true. I heard it from Ceria and Erill and the others. They saw everything. When they first woke up in the Raskghar camp…”

—-

Mrsha had a bad dream. She dreamed that she was lying on the altar. Sticky blood was on her back and someone was holding her down. And Nokha was there. She was alive. She had a rock in her hands. It was stained with blood. And she was coming closer.

The white Gnoll tried to move. But she couldn’t. Nokha grinned at her. She drew closer. And then she reached into her chest. Her flesh moved and she pulled out a head. Vakk’s. He stared blankly at Mrsha. Nokha bent over the bloodstained altar. Her breath was rancid. She stared into Mrsha’s eyes and whispered.

“We are whole, Mrsha.”

And then Mrsha woke. She thrashed about wildly and felt something strange. A softness under her. Warmth all around her. And—

Light. And Mrsha looked around and realized she wasn’t in the dungeon. She was above, in her room in Erin’s inn. And Lyonette was hugging her. Mrsha’s heart still beat rapidly, though. She looked around, remembering Nokha’s words.

She shuddered, and then flinched as something moved in the inn. She crouched until she realized the thing was Apista. The Ashfire Bee flew up from the windowsill where it had been basking and buzzed gently around Mrsha’s head. The Gnoll cub looked at it and then realized Lyonette was holding her. She wiggled free and hopped to the ground.

The movement woke Lyonette of course. The young woman turned over, stirred, and then sat up. She blinked at her empty arms and then nearly shot out of bed.

“Mrsha? Where—”

She spotted Mrsha staring up at her. The Gnoll backed up a step at the look on Lyonette’s face. The [Princess] had an anguished look that turned to relief. She bent and swept Mrsha up into a tight embrace. Mrsha squeaked.

Lyonette didn’t care. She hugged Mrsha so tightly that the nightmare vanished. The Gnoll felt warm. And she hugged back, fiercely.

For a while they just stood like that. After a while, Apista landed on Lyonette’s head. The [Princess] started, and then laughed. She sat down on her bed with Mrsha in her arms.

“I’m so glad you’re here. I dreamed—”

She broke off, as adults did when they didn’t want to tell the truth. Mrsha silently squeezed Lyonette. She was here. She was above. She inhaled Lyonette’s scent and looked out the window. It was light!

A faint light. A grey light. Rain pattered on the window, a gloomy sky bringing down more water. But it was still light. The dungeon had been small. But the sky—

“I’m never going to let you out of my sight again. I promise.”

Lyonette shifted her grip on Mrsha. The Gnoll shifted, a tad uncomfortable until Lyonette supported her with one arm. She didn’t know if she liked that promise, but in that moment she didn’t care. She looked around and saw Apista hovering, her antennae waving. There was something different about her. Mrsha squinted, and then patted Lyonette’s arm and pointed. The [Princess] looked up and her eyes widened.

“That’s right! I leveled up! And I got a Skill—or rather—Apista?”

She held out her other hand and the Ashfire Bee landed on her hand. It looked much like normal—that was, until it turned and Mrsha saw its stinger. Normally, the Ashfire Bee’s stinger was a little barb sticking out of its backside, barely noticeable. But now Apista’s stinger was bigger. It looked brighter too, a more crimson tint to it. And it felt…hot. Heat was radiating from the tip of the stinger. Mrsha’s eyes went round as Apista fanned her wings, oblivious to the two pairs of eyes on her.

“[Crimson Stinger]. I got the Skill—I didn’t know pets changed with [Beast Tamers]! I heard that some [Falconers] could have huge hawks, but—”

Lyonette raised Apista up so the bee could walk up her arm and onto her shoulder. Mrsha stared too. Both she and Lyonette stared at Apista’s enhanced stinger. Lyonette reached out to touch it and thought better.

“We all leveled up, probably. That’s one good thing that came of all this. I…I was so worried. I would have gone after you if I could, but all I could do was wait. It was Erin who rescued you, really.”

Mrsha nodded. Lyonette had said all this yesterday. She remembered Lyonette facing Nokha. She looked up and licked Lyonette’s face. The young woman squeezed Mrsha again, and then heard a sound. It was a rumbling from Mrsha’s stomach.

“Oh. You must be hungry!”

She was. But Mrsha hesitated until she remembered that she was in Erin’s inn. Then she nodded rapidly. Lyonette smiled.

“Come on.”

She let Mrsha jump to the ground. Mrsha ran to the door, and then paused. She raced past Lyonette who was looking for her clothes.

Mrsha had leveled up too. And gained a Skill of her own. But that was a special secret. Mrsha reached under her pillow and pulled something out. Pisces’ wand. Her wand. She held it very tightly as Lyonette got dressed. She wouldn’t go anywhere without it. Ever.

“What’s that? Oh—well, I’m sure Pisces won’t mind. Come on.”

Lyonette picked up Mrsha. Rather than let her race downstairs, the [Princess] carried her down in her arms. Apista flew with her. At first, Mrsha felt like a stranger in a strange place. But then she smelled something wonderful coming from below. And when she and Lyonette reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw a familiar face.

Erin Solstice was sitting at a table. She looked up with a smile.

“Mrsha!”

She stood up. Behind her, she’d set a table with a huge number of hot dishes. She must have heard the two getting up, because there were steaming eggs, hot bacon, pancakes, warm buns, butter, milk with honey, sausages—and that was only the food from Erin’s home. There were spicy Yelets, a fish congee, fruit juice, a salad with dressing sprinkled over it, a melon sliced into pieces…

Mrsha’s eyes went round at the sight of it all. Lyonette put her on the table. She and Erin looked at each other for a moment. And then Erin smiled at Mrsha.

“It’s so great to have you back. We were all worried—I made you a special breakfast.”

Mrsha climbed hesitantly into her seat. After being in the cell for so long she could barely believe what lay before her eyes. Her nose hurt a bit from all the smells. She had eaten food yesterday—but she’d been so hungry and so much had happened she couldn’t remember what it was. This was her first real meal. And it was overwhelming.

“Go on.”

Mrsha looked up at Lyonette. The [Princess] smiled and nodded.

“You have the first bite, Mrsha. The [Healer] said you can’t eat too much or your stomach will do bad things. But you can have a bit of anything you want, okay Mrsha? And you can have little snacks throughout the day. Take whatever you want.”

Slowly, almost thinking it was a dream, Mrsha reached out. There was a plate of poached eggs, wobbly, the edges crisped, and the yolks still gooey on the inside. Mrsha reached for one, picked it up, and then remembered she should have used a fork. She looked up guiltily, but neither young woman chastised her.

The food was hot. And it smelled so good. Mrsha just held the poached egg a second. She could see and smell the pepper and salt that had been sprinkled over it, smell the grease from fried bacon that had helped cook the egg. She could even smell the fact that it was a goose egg, not a chicken’s egg. Her stomach rumbled. But Mrsha was afraid. She held the egg until Lyonette and Erin were giving each other worried looks. Then, slowly, Mrsha bit.

The egg was…an egg. But glorious. The taste hit Mrsha’s tongue. It was nostalgic and new. It tasted nothing like the dead monster parts in the dungeon. And then it hit Mrsha. She was here. She was safe. She took another bite into the poached egg and began crying.

“Oh Mrsha—”

Erin bent down and hugged the Gnoll. Mrsha kept crying, but she started chewing. And now she was ravenous. She filled her plate, snatching food. Lyonette had to divide everything she grabbed into portions that wouldn’t tax Mrsha’s stomach. But she promised, promised the anxious Gnoll.

“Everything will be right here for later. Just eat this much, okay, honey?”

Mrsha did. Lyonette and Erin sat at the table and ate. They didn’t speak. They just looked at each other.

It was the first meal Erin had had with Lyonette in days. The first meal that Lyonette had really had, too. The [Princess] realized she was starving and after a moment, so did Erin. They ate ravenously, until the spread of food was quite reduced. And then they looked at Mrsha. She sat at the table, running her paws over the grain of the wood, looking around. She looked…different.

The dungeon had changed her. Erin closed her eyes. Of course it had. She had seen the cages and the Raskghar’s camp before the adventurers had burned it and retreated back through her inn. She had seen Mrsha’s cage. Normally the Gnoll would be running about. But today she just sat at the table, looking around as if she’d never seen Erin’s inn before.

Heartbreaking. And yet she was here. Erin felt a bit teary-eyed herself, but she didn’t give into it. Not just yet. She looked at Lyonette and saw the younger girl wiping her eyes.

“I guess I cook really well, huh?”

Lyonette laughed. Mrsha looked up, and then her lips moved upwards awkwardly. She kicked her legs at the table. But she didn’t move.

“Do you want to play, Mrsha?”

The Gnoll looked at Lyonette. Then she seemed to remember that yes, she did do that. She stood up hesitantly, and looked around. She glanced about Erin’s common room and sniffed the air. Then she held her paws up. She made a shape. A ball.

“Oh. Your ball. It’s…”

Erin stood up. So did Lyonette. They looked about, but Mrsha’s ball had vanished. With all that had gone on, Erin hadn’t thought to keep track of the ball. And wherever it was, it was gone. Mrsha’s ears drooped as she saw the consternation on the two’s faces.

“We’ll find it. I’m sure it just rolled somewhere. Why don’t we—why don’t we all clean up? I can hear someone moving about upstairs. The adventurers will be coming down.”

It was a lame suggestion, but it worked. The Gnoll and [Barmaid] automatically began cleaning up. Mrsha kept pausing, but Lyonette moved automatically. And sure enough, the Horns came down minutes later, as one group. Erin turned and blinked.

Ceria stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking just as dumbfounded as Mrsha. She gazed around and then she saw Mrsha. The Gnoll child had frozen. She and Ceria’s gazes met. The half-Elf straightened.

“Um. Hello.”

“Hi.”

Erin stared at her friend. Pisces, Yvlon, and Ksmvr stopped on the stairs behind Ceria. For a moment Erin felt that strangeness, and saw it reflected on Ceria’s face. Then she heard a cough.

“Could you, ah, move, Springwalker? Before we all perish of starvation?”

Ceria blinked. She looked back and automatically scowled. Then caught herself. Yvlon glanced at Pisces. But not in annoyance. The [Necromancer] sniffed, but his eyes—the tension in the room vanished.

“Shut up, Pisces. I’m going.”

The half-Elf walked down the stairs. Ksmvr nodded.

“I believe I am able to function for at least four more days before expiring. In case anyone was concerned about my food consumption.”

“No, Ksmvr. Eat up.”

Yvlon smiled. She nodded to Erin and looked at Mrsha. She bent and held out a hand. The Gnoll looked at Yvlon and took it. Yvlon gently shook Mrsha’s paw.

“I’m glad to see you.”

Mrsha nodded. Then she looked up and saw Pisces. Ksmvr. Ceria again. They smiled at her. Mrsha stared up at them and her mouth moved. It might have been a happy expression.

“Alright! Breakfast!”

Erin found a smile of her own. She swept into the kitchen and came out with plates of food. Like her breakfast, she served the Horns everything she had. Ceria’s eyes widened. She grabbed a roll, smelled it as her teammates watched, and then bit.

“Dead gods. Dead gods. I forgot—”

The half-Elf chewed so fast she nearly choked as she tried to swallow. She grabbed a sausage and stuffed it into her face. Yvlon’s face was amused, appalled, and happy at the same time.

“Can you at least pretend to use silverware, Ceria?”

“Sorry. This is—this is so good. Tree roots, is this what it tasted like before?”

“Need a drink?”

“Alcohol?”

Ceria sat up. She stared at the bar. Erin filled her a mug. The half-Elf washed down her food and sat at the table. Mrsha watched her. The Gnoll didn’t bounce or beg for snacks. And as the Horns ate in the same silence, Erin saw Mrsha’s eyes fix on Ceria’s face. The half-Elf pretended not to notice.

So much had changed. And Erin didn’t know exactly what. In the confused aftermath of the battle, so much had happened that she’d only gotten the barest of accounts from Ceria. And she didn’t want to press the half-Elf or Mrsha. Far from it. But she knew just by looking that more had gone on than words could say. And Mrsha just sat there.

Lyonette and Erin exchanged a look over Mrsha’s head. Erin looked around. Her glass windows reflected a rainy day in Liscor, as usual. The rain poured down. Erin cleared her throat and Mrsha looked around quickly. The [Innkeeper] smiled at her and pointed.

“It’s not too nice out. But why don’t you take Mrsha into Liscor, Lyonette? I think what she needs is…a special present.”

“Now?”

Lyonette looked uncertain. But Erin nodded. She stared around the inn and then nodded to her magic door.

“We should go out. And Mrsha definitely deserves something. Maybe a new ball? We’ll all go together, how about that?”

The little Gnoll looked up. Her tail began to wag a bit. Lyonette hesitated, then nodded.

“I’ll get cloaks for all of us. One second!”

“I’ll put out more food. Save some for the Halfseekers, okay?”

Erin hurried into the kitchen. When she came out, the Horns were talking at last. Ceria sat, looking from face to face.

“So…what did I miss?”

Pisces smirked. Yvlon laughed and ran her hands through her hair. Ksmvr opened his mandibles.

“To the best of my knowledge, Captain Ceria—”

“We’re all heroes. After all, we participated in the largest dungeon raid in Liscor’s history. We obtained a bounty on the captured prisoners. And there are the magical artifacts yet to be divided up. Our team made substantial gains while you were captive. I suspect we may be able to claim a fair margin of the spoils.”

Pisces sat back in his chair, lacing his fingers together. Ceria’s lips quirked.

“Ah, right. We’re fighting over all the treasures the Raskghar had? Figures. How’s that going to work? Hell, how’d you get everyone into the dungeon? That was…a lot.”

“Miss Erin, of course.”

Ceria glanced over.

“I should have known.”

Erin shook her head as she came over. She put another plate on the table.

“I just came up with the plan. Everyone helped. Antinium, adventurers, the Watch…and Goblins. I think the Council of Liscor’s putting out the word right now.”

Ceria looked surprised.

“They didn’t know—oh wait, it was night. Wow. That’s a cause for celebration if ever I heard one.”

Yvlon nodded. She buttered a piece of toast. She glanced sideways at Ceria.

“There’ll probably be another parade.”

“Probably.”

Erin carefully found another table and put the food down there. She glanced back at Ceria.

“Going to join in?”

The half-Elf wavered. She looked around her table and then seemed to remember she was part of her team. The Captain. She shook her head after a second.

“Nah. We’re…I’m not up for it. If you all want to do it, that’s fine. I just want to know what they’ll do about—”

Ceria hesitated. She glanced at Mrsha, and then sighed.

“—about Calruz.”

The inn quieted. Mrsha looked up as Lyonette tied the cloak to her neck. Yvlon put down her fork. Pisces doodled with the grease on his plate. Ksmvr kept eating bread as he looked around, and then paused uncertainly.

“Right. Him.”

Erin didn’t know what to think. She’d seen Calruz. But the beaten, burned Minotaur wasn’t at all the one she’d remembered teaching her how to fight. And she hadn’t seen the monster that had led the Raskghar. Only the aftermath. Ceria shook her head. She passed a hand across her eyes.

“He’s not well. I don’t know if it was something in the dungeon or the Raskghar or the water, but I think it wasn’t entirely his fault. Still. That doesn’t excuse any of it. I just—”

Ceria’s voice trailed off. She looked at her mismatched hands. At last, Pisces cleared his throat.

“I believe that means, no parade, Miss Solstice.”

That elicited a grin from Erin.

“Right. Thanks, Pisces. Well, we’re going into the city. If you need anything.”

“I think we’ll stay here. And…talk.”

Yvlon looked at Ceria. The half-Elf glanced up and nodded.

“Yeah. There’s a lot I need to tell you.”

They left it at that. Erin went over to Mrsha and Lyonette. The Gnoll was visibly apprehensive as she looked at the magic door. But that was the point. Erin went over and set the door to Liscor as if nothing was wrong.

“Ready? We’ll all go together. Come on.”

The door opened into a rainy street. Erin stepped forwards first and turned. Mrsha hesitated at the door’s edge. She looked up. Lyonette smiled reassuringly down at her. Mrsha wavered, and then put a paw on the rainy street. She flinched as she felt the wetness, then walked forwards. She looked up as the rain spattered her face.

“You’re so brave.”

Erin bent and gave Mrsha a wet cuddle. Then she stood. She nodded at Lyonette and they began to walk through Liscor.

Everything was the same. Everything was not. Erin and Lyonette kept looking at Mrsha every few seconds. And the Gnoll stared at everything. She didn’t run about. She was…looking. The three passed by Drakes and Gnolls on the street. And they were different too.

Liscor had been hushed after the Raskghar attacks. People had barely gone about, except to work and perform necessary business. They had been quiet, nervous and angry. But now the word had gone out. The Gnolls and Drakes stood about in the streets, talking. Some glanced about nervously, until they caught themselves and realized there was nothing to fear. They stared at Erin and Lyonette as they passed. And at Mrsha. The Gnolls paused in what they were doing and looked at the little Gnoll. She stared back. The Gnolls exchanged glances. Lyonette and Erin watched them warily. They heard whispers as Mrsha padded past.

“White one.”

“Mrsha child.”

And then, from one Gnoll, a word.

“Doombringer.”

Erin and Lyonette whirled. The Gnoll looked at them and then at Mrsha. Lyonette’s face went white. She opened her mouth furiously, but the Gnoll’s expression wasn’t hostile or afraid. He inclined his head at Mrsha. The Gnoll cub stared at him. Then he bowed his head. The Gnoll turned and walked past. A Drake blinked at the two and scratched his head. So did Erin. Lyonette stared with a mixture of anger and confusion at the Gnoll’s back.

“What was that about?”

Erin looked thoughtfully at Mrsha’s face. The Gnoll stared after the other Gnoll. Her expression was neither happy nor sad. But it was slightly content. Erin stared at the Gnoll’s back and nodded.

“I think…we should get moving before we’re all totally drenched. Where’s the toy store? Left?”

“Straight and then left.”

In time they reached the special store that Erin and Lyonette had found a while back. It was a Gnoll-run store and it was aimed at children, but mainly Gnoll children. That was because it was a ball shop. It sold balls.

Small catching balls. Large ones made of leather. Discs for catching. If there was anything Gnolls shared with dogs, it was their love of games that allowed them to run about. Mrsha’s ball had come from here. Now the three pushed inside. A Gnoll at the counter looked up and blinked when he saw Mrsha. Then he bowed at his counter.

“Greetings. What can I do for you?”

“Hi. We’re looking for a ball for Mrsha. We just wanted to look around. Is it okay if she touches things? We can pay for anything.”

The Gnoll inclined his head as Mrsha stared up at him.

“Of course. Take your time. We owe a debt to the Mrsha child. Doom of the Raskghar. Find whatever you might wish, child.”

Lyonette blinked and bit her lip. But Mrsha’s tail began to wag as she looked around the shop. Lined up on the shelves were a child’s fantasy. At least, any child who loved to play catch. There were balls of every size and shape and consistency. Little ones that could be hidden, large ones you could kick about, even metal ones with shiny surfaces. Mrsha looked at the adults again, and then wandered down the aisles. She soon lost herself between the shelves.

“I had no idea there was an entire shop for this stuff.”

Erin whispered to Lyonette. The young woman nodded.

“Krshia told me about it. Apparently Gnolls don’t have many toys when they move about in their tribes. Games of catch are very important. And balls are…well, they’re fun.”

“Yeah. I just never heard of personal, custom throwing balls. I mean, we had dogs at home, but—”

The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] raised one eyebrow and Erin turned red.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean—”

He shook his head and smiled.

“Dogs are dogs, yes? They are simple. But a Gnoll finds more joy than a dog can. They fetch. We throw. But one as young as the Mrsha child would find enjoyment in both, I think. Do you have any preference? I find that children are usually unable to choose from my selection.”

Erin stared down the rows of colorful balls. She was at a loss too. This was no supermarket selection with a bunch of generic, identical toys. Each object in the shop was hand-made and high quality. She hesitated, trying to imagine what Mrsha would like. If they found her old ball—

“What about a big bouncy ball? Do you have anything made of rub—of plas—something that bounces?”

“Hmm. I have a few. Let me bring them out.”

The Gnoll slipped out from behind his counter. He came back with a selection of balls, mostly leather, some wrapped in hide, and placed them on the counter. Erin bounced a few, but they were hardly as bouncy as a basketball.

“Got anything with more bounce? Like, one I could throw on the ground and bounce off the ceiling?”

The Gnoll frowned.

“You have high standards. Yes, I’ve seen such balls before. Magic ones, enchanted by [Mages]. Very prized among Gnoll children.”

“Uh—well, are they that rare?”

The Gnoll nodded, with the air of someone who had specialized in the nuance of ball manufacture all his life.

“I regret that I do not have any such objects in stock. Magic is costly. I regret that I do not have any specialty goods—you would have to place an order, yes? But this is a good one for catching and throwing. And these are good for chewing.”

He held up a ball wrapped in animal hide, and a set of smaller balls that smelled a bit like animal to Erin. She prodded the leather-wrapped ball and then the chewable ones.

“Hey, these are squishy!”

“Yes. Not good for throwing. But very young children chew on these.”

Lyonette frowned.

“What if they eat them by mistake?”

The older Gnoll smiled. He was probably the oldest Gnoll Erin had met, older than Erill and Krshia. His fur was grey, with black splotches.

“It is no danger. They are edible, and not harmful. And it is a lesson for children if they are swallowed. Because the toy is then gone. Unless it passes out of them in the same piece, which is not always pleasant, yes?”

Erin laughed. The Gnoll took the chewing toys away.

“But I think young Mrsha is too old for such things. I have other balls. Such as this one, which is very frictionless. And tough. Note the covering.”

The ball he showed Erin had a delicate wyvern-hide skin, which Mrsha sniffed with great interest. She touched the smooth surface.

“Ooh. Fancy. And you can see the scales!”

“Laminated. It is very tough, though. Not malleable. While these are cheaper.”

The Gnoll flicked the throwing ball. Erin studied it. She could see tiny stitches holding the hide wrap in place. And when she felt it the ball had some give, but only a little. It was definitely familiar. She frowned at the Gnoll, struck by a thought.

“Hey. This looks a lot like a…what’s this made of?”

He hesitated.

“That is a trade secret. But I suppose for this one—I could tell you. It is cork, yes? Hard, but malleable. Not cheap around Liscor, but good for throwing.”

Erin’s brows shot together. She eyed the ball and looked around. Mrsha was still wavering, caught by a huge, hollow ball and a small one that glittered, enchanted by a minor spell of some kind. Erin looked at the ball and tossed it up and down.

“Hmm. Hmm. Hey Mrsha, get the ball you want. I’ll take five—no, give me eight of these. Not the expensive ones, but good, quality ones.”

“Of course!”

The Gnoll beamed, happy to make a sale. Lyonette eyed Erin.

“Are those all for Mrsha? And can we afford all of them?”

Erin dug around in her money pouch for a few gold coins. She shrugged.

“I earned a lot of money from the plays. And I get some of the bounty money for the Gnolls. And I can even put in a claim for some of the magical items!”

“Really? How does that even work? I know there was Ilvriss’ bounty, but who gets to say who gets what?”

Erin paused.

“I have no idea. Hey, can I get these in a bag? Lyonette, I just had a great idea. You stay here and get Mrsha whatever she wants. Or two of what she wants. Here.”

She dug three gold coins out and handed them to Lyonette. The Gnoll [Shopkeeper]’s tail wagged in delight as Lyonette stared at the gold coins.

“Erin—!”

“Come back to the inn when you’re ready! I’ll be in Celum if you need me!”

Erin raced out of the shop. By the time she got back to the Wandering Inn, the Halfseekers were awake. They were eating ravenously and in good spirits without reserve. Jelaqua was thumping Moore on the back as Erin came in.

“Eat up! Don’t be shy, you great big oaf. Erin doesn’t care if you eat all her eggs! And you need your strength after you nearly got gutted by those damn Raskghar. Anyone want the sausages? Then take the platter, Moore! I told you—oh, hey Erin.”

“Jelaqua! Moore! Seborn!”

Erin beamed. The Horns of Hammerad and Halfseekers both turned. They stared as she emptied the hide-wrapped balls onto the table. Jelaqua pointed.

“What’s that? Toys for Mrsha?”

“Nope! Toys for me! Oh, and eat everything you want, Moore. Hey, I’m going into Celum now. Can one of you change the door back to Liscor and check for me in like…thirty minutes?”

The Horns nodded. Ceria was sitting with the others. She looked relaxed, but tired. Erin strode over to the door and blinked as Yvlon stood up. The woman scratched at her arms. She was wearing her gauntlets and vambraces for some reason, despite not having bothered to put on her breastplate or any other part of her armor.

“I’ll go with you. I could use some sunlight.”

“Sure, thanks! I could use a pair of hands. Remember, let Mrsha and Lyonette through! I’ll be back soon! Oh, hey Octavia.”

The [Alchemist] looked up as Erin and Yvlon came through. She waved.

“Hey, everyone’s alive over there, right? I didn’t get to ask—”

“They’re all good!”

The Stitch-Girl sighed in relief. Erin spent a few seconds with Octavia, and then walked out of the shop. Yvlon nodded to the [Alchemist] and walked with Erin down the street.

It was different in Celum. Sunlight shone down from above, disconcerting after the pouring rain Erin had just been walking through. She felt her hair and clothes begin to dry. After a second, she turned and looked at Yvlon.

“So how’s Ceria doing?”

Yvlon looked up at the bright sky. People were passing by in the street. Humans, giving Yvlon an odd look now and then. People who had no idea of what had happened. Erin felt like a stranger with Humans all around her. After a moment, Yvlon shrugged.

“I don’t know. I think she’s okay. She told us what happened.”

“And?”

The woman let out a long breath.

“I…I’m surprised she can recall it. Calruz, the Raskghar—there was something truly awful down there, Erin. The ritual, Calruz—I don’t know how Ceria will handle it. I’m surprised she let him live after all that happened. And Mrsha…”

“That bad?”

“She was there for all of it. She looked okay to me, but I’d stick with her. Those Raskghar were monsters.”

Erin nodded seriously.

“Well, Lyonette is with her. And I’ll find tons of fun stuff for her to do. I just had an idea in that vein, which is why we’re out here. Hey, you know Celum, right? Can you help me find a shop?”

“Really? Well, why am I surprised? What are you looking for?”

“A [Carpenter]. Know any good ones?”

“Hm. Well, the Runner’s Guild would know the best ones in the city. Why not make a stop there?”

“Good idea.”

They turned left down a street. Yvlon and Erin walked along in silence. Erin glanced at Yvlon. She hadn’t spoken too often with the woman, but they knew each other.

“Yvlon?”

“Yes?”

“How bad was it? I can ask Ceria, but—”

The woman looked away. Her face was shadowed when she spoke.

“Bad enough that I had to leave. It was that or ask Ceria why she didn’t kill Calruz. She let him live. But the things he did, the horrors he let the Raskghar commit—that was not the Calruz I knew. And there was something else. Ceria saw the heart of the dungeon. And what lurks in there—you don’t need to hear about it.”

Erin shivered.

“Maybe I do. But not today.”

Yvlon nodded.

“Not today. I’m just grateful that she’s back. And so is Mrsha. Thank you for doing this.”

“Hey, it was just—”

“No. It was more than that.”

The woman met Erin’s eyes. Erin hesitated, then nodded silently. That was all they said for a while. They visited the Runner’s Guild, got directions from the [Receptionist], and were walking down the street when Erin thought of something else to ask.

“So…about the treasure. Loot. Whatever. How’s that going to work?”

Yvlon blinked. Then she smiled.

“Right. I nearly forgot! Ilvriss did offer a huge bounty on the Gnolls. What was it, a thousand gold pieces per prisoner saved? And didn’t he double that? Plus, we recovered a bunch of artifacts from the Raskghar who were carrying them. At least twenty, I think. I didn’t see all of them, but everyone wants one.”

“I bet. So how’s it going to work?”

“I think it’s a lottery. Part of what Ilvriss and Liscor’s Council will do is assign merit based on who contributed what. The Gold-rank teams get most credit for all the fighting they did, obviously. But the [Soldiers], the Watch, Ilvriss himself, everyone gets credit. So do you. A lot of it, I should imagine.”

“Mhm. I guess.”

“So we’ll all be eligible for some share. But what Ilvriss is going to do is pay the whole sum for all the prisoners rescued into a pool. And the artifacts go into the pool as well. Then we make bids on what we want. You can just ask for gold—or try and claim an artifact. If multiple groups claim the same thing, I think there’s a random lottery. Or you might get it if you did the most and you don’t want anything else. It’s complicated. Dungeon raids usually end up with a lot of fighting over who gets what anyways.”

“Wow. So could I get a magic sword if I wanted it?”

Yvlon grinned ruefully.

“You could try. But I’ll bet all the Gold-ranks will get the artifacts. I’ll be pleased just to get some gold for our team. We could use it. And the levels we gained already were treasure enough. We—oh, here we are.”

She stopped. Erin stared at the carpenter’s shop and then pushed her way in. The shop was run by a master and his apprentices. Erin edged past the apprentice who came to ask her what she wanted and strode up to the [Carpenter]. She smiled at him as he looked up with a scowl.

“Hey, I’m Erin. Erin Solstice. You’re a [Carpenter], right?  Can I ask how fast you can carpenter?”

“What?”

He looked irritated. The man had gnarled hands and grey hair. He glared at his apprentice and Erin, but she was undeterred.

“I have an order I’d like to make. Something custom.”

“I’m busy. If you have an order—”

Erin slapped a gold coin on the table the man was working at. He blinked at the gold piece. He opened his mouth and Erin dumped a handful on the table. Yvlon’s eyebrows shot up. The [Carpenter] wavered. He glanced at Erin and tried to adopt a much more helpful attitude.

“Uh, how can I help, you, Miss?”

“I want you to carve something. It has to be solid. One block of wood. And it can’t break. It’s not hard to make, but it needs to be good. It’ll look like this—hey, can I borrow that piece of charcoal? Thanks.”

Erin snatched the [Carpenter]’s drawing stick up and began to sketch on his piece of parchment. He blinked at her and then frowned at what she was drawing. He began nodding as she described what she wanted.

“That’s all? And you don’t want anything done with it? A wrap? Hah, that’s simple. Well, if it’s not engraving…I can get you a rough outline within the hour, no problem. Smoothing the surface takes a bit of work, but that’s an easy design. You’re lucky you came to me! My competitors can’t do quick work, whereas my Skills are far superior.”

He puffed out his chest a bit. Erin raised one eyebrow.

“Really? Well, can you give me a list of your competitors? I’m gonna get them to make some too. Unless you can make me…six within two hours? I need an oversized version too. Oh, and one with a custom grip. I’ll pay extra to get it done quick and good.”

The [Carpenter]’s jaw dropped. He stared at Yvlon, who gave him a curious, embarrassed, amused look. He looked at Erin. She smiled at him.

“Did I mention that I know Gold-rank adventurers? Say, do you happen to sell arrow shafts? Because one of my best clients is a guy called Halrac…”

A few minutes later Erin walked out of the [Carpenter]’s shop, whistling. She looked at Yvlon.

“Okay, we’ll go to one other [Carpenter] shop. The guy had a lot of apprentices so I think he can fulfill the order. Plus, he looked like he was going to work really hard.”

Yvlon looked back into the shop, which was a flurry of activity.

“I can imagine. Especially with what you paid him! What was that thing for, anyways?”

Erin raised her eyebrows mysteriously.

“You’ll see. Now I need to visit a tanner. Or a leatherworker.”

“We can ask about them at the next carpenter’s shop if you want. They tend to know other people in related businesses. But can I ask why?”

A wide smile was Yvlon’s only answer.

“Don’t worry, you’ll see what I’ve got ready in about two hours. Less, if I get everything ready. Hey, do you know where I can buy sausages? And I need more flour to make dough. Uh…how strong are your arms? I might need you to carry stuff.”

Yvlon flexed her arms as Erin eyed them with sudden concern. The [Warrior] smiled. Her arms looked bigger for some reason. Had she been working out?

“Don’t worry about me. But please tell me you’re not going to do something crazy. I can’t handle anything crazy.”

“Don’t worry! This is fun and good stuff. Besides—if I did do something crazy, could you even stop me?”

Yvlon paused.

“Yes.”

Erin hesitated.

“Right. You probably could. Well, this isn’t that crazy. Come on!”

—-

When Erin got back to the inn she found Mrsha and Lyonette had returned. Only, they didn’t have any new balls. And neither of them were smiling. Mrsha sat by herself, rolling something back and forth.

Her ball. Her worn, scratched little ball. Erin paused, looking questioningly at Lyonette. She and Yvlon were empty-handed, but Erin had spent a good deal of coin and she hoped to have things to carry soon enough.

“Did Mrsha not want anything?”

Lyonette was sitting at a table, watching Mrsha with concern in her eyes. She shook her head. Apista was in her lap and Lyonette was running her finger down the bee’s back.

“She started crying after you left and she had to decide on a new ball. She wanted her old one. I think it was too soon to bring her into the city, Erin.”

A bit of reproach entered Lyonette’s tone. Erin’s heart sank. She looked at Mrsha. The Gnoll was sniffing her ball, holding it. Not really playing. Erin nodded slowly.

“Yeah. That was my mistake. Uh—is everyone doing good?”

She looked around. The Halfseekers and Horns were still in her inn. Both had stuffed themselves. They weren’t saying too much. Ceria sat at a table with Pisces and Ksmvr. She had emptied two mugs. She wasn’t exactly looking happy either. She kept looking at Mrsha.

The optimistic mood of the morning had somehow gone wrong. Lyonette glanced at the adventurers and shrugged. Erin saw Seborn talking with Moore and Jelaqua. She wandered over and heard his slightly echoey voice.

“—It’s negotiations at this point. We could try for that armor, Jelaqua. But we owe Selys Shivertail a cut of whatever we get.”

“I know, I know. But if we get the armor we can compensate her. And we do have a strong claim. Hell, maybe we could persuade Ilvriss or the Flamewardens to help us out if I agree to cancel my contract with Selys. But having a magical artifact like that we could own—oh, hey Erin.”

Jelaqua looked up. Moore sat up with a groan. He had a hand over his stomach where he’d been cut last night. The wound had healed, but the half-Giant still seemed tender. Or he’d stuffed himself. The mountain of dishes suggested that might be the case.

“Hey guys. I wanted to say thanks again for all you did. Really.”

Jelaqua raised one eyebrow.

“For what? Saving our hides? You gave us a victory. We had no way to beat the Raskghar. And you—”

Mrsha started and looked up from her ball. Jelaqua broke off guiltily.

“Sorry. What I meant was that we owe you, Erin.”

“Thanks. But you were fighting. I…well, I know you’re probably busy doing adventurer stuff, but I was hoping I could ask for a small favor.”

The Halfseekers looked at each other. Jelaqua shrugged.

“We’re only discussing business. It’s not like we can do anything now—it’ll be a week at least before we get to the actual dividing of loot, I bet. Gotta make sure we all get what we want.”

“Awesome. Then can I ask for you to help me deliver something? I need a few strong hands. Not you, Moore. I know you’re recovering—”

The half-Giant sat up. He smiled tiredly at Erin.

“I’m fine, Miss Erin. And if it’s lifting you need, I think I’m your half-Giant.”

He tried to rise, but Jelaqua and Seborn held him down.

“Relax, Moore. We have this.”

“But I—”

“No, no. Sit. Please. Let me get you a drink. You saved Mrsha. I owe you so much—Lyonette! Can we get the big mug for Moore? Fill it with something nice! Wine or ale? Something stronger?”

The half-Giant wavered, then collapsed back into his seat. Fatigue, that was it. He just looked tired.

“I suppose I could do with an ale. From Celum? Do you have any local brands?”

“I’ll check. Now, I just need four people, probably. I could do it with two, but—”

“Seborn and I are good. Who are the other two? Yvlon and Ksmvr?”

“I was thinking of making Pisces do it—”

“Hah!”

Erin turned and grinned at Pisces. The [Necromancer] had helped himself to a drink of his own. He sat next to Ceria.

“I will conjure you a skeleton to do the work if you desire, Erin. But you won’t get me to move for love or money. Threats of violence may suffice.”

Erin rolled her eyes.

“I don’t need skeletons, thanks. They’ll cause a panic. But just give me one second and I’ll get everything in place. It’s for Mrsha, see.”

Both Mrsha and Lyonette looked up. Lyonette frowned.

“Erin. Mrsha needs some time by herself. I don’t think an outing is right. Not at all.”

She stared hard at Erin and the young woman felt a bit of pressure on her shoulders. She blinked. Lyonette’s gaze felt heavy. And then Erin realized. She was using her aura! She met Lyonette’s gaze. Neither young woman raised their tone for fear of scaring Mrsha, but Erin silently pushed back until the pressure had left her shoulders. Jelaqua and Seborn looked from Lyonette to Erin in silence.

“It’ll be fine, Lyonette. It’s just a little outing.”

“No. Not another one! She just needs to stay here!”

Lyonette raised her voice. Mrsha looked up again. Erin sighed. She walked forwards, giving Mrsha a reassuring look. She turned away and whispered to Lyonette.

“I know. Lyonette, I know you’re worried about Mrsha. But believe me. I know what I’m doing. She doesn’t have to go anywhere right now. Neither do you. Just wait.”

She met Lyonette’s eyes, trying to be reassuring. The [Princess] glared—then saw Erin was serious. She looked at Mrsha and sighed.

“Okay. But nothing crazy, okay?”

“Why does everyone think I can only do crazy? This is just…okay, it’s a bit weird. But just a bit! Ksmvr, Yvlon, can I get you to lift?”

“I am quite proficient at lifting.”

Ksmvr stood up at once. Yvlon nodded.

“Just show us what you need, Erin.”

“Okay. We’ll be back in a few minutes! Don’t worry! It’ll be worth it!”

Ceria, Pisces, Lyonette, and Mrsha watched as the four adventurers plus Erin walked over to her door. Erin didn’t change the mana stone. She opened the door and walked through. The people in the inn heard Erin speaking to Octavia, and then the [Alchemist] raise her voice.

“What? But Erin! I thought we were partners! This is really—did someone make you an offer? Hold on! Don’t touch it! We can deal! We can make—”

The door closed. The people in the inn looked at each other. Lyonette went over and gave Mrsha another hug. The Gnoll looked up at her. Lyonette tried to give her a reassuring smile.

“I’m sure it’s just Erin being Erin. She said she wasn’t doing anything crazy.”

She didn’t sound too convinced. But for some reason that uncertainty made Mrsha feel better. She stared out the rainy window and bounced her ball. All was the same. All was different. She wished she could play, but she was a bit—tired. A bit empty.

So was Ceria. The half-Elf sat at her table. She knew Pisces was watching her, which was why he’d volunteered to stay. That and he loathed physical exertion. She looked into her mug. She’d told her teammates everything. Nearly everything. But she couldn’t tell them what it had been like. The pain, Calruz’s madness. It felt like a nightmare she hadn’t woken up from. She was free of the dungeon now. The Raskghar were dead or fled. But it felt—

It felt like she’d brought the dungeon with her. And Ceria was unhappy. So she and Mrsha sat, a bit lost, as the rain poured down. Part of them was still in that camp. Part of them still thought this was a dream. It was unreal, too wonderful, too much after their torment. It was a figment of their imagination, an illusion.

A fantasy.

—-

“Erin, please! Please! How long have we known each other? Months? It feels like years! You can’t just throw me under the wagon like this! I have relatives! I’m an up-and-coming [Alchemist]! I can’t handle rejection!”

Octavia clung to Erin’s waist, despite Erin’s best efforts to get her to let go. The young woman waved her arms as Yvlon, Ksmvr, Jelaqua, and Seborn lifted the magic door in Octavia’s shop up. It wasn’t heavy for the four of them so much as cumbersome. They began to angle it out the door.

“Erin! You’re breaking my heart here! What will it take? Gold? Potions? Be reasonable! This is business!”

“Octavia, let go! I told you I’m not stealing your door!”

“What am I seeing then? Don’t lie to me, Erin! We’ve invested too much in this relationship to lie to each other!”

“What relationship? Octavia, let go! It’s just temporary! I said it’s just for today, okay?”

“Oh. Well, in that case, why didn’t you say so?”

The Stitch-Girl let go. Erin stumbled back as Seborn held the door open for the door to go through. Erin turned and glared.

“I did say so!”

The [Alchemist] had the grace to blush. She fiddled with her braids and tugged at the stitches at her neck.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear that. I panicked a bit. Your magic door gets me a lot of business, you know.”

“Well, it’ll keep giving you business! Now can I go?”

Octavia was standing in front of the door. She started.

“What? Sure, sure. But you are coming back, right? With the door? Promise?”

“Yes. Please move.”

The Stitch-Girl did. Erin hurried out of her shop. The adventurers were waiting for her. Jelaqua raised an amused eyebrow.

“Well, that’s one obstacle down. Where are we taking it?”

“Out of the city! North!”

“Gotcha. One, two, three, up—”

The adventurers easily lifted the door. They began walking down the street. Erin followed them. After a few paces she turned.

“Why are you following me, Octavia?”

The [Alchemist] shrugged.

“No reason. I just…want to see where the door’s going. Is that a crime?”

Erin glared at Octavia.

“Just don’t get in the way!”

“Who, me? I would never. I’m on your side, Erin! Always have been. From the day we met I thought that we would be the best of friends. Say, where’s this door going? I could sell you some stamina potions if it’s a long haul. Not that it’s going to be that long, right? Because the door is coming back—”

Erin sighed and tried to block out Octavia’s voice. She looked ahead. Celum was busy and it was coming to midmorning. The people on the streets turned in surprise when they saw the four adventurers walking down the street with a door held between them. There were shouts of surprise. And a few screams.

Of the four adventurers, Yvlon was probably the most normal. But the other three were Jelaqua, a Selphid, Seborn, one of the rare Drowned Men, and Ksmvr, who was an Antinium. He’d been in Celum and other Human cities before, but there were plenty of people who were still shocked to see him.

“Antinium!”

“Dead gods!”

“Wait—there’s two of them! One of them’s half-Antinium!”

The people backed away in horror. Jelaqua, holding her end of the door with Seborn, began laughing so hard she nearly dropped it. Seborn growled. The adventurers made their way down the street until they ran into an obstacle.

“Excuse me! Excuse me, what is this?”

A Human [Guardsman] strode up to the group, looking afraid and indignant. He pointed a shaking finger at Ksmvr. He hadn’t heard of the Horns of Hammerad or fear was overriding common sense.

“Antinium are not allowed in the city! And you can’t bring a door down the street! You’re holding up traffic!”

There were indeed several wagons waiting for the adventurers. Jelaqua raised one eyebrow.

“Sorry, but this thing’s too bulky for the side of the street, Mister Guardsman. And Ksmvr’s a friend of ours.”

The Human purpled with fury.

“A friend? He’s an Ant! They don’t have friends! Move this thing out of the way! Who are you? Some kind of upstart Drake? This is a Human city! Who are you? An adventurer? I’ll report you to the guild! And what’s wrong with him? Is he sick? If he is, he’s a danger to everyone on this street!”

He pointed at Seborn. The Drowned Man had had enough. He let go of his side of the door and glared at the [Guardsman].

“I’m a Drowned Man. My name is Seborn. I’m a Gold-rank adventurer. And this is Jelaqua, also Gold-rank. She’s a Selphid.”

The [Guardsman] gulped. He looked at Jelaqua, who gave him a toothy grin.

“Rookie mistake. It’s the skin. Want me to open up my chest? Oh, wait. There’s kids watching.”

“Uh—I—Gold-rank?”

“That’s right.”

The officer of the Watch looked around. He realized that everyone was waiting for him to make a move. He looked at the wagons waiting impatiently behind the Gold-ranks, at the adventurers, and made a judgment call.

“Terribly sorry, sir. I don’t know what came over me. You lot! Back up! Gold-ranks coming through on business! Give them some room! Do you need a wagon by any chance?”

“No. Move.”

Seborn grabbed the door and stomped forwards. The watchman stepped back, face beet red. Erin smothered a grin as she walked with the others. Jelaqua couldn’t stop laughing as they proceeded down the street. She grew more somber as they left the poor [Guardsman] behind.

“That happens a lot, actually. More often in Human lands than Drake ones, if you’ll believe that.”

“Really? Are Drakes less racist than Humans?”

Erin looked curiously at Jelaqua. The Selphid shook her head ruefully.

“Nah. It’s just that in the Drake cities, all the Watch knows your face so there’s no ‘incidents’. Helps a bit, but it raises other problems. Alright, through the gates?”

They’d come to the northern gates. Octavia looked at Erin and she nodded.

“Through the gates!”

The [Guardsmen] on duty were wiser than their colleague. They stood aside and just watched as the adventurers left the city. Erin took the lead, then. She pointed and the procession brought the door north of the city. It was about a ten minute walk.

There was nothing too special about the place the adventurers set the door down. Yvlon glanced about. The area just north of Celum was grassy, and there was a stand of trees to the left. But it was just a wild meadow Erin had chosen, really. Nothing too special about it at all. It was nice and open, a ways away from the road, but she couldn’t see why they were here.

“You sure this is what you want, Erin? There’s not even a wall to lean this thing up against!”

Jelaqua looked dubiously at Erin. The young woman smiled.

“No, it’s perfect. Plus, the door doesn’t need a wall. We can make one. All we need is a door frame and a bit of wood for the backboard…darn, I should have gotten that first.”

“Hey it’s no big deal. We can get it. Gold-ranks, remember? Seborn, let’s go requisition some nails and hammers and wood.”

“You do it. I’m sick of idiots around here asking if I’m sick. I hate landlocked idiots who’ve never seen the ocean.”

Jelaqua laughed. She and Ksmvr went back to Celum and came back with what they needed. Erin hammered a few boards together and Yvlon helped her pound the door frame into the ground.

“Why are you doing this?”

Octavia was more curious than upset at this point. She held the doorframe and backing up as Erin and Ksmvr wrestled the door into place. Seborn and Jelaqua were arguing about whether Drowned People or Selphids got more flak from the local law enforcement. Erin just grinned.

“You’ll see. Alright, I think we’re in place! Opening the door…now!”

She swung the door open. The wooden backing disappeared and the inn appeared. Mrsha and Lyonette turned from playing catch and shaded their eyes.

“What on earth—Erin, where are you?”

“Outside Celum! This is the plan! Hey Ceria, Pisces, you come through too!”

“What plan?”

Lyonette stared through the door. The sunlight was hitting her eyes and she was still upset at Erin. She just saw grass. In the distance a wagon rolled down the road heading north out of Celum. She didn’t see how Mrsha and Ceria looked up.

“This!”

Erin spread her arms wide. She turned about. Lyonette stared at her, uncomprehendingly. Then she looked at Mrsha. The Gnoll was staring through the door. At the grass. At the clear blue sky. The wind blew. And then Lyonette realized.

It was bright in Celum. The sun’s light flooded through the door, bright, golden light. Lyonette looked around. The inn was dark. A fire burned in the fireplace and Erin had lanterns and candles when needed, but the rain was still falling outside. And it was cloudy. Even with the windows unshuttered, the inn was still drab. Colorless. Like the inside of a prison cell.

Like the dungeon. But in Celum, there was grass. It was spring. A few bugs leapt through the door, confused by the sudden change in light and temperature. Lyonette saw a bird flying through the sky.

“Ooh.”

She turned and jumped. Bird was standing behind her.

“Bird! When did you come down?”

“Just now. I sensed birds. I have a Skill for it. May I go through, Miss Erin? Please?”

“Yeah! Come through! You and everyone else! Come on! I’ll bring some food through and we can play a game!”

Erin beckoned. Ceria stood up. So did Pisces. They looked at each other. Ceria blinked a few times.

“It’s so…bright. I’d forgotten what it was like.”

Pisces studied the open door. He nodded at Erin.

“I suppose a moment in the sun would be a pleasant change. Springwalker, what are you waiting for? Didn’t you say you wanted to sit in the sun with the Ring of Barkskin on at least once?”

Ceria blinked.

“I did say that. Didn’t I? But Ksmvr has the ring.”

“I would be extremely willing to lend it to you, Captain Ceria. I have imbibed enough nutrients and I believe additional mass would not be unduly limiting to your combat prowess.”

“Thanks, Ksmvr. I—yeah, sure.”

The half-Elf stepped hesitantly towards the door. Erin smiled encouragingly at Mrsha.

“If you want to come through, we can have a picnic, Mrsha. We said we should do another one, remember? And I have a wonderful new game to play.”

Mrsha stared into the grassy field. She took a hesitant step forwards and stopped. She looked back at Lyonette. The young woman looked at her. Mrsha wavered. She was afraid. But then she looked back. At the light.

Apista buzzed past Mrsha, startling the young Gnoll. The Ashfire Bee flew into the field and hovered over a flower. Erin laughed. And that laughter struck something in Mrsha’s heart. She took another step.

“What’s the game?”

Jelaqua stood in the sun, smiling. Moore, who’d been napping at his table, looked up. The half-Giant smiled.

“A nap in the sun would be nice.”

He stepped past Mrsha. Ceria and Pisces followed him. Erin laughed again. She moved aside to let Moore go past.

“Oh, the best of games. The greatest game! For someone like Mrsha, at least. I thought of it when I saw the balls in the shop. They looked exactly like something from my home. So I made a few purchases. We’ll have a light lunch and then everything should be ready! I paid for speed.”

Lyonette stepped forwards. Mrsha was on the edge of the door. The Gnoll stared at the grass inches away from her paws. She looked up at the sky. A cool wind blew and ruffled Mrsha’s fur. She closed her eyes. She smelled…growing grass. Insects. Pollen. Soil. Birds. A rabbit nest hidden under the turf twenty feet to the left. Erin. Jelaqua. Yvlon. Metal. Sweat. A swirl of strange ingredients from Octavia. And that last scent of all, which reached into her. The scent that had no part of the dungeon in it. The smell of life, of growing.

Spring.

She took a step forwards. Her paw sank into the grass. Mrsha looked at it. She touched the soil. She felt the blades of grass beneath her. She looked up at Lyonette. The young woman smiled. She wiped her eyes and looked at Erin. The young woman nodded to her. Lyonette bowed her head slightly.

“And what’s this game, Erin?”

“Oh, it’s a simple one. You have a few balls, a few sticks to hit things with, a glove to catch with…and you play it in the open. In the sun. It’s called baseball. I thought we could play. If you want. What do you say, Mrsha?”

Erin crouched. She held out her hand. Mrsha wavered. She stared back at the inn. It was familiar. But it was also dark. And ahead of her—she stared up. The sky was bright. Mrsha looked at Erin. She was afraid. Afraid this was all a dream.

“It’s okay, Mrsha.”

The young woman looked at Mrsha. The Gnoll looked at her, and closed her eyes. Then, slowly, she stepped forwards.

—-

Yvlon was wrong about one thing. The parade wasn’t in two days. It was happening right now. In Liscor, the Watch and Embria’s Soldiers and a detachment of Antinium marched down the street. They followed a stream of adventurers, who waved as the crowd roared and cheered them. Liscor celebrated as the rain fell. Relieved Drakes and Gnolls took to the streets. And at the end of the parade, Wall Lord Ilvriss gave a speech after Watch Captain Zevara had given an account of all that had passed.

The Drake did not beat about the bush. He stood on a podium, several [Mages] and a scrying orb recording his every move. The world was watching. Already, the news of Liscor’s triumph over the Raskghar was spreading. It was, all things considered, small news. After all, it was just a group of monsters, nothing more.

To most of the world, Ilvriss’ speech was dismissed, forgettable. They had already gotten used to the novelty of the scrying orbs and after dozens of people had tried to emulate Flos’ attention-grabbing stunts, there were far fewer avid viewers than Ilvriss might have desired.

But that didn’t matter. The Wall Lord spoke for Liscor, who hung on his every word. He looked at the Gnolls, who stood together. Some grieved for those sacrificed or dead. Likewise, the Drakes had lost their own. But still they stood. The Wall Lord’s voice shook with raw emotion as he shouted.

“This was a triumph! Liscor has reclaimed its own! The dungeon and the Raskghar were no match for the might of adventurers, the resilience of the Drake and Gnollish spirit!”

The roar from the crowd deafened the falling rain for a second. Ilvriss raised one fist.

“The dungeon cannot defeat Liscor! Nor can any other foe! They assailed the walls! They took your family, your friends! And still the walls stand! Liscor will never fall to invaders! And the brave souls who battled in Liscor’s name are heroes, each one! Drakes! Gnolls! Humans! Selphid and Garuda, half-Giant and Drowned Man! Dwarf!”

He paused and muttered an oath.

“And Goblin.”

No one besides Zevara heard that last bit. They were cheering, throwing things at the adventurers and Watch. Since flowers were hard to obtain, it was a rain of brightly-colored fish scales that fell, much to the dissatisfaction of all but the Antinium. But still, it was a triumph. Ilvriss’s speech was transmitted by the [Mages] to other spots across the continent and the world.

The leaders of the Drake cities watched. Around the world, those with an interest in Liscor or had nothing better to do listened to Ilvriss speaking in the rain. They assessed, listened, and judged. It was politics. And the adventurers shifted impatiently, wondering when the speech would end and they could get out of the rain. They had their fill of glory, now they wanted a hot meal.

Embria’s [Soldiers] stood proud, for once the heroes cheered by their home. The Watch was more relaxed, relieved that the crisis was over. The Antinium stared at the cheering faces and felt strange.

So it went. Glory and politics and rain. Liscor celebrated. But in an inn just a short way away from the city, a young woman and a white Gnoll stepped through a magical doorway and into Celum. They stepped out of the dark inn, out of Liscor and the ever-present rain and into the fields outside of Celum. And Mrsha looked around.

The sun shone down from a blue sky overhead. The grass was soft and the flowers blooming. The wind blew Mrsha’s fur as she looked up and saw the sun. It shone bright, a fierce, warm, comforting, brilliant, soft, wondrous, terrible light. The Gnoll breathed in. She looked around and saw smiling faces. She looked back at the inn. It was home. But here?

The meadow was empty. In the distance lay Celum, but it was far off. Here there were no walls in sight. There was no darkness. The air was fresh. Mrsha looked around. And at long last she smiled. It finally hit her.

She was free.

5.46

The sky was open. A warm sun shone down on the green grass below. The air smelled of spring. In the field just outside of Celum, the flowers and wild grass had been cropped short. A [Shepherd] must have taken his flock through the meadow not too recently. That also meant there were piles of poo in places. At least they were dried out.

Not everything was perfect. But it was good. Beautiful, even. Compared to the rains in Liscor, this was bliss. Compared to the dungeon, this was…Ceria looked around as she sat on the grass. A wooden ring was on her finger and the sun felt good as it shone down on her skin. She felt blissful, content. Full.

“I really like this ring. I feel like a tree.”

Pisces, sitting beside Ceria and fiddling with a pile of yellowed bones, looked up. The half-Elf ignored the bones as they danced about in midair. The [Necromancer] peered at Ceria’s Ring of Barkskin.

“Do you in fact feel yourself absorbing sunlight? Or is it just a pleasant sensation?”

“Hm. It feels warm. And I feel happier in the sun.”

“…Do you have an urge to dig yourself a hole and stand in it? Or imbibe water through your toes?”

“Shut up, Pisces. Don’t ruin this for me.”

The [Necromancer] huffed and went back to his bones. Ceria smiled. There was no real rancor in her tone, and Pisces seemed perfectly at ease to play with his bones. He was making another Bone Horror. The quiet click of bones didn’t disturb Ceria. She looked up and remembered the dungeon. The memory was still bitter, the horror real. But as the sunlight warmed her face, it seemed more distant.

“This is what I needed. Erin was right.”

“You mean, this is what we needed.”

Pisces looked up. Ceria blinked at him, and then nodded. She looked around and saw the others.

Bird. Jelaqua. Moore. Seborn. Lyonette. Octavia. And Mrsha. They sat or walked around the meadow, looking around. Half were barefoot. Mrsha didn’t wear shoes to begin with, but some had taken off their shoes. Just to feel the grass. After so long in the rain, after so many days in the dungeon, this was bliss.

Wonderful. Ceria smiled and stretched out in the grass. Something crawled on her arm. She flicked it at Pisces. He raised a finger and blasted it with fire. The stink and smoke made Pisces cough. He glared mildly at Ceria.

“That was quite unnecessary.”

“Remember the time we pranked you by dumping a bunch of bugs in your room?”

“In my fondest recollections. Are you incapable of enjoying yourself except at my expense?”

“It does make life more fun.”

Pisces sighed. Ceria laughed. She looked around. The meadow really was beautiful. Ceria didn’t love nature all the time, but this made her remember the forests of her home in Terandria. With fondness. She stared at the flowers blooming in the sun, some with white petals, others pink, blue…a green flower with curious arrow-shaped petals seemed to wave at her as the wind blew.

A butterfly flew through the air and landed on a dandelion. It perched there delicately. Then a loud buzzing sound made it take wing. It got three feet before Apista smacked into it. The butterfly flapped away as the Ashfire Bee buzzed in a wide circle. Apista possessively landed on the flower and began to feed on the nectar and pollen.

Ceria sat up a bit and stared at Apista. She glanced at Pisces. The tranquility of the moment was interrupted somewhat as Apista, buzzing loudly, flew up and landed on another flower nearby. The sound of her wings beating was loud. The bee cast about, then charged another group of butterflies. Both [Mages] watched Apista flying sentinel for a moment. Ceria glanced at Pisces.

“That’s one angry bug.”

He shrugged.

“I think Ashfire Bees are rather competitive. Or perhaps it is simply this one that seems to want to monopolize the surrounding area.”

“Lyonette sure can choose them, huh? And is it just me or is Apista…bigger? Her stinger looks nastier than last time. Do you think they get bigger?”

“One would hope not.”

Both [Mages] ducked as Apista shot inches over their heads, chasing a much smaller bee. They watched Apista warily until she disappeared into a patch of flowers. Then they went back to sitting around. It was the most fun Ceria wanted to have at the moment. She heard an excited rustling sound and glanced up just in time to see a white shape flash past her.

“Mrsha, slow down! Watch out, Pisces!”

Pisces looked up and levitated his bones out of the way just in time. Mrsha leapt and nearly grabbed one with her teeth. He smirked as Mrsha narrowed her eyes at him. Then the Gnoll seemed to lose interest and dashed over to the green flower. She sniffed it, seemed to like the scent, and bounded over to another.

Mrsha was running about, smiling. She ran to each flower, smelling them, her tail wagging. Lyonette chased after her, laughing. It made Ceria glad to see. She looked around again.

Everyone was in good spirits. The Halfseekers were sitting together, basking in the sun. Bird was staring at the sky—he’d already shot six birds, and Octavia was plucking some flowers and muttering about cheap ingredients. Erin was in her inn, getting some food together. And Ksmvr and Yvlon—

“Hey, I think they’re coming back.”

Ceria pointed. Pisces looked up and nodded. Yvlon and Ksmvr were walking from Celum. It was easy to spot the two—aside from them being the only two people moving towards them, Yvlon’s vambraces and gauntlets shone in the light. The woman wore armor nowhere else, but she still caught the light. Ksmvr was a black and brown shape behind her. Both were carrying something.

“Got what you wanted?”

“We did. Anyone have any water?”

Ceria looked around. Pisces shook his head. Yvlon shrugged.

“I’ll get it from Erin’s inn. Let me just put this down, first.”

She was holding at least six odd sticks in her arms. Ceria stared at them. They looked like stirring paddles. Only, they were round and had a thinner handle. They were made completely out of wood, although the handles had been wrapped. She eyed the things as Yvlon tossed them down.

“What are those supposed to be?”

Yvlon shrugged. She massaged one shoulder with a gauntleted hand as Ksmvr laid down more curious objects next to the carved sticks.

“I have no idea. But Erin paid a lot to have them made quick. I think she called these…‘bats’.”

Ceria stared at the wooden bats. They looked nothing like their namesake.

“Okay. And the leather glove-things?”

They looked like gloves, but with an odd twist. There weren’t individual fingers on the glove—it was a large, ungainly thing that looked like a pocket. Ceria had no idea why you’d ever put something like that on your hand. Yvlon shrugged.

“She called them gloves.”

“Right. Of course she did. Did she say why she wanted them?”

“For that game she mentioned, I think. Is Erin in there?”

Yvlon nodded to the door standing about ten feet away. Ceria nodded. Yvlon walked over to the magic door and stared inside. The grass ran right up to the door’s edge, at which point wooden floorboards took over. Yvlon stepped from Celum’s meadow into the shade of The Wandering Inn. She blinked as the room grew darker and then stared around Erin’s grand common room.

“Erin? We’ve got your bats and gloves. Do you have any water?”

“What?”

Erin poked her head out of the kitchen. She blinked as she saw Yvlon.

“Oh, hey Yvlon! Did you get my bats?”

Ksmvr poked his head through the doorway.

“Yes, Miss Erin. We have acquired your desired objects. Another successful mission for the Horns of Hammerad. Yvlon requests water as our reward. As do I. Comrade Pisces would like a glass of wine.”

“Sure! Wait—tell Pisces he can’t drink just yet! I’ll be out in one moment! I just have to put this dough in the oven…”

It took a few minutes for Erin to emerge from the kitchen. When she walked outside into the meadow she had a tray with a filled pitcher of water and cups. She raised her voice.

“Hey everyone! Gather around here! I’ve got something to show you! Also: water!”

She placed the tray on the ground. Everyone looked around and got up to come over. Pisces sniffed as Ceria offered him a cup of water. The half-Elf took a sip of the lukewarm water, grimaced, and then raised a hand before Yvlon could pour herself a cup.

“Let me.”

She pointed at the pitcher and conjured a sphere of ice out of the air. She tossed it into the pitcher, making a splash. Yvlon eyed the giant ice cube floating in the water.

“That’s handy. Normally ice is a rare treat.”

“That’s what you get with an ice mage around. You want smaller ice cubes? I like to chew them.”

“Ooh. I’ll have some!”

Jelaqua Ivirith grinned as she walked over. She nodded appreciatively at Ceria as the half-Elf conjured ice cubes out of the air and flicked them into a cup. Seborn took a cup, filled it, drained it, and then sighed.

“Refreshing. No ice, thanks, Ceria. What’s this you have to show us, Erin?”

“Baseball! You got the bats and gloves? And I have baseballs! Hey Mrsha, are you having fun?”

Erin bent down as Mrsha raced over. The Gnoll smiled up at Erin as she grabbed a cup and then ran over to Ceria to get free ice. Lyonette jogged over, huffing, and stared at the baseball bats, gloves, and balls. She glanced at Erin.

“Is this the game you were talking about?”

“Yup! Baseball! The perfect game for today! I thought we could sit outside, play games, eat some food—I’ve got some buns rising in the oven for hot dogs, popcorn, and there’s sausages since hot dogs aren’t made in Liscor. That’s probably a good thing. Anyways, we can try baseball or just have fun!”

Erin beamed. The others looked at each other. Everything sounded good, especially just sitting in the sun. But…Ceria coughed.

“Erin, would you mind explaining what this baseball thing is?”

“Oh. Right. I forgot that uh…well, it’s a game!”

Pisces rolled his eyes.

“Do tell.”

Ceria smirked as Erin glared at both of them. She picked up a bat and one of the hide-wrapped balls she’d bought from Liscor.

“It’s a fun game! I told you, people where I come from play it all the time. Everyone loves it!”

She paused and bit her lip.

“Okay, some people like to play it. I mean, in my country it’s big, but in the world it’s not that huge a sport compared to…”

She scratched her head. Her audience stared at the young woman expectantly. Erin coughed.

“It has fans. And it’s easy to play. Okay, wait, let me explain from the start. Baseball…baseball…”

Erin was at a bit of a loss of how to describe baseball. It wasn’t that she didn’t know the rules and so forth, it was just that she’d never had to explain the game in its entirety. She scratched her head as everyone sipped from their cups.

“I’ve got it! Okay. Baseball is this game. Where you hit balls.”

Ksmvr raised his hand.

“At people?”

“No! Okay, sometimes. Not on purpose. No, you hit balls, and then run around this…this diamond. It’s not actually a diamond, it’s actually three, no, four bases. On the ground. You run from base to base while the other team—there are teams—tries to get the ball you hit and tag you out. And if you run all the way around and get back where you started, you score!”

Jelaqua glanced up at Moore. The half-Giant was scratching his head.

“And you win? Is that the point of the game?”

“Nope! You get a point! And if you’re tagged, you’re ‘out’. And if you get three outs, the other team gets to hit the ball. And we change sides like that like…nine times. Whoever has the highest score wins. Unless there’s a tie.”

“What happens then?”

“Then we play another round until one team has more points than the other. Both teams get a chance at bat—that means hitting the ball. And if one team gets more points by the end they win the game. If not, we play another inning. That’s both teams pitching—throwing the ball—and batting—hitting the ball.”

Ceria looked at Pisces. He raised both eyebrows and smiled sardonically. Ksmvr raised his other hand, not having lowered the first one.

“Miss Solstice, what happens if both teams fail to aquire more points?”

“Then we keep playing. Forever. Or until one team can’t play anymore.”

Erin stared at Ksmvr. He nodded.

“Defeat by attrition. Very appropriate.”

“Right. So that’s baseball. Any questions?”

The adventurers, Mrsha, Bird, and Lyonette looked each other. Then they all raised their hands. Ksmvr raised his third one. Erin sighed.

“Let me try again.”

—-

A few explanations later, Ceria understood baseball. At least, she understood how the game was played. There was a logic to it—hitting a ball sounded like fun and the gloves made sense to her now. Still, she had declined to practice at first. The Halfseekers and Mrsha had volunteered to take the equipment and hit a few balls. Everyone else was sitting and watching as Erin coached from the sidelines.

“Okay! Aim for Moore’s glove, Seborn! Not at Jelaqua! Mrsha, you stay in the outfield! Grab the ball when it goes flying and throw it at Lyonette!”

“Alright! Throw that ball, Seborn!”

Jelaqua grinned as she swung the baseball bat energetically. Moore, crouching behind her with his hand open—he was holding a tablecloth for a glove since Erin hadn’t wanted to pay for a glove for his hands—eyed Jelaqua’s bat with some apprehension.

“Don’t let go of that bat, Jelaqua. And please don’t hit me in the head.”

“Relax! I’ve got this! Throw, Seborn!”

The Drowned Man did. Erin had shown him how to pitch, and the [Rogue] threw the ball surprisingly fast. Jelaqua swung. Her bat whiffed the air as the baseball bounced off of Moore’s palm. The half-Giant picked up the ball between two fingers and threw it clumsily back at Seborn.

“Aw.”

“Strike one!”

Erin waved her arms. Jelaqua looked over.

“What? Am I out already?”

“No, you get two more chances!”

“Got it! Throw me another, Seborn!”

The Drowned Man did. Ceria watched the ball flash past Jelaqua. The Selphid blinked.

“Hey, not that fast!”

“Too bad. I’m trying to win here.”

Seborn smiled as Moore threw the ball back to him. Jelaqua growled and swung the bat around. Ceria watched as Seborn wound up and threw the third ball. This time Jelaqua had the timing down. She stepped forward and swung.

The crack of bat hitting ball made Mrsha look up. She’d been playing in the grass impatiently. Her eyes widened as she saw the baseball flying overhead. She raced after it as Jelaqua looked around.

“Did you see that?”

“Run for first base!”

“Oh, right!”

The Selphid charged towards the ‘base’ Erin had set up, which was a pillow lying in the grass. Erin waved her arms frantically.

“The bat! Put the bat back!”

“Argh!”

Jelaqua ran back. Mrsha was racing towards Lyonette with the ball in her mouth. The [Barmaid] waved her hands encouragingly, holding a glove up.

“Throw it, Mrsha!”

The Gnoll cub did. The ball went wide of Lyonette. The young woman raced after it with Mrsha as Jelaqua ran onto first base. She raised her arms in celebration.

“I did it!”

“Keep going!”

“Right! Second base!”

Jelaqua ran as Mrsha and Lyonette grabbed the ball and chased after her. She got all the way to third before they caught up. Then Erin had to explain how the rest of the game worked again. Jelaqua groaned.

“Wait, so I just stand here?”

“I mean, you can steal, but it’s dangerous. You don’t have to stand here. This is just to show everyone how the game is played. Let’s have someone else bat. Moore?”

“I’m afraid I couldn’t use one of those bats, Miss Erin.”

The half-Giant smiled apologetically. Erin grinned up at him.

“That’s okay! I got you a special bat! Here—”

She pointed at the oversized baseball bat which was more of a log. Moore blinked. He picked it up and Jelaqua whistled.

“That’s a stick! You could crack a few heads with that thing, Moore!”

“I’d prefer not to. But playing—hm. Yes. Thank you, Erin.”

Moore smiled gratefully at Erin. He took up position at bat as Jelaqua grabbed a glove and sat far behind him. Erin returned to her seat next to Ceria. The half-Elf was still sunbathing. Erin smiled at Ceria.

“What do you think?”

The half-Elf looked up. She had another pillow underneath her head and she’d been reluctantly looking up to see the action. Now she sat up and gave Erin a rueful smile.

“Honestly, Erin? It looks incredibly dull.”

“You think so?”

Erin didn’t seem too offended. She took a seat by Ceria as Moore swung his bat. Slowly. He missed Seborn’s first pitch. Ceria shrugged.

“It’s…well, I don’t want to be rude, but it’s about as fun as chess for me. Pisces likes chess, but I don’t know if he’ll enjoy this game. At least the Halfseekers are having fun.”

“Strike two!”

Jelaqua shouted happily at Moore. The half-Giant frowned at her. Their voices were audible to Ceria and Erin as they sat together.

“Stop yelling at me.”

“It’s part of the game, Moore! Hit the ball already!”

“I can’t see it. It’s hard to swing this bat fast enough, alright?”

“You get one more swing, Moore!”

“That doesn’t seem fair. You got to practice with Seborn.”

“Tough luck! There’s no mercy in baseball!”

“Stop arguing, both of you. We’ll give Moore more swings.”

“Aw, Seborn!”

Erin smiled as she watched the Halfseekers play. Mrsha was lying in the grass, waiting for another ball as Lyonette yawned at first base. Pisces, Yvlon, and Ksmvr had also been recruited to stand at second and third base and in the outfield. They looked around, clearly waiting for something to happen. Bird and Octavia watched from the sidelines.

“It is sort of boring, isn’t it?”

“You think so too?”

“Eh. I never liked baseball too much when I was back home. My dad used to take me to a few games, but he wasn’t the hugest fan either. He would watch the big games and that’s about it.”

“I see. So why are we playing it?”

Erin smiled as she stretched out her legs in the grass. She propped herself up with her arms and watched as Moore swung again.

“It’s boring. And exciting when someone hits the ball. Mostly, you sit and watch. In baseball games the audience sits for hours. You can talk to one another, eat…it’s not filled with action. I thought it was perfect for today. For everyone. And for Mrsha.”

She pointed at Mrsha. The Gnoll was rolling about on her back as Moore missed again. Jelaqua was heckling him. Ceria glanced at Mrsha.

“You were right about us needing some sunlight. I’d forgotten we could just…go to Celum. It’s amazing.”

“All thanks to your door. Without it I couldn’t have done so many things. It really was the best thing you brought out of Albez. Thank you for giving it to me, Ceria.”

The half-Elf waved that away.

“You helped us. You gave us coin, brought us together—and you saved me. Twice. With the door we gave you.”

Erin smiled and looked away.

“Yeah. But I didn’t do too much.”

“You came up with the plan. I heard from Pisces and Yvlon what was happening while I was below. Everyone was fighting the dungeon, but you were the one who got the Goblins to find the Raskghar. And you made the plan. You even got people like Zevara and Ilvriss on board. You saved me, Erin.”

The [Innkeeper] shook her head.

“It was everyone. I just gave them a chance. I…I’m not proud of what I did.”

Ceria frowned and sat up a bit more.

“Not proud? Why wouldn’t you be? Erin, you beat the Raskghar! There were thousands of them and they were killing—”

“I know. I know. It’s just…I guess I’m really good at killing people after all.”

Erin’s voice was quiet. She was still looking away from Ceria. The half-Elf paused. Then Erin looked back at her friend. The young woman sat on the grass, smiling. But there were tears in her eyes. They ran down Erin’s cheeks as she watched Mrsha run after a foul ball.

“I knew I could, Ceria. I knew that I could figure out a way to kill the Raskghar. With fire. With water. With monsters or traps. And I did. I’d do it again. But I don’t like it.”

“It had to be done. The Raskghar were evil. They were sacrificing Gnolls. If you hadn’t, Mrsha and I would be dead.”

There was no pity in Ceria’s heart or her voice. Erin nodded. She wiped at her eyes.

“That’s true. It’s all true. But I still did it. I went into their home and killed them. I made the plan. I knew what would happen.”

Ceria stared at Erin. She couldn’t feel whatever it was Erin felt. Ceria had been there. She had looked into Nokha’s eyes as the Raskghar devoured the Gnoll’s hearts. If the Raskghar had been in front of her again, Ceria would have killed them without a second thought.

“They were monsters.”

“They were. But they were people. I walked into their camp before we destroyed the entrance. They were monsters. But they had a home. They were evil, but I still helped kill them.”

“Not all of them. Some got away.”

Ceria didn’t know if she was trying to cheer Erin up. If she was, it wasn’t working. Erin shrugged. She was smiling and crying a bit as Moore swung again and missed.

“It doesn’t matter, Ceria. I know it had to be done. And if I had to, I’d do it again. A thousand times. I just feel bad about it. It’s…something I feel. I just feel bad. For the people who died. The Antinium Soldiers, the Watch…Ilvriss’ people. They died because I asked them to. And the Raskghar. We killed an entire group of people. They were bad people, but still people.”

“I guess so.”

Ceria sat back, troubled. She stared at her skeletal hand. A bug had decided to crawl between her fingers and she’d smashed it accidentally. There was no feeling in her bone hand, after all. Absentmindedly, Ceria scrubbed her hand on the grass.

“I’m sorry. I know you probably don’t feel bad at all. Not after what happened. With Calruz.”

“Yeah. I don’t. I just wish I could have talked him into releasing the Gnolls. I wish I could have stopped him. But I didn’t. That was my fault.”

The half-Elf shook her head. Erin reached out and grabbed her flesh hand.

“It wasn’t. You did all you could.”

“I didn’t save him. He’s going to be executed. Drake law. I should have killed him when I had the chance. But I couldn’t. He’s…insane, Erin. He wasn’t in his right mind. There were bits and pieces of him, but it was all wrong. That’s the hard part. He cared about Gerial and the others. If he hadn’t, if he’d just been mad, it would have been easy to—but he cared and then—I couldn’t stop it.”

Ceria’s voice cracked. She stared at Moore as the half-Giant began arguing with Jelaqua. Seborn walked over to confer. Erin’s hand squeezed Ceria’s.

“I heard a bit of what happened. I…”

She didn’t finish her sentence. Ceria stared ahead. The sun felt less bright as she whispered.

“It was bad down there, Erin. I told the others about it. But not all of it. I don’t think I can. I wish—I can still hear them screaming. I know there were too many Raskghar. I know. But I was the only adventurer down there. They died and I couldn’t stop them.”

Erin stared at Ceria’s face. The half-Elf shook her head, her hands trembling.

“Do you want to talk about it? I can listen.”

“No. I—maybe later. But not right now. I just want to sit.”

“Okay.”

Ceria stared past Erin. After a while Erin took her hand away. The half-Elf wished she hadn’t. She felt tense. Guilty. Alone, despite Erin sitting next to her. Her failures pierced her over and over until—

Crack.

The half-Elf looked up. Jelaqua had hit the ball. She pointed.

“There! Like that, see?”

Moore stared as Ksmvr and Yvlon looked up. The Antinium and woman watched the ball land and then remembered they had to run and pick it up. He turned and glared at Jelaqua.

“Like what? You’re just hitting the ball, Jelaqua. Let me keep trying.”

“Aw, come on!”

The half-Giant took a position at home base again. Ceria watched Seborn throw a ball and Moore miss. Suddenly, she was back in the present. She looked around. Erin was watching her. Ceria half-rose. Then she inhaled and smelled the earth. The grass. She looked up and saw the sun.

Her heart began to beat slowly again. Ceria looked at her hands, and then at Erin. The young woman smiled. Her eyes were mostly dry, but there was still moisture in them.

“It’s a beautiful day.”

Ceria looked up. The sky was blue. High, high above, a few clouds slowly moved across the vast sky. The half-Elf closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of growing life. The sun shone down as Moore finally hit a ball and Mrsha and Pisces both raced after it. Ceria remembered the dungeon, the scent of blood. Calruz’s eyes full of madness. The Raskghar devouring the heart over the lifeless Gnoll. She blinked and found her eyes were watering as well.

“It really is, isn’t it?”

The two sat together for a while. Just sat. The horrors of the past melted away from Ceria as she watched Seborn take a place at bat. He swung and connected with the first ball, ran around the bases until Ksmvr tagged him out, and then waited at first base as Lyonette took a turn swinging the bat. The game was boring. Some might have even called it dull. But in this moment, it was the game Ceria needed. So she stood up.

“Alright. I’ll give it a shot.”

Erin looked up.

“You sure?”

Ceria smiled.

“Why not? I could use a bit of exercise. And I can always lie down afterwards. Are you going to play too?”

“Sure!”

Erin stood up. She smiled at Ceria and then cupped her hands.

“Hey guys! Want to play a real game? With teams?”

The others looked up. They looked at each other and shrugged. Jelaqua shouted back.

“Sure! Let’s play a bit. Then we can eat!”

The others nodded. They trooped over to home base as Erin walked forwards with Ceria. The game wasn’t amazing. It wasn’t fantastic or exciting. It was sort of fun. But that was what they needed. A game of baseball in the sun.

—-

The first game was simple. It was between the Horns of Hammerad and the Halfseekers, with Bird, Lyonette, and Mrsha acting as extras for the outfield team. Octavia watched from the sidelines with a bowl of popcorn as Erin umpired the game.

“Alright! Game one! We’ll play till one side scores five points, okay? Jelaqua, you’re up for bat first! Pisces, throw the ball!”

“Don’t let her hit the ball, Pisces! That’s an order!”

Ceria shouted at Pisces from first base. The [Necromancer] sniffed and awkwardly raised the ball.

“Very well. Allow me to throw a truly unhittable pitch. Like so—”

He threw the ball as fast and hard as he could without warning. It was a good pitch. But Jelaqua was quicker. The Selphid grinned and swung her bat.

“Hah!”

The bat cracked as it connected full-force with the ball. Pisces’ eyes widened and he ducked as the ball flashed by his head. Mrsha and Ksmvr raced after the ball as Jelaqua raised her bat and cheered. Erin shouted urgently.

“Don’t cheer yet, Jelaqua! Drop the bat! Okay, now run for first base! Ksmvr, grab the ball and throw it to Ceria!”

“Captain Ceria!”

Ksmvr threw the ball. Ceria raised her glove, swore as she saw Jelaqua charging towards the pillow, and tried to grab the ball. She caught it, but only after Jelaqua had stepped on the pillow. Erin shouted.

“Safe! She’s safe, Ceria! You can’t tag her out!”

The half-Elf looked up. Jelaqua had both claws raised to fend Ceria off. Both looked slightly disappointed. Jelaqua coughed. Ceria scratched her head.

“That was it? She touched the pillow and that’s it?”

“Yup. She’s safe. Until the next ball is hit, she can stay there. Or steal a base.”

“Aha! I knew this game was fun!”

Jelaqua charged towards second base. Ceria swore and ran after her. Erin shouted at both of them to come back.

“Wait, wait! No stealing in the first game! And you can’t just run all the way home! I think.”

“Why not?”

“Well—you’d be caught. If we had a full team. Which we don’t, so—no stealing.”

“Drat. So what do I do?”

Erin pointed back towards home base, where Seborn had the bat and was waiting patiently. Moore was catcher and sitting cross-legged rather than crouching since he was large enough to cover the entire base anyways.

“You just stand there. Seborn will swing and if he hits, you run for second or third, or even home, Jelaqua.”

The Selphid sighed. She scratched a loose scale on her cheek.

“So this is a waiting game?”

“Um. Yeah! But it’s not too long. Hold on. Seborn, let me get out of the way! Pisces, throw another ball when I say so! Try to not let Seborn hit it this time!”

Jelaqua and Ceria awkwardly stood together at first base while Erin had Seborn step up and take a few swings. The Selphid scratched the spines on the back of her head. Ceria coughed. Jelaqua scratched the spines on the back of her Drake body. After a moment she spoke out of the corner of her mouth.

“So. Do you think they’ll let me try out a Raskghar body?”

The half-Elf blinked. Jelaqua grinned sheepishly.

“I mean, I think we brought a few back. Trophies and to show other adventurers what they look like, you know? I don’t need a new one, but I’d like to be the first Selphid to try one out, you know? Bragging rights. And have you seen their muscles?”

“I uh, didn’t get too good a look at them. But that’s actually a good idea. Raskghar are really strong.”

“I know, right? And if I could get Erin to store a few bodies in her basement, you know, as insurance—is this getting creepy?”

“Just a little bit. But I get it. You don’t think the bodies will rot in her inn, right? What about bugs?”

“Well, Selphids have this paste I can get Octavia to make that—”

Crack. Both Ceria and Jelaqua looked up. A ball flew past them and Erin shouted.

“Run!”

Suddenly Seborn was charging towards them! Pisces and Ksmvr ran for the ball. Ceria and Jelaqua looked at each other. The Selphid looked around.

“Oh kidney stones, what am I supposed to do again?”

“Run to second base! Ceria, get ready to stop Seborn! Catch the ball!”

“Over here!”

Ceria waved her arms in frustration as Jelaqua took off. Pisces blurred over to the ball with [Flash Step] and snatched it up. He looked around. But Seborn was already on first base. The Drowned Man eyed Ceria. And Jelaqua was rounding second base, headed towards third. Ceria pointed.

“I’ll stop Jelaqua! Pisces, get her!”

The Selphid was laughing as she ran. Pisces charged towards her. Jelaqua kept her eye on Pisces, but she didn’t see Ceria coming up from the side. The half-Elf tackled the Selphid, knocking her to the ground.

“Get her, Pisces!”

The [Necromancer] was twenty paces away. He threw the ball at Jelaqua as the Selphid turned and threw Ceria off. The Selphid dodged back as she saw the ball land at her feet, but then she grinned. She picked the ball up and threw it at Seborn.

“Get rid of it!”

“On it.”

Seborn turned, hurled the ball in the opposite direction, then charged to second base as Pisces and Ksmvr ran after the ball again. Ceria tried to slow Jelaqua as the Selphid tried to follow Seborn. Erin watched, jaw slightly open as Seborn rounded the bases. Jelaqua was nearly at third base with Ceria holding onto her waist when Pisces threw a ball and struck her shoulder.

“Aw, damnit!”

Ceria let go and Jelaqua threw up her hands. Seborn tried to run back to second, but Ksmvr was there. He caught the ball and chased Seborn as the Drowned Man ran back to first base. There Seborn stopped. He looked at Erin and she found her voice.

“Okay! Um. Return back to home base!”

All five players returned to the plate. Seborn looked at Erin as Ceria gave Pisces and Ksmvr a thumbs-up.

“How’d we do?”

“Well…that was awful. You’re not supposed to tackle players, Ceria! And Pisces, you can’t hit people with the ball! And if you touch the ball you’re out! And Ksmvr—you did a good job. Only Ksmvr played according to the rules!”

Ksmvr straightened up and smiled. The other adventurers scratched their heads. Ceria shook her head exasperatedly.

“This game has a lot of rules. And it’s hard catching people while they’re running.”

“That’s why you stand on the bases. The runners can’t score if you block them, and then you just have to tag them out. You throw the ball between each other. Look, we’re doing good. I think we just need a few more players.”

“You think so? We’re a pretty good team by ourselves, right Seborn, Moore? Right?”

Jelaqua elbowed Seborn. The Drowned Man looked at her.

“Stop elbowing me.”

Erin smiled. She looked to the outfield. Yvlon, Lyonette, and Mrsha were bored in right field and were playing catch with another ball.

“Look, one more game. But let me just call a few people over first, okay?”

The adventurers shrugged. Ceria nodded.

“Sure. Who did you have in mind?”

“Well…”

—-

The Redfang Hobs sat around in their cave. Around them sat Cave Goblins. The Hobs were busy at work and not busy at the same time. They were showing the Cave Goblins how to bandage wounds. Headscratcher winced as Badarrow sewed up a gash on his arm. The Hob flinched as the tip of the needle went through his flesh. Badarrow slapped his shoulder and glared at him.

It was a necessity. The Cave Goblins were wounded. Some were badly hurt. Those had been healed with the potions the Goblins had, but far more had injures that could heal with time. And the Goblins wouldn’t waste a potion on something like that.

With that said, the medical knowledge the Redfangs had was limited to stitching up bad cuts and making sure nothing got too dirty. That was still miles ahead of Cave Goblin medical advances, which hadn’t gotten much past ‘don’t poke an open wound’. So the Goblins watched as Badarrow demonstrated how to clean and stitch up a cut. He didn’t have to do it twice. The Goblins remembered and would teach their friends.

The mood in the cave was optimistic, despite the injured Goblins. Despite the dead. Because they had won their freedom. It was a battle no one cared about. It had not resulted in the freedom of Gnolls or a half-Elf. It was not a glorious battle, but many skirmishes. It had freed only Goblins. And who cared about them?

The Hobs. Each of them was wounded. The worst of their injuries had been healed, but they still had gashes. It was nothing compared to some of the pain they’d born, but it did hurt. Still, they would have been celebrating normally. Except, it was just that…

The door hadn’t opened. The magical door that connected Erin’s inn to the Goblin cave hadn’t activated since she’d set up the attack on the Raskghar camp. Of course, the Hobs knew she was alive. The Cave Goblins had reported everything. And naturally she was busy. Rabbiteater made that point so many times that the other Hobs threw things at him, forcing him to hide behind his water cloak.

Erin was probably very busy. It was just that she hadn’t talked to them today. It wasn’t as if they needed to see her. But there was a feeling in the back of the Goblin’s minds. It was a ridiculous thought. It ran something like this.

What if Erin had just used them to beat the Raskghar? And she didn’t need them anymore? Or maybe—maybe now that all the Goblins were here, she couldn’t help them anymore? Maybe they were a liability, with so many…monsters around. Or maybe she’d grown tired of them.

Ridiculous thoughts. Totally at odds with everything they knew of Erin. But the Hobs couldn’t shake the feeling. So they sat around moodily, bandaging their injuries. The Cave Goblins didn’t understand why the Hobs were upset. They were cheerfully sewing each other up when the door opened.

“Guys? Are you—”

The Hobs looked up as one as they heard a voice. Erin Solstice stood in the doorway and paused when she saw the Goblins. A detail yet to be mentioned was that there were a lot of Cave Goblins in the enclosed space. More than last time, even. And they were just the ones Erin could see. She looked around wide-eyed, and then focused on the Hobs who sprang to their feet.

“What happened? There are so many Goblins! And—oh my god! What happened?”

Erin had spotted a huge cut on Numbtongue’s chest. The Hob blinked as Erin threw up her hands in horror. She dashed back into her inn and the Hobs saw a little figure appear in the doorway.

Pebblesnatch had been happily sleeping until Erin woke her up. The little Goblin had been treated to a no-holds-barred breakfast and she’d been eating it all morning. She paused and all the Cave Goblins stared at her. She was holding a giant cookie. Pebblesnatch wavered as the Goblins’ eyes fixed on the treat which gave off a smell they’d never inhaled before. She looked from face to face, looked at her cookie, and closed the door.

A few seconds later it opened. Erin appeared with a potion box in her hands.

“What are you doing? Here—”

She moved past Pebblesnatch as the Cave Goblin backed away, clutching her cookie to her chest so hard that it began to crumble. Erin grabbed healing potions and thrust them at the Hobs.

“Where did you get those injuries? Oh no—did the Raskghar attack you? Here, use them! Any Goblin that needs it—”

Shorthilt blinked bemusedly at the healing potion that was thrust into his hands. He opened his mouth, but Erin was already handing healing potions out. The Goblins looked at each other. They hesitated. But then Headscratcher nodded. He uncorked a bottle and carefully splashed some on his arm. The stitches popped out of his healing flesh. The Cave Goblins did the same. Erin breathed a sigh of relief as she looked around.

It was a curious thing. The Cave Goblins stared. Some, a portion of them had seen Erin, tasted her cooking. The others only had rumors to go on. They had heard of a strange Human that didn’t hurt Goblins. They barely knew what a Human was, but they had heard she ordered the Hobs around. And she made good food. And now they saw her, they were shocked. Because she was so normal. Because she was giving healing potions to Goblins.

Because she cared. The Cave Goblins stared at Erin. They stared at Pebblesnatch, who was reluctantly giving out fingernail-sized portions of her cookie to other Goblins, and at Erin. She was talking with the Hobs and they were clustered around her. Smiling. As if they liked her. As if—

As if she was a friend. The Goblins listened as Erin spoke.

“—Had no idea. I’m so sorry I didn’t come by earlier, but I was so busy that I just crashed when everyone was safe. I have food—where did all the Goblins come from? From below? Ha ha. Very funny. I meant…well, okay, that makes sense. Do you have enough food? I can…well, I’ll need to see about buying more. We can deal with that later if you’re good for now. I was really coming to see if you wanted to uh, play a game. Of baseball.”

The Goblins looked up. The Redfangs looked at each other. Erin hastened to explain.

“It’s in Celum! In a field right next to the city. It…well, it might be a bit dangerous if someone panics, but Jelaqua said that you’re probably safe. And we owe you so much. So…if you want to bring some Goblins over, we could play a game. There’ll be food. I can’t let all of the Goblins through, but maybe a few and all of you? I’m sorry, but I can’t bring everyone through—”

The Goblins stared at the Hobs. They looked at each other as the Redfangs conferred, glancing around. Then they nodded. The Goblins saw Headscratcher smiling as Erin tried to explain the game to him. Not about the game. Just at her. And then the young woman smiled and the smile was everything. The Hobs turned. Numbtongue gestured.

“Thirty.”

They would take thirty with them. Pebblesnatch instantly sidled back into the inn. The Cave Goblins stared at her. At the cookie, mostly eaten. At Erin, the empty box of potions—and her smile. Then they charged towards the door, fighting tooth-and-nail to be the first ones through.

—-

“I feel so bad.”

Erin confessed to Numbtongue as she closed the door on the disappointed Goblins. There were hundreds crammed into the cave. And they’d all tried to get into her inn. A large number had gone through—until the Hobs had restored order.

It hadn’t been pretty. More than one Goblin probably needed another potion for their blinding headache as the Hobs had banged heads together and thrown the rest back through the door. Now, a lucky thirty Cave Goblins including Pebblesnatch were celebrating in Erin’s inn. The rest were in the cave. Sulking.

“You’re sure they’ll be alright without you?”

Numbtongue nodded.

“They’ll be fine. We don’t need to leave one of us behind.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

The Hob didn’t quite meet her eyes. He was holding a big mug of ale and he was eating a cookie. So were the other Goblins. The luxury of Erin’s inn and the sweet food was making some of them swoon. Erin eyed the Hob, but gave in. The Cave Goblins would probably be fine. And she owed the Hobs. She placed Celum’s mana stone on the door.

“Ready?”

The Goblins nodded. Erin threw open the door. Sunlight made the Goblins gasp. They looked out into a beautiful grassy field. And beyond it were adventurers. The Cave Goblins shrank back in terror, but the Redfangs stood between them and the door and made beckoning noises. They led the Goblins through.

There were adventurers standing on the grass. They froze when they saw the Goblins, but relaxed quickly. The others didn’t. A group of Humans, some dressed in armor, others in bright clothing whirled when the door opened. When the Goblins came through, they panicked.

“Dead gods! Goblins! Hobs! Sound the alarm!”

“Run for it!”

The members of Celum’s Watch reached for their swords, then began to flee in a stampede at the sight of five Hobs. The brightly-dressed Humans paled, but didn’t run. One of them threw up a hand. He raised his voice and shouted in a surprisingly loud, commanding tone.

“Hold! I say hold, all of you! Turn, guardsmen, turn! These Goblins aren’t enemies!”

Wesle strode towards Erin. He nodded at the Hobgoblins as the Players of Celum stared at the Cave Goblins. They weren’t afraid! The Cave Goblins peered around Rabbiteater’s cloak as the guardsmen of Celum halted in their panicked flight. He bowed to Erin with a flourish.

“Erin, it’s a delight!”

“Wesle! What brings you out here?”

Erin beamed as she hugged the man. He wasn’t too much taller than her, and he wasn’t that imposing or huge a man. His lips were clean-shaven and he wore fairly fancy red tunic and breeches, but that was all. And yet, the Goblins thought he looked taller than the Humans around him. It was in the way he carried himself. And the way he moved and spoke. He seemed to draw the eye. Wesle stroked his upper lip as if he still had his fuzzy mustache.

“We got word you’d passed through the city. Caused a bit of a commotion. We thought—we hoped that it was safe to return to your inn.  It’s been terribly quiet without you or your inn to perform in.”

Erin smacked her forehead.

“Of course! I forgot—we won! There was a huge battle, Wesle! The Raskghar were defeated! We saved the Gnolls! It was incredible! Liscor’s saved, the Goblins helped, and the Antinium no matter what Ilvriss says—”

“Huge battle? Raskghar? Sounds like a play!”

A short woman strode over. Emme gave the Goblins a glance and then focused on Erin.

“Is this something we could turn into a play, Miss Erin?”

“Um? Yes?”

“Well then! What are we waiting for? Hey, you lot! Gather over here! Forget the Goblins—they won’t bite. And if they do, bite back! We’ve got material for a new play!”

The Players of Celum approached cautiously. Erin turned and beamed at a Drake and a Human child.

“Jasi! Grev! It’s great to see you all! And you’re all here at the perfect time! We were having a break after all that’s happened.”

“Hullo, Miss Erin. You’ve got a lot of monster folk behind you. Are all them new security for your inn?”

Grev stared at the Cave Goblins, who stared back, never having seen a Human child before. Erin turned.

“What, the Goblins? No, I brought them for the game. Hey Jelaqua! Look, we’ve got two teams of players!”

The Selphid waved back. She was laughing so hard she could barely stand. It was the reactions of the Humans that amused her. One of Celum’s [Guardsmen] followed the Players of Celum, practically hiding behind Jasi.

“Game? What’s all this? Mister Wesle, these Goblins—”

“Security for Miss Erin’s inn. Don’t mind them, Fabial. The rest of you, take heed! These are Miss Erin’s employees. There’s to be no fighting here! Besides, there’s a team of Gold-rank adventurers.”

“Exactly!”

Jelaqua walked over, still chuckling. She grinned at Fabial, who looked alarmed as Moore approached.

“We’ve got this. These Goblins are under control. Hey, Headscratcher.”

She nodded at Badarrow, who ignored her. The Hobs stared around as Erin tried to explain why the Goblins were here to the Humans. Emme began to pester Jelaqua for details. Grev stared about and made eye contact with Mrsha. In the end Erin had to wave her hands and shout.

“Attention! Everyone! Shut up!”

They all quieted. The Players of Celum, adventurers, and Goblins all stared at Erin. She looked around and smiled.

“Let’s leave the plays and killing each other for later, huh? Today’s not a work day. We’re just going to relax here. Goblins, Humans, Selphids—”

“Selphid. Unless anyone wants to change my mind?”

“We can do everything later. But for now—does anyone want to play a game of baseball?”

The crowd paused. They looked at Erin and at each other. Then Numbtongue raised a hand.

“What’s baseball?”

The Celum [Guardsmen] stared at the Hob in horror.

“It can talk?”

Erin rolled her eyes.

—-

“Baseball is a sport. A game where two teams compete. One team is on the attack, the other one defends. That’s the basics. Now, we never hurt anyone else. That’s against the rules. We’re competing to get more points. The way you do that is to hit a ball…”

Erin lectured the crowd of people in front of her. Cave Goblins, Hobs, and Humans stared at her. The Players of Celum and Goblins had joined the others in the meadow. The Watch from Celum had to go back to the city and try to explain…something. Erin had Seborn and Jelaqua demonstrate as she spoke.

“—And then, if Jelaqua hits it far enough, it’s a home run. Everyone runs around the bases and scores! It’s great! What do you think?”

The Players and Goblins stared at each other. They shrugged. Emme smiled.

“It looks as stupid as a play did to me the first time I saw one. So we grab these bats and start playing? Why not?”

“Awesome! Let’s play a game! We can make teams. Why don’t the Goblins play a game against the Players of Celum first? The rest of us can correct things, then we can divide and play with everyone!”

Obediently, the groups divided up. Erin grinned at Jelaqua as the Selphid began showing the Humans how to use the bat.

“I still think this is boring as watching tar dry.”

Octavia remarked from her seat in the grass. She’d finished three bowls of popcorn and was eating a fourth. Erin eyed her severely.

“You can go back to Celum. Or pay for that popcorn if you’re bored.”

“Bored? Hey, who’s bored? I love baseball! Go team! Hit those balls!”

Erin rolled her eyes. The Players of Celum seemed excited by the game. As they lined up, Jasi sidled over to Erin.

“It was a good thing Grev heard you were here. We’ve been cooped up this last week, what with your inn being too dangerous.”

“Haven’t you been performing?”

“Ah, well…we didn’t think it’d be right. Not with all the other inns smearing your name. You heard about that, right? We’ve been performing in the squares, but it’s not the same. Everyone’s been antsy, waiting for you to finish. This game is just what we need.”

“What everyone needs. Hey, it looks like the Goblins like the game too. See?”

Jasi stared as Erin pointed. Badarrow was throwing a ball at Numbtongue, who swung and connected solidly with it. The Cave Goblins ducked as the ball flew over their heads and then ran after it as Numbtongue shouted. They seemed nervous, rather than excited to play. But Erin hoped they’d warm up to the game. Jasi just shook her head.

“More Goblins. And you beat those horrible beasts in the dungeon with their help? You have to tell us the entire story, Erin.”

“Alright, but later. I just want to have fun today. Hey, Wesle looks great!”

The [Actor] was at bat. And the first ball that Jelaqua threw he hit. Not just hit—the impact sent the ball flying into the air. Mrsha raced after it. Erin whistled.

“That’s good form! Did he copy Jelaqua or something?”

Wesle was swinging the bat as if he’d played the game before. Jasi shook her head. She leaned forwards and whispered.

“He got a Skill! From his class! It’s called [Method Acting]. It means he actually becomes the person he’s playing! A little bit.”

“What? That’s incredible!”

The Drake smiled.

“It is. But it’s not that powerful. I think we checked it and he’s only as good as someone with, say, ten levels. So he can copy a [Butcher] and do a decent job even without training, but it still takes a lot of work to get any better. If he really copies someone for a while he can get even better.”

“Wow. Hey, that’s a real advantage! Do you have a Skill like that?”

“Not that Skill. But I do have a few new ones. I’ll tell you about it later. I’m going to play this game. You’d better watch out for Emme, though. She’s stronger than anyone else in the troupe!”

Sure enough, when it was Emme’s turn to practice she hit the ball farther than Wesle did, although it took her four tries to connect. Erin watched the Players bat and catch and field and whistled.

“They’re good! I mean, I guess it’s their acting thing. But—hey, these guys could play a game against my dad’s team! Back home he had a team in his neighborhood. They were about this good.”

“And the Goblins?”

Erin stared at the Goblins. They’d finished their practice, but it was a bit…lopsided. Badarrow had taken up pitching and he could throw a fast ball. And all the Hobs had hit the ball far. When they hit it. They seemed to strike out surprisingly often given how coordinated Erin knew them to be. Still, when they hit it the ball went far. That was the Hobs, though.

The Cave Goblins were barely larger than children and so when they hit the ball it barely went anywhere. But they seemed quite coordinated, and as they lined up in the outfield they seemed cheerful. The Goblins kept staring at the grass and flowers as if they’d never seen them before. Which they hadn’t.

“I think they’ll be okay. We can always change up the teams. Besides, if the Players win a game or two maybe some of them won’t be so nervous. Hey guys! Are you ready to play ball or what?”

“Ready!”

The Humans cheered as they got up to bat. The Goblins looked to Erin and she waved her arms as she came over.

“I’ll umpire! You all start playing! Remember, hit the ball and run for the bases! You can steal—oh, just go for it! Who’s up first?”

“Me.”

Wesle strode up to bat. He choked up on the grip of the wooden baseball bat and took a stance that was surprisingly like the one Erin had copied from watching professional baseball players on television. The Players cheered and clapped as the Goblins looked at Badarrow.

The Hob looked at Erin. She smiled at him. Badarrow fingered the baseball and looked at Wesle. Shorthilt was catching. The Hob looked up as the wind blew, and then slowly wound up. His arm came up and he threw. The ball flew towards Shorthilt’s mitt. Wesle grinned, swung—

And the ball dropped. Wesle’s bat passed straight over it. The ball struck the ‘plate’ that was a pillow and Shorthilt snatched it up. He tossed the ball back at Badarrow. Wesle gaped. So did Erin. Everyone stared at her until she remembered and raised her arms.

“Uh, strike!”

“What was that throw?”

Jelaqua stared at Badarrow. The Hob was smirking as Wesle stared at him in astonishment. Erin’s mind raced.

“That was—that was a splitter! Or a forkball? It’s a legal throw, but—how’d you figure that out, Badarrow?”

The Hob just grinned at Erin. He threw the ball up again and pointed at Wesle. The [Actor] was clearly disoriented, but he gritted his teeth.

“I get two more tries, right Erin?”

“That’s right. Uh—keep playing!”

The Hob wound up and threw another pitch. Wesle waited. This time he swung as the ball dropped and clipped it. The ball flew up behind him.

“Foul ball! That’s a strike!”

There was a groan from the Players of Celum. They watched as Badarrow caught another ball and threw it. This time Wesle swung low and clipped the ball again, but it was a foul ball.

“Foul ball!”

Wesle hurled the bat to the ground in frustration. Badarrow grinned. Erin had to call Wesle back.

“You get another swing if it’s a foul ball! Don’t give up!”

“What is with that Hob? How’s he throwing like that?”

Wesle pointed at Badarrow. The Hob was smirking and throwing more splitters at Shorthilt.

“Well, he is an [Archer]. I guess it comes naturally? Or…”

Erin’s eyes narrowed. She remembered the Hobs striking out against Badarrow.

“I think he was practicing that pitch! I told you there are multiple ways to throw the ball. Fastballs, curves, uh, sliders…you just need practice. And unfortunately, Badarrow’s pretty good. Hey Badarrow! Don’t throw splitters for game one! It’s not fair!”

Badarrow looked up. He grimaced at Erin, but nodded reluctantly. The next ball he threw was a curve. This time Wesle connected with it though. The man was so surprised that he barely got to first base before the Cave Goblins got the ball. The players cheered, and Jasi went up to bat.

“Fastballs! It’s just game one!”

The Hob pitcher was clearly put upon, but he obliged Erin by tossing a fastball…nice and slow. Jasi was so surprised she missed the first ball. Erin slapped her forehead, but Badarrow’s antics had amused the crowd. And more importantly, the Players of Celum were now competing to get a hit.

Jasi managed to bunt to first, but she got tagged out. Wesle ran to second, and then all the way to third as Emme smashed a ball straight past Badarrow. The next actor struck out, and it was Kilkran, the former [Blacksmith] who took up the bat next.

Badarrow threw a deceptively easy pitch. Kilkran smashed the ball out to left field. Wesle charged home and scored. The Players cheered as Emme ran for second. The Cave Goblins had a ball, but they fumbled it getting it to Numbtongue. Emme ran to third. And then Numbtongue threw.

The ball snapped into Rabbiteater’s glove as Emme was two-thirds of the way to his base. She turned to run, but the Hob sprinted at her. He tagged her out instantly.

“Alright! That’s three outs! Switch sides!”

The Players groaned and the ones who hadn’t had a chance to bat groaned as they put them down. But they seemed pleased. Quite a few slapped Wesle’s back and they took to the field with good nature. But Erin wasn’t fooled. Her eyes were on the Goblins as they meekly took up position at bat. She saw them glancing at each other and making covert signs she could half-understand.

“Hey Jelaqua. What do you think of the game?”

The Selphid was sitting with the adventurers, taking turns combing Mrsha’s fur. She looked up from the pampered Gnoll. Her mouth was full of popcorn. Dipped in fish sauce. Apparently it was better that way, according to her and Seborn at least. She shrugged.

“Looks fun. The Players can hit the ball. Unlike Moore.”

“Are you trying to hurt my feelings, Jelaqua?”

“I’m just saying…we should get that Wesle guy on our team. When can we play?”

“After five points. But the Goblins—well, just watch them, would you?”

“For what?”

“Just watch.”

The adventurers sat up a bit as Erin went back to the game. She looked hard at Headscratcher. The Hob smiled at her. Innocently. Erin looked at Rabbiteater, Shorthilt, Badarrow, and Numbtongue. She narrowed her eyes. They looked a bit too eager. And she had a funny thought.

“You guys take it easy, okay?”

The Hobs nodded obediently. Headscratcher squared up to bat as Wesle took the pitcher’s mound, which was in fact, more grass. The [Actor] was clearly keen to get his own back and he threw a ball into the mitt that Emme held twice. Both times it dropped. He met Headscratcher’s eyes as Erin shouted.

“Play ball!”

The first pitch came in hard and fast and dropped. Headscratcher swung and missed. Wide. The Players laughed as the Hob stared at the ball in Emme’s mitt. Wesle grinned and threw a second pitch. This one was a fastball and went right over Headscratcher’s bat. The Humans cheered. Erin just watched Emme throw the ball back. She saw Headscratcher glance at his fellow Hobs. They gave him a tiny nod. The Hob turned back as Wesle wound up for a throw.

The third pitch was a curve. Headscratcher watched it come. He drew back his bat, took a breath and roared as he swung. The sound shattered the air. Headscratcher’s red eyes blazed—and he connected.

It sounded like a car backfiring. Erin flinched as she saw the ball disappear. Wesle ducked and the Players of Celum flinched. The ball flew up, and up and—Erin’s jaw dropped. She saw the ball fly past Kilkran in the outfield, and land. The big man stared at the ball, a good eighty paces behind him as Headscratcher took off. The Hob charged around the bases as Kilkran belatedly ran after the ball. The Goblins cheered wildly and Headscratcher slowed as he realized there was no way the Humans would get the ball back to him. He sauntered back to home base to thunderous cheers.

“Okay. That was a home run.”

Erin stared at the Goblins. So did everyone else. The Redfang Warriors were grinning as they slapped Headscratcher on the back. And then Numbtongue took up the bat.

“Move back a bit!”

Wesle’s voice trembled a bit as he ordered the Players back. They obediently backed up. When he threw the ball, Numbtongue connected on the first hit. He didn’t hit it nearly as far as Headscratcher, but the Hob charged down first base so fast he actually managed to get to second before the bewildered actors managed to get the ball. And then Badarrow was up. He took one look at the first ball that came his way and let it pass.

“Ball!”

The second one the Hob hit solidly. He got to first and Numbtongue got onto third. The Players blinked as a Cave Goblin came up next instead of Shorthilt or Rabbiteater. The little Goblin had trouble lifting the bat. But when Wesle threw the ball—

“Bunt!”

The Goblin didn’t even try to hit the ball. It just blocked and then ran towards first base, screaming wildly. Emme and Wesle ran to get the ball, but that meant Emme was out of place. And then Numbtongue scored. And the Cave Goblin ran so fast it got to second and Badarrow to third. And then Shorthilt came up to bat—

“Wow.”

Erin stared as the ball went flying. She stared at the bases. Headscratcher was on third, a Cave Goblin on first. It wasn’t that it was a different inning. It was that the Goblins had played through all nine players on their team. There were two outs, but they’d scored seven times. The Players of Celum stared as Numbtongue swung. They ran for the ball and threw it desperately towards Emme. They got Headscratcher out. Barely.

“I uh—that’s game one!”

Erin called it there. The Goblins cheered and ran around the Hobs. The Players of Celum trooped back to home, panting. They stared at the Goblins.

“How’d they do that?”

Wesle gasped as he accepted some chilled ice water. He gulped from it, staring at the Hobs. They were grinning and eying the Humans. Erin sighed, but there was a smile on her face.

“I think…they planned that. Sorry. But I guess the Players aren’t as good as Goblins are naturally.”

“I see. That’s humbling. I think…we might be done for a little bit.”

The actor groaned as he massaged his shoulders. Erin nodded sympathetically.

“Sorry about that. It uh, looked hard but I didn’t want to call it. You take a break. We’ve got food.”

She pointed to the picnic in the audience. Wesle nodded gratefully. The Cave Goblins and Hobs occupied the field as the beaten Players left it. They were playing a game by themselves when Jelaqua stood up.

“Hold it!”

The Goblins looked at her. The Selphid grinned as she walked towards the pitch.

“Looks like you guys are pretty good. Hey guys, why don’t we take them on? Adventurers versus Goblins?”

“Uh, I don’t think that’s such a—”

Erin began nervously, but the other adventurers were already on their feet. The Horns and Halfseekers strode to the pitch, as did Mrsha and Lyonette. The Goblins looked at each other and grinned. They took up positions at bat. Jelaqua grinned at Erin as she walked past. Seborn was already practicing throwing a curve ball with Moore.

“Hey Erin, you were right. This game is fun. Especially when there’s good competition. Those Hobs can hit pretty hard. We might have to use our full strength.”

“Wait, this is just a fun game. Jelaqua—”

“Hey Pisces! You’re in the middle of the outfield! Use [Flash Step]! Ceria, first base! Can you freeze the ground? Is that against the rules? Ksmvr, outfield on the right? Lyonette and Mrsha can take third base and the left!”

The Selphid grinned as she pounded a fist into her glove. She strode over to second base. Erin eyed the Hobs. They were pointing at Lyonette and Mrsha, clearly telling Headscratcher to hit the ball their way. They huddled together like…well, like any team, really. Erin looked at the Players of Celum who were gulping down food.

“Go Horns and Halfseekers! Teach those Goblins a lesson!”

“Five silver on the Goblins!”

“Pass me those popcorn things! Stop hogging them, Emme!”

And suddenly? Suddenly it was a game.

—-

It was wet as Bevussa walked out of Liscor’s gates. Or rather, climbed down the ladder on Liscor’s walls and began walking across the water bridge to The Wandering Inn. The water was still high and it was raining in droves. Of course the Garuda could have flown to the inn, but the water made her wings heavy and she didn’t know if she’d crash in the water. That would be embarrassing, so she elected to walk. She’d tried to get to the inn through the magic door, but it hadn’t opened no matter how long she’d waited.

She met someone else crossing the bridge towards the inn. Keldrass, leader of the Flamewardens slowed and waved a claw at Bevussa. He wasn’t wearing his armor. Like her, he was dressed casually now the crisis in the dungeon was over. Bevussa jogged up to him.

“Hey Keldrass, you’re going to the inn too?”

“That’s right. What are you going for?”

The Garuda hesitated. But she’d known Keldrass professionally, if not personally. She glanced around at the rainy landscape and coughed.

“I was actually hoping I could meet the Halfseekers and possibly Griffon Hunt there and negotiate about the artifacts. You know, who gets what?”

Keldrass nodded.

“That’s why I’m going.”

“Oh—uh, what’s do you—”

“We want the armor.”

Bevussa breathed a sigh of relief. She began walking to the inn, watching her footing as the water splashed over her talons.

“Oh, good. We’re after the invisible bow or the shortsword. Or that staff that blasts people with wind. Or…we’re open for a lot of the items, actually. But I want to make sure we have a good chance of claiming what we aim for, so I need to talk with them. They’ve probably got two of the best claims of the Gold-rank teams.”

Keldrass grunted.

“We all shed blood. Some of us more than others.”

“True. But you have to admit, they went in hard. Did you see Moore smashing Raskghar? Or Halrac? That one’s not far from Named Adventurer.”

“He’s still a ways away. You’ve met the one in Pallass, right?”

“Oh—him? Well, he’s certainly better than Halrac, but he struck me as uh, not atypical of Named Adventurers.”

“They’re all insane like him. The [Scout]’s not at that level yet.”

“Yet.”

Bevussa let the word hang in the air. Keldrass nodded. The two walked towards the inn. After a few seconds, the Garuda chuckled. Keldrass looked at her.

“What?”

“Nothing. But it’s almost like a reflex, coming here. We’ve done it so many times, and Erin’s inn is so useful. Plus, she’s got so much unique food. Some of its awful—but it’s always new. I can’t stand the inn we’re staying at.”

“The Tailless Thief? The innkeeper’s food is good.”

Keldrass looked mildly offended on behalf of Peslas. Bevussa shrugged.

“That’s true. They’re as good as Erin’s in terms of quality. But they’re all Drake dishes, and I can eat that in Pallass, and far better. Our inns are superior.”

“No arguments there. But the [Innkeeper]—what’s his name—had a new dish. Hamburgers. I thought that was original. Quick food, I think he called it.”

“Yeah, but, apparently the recipe came from Erin.”

“Really?”

Keldrass blinked in surprise. He glanced at the inn coming up ahead of them. Bevussa smiled.

“Do you doubt it?”

“No. But where did she get it from?”

“Search me. There’s something odd about her. Not that I’m complaining. I just—hello?”

Bevussa opened the door and called about inside. The inn was empty. But the first thing that struck the two adventurers was light. They stopped as bright sunlight shone into the inn. The magic door was open and a blue sky and grassy field could be seen through it. It was such an odd sight after the rain that they had to stop in surprise.

“What the—is the door open to Pallass?”

“It can’t be. That takes up too much mana. I thought. Hello?”

Bevussa walked over to the door. She heard cheering as she drew nearer. She blinked as she stared out into the field. Keldrass stood by her and stared around.

“Where is this?”

“Oh, hey!”

The two Gold-rank adventurers had been spotted by a group of Humans lounging on the grass. The Players of Celum waved at them. One of them, a young boy, jumped to his feet.

“You’re more guests for Miss Erin, ain’t ya?”

The adventurers nodded. Grev grinned.

“Hold on, I’ll get her! She’s umpiring the game. Miss Erin!”

The adventurers stared as he raced out of view. They looked at each other. Then they stepped through the door. They stared around. Then they heard a crack. Both ducked reflexively. Then they saw a ball flying through the air and heard a voice.

“Fly ball! Go, Jelaqua, go!”

They saw a familiar Selphid sprinting across the grass. She was moving fast, as if she was in danger. But the cheering that came from the crowd of Humans and Goblins, yes, Goblins was at odds with that idea. So was the grin on Jelaqua’s face. She rounded a pillow on the grass and dove as the Hobgoblin on another pillow reached out and caught a ball flying towards him. There was a cheer and the two saw Erin run forwards, waving her arms.

“Safe! That was safe!”

She turned as Grev grabbed her shirt. Erin turned and looked surprised to see Keldrass and Bevussa.

“Bevussa! Uh, Keldram? Oh man, did you walk here? Sorry, we’re closed! I can get you to Pallass if you need it, but I’m not selling any meals right now! We’re having a vacation!”

“Uh, no. That’s not why we’re here. We were hoping to find the Halfseekers. And Griffon Hunt if they’re here.”

“I haven’t seen Griffon Hunt. But the Halfseekers are playing a game!”

Erin indicated Jelaqua as the Selphid waved at Pisces and shouted at him as he took a position with a long wooden bat.

“We saw. What’s the game called?”

“Baseball! Hold on—Grev, you umpire. I’ll explain.”

It took Erin several minutes to explain the game to the bewildered adventurers. In that time Pisces bunted the ball Badarrow threw. He didn’t just run, he blinked across the field using [Flash Step]. The Goblins scrambled to keep up, but Pisces got to second without being caught.

“Pisces! That’s cheating!”

Erin turned to yell at the [Necromancer]. He yelled back in an aggrieved tone.

“Why? They can use Skills! Why can’t I use magic?”

“Uh—never mind!”

She turned back and beamed at the adventurers.

“You wanna play?”

“Um—not at the moment.”

Keldrass coughed a bit of smoke. He looked at the Halfseekers.

“They’re busy. I’ll come back later.”

“I uh, I’ll do the same.”

“Suit yourself. Hey, can you let the others know the inn’s closed if they come calling? Thanks!”

Erin went back to the game. The two Gold-rank adventurers walked back to the door. They paused as they stepped back into Erin’s inn. On the other side of the door, the rain was falling through the open door that Bevussa had forgotten to close. The inn was dark and the skies were grey. Keldrass glanced back through the door.

“Sunlight. It’s been a long time since I saw that, or so it feels.”

Bevussa looked longingly back as well.

“It’s a nice day out there. Perfect weather for flying.”

“Indeed.”

They looked at each other. Keldrass coughed again. He shifted.

“I told my team I’d be back soon.”

“So did I. We were actually going to get both teams to join us for negotiations. We felt like Erin’s inn would favor them a bit.”

“Sensible. Well. We should get back.”

“Yeah.”

The two stared back into the field. The sun was warm on Bevussa’s feathers. And she remembered the drinks and food the Humans were eating. She wondered what it would be like to swing that bat. It would be nice to hit something that wasn’t a monster’s skull.

“We did promise to go back.”

Keldrass reminded her. Bevussa looked at him. The Garuda’s hesitated, then smiled.

“True. But we could always come back. It’s a beautiful day out there, isn’t it?”

The Drake paused. He looked back out the door. There were more people coming towards the inn. Adventurers looking to do some negotiating. Relc and Klbkch, the Antinium clutching the ropes, Ishkr and another Gnoll coming for their shift…the Drake looked back at the grass. Bevussa nudged him.

“Wanna decide who goes back to get the others?”

“Sure.”

—-

At first, the City Watch of Celum was bored. It was, after all, an uneventful day in Celum. There were no monster attacks, no important dignitaries or caravans or even criminal activity that needed dealing with. That was good because excitement was often dangerous in their line of work, but dull was dull. It was a relief to have a bit of excitement.

And to begin with, that was exactly what had happened. A bunch of Gold-rank adventurers transporting the magic door through the city? It was all too fun to speculate why and laugh at the unlucky Fabial’s misfortune. They’d even had a chance to spread the word to the Players of Celum and get a few autographs. And from their vantage point on the walls, the bored [Guardsmen] could see the entire troupe head out.

But then the Goblins had appeared. At first the men (there were very few women in Celum’s City Watch) hadn’t believed it. Then they’d seen their comrades racing towards them and had been ready to lock the gates. And then—well, they didn’t know what to think. They’d watched the distant game of baseball begin with much bemusement. Still, their nervousness had quickly become fascination with the game, which was fun to watch for men whose only job was to stand and watch things. But now—

“Hey, look. There are more people coming through that door.”

“I see ‘em. Stop nudging me. Looks like that bird’s back. And a bunch of others. Looks like Drakes…another damn Antinium. Gnolls?”

“Huh. Liscor must be filled with non-Humans. Crazy city if you ask me. I don’t see why anyone’d want to live there.”

“Right. Right. Say, there’s a lot of folk coming through. Another pack of Gnolls. More Drakes…Humans…wait a second.”

“Is that—is that Halrac the Grim?”

“It can’t be!”

“Look at him!”

“I can’t see. You’ve got [Keen Eyes]. Is it—”

“That’s him! And those Drakes—they must be other adventurers! Wait, I recognize some of the others! That’s Gemhammer! And all those other Drakes and Gnolls—”

The [Guardsmen] looked at each other.

“They can’t all be adventurers, right?”

“I heard Liscor had a ton of Gold-ranks.”

“Yeah, but—they wouldn’t be here, right? They have things to do.”

“Like Halrac the Grim.”

“Yeah.”

They stared at the distant people flooding through the doorway. A group of Antinium walked through. They wore paint on their carapaces. Celum’s Watch stared.

“There’s so many. Why’re they here? For the game?”

“Can’t be. But—there’s Antinium and Goblins. Do you think—should we raise the alarm?”

“Why? There’s got to be at least eight adventuring teams down there. Do you think they’d be sitting about if there was any danger?”

“Right. So what do we do? Do you think we should tell someone?”

“Tell them what?”

The men glanced at each other. They stared at the crowd filling the field. Then they turned and hollered at their comrades on gate duty.

“Hey, you lot! Come up and see this!”

The [Guardsmen] on duty looked up. They walked up the stairs. And as is the nature of Humans, some of the people on the streets crowded up onto the walls to see. Soon they were watching the crowd in the distance. Then the people of Celum were coming out the gates while the [Guardsman] had to stay on duty. Not because they knew what was going on, but because they thought something interesting was happening and they wanted in. That was people for you.

—-

“Baseball.”

Erin stood in front of a crowd. She had a bat in her hands and she was nervous. Not because she didn’t know what to say—she’d done this explanation multiple times already. No, it was uh, the size of the crowd that intimidated her.

Gnolls from Celum. Ishkr had brought a bunch of his friends and Krshia and Erill had come with their own group. They were all keen for sun as well as a chance to be outdoors after hiding in the city for so long.

Drakes. Not only adventurers but interested civilians, Relc, Olesm, Selys, and Drassi. No Embria, Zevara, or Ilvriss—they were busy doing official things in the city. That was sort of a relief, actually, and there were plenty of Drakes besides.

Bevussa, Dawil, Falene. The adventurers who’d fought in the dungeon. Griffon Hunt, Gemhammer, the Pride of Kelia, the Silver Swords…

And Pawn and his Soldiers. And Klbkch. Apparently they hadn’t received orders to stop guarding Erin’s inn and Klbkch had come with Relc.

And the Humans from Celum. Erin looked at the crowd. She didn’t get nervous in front of crowds. But this? This was a lot of people. She cleared her throat and went on.

“Baseball. Right. Well, this is a game. Some call it the greatest game. I don’t. I like chess. But baseball is a sport. It’s a game that takes nine people. We’ve got a small demonstration ready, so I’ll run you all through it. You see, it starts with this. This is called a bat. You don’t hit people with it…”

Not everyone was here to play baseball. In fact, Erin bet that most of the people from Liscor were just here to experience the sun. She could understand. After so long in rainy Liscor, seeing the sun and being able to walk around in the grass was almost addictive. A good deal of her crowd elected not to play after hearing her explanation. But a surprising number did want to try.

“Hey, this looks like fun! I can hit things and not get in trouble for it! Sign me up!”

Relc was first to grab a bat and stomp onto home plate. Erin pointed randomly and assigned three Gnolls and five Drakes to the field.

“Just hit the ball, Relc.”

“I’m gonna do more than that. This Goblin guy? He’s not going to get a single ball past me.”

The Drake locked eyes with Badarrow who was still occupying the pitcher’s mound. The Hob sneered. Relc was so busy giving him the stink-eye that he didn’t even see the first splitter. It dropped underneath his bat. Relc roared in outrage.

“Hey! What was that! That was cheating! Foul ball or whatever!”

“Nope! Sorry, it was within the zone! Try again!”

Relc growled as he swung his bat back and forth. This time Badarrow threw a curve.

“Strike two!”

“Damn it!”

“Hit the ball, Relc!”

One of the Drakes heckled Relc from the grass where Erin had put out blankets and food. Relc lifted a finger and Erin saw Lyonette cover Mrsha’s eyes. Grev just grinned and raised the same finger. The Drake swung the bat wildly, and then hunkered down. He watched the ball fly at him, dip, and then hit it with a roar.

“Take that!”

It was Erin who ducked when the bat hit the ball. She’d forgotten how scary it was to watch baseball up close! Badarrow turned and cursed as the ball went flying deep behind him. Erin stood up sheepishly as Relc crowed.

“Hah! See that?”

“Homerun! That’s definitely a—”

Erin shouted to the Gnolls and Drakes running after the ball. There was no way they’d get it. The ball flew as far as when Headscratcher had hit it. It was high, but far. She saw Ishkr running ahead. The Gnoll was moving fast! But he still wouldn’t make it. The ball had to be going at least four hundred feet—

“Move Ishkr! Run!”

Krshia stood up and shouted at Ishkr. Erin’s jaw dropped. The Gnoll had abandoned his two legs! He bounded along on all fours as the ball fell to earth. The Gnoll dove. Erin saw him roll. She looked for the ball, and then saw Ishkr on his feet, holding it aloft.

“He caught it! He actually caught it!”

Erin jumped up and down excitedly. She’d never seen anything like it! Ishkr ran wildly back to home base as Relc stepped on the pillow, crowing.

“Hah! Best hit ever! Take that you stupid Goblins!”

“Relc, you’re out!”

“What? No I’m not! Did you see how far it went?”

“But Ishkr got the ball!”

“He did? I always hated that guy! Damn, damn, damn—”

Relc stomped off. Erin saw Ishkr return, panting. She looked around. Now everyone was interested. Baseball was a slow sport, but seeing Relc hit a homer on his first try and then Ishkr run hundreds of feet to catch it—that was impressive.

“Hey, can we play a second game over here?”

One of the adventurers called out to Erin. She looked around. They were trying to set up a second game on the side. They did have enough space for it. Plenty of space in fact. And they had balls, enough bats…maybe not enough gloves, but there were always normal gloves. And hands.

“Sure! Why don’t we—okay! Let’s make some teams! We’re going to need another umpire!”

“I volunt—”

Olesm ‘tripped’ as Drassi rushed forwards. The Drake waved her hands about as she ran up to Erin.

“Oh, me, me! Please let me do it, Erin!”

“Do you know how the game works?”

“Totally! And I love to talk!”

“In that case, why don’t you be a commentator? And Olesm can be an umpire. Now, we need teams—”

Olesm got up and gave Drassi a dirty look. He pointed and Erin turned her head. A team of Gnolls was facing down the Goblins in one section. The Silver Swords had teamed up with Gemhammer against Griffon Hunt and The Wings of Pallass on another pitch. And on a third, the Antinium were lined up silently as the Players of Celum reconsidered their life choices. Erin hesitated. Then she grinned.

—-

“It’s a wonderful day to be alive, isn’t it Olesm?”

“It would be if someone didn’t keep tripping me, Drassi.”

“I said sorry! But just look at this weather! You can’t get this in Liscor! And the grass! Isn’t it great?”

“I thought we were supposed to be talking about the game, Drassi.”

“This is commentary, commentary, Olesm! Alright, for our first game we have the Gnolls versus the Goblins. And—wow, those Hobs are hitting the ball hard!”

“But the Gnolls are catching the ball. Almost every time.”

“That’s true! Would you look at Krshia go! I didn’t know she was that fast, especially for an old—I mean, a Gnoll in her prime! Uh oh. I think she heard me.”

“Gnoll ears are quite sharp. But if I might add a point Drassi—”

“Go ahead, Olesm.”

“—Thank you. The Goblins are quite good. But I would call their team fairly unbalanced compared to the Gnoll team. The Hobs are extraordinarily strong, as befits their Silver-rank designation as threats at the very least—”

“Do you have a point here, Olesm? Just say the Hobs are good at hitting things.”

“—but the Cave Goblins are physically much weaker, leading to a weaker offense. And the Gnolls are experts at fielding the ball as I believe the term goes, due to their long practice of similar mechanics.”

“…So you’re saying the Gnolls play catch a lot so they can catch the ball and the Cave Goblins don’t hit hard.”

“Well, that’s a basic summary—”

“What I’m impressed with is the Goblin’s teamwork. I mean, the Gnolls play together really well. You can tell they’re giving each other signals by the way their ears twitch. But the Goblins? They don’t even talk to each other! They just signal somehow and bam! Cave Goblin steals a base! It’s like magic!”

“It’s not, in fact. The Goblin system of communication has long been both verbal and nonverbal. I spoke with Pisces at length about why they might have evolved this unique form of—”

“Fly ball to right field. Ishkr is going for first base. It looks like Shorthilt’s fumbled the catch, but he’ll stop Ishkr from going to second. Will he no, he’s staying put. Krshia Silverfang at bat.”

“—as I was saying, Pisces was referring to—”

“Maybe save it for later? I want to talk about Krshia. Now, look at her swing. She’s got good form—not as good as that handsome [Actor]. What’s his name? Wesle. But I think Krshia’s got more muscle than him and she can probably hit the ball. Gnolls love to play catch. Looks like Badarrow’s getting ready for a pitch. Too bad curveballs and sliders don’t work on Gnolls. Hey, don’t step on my foot Olesm! I’m trying to commentate here!”

“But I had a point!”

“It was longwinded! Go on, shoo! Go commentate somewhere else! Can I get another announcer with me? Selys, get up here? No? Okay then, I’ll do it myself! Get lost, Olesm!”

Erin heard the sound of fighting from behind her as Olesm and Drassi fought for the magically-enhanced speaking crystal. The Goblins and Gnolls were natural baseball players it turned out. One team because they could run faster than any Human and loved to catch, and the other because they were naturals at teamwork. On the other hand, in the pitch she was umpiring…

“Homerun! Again!”

Ylawes’ bat connected with the ball that Halrac had thrown. The [Scout] wore a displeased expression as the [Knight] rounded the bases. Both his team and Gemhammer had hit every ball that Halrac had thrown and the outfield wasn’t good enough to keep up. After he had rounded the bases, Erin called the teams in.

It was Gemhammer and the Silver Swords at bat, and Griffon Hunt and the Wings of Pallass on defense. Halrac had been the pitcher. Erin looked around at the unhappy faces on one side and the smiling ones on the other.

“Okay, I think we have a problem here.”

“Yeah, the problem’s that Halrac can’t pitch!”

“Shut it, Revi.”

The Stitch-Girl glared at Halrac. He looked sourly at Erin.

“Well?”

“Um…she’s sort of right. Halrac, what’s wrong? You’re pitching fast, but the balls keep getting hit. Can’t you make them curve or something like Badarrow?”

The [Veteran Scout] looked unhappy at being compared to Badarrow.

“I don’t make my arrows curve. I hit the target.”

“Which is why they keep hitting the ball! All your balls go straight!”

“You want to pitch? Be my guest! I don’t want to play this game.”

Halrac snapped at Revi. She threw up her hands. Bevussa, who’d been watching all this with mild amusement, raised her talons.

“Hey Erin, we have a problem too.”

“What’s that, Bevussa?”

“We have to run for the ball. But why can’t we fly? We’re the Wings of Pallass, not the feet.”

Erin tilted her head.

“Yeah, but wouldn’t that be unfair? I mean, if you can fly…”

“We still need to get the ball. That’s not always easy. And we hate running. Come on, are there rules against it where you come from?”

“Well…we don’t have many flying people where we come from. It’s uh, mainly Humans.”

The Oldblood Drakes in Bevussa’s team rolled their eyes.

“Figures. Humans.”

“Hey! It’s not in the rules because it doesn’t happen where I come from! Fine! Bevussa, your team can fly. Halrac, Revi—”

“I’ll pitch.”

The other adventurers looked around as Typhenous raised his hand. The old [Mage] grinned and stroked his white beard as Erin stared at him.

“You? But uh—”

“I’m quite hale. And I think I can resolve this. Why not let me try?”

“Suits me.”

Halrac tossed the glove at Typhenous. Erin eyed the old man apprehensively. He looked as if he’d break an arm throwing the ball too hard. The other team certainly thought so. Earlia chuckled as she took up the bat, swinging it hard enough to cut the air. After all, her team was a bunch of former [Miners] and she swung a warhammer in battle. She shouted at Typhenous who was inspecting the hide-wrapped ball.

“Get ready to duck, old man!”

He looked up and smiled at her. Erin prayed Typhenous wouldn’t get hit. She waved as Bevussa and her team took to the air.

“Okay, play ball!”

Typhenous lifted the baseball. He didn’t hold it like a pitcher and Erin saw that he had no idea how to grip it properly. She was just about to shout at him when the ball levitated up in his palm. Erin paused. She saw Earlia’s eyes widen. Typhenous made the ball spin in the air and levitate around his palm. Then he looked at Earlia  and grinned.

“Oh shit.”

The ball drifted up and Typhenous pointed a finger. He spoke.

“[Wind Blast].”

The air around him exploded. Erin felt the wind slam into her as the ball shot from Typhenous’ finger and struck Revi’s glove. The Stitch-Girl hurtled backwards with a shout. Earlia stared blankly at the space in front of her.

“Foul! That’s cheating!”

Erin waved her arms as Revi got up, cursing. Typhenous looked puzzled as Erin ran up to him. He leaned on his staff.

“Why would it be cheating, Miss Solstice? If a team can fly or use natural abilities and other players can use Skills, why can I not use a spell, at least to move the ball around?”

“Well—because—I mean, Skills aren’t—no one can hit that!”

“Hey! I can hit that! Give me a few swings and I’ll nail that thing!”

Earlia shouted as she swung the bat. Erin looked at her, and then at Revi. The Stitch-Girl was massaging her chest and cursing Typhenous loudly. Umpire Erin threw up her hands and gave up.

“Fine! But if your catcher can’t catch the ball, then the player can still run! That’s the new rule,  got it?”

“Very well.”

Typhenous nodded politely to Erin. She turned.

“I don’t think Revi can handle that ball. Maybe Halrac or Bevussa—”

“I’ve got this. Give me five minutes with some thread and cotton. Hey, [Alchemist]! Give me a hand here!”

Revi turned. Erin watched as she and Octavia went together to confer, and then disappeared into Erin’s inn. In that time Typhenous practiced shooting balls through the air. They didn’t curve or drop, but they moved so fast that Erin was sure he’d broken some kind of world record for pitching. She thought that the other adventurers would complain, but they seemed to enjoy the challenge.

When Revi came back, Erin took one look at her and didn’t see anything different. Until she saw Revi’s arms. The [Summoner]’s thin, brown arms had suddenly gone on a weight-training course with protein supplements in the course of five minutes. Revi’s arms were muscular. And bigger. The Stitch-Girl smirked as she took up the catcher’s mitt. She caught Earlia’s eye.

“What, you’ve never seen this trick? Stich-People are what we make ourselves. Hey Typhenous, throw me a ball!”

This time Revi caught the ball without being knocked over. Earlia swung and missed three times, as did her other teammate. Dawil got a hit—the impact sent the ball soaring high, right into Bevussa’s mitt. The Dwarf grumbled as he stopped running to first.

“Short legs, flying balls, running to each of the bases—this game wasn’t made for Dwarves! Hey half-Elf. I’ll catch, you throw. Got it?”

“Can you handle the ball, Dwarf?”

Falene brushed hair out of her face as she took the mound. Dawil grinned.

“Depends on whether you can make that ball fly faster. Come on, hit the glove! Unless you’ve not got more magic than Typhenous in you?”

The half-Elf smiled coolly at Dawil. She levitated the ball up, flicked her finger, and sent a burning fastball into Dawil’s mitt. A literally burning fastball. The heat from the impact and Dawil’s cursing as his glove and beard caught on fire made Erin flee.

“Foul! That’s illegal, Falene!”

“You damn pointy-eared pyromaniac! I’ll crap in your bag of holding!”

The Dwarf hurled the ball back at Falene. She sniffed, levitated the ball up, and looked pointedly past Dawil.

“Is this game commencing or not?”

She struck out Bevussa without a problem. And then Typhenous, who had problems telekinetically wielding the bat. And then Halrac came up to bat. He watched the first two balls whiz past him and then calmly struck the third.

The impact made the [Scout] wince, but the ball flew high overhead. It was a pop fly, but neither Ylawes nor Gemhammer were prepared for it. Halrac ran to first as Falene looked up—

Then the ball swerved in midair and flew over to tap Halrac in the back. Again Erin had to yell.

“Foul! Again! You can’t grab the ball with magic, Falene! No arguing! That’s one step too far!”

The half-Elf sighed as Halrac took first. Next was Revi. She got a hit—mainly from luck, and the ball went soaring. The Stitch-Girl still groused as she ran, though.

“Argh! I forgot how heavy these arms are! This is why I don’t wear muscle that often!”

Erin smiled. The game finally looked like it was going well! And the audience was loving it. Normal baseball could be fun, but watching Falene make the ball stop in midair and float back to her, and then argue with Erin whether that was legal or not? That was fun.

And it wasn’t just one team, either! Gnolls and Goblins and the two adventuring teams aside, there were other standouts as well. The Antinium Soldiers were slower than most and they had to use the special bat Erin had commissioned because of their odd hands, but they were as coordinated as the Goblins. And when they ran, the Players of Celum got out of the way. And they seemed to hit a surprising number of balls quite perfectly. And some of their catches were perfect. Almost…miraculous.

“Yes, I am praying for good fortune.”

Pawn admitted freely to Erin as he sat with a bowl of popcorn by his side. Yellow Splatters was signing to Purple Smile at bat. Erin stared at Pawn. The Worker paused.

“Is that illegal?”

“Um. Well, no. I think a lot of fans pray when their team’s playing. I just never thought it would work. I uh, I think it’s okay since you’re playing. And the Antinium are sort of at a disadvantage so yeah. But don’t you think it’s a bit…I dunno, not worth praying for?”

Pawn tilted his head.

“Why would I not pray? Is there some fault for doing so? It is not like prayer is a limited resource. Is it?”

“No…you know what? I think I’m in the wrong here. Keep on praying! Good luck!”

The first rounds of games ended with some predictable outcomes. The Gnolls beat the Goblins, due to superior fielding and the Hobs being the only ones who could hit far, although it was close. Griffon Hunt and the Wings of Pallass beat the Silver Swords and Gemhammer in the end. Both teams had [Mages] for pitchers, but the Wings could catch the balls that were hit. And the Players lost to the Antinium to no one’s surprise.

“Alright! Change it up! We’ll have new teams out there! Flamewardens get to play! Oh, and the Horns want a shot at things! Looks like people from Celum want to play—hey, is this going to be a grudge match between Liscor and Celum? And the third pitch can be…how about a kid’s game? Mrsha, Grev, get some teams together!”

The second round of games heated up fast. Literally. Erin wasn’t umpiring the kid’s game—that was Olesm’s job since Drassi had taken over announcing.

“—Mrsha up at bat. She’s so cute. You know, she was the one who helped save the Gnolls in the dungeon? Fact. And, by the way, she likes being scratched behind the ears. Only, don’t do it unless she asks because that’s very private for a Gnoll. You know, that reminds me of an encounter I had with this Gnoll guy back when I was a [Receptionist] working at the Adventurer’s Guild. Until I got fired that was—oh, look, Mrsha hit the ball and she’s running! Go Mrsha! She’s going to second base—”

Erin was umpiring the game between the adventuring teams. The Flamewardens were on one side with some Drakes and the Horns and Vuliel Drae were competing together, to their mutual displeasure. Meanwhile, the citizens from Liscor and Celum were trying to outdo each other in a heated match overseen by Halrac, who was a natural umpire. His keen eyes and sunny disposition meant that no one argued with him and he could call every pitch perfectly.

However, it was the shenanigans of both adventuring teams that had Erin ducking for cover, sometimes literally. She started with Keldrass’ team.

“You can’t set the balls on fire!”

“Why not? It’s just a bit of flame.”

“Yeah, but it could hit someone!”

“That’s what healing potions are for. Besides, that’s a walk, remember? This is just for…optical advantage.”

“Fine!”

The flaming fastballs that Keldrass served up were one thing. But then Ceria got the bright idea of trying her own take on it. Her first frozen fastball shattered into a thousand pieces.

“No shrapnel! No ice balls!”

Ceria looked embarrassed.

“Sorry, Erin.”

She threw a regular ball and one of the Drakes hit it into the air. Ksmvr ran after it as Pisces used his [Flash Step] to blink after the ball. But he didn’t get to it first. Ksmvr leapt into the air, so high he looked like he was flying! He caught the ball and threw it down to Pisces who threw it to first base. Erin gaped until she remembered Ksmvr had the Ring of Jumping. Naturally the Flamewardens protested, but Erin overruled them.

“That’s legal! You get to set balls on fire, he can use his ring! And Pisces can [Flash Step]! No buts!”

It was when the Flamewardens had a pair of runners on first and second that Erin began coughing. She saw smoke drifting from two of the Oldblood Drakes and saw Ceria coughing. She waved her arms.

“Stop blowing smoke!”

“It’s part of our ancestry! Don’t be racist, Human!”

“Shut it!”

Besides that, the game really was fun. Neither team was a powerhouse, but they had their own tricks. It actually took Halrac stomping over to help Erin with one problem. He pointed at Pisces who was patiently waiting on second base.

“Foul. Illusion spell!”

The image of Pisces vanished and he appeared, sneaking over to third base. Erin actually ruled that as legal, and the Drakes began poking Pisces to make sure he was really there whenever he was on base.

Of course, it wasn’t all just fun. Yvlon accidentally retired one of the Drakes on the opposite team when she smacked a ball straight into the side of his head. He had to lie down and Bird of all people was roped into playing. He did well in that he stood patiently in his position in the outfield, until a fly ball flew towards him. Then he raised his bow and shot it. Bird caught both ball and arrow. Erin waved her arms.

“No using weapons!”

But she was enjoying herself. The second round of games ended with a victory for the Horns mainly due to Pisces’ ability to run faster than anyone else, a victory for Celum mainly thanks to the Gnolls, and Mrsha’s team’s victory. That was because of Grev, whose ability to get his team to steal bases won most of the points.

“You know, there’s a rule that if you hit the ball beyond a fence it’s a home run no matter what. And I think you can’t keep stealing bases forever, but I could be wrong on that.”

Erin addressed her teams of players. They stared at her blankly. Relc grinned.

“So? It’s more fun this way. Hey, let’s play another game! Liscor’s Watch vs Celum’s Watch!”

That was received well by the Gnolls and Drakes and poorly by Celum’s Watch. Klbkch, who’d opted not to play, cocked his head and spoke calmly.

“I believe that game would be indefinitely long, Relc?”

“What? Don’t you have faith in us, Klb old buddy?”

“I do. I lack confidence in the opposing team’s ability to ever strike us out.”

“Hah!”

“No, no more sides! We’re all tired and I’m running out of sausage-dogs!”

Erin raised her voice to prevent a fight from breaking out. She took a deep breath.

“I think what we need…is a championship.”

That got everyone’s attention. Erin pointed at her first pitch, which was filled with trampled and dirty pillows.

“Here’s what I’m thinking. First, we expand the pitch. We make all the bases twice as far apart. Maybe even a bit more? Because the ball goes flying and you lot can run fast. Then, we make two teams. Not of one side or one adventuring team. Of the best. We take the best eighteen players and make two teams. Dream teams. And whichever side wins…gets a prize.”

“What’s the prize?”

Erin had no idea. She cast about, and then had it.

“Cake! And ice cream! I’ll make some right after we get back!”

Half of the players hadn’t ever had cake or ice cream or even knew what it was. But the other half did and that settled it. The next part was arguing over who would be in each team. Everyone wanted to join in. Jelaqua was quickly selected, as was Moore, although the poor half-Giant hadn’t hit a ball in a game yet. Jelaqua betrayed her earlier mockery of Moore by insisting he be on her team.

“You can be catcher, Moore! We need someone to catch Falene’s balls. She’s on my team, by the way.”

Yellow Splatters found a place on the opposite team, as did Relc. Pisces was nominated, as was Ksmvr for his jumping ability, and Bevussa was the only one of her team who got a spot. Halrac joined much to everyone’s surprise, as did Dawil despite his grumbling. Ylawes wasn’t picked, much to his unhappiness. Seborn and Ishkr found themselves on opposite sides and with a few more picks that Erin didn’t know by name, the teams were formed. However, there was one spot left and Erin filled it herself.

“Headscratcher gets a place!”

Some of the people from Celum loudly objected, but Erin overruled them.

“He can hit the ball as far as anyone else! He’s on the team! I say so!”

The Hob gave Erin a stunned look. She only smiled and waved at the Goblins who were sitting far from everyone else. The audience from Celum grumbled, but they fell silent as the teams took their places. It wasn’t Liscor vs Celum and it wasn’t adventurers vs Goblins. It was two teams, filled with all kinds of people working towards a common goal: cake. With extra frosting.

That wasn’t to say there weren’t sides. Erin could hear betting in the background and Olesm was conferring with Jelaqua on strategy, perhaps in exchange for some of the rewards if her team won. Erin also had to interrupt Octavia, who’d been making a killing selling ‘enhancements’ to each team.

“No potions! I want a clean game! Don’t make me shut you down! Is everyone ready?”

Both teams looked up. They nodded at Erin and she turned. The playing field was occupied by some of the audience who wanted to throw around a ball. Erin raised her voice.

“Alright, the final game is going to begin! Clear the field or you’ll get hit! All Mrshas must leave the field at once!”

Mrsha, who had been playing in the grass, looked up. She gazed around, realized she was the only Mrsha and gloomily left the field. She perked up when Lyonette offered her a cool drink. Erin was making a small fortune on food for her audience, although her regulars hadn’t paid. Yet.

“Okay! I will be your umpire! Drassi will commentate! Now, please welcome our two teams! At bat…uh…Team A!”

The audience cheered as nine players took the field. They were Halrac, Relc, Yellow Splatters, Bevussa, Falene, Dawil, Ishkr, a Gnoll and Wesle. The other team, Team B, took to the outfield.

Jelaqua, Seborn, Pisces, Ksmvr, Headscratcher, Moore, Keldrass, and two Drakes threw balls to each other and shouted good-natured insults at Team A. They grew still and the audience sat forwards as Erin looked around. The wind blew and the sky turned orange as Erin raised her hand.

“Play ball!”

—-

It wasn’t a game you’d see on Earth. And perhaps that didn’t make it baseball. There were a lot of rule violations, arguing over the legality of hexing your opponents or creating snares out of bone—or just plain cheating. But Erin thought that was what made the game so great. It wasn’t baseball. It was magic baseball. And that meant there were only a few dull moments.

Each time Falene shot a fastball into Dawil’s waiting glove, the audience groaned. She made just hitting the ball a challenge! And she could make the ball wiggle around in the air like a snake, even vanish! The only person who could hit her reliably was Pisces. All he had to do was tap the ball and take off and he was practically impossible to catch. His [Flash Steps] were as useful on the offense as defense and only Relc could keep up with him.

But that was the thing. When the Gecko of Liscor hit the ball it flew far. And he could sprint around the bases so quick that the only way to get him out was to catch a fly ball. However, he was only one powerhouse on his team. Team B had Jelaqua and Headscratcher. Even Dawil and Yellow Splatters could not hit the ball nearly as far as those two.

Erin hadn’t predicted it, but the games quickly became a battle between excellent defense and offense. Team A had Bevussa’s wings, Ishkr’s catching ability and Halrac’s eyes. Not to mention Falene’s magic pitches. On the other side, Team B had Jelaqua, Pisces, Headscratcher, and Seborn.

At first he was the underrated player of Team B. But after the second time he stole a base, every eye was on him whenever he got onto a plate. It wasn’t easy. Even when you watched him, Seborn could slip away into the shadows. And catching him?

“It’s a hit from Jelaqua! Seborn is running, but—oh no, Dawil’s got the ball and is at home plate! Seborn’s running back, but now Ishkr’s covering third base!”

Drassi’s tone was excited as Seborn found himself cornered between the Dwarf and Gnoll. He ran back as Dawil threw the ball to Ishkr, turned back, found himself menaced by Dawil who had the ball, and wavered. The two closed in as Seborn stood on the baselines. The Drowned Man dodged back as Dawil ran at him with the ball, took two steps back, and then flipped over Dawil’s head. He sprinted down to home base as the crowd roared. Erin was on her feet.

“Safe! Safe! He never left the lines! That was amazing!”

The baseball game went back and forth. 0-3. 1-3. 7-8. 10-16.  The final inning was 18-18 and everyone on their feet. Halrac’s team was first at bat. The [Scout] glared at Jelaqua as she tried to walk him. He eyed the ball as Jelaqua threw it to Moore a good six feet to his right. On the third pitch, Halrac threw the bat. It smacked the ball out of the air.

Every eye turned to Erin. She gaped for a second and then waved her arms.

“It’s good! Go, go!”

Halrac ran. He slid to first, and a sacrifice fly from Relc put his team on second base. Their next hitter, Ishkr, struck out. But the game entered the last round with their team in the lead. And fortune didn’t favor Team B at first.

Halrac caught Pisces sneaking bases. And Keldrass just couldn’t run fast enough to get to first base. Jelaqua swore as she hit her way onto second base. She waited there as the next batter took his position. Moore looked close to tears as Falene smiled and levitated the baseball up. He had yet to hit the ball and his team had two outs. He looked sadly at Jelaqua and she shook her head.

“Just hit the ball, Moore! Get on to first base and Headscratcher will do the rest!”

Jelaqua shouted at Moore. The half-Giant swung his bat as Falene smiled and waved. The crowd was cheering.

“Moore! Moore! Moore!”

“Skystrall! Falene! Skystrall!”

“Throw the ball, half-Elf!”

Dawil roared at Falene from behind the safety mask he was wearing, which was, in fact, a helmet. Falene nodded.

The first ball hit Dawil’s mitt so fast that Erin barely saw it. Any suggestion of Falene’s taking it easy on Moore vanished as Dawil threw the ball back. The second ball curved under Moore’s bat. The audience groaned. Moore shook his head. He looked around, visibly bracing himself for boos. Then he caught sight of the little white Gnoll sitting in Lyonette’s arms. She waved at him.

Maybe it was the power of Mrsha’s silent cheering that did it. Maybe it was Pawn whispering a prayer. Or maybe it was just Moore. But as the third ball came screaming down the plate, he swung—and connected.

“It hit!”

Erin leapt to her feet. Falene’s eyes went wide. She turned as Dawil threw down his mitt. Moore stared and then began running. He moved slowly, but it didn’t matter. The ball flew through the air as if gravity had forgotten about it. Erin’s jaw dropped as it flew through the air. A hundred feet, two hundred, four hundred…six hundred? She couldn’t guess. But the ball was just a speck in the air. No one could catch it.

No one but Bevussa. The Garuda was in the air as the ball flew. She had the mitt in hand, but she abandoned it as the ball flew. She shot after the ball like blue lightning. The ball was falling. Bevussa dove towards the ground, talons outstretched.

“She’s gonna crash!”

Drassi screamed. The ball fell—and Bevussa snatched it out of the air. She raised the ball as everyone in the field shot to their feet. Erin cheered, and then saw Moore staring with a melancholy smile at Bevussa. He waved a hand and turned as the Garuda flew back. And then he saw Jelaqua charging at him.

“That was amazing!”

The Selphid tackled Moore in a hug. The audience flooded the field. The game was over, three outs, 19-18. And it had been Moore that hit the losing shot. But what a hit! The half-Giant found himself at the center of a crowd that was wise enough not to try and lift him on their backs. He smiled helplessly as they surged around him, laughing, talking, cheering Bevussa, the players, and the game.

“What a game.”

Erin stood in the field afterwards. The ground was muddy and broken feathers from one of her pillows were spread about. Wherever she looked she saw muddy, dirty people. But smiles. Erin looked around and grinned. She saw Mrsha riding on Moore’s shoulders, Bevussa drinking from a cup that never ran dry, and Headscratcher standing among the Goblins as they surrounded him, cheering their hero. Erin smiled and turned to Ceria. The half-Elf smiled at her.

“A nice day?”

“A nice day. And a good game.”

The two smiled at each other. Erin held out a hand and Ceria placed something in it. A baseball. Worn, dirty, the hide cover torn off in one spot. Erin stared at it.

“Baseball’s sort of fun, isn’t it?”

“Just a bit.”

Erin nodded. She tossed the ball up and down and then shrugged.

“I still like chess better. Hey, you wanna eat dinner?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

5.47 G

Even when he’d left, even on the days when he sat in the sand or snow, Velan could still remember the humid heat, hear the buzz of insects and feel the wet soil under his feet. As he swam across the ocean he still remembered his home.

It was that place that had shaped him. Given him the strength to do what no other Goblin could. It was there he had learned the truth of war, and gained the name of Velan the Kind. But it had not been kindness he had first shown, or been given.

Baleros. The continent was war and death. So much of it that sometimes the jungles ran red with blood. So much that the warring species, Dullahan, Gazers, Lizardfolk, Centaurs, and Humans, didn’t have time for Goblins skulking in the undergrowth. Until the Goblins caused trouble, that was. Or when a Goblin killed a person.

When that happened they hunted Goblins. They sent adventurers or hired mercenary companies. Velan didn’t know what had started the first raids on his tribe, the Clean Grass tribe. But the Bronze-rank adventurers came and began slaughtering his people. So he fought them. He killed them. And in response, they sent Silver-rank adventurers. And then Gold-rank teams. And he killed them.

Velan had learned to make medicines for his tribe out of the plants and animals of Baleros. Now he created poisons. At first his tribe overwhelmed the attackers and adventurers, looted their corpses and left their bodies as warnings.

But the enemy kept coming. And then they sent a company into the jungle. Velan led Hobs against them and shattered the Screaming Vine company into pieces. But then they sent four companies. And they slaughtered his tribe. So he slaughtered them back. And they fought and fought.

He was not known as Velan the Kind then. He was just Velan. And for his tribe he bathed in blood. Until he grew sick of the slaughter. But they kept on coming even when he ran. They chased him and turned the jungles to ash. So he fled. As Goblins do. As Goblins have always done.

And they killed his warriors. They killed his Hobs. They killed his entire tribe until the broken survivors left. And Velan stood amid the ashes and wept. He left Baleros then. He flung himself into the ocean and swam, not caring if he was eaten or drowned. He swam for days. He swam for weeks. He swam for months. And he did not die. And then—

Rags’ head jerked upright. She heard a blaring horn in the distance. She looked around. Her Carn Wolf raised its head and looked around nervously. The Goblins lying on the ground jerked upright. They heard another horn blare. Rags scrambled to her feet.

“Up! They come! We go!”

She pointed. The Flooded Water goblins got to their feet. They could hear pounding hoof beats. The Humans were coming. The first [Fireball] exploded overhead. Rags shouted as Goblins ran around in a panic.

“No run!”

It was a warning shot. But they had to move now. The Goblins quieted at the sound of her voice. They formed into ranks and began to move. They left campfires unattended, dropped everything not essential and ran. The Hobs grabbed supplies and packed the rest onto the wagons. They pushed the wagons as the exhausted pack animals were spurred into motion. Some refused to budge. They were left. The Goblins ran.

As they did. As they always had done. Rags grabbed her Carn Wolf’s fur and hauled herself up. It whined as she patted it on the head. It loped ahead as the Goblins fled. The Human force was advancing behind them. Not fast enough to overtake them if the Goblins ran, but if they fell behind—Rags glanced behind her.

If there were Goblins who fell behind, they would be dead. She saw the stragglers running to catch up. Some were faltering—but then a huge Hob snapped an order. He ran back with two dozen Hobs. They grabbed the smaller Goblins and carried them, running faster than the others despite their burdens. Pyrite met Rags’ eyes. She nodded.

“Go! Redfangs in front!”

Her tribe ran. Rags rode ahead, her sleep-weary mind trying to work. She saw her tribe looking up to her. Rags sat up straighter. But she was trying to remember. What had Velan done then? What had he discovered? They had killed his tribe. He hadn’t stopped it. And he had become a Goblin King. What was the solution? Did it lie in memory, or in the past? Rags bowed her head. She rode on, fleeing.

As she always had.

—-

Day 3

It was a pattern. A…shape. Something. Rags understood that. As she scarfed down food while riding, her mind focused. She tore hungrily into the dry bread and bit of horsemeat, watching as the [Cook] Goblin handed out more food from the back of the wagon.

Her tribe was on the march. Rags jogged away from the wagon, watching it roll ahead as more Goblins wearily approached the back and then away with food in their hands. They ate as they moved at a jog. The landscape slowly moved past as Rags ate and looked around.

Exhausted Goblins. Half-dead animals. Carn Wolves, padding along with heads bowed. Rags could see Goblins with red war paint trying to feed their mounts and give them water. They, like Rags, were on foot. The Carn Wolves were too tired to carry their riders. The few Goblins that were on the back of the Carn Wolves were small. Children. Rag’s personal wolf bore a pair of babies held by a female Goblin. Their mother was dead.

The stream of Goblins that moved across the grassy landscape was an army. Thousands of Goblins armed with crossbows, some carrying pikes, and hundreds of Hobs. Rags would have considered this a dominant tribe in any part of Izril. And yet, they were running.

It wasn’t something you could see at first. The Goblins kept moving on their desperate march without any clear reason at first. But then Rags heard a horn blow. She looked up and saw the Goblins ahead of her moving left. Moments later she saw a group of Humans on horseback riding hard at the forward edge of their tribe. They forced the Goblins to run left, through a field of dewy grass rather than continue onwards. Rags could see the [Knights] and soldiers in armor drawing rein with bared blades, ready to charge any stragglers that came towards them.

No Goblin did. They moved, keeping an eye on the Humans on horseback. Rags could see one of the Humans, a [Mage] dressed in robes, raising his fingers to his temple. He was probably communicating with the Humans following them. The main force.

They were following. Over five thousand Humans on horseback, the small army that Lord Tyrion Veltras had brought to Laken Godart’s rescue had dogged the Flooded Waters tribe for the last three days. For three days they’d pursued Rags and her tribe, forcing them to run or die. Rags had tried to evade them or find somewhere to hide, but the Humans were relentless. They were faster than her people and while her tribe outnumbered them, Rags was under no illusion of what would happen if they fought.

She’d seen the Humans galloping towards her tribe. She’d counted the number of Humans in full plate armor, assessed the quality of their commander. They had [Knights], the same kind of warrior as Lady Bethal’s Knights of the Petal. And the regular soldiers were disciplined.

Their commander was a Lord. Lord Pellmia, who had powerful Skills that allowed him to revitalize his forces and move them around even faster than normal. And they had [Mages]. They’d blown open the gates to the city with a single spell and Rags guessed that any one of them was equivalent to Noears, her best spellcaster.

If Rags had to fight an army like that, she would have wanted at least twice as many Goblins at her back and a thousand more Hobs. The Humans had too much armor, and too much magic behind them. They could kill Rags’ tribe, overrun them in a series of charges, regardless of the pikes Rags had at her disposal.

She even knew how she’d do it if she were Lord Pellmia. She’d blast apart the units of Goblins with pikes from afar then charge her [Knights] in with hundreds of soldiers following. Split the Goblins apart, shatter their formations. After that it would be a bloody slaughter. Hobs were strong, but even they would die to Humans charging on horseback with lances.

But they hadn’t. The Humans had just pursued Rags’ tribe these last few days. And she had a suspicion that they wouldn’t kill her tribe, not unless she fought against them. They were driving the Goblins somewhere. Rags had no map of the area, but she knew they were headed east and south. Each day, Pellmia’s forces roused the Goblins at the break of dawn and made them move at a blistering pace across the landscape, avoiding Human settlements.

Why? Rags didn’t know. She only knew that Lord Tyrion, the Human with the cold stare who’d effortlessly crushed her tribe, had a plan. She hadn’t seen him since the first day, but Lord Pellmia had stayed true to his bet. He’d rapidly found Rags’ tribe and forced them to move or die. And many had died.

Many. They’d been fighting the Emperor. They’d been winning, despite the poison, despite the death! They could have won and then escaped, healed their wounds. Instead they were here, with thousands of Goblins lying dead behind them and nothing to show for it. That was her fault. Rags closed her eyes then stumbled. She wind milled her arms and felt someone grab her.

“Chieftain.”

Poisonbite steadied Rags. The smaller Goblin nodded up at her. Poisonbite looked weary, but she bared her teeth. It wasn’t really a grin. She pointed ahead.

“Redscar say there water ahead. Creek. Humans see too. We rest?”

Rags looked around. The Humans on horseback had vanished, but she knew they were constantly keeping pace with her tribe, some moving ahead while the majority stayed on their heels.

“If they let. Get water skins. Buckets. If we not stop, fill as we go.”

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Poisonbite jogged ahead. Rags saw the Goblins part in front of her. Some glanced back. They’d already heard her order and it was spreading at the speed of Goblin. Within minutes, even the Goblins at the rear were readying buckets or flasks and moving faster, hoping to drink enough water before they had to run again.

“Chieftain!”

Rags heard a loud voice. She looked around and saw a shape riding towards her. Redscar alone was on his Carn Wolf. He gritted his teeth as he slowed to meet her. He was guiding his mount one-handed. Rags eyed his shoulder where he’d been impaled by Tyrion’s lance three days prior. Redscar looked like he was in pain, but he offered her a hand and swung Rags up despite it. He turned his Carn Wolf.

“Humans slowing. Can drink water. Rest.”

Rags sighed with relief.

“Good. You rest too.”

“Can scout.”

“Or can rest. Shoulder still healing.”

The scarred Goblin grimaced. He rubbed at his shoulder.

“Had potion.”

Rags poked him in the back of his shoulder. Redscar snarled. She met his angry glare.

“Not good potion. You rest. Wolf needs too.”

“Thunderfur.”

The Carn Wolf looked up and whined. Rags shrugged. Redscar was attached to his Carn Wolf, which was larger than all but Garen’s. He cared more for it than himself, which was why he reluctantly agreed to rest. He’d been riding ahead, scouting the terrain nonstop these last few days. Rags thought it was Redscar’s way of atoning for his failure to defeat Tyrion, or slay the [Emperor]. But it wasn’t his fault. Again, it was hers.

The stream was fast-moving and situated in a prairie filled with yellowed, tough stalks rather than much grass. The exhausted Goblins flocked towards it, drinking and filling their containers. There were so many that Rags actually saw the water level of the stream drop and almost halt for a little bit. She filled her water flask, drank greedily, and then wiped her mouth. She looked around and whistled.

Heads turned. Some of the Goblins who’d been overseeing the others jogged over. Rags’ lieutenants appeared. Quietstab, Poisonbite, Noears, and Pyrite. They joined Redscar as he poured water over his wolf’s head, letting the animal shake itself and muttering soothing words. Rags let her officers drink. She inspected them.

They were all tired. Like her, they’d been moving constantly. And they’d been supervising the other Goblins, making sure essentials were taken care of, like the animals being fed or finding wood to cook food with on the march.

Pyrite looked the most tired. He hadn’t stopped moving since he woke up. He’d helped carry tired Goblins, push wagons out of ruts in the road, and helped carry the supplies that the dwindling number of pack animals couldn’t bear on their own. He sat in the stream, letting the water flow around his legs and splashed some in his face.

“How long do we rest, Chieftain?”

Noears looked at Rags. His hands were sooty. Despite not fighting against the Humans, Noears had been at the head of the tribe. He’d been hitting birds and other animals with lighting, killing them to supplement the dwindling food supply. Rags shrugged.

“Twenty minutes. Humans follow soon.”

The others nodded tiredly. They sat and drank and one of the Goblins brought food for Pyrite, who hadn’t eaten. He chomped the food down fast. Rags bowed her head tiredly. She knew the other Goblins were watching her. But for a moment she let herself sag.

“What did I do wrong?”

The other Goblins looked at her. Rags saw Redscar glance up. Quietstab looked alarmed.

“Nothing, Chieftain.”

Poisonbite and Noears nodded, although Noears was more hesitant. Poisonbite scowled.

“Good fights. Was winning. Humans cheat.”

“Chieftain did things right. Nothing wrong.”

The others nodded at that. Pyrite just splashed more water over his face. Rags shook her head. It had to be something. She looked at Pyrite. He met her eyes. She opened her mouth to ask him—

“Humans coming!”

A warning cry sounded from behind them. Rags whirled. That was too quick! Lord Pellmia wasn’t an idiot. He knew the Goblins couldn’t keep moving without rest. But it wasn’t he who was bearing down on the Goblins from the rear.

“Get moving, you filth!”

A loud, almost exuberant shout echoed from the young man riding towards them. Around a hundred soldiers were at his back. They rode towards the Goblins from behind. Rags saw the Goblins getting up. She shot to her feet.

“Move!”

The Goblins scrambled to pack their gear and move. The Humans drew rein, watching them move with clear distaste. The first ranks of Goblins surged forwards, wearily prodding the pack animals forward. Rags saw some of the mules lying down. It was hard to get them to stand up, and the Goblins had to force them to their feet with sticks. One of the mules tried to kick, but a nearby Hob grabbed it.

She was wrestling with the mule, trying to get it to move forwards as the unhappy animal began to whinny. The Goblins were all moving ahead of her. Rags saw the Humans waiting, but then the young man who seemed to be leading them decided he was done waiting. He spurred his mount and rode at the Hob with a shout.

“Lord Gilam, wait!”

One of the riders called out a warning, but the young [Lord] paid him no heed. He bore down on the Hob who looked up and saw the danger. Rather than run, she grabbed the club at her side.

“Run!”

Rags was on her feet. She shouted at the Hob, waving her arms. But the Hob didn’t budge. She’d had enough. The Human on horseback swung his sword as he charged her. She tried to dodge, but Rags saw the young man’s blade blur. He cut deep into her shoulder, effortlessly slicing through flesh and into bone. His sword was enchanted! The Hob groaned. Blood ran from her shoulder as the young man laughed.

But she was a Hob. And the cocky Human lordling had only wounded her. The Hob transferred her club to her other hand and raised it. She smashed it into the young man’s stomach. He yelped. The force of her blow was mitigated by his armor, but the impact still sent him reeling back. His warhorse reared, striking the Hob with its hooves. She dodged back and raised her club. Rags saw the Hob run around the side of the horse. She was going to knock the Human off! She grabbed his arm as the Human slashed her. She pulled and he tilted—

“Loose!”

Rags heard the snapping of bowstrings. She saw a flight of arrows shoot from the Humans on horseback. They feathered the Hob, piercing her from behind. She staggered. But her hand was still on the Human’s arm. He swore, cutting at her with his sword. His blows were erratic, but the enchanted blade finally sheared through the Hob’s arm. She fell and Gilam rode his horse back. He waved his sword at her nervously until he realized she was dead.

“Lord Gilam!”

The other Humans rode forwards, surrounding him. They needn’t have bothered; the Goblins were all running. The wagon lay in place, the pair of mules tethered to it straining to get away from the blood and the dead Hob.

One of the older Humans was speaking to Gilam.

“Lord Gilam, your father explicitly said to give the Goblins ten more minutes. Attacking the Goblins goes against Lord Veltras’ orders.”

“Be silent, Kilmet. They’re moving faster now that I showed them what happens when they lag. And I’ve bagged a Hob. You needn’t have interfered! I had it nearly dead on my first strike!”

The young man waved his bloody sword. The older man bowed his head.

“It’s my duty to keep you safe.”

“You and my father! I didn’t ride all this way to stay behind the lines, Kilmet!”

“But this is a war, young lord. And your father—”

Gilam’s face turned red.

“Fine! Enough! I’ll go back since those Goblins are so precious.”

He whirled his mount. The other Humans didn’t quite glare at him as Kilmet sighed and motioned for an escort to follow his master back. Gilam rode back, holding his bloody blade aloft. He turned, looking in satisfaction at the running Goblins and paused.

Rags stood together with the others. She was staring at Gilam. Not running. Pyrite, Quietstab, Poisonbite, Redscar, and Noears all stared silently at Gilam. The young man hesitated. Then he gestured at Kilmet angrily.

“Loose some arrows! I want those Goblins moving!”

“Young lord, you know that’s the Goblin—”

“I don’t care! I want—”

Gilam turned back. He stared at the place Rags had been, but only saw Goblins. They were all moving now, and the chieftain was gone. He glared at their backs, but then turned and rode away. Kilmet eyed the moving Goblins and then turned to one of the [Mages].

“Send a message to Lord Pellmia. Inform him the Goblins have begun moving. We’ll have to follow.”

“Damned idiot. We all need a break, not just the Goblins.”

The [Mage] grumbled as she began sending the spell. She wasn’t a retainer to Lord Pellmia’s house. Kilmet opened his mouth, but forbade comment. He watched Gilam riding back and shook his head. It was an inconvenience Lord Pellmia would not be pleased about, but his affection for his son meant that Gilam would get away with just a lecture. And it wasn’t as if a single Hob mattered to whatever plan Lord Tyrion Veltras had, after all. He let the Hob’s corpse lie and gave orders to untether the mules. That was all he thought on the matter. It was another dead Goblin.

But Rags remembered. All the Goblins did.

—-

“Twofeather.”

Rags looked up. Pyrite sat around the small campfire. He stared into it, chewing slowly on the soup he’d been given. He glanced up.

“Her name.”

The dead Hob. Rags nodded. She stirred her soup with her wooden spoon, appetite low. She forced herself to eat anyways. She had to sleep soon.

It was night. The Goblins lay on a natural stone road, which was where they’d gotten when the Humans had stopped pursuing them. They hadn’t even bothered to find a more suitable spot to rest; they’d just collapsed in exhaustion.

Small cook fires were the only sources of light. Goblins lay around them, eating and then rolling over and sleeping at once. Rags sat at her fire with Pyrite. Her legs burned. She didn’t know how far she’d run. With her [Fleet Foot] Skill, her tribe could move very quickly. But the Humans had pushed them to their limits even so.

It was the end of the third day. Unlike the previous two nights, Rags hadn’t called for her lieutenants. She didn’t have another plan that involved outrunning the Humans or giving them the slip. She just ate and stared into the fire. After a while she looked up.

“Know her? Twofeather?”

Pyrite shrugged.

“Fought with. Knew. Close-by tribe when I was Chieftain. Good fighter. In battle against Humans at city, watched back.”

“Why name?”

The Hob touched his pointed ears.

“Wore two feather.”

“Oh. What bird?”

“Duck.”

“Duck?”

“Liked to eat duck.”

“Duck is good.”

“Mhm.”

That was all there was to it. Rags bowed her head. She hadn’t known Twofeather personally, but the Hob had been part of her tribe. She’d fought for her, and now she had died for Rags. The small Chieftain stared into the fire. Pyrite finished his bowl and then looked up. He stared at Rags for a while. Then spoke.

“What did you do wrong?”

Rags looked up at him. Pyrite shifted his heavy body.

“Others say you did nothing wrong. But you think you did things wrong. What?”

“Should have run. Shouldn’t have fought.”

The small Goblin shook her head. Pyrite scratched his.

“But Humans attacked first.”

“After we attack army. Should have let be.”

“But were killing Frostfeeder tribe.”

Rags had forgotten about that. She hesitated.

“Okay. Should have run after poison attack.”

“Didn’t know where to run. Humans hunting. You…unconscious.”

Pyrite tapped his head. Rags scowled at him.

“Then run after!”

“But Humans following. Had to take city.”

“Then run then!”

“But Humans—”

Rags threw her bowl at Pyrite. He raised his claw as the dregs of her soup splashed over him. The two stared at each other in silence. Then Pyrite began licking the soup off his hand.

“Good soup.”

“Bad soup. Tastes like mule.”

Rags drew her legs to her chest and hugged them. Pyrite watched as his Chieftain sulked. After a while he lowered his clean hand and began scraping dried soup off his chest.

“Chieftain did everything she thought was right.”

“She did. Now we run and many die. For nothing.”

The small Goblin spoke into her lap. Pyrite shrugged again.

“Not your fault. Humans attack. Sneaky [Lord]. Lots of armored Humans. Can’t beat. Inevitable.”

“Could have run.”

“Could have. But didn’t. And Chieftain gave one new thing for all tribe.”

Rags looked up suspiciously.

“What?”

Pyrite tapped his chest.

“Level. Me. Redscar. Others. Level. I get Skill. Chieftain gets two Skills. And spell.”

“For thousands of dead Goblins.”

Again the Hob shrugged.

“Didn’t say it was good trade.”

Rags stared at him and then laughed. She uncurled from her ball of self-loathing and stretched out. Pyrite was relieved to see that. He looked around.

“More soup?”

“No.”

The Hob grunted and stood up. He came back with a bowl for himself. Rags eyed it. Now she did want soup. Pyrite noticed and got up. He came back with another bowl and Rags took it with a nod. They ate in silence for a while. Eventually, Rag spoke.

“[Rapid Reload]. And flashfire spell…spellcraft? ”

“Mm. And [Burning Blades].”

Rags snorted. She reached for the shortsword at her side and drew the blade. Pyrite saw her lift it up a bit and mutter a word. The blade burst into flame. Rags waved it around and then rolled her eyes.

“Ooh. Good spell.”

That was sarcasm. Pyrite shrugged, and then nodded. Rags’ new Skills were common knowledge now. The Goblins had been suitably impressed by her new levels. And her Skills were good.

[Rapid Reload] was a Skill that affected the entire tribe. With it, her crossbows and archers could fire even quicker. That was a solid, decent little Skill by anyone’s standards. Rag’s other Skill, [Flashfire Spellcraft] was equally useful, if only to Rags. With it, She could manipulate fire, make it form shapes and use it without needing a specific spell. She could also do tricks like fire a [Fire Arrow] three times as large as a regular one.

According to Noears, this was one of the first steps a [Mage] took. The other Goblins had seen it as a sign that their Chieftain was growing in good ways. They all agreed that [Burning Blades] wasn’t a good spell, though.

The thing was, it was just a spell that set one’s weapons on fire. Not with magical fire either. Just on fire. The flames were hot and they’d last for a good three minutes until they went out. Unless the weapon was wooden. Then the fire would just burn the wood up.

It wasn’t a great spell. It wasn’t even a decent one. Oh, sure, there were probably some Bronze-rank adventurers out there that thought a spell like that was useful, but Goblins were practical. Setting your blade on fire just made it hot to hold. It ruined your night vision and it didn’t really hurt your foe. What was a flaming blade going to do that a regular one wouldn’t? If you stabbed someone in the back, a bit of fire wasn’t going to make them die any quicker. Besides, flaming blades were terrible for sneak attacks.

“Maybe spell has hidden uses.”

“Like what?”

“Maybe…can chase away biting bugs?”

Rags frowned.

“Maybe. That useful. Little bit. But stupid spell. Wanted [Fireball] instead. Can use this, but only for one thing. Starting campfires.”

“Mm. Is handy.”

The little Goblin raised her bowl threateningly, but Pyrite didn’t budge. After a while, Rags sat back. She stared up at the stars in the night’s sky. They were beautiful. She lay back and Pyrite ate his soup silently. Then, since Rags had only eaten half of hers, he picked up her bowl and began eating. She didn’t comment.

“I dreamed of him.”

“Who?

“Velan.”

Pyrite froze. He looked up at Rags. She lay on her back, staring at the night sky.

“Not much. Can’t see much. But looked for clue.”

“And?”

“He attacked other species. They attacked back. Killed his tribe.”

“Hmm.”

“Like this. We attack, we die.”

“Humans not kill us yet.”

Rags looked up and gave Pyrite a withering glance.

“Yet. They have plan. Then we die.”

“Mm. True.”

The two sat there a while longer. After he’d finished with Rags’ bowl, Pyrite piled the two up. He stared into the fire and then spoke.

“Forty three.”

“What?”

“Killed forty three Humans. In battle. Before other Humans came.”

Rags sat up. She stared at Pyrite. Forty three? By himself? Pyrite glanced at her. His crimson eyes were tired.

“I was angry. I killed Humans. Tried to kill the armored one. And a half-Troll. And the pointy-hat Human. Didn’t kill any. So I killed other Humans. Lots.”

“I didn’t kill any. Emperor got away. Tried to make surrender. Couldn’t. Was going to kill when others showed up.”

Pyrite looked at Rags. He shifted, poked the fire with a stick and sent sparks flurrying up.

“Emperor. What was he like?”

Rags closed her eyes.

“He—he strange. He was strange. He had—”

Rags struggled to find the words and then gave up. She showed Pyrite as she spoke in their tongue to him. The strange man—young!—with closed eyes. And yet how he seemed to see her. And his smile. The way he laughed and was sad. And defied peace despite the slaughter both knew it would bring.

The rest Pyrite knew already. Tyrion’s arrival, Redscar’s injury—that was the stuff of despair and legends. But Rags had not spoken to anyone of her meeting with Laken Godart. It hadn’t mattered, but it did matter at the same time. Pyrite nodded along. He looked at Rags as her shoulders hunched and her words ran dry.

“He told me he could not make peace. Because I killed his people. He was sad because he could not. And angry. Sad and angry. Not what I thought.”

“What did you expect?”

Rags paused.

“A monster. Wished he was one.”

Pyrite nodded. That would have made things so much easier.

“Pyrite?”

“Mm?”

He waited. Rags stared at her hands.

“Was killing them wrong? They killed us. We killed them. Was it wrong?”

“Don’t know.”

Pyrite answered honestly. He could still remember the anger. He could still remember the fury as he faced down the Humans. But he remembered Sir Kerrig and Welca as well. He didn’t know. He wished he did.

He looked at Rags. She was smaller than she normally seemed. Or maybe she was just letting her guard down around him. He searched for words to say that would make his Chieftain stronger, but he had none. Things had happened. There was no changing it. But it had gone poorly. And it wasn’t Rags’ fault. But she had been in command. Pyrite understood that.

The Hob sat restlessly. Rags could see him shifting now and then. She felt tired. Hollow. The weight of her tribe rested on her shoulders. It was…heavy. But Rags refused to cave in. She refused to give up.

She stared into the fire. It crackled, the wood collapsing and the embers burning low. But neither she nor Pyrite made any effort to refuel it. They would have to run again tomorrow, as soon as they rose. Rags stared at her shortsword.

“Running. Fourth day tomorrow.”

“Mm.”

“Can’t do forever. Humans bringing us somewhere. But tribe will die before then. Animals already dying. Ate half of them today.”

“And food. Less to carry.”

“Less to eat.”

“Can’t fix now.”

“No.”

Rags shook her head. She looked at the fire and her sword. She glanced up. Something. There had to be something. She thought of her memory of Velan. And like that she had a plan. Another plan. Rags sat up, her eyes widening. But then she sagged.

It was a bad plan. Or rather, it wouldn’t change things. It might make things worse, actually. But it was all she had. They could keep running or they could fight. That was their only option. She didn’t know which would be better. Running meant they’d slowly die. But she’d fought before. She’d burned the Human’s lands, killed them, broken an army. And it had been for nothing.

“Pyrite.”

The Hob looked up. Rags stared at him.

“What?”

“Have a plan.”

His ears perked up.

“Really?”

Rags smiled wearily.

“I am your Chieftain. I always have plan.”

“Will it save tribe? Get rid of Humans?”

The Goblin hesitated and then shook her head.

“No. Not enough. Hurt them. Make them mad. Should do? Or…keep running?”

Pyrite hesitated. He fell silent and stared into the fire. When he looked up he shrugged.

“Don’t know, Chieftain. Could make things worse. Could make things better. Don’t know. But trust you to do right thing.”

“What? Why?”

Rags scowled at Pyrite. All her plans had backfired! She’d gotten her tribe killed! Pyrite looked at Rags calmly.

“Because Chieftain is smart. Tribe still follows. So Chieftain think and decide. And we follow. For better or worse, Chieftain Rags. Show us smart thing. Show us hope.”

“Hope? What hope? There is no hope!”

Rags leapt up. She grabbed at her head as Pyrite looked at her, raising her voice despite the late hour.

“Goblins die! Tribe is running! Humans chase us! We run—and die—and run and die! Again and again! Ever since I lead!”

“But we are here. Because of you. Because you had ideas. Because you didn’t give up.”

“I only did stupid things!”

“But no one else did them.”

Pyrite pointed at Rags. He stood slowly, grunting with effort. He looked down at Rags. And when he spoke, his voice was measured. Calm.

“When I was alone, I did not know how to lead the tribe. When you woke I was relieved. You had the plan that beat the Humans. You defeated the [Emperor]. And when the other Humans came, when they cheated, you were the one who led us away.”

He pointed at Rags.

“You, Chieftain. We could not do it. Quietstab could not. Poisonbite could not. Noears could not. Redscar could not. I could not. But you did. You keep trying. You have plans where we do not. That is why we follow. For hope. Because you see what we can’t. Show us it again. Show us something that will surprise everyone.”

He stared down at Rags. The small Goblin blinked up at him, stunned. Pyrite bowed his head. Then he sat. He lay on his back. He went to sleep there and then as Rags stood, paralyzed by a strange feeling in her chest. She stared at Pyrite as the Hob began to snore.

Pyrite trusted her. Even now. Even after—

Rags looked at her hand. Her fingers like claws. Dirty, small. But hers. She closed them slowly. Then Rags looked around her camp.

Hundreds, thousands of small campfires burned low. Goblins lay around them, silent shapes, occasionally moving. Thousands. Months ago, Rags could have never dreamed of so many Goblins, let alone so many under her command. But they had become hers. They followed her. Trusted her. Rags looked around.

“Not a good plan. But…”

Show us hope. Rags’ tired shoulders rose. Her back straightened. She probably couldn’t defeat so many Humans even if she pulled off her plan perfectly. Maybe, but the odds were small everything would work out that well. But she thought of the young Human riding back triumphantly with blood on his sword. Her hand clenched into a fist. She could hurt them, though.

Oh yes. She could hurt them. Rags turned and looked at the fire. It burned bright as she lay down. She was so tired. But as she slept she felt better. Not because she was rested. The ground was hard and rocky. And not because she was fed. The soup really was bad despite what Pyrite said. No, she felt better. Because she had to be. She was a Chieftain. And at last, Rags thought she understood what that meant.

[Chieftain Level 25!]

—-

Day 4

Pyrite was sleeping when the horn blew. He leapt to his feet before he was even awake. After four days the need to move was already conditioned into his body. He saw other Goblins scrambling to their feet. Wearily, Pyrite rubbed his eyes. He felt exhausted despite his sleep. He looked around.

“Move! Humans coming!”

The Hob’s voice made the other Goblins look up. They shook other Goblins awake, kicking or slapping them to get the tired Goblins up. The camp roused itself, but Pyrite could sense the weariness in the air. He stumbled as he tried to make his mind work. Food? No, they had to go now. They could dish out food on the wagons. But it was so early. They had to get the small Goblins on wagons and on the back of Carn Wolves, rouse the animals—

Pyrite’s legs buckled a bit as he tried to move forwards. He stared at them, shocked. He was tired. But he couldn’t fall. If he fell, the tribe would all see it. And their wavering morale would vanish. He had to stay strong. But he was so tired. Pyrite yawned as he looked around. Where was Rags? Did she have orders? Where was—

The weary Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe were so tired that they didn’t notice the small shape standing on the back of one of the wagons. It was only when they heard the voice that they looked up. They saw a small Goblin standing there. She was holding something. A shortsword. It blazed with fire. The Goblins stared. Rags held the blazing sword aloft. She shouted.

“Goblins!”

The Goblins and Hobs turned to look at her. Rags ignored the horns blaring. She had eyes only for her tribe. And they had eyes only for her. Rags was tired. Her body was sore. But she stood tall. She pointed her sword ahead.

“We move! I am Chieftain! I have a plan! Follow it! Follow me! Redfangs to me! Hobs, to me! Pikes! Get crossbows! We move!”

She pointed ahead with her sword. It was probably the wrong direction. But the Goblins stared at her and their weary bodies grew lighter. They moved faster, shedding sleep.

It wasn’t a Skill. Rags hadn’t taken their fatigue away. But she’d replaced it with something. As Rags leapt from the back of the wagon and onto her waiting Carn Wolf, she saw the Goblins staring at her. She sat on the back of her mount, tall as possible. She had to be there. She had to be seen. The Goblins watched her. Their Chieftain. And Rags raised her sword.

It burned. A useless flaming spell. But the fire caught the eye. It was no good for fighting. But it was good for other things. As Rags saw Redfang Goblins hurrying towards her and Quietstab leading Hobs her way she smiled. A Chieftain had to be strong. Had to be smart. But most of all, they had to lead.

“Come. We have big plan.”

“What plan, Chieftain?”

Quietstab grinned up at her. Rags smiled back.

“Big plan. But first we run. Redscar, send riders ahead! I want forest.”

The Redfang Goblins raced ahead as the tribe began to move. Rags kicked her wolf in the sides and it loped forwards. She could hear the Goblins beginning to chatter, wondering why she wanted a forest. They sounded hopeful. They trusted her to do something that would hurt the Humans. And Rags knew her plan would work. It was just—

Well, it felt familiar. It reminded her of what Velan had done. Rags’ smile slipped a bit as she rode ahead. Kill the Humans. And they would kill her people for this. As Goblins do.

As Goblins always did. But what other choice did she have?

“They started it.”

Rags whispered the words and tried to figure out why they sounded wrong.

—-

Lord Pellmia was tired. He rode his warhorse in the center of his command of riders, yawning and cursing the early hour. Sunlight was beginning to shine down on the earth and it was too damn bright for his taste. Pellmia glanced around, for once resenting the way the sunlight bounced off of the polished helmets and breastplates of the soldiers riding next to him.

He was leading the vanguard of the forces Lord Tyrion had entrusted to him. Around him he could see men and women surging up and down on their mounts as they rode after the Goblins. They’d had a later start than the tribe, but they still had to be up quick so they could follow.

It was a necessity. Yes, Pellmia could send smaller detachments of riders ahead to ‘guide’ the Goblins in the direction he needed them to go, but the threat only worked if he could back it up. If he only sent his scouts ahead and tarried just an hour, the Goblins could easily overwhelm the smaller groups of riders and make a break for it. And that would be unacceptable. Pellmia had promised Tyrion he’d be at the meeting spot by the sixth day, and he’d be damned if he broke that promise.

The problem was that he was tired. So were his men. Three days of pursuing the Goblins was hard on anyone, and even mounted, it was hard to keep both horse and riders rested.

“Those damn Goblins.”

Pellmia muttered as he scratched at the stubble on his chin. Moving them wasn’t the same as herding sheep. Not that Lord Pellmia had ever done that. But this was a trick and a half. The Goblins kept moving ahead of the Humans and they ran from his soldiers and when his [Mages] lobbed spells at them, but they were always changing directions slightly. Leading his forces through terrain that was unfavorable for horses, making things difficult to keep the encirclement of them.

Pellmia had to keep his [Scouts] moving ahead constantly to make sure they weren’t headed towards something that would allow them to lose him. Twice already they’d tried to hide in caves or summit rocky hills. Both times he’d had to force them to move by sending his forces in. He had to get them to move at the speed he required, but also keep them alive.

That was the tricky bit. It was one thing to run a quarry to death. But Tyrion wanted live Goblins, and they were incapable of keeping up a breakneck pace forever. They needed water, food, rest. Pellmia had tried to give them the bare minimums, of all three so they didn’t get any ideas. He’d been proud of the way he moved them along, which was why he’d been so incensed to hear about Gilam’s skirmish with the Hobs yesterday.

“You were supposed to keep him away from the Goblins, Kilmet.”

Pellmia snapped irritably at his personal retainer and old friend. Kilmet had been a village boy when Pellmia had been a lad. The two had decades of friendship between them, to the point that Pellmia sometimes joked that Kilmet was his second wife. But they were still master and servant when all was said and done. Kilmet, drinking a weak stamina potion to wake up, bowed his head.

“I’m sorry, Pellmia. But the boy’s hotheaded and eager for a fight. I can’t order him to stay back.”

That was true. But Pellmia was grumpy and didn’t want to hear it. His bones hurt and the thrill of being on campaign had left him after the second day.

“You should have. He’s only Level 20! A pair of Hobs could dice him up, armor or not. And he’s not had any practice in battle. One Hob nearly did for him already! When I was his age…”

“You could wrestle a Hob with one hand and drink two flagons of ale with the other, all before breakfast. Yes, sire. But Gilam’s been in your shadow for years. He wants to prove himself.”

Pellmia grimaced. That was true too.

“He can do that without risking his neck. Or going behind my back! I have to maintain discipline. I can’t do that if my flesh and blood is defying my orders!”

Kilmet sighed through his nose.

“What do you want me to do? I can’t stop him, Pellmia. I couldn’t stop you and your son’s not going to take me giving him orders.”

“He should. You’re my right hand!”

Lord Pellmia growled angrily. Kilmet smiled. He had grey streaks in his hair and his face was wrinkled. He still had a scar down one arm from where he’d saved Pellmia from a rampaging Corusdeer on a hunt gone wrong.

“Right hand or not, your son’s chafing at the bit, Pellmia. He needs freedom. Perhaps it would have been better to let him ride with the other nobles as escort.”

“And have him pick fights with those hotheads? The last thing I need is for him to get hurt or kill someone in a duel. Young [Lords] and [Ladies] can’t be left alone unsupervised.”

“Funny. That’s not what I heard you saying when we were that age. I distinctly recall you ordering me to help you lose your father’s guards, so you could have a nighttime rendezvous with a certain Lady Eskaria—”

Pellmia coughed, coloring. Kilmet smiled and the [Lord] laughed after a while.

“True! Ah, Kilmet! Why couldn’t you have had a son so Gilam could have what I had in you? Instead—”

Kilmet’s smile vanished. He stared ahead as the [Riders] and [Knights] in front turned left, following a road.

“It’s just fate, Pell. Your son—he’ll be a good lord. He just needs time.”

“He needs to listen to you.”

Pellmia moved his stallion closer. He didn’t bring up Kilmet’s child again. He shouldn’t have, [Lord] or not. He’d helped Kilmet bury the poor thing. Overcome by guilt, Pellmia looked around.

“Where is he now? I’ll scorch his ears off and tell him you’re in command.”

Kilmet coughed.

“He’s with the scouts. Ahead. Too restless to stay with the vanguard. I gave them strict orders not to let him get close to the Goblins and there’s a pair of [Knights] in that group. They won’t let him do anything untoward.”

The old [Lord] nodded, relieved.

“Maybe that’s the solution. Put him with the [Knights]. They won’t tolerate him ordering them about, and they’re solid. Where are the Goblins now?”

“Passing through a forest.”

The old [Manservant] pointed ahead. Pellmia frowned and blinked his eyes. He rubbed at them angrily.

“Damn. Couldn’t we have forced them to go around?”

“We’d lose an hour or two doing that. It’s not a large forest, but it’s wide. Our riders won’t lose them, Pell.”

“They’d better not. We’re two days away from the meeting spot and I can’t imagine Veltras will be late. He offered me three casks of his personal stock if I made it there on time.”

Kilmet whistled.

“He wants those Goblins there badly, then. Did he say why he’s driving them with such a fury?”

“No, but anyone with a brain can tell where we’re going. Straight south. The real question is why he spared so much effort for this group. The Goblin Lord I can see, but a tribe of less than ten thousand? This group is tricky, but what was the point? Unless he was more concerned about that [Emperor] fellow than—”

Pellmia was interrupted by a bout of coughing from Kilmet. The [Lord] frowned.

“You alright, Kilmet?”

“Fine, sire. It’s just a bit of smoke.”

“Smoke?”

Lord Pellmia stared ahead. And then he saw it. A dark plume of smoke rising ahead of them. From the forest. He frowned. Then he saw someone galloping back towards him.

“Lord Pellmia! The Goblins are in the forest! They’ve set part of it aflame!”

“Damn!”

Pellmia cursed and Kilmet signaled the column of riders to swerve out of the path of the smoke. The [Lord] growled, feeling the stinging in his eyes worsen despite the fresher air.

“Of course they would do that. That damn little Goblin’s their Chieftain. Veltras warned me about her. They’re trying to slow us down. It won’t work. Have five of our [Mages] with water spells ride ahead and douse the flames. And tell the scouts to move the Goblins faster! We’ll catch up.”

“Yes, Lord Pellmia!”

The rider turned her mount and rode ahead faster. Pellmia looked at Kilmet.

“Looks like Gilam will have a bit of excitement. Come on, I don’t want the Goblins to have time to set more fires. I can’t imagine how they found the time to set these ones. Do they have spellcasters among them? I only saw the lightning mage.”

“He probably did the fire setting. Lightning can do that.”

“Yes, but—”

Pellmia paused as he saw the rider galloping back.

“What now?”

“Lord Pellmia! There are more fires starting!”

“Well, put them out—”

“We can’t! There are hundreds! The entire forest is going up! Lord Pellmia, the Goblins—”

Pellmia saw a black haze coming towards him, he turned his head, spluttering and coughing as the horses whinnied. The riders slowed. When Pellmia could see again, he froze.

“Dead gods.”

The single smoke trail had multiplied. Now dozens of areas were bleeding smoke. As Pellmia watched, he saw a red glow begin to spread between the trees. Kilmet stared, a wet handkerchief over his mouth.

“Fire. How did they—”

A roar made all the Humans jump. Pellmia saw a shower of sparks fly up from deeper inside the tree line. The red glow intensified. Now the forest blazed from a hundred different spots. Smoke was rising everywhere. Lord Pellmia stared around in horror. How had the Goblins done it? They hadn’t time to start a fire, let alone gather enough fuel for this!

Then he saw a Goblin amid the trees. It was riding away from them, holding it’s blade aloft. The blade was steel, but it burned.One of the [Mages] cried out.

“Enchantment! The Goblins have enchanted blades! That’s [Burning Blade]!”

Several mounted [Archers] raised their bows, but the Goblin disappeared before they could loose. Pellmia turned to the [Mages].

“Stop the fire! Summon some rain!”

“We can’t! We’re not [Weather Mages]!”

“Then douse the fire with water!”

The [Mage] raised her hands.

“From where? We can’t conjure enough! The forest is burning! We have to go around!”

Pellmia nearly tore his mustache off.

“Those Goblins will have nearly an hour’s head start on us! Damn, damn—fine, turn the column! We have to catch them!”

He whirled his mount, about to use one of his Skills. But Kilmet’s voice stopped him.

“Pell!”

“What?”

The [Lord] looked back, harried. Kilmet’s face was pale as he stared into the burning forest.

“Gilam was with the scouts! He hasn’t returned! He must be inside the forest!”

Lord Pellmia felt the blood drain from his face. He stared into the forest.

“No, he rode out. Didn’t he?”

Kilmet looked at the [Scout]. The woman hesitated, and then shook her head.

“I’ve not seen any of the riders. They would have exited the forest the instant they realized it was on fire, but—”

Pellmia didn’t listen to anything else. He charged his warhorse forwards, ignoring the cries from the others. He rode towards the forest, coughing, staring into the inferno. Now fire was licking from the treetops. It had yet to reach the outermost layer, but Pellmia could hear a terrible crackling and snapping from within.

“Gilam!”

“Pell!”

Kilmet caught his friend before Pellmia could charge into the blaze. Pellmia swung his fist and Kilmet staggered but held on. The Lord was shouting as the others caught up.

“Gilam! Where is he?”

“I’m sending a [Message] spell!”

The [Mage] had a finger to her temple. She stared into the fire and then pointed.

“There! East! They’re inside, trying to get out!”

She galloped her mount to the left. Pellmia followed her, heart pounding wildly in his chest. He saw her draw rein and back up her mount. The heat was making the horses shy away from the forest. But then she pointed.

“There! Someone give me a hand! [Wind Blast]!”

She pointed. Another mage cast the same spell and the rush of air cleared the smoke and fire for a second. Pellmia spotted a distant group of shapes on horseback racing through the flames.

“Gilam! Clear a path for him!”

The [Mages] looked at each other, but then they began casting water spells. Pellmia stood up in his stirrups. He and the other riders began shouting, trying to attract the attention of the scouts. Pellmia could see their heads turning. He saw the riders turn towards them. And then—

And then they appeared. Dark shapes moved in the burning forest. The riders halted, and then began to ride the other way. Pellmia stared. Then he saw them more clearly. Bounding shapes. Goblins on wolfback. And running behind them, Hobs and smaller Goblins armed with pikes.

The Goblins were moving. They charged through the burning forest, following the riders. Following Gilam.

“He killed a Hob yesterday.”

Kilmet’s voice was quiet. He was staring into the blaze. A burning branch fell from one tree, sending sparks flying upwards. The forest was turning into an inferno that not even magic could put out. Pellmia saw the riders fleeing. But the Goblins were surrounding them. He pointed with a shaking hand.

“Forwards! Don’t let them—”

“No! It’s a trap! Don’t let Lord Pellmia enter the forest! Stop him!”

Someone grabbed him as he tried to kick his warhorse forwards. Pellmia fought the hands. He screamed as true terror flooded his chest. His boy was in there. He drew his sword and the hands fell back.

“Gilam! Stop! Don’t touch him! Gilam! Gilam!”

—-

Rags stood at the edge of the forest. Her lungs hurt. The smoke half-blinded her, but the wind was blowing north. Away from her. Behind Rags, her tribe was moving far away from burning forest. Goblins clutching burning weapons and sticks put them out and turned to stare at their handiwork.

They were impressed. So was Rags. Her [Burning Blades] spell had worked even better than she’d thought. Yes, it was terrible for use in battle, but free fire was free fire. And this—

This was a lot of fire. The forest roared as if it were alive. The fire sounded like a distant wind, but the burning and breaking trees sounded like thunder. Rags stared into the orange glow. It looked like death in there.

Good. At least two groups of Humans were caught in the blaze. They’d followed the Goblins into the forest, tried to stop them from setting fires. Now they were trapped. Rags could see then fleeing. She’d sent some of her Redfangs in and Hobs. They’d trapped the Humans. They couldn’t stay long—the fire would kill everything inside. But the Humans might still get away. And he was in there. That young Human.

“Chieftain?”

Pyrite stood by her side. Rags looked at him. She nodded.

“Hurt them.”

The Hob nodded. He eyed the fire and looked around.

“Can fight for five minutes. Then probably have burning death.”

Rags nodded.

“Five minutes good. Healing potions ready. Small group goes in. You stay back in case Humans attack.”

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Rags nodded at Pyrite. Then she looked around. The burning light of the forest was reflected in the eyes of her warriors. Redscar grinned as he leaned on the back of Thunderfur. Poisonbite and Quietstab were standing ready. Rags pointed.

“Hobs behind! Redfangs with me! We ride!”

She charged into the forest. Her Carn Wolf howled in fear as Rags crashed through the flames, but Rags had chosen a spot of the forest that had yet to be engulfed. She urged her wolf forwards. She had minutes. But the Humans were in sight. A group of them fought desperately, keeping back from the flames while the Goblins she’d sent in encircled them.

“Fall back!”

Rags screamed at the Goblins. They looked up and ran as her warriors streamed past them. The burnt Hobs and Redfangs gave way as more of their comrades charged the Humans. Rags stared around. There were thirty-odd riders here. But the one she was looking for—

There. She saw a flash of armor and a panicked figure striking around him. The Humans had their backs to a wall of fire and the only way out was through the Goblins.

“They’re turning!”

Redscar snarled as he raced past Rags. She nodded. The Humans had no choice. They formed a clumsy line and then kicked their mounts forwards. Rags pointed.

“Forwards!”

Her Goblins screamed as they charged the Humans cut off by flames. Carn Wolves leapt at horses, making the already frightened animals rear and throw their riders off. Hobs filled the gaps, dismounting riders, cutting them down on the ground. Others grabbed the horses, dragging them towards safety. Rags watched the Goblins and Humans mixing in the confusion. But she only had eyes for one person. She waited as she saw him spur his mare past a group of fighting Hobs. Then she pointed.

“There!”

Her Carn Wolf leapt forwards. The young man lashed out, cutting another Redfang across the chest. He flinched as the Goblin’s sword skated off his breastplate. He turned—and saw Rags.

The fool had a helmet, but he’d forgotten to lower the visor. Rags saw a frightened young man’s face between the wrought metal. He was older than her. But he looked scared, like a child. He flailed at her with his enchanted sword as she charged him, crossbow in one hand, sword in the other. Rags drew her Carn Wolf out of range. Gilam tried to follow her, but his mount reared. A Hob was right in front of it. Quietstab swung a huge stave and the [Lord] screamed and choked as the cudgel knocked him from the saddle.

He landed hard on the forest floor. He was alive—his armor had blocked the blow, but now he was on the ground.  Quietstab ignored the young man—he yanked the white mare down as it tried to rear. Quick as a flash he mounted it and kicked it into motion.

“Stop—”

Gilam croaked as the Hob took off with his horse. He got up clumsily and looked up as Rags rode towards him. Gilam’s face went pale. He fumbled for his sword. But he’d dropped his sword. He backed up as Rags stared down at him.

“You—you—”

Rags ignored his quavering voice. She aimed the crossbow right between Gilam’s eyes. He turned to run. Her Carn Wolf snarled and leapt. The impact threw Gilam to the ground. He rolled over weakly and Rags stuck the crossbow’s tip into his helmet. Yes. Rags remembered Twofeather’s death. This was the moment. She wondered if she should say something. This felt so easy. So…she could hear Gilam panting loudly. It sounded like weeping.

“Gilam!”

Rags looked up. She heard a desperate shout. Someone was riding through the sea of flames. A man on horseback. Her eyes widened. Lord Pellmia himself was riding towards them, heedless of the fire that was making his horse scream. She looked down at Gilam and put the pieces together. This was his son!

Good. Rags saw the man casting about. Her Goblins were in full retreat. They had what they came for. The Humans were burning or dead. The Goblins had their horses and some of their gear. Staying any longer in the forest would be death. Rags had to follow them. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

“Father!”

Gilam flailed wildly. Rags’ Carn Wolf stomped on his chest and he gasped. Somehow, Pellmia heard it. He turned and Rags saw his form freeze.

“Stop!”

She saw the [Lord] riding at them, ignoring the flames that raged around him. She heard him scream. She had heard that scream before. Desperate. Helpless. She had heard Goblins weeping and screaming over their friends, their parents. She had heard Humans screaming the same as she burned their lands and homes.

Rags held very still. She could see Pellmia stop as he saw what was going on. The tip of her crossbolt was aimed straight at Gilam’s forehead. Her finger was on the trigger. Rags met the [Lord]’s eyes. He would see his son die. That seemed fitting. She’d watched him cut down families when his forces assaulted the city. This was justice.

“Stop.”

Pellmia’s voice rasped as he held out a hand. Rags didn’t move. Her Carn Wolf snarled in fear and anger as the fire closed in. Rags felt the tension in her crossbow’s trigger. One pull and Gilam died. And Pellmia would be broken.

As she’d broken when she’d seen Relc cutting the heads off her family. He’d hummed a song as he did it. This was vengeance for that moment. For Laken Godart. For Tyrion. For all of it. Only, it wasn’t enough. Pellmia would come for her after she killed his son. Rags would have to evade him.

The small Goblin held still as she considered it. Yes, he’d follow her—or stay with his son. Either way he’d probably die. But if he followed her she’d have to lure him back to Pyrite. He was probably good at fighting. And if she killed him, would the Humans stop or follow? She could hear them in the forest now, calling his name in desperation.

Loyalty. They’d come after her tribe. But they’d be leaderless. Could she beat them? Or would it be better to run and hide? Rags hesitated. She could hear sobbing now. She glanced down in irritation. The young [Lord] couldn’t even die quietly.

It was hot. Rags stared at Pellmia. His face was white. He stood in the forest as it turned to embers around him.

“Chieftain!”

A voice. Rags turned. Poisonbite was waiting. She had a group of Goblins armed with crossbows. They were taking aim at Pellmia. She pointed.

“Hurry and kill! We go! Forest burning! Burning pain death!”

Yes. Rags saw it clearly now. Shoot Gilam. Keep Pellmia back. Aim for his horse. Her finger tightened on the string. The crossbow’s trigger shifted. Kill him. And kill the Humans that came after him. Slaughter them. They’d kill her people otherwise. She had to kill them. Or run.

As Goblins did.

Rags saw a burning farmhouse. She saw a blind man declaring war. She saw a city burning as her Hobs streamed through the gates. She saw a Human army fleeing as she cut them down. She saw the Humans cutting down her tribe from behind. And the pieces fit together. She looked at Pellmia and saw something strange.

Wetness. The fire burned around him, but the [Lord] was weeping. He stared at his son. He knew what Rags would do. And he couldn’t stop her. His hand was raised. His son was weeping too. Rags stared at him. She saw the whole of her history with Humans in the flickering of the fire between them.

Kill. Flee. Ambush. Retreat. Revenge. Run. Attack. Defend. It had happened when Velan lived. And it was happening now. Again and again, since she had been born. And it would go on—

Forever. Rags stared at Pellmia. Then she looked down at Gilam. He was silent. He’d given up or passed out. Rags hesitated. Her trigger-finger itched to pull. But—

She raised her crossbow silently. Her warriors looked at her. Rags glanced around. Poisonbite was staring. Pellmia had frozen. Rags turned.

“Retreat!”

She turned her Carn Wolf. Poisonbite wavered, but Rags pointed. And the fire was growing more intense. Rags raced her wolf through the fire, sensing its fur begin to burn. The Goblins hesitated, but Pellmia kicked his mount forwards, racing towards his son. They turned and ran after Rags.

—-

He had to be dead. Pellmia tumbled from his saddle, landing hard on the burning floor. Even the dirt seemed to be burning. He knelt by his son, lifted the limp head. He had to be dead. That was why the Goblin hadn’t shot him.

“Gilam. Gilam?”

Gilam’s face was pale. Sweat poured down his face and his eyes were rolled back in his head. But he was breathing. Pellmia’s breath caught. He touched Gilam’s face with a trembling hand and saw his son react. Only then did the world start moving again. Pellmia looked up and heard the urgent voices at last.

“Pellmia! Lord Pellmia!”

“Here!”

The man cried out hoarsely. He stood up and looked around.

“Here! Dead gods, get over here!”

He saw riders surging towards him in the flame. He heard Kilmet’s voice, ordering the mages to douse the flames. Pellmia looked around. The fire was intense. He could see a few shapes running in the distance. Goblins, fleeing the fire they’d created.

Pellmia stood over his son. He was alone as his cohort fought to get close to him. He was breathing hard, his armor scorched, his mount burned. He watched as the Goblins ran out of the forest. The last group ran to the edge and paused there. The Goblins looked at him. A small Goblin on the back of a Carn Wolf turned. Rags met Pellmia’s eyes. He stared at her. Then he saw the Goblins standing behind her.

Hobs. Goblins riding Carn Wolves. Crossbow Goblins. Others armed with deadly pikes, standing at the forest’s edge. Hundreds of red, glowing eyes found Pellmia. The Goblins stood at the back of their Chieftain.

In the moment before his escort reached him, Pellmia stood alone, over his son. The Goblins stared at him. They could have turned back through the fire. They could have killed the two Humans. But they did not. They turned and ran after Rags through the smoke as the fire engulfed the forest. Pellmia stood behind as someone screamed a word and water splashed on the ground around him, instantly becoming steam. He stood and then bent and cradled his son in his arms.

“My boy.”

—-

Later that day, Pellmia stood in the temporary camp that had been erected just outside the burning forest. He held still as the [Healer] gently applied a healing poultice to his skin.

“The burns are bad, Lord Pellmia. A healing potion won’t cure all the damage correctly. Something about burns—I’ll apply as much as I can, but you’ll need me to reapply this twice daily for several days.”

“That’s fine.”

Pellmia ignored the pain. He’d taken worse. He looked at Kilmet. The scar on the man’s arm stood out as Kilmet coughed. He’d ridden after Pellmia, helped him get Gilam out of the fire.

“Not as bad as that burn you got from the Corusdeer, eh, Kilmet? Now I know what it’s like.”

“You could have just asked, sire.”

Kilmet looked up wearily. His grey hair was blackened with soot. The two older men laughed and the healer shook his head.

“You’re lucky your armor saved you from the worst of the fire, Lord Pellmia. Or there’d be little to laugh about. If you’ll excuse me, I must see to the others. And your warhorse. He won’t be fit to ride for days yet.”

Lord Pellmia stopped laughing and nodded soberly.

“Yes, thank you. Is my son well?”

“Up and about. Shall I send him in?”

“Do so.”

The [Healer] left through the flaps of the tent. Pellmia was wincing as he put his doublet on when Gilam stormed through the tent flaps. He was already bandaged and poulticed, and his face was crimson with fury.

“Father!”

“Gilam.”

Pellmia turned. He tried to embrace his son, but Gilam stepped back.

“Father, the Goblins stole Olli! And my gear!”

“Did they indeed?”

Lord Pellmia blinked at his son. Gilam nodded. He clenched his hands into fists.

“That damn Hob and that little Chieftain ambushed me! He rode off on Olli’s back! My bag of holding was on her, and all the rest of my gear! Father, give me a hundred [Knights]. I’ll ride into their camp and retrieve her. And cut down their numbers so they’ll not dare try something like this again!”

Pellmia blinked at Gilam. He looked at Kilmet who sighed and didn’t meet his eyes. Pellmia nodded slowly.

“I see. So you survived the fire and you want to get your own back, is that it?”

“Yes! All I need are a few men—”

“No.”

Gilam paused. His face reddened further. The fire had scorched part of his hair off and what hadn’t been burned was reddened. He looked like one of those water bugs that were so highly sought-after. What were they called? Lobsters, that was it.

“But father, the Goblins attacked us! They nearly killed me!”

“But they didn’t. They let you go. They could have killed you, but they didn’t.”

“Only because they knew what would happen to them if they did!”

“Most likely.”

Pellmia nodded. He thought of the small Goblin who’d met his eyes. His hand closed slowly and then unclenched. Pellmia stared down at his burnt palm. He shook his head.

“They spared you. She did. And I don’t know why. Perhaps it was mercy. Perhaps it was pragmatism. Either way—”

“Father, Olli—”

Pellmia turned. He looked at his son and Gilam went silent. It had been a long time since Pellmia had looked at his son like that. Not as his boy, but as a man looked at another man and gauged his worth. He shook his head.

“Kilmet?”

“Yes, Lord Pellmia?”

Kilmet straightened expectantly. Pellmia glanced at him.

“Have my son find another horse. He’ll ride with the vanguard tonight. Under your authority.”

“But father—”

“And if he gainsays you in any way, spank him as you would your own boy. I have a job to do.”

Gilam made a strangled noise. Kilmet covered a smile as he bowed slightly.

“The Goblins, Lord Pellmia?”

“Yes. We have a duty and I’ve promised Veltras they’d be there. This changes nothing.”

Pellmia strode out of the tent. He left Gilam behind. Pellmia stared past the rows of burnt riders towards the forest. It was ash now, ash and smoke. He mumbled to himself.

“This changes not one thing.”

And yet it did. Pellmia bowed his head and then called for his horse. He mounted it, ready to hunt the Goblins down. He still had a duty. The little Goblin Chieftain had not won her freedom. But for the first time, Pellmia thought of her. How small she was. Was that normal? Or was she someone’s daughter? Did they have mothers? Fathers?

Pellmia had lived for over sixty years. He had survived both Antinium Wars, fought the Goblins on his land. He had not seen the Goblin King’s death, but he had celebrated it. He had known the world with the certainty of a man his age could have. Now the world began to crumble under his feet. But he had a duty. He was just no longer certain it was the right one.

—-

Rags sat in her camp, tending to her Carn Wolf. She hadn’t named it like Redscar had with his. Names were a silly thing to give to an animal that would probably die in battle. It was bad to get attached. But she still applied the healing potion gently to its burns.

The Carn Wolf wasn’t happy. It nipped her slightly, expressing its discontent at the pain. Rags let it, but bonked it on the nose when it tried again. She turned as a Goblin poked her in the side.

Poisonbite had missed one of her burns, but only just. The other Goblin frowned at Rags. She still didn’t understand why Rags had let the two Humans live. Still, her exuberance over the battle in the forest outweighed her personal issues with Rags.

“Chieftain, have special things. Magic weapons sorted. Also, bag.”

“Bag?”

Rags looked up. She glanced at her Carn Wolf and pointed. Another Goblin took over tending to it. Rags got up and followed Poisonbite. She found Quietstab, Noears, and Redscar sorting through the loot they’d captured from the Humans. A lot of it was just quality steel weapons. There was a weakly enchanted shield, a hatchet with a throwing enchantment on it…and a bag of holding. Rags’ eyes widened when she saw Noears drop a large rock into it and pull it out.

“Good bag. Lots of items can fit.”

“What was in?”

“Food. Gold. Letter. Shared food, tossed gold and letter.”

Noears dismissively pointed to a pile of gold coins. A few Goblin children were having fun throwing the gold coins around. Pyrite was reading the letter. Rags walked over to him.

“What say?”

The Hob shrugged.

“‘Lady Cimeca, your face is as radiant as a pear in the full moonlight. I yearn to stroke it and speak to you of high matters such as romance and a possible union between our houses. You know my father and yours are close friends and I am most struck by your wit and humors and loveliness. Please give me some token to which I may use for remembrance…’”

Rags tilted her head back and forth, frowning. She cut Pyrite off when it seemed that the letter began to repeat itself, only this time comparing this Cimeca’s legs to swan’s necks or something.

“What it mean?”

Pyrite considered the letter and shrugged.

“Want to have sex.”

“Oh.”

The Hob crumpled the letter up and tossed it away. Rags went back to the bag of holding. She stared at it.

“Can use. Put heavy things inside.”

“Yes, Chieftain. What about horses?”

Noears pointed. Rags stared at the restless horses. Of all the things they’d looted from the Humans, that was perhaps the most valuable. She eyed the snow-white stallion that was pacing back and forth restlessly and shrugged.

“Put on wagons. Good food and goes fast.”

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Noears smacked his lips happily. Redscar came over, flipping a sword up and catching it by the hilt.

“Chieftain, what now? Go this way? Hills. Hard for Humans to follow. Can lose. Or fight.”

He pointed westwards. Rags looked the way he was pointing and saw a distant set of hills. She hesitated, and then shook her head.

“No. We rest. Humans coming.”

“Not run?”

Redscar looked crestfallen. Rags nodded.

“Not run. Can’t.”

The Redfang leader grumbled, but he nodded. The Goblins lay about, just resting, looking at the burnt forest. Rags sat with Pyrite. After a while she looked at him.

“Didn’t kill Human.”

“Hmm. Why?”

“Other Humans kill us.”

“They do that anyways.”

Rags nodded.

“Yes. But maybe they don’t kill as many this way. Maybe they stop. Maybe—”

A horn blew. Rags looked up. She waited, and saw a line of riders circle around the forest. Pyrite looked up as well. The Goblins groaned and got to their feet.

“Maybe, Chieftain?”

“Maybe I’m wrong.”

Rags grumbled as she got up. Her body hurt. And she had burns now. But as she prepared to give the order to run, she saw the riders pause. They formed a line a few hundred meters away. Rags stared at them. She saw a familiar shape in front. Lord Pellmia stared towards the Goblins. He did not give the order to attack. Nor did his [Mages] send the customary rain of fireballs to get the Goblins moving. The horn blew again, but the Humans didn’t advance.

“Get moving! Humans moving!”

Pyrite called out loudly. The Goblins began packing up. Still, the Humans didn’t advance. Rags stared at the distant riders. They were giving the Goblins time. Only a few minutes. After about five had passed the Humans began moving forwards at a trot. But that was enough. The Goblins began moving and the Humans followed. The warhorses tethered to wagons snorted, but pulled the Goblins ahead. And Rags saw the Humans following. They didn’t press the Goblins like last time. They just followed.

The two Goblins stood together as the Goblins moved past them. They were tired, but they moved at a good pace nonetheless. The Goblins stared as they moved. At the little Goblin standing next to the fat Hob. She had not crushed the Humans. But she had hurt them. She had even spared some for some reason. She had set a forest ablaze. And she had shown them something. A plan. Hope.

Rags stood with Pyrite. She turned. She and Pyrite began jogging. He looked down at her.

“Maybe, Rags?”

“Maybe. Something will change. Or not. Humans still chasing. We still probably dying. But this is different.”

“What?”

The little Goblin reached up and touched her chest. She looked at Pyrite and smiled wearily.

“Us.”

5.48 G

Day 5

The Humans came with the dawn. They blew war horns, waking the Goblins of the Flooded Water tribe from their sleep. But the Goblins knew the Humans were coming and so many were already awake. They surged out of their camp as the Humans appeared in the distance. Only, this time there were no [Fireballs], no spells or arrows loosed. The Humans let the Goblins begin their march in peace.

That was something. A very little something, but every Goblin noticed it. And they debated why. Unlike the last four days, today the Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe gossiped as they ran. Some, the smallest or wounded or most tired, sat on wagons pulled by some very fine looking warhorses. And they talked.

If it was characteristic of Humans to play power games and for Drakes to bicker amongst themselves, and for Gnolls to form packs, then chatter was endemic among Goblins. Not gossip or talk, but chatter.

As Drassi might have put it, gossip was a product of cities, of largely peaceful populations who had to coexist with each other. Sometimes gossip was about the most dire of worldly events or politics, but other times it was mundane, petty. Silly. A social activity that existed to let people relax and insult neighbor’s cooking behind their backs. But Goblins had no time for that.

They had no [Gossips], but every Goblin communicated. Not talked. They were masters of sign language and interpreting body movement and posture. They relayed information about dangers, opportunities, and so on as a way to survive. So they chattered about what had happened yesterday.

About Rags. Of course the Goblins had all seen the forest fire. And they were quite impressed. Rags had turned her [Burning Blades] spell from a rather useless enchantment into a real and deadly weapon to use against the Humans. All the Goblins were rather proud about that. That was what you expected of your Chieftain. They had a smart one. The real issue of contention was the battle in the forest, though.

Again, it was an impressive battle. Only three Goblins had perished, and they’d taken down a number of Humans. More importantly, they’d gotten the horses and equipment. That was a real win. But Poisonbite had openly shared what she’d seen. Rags had cornered the Human lordling, the one who’d killed Twofeather. And she hadn’t killed him.

The reaction from the Flooded Waters tribe was mixed. Many Goblins, especially those in the more militant groups like Tremborag’s former Goblins and the Redscar Warriors were annoyed. They wanted the Human’s blood and as much of it as possible. The other Goblins were just confused. Some wondered if Rags had done it to avoid the Humans getting angrier. If so, that was a fair decision, but Rags hadn’t said that.

They’d all heard her. And by ‘all’, one Hob had been listening to Rags and Pyrite talk while he bandaged his arm. But he’d obviously told everyone else, so it was the same.

Rags had said it wasn’t just about not angering the Humans. She’d said it was something else.

Maybe. Maybe something will change. And it wasn’t the Humans that would necessarily change, but the Goblins. That made no sense to the Flooded Waters tribe as a whole. Several poked their chests, feeling no different. Why would they need to change? And why would Humans ever, ever try to stop killing them? Unless there were too many Goblins, the Humans would always attack.

It was a mystery. Their Chieftain’s mind was strange. Most of the Goblins had no clue what Rags had meant. And she was prepared for that. As her tribe began their march on the fifth day, Rags was prepared for angry Goblins to question her decision. She was prepared for fights as she watched the Goblins chattering without speaking more than a few words. Most of her tribe did not understand. But some of them did.

It surprised Rags. She saw a few smaller Goblins and a single Hob push their way into the conversation, signaling with their hands and arms dramatically to get the attention of the Goblins around her. They pointed at Rags and made complicated gestures. The other Goblins turned and listened.

This is what the few said. Not in words, but in action. In deed. Showing the other Goblins, patting their stomachs, smacking their lips. They told a story, a simple message.

Yes, of course the Humans would kill them. Of course they would not change from a single spared life. Of course they still harried the tribe.

But there were Humans that mattered. There were Humans that changed. And there was a reason to save some.

They had met her. A destroyer, the one who killed their old Chieftain. But he had tried to kill her. And when she killed him, she had not killed Goblins. She gave them food. She had been kind.

There was a reason.

The other Goblins looked askance. They ridiculed the few Goblins, and then fell silent as another fact was made aware to them. The few Goblins who argued with the rest and told the story weren’t strong or quick or exceptional. In fact, they were overwhelmingly mediocre in terms of Goblin quality. The tribe they had come from was tiny and it only had one Hob. But it had been the Flooded Waters tribe. The original tribe that Rags had taken over.

They had known Erin. They had been in her inn. Long ago, or so it seemed to the Goblins, they had walked fearfully into the inn and seen the strangeness. The wonder, too. The games of chess, the skeleton who served drinks. And the smiling [Innkeeper] who served them blue juice and pasta.

It sounded like a fairy tale to the other Goblins. Of course they had heard rumors of Rags’ past. But this was the first time the stories of Erin Solstice became public knowledge. Some were fascinated by the tales, others scornful.

The first Goblin to approach Rags was Noears.

“Is it true?”

Rags glanced at the [Mage]. He was riding Oli, the white mare that had been taken from Gilam. No one else objected; Noears looked worn from shooting animals with lightning for rations. But he grinned at Rags and raised his eyebrows.

“What true?”

“Chieftain knew Human? Good…Human?”

“True.”

Rags shrugged. Noears blinked. He rode back to tell the others. After a while, Pyrite jogged over.

“Chieftain.”

“Is true.”

The little Goblin sighed and looked ahead as her Carn Wolf paced forwards. She patted it on the back, feeling its exhaustion. Pyrite shrugged his broad shoulders.

“Not question. Chieftain, Goblins are tired. Hobs. Bad thing.”

“Oh.”

Rags looked around. Of course her tribe was tired, but Pyrite was pointing out a new development. Some of her Hobs, who’d been unwavering as they carried supplies and even other Goblins, were finally reaching the limits of their stamina. She could see them faltering, grunting with the effort of keeping up. She frowned.

“Put on wagons. Trade off.”

“Hobs are heavy.”

That was obvious too, but also important. Rags gritted her teeth and glanced behind her. She could see a group of Humans keeping a wary distance to her right.

“Can’t slow down. Humans not that kind. Trade off.”

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Pyrite moved away, signaling some of the most exhausted Hobs to take a break. Then he jogged back.

“So. Kind Human.”

“Yes. Gave name. And helped learn magic.”

“Really?”

Pyrite looked very interested. He peered up at Rags. She nodded absently, remembering.

“Not her. Pisces. She—taught me chess. Became [Tactician]. Gave me food.”

“Hm.”

The Hob grunted with clear interest. Rags stared ahead. Oh yes. How simpler it had seemed then. She’d liked Erin. And hated her too, sometimes. For being too nice, too naïve. As if making friends would bring back the dead. But she missed Erin now.

And now—Rags’ head snapped to one side as she saw a ripple in her tribe. The jogging Goblins parted and she saw something that made her heart lurch. A fallen Hob. He’d tripped and was too exhausted to get up. He lay on the ground, panting. Pyrite pointed at him.

“Get to wagon! Keep moving!”

“No.”

Rags leapt from the back of her Carn Wolf. She ran over. The Goblins parted for her and Rags saw that many stumbled as they moved. They were more tired than she’d thought. The Hob looked up.

“Chieftain. Leave behind.”

He was breathing hard and his bare chest was covered in sweat. He was a fat Hob, like Pyrite, but younger. It wasn’t hard to see why he’d collapsed. Pyrite and several Hobs came over. They wanted to lift the Hob, but Rags waved them back. She knelt, thinking hard.

They couldn’t keep on like this. This Hob was the first, but the wagons were already overloaded. Even with the horses they’d acquired, the Goblins were hitting a wall. But what else could she do? She had the bag of holding, but Noears had told her that it could not hold living beings. Or if it did, the people inside would quickly become not living.

All the Goblins had stopped. They watched as Rags knelt by the Hob. They were waiting for her to have a good idea, Rags knew. Only, she didn’t have a way to beat sheer exhaustion. She didn’t have a plan.

But she was a Chieftain. And maybe that was enough. No, it had to be enough.

Rags looked around. The Hob was lying on his back, resigned, unable to move. He wasn’t prepared for Rags to leap onto his broad stomach. He grunted and then looked up. Rags was standing on his gut. She looked around at the Goblins. Tired faces stared back.

“Why are you tired?”

The Goblins looked at each other as Rags shouted. They scratched their heads. The answer was obvious. Rags pointed behind them.

“Humans chase us for five days! Only five days! Not even throwing fireballs anymore! Why is hard to run?”

She leapt from the Hob’s stomach and landed on the ground. Rags looked around and then slapped her chest.

“Follow me! Is not hard!”

She took a few steps forwards and turned. The Hob lying on the ground stared at her. She gestured at him.

“Up! Why is Hob with big legs slower than small Chieftain?”

“Tired. Carry lots of things.”

He grunted at Rags, almost indignantly. Rags sneered at him.

“Big Hob can’t even walk another step? Can’t even stand?”

The fat Hob glared at Rags. He shifted and sat up as if to prove her wrong. He pointed at his back.

“Chieftain not carry club.”

Rags saw the Hob had strapped a huge club to his back. It was a monster of a weapon, the kind you’d use to hunt bears or [Knights] in full armor. It had to weigh a ton. But Rags just sneered. She struck a pose and pointed to her shortsword hanging at her side.

“That because Chieftain smart. Uses sword. Sharp. Better than wooden club. Only good for firewood.”

The Hob huffed as the other Goblins laughed.

“Not if fight Gargoyle.”

“You fight Gargoyle?”

Rags paused. The Hob nodded proudly.

“Not Redfang. But fought one once.”

The other Goblins murmured in appreciation as he showed them a large scar on his stomach. A few of the Redfangs nodded, acknowledging the deed. Rags smiled.

“Can kill Gargoyle, but not stand up?”

“Can stand! Not run. Too tired! Heavy club!”

The fat Hob shouted at Rags. She shook her head dismissively. She switched to the common tongue.

“Only heavy club? In that case, get bag of holding! Noears!”

The [Mage] rode over. Rags pointed at the bag of holding he’d been entrusted with.

“Take club. Then Hob run. Too lazy otherwise.”

Noears glanced at the Hob. The fat Hob blinked and stared at the bag of holding. He opened his mouth to protest, then realized he’d been tricked. Silently, he unfastened the club from his back and handed it to Noears. The club vanished into the bag of holding.

“Now, up!”

Rags looked at the Hob. He hesitated and then stood with a groan. Rags smiled. She looked around.

“Other Hobs have heavy weapons? Give to Noears! Give armor, too!”

“But armor for fighting!”

One of the other Redfang Warriors protested. Rags glared at him.

“Where fighting? We run! Come! Humans following! Follow! Not hard! Chieftain can do it and she smaller and younger than you.”

Rags jogged forwards. The Redfang Warrior flushed as the other Goblins laughed and shrugged off his armor. He tossed it at Noears as he easily caught up with Rags. She grinned at him.

“Redfangs supposed to be strong! You ride wolf too much.”

“So does Chieftain.”

“Not today.”

The Redfang Warrior grunted thoughtfully. Rags turned.

“Follow!”

She began to run. Not quickly, but at a lazy jog. The Goblins watched her. Rags wasn’t moving fast. Not at all. Why, you could sprint three times as fast easily. Four times as quick if a monster was chasing you. A few of the children ran after Rags. They waved at the adults. Look! Look, we’re following Chieftain!

Rags smiled. She moved through her tribe, reaching the front. The Goblins in front watched as she jogged past them lazily. She waved and then heard a thumping pair of steps behind her. She turned her head and saw the fat Hob had caught up.

“Tired!”

He complained loudly, but he was running, matching her shorter strides with his long ones. Rags laughed at him.

“Chieftain run too fast for you?”

A spark entered the Hob’s eye.

“This fast? Easy. Can run for hour. Without club.”

“Good! Hey! You, follow!”

Rags grinned. Her tribe watched her as the children, the fat Hob, and the Redfang Warrior jogged after her. They looked at each other.

A female Hob was next. She grinned as she tossed a dented helmet at Noears. She ran forwards, her long legs easily catching up. A pair of smaller Goblin females followed her. And then a dozen Goblins. And then hundreds. And then all of them.

“Follow Chieftain!”

Noears pointed and shouted. He was being besieged from all sides. The Goblins were throwing armor and heavy weapons at him and the Goblin [Mage] was swearing as he tried to collect it all. He leapt from the back of the mare and began to run, stuffing objects into the bag of holding. All the Goblins were running now. Pyrite grinned as he ran next to Quietstab and a group of Hobs. They’d found a second wind during the short break. All the Goblins had.

“This fast is easy! Slow! I swim faster than this!”

Rags shouted at the Goblins behind her. They hooted and some shouted back insults. After all, Rags had rode this far! What did she know?

But now she was running and all the Goblins could see. Rags hadn’t abandoned her shortsword or her belt. She declined to give it to Noears. And she was running faster now. Not too much faster; it was easy to keep up. So her tribe did.

They spread out behind her, Hobs and Goblins. Most couldn’t even see her; Rags was so small that she was eclipsed in height even by a lot of regular Goblins. But they knew she was there. And if she was running, why couldn’t they? She made it look easy. Because it was. It had to be. So the Goblins began hopping off wagons and copying the rest. They had the energy to run for another hour! If it was this fast.

The pack animals and horses grunted in surprise as the Goblins began abandoning the wagons and running ahead of them. Their burden was quickly replaced by weapons and gear that couldn’t fit in Noears’ back of holding. The Goblins divested themselves of everything, from weapons to armor to clothing in a few cases. And they ran.

Children. Non-warriors. Even some of the wounded hopped off the wagons and ran. They matched the pace of the Goblins around then, in front and behind. It wasn’t that they had more energy. They were tired, worn down. But they were together. And they were following her.

Their Chieftain. The Flooded Waters tribe began to move as one. Their footsteps became a solid drumming—a hundred feet hit the ground at the same time, and then a thousand. And the Goblins felt it.

A sense of exhilaration. A primal sense of connection. Together. They looked at each other and smiled.

They did not laugh or cheer, as Humans might have done. Goblins didn’t make unnecessary sound. But they did smile. The Goblins ran in silence, but not silent. They spoke, gesturing at each other with hands, pointing. Ahead. At her. Telling stories. Creating another.

The tribe ran faster, propelled by something that could not be explained by the symmetry of muscle or the biology of bodies. Faster, forgetting the exhaustion or the pain in their legs. Faster, as if they could run forever so long as that little Goblin led them.

Faster.

—-

Lord Pellmia rode with Kilmet, speaking quietly with one of the [Mages] who’d been assigned to his command. Her name was Genviere and she was a personal [Mage] employed by Lord Erill. She’d been placed under Pellmia’s command but as a [High Mage] who’d graduated from Wistram she was by no means a subordinate to be ordered around.

There were other [Knights] of course, some of quite high level. And a [Captain], a [Tactician] assigned to the riding division, and two other lesser [Lords]…it would have been a good test of any [Lady] or [Hostess]’ Skills to tell who outranked who. In practice, it was a matter of who had the highest levels, and that meant Pellmia was only followed by Genviere.

“I understand, Magus Genviere. I do.”

Lord Pellmia inclined his head as he rode with the [Mage] at the head of their company. They were setting a decent pace. With his [Far Riders] Skill, even a slow horse could outdistance most horses without any Skills. However, it wasn’t an excruciatingly fast pace, and their quarry—the Goblins—could keep ahead of them at a slow jog with their Chieftain’s Skill. That was the issue, and Genviere had been selected to bring it up with Lord Pellmia.

“The Goblins are slowing, Lord Pellmia. I realize they’re reaching their limits from the pace we’ve set, but we must harry them or they’ll continue to slow or stop. Allow us to harass them.”

“No. Not yet.”

Lord Pellmia saw the woman sigh. She was strikingly beautiful, her face almost half-Elvish in beauty, her cheekbones high, her features delicate and sharp in the classic Terandrian vision of attractiveness. But it was an illusion.

One of the clues Pellmia had was that Genviere bore none of the marks of travel despite having been camping for five days. The second was that she was a female [Mage] and they were notorious for using illusion spells. But Pellmia forbade comment, as mentioning an illusion spell was highly offensive to most ladies in polite society. Still, this illusion was a good one. Dead gods, she even smelled fragrant.

“Lord Pellmia, is this in regards to the incident in the forest yesterday?”

Genviere’s spelled features contorted into a deep frown. Pellmia glanced about. He could see the rest of the riders nearby studiously not listening to their conversation. He raised his voice so they could hear better.

“Yes. The Goblins spared my boy, Magus Genviere. I owe some a debt. You might not agree, but they could have killed him. They did not.”

“They killed a number of our own. [Soldiers]. [Knights]. [Scouts]. Not all by blade, true, but they left the rest to burn in fire. It was not a bloodless engagement.”

Genviere frowned deeply. Pellmia took a breath and nodded.

“That is true. And I will personally see that the full restitutions are paid to the fallen. However, this is a matter of personal honor. Do you object to my command?”

He looked sideways at the [Mage] as she thought. Riding a few paces to the left, Kilmet looked up as well. If there was any dissention, it would begin with Genviere. At last, the [High Mage] shook her head. Her glossy, grass-green hair shimmered as it caught the light. Another big clue, that. Mages loved making their hair turn outrageous colors. Actually, most young folk loved that.

“I am no [Soldier], Lord Pellmia. I lent my aid to Lord Tyrion Veltras because of my ties to Lord Erill and the Goblin Lord’s threat. With that said, I understand the inevitability of casualties in battle, especially given our unusual mission. I also recognize gratitude, even towards Goblins, as amazing as this case is. But we have a duty and I fear that at this pace we will not reach the rendezvous tomorrow.”

“True.”

Pellmia bowed his head. He had promised Lord Tyrion they would be there, but the Goblin’s pace had slackened. Without killing the stragglers, they would slow. He bit the inside of his cheek. At last, he raised his head.

“We’ll see how far they’ve gone by midday. Make no mistake, this is my responsibility, Magus. If we fail to reach the rendezvous point, I will take full blame. However, if it is possible to move the Goblins close enough—”

Genviere was nodding politely and Pellmia thought she would agree, especially if it meant she bore none of the fault. He broke off though. Someone was riding back towards him. A [Scout], moving fast.

“What now?”

Pellmia cursed inside. If the Goblins had stopped, he would have to get them moving. But the [Scout] wasn’t bearing that message. He drew up as the [Lord] and [Mage] turned.

“Lord Pellmia, the Goblins are speeding up.”

“What?”

Pellmia stared at the [Scout]. He spurred his mount and sped forwards. By the time he crested the slight rise, he could see the Goblins marching ahead of him. Only, they weren’t marching anymore. They were running.

Not quickly. Not at the full speed a Goblin could go. But it was a decent jog, and combined with the Skill they were under, they were moving fast. Pellmia stared at them and then turned to Genviere, who’d ridden up behind him.

“It seems the issue has resolved itself, Magus Genviere.”

“Indeed. One wonders why.”

Pellmia did too. But the Goblins were moving faster and that was what mattered. He turned and raised his hand over his head.

“Company, advance! I don’t want those Goblins out of our sight! Tell the [Scouts] to move the Goblins southeast! Kilmet, my maps!”

As he rode forwards, Pellmia began adjusting their course again. He accelerated as he conferred with Kilmet and Genviere, moving up to catch the Goblins. He could see them staring at him and the other riders.

They were five thousand strong. Not nearly as large as some town’s garrisons, but a fearsome force given their level. The [Knights] rode with pendants flapping in the wind. The [Soldiers] and officers wore their city’s insignia proudly. The [Lords] and their [Retainers] laughed as they rode, resplendent in their colors. They were secure in their knowledge that they could eradicate the Goblins.

Normally, the sight of Lord Pellmia’s forces would have made the Goblins shy away. However, this time they didn’t budge from their course. All to the better, but it was strange. And something happened as Lord Pellmia was riding and checking the map. He looked up as the paper bounced awkwardly in Kilmet’s grip and frowned. The Goblins were pulling away.

“Faster! Why is our pace flagging?”

He snapped at the [Knight] in the lead. The woman touched her finger to her brow.

“Apologies, Lord Pellmia. The Goblins have sped up again.”

“Again? Well…follow them!”

Lord Pellmia glanced back down at his map as his company accelerated as his mount moved to keep pace. He inspected his map and made quick calculations. When he looked up again, he frowned. The company wasn’t moving at a trot anymore. They were actually moving at a quick canter. And the Goblins were running.

“Are they…racing us?”

One of the [Knights] stared at the Goblins. Lady Welca Caveis, who had been assigned to Lord Pellmia’s command to help with locating the Goblins to begin with, stared as the Goblins began to run. One of the [Lords] laughed uncertainly.

“Stupid Goblins. They’ll never keep that pace! They’ve got to be exhausted.”

That was true. But Lord Pellmia wasn’t about to waste the opportunity. If the Goblins wanted to make his life easier—he rode forwards.

“I don’t care why they’re running. Increase our speed! And add more riders to the flanking patrols. I don’t want them trying something again.”

The Humans rode faster. Now the ground was moving past them fast. Lord Pellmia tried to calculate how fast they were going. His [Far Rider] Skill didn’t exactly double a horse’s speed, but it could increase their pace a great deal. If they were cantering at—what, twelve miles per hour and the Skill was working on them…how fast were the Goblins going?

“Dead gods. They’re moving quick! Looks like they’ve taken off their armor and weapons—you can see it in the wagons.”

Kilmet rode next to Pellmia, eying the Goblins. They’d slowed a bit from the full-out run, but they were jogging fast. And together! They moved as if they were one unit. The sound of their feet hitting the ground was distant thunder. Combined with the horses’ hooves, the air was filled with noise.

And the Goblins kept going. At first the Humans laughed and took bets on when they’d slow. The first hour was jokes. The second confusion. By the third, the riders were checking their mounts anxiously. Because the unbelievable was happening.

The horses were getting tired first. They had to carry armored riders, supplies, and their own armor in the case of the barded warhorses. Before it hadn’t been an issue because the Goblins tired quicker, but now—

“Do we break, Lord Pellmia?”

One of the [Lieutenants] looked uncertain as the Humans paused to let their horses drink a bit of water. Pellmia stared at the Goblin tribe running ahead of him. He could see the little Goblin in front, running with Hobs behind her.

Lord Pellmia did not like her. She was a murderer, a monster. That she had saved his boy did not change that. But he could not help admiring the sight. He shook his head and swung himself off his horse.

“Stop? Are you insane, boy? The Goblins are finally moving! We follow!”

“But the horses—”

Pellmia turned his head and shouted.

“Dismount! We run alongside the horses! Don’t give me that look! Have none of you been on campaign before? The [Knights] have trained for this! The rest of you, run and I’ll restore your vigor with [Second Wind] when needed. Get those horses moving!”

The other riders stared at Pellmia, but the [Knights] and more experienced [Riders] were already dismounting. Pellmia heard grumbling, mainly from the inexperienced [Lords] and [Soldiers]. He saw a familiar face among the discontented. Gilam was arguing with Kilmet. Only today, the aged retainer was having none of it. He pointed and his voice was a field roar like Pellmia’s.

“You heard Lord Pellmia! This is no joyride! We move at a trot! Anyone who can’t keep up can return at their own pace. Move out!”

He suited action to words. Soon the entire group had dismounted and was running alongside their horses, following the Goblins. Pellmia huffed as he ran, despite having put his armor in his own bag of holding. He was too old for this! Kilmet’s face looked set as he kept pace. But then again—he glanced around. Despite the grey in his and Kilmet’s hair, they were still doing better than some of the others. Genviere gave Kilmet a long stare as she tried to run without tripping over her robes.

“Why’re they doing this, Lord Pellmia?”

Kilmet gasped a question. Pellmia shook his head, loathe to answer.

“The Chieftain. It must be.”

He stared at the little Goblin leading the others. She was running at the front of the entire tribe. She hadn’t used a Skill—if she had one she surely would have used it before. She was just running. But why was that so important? Pellmia looked around, and then he realized it.

Because it was her. Because she was their Chieftain. He could see his company moving around him, some running ahead, some behind. Pellmia thought about running to the head of their group, but thought against it. He was too old to set that kind of pace and besides, this wasn’t a company of his soldiers. Many of the men and women here didn’t owe him allegiance.

But her? The small Goblin ran ahead, occasionally turning to shout at her tribe. And they raised their hands and shouted, following her. Believing in her. There was something to admire about that. Something to admire, and fear.

“That’s a leader if ever I saw one Kilmet. A Goblin leading other Goblins.”

“A danger.”

Kilmet agreed. Pellmia saw his old friend’s pallor fading and resolved to issue stamina potions and use [Second Wind] soon. He nodded curtly.

“Something to watch for. She cannot escape. But I see why Lord Veltras was so insistent we leave the Chieftain alive. She leads that tribe. Without her, they’d never have made the journey.”

“True enough.”

That was all Kilmet said. Pellmia kept up his pace, panting as his horse cantered next to him. He thought it was funny. Somehow, in some strange way, the Goblins had flipped the nature of things on them. It was he who was pushing the Goblins. Theirs was the superior force. But somehow, they’d fallen into the Goblin’s pace.

And he saw that they knew it. The Goblins ran faster. Following their leader. They didn’t falter, and they ran so hard that in the end it was Pellmia who was forced to stop them so his people could rest. He couldn’t believe it. They’d been dead on their feet yesterday. Where was their energy coming from? How were they doing it?

—-

Day 6

It was her. There was no magic in it. No Skill or things of classes. Perhaps there was something Goblin about it, but if there was, it was nothing any Goblin could explain. It was just morale.

Rags ran at the head of the tribe on the second day, before the Humans even had time to blow their horns. She set the pace and her tribe ran after her. Children and adults. Hobs and regular Goblins.

They were all tired. Their legs hurt from the pace they’d set yesterday. But when they saw her back, the Flooded Water tribe couldn’t help but follow. They found their aches and tired legs disappear as they stared at their Chieftain.

Onwards! Ever faster! If she led them, they could run forever! Even the Humans couldn’t keep up. The Goblin’s flagging spirits surged. They cheered their leader, shouted along with the Redfangs as the warriors roared and took the lead behind Rags.

The Goblins forgot about the battle with the [Emperor]. They forgot about the deaths at the city, their pursuers. They forgot about Tremborag and the danger they were in. They ran as if they’d never stop, across hills and valleys, fields of grass and through forests. The spring air was cool on their faces and the sun shone down. The Goblins ran and ran—

And then they stopped. Rags had halted. A group of riders had cut her off from the front. The Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe halted, coming out of their running trance. They saw Lord Pellmia’s riders forming a line in front of Rags as she stared at them uncertainly. The wagons rolled to a stop. Rags stared at Lord Pellmia as the Humans ahead of her blew on their horns, clearly telling the Goblins to halt. She looked around.

Where were they? The ground was filled with bright green stalks and they were standing almost on a dirt road winding south. A few rocks interrupted the plant life and she could see a lake far to the east. To the north a distant mountain sat isolated, and if she looked south she could see the High Passes, far away as they were. But there was nothing of note.

Except, Lord Pellmia clearly thought there was a reason to stop. His riders rode in a circle around Rags’ tribe, forcing them into a circle. Then the [Lord] dismounted. He pointed and his people moved a hundred paces west, out of bow shot. Then they began setting up camp.

“What are they doing, Chieftain?”

Poisonbite ran over, looking confused. Rags stared at the Humans as they began setting up tables to eat off of. They were even making a fire! She frowned.

“Resting. Must be at spot they wanted us to go.”

“Here?”

The female Goblin looked around skeptically. Rags shrugged. She eyed the landscape again, but she couldn’t see anything. All the way to the north there was nothing but grasslands. The Humans hadn’t colonized this part of northern Izril, and the horizon was just a distant black line. She looked behind her. She could see…a human settlement right on the edge of the horizon? Or was that just a clump of something else?

“Can’t move. We wait. Get food out! And get weapons! Just in case.”

Rags waved her hands. The Goblins in her tribe sighed. They flopped onto the grass. Some wandered over to the wagons and began unloading weapons. Rags saw the [Cooks] getting to work and flopped onto the grass.

There was no fuel for a fire, but Rags had collected enough firewood in the bag of holding that she could make a few large cook fires. It wasn’t cold enough for her tribe to need them anyway. So Rags lay in the sun as the wind blew, cooling the perspiration on her body.

The sun was warm, the sky blue. She felt good. She’d pushed herself hard, running yesterday. But somehow she’d done it. It was like she couldn’t get tired, not while she was leading her tribe. She felt…strong. Well, not strong in terms of arm muscle, but…something like that.

Rags didn’t feel like she needed to figure it out. She felt good, and as a Goblin brought her one of the first bowls of millet soup seasoned with lightning-fried fish from a pond and a bit of frog and mealworms and insects for taste, she was content. Even if the food was ick. Rags glanced north absently. The sun was warm overhead. But she was a bit warm—it felt like the heat from one of the bonfires north of her was being blown downwind.

“Chieftain.”

Predictably, Pyrite appeared. Even more predictably, he’d chosen to supplement his bowl of soup with food. Some of the growing wheat, still green, and a colony of ants. Rags stared as Pyrite tossed several white eggs into his bowl. She grimaced—she hated how they tasted. But Pyrite happily gulped his food down, then flicked a few of the red ants into his bowl. They were still clinging to his arm and biting him.

“Stopped.”

“Yes.”

The two Goblins looked at each other. Pyrite’s face was very calm, and he was eating with his usual placidness. But Rags noticed that the Hobs and Goblins with pikes had been moved to the edges of the seated Goblins. And they all had weapons now.

The elation she’d felt drained away slightly. A bit of tension entered Rags’ stomach. This was it. She felt it. So did Pyrite. They were at their destination. Now, whatever the Humans had planned for them would occur.

She had no idea what it was. She’d imagined they were being herded in this direction to fight something. Or maybe to a city so they could be executed for all the Humans to see. But this? This was nowhere. And yet—Rags glanced at Lord Pellmia. His forces were all in one spot, but they could easily run the Goblins down in this flat area. He was clearly waiting. For Tyrion Veltras?

“Good run. Chieftain was Chieftain today and yesterday.”

Pyrite chomped on his food. Rags glanced up at him. She shrugged, feeling a bit embarrassed.

“Was Chieftain thing to do. Not special. Other Chieftains lead all the time.”

“Yes. But was special because you did it. Smart Chieftain. And strong. Better than me. Better than Garen. Leader, not just Chieftain.”

The Hob looked calmly at Rags. She flushed at the unexpected compliment. She glanced around, feeling warm. That stupid fire was hot! Rags shook her head.

“Still not good enough. Not yet.”

“But learning. But change.”

“True.”

Rags glanced at Lord Pellmia. She could spot Gilam among the tired Humans. He looked miserable, which made her feel better. She emptied her bowl—she was hungry!—and stood, stretching. The Goblins of her tribe watched her. She looked at them and they nodded.

There was something in their gazes that had changed these last few days. No, these last weeks. She had led them against the Humans, fought off Bethal’s knights, defeated the [Emperor]. Led them. Pyrite was right. Now, more than ever, she was their Chieftain. It felt strange. Rags felt large, despite her small body.

And hot. She glanced about irritably. Had someone dumped all the spices in one pot again? No—it was the fire. She fanned herself and decided to walk out of range of the heat. Pyrite noticed.

“Hot?”

“From fire.”

Rags pointed north. Pyrite looked around and frowned.

“Fire? All fires downwind.”

“No. Fire there—”

Rags turned and stopped. Her finger was pointing north, towards the mountain. But there was no cook fire in front of her. But the heat was real. The heat and the sense that there was a…a fire nearby.

Slowly, Pyrite stood. He looked around and frowned. He sniffed the air, checked the direction of the wind. Then he looked at Rags.

“Something, Chieftain.”

“Yes.”

“Something north. I feel too.”

“You do?”

Confused, Rags glanced up at Pyrite. He nodded and squinted north.

“Brightness. Stars. Glowing gem. North.”

That wasn’t what Rags felt. She frowned.

“I feel fire.”

“Fire? No. Bright light. Like in dark tunnels far underground. See light.”

“No, fire. Hey, Redscar!”

Rags turned and waved her hands. Redscar looked up from feeding Thunderfur. He jogged over. Rags pointed north.

“Feel something? North?”

The Goblin frowned. He cast about, scratched his head, and then paused. Slowly, he nodded.

“Feels like…mountain. Like High Passes north.”

“High Passes?”

Rags glanced south, towards the actual High Passes, the eternal, gigantic mountain range. Redscar frowned as he tried to explain.

“Like tall mountain. Like…like stair up and see high mountain. Over there.”

He pointed. There was a mountain that way. Dwarfhalls Rest. But it was a lot smaller than any of the mountains of the High Passes. Barely more than a giant hill, really. Rags glanced around and then realized something.

All the Goblins could sense it. They were eating, chattering, or just lying down to sleep. But somehow, they were all facing north. And they kept glancing north, idly, as if looking for something.

And now Rags could feel it for a certainty. There was a burning north of her. A fire. But she could only see the empty grass, rocks, the road, and the black horizon line north of her. She frowned.

“Something that way. But what?”

Rags stared north. The wind blew in her hair, and a bit of dirt. She cursed and wiped her eyes. She was about to order Redscar to send a few riders north—then she remembered that the Humans would probably stop the Goblins. She glared at the black horizon line. And then she frowned.

Was the horizon…getting larger? It seemed that way. On the edge of vision, where the sky and land mixed, the world was black. But the black line was getting larger. And now the wind was blowing south and Rags felt more grit blowing into her face. She cursed, turned her head and felt it.

Fire. Her head turned back. And then she saw it. The line was moving. And it was no line in the sand. It was a bunch of bodies. Bodies wearing black armor.

Rags looked around. She saw the Humans stirring from their camp. Rags looked at Redscar and Pyrite. They were still frowning, trying to understand what they were sensing and feeling. But now Rags was sure. She kicked Pyrite.

“Hey!”

He looked at her. Rags pointed.

“Get tribe up! Move them!”

“Where?”

Redscar stared at Rags. She was scanning the landscape.

“There! East! Two hundred paces! Hurry!”

“Why?”

The two Goblins stared at her. Rags cursed.

“Just do! We’re in way! They come!”

“Who? Wh—”

Redscar demanded as Rags ran into her tribe, shouting orders. He stared back at the strange, moving line of bodies. Then his eyes widened. Not all the bodies were wearing black. Some were green. And then the distant shapes made sense.

It wasn’t a line. And it wasn’t one single thing that was coming towards them. Redscar saw a thousand, ten thousand, a hundred thousand moving shapes. They were spread across the plains, moving at a run. So many that they filled the horizon, an unending mass of them.

Goblins.

—-

“Dead gods.”

Lord Pellmia and Kilmet rode their horses east, pursuing Rags’ tribe. They stared north. They had known what they were supposed to see, but nothing could have prepared them for the sight.

Goblins. Over a hundred thousand of them were running south. Goblins in black armor, Goblins without. Thousands of Hobs. Smaller Goblins. All running. Lord Pellmia felt his breath quicken as the ground seemed to fill with Goblin bodies.

They were far off. Miles away. But already, Lord Pellmia could hear the sound of approach. It sounded like distant thunder. He stared north and saw Kilmet’s face pale. Both men were thinking the same thing.

“I’ve not seen so many Goblins since the Second Antinium War. Pell, there are so many Goblins—”

“Steady, Kilmet. Steady. Company, we’re abandoning the Goblins! On me!”

The Humans started as Pellmia raised his voice. He kicked his warhorse. The animal was only too glad to get out of the way. It snorted and Pellmia calmed it with a hand. He rode east at the head of the company, out of the way of the Goblin migration. But he couldn’t help looking north with the others.

So many Goblins. It seemed as if there was no end to them. And Pellmia couldn’t quiet the shaking of his hands on his reins. He remembered a similar sight.

Millions of Goblins, following the Goblin King. Each army hundreds of thousands strong, led by Goblin Lords and Chieftains. Tens of thousands of Hobs. So many Goblins it seemed as though they could drown Izril in bodies. And at their head, the Goblin King, howling as he cut a hole through Humans, half-Elves, Drakes, Gnolls, Selphids and Lizardfolk and Dullahans and—

“Pell!”

Lord Pellmia heard Kilmet’s voice. He realized he was galloping. He forced himself to slow and turn. They were out of the way of the Goblins heading south. But so many. So many!

“They could sack practically every major city with an army this large. We don’t have walls on most of them. Invrisil would fall! Only First Landing would survive. That and maybe—”

Kilmet stared at the Goblins. Pellmia shook himself. He had to stay calm. He looked around.

“They’re coming. Keep an eye on the Goblin tribe we brought. If they make a break for it, we have to force them towards that lot.”

“And if the Goblins in front decide to charge us?”

Genviere had paused. She was looking pale as she studied the Goblin line approaching. Pellmia shook himself.

“If that happens, we’ll retreat. But we’re not alone. There should be guides—there!”

He pointed. Another group was raising a dust storm. A group of riders to the east and west was moving south, ahead of the Goblins. They were specks in front of the Goblin horde, but they had to be at least a thousand men strong. At least! And they were not Goblin. Pellmia gritted his teeth.

“This is all part of the plan. Steady. We’ve nearly completed his task.”

“All of this was his plan?”

Genviere looked at Pellmia. The [Lord] nodded. He scanned the horizon, not looking at the Goblins now, but for what he knew must be behind them. Lord Tyrion Veltras. All of this was his plan. He’d done it. This force had to be the Goblins from Dwarfhalls rest. He’d marched them south, as fast as Lord Pellmia had run Rags’ tribe. The Goblins of the Great Chieftain of the Mountain’s tribe. But not just them. The Goblin Lord’s army had been besieging the mountain. And Lord Tyrion had brought them too. He’d brought…

All of them.

—-

Rags stared as the horizon was filled with moving bodies. There were more Goblins than she’d ever seen in her life. And that was only the first rank. Goblins streamed towards them across the grassland, running down the road, others through the fields, trampling everything underfoot. Black armored Goblins ran in front, warriors wearing the iconic black armor of the Goblin Lord. And behind them?

Goblins. Green bodies, so many that they blended together. Crimson eyes, distant pinpricks of light at a distance. Rags found herself backing up. The Goblins were headed straight for them. She looked around and saw her tribe was transfixed.

“Pack up!”

Rags’ voice made the Goblins start. She shouted above the growing thunder of the Goblins moving towards them. She waved her arms and pointed.

“Pack! Get wagons moving!”

“Chieftain! Which way?”

Noears looked alarmed as he stared at the Goblins. Rags hesitated. She stared around and saw Lord Pellmia. His group had retreated far out of the path of the Goblins. She looked around. If they ran for it—

No, they were still too close. And Rags could see a glittering line of riders coming from their west. She hesitated, and then pointed south.

“South! Move slow! Pikes to rear!”

The Goblins moved to obey. They loaded the wagons and began to walk. Slowly. The Goblins with the twenty foot-long pikes ran to the rear. They didn’t quite aim them at the approaching Goblins, but Rags could sense the tension.

Was this Goblin force hostile? Why were they marching? Those were the Goblin Lord’s warriors, weren’t they? And that burning—Rags cast her glance north again.

It felt like a giant bonfire was moving towards her. She felt like she should be able to see it, a roaring pillar of flames coming ever closer. It made her nervous. But the fire wasn’t scary in itself. It actually felt warm. She felt alive. But she didn’t know why and that was the cause of her fear.

“Chieftain. Lots of Goblins. We fight? We run?”

Quietstab appeared at Rags’ left. She could see Poisonbite marshaling her group of warriors. Redscar had assembled his Redfangs and was glancing at the Goblins approaching them. Rags looked around for Pyrite. He was standing with his Hobs, glancing at her and then behind.

“Can’t run. Don’t want to fight.”

“Good.”

The Hob smiled nervously. Rags saw the Goblins around her shuffling forwards. She whistled for her Carn Wolf and it bounded over. Rags mounted and pointed.

“Walk! Walk!”

Her tribe did. They stared back as the first row of Goblins in black armor finally came within close range. They were running, closer to running than a jog at any rate. The Goblins moved in a rolling wave, some forging ahead, others falling behind, but none daring to stop. Such was the momentum that any Goblin who tripped or fell would surely be trampled by the thousands behind them.

So many! Rags saw wagons, Hobs loaded with supplies, and pack animals by the hundreds, just like her tribe. She also saw a good number of Goblins were mounted. And—her blood chilled for a second—Shield Spiders. Large ones. Many scuttled ahead, given a wide berth by most of the Goblins, but some were large enough to ride. Rags saw Goblins in black armor sitting on their backs.

“Goblins coming!”

“Raise pikes!”

Pyrite bellowed an order. The first row of black Goblins wavered as they moved towards Rags’ tribe. They were clearly surprised to see more Goblins. They raised their weapons uncertainly as Rags’ rear line raised pikes. The Flooded Water tribe halted and the Goblins behind them froze.

They stared at the pikes. Twenty feet long and tipped by metal. The Goblins that held them were armored in scrap metal and Hobs stood behind them, armed with steel. Yes, the formation was one that was designed to slaughter most groups of cavalry, but if the Goblins charged, the pikes would do a pretty good job at impaling anything, really.

The Goblins in black armor hesitated. They eyed Rags’ forces and made a snap decision. They broke to the left and right of Rags as their comrades kept moving, splitting like a parting ocean in front of Rags’ tribe. Rags saw her Goblins looking around uncertainty, but the Goblins in black armor gave them a wide berth and made no move to envelop them.

They weren’t here for a fight. Rags felt a pang of relief. She looked back. More Goblins were following behind them, clearly as shocked to see another tribe just standing there. They too parted and Rags realized her tribe was like a rock in the middle of a river. She shouted, getting the attention of her tribe.

“March! Forwards, slow!”

Her Goblins turned. The ones with pikes shouldered their burden and the wagons began to move ahead. Slowly. It allowed Rags’ tribe to further enter the stream of Goblins. Her tribe glanced about, but now some began to shout and wave at the Goblins passing on either side. The other Goblins shouted back, and drew a bit closer.

“So many Goblins! From where?”

“From mountain. These are Goblin Lord tribe.”

“Not just them. Chieftain, I see Goblins. Mountain City tribe!”

“Where?”

Rags looked around. Quietstab pointed out a passing Hob he recognized. Rags hesitated. She’d expected to see the Goblin Lord’s forces, but Tremborag’s Goblins too? Had the Goblin Lord taken the mountain before the Humans had chased him away? Or was this…

The Goblin army wasn’t just warriors. There were children and Goblins who clearly weren’t warriors moving with the rest. They stumbled past Rags’ tribe, staring with wide eyes at the rested and comparatively healthy Goblins.

It was a stark contrast. These Goblins looked worn, practically dead on their feet. Rags watched the first wave of Goblins move past her position and eyed their speed. They didn’t have [Fleet Foot]. They were moving a lot slower. But they were still moving at a fast jog. Rags didn’t understand why, until she glanced behind her and saw the end of the winding Goblin migration. In the distance, the black line had changed to one of silver.

A glittering wave of [Riders] filled the horizon behind the Goblins. Thousands, tens of thousands of mounted Humans rode forwards, so many that Rags quailed to see them. Humans mounted and, Rags heard from the Goblins shouting at her tribe, countless more behind them. On foot.

“The Humans have made a huge army to crush Goblin Lord! Big army! Biggest! [Mages] and [Knights]! [Soldiers]! Gold-rank adventurers! And her! Kingslayer!”

Rags’ heart skipped a beat as she heard Quietstab give a report. Her other lieutenants looked nervous. Kingslayer. Ellia Arcsinger, the slayer of the Goblin King. No wonder the Goblin Lord was running.

“Chieftain, what is plan?”

Pyrite looked at Rags. Goblins were streaming past their small tribe. And it was a small tribe. There were probably twenty…yes twenty Goblins for every one of Rags’. At least! Rags felt overwhelmed, but she squared her shoulders.

“What can we do? We march! Keep pace with rest, but don’t let others come near! Talk more! Redfangs, patrol right. Poisonbite’s warriors left side! Pyrite takes rear! Quietstab in front with Noears!”

“Yes, Chieftain!”

The other Goblins looked relieved. Rags wished she was certain in the orders she was giving. She got her wagons moving and sat in the center of her tribe, looking around restlessly.

None of the other Goblins was making a move on her tribe. But they knew there were others. Like before, chatter spread throughout the entire force of Goblins, only on a much larger scale. At first, just the news of another Goblin tribe was relayed, and then details about the tribe. It was hard to miss the Redfang Warriors mounted on Carn Wolves, and Rags herself stood out as the Chieftain. And when that information spread back through the lines of Goblins—

She first heard it as a roar that went through her bones. The Goblins around her froze. Then Rags saw the crowd of Goblins to the left part. She saw a huge shape looming above even the tallest Hobs. A gigantic figure with pale green skin from sitting in the darkness for so long. A massive, fat face. And a fat body. Really, all of him was fat. But there was so much.

Tremborag lumbered through the ranks of Goblins, a giant Hob, obscenely fat. His arms and legs were huge pillars that casually threw Goblins aside. He approached the Flooded Water tribe and stopped. His crimson eyes widened in surprise. They swept the ranks of Goblins, narrowing when he spotted Quietstab and the other Goblins formerly of his tribe. Then they stopped. He had found Rags.

“You.”

Tremborag’s voice was deep. Loud. He stared at Rags in shock as she turned her Carn Wolf to face him. The animal growled nervously. Tremborag’s eyes were wide with shock. Then his expression changed into a snarl.

“You. Traitor!”

He roared. The Goblins around Rags flinched. Tremborag lumbered forwards, his hands clenching into fists. And suddenly, his huge body wasn’t so flabby. Muscles seemed to grow out of fat and his skin tightened. Tremborag’s round face grew bestial and his teeth and claws lengthened. He loomed over Rags, moving towards her faster, faster.

“This is your fault you traitor!”

Tremborag howled. The Goblins around him fled as the Great Chieftain of the Mountain charged. Rags scrabbled for her sword. She saw the Goblins around her panicking, then heard a voice.

“Pikes!”

Pyrite roared as he pushed forwards. The enchanted battleaxe glowed in his hands. A group of Hobs charged forwards. Suddenly, there were two dozen Hobs between her and Tremborag. They hunkered down as Goblins with pikes charged forwards, screaming wildly. They set themselves and Tremborag was suddenly facing ten pikes aimed at his chest. His wild charge slowed. But he did not retreat. He swiped at the pikes, splintering one and throwing the Goblins holding another. He tried to advance, but Rags had recovered herself.

“Crossbows!”

The Goblins around her started. They raised their crossbows, aiming at Tremborag. Then the Great Chieftain’s arms tensed. He raised his hands in front of his face, but his eyes were burning hatred and his jaws were dripping with saliva. He roared and the Goblins flinched. Rags held up her hand, seeing Redscar charging left, flanking Tremborag with his warriors. She locked eyes with Tremborag, wavered—

And the sea of Goblins parted. A Goblin, a Hob on the back of a Carn Wolf, leapt over the heads of the Goblins. More riders charged out of the chaos. The Hob on wolf back charged towards Tremborag. He halted as he saw the confrontation. His gaze swept past Pyrite, found Rags. The Hob’s eyes widened in recognition.

Garen Redfang stopped and stared at Rags. She stared back. There he was. Tall and proud, carrying his famous red blade in one hand. He didn’t look as weary as the other Goblins and he still radiated strength. He was just as she had remembered him. But she wasn’t.

“Redfang!”

The cry went up from Garen’s right. He turned and Rags saw Redscar and his warriors appear out of the chaos. The warriors mounted on Carn Wolves were howling, ready to attack. But they froze as they saw Garen. They halted as one.

Redfang Warriors. His Redfangs. Only, they were of Rags’ tribe. They had betrayed him. Rags saw Redscar freeze up as he saw Garen. The true Chieftain of the Redfang tribe looked at his warriors and then at Rags.

“Rags.”

“Traitor!”

Tremborag spat. His body was halted in mid-transformation. He was raging, but even in his fury Tremborag was no idiot. He could see how many Goblins were between him and Rags’ tribe. He might be the biggest and most deadly Hob, but Rags had hundreds of Hobs, pikes, and crossbows aimed at his chest. Plus the Redfangs and Noears, who had a ball of lightning in one claw, ready to loose. Tremborag hesitated.

“I’ll break these pikes. You kill her, Redfang!”

Garen hesitated. He stared at Rags and his hand tightened over his blade. Rags reached for the crossbow on her back slowly. By her side, Quietstab and Poisonbite tensed. And then all the Goblins heard a voice.

“Make way! Make way for Goblin Lord! Cease fighting!”

It was a bellow, a surprisingly educated voice. Rags turned her head and saw another towering figure emerging from the ranks of the Goblins. This Hob wasn’t as large as Tremborag but he was all muscle, unlike the fat Great Chieftain. Eater of Spears parted the Goblins around him with his arms and then turned. A Goblin rode past him. A Goblin riding a horse. Her head was too large and her teeth were bared. They were silvery and grey, metallic. Snapjaw rode her mount in a tight circle, scattering the Goblins even further. And then a third Goblin appeared.

He appeared out of the crowd, seated at first. Only Rags couldn’t see what he was sitting on so it looked like he was just sitting on the air. Then she saw a huge black body, scuttling legs. The Goblins flinched as a Shield Spider, three times as large as a horse, scuttled out of the crowd. It was massive, a true giant of its kind.

And it was dead. Something or someone had torn the head off it. So what the Goblin was really riding was a headless corpse. The Shield Spider had taken grievous injuries in other places, so that part of its body was ripped open, exposing dark internal organs, rotted and putrid. But still the spider moved at the will of its master who sat on its back.

The Hob was thinner than Garen, not built as strongly. He was certainly not fat as Tremborag, and he could almost have passed for a Human if it weren’t for his green skin and pointed ears. His head turned as Snapjaw and Eater of Spears flanked him. A group of Hobs in black armor rushed forwards, putting themselves between the Hob and Tremborag and Garen. The spider rider saw Rags’ tribe and his eyes widened. He glanced at Tremborag and pointed.

“Split them.”

His voice was loud and he spoke in the common tongue! The Hobs rushed forwards at his command without question. Tremborag snarled and retreated. Garen whirled his wolf and rode back as the black-armored Goblins formed a line between them and Rags’ tribe. They completely ignored the pikes and other Hobs at their back. The Goblin stared at Tremborag.

“Begone.”

“You do not give me orders.”

Tremborag’s voice was barely controlled rage. The Hob ignored him. He looked at Garen. The Hob looked up with clear hatred in his eyes. Garen didn’t bother with a response. He just turned and rode back through the crowd. Rags saw the Goblins he’d brought with him—all with red fangs painted on their shoulders—turn to follow. Tremborag turned and bulled his way through the Goblins as well.

The Hob on the spider’s back watched him go. Then he turned. His gaze swept the Goblins of Rags’ tribe and they shuddered. Partly in fear, partly in longing. They stared at the Goblin on the spider’s back as if he shone. And he did. In their minds.

Rags stared too. The Hob’s eyes weren’t crimson like every other Goblin. They were black, with white pupils. She had never seen any Goblin with eyes like that. She shuddered. But then the black gaze moved towards her. Rags steeled herself and didn’t look away. She locked eyes with the Hob riding the undead spider.

The Goblin Lord stared at Rags and she met his eyes for the longest second in her life. Then his gaze flicked back. He looked up and frowned. Then the Goblin Lord pointed.

“The [Mages] have noticed. Clear the area!”

His voice sounded…normal. It wasn’t like a Goblin who’d learned to speak the common tongue, but like a native speaker’s. It wasn’t guttural or harsh or deep or…anything. It was just loud. But there was a reverberation to it. Power in his words. The Goblins around him rushed to obey and Rags saw her tribe moving away, obeying without thinking. She started as her Carn Wolf padded back and realized she was moving too! She jerked her Carn Wolf to a halt and looked up.

Something bright was falling from the sky. Rags stared at it as the Goblin Lord calmly rode his undead spider back. Rags’ eyes widened as the fiery thing resolved itself into falling meteors and fireballs, glowing orbs, and a rain of magical arrows. She turned her head and screamed.

“Run!”

The Goblins around her needed no encouragement. They raced out of the way as the spells fell. The first meteor struck the earth with a roar and sent up a plume of earth. Rags felt some of it land around her and heard more explosions.

The falling spells detonated as they struck the ground. Goblins fled as the [Mages] unleashed another volley, forcing them to run or die. Rags shouted for her tribe, trying to keep them together. Somehow, miraculously, they managed to escape the bombardment intact. The spells rained down for a minute, but only in the spot where Tremborag had been facing off against Rags’ forces. The Goblins moved forwards in a mass and Rags found her tribe caught up in the procession. She shouted, waving her arms, restoring their ranks.

“Keep moving! March in line! Keep other Goblins back!”

The Hobs reacted slowly to her commands, but they did get the job done in the end. The Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe shakily began marching, but they kept glancing back towards the spot where the Goblin Lord had been. So did Rags. She started as someone approached her from the side.

Pyrite. The battleaxe was on his shoulder. He stared back towards the destroyed craters in earth. Fire had spread to a few of the growing plants and the Goblins running past stomped on the flames before they could spread. The Hob shook his head as the Humans following the Goblins loosed another volley of spells and arrows, this time forcing the rear-most ranks of Goblins to hurry up or die. He glanced up at Rags and spoke quietly.

“That was Goblin Lord.”

“Yes.”

Rags looked for the Hob, but he had vanished into the mass of Goblins. She thought she could see Tremborag standing above the others and maybe the other huge Hob—Eater of Spears. But she wasn’t sure. She turned to Pyrite.

“Goblin Lord.”

“And Tremborag. And Redfang.”

“None died.”

That seemed wrong to Rags. Garen had sworn he would oppose the Goblin Lord. And Tremborag had seemed just as adamant, for all he was content to hide in his mountain. Why weren’t they fighting?

The Humans. They were chasing the Goblins. And they were willing to blast the Goblins apart to keep them moving. It didn’t explain everything, but it explained enough. Rags glanced ahead. The Goblins were marching. They’d never really stopped. They looked tired, but Rags was sure they wouldn’t stop until nightfall.

Everything was different, but some things were the same. Rags took a few steadying breaths. She didn’t know what was happening. But she could guess and she knew that she was relatively safe for the moment. She had to move her tribe. So with that in mind she turned to Pyrite.

“We march again. Pyrite, take rear. Don’t let other Goblins get close.”

The Hob eyed her.

“What you do?”

“Same thing as yesterday.”

Rags slid from her saddle. She gritted her teeth in determination. Pyrite looked concerned.

“Wise, Chieftain?”

“Can’t stay in back. Get lost or trampled. Hey! Follow!”

Rags waved her arms. The Goblins around her stared. Her tribe looked shocked as Rags jogged ahead. But then they followed. They broke into a jog, and then a run. Rags saw the Goblins ahead of them turn and part ways in surprise. The Flooded Water tribe ran past them, accelerating, faster, faster.

She had a Skill. Her tribe had a Skill. The other Goblins did not. They stared as her Goblins zoomed past them, heads held high. They shouted as they ran. The Goblins from Tremborag’s tribe, from the Goblin Lord’s army looked back in alarm and surprise. They fell back, moved out of the way.

Rags’ tribe surged forwards, moving faster than the rest. The weary Goblins stared as the small Chieftain running ahead. Their eyes followed her. So did Garen’s. Tremborag spat as he forced his burning legs to move. And Reiss stared in curiosity at Rags’ back. She could feel his gaze there, but she didn’t turn. Rags ran at the head of a hundred thousand Goblins, seeing the Humans racing ahead of her to guide the Goblins. And she had to wonder where they were going. And why.

—-

Lord Tyrion Veltras was busy. He stood at the heart of a ring of people, all of whom wanted to speak to him. [Mages] bearing messages, [Messengers] with the same, [Scouts], officers with questions or issues that required his attention, and not least the nobility. There were a number of [Lords] and [Ladies] and [Servants] who had come on behalf of their masters to speak with him. Tyrion dealt with it all coldly and calmly.

“Recheck the supplies for spoiled goods. Have the [Quartermaster] in charge of that section replaced and administer punishment. If necessary, find more supplies at the next village we pass. Tell Lady Faima that the soldiers are not hers to order about. If she requires a bath, perhaps she should seek it in a town and stop following this force. Or she may have her servants draw it for her. But her personal soldiers are under my command for the duration of this campaign and I will have her respect that. Sir Niels, resolve your grudge with Sir Vecle later. I won’t have duels of honor in my camp. Lord Bhors—”

Lord Pellmia stood at the back of the gathering. He watched as Tyrion efficiently reduced the number of people circling about him. The nobility he dealt with brusquely in most cases, while he devoted the most time to problems concerning the army. It was really a matter of him deciding what action to take. In most cases, the other [Lords] and officers he’d appointed could handle the details. Soon, Lord Pellmia could step forwards. He did not.

It didn’t take Tyrion long to spot him either way. The younger [Lord] waved aside a [Mage] with a stack of transcribed messages for him.

“I’ll review them in my tent. The rest of you, leave us. Lord Pellmia, I congratulate you on your efficiency.”

“You’re too kind, Veltras.”

The two men found themselves alone. The evening light shone into Pellmia’s eyes so he turned sideways. Tyrion had the sun at his back. It was nearly night. Tyrion’s forces were already camped and the Goblins were sitting in their own camp. The campfires and distant shapes were still a huge mass, but Pellmia had grown slightly used to looking at them. He couldn’t even tell where the tribe he’d been shepherding had gone.

“It seems you’ve won our second bet. I will of course honor it. My stores are yours to peruse when we return from the campaign. Or if you have a preference, inform my [Majordomo].”

Tyrion didn’t waste time on small talk. Pellmia inclined his head politely.

“I will. And I thank you, Veltras. But I’m afraid I can take little credit for the Goblin’s arrival. They moved fast. I have no idea how you managed to force so many to march this far without a Skill.”

“It’s been a challenge. But hardly an impossible one. Arcsinger’s Skills have aided with the task. As have the [Mages]. We are on schedule, however. With your success, we have all the Goblins in the same spot. Now all that remains is to keep moving them. I intend to reassign the riders under your command to interception duty. Lord Pellmia, it’s my opinion that you would be well suited towards the left flank. I have Gralton and several [Captains] in joint command, but none of them have the right temperament to take control of the entire wing—”

“Veltras.”

Tyrion broke off. Lord Pellmia cleared his throat. He felt weary and unhappy, but this needed to be said. He inclined his head to the younger Lord Tyrion. They had to have, what, twenty years of difference between them? It felt like a century today. Pellmia kept his voice as formal as he could as he spoke.

“Lord Tyrion Veltras. I regret to inform you that…I can no longer aid you in your task. My men are yours. But I have not the stomach for this anymore. I resign my command.”

Pellmia stood straight as he spoke. He waited for Lord Tyrion to speak. But the Lord just looked at him. Tyrion stroked his beard, looked Pellmia up and down, and spoke curtly.

“I heard a report from one of my people. You engaged the Goblins in the forest. They set a forest fire. Your son was nearly killed.”

Of course he knew. Pellmia nodded slowly.

“They could have killed my boy. They didn’t. I don’t know why, but he lives. He lives and that—that’s enough. I will be returning to my estates. With Gilam.”

Tyrion lifted one eyebrow.

“So suddenly? The boy was in danger, but he is a warrior. Or do you mean to shield him forever?”

“He’s young. And doesn’t understand how close to death he came. He is young, but a fool. I think…”

Pellmia’s throat closed.

“…I think my legacy is more uncertain than I would have liked to hope. My son is not the man I hoped he would be. He might be, but I refuse to risk him any further.”

“I see. However, you need not leave, Lord Pellmia. A man of your level is hard to come by. I would consider a personal favor if you stayed. This business with the Goblins—they killed good men and women. There’s little to thank them for.”

“I know. But they spared my son. The Chieftain did, Veltras. She could have shot him through the head. She did not. I can’t forget that.”

“And you’d halt your campaign for that?”

Tyrion looked uncomprehending as he shook his head. Pellmia nodded. He wondered what his peers would say. He wondered what his wife—he shook his head again.

“I apologize, but my mind is made up.”

This time Lord Tyrion visibly sighed. He drummed his fingers on his forearm and then looked up.

“I need as many [Lords] as possible. Lord Pellmia, if you won’t take part in the cavalry’s movements, could I at least persuade you to take charge of the foot? The infantry are struggling to keep up and your Skills would be invaluable there.”

That surprised Pellmia. He hesitated.

“But my son—”

“He would be quite safe in the rear. I could station him under the command of my adjutants. They have some of the younger [Lords] in check.”

Tyrion watched Pellmia’s expression closely. Lord Pellmia grimaced, rubbed at his face, and then nodded abruptly.

“I accept. Thank you, Lord Tyrion.”

“It is I who should thank you. Regardless of any incidents, you’ve done what I asked. I would be honored if you joined my table at tonight’s dinner.”

“I shall. And I shall leave you to your work. Until later, Veltras.”

Lord Pellmia walked back. Tyrion watched the older man go, and then made a note to inform his people about the change. He glanced at the Goblins in their camp and shook his head. Lord Pellmia lost his nerve? That was unthinkable, or it should have been. The man had fought the Goblin Lord with distinction. Was he that concerned for his son? Or had the Goblin Chieftain shaken him that much?

For a moment Tyrion wondered, then he put it out of his mind. He beckoned one of his [Mages] over. She had been screening his conversation with Pellmia, preventing anyone from listening in. Tyrion spoke curtly as she approached.

“Jericha, we’re on schedule. Send word to Emperor Godart. Tell him—no, inquire if he will be able to fulfill his side of the bargain on time. And have Lord Pellmia take charge of the infantry. Move Yitton Byres and Lord Erill up to the front. I want the supply wagons moving as fast as they can to catch up.”

“Yes, Lord Veltras.”

The [Mage] stepped back. Tyrion glanced around. He was alone for a moment. He stared back at the Goblin camp. Over a hundred thousand of them sat in the darkness, around fires, eating, moving about tiredly. Tyrion grimaced. He looked up as Jericha returned. Magus Genviere was with her. She bowed politely and Tyrion nodded.

“Magus Genviere, I appreciate your support of Lord Pellmia.”

“It was mildly eventful. May I take it that the operation was a success?”

“You may. And now that the Goblins are in place…the Chieftains have kept their tribes together. But they’re no longer needed. We only require the Goblin Lord.”

“Really.”

Genviere’s eyes flashed with interest. Tyrion nodded. He glanced at Jericha, who was watching Genviere warily. Between the two, Genviere was the better [Mage]. But Jericha was more loyal—the [High Mage] worked with Lord Erill, but she wasn’t his, just an ally of convenience.

An important distinction, that. The tension between the two also probably came from the fact that Jericha hadn’t studied at Wistram. She’d learned from the mage’s academy in First Landing. It mattered little to Tyrion as Jericha was one of the best spellcasters he employed, but it was everything between [Mages].

At last, Jericha looked at Lord Tyrion.

“The incident on the march seemed to be due to the new Chieftain. Lord Veltras, it appears that the ah, Great Chieftain and Goblin Lord both took an interest in this Chieftain.”

Tyrion raised one eyebrow.

“Interesting. In that case, monitor the camp. I won’t tolerate the Goblins slaughtering each other before I can use them. But if there are tensions, I want to be aware of them.”

“Yes, Lord Veltras.”

The [Mages] bowed. Tyrion turned his attention back to the camp as they left. He stared at the Goblins in distaste. It would be so easy to attack them. But not yet. Just a little longer, a little longer…his hand clenched.

He’d been waiting a long time for a chance like this. And he refused to let it pass him by. So Tyrion waited. Another night fell as the Humans got to work, monitoring the Goblins, much as things had been the last few nights. But in the Goblin camp there was chaos. Tyrion thought of Goblins much as the same people, but you couldn’t suddenly add in a new tribe without consequences. And given that it was Rags’ tribe, the effects were large indeed.

—-

Chaos. That was all Rags could see when the Humans finally had the Goblins halt. There were so many Goblins milling about that she thought they’d never get anything done. But to her surprise, the Goblins got their camp ready in good time. Not as quickly as her tribe of course, but faster than so many Goblins had every right to be.

And oh, it told Rags everything she needed to know. You could summarize the entire situation in a glance just by looking at the camps at night. The Humans camped behind the Goblins , the smaller camps encircling the Goblin’s position and flashes of light from constant patrols—and the Goblin camp itself. Or rather, the camp of two sides. Three, if you counted Rags’ tribe.

The largest camp was arranged in a tight circle. Large tents were set up, and Goblins moved in lines, eating, using the latrines, sleeping, and so on. And not a stone’s throw away was a mess of tents and Goblins sleeping out in the open. They were cheek-by-jowl next to each other, but the two sides were clearly sides.

Hobs and armed Goblins stood, at the edge of each camp, glaring at each other. But they didn’t fight. There was no fighting in either camp, except for squabbles over food. Rags had been on guard, but none of the Goblins had tried to start anything with her tribe either.

Strangely, there was peace there, despite the separate factions. The threat of the Human army made infighting a stupid idea. Plus, the [Mages] would actively bombard any group of Goblins that fought against each other, discouraging conflict even more. So the camp was at peace. But there was an undercurrent, a tension running throughout all the Goblins. They weren’t one people. They weren’t united.

There were factions. Rags could sense it, a confusing tug-of-war between the various sides. It was like being trapped in—in a current. Like the ones Liscor had when it rained. Rags had never seen the ocean, but she had swum in those waters. They were constantly being sucked downwards, disappearing into the earth. Every Goblin learned to read the currents when they dove or be drowned, sucked into some deep crevasse. The camp felt much like those waters.

The Goblin Lord was obviously the biggest pull. Rags could feel him nearby, like a bonfire’s heat just out of sight. But the pull from Tremborag was very strong too. She could even sense Garen’s presence, and some of the other Chieftains. A lot of them were with Tremborag and they were holding the Goblin Lord’s pull at a stalemate.

Still, the balance was fraught and ever-changing. As Rags stood in her camp she could see Goblins scurrying around. Reiss’ war camp was organized, rows of military tents set up like a Human army. Tremborag’s faction was a mess by comparison, but very Goblin-like in that regard. Armed Goblins stood watch on the edges of both camps, but a surprising number of Goblins went back and forth between camps.

“Lots of Goblins moving between camps. Some come to ours.”

Quietstab’s voice made Rags turn. Their camp was on the edge of the other two, like a strange new growth. As of yet it wasn’t part of the entire hubbub so Goblins had yet to readily enter their camp, but Rags could see several groups looking at her neat setup and cooking Goblins with clear interest. She pointed to the outskirts of her camp, which was marked by a clear stretch of grass about four feet wide.

“Keep some Hobs on edges of camp.”

Quietstab nodded. He’d figured out what Rags had.

“Not to let Goblins go?”

Rags turned her head.

“No. To not let them come in.”

The Hob blinked. He looked questioningly at Rags, but she was already moving past him, waving at Poisonbite. Quietstab scratched his head, but went to do what Rags had ordered. And she was right.

Before their camp had even been fully erected, the Hobs on the edges of the camp stopped several groups of Goblins varying in size—one a family of four, another nearly a hundred strong—from entering the camp. They seemed confused why they couldn’t enter. Some tried to bribe the Hobs with food they were carrying or showed willingness to do tasks, but they were turned away in the end.

It was strange behavior. Definitely odd for Goblins who usually lived and died by their tribe. But so many competing Chieftains and a Goblin Lord had created the most unusual of circumstances. Noears summarized it best as he ate with Rags and her officers. Today’s dinner was horse. Not all horse, but that was a definite component. Rags felt slightly bad, but the white mare had broken a leg in the chaos and that was that. Noears nibbled at his fried meat and gestured at the Goblins still trying to get into the camp.

“Those are not-loyal Goblins. Bounce between factions. Want best food, most protection. Caught between strong Chieftain. And Goblin Lord.”

“Not loyal. Cowardly. Run to biggest Goblin to hide behind.”

Poisonbite scowled darkly. She’d been wary all day, especially given how many of Tremborag’s Goblins were marching around her. They’d recognized their friends in Rags’ tribe and not been happy. Only the ban on fighting had prevented some unpleasant confrontations.

Redscar nodded. He was feeding his Carn Wolf. He paused as he stared past the aimless Goblins being blocked by Hobs. A few of the Goblins waiting in the back looked like warriors. They had red paint on their bodies. He pointed at them.

“Some are Redfangs. Want to talk. Should let in.”

“Garen’s Redfangs.”

Quietstab corrected Redscar. The other Goblin glowered at him.

“Redfangs are Redfangs. Not like other Goblins.”

He glanced around for support and got only a brief nod from Pyrite, which was probably only for politeness’ sake. Rags saw Noears gulp down his meat and then look at her curiously.

“Why not let other Goblins in, Chieftain? Get more food, supplies. And hands. They help, do things for tribe.”

She grunted irritably.

“And spy. Let none in. Not even Redfangs.”

Redscar looked indignant.

“Goblins do not spy. Redfangs do not.”

“Then talk outside camp. Or will you go to Garen camp?”

Rags looked up and met Redscar’s eyes. The Goblin paused and the others froze as they stared at him and Rags. Redscar glanced at the other Redfang Warriors behind him and slowly shook his head.

“We chose you. Chieftain.”

He met Rags’ eyes. She nodded slowly, not apologizing. She had to know. She glanced back towards her Hobs and then stood up.

“Uh oh. Bad thing.”

The other Goblins looked over and then stood up. A group of Goblins had gathered outside the edge of the camp. And these ones weren’t opportunistic Goblins. They were Tremborag’s Goblins. A few of the high-ranking Hobs and their warriors were facing off with Rags’ Hobs. And both sides were armed.

“Traitors!”

The Goblins of the Mountain City tribe howled and raised their weapons. They were angry, pointing at their former comrades. One threw a rock at Poisonbite. The others stepped forwards, brandishing their weapons. There were a lot of them and they looked ready to attack. Rags instantly snapped an order.

“Crossbows!”

The Goblins from Tremborag’s tribe didn’t look afraid. They outnumbered the Goblins around Rags. Then they saw hundreds of Goblins behind Rags grab crossbows and aim it at them. The Goblins turned and fled back towards their camp.

“No shoot! Get crossbows behind Hobs! And keep other Goblins back! No Goblin gets in, no Goblin goes out!”

Rags shouted at the Hobs, who grunted and nodded. Pyrite looked around, eying the other camps.

“Have to talk sometime, Chieftain.”

“Not now! Not to them. Will talk soon. We wait for him.”

“Him?”

Poisonbite looked confused. Rags glanced at Pyrite. The Hob nodded. Of course he would be here soon. Tremborag? Possibly not. But Garen Redfang wasn’t patient. Or afraid of confrontation.

Sure enough, it was only an hour later that Rags heard a commotion again. This time she didn’t get a chance to get to the front. Garen Redfang ignored the Hobs standing guard. He rode his Carn Wolf down on a pair of them and kicked the female in the face while his Carn Wolf knocked over the male. He rode straight into the camp with his warriors spreading out behind him. Goblins backed up as Redfang looked around. He bellowed one word that made both camps go silent for a second.

“Rags!”

And then she was there. Rags strode forwards, unarmed, Pyrite, Redscar, Quietstab, and Poisonbite at her back. Noears was having violent diarrhea somewhere else. Garen stared down at Rags. His eyes narrowed.

“You betrayed me.”

Rags sighed. It wasn’t like Goblins did small talk anyways. She looked up at Garen and raised her voice.

“I betrayed no one. I took my tribe from mountain. It was bad place. Not-Goblin place!”

Garen snarled. His Carn Wolf growled loudly, and the smaller Carn Wolves backed away as the alpha wolf bared its teeth.

“You stole my warriors! My Redfangs!”

Rags folded her arms.

“They came with me. Your fault. You let Goblins rape Human women. You gave tribe to Tremborag. I was your Chieftain. Not him.”

“They were my warriors!”

Garen howled. He had a hand on his sword. The Goblins around him tensed. But Rags just shook her head. She felt…bad. Not bad as in scared or upset. Just disappointed. She’d wondered what Garen’s reaction would be. And it was everything she’d thought. He was just how she remembered. But she was not.

“You lost them, Redfang. Not me. They followed me because you were poor Chieftain. Ask Redscar.”

She stepped to one side. Garen turned his burning gaze to the Goblin who was studying his feet with interest. He growled a word, a note of betrayal.

“Redscar.”

“Garen.”

At last, Redscar looked up at Garen. The two locked eyes. Garen leaned forwards over his Carn Wolf. Redscar’s own wolf, Thunderfur, slunk over, growling at Garen’s wolf. The two stared at each other for a long moment. The Redfang Warriors behind Garen and the ones in Rags’ camp stared between the two Goblins. At last, Redscar spoke.

“That was not Goblin. You told us.”

“I told you to obey. We fought Goblin Lord! Tremborag’s Goblins are them. We leave them be. Deal with it!”

Garen shouted at Redscar. The Goblin gritted his teeth and shook his head.

“What about pride? What about Redfangs? We are warriors, not—that!”

He pointed scornfully at Tremborag’s camp. Garen growled.

“You betrayed me. You are not Redfang.”

Redscar’s eyes blazed. He slapped his chest and raised his voice.

“I am Redfang! I led tribe! I fought! What did former Chieftain do? Hide in mountain? Hurt Human females? Chieftain was coward! Not-Goblin! Rags was better Chieftain than Garen could be!”

The Redfang Warriors roared. The ones around Garen surged forwards. Garen unsheathed his blade. His Carn Wolf crouched—and then stopped. So did Garen. He stared down at the glowing, fiery battleaxe whose edge was inches away from his Carn Wolf’s nose.

“What?”

“This is an axe.”

Pyrite casually held the battleaxe in front of Garen’s Carn Wolf. The Hob stared up at Garen. Then he pointed a thumb. Garen turned his head.

Dozens of Goblins with crossbows were aimed at him. And Goblins with pikes were set up, ready to pincushion Garen and his warriors. Garen looked around and saw Rags.

“Beat you once. Strategy or not.”

She shrugged.

“Try again. Go on.”

Garen didn’t. He glared around, hand tight on his blade, but slowly sheathed it. He looked down at Rags in disgust, completely ignoring Redscar.

“This is your fault. Humans chased from mountain. Goblin Lord here. Should die.”

“Didn’t look bad to me.”

Rags countered, although that was half a lie. She still shuddered to remember the Goblin Lord’s unnatural eyes. And she’d seen more undead lurching around in his army. But Pisces had been a [Necromancer]. And his Goblins didn’t look any worse for wear than Tremborag’s forces. She glared up at Garen.

“You told me Goblin Lord was evil. Used undead. Treated Goblins bad. Was that a lie?”

“He is a slave. He betrayed kind.”

Garen hissed at Rags. He seemed serious. And he was a bad liar. Rags considered this.

“Didn’t look bad.”

“You know nothing! He is slave! Ask! He raises undead! He has master! He is not-Goblin!”

Garen shouted at Rags. He pointed to the camp and his voice was loud enough to be heard by everyone.

“The Goblin Lord is a traitor! He betrayed kind!”

“Like Garen betrayed his tribe?”

Rags stared up innocently at Garen. His eyes bulged. He made a strangled noise and nearly drew his sword again. At the last moment he caught himself. He stared at Rags and turned.

“This is not over.”

He turned and rode his Carn Wolf out of her camp. His Redfang Warriors followed, glaring at their comrades in Rags’ camp. Rags watched Garen ride back to Tremborag’s faction. She could see the Great Chieftain sitting there. His face was turned to her, but as she looked over he turned away and began eating.

“Fun.”

Poisonbite scowled and sheathed her poisoned daggers. She stomped away now that the threat of violence was done with. Rags just wiped her forehead. She looked at Redscar, who was scowling at the ground.

“Alright?”

“No.”

He looked up and at Rags. There was pain in his eyes. Rags nodded. She left Redscar behind as the other Redfangs clustered around him. The other Goblins dispersed, clearly shaken by the confrontation.

Noears staggered towards Rags, clutching his bottom. She wrinkled her nose and backed up. The [Mage] gave her a pale grin.

“Chieftain, bad? Fight?”

“Not now. You go poo there.”

Rags pointed back to the latrines. Noears nodded gratefully and shuffled off. Rags backed away and decided to check the horse meat again. She was just finishing and wondering if it was time to sleep—after all, they’d be marching tomorrow—when she heard the sound of Goblins chanting. She turned.

“Redfang!”

The Goblins in Tremborag’s faction were shouting. Not many of them—barely a thousand or so. They were shouting one word. Redfang. Rags didn’t hear Garen’s voice, but the Goblins shouted again and again.

“Redfang! Redfang!”

It was clearly a provocation. Rags saw the warriors in her camp stir. They formed into their own group and began shouting back.

“Redfang!”

The same word, a different meaning. The Carn Wolves began to howl as Rags’ Redfang Warriors shouted and stomped. Redscar led them, shouting angrily at Garen’s warriors. The Goblins fell silent for a second, and then came back with another chant.

“Ga-ren! Ga-ren! Ga-ren! Redfang! Ga-ren!”

The Redfang Warriors in Rags’ camp faltered. They stopped chanting. The ones in Tremborag’s camp kept shouting Garen’s name until a [Mage] from the Human camp threw a ball of air that exploded overhead. Then all the Goblins slept in silence.

Rags lay down and slept uneasily. She didn’t know what to make of Garen. Or Tremborag. She didn’t feel safe, but she didn’t want to be the first one to attack. And she could still sense it, practically on top of her now. A roaring flame. A burning sensation. Fire, bright and beautiful, close enough to touch. Alluring in the darkness. But—putrid? No, not entirely. But something foul mixed into the flames. A foul smell that was feeling rather than scent. Rags wrinkled her nose. But the fire was still glorious.  She raised her head and looked across the camp. She could not see him, but she knew he was there. And he knew her.

The Goblin Lord.

—-

Day 7

It was the same and not the same. This time the horns blew and [Mages] blasted sound spells over the Goblin camp. It was definitely a rough start, but Rags’ tribe was used to the routine now. So were the other Goblins. They were up and moving, eating on the go before the sun was even risen.

Rags had a system now. She declined to lead her tribe seeing as the Humans now set the pace. Instead, she had the wagons all set up. Since they were actually moving slower now, given that the Goblin Lord and Tremborag both lacked movement Skills, she could burden the wagons a bit more and let the Hobs lend their strength to the job.

Now her [Cooks] were making food on the wagons’ back. And Rags had set up a mobile rest room on the wagons so Goblins could do their business without having to catch up. It was a glorious invention hampered only by the smelly poo that other Goblins had to avoid. She even had a wagon for Goblins to sleep on, and she had to assign several Hobs to keep Goblins from other factions from climbing on.

Her tribe marched at the front of the sea of Goblins. Rags didn’t want to get near Tremborag or Garen, who were closer to the back. But that put her closer to the Goblin Lord’s army. And while the black-armored Goblins gave them space, it was only a matter of time before something happened.

As it turned out, it was Pyrite and Redscar who were at the front when it occurred. Both were on the right side of Rags’ tribe, talking. Redscar was disconsolate after his encounter with his former Chieftain, and Pyrite was lending him an ear. It was mainly Redscar talking and Pyrite offering a word or two now and then. Or a grunt.

The two were keeping an eye on the ranks of Goblins in black armor. They saw the shift in the movement of the Goblins and broke off speaking quickly. Then Pyrite saw the black goblins start to advance and recognized the huge Hob that pushed his way forwards. Eater of Spears appeared on the front and Redscar cursed.

“They’re coming.”

“Pikes!”

Pyrite roared. Goblins with pikes rushed forwards, setting themselves up. All around them, the other Goblins screamed and moved back. Pyrite kept the Goblins moving, but now there was a wall of pikes between them and the Goblin Lord’s army. He could see more Goblins moving forwards and heard Rags calling out orders as she repositioned her forces. And then—

It was like light in the darkness. Like the light of the sky after the time Pyrite had gotten lost in the caves for two days. The light of gemstones. A glorious light. A terrible light. A wondrous thing he couldn’t explain. Glorious—but dark. There was something tainted. But it was beautiful.

Pyrite saw the Goblins in front of him stir. He felt something seize hold of his heart. He saw the black bodies part. And a Hob rode forwards on the back of the undead Shield spider.

There he was. His black eyes shone as the Goblins fell back in front of them. They couldn’t help it. Pyrite and Redscar stared up at the Hob riding the undead Shield Spider. They felt it too. An urge to move aside.

It was different from Tremborag. He had commanded them to kneel. But that had been an order. This was different. As Reiss rode forwards, the Goblins stepped aside, staring at him, not even realizing what they were doing. They looked up not in fear, but with awe.

Here rode a Goblin Lord. His black gaze swept the Goblins. And not even Rags’ warriors could meet his eye. They parted for him automatically, the pikes lowering as the Goblin Lord rode slowly forwards. All but two. Redscar and Pyrite held their ground, but wavered as the Goblin Lord came closer.

Redscar’s legs began to move. He reached down and pulled out a dagger. He stabbed himself in the leg, grunting. Thunderfur whined and Redscar clung to him. He glared up at the Goblin Lord.

And Pyrite? The Hob looked up and closed his eyes. He felt the Goblin approaching. That brilliant light grew brighter in his mind and he felt the urge to obey. Here was something wondrous. Powerful. Greater than him.

But. It was not the first time he had seen that light. And as Pyrite opened his eyes, he met the Goblin Lord’s eyes. He looked up at the Hob riding the headless, undead spider and spoke a word.

“Small.”

The Goblin Lord blinked down at him. Behind him rode Snapjaw and Eater of Spears trudged on his other side. He looked at Pyrite and then decided he’d heard the Hob wrong. He glanced past Pyrite and tried to ride forwards.

Pyrite casually lifted the battleaxe. The Goblin Lord stopped and stared down at him.

“This is an axe.”

Redscar grinned. The Goblin Lord didn’t get the joke. He looked at Pyrite and then glanced at Eater of Spears. The gigantic Hob stepped forwards. He and Pyrite appraised each other for a long second. Pyrite wondered if he could beat Eater of Spears. He did a few calculations that involved him getting thumped on the head repeatedly, and then heard a voice.

“Pyrite.”

The Hob turned. Rags rode past him. Pyrite lowered his battleaxe. Rags’s Carn Wolf stepped past him and Eater of Spears moved back. The Goblin Lord looked down. He and Rags stared at each other as Rags’ warriors and the Goblin Lord’s army faced each other in silence. Pyrite was ready for anything. But after a long minute, the Goblin Lord smiled.

“I am Reiss. Goblin Lord. I would know your name, brave Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe.”

Rags blinked. She stared at the Goblin Lord in surprise. Then she raised her voice.

“I am Rags! Chieftain of the Flooded Water tribe! Why do you come, Goblin Lord?”

Her question seemed to surprise Reiss. He looked at her.

“Why? Because your tribe shines. Because it is good. Because you and I—”

He touched his chest.

“—are Goblins. We are kin. And I would help you and have you help me. The Humans pursue us both. But are we enemies?”

He looked at Rags. The smaller Goblin folded her arms.

“Maybe.”

Reiss tilted his head.

“Why do you believe that?”

Rags shrugged.

“You are slave. You hurt own Goblins. You are not real Goblin Lord. Is what other Goblins say.”

There was a cry of outrage from Snapjaw. The Goblin Lord’s warriors growled and shouted in protest. Pyrite blinked at the unexpected denial. And Reiss? He laughed.

It was such a peaceful, happy sound. Reiss laughed and leapt from the back of his Shield Spider. He landed lightly. Rags stared at him from the back of his Carn Wolf. Reiss walked forwards and Pyrite tensed, but the Goblin Lord didn’t attack. He walked next to Rags.

“We must keep moving. The Humans will attack my people if we do not move.”

He pointed to the rear where the Goblins had halted due to the confrontation. Rags glanced in that direction and frowned.

“Those are Tremborag Goblins. Not yours.”

“They are Goblins. My people. They should not die.”

Reiss looked at Rags. She blinked and then slowly nodded. She pointed.

“Move out!”

Her tribe began moving. Reiss pointed and his army did the same. Rags expected him to get back on his Shield Spider, but to her surprise it began to shuffle back into the line of Goblins. Reiss started walking. He glanced up at Rags.

“Will you walk with me, Chieftain Rags? My warriors will pull back. Snapjaw, Eater, return and wait for me.”

“But Reiss—”

Snapjaw protested, but Reiss shook his head. Eater of Spears pulled her gently back and they disappeared into the crowd. Rags hesitated.

Now would be the time to kill the Goblin Lord. If she were Garen. But she had real reason to doubt Garen’s words. Especially now. She looked at the Goblin Lord. Then she shrugged and leapt from the back of her Carn Wolf.

“No walk. Will jog.”

“True.”

Reiss began to jog. Rags ran with him. The two moved ahead as the other Goblins gave them a wide berth. It was strange. Reiss ran naturally, breathing steadily. Rags had to run harder to keep up. She didn’t know what to say to him. He wasn’t like what she expected. She had thought he would be a monster. But he wasn’t. He had black eyes, but everything else about him was normal. Friendly, even.

“I don’t hurt my tribe.”

Reiss spoke first. He looked at Rags seriously.

“They fight for me. Die for me. And I lead them. Sometimes poorly. But I don’t mistreat them.”

Rags shrugged noncommittally.

“You make them undead.”

She pointed to a group of zombies rapidly shuffling to keep up. They were given a wide berth by other Goblins. Reiss nodded.

“That is true. But I am a [Necromancer]. I raise the dead. The Goblins who died fight for me. So other, living Goblins won’t die. I would let them rest if I could, but I cannot. Is that wrong?”

“No.”

Rags conceded the point. This was strange! Reiss actually sounded sad. And his voice—Rags peered up at his eyes again.

“Are you slave, though?”

This time, Reiss hesitated. He looked at Rags and then glanced behind her. She knew Garen and Tremborag were behind them. She could vaguely sense them too. Although they were embers to the Goblin Lord’s fire.

“Who told you that? Garen Redfang? Tremborag?”

“Maybe. Is true?”

“True. And false. I have a master. But…”

“Reiss!”

Rags turned. She heard a shout and the sounds of fighting. She turned and saw Snapjaw and Eater of Spears crashing back towards them. Pyrite swung his battleaxe, but too slow. Garen parried the blow and charged towards Reiss.

His eyes blazed. He swung his blade up as he charged the Goblin Lord. Reiss had stopped. He watched Garen charge him. His hands turned black with magic and he pointed.

A bolt of black energy shot from his hands. Garen dodged in his saddle. He roared and his Carn Wolf leapt. Rags shouted as Garen swung his sword down, ready to cut. She raised her hand. Reiss and Garen were aiming at each other—

And Rags blew fire into the Carn Wolf’s snout. The wolf howled and leapt back. Garen sliced, but he was too far. Reiss shot another bolt of energy at Garen and the other Hob blocked it.

There was a commotion. Pyrite charged forwards, covering Rags. Redscar and his Redfangs formed a circle around Rags and Reiss. But then Snapjaw and Eater of Spears were charging them with the Goblins in armor and Garen was getting up, murder in his eyes—

“Stop.”

It was Reiss’ voice who halted the violence before it could begin. All the Goblins paused, even Garen. The Hob looked around as the other Goblins aimed their weapons at him. Reiss’ voice was cold.

“Garen.”

He looked at Rags and shook his head.

“You knew Garen Redfang, didn’t you? He told you I was evil. Not a Goblin.”

“Yes.”

Rags looked between Garen and Reiss. Garen Redfang was staring at Reiss with hatred in his eyes. And when the Goblin Lord looked back, there was sorrow in his. He shook his head.

“True and not true. He called me a slave. I have a master. But I am no slave.”

“You are not Goblin!”

Garen shouted at Reiss. He brandished his weapon. Reiss turned, ignoring him. He looked at Rags, looked at the Goblins standing around. Watching. Staring.

“Garen hates me. He has a reason. We were once friends. He and I met ten years ago, when I was a small Goblin. When he first became a Hob. Garen and I were…the Humans would call us ‘brothers’. We had the same dream.”

Rags’ jaw dropped. The other Goblins stared, becoming waxworks. Garen froze. Reiss looked back at him.

“We met seven years later. Garen when he had become a Gold-rank adventurer. I, when I had found my master. You were furious. You told me I lost my way. You called me not-Goblin. But my dream was the same. Our dream was the same. I would become a Chieftain. No, a Lord. And you would be my finest warrior. And give me the greatest weapon to save our people with.”

Garen was silent. Reiss looked at him. He looked around at his audience, who were speechless. He looked back at Garen. And then his eyes narrowed.

“We never spoke after that. But I followed you, Garen. I listened to rumors of you. I knew you fled, became hunted, settled in the High Passes. That was why I came to find you. You have it, don’t you? You swore to me you would find it. And you did. You became a Gold-rank adventurer, searched the entire continent for years. And you found it. You betrayed the Halfseekers for it.”

Garen’s eyes burned. He still said nothing, but his grip tightened on his sword. His other hand was at his belt. Clutching something. Reiss’ voice was loud in the silence.

“My master searched, but he was not a Goblin so he and his creations could never find it. And I never told him of the memory.”

“Memory? What memory?”

Rags spoke up. Reiss turned to her. His black eyes shone. It was a beautiful light. A terrible light. He was hope and dissonance and wonder and corruption all at once. He was not a Goblin. But he was a Lord. And he spoke and shook Rags’ entire world.

“The legacy of Velan the Kind. The thing he hid in the High Passes. The treasure of the Goblin King. And Garen has his key.”

He pointed at Garen. The Hobgoblin stood as all the Goblins stared at him. Garen looked around, clutching something in his belt. His eyes burned. He looked at Reiss, looked the Goblin Lord in the eye. For a second he looked at Rags and she saw a thousand unsaid things there. But then Garen turned away. He shook his head and said one word.

“No.”

All the Goblins stared at him. They looked at each other. In the end, all things considered, they could agree on one thing.

Garen Redfang was a terrible liar.

5.49

It had been a long time since Olesm had sat in his office without being afraid or stressed out. A long time, and yet a short one. In his head, Olesm knew that it hadn’t been that long. A bit over a week at most since the Raskghar had begun attacking in force. But oh, it had felt like months of his life.

And yet, today he was calm, if a bit nervous. It wasn’t anything too serious—although, then again, yes it was and Olesm dreaded it—but he’d put enough days between him and the nights of fear to feel better.

No, it was more than that. He’d faced the Raskghar in the darkness, seen them broken. He’d helped burn their camps and rescued the Gnolls and Ceria with his own claws. Olesm paused as he lifted a wet quill above his parchment.

He’d fought in the dungeon, with Wall Lord Ilvriss and the Watch. He’d slain a Raskghar—the beast had been wounded by a [Fireball], but Olesm had been the one to charge it and cut it down as it flayed open his other arm. He winced and rubbed at his left arm, remembering. They’d won that battle, though. And afterwards he’d seen the sun.

The clear sky above his head, warm air in his face. Olesm jostled Drassi, trying to speak into the voice-amplifying gem as he watched the baseball players running after the ball. He was annoyed, excited—and happy.

It had been several days since that moment. But still Olesm thought back to it. Especially whenever he glanced out the window. Liscor was wet and rainy, as usual. But that didn’t bother Olesm. As soon as he was off duty he’d head to Erin’s inn.

Or…or he could stop by the barracks. Watch Captain—that was to say, Zevara—had asked if he’d like to have a drink together when they were off duty. They could surely do that and he did owe her at least a few drinks for all the hard work they’d done. They could do that. At Erin’s inn.

“All right…nearly done…there! Signed, Olesm Swifttail. Date is…uh…well, I can always fill that in before filing it. Where’s my wax and seal?”

Olesm hunted around in his desk and then found the wax. He gloomily heated up some sealing wax while he got his stone stamp ready. He hated this part, mainly because he was no good at it. The wax always got everywhere on his desk.

But it was important. Sealing wax on a document prevented it from being tampered with magically. So Olesm tried to carefully dribble some wax on a corner of his report and stamp it without making too much of a mess.

He failed.

—-

In the same building, a few rooms away, Wall Lord Ilvriss was hard at work as well. He was working in the room usually reserved for Liscor’s Council to meet in. However, it was now effectively his office and war room. As the largest room in the building that was Liscor’s city hall it was spacious and could easily seat a dozen Drakes. However, this room was currently filled to overflowing.

With treasure. Magical artifacts lay on cushions, or were piled neatly awaiting inspection. Some bore little scraps of parchment that were attached to them, while artifacts yet to be inspected were clearly marked with red discs warning against casually touching them.

Ilvriss sat at the meeting table, a large, single-bladed axe lying in front of him. On Ilvriss’ left was a pile of clean parchment and quill and inkpot. On his right sat several bulging hemp bags, some of which were open. Bright gold pieces could be seen inside them. Ilvriss paid the gold no mind. It was his, after all. He just had it next to him to set the mood. Being surrounded by priceless treasures made him feel like he was back in Salazsar, in his home.

At the moment, Ilvriss was carefully inspecting the axe. It was a beautiful piece, with an engraved metal handle and axe head, the metal seemingly golden. Seemingly, because the axe was not nearly that heavy. It was clearly meant for two hands, but Ilvriss could lift it with one and feel the power and balanced weight favoring the axe head. He murmured as he ran his claws along the metal.

“Not too heavy. Good speed for blocking. Yes, and the metal’s clearly got some gold in the alloy. To help with holding the enchantment? The blade on the axe head…”

He peered at the sharpened edge of the axe. It was a bright green material and Ilvriss’ first instinct was to call it stone, rather than metal. He touched it carefully and nodded. He was right. The axe head was jade of all things. Which made sense if—

He lifted the axe and gripped it tightly with both hands. Ilvriss uttered no words and performed no visible action, but the axe head began to glow. A magical light shone from the jade edge and suddenly it projected a huge, glowing magical blade, easily as long as the axe itself. Ilvriss blinked, and swung the axe through the air. The magical edge hummed as it cut the air.

“Fascinating. An enlargement spell and projection spell combined into one. Definitely a [Warrior]’s weapon. Not ah, useful in any confined space, but a proper [Axe Master] could cut through a horde with this. But why jade? The cost to enchant it and keep it from breaking seems ludicrously high.”

Ilvriss deactivated the enchantment and put the axe back on the table. He scooted his chair in, frowning. Maybe it was so someone could activate the enchantment by will alone? Jade was particularly sensitive to inputs like that. He looked around on the table and picked something up.

A monocle. Or rather, a magnifying lens. This one was bulky and hardly the sort of thing Ilvriss would wear in any kind of social setting. But it did have several lenses that could amplify his vision dramatically, or allow him to see magic. Ilvriss absently adjusted the lenses until the one he wanted allowed him to peer at the axe head. He was jotting down a few notes on his parchment when he heard a tap at the door.

“Enter.”

Ilvriss looked up. He saw two of his staff open the door. The Drakes who were both his subordinates in battle or assisted him with paperwork—or just guarded his tail—screened all of Ilvriss’ visitors. They had orders not to let anyone disturb him, but there was a short list of exceptions. One of them poked his head nervously into the room.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss, might I intrude on you?”

“Ah, Swifttail. Come in. How can I help you?”

The older Drake smiled slightly and nodded. Olesm shuffled into the room, clutching a sheaf of reports. He coughed politely.

“I won’t take up your time, sir. I was just hoping I could borrow your personal [Mage], Miss Laskaillia, to send the contents of these reports to the other cities. I’ve finished my account of Liscor’s victory over the Raskghar. I wouldn’t ask normally, but the Mage’s Guild is currently overworked and I’ve been told to submit my reports soonest.”

“I see. I have no objection. May I read the summary myself?”

“Of course.”

Olesm approached and handed Ilvriss a long sheaf of parchment. Ilvriss covered a sigh as he stretched the parchment out and weighed it down with his inkpot. No paper. He supposed it was a waste of resources, but in Salazsar, all the city’s documents were transcribed on paper. It was clearer and it didn’t roll so. But Liscor probably couldn’t afford that—no, it didn’t have the trade routes to import paper in the first place. He scanned the report quickly, nodding a few times. Then paused.

“Quite an interesting account here, Swifttail.”

The [Strategist] ducked his head.

“I uh, wrote the events as I perceived them, Wall Lord Ilvriss. I know it will be somewhat controversial, but—”

“No, no. It is accurate. However…”

Ilvriss drummed his claws on the table. Then he shrugged. He handed the report back to Olesm.

“I cannot pretend the other cities will like it. But the truth is the truth. If they object, tell them I vouch for the contents of the report. Not that they should question a [Strategist] to begin with.”

He looked pointedly at Olesm. The Drake colored with pride.

“Thank you, sir.”

He bowed slightly and left the room. Ilvriss turned back to the weapon in front of him, smiling slightly. Young Olesm really was amusing. To think he’d been a [Tactician] when Ilvriss first entered the city! And he didn’t even seem boastful about his accomplishments. There was talent, right there. Talent and humility, both of which were in short supply.

The Wall Lord bent over the axe again. He began scribbling notes on the parchment, talking to himself absently. Ilvriss was no [Enchanter], but he was a [Lord] who specialized in economy as well as war. He had a number of Skills that made him possibly the best appraiser in Liscor for this sort of thing.

“Let’s see. This axe belonged to…the Minotaur. Of course. I’d rate it very strongly. It doesn’t have a dramatic enchantment on it of course, but every indication is that it will perform well against mid-range artifacts. I’d like to test the axe head—I can’t help but feel as though the jade edge is meant to sunder some kind of material or magic barrier. If that’s the case, I would price it at…hm…”

Ilvriss’ tail curled up absently as he worked. The magical artifacts lay around him, waiting for his inspection. He had plenty of gold too, ready to be divided amongst the adventurers. Ilvriss had promised them a small fortune and he was not one to break his word.

The artifacts would be divided up, as would the gold. But Ilvriss had a small claim as well. And he intended to walk away with at least one new artifact for his selection. He smiled as he jotted down a few notes and then set the axe aside. If there was one thing he loved, it was inspecting expensive objects.

Ilvriss hummed absently as he worked, so unconsciously that he didn’t notice it. His adjutants waiting outside didn’t hear him, so the humming was really heard by no one. But it was significant. Ilvriss’ penchant to hum as he went about an enjoyable task was a small quirk known only to him and a few of his closest friends.

Periss had known that. But Ilvriss hadn’t hummed since her death. He hadn’t smiled much since her death. But for the first time in months, Ilvriss sat by himself and hummed an aimless little tune. He was not smiling; he was hard at work. But he was happy.

—-

Olesm sat in a side room, fidgeting nervously. He wasn’t doing anything at the moment, just waiting for his report to be sent. Ilvriss’ personal [Mage], an older Drake named Laskaillia, was sending the contents of his report via [Message] spell to a number of Drake cities. She was in the room next to his—[Mages] enjoyed privacy when casting the spell, and they needed to concentrate.

The [Strategist] looked around aimlessly as he sat and waited for the report to be sent. He had no doubt he needed to wait to answer questions. So while he waited he thought about Ilvriss’ retinue.

Of course, the Wall Lord had a number of decently high-level Drakes in his personal employ. Officers who could lead, bodyguards, and a [Mage] of course. All that made sense. Laskaillia was a retainer of the Gemscale family, or so Olesm gathered.

Was it important that she was female? Olesm knew it was statistically more common for [Mages] of the opposite gender to be employed by the nobility. Why? Something to do with not being threatened by someone of the opposite gender capable of casting magic? Or was it just a social thing?

Maybe it was just coincidence in this case. Ilvriss wasn’t married and Laskaillia was old enough to be his senior by at least ten years. She was probably his minder or something. Strange that an elderly Drake woman could be walking around battlefields, but then, Olesm knew she could probably melt his face off. He wondered if it was possible to survive your face melting. Maybe if—

“Swifttail?”

The door opened. Laskaillia appeared, her grey-blue scales flickering a bit in the light coming through the rain-spattered windows. Olesm stood at once.

“Yes?”

“A message for you. They want a correspondence set up. Pass me [Messages] and I will send them and note their replies here.”

Laskaillia had a floating quill and piece of paper by her side. Olesm nodded.

“At once. I’m terribly sorry to trouble you…”

“Just be quick. They’re impatient.”

The old Drake cut Olesm off. She gestured and the bit of paper floated into Olesm’s claws. He sighed as he read it.

Pallass’ [Strategist] receives Liscor’s report. Liscor, say again. Is this a joke? Please confirm existence of ‘Redfang Goblins’ as real Bronze-rank adventuring team. Also confirm presence of ‘Goblin friendlies’ in assault on Raskghar?

Predictable. Olesm sighed and frantically wrote on a piece of parchment. He’d written the account of the battle as truthfully as he could. That meant he’d written of the Redfang Goblin’s aid and the way Pebblesnatch and the Cave Goblins had helped locate and then set a trap for the Raskghar. It all made sense—if you knew what was going on in Liscor.

The other Walled Cities and Drake settlements had no idea of Erin’s inn, though. All they knew was that Liscor had defeated the Raskghar menace. And now with Olesm’s report, they were going to ask a lot of questions.

The conversation that went on between Olesm and the other Drake cities was a simple dialogue. Written down it was fairly simple to understand, but that wouldn’t capture the way Olesm had to write down his replies, pass them to Laskaillia, wait for them to be sent and a reply to be transcribed, and then read and reply all over again. The process was agonizingly slow, but again, it looked a lot simpler written down.

Pallass, this is Liscor’s [Strategist]. We confirm reports. Goblins were present during attack on Raskghar and Goblin team has been confirmed by Liscor’s adventuring guild. Said Goblins participated in location and assault on Raskghar camp as well as rescue of Gnoll citizens.

Pallass. Liscor, repeat again?

Zeres has received Liscor’s report. Confirmation of Goblin friendlies and adventuring team. What the hell is up with your city, Liscor?

Oteslia’s strategists are sending. Zeres, please conform to sending protocol. Liscor, elaborate on presence of Goblins in dungeon. How were they tamed?

Liscor. The Goblins were successfully convinced to abandon Raskghar masters due to presence of auxiliary Human A, noted in the report. Her possession of Artifact A—also noted—facilitated the defeat of the Raskghar in no small part.

Zeres. That’s the crazy innkeeper, isn’t it? The one in the moving pictures?

Pallass. Liscor, please send further details regarding spoils of war taken from Raskghar camps.

Liscor politely declines as the details of the dungeon operation are classified at the order of Wall Lord Ilvriss of Salazsar.

Oteslia. Hah!

Zeres. Oteslia, please conform to sending protocol.

Pallass requires report as a matter of security due to Liscor connection. The Assembly of Crafts will send formal request to Liscor’s Council momentarily. Stand by to receive.

Fissival. Pallass has no claim on the treasure. Stop being greedy little hatchlings.

Zeres. Fissival, please conform to sending protocol.

Manus is sending. Other cities, please refrain from petty disputes. Liscor, please confirm dungeon status. Reports indicate inner city. Confirm?

Liscor confirms. Dungeon is still classified as ‘active’ and ‘hostile’. Gold-rank danger rating remains unchanged despite reduction of Raskghar threat. Preliminary reports—see summary of Adventurer B’s attached interview—reports ‘infested’ monsters possibly derived from ancient Drakes, as well as at least one more boss-class guardian monster and possibility of major unique enemy known as ‘Mother of Graves’, classification pending. Further details will be reported as they occur.

Oteslia. Ancestors. Does Liscor have enough adventurers to deal with dungeon? More should be sent north at once.

Zeres. Oteslia, please conform to sending protocol.

Pallass. Claim to portion of Liscor’s treasure being sent. Liscor, please note involvement of Pallass’ adventuring population in aid of Liscor. Pallass will require report within the next hour, subject to immediate action by Pallass.

Salazsar objects to Pallass’ claim.

Oteslia objects to Pallass’ claim.

Fissival objects to Pallass’ claim.

Manus requests list of artifacts recovered—possibility of trade for artifacts with goods or coin?

Zeres thinks Pallass is a bunch of greedy cowards. But we’ll also trade for artifacts received.

Liscor. Wall Lord Ilvriss has sealed the contents of acquired artifacts. They’ll be distributed among contributing adventurers and factions. It’s out of my claws.

Pallass. Stand by for response.

Salazsar. Leave Liscor’s [Strategist] alone. Congratulations, by the way, Liscor.

Liscor. Thank you!

Oteslia congratulates Liscor.

Zeres. Please conform to sending protocol. No personal asides, Oteslia, Salazsar.

Oteslia. Damnit, Zeres, stop being petty. Is that you, Kissi?

Teibault. Liscor, can you send a more detailed analysis of Raskghar with adventurer analysis?

Liscor will comply as soon as possible. Estimated one day delay due to adventurer fatigue.

Pallass. Lesser cities will refrain from sending [Message] spells into this discussion. Liscor’s situation is priority, not for casual interruption.

Teibault. Go eat your tail, Pallass. We have a right to ask questions.

Fissival. Hah!

Zeres supports Teibault. Who’s the idiot sending from Pallass?

Pallass to Zeres. Please lodge formal inquiry and complaint into Zeres [Strategist]’s conduct.

Zeres. Go boil yourself.

Ssilvem. Sorry, can we get a resend of our report? Our [Mage] forgot to write down the report. What’s this about Goblins?

Olesm groaned and covered his face as he scribbled down a request for Laskaillia to resend the report to Ssilvem. He looked at the paper and shook his head. It was a mess, and in that sense, typical of most joint conversations between the cities. Olesm sighed as the cities started bickering with each other. Laskaillia’s brows twitched as she stopped writing and looked at him.

“It’s all chaos. They’re just insulting each other now. Should we send any more [Messages]?”

“No, I think the report’s out there. They can make what they want of it. If they hail you, please tell them I’m off duty. Or dead. Thank you so much, Miss Laskaillia.”

“Of course.”

She smiled and glanced at something behind Olesm. The [Strategist] sighed and put away his reports for filing. No doubt he’d have to answer more questions, but there was no sense waiting now. He turned—and nearly had a heart attack. Wing Commander Embria was standing right behind him, peering at the conversation between the cities.

He hadn’t noticed her behind him at all! She’d appeared in silence—despite the armor she wore! The Wing Commander noticed Olesm jump and coughed. She stepped back quickly.

“Apologies, Strategist Olesm. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Uh—that’s quite alright, Wing Commander.”

“Embria, please. You’ve sent the report to the other cities I see. May I have a copy to send to our High Command?”

“Oh—of course! I’m so sorry. I’ll transcribe one right away!”

Olesm flushed as he stood. He kept forgetting that he should send copies to Liscor’s army! It wasn’t something he normally did—usually Liscor would send a batch of all the news to the army in one lump every month, but with Embria here…

The Wing Commander smiled at Olesm. She was around his height, and around his age too, come to that. But where Olesm was thin if fairly fit, Embria was athletic and strong. Her bright red scales were striking and Olesm had to keep from admiring them.

“Don’t worry about copying the report. If I could prevail on your [Mage] to send it via [Message] spell?”

“Yes, at once. Who’s the [Strategist] in charge of the army again? Uh—Zweiltan?”

“That’s correct.”

Olesm sighed with relief and wrote down a note, indicating how Laskaillia could contact him. The [Mage] nodded and lifted a claw to her temple. Olesm and Embria stood around awkwardly. He coughed.

“So…how are your men after the battle, Wing Commander Embria? And uh, how are you doing? I heard you took an injury during the fight.”

Embria smiled at Olesm.

“Barely a scratch. I got cut here—right above the shoulder. But there’s not even a scar as you can tell. I lost two [Soldiers], but the boys are taking it well. As for High Command, I just reported my version of events to them.”

“Ah. And their response?”

The Wing Commander hesitated. She took a seat and Olesm did too.

“Mixed. But generally positive. They objected to some aspects of the operation, but they’re glad that Liscor is safe and that 4th Company participated in the battle. They send their congratulations to you as well, Olesm. For making [Strategist].”

“Thank you. I uh, appreciate it.”

The two Drakes sat in silence until Laskaillia looked up.

“I’ve sent the report and it has been received. Will that be all?”

Olesm started. He nodded as he stood.

“Yes, thank you so much. I should be going. I have to file these and uh, then I’m off duty.”

He swept up the reports. Embria cleared her throat. She didn’t quite look at Olesm when he glanced at her.

“Hey Olesm…I quite admired your conduct in the battle. You were a good fighter. Do you want to get a drink later? Because uh—I’m pretty thirsty and you’re a fine glass of water.”

She pointed with both fingers at Olesm and gave him an uneasy smile. Olesm stared at Embria with his mouth open. He only managed to close it when he heard Laskaillia snort. He looked over and saw she was trying not to guffaw.

“I uh—I—well, that’s very kind of you, Embria. But I uh, have an appointment with Watch Captain Zevara and I’d hate to keep her—”

Embria’s red cheeks flamed brighter. She waved a claw hurriedly.

“Of course. Forget I said anything.”

“Right. Well, I’ll be going. I’ll uh, see you around. And we could have a drink. At another time.”

“Sounds good. Um. Thanks.”

Olesm edged out of the room as fast as he could. Embria kept smiling until she heard him rapidly moving away and then she buried her face in her claws.

“Damn it, Dad! Why do I ever listen to your advice?”

She sat like that for a moment. Then Laskaillia, forgotten, spoke up.

“That young Olesm is quite an attractive Drake. Not that I think he’ll be falling for your lines anytime soon, Miss Wing Commander.”

Embria started. She looked up at Laskaillia and flushed even further. She stood up hastily and made to exit.

“Thank you for your help, Magus Laskaillia. I must be going. To work.”

She was nearly out the door when Laskaillia called after her.

“You flirt as well as your father, my dear. I think he tried a line like that on me, once. Of course, whether it worked or not is another matter entirely…”

All the color drained from Embria’s face. She stared at Laskaillia, who gave her a serpentine smile, turned to the door, staggered, and then rushed out to get herself as drunk as possible.

Laskaillia cackled to herself as she sat back in her chair. Relc had never flirted with her, but she knew the Gecko of Liscor by reputation. She cleaned her claws, smiling to herself. Laskaillia  had only a few vices in life at her age, but one of them was tormenting the youth. And as insults went, that one had been a good one.

—-

Silly things. Happy things. It was because the Raskghar were gone that they could happen and be laughed at. The City Hall in Liscor felt lighter to the young woman who slipped inside. She watched Olesm practically run out of the doors and Embria depart as well. Neither Drake noticed her in their embarrassment which was unusual—or not, given that she was hiding behind a door jam and peeking out. She had a feeling she wasn’t supposed to be here.

Still, the few Drakes at work in the building didn’t slow her and the two Drakes standing next to the door didn’t stop her from entering. Wall Lord Ilvriss looked up from the enchanted bow made of some kind of ivory and sighed loudly as Erin Solstice entered the room.

“You are aware, Human, that Liscor’s city hall is off limits to members of the general public? And I am a Wall Lord. How did you get in here?”

“They let me in. I told them I wanted to speak with you. And I bribed them with cookies. Sorry about that.”

Erin smiled unapologetically. As she shut the door, Ilvriss caught both of his guards eating cookies. They looked guilty as he narrowed his eyes at them. Erin shut the door and then stared around.

“Wow. There’s an entire armory in here. Hey, is that—”

“Don’t touch that.”

Erin snatched her hand back before she could touch a suit of armor that looked as though it was made of blue metal and bronze. She stared at Ilvriss. He sighed and took his eyeglass off.

“What do you want, Solstice?”

“Nothing…I was just checking on you. And Olesm. It’s been a while. You’re good, right?”

Ilvriss sat back in his chair and folded his arms. Erin gave him a big smile. She reached for a bag at her side.

“Wanna cookie?”

“Is it sugary?”

“Yes?”

“Then my answer is no. Why are you here?”

“Can’t I be here to give everyone good cheer?”

Ilvriss slowly raised one of his brows. He had no eyebrows, but the effect was largely the same. Erin put her hands behind her back and studied the room, taking in the parchment, Ilvriss, and the gold sitting in the bags next to him.

“You’re busy, I get that. I bet you have a lot of paperwork and I’m sorry for bothering you. But…I dunno, it feels like we should all be giving thanks for defeating the Raskghar, don’t you think. And I dunno, celebrating the teamwork? The joint effort? Goodwill towards Humans and Drakes? And Goblins?”

The Wall Lord waited. Erin indicated the gold in the bags meaningfully.

“Hint, hint.”

They stared at each other for a few more seconds. At last, Erin gave in.

“Can I have some money?”

“Is that all you came here for?”

“Yes! No! Okay, yes. I really could use some gold.”

Ilvriss glanced at Erin as he leaned back in his chair. His tail curled around his chair leg.

“Is your inn doing that poorly? I was under the impression that your plays had resumed and that Liscor’s citizenry were frequenting your inn quite often. The Hubris of the Raskghar is the name of the play, is it not?”

“What? Oh, that. Yeah, we’re filling the inn each night! I’m making tons of coin! Uh…but I could use more? I did help with the Raskghar, remember?”

“I recall. Why is the need for coin so pressing?”

Erin scuffed at the carpet with one foot.

“Well…I’ve got expenses. The Goblins, you know? They’re sort of an additional expense. I’ve been trying to feed them at least one meal per day, but uh, buying that much food is expensive. I can handle it! But I heard you were giving out money so…”

“The lottery and division of the coin and artifacts will happen later.”

“Oh. Right.”

The young Human woman stared at Ilvriss. She looked around the room and seemed to be deciding whether to leave or not. Ilvriss stared at her and then leaned forwards.

“The Goblins are still connected to your inn via that magical door, are they not?”

“Yup.”

“Something will have to be done about them soon. You are aware of that, aren’t you?”

“Like what?”

The Wall Lord narrowed his eyes.

“Liscor cannot have a few hundred Goblins nesting close to the city. It is a security risk and it will kill trade. The Goblin Lord may be on the run, but until the Humans destroy his army, the Goblins are a legitimate threat.”

Erin sighed. She took a seat across from Ilvriss without being asked.

“I know that. But these Goblins helped us. They saved the Gnolls. Without them everyone would be dead. You remember that, right?”

“I haven’t forgotten. But that changes none of the facts. The…Hobs under your command were one thing. But three hundred Goblins—how many of them are in that cave, incidentally?”

“Dunno.”

“You have no idea? Surely you’ve counted.”

“Well, there are a lot of them, but I didn’t sit and count them one by one. Why would anyone do that? There’s Goblins. Y’know?”

Erin gave Ilvriss a round-eyed stare. Normally that would be enough to make Ilvriss snort and dismiss her. However, this time it didn’t work. The Wall Lord glanced suspiciously at Erin, drumming his claws on the table.

“And you have no idea what their plans are either, I suspect.”

“Nope. I just feed them. That’s my job. Hey, did you know they really like fish?”

The Drake looked up suspiciously at Erin. She smiled at him.

“Fish with sauce. Have you tried my fish flakes? They’re a big hit. Takes a lot of oil and eggs and flour, though. Oh, and sauce. Which is why I came here. For the money.”

“I had gathered.”

Erin had an amazing talent to distract from the conversation at hand. It was incredible, really. And aggravating. Ilvriss pinched the scales around his temples with one claw. He would have dearly loved to see what would happen if he let Erin sit in on one of Salazsar’s meetings between the Wall Lords and Ladies. Then again…

He closed his eyes for a second. Erin took that moment to breathe a sigh of relief. Her diversionary tactics had worked. She sat up and gave Ilvriss a broad smile as he looked up.

“They will have to be dealt with. I am not ungrateful. But Goblins are monsters.”

He looked seriously at Erin. And her smile faded. She sat up in her chair and then put one elbow on the table. She leaned forwards, losing her smile for a second.

“Not all of them. You and I know that. It’s just how they’re seen. But the five Hobs at my inn—Pebblesnatch—they went into the dungeon and saved lives. They owed us nothing. They could have run. But they didn’t. They risked their lives and no one’s given them more than passing thanks. Don’t forget that.”

Startled, the Wall Lord met Erin’s eyes. She didn’t use her aura, but for a second, just a second he felt the intensity in her stare. Then Erin sat back and the mood lightened as if nothing had happened. After a second, Ilvriss spoke.

“I do not forget. And while it is not expedient for Liscor to acknowledge the Goblins, I honor my vows. I had intended to send this to you, but since you insist on interrupting me—here.”

He reached for the bags of coin at his side. He inspected the gold, and then pushed two of the bags across the table. Erin wavered.

“What’s that?”

“Your share of the bounty. One thousand two hundred and eleven gold coins. A small sum, but it was decided that would be the reward for the use of your magic door. And payment for stamina potions and food provided afterwards. I’ll require the bags of holding back, by the way.”

“Buh—all this is mine?”

Erin’s eyes went round with genuine shock this time as she stared at the two bags heaped with gold coins. They were lesser bags of holding so they had a larger depth than their size indicated. Erin poured several gold coins into the table. Ilvriss nodded. Then he looked up at the ceiling and sighed.

“Young Olesm and Watch Captain Zevara have done many calculations. I oversaw them and agree with the distribution of wealth. Many of the Gold-rank teams are eligible for one of the magical artifacts—perhaps even two. The other teams may combine claims or accept a monetary payout. However, there is an aberration.”

“The…Redfang Goblin team saved quite a large portion of Gnolls. Each one earns them a reward of two thousand gold coins. They saved thirty three before the final raid on the dungeon.”

“Thirty three. Then that means—”

Erin’s eyes went wide in genuine shock this time. Ilvriss nodded. He stood up.

“Normally I would award the coin in full. Or rather, issue a letter of credit if possible since providing all that coin up front would be tedious. However, that will not occur. Because the Goblins are not an adventuring team.”

The young woman froze as she placed gold coins back in her bag.

“What do you mean? They’re totally adventurers! Selys did the paperwork and everything!”

Ilvriss nodded. He took a deep breath and looked at the table.

“They are. But as a new team their paperwork was being processed during the dungeon attacks. And—sadly—it will appear that they were not registered until several days after the Raskghar were defeated. Thus, invalidating their claim for the gold.”

Ilvriss said the last of that in a rush. He waited, staring at his claws for a second, and then looked up. He saw Erin’s open mouth slowly close. The young woman stood up slowly. Her face was pale.

“That’s a lie.”

“It is not.”

Erin leaned over the table, putting both hands on the glossy wooden surface.

“That’s a lie. Selys filed the paperwork! Is this—is this some kind of joke?”

“Absolutely not.”

The Drake met her eyes. Erin stared at him, disbelieving, and then slowly looked around the room.

“Paperwork? That shouldn’t matter. This is—you don’t want to pay the Goblins, do you? They saved thirty three Gnolls! You’d have to give them sixty six thousand gold coins and you don’t want to! Well—okay, I understand that! But give them something—”

“As a matter of fact, I will be paying the full amount I promised to the pool the adventurers and Liscor may claim from. Money is not an issue.”

Ilvriss’ voice was steely. Erin stared at him.

“Then why—is it because they’re Goblins? Is that it?”

The Wall Lord nodded slightly.

“It would be politically disastrous for a Lord of the Wall to pay Goblins any kind of sum. Moreover, if their contributions were recognized, the other adventurers would surely riot. The Goblins have the greatest claim to the treasure and gold of any group. Thus…well, it is a regrettable accident, but their status as a Bronze-rank team will be certified by Liscor’s guild on the morrow.”

For a few seconds Erin couldn’t do anything but stare at Ilvriss. Her vision went red. She clenched her hands into fists.

“That’s so—I can’t believe—how could you? How dare you? They saved the Gnolls! They helped fight the Raskghar! They nearly died!”

“I know.”

Ilvriss looked at her calmly. Erin was at a loss for words. She struck the table, and then tried to flip it, but it was a huge table and she couldn’t budge it. Erin stormed around it.

“This isn’t right! This isn’t fair! You can’t just take away everything they deserve!”

The Drake didn’t flinch back as Erin shouted in his face. He folded his claws together.

“It’s done, Solstice. The decision was not mine alone. Liscor’s Council voted on the measure. And Olesm and Watch Captain Zevara helped…clarify the issue legally.”

“Olesm did?”

Erin stared at Ilvriss. She stepped back and looked around. Then she stormed over to the two bags of gold. Ilvriss saw her lift it up and braced himself. Erin hefted the bag of gold, and then hesitated. She stared at it.

“A thousand gold pieces. That’s a lot of money. Yeah. But it’s nothing compared to what they deserve. And this—”

She glanced up at Ilvriss, her eyes narrowed.

“My door helped a lot, but I bet it’s not worth a thousand gold. Is it? Is this your way of giving me money for the Goblins? A thousand pieces instead of sixty thousand? Is this right?”

He didn’t answer her. Ilvriss’ tail was curled up. Erin lifted the bag as if to throw it and then slowly lowered it.

“I’ll take the money. But this isn’t right. And you know it! I thought you were—I thought you were better than this! More honorable!”

“Human.”

Ilvriss looked steadily at Erin. She turned angrily and stomped to the door, the bags of money in her hand. Ilvriss raised his voice.

“Human.”

“Don’t—”

Erin whirled, face ready. She was ready to pop. But she paused as Ilvriss reached down and pulled something up.

The golden axe with the green edge. Ilvriss put it on the table and pushed it towards her. Erin stared at the axe.

“What’s that for?”

Ilvriss gave Erin a blank look to match her own.

“That’s an axe.”

She opened her mouth, and then glared and hefted the bag of gold like a shot put. Ilvriss sighed.

“It’s a potent magical artifact recovered from the Minotaur. Calruz, I believe his name is. Unfortunately…I seem to have misplaced it.”

Erin stared at the axe and then at Ilvriss. Slowly, she lowered the bag. Her arm was getting tired anyways.

“Really? That’s awfully careless of you.”

Ilvriss bristled a bit.

“Well, I wasn’t the one to lose it. I was inventorying the artifacts recovered and found a discrepancy. And, naturally, I searched quite diligently for the artifact, but it was nowhere to be found. I naturally suspected a [Thief], but what high-level rogue would stop at stealing only one magical artifact? Perhaps it was lost in the recovery process from Liscor. It may well have sunk into the lake, or remained in the Raskghar camp by accident.”

He stared pointedly at the axe. So did Erin.

“That would suck.”

“Indeed. Unfortunately, the weapon was marked as lost. Not to be found again. And the record of it was—erased.”

Ilvriss carefully picked up a piece of parchment. As Erin watched, he tore it up. She stared at the axe.

“So this axe—”

“What axe? No weapon that has a magic jade edge which can enlarge itself into an enchanted blade was ever recovered from the dungeon. The records show that quite explicitly. This? This is a paperweight. And I don’t have time for distractions. I have artifacts to sort out. Human, your kind often deals in trash. Take this out for me as you go, will you? Toss it away somewhere. Or give it to the Goblins. They enjoy trash, or so I’ve heard.”

Ilvriss pushed the axe across the table to Erin. She stared at it. Then, slowly, she picked it up.

“Oof.”

The Drake coughed.

“You can put it in the bag of holding. Which I’ll need back, as I said.”

“Aw, I can’t have it?”

“No.”

Erin opened the bag and clumsily tried to put the axe in. To her surprise, the haft of the axe sank into the bag until only the head was visible. She popped it into the bag and stared at the plain leather sack.

“That’s a cool magic trick.”

“Indeed. Now, as to the Goblins. It’s regrettable, but they’ll have no compensation. As is only right. I will brook no objections, Human.”

Ilvriss folded his arms. Erin started, and then stared at him. She looked at the bag of holding and then Ilvriss. He waited for her to do…something. But Erin just stared. She grew still and Ilvriss began to feel uncomfortable as she looked him up and down.

At last, Erin made a sound like a laugh. She shook her head.

“I don’t know if that was nice or not. I think you’re a good person, Ilvriss, somewhere in there. But there’s still being fair and—well, bending the rules to do the right thing. There’s a difference.”

She looked at Ilvriss. He felt a spark of anger in his chest, surprising him.

“I do what I have to do for my people. Law and custom can’t be so easily ignored, Human.”

“No. I guess they can’t. But this? I don’t know if this is fair or just trying to make you feel better about doing wrong things. It’s not right. I know that. And I think you do too.”

Erin turned away. Ilvriss half-rose, stung. Then, slowly, he sat. He watched Erin walk over to the door. She paused there and looked back.

“Still. I guess you did do something. So—here.”

She turned and reached for a small sack at her side. She pulled something out of it and tossed it at Ilvriss. He caught the object reflexively. He stared down at it as Erin pulled the door open.

“Human—”

“Bye, Wall Lord Ilvriss.”

Erin smiled at Ilvriss. Then she closed the door. The Drake stared down at what was in his claw. A round, sweet-smelling disc of hardened dough winked up at him. It was a little cookie, burnt slightly around one edge. Ilvriss gazed at it. Then he looked at the open door. Erin was gone.

For a while, Ilvriss sat in his chair. He looked around at the room, full of treasures, and at the place where the bags of gold had sat. Then he looked at the cookie. He slowly bit into it.

“Bleh. Too sugary.”

Ilvriss put the cookie aside. He stared up at the ceiling, and his tail uncurled a bit. He didn’t feel good. But he didn’t feel terrible. He felt—

“Wall Lord?”

One of the guards poked his head into the room. Ilvriss glanced up.

“What?”

The Drake ducked his head.

“Apologies, sir. She did attempt to bribe us with those uh—”

“Cookies. I am aware. You did well pretending to be bribed. Keep letting her in.”

Ilvriss nodded to the Drake. The guards looked relieved and closed the door. Ilvriss sat back in his chair. What Erin had said repeated in his head.

“Not fair. But what should I do? The rules are there for a reason. Someday they’ll change. But today and tomorrow—”

He shook himself. Ilvriss leaned forwards again and pulled the parchment over to him. He went back to the bow, muttering.

“Someday, surely. But for now, fair must be just that. Just a small thing. Just…”

His eyes wandered back to the cookie. It wasn’t what he wanted. And it wasn’t that important, obviously. It was a snack. But he didn’t have to have it. And someone had given it to him. A moment of kindness. Ilvriss closed his eyes. He thought of Periss. What would she have done? The same as him, probably. No, she’d have kicked Erin out. But maybe—

The rain pattered down softly. Ilvriss forgot the magical items in front of him. He leaned back, the cookie in his claws. He didn’t like cookies. But Periss loved sweet things.

Ilvriss didn’t hum. He wasn’t happily humming anymore. The room was silent as he sat by himself. But the silence was good. And after a while, Ilvriss moved. The quiet of the room was broken by a single sound.

Crunch. Ilvriss chewed and swallowed. After a moment, he spoke to himself.

“You know, this might be quite passable with a bit of milk.”

—-

Erin Solstice walked out of Liscor’s City Hall and looked back at it. She stared at the rainy façade, and then at the two bulging bags at her side. She patted them gingerly and then looked around.

“Huh.”

She felt…odd. Not good. Not happy—not after hearing what Liscor had decided to do. But not entirely bad either. She should have expected that would happen, honestly. But she hadn’t predicted Ilvriss being—well, not a jerk. Erin started walking as the rain soaked the cloak on her back.

The sky was grey. The rain fell down. All these things were negative. But Liscor felt better. Truly, it did. Despite the rain, Drakes and Gnolls walked the street. And though they looked up and grumbled at the sky, they sometimes smiled.

The nightmare was over. The Raskghar were defeated. The exhilaration and palpable relief was gone from the city, the celebrations had passed Erin by. So what was left wasn’t joy and it wasn’t fear. It was…

Melancholy, perhaps. Not everyone smiled. Because Liscor had not survived without wounds. Drakes had died. Gnolls had been sacrificed. The Watch and Embria’s soldiers had died during the battle, as had Antinium. Adventurers had fallen.

There was grief there. Grief, relief…Erin walked down the streets, looking from face to face. And the Drakes and Gnolls looked back at her. So much had happened. So much death and violence. So much sadness.

But there had been happy moments too. Erin closed her eyes as she walked. What could you say after all of it? The bags of money weighed down her sides. But that was just gold. She thought of Mrsha, of Ceria. Of the Goblins. Things had changed. Was it better now? Surely it must be. The Raskghar had been defeated. The Goblins saved. There were scars, and yet—

“Excuse me? Miss?”

Erin turned her head. She stopped as pair of Gnolls came up to her. They were both female, both young. Teens, in fact. They were taller than Erin, but they looked far too young compared to Krshia and far too old compared to Mrsha. Erin smiled. She’d never seen Gnoll teenagers before. The two looked down at Erin. One had dark black fur, the other greyish.

“Hi there. Can I help you?”

The two teens sniffed Erin. The black-furred one looked uncertain, but then her friend spoke up.

“You’re…Erin Solstice, yes? The [Innkeeper]?”

“That’s me.”

The two exchanged a look.

“Good. We wanted to thank you. Humans shake hands, don’t they? Here.”

The two held out their hands. Erin stared at them and then awkwardly took both hands at once. The Gnolls shook her hands.

“I’m flattered. But why are you thanking me?”

The two looked surprised. The black-furred one shook herself slightly, spraying Erin with a few drops.

“Because you saved our friends! You helped defeat the Raskghar! We heard all about it. We—all the Gnolls—owe you a debt.”

“Liscor does.”

Her friend nodded. Erin turned red as she realized why they were looking at her so intently.

“Hold on, I didn’t do much! I just helped.”

“But you came up with the plan, yes?”

“No, well, yeah, but—I didn’t do much fighting!”

“But you did convince the Goblins to betray the Raskghar, right? We heard all about that.”

The two Gnolls nodded. Erin stammered.

“W-well…”

“I didn’t know Humans were that smart.”

“I didn’t know they were that brave. I heard you were just a troublemaker who kept dangerous monsters at her inn. People called you ‘that crazy Human’.”

“They did? I mean—who did?”

The two Gnolls looked at each other.

“Um…people. The point is, we’re really grateful. One of our friends was one of the people you saved. So, thank you. Really.”

“Yes, really. We work at a [Butcher]’s. It isn’t fun.”

The black-furred Gnoll nodded in agreement with her friend.

“Not at all. But come by and we’ll give you good meat. Cheap! Our boss wants to meet you too. He’s our father.”

“Yeah. Come by. Thank you again. Do we shake hands when we leave?”

The two Gnolls chatted with Erin a bit longer and then left. She waved at them, bemused and then looked around. Some of the other Drakes and Gnolls had paused to stare at Erin. A few waved. Some pointed. Erin blushed.

This wasn’t the first time she’d been stopped on the street. Somehow, she’d become a minor celebrity in Liscor. Or rather, she suspected Drassi had something to do with it. It wasn’t the first time Erin had been involved in something big, but this was the first time people came up and thanked her for doing something. She kept telling them she hadn’t done much, but—

It was embarrassing. But it felt good. Erin walked through the street, keeping her hood raised. She was still stopped twice more, once by a Gnoll, and then by a Drake. Trying to keep hidden was no good when you had neither fur nor scales and no tail. You tended to stand out.

Erin arrived at her destination as she talked with the Drake, a [Tailor] who walked along with her to Market Street. She was talking with him as she stopped to wait in front of a stand with a few customers.

“It was really the Goblins. Really.”

“But the adventurers did all the work. The Goblins helped the Raskghar.”

The Drake frowned impatiently. Erin nodded.

“Yeah, but the Goblins helped find the Raskghar camp. And they saved a lot of the Gnolls.”

“But the Goblins are monsters.”

The Drake pointed that out as if he was saying the sky was raining. It was a fact. Erin paused.

“Maybe. But they’re not all bad.”

“What about the Goblin Lord? You do realize that the last Antinium War featured the Goblin King? He nearly destroyed the continent!”

The Drake looked expectantly at Erin. She nodded.

“That’s true. And there are bad Goblins out there. I’m just saying that there are good Goblins too, you know?”

“Good Goblins.”

The Drake savored the words as if they were new. He shook his head.

“If you say so, then I guess I’ll believe it. Look, I really just wanted to shake your hand. I knew one of the [Guardsmen] who got killed and—I’m glad you helped kill those Raskghar bastards. Your inn’s pretty popular, you know.”

“Really?”

“Well yeah. It’s like this attraction. Everyone knows about the crazy Hum—I mean, The Wandering Inn. Yeah. Ahem.”

He coughed as Erin gave him a flat look. The [Tailor] looked around.

“I’ll have to visit it sometime. Goblins or…well, I’ll visit. Thanks.”

He waved at Erin and trotted off. Bemused, she turned back to the stall. The customers in front of her had done their business. A female Gnoll leaned over the counter and grinned at Erin.

“It seems you’re quite well liked, yes, Erin?”

Erin made a face at Krshia. The Gnoll laughed and beckoned her closer so Erin could step beneath the stall’s awning.

“People keep coming up to thank me! Or tell me how they know about my inn. I think it’s my new uh, trait. I really do, Krshia.”

“Hrm. [Local Landmark]. I have heard that buildings can acquire such traits—or titles, yes? But it is the first time I have known someone with such a thing. Gnolls do not have many structures, so it is rare for us, yes?”

Krshia tidied up her counter, wiping away water with a cloth. Erin nodded.

“It’s so weird. But good! I really think I’m making a name for myself. And—well, guess what Krshia? I went to see Ilvriss and you’ll never believe what happened!”

“He gave you money, yes?”

Erin wavered.

“Well—okay, you might believe it. But listen—”

She began to tell Krshia what had happened in a hushed voice. Erin grew more indignant as she relayed the conversation about the Goblins. Krshia nodded as she wiped her counter and then wrung her cloth out. When Erin had finished she snorted, and then began to laugh.

“And you insulted him? A Wall Lord? You told him he was not fair? To his face?”

“Yeah.”

Erin watched as Krshia threw back her head to guffaw. She scowled at the Gnoll.

“Well, he wasn’t being fair! The Goblins deserve more than a crummy axe!”

Krshia shook her head.

“Erin. You are an amusing friend to have, yes? But also, I think, somewhat foolish.”

She flicked Erin’s hair with a claw. The Human bristled.

“Hey! What is that supposed to mean?”

Krshia fixed Erin with one large brown eye.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss, he told you why he did what he did, yes? The Goblins cannot be paid. For a Wall Lord of Salazsar to do the paying? It would be embarrassing! It would admit that monsters did more work than any adventurer.”

“But that’s true!”

The [Shopkeeper] shrugged.

“True or not, I would not pay the Goblins a single coin. He is right, yes? It may not be fair, but he did give you an axe. A magical weapon of great power, is it not?”

“Yes, but—it’s still not fair. The Goblins probably deserve two artifacts! Or three!”

Krshia nodded reasonably.

“And if they had them, the other adventurers would riot. Is that better?”

Erin hesitated.

“No, but—”

“But? Will you say that they should not be upset, so it should be done anyways? Goblins would get nothing if it were not for you, I think. That they were given anything—a magical weapon no less is incredible.”

“Yeah. But it’s still not fair.”

Krshia shook her head.

“Fair? Fair is never something that happens. Erin Solstice, you complain of the Goblins being rewarded. Will you complain that they were not given a parade? Or praised by all? Look at things less from how they should be and look at them how they are. Is this not better?”

She waited as Erin bit her lip and mulled this over.

“A little better. Yeah, I guess that’s true. But it could be better.”

She looked down at the bags of money and felt Krshia flick her hair again. The Gnoll sniffed dismissively.

“But, but, but. You Humans are full of buts and ifs. Look at what you have. Gold. And treasure. Look around. People come to you and thank you. They listen to you when you say ‘Goblins are good’! We are grateful. You be too.”

She looked at Erin seriously. The young woman wavered, and then realized she was complaining a lot.

“You think I’m being grouchy, don’t you? Or silly.”

“Mm. Perhaps just a bit. But I understand you. And if you understand me—it is better. Erin. Is today not better than before?”

Erin looked at Krshia. The [Shopkeeper] spread her arms wide. Her stall was smaller than before. It was wet. But…Erin smiled.

“It is. You’re right, Krshia.”

The Gnoll smiled approvingly. And she and Erin stood together in the rain and the issue of the Goblins passed from Erin’s mind. She stood and chatted with Krshia as they had done once. Just as before. Everything was the same and different. Krshia smiled as she and Erin leaned on the counter.

“How is Mrsha?”

“Better. She doesn’t have nightmares every night. Lyonette’s giving her a tiny bit of faerie flower nectar with her before-bed milk.”

“Mm. That is good. I know Erill and the others have suffered. Perhaps I could buy some of their nectar for them? Do you have enough to sell?”

“Oh! That’s a great idea! I’ve got enough. I used to have only a few flowers, but they’ve really been growing of late. I can get a small bottle together—you don’t need more than a drop, really. No charge for the others.”

“You are kind. But I think I will pay you a bit so I might charge others. Not the ones who were rescued, but it would be nice to sell. How is the inn?”

“Busy. We’re putting on The Hubris of the Raskghar every night, and I think we’ll do The Glass Menagerie next. I’m uh, running out of plays to give the actors.”

“Mm. Well, I suppose they must make up more stories, then. Is that not how it goes?”

“Yeah, but there are classics.”

“I see. And the Goblins? They do not cause trouble? You feed them?”

“Pretty much. The Redfangs are in charge and the Cave Goblins…they’re doing Goblin things. I check in on them, but I’m really busy so I haven’t seen much. The Redfangs are teaching them a bunch of stuff. Like how to fish. Speaking of which, I want to buy a lot of food from you. To feed them. I mean, they can feed themselves, but they really love salt and oil. And since I have all of this…can you get me a boat of food? I could get some from Celum, but—”

Krshia practically pulled Erin into her stall. The [Shopkeeper] shook her head rapidly.

“Celum? Why bother? We have enough food here, yes? And I can have as many boats visit your inn as needed. How much food did you say you wanted? I can have it within the hour. Meats, grains, drink, whatever is needed.”

“Oh. Well, in that case…”

Erin started placing gold coins on the table as she told Krshia what she wanted. The Gnoll’s tail wagged as she counted the shiny gold pieces. She promised Erin she’d have the goods as soon as could be and waved Erin way.

The young woman smiled as she walked down the street, her bag a bit lighter. She walked back towards the western gate where a little door had been placed incongruously against the far wall. A pair of Drakes and three Gnolls and a Human adventurer were waiting outside it. Erin sidled over and waited in line.

After a few minutes, the door opened and Drassi waved the waiting guests through. Erin smiled as Drassi grinned at her and stepped into her inn. The air was warm and the inn was cozy despite the common room being three times as large as it should be. People sat at the tables, eating and chatting. A little white Gnoll sat with a [Princess] at a table as a bee flew around their heads. Groups of adventurers looked up and a half-Elf waved at Erin. The young woman walked into her inn, smiling.

She was home.

—-

“Dead gods.”

Ceria stared at the pile of gold on one of Erin’s tables. She looked up at Pisces. The [Necromancer]’s eyes were raised as he levitated coins into a small tower. He inspected the magical axe lying on the table, and then glanced to his left. Jelaqua touched the axe head and whistled.

“That’s enchanted alright. I can feel it in my claws. Look—you can feel the hum.”

“True.”

Halrac touched the axe’s edge with one finger as well. He glanced at Revi who snorted. The Stitch-Girl poked the axe with a finger.

“Warriors. There’s better ways of testing the magic than how it feels. Typhenous, tell them.”

The [Mage] looked up. He’d been muttering spells.

“I can’t tell how powerful it is, but it’s certainly worthy of Gold-rank.”

“At least.”

Ceria muttered. She stared at the axe, remembering Calruz swinging it and cutting down infested. She reached for the handle and hesitated. She looked up at Erin.

“And he gave you that?”

“Yup. In exchange for not paying the Goblins.”

The adventurers looked at each other. They were crowded around in one of Erin’s rooms. On the third floor, in fact. Erin had decided against showing what she’d gotten from Ilvriss to everyone. He did have a point. So she’d called the adventurers up. The Halfseekers, Horns of Hammerad, and Griffon Hunt were the only teams she really trusted with this kind of information. The Silver Swords…well, they weren’t in the inn so it was a moot point anyways. Erin glanced around.

The room was packed with all the adventurers plus Lyonette and Mrsha. Moore had to sit outside, but he was glancing in. Mrsha peered over the table at the enchanted axe. She reached out with one paw and hesitated.

“No touching, Mrsha. It’s very sharp.”

Lyonette gently scolded Mrsha. She was mildly overprotective of the Gnoll now, but Mrsha bore with it well. She picked up a gold coin instead.

“A thousand gold. That’s…a lot.”

Pisces frowned.

“For an [Innkeeper] of Erin’s level? It’s not unheard of. I’ll wager that the Level 30 Drake in Liscor—Peslas, I believe—has at least that much on hand at any given time.”

“You think so, Pisces?”

“It’s not that large a sum. Consider how much Miss Solstice would usually pay just to renovate her inn without the Antinium assisting her. And given her contributions—I’d say it is less than she deserves.”

“Well, she only gets credit for her door, not the plan.”

Jelaqua remarked reasonably as she walked a gold coin over her claws. Seborn nodded. He was leaning against one window, letting everyone else crowd around the axe.

“It’s as good as they’ll give her. I’m surprised they gave the Goblins anything. This isn’t worth sixty six thousand gold coins, but they were never going to get that.”

“I guess.”

Erin made a face. Seborn shrugged.

“That’s politics. They wouldn’t get anything in the north either. Besides, they probably got lucky getting one artifact guaranteed. Splitting the treasure never goes fairly no matter how it’s done. Believe me. I knew [Pirates].”

Jelaqua rolled her eyes as Erin turned and gave Seborn a deeply interested look.

“Everyone knows that, Seborn. Don’t bore us with another story. Hey, Erin. Did Ilvriss tell you who’s getting what?”

All the adventurers looked sharply at Erin. She hesitated.

“Well, he said they’d decide in a few days. But nothing’s settled, I think.”

“Damn.”

Halrac cursed. Lyonette glared at him. The [Scout] looked away.

“We haven’t settled anything. Every team wants the best artifacts. I want that bow—”

“And we want the staff! Come on, Halrac. I could use that wind-blasting staff. Or one of the wands!”

Revi folded her arms. Jelaqua threw up her arms.

“And I want the armor! But Keldrass is going for the same thing! It’s a mess. We might only get a bucketful of gold and that would really suck.”

“What’s wrong with gold? You’ll probably get thousands.”

Erin looked at the others, mildly confused. Yvlon shook her head. She addressed both Erin and Ksmvr, who’d raised his hands, probably with the same question.

“The thing is, Erin, artifacts go up in value. Gold doesn’t. Plus, an artifact is hard to acquire since there’s limited numbers of them, especially good ones. Frankly, paying twice of what an artifact’s worth on the market is a better idea than just having the gold.”

“Especially Gold-rank items or better. Do you know how rare it is to find a piece of armor that blocks spells like that thing the Raskghar was wearing? It’s nearly as good as the Heartflame Breastplate—okay, it’s not, but we’ll own it and that’s what counts.”

Jelaqua grumbled as she kicked about the room. Erin nodded understandingly.

“Sounds rough.”

All the adventurers gave Erin glares that were only half mocking. Erin had seen them arguing with the other teams over drinks, trying to reach a deal for the last few nights. She could only shrug and gather up the gold coins.

“Lyonette, we’ve got money. But I’m going to feed the Goblins and give them what they want with some of it, okay? The rest we’ll have to hide. We should get a safe or something.”

Lyonette nodded.

“Hide it in Bird’s room. Maybe in his bed since he never uses it.”

“Ooh, good idea.”

“I don’t suppose you’d let us make an offer for that axe, would you?”

Revi looked pained as Erin shifted the axe aside. She gestured towards her belt.

“I don’t know about the other teams, but my summoned warriors could do with magical gear. And that axe is a Gold-rank weapon…”

Erin shook her head.

“Sorry. This is going to the Goblins. They earned it and they can decide what to do with it. Speaking of which…Pebblesnatch?”

She raised her voice. The other adventurers turned to the door. They heard some shuffling and then Moore’s voice.

“Oops. Excuse me.”

The half-Giant moved out of the way. A little Goblin appeared in the doorway. Pebblesnatch’s belly was round and she was gnawing on some cheese. She was the only Goblin present in Erin’s inn. The Hobs were in their cave, managing the other Cave Goblins. But Pebblesnatch had refused to go with them and for good reason. She was eating nonstop in Erin’s inn, so much so that Erin was afraid she’d injure her stomach or something.

But the Goblin seemed to be able to eat without issue. She could certainly afford to put on some pounds. Erin saw Pebblesnatch pause as she stared at the room full of adventurers and then glance with interest at the axe. Erin smiled encouragingly at her.

“Hey Pebblesnatch. Can you go downstairs and tell the Hobs I want to speak with them? It’s nothing important, but I’d like all five of them to see this.”

The little Goblin nodded. She tucked the cheese under one arm and walked downstairs. Jelaqua shook her head.

“I swear, that Goblin’s eaten twice her body weight in the last few days. I envy that. Are you going to make her an employee, Erin? What about the Hobs? All those Goblins have to go somewhere. Are they going back into the dungeon or what?”

Everyone looked at Erin. She hesitated.

She’d lied to Ilvriss. She did know how many Goblins were in the cave. The answer was a lot. And the Redfang Warriors were training them. They’d already started teaching the Cave Goblins how to fight like they did. As for plans—Erin had none.

She knew that the Goblins were a problem for Liscor, but she didn’t know what was going to happen. They could go back into the dungeon, but it was so dangerous. Then again, if they stayed above, they’d quickly become a problem as soon as the rains stopped and people started travelling to Liscor. She wondered if the Redfangs had a plan.

If they did, Erin hadn’t discussed it with them yet. She shook her head at Jelaqua.

“Nothing yet. But they’re not causing trouble for now. They just fish and cook all the time. And poke Shield Spiders.”

“You should seal that nest. One of the larger spiders breaks through the wall and there will be a problem.”

Halrac grumbled. Erin nodded.

“I’ll tell the Hobs that. Speaking of which…”

She turned expectantly to the door. There was a pause, and then someone shuffled into view. Pawn scratched his antennae as everyone stared at him. He froze.

“Oh. Hello. I was looking for Bird.”

“Hi Pawn. Look at what I got paid!”

Erin smiled at Pawn, despite him not being five Hobs. The Antinium peered into the room and nodded.

“That is a lot of gold. I am appropriately envious and happy for you, Miss Erin.”

“Thanks. Hey, do you think the Antinium will get paid a lot? You guys did fight with everyone else. Are you trying to get an artifact or gold?”

Pawn paused. He closed his mandibles and lowered them in a frown.

“Paid. Ah, you mean the distribution of wealth. I do not believe the Antinium were offered anything for our assistance in the battle.”

“What? Why not?”

Erin stared at Pawn. The Worker raised all four arms.

“I believe Wall Lord Ilvriss objected to it. As did Liscor’s Council. And Wing Commander Embria. It does not matter.”

“But that’s not—”

Erin bit back an echo of what she’d said to Ilvriss. Pawn cocked his head to one side.

“It truly does not matter, Erin. The Antinium fulfilled our contract with Liscor. And we obtained what we wanted anyways.”

“Which was?”

Pawn turned to look at Pisces. He hesitated.

“Um…oh my. Look at the rain. I should see Bird.”

He edged back and out of the room. Erin stared at the space where he had been, mystified. She looked back at Pisces.

“What did they get?”

“One wonders.”

The [Necromancer] tapped his lips thoughtfully, studiously ignoring the glances his teammates and the other adventurers gave him. He glanced towards the doorway as he heard some rapid footsteps.

“Ah.”

This time the Redfang Warriors appeared as one, led by Pebblesnatch. The Cave Goblin pointed them into the room and the Hobs warily entered. They stared at the gold coins for all of a millisecond and then fixed their gazes on the axe. Shorthilt whistled. Headscratcher nodded at Jelaqua. The Selphid grinned as Halrac stepped away from the Hobs and the others edged back to give them room.

“Hey…Numbtongue?”

Headscratcher looked disappointed. Numbtongue rolled his eyes. He looked questioningly at Erin. She took a deep breath.

“Hey guys, I’ve got some good news. And bad news. You see…I went to see Ilvriss and…well, he’s not going to pay you for saving the Gnolls. I mean, not with everything you should get.”

The Hobs stared at Erin. They looked at each other. Badarrow scratched his head. Rabbiteater frowned. Numbtongue looked at Erin.

“What pay?”

The [Innkeeper] blinked.

“Your…gold. For saving the Gnolls? Two thousand gold pieces? It’s a lot of money. And you’re not getting it.”

The Hobgoblins stared at each other. They shrugged. Numbtongue turned to Erin.

“Okay.”

He looked around and noticed everyone was giving him puzzled looks. Erin wavered.

“Aren’t you upset? I mean, that’s a lot of money! And you’re not getting any of it! Isn’t that unfair?”

“Sure.”

Numbtongue nodded obligingly. Erin gazed at him. And then she understood something about Goblins. They really didn’t care. Not about money. And not about things being unfair. Because, to a Goblin, everything was usually unfair.

“Well, I got paid some. And I think it’s only right that some of it’s yours.”

The Hobs stared at gold coins on the table. They looked at Erin and back at the coins. It was as if she’d offered them dirt. Badarrow picked up one coin, weighed it on a finger, and shrugged. He flicked it into the air and let it bounce off the table. Erin stared at him and then at the Redfangs who clearly didn’t care. She tried another tack.

“I can buy you food with it. Or weapons.”

Instantly, all the Hobs looked up with interest. They stared at the coins and at Erin as if only putting together what the money meant for the first time. Headscratcher cleared his throat.

“Swords? More?”

He spoke awkwardly and with difficulty. Erin nodded.

“More swords! If you need them. Or other things.”

The Redfangs looked at each other. They immediately huddled together. Shorthilt looked up.

“Mace? Dagger? Chainmail? Shield?”

“Yeah. Or…food.”

Rabbiteater smacked his lips together appreciatively. But Shorthilt smacked him on the back of the head. He elbowed the others until they nodded impatiently. Then the Hob stepped forwards. He stood in front of Erin like a statesman giving a speech. He looked at Erin and spoke slowly and carefully.

“Helmets. Coif. Vambraces. Oil. Whetstone. Spear. Glaive. Zweihander. Scimitar. Bardiche. Buckler. Pauldrons…”

It was like he’d memorized a dictionary of words that only pertained to weapons and armor. Erin stared at Shorthilt began listing off an armory’s worth of items. She eventually cut him off.

“You want all that?”

“Some.”

The Hob nodded eagerly. The other Redfang Warriors nodded with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Rabbiteater grumbled and made it clear that he wanted some food. But Shorthilt was adamant. Erin wavered.

“Well, I can get you some of that. Some. But the money will also go to food. For the Goblins?”

The Hobs nodded at that. They looked satisfied, punching each other on the shoulder good-naturedly. In fact, they looked quite happy. Erin stared at them, mystified, and then pointed to the axe.

“Ilvriss also gave you that. There’s only one, but it’s all he’s willing to give you. So…”

The Hobs froze. They stared at the enchanted axe. They looked at Erin. Numbtongue inhaled sharply.

“For us?”

Erin nodded. The Hobs stared at each other. Then as one they leapt for the axe.

“Whoa!”

Erin jumped back. The adventurers backed up as the five Goblins all tried to grab the axe. They fell, punching and kicking each other for it. Erin shouted and waved her arms for them to stop, but the Hobs didn’t listen. The first to emerge from the pile was Headscratcher. He pried Shorthilt’s hands off the axe and lifted it over his head, crowing.

“Mine!”

The Hobs all stared at him. Shorthilt groaned and smacked his forehead on the floor. Glumly, the other four got up and scuffed at the ground with their feet. Erin stared.

“Wait, that was it?”

Headscratcher nodded. He swung the axe carefully as the other Hobs glared at him. Apparently, they’d decided who would get the axe with the simplest of trials. Ceria looked at her team.

“Wanna try that for our next artifact?”

Yvlon laughed. Pisces just sniffed. The Hobs clustered around Headscratcher, disappointment forgotten as he let them try the axe. He looked at Erin and she was surprised to see a bit of moisture in his eyes. Headscratcher nearly teared up. He kept elbowing Numbtongue until the Goblin translated.

“Very good. Very good. He says thank you.”

Erin raised her hands.

“I didn’t do much. Look, Headscratcher, aw, don’t cry. I’m glad you like it. But it’s not what you deserve. You should get two more artifacts. OR gold!”

The Hobs stared at the pile of gold dismissively. They shook their heads. Numbtongue looked confused. He looked at Erin.

“Why so important? For buying?”

Revi raised her eyebrows. Jelaqua laughed. Erin nodded.

“It’s important! Very important. If you had more, you could buy…tons of good stuff! All of the others want it.”

The Hobs looked at the adventurers. They nodded. Halrac looked stonily past the Goblins. Jelaqua scratched her neck and sighed.

“Yeah, it’s important. We might not get anything good. And—hell, it is a bit depressing.”

“Why’s that?”

Lyonette held Mrsha up. The Gnoll sniffed Jelaqua as the Selphid shrugged.

“It’s nothing. Okay—look. It’s just that we might not get any artifacts. Or if we do, we get one. And it’s…well, it’s hard after fighting in the dungeon for so long, you know? After so much…”

She glanced at Griffon Hunt and away. The other adventurers nodded. Jelaqua spread her arms out.

“Sorry. I know I’m griping. But the other teams will get a share of the loot and that’s fair. But we—well, we were here first, you know? And we’re not getting much.”

“Yeah.”

Seborn nodded. Typhenous leaned on his staff.

“We have to agree. It is disappointing. Fair, but disappointing. I have no doubt we can negotiate for one artifact, but it might not be what we wish. As for the monetary costs…well, we’ll most likely have to forgo all the gold for a chance at one artifact.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Erin felt bad as she thought about that. It was true. The Halfseekers and Griffon Hunt had sacrificed a lot. They’d lost Ulrien. And now they had to gamble on whether they’d get anything worthwhile.

The Hobs stared thoughtfully at the adventurers. Then they looked at the gold. Badarrow picked up the gold piece again and looked at it. Then he bit it. He frowned at the faint teeth marks in the gold piece and showed it to Rabbiteater. The other Hob bit the coin as well and licked it thoughtfully. He showed it to Headscratcher who nodded, and true to his name, scratched his head.

“This is good?”

“Yup. This is what adventurers look for. This and gems and magical artifacts. And uh…”

Erin looked at the others. Jelaqua shrugged.

“Artwork. Vases, tapestries, old documents, books, magical and nonmagical. Gilding on the walls…”

“Old maps can be worth a fortune. As well as correspondence. You can make a fortune on the right letters.”

Revi smiled.

“I heard someone sold a love letter from an old [Archmage] of Wistram to a Chandrarian [Queen] for ten thousand gold pieces. It was worth more than the gemstones they found!”

The Hobs stared at her. Then they looked at each other. Headscratcher wandered over to the table. He picked up the empty bag of holding and peered into it. He dropped a coin inside and watched as it vanished. Then he tossed it to Numbtongue. The Hob grunted as he inserted his entire arm into the bag. He waved it at Erin.

“This thing. Can we take it?”

“Oh, no. Sorry. I have to give it back.”

The Hob nodded.

“We’ll give back. But borrow for little while?”

Erin hesitated.

“Well, sure. Why not? Do you need both?”

The Hobs conferred. They nodded. Numbtongue turned to the others.

“We go. Come back later. You wait.”

He waved vaguely at the room then walked out the door. The adventurers watched as the Hobs followed him. Ceria frowned.

“Does he mean wait here?”

Revi snorted.

“Bugger that. As Dawil would say. Come on, if they’re coming back I need a drink to wash the poverty off my tongue. Look, let’s all sit down and figure out who gets what once and for all.”

“I want that bow. You’re not talking me out of it, Revi.”

Halrac walked past her. Erin looked at Lyonette who shrugged and stared at the gold coins.

“They took the bags. We’ll have to haul this up by hand.”

“Ooh. Yeah. Well, maybe let’s leave it until they come back.”

The group went downstairs. Erin smiled as she walked into her common room. It was bustling, but for once she didn’t have much to do. Gnolls and Drakes circulated the tables, led by Ishkr and Drassi. They served food and drink and Erin could sit with Lyonette, Mrsha, and the adventurers as they argued.

Erin poured herself a cup of juice and sat with the others. She tried defusing the arguments that began to spring up. She was glad none of the other teams were here. They were probably cooling off. Last night had seen Keldrass and Jelaqua nearly come to blows. Even good-natured adventurers like Bevussa and Dawil had gotten annoyed by the arguing.

“All this over artifacts. I’m glad I don’t have a horse in this race.”

Lyonette nodded absently. She was bouncing Mrsha up and down as the Gnoll hugged her. The two looked happy, content just to sit around.

“I think it’s the bad weather that makes them angrier. This would probably go a lot more civilly if we had them sit in the sun.”

She glanced at Erin, and the young woman remembered that Lyonette was a [Princess]. She probably knew about negotiations.

“Why not? We can always rig up a door to the field. And Krshia said she wants to bring some Gnolls through. Let’s do that if things go south.”

“Or if you see any other teams walk in.”

The two nodded at each other. Erin turned her attention back to the arguing adventurers. She was just trying to explain to Ksmvr why challenging other teams to duels over the artifacts wasn’t a good idea—and the other adventurers were floating it as a legitimate option—when the door opened.

“The Hobgoblins are back! No one panic!”

Drassi shouted as the Redfang Warriors appeared again. They’d been gone for a good two hours, much to Erin’s surprise. They also looked slightly dirty and sweaty. Headscratcher waved to Erin and pointed upstairs. She rose.

“I think he wants us to go upstairs. Hey you guys, can you come too?”

“Fine! It beats arguing about dividing loot!”

Revi threw up her hands and stalked upstairs. Jelaqua and Seborn joined her, both looking upset while Moore tried to calm them down. Typhenous, Halrac, Yvlon, and Ksmvr followed them. Erin stared at their backs.

“They’re really upset.”

“It’s hard to negotiate. I don’t think we’ve got much of a claim, but even we’re tearing our hair out over what we want.”

Ceria paused, looking sympathetically at the Gold-rank adventurers. Pisces nodded, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“This process does seem designed to involve the most amount of strife possible. The lottery is designed such that everyone may have a claim regardless of how small, which will create a great deal of uncertainty, even for a team with a larger claim like the Halfseekers or Griffon Hunt. Everyone may obtain what they want—but the odds are that at least one party will exit quite unhappy. As one might expect of the Drakeish way of dividing spoils.”

Ceria paused as she began to climb the stairs.

“So what you really mean is, it’s a mess, Pisces.”

“Succinctly? Yes?”

“Just say that next time.”

He sniffed. Erin grinned and followed them up the stairs. She found the Hobs had placed both bags of holding on the table. They also had two large, bulging sacks next to the table. Erin stared at them. She didn’t know where the rough hide bags had come from, but they looked positively filthy. She glanced at the adventurers who were looking annoyed.

“Um, Numbtongue, what’s this? What are the other two bags for?”

“Stuff. For adventurers. Bags of holding too small. Here.”

Numbtongue handed one of the bags of holding to Erin. She stared at it and then gingerly opened the bag. She peered inside.

“Huh.”

She looked up from the bag and put it on the table quite calmly. The other adventurers stared at Erin as she went over to the window.

“’Scuse me, Seborn. Hey Moore, come in and shut the door, will you?”

The half-Giant obliged her. Revi complained as he squeezed himself into the room. Erin was fumbling with the window.

“Come on! It’ll be cramped in here, no offense Moore. And what are you doing, Erin—”

She yelped as Erin opened the window. Rain blew in. Mrsha raced out of the way as a shower blasted Erin and Seborn and Ceria, who were closest to the window. Ceria ran for cover and the other adventurers edged back.

“What the hell, Erin!”

“Just one second. I have something in my eyes.”

Erin let the rain blow into her face. Then she shut the window. She looked around as water dripped from her face. The others stared at her. Then Erin walked over to the bag of holding. She opened it again. She glanced into it.

“Huh.”

She looked up at Numbtongue. The Hob was staring at her, mainly because of the water dripping from Erin’s body. She blinked some out of her eyes.

“Hey Numbtongue, is this real?”

He nodded.

“Where’d you get it?”

“A room below. Cave Goblins showed us where it was. Big collection spot.”

“Oh. So the Raskghar had a spot where they put all this stuff?”

“What stuff?”

Jelaqua frowned. She tried to see the bag but Erin was blocking it. Numbtongue nodded.

“Separate room. Too hard to carry everywhere.”

“Right, right. That makes sense. You wouldn’t bring this around. Huh. So…huh. Wow.”

The other adventures looked at each other. Now they sensed what Erin was feeling. Pisces stood up straighter. Moore leaned over. Ceria stood on her tiptoes.

“What’s in the bag, Erin?”

The [Innkeeper] started. She looked around at the curious faces. She looked at the bag—and then turned it over and emptied it onto the table.

—-

Ceria Springwalker had heard many sounds in her life. Insects crawling all over each other, the quiet of the forests, the sound of trees rustling. Her friends screaming as they died. Raskghar howling. The voice of her master as she bade Ceria goodbye. The sound of laughter. A song in an inn.

Happy sounds, sad sounds. Moments that Ceria would never be able to unhear, both joyous and terrible. But the sound she heard now was glorious. It was a high, lofty sound that indicated the shifting of fates, but an earthly sound. A familiar sound.

It was the chink, the cling and high pitched ringing sound of metal on metal. The half-Elf saw coins pour out of Erin’s bag of holding, in an unending stream. Coins, some golden, others faded. Many covered in filth or lichen. But the gold, oh, the gold shone through. Not just gold too. There was silver and bronze and other colors of metal, bright and seductive.

And that was only the coins. Other things tumbled from the sack. Bright gemstones, goblets made of gold, figurines of Drakes, some cracked and damaged. Necklaces of fine silver string with pearls, large rings with embedded gemstones, a scepter made of brass but inset with a ring of diamonds around the top—

The treasure poured from the bag of holding and onto the table. The gold and jewels and other riches rolled off the table and clattered onto the floor. The adventurers shouted and stared. Mrsha blocked a rolling emerald the size of her paw with her leg. Erin held the bag up as the treasures poured forth. At last, the flow stopped. She stared down at the table heaped with treasures and looked around. Riches lay on the ground, rolling to a stop. She looked around, shaking slightly. Everyone else stared at her with bug eyes.

All except for the Goblins. They grumbled as they kicked aside the gold and jewels. Rabbiteater stepped on a sharp little Drake statuette made of bright silver and rubies and cursed. He kicked it aside. Numbtongue complained to Erin.

“This is hard to pick up! We’re not doing it this time.”

She turned to stare at him.

“This was in the dungeon?”

He nodded.

“In a special room. Raskghar told Cave Goblins to put it there. They collect lots of it from other rooms in the dungeon. For some reason.”

He shrugged and kicked a pile of gold apart. Erin stared at the coins. Some of them were filthy, probably from sitting in the dungeon for so long. Other coins were bloodstained. Mrsha wrinkled her nose as she sniffed a goblet with a bit of blood on one side.

“And you have another bag of holding filled with this? And—”

She looked at the other two sacks. Rabbiteater nodded. He flexed his arms to show Erin how hard it had been to carry the non-magical bags.

“Heavy. Glittery stuff heavy.”

“I’d imagine so. This isn’t just gold coins like we use. Some of this—some of this is pure gold.”

Revi’s hands trembled as she picked up a coin. She scored the soft gold with a knife, peeling up a sliver of gold. She showed it to Halrac. The [Scout]’s eyes were wide as he held it up.

“Oh dead gods. Someone tell me I’m not dreaming.”

Jelaqua looked at the treasure on the floor, blinking. She looked around. The other adventurers looked too stunned for words. She stared at the jewels lying at her feet.

“This can’t be real. Pinch me, someone.”

Moore did, pinching Jelaqua’s arm. The Selphid paused.

“I didn’t feel that.”

“You’re a Selphid. Of course you didn’t.”

Seborn stepped forwards. He bent and picked up a pair of tongs, which were made of silver and ivory. He opened and closed them.

“This is a treasure haul. I’ve seen something like this only once. And that was—storms and salt. This is what the Raskghar had?”

“Of course. Of course they had it. We just didn’t notice it because we attacked their camp.”

Ceria felt lightheaded. She spoke, feeling something like mirth bubbling up inside them. She looked at the others, a crazy smile tugging at her face.

“We were so busy attacking the camp that we never thought to—and Calruz never said—”

Yvlon shook her head.

“He probably didn’t know. The Raskghar might have kept it hidden. And the Goblins…”

She glanced at the Hobs, who were scratching themselves and looking pleased at the reaction they’d elicited.

“…they don’t care about treasure.”

“We care about artifacts. Not shiny things. They’re too shiny. Too heavy. Not useful. Good for adventurer traps, maybe.”

Numbtongue corrected Yvlon. The woman nodded and then stared at the treasure. Ksmvr glanced around.

“Am I to take it that this is all treasure for us?”

“No, it’s the Goblin’s—”

Erin turned to the Redfangs. They shook their heads.

“Not for us. You take.”

Headscratcher pointed at Erin. She opened her mouth to protest. Pisces cut her off.

“It’s no good to them, Erin. But in our hands, it can be, ah, delicately spent. I think this is a gift.”

“Mhm.”

The Hobs nodded. Numbtongue pointed at the adventuring teams, who stared at him, faces all as pale as Jelaqua’s.

“For fighting in the dungeon. For killing Raskghar. You did it. We don’t need it. So it’s yours. You have it. An adventurer’s treasure.”

The other three teams looked at Numbtongue, shocked. Typhenous was bending down, touching the treasure. He looked up. Revi had a circlet in her hands.

“For us? Just for us? You’re serious?”

Numbtongue nodded. Jelaqua shook her head.

“We should share it. This is—we should tell the others.”

The others looked at her. Yvlon half-nodded. Pisces frowned. No one else nodded. Revi looked at Jelaqua.

“I have an alternative idea: no. This is ours. There’s no way I’ll split this. Can I change your mind?”

The Selphid hesitated. She looked back at Revi and then nodded.

“Yeah. That was a terrible idea. Thanks for talking me out of it.”

“Anytime.”

The others went back to staring at the treasure. Erin felt a bit lightheaded. She looked at the other bags.

“So that’s all the treasure?”

The Hobs nodded. Numbtongue kicked one bag.

“All of it. There was a big pile in the room. No artifacts. Raskghar used those. We took all of it. You take it from us. Only your teams.”

He looked at the others. Revi was nodding repeatedly, as was Typhenous and Pisces. Halrac frowned.

“Why our teams?”

He looked directly at Badarrow as he said it. The [Sniper] glanced at him and grinned.

“Helped Goblins. Sometimes.”

That shut Halrac up. Erin looked at the treasure and then at Headscratcher.

“They did do a lot. But—why not the Silver Swords? They fought too.”

Numbtongue looked at his companions. He shrugged.

“We don’t like them.”

“Oh.”

After that came more standing around. The Hobs took a seat as the adventurers picked up the relics and gold pieces and tried to pile them on the table. They were almost afraid to open the other bags. Ceria kept pinching herself and Moore had to sit and breathe slowly with Mrsha in his arms. They were shocked more than exhilarated.

For the first ten minutes. And then a craze seemed to sweep over them. Jelaqua opened the second bag of holding, dumped it onto the ground, and began sorting the coins and jewels and other objects apart. Typhenous knelt with her, muttering about the cuts of gems and weight. Pisces began arguing with Seborn about the price of gold. Yvlon and Halrac tried to appraise the statues and so on and Ksmvr dutifully began adding it all up. In minutes, all the adventurers were on their knees, counting.

“We need parchment! Something to write this down!”

Pisces feverishly sorted through the gemstones, his face flushed. Ceria nodded.

“Put—put all the gems on the bed! We’ll count the coins and shove them into this corner—”

The Hobs watched as the adventurers scrambled to sort the treasure. It was getting hot in the room so Rabbiteater opened a door. Immediately he was nearly tackled by Seborn and Typhenous.

“Don’t open the door!”

Instantly, the ecstatic mood changed to paranoia. Moore was instantly assigned to watch the door and Lyonette and Erin were sent downstairs to get parchment and a quill and ink and to come right back upstairs. Under no circumstances was anyone allowed on the same floor. Typhenous and Pisces began frantically casting ward spells.

“We’ll need to store all this before we can deposit it! The Merchant’s Guild can hold it—but we’ll need to watch it day and night. If a [Thief] were to get wind of what we have—”

Revi was summoning her Stitch-Warriors to help sort the treasure. Halrac nodded.

“We can’t just deposit it in any guild, though. We need the best deal. I know someone in Invrisil who can change all the gemstones.”

“Right—there’s overheads we need to watch out for. The exchange rate on sapphires isn’t so good, but if we bank it and wait—”

“How do we split it? Thirds to each of us? What about Erin?”

Ceria knelt amid a pile of treasure. She looked up at Erin. The young woman backed up as the adventurers stared feverishly at her.

“I’m uh, good. I got paid. You can have the treasure.”

“You mean it? You can’t change your mind!”

Revi stared at Erin. The [Innkeeper] hesitated, and looked at Lyonette. Mrsha was staring wide-eyed at the treasure.

“I’m…sure. I didn’t fight in the dungeon.”

“Right. Right. That’s true. We can give you a bit. But all of this? This is for us.”

Revi went back to the gold, standing over it almost protectively. Erin looked around. The Hobs were watching with interest. But there was something almost…scary about the way the adventurers were acting. Erin wanted no part of it. The three teams sorted the treasure nonstop for an hour, trying to calculate how much they’d earned. In the end they had a rough count.

“It could be off—the fluctuating market is always an issue. But assuming we could average the prices for each item—”

Pisces scrubbed a hand through his messy hair, ignoring the grime on his hands. Typhenous mumbled as he stared at the parchment with the figures scrawled on it. Ceria bounced on her feet.

“Well? How much? How much?”

Pisces looked up and gulped.

“A hundred and ten thousand gold pieces? Give or take thirty thousand as a margin for error.”

“A hundred and ten—”

“Give or take? How much could we get?”

Jelaqua tried to add it up on shaking fingers.

“Per group? That’s….close to fourty thousand for each team! Thirty five thousand pieces!”

“And that’s assuming we don’t get more for the gems and whatnot. If we get a good price—”

The adventurers went quiet. They looked at each other. Then Revi laughed shakily.

“We’re rich. This is—this is a haul.”

The other adventurers nodded. Ceria sat on the ground as filthy gold coins spilled around her. Ksmvr stared at the treasure.

“So, does this mean our teams have achieved lucrative success, Captain Ceria? Have we struck it rich?”

“Very rich, Ksmvr.”

Ceria nodded at once. But it was Jelaqua who raised a trembling hand.

“Hold on. This is good, but it’s not everything.”

“What do you mean?”

Ceria stared at the Selphid. Jelaqua took a few deep breaths.,

“Okay. It’s great. If it was one team we’d be…well, thirty five thousand is a huge amount any way you cut it. But for a Gold-rank team? It’s good. It’s what we came here for. But if we can get more—”

She looked at Griffon Hunt. Halrac nodded.

“It’s what we came here for.”

“Right. We could do with eighty thousand gold pieces. Now that would be a real haul even for a Gold-rank team.”

Revi muttered to herself. She raised her hands as she got a dozen glares.

“What? This is great, don’t get me wrong! It puts our team back on the map. After what happened—”

She looked at Typhenous and Halrac. The [Scout] nodded. He sat on the bed, then reached down and pulled a topaz away with a grimace.

“After all our setbacks, this will…it’ll fund us for a long time. Get us better equipment if we need it. Help us get more adventurers.”

“Us too. We’ve had a few thousand gold coins in the bank, but nothing we could really rub together. This? This is security.”

Jelaqua stared at the mountain of coin. She looked up sharply.

“And we can use this in the lottery.”

The others looked at her in surprise. Halrac sat up and nodded.

“That’s true. We can cede all the money we’ll get, and ask just for an artifact. And then—”

“—and then we have gold and an artifact. Dead gods. Dead gods.”

Jelaqua rubbed her hands together. Ceria blinked at Halrac.

“You want more? After this?”

She’d hit the limit of all the avarice in her body. But Halrac and the other Gold-ranks clearly hadn’t. The [Veteran Scout] nodded.

“I want that bow. Before, we were trying to get at least a few thousand gold pieces to cover the costs of all we’ve spent. But with this, we can aim just for the artifacts.”

“It’s a miracle. A miracle!”

Revi laughed and lay in a pool of treasure. Seborn had necklaces and bracelets draped over his arms. He grinned, the light of the gems flashing across his body. Erin smiled around, caught up in the genuine excitement this time.

“You did it.”

Yvlon paused. She held a gold coin up and stared at it.

“We did.”

The adventurers quieted. They looked at each other. The Halfseekers, the Horns, and Griffon Hunt. The elation that had filled them drained away for a moment. They remembered.

Ulrien. The original Horns of Hammerad. The Silver Spears. All the others. Ceria stared down at the treasure she held, slightly sick suddenly. It felt like so long. And she’d done it. She held a fortune, the fortune her team had dreamed of. And she felt…a bit empty.

“What now?”

Pisces looked at her.

“Now? I suppose we attempt to arm ourselves better for next time.”

“What next time?”

Revi looked at him, puzzled. Pisces frowned.

“The next foray into the dungeon, of course.”

“Why?”

The question stumped the [Necromancer]. Revi looked around. The Stitch-Girl looked calmer now. She gazed from face to face, ending on Halrac and Typhenous.

“Why do we have to go back into the dungeon? It’s dangerous. It nearly killed us more times than I can count. Besides…we did it. This is what we came here for. Not to conquer the dungeon. For this.”

She gestured at the treasure.

“We did it. A wise adventurer doesn’t keep going in. They take the treasure and go. We did it, everyone. And as for me? I’m done with the dungeon.”

Everyone stared at her in shock. Then Jelaqua stood up.

“So are we. We got our gold. We don’t have to go back in. We’re going to have a holiday. We’re going to—we could go anywhere with this. We don’t have to go back.”

“We don’t?”

Ceria sat still, trying to imagine that. They could just walk away? But the dungeon—

Would be there. And other teams would try to claim its secrets and treasures. But they didn’t have to deal with it. Ceria looked at the treasure. She tried to imagine what twenty five thousand gold pieces could buy. Could it buy help for an insane Minotaur? A gravestone for the Horns? New robes? Spellbooks? Could it buy—

She looked up and saw Pisces staring at her. Yvlon and Ksmvr stood together, waiting. They were looking at Ceria. So were the Halfseekers. And Griffon Hunt and Erin and Lyonette and Mrsha. Ceria looked around. She stood up. She felt dizzy. Elated. Almost sick. But then she remembered.

A group of adventurers standing around in the inn. Ceria, Sostrom, Gerial, Calruz, Hunt…the Horns. A toast. For honor. Ceria blinked—

And she stood in the room filled with treasure. Different faces gazed at her, worrying, expectant, curious. Ceria looked around. She took a few deep breaths.

“I think—for now—at least until we’re ready—”

They waited for it. Ceria smiled. Her heart was beating fast. The world opened up. The dungeon would stay here, but now—

“We’re done with the dungeon!”

The others burst into wild cheers. Jelaqua hugged Pisces and Revi danced about Moore as the half-Giant high-fived all three of Ksmvr’s hands. Halrac shook Yvlon’s hands as Seborn and Typhenous slapped each other on the back. The adventurers laughed and danced and cried.

“We’re done with the dungeon! Done with the dungeon!”

And the Goblins watched it all, amused and confused and happy. And when Erin had seen enough, she left the room and watched the Hobs file back to their little cave, nudging each other. Satisfied. They’d given away a fortune, but they stood straight. Happy.

That was the thing about Goblins. They cared not for gold, or glory, or gods for that matter. But they cared about what mattered. Warm food, a place to sleep, a shiny axe, and each other.  Erin looked back at the room full of celebrating adventurers and at the Goblins. She saw things to love about each side. So she stood on the stairs and called down at the Hobs.

“Hey!”

They looked back up at her. Erin smiled and beckoned.

“Come on. You deserve at least one cake for all that.”

They brightened up. It was the best gift Erin could have given them.

—-

Happy days. Presents that mattered more to different people. The Drakes were grateful for peace. The Gnolls rejoiced in victory over their ancient foe. The adventurers looked to the glitter of their wealth. And the Goblins? The Goblins shared three cakes in their cave and were happy. Which group was the most happy?

It was the Goblins. They lay about in a sugar-induced coma, the Cave Goblins experiencing the joy of frosting for the first time in their lives, smacking their lips. For once they weren’t hungry. The Hobs slept on beds imported from Erin’s inn, warm and comfortable. And one more thing happened that night.

A Goblin wearing a cape tossed and turned in his bed. His cape was magical. Sometimes it was water, or mud, or in one bad case, pee. But usually it was blood. He’d finally figured out how to make it stick and the blood cape looked coolest.

Goblins slept around him. They crowded his bed, although none actually intruded on the warm cotton sheets. But they clustered around this Hob more than any other.

Not because he was stronger than the rest like Headscratcher, or an expert shot like Badarrow. He wasn’t nearly as masterful with weapons as Shorthilt and he couldn’t sing or speak like Numbtongue. In fact, the other Hobs would have called Rabbiteater slightly unremarkable. So would he.

But that wasn’t what the Cave Goblins saw. That wasn’t what they remembered. They all remembered a figure standing in the darkness.

A Goblin unsheathed his sword as the Raskghar stirred in their camps. The Cave Goblins looked up and saw a toothy grin, and a Goblin wearing a red cape. Rabbiteater pointed at the Raskghar, his crimson cloak swirling around him. He charged and the Hobs followed, bringing salvation and hope into the darkness of the dungeon.

They had seen him leading the charge. And he was always smiling, always kind. The other Hobs were grumpy or bad tempered, or in Headscratcher’s case, cried too much. But Rabbiteater was nice. And he was learning to cook from Erin. In their minds, he was clearly the leader. More than a leader.

He was a hero. And hundreds…thousands…of Cave Goblins slept that night and believed it. And because they believed, it was true. Only, it was impossible for Rabbiteater to become a [Hero]. He was missing one thing. So he got the closest thing to it.

[Level 20 Warrior!]

[Warrior → Champion class!]

[Skill – Champion’s Gear obtained!]

[Skill – Grand Slash obtained!]

[Skill – Valor of Champions obtained!]

Rabbiteater sat up. He blinked and looked down at his body. He stared at his worn chainmail shirt and slightly dented sword as they began to glow. Rabbiteater saw the chainmail straighten, shed the rust, and take on a smooth, almost silky sheen. He drew his sword and saw it glow as the blade became straight, the edge razor-sharp. He looked around and waved his arms. All the other Goblins were asleep. So Rabbiteater took a deep breath and shouted.

—-

Erin Solstice was sleeping in her bed. In the kitchen. On the floor. She was used to it now and it was comfy. She was sound asleep, but she woke up when she heard the shouting.

It was coming from the magic door. Erin stumbled over to it and saw the red mana stone was glowing. Someone had opened the door from the other side by accident. She stumbled over and heard loud shouts. She cautiously peeked through the door and saw chaos.

The five Redfang Warriors were running about, shouting. The Cave Goblins were just as excited. But—wait. Erin tried to make sense of it all.

“Champion! [Champion]!”

Rabbiteater crowed as he ran about, arms raised. His cape fluttered behind him as the Goblins cheered. But the Hobs weren’t happy. They were chasing about the Cave Goblins, shouting. They didn’t use words—well, except for Numbtongue, but Erin got what they were saying.

Why him? The Redfang Warriors were upset. They were happy, well, sort of, but they were indignant. Why Rabbiteater? After all, Headscratcher was stronger. Shorthilt was better with a sword! Badarrow never missed a target! And Numbtongue had a guitar! They argued with the Cave Goblins, slapping their chests and flexing their muscles. But the Cave Goblins stared at Rabbiteater who was posing with the cloak on his back.

Their hero. And as the other four Hobs lay back, crestfallen, Erin smiled. She looked at Rabbiteater, who was smiling ear to pointed ear. She whispered quietly to herself.

“And Hufflepuff takes the lead.”

Then she closed the door and went to sleep.

5.50 G

Every species had a way of meeting. Not individually, but in large masses. For instance, Gnolls had no written law, but they still obeyed tradition quite scrupulously and they had a number of customs that related to interaction between two or more tribes.

When two tribes of Gnolls met, there were ceremonies to be observed. The Chieftains would meet and declare peace—or war. They would exchange gifts in the case of the former or part for one day in the case of the latter. Other species might scoff at these particular formalities, but they all had places of peace, and ways of meeting.

The Centaurs had gathering spots where no weapons were allowed to be brought, neutral ground where all might walk in peace, criminal and enemies alike. The Dullahans regarded steam baths as inviolate and would never sanction an [Assassin] to lie in wait there, or plan a trap of any kind.

[Ladies] had tea parties. Drakes (generally) didn’t fight under white flags, and even then, it was usually only punching each other in the worst of cases. Dragons tended not to do battle when one or more of their hoards were at stake. And Goblins? Well, Goblins had the sit-about.

Infighting between Goblins was rare. Usually one Chieftain would crush another by force or trickery and that would be that. However, larger battles and lasting animosity like the war between Garen and Tremborag’s factions with Reiss’ weren’t unknown.

And while it was unthinkable for them to share a confined space without one side attacking the other, the peace had been maintained by the Humans. Thus, the Goblins had declared a hiatus on killing each other and enacted a rare scene from Goblin tradition, the aforementioned sit-about.

It was simple. Two enemy tribes of Goblins found a big space and sat. One side faced the other, or in this case, since Rags was present and Garen and Tremborag were two different Chieftains, they formed into four sides, such that a square of space lay between them. From overhead it looked more like a rhombus, but no one was holding the Goblins to exact geometry at the moment.

A rhombus, with a bit of space between each Chieftain and the Goblin Lord. Each one sat at an inside corner, facing the others. And here was the curious thing about the Goblin sit-about; while the tribe of Goblins sat behind their Chieftain, eating and chattering and passing along what was said in the center, the actual amount of space that separated Rags from Garen and the other chieftains was only about five feet in any direction.

There she sat, on the grass. There he sat, five feet away, across a fire. Behind Garen, his entire tribe—barely more than eight hundred Goblins, all wearing the red stripes that marked them as ‘his’ Redfangs—sat. Rags glanced left.

A giant Hobgoblin, a massive blob of fat, chewed noisily on a dead cow’s haunch. Tremborag glanced down at Rags as he tore meat from bone, his eyes flashing with clear annoyance and hatred. Five feet separated them, but such was Tremborag’s size that he could reach out and strike Rags. He did not, because of the rules. And also because of who sat across from him.

Reiss, the Goblin Lord, sat to Rags’ right. He was cross-legged, with Snapjaw and Eater of Spears sitting just behind him. He stared at the crackling fire and glanced up. Rags saw his eyes flick towards her, but made no move.

The atmosphere was…well, tense was hardly the word for it. Rags had never been in a sit-about before. She only knew of it from looking back at other Chieftain’s memories. And what she remembered of the sit-about was that it usually didn’t end well.

During the sitting it was peaceful. Oh, the close proximity meant that sometimes Chieftains would shout or throw things at each other, but actual violence would be so wrong that their tribes would usually revolt rather than see one of their Chieftains break the peace. So the two Goblins, or in this case, four, would have to share one meal together, sitting practically cheek-by-jowl.

The violence was what came after. The sit-about was considered the last attempt for two tribes to make peace if one Chieftain refused to cede to the other. If they didn’t find some kind of common ground, then the next day they usually slaughtered each other. Rags didn’t know if that would happen here, but she was on edge.

Her entire tribe sat at her back. Pyrite on her left, Redscar on her right. Poisonbite sat on Pyrite’s left, Noears on Redscar’s right. Quietstab sat directly behind Rags, chewing on a bit of pan-fried beef. The rest of her tribe sat behind her lieutenants, chomping down and watching Rags from behind.

There was a bowl full of chopped and fried beef in front of Rags. Good, hot food that made her stomach growl. The Goblins had run across a herd of cattle on the march and so they were dining well tonight. Normally Rags would have been stuffing her face, but she knew she was being watched. Every Goblin would assess their Chieftain and the other Chieftain’s performance, weigh what they said. Thus, every move had to be made with care.

Rags thought like that for about five minutes. Then she gave up and began gobbling her beef because she was hungry. The fire crackled as it grew lower; it had been made right when the sit-about had been declared and no one had fed it yet. The four Goblins eyed the fire. It was Tremborag who broke the silence first.

“The fire’s getting low.”

The other three looked at him. All the Goblins looked at Tremborag. Some nodded. That was a neutral statement, a fact. A good opening. Garen glanced at Reiss. The Goblin Lord nodded.

“It’s low.”

He was agreeing with Tremborag. That was good. It meant the two agreed on something, however small. There were nods all around. Garen growled, not wanting to be left out.

“Should probably add more wood. Other Goblin should do it.”

His Redfang Warriors smiled decisively as if Garen had pointed out something no one else had. Rags rolled her eyes and didn’t comment. Tremborag tore off another chunk of meat. He spoke while chewing.

“Make the nameless child refuel it. She’s better suited to that than leading a tribe.”

The convivial atmosphere became glacial in a moment. Rags stiffened and her tribe sat up. Redscar half-rose, his eyes flashing, but Noears and Quietstab grabbed his shoulders in an instant. Rags had to be the one to respond. She glanced coolly to her left at Tremborag and replied.

“No.”

The Goblins stirred. Some of them, smaller ones and females, glanced admiringly at Rags for her confident reply. Tremborag’s eyes only narrowed. He waited, but Rags went back to eating.

“Why not?”

Rags glanced back up at Tremborag.

“Don’t want to.”

Tremborag smiled mirthlessly. He tapped one huge finger on the ground as a spark flew from the fire and died in the dirt.

“The fire will go out. Someone must tend to it. Why not you?”

It was a cunning philosophic trap, at least in Goblin terms. Why shouldn’t Rags refill the fire? But the little Chieftain was equal to the challenge. This time she looked straight at Tremborag and raised her voice slightly.

“I said no. Big fat Hob deaf as well as stupid?”

Tremborag’s jaw fell open. There was a guffaw from behind Rags and laughter from other Goblins. The gigantic Hob growled, but nothing could take away the amusement on Reiss’ face, or the way Garen was clearly trying not to laugh. Rags smiled to herself, then felt a poke in her side. Every head turned to Pyrite, who looked troubled as he withdrew the finger. Rags nodded.

“Sorry. Big fat, ugly Goblin. That better?”

She looked at Pyrite, who grunted with approval. Again, laughter came from behind Rags and from Reiss’ camp. Tremborag’s face was murderous. He swung around and the faint, stifled sounds behind him went instantly silent.

That had been a perfect riposte with Pyrite’s help as verbal duels went. Rags sat a bit straighter, knowing that if there was a score, she would be ahead. Tremborag was fuming, but unwilling to try to attack Rags again and Garen was recovering himself. Reiss chuckled and turned his head.

“Snapjaw.”

Instantly, the Hob with the metal teeth turned and waved a hand. She shouted.

“Wood!”

One of the Goblins behind her threw a split log. Snapjaw grabbed it and handed it to Reiss. He pointed at the log and flicked his fingers. The piece of firewood flew up and landed in the fire, sending up a flurry of sparks. There were murmurs from all sides and Rags saw Noears sit up with interest. She was staring at Reiss as well, trying to figure out how he’d done that. Pisces had tried to teach her telekinesis, but she hadn’t mastered it to that extent. Or at all really.

The fire crackled with the new fuel in place. Garen grunted and pointed. One of his warriors strode forth and dumped some firewood next to the fire, adding a few logs. The other Goblins watched. Obviously the fire hadn’t been the issue. It had just been an opening joust of words and actions. And Reiss had cleverly found a way to set himself ahead as well.

His trick with the firewood was a display of magic, meant to impress. And it did. Goblin [Shamans] couldn’t levitate objects, at least not as casually as [Mages] did. That set Reiss apart and more than a few Goblins were staring at him now. Tremborag, glaring, rumbled.

“Cute trick.”

His words were meant to be an insult, but Reiss just smiled slightly. He turned his head and stage-whispered to Snapjaw.

“Better cute than being big, fat, ugly, deaf and stupid.”

She laughed loudly and again, Tremborag turned a mottled shade of red and green. His huge claws clenched and unclenched. Rags watched him out of the corner of her eyes as she sipped some water from her cup.

He wasn’t good at this. Tremborag might have a commanding presence, and he was dangerous, but he had never really suffered challenges to his rule in the mountain. Thus, he wasn’t as nimble in places where words mattered more than power, like the sit-about. And Garen was likewise stuck. The Redfang’s Chieftain was no conversationalist and though he kept sitting forwards, he missed his chance to jump in time and time again.

Reiss glanced at the two fuming Chieftains, and then at Rags. He tapped his own bowl and then there was silence again. This time, his face was more serious as he looked at Rags.

“Why does your tribe fight Tremborag and Garen’s? I hear rumors, but not why. Chieftain Rags, tell us.”

Rags sat up. Now they came to the real issues. She glanced across the fire at Garen. His face was stony. Rags shrugged.

“My tribe was Garen’s tribe. He was mine. I beat his tribe.”

There was a rumble of protest from Garen’s side. Rags raised her voice.

“He called me Chieftain! He advised me to go to Tremborag.”

“And you betrayed me!”

Tremborag interrupted. He thrust a huge finger at Rags.

“You were the traitor! I welcomed you into my mountain, offered you food! And you fled, coward, nameless Goblin! You fled with my treasures, my people! You are no Chieftain, but a thief! You dared not challenge me so you fled in the night!”

This time Tremborag’s words caused an commotion among the Goblins listening. Stealing was one thing, but stealing from a tribe that had welcomed Rags into their hold? Rags held up a hand, her heart beating faster.

“I left, yes. But for good reason! Your tribe kidnapped Human women. Did bad things to them. Sex things. Not-Goblin things.”

The Goblins went silent. Reiss stared at Rags in confusion, then his brows drew together. He looked at Tremborag with disgust.

“Rape? They captured Human women for…?”

He looked at Rags for confirmation. She nodded. The Goblins behind Reiss looked at each other, some uncomprehending, others like the ones sitting next to Eater of Spears, clearly appalled. The Goblins sitting behind Garen shifted and he stared at his lap, silent. And Tremborag?

He laughed. The Great Chieftain slapped his belly so his flesh rippled and laughed long and loud, so that every eye fell on him again. He laughed until tears began to leak from the corners of his eyes. He wiped one away and then looked around. His eyes fell on Rags and he leaned forwards.

“That was what you objected to? That? Yes, we captured Humans. So what? They are Humans. What does it matter what happens to them?”

His words provoked an uproar from the Goblins behind Rags. Redscar shot to his feet, as did many of the Redfang warriors. Some of the Goblins in Reiss’ camp also shouted. But the Goblins sitting behind Tremborag jeered and shouted back. For a few minutes there was chaos as both sides shouted at each other. And then Reiss raised his voice.

“Quiet.”

And there was. Rags heard the shouting Goblins go silent as if Reiss had cast a spell. She stared at him as the Goblin Lord turned to the silent Goblin. Garen Redfang. Reiss looked at the other Hob, who sat with both hands on his knees, bare-chested, his scars glowing in the firelight.

“Tremborag says raping and kidnapping Humans is meaningless. Rags says it is not-Goblin. I say it is wrong. But what do you say, Garen Redfang? You walked among Humans. Why did you stay when Rags and your warriors left?”

It was a cutting question. All the Goblins went silent. They fixed on Garen. He chewed his lip, then looked up.

“It is Tremborag’s tribe. He decides. Deal with it.”

His gaze passed right by Reiss as he stared at Redscar and his warriors, sitting across the fire. The Redfangs shifted. Redscar clenched his fist in anguish and shook his head. So did the others.

It was not a good reply. But it was the same one he had made before. Some of Garen’s warriors looked unhappy with it, but there was nothing more to say. Reiss just nodded.

“So. That is why your tribes are at odds. I see now.”

He cupped his chin in his hand. Rags stared at him. Reiss’ eyes flicked to her and to Garen. She stared at him. If the sit-about was just between her, Garen, and Tremborag it would already be over and they would be preparing for a battle. But Reiss was the unknown factor here. She looked at him, and then at Tremborag and Garen.

“Why are you fighting them?”

The other two Chieftains started. Tremborag glanced at Rags, and then his eyes narrowed.

“Yes, Goblin Lord. Why do you attack your own kind? You talk of fault when it is you who attacked first! You came to my mountain and besieged it. You chased us out, brought the Humans here! If you had never marched north, then all our tribes—Garen’s, mine, and…the child’s…would be at peace! This is your fault!”

He pointed at Reiss. The Goblins behind Tremborag shouted agreement. They stared at Reiss with real anger. They had lost their home because of him. But again, Reiss was calm. He stared at Tremborag and then shook his head.

“I did not attack first.”

Tremborag snorted in disbelief. His Goblins began shouting. Reiss raised his voice.

“I did not attack first. I came north seeking allies. I came to your mountain to seek you out, Tremborag. Your tribe, that I might fight the Humans. And you laid a trap when we met under peace. You attacked me first.”

His words caused a hush from the Goblins behind Tremborag. The Great Chieftain hesitated.

“You still came north, bringing attention on my tribe. If you hadn’t—”

“I was not the one who declared war first, Tremborag. Even before I marched on your mountain, my armies were under attack. I sent many north. Raiding parties, armies to fight the Humans. And they were attacked. By Goblins.”

This time Reiss looked at Rags. She bit her lip and glanced at Garen. The Goblin Lord’s forces. She remembered attacking at least two armies. It had seemed so obvious at the time, but—was all of this just a misunderstanding? Reiss held his gaze on Rags and then looked at Tremborag.

“I had cause, Tremborag. As for you—I am a Goblin Lord. You are a Chieftain. Great Chieftain, perhaps, but a Chieftain nonetheless. When I call, would you not at least give me the courtesy of speaking first? No. Instead, you attacked my people. You killed them.”

Tremborag’s eyes flashed.

“I killed a bare few. You were the one who brought war to my mountain.”

“Yes. For those you killed. For the dead slain by Garen Redfang.”

The Great Chieftain laughed incredulously.

“For a handful of Goblins? Are you a fool?”

Some of his Hobs laughed as well, but the rest did not. Rags did not laugh and no one behind her laughed either. Wasn’t that what a Chieftain did? Tremborag’s boisterous laughter died out as he realized all the other Goblins were just staring. Reiss slowly shook his head. His gaze, when it met Tremborag’s was dark. This time it seemed like the light retreated from him as he spoke.

“For one Goblin I would kill you, Tremborag of the Mountain. For one of my people I would bring ruin to your mountain and shatter your tribe. For the thousands that have died, I will make you suffer before you go.”

The sitting Goblins were silent. Tremborag’s face went still as he met Reiss’ eyes. Rags was still as she watched Reiss’ face. There was nothing amused about Reiss now. His pleasant demeanor, his educated speech—she forgot all about that when she stared at his eyes and saw the little white demons staring out from behind his pupils. Promising death.

And yet Tremborag did not look away. The Great Chieftain sat, the bones of half a cow in front of him. Grease and drippings covered his front. He looked down at Reiss. And then he changed.

Fat changed to muscles. His body contorted. His eyes grew wide and then sunk slightly into his face. His body shifted, grew. The Goblins edged back as a monster, a beast of muscle and sinew appeared where Tremborag had sat. This Goblin was not the fat, laughingly arrogant Great Chieftain of the Mountain. It was something else. Tremborag looked down at Reiss and his voice was quiet when he replied.

“I will eat you slowly, little slave.”

Reiss made no reply. The two sat like that for minutes, perhaps as many as ten while the other Goblins sat around in silence. Rags felt sweat rolling down her shoulder blades. If any Goblin behind Tremborag or Reiss moved, she felt like there would be a battle, sit-about or not. She could see Garen tensed, hand on his blade, looking from face to face. Rags had no idea how to break the tension. Neither Reiss nor Tremborag were willing to look away first. The tension filled the air, growing worse by the second until—

Prrt.

Rags’ heart nearly stopped. She heard a loud, muffled fart coming from her left. She whirled, and saw Pyrite. He paused as every Goblin, Reiss, Tremborag, Garen, and the tens of thousands of others, looked at him. He fanned at his behind as Poisonbite choked and threw herself back and apologetically shrugged.

“Bad beef.”

There was a nervous titter from the Goblins, and then laughter. Tremborag relaxed and his features shifted back to normal. Reiss smiled and glanced away. The tension defused—somewhat. Reiss and Tremborag avoided meeting each other’s eyes, but the lingering threat was still there, just beneath the surface. Only, the danger of imminent violence had passed.

Thanks to Pyrite. Rags nodded at him as the Hob endured Poisonbite kicking his side. The Hob smiled at her and kept eating. After a little bit, the relieved laughter and other Goblins copying Pyrite’s example and letting off humorous farts quieted down. Rags found herself sitting in silence again, only this time all eyes were on her and Garen.

Negotiations had failed between Reiss and Tremborag’s forces. That was clear. But the sit-about wasn’t over yet. Garen and Rags had yet to state their positions and while Garen’s was clear, Rags was still up for debate. And it was she who decided to ask the burning question once more. Rags sat up and pointed at Reiss. Every eye turned towards her. The Goblin Lord looked at Rags. She met his eyes, ignoring the sense of unease his white pupils and black eyes provoked in her.

“He called you slave. Are you a slave?”

“No. I told you. I have a master. But I do not consider myself a slave.”

“Liar.”

Two voices said the same thing. Tremborag and Garen. They stared at Reiss. He looked back at them, and they glared. Rags looked from face to face and waved her arms.

“Stop glare! Explain! Why slave, why not a slave? What master?”

Reiss looked at Rags, and then around at the watching Goblins. He nodded at Garen and Tremborag.

“They call me a slave because they know my past, Chieftain Rags.”

“And what is past? Explain. Tell. Garen calls you not-Goblin. Why? Who is master?”

The Goblins sitting behind Reiss were troubled. Snapjaw poked Reiss and whispered to him, and Eater of Spears leaned down to converse as well. Reiss listened to his lieutenants, and then shook his head.

“No. Snapjaw. Let them hear the truth.”

The female Hob looked troubled, but she nodded and sat back. Rags was surprised.

“You tell? Just like that?”

Both Garen and Tremborag looked shocked as well. But Reiss just smiled. A trace of amusement reentered his gaze. He shrugged.

“It is not a secret. We are Goblins. If you ask, I will tell you my story. You want to know how I became a Lord? About how I knew Garen Redfang? You want to know about this?”

He pointed at his black eyes. Rags hesitated and nodded. Reiss sat back. He looked thoughtfully at the stars.

It was a clear night. The many campfires of the Goblin sit-about blew smoke into the sky, but you could still see the distant lights high above. To the north, the massive Human army’s fires were also bright, but above the sky was peaceful. Soft. Beautiful. Reiss sat with an audience of hundreds of thousands of Goblins around him. The ones behind Reiss seemed to know what he would say and sat back, relaxing, willing to hear the story again. The other Goblins sat, attentive, some wary, but all curious. Garen looked away and growled for more food. Tremborag spat and called for wine.

After a moment, Reiss began. His words were listened to and passed from Goblin to Goblin, so even the ones sitting on the very edges of the sit-about knew what he said.

“Once upon a time, there were two Goblins. One was a Hob. A wanderer with no tribe. The other was a small Goblin who knew magic. They met by chance, on a day when the winds and water blew a wyvern from its nest. The Hob found the small Goblin running, trying to escape the wyvern. He saved the small Goblin, and with his help, the two Goblins slew the wyvern.”

The Goblin Lord turned to look at Garen. The Hob sat back, not looking at him, staring up towards a cloud in the night sky. Rags held her breath. A wyvern? They’d killed a wyvern? And was Reiss the Goblin with magic? The Goblin Lord smiled and went on.

“The small Goblin had no name. But he impressed the Hob. They were the same age, despite one being smaller. And they talked. The Hob wanted to be a famous warrior. The small Goblin wanted to be a Chieftain and teach all Goblins magic. They were very different, but they liked each other. So the small Goblin took the Hob to his tribe. He convinced the Chieftain to let the Hob stay and the two worked together. They became friends. And after a while, they were like brothers.”

All of the Redfangs, both on Garen’s side of the fire and Rags’ sat up. They stared at their leader, their hero with eyes that shone. They had never heard this story. Garen didn’t deny any of it. Tremborag ate savagely, ears twitching, but listening. So did the others. Reiss drew a handful of dirt up and threw it on the fire. As smoke rose, he pointed his finger. And the smoke twisted into shapes, following his words.

“One day, the small Goblin became a Hob. And it was the best day ever. He and the other Hob, who called himself ‘Garen’, decided they were strong enough. So they challenged their Chieftain. And they lost!”

He laughed. The smoke turned into a pair of scrawny Hobs fleeing from an angry Chieftain and others Goblins chasing them.

“They fled, shamefaced. But they resolved to grow stronger. The problem, the Goblin with magic said, was that they did not know the world. They had not fought under the Goblin King. Humans had adventurers. Drakes had cities with magic walls. How could Goblins surpass them? The Goblin with magic pondered until Garen told him that he wanted to become an adventurer. To fight monsters. And then the Goblin with magic had an idea.”

“To learn.”

“To learn.”

Garen’s voice was an echo of Reiss’. In the sky, the two Hobs stood apart.

“It was not an easy choice. But to grow, to become the great warrior and Chieftain they wanted to be, they decided to split up. One would go north and become a famous adventurer in Human lands. The other would study in Drake cities and become a [Mage] like no other.”

“Just like that?”

The whisper came not from Rags, but from Pyrite. The Hob stared at the smoke with…a strange look in his eyes. Reiss nodded.

“They were fearless. Overconfident. The two Hobs thought they could do anything. So the one called Garen made a mask and wore a hood. The Goblin with magic taught himself an illusion spell. They swore to meet seven years later at this very spot.”

The two Goblins made of smoke pointed to the ground and then walked away from each other, waving. Reiss closed his eyes.

“The Goblin with magic did not see Garen for many years. He wandered Drake cities, sometimes being found out, other times staying for a week, a month. Learning. Fitting in. He could not go to the larger Drake cities, but in the smaller ones there was no [Mage] who could see through his spells. And he began to hear tales of an adventurer in the north, the strangest of things. A Goblin adventurer. And he worked harder than ever because he remembered his promise.”

The smoky Goblin sat and read books, reading, talking with Drakes and Gnolls. Rags was entranced. She stared at Garen’s face. The Hob pretended not to be paying attention, but he never took his eyes off the smoky shape that was Reiss. The Goblin Lord paused, and his smile faded.

“And then one day, nearly two years after he had set out on his quest, the Goblin with magic met a man who brought death. He came to a Drake village, posing as a [Merchant]. It was a peaceful place, a rare settlement without walls. The [Merchant] arrived bringing goods, asking for news. He met the Goblin with magic and stared at him because he saw through the Goblin’s illusions. But he pretended to be kind.”

A stranger made of smoke with a fake smile appeared, a wagon laden with goods behind him as the smoky Goblin and Drakes gathered around him. Rags felt a bit of unease. Even as a figment of smoke, there was something unsettling about the man’s smile. Reiss’ voice quietly went on.

“That night, the undead attacked. Zombies. Ghouls. Crypt Lords. And worse. They slaughtered the Drakes. The Goblin with magic fought them as the kind Drakes died. He would have run, but the man of death cornered him. He revealed his true face and they fought.”

The smoke spun into a confusing scene. A Hob fought with magic, leaving smoky trails as he shot spells at a laughing man surrounded by lurching shapes. Then the smoke drew together. The next scene was of a Goblin lying on the ground and the man standing over him.

“He lost. That was the first time I met my master. The man of death. The one who hated Drakes, Gnolls, Human, hated everything. He did not kill me that day. Instead, he offered me a choice. Serve him in life or serve him in death. And I chose to live. So I became his apprentice. The one student of Az’kerash. The Necromancer.”

Every eye was fixed on Reiss. Rags’ breath caught in her chest. Tremborag stared at Reiss and then crunched down on his bone.

The Necromancer. Rags had known someone powerful had to be Reiss’ master. But this? She looked around and saw shock on Pyrite’s face. Disbelief on Noears, Quietstab and Poisonbite’s. As for Redscar—he looked blank.

“Who?”

Quietstab leaned over to whisper. More than a few Goblins were confused. They did not know the history of Izril. But Rags did. Reiss let the whispers continue and then spoke.

“Yes, the Necromancer. The one who came from Terandria. He fought in the Second Antinium War. He battled the Antinium, the Humans, the Drakes. He even clashed with the Goblin King. He was alive. In hiding. But he had not lost his hatred. And he saw a chance in the Goblin with magic. A chance to create a Goblin King of his own. A weapon to strike the living with. That was his plan.”

Rags’ gaze swung back to Reiss in disbelief. The Goblin Lord looked at her and smiled crookedly.

“He failed. Or rather, even the Necromancer could not make a King. But his student did become a Goblin Lord. For five years he studied under Az’kerash, growing in power until he was stronger than any Chieftain.”

“Not any Chieftain.”

Tremborag drank from a wineskin. Reiss looked up at him.

“No, perhaps not. But stronger than most. Strong enough to fulfill his master’s plans. It was then that the Goblin with magic went back to fulfill his promise. He walked to the spot where he had sworn to meet his friend. His brother.”

The Hob made of smoke reappeared. He looked taller. Older. The smoke could not capture fine detail, but with every step, it looked like the Hob was moving faster. He arrived at the meeting place, a hill with a rock and waving grass and looked around. And another Hob was there, sitting on the rock. A sword was strapped to his back.

“His brother was waiting for him. He was a famous adventurer, then. So famous that the Goblin with magic had heard of him even in his master’s lair. The Gold-rank adventurer who was a Goblin. Garen. Garen Redfang of the Halfseekers.”

Garen stared at the smoke as the two Goblins embraced and sat down, laughing and talking. The Hob’s crimson eyes were distant. Reiss looked up at the smoke and clenched his hands.

“At first they were ecstatic. Both had fulfilled their promise. Both were alive. Garen wanted the Goblin with magic to join the Halfseekers. The Goblin with magic wanted something else. He told Garen about his master. And he showed him what he could do.”

In the air, the Hob with robes pointed. A zombie burst out of the earth, startling the Hob with a sword. He backed away, sword drawn. The smoky Goblin with magic pointed at the zombie, waving his hands. The Hob with the sword shook his head. He leapt forwards and slashed the zombie in half.

“Garen did not accept what the Goblin with magic had done. He called his brother a traitor. A slave. What Goblin would kneel to a Human, let alone a [Necromancer]? Goblins could not be slaves. And undead—he hated the undead.”

In the air above the fire, the two Hobs quarreled.

“They argued. Then fought.”

The Hob with a sword swung at the Hob in robes. Light flashed amid the smoke and Rags saw the Hob with magic firing spells. The two retreated.

“Garen could not accept that the Goblin with magic had a master. He did not wish to be part of the Necromancer’s plan—to make a Goblin Lord. He swore to oppose his friend, his brother, if he ever tried to carry out the plan.”

“Why?”

Rags stared up at the smoke as the two Hobs stared at each other. She looked at Garen. The Hob looked up at her. His red blade sat on his knees.

“Because of the undead. Because of him. The Necromancer. Because we are not slaves. Because of the undead.”

The hate in Garen’s voice was physical. But Rags thought of Pisces and her heart hurt. She looked at Reiss.

“Just that?”

The Goblin Lord’s eyes were sad.

“Velan the Kind hated undead. And we are his people still. Garen refused to listen. He and the Goblin with magic separated. That was the last time they saw each other for years. The Goblin with magic went back to his master, heartbroken. In time he would leave and form his own tribe. Become Chieftain, and then a Lord just as he said. And Garen would go north. He would be an adventurer for another year until he betrayed his team and escaped to the High Passes. There he would form the Redfang Tribe and ride against his brother.”

The smoke showed two Hobs. They looked older and stood apart from each other. On one side, a Goblin in robes stood with shambling undead and undead at his back. On the other, a Hob with a sword pointed and Goblins mounted on wolves rode towards him. Rags felt her heart squeeze as the two met. Reiss and Garen looked at each other.

“We can still join together, brother. It does not have to end like this.”

“It does.”

Garen stared up at the smoke. He moved suddenly and his sword slashed the air. The illusory figures made of smoke vanished. Reiss lowered his hands and shook his head.

“I betrayed no one.”

“You claim that. But you serve the Necromancer. I lived while he destroyed the Humans in the north. I saw him, once.”

Tremborag spoke up suddenly. He leaned forwards, for once not sneering or furious. He looked at Reiss, one Goblin to another.

“He is not Human. He was once, but whatever that part was is gone. He is a monster and he will use you as a pawn.”

Garen nodded. He stood and pointed at Reiss. He had spoken little, but now his voice was loud. So loud that every Goblin heard it.

“You are a slave. Reiss! You betrayed Goblins! You served the Necromancer! You are not Goblin. You are a tool! Better to be dead than join you! Better to die than be undead! Better—”

He stared at the wisps of smoke trailing upwards. Garen’s voice grew quiet.

“—better not to be a traitor. Why did you have to betray us?”

He looked at Reiss. The Goblin Lord’s eyes flashed. He stood as well, thinner than Garen, his magical robes sweeping about him.

“I betrayed no one! My master offered me a chance and I took it! Yes, he uses me. But he gave me power. The power to do this.”

Reiss raised his hands. The fire went out. And something rose in its place. A spire of bone. No—an undead. It was folded up, compacted. But as the earth shook loose, it unfolded. A creature taller than all but Tremborag. Old, yellowed bone forming strange arms. It was humanoid, but the bones were oddly proportioned. Only when Rags saw the head did she realize.

It was a cow. A cow whose bones had been rearranged to make it stand upright. It towered over Garen as he raised his sword. The Goblins shrank back. Reiss shouted.

“Look at it! It will fight! It will die at my command! Instead of Goblins! How can that be so wrong? It’s just—just—”

He looked around. The Goblins of Reiss’ tribe looked at him, fearful. The others stared at the horror he had brought to life. The Bone Horror’s dark sockets burned with green light from within. A Goblin child hid behind Pyrite. Reiss faltered as he saw the terrified eyes. The Bone Horror collapsed silently onto the ground, amid the embers.

“Redfang called you traitor. He was right.”

Tremborag spoke in the darkness. The Great Chieftain was a shadow as he stared at Reiss. He pointed at the pile of bones.

“You serve something no different from that. Traitor indeed.”

“You think so?”

Reiss stared at the fire. He pointed and the fire burst back into life. The bones cracked as the sudden heat engulfed them. The Goblin Lord strode back to his seat and sat. He reached for his cup of water as Garen sat as well. Reiss drank and pointed at Garen. His face was twisted by anger and grief.

“If we’re speaking of traitors. You had a tribe, Garen. Not one of Goblins, but of adventurers. The Halfseekers were famous in Izril. They championed all races and they alone let a Hobgoblin enter their ranks. And you betrayed them. You slaughtered half of them and fled. You are the traitor as much as I.”

The Goblins turned to look at Garen. The Hob went still. His eyes burned as he slowly looked up at Reiss and shook his head.

“They were not my tribe. They never believed I was one of them.”

Reiss’ eyes narrowed as he gulped more water.

“But they were yours. They trusted you. And you killed them. For the key. Do your Redfangs know that? Garen killed his own?”

His Redfangs did. At least, Redscar did. But even his gaze was uncertain. They must have heard the tale from Garen. But Reiss had thrown that into doubt. Garen shifted.

“I did everything for Goblins. For Goblins.”

“So did I!”

Reiss nearly stood again, but Eater of Spears patted his shoulder. The Goblin Lord visibly calmed himself and kept drinking from his cup. Garen copied him by eating from his bowl of meat. The two of them glared at each other, looking so alike in that moment that Rags could see them sitting together, just like they had in the smoke.

At last, Reiss sighed. He tore his gaze away from Garen and looked at Rags.

“So, little Chieftain. That is our story. That is our past. That is why Garen calls me slave and I do not. I have a master. I will not pretend he thinks of Goblins as anything but tools. But he will give us power if we fulfill his wishes. What other option is there?”

“Freedom.”

Garen spoke quietly. Tremborag crunched a bone.

“Pride.”

“So you say.”

Reiss looked back at the other two Chieftains. His gaze fixed on Tremborag.

“You sat in your mountain, ‘Great Chieftain’. The Goblin King called and you did not answer. You grew your tribe and it was mighty, yes. But for what? Are you content to hide from Humans forever? Why have you done nothing?”

Tremborag tossed aside the cow’s femur.

“You want to know my past? You want to know why I refused Velan? How I became Great Chieftain? The secret of my strength?”

He flexed one arm and muscle grew out of fat. Reiss nodded. The other Goblins leaned forwards. Tremborag gazed around.

“No. That story is mine. I am Tremborag of the Mountain and I will reclaim my home. I bow to no Goblin Lord. You traitors I will hunt down. That is the only story you need know.”

He pointed at Poisonbite, who jumped. Reiss shook his head. He looked towards Rags.

“So. The Great Chieftain refuses. Garen refuses. But do you see, Rags?”

“Yes.”

Rags did see. She saw pride in Tremborag, and that burning fury and loss in Garen as well as Reiss. The two were separate, but they had been—she hesitated. Rags looked from Garen to Reiss. Her eyes narrowed.

“One question. You two have sex? Lovers?”

Reiss choked on his water. Garen paused as he chewed on his meat. Both Hobgoblins stared at Rags. Then Garen dumped his bowl of meat onto the ground and spat out what he was eating. Reiss shook his head.

“No. We were never—no.”

“Oh.”

Rags shrugged. The Goblin Lord’s face was a mix of chagrin and amusement as he wiped his mouth. Redscar looked amused as well. Garen did not.

“Fah. That was your question?”

Tremborag eyed Rags as he found another wine flask. Rags shrugged.

“Important question.”

Pyrite nodded.

“Good to know.”

Tremborag snorted and glanced dismissively at Pyrite. His gaze found Pyrite’s face and then paused. The Great Chieftain frowned and put down his wine.

“Wait. I recognize the other traitors behind you. But you. Do I…know you?”

He stared hard at Pyrite. The Hob glanced up. He was breaking up bone and sucking the marrow out. He shrugged.

“No.”

Tremborag wasn’t convinced. He stared at Pyrite.

“I…do. You were of my tribe once, weren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Reiss glanced between Pyrite and Tremborag with interest. Garen frowned. It seemed like a distraction, but Rags could see how Pyrite’s left foot tensed up as he stared calmly at Tremborag.

“You were in my tribe.”

The Great Chieftain insisted. Pyrite nodded at last.

“Small Goblin. No name.”

“Yes. A worthless little Goblin. But for some reason—”

Tremborag peered at Pyrite. Then his huge eyes widened.

“Now I remember! You were with him all the time. That decrepit old Hob. Grey…Greybeard! Yes, that was it! That useless fool and you were always together. Where is that traitor? Dead?”

All the Goblins in Rags’ tribe stirred. They looked at each other and then at Pyrite. Redscar sat up and stared hard at Pyrite. All of Rags’ lieutenants and Rags herself remembered. And Reiss sat up too. Snapjaw was poking Eater of Spears urgently and the huge Hob was nodding. Garen sat bolt-upright, his eyes widening as he realized who Tremborag was mentioning.

Only Tremborag himself didn’t notice. Pyrite glanced around and seemed to sigh. He nodded.

“True. I was with Greybeard. But not right name. He had another.”

“Oh yes?”

Tremborag smirked. He opened his wineskin with one claw.

“What was it? Was he an old Chieftain from another tribe? A wanderer who stole his name like the child? What did he call himself?”

“Greydath of Blades.”

The wineskin slipped from Tremborag’s claws. It landed on the ground, leaking wine. Tremborag stared at Pyrite.

“Do not lie.”

“No lie.”

Pyrite met Tremborag’s gaze. The Great Chieftain drew himself up to shout, and then, at last, caught the mood around the camp. The Goblins in his tribe stared at Reiss’ face, at Rags’ expression, at Garen and the other Hobs.

They knew. Rags remembered the grinning Hob with the grey beard. Tremborag’s jaw worked soundlessly.

Perhaps if he was Human he might have denied it. But Goblins seldom lied, let alone to each other. And the truth was written on every face. The Great Chieftain’s face changed from shock to fury to confusion and a host of other emotions as he tried to process that information. Then, at last, he croaked.

“Greydath? But he died—”

Pyrite nodded amiably. He fished around in his pile of bones for a new one. Looking unconcerned at all the eyes on him, he cracked another bone and hunted for the marrow.

“True. Greydath died in war. Probably like Necromancer. Probably was just imposter. All he had was rusty greatsword. Didn’t do much. Ate. Slept. Worked. Cut Griffon in half. Go poo. Talked. Taught me.”

“So that was Greydath who visited my tribe?”

Reiss stared hard at Pyrite. The Hob looked up and met his eyes. He shrugged at the Goblin Lord, which was incredible in itself.

“Maybe? Old Goblin? Beard? Cackle like this?”

Pyrite made a good attempt at Greydath’s crackling laughter. Reiss hesitated.

“He spoke to—what did he want? What did he teach you?”

Every eye was fixed on Pyrite. The Hob seemed reluctant to speak. He looked around, saw Garen’s burning gaze on him, scratched his butt, and then shrugged again.

“Names of rocks. Edible moss. Good bugs to eat. Bad bugs to eat. How to poo smart. How to make tweezers for splinters.”

Rags stared at Pyrite slack-jawed. Then her eyes narrowed. His ears were twitching slightly. She reached over to punch him in the side. The Hob blocked her fist effortlessly. He paused. Tremborag was glaring at him, as were the others. Pyrite sighed again.

“How small we are. How strong Humans are. What it means to be Chieftain. And…stories.”

“Stories?”

Redscar stared hard at Pyrite. The Hob nodded.

“About old Chieftains. Famous Goblin warriors. About Goblin Lords. And—about a key.”

He looked up, straight at Garen. The Hob froze. His hand clamped to one side. Every eye turned to him.

The key. Rags glanced at Pyrite. The Hob watched Garen carefully and then went back to his bone. His ears were still twitching.

He’d diverted the conversation successfully. But while that had fooled the others, it didn’t fool Rags. Or the other Chieftains or Reiss. All three glanced back at Pyrite, but now the focus was on Garen. Tremborag growled furiously at Garen.

“Redfang, you told them about the key?”

“Didn’t tell.”

Garen defended himself. Reiss nodded.

“He didn’t tell us. I already knew. Besides, Garen is simply a bad liar.”

The Redfang’s Chieftain glared, but didn’t deny Reiss’ claim. Tremborag looked furious as he glanced swiftly at Reiss and at Garen, clearly worried. The only one in the dark was Rags. She threw a stick on the fire for attention.

“The key. What is it? Secret to Goblin King treasure? What treasure? How you know?”

Reiss looked at Rags. Instantly, Tremborag spoke up.

“Don’t tell her. This is a secret for true Chieftains, not mewling pretenders.”

Reiss ignored Tremborag. He glanced at Garen, who was giving him an unspoken look. Rags thought it was that which made Reiss decide to tell her.

“It is a memory, Chieftain Rags. A memory I saw. And Garen. When we were young, we were part of the Ghostly Hand tribe. We could not remember, but our Chieftain did. And our tribe was large so she looked back and saw the memories of Velan the Kind. Or rather, the months before he died.”

The other Goblins stared at Reiss. Rags did too. She had experienced Velan’s memories, but only in fragments, when he was younger. She had no idea what had made him go to war. He was so different from the Goblin that had set fire to Baleros and Izril. Reiss nodded.

“She was curious. So she looked. And she saw a strange thing. The histories of other species do not record this except in passing. In a book I read—it was written something like this.”

Reiss closed his eyes and recited from memory.

“‘The Goblin King had rapidly moved south with a small force, entering the High Passes. There he vanished for eight days.’ That is all that was written in any account. For eight days the Goblin King vanished, and the Humans believe it was to clear the High Passes. But Velan did not clear the passes. Instead he hid something there. His treasure. And he locked it away with a key. Not just one key, in fact. Two. He gave one to Tallis and kept the other for himself.”

Keys? Treasure? When had this turned into fairy tale? Rags wanted to laugh. But then she remembered the key Garen had been so attached to. And he’d been certain that Tremborag would accept his and Rags’ tribe. Because of the Goblin Lord? Or because—

Rags glanced quickly at Tremborag. The Great Chieftain did not look happy. Reiss looked at him and Garen. He pointed at the hand Garen had clamped over his side.

“There are two. My Chieftain puzzled long over that mystery until she realized that. That is the second part of the secret. There are two keys that Velan hid, and his treasure cannot be found without both. Garen found one. But I wonder, do you know where the other lies?”

He looked at Garen directly, then shifted his glance to Tremborag. The Great Chieftain tensed up. At last, he spoke one grudging word.

“No. And if we did know, we would never tell you, brat.”

Rags studied Tremborag. But his face was unreadable. So instead she looked at Garen. So did all the other Goblins. The Hob looked past Reiss’ head into the sky, scowling. His face was one solid grimace, but—his ears were twitching violently.

“Have no idea.”

Reiss stared at Garen’s ears. Rags stared at Garen’s ears. All the Goblins present, including Garen’s own warriors stared at the Hob’s trembling ears. Tremborag uttered an oath.

“I’m going to kill you, Redfang.”

Garen looked confused. He didn’t seem to realize his massive tell. But it was Reiss who shook his head.

“One key is worthless. As for the other—if it were easy to obtain, you two would have taken it. But I believe that even with both keys, Velan’s treasure lies well hidden. Or else Garen would have found it after years of his tribe living in the High Passes.”

So that was why he settled there. Rags’ eyes widened. She glanced at Redscar and saw the Goblin’s mouth was agape along with the other Redfangs. Garen had been searching for the treasure all this time. The Hob looked extremely upset, but he wisely didn’t say anything else.

For a few minutes all the Goblins were thinking, trying to process all they’d heard. Then Tremborag spat and sat up.

“So. Keys. Promises between children. Betrayal. None of it changes the truth. You came to take our tribes. And you brought the Humans! To serve you is to serve the Necromancer. And why should we do that? Even the nameless Goblin can see what folly it is.”

His huge finger pointed at Rags and then Reiss. The ‘nameless Goblin’ glared at Tremborag. He wasn’t helping his argument by insulting her. But Reiss looked calmly at Tremborag.

“I told you, my master cares little for Goblins. But he knows the value of a Goblin Lord. And I am his apprentice. He would aid me, if only to hinder the Humans and Drakes.”

“And he will throw you away when you are done. Don’t fool yourself, brat!”

Tremborag laughed at Reiss. Garen nodded.

“You are a tool. Slave!”

The word seemed to nettle Reiss. He avoided looking at Garen as he stared at the dying fire.

“A tool. Perhaps. But this tool is not mindless. I choose which orders to obey. I have disobeyed my master once and I will do it again. He controls my actions, but he does not control me.”

“A slave’s words.”

“Perhaps.”

Reiss’ voice was a hiss. He stared at Tremborag, his eyes burning. Snapjaw and Eater of Spears sat up behind him. Reiss calmed.

“But I will be a slave if I must. Because I dream. I dream of a city. You sit and hide, Tremborag, but I dream of a place where Goblins will be free. I dream of streets where Goblins walk about without fear. I dream of homes made by Goblins for Goblins. I dream of a nation. A kingdom of Goblins.”

“A what?”

Tremborag laughed. He upended his wine skin.

“You’re mad.”

“Am I? I did not become a Goblin Lord or sacrifice so much just for my master. I did not give—”

Reiss passed his hands in front of his black eyes.

“I did not give away what I did for power alone. I gave it for a dream. And now I am close. Look around you! There are hundreds of thousands of Goblins here! Enough to conquer all but the largest of cities! If the Humans were to falter, if you would follow me—”

“You would what, take a city? How long would that last? A week? Until the adventurers came for you.”

Reiss shook his head.

“I would take it and hold it. Let the people inside go in peace. Negotiate with the Humans or Drakes—”

“Hah!”

“Quiet!”

Snapjaw leapt to her feet. She glared at Tremborag, hands clenched. She was quivering with emotion. She spoke for the first time that night.

“Reiss can do it! Make nation! Make us safe!”

“It will never happen. The Humans would turn their own cities to ash rather than let Goblins hold it.”

Tremborag sneered at Snapjaw. She took a step forwards, but Reiss held up a hand. He stared at Tremborag.

“It can. If enough Goblins are there. If they are strong enough to make attacking them impossible. If they make a deal. And if they have an ally.”

The Necromancer. Rags stared at Reiss, her jaw open. That was his plan. Reiss turned around to the staring Goblins, ignoring Tremborag’s derision.

“It can happen. My master is strong. If I take a place that can be held, he will support me. And with magic and fortifications, even the greatest of Human armies would not be able to break into my home. I came north for the army to make that dream a reality. If the Humans had not attacked the mountain, I might have taken that.”

“Really?”

Tremborag paused and looked up, eyes glowing. Reiss nodded, meeting Tremborag’s eyes.

“I would not copy you, Tremborag. I would not hide. I would make peace with the Humans, give them what they needed for peace—”

“Your head! And all the heads of the Goblins in the mountain! Don’t fool yourself! Your dream will never come true!”

Tremborag roared in frustration. Reiss was unmoved.

“It can. And it will. Any Goblin who dreams of peace, of a place where a Human will not burn them out of their caves or kill them for their ears—that is my dream too. And I will make it. What will you offer them, Tremborag? The safety of your mountain until it disappears? I have a dream. You have nothing.”

He looked at Tremborag and then at Garen. Then Reiss turned.

“Dream, my people. Dream. That is why I fight. For a dream. A home.”

The fire was dying behind Reiss. But at his words, the embers glowed one last time. A plume of smoke shot into the air. And a city formed there. A city as real as mist, as far from reach as the stars. But a city nonetheless. It hung in the air, tall houses hidden behind walls. And little Goblins stood in the streets, walked along the walls. The assembled Goblins looked up and saw Reiss dream for one glorious second, written in the sky in smoke and dying sparks.

For a second it took Rags’ breath away. A Goblin nation? A place where they could be safe? For one moment she tried to imagine it. Walls of stone? Houses, like the ones Humans and Drakes built? Roads? Goblin…adventurers?

For one second it was there, a glorious city shining in Rags’ mind. And then the dream fell apart. Rags began wondering how any nation of Goblins would survive. Surely the Humans or Drakes or even Gnolls would declare war. How could they protect themselves? Would they trade? Where would they make this nation? She shook herself and stared around.

Her tribe was staring upwards. Almost all of them. A few like Noears, were frowning. Some like Redfang were measuring the cost in blood. But many, even Quietstab and Poisonbite, were caught up in the vision. Rags understood that.

A place to be free. A place to be safe. Forever. It was such a tantalizing idea that it hurt. But only a child would dream of something like that. Every Goblin who’d lived for even a year knew it was an impossibility. But Reiss stood in front of that dream and shouted it would be true. And you almost believed—

Almost. Rags looked to her left and saw a pair of crimson eyes staring at her. Pyrite too had wrenched his gaze away from the city. He looked at her, and flicked his eyes to the city. There was longing in his gaze. But like her he saw the cracks.

And yet, the city of smoke hung in the sky, tantalizing, held there by magic and the wishes of a hundred thousand Goblins. Until a shape rose. A huge hand pushed through the city and it vanished. Rags started as Tremborag waved the smoke away. Every Goblin stared at him, hurt, furious, but the Great Chieftain paid no heed. He sneered down at Reiss.

“This farce is over. Your dream is just that, Goblin Lord. A dream. It will never come true. The Humans chase your great army. And your master has abandoned you. You may fool the child, and you may have a history with Redfang. But I will never make peace. We run in the same direction because of the Humans. Because of the Kingslayer. But when there is a chance, however small—”

He leaned forwards. Rags saw Reiss tense and his warriors grip their weapons. Tremborag breathed a foul mix of wine and meat fumes into Reiss’ face.

“—I will kill you, slave. And you, thief, nameless Goblin. You and all the traitors.”

He looked at Rags. Then he straightened and turned. He lumbered away, out of the Goblin sit-about. And like that, it was over. Tremborag’s Goblins hesitated. Some cast last, longing looks towards the fire, or towards Reiss. But they followed their Chieftain. Reiss stood, watching the Goblins go. He glanced to his right. At the Hob standing there. The Hob with the sword. Garen stared at the spot the city had been. Then he looked at Reiss. The Goblin Lord smiled wearily at him.

“I have not changed, Garen. Have you?”

For a second, Rags saw Garen hesitate. For one second, the two Hobs stared at each other and the past swirled around them like smoke. But then Garen shook his head. He drew his sword and pointed it at Reiss’ chest.

“I am Garen Redfang. And you are my enemy.”

He turned away. Reiss nodded. He closed his eyes as Garen turned and whistled. His tribe followed him away. Reiss watched them go, and then turned to Rags. He said nothing. Just waited.

Rags stared at the fire. It was just dying embers now. Just ash. She looked around and thought of all she’d seen and heard.

So many stories. None of them were hers. Reiss and Garen had played their story out, been brothers and then enemies before she’d been born. And Tremborag—she felt like a stranger. But she was here too. And her tribe stood behind her, waiting to see what she would say. Rags looked at Reiss. At last, she shook her head.

“I am not yours. I am not Necromancer’s tool.”

He sighed. The army of black-clad warriors sighed behind him. Snapjaw gritted her teeth and Eater of Spears shook his head. Rags held up a hand. She pointed at Garen and Tremborag’s backs.

“I am not yours. But I think they’re stupid. We talk again. Goblins are not the danger here. Humans are.”

Reiss’ eyes widened. He looked at Rags, then smiled and nodded. She nodded back carefully. Then she turned. Her lieutenants looked at her. Rags shrugged.

“We talk.”

Pyrite crooked a smile.

“Talk is good.”

Rags nodded. She smiled and walked back. Her tribe walked with her as she moved back to her camp. She saw Reiss’ army doing the same. Rags lay down, her Goblins chattering. She stared up at the stars.

It was strange. For a while she’d forgotten that they were being chased by the Humans. For a while, she’d felt like this was a story about Reiss and Garen, of Goblins and their dreams. But then she sat up. She stared at the Human’s camp to the north.

Perhaps there was a story about Goblins here. But the Humans had their own goals. And Rags wondered if it involved any Goblins surviving. She looked to Garen and Tremborag’s camps. They were determined to fight Reiss to the end. But was he the enemy?

Rags wasn’t so sure anymore. So she rolled over and went to sleep. And in her dreams she saw a city made of smoke and chased after it. But the fire always went out no matter how many times she tried to catch it. And yet the city was still there in her mind. Always, always out of reach.

—-

Day 8

The next day, the Humans roused the Goblins by blasting sound spells overhead. The Goblins shot out of their beds and were marching within minutes. The peace and talk of last night felt like a dream, especially once the Goblins looked back and saw the wave of Humans following them, promising them death.

But it hadn’t been a dream. And the first effects of the Goblin sit-about were seen almost immediately. Tremborag and Garen’s forces marched together, both near the rear of the Goblin procession. Not by choice; it was just that Rags’ tribe was faster and Reiss’ army was too large to push past. Normally, Rags would have kept her people moving faster to stay ahead of Reiss by a comfortable margin.

Not today. Today, Rags raised a hand as her tribe moved ahead of the rest. Her warriors slowed. Rags hesitated, then pointed.

“Closer.”

She indicated the first rank of Goblins in black armor. Her tribe hesitated, but then it began to move towards Reiss’ army.

The reaction from the Goblins in black armor was immediate. A ripple went through the Goblin Lord’s tribe, and Rags half-expected the warriors to warn her tribe away with weapons or draw back. But then she saw Reiss himself appear in the sea of Goblins. He pointed and his tribe began to move towards Rags’.

Both sides halted before they crossed paths. A line of Rags’ warriors marched side-by-side with Reiss’ armored Goblins. They looked at each other warily, sizing each other up. Then Rags saw a huge Hob push his way through the Goblin Lord’s army.

Eater of Spears walked at the head of his warriors, head-and-shoulders above even the next tallest Hob. His muscular body strode forwards as he glanced at Rags’ Goblins, who edged away from him. But then a Hob from Rags’ side strolled forwards, battleaxe propped on one shoulder.

Pyrite took a spot on Eater of Spear’s right. The Hob moved into place as if he was just looking for a spot in the shade, which the huge Hob conveniently provided. Pyrite was chewing something. He glanced up at Eater of Spears and the Hob looked down at Pyrite. The two Hobs nodded at each other. After a second, Pyrite offered what he was eating to the bigger Hob.

It was a cluster of roots. Somehow, Pyrite had found some edible roots—or roots he deemed edible at any rate—and dug them up. He’d washed them, but hadn’t bothered to do anything else with them. Even the other Goblins looked askance at the hard roots, but Eater of Spears reached down and delicately took a few. He popped them into his mouth and began to chew. He nodded at Pyrite and the fat Hob nodded back.

And like that, the ice broke. Both sides were still wary, but the bolder Goblins pushed forwards. Poisonbite led her all-female squad into place behind Pyrite, clearly trying to intimidate the male Goblins. Her unit hooted and made rude gestures at the Goblins in black armor—until a group of Goblins riding horses replaced them.

Snapjaw grinned down at Poisonbite, who blinked up at her. The Goblin’s metal teeth shone in the light as she offered Poisonbite a hand. The smaller Goblin was deeply distrustful, but then she looked and saw that Snapjaw’s riders were mostly female. She took the Hob’s hand and was swung up into the saddle. The two females began chattering, and soon they were quickly laughing.

Rags watched her tribe begin to mingle with Reiss’. She kept her eyes on Pyrite and Eater of Spears, but to her surprise, they actually seemed to like each other.

It made sense. Both were naturally stoic, silent Hobs. And despite Pyrite being fat and Eater of Spears muscular, they shared a number of interests. Pyrite was particularly pleased to find a fellow connoisseur of all things edible in Eater of Spears.

Again, he needn’t have been. Like Pyrite, Eater of Spears understood the great importance of eating at all times to keep up a proper weight. Especially if you were a Hob and food was scarce. Surprisingly, he found that Eater of Spears actually admired Pyrite’s bulk more than his muscles.

“My tribe was not fortunate. We had to fight monsters often. Very tough. Very little food sometimes. Can’t build fat. All of it turns to this.”

Eater of Spears rumbled as he tapped one straining bicep. Rather than guttural speech, every word of his was perfectly enunciated and chosen. Pyrite grunted as he scratched at his belly.

“Can’t eat monsters?”

“They were Stone Starers. Big eyes. Stone skin. Strong arms, but little meat. Eyes tasted horrible. Partially acidic.”

Pyrite tsked sympathetically.

“Not good for eating. My tribe live in mountains too. Not see Stone Starers.”

“Your tribe rich. Fat Hobs, pretty stones. Must be good Chieftain. I was poor Chieftain. Only hit things.”

“Just need to look for good food. Can find lots of food in caves, underground. Trick is growing some food. Use stream. Make dripping along roof, plant mushrooms and lichen. Also attracts bugs and animals.”

“Mm. Very smart.”

Eater of Spears listened appreciatively as Pyrite spoke. The two Hobs ambled along as Snapjaw and Poisonbite laughed with each other. As for Rags, she held back until she saw Reiss appear on the back of his undead spider. Then she rode towards him.

The Goblins parted to let her pass. Rags stared at the Goblins in black armor until her Carn Wolf growled. She looked up and saw the headless undead Shield Spider crawling ahead of her. She waved.

“Chieftain Rags.”

Reiss bent down to smile at her. His eyes flicked towards the growling Carn Wolf and then to Rags herself. He nodded.

“Let me dismount. Animals hate undead.”

“Undead smelly.”

Rags commented neutrally. She leapt from her Carn Wolf and patted the animal, pointing back to her tribe. She and Reiss began to jog on foot, as his warriors moved back to give them space. Reiss ran easily despite his robes, watching as Rags jogged to keep up. Her feet hit the ground at the same time his did, but she seemed to travel further with each step.

“You have a Skill?”

“[Fleet Foot].”

“Ah.”

The two ran for a little bit in silence. Rags kept glancing up at Reiss. She was wondering what she should say.

Her decision to move her tribe next to Reiss’ didn’t indicate her sudden trust in the Goblin Lord. She had found the revelation of who his master was to be more and more troubling the more she thought on it. But Rags had also observed Tremborag and Garen and on the whole, Reiss was definitely the more cooperative and reasonable of the three. He hadn’t tried to kill Rags and it seemed like one of the things Garen hated most about him was the undead.

So she was giving him a chance. And she thought that Reiss understood that, because the first thing he did when he began speaking was to bring up his master again.

“I can contact my master, Az’kerash via spell. But it is possible for him to look through my eyes, even cast through me. I have been attempting to contact him for the last few days—ever since the Humans drove us from the mountain. But he has not responded.”

“He say nothing? Why?”

Rags was astonished. Reiss’ smile was grim.

“Ever since the death of Zel Shivertail, he has contacted me less and less. I believe he is attempting to create more servants, which is a time-consuming task. Even for him. He creates unique undead, beings that can think and act independently.”

Reiss expected Rags not to comprehend, but she nodded instantly.

“Oh. Like Toren.”

“…Who?”

“Talking, thinking skeleton. Works in inn. As [Barmaid].”

Rags saw Reiss stumble. He stared at Rags and poked one finger in his ear.

“What?”

“Tell you later. Your master. If he responds…you trust him to help?”

This time Rags watched Reiss’ face closely, wishing she had a truth detection spell. However, he was a Goblin and so was she, so the odds of him being able to lie to her were remote. She noted his hesitation, and then Reiss shook his head.

“No. I expect him to use me for his own gain. But it is in his interests to keep me alive. As a…tool, I am valuable. And as his apprentice, I have worth. If there is anyone to guess at what the Human’s plan is, it will be him. He may be able to stall Tyrion Veltras somehow.”

“He figure out what plan is? How?”

Reiss shrugged.

“He has informants all over the continent. Across the world, I think. More than one Drake in a position of power is his ally and there are a number of Humans he works with too. There is a Human conspiracy that he gives aid to, though they don’t know it is him—his ability to disguise himself with magic is second to none. He can even fool Gold-rank adventurers and his servants can cheat [Detect Truth] spells.”

Rags whistled. She wondered if she could learn an illusion of that magnitude. If she could enter a city—no, forget that. If she could disguise her warriors that perfectly, why not turn them into rocks on the ground? Or make them invisible? Reiss seemed almost apprehensive about his master, though.

“How much he aids us will depend on his mood. I have no doubt he will have questions. When he contacts me—he may wish to speak with you or the other Chieftains. Garen and Tremborag I cannot control, but mention nothing about the key to him.”

That made complete sense. Rags nodded. Reiss frowned.

“I wonder, though. The Humans have a plan. They have not attacked my army and they have the numbers to win. They are pushing us south quickly. I wonder what their goal is?”

Rags shrugged. She’d been brainstorming the same thing. She casually glanced ahead of them. She could see the mountains looming ever closer with each day.

“Going to High Passes. Maybe to Liscor?”

“Yes. That seems likely. I had wondered if this Tyrion Veltras wanted us to attack Invrisil, but we passed the city by without issue. If he intends to force us past Liscor—it’s raining, isn’t it?”

“Mhm. Wet. Lots of water.”

“That would stop his army. If he intends to take us into the High Passes we will know. Otherwise…Liscor is as far as he will go.”

That was true. Rags scratched her head. She frowned.

“Maybe he wants us to attack Drakes. Go to their lands. Cause trouble.”

Reiss smiled.

“He may try. But we are not mindless. He cannot force us to attack anyone. And if we escape his army, I intend to vanish. My goal was to create an army capable of founding a nation. And if the threat of the Humans vanishes…”

He glanced back, his eyes seeking out Tremborag and Garen’s forces. Rags shivered. If the Humans left them alone, it would be a war among Goblins. And if that was the case, she didn’t know if she trusted Reiss. She pretended to be nodding when Reiss looked back ahead.

“Good plan. Don’t know, though. Humans strange. Do stupid things.”

“No. I suppose we don’t. But there is someone who might know. Come with me. I wish to introduce you to someone. As a sign of trust.”

Rags eyed Reiss warily. She didn’t think following him deep into the core of his army was a good idea. But he seemed to understand that and ordered the mysterious person brought to them. Rags saw a stir in the crowd of marching Goblins, and then some rather tall Hobs appeared. They were blocking someone from sight. They parted as they neared Rags and Reiss, forming a circle shielding them from view. And in the center of the cluster was—

The little Chieftain’s jaw dropped. A Drake was marching amid the Goblins. Her clothes were dirty and she had shackles on the two wings sprouting from her back, but her arms and legs were free. She looked at Reiss and then at Rags with deep suspicion.

“Who’s this?”

Reiss motioned Rags to be silent. He nodded to Rags and pointed at the Drake. She had bright yellow scales and the spines on the back of her head were clear blue.

“This is Osthia Blackwing. Osthia, this is the Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe. Rags.”

“That’s a Chieftain?”

The Drake peered incredulously at Rags. The little Goblin stared at Osthia. She looked at Reiss.

“Explain.”

“She was a captive from one of the Drake armies I faced. My master ordered her slain. I kept her alive for her knowledge of the Necromancer. Among other things.”

“You did it to defy him. I would have rather you killed me, but I have a duty to tell others about Az’kerash. Don’t think it means I won’t kill you if I thought I could get away safely.”

Osthia stared hard at Reiss. The Hobs around their Lord glared, but the Drake seemed used to it. Rags frowned at her.

“Why not chains? Could run away to Humans.”

Her words made Osthia snort. Reiss smiled.

“Apparently she doesn’t trust the Humans. And it would be hard for her to run. She is always among Goblins.”

“I don’t intend to run to the Humans, least of all Tyrion Veltras. I’m a soldier. An officer! I’d be interrogated and then executed. I’d rather wait and take my chances. We’re heading south each day, after all.”

Osthia folded her arms. She didn’t look a tenth as bad as the prisoners under Tremborag’s captivity. Indeed, she was jogging along with the other Goblins without even a hint of fatigue. Still, Rags was uneasy about any prisoners. She narrowed her eyes at Reiss and watched his and Osthia’s reaction.

“She prisoner, though. You have sex with her?”

Reiss nearly tripped again. He began to laugh. Osthia turned and gave Rags an offended look.

“I would rather die. Any Goblin—no, any captor trying to assault a Drake prisoner had better be prepared to have whatever they cherish most torn off. Or bitten off.”

She bared her teeth and all of the males around her edged back. Rags nodded.

“Just checking.”

She glanced at Reiss. The Goblin Lord stopped chuckling and nodded.

“You are a strange Chieftain. But I respect your beliefs, Chieftain Rags.”

Rags didn’t know what to say to that. It sounded like an empty statement, but Reiss looked anything but insincere when he said it. In the end, she just shrugged again.

“I am me.”

“So why am I here? To speculate on what Tyrion Veltras is trying to do?”

Osthia interrupted the two Goblins. Reiss nodded.

“Rags is an ally. I want to know what she thinks.”

“And can this…child talk about tactics?”

The Drake soldier eyed Rags. She received a similar look in reply. Rags jabbed a finger towards her chest.

“I am smart. Are you smart? Can you play chess?”

Osthia stared at Rags. She opened her mouth, and then frowned. Reiss was frowning too.

“You can play chess? Will you teach me? Osthia refuses to teach me.”

Rags hesitated. It had been a long time since she’d played the game. But why not? She shrugged and smiled.

“Sure. But first—tell me more about Az’kerash.”

She looked sharply at Reiss. The Goblin Lord hesitated. His gaze moved to Osthia, who was watching him with unconcealed interest. He nodded slowly.

“I will tell you all that I can.”

—-

All day Rags marched with Reiss and Osthia. Her tribe moved with the Goblin Lord’s forces, talking, exchanging ideas, stories—talking. It wasn’t anything of great consequence. Neither Rags nor Osthia nor Reiss could make any definitive statements about what the Humans had planned and nothing monumental came of the other exchanges.

And yet, something did happen. Pyrite and Eater of Spears walked together in amiable silence for hours, chewing on whatever one or the other found. Poisonbite only left Snapjaw’s mount when the marching had stopped. And other Goblins like Noears had struck up conversations with [Mages] and [Shamans] in the Goblin Lord’s army. Even Quietstab had found a friend in another Goblin [Rogue].

Only Redscar hadn’t been socializing, and that was because he had been riding ahead. But the rest of Rags’ tribe had formed a tentative bond with Reiss’ forces. They pitched their camps a bit closer together that night.

The change was not lost on either Tremborag or Garen. In response, the two other Chieftains camped practically cheek-by-jowl. There was no thought of a sit-about tonight. And indeed, as the Goblins began preparing dinner, a familiar sound began echoing from Garen’s camp.

“Redfang!”

All of the Redfang Goblins in Rags’ camp looked up. The Goblin of Garen’s tribe were on their feet. They stomped and shouted.

“Redfang!”

It was the same as last time. Rags watched as Redscar and his Redfangs bristled. They formed up in a group of their own and shouted a reply back.

“Redfang! Redfang!”

A shout of outrage issued from Garen’s camp. They shouted back, but Redscar and his warriors kept defiantly shouting the same word. Rags saw the Goblins pause, and then heard another shout.

“Garen!”

The Goblins in her camp went quiet. Instantly, the Goblins took up the shout.

“Ga-ren! Ga-ren! Ga-ren!”

It was exactly the same as last time. Rags saw Redscar glancing uncertainly at her, and then at the lone figure that stood in front of his campfire. The Goblin with the crimson blade. Garen faced his former warriors as his tribe screamed his name.

“Chieftain—”

Quietstab looked uncertainly at Rags. She held up a hand.

“Wait. Humans throw spells. Shut up soon.”

Her eyes were on Redscar. Rags could intervene, but this was his former Chieftain. His decision to make. She saw Redscar turn away from Garen, clenching his fists. Then he turned. He looked around wildly, and his eyes found hers. Redscar locked gazes for Rags for a few seconds and then thrust his hand up in the air. He bellowed a word.

“Rags!”

The other Redfangs jerked in surprise. They stared at Redscar, but then they turned to each other. There were nods, and then as one they shouted the same word.

“Rags!”

Rags felt her heart stop. She stared as all the Redfangs began shouting the word. And then some of the other Goblins took up the chant. Not Redfangs. Her tribe. They screamed the word, shocking Garen’s tribe into silence.

“Rags! Rags! Rags!”

It wasn’t just the Redfangs. It was all the Goblins. Rags saw Poisonbite look up, and Pyrite stopped digging in the ground. The Hob stood up and thrust his fist up. He roared.

“Rags!”

And then it was every voice. Hobs, small Goblins, children, Redfangs. Quietstab stood in front of Rags, shouting, his face alight with joy.

“Rags!”

The sound eclipsed the chanting from Garen’s camp. His tribe tried to shout Garen’s name, but they were outnumbered by the Goblins in Rags’ tribe. Both Tremborag and Reiss’ Goblins turned and watched as Rags’ tribe chanted her name. Rags stood in the center of her tribe, heart beating wildly, staring around.

Her. They were chanting her. Redscar looked at her as he raised his fist. And Garen—he stared at Rags. She couldn’t see his face, framed by the firelight as it was, but she could feel his shock.

The chanting went on for minutes, until a fireball exploded overhead. Then the Goblins scattered and everything was silent. But the memory lingered. Rags stood in the camp as the Goblins looked at her.

Just looked. They didn’t slap her back or cheer her afterwards. They just nodded and got back to eating or sitting about. But she remembered. And she stood taller still as she went to sit next to Pyrite. Rags watched him digging about, hunting for a mole. He didn’t say much and neither did she. But she felt like a giant. And she was smiling.

That night, the Flooded Waters tribe celebrated. Exactly what it was for wasn’t said. If they had to put it into words, they might have said it was the realization of Rags as their true Chieftain, the final acknowledgement of the Redfangs of who their leader was, or the bittersweet parting of ways with the past. If they had to put it into words. But some things were better left unsaid, and the Goblins were just happy.

They ate well and slept. Their camp hugged the Goblin Lord’s, and their guards were more relaxed. For the first time it felt like they had an ally, rather than an enemy on all sides. Even with the Humans, that was something.

Quietstab was particularly happy. He staggered past the sentries at the edge of Rags’ camp, towards the latrines they shared with Reiss’ forces. Rags had decided to put them outside of her camp after a few unpleasant incidents that involved sleepwalking Goblins last night. Quietstab navigated the short distance on unsteady legs. He was pleasantly sloshed.

Alcohol wasn’t an essential that Rags had kept on their frantic march, but Noears had the bag of holding and unlike Rags, he had a fine appreciation for some of the luxuries that Humans enjoyed. So did Quietstab. He’d followed Rags of course, but he still missed some of the things that Tremborag’s Mountain City tribe had enjoyed. Like alcohol.

The one downside of course was the need to pee. Quietstab nearly fell into the first latrines he came to. He wavered unsteadily at the edge, electing to pee standing up. The latrines were big and he was only missing half the time. He was so preoccupied with his task that he was quite oblivious to everything around him. That was until he turned, fumbling with his loincloth and saw the shape looming above him.

Tremborag stood over Quietstab, a mountain blocking out the night sky. He had appeared silently. Quietstab’s eyes went wide with terror. He backed up and nearly slipped into the latrine. He windmilled his arms unsteadily and Tremborag caught his arm.

“Hello, traitor.”

The gigantic Great Chieftain lifted Quietstab up. The Hob opened his mouth to shout as he flailed with one arm at Tremborag. The Great Chieftain’s other hand shot out. He gripped Quietstab’s head and twisted.

Crack. Quietstab’s flailing arms went limp. Tremborag studied the Goblin for a second. Then he grinned and tossed Quietstab into the latrine. The Goblin fell into a heap. Tremborag turned. His crimson eyes glowed.

“Suffer, traitors. Suffer, child. I will make you weep before you die. You and the slave. I am Tremborag. See how I keep my promises.”

Tremborag laughed. He turned and walked back towards his tribe, smiling for the first time since he’d left his mountain.

And in her camp, sleeping amid the furs and blankets, Rags shot up with a cry of pain. She clutched her chest as she felt something snapping, the pain, and then the loss, the emptiness in her chest. She stared around blankly, not understanding what had happened as the Goblins around her roused, asking questions. She sat there, weeping, not knowing why.

Not until tomorrow.

—-

And as Tremborag walked back towards his camp and Rags sat amid her tribe and looked for the source of pain in her heart, someone moved next to the latrine. A patch of air resolved itself into a shape. Reiss stood frozen, halfway through doing his own business. He stared into the pit, at the broken shape that had been a Hob. Slowly, he stared at Tremborag’s retreating form and looked around for other witnesses.

There were none. Reiss knelt. He stared into the latrine and clenched his fist. But he made no move to raise the alarm, or retrieve Quietstab. He spoke softly.

“I’m sorry. But she is my ally now. Tremborag has Garen. I will have your Chieftain. And I will lead her tribe to a safer place. I promise you.”

He bent his head. Then Reiss turned. He whispered a spell and vanished, leaving only silence and death behind.

Interlude – Bird

(This story is on break until January 8th for Patreon readers, and January 11th for Public readers!)

It was a fated encounter, if you believed in fate. If you didn’t, it was still fated because Bird was Bird and there were only so many times Erin could distract him with a plate of hot fried duck, or an egg sunny side up. It so happened that the fated day in question was when Bevussa Slenderscale had stopped by Erin’s inn for another round of negotiations with the Halfseekers.

It wasn’t something the Garuda looked forwards to, so she’d ordered a dark lager of whatever Erin had on tap to take the edge off. The request had stumped Erin and she’d gone behind the counter to stare at kegs while Bevussa waited. The Garuda tapped the table, wondering when Jelaqua would appear and they could begin haggling. Apparently the Selphid was out and about Liscor, and Bevussa intended to drink until she came back.

Sparingly. Negotiations between Gold-rank Captains were a tricky affair and Bevussa needed a clear head, especially since alcohol ran through Garudas a lot faster than other races. Selphids were champions at digesting alcohol unfortunately, so Jelaqua could drink all she wanted and only get drunk if she chose. But Bevussa needed some kind of relief.

“Everyone’s so damn tense about what artifacts they’re going to get. And how much gold. I’m losing feathers over this, and I’m certain our team’s actually going to get an artifact.”

Bevussa complained to Erin as she sat at the table. She heard a muffled voice.

“Uh huh. It’s tough to negotiate?”

“Yes! I don’t know how Jelaqua is so calm about it all of a sudden. Now she’s playing hard—it’s like she’s not even worried about the gold! Something’s happened with her. And Griffon Hunt. Do you know anything about it?”

“About…what?”

“The way Jelaqua’s acting—”

The Garuda raised her voice and then gave up. No one was in the inn at midday—Erin’s inn still seemed to only have a rush around dinner, when the Players of Celum stopped by. Or maybe everyone was in Celum, experiencing the sunshine. She grumbled to herself instead.

“Everyone gets upset! And you can’t argue with Keldrass when he’s pissed—he just smokes you out! I know Jelaqua’s after the armor, but I was hoping she’d withdraw her claim on the light-spelled shortsword. Hey, do you have a lager? I can get another drink if you’re out!”

“Um…I think so! What color is a dark lager supposed to be? Purple?”

“Purple? No, it’ll be dark brown, blackish! Do you have a purple beer back there?”

“Well, the light’s not so good—maybe?”

“Can I try it?”

“Sure—ow! Hold on, let me get a mug!”

Bevussa sat back as she heard Erin bang about. She glanced towards both doors surreptitiously, but Jelaqua didn’t magically appear. Bevussa sighed, drummed her talons on the table, and then turned her head. She saw an Antinium Worker’s face two inches from her own.

“Hello, I am Bird.”

“Ancestors save me!”

Bevussa shouted and nearly fell out of her chair. She flapped her wings to keep her balance and heard Erin exclaim.

“What? What’s happening? Ow!”

There was a thump as Erin smacked her head on the bar’s counter. Bevussa leaned back in her chair. Bird hadn’t moved.

“Hello, I am Bird.”

Bevussa cleared her throat.

“Hello?”

Bird nodded.

“Hello. You are a bird, yes?”

The Garuda stared at him. Then she turned her head.

“Uh, Erin? Your Antinium Worker is saying hi to me. And he’s asking if I’m a bird.”

“Oh no. Bird!”

Erin shot up from behind the counter. She waved the mug in her hands frantically.

“Put down the bow! Don’t shoot—oh good.”

Bird turned. The Worker was not holding his bow, as was customary. Instead he was holding something strange in his hand. Bevussa blinked. All four of the Worker’s hands were clutching a mess of…

“Goose feathers?”

“Yes. They are goose feathers. Would you trade them with me?”

Bird offered the feathers to Bevussa. She hesitated and reached out to take one, then stopped. The Garuda looked around, suspecting a prank. Erin on the other hand knew better and rushed forwards.

“Bird, no! Bevussa, I’m sorry. Let me handle this. Bird, you know what I said about bothering Bevussa.”

“But I put away my bow.”

“Yeah, but you can’t just—why are you holding feathers?”

“To trade. I am told trading is a perfectly acceptable form of barter. I wish to trade.”

“But—hold on, are those from the pillows in your room?”

“…Maybe?”

Erin stared at Bird. She scratched her head, stared at the feathers, then decided to drop the issue. She folded her arms and looked sternly at the Worker.

“Bird, I know you really like…well, birds. But Bevussa’s busy and you can’t bother her. Especially about birds.”

“Oh. I am sorry.”

Bird physically drooped. His antennae sagged and he turned around and began to shuffle towards the stairs. Bevussa, who was still completely confused, felt bad and called out.

“Hold on, Erin. Why can’t uh, Bird speak with me?”

The [Innkeeper] turned. She hesitated as Bird stopped hopefully.

“It’s complicated. Bevussa, I really don’t know how to explain this, but Bird’s…well, he’s not like the other Antinium.”

“That is correct. I am Bird.”

“Right! And I don’t want to alarm you, but he really like birds. And I thought that y’know, since you have wings…”

Bevussa laughed lightly.

“Oh come on. It can’t be worse than what I get from Drakes all the time. Let Bird sit with me. I’ll share a drink with him.”

Erin visibly hesitated. She looked from Bevussa to Bird and the Garuda got the feeling that Erin was doing some rapid risk-assessment.

“Are you sure? I mean, if you’re willing that’d be great. Bird really wanted to meet you, but me and Klbkch and Pawn and Belgrade and Anand all thought—if he says or does anything weird, you can tell him not to. And I’ll be over here…”

Amused, the Garuda waved Erin back to the bar.

“Sure. Just sort out which barrel has what. Come on, Bird. Sit down.”

“Are you sure? Miss Erin told me not to bother you if you are busy. Are you busy?”

Bird hesitated as Bevussa drew up a stool. The Garuda frowned as she gave Erin a quick glance. The [Innkeeper] gave Bevussa a mixture of hand gesture and facial expressions only a Goblin could interpret. The Gold-rank adventurer gave up on interpreting it and looked at Bird.

“I’m not.”

“Oh. Good. Then I will bother you.”

Bird sat down instantly in the chair across from Bevussa. He stared at her. He was still holding the feathers. Bevussa stared at them, and then at Bird. She coughed.

“So…sorry about that. Nice to meet you. We’ve never formally been introduced, have we? I’ve seen you around, I mean, but—I’m Bevussa, Gold-rank, and uh, second-in-command of the Wings of Pallass.”

Bird nodded.

“I am Bird. I am a Worker in the Hive only now I am an Individual. I work in Miss Erin’s inn.”

“I’ve…noticed. Have you worked here long?”

The Worker shook his head.

“No. I was assigned to Miss Erin’s inn by Revalantor Klbkch as a matter of security and to protect Miss Erin and to act in a capacity which I am not allowed to inform you about. I have only been here for a little while, but I have my own room and a tower to shoot birds from.”

“Birds as in…other birds. Not you, right?”

“That is correct. I am Bird. I hunt birds. With my bow. It is in my room.”

Bevussa blinked. She looked around for Erin and heard swearing as Erin tried to wrestle with a keg under the counter. Bevussa rubbed at her forehead and began to understand what Erin had meant.

“Okay, I think I get what you’re saying. Your name is Bird. But you’re a hunter.”

“That is correct. I am a [Hunter]. I hunt birds.”

“…Why did you name yourself Bird?”

The Worker shrugged.

“I like birds. Should I not name myself Bird?”

“Well, you have to admit it’s confusing.”

“I do?”

Bird tilted his head back and forth. Bevussa stared at him and then turned and called to Erin.

“Hey, how’s that drink going?”

“I dunno! Do you put wine in kegs? Cause this looks like wine!”

The Garuda debated asking for a glass regardless, then decided that she wasn’t that desperate. Yet. She turned back to Bird and tried to make sense of it all.

“You just liked to call yourself Bird, is that it? That’s fair. I guess.”

Bird nodded.

“Yes. But I am also named Bird after Henry Edward Bird, who played chess and was important. He was a Human who invented the Bird’s Opening and Bird’s Defense in chess.”

Bevussa put her head on the table.

“I’m so confused.”

She just wanted a drink. Bevussa’s head lay on the table for all of three seconds, until she felt a very tentative touch on the back of her head. She looked up immediately and Bird snatched his hand back.

“Don’t touch the feathers.”

“I am sorry. They were very pretty.”

“Yeah, and they’re mine. You don’t see me pulling your antennae.”

“I am sorry.”

Bird looked down at his hands. He seemed to shrink. Bevussa’s fury instantly cooled off. She stared at Bird.

“Hey, sorry. I just thought you were one of those creepy Drakes who—it’s okay.”

“But it is not because you said so. I am sorry.”

The Worker stared at his hands. Bevussa looked around helplessly. She was about to shout at Erin that she really needed her at the table rather than a drink, and then a few things clicked in her head. Something Erin had mentioned. She stared back at Bird.

“How old are you, Bird?”

“Oh. I am two. I will be three sometime in the fall.”

Bird brightened up. Bevussa stared at him.

“You’re three?”

“Yes. I am old for a Worker. Most die when they are around two years old. Due to monsters eating them. We are rotated to the front lines often. I did not die, and now I am at Miss Erin’s inn, where there are monsters too sometimes. But I have not died yet, so that is good.”

Bird nodded happily. Bevussa stared at him. Then she sat back in her chair.

“Oh. Oh. And you’re—the Antinium are really—Ancestors, I had no idea! And—hey, can all Workers speak? Do they all have names?”

She looked at Bird. He shook his head.

“No. Most Workers have no names. If they did, they would be Individual. And if you ask them and they do not, they would be Aberration.”

“What’s that?”

Bird hesitated.

“That is a very bad thing. Aberrations kill other Workers. They say not-good things about the Queen and Revalantor Klbkch comes and kills them. Or Soldiers do.”

“So they’re criminals?”

The Worker hesitated.

“I…do not think so. They are just upset.”

“I see.”

The Garuda tried to square that with what she’d heard of the Antinium. Aberrations—yes, she’d heard of the Antinium going berserk, but that was in battle. And you almost never saw Antinium outside of their Hives, and obviously no one ever went near an Antinium Hive unless you wanted to die. Except in Liscor, the strange city that had welcomed them. She’d heard stories—

But Bird seemed alright. Strange as a shaved Gnoll, and half as sane, but for a two year old, she thought he was doing well. Armed with that knowledge, Bevussa smiled more comfortably at Bird.

“Okay, so you like birds. You enjoy hunting them?”

And like that Bevussa opened the floodgates. Bird sat up, his multi-faceted eyes shining.

“Yes. very much. I shoot birds all day. All night too. I have a new bow that my Queen gave me, and it is very strong. I have shot many birds with it, only I can only shoot them in Celum because there are not many birds in the rain. I have been hoping to see water birds which must surely exist, but I have not seen any yet. I think they may be invisible, and Belgrade tells me they do not exist, but then Pawn came over and said they may exist, and Erin said they might as well so I am still looking for them. Have you seen water birds?”

“Water birds? Do you mean…flying fish? Or—or swimming birds?”

Bird stared at Bevussa.

“There are fish that fly?”

“Yes?”

At this stage Bevussa wasn’t sure of anything in life. She sat back as Bird tried to describe what the elusive, and, Bevussa realized, probably imaginary, water birds looked like. She shook her head.

“I’ve never seen a bird made out of water. It sounds like something a [Mage] would summon.”

“Oh. Do you think I could find one to summon one for me?”

“To do what, exactly?”

Bird looked blankly at Bevussa.

“Shoot it of course. And then eat it.”

“That’s all you want to do?”

“Yes. I like shooting birds. And eating them.”

“But you call yourself Bird.”

“Yes.”

“And you…like birds?”

“Yes. They are my favorite things. I like all birds.”

“Then why—no, wait, I’ve done this before. Okay. You like birds. Hey, I like birds too. Except for the aggressive types.”

“Aggressive types?”

Bird sat up. Erin screamed as a keg rolled over her foot. Both Bird and Bevussa looked over, but since it wasn’t anything serious they turned back to the conversation. Bevussa waved a taloned hand, relieved to be on firmer ground. Or rather, in clearer skies as the Garuda would say.

“Oh yeah. There are tons of angry birds in the sky. I guess Liscor doesn’t have many aggressive birds, huh? Oh wait—you do have Razorbeaks, don’t you?”

“Yes. Erin calls them Dino Birds. They are very big and sit in the grass.”

“I bet they do. And they love to swarm wounded animals and people. Nasty things, but not too deadly if you’ve got any kind of armor. But other birds…hm, no, I guess you would be okay up here. Now, around Pallass we’ve got some nasty fliers.”

“Ooh, like what?”

Bird leaned forwards. Bevussa ticked off species on her talons.

“Aside from the regular birds—that is to say, the ones that don’t have a taste for meat or can’t shoot lightning? Well, southern Izril has Wyverns, those are the big ones everyone knows about. Are they birds? Well, they’re death in the air. One drops on you and you’re dead. But I can see a Wyvern from miles away and they can’t maneuver at all. No, if I’m in the air I’m watching out for Vaas Beils.”

“What are they? Are they birds?”

“I mean, if you want to be charitable, yeah. They’re these large freaks with two sets of beaks—and teeth—that hunt out of clouds. Now, you’d think they’re divers from how big they are, but they’re not. Instead they scream with both beaks. It’s awful. It messes with your sense of direction and then they’re on top of you.”

“Ooh. What do they taste like?”

Bevussa paused.

“I’ve never checked. I tend to stab them and let them drop. But I have tasted the other bird I have to fight a lot. Starlings.”

“Starlings? What powers do they have?”

Bevussa laughed

“Powers? They’re not monsters. They’re just little black birds. I bet you’ve seen them! Only, you’ve probably never seen a swarm of them before.”

“A swarm?”

Bird edged closer to the table. Bevussa nodded, grimacing as she ran a talon down her beak.

“Worst things for any flier to run into. I had a group of Oldblood Drakes—kids, really, barely able to get off the ground. And we were flying over a forest when a swarm of starlings took offense. That’s the problem, see. They’re usually not aggressive, but when there are monsters in the sky, starlings learn to attack. And this lot went after us. Now, they’re tiny birds like I said, but there were thousands of them attacking all of us, trying to smash us on the ground. I barely got the Drakes down before the starlings took us out of the sky, and I still have scars—hell, one of the Drakes nearly lost an eye and I got blamed for the entire thing!”

Bevussa grimaced. Bird didn’t pay attention to her, though. He was dreamily staring off into the distance.

“Thousands.”

“That’s right. And they’re not the only ones. A lot of birds learn to fight against monsters. Or run. It’s the only way they survive being wiped out. Ever seen a group of eagles take on a Wyvern? It’s not all about size in the sky. And believe me, there’s a lot you ground folk never see.”

“Like what?”

“Hah! Where should I start? How much do you have time for?”

Bevussa leaned back flapping her wings dismissively. But Bird edged closer. He fixed Bevussa with a pleading look.

“Everything. I want to hear everything.”

The Garuda woman stopped. She stared at Bird and saw in his eyes the purest and deepest interest she’d ever seen. Slowly she sat forwards.

“Well, alright. If you want me to talk about the sky—well, I’m a Garuda but I was born and raised by Drakes. They’re not good fliers, despite the Oldblood thing, but I’ve heard stories all my life and my family took me to the library. And I’ve met Garuda from Chandrar and they’ve got all the tales.”

“Tales like what?”

“Oh, of the sky of course! Wyverns and local birds aside, there are legends up there. Birds that hide behind clouds, special ones that only come out when the rainbows shine! Birds that can go higher than the tallest mountain, so high up they have to hold their breaths and fly with magic because the air’s too thin! And yes—even birds that live in the water. Some you have to fight, but others just…appear.”

“Appear? Like what?”

“Like, okay, there was this story I heard of a Garuda who got lost and found himself flying over the sea. He had no idea where land was and he was flying in circles, lower and lower, thinking he was going to fall and drown. And then he saw the air move and realized that there was something flying right beneath him! He looked down and saw something flash by. It went by so fast that he never saw it, but the slipstream dragged him for over ten miles, back towards the land!”

Bird sat transfixed, staring at Bevussa. He glanced out a window towards the rainy sky.

“Was it a bird?”

Bevussa nodded.

“Apparently. He swears it was twice as large as he was and had red slashes on its wings and a white body. And he’s not the only one who’s seen it. Apparently this bird travels around Chandrar, and there was a time when a bunch of Wistram Mages came to see if they could capture it. Hah, well, they didn’t get the attention of that bird, but they did manage to piss off one of the leviathans of the sky…”

She began talking. Telling Bird stories, some real, some made up, all told to her during her childhood and as she’d swapped tales as adventurers. It was strange. Bevussa had never met anyone else on the ground who loved tales of the sky as she did, but in Bird she found a greater fascination than even she had.

The Worker practically leaned over the table, drinking in every word she spoke. And when Bevussa’s throat ran dry, there was Erin at last with a dark lager and several bruises. Bevussa spoke for minutes, and then nearly two hours before she had to sit back.

“Whew.”

“And? And? What bird is next?”

Bird bounced excitedly in his chair. Bevussa looked around. Erin was cleaning up her mess behind the counter. The Garuda coughed. Her mug was long empty.

“I’m a bit tired, Bird. Maybe let’s hold off on more stories? Hey Erin, can I get a refill?”

She waved her mug. Erin turned.

“Coming! Damn, where did I put the lager barrel? Uh oh, I’m getting déjà vu!”

Bird looked crestfallen. Bevussa felt bad, but she told herself not to fall for the Antinium’s disappointment. That was how he’d gotten the last fifteen tales out of her.

“I can always tell you a story later, Bird. And I’m sure the other adventurers have a few tales.”

“But you are an expert.”

“Because I have wings? Well yeah—”

“No, because you are a bird.”

Bevussa paused. She stared at Bird and checked out her blue and green plumage.

“Well, I guess if you want to be technical about it, Garuda are bird people. But uh…we’re not birds.”

It was actually a sore point with Bevussa. She’d been teased growing up and her species as a whole got too many bad bird jokes to count. No Garuda liked being called a bird. But Bird the Worker only cocked his head.

“But Miss Bevussa, you have wings.”

“Yeah.”

“And you fly.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Does that not make you a bird?”

Bevussa’s eyelid twitched. She took a few breaths.

“There’s more to flying and wings, Bird. Or rather, there’s a difference between—look, Garuda aren’t birds. We’re people! We’re not birds, just like a bat isn’t a bird.”

The Antinium digested that for a moment.

“Bats aren’t birds?”

“No!”

“Why not? They have wings. And they fly.”

“Yeah, but—what about the moths?”

“The moth-birds?”

Bevussa stared at Bird. He stared back with purest certainty in his eyes. Bevussa scrubbed a talon through her feathers and then looked at Erin.

“Make that two lagers, Erin!”

“You got it! I think. It’ll be there eventually!”

“Great.”

Bevussa turned back to Bird, shaking her head. Erin was a good [Innkeeper]—probably the best one around Liscor, although she’d be in trouble if she moved to Pallass and ran up against some of the good ones there. Still, she was friendly, helpful, and she had a magic door. But her knowledge of alcohol was distressing. She looked at Bird.

“You want anything? It’s my treat.”

“No, I am fine, thank you.”

Bird shook his head. As he did, he shifted and Bevussa saw that he was still holding all of the goose feathers in his four hands. She had to point at them.

“Are you still holding those? What are they for, anyways?”

“For trading. I thought I could trade them.”

“To who?”

Bird pointed at Bevussa.

“You.”

The Garuda paused.

“For what?”

“Feathers.”

“Feath—”

And then Bevussa realized what Bird meant. She stared at her brilliant feathers and then looked at the broken and worn feathers he held. She wanted to laugh. But then she noticed how Bird looked at her feathers.

“You really like my feathers that much?”

“They are beautiful. I would trade all my pillows for one feather.”

Bird stared at Bevussa’s feathers. The Garuda preened a bit. She couldn’t help it. She hesitated, and then did something she’d never done, even for the rare Drakes she’d dated.

“I don’t think I need all your feathers, Bird. But I would be willing to trade one feather for all the ones you’re holding.”

“You would?”

The Antinium looked at Bevussa. She nodded, seeing the shining light in his gaze. Slowly, Bevussa reached for a stray feather she knew she’d lose soon. She winced a bit as she plucked it, but then handed it to Bird.

It was slightly bent and not in good shape. But Bird instantly let go of the feathers in his hands and pushed them towards Bevussa. He reached out and, with trembling hands, accepted the feather. He held it up and stared at it. Bevussa smiled.

“Do you like it?”

“It is wonderful.”

That was all Bird said. He held the feather up, staring at it. Bevussa grinned.

“It’s yours. Think of it as a memento. From one lover of the skies to another. Keep your other feathers. I uh, don’t want them.”

Bird looked up. He looked at Bevussa and then bowed his head.

“I will treasure it forever.”

And that was the magic of Bird. Bevussa had no doubt he would. She turned as Erin approached with two tankards in hand.

“What’s that? Oh—Bird, did you ask Bevussa for a feather? Bevussa, you didn’t have to give it to him!”

“I decided to, don’t worry, Erin.”

Bird protectively covered his feather as Erin sighed and put down the tankards on the table.

“Thank you for telling Bird all those stories. I’m sorry Jelaqua hasn’t appeared yet. I think she’s ogling dead Raskghar or something.”

The Garuda coughed and waved a talon.

“It’s no problem. I actually really enjoyed myself. And speaking of which—”

She’d heard someone coming towards Erin’s regular door outside. Bevussa turned expectantly and both Bird and Erin looked over. The door opened and Relc stepped through.

“Hey everyone! I’ve got my day off at last! Anyone got any food?”

“Oh.”

Bevussa sighed. Erin smiled and Bird turned back to his feather. Relc looked slightly hurt as he wandered over.

“Hey, it’s me!”

“Hi Relc!”

Erin smiled at the Drake. He grinned.

“How’s it going? Hey, is that uh…Bird? And you’re—hey Miss, don’t I know you?”

The Drake grinned at Bevussa. The Gold-rank adventurer gave him a polite smile. Relc looked at Bevussa and then at Bird. His eyes widened.

“Hold on. This is the crazy one. And she’s—”

He pulled at Erin’s shoulder as she went to get him a drink. Bevussa frowned as Bird studied her feather. She could hear Relc whispering loudly to Erin as he pointed at her and Bird.

“Is that safe? Isn’t he like, y’know—”

Relc tapped the tide of his head. Erin smacked his arm down.

“Don’t be a jerk! He’s just Bird!”

“Yeah, but what does that mean?”

“What’s wrong with you meeting me, Bird?”

Bevussa looked at Bird. The Worker looked up.

“Miss Erin told me I am not allowed to bring my bow when I am around you. She says that if I hit you, I will be in big trouble forever. I cannot shoot at any of the Drakes either.”

“Hit us? Why would you—oh. They think you’ll shoot me because I’ve got wings! Because…I’m a bird? Oh, come on!”

Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Bevussa smacked her head, then wondered if Erin and the others were really that racist. Then again—she glanced at Bird and realized their fears were well founded. The Antinium nodded.

“You have wings. And you fly. Thus you are a bird. But Erin has explained to me why I am not supposed to shoot you, so I will not. Unless you want me to?”

He glanced at Bevussa. The Gold-rank adventurer idly wondered what would happen if she said yes. It could be funny. Then she recalled the image of Bird sitting with a dozen dead monsters lying around him, feathered with arrows. She sat up and looked Bird in the eye very deliberately.

“I would not like you to, Bird. Ever.”

“Okay, Miss Bevussa.”

“Glad we got that straightened out.”

Bevussa breathed a sigh of relief. Then she had another thought. She glanced at Bird and smiled.

“I get the worry, but I can dodge arrows just fine. Even Halrac would have trouble hitting me on the wing. Anyways, you’re an ant-man. Technically you should be worried about me.”

Bird paused. He looked confused.

“Why would I worry about you, Miss Bevussa?”

The Garuda smiled.

“Well, I’m a bird. And you’re…an ant.”

“I am not an ant. I am an Antinium.”

“But you have a carapace.”

“Yes. But I am not an ant.”

“But you walk around.”

“Yes, but I am not an ant.”

“Are you sure? Ants walk around and they have carapaces. And just so you know…I have been known to snack on ants.”

Bird froze. He stared at Bevussa and then looked down at his body. He seemed to process Bevussa’s statement. Then he glanced at the bird woman again. Nervously. Bevussa licked the edges of her beak. Bird stared at her for a long moment and then edged away.

“I am not food.”

“Sure. And I’m not a bird.”

The two looked at each other. Then Bird stood up.

“I must go for reasons I have not come up with yet. Goodbye.”

He scurried towards the stairs, glancing behind him at Bevussa every few steps. She grinned, and then felt a bit bad.

“I hope I didn’t scare him.”

Erin came over with a mug of her own lager. She tasted it and made a face.

“He’ll be fine. I think it’s a good lesson for Bird. Hey, you gonna drink your beer? Because I’m not. This stuff tastes bad.”

Bevussa realized both of her drinks were in front of her, as yet untouched. She shook her head and lifted her mug to her beak.

“He’s not what I expected an Antinium to be. But I like him. He’s a child, but an adult. It—well, are all of them like him?”

“Not all. But they’re all a bit young and old at the same time.”

Erin stared sadly at Bird as he hurried up the stairs. He was clearly nervous, but he held the feather like the most precious thing in the world. Like his bow. The two women watched Bird disappear. Bevussa sat with her mug in her hands, thinking of the Antinium Wars, of all the Workers that no doubt lived in the Hives. She glanced at Erin. A hundred things raced through her mind, questions, statements, very few of which would change anything that was reality. She opened her mouth to choose one of them—

And a Drake slid into a seat next to Bevussa. Both she and Erin turned as Relc appeared. The Drake gave Bevussa a huge grin and flexed his arm a bit as he leaned over. He took a deep breath and then spoke in what he thought was a seductive tone to Bevussa.

“Hey, baby. Did you drop out of the sky? Because you look like a bird of paradise to me.”

He winked as he pointed two fingers at Bevussa. The Garuda stared at him, drink tilted towards her beak. Part of it began dribbling down her front as she and Erin just stared at Relc. He looked from face to face and then turned away.

“Damn it. I knew I shouldn’t have given all the good lines to Embria.”

He scuffed away. And Bird sat in his room. At first he hid in his fortress of fluff, but then he was no longer afraid. He sat and grew sleepy, and when he dreamed, it was not of Bevussa, but of the wondrous birds she’d described flying through the sky. He dreamed he was flying too, flying with a gigantic bow and shooting birds as large as clouds. And the green and blue feather lay beneath Bird’s pillow, the most precious thing in the world.

5.51 G

Day 9

She knew. Before the sun rose, Rags knew. It was a gaping hole in her heart, a certainty of loss. It was fury and grief. And tears.

Goblins didn’t cry. It was a waste of water. But despite knowing that, despite knowing that the Goblins clustered around her were watching their Chieftain, she couldn’t stop. Nor could she explain the pain in her to her anxious tribe.

She just knew, that was all. So she told them to search.

The first thing they did was run a check on the patrols. But nothing had disturbed the camp’s perimeter during the night. So Rags told them to search for something else. Pyrite, Redscar, Noears, Poisonbite, and the other Hobs did just that. Dawn was just breaking when they realized someone was missing.

Quietstab. There was nothing too unusual about that—Quietstab was a [Rogue] and good at hiding. But he hadn’t turned up and he would have with the entire camp abuzz with concern. That was when Rags knew.

She knew, but she didn’t know. She didn’t want to know. So she told the others to look for him. She busied herself with getting her camp packed up, readying her tribe for the day’s march. But the tears wouldn’t stop.

The other three tribes were rousing themselves as well. Tremborag’s Mountain City tribe, Garen’s Redfangs, and of course the army of the Goblin Lord, Reiss. Rags could see Goblins staring at her camp. They could tell something was wrong, too. She saw Reiss’ warriors moving to relay that information to a senior Hob, and Garen’s warriors watching with clear confusion. But Tremborag’s Goblins were different.

They looked amused as Hobs and Goblins from Rags’ tribe started combing the camp systematically. They gathered, a vast mass of Goblins, the only group large enough to rival Reiss’ army, and watched and laughed. As if they knew something.

Dark fear and suspicion wormed its way into Rags’ stomach. She knew, but she didn’t want to put the pieces together. Not yet. The tears had stopped by the time the first [Fireball] exploded overhead. It was time to move.

But Quietstab was still missing. Rags strode around her camp, watching Reiss’ army take the lead and Garen’s small tribe begin to move as well. Tremborag’s Goblins were still watching. And her tribe—

“Chieftain, orders?”

Noears looked slightly nervous as he glanced at the line of mounted Humans beginning to approach from the south. More [Fireballs] were exploding overhead, warning the Goblins to move or die. Rags knew that the [Mages] would begin lobbing spells at them in minutes if they didn’t move. But she knew.

“Not yet. Wait. Find Quietstab.”

The earless Goblin [Mage] hesitated, but he didn’t argue further. Rags saw her Goblins glancing more and more rapidly at the coming Humans. Now even Tremborag’s tribe, usually slowest of the four tribes, was moving. The Humans were yet ten minutes away from reaching the spot where Rags stood at the speed they were travelling, but they were in range of the [Mage]’s spells. Any Goblins who got too close to the front line of advancing riders would die.

And yet, Rags refused to move. She waited, watching the glittering line of horses and humans draw closer. Her Goblins looked to her nervously. Now they were alone, a small group of stationary Goblins compared to the mass of marching Goblins ahead of them.

A spell exploded overhead, making Rags look up. She saw another spell—a long, sinuous cloud of green smoke—twist over the heads of the Goblins. It was shaped like a worm, but it had a Dragon’s face. It’s eyes were red and it roared at the Goblins, although the sound was silent. Below it, the Goblins backed away.

Poison. Or something close to it. The [Mages] were getting impatient. And still, Rags didn’t move. She saw her warriors spreading outside her camp, searching, calling out at each other. And then one group approached the latrines. And stopped.

Rags saw the ripple go through the searching Goblins without the need for words. The ones near the latrines waved their arms frantically as the Hob recoiled, his entire posture displaying shock and horror. And grief. In an instant, Pyrite was there. He stared down at something and then turned. Rags was already riding towards him.

“Chieftain.”

He met her halfway. The other Goblins were converging on the spot. But Pyrite blocked Rags’ Carn Wolf from going any further. She slid from the saddle, but Pyrite gently blocked her.

“Chieftain.”

“Is Quietstab there?”

Pyrite nodded. He blocked Rags with one huge claw. Rags looked up at him. Pyrite’s eyes were troubled. She took a breath.

“Bad?”

“Bad.”

“Show me.”

It was not an order. Pyrite hesitated, but then he moved aside. Rags strode forwards, pushing Goblins aside. Since she was smaller than most, they had to realize she was pushing them and move aside for her.

Goblins were crowded around the shallow ditch that was the latrines. Hobs, warriors, all looking down. All silent. Rags pushed a Goblin aside. She glanced down into the ditch and saw something lying down there. For a second her eyes didn’t put together the strange form that was lying there. It wasn’t dirt, or even a bad poo. It was green, twisted.  It almost looked like—

Rags recoiled. She stumbled away, her mind rejecting what it had seen. But just as quickly, shock became certainty. Rags heard pounding feet. She saw Poisonbite appear. The Goblin looked down and screamed in horror and fury. Noears was there, his eyes wide. Pyrite just looked down, his gaze finding the body that had been a Hob. Redscar rode forwards through the ranks of Goblins. He took one look and drew his sword.

And Rags knew. She looked down into the pit that held a body. The form bent, twisted. And the head had been turned around, snapped. But she recognized the face. Quietstab looked up at her, his expression terrified. Rags felt the empty spot in her heart.

But she had no time to look longer. She heard a scream and saw the poisonous serpent was swooping lower. Now she could feel particles of the gas spell drifting down, burning her eyes and skin. Pyrite blinked upwards and turned. He didn’t wait for Rags to give an order.

“Run!”

The Goblins around him started. They took one look at the Humans approaching and realized they were too close. They began to stream away from the pit, taking one last look. Poisonbite had to be grabbed by Noears. Redscar saluted the body with his sword, then rode away, shouting at the Goblins to move.

“Chieftain.”

Pyrite stood next to Rags. He spoke urgently, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the dead body. She didn’t move, even when Pyrite shook her. Only when he lifted her up did she react. Pyrite effortlessly heaved Rags up and onto the back of her Carn Wolf. He poked the wolf in the side and the animal growled. Pyrite growled back and the Carn Wolf bounded after the Goblins. Rags almost turned him back. Almost. But she didn’t have the strength to look at the miserable form lying there.

Quietstab was dead. It had happened so suddenly. As they all slept. It didn’t seem possible. It didn’t seem right. Yet Rags was certain she knew the moment he had died. And then the shock gripping her faded. She asked the second question that was growing louder in her head.

He had died. So someone had killed him. Who?

And she already knew the answer. It was obvious. Rags rode with her head bowed, hearing more shouts as her tribe began to rush after the others. She slowly, painfully put together the conclusion in her mind, checking it for errors. But there were none. She rode at the head of her tribe, passing by her Goblins, her people. They watched her anxiously. Because now they knew.

And then she looked up and saw him. He was marching in the center of his tribe, head and shoulders taller than the others. By his side walked his Hob liutenants, smug, wearing magical weapons and armor. And amid them was Ulvama, her nearly bare skin painted with symbols. But Rags had only eyes for Tremborag.

He was watching her. The Great Chieftain of the Mountain was looking at her, at the Goblins in her tribe, watching as Pyrite ushered them forwards. And then he looked at Rags as she slowed to stare at him.

Redscar drew up besides Rags. His sword was still bared. He peered at Tremborag. Yes, it was obvious. Tremborag wasn’t trying to hide it. He grinned with all his teeth, a massive face consumed with satisfaction and malicious glee. And then he laughed.

There were tens of thousands of Goblins between him and Rags. An army, his tribe. Enough Goblins to overwhelm her smaller tribe by sheer numbers. And there he was, bloated, obscenely gloating. Rags glared at Tremborag. He laughed at her and then said something. She could not hear him, far away as they were and with the [Mage] spells roaring behind her. The roar of her blood in her ears would have drowned it out. But she could read his lips.

See, child? Do you see?

And she did see. Rags focused on Tremborag. Redscar grabbed her arm, looking worried. But Rags had no eyes for him. She stared at Tremborag. And she knew then that she would watch him die, or he would watch her. And she would write that promise a hundred thousand times in blood if need be. Rags lowered her head and Redscar relaxed. Then she grabbed her sword and screamed.

—-

Reiss rode ahead, but he looked behind. At her. The small Goblin who was somehow a child and adult as any Hob at the same time. Rags, the Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe. He could scarcely believe it. She was only a child, even by Goblin standards. But she was a Chieftain, and her tribe impressed him. If she had been born at the same time he and Garen had, would she have become…?

No, not necessarily. Reiss shook his head. There was more to a Goblin Lord than just the size of a tribe. But there was something in Rags that hinted at that potential. It was raw, and she was too young. But Reiss thought he saw it. It gave him hope, or it had. But today, Reiss was guilty.

He had watched Rags’ tribe moving about in confusion as dawn broke. All the Goblins had. They could sense the trouble in the Flooded Waters tribe, even if they didn’t know the reason. But Reiss did. He watched in silent agony as Rags sent patrols searching her camp, and then as they found the latrine where Quietstab lay.

It wasn’t hard to understand why none of the other Goblins had spotted him in the early morning. They had all been asleep, and the pit was hardly a place where Goblins would investigate normally. But they found him. After that shock spread through their tribe. Shock and grief.

And rage. Reiss sat on the back of the undead shield spider, watching Rags. She was fixed on Tremborag. So she’d put together who was responsible. That wasn’t hard. What came next was important, though. Reiss forced himself to watch; he couldn’t reveal that he knew what had happened. Not yet.

Rags was very still as she sat on the back of her Carn Wolf. Reiss could see her looking at Tremborag. The Great Chieftain was laughing, surrounded by his warriors. And why not? It didn’t matter if Rags knew. His tribe was a sprawling mass of marching Goblins, lacking the discipline of Reiss’ black armored warriors, but too many to count. And he knew it.

There was another Goblin riding next to Rags. Small, not a Hob, but one of her lieutenants. Reiss tried to remember his name, but couldn’t. He saw the Goblin arguing with Rags, pulling at her arm. Reiss watched, a lump churning in his stomach. But Rags was too still. She lowered her head. And then she grabbed her sword and tried to charge.

“No. Stop her!”

The Hobs, Reiss’ personal escort, looked up at their lord in confusion. Reiss forced himself not to move. His claws dug into the palm of his hand as he watched. The other Goblin—Redscar?—seized Rags before she could charge at Tremborag. Rags fought him, but he was clearly strong and he shouted for help.

Hobs grabbed the Carn Wolf and slowed it. The fat Hob who knew too much, Pyrite, ran forwards. He knocked Rags from the saddle. She fought him and Redscar, screaming, though she was too far away for Reiss to hear. Her tribe encircled their Chieftain. And Tremborag and his Goblins watched the entire thing and laughed.

Reiss lowered his head. He felt sick, but at least Rags wouldn’t charge to her death. He’d wondered what her reaction would be. And it had been genuine. Reiss turned in his saddle and looked around.

The other Goblins could hardly miss what had occurred. They were glancing back at Rags’ tribe, clearly confused. Reiss turned and called, fighting the nausea.

“Snapjaw!”

One of the Goblins riding ahead of him turned. Snapjaw rode her horse towards Reiss. He eyed the ground and leapt from the back of his Shield Spider, landing with a grunt.

“Lord? Trouble?”

Snapjaw looked wary as she peeked at Rags’ tribe. Reiss shrugged. He glanced back at Rags’ tribe, pretending again not to know.

“Go to the Flooded Water tribe. Ask what is happening.”

“Yes, Lord.”

Snapjaw turned her mount and whistled. Immediately, several of the Goblins under her command—Goblins who’d mastered horseback riding—joined her. She raced back towards Rags’ tribe. Reiss knew it would take her a while to come back. He looked at the mindless Shield Spider, moving forwards blindly. He didn’t want to ride it and pretend in front of all of his tribe. So instead he looked around and made eye contact with one of his Hobs.

“Take me to her.”

The Hob nodded. He poked his companion and conferred. Then he pointed through the crowd of Goblins. Reiss nodded. He followed the Hob as the Goblins parted for their Lord.

There was no need for Reiss to say which ‘her’ he meant. The Goblin Lord walked through the ranks of his tribe, trying to smile at his subjects as they looked to him for reassurance, strength. He reached for something in his pocket, hunched his shoulders. He saw a group of burly Hobs part in front of him. And then he saw her.

Osthia Blackwing was marching in the center of the ranks of Hobs. Her wings were bound, but both her hands and legs were free. She’d insisted on it. She’d told Reiss plainly that if she had to sit in a covered wagon all day, she would bite her tongue off. So he’d let her walk.

“You.”

The Drake looked up and met Reiss’ eyes challengingly, as she did every time they met. Reiss nodded.

“Me.”

He glanced at the Hobs surrounding them.

“Give us space. Warn me if anyone approaches.”

They nodded and spread out, forming a bubble of space around him and Osthia. Reiss waited until they were all clear, and then outlined a space in his mind. He whispered.

“[Silent Air].”

Instantly, the world went quiet. The sounds of the Goblins marching, of metal touching metal, even the sound of the wind itself—vanished. Reiss and Osthia walked in a bubble of silence. The Drake looked around and then at Reiss.

“Worried someone will hear you?”

“Yes.”

The Drake blinked. It was still slightly amusing to Reiss how she reacted when he told her the truth. But Goblins almost never lied to each other and Reiss lied only when he had to. The Goblin Lord sighed.

“What’s happening?”

Osthia glanced over her shoulder. She couldn’t see what had occurred with the Flooded Waters tribe, but she was sharp enough to pick up on the reactions of the Goblins around her. Reiss even thought she’d picked up a few words of the Goblin’s dialect. He shook his head.

“Tremborag killed a Hob from Rags’ tribe. Last night. They found the body this morning.”

The Drake went still as she processed that. Her eyes flicked to Reiss’ face, and then she craned her neck, trying to see over the Hob’s heads. That was impossible. Her wings flexed a bit in their constraints.

“I see. Tremborag’s the huge Hob you showed me. And Rags is—the small one?”

“Yes.”

“What’s she doing about it?”

“Nothing. Yet. She tried to charge his tribe alone when she found out.”

Osthia snorted contemptuously.

“Idiot.”

Reiss ignored that comment. After a moment, the Drake glanced at him.

“Well? What are you going to do? I assume that this Tremborag violated some kind of Goblin law, didn’t he?”

“It was not good. But there aren’t any ‘laws’ against it. His tribe will celebrate it and the other tribes will be furious. Especially the Flooded Waters tribe.”

“Which is…?”

“Rags’ tribe.”

“Ah. So they’ll want revenge. So what will you do? Unless you’re coming to me for advice.”

The Oldblood Drake glanced sidewise at Reiss. She was his enemy. And she hated him, but she hated his master more. That made them unlikely allies; Osthia would help Reiss, if only so that she could survive and escape when the time was right. Reiss had consulted her for advice, and the Drake had good ideas, even if she lied to him more often then she told the truth. Reiss shrugged, knowing she was trying to find out everything she could from him.

“I will do nothing until Snapjaw comes back and tells me Quietstab is dead.”

“Why would she do that?”

Reiss turned his head slowly to regard Osthia.

“Because I do not know Quietstab is dead and that Tremborag murdered him. Rags knows just now. I knew last night.”

The Drake frowned. Her brows snapped together.

“You knew? How?”

For a second Reiss debated not telling Osthia. It was a risk. But he—the knowledge burned in his gut. He felt guilty, so against his better judgment, he confessed.

“I watched him die. I could have stopped it. But I did not. Because one Hob’s death will help me save tens of thousands of lives.”

Osthia’s eyes widened. For a moment she was surprised. But then contempt replaced surprise. She was not shocked. It was almost a relief. She had no expectations of Reiss.

“I see. You were there?”

“Invisible. I watched it happen. It was a necessity. It will make Rags’ tribe and my army allies.”

It was an excuse. And it was the truth. But sometimes it felt like he was becoming more like his master with each passing day. Reiss closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, Osthia was still looking at him with narrowed eyes.

“I see. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything else from you. Goblins betray even their allies, it seems. Just like your race.”

For some reason, that nettled Reiss. He looked over at Osthia.

“My kind does not sacrifice their own. I learned that from Drakes. I studied your wars. You send a hundred to hold a gap and know they will die. You kill your own for advantage, just like me. I did not learn such things from Goblins.”

He regarded Osthia coldly, basking in his anger for a moment. The Drake bristled, and her manacled wings stirred with anger.

“Drakes—our leaders know when sacrifice is necessary. But that doesn’t mean—”

“Spare me.”

Reiss turned his head. He heard Osthia inhale and altered his spell. The world around him grew silent for a minute. Reiss was alone with his thoughts. He bowed his head.

Quietstab had died in front of him. He had been there, on a nightly errand when he’d seen Tremborag stalking the Hob. He had watched the confrontation. The rapid murder had surprised him. But he could have stopped it. If he had so much as raised his voice or revealed himself, Tremborag would have retreated. If he had cast a spell—

He hadn’t. Reiss was sure, quite sure, that even his best spell wouldn’t kill Tremborag outright. He was a [Necromancer] and lacked the raw power of other [Mage] classes. So he had let Quietstab die because it would benefit his tribe, convince Rags to ally with him. It was necessary. But it was such a Human thing to do. Reiss felt the guilt gnawing at him. What was he doing. Was he really becoming—

He saw a flicker of movement and turned his head. Osthia punched Reiss. He staggered and saw a Hob roar soundlessly and charge Osthia. The Goblin Lord raised a claw and dispelled the [Quiet Air] spell.

“Stop!”

The Hob skidded to a halt before he could slam into Osthia. The Drake was ready. She glared at Reiss as he rubbed his cheek. That had hurt. But it was no less than he deserved. And he’d forgotten how touchy Drakes could be.

“Leave us.”

The Hob hesitated, and then moved back, giving Osthia the evil eye. Reiss reapplied his silencing spell and then looked at Osthia.

“Punch me again and I can’t guarantee my Hobs won’t seek revenge.”

The Drake sneered.

“All they do is poke me with sticks. Ignore me again and I’ll hit you somewhere else.”

“Fine.”

Reiss looked around. He couldn’t see over the top of the tall Hobs he’d selected to screen Osthia from sight, but he knew that Snapjaw would be returning any moment with the dire news. Reiss shook his head.

“So you’re going to use this to tie that little Goblin’s tribe to you. What next after that?”

Osthia looked at Reiss. He glanced at her, and then sighed. His shoulders felt heavy. But cold certainty filled him.

“He killed her subordinate. So I will help her bring him down. As allies.”

The Drake’s eyes widened. Reiss nodded. It was time. Whatever the Humans had planned, it would surely mean the end of his tribe. But if he could face them with combined forces—

Garen was an obstacle, but his tribe was small. Tremborag was the real threat. If he fell, his tribe would splinter. That was Reiss’ chance. The Great Chieftain had to die. Somehow.

That reminded Reiss. He fished in his pocket and pulled something out. He turned and offered it to Osthia. She blinked down at the thing he was holding.

“Here. I made it at last.”

It was a ring, a white band of wood. It had been carved carefully and it shone in the daylight. Osthia hesitated. Reiss pushed it at her.

“Take it.”

“I don’t want—”

“Take it. I told you what it does. I didn’t lie.”

The Drake suspiciously took the ring. She turned it over, although Reiss knew she had no ability to detect magic.

“If you enchanted it with anything but what you said—”

Reiss nearly growled. That was the problem with Drakes. They were touchy and suspicious.

And kind. Some of them could be—he growled, pushing the memories back.

“I did not. Put it on or I will make you wear it.”

Osthia glared at him, but she slipped the ring on with ill grace. She blinked at the ring.

“It’s a perfect fit.”

“Obviously. It was made for you.”

The Goblin Lord sighed. He shook his head as Osthia growled. Maybe he should have made a necklace. He’d forgotten how touchy Drakes and Humans were about rings on fingers. Didn’t it mean something when they put it on a certain finger?  Oh well. He dispelled the [Quiet Air] spell a second time and heard the hubbub around him. Snapjaw must have returned. The Goblin Lord glanced at Osthia.

“I must go now.”

“Don’t stay on my account.”

Osthia growled. Her face was irritated, but her tail curled up a bit, betraying her true emotions. Reiss had learned to read Drake’s emotions in their tails. He pretended to be scratching an itch as he read her body language. She was lonely. Lonely, bored, and…worried. For him?

Of course not. Reiss nodded.

“I will let you know what happened tonight. Or sooner if Rags wishes to talk.”

“Yes, yes. Go away.”

The Drake turned her head. Reiss nodded to her and turned. The Hobs parted before him and closed, creating a wall of black armor. Reiss strode back through his tribe. Snapjaw was waiting for him, anxiety clearly written on her face. In response, Reiss quickened his footsteps. But only half of his mind was on the act. As he moved, he raised his right claw and pressed a fingertip to his temple.

Master? Are you there?

He heard nothing. As usual. Reiss held the connection open, waiting. But there was no response. At last, Reiss lowered his hand. He met Snapjaw and Eater of Spears as they came to him. He became Reiss, the honest Goblin Lord. He was shocked, enraged, and then concerned. He sent Snapjaw back to speak with Rags, played his part so well that for a moment he really was burning with righteous fury. But that faded as Reiss climbed onto the back of his Shield Spider. Thereafter he sat, half miserable, half calculating as he studied the other tribes.

All the Goblins were marching. Reiss’ army moved ahead smoothly, although he could sense the ripples spreading as the Goblins told each other what had happened. There was shock, anger, sympathy—but generally, the Goblins just kept marching. They knew there would be battle with Tremborag’s tribe in time, and Quietstab’s death changed nothing. It had just happened.

The other tribes reacted differently, though. Garen’s warriors rode ahead of Tremborag’s forces, back straight with fury and indignation. Some were arguing, but the ones around Garen Redfang were deathly quiet. Sullen. They stared at their Chieftain’s back and Reiss could almost hear their thoughts. Again, the pride and warrior spirit that Garen had taught them went at odds with their alliance with Tremborag. Some were even glancing at Rags’ tribe now and then. That was unexpected. And promising.

And Rags’ tribe? Well, they marched fast, catching up with Reiss’ forces. Their postures were tense, their expressions dark. They were furious. Reiss saw some pausing to poop in the path of Tremborag’s tribe, but the rest just kept moving, because there was no other option.

And Tremborag’s tribe marched in the rear, as always. They laughed, in the best of spirits and their Great Chieftain was loudest of them all. He walked amid his Goblins, proud to have killed his fellow Goblins. Reiss watched him, thinking dark thoughts. He promised himself it would be soon. He told himself that it was necessary. But he still couldn’t forget Quietstab’s gasp and the sound in the night. Reiss lowered his head.

Some days he wondered if Garen was right. But he had come too far to stop now. Reiss waited for his moment. He waited and waited and watched Rags. Waiting for her to see what had to be done.

—-

Tremborag was laughing. His huge voice boomed across the heads of his tribe as he laughed. He was eating and drinking as he walked. His feet hurt and he considered using a healing potion. But though the Great Chieftain normally resented being forced to march with a burning hatred, he was in good spirits. He chewed on the salted beef and drank wine, feeling some run onto his chest.

“Look at them run! Cowards! Weaklings!”

He bellowed, pointing at Rags’ tribe. They were moving ahead of his tribe, marching fast. The Goblins around Tremborag laughed and jeered as well. They all knew what had happened last night and they were all happy.

Well, most. Some who knew Quietstab hadn’t been pleased. But Tremborag didn’t care. A traitor was a traitor and ending that wretched Hob’s life had shown everyone the truth. Sit-abouts? Working together? It was all meaningless. This was all that mattered. Defeating your enemy. Crushing them. Hurting them. The slave Goblin Lord, Garen, Rags—they could all see the truth. Tremborag felt his spirits rise.

“Look at them, running to hide behind the Goblin Lord. They’ll hide in their camp tonight. Plot and scheme like the—the cowards they are. Conspire with that slave who pretends to be a Goblin Lord. Pretend to be friends. Hah!”

Spittle flew from Tremborag’s mouth, spraying the Goblins in front of him. He could see Ulvama flinching out of the way. His [Chief Shaman] looked displeased as Tremborag waved her closer. The Hob continued, reaching for another wine flask as he walked forwards.

“The Goblin Lord will probably take the child’s tribe in. Only, she won’t be his Chieftain. She’ll be his puppet. He pretends to be concerned with the good of Goblins. A kingdom? Peace with Humans and Drakes? There is no peace. There is no working together. There is only killing your enemies. Redfang should know that. Where is he?”

Tremborag looked around vacantly. Garen’s tribe was marching far ahead of them and to the left, keeping pace with Reiss’ forces. Tremborag scowled.

“Fool. If he was half the warrior he claimed to be, he would have slain his traitors already. Ulvama, bring him here. And give me a healing potion.”

The [Shaman] made a face.

“Great Chieftain, Garen Redfang is angry.”

“So?”

“He will not come. And we have only a few hundred healing potions after—”

Tremborag turned and Ulvama flinched. The Hobs around him drew back warily.

“Redfang. Healing potion.”

The Great Chieftain’s crimson eyes flashed. Ulvama nodded rapidly. She beckoned and a Goblin raced over with a healing potion. Tremborag fumbled with it, watching as a group of Goblins were sent racing ahead to summon Garen Redfang. He noticed Rags’ tribe had slowed their pace somewhat.

The small Chieftain had actually tried to charge him. Tremborag had nearly died of laughter when that happened. If she had tried to attack with her tribe, he would have been only too happy to rip her apart. Her tribe was a speck compared to his. Her fancy pikes and crossbows were useless against his warriors. She’d even deployed her pikes to her rear, as if she was afraid he’d charge her. That was an amusing idea. Maybe he should try that.

For a second Tremborag contemplated the thought, but he knew that would be a mistake. Killing Quietstab was one thing, but if it came to a battle, Reiss and the damned Humans would intervene. But if he could send Ulvama or one of his stealthier Goblins to pick off another of Rags’ lieutenants…and what could she do about it?

Tremborag was so caught up with the idea that he didn’t notice that Rags’ tribe was slowing even further. Only when he noticed the gap between them was shortening from a few hundred paces to less than a hundred did he frown. He saw the back of Rags’ Goblins with pikes marching ahead of him. Tremborag raised a lazy arm, about to order his tribe to push the Goblins forwards faster. And then he heard a shout.

The back rank of Rags’ forces turned. The lines of Goblins with pikes turned to face Tremborag’s oncoming tribe. And then the pikes lowered. A wall of spikes faced Tremborag’s front ranks. The Goblins froze, and the ones behind bumped into them. Tremborag halted. His jaw opened. What was—

“Loose!”

He heard a scream ahead of him. Then he saw a flicker run through the Goblins behind the ones with pikes. A black hail flew up from the ranks of Goblin’s tribe, and then fell towards Tremborag’s tribe. He gaped as they struck the Goblins in front of him. He saw a Hob raise a hand, and then jerk as one of the black shapes struck him. The Hob blinked down at the crossbow bolt that had impaled itself through his hand. And then more bolts were failing, like rain—

Tremborag looked about wildly as he heard Goblins screaming. His tribe froze in their tracks and his celebrating warriors grabbed for their shields, tried to back away. All around Tremborag was chaos, confusion. Disbelief. This couldn’t be happening! But it was.

They were under attack. The first deadly rain of crossbow bolts left hundreds wounded or dead. But before Tremborag could blink, the Goblins with crossbows had reloaded and sent another arc of deadly missiles into the air! Tremborag blinked as more fell around him, and then felt a stinging pain in his shoulder. He looked down and saw an arrow had penetrated his shoulder. It had barely gotten through the first layer of his fat, but the pain woke him up. He gawked at Rags. Then he roared.

“Kill them!”

His warriors flinched and came out of their trance of stupefaction. They surged across the grass and churned up soil towards Rags’ forces, roaring. A wave of crossbow bolts cut down the advancing Goblins. And then the pikes were there. Rags’ pikes charged the first rank of Tremborag’s warriors and skewered them. The twenty-foot long pikes impaled Goblins, knocked others off their feet. And what few Goblins made it past the jabbing, deadly tips found Hobs and Goblin warriors waiting for them. Tremborag saw his warriors backing away as the second rank met the same fate as the first. Rags’ pikes advanced, threateningly.

But they didn’t go further than a dozen steps before they suddenly retreated. The Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe planted themselves firmly in the ground, pikes raised, Hobs fighting or loosing arrows among the smaller Goblins. And the crossbows fired again, and then again, reloading and sending hundreds, over a thousand bolts into the air each time. Tremborag roared in fury.

“Push into them! Cowards! Push!”

He whirled as his Hobs tried to force the Goblins in front of them to charge into certain death. Tremborag took a huge breath and bellowed.

“Ulvama!”

The [Shaman] was there in an instant. Tremborag pointed.

“Break their pikes!”

The female Hob nodded. She grabbed her staff and strode forwards, protected by two Hobs with massive tower shields. She raised her staff and aimed at the front rank of pikes, perhaps to enchant Tremborag’s warriors or destroy the pikes directly. Either way, she never got the chance to cast. As she raised her staff, a bolt of lightning shot towards her. Tremborag saw Ulvama’s eyes widen and she swept her staff up.

The jagged lightning curved up and Ulvama screeched and threw herself to the ground as the bolt earthed itself just past her. Tremborag saw a Goblin standing amid Rags’ tribe. He threw another bolt of lightning that blasted one of the Hobs and sent the smoldering body crumbling to the ground.

“Kill that mage!”

Tremborag roared, but his Goblins were in disarray. They finally managed to loose arrows of their own, but by that time the Goblin had disappeared.

“Chieftain! What do we do?”

One of Tremborag’s lieutenants screamed at him. The Great Chieftain snarled and backhanded the Hob. He bellowed so his entire tribe could hear him.

“Advance! Kill the traitors! Any Goblin who runs I will kill myself!”

Slowly, his warriors advanced. They battled the pikes, pushing forwards slowly. Tremborag whirled and ordered his archers forwards. Now his Goblins began exchanging arrows with Rags’ crossbows. And yet, his advance was stymied once again by his warrior’s pragmatism.

It was one thing to loose arrows back at the other Goblins, but charge into a wall of pike tips? Tremborag bellowed and struck his Hobs, but even they couldn’t motivate his warriors to pay the price in blood to take the pikes. And the Great Chieftain wasn’t willing to stay within range of the crossbows. Five had already struck him and the lightning mage had sent two bolts at Tremborag that Ulvama had barely deflected. So Tremborag took the only other option he could think of.

“Shields up! Archers, kill them!”

Thousands of Goblins with bows raced into place behind Tremborag’s warriors with shields. They began loosing thousands of arrows. At last, Tremborag saw Rags’ tribe begin to waver. His tribe didn’t have the disciplined ranks of crossbows, but they outnumbered Rags’ forces practically ten to one. Rags’ warriors started falling as arrows showered them. Slowly, they began to pull back.

“Kill them! Cover them with arrows and slaughter them by the thousand!”

Tremborag was howling with glee. He could see Rags’ tribe faltering as his massive tribe began to outrange them in the archery duel. The Great Chieftain was impatient, pacing behind the lines of his stationary Goblin warriors. He would kill her for this. That child dared to attack him? He’d break her tribe and send his warriors to claim her. Alive. Garen thought she was smart? She was a fool. She’d attacked the wrong foe. No matter what she did, there was no way she could win—

The Great Chieftain felt the heat before the screams. He turned and saw the gout of flame a moment before the burning wheel of flames engulfed a group of Goblins at his rear. Tremborag blinked. Then a [Fireball] blasted apart another section of Goblins, sending burning body parts flying. He saw a glowing comet smash into his warriors. At the back.

The back? But how had Rags’ tribe done that? Tremborag’s face went slack for a moment. And then he realized what was happening. Slowly, he looked up and saw the Humans. They were approaching from the north, a line of riders. And mages. They were the ones lobbing spells at him, forcing the Goblins to move. Only, they couldn’t move. And so the Humans had stopped firing warning shots. Now the spells were striking his tribe.

Tremborag saw a serpent made of poisonous gas descend on his back ranks as more spells began striking his warriors. He stared at Rags’ tribe, hunkered down in their path. They were fighting, holding his warriors at bay, firing their crossbows. And meanwhile, the Humans were blasting apart Tremborag’s rear.

—-

“That is strategy.”

Reiss eyed the two battling tribes with something akin to awe. Not at the plan, but the daring of it. The way it worked. Rags’ tribe was holding Tremborag’s in place, less than ten thousand facing Tremborag’s full army. They would perish in a moment in a pitched battle. But all they had to do was stall Tremborag for a few minutes. Already the Humans were blasting Tremborag’s rearguard apart.

And she’d done it herself. Without speaking to him. Within two hours of Quietstab being discovered. Was she mad or overconfident? Or—

Reiss’ forces had stopped marching. So had Garen’s. Both tribes were watching the conflict to the north. Reiss stood with his two top lieutenants, Snapjaw and Eater of Spears. He turned to them.

“She’s slowing him down. And the Humans are chewing him apart from behind. They’re willing to kill a few thousand Goblins to force Tremborag to move.”

Snapjaw looked impressed. Her jaw was open slightly, revealing her metallic rows of teeth. But Eater of Spears looked worried. He shook his head and rumbled.

“It is a bad idea. Tremborag has no choice but to advance.”

Snapjaw glanced up at Eater of Spears, surprised he’d said anything. But he was right. Reiss looked back at the conflict and nodded slowly.

“They’re going to be overrun. Unless they retreat.”

It was true. Despite the pikes, Tremborag’s warriors were pushing forwards, realizing that there was no safety in staying still. Reiss saw several points in Rags’ rear opening up. But before Tremborag’s forces could overwhelm her, he heard a horn blow. Instantly, Rags’ tribe began moving again.

“They’re running!”

Snapjaw’s addition to the commentary was to point out the obvious. The female Hob hopped up and down, watching anxiously as Rags’ tribe disengaged. They retreated, running after Reiss and Garen’s forces. Thanks to Rags’ [Fleet Foot] Skill, they outdistanced Tremborag’s desperate Goblins.

“They’ll have to run fast. Tremborag will chase.”

Eater of Spears frowned, eying Rags’ tribe. Reiss nodded. If she’d wanted to anger the Great Chieftain and give him a bloody wound, she’d done it. But she’d have to run fast. He began calculating her trajectory, wondering if he should put his tribe between hers and Tremborag’s.

“He has to get free of the Humans, first. No time for fighting.”

“Mm.”

Tremborag’s tribe was moving as more spells rained on them from behind. They surged forwards, following Rags’ tribe. Reiss saw both groups of Goblins coming at him like a green wave—and then Rags’ tribe halted again. They turned, and he saw the small Chieftain raise her sword.

“Is she—”

The Goblins with crossbows raised their weapons and loosed another wave of bolts. Then they turned and kept running. Tremborag’s forces wavered as the crossbow bolts landed among them. Some tried to return fire, but they were still under attack from behind! And the sudden attack had slowed them. Rags’ tribe ran for another fifty feet with ease. They turned, bent to reload their crossbows, and fired again.

“Hm. Good plan.”

Eater of Spears grunted approvingly. Reiss just watched. Rags was fighting on the move! That too wasn’t surprising as a tactic, but—he focused on the small Goblin. What was she doing? Was she really trying to kill Tremborag’s entire tribe? She couldn’t. It was impossible. And yet, the small Goblin turned and waved her sword again and again, and her tribe continued loosing quarrels. And Tremborag’s Goblins had no choice but to advance and die or die.

—-

“Loose!”

Rags screamed the word at her warriors. She pointed, and saw the crossbows rise. Her Goblins cocked their crossbows, slapped bolts into place, and fired. Then they turned and ran after her as she wheeled her Carn Wolf and raced forwards.

It was a rhythm, a deadly rhythm that sang in sync with her heart. Stop, turn, loose, and run again. Rags pointed at Tremborag as his warriors surged towards her tribe, ignoring the sporadic arrows flying towards her tribe and screamed.

“Kill him!”

A hundred crossbow strings snapped in agreement. The bolts soared up and fell around Tremborag. Rags saw him raise a huge hand to shield his face and roar in fury. She saw a dozen bolts strike him, but none penetrated deeply. They were too far away, the crossbows were too weak, and he was too big. But he was hurt. Rags raised her own crossbow and fired.

The arrow shot up and arced toward Tremborag’s face. At the last moment it snapped in midair. Rags saw a Hob with a staff pointing and recognized her. Ulvama waved her staff urgently, chanting. Rags growled as she waved her staff.

The spell the [Shaman] cast made Tremborag and the Goblins around him flicker and turn hazy. Rags saw multiple Tremborag’s appear and then felt her eyes slide away as he became a green, indistinct blob. The Goblins with crossbows around her wavered; it was hard to even look in his direction.

“Move!”

Rags ordered them. Her tribe ran, turned, and loosed. This time they aimed at Tremborag’s front ranks. More Goblins fell. Rags heard them screaming. She didn’t care. Her blood was on fire. It was only when she heard a shout that she looked up and saw the falling fireball.

This was no ordinary fireball, the size of a torso, or even a [Grand Fireball], which was a ball of roiling flames as tall as a Human in every direction. This was like a second sun. Rags had seen it once before. It was falling towards her tribe, almost lazily. Her eyes widened.

“Run, run!”

Her tribe ran, scattering before the fireball could land. When it did, the explosion kicked Rags in the back and made her Carn Wolf howl in pain. She looked back, wondering if it was a missed spell. But then she saw more spells falling from above. The Humans were beginning to lob spells at her warriors now as well.

“Chieftain! We have to run!”

Redscar pulled up beside Rags. He was staring at the sky. Rags knew he was right. She turned and waved at her tribe.

“Run fast! Fastest! Don’t look back!”

The Goblins hesitated, but Rags urged them onwards. She kept her eyes on the sky, and Redscar’s mounted warriors did the same. They screamed orders and the tribe split to avoid the falling spells. Rags rode with them, racing ahead. Reiss’ army was on the march and as soon as they drew close to them, the spells stopped falling. Rags turned and saw Tremborag’s tribe was running in their wake, also free from attack for the moment.

“Humans saw what we were doing.”

Noears gasped as he jogged over, his face sweaty. Rags nodded. She looked around and saw her tribe was gasping for air. All of them were tired and many were hurt. She looked back and saw a trail of bodies behind her. For a second she felt numb. Then she looked up and saw Tremborag’s tribe.

They were hurt. But he was still there. Rags glamced at the huge Hob who was running, bellowing at his Goblins to move faster. Then she turned as she heard a commotion from the front.

“Chieftain! Goblin Lord coming!”

Poisonbite shouted. Rags nodded. She saw Pyrite wearily approaching from the rear, holding a wounded Goblin and waved at him. The Hob laid the Goblin with an arrow in his leg on a wagon and strode forwards.

“Rags.”

Reiss rode towards her on his headless, undead Shield Spider with Snapjaw and Eater of Spears flanking him. He stared at Rags for a moment as if he’d never seen her before, and then looked at Tremborag’s approaching forces.

“You attacked him.”

“He killed Quietstab.”

“I know.”

Reiss nodded slowly. He looked at Rags.

“But you attacked him.”

She nodded.

“Because he killed Quietstab.”

Reiss stared at her. After a moment he nodded uncertainly. Rags nodded as well, conscious of the eyes on her. That was all there was to it. He killed Quietstab and so he had to pay.

“You bloodied him. He won’t forgive that easily.”

“So?”

The question threw Reiss. He glanced at Tremborag’s tribe again, and then at the Humans.

“So you can’t attack him. The Humans will force you to stop.”

“Stop? Why? This is not stopped. This is waiting.”

Rags glared at Reiss. He opened his mouth, flicking his eyes to her, then to Pyrite, Redscar, and the others. They all stared at him silently.

They weren’t going to stop. Not until Tremborag was dead. Why would they stop? He killed Quietstab. One Hob, yes. One Goblin. But he had been of Rags’ tribes. He had been her subordinate, her trusted aide and lieutenant, even if he wasn’t the greatest of them. He had been her friend. And he was dead. So she would kill Tremborag or die trying. It was a simple as that.

Her tribe understood all of this without Rags having to say it, but Reiss didn’t seem to. He opened his mouth again and his black eyes fixed on Rags’ face.

“What will you do?”

“Keep marching, stupid.”

The answer made Reiss frown in vexation and Snapjaw grind her teeth, but Rags was in no mood to bandy words. She turned and pointed at Pyrite.

“Get wounded in wagons. Ready to march. Use healing potions on bad hurt—so not die. Not full heal. Get food and ready rear. We march fast, ahead of Mountain City tribe. Get more bolts for crossbows and get ready.”

Pyrite nodded.

“Another fight, Chieftain?”

“Not now. Tonight. He dies tonight.”

Reiss inhaled sharply. Rags ignored him. She looked around.

“Redscar, Pyrite, Noears. Can you win if fight?”

They hesitated. Poisonbite bristled, but Rags ignored her. Pyrite looked back at Tremborag. He shrugged.

“Probably not.”

“Chieftain Rags. Are you serious?”

Rags turned and stared at Reiss. The look in her eyes was all the answer she needed to give. She turned back.

“How many Hobs you need? Or Redfangs?”

Noears glanced at Redscar. The warrior was frowning and checking the edge of his blade. Noears shrugged.

“Lots. Tremborag is strong. Saw him kill six Hobs in a fight once. When he gets big, too strong? Need Pyrite to hit hard. Or Redscar stab in eyes?”

The mounted Goblin nodded.

“Good plan.”

Rags nodded slowly.

“Lots of Hobs, then. And get free of others. Poisonbite and I will hold off others. Have to kill fast. Surprise attack.”

“Chieftain Rags.”

She turned and glared at Reiss. He was staring at her.

“What?”

He hesitated. He looked so…surprised. Why? The instant Rags had known that Quietstab was dead and Tremborag was to blame she had sworn to kill him. Why would she wait? For a better moment? For the right time? Those were Human ideas. Rags would kill Tremborag. And she wouldn’t stop. Ever.

Reiss finally understood that. Or he realized it was fruitless to argue. His eyes flickered as he stared at Rags’ tribe, and then glanced at his lieutenants. Then he stared past Rags at a small group of a few thousand Goblins, who had watched the conflict without intervening.

Garen Redfang sat on his Carn Wolf, staring at Rags and Reiss. The Goblin Lord pointed at him.

“If you continue to fight, Garen will intervene.”

“Probably.”

Rags gritted her teeth. She was trying to figure out how to catch Tremborag off-guard tonight. Could it be tonight? Or did they have to wait until he’d lowered his guard somehow? His tribe would be on alert, but if she could figure out a way to poison their supplies or take them off-guard somehow—how could she slow Garen and keep him from intervening?

“If you plan to attack at night, you’d have to cut into Tremborag’s camp and attack him in the center of his warriors.”

“Only if I have stupid plan.”

Rags muttered under her breath. Reiss paused.

“If you need a distraction, I will help you. My warriors can attack Tremborag’s tribe from the side while yours cut in. I will help you kill Tremborag.”

The small Goblin froze in her saddle. Then she looked at Reiss and narrowed her eyes. The Goblin Lord met her gaze steadily, unblinking.

“Really?”

He nodded.

“Tremborag has no…he is not-Goblin. I will help you. I can stop Garen myself. As for Tremborag—I can lend you Eater of Spears and some of my best Hobs and the Draug I have remaining for the battle.”

Rags blinked. Eater of Spears and Hobs and Draug? She remembered some of the hulking undead she’d seen. If she had those—she glanced at Pyrite, who raised his eyebrows. Redscar was frowning, but Rags had mastered her face when she looked back at Reiss and nodded.

“Yes. Thank you. We will fight together.”

“Good. Tremborag must fall, after all.”

Reiss smiled at Rags. She nodded, but didn’t smile. She saw the Goblin Lord’s eyes shift towards Tremborag. His gaze was cold as he fixed on the distant Great Chieftain. Rags knew—she thought she knew—that he was serious about aiding her. Tremborag dying would help Reiss, after all. And Rags would accept his help. But all the trust she’d had in Reiss was teetering on the edge of sudden doubt.

Not because she suspected him of lying to her. And not because she thought he’d betray her. No, it was just because of how surprised he was. Of course it was insane to attack Tremborag’s tribe. Of course it was strange, suicidal even. All of his reactions were normal.  But while those reactions were normal, they were what Rags would expect from someone like Erin. Reiss was acting more like a Human than a Goblin. And that, more than anything, bothered her.

Rags turned her Carn Wolf and pointed ahead. Tremborag’s tribe was catching up at last.

“Come. We move. And plan attack.”

“I will ride with you. Snapjaw, lead my army. Eater of Spears, take a thousand Hobs to the rear of Chieftain Rags’ tribe.”

Reiss immediately snapped at his Goblins. They nodded and disappeared. Reiss rode next to Rags, looking down at her and clearly wondering how they should talk with him several feet above her head. Rags ignored him as her Carn Wolf padded forwards. Her mind was racing, trying to fit Reiss’ forces into a plan that would end with Tremborag’s death with the least amount of cost.

Because it would cost her. Who would die killing him? Redscar? Noears? Pyrite? No. Rags’ heart hurt at the very thought. But she also knew she couldn’t not kill Tremborag. He had killed Quietstab. He had killed her Goblin. Her friend. For that, she would set everything ablaze and slaughter his tribe to the last.

Like last time. Like the Humans.

Rags remembered a burning house. She remembered screaming Humans, the smell of blood, and a blind [Emperor]’s words. And she hesitated. It was the same and not the same. For a second Rags wavered. But there was only vengeance and death. That was what she had to do.

As Goblins do. As Goblins have always done. Rags felt something familiar about what she was doing and felt uneasy. She saw a pattern in her mind, a pattern that she had seen play out again and again. But it faded as she looked back and saw him. Tremborag.

Her blood was rage, her heartbeats pain. She looked at him and knew one truth.

He had to die.

—-

Lord Yitton Byres found Tyrion Veltras standing next to his mount. Yitton was on foot himself, having left his mount with a [Groom] during the break. The main company was moving onwards, pursuing the Goblins, but Tyrion had called a halt to assess the situation in light of the morning’s events.

It was something Yitton would have liked time to think on himself. He shook his head as he strode towards Tyrion. The man was alone and several of his aides were keeping a wide space around him. From the way his lips blurred and the way Yitton couldn’t hear a thing he was saying even as he approached, he was probably under several anti-spying spells as well.

One of the men assigned to keep everyone back hesitated when he saw Lord Yitton. But for whatever reason he let Lord Yitton past. That was a curiosity in itself, but Yitton Byres had accepted that Tyrion Veltras held him in some esteem. At least enough to let Yitton into the protective spell bubble and hear Tyrion speaking.

He was conversing with his personal aide, his [Mage], Jericha. Yitton paused with both hands behind his back. Tyrion glanced at him and gave him a slight nod of acknowledgement, then returned to speaking with Jericha.

“And the number of dead?”

“Our [Scouts] estimate it at around eight thousand dead, Lord Veltras. Mostly from the ah, Great Chieftain’s tribe, although several hundred were killed in the…Flowing Waters tribe. Mainly from arrows, not the spells cast by our mages.”

“I see.”

Tyrion grimaced, although Yitton had only the barest inkling of an idea why. By all rights, eight thousand dead Goblins should be a step in the right direction. But the man had plans, and if what Lord Erill had told Yitton over their cups last night was true, then the man would want as many Goblins alive as possible. If it were true.

Yitton had no intention of asking Tyrion that. He stood patiently with both legs braced as Tyrion kept talking. The head of the Byres family kept one ear on the conversation while he thought about what he’d witnessed. Goblins laying traps for one another. Using formations. That had been a classic pike wall with crossbows firing over. And then one of the tribes had used mobile harassing tactics!

It bothered Yitton to see anything like strategy coming out of the Goblins. But those Chieftains seemed every bit as dangerous as the Goblin Lord. What he couldn’t understand was what had set them against each other. Yitton frowned, and then realized that the topic of conversation had shifted when he hadn’t noticed. Jericha was perusing a piece of parchment in her hands.

“We’ve received several concerned [Message] spells inquiring about your grand strategy, Lord Veltras. Nothing that merits a reply, but I have just received a missive from Lady Magnolia Reinhart, and ah—”

She paled for a second as she read the transcribed [Message]. Lord Tyrion raised one eyebrow.

“Pass it to me.”

The [Mage] hesitated only for a second before handing the parchment over. Tyrion read impassively. Yitton saw his eyebrows raise just once. For the man, it was as good as an exclamation. Tyrion stared at the parchment, then folded it up and handed to Jericha. She silently burned it in her hands with a small spell. Tyrion shook his head.

“That was surprisingly direct. Give Reinhart my regards, Jericha. Inform her—politely—that I will not be swayed from my course. Any attempts she may make I will counter to the full extent of my ability.”

“Yes, Lord Veltras.”

“Good. I will peruse all the other [Message] spells tonight. And have we received any [Messages] from the Drakes?”

“Nothing but polite inquiries from the [Strategists] of some of the Walled Cities, sire.”

“Good.”

Tyrion closed his eyes for a moment and folded his arms. He nodded once, and opened his eyes.

“Keep me informed of any changes. Now, onto more pressing matters. Lord Yitton?”

He turned briskly to the other man. Yitton Byres snatched one hand down from his beard.

“Lord Tyrion, the company is continuing to pursue the Goblins. They’ve stopped fighting although our [Mages] had to fire more warning spells, but both tribes are keeping a distance now.”

“Excellent. And?”

Yitton grimaced.

“I’ve consulted with our [Scouts] familiar with Goblins. They’ve given me their assessment and I agree—those two tribes are about to clash and one of the Chieftains is going to kill the other by night’s end. I intended to ask if you wished to separate them to prevent a conflict.”

Tyrion’s brows drew together. He drummed his fingers restlessly against his side while keeping still. Then he shook his head.

“No. Splitting up the Goblins would only increase the complexity of our task and make it likely that one tribe would attempt to escape. Did the [Scouts] have any speculation about why the two tribes began fighting? The conflict was between—”

He glanced at Jericha. The [Mage] raised her head briefly.

“The Mountain City tribe led by the Grand Chieftain and the raiding tribe that assaulted Riverfarm, Lord Veltras.”

A spark of interest entered Tyrion’s eyes.

“Yes, I recall that tribe. And that Chieftain. Lord Yitton?”

Yitton hesitated, frowning.

“The [Scouts] drew the conclusion that it was the death of one Hob that sparked the conflict, Lord Byres. They observed the Flooded Waters tribe gathering around a dead Goblin that had been hidden in a latrine. The [Scouts] speculate that he was killed by a member of the other tribe, which sparked the conflict. Our [Strategists] disagree, however. They believe it was a conflict over resources, as this Mountain City tribe has consistently consumed far more of the supplies we’ve placed in their way than the other tribes.”

“I see. Well, the reason matters not. This fighting will wear down both sides, especially if the Goblin Lord involves himself. As for the delays—unacceptable.”

Tyrion shook his head. Yitton waited. Jericha looked up, having sent her [Message] and frowned.

“Lord Veltras, we may be able to force both tribes to move and camp separately. It would require our [Mages] to create a neutral zone and enforce it, but—”

She broke off as Tyrion raised a hand. The [Lord] was staring at nothing, frowning. Then he looked up.

“No. This may serve our purpose, Jericha. Rather than tire out our [Mages], I intend to solve the matter directly.”

He turned and looked at his aide.

“Summon the Gold-rank adventurer captains immediately, to meet me at the front within twenty minutes. Provide them with mounts if they are marching with the foot.”

Jericha nodded and raised a finger to her temple.

“And Miss Arcsinger?”

A flicker of expression passed across Tyrion’s face, so quickly that Lord Yitton couldn’t read what emotion it had been. Tyrion shook his head briskly, his face impassive.

“No. We have an arrangement. Let her continue onwards—I will request her use of Skills as needed. That will be all. Lord Yitton, I would value your input if you would ride with me.”

He strode towards his mount and briskly mounted himself. Yitton looked around, cursing and wishing he’d kept his horse nearby, but it was already being brought. Tyrion watched as Yitton swung himself into his saddle and then the two [Lords] were riding quickly to the front. Yitton saw the ground flash past him as he rode under the aegis of Lord Tyrion’s Skills.

“You have a plan, Lord Tyrion?”

“I do, Lord Yitton. I intend to send the Goblins and our watchers a message.”

Yitton glanced sharply at Lord Tyrion as the man calmly surged up and down in his saddle with his horse.

“A message, Lord Tyrion? Of what kind?”

Tyrion looked back at the older man and almost smiled.

“The simplest of messages, Yitton. The kind even Goblins understand.”

—-

“Can’t win with spells. Bad idea.”

Pyrite grunted as he jogged along with Reiss, Rags, and a cluster of the other high-ranking Goblins in both her tribe and the Goblin Lord’s army. The Hob pretended not to notice the glares both Reiss and Noears gave him.

“Why not? I can weaken Tremborag with death spells.”

“Can try.”

Eater of Spears nodded as he stumped along. Smaller Goblins and Hobs stared up at him as they ran around him. Both Rags’ tribe and Reiss’ army were marching far ahead of Tremborag’s tribe, and quickly too. The Humans had pushed them hard and the Goblins were tired despite it being just past midmorning.

Rags wasn’t tired. Her mind was buzzing with ideas. The impromptu war council was deliberating hard about how to attack Tremborag successfully. She looked at Pyrite.

“Why no spell?”

“Bad idea.”

Pyrite ducked as Snapjaw threw a pebble at him. He rumbled, and explained as he fished out a speckled blue egg and began to eat it raw, shell and all. He offered one to Eater of Spear, who took it with a grunt of satisfaction and popped the entire thing into his mouth.

“Tremborag is old Hob. Very strong. Knows how to fight adventurers. If [Mage] casts spell, may hurt. Won’t kill. Then Tremborag comes and tears head off. Very quick.”

He gestured at Noears and mimed the very action. Noears felt at his head, looking concerned. Reiss frowned.

“I could fight Tremborag myself.”

“Could try.”

Pyrite glanced impassively at Reiss. This time Snapjaw growled and leaned out of her saddle, ready to punch Pyrite. Poisonbite tugged her back and Reiss frowned. It was Rags who nodded.

“Too risky. Can’t have one or two. Better to have Reiss fight Garen.”

“Why? Goblin Lord not strong enough?”

Snapjaw challenged Rags angrily. She just shrugged.

“No. Garen too annoying. Reiss stop Garen. That easy. Hard part is get Tremborag alone. How about—”

She glanced up and frowned. So did the other Goblins. They turned as they heard a horn blaring behind them. Only, it wasn’t a Goblin horn. It was coming from the Humans riding behind them.

The difference in sound was minimal, as both Goblins and Humans made the same instrument. But it was the oddity of the sound that bothered Rags. She stared as first one horn blew, and then two, then a dozen.

And then a hundred. The advancing line of cavalry stopped as all four Goblin tribes halted and stared back at the Humans. The flanking parties of Humans riding to either side of them paused as well. Rags stared as, in the distance, she saw the lines of Humans part.

“What’s going on?”

Reiss stared hard at the Humans. He looked around and Rags saw his undead Shield Spider crawl towards them. No one else moved as Reiss swung himself up into his saddle for a better look. Rags saw the Humans part. And then someone appeared between the lines of riders. A flash of golden hair. And a silver bow. Though she was far away, Rags could see the figure had pointed ears. And when she looked up—

Fear. It ran through the Goblins like a physical thing. They shuddered as they remembered. Golden hair. A bow. A fallen King.

Elia Arcsinger. Kingslayer. She stood at the head of the ranks of Humans. And someone else rode up to join her. A man with dark hair, his armor gleaming. He looked like any other Human in one sense, but Rags recognized him.

Tyrion Veltras. The [Lord] regarded the mass of Goblins ahead of him. Rags could see Reiss reconsidering his vantage point and swinging himself down into the safety of the mass of his warriors who surged forwards to put themselves between him and Elia. But it was not at the Goblin Lord who Tyrion looked at. His gaze swept past Reiss, past Garen who sat on his Carn Wolf, teeth bared. He looked at Rags first and she felt a shudder. She thought that Tyrion was smiling, but she couldn’t see his expression so far away. And then the [Lord] looked down, at the sprawling tribe of Goblins, half of whom were sitting, imitating their Chieftain.

Tremborag, Great Chieftain of the Mountains, sat on the ground, footsore, furious. His skin was healed and the crossbow bolts had been plucked out, but his gaze was still malevolent fury as he stared at Rags. He ignored Tyrion Veltras and the Humans, his back a solid mass of contempt. He was not afraid of them, or so his posture said. So he never saw Elia Arcsinger raise her bow. He never saw the arrow.

It struck Tremborag in the back. A single arrow, fired hundreds of feet. It flew straight and true and embedded itself in Tremborag’s flesh, just above his shoulder. He howled, more from shock then pain, and whirled. His eyes widened as he saw Elia Arcsinger lower the bow, and his hand reached up, trying to grab the arrow.

“She shot him?”

Reiss’ voice was incredulous. The arrow had struck the Great Chieftain precisely, and Rags couldn’t imagine she’d missed. But it hadn’t done more than wound Tremborag slightly. Frankly, it wasn’t even a good shot if the half-Elf had been trying to kill him. But as Tremborag yanked the arrow from his back and stared at the red, dripping point, Rags felt terribly uneasy. She looked up and saw Elia Arcsinger turn away. And Tyrion Veltras pointed.

At Tremborag. The Great Chieftain froze, his expression outraged and confused at once. Another person, a woman, a [Mage], stepped up besides Tyrion. Rags watched her, feeling her pulse thudding in her ears. She saw the [Mage] link arms with two others, a woman and a man, and then saw the fire.

This was how she spun the fireball. Out of air a wisp of fire appeared, a thin tendril. Then it thickened, curled in on itself and other strand appeared. Like yarn, it knitted itself together, twisting into a ball of fire, only this ball was ever-shifting, the cords of flame shifting around together. And the blaze grew until the fireball was as large as the woman, larger, as large as a horse. Larger still.

The Goblins watched in silence. Tremborag slowly got to his feet. He stared at the [Mages], incredulous. Rags stared at him and then at Tyrion. At the Humans. They were all looking at Tremborag. The Great Chieftain looked around. Now the fireball was floating overhead. He backed up a step, his face written with incredulity.

He did not want to believe. He did not want to know. But it was too late. The [Mage] let go of the other’s hands and pointed. The [Siege Fireball] shot forwards, a blazing inferno as bright as the sun. Tremborag turned. He began to run. The Goblins around him ran too. Rags heard not a word from them. They just ran, streaming away from the spot. And then the fireball touched the earth where Tremborag had been, as the Great chieftain tried to flee. Rags saw a flash—

Then she felt something kick her in the chest. Hot air blasted Rags’ face and she heard cries as the Goblins were bombarded with light, heat, and sound. When Rags could see again, she saw Tremborag lying on the ground. He was alive. He’d dove to avoid the blast. As he got to his feet, shakily, a horn blew. Rags turned and saw the Humans advancing. Only, it wasn’t a steady trot.

They were charging. [Mages] standing behind the ranks of Humans on horseback began throwing spells. Crackling lightning and shards of ice rained down from the sky, as the earth broke underfoot. Goblins screamed and ran, but Rags stayed where she was. So did her entire tribe. Because the onslaught was not aimed at them. The center of the storm, the one figure that the Humans encircled, cut off from his tribe and threw spells at was the huge figure, the Great Chieftain of the Mountain.

Tremborag.

He looked around, bellowing in fear and fury. He turned to run, but a line of [Riders] and [Knights] cut him off. He shouted for his Goblins, but his warriors who rushed to surround him were blown to pieces, feathered by arrows, cut down by swords. Tremborag roared. He turned and saw the watching Goblins, the three tribes who stared at him.

Tremborag went still. His eyes went to Reiss, who stood amid his warriors, his face impassive, to Garen Redfang, who looked shocked. And then to Rags, who met his eyes. Tremborag looked back at the Humans who were attacking his tribe, sending his warriors fleeing further and further away from their Chieftain. He looked around and saw Tyrion Veltras, riding towards him. And then he knew.

—-

“They’re going to kill him.”

Reiss breathed the words incredulously as he watched Tremborag’s tribe disintegrate before his eyes. The Mountain City tribe had scattered in the face of the first spell. Now they were trying to reform, but the wave of Humans that crashed into their backs forced them to keep running. Spells hammered the ground, enforcing the imminent threat of death behind them. The Goblins turned and ran, but they could hardly ignore the bellowing voice behind them.

“Warriors to me! Protect your Chieftain! Ulvama! Kerist! Qent! Where are my Hobs?”

Tremborag shouted, running, thrusting aside Goblins, trying to put anything and everything behind him and the Humans racing to cut him off. He was fast, and he barreled through a rider and horse, knocking both aside, though the impact made Tremborag stagger. He ran forwards, trying to get away. But the Humans were aimed only at him.

“They are going to kill him.”

Noears stared at the scene with amazement and delight. He and the others watched as Tremborag’s tribe fled towards them. Rags could see tens of thousands of Goblins streaming away from Tremborag. Few turned despite his shouts. And those that did—died.

It wasn’t a fair battle. It wasn’t even a battle. If a Goblin or Hob turned to strike or cast a spell, a [Knight], a dozen [Knights], would ride down on them and hack them to shreds. Or a [Lord] would use an artifact, or an adventurer loose an arrow, or a [Mage] a spell. No matter what Tremborag said, no matter how he threatened and ordered, he couldn’t force his Goblins to turn and fight that.

“Stop! Obey me! Turn and fight for your Chieftain! Fight for your tribe!”

Tremborag caught a Goblin warrior who was fleeing. He stared at the Goblin’s terrified face, and then hurled her at the oncoming Humans. The Goblin disappeared with a scream beneath the oncoming horses. Tremborag looked around desperately.

“Ulvama! My Hobs!”

There they were, fleeing ahead of him. Tremborag roared at them and for a moment they turned. Ulvama with her staff, the Hobs wearing their precious, looted gear. They looked back at their Great Chieftain as he labored to run after them. Tremborag raised a claw, calling. Imploring.

And the Humans were behind him. Surrounding him. They formed up at his back, and on his sides, creating a passage edged by steel. They held their position there, daring the Goblins to run back. There was a clear path between them and Tremborag. But if they went back—the Goblins of the Mountain City tribe stared at the lines of Humans. They looked at death and death looked back.

Ulvama stared at Tremborag. He looked at her, his face desperate. It was an expression few of the Goblins in his tribe had seen. They looked at their Great Chieftain. And then Ulvama turned away.

She was the first. Then one of the Hob lieutenants turned his back. And then a warrior. And then a child. Tremborag stared as his Goblins turned and began streaming further away.

All of them. Ulvama, his Hob sub-Chieftains, his warriors—they fled as the Humans raced past him on horseback. They pursued the Goblins, chasing them towards the other three tribes that were watching Tremborag. And then the Great Chieftain was alone. He stared around at the Humans. They watched him, faces hidden behind visors, mask of hatred. But they didn’t attack.

More movement. Tremborag started, whirled as the Humans in front of him parted. He stared in disbelief as the lines of Humans moved aside, giving him a path towards the Goblins to the south. He looked in disbelief at the Humans, and then narrowed his eyes. A trick?

No. The Humans drew back, waiting. Tremborag turned as a man in armor rode up behind him. Lord Tyrion Veltras drew his sword and pointed past Tremborag, towards the waiting Goblins. The Great Chieftain turned and saw his tribe staring back at him. Along with the other Goblins. A [Fireball] exploded over their heads and the Goblins started, began to run. South, again.

Then Tyrion pointed at Tremborag. The Great Chieftain met his eyes, snarling, defiant. But Tyrion didn’t order the attack. Instead he raised one hand and shouted an order.

“Advance at a trot!”

The Humans around him moved. Their horses began to trot forwards, at Tremborag. The Great Chieftain backed up. He turned, and looked at the Goblins moving swiftly south. Then he looked at the Humans, advancing behind him, slowly. And then it became clear.

They wanted him to run. To run until he fell. Tremborag’s claws clenched. Red fury rose in his eyes and for a second he turned back to the front ranks of Humans. For a second. Then the fury dimmed. He looked back at his tribe, so far away in the distance. And he turned and ran.

—-

At first, it was one mile. Rags and her tribe raced across the rocky landscape until it turned to grass. Then it was two miles. She heard the scream of spells overhead, saw her tribe start to mix with the other Goblins running. They couldn’t help it. The Humans drove them onwards faster than they ever had before. Rags saw the wagons jolting as the animals strained to keep up, saw Goblins trip, fall, and be trampled or blown to bits.

And then it was five miles. Six? She lost count. The Goblins slowed after a time. The frantic pace eased. Because the Humans weren’t chasing them. Not just them. It was the figure in the distance, always a thousand feet or so behind that they were concerned with.

Tremborag. He ran as hard as he could, his body heaving with effort. He stumbled and fell and got up, he gasped for air. He ran, but the Goblins ahead of him were always out of reach. The Humans forced them to keep away from the Great Chieftain. And he was tiring. Of all the Goblins, he was the largest. And his footsteps grew ever more slower, his breathing harder.

He collapsed after the eighth mile of running. The Hob fell to his knees as the Humans slowed to a snail’s pace behind him. They threw spells over his head, blew their horns. But he could run no further. Tremborag panted, so dehydrated that the sweat had stopped rolling off his body. He looked behind him and saw the Humans approaching slowly, so slowly, at a leisurely walk.

Like hunters moving in for the kill. Tremborag turned and bared his teeth.

“You damned Humans. You think that this—”

He tried to heave himself up and failed. Tremborag sprawled onto his back. He stared up at the sky and made a noise. It might have been a growl of frustration. But it sounded like a sob.

“Like this? Like this? Without my tribe? Those cowards—like this? Impossible. I cannot die here. Not like this. It should have been—I should have—”

He scrabbled at the grass and dirt, trying to pull himself up. He stared at the Goblins, who’d paused to look back at him, no longer hounded by the Humans. Tremborag stared at his tribe, at the faces in the distance. He tried to shout, but his lungs were too exhausted.

“Damn you. Cowards! Traitors, every one! I am your Chieftain! I am Tremborag! I—”

His voice faltered. Tremborag sagged. He stared at the Goblins. They made no move to help him. They watched, as the Humans drew closer in the distance.

All except one. She kicked her Carn Wolf forwards, ignoring the warnings of her tribe. She raced past the Goblins who tried to catch her. A small Goblin riding a Carn Wolf. Tremborag’s eyes widened as he saw Rags riding at him.

She had a black crossbow in her hands, a short sword and buckler at her side. Her eyes blazed as she stopped her Carn Wolf in front of Tremborag. She raised her crossbow.

“You.”

“Me.”

Rags agreed softly. Tremborag stared at her. Then he pushed himself up. He sat back and laughed.

“So! The child comes in the moment of my death. Not Redfang or the slave, but the child. How pathetic. How fitting, isn’t it? For this?”

He waved a claw back at the Humans. Rags narrowed her eyes. She raised her crossbow and aimed at Tremborag’s chest.

“Didn’t come here to talk.”

“No. You came to kill me before the Humans did.”

Tremborag grinned at Rags, his chest heaving painfully. He tapped his chest.

“Well? Go on. Shoot me. Kill me! End the Great Chieftain of the Mountain here, child! End it! I have outlived our last Goblin King! I have built my tribe, seized the home of Dwarves and seen the rise and fall of legends! End it with one pathetic little piece of wood and metal. And ride away until it is your turn. Know the truth.”

Rags raised her crossbow.

“Truth? Truth is that Humans won. You die.”

Tremborag laughed hoarsely. He sat forwards, his shoulder drooping. The Great Chieftain looked beaten as he shook his head.

“You think so? This—this was never about Humans. This was about Goblins. About pride. About our destiny.”

The small Goblin paused. Rags had been aiming carefully, choosing her shot. She stared suspiciously at Tremborag.

“Destiny? What destiny? This is your fault. You lose mountain, fight Reiss. You run, now Humans kill you for trouble. You die.”

Tremborag chuckled.

“You think so? This started—all of this started with that damned Goblin. Greydath. You met him. You know what he’s capable of. Do you think he couldn’t have stopped the Humans? Or—or challenged Reiss to battle? Or led the tribes? But no, he stayed in my mountain. Hidden. It was only when you appeared. You and Redfang and the slave. When you came, he had no more use for me. So—it ends.”

He gestured around aimlessly. Rags frowned.

“Greydath did? How?”

“By doing nothing.”

Tremborag hissed. His chest was fire. He clutched it, trying to breathe more steadily.

“Do you think—he was just sitting in my mountain, pretending to be Greybeard—for nothing? No. The world is vast. You think this army is frightening? I have known greater. Far greater. And our King—even he was not enough to face it all. See the truth, child. The Goblin Kings are pawns. Not of Humans or Drakes—but of the Goblin Lords.”

Rags had settled on Tremborag’s nose. Her finger hesitated in the trigger.

“Goblin Lords?”

Tremborag heaved one pain-filled breath, and then another. He sat forwards as Rags uncertainly moved her Carn Wolf a step forwards, and then back.

“Yes. But not like the slave. Reiss is a lord, but the true ones…why do you think Greydath sat in my mountain for so long after his King’s death? When the others died? No—the true Lords—don’t trust them. They are not Goblin.”

He breathed hard as Rags hesitated. Was Tremborag insane? But he was speaking urgently now, leaning forwards and despite herself, Rags listened.

“What do you mean?”

Tremborag’s breathing was weaker. He gestured Rags closer, gasping for air.

“Greydath. The true Lords search for a King. Not because we need one, but because they can use them. You do not remember. You—Curulac listened and they used him. Velan did not and he died less than a year after becoming a King.”

Rags shook her head.

“Curulac? But he lived only hundred days. Curulac of Hundred Days.”

“Hah!”

Tremborag sat back, and laughed once, hoarsely.

“You think that was all he lived? You have not seen his past. He lived longer than Velan. For years! But when they were done with him, the Lords—they betrayed him. They turned him against the Humans for a hundred days of war! That is the fate of kings. But Velan didn’t listen. So they sent only one of their number with Velan. Greydath of Blades. The other lord were lesser. Not like Greydath.”

“What?”

None of that made sense. Rags knew of the Second Antinium War, at least, parts of it. She remembered.

“Other Lords were strong. There was—Tallis. Stormbreaker.”

He had been powerful. But again Tremborag laughed. He scooted forwards, coughing, looking at Rags. The Humans were drawing closer now. Rags could see them watching her and him. Her attention wavered between the riders and Tremborag.

“Tallis? Tallis wasn’t one of them. He could have been. But he rose at the same time as Velan. He was Velan’s friend. He told me the truth. And I begged Velan to reconsider. But he didn’t. And the Lords conspired. They let him die.”

Tremborag’s voice was softer. Rags drew closer, ignoring the warnings ringing in her mind that she should run before the Humans reached her. She stared at Tremborag. He had known this? Why didn’t he tell the others? Or was that why Greydath had been in his mountain for so long? He had begged—

Tremborag? Beg? Rags wavered. She opened her mouth and realized Tremborag was right in front of her. Then she saw the Great Chieftain look up and his eyes flare blood-red.

He lunged. Rags yelped and her Carn Wolf leapt back, barking in surprise. Tremborag swiped at her and the tips of his claws nearly caught Rags. Nearly. She felt the wind as they missed her and turned her Carn Wolf. It leapt back as Tremborag cursed and swiped at her again. But the wolf bounded back and Rags paused, panting, twenty feet away.

“Damn you!”

Tremborag coughed and roared at her. Rags raised her crossbow in one trembling claw. Nearly. He’d nearly got her. She stared at Tremborag with pure hatred.

“You are a stinky wolf poo! Was it a lie? All?”

She waved her free hand angrily. Tremborag was lying on his back, covered in sweat and dirt. He stared up at the sky. When he spoke, it was angrily.

“A lie? What does it matter?”

He heaved himself up, panting with effort. Tremborag glared at Rags, ignoring the crossbow aimed at his eye.

“Why do I need to tell you anything? Truth? Lies? I owe you nothing, child! Why do you need to know my past? I am Tremborag! And you are worthless. Just like that traitor. Quietstab.”

Rags felt the word strike her like blow to the chest. She reeled, and her eyes narrowed.

“You are not-Goblin.”

“Am I? Then kill me, nameless child! Shoot me! Or are you afraid?”

Tremborag grinned at Rags. He lowered his voice. The Humans were so close now. Rags could see their faces, looking at her like Tremborag. Like monsters. And Tremborag was whispering to her.

“You think Quietstab was loyal? He told me everything about your tribe before the end. Everything, every scrap he could before he perished, to save his miserable neck. Should I tell you about how he begged me when he died? How I made him suffer at the last?”

Rags saw flashes of red. Her finger trembled on the crossbow’s trigger. Tremborag spread his arms, daring her. He was right there. She could kill him. It didn’t matter if she died. She just wanted to hurt him for hurting her. Hurt him and hurt his tribe. And then they would attack her, and she would kill them, and—

She barely saw Tremborag’s claw sliding into the ground in time. Rags shouted and pulled the crossbow’s trigger. Her bolt went wide, but Tremborag jerked and the handful of soil he was about to hurl at her and Carn Wolf missed. He lunged again, but Rags danced back.

“You—you—”

She shouted at Tremborag, trembling. He just laughed.

“Come on! Strike me! You coward! You traitor with no name!”

He wanted her to kill him. He wanted her to attack. Because if he did, he could kill her. And Rags would gladly do it. But she could see the future, not because of a Skill or magic, but just because she knew what would happen. She would kill Tremborag. Or he would kill her. And then his tribe would try and kill her, or the Humans would kill him. It didn’t matter who killed who. Someone else would do more killing.

Just like Riverfarm. Just like the burning. Like the [Emperor]. He killed her Goblins. So she burned the Humans. And so he sent his army to kill her. It was what the fate of Goblins. Kill and be killed and kill again.

As Goblins do. As Goblins have always done. Rags’ eyes opened wide. She looked Tremborag, who was watching her, teeth bared. Then she looked around. At the Humans, at the watching Goblins. And slapped her forehead.

“Oh. A circle.”

“A what?”

Tremborag blinked at her. Rags stared at him blankly, then looked down at her crossbow. It wasn’t even reloaded. She absently patted her growling Carn Wolf on the head and looked around.

“Okay. Going now. Bye.”

“What? No! Come back and finish this!”

Tremborag looked incredulous as Rags turned her mount. He rose up, managed to get to his feet. He stood straighter and Rags realized he’d been pretending to be more tired than he was as well! Tremborag’s voice grew deeper and he shouted at her.

“You coward! Don’t you want to see me dead?”

Rags shrugged. She stowed the crossbow on the holster on her back.

“Humans will do that. I don’t need to.”

“You—is that how you fight? Hiding behind Humans? Running? I challenge you, Chieftain to Chieftain!”

The huge Hob pounded his chest. But now Rags looked at him and didn’t feel angry. She shook her head as Tremborag lumbered a few steps towards her and kicked her Carn Wolf, keeping a distance between him and her. She spoke slowly and deliberately to Tremborag’s snarling, desperate face.

“Tremborag. You are big. And fat. And stupid. And ugly. And smelly. And have bad breath.”

He looked at her. Rags met his eyes and for a moment the two Chieftains just glared at each other. A child riding a wolf and the exhausted Goblin of the Mountain. For a moment Rags thought she knew Tremborag. Because she recognized the terrible fear and desperation in his eyes. She looked away.

“Sorry. Goodbye.”

Rags kicked her Carn Wolf in the side and it bounded away, towards the Goblins in the distance. Tremborag watched her go. He stared at the distant shape, a bounding red wolf and green rider. Then he turned.

The Humans had stopped to let him finish his conversation with Rags. Perhaps they’d been hoping she’d kill him. Humans loved stories like that. Now they rode forwards. Tremborag saw a group of Humans dismount from their horses and spread out. He saw glowing armor, grim faces. Tremborag glanced over his shoulder at Rags.

He wished he could have killed her. The Great Chieftain’s claws clenched as the Humans spread out. More were dismounting, regular [Soldiers]. And he could see a winding column behind them, moving fast. The Human’s infantry, armed with spears, swords. So many of them. An army far too large for even a Goblin Lord. Or at least, one of Reiss’ caliber.

That struck Tremborag as funny. He laughed and then wheezed as the blood in his lungs made him cough. He wiped at his mouth and glanced around. There were two dozen men and women, all armed with magical artifacts encircling him.

Gold-rank adventurers. Tremborag saw the first, a man with a bow, step forwards. He looked like any other Human, really. Save for the enchanted gear, Tremborag wouldn’t have recognized him as different from the others he’d killed over the years. Even his voice was the same.

“We remember you, Goblin. We owe you death a hundred times over for our friends. So this will be slow.”

Tremborag sighed. He turned and looked back at Rags. She was still riding towards his tribe, towards her tribe and the Goblin Lord’s army and Garen Redfang’s warriors. But he thought she was looking at him. The Great Chieftain of the Mountain stared at Rags and imagined crushing her head between his claws for a second. Then he felt a sharp pain in his arm.

He looked back. The Human had shot him! Tremborag glanced down at the arrow. It wasn’t enchanted. Stupid Humans. He plucked the arrows from his arm.

“Goblin—”

So this was how it ended. Tremborag looked back at the distant Rags, tuning out the Humans again. He looked at his kind, watching him, and felt the Goblin Lord, sitting there like a mountain in his mind. But the true mountain was ahead of Tremborag. He looked over the angry Gold-rank adventurer’s head at the mountain far off in the distance, so far away.

His home. How far he’d come. Tremborag glanced back at Rags again, and growled. So the child fled. Fine. But let her see one thing at least. Let her look. He turned as the Gold-rank adventurer, indignant at being ignored, raised his bow.

He was ten paces away from Tremborag. Ten Human paces. Or a single bound for the Hob. Tremborag leapt. The sweaty fat on his body rippled. Muscles grew and his face contorted. A claw reached out and seized the Human before he could leap back. Tremborag bent and pulled. The Human’s head screamed and screamed before it crushed between his fingers. Tremborag dropped the body and looked around.

Gone was the fat Hob that had stood there moments before. A monster rose, teeth shining, muscle and flesh rippling. Tremborag’s voice was booming as he turned to the shocked Humans.

“Slow enough for you, Humans?”

They backed up away from him, and then remembered they were here to kill him. The Gold-rank adventurers raised their weapons and the [Soldiers] aimed bows and trained spears on Tremborag. The Great Chieftain of the Mountains laughed. He spread his arms.

“Let me show you fear.”

Then he leapt. The tip of a spear pierced his stomach. The adventurer hacked at his arm. Fire faced down his body and light exploded in his eyes. Tremborag roared and bit the Human in two. He swung his arm and sent soldiers flying. He pounded a Human with a shield to paste and flung another screaming into the air. The Gold-rank adventurers swarmed around him, but they were slow. Their magic was weak. He grabbed them, tore their arms off. Then they fled. The soldiers attacked Tremborag from all sides, but their arrows were weak. Their steel bent.

The [Mages] burned him. They struck him with missiles made of light. Tremborag charged one and felt his body shiver as it struck a barrier. He broke it and bore the mage to the ground, biting him, tearing him apart. The soldiers drew back. Tremborag flung the guts at them, roared—

And then saw them pull back. The flames burning him went out. Tremborag turned, his blood boiling, and saw him.

Tyrion Veltras. The [Lord] sat on top of his mount, lance in hand. For a moment the Great Chieftain hesitated, then he grinned savagely. Better than the child. He made a mocking bow.

“Greetings, Lord Veltras.”

The move surprised Tyrion. The Human stared at Tremborag as his soldiers pulled back, forming a ring around Tremborag.

“You know of me, Goblin?”

Tremborag grinned. He was bleeding. But he made his voice mocking.

“Even we wretched Goblins heard of the mighty Tyrion Veltras. And his fallen wife. Did she trip off the balcony, boy? Or did one of your enemies push her? And do you fill your bed with another woman or do you sleep alone?”

His insults struck home. Tyrion’s cold face twisted into fury and the Humans behind him shuddered. The [Lord] slowly reached up and lowered his visor. His voice, when he spoke, was barely controlled with fury.

“There is nothing you know of me.”

Tremborag grinned.

“I know how you bleed. Come, boy. Show me how strong Humans are with your enchanted weapons and magic.”

He spread his arms. Tyrion didn’t wait. He kicked his mount forwards and sped at Tremborag, lance aimed for his heart. But the Goblin was ready. He turned and struck like lightning, trying to punch Tyrion off his mount. The [Lord] raised his shield and the fist met the enchanted metal.

A thunderous impact made the watchers wince. The horse reared and Tyrion reeled back in his saddle. Tremborag roared as swiped again, but Tyrion lashed out with his lance.

“[Repel Point]!”

The lance tip struck Tremborag’s raised arm. But instead of sending the Great Chieftain flying backwards, it was Tyrion’s mount that was thrust back. The horse reared and danced, but the [Lord] fought it down. He circled Tremborag, checking himself as the Great Chieftain growled.

“Was that it? Come on, boy. Save your life with another Skill. Did you fail to save your wife? Or was she a nuisance?”

He expected Tyrion to charge again, but the [Lord] didn’t. Instead, he rode his mount back towards the edge of the circle. There he turned and set himself. He was going to charge. Tremborag grinned. He made a fist.

One Skill. One Skill would do it. He waited as Tyrion lowered his lance. Then the [Lord] charged. He came at Tremborag from the left, his lance aimed at Tremborag’s shoulder. Before he was in range, Tremborag roared.

“[Great Slash]!”

He cut at Tyrion and his horse with a blow that severed the air. The ground tore. Tremborag saw Tyrion raise his lance and he heard a calm voice. As calm as ice.

“[Lightning Hooves].”

And his horse blurred. Tremborag saw it blur around his claw. Tyrion appeared on his left, circled, charged again.

So quick. Tremborag lashed out once more, but his claws were so slow. And Tyrion’s lance flickered in his hands. He changed directions as he switched his grip. Suddenly his horse was galloping right and his lance was aimed—

A cold tip pierced Tremborag’s chest, just above his heart. For a second Tremborag blinked at it, watching the lance move slowly. So slowly. He looked up and saw two blazing eyes staring at him through the visor. Then time returned.

The lance went through his chest, shattering bone and piercing flesh. Tremborag stumbled. He raised a claw, gasped. The pain was—he tried to grab Tyrion, but the [Lord] had one hand on the lance. He twisted it and pulled it from Tremborag’s chest. And the Great Chieftain fell. His knees struck the ground and he lay on his back.

So quick. It had been just like—just like—like—

—-

“Tremborag. Join me.”

Velan the Kind stood in Tremborag’s throne room. Alone. His Goblin Lords had left him. His legions of warriors were camped outside Tremborag’s mountain. That left only Tremborag with Velan, and the Goblin King was small, barely taller than any other Hob, really.

But it didn’t make Tremborag feel any less small. The Chieftain of the Mountain City tribe hesitated. He was huge, a giant among Hobs. Or perhaps something else. Velan had brought other Goblins like him, Goblins who were more than just Hobgoblins. Hulking creatures of muscle and teeth, as close to half-Giants as anything else. Like him.

But for all his strength and height, Tremborag felt crushed by the Goblin King. Velan stood in front of him, looking up and looking down on Tremborag all at once. He repeated himself.

“Join me, Tremborag.”

“No.”

Tremborag’s voice trembled with the effort of saying it. He had nearly quailed in the face of the Goblin Lord. To say it to the Goblin King was a thousand times harder. But he had his reason.

He did not want to die. And he was prepared to grovel or argue to beg or bribe. But Velan just nodded.

“Very well.”

He turned away. Tremborag gaped at him. Velan looked around the grand throne room, centuries of neglect and filth turning rich Dwarven work into a Goblin’s home.

“Will you stay here?”

“Yes. I will not march. I will hide from the Humans. This mountain will be my home. Forever.”

Again, Tremborag expected Velan to argue, to call him a coward. To say anything. But all the Goblin King did was smile as if he was pleased.

“Good. Hide here. It will not be many months, before it ends, I think.”

He looked around the throne room again. Tremborag gaped at him. The question slipped from his mouth before he could stop it.

“Why are you doing this? What is the reason for this war? What is our purpose?”

“Purpose?”

Velan turned back to Tremborag. His gaze flickered and Tremborag quailed. A memory of Velan’s rage made him look to his doors. If he were to be engulfed in his fury, only the Goblin Lords would be able to calm him. But Velan did not rage. Instead, he looked up at Tremborag and shrugged. It was a very Goblin thing to do.

“We have no purpose. This war is not to create or fill any task. Just to end. Just because must be.”

Tremborag stared at Velan.

“Then why—why fight? You made peace on Baleros. Why fight?”

Velan didn’t answer him. Not at first. The Goblin King looked up at the ceiling and at Tremborag’s throne. And there was sadness in his eyes. Sadness, and a regret that haunted Tremborag’s dreams ever after.

“We fulfilled our oaths long ago. We were there when the world betrayed itself. And we brought death to the world in return. We won that war, though it cost us all. Our family, our people, our King—all of it was worth the price. And now, what remains is vengeance.”

“Against what?”

“Everything.”

The Goblin King gazed past Tremborag, straight through him. He touched his eyes and shook his head. When he looked at Tremborag, dark rage filled his eyes, a rage so hot that it could burn Dragons.

“Rage consumes me. Stay in your mountain. Let the children hide here. The children and the next. I have failed. All I can do is plant the seeds for the next. If you would be one of them, seek these out.”

He turned abruptly and reached for something at his side. He showed Tremborag the keys. They were ordinary, apparently made of steel. But they captured the light. Velan looked at them sadly.

“One day there will be a King again. And they will follow in my footsteps. Forever. Until all Goblins perish or all others do. We cannot help it. We cannot forget. But maybe next time…”

He trailed off. Velan turned towards the doors and walked away. Tremborag sat on his throne, feeling small. He half-rose and shouted after Velan.

“What should I do, then? What is my purpose? To hide? To wait? To seek?”

Velan turned at the doors. His eyes captured Tremborag’s and he shook his head.

“Live, Chieftain of the Mountain. Just—live.”

And then he was gone. Tremborag never saw Velan again, but he remembered the keys. He remembered the past. And he wondered—

He wondered if Velan had known all along how it would end.

—-

Tyrion Veltras shook blood off of his lance as he slowly rode back. Cheering filled the air and the Humans raised their weapons and shouted wildly. The gigantic Goblin lay on the ground, a bloodied mess. Tyrion was checking his mount and offering his lance to Jericha when the body stirred.

The cheering stopped. Slowly, Tremborag sat up. He blinked down at the hole in his chest and touched the blood running to the ground like water. Tyrion paused as Tremborag rose to his feet. The Great Chieftain stared at the [Lord]. Tyrion spoke calmly.

“You are dead, Goblin.”

Tremborag laughed. He shook his head and bared his teeth at Tyrion. His voice was hoarse. His face pale. But he stood and opened his claws.

“I am Tremborag. And only I decide when it is time to die.”

Tremborag took a step forwards. Bows twanged and arrows sprouted from his body from all sides. He laughed as more struck him and Humans rushed forwards. He turned and brought his claws down, crushing metal and bone. He raised his arms as a fireball exploded, burning away part of the flesh on his chest.

“Come, Humans! Come with your armies! Bring your thousands against me!”

He swept the Humans away. He crushed them with his feet. He bit and roared as they cut at him.

“I am TREMBORAG! Chieftain of the Mountains! Come! Show me death!”

And they tried. They brought steel by the hundreds, piercing his flesh. They shot arrows into him, seeking his heart. Tremborag rampaged through their lines, leaving crimson in his wake. Bleeding it.

Fire rained from the skies. They broke the earth. Spears of magic pierced his flesh. Metal shattered his bones. Tremborag felt none of it. He burned, cutting, snarling, tearing. And a thought grew in his mind.

Is this what you saw, Velan? Is this the fate of Goblins?

There were so many. Every Human he killed seemed to spawn another one. But there was one Tremborag was looking for. His eyes were filled with blood. Then one was gone. But he could see Tyrion Veltras at last. Standing in front of him, sword drawn. There were…Humans in front of him. Tremborag strode towards him, ignoring the pain, the shadows that tore parts of him away.

A little bit further. A little bit. The Human was standing in front of him, surrounded by steel and spell. But his eyes were only for Tremborag. The Great Chieftain lurched forwards, teeth bared. He had to do it. Show them what a Goblin was. What a real Chieftain was.

Show them—show them—

Show who? Tremborag looked around. He couldn’t remember who he was trying to show. And now he was alone. He couldn’t see anything anymore. It was all dark.

Why was he here? Tremborag tried to remember. He blundered around. And then he saw it. Sitting there, just a little bit away. A giant heavy thing. Something to focus on. A beautiful piece of stone.

His mountain. His small home. Why wasn’t he there? Tremborag belonged in his home.

He walked forwards, stumbling. The world had gone quiet around him. He walked towards the mountain, stumbling, falling, getting back up. He was getting tired and the mountain was so far way. Why had he left it?

He was so tired. Maybe if he had a nap, he’d feel better. Tremborag looked around. It was so quiet. So dark. So…peaceful. He sat down and closed his eyes. He’d just sleep a little bit. Until he could wake up. His mountain wasn’t going anywhere. And Tremborag would return. He would. He had made his home there. A place to live. He sat, exhausted.

The air was so warm—

—-

At last he stopped. Rags saw the Goblin, the Great Chieftain of the Mountain, sit down. His back was to them. The bloody, torn figure wasn’t green anymore. It was black. And it looked nothing like a Goblin. Nothing like anything, really. Arrows covered Tremborag’s body and mages and warriors had torn him apart. But still he’d fought.

Now he sat, facing north. Away from the Goblins. Away from the Humans, who’d just let him walk away. Tremborag sat, what remained of his head bowed. Facing a small shape on the horizon. A mountain.

He didn’t move. He didn’t stir as the Humans stared at his back. At last, one of them shot an arrow into his back and another approached and stabbed him in the back. Tremborag didn’t move.

He was dead. He had been dead for a while. But somehow he had kept moving. Now he’d stopped. It still took the Humans a long time to believe it. The bloodied Humans surrounded Tremborag, until one of them climbed up and removed his head. Then the head was raised with three Humans holding it and the army cheered raggedly. Desperately, as if to say it was worth it.

But the blood that stained the grass told a different tale. And the Goblins who watched saw the Humans turn away after cheering briefly and mourn their dead. But the Goblins could not enjoy that either.

Because they were weeping. Rags was, at least. She couldn’t see through the tears. And though she brushed the water away, it kept coming.

It made no sense. Tremborag had been a monster. He had deserved to die. But she couldn’t help it. She wept, not for him, but for Goblins. And she saw the same tears in the eyes of her tribe.

Reiss did not weep. Neither did Garen. The two Hobs stood facing each other, at the head of their tribes. They waited, and eventually the Goblins realized there was a choice to be made.

The Mountain City tribe had lost their Great Chieftain, but they were intact. The Humans had spared almost all of them to slay only Tremborag. Now the tribe looked and saw the two Hobs, standing on either side.

Garen and his Redfang Warriors. And Reiss, the Goblin Lord and his army. Two kinds of Goblins stood, waiting. The Mountain City tribe looked from Garen to Reiss as the Hobs waited, expectantly. And then all eyes turned to Rags.

She wiped tears from her eyes as she stood on the back of her Carn Wolf. She looked at the Mountain City Goblins, at Ulvama who was weeping too, at the Hobs who she had tried to kill and the Goblin warriors who wept for Tremborag. She raised her voice and shouted raggedly, pointing at Tremborag’s body.

“This is Goblin! This is our end! We kill Humans and they kill us! Drakes kill us and we kill them. But they come back. Every time. This is how Goblins die.”

The Goblins looked up at her. Despair made Rags’ throat close up, but she forced herself to keep going.

“Tremborag was not-Goblin! But he died as Goblins do. As Goblins always do. But it is not how we have to die.”

They looked at her, disbelieving, but waiting for her to go on. Rags closed her eyes. She thought of burning houses, of the blind [Emperor], and of Tremborag. Then she opened them.

“I have seen our past and future. And it is a circle. It goes around and around. But if Goblins want to live, they cannot go in a circle. They have to change. They have to—stop.”

The Goblins of the Mountain City tribe stared at Rags. Her Flooded Waters tribe gazed at their Chieftain. Garen’s Redfangs looked up at Rags. And the Goblin Lord’s army looked at the small Goblin. Reiss’ looked shocked, Garen incredulous. But slowly, the Goblins moved. The Mountain City tribe slowly streamed towards Rags.

Not all of them. Maybe just over a half. But while some went to Garen and some went to Reiss, the rest went to Rags. They spat hatred at the Goblin Lord and shook their heads and turned away from Garen. And they flocked around Rags who wept for the Great Chieftain of the Mountain. And the Goblin Lord turned, furious and shocked and confused at once and saw a Drake was standing to one side, staring at him.

“Does she mean a cycle?”

Osthia Blackwing pointed at Rags. Reiss nodded. The Drake’s expression cleared.

“Ah. That makes a lot of sense. Looks like they trust her more than you.”

She paused, smirking at Reiss, then frowned.

“Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“That was what he said.”

Reiss spoke softly. Osthia frowned.

“Who said?”

“Velan the Kind. Before he became the Goblin King. He called it the cycle that bound all of Goblinkind, of violence and retribution. He tried to break it.”

The Drake’s eyes went round. She looked at Rags and suddenly her expression was worried. Wary.

“Do you—do you think she’s like him? Could she have the potential to—Reiss?”

Reiss didn’t look at Osthia. He’d gone completely still. The Drake looked back at Rags, then at Reiss. Her nerves turned to anger.

“Well? Is she like Velan? Could she be a Goblin King?”

He didn’t respond. Angrily, Osthia reached out and shook Reiss. And then he turned his head. His eyes were black and the pupils white, as always. But someone else gazed out through the white pupils, as if they were a window.

“That child? She is nothing like the previous Goblin King.”

Osthia recoiled. Reiss looked around. Only it wasn’t Reiss who spoke. His voice was completely different, as was the way he moved. And looked at her. The person who wore Reiss’ body turned and regarded Osthia coldly.

“I recall you, Drake. I ordered my apprentice to slay you. Another failing. Another moment of disobedience.”

That voice. Osthia remembered it. She couldn’t forget it. Her claws tightened into fist. Her tail thrashed.

“Az’ker—”

Reiss’ finger rose. He pointed at her chest.

“[Deathbolt].”

A ripple of darkness shot from his finger and passed straight through Osthia’s chest. She gasped, and then, soundlessly, collapsed. Az’kerash, or Reiss, or some mixture of the two, idly kicked her onto her back.

Osthia Blackwing lay on the ground, her eyes opened wide in surprise. Her mouth was slightly agape. Her face was pale, almost white. Drained of life. One of her claws—the one with the black ring on it—was clenched into a fist. Az’kerash, wearing his apprentice’s face, studied the body dismissively and then looked around.

“I see much has changed since we last communicated, my apprentice. Walk with me and tell me what has occurred.”

Slowly, jerkily, Reiss began to move. He walked past the Goblins clustered around Rags, head turning to inspect the fallen form and the Human army. Snapjaw and Eater of Spears stared at their leader, and the Goblins around Reiss drew back. Garen turned his head and bared his teeth. He reached for his sword.

—-

Lord Tyrion Veltras stood in front of the misshapen head that had been Tremborag. He regarded the shape, wrinkled his nose at the burnt smell of flesh and turned away.

“Enough. Jericha, allow the soldiers to parade the head about if they wish. I doubt any of the nobility would care for it as a trophy in its current state. Now, prepare a short missive to be sent to every city in the north.”

“At once, sire.”

Jericha readied the spell as Tyrion stood surrounded by his army. Tyrion Veltras waited until she signaled she was ready and spoke curtly.

“The Great Chieftain of the Mountain is dead. He was slain by Human hands, on Human lands. Let his death be a message to all those who would threaten Izril. The Goblin Lord is next.”

He nodded to Jericha. And that was it. The [Message] spell was sent to every Mage’s Guild by magic, and within moments it was speeding to Drake cities, across the world. The news was distorted as it went from person to person, even with magic. It captured some of the meaning, lost some of the nuance. But it was ever the same.

The Great Chieftain is dead.

Tremborag has been slain.

The Great Chieftain of the Mountains is no more.

Tremborag of the Mountain has fallen. The Goblin Lord flees ever onwards. And the Great Chieftain of Dwarfhalls Rest, the Goblin who knew Velan the Kind, the Chieftain of the Mountain City tribe, Tremborag, is gone.

Just like that.

5.52

Erin Solstice was sleeping, and then she woke up. That was generally how her life worked. She squirmed about comfortably in the blankets that were her bed in one corner of the kitchen, and then opened her eyes. Sleepily, she changed clothes beneath the sheets, grabbing freshly laundered clothes from the neat pile lying next to her bed. Ishkr was good at washing things.

Next, Erin got up. She looked around, yawned, and then opened a cupboard for breakfast. Normally, in her world, she would have pulled out a box of cereal. Or a sugary pop tart. Or, if she was really energetic, she’d go to the fridge for some eggs or find some bread to toast. But in this world, Erin reached into the cupboard and pulled out a steak, seared to perfection and glazed with a bit of butter and sauce. She stared at it and shook her head.

“Nah.”

She put the plate back in the cupboard and peered inside. After a second, Erin came out with a ham and cheese roll. She licked her lips, and went over to her oven.

It took Erin seconds to light the fire and find some tongs to warm the roll up over the fire. Soon it was steaming hot and she juggled it as she bit into the warm sandwich. She looked around, opened another cupboard that she’d labeled ‘drinks’, and pulled out a pitcher filled with milk. She filled a cup as she chewed, and had herself a breakfast on a stool in the kitchen.

Life was good. Erin hummed as she got out more food for breakfast. She’d been thinking of introducing the wonders of muesli and fruit into the lives of her guests. It was certainly healthy, but she feared she’d have a riot on her hands from Ceria, Jelaqua, and Mrsha, who all loved meat. And since Erin had had a roll, she decided she’d postpone her tyranny via oats for another day and got out more premade sandwiches and began to toast them one by one.

The trick to using her [Field of Preservation] Skill was to know if the food she was making needed to be rewarmed or if it was going to be okay cold. Because if it needed to be warmed up, it wasn’t a good idea to toast it ahead of time. Then you’d just burn the bread. Without a microwave and with only a fire, Erin had learned a lot about which foods could be reheated without drying out or catching on fire.

The cold sandwiches quickly became hot, delicious meals on a big plate. Erin carried it out to the living room and heard rustling above her head. Lyonette and Mrsha were probably getting up about now. Erin smiled and hummed louder to herself, ready to face the day.

Which reminded her. Erin went over to her magical door and checked the little wooden bowl filled with mana stones. Green, red, yellow…they shone different colors as she picked up the red mana stone, ready to open the door to the Redfang’s cave. It wasn’t hard to figure out which mana stone led to which location; they were color coordinated after all. But Erin did wish she could make the magic of her door automatic.

“I guess that’s the difference between a movie and real life. Yep, yep. The only difference.”

Erin nodded to herself and then grinned. She was about to open the door to the Redfang’s cave when she remembered that she did occasionally get the early-morning visitor from Liscor and Celum. And they tended to get stroppy when she left them waiting at the door in Octavia’s shop or in the rain for a few minutes…or hours. She wasn’t sure which was worse, standing in Liscor’s ever-present rains, or having Octavia try to sell you something as the fumes from her potion shop seared your sinuses.

“Probably Octavia.”

Erin sighed and found the green stone for Liscor. She slapped it on the door, opened the door, and stared into the wet and dark streets of Liscor just before dawn. No one there. She shrugged, closed the door, plucked the green mana stone off and found the blue stone for Celum. She placed it on the door and then opened it.

A Dragon stared at her through the doorway. His eyes were bright yellow and his head was taller than she was. His nose was inches from Erin’s face. She froze.

He was standing in a massive cave. Where was Octavia’s shop? The question fled Erin’s mind as the Dragon opened his mouth. Red and orange flames licked around his teeth as he spoke.

“Human girl, do not be afraid. I am—”

“Aaah!”

Erin screamed and punched the Dragon straight in the nose. Instead of connecting with his scales, her fist passed through the Dragon’s face. Erin felt her fist connect with something else, though. Something that went crack. She heard a yelp and a crash.

The Dragon vanished. Erin blinked as Octavia’s shop, cluttered but familiar, appeared. And lying on the hardwood floor was a man with bright green hair. He was dressed in colorful blue robes decorated with magical symbols and mystical monsters like the dragon in gold, and he looked like he was in his mid-thirties. He was also lying on the ground, clutching a bleeding nose.

“What the heck?”

Erin stared at the man, and then looked around. Octavia’s shop was right there, as it always was. And sitting behind her counter as Octavia, frozen in the middle of eating her breakfast—a stale piece of bread with mold growing on one corner.

“Octavia? What’s going on?”

“You punched the magician.”

The Stich-Girl stared at Erin and then slowly bit into her piece of bread. Erin stared at her, and then heard a moan from the ground. She looked down. The [Mage] was getting up.

“E-Eltistiman Verdue, Miss. At your service. I do apologize for the scare. Ooh…”

He covered his bleeding nose. Erin stared at him.

“You were a Dragon. Why’d you do that?”

He winced.

“I rather hoped it would have impressed you. Scared—but impressed. I had an entire lineup ready to go, but I didn’t expect you to punch a Dragon in the nose. I’m terribly sorry. Just let me—”

With one hand covering his bleeding nose he fished in his robes and came out with a handkerchief. He covered his nose with that and then bowed slightly to Erin.

“As I said, my name is Eltistiman Verdue. I am a [Magician]. Do I have the honor of speaking to Miss Erin Solstice, proprietress of The Wandering Inn?”

“That’s right? You’re a [Magician]? Are you some kind of illusionist? A performer?”

Erin was starting to regret punching the man in the face. Sort of. What kind of a person sprang a Dragon on someone in the morning? Well…someone like Eltistiman, apparently. He nodded, trying to tilt his head back, pose, and speak all at the same time.

“I do tricks and wonderful illusions for all to see. I heard your inn was a gathering place for a wonderful new show—by the Players of Celum? I had hoped to audition to join them as part of the attraction, but I fear my first attempt was somewhat off-putting. I beg your forgiveness.”

“No, I’m really sorry. I uh, just have a thing about Dragons. Actually, I’m really sorry I punched you.”

Erin looked around frantically, then called out to Octavia.

“Um, Octavia? Can I buy a healing potion?”

The [Alchemist] brightened. So did Eltistiman. Erin beckoned him into the inn, flustered, embarrassed, and slightly amused all at once.

“Sorry. Have a seat and a healing potion, on me.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t—”

“No, really. You said you do illusions? I’m sure the Players would love to meet you, especially because Pisces has a job. You come over too, Octavia. And stop eating that bread! Is that the penicillin mold I wanted you to cultivate?”

“Nah, this one’s a bad batch.”

“Well, stop eating it! Have some breakfast in my inn. I have hot rolls. Come on—uh, Eltistiman you said? You can eat here. Do you like rolls? And what kind of illusions can you do?”

Erin beckoned the bemused [Magician] into her inn as Lyonette and Mrsha appeared at the top of the stairs, the [Princess] holding a sword. They were soon followed by Jelaqua with a flail, who relaxed as soon as she saw there was no danger.

Erin sat Eltistiman down as her guests filed down the stairs, a bit early to breakfast and carrying weapons. The [Magician] apologized as he sat down for breakfast, and Erin found herself going into the kitchen for more rolls and some coins for Octavia, who wanted payment in advance.

That was how she started her day. And apart from that, it was fairly ordinary. For her, that was. For other people, the day began as ordinary but quickly became quite interesting indeed…

—-

There was a lot Olesm could say about the culture around Drake [Tacticians] and [Strategists], and the way that Drakes made decisions, both militarily and politically. If pressed, he might even be able to say something complimentary. However, for all the chaos and infighting that went on between the Drake cities, it had to be said that they weren’t all idiots.

When the news of the Goblin Lord’s rout at Dwarfhalls Rest had reached the south (practically within minutes of it occurring thanks to the wonders of magic and paid informants), the Drakes had taken note and begun waiting for news of a pitched battle. But it never came.

Then they heard the Goblins were on the march with the Humans pursuing. A few suspicions had been raised, but there were countless reasons why Lord Tyrion’s force might not have chosen to engage just yet and so the Drakes had kept an earhole open while tending to their business. So a day had passed, then four days. And then eight.

By the ninth day, it was clear that the Humans were up to something. The Human army mustered by Tyrion Veltras had been pushing the Goblins at a breakneck pace, but they had yet to engage in any major clashes. The [Strategists] took a serious interest and came to a series of rapid conclusions.

“They’re trying to push the Goblins into our lands.”

Olesm handed out a sheaf of transcribed reports to Zevara, Embria, and Ilvriss as they sat around a meeting table. All three Drakes sat up at once and Zevara stopped yawning. She snatched the scroll from Olesm. The analysis from Zeres’ top [Strategist] had been supported by five other Drake [Strategists], hence the mass of notes and addendums to the report itself. Her eyes flicked back and forth rapidly as Embria and Ilvriss read their reports as well.

The newly minted [Strategist] of Liscor hovered nervously until he realized he should take a seat. He’d read the contents of the report already and he’d come to the same conclusion. Tyrion Veltras wasn’t going to fight the Goblin Lord. He was going to push the entire army straight through the High Passes or around Liscor so they could cause more havoc in Drake lands.

“That scaleless, fleshy bastard!”

Embria was the first to react. She hurled the report onto the table and stood up. She began striding about the conference room, her claws opening and closing as if she wished she were holding her spear. Ilvriss looked up and glowered.

“Swifttail, do you concur with this analysis?”

“I do, sir.”

Olesm gulped and sat up straight. He felt comfortable around the other Drakes normally—okay, he’d avoided sitting in the same room as Embria after she’d tried to invite him out for drinks and Ilvriss was still a Wall Lord—but right now he was in his official capacity and this had a direct impact on the safety of Liscor. He cleared his throat and his tail curled around his chair leg.

“I um, completely agree with the report. There’s no reason why Tyrion Veltras wouldn’t have attacked the Goblins already if he was intending to destroy the army. He outnumbers them both in quality and quantity of his troops, which is clearly overkill.”

“Clearly.”

Zevara muttered, still reading. Olesm nodded again. His leg jittered under the table, making the entire table vibrate slightly. He stopped and flushed.

“Sorry. It uh—yes, clearly he could have won at any time. But he delayed attacking for so long and he’s marched an entire army so far, at great expense I must add! If you factor in the cost of feeding so many soldiers and paying them, not to mention taking them away from their posts…”

Ilvriss was nodding.

“Clearly he has a plan. And this is it. In true Human fashion, he intends to push the threat of the Goblins onto us.”

“It’s sound strategy.”

That came from Embria. The red-scaled Drake looked like she was stepping on hot coals, but she nodded grudgingly as she went back to sit down. She looked at the other Drakes as she spoke.

“That Goblin Lord’s already destroyed two armies and taken out a pair of [Generals]. The Humans can let him rampage across our lands so that we’re weakened. Maybe they intend to beat us during the annual battle at the Blood Fields, or maybe this is part of something larger. Either way, the Goblin Lord is their weapon to do it. They can run him south and claim he ‘got away’.”

“No one would buy that, surely.”

Olesm protested weakly, but Ilvriss shook his head. The Drake ground his teeth together.

“The excuse would be flimsy, but it would work, politically. We have an accord with the Humans that prohibits unprovoked assaults onto Drake sovereignty. So long as they can pretend that they have no direct hand in what the Goblins do, they can claim they’re upholding the treaties.”

He grimaced. The other Drakes sitting at the table went silent, and then Zevara spat a lick of flame.

“Politics.”

She rolled up the scroll and tossed it at the table. Then she looked hard at Olesm. When she spoke, it was with the sharp edge to her tone that she used in battle. Olesm was relieved to hear it. Ilvriss might be a Wall Lord and Embria was technically his superior and an officer of Liscor, but Zevara was the Watch Captain. She held the walls and she was the one who made the decisions that kept Liscor safe.

“Olesm, you’re convinced the Goblins are headed south. The question I have for you is this: are they coming through the High Passes, or past Liscor?”

Olesm frowned and tapped the tips of his claws on the table.

“The report gives it seventy-thirty odds that they’re going through the High Passes rather than Liscor. The Goblins can probably survive marching through the base of the High Passes with minimal casualties—well, they’d probably get at least half across with the Goblin Lord leading them.”

“But you disagree?”

The [Strategist] hesitated. His mind was working hard now.

“I’m considering that they might come through Liscor, yes. And if they do, we’ll know soon.”

He went over to the map of Izril he’d brought to the table and pointed out Tyrion’s current position on the map.

“They’re four days away if they keep marching this fast. Maybe five or six if they hit delays, but four’s my estimate. If it’s the High Passes though, we’ll know tomorrow. They’ll have to change course and they’ll be there two days from now.”

Embria eyed the winding gap that marked the only other entrance point between north and south in the High Passes.

“Assuming they do that, there’s little we can do. They’ll pop out far further west. But say they come to Liscor.”

She tapped Liscor on the map and pointed out the basin that Liscor lay roughly in the center of. Embria shook her head.

“It’s foolish to try pushing the Goblins across the water while Liscor is flooded.”

“If they try to push the Goblins across the water, they’ll die by the tens of thousands to our archers on the walls and the monsters and fish in the waters. We can range them, if not with bows, then with spells. And they won’t have boats. They’ll be sitting ducks!”

Olesm nodded. That was what the [Strategist] from Zeres had written. But still—he frowned.

“That’s true Wing Commander Embria, but the High Passes are just as deadly. It might be safer to dare crossing the basin, especially if Rock Crabs and assaults from Liscor are the only dangers. We have limited arrows and even if we slew—what, forty thousand? How many arrows can our archers put out per minute? What if the Goblins travelled around the edge of the basin? That’s still a huge force if this Goblin Lord can keep it alive. And more if they link up with the Goblins from the dungeon.”

Embria paused. Ilvriss sat up slightly.

“You think Tyrion Veltras is aware of the Cave Goblin situation and intends to grow the Goblin Lord’s army?”

Olesm shook his head.

“I doubt he knows, Wall Lord. But it might complicate matters if he finds them there.”

Ilvriss nodded slowly.

“I have given much thought to the situation. There may be a few thousand Goblins living in the dungeon still, at least several hundred. Like all of the monsters that plague Liscor, they must be dealt with.”

Olesm’s stomach did an unhappy belly flop. Ilvriss sighed.

“It is my duty to say they should be eradicated without mercy. But to slay them outright…it sits ill on my conscience.”

“Yes sir. I completely agree.”

The Goblins had helped save the citizens of Liscor. More than that, Olesm had gotten to know the Redfang Goblins living in Erin’s inn and he couldn’t fathom the idea of killing them. Embria clearly didn’t share the same opinion, however.

“They may have served Liscor once, but they are monsters, Wall Lord. If you wish to reward them, give them an hour to run and then send the Watch and my soldiers after them.”

Ilvriss glanced up.

“You think you could rout an army of two thousand Cave Goblins, Wing Commander Embria? With your 4th Company?”

There were barely more than a hundred soldiers in her company. Olesm blinked, but Embria nodded confidently.

“Give me a thousand Level 10 [Soldiers] and I could take on an army twice as large. Against Goblins? Four times. My company and I were deployed to hold Liscor. If the Goblin Lord comes through Liscor by water, or these Cave Goblins need to be dealt with, the Watch supplemented by my soldiers can deal with either issue.”

The red-scaled Drake smiled confidently. Ilvriss nodded slowly and Zevara frowned, but didn’t object. As for Olesm, he nodded slowly as he did the calculations. Embria wasn’t lying, or boasting—much.

A hundred of her soldiers plus a thousand members of Liscor’s Watch could do just what she said. They’d proven it in the dungeon against the Raskghar; with low-level recruits and part of Liscor’s army, they could take on threats vastly above their level. All thanks to Embria and her officers.

It was Liscorian strategy—that was to say, a way of forming armies unique to Liscor. Liscor had an army of a few thousand strong at all times, a small army given how large the city was. Even smaller Human cities in the north half as large as Liscor had an army of at least five thousand! But the Watch was equivalent to any militia, and Liscor’s regular army didn’t need numbers to win battles. They had a trick, an open secret anyone in the military could figure out, really. And the secret had to do with classes.

At birth, each citizen of Liscor was formally conscripted into Liscor’s army with a small ceremony. It was a trivial detail for most, but it was mandated by law. None of Liscor’s citizens had to join the army, mind you. It was a formality, but that formality mattered very much for how Liscor’s army operated. Because it allowed them to promote their soldiers with impunity.

You couldn’t have an unlimited amount of officers in an army. That went against common sense and military protocol. There was no way you could have two [Generals] in the same army, obviously. In the same way, higher-ranking officers required a certain amount of [Soldiers] serving under them or they couldn’t change classes, even if they were promoted in rank. That usually posed a slight problem in other armies, but not in Liscor’s army.

Olesm wasn’t sure of the numbers, but if one [Sergeant] was promoted to command eight soldiers…or sixteen, or even thirty two….there was a finite number that could be fielded in any army. And smaller armies of a few thousand would have a few hundred sergeants at most. But if every citizen of Liscor was technically a soldier…

It was the trick that made Liscor’s army so deadly in small numbers. They had only a few thousand regulars in the army. But they had so many [Sergeants], [Captains], [Lieutenants], and even [Wing Commanders] that they could turn a group of low-level [Soldiers] into an army of war demons.

That was how Liscor fought. They kept an elite core of high-rank officers and constantly recruited soldiers who would fight under the effects of a dozen Skills at once. That was why a hundred or so of Embria’s soldiers and officers could actually turn the tide of battle if they fought with the City Watch. That was how General Sserys had held the Antinium in the first Antinium War at Shivering Falls Pass, and it was why Liscor’s army was famed throughout Izril.

Embria wasn’t wrong to think she could beat an equal or greater force with help from the Watch, but Olesm knew Liscor’s army wasn’t invincible. It had suffered defeats like any other force, and the Second Antinium War and the assault on Liscor by Az’kerash had shown just how weak Liscor’s army was to an enemy with powerful magical support…

“Olesm? Olesm!”

The Drake jumped. He looked around and realized Zevara was looking at him. He flushed and sat up.

“I’m sorry, what was that, Watch Captain?”

Zevara ignored his lapse as she tapped the map in front of her.

“So the Goblin Lord will be pushed through the High Passes or go around Liscor. That’s the contents of the report. What do you believe the reaction of the other cities will be?”

“Naturally, to ensure the Goblin Lord does not pass into Drake lands and disappear.”

Ilvriss frowned. Olesm nodded.

“I believe that the Walled Cities will put forward a motion to gather a truly large suppression army at Pallass. Or Zeres, if the Goblins move through the High Passes instead of Liscor. They will attempt to meet the Goblins and force them back to the Human lands in turn—or destroy them where they were.”

He grimaced, imagining how difficult it would be for all the cities to send the required number of soldiers to Pallass in time to repel the Goblins. Zevara just nodded.

“In that case, we can only wait to see what the Humans do. But if they come to Liscor, I’ll make sure the Goblin Lord’s army turns the waters red. I’m going to check our ammunition stores and recheck the status of the enchantments on our walls. Wall Lord Ilvriss has agreed to communicate with the other cities and Wing Commander Embria will do an inspection of our walls for weak points, if any. Is there anything else we should be doing?”

Olesm shook his head.

“No, I’ll ah, continue monitoring the progress of the Humans. I will of course report to you all when I have any information—”

He got up, trying to gather all the reports. Zevara nodded and turned. Embria was already striding out of the room. Ilvriss slid his report to Olesm. The older Drake sighed.

“Another damn complication. It seems like every other week a disaster strikes Liscor. I should have known this one was coming; trust a Human to make our lives difficult.”

“Yes sir.”

Olesm couldn’t argue with that. The enmity between Drakes and Humans was usually nothing pleasant, but he’d grown used to Humans, living so close to their lands in Liscor. But this Tyrion Veltras was known for his anti-Drake stance and he’d personally fought against Liscor in the annual battles in the Blood Fields many times. If anyone could be considered an enemy among the Humans, it was him. Ilvriss sighed as he put his claws behind his back and faced the rain-spattered windows.

“I think Watch Captain Zevara is overstating the danger. The Goblins may pass by our walls, but they’ll be no threat. For once, Liscor may relax.”

Our walls. Olesm noted the words, but all he did was nod.

“Yes, Wall Lord. But I thought I should bring it up given the situation.”

“Oh, of course. We must be informed at all times. You do your job with commendable attention, Swifttail.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Ilvriss smiled fondly at Olesm, as an uncle would to a nephew. Rather like how Olesm’s uncle Lism would puff up with pride, come to that. It wasn’t a favorable comparison. The Wall Lord frowned suddenly as Olesm was rolling his map up securely.

“That reminds me. Young Olesm, I know you’re an acquaintance of Miss Shivertail. Would you pass the results of the lottery to her or Guildmistress Tekshia in person? I would send a Street Runner, but I wouldn’t put it past some adventurers to waylay any messenger in hopes of altering the results.”

Olesm jumped. He stared as Ilvriss pulled out a folded bit of parchment and proffered it to the [Strategist]. Olesm took it nervously.

“Oh—the lottery’s finished?”

“It was decided by random lots yesterday. Fairly. Most of the teams acquired some manner of magical artifact or other and the rest will receive adequate gold as compensation. As will Liscor. Please inform the adventurers that they may begin picking up their shares here. In an orderly fashion.”

Ilvriss sighed as if he was already anticipating angry mobs. Olesm nodded.

“I’ll give it to Selys at once, sir.”

“Thank you, Swifttail. Now, I must inform Salazsar. Excuse me.”

Olesm left Ilvriss in the conference room. He stowed the reports and his map in his office and hurried down the stairs  and out of the city hall. He paused and stared up at the rain as it instantly soaked his scales, but he didn’t bother going back for his cloak, which he’d forgotten in his office. Instead, he just tucked the parchment Ilvriss had given him into his waterproof belt pouch and hurried through the streets, grumbling about the rain.

“I can’t wait for all this water to stop. When’s it going to end? It has to be next week at the latest, right?”

The [Strategist]’s aggrieved comments drew little notice from the Drakes and Gnolls hurrying about on their business in the wet streets. Complaining about the rain was practically a tradition in Liscor. That and moaning about clogged sewers or Quillfish. Then again, comments about the sewers had stopped due to a sudden improvement in the drainage system underneath Liscor, much to the displeasure of those who liked to groan about such things.

Olesm paused as a torrent of water from above nearly missed him. He shook a fist at a Drake who was unapologetically emptying a bucket from a balcony above, and wondered when he’d see the sun again. Maybe if he went to Celum after visiting Selys. It would be nice to see clear skies.

Clear skies. Olesm paused as he stared up at the cloudy, rain-sodden skies. When would Liscor have clear skies? It had to be…how long had it been raining? A month, now? He paused, and then picked up his pace. But this time he was staring up at the sky. The rain had to stop soon. Olesm felt that way as any native of Liscor did. But how soon? When, exactly, would it change? There was something about that thought that disturbed him greatly.

—-

Day ???

She dreamt she was floating in a sea of clouds. As high up as she could go, and resting on a cloud as soft as cotton. But then she felt a hideous pain in her chest. She looked around and realized she was falling. And suddenly she was bleeding, and she saw a Goblin staring at her with eyes like crimson fire—

Durene shouted as she woke. She sat up and cried out in pain as whomever was standing next to her went flying. She heard a shout, and then someone rushed into the room. Durene was too busy clutching at her chest. It hurt! But the pain was illusory—as soon as she touched her chest she felt only rough skin. Raised skin. A scar.

“Durene?”

The half-Troll girl looked up. A young woman with a pointy hat stood in the doorway.

“Wiskeria? What’s going on? Where are the Goblins? Where—”

Durene tried to swing herself out of bed. She heard an exclamation and reached down, unthinking. She pulled up a terrified woman dressed in white. A [Healer]. She had both herbs and healing potions at her belt. Durene stared and slowly lowered the woman to the ground.

“Where am I?”

“In Riverfarm. You’re safe.”

Wiskeria reassured the young woman as the [Healer] fled out the door. Now Durene was getting her bearings, she could see that she was in a house. It looked like…one of the many houses that Laken had ordered built for the villagers, but wider, more open. Not her cottage. And when she looked down she saw she was lying in a newly-made bed, made wider and longer to hold her. She looked around. Bright sunlight was streaming through the windows.

“Where am I?”

“In a hospital. That’s what Laken called it anyways. It’s a place for the [Healers] to work. You’re in a private room. In Riverfarm.”

Wiskeria repeated herself slowly. At last her words sank in. Durene stared at the [Witch]-made-[General].

“What about the battle? There were Goblins. I was—”

Again, she touched her chest. She realized she was bare from the chest up—the [Healer] must have been tending to her. Durene looked down. Her dark grey, cracked skin was whole in most places, but there was a red wound on her chest, right between her breasts. It ran from just below her chin down nearly to her navel. It was nearly closed, but it was red. Puffy. It hurt. Durene touched it and felt a flash of pain. She put her head down.

“I got hurt.”

Wiskeria nodded. The [Witch] tugged the hat brim lower on her head.

“You…took a bad injury. We had to evacuate you from the battlefield and so the didn’t completely heal when we used the healing potion. There were also complications. If we’d had a better one—”

“It’s fine. It’s not as if it makes me uglier.”

Durene spoke numbly. It was not fine. She ran her fingertips down her chest, feeling the scar again. Then she looked up sharply.

“But what about the battle? We won, right?”

They had to have won. How else would they be here? Durene remembered the battle, hearing the soldiers screaming around her as they fought the Goblins. So many Goblins. It had felt like they were pushing the entire army back, but Durene had held her ground and swung her club again and again, trying to hold them back. Until the fat hob with the battleaxe had appeared. She looked at Wiskeria, hoping. But the [Witch] only looked away.

“We…lost. After you fell, Benoit charged to your rescue. That Chieftain took him down too. I called a retreat and we ran. The Goblins nearly ran us all down.”

“All? Did they kill—”

Durene’s heart sank. Wiskeria shook her head hurriedly.

“They didn’t get a chance. Another group of soldiers charged them. A group of cavalry led by Lord Pellmia. They came here with Tyrion Veltras himself.”

The name stirred a thought in Durene’s head. Veltras? Wasn’t that one of the Five Families? She stared at Wiskeria.

“How? I mean, how’d they know to—what happened?”

Wiskeria hesitated, then sat on Durene’s bed. The half-Troll girl found there were clothes folded near her bed—her clothes from her cottage. She dressed silently as Wiskeria told her what had happened. First the army from Riverfarm had been routed, then Lord Pellmia had broken the Goblins in turn. They’d disappeared, hunting the Goblins while Lord Tyrion himself had ridden to rescue Riverfarm.

All of that had happened as she slept. It was too much to take in. Durene put her head in her hands.

“And I was out for all of it?”

Wiskeria nodded.

“You lost so much blood. Even the healing potion wasn’t enough. And the [Healer] told us that you needed rest, so they put you here. You woke up a few times, mainly to use the toilet, but you were practically a zombie.”

“How long was I asleep?”

The [Witch] hesitated. Durene raised her voice.

“How long?”

When she spoke loudly, people tended to listen. Wiskeria didn’t pale or freeze up, but she answered after a second.

“Nearly a week.”

“A week!?”

Again, Durene tried to get out of bed. Wiskeria held up a hand.

“You were practically dead when we brought you to Riverfarm! If you hadn’t been as tough as you were, I think you would have been dead. Benoit had armor on and he still nearly died! You took a blow from an enchanted axe to your chest and survived.”

“But we lost. And I lost. We lost the battle.”

Durene felt completely adrift as she stared at Wiskeria. She saw how the [Witch] looked down, and a wave of despondency swamped Durene. She looked around frantically. She had to see him.

“Laken. Where’s Laken?”

Part of her hoped he would be nearby. But Wiskeria didn’t meet Durene’s eyes.

“He’s not in Riverfarm. He wanted to stay, Durene. He refused to leave your side, but Tyrion Veltras insisted. So he left. He was here every day until—”

She yelped as Durene grabbed her. The half-Troll lifted Wiskeria into the air as easily as a kitten and brought her closer to her face.

“Where is he?”

“He left! He rode out with an escort two days ago! He wanted to stay! But Tyrion’s messenger gave him no choice! Durene, put me down!”

Durene realized she was shaking Wiskeria. She stopped and let the [Witch] drop. Wiskeria gasped as Durene took a step back.

“Why?”

The [Witch] shook her head.

“I don’t know exactly. All I know is that Laken struck a deal with Lord Tyrion Veltras. But he wouldn’t tell me or Prost or Rie what it was for. He had the entire village of Riverfarm working these last few days. Now he’s gone, and so is Gamel and Tessia and over thirty of the villagers. They’ve taken—”

Durene didn’t hear the rest. She slowly sat down on the bed. Gone. Laken was gone, just like in her worst nightmares. And he’d left without her.

She didn’t know what to think. She’d lost. For the first time she’d actually lost a fight. She remembered the Goblin looking down at her as he swung the axe. She’d lost.

And Laken was gone. Durene bowed her head. Then, suddenly, she looked up.

“Where?”

“Where what?”

“Where are they?”

Wiskeria wavered.

“I don’t know exactly. Durene, you’re in no condition to move just yet. If you’re thinking of following them, forget it. They had Skills and horses. They were trying to catch Tyrion Veltras, I think. And if he’s where I think he is—”

“Just tell me where! In what direction did he go?”

Durene covered her face. She wanted to cry. Nothing was right in the world. She heard nothing for a moment, and then Wiskeria sat next to Durene. She put a hand on the Troll girl’s shoulder and Durene felt it trembling. She looked up and saw the desolation in Wiskeria’s eyes too. They’d failed. The two sat together for a moment, and then Wiskeria spoke.

“South. They’ve all gone south.”

—-

Olesm stood in the Adventurer’s Guild and felt every eye on his back. He felt more in danger here than in a room full of zombies. There was nothing like having a dozen Gold and Silver-rank teams eying you from behind to get your heart racing. As casually as he could, he leaned over the counter.

“It’s uh, good to see you, Selys.”

“Yeah. What brings you here, Olesm?”

The [Receptionist] looked unusually strained as she smiled back at Olesm. She was manning the desk in the Adventurer’s Guild as always. But from what Olesm understood, that was not an enviable task at the moment. All the adventurers in Liscor had been fighting over who would get what from the lottery Ilvriss had created. And the fighting wasn’t just verbal. Olesm could feel suspicious eyes on his back and he was conscious of the slip of paper in his claws.

Ilvriss hadn’t understated things. Olesm wondered if he’d actually be jumped if he mentioned that he had the list of who got what in his claws. So, conscious of eyes on him and the various Skills that the adventurers had that would aid their senses of sight and hearing, he leaned forwards and pretended to smile.

“I was actually hoping you could help me, you know, in my capacity as a [Strategist]? I need some information about Liscor’s weather and your grandmother’s one of the oldest Drakes I know.”

Selys smiled, but her eyes flicked to the piece of paper Olesm covertly showed her. She looked at Olesm and her tail twitched slightly. She knew. But she kept her face straight like the best of [Actors].

“Really? Well, Grandma is old, and apparently she knows a lot about Liscor. She won’t shut up about how things worked in her day, at any rate. What do you need to know?”

Olesm shrugged casually.

“Nothing much. I’d just like to know when the rainfall usually stops.”

Selys frowned.

“The rain? I’d say it’s due to stop soon, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but when, exactly? Are there patterns? If Guildmistress Tekshia could tell me herself, or point me to any books or reports on the subject, I’d be grateful.”

“Oh, well in that case I can take you to her. Why don’t we go now?”

“Sounds good.”

The two Drakes slid away from the desk and casually walked towards the stairs, bantering lightly. Olesm saw the Flamewardens, the Wings of Pallass, and two other Gold-rank teams sitting by the stairs. He could feel sweat rolling down his scales as the adventurers stared at him.

“Hey, Olesm, isn’t it?”

“Um, yes?”

Olesm and Selys froze as they passed by the not-leader of the Wings of Pallass, Bevussa. The Garuda smiled at him.

“We met during the battle. And the baseball game. How’s it going?”

“Oh, well. You know how it is. I’m just on business for Liscor.”

“Yeah? You work with Wall Lord Ilvriss, don’t you? Any news about who got what yet?”

The atmosphere sharpened to a razor’s edge. Olesm saw Keldrass of the Flamewardens look up, and a Gold-rank Gnoll slowly sniff the air. He tried to keep his tail from tying itself in knots.

“T-the lottery? I’ve got no idea. Wall Lord Ilvriss is making his decisions. If I knew anything I’d let you know, sorry. I’m uh, just going with Selys—”

The [Receptionist] tugged Olesm and he stumbled towards the stairs. Bevussa half-rose as her eyes narrowed, but the two Drakes practically ran upstairs. Selys pushed Olesm towards the end of the hall where Tekshia’s office was. Only when they were a few feet from the doors did she finally slump.

“Ancestors, Olesm! You are the worst liar I’ve ever met! And I’ve talked to the Antinium!”

“I’m sorry, I panicked!”

Olesm wiped sweat from his brow, then he froze.

“Can they hear us…?”

Selys shook her head.

“No, there’s an anti-eavesdropping spell around Grandma’s office. They can’t hear a thing. Is that really the list of rewards?”

“That’s right.”

Olesm showed Selys the parchment. She snatched it from him and unfolded it.

“Hey!”

“Shut up. Let’s see here…oh wow. Griffon Hunt got their first pick, the bow, the Halfseekers didn’t get their armor, but they did get a mace, the Wings got a sword and the Flamewardens got the armor—this isn’t good.”

“It’s not?”

Olesm craned his neck to see the neat scrawl. Selys tsked as she read.

“No, but it was going to be bad no matter what. All that fighting—why couldn’t Ilvriss have hurried up? Well, I guess either way…there’ll be a huge brawl when the adventurers hear who got what, you mark my words. Grandmother’s probably going to have to get them to leave the city before she tells them or something. Otherwise they’ll wreck half the guild.”

The [Strategist] winced.

“Well, that’s none of my business. I’m just the messenger.”

“Right, message received. I’ll get this to Grandma. You can go.”

Selys waved a claw at Olesm. He hesitated.

“Actually, I was serious about the rainfall question.”

“Really?”

“It may be a matter of Liscor’s security.”

“Why? No, wait, I don’t want to know. Let’s just get this over with. Grandma’s not going to be happy about the Halfseekers, though.”

“Why? Does she favor them?”

“No, but she has a thirty-gold bet they’d get the armor. Hold on. Grandma?”

Selys raised her voice and knocked on the door. Olesm heard a muffled sound from within, and then jumped as he heard a thump. It sounded like someone had thrown something heavy against the door. Selys frowned, and then the door opened and a pair of people spilled out.

“Revi? Yvlon?”

The two women scrambled out of Tekshia’s office as if they were being chased. They paused and stared at the two Drakes. Revi was smiling more widely than Olesm had ever seen her, and Yvlon looked pleased. However, both adventurers quickly shut the door behind them.

“Selys, Olesm, I didn’t realize you were outside.”

Yvlon nodded at the two of them. Revi just kept smiling. It was quite eerie compared to her usual scowl. Olesm blinked. Selys folded her arms.

“What’s going on? I thought you two were meeting Grandmother on adventuring business.”

“We were. Just a casual update for Liscor’s guild.”

Revi pointed back to the door. Selys rolled her eyes.

“In that case, why did she throw her spear at you? Don’t lie—I recognize that thump.”

Yvlon and Revi exchanged a quick glance. The armored woman was the first to answer.

“Your grandmother’s insane, Selys. She could have hit us!”

“Only if you really made her mad. Sounds like she was trying for it anyways. What happened?”

“Well…we drew the short straws, so we had to meet her.”

Revi and Yvlon exchanged glances. They didn’t seem too displeased despite their brush with death. Selys frowned.

“About what?”

Yvlon coughed and Revi shrugged. The two looked too happy. Olesm narrowed his eyes. Selys made a displeased hissing sound.

“Just tell me, would you? You told my grandmother—she’ll tell me.”

“Oh, but we didn’t tell her—”

“Shush!”

Revi nudged Yvlon. The Stitch-Woman smiled at Selys.

“We can’t give out details, Selys. But you know how adventurers have to report income to the Adventurer’s Guild?”

Both Selys and Olesm nodded. Adventurers generally owed ten percent of everything they made to the guild. Normally that was pre-deducted in cases of requests, but when adventurers found treasure in dungeons they were required to pay a tax on what they earned, both to the Adventurer’s Guild and the city if the dungeon was on their lands. Olesm knew Selys would have to fill out a myriad of forms after the Raskghar’s treasure had been divided up.

“Everyone knows that. What, did your groups find some more treasure in the dungeon? If you did, you’ll have to pay up just like everyone.”

The two adventurers grinned giddily. Now Olesm was seriously beginning to be weirded out. He took a step behind Selys as Revi replied.

“Oh, we know. And normally we’d have to disclose everything. But ah, not this time. We were just stopping by to let Guildmistress Tekshia know that our teams—that is, Griffon Hunt, the Halfseekers, and the Horns of Hammerad—received a huge amount of income. And we’re not paying for any of it. She was just testing us with truth spells.”

“What? But you have to pay! Grandmother wouldn’t let you two off unless—that’s illegal!”

Selys stared at Revi and Yvlon. Again, the adventurers shook their heads.

“Not if it’s a gift. Gifts aren’t taxable under the Adventurer Guild’s laws. And it just so happens that we got a huge ‘gift’ of treasure the Raskghar left behind. So it’s all ours and we don’t owe the guild a copper coin.”

Revi smirked. Olesm raised a hand timidly.

“But that’s just a technicality. If it was in the dungeon, it’s still acquired loot. You can’t just claim it’s a gift to be exempt. If you found it—”

“But that’s the thing. We didn’t find it, so it wasn’t adventurer’s loot. We got it from the Goblins. They had all the treasure. All of it.”

“The Redfang Goblins did? But they’re adventurers too!”

Selys looked astounded. Revi’s smile only grew wider as she shook her head.

“That’s what we thought. But guess what? Apparently, Erin told us that they were made a team yesterday. Funny thing, that. I thought they were supposed to be regular adventurers already, but it sounds like someone confused the paperwork so they wouldn’t have to give the Goblins any of the treasure we got.”

Olesm blanched as Selys shot him a quizzical glance. He remembered that discussion with Ilvriss and Zevara. They’d fudged the paperwork so that the Redfang Goblins would be exempt from the lottery.

“T-that, how do you know that?”

“Oh, we don’t care. And they don’t either. But that means they were just random…Goblins until yesterday. And they gave us all the treasure three days ago. So…guess what?”

Revi assured Olesm. She was still smiling. Slowly, Olesm began to put the pieces together. He paled.

“You don’t mean—”

“That’s right! Your Guildmistress nearly strangled us, but we checked the law and we’re in the clear. She can’t claim that’s dungeon treasure, not if the Goblins had it first and they weren’t adventurers. So all of this is a private donation by individuals unaffiliated with the Adventurer’s Guild or Liscor to us. Which means we owe you nothing.”

Olesm’s jaw dropped. He didn’t know how much Revi was talking about, but the huge grin the Stitch-Woman wore and the pleased expression on Yvlon’s face told him everything. Selys stared at Revi as well. The [Summoner] wore the evilest, smuggest smile Olesm had seen on any face, Human, Drake, or otherwise.

“And Grandmother let you live?”

“She nearly got us with that spear. But we’re in the clear. If she wants to argue, she can try, but we don’t have to tell you what we got. We’ve done our duty by disclosing the rough amount and we’ve been checked under truth spell. Now we owe you nothing. See you!”

Revi waved at the two Drakes and then practically bounced down the corridor. She was actually singing to herself. Yvlon smiled and paused before following her.

“Sorry, but that’s how it is. It’s…good seeing you two. Keep it a secret, okay?”

She followed Revi. The two Drakes stared as Yvlon and Revi walked down the stairs. Slowly, Selys looked at Olesm.

“Grandmother’s going to have a heart attack. If I walk in that room she’s going to be dead—or about to blow her scales off.”

“And Wall Lord Ilvriss and the Council will have my tail.”

Olesm groaned. He was putting the pieces together now. The Redfang Goblins—or rather, the Cave Goblins must have known about the Raskghar’s treasure stash! Of course they wouldn’t have kept it in their mobile camps! And Revi was exactly right—it wasn’t taxable! By preventing the Redfang Goblins from earning their reward, Liscor had just lost…

The [Strategist] was about to smack his head repeatedly into a wall when he noticed Selys smiling. He looked suspiciously at her.

“What’re you happy about? This is a disaster!”

Selys smirked in a pretty good replica of Revi’s expression.

“For Liscor, and the guild, probably. But did you forget? I’ve been leasing the Heartflame Breastplate to the Halfseekers. Under our agreement, I get 30% of whatever the Halfseekers make. It’s no scales off my tail.”

Olesm’s jaw dropped. He opened his mouth to protest, but Selys just opened the door to Tekshia’s office. She called in cheerfully.

“Hi Grandma! Lower your spear, it’s just me. The adventurers are gone. Bad news, huh? I’ve got more! Ilvriss finally gave us the lottery results and there’s going to be a fight! Oh, and Olesm is here with a question for you. He’s one of the people who helped make it so the Redfang Goblins got registered at the wrong time, by the way. Olesm?”

She waved at Olesm. The [Strategist] felt his scales go white. He stared at Selys as he heard a guttural hissing sound coming from inside the office. He wavered at the door and then he slapped himself and focused. He had to know about the rains. He stepped inside—

Below the office, the adventurers who weren’t Revi and Yvlon were sitting together, glaring at each other and speculating about why they looked so happy. They looked up as one as they heard a shout of terror. They saw Olesm Swifttail dash downstairs, crash, roll, and spring to his feet and run out of the Guild’s doors. He was pursued a moment later by an angry old Drake holding a barbed spear.

Olesm ran frantically and felt Tekshia’s spear graze his shoulder. He ducked and ran faster as the old Drake hurled obscenities at his back. He resolved not to go near the Adventurer’s Guild for a month. As Olesm ran, he felt the immediate, temporary fear of Tekshia’s wrath subside and a truer, deeper panic set in. Because in between the Guildmistress’ fury and his flight, he’d learned what he needed to know.

The rains would stop any day now. And when they did—

Well, Liscor would still be safe. In theory. But now Olesm was worried. He ran straight towards the Watch Barracks to find Zevara. And to warn her of an impending brawl at the Adventurer’s Guild.

—-

Lord Yitton Byres had lived for over fifty three years. He did not consider himself a humble man, but he did consider himself somewhat practical. And he did not think of himself as a good man, a failing often found in genuinely good men. Or realists. But he had lived as honorably as he could for over five decades and faced more than his fair share of monsters despite never having taken up arms as a [Knight].

He thought he had faced enough beasts and creatures of evil in his life. But the night after Tremborag had fallen, Yitton Byres found himself pouring an uncharacteristic first, second, and third cup of wine to steady his nerves. Yitton tossed down the third cup of the strongest and cheapest wine he’d been able to buy from the [Quartermaster]. It didn’t help.

He could still smell the burning flesh. He could still hear Tremborag’s howl, a sound that hadn’t ceased even when they tore open his chest and cut him to the bone. Yitton closed his eyes. The Great Chieftain of the Mountain had not died, though he had been speared through the heart, though they had torn him practically to shreds.

“Dead gods. I thought I’d seen the last of such monsters in the Second Antinium War. How many more beasts like that roam the earth? Hidden in mountains. Underground?”

His blood chilled at the thought. And it grew colder still to think of one of his offspring, Ylawes, for instance, facing a beast like that alone. Six Gold-rank adventurers had died or been maimed in the battle. Six. Yitton was proud of his son and ranked the Silver Swords highly even among the continent’s Gold-rank teams. But Tremborag was a monster worthy of a Named Adventurer.

“Why didn’t Arcsinger bring him down? She didn’t fight. If she had—no, Veltras had his reasons. And perhaps he would have killed her.”

That was a troubling thought. Yitton hadn’t ever laid eyes on the last Goblin King; he’d fought to protect his home and faced off against a Goblin Chieftain and even laid eyes on a Goblin Lord, but he had not seen the Goblin King. As far as he was concerned, though, Tremborag had been every bit as terrifying as a Goblin Lord.

“Silver and steel. I should [Message] Ylawes. I haven’t seen him in too long. And Yvlon—where is she? Ylawes swore he’d bring her back, but I’ve not heard word from him or her. Are they—”

Yitton was pouring himself another cup when he heard a knock at his tent’s flap. He turned.

“Enter.”

Lord Erill, one of the richer [Lords] and newly come to his nobility, pushed himself through the tent. His expression was a mirror of Yitton’s own; pale, somber. For a camp that had just brought down a Goblin Chieftain, the mood was terribly quiet. Yitton rose at once, although he found himself stumbling slightly as the effects of the alcohol hit him. He was not a strong drinker.

“Lord Erill, greetings.”

“Yitton.”

Erill nodded to him. It was not a slight since Yitton had requested the informality, but the patriarch of the Byres house couldn’t help but use the man’s title. Far too many other [Ladies] and [Lords] tended to slight Lord Erill and Yitton abhorred that kind of disrespect. At the moment however, Erill shivered as if he’d like nothing more than to be a [Merchant] a thousand miles from here. He looked at Yitton, opened his mouth and spotted the pitcher of wine.

“What’s that you’ve got there, Yitton? Wine?”

“Yes. Cheap stuff, though. I’d offer you a drink but it’s practically vinegar.”

“I’d drink that if I could forget today. Will you offer me a glass?”

“Of course.”

Yitton poured Erill a full cup and after a moment of thought, did the same for himself. Erill drank his cup as fast as Yitton. Some of the color ran back into his face.

“Dead gods.”

“I warned you.”

The other man shook his head.

“No, crude is what I need. I could use another cup, in fact. Thank you. I still can’t unsee that monster. I’m no [Warrior], Yitton. I’m not ashamed to say that I’m still terrified of that beast, headless or not.”

“You’re not the only one.”

Yitton gulped down his wine. He shook his head briskly, feeling the liquid warm him from within. Erill breathed out slowly.

“To think it took that long to bring him down. When we had archers and mages and—I thought he was done for when Tyrion ran him through with a lance, didn’t you? But he survived that. Are they truly heartless, those Goblins? Or did he have several hearts, like some monsters?”

He looked quizzically at Yitton. The older [Lord] shook his head. He nearly poured himself a fifth cup and then stopped himself. He still had to ride tomorrow.

“No. He was dead the moment Veltras struck him. We just didn’t believe it. And he tore us to pieces before we had the sense to leave him alone.”

“True.”

The two men stood in silence for a while. That was the irony of it. The soldiers had assaulted Tremborag relentlessly, attacking him from all sides and they had paid the price in blood. But when they’d drawn back, the Great Chieftain had seemed to lose track of them. He’d just…walked away. Northwards. Towards his mountain. And stopped.

“It doesn’t feel like a victory.”

“No. I think we underestimated this Tremborag. It was worth the price to see him fall, but I can’t call this a triumph. A necessity perhaps, but…no, not a victory.”

Yitton shook his head. Erill nodded. He tilted his cup up, realized it was empty, and set it on Yitton’s plain table. It was cheap wood; Yitton hadn’t brought a bag of holding with him and so his furnishings were part of the camp’s supply.

“You live simply, Yitton. I’d offer you a spare tent of mine if I thought you’d take it. But I’ll spare such pleasant negotiations for another night. Right now I’m remembering why I came here.”

“Not to poison yourself on my wine?”

Erill almost smiled.

“I didn’t think you had a sense of humor, Byres. No. We’re to meet Lord Tyrion for a late-night repast. I should have gotten you right away, but I got distracted.”

“Lord Tyrion wants us?”

Yitton was surprised. He set down his cup and strode towards the tent flaps. Then he checked himself.

“I’m filthy.”

“He won’t mind. We should be there soonest. And I’ve got a Wand of [Cleansing] somewhere on me—I’ll find it as we walk. Come on; if I can’t drink in your tent I suppose we’d better meet him.”

“By we, do you mean you and I? Or a gathering of all the nobility?”

Yitton followed Erill out of the tent. The camp was busy as always; torches and [Light] spells clearly illuminated the area for patrolling sentries. But there were more people out tonight than usual; Yitton saw more than a few men and women in the shared camp for officers and the nobility drinking and sticking together. He understood the urge.

“Not just us, no.”

Lord Erill walked briskly ahead of Yitton, rummaging in a bag of holding at his side. He turned back and glanced at Yitton.

“Two of our peers have been invited to this very select gathering. Any ideas who they might be?”

Yitton didn’t have to think.

“Gralton and Lady Ieka.”

“Correct. The same group that went to so boldly challenge Tyrion to his face. He’s summoned us and apparently has a surprise in store. It’s a smart move; I doubt the other nobility will whine more than usual since it’s we four.”

“They won’t? But I’m not—I could understand Tyrion’s mistake, but me?”

Yitton was baffled. He wasn’t an important noble! House Byres probably earned in a year what Erill’s estates could make in a month. No, a week! And Yitton was hardly as accomplished a [Lord] as, say, Pellmia. But Erill just laughed.

“Think on it, Yitton! We’re the best representatives to see whatever Tyrion’s cooked up! Can’t you understand why?”

“I’m afraid not. Kindly illuminate me.”

Erill shrugged. He found his wand at last and tossed it at Yitton. The [Lord] carefully ran the wand down his smudged and muddy tunic, blinking as he saw the wrinkles and stains vanish and the mud slough off. That was a lot of money just to enchant an entire wand to clean clothes. He carefully handed it back to Erill. The [Lord] flicked it into his bag of holding and responded.

“Each one of us is important in our own way. Tyrion could have invited two dozen nobles, or all of us, but he’s chosen to have an intimate gathering. Less chance of interruptions I suspect, and he has our measure.”

“Go on. Why we four especially?”

“You don’t see it? Gralton’s an excellent fighter and leader, in his own way. He might be a hothead and smell like wet dogs, but he can evaluate good strategy when he sees it. Lady Ieka is both a [Mage] and one of the most powerful [Ladies] I know. My money commands authority, if not respect.”

“And my estates are neither large nor powerful or influential. Where do I fit in this gathering?”

Erill smiled. It wasn’t the charming smile that Yitton had seen him using in public. Instead, Erill’s true smile looked sardonic. Not at Yitton, but the world in general.

“Why, you’re the honest one, Yitton. Every secret gathering needs at least one honest man. Who would they trust if not you? Gralton? Ieka? Me? Or take Tyrion at his word? No, but they’d trust Yitton Byres.”

That paused Yitton, but only for a second. He strode forwards to catch up with Erill.

“I see. I don’t consider myself particularly trustworthy, though. And if it’s honorable Tyrion wants, he would be better served by a [Knight].”

“Spoken like a trustworthy, honorable sort. Besides, Tyrion seems to like you. Honorable men must not be something he encounters every day. A shame he couldn’t find an honorable woman while he was at it, but I suppose you can’t have everything. Come, Yitton, you understand my point.”

Yitton did, but he was troubled by the implications on a few levels. He bit back any response though; he had to admit that he was slightly pleased by Tyrion Veltras’ trust in him. The man was hard to like on some levels, but there was much to admire as well.

The two [Lords] walked in silence through the camp, listening to the noise and horns blowing for the dead, as was the tradition for some cities. Yitton had been present when the corpses were cremated; some of the adventurers or ranking officers’ bodies had been preserved for burial in their homelands. After a while, Erill spoke.

“Still, that Goblin Chieftain…it makes you think that Tyrion really knows what he’s doing. Sending the Goblins into Drake lands, that is.”

“You think that’s his plan?”

“Something like it. I think he’s realized keeping it secret’s pointless now. Everyone knows what he’s up to, Drakes and Humans both.”

“That’s true.”

If there was one thing you could say about Izril’s Human nobility, it was that they employed people who weren’t idiots. And some of the nobility were fairly intelligent, too. They’d come to the same realization as the Drake [Strategists] quickly enough when they’d tracked their progress on a map. By now the entire camp knew what Tyrion Veltras was doing: sending the Goblin Lord and all the Goblins into Drake lands.

The idea had shocked Yitton the first time it had been suggested. He was no lover of the Drake people, with all their pride and hotheadedness and provocations, but he had grown used to the idea of the peace they had between north and south. True, tempers flared occasionally and then both races would send an army to fight in the Blood Fields during a preselected time, but that was different from this. This was tantamount to war, but it wouldn’t be because of politics.

Few shared his reservations, though. The hostility towards Tyrion’s mysterious behavior had all but vanished when the nobility learned what he was intending. In fact, many of the nobles had begun to treat it as if it were some glorious prank, the height of cunning.

‘A present for the Drakes.’ Yitton Byres had heard others saying it, almost as a joke. But he wasn’t laughing.

“We don’t know that’s what Tyrion intends.”

“Well, we’ll know soon enough. We’re almost here. Good evening Lady Ieka, Gralton.”

Erill raised a hand and Yitton saw they’d arrived at Tyrion’s personal tent. It was certainly large enough to host a gathering, and the two nobles standing outside the tent looked like they were dressed for the occasion. Each in their own way.

Lady Ieka wore a semi-translucent gown of enchanted fabric that looked scandalous at first—until you realized that the outer layer was simply there to highlight the darker inner blue, so that the transparent outer layer looked like water moving over a dark ocean, flecked by distant stars. The effect was beautiful and mesmerizing.

By contrast, Gralton wore his travel gear and he hadn’t bothered to use any spells. He looked dirty from riding and he seemed as if he could sit down at a rowdy banquet and begun quaffing at any moment. Both nobles stood far apart from each other. Gralton sniffed Yitton and Erill.

“You’re late.”

Yitton opened his mouth to apologize, but Erill smoothly cut in.

“Apologies. I delayed in picking up Yitton. I was tempted by the idea of drowning my thoughts, but then I recalled that we were supposed to be here, enjoying Lord Tyrion’s social graces, which he is of course known for. Have we any word of who our mystery guest might be?”

“You mean the one that’s been housed in the finest tents? And the mysterious influx of commoners? Not a clue. But he’s inside. And it is a he.”

Lady Ieka raised two perfectly shaped eyebrows. She stood with the three men in a circle as they spoke. Yitton glanced towards the tent flaps.

“Should we announce ourselves?”

Ieka sighed.

“Don’t bother. He knows we’re here. Tyrion’s kept us waiting until you two arrived. Childish. And don’t bother knocking. There’s a powerful anti-detection spell on that tent. He’s taking this seriously, at least.”

“Going to tell us what everyone knows? That we’re giving the Goblins to the Drakes with a bow on top? Feh. I don’t need to listen to that.”

Gralton spat, which earned him a reproving glance from Erill and Ieka. Yitton just frowned. He opened his mouth to voice his opinion, but then Tyrion’s tent flap opened. Jericha, the personal [Mage] and Tyrion’s aide, opened the tent flap.

“My lords and ladies, I apologize for the delay. Lord Veltras welcomes you to a minor repast. Please, enter.”

The nobles exchanged a look and then they entered, Ieka in front, Gralton, and then Erill and Yitton bringing up the rear. He swallowed the words he was about to say as he entered the tent and saw the dining table set up with expensive cutlery and porcelain dishes. There was more than a light repast set on the table, and six chairs had been set around the table.

If the nobles had listened to Yitton a moment longer, they might not have been so surprised later on. For Yitton had his own opinion of what was going on. He was no [Strategist], but he knew Tyrion if by reputation alone. Simply pushing Goblins into Drake lands? It couldn’t be that simple. And when he saw the young man standing next to Tyrion, he was certain.

His eyes were closed, so Yitton could not see the color of his pupils, but the young man was thin, and his hair was flaxen, slightly darkened, and his skin pale. His clothes were simple, far too plain for any [Lord], even a poor one. His eyes were closed. They remained closed as the nobles entered the tent and stared at him. And Tyrion Veltras. The [Lord] stood next to the young man, as if they were equals.

Yitton stared at the youthful stranger. Even Erill was older than him by at least a decade. He could have passed for a commoner with his garb. And yet, he had a presence. Yitton saw the young man tilt his head towards the four nobles. And still he did not open his eyes.

“Lord Tyrion. We’ve come at your request. Who is this?”

Lady Ieka did not waste time. She peered at the stranger, her eyes narrowed as she flicked her gaze to Tyrion. The [Lord]’s face was impassive as he indicated a chair.

“I apologize for the delay, Lady Ieka. Please have a seat.”

Then he turned to the young man standing beside him.

“Your Majesty, I present to you Lady Ieka of House Imarris, Lord Gralton of House Radivaek, Lord Erill of House Fienst, and Lord Yitton of House Byres. They serve as representatives to the larger gathering of nobility and are among those I trust to keep the nature of tonight’s conversation secret.”

Ieka froze in the middle of sitting down. Yitton felt his knees quiver. Did Tyrion just say ‘your Majesty?’ He saw Gralton snort in surprise and Erill’s eyebrows raise. The merchant [Lord] cast a sharp glance towards the young man. Yitton saw the closed eyes turn towards him. And still, the stranger had not opened his eyes. Yitton felt a chill as he recalled a rumor he’d heard.

A blind man. A foreigner carrying jewels and gold who appeared in Invrisil. A stranger who had attracted the attention of Magnolia Reinhart.

The Unseen Emperor.

Yitton stared at the young man. Lord Tyrion nodded. He met Yitton’s eyes briefly, then looked around the tent. He spoke softly.

“Lady Ieka, gentlemen, I present to you [Emperor] Laken Godart of Riverfarm. Please, have a seat. We have much to discuss.”

—-

“It’s all part of his plan. Tyrion Veltras, that is. He’s going to take the Goblins to Liscor. And when he arrives—in a few days—the waters will be gone.”

Olesm shook as he reached for a mug. He’d ordered alcohol despite it being only early morning. He needed a drink to steady his nerves. He didn’t know why he’d dragged Zevara to The Wandering Inn, but something about it reassured him. And he didn’t want to discuss this in the Watch House, not if he was wrong.

Zevara drummed her claws on the table, eying Olesm as he sipped from his mug. It was a dark lager, which Erin seemed quite proud of for some reason. It tasted normal to Olesm, but Zevara had ordered the same.

“When you asked me out for a drink, I didn’t think we’d be talking about strategy.”

Olesm looked up sharply. Zevara grinned sheepishly at him. He didn’t smile back, and the Watch Captain leaned forwards. She coughed.

“Okay, bad joke. Are you sure, Olesm? The waters will recede around Liscor in four day’s time? Right as he’s getting here?”

The [Strategist] nodded. He saw his claws steady on his mug as the alcohol went down. He took a deep breath. It was going to be okay. It was just—

“He’s timed it perfectly, Zevara. Any day now the rains will stop. And when they do, Liscor has only a few days before the waters drain. You know how fast the water levels go down. After that Liscor’s surrounded by mud, but you can fight in mud. Or lay siege in it.”

“And you’re sure it’ll be then? How can you be certain?”

“Tekshia thinks it’ll be around then. I asked her before she nearly gutted me and she told me that there is a pattern to when the rains start and stop. It’s not precise, but you can get within a few days of when it’ll occur. And—it’s too much of a coincidence. First Tyrion camped his army without moving and only now he makes his move? He’s timed this, I’ll bet my class on it.”

“Damn.”

Zevara scowled and sat back in her chair. The two Drakes stared at each other in grim silence—for all of a second. Then they heard Erin breeze past them.

“Fries! Here’s your fries, Olesm! And for you, Zevara, a bowl of fish flakes?”

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Thanks, Erin.”

Olesm looked around. Erin’s inn wasn’t exactly hopping, but it was doing good business. The young woman had Gnolls and Drakes and Humans eating in her inn, a few of which Olesm recognized as regulars.

There were a few new faces like the [Mage] with the gaudy robes sitting at a table just next to Olesm’s. And was that a Cave Goblin walking in and out of the kitchen? Olesm spotted Numbtongue sitting at a table, playing on a guitar. He shook his head and focused back on Zevara.

“The waters will fall. And he’ll march the Goblins straight in here. It’s safer than the High Passes. And if they’re not swimming, they can run right around Liscor with minimal casualties. Or there’s a worse option.”

“Go on.”

Zevara’s grip tightened on her mug. Olesm took a deep breath.

“They make the Goblins assault the city.”

He stared at Zevara for a few seconds in grim silence. The Watch Captain blinked, and then she laughed. She drank from her mug and chewed down a few fish flakes.

“You had me worried there, Olesm! That’s not going to happen.”

“You’re sure?”

Olesm’s racing heart finally began to slow. Zevara nodded, chewing her food with good humor.

“There’s no way. Even if a hundred thousand Goblins attacked our walls tomorrow, we could hold them. This isn’t like the moths. There were probably at least a hundred thousand of them and they could fly. The Watch is thousands strong and we have enchantments on our walls, Embria’s company, Wall Lord Ilvriss…and the Antinium.”

“That’s true, but I was considering the timing and I thought—”

Zevara shook her head. She indicated the fries and Olesm realized he hadn’t touched his food. He began to eat as she replied.

“No, you’re dead right about the Goblins moving through Liscor. Damn, they’ll get past with far less casualties this way. But there’s no way they can take the city. Not even if the Goblin Lord brings his entire force to bear. I’m certain of it. Don’t worry about that, Olesm.”

The [Strategist] sagged in relief. He’d been running through scenarios in his head, but if Zevara said so, he could relax. He was about to ask more when Zevara coughed. She glanced at Olesm and then leaned back in her chair.

“So, how’ve you been lately?”

The change of conversation was as jarring as Olesm could imagine. For a moment he stared, and then realized what Zevara was doing. He jumped and remembered that he had asked if she was free. And they were eating at Erin’s inn.

“Oh, nothing much. It’s been work as usual, you know.”

“We do see a lot of each other.”

“Yeah. And uh, I haven’t had much free time what with the Raskghar and all the reports.”

“Right. We’re uh, overdue for time off.”

“Yep.”

That line of dialogue died fast. The two Drakes stared at each other. Then Zevara shifted.

“I heard there was something interesting happening over here the other day.”

“When is there not?”

“Hah. But I meant this game that Relc played. Apparently it was in Celum? And it involved hitting a ball and running around in a circle?”

Zevara looked hopelessly at Olesm. He smiled.

“A diamond, actually. It was this fascinating game that Erin introduced us to. It’s called baseball. I wish you could have been there. You see—”

“Olesm, is that you? I haven’t seen you in—oh.”

The Drake broke off as Zevara was leaning forwards. He turned and winced. Of all the times…Zevara leaned back and her smile vanished. Ceria Springwalker paused as she realized what she’d walked into.

“Uh, hello. Ceria.”

“Hey Olesm. Sorry, I didn’t see you were busy.”

Ceria stared at Zevara. The Watch Captain crunched down on a fish flake.

“Don’t mind me, half-Elf. I’m just sitting with a fellow co-worker. Talking about business. Together.”

“Right. I just wanted to say hi.”

The [Cryomancer] stared cautiously at Zevara, and then turned to Olesm.

“Sorry, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Yeah. It’s uh, good to see you.”

Olesm shuffled his feet. He was about to leave it at that, when he saw the man across the table from him raise a hand and throw a bunch of sparks into the air. They floated upwards, turning into tiny phoenixes which flew about, flaming birds dancing in every color.

“What’s that?”

Ceria turned. She blinked as she saw the tiny birds and then shrugged.

“Him? That’s Eltistiman Verdue, a [Magician] who just came through from Celum. He showed up this morning pretending to be a Dragon when Erin opened the door. She punched his lights out and he’s been performing here all morning as an apology.”

“Eltisti—who? He got here this morning?”

The half-Elf nodded. She leaned over the table, ignoring Zevara’s irritated look.

“Yup. He knows a lot of illusion spells. Some of them are pretty impressive. He and Pisces had a competition this morning. You should have seen it. Erin’s over the moon about him. I think she likes him. And she’s guilty about punching him in the face, which was hilarious.”

The half-Elf smiled. But Olesm felt a bit irritated. Not necessarily about Eltistiman, but about how so much happened around Erin that he never got to see because of his work.

“Why haven’t I heard about him being here?”

Ceria gave Olesm a flat look.

“Like I said, he arrived this morning. You aren’t here all the time.”

“True. I have work—”

“—Which is very pressing, isn’t it, Olesm?”

Zevara jumped into the conversation. She leaned around Olesm, not quite nudging Ceria out of the way. The half-Elf glowered at her. Olesm cringed.

He’d had a brief fling with Ceria until she’d essentially prevented him from joining the Horns of Hammerad. And Zevara had a not-so-subtle interest in him. It didn’t take a [Strategist] to tell that he shouldn’t be here. But now Ceria had locked gazes with Zevara.

“It’s a shame he’s so busy. But Olesm’s not on duty right now. Can’t he chat?”

“He’s discussing private information. With me. I’m sure Olesm will have plenty of time to talk when he’s free for trivial pursuits.”

The half-Elf’s eyes narrowed.

“Is that so?”

Zevara breathed out a puff of smoke.

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

Olesm was just about to pretend to choke on a fry when salvation appeared in form of Ksmvr. The Antinium walked over and waved a hand.

“Hello, Olesm. Hello Watch Captain Zevara. Hello, Captain Ceria. May I join your conversation?”

All three stared at him. Ksmvr looked from face to face and only now seemed to pick up on the underlying tension.

“Ah. I perceive my presence is unwelcome. Am I being a nuisance? Please inform me directly when I am and I will take note of my behavior.”

“No, Ksmvr—I mean, yes, Ksmvr—look, I’ll explain it to you over here. Sorry, Olesm. I’ll talk to you later.”

Ceria hustled Ksmvr off to one side. The Antinium kept asking what he’d done wrong. Sheepishly, Olesm and Zevara turned back to each other. After a moment Olesm brought up the only thing he could think of.

“So, about the Redfang Goblins and this huge amount of money the adventurers have gotten…”

Zevara groaned. She fished around in her bowl for more flakes and found there were none. She sighed and took a sip of her drink instead.

“There’s not much we can do about it. Those adventurers will raise all kinds of hell if we try and reverse what’s happened. I want to nail my tail to a wall but—at least we don’t have to worry about the information leaking. Imagine the riots we’d have if that got out. This is classified and buried.”

Olesm nodded. Zevara sighed.

“And on the subject of Goblins, did you hear what Ilvriss was suggesting?”

Again, Olesm nodded. This time he traced a pattern on the table.

“It’s…not something I want to consider. They saved those Gnolls, Zevara.”

She tilted her mug up. It was already empty.

“They did. But you know they can’t stay here forever. Maybe—no, maybe it’s best if they leave with the Goblin Lord. By accident. Or maybe they can be ‘encouraged’ to leave ahead of time. They’ve got a grace period while the waters are up, but if the citizens of Liscor see a huge tribe of Goblins suddenly roaming the plains…”

“Could they stay in the dungeon?”

“If they do, they’re on their own against adventurers.”

“Right.”

The two Drakes sat together. Olesm scrubbed a claw through his spikes.

“It’s really not up to us. There’s only one person who can get them to move. I can speak to Erin. Drop a few hints.”

“About what?”

Both Drakes jumped and turned around. Erin paused with a bowl of soup in one hand, and a spoon in the other. She delicately tasted the soup. Olesm stared at her and felt sweat rolling down his back for the umpteenth time today.

“Uh, Erin! How long have you been there?”

Erin shrugged.

“I just heard my name so I came over. What’s up?”

Olesm and Zevara exchanged a quick glance. Olesm cleared his throat.

“Nothing…but how’re the Goblins, Erin? Uh, have the Hobs been in your inn recently? Are they…doing well?”

“They’re doing great, thanks for asking! The Hobs aren’t in my inn so much—they’re busy with the Cave Goblins. You know, leading them and teaching them how to survive and stuff. Numbtongue’s over there. Actually, he’s about to go back to their cave. I just need to give him this soup. I think it’s done.”

Erin pointed with her spoon at the Hob. She tasted the soup again and smiled.

“Yup, it’s done. Hey, Numbtongue! Order up!”

She shouted at Numbtongue. The Hob looked up and abandoned his guitar. He walked over and Olesm saw the same Cave Goblin trot out of the kitchen with a huge pot in her hands. He stared as she waddled over with it. The soup was steaming and gave off a fishy, yet enticing aroma.

“This is Pebblesnatch. You remember Pebblesnatch, right, guys?”

“Charmed.”

Zevara spoke flatly as she eyed the soup. Erin offered the bowl to Numbtongue. He grunted with approval and tasted the soup before nodding vigorously at Erin. She smiled.

“I’m teaching the Goblins how to cook as well as feeding them meals. It’s actually sort of fun! You see, they really like to cook and all I have to do is show them how to make something and they copy me. Sometimes they get it wrong, but there’s a few promising [Cooks] among them! Pebblesnatch has been watching me work.”

She patted the small Cave Goblin on the head. Pebblesnatch grunted and put the pot on the floor. Erin offered her the bowl to sip from as well. She pointed at it as she spoke to Numbtongue.

“This is fishy minestrone soup with a side of hot garlic bread. Share it; Pebblesnatch can teach the others how to make more, okay? Oh, and take some baking soda. And some flour. Krshia just sent me a shipment via boat. And you’ll need some vegetables. Oh, and pepper. And do you have enough plates?”

The Hob grunted and sighed. Erin began dragging over bags and eventually the Hob had to drag everything through the magic door into a cave filled with Goblins. Olesm caught one look of a dozen Goblins swarming Pebblesnatch, peering into the pot as she hit them with her ladle before the door closed. Erin walked back into her kitchen as Olesm looked at Zevara. The Watch Captain shook her head.

“That Gnoll must be making a killing providing so much food for the Goblins.”

Olesm nodded. He recalled a report that had landed on his desk.

“Apparently someone’s bought enough food to drive up prices in the city. I’d have spoken to you about it, but since we have access to Celum’s markets, I didn’t think it was cause for alarm.”

“Oh really? Well, I can handle that.”

Zevara smiled slightly. Then she leaned back in her chair and shouted towards the kitchen.

“Oi, Human! Buy your food from Celum instead of Liscor! We don’t have unlimited supplies, you know!”

“Aw! Fine!”

The Watch Captain grinned as she sat back and looked at Olesm.

“Problem solved. Now where were we?”

“Can we talk about Liscor and the Goblins? Er, I mean, the Goblin Lord. I was going to ask you how certain you are. I hate to keep harping on about it, but…”

Olesm twiddled his claw thumbs together. Zevara nodded. She sat up straighter and leaned forwards, lowering her voice.

“It’s not a concern to me because I know our numbers, Olesm. A siege isn’t easy and there’s no wood around Liscor—at least, not in enough quantities to help in besieging our city. Our gates are nigh impregnable and even if the Goblins had siege towers or ladders…the Watch numbers in the thousands. We have Embria and her soldiers and they’re worth something. So is Ilvriss. But what really reassures me are the Antinium. Don’t let anyone know I said that.”

“Really?”

There was a lot Olesm knew as Liscor’s [Strategist], but some things were still above his pay grade. At least, they had been as a [Tactician]. Zevara nodded. She lowered her voice even further, although no one was listening.

“Officially, the Antinium have three hundred Soldiers they can bring to our defense if necessary. Unofficially…we could hold off a hundred thousand Goblins even if all of them had ladders. We can fill the walls with bodies, make it practically unclimbable. And the Humans have to know that.”

Olesm whistled. Obviously a single defender could repel multiple attackers, but Zevara was speaking about hard numbers here.

“So we’re safe?”

She nodded.

“If they want to besiege us, they’ll have to take our walls just like the Goblins and we won’t fall so quickly. It’s my opinion that you’re right and the Humans are pushing the Goblins past Liscor, but not attack it. With that said, keep listening.”

“Will do.”

“Good. Keep me informed.”

Zevara fished in her belt pouch and stood up. She tossed a few coins onto the table and strode towards the door. Olesm saw her pause there and waver. After a moment she stomped back over, blushing.

“Sorry, I guess this was a work discussion after all. I’d stay and talk, but I need to tell Embria and Ilvriss and file a report with what you’ve told me.”

Olesm stood up, flushing with embarrassment.

“Of course. I’m sorry, this was my fault.”

“No, no, it was good. And important. It’s just that—”

“Duty calls. Right. Another time, then?”

“Naturally.”

They stared at each other for a second, and then Zevara turned away. She strode towards the door, so flustered that she took the bridge to Liscor rather than the magic door. Olesm sat back in his chair. He looked at his practically uneaten fries for a second, and then noticed he had an audience.

At some point a furry little Gnoll had crept up to the edge of his table. Now two big, round eyes stared at him. Olesm turned red.

“What?”

Mrsha stared sympathetically at Olesm. Then she grabbed his fries and dashed away. He leapt up, outraged, and then flinched as Apista buzzed over his head, stinger raised.

“My fries!”

He watched Mrsha dash upstairs, resigned, as Apista triumphantly followed her. Olesm stared down at his nearly empty bowl, and then saw someone turn towards him. The [Mage] with the fancy robes who’d cast the illusionary phoenixes raised a mug and saluted Olesm with it.

“She got mine too. Same trick, even. Fearsome things, those giant bees.”

Olesm sat back down, looking sadly at a wimpy fry at the bottom of his bowl. He raised his mug in turn to the mage.

“Sorry, she’s part of the inn. She’s usually less trouble, but she’s a food thief. Erin’ll probably replace your food if you complain. My name’s Olesm.”

The Human smiled. He threw his mug up and Olesm winced, but it vanished liquid and all. He’d been holding an illusion! He winked at Olesm.

“Eltistiman Verdue, [Magician], at your service. I was told this inn was the place to visit if I wanted an interesting time, and I believe it! You wouldn’t happen to know when the ah, play is starting, would you?”

“Sometime tonight, sorry. Why, are you here for it?”

Eltistiman smiled.

“I’m here to join it, if I can. I was wondering how much time I had. I was hoping to go to Pallass, actually. This wondrous door can send me there in an instant, can’t it?”

He indicated the door, which had the glowing red mana stone on it. Olesm nodded.

“It can do that, but the magic is limited. It can only send two people at a time.”

“Ah, that is inconvenient. But natural given the distances.”

“Right, but there’s more complications too on Pallass’ side. They don’t just let you walk through like, uh, Liscor. You’ll have to fill out a request. I’m sure it will be approved, but it will be at least a day before you can go through.”

Olesm looked apologetic, but Eltistiman didn’t look too put out.

“Ah, a pity. I’ll inquire about the details later. Thank you for your help, sir.”

He smiled at Olesm and turned back to his table. The [Strategist] sat back down and tried to gather his thoughts. He wanted more fries…no! He stared at the table, thinking hard.

“Something’s not right here.”

His conversation with Zevara had reassured him on a lot of points. But still, something didn’t sit right with Olesm. He knew she’d probably run countless simulations, but he wasn’t reassured. The timing, the way everything was falling together…was Liscor in danger? The least he could do was think it out. Olesm sat at the table, pondering hard as his brain ran through possibility after possibility. After a few minutes he looked up and called towards the kitchen.

“Hey, can I have another plate of fries?”

“Coming!”

—-

The late meal was elegant despite being held in a war camp. Almost ridiculously so; Yitton eyed the gilded plates and silver silverware with deep concern for the priorities of whoever had packed the camp’s supplies. There was no need for this.

Then again however, it suited the gathering. Emperor Laken Godart sat next to Lord Tyrion, dining carefully. He was blind. Yitton had met men blinded in battle and Laken behaved as they did, although there was a surety to his movements that he had that the men had lacked.

The young man sat stiffly, head slightly tilted towards Tyrion. He moved slowly, but not randomly, carefully finding his plate and food with knife and fork. He was able to eat with only a minimal amount of inconvenience. But his presence disturbed the others. He bothered Yitton too.

“Tyrion, how is it that an…an [Emperor] is sitting among us? Your Majesty, I hate to be rude, but the presence of any sort of royalty on Izril is unheard of. Let alone for someone of your station to appear here…”

Ieka glanced between Laken and Tyrion, her face torn between suspicion and incredulity. Lord Tyrion looked up from his meal—carefully prepared scallops adorned with so many little toppings that they quite outnumbered the seafood itself.

“I requested Emperor Godart’s company, Lady Ieka. The need for his presence will soon be made clear. As for his origins, that remains for his majesty to reveal. I have not pressed him on the matter.”

“You aren’t curious?”

“I consider the information superfluous. Emperor Laken, would you care for more wine?”

“No, thank you. My stomach’s still unsettled from the ride from Riverfarm these last few days. I’ve discovered that I don’t care for horses.”

Laken replied calmly. Yitton tried to remember where Riverfarm was. He must have been riding nonstop and with powerful Skills to have caught up. He was about to ask something—Erill had been uncharacteristically silent—when Gralton interrupted.

“I don’t care for games. Are you an [Emperor] or not, boy? And where the hell did you come from?”

The table went silent. Laken Godart slowly turned his head in Gralton’s direction.

“Is that Lord Gralton?”

Tyrion opened his mouth, looking displeased, but Gralton interrupted. The man had all the manners of a savage.

“That’s me. Izril has no [Emperors]. We have no [Kings]. Where did you come from so suddenly that not even a she-weasel like Ieka knows of you?”

Yitton held his breath with the table. Ieka narrowed her eyes. Tyrion did not look inclined to intervene, and so everyone stared at Laken. The young man calmly speared a scallop.

“That is none of your business, Lord Gralton.”

“What?”

That was the wrong thing to say to Gralton. The man half-rose and uttered a low growl, like the dogs he raised. The sound made Yitton’s hair stand on end. Consumed by his class. He eyed Gralton warily, wondering if he should say something.

But Laken Godart didn’t flinch. He calmly chewed his bite and spoke.

“Heel.”

Yitton’s blood ran cold. The sound Gralton made was all beast now. He rose from his chair.

“Gralton.”

Erill sounded wary. The [Lord] looked at him and Erill backed up in his seat. Gralton leaned over the table.

“I’ve killed men for lesser insults.”

“And will you try again tonight?”

Laken’s voice was glacial. He looked towards Lord Gralton in complete silence, his eyes still closed. Gralton’s eyes narrowed. If the man had a dog’s ears, Yitton thought they would have been laid flat against the back of his head. The intensity between the two ratcheted up another notch. Gralton began to snarl.

Yitton could sense the impending violence in the air. He held his breath, his body tensed to move. If Gralton leapt, possibly not even Tyrion could save the [Emperor]. But the air was heavy, and it wasn’t just the threat of violence that hung there. Yitton felt something heavy pressing down on his shoulders. And he was not the center of Laken’s focus. The young man sat in place, head turned towards Gralton. And then he took another bite of the scallop.

The snarling abruptly abated. Gralton sat back down. Suddenly the wild look was gone in his eyes. He laughed. Yitton stared, but Gralton roared with laughter.

“So you are an [Emperor]! At least that is true.”

“As I said.”

Laken Godart smiled coolly. Yitton remembered to breathe as Gralton grabbed a scallop himself with his bare hands. Only now did he sense the air lighten. And only now did he place the strange emotion he’d felt coming from Laken the entire meal.

He seemed irritated. Impatient, as if he did not want to be here. It was such a simple emotion that it surprised Yitton. For a moment he was like one of Yitton’s offspring, clearly unhappy about being here. But at the same time he had faced down Gralton and even now exuded an air of…assurance. Confidence manifest.

Pride. And it was Laken who put down his fork and turned to Lord Tyrion.

“Thank you for this meal, Lord Tyrion. But I believe your guests and I have come for the same reason. Would you please explain what your grand aim is with the Goblins?”

He sat back in his chair. Lord Tyrion inclined his head.

“As you wish, Emperor Godart.”

He was respectful, but Yitton was sure that Tyrion used Laken’s titles out of a desire to be correct, not out of any sense of deference. And he was just as sure from reading Laken’s expression that the young Emperor Godart knew exactly what Tyrion was about to say. Yitton stared at Laken and then turned his attention to Tyrion.

For all an [Emperor] sat next to him, Tyrion Veltras commanded the room. He did not speak loudly or make grand gestures. He simply stood and spoke without wasting time.

“I am aware of the rumors and gossip swirling about in the war camp. And I am also aware that many of the nobility have deduced the destination to which we travel. But in the interest of transparency, I intend to share with you all the full scope of my war plans tonight. Lady Ieka, gentlemen, our destination is Liscor. And I intend to use the Goblins as a first weapon to strike against the Drakes.”

A sigh ran around the table from the other nobles. Satisfied, resigned, dismissive. Yitton looked from face to face at Gralton, Erill, and Ieka. They didn’t look shocked, or even surprised. He glanced at Tyrion. Erill mused into his wine glass.

“So the rumors were true. We are indeed fighting a war by proxy with the Goblins as our instrument.”

“I suppose it is somewhat worth the effort. But all the cloak and dagger nonsense could have been avoided to save us all distress, Tyrion. Just say we’re sending the Goblins into Drake lands and we’ll all support you. Well, most of us.”

Ieka sighed as she lifted a fork to her mouth. Tyrion smiled. Yitton glanced at Gralton and noticed the man hadn’t made a comment either. Like Yitton, he was watching Tyrion. It was his eyes. They betrayed the man’s burning heart.

“I am afraid that you are wrong in that regard, Lord Erill, Lady Ieka. My aim is not to simply send the Goblin Lord into the south as a marauding force. Rather, I intend to aim at a specific target. I told you we march to Liscor. And it is Liscor I intend to take.”

For a moment Yitton was convinced his ears had betrayed him. He half-rose from his seat. War. Gralton was grinning madly. Ieka and Erill were frozen. Yitton uttered a strangled sound and Tyrion looked at him.

“Lord Yitton?”

It took Yitton a second to make words come out of his throat.

“Lord Tyrion, you cannot be serious! War has not been declared with the Drakes! To attack Liscor would be—”

“I do not intend to declare war. Nor do I intend to violate the terms of our treaty with the Drakes in any way. We will take no direct action against the city of Liscor. But it will be taken.”

“How?”

Erill leaned over his plate. His eyes were sharp as they studied Tyrion. He spoke plainly, dispensing with formalities.

“How, Tyrion? The Goblin Lord may be weaker than our army, but he is not a mindless tool. Goblins are not entirely suicidal. Do you intend to force him to attack Liscor? I fear he would rather march around the walls and take his chances fleeing rather than face certain death. Liscor cannot be taken by an army so quickly, not without preparation. And not while the waters have risen.”

Tyrion nodded. His eyes flicked amusement towards Erill, though his face was stoney.

“That is true, Lord Erill. But the waters will fall shortly. By the time we arrive, Liscor will be assailable.”

“Not by Goblins, and not without an even larger army than the one you brought! Their walls are enchanted! We’d need dedicated siege mages, not the ones we’ve brought. And ladders! Siege towers, dozens of them! Erill is right, an assault is suicide! You might as well kill the Goblin Lord and be done with it—he’ll never risk an assault!”

Ieka glowered at Tyrion. He shook his head.

“I intend to offer Liscor to the Goblin Lord as a prize, Ieka. By making it a target easy to take.”

“Impossible. No one can break the walls with magic or with steel. The Necromancer hurled his undead against the walls and they held. The Goblin Lord’d never get over before the Drakes reinforce the city. But go on.”

Gralton grinned. Tyrion smiled coldly.

“I happen to have a way to open Liscor’s walls, Gralton.”

“That would be where I come in, wouldn’t it, Lord Tyrion?”

Laken looked up casually. Tyrion nodded.

“Yes, your majesty. As you surmised, your help is essential.”

He began to rise from his seat, but a strangled noise interrupted him. Tyrion looked to Yitton. The [Lord] was on his feet. He looked around the room, from Ieka to Erill to Tyrion to Gralton—and then at Jericha. Finally he looked at Laken, though the young man could not return his gaze.

“Lord Tyrion, everyone. Are you serious? Are you truly contemplating an attack on a sovereign city? Unprovoked?”

He stared around, but saw no wavering in any of the gazes that came back to him. Just cold calculation in Erill’s eyes, a burning fever in Gralton’s, curiosity in Ieka’s. And in Tyrion he saw that burning excitement.

Only Laken Godart didn’t respond with his eyes, because they were closed. But he shifted slightly, looked down. If he could have met Yitton’s eyes, what would he have said? Tyrion interrupted Yitton impatiently.

“We are at war with the Drakes, Yitton. We have been for centuries.”

“In name only. Surely this—”

“If the Drakes thought they could push into our lands, they would. Since we are strong, we have repelled such attempts. But I do not intend to wait until that day comes. Liscor falls, Yitton. And I would ask that you refrain from voiceing your objections until I have finished speaking.”

Slowly, Yitton sat. He was trembling. Tyrion waited a beat, and then went on.

“Yes, Liscor has been my target from the beginning. Ever since I began mustering this army. I would not have informed any of you of my plans until the moment was at hand. It is not that I do not trust any of your personally; I trust no one at all with my plans. But it seems Magnolia Reinhart is determined to sabotage me regardless of the cost. She has sent a message informing the Drakes of my plans.”

“Magnolia has?”

Ieka breathed in sharply. Erill stirred and Gralton muttered a word not fit for polite company. Or any company, really. Tyrion nodded coldly.

“She is determined to keep the false peace in place. So she’s warned the Drakes.“

“And that’s ruined your plans, hence you telling us? Or must we move quickly, alter this plan you’ve yet to tell us?”

Erill raised his glass and looked at Tyrion sharply. The [Lord] smiled.

“On the contrary. I’m choosing to tell you all because it’s too late for her to stop me. Too late for her, or anyone else.”

—-

Erin peered across her inn. So far her day had been pretty normal, aside from punching Dragons before breakfast. She’d made some soup, hung out with her friends, scolded Mrsha for stealing food…now she was a bit worried about Olesm. He’d been muttering to himself for the past hour and people were beginning to stare at him.

Olesm was sitting at the table, head in his hands, muttering to himself. Since that was how he tended to behave when he played chess against her, she didn’t worry too much. But she did make sure he got his fries, and sent a plate to Eltistiman the [Magician] as well as an apology.

She was about to go over and talk to Olesm when she noticed Jelaqua coming in from Liscor. She noticed because the Selphid was dripping wet and holding something behind her. A bulky, cloth-wrapped something. Seborn was holding the other end. It looked like a body.

It was.

“Jelaqua, what’s that?”

The Selphid turned. She’d clearly been trying to sneak upstairs, but she was about as good a grave robber as…well…Erin had no frame of reference. She smiled guiltily at Erin.

“Hey Erin! What’re you talking about?”

“That. What’s that you’re holding?”

Erin pointed at the clearly large, clearly dead body. A furry paw was sticking out from underneath the cloth.

“Nothing.”

The Selphid tried to hide her end of the covered body behind her. Erin folded her arms. The Selphid wavered.

“Okay, maybe it’s a dead Raskghar. But its dead, see?”

She poked the body and lifted the cover. Erin recoiled.

“Why are you bringing it into my inn?”

Jelaqua winced.

“I was going to store a few in my room. You know, just in case? Or…I was thinking we could use the basement. There’s only food down there, and you don’t have rats. And it’s nice and cool.”

“No. Absolutely—why do you need multiple dead bodies?”

“Spares in case my body gets damaged? To try out? Emergency food supplies?”

“For fun?”

Seborn raised his end of the Raskghar. Jelaqua and Erin stared at him. The Drowned Man shrugged.

“That’s what you told me.”

“Seborn!”

“I’m not having dead bodies in my inn. They’ll rot. Okay, maybe they won’t with the [Field of Preservation] but—rats will eat them! If I had rats. I—I’m just not having them here! No way!”

Erin raised her hands. Jelaqua nearly dropped the dead Raskghar and held up her claws imploringly. Seborn swore as he tried to prop the body up.

“Come on, Erin. Please? I never get extra bodies and these ones are so—do you know how prestigious it is to be the first Selphid to wear a new body? You won’t notice them at all, I swear! And we’ll pay you.”

“There’s no w—how much?”

The iron wall of refusal Erin had built up turned out to be rusty. She hesitated and edged over to Jelaqua.

“I mean, okay, I’m pretty rich from all the gold I got from Ilvriss right now. I can buy a lot of potatoes or…nails…but if you’re giving me money—not that I’m saying you have lots of money to give or anything—”

The two conferred for a minute. After a little bit, Jelaqua shook Erin’s hand.

“You won’t regret this. They won’t go anywhere, I promise. Unless I’m in them! Come on, Seborn, we’re taking these guys downstairs!”

“Good. Hurry up. Moore says the other ones are getting drenched in the rain.”

The Halfseekers stomped down into the basement. Erin looked around sheepishly. All of her patrons gave her a long stare. She coughed and sidled over to a table. She leaned on it and then spoke to Eltistiman.

“Sorry about that. That doesn’t happen all the time.”

The [Magician] blinked up at Erin. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out for quite some while. And Olesm still muttering.

“It can’t be that simple. This Tyrion Veltras can’t be that stupid. He had to know a Goblin Lord’s army couldn’t take Liscor, not with the Antinium and the Watch and enchanted walls on our side.”

He was doing calculations on a scrap of parchment. Erin had banned him from using the table. Olesm frowned as he muttered.

“What if they tried linked casting? If they linked every mage they had—assuming all the Gold-rank adventurers he’s hired, and if you assume…what, one high-level [Mage] per thousand [Soldiers]…”

He had to consult a [Mage] on that. Unfortunately, only Falene and Pisces were present. They had been playing an unfriendly game of chess, but the half-Elf paused to give her opinion on how feasible that would be.

“Linked casting is certainly a powerful technique. However, it requires immense concentration and discipline on the part of the casters. It cannot be performed with totally untrained mages—in Wistram, only students of the fourth year or older would learn to cast together. Of course, any true graduate of Wistram would know how to perform such a spell.”

She looked pointedly at Pisces. The [Necromancer] rolled his eyes. He interrupted Falene with a sneer.

“The problem that Falene has yet to point out, Olesm, is that linking does not allow [Mages] to cast spells they do not already know. They could boost an existing spell several times over—the classic example is using [Siege Fireball], which is simply an overcharged version of [Grand Fireball]—but unless the lead mage knows a Tier 6 spell or higher, the effort is usually pointless.”

“I get it. So there’s a limit.”

“And unless there’s a truly powerful Gold-rank team—no, they’d be Named Adventurers. Or you’d know of the [Mage] by name if they were coming your way.”

Falene nodded grudgingly. That left Olesm with an answer. Of sorts. He went back to his table and continued calculating.

“Okay, so assuming they don’t have that many powerful spells or Tier 6 is the absolute limit…they might be able to do that. But we have anti-spell wards. We could take at least a few hits from a Tier 6 spell, and [Siege Fireball] wouldn’t be enough to damage our walls. Right? And those [Mages] are in danger of being killed if they’re in range. It’s not a sensible idea. We held off the [Necromancer], after all…”

There was no way Tyrion Veltras would try something with so many risks. And his army wasn’t that mage-heavy. Olesm crossed that idea off his list. That should have made him relieved, but he wasn’t. He felt like he was missing some crucial piece of information. Something important that would put it all together.

And then it came to him. Not as an idea, but as a letter. The door to Celum opened and someone appeared in the doorway. Olesm paid no notice at first. He vaguely tuned out Erin exclaiming and greeting a tall Human [Runner] who Olesm only barely recalled.

“Fals! Why are you here?”

“I’ve got a letter, actually. It came by regular mail. Took a while to get here, due to a few delays—an idiot sprained his ankle, and it would have taken several more days, but someone paid more for a faster delivery. So here I am.”

“Is it for me? Wait, is it from Ryoka?”

“No. It’s to…”

“Olesm?”

The Drake looked up. He saw the Human offering the letter to him. He blinked at the delicately scented stationary.

“Oh, it’s a fan letter to me. For my chess newspaper. I haven’t run an issue in a while. I—thank you. I’ve got my seal around here. One second…”

Absentmindedly he gave Fals his personal seal and a tip. The [Runner] left the letter with him and went to chat with Erin. About Ryoka. Olesm left the letter on the table for a while as he mentally struggled with the puzzle he was facing. And then, since he was tired and out of sorts, he opened the letter.

It was indeed fan mail, or at least, that was how it began. The delicate cursive made Olesm blink, as did the gold-nibbled edges of the card. It looked expensive. It even smelled expensive, but then he’d received a lot of letters from famous [Strategists] and chess fans. Even Niers Astoragon. He read the letter slowly.

“To Olesm Swifttail of Liscor, I am a deep admirer of your ‘chess newsletter’ that seems to have spread across much of the continent recently. I must confess to having only a passing interest in the game, but I am acquainted with chess and found the games rather fascinating. They are also, apparently, games of the highest caliber according to a rather grumpy friend I regularly correspond with. He has since become vaguely interested in your newsletter and that is quite an accomplishment in itself. I do hope you will continue releasing the game…hope that you will consider sending copies north…mhm…”

Olesm scanned the rest of the letter. It seemed like what he regularly got. He vaguely wondered who was writing this and checked the envelope. Sometimes the writers sent him gold or trinkets. One time he’d gotten a clawful of powdered silver. Weird stuff like that. Olesm found nothing else, but he noticed something on the bottom of the card.

It was a single sentence, underlined and circled repeatedly. It stood out from the rest of the writing, and it made him freeze. It was a strange sentence, that didn’t mesh at all with the rest of the letter. But it mattered. It was the same sentence, word for word, that was sent via Courier to the top [Strategist] in Zeres, and to other Drake [Strategists] via [Message] spell and Runner. Three words. But they made Olesm shout and leap up from his table. He overturned his chair, ran for the door to Liscor and raced out it, shouting for Zevara. It changed everything.

When Olesm’s wild shouting had died off, Erin unfroze and walked slowly over to the table. She picked up the card he’d dropped and turned it over. She skimmed the message until she reached the bottom and saw the underlined word. Then she frowned.

“He has trebuchets.”

She looked up at the staring customers. Erin stared at the card and then looked around. She scratched her head.

“Who does?”

—-

“Trebuchets.”

Yitton sat at the table. He tried to picture the word, but he had only seen one in a book. He’d heard what they could do, of course. They were siege weapons, designed to take down enemy walls from afar. But none existed in northern Izril. They were impossible to make unless you were an [Engineer]. Who would contemplate building such a thing? Who would know how other than someone who had a class?

An [Emperor], that was who. Laken Godart sat at the table and nodded, calm as could be. The staring nobility finally remembered to close their jaws at last.

“You know how to make trebuchets?”

“Of course. I’ve taught my [Engineers] how to make them as well. We had two when Lord Tyrion rescued Riverfarm. But at his request, we’ve been working on duplicating them as fast as possible.”

“And now? How many do you have?”

Lord Erill leaned over the table, ignoring the food that smudged his expensive clothing. Laken paused for a second and then nodded.

“We have thirteen trebuchets, eight of which have been tested. My [Engineering] team will continue testing the others and constructing more on the march.”

Tyrion nodded.

“I’ve conscripted every high-level [Carpenter], [Blacksmith], and [Builder] into working on the trebuchets. I intend to have at least twenty by the time we arrive at Liscor. If I can contrive, it, forty.”

“Forty—but how many [Engineers] do you have?”

Yitton choked on the thought of so many. Laken just sighed.

“Only a pair for now. But the class doesn’t matter, Lord Yitton. It is not the class which brings knowledge. It is understanding. And I understand how trebuchets work. I do not need a Skill or time to experiment; I can order my people to replicate the design a hundred times. A thousand times, if need be.”

“And you brought thirteen of them. To besiege Liscor.”

Yitton repeated the words slowly. He tried to remember if he’d heard any rumors of strange weapons arriving. How big were they? They had to be massive, surely. Erill frowned.

“Where were they kept? I heard nothing about any trebuchets arriving—”

Ieka laughed softly. She fanned herself, glancing at Tyrion with something akin to admiration.

“He’s using bags of holding, obviously. You’ve got all the parts stored neatly away. And ammunition, I shouldn’t wonder. Nothing to see. Or sabotage. How quickly can they be set up and operated?”

“It will take time, but Emperor Laken assures me that his people can train others in the operation of the weapons. And with them, taking Liscor becomes a reality.”

“How?”

It was the same question, but there was urgency in it this time. Now all the nobles looked at Tyrion, not with incredulity, but wanting to know exactly how it would be done. Yitton pointed out the obvious with a sick feeling in his stomach.

“Attacking Liscor will still violate the terms of our peace.”

“Not if the attack was incidental.”

“You mean—an accident?”

“Yes. An unfortunate misunderstanding. Poor aim as our army finally assaults the Goblin Lord.”

Lord Tyrion’s eyes glittered. He had a cup in his hands. Now he put it down to speak.

“Our army has been pursuing one purpose and one alone: to slay the Goblin Lord. He has escaped us for many days, but at last, we will have cornered him at Liscor. To attack his army, we will deploy trebuchets, a powerful weapon which will surely be his downfall. Unfortunately, on the day of the assault, the trebuchets will misfire. And strike Liscor instead.”

Erill shook his head.

“There is absolutely no way the Drakes will accept that.”

“No? Accidents occur. Regardless, the trebuchets will continue firing until Liscor’s walls are breached. And then, naturally, they will stop. The army will advance upon the Goblin Lord as is our mission. And the Goblins—”

“—Will storm the city through the breaches. Of course.”

Ieka sat back in her chair. Yitton nearly vomited. That was the plan? That? A lie barely disguised? Destroy the walls and let the Goblins pour through? Tyrion was still talking, outlining his plan to the others.

“It is not an offensive action against Liscor. The trebuchets are a terrible mistake. All the bloodshed and the taking of the city itself would be the fault of the Goblins. Naturally, once they sack the city, it would have to be retaken.”

“By a conveniently placed Human army?”

Gralton snorted with amusement. Tyrion nodded.

“If one happened to be nearby.”

“And you think you can take Liscor? Just like that? With trebuchets?”

Ieka eyed Tyrion sardonically, but her hands played with a fork rapidly. She was excited. Tyrion nodded.

“Trebuchets are a rare weapon, one that Liscor was never designed to withstand. Magic, yes, but trebuchets? No. They have enchantments on their walls, but no siege weapons themselves either. Drakes are naturally possessive and that technology resides solely in the Walled Cities, and [Engineers] capable of constructing such weapons have been practically impossible to find—until now.”

“But Liscor was designed to be unassailable. The Necromancer—”

Tyrion held up a hand, forestalling Erill’s argument.

“Liscor’s walls are spelled against magic and physical harm, but how strongly? A [Mage] will tire, but a trebuchet? How many stones will the wall endure before the magic runs out? Forty? A hundred? Liscor is no Walled City. The Necromancer could not take it with his magic, but that was his arrogance. I place my trust in stones and wood. What is real and will not evaporate or disappear.”

“And which you can replicate. Clever.”

Ieka gazed at Laken. The [Emperor] didn’t notice her glance. He was staring ahead. He did not look happy. Tyrion did. He nodded.

“We have the weapons to crack Liscor’s walls, and an expendable army that will see the city as their only salvation. By the time we reach Liscor, I have no doubt that the Drakes will be marching a force north from Pallass to keep the Goblins out of their lands. The Goblin Lord will have no choice but to assault Liscor and hope he can hold the walls.”

Erill nodded.

“And when he does, Liscor falls. And we take the city. We outnumber the Goblins. But wouldn’t they know it’s a trap?”

Gralton grunted.

“Better trying to hold a city than fight a Drake army or a Human one out in the open. And Liscor is what you want, isn’t it, Veltras? That’s what all this is for. Liscor.”

He looked at Tyrion, not as a rabid dog might, but with sharp cunning in his eyes. Tyrion smiled in response. He had a map of Izril and he brought it out now. His fingers traced Liscor and moved ever south, pointing out lines of attack and defence that all ran through one spot.

“Liscor’s value as a strategic location cannot be understated. In the past, our armies have traditionally fought in the Blood Fields as a matter of course; we cannot hope to take and hold Drake Cities further to the south with Liscor at our backs, able to cut our supply lines in half, so we fight at a prearranged location with the Drakes. But if we hold Liscor, we may mount as many southern offensives as need be, at our leisure. The city is practically impregnable if defended correctly.”

“This is insane. It would be the first prelude to a full-scale war. The Drakes would never let Liscor fall so easily.”

Yitton felt like he was alone in the room. The others barely glanced at him, but Erill did look up.

“Yitton has a point, Tyrion. If Magnolia Reinhart has warned the Drakes, they’ll be marching north as fast as they can. But they don’t have to wait. They have that magic door. You recall, from the siege of Liscor?”

Lady Ieka snapped her fingers, frustrated.

“Of course! I recall that thing! They could continually reinforce Liscor, send an army through before we got there! If they do that then—”

“Calm yourselves, that issue has already been accounted for.”

Tyrion’s voice was unperturbed. Erill’s eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair as he glanced at Tyrion. The [Lord] did not elaborate.

“I’ve already made a move in that regards. Moreover, I suspect that door cannot transport legions of soldiers without great cost. But it is another reason why I intend to take the city. A doorway that would allow us to reinforce the city or transport an army would be of considerable strategic importance.”

“Not to mention economic.”

“Of course. Liscor is a gateway city. And in times of peace, it would be valuable to hold.”

“Lord Tyrion. All of what you’ve said is an open declaration to the Drakes. If you take Liscor, they will declare war. A true war that will split our continent in two once more.”

Yitton spoke through numb lips. He stared at Tyrion. How could he have misjudged the man? But then—he hadn’t. Tyrion had always been aiming at this. He hadn’t lied to anyone. If he’d done the trickery, it was by hiding his intent until the last moment. But he’d shot towards his goal. Straight as an arrow. And just as deadly. Lord Tyrion looked at Yitton, and for a moment his gaze softened. Perhaps he wanted Yitton to understand, but the Lord Byres couldn’t. At last, Tyrion shook his head.

“This is not an act of war. This is an unfortunate accident that will lead to the fall of Liscor. The Goblins will sack the city. And we will clear them out. We will not violate our treaties; nor will we kill a single Drake. Naturally, Liscor must be occupied and so our army will rebuild it stronger and populate it once more.”

Just hearing the way Tyrion phrased it made Yitton feel as though he’d swallowed muck. He bit his tongue rather than shout, but then he heard laughter. It was coarse, boisterous, almost mocking. Lord Gralton stood up. He pointed down at the map and looked Tyrion in the eye, challengingly. His bloodshot gaze promised death, but his words were surprisingly measured as he spoke to Tyrion.

“And if the Drakes don’t buy your twisted words? What if they march their armies north and demand Liscor back at the point of the sword? What if they take it back by force of arms? What then?”

Tyrion Veltras paused. And then he smiled.

“They can try.”

—-

Olesm stood in the conference room of Liscor’s city hall. He was panting, out of breath. For a second Ilvriss, Embria, and Zevara stared at him and the same horror in his chest painted their faces. Then Ilvriss moved. He turned and roared an order at his aides, who were staring into the meeting room.

“Get me a [Message] spell to the Walled Cities now! I want every report on Liscor’s rainfall sitting in front of me!”

They ran. Ilvriss swore and grabbed at his scrying orb. Embria’s voice shook as she looked around.

“I need to find a [Mage]. Now. I must inform the High Command!”

“Them? What can they do?”

Olesm looked incredulously at Embria, but the Wing Commander was already gone. He turned back to the map that Ilvriss was already pouring over.

“If they can break our walls, it’s not a question of holding out. If they can breach the walls, the battle will be swift. How many Drakes can we call up north? How quickly?”

He turned to Olesm. The [Strategist] measured the distance between Pallass and Liscor and shook his head. His claws trembled on the table.

“It’s a four day march from the Blood Fields to Liscor! From Pallass—even with Skills, they won’t make it on time! And that army’s massive! Pallass can’t field—”

Ilvriss turned away from the map.

“The door, then. How many soldiers can we pull through per day?”

“It can barely hold two—but if we use [Mages]—”

Zevara was staring out a window, at the walls of her city. Her voice was very distant as she spoke.

“We’ll need thousands to hold the walls if they can create a breach. Are you sure they have trebuchets? How many? If it’s just a few—”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. If they have an [Engineer], they should have one. Two at best! But if Tyrion has multiple [Engineers] somehow—the letter said trebuchets.”

“It doesn’t matter. He wouldn’t come without enough to do the job.”

Ilvriss slowly sat down at the table. Olesm stared at him. The Wall Lord looked tired. And grim.

“He’ll break open the walls and let the Goblins come through. Then he’ll take the city and pretend it was all an accident. The fault of the Goblins.”

“But that’s such an obvious lie.”

Olesm whispered through numb lips. That was the part he hadn’t understood. Why lie about it? Ilvriss was convinced that was how it would occur, but why did the Human have to pretend? But the Wall Lord just shook his head.

“Of course it’s a lie. But it’s a splendid little lie the Humans can shout. We’ll know its true, and our people will know, but what about Humans who only hear what Tyrion Veltras says? What about other nations? The lie will become truth to many. And it’s the lie that will start a war that Tyrion Veltras wants. It’s…a reason. Humans need reasons to go to war. Even if they’re lies. They want to believe they’re in the right.”

“Then it’s happening. He’s going to besiege Liscor. The Goblin Lord’s coming to destroy the city.”

“Yes.”

Ilvriss didn’t move. Olesm looked at him, and then at Zevara. Both Drakes were very still. And then Zevara turned. She looked older than she had this morning. Older and tired. But fire burned in her. She spoke it as she turned.

“Someone get me Klbkch. Tell him I need to speak with his Queen now. Tell him—Liscor may be in mortal danger. Summon the Antinium and rouse the Watch. Send word to the cities.”

She looked at Olesm and Ilvriss. Both Drakes slowly looked up. Zevara clenched her claws into fists.

“Tell them. And tell the damn Humans. Tell Tyrion Veltras. Tell the world. Liscor hasn’t fallen yet.”

—-

The dinner party ended with drinks and a toast, as was custom. Yitton could have thrown his drink down, but he stood mechanically as Tyrion addressed the others. The honorable man stood and watched as his peers toasted. And he knew that he was not an honorable man.

An honorable man would have found a way to stop the bloodbath. An honorable man would have fought, rather than stood silently. But for all Yitton feared a war between Drakes and Humans, he had not the courage to try and stop what was occurring. He knew he could not.

So he stood and listened as Tyrion spoke. The Lord of the Veltras family smiled, a cold smile while his eyes burned. He looked from face to face as he raised a wine glass.

“Prepare yourselves accordingly. I will make a formal announcement two days hence, although I suspect the news will already have been leaked in some fashion or other. Regardless, it matters not. In four days we will reach Liscor and the Goblin Lord will begin his siege of the city. In four days, Liscor falls.”

He drank and the others toasted him. Three [Lords], a [Lady], and an [Emperor]. Yitton looked at Laken Godart. The young man raised his goblet but didn’t drink. And though he could not see Yitton, though he was blind, his head turned slightly towards the [Lord]. And Yitton thought he saw a similar expression cross Laken’s face. He was an [Emperor]. But in that moment he and Yitton were the same.

Trapped.

—-

It was another ordinary day. That was how all days were. Ordinary, until they weren’t. Erin stood outside her inn and stared up at the sky. Normally she would have been drenched in a moment and water would have pelted her upturned face. But for the first time in what felt like ages, Erin didn’t feel the downpour. She felt light and she turned her gaze up to see a bit of sunshine poking through the dark clouds.

“Oh. The rain’s stopped. That’s wonderful!”

She smiled. The rain had stopped! Maybe it would be only for a moment, but people had been saying it was about time for the weather to change. She hoped it would be sunny soon. She couldn’t wait for the summer. She tilted her head back up, smiling, and then heard it.

A strange echo of the falling rain. A distant patter, a thumping heard far off. Like a heartbeat. Or drums, heralding war. Erin shook her head and rubbed at her ears, wondering if there was water caught in her inner ear. After a moment she shrugged and went back to her inn. That was the last she thought of the sound.

But he heard it too. The Goblin crouching on a distant hilltop, nearly invisible in the grass, raised his head and looked northwards. He could sense the thunder in the distance, growing louder and louder. He looked back to the inn, and at the closing door and the young woman who disappeared inside. The old Goblin stroked his grey, tangled beard.

“What do I see? An army of lost children and five who walk Garen Redfang’s path. What will you do, for all those who play games with Goblin lives? And who is she?”

Greydath of Blades stared at the inn, and then his gaze twisted north, to a cave where he sensed the strangeness that had drawn him south. An unexpected twist to all this. There were some things even a Goblin Lord couldn’t predict. Well, he would see what it meant soon enough.

He grinned and his eyes burned crimson. Greydath stood up and leapt into the water. He disappeared with a splash into the murky depths and the fish swimming around him fled. After a few minutes a dark shape darted closer. The waters became violent for a second, and then blood began to rise up like an underwater cloud.

No one noticed. The people of Liscor looked up as the rain stopped, and they saw something wonderful as Erin went back to her window. The end of the rains had brought something special to the skies over Liscor. A rainbow. It shone down from the heavens, a beautiful light that stretched from mountain to mountain. Erin smiled and hummed to herself as she stood outside and the sun finally showed itself.

It looked like it might be a beautiful day.

5.53

Happy. Of course, Goblins had a word for the feeling. They understood happiness as well as any other race, no matter what other species thought of them. They had a word for happy and more words for grief and anger than could be expressed in the limited language of the common tongue. But they had only one word for happy.

That was because happiness to a Goblin was ever fleeting. It was not a long term state of being; to them it could not be. They could be happy, but they were aware that it would never last. Even if a Goblin tribe was strong, or had hidden from enemies, even if they were safe as safe could be, someday, they would be found. Someday they would die.

So their word for happiness wasn’t a blanket statement. To a Goblin, happy was a temporary, fleeting moment of perfection. A moment of paradise in the darkness. A second where everything was right. Happy was not forever, and so it was all the more precious because of it.

And the Redfang Goblins were happy. Madly, deliriously happy. So much so that they expected each day to wake up and for it all to be a dream. But it wasn’t.

They lived in the Dropclaw bat cave now, which was now free of Dropclaw bats and filled to the brim with Cave Goblins. In fact, they weren’t just occupying one cave. After it had become clear that only so many Goblins could sleep on top of one another before someone died of suffocation, the Goblins had gone scouting nearby and found more caves.

It wasn’t as if Liscor lacked for caves. Given that the city and the surrounding area was a basin formed in the center of the High Passes, there were hundreds of smaller caves that opportunistic monsters or animals could lair in. And while many had flooded with the rains, there were still many more that remained above the water line.

In fact, the road north had several good spots to hide out in, although as you went north and eventually passed by Esthelm, the pass would widen until you left the mountains behind entirely. The Cave Goblins hadn’t bothered to go that far; they’d found two other caves with ample elbow room and settled there. They had to evict the former occupants; a group of very upset Face Eater Moths who were even more upset when their burgeoning nest was smashed into oblivion and they themselves became dinner for hungry Goblins.

And now the Redfang Hobs woke each day with small Goblins around them. They ate, and then trained. And the Cave Goblins followed them and learned.

Were they Chieftains? The Hobs had no idea. They felt as though they were in a sense. They taught the Cave Goblins and gave them orders and there was no question they were in charge. But none of them had gotten the [Chieftain] class and they all considered themselves part of Garen’s tribe. Too, there were five of them and even if Headscratcher was their leader at times, he was only the first among equals.

They’d discussed the issue multiple times but given up because it was a headache and besides, it didn’t matter. The Redfangs instead focused their energy on doing what they did best: training. They hadn’t even meant to train the other Goblins at first. They just went around their daily routines until they noticed that there would be hundreds of Cave Goblins watching them and copying them at any time. And so the Redfang Hobs had begun teaching the copycats, just like Garen Redfang and the older Hobs had once trained them in their youths.

Each taught the Cave Goblins according to his strengths. There was no planning to it; the Redfang Goblins had no idea how to lead a tribe, so they just did what they’d always done, and the Cave Goblins followed them about. In that sense there were five mini-tribes, all of whom coexisted peacefully in the cave and dungeon. Cave Goblins came and went using the secret passages known only to them.

The Shield Spider’s nest had been carefully altered to make a walkway for easier passage to and fro from the surface to the dungeon. Sometimes Goblins still fell, and when they did, the Shield Spiders feasted. But the invisibility that protected the Goblins hadn’t dissipated with the defeat of the Raskghar. And now that they were free, more and more looked to the surface.

To the Hobs. If you were a newcomer Cave Goblin, who’d just made the long journey to the surface, there were five splendid camps you could choose from. It was a difficult choice but once the Cave Goblins committed, they didn’t switch leaders. In that sense it was very much like a separate tribe, and each one had their nuances.

Those who followed Headscratcher, the [Berserker] with the enchanted axe and the ability to burst into tears while watching a play in Erin’s inn were fighters to the core. They trained relentlessly, following the Hob as he exercised and fighting much like Headscratcher did, creating crude axes out of stones or using looted weapons in training.

They had the closest bonds and fought like brothers. Or like sisters. Like a family. The Hob told them stories of his family, the fallen. Bugear, Grunter, Leftstep…and he trained them as hard as he’d been trained. Harder. So they would never stand alone.

On the other hand, if you were a Goblin who eschewed simply hitting things as hard as you could, you went to Shorthilt’s mini-tribe. The Goblins who flocked to him were warriors as well, but of a different kind. Like the Hob, they believed in finding the sharpest, most effective weapons to use in battle and even thought about things like ‘tactics’ and ‘strategy’ in battle.

They were both armorers and weapon smiths. Shorthilt had gotten a small armory of weapons from Erin and the best Goblins used those. The rest created a terrifying arsenal out of wood, bone, and rock. With Shorthilt’s help, they learned that you could put an edge on an entirely wooden axe that could cut as finely as any metal one. His Goblins trained and worked on their weapons for all five tribes, although they only used blunt weapons while sparring. Because no one wanted to lose an arm.

If those two were the frontline warriors factions, the other three Goblins occupied more useful roles, at least when it didn’t come to the fighting. For instance, Badarrow’s group was comprised solely of [Archers]. While it was the smallest of the five factions due to the Hob’s grumpy nature and the complexities of wielding a bow, Badarrow and his archers did almost all of the hunting. They could kill fish with their arrows and any bird flying overhead was soon a pincushion.

In his quest for the perfect arrow, Badarrow and his tribe slowly knocked down every tree in the area, obsessively fletching and shooting the precious arrows at targets both night and day. Badarrow could usually be found on the roof of the Dropclaw bat cave, shooting arrows at targets with his students. If you were lucky, he’d slip up and you’d catch him smiling.

While Badarrow’s faction was the smallest, the largest by far was the group of Goblins that followed Rabbiteater. Like the other Goblins, they learned to fight Redfang style, but that wasn’t the focus of their group. No, instead they cooked.

Yes, cooked. Rabbiteater spent more time copying Erin’s food and learning from the master herself than he did training. As such, his Goblins wielded the ladle and spatula and learned how to debone fish, fry bird meat, and wash their hands before every meal.

Rabbiteater also taught them how to look for traps, forage for food, weave nets, and make the most comfortable beds, as befitted a Goblin who had truly been the jack-of-trades among the five Hobs. Now of course he was a [Champion], but to his admirers, the ability to produce tasty food and create dental floss far outweighed mere combat. Rabbiteater’s group was thus envied and scorned by the other four factions, although no one complained when it was time to eat.

And the last faction was Numbtongue’s. Unlike the others groups, they didn’t spend their time copying the Hob’s every action. Rather, they generally just sat around and listened. And learned.

Numbtongue sat in his cave and played on his guitar. He had an audience; hundreds of green bodies sat around him. Crimson eyes followed his claws as he played a song he’d learned from Erin. But no one made a sound. The Cave Goblins listened as Numbtongue played a classic from Erin’s world. Or something close to it.

“I don’t know exactly how it goes. But it uh, sounds like this. Doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo…no, that note’s a bit higher. Hey, do you want me to write this down?”

Of Erin’s many talents, writing sheet music and playing instruments weren’t one of them. But she could at least hum the melody and Numbtongue would spend hours recreating the songs. Now he strummed the guitar and brought a song from her home into this cave. It was a melancholy song if you were sad. Or a beautiful one if you weren’t.

His guitar sang. Sparks of electricity shot from the chords and danced across Numbtongue’s fingers as he played. The battered, twice-repaired guitar echoed in the cave. The bass was deeper than it should be for the size of the instrument. The notes echoed as Numbtongue sped up, switching to another song. And his audience listened, captivated.

Curiously, none of the Cave Goblins joined in. They just listened as he played. When Numbtongue stopped they’d make music. His group had begun hitting rocks together, making crude drums, and trying to replicate the guitar without success. They’d kept the other Cave Goblins up at night with their racket. But when Numbtongue spoke or played, they just listened.

It bothered the Hob, to be honest. Because his Cave Goblins were acting much like he did around Erin. He had a deep suspicion that they’d listened to every word he’d said to Erin—and everything the Human said on her daily visits to the cave. His faction was probably at least semi-fluent by now, but like Numbtongue, they refrained from speaking except when excessively poked.

Music, speech, and obviously, fighting. Those were his Cave Goblins. And they were his. Numbtongue had never felt as protective of a group of Goblins before. They were like children, although some of the Goblins were older than he was. But he was a Hob and they looked at him like…like…

Like he’d looked at Garen. As a small Goblin looked at a hero. Someone who they aspired to be like. That bothered Numbtongue because he knew he was no Garen. But no matter how many times he tried to shoo the Cave Goblins away, they kept following him. So in desperation he tried to be the leader they expected of him.

He should probably show them how to hit things now. Probably. But Numbtongue played on. His fingers danced along the guitar strings. It was so unlike the rapid, brutal way of fighting he’d learned. That was an art too, but a violent one, with sudden starts and stops and blood. This—this was beautiful.

The cave was dark. Rabbiteater had moved his cooking fires outside because of all the smoke. But the flashing electricity illuminated the cave each time Numbtongue played a chord. That was why he was given a respectful distance by his audience. Numbtongue didn’t know why he’d gained the [Electric Chords] Skill or, as he’d become a Level 25 Bard, [Lightning Melody]. Both Skills were clearly related to his class, but why were they electricity-based?

Erin had speculated that it was because Numbtongue had been playing the songs she’d taught him on the guitar. Why or how that mattered was a mystery, but apparently Humans played on guitars that used lightning all the time in Erin’s home. She’d tried to explain it to Numbtongue, but her words had made no sense.

No sense, unless you noticed how sometimes Erin would say things about her home that everyone else paid attention to. Pisces, Ceria, Typhenous…all the Antinium…they knew something about Erin. And the Hobs knew that they knew, although they didn’t know what it was they knew. She came from somewhere far off. Somewhere unlike anywhere in this world. From…another world? How? And why?

Thoughts like that made Numbtongue’s head hurt so he played another riff on his guitar. Fine, [Electric Chords] was a good ability to have, even if using a guitar in combat wasn’t the smartest of life choices. But [Lightning Melody]? How would that work?

He’d woken up to hear the glorious announcement in his head today. Unlike the other Hobs, Numbtongue and Rabbiteater had been leveling fast; both had gained two levels this week alone somehow. It was probably because they were fulfilling the requirements of their class. Shorthilt, Rabbiteater, and Badarrow could train, but they didn’t level nearly as fast as they would fighting monsters. On the other hand, Numbtongue had all the time to play his guitar in front of an audience. And Rabbiteater…well, he might just be leveling up by existing.

And now Numbtongue had another Skill. Was [Lightning Melody] a powerful one? He thought it was. Part of him had been worried he wouldn’t get any useful Skills for fighting, but his new Skill seemed to indicate he could summon lightning. Like a [Mage].

But surely it wasn’t that easy, right? Numbtongue frowned and shifted his grip on the guitar. He shifted up the tempo of his playing and chose a fast-paced song. If Erin had been present, she would have recognized the tune Numbtongue was shredding on the guitar.

Fast. Faster. Numbtongue imagined calling the electricity flying from the tips of his guitar and into the instrument. He could hear Rabbiteater cooking outside, smell roasting fish. On the roof of the cave Badarrow was shouting at his students as they fired arrows—

No, focus. Draw in energy into the guitar. Numbtongue’s clawed fingers flew across the guitar. Electricity shot from his hands, making the nearest Cave Goblins flinch back. Sweat began to bead on Numbtongue’s forehead. He reached the climax of his solo and shouted as he raised the guitar up over his head.

“Hiyah!”

All the Goblins in the room ducked. A few errant sparks of electricity shot from Numbtongue’s chords and hands, but nothing happened. The Hob stared at his guitar, and then looked around. His students stared back at him. Sheepishly, Numbtongue lowered the guitar. He began to strum a gentler song, coughing in embarrassment. Maybe he needed to sing? He knew all the words to a lot of the songs Erin had taught him, but it was embarrassing to do it in front of an audience. Especially if they joined in.

There was still a feeling of tension in the guitar, though. Numbtongue frowned as he played on. It did feel like the electricity was gathering, but how was he supposed to unleash it? Maybe he needed this ‘electric guitar’ Erin kept talking about?

The Hob played five more notes and lightning shot down from the sky, blowing Badarrow off his perch and sending his students fleeing. Numbtongue looked up when he heard the screams and raced outside with the others. He paused when he saw Badarrow lying on the ground, weakly waving his arms and legs and stared at the smoldering crater that marked the spot where lightning had struck.

“Uh? Uh?”

That was all Badarrow said for a while until the color came back to his face. When he did finally manage to sit up and got an explanation from the babbling Goblins around him, he chased Numbtongue about, shouting and kicking at his back. By the time Badarrow had vented his considerable pique, Headscratcher had returned with his group. The Hob slowed to a stop as he ran towards the crowd of Goblins. Sweat was covering his bare chest and he was naked save for a pair of pants and the enchanted axe on his belt.

He’d taken his group on a run. Headscratcher stared at Numbtongue’s guitar as they explained what had happened, and then he nodded.

“Sit?”

The four Hobs present looked at each other. They nodded. Numbtongue looked around.

“One of you find Shorthilt. Tell him we are going to have a war meeting.”

—-

War meeting. This was another thing they were teaching the Cave Goblins, something the Redfangs had learned from their tribe. The five Hobs sat in their cave while Goblins crowded around them. Many had to sit outside, but whatever was said or done was instantly conveyed to them.

Numbtongue shifted uncomfortably as he sat next to Shorthilt and Rabbiteater. This was an old practice. It was a Redfang tradition after encountering a tough foe in the High Passes. The entire tribe would sit together, just like this and come up with a plan to defeat their enemy—or avoid them. It was just like this, except it wasn’t like this.

Normally Redscar would be…there. Right across from Garen Redfang himself. The best warriors and Hobs would be sitting in the center, with the weaker ones slowly radiating outwards. Instead, it was the five Hobs sitting in the center and all the Cave Goblins watching. It felt different. Wrong. And yet, it was all the Hobs knew.

Headscratcher opened the war council up by clearing his throat. The Hob couldn’t speak the common tongue well, so he defaulted to the Goblin’s tongue and sign language. Only Numbtongue spoke in common for the benefit of his faction.

“Lightning attack good. Is good Skill. Not hurt Badarrow is good too.”

The other Hobs nodded. Badarrow growled.

“Stupid Skill.”

“Good Skill. Powerful. Like Silver-rank spell. Tier 3.”

Shorthilt shook his head. He nodded at Numbtongue who nodded back. Badarrow folded his arms and grunted moodily. Rabbiteater grinned.

“Powerful! Can do again? Many times?”

“No!”

All the Hobs reacted when Rabbiteater pointed to the guitar. Numbtongue shook his head.

“It takes a while to work. The Skill is not…convenient. But I think I can do it again. It’s probably stronger on cloudy days.”

The Goblins glanced towards the cave entrance. The rainclouds that haunted Liscor were still pouring. It was definitely a phenomenon of the weather; in their cave outside of Liscor they often got showers, but only in the floodplains were the rains ever-present. Headscratcher nodded.

“Is good. Skill good. Could hurt Gargoyles with lightning.”

“Mm.”

The other Hobs nodded. That would be useful. Shorthilt looked around in his seat at the watching Goblins.

“Gargoyles tough. But new not-tribes strong. Maybe enough to fight in High Passes?”

The other Redfang Warriors considered the question. They glanced at their factions, assessing. Of course, they were all regular Goblins and thus a lot weaker than a tribe with Hobs, but Numbtongue thought that was a temporary situation at best. Recently, several Cave Goblins in his faction had begun eating far more than the others. And some were getting…big.

“My warriors strong. Could beat regular Goblins in fight.”

Headscratcher nodded decisively. Shorthilt raised his brows.

“Good. My group could kill Eater Goats. Maybe.”

The two Hobs stared at each other appraisingly. Badarrow rolled his eyes.

“Going to High Passes?”

He interrupted the beginning of an argument. Both Hobs quieted down. At last, Headscratcher shook his head.

“Good food here. Nice…place.”

The other Hobs nodded in agreement. This was a nice place. And yet—what came next? They’d agreed on the essentials. Their Goblins were getting stronger. Numbtongue being able to call down lightning however sporadically was good. But what came next?

“Fight in dungeon? Hunt down hiding Raskghar? Eat fish? Train?”

Rabbiteater counted down their options. The Hobs nodded. Each option sounded good. And yet they knew that these were all transitory activities. Numbtongue was the one to say it.

“When the rains stop, what will we do next? We’re in the middle of the road and close to the city. And Erin cannot feed us forever.”

The other four looked at him with expressions of resignation and dismay. Numbtongue felt guilty himself. Why did he have to say it?

None of them wanted to think about what would happen soon. They knew this wasn’t sustainable; despite Rabbiteater’s faction constantly fishing and Badarrow’s group bringing in food (and Headscratcher occasionally killing something while on his runs), Erin was essentially paying to feed all the Goblins. She was constantly bringing in bags of flour, produce, and so on  through her magic door. And while she claimed she was ‘good for it’ thanks to the bounty Ilvriss had paid out, Numbtongue was aware of how much she had to be spending per day.

“It’s a lot of money.”

He hunched his shoulders. Headscratcher nodded slowly. He looked towards the far end of the cave. There, propped up against the wall, was the door. While the Cave Goblins had placed bedrolls and supplies practically everywhere else, the spot around the door was kept clean and no one was allowed to sleep there. It was like a shrine, although the Goblins had no understanding of what a shrine was. But they venerated the spot nonetheless because of where it led.

“Can find more shiny metal in dungeon. Probably.”

“How much?”

Shorthilt wrinkled his nose. The Goblins knew in abstract how much gold was worth, but they hadn’t placed any value on it. The reaction of the adventurers had told them what they’d given away, but the Goblins couldn’t bring themselves to covet the useless, glittering stuff. Headscratcher frowned.

“Don’t know. Numbtongue find out? Go get food and check?”

He looked carefully at Numbtongue. So did the others. Numbtongue froze.

“Why me?”

The other Hobs rolled their eyes. Only Numbtongue could read, obviously! Rabbiteater kicked Numbtongue in the side and Badarrow leaned over to poke him. Numbtongue growled, but in the end nodded.

“Fine. I’ll see what the menu says. Or ask.”

He stood up. The other Goblins moved back as Numbtongue moved to the door. He glanced back at the other four Hobs as they began to discuss more training and the idea of hunting something bigger down, like a Rock Crab. But that was all for show. He knew that Headscratcher’s idea about finding money to pay Erin with was just that: an idea.

It still didn’t solve the problem. It still didn’t change the fact that there were too many Goblins and they didn’t know what to do. Numbtongue knew that and it weighed on him. Soon, very soon, they would have to do something. He placed his hand on the door and felt the trembling that told him it was connected. He wished, at times, that he wasn’t the only one who could speak Erin’s language. Because that meant that  someday, perhaps very soon, he would have to be the one to tell Erin goodbye.

But for today at least…he stepped through the doorway into The Wandering Inn and inhaled slowly. The air was warm and the inn was bustling. Gnolls and Drakes waited tables while a smattering of people sat and ate. Humans, Drakes, Gnolls, all looked up when Numbtongue stepped through the door. There was a moment of hesitation, but just that. Then they turned back to their food. No one screamed. No one grabbed a weapon. And Numbtongue felt safe here.

That was happiness.

—-

“Numbtongue! Are you here for today’s lunch? Sorry, it’s not done just yet. I’m showing Pebblesnatch how to make it. Mind waiting for a bit? Can I get you a beer? I have a dark lager.”

“A what?”

“Um…a kind of beer? Here, I’ve marked the keg so I know exactly which kind it is. Hold on, Ishkr, toss me a clean mug! We’re all out over here!”

Numbtongue blinked as Erin waved energetically at a Gnoll heading out of the kitchen. He saw Ishkr toss a mug in a lazy arc at Erin. The [Innkeeper] jumped up for it. And missed.

“Uh oh—”

The Hob snagged the handle of the mug and handed it to Erin. She smiled sheepishly at him.

“Thanks, Numbtongue.”

“You’re…welcome.”

The Hob felt awkward, but Erin just grinned and filled the mug with the dark liquid. She handed it to Numbtongue.

“There. Have a taste and let me know how it is. I think it’s awful, to be honest. But I don’t drink alcohol. [Immunity: Alcohol], you know. I could disable the Skill of course, but what’s the point of drinking alcohol anyways? Fruit juice tastes better.”

“Mm.”

Numbtongue sipped from his mug as he leaned against the bar. The dark lager was indeed not nearly as sweet as an ale or fruit juices, but he thought Erin was doing it a disservice. It was certainly better than stagnant pond water or drinking blood. Actually, if that was your standard than a lager was the greatest drink in the world.

“How’s everyone doing in the caves? Eating enough? Do you need me to go on another supply run? And by me, I mean getting Ishkr and the guys to do it?”

Erin stood and chatted with Numbtongue as they looked at her busy inn. She was busy but not at the same time; there were any number of people Erin could chat to, and she could cook in her kitchen or help wait tables, but she didn’t have to do anything. Her inn staff was now large enough to take on all the roles needed and Lyonette was cooking more and more of the dishes with Mrsha as a ‘taste tester’.

“They’re…good. I learned to play another song.”

Numbtongue decided not to bring up nearly frying Badarrow with lightning. Erin smiled.

“Ooh! Which one?”

“The one about fire.”

“You mean, I See Fire? By Ed Sheeran?”

“Mm. Yes, that one. Good song. Relaxing.”

“You should have seen the music video. It was made for The Hobbit, you know. I really liked those movies, no matter what everyone else said. They’re so long that I could play chess and just watch them on my laptop…but you don’t understand what I’m talking about, right?”

“Nope.”

Numbtongue leaned back, mug in hand. He tried not to smile. Erin’s ramblings were enjoyable to listen to. But he didn’t want to let her know he enjoyed them. The [Innkeeper] shot him a sidelong glance.

“Okay, I know this is a lot, but I’ve explained electric guitars to you, right? Well, you see, movies are these things that run on electricity. Sort of. They’re these pictures that appear on a screen. Like magic. Actually, that’s the best way to describe all of this. It’s all these magic moving images with sound that tell stories. And the Hobbit’s about…oh, hey Pawn!”

Erin broke off and waved. Numbtongue looked over and saw that the magic door had opened to let Pawn and several Soldiers in. Drassi waved them through and then adjusted the door to Celum. She opened it, checked for waiting visitors, and then closed the door. Erin had come up with a rotation system so that no one would be left waiting longer than ten or so minutes in any location. Now Erin smiled at the rain-soaked Antinium.

“Sorry Numbtongue. I’ll be back. Hey Pawn! How are you doing? And hi Yellow Splatters, who’s this pink guy?”

The young woman walked over to greet the Antinium Worker and Soldiers. Numbtongue stayed where he was, sipping his drink and watching. He saw Erin usher the Antinium over to a seat and call for food. Then she began pointing back at him. He saw her return.

“Sorry about that! Where were we?”

Numbtongue blinked at Erin. He glanced at the Antinium, who were alternatively looking at Drassi who was heading towards them with a trio of steaming bowls of soup and at Erin.

“You aren’t going to stay with them?”

Erin frowned.

“Well, yeah, of course I’ll go back to chat. But I was talking with you. We don’t see each other anymore; the least we can do is chat for a bit. You want a snack while we’re chatting?”

“No. Thank you.”

The Hob blinked at Erin. She smiled and took a seat on a bar stool.

“Okay then. Where was I? Movies, that’s right. Let me know if I’m boring you. Or you want to talk. But the thing about movies is—”

She began telling Numbtongue a strange story about small not-Dwarves going on a mission to steal treasure from a Dragon. Interspersed with her commentary, Erin kept interrupting to give Numbtongue context about her home, about a place called Hollywood and why everyone didn’t like the movie as much as the original movie, which was about a bunch of small not-Dwarves going to deliver a ring to a volcano. Numbtongue listened, grunting where appropriate. He was enjoying himself and couldn’t help smiling, so he covered it by drinking two lagers in quick succession.

After a few minutes of chatting both Erin and Numbtongue simultaneously realized they had company. Goblin and Human turned to look at Pawn, who was silently standing behind the bar. Listening to them.

“Uh, hi Pawn. Is something wrong?”

The Worker shook his head. He glanced sideways at Numbtongue.

“No, I am just standing here, Erin. Listening. Please continue.”

Erin wavered. She looked at Pawn and then at Numbtongue.

“Well—okay. But I’m sort of talking to Numbtongue here. It’s not anything secret but—I’ll come over to talk with you guys soon, okay?”

Pawn nodded. He didn’t budge. Erin looked at him.

“Pawn?”

The Worker folded all four of his arms.

“What? I am standing here. I would not wish to take away time from Numbtongue. So I will simply stand and listen here until you have time to join us. Please ignore my presence.”

Erin and Numbtongue exchanged a slow glance.

“Do you want to speak with Lyonette, Pawn?”

The Antinium shook his head.

“She is busy. And I have spoken to her already yesterday. I am perfectly content not speaking with Lyonette. I will just wait here until you are done, please.”

His tone was surprisingly hostile. Numbtongue eyed Pawn warily. He’d never really talked to the Antinium, and the Worker was giving him a long look. Erin narrowed her eyes as she looked from Pawn to Numbtongue. And then, suddenly, she blinked.

“Are you…jealous, Pawn?”

“…Maybe.”

The Worker shuffled his feet. Erin gaped at him, and then laughed.

“Why? I’m only talking with Numbtongue!”

Pawn looked down at his feet.

“Yes. But you talk with the Goblins often. And sometimes it feels as though you speak more with them than with us. Statistically, you spend 271.08% more time with Goblin individuals as a whole than with Antinium.”

“That’s because I talk to the Hobs when they come over, Pawn. And you always bring a crowd. Your statistics are a lie!”

Erin threw up her hands, visibly amused and bemused at the same time. She looked helplessly at Numbtongue.

“I didn’t know the Antinium resented me talking with you guys. Pawn, why didn’t you say anything? And why are you jealous? It’s not like I don’t spend lots of time with you all!”

The Worker looked embarrassed. He muttered as he looked down at the floor.

“It is just that we were the only species you spent time with before they came. Now there are Goblins and we wonder which group you like more. Evidence points to the Goblins being the preferred group.”

“What evidence?”

“…Circumstantial evidence? You give them beers.”

“That’s because it’s made of wheat! For the love of—come on, Numbtongue, Pawn. We’re going to settle this right now.”

Erin marched the two over to the table with the Soldiers and sat them down. Numbtongue suddenly found himself staring at a bunch of very large Soldiers who were silently eating from their bowls. The largest of them, Yellow Splatters, stared silently at Numbtongue. The Hob had the distinct impression he was being seized up and immediately did the same. He didn’t like what his brain told him.

“Okay, we’re all sitting together now. Goblins and Antinium, see? No one’s being left out.”

Erin sighed as she looked from impassive face to face. Pawn sat in his chair, defiantly sipping from his bowl of soup. The Worker shook his head as he stared at Numbtongue. He had no eyelids, but his look was definitely a glare.

“I don’t think we’re alike. There is very little to support your claims, Miss Erin.”

“Come on, Pawn…at least try.”

The Worker hunched his shoulders at the reprimand in Erin’s voice. At last, he opened his mandibles grudgingly.

“We play chess. Do you play chess?”

Numbtongue shook his head. Erin had taught some of the Cave Goblins how to play and Shorthilt had expressed an interest, as had Badarrow, but the game wasn’t for him.

“No. I play music. On the guitar.”

Pawn nodded. He looked at Erin and folded two of his arms.

“There. The judgment is clear. There is no relationship at all.”

“Pawn…”

The Worker looked huffy but said nothing. But Numbtongue wasn’t gazing at him. He was staring at Yellow Splatters. The Soldier was just inspecting him now. And strangely, Numbtongue thought he did share something in common with the Soldier.

He had heard of the Antinium battling the Raskghar from Erin and Pebblesnatch. He knew not all of them had survived. And in Yellow Splatters he sensed a kindred spirit. The Soldier had no lips. He had no eyelids. He had no nose or eyes that could shed tears. But Numbtongue sensed that he too was a fellow warrior that had seen the battlefield. So the Hob hesitated, and then broke his cardinal rule of standoffishness. He looked at the Soldier—at the other seven Soldiers sitting at the table and spoke slowly.

“Dying hurts. Friends dying…hurts.”

Pawn and Erin both froze. The Soldiers just looked at Numbtongue. As one, they lowered their bowls of soup. The Hob nodded.

“You fought Raskghar. We respect that. They killed many, many Goblins. Soldiers killed many Raskghar. Fought bravely. Respect.”

He tapped a fist against his chest. Yellow Splatters stared at Numbtongue. Then, suddenly, the Soldier brought up his fist and copied the gesture. His chitin clicked softly as it met his chest. Pawn gaped.

Numbtongue eyed Yellow Splatters’ bowl. The Soldier hesitated, then pushed the bowl to him. He heard a gasp from Erin, but didn’t hesitate. Carefully, Numbtongue raised the bowl and took a sip.

It was good. A hearty fish broth of some kind, made very spicy. Numbtongue found a chunk of fish and chewed it. He slid the bowl back to Yellow Splatters and nodded.

“Food is good.”

“It is.”

Pawn spoke quietly. His animosity of earlier was forgotten as he stared between Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters. The Hob and Soldier sat together. Then Numbtongue smiled. Yellow Splatters’ mandibles moved up slightly. Erin held her breath. Pawn looked between the two and his entire posture relaxed. He seemed to sigh, and then raised his voice.

“…Did you say you played music?”

—-

Half an hour later, Erin circled her inn, waiting on tables, talking to Olesm and Zevara who were quite busy for some reason, and glancing at the table with the Goblin and Antinium. They were engaged in a conversation that was as much sign language as verbal communication. They’d been talking non-stop for a while now, and Erin had to admit, she was a bit lonely.

After they’d broken the ice, Numbtongue and Pawn had begun to talk so much that she’d barely been able to get a word in. And they’d been so engrossed that they had barely noticed when she’d left.

“Huh. That’s actually sort of hurtful.”

Erin muttered as she walked into her kitchen. She looked around and saw a Cave Goblin standing at the stove. Pebblesnatch was stirring the pot with a big spoon. The Cave Goblin was wearing a big chef’s hat that Erin had bought for her and an apron. Erin smiled.

“Pebblesnatch, how’s the soup?”

The Goblin looked over and grinned at Erin. She held a clawed thumb up. Erin went over and smelled the soup.

“Ooh. That’s good. Yeah, we’re ready to send it back. Can you take the pot? You’re sure? It’s not too heavy? Okay, then.”

She walked back into the inn. Numbtongue was playing guitar at his table, much to the amazement of the enraptured Antinium. Erin felt bad, but the soup was hot and she knew the other Goblins got upset if they had to wait. Reluctantly, Erin raised her voice.

“Hey, Numbtongue! Order up!”

The Hob looked over. He reluctantly abandoned his guitar and came over. The Antinium stood as well.

“I’m sorry guys, but I’ve got lunch for the other Goblins.”

“We understand. But perhaps we could come back tomorrow? To talk?”

Pawn looked at Numbtongue. The Hob smiled. So did Erin.

“I’m sure the Goblins could join you at any time. But for now—Pebblesnatch?”

The Cave Goblin trundled out of the kitchen holding the big pot between two gloves. Erin let her come over and offered Numbtongue a bowl of the soup.

“This is fishy minestrone soup with a side of hot garlic bread. Share it; Pebblesnatch can teach the others how to make more, okay? Oh, and take some baking soda. And some flour. Krshia just sent me a shipment via boat. And you’ll need some vegetables. Oh, and pepper. And do you have enough plates?”

Numbtongue grunted an affirmative and sighed as Erin began grabbing things to hand him. He glanced back at the Antinium and saw Pawn wave. He waved back and then began balancing the mass of objects Erin wanted him to carry through the door.

“Sorry, I know you wanted to chat, but I remember you telling me how there was a big fight last time the food was late. If you want to come back, I can open the door—”

“No. We talked enough. They will come back and we will talk more. With the others.”

Numbtongue grunted. His arms were trembling a bit despite himself. Did Erin have to make him carry everything at once? The [Innkeeper] fumbled with the mana stones in the bowl.

“Okay. I’m really glad you two liked each other. Hold on—the door’s nearly open. Give my best to the others! Tell them to come through sometime! Obviously not with all the Goblins but—hey, we should do a Goblins-only night at the inn sometime!”

“Yes. Good idea. Goodbye.”

Numbtongue edged through the open door. He heard Pebblesnatch follow him and then he was immediately beset by all sides.

“Food!”

Headscratcher roared as he lifted a sack of flour from Numbtongue’s arms. He passed it to a group of Cave Goblins who spirited the sack to Rabbiteater’s waiting cooking team. Pebblesnatch growled and spat and kicked to keep the other Cave Goblins clear of her bowl.

“You know how to make?”

Rabbiteater looked at Pebblesnatch as she put down the pot in the center of the room. The Cave Goblin adjusted her hat importantly and nodded. She marched out of the cave importantly, already screeching orders at the others. As the one Cave Goblin allowed to stay in Erin’s inn, she was practically as important as the Hobs.

“What is?”

Shorthilt pointed with interest at the multi-colored soup as other Cave Goblins jostled for a look. Numbtongue shrugged.

“Minestrone soup. With fish. Also garlic bread. It has garlic in it and butter.”

The Hob chortled as Numbtongue showed him the buttered bread. Immediately all six sat down and began dividing the bowls amongst themselves. Some of the other Cave Goblins fought for a place, but they let the Hobs fill their bowls and grab the hot bread first before taking their share.

That was how it worked. Erin brought some freshly-made food for the Hobs and some of the Cave Goblins and let Pebblesnatch disseminate the recipe for the rest of the Goblins to cook in a huge batch. The Hobs began eating greedily, tearing into the bread and dipping it into the soup, trying to both savor the food and scarf it down at once. As they ate, Numbtongue related his exchange with the Antinium to his interested audience.

“Good fighters.”

Headscratcher nodded as he chewed a big mouthful. The Hobs practiced speaking the common tongue with Numbtongue when they could. Headscratcher smiled when Numbtongue told him the Antinium could read Goblin sign language almost as well as Goblins. And he smiled wider when Numbtongue told him about Erin’s fascination with dark lager.

“We get keg? It taste good?”

“I’ll ask at dinner. It’s tasty.”

“How much cost? In coins?”

Numbtongue froze. He swallowed slowly and avoided meeting Shorthilt’s eyes.

“Um…I forgot to ask.”

The Shorthilt tsked. He reached over and jabbed him in the side. The others laughed and chucked tomato bits at Numbtongue. Numbtongue yelped and glared, but endured the Hob’s laughter and ribbing. Rabbiteater sipped from his bowl and frowned.

“Good. But add more salt?”

“No. You put in your bowl. Stupid.”

Badarrow slapped Rabbiteater’s claws away from pot. Sighing, the newly-minted [Champion] added the coarse grains of salt to his bowl. The other Hobs kicked him silently. Rabbiteater liked things too salty. Headscratcher filled up his third bowl, smiling with delight.

“Good. Make more!”

His comment was aimed at the cooking team who was already hard at work gathering water, deboning fish, and so on. The Hobs kept eating, listening to the loud chattering and Pebblesnatch shouting orders and sometimes insults at the Goblins as they prepared the meal for the others—until suddenly, everything went silent outside.

All five Hobs froze in place. The sounds of Goblins cooking and milling about had cut off abruptly. Something was wrong. Headscratcher set down his bowl and Numbtongue reached for his sword and guitar. The others stood up and the Cave Goblins scrambled for their weapons as well. They stared towards the cave entrance. Had the Goblins spotted something? Monsters? Or an adventurer? If it was an attack they’d be fleeing inside and screaming. But what—

Something moved at the mouth of the cave, blocking the sunshine. It was tall, and moved forwards slowly. Cautiously. The Hobs held still as they waited. Numbtongue’s claws hovered over the strings of his guitar. Badarrow slowly put an arrow to his bowstring. And then they saw whatever it was step into view. All five Redfang Warriors, all the Cave Goblins, paused.

A Hobgoblin stood in the entrance to their cave. He was tall, as tall as Headscratcher and lean. His muscle stood out on his bare chest  and he wore only a long-hanging loincloth and belt. His body had many scars and the Hobgoblin carried a greatsword on his back, a steel blade notched and dinged in places but still straight as an arrow. But what stood out about him most was his beard.

It was grey. And long. It ran down onto his chest in a wispy point. It was slightly matted and dirty from the road. But it was a beard.

The other Goblins stared. They had never seen a Goblin with a beard. Not the Cave Goblins or even the Redfang Warriors. They had never seem a Goblin with facial hair of any kind, to begin with. Some had hair, but a beard? It was so strange.

For a second the Redfang Warriors were amazed. But then they were wary. They stood up slowly as the Hob stood in the entrance to the cave. He wasn’t making any dangerous moves, but there was only one thing he could be.

A wandering Hob. They were rare, but it did happen. Goblins who left their tribes or were the only remnants of a tribe destroyed would wander about, looking for new homes. Generally they would be killed or assimilated into the first tribe willing to have them, but wandering Hobs were different.

Some were outcasts who had challenged their Chieftain and failed. Others were simply independent by nature and trusted to their own strength to live alone. In any event, they could be dangerous as they obeyed no Chieftain of their own. Garen Redfang had been challenged by many wanderers searching for fame or wanting to control his tribe. Had this one come to steal the Goblin’s supplies or fight them for leadership?

All eyes fixed on the old Hob, waiting for him to make the first move. He looked around slowly, not reaching for the greatsword on his back. The Hob caught sight of the five Redfang Warriors and raised his claws. Slowly, he reached for his belt and pulled something off it. He tossed the bag towards the Redfangs Warriors. It landed with a soft thump, scaring away the Cave Goblins near it. The bag was open slightly and from it leaked a familiar odor. Numbtongue was closest. He carefully walked over and bent to pick it up. He opened the bag and pulled out what was inside.

A wheel of goat’s cheese. It was soft, crumbly, and a slice of it had been cut out. It must have been the old Hob’s food on the road. He was giving it to them as a peace offering.

It wasn’t a challenge. The Goblins relaxed as one. Numbtongue looked at Headscratcher. The Hob blinked and realized he was being asked to say something. So he spoke.

“Old one, come. Eat.”

The bearded Hob had been looking warily at the Hobs, but at the invitation his face broke into a smile. He walked over and took a seat, bowing his head and cackling thanks as Numbtongue offered him a bowl. The Cave Goblins watched the old Hob warily, but they soon picked up on what was happening.

The Redfangs made room and offered the Hob a seat around the steaming pot. Numbtongue broke the cheese and placed it in his bowl with some bread. It went well with the garlic bread. Meanwhile the old Hob was smiling as he received a bowl of soup loaded to the top and a big heel of bread.

“Very kind! Chieftain is generous!”

He smiled and bobbed his head to Headscratcher. The Hob blinked, but didn’t correct Greybeard right away. He hesitated and looked at his companions, wondering what to say. It was Shorthilt who took the lead this time.

“Old Hob is wanderer? I Shorthilt.”

“Greybeard. Yes, this old Hob wanders far. You have name? Is good name.”

He grinned at Shorthilt, showing a few missing teeth. The other Redfangs introduced themselves. Greybeard nodded to each in turn.

“Did not think tribe would be here! Saw Goblins cooking, came by. Many days travel! Hungry for good food! This best food!”

He gobbled his soup, smacking his lips loudly. The Redfangs nodded proudly. This was indeed the best food they’d ever had, bar none. Garen had kept the tribe fed, well, most of them, but he hadn’t bothered with cooking much.

“What brings old wanderer down here?”

“I travel far. No tribe. No home. So I go south. Hear of big fight north. Bad-death north. Many Goblins running from Humans. So I go south. Hear strange things of Goblins in dungeon. Come here.”

Greybeard explained as he refilled his bowl. He pointed at the soup, still agog.

“Good food! You make?”

The Redfangs exchanged a quick glance. Numbtongue lied for them.

“Yes.”

It was too hard to explain Erin to another Goblin. Greybeard didn’t seem to notice the moment of hesitation.

“Amazing! Good-good food! Best tribe food I ever eat! What is this tribe? Never knew one was here. Thought Flooded Waters tribe was, but Flooded Waters is gone.”

The Redfangs froze at the mention of Rags’ tribe. They exchanged a quick glance. What was their tribe? Numbtongue thought quickly.

“This is…Wandering Inn tribe. New tribe. Very new. Many Goblins come. From dungeon?”

“From dungeon? Where?”

Greydath listened with opened mouth as the Redfangs gave him an abridged version of events that had led to them taking control. He shook his head.

“Bad not-Gnolls? Big dungeon full of invisible-death? Too much for old Hob like me. But young Hobs very strong! Very strong!”

He patted Rabbiteater on the shoulder, pointing at the Hob’s cloak which had transformed into a cloudy soup-cloak. Only, there weren’t any vegetables or chunks of fish in the cloak, just somewhat opaque broth. Some of the Cave Goblins were dipping their bowls into it even so. Rabbiteater preened a bit. Numbtongue rolled his eyes. He offered Greybeard the last of the garlic bread.

“Old one, eat more. We have lots. You give cheese, we feed. Where are you going? Travelling south? Much rain and water to swim through. Dangerous fish-monsters too.”

Greybeard accepted the bread gratefully. He tore into it with his good teeth as he replied.

“Maybe go south. Maybe. Not stay long and eat tribe’s food. Very generous, but not stay. Not unless…Chieftain needs old Hobs? Can fight.”

He glanced at Headscratcher quizzically, hope illuminating his craggy features. Headscratcher hesitated. This time he replied awkwardly.

“Old one is wrong. I not Chieftain. Wandering Inn tribe…have no Chieftain.”

The other Redfangs looked at Headscratcher. He could have accepted the role and they wouldn’t have denied it. But Headscratcher clearly felt as they did. They had no Chieftain, and this wasn’t a tribe. Unless…was Erin…?

The old Hob choked on his garlic bread in surprise. He coughed and spat out a hunk onto a Cave Goblin, who promptly ate it.

“No Chieftain? How so many Goblins, then? All should run off!”

The Hobs shrugged. That was the mystery, wasn’t it? By all rights they should have created a Chieftain or disbanded. But perhaps it was the Cave Goblins being used to multiple Raskghar masters that had kept them functioning as a tribe without a Chieftain.

“Don’t know. But tribe is good. Has good food. And getting stronger. If you want to stay…could stay? At least few days.”

Numbtongue looked at the others for support. It was a risk, but the old Hob seemed friendly and he looked battle-scarred and tired from the road. The other Redfangs nodded, albeit a bit hesitantly. Badarrow glanced towards the door and raised his eyebrows at Numbtongue.

What about Erin? What about the inn?

Numbtongue made a face, taking care not to let Greybeard see. He flicked his claws towards the cave’s entrance.

We can keep him in another cave, not show him Erin.

Then he shrugged.

Or show her.

She would probably like the old Hob. Badarrow nodded slowly. Greydath had missed the entire quick exchange. He looked around and then nodded rapidly, beaming eagerness.

“Will stay. Will work hard! I know many tricks. Can teach. Maybe help even strong, young warrior Hobs!”

“Good! Old Hob should sit, though. Is long road. Sit and watch!”

Headscratcher beamed and slapped Greydath on the back. Then he looked at the other Hobs. They’d eaten their fill and were sitting around in post-meal content. However, there was a look in Headscratcher’s eyes that Numbtongue recognized.

“Should show old Goblin and Cave Goblins our tricks! Fight!”

He glanced challengingly at Shorthilt. Instantly, Numbtongue wanted to slap himself. He realized he’d missed something in the time he’d been sitting in Erin’s inn. Shorthilt stood up slowly and gave Headscratcher a slow grin.

“Good idea.”

Resigned, Numbtongue looked over at Rabbiteater and poked him for confirmation. When the Hob looked over Numbtongue rolled his eyes and pressed together his forefingers. Rabbiteater sighed and nodded.

That said it all, really. Headscratcher and Shorthilt were friends, but they were fellow warriors as well. And they were easily the best at physical combat of the five Redfangs. Badarrow was dangerous too of course, but in his own way. And Headscratcher and Shorthilt couldn’t be more dissimilar in how they fought. Shorthilt would use the best weapon he could find and use it with precise, killing strikes. Headscratcher by contrast favored big, heavy weapons and battered his opponents down, as befit his [Berserker] class.

Normally they got along fine, but their recent class changes and the rivalry between their sub-tribes had ignited their sense of competition. Now they wanted to prove who was better. Numbtongue rolled his eyes. Was this a good idea? But then he glanced at Rabbiteater who was stretching and he had to admit. He was a bit curious.

The Redfang had sparred every day at Erin’s inn and on the road. They knew the order of strength. It went like this: Shorthilt, Headscratcher, Numbtongue, Rabbiteater, Badarrow with physical weapons, but Badarrow was really closer to the top since he could shoot arrows. But now they all had different classes.

And Rabbiteater was a [Champion]. As the Hobs and Cave Goblins trooped outside and saw countless Goblins eating in the sun from the boiling pots, they began changing their gear. Numbtongue unbuckled the precious steel sword that Erin had bought for him and checked the quality of the leather armor he was wearing. Headscratcher put on some padding and then a dented breastplate salvaged from the Raskghar’s armory as well as a helmet. Badarrow and Shorthilt declined to wear armor to begin with and so just kept stretching. And Rabbiteater changed into his chainmail.

Greybeard and the Cave Goblins gasped when Rabbiteater put on the rusted and slightly holey chainmail. As it slid over his shoulders it changed, growing longer to fit him precisely, and the missing patches closed together. The chainmail even looked lighter and when Rabbiteater turned, it shone as if he’d polished it with oil. His sword looked just as beautiful when he unsheathed it, but when he laid it on the ground it turned back, growing shorter and developing a slight warp in the blade.

[Champion’s Gear]. Numbtongue eyed Rabbiteater enviously. Meanwhile, Shorthilt was giving the other Hob the stink eye. One of Rabbiteater’s new Skills made it so that everything he held became stronger, more durable. Sharper. It made someone like Shorthilt who coveted the best blades and religiously maintained his gear envious. And Rabbiteater also had [Grand Slash].

He’d always been one of the weakest of the Hobs in a fight. But now, was he better than Numbtongue? He might be. Numbtongue was a [Bard]. But was he better than Headscratcher? Than Shorthilt? Rabbiteater accepted a club from one of his followers and Numbtongue watched as the crude wood grew thicker and visibly sturdier in his hands. Numbtongue turned as his faction cheered loudly for him, sitting down in a wide ring as the other four Hobs prepared as well. With his liquid cloak and his enhanced body armor he looked like…an adventurer.

“Give me an axe. And shield.”

Numbtongue muttered to one of his Goblins. The Cave Goblin scurried off and came back with a crude stone hatchet and shield made of bark and wood. Numbtongue nodded. Greybeard called to him as he strode to the center of the circle.

“No use sharp weapons?”

“No. It’s too dangerous.”

Numbtongue shook his head. While the other Hobs had kept the armor they would use in a real fight, they wouldn’t spar with naked blades. They were too strong and they could kill or maim each other with an incautious strike. Badarrow would use arrows without tips and the other Hobs would use sticks or blunt stone weapons.

“Sparring! We prove who is best fighter!”

Headscratcher called out to Shorthilt, lifting his axe with two hands. Shorthilt smiled and twirled the long quarterstaff he’d picked out.

“Fine. We fight. Ready?”

Badarrow grunted. He took a position farther back as Rabbiteater grinned, clearly nervous. He locked eyes with Numbtongue who set himself with his axe and shield in hand.

“Ready.”

The Redfangs tensed. They stared at each other in silence as their audience watched with baited breath. There was no one who shouted ‘go’. One second the Hobs were tensed, the next all five charged as one. Numbtongue raced towards Rabbiteater. He saw something fly at his head and lifted his shield, snarling as he blocked one of Badarrow’s missiles. He lifted his axe as Rabbiteater charged him.  He raised his club, ready to strike—

“[Grand Slash]!”

That was all Numbtongue heard for a while. Eventually he landed on his back and realized he’d fallen down. After some more time he realized that he really hurt. He got up shakily and saw Rabbiteater was advancing on Numbtongue, using his cloak as cover. Numbtongue stared at Rabbiteater, heard the groans of Goblins and cheering and saw Greybeard cackling as he pointed at Numbtongue. The Hob groaned and lay back down on the ground.

After some Cave Goblins had dragged him off the field, Numbtongue saw the rest of the battle play out fairly predictably. Confronted with Rabbiteater’s cloak, Badarrow couldn’t do much more than retreat from the Hob. He did manage to hit Rabbiteater a few times, but ultimately went down to the [Champion]’s club just like Numbtongue.

At the same time Headscratcher and Shorthilt were dueling, trading blows and dodging back faster and faster, trying to get an edge. Overconfident or perhaps thinking he could join forces with one or the other, Rabbiteater charged towards them—

And was promptly laid out flat by a joint attack from both sides. He stumbled off to one side as the duel between Headscratcher and Shorthilt got hotter. Headscratcher roared as he swung his axe, forcing Shorthilt to retreat. He was stronger and faster than he’d ever been! The trouble was that Shorthilt was too.

And he had a quarterstaff. The weapon gave him reach on Headscratcher, and an edge. Time and again, Shorthilt would batter the Hob from afar, keeping a respectable distance or spinning the staff to his Headscratcher from an unexpected angle. And the more times he struck, the angrier Headscratcher got. And accordingly, the stronger he became.

The breaking point came when Headscratcher charged Shorthilt, ignoring the blow that struck him on one shoulder and struck at the other Hob’s chest with a roar. Shorthilt blocked with his quarterstaff in desperation. The sturdy wooden shaft splintered as Headscratcher connected—and so did Headscratcher’s axe. The crude wood couldn’t bear the strain and so both weapons broke with cracks that sounded like thunderclaps.

“Draw!”

Numbtongue shouted, laughing as Shorthilt backed up. The [Weapon Expert] grinned, raising his hands, but Headscratcher didn’t. The [Berserker]’s eyes flashed. He charged Shorthilt with a roar and tackled the Hob to the ground. Then he sat on Shorthilt’s chest and began pounding at his face!

“Stop! You win!”

Shorthilt shouted, exasperated and angry. He blocked Headscratcher’s punches as Numbtongue and Badarrow shouted for him to get off. But Headscratcher didn’t stop. He roared as he struck Shorthilt repeatedly, and his punches weren’t for show. The other Redfang Warriors froze up as they realized he’d lost control.

“Stop! Stop!”

Rabbiteater ran towards Headscratcher. He tackled the bigger Hob, but Headscratcher threw him off. Badarrow swore and the Cave Goblins swarmed around Headscratcher, trying to drag him off Shorthilt whose arms were rapidly failing him. But Headscratcher was lost to his fury. Numbtongue looked around desperately. What could he do?

“Guitar!”

Rabbiteater scrambled up and threw the guitar at Numbtongue. The [Bard] caught the instrument, eyes widening. Of course! Music to sooth the savage beast! He put his claws on the strings, blinked, and then had a better idea. He charged over to Headscratcher and brought the guitar down on the back of Headscratcher’s head. He heard a crackle of electricity, a roar of pain, and then silence.

Slowly, Headscratcher rolled off of Shorthilt. The other Hob sat up slowly, spitting out blood that ran from his bleeding nose and cut face. He stared at Headscratcher as the [Berserker] stared at his bloody fists. It wasn’t all Shorthilt’s blood. He’d cut his skin open with his wild punches.

All the other Goblins stared at Headscratcher as well. They backed away from him as he looked around. Headscratcher looked desperate, shocked, and then terribly, terribly guilty. He looked at Numbtongue as blood dripped down from his hands. Numbtongue didn’t know what to say. But then he heard someone else speak.

“Now I see. You five are a fragment, aren’t you?”

The voice was unfamiliar. And it was speaking in the common tongue! Numbtongue whirled around. He saw Greybeard standing behind him. The old Hobgoblin was grinning. And he’d drawn his greatsword. He gestured at Headscratcher, at Shorthilt who’d gotten to his feet and was frozen in using one of the healing potions Erin had given them.

“I dreamed of five not-Chieftains. Of five seeds not grown. And I did not know why. Now I do. You aren’t independent. You’re copying your tribe. But what worked when you were lowly warriors isn’t working now. You are too large to be common Goblins, but you haven’t grown into your new roles. You are incomplete and so you are fragments. And these lost children are just like you.”

Greybeard walked forwards. The Goblins around him drew back slowly. Everything about him was different. The way he walked, the way he spoke—before he had appeared old, tired, broken down. Now he was confident. And dangerous. Numbtongue stared at Greybeard in shock. The Hobgoblin looked at him as if he were a speck and went on.

“Everything about you is awkward. You still move uncomfortably in your new bodies. And you—you can’t even control your class.”

He pointed at Headscratcher. The Hob jerked. He looked uneasily at Greybeard.

“Old one. What are…? You are different, Greybeard. How?”

“Not Greybeard. Greydath of Blades.”

The old Goblin shook his head. The name meant nothing to the five Redfang Warriors. But they shivered when they heard it, as if something in them did know. Greydath studied the five, staring from face to face.

“Not children. Not slaves. Not traitors. And not cowards either. Fragments? No. There is a better word for you. I do not know it yet. But you are too weak. And too content.”

He shook his head, looking annoyed. Numbtongue found his voice at last. He scowled at Greydath, though every instinct was telling him to back up, despite the Goblin being out of reach.

“Old one, what are you talking about? Why did you lie to us? We offered you food. Put down your sword.”

Greydath ignored him. He leaned on the tip of his greatsword and spoke, almost conversationally.

“I watched you five for a day. Train. Eat. Sleep. Good enough for other species, but not for Goblins. You are complacent. Lazy. And it is her fault.”

He nodded back towards the cave.

“Who is that Human you speak to? The one who visits your cave? The one in the inn with the magic door. She is not your master. Is she your friend? A friend to Goblins? It is because of her you are holding back. You are relying on her too much.”

He knew about Erin. He had been watching them. Numbtongue felt a thrill of unease run through him. He looked over and saw Badarrow staring at Greydath. The Hob slowly backed up and Numbtongue saw he was going for his quiver of real arrows. Greydath glanced at Badarrow and the Hob froze. But Greydath just grinned.

“Grab your arrows, archer. But tell me. That Human you love so much—if I tried to kill her, would you stop me? Would you fight your own kind for her? Is she your Chieftain? Or is she just convenient? Do you want to bed her? Or do you want her to turn you into Humans?”

Badarrow froze. His face twisted into a snarl and he lifted the quiver. Quick as a flash he drew an arrow tipped with steel and aimed it at Greydath.

“Stay away from her.”

Greydath turned his back on Badarrow as if the drawn arrow were nothing but an empty threat. He looked at the others. Headscratcher and Shorthilt slowly stepped back. And they too were reaching for their weapons.

“Erin is…good. She is a friend. A friend to Goblins. No one hurts her.”

Shorthilt spoke slowly. He drew his steel sword. Headscratcher nodded. He had his enchanted axe.

“Put down sword, old one. Go…go away.”

“Or what?”

Greydath’s words were a challenge. And then a sigh. He looked at Numbtongue as the Hob lifted the guitar. Greydath swung his greatsword around effortlessly with one hand, scattering the Cave Goblins around him.

“Could you stop me, children? Show me what you five can do.”

“We don’t want to fight.”

Numbtongue wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth or if he was lying. Greydath had tricked them. He’d eaten their food, pretended to be someone he was not. Was that Goblin? Surely not! And he had threatened to hurt Erin. That was unforgivable. But something in Numbtongue told him fighting was a bad idea. Greydath grinned at him.

“You don’t? But I do.”

He spun and raised his sword. Badarrow’s arrow glanced off his sword and Shorthilt leapt forwards at the same time as Headscratcher. Greydath whirled his greatsword as Rabbiteater came from the other side. Numbtongue was slowest as he charged the Hob with nothing but his guitar for a club. He saw Greydath blur, and then Headscratcher was lying on the ground, Shorthilt was stumbling back, and Rabbiteater whuffed as the flat of the greatsword swung into his ribs, knocking him sideways.

Numbtongue gaped, and then swung as hard as he could. He saw Greydath’s head blur around the base of his guitar, and then the Hob was gripping him with a hand like an iron vice.

“A [Bard] does not fight like that, child.”

Then Numbtongue was flying again. He landed and rolled, feeling his back sting with the impact. When he got up, Greydath was dueling Shorthilt and Rabbiteater, laughing as they tried to stab him from both sides. He deflected both blades, dodged an arrow, and then blocked Headscratcher’s slash. His old greatsword deflected the enchanted axe head with ease.

“Slow, too slow! You think you’re strong because you defeated monsters? You are weak. Any Gold-rank adventurer would eat you. Show me more, lost Hobs! Show me strength!”

He brought his sword down and Shorthilt tried to parry. Instead, the greatsword flattened him. Shorthilt stared up at the sky, dazed, as Numbtongue ran forwards again. This time Greydath just sent the guitar spinning from Numbtongue’s grip with a flick of his sword. Headscratcher bellowed as he swung his axe horizontally at waist-height.

“Duck!”

Numbtongue threw himself flat at the same time as Rabbiteater. The magical axe cut through the air as Headscratcher roared. Numbtongue felt the tip pass over his head. He looked up and saw Greydath’s eyes narrow. The Hob leaned back until his entire body practically touched the ground. The axe passed straight above his chest. Then Greydath pulled himself upright. Headscratcher stumbled as the force of the blow carried him off-balance. He brought the axe back up and Greydath kicked him.

Headscratcher flew. Numbtongue saw the Hob launch off the ground and into the air, as if he were a bird. He crashed into a group of Goblins heavily. And Greydath laughed. He turned as another arrow shot at his back and caught the shaft. Badarrow lowered his bow in disbelief. With one hand, Greydath cracked the arrow in two.

“You are weak, archer. Weak. Your arrows can kill only by surprise, only by numbers. All of you are weak. [Champion]? I have seen Goblin [Champions] and they were legends.”

He spat at Rabbiteater’s feet. Slowly, the Redfang Warriors got up. They looked at each other, and the same knowledge filled all of their eyes. Whomever this Greydath was, he was far beyond their level. He wasn’t taking this seriously at all.

The sinking feeling in Numbtongue’s chest was familiar. It was his instincts pointing out everything he knew. It told him that they were outmatched. It felt like Garen Redfang was standing in front of Numbtongue and they were small Goblins again. But what could they do?

“Stop—”

Numbtongue croaked. Greydath looked at him. Numbtongue raised his voice.

“Stop. We do not want to fight. There is no reason. No point.”

Greydath’s eyes flashed.

“There is all the reason. You think you are safe, Numbtongue of the Redfang tribe. But you are not. And until you believe, my work is not done. You must become more. You and all the Goblins. Even your glorious Chieftain.”

“Garen?”

Numbtongue’s chest felt tight. Greydath nodded. He smiled wide, showing his pointed teeth.

“I met your Chieftain. You still think you are from his tribe, aren’t you? Garen Redfang. I met him and challenged him. We fought.”

“And?”

The five Redfangs stared at Greydath. The Cave Goblins were just confused. Greydath shrugged casually. Arrogantly.

“He could not best me. I humbled him.”

They wanted not to believe. They wanted to say Greydath was lying. But the Redfang Warriors couldn’t. For all of Greydath’s earlier deceit, everything about his body language now told them he was telling the truth. And they way he’d moved—even Garen couldn’t move like that.

Had he really beaten Garen? Numbtongue felt a fire burning inside him. His hand tightened on his sword’s hilt this time. Greydath grinned at him.

“Not enough? Fine then. The Human girl.”

“Don’t—”

Headscratcher made a strangled noise. Greydath turned. He stared out across the basin filled with water at the distant shape of Liscor. And then at the tiny inn on the hill. The rain had stopped. The Goblins could see the inn clearly from here. So could Greydath. He looked back at them.

“If I kill her, you would not change. But if I hurt her, would you grow stronger?”

Numbtongue didn’t realize he’d run forwards. He didn’t hear the scream until it left his mouth. He swung his sword at Greydath’s head and the Goblin blocked. He grinned as Numbtongue’s hand quivered, straining and the sword rang from the impact.

“Better. But not enough. Shall we make a game of it? Chase me, you five. And you five alone. Scratch me and I won’t hurt her. Fail, and I’ll cut her once.”

He leapt away as Headscratcher jumped at him with a roar. Greydath ran, laughing as all five Hobs ran after them. There was no time to plan, no strategy. Badarrow loosed arrows at the running Hob as the other four ran after him. Greydath charged to the water’s edge, running twice as fast as his pursuers. He leapt into the water and began swimming. The Hobs followed.

The water was cold and things darted away as Numbtongue dove in. He swam hard, not caring if he attracted attention. All of his focus, all of his being was on catching up to Greydath. But the Hob was fast. He swam through the water like a fish himself, until suddenly he vanished upwards. Numbtongue’s head broke the water and he saw Greydath standing on one of the hills above the water line. The Hob had drawn his greatsword.

“Come! Stop me!”

He was laughing as the five Hobs emerged from the water onto the hill. They didn’t wait for Greydath to say anything more. They charged with a roar. This time they went for the kill. They surrounded Greydath, striking together, aiming for his head, his arms, his legs—desperately trying to cut him. Just once.

They failed. Greydath was a whirlwind of steel, too quick to catch. He knocked them back into the water and leapt into the air. Before they could stop him he was swimming to the next island. The Hobs looked at each other and then dove in after him. Greydath was waiting by the time they reached the next hill that stood above the water. Again they fought. And again he defeated them, untouched by their desperate blades. Again he fled and again the Hobs pursued. But each time they caught up to him they were more tired, and each time they drew closer and closer to the inn.

It was a game to him. Numbtongue could hear Greydath laughing. The weary Hobs swam desperately after him, staggered onto the hill, fought—and failed. Greydath kicked Numbtongue back into the waters as the Hob tried to tackle him. He struck Shorthilt with the pommel of his greatsword, mocked Badarrow by snatching his arrows out of the air. And he laughed as if this was all some game.

But he was going to hurt her. Hurt Erin. So the Hobs chased him. But now they knew they couldn’t scratch Greydath. They were growing tired and he—he looked as fresh as he had when they had first locked blades. He was closing in on the hill where The Wandering Inn lay now. They were seven hills away. Six. Five.

Four.

“Stop. We will change. Don’t hurt her.”

Numbtongue gasped as he tried to cut at Greydath’s legs. The old Goblin grinned and shifted, letting the sword Shorthilt had tossed out of desperation miss him by inches.

“You say that. But you will not. Not unless you have no choice. You are too soft otherwise. And she is too bright. You think I do not know what you feel? You think other Goblins have not met ones like her? But she is not forever, Numbtongue. She cannot protect you. And worse, you cannot protect her.”

Greydath’s mocking smile vanished for a second. He looked down at Numbtongue as the Hob panted, straining to push Greydath’s blade back.

“If you could, I would think twice. But happiness for one Goblin is despair for all. You must change, boy. And if it means pain, then it must be. That is why I came here. Hate me. But—”

The old Hobgoblin looked up sharply. He spun, and twisted as an arrow flashed past him. For a second Numbtongue thought that Badarrow had somehow gotten the drop on Greydath, but the angle was all wrong! It had come from above and from the direction of—

The inn? Numbtongue whirled and saw another arrow curve around him. Greydath frowned and deflected the arrow. He stared towards the inn. Towards the top of the inn, and the lone figure standing there with bow in hand.

Bird. The Antinium [Archer] was a faint silhouette at this distance. But as Numbtongue watched, he was a flicker in the air. A third arrow shot towards Greydath. The Goblin dodged left, and the arrow curved to catch him.

“Antinium.”

Greydath sliced the arrow in half. He looked around and twisted. Badarrow cursed as his arrow went wide. Numbtongue stood straighter. He charged Greydath and Headscratcher lunged up from his hiding place on the far side of the hill. Greydath knocked them into the water. He grinned.

“Who is she? She has Antinium defending her inn. She’s tamed that one and you. What is she? Where does she come from?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Shorthilt rose, water dripping from his blade. Another arrow sped from the inn’s tower. This time Greydath had to dodge Shorthilt’s blade as he cut Bird’s arrow; he couldn’t dodge them. But still, the old Goblin didn’t seem concerned. If anything he seemed to relish the challenge.

“Better and better! You five plus the Antinium! Come!”

He dove into the water again. Bird fired an arrow, but somehow Greydath dodged underwater. Numbtongue stared at the tower. He waved his arms desperately. Somehow Bird could tell they were fighting Greydath. But he had to warn Erin!

Unfortunately, his signal didn’t seem to register with Bird. The Antinium kept loosing arrows at Greydath as the Goblin appeared on another hill. The Redfang Warriors pursued him, hope desperately rising in their chests. Maybe if they had Bird’s help, maybe then—

No. It was impossible. On the third hilltop, Greydath stood over the panting Hobs. He shook his head. They were too exhausted, too beaten to raise themselves. He blocked the arrow Bird shot at the back of his head dismissively.

“Look at you. The same as that hollow black thing sitting in the tower. Are you Goblins? Or just that Human’s…pets?”

“No. We are her…friends.”

Headscratcher levered himself up with one arm. His body was covered in water, and not just from the lake. He panted hoarsely. He’d swum and fought non-stop for nearly an hour. So had Numbtongue and the others. They were at the limits of their endurance. But somehow they found the strength to rise. Greydath couldn’t hurt her. He couldn’t—

“Friends? Humans don’t make friends with Goblins. Do you think you’re the same as the others? Even Antinium have a place. But we don’t. You don’t. If it came to you or her other friends, would she choose you?”

Greydath mocked Headscratcher as he parried the other Hob’s slow strike. Numbtongue rose, his legs shaking with exhaustion and pain.

“She would never hurt us!”

“Then show me you won’t hurt her. Show me you can protect her!”

The old Goblin roared. He swung his sword and Numbtongue tried to block it. He gritted his teeth as he went tumbling. Again he rose. And Greydath laughed. Badarrow lifted the last of his arrows and aimed at Greydath’s side. Shorthilt and Rabbiteater advanced slowly as once.

“Come! Show me you can change! Grow stronger! Reach! Or she suffers!”

They had to fight. The Hobs forgot the pain in their bodies. They charged, slashing, clawing, desperate, unwilling to give up. Greydath knocked them down. He mocked them. He was laughing as he dodged arrows from two directions at once and fought the other four Hobs.

And then the arrow flew from the tower unlike all the rest. Perhaps Bird had recognized that his arrows weren’t working at last. Maybe he had simply forgotten he had this particular Skill to begin with. Numbtongue looked up as he saw the rotating arrowhead speeding at Greydath from behind. The Goblin Lord was still laughing as he turned. His eyes widened as he recognized the signature spiral the arrow traced through the air.

[Piercing Shot]. It was a single arrow, loosed at Greydath’s head. He’d been so busy fighting that he’d given himself virtually no time to dodge. And by coincidence or design, Bird had aimed it at a single spot.

At Greydath’s left eye. Numbtongue saw the old Goblin freeze. And in that moment, something struck Numbtongue.

A memory.

Velan charged through the smoke of magical fire. His lungs burned. His body was blackened, torn by a thousand spells. But still he charged. The Archmages of Wistram lay before him. The archers from five continents and mages called from every part of the earth were in his reach. He raised the sword with a howl as the first rank of archers came into view.

And then he saw her. Golden-hair blowing in the wind, face pale with fear. Her pointed ears and terrified eyes met his as her arrow left its bowstring. One arrow among thousands. But this one sped true.

[Piercing Shot]. Velan locked eyes with Elia Arcsinger in the moment of his death. For a second he looked at her and wavered. And the arrow pierced his left eye and sank into his brain. The Goblin King fell as the fleeing archers and mages turned and looked back in disbelief. The Goblin King died and his death spread across the battlefield in an instant. Dead, dead, DEAD!

The Goblin King was d—

Numbtongue jerked. The scream of agony left him, a raw, terrible sound that tore his throat. The memory of the Goblin King’s death tore open a wound in his heart he didn’t know was there. He saw Greydath jerk as the arrow shot towards his left eye. So close. The arrow’s tip made contact with Greydath’s eye—

And he turned his head. The arrow slid past his face and slipped into the water. Greydath held still. His eyes had gone wide, wide with shock. And then they burned with rage. He opened his mouth and howled. The rage and grief beat down on Numbtongue, so loud it seemed no other sound could exist in the world. Greydath screamed at the sky, with such fury that even the distant Antinium was frozen by the raw emotion. And then he turned and hurled his greatsword towards Bird.

The sword flashed through the sky like a javelin, an arrow made of steel. Bird was hundreds of feet away. The greatsword covered the distance in less than a second. Numbtongue saw the sword flash towards the tower, heard a crash, and then saw the tower collapse. He did not see Bird. His heart stopped dead in his chest.

The tower on top of The Wandering Inn collapsed. Half of it had been blow away by the impact. What remained cascaded to the ground, sliding off the rooftop, landing on the earth. Something black fell with it. Something black landed on the ground and did not move. The Redfang Goblins stared in horror at the silent figure. Then they looked at Greydath.

The Goblin was panting heavily. He was still untouched, but the fury on his face was still there. For a moment longer. Then he seemed to come back to his senses. He stared at the inn and the broken tower, and looked at his hands. Only now did he seem to realize what he’d done. A look of chagrin stole over his face.

“Oops. I didn’t mean to—”

Numbtongue heard a scream. Greydath turned. Badarrow lunged at him. He stabbed, and the arrow he held embedded itself in Greydath’s shoulder. The Goblin Lord snarled in surprise and shock. His eyes flashed and he backhanded Badarrow. The [Sniper] spun and dropped, limply rolling down the hill and into the waters.

“You struck me!”

He stared down at the arrow planted in his shoulder. Greydath plucked it out and stared at the red, dripping tip. He blinked at the other Redfang Warriors.

“You managed to strike me.”

“You killed him.”

Numbtongue stared at Greydath. The Goblin hesitated. He seemed as surprised as Numbtongue by what had just happened. He shook his head and looked towards the inn. The tower was still collapsing.

“That was a mistake. That was—you struck me. By accident. But you did. I will—go. But this will do, I think.”

He shook himself. His voice grew firmer.

“You cannot be here. You cannot stay here. Are you Chieftains or just lost Hobs? You must decide.”

He looked down at the Redfangs. The five. They looked up at him. Numbtongue shook his head.

“We know.”

Greydath paused. His eyes flicked from Numbtongue, to Badarrow, barely conscious and supported by Rabbiteater and Shorthilt, and then to Headscratcher. Numbtongue’s voice quivered.

“We know. We knew we could not stay. We knew it had to change. But why—why—”

He stared at the broken inn, and then at Greydath.

“Why did you have to take that from us? Why you?”

Greydath hesitated. He stood above the five, and looked old. Old and weary. For a moment he looked sympathetic.

“Because we are Goblins.”

That was it. Then Greydath turned and dove into the waters. The Redfangs saw him begin swimming, not towards the inn, but away. As fast as an arrow himself. He was leaving. His work was done. They stood there and knew what he meant.

He’d done it. Destroyed what they had here. Because they were Goblins. And happiness was like a moment in the sun. No matter how long it lasted, someday the clouds would come again.

The Redfangs looked at each other. They looked at the inn. At the black shape lying on the ground. For a second they wanted to scream. They wanted to weep and throw themselves into the water. They wanted to go back to this morning. But there was no time. It was over.

They ran.

—-

Erin had just gone back into her inn after the rain had stopped. She’d been thinking of sending someone after Olesm with his letter, not least to find out what he was so worried about. Maybe that someone should be her? She was about to ask Lyonette to take over when it happened.

She heard a terrible crash from above. Her inn trembled—Erin felt a terrible wrenching in her gut, as if something was breaking. And then she heard the creak of wood, and…the sound of things falling. Erin looked around wildly as some of her guests cried out in alarm. Lyonette rushed out of the kitchens and Mrsha howled in alarm. But all of that was background noise. Erin felt it.

“The roof? What—”

Erin ran up the stairs. First floor, second floor, third—she froze when she got to the door that led up to the tower. The door was ajar despite her telling Bird repeatedly to shut it. But the sky had been clear so he must not have thought it mattered. But where the stairs should have spiraled up there was nothing.

Just broken wood and sky. The place where the sturdy tower should have been was just…missing. As Erin watched, a piece of wood fell down the stairs. For a moment she was paralyzed. Then fear engulfed her.

“Bird?”

He hadn’t been in the tower. He’d been in his room or on the ground floor. Erin flung open the door to Bird’s room. He wasn’t there. The cubby hole made of blankets had fallen over from the earthquake. Erin stared at it and then ran downstairs.

“Bird! Bird!?”

He wasn’t in the common room either. All of the guests were on their feet. They called out to Erin, but she had no time for them. She ran outside. And then she saw him.

He was lying on the grass, still wet with rain. Pieces of the tower lay around him with roof tiles. Bird was lying on his back. He was still clutching his bow. And he was mostly there.

Something had torn away his left side. Bird’s left arms were missing. His shoulder was gone, exposing his bleeding chest. He lay on the ground in a pool of green blood. He wasn’t moving.

“No.”

Erin stared at Bird. She stared at the blood pumping out of his body beat by beat. This couldn’t be happening. She wasn’t seeing this.

It was supposed to be an ordinary day. Erin heard someone open the door behind him.

“Erin? What was—”

“Potion.”

Erin heard a rushing in her ears. She saw Lyonette standing in the doorway, her eyes going to Bird. Widening in shock. The young woman recoiled in slow motion. Erin was running at her. She threw Lyonette aside and ran into her inn. She looked around.

Faces staring at her. Eltistiman, Drakes, Wesle, guests. Ishkr coming towards her. Where?

There. Erin ran, feeling the air drag at her. She thrust people aside, running for the box of potions. She scrambled through them, searching, then grabbed the entire crate. Too slow! Erin ran back for the door. Faster, faster—too slow.

Mrsha ran out behind Erin. She was howling, but Erin couldn’t hear it. The young woman ran to Bird. She skidded to a stop and fumbled with the potions. Which one? She’d labeled them, but the words ran together. No, don’t cry. Erin couldn’t cry. She fumbled with the corks, ripped one out.

“Bird, drink this! Bird!”

He wasn’t moving. No, he was jerking. Erin sloshing the potion onto his mandibles. She poured it onto his missing side. Parts of his body began to close. Too slowly. Erin emptied the potion bottle. She reached for another.

“Speak to me! Lyonette, help me! Get more potions! Get Octavia! Get—”

A potion bottle slipped from her hands. Erin’s hands were bloody. She was trying to stop the bleeding. Why was Bird still bleeding? Why wasn’t the potion working? Why—

Someone grabbed the potion. White paws. Mrsha tore the cork from the bottle and poured the healing potion on Bird. His side was closing up. But he was still bleeding. Erin grabbed another potion. She could see Lyonette in front of her, screaming at her. Erin tried to listen.

“There’s too much damage! His body can’t heal itself! Stop, Erin, the potions aren’t working!”

The [Princess] was shaking Erin. The [Innkeeper] realized she’d emptied four bottles onto Bird. The Worker was shaking. He was—he was alive.

“Ow. Ow. Ow.”

Bird’s voice was weak. Erin hovered over him. Part of the gaping hole in his body had closed, but Lyonette was right. A significant part of the injury was just…open. It was refusing to close, as if the magic of the potions wasn’t enough.

“We have to stop the bleeding.”

Erin whispered. She knew that was the important thing. The bleeding. Lyonette looked around. She tore off her shirt and pressed it to Bird’s side. The Worker shook and Erin nearly lost control. But then she held Lyonette’s top there. The cloth was quickly bloody.

“It’s not working. We need to heal it!”

“How?”

“We need—Bird, stay awake! Do you hear me?”

“It hurts, Erin.”

“I know. I know. Just stay with me. Lyonette, Mrsha, someone—”

Erin was trying to think. Bleeding wouldn’t stop. Mrsha was trying to get Bird to drink. A healing potion? Stamina potion. Would it help? How could they—

“Who did this? How did it happen?”

No one answered her. Bird lay on the ground. He stared up at Erin. He spoke slowly and distinctly, so that even her panicking mind processed what he said.

“I am dying.”

“No.”

Erin tried to deny it. But the proof was there in front of her. Both of his left arms and his shoulder were gone. Blood was pumping out of his chest. And she couldn’t stop it. The potions were putting something back in Bird, but he was losing more by every second. This couldn’t be happening.

It was supposed to be an ordinary day.

“What do we do?”

Lyonette looked at Erin. The young woman didn’t know. She felt the cloth dripping. Then she looked up. Liscor sat above them, the stone walls still wet with rain. Liscor. Rain.

Antinium.

“The Hive. They can save him. We have to get—”

Lyonette stared at Erin as the young woman gabbled. She didn’t understand! She had to understand! Erin began trying to lift Bird, trying to cover the wound. But he was ungainly and his body was open—

“Help me!”

Mrsha understood at the same time as Lyonette. They began trying to lift Bird. But he was heavy. And he was holding onto his bow.

“Bird, let go of the bow. Bird, let go. We need to carry you—someone help!”

Erin screamed back at her inn. Bird was mumbling to her. Protesting.

“It’s my bow. My bow. I am dying, Erin. It hurts.”

“I know, just hold on! Hold—help!”

She turned and screamed back at the silent figures standing at the door to her inn. Why weren’t they moving? Erin had never hated anyone more than the shocked guests in her inn. She saw some of them moving, but too slow. Erin turned—

And there was Numbtongue. He stumbled out of the waters, pale, trembling. She stared at him. The Hob looked down at Bird and fell to his knees.

“No.”

The Hob looked stricken. The other four Redfang Warriors emerged from the waters. Where had they come from? No—Erin grabbed at Numbtongue, trying to staunch the bleeding.

“He’s alive! We need to get him to the Hive! Now!”

A flicker of understanding ran through Numbtongue’s eyes. He leapt to his feet. The other Hobs didn’t waste time. They moved as one, grabbing Bird. Headscratcher shoved Erin aside and took hold of the bloody wad of cloth. He pressed mercilessly and Bird made a terrible sound. But he was alive. And the bleeding stopped.

“Go.”

Shorthilt pointed. The Hobs charged up the hill. Erin ran after them, seeing Mrsha dart up the stairs. The Hobs knocked aside the guests, ran for the door. Mrsha was already there, scrambling at the bowl with paws soaked green with blood. Erin grabbed the mana stone and pressed it against the door.

Liscor opened in front of her, the streets damp but no longer rainy. The Hobs stared into the streets. For a second they hesitated and looked back at Erin. They had never been there. She spoke, her heart tearing out of her chest.

“Go.”

They ran. Four of the Hobs carried Bird between them. The fifth, Numbtongue, raced ahead of them through the streets. Erin and Mrsha were with him. They didn’t know where to go! Erin screamed directions and Mrsha howled.

She could see people staring at them as they ran. Erin heard voices from above, almost like she was in a theatre watching herself run while an audience commented on her every move. She heard an exclamation, then a shout.

“Goblins in Liscor! Sound the alarm!”

“No, it’s just—”

The [Guardsmen] hesitated. Erin saw figures running along the walls, and then a horn blow. She didn’t care.

“Klbkch! Tell Klbkch!”

She screamed into the face of a passing Gnoll then ran. Mrsha was howling, not one long howl but a series of panicked notes. Erin heard answering calls in the distance. It mattered and didn’t at the same time. All of her energy was put into running, staying with the Goblins. Numbtongue ran with her, chest heaving. He looked exhausted. So did the Hobs. But they stayed with her every step, refusing to slip. Blood dripped in their wake, leaving a trail on the wet cobblestones.

They were running out of time. Erin couldn’t hear Bird anymore. She spotted the Hive at last and ran towards it.

“Go there! Find Klbkch!”

The Hobs ran for the entrance. They ran down the sloping entrance and then stopped. A wall of Soldiers charged out of the tunnel, slamming into the Hobs. Erin screamed as Bird nearly fell. Numbtongue went sprawling as a Soldier leapt on him, punching him. She screamed at them.

“Stop! Stop! It’s Bird! Stop!”

She tried to push them. But she wasn’t in her inn. The Soldiers kept attacking, and the Hobs backed up. They moved back until, suddenly, the Soldiers froze. They straightened and moved aside.

“Erin!”

A familiar voice snapped. Erin looked up and saw him striding towards her. Slender, two hands on his swords. Klbkch paused. He was shaking with fury.

“You cannot take Goblins into the Hive! The Soldiers nearly killed you! What—”

He froze when he saw Bird. The Antinium was curled up in the arms of the Goblins. Erin pushed forwards.

“It’s Bird! He was hurt! I don’t know what—the bleeding won’t—we used potions and—”

“I see. Soldiers, lift Bird.”

Klbkch raised one of his hands and Erin went quiet. The Soldiers gathered around Bird. They lifted him. One grabbed the bloody bandage, but there was so little blood flowing from Bird. He didn’t respond as Klbkch bent to inspect him. The [Guardsman] stared for what felt like forever at Bird, then he looked up at Erin.

“He has no chance, even if I were to apply a regenerative gel. He has lost too much blood. His only hope lies with my Queen.”

He turned to the Soldiers.

“Run. Take him to her. Clear the Hive.”

His words seemed to ring. The Soldiers didn’t hesitate. They charged down the tunnel, disappearing out of view. Erin wanted to run after them, but Klbkch blocked her with one arm.

“Bird. Will he be okay?”

She wanted Klbkch to say ‘yes’ so badly. But all the Antinium did was shake his head.

“Erin. My Queen is familiar with Antinium biology. If she wishes to save Bird, she will. And I believe she will. She has an…attachment to him.”

“But will she—”

“I do not know. He may live. Or he may not.”

“Can you bring him back? What about the Rite?”

Erin clung to that idea. Klbkch hesitated.

“I do not know. Only Prognugators undergo the Rite, and only the strongest. He must have enough levels and his mind—I do not know, Erin. But tell me.”

The Antinium looked around and his hands moved to his swords.

“Who injured Bird?”

Erin sagged. She felt like someone had cut her strings. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. Her legs were on fire. She looked down and saw the green blood on her hands.

“I don’t know. I heard a crash and I—I don’t know what happened.”

“We do.”

A quiet, wretched voice answered for Erin. Klbkch and Erin turned. Numbtongue stood with the Redfang Goblins. He bowed his head. His face was shadowed in the tunnel as he spoke.

“It was a Goblin.”

“A Goblin?”

Erin stared at Numbtongue. She felt the bottom drop out of her world. Klbkch said nothing. He just drew his swords. Erin turned to him, and heard the shouts from above.

“Erin!”

Olesm was on the surface. Thirty of the City Watch surrounded the tunnel. Erin saw the Redfangs emerge into the sunlight and freeze. More [Guardspeople] arrived, training bows and spears on the Hobs. Olesm stood behind the first rank. His face was pale.

“Olesm—it was Bird—”

The [Strategist] turned as Erin lurched towards him. He held still as Erin tried to make him listen. At last, he nodded. She didn’t know what she’d said, but Olesm gently held her.

“Erin, I understand. Senior Guardsman Klbkch—”

He motioned to Klbkch. Erin turned and saw the Antinium had drawn his swords. The Redfang Goblins stood together, staring at her, staring at the ground or the sky. Erin caught her breath.

“What—”

“It’s not just the Goblin, Erin. I’m calling a full city-wide alarm.”

Olesm looked at Erin with terrible pain in his eyes. She looked at him and only now heard the horns blaring a warning. Far too many horns for just six Goblins. She looked around and saw Gnolls and Drakes looking upwards. Olesm stared at Erin. He spoke slowly and carefully, enunciating every word.

“The Goblin Lord is coming to Liscor. He’ll attack the walls. The Humans…the Humans are going to give him a way to attack our city.”

“What? Olesm, I don’t—”

He went on, slowly.

“As [Strategist] of Liscor, I have no choice. Under military law I am confiscating your door, Miss Solstice. A detachment of the Watch will be sent to collect it. As for the Goblins, I cannot risk them endangering the city. We will find this Hob and kill it. As for these five—”

Olesm turned. A Gnoll with a pair of iron manacles approached the Redfang Goblins. Olesm swallowed as she looked at him. Erin opened her mouth to say something. Anything. But Olesm went on. He looked at Numbtongue as the Hob stared at Erin. The Gnoll slowly closed the manacles over Numbtongue’s wrists. Olesm bowed his head.

“They are under arrest.”

5.54 (Non-Canon)

(Important: I have REWRITTEN this chapter as this one was not the one I intended to write. It will be released as the next regular chapter. If you would like to read this chapter, feel free, but know that it may spoil some of the events of the actual 5.54 and not all of the events contained within are canonical. I does have some good parts, though. Somewhere.)

The problem with Liscor was that no one asked Relc for his opinion before doing things. That was the sum of Liscor’s issues. That, and nothing else. Okay, maybe the dungeon. And Rock Crabs. And the rain. And other stuff. But a lot of it could be improved if they asked Relc about what he thought about all this!

No one did. Not Captain Zevara, or Olesm, or even Embria. Which was why Relc had to volunteer his thoughts. It was a public service. The Drake strolled down the road, twirling his spear and following a group of [Guardspeople] who’d been called to deal with some emergency or other. About Goblins? Relc hadn’t been paying attention when he’d heard the warning go out.

“I just think it’s unfair, you know? All I’m saying is that we deserve free food now and then!”

Ahead of him, a pair of Senior Guardsmen groaned. They were a Drake and Gnoll, a classic team up. Like Relc they had become Senior Guardsmen by merit of their high levels and talent. Unlike Relc, their talents involved more than hitting things on the head. They were well-respected, did their jobs efficiently, and both had happy families. Relc hated their tails sometimes.

“Everyone gets hungry. Everyone needs food. I’m not the only [Guardsman] to eat while I’m on duty, and everyone gets a free meal sometimes! Even Klbkch! So why am I the only one who gets chewed out by Captain Z for it? I’m peckish! Is that so wrong?”

The Gnoll sighed loudly.

“It’s not wrong, Relc.”

“Exactly!”

“—It’s just wrong when you keep hinting that you’d like something to eat. There’s a difference between a gift and a bribe. You know that.”

“Right, I want a gift.”

“But it’s not a gift if—Jeiss, do you want to say anything?”

The Drake looked at his partner and shook his head.

“Why are you arguing with Relc? Just ignore him. He knows what he did wrong. Come on, we have to get to this incident on time.”

The Drake swished his tail dismissively and picked up the pace. Relc debated tripping him up with his spear, but he decided against it.

“Hey! It’s a legitimate problem that—okay, what about all the adventurers, huh? Why do we have to get called in every time they start a brawl, even when we’re off-duty? And by we, I mean me. Why am I never given a break?”

“Because you’re the only one who can brawl with Gold-ranks, idiot.”

“Yeah, but then why don’t I get vacation days each time I’m called in? I was on my break yesterday!”

The Gnoll, whose name was Beilmark shot Relc a disbelieving glance.

“You were called in for an emergency at the Adventurer’s Guild for a scuffle, yes? It took less than thirty minutes to sort out and you didn’t file any paperwork! We had to charge and fine the adventurers. You just showed up, broke three tables, and left!”

Relc stared back innocently as he jogged after the pair.

“Exactly. So why didn’t I get thirty minutes off today?”

Beilmark groaned and Jeiss shook his head. The two sped up. Relc ran after them, grumbling under his breath. The [Guardsmen] were following the sound of whistles being blown, telling them they were needed. Relc wasn’t sure what the problem was. Goblins? Had one of Erin’s pet Goblins entered the city? He grunted as he shifted his grip on his spear.

“So, you guys have kids, right?”

This time Beilmark glared over her shoulder. Relc rolled his eyes.

“What? I know you’re female!”

“And I have two children. Whom you have met!”

Beilmark snapped back at Relc. He scratched the back of his spines.

“Yeah…okay, well, so my question is—what do you do with them? For fun?”

Jeiss and Beilmark exchanged a glance, much like Klbkch and Relc sometimes did.

“How do you mean?”

“Well…my kid’s in town and we don’t do anything but argue. I keep trying to give her fatherly advice, but I don’t have much and uh, y’know…I could use a hand. Klb’s no good for that kind of thing.”

The Senior Guardsmen pair exchanged a long, tired look. Jeiss eventually spoke up.

“Relc, my oldest kid—Jacs—whose birthday you missed by the way—is ten.”

“And my oldest is fourteen. Embria is a Wing Commander in the army, yes? I do not think our advice applies.”

“But you’re the same age as me. I know Beilmark’s older. Hey! Don’t snarl at me.”

“Yeah, but you had a kid earlier than we did. It’s not the same. Now, would you shut up and let us get to the emergency on time? Not all of us can run as fast as you. You should be there by now!”

The Drake glared at Relc. Senior Guardsmen Relc sighed.

“I’m tired from that other fight at the Adventurer’s Guild. You know, the big fight just now? The one we all had to stop?”

“I don’t recall you doing the paperwork.”

“But I did take out three Gold-ranks! Hah! Besides, we haven’t heard the whistle blown twice so it’s not an emergency emergency. And aren’t we having fun talking?”

Jeiss and Beilmark sighed. They tried to run even faster, but it was a futile effort attempting to get away from Relc. The big Drake easily followed both [Guards], despite wearing chainmail armor and carrying his spear. If he needed do, he could lose the armor and even outrun a horse. Heck, he could probably catch Hawk if he had to! Maybe. With a head start.

The Gecko of Liscor enjoyed his life most of the time. It was peaceful, despite monster attacks and all the latest craziness with the Raskghar. It wasn’t like being in the army where every skirmish could be your last. Relc loved it in Liscor. He loved eating, he loved his job most of the time, and he loved…this.

But Embria kept telling him to go back to the army. As if he didn’t know what he’d left behind. He didn’t know how to talk to her. He never had. Relc opened his mouth to ask Beilmark what, if anything, he could say. Then he saw the Goblins.

There were five of them. Hobgoblins, not the regular, pesky Goblins. Instantly Relc became wary. He recognized the Redfang Warriors of course. They were an official adventuring team now and they were part of Erin’s inn. But they weren’t supposed to be in Liscor. And they were armed.

“Whoa. Hold up.”

Relc appeared in front of Jeiss, spear held more firmly in his claws. The Senior Guardsman slowed and for once didn’t complain as Relc peered at the situation. Five Hobs, surrounded by at least twenty of the Watch. Right in front of the entrance to the Antinium Hive, which didn’t seem good. And—Relc’s pulse quickened—there was Erin. And Klbkch.

“What the heck’s going on here?”

The three Senior Guardsmen approached slowly and heard Olesm speaking loudly to Erin. Relc’s jaw dropped as Olesm’s voice reached them.

“…am confiscating your door, Miss Solstice. A detachment of the Watch will be sent to collect it. As for the Goblins, I cannot risk them endangering the city. We will find this Hob and kill it. As for these five—”

“Hey, is he serious? He can’t do that, can he?”

He looked at Beilmark. The Gnoll shifted uneasily and gripped the mace she carried at her side.

“I don’t know. We heard the alert called earlier. Something might be happening again.”

“What was that about another Hobgoblin? Is that the issue?”

“Hold on, hold on—”

Relc was hopping from foot to foot. Klbkch was right there! And his partner had drawn his blades, which was not a good sign. But now a Gnoll was arresting the Hobs! He put a pair of manacles over one of the Hobs—the one carrying a beat-up guitar. Numbtongue? Relc never paid attention to their names. Relc exclaimed.

“No way. He really is arresting them! I thought Olesm loved Erin and her Goblins! Why’s he doing that?”

Jeiss shot Relc a disbelieving look.

“They entered the city. Relc. He can’t let that slide, Human or not. Why is she here, anyways?”

“Well, yeah, but—hold on.”

All three saw Erin stepping forwards. They could hear her voice quite plainly.

“No! You can’t do this, Olesm! They were helping me save Bird! They’ve done nothing wrong!”

The Senior Guardsmen looked at each other.

“Save who?”

“That’s the Antinium who lives on top of Erin’s inn. You know, the one with the bow?”

“Oh. What happened?”

“I have no idea. But—hold on. What is she—”

Olesm was arguing with Erin, clearly telling her that this wasn’t a debate. But Erin wasn’t having it. She spread her arms, but the Gnoll with the cuffs just walked around her. Erin turned as he began to shackle the Hob with the enchanted axe, and then her eyes narrowed. She spun.

“No.”

Her fist rose. Relc saw Erin throw a punch. Olesm raised his claws and Erin decked him in the face. All three [Guards] winced as Olesm took a full-force blow to the face. He yelped and fell. Jeiss shook his head.

“She didn’t just—”

“Your friend’s in for it now, Relc.”

That was definitely true. But Erin wasn’t done  yet. As the Gnoll [Guardsman] turned to her in surprise, Erin whirled.

“[Minotaur Punch]!”

This time her punch took the Gnoll in the stomach. He doubled over, folded up, and curled into a ball of suffering. All three Senior Guardsmen gaped at Erin. So did the other members of the Watch, and the Hobs. Erin turned. She raised her fists and looked at the five Hobs.

“Run!”

The Hobs hesitated. Then they scattered. Relc swore and Jeiss and Beilmark grabbed for their weapons as the Watch shouted in alarm and began chasing after the five. Relc saw Erin charging a Drake and trying to punch him before Olesm tackled her to the ground. He tore his eyes away and focused on the five. They were splitting up, each one running in a different direction! Relc pointed to one of them that was heading their way. The Hob held a bow and was loosing arrows as he ran, forcing the other pursuers to slow and take cover.

“I’ll take the dude with the bow. You guys get the others.”

Jeiss and Beilmark hesitated, but then nodded. They didn’t argue as they ran past Relc. He walked forwards slowly, twirling his spear. The Hob spotted him and slowed down.

Now, which one was this? Headscratcher? Numb…toes? Rabbitfeeter? No—this was Badarrow. The Hob looked around as if trying to find an alley to run down. Relc just kept advancing slowly. He could catch Badarrow. The question was if the Hob would fight or run.

Badarrow and Relc locked gazes. The Hob’s reached for an arrow. Relc grinned and lifted his spear.

“Try it.”

The two froze in place. Relc could see Badarrow performing the warrior’s internal calculation, assessing Relc’s gear, his level and the Skills he might have and weighing his odds against that. The Hob’s eyes narrowed, then he made a disgusted sound.

Slowly, Badarrow released the grip on his arrow. The Hob glared as he tossed the bow and quiver to the ground.

“Hah! You’re pretty smart.”

Relc gave him a toothy grin. He bent to collect the bow and quiver. Badarrow twitched as if he’d like to kick Relc in the face and run, but he was indeed intelligent enough to know what would happen if he did. Hob or not, he wasn’t a match for Relc, and both Goblin and Drake knew it.

It was true that Relc was a [Guardsman]. But he’d been a [Spearmaster] back in the army and a [Sergeant] as well. A high-level one. He could fight Gold-rank adventurers with just his spear and win. Sometimes. For all the Redfang Warriors were strong, they weren’t that strong.

“Hey, I got one!”

Relc sauntered back to Olesm and a few of the City Watch. They stared at him as Badarrow trooped over, scowling. Relc indicated the Hob.

“Anyone got a pair of cuffs? I uh, forgot mine back at the barracks.”

Some of the guards groaned, but a young Drake with cuffs came over to shackle Badarrow, hand and foot. Relc looked over and saw that Erin was sitting on the ground. Her cheek was scuffed up and she had cuffs on her hands.

“Uh, hi Erin.”

“Hi Relc.”

“Saw you punch Olesm. Nice hit! Stupid idea, though.”

“Yeah.”

Erin breathed out heavily. She looked at Badarrow as the Hob sat next to her. Relc shifted uncomfortably.

“So…what’s this all about?”

“Relc!”

The Drake turned. Olesm glared at him. His eye was already getting puffy, but the [Strategist] seemed on edge for different reasons. He pointed in the direction one of the other Hobs had run.

“Go after the Goblins!”

“Aw, do I have to? Jeiss and Beilmark can catch them.”

“Don’t argue! Do it!”

Relc glared, but then he sighed and jogged off. Olesm glared after him and then turned. Erin stared up at him. The Drake met her eyes and then looked away. He stood, barking orders while Erin sat on the ground. Badarrow grumbled and tested the iron manacles, pulling at them until someone raised a spear. Then he just sat.

Slowly, the City Watch returned, with prisoners in tow. Erin’s heart sank as she saw Relc come back, and the collection of Hobs sitting in chains grew.

One, three, four…Headscratcher, Rabbiteater, and Shorthilt joined Badarrow, all three having been subdued and manacled hand and foot. Headscratcher’s nose was bleeding and Shorthilt had several long scratches on his arm which were dripping a bit of blood. Olesm looked at Jeiss.

“Did they give you trouble, Senior Guardsman?”

The Drake saluted.

“No sir. They tried to knock us down but they didn’t draw steel, sir. But the fifth Hob, the one we already shackled—he uh, made it out.”

“What?”

Olesm’s eyes widened. He turned and glared at Relc, who’d come back with Shorthilt in tow. The Drake raised his claws.

“Hey, don’t blame me! I got this one! Had to tackle him before he got to Erin’s magic door.”

He pointed at Shorthilt. The Hob glared at Relc. Beilmark nodded apologetically as she explained.

“The fifth one—he ran down the streets shouting about a Raskghar attack. In the panic we couldn’t catch up to him and then he ran up to the battlements and jumped off.”

“Clever Numbtongue.”

Erin murmured to herself. Olesm glanced down at her and made a frustrated sound.

“That’s—keep an eye out for him! Don’t shoot him, but if he appears in the inn or the city—just keep an eye out! As for these four…”

He turned and looked grimly at Erin and the Hobs.

“Take them to prison and put them in separate cells.”

“The Hobs?”

Relc raised his brows. Olesm shook his head.

“All of them. The Hobs…and the Human.”

He didn’t look at Erin. Relc whistled slowly. Some of the City Watch blinked. But Olesm was already turning to Beilmark.

“I want a patrol to secure The Wandering Inn. Senior Guardsmen and our best fighters. Take at least two mages! Get them to open the door to Pallass and tell them I want Watch Captain Venim now. Pallass is already aware of what’s going on. Move!”

Beilmark nodded and ran with Jeiss down the street. Relc watched them go, blinking. Something was going on. He just didn’t know what. He looked awkwardly down at the Human sitting on the ground.

“Hey Erin. Sorry about this. You’re going to jail.”

“Aw.”

Erin sighed. She stood up slowly and gave Relc an imploring look.

“Relc…”

“Sorry. Just doing my job. Don’t try to punch me because I’d have to hit you. Hold on, we have to check you for weapons. Hey, rookies, one of you get over and check Erin!”

Relc carefully turned Erin about as a female Gnoll came over. He spoke reassuringly as the other Hobs stood and were divested of their weapons too.

“Don’t worry. This is just to make sure you don’t stab each other in jail or something. And it’s not that bad! We don’t have rats or anything and you get fed…something. You’ll probably only be there the night.”

“And the Redfangs? And Bird? Relc, can you check on Bird? We took him to the Hive. He was hurt—bad! Klbkch brought him to the Queen.”

Relc’s eyes widened.

“That must be bad. Old Klb never bothers his Queen unless—what happened? And where’d Klb go?”

“Back into the Hive. I think—oh, Relc. It was awful. Bird was—”

“Senior Guardsman Relc!”

The Drake stiffened. Olesm was glaring at him.

“Escort the prisoners to the cells and report to the barracks without delay. Don’t waste time talking.”

“Yes, sir.”

Relc saluted smartly. He gave Olesm a toothy grin. And if Relc had said or done what he was thinking, the [Strategist] would have two black eyes. Because, fair play to Olesm, Goblins were a threat. But Erin wasn’t. She’d done more for Liscor than most Senior Guardsman had over their careers. And if Relc had learned one thing, it was that if Erin was on one side and you were on the other, you were probably on the wrong side.

They needed her. But she had struck a [Strategist] and directly aided in the escape of monsters from the Watch. So there was no choice, was there? Relc sighed. He didn’t want to do this—

“Come on, Erin. We’ll get you to a nice cell.”

He began to steer Erin away. And then he heard it. A faint sound, like a rapid set of drums. Relc paused. He raised a claw and the other guards urging the Hobs along stopped obediently.

“Hold on, what’s that? Anyone hear something?”

Relc turned his head and frowned at the entrance to the Antinium Hive. Olesm turned back, clearly annoyed.

“Senior Guardsman—”

“Shut up, Olesm.”

Relc stared at the Hive. He heard an outraged sound, but he didn’t care. Slowly, Relc backed away from the entrance to the Hive, tugging Erin out of the way. The drumming sound was louder now. The City Watch eyed the entrance to the Hive as well. And then the first Soldier charged out of the Hive.

“Soldier!”

Relc saw the massive Antinium run out of the Hive’s dirt entrance. The Antinium was as tall as Relc and even bulkier. His four arms were raised and he stopped abruptly in front of the surprised Drakes and Gnolls, looking around. Relc’s heart began to race. He pulled Erin back as more Soldiers charged out behind the first.

“What the—”

Olesm was staring incredulously. But Relc’s instincts took over. He looked around and shouted a warning.

“Oh shit. Back up, boys. They’re not playing around!”

The City Watch reacted to the uncharacteristic snap in Relc’s voice. Instantly they moved back down the street and just in time. Because more and more Soldiers came flooding out of the entrance. Dozens…then nearly a hundred. Relc stared at the Soldiers as they formed a solid brown-black wall in front of him. Soldiers in the streets of Liscor? These weren’t the Painted Soldiers either. They were regulars and they looked ready for a fight.

What in the name of the Walled Cities was going on? And then Relc saw a familiar face. An Antinium unlike any other walked up from the Hive. He had only two arms, and both were holding silvery blades. Klbkch walked past the ranks of Soldiers. He paused as he inspected the sudden change that had occurred—the shackled Goblins and Erin, Olesm’s black eye. His head turned and he nodded to Relc.

“Relc.”

The Drake managed a smile.

“Hey, Klb. What’s up?”

“Senior Guardsman Klbkch—what is this?”

Olesm stared at the Soldiers in horror. Klbkch’s head turned to Olesm.

“Strategist Olesm, I am not acting in my position as Senior Guardsman Klbkch, but my role as Revalantor Klbkchhezeim of the Hives. By my Queen’s command, I have been sent to find and destroy the Hob responsible for injuring the Individual Worker known as Bird.”

“What? But that’s—Klbkch, you cannot take Soldiers through Liscor! Please, order them back into the Hive. The City Watch will investigate whatever happened to Bird. But there’s a larger issue at stake here.”

The [Strategist] looked appalled. He tried to step forwards, but Klbkch raised his blades and Olesm stopped. Relc held his breath, Klbkch did not look anything like the amiable Senior Guardsman who normally patrolled the streets. Olesm gulped and stepped back as Klbkch looked at him.

“No. I am invoking the treaty between Liscor and the Free Antinium, Strategist Olesm. My Soldiers will move by boat with the Watch’s assistance and search the floodplains and even the northern and southern passes. We require transport immediately and Liscor’s full compliance. My Queen demands vengeance.”

“What? Now? But Klbkch—”

“No. I must speak to Watch Captain Zevara. Soldiers, fall in!”

The Soldiers began to march after Klbkch. Relc saw Olesm tagging after Klbkch, arguing with him, trying to get him to slow.

“We cannot have the Antinium in the city, not right now! Klbkch, listen to me! There is a larger situation happening at the moment. I need the Antinium’s full support, not—”

“My Queen’s orders take priority. Move aside, Olesm.”

Klbkch swung a sword out. Olesm flinched back. Klbkch marched onwards, the Soldiers beginning to spread out behind him. Relc saw Olesm’s face twist and his tail lash the ground. The [Strategist] clutched at his head and then shouted at Klbkch’s back.

“Liscor is going to fall!”

The Antinium halted in their tracks. Relc froze in the act of scratching one armpit. The City Watch whirled. Erin, the Redfang Hobs, everyone looked at Olesm. The [Strategist] panted. He looked at Klbkch and spoke in a trembling voice.

“Liscor is going to fall in four days. Unless we prepare. Unless I do something about it. I don’t have time for a single Hob. I don’t have time for Antinium marching through the streets! You can either help me, or I will arrest you and every single person who gets in my way!”

He shouted the last bit at Klbkch, straight to the Revalantor’s face. Relc held his breath as Klbkch stared at Olesm. Then, slowly, the Revalantor sheathed his swords. He nodded, and the Soldiers began to move back towards their Hive.

“Very well. We are at your disposal, Strategist Olesm. Inform me of the situation.”

Olesm looked around at all the listening guardsmen, at Relc, Erin, and the others. He shook his head.

“Not here. Follow me.”

He pointed and took off at a run. Klbkch ran after him. Relc stared after the two, and then at Erin and the Goblins and his fellow guards. He looked at his spear, and then at the clear skies.

“Aw hell. I knew today was going to be a bad day.”

—-

The alarm that went out from city to city was immediate. And as always, it led to a swift response. One by one, the cities began sending [Messages] to each other. The six-way chat opened as hundreds of other [Messages] were being sent and urgent clarifications and requests were coming through the harried Mage’s Guilds in every Drake city on the continent. But these had highest-priority.

Zeres. We’ve received the alert. Thoughts?

Oteslia. Is Liscor’s [Strategist] certain? They’ve issued a city-wide emergency. If they’re wrong…

Zeres. We agree with Liscor. The pieces fit. And we received intelligence from an unknown source claiming the same as Liscor’s [Strategist]. The Humans have trebuchets.

Oteslia. That’s an unfounded claim.

Zeres. It is, but it fits. And there is evidence.

Fissival is online. Where?

Zeres. There were reports of Humans employing siege weapons in a conflict with a Goblin war band, but the details were inconsistent and mentioned the Goblins constructing trebuchets of their own.

Fissival. Ludicrous.

Oteslia. But if the Humans did have trebuchets…

Manus joins the conference. This situation is grim. How did none of us spot this before now?

Zeres. The Humans played us like scatter-brained hatchlings. That’s all.

Oteslia. Focus. In that case, Liscor is under attack in four days.

Manus. Assuming the water level drops as the [Strategist] indicated. How can the Humans be certain?

Zeres. They must be. There’s no point otherwise.

Salazsar is present. This is a disaster. We must warn the Humans at once! If they think they can take the city, it is war.

Oteslia. They’ll just deny the intent. And once they have Liscor…

Fissival. Politics aside, the Humans will attack Liscor. If they can manage it with the Goblins sacking the city, they will. But I would not trust Tyrion Veltras to hold back even if the Goblins were defeated. Objections?

Manus. None.

Zeres. We agree with your assessment.

Oteslia. We agree.

Salazsar. Something must be done. We must reinforce. At once!

Oteslia. How? They’re four days away. There’s only one city that can reach Liscor in time. Pallass must send all its armies north this instant! Or use that door!

Zeres. Where IS Pallass?

Fissival. We have made Pallass aware of the meeting.

Manus. Are their [Strategists] all asleep or something?

Oteslia. Hold on. Sending urgent request to Pallass to join in.

Zeres. It may be that they’re considering their options.

Salazsar. What options? Liscor must be held.

Zeres. Even with Pallass’ support, the odds of holding the city are low.

Salazar. Not if they send their elites through that magic door.

Manus. And endure a bloodbath? Come on, this is Pallass we’re referring to. They’re next if Liscor falls. They’re considering whether to send all they have or…

Fissival. If Liscor falls, the Humans can march armies at us from countless directions unimpeded.

Manus. We know. But can it be held?

Zeres. Where is Pallass? Oteslia?

Oteslia. Waiting for a response…

Pallass responds. We are aware of the situation and analyzing the statements Liscor’s [Strategist] have made. They are not yet verifiable.

Zeres. We confirm Liscor’s report.

Oteslia. What is Pallass doing? How many armies and [Generals] can Pallass send to Liscor?

Pallass. The decision to reinforce Liscor has not yet been decided by the Assembly of Crafts. Deliberations are ongoing.

Manus. Deliberations? Pallass must send forces through to Liscor now, or begin marching them north at once!

Fissival. Will Pallass have a force large enough to repel the Humans? Estimates puts their army at 200,000 or more.

Oteslia. We can have a force of half a million converging on Pallass in ten days between all the Walled Cities, not including smaller cities. Oteslia’s armies stand ready.

Zeres. In ten days, the Humans will have Liscor and their own reinforcements marching south. Zeres to Pallass. Can you hold the city if the walls are broken?

Pallass. Standby.

Oteslia. Ancestors damn it, Pallass! We need to know how many regiments you can send through to Liscor! Can your 1st Army reach Liscor in time? Answer!

Manus. They aren’t responding. They must be weighing the odds.

Fissival. Liscor has a strong City Watch. They can hold the breach, surely.

Oteslia. Against constant bombardments? Perhaps against the Goblin Lord, but not against them and the Humans.

Salazsar. Tyrion Veltras’ army is not merely 200,000 strong. He brought too many elites. Our reports showed an unusually high number of [Knights] and [Lords] and their personal forces in his army.

Manus. Disguised under the pretense of beating the Goblin Lord. Clever.

Oteslia to Pallass. Well, your response?

Pallass. We are prepared to assist Liscor in every meaningful way possible. Deliberations are ongoing for reinforcement at this moment.

Fissival. Deliberations?

Oteslia. Cowards. Are you being serious?

Pallass. We believe it may be prudent to avoid reinforcement at this moment to assemble a larger force in the event Liscor falls.

Salazar to Pallass. Are you suggesting we allow Liscor to fall?

Pallass. The Assembly of Crafts is debating. Standby.

Oteslia. Are you spineless cowards, you [REDACTED]?

Pallass to Oteslia. Please refrain from unhelpful rhetoric.

Oteslia. [REDACTED].

Zeres. We…agree with Pallass’ assessment. It may be wiser to avoid conflict until we have a force capable of taking Liscor.

Salazsar. You cannot be serious.

Fissival. We concur. The loss of Liscor is devastating. But the loss of Pallass’ forces would be even more so. If this is a trap, it may be designed to take as many soldiers with it.

Manus. So what should be done?

Zeres. Perhaps it is prudent to discuss contingency plans. In the event of Liscor’s fall.

Oteslia. They’re not fallen yet.

Fissival. Yet. And it could be beneficial in one sense.

Manus to Fissival. Explain.

Fissival. The effort required to defend Liscor from two armies armed with siege weapons would result in a bloodbath on Liscor’s side. On the other hand, the Antinium Hive in Liscor would be bound to aid in its defense…

Zeres. In which case, if Liscor falls there is one less Hive. And if they successfully repel the defenders, the Hive would be weakened.

Oteslia. What about Liscor’s citizens and soldiers?

Manus. Could Pallass even send enough soldiers through that magic door or bring enough forces north in time? Four days to march from Pallass to Liscor would exhaust any army and I doubt they could move more than a few thousand soldiers through per day.

Zeres. Pallass does have a point.

Oteslia. Have you all gone mad?

Fissival to Oteslia. Pallass is considering a logical response. This is not the same as the Face-Eater Moth incident. This is an invading army several hundred thousand strong. The Walled Cities must stand. But other cities, even ones as important as Liscor, are expendable as the circumstances dictate.

Salazsar. This is unacceptable. Liscor must not be allowed to fall. Pallass must send reinforcements immediately!

Oteslia agrees.

Salazsar to Pallass. Does Pallass acknowledge?

Salazsar. Well?

Pallass. Standby.

Manus. Standby.

Zeres. Standby.

Fissival. Standby.

—-

“What’s going on? Senior Guardsman Jeiss, why hasn’t the door been moved out of the inn?”

Olesm arrived at The Wandering Inn panting and out of breath. Klbkch was currently with Zevara, being appraised of the situation while Ilvriss kept repeating the alarm to the other Drake cities. Olesm was sure that there were hundreds of [Message] spells directed to him that he had to respond to, but he’d come to The Wandering Inn first.

Wing Commander Embria turned, glaring, and Olesm saw a group of her soldiers milling about with the City Watch on the hill outside of The Wandering Inn. Olesm glared balefully at the [Soldiers]—had they caused this? Then he tried to catch his breath.

He’d had to climb up to the battlements, climb down the ladder and then run across the water bridge to reach the inn without the magic door. He’d forgotten how far it was that way! Olesm glared at Jeiss, who saluted him guiltily.

“Sorry, sir. We were going to remove the door, but we ran into…complications.”

“Such as?”

The Drake looked miserable and his partner, Beilmark, hunched her shoulders.

“One of the employees, refuses to give up the door. She claims Liscor has no authority to remove the door from the inn.”

“Who? Lyonette? Then arrest her!”

Olesm had no time for niceties. The two Senior Guardsmen exchanged a glance.

“Uh, we tried, sir. But then both adventuring teams objected. As did half the guests in the inn.”

“The Halfseekers and the Horns?”

They nodded miserably. Olesm nearly tore his neck spines out.

“Then arrest—”

He paused as he eyed the two dozen or so [Guardsmen] and imagined them trying to arrest Moore. Just Moore, by himself. Olesm paused.

“Okay. I’ll talk to them. Why are Embria’s [Soldiers] here?”

“Sir!”

One of the Drakes stepped forwards and saluted smartly. Olesm remembered to return the salute after a second. The Drake looked like a [Captain].

“Wing Commander Embria came by to secure the door and request formal assistance from Pallass, sir!”

“And why didn’t she move the door to Liscor?”

Olesm’s tail thrashed angrily, but the [Captain] didn’t waver. He looked past Olesm’s head as he spoke.

“Our [Mage Captain] agrees that this inn is the best location for mass-transit! The inn is a natural power source.”

“Yes, but—”

The [Strategist] closed his mouth. He did know that Erin’s inn had a lot of magical power thanks to its Skill. But it was risky leaving the door there! Still…if it meant avoiding a fight…he gritted his teeth.

“Very well. Senior Guardsman Jeiss, Senior Guardswoman Beilmark?”

“Strategist Olesm?”

“Secure this spot. I want a group of the City Watch posted here—inside the inn—at all times. No one touches that door. And—ancestors, what did that?”

Olesm had just spotted the destroyed tower on the roof of the inn. He stared at the spot until he remembered. Bird. He looked around.

“Put someone on the roof of the inn and make sure we’re clear. In fact, get Relc over here now.”

“Yes sir!”

The two Senior Guardsmen saluted, looking relieved. The [Captain] wasn’t so happy.

“Sir, we’re more than capable of holding this position. Wing Commander Embria—”

Olesm glared at him.

“Someone nearly killed the Antinium standing guard here, [Captain]. A Hobgoblin, apparently. And this inn attracts trouble like a rotting corpse attracts acid flies. If you want to assist the Watch, keep your earholes open. Now, where is Wing Commander Embria?”

“Inside, sir.”

“Good.”

The Drake stomped into the inn. He took one look around and saw the reason why none of the [Soldiers] or the [Guardsmen] had dared enter the inn. His name was Moore and he was holding a big staff threateningly over Olesm’s head. The Drake gulped.

“Oh, it’s just you, Olesm.”

Moore lowered the staff and stepped back. Olesm edged back from him and looked around. Both the Halfseekers and the Horns of Hammerad were seated close to the entrance. Ceria smiled and waved at Olesm.

“Olesm! You’re here! Can you help us sort this out? A patrol of your guys tried to take Erin’s door!”

“Yes! They were supposed to!”

“What?”

The adventurers blinked in shock. Olesm glared at them.

“This is an emergency! We need that door—oh Ancestors damn it, never mind! It can stay! But move out of the way!”

He strode over to the magic door. Embria was standing in front of it, arguing with someone on the other side while Lyonette scowled at her a few feet away. The [Barmaid] looked up and hurried over to Olesm.

“Olesm! Where’s Erin? Is Bird okay? Where are the Goblins? These [Guardsmen] tried to take the door away—”

“I know, I know! I ordered them to! I need to speak with Embria and Pallass! This is an emergency!”

Olesm growled at Lyonette. He approached the door and stopped. Embria was snapping at someone on the other side and now Olesm could see a Drake [Soldier] dressed in Pallass’ yellow-and-white armor.

“I want to speak with Watch Captain Venim! Where is he? This is a national emergency! I am Wing Commander Embria and I demand—”

The Drake was shaking his head as Embria bellowed at him. Olesm brushed Lyonette away and stepped forwards.

“Wing Commander Embria! What’s going on?”

“Olesm!”

Embria turned. She glared at the [Soldier] in front of her.

“I’ve been trying to speak with someone in authority in Pallass for nearly twenty minutes now! I’ve demanded—requested immediate reinforcements, but I can’t get an acknowledgement that anyone’s heard my request!”

She glared at the Drake.

“Is Watch Captain Venim or the Assembly of Crafts aware of the issue, soldier? Respond!”

The Drake winced. He eyed Embria and saluted slowly.

“They are, Wing Commander. But I cannot tell you what their status is. The Assembly of Crafts is debating—”

“What is there to debate? Send a regiment through already!”

Embria roared at the Drake. Olesm saw the Drake wince, but he held his ground stubbornly.

“I cannot leave my station, Wing Commander. I told you, the Assembly of Crafts is considering the issue and Watch Commander Venim is indisposed.”

His eyes slid sideways and his tail twitched, giving away the lie. Olesm’s eyes narrowed. He stepped forwards.

“Soldier, I am Olesm Swifttail , chief [Strategist] of Liscor. Do you acknowledge my rank?”

The Drake gave him a slow look.

“I do, sir.”

Olesm nodded. In certain situations he outranked Embria, for all she was a Wing Commander. This was one of them. He spoke slowly and clearly.

“In that case, I request immediate contact with Pallass’ [Strategist] or another civic leader on an issue of national emergency. You are aware that under Drake military law, denying my request is a treasonous offense?”

Beads of sweat stood out on the Drake [Soldier]’s head. He glanced sideways at someone neither Olesm nor Embria could see through the doorway.

“I do, sir. But—”

“That will be all, soldier.”

A voice interrupted the Drake. He visibly sagged and practically ran out of the way as a Gnoll in robes replaced him. Olesm blinked. A [Senator], one of the elected officials who ran the Assembly of Crafts, Pallass’ governing body, entered the door’s view. He smiled with his teeth at Olesm and Embria.

“Wing Commander, Chief Strategist, my apologies, yes? We have been deliberating this shocking news about a probable assault on Liscor.”

“It’s not—”

Olesm cut Embria off.

“The attack is coming, senator. [Strategists] from other cities including Zeres have confirmed the report as urgent. I am requesting immediate reinforcements from Pallass as per Liscor’s status as a national strategic interest.”

“Hrr. Yes. We have received your request. All six of them, in fact.”

The Gnoll didn’t appear to be too bothered by the issue. He grinned again, politely.

“The issue is that Pallass’ Assembly, we have voted, yes? And we think that Liscor’s announcement is…premature. Not confirmed. We hesitate to call into question your analysis, but we decline to send our soldiers to reinforce Liscor on what may be a…misunderstanding, yes?”

“What?”

Olesm and Embria stared at the Gnoll, incredulous. Olesm’s jaw dropped. The Gnoll looked politely apologetic.

“You see, it would take much effort to send soldiers from Pallass through the door. And for no good reason, yes? Liscor is not in danger. And if it is—well, we should wait and see.”

“What?”

This time both Olesm and Embria chorused the word together. Embria growled, clenching her fists together.

“Senator, if we wait any longer there won’t be any chance of saving Liscor! Without reinforcements, coming through as fast as possible, we won’t be able to put enough bodies into Liscor to defend from the Goblin Lord and the Humans! If we wait another day for full confirmation, let alone more, it will be too late!”

The Senator nodded slowly.

“Yes, and that would clear matters up nicely, yes? It would save Pallass from having to waste lives defending a lost cause.”

Embria had been inhaling to shout. Now she choked. Olesm felt a cold pit settle in his stomach. He stared at the Gnoll in robes. He couldn’t be suggesting…

“You—you can’t be serious. Senator, this is—you can’t delay. Please, the other Walled Cities have heard our request. They have to be mobilizing…”

The Gnoll just smiled as Embria began to stumble over her words. He shook his head and sniffed, his eyes flicking back and forth.

“I am afraid that the other Walled Cities understand the issue as clearly as you do, Wing Commander. Perhaps even more so, yes? A Goblin Lord’s army against Liscor. And a Human’s army capable of taking down the walls. Pallass could sacrifice a hundred thousand—two hundred thousand of our own [Soldiers] and not hold the city. It would be…more prudent not to lose such lives in a fruitless endeavor but rather retake the city.”

“Retake it?”

Olesm felt squeezed. The Gnoll nodded. He looked sympathetic.

“It is not an easy decision. But it is a sound one. Strategically, yes? Naturally Liscor must be held by Drakes and Gnolls, but if it cannot be held at the moment…”

He shook his head.

“Regardless, it is a troubling situation. There are many civilians in Liscor, yes? They should be sent to Pallass via the southern roads. Or perhaps it may be arranged that they can be sent through this door. We will deliberate and come to a decision later today and inform you of what must be done. Until then—”

“Wait—”

Embria started for the door, but the Gnoll was quicker. He raised a paw and gripped the edge of the door. Olesm moved as well. He stared at the Gnoll. This couldn’t be. This was a betrayal.

This was wrong.

“Senator, if Liscor is under attack, it is an act of treason not to support us. Your city is bound to aid Liscor. The Goblin Lord’s army and the Humans…is considerable. But we can hold Liscor, trebuchets or not. The Antinium have agreed to lend their support. And we have Gold-ranks—”

“Ah, yes. Them. We will require our adventurers back. Soon, I think. But there is time so long as this door is here. It should not be lost either, yes?”

The Gnoll nodded sagely. He tapped the edge of the door with his paws, looking unconcerned. Embria had gone pale. Olesm just felt angry. He glared at the Drake.

“This is treason! You can’t do this! The other cities—”

A paw reached through the doorway and gripped him tightly on one arm. The Gnoll senator narrowed his eyes and bared his teeth at Olesm. He lost his friendly smile and spoke in a low, growling voice, so quietly only Olesm and Embria could hear.

“This is not treason. This is practicality! Speak of this to the other cities and we will bury your [Message] spell. The Walled Cities know of this decision and they will not gainsay it.”

Olesm felt a pang of fear. No, they couldn’t have decided that.

“But—”

The Gnoll released him and smiled again, all friendliness. He grabbed the edge of the door and leaned forwards. His voice was low and lacked any hint of goodwill as he spoke.

“The Assembly of Crafts has made its decision based on the evidence. Liscor will fall either way, Strategist Olesm. It is my duty as [Senator] and the duty of the Assembly of Crafts that when Liscor falls to the Humans, it does not take our city with it.”

He gave the petrified pair of Drakes another fake smile. Then he closed the door firmly shut, leaving Olesm and Embria to stare at it as the world began to crumble under their feet.

—-

The Hive was in chaos. Or at least, it wasn’t functioning properly. Chaos implied pandemonium, and in truth, the Hive had just…stopped. Workers and Soldiers stood around aimlessly while others continued on with their tasks. But the central guiding force that linked the minds of the Free Antinium and gave them direction had suddenly stopped.

Thus, chaos. At least for the Antinium. Klbkch strode back through the tunnels, giving orders and trying to manage the Hive and his own thoughts at the same time. But he was no Queen and his orders had to be processed verbally and disseminated the same way.

“Resume excavation of the tunnels. Send four hundred Soldiers to the front. Go to Belgrade and Anand and tell them to assume command of all Soldiers and Workers in the area. Find me Pawn and order him to do the same in his section. All Workers and Soldiers not on duty will continue the last task they were assigned unless the objective has been fulfilled, in which case they will immediately return to their assigned sleeping areas for break until further orders. Send forty Workers above to excavate and repair a collapsed house on Scuffscale Street…”

Workers and Soldiers milled about Klbkch, their confusion fading and a sense of purpose filling them once more. Klbkch hurried onwards, still giving out rapid-fire instructions. He could only keep the Hive moving for so long by himself, though. Even with Belgrade and Anand, the Hive needed her. The heart and mind of the Hive.

The Queen of the Free Antinium. Her control over the Hive had stopped. And without her, the Hive was weakened. And this was the wrong time for weakness of any kind.

Because Liscor was about to be under attack. Klbkch’s heart rate was a steady beat in his chest, but even he couldn’t help but feel a moment of apprehension at the news Olesm had given him. The Goblin Lord was coming here. And the Humans were intending to sack Liscor.

It was war. Politics and official declarations aside, the fact was that two armies of hundreds of thousands of enemy combatants were about to assail Liscor. And Bird had nearly been killed by a Hobgoblin. Erin was under arrest, and Olesm was about to summon aid from Pallass.

And his Queen was occupied. Klbkch left the last of the Workers and Soldiers behind as he strode down the hallway where no Antinium save for Garry, himself, and a select group of Soldiers were assigned. He entered the chambers of his Queen.

And stopped.

The chambers of the Queen of the Free Antinium were large, made specifically to hold her. They were almost completely empty as well, save for two tunnels. One was small and led to a kitchen of all things. Garry the [Cook] was constantly at work there, creating morsels to feed his Queen. And the other passage led to the Free Queen’s work area, where she could create and design new versions of the Antinium. It was that door that Klbkch strode to, but he stopped halfway.

Something was sitting on the ground on one of the walls. Klbkch nearly drew his swords and ran it through before he remembered. He stared at the miniature Antinium Queen sitting there with distaste. It was a copy of a Queen’s body, made to act as a relay between this Hive and the other Hives at need. A Queen could assume control of it and see through the replica’s eyes and speak with it. Klbkch kept forgetting it was there.

Because the vessel was the sole link of communication between Liscor’s Hive and the Grand Queen’s Hive, it could not be removed from the Queen’s personal chambers. Nor could it be neglected; the body had to be fed and cared for. So there it sat, staring blankly ahead.  Klbkch regarded the puppet silently for a second.

His Queen had not enjoyed the presence of this communication tool. Not at all. She did not like the miniature replica staring at her. So she’d consulted with Klbkch, who had in turn mulled the issue over before coming to a reasonable solution. He had made a slight adjustment which made the presence of the puppet more bearable, if…somewhat odd.

Klbkch stared at the puppet. It looked like a Queen, that was to say, a more insectile creature than any Worker or Soldier. Instead of arms and fingers, the miniature drone had feelers, six of them. And her posture was more hunched, her lower abdomen bigger. She looked like any Queen would, really, save that she was smaller and not bloated from obesity and the pains of labor like all of the Queens residing in Izril. And there was one other addition to her that Kblkch had made.

There was a wooden box covering her head. Klbkch stared at the box. He’d cut holes in it to make sure it didn’t suffocate the puppet, but that was about it. He wondered if there was a better solution, but if there was, he hadn’t been able to think of it. And besides, Erin’s idea had worked. After a fashion.

Klbkch shook himself. Now was not the time for this. He strode towards the two doors that blocked off the Free Queen’s work area from the rest of the room. Klbkch found the pull rope, strained to pull the massive doors open, and slipped inside.

A foreign scent assailed Klbkch the instant he entered the Queen’s laboratory. The chemical tang to the air was overpowering, as was the humidity. Much of what the Free Queen needed required the moisture and so Klbkch passed by waterproof, sealed containers as well as rooms designed to grow or incubate plants, materials, or…parts the Free Queen might make use of.

There was no risk of mold or disease—at least not ones not desired by the Free Queen herself. The Antinium had long known how to create a hostile environment for things they did not desire, and in its own way, this room was as sterile as any operating room in Erin’s world.

Klbkch followed the sounds until he found his Queen. She was in a room, bent over a dirt table and a small body that dripped green. Bird. Klbkch halted as he saw his Queen work, her body bent over the small shape. Several smaller shapes surrounded her, moving as the Queen spoke.

“Halt the blood flow from his arteries. Apply the gel there—and there. Open the second container.”

The Antinium around her moved precisely, applying a gel to Bird’s torso while another walked over to a sac and collected a bowl of…blood.

It was Antinium blood, green and flowing. But it was not truly blood, not as Drakes and Humans and other species understood it. Klbkch knew the word as the Antinium thought of it, but he had no equivalent besides ‘blood’ in the common tongue. If he had known what to call it, he would have referred to it as haemolymph, a substance just like blood. For without it, the Antinium perished.

And Bird was still bleeding. The Queen was slowly applying a gel over his wounds, closing the bleeding from the gaping hole in his chest, but by all rights he should have bled out twenty minutes ago. That he hadn’t was due to the bowl of blood that the mindless drone carried over to his body.

The drone looked like a Worker, except that it had six delicate feelers instead of arms and it was thinner. It was not designed for combat, but for precise manipulations. It moved somewhat unsteadily; it had not been perfected and so it was a crude helper, if somewhat efficient. It was too much like a proper drone and yet not, so Klbkch ignored it and focused on the bowl.

Haemolymph slowly poured down from the edge of the bowl and into a…tube made of a sticky, almost resin-like substance the Antinium could produce. It was connected to Bird’s chest. Inserted in it, in fact. The Free Queen had connected the tube to Bird’s bloodstream and the green blood ran into him.

“Good. Another bowl.”

The Free Queen’s voice was low. She had to be calculating how much Bird had lost and how much could be safely replenished to him. The drone walked back over to the sack and siphoned more blood from it. Klbkch’s eyes turned to the sac. Then he looked away.

Klbkch had once observed that the Free Queen lacked all the instruments of her craft necessary to alter or produce enzymes and products unique to the Antinium. All the craft of the Antinium had been lost. But necessity bred invention, and so the Free Queen had devised a way to procure at least some of the missing elements herself. For haemolymph, or blood, she had created the shivering sac the drone collected blood from.

It was alive. And it was Antinium, at least, in biology. It had…a stomach. And a means to ingest. Excrete. Organs, floating amid the green. But the rest of the body was just a sac, a bulbous, semi-transparent membrane designed to contain blood for the Free Queen to use at will. The drone pressed down and blood oozed from an opening and into the bowl the drone held. Klbkch could not stare at the thing long so he looked at his feet.

It was an ingenious solution in one sense. Horrific in another. In another time, the raw components of what made up the Antinium would be distilled, such that a Queen proficient in weaving together the base materials could create…anything. They could replace a limb in minutes. Today, his Queen, the Free Queen could only replenish Bird’s blood and stop the bleeding and begin the agonizingly slow process of regrowing his limbs.

“The bleeding is almost stopped. Close the blood vessels here…and here. Then remove the transfusion tube.”

The Free Queen moved her drones delicately as they tended to Bird. At last, they drew back and Klbkch could see Bird as he lay on the table. The Worker was unconscious, whether by pain or lack of blood it was unclear. His left two arms and part of his chest were gone. They’d been torn away by some incredible force, exposing his innards.

It was a wound that would have killed any Human or Drake and even an Antinium was not long for this world with such an injury. But the Free Queen had not allowed Bird to die. She had applied the regenerative gel the Antinium labored to create in vast quantities, and affixed strange, pulsating pieces of flesh to Bird’s side. Organs, meant to reroute blood. She’d even repaired parts of his chitin, binding it together to form a scab of sorts, covering his open side. Now the Free Queen sat back and clicked her mandibles softly.

“Done.”

“Will he live?”

Klbkch walked forwards, ignoring the drones who began cleaning up the blood and tidying up the tools, recycling what could not be cleaned. The Free Queen turned and Klbkch felt a wave of shock and then fury emanating from her through their mental link.

“Klbkchhezeim? What are you doing here? I ordered you to find the thing that attacked Bird and kill it!”

The Free Queen drew herself up and Klbkch sensed her wrath. Just like when he had brought Bird, dying to her. Klbkch held fast, though the other drones scurried away out of the Queen’s reach.

“I led the Soldiers to the surface despite my objections, my Queen, and formally requested Liscor’s aid in hunting down the assailant. However, Liscor’s [Strategist] informed of a developing situation which threatens both the Hive and Liscor.”

“Which is?”

“An assault on the city. Thus, I have returned, but the Soldiers will begin combing the city and the Watch has agreed to send multiple patrols via boats to investigate the immediate area around Liscor.”

“That is not what I want.”

The Queen’s voice was dangerously low. She drew herself up and pulled herself towards Klbkch. Her mandibles clicked in front of Klbkch.

“I want the one responsible for injuring Bird dead. Send your Soldiers across the waters, Klbkch! Use the artifacts or the Waterwalking Potions. Find the one who did this and kill them.”

“My Queen, using our limited resources would be unwise. Not only would it alert the Drakes to our preparations, it would—”

“Do not argue with me, Klbkchhezeim!”

The thunderous voice silenced Klbkch for a second. He held still, looking into the Queen’s huge face. Klbkch thought quickly and carefully.

“My Queen, this assault on Liscor threatens all the Free Antinium. It may destroy the Hive if it is not addressed. The situation is dire and I cannot guarantee that Liscor will survive it.”

That got through to her at last. The Free Queen slowly closed her mandibles and moved back a bit.

“It is that serious?”

“Yes.”

Klbkch could sense the outrage changing to caution in his Queen. He waited, hoping she would return to her senses. She had been enraged on seeing Bird hurt. Bird of all people. Why? It made no sense. But the strange affection the Queen had suddenly found for Bird had saved the Worker. As for deploying Soldiers…madness. But now that she was aware of the scope of the threat, at last some of the Queen’s logic began to override her emotions.

“Very well, Klbkch. Inform me of the situation.”

Klbkch nodded.

“I was just informed that—”

A feeler silenced him. The Queen gestured at the still Worker lying on the slab.

“Not here. Bird must rest. Follow.”

She led Klbkch out of the laboratory and back into her central chambers. Klbkch saw Garry poke his head out of his kitchen anxiously.

“My Queen, is Bird…?”

“He will live, Garry.”

The Free Queen glanced at Garry, another surprise. Klbkch had never seen her do more than perfunctorily order the Worker about. But now she even spoke his name. Had Bird changed her so much? And…how?

Klbkch nodded and Garry scurried back into his kitchen. That left the two alone in the chamber. The Free Queen spoke abruptly.

“What is occurring, Klbkch?”

“War, my Queen. The Goblin Lord is being driven to assault Liscor, by the Humans. Rather than destroy them, they have turned the Goblins into a force by which they may assault the city without directly instigating a war.”

For a second the Free Queen froze up, as Klbkch had once Olesm finally managed to convey the enormity of the situation. Then she looked at Klbkch and shook her head.

“Impossible. They could never take Liscor. Any assault would fail. You are overstating the danger, Klbkch.”

The Free Queen spoke flatly. Klbkch shifted.

“I am not. Your assessment is valid my Queen, but the Humans have prepared a way to weaken Liscor to the extent that the Goblin Lord’s army could well take the city. They have trebuchets.”

“How?”

“…I am not certain. But somehow they have discovered the means of constructing such weapons. And Olesm—Liscor’s [Strategist]—believes they have the numbers to breach even Liscor’s walls and allow the Goblins to assault the city directly.”

Klbkch waited as his Queen slowly sat back, digesting the information. Her mandibles clicked open and closed as she whispered to herself.

“The Humans have trebuchets? But the Antinium have offered countless incentives for the plans of such weapons for years without gains. How could they create them so quickly?”

With help from another world. Klbkch did not speak his theory out loud, but his hands tightened on the hilts of his swords. It was not impossible. He had spoken to Ryoka and while she had refused to give him any information, it was clear that both she and Erin possessed a great deal of knowledge of technologies that this world lacked. If one of them had joined with the Human Lord Tyrion Veltras…

Not for the first time, Klbkch wondered if he should have told his Queen about Erin and Ryoka. But up until this moment he was certain that doing so would have resulted in their immediate capture and interrogation. And he had not been willing to do so for that reason. But faced with this disaster, Klbkch was forced to admit he had underestimated the danger that the people from the otherworld posed. If the trebuchets were their doing…

“How many volleys would it take to breach Liscor’s walls, Klbkchhezeim? How many trebuchets do the Humans have?”

“The number is unknown, my Queen, but if the Humans use enchanted ammunition or have managed to enchant the trebuchets like those present on the Walled Cities, they would break through quickly. Olesm has requested our support.”

“To destroy the trebuchets? We have the tunnels. But they are a secret to Liscor.”

“Yes, but the Goblin Lord’s army far outnumbers that of the forces of Liscor. And even our numbers, my Queen. If it comes to a battle in the city—”

“I see. Return above, Klbkch. We must consult with their [Strategist] and Watch Captain. Liscor must not fall. We have struck a bargain.”

“And the Soldiers? I realize your fury my Queen, but they are in danger on the waters and complicating the situation.”

Klbkch held his breath. The Free Queen hesitated. Her feelers moved together angrily.

“I am wroth. But I will recall them if needed. For now.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

Relieved, Klbkch sensed her give the order and the Soldiers moving above start to return to the Hive. He relaxed. Too soon. The Free Queen bent.

“Now go. If Liscor is to be defended, we must ready ourselves to strike at these siege weapons and sacrifice thousands of Soldiers and Workers to do so. And if this Hobgoblin that injured Bird is an advance scout of the Goblin Lord’s army…”

Her voice grew ominous. Klbkch nodded.

“I will ask Liscor’s [Strategist] to make inquiries, my Queen. I will open a link as soon as I am above—”

“No. That will not be necessary, Klbkchhezeim.”

For a second Klbkch thought the Queen had interrupted him. But her mandibles had not opened. He stopped and stared at her and saw her head move in surprise. Both Klbkch and the Free Queen looked around. And then they heard the voice again.

“It is good that you two are together. I call you two to join a deliberation. The fact of the Human’s movements has spread to the Hives. It presents an opportunity. So I, the Grand Queen of the Hives, call all six Hives together. To decide. To convene. To listen. Join us.”

The voice was deep. Muffled. But unmistakable. Klbkch slowly turned and saw something moving. The body lying against the wall slowly sat up. The vacant drone that had been nothing more than chitin and flesh rose, and sat upright. Its feelers slowly rose and it spoke ponderously, deliberately. Every word was assessed, every word checked for accuracy and fact. The Grand Queen of the Antinium spoke through the drone. She turned her head left and right, speaking once more as Klbkch and the Free Queen stared at her.

“Long has the Free Hive of the Antinium pursued its goals independent of the other Hives. As was agreed. But the hubris of Humans means that it is well-placed to enact a gain for the Hives as a whole. Free Queen, Klbkchhezeim. Are you there?”

“Yes, my Queen.”

Klbkch replied instantly. He knelt and the Free Queen hesitated. She gazed down at the vessel and then slowly bowed her head as well.

“I am here, my Queen. The Free Queen of the Antinium will join the deliberation.”

“Excellent.”

The Grand Queen folded her feelers together. Then she hesitated. Slowly, she looked around once more. But she didn’t see a thing. Klbkch and the Free Queen stared hard at the Grand Queen. She sat with all the authority of six Hives, the last of the Antinium. And also the box on her head. The Grand Queen tilted her head back and forth, clearly puzzled. At last she spoke.

“…Is there something wrong with this receptacle’s visual functions?”

Neither Klbkch nor the Free Queen dared respond. The Grand Queen’s puppet swiveled its head a few more times and then gave up.

“No matter. The six Hives shall discuss the issue of the impending attack on Liscor. It appears the Drakes may well give up the city.”

“They will?”

Klbkch was surprised. He looked at his Queen as the Grand Queen nodded. Her voice was satisfied.

“They regard the cost of defending too high. They plan to retake the city on their own terms. However, that is not in the interest of the Hives. If the Drakes will abandon Liscor to the Goblins and Humans, then it may be possible for the Antinium to take the city and hold it. If the Free Queen is able, the Antinium will control Liscor after the Humans attack. Or abandon it.”

The Grand Queen’s voice echoed, making Klbkch’s heart skip and jump. He stared up at his Queen, and then at the puppet who spoke for the Antinium. The Grand Queen’s words brought the prelude to war into the Hive. War and destruction once more. Betrayal. She spoke and Liscor trembled on the brink. And yet—Klbkch hesitated.

She still had the box on her head and she hadn’t noticed. He wondered how he was going to be able to get it off without her noticing. That, and the fall of Liscor concerned him greatly.

Very greatly.

5.54

Erin stared at Numbtongue. The Hob wore a pair of steel cuffs that had just been placed on his wrists by a Gnoll [Guardsman]. The Hob looked at her, and then at the ground. He was wet, sweaty, and looked…beaten. So did the other Hobs. What had happened? Green blood still dripped from Headscratcher’s hands where he had held the bandages against Bird’s side.

They were under arrest. Olesm had ordered it. Erin turned to the [Strategist].

“You can’t do it. It’s wrong.”

“I can and I have to, Erin. Liscor is in danger. Senior Guardsman Klbkch!”

The Antinium had sheathed his swords. He was standing at the entrance to the Hive with the Soldiers. He turned.

“I am in my position as Revalantor of the Free Antinium, Strategist Olesm. My Queen rages. She demands the death of whomever injured Bird. As we speak she struggles to save his life.”

Olesm nodded.

“I understand. I will send the Watch to patrol the waters in full force. But there is a situation. The Goblin Lord is coming here. Liscor will soon be under siege. By both the Goblin Lord and Humans.”

“Wait, what?”

Erin exclaimed, but neither Olesm nor Klbkch looked at her. The Antinium Revalantor went still for a second.

“Explain.”

“I don’t have the time. Watch Captain Zevara has the details. I have to contact Pallass. Now.”

“I see.”

Klbkch didn’t waste time asking further questions. He turned and the Soldiers retreated into the Hive. Then Klbkch strode down the street. Leaving Erin, the Hobgoblins, and Olesm behind.

“Olesm, what’s this about the Goblin Lord? I thought he was defeated! On the run!”

Erin stared at Olesm. The [Strategist] passed a claw over his eyes.

“I don’t—I don’t have the time to tell you, Erin! I need your door, now. Guardsmen! Arrest the Hobs and put them in separate cells!”

He turned. Erin ran around Olesm and blocked his way.

“No! Olesm, the Redfangs did nothing wrong! They came here because of Bird!”

“I know!”

Olesm shouted at Erin. She stepped backwards. The Drake glared at her.

“I know! But the Goblin Lord’s army is about to sweep down on Liscor, a mysterious Hob just destroyed part of your inn and nearly killed Bird, and there are hundreds of Cave Goblins living in the dungeon! I do not want those five causing an incident! And if I send out the Watch with orders to find and kill a Hob, they will find and kill Hobs. This is for their good, Erin! Don’t argue; just let me do my job!”

He tried to push Erin aside. But she folded her arms.

“No.”

This time Olesm nearly hissed at her. But Erin wasn’t looking at him. She was looking at the Hobs. Her friends. Employees and…they’d done nothing wrong. Nothing. She knew that. Olesm knew that. But still Numbtongue was in cuffs. Erin closed her eyes. Then she looked at her friend, the Drake with light blue scales. Olesm. And she clenched her fist slowly and spoke.

“You’re right, Olesm. But you’re wrong. You can’t arrest them. I won’t let you.”

Olesm sighed. His shoulders drooped and his tail curled up at the tip. He shook his head.

“You don’t have a choice, Erin. I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

Erin saw Olesm’s head raise. He blinked as she punched him. The [Strategist] staggered back and cried out in pain but he didn’t drop. So Erin kicked him in the stomach. She whirled and the Gnoll [Guardsman] raised his paws.

“[Minotaur Punch]!”

He tried to block her, but Erin’s fist punched right through the Gnoll’s guard and knocked him flat. The other [Guards] stared at Erin. So did the Redfangs. Erin turned and shouted at them.

“Run for it, guys!”

The five Hobs hesitated, but then they took off. Headscratcher, Badarrow, Shorthilt, Rabbiteater, and the manacled Numbtongue each sprinted off in a different direction. The Watch tried to chase them, but Erin jumped forwards. She hit a female Drake with another [Minotaur Punch] and knew she had only two left. She turned, keeping her hands up as the Watch jumped back.

“Come on, I’ll take you on! Fight me! Hiyah!”

Erin tried to menace them, but the Drakes and Gnolls rushed after the Hobs instead. Erin threw a fake jab at a Drake close to her, making him duck back.

Behind you! A bell rang in Erin’s head. She turned—

And Relc was standing in front of her. The Drake waved at Erin. The [Innkeeper] hesitated, but then she aimed for his chest.

“[Minotaur Punch]!”

The Drake [Spearmaster] raised one claw. He caught her hand. His arms strained a bit with the recoil, but Relc himself barely moved. He let go as Erin blinked up at him. The two stared at each other. Then Erin threw another punch, this time at his stomach.

“[Minotaur Punch]!”

Relc blocked her fist again. This time he shook his claw.

“Ow. That hurts.”

Before Erin could react he reached out and tapped her on the forehead with his knuckles. She frowned and tried to swing at him again—

And then found herself lying on the ground. She stared up blankly at the clear sky. Then someone’s face appeared in her field of vision. It was Relc. Erin stared up at him dizzily. The Drake scratched the back of his head.

“Hey Erin.”

“Hey Relc.”

“You’re under arrest.”

Erin blinked stupidly up at Relc.

“Yeah, that’s fair.”

She lay on the ground for a few minutes. By the time the world stopped spinning Olesm had gotten to his feet and the Hobs were returning.

In chains. The Watch had caught them. Erin watched in despair as the Hobs returned. First Badarrow, caught by Relc. Then Headscratcher with a bloody nose. Shorthilt. Rabbiteater with several bleeding scratches on his leg. But not Numbtongue.

“Senior Guardswoman Beilmark. Did they give you trouble?”

Olesm winced as he clutched his stomach. Erin felt bad; she’d kicked him as hard as she could. The Gnoll who’d caught Rabbiteater shook her head.

“No sir. They tried to knock us down but they didn’t draw steel, sir. But the fifth Hob, the one we already shackled—he uh, made it out.”

“What? How?”

Erin looked up. Beilmark looked embarrassed.

“The fifth one—he ran down the streets shouting about a Raskghar attack. In the panic we couldn’t catch up to him and then he ran up to the battlements and jumped off.”

“Clever Numbtongue.”

Olesm glanced down at her and made a frustrated sound.

“That’s—keep an eye out for him! Don’t shoot him, but if he appears in the inn or the city—just keep an eye out! As for these four…”

He turned and looked grimly at Erin and the Hobs.

“Take them to prison and put them in separate cells.”

“The Hobs?”

Relc raised his brows. Olesm shook his head.

“All of them. The Hobs…and Erin. I can’t have them running around. And Erin causes trouble. This is an emergency and I can’t—I don’t want to lose my breakfast. So take her to a cell.”

He looked back at Erin.

“I’m sorry.”

Olesm didn’t wait for a response. He turned and hurried off. Erin stared down at her hands. Relc walked over with a pair of metal cuffs. He shrugged.

“You know, he does have a point.”

Erin stared at Olesm.

“Yeah. That’s fair too.”

Then she looked at the four Hobs sitting around her. They looked at her, tired, confused. And frightened, though they tried to hide it. Erin smiled weakly at them.

“I’m sorry.”

And she saw the guilt in their eyes as Relc closed the manacles over her hands. Then Erin and the Redfang Warriors went to jail.

—-

Klbkch did not waste time. When Olesm told him Liscor was in danger he made his way to the barracks, listened to a brief summary of events from Zevara and then spoke four brief words.

“The Antinium will fight.”

There was nothing else to be said. Not to Zevara who was trying to do a thousand things at once. Klbkch strode back through the streets of Liscor to his Hive and descended into it. Twice as many Soldiers were on guard near the entrance. They might not have known what was going on, but they could sense the tension in Klbkch. The Revalantor walked further into the Hive.

He felt as though the air was tingling around him. Klbkch’s antennae slowly moved back and forth. He didn’t grasp at the handles of his swords, but he was aware they were there as he walked.

War. It had returned to Liscor. Klbkch had not predicted this. The news had caught him off guard. But now he knew, he felt as through the entire Hive was humming. Klbkch recalled a distant scene and paused. He remembered a song, echoing, and for a second he nearly drew his swords.

Goblins and Humans. They were coming in numbers to drown Liscor. And the city was not ready. The Hive was not ready. But they would fight and fill the Floodplains with death if they had to.

“Prepare the Hives. Call the Black Tide. The Antinium march.”

Klbkch whispered. Then he forced his hands away from his swords. Not yet. Klbkch kept moving, but now the air was electric. Workers straightened and Soldiers turned as he passed. They could feel it. The Soldiers closed their hands into fists and stood straighter, and the Workers stared at Klbkch’s back. They could feel it too. But only those around Klbkch. Those who passed out of his range were cut off. Confused.

The Hive was in disarray. Workers and Soldiers milled about, only half going about their assigned tasks. The rest were—confused. As if their mental link with their Queen had been interrupted. As if she were dead. When Klbkch passed by them, they stared at the Revalantor and then moved smoothly back to work. But as soon as he passed from view they grew confused again. Because their Queen was occupied.

Klbkch could feel her presence as he swiftly made his way towards her chambers. The Grand Queen’s presence filled his mind. He could ‘hear’ her, sense her emotions and will. She was in turmoil. Then Klbkch did hear her voice, echoing from her inner chambers.

“Klbkchhezeim!”

He entered her chambers. The Soldiers standing guard were agitated, standing far away from the entrance to the room. Twitching, half-looking inside before watching the corridor leading to her rooms. Klbkch didn’t have to guess why. The scent of Antinium blood—hemolymph—was thick in the air. And inside the Free Queen’s chambers was a mix of confusion.

Strange Antinium milled about in the center of the room, surrounding a fallen Worker. The Free Queen of the Antinium herself bent over Bird, issuing orders as her feelers moved rapidly, scooping up gels and tending to strange, bulbous sacs filled with green blood and organs. Klbkch stopped, his mandibles opening with shock as he beheld the scene.

No wonder the Soldiers were agitated. Although they had guarded the Queen all their lives, they had probably never seen the Drones, the Antinium with bodies that resembled their Queen, before. They had no arms or hands, but six feelers with palps and hunched, insectile bodies even more ant-like than…well, the other Antinium.

The Drones had smaller mandibles than even Workers and they were physically tiny compared to their brethren. They were not designed for war. In fact, the nine or so Drones weren’t even properly formed.

They’d been crudely copied from memory, but the Free Queen had yet to complete their design. As a result, the Drones moved unsteadily, sometimes jerking as muscle fibers fired improperly. They were unbalanced compared to the relatively flawless design of Workers and Soldiers, but they were more precise than the other two types of Antinium at delicate tasks. As such they were essential here.

Because of Bird. The Worker lay on the ground. Bleeding. The Drones clustered around him, applying the Antinium’s unique gelatins and secretions to him. Another tended to a strange tube inserted into Bird’s chest. As Klbkch watched, he poured a bowl of blood into the tube, and then trundled over to the semi-translucent sac filled with blood and floating organs. The sac twitched as the Drone collected more blood from it.

It was alive. The blood sac wasn’t Antinium, though. Klbkch doubted it was even conscious. It was designed for one purpose: to provide raw materials for his Queen to harvest. He stared at it for one second, then looked at his Queen.

“My Queen.”

“More gel! Stop the bleeding! More blood.”

The Free Queen’s voice echoed as she bent over Bird. Her massive form was hunched, bending possessively over Bird, forcing the Drones to scurry around her. The Free Queen’s head turned to Klbkch as he approached.

“He is dying.”

“Can you not save him?”

The Queen’s mandibles clicked together harshly.

“I am trying. But his body is torn. Whatever struck him created a shockwave. His organs are in failure. I am trying, Klbkch. But his internals are—who did this? Who?”

Klbkch bowed his head. He looked down. Bird was moving slowly, mandibles opening and closing. He was awake. The Antinium didn’t have anesthesia or painkillers. Klbkch spoke dispassionately.

“A Hobgoblin, my Queen.”

“Find it. Kill it. Send the Soldiers! All of them!”

“That would not be wise, my Queen. The waters are still risen. And there is another issue—”

A feeler shot out. The Grand Queen grabbed Klbkch and drew her head close to his.

“Do not argue with me, Klbkchhezeim.”

He held still. Klbkch opened his mandibles slowly and spoke cautiously. He had never seen his Queen like this. Why did she care about Bird so much? She would not have grown half as agitated to lose a thousand Workers. But Bird?

“My Queen. Liscor is in danger. I have just been informed that the Humans are driving the Goblin Lord to Liscor. Not to eradicate it as we had assumed, but to lead an assault on Liscor.”

The Free Queen froze for a second.

“Impossible. That would be an act of war. Besides, the Humans cannot breach Liscor’s walls.”

“That is what we believed. But the Strategist of Liscor believes they have obtained trebuchets.”

“Trebuchets? How?”

“I am unclear. But it is certain that the Humans intend to create a breach in Liscor’s walls and allow the Goblins to sack the city before occupying it themselves. My Queen, Liscor will be under siege in four days’ time.”

The Queen released Klbkch. She sat back for a second, her antennae waving frantically. Klbkch stared up at her as the Drones worked frantically. And then he heard a sound.

“Ow. Ow.”

Both the Free Queen and Klbkch looked down. Bird was lying down, still oozing blood. His mandibles opened and closed.

“It hurts. I am dying. Ow.”

“Bird.”

The Queen bent over him, the danger to Liscor and the Hive forgotten in an instant. Klbkch moved closer and a Drone hurried out of the way. Bird’s head turned.

“It hurts. Revalantor Klbkch? Is that you?”

“Yes, Bird.”

Klbkch looked down at Bird. Dispassionately. He had seen countless Antinium die before. Bird was one face of millions. Klbkch’s hands tightened on his sword’s hilts. Just another Worker. But Bird was an Individual. And he looked so broken lying there. His left side was missing.

What kind of a Goblin could have done this? By throwing a sword? Klbkch had fought Goblin Chieftains in the Second Antinium War. He had dueled Goblin Lords. But even the strongest Hobs he’d met there didn’t seem capable of doing that. Only a few had been that strong. And they had been—

Klbkch realized Bird was moving slowly. His right side was twitching. Bird’s mandibles were opening and closing and he was quivering. With pain? Klbkch searched for something to say.

“Stay alive, Bird. This is an order.”

“Yes, Revalantor Klbkch. I will try.”

“Klbkch. Move back. Bird, do not move. You are torn.”

The Queen’s voice was quiet. Her feelers pressed against Bird’s side, applying a viscous gel. But the regenerative gel the Antinium used was insufficient to this injury, as were healing potions. Bird was torn open. And no matter how desperately the Drones labored, they couldn’t stop the worst of his bleeding.

In a Human it would be different. In a Drake or Gnoll, too. But Bird had no arteries, no closed circulatory system. It was impossible to close a vein or stem the bleeding. All the Queen could do was restore his blood. But so long as Bird bled—

“Can you save him?”

Klbkch looked up at his Queen. She did not answer. Her feelers were wet with Bird’s blood. The Free Queen kept moving, directing her Drones, but Klbkch sensed the answer in her emotions.

She was frantic. She had not been taught to heal like the other Queens designed solely for that purpose. When she had crossed the ocean and left Rhir, she had been young. She was neither a Weaver Queen nor a Battle Queen who could save Antinium wounded on the battlefield. All she knew of the Antinium was a result of rediscovering it from memory, out of desperation.

“Do not die, Bird. Hold on. The bleeding will slow.”

“It hurts. It hurts.”

Bird stared at the tube in his chest as a Drone poured more blood into him. He clicked his mandibles and tried to turn his head.

“I fell. There was a Goblin with a beard. He had a sword. Where is Erin? She was very upset. I broke her tower. Where is my bow? I must have my bow. It is mine.”

“Be still.”

The Queen gently pressed down on Bird’s chest. He looked up at her, at Klbkch.

“I am dying.”

“Yes.”

Klbkch knelt by Bird’s side. He pressed a hand to Bird’s torn flesh and felt the gel and blood mixing at his touch. He looked up at the Free Queen.

“My Queen—”

“No. He can be saved. He must.”

The Free Queen shook her head. Klbkch stared down at Bird. Then he looked around.

Drones, hurrying about. The quivering sacs of flesh, the product of secret experiments. Staring Soldiers. Bird. The Queen searching through her reagents and catalysts for something. Panicked. Not thinking. Hive in chaos. Belgrade and Anand in the western area, restoring order. Pawn’s presence, stabilizing Antinium around him.

Bird dying. Garry standing by the door to his kitchen, staring at them. The Queen calling for more blood. Klbkch’s swords were by his side. Bird looking up. Asking for his bow.

Movement in a corner. A shape. A vessel, a body shaped in the image of a Queen. Holding a mirror. Jerking. Standing. Moving forwards. Speaking. A face reflected in the magical depths of the mirror. A voice.

“Klbkchhezeim. What  passes here?”

Klbkch looked up. Then he turned and knelt.

“My Queen.”

The Antinium around him—stopped. The Free Queen, the Drones, the Soldiers. Bird. The small version of the Queen looked around. And then she raised her mirror. And reflected in the depths was a large form. A Queen of the Antinium stared out from the mirror’s surface. She sat in a grand chamber, surrounded by Antinium. An azure Antinium with a staff stood by her side, and Prognugators armed with silvery blades, replicas of Klbkch’s weapons, surrounded her. The Grand Queen of the Antinium spoke.

“Why does this Worker’s fate concern the Free Queen of the Antinium? Why are Drones present in Liscor’s Hive? Answer me, Klbkchhezeim of the Centenium.”

Klbkch felt the Free Queen’s shock ripple through his connection to her, but he didn’t move. The Grand Queen was here. The vessel she had sent looked around the chambers, inspecting everything. Seeing through her connection with it and the magic mirror it held.

“Grand Queen. An Individual of the Hive has been injured by an unknown assailant. He is—a valuable asset to the Hive.”

“I am?”

“A single Worker? Ah. One of your unique Antinium reported to the Hives. Very well. And the Drones? We forbade this Hive to experiment with new forms or create Antinium besides new Workers and Soldiers. Why?”

“A…necessity, Grand Queen. My Queen deemed them essential for the purposes of enacting the Rite of Anastases when I fell.”

That was a lie. The Drones had been present for nearly six years, hidden in the Free Queen’s laboratory, defying the Grand Queen’s orders. But the Grand Queen did not know that. She paused and her feelers rubbed together.

“We see. Very well. Klbkchhezeim, Free Queen, you are called to speak with the other five Hives. Abandon this…Worker so that we may speak.”

“No.”

The Free Queen spoke softly. The Grand Queen’s vessel turned and looked up at her.

“This was not a request.”

Klbkch spoke quickly to prevent his Queen from speaking again. It had been years since the Grand Queen and his Queen had communicated. And yet the two had never forgotten their past. A decade had passed since his Queen had settled in Liscor, but the Antinium never forgot.

“My Queen. This Worker is of great importance to the Hives. If necessary, I would require that the Hives wait. The importance of this Worker cannot be understated.”

“Really?”

The Grand Queen froze, her mandibles opening in shock. So did the Free Queen. Beside her, in the mirror, the blue form of Xrn smiled, raising her mandibles with delight. The Grand Queen regarded Klbkch for a second. If the Free Queen had said the same, she would not have listened. But Klbkch was a Centenium. The last of the ancients. So the Grand Queen slowly nodded.

“Very well. If Klbkchhezeim speaks of this Worker’s value—what say you, Queens of the Antinium?”

For a second Klbkch thought she was speaking to the Free Queen. But then the mirror flickered. The image of the Grand Queen sitting in her Hive vanished. Another Queen filled it. A smaller Queen, shadowed in a quiet place, surrounded by shadows. Antinium blending with the darkness. The only light came from phosphorous moss growing around the room, dimly giving light. The Queen spoke in the shadows, her words soft.

“If Klbkchhezeim speaks, the Silent Antinium listen.”

Her image flickered. The mirror brightened. Another Queen sat in the light. She was huge, the largest of the Queens, her body bloated. A ring of steel stood around her, Antinium covered in metal armor. Tersk stood by his Queen’s side as she waved a Feeler.

“The Armored Antinium assent. What strengthens the Hives is worthy of being saved. Preserve the Worker.”

Another flicker. She vanished and a third Queen appeared. Her room was filled with motion; Antinium with wings flew or ran. This Queen sat in the center of her Hive, as corridors and tunnels filled her cavern and her Workers and Soldiers moved in a constant stream. She twitched as Pivr, her winged Revalantor, brought her a bowl of meat to eat from. Her voice was quick, impatient.

“If it must be, it must be. Save the Worker but hurry. The Hive must discuss and the moment is now. Twisted Queen?”

The last Queen appeared in the mirror. And she was unlike the others. A ruined face and one eye stared at Klbkch and the Free Queen. Repaired mandibles opened. A voice spoke. The glowing sacs and bodies floating in liquid in the chamber around the Queen moved uneasily, unaccustomed to sound or light.

“Agreed.”

One word, and her image flickered and changed back to the Grand Queen. The large Queen was clearly displeased, but the others had spoken. She waved a feeler.

“Then it is decided. Save the Worker. Queen of the Silent Antinium, I call upon you.”

The body holding the mirror jerked. And then it’s mannerisms changed. The mirror shifted as it crept closer, suddenly less decisive, more reserved. The Drones moved back as one as the puppet moved forwards. The Silent Queen stared out of her mirror down at Bird. He looked up at her and whispered.

“Hello. I am Bird.”

She ignored him. The Silent Queen made the small replica lower the mirror so she could inspect the wound. She spoke, choosing each word with care.

“His system is severed. The liquid leaks. It must be redirected.”

“I know. But the damage is too great to contain. Each seal I form cannot contain the blood. If I had false flesh or chitin—”

The Free Queen’s voice was frustrated, and she felt helpless in Klbkch’s mind. The Silent Queen regarded Bird and then looked around the room.

“Not necessary. Apply a gel of congealed blood-fluid here and here. Increase the ambient temperature by three degrees. This Worker’s body temperature is dropping too quickly.”

The Free Queen immediately sent Drones to obey. The Silent Queen abandoned Bird and moved towards the blood sacs.

“These are containers preserved for blood? Parts?”

“Yes.”

The Free Queen spoke. The mirror flickered.

“You were not allowed to create other Antinium! This is unacceptable! A violation of orders! This—”

The image flickered back to the shadowed Queen. She inspected the living sacs of organs and then pointed with one feeler.

“There. That is necessary. Splice that organ with the Worker’s injuries.”

The Free Queen’s antennae waved with surprise.

“Would that work?”

The little vessel and the Silent Queen in the mirror nodded as one.

“The Worker design was created uniformly. With flesh and chitin, a seal may be created.”

She looked up at the Free Queen. For a moment the Queen of the Free Antinium hesitated, then she moved. She reached out and gripped the sac. She tore the membrane. Antinium blood splattered. Something died. The Drones swarmed over the sac, cutting with knives. The Silent Queen crept back to Bird and oversaw the treatment.

Klbkch watched impassively. This was not like the weaving of old, where a Queen could replace a limb or body part in minutes. This was crude. But it worked. The organs replaced the damaged ones in Bird’s body as the Worker quivered. The membrane and more regenerative gel was packed into place, creating an oozing mass. And then raw chitin was delicately placed just so, to cover the rest. It was sealed in place with a different type of gel meant for sealing wounds.

The bleeding stopped. Bird lay on the ground, surrounded by blood as the transfusion tube was removed from his chest. He stared up at the Free Queen and Klbkch as the Silent Queen sat back, her job done. The Drones moved back, disposing of the rest of the organs and beginning to pack away the tools and different mixtures they had brought here. Bird opened his mandibles and spoke.

“That hurt.”

Klbkch stared down at Bird. The Worker stared up at him.

“Am I going to live, Revalantor Klbkch?”

“Yes.”

Bird nodded slowly.

“That is good. I am Bird. Ow. Ow. I am much in pain. Ow. But I am brave. La, la, I am a brave little Bird…ow.”

He fell silent. Klbkch saw his mandibles open a bit, and wondered if Bird had passed out…or gone to sleep. The Silent Queen’s image flickered and another intelligence took control of the body. The Twisted Queen, her broken body a reflection of Bird’s own, stared down at him. Her feelers moved slowly towards him and both Klbkch and the Free Queen grew concerned. But the Twisted Queen did not touch Bird. Instead, she looked at Klbkch.

“Why. Does it speak? Why is it. Named?”

“It is Individual. You were informed of my success. And you have known of my designs for the Antinium.”

The Free Queen spoke coldly. The Twisted Queen looked at her and did not reply. The body jerked. The Grand Queen spoke briskly.

“The success of the Free Antinium is documented. Now the Worker has been preserved, we are called to more important issues.”

She made the body move back. Klbkch pointed, and the Drones carefully lifted Bird out of the way. They moved back as the vessel, the Free Queen, and Klbkch stood in the center of the room. The Grand Queen’s voice echoed out of the mirror.

“We are called to action, Free Queen. So we gather. The five Queens of the Hives are present. We deliberate. We call on you to join us.”

The Free Queen hesitated for a fraction of a second, then lowered her head.

“I am a servant of the Antinium, as are we all. What do the Hives call the Free Antinium for?”

The vessel raised the mirror it held. The view of the Grand Queen splintered into five parts. The five Queens sat and spoke. Each in their Hive. Each watching, regarding the others. In unison and apart.

“For war.”

The Armored Queen and her legions standing to attention.

“For planning.”

The shadows moved as the Silent Queen raised her head.

“For excellence bar none.”

The Flying Antinium and their Queen buzzed, their wings beating restlessly.

“For. Change.”

The Twisted Queen sat as things grew and died around her.

“For victory.”

The Grand Queen spoke simply. And her Prognugator, Xrn of the Antinium, raised her staff and called a map of Izril into the air. Klbkch knelt and his Queen leaned forwards. And the humming was back in the air. War. The Free Antinium looked up across their Hive and felt it.

And a little Worker, in pain, lying in a corner of the room turned his head a tiny bit. Just a bit because everything hurt. He stared at the mirror, the kneeling Revalantor, and the six Queens gathered for the first time in a decade. His antennae waved a bout and he looked at the Drones standing silently around him.

“Excuse me. Who are they?”

—-

While the Queens of the Antinium spoke, another conversation took place further north. Two others were magically linked, but not by an artifact. One spoke and then the other did, using the same mouth. They saw through the same eyes. But they were not the same. One’s voice was Human, male, old but not decrepit. The other was young, a Goblin’s voice. And the body walked through the camp, staring at the Goblins, the distant Human forces who had paused for the death of Tremborag of the Mountain.

Reiss, the Goblin Lord spoke to his master, Az’kerash. Behind him lay a Drake’s body. Oteslia Blackwing. A group of Goblins scurried forwards and bore her away. The rest were silent. Snapjaw, Eater of Spears, and the Goblin Lord’s tribe stood back, watching their leader with unease. They knew. But for the moment, no one else did.

Rags was busy trying to organize the remainder of Tremborag’s tribe. Garen Redfang snarled and tended to the few thousand who had decided to join him. Reiss and Az’kerash watched it all and spoke. The first thing Az’kerash said was simple.

“Have you leveled since we last spoke, my apprentice?”

Reiss stirred. He blinked, but then realized he shouldn’t have been surprised. He shook his head slightly.

“No, master.”

“A pity. But you have mastered the art of raising Draugr now?”

“Yes, master. I have.”

“Good.”

A smile passed Reiss’ lips. It was not his own. Az’kerash tapped a finger to his lips and Reiss did the same.

“In that case, study from the Tome of Greir Rot next. The section on undead enhancement, I think. Empowering your Draug and lesser undead will allow them to win battles until you are capable of reaching the next stage of undead animation.”

“Yes, master.”

“When you have learned those spells, inform me. The next step for a [Necromancer] at your level would be to amass an army of expendable corpses supplemented by an elite core of Draug and high-ranking undead. Or focus on a select group of customized creations. Either way, the challenge you will face lies not in outnumbering your enemy, but dealing with warriors and mages who can slay even Draug with ease and survive most mundane attacks. But as a Goblin Lord, your focus will be different. It is a curious change, but one that will make you stronger if you survive.”

“Yes, master. What is the solution for dealing with warriors and mages?”

Az’kerash frowned with Reiss’ face.

“Simple to speak of, difficult to achieve.  Ideally, you would learn new spells to supplement your abilities. Or create minions with supreme offensive abilities. Naturally, either option is difficult to properly work towards. [Necromancers] struggle to excel against small groups of high-level foes. It is the weakness of our class which I have long sought to address. As you know.”

“Yes, master.”

Reiss spoke carefully. He was waiting. When he and his master spoke like this, they could have been any master and apprentice. Az’kerash’s tone was interested, almost affectionate. When Az’kerash spoke of his passion, of Necromancy, he sounded like a teacher. But still Reiss waited. And he did not have to wait long.

“So much for your progress. Now we speak of what has passed since I last contacted you.”

“Yes, master.”

Reiss tensed, though he knew the Necromancer could feel it through their bond. He couldn’t help it. Az’kerash paused. When he spoke this time, his voice was cold and dispassionate.

“I am disappointed in you, my apprentice.”

“Yes, master.”

“I gave you an order and trusted you to lead your army after Zel Shivertail’s defeat. I ordered you to preserve his body. You failed to do so. I expected you to defeat this Goblin Chieftain of the Mountains and cause havoc in Human lands. You failed in that mission as well. I find you fleeing from the Humans instead, your undead army destroyed, with two other Goblin Chieftains defying your will. This is unacceptable.”

“Yes, master.”

Reiss waited. Az’kerash looked about, focusing on the milling Goblins, on Rags, and then on the distant Humans.

“Tyrion Veltras has gathered a powerful army to him. I see the banners of multiple [Lords] and [Ladies] of note. And he has enough [Mages] to humble you a dozen times over, my apprentice.”

“Yes, master. What should we do? What is he doing?”

And where have you been? Reiss didn’t ask that last part out loud. To the south, he knew, his master was sitting in his castle, surrounded by nothing but death. Az’kerash, Peril Chandler, the Necromancer of Izril, regarded the Humans and Goblins for one long minute. Then he smiled and spoke.

“The Humans are using you as a weapon against the Drakes, my apprentice. They think they can use you to start a war. I suggest…you let them.”

Reiss’ heart began to beat faster. He stared at the Humans. He bit his lower lip, and hesitated. Then he gritted his teeth.

“Why?”

—-

The Queens debated. The Necromancer spoke with the Goblin Lord. Erin went to jail. The young woman chattered nervously as she was led down the stairs to Liscor’s prison. It wasn’t that she was afraid of being beaten and locked away forever; she’d been treated quite civilly, in fact, especially since she’d just punched Liscor’s Chief Strategist and several members of the City Watch.

No one had hit her with sticks. Nor was she dragged along in chains while her captors hurled insults at her. Instead, she was escorted quite politely, although there was a heavy escort, and all the [Guards] kept out of arm’s reach.

Relc hadn’t been allowed to take Erin to prison. He and Olesm and the other high-level officers of the City Watch had gone straight to Erin’s inn. To take her door and deal with whatever was happening. Liscor being under attack. Erin had no idea what it was all about and the [Guardspeople] around her didn’t tell her anything. She walked down the steps to the prison, the Hobs following in a line.

“So this is a prison? It’s cleaner than I thought it would be. I’ve never been to prison, you know. I’ve never even been in trouble with the law. Except for that one time I got in trouble for throwing snowballs at cars. I didn’t know it was dangerous! I never did it again. I was a good kid. I think.”

The Drake guiding her grunted. Erin kept chattering, the pit in her stomach sinking further the lower she went.

“Am I going to be on a watch list? Or will this be on my permanent record? Do you have records? Wait—am I already on your watch list? Hey, do I have a file and if I do, can I see it?”

One of the Gnolls behind Erin groaned under her breath. Erin had been talking nonstop for the last ten minutes they’d been walking. And even the City Watch’s stoic silence could only take so much. The Drake in front of her grunted.

“You don’t have a file, Human. Do you think we’re made of parchment? We just remember your face.”

“Oh, really? So if you saw me next time…”

“We might break your arm by ‘accident’. Or kick you in the face if you keep causing trouble. Or if you don’t shut up.”

Erin clamped her lips together. She walked down the last of the stairs in silence, much to everyone’s relief. The Drake stopped by a door, opened it with a key, and pointed inside. Erin stepped apprehensively into the prison and looked around.

It was actually pretty nice, as prisons went. Okay, sure, it was clearly a prison and there were cells, but they were big ones, some clearly meant to lock up groups while others were smaller. At the far end, a few cells looked enchanted; the metal bars were semi-translucent or seemed to glow, suggesting that they were reinforced or magicked in some way. And the furthest cell didn’t even have bars; the opening was encircled by a double-layer of tightly-written runes which glowed pale yellow in the dim light.

But the thing that surprised Erin most was…that there weren’t many cells to begin with. Liscor didn’t believe in having large prison populations. Troublemakers were fined, ejected from the city…or killed. The patrol of guards led Erin down the short jail, and she saw several people behind bars. Drakes, and a few Humans, all who looked like they’d been in some sort of fight. A pair of Gnolls, one of whom had been very unhappily sick, a Garuda…

“Bevussa?”

Erin stopped, much to the annoyance of her captors. Bevussa waved at Erin and smiled weakly from behind the enchanted bars of her cell.

“Hey Erin. Fancy seeing you here.”

“What are you doing here?”

The young woman ignored the Drake who was trying to lead her onwards. Bevussa grinned sheepishly.

“I uh, got into a fight at the Adventurer’s Guild and punched a few people. You know, over the lottery? I’m in here for the day. Some of the other Gold-ranks are too. Keldrass is in the other cell. Say hi to him, would you?”

Erin blinked. The Drake growled at her and she remembered to keep moving.

“Whoops, sorry about that. Hey Keldrass! Bevussa says hi.”

“Tell her to eat her own tail.”

“Shove yours up your ass, Keldrass! I wasn’t even aiming for you!”

It definitely seemed like Erin had missed something. She kept walking and noticed they were headed to the back of the enchanted cells. She gulped. The City Watch wasn’t taking this lightly, for all they were treating her and the Hobs nice. She turned her head. Four Hobs stared at her back. Erin whispered quickly.

“Okay guys, look. I’m not sure what’s in there, but I do know how to survive jail. According to TV. The trick is that the instant we get in there, we have to find the biggest guy—or girl—and beat them up.”

The Hobs brightened up considerably. They could certainly do that! One of the female Gnolls looked askance. She glanced at her companions.

“Is she serious? She does know we’re putting them in separate cells, yes? What kind of prisons do Humans have?”

The others shook their heads. Erin blushed. She reached the end of the hallway and the Drake pointed.

“In there.”

“Oh. Just me? Uh, thanks for not hitting me or anything.”

Erin gingerly approached the cell. It was fairly spacious—fourteen feet by fourteen feet, quite unlike the image of cells Erin had seen in her world.

“Hands.”

She jumped, but the Drake only wanted to unlock her shackles. Erin blinked as he took them off and then pointed. She backed slowly into the cell. The Drake grunted irritably as he closed and locked her cell door with a magic key. She thought he’d just leave her there, but to her surprise he looked at her.

“You’re lucky we owe you one, Human. You helped during the Face-Eater Moth attack, and with Skinner. And the Raskghar. My kid likes those hamburgers. Don’t make this a habit.”

“Oh. Thanks?”

The Drake grunted and walked past Erin. She heard more cells opening and saw Headscratcher entering the cell across from her. Doors closed, the City Watch marched past her. The Drake paused again in front of Erin’s cell.

“Don’t cause trouble. Don’t shout. You can talk if you want. Odds are Olesm lets you out in a few hours or tomorrow for hitting him. There will be a fine. If you’re here long you get fed.”

“Got it.”

He nodded. Erin was left alone. She stared at the faintly glowing bars of her cell and gingerly touched them. They felt warm, but they didn’t shock her or explode. She gripped them with both hands and stared out. Two Hobs, Headscratcher, and Badarrow, were in her line of sight. Rabbiteater and Shorthilt were presumably locked up on her side of the dungeon.

“So…about my theory of beating up the biggest guy here. Uh, anyone see him?”

The Hobs dutifully looked around. The cells they were in were largely uninhabited, even by Gold-rank adventurers. Erin spotted empty cells around them, and then she looked at the furthest cell, the one guarded by runes. She saw someone standing there, immobile as a statue. Her heart leapt and she recoiled.

“Calruz?”

The Minotaur stared blankly ahead from behind the barrier to his cell. There were no bars in front of him, but the air looked…twisted. The runes shone constantly. Despite that, the Minotaur’s feet were still shackled. Not his hands—it was hard to put cuffs on someone with only one arm.

He didn’t move at first. The Minotaur was looking forwards, and he’d been so still that Erin had missed him in the shadows cast from the glowing runes. He stood at the left side of his cell. He looked…different. Erin had seen him after the Watch had arrested him. Then Calruz had been burned, wounded, barely recognizable. Now, he was still recognizable but for different reasons.

Some of the hair had begun growing on the places Calruz had been burned. It was uneven, and the Minotaur’s fur was uncombed, dirty. His face was grimy and the scars on his arms and legs stood out. He looked nothing like the proud captain of the Horns of Hammerad that Erin had known.

“Uh…Calruz?”

Erin and the Hobs stared at him. The Minotaur did not respond. The Redfangs eyed him. He was clearly the biggest person in the dungeon by far. They eyed his bulging muscles then patted their own arms for reassurance. Erin stared at Calruz and then looked at the Goblins.

“I don’t think we have to beat him up. It’s more like…an option? Don’t worry about it.”

The Hobs relaxed a bit. Erin stared at them and realized they hadn’t really gotten the joke from the start. She scratched her head and noticed that they were still shackled both hand and foot. She searched for something to say, but she really didn’t have anything.

She’d punched Olesm. Numbtongue had gotten away. Liscor was in danger again. Only this time it sounded really bad. The Goblin Lord. Erin hesitated, then sat down. She looked around her cell and decided it did fall behind prisons from her world in two ways: there was only a bucket in the corner for a toilet, and there was no bed. Drakes clearly believed that you should also suffer while in prison. She wondered if there was a torture chamber in Liscor too. Probably not.

She sat down on the cold stone floor and shivered. Headscratcher was gingerly pulling at the bars of his cell and Badarrow had already lain down. Erin stared at them.

“Sorry, guys. I didn’t mean to get you into this.”

The Hobs looked at her. Headscratcher looked incredibly guilty, and shook his head. He pointed slightly up and to the side, mimed shooting an arrow, made a snarling expression and then a look of shock and tapped his chest and pointed at Badarrow who nodded. He shook his head twice and then tapped his chest again before opening his hand and slapping his palm across his right arm, grimacing. Erin stared at him.

“I have no idea what you just said.”

Headscratcher sagged. Erin wished Numbtongue were here. Well, not here, but the Hob was the only one of the Goblins who was able to fully speak English, and her understanding of Goblins’ sign language wasn’t nearly advanced enough to interpret what that had meant. She looked around her cell again, but there was nothing to really look at. So she talked.

“I think they’ll let us go soon. Tomorrow, like the Drake said. Me, at least. I didn’t really expect Olesm to arrest me, you know. I mean, I guess after I punched him, yeah. But…I think he’s trying to protect all of you in his way. But it’s wrong. You know?”

Headscratcher shrugged. A Goblin’s reply. Erin half-smiled. Then her face fell.

“Is Bird going to be alright? Klbkch said the Queen could save him. But can she? It looked bad. Really bad.”

The Hobs looked at each other silently. Erin could read that. They didn’t think Bird had a chance. But she refused to believe that. The Queen had brought Klbkch back to life, after all! She could do the same for Bird. Klbkch had said she would save him if she wished. That meant she would do it. She would, right?

Hadn’t she given Bird money for his new bow?

Erin felt sick as she remembered Bird bleeding. She looked up, about to ask Headscratcher what had happened, even if he didn’t make sense, when she saw Calruz had moved. The Minotaur had turned. He was staring at her from his cell. Erin jerked and scrambled back. The Minotaur stared at her with a vacant expression. But then his eyes sharpened.

He moved forwards and the air rippled as he pressed his hand against the magical wall of his cell. His lips opened and he made a rasping sound. Erin stared as the Hobs stood up warily and stared at Calruz. The Minotaur made the sound again, then coughed. He was trying to speak.

“You. I know you.”

He looked at Erin. She stared at him, heart racing. Calruz looked at her, blinking. Erin hesitated. She remembered Calruz. She looked down at her hands and remembered him roaring at her, teaching her how to punch. How to fight. Back then—

And now. She looked at Calruz and remembered what Ceria had told her, what Erill had spoken about. Of Mrsha. She thought of the Raskghar and the bloody stone where Gnolls had died. Calruz blinked at Erin.

“I know you.”

“That makes one of us.”

Erin turned away from Calruz. She couldn’t look at him right now. Not yet. She sensed Calruz’s eyes on her, but kept her gaze ahead. She stared at Headscratcher. The Hob stared at Calruz and then looked at Erin. He stared at her and then spoke.

“Sorry.”

She blinked. The word was rough, and Headscratcher said it awkwardly, but he had said it. Badarrow opened his eyes. Rabbiteater and Shorthilt came to the front of their cells, looking at Erin sidelong. She sat behind the glowing bars of her cell.

“It wasn’t your fault. It was mine.”

“No. Us. Sorry.”

Headscratcher tapped his chest insistently. Erin stared at him and shook her head.

“It was another Hob, right?”

That was what Numbtongue had shouted at her in the panicked moments. Headscratcher nodded.

“Bad Hob. Us fight. Sorry.”

“It’s not—”

Erin bowed her head. She listened to the echoing voices in the prison as other people in the cells spoke quietly as well. She heard her heart beating altogether too fast, and heard something else. Drum beats in her head. A warning she hadn’t noticed.

“I think something bad is happening, guys. I think Liscor really is in danger this time. Do you…think so?”

She looked up at the Hobs, hoping they’d disagree. But they sat or lay on the ground or in Headscratcher’s case, just stood. The Hob looked at her and his red eyes glowed in the dim light. Slowly, he nodded.

“Yes. I think is bad. Very bad.”

Erin nodded as well. Her stomach churned and she looked north, past Badarrow. She didn’t know how, but she knew it was north. She could hear something coming.

“Yeah. Me too.”

—-

“War. This is an act of war.”

Niers Astoragon strode across the maps in the war room in the citadel that was his home and the base of the Forgotten Wing company. His students looked down at him as they poured over the map. Niers stepped over a hill and nearly walked straight into the High Passes. He grunted and kicked; the magical projection wavered and he walked through the mountain range, emerging in the flooded basin that was Liscor.

Illusory water ran around Niers’ boots as he stared down at the city protruding from the water. Rainclouds hovered around Niers’ stomach, pouring water down into the basin. The Titan of Baleros frowned and stroked at his chin irritably. He was growing a beard after going clean-shaven for a few months and the stubble irritated him.

“It’s not raining in Liscor anymore. Someone adjust the projection and get these clouds out of here. Keep the water.”

“Yes, sir.”

One of his students moved and delicately tapped something on the map. The magical rendering of Liscor changed as Marian, a Centaur and one of Niers’ advanced students, changed the timescale of the map ahead slightly. The rainclouds vanished and the water levels began to lower.

“Stop. That will do for now.”

Marian took her hand away. Niers stared down at Liscor, now surrounded by mud and stagnant water in the valleys. He made a face and walked through the High Passes again.

“I hate magical maps. Where the hell did we put the paper ones? Venaz, Yerranola, find me a decent map of Liscor instead of this.”

The Minotaur and Selphid wearing a Dullahan’s body moved back from the table and began checking the maps stored by location on the far wall. Niers let them work as he kicked his way back through the mountains again.

Magical maps weren’t actually all that bad. They were a hundred times as expensive as an enchanted sword given the cost to make them, yes, and they could only depict what the [Mage] who created them knew—hence the vague, cloud-shrouded tops of the High Passes and other sections of the map which were featureless—but a single magical map could replace a hundred paper ones.

The one Niers was using could depict every known location in the world to great detail. Obviously the trees and grass and so on were just made up, but the large geographical features were all there. It was worth a fortune in gold, so much so that a good number of [Kings] wouldn’t have been able to afford such a map. Niers stomped across it in his boots, grumbling and kicking at cities and watching them vanish and reappear as he waited for his students to get him a proper map.

The trouble with magical maps for Niers was height. The High Passes were as tall as he was, which meant that he couldn’t see everything. He nodded as Venaz pulled out a map of Izril.

“That one will do. Lay it here.”

“Professor. Let me.”

A scaly claw descended and Niers looked up. Umina, the Lizardfolk girl and one of his youngest in the advanced class he taught, offered him a perch. Niers leapt up two feet into the air and landed on Umina’s claw. Venaz replaced the maps and Niers hopped down.

“Better. Now, as I was saying. War.”

He grabbed a pin and stuck it into the map, marking a spot just north of the High Passes’ other entrance. Niers pointed to the pin and spoke crisply to his assembled students. They straightened up, looking both nervous and intent. They knew this wasn’t a game. Niers had called them into the war room for a special lesson, and they were all aware of what was happening.

“The Humans are marching on Liscor. They’re driving the Goblins ahead of them and they intend to take the city using the Goblins as a pretext. Normally that would be suicide even with the army they’ve brought. Liscor is a Drake city, which means they’re fortified and their walls are extremely hard to crack with magic. But somehow, some way, the Humans are prepared. Tyrion Veltras has trebuchets. You’ve all read the [Message] that Liscor just sent out. Now, tell me what’s going on and what’s about to happen.”

He looked at his students. They hesitated, but they knew better than to wait for him to single one of them out. Wil, one of the Humans of the group, cleared his throat and lifted a slip of paper.

“Liscor made the first report, Professor, but the analysis was confirmed by multiple [Strategists] and [Tacticians] within minutes. It appears that somehow, the Drakes were all aware of the Human’s plans at the same time.”

“I suppose they all coordinated beforehand? Or have the Drakes learned telepathy?”

Niers raised one eyebrow. Wil hesitated.

“No, sir. It’s all too quick to be a coincidence. Either the Drakes knew ahead of time, or, more likely, someone tipped them off. About the trebuchets, that is.”

“Good.”

Niers nodded and Wil breathed a sigh of relief. The Fraerling looked at another of his students, a Dullahan holding his head up for a better view.

“Cameral? What are the Drakes saying?”

The Dullahan shifted his head to address Niers directly.

“They’re panicking. There are countless requests coming in for confirmation, asking for instructions, or outright denying the reports. The Walled Cities have begun a closed communication and there’s no way of knowing what they’re saying, but I have every official announcement they’ve put out.”

“And?”

“They’re not moving yet. Which is unusual. Liscor’s put out an all-call warning and request for immediate reinforcements, but Pallass has yet to respond. Given the speed at which Drakes usually handle messages of this kind, this is unusual. And the other Walled Cities are equally slow to react. Salazsar’s pledged aid, as has Oteslia, but the other four Walled Cities are…they’re not replying.”

“And why is that?”

Niers prodded Cameral further. The Dullahan was good at explaining the situation, but he was reluctant to give out his personal take on the situation, which was a trait Niers had noticed in many of his Dullahan students. They regarded being wrong as a failing and so they said nothing, which was even worse. Cameral wavered, but then someone snorted to his left. Venaz leaned forwards.

“It means they’re wavering. They think Liscor will fall, so they’re not replying.”

Niers sighed. Venaz snorted, clearly pleased to have gotten the jump on Cameral. He had no problems stating his mind.

“Do you have proof, Venaz, or is this a hunch?”

The Minotaur straightened at the reprimand in Niers’ voice.

“I do, sir. Look at this. This is a message from Manus. It disputes Liscor’s claim and requests confirmation, despite the confirmation from over a dozen [Strategists]. They know the attack’s coming, but they want to buy time. Pretend it isn’t so they don’t have to respond right away.”

“And why is that? Surely they’d want to reinforce Liscor right away, especially Pallass, who we know has a connection to Liscor via that magic doorway.”

Venaz snorted.

“You’d think so. But as I said, they think Liscor is going to fall. The Humans surprised them and the Drakes don’t think they can hold Liscor. So they’re refusing to act, like cowards. See, here’s another [Message] requesting confirmation.”

A harried Selphid [Maid] in a Lizardman’s body arrived with a basket full of [Messages] written on slips of paper. Venaz snatched one from the top and showed it around. Niers nodded.

There was no doubting the contents of the [Message] or that it came from Fissival this time. While the top-level Drake communications were secret and thus harder to obtain, general [Message] spells could be copied and obtained by anyone in the world if they had enough coin. And Niers was known for treating his networks of informants well for valuable information, so each [Message] spell sent was being sent not just to their intended recipients, but also to Niers and everyone else who was paying for access at the moment.

As such Niers and his students were reading [Message] spells at the same time as they arrived on Zevara’s desk in Liscor. Faster, probably, since Niers was paying the [Mages] a lot more than Liscor. Niers let his students pore over the [Messages] and report their contents for a second, but nothing noteworthy had arrived yet. He clapped his hands briskly for attention.

“Very well, that’s Venaz’s analysis. But if that’s so, that begs a question: are the Walled Cities right? Will Liscor fall? Give me your analysis…Marian.”

He looked at the female Centaur. She pawed the floor with a hoof nervously, but then tossed her long hair and replied confidently.

“I’d think so, sir. Given the fact that two armies are converging on Liscor, Goblin and Human? Liscor has barely ten thousand defenders if we factor in the City Watch plus the average amount of citizens who can fight in a crisis. Yes, they have Gold-ranks, but adventurers are known for fleeing cities in times of war. And the armies Tyrion Veltras have brought aren’t ordinary either.”

“They are not.”

Niers nodded appreciatively. He knew he should let Marian explain, but he couldn’t help himself. Besides, this wasn’t so much of a test of his student’s ability to see what was going on, as a lesson in war and politics by observation. He strode back over to the pin and tapped it with his knuckles.

“Two hundred thousand soldiers. That’s a powerful army, but it would deceive to just count it by numbers as well. Veltras has brought [Knights], [Mages], and most importantly, a host of [Lords] and [Ladies] and their personal retinues. That puts this army head-and-shoulders above an army of the same size comprised mainly of low-level [Militia]. And the Goblin Lord’s army is certainly no idle force either. If past Goblin Lords are any example, he would have Hobs by the thousand and powerful [Shamans] of his own. This one even has an undead army, although reports indicate it was mostly eradicated. Still, faced with all that, would any of you consider defending Liscor?”

His students looked at each other, clearly uneasy at the thought of trying to defend a city with that alone. Umina raised a claw.

“Well, sir, I don’t know if I would, but I’d point out that Liscor does have an Antinium Hive. Marian forgot to mention it.”

The Centaur blushed and Umina shot her friend an apologetic glance. Niers nodded.

“Never underestimate the Black Tide. But we know Liscor’s Hive is small—smaller than the other five older and more established Hives, at least. Do they have the numbers to supplement Liscor’s garrison? Can the Antinium defend as well as they attack?”

“It doesn’t matter. The Drakes should defend Liscor no matter the odds!”

Venaz clenched his fists. He ignored the skeptical looks some of the others shot him and turned to Niers. The Titan raised an eyebrow.

“You’re confident, Venaz. Explain.”

The Minotaur nodded eagerly. He was practically ablaze with energy; discussion of real-life tactics and strategy got the Minotaur fired up like nothing else. Eagerly he paced back and forth, pointing to locations on the map of Izril as Niers stepped back to give him room.

“Liscor is the lynchpin of the Drake defense. Everyone knows it. It’s held off Humans advances just by being there. An army marches past and it’s cut off. Supply trains get raided. Liscor rains and cuts off a warfront entirely. Assaults by sea and attempts to circumnavigate Liscor fail because the Drakes can always counterattack from that location as well. It’s vital. And if it falls, the Humans can take the offensive in every war rather than the defensive one. The Drakes cannot lose this city. It’s worth throwing every soldier they have into holding it, rather than letting the Humans claim it.”

Venaz spoke with passion, and Niers saw a few of his students nodding hesitantly. The [Grandmaster Strategist] just sighed internally and scratched at his growing beard. He looked for the right student to call on and saw Umina scratching at the colorful frills on her neck uneasily.

“Umina. You have a thought?”

She jumped and blushed.

“I uh—well, I just think that Venaz might be wrong, sir.”

“How?”

The Minotaur turned and stared expectantly at Umina. She turned pale, but Marian trotted over and stood by her side. Umina seemed to draw strength from her friend and took a deep breath. Niers nodded as he saw her eyes focus. She was one of his best students, better than Venaz or Marian or anyone else when she was confident.

“Well…first of all, I’d point out that Tyrion Veltras has prepared for this attack. He’s clearly aimed for this from the beginning. No one saw it—except for you, sir.”

She grinned at Niers, who waved the compliment away. His students nodded, impressed. Of course the Titan knew. Niers wanted to smack them all on the back of the heads. Hero worship. Oh, he had to knock that out of them or they’d never graduate.

“I didn’t predict the trebuchets, Umina. I thought that Tyrion Veltras was going to bombard the walls down with magic; create a breach for the Goblins. It would be harder, but he has the [Mages] to do it. Or bring a bunch of ladders and enough wood for siege towers in bags of holding and ‘accidentally’ let the Goblins have it.”

“Even so, sir. Tyrion Veltras set this up and so he knew the Drakes would find out sooner or later. If I were him, I’d expect the Drakes to do exactly what Venaz is suggesting. And if I were him…I’d want that to happen.”

“Explain.”

Niers covered a smile. Umina walked to the map and touched the icon marking Liscor.

“They send elites. As many soldiers as they can to fill Liscor. I’d send the Goblins at them—force them to fight or die. Hold the Goblin Lord hostage maybe? Is that why Elia Arcsinger is—? Either way, I’d get them to attack first. Weaken the Drakes. But then I’d move in with my army. If the Drakes send fifty thousand, a hundred thousand of their own to defend the city, all the better. I’d smash their entire force and weaken both Liscor, Pallass, and every Drake city that sent soldiers.”

She traced lines from Pallass to Liscor, from smaller cities, her claws running across the map. She looked at Niers and her eyes were cold.

“Liscor is a trap, sir. And if I can bag as many high-level soldiers in it as I can, I win even more. I want them to try and hold Liscor. Because if they’re in the city, they can’t retreat. Drakes don’t run. I’ll slaughter them and break their spirits in one blow.”

The room was silent. Umina looked up and met Venaz’s eyes for a second, then looked away. Niers enjoyed the incredulous look on the Minotaur’s face. Sometimes he forgot that a ‘female’ like Umina could be as ruthless as he was.

“Well done. It’s not what I would do necessarily, but that is how Tyrion Veltras thinks. You have a gift for thinking like your opponents, Umina. Hone that talent. It will serve you well. Well done indeed.”

It was one of Niers’ highest compliments. Umina turned red with pride and Marian laid a hand on her shoulder in delight. Niers waited a beat, and then turned to Venaz. The Minotaur looked uncertain, dismayed. Niers walked down the map, past Liscor and to the northern-most Walled City. Pallass. He stared up at the Minotaur.

“Umina’s given an excellent example of the dangers of trying to hold Liscor. However, Venaz’s points cannot be discounted either. But one statement was incorrect to begin with. You are wrong, Venaz. The Walled Cities are hesitating, but they haven’t abandoned Liscor just yet. They’re doing the same thing we are: weighing the odds and deciding if they should rush to Liscor’s aid or form a larger army and try to take the city back. The problem is Pallass.”

Venaz’s brows shot together. The Minotaur folded his hands behind his back as he stared at the Walled City that Niers was tapped with his left foot.

“How so, sir?”

Niers nodded. The Minotaur wasn’t arguing back as he normally did. He was listening, trying to figure out where he was wrong. Better. He was learning. Now he just had to understand how other species thought politically. Niers pointed down at Pallass.

“They’re the ones ideally placed to support Liscor. The problem is their leadership. They have a democracy, which means their ruling body, the Assembly of Crafts, has to come to a consensus on what to do. That makes Pallass historically the slowest of the Walled Cities to react to incidents.”

“Idiots.”

Cameral muttered under his breath. Venaz nodded as well. Umina and Marian, who both came from democratic societies, shot the two dirty looks. Niers ignored his students as he went on.

“Say what you will about the system—it leads to stability, but it means paralysis at times. And the problem is that this is exactly the kind of situation that has Pallass split on what to do. They’re wavering, arguing, trying to figure out what to do. But that’s the real crisis. If they wait too long, the choice will be out of their hands.”

“Claws, Professor.”

“Whatever. Pallass is indecisive. And if they won’t move, the other Walled Cities will hesitate. The hesitant factions in Pallass can just deadlock the Assembly and keep the war hawks from sending aid to Liscor until it’s too late. And I think that’s exactly what Tyrion Veltras is counting on.”

The students murmured with interest. Niers nodded. Do you see? He wanted to ask them. Tyrion wasn’t fighting just a war on the ground. He was using the politics of the Drakes against them. He might hate the Drakes, but he’d studied his enemies well. He knew their climate, their systems of government—and he knew Goblins as well.

He would have made a fine [Strategist], although Niers would have never suffered him in a class. He knew Tyrion Veltras. He had met the man. Tyrion was like a sword. He could employ strategy, cunning, and he could be devious, but like a sword he could only cut. And he went straight for the heart.

Niers was about to have two of his students simulate an attack on the city and propose viable strategies for defense and offense—Wil and Marian probably, and he’d kick Marian in the ear if she suggested trying to use hit-and-run skirmishing tactics in the muddy floodplains against the Humans with their cavalry—when he saw Cameral checking at something in his hands. He looked up sharply as the Dullahan raised his head for attention.

“Professor! My scrying orb just lit up. Wistram is broadcasting one of their [Scrying] moving images again! It looks like someone is transmitting the spell from Pallass!”

Niers’ head snapped up. He grinned.

“Now that’s interesting. Get a large scrying orb set up now. I think we’ll all want to see this.”

—-

They weren’t sending reinforcements. They were asking for confirmation. Confirmation! They weren’t sending reinforcements. They were not—

Olesm ran across the water bridge leading from Liscor to The Wandering Inn. He huffed as he ran and tried to watch the water for Rock Crabs or larger fish monsters, but he ran as fast as he could, ignoring the disturbance he was causing in the water. A Quillfish shot a spine at Olesm and he swore, but he kept running.

Pallass wasn’t responding to his [Messages]. They were wavering. They think Liscor’s a lost cause. Or they’re hesitating. Or—

He had gotten back to the City Hall and seen Wall Lord Ilvriss arguing with his fellow nobility in Salazsar as Zevara frantically sent more and more [Messages] and received noncommittal answers. There had been no door, and Olesm had been told that Embria had gone with the patrol to The Wandering Inn to secure the door half an hour ago and not returned. So Olesm had ran here. He ran up the hill to the inn and saw [Guardsmen], [Guardswomen], and [Soldiers] milling about on the grass. Olesm gulped for air and then shouted at the Gnoll wearing a Senior Guardsman’s insignia.

“Senior Guardswoman Beilmark! Why isn’t the door in Liscor? Where is Wing Commander Embria?”

The Gnoll turned.

“Olesm, er, Strategist Olesm, we tried to remove the door, but one of the [Barmaids] blocked us. And she has uh, adventurer support! Wing Commander Embria went through the door to request aid from Pallass, but she hasn’t returned.”

“She did? I’ve got to get her.”

Olesm ran through the doorway, ignoring Beilmark’s warning shout. They had to get to Pallass, get them to start sending soldiers through! He charged through the door, saw Moore raising his staff like a headman with an axe, and froze.

“Moore, don’t! It’s Olesm!”

Lyonette cried out. Moore hesitated. He lowered his staff. Olesm stared at him and then realized why no one had tried taking the door. He pointed at Moore with a trembling claw.

“We need—that door is—Erin’s in jail! Bird might die but he might live! I need to get to Pallass!”

“What?”

The adventurers and Lyonette, all of whom were clustered around the entrance, stared at Olesm. He ignored Ceria, the Horns, Jelaqua, and Moore and Mrsha racing about him and charged for the door. It was open. Bright light streamed through and Pallass’ streets were ahead of him. Olesm ran through, and felt the door blink out behind him. He whirled and saw only brick wall.

“Ancestors damn it!”

The door was out of mana! Embria must have depleted it before Olesm! The door could only take two people after all—wait, was that right? Hadn’t Hawk, Wall Lord Ilvriss, and Erin all gone through one time? Didn’t that mean three—?

Loud voices made Olesm turn. He saw a huge crowd of Drakes and Gnolls gathered down the street. And standing on a wooden platform—Olesm’s heart sank—was Wing Commander Embria. She was arguing with a paunchy Gnoll dressed in a [Senator]’s robes, shouting, really. The Gnoll was smiling, well, fake smiling, and answering back as the crowd jeered Embria.

Olesm ran for the two of them, cursing inside. As he ran, he passed by a pair of Drakes who were speaking to a Human in flamboyant clothing who was holding a scrying orb up in front of him. The two Drakes were speaking into the scrying orb for some reason. One of them had a monocle. They sounded…familiar.

“This is Noass and Sir Relz of Pallass, newly made [Commentators] with a Human [Magician] providing us the [Scrying] spell. We happened to be on the scene when we met—er, what did you say your name was, sir?”

“Eltistiman Verdue, [Magician] for hire at your service.”

“That’s right. We are speaking to you from Pallass where, at this moment, [Strategists] are warning of an attack on Liscor. However, the Assembly of Crafts has not yet issued an announcement. Senator Errif is speaking to a crowd and what appears to be a Wing Commander from Liscor of all people! She arrived through the door—”

“—in rather a huff, Relz, wouldn’t you agree? Rudely storming up to the [Senator], in that classic Liscorian aggressiveness—”

“—too true, Sir Relz, too true. But Senator Errif has been giving her a piece of Pallass’ mind! Attack on Liscor? Not likely! Does she have proof? Should we move an army through that door to Liscor on one [Strategist]’s say so?”

“There are apparently a lot of [Strategists] supporting this claim, Noass.”

“Indeed, Sir Relz, indeed. But what’s best for Pallass? We have to ask that, as harsh as it may be. If we look at the odds, this Human [Lord], Tyrion Veltras, is bringing not only two hundred thousand soldiers, but the Goblin Lord’s army is being driven before him. Of course, this is all apparently due to the Human’s inability to catch the Goblins, but if they were to accidentally assault Liscor—”

Olesm dashed past the two Drakes, ignoring the cry out of outrage from the one with the monocle. He shouted as he pushed through the crowd.

“Excuse me! Excuse me! Let me pass, please, I’m Liscor’s [Strategist]!”

“It looks like we have Liscor’s actual [Strategist] on the scene, Noass—”

“Unprecedented! Can Drakes just walk through from Liscor to Pallass? And what’s he doing? Looks like he’s joining the Wing Commander. Let’s go in for a closer look. Make way, please! [Commentators] passing through!”

Olesm fought to get to the stage where Embria was arguing with the Gnoll [Senator]. He felt the crowd open up—not because of him, but because of the two Drakes following him! Olesm growled, but dashed up onto the wooden platform. A [Guardsman] dressed in Pallass’ colors held a spear up threateningly. Olesm held up his claws.

“I’m Liscor’s [Strategist]!”

The Gnoll didn’t look convinced, but an amused, growling voice spoke from above.

“Let him up, [Guardsman].”

Olesm scrambled onto the wooden platform and looked around. A sea of faces stared at him. Suddenly he felt dizzy. He hadn’t thought this through. Apprehensively he stared at the smiling Gnoll and Embria. The Wing Commander was red—well, redder in the face and her tail was practically tied in knots. The Gnoll on the other hand was silky smooth. He growled at Olesm, his voice magically amplified by a broach on his chest.

“Well, it seems Liscor’s [Strategist] has come, yes? Many folk seem to be fleeing from their posts in Liscor to come to Pallass to ask for aid.”

“I am—I am asking for aid! Liscor sent a reinforcement request and Pallass hasn’t answered!”

Olesm gasped, trying to raise his voice loud enough to be heard over the jeers from the crowd. Errif, the [Senator], raised one paw.

“Please, good people. We have of course heard Liscor’s plea and we take it seriously. Yet, the [Message] spell we received claims Liscor will be attacked! But can we truly take that as truth? I received a frenzied report about Humans plotting to attack Liscor with the aid of Goblins—this is a serious accusation! It would mean war if true.”

“It is true! The Humans have trebuchets—”

Embria began to shout, but Errif kept speaking, and somehow his words drowned hers out, though he was quieter. A Skill. Olesm saw him smiling at the crowd, speaking mockingly.

“They might! Who knows? They might! But to declare a national emergency and expect soldiers within minutes of calling it? Striding into Pallass to do so? That is hardly appropriate, yes? Give us a day or two to verify your reports. If this is true, we can send reinforcements, yes? My fellow [Senators] in the Assembly of Crafts, the Scalethrift party, don’t believe Pallass should blindly rush into things.”

“Days? In two days, the Humans will be right on top of us! We don’t have two days, you furry—”

Whatever Embria had been about to say was cut off by Olesm’s desperate claw. The crowd roared in outrage and Errif frowned at Embria. He raised his voice.

“Wing Commander, please, show some respect for Pallass’ systems of government!”

Pallass’ citizens cheered and some began to throw things at the two Drakes. Olesm felt a shoe bounce off his back. He stared at Errif. He couldn’t be serious! Olesm raised his own voice desperately, shouted over the crowd.

“Senator, this is no mistake! We need the support of the Walled Cities now! If you could send a few thousand [Soldiers] through now—”

Errif frowned at Olesm.

“The Assembly is debating. We will not take action until a vote is called.”

“Why are you here, then?”

Embria demanded. Errif sniffed.

“We are on break. Wing Commander, Liscor’s Strategist, the Assembly of Crafts has heard your request! We will consider it! But I remind you, Pallass is not at the beck and call of Liscor. We will have our own [Strategists] go over your report. And when we are certain, we will do what is best for Pallass and Liscor!”

He raised his furry arms and got a cheer. Not a huge one; some Drakes and Gnolls in the crowd looked uneasy, like Sir Relz and Noass. But it didn’t matter. Errif had said his bit and he was beckoning for Pallass’ City Watch to remove Embria and Olesm from the stage. Embria swore at the [Guards] and Olesm felt something rising in him.

They weren’t going to help. They were going to stall like this and then claim it was too late. Or Errif’s party was, at any rate. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t right.

Olesm felt something hot in his stomach, searing him from within. He stared at the pompous Gnoll [Senator] with his paunchy belly and smug, superior expression. He thought of Liscor, his home, and of the Goblin Lord and his armies. He thought of trebuchets, of the walls he had stood on for so many years, of his friends and family, and his duties. He thought of Erin too. His stomach hurt where Erin had kicked him. And Olesm felt all of the panic, fear, and anger building in him until he did something completely uncharacteristic:

He lost his temper.

—-

The image projected across the world from Wistram had shown all of Errif’s back-and-forth with the Drakes on the stage. Truth be told, it hadn’t been too gripping, but the reactions of the Drakes and the Gnoll’s statements were of great interest to anyone following the events in Liscor. Wistram certainly thought so, or they wouldn’t have broadcast the image and audio. But it wasn’t exciting.

That was, until the Drake with pale-blue scales who claimed to be Liscor’s [Strategist] shoved the [Guardsman] trying to remove him from the stage. Instantly, the Gnoll [Senator] was in front of Olesm, bursting with patriotic indignation.

“You will not lay your claws on a member of Pallass’ Watch! [Guardsmen], arrest this—”

“Be silent!”

Olesm screamed in Errif’s face. A thousand scrying orbs around the world reflected Errif recoiling as a bit of spit struck him on the nose. Olesm turned and bellowed at the [Guardsmen] now reaching for their weapons.

“Stand down! That is an order!”

He pointed at a Drake with a sword. Errif growled, forgetting his amiable smile.

“You do not give orders! I am a [Senator] of Pallass, and you are—”

He went ‘ulp’ as Olesm grabbed him by the robes. The Drake shouted in Errif’s face.

“I said, shut up! That is an order! I outrank you, you stupid furry idiot!”

Errif gaped at him. The crowd gaped at him. Sir Relz and Noass’ jaw dropped as they hovered in the edge of the scrying orb’s field of vision. Olesm turned. He shouted at the stunned crowd.

“I am the Strategist of Liscor and my city is in danger! When I give orders, only a Watch Captain or a [General] can challenge me! I outrank you. I outrank a Lord of the Wall and the entire damn Assembly of Crafts at this moment!”

He pointed back at Errif, who was lost for words. In the scrying orb, Sir Relz stared at Olesm and then seemed to recall that he was supposed to be commentating. He turned back to the scrying orb with wide eyes.

“That’s Liscor’s [Strategist] claiming he has authority over Pallass! That’s…I mean, that is how military protocol works. But in another city? Is that fair? Noass?”

The other Drake jumped. He looked around and seemed at a loss for words. Then he looked back at Olesm.

“It—it may be, Sir Relz! But hold on! Let’s got a word from the [Strategist] himself. You there, sir! We’re broadcasting this moment as we speak—no, we’re sending this live across the world! What do you have to say about the claims that Liscor is in danger?”

“Wait, what?”

Errif turned pale as he stared into the scrying orb. Olesm gaped at Noass. He stared into the scrying orb and then seemed to realize what Noass was saying. His scales nearly turned white with shock for a second, and then he visibly caught himself.

“I—I—”

“Is Liscor really under attack or is it truly an overblown alert? What if Liscor, if you are wrong and the city is not in danger? How will you ensure Pallass doesn’t waste resources and soldiers on Liscor? What if you place Pallassian lives at risk?”

Noass pressed Olesm, beckoning whomever was holding the scrying orb forwards. Olesm paled even further, but then his claws balled into fists. He shouted back down at Noass, suddenly furious.

“You want to talk about risk? While Pallass is debating, an army of Goblins is marching on Liscor! The other Walled Cities are hesitating! None of them—no, only Oteslia and Salazsar have responded to a priority distress call! It is the duty of Walled Cities to immediately respond to threats, and I have called for aid! Where is it? Why do I have to repeat myself? Liscor is in danger! If I’m wrong, Pallass wastes time. If Pallass is wrong, Liscor falls.”

Noass hesitated, and Sir Relz raised his monocle.

“But Sir Strategist, if the danger to Liscor is real, then the risk to Pallass’ own is—”

“This is not about danger! This is not about risk!”

Olesm bellowed at Sir Relz and the Drake recoiled. Olesm pointed around the crowd, shouting louder and louder.

“Liscor is in danger! If we fall, Pallass is next! I don’t want to talk to a cowardly politician or a bunch of idiots looking at maps! I want [Soldiers]! Is this a Walled City or a Human slum without discipline?”

The Drakes and Gnolls stared up at Olesm. He whirled and pointed at Errif, who was clearly trying to interject and not finding a way to do so. He advanced on the Gnoll, who backed up, looking alarmed.

“This isn’t a matter of politics. This isn’t about whether Liscor will win or lose a battle. This is about duty. About law! When a city calls for aid, other cities answer! And if you or anyone else gets in the way of the chain of command, I. Will. Arrest. You.”

The Drake poked the Gnoll [Senator] repeatedly in the chest, sending the Gnoll stumbling backwards until he nearly fell off the stage. In the scrying orb, Olesm turned and stared straight at the viewers. He shouted, his face flushed, his tail lashing the ground.

“I am the [Strategist] of Liscor and I am calling for reinforcements! Give me your best or hide behind your walls like cowards but we will be in Liscor, holding the line! If we have to defend Liscor by ourselves, we will! True Drakes do not run!”

He paused for breath, panting. The scrying orb swiveled left and right, revealing a crowd staring up at Olesm in shock. The Drake finally seemed to come back to his senses, and he turned pale again. He looked around, then leapt from the stage and tried to push his way through the crowd, back to the door to Liscor.

It looked a bit like he was running away, but that didn’t matter. Drakes and Gnolls roared and swarmed around Olesm and Embria while Errif found himself besieged from all sides by a suddenly angry crowd. The image jostled as it moved back and forth for a minute. Shoving bodies and confused shouting was all that was heard and seen. Then the [Mage] won clear of the crowd and moved back several feet. A disheveled Drake with a monocle appeared, panting a bit.

“And that was Liscor’s [Strategist]! A terrific appeal to Drake pride, and of course Pallass’ citizens are in arms at the thought of abandoning a fellow Drake city in its hour of need! There’s no way we’ll get to the [Strategist] himself—I seem to have lost Relz—but we’ll try and get a response from Senator Errif! Human, to me!”

—-

The scrying orb became a jumble of shouting voices and the Drake with the monocle shouting for people to ‘make way’. It didn’t matter. Niers Astoragon silently pointed, and the [Diviner] raised a hand. The scrying orb went dark.

The students looked down at their professor and saw him staring at the blank orb. The Titan of Baleros had a wide grin on his face, a look of uncharacteristic delight his students had seldom ever seen. He breathed out slowly.

“Full marks.”

He whirled and strode away from the scrying orb. Slowly, the other students came back to the here and now. Venaz clenched a fist, Marian shook herself in place. Umina looked to Niers.

“Professor, what do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. Full marks! That Drake—that was Olesm Swifttail, wasn’t it? He may have just saved his city.”

Niers couldn’t stop grinning. He turned and looked at his students. They stared at him, some half-understanding, others confused. They couldn’t feel it yet. But Niers could, and he wagered Olesm and a good number of other people in this world had caught on. The King of Destruction had figured it out.

It was the scrying orb. The ability to send an image across the world to everyone with an orb of their own in the moment. It was a sense that Niers had, that Olesm had picked up on.

The idea of the world stage. Niers paced back and forth.

“That Drake’s done it. Marian, get me every [Message] spell that comes in the next few minutes. Run! The rest of you—remember that. Remember this, because this is history. I can feel it. I feel like a new war is beginning. A war of words, of public opinion! Every city and nation will have to consider it. It won’t just be [Message] spells, it will be people seeing their leaders making decisions. What will happen to the Drake chain of command if their people see them making choices they don’t like? What will happen to a [King] whose people broadcast his every failing? What—”

“Professor!”

Marian raced back into the room, holding a basket of [Message] spells. Niers turned.

“Well?”

The Centaur tore through the pieces of paper. The first one made her exclaim.

“An announcement! Oteslia has deployed its Winged Riders! They say they can reach Liscor in six days!”

“Six? From across the entire continent?”

Venaz roared in disbelief. He grabbed another piece of paper and his eyes bugged out.

“Zeres has pledged an army of eighty thousand regular soldiers and five thousand of their elite Saltscale Wardens!”

“What? But they were just—”

Wil looked stunned, but his friend, Cameral, had caught on. The Dullahan fixed his head to his  shoulders and grabbed another piece of paper.

“Every Drake city just saw that. Do you think they’ll sit still? He called them out! If they did, their people would riot! If my people saw something like that—Manus is pledging an army of their own!”

The students grabbed for the basket, exclaiming, reading out report after report as the cities scrambled over themselves to be the first to send aid to Liscor. Niers’ smile didn’t vanish—he could imagine that right now, at this very moment, Tyrion Veltras was not smiling.

At last, the frenzy died down. And Niers’ students turned back to him, waiting to see what had changed. Niers stepped over the map, looking at the [Messages]. Thinking.

“This changes much. And nothing at the same time. Liscor will have its reinforcements, faster than Tyrion Veltras expected. But…”

He looked at Marian. The Centaur nodded.

“Even the fastest armies won’t get there in time. A force from Pallass? Yes. And they’ll be moving troops through the magic door. But they still need to hold out.”

“Exactly. And that door is a weak point. If I were that Drake, I’d put my best soldiers on the door. Or my most expendable ones.”

Niers frowned to himself. He looked at the map of Liscor and didn’t let his elation cloud his judgment.

“Whether they hold out in time for reinforcements now depends on how many soldiers they can bring through from Pallass, how strong the Goblin Lord’s army is…and how far Tyrion Veltras is willing to go. It’s still in his favor, but…”

Niers shook his head.

“They have a chance. More, if there are other factors I don’t know about. As it is, I give Liscor a chance.”

He looked down at Liscor. Then his eyes travelled to something else. The paper map had no fine details on it. The mountains were just mountains and the city of Liscor was just an illustration. But the map had one thing going for it the magical one did not: it could be changed by Niers himself.

Liscor was already tiny on the map of Izril, a single city surrounded by mountains. But Niers had added something nonetheless, marked a spot just east of the city.  A little dot, set just outside of Liscor. It would have looked like an ink stain or a speck if you didn’t know it was there.

The identity of Niers Astoragon’s mysterious chess partner was unknown, even to him. But he had [Scryed] his opponent once. And he had not seen him. Her. It. But Niers had seen the room his chessboard was in for a moment. And he had remembered it. He couldn’t help it. It hadn’t meant much; the room could have been any wooden structure anywhere in the world. But then had come the day of the Face-Eater Moths attack. And Niers had seen it.

The same inn. The same interior as the one he had seen for a brief second. And he had known. Niers had conducted a bit of information gathering, found out the name of the inn. Nothing else; he hadn’t wanted to tip his hand to anyone that he was curious. But the name of the inn burned in his mind.

Was his opponent staying there? Had they been moving from the inn on the road? Or were they…?

For a second Niers stared, and then he pretended to be inspecting Liscor. He shouldn’t have put the marking there. It was a mistake. Of course, no one would notice. It was a tiny dot, so small only a Fraerling would notice. Or a keen-eyed student. Niers looked back up and murmured to himself.

“More than a chance.”

His students watched him, waiting for his conclusion. The Titan of Baleros had none. He took a seat on a closed ink bottle and shook his head.

“I don’t know how it will turn up. But I am sure of one thing. I’ll bet all my hats and Venaz’s horns that there’s a lot more we don’t know about. If I were Tyrion Veltras, I’d watch my back. Everyone in the world knows what he’s planning. But I wonder if he knows what everyone has in mind? Because believe me…”

Niers walked over and tapped the bright red pin marking Tyrion Veltras and the Goblin Lord’s army. He looked around and smiled like a wolf.

“Nothing’s ever this simple.”

—-

The Necromancer smiled as he relayed the last of the [Message] spells to his apprentice via their mental link. He could sense his apprentice’s growing sense of unease, but Az’kerash was calm. In his study he stared at the twisted flesh and bone sitting in front of him. Waiting to be shaped. He was close, he could feel it. The last iteration of his Chosen had been a failure, but these would be true masterpieces. Still, there were matters which required his attention.

“This is an opportunity, my apprentice.”

“I do not see it, master.”

Reiss spoke through their link. The Goblin Lord stared at the Human army and imagined them coming down on Liscor’s walls. So that was their plan. They would send the Goblins to attack Liscor, then fall on them once the city fell. He bared his teeth.

“We will not do it. This plan will fail. Attacking Liscor is certain-death. Foolish-death. We will let the Drakes battle the Humans and escape—”

“No.”

Az’kerash’ voice was firm. Reiss tried to protest, but an invisible force took control of his tongue, his vocal chords, his jaw.

“You fail to understand Tyrion Veltras’ will, my apprentice. He will not let you flee. You think you can outrun his army? He will burn you and slaughter your tribe to the last rather than let you flee. And it does not matter if Liscor repels your army. It does not matter how many soldiers Pallass sends today.”

My apprentice. Reiss bit his tongue. He had a name. A name given to him by a dying Drake. His name. But he didn’t tell his master. Instead, he tried to sound innocent, confused.

“It does not?”

“No. They are doomed, regardless of how much they struggle. Even if the city of Liscor holds off your army, my apprentice, Tyrion Veltras will not be stopped. He intends to take Liscor and he will take the city regardless of how many defend it.”

“Then we die. We die if we win, but we die twice over with reinforcements from Pallass.”

Reiss felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. But then it stopped. A chill entered him as his master’s energy flowed from him to Reiss, giving him strength. Reassurance, black, like midnight, ran through Reiss’ veins.

“Pay no attention to the doorway, my apprentice. It will be dealt with momentarily. Rather, consider Liscor and your fate. Do you think I would abandon you after all the time I have invested in you?”

Yes. Just like Oom. Just like the others. But Reiss didn’t say that either. He pushed the words down, daring not even to think them in his head. There was nowhere safe from his master. Nowhere but the depths of his heart, the beating soul he clung to. Still clung to. It was the one place Az’kerash could not look; his master’s heart had ceased beating long ago.

“What can we do, master?”

“Why, let the Humans play their game, my apprentice. Be the pawns in their trap. Take the city. Kill the Drakes. Slaughter the Antinium in their Hive.”

“But if we do—”

“Your Goblins will die. Yes. And Drakes will die. And the Antinium. And Tyrion will expect to sweep in and clean up the survivors. But he will not. Because on the day Liscor falls my apprentice, I will be with you. And I will raise every soul that falls. Every last one. Drake. Gnoll. Human. Goblin.”

Reiss’ heart skipped a beat in his chest.

“Master? What are you saying?”

A smile flashed across Reiss’ lips that was not his own. His lips moved and spoke another’s words.

“Exactly what I claimed. On the day you do battle, I will lend my strength to yours. I will reanimate the fallen and give you warriors to slaughter the Drakes. They will not be able to defend against that. Imagine it, my apprentice. Imagine a zombie or Ghoul or Draug rising for each of your enemies you slay. Every single one, in a city of Liscor’s size. Only the Antinium will be spared and they will fall against your hordes. With them you could hold Liscor, could you not?”

“But the Humans—”

Reiss protested, but his mind was racing. How many citizens did Liscor hold? Ten thousand? No, many more than that. A Walled City held hundreds of thousands. Did Liscor hold a hundred thousand citizens? More? A hundred thousand undead plus his army…

“Perhaps you do not think it would be enough?”

Reiss bit his lip. Yes, even with those numbers, they would have to hold shattered walls. And they would be wounded, tired after fighting an entire city even if the undead rose. But again the smile flashed across his lips.

“Yes, my apprentice. Tyrion Veltras has an army dangerous enough on its own. But I promised you I would raise every soul that fell. And that includes his warriors. And he has brought [Knights]. Adventurers. They will become lethal undead far stronger than the rest. The strength of the living is matched by the power of the undead. But if that is not enough, if you hesitate, I will offer you one more token of victory. My Chosen.”

“Them?”

This time Reiss’ heart did skip another beat. He felt it, and he felt his master’s joy.

“Yes. Not Kerash. I cannot risk him. But I will give you Bea. I will give you Venitra. Ijvani has not yet returned to me, but two are enough. Bea will bring death to the Antinium and Venitra will take Tyrion Veltras’ life. Is that not enough?”

It was. It was enough. Two of the Chosen. Reiss remembered them fighting. He had seen Venitra kill. He closed his eyes and remembered them standing over Zel Shivertail. They had not killed him, but they had come close.

Two. With two, he could—Reiss’ mind raced. Az’kerash spoke with his lips, forced his eyes open.

“So, my apprentice. Do you still fear Liscor and the plans of the Humans? Or do you see victory? Because should you take Liscor and hold it, you will have a city of your own. A place to defend. A home for your kind.”

And there it was. His dream. A shining city on a hill. Reiss’ eyes opened wide. He stared at the image in his mind. Of all places. Liscor. He imagined rebuilding the walls. With his master’s power it could be done in a day. And if he could defeat Tyrion Veltras, could it be possible that the Drakes would…? If he left some alive, if he…

“Well, my apprentice?”

Reiss stood in place, staring at the Human army. Around him Goblins milled about, staring at his back. The Goblin Lord slowly turned and they flinched from his gaze. But he was not looking at them. His eyes found a Goblin with a crimson blade, who stared at him suspiciously from the back of a huge wolf. And another—a small Goblin who wept for the Great Chieftain who had been her enemy.

“Yes, Master. I do not fear the Humans. Give me power and I will take Liscor for you.”

For him. For Goblins. Reiss heard Az’kerash laugh as if he could hear the lie. His master spoke one last time, in his head, not with his mouth.

“Then prepare, my apprentice. Prepare and grow your army. Two Chieftains must kneel and I must strengthen myself for the ordeal to come. But know that I am with you.”

And then he was gone. Reiss understood the irony of that, but he could still feel his master’s magic filling him. He clenched a fist and looked up. His blood hummed. He stared back at the Humans and then began to walk slowly. And he saw it. A vision of a city filled with Goblins. A safe haven.

Victory. One last battle. Reiss had told Osthia that he had three battles to win, long ago. Now it was one. All he had to do was take Liscor. With his master’s help it was possible. More than possible. All he had to do was gather the last two tribes to him. Reiss paused. After Tremborag’s death, it should be easy. All he had to do was convince Rags and Garen to kill them all. All he had to do was wade through the blood of the innocent. Reiss closed his eyes and touched his heart. He felt it beat, and quiver, then stop for a moment. It hurt. But it had to be done. For a dream.

One last time.

—-

“We are gathered here for one reason. To discuss Liscor and the plans of Humans and Drakes.”

The Grand Queen spoke softly. The vessel that reflected her image raised its feelers and gestured to Klbkch. It tilted the mirror and five faces flashed at Klbkch for a moment. He stood before her, next to his Queen, the Free Queen of the Antinium. They listened as the Grand Queen went on, speaking to all the Hives at once.

“A decade ago, the Hives conferred and it was decided that a Hive would be established in Liscor. To forge an alliance. To secure a foothold. To allow the Queen of the Free Antinium to conduct her…theories. Now the situation has changed. So the Hives are met in conclave here to discuss. I am the Grand Queen of the Antinium. And we see in the Goblins and schemes of Humans an opportunity for the Antinium. We see their deaths.”

She looked at the Free Queen. Klbkch could sense his Queen’s resentment, her tension. And fear, too. For despite their objections to her, contempt, fury, both Klbkch and the Queen of the Free Antinium looked on the Grand Queen and knew she spoke for the Hives. They felt her pull, even in Liscor.

“The situation in Liscor has changed. Pallass has agreed to reinforce the city, as have the other Walled Cities and lesser cities. However, they will not reach Liscor before the Humans and Goblin Lord. So the city will be besieged. My Queens, your thoughts?”

The mirror flashed. The body twitched and another presence took over. The Queens spoke, each one different, each one inhabiting the vessel before ceding control. They were five-in-one. Each time one of the Queens took over control of the body it would stiffen, then move as they willed it. Five voices, all similar, but each different in how the Queens  spoke. Each Queen unique, as were their Hives.

“Unprecedented. The opening of war.”

She sat still, her moving mandibles the only changing thing about her. The rest of her was still and silent. Watchful, waiting. The Silent Queen.

“Is it certain? Beyond doubt?”

She looked to Klbkch, as if he could answer her. The Silent Queen, weaver of bodies. She had been chiefly responsible for bringing back Galuc’s form in the Workers and Soldiers. And she had been the first to create the forms of old. The Silent Antinium, assassins camouflaged, stalking. The mirror flickered. The Grand Queen reappeared.

“We have monitored the messages sent between cities. Our Listeners have conveyed the truth and lies. It is so.”

The Grand Queen’s voice was authoritative. She sat tall, and her feelers moved slowly, decisively. It seemed as though she counted each word and weighed it, and her mandibles clicked. Counting, assessing, ever weighing odds and chance with cold logic.

“Pallass’ decision is of no consequence. The statistics show that the amount of soldiers they may transport through that door is extremely limited. Nevertheless, the door presents an unknown variable. An asset. Or hindrance. But the assault on Liscor is the primary focus.”

Her image changed. Light shone. A Queen stood amid steel as her Soldiers waited, wearing armor and bearing weapons made of metal.

“If it serves the Antinium, let the Humans fail here. With Liscor’s Hive it is surely possible to defeat both Goblins and the Humans even with compromised walls. Can the Flying Antinium not reinforce?”

The words were thoughtful, the body language direct, and faithful. The Armored Queen’s feelers moved slowly as if slowed by fatigue, but her posture was respectful, militant. She sat in the light, a bloated body ravaged by countless births.

Of all the Queens, the Armored Queen had sacrificed the most before they had rediscovered how to create Antinium without the actual eggs of Queens. Yet she had never complained, never wavered. If she had broken, it was only in her faith in the strength of the Antinium during the first war. She had turned to steel instead. Now it shone, reflecting from the mirror as she spoke.

“My Prognugator, Tersk, speaks highly of the Free Antinium’s combat potential. Between their might and that of Liscor’s own, surely the trebuchets may be destroyed before they can assault the city? And if the city is breached, the Antinium are more than a match for Goblins.”

“Revalantor Klbkch. Your analysis?”

“We have the means. Our tunnels may assault the Humans regardless of where they place their trebuchets. They are in range. Although…”

Klbkch spoke quietly. He thought of the tunnels the Antinium had dug in secret for a purpose just like this.

“Although?”

His Queen looked sharply down at Klbkch. He nodded.

“If the Humans were to place their trebuchets directly over the dungeon, our tunneling teams would be unable to directly assault them. We would be forced to burrow around the dungeon’s walls. There would be complications. But if we are prepared to sacrifice the Soldiers and Workers necessary, we could destroy the trebuchets regardless of their number. We have artifacts stockpiled. And Painted Soldiers.”

The vessel turned its head towards Klbkch and the mandibles rose in a smile. The voice that spoke began quicker, higher-pitched. Overeager.

“Ah yes, your elites. My Revalantor has told me of them. I wish to see their combat potential. As for reinforcement, the Flying Antinium are able to make the journey. But we may be spotted. If we use the farthest tunnels, my Antinium could rally in secret and arrive in Liscor in two days from there. Simply give the order and I will demonstrate their capabilities. I have many new warriors who will prove their effectiveness in battle.”

Eager. The Flying Queen’s every move hinted at an excess of energy and she twitched constantly, her words falling over themselves in their haste to get out. She was the most radical of the Queens in one sense because she pursued the most unstable and risky of designs. The Antinium had barely mastered flight in Rhir and her Antinium lacked the finesse of the old Weaver Queens.

And yet, her weakness was also a strength. Her Antinium could fly after their fashion. And the Flying Queen was tireless. Her armies could fill the skies.

“If the Grand Queen wishes it, I can have an army present at Liscor. We could break the Humans and slaughter their [Mages] and destroy their trebuchets. It would be a victory for the Antinium alone. A simple one. Ten thousand—no, five thousand of my Soldiers alone could halt the Human’s ambitions.”

“A suicide attack?”

The Armored Queen sounded disapproving. The Flying Queen looked annoyed as she flicked a feeler. The vessel raised something invisible to its mandibles as in the mirror, the Flying Queen ate from a bowl.

“A calculated loss. It would be little lost for much gain. And if the Humans attack anyways…I will send more, then. A proper army to fight and hold Liscor.”

She was about to say more, but then the mirror changed and the last Queen spoke. Her body did not move but her cracked mandibles slowly opened and closed. Her words were more halting than the Antinium’s natural staccato rhythm.

“The slaughter is. Not beneficial to the. Antinium as a. Whole. What says. The Grand Queen?”

The Twisted Queen turned her head then. Her missing eye, her broken expression, all hinted at the pain she had endured. In the First Antinium War, General Sserys had assaulted a Hive twice. First the Twisted Queen’s Hive, then the Grand Hive itself. Both times his armies had been broken by her warriors. And he had died battling one of the Centenium.

Wrymvr the Deathless. Klbkch did not see him in the mirror. That worried him. So did the Twisted Queen, at times. She alone had sent no delegation to inspect the Free Antinium. But then, that might have been for the best. The Flying Antinium, the Armored Antinium, even the Silent Antinium could be witnessed by other species and only instill fear, terror at best. But the Twisted Queen’s creations were horror manifest.

“The designs. Of. Humans are not. Important Drakes are not. Important. The only concern is. The Hives.”

“Yes. The Antinium may hold Liscor. Free Queen, what say you? Can your Hive withstand the Goblins in battle? The Humans?”

And now it came to the Free Queen. She stirred uneasily. She of all the Queens had been unmarked by her Hive. She had disagreed with them. Klbkch remembered. The Free Queen had argued against the creation of new forms, of researching more dangerous bodies for the Antinium to use. She had called for only two things: the rediscovery of how to make True Antinium and the creation of Queens.

Both ideas had been dismissed as impossibilities. The most difficult of tasks. But both achievements had been what defined the Antinium, what made them strong. For that reason Klbkch had followed her into exile in Liscor. Now the Free Queen spoke, uneasily.

“If—if my Hive throws its might against the Goblins and the Human army, I believe we could hold Liscor. At great cost. If it is the will of the Hives, we will honor our contract. My Queen?”

“Could your Hive repel the Humans even if the fighting spread into the city? How many Soldiers are present in your Hive? How many Workers? How many Painted Soldiers? Estimate their kill-to-death ratio.”

The Grand Queen’s voice was thoughtful. The Free Queen hesitated. Klbkch whispered numbers up to her and she told the Grand Queen. The Soldier and Worker counts she knew, but Klbkch had to make up the statistics involving the Painted Soldiers. Klbkch himself responded to the question about Liscor’s defense as a whole.

“If it came to a battle in the streets, Grand Queen, I fear the odds would be against the Hive. The Humans possess a strong, mobile force and [Mages] capable of wiping the Antinium out in number. Our Painted Soldiers as yet lack the ability to combat magic users without the advantage of surprise attacks.”

“A failing only my Flying Antinium has overcome. Which is why my Soldier’s presence in the city would be invaluable.”

“Or mine. My Antinium will not reach Liscor in time, but perhaps bags of holding may be sent. Armored, your Soldiers may stand a better chance against mounted Humans, Free Queen.”

“If Klbkchhezeim is to fight, my Silent Antinium should aid him. It is far, but if the Flying Antinium are willing to lend transport, I will send my quiet ones to kill [Mages] in secret.”

“A slaughter is. Inevitable regardless. Of those who join. Why ask, Grand. Queen?”

The Grand Queen spoke softly, ignoring the other voices.

“Klbkchhezeim. If the Antinium fail to defend the city, what if they assaulted the Humans from the safety of their Hive?”

Klbkch froze, as did his Queen. If they abandoned the city? He spoke carefully.

“I believe we would win, my Queen. If…if you are suggesting we cede the city, it is possible to wipe out any army above. We could collapse foundations, attack from below. It is more advantageous, but still unlikely.”

“We see. And if you defended, what then? How long could you hold?”

“Months. We have drainage systems in place to prevent flooding and the Humans would not penetrate more than our outer tunnels with bombardments. Why?”

The Free Queen spoke sharply. The Grand Queen looked at her.

“The Human Lord, Tyrion Veltras, intends to take Liscor. The odds are not in Liscor’s favor regardless of reinforcement. However, the Antinium need not waste combat potential fighting. It is my will that the Hive will abandon Liscor as soon as the walls are breached. They will close all tunnels, and hold out as the Humans occupy Liscor.”

Klbkch felt a jolt. His arms tingled. She meant to abandon Liscor? He stared at the Grand Queen as she went on.

“They will not reveal themselves until the Flying Antinium, the Silent Antinium, and the Armored Antinium have all positioned armies in proximity to Liscor via a constructed underground tunnel. Then, all four armies will retake Liscor.”

She looked around. And then the vessel jerked. The mirror flashed four times. Shock. Confusion. Excitement. Acceptance. The Queens spoke at once.

“What purpose is served by this act?”

“Have the Antinium not forged a contract? Will this betrayal be known?”

“So Liscor will become the first city of Antinium?”

“And what role will. The Twisted Antinium serve?”

“Grand Queen—my Queen.”

The Free Queen of the Antinium spoke slowly. Her emotions were in a whirl. Klbkch stood by her, trying to calm her. The Free Queen looked into the mirror at the Grand Queen. She struggled for words.

“You are—if Liscor falls, then the goals of the Free Antinium will never be realized. My Queen, without the Drakes and other species to act as stimuli, the process of creating individuals—”

“We are aware of the cost to the Free Antinium. However, we deem Liscor as a strategic asset of greater importance. Moreover, the Humans’ siege of Liscor provides a reason for the Antinium to seize a city. Thus this plan we deem as most appropriate. We have consulted with our Prognugator, Xrn, and she agrees this strategy is most sound.”

Xrn? Klbkch jerked. He couldn’t help it. All five Queens stared at the azure Antinium. Xrn, the so-called Small Queen, bowed as her eyes swirled with colors. Green and pink and blue and then a flash of white. Klbkch froze. The other Queen saw nothing but magic in Xrn’s eyes, but he had seen those colors before. She was telling him something.

“Xrn, my Prognugator. Speak.”

The Grand Queen lifted Xrn up. The Prognugator bowed.

“My Queens, I deem Liscor’s fall a chance for the Antinium to grow. Not as conquerors or invaders for once, but as heroes.”

“Heroes?”

The Free Queen stared at the blue Antinium. Xrn nodded.

“My Queen understated some of the nuances of the plan. By all means, let the Antinium hold the walls. Let them fight. A thousand. Two thousand. Six. Let them die fighting Goblins and Humans. And when Liscor falls, when the walls are breached, let them shield the frightened, the innocent. Let them hold until Liscor flees. Into the Hives.”

“Into the Hives?”

The whisper came from all the other Queens at once. Klbkch felt a thrill as he understood Xrn’s plan. She nodded.

“Yes. Let them be saved by the Antinium, sheltered. And then, in the Human’s hour of dark victory, let the Antinium rescue Liscor. Let them claim it and become the new rulers. Heroes indeed. Heroes twice to Liscor. And the new stewards of a city. Not a city ruled by Drakes and populated by Gnolls and Antinium, but a city managed by Antinium in which Gnolls and Drakes live.”

“They will never accept that. The Drakes will never allow it.”

“No?”

Xrn tilted her head. She looked at the Free Queen and then nodded.

“Perhaps you are correct, Free Queen. Perhaps the plan will fail. The citizens of Liscor may not trust the Antinium. The Drakes may not accept the Antinium’s ownership of the city. All plans fail. So I offered a counter alternative: should the people of Liscor resist, they die. Should the Drakes try to take Liscor, it will be war. The Twisted Queen and my Grand Queen will station an army in hiding. If the Drakes assault Liscor, they will attack them from behind. And the Third Antinium War will begin.”

The room was silent after Xrn had finished. Klbkch remembered to breathe. He looked at her. She glanced back and the same pattern flashed through her eyes. Thought-mischief-sadness-hope. She was lying. She did not think the plan would fail. She wanted a city for the Antinium.

A city where Individuals could be made in number. And Klbkch understood. Xrn had thought of him. Of Erin and those she had met. She had devised a plan to save them in a way the Grand Queen would accept. But she had forgotten one thing.

Klbkch was a [Guardsman]. A Senior Guardsman of Liscor. And he knew the Drakes better than she did. They would die protecting their homes. Drakes did not run. The Gnolls would too. They might retreat in the end, but they would die step by step rather than flee.

Unless they trusted the Antinium. Would they trust them enough to flee into the Hives? Would they—would Erin? Was this a betrayal or a solution? He was a Senior Guardsman of Liscor. Zevara would never run. Neither would Relc. They would die on the walls. But could they be saved? He was a Revalantor of the Hive. He was Klbkchhezeim of the Centenium. He was Klbkch the Slayer. He had to—

Klbkch stood there, paralyzed as the Queens debated. As they argued. But in the end it didn’t matter. One by one, they fell silent. The Grand Queen spoke.

“It is decided. The Hives will prepare. Workers must be sent. All five Hives will dig the tunnel as far as possible. Prepare your Soldiers. Free Queen of the Antinium. Klbkchhezeim.”

Both looked up. The Grand Queen looked at them.

“Prepare the Hive of Liscor for war.”

She vanished from the mirror. The Silent Queen was next.

“Wait, Klbkchhezeim, Free Queen. We will meet for the first time in years.”

The Armored Queen spoke briskly. Tersk was already giving orders.

“All must be done as the Grand Queen wills. My Soldiers will greet yours soon.”

The Flying Queen rubbed her feelers together, almost giddy.

“At last! Battle! War! A grand trick to play on the Humans and Drakes alike. My Hive readies itself. Prepare yours too!”

And then only the Twisted Queen was left. She looked at Klbkch, at the Free Queen and she spoke.

“It is done. Klbkch. Hezeim. Wrymvr sends. His greetings.”

Then she was gone. Klbkch stared into the mirror. He and the Grand Queen looked at each other. Neither spoke for a long moment. Then the Free Queen spoke.

“Klbkchhezeim.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

“You are a Senior Guardsman of Liscor, are you not? I know little of your titles. Of your life above. I have seen through your gaze but I do not understand. When you speak of your time above I am jealous. You have met others whom you speak highly of above. ‘Friends’.”

Klbkch lowered his head.

“I have, my Queen.”

“Could you slay them? Could you let them die? For the plan?”

The Free Queen stared at Klbkch. For a long moment the Revalantor of the Free Antinium stared at the ground. And then he looked up. His voice was cold as he opened his mandibles.

“If you ask it of me my Queen, it will be done. Simply give me the order and I will take Liscor for you.”

“Ah, Klbkch. But would it pain you?”

Klbkch tapped his chest with one finger. The sound was dull. He placed his hands on his sword and bowed.

“I am Klbkchhezeim of the Centenium before I am anything else. For the Hives, I would do anything.”

It was the answer the Free Queen sought. She nodded and turned away. Her voice grew distant as she rose.

“If it must be, Klbkchhezeim, we will take Liscor as required by the Grand Queen. Even if that means the complete eradication of Liscor’s populace.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

The two said nothing else. They stood, feeling cold and alien to the city full of warm-blooded people above. Cold. And old. And tired. Then they heard a voice. It did not come from the mirror, or the vessel which had gone limp. It came from behind them. A weak, warbling voice.

“Who were they?”

Klbkch whirled. The Free Queen exclaimed as she pulled herself over.

“Bird.”

The little Worker was trying to sit up. He was not bleeding, but he could barely move. He relaxed as the Queen lifted him with two feelers.

“Ow. I am much ow. I heard voices. Not just in my head.”

“You are alive. Are you well? Do you sense your injuries worsening?”

Bird thought about that.

“It hurts.”

“Yes.”

The Grand Queen bent over him. Her mandibles opened and closed and Klbkch sensed her anger, previously dormant, resurfacing.

“I will kill the one who did this, Bird.”

“Oh. That is good. I am not happy with them either. But I am mostly hurt. Where is my bow?”

Bird tried to look around and then flinched. Klbkch looked around. The bow was missing. The Queen fussed over Bird.

“Hold still. You are hurt. You must not move.”

“It hurts. It hurts muchly.”

“Yes. But you will live. You will stay here, Bird. You will stay and be well.”

“I am hurt. I am sad. Bad things happened to me. And to Miss Erin’s inn.”

“She—”

The wrath in the Queen’s voice was foreboding. But the next words that Bird said silenced her. They chased the thoughts of betrayal and war from Klbkch’s head for a moment.

“Am I allowed to cry? I would like to cry, please.”

Klbkch froze. The Queen froze. They stared at Bird.

“Cry?”

Bird nodded.

“I would like to. I would have but I did not know if I had permission? May I have it?”

The Free Queen looked at Klbkch, but he didn’t know what to say. She looked down at Bird, her antennae waving about wildly.

“But—the Antinium cannot cry.”

“They cannot? Then what will I do?”

Bird looked up, confused. No one could answer him. He looked from face to face and then seemed to come to a conclusion.

“I am going to cry.”

No one stopped him. Klbkch’s heart raced, though he couldn’t say why. It was impossible. The Antinium could not cry. It was completely, utterly impossible. They had not been designed to. The First Queen had not wept, though her heart had broken a thousand times. Not one of the Centenium had wept. No Antinium had wept. But then Bird opened his mouth and began to speak.

“Waah. Waaah. Waaaaaah. Waaaah. Waaah. Waah. Waaaaaah. Waah. Waaah. Waaaaaah. Waaah. Waaah…”

It was not crying in the way babies cried. It was not a reactionary sound, or a sob, or a hiccup of pain. Bird just said the word over again.

“Waah. Waaah. Waaaaaah. Wah. Waaah. Waaaah…”

It was insistent, annoying. And Bird did not stop. It sounded nothing like crying. It sounded like a mockery of it, in fact. Klbkch stared at Bird. At first he was shocked, then he was furious. He opened his mandibles to tell Bird to be silent—

And then he realized the truth. Klbkch stopped and stared at Bird. The sound was annoying. It got on the nerves. Klbkch had listened to babies wail and not been discomforted. But Bird made the sound and he reacted as he had seen Drakes and Gnolls grimace. And the sound kept going. A cry for help. An expression of pain. It was…Bird was…

Crying.

He was crying, though he had no tears to shed. Though the Antinium didn’t cry. He had learned to cry. And the sound went on and on. The Free Queen held Bird, staring at him. And then, slowly, she began to cradle him, move him back and forth.

Klbkch stared. The way the Queen held Bird was familiar. But she had not learned that from the Antinium. She had seen it in his memories, through his eyes. She cradled Bird as he cried in her chambers. She bent over him and Klbkch felt something in her emotions he had never felt before.

He shuddered and took a step back. He stared at Bird, then turned. He had to go. He had to—Klbkch fled the sound of Bird’s crying and the strange emotion. He strode back into the Hive, past the staring Garry and Soldiers. The Hive must be readied. Klbkch knew that.

But no matter how far he went he still heard the sound. It echoed through the corridors, following him. A sound of sadness and pain as Klbkch strode through the tunnels of the Hive and began to prepare for war.

—-

Headscratcher sat in his cell. He was miserable. Across from him Erin sat on the cell, telling the other Hobs a story about the time she’d thrown a snowball at a ‘car’. A Minotaur stared blankly at him from his cell, looking lost. Headscratcher tried to listen, but he couldn’t.

They had lied to the Watch. Not by words; they had barely been able to speak. But by omission. The Watch had questioned them about who had hurt Bird, about the identity of the mysterious Hob. They had told them about the beard and greatsword. Not the name.

It was one thing to hate Greydath, and Headscratcher did with all his heart. But it was another thing to tell the Drakes everything. To kill the other Goblin, to betray them. And yet, if there was a Goblin worthy of that, it was him.

Greydath. The name meant something, Headscratcher was sure. Greydath could not have been just a Hobgoblin wanderer. He had been someone before; his Skills told that if nothing else. Headscratcher clenched a fist and felt the helpless rage surging in him. He fought it down. If he went mad now he would only scare Erin. He could not break free of the cell.

But the anger wouldn’t go away. Greydath. He had done it. He had ruined everything. The Hobs were in jail. Numbtongue was the only one who was free. Bird was hurt and Erin had cried. She had wiped away the tears and now she was smiling, but every now and then her face would turn sad.

And it was all their fault. Headscratcher closed his eyes. Everything was desolation. But he knew one thing more after having fought Greydath. One valuable thing.

One thing. He clung to that fact. None of the Hobs had said it, but they had all realized it.

Badarrow had hurt Greydath. With an arrow. It hadn’t even been shot from his bow; the Hob had just stabbed him with it. That meant Greydath had no Skills to enhance his skin. He was just…fast. Skilled beyond belief. But his injury meant he could be hurt even by an ordinary sword.

He could die. Headscratcher remembered that, because he would not forgive Greydath. But then he looked up and saw Erin looking at him and his guilt burned him again.

“Sorry.”

He said it again. Erin paused and her smile wavered. She stopped telling her story and sat closer to the bars.

“Hey. What happened to Bird wasn’t your fault, right?”

“Was.”

Headscratcher shook his head. he couldn’t explain. Erin stared at him.

“Did you hurt Bird?”

“No.”

“Did the Goblin who hurt Bird do it because you told him to?”

“No!”

“Did you let him hurt Bird?”

“Tried—”

Headscratcher shook his head. Erin nodded.

“Then it’s not your fault. You tried. He was just…a jerk.”

“But—”

“It’s not your fault what other people do, Headscratcher. It’s not your fault what they do. Only what you do.”

Headscratcher’s eyes stung. Not just because Erin had told him it wasn’t his fault. Not only because he was relieved. He had feared she would blame him. Not only because he wished he could rip open his chest to show her how sorry he was. No, for one other reason.

It’s not your fault for what other people do. She called Goblins people. Headscratcher wiped his eyes, then looked up at Erin. She stared at him, trying to smile.

“We have to go. Can’t stay. Bad things coming. Goblin Lord.”

Erin’s smile vanished. Headscratcher fought with the words Numbtongue had begun teaching him. He wanted to talk to Erin.

“If stay…Drakes mad. We know. Must go. Should—should have—”

“Should have gone already.”

Shorthilt spoke from his cell. Erin looked at him, and then Headscratcher. She shook her head.

“You’re in jail. You can’t go anywhere, guys.”

The Hobs looked at her. Erin’s tremulous smile vanished.

“Sorry. Bad joke.”

She sat there with them in silence. Headscratcher wiped his eyes. At last, Erin spoke.

“It’s all happening so fast.”

No one replied. The Hobs looked down. The Minotaur stared at Erin from his cell. Erin looked at the stone floor. Her voice was quiet. Perhaps the entire prison was listening to her. Perhaps they were alone in the world.

“It’s all happening. And I want it not to. I want time to stop. I want to be here—even here, forever. I don’t want to know what happens next. Why can’t things stay the same? Forever?”

She looked up. And there were tears in her eyes. Headscratcher wiped his arm across his face. Badarrow turned his head away. Shorthilt and Rabbiteater scrubbed at their eyes.

“At least tonight…at least one more day.”

One more day. They were in jail, separated in cells that smelled a bit like pee, on hard stone. But they were here. Erin, the Goblins. Headscratcher had never been happier in his life. Never sadder. He looked up and through watery eyes, saw a Minotaur close his and sink to the ground.

For one more day, they sat together. Human, Goblins, and the Minotaur.

Waiting, waiting. Waiting for everything to change.

—-

The Necromancer finished plotting and his apprentice thought of death. The Queens departed and their Hives began to stir. Erin Solstice sat with four Hobs and they and she said everything they wanted to say. And Olesm sat in the City Hall, at his office’s desk, pouring over plans.

He had not rested, though the hour was late. Pallassian troops had begun moving slowly through the door to Liscor, though the cost in mana to the [Mages] was painfully high, even with the door staying in Erin’s inn to soak up the ambient magical power. But they were coming.

And Olesm had plans. He’d consulted with Zevara, begun preparing Liscor for the attack, discussed how to blockade the streets with Ilvriss, even checked the sewers for the possibilities of collapsing them or laying traps. He had a thousand and ten things to do, but tonight he was looking at a book.

Reports, actually. Old ones. Olesm had demanded them from Pallass and they had been sent. Now he read them feverishly. They were concise, written after the fact in brief by a Drake not used to lengthy reports. The actual content of the reports was short, but so many people had added addendums and other details and insights that it was like reading a book. But Olesm read each and every word, trying to memorize as much as possible.

The account he was reading was of a siege. Of a city that had fallen to an invading army. Only, it hadn’t been Humans who’d taken the city. It had been Antinium. They’d overrun the city in hours, but the Drakes had retreated. Into a dungeon of all places. And they had held there for months.

The Drake who had written the report did not glamorize what had happened. He wrote frankly and unassumingly, at odds with the glorified notes of all those who had chimed in. He had signed the reports simply.

“Zel Shivertail. [Lieutenant].”

Olesm whispered the words. He looked at the report and then a map of Liscor’s dungeon. His claws traced the parchment and he thought long and hard about what might happen if—if.

There were so many things to keep track of. Olesm’s head hurt. He lowered his head on the desk and fell asleep, though he’d only meant to rest for a second. He had worked so hard. After the last Pallassian [Soldier] had come through for the day he’d tried to extract the door to Liscor, but he couldn’t get Lyonette to budge, and the Horns, the Halfseekers, Griffon Hunt and the Silver Swords were all there. So Olesm had given up. Gold-ranks were better than regular guards, anyways.

But he hadn’t entrusted it to just them. A dozen of Embria’s [Soldiers] and a [Captain] were standing watch in the inn, as were a group of [Guardsmen]. Sentries on Liscor’s walls were watching the Wandering Inn and no one was allowed in or out, magic door or otherwise. Olesm had left nothing to chance. He’d done everything right, in short. Even Relc was there, grumbling about a lack of free drinks and looking more alert than usual.

No one would be able to get in or out. Unless they had been waiting inside the inn all night, waiting for this moment. Embria’s [Soldiers] were standing by the windows, not speaking and glancing with irritation at Relc as he talked with the other members of the City Watch. One of the [Soldiers] began to yawn and caught himself. The [Captain] on duty turned to shout at the [Soldier]—

And all the Drakes toppled to the ground. Relc looked around wildly. He got to his feet unsteadily and growled.

“Aw, hell—”

He toppled over before he could grab the potion at his belt pouch. The inn went silent. Not a creature stirred, not even Apista. And then a figure popped open the trap door to Erin’s basement. He stumbled out, grumbling about dead Raskghar corpses and walked over to the magic door, staff in hand. He bent to fumble with the mana stones in the bowl and stopped as someone else stepped out from the shadows where he had been perfectly hidden.

Typhenous slowly turned around. The old [Mage]’s beard caught the light glowing from the tip of his staff. He turned and locked eyes with a smiling [Magician] who held a wand in his hand.

“Ah. I thought I might be running into someone else.”

“A neat spell. I was impressed that you got even the big Drake. May I ask what spell it was? Some kind of empowered [Sleep] spell?”

Eltistiman walked forwards, wand held casually in one hand. Typhenous smiled and tugged his beard as he turned, putting his back to the door.

“Not [Sleep]. A higher-Tier variation on the spell that involves a living vector. [Mites of Slumber]. A fine spell to use on the unwary. Even Gold-rank adventurers are not unsusceptible to its effects. Although I imagine Halrac might have noticed even in his sleep.”

Eltistiman nodded.

“Few prepare against actual living creatures as vectors. I imagine the soporific effect is only partially magical and partially a magically-induced sickness?”

Typhenous looked surprised.

“Exactly. It’s a pleasure to meet a fellow mage of the craft, aside from young Pisces and Falene, who are quite insufferable. Ceria and Moore are far more pleasant company, although they’re hardly avid students. Merely practitioners.”

“It is a fine line between mages who study theory and simply cast spells without understanding the full effects.”

Eltistiman nodded, smiling. He regarded Relc’s sleeping form.

“I’m impressed you got the Drake, again. The mites must have labored hard to get into his skin.”

Typhenous smiled.

“I didn’t bother with that. I just had him eat some with his food.”

“As one would expect of the Plague Mage, Typhenous.”

Eltistiman nodded politely and Typhenous tipped his own chin. The two stared at each other. Typhenous sighed and glanced back at the door behind him.

“I don’t suppose we’ve come here for the same reason?”

Eltistiman smiled ruefully. He stood casually, his wand pointed at the ground. But the light tone and relaxed posture were betrayed by his watchful eyes. Typhenous leaned on his staff, eying Eltistiman.

“I’m afraid not. You see, my client would prefer that door stay here. She sent me here to make sure that it did, and to aid Liscor in any small way I could. Oh, and also to investigate these ‘plays’ she’s heard about. She’s quite taken with the idea.”

“I can well imagine. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me who hired you?”

The [Magician] waved a finger.

“Ah, you know the rules. Let’s just say a [Lady] with a fine taste in horticulture hired me.”

Typhenous raised his eyebrows.

“Indeed? That is quite the important employer. Myself, I was hired by the Smiling Man.”

Eltistiman’s lips quirked.

“Oh, him? Well, I can’t imagine he was pleased by today’s events. Still, he’d be quite pleased if you completed your mission. Which you will not, by the way. Cast a spell and I will kill you. Throw your staff down, sir.”

Typhenous eyed Eltistiman. The [Magician] hadn’t even raised his wand. For a second the air hummed, and then Typhenous sighed. He slowly lowered his staff. He tossed it to the ground. Eltistiman, who’d tensed, nodded.

“Thank you, sir. And now, move to the side and retrieve a pair of cuffs from that Gnoll there. The one with the stripes on her ears. She has a pair of cuffs for magic users.”

“Well thought out, aren’t you?”

Typhenous grumbled as he slowly walked over, deliberately not making any sudden moves. Eltistiman was still watching him. He slowly bent and searched for the cuffs. Eltistiman nodded.

“It does pay to be prepared and I had an inkling my opponent was you. Those in the business, you know.”

“Yes, yes.”

“What I can’t understand was why you would do this. Surely you owe the charming young lady who owns this inn more than betrayal.”

Typhenous looked up sharply. He stared coldly up at Eltistiman.

“I owe Erin Solstice a great deal, young man. And I do not forget my debts.”

The [Magician] frowned. He lifted his wand warily, but Typhenous made no move.

“Why, then?”

The old Gold-rank adventurer sighed. He bent and looked around the Gnoll’s waists and finally found the cuffs.

“Simple. For money and the favors I am owed for doing this, of course. I owe Erin Solstice a great deal, but I owe my team more. You know why?”

“Naturally.”

“Just so.”

Typhenous untangled the cuffs. He smiled at Eltistiman.

“I caused a great deal of trouble for my team. And they didn’t abandon me. I owe them a lot. This will be my last team, I think. And I’d like to repay them. And—one more thing.”

“What’s that? Put the cuffs on, by the way. I’m not falling for a trick if you fake putting them on or throw them at me.”

The old [Mage] sighed as he opened the cuffs.

“Perish the thought. The reason is that if I failed, the Smiling Man and…others would not stop with just me. You know that. They’d send [Assassins] next.”

“True. But my employer has a way with [Assassins]. As do I.”

“I suppose so. You wouldn’t care to let me go, by any chance?”

Eltistiman raised his wand for the first time.

“Not a chance. Cuffs on, now.”

He stared at Typhenous. The [Mage] put one hand through the cuffs, but Eltistiman was on alert now. Typhenous was moving slowly. Something was up. But he could blast Typhenous in a second. The [Magician]’s eyes flicked around the room. The basement? No. Typhenous? It would be suicide unless he had a ring that could block a spell. Was it the staircase? The door?

And then Eltistiman glanced towards the magic door. It was sitting against the wall, energy depleted after a day of use. It was closed obviously, and Pallass’ yellow mana stone had been taken off. But another mana stone had replaced it. A green, glowing gem. Eltistiman stared at it. And then he noticed that the door was open a crack—

Eltistiman whirled too late. The door blew open and a man rushed through. Fast. He leapt across the room, Eltistiman’s wand raised, but the man knocked him to the ground and his spell went wide. The dark-clothed man had a cudgel in hand. Eltistiman turned his wand, aiming for his chest—

The man with the cudgel swung into his ribs and then broke the [Magician]’s fingers on his wand with a series of precise strikes. The [Mage] jerked, but he still tried to cast the spell. Quick as a flash, the cudgel danced a rhythm on his head. the [Magician]’s head jerked and he went still.

“Oh dear. I don’t suppose he’s dead. Is he?”

Typhenous tossed the cuffs to the ground. The [Thug] carefully felt at Eltistiman’s pulse and then laid the [Magician] down. He walked back over to the door, rapped twice on it, then bent to pick up Typhenous’ staff and handed it to the [Mage].

“Here, sir. Don’t worry about the wand fellow. He’ll wake up with more lumps than I’d care to think on, but a healing potion will do him right up.”

“Thank you.”

Typhenous accepted the staff and leaned on it. The man with the cudgel looked back to the door as it opened. Three more men slipped in, all wearing dark leather armor concealed by dark cloth. The thing about these men was that despite the fact that all were [Thugs], they were quite snappily dressed. Dark cloth and leather didn’t have to look bad, and these four stood straight and nodded to each other as they stepped into the inn.

They didn’t even bother with masks; instead each wore a ring that would make anyone who saw their faces forget it in moments after seeing them. Besides the man with the cudgel, the other three carried a billy club, a swordbreaker dagger and a sap, and a pair of brass knuckles. No edged weapons of any kinds except for the dagger, and it wouldn’t be covered in blood if the men had anything to say about it. They nodded to Typhenous and the man with the cudgel cleared his throat.

“The Brothers of Serendipitous Meetings present their regards, sir. Saw you had a spot of bother there and was choosing my moment.”

“I noticed. Thank you, sir. And who do we have here?”

The door had opened and five shapes had slipped into the room, almost unnoticed. Almost, since Typhenous had been looking for them. One of the masked women turned towards him as the others spread out, bows and daggers in hand.

“We are the Sisters of Chell. You know why we are here.”

“I do indeed.”

The Brothers clustered around the door as the Sisters inspected the slumbering Drakes and Gnolls. The man with the cudgel looked at Typhenous.

“This is the target, sir?”

“Yes. And the mana stones. Here.”

Typhenous pointed to the bowl. The men eyed them and then one of them pulled out a disguised bag of holding as small as two fingers. He whisked the stones into the sack.

“Do we have details on how they work? For the client.”

“The green stone leads to Celum. Blue to Liscor. Yellow for Pallass…there’s a red stone in there as well, but I wouldn’t activate that.”

“Why not?”

Typhenous smiled.

“It leads to a cave full of Goblins. They’re quite friendly to the owner of this inn.”

“Goblins? Now I know I’ve gone mad.”

The [Thug] shook his head and twirled his cudgel. He looked sharply at Typhenous.

“Very well. What are our obstacles?”

He didn’t waste time. One of the Sisters of Chell came over as Typhenous described what he’d seen and heard.

“You’ll encounter sentries watching the inn. They’re armed with bows, but I doubt Liscor has many of its [Mages] on the walls. They’re exhausted from casting [Message] spells all day. The waters are placid and draining—you may run your boat aground on some of the larger hills. Watch out for Rock Crabs and other fish species.”

“Lovely. And pursuit?”

“If it comes, it will be by boat. There is a Courier in the city, but he doesn’t engage in combat from what I’ve heard. And there is a Gold-rank Garuda—”

One of the Sisters mumbled a curse, and a Brother gave her a reproving glance. Typhenous went on smoothly.

“—but she should be locked in the prison. Oh, and there are several hundred Goblins camped in a cave along the northern road, but none of them are Hobs.”

“Well, that’s a relief. We’ll see what occurs as it may. Goblins, you said? Not a problem, sir, even by the hundreds. We’ve expertise in dealing with Goblin Tribes. Now, you said you had a boat? Enough for all of us or must we swim? I apologize that we didn’t inform you of the numbers, but we had no idea this was going down tonight until word came in.”

The [Thug] looked apologetic. The Sisters rolled their eyes, but said nothing. Typhenous nodded politely. Each underworld organization had its quirks, and it had to be said that the Brothers of Serendipitous Meetings had built a reputation on being, well, polite.

The Brothers of Serendipitous Meetings and the Sisters of Chell weren’t the biggest of the underworld groups that worked out of the various cities of Izril, but the two largest local players in the region by far, certainly. And they’d clearly brought some of their veteran members for this job.

“It was a trick and a half bringing together enough of the fellows for this job. And no one warned us there’d be another group sharing our case.”

The [Thug] looked mildly reproachful as he gestured at the Sisters.

“Not my fault. You know how these things go.”

Typhenous raised his hands. The man with the cudgel nodded. He spotted one of the Sisters bending over a Drake, furtively rummaging around for valuables. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly as another reached for Eltistiman’s wand.

“Please, ladies. Have some class.”

The Sisters of Chell gave him a look that promised blood, but they reluctantly abandoned the goods. Two of the men wrestled the door from the wall and began to move to the actual door to the inn. Typhenous and the cudgel wielder were finishing their business. A bag of holding passed hands and Typhenous checked the money. He smiled at the glint of gold and other items.

“There’s more in the drop off point, but this is our part. Big E sends his regards.”

The [Thug] touched a finger to his head. Typhenous frowned for the first time. The man noticed.

“What?”

“You are aware there is an [Emperor] in Izril, now, aren’t you? I assume you’re referring to our mutual client, but I feel I should check.”

The [Thug] wavered. He glanced at his companions, then he moved forwards and whispered to Typhenous for a second. At last he nodded.

“What? Really? Okay, fine. Yeah, it’s Erill. One of his, quote unquote, secret intermediaries gave us the job. Not any newcomer.”

He seemed annoyed by the lapse in professionalism and adjusted his clothes as he stepped back. The leader of the Sisters of Chell leaned forwards and hissed.

“Lady Spellcraft gave us our job. I take it there’s no questions of her identity?”

“None, Ma’am.”

Typhenous nodded. He looked at the [Thug].

“I do apologize. It’s just that you never know…”

The man nodded.

“We’ll bear it in mind for future jobs. Now, about that boat…we will need it. The report indicated we’d be travelling via boat until we clear Liscor’s lakes.”

“Outside. Several of them, in fact. The adventurers tie them up. Take which ever you wish. And once you reach the shore, I take it you have ample transportation?”

The [Thug] froze. He turned back to Typhenous and scowled, for the first time visibly upset.

“It’s covered. You know better than to ask questions.”

“I apologize.”

Chastened, Typhenous looked down. The Brothers shifted. One of them glanced ahead.

“All set?”

“We are clear for now. Go at your ready.”

The Sisters tensed by the door. The [Thug] took his position next to the two men holding the magic door, nodded, and then thrust open the door. The men and women shot out of the inn like a flash. Typhenous heard nothing until, nearly thirty seconds later, someone blew a horn from the top of Liscor’s walls.

“Ah, and there we go.”

Typhenous sighed. He walked over and closed the door, then walked over to Eltistiman. He began tugging the [Magician] towards the basement. With any luck, no one would check for him and the [Magician] would get away. He did have a rather nice concealment spell. Typhenous wasn’t worried about reprisals; he had done his job and so had Eltistiman. That was how it worked, although Typhenous would have to be careful if they ever ran up against each other again. The young man was quick.

—-

Two boats skimmed across the water as Liscor went into full-alert for the umpteenth time that month. People on the walls fired arrows, but by the time more arrived and the enchantments on the wall were ready to be activated, both boats were long out of range. The Brothers of Serendipitous Greetings and the Sisters of Chell moved fast; their Skills made the boats fly across the water. Only when they were well out of range did they slow and take a stealthier tack.

The rain had abandoned Liscor, which was a pity since that would have covered their trail perfectly, but the clouds were still lingering and so the rogues moved in shadows. They were headed north, and a fast wagon was waiting to take them even further still once they hit land.

None of the men or women talked. They were professionals. They kept an eye to the waters and to Liscor in case of pursuit—and an eye ahead for good measure. They were reaching land when they heard a strange sound.

“Hold up. You hear that?”

The [Thug] with the cudgel raised a hand. He turned around in his boat, seeking the strange melody that was playing across the waters. The Sisters instantly raised their bows. The sound was coming from ahead of them. Warily, both boats moved closer to shore. It would be easier to fight on the ground if it was a fight they were up against. If it was a [Shepherd] of some kind, well, they’d be unconscious faster than they could blink. Or dead if the Sisters got to them first.

Nothing moved as the boat with the Brothers drew to shore. The man with the cudgel leapt out. His skin crawled, though the ground and mountains ahead of him were dark and unmoving. It all looked like one solid mass at a distance, which was odd since the [Thug] did have a weak [Cat Eye] skill that allowed him to make out most things in the dark.

No movement, though. The [Thug] frowned and twirled his cudgel, hearing his three companions leap to shore as the Sisters paddled to get to ground as well. He saw a lot of strange shapes on the ground ahead, and wished his night vision Skill was stronger. He took a wary step forwards. Was that dark green shape on the rocks mov—

The distant song ended abruptly. The men froze in place. They stood back-to-back as the Sisters paddled closer. They were better at night-time scouting. One of the Sisters looked ahead and made a strangled noise.

“What is that? What is—”

Three notes sang on a guitar. The sky opened. A bolt of lightning shot down. The [Thug] turned, his mouth opening in a scream. The boat with the Sisters exploded, throwing the Brothers of Serendipitous Meetings forwards.

The man with the cudgel’s ears rang as he tried to get up. He scrambled to his feet and heard only ringing for a second. But he saw the arrows flying down. He blocked one with his cudgel then threw himself sideways. If it hadn’t been for his [Flawless Dodge] Skill, he would have been killed. Two of his friends went down, clawing at the arrows that pierced them from head to toe.

“Pilif! Pilif!”

The man with the cudgel looked around. He heard a strangled sound and saw his friend with the dagger and sap staggering forwards. He had an arrow in one leg, but he’d survived. The man pointed ahead.

“They’re coming!”

Who? The [Thug] whirled. The ground seemed to explode around him. Dark, small shapes lunged at him, nearly invisible despite his Skill. Then they opened their eyes. Red light shone as they howled and attacked.

Goblins. The cudgel spun in the man’s grip as he deflected swords and daggers and a spear meant for him. Sweat rolled down the [Thug]’s face as he danced among the Goblins, parrying blows, knocking Goblins down with strikes. The Goblins were quick. And they were everywhere! They were just Goblins, but they fought better than most Bronze-ranks. They swarmed around him and the [Thug] spun. His cudgel flashed and he walked out of a pile of Goblins, shaking.

“Pilif?”

He looked around for his friend. Goblins were running, retreating back. The man with the cudgel saw a limp shape. Pilif hadn’t done so well against the Goblins. He lay on the ground, bleeding from a dozen wounds.

“Dead gods.”

And then the man with the cudgel looked forwards and saw. Really saw for the first time. The mountainside and pass ahead was dark. He’d mistaken the uniformity of it all for some strange trick of the light, but that wasn’t the case. It really was uniform.

They sat or stood on the sloping ground that formed the base of the mountains flanking the northern road. On rocks, on the cliffs that soon became nearly unclimbable and hinted at the treacherous heights far above. They filled every available spot, silent, virtually invisible.

Until they opened their eyes.

Crimson light shone down on the last Brother of Serendipitous Meetings as the clouds parted, as if mocking him by revealing what he hadn’t seen before. The [Thug] backed up slowly, then stopped. What was the point of running? He adjusted his grip on his cudgel and shook his head, casting a glance back towards the inn he’d left.

“That’s certainly not a few hundred Goblins, you damn mage.”

The Goblins waited in silence as the [Thug] walked forwards slowly. None of them moved, but then a taller shape stood. A guitar sang like thunder and a tall Hob leapt to the ground from the rock where he’d been playing. Moonlight glinted off the base of his guitar and the broken manacles on each hand. The [Thug] stopped and saluted him with the cudgel.

“Ah, the song player. Kind of you to fetch us a tune, though I don’t care for the way things worked out. I don’t suppose you take bribes?”

The Hob didn’t move. His eyes regarded the thug and he took a stance. With his guitar. The Brother of Serendipitous Meetings eyed it, but decided it would be rude to comment. He sighed as he looked back at his friends and the smoldering wreckage of the other boat. He looked back at the Hob and smiled ruefully.

“A pity. If the Gentlemen Callers had taken this case, things wouldn’t have ended up like this. A true pity.”

He began to hum as he strode back to the bodies. He’d forgotten something. Completely ungentlemanly of him. A final courtesy. The Goblins let him go as the Hob slowly advanced.  The [Thug] sang a little song under his breath. It was an old song, and the words were a child’s nursery tune. But the lyrics were known to all who walked the shadows of Izril.

“The good folk are rising, and we’re off to our beds.

The smart thieves away with the loot and the slow ones are dead.”

He stopped and bent over Pilif and turned the man over. He closed his friend’s eyes, then did the same for his other two companions. He straightened, and nodded to the Hobgoblin who’d paused a dozen or so feet away.

“Thank you for waiting, sir. It was a kindness.”

“Good song.”

Numbtongue nodded. The [Thug] saluted him with his cudgel and smiled. Like a gentleman, but there was an edge to the smile that could cut.

“Well then sir, shall we get on with it?”

He and Numbtongue stared at each other. Then they charged. The Cave Goblins watched for a few minutes. Then they stood and walked forwards.

Numbtongue wiped blood off the base of his guitar and checked himself. His ribs were cracked and he was bleeding from his jaw. He may have lost a tooth. He looked down and sighed. Then he walked over to the boats. He stopped and blinked at what lay in the undamaged one.

“Door.”

Erin’s magic door lay there, propped up next to the oars. Numbtongue stared at it, then he looked at Liscor, ablaze with light. He wondered what had happened. Then he looked at the Cave Goblins.

They stared at him. Thousands upon thousands. And more waited. All looking at him. Numbtongue stared at the city in the distance. His friends were there. Prisoners. His brothers. And Erin was in trouble too, probably. But they had to go. The Goblin Lord was coming. Bird was hurt. Maybe dead.

They couldn’t stay. He knew that. Greydath had told them. But what if—Numbtongue closed his eyes. What if they wanted to stay? They were so happy here. If they could…

Numbtongue looked over his shoulder. He began to count Cave Goblins, counting the ones here and the ones below. Adding them up. Wondering if maybe, maybe…

He looked back at the city. He looked at the door. Numbtongue sat down as blood ran into the waters. Liscor was in uproar, and the world held its breath. And somewhere, he was certain, the old Goblin was laughing.

—-

Typhenous knew the hired teams were dead. Or rather, he was counting on it. There were a lot of Goblins, and Numbtongue had escaped after all. And while the thugs might have been confident they could dissuade a Goblin tribe from going after them, the Cave Goblins and Numbtongue would surely recognize the door.

“A little betrayal.”

He stood over Eltistiman in the basement. The unconscious [Magician] was groaning, probably from all the broken bones. Typhenous shook his head and turned. Time to go, before this inn was flooded with people. He walked back to the ladder and began to climb it.

“And so, you have a way out, Miss Solstice. If it should come to the worst.”

Typhenous grunted as he climbed out of the basement and closed the trap door. Thus he repaid his debt, twisted though it might be. She would have a way to run before the end. He walked forwards and studied the empty wall where the magic door had been. Then he reached in his pocket for something.

“I should probably leave this behind, hm? Yes, best to dispose of the evidence.”

The glowing yellow fragments of the mana stone lay in his palm. That was the irony in it; in a room full of [Rogues] and [Thugs] and other disreputable classes, no one had noticed him palming the mana stone attuned to Pallass.

After all, his clients would be furious that the door had been recovered, but they’d only paid Typhenous to ensure no more reinforcements reached Liscor. The [Mage] tossed the fragments of the mana stone on the floor and walked to the door, muttering to himself and casting a concealment spell.

“Hired by Lord Veltras to ensure that no aid comes to Liscor. Hired by Pallassian [Senators] to do the same. And contracted by a third party of unknown origin to ensure that the door remains inoperable.”

He shook his head. It was a good time to have loose morals. But as he opened the door and walked across the surface of the water and Drakes thundered across the bridge to the inn, he had to think that it was all so silly. Everyone was looking at Tyrion Veltras, or the Drakes, or so on. But what everyone forgot was that there was always one rule to plans that you should believe in.

“Nothing ever happens the way you expect.”

Interlude – Krshia

Krshia Silverfang knew as she woke up that something was not right in Liscor. She could feel it, as if her city had a pulse around her. And it was her city. She had lived in it for ten years and made it her home. From wandering the plains as most Gnolls did in tribes, she had come to this place of stone and metal to be a City Gnoll, a term used sometimes with pity or disdain. Or confusion. But then again, the Gnolls of the city didn’t see it that way. And Krshia had not abandoned her tribe to come here.

Her city. Krshia frowned as she rolled out of her bed, tossing off the thin sheets that were barely necessary given the fur covering her body. Her sense of Liscor wasn’t just intuition. She could hear four times better than a Human or Drake and it was too quiet in the morning.

Normally there would be sound as people rose in the streets, even at the early hour. Conversation floating through Krshia’s windows, the sound of [Guardsmen] chattering on patrol, or at the very least, the sound of children who didn’t dread the mornings like grumpy adults. But today? Nothing.

No, barely something. Krshia heard footsteps and low voices. Someone was walking past her apartment. Krshia sniffed—it was a Drake, male, moving quickly. And she caught a whiff that told her a pair of Gnolls, father and son, were walking down the street somewhere else. People were up. But they were quiet. Nervous. She could smell that.

Krshia knew why. It was the news of the Goblin Lord. And the Humans. It felt like the Goblins had been on the tip of everyone’s tongues for months now, but the threat had fallen from everyone’s minds as the Goblins passed by Liscor and became a Human issue. Now?

He was coming. Krshia sat on her bed and shivered, her hair standing up. They were coming. The Humans were pushing the Goblins towards Liscor and the city would be under siege in a matter of days. Everyone knew it. Worse, something had happened during the night. Something bad.

Near midnight yesterday, Krshia had woken up. She’d heard an alarm was sound on Liscor’s walls, and listened carefully to what they told her. Four short blasts of a horn, a warning that told everyone that there was danger spotted. It had woken Krshia from her sleep obviously; you didn’t sleep through an alarm like that. Maybe some Drakes living in the center of the city could, but a Gnoll would have to be a particularly deep sleeper to miss that sound in the night.

Krshia rubbed her face as she recalled sitting with bow and arrows in her room, debating whether it was wise to go out and find what was going on. They hadn’t blown the urgent notes that warned of an attack. So she and the anxious citizens had waited until they heard an all-clear blown not an hour later. Then they’d gone to sleep.

“But what happened? Was it just a false alarm or something deeper? That is the question, yes?”

The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] wearily shook her head. She’d have to find out. That was a first priority for the day. Well, that and eating. So she got up, resenting how her bones creaked and she felt tired. What had happened to the young female Gnoll who could roll out of bed after four hours and go hunting with her tribe?

“She rolled out of bed into a patch of nettles too many times.”

Grumbling, Krshia walked out of her bedroom and into the living room. She lived in a modest apartment, located in a nice, Gnoll-filled street. But hardly large enough for more than her and perhaps a guest. Krshia had no partner and so she had chosen this small place. It was a nice one despite having only four rooms. Bedroom, bathroom, living room, and kitchen.

The living room was by far the largest as Krshia often had guests over. She had two couches, a nice sitting table, and various rugs, a few stools, a table with a few Gnollish decorations—pots, a tapestry on the wall, and an old hunting bow—and a pile of bandages sitting in a bucket. Krshia stopped when she saw them, as she did every time. She stared at the bandages and rubbed at her eyes.

“I should put them away.”

She should. They didn’t belong there. But Krshia didn’t. She looked at the bandages and sniffed. There was almost no trace of him in the room, but from the couch she caught the faintest scent. Nostalgia, bitter memory. Regret. Krshia caught the scent of her deceased nephew, Brunkr, for just a moment. Then it was gone. She stared at the bandages and shook her head.

“Nephew. Ah, what will I say to your mother when I see her again?”

The bandages didn’t respond. Krshia looked at them and then went into her small kitchen. And she knew the bandages and bucket would stay another day.

This is how Krshia the Gnoll started her day. She rattled a tea kettle and found it still had water in it. Like all citizens of Liscor not wealthy enough to magically procure their water, Krshia kept a small supply of water in her home for cooking, washing, and drinking and had to refill it at a well every day. Or, if it was the rainy season, stick a bucket out the window and wait for ten seconds.

But the rain had stopped. And it had stopped for good; Krshia couldn’t smell as much humidity in the air. Normally she would be relieved, but the entire reason the Humans were coming here was because the rain was stopping—

“No. Stop worrying, Krshia. You can worry later, but breakfast comes first.”

Krshia tapped her head firmly with one paw. She was no good without food in her. Or tea. She bent over her stove, adding charcoal and kindling. Krshia nearly went for her flint and steel when she recalled the little box of matches. Octavia’s match sparked to life in a moment and Krshia grinned as she stared at the little flame. She tossed it into her stove and it was soon burning merrily.

In minutes, the water was hot and Krshia poured herself a cup and found one of the reusable, dried up balls of herbs and spices that made the strong Gnoll tea she liked so much. She dipped it into her mug, watching the steam rise up and blinking a few times, still not quite awake.

Some days she wished she had something stronger than tea. Coffee had yet to be discovered in her world, if it even existed, but in their infrequent talks about Erin’s home, the young woman had told Krshia about the stuff. Somehow, knowing there was a drink that would magically wake Krshia up (without actually having any magic in it), was worse than living a life in ignorance of it.

“I must ask her about this coffee soon. She said it is grown from beans. Can we grow such beans in Liscor? Where might they be found? It would sell very well, I think. Better than alchemical goods.”

Stamina potions and wake-up tonics did work, but they exacted a different sort of toll on the body than caffeine. And it was a costly and foolish thing to become reliant on them. So Krshia sipped her tea and began to make breakfast. That was even quicker; she got out a jar filled with a thick pork paste made of rendered fat and pork, spices, milk, and onions. It was known as silkap, a traditional dish from Gnoll tribes.

It was a Gnollish favorite and Krshia’s go-to when she was in a hurry for breakfast. The mixture kept for a long time and it went well with most things. In this case, some sliced bread which Krshia warmed over the stove for a few seconds. The Gnoll smiled as she looked at the thick loaf of rye bread. It had risen well and it smelled delicious. The [Baker] she’d bought it from had several Skills that made his bread wonderful.

The only bread Krshia had seen that was as good was the stuff Erin had made—it seemed to rise like magic despite the young woman not having nearly as many Skills. And she hadn’t told Krshia how she’d done it. Yet.

“Lovely bread. Jeicle did good work. And he sold it to me cheap, yes? I should buy from him more often now that I can get better bread for less.”

Krshia thought of that as she found a knife to spread the pork paste with. Her new Skills. Her new class, come to that! She was now a [Royal Shopkeeper]. Her. Krshia. Thanks to Lyonette, she might have been the first Gnoll in history to have such a class. And it wasn’t just a title to be proud about either.

As a [Royal Shopkeeper], she now had access to new Skills that no one else in Liscor would have. For now, Krshia had only two of them: [Imperial Appraiser], a Skill which had replaced her [Quality Scent] Skill, and [Silvertouched Wares], which she had earned only a few days ago when she’d leveled up.

It was an incredible amount of levels and Skills to gain in such a short amount of time, especially at Krshia’s age. Krshia hadn’t leveled in her [Shopkeeper] class for over a year. Then her shop had exploded and she’d been practically destitute. After that…well, she’d struggled, and her levels had risen accordingly.

“New classes and starting over are keys to leveling, hrm? It is good, though I would prefer not to have lost all my coin and the spellbooks for a few levels.”

Still, Krshia had to admit that the new Skills made a huge difference. With her new ability to tell almost instantly what flaws or hidden traits most mundane objects had, she could buy only the best for her shop. But it was [Silvertouched Wares] that really made a difference. Krshia had wondered what the Skill did until she realized that every time she bought something, she seemed to get more than what she’d ordered, or better quality.

It was as if Krshia had a single silver coin’s worth more money to spend on buying…anything.

Thicker cuts of meat. Higher quality nails in bulk shipments. One less bruise on a piece of fruit, or a garlic bulb plumper than the rest. On every deal. The silver coin’s bonus was applied to every transaction Krshia handled, each time, without her having to activate the Skill.

One silver coin wasn’t a lot. But it added up with how much Krshia bought and sold each day. It probably wasn’t even one silver coin’s worth, honestly. Maybe it was only a few copper coins to make her goods that much better. But it was an advantage and in the duels of [Shopkeepers] and [Merchants], it was a powerful Skill. And unheard of!

A [Merchant] with [Expert Bartering] could leave you penniless…but it was still possible to just refuse to deal with them if you knew they had that Skill, or get something out of a deal if you had your wits about you. But this? This was unavoidable, a passive markup on everything Krshia made.

She loved it. Krshia hummed as she spread the thick pork paste on a piece of fresh bread and took a bite. Her mouth was filled with flavor, sharp and strong from the paste and a warm, chewy goodness from the bread. Knowing she’d gotten the bread for cheap just added an additional bit of zest to her meal.

That was how Krshia liked her breakfast. Rich, filling, and meaty. The Gnoll woman had three more big slices of bread, with as much silkap on it as she could fit onto each slice. She had two cups of water, and then she was done with breakfast and feeling a lot more ready for the day.

Gnolls didn’t believe in eating salads for breakfast. It was more than just a cultural thing. While Humans and half-Elves and…Centaurs all ate more plant-based diets, Gnolls and Drakes both ate a lot more meat than their Humans counterparts. They had to. Their ancestors had lived exclusively on meat diets and while both species had adapted over millennia to eat grains and fruits and so on, too much of that wasn’t good for them. They needed meat, hence the emphasis on herding and fishing around Liscor.

It was always a race to stock up Liscor’s food stores. In the spring when [Shepherds] had to pen up their flocks on the hilltops or go north or south and when [Farmers] were raising a new group of animals for slaughter, fishing provided Liscor’s needs. The [Fishers] would haul in prodigious amounts of lake food, a good portion of which would be stored and preserved via spell or salt to last Liscor for months. By then, herd animals would supplement the food needs of Liscor, but if a bad season hit at any time of the year, meat became a lot more expensive.

Krshia had lived through some bad years when all most Gnoll families could afford was a bit of meat to go with potatoes or grain. It wasn’t good for them, or for Drakes. She’d seen too many of her people get bloated and tired from grain or plant-only diets, but that was what happened when you lived in a city that could get cut off from the world like Liscor. It was a trading hub, but the rains dictated when the trading occurred and the goods that flowed from Humans to Drake lands weren’t usually bulk shipments of produce. Liscor could be rich in goods, but poor in foodstuffs.

Erin’s magic door would change all that. Now Liscor could import goods if it had to. Yes, the Merchant’s Guild didn’t like it and Liscor had agreed ‘not to’, as had Erin. But come the first hunger pangs from lack of meat and Krshia was sure things would change.

“Of course, we send soldiers through the door now, and that was what many worried about, wasn’t it? If her door becomes a tool of war, will Erin be seen as taking sides? How long until someone claims the door from her? Or will Liscor not give it back?”

Krshia frowned as she put on her clothes over her breast band and loincloth. She knew Pallassian soldiers had been marching into Liscor yesterday; she’d seen the yellow armor and it was the talk of the city. How many more would come through today? And what had the alarm in the night been about?

Another day, another crisis. Before Krshia went to her shop to set up, she had to know what had passed in the night. Yesterday had been tense. News of the attack on Liscor had spread like wildfire. At first the Watch had tried to contain the news, but too many [Guardsmen] had spoken of it and when the [Messaged] spells had begun flying across the continent…

Krshia left her apartment, leaving the door unlocked. She had no fear it would be burgled—she looked up to a neighboring apartment and nodded slightly. She saw a shape in the windows nod back. Her neighbor, an old Gnoll [Weaver] was watching her apartment, as were the other Gnolls in the area.

No [Thief] would get close to her apartment without being spotted and if they tried to break in, well, if the Watch didn’t get there in time they would be out of luck. Miss Zailky was old, but she could still point and shoot the crossbow she owned and her aim was better than Krshia’s.

Reassured her home and the magic book Ryoka had given her was safe, Krshia began her day by sniffing the air and trying to remember where she’d find her first informant. She had to know what had passed on the walls last night and she very much doubted Watch Captain Zevara would answer her if she strode in and demanded to know what had happened. The same with Olesm, Wall Lord Ilvriss or the new Wing Commander Embria. Krshia was an ordinary citizen to them, for all she was important among Liscor’s Gnolls. She wasn’t Erin.

But she did have access to information. Krshia headed towards the western gates, where she knew [Guardswomen] would be stationed. The gates were closed, obviously, to keep the water from flooding the city, but someone had to be stationed there regardless. Drakes loved their little rules. And as luck would have it, Krshia saw a furry head in a helmet. Perfect. If a Drake had been on duty she’d have to have gone to the other three gates, or find someone on patrol.

“Tkrn.”

The Gnoll on duty jumped guiltily. He’d been leaning on his spear and very obviously trying to take a nap. He whirled, ears flattening along his head and tail drooping, probably afraid a Senior Guardswoman or Zevara was about to chew him out. He saw it was Krshia and groaned.

“Oh, Aunt. I’m uh, on duty, so I cannot talk. If you want to chat, I’m sure I could talk later, after duty—”

“What happened last night, Tkrn? What were the horns about?”

Krshia did not beat about the bush. She folded her arms and stared at Tkrn. He was young and had grown up in Liscor. He whined unhappily as he shifted his grip on his spear.

“Aunt Krshia, Watch Captain Zevara threatened to suspend any [Guardsman] who talks, and she’s my superior—”

He yelped and flinched as Krshia grabbed one of his ears between her fingers.

“And I am your aunt, yes? Speak up! What happened, Tkrn? Tell me quickly, and with no exaggerations?”

The Gnoll winced and looked around, but eventually whispered quickly to Krshia.

“Someone stole the door in Erin’s inn in the middle of the night!”

“What?”

Krshia let go of Tkrn and recoiled in shock. Someone had taken the door? Tkrn went on hurriedly.

“It was recovered though! The Watch sent our pursuers and we thought they would be too late, even with Relc. But then we found the bodies. Humans, [Rogues] most like, were slaughtered on the road north. By Goblins. And the door was left behind! We have recovered it and put it in the inn again, but—Aunt, the thieves broke the connection to Pallass.”

“Explain.”

Tkrn glanced over Krshia’s shoulder and lowered his voice further so that only the Gnolls could hear.

“I do not know exactly how it works, but I heard Olesm talking to Zevara. They found a—a broken mana stone. It is this small thing that—”

“I know what it is. What did Olesm say?”

“He said—without the mana stone, Pallass cannot send reinforcements directly. They will march an army north, but it will most likely not get here before the Humans and Goblins.”

Tkrn’s ears went flat. Krshia felt a jolt of fear run through her heart. She looked at Tkrn. The Gnoll stared at her, his tail lowered in fear and then turned and pretended to be watching the gate. Krshia stepped away from him and tried to keep her own tail from doing the same.

They’d broken the door’s connection to Pallass? And someone—the Humans, no doubt—had tried to make off with the door itself! They’d failed, but without a link to Pallass—that was bad. Beyond bad, in fact.

“What will happen next, Aunt? Olesm and Zevara are at the inn, but they are worried. What will Liscor do now?”

Tkrn whispered with his back to Krshia. She didn’t know. She looked around, shaking her head.

“I—I will go to the inn and see what they say. But I must open my shop, first. People will be hungry and need goods as with every other day. But—I will not work for too long. I will go to the inn after an hour, and speak with Lyonette and get Mrsha. I have business with her. Then, I think, we must call a meeting.”

Tkrn looked over his shoulder at Krshia.

“Oh. The curs—”

“Not cursed!”

Krshia glared at Tkrn, forgetting her fear for a second. The Gnoll flinched.

“But Aunt, the others said—”

She slapped him on the back of the head. Tkrn yelped.

“Do you listen to what other people say instead of thinking all the time, Tkrn, you fool, you? I am telling you that she is not cursed, and not a bringer of doom or woe. She is a young child. Nothing more. If I hear you repeat such nonsense again—”

The Gnoll [Guardsman] yelped and tried to shield himself as Krshia harangued him for a minute, then watched as she turned and strode away. He shook his head and watched Krshia striding away. She looked unafraid, but Tkrn wasn’t reassured. He had smelled the fear on her just as he had on Olesm and Zevara. And yes, he had orders not to reveal what he’d seen, but he’d talked to Krshia, hadn’t he? He was sure news was already spreading throughout the city.

So was Krshia. She strode towards Market Street, her thoughts in a whirl. Cursed child. Raskghar. Liscor’s dungeon. Goblin Lord. And now the Human army. It was all so much to deal with. She got to the familiar street full of street vendors and her small stall. It was already set up, the goods packed and waiting to be put on display.

The hour was still early, so the night [Guardswoman], a Drake, was just finishing her shift and being replaced. Normally Market Street would be filled with [Shopkeepers] and [Vendors] setting up and customers already stopping by, but the place was practically deserted, of both shopkeepers and customers. People were hearing the word about what had happened and staying indoors.

Still, that didn’t mean she had to follow suit. Krshia opened her stall, sweeping it clean and then placing some goods on the counter, adjusting one of her displays, checking her sign, and waited. She did not have to wait long. The first customers who came down the street were habitual early risers, people desperate for one good or another, or busybodies. Krshia knew them all and called out to them.

“Miss Ossi, good morning! Care to shop? I will only be open for an hour this morning, so if you have any orders, place them now, yes? Mister Vallissil, do you need a healing potion for that cut on your arm? I have a new shipment from Celum! A Stitchworks classic!”

Hers was the only loud voice on the entire street. Drakes and Gnolls came over, checking out Krshia’s goods, greeting her warily, asking her about prices and the news. Especially the news. Krshia spoke as she exchanged goods for coin or wrote down orders to be fulfilled later.

“Miss Krshia, did you hear about what happened? I woke up with the horns, but I thought it was nothing. But I heard that something happened to the magic door. You know, the one in the crazy Human girl’s inn? The Wandering Inn?”

“I heard the same things. But the door is back, or so I hear.”

The Drake with a cut on his arm shivered as he paid for a weak healing potion.

“Not in one piece. It was damaged by Human saboteurs. The connection to Pallass is gone. All the soldiers are cut off and we’re alone.”

The other customers muttered uneasily. One of them, a Drake with a purse and speckled blue and yellow scales, looked nervous. She glanced over her shoulder as her tail lashed the ground.

“Maybe it’s time to go. My husband has been talking about it. We’ve lived here for sixteen years and the Antinium were one thing. You hardly notice them—well, up till now, and it was reassuring having them here sometimes. But this? Krshia, this is war.”

“It may be. But leaving the city now is premature, yes?”

Krshia raised her eyebrows disbelievingly while her heart sank. The Drake shook her head.

“You think so? The Goblins and Humans are days away at best! I thought we could go through to Pallass if something went wrong or they’d send a huge army through the door, but now—if we’re going it has to be right when the waters fall.”

“You don’t mean leave, Miss Ossi. Not Liscor!”

Vallissil turned to the other Drake, looking stunned. The Drake woman turned her head away.

“I don’t want to abandon the city. But I’ve heard people saying that there’s no way Liscor will be able to hold out against two armies. And that was before the connection to Pallass vanished. I have a newborn daughter and a son. I…this isn’t like the Necromancer. The army’s not here—most of them—and they have trebuchets.”

“That’s just a rumor—”

“It’s a fact! My husband heard from his friend that our [Strategist] was talking about it.”

“Who? Olesm Swifttail? He’s young! He doesn’t know—”

The male Drake cut off as another Drake woman leaned around him.

“Does your family have any plans? How’ll you go south?”

Ossi hesitated.

“We don’t know. We’d have to hire a wagon and cross the Floodplains, but all that mud…”

“It would be safer in numbers. If a lot of us went—not saying we would, but if we were going, it would be tomorrow or the day after, right? The waters are lowering.”

“You can’t be serious! Liscor won’t fall—”

“In that case, why did Olesm call for help? Did you hear? He strode into Pallass and demanded reinforcements!”

“So they’re coming.”

“In time?”

“Leaving with my family would mean abandoning our business and home. But if it’s that or dying when the Goblins breach the walls—”

“Trebuchets—”

“That damn Human, Tyrion Veltras and his lot—”

Krshia listened to the babble of voices as she did business mechanically, then just leaned on her counter and listened to people talk. Her heart sank further. This was the first time she’d heard this kind of discussion. Leaving Liscor? The people were truly frightened to think of such a thing.

But no wonder. This situation was unprecedented in scale. Monsters were a fact of life. Undead attacks, the dungeon appearing…all that was something you lived with. But war? Enemy armies? When those threatened, that was when you did start counting your coins and looking to the gates. It wasn’t treachery and it wasn’t cowardice. It was just that people didn’t want to die.

“Honored Krshia.”

One of her customers, a Gnoll, muttered under his breath as the discussion became a hypothetical ‘what if’ about fleeing from Liscor and where they’d all go. Krshia glanced up and saw an older male Gnoll looking at her. He muttered under his breath as he inspected a set of writing quills.

“Honored Beilmark has requested us to call a meeting with all the representatives. She says the news is urgent.”

Krshia nodded. She leaned forwards and under the pretext of showing the Gnoll her quills, spoke quietly.

“Does she know anything more than this?”

“She knows numbers and details. The other representatives have agreed. Honored Elirr has volunteered his home for the meeting.”

“I will go.”

The Gnoll nodded. He would spread the word further and tell others.

“We will meet at Elirr’s shop then, at midday. It is time for it too; many families are discussing fleeing the city tomorrow when the waters lower. Just discussing, and not seriously, but if we must come to a decision…”

He glanced over his shoulder. The Drakes were standing and talking. They weren’t committed. They were finding every reason not to go. Wyvern attacks, having to pass through the Blood Fields which would be waking up, leaving everything behind…but they were talking about it. Krshia nodded.

“I will be there. But I go to The Wandering Inn now. To hear what may be heard. And to pick up the Mrsha child, yes?”

“Now?”

The Gnoll raised his eyebrows. Krshia shrugged.

“Her abilities must be seen and discussed. It is not as pressing as this attack, but I have not had the opportunity to find out what she knows until today. If Honored Elirr is willing, please send him to meet us. It will not take more than an hour, and he knows…”

She trailed off meaningfully. The Gnoll nodded.

“I will pass the word on. Also—how much for these quills? I need new ones.”

“Take them. I’m closing shop. Dear customers! Make any final purchase, because I am closing, and I do not know if I will reopen my shop today, yes?”

Krshia raised her voice. She closed six more hurried purchases and packed her coins away in her belt pouch before sweeping her goods back into their bins and locking them. Krshia took one more look around Market Street before she left. A few more [Shopkeepers] were open, but they were hardly doing business.

They were talking with their customers and looked as worried as anyone else. Krshia shook her head and hurried down the street. Not towards her apartment, but to the eastern gate. Up to the battlements, and, after speaking with a [Guardsman] on duty, down one of the ladders and onto a bridge leading eastern and north. To an inn on a hill.

No rain fell on Krshia as she walked across the bridge and stared down at the hills and valleys submerged in muddy water. The rains had stopped and the water level was lowering. It was almost six feet lower now, so the bridge to Erin’s inn was in fact, an actual bridge now rather than one that rested just above the waterline. Already Krshia could see mud and bits of grass dotting the hills where the water level had receded.

“Almost enough to walk on, yes? Almost. But slippery and foul-smelling. Not good for Gnolls.”

She shook her head, imagining getting that much mud out of her fur. In a day, perhaps less, the water level would be low enough for everyone to move about the Floodplains, albeit in the mud. The water would stay in the valleys for much longer, but in most places it would drain into the earth.

Krshia didn’t know why it was so quick, but she had heard rumors that the earth under Liscor was porous, and thus allowed great quantities of water to be sucked down the earth to…somewhere. Where did the water go? And did the Antinium have anything to do with how fast it drained?

It didn’t matter. Right now it was possible to move from hilltop to hilltop if you had to. Since Krshia did not have to and since she didn’t relish slipping by accident and falling into the water where large fish were still plentiful, she walked across the bridge to The Wandering Inn.

The inn was already crowded when Krshia arrived, and very few of the people inside were guests. A few adventuring teams were sitting at the table, but the inn was mainly occupied with the City Watch and Liscor’s soldiers. They were standing about, some eating, but most looking wary.

Or ashamed. Krshia caught a strong whiff of that from a [Captain] and his [Soldiers] who were being chewed out by Wing Commander Embria in one corner of the inn. But her attention went instantly to the magic door, or where it usually was.

It was there still. Only it looked like it had been moved slightly from where it had been. A group of Gnolls and Drakes stood in front of it with three [Mages], all from Liscor’s Mage’s guild, arguing with Pisces and Typhenous.

Watch Commander Zevara and Olesm were standing around the restored door, looking grim. Krshia took a seat at a table and listened. There were a lot of conversations to filter out, but she could hear interesting snippets from all sides.

“—thick-headed idiots! How did you not resist a [Sleep] spell? How did you miss the [Mage] who cast it? I should tie rocks to all of your tails and toss you into the lake for the Rock Crabs to eat! Give me one reason why I shouldn’t stab you all to death for failing to guard—”

Embria was managing to shout at her soldiers without actually raising her voice that loud.

“—won’t work. You think it’s simply as easy as restoring a mana stone? If you are able to cast [Restore], please, be my guest. Oh, and while we are on the subject, are you proficient in restoring unique magical signatures as well? Because if the magical coordinates are not perfectly aligned, I would not step through that doorway and expect to live. But by all means, inform me why there is a ‘chance’ of restoring this connection.”

Pisces sneered at the red-faced Drake [Mage] as he pointed to the magic door and a broken yellow mana stone whose shards were lying on the ground in front of the door. Typhenous was stroking his beard, muttering.

“I’m afraid I have to agree with Pisces, as objectionable as he may have phrased it. I simply cannot think of a way to restore the connection safely. Not without sending a Runner to form another link. Oh dear, and Hawk won’t reach Pallass in time, will he? But maybe—no, no—”

“This was a Human action. They came through Celum. But someone had to let them through and put the inn to sleep. Who?”

Krshia’s head turned. There. Zevara and Olesm were talking. The Watch Captain’s claws were balled into fists as she stared at the door. Olesm shifted from foot to foot, his blue scales ghostly pale.

“I don’t know, Watch Captain. It could have been someone hiding in this inn, or someone who crept around it at night—the spell was high-level because it got Relc and Embria’s soldiers. It could have been an infiltrator—”

“—or a traitor.”

“Or that. But there’s no way of knowing.”

Zevara ground her teeth together.

“Could it have been the Goblins? We found the dead Humans just outside that cave where they’re supposed to be lurking. And our patrol saw them watching us. If they caused this—”

“None of the Hobs knows magic, Zevara. And they didn’t steal the door. They stopped the thieves from getting away.”

“They could still have been collaborating—”

Olesm shook his head and his tone grew firmer.

“They let us have it. If they wanted to keep it, I think they could have hidden it quite easily. They’re not the criminals here, Watch Captain. I’ll stake my tail on it.”

The two Drakes stared at each other. Zevara slowly nodded. She turned to the door.

“They’re not going to be able to fix this, are they?”

“No. Pisces doesn’t think so and I’d agree with his assessment, rude though it may be.”

“Ancestors. What do we do now? Can Pallass get an army here past the Blood Fields in time?”

“They’ll try, and the other cities are sending soldiers too. But I think that they’ll get here too late. The siege will have started before any large force can arrive. If they have Skills, maybe—”

“Can we hold the walls with what we have?”

“Maybe. If the Antinium fight and they have as many Soldiers and Workers as we think they do—with Pallass’ reinforcements and Embria’s forces—maybe—maybe—”

Olesm looked nervous. He smelled of fear. Krshia’s heart began to beat faster. She looked at Olesm and Zevara as the Watch Captain turned away, grabbing at the spines on the back of her head until she realized people were watching her and lowered her claws. She raised her voice as Krshia turned back to her table, pretending to be waving for a drink.

“Fine! Wing Commander Embria, we don’t have a tactical advantage here anymore. This door…is now a liability. We’ll hire Hawk to get to Pallass if he can, but if he refuses—I want a guard on this door and no one goes through to Celum. Get that mana stone and destroy it. Or we’ll confiscate it.”

“What?”

The adventurers looked up. One of them, Krshia thought her name was Revi, stood up. The Gnoll saw the teams sitting together—the Horns of Hammerad, the Silver Swords, Griffon Hunt, and the Halfseekers, but she wasn’t as firm on the names as she’d like. The Stitch-Woman frowned and tugged at the strings sewn into her neck.

“Hold on, you can’t do that. We need to use that door.”

“Why?”

Zevara turned, impatient. Revi hesitated.

“Well…we want to use that door. To go to Celum.”

“For what? You can get whatever you need in Liscor. This is a crisis, Human—I mean, adventurers. There’s already been one sabotage attempt on Liscor from Celum. I don’t intend for there to be a second.”

“Yeah, but—”

Revi looked back at the other adventurers and hesitated. They exchanged a glance. Krshia saw Halrac gritting his teeth and glancing at Jelaqua and Ylawes, both of whom looked grim. Ceria was sitting back in her seat, staring up at the ceiling. At last, Jelaqua stood up. She gave the room a weak grin with her Drake body.

“Hey, I know this isn’t the best time and I don’t know how to say this…but we’re leaving.”

“What?”

Olesm nearly dropped the green mana stone he was holding. Zevara turned.

“You are joking.”

“We’re not.”

Halrac got to his feet, looking unhappy. So did Ylawes. The [Knight] rubbed at his chin and didn’t look directly at Olesm or Zevara. Ceria remained seated, but she refused to look at Olesm and Zevara as well.

“It’s not an easy decision. But we’re going to leave Liscor today.”

“Why?”

Olesm stared at Ceria. Jelaqua’s tail waved back and forth on the floorboards uneasily.

“Look, it’s not personal. We like Liscor and you lot. But this is serious. Two armies coming down on Liscor? We can’t be part of that fighting. We’re willing to kill monsters, but we don’t take sides in a war. Especially not a Human and Drake war.”

“This isn’t a war!”

Zevara snapped at Jelaqua. She pointed out the window at the city.

“Neither the Drakes nor the Humans have declared war formally! The Humans are driving a Goblin force towards Liscor. If they attack—”

“Then it’s war. Yeah, sorry, but we don’t want to be right after the fact. We know what’s happening. And so do you.”

The Selphid met Zevara’s gaze. The Watch Captain gritted her teeth. She looked at Olesm and Embria, clearly searching for help, but both Drakes looked uncertain. Zevara turned back to Jelaqua and snapped, but Krshia heard the quiver in her voice.

“Drake law demands that adventurers support a city in times of crisis. I could conscript you—”

“Not to fight against our people. And this isn’t a war, Watch Captain.”

Ylawes spoke up for the first time. He looked haunted as he turned and faced the room.

“It is not a just…I cannot understand the reasoning for it, but I have learned that my father, Yitton Byres, is marching with Tyrion Veltras. Our house has sent a large force with him. I cannot stay here. Nor can the other teams. We are going. I am sorry, but this is our decision.”

All eyes turned to Halrac. The [Veteran Scout] just nodded. He looked at Zevara.

“It’s a war. Sorry, but I won’t shoot soldiers.”

And that was that. Three Gold-rank teams stood in the inn. Krshia could see Olesm paling, visibly calculating what the loss of three teams would mean. Zevara just looked from face to face. She gazed at Ceria, but the half-Elf didn’t look up.

“And the Horns of Hammerad?”

“We need to talk to Erin. But uh, we’re not keen on staying either.”

Ceria mumbled into the table. Krshia saw one of the adventurers sitting around her move and saw Ksmvr staring at his captain. Zevara looked around. She seemed lost for a second. Then her brows snapped together.

“Fine. If that’s your decision, I can’t argue against it.”

The adventurers relaxed. Zevara gave them a smile that was all teeth and no goodwill and then turned. She to Olesm.

“Take the mana stone.”

“Wait, you can’t do that—”

Revi burst out. Zevara whirled.

“I can’t? Guardsmen! Soldiers! Escort Strategist Olesm back to the city and place the mana stone to Celum in our armory. Wing Commander Embria, place your best men on watch there. No one goes in or out of Celum by my order. We’re confiscating the mana stone for the security of Liscor. If you want to go north, you can walk. And you’d better walk fast before you run into the Goblin Lord’s army.”

She locked eyes with the Gold-rank captains. Jelaqua, Halrac, and Ylawes stared as Olesm grabbed the mana stone and backed towards the door. Krshia hunkered down in her seat. Was there going to be a fight?

There wasn’t. The tension in the inn grew more taut, but the adventurers weren’t willing to risk a fight. Olesm edged to the door, remembered there was a magic one behind him, and then fled through that. The Watch followed after him, as did Embria’s soldiers. Krshia slowly let out a breath. She saw the adventurers turn to each other as Zevara strode out the door.

“Moth eggs!”

Revi slammed her hands on the table. Halrac grunted and Ylawes sat back down slowly. Falene, the half-Elf who smelled of floral perfumes, looked around.

“Well. That went poorly. What should we do now?”

Jelaqua ran a claw down the back of her head.

“We’ll go on foot, then. Or…Gazer’s tits, I don’t know! Go south instead? It’s been years since we worked in Drake lands.”

“We can’t go south.”

Ylawes and Halrac looked up. Jelaqua eyed them.

“Why not? You’re adventurers, and it beats trying to outrun the Goblin Lord, right?”

Both Humans opened their mouths and didn’t know what to say. Jelaqua shook her head.

“Dead gods, we shouldn’t have brought it up! We should have just gone without telling them—do you think we can go north anyways? What if we hired that Hawk guy to carry another mana stone to Celum and just teleport there? Or if we sent one person on horseback—”

The adventurers turned to each other and began to argue loudly. Krshia sat back in her chair.

“Worse and worse.”

She shook her head. Now the adventurers were fleeing the city. It was as if they thought Liscor would fall for certain. But wasn’t there a chance? Wasn’t there a reason to stay? Maybe not for them, but surely—

“Krshia?”

A voice made Krshia sit up. She saw Lyonette hurrying over to her. The [Barmaid] was wiping her hands on a cloth. She smiled apologetically, but like Zevara’s smile, it was a facial expression rather than an indication of any happiness.

“Lyonette. Greetings.”

“Hello Krshia, I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, but we’re really busy. Erin was arrested and they haven’t let her out of jail yet. I’ve been managing everything myself and trying to cook—can I get you anything?”

Krshia looked around. Aside from Drassi, there were no other staff. Or guests. The adventurers were eating and drinking, but the news of the impending siege of Liscor had cleared Erin’s inn just as thoroughly as the Raskghar attacks had.

“I am fine Lyonette, and I did not mind waiting, yes? I only came here to see if Mrsha would like to join me for a day. As we spoke about last time, remember?”

Lyonette hesitated.

“Mrsha? Oh, yes. That would be—I have a mountain of dishes from all the soldiers and Ishkr’s not in. But an entire day?”

“Or a few hours. Mrsha should have lessons and it would be good to get her out of the inn, yes?”

Lyonette nodded uncertainly and looked over her shoulder. Krshia saw Mrsha was sitting on the ground. The Gnoll had been playing in a corner of the inn while the adults talked. She’d been playing with her ball and trying to get Apista to roll it back to little avail. She looked bored.

“It—it would help. Mrsha’s been cooped up and I can’t take her to Celum. But Liscor—”

“She would be safe as a house, in my house, yes? If we go out, she will only help me with my stall. She will not be alone, I promise.”

Krshia smoothly reassured Lyonette. The young woman bit her lip, but then one of the adventurers—Revi—called for more alcohol as their debate grew fiercer. That decided her.

“I need to go. Yes, please. And thank you! We’re going to have more guests, so if you could bring Mrsha back by dinner—if that’s not too much to ask? Mrsha, honey, would you like to go with Krshia?”

The Gnoll looked up at the sound of her name. She looked at Krshia, thought, and then nodded eagerly. The Gnoll smiled and stood up. Lyonette fussed over Mrsha as the Gnoll leapt over and Apista buzzed off to do more productive things—like fan her wings in front of the fire in the kitchen.

“You do exactly what Krshia says, Mrsha. And don’t go anywhere! I’ll see you tonight. You don’t have to go. Only if you’re sure. You’re sure?”

Mrsha nodded. She padded around Krshia, sniffing the old Gnoll. Krshia wondered when Mrsha would stop walking on all fours. But then, she was young. She bent and rubbed her face against Mrsha’s cheeks.

“I will be fine. Little Mrsha and I will go to my apartment first, I think. And then perhaps Elirr will join us. It will be productive, yes, Mrsha?”

The Gnoll nodded. Lyonette hesitated again. Then Revi shouted her name. The [Barmaid] turned, scowled, and bent to hug Mrsha.

“Okay. You have fun. I’ll see you soon! Yes, Revi, I see you! I’m coming!”

She hurried off. Mrsha and Krshia stood together for a second as Lyonette rushed over to the bar, and then the two exchanged knowing glances. Mrsha narrowed her eyes and Krshia nodded. She bent and whispered so only Mrsha could hear.

“It is time, child. You and I—and Elirr—have much to discuss.”

Mrsha nodded, somewhat warily. Krshia nodded and they walked for the door to Liscor. They all had much to discuss. The Gnolls of Liscor had to decide what they were going to do. But for now magic came first.

—-

Mrsha and Krshia walked through the streets of Liscor in silence. One, because Mrsha couldn’t talk and two, because what Krshia wanted to say was too important to risk being overheard. They made a beeline for Krshia’s apartment. The Gnoll woman was relieved to finally be alone with Mrsha at last, or rather, free of Lyonette.

Today was the first day she’d managed to convince Lyonette to allow Mrsha to go with her alone. The young [Barmaid] had refused to let Mrsha out of her sight since she had been rescued from the dungeon. No wonder, and it spoke to how much Lyonette cared, but it had made Krshia nearly tear her fur out in frustration.

“We will talk there. With snacks. There is much to discuss after the dungeon. Much…we did not get a chance to say. I know of most of it from Elirr, but I would see it myself.”

Krshia spoke quietly to Mrsha as they turned down a street. She saw the Gnoll cub look up apprehensively.

“You are not in trouble, Mrsha.”

That reassured Mrsha, but only slightly. She padded along as Krshia kept them to the right hand side of the street. Not that there was much foot traffic. People were talking to each other, and Krshia kept hearing the same snatches of conversation.

Siege. Pallass. Reinforcements. Magic door. Leaving. Humans. Goblins. The same words stood out time and time again. Krshia knew she should be focused on that, but the others had to gather. At midday they would discuss the issue. Until then—

Krshia sniffed the air at the same time as Mrsha. They turned their heads and saw a male Gnoll with dark fur and black stripes walking towards them. Elirr nodded and bared his teeth in a Gnoll’s smile.

“Krshia, Mrsha child. It is good to see you, yes?”

“Elirr. Thank you for coming.”

Krshia smiled and politely smelled Elirr as he did the same to her. Mrsha padded around Elirr and he bent to rub cheeks.

“I got your message. We are gathering soon, yes? To discuss the situation with Goblins.”

Krshia nodded. Her smile faded. She began to walk with Elirr as Mrsha walked ahead of them, sighing and listening to the adults talk.

“I opened my shop for a bit to get the pulse of the city. It is not good, no? Everyone knows about the door. And they fear the Goblins and Humans will take Liscor.”

“It is a reasonable fear, no? Two armies…and trebuchets. I have even heard of some talking of fleeing Liscor and moving south.”

“As have I. I do not think it is wise, though. To abandon everything…”

“But if the alternative is death—”

Mrsha looked back up at Elirr and Krshia in alarm. The two adults fell silent guiltily. Krshia cleared her throat.

“It is not set in stone. Beilmark called the meeting. She will know the odds. Let us wait until then, yes?”

Elirr nodded.

“Agreed. We should be focused on young Mrsha. It has been too long since we saw each other. And it is good to see you well, yes, Mrsha?”

He smiled down at Mrsha. She smiled up at them, but Krshia saw more than happiness run through the two Gnolls. They had both been prisoners of the Raskghar. What they had seen—Krshia had heard some of it from the survivors. But only some. Even the oldest Gnolls hadn’t been able to talk fully about the ritual.

So much for a child. Krshia bowed her head. Then they came to her apartment. Both Gnolls followed Mrsha as she bounded up the steps. The white Gnoll leapt into Krshia’s apartment and jumped onto a couch, happy to run about.

“Can I offer you tea?”

Elirr shook his head as he took a seat opposite Mrsha. Krshia nodded and went into the kitchen for some dried crackers and silkap, because it would have been completely rude not to offer something to eat. She set it on the table and Mrsha reached for a cracker at once.

“Ah, do not eat too much, Mrsha. There will be more snacks later.”

The little Gnoll gave Krshia a look that clearly said that later was not now, and why shouldn’t she eat as much as possible? But she reluctantly took only one cracker and spread the rich paste on top. She munched as Elirr and Krshia did the same. Politeness done, Elirr looked at Krshia.

“I thought you would have young Mrsha here at once given what we discovered. Why the delay?”

He spoke politely, but without the deference that Tkrn would have offered her. In terms of unofficial hierarchy, Elirr and Krshia were close to the same level. Krshia ducked her head by way of apology.

“I tried, but Lyonette, she was very stubborn and refused to let Mrsha out of her sight.”

Elirr nodded.

“Understandable. It is good Mrsha has a protector. Well then. Mrsha.”

The Gnoll guiltily froze in the process of reaching for a second cracker. Elirr and Krshia looked at her. Both adults hesitated. They didn’t really know how to begin.

“Mrsha, we wished to speak to you alone. Between Gnolls. About the dungeon. About what happened there.”

The Gnoll’s eyes went wide. Instantly she began to quiver. Krshia rushed to reassure her.

“We do not want to make you remember. It is what Elirr saw, about your magic, Mrsha. About the fact that you…can cast magic. Spells.”

Mrsha stopped trembling. She looked at Krshia and Elirr and then looked guilty. And, like a child, she tried to hide it.

“We know you can cast magic, Mrsha. With a wand.”

The Gnoll squirmed in her chair. Elirr shot an amused glance at Krshia.

“We saw, you, Mrsha. I did. You are not in trouble—”

“Hmf. Although you are in some if what I suspect is true.”

Krshia folded her arms. Elirr growled under his breath and kicked Krshia gently under the table. Mrsha pretended to be interested in her cracker.

“Mrsha. Can you do magic?”

Reluctantly, the Gnoll looked up. She nodded once. Krshia held her breath. Elirr just nodded.

“You learned it, didn’t you?”

Another nod. Mrsha shot a quick glance towards Krshia’s bedroom. Elirr grinned.

“From her book?”

Mrsha avoided looking directly at Krshia. She nodded very slowly. Krshia scowled. She opened her mouth but received another kick.

“Could you show us? If it is possible?”

The little Gnoll looked up at Elirr. He smiled reassuringly at her and Krshia tried to wipe the scowl off her face. She wanted to see. Mrsha hesitated, but then nodded her head. She leapt from the couch, and began to pluck at her side. Both Elirr and Krshia frowned until Mrsha undid a bit of string and pulled a wand out of her fur!

“Where was that?”

Krshia was astonished. Mrsha had hidden a wand along her side! She’d tied it to her with a length of string, and her thick fur had completely camouflaged the wand! The Gnoll waved it proudly in the air. Krshia gaped and then frowned.

“Wait. That wand smells of Pisces. And I recall Erin telling me you often played with it. Is this wand you have taken, you little thief?”

Mrsha’s eyes went round and she shook her head slowly. Krshia folded her arms and again received a kick in her leg. This time she kicked Elirr back.

“If you are stealing—”

“Come, Krshia, let her show you first!”

Elirr growled, rubbing at his stomach where Krshia had kicked him. He waved a paw at Mrsha who looked expectantly at him. The Gnoll stared up at Krshia, then nodded. She pointed her wand at the floorboards in front of her.

“Wait, what is she doing to my fl—”

Too late. Mrsha jerked the wand up as if she was raising something and greenery burst from between the floorboards. Krshia leapt back with an exclamation and Elirr laughed with delight. Green grass, bright and vibrant, grew between the floorboards, rising upwards, until it formed a bed between the cracks. Krshia stared, dumbstruck at the grass which Mrsha leapt over. The Gnoll cub batted a stalk, then plucked it and held it up. Krshia slowly took the bit of grass and sniffed it.

Grass. It smelled odd. Magical. The scents of Mrsha and Krshia’s floor stuck to it, but no dirt, no earthy loam. It had been conjured out of nowhere.

“Magic.”

Elirr breathed the words, his eyes shining. Krshia just stared. Magic. A Gnoll had done magic, and it had not been the magic of [Shamans]. If it had been, she would have known. Mrsha had waved her wand and…conjured grass.

“That was your spell? You cast it and you alone? Not the wand?”

She didn’t think so, but she had to ask. Mrsha looked insulted and nodded her head vigorously. Krshia scratched her neck.

“You can grow…grass? And what else? Do you have another spell, Mrsha?”

To her great surprise, the Gnoll nodded. Mrsha pointed her wand at the grass and both Krshia and Elirr stepped back. They saw Mrsha frown in intense concentration, then wave her wand in a circle. And then—

The grass grew taller. It sprouted up an additional foot into the air and Krshia heard her floorboards creak as they were forced wider by the growing stalks. Mrsha proudly peeked through the huge stalks of grass at the two adults. She walked back and gestured with her paws.

Tada.

Elirr and Krshia waited for the grass to do anything else, but it just sat there. Krshia scratched her head.

“Anything else?”

Mrsha shook her head. She looked quite proud of herself, but after Krshia’s awe had faded, she had to question the scope of Mrsha’s powers. She turned to Elirr.

“She has magic. But she is growing grass with it. I thought you said this saved all the Gnolls in the dungeon, Elirr.”

The Gnoll chuckled. He bent and plucked one of the huge stems of grass, then waved it about. Mrsha leapt and caught it, breaking the grass. She jumped about, flattening the grass and waving her wand as Elirr turned to Krshia.

“It looks simple, but with it, she freed us from our shackles. With grass. I will not call it a simple magic. And for a child to cast spells, it is impressive, yes?”

“Yes…”

Krshia dragged the word out. She stared at the grass growing out of her floor and found she had to sit. It wasn’t impressive. It was just grass. She had seen Moore grow huge thorny vines out of the ground and seen him conjure an armor of thorns for battle. And yet, she found she was shaking as she reached for a cracker. It was just grass. But Mrsha had done it. A Gnoll had cast magic as [Mages] did.

“How?”

That was the question both Gnolls had. How and when had Mrsha learned to cast magic? They probably knew the how, but they wanted to be certain. Sure enough, Mrsha squirmed guiltily when Krshia brought out the huge magical tome Ryoka had given her. The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] looked down sternly, noting how Mrsha didn’t seem surprised by the huge, rich magical tome that was as large as she was, and how she kept looking at it and then away, clearly plagued by a guilty conscience.

“Mrsha. When I was out on pressing business, did you sneak into my room and read this book?”

The Gnoll tried to look to Elirr for support, but this time the older Gnoll wouldn’t give it. She played with her wand as she looked to one side, then nodded once. Krshia scowled. Mrsha tensed up. Krshia’s arm shot forwards and Mrsha dove for under the couch, but the Gnoll had expected that. She came up with Mrsha, yelping and whining as Krshia held her by the ear and twisted.

“Krshia, do not be so harsh on her. She saved us, and did no harm.”

Elirr protested as Mrsha held very still, for fear of having her ear twisted. Krshia scowled.

“She knew better than to go among my possessions, Elirr! And if she had unlocked the trap sealing this box, she would be dead! Do not speak to me of harm! Mrsha, you knew you should not have touched this.”

The Gnoll nodded rapidly, squirming, trying to get free. Krshia had half a mind to twist her ear to make her remember, but Elirr had folded his arms and Mrsha had survived the Raskghar. So, reluctantly, Krshia let go and Mrsha jumped away to hide behind Elirr.

“There, there. You are not in trouble. Much. Krshia was concerned for your safety. You should not have touched the book. It was dangerous.”

The old Gnoll comforted Mrsha, who nodded and peeked out at Krshia. The female Gnoll grumbled as she sat back down, but she opened her paws and let Mrsha sniff at her to show she had forgiven the child.

“When I was a cub, my ears were not so good. Of course, I would have known better then to poke my nose into the places of adults, no?”

“Hah!”

Elirr grinned until he realized Krshia had been serious. He coughed and straightened. The two adults sat in silence for a second as Mrsha, much relieved now she had confessed, helped herself to another cracker.

“So. The book is real.”

Elirr looked at Krshia. She nodded. Her heart was racing.

“It seems so. We had assumed it was, but this confirms it. I had some doubts, but no longer.”

She saw Elirr frown, perplexed.

“You checked the authenticity of the artifact, though. Surely you knew it was a spellbook?”

“Of course we did. We used a scroll to produce magical resonance and this was the highest—the highest!—that we had ever seen. But without a [Mage] we could not tell all of what the book contained. We had to simply but trust what Ryoka said was true until it could be studied by a [Shaman].”

“Or a Gnoll [Mage]. A new class of students.”

Elirr bared his teeth in a grin and Krshia nodded. She stared down at the tome, the massive spellbook which, according to Ryoka, contained hundreds or possibly thousands of lower-Tier spells.

“It is our great gift to the tribes. A book which all many learn from, which we may train [Mages] of our own from. And now we know. We know Gnolls can learn from it! They can be [Mages].”

She sighed and heard the same sound from Elirr. Relief, exhilaration, hope, all bubbled through Krshia at once. Then she saw Elirr sit up.

“I wish that Ryoka Griffin were still here. We know this book is valuable beyond belief, but how much so? Is it a treasure worthy of a Walled City? Or a national treasure? Or…?”

He trailed off and looked helplessly at Krshia.

“Is it possible to appraise the book further? Beyond what a scroll can tell, I mean. If you showed it to one of the [Mages] staying at the inn Mrsha stays at—”

Instantly Krshia shook her head. She placed a paw over the cover of the spellbook.

“If I showed this to anyone, Pisces, Ceria, Falene…even one as good and gentle as Moore, I think they would steal it and run, yes? If it is half as valuable as Ryoka claimed they would all murder for it. And if a place like Wistram were to know if it—they would do all they could to retrieve such an artifact. You know the stories.”

“I do. And that is wise. Forgive me for the foolish suggestion.”

Elirr inclined his head. The two Gnolls stared at the book, and then looked at Mrsha. The Gnoll was licking her lips.

“And yet, Elirr, by accident, a child has learned magic. A child. And not only did she save our people from the Raskghar, but she did what no Gnoll of the tribes has done for sixty years. Become a [Mage]. You are a [Mage], are you not, Mrsha?”

The Gnoll cub looked up. She hesitated, then nodded. Krshia exhaled. Elirr glanced down at Mrsha.

“In that case—why not let her read the book, Krshia?”

“What?”

Krshia frowned and Mrsha looked up quickly. Elirr nodded, stroking the hair running from his chin with his paw.

“It is hardly as if it would hurt her to read more. And she is gifted. Why not give her the chance to learn more spells? Or tell us what wonders this book contains?”

The [Shopkeeper] hesitated. But she saw Mrsha sitting up eagerly, and reluctantly nodded.

“Very well. But we watch her. I have opened this book before and it is a trial in some senses, Elirr. Not dangerous necessarily, but—Mrsha child, come here. If you are willing, let us open this book.”

Mrsha was willing. She leapt from her couch to Krshia’s side. The Gnoll woman gave her a reproving glance, but then let Mrsha open the tome. Elirr came over to see. All three Gnolls blinked as the book opened and magic, the very definition of magic, shimmered to life before their eyes.

A page blinked up at Krshia. Symbols seemed to slide together and merge, different colors, patterns reflecting in them, hidden meanings changing, offering multiple phrases each second. Krshia stared down at the spell—or at least, what she assumed to be a spell—for all of eight seconds. Then she got a headache.

“Dead gods!”

Elirr recoiled, rubbing at his eyes. Mrsha stared down at the page as both Krshia and Elirr had to look away. A pulsating pain ran from behind Krshia’s eyes.

“I warned you, didn’t I?”

“It strained my eyes! I feel a headache coming on—Krshia, do you have that tea?”

“Hold on.”

Krshia got up and shook her head. Careful not to stare at the book Mrsha was still bent over, she went and got her kettle. Her water was cold, but neither she nor Elirr cared. They drank a cup of tea and felt the world stabilize around them. Elirr growled.

“That hurt. It was like spinning around in circles for an hour or waking up after a hangover.”

“That is what happens when non-spellcasters look at spells and try to make sense of it. I think [Mages] go through this quite often when they learn.”

Krshia massaged her temples. Elirr nodded, then blinked down.

“But look! Mrsha is reading!”

It was true. Unlike the adults, Mrsha hadn’t looked up. She was tracing the symbols with one paw, as if she were just reading words, albeit extremely slowly. Krshia shook her head.

“Will wonders ever cease? Mrsha, child. Mrsha?”

She had to call Mrsha’s name several times before the Gnoll looked up, and when she did, it was reproachfully, as if Krshia had torn her away from something fascinating. Krshia cleared her throat as Elirr sat next to her, taking care not to look at the book.

“You can read this, yes?”

Mrsha nodded. She wagged her tail and smiled at the look on the adult’s faces. Krshia stared at the book and hastily averted her gaze.

“It is a wondrous thing, Mrsha. Truly, for all it was done in secret. You can read the magic book as a [Mage] would. And you understand the spell?”

Mrsha cocked her head and shook it slowly. Krshia noted her moment of hesitation though and rephrased the question.

“Ah, you cannot cast it. But you can guess at its effects, yes? What does that spell do?”

The white Gnoll frowned. She looked down at the book and for a minute she was lost, running her paw over the first few lines again. Then she looked up and nodded. She raised her arms, making sure both adults were looking at her, then flapped her arms and swung them from left to right as well. Krshia and Elirr stared.

“A…flying spell?”

“It lets you grow wings?”

“It…makes your arms floppy?”

Mrsha looked put out. She shook her head, then flapped her arms harder and swung them, making faint growling sounds. Then she looked at Krshia and Elirr expectantly, as if that said it all. The Gnoll adults exchanged a glance.

“I think it’s an air spell.”

“No, it clearly controls the body. Mrsha?”

The little Gnoll sighed through her nose and shook her head. She awkwardly propped the book up and pointed to a sliding letter, or what looked like a single letter. Krshia stared at it and felt the headache coming back.

“Put it down, Mrsha. Thank you. I do not understand. But then, I am no [Mage]. Nor do I wish to be. But—if you can read this spell, could you learn it?”

Mrsha frowned. Slowly, she nodded.

“Is it hard?”

Another nod.

“Difficult? Would it take you days? Weeks? Months?”

Nod, nod, nod, shrug. Elirr and Krshia exchanged a glance.

“But she could learn it. Her, a cub not even full-grown. Not even able to walk on two legs!”

Mrsha indignantly stood upright. Krshia ignored her. Her leg was shaking, making the cups on the sitting table rattle. She couldn’t help it.

“Mrsha, could you look through that spellbook for us? And find—a spell?”

Elirr glanced sharply at Krshia. The [Shopkeeper] sat forwards.

“Find a powerful spell. No—one that is both practical and powerful. It does not have to be for war. But find the best one for us. Can you do that?”

Mrsha nodded. She paged through the spellbook, pausing for a few minutes on each page. Elirr watched her and then offered a suggestion.

“Mrsha, look for a powerful spell that has to do with earth magic.”

Both Krshia and Mrsha looked up at Elirr, confused. The Gnoll explained.

“I hear that spellcasters learn some magics more easily. A thing of personality, yes? Like how Ceria Springwalker casts primarily ice magic. Mrsha may be attuned to the magic of nature.”

That made sense. Krshia nodded. If there was an element that belonged to Gnolls, it would be earth magic, surely. They were a tribal people.

“Earth magic then, let us know when you find one.”

It took Mrsha nearly sixteen minutes, in which time Elirr and Krshia got some hot tea and just sipped it, watching her. With Elirr and Krshia’s parameters, Mrsha moved swiftly from page after page until she came to one and triumphantly slapped her paw on it.

“This spell? Is it good?”

Mrsha frowned as she read the first line, very, very slowly. She looked up and gave Krshia a nod and shrug that said ‘yes, probably’. She didn’t know what it did and kept scratching her head, but her posture said quite clearly that this was a powerful spell of some kind.

“In that case, learn it. Or at least enough to tell us what it does.”

Krshia gently urged the little Gnoll. Mrsha nodded and, tail wagging, bent over the book. Krshia and Elirr watched her pour over the first letter of the book for five minutes and then realized it might take her a while. So they got up, snagged the crackers and silkap and went into the kitchen to talk quietly. They didn’t bother to keep their voices low; Mrsha was engrossed in the book and besides, it was now clear that she could hear them wherever she was, no matter how they whispered.

“Elirr. We have not had a chance to speak privately since you returned from the dungeon.”

The Gnoll smiled wearily. He leaned on the counter as Krshia offered him some dried sausage and cheese. He waved it away. He was older than Krshia, though she was a higher level than he. But he didn’t seem to hold that difference in age or levels against her, and Krshia respected him. He, like she would have been called Honored Krshia or Honored Elirr by the younger Gnolls, a sign of their rank in the community.

“We did not. And in truth, I have been avoiding joining others for dinner or the requests I have had to socialize, Krshia. I appreciate it, but I do not wish to recall what happened so strongly.”

Krshia laid a gentle paw on Elirr’s shoulder.

“We would not ask you to.”

“No, but you would ask questions with your eyes, even if your mouths were silent. It is not something I hold against you. I would be curious too. But what I have told you is all I can—the others and I try to forget. As does Mrsha, I think.”

“You still have bad dreams each night?”

Elirr nodded. He had bags under his eyes, though his fur hid it to all but other Gnolls.

“Nightmares. Jumping at shadows. What else could one expect? I have used the sleeping potions you obtained from that [Alchemist] you have deals with and they help. But daytime is sometimes little better than night. I…I do not know how Mrsha smiles so easily after what she saw. After what that bitch, Nokha, promised to do.”

He growled softly and Krshia hushed him before they disturbed Mrsha. Elirr was upset, because he’d used an insult Gnolls regarded as highly offensive. Comparing any Gnoll to a dog was far worse than using it on a Drake or Human. Saying something like that to a Dog-tribe Beastkin was even more inadvisable.

“It is done. The Raskghar are broken.”

Elirr nodded, and then turned to Krshia, his eyes blazing.

“But not dead. Not all. Krshia, they cannot be allowed to sacrifice Gnolls. I stared into their souls afterwards, and what I saw was terrible and ancient. We must bring word of this to the other tribes.”

“They know. But they have not acted. Their [Shamans] communicated with Olesm, and warned of the dangers of the Raskghar, but I think they knew as little as we.”

“Then what we should know must be pooled and more knowledge found. Because the awakened Raskghar scare me even in the daylight, Krshia. They must all be found and killed. And if more colonies hide in the earth…”

Elirr trailed off. Krshia nodded.

“The meeting of tribes approaches. They will hear your story, I promise.”

The other Gnoll calmed. He breathed more easily, and then looked out of the kitchen at Mrsha.

“We would have all died there, I think. All or most, sacrificed before you came if not for her. She allowed most to escape with her strength. After I called her Doombringer. If she had been a few years older, if we had trusted her from the start—perhaps she could have freed us all.”

“She is unique.”

Krshia nodded. The two Gnolls stared at Mrsha, her fur as white as snow. Cursed because of her fur.

“And she knows magic. Because of her fur, do you think? Is that the key?”

“No.”

It couldn’t be. Krshia spoke firmly.

“It is a coincidence, not a requirement to learn magic as [Mages] do. We know Gnolls can rise to the heights of magical power. In an aeon past, it was said that Gnolls were counted among the Archmages of Wistram. But so long and so old were they that no books record their names, and we have only legends to remember. Names. The Archmage Kishkeria, who created one of the grand spells of her era, [Seas of the Everflowing Grass]. With it she saved a continent, but we know not from what or how.”

“Yes. But we do remember her.”

Elirr bowed his head. Both he and Krshia had grown up in the Silverfang tribe. They had grown up hearing their [Shaman] reciting names of past Gnoll heroes and their deeds, but many tales were incomplete. Old. Faded. Krshia sighed.

“We all know recent stories, like that of our greatest of Chieftains, Kerash, who died a century ago. But older stories? Each time an old [Shaman] or [Storyteller] dies in an accident or before passing on their memories to their apprentices, we lose more of the past. Our history should be written down now, not passed from mouth to mouth.”

She sensed Elirr’s amusement at her suggestion. He glanced sidelong at her.

“If you’d like to bring that up at the meeting of tribes, Honored Krshia, be my guest. But too many would decry it as replacing tradition.”

Krshia made a rude sound.

“Tradition? Hah! The old [Shamans] are too lazy to write things down and won’t admit that their stories are full of holes and they don’t know what is true and what was made up! But we need record, we need books! The Drakes are stubborn and rigid, but their records allow them to see the past. We remember fragments.”

“Yes. But our fragments are woven into our culture. There is some merit to that.”

It was Elirr’s turn to comfort Krshia. She sighed.

“Yes. It is good. But that is why we do not change, Elirr. And we must. We must.”

For a while the two stood in silence. Then Krshia looked to the living room.

“Let us check on Mrsha.”

The little Gnoll was still sitting over her book when Krshia and Elirr came back. She was still reading, but something had gone wrong in the time since they’d left her. Krshia watched as Mrsha’s head bent down, tilted from side to side, and then flicked up. Mrsha was distracted. The single-minded focus she’d had earlier was gone.

“Mrsha? Are you having trouble reading the spell?”

The Gnoll adamantly shook her little head. She scrubbed at her face with her paws, frowned at the book, and then rubbed at her head again. Mrsha was clearly trying to focus, but her eyes began to glaze over. She shook herself, stared at the page. This time she went cross-eyed.

Elirr tugged the spellbook towards him and focused on the spell. This time it took him less than two seconds to look away, swearing under his breath. He looked at Krshia with mild concern.

“I think it is too hard for her. Mrsha child, enough. Do not strain yourself.”

The Gnoll cub protested, but only feebly as he closed the book. She blinked a few times and then nearly fell over as if she was dizzy. Elirr was right. Whatever she’d been reading had stumped her. Krshia made Mrsha sit up and drink some hot tea, and soon the Gnoll was back to her normal self.

“We know enough. She can read the book. There are many spells, but many are beyond her. Whether that is because she is too inexperienced, too low-level, or too young it matters not. The book is genuine. We have our gift and it is a treasure beyond compare.”

“Hope.”

Elirr agreed simply. Both noticed Mrsha was staring at them in confusion, and Krshia decided to explain.

“Mrsha, what I am about to tell you is our history, recent. You know that the tribes have agreed no one is to deal with Wistram? Your Stone Spears tribe seldom traded near the oceans, but I imagine even Urksh was aware of the limitation.”

Mrsha nodded. It was a well-known fact. No Gnoll [Merchant] of [Trader] or caravan would do business with a [Mage] who claimed to represent Wistram. Those who came from Wistram were fine, but ones who directly worked for the academy? No. But she did not know why.

“The reason is simple. We hold a grudge against Wistram, a fierce one for matters of honor and pride. The story is simple. Once, we sent our best to Wistram, our pride, our most talented [Shaman] who would be the first of our [Mages]. Who would bridge the gap between our magics and rediscover the pride of Gnollish spellcraft.”

Krshia closed her eyes. She had just been born when the incident occurred, but she could still remember the outrage. Elirr nodded, his brows dark with anger.

“Forty years ago we went to Wistram and we were scorned and insulted beyond belief. Our representative did not last a year at Wistram before being expelled, as a failure, as proof that Gnolls were unsuited to become [Mages]. Ever since no Gnoll had traded with Wistram, and we hold them in contempt. And since then, no Gnoll has become a [Mage].”

Mrsha sat up, frowning angrily, catching it from the adults. Krshia nodded, but then sighed.

“That is what all adults know, Mrsha. But the truth is more complex. For you see, we went to Wistram in the hopes of understanding a strange phenomenon that has afflicted the tribes for…well, at least a few centuries. Even before our feud with Wistram, no Gnolls had become [Mages] in the tribes. All who tried became [Shamans] or…failed. And we do not know why.”

Elirr nodded. The issue had been discussed at each meeting of the tribes. Not always hotly, and many tribes did not consider it important, but the Silverfang tribe did, as did other tribes who looked to the future and saw the need for [Mages].

“So we have done without [Mages] for a long time. We are not without magic. Our [Shamans] can rival even great [Mages], but it is a different class and we know our lack weakens us. That is why we collected spellbooks for our gift to the tribes, in hopes of creating [Mages]. And then you came along. You, who can cast magic and read spellbooks. A [Mage].”

He smiled down at Mrsha, who scratched at one ear, clearly uneasy about something. But neither adult really noticed. Krshia was too preoccupied with her thoughts. It was wonderful, really. But part of her, a small part, resented how easy it was for Mrsha to read the spellbook. Why did she have the knack? When Ryoka had first given Krshia the spellbook, she and others had spent weeks trying to read it and enduring blistering headaches to no avail. But Mrsha had taught herself.

It was…it made Krshia feel jealous. The instant she realized what she was feeling she stomped on the emotions. Her? Jealous of Mrsha? Why? She had never wanted to become a [Mage]. She had wanted to be a—

Well, maybe that was why. Krshia sighed. She looked down at Mrsha.

“Hope, child. You give us hope. If you can learn magic, maybe we can understand what makes it impossible for [Mages] to appear in our tribes or cities. Why is that? When did the last of the Gnoll [Mages] die? And why did we lose faith in our ability to cast magic?”

Mrsha stared up at Krshia, clearly without an answer. Elirr rumbled as he thought out loud.

“It is not as if it is impossible, Krshia. I have heard rumors of Gnolls who cast magic, who are not [Shamans].”

“So have I. But why are they so few? Because of our feud with Wistram? Because we are unsuited to magic as Wistram said? Because…”

Krshia broke off, shaking her head. It was a mystery, and one she had pledged to resolve. She patted Mrsha on the head as the young cub leaned against her, already tired from spellbooks and the grand fate of Gnolls and magic.

“Ah, Mrsha. Do not worry about it. Just know that you will be important later on. Have another cracker. As for now—Elirr, we must speak of Liscor. And that is a conversation that cannot be put off. It is time to go, I think.”

Elirr nodded. He got to his feet with a groan.

“Past time. We have an hour, but I could use time to set up and clear a space. And my animals need tending to. Will you come with us?”

“Of course. Mrsha, come. We will go to Elirr’s shop. The representatives will gather there. And we must hear what Beilmark has to say.”

—-

Elirr’s shop was filled with noise when the Gnoll opened his door and ushered Mrsha and Krshia in. That was because Elirr was a [Beast Trainer]. Not a [Beast Tamer], which was the base version of his class, or a [Beast Master], which belonged to those who formed steady bonds with a few chosen animals—or monsters. No, Elirr trained animals.

He ran a pet store. One of five in Liscor and arguably the best. Elirr trained dogs, cats, and birds, although only small pet birds that would live in cages. Just as well, because a certain Antinium [Hunter] would have put him out of business if he’d tried to rear hawks around the city. But mainly, Elirr made his business selling food for dogs, tending to their hurts, and providing all the toys and tools needed to raise animals.

Pet ownership was an interesting thing. A very small amount of people owned pets, mainly due to the costs, the dangers of a pet running afoul of a monster, and mainly, the challenges of keeping a pet in a city like Liscor. But there were Gnolls and Drakes who loved animals, and Humans too, since Elirr’s trained pets sometimes went north. In fact, his war hounds were more highly sought after than his regular house dogs, but Elirr trained few of them due to the difficulty.

He had only one war dog in the shop now, along with a plethora of cats, three smaller breeds of dogs, and a pair of twittering birds. And a crab. All of them greeted Elirr with various degrees of enthusiasm, save for the war dog, who barked.

He—it was a he—was a mastiff, a huge hound with clearly defined muscles. He barked at Mrsha and Krshia, who both regarded the dog with interest, Elirr sighed and whistled, which made the sounds in his shop quiet, except for the mastiff.

“Ah, this dog. It gives me a headache, no?”

Elirr sighed as Mrsha wandered up to the dog. It was leashed rather than in a cage, and Elirr’s shop was very wide as opposed to tall to give his animals more room. He explained to Krshia as he went about feeding his animals.

“It was because I was kidnapped when I just had him. He and some of the other animals starved for two days until someone realized they needed to be fed, and I had just acquired him. So he is wary of me. I have been trying to give him lessons, but he is afraid of strangers, especially furry ones. He smelled the death on the Raskghar when they came.”

“I see.”

Krshia looked sympathetically at the mastiff, who was watching Mrsha and growling. She was not a dog person, but the Silverfang tribe had owned dogs of their own for hunting. They were wonderfully good and she remembered racing them as a child. Had the Stone Spears owned dogs? Mrsha was regarding this one intently.

“A shame. My progress with all the animals has been set back, especially the cats. They are finicky if I do not feed them.”

Elirr groused as he fed his cats. They meowed loudly, and Krshia sniffed at them, making them scatter back to their homes. She didn’t mind cats, but Drakes loved the fussy creatures, probably because they shared many of their qualities.

“Do you need help setting up, Elirr?”

“If you could bring out some food and chairs—I will help you with the table.”

The Gnoll [Beast Trainer] looked grateful as Krshia nodded. He circulated his shop, tending to the animals while Krshia brought out refreshments for their guests. And all the while, Mrsha was looking at the mastiff. Krshia didn’t mind until she realized that Mrsha was moving towards the war dog, into the radius of his leash.

“Mrsha?”

She and Elirr looked up warily. The little Gnoll was approaching the growling dog, who was clearly nervous. Mrsha stopped in front of him and puffed herself up, standing on her two legs to stare down at the dog. He growled and Krshia tensed. She saw Elirr doing likewise.

She knew what Mrsha was doing, but that mastiff was bigger than she was and a lot stronger. But Mrsha turning her back or flinching would be the worst thing right now. The little Gnoll stared down at the war dog, refusing to turn aside. He retreated a bit and she advanced.

Slowly, slowly…she grabbed the dog’s bowl and he made a warning sound. But Mrsha faced him down and then walked over to a bag filled with food meant for him. She filled the bowl up a bit, and then came back. The dog warily moved forwards, but Mrsha held the bowl up. She reached her paw into it, picked some of the dried meat up, and began to eat it in front of him. The dog crouched, and then his tail lowered, his ears flattened, and he surrendered to her authority.

“She did it.”

Elirr breathed out as Mrsha handed the bowl to the dog and he began eating. He looked at Krshia, his brows raised. She was impressed despite herself.

“It was well done, Elirr? I thought so.”

He nodded, his eyebrows fully raised.

“As did I! I thought about bringing a cub here, but I was terrified of what might happen if he bit one. But that child is a natural tamer if I saw one. If she were older, I would expect her to gain her class tonight.”

He smiled at Mrsha, who padded back over, smug as could be. Her establishing dominance as the pack leader over the mastiff was impressive, even if she did have a bit of help on her side. Gnolls were naturally good at commanding dogs, with whom they shared a distant ancestry. But it was one thing for Elirr to force a dog to submit, and quite another for Mrsha to do it.

“You are bold, and reckless, perhaps. If you had gotten bit, what would I say to Lyonette?”

Krshia bent to tickle Mrsha and gently scold her. The Gnoll smiled, not at all deterred. For all she lived in the inn, she was a Plains Gnoll, pure and simple. Bold, a member of a tribe. As Krshia had been.

With that excitement out of the way, Elirr, Krshia, and Mrsha finished setting up and got all the animals to vacate the room and go upstairs—into Elirr’s home. It was just temporary, but they didn’t want the animals to distract from the meeting. And soon, as the sun reached the midway point overhead, Gnolls began appearing in the shop.

Everyone knew that the Drake cities of the south were ruled by Drakes. While it was true that in some cities, members of the ruling body like Pallassian [Senators] could be Gnolls, it was almost always Drakes who occupied the Watch Captain posts, filled Council seats, and so on. In some cities, the Lords and Ladies of the Wall ruled and they were obviously Drakes.

It was just how it was. The Drakes weren’t about to cede command of their cities to Gnolls, however many lived there. However, while their rules were often fair, Drakes and Gnolls were still two separate peoples with separate cultures and desires. Thus, City Gnolls had formed their own ruling bodies, unofficial and in secret, but one that dictated how Gnolls behaved in all Drake cities.

They got together and chose representatives who, in a miniature, secret council of their own, ruled Gnolls from the shadows. Or rather, from comfy armchairs and couches with snacks on the table because no one wanted to squat in an alley and debate for hours on end. It was a different system from how a tribe functioned.

There could be no [Chieftain], so instead a body of the oldest, wisest, most experienced or simply highest-level Gnolls would decide on issues that concerned Gnollkind. Sometimes they would just meet once every few months to agree that everything was good, grumble about arrogant Drakes and the foolishness of young Gnolls who had no respect for tradition, and eat food.

In those times it was more like a social get-together and potluck. But when something of concern happened—tensions between Drakes and Gnolls rose, or crime rose, or something like Liscor’s dungeon was found to be nearby—the Gnollish representatives discussed far more serious things.

One by one, they gathered. In a city as large as Liscor, one Gnoll could represent several thousand Gnolls. In a city like Pallass, each representative could represent ten thousand Gnolls who had chosen them from among their ranks. In this case, eleven Gnolls were present, all of whom were middle-aged or older, although Elirr was the oldest. They were not powerfully built [Warriors] or sharp-eyed [Archers]. Half of them had paunches and only one of them, Beilmark, was in prime condition, although Krshia liked to think she still had a good figure.

They were the [Butchers], the [Bakers], and the [Chandlers] of the city. The nature of the class didn’t matter as much as the depth of experience each Gnoll had. It was about respect. About leadership. It was something you earned, and weren’t given. Drakes couldn’t understand that, but it was second nature to Gnolls. As they came in, exchanging greetings with Elirr and Krshia and bending to smile and say hello to Mrsha, the Gnolls were friendly, conversational. They were equals here, not enemies squabbling for political gain.

However, there had to be a first even among equals, and Krshia Silverfang was that Gnoll. Not only had she led a large portion of the Silverfang tribe to Liscor ten years ago, which gave her authority over the others, she had the benefit of a relatively high level and her experience as both a plains and city Gnoll to speak with.

“Raekea Silversmith. How is your husband? Does his leg still pain him?”

Krshia greeted a Gnoll [Armorer] who was married to the best Drake [Blacksmith] in the city. The Gnoll grinned at her, her arms patterned with burns and the hair missing in patches. It was rare for a Gnoll to take up a metalworking class given the dangers to anyone with fur on their body, but such rare individuals were always respected for their sacrifice.

“Well, Krshia. He is well, although it pains him. But the ointment you gave us worked well. I only wish the Raskghar bastard who tried to kidnap me was back, so I could split his head open a second time. And is this the little brave Gnoll I have heard so much about? Hello, child.”

Krshia grinned as Raekea bent and scratched Mrsha’s ears. The Gnoll cub was staring up admiringly at her. Raekea believed in advertising her work, so she wore an armguard both she and her husband had worked on together, a classy piece of silver set with amethysts. It covered a large burn Raekea had received in her past.

“I see the others are mingling. Will you speak with me for a bit?”

The [Royal Shopkeeper] indicated the others, who were standing and talking while eating Elirr’s food. That was how the meeting went; until a decision had to be made, the representatives would just talk about business, the issues of the day, and news. They didn’t do formal meetings since that was too regimented for their tastes. It was in the small discussion that all the work got done, such as Krshia’s conversation with Raekea.

The [Armorer] nodded. She sat with Krshia on a pair of worn armchairs that smelled faintly of cat pee. Krshia chewed on a cold sausage with cheese—she’d brought it from home since Elirr hated cheese and didn’t have any in his home—and spoke candidly.

“The news sounds dire. First the attack is announced, and then, not a day afterwards, spies are sent to sabotage the connection to Pallass. We are cut off.”

“Yes. It was a shame. And it speaks to the danger we are in.”

Raekea nodded seriously. Below them, Mrsha sat on the ground and happily ate lunch. Krshia nodded.

“I see Beilmark is here. Did you hear what she had to say?”

The other Gnoll woman grimaced and flexed an arm.

“She thinks we can hold Liscor. She has spoken with Watch Captain Zevara and heard Olesm’s numbers. With the Antinium, with Pallass’ reinforcements few though they may be, with adventurers…we can hold long enough for a relief army to arrive.”

“And will it be enough to break the siege?”

“She claims it will. Whether that is so I wonder at, Krshia. I truly do. I am uneasy with this Goblin Lord and the machinations of Tyrion Veltras. I know others here and in the city wish to flee.”

“Abandon Liscor? Just like that?”

Raekea met Krshia’s eyes steadily.

“If it is that or death—yes. I have spoken with my husband. He is Liscor-born, but when he looks at our child…yes, Krshia. We would run to save him. But I am not ready yet.”

“I see.”

Krshia nodded and thanked Raekea. She stood up and found another Gnoll to talk to, and then another. She heard the same each time. They weren’t committed. Not yet. But if it looked like all was lost, if it was this or certain death…Beilmark and Elirr were the last two she spoke two.

“You must convince them to stay, Krshia. If Gnolls begin deserting Liscor, if Drakes begin fleeing, then the city is lost.”

Beilmark did not mince words. The Senior Guardswoman was one of the youngest Gnolls present, but she had earned her place here by her deeds. She gestured at the others.

“We can convince them to stay. If we do, fewer Drakes will run. And we need every paw and tail to defend Liscor.”

“And will we defend it with our lives? Will we spill our blood out as the Goblins and Humans overwhelm us, Beilmark?”

Krshia pressed the younger Gnoll, looking into her eyes. Beilmark shook her head, meeting Krshia’s gazes steadily.

“I would not kill my people, Krshia. I would run before that. But the danger to Liscor is more complex than just a game of numbers. Thanks to Olesm, reinforcements are on the way. They will arrive too late, but if we can hold—think on this. The Humans have trebuchets. But they cannot batter down our walls with one or two volleys. It will take time, and our fortifications are enchanted. Tough. We have to hold. The Goblins are not suicidal. Push them back, hold them, and a relief army will arrive.”

“It is a gamble.”

“Yes. But one I will take. But it cannot be done if Liscor is half-empty. We will have to support the defenders, take to the walls. If even a third of all Gnolls holds a bow—Olesm has more than one strategy. He has spoken of retreating into the dungeon. And there are the Antinium! Krshia, it can be done.”

The look in Beilmark’s eyes convinced Krshia that she was serious. But was she right? Finally, she spoke to Elirr. The Gnoll was quiet as they sipped tea and sat. Mrsha was curled up, napping.

“So. I think we are split. More in favor of leaving than staying perhaps, but split five to six. Do you agree?”

“I am.”

Elirr nodded. He was one of the ones who favored leaving more than staying. Krshia eyed him carefully. Then she came out with it.

“I am of the mind that unless all is lost, we must hold to Liscor as one. And you?”

The older Gnoll hesitated. He played with his cup, speaking slowly.

“I—I have lived through more than just the Antinium Wars, Krshia. I was young, but I remember conflicts that left hundreds of thousands dead and burned cities. Liscor did not fall in those days, but I remember the tribes going to war and so few returning in the ones that did. I am not saying we should run. But I am not confident enough to pledge all our lives if it means death.”

“So that means what?”

Elirr leaned forwards. He spoke so softly only the two of them could hear.

“It means convince me. Convince us. Beilmark will wish to stay regardless, but the others are afraid. If we are to fight and bleed for Liscor, tell us why.”

He looked at her. And Krshia saw he wanted to stay, but he was afraid of dying. It was a common fear. So she stood up and looked around.

The other Gnoll representatives were chatting, but they fell silent. They could sense Krshia had something to say. They gathered around her and Mrsha woke up. She sleepily crawled into Beilmark’s lap and the [Guardswoman] held her as Krshia spoke.

“So we have debated. So we have shared information. To those of you who may not have heard, young Mrsha was tested at my apartment earlier today. She knows magic. She can read the book. It is genuine and the Silverfang tribe will present it at the meeting of tribes.”

A sigh ran through the room and Mrsha looked up as everyone stared at her. Just for a second. Then Krshia spoke again.

“War threatens Liscor. The Humans do not call it that and the Drakes will not declare it, but when the Goblins assault Liscor, what is a word? It will come and this time they have brought siege weapons, to at last threaten the Drake cities. Perhaps even the Walled Cities in time. But it is war that will start here. Now our only decision is this: do we stay and fight and possibly die at Liscor, or flee southwards and abandon our homes that we might live?”

The others nodded. They waited for Krshia to speak. Everything else had been said, but she had the final voice. Krshia searched for the words, and they came to her, smoothly, from deep within. She spoke the same words she had years ago, to her sister on the day she had decided to leave for Liscor.

“Gnolls have existed since the first record of this world. Throughout thousands of years we have lived. Not just on Izril. Our people have waned and risen with each passing era. In the beginning, there were Dragons and they ruled us cruelly. We died for sport, as animals. But we survived. We survived the Sunset of Flame. We marched out of bestiality, survived the long darkness and kept our minds even as the Raskghar split from our people. We became more than animals and we challenged the Dragons and brought them down.”

Mrsha sat up as Krshia walked back and forth, speaking from memory. The way Krshia spoke, the way she gestured, was familiar to her. Krshia was speaking like a [Shaman], as if she was telling a story from the past. But she was also speaking to the Gnolls of Liscor, who sat and judged her words in silence, drinking and eating slowly.

“Our people rose. We were mighty during the Rain of Scales. We fought the Selphids during the Age of Theft and threw loose the shackles with the rest of the world. During the Twilight of Magic, our armies joined the others and overthrew the half-Elven dominion. Again and again, we were challenged. And each time we lived and prospered. Eras past, the Gnolls rose and fell and once we were considered a world power among powers. But now? No more.”

Krshia looked around. Her eyes were sorrowful and her voice grew deeper.

“In the past we roamed Izril, made our homes in every direction. But then the Humans came and we were forced south. Now the lands our tribes venture to have been cut in half. And with the Antinium, with Drake cities and their laws, the places we may walk go further still. And our tribes grow smaller. Our [Shamans] grow weaker. We reduce in strength. Are Gnolls not considered barbarians by other races, called as crude and uncivilized as Garuda?”

It was so. The Gnolls murmured agreement. Krshia nodded. She looked at Mrsha.

“We are in the age our [Shamans] and [Chieftains] have declared the Waning World. A time where the legendary heroes of our kind are memories, and where tradition may hold us back as the rest of the world advances. Since the last Antinium War, since the Humans came, Gnolls have retreated rather than pay the cost in blood. We have always moved rather than stand stubbornly and die as the Drakes and Humans did. But see what it has cost us?”

She looked around, as if Elirr’s shop was suddenly a cage.

“New lands. That is what we need. New lands to grow unimpeded. Not just the north. We must spread from continent to continent. But we cannot run. We cannot abandon what we have to do just that. We must grow and we must hold. If Liscor falls, the Humans will sweep south. If Liscor falls, we lose our homes. We have always moved from place to place, but the world is smaller now. We cannot abandon what we have. So I say to you this: we must stand here and fight.”

“And if we die, Krshia Silverfang? If the cost comes in the shattered bodies of your young, our families? Why not simply flee? We have the great gift meant for the tribes. Why stay and put it at risk?”

That came from a Gnoll with blonde fur who looked up at Krshia. The Gnoll woman met her eyes. She had not always been a [Shopkeeper]. Mrsha could feel it.

“We could run. And yes, we have a great treasure. It should not be lost. I propose we hide the book, put it in a bag of holding and hide it so that if Liscor falls, it may be recovered. We will tell the other tribes where it can be claimed. But I tell you this, Fashia Splitfur. There is more than just a single spellbook that defines the worth Liscor has to us.”

Krshia gestured at Elirr’s shop.

“My tribe, the Silverfang tribe, came here ten years back and labored all this time to build something. More than just a gift for the meeting of tribes. We founded a place here. Some of you have been here longer. You have families, homes, businesses. Will we throw it all away so easily?”

No one responded. Krshia looked at them.

“We fight. That is what I say. We fight, and hold onto our homes. If we run again, we will not stop running until the last Gnoll dies alone in the corner of the world. We fight. Who will stay with me?”

The Gnolls looked at each other. Beilmark stood up slowly. Then Elirr. Then Raekea. Slowly, the rest of the Gnolls got to their feet. Some hesitated, others were reluctant until they saw the others standing. But they did stand. They were in agreement. Krshia breathed out slowly.

“I didn’t want to give up my shop anyways.”

Raekea grinned around and the others chuckled. They stood more easily now, though Krshia could practically hear their hearts pounding. It was done. The Gnolls of Liscor would stay.

“So what next, Krshia?”

Elirr looked at Krshia. It was not the end of their discussion, for all that they had made a decision.

“If the Drakes begin to run, it will still be disastrous. Can anything be done about their fear? About the fear in the hearts of many Gnoll families as well?”

Krshia nodded. She did have a plan. It had come to her when she had looked at Mrsha and been jealous.

“We do what neither Drakes nor Humans can do. Drakes think they know unity and order? They form spear walls in battle and stand tail-to-tail. But only their soldiers, only in war. But Gnolls are one pack, one people. We are never alone. So let us run about this city of stone and prop it up. If the walls crack, we will hold them up. With more than just words.”

The other Gnolls blinked. Krshia took a deep breath.

“I propose a gathering of magic. I propose a spell.”

The others immediately looked towards Mrsha. Beilmark, who had been all the way behind Krshia up till now, protested.

“A gathering is a serious thing, Krshia. If it fails it would shatter spirits. And the Drakes would notice. They may object. Besides, the most important issue is who will guide the spell? The child? Surely she is too young, and this is not something she would know.”

“I know. I will guide the spell. I was apprenticed to be a [Shaman], once. I can perform it.”

Krshia spoke simply. The other Gnolls blinked. Mrsha, sitting in Beilmark’s lap, looked at Krshia with wide eyes. The [Shopkeeper] smiled at Mrsha.

“You know magic, Mrsha child. But it is the magic of books and [Mages]. But today, I think, we will show you the magic of Gnolls.”

She turned and looked around the room. Then Krshia cupped her paws together. Elirr was the first to move. He stood up and walked slowly over to Krshia. He placed his paws in hers and smiled. The two said nothing, did nothing Mrsha could see. But then Elirr took his paws away. And then, shimmering in the midst of Krshia’s cupped grip was a speck of light.

—-

At first it was the tiniest of things. So small that Mrsha almost thought it was her imagination. But as Krshia went around, touching her hands to each of the other Gnolls in the room, the spark seemed to pass to each of them, so all eleven representatives held a tiny glowing…

What was it? Mrsha squinted, but Krshia shooed her away.

“Not yet, Mrsha. I do not know how [Mages] interact with such things.”

She closed her hands and the spark vanished. Mrsha thought it had gone out, but something told her the Gnoll had just hidden it away from sight. So had the others. Elirr bent, smiling, and Beilmark straightened her armor.

“I should get back on patrol. I’ll take those of us on duty. Elirr, I suppose you’ll have to leave your shop, yes?”

The Gnoll nodded.

“Too few will visit me. I will go down the residential streets and visit the families. Fashia will join me. But I think Raekea and Krshia may stay in their places.”

“Yes. I will open my stall. Send whomever wishes to argue to me.”

“Or me.”

Beilmark and Krshia nodded. The other Gnolls agreed, discussing things like where to meet and who would go where. It was confusing to Mrsha. They had a plan, but she didn’t understand it. They were going to stay in Liscor, to fight. And they had a plan to…reassure the people? The Gnolls all agreed it must be done. Then they did a curious thing, something Mrsha didn’t understand.

They went back to work.

At least, Krshia did. She marched Mrsha back to her stall and briskly opened up shop. Market street was still mostly empty, and people were nervously talking rather than buying. But Krshia just stood in her stall and began calling out to customers, Drakes and Humans alike.

“Hello, my stall is open! Miss Fauscale, I did not see you this morning. Are you still in need of things to write with?”

An elderly Drake jumped as Krshia waved to her, beaming. She trundled over.

“Oh, yes, I—I suppose I am in need. But what with this dreadful talk of Goblins and Human armies, I’m not sure I’m in the right mind to be buying anything.”

The Drake looked anxious, but Krshia just gave her a big smile.

“Ah, but if not now, then when? You told me you were in need of quills, yes? I have some cheap ones in stock. Come Mrsha, show Miss Fauscale the little quills.”

Gingerly, Mrsha reached up and offered the Drake a writing quill, dipped in ink and bit of parchment. The Drake blinked, but obligingly drew on the parchment.

“Oh! That is quite nice. These are Quillfish quills, aren’t they?”

Krshia nodded. The thin, sharp quills were the byproducts of Quillfish, the pesky fish that hunted and scared off predators by firing them. They were long and thin. Not as easy for the hand to grip as a formal feathered quill, but the little dip-quills from Quillfish were handy for carrying around and quite good for scribbling notes. She pointed all this out to Miss Fauscale as she wrote in a neat, clear script to show her and other customers on the street.

“Four coppers for a bunch of sixteen. Each one has been boiled, cleaned, and sharpened. They are good for writing, cleaning teeth, and poking silly children, yes?”

She mimed poking Mrsha, who was so alarmed that she nearly fell off her stool. Miss Fausclae stared at Mrsha and her lips quirked into a smile. Before she quite knew what she was doing, she had bought some quills and ink and was chatting to Krshia.

Just chatting. The Gnoll beckoned over more Drakes and Gnolls, calling the ones out by name. She shook hands with a Gnoll who wanted a new roll of cloth, persuaded a pair of Drake teens to stay and browse, though they bought nothing, and touched her paws to a Gnoll woman as she passed her a dried and salted fish to inspect.

Mrsha, sitting by Krshia’s side and helping her out, if only by being cute, was confused by all of this. She knew Krshia was doing something, but as far as she could see, the Gnoll was just calling out loudly to people and chatting them up. She spoke about the Goblins and Humans, reassuring people, telling them not to go, but only if they brought it up.

And yet, more and more Gnolls kept coming back, anxious and afraid. But they left with backs straight, smiling and talking about errands they had to run or things they’d just remembered they should do. How? Why?

Mrsha finally put the pieces together when Watch Captain Zevara walked down Market Street with a patrol of Drakes and Gnolls behind her. She was speaking to people, answering questions, trying to reassure them. She stopped by Krshia’s stall and looked perplexed at the gathering around the Gnoll. Only a few people were actively shopping, but the Gnoll had somehow created a huge radius of people who were just standing around and talking.

“What’s all this, then? Miss Krshia? What are you doing?”

The [Shopkeeper] gave Zevara a pleasant smile.

“Why me? Nothing, Watch Captain. I am simply open for business like usual. I think it is not good to worry, so I am getting about my day, yes? Are you on patrol? Could I interest you in a snack for your errands? Walnuts and honey, perhaps?”

Zevara blinked at her. The Drake looked around, bemused, and Mrsha, sitting behind the counter saw it at last. That was Krshia’s plan. She was going to work and doing ordinary things.

That was it. While Liscor’s people had been fretting and talking, Krshia was calling out to them like normal. She wasn’t pretending things weren’t bad, but she was doing what she had always done. And that reassured people. It brought normalcy back into their lives. It calmed them down.

And Zevara saw it too. The Watch Captain leaned on Krshia’s stall and lowered her voice.

“It seems you’re doing your civic duty, Miss Krshia. Or at least, I’d say that if calming people down was something we asked of our civilians. May I ask why you’re being so helpful? Not that I mind.”

Krshia grinned at Zevara.

“Let us say that it is a decision of Gnolls, Watch Captain. We will not flee the city. And few others will too, I think. When many hearts beat as one, fear has little place, yes?”

“True enough. But why?”

“It is our home.”

The Gnoll met Zevara’s eyes. The Watch Captain blinked. Then she smiled.

“True enough. Very well. I’ll take a pound of walnuts and those little cups of honey. Oi, you lazy lot! Get some snacks on me! And no one tell Relc about this!”

The City Watch cheered and laughed, as did the people around Krshia’s shop who heard. Mrsha thought Zevara was being very clever, and she smiled as Krshia began putting little baggies with honey together for the Drakes and Gnolls to eat from. But then Mrsha saw the curious thing again.

The Drakes took the bags of nuts and cups of honey as they came to them, but each of the Gnoll [Guardsmen] let Krshia put it into their hands. So that they touched at one point or another. They did it deliberately, and the looks in their eyes told Mrsha that they knew…something. They were doing something. And she imagined the spark in Krshia’s paws and wondered.

The day wore on. Krshia stayed in her stall as Mrsha grew bored. But then Elirr came by and Mrsha was allowed to walk with him. And she saw he was doing the same thing as Krshia. Not selling goods, but talking to people. And touching their hands.

Gnoll after Gnoll, families, single adults, teens. They came up to Elirr, or went to Krshia, and talked, exchanged greetings, and touched paws. Then they left. By the time Mrsha came back to Krshia, she saw the Gnoll shaking hands with a little Gnoll child. And Mrsha knew something was happening.

Krshia was collecting something. Mrsha felt it. Her fur tingled as she passed by Krshia. The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] looked down at Mrsha as the Gnoll cub hopped up into the seat next to her. Mrsha stared accusingly at Krshia’s paws and then at the Gnoll. But Krshia just smiled.

“You are not the only one who knows a bit about magic, Mrsha. I suspect you have never seen this before, not even in your tribe. Have you?”

Mrsha shook her head. Krshia nodded.

“If your [Shaman] was good, you would not need to see it. But this is no tribe and we City Gnolls are not true [Shamans]. I am not. But we have our tricks. Now, see. It is nearly time.”

The sun was setting in the sky, but it seemed like more and more Gnolls were on the streets. And moving between them, at the center of the odd tingling pattern now present everywhere in Mrsha’s mind were the eleven representatives. Faisha, Elirr, Raekea…and leading them was Krshia. Each one of them held something. And as the sun began to set behind the High Passes, they stopped hiding it.

A glowing spark of light appeared in Elirr’s paws, startling the Drakes nearby. He walked towards Krshia, then stopped and looked to Raekea. She raised her paw and Mrsha saw she was holding another spark of light. They weren’t the same size, but they both shone brightly. She reached out and took the light from Elirr. And then the spark in her hands grew. The Drakes murmured and the Gnolls watched. Mrsha felt her fur standing on end. She could feel it.

Magic. The Gnolls passed it from paw to paw, a glowing ember of pale yellow light, growing brighter as it moved from person to person. One, two, three…each time the light seemed to grow, if not in size, then intensity. And it clearly became heavier. By the time it reached Beilmark, the strong Senior Guardswoman staggered, holding it. A dense, bright light almost like flame, almost like lightning in the center of her paw. She turned to Krshia, and the [Shopkeeper] began to sweat as she took it.

“Heavy.”

Krshia gasped. She nearly fell and staggered as she held the light in her paws. She looked up at the fading sky. Beilmark, Elirr, Raekea, and the others clustered around Krshia, not touching her, but urging her softly.

“Do it, Krshia.”

“Throw it.”

Krshia tried. But though the muscles in her arms strained, she couldn’t lift the ball. She groaned and her arm seemed to creak as it held the shining light in her paw. She gasped.

“Too heavy. I cannot. I cannot.”

“You must! You cannot drop it now!”

Elirr urged Krshia. This was a critical moment. Mrsha could sense it. The Gnolls were growing worried. A Drake [Guardswomen] watching looked uneasy. No wonder. The light was getting brighter, more intense. Changing from yellow to gold. But Krshia couldn’t lift it.

“I—can’t—”

Sweat dripped from her brows. She was struggling. It was so heavy! Mrsha pushed through the circle, staring at Krshia anxiously. It was just light, but Krshia’s bones seemed to be breaking under the weight of it! Why was it so heavy?

“Do not let it fall! Do not—”

Beilmark tried to raise Krshia’s arms. So did Raekea, but neither could lift Krshia’s hands! The other Gnolls tried to pull Krshia up, but they were just as helpless. Mrsha ran back and forth. If the light fell, she knew, it would go out. Krshia had to lift it! She raised her paws, desperately pushed at Krshia’s hands as if that would make a difference—

And the light rose. Krshia stared and the other Gnolls fell back. Mrsha nearly fell over in shock. Lifting Krshia’s arms had been as simple as…lifting Krshia’s arms! The light had no weight to it! But then Krshia’s arms shook with effort. She stared at Mrsha, and then spoke breathlessly.

“Mrsha, child. Can you…?”

She offered the light to Mrsha. The little white Gnoll hesitated, then took it. The light filled her paws and instantly she felt it surge through her. Magic. Mrsha’s eyes went wide and Krshia gasped as she lifted it up. Mrsha stared at the shining light. It wasn’t heavy at all.

It was so warm. It felt like she was amid her tribe as she held it, surrounded by the people she loved. Mrsha could feel the light surging through her, giving her strength. Determination. She wanted to swallow the precious light and let it burn through her forever.

But she didn’t, because she sensed the intention in this magic. It wasn’t hers. It was made up of so many small parts. It was feeling, emotion. She looked around.

It was them. The Gnolls of Liscor watched as Mrsha held the ball of light, as heavy as all of them combined. To her, as light as a feather. Krshia pointed up.

“Throw it, Mrsha. Throw it into the sky!”

Mrsha looked up. The sky was pale red and fiery. The sun was fading. She stood up and clumsily aimed overhead. And she threw the light up.

And the fading sun in the sky was replaced by another. Up the light flew, a small orb growing larger. Growing, shining with a thousand shades of gold and yellow and white. Up and up, until the light became a star above Liscor. A bright star that shone down, casting rays upon the startled citizens who looked up.

And the light was warm. It filled Mrsha with warmth, dispelled the fear and nervousness in her. Made her feel…confident. It flooded her, and she raised her arms up to the sky, smiling. And when she looked around, the people were smiling too.

“What was that?”

The Drake [Guardswoman] demanded, staring up at the sky and then at the Gnolls. Krshia answered calmly.

“A spell for courage. A spell for hope. [Everdawn’s Radiance].”

“Is it—you don’t have a permit to cast magic like that—what Tier spell is it?”

The Drake glanced up at the sky and at Krshia, trying not to smile and look stern. Krshia laughed.

“It is a Tier 1 spell, as [Mages] reckon such things. So low-level that even I, a former apprentice can cast it, yes?”

“Tier 1? But that’s—”

“A [Shaman]’s spell. And I could not have done it without you. Thank you, Mrsha.”

Krshia knelt and looked at Mrsha. The little Gnoll cub looked up at her. Krshia shook her head.

“I do not know why it was so light for you. For me, untrained, it was as heavy as carrying every Gnoll on my back. But you? Ah, perhaps this is part of what we seek. Look at this, Mrsha. This is what we made. All of the Gnolls in the city. A scrap of courage, of bravery from each one. And it makes this.”

She pointed up at the growing star. Mrsha stared up at it in wonder. Krshia smiled at it.

“It is a weak spell as [Mages] reckon such things. No good in battle. No good when hearts are fearful from the Raskghar or grieving for the dead. But good when one knows a time of strife is coming. It pulls the strength from within and gives it form. And I think—it is enough.”

Enough. Mrsha looked up. The star hovered overhead. It blazed fiercely for one minute, then two. For eight minutes it shone and all who saw its light took something from it. It didn’t erase the fear of what was coming, or add a new source of courage for those who were worried about the future. But it reassured them. It reminded them of what mattered, of what was important. It was bright. And beautiful. And so for eight minutes, Mrsha sat and stared up and smiled.

—-

Across the city, people looked up. They stopped what they were doing, checking their supplies of coin, looking at maps, arguing, worrying about the Goblins and Humans, and stared at the strange light in the sky. It was reassuring. And as it shone down, they reconsidered their plans made in fear, in haste. They stopped rushing and thought long and hard about what they wanted and what would happen next.

Watch Captain Zevara stood on the battlements as the spell burst into life behind her. She swore, stared at it, and then watched it until it went out. When it was gone, she looked around and shouted an order.

“Someone get Beilmark!”

The Gnoll Senior Guardswoman came up the stairs a few minutes later. Zevara glared at her. Beilmark ducked her head, although she didn’t look the slightest bit abashed.

“Senior Guardswoman Beilmark.”

“Watch Captain?”

Zevara turned back to stare over the darkening landscape and spoke with her back turned to the Gnoll.

“Gnolls aren’t as troublesome as Drakes or Humans, Beilmark. Your people don’t stab each over family heirlooms and you police yourselves. With that said, I’ve heard tales of other cities and Watch Captains who clash every day with Gnolls in territorial disputes, racial crimes, and Gnoll politics. But that’s not been the case in Liscor.”

“Yes, Watch Captain.”

Beilmark looked straight ahead. Zevara nodded and went on.

“However, every time I think I know your people, they always surprise me. Every time I think I know magic, it surprises me. When I see that light, I can understand how Gnolls broke our Walled Cities so long ago.”

“Yes, Watch Captain?”

The Gnoll stared past Zevara, smiling slightly. Zevara smiled too. She turned around and looked at her city. And she knew that there wouldn’t be any mass exodus today. Maybe not tomorrow either. She looked at Beilmark, smiled and nodded.

“It was a nice spell. Do it again without telling me first and I’ll throw you off this wall. Dismissed.”

—-

Outside The Wandering Inn, the adventurers stared up at the sky as well. Jelaqua sighed as it went out and looked around.

“I guess we can stay for a few more days. I mean, we can always run south instead and there’s Mrsha and Erin and Lyonette to worry about. Plus, the door’s back.”

“I think…yes, I could wait. One more day at least. Until Yvlon decides where she’ll go.”

Ylawes spoke quietly. Halrac stared up at the place the light had been. He turned.

“Well, if you’re staying I’ll wait. It’s late anyways.”

The adventurers turned and looked back at the warm inn behind them. For a second they stared into the open door and remembered all that had happened there, for good or ill. Then they heard a voice from above.

“You call that magic?”

Pisces stood on the destroyed third floor of the inn and bellowed at Liscor, looking outraged. He waved his arms furiously.

“It’s just a crude emotional spell! It even relies on a visual component to work! You call that real magic? You might as well eat a hot meal and take a warm bath for the same effect! This is why shamanic magic is—”

He yelped and flailed wildly as someone kicked him, nearly sending him toppling from the roof. Ceria appeared behind him, smiling.

“Shut up, Pisces.”

—-

Elirr, Krshia, and Mrsha sat in his shop as he began leading his animals downstairs. Mrsha helped fill bowls with food as Krshia wearily spoke. The [Shopkeeper]’s arms ached and she felt worn from holding that much collective magic for so long. If she’d been a true [Shaman], this would have been so much easier. But it was done. She looked at Mrsha and spoke quietly.

“The next few days will be serious. I think we must all do our part to fortify Liscor and make preparations in case…well, in case all comes to the worst. I will bring you with me when we bury the book, so you know where it will go. And if, no when this is resolved, you will come back every week at least and read from it, yes? If you wish.”

Mrsha looked up and nodded. She chewed on some of the cat’s food, which earned her a dirty look from a tabby. Krshia smiled. Time for Mrsha to go back to Lyonette for dinner.

“And perhaps I will teach you what I remember of how [Shamans] do magic too. Maybe practice it once more myself. It would never be useful for me, but it would be nice to shock that annoying goat, Lism, in the tail, yes?”

The little Gnoll grinned. Elirr nodded. He leaned over and chuckled as he filled up the huge mastiff’s bowl.

“Even dogs may learn, so Gnolls too must change, yes?”

The other two nodded. Elirr turned to the war hound, who was patiently waiting for food for once. The [Beast Trainer] gestured.

“Sit.”

The mastiff blinked up at him. And then the dog rolled over. Elirr sighed, Krshia snorted, and Mrsha laughed silently.

It was good enough.

5.55 G

Day 10

On the tenth day, it was three Goblins who made a difference. As the sun rose, the Humans led by Tyrion Veltras drove the Goblin tribes south once more. Today was the day that they moved by the entrance to the High Passes, the home of Garen Redfang’s tribe and one of the most inhospitable environments for people of any kind to settle. If the Humans were going to push the Goblins into the pass or trap them there, it would be today.

No one expected them to. Everyone who was anyone knew that they would be turning and marching along the flatlands, following the mountain range to the second pass that ran through Liscor instead. And in just three days they would be at the city and if all went according to the various plans in motion, Liscor would be under siege.

Everyone knew that. [Spies], [Informants], and [Scouts] were all watching the movement of the army, relaying each move Tyrion Veltras made to interested parties. Hundreds of thousands of Drakes were marching north, some flying or riding at breakneck speed to get to Liscor in time. The Antinium were digging. Magnolia Reinhart was kicking over tables and swearing. The Necromancer was meditating. Again, everyone knew.

Except the Goblins. They woke up pretty much as usual. By now some were even sleeping through the morning’s volley of fireballs and had to be kicked until they got up. They ate, began to march, and generally trusted that their leaders would sort things out. When you had death behind you and no way to escape, there was really nothing else you could do.

However, if you were one of the leaders, life wasn’t that easy. And it was Pyrite who woke up worrying, which was his wont.

Actually, it wasn’t his wont. He didn’t want to worry at all. Pyrite had lived a very happy life as a [Mining Chieftain] with his Goldstone Tribe for years and he had devoted energy and effort into ensuring his life was as stress and death-free as possible. He’d hidden away from most Humans, cultivated an interest in rocks, and kept from massacring the occasional Silver or Bronze-rank team that was sent to slaughter his tribe. Of course, he’d been running away, but it had been fun while it lasted.

Now though, Pyrite regretted the months he’d spent chipping away at stones and finding gemstones to give to the children of his tribe. He’d leveled of course; he had quite a number of Skills, all of which allowed him to find gemstones, cut and polish them—even find the extremely rare stones that glowed or had magical auras, the ones infused with mana. Like the ultra-rare teleporting citrine he’d found just once—

“Stupid.”

Pyrite sighed as he walked along, battleaxe on his shoulder. One of the smaller Goblins gave him an affronted look, and Pyrite flicked a finger, indicating that it wasn’t about them. Reassured, the Goblins moved around him. Pyrite trudged on, feeling the weight of the enchanted fiery battleaxe on his shoulder.

Yes, he’d leveled, but he’d gotten the wrong Skills and he knew it. If Greydath were here—he’d—he’d—

Probably laugh and pat Pyrite on the head. He would understand. He’d never told Pyrite what to do. He’d given the young Goblin a chance, that was all. And Pyrite had squandered it.

“Pyrite. Chieftain wants to see you.”

A Goblin rode up to Pyrite on a Carn Wolf. Pyrite didn’t have to look to know it was Redscar. The Hob grunted and looked around. Normally it would be easy to spot Rags, distinctive as she was, but today was a bit different. Because today, their small tribe of thousands had…

Pyrite’s forehead wrinkled. What was the word? If you took something and multiplied it by eleven, what would you call that? Double, triple…what came after that?

Elevenuple. Pyrite decided that was the word, though it didn’t sound good to him. Yes, they’d elevenupled yesterday. Tremborag had fallen. His tribe had split in three parts, and the lion’s share had gone to Rags. Pyrite was just a bit proud of that.

And worried. There were now thousands of Hobs marching in the Flooded Waters tribe and regular Goblin warriors who had served Tremborag. Not to mention Ulvama and a handful of [Shamans]. All of them were new, and all looked to Rags. And Pyrite didn’t like it one bit.

“Where Chieftain?”

He looked up at Redscar. The smaller Goblin was looking about with much the same look on his face that Pyrite felt. He had to be wary too; both had seen the strange Goblin politics of Tremborag’s mountain and the way treachery and infighting had turned the Goblins there into something else. He pointed.

“There. We go together. Chieftain wants us.”

By ‘us’, he clearly meant Poisonbite, Noears, as well as himself and Pyrite. The Hob nodded and began walking in the direction of the small Goblin on the back of the Carn Wolf. Redscar let his mount pad alongside him and the other Goblins got out of the way as the two walked forwards. Redscar lay on the back of his wolf, speaking quietly to Pyrite.

“New Goblins.”

“Mhm.”

“Tremborag’s.”

“Mm.”

“Trouble maybe.”

“Yup.”

Pyrite nodded absently, completely failing to carry his end of the conversation. He was too busy thinking.

Redscar, now there was a Goblin who’d done the right thing, at least in how Pyrite understood classes and leveling. Greydath had never been too clear on the subject no matter how Pyrite asked. Pyrite suspected that Greydath hadn’t known as much about that subject either—probably because he didn’t pay attention to any class outside of combat-related ones. But he had been clear on what made someone strong, and Redscar was an example of that.

He had only two classes as far as Pyrite knew. [Beast Tamer], and [Raid Leader]. Both were directly useful to whatever Redscar wanted to do and all his Skills were highly practical. Pyrite had seen Redscar fighting and short of Garen Redfang, Reiss, or Eater of Spears, he thought Redscar was the best fighter among all the Goblins marching here.

If it came to a fight between Pyrite and Redscar, well, Pyrite would win if he and Redscar both had more or less equal footing. But only the first time, because Redscar would be caught off guard. And because Pyrite would go for his wolf, Thunderfur, first.

Anyways, the point was that in terms of potential, Redscar had done himself all the favors he needed to keep getting stronger. Pyrite was certain that in time his two classes would merge if Redscar lived long enough. He’d become a—[Beastraider Leader] or something. Pyrite didn’t know. He was bad with coming up with names.

But what would Pyrite be? He had a mining class and he wasn’t going to put that to use any time soon. He had to fight. He had to be strong, and he’d wasted half his levels and Skills. All he had to show for it was his pouch of shiny gemstones, which were shiny but—

Pyrite was feeling at the little pouch of gems for one of the magical gemstones he had left—he’d lost the teleporting citrine years ago—when he felt someone poke him. He looked up and saw Redscar was glaring and poking him with the tip of his sheathed sword.

“What? Oh.”

The Hob realized he’d abandoned the conversation. He shrugged apologetically.

“Mountain City tribe will be trouble. But Chieftain can probably handle.”

“Yes. But needs protect.”

From Reiss? Garen? No—Pyrite realized Redscar meant from Tremborag’s Goblins stabbing Rags in the back. He scratched at his belly.

“True. But not yet. Tremborag Goblins will wait and see how strong Chieftain is. Form alliances. Or try. At least a few days before stabbing in back. Or challenge.”

“Sure?”

Pyrite nodded. Redscar relaxed slightly. He grinned, exposing his teeth.

“You know. You were in tribe once. With Greydath.”

He said the name almost reverentially. Pyrite winced. For someone like Redscar, meeting Greydath of Blades had to be awe-inspiring. Pyrite nodded warily.

“Did.”

He did not elaborate, and Redscar didn’t press him, despite clearly wanting to. The Goblin warrior just nodded and urged his Carn Wolf to keep up. Pyrite shut his mouth.

Secrets. It was un-Goblinlike to have them. But Pyrite had as many secrets as he had gemstones. He wished he could tell Redscar everything. And Rags. Especially Rags. It would make things so much easier.

And why not? It wasn’t like they were grand secrets. It was just that they were private things. Shameful. Mysterious. Clues that had made Pyrite doubt Greydath when he’d heard them, had driven him from Tremborag’s mountain. Knowledge that hurt and made Pyrite wonder whether Velan had been betrayed. Or whether he and Greydath had known something about Goblin Kings that no one else did.

It didn’t matter. Not right now. Rags was all that mattered. Pyrite forced himself back to reality. He looked up as he and Redscar approached their Chieftain. The little female Goblin was issuing orders as she rode. She was so small. So young. And yet, she led them. And Pyrite saw in her something worth following. A leader, or the makings of one worth fighting for. He only wished he were strong enough to be her second in command.

“Pyrite. Redscar.”

Rags looked up at the two of them and gave her customary put-upon scowl. She waved at another duo of Goblins, Poisonbite and Noears as they approached. The five Goblins stood together, and Pyrite realized that he was the only Hob among them.

Of course, Quietstab had been one of the lieutenants as well. But it was something, that a tribe this large and this strong could be led by more regular Goblins than Hobs. Pyrite walked alongside Noears on Rags’ left, nodding to the Goblin [Mage] and getting a grin in response. Rags muttered to herself as Poisonbite and Redscar took a position on her right and then came out with her first grievance.

“Food is low! More Goblins means more eat, and fat Tremborag ate too much!”

Pyrite nodded. The Goblins who’d flocked to Rags’ tribe had brought their supplies, but a quick inventory had revealed that they’d stockpiled a lot less than Rags had. They’d relied on the herds of cattle and supplies the Humans drove or dropped into their path for food, which wasn’t wise. Rags pointed at Noears, who was in charge of the bag of holding.

“Noears has problem with Hobs. What?”

The [Mage] frowned.

“The Mountain City Hobs keep asking for a snack, Chieftain.”

“No snack!”

He nodded.

“Said that, Chieftain. But they said—”

He broke off as Rags waved her arms in the air.

“No snacks! Eat when time to eat! If want snack, dig up bugs while marching or shoot birds! And move in formations! Must practice.”

Redscar nodded.

“Can practice tonight before sleep.”

Poisonbite looked uneasy.

“They not like that. Tremborag Goblins don’t practice. Only if lieutenants do. Not together.”

“Too bad. They practice or go away. Redscar you and Redfangs in charge of Mountain City tribe. They march in formation or you—”

Rags mimed smacking the back of a head. Redscar grinned and nodded. Rags turned to Pyrite.

“Need to figure out how to fight. Big tribe. Different strategy.”

Pyrite nodded. That was Rags. She’d already realized they couldn’t operate like they used to—holding ground with pikes and using the Redfangs and Hobs to break enemy lines while the crossbows operated from the back. Now she had a bunch of Goblins with traditional weapons who weren’t able to move and conduct her precise tactics. He leaned in.

“Mountain City tribe does know how to fight, Chieftain. But knows Tremborag way of fighting. You saw. Regular Goblins go in, then Hobs. Can teach them how to fight Flooded Waters tribe style with same tactics. Just have to make groups with leaders.”

“Like they have.”

Redscar and the others looked at Pyrite. He nodded.

“But different. Make factions—sword and shield faction, archer faction, naked Hobgoblin [Shaman] faction—”

Rags snorted and glanced towards Ulvama. The [Shaman] was riding on a wagon, having refused to walk. Pyrite didn’t know why she’d joined Rags instead of Garen—the Hob would have never gone to Reiss, he was certain—but he regarded her as a huge asset, albeit a dangerous one. Rags nodded.

“Good idea. But will work?”

“Appoint strong Goblins as leaders. Choose from old lieutenants for new ones. Other Goblins fight them instead of you.”

Rags brightened up at the prospect. She looked at Pyrite approvingly and nodded. Redscar, Noears, and Poisonbite all liked the idea too.

“Good! Will do. Send Tremborag lieutenants here. They compete. I pick.”

Rags cackled, and Pyrite wondered if she’d have an impromptu competition on the march. It wouldn’t be the worst idea. She pointed around, giving orders.

“Redscar, go tell Tremborag Goblins. Have Redfangs divide up. Noears, go to supplies and hit stupid Goblins trying to steal. Poisonbite, go solve problems over there.”

She waved a claw. The other three Goblins nodded. Poisonbite sighed as she got what was the worst job in any tribe—being the one the Hobs went to when they encountered a problem they couldn’t solve. That was how it worked. Regular Goblins solved a problem or went to a Hob, who in turn solved it or went to a smarter Hob or a leader like Poisonbite in this case. And if she couldn’t solve it, it went to Rags.

The others dispersed, leaving only Rags and Pyrite for a moment. And the hundreds of Goblins marching around them in earshot, but they didn’t count. Pyrite and Rags glanced at each other. Then both simultaneously looked across the heads of marching Goblins.

“There.”

Pyrite pointed out two figures, marching on their left and right respectively. One was a Hob riding a Carn Wolf, leading a much smaller tribe, most of whom were mounted. Garen Redfang looked furious as he stared at Rags’ suddenly engorged tribe. And on the right rode another Hob, seated on the back of a headless undead spider. Reiss, the Goblin Lord. His army had grown as well, but now it was rivaled by Rags’ tribe. He stared ahead, lost in thought.

“Garen angry.”

Rags smiled gleefully. Pyrite nodded.

“But not cause trouble now. Too small.”

It was odd thinking of the famed leader of the Redfang tribe that way. But in a very real sense, yesterday had shown that to everyone. Garen hadn’t inherited Tremborag’s warriors as he’d clearly expected. They’d gone to Rags instead, and even to Reiss. Because, in a way no Goblin could quite articulate, for multiple reasons, Garen was wanting as a leader. The Hob was a mighty warrior, perhaps the strongest of all the Goblins who rode here. Certainly in physical combat now that Tremborag was dead. But he could not be a Chieftain like Rags or Reiss. But the Goblin Lord—

Rags’ smile faded as she looked at Reiss. If Garen was not a danger now, at least in the sense of threatening her tribe, Reiss was a different matter. She looked at Pyrite.

“Last night. What he do?”

“I don’t know.”

Pyrite stared at Reiss. Last night after Tremborag’s death, the Goblin Lord had been possessed by something. They’d all seen it. At first it hadn’t been clear, but as Reiss had begun walking around and looking at the Humans, at the Goblins here, he’d started talking to himself. Only, one of the voices that left his mouth wasn’t his own. And his posture, his way of moving, all of it, had changed.

It might not have been obvious to another species, but to Goblins it had been apparent that someone else was in Reiss. Talking to the Goblin Lord. And it had not taken any stretch of the imagination to figure out who. When they’d realized what was going on, all the Goblins—even Reiss’ own tribe—had given him a wide berth.

Pyrite remembered Rags wavering over going up to Reiss last night. He’d talked her out of it, not least because when Garen had found out what was happening, he’d drawn his sword and stared Reiss down. The Goblin Lord and Necromancer had both ignored him, though. Pyrite had wondered if Garen would charge Reiss, but the other Hob had held himself back.

It was wise, too; Pyrite had never felt so ill at ease around another Goblin. Whatever had been looking out of Reiss’ eyes had been cold and dangerous. It had been late last night when Reiss had finally stopped talking to himself. Near the end, his words had gone silent and Pyrite suspected he’d cast a spell to avoid being overheard. But whatever he’d discussed with his master, the Necromancer, nothing had come of it so far.

“He said he would ask his master about Humans. About what they do. Think he knows?”

Rags looked speculatively at Reiss. Pyrite shrugged.

“Could ask. Want me?”

He saw Rags hesitate. Then she shook her head.

“I’ll ask later. After choose new lieutenants. You go ahead lead tribe forwards.”

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Pyrite nodded. He wasn’t sure he was relieved or not. He stared again at Reiss, and then glanced at Garen. Now Tremborag was dead, there were only three Chieftains left. And while Rags was in a better place than before—Pyrite didn’t like it. As her second-in-command he felt her position was precarious. Both from within, with Tremborag’s Goblins, and from the other two tribes.

“Chieftain.”

Rags paused as she began to ride towards Redfang, who had already marshaled Tremborag’s old lieutenants and had them moving her way. She shot a quizzical glance back at Pyrite. He nodded to the approaching Goblins.

“Tremborag Goblins think like Tremborag did. Respect strength.”

She scowled.

“Will respect me.”

He nodded.

“Yes, Chieftain. But need to see tribe is strong. Chieftain is strong.”

A worried look crossed Rags’ face. She was strong, for a Goblin of her age, but both she and Pyrite knew she was far, far weaker than someone like Reiss, or Garen. Or even Redscar.

“How can show?”

Pyrite smiled. She didn’t see that she’d already done some of the showing, in the brief attack against Tremborag’s forces yesterday. He dipped his head.

“I will, Chieftain. After choose lieutenants, let me.”

Rags studied Pyrite. Then she nodded slowly. He walked away, keeping his back straight. The enchanted battleaxe felt heavy on his shoulder. That was right. He had chosen poorly with his classes, his Skills, and he had wasted too many years of his life. But he could still be her second-in-command. He could still show Tremborag’s Goblins what they needed to see. And when he couldn’t, when his mistakes caught up with him—

Well, that was why Redscar was around, wasn’t it? Pyrite moved faster, striding through the Goblins until he reached the front. And at last, he stared ahead and saw not the backs of Goblins and Hobgoblins, but the open sky, the High Passes—

And the Humans.

There was an advance force moving ahead of the Goblins, guiding them and ensuring that if they made a break for it, they’d be penned in. There were smaller groups of riders to the left and right as well, acting as guides while the vast majority of Humans marched behind the Goblins. Pyrite stared ahead at the Humans, who were leading them on a track right past the High Passes. He shrugged, sighed, and began to trudge after them.

Rags had ordered him to lead the tribe while she handled matters. It sounded like a lot of work, but in fact, it was the easiest thing to do out of all the jobs—assuming nothing came up. In fact, it was easy.

Here was how Pyrite did it. He walked and the tribe followed. The Hob set an easy pace; thanks to Rags’ Skill, the tribe could fast walk rather than jog and still move fast enough for the Human’s needs. Every time he moved left or right, the entire tribe rippled as it changed directions to follow him, wagons turning, Goblins riding horses moving left, smaller Goblins changing course, following the Goblins ahead of them.

Pyrite kept walking, undeterred by the importance of his job. He glanced at Reiss’ army keeping pace with him and saw a tall figure approaching him. He grinned. Someone had noticed he was in front and was coming to see him.

Eater of Spears strode towards Pyrite, followed by Reiss’ army. Pyrite walked left and the two met, both of their tribes walking side-by-side now. He glanced up at the much taller Hob and grunted. Eater of Spears flicked his ears and gave Pyrite a pleased grin.

Eater of Spears was slowly striding along and the Goblins in armor were marching hard to keep up. The huge Hob was the biggest that Pyrite had ever seen—aside from Tremborag. He looked like someone had carved muscles out of a green wall and only added a head as an afterthought. But Eater of Spears was deceptive. Much like Pyrite, actually. Perhaps that was why the two got along so well.

“Pyrite.”

“Eater of Spears.”

The two nodded at each other. They didn’t need to say much. Both understood the economy of words, and so they kept their chatter to a minimum. But they did touch on important topics, delicately saying what they could without betraying their Chieftains’ trust. Pyrite nodded back towards Reiss.

“Necromancer?”

“Mhm.”

Eater of Spear looked troubled. Pyrite nodded.

“Happen often?”

“Sometimes. Is good stay away.”

“Dangerous?”

“Mhm. Drake got hit by spell.”

“Not good.”

“Mm. But also good.”

“Really? Necromancer uses Goblins. How good?”

At this point Eater of Spears had to break their nearly monosyllabic rapport.

“Reiss is wise. Necromancer does not know all. He sees, but not everything. But he tells Reiss what he knows, about the Humans. About their plans. And now Reiss has his plan.”

Pyrite’s ears perked up. A plan? He didn’t like that. Not one bit. Casually, he looked at Eater of Spears.

“What kind of plan?”

The Hob looked down at Pyrite and shook his head reluctantly. He was barehanded, unlike Pyrite who carried an battleaxe. He didn’t need weapons; Pyrite thought he could kill anything he needed to just by punching it. If Redscar had to fight Eater of Spears he might lose unless that enchanted sword he had was capable of slicing through the Hob’s bones. If Pyrite had to fight…well, he’d want the drop on Eater of Spears. Preferably from the top of a cliff with a bow and arrow.

“Cannot say. Reiss will say to your Chieftain.”

Pyrite nodded. He’d expected as much. But he silently glanced back towards Reiss. If he had to fight Reiss, or if Reiss fought Rags…Pyrite didn’t enjoy playing out life-and-death battles in his head. But as Rags’ second-in-command he had to protect her. Which meant he had to assume the worst.

He noticed Eater of Spears looking at him and realized he was staring at Reiss for too long. Pyrite said a few Human curse words inside his head. He’d fallen for the same trap people usually fell into around him! Never forget the big Hob isn’t stupid. To cover for his mistake, he fished at his belt and pulled out a sack. When he opened it, Eater of Spear sniffed. A savory smell was coming from the bag, the scent of roasted meat. Pyrite pulled an object out and held it up.

“Want snack?”

Eater of Spears stared down. Pyrite was holding a rat. A dead and roasted rat. He blinked.

“Where find that?”

“Underground.”

Pyrite grinned. After a second, Eater of Spears laughed.

“Good place for them. You dig?”

“Mhm. Have more. Here.”

Pyrite handed the morsel up to Eater of Spears, who delicately crunched the morsel whole. The Goblins from both tribes looked jealous, so Pyrite opened his bag and passed more rats around, much to the delight of all present. He had over three dozen rats in his sack, many small, but some of a good size. Pyrite was relieved to get rid of them as they were heavy, but he’d been saving them for this purpose. He supposed this was one use of his Skills, a small boon.

That was because for Pyrite, digging was easy. Pyrite had found a nest of burrowing rats practically right next to him when he’d settled in for a nap. With his ability to hunt for gemstones, locating their nest and plucking them out had been easy. The real trick had been finding a [Cook] willing to accept only two of the rodents in exchange for roasting them. Most wanted three or four, but Pyrite knew the value of a good rat.

“Mm. Good. I have nothing to give.”

Eater of Spears looked guilty. He tried to object, but Pyrite made him take three more rats. The former Goldstone Chieftain shrugged.

“Isn’t hard to get rats. Digging easy. Not like rocks. Have to use pickaxe for that. Very tricky to get.”

“Can’t make?”

Pyrite shook his head.

“Stone ones break too easy. Need iron or steel. Have to take from Humans. Very hard to sneak.”

“How do it?”

“Get shiny gold rocks. Dump in mining camp. Shout. Let Humans find and start huge fight. Then grab pickaxes and run.”

He winked and Eater of Spears grinned. Both Hobs laughed and Eater of Spears slapped his chest, making a thwacking sound that one didn’t normally expect to come from flesh. Pyrite eyed the Hob. Now those were muscles. Pyrite was confident of his strength, but sometimes he wished he’d been able to turn into a pillar of physical might like Eater of Spears or even Tremborag.

Greydath had told him that Tremborag’s ability to turn into a monster hadn’t been due to a Skill or class. He’d probably been enhanced by his class, but his ability was actually part of Goblin heritage, albeit largely unknown. In fact, Tremborag had been weak according to Greydath, which was why he couldn’t maintain the transformation. But Eater of Spears was in his prime, and so he had to be getting close. If Pyrite told him—

No. They were friends, but Pyrite wasn’t sure. The Hob kept his mouth shut as Eater of Spears finished laughing and spoke.

“My tribe, Rockbreakers Tribe, was not so good as yours. I told you. Not enough food for…”

He indicated Pyrite’s layers of fat, clearly envious. Pyrite nodded, although he privately thought that any tribe that could sustain someone of Eater of Spears’ size had to be doing well. He and Eater of Spears had swapped stories before. Apparently, before he’d joined Reiss, Eater of Spears had led a tribe of less than eighty Goblins, almost all Hobs. They’d been the terror of the cliffs and beaten Wyverns to death for food. Eater of Spears crunched another rat and went on.

“Anyways. One time, had to get healing potions for bad injury on many after big fight with Wyverns. So went to Drake city. Small city, but dangerous. Had to scare away Drakes on walls, but not enough stones.”

“So what did you do?”

Pyrite smiled. Eater of Spears grinned and flex an arm.

“Got dead Wyvern heads. Threw them. Drakes scream and run, and we climb walls.”

Pyrite chortled. Eater of Spears smiled, and then his face fell, grew somber.

“Had to kill many Drakes after that. Got potions, but Drakes sent army. Tribe had to flee. Go high up into mountains. Bad things there. Worse than Wyverns. Over half tribe died.”

The two Hobs felt silent. Pyrite had known similar disasters. He searched for something to say, and then raised his voice lightly.

“One time, when mining, I found a shiny yellow gem. When I reach for it, it disappeared. Found it lying on ground behind me. Teleporting magic stone. I chase after it—”

Eater of Spears brightened a bit as Pyrite told the embellished story of how he’d nearly died when chasing after the elusive teleportation stone and figured out a way to stop it from moving about. The two Hobs kept swapping stories for nearly an hour as they walked, until both spotted something unusual happening ahead of them.

The High Passes was a gaping rift, a steep incline that quickly became cliffs, leaving only a valley between two mountains. It was clearly the result of some fissure in the mountains, perhaps caused by a seismic rift in the past. Whatever the case, it was narrow, winding and jagged. The Humans had been steering the Goblins past it without issue—until something came out of the High Passes for a snack.

“What’s that?”

Eater of Spears pointed at the advance group of Humans. They were blowing their horns and racing about, clearly fighting something. Pyrite checked his grip on his battleaxe.

“Don’t know. Redfangs!”

He bellowed and both Garen’s tribe and the Redfang warriors in Rags’ tribe looked around. Pyrite pointed and a pair of his warriors took off. Not to be outdone, Garen pointed and a band of his warriors raced ahead as well. Both Pyrite and Eater of Spears exchanged a look and stopped, halting the progress of the Goblins. It was risky, but they weren’t about to advance without knowing what was going on.

The scouts came back within minutes. The pair of Redfangs Pyrite had sent halted in front of the two Hobs. One of them pointed towards the fighting Humans.

“Eater Goats!”

“Eater Goats?”

Pyrite and Eater of Spears exchanged a look, Pyrite’s of concern, and Eater of Spears’ a blank one. Pyrite knew of the dangerous, all-consuming goats of the High Passes. He’d killed a few that had wandered into his tribe’s territory and he knew the goats, while not individually as powerful as say, a Hob, were more than capable of ripping anything to shreds given enough numbers. They could eat a Gargoyle and they were without fear.

And there were lots of them. Thousands, in fact. They’d charged into the Humans from the side, completely ignoring the spells and arrows that had blown a number of their brethren apart. Now they were engaged and the Humans were getting the worst of it. Their horses were not at home fighting enemies that low to the ground, and the Eater Goats could jump and chew through armor. Plus, they screamed.

The Goblins listened to the report with no lack of satisfaction. At last the Humans were in trouble! Pyrite was about to suggest to Eater of Spears they get moving and let the Humans shield them when he heard horns blowing from behind. He saw the Humans break up and race away.

“That’s bad.”

Eater of Spears grumbled. The Humans were running, and the Eater Goats were breaking away from their pursuit of the faster horses. They’d just spotted their second dinner in the form of the Goblin army and they were charging towards them, never mind that there were only a few thousand goats and hundreds of thousands of Goblins. To them, that just meant there was more to eat.

“Goblins!”

Eater of Spears roared and the Goblin Lord’s army turned to face the goats. Pyrite strode through the ranks of his Goblins as well, and heard a familiar voice.

“Crossbows and bows front! Big shields forwards! Hobs and warriors behind! Redfangs to side!”

Rags surged forwards, shouting and pointing. Her tribe set itself up, preparing for the goats. They were right in the path of the oncoming monsters. Pyrite took his position behind the line of pikes, thinking fast. Rags was employing both her old and new Goblins, but she was relying on a rank of Goblins with tower shields to slow the goats down while the bows went to work. She screamed an order and the first ranks of crossbows and bows fired.

A stream of arrows rained down and struck the first wave of goats, eliciting braying screams. Some fell, but even the ones with arrows sticking out of their legs and torsos kept running. Rags shouted and another volley fell, and another. The first rank of Eater Goats struck the Goblins with shields and bounced back. Some leapt, but were skewered before they landed. The Eater Goats circled as they tried to find a way into the defensive formation. They nipped and bit—the Goblins with tower shields held their ground.

“Wait! Wait!”

Rags shouted at the Goblins warriors pushing the goats back. Pyrite saw a wing of her archers and warriors moving to the left side. She was going to pin the Eater Goats down and shoot them to death without risking her warriors. That was a smart move. Someone—Redscar—must have told Rags how dangerous it was to fight Eater Goats up close.

Pyrite saw it all happening as the Eater Goats began biting through the shields. Goblins shouted and screamed as they tried to force the goats back. He knew some of them would fall, but this tactic Rags had come up with was the safest. Only—Pyrite looked around.

Every eye was on Rags. Tremborag’s former Goblins were assessing her. They could see she was a genius when it came to strategy, but like Pyrite had told her, it wasn’t enough. They needed to see strength as well as intelligence. Pyrite stared at the Eater Goats fighting the Goblins with shields. Then he groaned.

“My turn.”

The Hobs around him looked confused. Pyrite turned to them and took a deep breath. He bellowed.

“Hobs!”

They straightened. Pyrite pointed ahead and roared.

“Charge! Shields back! Archers back! Hobs charge behind me! Redfangs charge!”

The Goblins gaped and Pyrite heard an exclamation from Rags. This was not part of the plan! But Pyrite was already moving. He charged forwards and Goblins scattered in front of him. The first rank of shields was folding as the Eater Goats leapt up, biting, ripping at the wood and metal shields, Pyrite thrust a terrified Goblin aside and raised his battleaxe.

There were thousands of the goats. They screamed, a hoarse, piercing shriek magnified from a thousand throats. Pyrite roared and charged at them. The Eater Goats didn’t expect that.

“Forwards!”

The enchanted battleaxe left Pyrite’s shoulder. He swung it and flame burst from the edge of the axe. Five Eater Goats leaping for him were caught by the swing, and the pieces landed around Pyrite. He charged forwards, kicking a goat head-over-hooves and bringing his axe down on another. The goat gurgled and Pyrite swept his axe.

“Forwards!”

Hobs charged through the ranks of Goblins behind him. They clashed with the front rank of Goblins, but Pyrite was still running forwards. Eater Goats were all around him. They leapt and Pyrite swung his axe. Greydath had taught him how to use weapons. Swinging with huge strikes would get Pyrite killed. And it wasn’t necessary—his enchanted axe could cut through the goats easily. He swung the axe as fast as possible instead, covering the area ahead of him. High, low, high, low—

It was like he was a farmer with a scythe and the Eater Goats were wheat. But the wheat moved and bit. Pyrite roared as a goat got past his guard and tore a chunk off his shoulder. But he didn’t stop. He kept moving, swinging the axe with one arm as he tore the goat—and more of his flesh—off and hurled it to the ground. If he stopped they’d swarm him. He could only move forwards and trust the Hobs to his back, forwards and forwards, screaming that one order.

“Forwards! FORWARDS!”

Where were the Redfangs? He should have called them up earlier. Something bit Pyrite on the leg and he kicked, shaking it off. Blood ran down his arms and he could smell burning, the stench of cooked meat. At the very least they’d have food. Pyrite saw the goats leaping at him, swung his axe. He slipped—

And a bounding red wolf leapt and bit the Eater Goat, snatching it out of the air. The massive wolf, Thunderfur, worried the goat and threw it to one side. On its back, Redscar turned, his blade flashing. He leaned down and sliced an Eater Goat across the neck, killing it instantly, then turned and stabbed a leaping goat through the mouth. Redfangs bounded past him, screaming war cries and attacking the goats from the side.

“Pyrite!”

Redscar bellowed. Pyrite stood up and raised his axe. He swung it wide and the goats in front of him vanished. Redscar blinked as Pyrite pointed.

“Attack! Don’t stop attacking!”

He charged forwards and Redscar and the Redfangs were with him. The Hobs could barely keep up as they scythed through the Eater Goats. Pyrite kept running, swinging the heavy axe though his arms burned and his chest hurt. He only stopped when he looked around and realized there was nothing ahead of him. He looked back and saw the last of the Eater Goats being finished off behind him.

A red trail marked his passage through the monsters. Pyrite leaned on his axe, gasping, then remembered. He stood up straight as Redscar rode back towards him. The [Raid Leader] had an odd look in his eyes as he fished something from his belt and tossed it at Pyrite.

“Here.”

Pyrite caught it and blinked down at the green healing potion. He looked down and realized the goats had torn chunks out of his arms, shoulders, and legs. Absently, he drank the potion and tossed the bottle down.

“How many lost?”

“Few. Eater Goats got surprised. No good when defending. Think they started to run.”

Redscar grinned. He patted Thunderfur and let the Carn Wolf begin to eat one of the goat’s corpses in front of him. But he was still looking at Pyrite. He wiped his blade with one hand.

“That was—good. Impressive. Not like you.”

He nodded to Pyrite. The Hob silently wiped blood from his arms and chest. He was drenched in it. Pyrite nodded shortly.

“I know. Had to do.”

“Why?”

“To show them.”

Pyrite pointed. The Hobs were panting, while the Redfang warriors of Rags’ tribe were cleaning their weapons or letting their Carn Wolves eat, tending to their injuries. But the Goblins behind them—the Hobs from Tremborag’s tribe—they were all staring at Pyrite. At the Hob who’d just cut a hole through a thousand Eater Goats by himself.

Redscar grinned at Pyrite. He understood. It was only Rags who didn’t. She rode up to Pyrite, swearing and looking ready to murder him.

“What that? That was not plan! Why attack?”

“Pyrite showing off, Chieftain.”

Redscar grinned and saluted Rags with his sword. She gave him an evil look and then looked at Pyrite.

“Why?”

Pyrite shrugged tiredly. His arms hurt.

“Have to show them, Chieftain. Show them you are smart, but also strong. I am second-in-command. Have to be strong. Show them—and show others.”

“Others?”

Rags looked around blankly. Then she noticed the other tribes.

The Eater Goats had split up in their attack. Most had gone for Rags’ tribe, but two groups had split off and attacked the other two tribes. The last of them were dying on Reiss’ side now.

The Goblin Lord’s troops had fought the Eater Goats well, although without half as much flashy tactics or aggression as Rags’ tribe. Eater of Spears was pounding the Eater Goats flat while the warriors in black armor supported him. On the other side, Garen’s warriors were already dissecting the Eater Goats that had attacked them.

“Fast.”

Pyrite murmured. He hadn’t even seen Garen’s tribe fight. Redscar shook his head.

“They didn’t attack. Garen attacked them when he saw you—”

He mimed Pyrite swinging his axe. Rags and Pyrite both looked confused.

“Why not attack?”

Redscar looked a bit sad. He glanced over at Garen then tapped a streak of red on his green skin. He had a slash of crimson paint running down his left cheek.

“Warpaint. Garen tribe has it. Mark of Redfangs. Eater Goats see, they don’t attack. Know it means death.”

“Really?”

Rags blinked. Pyrite saw Redscar was right—every Goblin in Garen’s tribe was wearing their signature war paint. Rags frowned, musing.

“Good to know. Could use, maybe.”

Then she looked over at Pyrite and scowled again. She poked one of his healing wounds and he winced. Redscar chortled as he left them alone to order the Goblins to butcher the dead goats for food. Rags and Pyrite looked at each other.

“Took big risk.”

“Yes, Chieftain. But did show them. I think.”

Pyrite felt at his shoulder, pulled out a tooth so the flesh could regrow. He flicked it to the ground and looked at her.

“Did it work? Did it seem strong?”

He hoped it had, or else he’d taken a big risk for nothing. Rags hesitated, then smiled.

“Looked like scary monster to me. Scary, big, fat Hob.”

“But not smelly.”

“But not smelly.”

They laughed. Pyrite walked back, noting the difference in the way the Goblins looked at him. One of the Hobs he recognized, a lieutenant of Tremborag’s, had been part of the fighting. Pyrite slowed and stared at him. What was his name?

“Hammersteel?”

The Hob blinked. He nodded slowly. He had a wicked maul and steel cuirass on his front, as well as a reputation for picking fights.

“Pyrite. Good fight. Knew Flooded Waters tribe was right choice.”

“You think so?”

Pyrite tilted his head quizzically. Hammersteel grinned and spat.

“Think so! Garen not smart, but Chieftain Rags is. Better than traitor lord. And has strong second! Pyrite with the axe!”

He pointed to the axe and cackled. Pyrite smiled a bit. Hammersteel looked envious. He made a circumspect gesture.

“I hold?”

Pyrite nodded. Hammersteel approached—and was promptly shoved out of the way. Ulvama appeared, smiling widely. Pyrite blinked. The [Shaman] of Tremborag’s tribe wore very little in the way of clothing, and instead had colorful paint on her skin instead. She smiled seductively at Pyrite as she kicked Hammersteel, forcing him back.

“Strong Hob. Didn’t know so strong! Good second for Chieftain Rags. I am Ulvama. You are Pyrite? We should talk. Meet each other.”

She laid a hand on Pyrite’s arm, brushing at the blood and ignoring the flies buzzing around Pyrite. He noticed the flies though, and resolved to wash himself as soon as possible. He hated being dirty. Pyrite stared at Ulvama’s soft touch and grunted.

“We have met before. Long time ago.”

Ulvama’s smile slipped.

“We have?”

“Mhm. Back in Tremborag tribe. I was Goblin. Small. You were small Goblin too. Apprentice to Chief Shaman. Remember you getting in trouble for using paints.”

Ulvama’s jaw dropped. Hammersteel cackled with laughter. She turned and pointed a finger at his groin, and he yelped as the air grew subzero rapidly and fled. Ulvama turned back to Pyrite. She tilted her head.

“You were Tremborag’s?”

“Yes.”

Pyrite met her eyes. Ulvama hesitated. He could see her thinking. Her gambit to tie herself to the highest-ranked Goblin in Rags’ tribe wasn’t going well. But she didn’t give up—mainly because she had no choice. Noears had been in Tremborag’s tribe so he was well aware of Ulvama’s ways—and he didn’t get along with Tremborag’s Goblins to begin with. It was why he’d left and why he was called Noears to begin with. Poisonbite was female, as was Rags, and neither of them were interested in other females in a way that would help Ulvama. And Redscar liked male Goblins. So Ulvama tried again.

“You want sex?”

Goblins didn’t do much subtlety. Ulvama’s first attempt had been as subtle as it got. Pyrite shook his head.

“No.”

“Why not?”

She stared at Pyrite suspiciously. He shrugged.

“Too busy. And don’t like you. You go back to wagons now. We keep moving.”

He shooed Ulvama away, ignoring her hissing and threats. Pyrite walked back to the front of his tribe. Eater of Spears was there, rubbing at a chunk taken out of one bicep. Pyrite nodded and began walking. The tribe marched after him, hurriedly packing away the meat from the dead goats. It was just one thing in a day.

But it mattered. Pyrite could sense Eater of Spears looking at him. The Hob absently swatted a fly trying to lick blood from his skin.

“What?”

“Never saw that before. Strong. Cut goats apart so quick even Garen Redfang looked scared. Why do it?”

Pyrite paused. He looked around and saw Garen Redfang was staring at him. He shrugged and looked ahead.

“It was a warning.”

“To Garen? To Tremborag Goblins?”

“To everyone.”

Pyrite looked up at Eater of Spears. The Hob paused. Then he nodded. The two walked on. Pyrite found his water skin and tried to wipe off the blood with a little bit of water. Eater of Spears silently offered him his water skin and Pyrite grunted in thanks. He noticed Eater of Spears hadn’t healed the bites he’d taken—not that the Eater Goats had been able to do much damage to his skin.

“Need potion?”

“No. Have, but not waste. Will heal quick.”

The Hob shook his head and tapped a bottle on his belt. He had three potions, actually. A sign of how important he was. For the first time, Pyrite noticed that Eater of Spears had a number of objects on his belt. A little band of feathers, a token of some sort, his own belt pouches, the water skin—and two glittering hatchets.

“What are those?”

Eater of Spears blinked down at his belt. Then he grinned.

“Throwing axes. Weak enchanted. Sharp. Reiss gave as reward.”

“Any good with axes?”

Pyrite was intrigued. He glanced back at Reiss, and then at Garen, and had another thought. Another bad idea, or perhaps, a good one. He raised his eyebrows and Eater of Spears grinned.

“Have Skill. And class! Was a [Thrower] before. Can hit flying Wyverns with rocks. Don’t level class much anymore, though. But this good for [Mages]. Threw at fast-fast flying pink thing, but missed.”

Flying pink what? Pyrite decided to ignore that. He pursed his lips, and then spoke casually.

“I have another class. [Blademaster]. Only Level 3, though.”

“[Blademaster]?”

Eater of Spears’ brows shot up. He looked impressed, as anyone might. Pyrite shrugged.

“Was taught by Greydath of Blades. You know?”

“I do. He taught you?”

“Yes. But no good with sword. Axes better.”

Pyrite sighed. No matter how hard he’d tried, he hadn’t been able to get past Greydath’s ‘basic’ training. Which was still something. He looked speculatively at Eater of Spears and decided to tell him another secret.

“Trained a bit. Didn’t learn much, but…in fight. I can see when someone is going to hit. And where, sometimes. Not a Skill. I learned it from Greydath.”

“Really?”

Eater of Spears was fascinated. His eyes flickered, and Pyrite was sure that information was going straight to Reiss later. Not necessarily maliciously—but it was definitely important. The big Hob looked at Pyrite, and the Hob waited. Wait—wait—

He saw the movement and raised a fist to block as Eater of Spears threw a fist. The Hob stopped before he hit Pyrite, which was a relief. Pyrite had known the punch was coming, but blocking it—

Eater of Spears blinked and some of the Goblins who’d been watching and listening murmured in awe. No doubt they’d pass this on as well. That was how the Goblin social network functioned. But Pyrite didn’t care about them. He focused on Eater of Spears and smiled.

“Told you.”

The Hob grinned, delighted. He nearly forgot to keep walking as he stared at Pyrite.

“How? Can teach?”

“Very hard. Took long time to master, even with Greydath show. All about muscles. Arm position. Stance. Easy on Eater of Spears because muscles are easy to see.”

Pyrite smiled and Eater of Spears laughed. The Hob smiled too. And in his mind, from his glittering treasury of secrets, Pyrite plucked a pair of gems and offered them up. Two secrets he’d given. And in return, he gained something back, invisible though it might be.

Trust. Eater of Spears quizzed Pyrite on how the trick worked, and about Greydath. Pyrite answered politely without going into details, and then casually pointed at Eater of Spears’ axes when he found a break in the conversation.

“Greydath taught more than just sword. Like axes. Not Skill, but can throw. Let me try?”

Eater of Spears hesitated, but then he willingly unhooked an axe and handed it to Pyrite. The Hob grunted as he lifted the throwing axe. It was superbly balanced and it felt sharp enough to cut through anything. A gift indeed. He looked around, spotted a target, and then turned and hurled the axe. Eater of Spears roared in surprise and Goblins looked up and threw themselves flat.

Ulvama was sitting in her wagon, growling to herself, when the blade of the axe embedded itself into the wooden frame next to her. Pyrite winced—he hadn’t meant to throw it that close. He saw the [Shaman]’s eyes go wide.

Ulvama screeched, leapt away from the quivering axe, and then stared across the heads of Goblins at Pyrite. She starting screaming insults at him. Pyrite ignored her as he lowered his hand. He looked around and saw that every Goblin around him, Reiss’ Goblins and Rags’ tribe, were staring at him with open mouths. He looked up at Eater of Spears, who was gaping at him.

“Good at throwing things too. Want to play game?”

The Hob blinked, then he bellowed with laughter and slapped Pyrite on the back, nearly knocking him over. The axe was returned and Eater of Spears handed the axe to Pyrite. The two began throwing at objects ahead of them, aiming at birds, rocks, any target that came to mind.

Pyrite threw economically, Eater of Spears with less accuracy but enough force to split almost any object in two or shatter stone. It was just as well the axes were enchanted. So the two Hobs walked together and Pyrite knew he was at the center of attention. He’d done all he could. He’d prepared, and sent…a warning. As clear as he could make it.

He just hoped it would be enough.

—-

“[Deathbolt].”

The black light had struck Osthia. She had fallen as it sapped the life, the very core of energy from her. She lay on the ground, motionless, breathless, eyes still open wide and mouth slightly agape. The Necromancer studied her for a moment, then walked off.

It took a while for the Goblins to dare retrieve her body. When they did, she was loaded onto a wagon with other dead Goblins and animals, to be made into food for later. After all, they couldn’t waste food. There Osthia lay as night passed to day, until the wagon was bumping and threatening to knock her onto the ground.

The Goblin driver was dozing until Snapjaw rode over and snapped an order. The Hob leapt onto the wagon and found Osthia’s corpse. She eyed the black ring on Osthia’s claws, bent, tugged it off, and waited.

Nothing happened. Snapjaw scratched her head anxiously. She bent to listen by Osthia’s mouth and heard no intake of breath. She poked Osthia in the chest, then poked her in the cheek. Snapjaw gulped, then saw one eye swivel towards her.

“Do you mind?”

The Hob nearly leapt off the wagon. She lurched back as Osthia sat up, gasping and coughing. The Drake spat—several dead flies shot out of her mouth. She looked around, blinked at the sunlight streaming down, and then turned to Snapjaw.

“What in the name of the Ancestors—how long was I out?”

“Half day.”

Snapjaw shrugged. Osthia gaped.

“Half a day? Your leader told me I’d be recovered in minutes! Do you know how dangerous it is to keep someone under the [False Death] spell that long? Why the hell—”

“I forgot.”

The female Hob picked at her teeth with one claw, looking embarrassed. Osthia inhaled, and spat another fly out.

“You forgot? You forg—”

“Necromancer took long time to go. Long time. So forgot. Remembered before you got eaten.”

Snapjaw said it as if that righted all wrongs. Osthia balled her claws into a fist, then looked around.

“He’s gone? Then where’s Reiss?”

The Hob glared at the Drake. She enunciated her words carefully.

“Goblin Lord Reiss is busy. Big thinking after plan.”

“Plan? What plan?”

Osthia looked at Snapjaw. The Hob closed her mouth. Osthia tried to sit up, but her body refused to obey her.

“What plan? What are the Humans going to do? What is the Necromancer doing? What is Reiss—”

She was trying to get up. Snapjaw scratched her head, and then brightened.

“Oh! Remember the second thing I was supposed to do.”

“What?”

Osthia turned to glare at her. Snapjaw scooted forwards. She picked up the black ring, its charge exhausted, and then looked at Osthia. Reiss had come up with the ring after worrying she might be killed. He was reasonably certain she could survive a single [Deathbolt]—it killed all those under Level 30 when Az’kerash used it, and all those under Level 15 when he used it—which meant it would take multiple casts to kill Osthia. But he hadn’t wanted to risk it. She didn’t know why he liked the Drake so much, but orders were orders.

“What second thing?”

The Drake glared at Snapjaw. The Hobgoblin shrugged.

“This.”

She brought her head forwards and head-butted Osthia. The Drake’s head snapped back and she reeled.

“You—”

She tried to spit acid, but Snapjaw struck her in the face with a second head-butt, then a third. She shook her head as Osthia fell back, unconscious. Snapjaw looked down at the prone Drake and sighed.

“Reiss says sorry.”

Then she turned to the Goblin driver.

“Put in chains. Hands, feet, mouth. Hobs guard. Don’t let run.”

She hopped off the wagon and onto the back of her waiting horse. Snapjaw rode away, rubbing her aching head. She headed straight for Reiss, visible on the back of his shield spider. Snapjaw couldn’t wait for him to tell the others, so she could tell Poisonbite. It was time. It was finally time. She grinned, showing all of her metallic, enhanced teeth.

Time for war.

—-

The second Goblin was Reiss. He sat on his Shield Spider and thought. He thought about tactics, about a city called Liscor, about the undead and the Chosen of Az’kerash. And most of all, he thought about Garen. He didn’t look up, lost in thought as he was. When Eater of Spears sent a Goblin to relay his curious exchanges with Pyrite, Reiss barely took notice, though the news would have fascinated him another time. When Snapjaw told him about Osthia, he just looked up.

“Thank you, Snapjaw.”

She grinned at him. Reiss did not smile back. He couldn’t feel happy about Osthia. But it had to be done and he didn’t have the courage to confront her. She would not understand. Or worse, she might understand all too well. Either way, she would have tried to kill him. Because he was going to take Liscor. Reiss was only afraid—

That he’d have to kill Garen to do it.

Tell them. Force them to kneel, and bring one army to take Liscor. His master’s last injunction echoed in Reiss’ mind. He knew it had to be done. His army was strong, but Rags had an army roughly two thirds as large as his. And Garen? Well, his warriors were few, but they were elite.

How had it happened? Tremborag’s tribe had gone to Rags rather than Reiss or Garen. It had shocked him, although his conversation with Az’kerash had put it out of his mind. Now Reiss wondered. He supposed it made sense; Tremborag’s tribe blamed him for losing their mountain, but why had they passed over Garen?

It didn’t matter. Both tribes had to ally with him. They didn’t have to be his—his master was wrong there. Forcing Rags to submit to him would be close to impossible, and Garen would be truly impossible. They just had to fight together. He could convince Rags of that when he told her the full scope of the plan, Reiss was certain.

Garen would be the obstacle. That was why Reiss hesitated to tell him. When Garen Redfang learned of Az’kerash’s plans, he would oppose them on principle, regardless of how they made sense. He might even try to kill Reiss. Or run.

If they fought—if Reiss had to kill him—the Goblin Lord closed his eyes. They were brothers. Brothers, still, after so long.

“It will not come to that. He will see reason. I just need—to force him to agree. If Rags agrees, he must.”

They’d surround his tribe. In the night. Give him an ultimatum and force him to agree. And if he fought, if he resisted—they could capture him. Alive.

It wasn’t as if his tribe was necessary in the battle. Important, but not necessary. And it might not come to that. Garen was stubborn, but he wasn’t a complete idiot.

Reiss told himself that again and again. Then, at last, he decided it was time. Rags had to know, then Garen. He forced himself not to tremble as he sat up and directed his Shield Spider to crawl towards Rags’ tribe. It was time. Time at last! Time for war. Time to take Liscor and find a home.

“Chieftain Rags! Gather your lieutenants. I must speak with you.”

Reiss shouted at the small figure riding on Carn Wolf. He saw Rags’ head turn, and felt a hush go through both his and her tribe. The Goblins could tell something was happening, even if most did not know what. He saw Rags hesitate, then nod. She rode to join him with her four most trusted lieutenants. Eater of Spears and Snapjaw joined Reiss. He wished the others were here. But they had died at Invrisil, in battle. So many dead. But the end was in sight.

“What?”

Rags stared up at Reiss, her eyes narrowed. She knew he had spoken with Az’kerash. But not about what. The Goblin Lord took a steadying breath. Garen was watching suspiciously.

“I have spoken with my master. He has discovered the Human’s plans. What they intend. My master is certain they are moving us to Liscor. Not to slaughter us there, but to use us. With trebuchets they will tear open Liscor’s walls. Then, they mean to force us to take the city. And once it has fallen, rush in and slaughter us to the last.”

The Goblins went silent. Rags’ eyes went wide and Noears uttered a curse. Redscar turned to look at the Humans, Poisonbite gulped, and Pyrite narrowed his eyes and glanced at his Chieftain. Fear, sharp and electric ran through all the Goblins around Reiss. He could feel it, but kept calm. So did the Goblins in his army, sensing his confidence, drawing resolve from it.

Snapjaw ground her teeth together, almost dancing from foot to foot with glee and Eater of Spears waited silently. They knew what was coming next. Rags looked pale as she looked at Reiss.

“Okay. That bad. Necromancer has a plan?”

“Yes. We will take the city and hold it. With his aid. He will resurrect every warrior that falls in battle. He will provide us with his elite undead warriors, his Chosen. With them, we will take Liscor, and when the Humans attack, we will hold it and beat them back.”

Reiss saw the eyes of the Goblins widen around him. Some reacted in shock, others horror or disbelief. Rags just blinked. Reiss went on, outlining the plan Az’kerash had given to him.

“Liscor can be taken. It can fall. With your tribe and mine, we can secure the city. My master can raise walls of bone to hold the breaches, seal the Humans in when they attack and cut their army in two. Chieftain Rags, join your Flooded Waters tribe to mine and claim Liscor. Your home. It will be the first city of Goblins.”

Rags’ eyes flickered. She looked at Reiss, then at Snapjaw’s grin, Eater of Spears slowly nodding. She looked around at Reiss’ warriors, who were caught up by his words, and then at her own uncertain tribe, who looked to the Goblin Lord with apprehension and a bit of—hope. Reiss waited, his eyes going to Garen. What would he say? What would he do? Would he run if he heard the news being spread? No, he’d come to say something even if it was a refusal. Would he—

“No.”

The word was quiet, and so soft Reiss’ thoughts kept going until they got tangled up on the word. The Goblin Lord blinked. He looked down at Rags.

“What?”

“No. We will not fight.”

Rags folded her arms. Her lieutenants looked at her. Poisonbite in disbelief, Noears frowning, Redscar uneasily. And Pyrite? The Hob smiled.

“You are not serious.”

Reiss refocused on Rags. She had to be telling a joke. But the little Goblin just shook her head.

“I told you. Goblins live in circles. We kill Humans. Humans kill us. We kill Drakes, Drakes kill us. Adventurers come to kill us, we kill them, so more come. It never ends. That is the circle of Goblins.”

“Cycle.”

Reiss automatically corrected her. Rags shrugged as if to say the words were the same. Reiss scrambled to say something.

“I know. But this will break the cycle. Chieftain Rags—taking Liscor will mean a safe haven for Goblins! If we hold Liscor, no one will be able to take it. It is one of the most defensive cities on the continent—”

“Mhm. So Humans and Drakes both want it. And not very safe if we can take it. Sounds like we put big ‘stab me’ sign on back. Not doing it.”

The little Chieftain scratched at one ear. Reiss stared at her.

“You don’t have a choice. The Humans will slaughter all of us to force us to attack Liscor. Tyrion Veltras wants to take the city.”

“So? Let him. We won’t fight. We will run. Into mountains, maybe. Fight big battle while other Goblins climb.”

Rags pointed to the mountains. They were high and practically impassable. Reiss tried to imagine forcing over two hundred thousand Goblins up the slopes. They’d have to abandon everything while they held the Humans off.

“Impossible.”

“Okay. Then another plan. We go into dungeon. There is cave. Dungeon is…probably big. Could hold some. Or go around Liscor. Fight Humans and get away. But not attack city. Bad idea.”

“You will die if you attempt that. Why not take Liscor? Why not fight to hold it? With all the advantages my master can bring to the battle—”

Reiss stared down at Rags. She scratched her ears, not looking directly at him or anyone else. Finally, she muttered.

“Don’t want to kill people in Liscor.”

“What?”

This time the question was a chorus. Everyone stared at Rags. Her points about not fighting had been good, if scattered. But this? Reiss shook his head, growing angry.

“What has Liscor done for you? Chieftain—the Drakes care nothing for you! They have killed our people for thousands of years, just like the Humans!”

“They have. And they are stupid poos. Especially Relc.”

Rags agreed. She sighed, and scrubbed at the back of her head. Then she looked around. Two tribes stared at Rags, hung on her words. She looked at Reiss, who was trembling, unable to believe what she was saying. Rags sighed louder, then raised one claw.

“Okay. This is why. There is a Human there. In Liscor.”

Everyone stared at Rags. She raised her voice as she went on, not speaking just at Reiss, but to Pyrite, to Redscar and Poisonbite and Noears and all the others. She spread her arms, speaking to the hundreds of thousands of Goblins who listened to her.

“Her name is Erin Solstice. And she is good. She lives in Liscor—in a little inn outside it. And she likes Goblins. She is my…my friend. And no one is going to kill her.”

“A Human? That’s not—Humans aren’t friends with Goblins.”

Reiss whispered. Rags shook her head.

“That was what I thought! But—she is different. She kills, but only to defend. She does not attack. And she does not let others attack. She has—she has a sign by her inn! I have seen it! It says ‘No Killing Goblins’. No killing Goblins in her inn. She is my friend and she is friends with Antinium and Drakes and Gnolls. She is good.”

The other Goblins stared at Rags. A friend? A Human as a friend? It sounded like a joke. Some of Tremborag’s former Goblins began grinning, but Rags didn’t laugh. She was as serious as could be as she met Reiss’ eyes. And slowly, it dawned on the other Goblins.

She was telling the truth. Because, after all, Goblins didn’t lie. There was a Human in Liscor who was friends with a Goblin. The murmurs began to spread. Reiss looked around.

“That is one Human. One Human cannot save you!”

“No.”

Rag agreed readily. She nodded, looking around.

“Don’t expect her to. But she could help. She could do…something. Anything?”

“Like what?”

Reiss raised his voice. He heard the sarcasm in his tone, the anger. He couldn’t help it. He pointed down at Rags.

“What could one Human do? What could any Human do?”

She shrugged. It was the most classically Goblin thing she could do. She looked up at Reiss and smiled.

“Don’t know. But she is my friend. You have your Necromancer. I have Erin. You have your Human, and I have mine. I will not fight Liscor. I will run or hide or do whatever it takes. But I will not fight. The destiny of Goblins is a circle. And it must stop.”

For a second Reiss couldn’t speak. He was lost with fury, indignation at the stupidity of what Rags was saying. Then he heard a cheer.

Everyone’s head turned. They saw a little Goblin standing on a cart, cheering and waving. It was alone at first, and then a Hob raised her arms and bellowed as well. Goblins around them began to cheer too. Reiss stared as Rags’ tribe began to laugh and shout. They were cheering. Cheering her, celebrating.

They didn’t want to fight. He looked and saw more Goblins on their feet. And they were shouting.

“Rags! Rags! Rags!”

Her name. Rags flushed with pride and looked around, puffing her chest out. Her lieutenants took up the call. Reiss stared around. He saw thousands of Goblins cheering, and Garen’s tribe staring. Garen Redfang himself sat on the back of his Carn Wolf, staring at Rags. He was glaring. The Human army had halted, perhaps wondering what the strange cheering was for.

Rags turned away. Her lieutenants dispersed, and the Goblins moved ahead, hurrying to keep going before the Humans started throwing spells. Snapjaw and Eater of Spears stayed back, looking anxiously at Reiss. He didn’t move. At last, they left too. Reiss sat on his undead spider’s back as the Goblins flowed past him. And only darkness filled his mind.

A Human for a friend? Breaking the cycle? Running? It was unacceptable. They had to fight. They had to take Liscor. His master would not accept anything else. He would not accept anything else. It was right in front of them. A city. A kingdom! And she was wrong.

Something black was in Reiss’ chest, making his heart beat faster. It was welling up in him, dark intentions. He looked around and saw his army marching ahead of him. And Rags’ lieutenants and his people.

They’d all gone back to each other. His tribe and Rags’. His lieutenants and hers. Snapjaw and Poisonbite were talking to each other, arguing, but talking, riding on her horse. And Eater of Spears was throwing axes with Pyrite, speaking. Reiss’ heart hurt.

Eater of Spears spoke with no one as closely as he was speaking with Pyrite. There were so few Hobs like him, but he had found a kindred spirit in the fat Hob. And Reiss was going to—

No. They could still walk together and smile. Nothing needed to change. It was just her. Reiss looked up. At Rags, who was riding along, arguing with the [Shaman], Ulvama. She was the one who led this tribe. And she was the one who was wrong.

A home for your kind. His master’s words echoed in Reiss’ mind. It was so close. He had sacrificed so much for it. And Rags would run? No. No, it couldn’t be. It wouldn’t be. He would not let her.

Slowly, Reiss rode his Shield Spider forwards. This time he was fixated on Rags. Something dark whispered to him. It sounded like his master, but it had his voice. Reiss felt pitch blackness spilling forth, beating from his heart, in his veins, his blood. He was rigid with the horror of what he was going to do. But he was going to do it anyways.

“Rags.”

This time, when she turned, Rags paused. The Goblins around her paused as well. They stared back at Reiss’ face and grew silent. Snapjaw looked up. Eater of Spears paused, pointing out a target for Pyrite to hit. Rags looked back at Reiss.

“What?”

Reiss was calm. Very calm. And cold. He looked at Rags and then past her, at the mountains and the sky. Not a few hours past midday. Plenty of time. He spoke pleasantly, feeling the magic growing in him, running down his arm.

“Do you remember my dream?”

“About Goblin kingdom? Yes. Silly dream. But nice one.”

Rags nodded. Reiss smiled. He looked down at her.

“It is. But there’s something I didn’t tell you about it. I have that dream some nights. A dream of a Goblin kingdom, a place where Goblins are safe and live in peace. But in that dream, the Goblins have no faces.”

“No faces?”

She blinked. He nodded. The magic ran down into his fingers and gathered there, as thick as sin, as dark as midnight.

“None. I look around in my dream and see no one I recognize. Not Eater of Spears. Not Snapjaw. Not even me. I look at my reflection and see another Goblin’s face. Do you know why?”

She held still, looking at him.

“Tell me.”

Reiss smiled sadly.

“It is because for my dream, I would sacrifice anything. Anything and anyone. I have my dream, and it is worth all the pain in the world to make real. So I am sorry for this.”

He raised his hand. Rags blinked.

“For wh—”

“[Deathbolt].”

The black energy shot through Reiss’ fingers, coalescing into a line of energy that sucked away the light. It shot through Rags at point black range. She swayed, gasping, her face drained of color. She swayed, put a hand on her saddle.

She was still alive. Reiss had hoped she’d die right away. She kept looking at him, kept trying to say something. But there was nothing left to say. She was trying to turn her Carn Wolf, but she was too weak. The Goblins around her were just staring, shocked by the suddenness of it all. Reiss raised his fingers and pointed at Rags’ chest. Then he looked up. He heard something.

A whirring sound. Something tugged at his hand. Reiss blinked and stared at the silvery axe that softly thunked into the breast of a Hob standing next to him. The Hob blinked and fell. Reiss stared at the axe. He’d given that to Eater of Spears. Then he felt an odd sensation. He looked down at his hand. He couldn’t see it.

It was missing. Reiss stared down at the stump of his hand as blood began to gush from the severed arteries. He looked around, and saw the Hob. The second axe passed by his face and Reiss nearly fell from the back of his undead spider. He blinked and stared at the thrower.

Pyrite. The Hob straightened. He saw Reiss catch himself, saw Rags reeling backwards and her Carn Wolf bounding backwards in fright, howling. He looked up and saw Eater of Spears staring at him, face white. Pyrite sighed.

“Told you.”

He reached for his battleaxe. His hands closed around the haft too slow. Eater of Spears grabbed Pyrite and roared. Pyrite felt something slam into him and saw the world spinning around him until he slammed into the ground. Goblins screamed, and both the Flooded Waters tribe and the Goblin Lord’s army broke ranks and began to fight as everything descended into chaos.

5.56 G

Garen Redfang saw the axe spin through the air. He saw the silver flash, the way Reiss recoiled. And the way the Goblin Lord stared dumbfounded down at his severed stump of a hand. He didn’t see the second one coming.

“Look up.”

The leader of the Redfang Tribe growled. But he was sitting on his Carn Wolf, separated by tens of thousands of confused, screaming Goblins. Too far to shout a warning even if he had been so inclined. And he wasn’t. Reiss was his enemy. He served the Necromancer.

But still, he couldn’t die like that. Garen saw Reiss look about. The second whirling axe missed him by what had to be a foot. Garen saw Reiss jerk in surprise. He stared at the Hob who had thrown the axe and nearly fell from his seat on the undead spider. Garen looked too.

Pyrite, the former Goldstone Chieftain, the second-in-command of the Flooded Waters tribe, turned. Garen saw him say something to the huge muscle-bound Hob, Eater of Spears. He reached for his battleaxe. Too late. Eater of Spears grabbed him, roaring with fury, and hurled Pyrite through the crowd of Goblins. Garen watched as Pyrite slammed into the ground.

“Mistake. Should have killed. Snap neck.”

He commented to one of the Redfangs sitting on a Carn Wolf next to him. The scarred veteran Goblin grimaced and nodded. He was named Spiderslicer and was Garen’s second. He had been the third-strongest Redfang in the tribe, but with Redscar’s absence, he was now second. And he clearly resented it.

Spiderslicer frowned into the mass of panicking Goblins. One of them wasn’t just staring. Redscar and the traitorous warriors around him had seen the [Deathbolt] spell and Reiss’ treachery. They were charging towards the Goblin Lord, but there were thousands of the black-armored Goblins in the way. Spiderslicer stared at Redscar and looked at Garen. He fingered the thin, deadly falchion at his side.

“We going in, Chieftain?”

He clearly wanted to settle the old score between him and Redscar. Not only had the other Goblin beaten him time and time again, but he had abandoned his tribe for Rags, leaving Spiderslicer eternally second-best. Garen watched as both the Flooded Waters tribe and Reiss’s army became a confused melee. He shook his head.

“Not yet. We watch.”

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Spiderslicer nodded sourly. He relayed Garen’s orders, bellowing at the other Redfangs milling about. The warriors grunted, but didn’t respond—Spiderslicer was not Redscar, and lacked the other Goblin’s leadership qualities.

Garen eyed his Redfangs, sitting and watching with half an eye as both tribes began attacking each other. His Carn Wolf flicked its ears and growled, but didn’t move about restlessly. Nor did the Redfangs, for all they clearly wanted to join the fray. They were disciplined, albeit overeager for a fight. They hadn’t done any fighting since the siege of Tremborag’s mountain. A few Eater Goats didn’t count.

But Garen didn’t intend to draw his sword. Not now. He stared at Reiss and Rags. The small Goblin Chieftain had retreated, swaying, as her Carn Wolf tried to carry her to safety. The animal was intelligent—it bounded away as the Goblin Lord’s personal escort of Hobs tried to bring it down, howling and surrounding their leader. Garen watched Rags clinging to the wolf’s back. He had given her that wolf after she’d refused the rare, albino pup he’d offered her.

“Stupid Rags.”

Garen gritted his teeth. He wasn’t riding to her aid. And neither was he going to try and kill Reiss. There were too many Goblins between him and the Goblin Lord. Besides—Garen cast an eye to the north. Even Reiss and the Necromancer weren’t the biggest problem.

The Human army had halted for the Eater Goats attack. They’d been on the march, but this sudden battle between the Goblins had caught them off-guard. Garen could see them milling about, waiting for their leader, Tyrion Veltras, to make a decision.

“Stupid Human [Lord].”

Garen had seen the Human. He’d watched him fight. And—it was hard to admit—Garen had realized Tyrion was stronger than he was. By just a bit. He had enchanted gear like an adventurer, and his Skills had overwhelmed even Tremborag. And he had his army.

So long as he was watching, Garen would stay where he was. Besides, this battle was to his advantage. Garen turned back to stare at the battlefield.

See. Rags was retreating, shouting at her warriors who were trying to move into their formations. But the Goblin Lord’s army was besieging them, and Rags’ tribe was patchwork. Tremborag’s Goblins fought, but without the discipline and cohesion that made her tribe strong. And all her lieutenants were too far away from her.

Pyrite was retreating from Eater of Spears. Redscar was fighting, caught in Reiss’ forces, pressing them back, but mired. Poisonbite was screaming. She and Snapjaw had been riding together and now she was fighting with Snapjaw as the Hob’s horse reared in panic. And Reiss was looking down. For what? His hand?

He could die here. Garen watched, seeing Rags scream and point at the Goblin Lord. She was weak, pale, but at her command the Goblins with crossbows around her aimed at her target. The Goblin Lord looked up—threw himself from the back of the Shield Spider. Hundreds of bolts struck the undead Shield Spider, which recoiled, but didn’t fall.

Reiss could die here. Rags could kill him. Garen gripped the hilt of his sword. If Reiss died it was good. If Rags died, he would lead the Goblins against Reiss. Against the Necromancer.

And if Rags died, he would control her tribe. They wouldn’t go to Reiss. They hated him. They should have gone to Garen to begin with. Ulvama, Tremborag’s lieutenants…why had they turned to Rags instead of him?

Garen was angry. Furious. He hated Reiss because he was a traitor, because he had given his soul to a monster. He hated Rags because she had betrayed him, because she had taken his tribe and because they had gone to her. He hated the Humans because they were treacherous. And sometimes he hated himself.

Why was he here? Why had everything gone wrong? Garen remembered smiling faces. Laughter. Friends, or people he’d thought were friends.

His team. His first…tribe. The Halfseekers. And then—living in the mountains. Forming his own tribe, making them strong. It had all been so simple. And now it wasn’t. Now—Garen stared across the battlefield. He wanted to act. He was a warrior. But he couldn’t find a place to join in. He was not on Rags’ side. He was not on Reiss’.

He was alone.

—-

Flying hurt. Landing hurt more. Pyrite wished he’d fallen on his back, or at the very least, been tossed in a more vertical arc. If he’d been thrown down, he could have landed on his back, stared dizzily at the sky, and then gotten up.

Instead, he felt himself strike the ground, roll, cutting his back and shoulders open as he landed on several armed Goblins. Wearing armor. Holding weapons. The impact lacerated Pyrite’s flesh. The rolling impact tore more from him. He didn’t bother staring at the sky—when the world stopped moving, he stared face-down at a pile of torn-up dirt. Then he pushed himself up.

“Ow.”

Battleaxe. Where was…? It was still holstered on his back. Pyrite grunted. He freed it from its sheathe and looked around.

Goblins in black armor stared at him. Eater of Spears had thrown Pyrite into the ranks of his own army. The Hob blinked. The Goblins uncertainly raised their weapons. Some of them looked around.

“Kill traitors!”

A Hob—not Pyrite, one of Reiss’ Hobs—bellowed and pointed at Pyrite. He’d seen the entire thing. But some of the Goblin Lord’s warriors still hesitated. Half of them hadn’t even seen Reiss’ betrayal. They were supposed to attack their allies? But a Hob was a Hob, so they began to approach.

Pyrite grunted. He swung his battleaxe at the nearest three Goblins, putting his weight behind it. He felt the axe slice through one of the Goblins, and then another. The third screamed as the blow tore open his chest.

The other Goblins stared in horror at the three. They looked at Pyrite. The Hob staggered with the force of his swing. Then he swung, backhanded. More Goblins died. He roared and the Goblins backed up.

Treachery. Pyrite looked around. He could see his tribe fighting now, skirmishing with Reiss’ army. But where was Rags? Pyrite turned back and saw the Hob charging at him, sword and shield in hand. He bellowed and Pyrite swung the tip of his enchanted axe into the dirt. The axe head ignited as it struck earth and grass and a plume of smoke billowed up. The Hob recoiled. Pyrite tore up with his axe and the Hob fell back, cut from groin to chest.

Where was Rags? Pyrite whirled. The smaller Goblins backed up. Pyrite cast about, saw a familiar giant spider. He charged towards it, bellowing and swinging his axe. Most of the Goblins before him scattered. But a few were brave or suicidal. They attacked Pyrite and he cut them down.

Reach. Strength. Speed. Greydath had taught him how to fight. With a greatsword, with a battleaxe, you could cut down almost anyone before they got to you. And Pyrite’s was enchanted. Flesh, steel, it didn’t matter. The weapon bit through both and the flames burned whatever it struck.

Death. Pyrite cut through the ranks of Reiss’ army. Goblins fled or died. He stared at their faces. They hadn’t asked for this. They hadn’t tried to hurt him. But their leader had betrayed his honor. And so they had to die.

Later, Pyrite would think on what he did. For now—Rags. He looked around. Where? There.

She was clinging to her Carn Wolf, face pale, but still shouting orders. She was trying to organize her army in the chaos. And Reiss was on the ground as his elite Hobs pressed Rags’ warriors back. He was looking for something. His missing hand. Pyrite bared his teeth. He heard a shout and turned his head.

“Pyrite! Get to Chieftain!”

Redscar shouted above the chaos. He and Pyrite were separated by about a thousand Goblins. The Redfangs were attacking from the flanks, driving Reiss’ warriors back. Without them there, the Goblin Lord’s army would envelop the Flooded Waters tribe. Redscar pointed and Pyrite nodded. He began to run—then heard a roar from behind him.

Few things scared Pyrite. He had fought Trolls and other monsters before. He’d seen Greydath angry and had witnessed Tremborag’s furious beast form. But as the Hob looked over his shoulder, he added another image to haunt his nightmares.

Eater of Spears. The Hob sprayed spit as he opened his mouth and bellowed. His gargantuan body flexed as he ran towards Pyrite. His eyes were locked on the smaller Hob and his mouth was open. He was coming. Pyrite stared for a second and then began to run.

“You! YOU!”

Eater of Spears was throwing Goblins aside, charging at him, heedless of who was in the way. Allies and enemies scattered as the huge Hob came onwards. Pyrite cast a glance over his shoulder, heart thundering wildly. He wasn’t going to reach Rags in time. He had to turn and fight. He did not want to turn and fight. Eater of Spears wouldn’t go down from a single swing. And if he got his hands on Pyrite, he’d tear Pyrite’s head off this time, rather than just throw him.

He was coming. Pyrite had to turn. The Hob looked around for something, anything that would give him an edge. He patted his belt. Healing potions. His bag of gemstones—could he eat one? No, the magic wouldn’t slow that. He braced himself, raising his battleaxe. He had to go for a leg and run—

Eater of Spears was flexing his hands, lowering himself for a leaping charge. Pyrite braced—and saw a row of Goblins run in front of him. He nearly cut them down, and then realized they weren’t wearing black armor. Eater of Spears pulled up as, suddenly, he was looking at a row of metal-tipped pikes. Aiming at his chest.

“Hold ground! Stop big Hob!”

A voice shouted from behind Pyrite. He whirled and saw Noears, pointing as more Goblins with pikes formed a second layer in front of him and Eater of Spears. The muscular Hob bellowed in fury and Reiss’ warriors tried to close in, but more and more of Rags’ Goblins poured forwards, fighting or setting up a longer line of pikes.

“Noears!”

Pyrite could have hugged the Goblin [Mage]. Noears grinned. He raised a hand and crackling electricity began to gather in his palm. He pointed at Rags.

“You go. We stay!”

Pyrite hesitated. Eater of Spears was roaring, knocking aside pikes and coming onwards. But Noears was drawing more electricity out of the air. He pointed at Eater of Spears. The Hob was too furious to notice, until he saw the flash. He stopped, raised his arms—

Noears shot a bolt of lightning and the sound it made as it struck Eater of Spears made all the Goblins around Pyrite duck. The Goblins with pikes ran back as Eater of Spears staggered. His flesh was black and charred and his body jerked as the electricity grounded itself through him. But even that couldn’t fell the Hob. He stumbled forwards. Noears turned.

“Run, run!”

He pointed as more electricity gathered around his fingers. Pyrite didn’t hesitate. He ran as Eater of Spears bellowed and Noears shot more lightning.

Now Rags’ tribe was forming a battle line. Pyrite ran through his allies as they fought with Reiss’ warriors—Goblins they had just been laughing and marching with. Newfound friends died and Goblins without weapons on both sides fled backwards, screaming in fear.

No one had expected this. No one but Reiss. And Pyrite. And even he had been surprised at the speed of the betrayal. It was unexpected. Not-Goblin. Surely not even Tremborag would have betrayed his allies so suddenly. They had joined forces! Doing something like this—it was something a Human would do. And that was Reiss’ fault. He was too much like his master.

And look what it caused. Pyrite caught flashes as he ran through the battlefield, cursing his weight and the battleaxe that slowed him down. He saw Redscar fighting, trying to hold off the bulk of Reiss’ army before it could bring its superior numbers to bear. He heard more thunder as Noears dueled Eater of Spears. And he saw another tragedy play out to his left.

A fallen horse. A Hob with a head that was too large and huge, metal teeth. Snapjaw. Her mount was dead, stabbed in the sides by poisoned daggers. And facing her, tears in her eyes, was a small Goblin with a pair of daggers.

Poisonbite had unhorsed Snapjaw. Now the two female Goblins were facing off, Poisonbite using her female raiders as backup while Snapjaw fought with her riders.

Tears. Betrayal. Treachery. Someone had to answer for it. And Pyrite knew who. He reached Reiss, at last and saw a line of Rags’ warriors in their scrap armor battling with Reiss’ Hobs, who were advancing despite the crossbow bolts hammering them. And behind them, holding something to the severed stump of his right arm, was Reiss.

Pyrite slowed, breathing hard. He saw Rags, riding backwards, ordering her own Hobs forwards to hold the line. He couldn’t hear her voice over the roar in his ears. All his attention was on Reiss. Rags couldn’t fight him. He was a Goblin Lord with death magic and she—

What was he doing? Pyrite stared at the thing Reiss was holding. Then he saw. It was his hand. The severed hand was pressed against Reiss’ bleeding stump. And the bone was moving. As Pyrite watched, Reiss took his hand away. The severed hand stayed in place. He’d fused the bone somehow. And he was uncorking a healing potion, pouring it over the wound and pressing his hand to the mending bone.

He was reattaching his hand as he ordered his warriors to surround Rags! Pyrite spared one moment to curse [Necromancers] and healing potions and then he lifted his battleaxe. He couldn’t feel the weight. He couldn’t feel the pain from his injuries, or hear anything. All he could focus on was Reiss. He had to end it here. He had to do it. He ran forwards. He might have been screaming. He saw Reiss look up and was rewarded by a glimpse of fear in the Goblin Lord’s black eyes.

“Reiss!”

The Goblin Lord raised his hand as he backed up.

“[Bone Wall]!”

Yellow bones sprang from the ground, knitting together, rising and forming a pattern, a wall several feet thick that grew up between him and Pyrite. The Hob roared as he swung his axe.

The enchanted edge of his battleaxe sliced through the bone wall, igniting the bones. The second blow hacked bone fragments out of the wall, which quickly began to vanish. Reiss backed up as Pyrite struck the wall a third time and then rammed the wall. The weakened spots caved in as the entire assembly of bones cracked. Reiss looked around.

“Hold him back!”

The Hobs turned towards Pyrite. They advanced towards him, trying to shield themselves as Rags shouted and more crossbows loosed deadly bolts at them from the side. A Hob fell, a crossbow quarrel in his cheek. Another groaned as one struck him in the shoulder, penetrating his armor, but came on regardless. Pyrite buried his axe in his chest and charged at the others.

A Hob in black armor tried to block him, thrusting a spear at Pyrite’s shoulder. The steel tip pierced the Hob’s flesh, tore skin and drew blood. Pyrite ignored the wound and brought the battleaxe down, bellowing. The Hob in black armor’s head disappeared and Pyrite roared again.

“[Deathbolt]!”

Pyrite turned. He saw the black, flickering light shooting at his chest and raised his battleaxe. The [Deathbolt] glanced off the enchanted battleaxe, splashing harmlessly against the magicked metal. Reiss lowered his hand.

“How—”

He leapt backwards, nearly falling as Pyrite took a swing at him. Again he shot a [Deathbolt] and again Pyrite blocked it.

Armor was no good against that magic. Shielding spells would fail. But if you held a piece of metal out far enough or stood behind a tree, the [Deathbolt] would dissipate before it reached you. Pyrite charged Reiss, bodily checking a Hob who tried to seize him. And Reiss retreated.

The Flooded Waters tribe battled the Goblin Lord’s army. Friend versus friend. Former allies fighting, not knowing why, only that someone had betrayed the other. It was all chaos and confusion. But like a magnet, the conflict at the center of both tribes drew attention. Goblins turned.

They saw the Goblin Lord, shooting magic at a Hob with a flaming battleaxe. They saw him retreating, falling back. Reiss’ warriors faltered. The Flooded Waters tribe cheered and pressed forwards. It wasn’t Rags, their Chieftain who advanced. But it was someone they recognized. Someone they knew. Pyrite roared as he charged the Goblin Lord, and Rags held the Goblin Lord’s Hobs back. Reiss retreated, running.

Running.

—-

He was losing. Garen stared in disbelief. Reiss was stumbling backwards, casting his death magic as Pyrite came on. But it was futile. The other Hob was pausing to block, using his battleaxe as a shield. Garen had no idea you could block death magic like that. But the enchanted axe was broad and so long as Pyrite was that close, Reiss was in danger every time Pyrite swung his axe.

Garen saw Reiss point at the ground. He couldn’t hear Reiss, but he saw one of the fallen Hobs rise back upwards. It lunged at Pyrite. The Hob turned and saw the Ghoul. He brought his axe down and split the undead in two. He whirled—more undead were rising. Reiss frantically backpedalled, trying to claim any distance, but Pyrite swung his axe and the undead died just as fast. He advanced and Garen clenched his fists.

“No. Idiot! Make more walls!”

What was Reiss doing? Undead would slow a warrior like Pyrite down for only moments. At least the bone walls bought time. Why didn’t he order his undead spider forwards? Headless or not, it could at least block Pyrite!

One of the Redfang warriors glanced at Garen and he gritted his teeth. He wasn’t Reiss’ ally. He wanted Reiss to lose. Right? Right. But this wasn’t the Reiss that Garen knew. He was panicking.

Small wonder. Reiss ducked as Pyrite nearly took his head off with a horizontal slice that took down a Hob. Even with his bodyguards, Reiss was being pressured. By one Hob! Rags was sending her warriors forwards, distracting his other warriors, but still—

“Who is he?”

Garen stared at Pyrite. When he’d first met the Goldstone Chieftain, he had seemed so…ordinary. So normal. Why had he been hiding his true abilities in his tribe for so long? Why hadn’t he tried to become a powerful Chieftain? Why was he like—

Greydath? Garen watched Pyrite parry a blow from a Goblin and kick them in the groin. He wasn’t as strong as Greydath. Or as fast. But he fought a bit like him. Could he kill Reiss? He was advancing. And then Reiss made a mistake. As he stepped backwards, throwing bone shards that cut open Pyrite’s arms and chest, he collided with a Hob engaged in fighting behind him. Reiss half-turned—and Pyrite lunged.

The Hob swung his battleaxe, shards of bone protruding from his arms. And Reiss staggered.  Garen saw a charred line open on his chest and blood begin to pour down. Pyrite had been too far away for a fatal cut. But the Goblin Lord stared at the blood in shock as Pyrite was tackled by two Hobs. He staggered back, reaching for a potion as Pyrite fought both Hobs off him. Garen watched Reiss moving back, eyes wide, stumbling.

He couldn’t die here. He couldn’t. He was going to win, Garen was sure. Even if Pyrite was in range, even if he was a [Warrior] and Reiss was a [Mage]. Even if—

He was a Goblin Lord. He was Reiss. He couldn’t lose to anyone but Garen.

Could he?

—-

He was bleeding. Reiss felt the searing pain run down his chest. He looked up and saw him standing there.

“Stop moving.”

Reiss couldn’t obey the words. He forced himself to leap backwards and duck away, pulling himself with his hands. The Goblin behind him took the blow. He—she—fell, dead. Reiss had not known whoever it was. But they had answered his call.

They were dying. For his sake. His brave warriors. And he was running. Retreating. From a single Hob.

Pyrite strode forwards. Reiss ducked behind a pair of struggling Hobs, robes covered in mud and watched Pyrite’s head turn. Spells ran through his mind, one after another. Raise Draug? No. Blindness? He had to touch Pyrite. Bloodbats? The Hob could probably survive one casting.

He was too close. Each time Reiss tried to get away, Pyrite lunged at him. And each time he got nearer to ending Reiss for good. He ignored Reiss’ spells. His flesh was lacerated from a spray of bone shards. He’d taken wounds from Reiss’ bodyguards. Half the skin on his back was torn off from being thrown by Eater of Spears.

And still he came on. Indomitable. In that moment Reiss hated and admired Pyrite for everything he was. He was what Goblins could be. He was a leader.

But Reiss couldn’t die here. He’d sacrificed too much. Too much. He’d slaughtered innocent Drakes and Gnolls, killed his own kind. For what? For his dream. And if he let it end here, it would be for nothing.

So Reiss waited, crouched, as Pyrite cast about. Another Hob approached Pyrite, swinging a mace at his side. Pyrite turned, roared.

“[Power Strike]!”

Reiss felt the impact. And another of his warriors was gone, like that. The other Hobs were afraid to approach. They could not see him. Reiss could feel his entire army wavering. They had seen him run.

But what was he supposed to do? Reiss closed his eyes. He had to fight. But this enemy was—

Undefeatable? Indestructible? Overwhelming? Reiss looked back at Pyrite. The Hob was roaring, challenging Reiss.

No. He was mortal. But his image called to mind another figure. Not here. But as Reiss looked at Pyrite, he recalled.

A swell in the fighting opened up a gap behind him. Reiss looked at it. He could run. Pyrite had lost him. He could run and let the other Goblins bring him down, or Snapjaw. Or Eater of Spears. But he couldn’t, could he?

“No running. A Lord cannot run from a Goblin.”

But he, Reiss, couldn’t win. Not at this distance. So Reiss could not fight. Someone else would have to. And Reiss knew who.

Memory. The Goblin Lord turned. He gripped his reattached hand with his other one and muttered, pulling the mana out of his body. Remember. He needed to remember. And it was easy. How could he forget?

“[Bone Claws]. [Fortified Body]. [Draug Strength].”

Pyrite heard the spellcasting. He saw Reiss stand. His eyes narrowed and he braced, but none of the spells were aimed at him. He blinked as the Goblin Lord stepped forwards. White bone had grown around the tips of Reiss’ fingers, on his hands. Sharp, wicked talons. And Reiss’s body felt stronger. He was taller, for a moment.

Reiss walked forwards, abandoning his fear. He flexed his claws and beckoned to Pyrite. The Goblin Lord wore a wide smile despite the blood running down his chest. Around him, Goblins turned. They saw their Lord and drew strength from the sight of him.

A Lord had to be strong. A Goblin Lord had to be a hero. Reiss spread his arms wide and waited for Pyrite. The Hob hesitated, sensing something was different. But there Reiss was, so Pyrite attacked. He shifted his grip on the battleaxe, then swung fast and low, aiming for Reiss’ legs. At the last moment he twisted and cut diagonally up.

Reiss ducked backwards from the blade, then rushed forwards. But Pyrite had been expecting that. He punched as he let go of the battleaxe with one hand. The blow was fast. It caught Reiss on the cheek, snapped his head back.

“Ow.”

It hurt. But it was just a punch. Reiss staggered, then rammed Pyrite. His claws came up. One slash opened up Pyrite’s chest, a shallow wound. The second cut across his arm. Both cuts drew blood. Pyrite howled in pain and surprise and swung again. But his battleaxe was slow. Reiss danced back, light as a feather. The tip of the axe barely missed his stomach. But it did miss.

Pyrite felt at his chest. His eyes narrowed and he lashed out with his axe. Reiss stepped forwards, but the blow was a feint. It came back at him from the side. Too quick to dodge. So Reiss leapt and Pyrite had to move back or the claws would take out his throat. He did, and Reiss cut him.

Left, right, left—his claws cut across Pyrite’s chest and arms, shredding armor, tearing flesh. Pyrite struck at him. Reiss was gone. The Goblin Lord danced back and grinned. Pyrite stared at him. Reiss beckoned him again. Blood spattered the ground.

—-

“Who?”

Garen watched Reiss charge Pyrite. He watched the Goblin Lord attack, and cut Pyrite. One-two, fast slashes that opened up Pyrite’s arms, bled him. The Hob tried to cut Reiss in half with his battleaxe and received a kick to the stomach. A heavy one. Reiss punched him, backed up before Pyrite could cut him, and raised a fist. The Goblins around him roared.

“Chieftain.”

The Redfang warriors looked at Garen, equal parts surprised and uneasy. They saw it too. Garen shook his head.

“Who is he?”

Reiss faced Pyrite again, not trying to take his distance. And he was different. The way he fought, the way he moved was different. Garen watched, blinking, confused. Reiss had always been good at learning. At copying others. He had even copied Garen’s way of fighting with a sword. He could do it with anyone. But who was he mimicking now?

—-

Pyrite didn’t know. The Flooded Waters tribe didn’t understand. But Reiss did. His warriors saw it. They roared as Reiss turned and raised a fist. Bloody claws opened. He pointed at Pyrite. And when he stood, when he smiled, he was not him.

He was playing a part. Calling a memory into life.

An echo of a giant. A fearless smile. Reiss grabbed Pyrite’s arm as the Hob tried to bring his axe to bear and caught the other arm. Pyrite tried to kick. Reiss kicked him back and then head-butted Pyrite. His forehead collided with Pyrite’s and both Goblins stumbled back. But Reiss kept coming.

How would he do it? He’d never retreat. He’d punch like this, smile here. He wouldn’t fall back. He’d keep coming until he was dead. Stronger. Faster. Pyrite stumbled back, on the defensive. His eyes were wide and he was trying to keep up. But he wasn’t fighting Reiss. He was fighting a shadow of someone else.

A fearless Drake. A [General of the Line]. A hero of the Antinium Wars. Tidebreaker.

Zel Shivertail.

Reiss roared as he shoulder-charged Pyrite. He was smaller, but the impact still pushed Pyrite. He slashed across Pyrite’s chest. The other Hob struck him. This time the blow made Reiss’ ribs creak. So Reiss hit him back. Pyrite slid backwards in the mud. He clutched at his battleaxe and stared at Reiss.

“How?”

The Goblin Lord was breathing hard. Focus. He flexed his claws. His voice rasped.

“I have had greater enemies than you.”

Pyrite looked at Reiss. Then, slowly, he abandoned his battleaxe. He tossed it to one side and raised his fists. Then he nodded.

“Probably.”

The two said nothing else. They waited a beat, then came at each other. Reiss hit Pyrite first. The Hob hit him back and Reiss staggered.

Heavy. Pyrite knocked Reiss back. Without magic, without enchantments. His fists felt like falling mountains. But Reiss punched back. Pyrite was strong. As strong as any Goblin that Reiss had met. But he lacked one thing. He didn’t know—

A blow across the face. Pyrite grabbed Reiss’ neck, tried to twist. The Goblin Lord roared.

He didn’t know what it meant to be a Lord. He broke Pyrite’s grip. Claws tearing flesh. Pyrite raised his fists. Reiss was faster. Was it Zel who punched or him?

The first punch stopped Pyrite in his tracks. The second made the entire Hob’s body shudder with the impact. The third lifted his feet off the ground. Reiss felt Pyrite’s ribs break.

The Goblin Lord hurled Pyrite back. The Hob fell and rolled. He tried to get up. But it was done. Reiss roared and his warriors screamed as they raised their weapons. The Flooded Waters tribe stared at Pyrite. Rags looked at her champion, disbelieving.

Pyrite was getting up. He had a small sack in his hands and he was reaching into it. Reiss whirled. Time to end this.

“You should have stayed down.”

The Hob paused. He looked at Reiss and sighed.

“Can’t.”

Pyrite lurched forwards, raising something to his mouth. A healing potion? But Reiss had taken a position across from him. The Goblin Lord raised a finger and aimed at Pyrite’s chest.

“[Deathbolt].”

The magic shot through Pyrite. It left a dark trail in the air, and passed through Pyrite before dissipating. A line of pitch-black. A moment of death.

Color ran from Pyrite’s face. He gritted his teeth and moved forwards. He had no axe. He was torn. But he charged Reiss. The Goblin Lord sighed.

“[Deathbolt].”

The second bolt brought Pyrite to his knees. The Goblin Lord stared down at Pyrite. He heard a scream. He looked up and met Rags’ eyes. She was riding towards him, aiming a crossbow at his chest. She pulled the trigger. The bolt went wide. Reiss met her eyes and looked back at Pyrite. The Hob looked up and met his eyes.

“I am sorry.”

Pyrite gritted his teeth and said nothing. He tried to stand—he pulled at the ground. But for once his body betrayed him. He slumped, staring up at Reiss. The Goblin Lord pointed down at him.

“[Deathbolt]. [Deathbolt]. [Deathbolt]. [Deathbolt].”

Four times. Four black streaks of magic shot from Reiss’ fingertip. Pyrite jerked. Rags screamed. The Hob froze, half-risen. Reiss stared into his eyes. He watched something drain away. A bright spark, quiet intelligence. A smile.

“[Deathbolt].”

A final streak of black magic shot through Pyrite, but it didn’t matter. The Hob was already collapsing. Reiss stepped back, staring. He was sure Pyrite was dead. Almost completely sure. But still he waited.

The Hob didn’t get up. He lay there, slumped forwards on the ground. There was no last surge of life. No dying flame. He was gone. Just like that. And the wail that arose from the Flooded Waters tribe was despair and grief incarnate.

Gone. Reiss closed his eyes and felt the world grey out around him. He felt like collapsing. Drained.

No, he had to stand. The Goblin Lord fumbled at his belt. He found a bottle. A mana potion. He drank from it and wiped his mouth. Then he turned and aimed at Rags. She was staring at Pyrite in shock. For a moment Reiss’ heart pinched.

“[Bloodbat Swarm].”

Glowing black bats with red eyes shot through the air. They took wings and arced towards Rags. She jerked. Her crossbow raised. Her Carn Wolf reared. It bounded back, but the magical bats struck it in the side. Tearing. Absorbing blood. Rags screamed as the Carn Wolf howled and tried to shake itself. Reiss’ warriors were running at her. The Goblin Lord aimed at her chest.

“[Deathbolt].”

—-

The black magic shot across the battlefield. It passed over the heads of Reiss’ warriors, past the running Hobs. It was a good shot. Reiss had always been good with spells. But this time he missed. The [Deathbolt] didn’t strike Rags. It was aimed at her, but the wolf she rode caught it instead. The Carn Wolf had been howling, throwing off the bloodbats conjured by the spell, trying to shake them off. Perhaps in desperation it leapt—

And the spell struck it in the side.

The Carn Wolf landed, bleeding weakly. Garen watched it stumble. He saw Rags slide from the saddle, grabbing at the wolf’s fur as it lay down. It would have been easy to pretend it had taken the spell meant for her. But it hadn’t. It curled up and the little Goblin clutched at it. Crying, trying to get it to rise.

It was useless. The Carn Wolf, the faithful creature that had born Rags since Garen had given it to her, died. Garen watched as it sank to the ground. The Hob clenched one hand. Rags had refused to name it. Refused to become a [Beast Tamer].

She clung to it as it lay on the ground. Garen saw her look up. Reiss’ warriors were charging. Rags’ tribe surged around her, making a stand. But their spirits were broken. Pyrite was dead. And Rags was—

The two sides met in a roar. Rags disappeared from sight. On his Carn Wolf, Redscar turned. He roared and his warriors charged towards her. Noears whirled, standing in front of the kneeling Eater of Spears. Poisonbite looked around.

“Chieftain!”

Garen waited. He saw Reiss aiming for the same spot he was looking. The place where Rags had been. Goblins fought in a bloody melee, sliding back and forth, smaller Goblins fighting Hobs. Hobgoblins gutting each other, killing their brethren. Seconds passed. A minute. Then both sides fell back, leaving the dead.

When the clash ended, Goblins lay strewn on the ground by the hundreds, lying in piles, where they had died. Blood painted the ground. And Rags was gone.

Garen waited for her to appear. He looked for her at the same time Reiss did, searching for a small figure among the retreating warriors. On the ground. But he couldn’t see her. Neither could Reiss.

Neither could her tribe. They all searched for her, breathless. Waiting. But Rags did not appear. A groan ran through her tribe. They wavered. And then they broke and ran.

It began with Tremborag’s Goblins. His former tribe broke formation abandoning their places, shouting.

“Chieftain is dead! Chieftain is dead!”

The other Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe hesitated. But as hundreds, then thousands, then tens of thousands of Goblins streamed past them, their nerve left them. They began to run as well.

They’d lost. It wasn’t the first time Garen had seen a tribe break up after their Chieftain had fallen. But this one—he watched, jaw clenched. The Goblins were all running now, as Reiss’ army advanced.

Some threw down their weapons and surrendered. Others just turned to flee. Reiss’ soldiers pursued them, forcing Goblins to submit, join the tribe, or die. In pockets the fighting still continued, but it went only one way.

“Betrayer! Cowards!”

Redscar’s voice echoed as the former Redfang lieutenant tried to rally the Goblins to him. He was pulling back. He had no choice. But he had not surrendered. Garen saw him pointing, shouting orders. His warriors formed a screen, held back Reiss’ warriors as more of the tribe flocked around him. That wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. They were supposed to either flee or submit to Reiss. But this wasn’t an ordinary battle between Chieftains.

“Now.”

Garen kicked his Carn Wolf in the side. The wolf looked up, and then bounded forwards. Garen heard Spiderslicer shout and his tribe streamed forwards. Not towards Reiss, but towards the running Goblins.

“Flooded Waters tribe!”

The Goblins screamed and halted as Garen rode towards them. But the Redfang Chieftain did not draw his blade. He raised a fist as Rags’ shattered tribe stopped. Staring up at him. Garen shouted.

“Join me! Fight Goblin Lord! Follow!”

Redscar froze. Poisonbite, Noears—the Goblins of Rags’ tribe halted in place. Tremborag’s former Goblins. All of them stared up at Garen. He waited. Now they would come. He waited and waited and waited—

And they began to run. Not towards him, but around him. Garen stared in disbelief.

“Wait—”

Goblins streamed to the left and to the right, avoiding his tribe. His warriors stared, the Carn Wolves growling uncertainly. Countless thousands of Goblins ran past Garen, fleeing Reiss’ soldiers. Garen looked for Redscar, but the other Goblin was shouting orders. Trying to lead Rags’ tribe. Not going towards him. Poisonbite and Noears were doing the same.

They’d refused him. He was Garen Redfang. But they still turned away. Garen sat on his Carn Wolf as the Goblins streamed past him. They were running.

“Chieftain?”

Spiderslicer’s uncertain voice made Garen look up. He saw Reiss’ soldiers advancing. And behind them, the Human army. They’d witnessed the conclusion of the battle and now they were advancing. They weren’t going to let the Goblins run.

For a moment, Garen felt a surge of despair rise in his chest. Then—reckless anger replaced it. So that was it? He turned and drew his sword.

“Redfang!”

The bellow made his warriors look up. Some of his former Redfangs, the ones around Redscar, turned. Garen waved his sword.

“Redfangs, follow! We ride!”

The call was familiar. Urgent. And this time, it worked. Some of his warriors streamed towards him. But the ones around Redscar did not. The smaller Goblin looked at Garen and bared his teeth. He pointed and shouted in fury. Despair.

“Run!”

And so he did. Redscar fled, and Garen looked back towards Reiss’ army as well. He growled, and then pointed south. He was done with Reiss. Done with all of this.

He was going home.

—-

They were all running. Reiss staggered to his undead spider, pulled himself up. He was injured, exhausted. He could barely crawl up the spider’s back, and there he lay for a moment.

“Reiss!”

A familiar voice below him made Reiss look down. He saw Snapjaw riding towards him. She was riding a different horse than her beloved grey mare. Reiss stared down at her.

“Snapjaw. I won.”

It didn’t feel like a victory. Reiss looked about. He could see the entire battlefield and all he saw were dead Goblins. Dead Goblins, and fleeing Goblins.

The Flooded Waters tribe was running. They’d refused to join him. The core of Rags’ tribe, the loyal ones were fleeing south. But the new additions, the former Tremborag Goblins weren’t as committed.

Some, yes, some of Tremborag’s tribe joined the fleeing Goblins. But more and more surrendered, joining Reiss’ tribe. And a few just…left. They ran in every direction, ignoring both the fleeing Goblins heading south and Reiss’ army. They were truly broken. Gone.

“We won. Big victory! Reiss! You need healing potion. You, get [Healer]!”

Snapjaw was talking urgently to the Hobs around Reiss. The Goblin Lord shook his head. He stared at the running Goblins. The Flooded Waters tribe, the real tribe, was still in one piece. They were still moving, running even without their Chieftain.

Even without her? Reiss’ eyes narrowed. They were moving…fast. Outdistancing even his mounted warriors, who were being slowed up by all of Tremborag’s surrendering Goblins. Too fast.

“She’s alive.”

“What?”

Snapjaw was circling his spider with her horse. Reiss looked down at her. It had to be that.

“Rags! She is still alive. Find her. Kill her.”

The female Hob’s mouth fell open. She looked around.

“Where?”

Reiss didn’t know. He stared at the place Rags had been. Just dead bodies. But maybe—

“Search dead. Chase the running Goblins! She is out there somewhere. Kill her!”

“Yes, Lord!”

Snapjaw shot away, riding on her mount and screaming orders. Reiss saw Eater of Spears, stumbling towards him, chest blackened with the damage from Noears’ spells, turn. Reiss’ army began to assault the Flooded Waters tribe from behind. Reiss clenched his jaw. He saw the tribe fleeing. Garen was running too. He’d left sometime during the battle. Why hadn’t he joined Rags?

It didn’t matter. Fast as they were, the Flooded Waters tribe wasn’t getting away. They had fought a bloody battle against his army, but they had forgotten they were being watched. As he stared south, he saw a line of silver charge the green figures from the side. Cutting them off.

Humans.

—-

“Charge the Goblins! Force them back until Lord Veltras can send reinforcements! [Knights], on me!”

The [Commander] in charge of the advance group raced his mount through the lines of Goblins. Two thousand riders followed him, cutting down Goblins, trying to force them back. His was the forward scouting group, meant to deter the Goblins from advancing too far. The [Commander] had seen the fleeing Goblins and was trying to stop them until reinforcements could arrive.

It was a futile effort. The Humans hacked down Goblin after Goblin, but the panicked mass of running Goblins were too frightened to stop. Some fought the Humans; the rest just ran around them.

“Stop them!”

Desperately, the [Commander] cut down a fleeing Hob and then speared a Goblin through the back. The others just ran around his horse which reared, panicked by all the monsters. The [Commander] turned. Where was his relief? Lord Veltras had to have seen—

There. More riders were racing to intercept. This group was far larger. They were on a collision course with the Goblins, [Knights] and [Mages] standing out. They’d break the Goblins and either wipe them out or force them back. The [Commander] smiled in relief—and then lost the smile as he heard a howl. He turned, raising sword and shield in his saddle. A red blade cut the top of his head off. Garen Redfang bounded past him on his Carn Wolf’s back. He stabbed a [Knight] through his unenchanted armor and raised his blade up into the air.

“Redfangs! Kill them!”

The Humans turned as more wolves howled. Goblins on Carn Wolves screamed and charged them, not part of the fleeing Goblins. The howls from the Carn Wolves made the untrained horses rear, and Garen led his warriors through the Humans on horseback, cutting them down and knocking them from their saddles.

“Grab weapons and move! Follow!”

Garen bellowed at his warriors and led them through the Flooded Waters tribe. Garen bounded out of the chaos of Goblins on foot and saw his Redfang tribe struggling to catch up. He looked ahead and saw the second group of Humans. They were probably six thousand strong? Already they were casting spells, bombarding the Goblins with [Fireballs]. And they’d seen Garen tearing apart their friends.

“Kill that Hob!”

An authoritative voice shouted and Garen snarled as both arrows and spells began targeting his position. He whistled and his Carn Wolf ran in the direction he pointed. The Humans raced after him, thinking he was heading south. Garen’s warriors knew better. They raced ahead, pretending to be making a break for it. Then Garen turned his head.

“Slaughter Humans!”

He pointed right and his entire tribe turned. The surprised Humans had only a second to react. He could see them waver. Garen’s tribe was about the size of theirs. Surely he was going to run. After all, they were Humans. They had [Knights] and [Mages].

They were dead. The Humans on horseback tried to turn, but Garen roared and his Carn Wolf howled. The poorly-trained horses reared and Garen’s Redfangs raced forwards, led by Garen himself. He was laughing. Garen led the howling Goblins straight towards the advance group. He cut down the first [Mage] he saw, ignoring the man’s scream, and hunted down the female [Commander], then another [Mage]. Then the [Knights].

The Humans were good, but they weren’t a match for his Redfangs. They broke up, fleeing back towards the rest of the Humans as Garen turned, counting his losses. Redfangs looted the dead. Those who’d lost their mounts paused beside their companions, then joined other riders and rode doubled-up, or secured a horse. Garen nodded, and then eyed the fleeing Goblins.

He’d inadvertently given them a chance to flee as well. Not towards the High Passes or away from the mountains. The Human army was galloping to both sides, trying to envelop them. There was only one way the Goblins could go. South, ahead of Reiss’ army. That wasn’t where Garen was headed. He stared west, towards the High Passes. The gaping fissure in the mountains called to him.

“Chieftain! We go home?”

Spiderslicer grinned, blood running down his blade. Garen smiled, but he didn’t order a rush towards the welcoming mountains just yet. He was eying the Human army. They were mad now. Wings of cavalry were breaking off to the left and right, around Reiss’ army. They were trying to contain Reiss and catch up with the running Goblins. Garen wasn’t worried about that. He was more concerned with the vanguard around Tyrion Veltras. They were aimed at Garen, and he didn’t know if he could reach the High Passes before having to turn and fight.

The Carn Wolves were quick, but they couldn’t beat horses on flat ground. Garen knew that. He was calculating how far to go to the High Passes, to safety. If he couldn’t get to the passes in time, he’d take his tribe up the slopes. Carn Wolves could bound up the rocky terrain, while the Humans’ horses couldn’t. They’d have to dodge mage spells though. If they could make a break for the High Passes…

Garen stared at the gaping fissure in the mountains and his eyes caught something. A distant speck, no, many specks moving in the mountain range. His eyes widened and he turned to look back at the Humans and Reiss’ army. They were still cutting down the last of the Flooded Waters tribe that were fleeing, forcing them to submit or die. Garen looked back at the High Passes and shook his head.

“No. We outrun. South!”

Spiderslicer’s jaw dropped, but he didn’t question the orders. Garen was already turning. He pointed south, past the Flooded Waters tribe. He narrowed his eyes as he saw another group of quicker Humans trying to cut them off again. They’d have to fight. But not for long.

“We break through. Come! Show the Humans the strength of Redfang Tribe! Follow me!”

Garen pointed and his tribe rode south. Away from the High Passes. It wasn’t what Garen wanted, but he could always return, loop past Liscor and go back to the passes from the southern side, through Drake territory. Besides, it wasn’t wise to go towards the High Passes at the moment. Even Garen had battles he wasn’t willing to fight.

—-

Lord Yitton Byres saw the third forward group disappear as the Goblin riders charged into them. He sucked in his breath, but didn’t dare speak. He was riding hard, right behind Tyrion Veltras and an inadvertent comment might cost him his tongue. He did hear curses from those less cautious, and, yes, a stifled cry of pain as someone bit their tongue while they galloped.

“It’s the smaller Goblin tribe! The one on Carn Wolves! They’ve killed [Commander] Geim, [Commander] Helica and [Knight Commander] Sir Meilmen!”

“Unforgivable.”

Lord Tyrion snapped as he stared ahead at the tribe of Goblins. Yitton couldn’t take his eyes off them either. There had to be less than seven thousand of them, but they were all mounted, on the monstrous Carn Wolves or stolen horses. And—they were strong.

The Redfang Tribe was tiny compared to the Goblin Lord’s army. But they’d cut through three groups of riders nearly equal to their size without slowing down. And their chieftain was a monster on his own. He’d killed all three commanders himself.

Yitton Byres had read the reports. He knew who was leading that tribe. Garen Redfang, a Goblin with the most unusual of pasts. A former Gold-rank adventurer who’d proven Goblins couldn’t be trusted. Leader of the Redfang Tribe, a group of notoriety that preyed on travelers from the High Passes. But not an active danger—one that kept to the mountains and rarely troubled populated cities. He had dismissed the Hobgoblin as a lesser threat compared to the Goblin Lord—or Tremborag, the Great Chieftain. And that had been a mistake.

He had never seen Garen Redfang fight. Neither had Tyrion Veltras. Or any of the other Humans riding with him. Now their ignorance was costing them lives.

“Two monsters. Two. First that Great Chieftain, now this one. Have the Goblins been hiding—”

Yitton heard a voice from ahead. One of the [Strategists]. Tyrion Veltras turned his head. He glared at Garen Redfang’s distant form.

“Not for long. [Knights], on me! We will pursue and bring down that Chieftain.”

He clicked his tongue and accelerated. Yitton watched as Tyrion effortlessly pulled ahead—as if he was riding a legendary Pegasus or magical steed in a different class from the horses around him. At his words, a shining lance of [Knights] rode forwards, propelled by the same Skill.

The group that pulled ahead of the main force was about three thousand strong, give or take several hundred. It was small, but elite. The [Knights] in Tyrion’s vanguard wore gilded armor, marking their order and allegiance. They rode ahead, following Tyrion’s back, lances in hand, shields raised. Their gear was enchanted. Not one of them was below Level 20. Most were above Level 30.

Even so, this was a mistake. Yitton raised his voice, praying he wouldn’t bite his tongue.

“Tyrion! Don’t be a fool, man! Let the [Knights] fight that Chieftain! Don’t risk yourself!”

He was outnumbered two-to-one! The rest of his riders were tangled up trying to contain the Goblins. Tyrion Veltras glanced back at Yitton and didn’t respond. Yitton, cursing, tried to catch up, but he had no Skills and might as well tried to fly. He was looking about for Tyrion’s aide, someone who could stop the man. He’d taken a risk with Tremborag and he had been wounded. If Garen Redfang managed to unhorse him or surround him with his tribe—

“Lord Veltras! Lord Veltras! We’re under attack!”

A panicked voice called out from the left. Yitton saw a [Scout] racing towards them, trying to catch up. Reluctantly, Tyrion slowed and Yitton managed to force his mount to catch up.

“Report! Where is the attack?”

Tyrion scanned the Goblin army. So did Yitton. Was the Goblin Lord attacking? No, he was pulling his Goblins back. He’d won his battle. Was it Garen? Again, no. He and the other Goblins were just running now. Both [Lords] looked at the frantic young woman. The [Scout] pointed at the High Passes.

“It’s not Goblins! It’s them! They’re back! They’re coming down from the mountains! Tens of thousands of them! I don’t—”

The frantic voice didn’t register with Yitton for a second. He stared blankly at the High Passes. Who was back? Who was—

Then he saw it. They were racing out of the mouth of the passes. Coming down the cliffs. Like last time. Only this group was much, much larger. A wave of brown came out of the High Passes. And as they charged the Humans and Goblins from the side, they began to scream.

Eater Goats. They ran by the tens of thousands, a group far larger than the last one. The predators of the mountains had smelled the bloodshed. And they were coming to eat. In the distance, they took up a warbling shriek that sounded almost Human—but too wild and horrific at the same time. Yitton’s mount snorted, eyes wide, and he patted it. Around him horses reared.

“Lord Veltras—”

“I see them.”

Tyrion Veltras scowled at the Eater Goats. He looked ahead at the fleeing Goblins. Yitton could almost see him calculating the odds of catching Garen Redfang. But the Eater Goats were headed towards the last battlefield, and there were too many of them to fend off without numerous casualties. Tyrion turned his horse around. Did Yitton hear him curse? Surely not.

“Halt the advance. [Mages], begin bombarding the goats! Pull back the cavalry to contain the Goblin Lord’s army—let the other tribes flee ahead. Send word to the infantry, to prepare for combat! Lord Pellmia and Lord Gralton will attack from the northeastern flank. [Knights], on me. We halt the advance of these monsters. Anyone without sufficient defensive Skills or enchanted gear will fall back! Ride!”

The Human army began to pull back. They turned to meet the Eater Goats, who ignored the numbers and common sense. They took the first charge from Tyrion Veltras, swarming around him and the nearly impervious [Knights] on their warhorses, then broke up for easier targets. Some headed towards the fleeing Goblins, the rest fell upon the Humans and Reiss’s army.

Eater Goats. The scourge of the mountains. For ten that died, another would stagger back to the mountains, bloated on meat, ready to breed and replenish their numbers. Fearless to the point of suicide, they attacked everything. Everything except for one group of Goblins.

Garen Redfang and his tribe rode past them, as the Eater Goats saw their red war paint and the Carn Wolves they rode and grudgingly avoided them. They fell on the fleeing Flooded Waters tribe, on Reiss’ army and Tyrion Veltras’ force. Only when the Humans began to blow them to shreds, when the bodies of their kin began to pile up like firewood did the goats break off. And only because they were more interested in eating their dead.

In the aftermath, Yitton wiped blood off his sword and saw Tyrion Veltras riding past him, his stallion steaming in the cool air. There was no wiping blood off of his armor; it was splashed liberally across his greaves, chest plate, arms—a [Mage] had to wash him and the other [Knights] off with water.

“It seems the Goblins have gained a lead, Lord Veltras. Should we pursue?”

One of the [Knights], a member of the Order of Clairei Fields, inquired politely. She was one of the fastest warriors on the field, armor or not. She pointed at the distant Goblins, who had kept running while fighting. Yitton eyed them.

They were about a fourth as large as they had been just this morning. The Goblin Lord had well and truly shattered them, and absorbed the bulk of their army into his own as a result. What had possessed him? Was it just more Goblin infighting? Yitton had seen the Goblins react with shock. It had seemed like—a betrayal. An odd thing to imagine.

“No.”

Tyrion bit off the words as he offered his tired horse a feedbag. He stared at the Goblins.

“That Redfang tribe has escaped. They may circle around cut your people off. No, let them run. Our army will spread out as it approaches Liscor and ensure the Goblins cannot double back. The Goblins will run past Liscor and head into Drake lands or be dealt with at Liscor. ”

“Yes, Lord Veltras.”

The Clairei Fields [Knight] nodded and turned away. Yitton dismounted and walked stiffly up to Tyrion.

“Veltras.”

“I don’t appreciate being given orders, Lord Byres. Even well-intentioned ones.”

Tyrion looked up coldly. Yitton flushed.

“My apologies.”

“Very well. Your disposition?”

Yitton stroked his mustache and glanced back at the Goblin Lord’s army. They’d remained stationary after the fighting, but he could see them milling about. Reorganizing. Absorbing the defeated Goblins into their ranks. He wondered if there was any ill-will. Another odd thought to have.

“I—what do you think that was, Veltras? Silver and steel, I thought the Goblins were getting along.”

“Apparently not. Either this Goblin Lord decided to consolidate his forces, or they had a falling out. Either way, their numbers have been reduced, but we’re left with a single tribe now. No more Chieftains will oppose the Goblin Lord. The last one—Garen Redfang—ran. And I didn’t spot the small Chieftain. I suppose she perished.”

“And does that affect your plans?”

Tyrion paused as he stroked his stallion’s head. He looked back at the Goblins.

“There are enough to serve.”

That was all he said. After a while, Yitton walked away. Tyrion Veltras stood and counted losses, gave orders for the march to continue immediately. He didn’t stop.

And neither did Reiss. He couldn’t. He sat on his Shield Spider as the last of the Goblins joined his army and were absorbed into his warriors. He looked down at the hand he’d reattached and flexed it slowly. His nerves sang with phantom pain.

He did not feel good. He felt sick at heart and ill with what he’d done. He kept remembering Pyrite trying to stand. He had been a good Hob. A good second-in-command. Loyal.

He was still lying there. So was she. Reiss was certain of it. He could feel Garen ahead of him, heading south, a burning flame in his mind. And behind him was another flame, burning even brighter. Reiss looked back.

The battlefield was filled with dead goats and Goblins. Humans too, but they’d found most of their dead and cremated them. Now they were driving his tribe onwards. But he could still feel her there.

Behind him. He stared back towards the bloody battlefield where corpses lay in piles. She was alive. And so long as she was alive, perhaps her tribe would keep together. But it didn’t matter, did it? So long as she was behind them, without her wolf, without allies, she’d be helpless.

“I—”

Reiss stared back at the battlefield. He wanted to say something to Rags, though she couldn’t hear him. Something that would explain everything. Tell her why it had to be like this. He sat there, staring, as his undead creation crawled forwards and he drew further and further way.

He never finished his sentence.

—-

She lay among the dead. That was how she’d survived. Wet fur covered her, almost suffocating her. It was wet and more wetness dripped down from above.

Blood. Rags lay still, listening to the thunder of marching footsteps die down. Tens of thousands of Humans on foot had passed by here. The infantry of the Human army. She’d heard voices—laughter—weeping. They sounded so familiar. Not like Goblins, but like her.

They were all dead. Rags knew it. She lay beneath her Carn Wolf, the brave wolf who she’d never named. And she knew the other bodies, the cold things touching her were dead. Reiss’ warriors. Her own.

Pyrite.

Pyrite. Rags struggled to move. She had to—he couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t be. She pushed at the furry body on top of her, tried to worm away. She kicked—and then felt horribly guilty.

Slowly, painfully, Rags pulled her way out of the dead. She staggered upright and saw the setting sun. It was orange and sinking below the horizon. It should have been red. But there was enough around her.

Dead. Goblins stared up at the sky through blank eyes. Hobs lay on the ground, their armor shattered. And in front of her—Rags stared at her Carn Wolf. He was far larger than she was. He was curled up, his rust-red fur torn from where Reiss’ spell had laid into him. Gone.

“Sorry.”

Rags knelt. She looked at the Carn Wolf, at his blank half-open eyes. She hugged him one last time, stroking the cold, wet fur of her Carn Wolf’s head. Then she let the body drop and stood up.

“Where?”

She stumbled across the battlefield, staring at faces she thought she recognized. Where was he? She passed by dead Carn Wolves, a Human half-eaten by something. Eater Goats? There were small shapes roaming the battlefield. They took no notice of Rags; they had enough to gorge on.

She found him lying on the ground on his back, staring up at the sky. Pyrite looked almost peaceful as he lay there. His jaws were closed. The bloody injures he’d taken still glistened, half-scabbed over. Rags fell to her knees.

“No.”

She’d seen Reiss kill him. [Deathbolt]. That stupid spell. Again and again it had struck Pyrite, too many times for anyone to survive.

It wasn’t fair. Rags pounded the ground. She couldn’t cry. She wasn’t going to. She had to be strong. But her tribe was gone. Her wolf was gone. She’d lost her warriors, her people—

And her friend. Rags felt the first hiccup of pain force its way out her throat. She gagged, sobbed, and began to cry. It was so childish. So—useless. It wasn’t Goblin.

But she couldn’t help it. Rags crawled towards Pyrite. She hammered on his chest.

“Why? Why?”

No one answered her. Rags shouted.

“Why? Why does it—why?”

She buried her head on Pyrite’s chest. He still felt warm. He still felt alive. She sobbed. And then she heard a sound.

Crunch.

It was loud. A thunderous cracking sound, like grinding gravel but a thousand times louder. A horrific grinding noise. Rags leapt back. She saw something move.

Pyrite pursed his lips, turned his head, and spat something onto the ground. Rags stared as a handful of glittering, bloody fragments landed in the mud. The Goldstone Chieftain regarded them for a second, then put something else in his mouth. He began to chew again, and the grinding sound continued.

“Pyrite?”

He opened his eyes and blinked up at her. Rags stared at him. She was staring at a ghost. Pyrite chewed, and then spat out more of whatever he was eating.

“Hi.”

She kicked him. Pyrite grunted. He made a sound. Almost as if he were alive. She poked him in the side and saw blood run from one of his scabbed over wounds. Pyrite frowned reproachfully.

“That hurt, Chieftain.”

“You’re dead!”

“Wish.”

Pyrite grunted. He fumbled for something, and his head lolled back. He tried again, but he seemed too weak to even grab for—whatever it was.

“Need another. Give.”

“What?”

Rags was dreaming. She stared at the thing Pyrite wanted. It was a rough, plain hemp sack. Worn, dirty. Spattered with his blood. She recognized it. It was Pyrite’s special sack of gemstones.

“You want?”

“Give.”

He repeated the words, faintly, but urgently. Rags delved into the sack and pulled something out. An emerald as large as a fist. She offered it to Pyrite. He grunted.

“No. Shiny.”

Shiny? Rags peered into the sack. She saw something flash at her, despite the lack of light. She reached in and pulled out a glowing bit of blue quartz. It had…a mote of light that danced inside the crystalline structure. Rags stared at it. Then she heard Pyrite’s voice.

“Give.”

She looked up. He was dead. She had seen him die. He’d been hit by too many [Deathbolts]. But then how—? She handed the stone to him and Pyrite slowly lifted it to his mouth. He opened his jaws and let the glittering quartz fall into his mouth. Then he began to chew.

The sound he made was horrendous. Even Rags, who had eaten bark and dirt and bugs, winced. Pyrite chewed and chewed and then turned his head and spat. Blood and bits of quartz expectorated onto the ground. Rags stared at the shards. They were bloody. And the mote of light was gone.

“Give another.”

Pyrite’s voice was weak. Rags stared into the sack.

“No more.”

“No more? Bad.”

Pyrite wheezed. He lay there. She realized he was breathing, but faintly. His face was pale. But he was breathing. Could he really be…?

“How? How are you…”

Rags knelt over Pyrite. Now she remembered her healing potions and fumbled for them. Pyrite grunted weakly.

“Had stupid idea. Knew [Deathbolt] coming. Tried stupid thing.”

“What? What try?”

Pyrite groaned as Rags dumped a healing potion on his wounds. He must have used one already, because his wounds had been half-scabbed already.

“Shiny stones. Magic. Put in mouth. Thought could eat magic.”

Shiny stones? Rags remembered. Pyrite had his magic gemstones. She stared down at him.

“And?”

The Hob blinked reproachfully up at Rags.

“Think it worked. Tell me if I’m dead.”

She stared at him. And then, shakily, she laughed. Rags sat back and began to laugh. She heard a rumble. Pyrite chuckled. Rags lay on her back and giggled, then guffawed. She heard Pyrite laughing and the two of them laughed until it hurt and they were quiet. Then Rags wiped at her eyes. She kicked Pyrite in the stomach.

“Ow.”

“Don’t do again. Ever.”

“Won’t promise.”

The two sat there. Well, Pyrite lay on his back. Rags wiped at her eyes. After a while, Pyrite spoke.

“We lost.”

It wasn’t a question. Rags nodded.

“Yes. I…hid. Knew die if showed face. Reiss won. Tribe ran.”

“Okay.”

That was all Pyrite said. All he could say. Rags sat there, and buried her face in her hands. It was over. Pyrite lived, but her tribe was gone. She laughed again, but this time with bitter bile.

“I am stupidest, smallest, worst Chieftain ever.”

“And ugly.”

She kicked Pyrite again. She wanted to laugh. She wanted to cry. She just wanted to curl up next to Pyrite and sleep until she was dead. It was really over.

“All gone. I fail. Reiss wins.”

“Not over.”

Pyrite spoke insistently. Rags looked at him.

“You can’t move. I lost—wolf. Tribe. Crossbow.”

She looked around blankly for it. It was gone. Her beloved black crossbow was gone too. Somehow that hurt almost as much as the Carn Wolf. Rags patted her belt.

“And sword. And shield. And everything.”

She looked around the battlefield. Had someone torn it off her? Was it lying in the mud? It didn’t matter. Rags bowed her head.

“Lost everything. Have nothing.”

“Still have one. Me, Chieftain. Not done yet.”

Rags glared at Pyrite.

“What good is one Goblin? What good is stupid Chieftain without tribe?”

Pyrite was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, he sat up. His body groaned and creaked with the effort. His face was pale as it rose, but he did rise. He looked at Rags, tired, weary. One foot in death. But he smiled and when he did, Rags thought the world seemed brighter.

“I’m not stupid. Just fat. Not ugly, either. And Chieftain has no tribe. But has me. [Magestone Chieftain].”

Her breath caught.

“Magestone…?”

Pyrite nodded. He rummaged in his sack for a gemstone and lifted it up. The emerald flashed in his fingers. It had been dull, just a pretty bit of rock when Rags held it. But as Pyrite lifted it, a flicker of light ran between the faults in the gemstone. A curving trail of energy.

Magic.

Rags stared at the gem. Pyrite smiled, and then groaned. The light went out and he lay back with a whumph. Rags stood up.

“You not able to walk. I—what can we do? Humans gone. Reiss gone. Heading to Liscor. No way to catch up.”

“Just rest today. Tomorrow I follow.”

Pyrite groaned. Rags shook her head. He was talking nonsense.

“How?”

“Make sled with Eater Goats?”

The Hob winced before Rags kicked him this time. That was a stupid idea. As stupid as anything she’d heard. Only someone like—like her would come up with that. Rags wanted to laugh and cry. She wanted Pyrite to meet Erin. She wanted—

She bowed her head and sat by Pyrite. She was out of plans. Out of fancy ideas and schemes. She was alone. But that was the thing about Goblins. They were never truly alone. Not when there were two.

And then Rags heard crunching in the dirt. She turned and reached for a sword she didn’t have. She saw dark figures moving towards her. Hobs. Goblins. Rags scrambled up. Pyrite tried to sit up again and groaned.

“Who is?”

Rags’ voice felt small and quavery. She clenched her fists and reached for her magic. There were at least two dozen shapes. They held still, just out of sight. And then one of them, a tall figure with curves, stepped forwards.

Ulvama, her tribal paint smudged, her face dirty, stepped forwards. Hobs followed her. Goblins who Rags recognized. Not hers. Not her Goblins, but Tremborag’s. Goblins who had joined her tribe but owed no allegiance to her. Goblins who’d fled when she’d fallen. They surrounded her and Pyrite.

And more Goblins appeared, those who had hid like Rags, or escaped the Humans in the fighting. Ulvama stared down at Pyrite. She stared down at Rags, leaning on her staff. Rags waited for something. Anything. Then, Ulvama bowed. She bowed low in her skimpy feathered outfit, and the other Hobs bowed too. Ulvama smiled as Rags blinked at her. There was mischief in her eyes. Mischief, relief, and something else. A spark that if Rags didn’t know better, she would have called hope. Ulvama gestured around at the other Goblins.

“What now, Chieftain?”

—-

It was a time of endings. Numbtongue knew it. He had come so far, from the little Goblin he’d been. The one sent to kill an [Innkeeper], who had gotten lost. He had grown. He had lost friends. He had won and lost and become someone different. And perhaps, yes, perhaps it was time to run again. To flee.

But he didn’t want to. He couldn’t. He knew in his heart that Goblins couldn’t live among people. He knew that the inn was a dream, and that reality would cut him down in time. But it was a beautiful dream. And she was beautiful. And he couldn’t run any longer.

He had seen the bright star shining above Liscor. He had felt it give him strength. A bit of determination. Courage to do what he had to do. So Numbtongue walked out of the cave. And his followers joined him. The other Cave Goblins joined him. They flooded out of the cave. They swam out of the dungeon. They appeared out of holes in the ground, from hiding places only they knew. And they followed him.

The first person to see anything on the walls was Olesm. He was walking up and down the walls, muttering to himself and trying to calculate ranges based on a report he’d obtained from Zeres about the trebuchets they had. He was trying to figure out if there was time, and eyeing the floodplains.

The water level had fallen so far that only the valleys contained any water now. That still meant there was a lot of water, but the hilltops were muddy instead of underwater, and the fish that hadn’t been smart enough to escape to…wherever they went…were now trapped in the valleys. They’d be scooped up by Liscor’s fishers for food, or eaten by predators like the Rock Crabs. Or they’d die when the waters became too stagnant or finally evaporated.

Right now Liscor was a mud pit. A watery mud pit, which gave Olesm some hope. The [Mages] would have to dry the land and shore it up or the recoil from the trebuchets would literally send them flying into pieces. Maybe they didn’t know about the dangers. It would also slow their advance. But for each good came an ill. Would the Antinium be able to tunnel and attack the trebuchets in this water? Klbkch had not been responding to Olesm or Zevara’s requests to speak. Was something wrong?

Olesm was staring at one spot in particular from the walls. The rift that led down into the dungeon. That concerned him greatly. Mainly because…it was one of the few ways down into the dungeon and it was currently flooded. Of course, there was the main entrance, but that led through a series of randomized, trapped rooms that hadn’t been cleared. If you were going to move thousands of people through there, it would be suicide.

But the rift was flooded. And if he wanted to bring people into the dungeon—hypothetically—it would be impossible with that much water. That only left the Antinium’s entrance, and what were the odds they’d let anyone into their Hive? Olesm paced back and forth. Could he get a [Mage] to heat the water, boil it away, perhaps? Or—what about Erin’s door? Could they drain the water somehow? Maybe—

Something rose from the watery, muddy waters of the rift. Olesm froze. He saw a little green head poke out of the water. The rift was miles away, but Olesm recognized the green skin and distinctive head anywhere.

“A Goblin?”

No, a Cave Goblin. Olesm stared at it, wondering if it had gotten lost or something. Then he saw another Goblin surface and gasp for breath. And another. And another. The first Cave Goblin clambered out and tugged its fellows out of the water. And then more surfaced and began swimming to land. More and more and more—

Olesm looked around. There were dozens, no, nearly a hundred Cave Goblins surfacing now, and more heads were popping up by the second. Was this some kind of evacuation of the dungeon? Was something happening? Should he tell someone? He looked back at the rift and then his eye caught another source of movement on the plains.

A Rock Crab. It was scuttling up the side of a hill, quite rapidly. Olesm blinked. Rock Crabs normally didn’t move that fast unless they were hunting. But they would have enough to eat in the valleys with the captive fish. Why was it going so fast? Then he realized the Rock Crab wasn’t hunting something. It was running.

The first of the Cave Goblins crested the hill. Olesm stared. The little Goblin had a spear. It raised it over its head and it was joined by another. It was carrying a bow. A third joined it. Was it holding a lute? And then the hill filled with Goblins. They surged over it. And then another hill had Goblins. And another.

Olesm’s vision slowly began to fill with green. He saw them climbing over other hills, swimming out of the dungeon. Some had swords, others clubs, or bows, or improvised spears. Some had frying pans and others carried musical instruments. And there were thousands of them. Each second more poured over the hills. Olesm backed up.

“Ancestors.”

They spread out, marching up the muddy hillsides around the valleys full of water. Some peered at the desperate fish swimming in the little lakes. Others stared up at the city ahead of them, the only structure of stone in the entire area. They walked ahead slowly, picking their noses, chattering. Following a tall shape that Olesm recognized. The [Strategist] went running and the [Guardsmen] on the wall sounded the alarm. Again.

At first Ilvriss didn’t understand the confused message Olesm garbled at him. Neither did Zevara. Cave Goblins? They reluctantly abandoned their discussion and came to the walls. Then they saw them.

Cave Goblins. Tens of thousands of them. By Olesm’s count, at least twenty four thousand, some of them extremely tall. As if they were emerging Hobs. And at their head stood a Goblin with a guitar. He wore a sword at his side and he stared up at the battlements of Liscor with narrowed crimson eyes.

Numbtongue. Olesm stood on the battlements with the whole of the City Watch, all four thousand of them. And the eight hundred-odd soldiers that had been sent through from Pallass on the first day. And Embria’s hundred or so 4th Company. They stared down at the army of Goblins, a precursor of what was to come. Olesm saw Numbtongue raise his guitar overhead. The Cave Goblins raised their weapons. As one, they roared a word.

“Redfang!”

The word reverberated from the Floodplains. It echoed across Liscor and made the citizens look up in alarm. It was a call to arms, a cry for justice.

“Redfang!”

Numbtongue howled the word. The Cave Goblins screamed it. They weren’t running. They weren’t going to leave. This wasn’t Numbtongue’s home. He didn’t belong here. But—he looked at the inn on the hilltop. But he wanted to stay. And so he screamed the word again and the Goblins roared it. Calling for their leaders. For their friends.

For her.

—-

In a prison, sitting behind the bars of her cell, Erin Solstice scratched at one arm and regarded her meal. It was a good one, all things considered. Well, for prison food. She’d expected moldy bread and maybe a dead rat or something. The dead rat obviously being optional if you could kill the ones in your cell. Instead, she’d gotten a rather decent meal.

She’d have preferred to be let go of course, but no one seemed to have remembered she was in here. She’d asked the guards who served food about it, but he’d said there was an incident with the magic door and that Olesm was busy. So Erin looked at lunch instead. She frowned as her ears picked up a distant sound and glanced up.

“You guys hear something?”

Badarrow paused as he ate from his tray. He looked around and scowled.

“No.”

Erin waited a beat, and then shrugged.

“Okay. Hey, Headscratcher? I’ll trade you my sausage for your cheese and crackers. Mine’s too fatty.”

The Hob looked up. He nodded and Erin tossed her sausage at him. She clumsily caught the cheese and crackers and began to munch on hers as Badarrow grumbled, sipping from his cup. Erin sighed and stared at the bars of her cell.

“…I wonder when we’ll get out of here.”

5.57

So. This was how it went down. None of them had really expected it. Not like this. Then again, they hadn’t expected to expect. Foresight wasn’t a huge ability of theirs by and large, at least for the grand things. Small things—the way a nick in a sword caught in a sheathe and held just too long, presenting an opening, or where an old rabbit’s nest presented a foothold that would give at the right moment—they were masters of that. But the large things they left up to chance.

It was more entertaining that way.

So Rags was dead. Or if not dead, then defeated. Her tribe was broken—taken by Reiss the Goblin Lord or running south, led by Redscar, a desperate bunch fleeing death. They’d probably survive. All of them agreed that Redscar was good enough for that. He had been one of them, once. The best of them, really. They didn’t know why he’d left, but he had to have reasons.

Not good ones, but reasons nonetheless. And it was all moot, anyways. They were leaving too. The Humans were stuck fighting Eater Goats, but they’d be along shortly. They were headed south, through the only pass in the mountains. Past Liscor. Nobody really knew what would happen when they reached the Drake city, but there was a rumor going around that there would be a fight. That made sense.

There was always a fight. It was just a shame then, that the Redfang Tribe wouldn’t be part of this one.

They rode. Four thousand of them, or nearly. They’d taken casualties in their last battle. It happened. But they were larger than they’d been this morning. Some of the old guard, the first Redfangs who’d abandoned the tribe for Rags had returned to them. Some of Tremborag’s Goblins too. They rode horses.

Horses.

The Redfang Tribe laughed about that. The veterans, the originals, clung to the Carn Wolves as the huge, bounding beasts loped across the ground. Carn Wolves were tireless, their teeth as large as your hands. Their breath stank of meat, and their fur was coarse. Rough. Painful to hold, even; it could turn away a weak thrust from a blade or protect them from arrows sometimes. But Carn Wolves were playful. Intelligent.

It would be a mistake to think that this pack lived with the Redfang Tribe bore their riders just because of a Skill or because they’d been domesticated. They hadn’t.

They were wolves. And unlike dogs, wolves didn’t seek masters. Respect had to be won. Newborn pups, or older Carn Wolves had to be trained to follow orders, persuaded through might and kindness to obey. It wasn’t the same as making pets. The Redfangs had to show they were superior—teach their companions not to bite or snarl and to listen. And they had to be kind. That part was easy.

As the Redfangs rode they offered their wolves scraps of meat, patted them, whispered into their ears. In bad times, a Redfang warrior would offer his food to his wolf first. Or an arm. After all, you could fight with one arm, but you couldn’t fight without a friend.

Laughter. One of the Redfangs laughed as his Carn Wolf cleared a boulder in a single bound, perched there for the briefest of moments, then leapt again. The other riders whooped and cheered. Laughing. Like a frog! The other Goblin clinging to the back of the leaping wolf didn’t laugh. He’d nearly fallen off. And his Carn Wolf was dead. He was not crying so loudly it hurt to look at him.

Shouts and a thump made the laughter stop. Heads turned. The Redfangs saw a bloom of magic, like a flower explode behind them. They saw the petals of gold-green light open up. A beautiful thing. But the brightness blinded, and whatever the petals touched turned to ash. A burning spell, but limited. The Redfangs shook their heads. Better to use a [Fireball]. Besides, the spell missed. They saw a group of Humans on horseback charging out of the smoke. Wearing armor.

Knights of the Clairei Field. The Redfangs had clashed with them once, and knew them by their insignia. A stylized stalk of wheat blowing on an open field, only, the grains on the wheat were sharp like swords. The Clairei [Knights] wore bright green chest plates with their insignia etched on the front in silver, and their shoulders, arms, and leggings were bright blue. Their helmets were the same green, deep and majestic as a deep forest, gilded with gold.

Showoffs. The Redfangs sneered, but only a bit. The Clairei Knights lost points for dressing up, but they were fast. Faster than even the bounding wolves or the Goblins riding horses. They could outrun birds on the wing. And in a charge, that made them deadly. Worthy foes.

They were coming. Either they hadn’t heard the call to breakaway and face the goats, or they had ignored it. Either way, they were out for blood. The Redfangs looked ahead, at the largest wolf running at the front of their tribe. It was the largest by far, a beast that could easily bear its rider, a full-grown Hob.

He rode in front. He wore cheap leather armor, scarred by battle, and he didn’t bother with a helmet. Some of the Redfangs wore far better gear than he did. But his sword was red, pure rust, and the edges caught the light. Garen Redfang looked back at the charging [Knights] and spoke.

They didn’t hear it. The wind caught words and tore them away. But they didn’t need to. They saw the word spread from rider to rider, quick as thought. The riders broke up. Eighty of the rear-most Redfangs, a dozen veterans on Carn Wolves and the rest newer recruits on horses. They turned back to meet the dozen or so [Knights] and the [Mage Knight] riding with them. The Clairei Knights hesitated as the Redfangs charged them.

Eighty versus twelve? It was an insult. On both sides, as it turned out. The Humans regarded seven-to-one odds as an insult, especially against Goblins. Didn’t they have enchanted gear, high levels and a [Mage] on their side? The Redfangs saw it the same way. Obviously they’d lose one-on-one, but eighty of them was overkill. Sixty, or even forty would have been fairer odds. But that was battle for you.

The fight was over quick. The Clairei Knights were good, but they weren’t used to fighting the Redfangs. They had their lances out—first mistake. They thought they could hit and run, like they were fighting mindless monsters or slow, uncoordinated Goblins. The second mistake was trusting their armor. It was enchanted—but for lightness, not strength. The Clairei Knights were speedy attackers, skirmishers, not like the Knights of the Petal or a more heavily-armored group. And the Redfangs were experts at taking down high-level enemies, even ones who wore fully enchanted armor.

There were ways. More ways if both sides were mounted, actually. Horses couldn’t wear full armor like Humans. They left too many spots exposed. Legs, underbellies. Eyes. It was a pity, but you did what you had to in battle.

Horses reared. Carn Wolves howled. There was very little clashing of metal and no locking of swords. A few screams. The main Redfang tribe watched. Goblins died. Humans died.

The Clairei Knights fled. Three galloped away. A fourth stood, dismounted, guarding the bodies of her friends. She was ready to die. Fifty three Goblins circled her, some dismounted. One claimed the rearing horse of a fallen Clairei Knight.

The Human screamed a challenge. The Redfangs waited. They saw the way she was holding herself. Armor torn in the left side. She’d taken an arrow to the shoulder point-blank but her armor had held. The mace to the side of her helmet made her stagger. But still she stood, guarding her friends.

The nine surviving veterans conferred. They nodded to each other, and then whistled. The other Redfangs turned and moved back. The [Knight] looked around, bewildered. She set herself for an attack—and none came. The Redfangs nodded to her and turned away. The Clairei Knight stood there in disbelief, watching as they raced to catch up with their tribe.

Over two dozen dead Redfangs lay on the ground as the attack group returned to their tribe. Those who’d lost their mounts were shuffled onto fresher horses or Carn Wolves, and what bandaging was needed was done on the march. The wounded horses were left behind.

It was lucky—if you could call it that—that of the three veterans who had died, their Carn Wolves had died with them. If one had been wounded or injured beyond a healing potion’s power, their rider would have stayed with them, tried to hide and catch up later. The odds of them surviving would have been remote.

The attack group fell into position with the others, tossing a few weapons from the fallen at those who needed better gear. A healing potion that hadn’t been used. Scraps of meat cut quickly from a dead horse. No loot from the Clairei Knights.

No one commented on it, although some of the new Goblins looked confused. The other Redfangs ignored it and congratulated the victors on their return. The newbies would get it soon enough.

Obviously the armor and enchanted weapons would have been nice. And the potions. Not to mention the horsemeat. But the knights had put up a good fight and the survivor had been defending her comrades. You had to respect that, sometimes. Other tribes wouldn’t. The Mountain City tribe, the Goblin Lord’s army, the Flooded Waters tribe—they’d probably all loot the dead. Kill the [Knight].

Actually, Tremborag’s tribe would kill her. Or capture her, which would be worse. The other two tribes might kill her, but the Flooded Waters tribe would probably capture her too, only not in a bad way. Anyways, none of them would ride away. But that was because they didn’t respect their opponents.

They didn’t have honor. But the Redfangs did. If you didn’t have honor, if you didn’t respect the battle and your opponent, what did you have?

The Redfang tribe rode on. Evening was swiftly approaching and the cool spring winds blew wet moisture into their faces as they rode south. The High Passes loomed above them, tall mountains casting long shadows. The Redfang Tribe kept moving, talking sparingly—using hand signs and body language to communicate. Through the winding pass they would run, past Esthelm, the last Human city and then to Liscor, where the rains had just stopped and the floodwaters were still retreating, leaving mud in their wake.

The Redfang tribe did everything on the go, pausing only briefly to rest their mounts. Everything the Goblins needed to do could be done in the saddle, or on wolf-back. Eat, talk, sleep, poo—although that was an advanced technique that was extremely dangerous if you were riding ahead of others.

And in between the loping stride, the rush of wind and the draining of adrenaline from their bodies, the Goblins spared a thought for their fallen brothers and sisters. Mostly brothers—the Redfang tribe was unique in that it had mainly male Goblins in it. But both genders fought and died equally in battle, and there had been deaths today, for all the Redfangs had won every battle they’d fought.

They’d died in the fight to break the Human’s encirclement. More had died fighting the Clairei Knights and other pursuers just now. The fallen were remembered in the Redfang’s way. But no tears were shed, and the deaths were accepted. Not celebrated. And there was mourning. But it was to be expected. Deaths happened. The Redfangs knew they would die in one battle or another.

Fight well as you go. That was the Redfang Tribe. They were the strongest warriors. The quickest, too. It was actually strange—they accepted only the best warriors into their tribe. Regular Goblins as well as Hobs. In fact, Hobs were actually rarer in the tribe because they had to be able to ride these days, and there were some types of Hobs, like Pyrite, for whom no horse would bear their weight.

That was a change from the old days. Before, the Redfangs had been both riders and infantry. But ever since the betrayal, the split, Garen had made theirs a fully-mounted force that could fight on the ground if need be, but prioritized movement.

The split had changed a lot of things. It had been the hardest challenge the Redfang tribe had ever faced. Harder than their first war against the Eater Goats until they’d managed to imprint a kind of truce into the goat’s minds. More strenuous than fighting Gargoyles, or even the other horrors lurking at the bottom of the High Passes. More deadly than going above? No—but it had taken just as many of their number without a single blade being drawn.

Rags or Garen. Garen or Rags. He’d submitted to her, let her become Chieftain, but everyone knew he’d thrown the battle. He’d tested her, and the Redfangs knew she was a…better leader. At least, in areas not relating to battle. She was good at strategy, keeping the wolves fed—Garen was a warrior and his skills in every other area were beyond lacking. And they had made her their Chieftain. They owed her loyalty, so that even if it meant leaving Garen, it was right. Because she was a Chieftain?

No. Yes. The Redfangs were still reluctant to talk about that. They’d stayed because they couldn’t leave the tribe, even if parts of them had thought that was the right thing to do. Redscar and all the ones who’d seen it that way had left. But they’d stayed.

All the things that had gone before had been …not good. Messy. Abandoning their new Chieftain, Rags, having to sit in Tremborag’s mountain while his Goblins disgraced themselves, running from the Humans—all of that wasn’t good. The Redfangs didn’t talk about it. They didn’t like to think on it, really. But they stayed because they’d made their choice. And of course, there was their Chieftain.

Who could replace him? No one Goblin was his equal. Not Tremborag, not the Goblin Lord, not Rags—not even Greydath of Blades. He was their hero. He defined the tribe. They couldn’t leave him. When he called, they answered. They were his warriors, and the Redfangs didn’t desert their own. Not the first. Not the one who had forged them, given him their name to shout, to be proud of.

The Hobgoblin who had been a Gold-rank adventurer.

The brother of the Goblin Lord.

Garen Redfang.

—-

After another twenty minutes more of riding, Garen called a halt. It was time to change things up, especially if he wanted to pass by Liscor tonight. His tribe came to a standstill as they circled around him, Goblins jumping off of Carn Wolves. Those with horses had to do more work; temporarily unsaddling their mounts and rubbing them down. There wasn’t much grass about—the area around the High Passes grew rockier the further in you went. So dried hay was broken out and the horse handlers munched on a few stalks while their affronted mounts quickly ate the rest.

Garen’s Carn Wolf lolled on the ground, panting lightly. It wasn’t winded from the run, but some of the other wolves were younger, had less wind. Garen understood that. He knew his tribe’s ability to move, how much they could fight, and what kind of enemies they could take on most easily. He knew war. Little else but that, but it was enough.

He was Garen Redfang. Leader of the Redfang tribe. Former Gold-rank adventurer. And he had been betrayed.

Again. The taste was bitter in Garen’s mouth, like bile. He remembered the Goblins staring up at him, Redscar looking towards Garen. Turning away.

It had happened again. First in the mountain, then after Tremborag’s death. And then today. And before that—and before that too—

Garen’s life was a litany of betrayals. Of false friends. The memories were still with him. They surged in times like these, and he let them pass through his head as he squatted, offering his wolf a handful of meat scraps. It ate them greedily, licking his hand. Garen smiled and scratched his wolf behind the ears. You could trust a Carn Wolf. They were ferocious and if they didn’t respect you they’d kill you. But loyalty, once won, was never lost. His wolf wouldn’t leave Garen.

Everyone else would. That was what Garen had learned over the years. You couldn’t really trust anyone. Not your fellow Goblins, and certainly not other species. Not even your own tribe, apparently. Redscar, his right hand, had left him. Another lesson.

“Chieftain?”

Garen looked up. He saw his new second, Spiderslicer, walking towards him. Garen nodded and stood up.

“Time, Chieftain?”

Garen nodded. He grunted.

“Time. Get treasure. Pile.”

The other Redfangs looked up. The new recruits didn’t understand what was going on, but they followed along willingly. They didn’t have to be told; they’d learn by watching. The Redfangs congregated around Garen. They tossed items on the ground at his feet. A sword snatched from a Human’s hand, a potion bottle ripped from a belt. Magic rings, armor, and so on. The spoils of war. Each Goblin did it. There were a lot of them, so it took a while, but soon there was a pile of every object they’d snatched in the latest battles.

Garen looked down at the pile when it was done. He squatted down and pushed items back and forth. He’d seen most of what had been dropped, and he knew he only wanted a new potion. He found a strong healing potion, or what seemed like one and tested it. He grunted and corked the bottle after one swig.

“Bleh. Mana potion.”

He tried again with another. The Redfangs nudged each other, pointing out what they’d taken, laughing at their leader’s expression. The second potion was a healing potion and the third surprised Garen.

“Ironhide Potion.”

He blinked down at the bottle of greyish liquid which tasted like metal and looked like sludge. Garen stowed it on his belt at once and stood up. He nodded at the others, indicating that it was their turn. He had no need of other weapons besides his sword and he hadn’t seen any lightweight enchanted armor that would fit him.

Spiderslicer went next. He looked through the items, found a potion like Garen, and stood up with it. The other veterans, the oldest Redfangs who rode Carn Wolves had had been fighting with Garen for years followed him in a group. They found rings they were willing to try on as an experiment, potions, and a magic buckler. Then came the newer Goblins, who took armor and weapons. The last ones, the recruits who had joined today, got to argue over what was left at the end.

Garen watched the new Goblins pick up weapons and test them out. They looked surprised; there was still good iron and steel weapons left over, and bits of armor for them. They needn’t have been, though.

This was how the Redfangs divided loot. Garen had first pick, and then the more experienced Goblins. They usually took potions unless there was something really good that had been found. And they left weapons, even good ones, for Goblins who needed it. Not all of Garen’s warriors had enchanted weapons—only a few, really. But all of the ones who’d ridden with him for a few years wore steel and carried as much gear as any Silver-rank adventurer.

The Redfangs equipped the last of their weapons, replacing damaged bucklers, spears, swords, and other pieces of gear too badly damaged to mend, and stood up. What was left they let lie. It was a haul for another tribe or anyone who chanced upon the collection on the ground. But the Redfangs wouldn’t carry it. They had secondary weapons, spare blades, but they didn’t carry anything else. They moved and travelled light. And neither would they hoard their new artifacts and potions either. In the next big battle, they’d use up most of their potions.

The Redfang tribe had no motto. But if they did have one, it would probably be the opposite of ‘be prepared’. They used everything they had right away. Anything for an edge. You won the battle in front of you and let everything else work itself out. Beyond that, you just trusted that the next fight would be coming soon.

That was how it worked. The Redfangs followed Garen into battle and didn’t sweat the rest. They trusted him to lead them to bigger opponents. After all, he was Garen Redfang. He had made them into what they were.

Warriors. Elites of the Goblin world. You could see it if you looked. The Goblins sitting around Garen, the original Redfangs, were head-and-shoulders apart from the new ones. Tremborag’s Goblins, the new recruits gained in the mountain and on the road—they were good. The best in the mountain, probably. They could probably boast any number of kills and some of them even had weakly enchanted gear, a mark of their status. But they weren’t Redfangs. And it showed.

Muscles, a honed body beyond regular Goblin warriors. Economy of movement. A fearless walk. And coordination in battle. Redfangs trained in their off time, where regular Goblin warriors just lazed about. Even now, as Garen walked about, stretching his legs, he saw the new warriors talking with the old ones. About the last battle, about tactics. Learning. Watching the veterans stretch, swap stories, laugh. In time, they’d become reflections of the best. If they lived long enough, that was.

They made Garen proud. The Redfangs were his tribe. His family, the ones who he trusted. Never mind the ones who’d left. He’d taken them and changed them from weak Goblins into warriors. He’d given them pride, strength. And most importantly, brotherhood.

One of the Goblins caught Garen’s eye as he walked around the sitting warriors. He spotted a younger Goblin, a full Redfang, but newer. He was clutching something.

The severed stump of his left hand. The skin was nearly healed—a healing potion had been used, but it couldn’t regrow what was lost. The Goblin looked up as Garen paused.

“Chieftain.”

“Furgatherer.”

Garen looked down at him. The young Goblin nodded. He bared his teeth as Garen squatted down. The Chieftain looked at his hand.

“Lost?”

“[Knight] cut off, Chieftain. Bad block. Sorry.”

Furgatherer looked down at his hand. One of the other Redfangs punched him softly in the shoulder. Garen looked at the young Goblin. Furgatherer was trying to keep a strong face up, but anyone could tell he was upset. His Carn Wolf padded around him, too upset to rest, licking him.

“You left handed?”

“Was, Chieftain.”

That explained it. Furgatherer gave Garen an anguished look. He’d lost his dominant hand. Fear was in his eyes. Fear of being useless. Crippled. Garen thought for a second, then reached out. He plucked Furgatherer’s mace from his belt.

“Try right hand.”

The young Goblin took the mace awkwardly. Garen made him swing at him. Furgatherer adjusted his grip, attacked fast and hard, but awkwardly. Garen blocked the blocks with his sword as the other Redfangs turned to look.

“Slow! Faster! Hit high low, faster!”

He spun, dodging a blow to the face, and kicked. Furgatherer stumbled back, wincing. Garen let him charge back towards him and blocked a strike to his chest, groin, arm—he knocked the mace down and Furgatherer stopped, panting. He looked up at Garen, afraid. And his Chieftain smiled.

“Good! Not bad for right hand.”

The other Redfangs called out encouragement as well. Furgatherer flushed, and then his face fell. He gestured at his missing left hand.

“But Chieftain—can’t fight on left.”

“So?”

Garen challenged him. He kicked at Furgatherer’s left side, dismissively.

“Can’t fight on left? Fight on right! Let others fight on left! Find partner. Doesn’t matter.”

Furgatherer nodded, but he wasn’t convinced.

“But if weak—”

He got no further. Garen punched him lightly on the shoulder. He roared, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“If weak? If weak, get stronger! Other Goblins guard left! Doesn’t matter! Redfangs don’t fight alone!”

He turned. The other Redfangs knew the cue and raised their weapons. They shouted, and Furgatherer looked up. More Goblins came around him, critiquing his stance, the way he held his mace.

“Wear buckler. Tie to arm. Can still block.”

One of the older Redfangs, a female Hob, advised Furgatherer. She winked at Garen, who nodded as Furgatherer found himself supported. He turned away, reassured the younger Goblin wouldn’t do something stupid like get himself killed on purpose or run away. The other Redfangs grinned at the sight as Furgatherer sat among his peers.

Redfangs don’t fight alone. It was what made them strong. They didn’t abandon their own. It was what Garen had taught them. The Chieftain’s own smile lasted for a few more seconds. Then his mood grew dark again.

He’d taught them that. So why had Redscar left? He’d never gotten a chance to ask him. Why had he and so many of the others abandoned Garen, after all he’d done for them? That was like last time.

Annoyed, but determined not to show it, Garen walked back over to his Carn Wolf and lay down. Just for a few minutes. He turned his face towards the fur of his wolf. They’d have to go soon. This was only a short break. And then they’d go…to Liscor, right? There weren’t many other options, not with the Humans behind them. And what about after there? Which way?

The memory stole over Garen, too fast to stop.

“Which way?”

“Hmm?”

Garen looked up. He heard a male voice, unfamiliar for a second. Then he remembered and recognized it was Jelaqua who was speaking to him.

“Garen? Which way now? North? South? West? East? Pick a direction, would you? I’m out of ideas and Seborn keeps bugging me about which way we’re headed.”

Garen turned. He blinked at Jelaqua as she grinned at him, her pale face Human, at least for now. She pointed down at the map. Her fingers were hairy. She wore a male Human’s body, big and burly. She wasn’t comfortable in it. Neither was he, but he edged over anyways and stared at the map.

Jelaqua didn’t often ask him for advice. Well, she did, but he seldom gave it. As the newest member of the Halfseekers, he felt out of place still, even though he’d been with them for a year already. He shrugged, a tad uncomfortably.

“What about others?”

“Oh, you know what Halassia and Ukrina always want. Go south, as if we’d find more work around the Walled Cities. Moore’s still moping over that girl, and Keilam’s snoring away upstairs. I’d get Seborn to pick a spot, but he keeps telling me it’s my choice. Jerk. So uh, why don’t you pick a good spot?”

Jelaqua’s finger slid across the map, tapping spots as she talked conversationally.

“We could go to Invrisil. Always work over there. Or hey—why don’t we head towards Celum? They dug up some treasure in Albez. Or the bug caverns? I hate that place, but heck, I’m sure it’s not fully explored. Just pick a spot and I’ll pretend it was my idea, okay, Garen?”

“Garen?”

The Hobgoblin opened his eyes. For a second he didn’t know where he was. Then he recognized Spiderslicer staring at him. He sat up as the past faded away.

“What?”

“Which way, Chieftain?”

Spiderslicer looked a bit uncomfortable asking. Garen spotted several Redfangs behind him glancing their way and then pretending to be chattering. So they’d gotten Spiderslicer to ask the question on everyone’s minds. He rubbed his face, trying to erase the past. But it was impossible. He heard an echo.

“Crawling caverns sound good.”

“Chieftain?”

Spiderslicer stared at Garen. The Redfang Chieftain shook himself.

“Nothing. We go south. Past Liscor.”

The other Redfangs stirred. Spiderslicer frowned.

“Not going to High Passes, Chieftain?”

“Yes. But going other way. Past Liscor. Down south into Drake lands. West, back through High Passes from other side.”

Garen grunted as he sketched a quick map. They’d have to go through Liscor and loop a long ways around to get to the other side of the High Passes. Spiderslicer made a face.

“Long trip.”

“Better than fighting hungry Eater Goats and Humans. Too many. Too much slaughter.”

Spiderslicer grimaced and nodded. All that slaughter had called the Eater Goats down from the High Passes. They’d be ravening, and might even attack the Redfang tribe, red stripes or not.

“And after that, Chieftain?”

“After that?”

Garen gave Spiderslicer a blank look. He shrugged.

“After that—we’re in High Passes. We’ll fight. Train. Push Gargoyles out of territory. Expand up, maybe. Find more Carn Wolves instead of horses. Normal stuff.”

That was all Garen wanted. A return to normality. He saw Spiderslicer nod, but hesitantly.

“What?”

The Goblin squirmed. He looked back at the others and they waved him on, clearly saying ‘get on with it’. That was Spiderslicer’s trouble. He was an excellent warrior, but he was no Redscar, brave with words as well as battle. Spiderslicer muttered to himself, and then looked at Garen.

“Chieftain—we not fighting Goblin Lord? Or Humans?”

“No.”

Garen scowled. He looked around and raised his voice a little louder, so all could hear.

“Too risky. Too many Goblins. Too many stupid Humans.”

The others nodded. It was suicide, even for Redfangs to fight that many. Still—they looked at Spiderslicer. He hesitated.

“Could have fought with Flooded Waters tribe, Chieftain. Reiss—Goblin Lord—was exposed.”

They could have cut towards him. Garen knew that. His scowl deepened.

“Yes, but—too risky. No way out. No. Let Reiss fight. Don’t need to waste lives.”

Some of the Redfangs nodded, but most looked confused. Risky? That wasn’t what Garen would normally say, and both they and he knew it. Garen growled. Spiderslicer eyed him, but the peer pressure was too great for him to drop it.

“So Chieftain. We go back. Then we fight Gargoyles. Get more wolves. And…use key?”

He gestured obliquely to Garen’s side. Instantly, the chieftain clamped a hand to the small key he carried on him at all times. Spiderslicer sat back on his heels. Garen tried not to glare at him. He trusted Spiderslicer. He was just asking. He forced himself to respond normally.

“Not yet. Other one missing.”

“Okay. We get?”

“Not yet. Later. I—I’ll come up with plan. Later.”

Garen growled. Spiderslicer nodded. He seemed to sense Garen’s patience was at an end and looked back towards the others.

“Okay, Chieftain. Past Liscor. We ride soon?”

“Yes. Get ready.”

Garen watched the Goblin move back. He saw him exchange looks, not quite glance back at him, and begin a rapid and furtive conversation with the others. Garen didn’t need to know what they said. They were probably debating his words.

They could sense it too. Garen didn’t know what he’d do after he got back home. The High Passes always had something to fight, something to do. But he didn’t have any plans beyond surviving there. He just knew he was done. Done with Rags and Reiss and the Humans. Done with betrayal. After all, what reason did he have to stay? It wasn’t his battle. It wasn’t his war. Reiss could die fighting for his master. Garen didn’t care anymore.

He was going home.

—-

Olesm had seen armies passing by Liscor. Human ones, going to battle in the Blood Fields. Recently he had seen the Goblin Lord’s army, a vast host passing in the darkness. And he had seen Skinner’s undead—the hordes of Face-Eater Moths. Each time he’d been cowed by the numbers, but he had trusted Liscor’s walls to hold.

However, today he felt uneasy for a reason that had nothing to do with numbers. The army of Cave Goblins spread out in front of him, twenty four thousand strong. Enough Goblins to cover the muddy hills. They were spread out, camped on the wet Floodplains. Some were fishing from the water. Others were milling about, kicking mud at each other. A few were trying to spar. But the rest were motionless.

They were staring at the city. Thousands of Goblins, just standing or sitting. Staring. Olesm recognized the Hobgoblin leading them. Numbtongue.

“What are they doing now, Olesm?”

He turned. Wing Commander Embria was standing on the walls next to him. She was staring at the Cave Goblins. She could see as well as he could, but he stated the obvious for both their sakes.

“Nothing yet, Wing Commander. They’ve stopped chanting, but I expect they’ll start up in a few minutes.”

The Cave Goblins were indeed silent. But that wouldn’t last. For the last thirty minutes, they’d been chanting. A single name.

Redfang. They would shout it as one, scream it at Liscor’s walls, and then go silent. But it would start up again, Olesm knew. He looked around.

The battlements were occupied. Full, in fact. The City Watch manned the walls with bows, Gnolls and Drakes ready to unleash volley after volley. But not just them. Embria’s 4th Company also held the walls, and Olesm saw four of her [Captains] taking posts along the wall. And spread out between Watch and Liscor’s army were other [Soldiers] in yellow armor. Pallassian troops, the ones brought through the door before it had been sabotaged. And if Olesm looked over his shoulder—

He looked and wished he hadn’t. A crowd of faces, furry and scaled, looked up at him. Liscor’s citizens had gathered by the eastern wall, and they were staring up at Olesm’s back. They’d heard the chanting of course, and you’d have to be blind as a Dropclaw Bat to miss the Goblin army camped outside the walls. There had been panic at first—people had thought it was the Goblin Lord’s army. But Zevara had restored order and now everyone was watching. Wary and silent.

“Could you take the Hob out with a spell? Would that disperse them, do you think?”

Olesm looked up. Embria was eying the set of key-scrolls that triggered the enchantments on Liscor’s walls. He covered them with one claw.

“I don’t have perfect accuracy, Wing Commander. And I don’t think that would be wise. The Goblins might disperse if Numbtongue dies. Or they might rush the city all at once.”

“Hrmph. I see.”

Embria looked disgruntled, but she dropped it. Privately, Olesm doubted the Cave Goblins would do something as stupid as attack the walls, but he was sure, absolutely sure that blasting Numbtongue was not in Liscor’s interests. He drummed his claws on the stone battlements and then heard a voice.

“Watch Commander on the walls! Wall Lord on the walls!”

He turned. Zevara and Ilvriss were striding up the battlements. The Gnoll who’d called them out, as per military rules, stepped aside. The two made a beeline for Olesm and Embria.

“Wing Commander. Olesm. What’s the situation?”

“Unchanged, Watch Captain.”

Olesm eyed Zevara. She looked tired, grumpy, and sleep-deprived. Not much different than usual, really, but she looked even more stressed than normal. Ilvriss looked better—but even he seemed at a loss as he stared down at the Cave Goblins.

“The citizenry have calmed down. We’re not in danger of a panic any longer. I have also reassured the Walled Cities that were alerted by those scatterbrained idiots in the Mage’s Guild that we were under siege.”

Ilvriss grumbled as he adjusted his armor. He was wearing a blood red cloak made of what appeared to be liquid. Olesm eyed it, but forbade comment. Ilvriss turned to him.

“So. The Cave Goblins have left the dungeon. And there are quite a bit more of them than any of us expected. I take it this is related to the four Hobgoblins in Liscor’s dungeon? And Miss Solstice, no doubt?”

Olesm winced.

“Yes, sir. I uh, think they’re angry. I didn’t know it would lead to this, I truly didn’t. If I had known—”

Ilvriss shook his head.

“The fact that one of them got away is distressing, but it was the right move to make. We could hardly have Hobgoblins running about, especially in light of the Antinium Queen’s wrath. Not to mention this mysterious bearded one in your report. My only concern now is this situation. How do we resolve it? Thoughts?”

He looked at Zevara and Embria. The two female Drakes were silent. Zevara was thinking. Embria looked at her, and then stood straighter.

“Give me command of the Pallassian forces and a thousand of the Watch and I can rout the Goblins, Wall Lord. With fire from the walls and spell artillery, we can easily defeat the Goblins.”

“What? No!”

Olesm’s jaw fell in horror. His tail curled up as Embria glanced sideways at him. If Embria slaughtered the Goblins, Erin would never talk to him again. Ilvriss also looked concerned, but for different reasons.

“You think you could achieve a victory with just two thousand soldiers and your 4th Company, Wing Commander Embria?”

The fiery Drake nodded. She folded her claws behind her back.

“I told you we could take on a regular army twice our size, Wall Lord Ilvriss. These Goblins lack Hobs—fully grown ones at any rate. With archery support and at least two of Liscor’s wall spells it would be easy to take them down in droves.”

“But that’s not a good idea. Respectfully, Wing Commander, Wall Lord.”

Olesm hopped from one foot to another in his urgency. Ilvriss looked at him.

“How so, Swifttail.”

Embria looked annoyed as well. Perhaps she thought he was disputing her abilities. Olesm tried to explain as fast as he could.

“I have no doubt that Wing Commander Embria could achieve a victory. But it would cost hundreds of casualties, at least. Casualties Liscor cannot afford. Moreover, Wing Commander Embria would rout the enemy. That doesn’t mean the same thing as obliterating the Cave Goblins.”

“True. It would be impossible to slaughter them all.”

Ilvriss stroked his chin with a claw. Olesm nodded frantically.

“—and while that works with regular armies, it just means the Goblins would go to ground and hide. And if they do, then they’ll heal up and pop out when the Goblin Lord’s army gets here. So then we’ll have a bunch of angry Cave Goblins—”

“—as well as the Goblin Lord and the Humans to deal with. Indeed. I don’t suppose you could encircle and obliterate the entire tribe, Wing Commander?”

Ilvriss sighed. Embria looked unhappy.

“No, Wall Lord. That would be impossible, I’m afraid. Or, as Strategist Olesm said, not without excessive casualties. I could take down that Hob in a lightning strike though…”

“Indeed. But that’s not the issue, is it? I doubt the Cave Goblins will disperse from the loss of one Chieftain—if that Goblin even is the Chieftain. There are five of them. We need to drive them off somehow without incurring losses to the city. Perhaps it would be possible to—”

Embria and Ilvriss began to debate. Olesm watched them anxiously. He saw Zevara look up from her study of the Cave Goblins. She glanced at him and lowered her voice.

“That’s the Hob at Erin’s inn, right, Olesm?”

“Yes.”

“The one with the guitar?”

“Numbtongue.”

“What do you think he wants?”

“At a guess? His friends back.”

Zevara grunted. Olesm’s tail twitched nervously. This was all his fault.

“This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have arrested them.”

“I would have. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“But maybe if—”

Olesm’s next words were cut off. He saw Numbtongue raise his guitar out of the corner of his eye and his body was already wincing before the roar of noise came up from the Cave Goblins.

“Redfang!”

It was one word, a roar of sound. Zevara recoiled and both Ilvriss and Embria reached instinctively for their weapons. The City Watch half-raised their bows, then forced themselves to hold. Numbtongue raised his arms and the word rolled across the Floodplains again.

“Redfang.”

This time the cadence was different. Zevara frowned and turned towards the others.

“They’ve been shouting that all this time?”

“Yes, Watch Captain.”

Olesm watched Numbtongue lower his guitar, his stomach churning. Zevara frowned. Her own tail was very still, but Olesm could see it slightly squirming. She had to be holding it still so she wouldn’t alarm anyone else.

“I see. Then it seems to me, Wall Lord, Wing Commander, that the Cave Goblins want a parley.”

“Parley?”

The other Drakes looked astonished. And affronted. Zevara nodded.

“They haven’t assaulted the city and that isn’t an aggressive formation. They’re out of bow range and all they’ve been doing is chanting a name. The name of the Redfang Goblins, in fact. We have four Hobs in lockup. They’re the leaders of this tribe. Or allies. Or something.”

“So, what? We should release them under duress? Unacceptable.”

Ilvriss snapped. Olesm hesitated.

“Well…I did arrest them on a technicality. They were Goblins in the city, which is illegal, but they were helping Erin—”

“And they’re Goblins. You’re not suggesting we accede to their demands, surely, Watch Captain?”

Embria stared at Zevara. The older Drake glared at her.

“And what would you propose? An assault? This is an army we do not need right now. The Hobs staying at Erin’s inn are reasonable—for Goblins, or so I’ve been given to understand.”

She shot a quick glance at Olesm, who nodded slowly. Zevara shrugged.

“In that case, what do we have to lose by giving them what they want?”

“But if we return their leaders—”

Zevara brusquely interrupted Embria. She addressed Ilvriss, who was staring down at the Goblins with narrowed eyes.

“Four Hobs won’t make a difference in the battle for Liscor. Twenty thousand Goblins might. I propose we make a deal with them. If we can force them to retreat south, towards the Blood Fields in exchange for letting the other Hobs go—”

“We’d keep them from reinforcing the Goblin Lord. A sound idea, Watch Captain.”

Ilvriss spoke slowly. He looked up, at Olesm, Zevara, and Embria.

“As options go, I think that is the best one in front of us. Unless you have any better suggestions, Wing Commander? Strategist Olesm?”

Neither one did, although Embria looked upset. Ilvriss nodded.

“In that case, I would agree to Watch Captain Zevara’s proposal. It is unprecedented—but it seems precedent is damned around Liscor in any case. I have only one objection, though.”

“Which is?”

Zevara looked sharply at Ilvriss. The Wall Lord frowned.

“We do not negotiate with monsters. It is beneath us as a species.”

Olesm groaned internally. Zevara opened her mouth, but Ilvriss forestalled her. He raised a claw, and then looked around.

“Someone get the Human.”

—-

After a few more minutes of rest, Garen ordered his tribe to keep moving. They had to cover ground fast—not because they were afraid of the Goblin Lord or the Humans catching up, but because Garen wanted to outrun his nagging thoughts. So the Redfangs took a different strategy. Rather than gallop on wolf or horseback the entire way, they jumped off their mounts and began running alongside them.

It was a trick mounted units had used throughout the ages. The Redfangs kept up a quick pace, letting the wolves and horses take up a slow gait, for them. And when the Goblins tired, they leapt on the backs of their wolves, resting until they were able to run again. It paced both rider and mount. The only thing faster would be if Garen had multiple Skills that could enhance his tribe’s speed all the time, like Rags. Or if they had enough stamina and healing potions to run at full-sprint all day and night.

They did not. And it didn’t matter anyways, because their progress was lightning-fast compared to the slow pace they’d taken while on the march with the armies on foot. In no time, they were running down the wide pass. Sparse trees and grass mixed with the rugged terrain. There was little of worth here, although there were a few mining spots in the area, and space enough for grazing or limited agriculture. Some people had thought it was worth settling, because quick enough, Spiderslicer called out to Garen.

“City approaching!”

The scouts had spotted the sole city in the pass before it opened into the Floodplains and Liscor. Garen saw the distant city as he passed by a bend in the mountainous pass. He spoke a word.

“Esthelm.”

“Thought it got smashed.”

One of the Hobs commented. Garen shrugged. He’d heard the same. But the city was standing and populated. There was damage along its walls, but it looked repaired, and the walls were sturdy. And now that he looked twice, there were a lot of Humans on the walls.

“[Archers]!”

A Redfang shouted a warning. The Humans had spotted their tribe and a few were loosing arrows even now. They fell far short of the approaching Redfang tribe, but it was enough to make Garen eye Esthelm twice. The city was small, but its defenders looked ready for a fight. They must have retaken the city. By the laws of leveling and classes, that meant they would be tougher than before. Not a city he would assault if he had a choice. And he didn’t need to anyways.

“Go around city. Ignore it.”

“Watch out for arrows.”

One of the older Hobs instructed the others. He looked to Garen, his one good eye flashing at his Chieftain out of a scarred face.

“Chieftain, what to do if Humans shoot arrows?”

“Hmm?”

Garen turned his head. He looked for the grizzled Hobgoblin’s face, and saw a Drake grinning at him instead.

Her scales were blackened, as if by soot. Many were missing, so her burnt flesh stood out instead. On a Drake, it was a disturbing sight, but her entire body was like that. Burned, ashy. Scarred by her nature. She was of the Oldblood, but cursed by it. Fire burned within her and unlike the Drakes who could breathe flame, it had ravaged her. She was an outcast among Drakes, a Scorchling, rumored to be cursed or tainted. But those were only rumors. To Garen, she was his friend.

Halassia Evergleam smiled as she thought about his question. She shrugged lightly and tapped the wand at her side.

“Shoot arrows at you? Don’t worry about it. If they try, I’ll block the arrows with a spell.”

“And I’ll swat them down, don’t worry about it!”

Another Drake, also female but broad-shouldered, laughed and slapped her chest. She was a full Drake, but she was an outcast in a different way. For different reasons. Ukrina had been exiled from Drake society for what she was known for, rather than her looks. She was a Turnscale, a word Garen didn’t quite understand. But it qualified her for the Halfseekers, who accepted anyone who was outcast from society.

The two Drakes nodded. Garen turned and saw Jelaqua, riding ahead of them and wearing a Gnoll’s body, turn.

“You still worried, Garen? Relax! You say this every time we visit a new city.”

The others laughed. Garen hunched his shoulders.

“Went to this one before. Got caught.”

“Well, you didn’t kill anyone, did you? No? Then relax. It’s best to relax on trips, yes? Relax, take a nap…do we have to work today?”

A purring voice from Garen’s left made him look. Keilam, the group’s third [Mage] if you counted Moore—who doubled as a front-line fighter—draped himself over his disgruntled mare. He was half-Gnoll, half Cat-tribe Beastkin. He had inherited his feline ancestry, but there was enough Gnoll to make him both sinuous and strong. Too barbarian for the Cat-tribe, and too strange for Gnoll tribes. Wit and laziness came to him in equal measures.

“Could still shoot arrows.”

Garen wasn’t convinced. Seborn shrugged. Moore stroked his chin, looking worried. He had to walk; there wasn’t a horse large enough for him. Garen was walking too, in solidarity. He hated riding horses anyways. They bit.

“I know the feeling. Some villages would shoot arrows at me. They thought I was an Ogre or a Troll. Can you believe it? Me, a Troll?”

“I can believe it.”

An amused voice from Moore’s right made the half-Giant look down, crestfallen. The half-Elf walking with him laughed up at him. Thornst, a half-Elf from Terandria and the newest Halfseeker, grinned up at Moore.

“It’s not an insult, friend Moore. But you must admit, you’re a startling sight to anyone who’s not seen a half-Giant before. They’ll panic, and when they panic, the first monster that fits comes to mind.”

“I suppose so. It’s hurtful, though. But at least they hesitate. I can’t imagine what it would be like to—”

Moore broke off and eyed Garen. The Hobgoblin pretended not to notice. Halassia cleared her throat, shedding an ashy scale.

“Just stay behind us, Garen. Let me do the talking. We’re a Gold-rank team. If they want to start a fight with the Adventurer’s Guilds, let them.”

“That’s right! Here’s to Gold-rank! I knew we’d make it! Let’s have another party!”

Keilam waved a paw. The other Halfseekers grinned. Seborn just sighed.

“Some of us were Gold-ranks before we joined the team. It’s just that we’re a certified team, now. It was going to happen.”

“Yeah, but there’s always time for another drink.”

Jelaqua grinned and slapped Seborn on the back. The Drowned Man glared, but Jelaqua just laughed.

“Come on, everyone! To the city! And if Garen gets shot, we’ll buy him a round. Watch for arrows, now!”

Garen grumbled as the others laughed. But he followed them, not as worried as he normally was. After all, for his team he’d gladly take an arrow, or a dozen—

Reality came back in a moment. Garen stared at the Hobgoblin with the missing eye for a moment, and then came to his senses. It was like the Chieftain’s memories, but stronger! He realized he’d been staring too long. The others were looking at him. Garen raised his voice.

“Ignore arrows. Don’t shoot. Keep out of range. Get moving.”

He turned back and kept riding. Why was this happening? It didn’t happen often in the High Passes. But these flashes of memory had been growing stronger day after day. At first it had just been moments, or replayed conversations. But now—

He’d never heard of another Chieftain remembering their own life like this. But he knew some of them, like Rags, had dreams or visions of past Goblins, uncontrollable ones. Sometimes it was need, or seeing a familiar scene that brought it on. In Garen’s case…it was nostalgia. Unresolved business.

Some days he wanted to ask them why. Why it had gone down like it had. But the dead were dead and the living—impossible. Garen had been a Halfseeker once. No more.

Reiss had called him a traitor. So had Greydath. But that was all wrong. What had happened was—Garen closed his eyes.

No. It didn’t matter. It was in the past. He’d left it behind. He’d become a Chieftain, gone back to his kind. He’d leave it behind him. Rags too. And Reiss. Go back to the mountains. Forget. Garen urged his Carn Wolf to go faster. But the memories kept coming back and back. Growing stronger. He didn’t know why.

—-

In the end, three of them went to get Erin. Embria stayed on the walls just in case. Olesm, Zevara, and Ilvriss walked together.

“Getting her to deal with the Goblins will be a hassle. But then again, I’d expect nothing less.”

“Will she be willing to help is my question.”

Zevara muttered. She glanced at Olesm. The [Strategist] shrugged.

“I think—she does care about Liscor. But she cares about the Goblins. So…I don’t know what to say.”

“If she cares about the Goblins she will tell them to move. Need we do anything else besides release them?”

Ilvriss strode ahead of them, towards Liscor’s dungeon. Olesm coughed and eyed the red cloak on Ilvriss’ back meaningfully.

“We might have to return their possessions, Wall Lord. Weapons and armor at least.”

“What? Oh.”

The Wall Lord of Salazsar took a moment to figure out what Olesm meant. He stopped and put a claw on the flowing cloak.

“But it would be a crime to—you don’t suppose I could provide a different cloak in exchange? No?”

Zevara and Olesm exchanged a glance.

“That cloak’s not that valuable, surely, Wall Lord? It’s one of a few artifacts the Goblins have. That damn bell, the axe that I have never seen before, that cloak—it’s just a liquid cloak, right?”

“Liquid cloak? It’s not a—Great Ancestors. Have neither of you any understanding of what this is? This is a Cloak of Plenty! It’s an incredibly valuable artifact! Far more expensive than an axe!”

Ilvriss brandished the cloak at the two Drakes. Zevara raised her brows and Olesm restrained the urge to whistle.

“A Cloak of Plenty? Are you serious, Wall Lord?”

He nodded.

“I tested it myself. It can replicate mundane liquids. Nothing magical or complex mixtures, which rules out alchemical liquids, but with it you could provision a thirsty army with water, or create a nourishing broth. Or supply [Mages] with blood or other liquid reagents. Of course, that’s hardly the only function of such a cloak. I would have it for myself.”

“How do you mean?”

Olesm couldn’t see Ilvriss needing a fresh supply of water, which was the standard use for objects of plenty. He’d heard of cornucopias that dispensed free food each day, which was a boon to armies and adventurers alike. Although if you ate too much of the enchanted food alone, you’d eventually grow sick. Ilvriss sighed.

“It’s wine, Swifttail. Wine. There are fine vintages—incredibly fine ones—that have no magical component to them at all. In fact, non-magical wines are preferable to magical ones. When did the custom of adding magic to every dish arise? As if that guarantees better taste—anyways, I digress. With a single drop of a quality vintage, I could serve my guests the most delicate bouquets at my estates each night without it costing a copper penny. Even I would consider that a windfall in saved coin, although of course I’d have to keep the cloak secret…”

He broke off, clearing his throat. Olesm and Zevara exchanged a glance. That was Wall Lords for you. Ilvriss stroked the cloak.

“I suppose I must give it up?”

“I don’t think the Goblins care to trade, Wall Lord. Although I can ask Erin if she’d be willing to intercede—I thought the cloak kept changing properties, though. Wouldn’t that be inconvenient?”

Ilvriss looked mildly insulted.

“Changing properties? Oh, you mean if it comes in contact with another liquid. That isn’t an issue, Olesm. Willpower is enough to fix the cloak into whatever property I wish. In this case wine.”

He raised a fold of the liquid wine cloak. Olesm blinked.

“Have you been sampling that cloak all day, Wall Lord?”

Ilvriss looked mildly abashed.

“Not me. I’m not drinking—I had my subordinates test the quality of the cloak. Along with the [Innkeeper] in my inn and a number of interested patrons. I believe they’re all asleep at the moment. The changing nature of the cloak was not an issue. I knew what I wanted.”

“Really. In my talk with Erin, as uh, translator, she said the cloak kept changing and the Hob who owned it—Rabbiteater—couldn’t get it to stop.”

“The flaw of being open-minded, one supposes. Curiosity will inevitably lead to change. Ah well, if we must give it to the Goblins…I’ll ask about it later. Dealing with this issue takes priority.”

The Wall Lord ignored the look Zevara and Olesm gave each other and undid the claps of the cloak. He reluctantly handed it to Olesm and kept walking.

A few [Guards] met them at the prison, along with the rest of the Hobgoblin’s gear. Zevara eyed the collection of weapons and armor.

“Put it in a holding spot. We’re not letting them go just yet. How’s the Human?”

The Drake on duty grimaced.

“Good, Watch Captain. Although we had to shut her up several times last night and this morning. She kept trying to get the other prisoners to sing.”

“And?”

“She succeeded.”

Zevara stared at the Drake. Olesm sighed. That said it all, really.

“Anything else?”

“No, Watch Captain. Nothing from the Hobs. Or the Minotaur. The Gold-ranks are clamoring to be let out, though.”

Zevara grimaced.

“I bet they are. Release the overnight prisoners then, with a warning. We’ll see to the Human ourselves.”

The [Guardsman] nodded. He handed Zevara a key and followed them into the prison. The three Drakes walked down the line of cells as those with menial offenses were let go, provided they’d paid their fines. They walked down to the major holding cells and Olesm froze as he saw a tall, horned figure standing silently in his cell. Ilvriss stared at the Minotaur who stared blankly at them and looked away.

“Scum.”

The Drakes turned to a cell just before Calruz. Four Hobs sat or stood in their cells, watching the Drakes warily. A young woman lay on a cot. She’d been standing, talking to the others, but she’d scrambled into her bed. She stared up at the ceiling, hands folded behind her head, as Zevara paused before the cage. She didn’t look up. The Watch Captain eyed Erin Solstice and looked at Olesm. He cleared his throat nervously.

“Erin?”

She didn’t respond. Olesm looked at Zevara. The Watch Captain made a face. Was Erin upset? She hadn’t been here more than a single night. Olesm called out to her.

“Erin, we’re going to let you go. You’ve uh, served your sentence and there’s a situation we might need your help with.”

“I can’t go back.”

Erin spoke slowly, not looking away from the ceiling. Olesm paused.

“Excuse me?”

He saw Erin’s head slowly turn towards him. The young woman spoke in a slow, monotone voice.

“I can’t go back, Olesm. I’ve been in here too long. Prison’s changed me, man. I’ve seen things. How can I return to the outside world?”

The Drakes stared at her. Olesm scratched the back of his head.

“This is an act, right? You’re doing something like those plays again.”

Erin stared at the ceiling.

“…No?”

Olesm sighed.

“Erin, this is an emergency. We don’t have time for—any of this!”

Erin blinked. She sat up a bit and eyed Olesm.

“It is? Okay, just a few more.”

To Olesm’s consternation, she lay back down and stared at the ceiling.

“It’s funny. I was an honest [Innkeeper] before all of this. I had to go to prison to become a [Criminal]. [Thug]. Whatever. This is a [Thug]’s life, y’know?”

Zevara slammed the cell door open.

“Get. Out.”

“Aw, fine.”

Erin swung herself up. She walked over, stretching. Then she blinked at Ilvriss.

“Hey, Wall Lord. Hey, Zevara. Olesm. How’s the eye? Are you letting me and the Redfangs out? Or just me?”

The Drakes looked at each other. Ilvriss glanced severely at the watching Hobs.

“That remains to be seen. For now, you will come with us. There’s a situation that has arisen that—strangely—we believe only you can resolve.”

“Really? Me? Well, okay then. Let’s go. Hey guys, I’ll be back soon! Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of here, even if I have to bake a cake! If I do—don’t eat the entire thing, got it?”

Erin waved at the Hobs. They waved back. She smiled at them as she left the prison, and then looked at Olesm. She didn’t smile then.

“So what’s the problem?”

Olesm shuffled his feet. He couldn’t look Erin in the eye. He’d been—upset—yesterday. And maybe he’d made some rash decisions. But she had hit him. However, Olesm was certain that he wasn’t going to be receiving an apology any time soon.

“You’ll see. Follow us, and keep up.”

—-

It wasn’t that Erin resented being in jail for so long. Okay, she resented it a bit. It was already past midday and quickly becoming evening and she was sick of staring at the stone walls of her cell. Walking through the streets of Liscor did feel great by comparison. Maybe there was something to going to prison after all that gave you a new lease on life.

Anyways, Erin wasn’t about to hold a grudge. At least, not right now. Something was up, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out it had to do with Goblins. Or that it was serious. Drakes and Gnolls were doing that ‘standing in the streets’ thing that meant something was occurring that city life couldn’t work around. And they were coming up to Zevara and Ilvriss, or trying to.

“Keep moving! Watch business! Clear the streets!”

Zevara barked orders and her [Guardspeople] headed off anyone trying to get to her. The people of Liscor stared at her. And at Ilvriss. And Olesm. And at Erin. She could hear them whispering, and caught fragments of what was being said.

“—Watch Captain and Wall Lord. And the Strategist—”

“—the Human. You know, the one who runs The Wandering Inn? The one with—”

“—friends to Goblins. Think she’ll—”

“—Goblin Lord camped right outside—”

Erin looked around nervously.

“So uh, what exactly is going on?”

“You’ll see.”

Ilvriss glanced impassively back at Erin. The Drakes led her up to the eastern wall, past a large gathering of people. And Erin did see, then. She stared at the Goblins, thousands of Goblins standing on the hilltops. She listened to the roar as they shouted the Redfang’s battle cry. She blinked.

“Huh. That’s a lot of Goblins.”

Erin stared at the Cave Goblins. Her eyes found Numbtongue. She looked around at the grim Drakes, the wary Gnolls.

“So what did you want me to do, again?”

“Get them to leave. Speak to that Goblin. Tell them we will only release the Hobs once they march south. Fifty miles, perhaps. We’ll release the prisoners then.”

Ilvriss folded his arms. Erin stared at him. She looked at Numbtongue, brave Numbtongue holding his guitar aloft like a banner. He still had the manacles attached to his arms, the cuffs at least.

“And then what? They just leave?”

“If they return to the Floodplains we’ll bombard them. They cannot remain here when the Goblin Lord arrives.”

Zevara’s eyes were hard as she stared at the Goblins. She glanced at Erin.

“You need to make them understand that.”

“I see.”

Erin looked at Olesm. He looked uneasy and kept glancing at her. She gazed at Embria, who was watching her warily, and then looked back at the Goblins.

It can’t be this way forever. Erin had said something like that to Headscratcher in jail. And yet, when she looked at Numbtongue, at the Cave Goblins—her heart hurt. They’d done no wrong. No wrong, if you understood that they had been slaves to the Raskghar before that. And now they were marching on Liscor, peacefully, all for Numbtongue’s friends.

“Okay.”

“You’ll do it? In that case—”

Zevara turned, relieved. Erin shook her head.

“No. Take me back to jail.”

She held out her hands. The Drakes froze.

“Wait, what?”

Erin looked at Olesm.

“I can’t deal with them. And I can’t get them to go. So…take me back to jail. I hear we’re getting beef stew for dinner.”

“You cannot do that.”

Zevara stared at Erin. The young woman smiled, a bit mockingly.

“Oh yeah? Why not? I’m not cooperating. What’re you gonna do, arrest me twice?”

“We could kick you off this wall for aiding the enemy.”

Embria offered. Ilvriss quieted her with a look. He stared at Erin and then sighed.

“What do you want, then?”

Erin smiled.

“You’re willing to talk instead of give ultimatums?”

“If there is no other choice…my patience is limited, however. As are the concessions I’m willing to make. The Goblins leaving is paramount. Tell me your demands.”

Ilvriss looked down at Erin. She nodded.

“In that case, give the Redfangs back their gear and get ready to let them go. And let me negotiate with Numbtongue. On my own terms.”

“You’ll get them to leave? Really?”

Olesm looked at Erin. She hesitated.

“I think so. He’s not an idiot. But you have to let the Redfangs go. I’m positive Numbtongue won’t budge unless we do.”

A grinding sound came from Embria. She did not like this plan, any more than the others did.

“And if we refuse? If we attack the Goblins or don’t release our hostages?”

Erin shrugged. She stared at Embria without blinking.

“If you kill them, or hurt them or refuse to let them go? I guess he’ll stay put. Without hurting anyone or doing much more than this. Horrible, right? He probably won’t hurt me or attack my inn. But I’ll bet you that when the Goblin Lord arrives, Numbtongue will join right up. So there you are.”

She waited. Ilvriss looked disgusted and resigned by turns. Zevara just nodded.

“We’ll get the Hobgoblins out of prison. We have some terms of our own.”

She outlined them succinctly. Erin shrugged.

“I’ll tell him that. Now, if you could let me get back to my inn? And give me a key for Numbtongue’s shackles. Oh, and get me a new guitar. His is broken.”

—-

Erin climbed down a ladder down to the muddy Floodplains. She still couldn’t leave the city via the gates—not because of the water, but because of the Goblin ‘threat’. She grimaced as her feet landed in the mud.

“Ew. Squishy.”

At least the bridge to her inn was still there. The valleys were still flooded and Erin could make out dark shapes swimming in the murky waters. She crossed her bridge, trying not to slip on the wooden slats as she clung to the damp ropes. Her inn was farther away than she remembered it being—then again, she’d been used to the magic door so she’d forgotten it was a ten minute walk.

For some reason the magic door hadn’t connected to Liscor no matter how long Erin had waited. So she made the journey on foot, key in hand. Zevara had refused to get Erin a guitar and she hadn’t let Erin go buy one either. Erin was nearly at her inn when the door flew open and someone rushed out. Several someones, in fact.

“Mrsha, no, don’t jump—”

Erin yelped and nearly tumbled down the hill as Mrsha leapt at her. Her feet skidded in the mud and Erin nearly fell butt-first into the mud. She was only saved by Lyonette grabbing her. The two girls skidded halfway down the hill, then saved themselves.

“Erin! You’re back! Are you okay?”

“I’m good! Mrsha, you’re covered in mud! Let’s get to the inn!”

Erin shepherded the muddy Mrsha up the hill and entered the inn. Lyonette was speaking rapidly the entire time.

“You’ve seen the Goblins, right? Numbtongue is leading them! And there was an attack on the inn while you were away, Erin! Someone stole the door!”

“I heard. Olesm told me some of it. And we got the door back?”

“Yes! But the mana stone that connects us to Pallass is—”

“—gone. Which puts Liscor up poo creek without a paddle.”

Erin succinctly summarized the situation. She stared around her inn as Mrsha went to roll on some white towels. She saw heads turn.

“Erin?”

Her inn was full. Not of her regular clientele, but adventurers. The Horns, Griffon Hunt, the Silver Swords…even teams like Bevussa’s Wings of Pallass were there, sitting together. It seemed as though all the teams in Liscor had congregated in Erin’s inn—they were the only ones willing to leave the city with the Goblins so nearby.

“Erin! How was jail? Wait—how’s Bird? Lyonette asked at the Hive and they only said that he was alive!”

Ceria stood up. Pisces sniffed as he passed by Mrsha.

“It seems we’re both fellow victims of incarceration now. Has your sojourn in prison kept you from noticing the obvious, Erin? There are quite a number of Goblins roaming the Floodplains.”

Erin laughed as her friends greeted her.

“Hi Ceria, hi Pisces. Yvlon, Ksmvr. Hey Halrac, Revi—yes, I saw the Goblins, Pisces. I’m actually supposed to do something about them. Bevussa! I just saw you and Keldrass in jail!”

The Garuda raised a mug and Keldrass nodded to her. Both teams were sitting far apart and giving each other the stink-eye now and then. It had been a brawl between a number of adventuring teams in the guild that had landed them in prison.

“What are you going to do, Erin?”

The young woman paused. She was wiping away some mud with a towel—not that it would matter since she was going right back out in the thick of it. She scratched her head and shrugged.

“Talk to him. That’s all. I think it’ll be fine. But I need to go now, before Zevara burns my inn down. I’ll be back in a moment to talk with you all.”

The adventurers exchanged a glance. Ceria cleared her throat.

“Need an escort? We have some things we need to tell you, Erin.”

“We’d be honored.”

Ylawes sat up. Erin frowned. She glanced around her inn and noticed a conspicuous absence. And Lyonette was giving Erin a meaningful look.

“No…I think I’m good, Ceria, Ylawes. Adventurers make Goblins uneasy. I’ll go and be back soon. Lyonette, can you walk with me part of the way? Just for a few minutes. Not you, Mrsha. You have to stay.”

The Gnoll cub didn’t like that, but Yvlon picked her up and even squirming as hard as she could, Mrsha couldn’t get free. She whined as Lyonette and Erin left the inn. They walked down the hill and Erin grimaced.

“Ew. There’s a path, but it’s mud.”

Indeed, to get to where the Goblins were standing, Erin would have to go up and down the hills, which meant walking through the mud and occasionally through knee-deep water. If she slipped, Erin would tumble to the bottom of the hill—which meant a reintroduction to water if the valley was deep.

“There are boots and a special type of stick they use to walk around in. Do you want me to try and get one?”

“No. I’ll walk. It’s a big mess and I can’t delay.”

Erin sighed. She and Lyonette began to slip their way down a hill and up the first one. As they walked, Erin talked.

“So who stole the door? Any ideas?”

“No one knows. But some people came through it, from Celum. That’s why Olesm confiscated the mana stone leading there. None of the adventurers were happy. Also, this isn’t proof, but the night the door was stolen, that [Magician]—Eltistiman—he vanished.”

“What? But I liked him.”

Erin’s face fell. Lyonette pursed her lips.

“He might be innocent. Or a victim.”

“You think so?”

“No. And neither does Olesm. There’s a bounty on his head.”

“Damn.”

Erin cursed. It felt wholly insufficient to the moment. She glared at nothing, remembering the smiling, charming illusion-mage.

“Eltistiman Verdue. I’m gonna remember his…face. Not the name. If I see that guy again, he’s gonna get what for. Okay, what’s the next problem?”

Lyonette glanced back at the inn.

“The door to Celum’s out. And so is the door to Pallass. All the adventurers are stuck in Liscor and they want out.”

“Oh, is that why they’re all at my inn?”

“Yes. They won’t say as much to Watch Captain Zevara—much less Wall Lord Ilvriss—but I think that even the Pallassian adventurers don’t want to stay and fight. They all want to leave.”

“Makes sense. But Liscor will be under attack. And my door’s outta juice. So what’s their plan?”

Lyonette glanced around again. But there was no one nearby. Just the watchers on Liscor, the adventurers following their slow progress in the mud—and the Goblins on the nearby hills. They were staring at Erin and Lyonette, although not with hostility. So many watchers. It  made Erin’s shoulders itch. The [Princess] whispered to her, keeping a wary eye on the Cave Goblins.

“They still want to use your door. They’re trying to leave Liscor, Erin. They’re going north. Towards Celum.”

“Who is?”

“All of the adventurers!”

“You’re kidding. And Olesm is okay with that?”

“He doesn’t know! They’re taking a door with them with a new mana stone embedded in it. I objected—so did Typhenous and Dawil and Ceria. They wanted you to weigh in before they started this. But the other teams said they had to go now, or at least get started.”

“Oh boy. That’s not good.”

Erin’s stomach, already a bit seasick from all the churning, began to make gastric butter. Lyonette nodded.

“Remember how you got here from Celum? They’re doing the same thing—but in reverse. They’re trading it off, going back through the door so only one team has to carry it each time. They’re going to try and get to Esthelm and hire horses—or a wagon to move faster—by tonight. They think they can get out of the pass before the Goblin Lord’s army arrives.”

“Wonderful. At least it’s a tried and true method. And how far are they?”

“Jelaqua’s team was the first shift, and they left this morning. I think they’re nearing the edge of the Floodplains by foot. It’s slow progress right now, but soon—Erin, what are we going to do?”

“Tell Olesm. Or maybe not. I dunno. Liscor needs to be defended, but the adventurers don’t want to fight. I’ll think about it. Right now I have to deal with the Cave Goblins. You want to go back?”

“I’ll stick with you.”

Lyonette squared her shoulders. Erin smiled at her. The two climbed a hill. And then they saw the Cave Goblins spread out ahead of them.

It was a strange sight. Goblins sat about on hilltops, twenty odd thousand of them scattered in different spots. Some were cooking or sitting around the fires, others fishing, or just…going about the task of living. Erin saw some of them diving around the rift to the dungeon and hauling stuff up. The Cave Goblins were everywhere.

“Holy smokes. I knew there were more than I thought, but this many?”

Erin blinked at the Goblins. Lyonette shook her head in wonder.

“There are so many. How are they feeding themselves? There’s no way the food you were giving them was enough!”

“I think they had food from the dungeon. And—oh wow. Yeah, they have food. Just not good food. Look at that.”

Erin pointed. She’d spotted the Cave Goblins bringing up something from the underwater rift to the dungeon. Lyonette saw what they were lugging across the muddy floodplains to a waiting fire. She put a hand over her mouth.

“Is that—”

“Uh huh. That’s a dead, giant caterpillar. A dead caterpillar with hair. They’re sautéing it.”

Lyonette turned green. Erin felt her stomach lurch.

“Well, I guess monsters from the dungeon are like…half of their food supply. I did wonder what all that salt and oil was being used for. And they’ve got fish here, cooking equipment…”

Pleasantly, the only smells the two girls were inhaling were coming from a nearby cook fire, where some Goblins were frying up muddy fish they’d scooped from the valley-lakes. Erin stared at them, to get the image of Goblins sawing chunks off the caterpillar out of her head.

“I’m going in. You stay put, Lyonette. Or go back. That caterpillar’s gonna smell soon.”

“What does Zevara want you to do?”

Lyonette called after Erin as the [Innkeeper] began to walk down the hill. Erin didn’t respond.

What did Zevara want her to do? What did Ilvriss and Olesm want? Well, they wanted her to wave her hands and make the Goblins go away. They were about to fight a war. A war. And Erin was going to be caught up in it.

It didn’t feel quite real. Erin had trouble taking it seriously. War was coming to Liscor? Actual armies and a siege? She couldn’t imagine it. She’d never seen an army—well, the Goblin Lord maybe—but the idea of a bunch of Humans, her people, coming to attack Liscor? It was too much to imagine.

Erin thought of Magnolia and her incredible mansion. She remembered the landscape flashing by as she rode with Reynold. Hundreds of miles of land she’d never set foot on. An entire world and politics and people she knew nothing about. Liscor was her home. She’d only gone to Pallass, and even then, she’d barely explored the city. All she knew was this one place.

In some ways, Erin knew so little of this world for all the time she’d been in it. She wished Ryoka were here, to give her some perspective. She wished she knew more of what to do. But as she walked down the hill and the Cave Goblin’s heads turned, she knew there was no one who could give her advice. She saw a ripple go through the Cave Goblins, and then a tall figure appeared at the top of a hill. Erin stared up and smiled.

“Numbtongue.”

He walked down the hill towards her, his eyes wide. She smiled up at him as Cave Goblins poured over the sides of the hills. They watched as Erin and Numbtongue met. The Hobgoblin [Bard] and Human girl stared at each other. Then Erin smiled.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

Numbtongue was oddly shy. Erin smiled. She reached out and hugged him. A susurration ran through the Cave Goblins. Numbtongue froze, and then patted Erin on the shoulder. Erin stared at his hands. The shackles had been broken—snapped by a bunch of impacts by the looks of it. She dug in her pocket.

“I’ve got a key for those cuffs. Let’s go find somewhere dry to sit, okay?”

The two found a dry spot to sit. Next to a fire, actually. The Cave Goblins had found some kind of fuel supply—made it, rather. Erin saw dried grass pellets being tossed into fires along with the precious and scarce wood. She asked Numbtongue about it.

“They dragged it from the pass.”

He pointed north. Erin’s blinked.

“That’s far! And they carried all that wood here?”

He shrugged.

“Lots of wood is easy to carry. If you have lots of hands.”

“That’s true.”

They sat together in silence for a bit. A small Goblin with a huge chef’s hat came by and offered Erin some roast fish. To be polite, Erin nibbled it and found it was actually really good.

“Thanks, Pebblesnatch. You’ve outdone yourself!”

The Cave Goblin beamed with pride. She adjusted her hat and walked off self-importantly. Numbtongue watched Erin spit out a fish bone. At last, he came out with it.

“Are they alive? Is Bird alive?”

“Yes, and yes. They’re both fine. Bird’s in the Hive. Klbkch won’t say how he’s doing, but he made it. And the Redfangs are in prison. I was with them just now and they’re fine.”

Numbtongue breathed out slowly. He relaxed, and some of the tension in him that had been there all day slowly eased. Erin looked at him.

“You did a lot while I was in jail, huh?”

“Yes. I did not know what to do. So I did—”

Numbtongue waved a claw at the Cave Goblins. Erin looked at them. Some were carrying weapons. Others were even sparring, practicing fighting in the mud. Some were cooks and some—

“Are they making guitars?”

She pointed. Numbtongue glanced at a group of Goblins energetically carving at a piece of wood and fumbling with pieces of string.

“Maybe. Will Liscor let my…will they let the Hobgoblins go?”

“Yes. I think so. But it’s tricky. You scared them, Numbtongue. You know what’s happening, right?”

The Hobgoblin shrugged again.

“The Goblin Lord is coming. Humans are forcing him to attack Liscor. A big war is coming. Dangerous. For Drakes, for Gnolls…for Humans too.”

“That’s about it. How do you know about what’s going on?”

Erin was impressed. Numbtongue didn’t look that surprised by what was happening. He tapped one ear.

“People talk in the inn all the time. No one pays attention to listening Goblins. Even big Hobs.”

“Huh. Okay. So…what is your tribe going to do?”

“If they let the others go—”

“They will.”

“—then we will go south. No point staying here. It would be a pointless-death. Against Humans. Against the Goblin Lord.”

Erin glanced sideways at Numbtongue.

“You wouldn’t join up with him?”

He bared his teeth.

“No. He is our tribe’s enemy.”

“But you don’t know where your tribe is.”

Numbtongue hesitated. He bowed his head.

“No. Don’t even know if Chieftain is alive. I think she is. But I don’t know.”

Erin was tempted to ask who his Chieftain was. She’d never gotten a chance to talk. In fact, this was the most Numbtongue had ever said to her without being coaxed. She thought about what he’d said.

“Okay. So you’re going south.”

“Yes. We’ll take Cave Goblins south. Go west, towards High Passes. That is home. Maybe our tribe went back. Maybe—we know how to live there.”

“That’s a long way away.”

“Yes.”

Numbtongue looked towards Liscor, and then past it. He looked at Erin.

“Liscor will let my brothers go?”

Erin smiled.

“If they don’t, you’ll stay here. And that would be bad for them. They think you might join the Goblin Lord. So yeah, they’ll let Headscratcher and the others go.”

“Good.”

Numbtongue nodded a few times. Then he hesitated. He looked at Erin.

“The Human army is coming. The Goblin Lord is coming. They’ll kill a city and start a war. Will you stay? Will you run? We can protect you.”

The question caught Erin off-guard. She hesitated.

“I—I’m not going. Not yet.  But I don’t want to leave you guys. I was thinking—I’ll send a magic doorway with you. How about that? That way, you can stay at my inn.”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course. I heard how you protected my inn. And got the door back. Thank you for that.”

Erin smiled at Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin looked abashed. He waved a claw.

“We saw the door. Saw Humans—[Rogues]. Ambushed them. It wasn’t a fair fight.”

“Well, that’s the best kind of fight. And I was in jail the entire time. It’s not actually that bad in there. But I got out early because you showed up.”

“Sorry?”

Erin laughed. Numbtongue smiled, and for a second the two sat together. Erin had so many things she wanted to say, or ask, or do. But she thought of the adventurers marching north and knew she couldn’t. Regretfully, she stood up.

“They’ll let the other guys go now. Zevara says she’ll do it as a sign of goodwill—but if you’re not gone by night, she’ll start bombarding you with spells. So…I guess that’s sorta nice. For her.”

“For her. We’ll leave as soon as I see the others.”

Numbtongue agreed. He stood up with Erin and looked towards Liscor. She saw movement on the battlements and waved her hands. That meant ‘yes’, or so she’d agreed with Zevara. Numbtongue stood beside her. He hesitated.

“Is it a good idea? Going away? We—I feel like it’s running away.”

Erin frowned. She looked at Numbtongue.

“But this isn’t your battle. It’s a silly Human thing. And a Drake thing, I guess. The Goblin Lord’s a Goblin, yeah, but he’s not your problem.”

For a long time the Hobgoblin hesitated. He looked at Erin. He opened and closed his mouth and then whispered hoarsely.

“Yes, but you’re—”

He didn’t get to finish. Erin jumped up excitedly.

“Hey. There they come! Look, look!”

Numbtongue’s head snapped around. He saw four shapes appear on the battlements. The Cave Goblins leapt to their feet. The figures were tiny, but familiar. Numbtongue watched as a rope ladder was lowered, and the people on the wall exchanged brief words with the Hobgoblins. Then, slowly, they began to descend.

“There they are! I told you! Headscratcher and Badarrow and—whoa! Where’s everyone going?”

The Cave Goblins charged across the muddy plains as one. On the walls, the Drakes readied themselves, but the Goblins weren’t headed towards them. They swarmed towards the four figures that walked towards them. The Redfang Warriors were surrounded in an instant. Numbtongue and Erin stood together. Erin was smiling. Numbtongue couldn’t contain his grin either. She turned to him.

“Well, that’s that. You guys should start going south. But stop by my inn—I need to get a door and a mana stone. Or—can you bring the one from your cave? I’ll get in contact with you tonight, but I have this thing with adventurers…”

He looked at her. There were so many things Numbtongue wanted to say. And do. Not least of which was hug her again, but he was too embarrassed. But if he could talk to her—he hesitated.

“You’re going?”

She smiled at him. A kind smile, a happy one. The kind that lit you up from your toes to the top of your head.

“Sorry, Numbtongue. But it’s okay! I’ve got a magic door. We’ll see each other tonight. Just get somewhere safe. You and the Cave Goblins shouldn’t get mixed up in all this mess.”

“What about you?”

She was already marching down the hill, back towards her inn. Numbtongue could see his friends, his companions, running towards him. He saw Erin turn. Heard her call out.

“I’m not leaving. Not yet.”

And then she was gone. Erin took two steps, slipped, and cursed as she slipped and fell down the side of a hill. Numbtongue listened to her swearing a blue streak, and then turned. His four brothers came towards him, surrounded by a tribe. Only, they weren’t Chieftains. Not proper ones. And they had no purpose or place. Except here. Numbtongue narrowed his eyes. He stared back at Erin. At her inn. And at Liscor.

Well then. It was time to speak with Headscratcher, Shorthilt, Badarrow, and Rabbiteater. And really figure out what they were going to do next.

—-

The Redfang tribe was rounding the last bend in the pass leading to Liscor. They could already smell the moisture ahead of them, the mud and evaporating water in the air. Their Carn Wolves panted, and Garen wondered if they’d have to swim across the Floodplains. Probably not. Rags had said it would drain around now. Was that why the Humans were driving Reiss’ army this way? What was their plan?

Not that he cared. Not that it mattered. It was just that if Reiss was going to die, Garen would like to know. He was going to fail, obviously. His master was deranged and a monster. Reiss would never realize his stupid dream. He might have, with Garen’s help. With his help, Garen could have defeated any enemy. But he’d betrayed Garen.

Just like the others. Just like—

They came up across one another as the Redfang Tribe raced past a cave set into the side of a mountain. Strangely, it looked like there were Goblins around here, and the Redfangs had paused to investigate. They were heading inside the cave, noting the archery targets and deforestation of the area—sure signs of a growing tribe—when one of the sentries whistled.

Travellers on the road. Three!

Garen relaxed. Three travellers—no matter who they were—weren’t a match for his warriors. Still, he decided to check them out himself, in case it was three [Mages] or something dangerous. He rode his Carn Wolf down the road and saw a strange sight.

Three people were headed up the road, talking to each other, laughing. They weren’t your run-of-the-mill wanderers either. One was huge, a man, but a giant as well, easily eight feet tall, possibly nine. He wore patchwork clothing, smaller strips sewn together to fit his frame. He walked with a staff in hand, and under his arm he carried a wooden door of all things. Inset in the door’s frame was a glowing white stone.

Beside him walked two smaller folk, but both just as unique. One was a Drake, or at least, appeared to be a Drake on first glance. Her scales were too pale, and no blood flowed beneath her skin. She was dead. Or at least, her body was. She carried a flail on her shoulder, but wore only light leather armor.

The last was a man who seemed to blend with the shadows, even in the light. He wore dark clothing and half his body was carapace, his left hand a crab’s claw as opposed to his hand. His face, his leg—his left side looked like it had merged with some kind of crustacean from the ocean. And indeed, it was from there that he had come. He seldom laughed, but he did smile, if you looked for it.

The three were adventurers. And they had been walking for a while to judge by the mud stains on their clothing. Nevertheless, they were in good humor. They walked easily. Until they saw the Goblins, that was.

The Redfang Tribe spread out in front of the cave made the adventurers freeze. But rather than scream, flee, or panic, they moved at once, setting themselves together and preparing for combat. Their leader, the Selphid, shouted for the half-Giant to send a [Message] spell. The Redfangs roused themselves, sensing a fight. They looked to their leader, waiting for the order to attack.

But it didn’t come. Garen Redfang sat on his Carn Wolf, frozen. He stared at the three adventurers. They were here. As if his mind had called them into existence. Or perhaps they had called to him. Almost exactly as he remembered them. And as the three adventurers looked around, weighing the odds, bracing themselves for the worst, they looked up and saw him.

All three froze. Garen stared into Jelaqua’s eyes as she went limp with shock. At Moore, who froze, door half-raised like a shield. At Seborn, who gripped his daggers and uttered an oath. At his friends. And he saw hatred—and the knowledge of what he’d done. The blood—

The blood was on his hands. It ran from the tabletop, dripped onto the floor. Blood. It splashed across the rest of the room as well. The private sitting area the Halfseekers had requested to divide up their loot was painted with it.

Blood. So little of it was Garen’s own. It dripped from the bodies. Four of them. Garen looked around. Slumped shapes. Twisted expressions, caught in their final moments. And then one of the bodies moved and he realized she was still alive.

“You—you’re just—”

Halassia Evergleam croaked, blood running around her bloody scales. For once they weren’t ashy or black. Red and black mixed as she tried to raise the wand, not realizing that her clawed hand was severed. Torn flesh and bone stared at Garen as he looked down at her.

“They’re all—all dead.”

Dead. Yes. Garen looked around. Keilam lay in a pool of his blood, dead before he’d been able to chant a spell. Thornst was fallen, bow in hand. Like Keilam he’d not been able to attack in the brief moments before his death. Ukrina’s body lay in the center of the room, surrounded by destruction. She hadn’t fallen half as easily. And she had fought until her body was nothing but tatters.

The last was Halassia. He’d thought he killed her in the first moments, but she’d survived. The Scorchling gurgled, and blood ran from her mouth. She looked at Garen, and the hate in her made him flinch.

“We never should have taken you in. Never. We shouldn’t have trusted you. You can’t trust—they’ll get you for this. You. Traitor. I hope you and every last one of your kind burns in—”

She raised her stump of a hand and Garen saw a flash of magic. He moved unconsciously, reflexively. The crimson blade he had named Redfang buried itself in Halassia’s chest. She jerked once, fell still. And then it was over.

Garen stood in the room, surrounded by his friends, his companions. Blood ran over the treasure they’d worked so hard to acquire that day. It ran over the key he held in his trembling left hand. He stared down at his bloody blade, the key, and then at his team. Four out of the seven people he trusted more than anything in his life. Dead. By his hand.

Garen screamed, then. He screamed and screamed, until his throat was raw. Then he ran, key in hand. He fled the city, ignoring the Humans who panicked at the sight of him, covered in blood. He ran and ran, knowing there was no way back. But it wasn’t his fault. He had been betrayed. He had done the killing but it wasn’t his fault.

It wasn’t his—

“Hey. Is that who I think it is?”

Jelaqua spoke dreamily. She looked at Moore and Seborn and shook herself. The other two were staring. Jelaqua stared at the Hobgoblin sitting astride the Carn Wolf. She blinked. Rubbed at one eye. Then she looked up.

“I’ve gotta be dreaming. Moore. Moore. Hit me!”

The half-Giant blinked. He looked down and swatted Jelaqua across the back of the head. The watching Goblins heard a tremendous thud, slightly hollow. Jelaqua fell over. When she got up, there was a dent in the back of her head. She felt at it and grinned.

“Yeah, I’m definitely not dreaming. That’s Garen.”

The name made the other two start. Seborn straightened. Moore ground his staff into the ground.

“Here? After we looked for so long?”

“Yeah. And here I thought we’d have to go into the High Passes with an army one day. And here he is. Funny coincidence, that.”

Jelaqua smiled. She looked at the other two.

“You up for this? Moore, you might wanna cancel that [Message].”

“Right.”

The half-Giant put a finger to his temple. He let the door fall onto the ground with a soft thump. Seborn eyed the watching Goblins. The Redfangs hadn’t moved from their spot. They were looking at Garen and at the adventurers, waiting, but growing more and more confused by the second. And Garen was just watching, his eyes flicking from face to face.

“Seborn.”

“Jelaqua.”

The two turned to each other. They shook hands. Then Moore lowered his fingers from his temple. He breathed out raggedly.

“I told them. It’s done. Let’s go.”

“Alright.”

Jelaqua slapped Moore on the arm. Seborn touched the half-Giant’s elbow. The three walked forwards. Jelaqua smiling. Moore’s eyes on Garen’s face. Seborn reaching for the daggers at his sides.

“Hey Garen. Long time no see!”

Jelaqua called out cheerfully. Garen started. He looked down as the Selphid walked towards him. The Goblins and Carn Wolves growled warningly, but the Gold-rank adventurers had no eyes for them. The four thousand Goblins could have been dust to Jelaqua. She looked up at Garen and smiled.

His former captain. His former friends. They spread out, adopting an old formation. Only, there were five empty spaces. So it wasn’t a formation, but a memory. A calling. Jelaqua beamed up at Garen as she gripped the flail with both hands. For a moment she was the Jelaqua he remembered. She spoke softly, her eyes meeting Garen’s.

“We’ve been looking for you.”

Then she screamed and leapt for him. Seborn drew his blades and Moore bellowed. It was a sound that made the howling Carn Wolves fall silent, that sent a cold jolt of fear through Garen’s heart. A sound as loud as grief, a cry torn by years of anguish, of hatred and rage. Jelaqua took up the cry and Seborn charged, silent. They came for him, with all the fury in the world.

Old friends. Garen drew his sword. Familiar faces. Friends for life. The flail whirled towards his head. Twin daggers sought his heart. His family. A staff fell towards his head like thunder.

The Halfseekers.

Together at last.

5.58

They came for him. Three of them. Old friends. They charged forwards, howling, ghosts from his past, aiming at him through thousands of Goblins. For a second Garen was frozen, staring into each face. Then he reacted. He drew his sword and time slowed.

In battle, time always felt elongated to Garen. It wasn’t that he didn’t move as quickly, but his mind outpaced his body. He turned his Carn Wolf as the three came at him and saw his tribe react. Like him, they had been caught off-guard by the Halfseekers’ attack. But only for a moment. As they saw the Gold-rank adventurers going for their Chieftain, they moved to intercept, to bring the three down.

Just like Garen had taught them. In fact, his entire tribe had been forged, trained for this very moment. Garen had dreamed of a day when his past would catch up to him. He had imagined an army of adventurers, a war in the High Passes. Instead he fought in a quiet bend in the road, next to a cave, just north of Liscor. It changed nothing. The three didn’t so much as hesitate, though they had to know the odds.

They didn’t stop.

The first was Jelaqua. She ran ahead, so fast that she was running past Carn Wolves and Goblins on horseback as they turned to catch her. Her legs moved at a pace few creatures could match, Skills or not. She was wearing a Drake’s body, the skin dead and pale. But Garen knew her by the two-handed flail she whirled around her, and the look in her eye.

A Goblin raced at her, falchion raised. Spiderslicer slashed down at Jelaqua and she twisted. The whirling flail struck Spiderslicer’s Carn Wolf and nearly struck the Goblin in the face as Spiderslicer pulled back. He cursed—the other Goblins were caught by the spinning flail and screamed in pain. Jelaqua kept running. She was already rampaging, forcing her body beyond its normal limits.

“Garen!”

She screamed his name. The Hob turned in his saddle. He was urging his Carn Wolf away, further behind his warriors. He couldn’t afford to fight her. Jelaqua was—she had been his Captain. When she was using a fresh body and rampaging, she was stronger and quicker than he was. Or, she had been. Her flail could strike from any angle. She’d stop him, and let the other two catch up for the kill.

“Archers!”

The word came not from Garen’s mouth, but from Spiderslicer. The Goblin raced around Jelaqua, pointing at her. Goblins grabbed bows, and a Hob lifted his spear. Jelaqua ignored the threat. She crashed into a pair of riders who charged at her with stolen lances and downed both in a moment. Their horses collapsed, screaming. Jelaqua knocked one aside, looking for Garen—

And a spear struck her in the back. It passed through her leather armor and embedded itself in her right shoulder blade. The force made Jelaqua stagger. The Redfang warriors shouted in triumph and moved forwards to finish her off.

“No, back!”

He bellowed at them too late. They came at her, eight of them from every direction. Jelaqua turned, and her flail spun.

Death. Garen heard the sickening thumps, saw his warriors fall. Jelaqua turned and the Redfangs faltered. The spear stuck out of her back, but she did not bleed. She looked around and Garen and Jelaqua both saw the other two faltering. Goblins were intercepting both. Jelaqua cursed.

“You two! Go! I’ll cover you!”

She ran back. The Redfang Warriors heard her of course, and moved to intercept. They were contemptuous, still. There were thousands of them, and they’d fought and killed Gold-rank adventurers before. What could one warrior do?

Everything. Nothing. Garen was looking for a spot to make a stand. He saw Jelaqua leap, bring down two warriors as her flail tore at the air. She landed and the other two ran past her. The other Redfangs were slowed by the zone threatened by Jelaqua’s spinning flail. They hesitated, realizing how suicidal it would be to charge. So instead they raised their bows and shot her.

Arrows snapped and spun as Jelaqua’s whirling flail caught some mid-flight. But she couldn’t strike them all down. Again, Jelaqua staggered as arrows struck her from all sides. One struck her in the cheek and the Redfang Goblins roared. Again they surged forwards. Jelaqua crushed the first wave and the second without slowing. The Redfang Warriors backed up, wide-eyed. An arrow struck Jelaqua in the chest and she didn’t slow. And then they realized.

She didn’t bleed.

Garen saw his tribe slow, bottlenecked by the Selphid. It wasn’t that they couldn’t run past her or around her, but she dominated the field. Redfangs didn’t run from a fight. But they had never fought a Selphid before. Jelaqua turned, the spear sticking out of her back. The spear splintered as the whirling flail struck the haft. The tip of the spear twisted in Jelaqua’s back. She turned and the Redfang tribe saw no fear in her eyes, no pain.

“Go! I’ll hold them here!”

She called at her companions. But it was a futile boast. Garen saw it. The other two were still far from him and Jelaqua couldn’t hold his warriors. Not alone. He dared to relax. He’d ridden around the perimeter of his tribe rather than charge in. Against any other adventurers he would have. But them? He met the burning gaze that hid behind Jelaqua’s body. The intelligence that lived in the dead body, Jelaqua’s true form, stared back.

Not them. Not her. He would let his warriors bring them down. Garen relaxed. He stared down at the strange thing they’d dropped. A door, lying on the grass. Strange. It was just a…door. As if someone had yanked it off its hinges. Garen frowned down at it. Why would they be carrying…?

Then he saw the white, glowing stone set in the door brighten. The door moved. It swung over in the grass. Garen’s Carn Wolf leapt back. He saw another place appear where grass should be. He stared down, into a room that looked like an inn—and then he saw something blue charging at him. The feathered adventurer leapt and Garen saw her dive forwards, and then she was flying up through the door and into the sky.

“Wings of Pallass! On me!”

Bevussa shrieked and the other three Drakes flew through the door. They shot up into the air and faltered—they had run through the door, but because it was on the ground, they had shot straight up. They turned and the Redfangs looked up, surprised by the sudden appearance of these strangers. But then Spiderslicer pointed and bows raised. Goblins drew back, aiming for the fliers.

The Wings of Pallass didn’t hesitate. As their leader shouted, they dove, and the arrows missed. They slashed down, striking, and four Goblins fell, struck from behind and above. The Wings of Pallass flew up again as more arrows flew, choosing another target as the Redfang tribe scattered, trying to adjust to this new foe. Garen snarled. He urged his Carn Wolf towards the door—

And then there was fire.

Another figure jumped out—a Drake wearing full-body plate armor. He spat blue fire and the Goblins retreated, Carn Wolves howling and bounding away to roll on the ground. More Drakes ran out of the door, leaping up and them stumbling, finding themselves oriented differently. The first group was like the Drake, and breathed fire. The next was a Human in armor. A half-Elf who began throwing spells, a Dwarf who climbed out of the door and pushed himself up.

Adventurers. They were coming from the open door, from another place! Garen roared and pointed at it.

“Break the door!”

His warriors moved to obey. They charged the adventurers. Garen turned. His Carn Wolf howled, and Garen swatted at the fire that had ignited part of its coat. He heard a voice coming from the open door as he backed away from it, eying the adventurers, looking for a weak spot. The Drakes in armor were tough, forming a wall. The [Knight] and Dwarf both wore heavy armor, but that half-Elf—

“Move the door! Move the fucking door! We’re jumping out the wrong way!”

Revi screamed as she and Griffon Hunt waited on the other side. Halrac was standing at the door as Dawil and Yvlon wrestled it upright. The [Scout]’s hand shot up and he snatched an arrow aimed at Typhenous out of the air. Revi ducked as the Redfangs began shooting arrows through the doorway.

“Get clear! Get the civilians outside or upstairs! And get the other teams! Tell Erin—”

Garen saw more adventurers gathered behind the team in the doorway. He snarled. A portal door? Well then, he’d break the door and cut the adventurers off. He pointed forwards, uttered a command. His Carn Wolf whoofed, and turned its head. Garen felt a prickle on his spine and turned as a shadow blocked the setting sun. His heart skipped a beat.

A huge head covered in thorns blocked the light. A body wreathed in an armor of vines reached out. Garen’s huge Carn Wolf, the largest of its kind, snapped and bit. The colossus swatted it aside, knocking Garen from the saddle. His staff swung—the Redfangs trying to charge him flew like broken toys.

There he stood. He’d simply run through the lines of Garen’s tribe. His eyes shone with the magic of the green. But he didn’t use magic. He just swung again, and Garen had to roll away or die as the staff thudded into the ground where he had been. He looked up, at the half-Giant who claimed the sky.

“Moore.”

A fist punched down at him. Garen dodged left, cutting at the hand. Moore’s [Armor of Thorns] spell took most of the cut, but Garen’s crimson blade sheared through the thick vines. But Moore’s skin was barely cut. [Barkskin]. Garen twisted. He saw a staff swinging at him, and ducked rather than block. It whistled over his head. Moore let go of his staff as Garen charged forwards, trying to get past the half-Giant. He grabbed at Garen, bellowing.

“You! How could you? How dare you? They were your friends! We were your friends!”

Garen didn’t reply. He cut at Moore’s legs. He had to bring Moore down, get behind his warriors. Or else finish him.

Finish him? Garen hesitated. The half-Giant did not. One hand shot out. Garen reflexively stabbed at it. This time his strike was good.

The tip of his sword pierced Moore’s palm, with almost no resistance. Garen stared in horror at the splintered bone and flesh. He heard Moore scream. He tried to pull the blade out—then caught himself and began to twist. But the hand never stopped. It closed around Garen and he felt the thorns and vines dig into his flesh. Something squeezed him, grinding his bones and flesh together. Moore raised him up.

“Thornst! Keilam! Ukrina! Hallassia! Do you remember them?”

He slammed Garen into the ground, and Garen’s entire world went black for a moment. The Goblin woke up staring at Moore. The half-Giant’s fist was raised. Garen blinked at it.

“Nice punch.”

He and Moore stood together in the bar. Or rather, what remained of it. The brief bar fight had carried them halfway out into the street, but given the wrecked walls of the bar, that meant they could still stare back inside. Two adventuring teams lay slumped over as the horrified bar owner stared around at the destruction.

The half-Giant groaned and massaged his knuckles. Garen grinned up at him. Moore looked a bit reproachful as he shook his head.

“Don’t say that. I regret it, Garen. Truly. That man shouldn’t have drawn steel on you, but this?”

He gestured to the devastation. Garen eyed it and wondered if it would mean they’d have to leave the city. Again. He hoped they wouldn’t have to pay for the damages; the City Watch would surely want someone to pay, but they were too afraid to approach right now. He could see them hanging back, calling for reinforcements.

“He started it. Captain will agree.”

Moore sighed. He ran one huge hand through his hair worriedly, as he often did when he was around Garen. Or Jelaqua. Or Ukrina.

“It’s not about who started what, Garen. We’re all adventurers. We should be working together, not fighting over issues like species. If we could show them that not all Goblins are monsters—”

He broke off, sadly shaking his head. Garen looked up at Moore, blinking. He didn’t often understand the half-Giant. Moore was a walking contradiction. He hated fighting, but he had just thrown a Gold-rank adventurer through a wall. He spoke of peace, but he slew monsters for a living. Garen didn’t know what to make of Moore. But he couldn’t help but like the half-Giant, for all he had been with the Halfseekers only four months. Moore was a gentle soul. He grinned and looked up.

“Want to kick them?”

“Honestly, Garen…”

The half-Giant’s fist fell downwards. Garen raised his arms, crossing them, trying to block. Moore roared a word.

“Murderer.”

The fist crushed Garen against the ground, a hammer blow that made the earth shake. The impact drove the breath from Garen’s body. He lay there, and saw Moore raising a foot. The half-Giant’s face was twisted in fury. Garen had only seen him like that—like that—

Move. Garen rolled and Moore’s foot missed him. The Hobgoblin grabbed his sword and stood. Without breath. He sucked in air and then cut Moore’s hand as it reached for him again. This time, Garen stabbed into Moore’s arm. The half-Giant screamed and Garen leapt away.

“Come back!”

Moore charged after him. But more Redfang warriors raced around him. The half-Giant turned as someone thrust a spear at his side. He snapped the haft, grabbed the Goblin, and squeezed. Moore grabbed a Carn Wolf and hurled it over the heads of the other Redfang warriors. The other Redfangs hung back, out of reach. But they did not fall back. They surrounded Moore, and reached for a different weapon.

Rope. The first noose missed Moore, and then the second. But a pair of Redfang veterans clotheslined him and another snared his arm. More ropes flew and Moore roared as the Carn Wolves and horses strained to drag him down. The Redfangs shouted and dug in. They had fought Gargoyles in the passes. They knew how to bring giants down. But this one spoke.

“Garen!”

He kept coming, dragging horses and wolves out of place, ignoring the arrows and blades that cut him from all sides. He bellowed, with enough fury to make even the Carn Wolves back up. He never looked away from Garen. The Hobgoblin staggered away from him, drinking a healing potion and reaching for the Ironhide bottle. He drank it down in one gulp and looked for his wolf. The adventurers were fighting his tribe, holding a position around the door. Garen stared at them, saw one of the Drakes point directly at him.

“Burn left! Aim for that Chieftain! On me!”

Keldrass and his Flamewardens took aim at Garen. As one they inhaled and opened their mouths. They were poised to obliterate everything in front of them. They commanded destructive power worthy of any Gold-rank team. But Garen sneered at them. As Keldrass opened his mouth, a Redfang warrior with a crossbow pulled the trigger. A crossbow bolt shot towards the Drake’s mouth.

Other archers loosed at the same time. Keldrass’ eyes went wide. He turned his head. The crossbow bolt struck the side of his helmet instead. Keldrass staggered, swore. The other Flamewardens raised their shields or covered their faces, unable to breathe.

“Ancestors!”

They hunched behind their shields, unable to use their flaming breath. Garen turned away dismissively. He saw the [Knight] fighting three Redfangs at once, bellowing.

“Falene! Buy us an opening! Dawil, with me!”

“I’m trying! But—”

The half-Elf turned and her lips moved wordlessly. Another [Force Wall] rose as the last failed. The Redfang tribe was mercilessly assaulting the adventurers, giving them no quarter to press their attack. Ylawes stared incredulously at Spiderslicer as the Goblin held him back with two veterans.

“Impossible.”

“They’re elites! Pull back, lad!”

Dawil swung his hammer and shielded his face with one arm as an alchemist’s potion exploded, showering him with flaming liquid. The Redfang Goblins were using potions and alchemist weapons as well! Another flew towards Keldrass’ group, and an arrow shot it, making the Tripvine Bag explode harmlessly in the air.

“Hold the line.”

Halrac nocked another arrow, loosed it, and then took cover behind the wall of stone that Typhenous had raised. Revi’s summoned warriors held another gap, and another adventuring team came through the door. But even the teams trying to pass through the door had to come in slowly—the Redfangs were assaulting the door relentlessly.

It was their battle to lose. Garen knew that. But his eyes were scanning the milling Goblins, moving past the struggling Moore. The half-Giant was as obvious as the sun. But he never attacked where you expected it. He was silent. Relentless. Garen had always admired that about him. The Hobgoblin turned. He saw a black shadow flash, heard a Goblin shout.

A dark figure leapt over the heads of the warriors riding Carn Wolves. He flipped and landed in a gap. His crab arm moved at the same time as his left one, stabbing left and right. Into a horse’s side and a Goblin’s chest. The enchanted blades seared and chilled at the same time. He slid under the surprised Redfang warriors who tried to cut at him, leapt forwards and vanished between the press of bodies. And then he was there, thrusting at Garen’s stomach.

Seborn.

Garen deflected the first dagger that went for his stomach. He swung at Seborn’s chest, but the Drowned Man wasn’t there any longer. He had leapt and vanished, his body half-turning to shadows. Or smoke. It was an illusion. Garen whirled, and caught the second dagger thrusting for his face. A terrible cold chilled him—his left arm went numb for a second. But Garen felt the pain as soon as the dagger left it. Seborn’s slash opened up Garen’s arm. If not for the Ironhide Potion, it might have cut a tendon.

The [Rogue] danced back as Garen whirled his blade at his chest. Garen was too quick for Seborn to dodge fully—the enchanted blade nicked his own magical leather armor. The two enchantments clashed and Garen’s sword won, shearing through the leather and drawing blood. Just a scratch above the chest. The Drowned Man and Hobgoblin stared at each other. Seborn raised his blades and advanced. Garen—hesitated.

Garen was a [Warrior] and Seborn was a [Rogue]. Broadly speaking, it was impossible for Seborn to win a battle head-on. He and Garen were roughly the same level. It was insane for him to challenge Garen like this. But Seborn had never been afraid. And he left no opening for Garen to exploit as he came at Garen, blades whirling.

Left, right, head, knee. Stomach, side—Seborn’s daggers flashed, leaving glowing orange and blue trails in the air. He never stopped stabbing, cutting at Garen’s body, ignoring his own safety. That was what saved him. If he’d given Garen a single opening—

Instead he cut. Garen felt small slashes opening across his body. Light cuts, but they burned or froze him by degrees. He growled.

“Not—”

This time he used a Skill. [Frenzy Cuts]. Garen hacked, feeling his blade grow lighter, move faster, strike harder for a brief instant. The sword left red afterimages in the air. Each cut sought Seborn, but the Drowned Man dodged each one. He danced back, leaning, dodging, becoming shadow and mist.

[Shadowsteps]. [Blur Leap]. [Cat’s Evasion]. And then it was his turn. Garen saw Seborn feint left, then come close. The two were so close Seborn’s shoulder was at Garen’s chest. The Drowned Man looked up and met Garen’s gaze.

“[Flurry Blades].”

Fire and ice. Garen howled as the blades pierced his stomach and chest. He felt the tips strike a dozen times, seeking his heart. But too shallow—just—Garen stumbled back, slashing at Seborn. Reaching for a potion. The Drowned Man didn’t want to let him use it. He narrowed his eyes. Vanished.

[Rearward Cut]. Garen felt Seborn appear at his back. He lurched forwards, feeling the blades tear open his back. It didn’t matter. He drank the potion as Seborn cursed. The enchanted wounds refused to heal quickly. But they did begin to heal. Lucky. If Seborn had had his old blade—

“It’s worth buying.”

Seborn showed Garen the dagger. The Hobgoblin eyed the sickly green edge of his new dagger skeptically.

“Lots of money. Why not other dagger?”

The Drowned Man sighed. He and Garen had been arguing over blades for the last half-hour, and the [Blacksmith] was clearly growing impatient. Still, Seborn explained patiently. He was very patient. He didn’t speak much, but when it came to his opinion, he was as impossible to shift as the ocean he hailed from.

“It’s an acid enchantment, Garen. A weak one, I know, but it’s all I can afford. I have one blade enchanted with [Frostbite] already.”

“Could buy two new blades. Very fiery. See?”

Garen pointed out the longer, and decidedly more menacing daggers, both of which were enchanted with a higher-grade spell. Seborn nodded.

“I could. And if I was a warrior, I might. But I’m a [Rogue]. Acid works best. A thousand cuts that grow worse is better than a cheap fire spell. Anyone with an eye for fighting knows that, which is why this is worth twice as much as a regular blade. I saved up for this.”

He gestured to the acid dagger, which the [Blacksmith] had indeed priced much higher than the other daggers. The Drake grunted, which was a mark of approval. Garen still wasn’t convinced.

“Why all other daggers enchanted with other spells, then? Why not all acid?”

“Because it’s harder? That’s what I’ve heard. And [Enchanters] get to decide what they spell a blade with. Maybe the metal isn’t good for acid. Maybe they need something else. They probably think fire spells are more attractive anyways. Just let me buy this.”

Seborn watched as Garen grumbled and folded his arm, but the Hobgoblin didn’t object. The two often talked or argued, but it was a difference of opinion on how to do things. Garen liked hitting things and Seborn was the cold voice of reason in the group. And yet—Seborn flashed one of his rare smiles as he made his purchase.

“I’ve been waiting for this for a while. If we get another big payout, I can change my other blade to lightning.”

“Why lightning?”

“Paralyzes, makes the muscles weak.”

Garen grunted.

“This blade is better. One strong enchantment is best.”

He tapped his own sword. Seborn smiled.

“Goblin’s logic. Isn’t two better than one, then?”

He showed Garen his two daggers. The Hobgoblin scowled, and Seborn laughed—

If he’d had his old blade, it would be over. Garen turned. White flames burst from his blade. Redfang glowed as Seborn cursed and backed up. He knew what was coming.

“Redfang.”

Garen whispered. His blade turned transparent. Seborn leapt, shielding himself—but Garen’s slash went through his enchanted armor. It cut down the Drowned Man’s side, laid open his flesh, sawed through the carapace that was his monster half, his aquatic self. Again, Seborn tried to block with his daggers, but it was futile. Garen’s blade could pass through lesser enchantments, cut even the thickest hides.

Blood. Seborn staggered. Like Garen, he reached for a potion, breaking the vial across his wounds before Garen could stop him. He stood up, panting. Garen waited for him.

It was over. Seborn had used two of his Skills. He hadn’t downed Garen, and the Redfang Warriors had caught up. The Drowned Man looked around as Goblins dismounted rather than try and fight him from above where he could dodge and disappear. He bared his teeth.

“Come on. Come on, traitor!”

He leapt at Garen. The Hob pivoted, taking another slice from the flaming blade across his chest. He kicked Seborn back. The other Redfang warriors closed in, attacking Seborn from all sides. The Drowned Man spun, slashing, cursing.

“Alive. Alive!”

Garen bellowed at his warriors. He saw them adjust, slightly. Garen didn’t know why he’d said it. But he could afford to say it. The battle was going his way.

The Wings of Pallass dove and struck, again and again. Like hawks, they circled before finding unwary targets and striking. Or at least, they had for a minute. But the next time they dove, they had a surprise waiting for them. One of the Redfang warriors riding a Carn Wolf rode at the diving Drakes and Garuda. He shouted and his Carn Wolf leapt. The Redfang Warrior jumped from the back of his mount and caught one of the fliers. The Drake, Zassil, shouted in panic as the Redfang Warrior began stabbing at him, grabbing at his wings, trying to bring him down.

“Ancestors preserve us! Get off! Get—”

Bevussa grabbed the Redfang warrior and hurled him off. Zassil flapped higher and Bevussa shouted.

“Watch out!”

More Goblins were leaping, using their Carn Wolves as launching pads. Each time the Wings of Pallass dove, dozens of Goblins leapt for them, and more shot arrows, trying to intercept them on the wing. And now the adventurers were being pressed from all sides on the ground as well.

Moore was wrapped up in ropes. Seborn was downed. Garen walked forwards, feeling his wounds healing slowly. His Carn Wolf padded towards him. He reached for it, and stopped.

The adventurers still fought around their door. And the winged adventurers held the skies, posing a threat from above. But everywhere else the Redfangs were present. They filled the pass. They blocked every path towards Garen with their bodies. Despite that, she was there.

Arrows feathered her body like spores. Broken spears and swords and daggers torn out of their owner’s hands were still embedded in her flesh. She was damaged beyond any living creature’s ability to survive. But her body was dead. And she was still moving, coming towards him.

Jelaqua Ivirith.

Garen stopped. He turned, and his Carn Wolf backed up. It couldn’t help it. It smelled Jelaqua’s dead body. And it saw her wounds. But she did not fall. And that terrified the animal, just as it frightened the Redfang warriors.

They surrounded her, every line in their bodies radiating uncertainty. Fear. The Redfang tribe had fought the horrors of the High Passes. They had fought creatures that looked like them, braved Creler invasions—even brought down the seemingly immortal colossi of stone and ice. But they had never met someone like her.

“Hey Garen.”

She grinned bloodlessly at him. Garen hesitated. Jelaqua was walking towards him. Just walking. But her body—he raised his blade.

“You can’t win.”

“Oh yeah? Prove it, you coward.”

Jelaqua rasped. She raised her flail as the other Redfangs drew back, trusting their Chieftain to win. Expecting him to. Garen wanted to be anywhere else in the world. Seborn’s blood still dripped from his blade. He and Jelaqua looked at each other.

“I trusted you.”

That was all she said. The knife twisted in Garen’s heart. Jelaqua ran at him and he raised his blade—

“Drop it, Goblin.”

Keilam pointed his wand at Garen. The Hob hesitated, his steel sword raised. The dead Eater Goat’s blood ran from his sword. It had been an easy kill, and one Garen was confident in doing. He’d earned his bounty—or so he’d thought. But he hadn’t expected company, and so his mask and hood had come loose during the battle. And they had seen.

Six adventurers. A huge, terrifying creature that looked like an oversized Human. A half man, half…crab? A Drake whose scales looked burnt, a regular Drake, at least, seemingly, and a Gnoll who looked like a cat. And—Garen’s eyes flicked to the last figure. A Human woman, or so she looked at first glance. But her skin was too pale. She looked dead. But it was she who stopped Keilam, the half-Gnoll, half-Cat, before he could cast a spell.

“Hold it, Keilam. See that? He’s an adventurer. Same as us. Bronze-rank.”

“No way. That’s a Goblin, Jelaqua!”

The half-Gnoll exclaimed. Jelaqua, the dead woman, ignored him. She studied Garen as the Hobgoblin backed up. He was ready to fight—or run. This wasn’t the first time he’d been discovered. But she didn’t seem hostile, just curious, and amused. Jelaqua eyed Garen.

“So this is the ‘terrifying monster’ everyone’s been talking about, huh? The scourge of local villages. Slayer of innocent sheep and cows everywhere?”

“Why would a Hob pretend to be an adventurer just to prey on livestock?”

The Drake with the ashy scales asked curiously. Jelaqua rolled her eyes.

“Not him, Halassia. That dead goat-thing. I think he got to the monster before we did.”

“Oh.”

The adventurers stared at the dead goat. Garen heard them whispering amongst themselves.

“It really killed the monster? It’s…an adventurer?”

“But it’s a Goblin!”

“Now, now, Ukrina. Let’s not judge by appearances.”

“By—Moore! That is a Goblin!”

“Yes.”

Jelaqua spoke calmly. She looked at Garen and he thought she could see everything that had led to this point. Him struggling to learn how to speak, figuring out how to disguise himself, give excuses, learn Human customs. Entering cities, being found out, running, pretending—trying so hard to fit in, to learn—all of the long months he’d endured were laid out in a glance. As if she could stare into his soul. As if she knew what it was like.

“Nice kill. What’s your name, friend?”

Garen started. He stared at Jelaqua and backed up a step. He saw the other adventurers tensing, but Jelaqua just smiled.

“The name’s Jelaqua Ivirith. I lead a team of Silver-rank adventurers. Well, we’re Silver-rank on this continent, but two of us are already Gold-ranks and Moore’d be Gold-rank too if they ever gave him a fair test.”

She waited, but Garen didn’t speak. The Human’s language came hard to him, not like his brother. He could still barely read. Jelaqua didn’t seem to mind, though. She looked around, and seemed to come to a quick decision.

“We’re a band of misfits. And we could always use a new member.”

“What? Jelaqua, are you insane?”

One of the Drakes, the normal-looking one, exclaimed. But the strange woman just turned to argue with her. Garen watched her face, her ready smile. Then he heard the shriek and turned. His heart sank. He’d forgotten about the others! He hadn’t time to poison the first Eater Goat’s corpse. Jelaqua looked up sharply as more Eater Goats emerged, scenting their comrade’s blood.

“Aha! Knew it. It had to be a pack. Hold on, strange Goblin guy. Halfseekers, to arms!”

They fought, then, as the Eater Goats came from all sides. As stupid and suicidal as their kind, but deadly. Garen finished them off, making sure each was dead. Eater Goats could survive incredible amounts of damage and heal fast. All they needed was food and a mate and they’d repopulate rapidly. He stood, wiping his steel sword, when Jelaqua came over to him. He froze again, but she just grinned at him.

“What’s your name, stranger? If you don’t want to say, that’s fine. But I’d rather know who fought by my side.”

He looked into her eyes, then. And he saw that her body was dead, but something lived in her. Garen hesitated, then took a chance. He held out a gloved hand, as he had seen Humans do.

“Garen.”

She took his hand and grinned. And that was how he became a Halfseeker, an adventurer in truth. And in time he would lose his mask, walk openly as a Goblin and she and the others would pit themselves against the Adventurer’s Guild and other adventurers for him. For that he would follow her for years, into battle, trying to be her greatest warrior. Because he owed her nothing less.

Yes, it was that smile which had captivated him. That look. The age in her voice, the feeling that she understood him despite their many differences. She was the Captain of the Halfseekers, someone he looked up to. Admired. The only being in the world that Garen had ever called his—his—

Chieftain—

He ran her through. Jelaqua’s flail struck his shoulder. Garen heard a crunch, but if it was a fractured bone, it wasn’t a strong one. He tore up with the blade and Jelaqua caught it.

“Not yet. Not yet!”

She kicked, and Garen felt his sword twist out of his grip. Seborn’s blood. He stumbled back. She was still strong. Jelaqua tore the sword from her stomach and tossed it behind her. She’d dropped her flail. But she still came at him. Garen grabbed her arms as they went for his neck.

Strong. Unbelievably strong! Jelaqua cursed as her arms slowly moved towards Garen’s neck. He tried to hold her off, but even now, even now she was stronger.

“Tell me why. Tell me why!”

He couldn’t answer. Jelaqua’s claws were around his throat, squeezing, talons digging into his flesh. He saw Redfangs shouting, striking at Jelaqua’s back, but she ignored the blows. She was squeezing, and it was all Garen could do to push at her arms. He pushed her claws off of him, and the two were deadlocked for a moment. But he was growing tired.

His arms trembled—and then he felt something tear in Jelaqua’s body. The Selphid’s right arm suddenly lost all its strength. She cursed as Garen began striking her chest, frantically, trying to tear open her wounds and expose her true body. She leaned forwards—

And she bit him. The Drake’s teeth tore at Garen’s skin and he roared and threw her off. Jelaqua fell back, and Garen struck her in the chest with his foot. She sat back.

“Sword!”

Garen bellowed and a Goblin tossed his blade at him. Jelaqua looked up, bitterly.

“Just like the others, eh?”

He stabbed her in the chest. Jelaqua fell back. Not dead. She tried to move and Garen stabbed her again and again, aiming for her stomach, her heart. He knew she was in there. It was hard, very hard to kill a Selphid with a blade. But he could incapacitate her body. At last, Jelaqua lay still. She stared up at him and her mouth opened.

“Damn it.”

That was all. Garen turned, shaking, coughing. The battle was over. The Halfseekers were down. And the adventurers were in full retreat.

“Fall back. I said, fall back! Revi, buy us a window! Typhenous, webs!”

Halrac bellowed at the others. Keldrass stumbled towards the door, bearing one of his wounded teammates to safety. Garen saw the [Scout] shout into the door as more of the summoned warriors and a giant Face-Eater Moth held back the advancing Redfangs. They were moving slowly, pushing the adventurers back rather than risk losing their numbers. Wisely as it turned out.

“Get those undead through the door, now!”

Garen didn’t believe his ears for a second. Then he saw the first shape of yellowed bone duck through the doorway and unfold. A grinning bear’s skull looked down at him. Three of them. The Redfang Goblins backed up as a three-headed Bone Horror, nearly as tall as Moore, moved forwards, swinging multiple whip-arms of bone and striking at everything in range. The Redfangs bared their teeth, but didn’t retreat.

Undead, half-Giant, monster, adventurer. It didn’t matter. They could kill anything. They reached for their ropes, but this time added hooks, snaring the Bone Horror as it tried to advance. A cry went up from the Goblins at the front.

“Hobs!”

Two of them rode forwards on huge warhorses. The first Hob had a warhammer, the second a mace. As the other Redfangs snared the Bone Horrors with their hooks, the Hobs began smashing the creature to pieces, raining blows on the joints and hammering at the skull.

“Dead gods damn it! Retreat! Retreat!”

Halrac moved back towards the door. The Silver Swords were running back, blood running down Ylawes’ head, Falene half-dragging Dawil, who was roaring, trying to extinguish the flaming oil burning his face and armor. Ylawes half-turned at the door and shouted. Someone came through it. Several someones.

“Erin! What are you doing? Get back—”

He grabbed for her. Too late. A young woman ran past him. The Redfangs in front saw her running at them and raised their weapons, eying her dubiously. Spiderslicer lifted his falchion and aimed for her head, waiting for a trap. He saw the young woman look up, and then another figure ran forwards. They’d come from the door too. Spiderslicer turned, poised to strike—

And froze when he saw a Hobgoblin’s face. The Hob lifted his axe, protecting the young woman. The jade edge and golden axe gleamed, and the Hobgoblin’s muscles stood out as he swung, forcing the other Redfang warriors back.

A foreign Goblin? Why was he on the Human’s side? Spiderslicer snarled in surprise, raising his weapon. But—no! This Hob had the war paint of the Redfang tribe on his body! He stared, hesitating, as the young woman raced past him. The Hob looked up. His face was unfamiliar, and Spiderslicer knew almost every Goblin in the Redfang tribe. But the war paint was a pattern, unique to him. Spiderslicer’s eyes widened.

“Headscratcher?”

The Hob looked up at him.

“Spiderslicer?”

The two gaped at each other. Then, Spiderslicer saw another Goblin he half-recognized run past. Was that Badarrow? Numbtongue, with a strange stringed instrument in his hand? Shorthilt—that had to be Shorthilt with the gleaming sword. And…who was that Goblin with the shining armor and the glistening red cloak?

Hobs. They were all Hobs. Spiderslicer faltered, so amazed he forgot about the Human for a second. But then he realized: they were shielding her! The young woman ran through the tribe of Redfangs, who turned, ready to cut her down. But each time her guardians were in the way.

The five Hobgoblins blocked them, shielding her with their bodies, shouting at the others. And the Goblins of the Redfang tribe recognized their own, and hesitated for that crucial second. The young woman ran forwards, towards the Selphid.

“Jelaqua!”

She skidded to a halt and knelt by the Selphid, wide-eyed. Jelaqua blinked up at her.

“Erin? What the hell are you doing—get away! Run! Moore told you to go!”

Erin ignored her. She knelt, hesitating, then grabbed Jelaqua’s nearly destroyed arm. She looked at the other Hobs desperately.

“Come on, come on. Someone help me lift—”

She was trying to pull Jelaqua up. The Selphid was shouting at her to go. That was when Erin turned and saw him. And he saw her.

Garen Redfang couldn’t have missed the strange sight, or the Hobs. He hadn’t recognized them as Spiderslicer had—he was focused on the Human. She looked familiar. A distant part of Garen told him he had seen her, but he was too focused on what she was doing. She was trying to drag Jelaqua to the door. Unacceptable. He snarled and advanced on her.

“Run, Erin.”

Jelaqua turned her head towards Garen. The young woman hesitated. The Selphid slowly sat up.

“Get away from her, you bastard.”

Garen stared at her, and then lifted his blade. Jelaqua lunged. For the third time, Garen ran her through. This time he aimed for the Selphid’s stomach and pinned her to the ground, impaling her onto the dirt. She grabbed his sword with both claws. Garen growled, let go of the hilt. He saw the Human girl raise a fist.

“[Minotaur P—”

He stood up and struck her in the chest, twice. The Human stumbled back, choking. Garen paused. He’d expected her to be a Gold-rank of some kind, perhaps a high-level [Brawler] or a [Mage]. But she was too slow to be a Gold-rank adventurer. Silver-rank? She had no armor. She raised a fist again.

“[M—”

This time he hit her in the jaw and felt her teeth break. The Human fell back, making a pained sound. Garen advanced, kicking her in the chest. She tried to dodge. He saw that. But she was far, far slower than he was. He looked for his sword, then just aimed for her neck. He raised a hand and someone grabbed it. Garen twisted, outraged, and saw a Hobgoblin staring at him. An unfamiliar face. The Hob howled and grabbed Garen’s other arm as the Chieftain tried to punch him.

The strength! Garen roared as the unknown Hob lifted him up and then hurled him to the ground. He rolled as a foot stomped, nearly striking him in the chest, and got up. He caught a punch and staggered. The Hob was as strong as he was! He looked into two familiar eyes and received a head butt that made his head ring.

Garen shook his head, shoved the Hob back, and heard a shout. The Redfang warriors all around him had finally decided these strangers were not their allies, for all they wore their colors. They trained their weapons on the Hob and his allies, who froze. The Hob who’d struck Garen panted as the Chieftain shook his head to clear the stars. Garen clenched one fist, stared at the strange Hob, and then, at last, his eyes went to the war paint. He froze.

All the Redfang warriors not pressing the last of the adventurers into the doorway stared at their Chieftain. They saw his eyes go wide, his ears twitch, and then visibly jerk in shock. They waited, eyes on the strange Hobs as Garen peered at the one who’d struck him. The Chieftain of the Redfang tribe blinked.

“Headscratcher?”

Headscratcher jumped. He looked at Garen, half-afraid, but still burning with fury. Garen felt at his bruised forehead and remembered the strength with which he’d been thrown. He stared at Headscratcher and the others, who he recognized as well by their war paint. One of them, the one with chainmail, had a lot of his war paint obscured, but the rest were familiar from other clues.

Badarrow, Numbtongue, Shorthilt. And the last had to be one of the others he’d sent out, so long ago. Garen remembered. He looked from face to face. And then, to the surprise of his tribe, he laughed.

It was a joyous, amazed, relieved, happy sound. Garen laughed. He rose, laughing with delight and gripped Headscratcher by the arms, slapping him on the shoulder. The confused Hob looked at him, but Garen’s joy needed no reciprocation.

“Headscratcher! So long! And now a Hob! So much stronger! How?”

He looked at the other Redfangs.

“Put weapons down! It is Headscratcher! Badarrow! Numbtongue, Shorthilt! And…Rabbiteater?”

The other Redfangs blinked. They stared and more recognized their lost comrades. They exclaimed, and Garen greeted the others, no less exuberant. They blinked, and then smiled shyly. Here was their Chieftain. Their hero. And the rest of their tribe gathered around them. Until Garen noticed the young woman.

She had gotten up. She was trying to pull Jelaqua away. He snarled and turned on her. A hand gripped his shoulder.

“Kill—”

“No!”

Headscratcher grabbed Garen. So did Numbtongue, and Shorthilt. Garen froze, and the Redfangs did likewise. Numbtongue looked around, desperately.

“No. Chieftain—let her go.”

Spiderslicer gripped his falchion, eyes narrowing. No one laid hands on their Chieftain. Garen stared at Headscratcher. He looked down at the Human girl, who abandoned the Selphid and turned. She gave him a look without fear and raised a hand, made a fist. The Goblins waited as Garen looked back at the five Hobs. He hesitated, and then looked at the young woman.

“Go.”

She hesitated. She looked down at Jelaqua, and the Selphid croaked at her.

“Don’t be stupid. Run. I’ll—settle my tab later.”

The young woman hesitated. For a long second, Garen thought she’d stay. But then she ran, stumbling towards the door. She half-collapsed by it and the [Scout] dragged her through. Garen barked an order as the Redfangs loosed arrows at him.

“Leave adventurers!”

The hail of projectiles stopped. The door closed. The Hob with the warhammer strode forwards and brought it down. The doorway splintered, and it was done. The Wings of Pallass flew south, and the Redfangs were left with their wounded and dead.

And the adventurers. There were three of them. The Halfseekers, bound and bleeding. And…the five Hobgoblins.

And a lot of Cave Goblins. They came north as Garen looked around, smiling once more. He blinked in astonishment at them as they stared in awe at this strange and powerful tribe. He listened to a garbled explanation from Numbtongue, and smiled and shook his head. He laughed—

And then he saw them looking at him. Moore. Seborn. Jelaqua. They sat under guard, bleeding, captive. But their eyes never left him. They looked just like he remembered—except for Jelaqua. But she was the same, if not in body. They were what he had dreamed of, what he had feared in his nightmares.

Garen’s smile faded. He turned away as memory became reality. The past had caught up and it was time. To put an end to it for good.

—-

They were the Redfang tribe. Where they were didn’t really matter. It was who they were that mattered, how they fought. They had fought another battle and won. There was glory and that. But death, too. There was always death.

Many Redfangs had died fighting the adventurers. Over a hundred, and most to the Halfseekers. The adventurers at the door had been contained fairly well—it was only the half-Elf [Mage]’s spells and the [Scout] and his cursed enchanted arrows who had done a lot of damage. And the Garuda had killed a half dozen.

Too many. It was to be expected when one fought Gold-ranks, but it hurt. The Redfangs mourned their dead, even as they became food or were stripped of their gear. But unlike other Goblins, they had a different sort of culture. As the dead were laid to rest, Redfangs, the closest friends of the fallen, would bend down and collect blood from the fallen. Barring that, they would cut themselves and add markings to their body.

A stripe of blood on a cheek. An added bit of blood on an arm, or ear. The location didn’t matter, or the length of the marking. But the blood would stay. And when it faded, it would be replaced by paint. Forever. So long as the Redfang in question had access to war paints, he or she would decorate their body with their individual set of markings.

And they would never forget where they were, even if circumstances dictated that they be clean, or prohibited them from using their war paints. The red stripes would always be there. Reminders of failure. Of the fallen. It was a promise not to fail next time.

The new Redfangs earned their first stripes that day. It was a mark of shame and honor. They had survived a battle. The veterans had red paint all over their body. But they did not revel in the markings, like the young Goblins. It was a symbol, that was all. It made them unique. Stronger.

Five Hobgoblins sat in the center of the Redfang tribe. Unlike the others, they didn’t need to bandage their wounds or tend to their mounts. They hadn’t fought. Rather, they’d come through the magic door as soon as they’d heard what was going on. The Redfang Warriors—that was to say, the five Hobgoblins who stayed at Erin’s inn—sat uneasily, just across from their Chieftain. Or their former Chieftain?

Garen Redfang grinned at them, not put out one bit that Headscratcher had attacked him. He had even let Erin go. He was…just as they’d remembered. Larger than life. Glorious. And his famous blade hung by his side. He couldn’t stop looking at the five. Garen faced them, and deliberately did not look behind him. He didn’t listen to the three adventurers, who had been unceremoniously carried to the same spot and were under heavy guard.

Jelaqua could barely move and the broken weapons in her body protruded from her flesh. Seborn’s bleeding had stopped, but Moore was still injured from dozens upon dozens of wounds. Their voices were low.

“Can’t move my right arm. Ripped almost all my muscle fibers there. I’m torn up everywhere else too.”

“I’m bleeding, but I managed to heal up before they got me. I don’t have any weapons. They found all of my daggers.”

“Moore…?”

“He needs a healing potion.”

The half-Giant was breathing laboriously. Jelaqua looked up. She bit her lip.

“Think we’ll get him to let us use one before he axes us?”

Seborn stared at Garen’s back.

“Don’t count on it. If you can give me an opening—”

“Forget it. He’s expecting it. Let’s just…wait. Damn it. It’ll be over soon.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what? I had the best shot. Damn arm gave out. I should have—”

Garen ignored them. He looked around instead, focusing on the Goblins who were sitting just outside the circle of his Redfang tribe. They were curious. Small, many of them smaller than even the average Goblin. They had greyer skin, but besides that they were identical to regular Goblins. He spotted what looked like emerging Hobgoblins among them. But what really stood out was their numbers.

The Cave Goblins of the dungeon sat, watching the Redfangs with awe. They had followed their five leaders north, not bothering with the door but streaming across the Floodplains, much to the horror of the Drakes in Liscor.

Garen didn’t know all the details, of what had happened to have so many Cave Goblins following his warriors, but he had gotten the details, at least a broad outline from Numbtongue. Pressed, the Hobgoblin had given a quick summary and Garen had gotten the basics.

So, his warriors had gone into a dungeon and liberated the Cave Goblins there? They’d fought strange primordial Gnolls—Raskghar—and triumphed. They’d become Hobs, all of them. Hobs!

He could remember them before they’d left. Tiny, regular-sized Goblins. Good warriors, some of his best, but infantry. Not his prized Carn Wolf [Riders] and not his few Hobs. Garen’s heart hurt. He remembered he’d sent Grunter to lead them, Grunter and seven more. He’d asked, but the silence had been enough of an answer.

Thirteen had left, five remained. As outcomes went, that was good for Goblins. And they were Hobs.

Garen couldn’t get over that fact. Hobgoblins only emerged as a result of great strength or triumph. Each of the Redfangs had a unique class. The other members of his tribe were glancing at them in awe, especially after they’d heard what their classes were.

“[Berserker]. [Weapon Master]. [Sniper]. [Bard]. And [Champion]!”

Garen spoke loudly, looking from face to face with overwhelming pride. Each of the Redfangs ducked their heads. Garen looked at Rabbiteater last, twice as amazed. Rabbiteater—now there was a shock. He was a good fighter, decent at most things, but a [Champion]? Those who knew him were beside themselves with surprise.

“And these…Cave Goblins? You taught them how to fight?”

“Small bit, Chieftain.”

Shorthilt answered for the others. He played with his sword, an action that was familiar to Garen, but with a different body. Shorthilt gestured and Garen saw a group of Goblins with sharp weapons raise them over their heads and cheer.

“Taught to fight like Redfangs. By a Redfang.”

Spiderslicer grumbled, seemingly unsure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. But Garen knew it was a good thing. He looked at the Cave Goblins.

Twenty thousand new Redfangs. That was what they were. Twenty thousand warriors—or the makings of them. He couldn’t help smiling.

“Tell me what happened. From the start. Not a summary. Tell me—all of it!”

He urged Headscratcher. The Goblin was bashful, embarrassed. He looked at the others and then hesitated. He had smiled with pure joy to see Garen, but now he was concerned.

“Chieft…”

He trailed off. Garen waited, smiling. Headscratcher looked at him. What was it? He looked so worried. And then Headscratcher said it.

“Where is Chieftain? Where is Rags?”

Garen—froze. So did the other Redfangs. For a beat Garen stared at Headscratcher, wondering what had possessed him to ask that? Chieftain? He was Chieftain! Why would Headscratcher—

He hadn’t been here. He didn’t know. None of them did. The rest of the tribe realized that and sat still, an army of statues. The five Hobs looked around, confused. They focused on Garen and he realized he had to say something. He spoke haltingly.

“Rags is…gone. Maybe dead. Her tribe split from Redfangs. Betrayed us.”

“Betrayed? How?”

The five reacted in shock. The other Redfangs avoided looking at them. Garen ignored the question as well.

“They did. And then they were attacked by Reiss—by the Goblin Lord. He betrayed them, too. Rags disappeared in fighting. May be dead. Rest of her tribe is broken. Fleeing this way. We left too.”

The five stared at Garen, jaws agape, full of horror. They began to ask questions all at once, but Garen didn’t want to answer them. He shook his head, then raised his voice.

“No. No! It is in the past! They betrayed us. Rags is gone. The Redfang are the Redfangs. Same as before.”

Badarrow stared at Garen. The Chieftain avoided his gaze. It was true. He turned, seeking another topic. Three pairs of eyes stared at him. He froze.

“Chieftain. Who are they? Should we kill?”

Spiderslicer stared at the Halfseekers with hatred in his eyes. He fingered the handle of the falchion. The other Redfangs murmured agreement. Headscratcher and the other four Hobs looked uneasy. Rabbiteater opened his mouth and the others elbowed him quickly. Garen ignored that and shook his head slowly.

“I will deal with them. Myself.”

“Chieftain knows them?”

Garen nodded slowly. He couldn’t avoid it after all. He got up and looked at the Halfseekers.

“Yes. I do know them. And so do you.”

The Redfang tribe looked at each other. He couldn’t mean—they had all heard the old stories. They turned as one and focused on the Halfseekers and Garen walked over to them. He studied each face. Moore tried to sit up and groaned as blood ran from his wounds.

“They are my old team. The Halfseekers. Half Freaks. A Gold-rank team. The ones who betrayed me.”

An awed silence fell over the Redfang tribe. They stared at the Halfseekers, not with anger, but with amazement now. Garen’s original team. They all knew the story—or a version of the tale. They had heard how his team betrayed him, how he had retreated, formed a tribe in the High Passes. But to see them in real life was different. Garen stared down at his old comrades, and then heard a strangled laugh.

“We betrayed you? You damn liar.”

Jelaqua sat up. Her eyes focused unsteadily on Garen, one drifting slightly. But her voice was strong. Furious.

“You betrayed us. Don’t lie!”

The accusation made Garen freeze in place. He felt a hot flash of shame, and then fury go through him. He snapped back at Jelaqua.

“I did not! The others did!”

“Liar.”

The voice came from Moore. He hauled himself upright. The Redfangs guarding him stirred uneasily. The half-Giant’s voice rose. He boomed, and the Redfangs instinctively flinched as he shouted Garen.

“You lie! You killed them! In cold blood! You murderer! You—”

He tried to break the ropes holding him, but failed. He sat back, face white as a sheet. Garen looked away from him. He clenched his claw into a fist.

“I did not betray. They did.”

“Liar.”

This time Garen whirled and nearly kicked Seborn. The Drowned Man looked up at him. His voice echoed, quieter than the other two. But it was no less furious.

“We know what we saw. You ran, and we’ve been waiting for this day for years. If you had any courage you’d fight me. Give me a dagger, Garen. And we’ll end this.”

“No. You are my prisoners. I beat you.”

Garen clenched his fists. Seborn looked away.

“With numbers. Coward.”

The Redfangs rumbled. Garen roared.

“I am not a coward!”

He strode up to Seborn and grabbed the [Rogue]. Quick as a flash, Seborn lunged at him. He’d untied himself! Garen saw the claw go for his throat, threw Seborn back. The Redfangs tackled him. There was a brief scuffle, then Seborn was back in his bindings, worse for the wear.

“You are the coward. You—”

Garen was still breathing heavily. Seborn looked up at him, speaking around a bloody lip.

“No less than you deserve. Team killer.”

“Monster.”

The whisper came from Moore. Garen howled in fury.

“I am not! They were! They were!”

He strode back and forth, trembling, unable to speak straight. His tribe watched, uncertain. They had never seen their Chieftain like this. They watched, and so did the Cave Goblins. They were all witness to the argument. But they had not been there.

Jelaqua looked up at Garen, silent, letting him vent his fury at the other two. She tugged at her bindings, but her right arm was torn. And Garen was quick. She looked around for anything, but there were hundreds of eyes on her. And yet—Jelaqua looked straight at Numbtongue, at Headscratcher.

They were watching her. All five of the Redfangs. Uncertainly, nervously eying their Chieftain, whom they’d just reunited with. Or was he their Chieftain? Jelaqua’s eyes narrowed slightly. She looked up as Garen rounded on Moore and spoke, her dead voice rasping, the broken body she was wearing slowly deteriorating every time she moved.

“You’re a filthy liar, Garen. Do your tribe know you’ve been lying to them all this time? Or have you told them your story of what happened?”

He turned on her, full of wrath. Just like she remembered in some ways. The same face, the same body. But not the same person. Selphids counted personality more than physical appearance, and this Garen was nothing like the one Jelaqua knew. He was uncontrolled, raging. Guilty.

“I told them the truth! The truth! I was betrayed!”

“Oh yeah? That’s not how we remember it. And we were there. Right, Moore? Seborn? You guys remember what went down.”

Jelaqua looked sideways at Moore and Seborn, hoping they’d understand what she wanted. The other two looked at her and caught on. As always. They glanced around, and abandoned their fury for one second. Seborn nodded.

“I remember. So does Moore.”

“In my dreams. Every night.”

The half-Giant rasped. Blood ran from his hand, his side. Jelaqua was worried. He’d bleed out soon. But Garen wasn’t about to heal him. So the Selphid spoke as quickly as she could. She looked up at Garen and raised her voice so everyone, all the Goblins both Redfang and Cave Goblin, could hear.

“Tell me, Garen. Did you tell your tribe what happened before we ‘betrayed’ you? Did you give them all the details? Because I remember that night very well. We’d just cleared that damn cavern. Gone deeper than anyone had ever gone before. Past the roaches and the other crawling monsters. Into the heart of the caves. I thought we’d die when we fought the things down there, but somehow our team made it out, in one piece no less.”

She looked around. The Redfang warriors were staring at her, listening to her words. Jelaqua nodded. Of course, they’d listen to any story about their Chieftain. She looked at Garen, and saw the Hob had stopped raging. Cold memory flickered in his eyes, the same one in Jelaqua’s own mind as she went on.

“Of course there were costs. We’d blown all our healing potions—and we took over a hundred bottles—wasted more alchemist brews than I could count. My body was almost destroyed, Seborn had broken one of his enchanted daggers, and Moore was throwing up all the bugs he ate.”

“I was sick. I remember being in my room until Seborn came to get me.”

Moore spoke guiltily. Seborn nodded.

“I was speaking to a [Blacksmith]. Jelaqua was the first to return.”

The Selphid shifted. She had perfect control over her body. But she still wanted to shake, to clench her hands.

“That’s right. I got back, in a new body. And I found the inn was surrounded by [Guards], and blood and corpses where my team should have been. I thought it was an attack at first. Or—or one of our enemies had hired an assassin. Or worse, the items we’d recovered had been cursed. But it was none of those things. The [Innkeeper] told us that he’d seen a Goblin running out of our private rooms with a bloody sword. And then he’d found the bodies.”

Garen was silent. Jelaqua shook her head as Moore bit back a sound.

“Seborn came running as soon as he heard and got Moore. We had to figure out what had happened. None of us wanted to believe it. But there were eye witnesses and nothing else could have happened. None of the items were cursed. They were all there, except for one small thing you’d taken. So we figured it out.”

Moore interrupted. He looked up at Garen, eyes wet.

“You killed them. You killed them and stole that key and ran. In cold blood. With no warning.”

Garen didn’t reply. He stood there, face pale. Jelaqua spoke quietly.

“You filthy traitor. We welcomed you into our team. We fought with you, side-by-side for years. And you killed your friends in a moment. For what? A key? We would have given it to you!”

“I did not betray.”

Garen repeated the words like a mantra. Jelaqua spat. She looked at the other Redfangs.

“False words, Garen. Do they know what you did? Did you tell them? Or are they just tools for you to throw away, like we were?”

The Goblins stirred. Garen started, and then stared down at Jelaqua. He seemed to realize what she was doing at last. A note of heat entered his tone.

“They are not! They are my tribe! I did not betray my team! I—it was not like that. It did not happen that way. I was betrayed.”

“Liar!”

The word came from all three Halfseekers. Garen recoiled, and then he shouted back.

“You were not there! You did not hear! Only I was there!”

“Then tell us! What happened?”

Jelaqua hurled it at Garen. She strained against the ropes, not needing to act. Garen hesitated. He looked from face to face. And then he nodded. He looked around, at the watching Redfangs. At Spiderslicer, at the five returned warriors. He raised his voice.

“You want to know? Fine. This is what happened. This. This is how I was betrayed.”

The Halfseekers stared up at Garen. He saw them exchange glances, strain against their bindings, and then, slowly, relax.

For a second their anger faded, and Garen saw a burning hole. A yearning to know. He turned away. The memories rose in him, until he could remember the smell of the room, how he’d felt, even the smallest details, like the way his heart started to jump as they unpacked the treasure and he knew he was right.

Garen’s voice was hollow in his ears. He looked at Jelaqua. She had not been a female Drake, then. She had been a male Human, a castoff body, the only one she’d been able to find.

“Do you remember that day? Before the adventurer?”

“Yes.”

Jelaqua closed her eyes. She spoke hollowly, replaying the memories in her own mind as they flashed before Garen’s eyes.

“Back then, I remember it was you that told us there was treasure at the bottom of the roach caverns. Other adventurers had cleared the caverns before, but given up. The place was—is—disgusting. No one ever wanted to go near the place. But you insisted. You told us you were certain. And when I asked, you said you’d learned it from another Goblin. A Chieftain. I remember thinking it was curious how a Goblin would know about the treasure, but I didn’t ask then.”

Seborn nodded.

“We thought we knew the depths, but you kept insisting we go deeper. Farther down. You could drown amid the insects down there. But those were only the ones who lived near the surface. The ones who ate the roaches and other bugs lived deeper. And we had to fight through them.”

The Selphid’s voice was soft. Now all three—all four were in a sort of trance. The Goblins listened as the Halfseekers recalled that day and night. Jelaqua stared at another sight, and Garen heard the clicking, moving sounds, the shouting of voices, crunching.

“Walls of vines while we recovered. Halassia and Keilam had to burn us a path. If we hadn’t been at our best, we would have been overwhelmed. And when we got to the bottom and those things began crawling towards us—Seborn nearly died grabbing the chest. But he tossed it into the bag of holding and we ran for it.”

“We had the treasure.”

Garen spoke quietly. Jelaqua smiled without mirth.

“We did. We checked the treasure the moment we got out of the cave. Good stuff, but we decided to unpack it at the inn. We headed for the nearest city. Celebrating. We were happy.”

“We were.”

Moore hunched over. He looked up, his voice hollow.

“I remember I was so happy that day. For all I was as sick as a dog. And it was all thanks to you, Garen. A Goblin’s tipoff. A fortune, or at least, we hoped. It was a fortune, a small one at least. It paid for the funerals. For money to the families of Thornst, Keilam, and Halassia. Ukrina’s kin wanted nothing to do with her.”

“We left you in a private room we’d rented. That was the last time we were together.”

Yes. Garen closed his eyes. He looked up—

And dodged. Just in time. Moore spewed onto the table again. Halassia made a horrified sound and Jelaqua groaned.

“Aw, Moore!”

“Sorry.”

The half-Giant wiped his mouth. Something crawled out of what he’d puked up and the half-Giant was immediately sick again. All of the adventurers had swallowed bugs in the caverns, but he’d been the biggest target. Garen patted him on the back as Ukrina went for another bucket and cloths. The [Innkeeper] had not been happy about them trooping into his inn covered in filth and insects, but they’d paid him enough. Well, probably enough.

“I think Moore’s done in, guys. And my body’s shot.”

Jelaqua looked tired. She gestured at her body—with her left arm. She’d left the right one behind, and her current body was not only bitten in a thousand places, but—infested. Moore avoided looking at her as he wiped his mouth. He looked pale and green. Garen silently plucked a wiggling bug off of Moore’s ear and popped it into his mouth.

“Ew, Garen!”

Halassia covered her eyes. Moore looked at Garen and then covered his mouth. Ukrina sighed.

“Moore, please don’t throw up, or that [Innkeeper] will kick us out. At least he’s giving us enough soap and water and hot towels.”

Jelaqua shook her head.

“They’d better, with what we’re paying them. Moore, get yourself to your room. And uh, let’s get him a few basins. And a cleansing spell?”

“I’ll do it. I need to see if my dagger can be repaired.”

Seborn volunteered, lifting the broken acid dagger he’d sacrificed to distract one of the insects at the bottom of the caverns. Jelaqua nodded.

“Then I’ll haul myself off to the local crypt. I think the [Gravedigger] told me they’ve got a body that’s not too rotten…anything’s better than this. You lot think you can hold down the fort?”

Thornst, the half-Elf and newest member of their group, looked up hopefully. He was the oldest among them save for Jelaqua, but he acted like the youngest at times, younger than even Garen.

“If we can check the treasure—”

“Be our guests. But no fighting over the items until I get back, okay, kids?”

“Deal.”

Ukrina rubbed her claws together in delight. Keilam, who had stayed out of range of Moore’s vomiting, leapt to the ground as the other three departed. He peered at the moldy, worn treasure chest that had been sitting at the bottom of the caverns. Garen eyed another bug that crawled from the edge of the chest, but decided he was full. Keilam prowled around the chest.

“Tell me what we got. If there’s a spellbook, I’d like—”

“No dibs, Keilam! Jelaqua just said! Hold on, let’s open it. Garen, do you want to do the honors? You did give us the lead on this one.”

Halassia smiled at Garen. Her dark, ashy scales were flaking off, and red, distressed skin, showed in placed where her scales had fallen off. But it was a familiar sight and Garen admired his teammate. He nodded, heart pounding.

“I will. It was good secret, right?”

“Right!”

The others chorused. Ukrina laughed. She slapped Garen on the back.

“A Goblin’s secrets! Every team should have a Goblin in it, right Garen? What other treasures does your kind know about? I should have been shaking down Goblins left and right instead of—uh, never mind.”

She trailed off awkwardly. Garen just shook his head.

“Goblins have few secrets. Just…a few. This one, and some others. But this is important. Think so, anyways.”

He shrugged uncomfortably. He was afraid, terribly afraid that he was wrong. But if he was right—his claws trembled as he reached for the lid of the chest. The others held their breaths. They’d done a quick inventory already, but this was different. Garen opened the chest and they sighed as a glitter shone from within.

“Well, would you look at that.”

Keilam prowled around the chest, reaching into it. Halassia slapped his paws away.

“Hands off! Let Garen pull them out.”

“Should we be careful of traps?”

Thornst asked the question a bit too late. Halassia shook her head.

“Seborn checked it already. Besides, it would have gone off when he grabbed it anyways, right? Go on, Garen.”

The Hobgoblin nodded and began pulling items out. Ukrina whistled as he lifted a large, golden yellow orb, translucent and set on a small bronze stand.

“Looks like a scrying orb. Nice size. And this—this is a fine set of gemstones.”

She eyed the handful of sparkling gems Garen pulled out. The next item made Keilam reach for it and earn another swat. His tail wagged back and forth as he peered at a studded silver gauntlet, shaped for a Drake’s claws rather than a Human’s hand.

“A gauntlet! I wonder what its enchantment is? And look, a wand! I call it!”

“Keilam! I told you no!”

Halassia sprayed a bit of water from the tip of her staff at Keilam. The half-Gnoll yowled and backed up, raising his paws. Halassia sighed, but then her face burst into a smile as Garen kept pulling out item after item.

“Would you look at this? Potions and gems and magical artifacts! We’re rich! This is twice as good as the treasure we got in Meribeth’s Sanctum!”

The others nodded. Halassia paused, a frown crossing her face.

“An odd collection, though. All of this stuff’s expensive, but who just packs this randomly into a chest? And leaves it at the bottom of a cavern full of bugs?”

Garen had reached the bottom of the chest. His breath caught as, at last, he found what he was looking for. He answered Halassia with a trembling voice.

“A distraction. Small treasure. Reward for getting chest. But this—”

He reached into the chest and came up with something. A small key, iron, or so it seemed. The other Halfseekers stared at it, perplexed.

“What? Are you serious, Garen? There’s no way that this is a distraction. You’re telling me that’s the treasure? How did you know about it?”

Ukrina looked skeptically at the key. Keilam’s ears perked up. Halassia blinked and Thornst leaned forwards.

“What’s that key for, Garen? What does it unlock? Is this another Goblin secret?”

Garen smiled at them. He hesitated, and looked down at the key. This was it. Every part of him knew it was the key. It was the same as the one he had seen in his memories. But should he tell them?

Yes. Every part of him said yes. Garen had debated this very question for months now, ever since he had taken a leave of absence from the Halfseekers and discovered his brother had given his soul away. But now even that memory couldn’t dampen his spirits.

Yes, tell them! His brother was wrong. His strange master couldn’t be trusted. Undead couldn’t be trusted. But Garen knew his team. He looked around and held the key up proudly. It shone dully in the light. It looked just like iron, and it didn’t seem enchanted, not on first inspection. But Garen felt the power in it. He looked at the others, practically trembling with joy.

“This is the true treasure. The one I knew of. It was hidden in caverns. Rest of the treasure is a distraction a…”

“Decoy?”

Halassia offered. Garen nodded.

“Yes. Decoy. But this. This is valuable. It is—it is the key of the Goblin King.”

The others felt silent. Their eyes went wide. Fixed on Garen and the key. He looked around, smiling at them. His friends. He waved the key.

“This is his key. I know it from memory. All Goblins who remember do. This is Velan’s key. One of two. And it unlocks a great, great treasure in the High Passes. The treasure of Goblins. Our hope. Our legacy. Will you help me find it?”

He waited for them to say yes. To smile and congratulate him. To agree. He waited, and waited. But that was not what they said. Instead, they broke Garen’s heart.

—-

“The key of the Goblin King.”

Garen held it up. The little iron key was dull, worn. Small. But it had never broken, and he could still feel the power within. The Halfseekers, the living ones, stared at him.

“And that was it? You killed them for that?”

Jelaqua whispered through bloodless lips. Garen jerked. He twisted and looked at her.

“No! I told them what it was! I told you—”

“And then what? It makes no sense! Did you try and keep the key and they stopped you? Did you ask for it? We didn’t even divide the loot yet! Why did you steal it and run?”

Jelaqua cried out, frustrated. Garen clenched the key in his fist, feeling the teeth dig into his palm.

“I did not steal it! You didn’t listen! I told them exactly what I told you! I told them everything! I told them this key was the key of Velan. One of two! And it unlocked a greater treasure.”

Garen stared down at the key. Such a precious thing. Such a terrible weight. He had debated throwing it away a thousand times. It was a reminder. He put it in the pouch at his belt, closed it, looked around. His tribe stared at him. The Halfseekers stared at him. Did they not see it yet? Garen spoke quietly.

“I told them. Our hope. A treasure for my kind. The only thing Goblins have ever been left besides death. I thought they would be happy. But they weren’t. They tried to take the key from me. They said I should never have it.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Garen didn’t look up. He stared down at his hands.

“That was what Halassia said. She looked at me. And Ukrina told me to give her the key or bleed. But Halassia said—she said—”

He swallowed. The words came back to him, burning, unforgettable. Garen looked up and stared into her eyes as she pointed a wand at his chest.

“This cannot be. And this can never be, Garen. I am sorry, but your species is too dangerous. Too monstrous. The world must never have another Goblin King, not if we can prevent it. Give me the key.”

He looked around, and there was silence. No one spoke. Garen stared at Jelaqua, at Seborn, at Moore. He looked around at his warriors, at the Cave Goblins, and then stared back years at Halassia’s face. He stared and stared, until a strangled, halting voice spoke. Moore looked up, shaking his head in denial.

“No, no. Halassia wouldn’t try to attack you. She wouldn’t do that. She was gentle. She would never—”

“She did.”

“She couldn’t! She would never threaten one of her teammates. You lie, Garen. She wouldn’t do—”

“I am not lying!”

Garen bellowed at Moore. The half-Giant opened his mouth. Jelaqua interrupted him quietly.

“I think she might have, Moore.”

He made a small noise. Jelaqua looked up at him, her expression bleak. She looked at Garen, shook her head.

“She said that? Exactly? Word for word?”

He nodded. Jelaqua closed her eyes.

“Halassia. She shouldn’t have—and Ukrina would—those idiots always did love their cities, even if they were outcast. They should have waited for me to…”

She trailed off. Moore looked at Jelaqua and then seemed to fold in on himself. The two sat there, and Garen felt a surge of—what? Vindictiveness? Triumph? Relief? It didn’t make him feel better. But then Seborn looked up.

“So what?”

The other two looked at him. Garen did too. Seborn shook his head. His eyes were cold. Unchanged. He looked at Jelaqua,  then straight at Garen.

“So what? This changes nothing. They tried to take the key from you. You were the one who struck first. I saw their bodies. You stabbed the other three before they could so much as move. Only Ukrina fought.”

“I was…”

Garen remembered that moment. He remembered Ukrina pressing him, Halassia insisting. Reaching for the key. Reaching for hope. And the way their expressions changed. He remembered the sword in his hand, making a decision—

“It was not my fault.”

“Wrong.”

Garen shook. He looked at Seborn, at Jelaqua, and at Moore. He whipped his head back and forth.

“Wrong? Wrong? I did nothing wrong! They threatened me! They denied me! To my face! I told them all, the greatest Goblin secrets, and they told me I was wrong. They threatened to kill me.”

“To stop a Goblin King? Absolutely.”

Seborn nodded. Garen shouted at him.

“But I am not a King! I was a teammate! Part of—part of the tribe! A Halfseeker! It was not my fault! I fought with others for years! I gave all to team! But I was betrayed. Again. And again.”

He turned away from the Halfseekers, looked past his tribe. They stared at him, still, silent. Garen spoke, bitterly.

“I have always been betrayed. Before, I would have been my brother’s champion. Strongest warrior in a tribe. But I was betrayed. And then, I would have been part of my team, become Named Adventurer. Found the Goblin King’s treasure, shared it if it could be shared. But I was betrayed. And then I would have fought with Rags as Chieftain. But she betrayed me. Redscar betrayed me and others. And then Tremborag’s tribe betrayed. Reiss betrayed. It is all betrayal. All of you. I did nothing wrong.”

He looked around, pointing at the Halfseekers, at each face in turn. Garen waited for them to acknowledged their guilt, to agree, at last. Now the truth had come out. But they didn’t. They looked at each other. Each face was different. There was pain, regret, and shaken beliefs. But Jelaqua still shook her head. She looked back at Garen.

“But you killed them.”

Garen’s stomach turned over. The Selphid looked at him from behind the dead eyes, and her tone was bitter.

“You keep saying you were betrayed. And they did wrong, Garen. I can’t deny that. They shouldn’t have threatened their teammate. Not like that. But. You. Killed. Them. And that we do not forgive.”

She glanced down at her claws. Then she gazed up at him and her eyes were cold again.

“This changes nothing. Let us go and give us our weapons, Garen. We’ll finish this here in front of your precious tribe.”

He felt as if he’d been punched. Garen looked at Jelaqua. She shook her head.

“Traitor.”

The word struck him like a rock. Garen rocked back on his heels and saw a huge head lift. Moore hunched his broad shoulders. His voice was low, pained. He stared at Garen with grief and helpless anger. Regret.

“Traitor.”

There was no pity in Seborn’s eyes. He sat, motionless, his eyes burning. He spoke, his echoing voice a condemnation, a promise.

“Traitor.”

The Halfseekers stared at him. And Garen knew then that he would never hear anything else from them. Ever. They would never look at him differently. That knowledge was the bitterest poison on his tongue. He turned away from them.

“Fine. That is what you call me.”

He looked up. At his warriors, at Spiderslicer. Garen waved a claw.

“Kill them.”

Spiderslicer hesitated. He looked around. The other Redfangs looked from him to Garen, uncertain. Garen raised his voice, impatiently, hearing it break and hating that weakness.

“Kill them!”

“Yes, Chieftain.”

Mechanically, Spiderslicer stood. He drew his falchion, and walked forwards slowly. The other Redfangs looked at Garen. They had heard everything. They had heard his betrayal, and seen how his comrades, his old team refused to understand. Refused to listen. So why did they look at him with such horror? Garen tried to look away, but they were all around him. Why, why—

“Chieftain Garen!”

A voice spoke up. A body rose. Headscratcher barred Spiderslicer’s way. The shorter Goblin stared up at him. Spiderslicer frowned.

“Move, Headscratcher.”

Headscratcher didn’t budge. He spread his arms wide and looked at Garen.

“Chieftain Garen. Question.”

“Ask.”

Garen looked up. The sun had set. The stars were coming out. A cool wind blew on his face. He just wanted it to be done with. The Halfseekers could die. Then he could forget at last and go…go to the High Passes. Leave this place and never come back. Headscratcher’s voice was insistent as he blocked Spiderslicer. The smaller Goblin hesitated, and then decided to stay put.

“Chieftain Garen gave orders to us. Redfangs sent on mission. To kill Human. Innkeeper.”

“I did. And you did. So what?”

Rags didn’t know about that. Garen stared blankly at the rising moon. He heard a noise from one of the Halfseekers. Moore? Headscratcher lowered his voice.

“Didn’t.”

“What?”

Garen turned. He glared at Headscratcher. The Hob hunched his shoulders.

“Didn’t. Met innkeeper. She was nice.”

Rabbiteater nodded. He spoke up, his voice trembling slightly.

“She is good. Very good!”

“And has name.”

Shorthilt glanced up. Numbtongue nodded.

“Erin Solstice.”

“I told you to kill her.”

Garen’s voice was low. Furious. He glared at the Hobs and then realized the young woman he’d hit had been her. He’d wiped her from his mind, assuming she was dead. Garen thrust a finger at the Hobs, who flinched as one.

“You failed! Disobeyed orders!”

“Bad orders. And we tried.”

Badarrow met Garen’s eyes. The other Redfangs nodded. They spoke all together. Headscratcher was first. He summed up the entirety of the problem in four words.

“Got orders. Got lost.”

The other Redfangs groaned. They understood that. Garen held his tongue. Rabbiteater nodded quickly.

“Innkeeper left Celum. Couldn’t find trail. Many days walk.”

He gestured wildly, and Garen remembered that neither Grunter nor any of the warriors he’d sent had tracking Skills or classes. The other Redfangs nodded. Numbtongue spoke, his voice clear, as fluent as any Human. When had he begun talking so much? He used to refuse to speak so much as a word…

“We searched for her, and ran into a raiding party sent by the Goblin Lord. We found a city—Esthelm—”

He faltered at the magnitude of what had happened next. Shorthilt shook his head.

“Undead. City destroyed. Many Humans. Panic death. Goblin Lord forces come back, big fight, three sides…”

He spread his arms, trying to encompass the magnitude of what had happened. Then he looked at Badarrow. The [Sniper] cradled his bow and rasped.

“Grunter died. Orangepoo died. Leftstep died. Patchhelm died. Justrust died. Rocksoup died…”

The words were deafening. The Redfang tribe sat still. The five Hobs looked at each other. And then they began to tell their tale from the beginning. In whole, not just in parts.

Each one told a part of the story, gesturing, faltering, falling silent. Then another would take up the momentum, telling it to their audience, to Garen.

A skeleton with purple eyes. A [Knight] in shining armor. A girl who was a monster and a person. A battle for the city. Leaving the fallen. Wandering. Hiding. The Eater Goats. A village in danger, and the young woman who offered them food. Eating, becoming welcome. Becoming security, seeing plays, defending the inn. Fighting Raskghar, going into the dungeon. Leading the Cave Goblins. Fighting the strange Hob. Being arrested.

They had gone through so much. Garen listened with awe, surprise, and pride. He couldn’t help it. The Hobs had gone through a story of their own, as much as he had—more than he had when he was just starting out. And they had come through it together. When they finished, the other Redfangs looked at them as they looked at him when he told their own tales. The five Redfang warriors stood together, proud, tired, looking up at him.

Their Chieftain. Only, there was something different in their eyes. Chieftain Garen, they’d called him. Not just Chieftain. Headscratcher spoke at last.

“Chieftain Garen gave orders. But…”

He looked at the others. They nodded, giving him support. Headscratcher looked up and took a deep breath.

“Bad orders, Chieftain Garen. Rags was Chieftain, so old Chieftain’s orders not good. Rags liked innkeeper. Erin Solstice is good. Can’t kill her.”

“I see.”

That was all Garen said. He stared numbly down at the Redfangs. So they couldn’t kill her. Did they even realize why? It wasn’t just that she was good. He wondered. They were so young. Did they know they loved her? As much as any Goblin could love a Human. He had loved someone, once. As much as a Goblin could love a Drake.

What a bitter poison. Garen shook his head. He tried to think of something to say, and just gave up. He looked at the five and couldn’t find it in his heart to chastise them.

“Fine. Fine. Don’t kill her.”

The five relaxed. Garen pointed at Spiderslicer, who’d sat down to listen.

“But Halfseekers. They die. And then we go south. All of us. Cave Goblins, old Redfangs and new—we go south. Past Liscor, back to High Passes.”

Spiderslicer slowly got up. Headscratcher stiffened. Again, he shook his head.

“No, Chieftain.”

Garen frowned.

“Why not?”

Headscratcher struggled for words. He flushed, conscious he was in front of his peers, some of them Goblins who were far older than he was. And his Chieftain. He gestured, speaking slowly.

“If Goblin Lord is coming, Redfangs should fight! That what Chieftain Garen said to Rags, said to us! If Chieftain Rags is alive—should go to her. Chieftain is still Chieftain. Can’t abandon her. Would be not-Goblin.”

The Redfangs stirred. They looked at Headscratcher, ashamed, embarrassed, but no one said a word. Rags was Chieftain. And they had betrayed her.

That was true. You couldn’t deny that. Yes, Garen had usurped Rags’ authority. He had—done a Human thing. Pretended to be part of her tribe, then not listened to her orders. Gone behind her back. That was not a Goblin thing. And yes, she had left Tremborag’s mountain, betrayed him. But that was her betrayal. They had still abandoned her.

Betrayal, and betrayal again. Garen was angry. It was all that seemed to happen to him. He snapped down at Headscratcher.

“That was different! Rags was—not strong! Not enough! She could not be Chieftain! She was too weak! Who could lead the Redfangs but me?”

No one answered. Obviously, only Garen could be their Chieftain. There was no Goblin that could match him. No one could replace him, or defeat him. And yet, Headscratcher looked up steadily.

“That true, Chieftain Garen. But Rags was still true Chieftain. She was smart.”

Garen opened his mouth. He looked around, and the Redfang tribe gazed down at Headscratcher, ready to shout agreement. But for some reason the words didn’t come out. The five Hobs, Headscratcher, Rabbiteater, Numbtongue, Badarrow, and Shorthilt, looked around, their eyes steady. Confident that what they were saying was true, was right.

They had not been here for Tremborag, or the betrayal at the mountain. They had not witnessed the Human army bearing down on them, or felt the fear of seeing the Kingslayer staring down at them. They had not seen Tremborag fall, or Rags’ new tribe. Or Reiss’ betrayal. They had not seen…anything.

And they remembered a different time. A time when their tribe had been under Rags’ command, however tenuous. The other Redfang goblins shifted uneasily. How could you explain all that had passed to bring them here?

“Enough.”

Garen croaked the words. He waved a claw.

“Just—enough. Rags is gone. Maybe dead. Won’t get to her tribe. Reiss defeated her. Too far, too many Humans and Reiss’ army in the way. We go. Kill Halfseekers.”

It sounded like a plea. Garen’s sword weighed at his side. He could do it himself, in an instant. But he couldn’t—no, he had given an order. But still Headscratcher barred Spiderslicer’s way. The smaller Goblin raised his weapon threateningly, but this time Numbtongue blocked him, guitar in hand. He looked around, his words loud, authoritative.

“No. The Halfseekers are her friends. If they die, she will be sad. They fought with us. They were your tribe.”

He pointed at Garen. The Chieftain felt a thrill of outrage and something else. The other Hobs nodded. Shorthilt polished his sword.

“Can’t kill own tribe.”

“They are traitors!”

Garen couldn’t believe he was arguing with them. He strode forwards, pointing at Headscratcher, who began to back up and then caught himself. Garen shouted at Headscratcher.

“I am your Chieftain! You do not argue! You obey!”

Headscratcher’s knees shook. But he refused to step back. He looked Garen in the eye, and Garen saw all their history together. He had taught Headscratcher how to fight. He had shown him how to work with his tribe to bring down larger foes. He had given Headscratcher everything that made him what he was. And Headscratcher saw the same thing. But still, he shook his head.

“Only Chieftain can give orders. And true Chieftain is Rags. Not you. Garen.”

You could have dropped a pin and heard the sound as the tribe stared at Headscratcher in silence. Garen’s hand closed over the hilt of his sword.

“Traitor.”

Headscratcher flinched. Garen looked at Spiderslicer, and the Goblin looked around. Redfang warriors got to their feet, uncertainly. Garen began to unsheathe his sword, waiting for Headscratcher to take back his words. Then he heard a sound.

Rustling. He turned his head and saw the sea of grey-green bodies get to their feet. Twenty thousand Cave Goblins stood up. Their crimson eyes gleamed as they hoisted weapons into the air. The Redfangs turned, warily.

“Sit.”

Garen turned and growled an order. The Cave Goblins rippled and some began to sit at the authority in his tone. But they didn’t. He was a Chieftain, the only [Chieftain] present. But somehow, the Cave Goblins stood. They had overthrown their masters once. They stared down at the Redfang tribe, who stared back without fear.

They were Redfangs, and the Cave Goblins, for all there were five times as many, were far weaker. If it was a battle, the Redfangs would take to their mounts and ride forth until the last one was dead. But still—they looked at Garen, their Chieftain, and hesitated. It was in the air. Headscratcher looked Garen in the eye. He was afraid, terribly afraid. But he still barred Garen’s way.

“Can’t let you kill Halfseekers. Can’t let them die. Won’t go.”

“Then leave.”

Garen hissed at him. He just wanted Headscratcher out of his sight. But the Hob refused to budge. He shook his head.

“I am Redfang. We are Redfang. They are Redfang.”

He touched his chest, gestured at his four friends, and pointed at the Cave Goblins. They echoed the word, a whisper twenty thousand times.

“Redfang.”

Headscratcher nodded. He closed his eyes, and then looked at the others. They nodded too. Garen didn’t understand. Not until Headscratcher reached for his axe. He drew the precious, enchanted blade, and pointed it at Garen’s chest. He spoke softly, but in words every member of the Redfang tribe heard.

“Garen Redfang. I challenge you for Chieftain of Redfang tribe.”

For a moment all was still. Then Garen laughed. He threw his head back and laughed, surprising everyone present. Headscratcher looked at him uncertainly. Then Garen moved, in one motion, he drew his sword and pointed Redfang, the fabled blade at Headscratcher’s throat. The [Berserker] froze.

“You cannot challenge me. You are dead. Too weak! Too young! Bow! Or die!”

Garen shouted at Headscratcher. The young Hob wavered, but refused to budge. Garen’s grip tightened—and then Numbtongue stepped forwards. He brought his guitar down on the flat of Garen’s blade, knocking it down. The Chieftain stared at him. Numbtongue spoke, his voice echoing.

“I challenge you too.”

A blade slid from its scabbard. Garen turned his head and saw Rabbiteater draw his blade. The [Champion] held his sword up, pointing at Garen’s chest. His crimson cloak—liquid wine, a fine vintage—rippled behind him. He spoke, his voice quavering, his sword arm steady.

“I challenge.”

Another blade. This one barely whispered as it was unsheathed. Shorthilt held the sword in one hand, and a parrying dagger in the other. He smiled.

“Challenge.”

Badarrow calmly nocked an arrow and aimed it at Garen’s throat.

“Me too.”

Garen looked around. The Redfang tribe was frozen in place. Headscratcher looked around and then smiled.

“We challenge you, Chieftain. All of us.”

They stood there, weapons bared, five of them. In the center of a ring of warriors. Garen stared from face to face. And then he sighed. He dropped his sword. It landed tip-first in the ground and slid into the earth like butter. The other Redfangs stared at it. Headscratcher blinked down at the blade. Garen grabbed his axe hand, threw him to the ground, and leapt at the others with a roar.

—-

This is what Spiderslicer saw. He stood with the other Redfang warriors of the tribe, in a circle of bodies. Carn Wolves prowled restlessly and the horses shuffled, caught between sleep and wakefulness. The Cave Goblins stood and watched. And in the center of the ring, a challenge was fought.

It was without blades. Garen Redfang had dropped his, and he gave the other five Hobs no chance to use their weapons. Shorthilt’s sword went flying as he kicked it out of the Hob’s hand. He kicked Rabbiteater in the groin, threw Badarrow over his shoulder as the arrow went astray, and blocked Numbtongue’s guitar with one arm. He threw a punch and Numbtongue fell backwards, bleeding.

Perhaps there was mercy in it. But Spiderslicer saw Garen’s eyes. They were wide with fury. He caught Headscratcher as the younger Goblin rushed at him and kneed him in the chest, punched him twice, and then turned and backhanded Shorthilt. He wasn’t doing this to be kind. He could have killed all five Hobs in a moment. But he was making them submit. They would surrender to him. Or Garen would kill them with his bare hands.

It wasn’t a fair fight. Not even with their new classes. Not even five against one. Headscratcher roared as he swung at Garen. The two were as strong as each other, but Garen was faster, more experienced. He dodged the swings and struck as Headscratcher was mid-punch. The Hob collapsed and Garen turned and kicked. Rabbiteater choked as the blow drove into his stomach. He folded over and Garen kicked dirt into Badarrow’s face. He brought his hands down on the Hobgoblin’s back.

Flawless. Spiderslicer had seen Garen fight and knew he was beyond his abilities. Beyond Redscar, or anyone else. Garen stood over the battered Redfangs. He wasn’t breathing hard. He spoke one harsh word.

“Obey.”

They lay on the ground, coughing. Rabbiteater was spewing, and Numbtongue might have a broken nose. Headscratcher had lost a tooth. He was flat on his back. He looked up, past Garen, and mumbled something.

Garen walked over to him. He stared down at Headscratcher. Spiderslicer edged closer. He heard a whisper, a cough, and then Headscratcher’s voice.

“She hugged me.”

Garen stared down at him.

“What?”

Headscratcher didn’t respond. He pushed himself up, and Numbtongue sat up. He spat blood and growled.

“I played music.”

He rose. Shorthilt got up, shaking his head. He wiped blood from his nose.

“Every night, I sleep and feel safe. I smile. She gave me this.”

He patted the sheathed sword at his side and stood. Garen looked at him in disbelief. Badarrow rolled over. Badarrow, who wouldn’t pick up a sword if he could shoot a bow, made a fist.

“I met a friend who hunts for birds.”

He rose. Rabbiteater looked around. He wiped his mouth and looked at Garen, and then past him, at the Cave Goblins.

“They call me [Champion].”

They stood with light shining from their eyes. Garen looked from face to face. He shook his head and made an inarticulate sound. He lashed out and Headscratcher reeled back. The fight continued, but this time it was savage.

Shorthilt had trained with other Redfang warriors and with Garen. He had been battered, bloodied a hundred times. Broken bones. But this time Garen showed no mercy. He struck the Redfangs, knocking them down, hitting them hard enough to fracture their bones. Spiderslicer watched him snap one of Headscratcher’s fingers like that. He saw the Hob stumble, then throw a punch, broken finger or not.

Garen kicked him down. But Badarrow was next. He swung for Garen, ignoring the two punches he received. The third downed him. Shorthilt and Numbtongue jumped forwards and were knocked flat as Garen hurled Numbtongue into Shorthilt. And then Rabbiteater raised his hands. He threw a punch and Garen countered. He threw another punch and received a blow to the face.

He staggered. But he refused to fall. Garen lashed out. He struck Rabbiteater six times in the chest, face, groin. But Rabbiteater kept swinging. He struck Garen’s chest, took a punch in the ribs. He blocked a fist that went for his right shoulder, punched, sidestepped a kick. Garen blinked and Rabbiteater hit him in the stomach.

Rabbiteater. Spiderslicer remembered a little Goblin. He saw a [Champion]. The two traded blows for another second. Garen swept Rabbiteater’s legs out from under him and stomped. Rabbiteater’s ribs did break, then.

Headscratcher lunged at Garen from the side. The two went down, punching, grappling. Garen threw Headscratcher off him. He got up and received a punch from Badarrow. Shorthilt kicked him in the back. Garen seized the leg, gripped Shorthilt by an ankle and threw him into Badarrow. The blow sent both Hobgoblins down. The Redfang tribe winced as they saw the two writhing.

Numbtongue. The Goblin was on his feet. He lifted his guitar and struck. Garen blocked with one arm. Lightning flashed from the strings of the guitar and Garen recoiled. Numbtongue held up his guitar and Garen leapt. He kicked Numbtongue in the chin, snapping his head back. Down Numbtongue fell, like a rock. Garen landed, and Headscratcher was waiting.

One punch. The [Berserker] roared and caught Garen with a blow that lifted the Chieftain’s feet off the ground. He swung again and Garen hit him back. Headscratcher choked but didn’t fall. He swung and Garen knocked him down. The Chieftain turned, panting.

And Rabbiteater got off the ground. Numbtongue was shaking his head. Rabbiteater pulled him up. Shorthilt and Badarrow were getting up too. Garen turned. He knocked all of them down, but it wasn’t enough.

Again and again. Spiderslicer thought that each time one of the Redfangs fell it had to be the last time. They had broken bones now, and blood ran from their ears, noses. But still they rose, supporting each other, leaning on each other’s shoulders. Each time they were struck down, they stood up, battered, broken, but still rising.

It was an impossible foe. There was no way they could beat Garen Redfang. No way. But they took the fight to him, attacking as one. As a team. Garen was a blur, fighting them all at once. But it wasn’t Garen that Spiderslicer and the other Redfangs were looking at now.

It was them. They refused to fall.

It was the essence, the quintessential thing that defined the Redfang Tribe. Spiderslicer felt his eyes sting as he saw the five Redfangs fighting, bleeding. Garen hammered them down, kicked them, beat them as they struggled to land a single blow, two blows—

“Submit or die!”

Garen howled it at them. He stood over Headscratcher as the Hob knelt, too weak to stand. But the Hob still swung at Garen’s legs. A weak blow. Garen struck him and then turned. He strode over to the crimson blade lodged in the ground and drew it.

A groan ran around the circle. It was unconscious. Garen advanced on Headscratcher, kicking Rabbiteater as the Hob lunged at him. He pointed the blade down at Headscratcher.

“Surrender.”

“No.”

Headscratcher looked up. He reached for an axe he didn’t have. Garen hesitated. He looked down and shook his head. He raised his blade.

To kill Headscratcher. His own tribe. Spiderslicer howled and it felt like every Redfang howled with him. The tale of the Halfseekers’ betrayal played in his mind again. His own tribe! Headscratcher looked up, baring his teeth, waiting. The other four were trying to get up, but they couldn’t. He couldn’t die. Spiderslicer saw Garen swing down, but no one was going to stop him. He couldn’t—

The rust-red blade fell. A sword swept up to stop it. The blade deflected the enchanted sword, swept it away. Spiderslicer stared at the sword. It was thin, a razor’s edge of a blade. A falchion, in fact.

He looked around. He was standing in front of Headscratcher. It was his hand that held the weapon. His falchion rang with the impact. Spiderslicer reflexively checked it to make sure the thin blade hadn’t bent—and then he realized what he’d done. He looked around. Redfang warriors stared at him. Garen looked down.

“Spiderslicer. What are you doing?”

Spiderslicer quivered. He looked up. He tried to move, to back away and leave Headscratcher. But he couldn’t help it. He trembled as he lifted his falchion. But a part of him screamed the words. He looked up at his Chieftain.

“Redfangs don’t fight alone.”

Garen stared down at him. The color drained from his face. He took a step back, and then what Spiderslicer said hit him. He closed his eyes and then looked at Spiderslicer. Bitter anger flared in his gaze.

“Traitor.”

Spiderslicer recoiled from the words. They tore at him, hot barbs reaching for his heart. They were the same words that Garen had spoken when Redscar and the others had left. And they cut no less deep.

The Goblin’s eyes blurred with tears. Spiderslicer looked up at his idol, his Chieftain. The hero who had taught him how to fight, had shown him how to believe in himself, believe he was strong. But that had been when Spiderslicer was young. Now he looked up and just saw a lost Goblin, who did the same things. He was strong, but he did not have a vision like Reiss. He was not confident of himself like Tremborag had been. He did not offer hope, like Rags.

“Sorry, Chieftain.”

And he meant it. With every fiber of his being. But still, he raised the falchion. Garen looked down at him. He looked at Headscratcher, at Rabbiteater, at Numbtongue and Shorthilt and Badarrow.

“Traitor. You are a traitor. All of you are.”

All six Goblins looked up at him. They shook their heads. Slowly. Sadly. How did he not see? Headscratcher was the one who said it.

“No, Chieftain. You are.”

Garen swung his sword. Spiderslicer raised his blade as he threw himself at Headscratcher. The two fell. Spiderslicer felt his sword sunder as Garen’s blade sheared through the steel. He got up and stared at the hilt of his sword. Garen pointed his sword at Spiderslicer’s chest. Then another Goblin stepped forwards.

The Hob who carried the warhammer stepped forwards. She looked down at Garen and shook her head. He turned towards her. On the Hob’s left, another Goblin drew a dirk. A pair of Goblin twins pulled cleavers from their waistbands. They gathered behind Spiderslicer. Garen stopped.

A veteran warrior made a sound of outrage. He moved behind Garen, his spear aimed at the Hob with the warhammer. But then another Goblin moved. He raised a halberd and joined the others behind Spiderslicer and Headscratcher. And another Goblin joined them. And another.

Garen looked around. The Redfang tribe slowly stood. They drew their weapons and walked past him. They formed a line, a mass. Thousands of Goblins stood, weapons drawn, forming a wall between him and Headscratcher and Spiderslicer. Some were weeping. Others were dry-eyed but shaking, holding their weapons so hard their hands began to bleed. But none of them looked away. They met his eyes, and there was nothing but grief there.

But they stood. Some of the Redfangs didn’t join the ones around Headscratcher. They stood at Garen’s back. But so few. Less than a hundred stood around Garen. Less than a hundred. They stared at their friends with shock in their eyes. It was a mirror of Garen’s own expression.

A Hob struggled to his feet, supported by Spiderslicer. Headscratcher coughed. He looked at Garen and his eye ran with blood and water.

“Chieft—”

Headscratcher fell silent. The Redfangs stared at Garen. He looked around, and his expression was hurt. Lost.

“You are my tribe.”

They didn’t answer him. They were his tribe. His. He had made them, given them everything. But still, he was wrong. He had been wrong. He had abandoned his first tribe, abandoned his brother and Rags. It was true. They had betrayed him. But he had betrayed them too. That was the great tragedy.

Sometimes your sisters and brothers struck at you. Sometimes they broke your heart. But he had shed blood first. He had given up on them. And Redfangs did not do that. He had taught them better. So they stood in opposition to him. Meeting his eyes until it became too much for him to bear.

Slowly, Garen began to back up. He stumbled on the uneven ground, no longer surefooted. He looked around and walked towards his Carn Wolf. The great wolf had watched all that had passed, anxious and confused. It had seen Garen sparring, but this was different. It lowered its head, nuzzling Garen. He stood with it as the few Redfangs that had joined him went to their mounts.

Garen began to walk away. Slowly, as if he was in a dream. He looked back once, and then twice. No one moved. Garen’s Carn Wolf whined, slinking over to Garen to lick at his master’s bloody cuts. The Hobgoblin Chieftain kept looking back. Spiderslicer could barely see him. Hot water ran down his face, though it wasn’t raining.

The Chieftain of the Redfang tribe was halfway down the road when someone called out.

“Stop.”

He turned back. Hope in his eyes. But it faded as he saw who was walking towards him. Cave Goblins and Redfangs parted as three figures walked forwards. Jelaqua’s body was torn. Moore clutched at his side, partially healed by a potion. Seborn drew his reclaimed blades.

“We’re not done with you, Garen. Stop.”

He looked back at them, and now he seemed ready to run. But he held his ground and turned, sword in hand. The Halfseekers walked towards him, leaving a trail behind them.

“No.”

Numbtongue moved to block them. The Halfseekers didn’t stop. The Hobgoblin tugged at Jelaqua. She stumbled unsteadily. Her innards were visible through her wounds and something orange and fluid pulsed through her organs.

“You’ll die.”

The Hobgoblin looked from face to face. Jelaqua looked at him once. Then she shook her head.

“We swore an oath. We cannot forgive him. Move or die.”

And because they were his team, his tribe, and because they understood, the Redfangs parted. They couldn’t stop it. They could only bear witness. Garen waited, his eyes fixed on his friends. The Goblins stood back as the four figures stopped for a moment. Maybe they said something. But it was too late, after all. Years too late.

The Redfang tribe bore witness to the end. They stood in the middle of the road and watched as the tale of the Halfseekers drew to its close.

It was not raining. It should have been. The skies should have been dark and cloudy, and the wind should have blown and made the ground shiver and lurch. It should have been dark. But it wasn’t. The skies were starry, and it was a pleasant spring night.

They watched the end. Garen stood over a Drake. She was slumped, unable to move, staring up at him. A half-Giant lay on the grass, clutching at his side. Wet entrails glistened in the starlight. A Drowned Man lay, gasping, reaching for his daggers. Drowning in his blood.

A sword as red as rust, as sharp as memory, swung down. The Drake’s head rolled and her body slumped. The Hobgoblin turned. He looked at the three, as the half-Giant tried to move and failed. Then he climbed onto the Carn Wolf that waited for him.

Less than a hundred Goblins waited for the Hobgoblin as he slowly rode away from the cave. He rode slowly, then faster than faster. The few gathered around him as he headed north. Back. Perhaps to death. Or to something else. Perhaps he just couldn’t ride past them all, or there was nothing left for him to the south. But they saw him go, and knew he was going.

Their Chieftain. The one who defined them. Going. Going. But what hurt most was the flash of crimson that kept appearing in the distance, even when he was a distant shape. It meant little until you remembered that a Goblin’s eyes were crimson. Until you thought of Garen, riding faster and faster as the wind blew across his face. But always the crimson light shone towards the Redfangs gathered there. It meant one thing that hurt most of all.

He kept looking back.

—-

“Hold. Hold still!”

Pisces trembled as, in The Wandering Inn, he bent over Erin. The [Innkeeper] was half-conscious. Bleeding from her mouth. Pisces was working as quickly as he could, but he dared not apply a healing potion. Not until her teeth were mended.

They weren’t bones, but a [Necromancer] could manipulate any natural part of the body in theory. But it was a thousand times harder to do that to a living person and Pisces was sweating. He’d already fixed broken bones and helped stave the worst of the injuries off.

The inn was bloody. Adventurers lay on the ground, wounded by arrows. Some, like Dawil, were burned, and others had been rushed to Liscor for a [Healer]. Pisces’ hand shook as he tried to mend Erin’s teeth. If only he had the broken fragments.

“It’s not enough. I can’t do it without excess material. If I try to mend it—I’ll make the teeth as fragile as glass. Enough. Enough. I’ll send my undead through the doorway.”

He strode towards the magic door. Erin half-lurched up, but it was Ceria who caught Pisces.

“Don’t be an idiot! A bunch of Gold-rank teams just got torn apart! Sit down and figure something else out! If you can’t fix Erin’s teeth, let her use a potion!”

Pisces clenched his hands, but some of what Ceria was saying got through to him. He stalked back over to the doorway. Bevussa was lying on a table, an arrow that had gone through her side lying in front of her. She looked at the door.

A red gemstone was set in the door. It was open to the Redfang’s cave. It was practically right next to where the fighting had been. Despite the smashed door the Halfseekers had been carrying, they could go back to the spot. But no one had dared open the door.

And yet, Erin had insisted on keeping it open. If the Redfangs, their Redfangs needed a way out, it was there. So the door was set. But closed. And every adventurer was keeping an eye on the door. Halrac had an enchanted arrow nocked and he was sitting, facing the door’s entrance.

“I’ll—try and fix your teeth. It would be possible if I mixed teeth from another skull, but adding a foreign substance to a living body seldom works well. Still, if it’s just a…a cap on your teeth…I have bear teeth…”

Pisces muttered to himself. Erin murmured something and spat some blood. Mrsha offered her a cloth and Erin wiped at her mouth.

“Not a normal tribe. That wasn’t normal. I’ve only heard of Goblins riding wolves in stories. That had to be the Redfang tribe. But I never expected—”

Keldrass was muttering to himself. The other adventurers were groaning, or whispering, but making very little noise. It felt like a vigil. A wake. The Halfseekers had been gone. And the odds of them coming back were shrinking by the moment.

But no one wanted to say it. Pisces was bending over Erin, mending her teeth by attaching shaped enamel to her broken teeth and cursing the blood when the door crashed open. Halrac stood in a flash as everyone spun. He drew the arrow to his cheek and froze.

“Help.”

A figure stood in the doorway. A bleeding shape. Moore staggered into the room, but something was wrong. He moved awkwardly, in jerking motions. And he was holding something. A dark shape, bleeding.

“Seborn.”

“Help him.”

Moore whispered. He placed the Drowned Man on a table. Seborn jerked. Blood was spilling from his mouth. Pisces fought off the paralysis and rushed over to him.

“Healing potion—”

Bevussa was there before him.

“His lungs are shot. Someone suck out the blood—”

“Me! [Vacuum Sphere]!”

Falene knocked both aside. Seborn choked as blood rushed out of his lungs, funneling up into a swirling vortex in the air. Pisces grabbed for a healing potion. Bevussa snared it and poured it down Seborn’s throat. He choked.

“Get him upright—”

“Dead gods, his wounds!”

“Someone help Moore!”

Lyonette shouted. Pisces turned. He saw the half-Giant swaying. Then his eyes went to Moore’s side. He saw entrails spilling out of a cut in his side. Pisces swore. There was no blood coming from the wound. Moore was—he had to be—

“Body. Need a body. She needs a body.”

Moore gasped at the others. He looked around. Two voices seemed to come from his mouth. Both were his voice, but one was—different. A different inflection. Pisces froze. His eyes went to Moore’s side as his mind connected the dots. Surely not—

“Moore, you’re dying. The blood—”

“Stopped. I stopped it. It’s fine. She needs a body.”

The half-Giant looked around. He sagged to the ground. Pisces stared at him.

“A body? Where would we find a host for—”

“Basement. It’s the basement.”

He turned. Erin staggered to her feet. Her partially fixed teeth moved around her bloody mouth. She looked at the others.

“Raskghar in the basement. Get one. Hurry.”

For a moment no one moved, then Yvlon got up.

“Ylawes.”

They ran to the trapdoor. Moore was sitting on the ground, surrounded by other Gold-rank adventurers. They tried to pack his insides back into his body before applying the healing potion. All the while, the second voice whispered to them, telling them what was wrong. Moore’s eyes were rolling back in his head.

“Here!”

Yvlon came out of the basement, dragging a huge body behind her. Pisces’ heart jumped as he saw a Raskghar’s head and Ceria swore. But Moore lurched over to it. He bent, exposing his open side towards the body.

“Don’t look. Don’t look!”

At first the others didn’t know what he meant. Pisces did, and he watched in horror and fascination as something slithered out of Moore’s open wound. The half-Giant groaned and passed out, but the orange, semi-liquid…thing flowed towards the Raskghar’s body.

Yvlon and Ylawes backed up as it crawled down the creature’s mouth. The other adventurers watched in horror. The Raskghar began to jerk, and then a voice began to speak from its mouth, though the gaping muzzle never so much as twitched.

“You didn’t see. Didn’t see it.”

The voice was confused. Female. It didn’t sound like a voice that came from lips. The Raskghar kept twitching as the thing—the Selphid began invading its nervous system. The adventurers looked at each other.

“What didn’t we see?”

Ceria looked around in confusion. The voice—Jelaqua, whispered again.

“They’ll kill us for it. Didn’t happen. You didn’t see. Please.”

Bevussa looked around. The Garuda understood, and she spoke decisively.

“We saw nothing. No one will tell anything.”

Pisces nodded. The others began to understand, at least in part. Jelaqua was talking about how she’d entered Moore’s body. To invade a living host, willing or not, was the height of Selphid sin.

The Selphid had almost gained control of the Raskghar’s body. It began sitting up, raising its arms, blinking, as if going through a test. It was unnatural to see. But for all the precision, it seemed like the controller was—damaged. How could she not be? She kept whispering, forgetting to use the Raskghar’s vocal chords and lungs.

“I didn’t break the rule. I didn’t—”

“What happened? Are the Goblins still there?”

“What about Headscratcher?”

Halrac and Erin pressed Jelaqua. The Raskghar’s head turned and stared blankly at them.

“Garen. It was Garen. His tribe. Others alive.”

“Garen?”

The name evoked confusion in some of the other adventurers. Pisces felt his heart skip a beat. Dawil, his face burned, sat up from his cot.

“That was their old teammate, wasn’t it? I heard about a Goblin Chieftain that no adventuring team had managed to bring down. But he was supposed to be in the High Passes.”

Jelaqua didn’t respond. Halrac looked at the body, then at Seborn and Moore. He stared at the door.

“What in the name of the Five Families happened?”

Erin shook her head. She looked back at the Halfseekers. They were all breathing, but just. She stared at the door, closed again.

“I don’t know. But I think—I think something happened with the Redfangs. I mean, Headscratcher and the others. And Garen. They swore to kill him.”

“By the looks of it, he killed them.”

Revi commented softly. A strangled laugh rose from the Raskghar. All of the adventurers jerked as Jelaqua finally spoke with the Raskghar’s growling voice,

“He couldn’t do it.”

“Do what?”

Erin bent down towards her. Jelaqua looked up at her. She laughed again, weakly. Hysterically.

“He couldn’t kill us. He tried, but he didn’t. Who beheads a Selphid?”

She laughed, and then tears began seeping from the Raskghar’s eyes. Not water; the Raskghar’s body was dead. But a thin, yellow substance, like a mucus. Erin drew back. Jelaqua kept laughing, a weird giggling sound like a hyena’s laugh.

She was laughing and crying in the Raskghar’s body. It was a strange, unnatural sight and sound. But the sobs that quickly usurped the laughter and the tears were all too familiar.

The adventurers sat and stood in silence. Erin looked around. She was bloody, battered, and the others were hurt as well. She ran her tongue over her broken teeth and winced. She shook her head. For once, no witty quotes came to mind. She just sat down and put her head in her hands.

“I need a drink.”

—-

The Redfangs stood outside the cave. Four thousand of them and twenty thousand Cave Goblins. They looked at the five swollen and bruised Hobgoblins among them. They had splints and were keeping still, most of them. Even the best healing potions didn’t go so far.

Garen Redfang was gone. And with his absence, a void had opened up in the tribe. After all, no one Goblin could equal Garen Redfang.

And that was the problem. It had been a problem even when Rags was there, and Reiss. But the Redfangs had realized there was a solution.

No one could replace him. That was a fact. But five? Headscratcher, Shorthilt, Badarrow, Numbtongue, and Rabbiteater sat together. And the Redfangs looked at them. Headscratcher spoke slowly, around a swollen mouth.

“We are Redfangs. We were, and are. And will be. Garen is gone, but he was not us. We were, are, us.”

There was nothing else to say. The Redfangs sat there, as night fell. Wondering what they would be tomorrow.

—-

So night fell. The Redfangs and Cave Goblins sat, talking, debating. Erin Solstice and the adventurers lay in their inn, not understanding all of what had gone on. And Garen Redfang rode away, haunted by regret, words echoing in his mind. Those were their concerns.

The issues of a small Human city just north of Liscor was more immediate. Esthelm, the city that had fallen and then reclaimed its honor, was in a state of high alert. They’d reported the Redfang tribe riding past their walls. Now they locked their gates, and put everyone they could fit on their walls. They sent a [Message] spell to all the cities, a dire warning.

The Goblin Lord’s army was coming. They were within range of Esthelm’s walls. The news sparked alarm through all the cities, who had expected the Goblin Lord to arrive days later.

Only, it wasn’t the Goblin Lord’s army. They were close behind, but this band of Goblins had outrun them. It was an army large enough to fool Esthelm, but it was not Reiss’ Goblins.

Instead, it was a tribe. Redscar, Poisonbite, and Noears led the broken, bloody Flooded Waters tribe south, running ahead of death, despairing. Their Chieftain was missing. Alive, but lost to them. In her absence, they ran south, past Esthelm, continually on the move, fleeing the traitorous Goblin Lord who was slowly following behind them with the Humans.

They were despairing, hurt, betrayed. Most were half-dead from running all day and all night, but they dared not stop lest the Humans on horseback caught up. In their desperation they’d outpaced even horses, not stopping to sleep or rest or eat. It felt like the end of all things, and all the Goblins could do was keep moving, one step after another, late into the night until they collapsed of exhaustion and woke, only to feel the same fear again. They ran and ran, without purpose or hope.

On the eleventh day, they reached Liscor.

5.59

She had to get ready. Erin Solstice woke up on the eleventh day with that thought echoing in her mind. She didn’t know how she knew, or why, but she knew she had to get ready. They were coming. Whoever they were. So Erin opened her eyes, half-sat up—

And decided she could use a few more minutes of sleep.

—-

“Morning, Lyonette.”

By the time Erin got up for the second time, it was mid-morning, uncharacteristically late. The [Innkeeper] pulled herself upright in time to see Lyonette carefully pulling out a plate of pre-made pasta covered with bolognese out of a cupboard. Since that was completely natural, Erin ignored it at once and focused on the young woman. Lyonette jumped, and then turned guiltily.

“Morning, Erin. Sorry, did I wake you?”

“No. I was getting up.”

Erin yawned and stretched. She felt awful. Tired, lethargic, and sore. As if she’d spent a day lifting rocks and then having said rocks dropped on her back. She wondered why—usually she was able to get up no matter the early hour. Her [Lesser Endurance] Skill meant that she could keep ticking on less sleep. But not today. Erin remembered the events of last night and unconsciously ran her tongue across her teeth. She frowned as her tongue encountered nothing but smooth enamel.

“How’re the teeth?”

Lyonette put the room-temperature pasta next to the stove’s lit fire to warm it up. Erin shrugged and her belly rumbled.

“Good. They feel different. I think so, but then again it could be in my mind. They feel like they should be different, you know?”

“I’d imagine so. Pisces used bear teeth, didn’t he?”

“Yup.”

“Do they taste or seem…?”

Erin shrugged.

“Not bearish to me. But I keep feeling like they should be. I’m just amazed he fixed them, really.”

She ran her tongue over the caps Pisces had made to fix three of her partially broken teeth and winced. Her tongue was sore from doing that a hundred plus times. But the teeth were good.

“He should be a dentist.”

“A what?”

“Someone who fixes teeth.”

“Ah.”

Erin rummaged around in her nest that occupied one side of the kitchen. She saw Lyonette taking some utensils out of a drawer and opened a cupboard by her side. It contained Erin’s clothes. The [Princess] kept her back turned as Erin quickly changed clothes under her blankets. Too late, Erin remembered she should have asked if anyone was working this morning.

“Is, uh, Ishkr—”

“Drassi’s here.”

“Oh. Good.”

Erin breathed a sigh of relief. Now that she had more than just a few employees, the kitchen was filled with at least one person more often than not. And there had been a few incidents. Erin began stuffing her bedding into another cupboard as Lyonette checked the pasta’s temperature. She shook her head and then looked at Erin.

“You should really stay in a room, you know. There are some rooms available, even if the Hobgoblins come back. And Mrsha and I could share the room if you wanted to. There’s plenty of space. Mrsha does steal your blankets, though.”

“I should. I know.”

Erin made a face. She’d had the same conversation with Lyonette. It was just that—she sighed as she hunted around for her toothbrush. Which cupboard was that? Oh, right. It was the drawer. Erin pulled it out and grabbed the jar of toothpaste Octavia had made up.

“It’s just that I have so much to do, you know? And changing rooms is more work than I want to do.”

“Says the [Innkeeper] who just lost some of her teeth confronting a Goblin Chieftain and got twenty thousand Cave Goblins to run off.”

Erin grimaced as she applied some toothpaste to her toothbrush. It was a very astringent substance that Octavia sold, but it did make Erin’s teeth feel clean.

“They were supposed to go south. I have no idea what happened. Or if they’re coming back.”

Lyonette glanced out of the kitchen and Erin knew she was looking towards the magic door. Her face wasn’t apprehensive, but there was a note of tension in her voice.

“Do you think the Goblins would come here? I mean, if they’re still hostile.”

Erin paused.

“If they do, we’re running into Liscor. The door’s set up. But Numbtongue and the others—they’re not back. And Jelaqua said they did something. The old Chieftain ran off. Garen. If they come back—we’ll see.”

Lyonette nodded. The two waited while Erin scrubbed at her teeth, then decided she had to spit and wash her mouth. She got up as Lyonette took the plate of hot pasta away from the fire. The smell made Erin’s stomach grumble. But…pasta? She pointed at the spaghetti, which had been seasoned with sauce, sliced sausage, and just a little bit of spicy peppers.

“Whof fhat for?”

She tried not to spit all over the plate. Lyonette stared at Erin’s mouth and the toothbrush sticking out.

“Dawil ordered it.”

“Fo? Fhe Filver Fwords fhare here?”

Lyonette opened her mouth and then gave up. Erin walked outside into the common room and thus began her day.

“Erin!”

A number of voices greeted Erin as she walked towards the door of her inn. The [Innkeeper] stopped and the people waiting for her saw her turn towards them. A bit of toothpaste was dribbling down her mouth. Despite the myriad and pressing issues that demanded her attention, all those present agreed that she should attend to business first. So Erin stumbled out of her inn and went to the outhouse.

There were three, now. And each one was set far enough apart so as not to carry smells or worse, sounds to the other stall. Unless someone was having a really bad day. That was an important design decision, which had required the outhouses to be moved when Erin had first discovered the issue. The third stall was huge, big enough to accommodate Moore. It was also the nicest, so Erin sat in that after knocking to make sure no one was inside.

“Toilet bowl, toilet bowl. This is…nicer than a toilet bowl, actually.”

Erin sat on the polished hardwood, having spat and washed out her mouth already. Her feet were a bit wet from the walk to the outhouse, but the grass had only been dewy, as opposed to rain-slicked and muddy. The rain had stopped. Now, the air was humid, muggy, and foggy. Erin liked it not one bit; nor did she like the way a lot of the hills had turned to mostly mud and water gathered in the valleys. But it still beat buckets of rain dumping from the sky.

That was why the outhouse had a roof. And it was better than a bathroom, at least in some senses. The wood was just as smooth as porcelain, but it didn’t get as chilly. As for the…other concerns, Erin did have a type of toilet paper at her disposal. The main issue was flushing, or lack of it.

If plumbing had been invented, it was too costly and too unknown in Liscor for Erin to obtain. So the outhouse was an outhouse, which meant that it accumulated rather than moved waste. Erin had originally solved the issue of acquisition by making Toren pour acid into the pit below the outhouse, handily vaporizing the problem. But since he was gone, she’d had to resort to other measures. She still used acid, though.

Octavia had a wonderful mixture that dissolved undesirable objects slowly. It was enough to keep the outhouses from needing to be emptied, and a lot of fresh-smelling herbs did the rest of the job. Erin looked at the bundle of herbs that Lyonette had placed just the other day. Not having to tend to the outhouse herself was another perk of being the boss.

Now, what did the evolving and dynamic nature of Erin’s restroom facilities have to do with today or recent events? Nothing. But Erin sat on the toilet for a good while. She had a feeling she was going to be busy if the faces that had been waiting for her were any indication. And she wanted to delay work as long as possible. She managed to hold out five minutes before she decided to go back. After all, she was mostly responsible and over half the people waiting on her were her friends.

And they were coming. Erin’s head turned north. She stared at the place where the mountain ranges parted to let travellers come through the pass. It was slightly obscured by a tall hill, but she saw no signs of movement. Yet. She shook her head and walked back to her inn.

“Erin!”

The first person to hurry up to Erin was Olesm. She smiled at him, and her face fell as she looked at Zevara. Erin threw a mock salute as she walked over to their table. The Drake Watch Captain eyed her.

“Human.”

“Hey, Zevara. Olesm. What’s up?”

“Where are the Goblins now? What do you know about their status? Will they attack the city? I’ve heard the report from the Gold-rank teams. Ignoring the fact that they were carrying one of your magical doorways north for now, explain to me how twenty thousand Cave Goblins and this new tribe aren’t a threat?”

Erin blinked at Zevara. Not even a hello. The Watch Captain looked anxious, if her swishing tail was anything to go by. Erin sat down and waved at Drassi.

“Hey Drassi, can I have some of our scrambled eggs?”

She waited until she got a wave and a smile from Drassi. Then she looked at Zevara.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know, and I think they’re not a threat. Jelaqua said the old Chieftain ran away.”

“Garen Redfang. A traitorous former Gold-rank adventurer who slaughtered four of his former teammates. And nearly did for the other three. How is his absence supposed to reassure me?”

“Well, he’s not leading his tribe. Ooh, thanks Drassi.”

Erin picked up a fork. Zevara eyed her as if she’d gladly grab the fork and poke it into Erin’s eye.

“His tribe is still there. Or we assume so. They’re dangerous.”

“Yeah, but Headscratcher and the others are with them. They’re nice.”

The two Drakes exchanged a look as Erin began eating breakfast. Olesm coughed.

“So you’re saying we should hope that they move on, Erin?”

“Hm. Yeah?”

Erin looked up. The Drakes stared at her, one with wrath, the other appalled. The [Innkeeper] shrugged.

“Look, what other choice is there? What do you expect me to do about it? Open the door to the Goblin cave and solve everything myself?”

Zevara and Olesm didn’t meet Erin’s eyes, which told her that was exactly what they’d hoped she’d do. The young woman scowled.

“Tempting as that is, I don’t know those particular Goblins. And I don’t want to get my brains punched out again. Did you hear that I lost some teeth? Do they look weird to you?”

She showed them her teeth. Zevara sighed.

“They’re fine. Hearing about that was the only amusing news I’ve gotten all day. It was about time someone kicked your teeth in, with how many fights you seem to escape unscathed.”

“I let other people hit things for me. And I’m good at ducking.”

Erin scowled. But Zevara was right. She hadn’t processed her one-sided punching bag experience, but the memory of trying to fight that muscular Goblin guy stuck with her. She rubbed at her mouth. It had been terrifying, trying to get past all the Goblins with only the five Redfangs shielding her.

But it had to be done. Jelaqua and the Halfseekers had been in danger. But she’d nearly died herself. If it happened again—could she risk her life like that? Was it smart? Was she an idiot? Erin sighed. She barely noticed Zevara getting up.

“If the Goblins come back to the city, Miss Solstice—”

“I’ll try and talk to them. But I don’t know what’s going on. I’m not opening that door to their cave until I know. Sorry.”

Zevara nodded. She strode off as Olesm sighed.

“I should get going too. I’d stay and talk, but—we’re at full alert. It’s nice seeing you, uh, Erin.”

He stood up awkwardly. Erin blinked up at him.

“Hey Olesm. How’re the defenses going?”

The Drake [Strategist] hesitated. He averted his gaze.

“I can’t say. Military secrets, Erin. We’re…doing good. We got reinforcements from Pallass and we’ve found homes for them. And uh, we’re meeting with Klbkch, checking the walls—it will be fine.”

The tone in his voice and his posture—not to mention his curled up tail—told Erin that was a dead lie. She stared at him and nodded.

“Okay, I won’t keep you.”

Olesm turned to go. Erin raised her voice.

“Olesm!”

He looked back at her. Erin smiled with more upbeat emotion than she actually felt.

“We’re uh, cool with the me punching you and you throwing me in jail, right?”

For a second Olesm stared, and then he grinned.

“We are. If you’re okay with it?”

“I liked prison food. And it’s a nice place when you get to know your cellmates.”

He grinned. Erin kept her smile until Olesm had hurried to the magic door and left. Then she sighed. She turned her head.

“Next!”

Someone else was already coming up to her. Dawil. The Dwarf slid into the vacant seat. He had a half-finished plate of pasta with him and was slurping down some noodles. The sauce got into his beard—well, part of his beard.

A good bit of hair was burnt off of Dawil’s face. His eyebrows, part of the hair on his head—and a lot of his beard. The sight of his chin and face was terribly disconcerting. Erin stared at Dawil, and then averted her gaze. The Dwarf sighed.

“Go on, look. And have a laugh, why don’t you. That bastard Pisces was laughing all day about it and the damned half-Elf—mine, not Ceria—wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

Dawil shrugged. He scratched at his missing spots, where thick stubble was already growing. His voice held a note of complaint. Well, more like a symphony of complaints.

“It’s cold. But the healing potion did the burns right. I drank a hair-growing tonic, but it’ll be a week before my beard’s halfway decent. It’s not a problem compared to the shite we’re in, but it’s embarrassing more than anything else. But I didn’t come here to talk about hair to you, girl. We’re all in trouble, so I need to speak on behalf of the adventurers in Liscor. This is good pasta, by the way. Needs more meat, though.”

“I can have Lyonette cut up a steak if you want. Or some pork? A sausage?”

“Next time, maybe.”

Dawil slurped down more noodles as Erin finished her eggs. He wiped his mouth with a napkin—Erin used the back of her hand. The Dwarf was actually quite fastidious as he cleaned his beard. He even had his own utensils he packed into a small case—silver and gold filigree forks were a new concept to Erin. The Dwarf leaned back in his chair and looked up at Erin.

“Now, let me be blunt since no one’s said it. And you were in jail. We’re leaving Liscor. The Silver Swords, the Halfseekers, Griffon Hunt—and your Horns too, I imagine. Us and a good number of other Gold-rank teams, though I can’t speak for all in Pallass.”

Erin frowned.

“Okay. I heard about that from Lyonette. The Halfseekers were taking a door north, right?”

“Correct. They were trying to get to Celum so we had a route out, since those Drakes confiscated the mana stone. It would have worked too, but for those Goblins. Now we’re caught between a hammer and an anvil, because there’s a tribe of Goblins north of us that can kick the crap out of six Gold-rank teams without breaking a sweat.”

Dawil scowled. He drummed his fingers on the table, reached for his pasta, and then swatted a white paw aside.

“Not today, you thieving little mole rat!”

Mrsha scampered as Dawil roared under the table. His roar sent her flying and the Dwarf looked quite pleased with himself as he turned back to Erin.

“Fun little brat. Where was I? Oh yeah, we can’t go north anymore. Which is a problem because going south takes us longer to get to civilization. And it takes us past the Blood Fields and it is active in the spring. But there’s no choice, so we’re headed south. With another magic door anchor thing.”

“Oh. Do you need to get a mana stone?”

Erin looked at the door. Dawil waved a hand and coughed, looking embarrassed.

“Thing is…we’ve already got one. It’s the orange stone, see? Already in the bowl. I’ve been getting your [Barmaid] to check it every half-hour. The Flamewardens are lugging the door south and they’ll trade off soon. We would have told you, but we decided they needed to go right this morning.”

“I see. So what’s the problem?”

It all sounded good to Erin. Well, not the Gold-rank teams fleeing Liscor, but if it was that or fight and maybe die, what choice was there? She hadn’t decided what to do either. She could take refuge in the city easily enough, but…the scope of both threats just hadn’t really sunk in for Erin. Having a second escape route would be good, though. Dawil shrugged uncomfortably.

“Nothing. In theory. But we wanted to let you know seeing as you had the door. However, if that fire breathing Watch Captain asks…don’t tell her we’re planning to leave. She’d try and stop us and we’re not willing to die here.”

He waited, perhaps expecting Erin to object. She just doodled on her plate with a finger. Then Erin looked up.

“Do you think Liscor will fall?”

Dawil sighed.

“Honestly, lass? Can I call you lass? Sorry. I’m thirty eight, and Humans feel so young to me. You’ve barely lived through any of the big wars, have you?”

“None of Izril’s. A few started where I came from. Not sure if they really ended.”

Dawil raised an eyebrow and Erin kept her poker face up. She wasn’t sure what he knew, but Dawil was someone she trusted. More than Pisces or Olesm, about something like this, even. He struck her as honorable, more so than Falene or Ylawes in his own way. The Dwarf shrugged.

“Right. Well, it’s a bad scene. I’ve never been sitting in a besieged city, but I’ve seen the aftermath and heard the stories. Flying limbs, people getting slaughtered, and so forth. War is messy. And adventurers get killed in wars. We’re big targets because we can do a lot of damage, but we hunt monsters, not armies. Get it?”

“…Maybe? Could you explain that?”

The Dwarf nodded. He looked around and waved a hand.

“Ale?”

“Got it!”

Drassi passed by their table. Dawil blinked as an ale appeared in front of him. The Drake winked at Erin and passed her a cup of milk. Erin stared.

“Wait, how did you know—”

“[Server’s Prescience]! I got a Skill the other day! Isn’t it cool?”

Erin stared down at her drink.

“Very cool.”

“Hah! Now there’s a Skill worth having! Almost as good as the battlefield edition.”

Dawil drained a quarter of his mug, wiped his mouth, and then sighed.

“Okay. Wars. It’s an easy concept. I think you’ll get it better than the lad—I mean, my team captain. He’s a bit thick between the ears when it comes to things like this. Not exactly a tactical mind, if you know what I’m saying. Neither is the half-Elf, for all she’s Wistram. ‘Swhy I have to come up with the plans.”

He tapped the side of his head. Erin grinned, tickled.

“You, Dawil?”

“How else do you think we survived this long? Someone’s got to be the voice of reason and it’s not those two. Anyways…”

He heaved a sigh.

“Wars. One last time. Adventurers have armor, or we hit fast enough so we’re not in danger. Say we’re hunting a Chimera. Or some other monster. We can take them on—hell, we can take on a nest. A small Goblin tribe? Doable. But in large numbers, armor fails. Take my armor for instance. It’s steel, Dwarf-forged and strong. I can fight in it and guard my face. But in yesterday’s scrap? There are too many arrows flying and damn Goblins with fire paste in jars. And in a war—”

“You can’t defend yourself from all sides.”

“Exactly. We’re too fragile. Knew you’d get it. I know there’s a bunch of Gold-ranks with Tyrion Veltras’ army. But I’ll bet my beard—what’s left of it—that they’re under contract to only fight if he needs something taken and stay well clear of the main battle. Besides, it’s bad to get wrapped up in politics. Ylawes’ father is marching with the Humans…look, the point is that we don’t want to die. We think Liscor will fall. So when the army arrives, we’ll be going. And if you want, we’ll escort you to Pallass. You and anyone you care to bring.”

Dawil eyed Erin over the top of his mug. She hesitated. Rather than address his statement directly, she twiddled her thumbs.

“When will you be going?”

“On the day we see the army roll in. Or sooner. But we’ll carry the door as far as we can before then. We’ll still be at least a day or two out from the nearest city, but—ah, lass. When we go, it will be quick. Make up your mind before then.”

Dawil and Erin sat together in silence. Erin stared at the table. For some reason, Dawil’s words put the urgency of Liscor’s siege closer to home than anything else. She looked at him.

“If you thought there was a chance—there are the Antinium. And the Drakes are sending an army. Is there any way…?”

The Dwarf’s eyes were brown, deep and soft as earthy loam, and sad. He shook his head.

“There may be an army of Antinium. And the Drakes may get here in time to break the siege. The Humans may be stumped or they may win. But the cost will be blood, Erin. We won’t pay the price.”

“Okay. Thank you for telling me.”

Erin sat at the table, feeling tired and helpless. Dawil nodded. He got up, walked over, and patted Erin on the shoulder.

“I’ll be here all day. The other teams will. We’re watching your door—and the inn—so don’t worry about someone making off with the door like last time. If you have any questions, ask.”

He wandered off to his table. Erin looked around and saw Bevussa sitting at a table, along with Nailren and a few Gnolls, and Falene. They were talking to each other, relaxing. And watching her. They turned as Dawil wandered over to them. Erin heard his voice clearly as she turned back to her drink.

“You lot are about as inconspicuous as a bunch of farting Dragons! She’s not stopping us, so settle down. And you can stop listening in, you pointy-eared git! I know you’re casting a listening spell when you get that constipated look on your face.”

The young woman leaned on her arms. She stared at the empty chair ahead of her as a third body slid into the seat. This time it was Mrsha. The little Gnoll stared up at Erin, wagging her tail.

“Hey Mrsha. How are you doing?”

The Gnoll raised a paw with the thumb up. Erin smiled at her.

“That’s good. Hey, do you want to play catch?”

The Gnoll cub smiled. Erin slid out of her seat as Mrsha ran to get her ball. She raced over and tossed it at Erin. The young woman caught it, tossed it back, and the two moved down the long common room. Erin’s [Grand Theatre] Skill was in effect, but there weren’t nearly enough people to fill the vast space. Mrsha and Erin cleared some tables and chairs and began to play catch. Just for a while.

“Erin.”

Ceria came over after a few minutes. She watched as Mrsha scampered after a ball and Erin turned to her. The half-Elf had her hands in her pockets. She watched as Mrsha threw the ball back, clumsily. She raised a finger and the ball swung towards Erin. The [Innkeeper] caught it and threw it back.

“Hey Ceria. What’s up?”

The half-Elf looked unhappy.

“It’s uh, about the door. I’ve been talking with the others.”

“You’re going?”

“Are you? We don’t want to leave without you, but—what are you going to do, Erin?”

Erin turned. The two stared at each other, Ceria unhappy, and Erin uncertain. They looked at each other until Mrsha’s ball bounced off the side of Erin’s head.

So it went. Ceria wasn’t the last person to talk to Erin either. After the young woman had talked to her, there came Pisces, to offer unsolicited advice which Erin listened to. Krshia, to play with Mrsha, talk about Erin’s door, and about commitments and not to ask Erin so loudly that it hurt. Selys stopped in to check with Erin how she was doing and stare at the door for a second. A few Drakes and Gnolls came by to inquire about her door.

Her door, and the Goblins. And what Erin thought. The trouble was, Erin wasn’t thinking. She was deliberately not thinking of what was coming. Because if she did, she’d have to make a choice. Stay or go. Risk dying or leave. Which was better. Which was right? Erin didn’t know. But she kept looking north. She was talking with Jelaqua at midday when it happened.

“How’s the body?”

The Selphid was sitting at a table. By this point the inn was getting more business, and Ishkr and two more Gnolls had come by to help work the tables. They stared at Jelaqua and kept clear of her. Because the Selphid was wearing the Raskghar’s body.

It was disturbing to Erin. The Raskghar looked bestial, compared to the Gnolls. It had a more hunched posture, a bigger body, and thicker fur. But the main change was the eyes. The Raskghar had been savage with a spark of intelligence. Now, there was a sharp intelligence looking out of the dead pupils. Somehow, that was even more uncanny. Jelaqua raised a paw and scratched at her neck.

“Fine. It’s a good body, actually.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. Lots of muscle fiber, great condition—a few pests, but they were mostly dead and I got rid of the rest. My main complaint is that this body’s a bit too bulky for my tastes, but hell, the nose works wonders. The only thing is that I can’t go in Liscor without causing a panic. I nearly got stabbed by a Gnoll [Guardsman]—and that was just at the gate.”

“You are wearing a Raskghar’s body.”

“Yup. But there’s a shortage of other bodies, so what can you do?”

Jelaqua spread her paws in a Human shrug. Erin stared at her and the Selphid grinned weakly, another very disturbing sight.

“Sorry. I’m a bit mixed up after yesterday. I…took a few hits to my body.”

“I saw.”

“No, I mean my real body.”

“Oh. Is it bad? Did you heal up?”

Jelaqua hesitated.

“It’s not quite that simple. But yeah, I’m doing okay. I think. Look, about last night. You really can’t tell anyone—anything. Not that it happened, okay?”

“What happened?”

The Selphid eyed Erin and nodded.

“It’s just really important, okay, Erin? Really important.”

“I got it. Lips sealed. About nothing.”

The Gold-rank adventurer nodded, but she was clearly still uneasy. She scratched at her neck again. Erin wondered if one of the pests had been fleas. She saw Mrsha staring at Jelaqua as she slunk around Lyonette, who was giving Jelaqua much the same look.

“Jelaqua. I wonder if it would be a good idea for you to say hi to Ishkr and Mrsha. Maybe that would make them feel better. Or would it make them feel worse?”

The Selphid grimaced.

“It can’t hurt. Showing them it’s me rather than my body usually helps. I had the same problem with bodies I got from executed criminals. I’ll have a word later.”

“Thanks. Uh—how’s Moore and Seborn?”

The Raskghar’s expression softened in a way that was true to Jelaqua. She looked towards the stairs.

“Resting. Moore’s too weak to get out of bed—or eat anything other than liquids. Thanks for all the soup.”

“No problem. What about Seborn?”

“He’s better. He just lost blood. But he’s not talking to me. I think he’s angry about what happened.”

“At you?”

Jelaqua shook her head.

“At himself. For letting Garen get away. He was right in front of us. But we choked up. And he spared us.”

Erin stared at Jelaqua.

“And how do you feel?”

The Selphid smiled with the Raskghar’s mouth.

“Me? It’s over and done with. Garen lost his tribe. They told him to his face he was a traitor and he ran off. I’m alive, and so is Moore and Seborn. And we know a bit more of—of what happened that day. It’s all we can ask for, Erin.”

She kept smiling as Erin studied her. She was lying. But she did it with a smile, and Erin felt like pushing Jelaqua would be the worst of ideas. So she let it drop.

“You just let me know if you need anything, alright?”

“Sure thing. I’ll just have a few drinks, reassure the Gnolls, and check on the others.”

Jelaqua smiled. Erin smiled too, and tried to ignore the sense of roiling emotions she was getting from the Selphid. If anyone was close to exploding…she made a note to keep Jelaqua away from Relc if he stopped by. Or Pisces. Or Revi. Erin stood up to accompany Jelaqua in case any of the Gnolls freaked out—or she did—

And then it happened. Erin’s head turned to the right. She stared straight towards the north wall and she felt a tingle go down her spine. They were coming. And they were coming here. It wasn’t a bad sense, not like it had been whenever her [Dangersense] went off. No, it was more like a certainty at the back of her mind. They were coming, and they were tired and hungry and desperate.

Erin hadn’t known who they were in the morning, but now she was certain. And as they came across the Floodplains and Liscor sounded the alarm, Erin stood on the ruined roof of her inn where Bird’s watchtower had been and saw them pour across the muddy hills and valleys like a green wave.

Goblins.

—-

At first it was the Cave Goblins and Redfangs. The mounted warriors rode ahead of the Cave Goblins, a small army of elite warriors followed by the hordes of grey-green Goblins. That was enough to get Olesm’s heart pounding. But when he saw the second Goblin force emerging from the pass leading north, his heart began trying to dig its way out of his chest.

“It’s the Goblin Lord’s army!”

“It can’t be! They’re too early! They’re too early!”

Olesm screamed at Embria, who had raised the alarm the instant she’d spotted the second Goblin force. It was vast; it dwarfed the Cave Goblin force by a good margin. Olesm tried to count how many Goblins were present. Forty thousand? Fifty? Sixty? It was too small to be the Goblin Lord’s army—not unless they’d taken massive casualties since they’d last been spotted. And yet, it was far too large to be just any random tribe. He watched as they spread across the Floodplains.

“What am I seeing, Olesm?”

Zevara stood on the walls minutes later, breathing hard and looking at the approaching Goblins. Olesm’s heart was trying to escape via his mouth at this point, but he kept his voice as level as possible as he replied. He wished it didn’t wobble so, though. Everyone was listening.

“In a word, Watch Captain? Dissidents. Or rebels. That’s probably a better word for it?”

“Rebels?”

Both Embria and Zevara looked at him. Ilvriss, who’d just made it to the walls—since a Wall Lord didn’t run unless the city was under attack—stared sharply at Olesm.

“That’s right. Dissidents. Reports from Esthelm claimed the Goblin Lord’s army was moving past them. They were erroneous, but it does match another piece of information we received from an informant in the Human army. They reported a battle between the Goblins—apparently some kind of inter-tribal dispute. The Goblin Lord absorbed a good deal of the defeated tribe, but the rest of them fled and managed to get ahead of the Humans. They’re coming through Liscor because they have nowhere else to go.”

“Caught between an axe and the headman’s block, huh?”

Embria narrowed her eyes. Olesm nodded.

“But still dangerous. They’re not allied with the Cave Goblins or the tribe that fought the adventurers yesterday. See how they’re running ahead of this tribe? They may be at odds.”

“So will we see a battle between them? Or will they move past our walls?”

Zevara glanced sharply at Olesm. He peered at the Goblins, twisting the Ring of Sight on his claws, picking out Goblins and staring at them.

“I don’t know, Watch Captain. The Goblins look exhausted. Half are falling down the hills. They may just stay here until the Human army arrives.”

“In which case they’re another variable that might go against us. Can we get rid of them?”

Zevara frowned, folding her arms and eying the Goblins.

“With what? A few well-placed spells from the wall? If that lot wants, it could shower us with arrows. I’d say avoid conflict.”

“How do we get rid of them, then?”

“We wait. They may just camp here for a day or two and then keep moving.”

Embria shifted from foot to foot. She eyed the Goblins. They were still approaching Liscor.

“If that’s the case, why aren’t they keeping clear of Liscor? They know this is a Drake city. Aren’t they wary of us?”

“They outnumber the Watch many times over.”

“Still. They keep coming. Should we be ready for an attack?”

The Drakes looked at each other. Ilvriss stared at the Goblins, and then shook his head.

“No. I think they’re coming for a different reason.”

He stared down from the walls, at a much closer landmark. Zevara closed her eyes as she followed his gaze.

“Her. It’s always her, isn’t it?”

Olesm shook his head. He murmured as he watched the Goblins draw closer. Yes, they were moving to one spot.

“Not always. But when it comes to Goblins, I think she’s…special.”

The other three looked at him. Embria folded her arms, exasperated.

“Then what do we do? What can we do?”

She was impatient. But Olesm just stared onwards. He shrugged, feeling tired. Drakes were a people of law and action. Discipline. But it occurred to him that they weren’t good at being helpless. He looked at Embria and said the one word that she didn’t want to hear.

“Watch.”

—-

The Flooded Waters tribe walked across the muddy hills. They fell down valleys, crawled up the hills, and some lay where they had fallen, too tired to move. They were…fading. Faded, rather.

At the end of their tether. And afraid. They had seen the Redfangs and the foreign, strange Goblin tribe moving ahead of them and they didn’t know what to expect. They were worried too, because the Redfangs were headed in the same direction they were. The Flooded Waters tribe didn’t quite know why, but they sensed their destinations were the same.

It wasn’t that Redscar was leading them that way on purpose, or that he’d said anything like it. But like the other Goblins, Redscar was moving towards the city. Or—to something just ahead of it. Despite the danger of the city, despite their exhaustion, the tribe kept moving. It was just a bit further ahead. They could feel it.

It was a strange sensation. Something none of them had quite felt before. A feeling—like they had felt from Chieftains and Reiss, but different at the same time. Alien. But entirely pleasant. It was a feeling that ahead of them lay safety. It was a beacon in their heads. Ahead of them was a friend.

But what a thought! Friend? Safety? Those were completely foreign concepts to Goblins. And yet, the feeling was a certainty. So the Goblins kept moving. It wasn’t just that instinct in their head that propelled them forwards either. Something else kept them going.

It was a rumor. Something their Chieftain had said. A memory, or perhaps a promise: a vision of an inn on a hill. A name.

Erin Solstice. And as they kept going, the distant building on the hill became a symbol to them. A symbol that Goblins had never associated with a building before. But it was a familiar concept to other races.

After all, it was an inn. A gathering place for the weary, for travellers, for the hungry or tired. Only, to Goblins an inn was death—or a place to target unwary victims. Not a place for their kind. And yet, this inn was different.

Still, they hesitated when they saw the Redfangs had gathered around the hill. They were a stone’s throw away from the city and the walls were ablaze with torches. Redscar drew up, patting his weary Carn Wolf. He eyed the Redfangs, and the strange grey Goblins. They stared at him. He couldn’t see Garen among them and he sensed something had changed, though he didn’t know what. Then he saw the Redfangs move.

To the left, and to the right. Goblins shifted out of the way, opening a path for him. Redscar narrowed his eyes. He looked at Poisonbite and Noears, both trudging wearily after him. The Goblins looked up at him and both looked as tired as he felt. Redscar hesitated and looked behind him.

A sea of Goblins stretched behind him, slowly moving forwards. They were all flowing to this spot. Redscar hesitated. But they had come so far. What was the point of turning back now? He dismounted from Thunderfur and patted the Carn Wolf.

“Stay.”

He looked at Poisonbite and Noears. The two looked at him and Redscar pointed.

“I go. If don’t come back…”

He trailed off. If he didn’t come back, what then? The two waited, but Redscar had nothing else to say. He turned and began trudging up the hill. The Redfangs stared at him. So did the strange grey Goblins. Redscar kept his vision ahead as he walked up the hill. He knew the rest of his tribe—of Rags’ tribe—was gathering behind him, watching him progress.

Redscar’s legs burned. He was so tired. He’d let other Goblins ride Thunderfur until now. He tried not to fall as he climbed the muddy slope, avoiding the water pooling in the valley next to him. He could see shapes moving in the water. Fish? He was hungry. Hungry, but so tired he could sleep right then and there.

Something moved behind him. Redscar turned, and saw Thunderfur padding up the hill. The Carn Wolf growled softly. Redscar looked at him. He’d told Thunderfur to stay. But the Carn Wolf was good at ignoring commands Redscar didn’t mean. The Goblin smiled and together, the two kept walking.

Up the hill, onto wet grass that hadn’t been killed by the flooding waters. Redscar saw the inn rise above him. Tall. Wide. The windows were open and the shutters—shutters on the outside?—were thrown open. Yellow light spilled from within. The Goblin hesitated, then.

It was an inn. It was just like the ones he’d seen in other cities. A Human building, or a Drake’s. Not meant for Goblins. And yet, the door called to him. Redscar trudged over to it, heart pounding.

He was afraid. Afraid in a way that had nothing to do with fear of battle. He had come so far. He had lost his Chieftain, failed her. The tribe had been broken. And this—this was just an inn. Redscar bowed his head. What could an inn do for his tribe? He almost turned away, and Thunderfur nudged him. The Carn Wolf could smell something inside it wanted. It whined pleadingly and Redscar looked back.

He still might have turned back. He still would have walked away, rather than be disappointed. It was just an inn. But as the setting sun shone down on the inn, Redscar saw something. He stared, and his eyes narrowed as he tried to make sense of what he saw. It took him a while, because he was a poor reader. But then he blinked. And laughed.

The Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe saw Redscar laugh. They saw him step back, and wave, urging them forwards.

Poisonbite and Noears were first up the hill. They staggered up the slope, wondering what Redscar had seen. They too hesitated as they saw the inn, a symbol of civilization, a place they could never enter. Perhaps at this point they might have wavered. But then they saw it too.

It was the sign that hung proudly on the door. Right in front, hanging on a nail freshly hammered into the wood. The lettering had been enlarged and underlined by a steady hand, and the sign hung at head height for the shorter Goblins. It was a simple message, but it changed everything. Noears read the name of the inn and the sign out loud for the others.

The Wandering Inn.

That was the name of the inn. And on the door, the sign.

No killing Goblins.

And so they entered the inn.

—-

Redscar, Poisonbite, and Noears stepped into the inn. They felt warm air rush over their faces and hesitated. The scent of cooked food hung in the air and the inn was bright. Their eyes were first drawn to the warm bright fireplace, then the candles lighting up the tables, freshly placed, only beginning to drip with wax. They stared at the rug placed just in front of the door. Noears shuffled his feet. Redscar tried to block Thunderfur from poking his head through the door.

The three Goblins plus one Carn Wolf kept still, looking about the inn. Their eyes picked out only tables and chairs at first. And then—movement. They froze as they saw one table was occupied.

A group of six Goblins, five Hobs and one smaller Goblin, sat at a table. They had mugs and plates with food on them. Poisonbite gaped, but Redscar’s eyes narrowed.

“Redfangs.”

There was no mistaking the war paint on their bodies. The Redfangs turned to look at him, and Redscar tensed. He recognized one of them. The other five were hauntingly familiar in some way, but the regular-sized Goblin who tensed was one of Redscar’s old comrades.

Spiderslicer began to stand up at his table, but one of the Hobs grabbed him and forced him down. The smaller Goblin glared up at the Hob, but he kept sitting. The Hob offered him something. A bit of meat on a stick? Redscar’s stomach rumbled and Thunderfur sniffed. The sound seemed to draw attention to them, because at that moment, someone exited a door across from them.

A young woman walked out of the inn’s kitchen. She was holding a pot with a wooden spoon’s handle sticking out of it, and something was steaming and giving off a very inviting smell. All three Goblin’s stomachs rumbled. But it was the Human they looked at. She stopped and blinked as she saw them standing there.

“Well hello there. I wondered when someone else would stop by. One second, please!”

The Flooded Waters tribe Goblins stared as the young woman flashed them a smile and then went over to the table. She put the pot down in front of the Hobs and Spiderslicer, all of whom sat up. Spiderslicer kept trying to glare at Redscar, but his attention was drawn to the pot. The young woman’s voice was audible quite clearly in the very large—and very empty—common room.

“Soup du jour. That’s French, by the way. It means ‘soup of the day’, which in this case is borscht. That’s egg, sausage, bacon, butter…it’s sour and I’ve got some bread warming by the stove, so don’t eat it right off. And it’s hot, so be careful, got it? Badarrow, I’m trusting you to serve.”

She handed the bowls to Badarrow, who grumbled and took the stack and began serving soup in the bowls. Noears’ stomach rumbled plaintively. The young woman turned towards them. She walked over as Poisonbite backed up, hands on the hilts of her daggers. Redscar put a hand out, warning her to keep her blades sheathed. Thunderfur sniffed and made a low rumbling sound. The young woman stopped. She eyed the huge Carn Wolf, who was as tall as she was.

“Is that wolf trained? If it’s going to pee in my inn, it has to stay outside.”

She looked at Thunderfur and then at Redscar. The Goblin stared at her. The young woman put her hands on her hips after she got no response. Her mouth twitched, then she frowned.

“Well?”

Thunderfur didn’t care for her tone. He growled and the young woman’s eyes flicked towards him.

“Sit.”

For a second the three Goblins felt the air grow heavy around them. But the [Innkeeper]’s attention hadn’t been focused on them. Thunderfur whined, then sat down. It stared at the young woman and its head lowered submissively. The young woman smiled and then looked at Redscar, who was open-mouthed.

“I guess that’s a good start. Hey, why are you all standing around? Here, take a seat. Do you have a preference?”

She indicated the tables. The Goblins stared at her, and then edged forwards. They sat at a table, staring at the other Goblins, and at the young woman. She nodded, pleased.

“Alright. Now, can I get you anything? We’ve got soup de jour. Or du jour, whatever the right one is—hot bread, pasta, steaks, and I’ve got specialty treats like pizza, hamburger, and even a cake. Tons of food—but no menu. Just tell me if you want a meat dish or what sounds good. I’ve also got a lot of drinks. We have wines, water, milk, honey milk, a dark lager, this orange beer I haven’t tried yet, Flamebreath Whiskey—very hot stuff, so watch out—apple juice, soft and hard cider…”

She rattled off a list of drinks as the Goblins stared up at her. The [Innkeeper] paused.

“…but if you’re not certain, we can start you with some soup and milk. And bread. With butter, obviously. How about that?”

It was a dream. The three felt certain they were in a shared dream, or in some other reality where up was sideways and nothing was real. They nodded silently. Thunderfur whuffed, and the young woman eyed him.

“And I’ll get you some raw meat for your doggy.”

Doggy. Redscar opened his mouth, but the young woman was already moving into the kitchen. The three Goblins stared as they heard her clatter about in there, and then looked at the Redfangs. The Hobs were eating already, and chattering to Spiderslicer, gesturing around the room. Redscar leaned over to Noears and Poisonbite. The three looked at each other, lost for words. Then Redscar poked Noears. The Goblin yelped as Redscar’s claw poked his side. Redscar pinched himself and found that it hurt.

“Hey, is your dog okay with raw meat? They can eat that, right? Or is cooked meat worse? Tell you what—we’ll give him this steak for starters, okay?”

The Goblins started. The Human was back! And she had a steak. Thunderfur got up and Redscar grabbed his fur to keep him still. The Carn Wolf wagged his tail as the young woman approached. She eyed its open jaws and large, large teeth.

“Oh my what large teeth you have, doggy. Sit.”

Thunderfur sat. The young woman offered him a steak and Thunderfur drooled onto Redscar’s hand.

“Here. You can give it to him. I don’t have a plate that’s not pottery, so he’ll have to eat it off the floor. Don’t worry, it’s so clean you could eat your dinner off it. The tables too.”

Redscar blinked at the cooked steak and took hold of it with one hand. It was warm. And it smelled so good he wanted to bite it himself. But since the young woman was already coming back with another pot and bowls, he offered it to Thunderfur. The Carn Wolf practically tore the meat from his master’s hands and began to scarf it down.

“How do you feed those things without running out of food? Never mind. Here’s the borscht! And bread.”

A bowl appeared in front of each of the Goblins. And the young woman began ladling hot soup into each bowl. She put a loaf of bread on the table, and some soft butter and a blunt knife. The Goblins stared at the bread, round-eyed. The young woman smiled as she filled Noears’ bowl and stood back. There was silence. The Goblins didn’t move.

They knew how this worked. Now was the time when they would reach for bowls and find they were lying in a ditch, half-starved and delirious. It had happened before. This wasn’t happening. This was a happy dream and so they didn’t move, trying to prolong the moment. They waited for ten seconds, and then twenty as Thunderfur savaged the steak and Redscar felt his stomach begin to try and stage a takeover from his belly. It was a dream. Right up until the young woman coughed.

“It’s getting cold.”

They looked at her. She smiled at them.

“Are you worried about the cost? No charge. It’s on the house tonight.”

She gave them a broad grin, and her eyes twinkled. The Goblins looked at each other. Then, slowly, Noears reached for the bread. It was pre-sliced into generous portions and puffy. It smelled fresh, not like the bread they found in adventurer’s rations, or the stale stuff they sometimes looted. It was soft. And Noears’ claws trembled as he brought it to his mouth and bit.

He chewed, slowly. Poisonbite and Redscar watched him. Noears’ eyes rolled up in his head and they thought he was having a seizure. But no—he was just chewing. And chewing. And then he bit and chewed again. Every line in his body told them he was enjoying himself.

That settled it. Redscar picked up another piece of bread and discovered something else. It was warm. The bread squished in his claw and, trembling, he brought it to his mouth. He opened his mouth, bit, and the world changed. He began to chew the bread, slowly, and then with increasing speed as his salivary glands, already prepped, began working overtime.

He had never tasted fresh bread before. Poisonbite looked at Redscar’s face, and then at Noears, and then took things a step further. Awkwardly, she spread some of the butter on the bread and began to eat it. And the wonders continued.

The young woman watched the Goblins eating the bread. They finished one piece, and reached for another. She smiled.

“I make good bread, huh? Try it with the soup, though.”

They jumped and looked at her. She indicated the bowls and then they realized that yes, they had soup! They tried that.

Sour. Warm! Complex flavors! None of them bad! Redscar had never tasted the like, even when he’d eaten horse stew or Eater Goats. This wasn’t just meat and water with a few extras thrown in. Even Rags’ filling soup wasn’t half as good. This was—this was cuisine. He began to eat, and only remembered to dip his bread and try that when he saw Noears doing it. Another taste. Another experience!

Thunderfur watched his master eating, trying to scarf the food and make it last forever at the same time. He whined, licking his chops, and the young woman found another steak for him to gobble. The Goblins ate, chewing their way through one bowl, before halting for a moment. Their stomachs felt full given how much they normally ate, but they wanted more. And there was a pot. The young woman waited.

“Help yourselves.”

They looked at her. She indicated the pot. The Goblins peered into it, and then at her. The [Innkeeper] nodded.

“We don’t do table serving here. Sorry. You’ll have to fill your bowls yourself. We do refill mugs. Want more milk?”

She indicated the mugs of yet-untouched white stuff, which none of the Goblins had quite been certain of. Redscar sipped from the strange substance and his jaw dropped. He saw the young woman’s eyes twinkle again, and her lips twitch. This time, Redscar recognized it. She was suppressing a smile.

“Well? Any good? I’ve got more, you know. If your friends can behave, there’s enough for a crowd. Not all of them by far, but my inn’s open for business.”

She glanced towards the door. The Flooded Waters Goblins stared at her, and then realized she was talking about the others. The others. They stared at the full pot, realizing they’d been stuffing themselves while the rest of their tribe was waiting outside. Redscar got up slowly. He looked at Spiderslicer, and understood in a flash that the other Redfang leader had been invited for the same reason. He looked at the young woman. She folded her arms, regarding him.

“Are you the Chieftain? My name is Erin. Erin Solstice. I run this inn and I’m happy to feed you all. If you’re not here to cause trouble. I’m assured by my regulars—”

She nodded to the five Hobs, one of whom waved a hand. Poisonbite looked stunned.

“—that you’re actually good folk. But I had to be sure. How about it? No trouble? Food? Do we have a deal?”

She looked down at Redscar. Not by much; Redscar was tall for an ordinary Goblin and she wasn’t the tallest Human in the world. He hesitated. Erin Solstice. She was nothing like he imagined or what Rags had said. But—her casual tone, as if she was speaking to another Human. The hint of a smile on her face, the twinkle in her eye that said she was laughing inside. And the sign. He looked at Noears and Poisonbite. And he dared to believe this was reality.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Erin jumped. She actually jumped. She stared at Redscar as he took a step back. Her eyes widened.

“You can talk? Wait, you can speak English?”

English? The Goblins didn’t know about that. But Redscar nodded.

“Can talk.”

“Me too.”

Noears raised a hand. Poisonbite nodded. Erin blinked.

“Wait—but I thought only Numbtongue—wow. Okay. Uh—hi. Pleased to meet you. I’m Erin. You knew that.”

She held out a hand. Redscar stared at it. He slowly took it and Erin squeezed his hand. He squeezed back gingerly.

“Redscar.”

“Redscar? Hey, that’s like Redfang, isn’t it? Are you one of them? Wait—Numbtongue explained it to me. I’m going to get your name mixed up, aren’t I? Sorry in advance! And you are?”

Erin turned to Noears. The [Mage] blinked up at her, unusually shy.

“I am Noears.”

The young woman stared at the ragged flesh around both earholes.

“Noears? Well that’s—uh—well, that’s very accurate. Literal names, Goblins. Yep. And who’s your female friend?”

“I Poisonbite.”

The female Goblin bared her teeth challengingly at Erin. The young woman smiled.

“Poisonbite? Are your bites poisonous? Hah! I kid.”

Her smile made Poisonbite narrow her eyes. The Goblin reached for her sheathes and Redscar and Noears tensed.

“No. This.”

She drew her blades. Erin took a step back as Redscar grabbed Poisonbite’s arms. The [Innkeeper] eyed the coated daggers and Poisonbite.

“I see. Well, keep your daggers sheathed, Poisonbite. And no fighting in my inn. No fighting, no attacking anyone else, no bad names, and no wolves peeing or doing the other thing in my inn. None of you do that either, got it? I have outhouses. If we can agree on that—you can stay at my inn.”

The three Goblins looked at each other. They looked at Erin. They had a thousand questions, a thousand things to say. And perhaps she saw it, because she just smiled. They had come a long way. A long way, and despaired. The journey had ground them down. But at last, at long last, it felt like they had arrived somewhere.

A little inn on a hill. Redscar took Erin’s hand again and Poisonbite stowed her daggers. The young woman smiled as Noears went to the door and began to shout.

“One last thing. The Redfangs want to come through, so you’ll be sharing the inn with them. Like I said: no fighting. And you may have a few more guests.”

Redscar blinked, but nodded. Erin watched him, and then nodded too. She walked over to the far wall and Redscar saw another door, set against the wall. He frowned. Wait, but there hadn’t been another door on the outside of the inn. So what—

Erin opened the door. Redscar saw another place appear in the doorway. A city, with the sun setting behind it. He stared. The sun was at the wrong angle! He stared out of the window in the inn. And then he saw them.

A half-Elf. Humans. Drakes. A huge furry monster—and Gnolls. A small white one that hid behind a bird-woman with blue feathers. They stared at the Goblins, at Thunderfur. And at Erin Solstice. She smiled and raised her voice, beckoning them in.

“Hey, everyone! You can come back through! But only if you’re cool with Goblins.”

The people standing in the city—in Liscor—hesitated. Some of them turned away. Others backed up. But then a young woman came through. She tied her hair back, and turned to the white Gnoll.

“You stay here, Mrsha. You can stay at Krshia’s place. Drassi, Ishkr? Let’s get to work.”

She walked through the doorway. A Gnoll, several Gnolls, and a few Drakes joined her. Some of them stared at the Goblins and one of the Gnolls sniffed, but the Drake just walked into the kitchen. And then a half-Elf followed them. And a young man in robes who sniffed the air much like Thunderfur.

“I trust you have suitable victuals for tonight, Erin? May I inquire as to tonight’s course?”

Erin rolled her eyes.

“Soup, Pisces. Don’t worry, I’ve got enough even with the Goblins. Although you’re paying. Krshia! I’m going to need as much food as I can get on short notice.”

“You’ll never feed them all.”

A haughty, dark-skinned [Mage] walked past the Human called Pisces. She had stitching running around her neck and arms. Erin nodded.

“Of course not. But I think they can feed themselves. At least, I hope so. There’s fish in the Floodplains—Relc told me you can just fish them out. But I’ll feed who I can. Who else is coming through?”

And they came. One after another. Adventurers, civilians, Drakes and Gnolls and Humans. They came into the inn, staring at the Goblins who began trickling through the doors. Some were uncomfortable. Others calm but wary. A few were openly at ease and they were the oddest of all.

But they came, and the Goblins from both the Redfang and Flooded Waters tribe who entered fell under the same aegis as the people from Liscor. They were enemies, possibly mortal ones. But in the inn, on this night, and with her there, there was peace. And so the night continued as Redscar sat and more food appeared. The strangest night he had ever lived through.

The best.

—-

“Well, that’s that.”

Olesm stared at the door as the Horns of Hammerad walked through, and then the Silver Swords, following Lyonette and Drassi and the others. Mrsha circled Krshia, looking unhappy as the Gnoll shook her head, looking appalled and delighted by the amount of food Erin wanted. Olesm turned to the others gathered in front of the magic doorway. Bevussa looked appalled.

“So Erin’s just going to feed the Goblins? There are tens of thousands outside!”

The [Strategist] grinned weakly. He looked at the door and spotted Embria and Zevara staring at it. He tried to move towards the door and failed.

“That’s Erin for you. And we can go through, if we’re willing to dine in company, it sounds like fun. Anyone going?”

“Are you serious? They’re Goblins.”

Keldrass spat a few wisps of flame. He stared at the door, fists clenched. He looked around.

“We’re about to be under siege from the Goblin Lord and the Humans and she’s letting them in! We just fought with Goblins! Killed them!”

“Did you expect anything else from her, Keldrass? And yeah, we killed them. They tore us up. If they’re not holding a grudge, I won’t. Not against them, at any rate.”

Jelaqua rolled her eyes. She looked at the half-Giant clutching his side.

“Moore, you want to go through? We can stay somewhere else or go to our rooms if—”

“I’m going through.”

The half-Giant shook his head and walked through the door. Keldrass made a sound of fury.

“This is an outrage. If we weren’t—”

He broke off, eying Olesm. The [Strategist] looked suspiciously at Keldrass and the Drake cleared his throat.

“—That is, I refuse to enter that inn. And Erin Solstice is courting arrest or worse by letting the Goblins into her establishment, even if it is outside of Liscor’s jurisdiction! The doorway is connected to the city!”

“True. We need to close it off once everyone’s through. But it’s not that big of a risk.”

Olesm nodded to Zevara, Embria, and the small army of soldiers and guardsmen gathered around the doorway. The odds of the Goblins forcing their way into the city was remote at this moment. Keldrass growled and Embria frowned.

“Still, isn’t this a good chance to…?”

She subtly indicated the door with a nod of her head. Olesm’s stomach twisted up. Zevara frowned.

“You think all of the Goblin’s leaders are in one spot?”

“Maybe. Watch Captain, this is an opportunity. If you want to risk it…”

The two Drakes looked at each other. Zevara gritted her teeth.

“Maybe we should check first. Send reconnaissance. Olesm, you’re on good terms with Erin. Go through, check the Goblins.”

“I can’t, Watch Captain.”

Olesm shuffled his feet miserably. Zevara looked at him and her brows snapped together.

“That was an order, Olesm. I know you have personal feelings, but—”

“It’s not that, Zevara. I can’t go through that door. Can you?”

The Watch Captain stared at Olesm. Then she stared at the doorway. Olesm heard Embria snort.

“What are you talking about? Of course we…”

She trailed off. The crowd gathered around the door looked at each other. They began to realize what Olesm had picked up on. Zevara stared at her feet.

“I can’t walk towards the door.”

“Me neither.”

“Or me.”

Olesm confirmed it. None of the [Soldiers] or [Guards] or adventurers like Keldrass could enter the inn. There were a few exceptions. Bevussa walked forwards, frowning.

“I’m fine. Look, see?”

She walked through the door, walked back, and then opened and closed the door a few times. Pisces appeared in the doorframe after the third time.

“You’re letting the cool air in. Please refrain from doing that.”

He shut the door. The others stared at the shut door. Aside from Bevussa, Mrsha, and Krshia, none of the others could open it. The real question they began debating was why.

“It has to be her aura skill. Erin told me she had one. And she’s using it now, I think. The door’s her property and you heard what she said. Only Goblins and people who can be civil to Goblins are allowed inside.”

Miserably, Olesm stared at the door. He bet they could overcome the effects, but it would be detrimental to anyone going through. They’d have to fight just to stay in the inn. Embria scowled.

“Only Goblins? That’s racist.”

“Speciesist, you mean.”

“It’s ridiculous! She’s using an aura skill against us? And it’s not—I’m a Wing Commander—I can’t be held back by this!”

She took a step forwards and stopped. Olesm tried to do the same and barely got his foot to move towards the door.

It wasn’t so much of a physical barrier as Olesm strongly not wanting to put his hand on the door handle and swing it open. It wasn’t that he couldn’t—he just didn’t want to. And because that was the case, there was no fighting the emotion unless Olesm concentrated on why he didn’t want to go in. And even then, it was like fighting to keep his eyes open when he was exhausted; if he wavered once, he stepped backwards.

“That is a powerful amount of concentration. Impressive for an [Innkeeper]. No, it would be impressive for a [Lord] below Level 30.”

A quiet voice made Olesm turn. Ilvriss was studying the inn. The [Strategist] looked at him.

“Can you enter the inn, Wall Lord Ilvriss?”

“Of course.”

Ilvriss looked affronted.

“I can enter the inn. If I choose to. And I could repel the effects of her aura around me. The question is whether or not it is tactically viable.”

He strode forwards and opened the door, unimpeded by whatever was happening. He took one look inside the inn and shut the door.

“I see.”

The others waited as Ilvriss stood there, pondering for a second. Then the Wall Lord shook his head.

“Leave them. There’s no point to interference. If the Goblins leave tomorrow morning all will be satisfactory.”

“And if they don’t, Wall Lord?”

Embria looked angry as she walked forwards, clearly determined to prove a point. She opened the door with effort and stared inside, narrow-eyed. Ilvriss’ voice grew cold.

“My understanding is that Goblins elect new Chieftains if the old ones fall, Wing Commander. Moreover, fighting with Miss Solstice’s aura impeding most of us would be dangerous. If the Goblins are here tomorrow—then we take steps. But as Strategist Olesm has said—what real choice do we have? Let us trust to Erin Solstice’s unique brand of…”

He trailed off. There was no word for it. Ilvriss turned. Zevara stared at the doorway, and then turned.

“Get someone with a scroll of [Fireball] and put up some temporary barricades. Just in case. If a Goblin comes through, blast the door and seal it. Otherwise…leave them.”

She strode off. So did Embria, swearing a blue streak much like her father. Olesm watched them go. He stared back at the inn and tried to walk towards the door. But he couldn’t. Shamefaced, he turned away. The inn blazed as he climbed the walls and sat there, staring down at them. Below, the army of Goblins was mingling, campfires going up.

Tomorrow they would be an issue. But tonight was for them. They sat around her inn, eating, mingling, flowing in and out of the building. The one place in the world they knew they would be safe. For one night.

—-

At first she asked no questions. She just marshaled her staff. Gnolls, Drakes, a young Human girl like herself. She sent them in and out of the kitchen as bodies filled chairs, serving drinks, bringing out food. Then she addressed the larger problem.

“There’s a lotta Goblins out there. Redfang—I mean, Redscar. Do your people have enough food for them? What about you, Spiderbite?”

“Spiderslicer.”

Numbtongue corrected Erin. The two Redfangs exchanged a look, which turned into a staring contest. Redscar put his hand on the hilt of his sword and answered slowly.

“Have food. Supplies. But hungry. Use more.”

He didn’t know how much food Erin’s inn held, but even if it was packed from floor to rafters, it wouldn’t be enough. Erin nodded.

“Spiderslicer?”

The Goblin kept glaring at Redscar. By now Redscar had heard the news. Garen was gone. He’d been overthrown by the strange five Hobs. He couldn’t help but think he knew them. But that didn’t matter to Spiderslicer. His grudge against Redscar was personal. The Goblin grunted.

“Have food.”

“Okay then.”

Erin stepped between the two. She looked at both, and then at one of the Hobs.

“If there’s not enough food, then we’ll just have to make more. Rabbiteater!”

Redscar jumped. Rabbiteater? He stared as one of the Hobs stood up. But Rabbiteater was a small Goblin! And this Hob who stood up looked—impressive. He had a cloak made of liquid and his armor looked pristine. He looked like…well, an adventurer. He had been filling a goblet from his cloak, and the liquid looked like blood. Or wine. He walked over as Erin waved at him.

“Rabbiteater, get Pebblesnatch and your people to grab all the fish they can out of the water. Watch out for Rock Crabs—tell them to make a fillet. Something simple. As for here, I’ve got a lot of food. The Goblins can come in and out.”

She directed Rabbiteater and the Hob nodded and walked out of the inn. Redscar stared at his back and then looked at the other. No. It couldn’t be. But then—he stared at their war paint, remembering the group of warriors that Garen had sent out of the tribe. His eyes widened.

“Headscratcher?”

One of the Hobs looked up. He stared at Redscar, and then got up slowly.

“Redscar?”

The two met. Erin came back from a quick conference with Pebblesnatch and her fancy chef’s hat to see Redscar surrounded by the other Redfangs, sans Spiderslicer, laughing in delight. She watched as the former Redfang second-in-command reunited with his old subordinates.

It was a lot of backslapping and quick Goblin chatter that Erin couldn’t follow, but the body language was good. The five clearly knew Redscar and held him in some esteem. For his part, the smaller Goblin looked surprised and then happy to see them. What she couldn’t understand was his relationship with the scowling Goblin called Spiderslicer. They were both Redfangs, but there was some serious beef between them. Numbtongue had to explain it in the end.

“Redfangs. We are all Redfangs. Redscar’s warriors and Spiderslicer’s. But our tribe split. They left with Rags. And they went with Garen, our old Chieftain.”

“Wow. They went with Rags over that Garen guy? And wait—that means those two are enemies?”

Numbtongue shook his head. Spiderslicer was walking towards Redscar, hand on the hilt of his sword.

“No. Yes. Not enemies. Redfangs are always Redfangs. Now we are all on the same side. We all…left Garen.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Spiderslicer was the third-best fighter in all of the Redfang tribe.”

“Okay.”

“And Redscar is second-best in all of Redfang tribe. Or was until he left.”

“Oh. Now I get it.”

Erin wanted to roll her eyes as Spiderslicer snapped something and the other Redfangs fell silent. The Goblins who’d entered Erin’s inn grew quiet as the two Goblins stared each other down. Redscar put a hand on his sword’s hilt and Erin felt motivated to interject.

“Hey! I said no fighting!”

The two Goblins looked at her. Redscar looked at Spiderslicer, who growled something. The two looked at each other in tense silence, and then Redscar jerked his head. They began walking for the door.

“Wait, where are you going?”

Redscar paused to look at Erin.

“No fighting. In inn. So going out.”

Erin’s mouth opened, but Numbtongue grabbed her and whispered urgently to her.

“Will fight anyways. Has to fight. Redfangs have to know who is best.”

“Yeah, but they’ll kill each other!”

“No. They won’t use their own swords. Spiderslicer broke his falchion and Redscar has an enchanted blade. It won’t be fair, so they’ll use other weapons.”

“Well that’s a relief—”

“They’ll use ordinary swords instead.”

“What?”

The fight went down on a hill close to Erin’s inn. She stood outside the inn with a crowd of adventurers. And Goblins. They stood there, eating and watching as the two Goblins stood in a circle of Redfang warriors. The two were using steel blades, shortswords of identical length. Unenchanted, as Numbtongue had said. But they were sharp and metal.

“They’re going to kill each other.”

Erin put her hands on her head. Earlia, who was snacking on some french fries, shook her head.

“Nah, not if they have healing potions. Sparring can be lethal, but it’s not bad if there’s potions nearby. The real injuries happen when you sever a limb or poke out an eye. Or crush bones. But experts can usually avoid that. Hey, anyone care for a bet?”

Heads turned. Pisces drifted over.

“I could back a few wagers. What’re the odds?”

“Redscar will win. Second-best.”

Headscratcher folded his arms. Shorthilt shook his head dismissively.

“Not certain. Redscar is best on Thunderfur. Riding. But Spiderslicer fights best on ground.”

“Spiderslicer doesn’t have falchion.”

Rabbiteater pointed that fact out. The other Redfangs nodded. Revi, staring down at the commotion, looked around.

“The one with the spider name looks good to me. Put two gold pieces on him, Pisces.”

“Oh come now, Revi. Surely you can stand a larger bet. Fifty gold on the spider fellow, young Pisces. How much will that earn me?”

Typhenous chuckled. Pisces looked up as the other adventurers whistled.

“I’ll give you even odds on both sides for the moment. Any takers?”

A clamor of voices arose and Pisces began to take money or vocal bets from other sides. Erin looked disgusted as some of the Goblins began to offer Pisces bits of food as well, or coins of their own. Then she saw a dour looking face appear at Pisces’ back. Erin drifted closer just in time to hear Halrac speak to Pisces.

“Two hundred gold on the one with the scar.”

Pisces paused. He glanced at Halrac, and immediately adjusted the odds to favor Redscar. Erin slapped her forehead. The [Scout] met her eyes and shrugged.

The fight went down independent of the betting around The Wandering Inn. Spiderslicer and Redscar advanced slowly. They didn’t touch weapons or nod to each other. They just waited a beat, and then tried to stab each other to death. Or at least, that was what Erin made of it. She couldn’t watch the entire thing; every time they leaned back and avoided a close cut or worse, cut each other, she had to cover her eyes. They were indeed careful—but only to avoid killing each other. Blood soon ran in the mud and Erin heard the shouts from outside.

It was over in minutes, which was a surprise to everyone who’d expected a quick match. Both Goblins trooped into the inn, having healed their wounds. Spiderslicer followed Redscar into the inn and sat at the same table as the scarred Goblin. He seemed…calmer now. Erin eyed both Goblins but couldn’t tell who’d won at a glance.

“Well?”

She walked over to a table of adventurers. And Headscratcher and Shorthilt. Halrac was drinking and counting the coins that Pisces had sullenly paid out—the [Necromancer] had taken a loss thanks to the big bet—and the others were animatedly discussing the fight. Bevussa looked up.

“Those Goblins are good!”

“Beyond good, I’d say. They actually look like they know swordsmanship. They’re better than almost all the Silver-rank adventurers I see practicing. Some of the Gold-rank ones, too.”

Earlia grumbled into her mug. She looked disgruntled, almost uneasy. Pisces nodded, sniffing knowledgably.

“Their form is impeccable. The one called Redscar is clearly better than Spiderslicer, but both had superior posture, timing, and a modicum of grace. It was certainly a battle worth watching.”

“From Goblins.”

“Don’t underestimate them.”

Halrac admonished the other adventurers. Typhenous, who was sadly drinking from his mug, looked up at Halrac.

“You’re keen-eyed, Halrac. Share your insights with us. How would you rate them on a purely technical level against someone of say, Ylawes’ caliber?”

He glanced slyly at the [Knight], who was sitting stiffly at a table and looking at the Goblins around him. Yvlon was sitting across from her brother, clearly displeased. But the two were talking. Halrac eyed Ylawes. He grunted.

“No comment.”

“Oh come on, Halrac.”

“I don’t gossip about my peers. Especially if what I say will get back to them and ruffle feathers.”

“Hold on, you don’t mean—”

The adventurers and Goblins sat forwards at the table. Halrac folded his arms. Erin rolled her eyes. She passed by their table and circulated the room.

A dozen conversations were happening in different spots at once. Erin saw Noears sitting at another table near the magic door, clearly studying it, Hobgoblins bickering over food with smaller Goblins—and adventurers, cautiously eating and watching them. But she wasn’t interested in them. She found one Goblin sitting with a group of female Goblins—at least, they all looked female to Erin.

Poisonbite looked up suspiciously as Erin grabbed a chair and scooted over. The young woman stared up at a large Hob with a helmet still on her head. The Hob stared down at Erin. She smiled.

“Hi.”

Then Erin looked at Poisonbite. The small Goblin stared up at her.

“What?”

“I’m told you know Rags.”

All the female Goblins stared hard at Erin. She raised her hands.

“Hey, I’m not trying to start anything. But I knew her. Before she became your Chieftain. I think. She used to stay at this inn. She was…a friend.”

The Goblins kept staring. Poisonbite looked at the others.

‘You knew Chieftain?”

“A little bit. But she never spoke. I don’t think she knew how. And she definitely didn’t have a big tribe. Heck, at first I don’t think she had a tribe. She was just…Rags. How did she end up leading such a huge army?”

Erin’s question provoked a minor furor among the Goblins. Poisonbite hit the table with the butt of her knife and glared.

“Not army. Tribe. Flooded Waters tribe.”

“Sorry. But can you tell me about her? What was she like? How is she doing? Is she…okay? I heard she was missing.”

“Chieftain is alive.”

Poisonbite said it instantly. She glared at Erin as if hinting otherwise was tantamount to treason. She raised her voice.

“Chieftain is smart! Cunning! She rebelled from Tremborag of the Mountain. Fought [Emperor]! Defeated pink-death [Knights]! Spoke to him. Greybeard!”

“Greybeard.”

The other Goblins nodded conspiratorially and stared at Erin. She looked around blankly.

“Rags did all that? Rags?”

“Yes. She is our Chieftain. Worthy. You should know.”

Poisonbite sneered down at Erin. The young woman nodded.

“I should. So tell me.”

The smaller Goblin hesitated. She looked uncertain. Then the Hob with the helmet spoke. She rumbled and Erin jumped.

“First Chieftain was in Flooded Waters tribe. First fight other tribes. Had crossbows. Very smart. Very deadly. Shoot in head very dead.”

The other Goblins nodded. The Hob fell silent, drank from her mug, and folded her arms. She was clearly done. Another Goblin took up the story. She had a very clear tone. Some of the Goblins were clearly very good at English, or rather, the common tongue, and others were not.

“Chieftain fought many tribes. Garen Redfang himself came to fight Chieftain. Fought. Won. Chased Chieftain and fought and fought. But then Chieftain lured into Shield Spider trap. Garen Redfang submit. Then Chieftain fight other tribes! Redfangs and Flooded Waters tribe, too strong! But Goblin Lord coming. So go north. Fight Goldstone Chieftain tribe. Get Pyrite—Goldstone Chieftain.”

“Pyrite.”

The others murmured his name. Erin looked around.

“Who was he?”

The female Goblins stared at Erin. They tried to explain. Erin tried to listen. It was a confusing story, made harder by poor grammar and an unreliable narrative structure. But Erin kept listening. The Goblins argued over the details, threw food at each other, but kept telling the story. And they kept looking at Erin, although the [Innkeeper] didn’t know why. But it was the expression on her face as they told her more of Rags, of her triumphs and failures.

She was smiling.

—-

Noears sat amid some of the [Mages] and adventurers. Or rather, he sat at a table and they sat at their tables near him and stared at him. They couldn’t help it. Ceria wished she’d joined Pisces at his table, even if it meant listening to him sniff. He had a cold. Anything would be better than this.

“So I uh, won my axe during that competition. Dead drunk, you know. Woke up with a splitting headache and the [Axe Champion] class. Never been able to get rid of it, for all I use a hammer. Damn class. I mean, the Skill’s nice, but it’s the wrong specialization. Maybe I should pick up an axe, but it’s just not my thing. So I’m screwed two ways.”

Dawil finished his story as he spoke to Falene, Ylawes, Yvlon, Ceria, and Ksmvr. The other adventurers nodded without much enthusiasm. Only Ksmvr seemed animated.

“That is a very poignant story illuminating the dangers of inebriation, friend Dawil. May I ask what Skills your class gives you? I am attempting to ascertain which class will be of most use to my team.”

“Ah, well, if it’s Skills you want to talk, you’d do worse than following Ylawes’ example. He’s always blocking things with his shield. Or his face. [Knights] are a good class. Better than most [Warrior] classes. Right, lad?”

Dawil raised his voice and slapped Ylawes on the back. The [Knight] lurched and slopped some of his drink on the table. He looked around.

“What? I’m sorry, Dawil. I was distracted.”

Ksmvr nodded knowingly.

“Yes. You were staring hard at the Goblin without ears for quite some time. So was everyone else. May I ask what the issue is? Is he horribly disfigured or is this a mark of some kind of sexual attractiveness I am not aware of?”

The entire table went silent. Noears looked around and the other Goblins at his table—including Badarrow—looked up. They stared at the adventurers and Noears raised his voice.

“Black thing asks about this?”

He tapped his ears. Ksmvr nodded politely as Ceria tried to kick him under the table.

“Ow. Yes, I am Ksmvr. I am an Antinium and a member of the Horns of Hammerad. Ow. Captain Ceria, you are kicking me. May I ask about your missing ears? My companions clearly wish to, but have not broached the subject. I wish to ask so we may continue our discussion unimpeded.”

He stared at Noears. The [Mage] grinned and shot a spark from one finger to the other. Electricity danced along one claw as he stood up. The adventurers looked as he moved over, ushering a Goblin out of his seat. Noears tilted his head to show them the missing ears.

“Ksmvr Antinium wants to know why ears are missing? Other adventurers know. You don’t?”

“I have no idea. Ow.”

Noears grinned. He looked from face to face. Ceria couldn’t meet his eyes. Noears tapped the side of his head again.

“Answer is bounty. Adventurers get paid for Goblin ears. Two copper coins for Goblin ears. Good money, right?”

He grinned at the others. Ylawes stared ahead. Dawil looked into his mug and then drank. He uttered an oath. Ceria closed her eyes, remembering. Yes. It was good money, especially if you were starting out. If you got a request to hunt Goblins—or if you met some on the road, you could earn a few silver pieces easy. A request to subjugate a tribe? You added the ears onto whatever money you made. And you never thought twice about it after the first few times. You never—

None of the other adventurers would say anything. But it was Falene who looked around and felt the need to justify things. She pursed her lips and spoke, avoiding looking at Noears.

“It may be distasteful, but the practice of placing bounties has historically been a key motivator in culling problematic populations. Rural Adventurer’s Guilds lack access to truth spells, so the practice of collecting trophies is necessary, however—”

“Dead gods, Falene!”

Dawil slammed his mug down on the table. Ceria jumped. The Dwarf looked up as Falene fell silent. Her face was slightly paler than usual. Dawil glared at her, and then at Noears.

“Yes. We know. It’s a thing adventurers do, lad. We kill Goblins and Shield Spiders and other monsters and don’t think twice about it. I didn’t until I came here. Then I started imagining every Goblin I ever killed. I’m sorry for it. But sometimes the Goblins were bastards. Other times…”

He looked away, and at a group of Redfang warriors. They were sitting, eating, looking around, in good spirits. Only, now and then, Ceria had caught one of them looking towards the Silver Swords, or Bevussa, or one of the other teams that had fought them. Just for a moment. But Erin’s peace held. Dawil shook his head.

“We fought Goblins on the road not a day ago and they’re sitting here without so much as blaming us. I don’t know what to make of that, but I’d defend myself and my team again. But the ears—I can’t excuse the ears.”

The others fell silent. Ksmvr looked from face to face and then at Noears. The Goblin [Mage] shrugged.

“Adventurers kill. Goblins kill. But next time make sure Goblin is dead. Or Goblins grows up and does this.”

He pointed a finger. A miniature bolt of lightning crackled up past Ksmvr’s antennae. Falene pursed her lips but said nothing. Ylawes looked down at Noears.

“I am sorry for your loss, sir. But enemies are enemies. I am aware that there are good examples of your species—once my team encountered a group of—of noble Goblins in a city besieged by their kind and the undead. But can you speak to the depredations others of your kind cause? What other options is there but to make war against Goblins who kill or steal?”

“Silver and steel, Ylawes!”

Yvlon glared at her brother. He returned her look, sitting stiffly in his chair. Noears cackled.

“No, good point! Good point! Fair is fair. Goblins do wrong, get killed. So. Here.”

He slapped something on the table in front of Ylawes. The [Knight] blinked.

“What is this?”

Two filthy gold coins lay on the table. Noears grinned at him.

“Anyone who wants coins cuts off your ears. Don’t have to die either. Free coin! Fair is fair.”

He cackled and lightning flickered from the tips of his claws. Falene eyed Noears as Ylawes flushed. Yvlon bit her lip and Ceria saw she was trying not to laugh. Ksmvr eyed Ylawes.

“Monetarily, would it make sense to—”

“Shut up, Ksmvr.”

Dawil chortled. The mood at the table relaxed a tiny bit, odd as that seemed. Falene indicated Noears’ claws circumspectly.

“Mister…Noears. Are you a [Aeromancer]?”

“What?”

Noears stared at the half-Elf. Falene hesitated.

“A [Lightning Mage]?”

“Oh! Yes!”

The Goblin grinned. He shot more sparks of electricity, blackening the table. A few struck Ylawes’ armor and Yvlon’s gauntlets. Both winced. Dawil, who’d sensibly gone without his armor, swore and threw a piece of bread at Noears anyways.

“Cut that out, you no-eared bastard!”

Ceria sucked in her breath, but the Goblins at Noears’ table including him laughed. It was a genuine laugh, and Noears relented. He nodded at Falene, who’d deflected a few of the sparks meant for her.

“Lightning mage! Yes! Practiced with spells. Can shoot lightning.”

Falene shook her head, looking unhappily surprised.

“Fascinating. It was speculated that a Goblin could learn magic, but one of your level is…unprecedented. However, your control of mana is wildly inefficient. And the spells are twisted.”

“Yep. Look better that way.”

Noears agreed happily. Falene sighed.

“I don’t suppose there are any Goblins with a more complete grasp of magic? General magic? Not just a single school?”

Noears looked blankly at the [Battle Mage]. He scratched at his head.

“What, like stupid magic? Lifting rocks and things?”

Ceria snorted some ale out of her nose. Falene gave her a long look as the younger half-Elf wiped her nose. Ceria ignored her. She hesitated and looked at Noears, then raised her mug.

“Hey. You do lightning magic? I’m an [Ice Mage].”

Noears brightened. He looked inquiringly at Ceria and she raised her hand. The Goblins oohed as Ceria coated her hand and arm in a layer of ice, her new spell. Noears responded by making a little ball of electricity which he shot at Ceria. She deflected it with her ice-covered hand. Falene sighed loudly.

“Elementalists.”

—-

At another table, no laughter of any kind was going on, and the tension was of a different kind. Moore sat gingerly at the table—on the ground since there were no chairs built for his weight. He was surrounded by pillows that supported his back and allowed him to lean back a bit. He was eating gingerly. The other two sitting at his table, Jelaqua and Seborn, ate very little, but they’d been drinking into their cups.

“I can’t believe those Redfangs don’t hold a grudge. We killed a lot of them.”

Jelaqua spoke quietly after a few minutes of silence. Moore looked up.

“I asked Erin about it. She said they’re not happy, but apparently it was because they were fighting under Garen. His problems aren’t the tribe’s problems. So they let it go. They’re quite stoic about some things. It is surprising.”

“I don’t know how they do it.”

Jelaqua stared into her mug. The sight of a huge Raskghar hunched over was eerie, but the other two had learned to look beyond form. Seborn grunted.

“I don’t think they are. I think they just know that there’s nothing to be gained from starting a fight right now.”

He looked at a group of Redfangs. They all turned back in their chairs. Seborn nodded to himself.

“They’ll eat. But they’re memorizing our faces.”

“Let them.”

Jelaqua stared at her mostly untouched plate. She pushed it back and looked at the other two. Only now, a few hours into the night, did she finally bring up the topic they’d danced around.

“So. What he said.”

“I don’t believe it. How could Halassia do that? She always believed in the best of us.”

“She was a Drake, Moore.”

“They cast her out of their city. They called her cursed!”

The half-Giant looked distressed as he shifted, trying to sit upright. Jelaqua put a paw on his leg.

“Keep still. Healer’s orders.”

Reluctantly, he did. Seborn stared ahead.

“It doesn’t matter if they hated her. She was a patriot. So was Ukrina in her own way. They loved their cities. And they lived through the Second Antinium War, Moore. They grew up with that devastation. What do you think they would have done if they met Ksmvr? Remember how we never stopped at Liscor when we went from north to south?”

“Yeah. We’d take a ship and do guard duty instead, never mind how boring it was.”

“Even so.”

Moore looked down at his bowl. Jelaqua sighed.

“He might have been lying.”

“Do you think he was?”

“What, Garen? No. He’s a terrible liar. He might have exaggerated, or twisted what happened, but I can imagine it.”

The Selphid fell silent. She traced on the table.

“It was Ukrina and Halassia, definitely. They’re Drakes. The Goblin King matters to them. To the others too, but you know Keilam wouldn’t say anything outright. And Thornst was new. He’d be keeping quiet. So it was them.”

“Why did they provoke him? Why not wait? He was offering the information. Why did they push him that far? Surely they did. Or was it him?”

Moore whispered. Seborn shook his head.

“I don’t know. They were right, though.”

The other two looked at him. Moore’s jaw dropped in astonishment.

“How can you say that, Seborn?”

The Drowned Man looked up.

“What? It’s a Goblin King. If I was with them, I would agree. One cannot reappear again.”

“Of course, but that’s not—”

Seborn gritted his teeth.

“Garen was in the wrong. He attacked them.”

“But if they were threatening to hurt him—”

“He. Attacked. Them. I remember what I saw. It was murder.”

“Seborn. Enough.”

Jelaqua interrupted him. The Drowned Man sat back, simmering. He sipped from the hard spirits in his mug, then drank down the water in another tankard. Drowned People had to watch out for dehydration on land, and that went double when drinking. Jelaqua waited until both he and Moore had relaxed a bit to go on.

“They should have waited for the rest of us. Regardless of anything else, they should have waited.”

No one had anything to say to that. Moore looked down and put his bowl on the table, no longer hungry. Seborn kept drinking. Jelaqua thought. At last, her lips twitched. The two looked at her, but it wasn’t a happy smile. It was bitter. Jelaqua looked up at the two of them.

“It doesn’t matter what we would have done. But think of it this way, Seborn. Even if we all agreed that the Goblin King’s treasure was too dangerous to give to the Goblins—what is it? Is it just a magic weapon or is it something else? We’d have to find out, and bring Garen with us, probably. Especially if the treasure is something only a Goblin could find.”

“True. So what?”

Jelaqua shook her head.

“We’d have gone to get it and decided afterwards what to do. It would have probably taken multiple Gold-rank teams and maybe even Named Adventurers. The High Passes. Dead gods. But we would have gone looking for it. That’s what Ukrina and Halassia didn’t understand. Either way…”

Moore went pale. Seborn stared at Jelaqua for a long moment. Then he cursed and looked around.

“I need another drink. Drassi!”

He waved a hand. The Drake saw it and nodded. Seborn waited, but instead of his drink, someone else wandered over. All three Halfseekers froze as a Goblin with a scar on his face walked over. He sat at their table without asking and looked at them.

“Redscar. Second to Garen. Second strongest in Redfang tribe.”

It was an introduction, however curt. Redscar eyed the Halfseekers, and Jelaqua knew that he knew how many Goblins from his tribe they’d killed. She eyed the enchanted sword at his side and remembered the flails in her room. Seborn shifted and she knew he was checking the positions of his daggers. Moore reached out.

“Seborn.”

“Not here to fight.”

Redscar looked at Seborn as he said that. The [Rogue] stopped.

“What do you want?”

The Goblin waited as Drassi came by with another mug and took Seborn’s old one. He looked at the two of them.

“Garen. He talked about old team to me.”

The Halfseekers looked up sharply. Moore tried to sit up again.

“He did?”

“Sometimes. When drank. Very few times.”

“What did he say?”

Jelaqua looked at Redscar. The Goblin shrugged.

“Sometimes said about how strong. Or one of them. Cunning [Rogue]. Strong [Green Mage]. Brave Captain. Drake made of ash who was beautiful. Sometimes curse and throw things. Sometimes old stories.”

He gestured, indicating the others. The Halfseekers were silent. Redscar looked at them.

“Heard from Spiderslicer what did. Traitor. Betray tribe.”

“We were a team. Not a tribe.”

Redscar shrugged as if to say ‘same thing’. He looked at Jelaqua, then Seborn, and then Moore. He hesitated, then came out with it.

“Was he good? Good teammate? Good…adventurer? Before?”

The three looked at him. Jelaqua saw a bit of anxiety in Redscar’s eyes. And it wasn’t about the Goblins they’d killed. It was about something simpler. His question. He was asking—was Garen a good teammate? Had he told the truth? Was anything true?

It would be so easy to crush those fragile hopes. To tell the truth, but in such a way that Garen became a monster completely in the eyes of his tribe. And part of Jelaqua wanted to. She saw Moore hesitate and close his mouth. Seborn was stirring. She met his eyes and said not a word. The Drowned Man opened his mouth. He hesitated, looked at Redscar, and shook his head.

“Was he a good adventurer? He was a terrible one. He betrayed his team. He could barely read. He got us into more trouble than any of our other teammates just by walking around the city.”

Redscar sagged a bit in his chair. Seborn went on, bitterly.

“Adventurers started fights with him, he got arrested, started panics—if he’d started any of it himself we’d have kicked him out from the start. But he never did. And he was strong. Aside from Jelaqua, he was the best in the group. When he found that enchanted blade, he became our front line.”

Jelaqua looked up. She saw Moore’s head raise. Seborn made a disgusted sound.

“Bastard. I nearly lost an arm twice thanks to him and I had a rope around my neck one time. We were nearly lynched.”

He looked at his teammates. Jelaqua slowly smiled. The Selphid looked at Moore, and then at Redscar, who’d glanced back up. She tried to remember, and surprisingly, the memory came into her head without hurting as hard. It still hurt like a needle to the chest, but Jelaqua spoke anyways.

“That’s true. Garen had a knack for trouble. But he was hardly as bad as Ukrina, was he? The number of times she got in trouble for her tail tickling the wrong young woman—remember the time we nearly got killed by that angry [Lord]? Lord Tourants or whatever he was called? Garen wasn’t with us—mainly because we were afraid he would get executed if he wandered around in plain sight.”

Moore nodded.

“There was a bounty on Goblins, and we couldn’t convince anyone even though Garen was Silver-rank at the time. So he was hiding in the forest with Halassia waiting for us to come back. When he learned we were being held prisoner he attacked the prison with her. People were screaming about a Goblin army when it was him and a few illusion spells.”

The other two snorted. They’d nearly forgotten that detail. Redscar scooted closer, listening as Jelaqua fished for another memory.

“Remember the time he got tricked and paid that [Wagon Driver] in gold instead of silver? He got so mad when he found out he tore up half the city.”

“Or the time when he tried to beat a Minotaur in a fist fight?”

The Halfseekers laughed. They began telling stories. It hurt each time they brought up Garen’s name, much less Halassia, Ukrina, Thornst, or Keilam’s. And it hurt worst of all to remember a happy moment when everything was going well. It hurt because it was a good memory, poisoned by what had happened. It felt to Jelaqua like all their memories had been infected with it.

A slow, bitter poison. It hurt, coming out. But as Jelaqua spoke, the poison did drip away, leaving the wounds clearer at last. Not entirely, but some. Jelaqua paused in the middle of a tale about Garen, a flying boot, and a battle with a Creler nest, and stopped.

“He was our friend. Our comrade in arms. I wish I could have stopped him. He was our friend, but there’s no forgiveness. Some things you forgive. But other things you can’t.”

The other two nodded. Redscar nodded as well. He looked at his arm, where a bit of red paint was beginning to flake away. He picked at it.

“Bad friend. Bad teammate. Bad Chieftain. But good one, sometimes.”

And that was it. The Halfseekers nodded and began telling stories without a second beat. So did Redscar, and some of the other Redfang warriors. Garen had betrayed their trust. He couldn’t be forgiven and that couldn’t be forgotten, no matter how much time passed. Neither the Halfseekers nor his tribe could bury the past.

But they had liked him.

—-

Goblins cycled in and out of the inn. A few, the lucky few, stayed. The Redfang five, Headscratcher and company, Redscar, Spiderslicer, Noears, and Poisonbite. But the others came and went, eating a meal, pausing to listen, to look around, or to point out Erin to each other, to listen to her shout obscenities as she lost a game of chess on her magic chessboard or try to teach someone how to play. They came and went, offering other Goblins a chance to see.

The myth was true. The legend was real. And the inn was safe. For a little bit. The Goblins were relaxed, more at ease than they had been in a long time. But they were still watchful. It was ingrained in the psyche. So they noticed the dark shapes marching out of the darkness and over the hills.

Of course, they’d come under the hills first. Goblins shouted in alarm and backed up. Many didn’t recognize the strangers, but they didn’t need to know the Antinium to be wary. They raced towards the inn as Pawn and a group of Painted Soldiers walked out of the darkness. The [Acolyte] swung a censer and the Painted Soldiers walked ahead of him. But something was strange.

“They are Antinium. Not a threat. They are guests of the inn.”

Numbtongue insisted as Redscar stared down at the Antinium. The Goblin looked extremely doubtful, but he whistled and the Redscar warriors backed up and quieted their growling Carn Wolves. The Goblins drew back, and Erin, who’d come to see, peered down at the Antinium.

“They didn’t come through Liscor. I wonder why?”

“They probably don’t want to walk through the barricades. But there’s still water down there. Aren’t they nervous? They could slip and fall.”

Ceria appeared at Erin’s side. The young woman peered down.

“No, they’ve got a light and Pawn’s taking a good path. But—is that a lantern he’s swinging?”

The half-Elf’s eyes narrowed.

“No. That’s not a lantern. That’s a…what is that? It’s that burning thing you had him make.”

“His censer. It’s glowing.”

Erin breathed softly. The censer was indeed glowing. It was a soft yellow light, and it had seemed exactly like a lantern at first. But the light was too pure and it never wavered. The Antinium shook it and it lit up the area in front of him as he and the Painted Solders—eleven or so—walked towards the inn, past the staring Goblins.

“An enchantment? It has to be an artifact. Did they get it spelled somehow? But who would—no. Wait.”

Ceria’s voice faltered. She stared down at Pawn. Erin heard her gulp.

“Ceria? What is it?”

“There’s no magic. I can’t see it coming from the lantern.”

“What?”

Erin looked down. The censer was glowing, just like a light spell. Only, it wasn’t like a light spell, was it? The censer was glowing, not an orb of light. And Antinium couldn’t cast magic. At least, Pawn couldn’t. Ceria looked pale.

“How is he doing that? How—”

“I think it’s faith.”

“What?”

The Goblins looked at Erin. She nodded and stared at Pawn. She could hear it now. A faint click. The Painted Soldiers were marching rhythmically. And every ninth step, their mandibles would click together.

Click.

It was a hypnotic, gentle procession up the hill. And the light reminded her of…well, it reminded her of something. Erin stood with her noisy inn behind her and watched Pawn approaching. She whispered.

“Faith made manifest.”

“Then it is not faith, is it?”

Ceria looked suspiciously at Erin. The young woman turned.

“No. I suppose it’s not. In that case, I guess you’d call it…religion.”

The half-Elf opened her mouth to tell Erin the gods were dead. But then she looked down and realized there were no gods there. Just the Antinium. And the censer, humble though it was, small though it was, glowed. Any Tier 0 spell could do the same, and make light just as bright or brighter. But it wasn’t magic. And that made Ceria wonder.

—-

“Attention everyone! These are Antinium! They’re guests! No one scream or stab them! Thank you!”

Erin clapped her hands together. The Goblins looked up, stared at the Antinium, and kept stuffing their faces.

“Thank you, Erin.”

Pawn leaned his censer on a stick against a table as the Soldiers sat in the provided chairs. Erin saw Lyonette coming over with some hot, gluten-free food and smiled.

“It’s great to see you, Pawn.”

“And you, Erin. And you too, Lyonette. I wished to come tonight when I heard what was occurring. Will you please help me feed my Soldiers? I wish to speak with the Goblins.”

The Worker nodded to the Soldiers who were staring at the borscht and then looked around. He spotted the Goblin he was looking for quickly and walked over.

“Numbtongue. I have returned with Purple Smile. Yellow Splatters was forced to remain in the Hive, as it is tactically unsound to bring both [Sergeants] in case we were attacked and killed. Shall we resume our chat?”

Numbtongue grinned. He looked at the curious Soldier who was waving with three of his four hands while one of them grasped a special mug designed for him. Purple Smile raised his mandibles and Numbtongue waved over some of the curious Goblins. The Antinium and Goblins mixed, cautiously at first, and then with ease as they found that they could actually understand each other through sign language as much as words. Erin blinked, mystified.

“I thought they only met once. Since when did they become friends?”

Bevussa shrugged as she passed by Erin.

“A lot goes by that we don’t know about. Do you have any more beer, Erin? We’re all out.”

“Aw!”

The Goblins and Antinium sat together. Numbtongue pointed at Pawn’s censer. The Antinium admired the Redfang’s war paint. They were quite similar, for all they were different. And then Erin turned from a conversation and shouted the words that made the entire inn look up.

“Hey you lot! Lyonette tells me you can dance! Is that true?”

—-

“Fascinating.”

Pisces stood by the door with a drink in hand. Wine, unfortified and delicate. Taken from Rabbiteater’s cloak of all places. He supposed the location didn’t matter since the quality of the wine was a fine vintage, but he couldn’t help but feel that it cheapened the entire experience a bit. Well, free wine was free wine. He drank and looked at Ceria, Falene and Typhenous, who’d both gathered around Noears. The Goblin was flicking balls of lightning up which exploded harmlessly. But that wasn’t what had prompted Pisces’ rare outburst of admiration.

It was the floating orbs of multicolored lights that Noears had conjured with a single [Light] spell. Pisces admired the colors—the Goblin had an eye for pleasing aesthetics—and then looked at the other [Mages].

“You can see the spell was clearly boosted by the ambient mana. In fact, all of our magics tonight are. If you see—”

He flicked his fingers and his wine glass turned upside down. But the wine within remained perfectly still, controlled by the telekinesis. Pisces lifted it to his lips and drank, letting gravity take over.

“You see? That would be far more difficult normally, especially as I am not well-versed in telekinetic magic. But the ambient mana in Erin’s inn is charged.”

“It hasn’t been until now. Why is that?”

Ceria frowned at the glowing light spell. Typhenous cleared his throat.

“I do recall Miss Lyonette mentioning a similar phenomenon. But why would it only occur now after so long? Unless…”

All the [Mages] looked to the magic door. Pisces stroked his chin.

“When was the last time the door wasn’t teleporting someone to Celum every night? Or Pallass? How much mana does it take to send someone a hundred miles in a second?”

“We have been using the door today—”

“Only to go back and forth between Liscor. And the teams taking the door south. But Nailren’s team is only, what, twenty miles south of here? Thirty at most.”

“So the door isn’t consuming as much mana! Of course! Imagine the drain—how much magic is Erin’s inn producing normally, do you think?”

“Enough to make that spell possible.”

Ceria eyed Falene and Moore. The two were sitting together and the half-Elf had conjured a floating procession of plates to move past Moore’s head while he sat back. Thus he could eat without having to sit up and she could keep talking without having to look up at him.

Pisces waved that away.

“That is a spell fueled by Miss Skystrall’s magic. A product of ability. But that [Light] spell was overcharged. I wonder, how much power could you draw without the door present?”

“Wanna try? Blow up rocks?”

Noears grinned and shot a few tiny lightning bolts from his fingers. Pisces sniffed.

“Tempting, but I think that would be considered an act of aggression from Liscor at the moment. But I do wonder if we could—”

He was discussing spells with the others when he heard a sound break through the general hubbub. Goblins turned their heads as a Hobgoblin with a guitar struck a chord. Numbtongue played a riff, and then modulated the tone. Instead of the crackling electric chords, he played something much softer.

Another sound joined him. A Cave Goblin on a pair of improvised drums. A pair of Goblins blew into flutes they’d carved out of wood. A third had a kind of violin. Pisces’ jaw dropped.

Cave Goblins took their places as a young woman waved a stick, mimicking a conductor without in fact lending anything to the performance. Numbtongue ignored her as he plucked at his guitar. The Cave Goblins played. Their instruments were crude. But the sounds they made were pure. After all, they’d listened to Numbtongue and he knew what the other musical instruments should look and sound like, at least in theory.

The sound they made as a whole was discordant at first. The Cave Goblins hadn’t played in symphony and this song was new. But they were Goblins. Cooperation was in their blood, and in time, they had a song going that was…close.

It sounded vaguely like something Pisces would hear in a ballroom in Terandria, albeit with a faster tune, more bass and drums, and a good deal more mistakes. But the resemblance was uncanny. He stared at the Goblins. And then he got the shock of his life.

The Painted Soldiers had turned at the sound of the music. They had stood up as one. Now they stepped into the middle of the common room, which had been cleared of tables and chairs. Pisces watched them a tad bit apprehensively. He wasn’t sure what they’d do. What he was not prepared for was to see two of the Soldiers lock hands and begin to dance.

Not just dance. They began to step in pairs, in a classic ballroom waltz. Across the room, Halrac nearly choked on his drink as the Antinium slowly walked down the long [Grand Theatre], towards the dais at the back of the room. They turned stepped, turned—their steps were perfectly in synch. Memorized, coordinated. As only the Antinium could do.

The Antinium—and a [Princess]. Lyonette spun past the Soldiers, Pawn holding her hand gingerly. Pisces rubbed at his eyes and stared down into his mug as Typhenous went to sit down and landed on the floor. Everyone watched as the song played on and the Antinium danced. For a minute, two, the Antinium moved to the sound of the playing Goblins. And then the music changed.

“Okay, Numbtongue! Hit it! Better When I’m Dancing! This is my song!”

Erin jumped into the middle of the dance floor. The music changed, picking up in tempo. It took a distinctly un-ballroom-like melody. Pisces saw Erin stop, and then began shuffling her feet. She winked.

“I learned this one from Charlie Brown.”

She began to dance, in a way that had nothing to do with memorized steps or patterns. It was individual, cheerful, and completely embarrassing. Pisces saw Revi snort, and the Goblins exchanged glances, unsure if this was comedy or something serious. Erin just laughed. She beckoned.

“Come on!”

There was a moment of hesitation, then a Goblin pushed her way through the crowd. Pebblesnatch looked around importantly, then handed her prized chef’s hat off to another Goblin. She began to copy Erin. The young woman laughed. The two began to dance, and then another Goblin came forwards. He struck a pose and that was it.

The dance floor began to fill. The Antinium Soldiers watched, then began to copy Erin. Pisces watched, dribbling wine onto the floor. Ceria laughed and laughed and then grabbed Pisces’ hand.

“Come on! You’ve seen Erin dance, Pisces! And they’re playing all of the songs on Ryoka’s music thing! How did Erin teach Numbtongue that?”

“No, absolutely not—”

Pisces raised his hands. But then Ksmvr was there.

“Comrade Pisces, will you dance with me?”

Ksmvr didn’t seem to understand the traditional gender pairing that went along with such things. Pisces was trying to explain it to him as Typhenous tried to muffle his laughter with his beard. That was when Erin grabbed his hand and towed the old man into the dance.

Bright music. The Goblins standing outside the inn waiting for their turn stared through the windows. They looked at each other, and then shouted for the others to see. And the dancing spread. After all, Goblins were thieves. And stealing music and footwork was considerably more easy than food. All they had to do was watch.

—-

A pair of blonde figures sat at a table as Erin led the Goblins through the evolution of dancing throughout the ages. She had to describe some of it, not being capable of advanced moves like breakdancing, moonwalking, or anything past the electric slide, really. But it was a sight to see Antinium Soldiers doing that.

Yvlon had to wrench her eyes away from the mesmerizing sight. She looked at her brother and blew a bit of hair out of her face. Somehow, Ylawes was capable of ignoring even the most wondrous of sights. He frowned at her as he drank from a small cup, his face slightly flushed from the alcohol.

“It’s dangerous, Yvlon. All the adventuring teams are going south. They intend to go through Drake lands, but we’re Human. If it does come to war, we’d be in danger. I had another idea, though. If we go north, we’d run right into the Goblin Lord’s army.”

“That’s your idea?”

Her sarcastic tone made her brother grimace.

“Just wait, Yv. Yes, the Goblin Lord would be marching towards us, but Lord Veltras is pursuing his army. I doubt he’d let us come to harm. And our father is marching with him.”

Yvlon folded her arms.

“So you want to run to Tyrion Veltras. Just in time to participate in the attack on Liscor?”

“He wouldn’t demand that—”

“No? You’re a Gold-rank team, Ylawes. He’ll conscript you.”

The [Knight] paused.

“Perhaps we could talk him into negotiating instead. Or at the very least, ensure that the battle is merciful to the defeated if—”

“Dead gods, Ylawes! He’s going to sack Liscor with the Goblins! You think he’ll be merciful when—”

Ylawes signaled frantically as the aforementioned Goblins looked around. Yvlon lowered her voice.

“You think this is right? No! He’s going to start a war and we’re on the wrong side. Father was an idiot for supporting him.”

“Don’t talk about our father that way.”

Yvlon’s older brother frowned angrily. Yvlon clenched one fist.

“Shouldn’t I? He’ll be part of the bloodshed, Ylawes.”

That made him hesitate. Ylawes took another drink from his cup.

“He is part of the army. He must cooperate or be seen as dishonorable. You can see the integrity in his decision—”

Yvlon tossed the contents of her mug at Ylawes. He dodged it and an unhappy Goblin shook a fist at both of them. Yvlon snapped.

“You’re unbelievable. Integrity? Father threw out centuries of our family’s friendship with the Reinharts. You want to talk about honor, Ylawes?”

He held still, face red, but looking serious.

“No one is perfect, Yvlon. We try. I have seen a lot which has changed my mind, but the facts cannot themselves change. Liscor will be under siege and I think you and I both know it will fall. Please think on what I’ve said. If not for yourself, then for your team.”

“Ksmvr’s Antinium.”

“But he is your team. And if you convinced Erin to go with you—”

“What about Selys? Mrsha? The others? Will you take them all as prisoners, Ylawes?”

The [Knight] shook his head.

“I could order you to go. I am your brother and I outrank you.”

Yvlon raised her middle finger. Ylawes sat up straight with shock.

“Shove this up your ass, Ylawes. I’m not a [Knight] and adventurers don’t follow military command. That’s Drakes you’re thinking of. And I’m not your little sister. I’m a member of the Horns and I refuse to—”

“Alright Gangnam style! Follow me, everyone!”

Yvlon and Ylawes both looked left. They stared as Erin pranced across the room, doing a dance the armored woman could only describe as a horse prancing crossed with a wagon driver flapping his reins. Yvlon stared as Erin crossed the inn, singing a nonsensical song and dancing that ridiculous dance. Ylawes watched with open mouth as Erin showed the other Goblins how to do it.

The entire inn came to a standstill as they watched Erin lead the Goblins, Drassi (and a few of the Antinium) across the floor doing the iconic dance. Dawil laughed so hard that he fell out of his chair and couldn’t stand up for a good three minutes.

“What in the name of silver was…”

Ylawes shook his head, coming out of his trance. He looked at his sister and saw her getting up.

“Yvlon! Where are you going? We haven’t finished this discussion.”

“I’m going to try that dance.”

“That?”

Ylawes looked aghast. Yvlon smiled.

“Why not? And the answer is no, Ylawes.”

“This isn’t over.”

The [Knight] vowed as he got up. Yvlon stared at him. Then she turned her head.

“You can’t force me to change my mind, Ylawes. I’m with my team.”

She walked off. Ylawes saw her tap Ceria on the shoulder and try to drag the half-Elf onto the dance floor. Embarrassment hated company, but it couldn’t do without. He sat back down.

“I can’t force you to change your mind, but I promised I’d keep you safe.”

The [Knight] muttered to himself. He watched Yvlon and then shook his head. They called this dancing? It was…well, he might have given it a shot. If there weren’t so many witnesses. Or if Dawil wasn’t watching. The Dwarf still hadn’t stopped laughing.

—-

As all things happened, it ended. Goblins fell asleep. In piles. Outside. Adventurers went to their beds. Erin stumbled about, trying not to step on bodies. And the adventurers looked at each other, deep into their cups. Not a little bit drunk, but still high on the remnants of the party.

A party. When all that had happened and was going to happen was in the air, they’d had a party. Ceria rubbed at her head. It was an Erin thing. But somehow, it was fitting. There had been a truce. She went from table to table, trying to find where her teammates had passed out. She found Ksmvr lying under a chair, moaning about water as some dripped from a cup onto his head. She decided he was fine. Then she looked for Yvlon. She found Pisces instead.

The [Necromancer] was sitting at a table, wine cup in hand. He was murmuring to himself. Ceria went to take the cup away. Pisces let her. She lifted him up.

“Come on, Pisces. To your bed. I can’t carry Ksmvr without Yvlon, but you’re light enough.”

“I resent that…Springwalker. I was deep—immersed in my thoughts. Creating art, if you must know. A reflection of this moment. In celebration.”

Pisces’ breath was full of wine. Ceria, none too steady herself, dragged him to the steps, avoiding a sleeping Hob.

“Oh yeah? Tell me another one.”

“If you insist. It is an opus of sorts, however unpolished. Ahem.”

Pisces cleared his throat. Ceria turned to tell him she didn’t want to hear, but it was too late. He began speaking softly. And perhaps it was her inebriation, but the poem was quiet and pleasing to the ear in the silence punctuated by soft footsteps and snores.

“What madness, what fright!

A terrible, glorious sight!

When traitor fled and Goblins rode

And came to rest, here on nowhere’s road

A strange thing happened; an inn they stayed

Where Antinium danced and Goblins played

Oh, how I wish I’d stayed

But too quick the night stole by

And I,

Had to bid the day goodbye

On this, a springtime

Miraculous night.”

He broke off, swaying, and Ceria stopped. She looked at him.

“That wasn’t half bad.”

“You think so? Ah, but I knew so.”

Pisces grinned blearily at her. Ceria rolled her eyes.

“Yes, yes. Don’t let it go to your head. Who did you steal that from?”

“As a matter of fact…”

The two went up the stairs, arguing quietly. The last of the Goblins fell asleep now that the noisy Humans were gone. They slept where they’d fallen, full to bursting, filled with alcohol, and, strangest of all, feeling safe.

Safe. What a word. They were camped beneath a Drake city with the Goblin Lord and Humans hot on their heels. But…tonight had been a reprieve. A special moment. For a little bit, for one night in their lives, Goblins had been people and people weren’t any better than Goblins.

It was indeed a miracle. Or perhaps a changing of opinions.

A much quieter Human listened to Ceria and Pisces go upstairs. Erin Solstice looked around at the slumbering Goblins. It would be a problem tomorrow. It might be a problem in two hours, when the sun rose. She didn’t know what to do. Still. It wasn’t as if dancing or drinking could solve the real crisis ahead of her. And yet, she couldn’t regret tonight. It was needed.

One good night. Erin walked into her kitchen. She lay down and sighed. She dreaded tomorrow and hoped it would never come. But she knew it would. But at least tonight, she savored forever and let the night stretch on into one eternal, immortal moment.

[Magical Innkeeper Level 37!]

Interlude – Pebblesnatch and Garry

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

“You double promise?”

“I…will promise twice if that matters. Which it does not.”

“Erin told me double promises are better than single promises. Like crossing one’s heart or making a promise with a pinkie.”

“I see. We do not have…pinkies. Our hands are not pink. Nor do our hearts cross, generally. But I promise.”

“Oh. Good.”

Bird relaxed. Garry stared down at him and cleared his throat, which sounded like a bunch of rapid clicks. He looked down at the immobile Worker. Bird was missing limbs. Missing part of his body, really. He lay propped up by a few pillows. His partially demolished left side was covered in a green substance that the Antinium used to heal wounds. Garry stared at the pillows.

“Where did you get those? And what are they?”

“These? This is my fortress of fluff. Erin gave it to me when I got my room in her inn. When she heard I would be staying here, she sent them to me.”

There were a hundred things Garry could ask. He opened his mandibles, and hesitated. He glanced sideways up at the Queen of the Free Antinium. She was staring at him, too. Garry hesitated, but he had to know.

“…What do the pillows do?”

“They are for lying on. And they are very soft. See?”

Bird fluffed a pillow. Garry stared at it. Words could not express his desire to touch the partially gel-covered, fluffy pillow. But then the Free Queen spoke.

“Garry.”

He stiffened, nervous and afraid. The Free Queen had been far kinder to him of late. She had even learned his name. But she still terrified him. He wondered why Bird was not afraid of her, then realized the question was an answer. Bird was Bird. Garry looked up.

“Yes, my Queen?”

“Do not delay. I have granted you this ‘time off’ for you to go to the inn with the other Antinium. The Worker…Pawn, I believe. But you are to bring me back the choicest morsels. Speak with Bird later.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

Chastened, Garry lowered his head. He scuttled from the Queen’s chambers as Bird called out to him.

“Ask Erin if she will send me a bird!”

—-

Oh joyous day. Or night, rather. Garry scuttled through the Hive, following the streams of Workers and Soldiers, barely able to contain his excitement. Time off! He hadn’t had time off in…ever. Since he had been assigned to the Queen’s chambers to cook for her, he had worked and slept. Worked and slept.

It was necessary of course; he was the only [Chef] in the Hive. What other Antinium did to produce the nutritious paste the Antinium ate couldn’t be called cooking, even charitably. But it meant Garry had worked while the other Workers had visited Erin. He hadn’t. And that was distressing.

But after much daring, and more importantly, after Bird had taken up residence in the Queen’s chambers, Garry had plucked up the nerve to ask. And perhaps it was Bird talking about the food Erin made, or the way he distracted the Queen with his stories and songs, but she had granted his request.

Garry had never been happier in his life. No—wait. He had been just as happy the first time he’d eaten Erin’s cooking, and played chess with her. Now, he hoped to do the same. Garry hurried towards the barracks where Pawn had his growing unit of Painted Soldiers and now, Individual Workers. None of them were quite like Anand, Belgrade, or Pawn—certainly not like Bird—but some of the Workers resembled the ones Garry had known.

Knight, Calabrian, Milner-Barry, and all the others…they had lived with their names for less than an hour. They had died fighting Skinner and the undead. But Garry never forgot.

Garry reached the barracks and hurried inside. He was overjoyed. He could learn from Erin at last! He was a Level 17 [Cook], and had leveled exponentially fast. But of late, he’d felt like he was slowing down. After all, he had learned which recipes suited his Queen and he just mass-produced what she wanted most. He had no inspiration. And he had no one to learn from. But Erin was the best at everything. He could eat her cooking and learn. Maybe she would even teach him?

Such dreams kept Garry awake when he should be sleeping. And now they would be realized. Garry walked into the barracks and saw Yellow Splatters supervising some Soldiers reading books. He saw Klbkch, speaking with Belgrade and Anand around some kind of table with a map on it. But no Pawn. Garry hesitated, then hurried over to the Revalantor and two [Tacticians]. There he waited.

It was a fact that Garry was the most timid of the five Individual Workers. Even Belgrade was more decisive. All of the other Workers were leaders in some capacity. Well, Bird didn’t lead, but he was an outlier to any data set you made. But Garry worked alone and he preferred isolation. As such, he waited around Klbkch until the Revalantor looked up. And when he did, Garry flinched.

“What is it?”

“Revalantor Klbkch, I have come to accompany Pawn to Miss Erin’s inn.”

“You have?”

The two-armed Antinium stared blankly at Garry. The Worker nodded, looking around.

“My Queen gave me permission.”

“She did? Well, I was not informed and neither was Pawn. He has already departed.”

“What?”

Garry’s heart sank. Klbkch half-turned back to the map. It was of Liscor and both Anand and Belgrade were staring hard at it. The Revalantor spoke distractedly.

“They have left, and the Floodplains are crawling with Goblins. It is inadvisable to leave the Hive. I only permitted Pawn to leave to scout the inn and Erin’s condition. Your presence is unneeded.”

“But—but—”

Garry felt something sinking in his stomach. He stared at Klbkch. The Antinium stared at the map. At last, he sighed.

“If you wish to go, you may attempt to find Pawn before he exits the Hive. He was leaving through the hidden auxiliary tunnel located near the inn.”

“I—I will.”

Garry turned and practically ran out of the barracks. No one watched him go. Only Anand, Belgrade, and Klbkch even knew his name. Garry was alone. More alone than the others. But they didn’t matter because she knew his name. And she would be there. He had to go. Even if Pawn had already left. He had to go.

—-

An inn full of marvels. Food, the likes of which they had never seen. Peace between the Flooded Waters tribe and the Redfangs. Cave Goblins! And, most miraculous of all, adventurers that weren’t trying to kill them. Honestly, the Goblins camped around The Wandering Inn could have done without that last bit, but they’d take anything they could get.

And right now, they were living a dream they didn’t know they had. Goblins waited in a huge queue outside the inn, looking up at the bright windows, and seeing Goblins entering and leaving every minute. The Goblins who left did so reluctantly, but did so with bellies full of good food. In fact, the reason they left was purely altruistic; they did it so other Goblins could enter and sit and watch. And also so they could tell those waiting outside what they had seen and heard.

An [Innkeeper] playing chess with a Dwarf, a half-Elf, and Noears! Redscar, Spiderslicer, and some adventurers debating who would win a battle. Alcohol, being rolled out by the keg. A talkative Drake who would give you anything you asked for to eat! And what food! What taste!

It was enough to make any Goblin who heard of it salivate, although the actual taste of the food in Erin’s inn was unimaginable, no matter how the Goblins outside tried to convey it. It was literally something they had no reference for.

After all, while a Goblin might have in their possession flour and water and salt and spices and so on, rarely did they go to the effort of cooking such ingredients together. They had no kitchens, and even if they stole Human food, it was almost always on the road and thus rations or stale. And if you raided a home, or attacked a caravan? You scarfed down food that was sometimes bloody over the dead. This was different. This was…clean.

But not all the Goblins could eat the wonderful food. In fact, most would just have to imagine, or share scraps taken from the inn. The majority of the Goblins, tens of thousands of them, had to eat food. And feeding a host this large was proving to be a challenge. Not insurmountable, but a challenge nonetheless.

Both tribes and the Cave Goblins had their supplies of food. The Redfangs had rations, though they were few since they moved fast. They also had to feed their Carn Wolves, which was an issue. Horses happily ate grass, which even the Goblins didn’t like to eat usually. On the other hand, the Flooded Waters tribe had left their wagons and most of their foodstuffs in their panicked flight from Reiss’ army. As such, they had scraps. And the Cave Goblins?

They were rich. In monster parts. The Cave Goblins had an innumerable supply of the weaker sorts of monsters they’d killed in the dungeon. After all, even without their Raskghar overlords, they could still wipe out some of the monsters. Like the giant, vile caterpillars which hatched into horrible killing machines in time. There were dozens of the bloated bodies, only slightly rotten, wet and muddy from being hauled out of the dungeon. And dead Face-Eater moths, a few mangled Raskghar bodies badly decomposed, dead Goblins…

In situations like these, a dead pig would be the height of fine cuisine. The Goblins could eat, but they wouldn’t be happy. They were resigned to it, though. Right up until the doors of the inn on the hill opened and she strode forth.

Pebblesnatch. The Goblins looked up as she descended the hill. Not because she was a Hob, or particularly impressive by herself. Pebblesnatch was a scrawny, young Cave Goblin. But it was what sat on her head that drew the eye.

The hat. It was a big, white, chef’s hat. Of such things were legends born. And it was Pebblesnatch herself who shouted, who called the Cave Goblins who were part of Rabbiteater’s faction to order. She pointed at the lakes in the valleys and screamed.

“Cook!”

And then there were fish. Fish, and salt from the supplies the Cave Goblins owned. Fat in the form of oil, sizzling as the [Cooks] grilled the meat, and of course, salt, turning the roast fish into something that much better. No acid though; the acid flies weren’t in season yet. But there were other ingredients too.

Bits of bread, cheese, sauces—all of it was the product of the Cave Goblin’s experience with cooking and Erin’s donations to their tribe. The Flooded Waters tribe and the Redfangs stared and began to smell something actually pleasant fill the air. Their stomachs growled and they smiled.

“Cook! Fry! Stir! Whip! Bake!”

At first, Pebblesnatch marshaled the [Cooks] of all three tribes with unquestioned authority. After all, she had been appointed by the [Innkeeper] herself and she wore the hat. She directed the Goblins to make cooking fires on the tops of hills and the raw ingredients were sent up to them, to be prepared as each Goblin knew best. Pebblesnatch’s authority was unquestioned. That was when the problems started.

“Bad! Bad food!”

Pebblesnatch shouted at a Hobgoblin stirring a stew of caterpillar parts and onions, seasoned with some fish heads. Obviously the eyeballs had been plucked out and served separately. The Goblins stared as she harangued the poor [Stirrer] in question. True, he was a low-level cook, not even at the [Cook] class—which happened when a Goblin got to Level 10—but he was doing his best. The caterpillar soup looked halfway edible, but halfway wasn’t good enough for Pebblesnatch. She grabbed a big wooden spoon and smacked the cauldron with it.

“Bad!”

The Hob looked askance. He offered the little Goblin a spoon to taste and Pebblesnatch did so. The soup came right back at the Hob as she spat it out. Her body language told the hungry Goblins waiting for their food everything.

Ridiculous! Pebblesnatch brought down her spoon like the wrath of cuisine itself on the Hob. Since she couldn’t reach his head, she smacked him on the arm instead. She half-gestured, half shouted in Goblin a series of insults too foul for actual transcription as she pointed at the pot. Translated, it meant something like ‘you should eat it, poop it out, and then serve it because it would taste better that way!’

The Hob turned beet red. He glared at Pebblesnatch, but his height, familiarity with the broadsword, and age meant nothing. She kicked his cauldron, and hopped away, cursing. The next [Cook] she came across fared no better.

He was a Cave Goblin and unlike the Hob [Stirrer], he had obtained the [Cook] class the instant he’d gotten it, thanks to lessons from Erin Solstice himself. But his fried fish was a bit burnt owing to him having to hold the frying pan over the fire. Pebblesnatch slapped the fish away when it was offered to her.

“Not raw! Not raw!”

What kind of a Goblin wanted burnt fish? Raw was better! The [Cook] should have lightly grilled the fish, rather than wasting its potential by burning it! The dismayed Goblin tried to object that some Goblins liked uncooked food, and got a smack across his head with the spoon.

“You bad! And you bad! All you bad!”

Pebblesnatch turned in place, shouting at the other cooks. They weren’t up to her high standards and thus she was merciless in her critiques, overturning cooking stations, smacking hands, and spitting. The hungry Goblins watched. And then began to get annoyed.

The little Goblin with the hat was overstaying her welcome. Everything getting in order was fair play, but they wanted to eat! Never mind her standards for cooking, which, since they were based on the food she ate at Erin’s inn, were very unrealistic. If things had continued, perhaps Pebblesnatch might have ended her night crammed in an unused cauldron or sent fleeing by an angry mob armed with ladles. But it was not to be. Because he appeared.

“Oh no. Oh no. I am lost. And I think I am dead.”

Garry hurried through the Goblin camp, flinching as Goblins turned and exclaimed at the sight of him. He was making for the inn, but he was alone. Pawn had already left the Hive and Garry, in his desperation, had followed him. No one had told him about the Goblins. Or rather, how many there were.

The Antinium’s progress was halted as a group of wary Redfangs rode towards him. After all, there were still monsters about and Redfangs never let their guards down. They eyed him, remembering the other Antinium. Garry raised all four hands and trembled like egg-larvae jelly.

“Please don’t kill me! I am a [Cook]. I am not food! Or an enemy. I am trying to go to Miss Erin. I mean no harm. Please?”

The Goblins looked at each other. They lowered their weapons, much to Garry’s relief, but then a thought seemed to strike them. They turned and one shouted something. Garry froze. Then he saw her at the same time she saw him.

Pebblesnatch froze when she saw the Antinium Worker and heard what he was. A [Cook]! And Garry saw her hat and knew. She had to be a [Chef]! The two locked gazes. And the other Goblins all had a thought.

When two cooks enter, only one can leave. When a critic critiqued, they had better be able to back up their words. They looked at each other and then began to shout.

“Cook! Cook! Cook!”

“Oh no. What is happening?”

Garry looked around, terrified. He raised his hands as the Goblins surrounded him, but they did not tear him limb from limb. Instead, they grabbed both him and the Goblin [Chef] and towed them over. A few other Goblins appeared, a Hobgoblin, a Redfang Warrior, and two Cave Goblins. They took their places as Goblins dragged over firewood and began to start fires. And then Garry realized what was happening.

It was a cooking competition. The first Antinium-Goblin competition in the history of the world. Pebblesnatch shouted insults at the jeering Goblins as they egged her on. Garry stared at the inn. Of course. To him, it all made sense. They were competing for the right to enter Erin’s inn. How could he, a worthless low-level [Cook] ever be worth her time? He bowed his head, then stared as the Goblins tossed frying pans, knives, and other cooking utensils onto the grass. No. He had to win. He had to prove himself.

The cooking competition had a few rules which were obvious to everyone but Garry. The contestants had thirty minutes to cook, access to any utensils they needed, and help from other Goblins if they needed hands to kill or carry things. But they had to make something out of the food provided. Fish, monster parts—it couldn’t be a dish made solely of ingredients from Erin’s inn. It had to be Goblin cooking. And with that knowledge, the contestants ran into the night.

Garry looked around as all the Goblins ran off. He stared about as he sensed the eyes of the Goblin audience fall on him. He stared at them.

“Um. What am I supposed to be doing? Are we starting? Oh dear.”

Pebblesnatch ran down the hill, keeping one hand on her hat. A competition? She was determined to win. She shouted insults at Goblins in her way, looking for the best thing to cook. She passed by the dead caterpillars at once. They were rotten, stinky, and tasted awful. She knew; she’d eaten enough over her lifetime.

No, what Pebblesnatch wanted was fish. Fresh fish! The other contestants were already grabbing fish out of the lakes. One of the Cave Goblins had some Quillfish—an excellent pick for taste, but it took time to get rid of the quills and they were small. The Goblin judges, a panel of Hobs and regular Goblins from all three tribes, looked askance, clearly wondering if the prospective [Cook] had enough time to prepare a meal for all eighteen of them. Naturally, there were eighteen judges. If you couldn’t cook in large portions, what was the point?

The second Cave Goblin had paused and came up with a lucky find. Razorbeak eggs! He raised them triumphantly to a roar from the audience. One of the Flooded Water tribe Hobs nodded authoritatively. His body language conveyed that fried eggs—or an egg drop soup—would be far more pleasing to the palate than just fried fish alone. Pebblesnatch growled as the Cave Goblin scurried past her, eggs in hand. She debated tripping him, but then saw something that made her heart sink.

The Redfang Warrior and the Hob had joined forces to kill a Lurkersnatch fish with several other audience members. The huge, black, octopus-like creature died hard, but the Hob was already hacking bits of it off. That had to be good food! How would Pebblesnatch ever outdo that? She looked around. The competition was stiff. Everyone except for the stupid Antinium. He was staring at the caterpillars and poking one to make sure it was dead.

Originality! Creativity! Fresh ingredients! Pebblesnatch clutched at her head, trying to figure out what to make. Time was running out! She was just about to get her audience to grab some fish for her when she saw it. A moving shape. A huge rock, crawling across the Floodplains, sneaking up towards her from the side. A Rock Crab.

Pebblesnatch’s face lit up. She pointed and screamed. The Goblins turned. The Rock Crab hesitated. There was a lot of food on the Floodplains. Of course, it had been buffet season ever since the rains had started. All of the other Rock Crabs were mating, having gorged themselves, but this Rock Crab was a bit hungry. It scuttled closer to the many morsels of food before it had a thought. It was a lot of food out there. A lot of food that began to surround it. The Rock Crab clicked uncertainly and backed up. The food grinned as one, and their eyes gleamed red.

—-

“Oh my.”

Garry was cutting pieces of half-rotten caterpillar away when he saw the Goblins swarm the Rock Crab. To be fair, it never really had a chance. It was outnumbered, and, for once, outgunned. Unlike how the Flooded Waters tribe usually hunted Rock Crabs—getting under the shell and killing it at great cost—the Redfangs were big-game hunters and experts on tackling dangerous prey.

They roped the Rock Crab, forced it out of its shell, and sliced it to bits. And the little Goblin with the hat stood proudly over the dead Rock Crab as its blue blood dyed the ground and began to shout orders. Garry backed up as the Goblin audience dragged something up the hill.

“What are they doing? And where is the seasoning? Oh no. There aren’t any good utensils here. Um. Do I have to use this fire? I normally have an oven…”

He looked around. The Hob who was spit-roasting chunks of Lurkersnatch fish shrugged at him. Garry scrambled for pots and pans while the Rock Crab’s shell was planted in the ground. Upside down. The giant, hollow shell was huge. And as Goblins piled wood around it, the awestruck judges understood.

Pebblesnatch was going to make soup in the shell! Had such madness, such audacity ever been contemplated? The Goblins were agog as Pebblesnatch began tossing in parts of the Rock Crab. She filled the bloody mess with water and started a fire. And then the real cooking began.

“Frying pan, frying pan…”

Garry was worriedly coating the slabs of caterpillar with a marinade. He tossed it in a pot as he grabbed a loaf of stale bread for some reason. One of the watching judges opined that stale bread was good, but not at this level of cooking. The audience agreed in general; they weren’t really paying attention. All eyes were on Pebblesnatch.

The Rock Crab’s shell was huge and unlike metal, it didn’t convey heat as well. Given the rapidly winding down clock, this was an issue, and the Redfang cook smirked as he began his own soup. But Pebblesnatch just kept adding fuel, and then shouted a word. The Goblins watching gasped as bubbles began rising from the blue soup with crab parts in it.

[Quick Boiling]! Pebblesnatch had a Skill! The other [Cooks] looked up and began using their own Skills. The Cave Goblin with Quillfish was ripping out spines bare-handed, ignoring the points. He had [Glove Grip]. The Hob meanwhile was perfecting his roasted Lurkersnatch kebabs with a handy [Extra Spice] Skill, which gave him an additional spice to work with when cooking.

As one judge explained to the audience, it wasn’t so much that the Hob magically conjured up more spices from nothing, but that he always seemed to find an extra something to add to his repertoire. Where other Goblins found salt, he would find a bit of pepper in a pouch lumped at the bottom of the cooking sack. If they had all kinds of ingredients, he’d trip over a bit of nutmeg on the way to the bathroom.

And right now, the spice was adding heat. Literally. The Hob’s dish was spicy hot while the Cave Goblin with the eggs was indeed making an egg-and-fish soup. Garry was panicking.

“Um. Okay. I can do this.”

The Worker coated a sizzling piece of pan-seared caterpillar with dried bread crumbs and a bit of egg the Cave Goblin cook had given him in a moment of pity. Then, to the audience’s horror, he turned one of the hot pans upside down and pressed the bottom to the mixture! What was he doing? Garry pressed the pan flat as the judges groaned and shook their heads. And Pebblesnatch crowed atop her boiling shell of Rock Crab soup. Because she’d won, right?

The Rock Crab’s blue blood turned the mixture a dark color. The water bubbled hot, and the Rock Crab’s meat was boiling nicely. Pebblesnatch threw in a bag of salt, pepper, a lot of butter, some fish meat, the Gnollish sauce, and, as a special extra, some carrots. She proudly scooped up bowls of her soup and rushed them over to the judges’ table with the others. Hot and ready!

Garry was the last to arrive. The [Cook] timidly put his dishes in the last position. The panel of eighteen judges sniffed the air, smiling and rubbing their rumbling bellies. Then the judging began.

The first to be presented was the Goblin with the Quillfish. He’d done a classic chop-and-fry, trusting to the little fish’s taste to carry the day with salt and butter. It went down very well among the judges, although…the portions were a bit too small. The Cave Goblin’s face fell and he shuffled his feet. The Quillfish’s de-quilling process had indeed taken its toll. However, it was a strong start.

The next Goblin to present his food was the Redfang Warrior. He offered the judges bowls of his Lurkersnatch Fish soup, but before he could serve it, one of the tentacles in his bowl latched onto the face of a judge! It took a minute for the other judges to pry the severed tentacle off the face of the judge. And after that, despite the soup tasting quite good, the result was unanimous. Food that fought back wasn’t worthy of the coveted title of ‘Good Cook’. The Redfang Warrior walked back to his tribe, heartbroken.

Next, the second Cave Goblin. His fish-and-egg soup was tasty—but it was far, far too fishy and not enough eggy! One of the Hobs reduced the Cave Goblin to tears with a single claw, pointing out the miniscule bit of egg in his bowl. What good was a special ingredient if you couldn’t taste it?

Pebblesnatch rubbed her claws together, delighted. So far the field hadn’t been full of strong contestants. But her face fell as the Hob walked forwards with his kebab Lurkersnatch and other fish bits. The judges poked the bits of tentacle, but it was well and truly cooked this time. They bit into the dish and shouted.

Literally. The dish was spicy hot! The Hob beamed as the Goblins shouted and scarfed down the food, shouting for water. His entry was the best, no question about it. Although…it might have been a bit too spicy. Not every judge was a fan of burning tongues. Still, it was enough to make both he and Pebblesnatch eye each other as she pushed her heaping bowls full of Rock Crab soup forwards.

The judges looked at each other, murmuring and appreciating the unique blue color of the soup, and the floating bits of Rock Crab meat in its shell. They sipped at the soup, pried the meat out of the shells and chewed it down, and swallowed. The audience held its breath and Pebblesnatch straightened expectantly. The judges looked at their soup, looked at her—

And shook their heads. Pebblesnatch gasped along with the crowd. But the judges made their verdict clear. Pebblesnatch’s soup was…barely edible. Which, to be fair, was decent Goblin cooking. But by the standards of this competition, it was the worst entry so far! Even worse than the tentacle attack soup!

Her faults were many and varied. Firstly, the Rock Crab’s blood did not taste good in the water. Secondly, the fact that Pebblesnatch hadn’t removed the meat from the Rock Crab’s shell made the cooking uneven, as did the use of the shell itself. It hadn’t even been cleaned of dirt! Which, to be fair, was a nitpick. And lastly, her extra ingredients hadn’t exactly added any unique flair to the soup.

Pebblesnatch’s knees buckled and she sat down as the Hob raised his arms to wild cheers from the crowd. He stepped forwards, looming over the small Goblin, when everyone realized there was one last dish to be served. Garry’s. The Antinium Worker looked around, petrified as the judges dubiously regarded his dish and sampled it. And then—

He won. Obviously. It wasn’t even close. The eighteen Goblins found on their plates a pan-fried, marinated piece of caterpillar flesh, breaded in an egg-and-stale-bread mixture. The outer breaded part had been crisped in a style Erin could have called ‘panini’. Garry had intentionally used the pan to sear the dry bread crumbs, creating a crisp exterior.

Meanwhile, the caterpillar had been pan-fried and covered in a garlic-and-fish sauce that was strong, but not overpowering. The heat of the food made each bite the judges took hot and fresh, and best of all the caterpillar didn’t taste like caterpillar.

It was a triumph. And of course Garry was equal to the task. He explained to the dumbfounded judges that it was a dish he’d made before.

“I uh, make many dishes for my Queen. Out of monsters that are killed. So I knew how to make the caterpillar dish. I would have added Face-Eater Moth eggs too, but I ran out of time. Um. Can I go now?”

The Goblins licked their plates, looked at each other, and nodded as one. Garry jumped as the Goblins around him burst into cheers and began duplicating his dish while the other contestants went up to him to slap him on the back. Goblins weren’t big on handshakes. The Worker was completely confused—and then Pebblesnatch walked forwards. The other Goblins fell silent and watched as, with trembling claws, she held the big chef’s hat out to Garry. He looked at it slowly, and took the hat.

“You good.”

Pebblesnatch pointed at Garry with tears in her eyes. The Worker watched as she turned and walked away. He stared at the Goblins who were cheering him and looked at the inn.

“…What just happened?”

—-

Erin Solstice was watching Dawil competing in what was perhaps the most entertaining drinking competition she’d ever watched and scowling about her lost game of chess when she saw the Antinium duck into the inn. He was wearing a huge floofy hat, only slightly stained by blue Rock Crab blood. The sound of wild cheering precipitated his entrance. Erin got to her feet.

“Garry?”

The Worker jumped. He looked at Erin and his newfound confidence vanished in an instant. He stepped back as Erin strode over to him, beaming.

“Hello Miss Erin. I am terribly sorry if I’m bothering you, but I won the competition, so I was allowed to come here. I did not go with Pawn, but my Queen said it was alright. I can go if—”

He froze as Erin gave him a huge hug. The [Innkeeper] beamed at Garry.

“Don’t be silly, Garry! I haven’t seen you in ages! Come on in! How’s my favorite Worker doing? Pawn didn’t say you were coming! Where’d you get that hat? Pebblesnatch has one just like it, you know.”

“Well…”

Garry found himself swept into the inn. He sat at a table as Erin sat with him, calling for food. In short order he had a bowl of borscht in front of him, a mug of cider, and Erin was giving him her undivided attention. She laughed as he told her how he’d gotten here.

“Oh, Garry! You don’t have to win a competition! That was just Pebblesnatch and the other Goblins being…well, I’d have wanted to watch that! Not judge it, though. I don’t eat caterpillars. But you did a great job by the sounds of it!”

The Worker shook his head.

“I am not nearly as good as you, Miss Erin—”

“Erin. Say it with me, Garry.”

“…Erin. I actually came to see if you would teach me your recipes. If you are willing. I have so much to learn.”

Erin looked shocked.

“Of course! I always have time for you! Any time! In fact, how about now? I can show you how to make some of my dishes—I’m running out of pre-prepared food anyways. You and me, Garry! Master [Chef] and apprentice!”

She rose and beckoned Garry to the kitchen. He rose in a daze and followed her. All of his dreams were coming true! He was so happy, he didn’t even notice Pawn sitting at a table across from them. The Worker looked around as Ceria rattled some dice in a cup and Pisces bet three silver coins. Pawn looked at Purple Smile.

“Her favorite Worker?”

—-

“So, you say you’re a bad cook.”

“Yes. I am quite inferior to you. I know I may never catch up, but I hope you will share with me your recipes and much experience.”

“Right. I uh, well, the thing is, Garry—I’m an [Innkeeper]. And you’re a [Cook]. My abilities are sorta in cooking, but I do a lot of other things.”

“Yes, you play chess too. You have many Skills.”

“Uh huh. But that means I’m not as—as focused as you, Garry. I don’t have as many Skills in the same area. And maybe I’m actually not that good.”

“Surely not!”

“No—I think I just realized that now. I was never much of a cook back home. I microwaved a lot and boiled water, mostly. And uh—you just reminded me why I’m not actually that good.”

“I did?”

Garry looked incredulously at Erin. She nodded. Their entire conversation had been punctuated by a single, repetitive sound. That of pure, unadulterated skill.

Chopchopchopchopchopchopchop—Erin stared as Garry’s knife flashed across the board, dicing the onions in moments. His other two hands weren’t idle either; they were busy peeling another onion, then sprinkling the chopped onions on the sauce-covered pizza. He sprinkled the toppings around in a perfect pattern, added cheese, and inserted the pizza into the little oven in a flash. Garry looked at Erin and she blinked.

“I taught you how to make a pizza a minute ago. Verbally. And you just made one.”

“I am sure it is not as good as yours, Erin.”

“No—I am. Garry, I think you’re better than I am. Really, I do.”

The [Cook] was shocked.

“I cannot be! Otherwise, who else would I look up to?”

Erin scratched her head.

“Someone else? Garry, you’re better than you think you are! No wonder you won the competition single—I mean, four-handedly. I want to hire you! I would if your Queen wouldn’t tear my head off.”

Garry held very still.

“Really?”

“Really, really.”

Erin smiled at Garry and the Worker’s heart and mind lit up. She leaned against the counter and shook her head.

“You know, you’re so good, I should ask you for help. Tell you what. Instead of me teaching you, why don’t we cook together? We haven’t talked in…forever. And I can tell you about all the things I can’t make while we make the things I can. Okay?”

“I would like nothing more in the world.”

Garry spoke truthfully. Erin smiled. She stood up, took a spot next to Garry, and began making another pizza. He helped her, cutting, offering ingredients, and listening as Erin began to ramble. To chat.

“So, there’s this pasta soup called ramen, but it doesn’t actually taste like regular pastas. I used to have instant ramen, which is really unhealthy, but I tried the real stuff once, and let me tell you, it’s good. Still probably unhealthy, though. I was trying to make it, but I have no idea what the ingredients could be, aside from pork cutlet which is one of the toppings. Say, have you had a hamburger? It’s great, but there is this bread component that makes it hard to serve to Antinium.”

“What if we replaced the bread with another substitute? There is a sweet potato that I can make a type of bread out of.”

“Garry, I could kiss you! Hold on—don’t run away! You have to show me right now. Drassi! I need potatoes! Sweet ones! Now, where was I?”

“You were talking about other foods.”

“Right! Hey, if you can fix hamburgers, then I need to get you on Asian cooking! There’s ramen, sushi…a lot of these dishes involve rice, which isn’t sold around here. Heck, it might not even exist! But anyways, I was also trying to make pumpkin pie, but while I know pumpkins and I know pie, putting the two together isn’t something I ever saw someone do. And I’ve also been working on recreating the turducken for Relc…”

Erin chattered as Garry listened, his four hands moving constantly. He cooked and she cooked, and it was the same as usual. The same, but different. Because he wasn’t alone. The Drake called Drassi came by to shout at Erin that she had no idea where she could get sweet potatoes at this hour. A few Carn Wolves came by to beg for food, which Erin and Garry fed them. Pawn appeared to seek assurance that Erin did not, in fact, have favorites. Dawil came by and passed out in the kitchen, drunk as a skunk.  Erin assured Garry skunks could get quite inebriated.

And the night passed too fast. The Goblins ate happily in the inn and outside. The adventurers laughed and talked and the Goblins spoke as equals briefly. Embria and Relc stood and talked on the battlements of Liscor. But such stories do not revolve around cooking. And in the end, it was cooking that mattered in this moment.

Pebblesnatch stood outside the inn, by her huge shell-pot of Rock Crab soup. She was humbled. Goblins were eating Garry’s dish and the other ones presented. Hers too, but only because they were hungry and it was there. She had let her arrogance get ahead of her, become a critic before learning how to cook well herself.

She glumly sipped from her bowl of Rock Crab blood stew and then brightened. You know, it really wasn’t that bad. All it needed was a pinch more salt. And maybe some pig lard. And pig. And an egg?

—-

And then Garry went home. He arrived in the Queen’s chamber of the Hive, delirious with happiness, tired, and pulling a small cart behind him. Bird tried to sit up as he and his Queen turned.

“Garry, you promised to bring me back food. And the Queen. Was it a lie?”

He looked at Garry, betrayed since he couldn’t see the cart from where he was propped up. Garry shook his head.

“I did not lie, Bird. My Queen, as promised, here is your food. I have pizza, sweet potato hamburgers, and cake!”

“Well done, Garry.”

The Queen rumbled approvingly, her mandibles opening as she regarded the prizes Garry had brought back with her. Bird looked at the frosted cake and clicked his mandibles together happily.

“Ah. The cake is not a lie. And it is cake. And very tasty. Even though it makes my stomach hurt.”

“You must not have the cake, Bird. It is filled with gluten, which you cannot eat. So Erin has told me.”

Garry spoke sharply to Bird. The Worker looked hurt.

“But I wish to! And I want to. I will cry if I cannot have any. And if I cannot, the Queen cannot.”

“I can.”

The Free Queen bent to peer at the sugary treat. She regarded it, wondering if they came in bigger portions as she addressed Bird and Garry.

“Chemical imbalances were allowed to exist in the recreation and modification of Galuc’s form as a necessity. Such imperfections do not extend to Queens. Give me the cake.”

Garry gave her the cake. The Queen lifted it up, until she heard Bird make a small wailing sound. She hesitated, and then broke off a tiny bit of the cake.

“He may have one small piece. You will share it. Here.”

She lowered the piece. Garry caught it, and fished a fork out from the cart. The Queen needed no forks, but it was enough for Bird. He opened his mandibles and Garry fed him a piece.

“Aah. Mm. Sweet. Give me another.”

“Very well.”

Garry looked up as the Queen discovered sugar in its concentrated form for the first time. He looked around the chamber and realized he was back. He had left the inn. Erin was far away again. All too soon. But somehow, he felt better, as if he’d carried the warm food and happy moment out of the inn and into the Hive. So he sat, feeding Bird and himself morsels of cake while the Queen gobbled down her food.

And everyone was happy. Until tomorrow, that was. But for one night—

They were happy.

5.60

They ran. Through the night, following their leader. Past rocks and around forests. Splashing across a shallow ford in a lake. Pausing only to drink and rub the sides of their horses. Drink stamina potions, offer the rest to their mounts. Run alongside them. Fly.

It was as if they were one creature at times, Drake and beast. Until they separated. Their horses galloped through the night, riderless as they flew overhead. Then the two were together again.

Miles flashed past, counted in millions of blades of grass, the slowly looming mountains in the distance, far-off Drake cities. And then, at last, a huge city whose walls rose towards the sky.

Pallass. They knew they were close, then. But their horses were weary. So were they. Their journey passed along roads mostly, but they had gone through the wilderness. Fought Wyverns off. And they had been travelling nonstop for days, ever since they had set out. But still, they kept on. Stopping would be unforgivable now.

So it was that they came across the Drakes marching north from Pallass and several smaller cities. A column of infantry following the armored Drake cavalry looked up as they heard the racing hoof beats. The sentries called a warning and then shouted relief signals on top of each other. The [Sergeant] in charge of Pallass’ 7th Armored Division looked up and saw them. His eyes widened.

There were about four hundred of them. A small number compared to the legions Pallass had sent and the other Drake forces heading north. But they were the fastest. And such was their fame that the [Sergeant] instantly recognized their battle standard—that of Oteslia, a city with a huge tree in the background—and their armor. Bright green and white, armor meant to catch the sun and reflect it.

He shouted as the [Soldiers] looked up. The riders were headed straight for them. If they didn’t stop, they’d crash right into the center of the marching Drake column.

“Oteslia’s Winged Riders! Make way! Make w—”

Too late. The [Sergeant] flinched as the first rider rode straight at him. He saw the Drake riding in front shout a command. And then the horse leapt. The Drake ducked, but the horse cleared his head by a good meter. There were shouts—the other Winged Riders had leapt as well, straight over the Drakes marching past them. They avoided those holding pikes or spears and landed on the other side. Still galloping.

“Ancestors!”

The Pallassian [Sergeant] stared as the Winged Riders kept racing north, turning to follow the road ahead. He stared as his [Captain], riding a much slower horse, raced up to him.

“Sergeant! Were those—”

“Winged Riders, sir! From Oteslia!”

The [Sergeant] couldn’t keep the note of surprise out of his voice. He’d heard Oteslia had deployed its armies and the Winged Riders, but this was the first time he’d ever seen them. Honestly, Oteslia was known as the weakest of the Walled Cities when it came to pure military strength. But the Winged Riders were an iconic group. He stared at the already distant Drakes and saw their wings.

Oldblood. They were all Oldblood Drakes capable of flying. Oteslia placed almost all of its Oldblood Drakes into elite units, much like Pallass did. But they focused on their Winged Rider companies primarily, ensuring their numbers were always strong. But that was only part of what made them so elite.

“They made it here? Already? They had to have been running day and night!”

The [Captain] exclaimed. The [Sergeant] half-nodded, but he was scanning the sky rather than paying attention. The Winged Riders were a group of old, famous for their incredible mobility. But in the past, they had been known for something else. And while the breeding stock was incredibly limited, it was still tradition for at least one rider in each company to be riding…

There. His eyes picked it out. Flying overhead, a flash. The [Sergeant] pointed and Drakes looked up. They saw a brown shape. Wings beating hard. No—two pairs of wings. A Drake’s, and the creature the rider rode. A horse with wings.

A Pegasus.

“Ancestors. I thought they had all died out.”

“Not so. They live in Oteslia. The last of their breed.”

The [Captain] and [Sergeant] stood together in awe, watching the Pegasus fly northwards, following the Winged Riders. Perhaps only an Oldblood Drake could fly on such a creature’s back; certainly the [Sergeant] wouldn’t risk trying it, not without a Featherfall Potion at least.

“We’d better keep moving. Liscor’s days away.”

The [Captain] reminded the [Sergeant]. The Drake nodded and shouted at the soldiers to keep moving. One Drake reported an attack—falling crap from above. It was the subject of much humor from the weary Drakes. They too had been marching late into the night each day. They kept one eye on the sky, watching the distant horses and Pegasus. And the Winged Riders rode on.

They might arrive in time. But as the weary Drakes of Pallass picked up their pace, they knew, soldiers and officers both, that their force wouldn’t make it. The Human and Goblin Lord’s armies would get to Liscor first. If they hurried, they could be there after the siege had started. The real question was how long Liscor could hold. How long. They kept moving until at last they were allowed to camp. And sleep. But come dawn they marched again, with stamina potions in addition to their rations.

And so dawned the twelfth day.

Day 12

I wake up. My bed is simple, but warm. I shift in the sheets, feeling the high-quality cotton move around me. The bed is raised to keep off the floor of the tent I am sleeping in. And it’s made of wood—the mattress is stuffed. Exorbitant? Surely. Impractical? Only if you don’t have a bag of holding. I can feel light on my face, but not see it. I sigh, but quietly. I am not alone.

My name is Laken Godart. [Emperor] for my sins. And I think…yes, I think they are rather great sins. I sit in my tent on the dawn of the twelfth day since leaving my domain. Since Riverfarm. Since meeting the Goblin Chieftain named Rags. Since being betrayed by someone and being rescued by Tyrion Veltras.

Funny. It feels longer. By now I’m accustomed to riding on horseback, although I’m not comfortable at all with it. I’ve grown used to the company of the [Lords] and [Ladies] and [Knights] and so on that ride with Tyrion Veltras, and hearing the thunderous sound of thousands of animals moving at once. And I’ve gotten used to being blind again.

It was terrifying at first. I had to leave Riverfarm, ostensibly to oversee the engineering team that would man and build the trebuchets. Moreover, I think it was a political move from Tyrion, perhaps to hobble me. Or to put pressure on someone else. Magnolia Reinhart? His allies?

It seems to have worked in any case. I witnessed—in my limited way—the way he drove the Goblins south. How he slew Tremborag. And his plans to take Liscor. All of it without seeing a thing.

My [Emperor]’s senses are gone. I own none of the land I ride over, nor can I claim it. Thus, I can only hear and feel the horse beneath me. Smell blood, feces, the changing air.

Blood. I heard the Great Chieftain of the Mountain die. I heard something shrieking—Eater Goats. That was barely yesterday. I shudder as I sit up. It’s just past dawn. I turn my head towards the other figure in my tent.

“Gamel.”

My bodyguard, manservant, [Knight], and perhaps, friend, springs to his feet. I sense him turn towards me. I can sense the stubble on his chin, the way he grasps at a tray, even sense the sword in its sheathe at his side. The calluses on his palms—he’s been practicing with the other [Knights] when not accompanying me.

As I said, my [Emperor] senses are cut off while I ride. But in this tent that Tyrion Veltras gave me, with a few of the hand-carved totems from Jelov, I can ‘see’ in this small space. It’s one of my few comforts.

Jelov. Durene. Wiskeria. Prost. They all seem so far away right now. I clench my hands as Gamel approaches me. I rub at my face and sense him stop.

“Your majesty? Will you have breakfast?”

“Yes. Thank you, Gamel.”

I swing myself out of bed. I’m dressed; I didn’t bother to undress last night. I sit as Gamel offers the tray to me on a little table. By now I’m so used to him being here that I don’t even mind eating while he watches. Much.

“You’ve had breakfast?”

“Yes, sire. I woke up and trained, then had breakfast and came here. I apologize for my smell.”

I shake my head as I pick at my food. What’s today’s meal? Some kind of lamb, potatoes…Yellats? Spicy, crunchy—oh, and a gelatin of some sort. A treat, and again, not what you’d expect from people on the moves. Bags of holding and [Chefs] employed by the nobility see to the higher-quality meals, which I’m lucky enough to receive. Still, I’ve heard some of the nobility complaining about the rough fare. I chew, swallow, and speak quietly.

“Don’t worry about the smell, Gamel. It’s hardly worse than the horses. But don’t push yourself. Did you get that cut on your leg in sparring?”

He jumps. It still surprises the other villages of Riverfarm that I can tell what’s happened to them. Again, only in this tent. He pauses.

“It’s just a scratch, sire. One of the [Knights] struck and I missed the timing to block.”

I frown.

“Was it intentional? The other [Knight], I mean.”

Gamel’s hesitation this time makes me worry. He is a [Knight]. I made him one myself. But—he isn’t of noble birth. In fact, he was a [Farmer] until a few weeks ago. He was no [Warrior] and up until now he barely had any training with a sword. By contrast, the [Knights] who rode to Lord Tyrion’s call are the best of the best. Some of them resent Gamel’s class.

“I am well treated by most, your majesty. Some of the Clairei Fields Order have been teaching me personally.”

It’s not an answer, but I don’t push. I sigh and cut up the lamb.

“I see. Well then, inform me if there are any problems.”

“Yes, sire.”

I eat in silence, leaving the jello or whatever it is on the side. I’m in no mood for it and my stomach hurts if it’s too full when I ride. Besides…I push my tray back.

“Have the jello if you want, Gamel. Or share it with Tessia. How is she? And the others?”

“Good, sire.”

Gamel takes the tray and steps back. He places it to the side and comes back with a fresh set of clothes before I can ask. He’s really become adept at managing my needs. I listen as he speaks with his back to me. Neither he nor I are at the level where he’ll be dressing me, thanks.

“Tessia and the others are—well, Lord Veltras has them hard at work each night. Working with them—I mean, the [Mages], sire. Constructing additional trebuchets, calibrating the old ones—teaching the [Soldiers] how to man them.”

“Do you think they’re trying to figure out how they’re made?”

Gamel shrugs uneasily. That was a worry of mine.

“I think not, your majesty. Some of the nobles have looked, and a number of other folk, but they don’t quite understand the way the trebuchets work. They see the arms, but when Tessia speaks of physics and balance and ratios, even the [Mages] go cross-eyed.”

He says that a bit smugly. I just nod. Lazy. Even the best of the people Tyrion brings over lack more than a rudimentary understanding of math. Some of them might be able to build a trebuchet, but why apply yourself if it’s not your class? It’s that kind of thinking that…

I trail off. It doesn’t matter.

“So the trebuchets will be ready? We’re closing in on Liscor by all accounts.”

“Yes, Emperor. We’re very close. I don’t have a map, but one of the local [Soldiers] told me that we’re close to Esthelm. And it’s only a stone’s throw away from Liscor. We may reach the city tomorrow.”

“As soon as that?”

“We’ve been moving faster to catch the Goblins that left the Goblin Lord’s army.”

“Ah yes. Them.”

I sit quietly. Yesterday—or was it the day before? The Goblin Lord turned on his own. From my position I could only hear the [Scouts] giving Tyrion reports. And hear the fighting at a distance, of course. Tyrion let the Goblins tear each other apart until one side began to flee. I think…the Goblin Lord killed the Chieftain opposing him. And I think, based on what was said, that it was the little Goblin he killed.

Rags. Her tribe fled. Tyrion would have forced them back or slaughtered them, but our army was attacked by Eater Goats by the tens of thousands. They came down from the mountains. Naturally I witnessed none of this as well. It’s terrifying, hearing the shrieks those goats made, being ordered to move and hearing the sounds of fighting and not knowing what is going on.

Being helpless, in short. I’m out of my depth here. And the Goblins…

“The Goblin Lord will be attacking Liscor, then. And brave Tyrion Veltras will swoop in to save the day. Oh, hurray.”

Gamel catches the sarcasm in my tone. He hesitates.

“Isn’t that good, sire? I mean, it will be war with the Drakes, but the Goblin Lord will be dead at least.”

How casually he says that! War with another species. Intercontinental strife! I’ve talked to enough people to know how big this is. If Liscor, this gateway between north and south falls, it will be war, regardless of the Goblin excuse. Not to mention…I shake my head.

“War isn’t a good idea, Gamel. It seldom is, if ever. As for the Goblins, I very much fear that we are doing a terrible thing.”

The worst. I feel my shoulders ache. I have had time now. Time and perspective to think on what happened. And now that I have, I can sense the weight of my sin. Gamel doesn’t understand.

“They are monsters, Emperor.”

“Yes. And we treated them as such. We—I—ordered Wiskeria to attack them. To use poison gas. Tyrion marched them hundreds of miles. And soon, they will be killed to the last to start a war. There are historical precedents for this, Gamel. And it makes me think that we’re on the wrong side of history.”

I have done a terrible thing, I think. And I am about to be part of something just as bad. Or worse. But how can I get out of it? No way has presented itself. Tyrion is in charge here and I lack authority and power. Oh, I feel foolish.

Durene.

Gamel clears his throat. He hates it when I talk like this. The one argument we’ve ever had was when I said this was a mistake for the first time. Now, he dances around the subject.

“On the wrong side of history…isn’t that something for people with quills to decide, later, your majesty? [Scribes] and [Historians] and such? Why would their opinion matter?”

I shake my head. There’s so much I have to teach Gamel. Gamel and all the others. Things I have to remember. Morality and more.

“Gamel, it’s said that history is written by the victors. You understand? Whoever wins writes history. The Goblins’ side of things never gets brought up. And tragedy, the crimes committed by others…they tend to be overlooked when glorifying the past. But a record will remain, especially if I have anything to say about it.”

“Yes, sire.”

That’s code for ‘I don’t understand’, or perhaps ‘I don’t agree, but I’m not going to say so’. Or maybe ‘you’re an idiot’. I don’t care. I stretch. There’s already sounds coming from outside the tent. People getting ready. I still have an hour before I need to get up, though. The [Mages] will be getting the Goblins moving, but since I’m not in the advance group—being a poorer rider—I’ll be moving with the main body more slowly.

“Well, let’s get ready for the road. I want to ride with Lady Ieka today, Gamel. Please send a message to her and ask if she’s willing—”

I break off talking sharply. Gamel notices and turns towards the tent flaps. My senses extend just around the tent, but it’s enough to give me a warning. I hear a knock on the canvas flaps, and catch a whiff of a distinct smell. What’s this? I frown.

“Enter, Gralton.”

Outside I sense the man hesitate. Then Lord Gralton enters the tent. The infamous, hot-tempered dog lord steps into the tent and I smell the odor of dog on him. I sense him as well; a huge, imposing man. Gamel steps forwards, bowing, and I sense him only slightly shifting to get his sword’s hilt closer to his hand. He’s wary. And he should be.

Gralton. Of the [Lords] and [Ladies] in the camp, he’s one of the most powerful. The most unpredictable as well. He was one of the first people I was introduced to when I first arrived. And now he’s come here. That’s…unexpected. I haven’t said two words to him since the first night I arrived. To the other nobility, yes. But not to Gralton. While they tested and prodded at me, asking where I was from and trying to curry favor and weigh my influence, he just watched. And now…

“Can I help you, Gralton? Or are you going to keep sniffing me?”

I turn my head towards Gralton. The man narrows his eyes. But then he grunts.

“I’ve been looking for you. Emperor.”

The title is sardonic when he says it. I raise one eyebrow, refusing to be riled. Gralton will have to try harder than that. Besides, I had my first measure of the man and I know how to deal with him.

“Really? You’ll have to elaborate. And please stop looming over my manservant. Gamel, let Lord Gralton pass. I believe we have an understanding.”

“We do?”

Gralton steps forwards. I don’t bother to look at him. I can sense him, and it bothers people when I don’t pretend like I have eyes. I stare somewhere to the left of his navel and shrug.

“Let’s see if you recall. Heel.”

I hear Gamel suck in his breath. Gralton freezes. For a second I sense his arms tense, and then he laughs. He takes a seat on the ground of the tent since there are no chairs.

“You’re brave, I’ll grant you. And if you weren’t an [Emperor] or half as brave, you’d pay for that. But since you and I understand each other—I didn’t come here to socialize. I came here to ask what you’re doing.”

“I see. Are you referring to the attack on Liscor, my presence in the camp, or something else?”

“All three. I want to know if you’re for this thing. War with the Drakes.”

Now that’s interesting. I cover a frown.

“Getting cold feet, Gralton? We’re all committed to this attack. Lord Tyrion has made it clear he’s expecting no dissidence.”

I hear a snort and pray Gralton won’t spit.

“He says that. But I’m my own man. I followed him because I thought we’d be killing Goblins. Now we’re starting a war and you appear. I want to know if this is all one big plan you and Veltras came up with. And if it’s not—I want to know what comes next.”

“You think I know? I am far from home myself, Gralton. And I’m not partial to war. It tends to leave all sides poorer. And as I’m sure you know, war never goes the way anyone expects. Just look at history.”

The man pauses.

“We’ve fought a lot of wars. Which one are you talking about, exactly? The Antinium Wars? Ones from wherever the hell you come from?”

I raise my eyebrows. By this point little verbal snares barely trip me up.

“Does it matter? Any war. Any great war, rather. It will be catastrophic. Tyrion may win or he may not, but wars always spell death and destruction.”

“So why are you supporting him?”

“Because I enjoy the scenery? Why are you?”

He laughs at my response. But—I can sense his eyes on me. And the way he sits, alert, and from his posture, I get a sense. Gralton’s not as simple as he lets on. He’s bestial in some ways, but if it’s dog-like, it’s savage instinct that he has, not mindless aggression. He came here for a reason, and not to state the obvious.

“War’s war. We’ve never been fully at peace with the Drakes. They attack us, we attack them. I don’t care. If it’s a fight, I’ll take part in it. But it’s the politics I hate. If you sleep with the wrong people, you end up with knives in your back. Better to be in battle than face that.”

“Hmm.”

What is he saying? I frown, buying time. And then I sense someone else approaching the tent. I pause.

“We have another visitor. Gamel?”

He’s already at the tent flaps. I hear him halt whoever’s outside. I frown. I know that figure. And I know that voice.

“Your majesty? Lord Yitton Byres wishes to speak privately with you.”

Yitton? I sense Gralton shift to look past Gamel. Then he looks at me. I can sense him grin. He knew Yitton was coming.

Instinct. I nod at Gamel and he moves back.

“Very well, let him through. He can join our impromptu meeting.”

A man steps into my tent. He pauses when he sees Gralton sitting on the floor. For my part, I study Yitton in my mind.

An older man. Fit for his age, but not rich. He has a sword at his waist and chainmail. Mustache, beard…but it’s his reputation and my understanding of him that stands out in my head. The other nobles regard Yitton as inferior to them in many ways, a small [Lord], albeit with ancient holdings. But he’s someone that’s allowed into Tyrion Veltras’ most personal meetings. An honorable man, by all accounts.

And currently, haunted by something. Yitton takes a step into the tent and I incline my head.

“Emperor Laken.”

“Lord Yitton. What brings you here?”

The man hesitates. He glances sideways at Gralton, who just nods a greeting.

“I had hoped to speak with you privately, your…your majesty. Would you grant me an audience?”

“I would. Gamel, please guard the tent. As for you, Gralton—I rather suspect you’d like to stay. Which you may, unless Lord Byres objects?”

The [Lord] of the Byres House hesitates and looks at Gralton again. Something unspoken passes between them and he nods hesitantly.

“It’s…not that secret of a matter. By all means. Excuse me, Lord Gralton. My issue is urgent. I wouldn’t bring this up, but I have nowhere else to turn. Tyrion is not open to reason, and—”

And no one’s sticking their necks out for you. I nod.

“Go on.”

Yitton takes a deep breath.

“It’s my son. And my daughter. I think they may be in Liscor.”

I sit straighter. Gralton doesn’t seem the least bit surprised by this. He must already have known. But I didn’t. And that’s not good.

“Are you sure?”

He shakes his head.

“I do not know. Liscor’s Mage’s Guild is refusing all [Message] spells not from a Drake city. But my daughter was last sighted at the city. She and her team ran into an—an incident. I was informed she survived and joined a new team, and that my son went to check on her. But neither has sent me a [Message] spell and I fear they may be trapped in the city. Or worse, as prisoners.”

“And we are about to assault said city, which is inhabited by Drakes.”

“Yes.”

Yitton said the word heavily. I nod. That said it all, really. I heard that Yitton was against attacking Liscor from the start. It’s not a position anyone else in the camp has taken. But his sense of honor plus the fact that he might be putting his children in danger, well, it paints a picture.

A terrible one, because I can’t help him. But Lord Gralton and Yitton are both looking at me, and I sense I’m being tested. By Gralton. I think Yitton is genuinely at the end of his rope. But why Gralton? Does he want to see what I’ll do?

No, no, Gralton is too straightforward for that. Then, is he hoping I’ll help Yitton? Or perhaps—

I turn my head towards the two, more to buy time than anything else. Let’s see. We have an [Emperor], me. An unknown quantity. Lord Gralton, who hates trickery and is about as sociable and charming as a rotting pig’s carcass. But is powerful. And Yitton Byres, one of those rare honorable men people keep talking about. I’m not sure how honorable he really is if push comes to shove, but I think he’s a man who tries to be good.

Ah. I think Gralton sees what I see. An opportunity. I lace my hands together and lean forwards.

“I see. I understand your predicament, Lord Byres. Unfortunately, I doubt if anyone could persuade Lord Tyrion to halt the attack, for any reason. Nor do I have the…power to rescue your offspring if it turns out they are indeed in Liscor.”

Yitton’s shoulders fall. Not that I think he was expecting any other answer. He’s desperate.

“I see. My apologies, Emperor Godart, Gralton.”

He turns to go. I raise my voice.

“Lord Yitton, that doesn’t mean I’m unwilling to help. And, I think, neither is Gralton. If there is a way to rescue your children, whether by ransom or some other means, let’s discuss it.”

The man turns, hope on his face. I turn my head towards Gralton and sense him bare his teeth in a savage grin.

“Is there something that might be done?”

“Perhaps.”

I temper expectations. I don’t know, honestly. But the point isn’t to make outlandish statements. I look towards the tent opening and raise my voice.

“Gamel! Find two chairs for Lord Gralton and Lord Yitton, please. I think we’ll be here until we’re ready to ride. And perhaps while we’re riding we’ll speak further. Until then—Lord Yitton, please have a seat on the floor. I’d offer you my bed, but then I’d have to do the same to Gralton and I prefer life without fleas.”

The man barks a laugh. Yitton looks askance as he takes a seat on the floor. I sit and look at the two. It’s not just about Yitton’s son and daughter. It’s about forging connections. Choose your allies wisely. And unless I’m wrong, I’d guess that Lord Gralton’s made his choice faster than the other nobles. Faster than Lady Ieka who makes me nervous, Lord Erill who’s a bit too cunning, or the others.

“I don’t know what the future will hold, much less the attack on Liscor. But I do know that when the pieces are in the air, we can only make plans and hope they go well. You don’t know where your children are, Lord Yitton.”

“I know where two are. But the other two…”

Yitton trails off. I shake my head.

“If and when, gentlemen. If and then. If they are in Liscor and if we attack, what will occur?”

“They’ll be taken prisoner. Or killed.”

Gralton speaks bluntly. Lord Yitton puts his head in his hands. I turn my head reprovingly towards Gralton.

“Very well. But perhaps we can forestall that? With an offer of a ransom, perhaps. Or a guarantee? Do Drakes honor the rules of war? And what will your children do, Lord Yitton? I heard that they’re…adventurers?”

“Yes. Yvlon’s Silver-rank. And Ylawes is Gold-rank. His team is strong, but he couldn’t take on a city.”

“But he could protect his sister? Don’t give up hope, Lord Yitton. What would he do? And how might we aid him, if it comes to that. Lord Gralton, I’m sure you’d be willing to help. As allies.”

“Perhaps.”

The man growls. Yitton looks up. He glances towards me and Gralton as if he’s only now figuring out what’s going on. Perhaps honorable men are just rather slow on the uptake when it comes to intrigue. He hesitates, and then he nods and sits a bit straighter. He doesn’t seem that much more hopeful, but he’s trying.

“If Ylawes is in the city, he knows what’s coming. And the only reason he would stay is—he’s a [Knight], and he champions causes. But he wouldn’t risk a war unless Yvlon were there. He won’t abandon her. So he’d be trying to find them a way out. North, towards us, unless he’s wary of the Goblin Lord.”

“Would he go south?”

“He’s Human. And he’d run into all the Drakes heading towards Liscor. No. No, he’d go north. And if he were trying to escape…”

Yitton grips his hands together worriedly as he talks. I listen with Gralton as Gamel reappears with some chairs. We talk, forging the beginnings of what might be friendship, an alliance of convenience, or something else. And I invest my time and energy into helping Yitton do something for his son and daughter. What else can I do? I can’t stop the war. I can’t change Tyrion Veltras’ mind. I have very little power. But perhaps—I sense Gralton looking at me.

Perhaps I have an ally. A smart one who conceals his true intentions behind a façade that’s half-real. And who’s decisive enough to take sides rather than choose the strongest person to hide behind. Maybe Gralton’s a betting man. Maybe I look like a likely dark horse to him. There are worse allies to have than him and Lord Yitton Byres. I nod at Gralton.

A smart man. He still smells like wet dog, though. Then I turn my attention back to Lord Yitton. If his son really is in Liscor, I pray he won’t do anything stupid. For his father, if nothing else.

—-

“We’re going.”

Yvlon looked up at her brother. He was dressed in full armor and had his shield on one hand. His hand was hovering around his sword’s hilt as he stared down at her and looked around the inn. The other Gold-rank teams stared at him and Dawil and Falene, standing behind Ylawes. The Dwarf hefted his hammer and the half-Elf shifted her staff. Yvlon glanced at Pisces, Ceria, and Ksmvr. Then she looked up at her brother.

“What?”

“We’re going, Yvlon. Now. Grab your gear and get ready. We’re leaving Liscor and going north. Any team who wishes to join us—or anyone in the inn—is welcome to come, but we are going now. Before Liscor is attacked.”

The [Knight]’s jaw was set. Yvlon leaned back in her chair as Ceria rubbed one eye and stared down at her eggs. She looked towards Erin and Lyonette.

The inn was barely open this morning. And signs of last night’s festivities were still scattered around the inn. Empty mugs, plates that had yet to be washed, a passed-out Goblin lying under a table…Yvlon shook her head.

“It’s too early for this. Lyonette! Can I get some water?”

She waved her mug. Ylawes frowned at her.

“This isn’t a joke, Yv.”

“I’m not saying it is. And I’m not going, Ylawes. I’m staying with my team.”

Yvlon looked back up at Ylawes, scowling. Her brother grimaced.

“So you’ve said. But your captain doesn’t seem capable of making up her mind.”

“Hey, I’m just—”

Ceria protested weakly. Yvlon stood up.

“We’re going with Erin. We’re not leaving her behind.”

“I’m making up my mind too!”

Erin shouted from the kitchen. Ylawes looked at her and shook his head.

“I understand that, and it is a noble cause, Yvlon. But be realistic: Liscor is about to be attacked, and when it is, both you and I will be in grave danger. Our only chance is to go north now. Persuade your captain, bring Miss Solstice and the others.”

“I have a name you know, it’s Ceria—”

“Why don’t you go and let us decide what we’re doing, Ylawes? If we go north, we’ll go north. But we’ll do it with our team. You can leave.”

Yvlon folded her arms. She wasn’t wearing her armor, but her metal armguards and gauntlets were more or less permanent fixtures now. They covered the…modifications Pisces had done to her arms. And the damage.

“I won’t leave without you.”

The [Knight] snapped, his brows crossing with vexation. Yvlon sighed.

“I’m not a child, Ylawes!”

“But you are my sister. If father learned that I abandoned you—”

“This isn’t about what our father would say! And what I do isn’t your problem, Ylawes.”

“It is. I can’t let you risk your life any further. We’re going and you are coming with us. This isn’t a discussion.”

“No, it really isn’t.”

Yvlon stared at Ylawes’ face, exasperated and annoyed. It was always like this. He was always in charge and she was sick of it. She stared past Ylawes at his teammates.

“I’m not budging. I’m a grown woman and an adventurer in my own right. You don’t give me orders, even if you are Gold-rank. Just go, Ylawes. What does your team think of this? Falene? Dawil?”

The half-Elf shrugged her slim shoulders.

“I follow my team captain, Miss Byres. And I happen to agree that you and your team are being quite foolish. It falls to us to keep the less-experienced out of harm’s way.”

Ceria rolled her eyes. Yvlon looked at Dawil. The Dwarf hesitated.

“I can’t say I’m pleased, lass. But your brother has a point. There’s a fine line between stubbornness and suicide and you’re pushing both. Why not leave?”

Because it would mean being saved by Ylawes. Yvlon scowled. She didn’t want to say it, but that was why. And because Erin wasn’t going. That too. But mainly the first part.

“It’s my choice. I’m a Horn of Hammerad and we aren’t budging.”

She looked at Ylawes. The [Knight] blew out his cheeks, and looked around. Griffon Hunt, the Halfseekers, Gemhammer—the other teams of adventurers who were waiting in Erin’s inn, taking turns moving the door further south—stared at him. He hesitated, and then shook his head.

“This discussion is over. Yvlon, if you won’t see reason, we’ll have to take you by force. Come on—”

He reached for her arm. Yvlon backed up.

“Don’t, Ylawes.”

“Be reasonable. Don’t make me force you.”

“You? I’m not six, anymore, Ylawes. You can’t pick me up and carry me.”

“If I have to, I will.”

Again, Ylawes grabbed at Yvlon’s arm. This time he seized the metal vambrace. Yvlon gritted her teeth. She pulled, but Ylawes was strong.

“Let go.”

“Don’t resist. Your arms are fragile.”

“Then let go.”

Yvlon yanked, and Ylawes nearly stumbled. He let go, afraid of damaging her arms. Yvlon felt fine. She backed up as Ylawes looked at Ceria.

“Please talk some sense to her.”

The half-Elf got up slowly. So did Pisces and Ksmvr. Ceria looked uneasy, but her expression firmed as she looked at Yvlon.

“We’re not going yet, Ylawes. And Yvlon’s one of us. If she doesn’t want to go, you have to respect that.”

“He is doing this for her own good, Ceria. I’ve pointed out the obvious to you as well. Why won’t you heed reason? We are both half-Elves—”

Falene scowled at Ceria. The [Ice Mage] rolled her eyes.

“And that makes us kin, right? Forget it. You can go, but if you try to take Yvlon, we’ll—”

“What, stop us?”

The tone of Falene’s voice was frankly disbelieving. Yvlon felt a surge of adrenaline and anger as the [Battlemage] looked from her to Ceria. Pisces folded his arms.

“You would do well to reconsider any threat, Miss Skystrall.”

“Yes. We are completely and legally able to defend ourselves with lethal force. I think.”

Ksmvr nodded. Dawil raised a hand.

“Hold on, you two. Falene and Ylawes aren’t suggesting—”

“Yes we are, Dawil. Ylawes, take your sister. I have had enough of arguing.”

“And I’ve had enough of you two trying to order us around.”

Yvlon reached for her sword. Ylawes stared at her and his hand went to his hilt.

“Don’t be a fool, Yvlon!”

“Then back off.”

“I can’t. Why are you being so stubborn when I’m just trying to help you?”

“I. Don’t. Want. Your Help! I never have!”

Yvlon snapped at Ylawes. She drew her sword, or tried to. The blade was half-way out of the sheathe when Falene pointed a finger at her.

“[Binding Cords – Iron]. Ylawes, take her!”

A series of thin metal cords erupted from her fingertip and wrapped around Yvlon. The [Wounded Warrior] shouted in outrage and fell back, struggling. Ylawes stepped forwards and a wall of ice sprang up.

“Don’t do this—”

Ceria warned Ylawes, but Falene pointed her staff again. The ice shattered as something struck it and Ceria stumbled back. Pisces made a noise of outrage. He lifted his hands and flames burst from them, aimed at Falene. Ylawes surged to block them and the flames burned harmlessly around his shield.

“Is it combat, then? Should I aim to incapacitate or kill, Captain Ceria?”

Ksmvr drew his shortsword raised his dagger. Falene bound him with the cords spell as well.

“Stop! Stop, you featherbrained nitwit!”

Dawil roared at Falene. He shoulder-charged the [Mage] as Ceria raised another ice wall. Yvlon was struggling as Ylawes bent to grab her. She tried to kick him, and he tried to pull her up, but he had miscalculated how heavy she was—and how hard it was to drag an uncooperative person single-handedly. Pisces drew his rapier and Ylawes turned towards him. The [Knight] drew his sword and Yvlon shouted.

“Ylawes, don’t!”

Pisces and Ylawes faced off as Ceria aimed her wand at the struggling Dawil and Falene, who were shouting at each other. Ylawes narrowed his eyes and Pisces lowered his posture. The two hesitated—and an arrow embedded itself on the table next to them. Both dodged back and turned.

Halrac lowered his bow. The other adventurers were on their feet. Ylawes turned to them, and then twisted. He blocked a whirling frying pan and the cast iron pan clattered to the ground. Erin lowered her hands.

“Darn. That never works anymore.”

“Don’t interfere.”

Ylawes snapped at Halrac. The [Scout] aimed his bow at the [Knight]’s chest.

“That’s not your decision to make. Let your sister go, Ylawes. She’s an adventurer and so are you. You don’t get to order her, family or not.”

“That’s precisely why—”

Ylawes’ face flushed. Bevussa folded her wing-arms, looking annoyed.

“I’ve seen enough too. This may be a family matter, but it’s turned into a Gold-rank team fighting a Silver-rank one. Enough. Falene, put down your staff. Cast a spell and we’ll all attack you. This is stupid and pointless.”

The other adventurers nodded. Typhenous pointed his staff at Falene. The half-Elf hesitated and lowered her staff reluctantly. She glared, and then doubled over. Dawil had kicked her hard in the shins. The Dwarf looked at his two teammates and shook his head.

“You idiots. I told you they’d never go. Listen to the other Gold-ranks.”

“I can’t just—”

Ylawes swore as Dawil kicked him in the shins, hard enough to go through the metal armor. The Dwarf glared up at him.

“You want to carry your sister off like a damsel in distress? It didn’t work the first time you tried it, and it won’t work now. If you want to give it a shot, I’ll scrape you off the floor when the other Gold-ranks paste you to it. Otherwise we’re done here. Idiots.”

He stomped away. Ylawes stared at Dawil, his teeth set, and then looked around. He stared at Yvlon.

“Sister, please think about this.”

“I have. I’m not going, Ylawes.”

Yvlon folded her arms. Ceria hesitated, looking at Ylawes. The [Knight] breathed in and out, slowly, trying to keep calm.

“Then what will you do? If Liscor falls—”

“I’ll go with my team. If Liscor falls, we’ll take Erin south.”

“But the Drakes—”

“Are not your concern. We’ll survive, Ylawes. But I’m not going to follow you.”

“I see.”

The [Knight] looked pained. And hurt. Yvlon’s own chest stung a bit as he straightened. He had come all this way for her. But she’d never asked him to. He turned and looked around again, then at Yvlon. Then, at last, he shook his head.

“I thought—”

He never finished the sentence. Ylawes just turned and walked out of the inn. Falene looked at Ceria. Pisces made a few rude gestures.

“Remember we offered you a chance. We are leaving Liscor.”

She swept after Ylawes. Dawil was last. The Dwarf tugged on his beard, looking close to swearing. He stared at his teammates as they walked out the door, then looked around. His voice was somber as he spoke.

“I’m sorry about that, friends. But it seems like we’re going.”

“North?”

Halrac queried Dawil. The Dwarf nodded.

“North. We’ll try to avoid the Goblin Lord. But we’re leaving the city today, unless my teammates have other plans. It’s been a pleasure.”

“It has.”

Bevussa nodded at him. Revi waved a hand hesitantly. Yvlon, the iron cords disappearing as Falene’s spell ended, sat up. She looked at Dawil. The Dwarf looked tiredly at her.

“Wait, you’re going? Just like that?”

Erin stared at the Dwarf. Dawil shrugged and smiled ruefully.

“I’d like to say goodbye. But those idiots are storming off. Hey, wait for me!”

He turned and roared out of the door. Then he looked over his shoulder. There seemed like so much more he wanted to say. But the Dwarf just turned.

“Farewell. Let’s all meet again someday.”

And then he was gone. Yvlon stared at the door. She stood up slowly.

“He’s going? Just like that?”

“Did you want him to stay?”

Pisces sat at a table and watched as Ksmvr sat up. The Antinium looked around and sheathed his weapons, looking ashamed.

“I have been of no use. I am worthless.”

He sat down too. Ceria closed her eyes and breathed out slowly.

“Damn. Are you sure it’s for the best, Yvlon?”

“Yes. I wasn’t going to go with Ylawes anyways. He was always like that, giving me orders. It was just—”

“Just?”

The others looked at her. Yvlon shook her head. Her eyes went to the closed door.

“It was just that he came all this way and did so much for me. Because he was worried. And I never said thank you for that.”

The others looked at her. Yvlon wanted to run to the door. But she held still. One of the adventurers who’d watched everything unfold uttered a curse.

“Humans.”

Yvlon glared at him. The Drake met her gaze and looked away. Erin stared about.

“Well, that sucked.”

No one argued with that. The adventurers sat in silence as Lyonette brought Yvlon some water. Then the door opened. Yvlon looked up. Was it Ylawes, back again?

No. It was Olesm, Zevara, and a host of the City Watch. The adventurers froze as Zevara stepped into the inn through the magic doorway. The Watch Captain looked around.

“Hey, Zevara. Olesm. Can I get you an—”

The Watch Captain forestalled Erin with a claw. She looked about the inn, and Yvlon saw her focus on the sleeping Goblin on the floor. She nodded to one of the [Guardsmen].

“Secure the door.”

A few of the Drakes and Gnolls moved to the door. The adventurers watched, growing more and more nervous. Then Yvlon saw a pair of [Guardsmen] she recognized walk through. Klbkch and Relc took up positions by the door. And another pair of Senior Guards walked through as well.

“What’s this about, Watch Captain?”

Keldrass stood up. He eyed Zevara. The female Drake looked at him and spoke.

“We know you’re trying to leave Liscor.”

The adventurers paused. Olesm cleared his throat.

“By Drake military law, all adventurers in or around Liscor must come to the city’s defense in times of crisis. Dereliction of duty is a treasonous offense.”

“You can’t conscript us. This is a war. We’re not part of it!”

Revi folded her arms. Zevara glanced at her and shook her head. She addressed the Drake teams from Pallass.

“This is not an option. You must stay in Liscor. The city needs your strength to hold the line. As Watch Captain, I order you to remain in the city. And to ensure that is so, I am confiscating the door. As we should have done from the start.”

She gestured. A pair of Gnolls grabbed the magic doorway. Erin stared.

“You can’t do that.”

Zevara looked at Erin.

“I can and must. This is a matter of security—”

“Hold on. You’re not taking that door.”

Halrac pointed at the doorway. Zevara turned and the Watch braced themselves.

“Stand down.”

“You stand down.”

Revi glared as she cracked her knuckles, not quite pointing her wand at Olesm’s feet. The Drake gulped. Zevara didn’t blink.

“We are taking the door. If you try and stop us, we will—”

“Do what? Arrest us? There are thousands of Goblins between the inn and Liscor. And us. You’ll never make it.”

Zevara looked at Revi, and then past her at Erin. The [Innkeeper] looked blank, and then backed up a step.

“Hold on…”

The adventurers looked at each other as the City Watch edged towards the door. Halrac cursed as he slowly drew an arrow. Zevara waited, daring them to make the first move. Olesm gulped. Relc and Klbkch, who’d set themselves up near Zevara, were braced. Relc was chanting under his breath.

“Bar fight! Bar fight! Bar fight!”

No one else said a word. The stalemate drew out and out, until the adventurers and the City Watch heard pounding footsteps. Then Ilvriss hurtled out of the door.

—-

Some days he forgot what Periss’ face looked like. It was unbelievable, but so. Some days he forgot the sound of her voice. Already, memory was failing him. But he had sworn an oath. And he remembered the drink Erin had given him. Part of him wanted to taste it again, to sink into the past. But he recognized magic and he understood the addiction of drugs.

Later, perhaps, he could inquire. But not now. Now, he was needed and more than ever. A Wall Lord did not run from his duty. He ran to his duty and embraced it. Ilvriss had not touched a drop of alcohol since that day. Nor had he succumbed to despair, even in these dark hours. And neither had Liscor. If it fell, it fell with dignity. And he would remind them of that.

Ilvriss had begun running when he’d heard of Zevara’s plan to take the door back. Of course, Swifttail had understood the issue. It was obvious, really. The adventurers were fleeing the city by hook or crook and if they could not go north, they would go south. But why hadn’t Zevara stopped to think about what she was doing? If they fought—

Dignity. Ilvriss charged through the magic door, tripped as the uneven cobblestones turned to wooden floorboards, and nearly crashed into a table. Only wind milling arms saved him. He steadied himself, brushed his clothes off, and turned. The Watch and adventurers stared. At him. At his chest. Because Ilvriss wore the Heartflame Breastplate. It glowed, not yet burning, but shining with golden-red light. Ilvriss looked around, drawing strength from the warmth of the artifact.

“Watch Captain, hold. Adventurers. Hold. This will not come to bloodshed. The first person to strike, I will personally cut down.”

“Hold on, isn’t that—”

Erin’s forehead wrinkled. Ilvriss ignored her. He straightened and took a deep breath. The adventurers were staring at the door. One of them, the Human with a surly expression, gestured at it with his bow.

“That door isn’t leaving the inn.”

“On the contrary, it must. It is a security risk if this inn should fall. And it will, if the Goblin Lord’s army attacks Liscor. We will take it into the city and place it in the city hall.”

“Not before we leave.”

The Gold-rank [Scout] looked ready for a fight. The other adventurers less so. The Drake-led groups were especially nervous. Attacking a Watch Captain was already trouble. A Wall Lord? Ilvriss capitalized on the uncertainty.

“I said hold. Listen to my proposal before you take action. Watch Captain, Strategist Olesm, you two as well. I agree that this door must go to Liscor. Left in the inn, it would be in danger of falling into the Human’s hands. But by the same token, it cannot be overlooked as a means of escape from Liscor. I propose to let the adventurers use it to leave Liscor.”

“What?”

Zevara’s shout of outrage was forestalled by Ilvriss’ raised claw. He kept his eyes on Halrac, Bevussa, Keldrass, and the others. The Gold-rank captains were staring uncertainly at Ilvriss. He nodded.

“I am aware of the dangers. And I do not ask your teams to die for the city.”

The adventurers relaxed a bit. Ilvriss narrowed his eyes.

“However, I demand that you fight. I demand that you stay until the cause is lost. Your teams will not leave Liscor until the walls fall and the battle is unwinnable. You will stay and join Liscor’s defenders. The door will remain in the heart of the city, as an escape route.”

“But that’s—”

The adventures looked at each other uneasily. Ilvriss saw them weighing the odds. Fighting would be deadly and dangerous. If they had to hold until the siege was unavoidably lost—Ilvriss looked sideways as he heard a polite cough.

“And if we declined this honor, Wall Lord? Some of our teams are allied with the Human cities, or at least determined not to bear arms against our kind. What prevents us from leaving now?”

Typhenous, the elderly Human [Mage] inquired politely, his eyes flicking towards the door. Ilvriss grinned mirthlessly.

“Does honor and duty not compel you, Human?”

“Not sufficiently, no.”

The Drake nodded.

“Well then, here is another reason. You will be going south, into Drake lands. You could try your luck heading north—if you don’t run into the Goblin Lord’s army and perish. But if you go south, you will run straight into reinforcements from every Drake city on the continent. And I will have told all of them of your treachery.”

Typhenous’ polite smile melted off his face. Ilvriss looked around. Now he had every eye on him.

“Until the day of the siege, until I take my last breath and the last [Mage] falls—if I see any of your teams flee, I will send a [Message] spell to every city. You will be wanted in any place that Drakes draw breath as traitors. Consider that. I offer you the chance to fight and retreat honorably. Run with your tails between your legs and the world will know of it.”

The inn stood frozen as Ilvriss turned from face to face. Halrac met the Wall Lord’s eyes.

“I don’t fight my own people, Wall Lord.”

“Should I then consider you an enemy?”

Ilvriss laid a claw on his sword hilt. The Watch tensed. Halrac’s eyes flicked to Ilvriss, to the door, and then to his team. Typhenous looked pale, and Revi wide-eyed and nervous. At last, the [Scout] lowered his bow.

“If it comes to a battle, I won’t fight. I don’t kill Humans.”

He paused and looked at Zevara.

“But. I am an adventurer. If it’s Goblins, I’ll hold the walls.”

Zevara glanced at Ilvriss and the Wall Lord nodded.

“That is acceptable. Now, Miss Solstice, please talk to the Goblins outside of the inn so we may carry the door into the city. Unless you object? I would suggest that you bring your people inside the walls soon.”

“I—but—okay, but—is it necessary? Can’t they go? Is it—”

The young woman looked at Ilvriss uncertainly. And she was young, for all she was so much different from any other Human he’d met. She looked at Ilvriss and he saw the real question in her eyes.

Was this happening? Was it really happening? He nodded. Yes. He wanted to say it. Yes, girl. Yes, child. It was. The adventurers braced themselves. They understood. Some had lived through it, and the others could imagine it. But Erin Solstice could not. She had never seen a battle of this magnitude and she couldn’t grasp at the implications, even now. But Ilvriss could. He braced himself, feeling the tingle running down his spine.

It was war.

—-

“Remember, only kill Goblins and Humans. Do not kill the Drakes unless ordered. Other targets will be specified as friendly or enemies. When the battle begins, the Free Queen, Klbkch, and I will lead. Your Queen’s commands are superseded by our own. Is that clear?”

Xrn, the Small Queen stood on a small platform of earth and looked down. Fourteen Prognugators and one Revalantor looked up at her. They were the representatives of three Hives. The Flying Antinium, the Silent Antinium, and the Armored Antinium.

Tersk stood shoulder-to-shoulder with three of his fellow Prognugators, who wore the thick steel armor that marked their Soldiers. Pivr flexed his wings with his four Prognugators. A pair of shadowy, camouflaged shapes marked the two Silent Antinium leaders. The rest were regular Prognugators, who looked like regular Workers but bore silvery blades. Copies of the Slayer himself. They had come from the Grand Hive to lead Workers and Soldiers into battle.

As had she. The Small Queen’s eyes shone with multiple colors, red for battle excitement, blue in anticipation, bright yellow and white for hope. She looked down on the Prognugators and then past them. At the army of Antinium standing in the tunnel.

They had come. From the interconnecting tunnels in the Hive, the Queens had sent their Soldiers, their prized warriors. An army of steel-bound Soldiers from the Armored Hive, ready to do battle with weapons forged for them. A flying horde of warrior types who moved about restlessly, fanning their green wings. A few giant Antinium stood out among them, hunched, beetle-like forms with rending mandibles. War machines.

And lastly, the fewest in number but just as deadly, the Silent Antinium. Camouflaged assassins who blended with their surroundings. Their arms were scything blades capable of cutting metal. Three Hive’s worth of warriors, and more arriving by the day.

Not just Soldiers either, but Workers. All three Hives had sent their own to dig the vast tunnel north to Liscor. The effort was monumental; not only did they have to dig the tunnel large enough to transport an army swiftly, but they had to make sure the roof wouldn’t collapse thousands of tons of dirt on their heads. And they had to do it quickly and in secret.

Tens of thousands of Workers moved behind Xrn, excavating stone and dirt. More Soldiers stood at the ready, prepared to fight anything that attacked the digging Workers. Already they’d had to do battle with a number of subterranean monsters. This project was not easy.

But it was proceeding on time. When Liscor fell and the city’s people retreated into the Hive of the Free Antinium, an army would be there, ready to take back the city from the Humans. They could do it. And if the Drakes or Humans tried to seize the city again—

That would be a task for the Twisted Antinium and the Grand Hive’s forces. Tersk shivered. He had seen a few of the Twisted Antinium gathering as well, preparing to intercept the Drake armies. They were—different. While each Hive of the Antinium was varied, the creations of the Twisted Queen were disturbing. They had been kept away from the other Hives, because to look upon some of them was to become Aberration for a number of Soldiers and Workers. They bothered Tersk and he could not fathom why. They were all Antinium. Weren’t they?

Whatever the case, the army was here. Tersk watched as Xrn’s head turned left and right, regarding the Prognugators.

“Remember. You come not as invaders, but liberators. Heroes. This battle is the first of many. But with it, the Antinium shall truly have a city of their own.”

The Prognugators looked up at her, and Tersk felt their confusion. Why did it matter? What use was a city to the Antinium? He knew. And he saw Xrn’s eyes turn to him and felt the shock run through him. Yes, he knew. He thought of the strange city, and of the things he had learned there. It was worth sacrificing tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands of Antinium to have it. To become…something more.

Tersk looked back at the silent rows of Soldiers in gleaming armor. The pride of his Hive. They waited, and Tersk waited as well. He would soon be there. He thought of Pawn and wondered if the Worker was as excited as he was. At last, they would pit their might against the Humans. The Antinium had been preparing for this day since before Tersk had been born. He couldn’t wait. He couldn’t…

—-

“No. No, wait. It is too soon. What do you mean?”

Pawn grabbed desperately at Anand’s arm. The other Worker turned to him. The [Tactician] clicked his mandibles together.

“Pawn, I have said too much. Just bear in mind what I said. Prepare your unit for combat.”

“You have not said enough! Why was I not informed? What do you mean, our role will not be to hold Liscor? What will we be doing? Will Erin—”

Pawn broke off. Anand was shaking his head.

“Revalantor Klbkch has forbidden me from speaking of it. I know my role, but he believes you might—complicate the issue. When the time comes, you will lead the Painted Soldiers into battle. That is all. Pawn, I cannot say more.”

Anand looked guilty. Pawn stared at him. He had orders. But he had to say more, orders or not. He opened his mandibles.

“All of the Painted soldiers?”

“All of them.”

Anand nodded. He looked past Pawn, at the Soldiers who filled the barracks. There were a lot more than the odd three hundred or so that Pawn had started with. They had tripled their numbers, and now Painted Soldiers and Workers filled the expanded barracks. But many were new. The old ones, the veterans who had enough levels to truly show for it, stood teaching the other Soldiers how to be…[Soldiers]. They read books, they sat, they ate snacks. They were.

The thought of taking them into combat—a war—was horrifying. Pawn had already been struggling with the thought of Liscor falling under attack, but from what Anand said, the Antinium wouldn’t just be holding the walls. They would be doing something else. And Pawn was afraid they were going to betray their allies.

“Are we going to leave them to die? Selys? Mrsha? Lyonette? Erin?”

Anand hesitated.

“I have been issued with orders to keep them safe. If possible.”

“If possible.”

Pawn echoed the words. Anand nodded. He looked back at Pawn.

“Pawn—I cannot say all of what will happen. But the plan is good. And Erin will most likely survive.”

“You cannot guarantee it, though.”

“No.”

The two Workers looked at each other. Pawn shook his head.

“So I am to wait? To lead my Painted Soldiers into battle when the order comes and not know what happens?”

“That is correct. That is what we’ve always done, Pawn.”

“It’s not enough.”

The Worker whispered. It wasn’t enough. Not anymore. Anand hesitated, and then turned away.

“It is all we can do.”

He walked away. Pawn watched him go. He turned to look at the Soldiers and Workers, at Yellow Splatters, Purple Smile—and he shook his head.

“No. There must be more.”

But he didn’t know what that was. So Pawn bent his head, clasped his hands together, and began to pray. For a miracle, for knowledge. For anything. He listened, his heart beating, but he heard nothing.

—-

“Lord Veltras. Another [Message] for you. From our informant.”

“I’ll hear it.”

Tyrion Veltras rode at the head of his army. He watched as the Goblins ran ahead of him. A vast host. Enough to take a city. And that wasn’t even counting the army of Humans that marched behind him. He turned his head as his aide, Jericha spoke crisply, reciting the [Message] spell verbatim.

“The portal door is now in Liscor’s possession. It is connected to a passageway south of the city. The Gold-rank teams will fight in Liscor and flee through it if the city is lost with civilians.”

“Or to reinforce the city through the door. Dragons take it all!”

Tyrion Veltras’ brows snapped together. He felt a surge of frustration.

“That [Mage] assured us the door would be inoperable!”

“He probably expected to flee through it and didn’t consider the fact that the recovery effort would fail—or that the city would seize the door after the connection to Pallass had been lost.”

Jericha frowned. Tyrion just clenched a gauntleted fist. Lord Erill and Lady Ieka had provided the criminal element. He had been against it—a force of [Knights] could have seized the door—but against his better judgment he had allowed the covert operation. And see what had happened.

“Can the informant do anything?”

“He reports not, Lord Veltras.”

“Very well. Liscor may be reinforced, but the numbers will be low. And the presence of an escape route may work in our favor. The adventurers and other elements of the city will flee through it.”

Tyrion grimly adjusted his plans, thinking through how the door could be used against them. They had to seize it. Jericha cleared her throat.

“There are two other missives that may require your attention personally, Lord Veltras.”

“Speak.”

“The first is from Lady Reinhart—”

“Ignore it. I told you, I am not in the mood to bandy words with her.”

The [Mage] nodded quickly. She licked her lips nervously, an usual gesture.

“I understand that Lord Veltras. But this latest [Message] is—is not like the others.”

“How so?”

Tyrion looked back at Jericha. Magnolia had been sending him messages nonstop, urging him to halt his campaign, to turn back or take a different tact. Ever since she had learned what he was doing. She was resourceful, he would give her that. But he could not be swayed. All of her power lay in influence, gold, and political power. He had direct military might and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

Or so he’d thought. But the look on Jericha’s face told him that his unflappable aide had been disturbed. She spoke slowly.

“This latest [Message] was—addressed to me, Lord Veltras. Magnolia Reinhart mentioned me by name and issued a…warning if it was not delivered. The contents are quite extraordinary.”

The scion of the Veltras House tensed. If Magnolia threatened Jericha or his servants—he forced himself not to give into emotion.

“Repeat it, then.”

“Yes, Lord Tyrion. The message from Magnolia Reinhart, omitting the introduction to me, reads as follows: ‘To Tyrion. I see you are set on your course, despite my warnings and urgings to the contrary. It seems you have placed your faith in war. I, however, think you are a fool of the highest caliber. Your plan will not succeed. Do not force my hand, or I will take steps both you and I will come to regret to stop you. Sincerely, Magnolia Reinhart.’”

A silence followed Jericha’s words. The [Mage] looked at Tyrion. He frowned.

“Take steps…there is no way she could halt this army. Is she intending to provide more aide to the Drakes?”

“She already leaked the information of the trebuchets to them. It is hard to imagine what she could do.”

“Assassins, perhaps. Double the night sentries and keep a close eye on the food. Aside from that—ignore her messages. But report any ones of similar quality to me.”

Tyrion saw Jericha nod. He put Magnolia out of his mind. He could not be stopped. Not by her or anyone. Liscor burned in his mind. It had to be taken. He would see victory in his lifetime or put the wheels in motion to end this millennia-long war for dominance with the Drakes. He would have vengeance.

A final time Jericha interrupted Tyrion.

“Lord Veltras. You have a message from your estates. Ullim reports that your sons are growing restless. They are inquiring about your absence and growing unruly.”

For a second, all thoughts of war and plans vanished from Tyrion’s mind. He twisted in his saddle. Ullim was his [Majordomo]. Tyrion had entrusted the welfare of his sons, Hethon and Sammial to him. They were boys, too young to even become squires. Well, Hethon was not, but he wasn’t of the right temperament for that life. And Sammial was too wild, yet.

“What is Ullim doing? I told him to keep the boys in care.”

Jericha ducked her head.

“Yes, Lord Tyrion. But the issue isn’t—if you’ll permit me to speak freely, I believe it is that the two are simply lonely. The boys miss their father. That’s all.”

Tyrion stared at Jericha until she flushed and looked down. He blinked. When he had grown up, his father had been dead. Dead and buried, a casualty of the plots of the Reinharts. And the two were…? He felt a moment of regret and wished their mother was there. She would have known what to do. She would have been there. But she too was dead.

And that had led him here, in part. Tyrion turned forwards, forcing himself to put the past out of his head.

“Tell them I am on campaign. They should know what that means. If all goes well at Liscor, I may have time to return. I will attempt to make time. That is…all.”

“Yes, Lord Veltras.”

There was a pause as Jericha relayed the message. Tyrion stared ahead at the Goblins as he rode. He tried to keep thinking of Liscor, keep replaying the battle and its innumerable permutations in his head. But he was distracted, now. By Magnolia, damn her, and his sons. He couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing. She was a thorn in his back. Some day he would have to pluck the thorny branch from which she grew. Burn the Reinhart estates to the ground. But they were a dangerous, difficult weed and she was the worst. Why didn’t she see the danger of the Drakes? Why was she opposed to him?

Lonely. Tyrion bowed his head for a second. Then he forced himself up. He couldn’t waver now. And Magnolia couldn’t stop him. No matter what she did.

—-

“Well, he hasn’t responded. So I suppose it’s come to this. Ressa, prepare my riding dress, will you? It’s time to put our plan into action. Oh dear. No one will be happy about this. Tyrion least of all.”

Magnolia Reinhart sighed as she sat in her parlor with a group of [Ladies], all of whom could be considered her closest friends. They sat with her, sipping from tea or sampling biscuits. Noblewomen all, each a fair flower of the realm. As dangerous as any [Lord] in their own right.

They were Lady Bethal Walchaís, fiery and beautiful. Lady Zanthia, old, tough as steel and demanding. Lady Pryde, for whom the name was as fitting as it was insufficient. Lady Wuvren, of whom the [Bards] had once sang songs about. And still did. It was said that an Archmage had drowned himself after being rejected. It had actually only been a [Star Sorcerer] of course, but you know how people exaggerated such things.

Those [Ladies] and a few others. Magnolia Reinhart’s inner circle. The people she trusted explicitly. Her army, in truth. Tyrion Veltras had his forces and they could raze a city in a day. Magnolia Reinhart could move mountains with hers.

Hypothetical mountains. Mountains of stubbornness, fear, and self-interest. The [Ladies] could alter the fate of the continent through politics and words. And it was for that reason Magnolia had gathered them. Although the Lady Reinhart feared that words wouldn’t be enough this time. It was time for action, and terrible action at that.

“My friends. It seems Lord Tyrion has declined to speak with me yet again. Or even snap back. He is set in his course, and so we must be set in ours. The time is upon us. Before we leave, have you any objections to my plan?”

The [Ladies] looked up. Lady Zanthia pursed her lips and Bethal tilted her head back. It was Wuvren who spoke up first.

“You do know that he will never forgive you, Magnolia? Even if your attempt fails? You’ll risk the enmity of the entire north, for what? To stop him from seizing Liscor?”

“In order to stop a war, I’d gladly make enemies of my peers, Lady Wuvren. I only ask whether you are ready for such a task. It must be done. If we enter another war of centuries, we will fall to ruin.”

Magnolia looked at Wuvren. The [Lady] nodded.

“I suppose it is, at that. Well, I will do my part, though it may be a mistake.”

That was enough for Magnolia. She turned.

“Lady Zanthia, you had a thought?”

“Only that we may all be dead ere a few months pass. But I acceded to your leadership and I won’t speak against it. But when you strike, do it at the right moment.”

The old woman fixed Magnolia with a gaze that even the [Lady] had a hard time meeting. Magnolia resisted the push of Zanthia’s will and smiled. It was always a test with her.

“Of course. I will wait for the opportune moment. As one must. But we must neither be too slow nor too quick.”

“A [Lady] is never early, or so the saying goes.”

Bethal laughed lightly. Magnolia smiled as some of the other [Ladies] sighed and rolled their eyes. They would have taken Bethal’s presence more easily if Thomast had been there, but husbands, bodyguards, and everyone except for Ressa had been barred from this most august of meetings.

“Yes, Lady Bethal, I have heard the saying too. But I’m afraid that while a [Lady] is never early, she is quite often late. Let it not be so this time. Do let me know if you run into complications. As for the rest—we have a day to move into position. Reynold will take you to your destinations.”

The [Ladies] nodded. They stood up, smoothing dresses, chattering lightly. And their eyes flashed brightly. They were no strangers to hard decisions, or war if it came to that. They had lived through multiple wars. Lady Zanthia had lived through more than a dozen. And they were ready to do what it took to stop another one.

But the cost. Oh, the cost. Magnolia closed her eyes as they left. This would be a problem. Damn Tyrion. He had forced her hand. But it could not be war with the Drakes. Better to throw all of the north into chaos, first. Better that. She sighed—and realized she wasn’t alone.

Ressa was there of course. She was always there. But Lady Bethal had remained on the couch. She looked up at Lady Magnolia.

“Magnolia, explain something to me.”

“If you insist, Bethal. What is it?”

The Lady Walchaís studied a sugary biscuit and made a face. She stood up slowly and looked at the map that Magnolia had provided the others—marked in several spots, purely as a conversational topic.

“Lord Tyrion Veltras is certainly going after the Drakes with a passion. Is it just that he hates them? As a people, I mean. Or is it something else? I feel as though I should know, but I don’t pay attention to the affairs of the realm as much as the others.”

“You don’t pay attention to anything but your husband, Bethal.”

The woman flashed a grin at Magnolia.

“True! So what was it? I feel like it was related to his wife.”

“It was.”

“Ah. She’s dead, isn’t she?”

“Tragically, yes.”

“Luckily.”

Ressa muttered as she cleared the table. Magnolia stomped on her foot, or tried to. Ressa dodged. Bethal paid no attention to the two of them.

“Yes. I met her once. I can see why you wouldn’t want her around. But you didn’t have anything to do with her death, did you? It was—a fall. But there was something suspicious about it. Was it—”

“Yes, Bethal. It was the Drakes. Or a Drake [Assassin]. Lord Tyrion found the dead body of a Drake and his wife. A tragic scene. I believe Sammial, his youngest, was not six years old when it happened.”

“Oh! So it was recent?”

Magnolia sighed. Sometimes she wanted to smack Bethal across the back of the head. But that would start a fight and Bethal was quite adept with knives.

“I have no doubt you received an invitation, Bethal. Yes, it was recent. I think Tyrion Veltras always had designs on taking the fight to the Drakes. But since his wife’s death—yes.”

“And how does he know it was the Drakes who killed her?”

“Because the [Assassin] was hired by them.”

“And how does he—”

“Because I told him, Bethal.”

The woman turned. Magnolia met her eyes, and her voice was cold. Ressa looked up.

“I told him. When he rode into my estates and begged the one favor he has ever asked of me, I told him who sent the [Assassin]. I told him the truth and made sure of it myself. That Drake was sent by the Walled Cities. Hired in Zeres, funded by their money, agreed upon by the other Walled Cities. It was them.”

“Oh.”

That was all Bethal said. She looked away, and Magnolia shook her head and sipped from her sugary tea. Regrets. It was a bitter taste on her tongue, for all the sugar. See what the truth did. See how mistakes added up? Oh, how she wished she could turn back time. But it was done.

“So that’s the reason? All of it? Or have I missed something else?”

Bethal stared at the map. Magnolia shook her head bitterly.

“No, you have it right. For his wife, he would wage war on an entire species. For one death, he would burn all of them in fire.”

The Lady Walchaís shook her head.

“It seems natural to me. If Thomast died I would find his killer and make them suffer for all eternity. If a Drake sent by the Walled Cities killed him—I would do exactly the same.”

She looked back, smiling, at Magnolia, but the look in her eyes reflected that promise. Magnolia sighed and Ressa shook her head.

“You two are alike in that, Bethal. But mark my words: I will not allow war. I will not allow Tyrion to drag down this continent for his own selfish reasons. He alone does not control the fate of Izril. And I have at least one trick up my sleeves to stop him.”

“Well, since I am part of that trick, I’d better tell Thomast.”

Bethal sighed lightly. She turned and nodded to Ressa.

“It’s been fun, Ressa. Until we next meet.”

She walked from the room. Magnolia stood there, sipping from her tea cup. Then she raised it.

“Throw that and I will be upset.”

Ressa spoke behind her. Magnolia lowered the tea cup and looked at her [Maid].

“This is an unfortunate situation, Ressa. It will be messy. Even with this, he might go forwards. And if it happens that way—”

“War?”

“Oh, terrible war.”

Magnolia sighed. She looked down into the dregs of her cup, at the sugar and tea gathered there. Then she shook her head.

“I hope Erin Solstice is alright. She lives right next to the city, doesn’t she? Funny, I’d heard of her attempts to protect Goblins. And now an army is marching on her. If only she had more time, perhaps she could have made a difference. But I fear that this isn’t a matter of Goblins any longer.”

“You think she could have made a difference?”

“Perhaps she has. Perhaps. Time will tell. The Antinium, Goblins, Liscor, she may make a difference there. But in a war, what can one person do?”

Magnolia turned to Ressa. The [Maid] raised one eyebrow. She tapped Magnolia lightly on the chest and looked pointedly at her.

“Everything?”

And the Lady Reinhart smiled, a touch sadly.

“Not alone.”

—-

Rags walked alone. Not alone in the sense of physical presences; she was surrounded by several hundred Goblins. Hobs, regular warriors, Pyrite, and Ulvama. But alone in the sense of her tribe. She could feel them south of her. But they were far distant and she was too far behind.

They were marching towards the High Passes. Towards Liscor. The mountains loomed ahead of them and the Goblins were footsore and weary. They’d barely paused since they’d begun walking this morning. Only today had Pyrite recovered enough to move. Until now they’d had to drag him on a makeshift sled and that had been excruciatingly slow.

The big Hob was moving now of his own volition, but his face was pale. At first, he hadn’t been able to even sit up. And his heart had kept starting and stopping until Ulvama had cast a charm on him. The [Deathbolt] spell had sapped Pyrite’s energy even with the magic stones he’d eaten. Now he could walk, but he was weak.

“Chieftain, we going there?”

One of Tremborag’s former lieutenants pointed. Rags squinted at the pass opening up ahead of them and nodded. That way led to Liscor. Ahead of them, she could see a vast host marching towards it. The Goblins eyed the Human army apprehensively. They were behind the Humans, trying to catch up. None of them were quite clear on why, except for Rags and Pyrite.

“Can’t catch tribe. Why go that way?”

Ulvama grumbled as she stared at the Human army. She was tired and unaccustomed to walking and not afraid to say it. For Rags’ part, her gratitude on seeing Ulvama had long worn thin. The small Goblin glared at the [Shaman].

“Must go to tribe. Must get to Liscor!”

“But why?”

“Find Erin. Stab Reiss. Get to tribe.”

It was all Rags could think of. Ulvama sighed, but didn’t argue. Rags was Chieftain, and strangely, none of Tremborag’s Goblins questioned it. Pyrite muttered something and both female Goblins looked at him.

“What you say?”

“Chieftain, what happens when get there? Fight Reiss? Run?”

“Don’t know. Just keep walking.”

Pyrite grunted. Ulvama looked scornfully at the huge Hob.

“Pyrite is slow. Could go faster without him.”

She seemed to be holding a grudge. Rags poked her in the side and Ulvama yelped. The little Goblin glared.

“Going fast enough. Pyrite weak.”

“Can he fight?”

The [Shaman] looked challengingly at Pyrite. The other warriors marching behind them looked at each other. The Hob who’d been entrusted with Pyrite’s axe shook his head. They didn’t question whether Pyrite could fight. He’d cut down so many of Reiss’ warriors that they’d been too afraid to even loot his body.

For his part, Pyrite just looked at Ulvama and shrugged, though it cost him to do so.

“Am tired. When fighting starts, I will have energy.”

That was all. Ulvama nodded reluctantly. She cast her eye to the sky and the bright, spring day. It didn’t feel like a day for war. She raised her fingers and pointed.

“[Sky’s Blessing].”

Rags looked up as Ulvama’s fingers and skin paint glowed. Suddenly, the air felt fresh and invigorating, and it felt like she was marching with the wind at her back. She stared at Ulvama, and then at Pyrite. The [Shaman] looked away from both of them.

“March faster, stupid Hob.”

Pyrite smiled. So did Rags. The Goblins walked on. Rags tried not to think about what would happen when they got to Liscor. She told herself she’d deal with it when it came, but the truth was she was too late. Reiss had won. Whatever would happen would happen without her there. And she feared the worst.

To take her mind off of that, she looked at Pyrite. At Ulvama. They were both Tremborag’s Goblins, at least, they had been at one time or another. She looked at Pyrite.

“When did you leave Tremborag mountain?”

He blinked. For a second she thought he’d avoid the question, like he sometimes did, but the big Goblin just sighed. The time for secrets had long since passed. Now he just looked embarrassed and tired.

“Long time ago. Very young Goblin. I was…five? Had a fight with Greybeard. Greydath. Decided to leave. Start my own tribe. Become strong. Become Goblin Lord.”

The other Goblins gaped at him. Pyrite shrugged, flushing a bit.

“Stupid. Young and stupid. Thought it would be easy. So I made tribe. Made big tribe.”

“Goldstone Tribe?”

Rags was confused. Pyrite shook his head.

“No. Other tribe. Called it—uh—Mountain Fierce Warriors Tribe.”

He looked ashamed. Rags stared at him and Ulvama sniggered. Pyrite scratched at the back of his head.

“Didn’t work well.”

“Why?”

He shrugged again.

“Had Hobs. Trained warriors. Had thousands of regular Goblins. But—stood out. Picked too many fights. Humans came. Destroyed tribe. Nearly died. Learned…learned Chieftain is not as good as Goblin Lord. Not nearly. So gave up. Became wanderer. Formed other tribe eventually.”

“But didn’t try to become Lord?”

“No. Not again.”

Pyrite shook his head heavily. He looked at Rags.

“Too much. Greydath—Reiss—Lords are too much.”

Overwhelming. Rags remembered what Greydath had said. Reiss had beaten Pyrite, even though he was a [Mage]. And Greydath—she nodded soberly.

“Much. But good to try.”

She heard a snort from Ulvama. The [Shaman] glared at her.

“Don’t need Goblin Lords! Why do stupid Goblin Lords and males fight all the time? Garen, Reiss, Greydath—stupid! Should just live in tribe.”

“Like Tremborag?”

Rags sneered. But Ulvama did not. She looked longingly back north. Tremborag’s mountain wasn’t even in view, but the other Goblins did too.

“Stupid.”

The little Chieftain informed Ulvama. She got a glare in return.

“How do you know? That was our tribe. You didn’t know it.”

“Saw enough. You did bad things.”

“So what? They did bad things to us.”

Ulvama snapped at Rags. She took a deep breath.

“You don’t know. You don’t know me. We were happy there. Sex, food—we had what we wanted. Tremborag was great Chieftain. Humans deserve pain. We do bad things to them? I am Human and Goblin.”

“You mean, parents were…”

Rags stared at Ulvama. The Goblin glared at her.

“Mother was Goblin.”

“Oh.”

The other Goblins stared at her. Pyrite just sighed. Rags searched for a comeback. There wasn’t one, really. But it still didn’t change the things Tremborag’s tribe had done. It changed nothing—but it explained everything. She shook her head.

“Still. Still.”

“You don’t know.”

Ulvama looked down at the ground. Rags glared.

“I do. My parents die too. Big Drake—Relc—kill them. Cut off heads. For present.”

The other Goblins looked at her. Rags told the story of how she had thrown rocks at Erin, trying to get some food. And then how the Drake had hunted her parents down, leaving only her alive. And then—

“—And then, he give to Erin. To her. But she didn’t like.”

“Didn’t like the present?”

Pyrite and Ulvama stared at her. Rags nodded. The two looked at each other, and then they and the other Goblins all burst out laughing. They roared with laughter, and Rags did too. They had to laugh at that story. It was laugh or cry. Or curl up and stop moving.

They went onwards. Following the Humans, telling stories. Tragic stories, happy ones. The happy ones were so rare, but Rags had more than her fair share. At one point she caught Ulvama looking at her. It was strange, but she and the [Shaman] did get along. True, Ulvama flirted outrageously with Pyrite in ways even Rags could pick up on, but they were…alike. In ways that Rags hadn’t known until now. It was actually pleasant to walk with her. She wasn’t an enemy.

“What?”

“When you said Goblins live in circles, what did you mean?”

The little Goblin scratched her head uncomfortably.

“What I said. Goblins live in circles. We kill Humans. Humans kill us. Repeat. Bad thing. Can’t keep doing.”

Tremborag’s Goblins exchanged glances and nodded, losing their cheer. They had seen the end of their circle in Tremborag. And yet—Ulvama shook her head.

“But what do we do? If Humans kill Goblins, what can we do? What other way is there? We run and die? We fight and run? We are hunted always.”

“I know. But there must be other way. There must. Or circle always comes around.”

Rags insisted. She didn’t have the answer, but she knew it was true. After a second, Ulvama nodded.

“So Chieftain is looking for something else? Something that is not circle?”

“Yes. Like square.”

“Or triangle?”

A Hob suggested. Another smacked him on the shoulder.

“Squiggly thing better.”

“How about line?”

Rags grinned, and she caught Pyrite smiling. They looked at each other, walking along, and for a second they forgot they were marching after the Humans, after Reiss, that they had lost their tribe. Then they heard a howl and looked ahead.

Someone was coming. The Goblins froze. Was it Humans? No, that was a Redfang howl! Rags’ heart beat faster. She looked up and waved her arms as she saw a group riding hard towards them. They were headed past them, towards the High Passes! Had some Redfangs survived? She shouted and the other Goblins shouted as well. The distant riders spotted them and adjusted their course. Rags was grinning and so was Pyrite—

Until they saw who was leading the Redfangs. The Goblins froze and Ulvama screamed a warning. The Hobs and Goblins moved in front of Rags, grabbing at weapons. Pyrite tried to lift his battleaxe. But on the forward rider came. He was leading barely more than a dozen battered Redfangs. They had cut their way north past the Humans somehow. But though he was accompanied by only a fraction of his tribe, though he looked haggard and lost, there was still no mistaking him.

Garen Redfang drew up in front of Rags, his Carn Wolf panting. He stared down at the tense group of Goblins. And his eyes found Rags. The Redfang’s Chieftain stared blankly at Rags. Then he nodded.

“Hey.”

—-

He had lost his tribe. He had been rejected by his warriors, old and new. He had confronted his team. And now he had nothing left. Garen Redfang stood with Rags as his warriors, exhausted and wounded, just lay down on the ground. They had ridden through magefire and hails of arrows. But somehow, incredibly, Garen had survived. Rags looked at the burns and fresh wounds on his body and wondered if he’d been trying to kill himself. If he had, he’d failed.

The two stood together. Pyrite and Ulvama watched Rags anxiously and stared suspiciously at Garen, but the Redfang Chieftain didn’t offer Rags any harm. He stood, looking blank and tired. Diminished. Rags stood with him, listening as Garen spoke of what had happened.

“So you go to High Passes?”

“Maybe.”

Garen stared past Rags. His Carn Wolf was lapping at some water being poured out of a flask. It was injured, but it had carried Garen all this way. Rags stared at the wolf as well and shook her head. She looked at Garen.

“You lost tribe.”

“Yes.”

He hunched his shoulders. Rags pointed towards Liscor.

“You betrayed team.”

“Yes.”

The Hob bowed his head.

“You betrayed me. And Reiss.”

“Yes. Yes.”

Garen closed his eyes. Rags stared up at him and then sighed.

“You are stupid.”

She saw one crimson eye open a crack and glare indignantly down at Rags. The little Goblin was unperturbed.

“You are. Stupid. And bad traitor. Bad Chieftain. Bad brother. Bad everything.”

“Can’t do anything about it.”

Garen gritted his teeth. Rags kicked him. This time Garen roared and made a fist. The Goblins tensed.

“Do you want fight?”

“No!”

Rags glared up at Garen. He relaxed slightly, but he was still furious.

“Then what?”

“Why are you running away? Why always running?”

Rags stared at Garen. He looked confused.

“Tribe rejected me. Nowhere to go. Halfseekers will kill me.”

“Yes. So why running? Why run?”

“Because nothing to stay for.”

“Except tribe. Except old team.”

Garen opened his mouth. Rags shook her head. She had it now. She looked at Garen.

“You betray. Always betray, you say. But it was you. You betray and betray. And then run away. But that is the problem.”

She pointed back, towards Liscor. Garen followed her finger. Rags spoke quietly.

“When you betray, you should stay.”

“And do what?”

“Fix things. Try. Be loyal. Be good.”

Garen looked back the way Rags was pointing. He looked at her. For a moment he hesitated and she hoped—but then he shook his head.

“Too late. Far too late to make things better.”

He walked towards his Carn Wolf. It whined as it got up. Rags shouted at Garen’s back.

“Not too late to try! Never too late! Otherwise you run forever!”

She saw Garen look back once. And hesitate. But then he got on his Carn Wolf and rode away. North, and west. Towards the High Passes. Rags scuffed at the ground as he rode with the last of his Redfangs.

“Darn.”

She was really hoping he’d give her a ride.

—-

Goblins ran. Humans retreated. Adventurers fled the city, or prepared to. But Drakes didn’t run. That was what they said, anyways. But Relc had been part of more than one withdrawal and it looked like running to him. General Sserys’ iconic line was just that, a line. Drakes ran all the time. Relc Grasstongue just wished that were an option here.

He marched up the stairs to the battlements of Liscor’s western wall. Normally Relc didn’t make the climb unless he had to, but today he was looking for someone. She wasn’t hard to spot. Embria’s red scales stood out, even among the other Drakes. She was beautifully striking. Much like her mother, although her mother had pink scales. Just went to show that Embria got the best of both her parents. Her looks from her mother, and her talent with the spear from her father.

It was all he had to give, really.

Relc walked towards Embria. Normally he avoided his daughter. He had the feeling she was disappointed in him. It was a hunch, made stronger by all the times she said he was a disappointment to his face. Besides, whenever they spoke it always went back to the army. She wanted him to reenlist and Relc wouldn’t. Not again, not ever. He was sick of war. And he wished it hadn’t come to Liscor.

He heard Embria speaking as he approached. She was using a rare artifact, a gem with the ability to communicate her words to a speaker across the world. It was limited in magical power and it broke when it was out—plus the distance mattered, so he guessed this was an important call. No guesses to who it was with. Relc edged over and Embria looked up, glaring at him to be silent. He nodded and she spoke into the stone.

“Yes, sir. Absolutely. We will do our part. I swear it by the walls…yes, sir. Wing Commander Embria, out.”

She lowered the mana stone. Relc noticed it was beginning to disintegrate. It was nearly out of mana. He coughed as Embria lowered the stone.

“You talked to High Command?”

“I just had a conversation with them, yes.”

Embria turned to face her father, her posture straight, her face severe. She stood tall, as if to make up for the lack in height. Relc slouched to accommodate her, which only made things worse.

“So what’s the plan? Are they sending a huge army to rescue us? Come charging up north with the others?”

“Don’t be stupid. They’re on contract. They can’t move if they wanted to. And they were too far away to get here no matter if they’d started right when we learned what was going on.”

Embria shook her head. Her tail angrily lashed the ground and Relc avoided it. He followed her as she marched down the walls.

“Right, right. Well, it was worth a shot. So what did they tell you?”

“To do my duty.”

“Which is?”

“Classified. If you were part of the army, I could tell you.”

Embria shot a glance at Relc and he sighed.

“I’ll pass. It’s probably just ‘hold the walls’. ‘Drakes don’t run’. ‘Liscor stands in the face of adversity.’ How’s that?”

She hesitated, which made Relc think he’d gotten it close. There wasn’t really much that High Command could tell her, anyways. Embria turned away.

“I’m going to do my duty, father. I wish you’d do yours.”

That stung. Relc glared at his daughter’s back.

“I’m a [Guardsman]. When the time comes, I’ll be up on the walls, same as you.”

Zevara would see to that. Relc imagined fighting with the damn trebuchets throwing rocks. Humans with siege weapons! It was bad enough that they knew how to throw magic. Now they could toss rocks? It was the end of the world.

“You should be a [Soldier].”

“Kid, let’s not do this—”

“No. You should be!”

Embria spun and poked a claw into Relc’s chest. He paused, and saw a [Guardswoman] patrolling towards him swing around smartly and walk the other way. Embria stared up at Relc, and he remembered a little Drake begging for war stories and asking about her mother. When had that look of admiration turned to contempt? Right before she’d enlisted in the army, that was when. All those years ago. Embria glared up at Relc and he tried to meet her eyes.

“You were a hero, dad. You were one of the greatest [Sergeants] we had. Everyone told me that you were the one they called on to hunt down enemy commanders. You were so good they awarded you a weapon worthy of a commander and gave you a name!”

“Yeah, well, it’s an okay spear. And the name’s not that great—it’s actually sort of an insult—”

Embria ignored Relc’s mumbling.

“Why don’t you want to join the army? Is it because you’re afraid?”

“Of dying? Sure.”

“What about your fellow soldiers?”

Relc shook his head.

“Those guys? They’re great. But what’s the point of fighting, kid? To win a war? To earn Liscor money and make the High Command proud? For what? I fought in the Second Antinium War because the Goblin King was about to destroy everything. I fought the Antinium for the same reason. But fighting other Drakes? What’s the point?”

“What about Humans?”

“What about them?”

Embria ground her teeth together. She hissed at Relc.

“Don’t play dumb! They’re coming to destroy Liscor.”

He folded his arms.

“Right. And where’s our army? Down south around Oteslia, that’s where. Who’s defending the city? A hundred of our soldiers and thousands of the Watch. Including—guess who?”

He jabbed a thumb at his chest. Embria flushed.

“If they’d known—”

“You said it. They didn’t. The army’s not a glorious defender of the Drakes, kid. It never was, even when old Sserys was in charge. It was a mercenary army. One of the best, sure, but just mercenaries. I don’t regret leaving it. And I’m not going back, so can we drop it? Just tell me why you wanted to see me, and I’ll get out of your spines.”

Embria stared at Relc. Then she turned away.

“Fine. It’s just a matter of courtesy. Here.”

She fished in her belt pouch and pulled something out. Relc blinked as a folded envelope appeared in front of him. He accepted it gingerly.

“What’s this?”

“You have to know what it is. You haven’t been away from the army long enough to—you can’t have forgotten. We’re about to go to war. Get it?”

Embria glared at him. Relc just looked blank. His daughter ground her teeth together.

“It’s a will.”

“A—”

Relc’s stomach dropped. He stared down at the letter and saw it as addressed to him. Embria nodded curtly.

“It details my possessions go to you in the event of my death. I—had to update it. The other soldiers have filed their wills as well. It’s standard practice to send them back on the eve of a big battle.”

“I know.”

Relc spoke mechanically. He stared down at the letter, recognizing the neat handwriting. He began to open the letter and Embria snatched it back.

“Don’t open it! It’s in the event of my death!”

“Oh, right. Sorry, kid. I won’t open it unless you uh, die.”

She handed him the letter back. Relc stared at Embria. She looked at him and then threw a salute.

“I have to get back to my duty, Sergeant Relc. Until we meet again.”

“Sure. I mean, yes, Wing Commander.”

Relc threw a salute of his own. He watched Embria turn and march away. Her back straight, her posture proud and unwavering as she snapped at a slouching [Guardswoman] to stand up. For a second Relc wished she’d turn around, if only to insult him some more. Then he looked down at the letter and opened it. He read what was inside and looked up.

—-

Erin Solstice was polishing the counter of her bar. She did it mechanically, noting how quiet the inn was. The adventurers had followed Ilvriss, Zevara, and the others out of the inn in the morning. They’d been assigned to defend the walls or parts of the city and had decided to check out the spots while continuing to move the door further south. Just in case.

In case of what wasn’t said, but the implication was Liscor falling and everyone dying. Erin tried to imagine it. She looked around her inn and then down at the clean counter. What was she doing? What was the point? If this inn would be rubble—and it would be if the Humans starting lobbing rocks at the city or the Goblin Lord’s army came this way—what was the point?

She should run. Run, and get Lyonette and Mrsha. And Krshia, only, the Gnoll had said she was going to stay and fight. So was Selys. The [Receptionist] had told Erin she wasn’t leaving.

“Grandma’s not budging, and if she’s staying, I’d better stay with her to make sure she doesn’t fall asleep. Besides, reinforcements are on the way, right?”

Reinforcements are on the way. Liscor will hold. Everyone Erin had talked to said something like that. The city wouldn’t fall and the Goblins and Humans wouldn’t take it. Because…well, because it couldn’t happen. They didn’t talk about numbers or the odds. In fact, they quite deliberately avoided mentioning those crucial details. But Erin had heard Olesm talking and she knew what the score was.

It was quiet. So quiet, that Erin could hear the voices outside. It was just a few voices, but they were loud. Shouting, even. She recognized a few of them and went over to the window.

Numbtongue was standing on a hill next to Headscratcher and Shorthilt. He was speaking loudly to one of the new Goblins. Redscar? Yeah. They were debating something. The Goblins were talking, all of the leaders. The five Redfangs were part of that group, as were Noears, Poisonbite, Spiderslicer, and Redscar. And they were deciding something. Every Goblin in the Floodplains was gathered around them. Erin was sure, fairly sure, that they were deciding what to do now.

Run or stay. Or hide in the dungeon, maybe. It wasn’t an easy choice. There was a limited amount of space for an army this large, but they were outnumbered by the Goblin Lord’s force and the Humans. The Drakes were heading north, and the dungeon was…the dungeon. No good answers. Erin saw Numbtongue finish speaking and then Redscar reply. The Goblins outside hung on every word.

“What’re you going do, huh?”

She looked out the window and then heard a sound. Erin turned and saw Mrsha staring at her. The little Gnoll had come through the door from Liscor before it had been carried off. She’d leapt through, not wanting to be apart from Lyonette despite the Goblins. And now she was stuck in the inn, until Erin went into Liscor. She stared up at Erin. And so did a little Goblin with a big hat.

Pebblesnatch was in Erin’s inn, peeking out from the kitchen. She’d recovered her prized hat, which had somehow ended up on Garry’s head last night. Unlike the others, she hadn’t gone outside. She was…afraid. She’d stayed in Erin’s warm kitchen and the young woman had let her. She could understand Pebblesnatch’s fear. The Goblin and Gnoll looked at each other warily, and Erin saw Apista buzzing around the flowers.

No Lyonette. She was in Liscor getting some food since the Goblins had cleaned Erin out of everything. It was expensive; food was at a premium due to the impending siege. Still, Erin had money to burn. There were no Horns or Halfseekers. They were in the city. It was just Erin, and an army of Goblins outside.

“What’s going to happen?”

Erin asked the question out loud, but no one responded. She heard a sound from outside and turned. The door opened. To Erin’s surprise, Relc ducked into the inn. He grinned at her and waved.

“Hey! Lots of Goblins out there, am I right? Scary bastards. Whoops, there’s one here too. Hey, I’m not here to pick a fight.”

He raised his claws as Pebblesnatch backed up. Erin stared at Relc. Why was he here?

“Why are you here, Relc? I thought you hated Goblins.”

“Yeah, I’m still not keen on them. But I uh, was in the neighborhood. On a walk, y’know, and I thought I’d come by.”

The [Guardsman] grinned at Erin unconvincingly. She raised an eyebrow.

“A walk, huh? Well, can I get you a drink?”

“Ooh, yeah! I forgot you have drinks! I’ll have—”

“Here.”

Erin poured him an ale. Relc blinked at it but drank it down willingly. He sighed.

“That hits the spot. Remember when you didn’t have any alcohol? Instead you had that blue, sweet stuff. Those were the days.”

“They were.”

Erin leaned over the counter. Relc grinned at her and waved at Mrsha. The little Gnoll didn’t know him well enough to come over. He relaxed, the picture of sloth, but Erin detected something else from Relc today. She looked casually at him.

“So why did you come here?”

“Me? Well, like I said, I was in the area…”

Relc avoided Erin’s gaze. He was playing with something. A letter, opened and folded up again. Erin eyed it.

“Okay. Well, can I help you with anything else? Food?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

Now that was surprising. Erin blinked at Relc. He just smiled at her. He stared out the window.

“Lots of Goblins. That reminds me of old times too, right? Except there’s more of them.”

“Yeah.”

Erin said the word with finality. Relc’s grin slipped.

“Right. I’ve uh—look, it’s not that I think this is your fault.”

“Glad to hear it.”

The young woman picked up the dust rag and swabbed the counter. Relc coughed.

“It’s just that you tend to do weird things—and I was thinking—well, it’s sort of like the Face-Eater Moth attack. Or Skinner. Or that time you rescued Ceria from the dungeon and then we all got our tails kicked by that jerk, Gazi. And you poked her in the eye. A Named Adventurer. I mean, it’s sort of like that, right?”

“I guess?”

Erin looked blankly at Relc. Why was he bringing up the past? The painful past, come to that. Relc hesitated.

“So the Goblin Lord’s coming here. And the Humans. Damn Humans. Hate them. Ugly fleshbags, am I right?”

He grinned at Erin. She frowned.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t like the fact that they’re coming to Liscor either. Or the Goblin Lord. He sounds like a jerk.”

“Exactly! So…can you do anything?”

“About what?”

“This.”

Relc waved a hand in the air. He looked at Erin.

“You know. Something. Do your Erin thing. Make things work out right. Can you…can you help?”

He looked at Erin and lost the air of false cheer he’d come in with. Erin stared at Relc and slowly shook her head.

“I can’t—I mean, there’s nothing I can think of. That’s an army. I don’t—I don’t know what anyone can do.”

Relc’s face fell.

“Right. Of course not. It’s just that I thought—well, hey, it’ll work out, right? Drakes don’t run. The walls stand and all that. You’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. You should come into the city, though. No telling what’ll happen when…when…”

He lapsed into silence. Erin nodded. The two stood there for a while. Relc finished one mug, and then another. Erin listened to the Goblins arguing outside.

“You sure there’s nothing?”

Relc looked up at Erin at the last. Hopefully, questioningly, searching for something. Anything. But Erin didn’t have anything. She shook her head. And soon after that, he left. Erin was left staring out the window. At the Goblins.

—-

“When you breach the walls, I will teleport my Chosen into the battle. They must not be seen by witnesses. I will time it so they arrive within minutes of you taking the walls. Use them against the Antinium, Bea especially. Venitra will be suited to ambush attacks when Tyrion tries to capture the walls. As for Ijvani—she has yet to respond. Never mind. I will send some other undead instead. Wraiths, perhaps.”

Reiss stared blankly ahead as he rode his undead shield spider. He was approaching the pass leading to Liscor. His army, his tribe, marched around him. In silence. They watched their leader as he spoke to his master, a figure unseen. But that didn’t matter. They read his body language, listened to his voice.

“Yes, master.”

“Another thing. I have a…student who is currently residing in Liscor. He and I have exchanged brief communications. I would see him survive the battle.”

“A student?”

An image flashed into Reiss’ mind. The Goblin Lord’s heart beat faster at the sight. His master’s will wrote itself into his mind.

“Keep him alive if possible. He is promising.”

“Yes, master.”

Reiss stared at the image, burning it into his memory. Another rival. Another doomed soul. He felt a pang of fear. His master used and discarded potential candidates constantly, whenever he found someone who attracted his attention. Perhaps Az’kerash sensed it, because his mental tone grew reassuring.

“He is skilled. Adaptive and sharp, for all he is a beginner in the craft. A touch too arrogant and his ideas are foolish. However, that is one failing in a gifted mind. But make no mistake. Seize Liscor and you will be first of my students, my faithful apprentice.”

“Yes, master. I will take the city.”

“Good. Then I will contact you when the moment is upon us. Prepare yourself, my apprentice.”

And then he was gone. Reiss sat back and looked around. His tribe looked at him. He was the Goblin Lord, and they were his people. Only, they were not the same in his mind as they had been a few days ago.

Some of them weren’t his. They were…Rags’. Tremborag’s Goblins. He had taken them. He had betrayed Rags. He had killed Pyrite.

It had to be done. But it was so not-Goblin that the echoes of the betrayal lingered on. The Goblins moved as Reiss directed them, but more like undead than Goblins. They were…silent.

“Snapjaw.”

Reiss sent the order for his lieutenant. He had to tell her about his master’s new plans, or the adjustments, rather. In truth, Reiss just wanted someone to talk to. He saw Snapjaw ride slowly towards him. Not as quickly as she usually did. And when she appeared, the metal-toothed Goblin was hesitant.

“Snapjaw, why are you hesitating?”

Reiss looked at her. The female Hob gulped.

“Is it you?”

The question rocked Reiss back in his seat. He stared at Snapjaw and she colored. But the question lingered on. Is it you? It is really you, Reiss? Or is it the Necromancer, using you as a puppet?

Up till now, Reiss had been sure it was him. Despite everything. His master’s voice was just a mental connection. The being that was Reiss was undiluted. But he remembered the moment when he had struck Rags with a spell and wondered. Was it him? Was this desire to take Liscor him? Or was it his mind being influenced.

“It’s me.”

He said it out loud, to reassure Snapjaw as much as himself. It had to be him. He had sacrificed so much, this desire meant more than anything. It was…he shook his head.

Osthia had spoken to him. Tied up, gagged so she couldn’t spit. But she had tried. She had begged him in the moment when they’d spoken.

“Don’t do this. Please.”

He couldn’t answer her. Reiss bowed his head. He felt haunted. By betrayal, by doubt. The shining city in his dreams seemed dark and the road ahead long. But nearly. They were nearly there. He looked at Snapjaw.

“Are you with me?”

“Yes, Lord.”

She said it automatically. But she did not say his name. And Reiss wondered. He wondered as he stared down at his reattached hand. At the headless Shield Spider, rotting. At the silent Goblins, marching. And he knew he would have his answer tomorrow. Come what may. There was bitter relief in that, at least.

—-

And then it was done. Erin stood outside her inn and saw the decision as it was made. She saw Headscratcher look down, Redscar sigh, and Spiderslicer turn away. Noears looked mildly relieved, and Poisonbite looked like she didn’t know what to think. She waited for one of the Redfangs to tell her. In the end, Headscratcher did it.

“We go.”

He pointed south. Erin nodded. That was it. The Goblins had debated, and they had chosen. By the slimmest of margins, they had decided not to stay or hide or fight. It was a practical choice.

“Should fight. Goblin Lord coming. Goblin Lord betrayed. Should fight.”

Redscar growled as he stomped past them. Erin looked at him, and then at Headscratcher.

“You’re all leaving?”

“Now. Tonight.”

Headscratcher nodded. He looked at Erin and gestured to the inn.

“Will bring door. When get back, can come visit? Or teleport? If run from city in door, we find and protect.”

The awkward gallantry made Erin smile. She put a hand on Headscratcher’s arm and squeezed.

“Thank you. But you guys just find somewhere safe, okay? There are Drakes heading north. Don’t get attacked.”

“We won’t.”

Headscratcher nodded. He and Erin looked at each other. It was time for goodbyes. She hugged him without a word and he hesitated, then hugged her back. The other Goblins came over and Erin said goodbye to each one.

“Take care. Get a new guitar.”

“Don’t drink too much from that wine cloak, Rabbiteater. It’s bad for your teeth. I think.”

“Don’t sharpen your sword too much. There’s more to life than swords, you know. Like…maces? I dunno.”

“Good shooting. I’ll say hi to Bird for you.”

The five Redfangs shook Erin’s hands, or hugged her, or spoke a few words. Erin wanted to say a lot more. And she would. They weren’t going right now. But it felt too rushed. Too inadequate. She walked back into her inn as the Goblins began organizing, packing up.

They were going. And at least she was at peace with that.

“Good. It’s good. This isn’t their fight. This isn’t their problem.”

Erin spoke to herself in her empty inn. She stared out the window, and then looked north. The empty Floodplains waited. Soon they would be filled with Goblins and Humans and death. Still, she couldn’t picture the war entirely. It couldn’t happen. It shouldn’t happen.

And she wouldn’t let it happen. Erin’s hands slowly tightened into fists. She stared out the window and felt something rising in her.

“It can’t go down like this. I won’t let it. Goblin Lord? Humans? Why can’t we talk about it? Why can’t we stop? It could happen. It might happen. Someone has to try.”

Even if it was a risk. Even if it meant dying. Erin turned. She looked around blankly, and then ran upstairs. She came down with a bed sheet.

“Darn. I’m going to need thread, a pole—can I get Selys to stitch for me? Heck, I’ll do it myself if I have to. What do I say? What do I do? What if they shoot me?”

For a second she paused and stared down at her hands. Erin closed her eyes and breathed out slowly.

“Someone has to try.”

She began to work. And perhaps it didn’t matter. Perhaps one person could change nothing. But when everything teetered on the brink, one person’s actions did matter. One [Innkeeper], perhaps. Or the little Gnoll and Goblin who watched from the shadows. And who had heard…

Everything. And that night things happened. People marched and plotted and things got into line just so. More or less how it was expected to happen, but with some key differences no one expected. And the next day…

The Goblin Lord’s army arrived in Liscor.

5.61

(Due to the next chapter being delayed, 5.62 will come out on Saturday, March 2nd.)

He rode on through the night. The wind cooled the blood spattering his body. It soothed the burning wounds he’d taken, and the sweat. The land passed by him, grass turning to dirt, to inhospitable stone. Garen rode towards the High Passes.

They were always there, in the distance. If you looked, you could see them. A speck at first, if you were very far away. But they would grow until they were closer and closer, keep growing until it seemed like they were too large.

For the High Passes, the mountains of Izril had never been climbed. No one had ever returned from them, had ever climbed to the summit. Then again, perhaps some brave souls had made the journey. But it was not one they had come back from.

He had climbed the mountains. Garen was sure of it. The Goblin King had gone there, to plant his great treasure. His secret left for his people. Why? And what was it? Garen didn’t know. But the idea had fixed in his head since he had heard it spoken from the mouth of the Ghostly Hand Chieftain. Beyond the clouds, in a place uncharted, lay the greatest treasure of Goblins.

And yet tonight, he saw only clouds. Only dark mountains. Garen rode with the last of his tribe. The last warriors who had stayed with him. Under a hundred had left with him and broken north. Eight now remained. Eight. Enough to start a tribe with.

Only—Garen slowed, and his loyal Carn Wolf panted. He stared ahead at the dark mountains, beyond which lurked the passes, the home of the Redfangs, a place where even he tread lightly.  He stared ahead and saw nothing.

Nothing. No vision for the future. No idea of what would come next. No tribe. How would he restart the Redfang tribe? Even Goblins feared the High Passes. Would he stay there? What would he do beyond surviving? Garen had no idea. He looked back, over his shoulder, and saw a small group of Goblins in the distance. They were headed south. To Liscor. And, in Garen’s heart, he knew, to war.

He could feel it in the air, like a physical thing. Or maybe it was his tribe he felt. They were gathered there, at Liscor. And they would fight, be it the army of Reiss, the Humans, or the Drakes. They would fight and die and so would Headscratcher, the other four Redfangs, the Cave Goblins…

And her, Rags. Garen stared at the small figure. She would fight. She could have run. In fact, she should. She was cut off from her tribe, defeated by Reiss, and an entire army of Humans lay between her and her people. She should run. But she still went.

And Reiss would be there. His brother, slave to the dark thing that called itself his master. And he would destroy Liscor or die there.

They would be there too. The Halfseekers. His team. Garen stared back, and then shook his head. Rags’ words still lingered in his mind.

“Not too late to try! Never too late! Otherwise you run forever!”

But what could he do? Garen shook his head and looked back towards the High Passes. But no matter how long he stared, he saw no future there. And if he turned his head back he saw…everything. Everything he had ever hated and loved and cared for.

Everything.

Garen realized he’d come to a stop. He heard panting and looked down. His Carn Wolf was tired. Garen had pushed both his wolf and himself hard these last few hours. He scratched his wolf between the ears and heard it growl softly. It, or rather, he, was a good Carn Wolf. He would have been an alpha of his pack had he not been tamed.

He had no name, despite being Garen’s companion over two years. That was because Carn Wolves often fell in battle, the same as their riders. Garen had buried four wolves before this one. So he had stopped naming them. If you didn’t grow too attached, people couldn’t betray you by dying. Or leaving.

Garen rubbed his Carn Wolf, and then noticed something. Movement. The Redfang Warriors who’d kept pace with him, his loyal eight, were talking amongst themselves, looking back. And then they turned. Garen sat up.

“What are you doing? Keep moving.”

He began to urge his Carn Wolf forwards. But one of the Redfangs, a veteran who’d been with Garen for six years, shook his head. He had watched dozens of his friends fall in battle an hour ago, and the stripes of red war paint were still drying on his body. He looked at Garen.

“No, Chieftain. We go back.”

“Back?”

Garen stared at the warrior. He saw the others nod. A lance of pain shot through his heart, to join the other wounds.

“You betray me too? After all…”

He gestured back at the road they’d followed. The warrior—his name was Starstarer, wasn’t it? Not a proper warriors’ nickname, but he had chosen it nonetheless. Starstarer shook his head again.

“Chieftain, Redfangs ride to war. All of them. We go too.”

“But you left them. They betrayed you.”

Garen’s voice sounded plaintive in his ears. His Carn Wolf whined and the other wolves sniffed the air and growled uneasily. Starstarer nodded.

“Yes, Chieftain. They did.”

“So why—”

The Redfangs looked at each other. As one, they shrugged. It was a Goblin expression. Starstarer looked at his Chieftain, and there was regret and grief and something else in his eyes.

“Because they are Redfangs. They are we, Chieftain. And we do not ride alone. If brothers and sisters go to battle, we must go back. Sorry.”

Sorry. It was the first time Garen had heard anyone apologize to him while betraying his trust. The Chieftain, the Gold-rank adventurer, the Hobgoblin, stared as the Redfangs began to ride backwards, south, chasing Rags and her group. Now he was alone. He shouted at them in despair.

“So you leave too! You and all the others! Who taught you to betray? Who told you other Goblins were more important than Chieftain? Than me?”

Starstarer paused. He looked back at Garen and pointed.

“You, Chieftain.”

Garen stopped. Starstarer and the other seven began to ride faster and faster. Their Carn Wolves howled and Garen’s own wolf whined. It wanted to go back, but Garen wouldn’t let it. He turned to look back at the High Passes.

“All gone. All gone. I am betrayed.”

The words were carried away by the wind. I am betrayed. They came back to him.

I betray them.

It wasn’t what he wanted to admit. Garen struggled, but the events of yesterday, of all his conversations, crystalized in his head. The words whispered around him as the wind blew.

I betray them. I betray their expectations. I betray, not them. And then I run away.

“Stop it.”

He whispered. But the wind couldn’t be fought. Garen looked back. His entire world lay south of him. And nothing but darkness and regret ahead. Why was he going this way? Why didn’t he go back?

Because…he was afraid. How could he make up for what he’d done, even if he tried? The moment he’d struck at Halassia, in his rage and despair, the instant he had attacked Reiss and struck Headscratcher—they were moments he couldn’t take back. Time could not be undone. What could he do?

There was only one thing Garen could think of. One thing he was good at, really. Garen looked down at his most prized possession. His sword. It hung at his side, red as rust, still sticky with blood. He drew it, held it out. His Carn Wolf tilted its head up and licked it. It whined as its tongue touched the edge and was cut.

“Stupid.”

Garen scolded his Carn Wolf. He rubbed its head again, and looked south. Then he sighed. He clicked his tongue and urged his Carn Wolf around. He stared south.

“I can do one thing.”

And one thing only. Garen shook his head. Then he shrugged, as Starstarer had done, and laughed. It was a short laugh, bitter, tired, but also relieved. Garen couldn’t remember when he’d last laughed. But once it had started, he couldn’t stop. His Carn Wolf pricked up its ears. Surprised by the odd sound coming from its master, it began to lope forwards, and then run as Garen urged it to go faster. Its tongue lolled out and it panted. Now it was happy, running in the cool night, following its pack.

The Redfang Warriors were following Starstarer, debating how to get back to their tribe. They agreed they would follow Rags, ask for her forgiveness. She was their old Chieftain. And if she didn’t take them…they’d try the mountains. If they climbed high enough, they could go around the Humans. It would take a long time, but it could be done. They were talking about how they should greet Rags, when they heard the laughter. They turned their heads.

They saw Garen bearing down on them, sword in hand. They heard his laughter and feared. The Redfangs turned, grabbing at their weapons. They braced, expecting the worst, but Garen just rode through them. The former Chieftain of the Redfangs stared down at the smaller Goblins. They looked up at him, uncertain and wary. He pointed.

“Why are you waiting? Faster! Go faster! Redfangs don’t ride slow.”

They looked up at him. Garen stared down at them and for a moment they saw straight through him. Into his beating heart, his bare soul full of guilt. And the difference, the way he sat. The calmness in him. Garen bowed his head to Starstarer.

“I was wrong.”

That was all. Garen said no more, but began to ride on. He was bad at apologies, too, as it turned out. But it was enough. Starstarer looked around. The Redfangs exchanged glances and grinned. They shouted as they urged their Carn Wolves after Garen, whooping and cheering. It had taken a while, and cost them much. But it had happened at last.

Their old Chieftain was back.

Garen rode across the grasslands at breakneck speed. He moved south, and soon he was upon the small group of Goblins. They cried out in shock and turned. Garen stopped in front of the small Goblin as the large, fat Hob and the attractive [Shaman] barred his way. He looked down at the small Goblin, the small Chieftain, and the wary way she stared up at him.

“What you want?”

Garen hesitated. He looked down at Rags and a thousand things crept up on his tongue. A thousand things unsaid. And for once, he said them.

“Sorry.”

Sorry. It felt good to say. Garen looked at Rags, and her eyes widened a bit. She blinked at Garen, and then smiled. It was good to see. Garen gave her a grin, and jerked his head.

“Want a ride?”

She blinked up at him. Garen saw the other Goblins staring at him with suspicion, but then the Hob, Pyrite, raised one hand.

“Sure.”

Garen’s Carn Wolf blinked in alarm. So did Garen. Rags laughed, and that night Garen found himself running for once, alongside his Carn Wolf. The other Redfangs ran too, as six of them dragged Pyrite on a sled, and another carried Rags and Ulvama together. Garen laughed and laughed as he raced south with the Goblins. South, hoping, praying, that he wasn’t too late.

He had something he had to do.

—-

On the thirteenth day, Erin woke up and felt the drum beats echoing in her mind. Her [Dangersense] thundered at her, and she knew why. She got up, dressed, and stared out the window. The Floodplains were quiet. Empty, save for all the mud, and stagnant water. And the Goblins. But they were packing up, moving south.

“Good.”

Erin stared north, across the hills and valleys towards the road leading to Esthelm. It was deserted. She nodded. So she had time. A bit.

“Breakfast.”

There wasn’t much left in the pantry. Lyonette had bought just enough for a few meals. Erin made do. She greeted Lyonette and Mrsha as they came down the stairs with a heaping plate full of waffles and the last of the Ashfire Bee honey. Lyonette blinked and Mrsha sniffed the air.

“Wow. That’s a lot.”

“And it’s for everyone, so share, Mrsha. I thought today would be a waffle day. Let’s eat up.”

Erin smiled at the two of them. She heard adventurers bumping around upstairs and what sounded like Pisces swearing as he ran into something. She gestured at the table as she looked towards the window. Lyonette did too.

“Do you think…?”

She glanced down at Mrsha, who was oblivious and eager to eat. Erin stared out the window and nodded.

“Let’s have breakfast. And then…I’ll lock up.”

She sat down as Lyonette, Mrsha, Apista, the Halfseekers, and the Horns of Hammerad came downstairs. They greeted each other warily. Ceria stared out the window. Those without [Dangersense] picked up on the mood. But they held their tongues. They smiled and talked about inconsequential things instead. They had one last meal together in the peace of the inn.

And then the drum beats began echoing across the Floodplains. The drum beats. And the first of the Goblin Lord’s army began pouring into the valley.

—-

Pebblesnatch saw them first. She was in the old cave, the one that lead to the dungeon. She wasn’t supposed to be there. She was not, and she knew it. But she couldn’t help it. She’d come back for the door.

The door. The red mana stone glinted in the wooden door that had provided the Goblins with a way to The Wandering Inn. They hadn’t taken it with them, and so it still sat in the cave. Pebblesnatch stared up at it.

She knew it was useless. The Drakes had taken the door and they wouldn’t ever open it to this cave. But it was a reminder of all that was good. It was a treasure, the only kind that Pebblesnatch knew. As valuable as food and a safe place to sleep. So she had to come back for it. Pebblesnatch went over to the door and wrestled it away from the wall.

It was hard. The door was a slab of wood and Pebblesnatch was tiny. She eventually managed to throw it on its side, and then she had to prize the mana stone from the wood. She chipped at the door with a little stone dagger, avoiding the mana stone. She nearly had it out when she heard the drums.

Pebblesnatch froze. She heard the first boom of the war drums echo through the cave, and then another. The beat rolled across the passes. It made her shiver. Pebblesnatch forgot the mana stone. She crept towards the entrance to the cave and froze.

There were Goblins. Only, they weren’t her tribe. These Goblins marched in ranks. They wore armor tarred black with resin, and they marched in silence. They were as unnatural to Pebblesnatch as monsters. She shivered as she looked at them. No Goblins marched in ranks! And what was that which walked and shambled past them? Pebblesnatch went white with fear.

The undead. Thousands of them, fallen Goblins, reanimated Eater Goats, moved in a separate column. The dead and the living kept away from each other, but they moved with one purpose. Pebblesnatch froze in the entrance to the cave. So many. They filled the pass, moving shoulder-to-shoulder so some passed within feet of the cave’s entrance. And they kept coming. More and more of them. Thousands. Tens of thousands. More.

The little Cave Goblin quaked in fear. She hid, praying they wouldn’t go into the cave. And the Goblin army didn’t. Any other tribe would have checked the cave, but this one was under command. They marched on, and then Pebblesnatch heard the thunder of hooves. She peeked out again and this time didn’t even bother to stare. One look at the countless Humans riding on horses and the ones marching on foot, bearing arms, was enough to send her hiding again.

The second army was even larger than the first. And both began moving across the Floodplains. Pebblesnatch stayed where she was, terrified. The little red mana stone was clutched in her claws as she peeked outside. Now she was stuck. Pebblesnatch went back to the cave and wondered if she could get through the dungeon, but when she heard the clicking and agitated sounds coming past the walled-off section she froze.

The Shield Spiders, who were quite invisible to her, were angry. They’d heard the drums and movement and were agitated. Pebblesnatch backed up and hid in the cave. She hid and quaked. She shouldn’t have come here. She shouldn’t! She was separated from the others. And she was stuck here.

Pebblesnatch was afraid. So she hid and tried to make herself as small as possible. The chef’s hat made a pillow as Pebblesnatch curled up. Waiting. She heard the sounds of the drums, and marching, and then silence. And then she heard thunder and war.

—-

“The Goblins have moved away from the inn. They’re heading south. Small mercy for that.”

Ilvriss studied the map and sighed. One less problem. He spoke into the small scrying orb he held in one claw. The figure on the other side spoke tersely.

“It will help, but the real problem is how long you can hold out for. They’re early.”

“Yes.”

That was all Ilvriss said. He didn’t need to go to the battlements to see, or even listen to the reports coming into the war room he’d set up. He’d seen the Goblin Lord’s army, and behind it, the Human one. They were here.

In thirteen days. Even faster than anticipated.

“Tyrion Veltras is nothing if not punctual. How soon may we have reinforcements?”

The hesitation on the other end was all the answer Ilvriss needed, really. The head [Strategist] of Salazsar checked his reports.

“The…the nearest group is the Winged Riders of Oteslia. They might arrive by nightfall, but they’ve been moving nonstop. They’ll be half-dead—if they had a day to rest—”

“And the next? Are there any armies? At all?”

“A—a local force of cities plus Pallass’ main force is set to arrive. If they march through the night, they could be here in two days. Secondary forces are moving behind them and should trickle in the next three days, which is when Manus predicts their force will arrive. If all goes well, Salazsar, Zeres, and Fissival could all converge a day after that, but it depends on luck as much as anything.”

“So two days.”

“At least. Pallass’ army can’t…they’d be able to provide relief, but until Manus and the other armies get here—can Liscor hold for two days? Five?”

“We shall see, won’t we?”

It would either be a matter of hours, or days. Ilvriss didn’t know which. No one did.

“They have trebuchets. But if we can hold the gaps, we might make it. Then it will be attrition. First the Goblin Lord, then the Humans. They’ll be fresh so we’ll face two waves.”

“If Liscor falls—it will be war. The Walled Cities will declare it at once. Liscor falling will not stand.”

The choice of words was darkly amusing to Ilvriss. He stared at the scrying orb.

“Hasn’t it always been war with the Humans?”

The Drake on the other end hesitated.

“Yes. I suppose so. But this will be all-out war. And we haven’t had that in…Ancestors. Decades, at least. At least half a century. A full-scale war? It’s not something we want, to be honest. Not right now. The Antinium complicate matters. Those damn bugs. We can’t even have a proper war without looking over our tails to make sure we don’t fight on two fronts. They changed everything.”

“Yes. They did.”

Ilvriss moved over to the window of the war room. From the third floor of Liscor’s city hall, he could see the eastern wall. It was filled with bodies. Drakes, Gnolls, a few adventurers…and Antinium. Over two thousand Soldiers stood on the walls, and four thousand more held the streets, along with a few hundred Workers armed with bows. The Hive had committed a majority of its forces, or so Klbkch had claimed. Those not present were preparing to assault the trebuchets.

“I will inform you of any changes at once. But keep the lines clear. We have visuals—one of the Gold-rank adventurer [Mages], Falene, has agreed to transmit everything she sees from the walls. I trust you have another orb to view the battle from?”

“We’re broadcasting it as we speak, Wall Lord. The entire world is watching.”

“Good. Maybe they’ll see the Human’s treachery for what it is.”

“Perhaps. But Lord Tyrion’s army has no such visuals. He must have banned any [Mages] in his army from casting the spell.”

More pretense. It would be easier to deny what was going on. Ilvriss grunted.

“The truth will out.”

There was silence from the other end. Then the Drake spoke.

“You could leave the city, Wall Lord. There is the door set up. You could flee.”

Ilvriss looked at the scrying orb. His grip tightened.

“No, I could not. I am a Wall Lord. I could not run.”

“…I suppose you couldn’t. Well then. Ancestors protect you, Ilvriss.”

“Thank you.”

Ilvriss lowered the orb. He stood at the table and felt warm and cold. Cold, because he knew what was coming. Warm because—his eyes went down to the shining breastplate on his chest. The Heartflame Breastplate glowed. It did not burn—but he would activate the enchantment soon. To give those who saw it hope. He wore the legendary armor, the pride of his people on his chest. He hoped he would be worthy of it.

“This must not fall into their hands. Not again.”

Ilvriss murmured to himself. He straightened, and looked up as the door flew open. A panting Street Runner, a Gnoll, spoke, ignoring decorum.

“Wall Lord! Watch Captain Zevara wants you on the walls! The army’s getting closer and—”

“I’m on my way.”

Ilvriss strode for the door. He left the scrying orb behind, and the war table. There would be time for strategy when battle was joined. Right now, he was waiting. They were coming closer.

—-

“Predictions? Thoughts?”

Niers stood at his table, or rather, on a platform over it. He stared down at the three-dimensional, magical map of Liscor and looked around. His students stood with him, pieces in hand. They were ready to recreate the battle as it happened and they had the scrying orb placed right next to the map. Niers could look through the eyes of the [Mage] casting the spell and hear what was going on the other side, plain as day. Right now he was hearing a lot of swearing and conversation between the adventurers.

“Holy hells. Is that—how many are there, do you think?”

“A lot of them. That’s what. You seeing all this, sharp ears? Want to get a better look for all the people watching?”

The [Mage] casting the spell shifted.

“Be silent, Dawil. They can hear everything you say.”

“Can you turn down the sound on that thing until we need to hear what’s going on?”

One of the students obeyed. They had to cast a spell to reduce the sounds coming from the scrying orb. Niers grunted. You needed a spell to activate even the best orbs, and you needed more spells to tune them. Anyone with magic could cast the spells if you learned them, but it was inconvenient. Why couldn’t there be a…a knob or something to change the volume? Well, that was magic for you.

“The Goblin Lord’s army is approaching the city. It’s larger than we’d anticipated. Closer to…a hundred and sixty thousand Goblins. But Tyrion Veltras’ army dwarfs them, with respect to Dwarves. Can Liscor survive the onslaught? Venaz?”

“It depends on how well their trebuchets work. If they’re any good, they’ll take down the walls, even enchanted ones, within the hour. But I don’t trust Human [Engineers]. Minotaur ones would do the job, but these? They might not even take down the walls in a day.”

The Minotaur frowned at the image of the Human army, barely visible and still streaming into the valley. There was no sign of the trebuchets, but Niers didn’t expect them to appear until they were closer.

“True. That’s one concern. But in terms of numbers alone, they outnumber Liscor’s defenders by a score. If it comes to breached walls—and it will—how well will they hold? Marian?”

The Centaur trotted back and forth restlessly. She hated battles like this.

“If—if they can plug the breaches, they could push the Humans and Goblins back. Again, it depends on how fast the walls go down, but they have Antinium in the city. They’re excellent builders. If I were the [Strategist], I’d have teams ready to fill any gaps. The main thing is to create choke points. Again, it’s all down to how quickly the walls fall.”

She eyed Niers nervously, perhaps worried that she’d given the same answer as Venaz. But it was the only answer you could give wasn’t it? Niers cursed himself. Why was he nervous?

“Correct. I suppose we’ll have to wait.”

He paced back and forth, staring at the orb and at the map. It was just another battle. And yet—he wondered if his opponent had fled. If he or she or it was in Liscor. Were they Olesm Swifttail? No, absolutely not. But were they there? The chess set had moved last night. But that meant…nothing. He forced himself to stand still. Wait. He had done this dance a thousand times and he wasn’t even fighting this battle. Wait…his heart grew calmer.

“Professor. There’s something from the orb.”

Niers looked up. He saw the viewpoint shift. The student fumbled with the spell and Niers heard the last of what was being said. It came from the Dwarf standing in front of the half-Elf. The one called Dawil.

“What in the name of beard oil is she doing? They have to leave!”

“I don’t know. Haven’t they seen the army?”

The view had shifted as the half-Elf controlling the spell looked away from the advancing army. Down towards an inn. The inn. Niers’ heart jumped. The two adventurers were joined by a third voice, out of sight, male.

“They must have seen the army. They’ll be here soon, Falene, Dawil. Don’t worry.”

“If you say so, lad. But they’re taking their sweet time about it. If I were them, I’d be running.”

“They’ll be here. If they aren’t, we’ll get them.”

“Sooner, rather than later?”

“Give them at least five minutes.”

Niers frowned at the inn. He saw the viewpoint shift a bit as someone on the walls shouted at the adventurers. The perspective shifted, panning past rows of silent Soldier Antinium and [Guards]. One of Niers’ students, Wil, shuddered as he saw the Antinium.

“Hey Falene! Are you broadcasting your image? Look over here!”

A Human with a warhammer raised it over her head. She waved her other hand.

“My name is Earlia, and I’m the captain of Gemhammer, a Silver-rank team. If anyone wants a powerhouse melee team who can—”

The viewpoint shifted back to the inn as the shouting continued. Niers’ lips quirked into a smile. He distinctly heard the half-Elf mutter.

“Idiots. We’re at war and they’re showing off.”

Dawil sighed.

“They’ve never seen a war before. Let them have their fun. And hey, while I have the ears of the world, if there are any eligible Dwarf women—or ladies of any persuasion—”

The sound abruptly cut off, and Niers guessed that the half-Elf had muted her own spell somehow. He stroked his beard and smiled.

“That was a smart move, announcing their names.”

The tiny Fraerling commented. The other students looked at him. Umina hesitated.

“They uh, sounded like fools to me, sir. And that’s hardly a good endorsement for their team.”

“True. But the name of ‘Gemhammer’ was just spread across the world in a single moment. To everyone listening. There are monarchs, [Generals], and even adventuring teams of renown that can’t boast of the same.”

His students looked at each other. Niers just smiled.

“The world stage. Remember it. And remember this. All of this—”

He waved at the map and scrying orb.

“—will change the world you’ll live in. Soon. As quick as lightning. If Liscor falls, even Balerosian companies might be hired on.”

“Will they fall, Professor? How do you think the battle will go?”

All the students looked at Niers. He knew at least one of them was probably transmitting or recording his words to send to those interested. Such was the nature of fame. But the little [Strategist] just shrugged. The Titan stared down at the scrying orb and spoke quietly as the Goblin Lord’s army poured across the Floodplains, slowly, towards Liscor. He could hear drum beats echoing across the plains.

“I wouldn’t care to wager. Not yet. Let’s just wait.”

He shifted from foot to foot. Waiting was hard. It felt like he’d been waiting a long time. But it was nearly, nearly—

—-

“Time.”

The Free Queen spoke the words and knew it was true. Xrn and her army of three Hives was in place. Her Hive was secured. The army of expendable Soldiers was above and another force prepared to assault the Humans—and fail. She could hear Klbkch speaking in her mind. He was on the walls, addressing the Drake who called herself Watch Captain. And the Drake Wall Lord.

“Our Antinium are committed, Wall Lord Ilvriss. However, we have run into complications.”

The Queen whispered the words aloud, repeating Klbkch verbatim for the sake of the Workers gathered in the room. Belgrade, Anand, Pawn, and Bird were all present. Bird lay next to the Free Queen, immobile, while Belgrade and Anand poured over their maps, ready to direct the Antinium. Pawn hovered about the table, nervous. Even Garry was listening, peeking his head out of the kitchen.

“Explain.”

Ilvriss’ voice was terse. Angry. The Free Queen could sense Klbkch facing him, cool and collected above. His words were steady as he replied.

“The water has yet to drain from the ground. As such, the Antinium are fighting to move through the muddy terrain. It will be far more difficult to assault the trebuchets. Regrettably, we have already taken hundreds of casualties simply tunneling towards the Human army.”

The Queen heard a curse from the Drakes. In the Hive, Bird looked up.

“We did? Will we not destroy the trebuchets?”

The Free Queen bent her head affectionately.

“No, Bird. That was never our design. The Antinium will fail to destroy more than one or two trebuchets on purpose. But we must lie to the Drakes in order to show good faith.”

“Oh. So we did not lose hundreds of Workers already?”

The Queen shook her head, amused.

“Of course we did.”

All the Workers looked up at her.

“But—”

“It was necessary. The Wall Lord uses truth detection spells. All the Drakes do when conversing with Klbkchhezeim. So he speaks only in truths. We are more than capable of moving through wet earth if we must, and we can vent water. But for this illusion—we sacrificed what we had to in order to make true his words.”

She waved her feeler at the dirt ceiling. Bird stared up at the Queen. She looked down at him, and then remembered what he was. She hastened to reassure him.

“Of course, you would never be one of the Workers chosen for such a purpose, Bird. That would be a waste. Nor would the Individual Workers be used either. The others were simply Workers. Expendable.”

The Workers didn’t respond. Bird just looked up at the Queen. His voice was very small.

“I see.”

The Free Queen could hear Klbkch discussing more matters with the Drakes, but nothing of consequence. She sat back, tense, too impatient to even eat.

“We will not see battle joined for a while. The Soldiers above are expendable, though Anand and Belgrade will ensure their losses are minimal.”

Another female voice spoke up. The Free Queen turned and saw the other five Queens, five in one, and their vessel, holding the mirror up. The other Workers watched the mirrored Queens carefully. The Grand Queen’s voice was impatient.

“Klbkchhezeim insisted on sending more of a force than was necessary to defend Liscor. More than I projected for.”

“A necessary ruse. If Klbkchhezeim believes it so, we must trust him.”

“So it appears. However, will the Hive lack for defense?”

“No.”

The Free Queen answered shortly, before the Flying Queen and Twisted Queen could voice their opinions as well. They were merely watchers, and noisy ones at that. She bent down to Bird, ignoring the voices coming from the Queens.

“We have time. When the Hive must be defended and Liscor’s citizens moved into it, the other Worker…Pawn…will take charge of the Painted Soldiers and other Antinium and lead them into the Hive. Until then, we wait. So then Bird, will you sing for me? For us?”

The little Worker looked up. He stared at the Queen and shook his head.

“I don’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“I am worried. And I am sad. And I am worried and sad for Erin.”

“Erin.”

The Worker called Pawn made a strangled sound. He had only been informed of the Hive’s plans in the last hour. He stared at the map.

“What if she’s in danger?”

“She will retreat to the city. It is only logical. And our Soldiers have orders to guard her person. So long as she is away from the walls, neither the trebuchet fire nor Goblins or Humans will threaten her until the evacuation is called.”

Belgrade reassured Pawn. Anand nodded.

“We will have Soldiers protecting her, Pawn. And Yellow Splatters and Purple Smile are ready to deploy if needed. She will be fine—we can even carry her into the Hive early if need be. She is quite safe in Liscor, right, my Queen?”

He looked up at the Free Queen. She hesitated.

“Yes. Perhaps.”

The Workers looked up as one. Bird tried to sit up.

“Where is Erin? She has left her inn? Right? Right?”

“She…will soon. Klbkch is asking about that. She will be in Liscor momentarily. Probably.”

The Workers stared up at the Free Queen. She stared through Klbkch’s eyes. He was looking at the inn. And he wasn’t worried…but he wasn’t entirely calm either. The Goblin Lord’s army was drawing nearer.

—-

“Let’s go! Everybody out! Don’t wait—get what you need and move!”

Jelaqua roared at the adventurers. Her team and the Horns were packed and ready to go. They had been already; the bags of holding with their treasure from the dungeon was in Seborn’s possession, they had their gear on them and their possessions—the instant the Goblin Lord’s army had appeared they were ready to move. But as luck would have it, the Flooded Waters tribe had still been milling about the inn and slowly moving south, past the city.

Since they were dragging their heels, the people in the inn hadn’t wanted to try and make their way through the crowd. Now they were feeling a tiny bit panicked. The Goblins were still far distant, half-an-hour away from the inn at their marching speed, but the sight of the muddy valley slowly filling with bodies was not a fun sight.

Added to the problem was a recent delay. Lyonette had insisted that they bring the faerie flowers in their soil beds, and so the adventurers were trying to unhook them from the walls. Mrsha was sitting, holding a buzzing Apista in her paws by the door. Jelaqua swore as Moore tried to unhook a flower bed.

“Just leave the damn thing, Moore! We can always grow more flowers, but not more heads!”

“Says the Selphid. We have time, Jelaqua.”

The half-Giant was calmer than Jelaqua was. She was remembering battles in Baleros and not happy. At this range they could still be hit by a long-range spell, if there was a high-level [Mage] among the Goblins. There probably wasn’t, but every instinct from her time in her home continent said to leave now.

“Everyone done? You have the damn flowers? Okay, go, go, go!”

She thrust open the doors. Moore followed her out, protectively shielding Lyonette and Mrsha. Pisces and Yvlon were hot on their heels, and Seborn and Ksmvr were next. Ceria stood in the inn, heart pounding, and waved at Erin.

“Erin? Are you ready? We have to go!”

“Just a minute!”

The [Innkeeper] called from the kitchen. She hadn’t been nearly as panicked as the others, which Ceria could respect, but she was taking too long. Ceria paced back over to the kitchen.

“Erin? I know we have time, but we should be in Liscor now! come on!”

“I’m nearly there! I just need to get something!”

“Can I help?”

Erin poked her head out of the kitchen.

“No, just go ahead! I’ll be right on your heels!”

“I can’t go without you!”

Ceria protested, even though she wanted to go right now. But Erin was calm. She stepped out of the kitchen and faced her friend.

“Look, Ceria, Liscor’s right there. It’s just a jog and I can climb up a ladder in no time. Give me a minute and go ahead without me. I just need to grab—uh, something.”

The half-Elf hesitated. Erin was being cagey, but she was making sense.

“You’ll be right along? You’re sure you don’t need help?”

“Absolutely. I just need to uh, lock the doors. And make sure the windows are bolted. I’ll be fine, Ceria. Look, if I’m not out in five minutes, come get me, okay?”

“Sure. But you will be out!”

“Absolutely!”

The young woman smiled. Ceria tried to as well, but her heart was racing too fast. She nodded.

“Okay then. But hurry up!”

She left the inn. The Horns were waiting for her by the city as Ceria ran over.

“Where’s Erin?”

Pisces stared at Ceria. The half-Elf pointed back at the inn.

“She said she was getting something?”

“What, pray?”

“I don’t—look, she’ll be along! Let’s get up the ladder, though! One of us can get her if we really need to, but the less people scrambling up near the end, the better!”

That made sense. The Horns began climbing the ladders that had been thrown down for them. Moore, who’d had to create his own vine ladder to support his weight, was the last to arrive on the walls. Ceria felt a hand pull her up and stared at a familiar face.

“Dawil? What are you doing here?”

She exclaimed as the Dwarf hauled her up with surprising strength in his smaller body. He grinned and slapped her on the lower back.

“Ah, that’s for our glorious leader to explain.”

“Ylawes?”

Yvlon stared at her brother as he pulled her up with a grunt. She came over the wall and the [Knight] nodded to her.

“Yvlon.”

“You said you were going!”

“I did say that.”

Ylawes looked half-ashamed as he shook his head. he hesitated, and then sighed.

“I—had a change of heart. Yvlon, I can’t force you to do anything. But as your brother, as family, I won’t abandon you. If you’re staying until Liscor is lost or holds—I will too. And you can’t stop me from making that choice.”

He looked firmly at Yvlon. Dawil smiled. Ceria did too. Yvlon looked at her brother, and slowly nodded.

“I—thank you, Ylawes. For everything.”

“Oi! If you’re done with the touching reunion, move out of the way! Falene’s broadcasting!”

A voice snapped at the adventurers. Ceria turned and saw Revi sitting next to Typhenous on some chairs. Halrac was standing at the battlements, bow in hand. The adventurers glanced at Falene, who was deftly ignoring all of them, and hurried over.

“Everyone up?”

“Moore’s having trouble climbing. Hey Lyonette! Get Mrsha off the walls!”

“We’re going to Krshia’s house! Tell Erin to meet us there!”

The young woman called out. Ceria nodded. Revi scanned the press of bodies as one of the Drake [Guardswomen] shouted for hands to haul Moore up.

“Where’s Erin?”

“She’s—coming. She’s just grabbing something.”

Halrac turned. He glared at Ceria.

“You left her behind?”

“She’s coming! The Goblins are at least twenty minutes away, even if they were running!”

“True. Okay, let’s go over places. Ceria, you need to speak to Olesm. He doesn’t want your team on the walls because you’re not ranged. You get to sit in the city with the Flamewardens and the others, lucky you. Go talk to him, he’s over there.”

Revi pointed. Ceria nodded.

“Just as soon as Erin gets up. Is she out of the inn yet?”

She went back to the walls. Halrac stared down at the muddy ground. Ceria could hear reports coming in.

“Goblins—uh—neutral Goblins are still moving around the city! Slow pacing!”

“Just keep an eye on them!”

“Where’s Erin?”

“In the inn. I haven’t seen her leave it yet.”

Halrac stared down at the inn, a frown on his face. So did Ceria.

“I could go back down and see—”

“I’ll go if anyone has to. I am the swiftest.”

Pisces volunteered, sniffing. Halrac just frowned.

“What did you say she was doing?”

“Uh—”

Ceria’s heart was pounding and she couldn’t make it stop. She saw Olesm and Zevara, Ilvriss, and Klbkch coming towards them. The [Strategist] raised his voice and called out to them.

“Everyone on the walls? Ceria, where’s Erin?”

“In the inn!”

“She’s not out?”

“No, but she told me—”

Ceria tried to explain. She stopped as she remembered how calm Erin had been, even with the Goblin Lord’s army bearing down on them. Slowly, Ceria turned and stared across the Floodplains.

There they were. Over a hundred thousand Goblins, marching towards the city. An army of green and black. The Goblins marched in ranks, the undead shambling ahead of them. Straight towards Liscor. As if they knew what was expected of them. And behind, the Human army spread out.

“Watch Captain! Wall Lord! We have a hail from the Humans! A [Message] spell!”

“Report it.”

Ilvriss snapped at the Drake [Mage]. The Drake spoke up loudly enough for all to hear.

“They’re—they’re sending an apology, Wall Lord!”

“An apology?”

Zevara looked incredulous. The [Mage] nodded.

“They’re saying that they, uh, regret that their pursuit of the Goblin Lord has carried them this far. They’re attempting to engage the Goblins now, but will respect Liscor’s authority if we wish to initiate combat first.”

A roar of indignation went up across the wall. Zevara’s tail slapped the ground.

“Who sent that, Tyrion Veltras? That insolent bastard.”

“Send a counter-message. Inform them that we will allow them first opportunity at the Goblins. And ask what their plan of attack is.”

Ilvriss calmly replied. The [Mage] did so and came back instantly.

“They say they’ll engage the Goblins at distance, Wall Lord. With a number of new weapons.”

“Trebuchets?”

“Yes, sir.”

Ilvriss looked directly at Falene and spoke slowly.

“Tell the Humans that under no circumstances will we allow the use of such weapons around Liscor. For fear of…incidental fire.”

“I’ve said so, sir. But the Humans—they’re politely stating that they don’t wish to take ‘unnecessary casualties’. They’re assuring me that no mistakes will occur.”

A silence fell over the walls. Ilvriss nodded.

“Well then. We’ll see how good their word is, won’t we?”

Zevara spat over the battlements. Ceria looked from Ilvriss’ grim face, to Klbkch’s unreadable one. Ksmvr edged away from Klbkch and Olesm stared around.

“Well—well then, I suppose it’s time.”

Time, yes. The song and dance was over. Ceria stared at the Goblins. So did the others.

“What’s taking Erin?”

“I’m going to get her—”

Pisces spoke at the same time as Jelaqua, Halrac, and Bevussa. The adventurers looked at each other, and then Ceria pointed.

“There she is!”

Relief filled the half-Elf as she saw the door to the inn open at last. Erin came out, holding something bundled in her arm. And what looked like a quarterstaff. Ceria blinked as Erin fumbled with her burden and tried to lock the door. She heard a few curious voices behind her.

“What’s she holding?”

“Someone get a ladder!”

“Took her sweet time, didn’t she? Well, that’s just like her. Humans in general, really—”

“It would be like her to fall, begin drowning in one of the valleys and have us go rescue her, wouldn’t it?”

“Can she swim?”

“Did she bring a bed sheet? What, is she expecting to sleep through the siege?”

“Someone’s got to. Or did you think we’d man the walls all day?”

“Looks like she’s got a quarterstaff as well. What’s she doing with the—wait. Where is she going?”

The people on the wall stared. Erin was fumbling with the bed sheet and pole. And she was walking. Around her inn. Not towards Liscor. Ceria’s heart began to beat faster.

“Uh—maybe she’s going to the outhouse?”

“With the Goblins approaching?”

“Hell, I could pee off the walls.”

“Just pee?”

“She’s—not going to the outhouse.”

They stared. Erin was walking past the outhouses. Around the inn, down the hill. Away from Liscor. And she was still fumbling with the bed sheet. She was trying to insert the pole into it. Ceria’s mouth went dry.

“What’s Erin doing? Where is she going?”

The others looked at each other. Moore craned his head uncertainly.

“She’s heading towards the Goblins.”

“Is she insane?”

The question was entirely rhetorical. But even for Erin this was—her audience was frozen in place. Spellbound by something that wasn’t a spell, but pure madness. Erin was going towards the Goblins. And now she had the pole on the ground and was running the sheet down it. And—Ceria squinted. It looked peculiar. Familiar. The bed sheet was white, and the pole was quite, quite long. And as Erin hoisted it over her head, it looked just like—

“Oh no. Oh no.”

Ceria took a step back. The others took a moment to see what she was seeing, then Halrac swore.

“Someone get down there and stop her!”

“She can’t be doing that! No!”

Olesm clutched at his neck spines. Ilvriss’ jaw fell open. Falene just stared and the world stared too. Pisces looked down at Erin, and his eyes were wide.

“Is that—”

Ksmvr appeared and stared past Pisces. He nodded.

“It appears Miss Erin has a flag. A white flag. I believe she is going towards the Goblins in order to negotiate.”

“What, our surrender?”

The others stared at Ksmvr. Then Klbkch turned and snapped.

“Someone stop her. Now.”

Ceria lurched into motion at the command in his tone. She saw Bevussa spread her wings as Pisces put one leg over the battlements. Revi conjured one of her summoned warriors and the wall sprang to life. Then someone blew a horn.

It came from behind them. Ceria’s heart nearly came out of her mouth. Zevara snapped around.

“What the hell was that? Report! Are we under attack?”

“Is it reinforcements?”

Olesm whirled around. A [Guardsman] was sprinting towards them. He skidded to a stop.

“Watch Captain! It’s the southern wall! They said the Goblins—the other Goblins—they’ve changed course!”

Zevara stared at the Gnoll in horror.

“They’re doing what?”

—-

“Spread out. Send word to Lord Pellmia and Lord Gralton. I want the left and right wings to advance two hundred feet. We will encircle the Goblins from behind. If they deviate from the city, bombard them with spells. The instant we open a gap, Miss Arcsinger will employ her Skill and pull them towards the city. Inform [Emperor] Laken that I want the first volley to land on the eastern gates.”

Lord Tyrion snapped orders as his army deployed around him. The ranks of infantry took positions behind the riders, whose horses were pawing at the muddy ground nervously. Still—the [Riders] weren’t even mounted yet. They soothed their beasts and the officers in charge allowed the soldiers to stand casually. They knew their turn wouldn’t come yet.

Everyone knew the plan. But only Tyrion could execute it. He saw the left and right wings moving forwards smoothly, filling the valley until the mud and grass turned into steep inclines. The Goblin Lord had no way to retreat.

“The Drakes are hailing us, sir. They want assurances that your trebuchets will not hit the city. We’ve received threats from Zeres, Oteslia—now Manus as well—”

“Lady Reinhart is issuing you a direct message, Lord Veltras. She offers you one last chance to—”

“—congratulations from King Theil of Terandria. He wishes us the best of luck—”

“—at least one [Mage] transmitting the battle from the walls of Liscor. Wistram is picking up the spell despite our requests to have the broadcast stopped. Do you wish to—”

Voices surrounded Tyrion, all begging his attention. But he was looking towards Liscor. There it sat. A large city, a Drake city. There were larger and more fortified cities, but Liscor was key. Strategic. Within its walls were nearly a hundred thousand souls and it had withstood the Necromancer, the Antinium, and any number of Human armies over the years. But none of them had what Tyrion did. Trebuchets, weapons of war that did not rely on magic, and Goblins. They were marching ahead of Tyrion.

“Strange. They’re not trying to move around the city.”

“Perhaps they’re resigned to their fates. Or perhaps they knew what’s coming.”

The [Strategists] debated quietly to Tyrion’s left. He saw something buzzing past them, a green, flying insect.

“Watch yourselves. There are acid flies in the air. This is their season for breeding.”

The two men recoiled. One swatted at the acid fly, swore, and Tyrion sighed.

“Healing potion. Jericha, the progress on the trebuchets?”

“Nearly complete, sir. [Emperor] Laken is oversee—I mean, commanding the [Engineers]. We have the ammunition ready too.”

Tyrion turned his head. He saw massive chunks of stone, shaped into projectiles, being dragged into place. They had been quarried and hauled from the High Passes, and there was enough of them to besiege Liscor day and night. But he didn’t intend to sit around.

“Have the enchantments held?”

Jericha nodded.

“Yes, sir. Lady Ieka assures me that the first enchantments are all at full strength. We have unenchanted stones for the first two volleys. We can begin ranging shots on your order.”

“Hold, then. Wait for my signal. And keep an eye on the ground. Have our Gold-rank teams ready.”

“Yes, sire.”

Tyrion could feel the vibration in the air. He rode forwards a bit, staring at Liscor. The Goblins were approaching cautiously. They might now be in range of a shot from a particularly experienced [Archer], or from Liscor’s enchanted walls, but not from regular bows. The Goblin Lord had to be getting as close as possible so he’d spend as little time being hit from Liscor’s walls before he was at the city. Tyrion stared at the mass of Goblins. Yes, they’d gone straight for the city. He’d expected to have to pin them between his mages and archers, funnel them towards Liscor. But there they were, marching along neatly.

“You are aware of what is happening, aren’t you?”

Perhaps the Goblin Lord was counting on holding the city. It didn’t matter. It all suited Tyrion’s plans. He saw them advancing, and nodded.

“Move up two hundred feet. And then inform [Emperor] Laken to wait for my command.”

The army advanced another two hundred feet. They gave the Goblins a good gap, but they were well within range of Tyrion’s [Mages] and the trebuchets and only minutes away if his cavalry charged. But none of Tyrion’s forces were near enough to be targeted by Liscor. Tyrion nodded.

Now would be the time. He turned to Jericha, and heard a raw voice. A man galloped towards him, sword in hand. Tyrion saw Jericha raise a wand and point at Yitton Byres’ chest.

“Jericha, hold!”

She stopped. Yitton halted in front of Tyrion. His face was a mask of both terror and pain. He raised his sword and Tyrion subdued the urge to reach for his own sword.

“Lord Byres. What is the meaning of this?”

“My children.”

Yitton Byres gestured to the city behind Tyrion. A few of Tyrion’s escorts moved to surround him, but Tyrion motioned them back.

“They are in Liscor?”

Yitton nodded.

“Both Ylawes and Yvlon. I know it! Tyrion, you cannot allow them to—you must hold off the attack, give them time. Let me ransom my children, or petition Liscor to let any noncombatants go! I beg of you!”

“Ridiculous.”

Jericha stiffened in outrage. Tyrion shook his head.

“Lord Yitton, I cannot oblige your request for two reasons. Firstly, time is of the essence and I do not intend Liscor time to stall. Secondly—I remind you that this is not an assault. Yet. The Goblin Lord’s army is our target, not Liscor. To claim or insinuate otherwise openly would be problematic.”

“Do not lie, Tyrion!”

Yitton shouted. The man pointed his blade at Tyrion’s chest and Jericha’s wand glowed with energy. Yitton took no notice. His face was pale.

“I thought you were a better man than this. Don’t stoop to subterfuge. You know what you are doing.”

The words stung Tyrion a bit. He shifted on his horse’s saddle.

“Very well. It is an assault, Byres. But what would you have me do? Call it off? For two people?”

Yitton shook his head. He looked at Tyrion and there were tears in his eyes.

“My children are there, Tyrion. What would you do for them? Please.”

Lord Tyrion Veltras paused.

“I know. And I am sorry, Lord Yitton. But some things require sacrifice. If it were my own children—”

He paused for a long time and stared at Yitton’s face.

“—It must be done.”

“Then I am sorry too. Because I cannot let you do this.”

Lord Yitton’s grip tightened on his sword. He urged his horse forwards with a shout. Jericha lifted her wand.

“Alive.”

Tyrion turned his head. He saw the flash out of the corner of his eye, heard Yitton cry out. Several [Knights] rushed forwards and restrained the [Lord] as he half-tumbled from his saddle, his armor glowing where Jericha’s spell had struck him.

“Escort Lord Byres behind the lines. Keep him there. And assure him that if I can save his children, I will. Jericha, my thanks.”

“At your service, Lord Veltras.”

The two sat on their mounts as Lord Yitton was taken away. Tyrion heard him shouting, but he tuned the man’s voice out. He stared at Liscor. Now would be the time. Tyrion raised a hand—

“Lord Veltras!”

A [Scout] galloped towards him. This time Tyrion’s brows creased in annoyance.

“What now?”

“Lord Veltras, there’s—a complication. Someone’s raised a white flag!”

“In Liscor?”

Tyrion’s jaw nearly dropped. The [Scout] shook his head. He pointed back across the Floodplains.

“No, sire. It’s—it’s a Human! A young woman—she’s approaching the Goblin Lord’s army with a white flag! And she’s shouting for a temporary truce!”

Tyrion stared at the man. His eyes bored into the [Scout]’s head. Then, slowly, as the entire army hung on his word, Tyrion raised one hand, and felt at his right ear. He cupped his hand.

“What?”

—-

“All is in readiness. Take the walls and my force will teleport in. Hold the city for thirty minutes. Once the dead begin rising, you will be able to entrap Tyrion Veltras’ cavalry within the walls.”

Az’kerash’s voice whispered to Reiss. The Goblin Lord nodded jerkily. His eyes were fixed on Liscor. The Goblins in his army held still, nervous, staring at the city that would be their home.

There it was. A city on a hill. Only—something was wrong. The hill was muddy. There was water on the ground, and the city looked smaller and less grand than in his dreams. And Reiss could see figures on the walls. Drakes, Gnolls, even a half-Giant. It wasn’t like his dream at all. It was too real.

But his master was in his head. And Reiss was a captive. Or—no. Not just a captive. A slave. Was Greydath right? Was Garen? Reiss was afraid. He stared at Liscor and heard the whisper again.

“As soon as a gap opens, push your Goblins towards it. Send the undead first. They will explode in the gaps. Whittle down Liscor’s defenders. This battle is yours to lose.”

It wasn’t his, though. Tendons stood down on Reiss’ neck. He was him. He was Reiss. Wasn’t he? Was it Reiss who thought this, or a Goblin who thought he was Reiss?

Zel Shivertail had given him that name. His master did not know it. That part was real. Reiss clung to that fact. His army slowed. Now they were just out of range of Liscor’s walls. Someone panicked on the walls and shot an arrow. It landed just short of the Goblins.

“Wait.”

Reiss croaked an order. His Goblins looked up at him uncertainly. They waited. Were they his slaves? No. They were loyal. Or was it just because he was a Goblin Lord? Did they have a choice?

“Tyrion Veltras will begin the assault soon. Soon.”

His master’s tone was gleeful. Reiss could sense his excitement, his elation. To Az’kerash, it was a victory, excitement. He did not measure lives like Reiss did. He was—happy.

“Wait.”

Reiss held up a hand. The Goblins looked up at him. The Goblin Lord had spotted something. He pointed ahead. A distant figure was approaching them. It had stopped on a hill. It was holding something. Reiss and his master stared. He stared at a distant figure he had never seen before. A Human, young and female. Holding something in her hands. She waved it. The Necromancer’s voice was incredulous.

“Is that—”

“A flag.”

Reiss spoke the words softly. He stared at the white flag. And his stomach lurched. Then he heard the voice. And the distant figure waved the flag. And seemed to be speaking to him.

—-

As Tyrion Veltras rode forwards, cupping one ear. As Reiss and Az’kerash stared through the same eyes. Under the gazes of the horrified defenders of Liscor. Watched by the world through a half-Elf’s eyes. And to the listening Goblins, Drakes, Humans, Antinium, and all the rest. She shouted.

“Peace! I want a truce! Parley! Parley! Cease-fire!”

Erin Solstice waved the flag over her head, trying to make the bed sheet that was the flag wave in the non-existent breeze. She wished she’d chosen a smaller pole. The flag was heavy and her arms were already hurting. But she kept waving the flag. The Goblin Lord’s army had stopped and behind it, she could see the Human one. Distant ranks of warriors dressed in armor glinted at her.

Humans. Her people. More of them than she’d ever seen in one place in this world. Gathered for war. But it couldn’t be war. It shouldn’t be. The Goblins weren’t evil! And Liscor wasn’t a bad place! Erin didn’t know the history that had brought the Humans—led by this Tyrion Veltras—here. She didn’t care. She only knew what her heart told her. And it had led her here.

“Hey! Don’t attack! Let’s talk it out! Talk! Give peace a chance! War, is it really any good? Let’s talk about this!”

Erin shouted with her [Loud Voice] Skill. Her words bounced off Liscor’s walls, echoed across the Floodplains. It sounded awful to Erin. She didn’t have a speech. But she kept shouting, waving her flag. Her knees were shaking.

There were so many Goblins. And these ones were dressed in black armor. They carried terrible weapons and—if there ever was an evil army, it would be them. Their crimson eyes fixed on Erin. Like green demons. But that wasn’t them. This wasn’t them. Erin had to believe it.

“Peace! Say it with me! Peace! That’s all we want! Peace! Peace! Please? Peace!”

—-

“Peace!”

“I don’t believe it. She’s going to die.”

Zevara covered her eyes. Ilvriss stared down at Erin. He agreed.

“She isn’t serious. Does she think that Tyrion Veltras will listen to her after coming all this way? That the Goblin Lord will?”

He shook his head. It was a foolish dream. But he kept his eyes on her. And he heard a voice.

“Wall Lord! Wall Lord!”

He glanced over. The [Mage] was staring at him.

“What?”

“The Walled Cities. Wall Lord, they’re asking who that is. Everyone can hear her, sir.”

“They can?”

Ilvriss looked at Falene. The half-Elf was staring at Erin. So was everyone else. Erin’s voice echoed distantly towards them.

“Hey, can you even hear me? Someone wave if you can! I want a truce! Uh, an armistice? Parley! Is that only pirates?”

—-

“Ridiculous. Who is that?”

Half of the students in the room were dying of laughter. The other half were just staring and shaking their heads. Venaz was slapping the table hard enough to make it shake. But Niers Astoragon was just staring.

“Her.”

He knew her. He had seen her in the battle for Liscor. And he—yes, he remembered her then too. Her voice echoed back to him. Peace. She was shouting for it, waving her flag at the Goblins. And they were just staring at her.

Niers’ heart hurt. He looked at the scrying orb, and then away.

“Professor?”

Umina wasn’t laughing. She looked at the Titan. He glanced at her.

“Umina?”

“Would that work? Ever?”

The Titan stared back at the young woman. She was shouting as loudly as she could. He could hear her voice crack.

“Come on! We can work together! Goblins aren’t evil. They aren’t bad! It doesn’t have to be like this!”

“No.”

The Fraerling shook his head. He looked around at the laughing students and at Venaz, who was still guffawing. Niers picked up the nearest object—a tiny mug—and threw it at Venaz. It hit the Minotaur in the eye and he roared in pain.

“No.”

Niers looked back at Umina. His gaze was sad and suddenly, old. He gestured at the scrying orb.

“It would never work, Umina. But it isn’t something to mock, either.”

“It should work.”

The Lizardgirl spoke quietly. Niers nodded. He bowed his head.

“Perhaps—”

He waited. But in his heart he knew. The young woman waved her flag.

—-

“Peace?”

The words were repeated with derision among the nobility. They stared at the distant figure. To them, her voice was so tiny that they had to have it repeated back to them. But the content had gotten through. Some crazed girl was shouting for peace. Tyrion exchanged a look with Jericha.

“She’s right in front of the Goblin Lord’s army, sire. And she is a resident of Liscor—from the Face-Eater moth attack. Should we send a rider to grab her?”

“No.”

Tyrion shook his head. He stared past Jericha, past the Goblin Lord’s army. He couldn’t even see the young woman. Nor could he imagine it. Peace? With the Goblins? With the Drakes? He shook his head again.

“Ignore her. She’s…”

He trailed off. What was she? Deluded? Insane?

“Wrong.”

That was the only word for it. Tyrion looked back at Jericha. He looked away. If this was some kind of stalling tactic, or strange ploy, it was completely useless. It had bought seconds, and for what? No one was listening. The girl’s words were…pointless.

—-

“Goblins are not evil.”

Reiss whispered the words. He heard them again, from the young woman. She shouted them at the army of Goblins. At him.

“I know you can hear me! Hey! Let’s talk! Don’t fight! We’re not enemies! I know you can be good. Just listen! Okay?”

He stared at her. She was just one Human. One, like the others. But she called to him. In his mind, he could sense those Goblins who were Chieftains. He could tell Rags was behind him. And Garen. He could even sense distant powers, far-off presences that might be Goblin Lords as well. But he had never felt something like this.

He could sense her. Not as a similar presence to a chieftain but as an…instinct. Something in him that told him that ahead of him was…safety. A friend. And Reiss wasn’t the only one. The Goblins in his army stared at Erin. And they felt the same certainty.

There she stood. She waved the flag and told them to stop. Reiss listened, but the voice in his head was dismissive.

“A foolish attempt. Why would anyone conceive—ignore fools like that, my apprentice. That girl is not too far from a zombie in terms of intellect. And why she would assume…do I know her?”

“Who is she?”

Reiss stared at the girl. He heard a name in his mind. A memory. Rags speaking of someone, a friend.

Erin Solstice. And for a second, Reiss wanted to go forwards. He wanted to raise a flag of his own and go over to Erin. To talk. He hesitated. His master’s voice was impatient. But the young woman—Reiss began to urge his Shield Spider forwards. If—

—-

“Peace! Rah, rah, peace!”

Erin was running out of things to say. But the Goblin Lord’s army hadn’t moved. She hoped. She smiled and tried to shout the optimism in her chest out to the world.

“We can work things out! We can do this! Yes we can! Truce! Let’s negotiate I have an inn! Parley! Par—”

—-

“Fire.”

Tyrion spoke the words calmly. He heard the word repeat itself and then the sound of the trebuchets swinging up. The groan of ropes. And then the sounds stopped. In utter silence he and a hundred thousand Humans looked up.

A massive projectile, a chunk of stone rounded for flight, soared through the air. It flew high, high into the sky. It was joined by over two dozen other stones. From his seat, Laken Godart turned his head up and listened. He heard only the sounds of the trebuchet counterweights swinging. He did not hear the stones flying. Only, distantly, the thump of one landing. And then a crack as one struck Liscor’s walls.

The first stone struck Liscor’s walls near the base, creating a sound like gravel and thunder. The rest thudded into the ground in front of the city, raising huge plumes of mud and water. Erin ducked as the defenders of the city took cover. The Goblins, Reiss included, turned to stare at Tyrion Veltras’ army. The silence overtook the Floodplains. And it was deafening.

“No.”

Erin stared at the distant Human army. She thought she saw the trebuchets. They were slowly being cranked back. And indeed, they were.

Tyrion Veltras watched as the teams of [Laborers] and [Soldiers] struggled to fit another block under a trebuchet’s arm. Tessia, the [Engineer], shouted orders as they did, and each team of Riverfarm [Builders] and [Engineers] shouted, trying to ascertain where their shots had landed, adjusting for the next one.

“Prepare the next ranging volley on my mark. Repeat my instructions to aim for the gates. Select three trebuchets for misdirection. And send a [Message] spell.”

Tyrion spoke calmly. He waited, watching the people swarm around the trebuchets and then, suddenly, back away. He saw the [Engineers] confirming readiness and wondered if there was a way to make it faster. With Skills, with experience—how fast could they work?

This time the volley of stones was placed around Liscor. One soared over the walls. The rest struck the wall, most landing near the base rather than the top. Tyrion smiled. And then they began loading the enchanted ammunition onto the third volley.

—-

“Take cover!”

Zevara screamed at those below as she saw the stone flying too high. She ducked reflexively and saw a boulder half again as tall as she was pass over her head and to the left. It fell into the city and the crash as it landed was tremendous. But by that point the rest of the boulders were smashing against Liscor’s walls. She felt the vibrations, heard the shouting.

“Report!”

“The walls are holding!”

Olesm peeked over the battlements. The stones had smashed against Liscor’s enchanted walls and left no marks. No—that wasn’t true. The debris from the rock were plastered against the wall, leaving chalky imprints. Were there micro fractures? Zevara wanted to believe there weren’t.

“Was anyone hurt by the one that landed in the city?”

“I don’t think so. We evacuated the houses and our ground forces are too close to the walls. Here—watch out, they’re reloading!”

Olesm shouted at the others. They took cover. One of the adventurers, Halrac, drew an arrow. His bow was practically invisible—it was translucent unless you stared carefully and made the outline out in the air. It looked like he was just holding an arrow, but he aimed it at the sky.

“Can we shoot those things down?”

“I’ll try.”

The [Scout] snapped at Zevara. Ilvriss, who’d held his ground during the second volley, charged towards them.

“Zevara! I’m heading back to the city to coordinate the defenses!”

“I know. Go!”

Zevara whirled. Ilvriss took off. If the walls fell, one leader had to be behind the front lines. She turned back to the Human army.

“Olesm! Can we blast the trebuchets from here? Or use the enchantment spells to block the missiles?”

“We’re out of range of the trebuchets, but I can try hitting the stones. But the spells don’t aim well and if I miss—”

They’d exhaust the limited spells they could use. Zevara cursed.

“Don’t bother.”

“Watch Captain! We’re getting a [Message] from the Humans!”

“What? Why?”

“They’re—they’re sending another apology.”

This time the Drake [Mage] didn’t bother to ask for permission. He raised his claw to his temple.

“They’re saying—misfire. It was a misfire. The Humans regret the accident. They’re warning us to watch out for ‘stray missiles’. Should I respond?”

Zevara uttered a series of curses and the [Mage] raised a claw to his temple.

“They’re saying another volley is incoming, adjusting their aim—”

“Duck!”

This time the stones flew differently. And when they struck the walls, the sound they made was far, far different. One huge stone struck the walls and exploded into a ball of fire, sending searing jets of flame everywhere. Another just blasted to pieces, sending shrapnel up. A third made a thumping sound and fell to earth, completely undamaged. That strike made the walls vibrate.

“Enchanted munitions!”

Olesm cried out. Zevara grabbed the wall for support.

“Is everyone—”

She flinched as a spark of light erupted in the Floodplains. A missile had landed near the Goblins and exploded in radiance. Two more enchanted stones landed around the Goblins, who recoiled. One landed among a group of the Goblin Lord’s army and crushed two dozen Goblins before rolling to a stop.

“What in the name of—”

“The Humans report a connection with the Goblin Lord’s army. They said they’re correcting their aim again!”

“They’re taunting us.”

Zevara stared at the distant army. She looked at the three stones that had barely grazed the Goblin Lord’s army, and then at the still-burning fragments of stone scattered at the base of the walls. And then she heard a terrible sound. A cry of alarm from the eastern gates.

“Damage on the gates!”

The Watch Captain froze. Olesm stared down and shouted for clarification. Word came back in moments—the gates were dented. Not broken, but the metal had bowed in from one of the shots.

“They’re trying to bring down our gates.”

Zevara stood on the walls, staring at the gates. They were the weak point of the walls. Like the stone, they were spelled, but the hinges could be broken. And the Humans were aiming for them. She saw the soldiers scrambling to reload the trebuchets and turned.

“Klbkch!”

The Antinium hadn’t ducked when the trebuchets had fired. He made his way over to her. Zevara shouted, thought it was quiet.

“Where are the Antinium? Take down the trebuchets!”

“They are moving, Watch Captain. Wait.”

She had to. Zevara stood helplessly as Klbkch waited by her side. Her eyes were fixed on the distant trebuchets. She saw their arms reset, saw another boulder being dragged into place—

And then, suddenly, movement. The ground erupted and black bodies spilled out. Zevara heard the cry go up.

“Antinium!”

They were attacking! The black bodies poured out of a hole close to one of the trebuchets. The Soldiers charged one, and the people manning the device fled. The surprised Humans fell back as the Antinium swarmed the trebuchet. They began tearing at it, hammering on the wood, trying to bring it down.

“Burn it! Do they have fire?”

“They are armed with a few alchemical weapons—”

Klbkch broke off. One of the Soldiers had struck the first trebuchet with something. Zevara saw a blossom of fire. Soldiers fell back, some burnt, as the trebuchet began to go up in flames. She heard a cry of celebration as the Soldiers streamed towards the other trebuchets. Another fell, the counterweight striking the ground as a Soldier climbed up and ripped a bolt out. A third splintered as its frame was broken. The Watch was cheering—

And then Zevara saw a hail of arrows cut down the Antinium. A [Fireball] blew a knot of Soldiers apart. At a distance she could see adventurers and Human [Soldiers] advancing under the cover of mage fire. The Soldiers turned to this new threat, but they were surrounded. Cut off. They made for a fourth trebuchet and another spell blew them to bits.

“No—”

Zevara watched in horror as more Antinium poured out of the hole, and then other tunnels appeared. But the element of surprise was gone, and the Humans had been waiting. The Antinium burst out of the ground and were cut down in moments. Zevara saw them making for the trebuchets—and failing to scratch the huge devices.

“The Antinium are falling back.”

Klbkch announced calmly as the last of the black bodies fell. Zevara turned to him.

“You can’t! The trebuchets—”

“—are too well guarded. We have lost too many Soldiers attempting to do more damage. More would simply waste lives the Hive does not have. I am sorry.”

The Drake looked back. The Humans were destroying the Antinium bodies, sealing the tunnels and blasting the fleeing Antinium. The trebuchets were still there, most untouched by the fighting. Out of two dozen odd trebuchets, the Antinium had gotten a seventh of them.

“No.”

But there was nothing to be done. Klbkch and Zevara turned as the Drake [Mage] spoke.

“The Humans report—accidental contact with an Antinium patrol. They regret to inform—no survivors.”

“Then it’s over. We can’t destroy them.”

Zevara sank down. Klbkch nodded. He was so cold. So calm, even for him. Zevara stared at the Antinium.

“We must hold the walls.”

That was all he said. The impossible. Zevara looked back. She saw the trebuchets loading, and knew they would keep firing. Minute after minute, hour by hour. Day after day. She closed her eyes. Then she turned to the [Guardsmen] and adventurers.

“Prepare yourselves!”

They looked up. Zevara drew her sword. She pointed down at the Goblins, who had watched as the boulder struck the city. Only a few missiles landed around them, and even then they rarely struck even an outside formation. Zevara stared down at the Goblins and shook her head.

“They’re coming.”

Across the wall, the Drakes and Gnolls drew their weapons. The adventurers armed themselves. The Goblin Lord’s army was beginning to march. They surged forwards across the Floodplains.

“She is still there.”

Klbkch stared down at Erin. She was still shouting, still waving her flag. He turned to Zevara.

“We must rescue her.”

“How?”

Zevara stared at Klbkch. He had shown no emotion when the Antinium had died by the hundreds. But now he looked—worried. Klbkch had no answer. And the Goblin Lord’s army was coming.

Like an army of green and black. A horde came at Liscor’s walls as more and more cracks appeared. The walls were coming down. Piece by piece, but it was happening. Each time an enchanted boulder struck the wall, it chipped or fractured the stone.

And the gates were already being forced open. The metal had bent inwards rather than completely failing, but the tears in the metal were already wide enough to let someone squeeze through. And more and more boulders fell every few minutes.

“Fill those gaps! I don’t care if you have to knock down every house in the city, just do it!”

Zevara screamed at the Workers and [Builders] below. She could see Embria mustering her [Soldiers] and the Pallassian reinforcements around the gates. Bracing. But there were so many Goblins. And as they came they began a chant.

“Goblin.”

It was one word. But it came from countless throats. The Goblins said it once, and then again, a rolling chant.

“Goblin.”

And then it was a roar. They shouted it and it was thunder.

“Goblin!”

A sound to drown all others. A scream. They were coming. Zevara looked across the walls and saw Relc spinning his spear, Tkrn and a knot of Gnolls setting themselves, Falene pulling herself upright. And onwards the Goblins came, towards that small figure on a hill.

Erin.

“They’re moving.”

Klbkch stared across the Floodplains. Zevara was about to tell him that was obvious, until her eyes saw what he did. She looked back and saw them.

—-

“Stop, stop shooting!”

Erin screamed at the distant army of Humans. And then at the Goblin Lord’s army. She heard the booming of their drums, and the chant.

“Goblin.”

It deafened her. How could one word contain so much anger? But it was what they were. Hated, despised, hunted. That was Goblin. And the army in front of her embodied that. They came towards Liscor, rolling across the hills and valleys. Erin lifted her flag, but it was so heavy.

“Would you just—stop? Please?”

Her voice faltered. Erin sank down, leaning on the pole. It was no use. She bent her head. She could stop nothing. Do nothing. She had been useless from the start. Who would stop for a flag? Who would put down their arms for peace?

No one. That was the truth. Not Humans, not Drakes, nor Goblins. None of them would stop. And in that sense it truly was useless. Except, perhaps for another kind of Goblin. The Goblins who watched and saw a person they recognized. Some had known her for a night. Others for a while. Perhaps, as Erin had thought, a single night made no difference. But a night could make all the difference.

Someone climbed the hill next to Erin. A foot trod through mud, and a stranger grasped the flag. Erin opened her eyes. Her gaze swam with tears, and she saw a figure standing over her. He was green, taller than her, and red war paint crossed his arms, his cheeks. His ears were pointed, and his eyes crimson, dark as blood. When he smiled, his teeth were pointed. And yet, he was beautiful in his own way. And he was no stranger. He was her friend.

Headscratcher lifted the flag from Erin’s loose grip. He lifted it over his head, high into the sky. A white flag. A symbol. He grinned down at Erin and she blinked the tears away.

“Nice flag.”

For a moment Erin couldn’t speak. She looked up at Headscratcher. He waved the flag, the sunlight flashing off the golden axe at his side, the armor he wore, and the flag. She blinked at him, and then pointed accusingly at his chest.

“I thought you were leaving!”

Headscratcher paused. He looked down at Erin and shrugged.

“Was going to. But then saw this.”

He pointed at the flag. Erin looked at it. She sniffled.

“Well, it didn’t do anything. You should run. We should both run.”

“Why?”

The Hob looked confused. He scratched his head, which suited his name. Erin pointed at the Goblin Lord’s army.

“Because of them!”

The army had halted in its tracks. Headscratcher stared at the army and shrugged.

“Could. But could stay. Could fight. That what we talked about. Goblin Lord. Bad Goblin. Could fight him. All of us.”

“But you didn’t. You chose to run.”

Erin looked at Headscratcher. He smiled again.

“We did. But then saw you. Heard you stay. So we changed minds.”

“Who did?”

“We did.”

“Who—”

And then Erin saw someone else climbing the hill out of the corner of her eye. She turned and saw a familiar Goblin carrying a guitar walk past her. Numbtongue grabbed the flag with Headscratcher. He looked down at Erin.

“Hi.”

“Numbtongue?”

Not just him. A pair of Goblins walked past Erin. Shorthilt and Badarrow. The two stepped into place. Badarrow checked his bow and then grabbed part of the pole. So did Shorthilt.

“But I thought—you were a—”

“Sneaky Goblins.”

Shorthilt winked at Erin. And a fifth Goblin trudged up the hill. He wore chainmail that shone in the light. His cloak of wine billowed in an imaginary wind. And he smiled when he saw Erin’s face.

“Rabbiteater.”

“Saw flag.”

The Hob bent down and offered Erin a hand. Dazed, she took it, and the Hob hauled her up. He walked forwards towards the flag and put a hand on it. The five Hobs lifted the flag into the air. Erin stared at them.

“You guys came back? Why?”

Headscratcher shrugged.

“Heard you were going to fight. Heard you were going to stay.”

“I—yeah, but, no, but—who told you that?”

The Hobs looked at each other. Numbtongue answered at the same time as Rabbiteater.

“Somebody.”

“Pebblesnatch.”

Numbtongue scowled. He kicked Rabbiteater in the shins. Rabbiteater swore. Erin looked at them.

“She told you I was going to fight? I wasn’t. I—I was trying to stop the fighting. Not start more!”

Headscratcher looked confused. He pointed up at the white banner.

“But you have flag.”

“Yes! A white flag!”

“Right. Nice color. But turn red very quick.”

“That’s not—”

Erin stared at the flag. Then she looked at Headscratcher and the others. She took a deep breath.

“Headscratcher, white flags aren’t the same as other flags. They don’t mean it’s time for war. They’re a sign of peace. You don’t fight under them.”

The Redfangs looked at each other. Headscratcher’s jaw dropped. He looked at the flag, and then Erin, and then back again.

“Oh.”

“Oops.”

Badarrow agreed. He seemed amused, because he slapped Shorthilt on the shoulder and chortled. The other Hob grinned. Erin looked at them. The five laughed. They’d made a mistake! They laughed and grinned as if they knew some giant joke.

“What’s so funny? We should run! It’s all over. The Goblin Lord’s going to attack and we’re going to die.”

“Really?”

Headscratcher looked down at Erin. She nodded.

“There’s no hope. There’s too many of them.”

Shorthilt cast a dismissive glance at the Goblin army.

“Not that many.”

“Yes, that many! How are you going to try and fight them? There are six of us and a million of them!”

“More than six.”

“No, Numbtongue, not more than—”

Erin stopped. She looked suspiciously at Numbtongue. Then at the other Redfangs. They were all laughing, grinning at something. Behind Erin. She slowly looked at them and then felt a tingling on the back of her neck.

“Wait. Was it just you who came back?”

“No.”

“How many, then? How many decided to turn around?”

The question stumped the Goblins. Rabbiteater started counting. Badarrow shrugged. Numbtongue and Shorthilt exchanged amused glances. And Headscratcher smiled. He let go of the flag and walked over to Erin. Slowly, he turned her around.

“All of us.”

And there they were. They walked up the hills, across valleys. Small Goblins. Hobs. Warriors riding Carn Wolves and horses. Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe. Cave Goblins. Young and old. Tall and short. Not one single tribe, but three. And they moved together.

The Goblins streamed past Liscor. Past the startled defenders who braced themselves. They returned, laughing and pointing. Up at her. At the flag. At the five Hobs who stood around it. And they waved at her. They knew her name. The Goblins marched in front of Liscor, ignoring the falling stones. They formed a wall in front of the Goblin Lord’s forces. An army.

“What…”

Erin was lost for words. She saw familiar faces among the Goblins. Redscar, riding proudly ahead of an army of Redfangs, old and new. Poisonbite, marshaling both male and female Goblins. Noears, surrounded by the Goblin magic-users. Spiderslicer, raising a sword over his head. Countless faces, all looking up at her.

“We came back. Don’t tell them for wrong flag.”

Headscratcher beamed at Erin. She turned to him, full of elation and despair.

“But you’ll die!”

“Might.”

He shook his head. Erin pointed at the Goblin Lord’s army. They were all staring, confronted by this strange sight. Reiss held still, uncertain. He recognized the Redfang tribe. And Rags’ Goblins. But who were the strange grey Goblins? Where was their Chieftain? The five Hobs?

“This isn’t your fight! You don’t have to be here!”

“No. It is.”

Numbtongue stepped forwards, leaving the other three with the flag. He pointed at the Goblin Lord, and then at Liscor. Zevara stared down at the army with Klbkch. The walls of her city were beginning to crumble. No army of Drakes could save Liscor. All were too far away. But an army had appeared. It was not one she would have ever looked for. But it was there. And she prayed, without knowing how and with no one in mind. She hoped for salvation.

And there it was. Numbtongue smiled as he looked at Liscor.

“Not our city. Nor our people. And Humans—we don’t care what they do. But you stayed. So we stay. The Goblin Lord is ours. And he is wrong.”

“Not Goblin.”

Badarrow let go of the flag. That was all he said, but it was condemnation and judgment itself. The others nodded. Erin looked from face to face.

“But what are you doing? Are you going to fight?”

“We followed you. Thought you were going to fight.”

Shorthilt gave the flag to Rabbiteater. The Hob stared at his friend as Shorthilt went over to Erin. The reserved Goblin drew his sword. It shone as he pointed at the silent army. Past it, at Tyrion. The [Lord] of the Veltras family stared. Jericha dropped her wand.

“Where did that army come from?”

If you hadn’t been there, you’d never know. If you hadn’t seen it, how could you tell? Across the world, eyes locked on a Goblin army, conjured from the ground. Was it there to join with the Goblin Lord? Was it another ploy of Tyrion Veltras? Something the Drakes had cooked up? Niers Astoragon’s eyes locked on the young woman. She was gesturing, shouting at Shorthilt.

“But you’ll die!”

“We are Goblins. We die.”

Shorthilt shrugged fatalistically. Erin slapped his shoulder and he winced. Headscratcher punched Shorthilt in the back and the Hob turned. He pointed.

“Goblin Lord is bad. Liscor is—okay. And you.”

He looked at Erin. She stared at him and then looked around. The Goblins looked up at her.

“Me? What about me?”

Shorthilt tilted his head.

“Do you want to fight? If yes—we fight.”

He gestured with his sword. The young woman looked at him.

“Just like that?”

“Mhm.”

Erin stood on the hill. She looked down at the army in front of her, and then turned. The Goblin Lord’s army lay before her. Uncertain. Even the trebuchets had stopped firing.

“But it’s too much to ask. How could anyone ask that? Why would you do it?”

The Hobs looked at each other. Rabbiteater, who’d been struggling with the flag, gave up and threw it down the hill. He stomped over. Erin looked at him as the [Champion] shook out his shoulders and gave the others a dirty look. Then he gazed at Erin. He beamed.

“We like you.”

She waited. But that was it. Rabbiteater had said his piece. He stood with the others, grinning happily at Erin. They were all smiling. They looked so at peace. But her knees shook. Erin looked at them. She looked at the Goblin Lord.

“If you fight—”

You die. She’d said it enough times. And they knew. The knowledge was reflected in their eyes. It was the same truth all the Goblins waiting had in their eyes. You didn’t need to tell Goblins about death. But still, they waited. Erin wiped at her eyes. She didn’t know what to do. How could she ask? How could anyone ask that? She looked back.

At Liscor. At the city. It looked smaller, now. Cracked. Fire burned in one spot. The people on the walls stared down at her. Erin saw faces she recognized. She thought of her friends. Selys, Krshia, Mrsha. She looked at her inn. And then she looked ahead.

The Goblin Lord’s army was advancing slowly. Their drum beat rolled and they chanted. But it was uncertainly. Erin stared at them. She looked past them at the army bearing down on Liscor. They’d raze the city. Bring it low. And that was something she’d tried to stop. With words. And now someone had come. Under the banner of peace, they’d gathered. But it was for her. And to her they looked. Erin looked at the five Redfangs. Her voice trembled.

“Hey. Can I ask you a favor? A big one?”

They nodded. Headscratcher, Badarrow, Shorthilt, Numbtongue, and Rabbiteater waited. Erin took a deep breath.

“I, this—it’s not your fight. Not really. And it’s so much. How could anyone ask? But—but this is my—my home. Those are my friends.”

Erin pointed back at Liscor. She was crying again.

“They won’t run. This is their home too. If they die—they’re my friends. You know? And you are too. All of you. I love you all so much.”

She looked from face to face. The Hobs smiled, waiting. Erin gestured at the army in front of her.

“I don’t know this Goblin Lord. I don’t know Tyrion Veltras. But they sound like jerks. If I—if I try and stop them, will you help me? Please?”

She looked at them, despairingly. Her eyes were red. And her cheeks were still wet. Tears dripped down her chin, along with some snot. She wiped her nose. The Hobs looked at her. Erin Solstice was the most beautiful person they had known. Human or Goblin. And she had asked them for a favor.

The five Redfangs looked at each other. Seriously. They glanced from face to face, nudging each other, checking their gear, their armor. Then they put their hands on Headscratcher’s shoulders. They nodded to him and he moved.

Headscratcher walked past Erin. He stood on the edge of the hilltop, so that all the Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe, the Cave Goblins of Liscor’s dungeon, and the Redfangs could see him. They waited. Headscratcher drew the axe from his side. He raised it over his head and the weapon caught the light. The Goblins sighed. And then as one, they shouted.

It was a roar to drown out the chanting of Reiss’ army. It echoed and shook the walls of Liscor. A single word, magnified. An answer to a question.

Yes.

And then they ran. They charged up the hill. First Redscar, passing Erin in a breeze of fur and laughter. Spiderslicer, cursing, hot on his heels. Noears, whooping with excitement. Poisonbite, scowling and smiling. Hobs Erin recognized. Cave Goblins. They joined her. And Reiss looked up at the Human and saw the army. The Goblins shouted as they raised their weapons. They stood around Erin, looking up at her, forming a wall in front of her.

The Flooded Waters tribe with their pikes in front. Archers behind. Redfangs to the left. Cave Goblins to the right. How many? They were probably only a third of Reiss’ army. But they held their ground. Then they advanced.

“What’s going on?”

Laken looked around as the confused shouting grew louder. He stood up and Gamel tried to explain.

“I don’t believe it.”

Zevara stood on the walls. Klbkch gaped, his mandibles parted, as below, the Workers and Queens began to panic. Pawn stood up and ran. He ran to Yellow Splatters and the waiting Painted soldiers.

“It’s her. Please, you have to help her.”

Yellow Splatters stared at Pawn in confusion. But the other Soldiers looked up. There could be only one her.

“Am I dreaming? Who is she? It has to be her! Who is she?”

Niers was laughing and crying. He stood up as his students stood, dumbfounded. Venaz stared at his teacher.

“What are they doing? They’re all Goblins.”

“No. They’re not.”

Umina shook her head. She turned.

“Professor, what happens now?”

“We have to go after her! Let go of me!”

Ceria struggled in Moore’s grip. The adventurers were lined up on the walls. Halrac lifted his bow uncertainly.

“It’s suicide! We can’t!”

Revi was pale. She pointed with a shaking finger down at Erin.

“She’s insane. She can’t be doing this!”

“But she is.”

Seborn stared down at the distant figure. She was surrounded by Goblins. But they were moving. All of them. They were moving away from Liscor. Towards the Goblin Lord’s army.

“Impossible.”

Lord Tyrion stated the word flatly. As if it could change reality. He watched the second Goblin army led by the young woman begin to accelerate. They were running across the Floodplains, and the Goblins were dug in.

“My lord? What do we do?”

Jericha looked up at Tyrion. But he had no answer. He just kept staring.

“Master?”

Reiss stared at his kin. They were coming. All of them. And there was no betrayal this time. No double cross. They were just coming. Against him. He heard a strangled sound in his head.

“Crush them. My apprentice, crush these—these interlopers! Kill that girl! Take Liscor!”

The same words. But without the same authority. The voice in his head was panicking. Reiss, the Goblin Lord stared ahead. He closed his eyes, and then opened them. But that didn’t change things. He saw the Goblins running, shouting, and…laughing. It was an alien sight to him. But he had orders.

A part of Reiss that was real screamed at his real self to stop. But the slave in him, the part that obeyed was in control. So he pointed, a puppet dancing on the strings.

“Charge! Kill them all!”

His Goblins looked at Reiss. Charge? They hesitated. Some began to advance. Eater of Spears shouted a challenge and Snapjaw raised her sword. But there was no momentum. Reiss’ army froze as the Goblins of the Flooded Waters tribe, the Redfang Goblins, the Cave Goblins—

No. The Goblins of Liscor. The Goblins who followed the Human girl running with them. The Goblins who shared one thing in common. An inn. What would they call themselves, this new tribe? This temporary alliance?

Solstice Goblins, perhaps. Yes. They charged down the last hill, shouting. The first rank of pikes charged forwards, and the front rank of Reiss’ warriors began to back up. The mindless undead lurched ahead. But it didn’t matter.

The first wave of the Solstice Goblins broke through Reiss’ army. They charged ahead, aiming at the Goblin Lord. A screaming horde. They’d never win. They couldn’t win. But no one had told them that. Headscratcher, Badarrow, Rabbiteater, Numbtongue, and Shorthilt ran ahead of the rest. They aimed at the Goblin Lord, five brothers. And they were laughing. Laughing with the others, fit to burst. And then fighting. Falling.

Laughing.

5.62

The world was watching. Below Liscor, an army of Humans was gathered. A force ready to sweep south, to break the walls of the Drake city. And in front of them were Goblins. A people described as monsters. They had come here, not of their own volition. They had been herded. Driven like cattle.

Manipulated.

This was not their grand struggle. They were tools in other people’s games, a means to the end. In that sense they were worthless. But see. It was an army of Goblins that gave Tyrion Veltras the pretext to besiege Liscor. It was they who threatened the city.

And it was the second army of Goblins who rose to defend it. They were an army of fragments. Three tribes, each hailing from a different place. Each with different leaders. But they ran together as they surged across the Floodplains. Down into the valleys, up hills, towards the Goblin Lord’s army.

Reiss shouted and his army moved to intercept the charging Goblins. His force spread out, over a hundred thousand Goblins, moving to ensnare the far smaller force. They would win. How could they not? There were three Goblins in Reiss’ army for every one of his enemies.

And yet—the army of Goblins didn’t slow down. They didn’t waver. Because they were running, chasing a young woman across the Floodplains. Following her.

Erin Solstice’s heart was in her mouth. She was breathless. Her body was filled with nervous energy. She wanted to throw up, run away, and hide. A wall of night was marching at her. Black armor. Green skin. Red eyes. The Goblin Lord’s army was marching, roaring. But Erin ran on. Because of them.

Five Hobgoblins ran behind Erin. And behind them, Cave Goblins. Redfang Warriors howling, ready for battle. The Flooded Waters tribe. They had come back for her. And they had charged for her. Just for her. For a hot meal, a place to be safe.

A smile. And they would fight and die too. How could Erin ever ask them to charge alone? So she ran. And as the Goblins ran around her, past her, Erin could see them. Green faces. Pointed ears. Sharp teeth. Crimson eyes. A monster’s face.

But they were so beautiful. A people she had come to love. And they looked back at her, smiling. Then they looked ahead and raised their weapons. Erin felt her breath burning in her lungs as she climbed a hill. She had a frying pan in one hand, a knife in the other. She nearly slipped in the mud. Then she was on the top of the hill, looking down.

A sea of black-armored Goblins stared up at her. Undead lurched forwards. Erin stared down. And then she saw the Goblins raise bows.

“Watch out!”

The Goblins were already raising their shields. Erin raised her frying pan, as if it was a shield, then she realized the Goblins were still running. Even those without protection. The Goblin Lord’s archers loosed the first hail of arrows. And Erin ran beneath the dark rain and heard Goblins begin to die.

Screams of pain and terror. Shouts as Goblins were hit and slid in the muck. Cries of anger. And then the sound of more bows nocking. Loosing. A second wave of arrows flew as Erin ran down the hill. More Goblins fell. Erin didn’t see them, but she heard them. She would have turned. She would have gone back. She had potions on her belt, alchemical weapons from Octavia to defend herself. She had not left her inn unprepared. But it wasn’t behind her where the battle lay.

It was right in front of her.

The first rank of Goblins stood shoulder-to-shoulder, braced. They were in formation. They leveled their weapons at the first rank of Goblins charging at them. Erin was a dozen paces behind them. She saw five Hobgoblins running ahead of the rest.

Headscratcher, Rabbiteater, Shorthilt, Numbtongue. Even Badarrow, for all that he carried a bow. They had outdistanced her and the other Goblins. Now they charged forwards, screaming. The Goblin Lord’s army waited for them, loosing arrows, shouting. They were confident. Bitterly resolved. They had Reiss on their side. A Goblin Lord. And what did these Goblins have?

A wall of black steel. Erin saw Headscratcher roar. He sprinted faster than the rest, his mouth opening wide. A [Berserker] howled and he raised his golden axe. The jade edge gleamed. Reiss’ Goblins looked up at him. They saw the axe’s edge shine, and then grow. The magical edge grew three times in length. The Goblins shouted in horror. An enchantment? But only Chieftains had weapons that powerful.

Chieftains. Or adventurers. Then Headscratcher swung the axe. The black-armored Goblins raised their shields. The magical axe sheared through the metal. It cut bone and flesh. The first rank of Goblins disappeared. The Goblins standing behind their friends recoiled as Headscratcher’s first blow made a dozen Goblins vanish. And then he was among them. They looked up into blazing eyes and saw the axe swinging towards them.

Forwards. Headscratcher opened a gap by himself. The other four Redfangs followed, moving to his left and right, keeping clear of his wide swings. Five versus an army.

Goblins were all around them. Thrusting with spears, screaming in terror as Headscratcher charged forwards. But so many. They tried to overwhelm the other four, get at Headscratcher’s back. He was only one Chieftain, after all. A Hob thrust smaller Goblins aside. He swung a club as tall as he was at Shorthilt. The [Weapon Expert] turned and his sword flashed.

The edge sliced through the haft of the club. The Hob blinked. Shorthilt pirouetted and his second swing took the Hob’s head off. The Goblins backed away as Shorthilt advanced. His sword was not enchanted, but it cut like magic. He aimed at the weak points in a Goblin’s armor, the gap between shield and chest. His teeth were bared and he fought with a precision lesser Goblin [Warriors] had never seen. And by his side was a Hobgoblin who wielded nothing but a guitar.

Numbtongue cracked a Goblin’s head with the base of his guitar. Then he spun and intercepted a sword cut from another Hob. The bigger Goblin gaped as the guitar didn’t break. Electricity ran from the strings of the guitar. The [Bard] roared and heaved. The enemy Hobgoblin stumbled back and Numbtongue clubbed him alongside the head. Lightning flashed and the Hob roared.

“Redfang!”

His voice was booming. Reiss’ Goblins stared up at him. It was a word to inspire fear. The name of that most famous tribe. And the other four took it up.

“Redfang.”

Badarrow had stopped behind the others. He raised his bow and shot a Goblin trying to stab Headscratcher in the back. He aimed left and shot another Goblin through the head. Then a Hob. The bigger Goblin was wearing a helmet, but the tip of the arrow shot through his eyehole. The [Sniper] spun and another Goblin fell. His hands moved constantly, grabbing more arrows from the quiver. Then he reached for something at his side.

A bell, bronze and blue metal. The clapper was muffled. The bell was attached to a special arrow. Badarrow lifted it to his bow and aimed past the Goblins. He pulled the bit of wax stifling the bell from ringing and aimed past Headscratcher, at the Goblins ahead of them. He drew back, loosed.

The bell flew up. The arrow curved in a long arc and fell among the [Archers] shooting at Erin and the other Goblins. It landed among the Goblins, a single arrow that didn’t even hit one of them. But as the bell struck the ground, it rang once.

Pain. The bell tolled not with sound, but with pain and agony. Goblins fell to the ground, screaming, their ears bleeding. The bell rolled and chimed again. The Goblins around it howled, convulsing. All those who heard the noise shuddered. Those closest to it were paralyzed by pain. And it was into that gap the Redfangs charged.

Four. Headscratcher cut down Goblins ahead of him, ignoring the wounds he took. Shorthilt and Numbtongue took the left side and Badarrow covered their backs. But it was the fifth Hobgoblin who caught the eye. He had the right to himself. Reiss’ Goblins surged towards him, but they hesitated as one.

Because of how he looked. This Goblin stood tall. His armor seemed to glow. It was pristine, the chainmail perfectly kept. His blade was sharp as could be. But what really stood out was his cloak. Rabbiteater’s cloak was an ever flowing, deep red, almost violet color. And it was not cloth, but liquid. The Hobgoblin swept the cape around him as he advanced. Goblins were loosing arrows at him, but they sank into the cloak, losing all momentum. Rabbiteater took three strides, and then the first of Reiss’ Goblins were ahead of him. They looked up as Rabbiteater grinned. They swung their weapons and the Hobgoblin swung his sword.

The line of Goblins exploded. Goblins fell from the sky, cut in half. Armor rent. Blown back by a single strike. [Grand Slash]. Rabbiteater straightened. He stabbed into the next rank of Goblins as they backed up, screaming. What was he? Who was he? This Hobgoblin wasn’t a Chieftain. But he was no ordinary Hob either. He was dressed like an adventurer. And he fought like a hero.

A [Champion].

Reiss’ warriors faltered. But the Hobs shouted and they advanced. It was only five! Only five Hobs! They could be overwhelmed, killed! That was when the first rank of Cave Goblins cleared the hill.

The Goblin Lord’s warriors saw the strange, pale, grey-skinned Goblins coming at them. They hesitated. What were these strange Goblins? They poured forwards, a horde without Hobs. They followed the Redfangs into the breach. And they howled as they came on. The black-armored Goblins set themselves. They were warriors! They wouldn’t lose to—

The first wave of Cave Goblins crashed against the shielded warriors. They fought savagely. The next wave overwhelmed Reiss’ warriors. And the third and fourth and fifth—the Goblin Lord’s soldiers fell back in disarray. They locked blades with screaming Goblins. And lost. Hobs cut down Cave Goblins and were overwhelmed by sheer numbers. And not just numbers. The ferocity of the Cave Goblins terrified.

They fought like the five did. With all of Headscratcher’s fury. As precisely as Shorthilt, like Rabbiteater. Miniature champions. And they knew no fear. Hobs backed up as Cave Goblins leapt at them. They were Hobs! But the Cave Goblins had fought Raskghar.

The first contact with Reiss’ army sent a shockwave back through the entire force. The Cave Goblins, led by the five Redfangs poured forwards. At their front was Headscratcher. He couldn’t be stopped. His enchanted axe swung again and again, cutting down Hobs while his Cave Goblins followed him, keeping the [Berserker] safe. Shorthilt and Rabbiteater went left and right, Rabbiteater’s overwhelming horde and Shorthilt’s adept fighters opening the gap in Reiss’ army wider. Numbtongue and Badarrow held the line.

“Impossible. What kind of Goblins are those? Some kind of subspecies? Where did they come from? Liscor’s dungeon?”

Az’kerash whispered, his voice an echo in his apprentice’s mind. But Reiss couldn’t answer his master. He was directing his army, giving them orders.

“Hold the lines! Snapjaw, take your riders around! Hit them from the side! Eater of Spears, kill those Hobs!”

His warriors reacted to Reiss’ orders. They moved forwards, trying to envelop the Cave Goblins. But more Goblins were coming. The Flooded Waters tribe. The Redfangs. Reiss turned towards them, calculating.

“Ignore the riders. They number only four thousand at most. Focus on those grey Goblins. Wipe them out. I will begin raising them as undead. With them—”

“Master! Shut up!”

Reiss roared. In his castle, Az’kerash stepped back, affronted. His waiting Chosen, Venitra, Kerash, and Bea, raised their heads. The ranks of silent undead waiting to be teleported did not move.

“Insolence!”

The three Chosen flinched as the Necromancer uttered the words aloud. He directed his will. But his apprentice wasn’t listening. Reiss was focused on the young woman who was caught up in the fighting. The Cave Goblins screened her and she had yet to enter the fray. She was shielding her head with a frying pan, shouting. He pointed at her and his warriors shouted, surging at her position. The five Redfangs and the Cave Goblins defended her, refusing to let any of his warriors get near. But it was her Reiss wanted. Her. He had to kill her.

—-

It all revolved around her. Niers stared through the scrying orb at the distant figure. The half-Elf controlling the spell was magnifying her vision, but the battle was still far away. Partially obscured by the valleys. But clear enough. The Fraerling could see the young woman, surrounded by the small Goblins with grey skin.

Cave Goblins, apparently. From the dungeon. He could hear people shouting on the walls around the half-Elf. A woman in armor was pointing down at the fighting.

“Is she mad? She’ll be killed! We have to go after her!”

“No! You’ll be killed!”

A man in armor, her older brother, stopped her. The young woman with blonde hair turned on him, but another half-Elf raised a skeletal hand.

“Ylawes is right, Yvlon.”

“Ceria!”

That came from both Yvlon and a young man in white robes. The half-Elf turned.

“Don’t be stupid, Pisces! What can we do?”

“But—”

Pisces’ face was white. He looked to an Antinium with three arms. The insect-man nodded, but hesitantly.

“Captain Ceria is right. If we participate, I believe our team will perish. But if we do not fight…Miss Solstice will die.”

He fell silent. The adventurers stared at the fighting. The half-Elf shook her head.

“What is she doing? She’s going to die.”

“We have to do something.”

“What? What can we—”

Niers tore his attention away from the scrying orb. He looked around. The war room was silent, unlike the shouting and thump of stones hitting Liscor’s walls. His students were bent over the map. They were creating a projection of the battle. He looked down and saw the Goblin Lord’s army, trying to envelop the other Goblins. There were so many of them. Niers hesitated. Then he looked up.

“Well?”

His students jumped. They’d been so engrossed they’d forgotten why they were here. They looked at each other. Then Wil spoke up.

“Who is that? Who is that Human girl? Where did those Goblins come from?”

The young man pointed at the scrying orb. Niers shook his head.

“Pointless questions. This is a battle, Wil. Ask later! You’re [Strategists]! Tell me how the battle’s changed.”

“It’s all changed. The Goblins could damage the Goblin Lord’s army. It will delay the siege. But not for long. That army can’t defeat the Goblin Lord’s army purely by numbers. But they can—”

Umina was running her claws across the board. Her eyes flickered as she stared at the scrying orb and adjusted the positioning of Reiss’ left flank. She looked up at Niers.

“They can aim for the Goblin Lord, though.”

Niers nodded.

“Exactly.”

It was their only hope, and he thought the Goblins knew it. The Cave Goblins were driving straight for the Goblin Lord. But there were far too many. And yet—Niers stared at the map. The second group of Goblins was closing in.

They hadn’t charged wildly forwards. They were moving in formation. The Flooded Waters tribe ran, each unit of Goblins spaced out, maneuvering to the left and right of the Cave Goblins. Redscar led them, directing the Goblins to spread out. And they were the largest group besides the Goblin Lord’s army. A fourth as large perhaps, but—Niers pointed.

“Those Goblins are about to make contact. Cameral!”

The Dullahan snapped to attention. He lifted his head up and stared.

“They’re using pikes! In a charge? That’s foolish!”

Niers saw Marian look up and snap without waiting for him to call on her.

“No, it’s tactics. Watch!”

The students and Niers stared at the scrying orb. Rags’ tribe rushed towards the Goblin Lord’s army. The pikes were indeed in front. They were anti-cavalry weapons. But Niers had seen them used like this before. He knew what to expect. The Goblins with black armor were braced, shields raised. But they faltered as Rags’ army came at them, screaming fury. Because what were they supposed to do?

Twenty-foot long pikes of wood, tipped with steel. That was what was aimed at them, a wall of pikes. There was no way for Reiss’ warriors to hit the pike Goblins of Rags’ army. They could only brace as the pikes rammed into them. And then came warriors behind the pikes, Hobs who tore into the wounded lines. And behind them crossbows fired constantly while Rags’ elite Redfangs charged into gaps.

It was precise. Orchestrated. Beautiful tactics. Niers had never seen Goblins using strategy like that. Not since the Second Antinium War. Not from a Chieftain.

“Dead gods.”

Marian murmured as she watched the Goblin Lord’s ranks buckle. Unlike the Cave Goblins, the Flooded Waters tribe wasn’t propelled by the five Redfangs or momentum alone. They dug in and advanced, supporting the pikes, pushing forwards.

“Analysis. Venaz! How is that group’s strategy compared to the Goblin Lord’s army?”

“Goblin scum. Goblins don’t have strategy, sir.”

The Minotaur looked affronted. He folded his arms. And then he winced as Niers looked up. The Minotaur bit his lip and hesitated.

“—But their tactics are superior. The pikes, the crossbows—they’re reloading quickly. There must be an army-wide Skill at work. This army looks defensive. But the pikes, the crossbows—they can take a powerful offensive. Look, the Goblin Lord’s forces are falling back. They might have more armor, but it’s not helping.”

His voice was grudging, but his analysis was on point. The Goblin Lord’s force was indeed being pushed back by the second charge. And yet—Niers looked up.

“Yerranola.”

The Selphid took one look at the board and replied in her male, Human body. She wore the body of a sixty year-old man, but she spoke like a young woman.

“Both smaller tribes are fully engaged. But the lines are drawn. The Goblin Lord’s shifting his army to surround them. They won’t go further except—the riders, sir.”

“Yes.”

Niers pointed. All of his students looked. The Redfangs hadn’t engaged yet. They had circled the battle, and were approaching from the side. The Goblin Lord wasn’t blind. Reiss had moved a wing of his army out to block the Redfangs.

“They’re going to hit the Goblin Lord’s army from the side. If they could break through, they’ll shatter his lines, cut off parts of his army and reinforce the others. But there’s four thousand riders and at least twenty thousand infantry in the way.”

The Selphid counted the numbers at a glance. She traced her claw across the map.

“If they can break through in a charge—”

“Impossible.”

Venaz asserted. Marian looked up.

“Centaurs could do it.”

“But Goblins?”

“Those aren’t any Goblins. That’s the Redfang tribe.”

Wil consulted a piece of paper on which he’d scribbled notes. Niers just nodded. He watched the Redfangs riding across the battlefield. The half-Elf, Falene, had a sense of the battle too. She was staring at them.

Four thousand Goblins, riding Carn Wolves or horses. A paltry number compared to the other sides engaged in battle. But these Goblins were different. Niers didn’t need his Skills to tell him that. He could feel it.

On they rode. The Redfangs laughed and grinned, ready for battle. They roared as they came. They had been waiting for this moment. The mountain hadn’t been enough. Garen had trained them, and the warriors who had joined him in Tremborag’s mountain. They had lived and bled and fought for this moment.

“Redfang!”

The roar issued from four thousand mouths. The Goblins standing in their way looked up and their eyes were wide with fear. Redfang. They braced.

“Redfang!”

Spiderslicer led the charge. His shortsword swung down as his Carn Wolf leapt. He dodged a spear mid-jump and cut down the Hob holding it. His Redfangs followed him. They didn’t stop as they rode through Goblins, cutting, blocking, dodging.

“Dead gods.”

Yerranola stared down at the map. The unit marking the Redfangs kept going. They charged through the Goblins sent to block them and cut straight towards the Cave Goblins. There they turned.

“They’re cutting back out!”

“Those are Centaur tactics.”

Marian watched as the Redfangs charged in and then secured an exit. They were already looping, to strike at the Goblin Lord from another spot. Niers found himself following the riders with his eyes.

“What power. They could do it! If they keep harrying—”

Wil was perched over the table, nearly blocking Niers’ view of the scrying orb. Venaz yanked him back.

“Ridiculous. It’s one mobile force. The Goblin Lord has his riders as well. Look, they’re moving to intercept.”

“They’ll lose. Those are elites, Venaz. They can do it.”

“There are too many.”

“It’s not enough.”

Umina agreed. Niers looked up sharply. The Lizardgirl was staring at the map. The Goblin Lord’s warriors were faltering. The charges had caught them off-guard. But Umina had seen what the others hadn’t. She pointed.

“They could do it. Maybe. But he’s sending his lieutenants in. And—look at that.”

She pointed at the scrying orb. In the distance, Niers saw pale bodies moving. A separate force, slowly lurching towards the Goblin’s side. And more. Across the battlefield, more bodies stood up. Bloody corpses that had just fallen.

The undead were rising.

—-

“Undead!”

Poisonbite heard the shout. She looked up and around. She saw Redscar pointing and turned. Her female warriors had been engaging Reiss’ warriors from the pikes, darting in and stabbing with poisoned blades before pulling back. Now they turned and saw a new threat.

The undead. A group of zombies, several thousand strong, was coming their way. And Ghouls. Poisonbite bared her teeth. Not good. The undead were immune to her warrior’s poison. She looked around.

“Noears!”

The Goblin [Mage] had charged with her. But he was nowhere to be seen. Poisonbite cursed him and turned. She screamed and the pikes turned to face the undead. They surged down the slope and crashed into the undead.

Ghouls leapt and were skewered. Zombies were impaled dozens of times. The undead had no self-preservation. But that was also a problem. They didn’t die even when impaled. They kept going, walking onto the pikes. They had to be hacked apart or the brains had to be destroyed! And Reiss’ warriors were still fighting.

“Hobs kill undead! We fight!”

Poisonbite pointed forwards. The Hobs under her command strode towards the undead. Poisonbite grimly held the line. Her daggers flashed and a Hob screamed as he tried to get past the weakened line of warriors. He stumbled back as Poisonbite cut him twice more and then dodged back. He swung at her, but the poison was already doing its job. Poisonbite moved backwards, applying a new coat to her blades as the Hobgoblin slowly weakened. He tried to keep fighting, but only two minutes later he was stumbling.

A Goblin ran him through. Poisonbite moved forwards, aiming for another Hob, and then stopped.

The poisoned Hob was moving. He was standing up. How? Poisonbite stared at him. Was the poison not working? Did he have a healing potion?

No. She stared at him. The Hob’s mouth was open. His eyes were wide. And he was dead. A bit of froth and blood ran from his mouth as he forgot his sword and swung clumsily at the Goblins around him.

A zombie. But so soon? He’d barely died. Poisonbite saw the Goblins trying to bring the Hob down a second time, cursing. She looked around.

There. A Goblin died as a female Hob ran him through with a pitchfork. But the instant his corpse hit the ground, it was sitting up. The Hob stomped, cursing, as the zombie tried to claw its way free of the tines pinning its body down.

They were rising. The dead. Not just Reiss’ warriors. But the dead on both sides. One of Poisonbite’s warriors fell, struck by an arrow. She rose and proceeded to bite the Goblin next to her.

“Undead! All dead rising!”

Poisonbite screamed. The Goblins looked around. They stared at the undead. More and more were getting up. For every warrior they killed, for every Goblin they lost—an undead was spawned.

“No.”

Poisonbite backed up. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t fair. But it was happening. She could see Goblins dressed in robes and holding wands, staffs, now. They were stationed behind Reiss’ troops, reanimating the dead. So was Reiss. Between him and his [Necromancers] and [Shamans], they were resurrecting…

Everyone.

—-

“Watch for undead! Guard backs! Kill and then chop off heads!”

Redscar roared as he fought on another front. He could see the Cave Goblins faltering. Headscratcher and the others had found the same trap waiting for him that he had. Redscar cursed as the Hob he’d killed lurched up, bright light shining from its eyes.

Ghoul. It was faster in death than the Hob had been in life. But not cleverer. Thunderfur knocked it down and Redscar leaned out of his saddle to run the Hob through the head. his enchanted blade easily sheared through the bone and the Ghoul died. Redscar turned and the Goblins around him fell back. His frost blade had cut down every Goblin who’d been in Redscar’s way. The undead couldn’t slow Redscar. But they had doubled the Goblins that his warriors had to cut through to get to Reiss.

Even the Redfangs and Spiderslicer had slowed. So many undead! They were all coming to life now. Redscar snarled as he saw Reiss and his [Necromancers] casting magic. They had to be stopped. But how? Some of the [Mages] had set up a barrier and the arrows Badarrow’s Goblins were loosing at them were just bouncing off. As for Reiss—

He had to die. They had to cut to him and kill him. But everywhere the Solstice Goblins had slowed. Their first charge had run out of steam. The undead and Reiss’ troops were pushing them back. It was just numbers. And then Redscar saw them.

Snapjaw and Eater of Spears. Reiss’ lieutenants. His last remaining lieutenants, rather. It was an irony. For all Reiss’ warriors, his best officers, the ones who inspired, who defined his army were dead. Zel Shivertail had slain them and with them gone, his warriors lacked the fire to engage Redscar, Poisonbite, and the five Redfangs where they led. But the last two of Reiss’ warriors were still present. And now they were coming.

Snapjaw rode at the head of what had to be at least fifteen thousand Goblins on horseback. She charged at the Redfangs, her teeth bared, sword drawn. Spiderslicer rode to meet her and the Redfangs howled with him. They were fearless. They met Snapjaw’s warriors in a fury of rearing horses and terrible collisions. Carn Wolves and horses went down alike.

They were stronger than Snapjaw’s forces. Redscar saw more of Snapjaw’s warriors going down each second. But she had the numbers on the Redfangs. And she—

She was strong. Snapjaw cut to the left and right, fighting Redfang warriors. She was as good as they were and her armor and sword were enchanted. But that wasn’t what made her strong. No. It was as Spiderslicer cut towards her that Redscar remembered. Snapjaw wasn’t a [Warrior]. She was—

The female Hobgoblin blocked Spiderslicer’s sword. He cut, cursing the lack of his falchion. She dodged the sword as her horse reared, hooves striking at Spiderslicer’s Carn Wolf. Spiderslicer took the opportunity. He lunged, sword aimed at Snapjaw’s throat. The Hobgoblin opened her mouth—

And bit. Spiderslicer recoiled as the metal teeth closed on his sword. He heard a crack as the poorly-tempered steel snapped. Snapjaw crunched the metal and spat. Spiderslicer stared at her and then leapt back. He cursed and a Redfang Hob took his place. The warrior rushed at Snapjaw, swinging a battleaxe. Snapjaw stared at him and then opened her mouth wide. Wide—

Her jaw dislocated. Her overly large head seemed to grow bigger. The Hob flinched. And Snapjaw bit. Spiderslicer and Redscar stared at what remained of the Hob as it slid from the saddle. The horse shrieked and fled as Snapjaw chewed.

That shouldn’t have been possible. But she had done it. The Redfangs’ assault slowed as more of Snapjaw’s riders forced their way forwards. And Snapjaw led them. Spiderslicer had to retreat, calling for another sword. And while her warriors held the Redfangs back—

Eater of Spears was headed for the Cave Goblins. Redscar saw him, a towering giant above the rest. He was leading a wave of Hobs through the smaller Goblins of Reiss’ army. His tribe. Redscar looked around. He was too far. He had to command Rags’ tribe. But one Goblin could stop him.

“Where is Noears?”

The Goblins looked around. No one could answer. Redscar turned, swearing. He began to ride forwards, but it was too late.

—-

The first roar of contact had been terrifying. The first minute Erin had thought she would die. But the press of Goblins pushing forwards, the sounds of screams and the clash of metal—all of it was at a distance. Erin had been outpaced by the Cave Goblins and the Redfangs. She was stuck amid them as more and more pushed forwards. And they weren’t inclined to let Erin past.

“Headscratcher! Numbtongue! Where are you?”

Erin screamed above the din. Her frying pan was raised like a shield to ward off falling arrows. She was taller than all the Cave Goblins, but she still couldn’t make out the Redfangs amid the fighting. It was chaos.

Green bodies struggled with other figures. Goblins fought in ever-shifting lines, retreating, charging. Erin couldn’t tell how they were identifying friend and foe. The black armor? She tried to push forwards, but the Cave Goblins actively resisted her.

“Let me go!”

Erin shouted at them. She had to fight! To protect—

She was no warrior. Erin knew that. But she had asked them to come. So she moved forwards, ignoring the press trying to keep her back. If she could do something, anything—she had potions.

“Is anyone hurt? I have healing potions!”

It was no use. Erin’s voice was lost amid the fighting. She couldn’t tell where she was, how the battle was going—until she heard the screaming.

The battle lines abruptly opened up in front of her. Cave Goblins moved back, screaming. Erin didn’t understand why. Not until she saw the way the Goblins in front of them awkwardly shambled forwards. Her blood chilled as she recognized the light in their dead eyes.

Undead. The Goblin Lord was raising the undead. And the zombies were rising from every corpse on the ground. Cave Goblins fought the undead and Reiss’ warriors both, but their own were being turned to dead. Erin stared as a Cave Goblin fell not fifteen paces ahead of her and then got up and faced its former allies. She saw a Hobgoblin charge past the zombie, shove it aside, and bring down a huge maul on the head of a Cave Goblin.

He was wearing black armor. He roared, and undead and more Goblins in black armored poured past him. The Cave Goblins cried out and tried to fight back. But—these were Numbtongue’s warriors! Some didn’t even have proper weapons. They were musicians.

The Hob scythed forwards with his maul, bashing bodies aside. Erin stared at him and then realized he was getting closer. And she was walking towards him.

The Hob turned to Erin. He roared, pointing at her. Erin raised the frying pan. She threw it. The Hob blinked as the frying pan flew at his face. He raised a gauntleted hand and knocked it down. He laughed—

And the kitchen knife struck him in the eye. Hilt first. But Erin had thrown it hard as she could. The Hob screamed and covered one eye. He swung the maul one-handed. Erin backed up. She reached for something at her belt. The Hob raised his maul.

And Erin threw a Pepper Potion vial in his other good eye. The Hob screamed. Erin yanked another knife from her belt and charged. The Hob was flailing about. She raised a fist and aimed at his unarmored stomach.

“[Minotaur Punch]!”

The Hob folded over. Erin slashed up and cut at the Hob’s throat. He tried to block her. Her knife slashed across his fingers, cutting deep. He screamed and bled. Hot blood splattered Erin’s arm, her right cheek. The Hob tried to swing his maul, blinded. Erin stabbed.

The knife went between his fingers and into the Hobgoblin’s throat. The Goblin gurgled. He knocked Erin flat with a swing, but his arm had no force behind it. Still, Erin went tumbling. She cut herself lightly with the knife as she fell and scrambled up. She looked for the Hob—

And found he was on his knees. He was trying to stop the blood flowing from his cut throat. He gurgled, blinded. Erin stared down at him.

The Goblin died there. He was the second Goblin she’d killed. Erin stared at his body as the Cave Goblins rushed past her, seizing the moment of weakness. She stood there, staring at the Hobgoblin’s body until a Cave Goblin screamed at her. Then she realized the Hobgoblin was getting up.

“Oh no.”

Erin had a second frying pan at her belt. She grabbed it and began hitting the Hob on the head. Cave Goblins joined her. Erin hammered at the Hob’s head. It began deforming. She felt something crack and a Cave Goblin bashed the Hob’s brains in. Erin stumbled back as the zombie stopped moving for good. She tried to throw up.

But then she was fighting. It was automatic. Erin had a knife in one hand, the frying pan in the other. Zombies were attacking with Goblins. And Erin was in the first line of Cave Goblins. She was no warrior. But as Calruz had told her, she had talent.

Throw the pan. It bounced off the head of a Goblin warrior in black armor, stunning him. The knife followed, and a Goblin screamed as it appeared on her leather armor, just above the shoulder. Erin yanked a potion from her belt.

“Down.”

The Cave Goblins around her ducked. Erin threw the bottle over the heads of the Goblins and heard Goblins screaming. The fiery pot of burning oil burst and coated undead and Goblins in flame. Erin reached for another object and came up with a Tripvine bag.

She didn’t have many weapons, but she had enough. Vines burst forwards, ensnaring the undead and a few Cave Goblins. Erin ran forwards. She had a club from somewhere. A fallen Goblin? She cracked a zombie’s head and tripped another one.

Fighting. She was little better than a Cave Goblin. But she had reach. Potions. Alchemist’s weapons. And the Cave Goblins fought to protect her. Erin didn’t know when she stumbled back to catch her breath. But she was wounded. Someone had cut her across the belly. It hurt. She drank half a healing potion and looked around.

“Here.”

A Cave Goblin clutching at his nearly sawn-off arm looked up. Erin bent. The world spun. She bit the inside of her lip and offered him the potion. He let her pour it on his arm. Erin stood up.

“We have to keep fighting. Follow me.”

She ran. This time the Cave Goblins followed her. All of them. They charged past Erin. The Goblin Lord’s army was trying to hold a hill. Erin threw a smoke bag and blinded the Goblins on the other side of the hill, then charged up the slope. She had to see. Wasn’t that the point?

Cave Goblins grappled with Goblins in black armor. Erin punched a Goblin and struck another with the spiked mace she held. She lashed out at another and turned.

Now she saw. Billowing smoke from the alchemist bag cleared. She saw the Goblin Lord’s army fighting on the hills, loosing showers of arrows. Undead and Goblins fighting. Rag’s tribe was holding them back. But where—

There. The Redfangs were ahead of her. Headscratcher was leading the way, roaring. He was still pushing forwards, despite the wounds on his body. Shorthilt was following him. Numbtongue had pulled back—it was his tribe that Erin was fighting with. Rabbiteater was to the right, holding the Goblin Lord back. Badarrow was camped on another hill. She saw his archers loosing arrows, shooting down the Goblin Lord’s warriors trying to attack them from the side, then another volley of arrows shot towards the Goblin Lord’s troops.

“We’re losing.”

Erin didn’t need to be a [Strategist] to see it. She stared at the lines of Goblins. They were losing. There were too many of the Goblin Lord’s warriors. And the undead! The undead were practically numberless. So long as they kept rising—Erin squinted at a coven of Goblin [Mages]. They were hiding on a hill far distant, out of even Badarrow’s range.

“Someone has to kill those [Necromancers]. Pisces told me—the undead will attack everyone if they die! Tell Badarrow!”

She shouted. The Cave Goblins looked at her. One of them turned and shouted. Erin saw the message flicker back to Badarrow in less than a minute. The Hobgoblin turned. He saw Erin and nodded. He aimed and pointed.

His Cave Goblins turned. They drew back and loosed as one. Badarrow’s arrow flew with a hail of others. The [Mages] turned. They saw the deadly arrows falling towards them and didn’t flinch. Erin saw a shimmer in the air and the arrows snapped and bounced off something.

“Shields.”

Badarrow loosed another arrow. This one didn’t arc. It went straight across from his hill towards the [Necromancer]. The shield protecting the Goblin mages must not have been able to block it. One of them spun and fell. The other [Shamans] backed up and one raised another barrier. Badarrow shot arrow after arrow, but they bounced off the new shield. He turned and directed his archer’s fire at the Goblin Warriors now assailing his hill.

“Someone has to take them out.”

Erin stared at the mages. They weren’t all just [Necromancers]. Some were hurling fire, or casting clouds of noxious gas at the Flooded Waters tribe and the Redfangs. Erin eyed the distance between them and her.

“Shorthilt.”

She was about to shout for him. Then she looked around. Something—someone was roaring. So loudly that it carried even over the raging sound of battle. Erin’s head turned.

And then she saw him. A huge Hobgoblin, at least nine feet tall. Maybe even taller. His body looked like a mass of muscles. And he was leading a group of Hobgoblins, all larger than normal. Straight towards Headscratcher.

“Headscratcher!”

The Redfang [Berserker] didn’t hear Erin’s warning. But he couldn’t have missed Eater of Spears. The Hobgoblin punched his way through a rank of Cave Goblins who swarmed around him. He kicked and they disappeared.

“You.”

Eater of Spears pointed. Headscratcher bared his teeth. he roared and charged. His enchanted axe swung. The glowing, expanded edge cut through the air in a wild swing. Eater of Spears leaned back. Headscratcher tried to bring his axe back. In that moment Eater of Spears punched.

Headscratcher landed. He didn’t remember flying. He tried to get up and realized he was on his back. His arms and legs flailed. He stood up, looked for his axe.

It was missing. Headscratcher got up groggily. Eater of Spears was walking towards him. His Hobs was cutting down the Cave Goblins around Headscratcher. His Cave Goblins. Eater of Spears grabbed a warhammer one of his warriors handed him and swept it in an arc. Cave Goblins went flying, broken, and shattered. A copy of Headscratcher’s assault.

“No.”

Headscratcher got up. He roared, and charged Eater of Spears barehanded. The Hobgoblin raised a fist. Headscratcher ducked and felt the blow snap his ear. He ignored the pain and struck.

One blow. Two. The fury in Headscratcher burned. He struck Eater of Spears in the stomach. Five times, six times. The Hobgoblin grunted. He bent slightly. Headscratcher struck him and felt the huge Hobgoblins ribs creak. He swung—

Eater of Spear’s uppercut cracked half of Headscratcher’s ribs. Broke others. The Hob doubled over. The huge Hobgoblin stomped on him and then kicked. Headscratcher tumbled. Eater of Spears advanced on him as the Cave Goblins tried to shield Headscratcher. He waded through them, barely noticing their blades as they cut at his legs and lower body.

“Stop.”

The muscle-bound Hobgoblin turned as he bent for Headscratcher. He saw a young woman standing with an army of Cave Goblins. She pointed and they charged Eater of Spears’ Hobs, holding them back. Eater of Spears stared at Erin and then he reached for his belt. She threw what she was holding.

A bottle, glowing bright yellow. The alchemical weapon flew towards Eater of Spears’ head. His eyes went wide. The Hobgoblin leaned to the left and the bottle flew past him.

“What?”

Erin stared up at him. Eater of Spears calmly drew the throwing axe from his belt.

“[Unerring Throw]? Nice Skill. Perfect shot. Only works if I hold still.”

He lifted the throwing axe. Erin’s eyes went wide. She dove. Eater of Spears took aim—

And an arrow sprouted from his chest. He barely flinched. But it made his throw go wide. A Cave Goblin died instead of the young woman. Eater of Spears looked up and raised a forearm. Badarrow’s second arrow sprouted from his arm.

“Nice shots.”

Eater of Spears grabbed the second axe from his belt, calmly ignoring the arrows, most of which broke without even penetrating his skin. He turned towards Erin and raised the second axe.

Someone tackled him. Eater of Spears grunted and took a step back. He looked down. It was Headscratcher. The Hob howled as he pushed. Eater of Spears tried to kick him, but the Hob was strong. Eater of Spears chopped down with his axe and Headscratcher lurched left. Eater of Spears kicked him down again.

Another arrow struck his arm. Eater of Spears growled. He lowered his arm, turned his head. Where—

There. Erin Solstice stood poised, arm cocked back. The bag flew into the air. Eater of Spears sighed. He dodged and the Tripvine Bag exploded harmlessly somewhere behind him.

“I told you.”

He raised his axe. Erin nodded.

“Yeah. You did.”

Eater of Spears’ arm drew back. He aimed at Erin, expecting her to dodge. But she was still. Why was—

Below him, a little Cave Goblin threw the vial it was holding straight up. Eater of Spears saw it coming and his head jerked back. But the little bottle was uncorked. And the concentrated Pepper Potion flew up his nose. Into his eyes.

Eater of Spears screamed. Erin saw his hands go up and claw at his face. The Hob, who had ignored swords and arrows without so much as flinching, howled and clawed at his face. The Cave Goblin scrambled back as Eater of Spears flailed wildly with the axe in his hand.

“Got him! Headscratcher!”

The [Innkeeper] turned and looked for her friend. The Hob was getting up. Headscratcher downed the healing potion, and stood up. A Cave Goblin held something up. His axe. He turned towards Eater of Spears. The giant was still roaring. Headscratcher activated the enchantment on his axe. He burst towards Eater of Spears with a roar—

And Eater of Spears charged.

He ran straight ahead, straight towards Erin. Headscratcher swung at him and the axe bit into Eater of Spears’ side, but the giant was moving too fast. Eater of Spears came up the hill and Erin dove.

“Run!”

The Cave Goblins scrambled out of the way. But Eater of Spears kept going. He ran up the hills, swinging his arms, sending Cave Goblins flying. He kept going, tripping, falling down the hill, standing up, running forwards.

Straight into the Flooded Waters tribe. The Goblins saw Eater of Spears coming and turned. They raised their pikes, set themselves. Erin watched Eater of Spears crash into the pikes. The metal tips dug into his flesh—

And the pikes splintered. The Goblins holding them were thrown back. Eater of Spears threw them aside. He bashed in a Hob’s skull with one flailing fist, struck at the Goblins with the throwing axe in his hand. On he went. The Goblins in front of him ran out of the way or died.

“Oh my god!”

Erin shouted. Eater of Spears just kept going! He could barely see, but it didn’t matter. He ran straight through Rag’s tribe, sending Goblins flying. They couldn’t kill him!

But they had bought a reprieve. Shakily, Erin turned. Headscratcher was bent, clutching his ribs.

“Headscratcher.”

“Go! Go back!”

Headscratcher shouted at Erin. He waved his axe and she stopped. Then she realized. They were too close to the fighting with Eater of Spears’ warriors. Headscratcher wanted her to go back. To be safe.

“No!”

Erin shouted at Headscratcher. He waved his axe at her.

“Go. Please?”

“No.”

The young woman shook her head. She looked around. The Cave Goblins were rallying on her. Headscratcher’s group, Numbtongue’s…they were following her.

“I can’t go. We have to stop them! The mages!”

Erin pointed at the hill. The undead were still rising. And they were truly pushing back the Solstice Goblins now. Headscratcher nodded. He pointed and the Cave Goblins streamed towards the hill. He ran ahead of Erin, swinging his axe.

But there was a wall of Goblins between them and the hilltop where the mages stood. Reiss’ Hobs barred the path, and what was worse, Draug. Erin saw the first huge undead Hobgoblin crushing bodies like grapes and even Headscratcher had to slow to battle them.

“Keep going! We have to keep going!”

Erin shouted as she hunted at her belt for another potion. Another of Octavia’s weapons. Anything. But she didn’t have any more tricks. And the Goblins—

They were aiming at her and Headscratcher now. One threw a [Fireball] and it sent Cave Goblins flying. Another shot what looked like poison gas from his wand. Erin covered her mouth and screamed at the Cave Goblins to run. But they were fighting undead, who didn’t even notice. They didn’t need to breathe or see.

It was impossible. They’d never make it. But they had to. They had to. Erin stared at the Goblin [Mages]. They were aiming again. Someone had to do something.

“Someone—”

And then the skies flashed. Erin saw the light. She heard the roar. The hilltop with the [Mages] vanished. Erin stumbled backwards as noise and light burst, deafening and blinding her. She couldn’t hear anything for a while. When she could see again she looked up.

The [Mages] were gone. A few were trying to get up, but over half had been charred. The rest had been sent flying. By what? Erin saw another flash.

Lightning. She looked around and saw another bolt blast into the ranks of the Goblin Lord’s forces. Goblins and Hobs went flying. And then another bolt of lightning fell. And another.

“Who? What?”

Erin scrambled onto a hilltop to see. Who was casting the magic? Who—and then she saw.

On a distant hilltop. Far, far from the battle he stood. His arms were raised. The sky was dark and clouds gathered above his head. Bursts of electricity shot from his raised hands. They arced upwards and lightning flashed down. The Goblin [Mage] laughed as he pointed and lightning struck.

Noears stood on the roof of Erin’s inn, on the shattered third floor where Bird’s tower had been. He stood alone. And each bolt of lightning he called down from the heavens was minutes apart. But the force in each one was overwhelming. It was lightning magic. Pure lightning, not conjured from his hands. But how was he doing it?

“The inn.”

Erin stared at her inn. She could feel it. Dimly, at the back of her mind. Her inn was where Noears stood. Empty. Abandoned. It had been deserted, stripped of everything. Adventurers. Guests. And her magic door.

The magic door that could teleport someone a hundred miles away to Celum, or even further, to Pallass. A magic door fueled by the mana from her inn. Only, it wasn’t there. And now, all the mana normally used by the magic door, all the power was his.

“Noears!”

The [Mage] couldn’t see her. He was pointed at the sky. Another bolt of lightning arced down. Straight towards the Goblin Lord. Reiss looked up and raised a hand.

A spire of bone caught the lightning, exploding just over Reiss’ head. He turned and pointed.

“[Deathbolt].”

The black magic sped across the battlefield. But even Reiss’ aim was insufficient. Noears laughed as the spell went wide of him by twenty feet. His arms trembled as they rose.

“More! More lightning!”

His arms tingled. Noears shot more electricity towards the sky. Charging the air. He had to keep the lightning falling. But it was so hard. And he was so far away. Sweat streamed down his face. Each time he called a bolt of lightning down, even with the excess mana, he felt his heart stopping and skipping beats. The pain—

He had to do it. Another bolt arced down from the heavens. It blew apart Reiss’ warriors. But it had missed its target—Snapjaw and her riders. Noears stumbled. His vision greyed. He pointed at the sky. He had to keep casting. Empty mana bottles lay at his feet. He had charged the air. He had to bring down more lightning. Had to—

A bolt of lightning fell from the skies. It landed among a group of Hobs. Noears lowered his hand and stared. He hadn’t called that one. What was—

He heard a song. It echoed across the hills. Noears looked and saw him.

He stood on top of a hill, surrounded by the others. Cave Goblins, holding instruments. They played with him, following his melody. The sound shouldn’t have carried across the battlefield. But it did. The Hob played on his guitar and electricity danced across the chords. He played and the lightning flashed down.

Once. Twice. Numbtongue ignored the fighting around him. Reiss’ warriors tried to swarm up the hill and his Goblins held them back. The Hob played and called the lightning. His Goblins played with them, a song of thunder.

Noears grinned. He raised his burning arms to the sky and electricity shot from his fingers. It arced into the clouds and came down. It was undirected until Numbtongue gave it form. Noears poured all the mana in his body, all of his power into the sky.

“Rain it down! Bring him down!”

He screamed to Numbtongue. And though he was too far away, he knew Numbtongue understood. Lightning flashed down across the Goblin Lord’s army. Reiss looked up as more lightning fell.

“What is that? A Goblin [Bard]? They don’t exist. How? How are they doing this? Destroy them already.”

Az’kerash’s voice shook. Spires of bone rose upwards, catching the falling lightning. But the cost of defending against the lightning meant less of the Necromancer’s power could go towards the undead. The ceaseless stream of bodies began to slow.

But still. It didn’t matter. Reiss looked across the battlefield and saw the Flooded Waters tribe, the Cave Goblins, even the Redfangs were stuck. They were struggling, but they still couldn’t advance. They had slowed. And like flies in a spider’s web, they were caught.

—-

“Just by numbers.”

Zevara stood on her walls. The Watch Captain stared at the fighting Goblins, feeling sick. She looked up as more stones fell towards her walls.

“Cover!”

She sheltered herself, feeling the thud of impacts. Hearing a [Guardswoman] cry out in agony and then go silent. But the majority of the stones hadn’t even hit her walls. They were all clustered on one spot.

“The eastern gates are falling.”

Zevara got up. She stared at Klbkch. The Revalantor hadn’t bothered to duck. He was standing on the walls with the Soldiers, watching the battle. He hadn’t looked away once.

“I know.”

That was all Zevara said. The metal was folding, bending inwards. A few more hits—one direct one—and it might completely fall inwards. And the stone was—cracked. The walls might come down.

The walls of Liscor. How could it happen? The Humans were using enchanted munitions, true. And they had been volleying endlessly since the battle began. But still.

“It won’t be the same. Now they have siege weapons, they’ll be able to take Liscor. The other cities.”

Zevara stared at the Human army. Klbkch didn’t turn his head.

“The Goblin Lord is winning.”

“Yes.”

The Watch Captain wrenched her gaze away from the Human army. She had a bitter taste in her mouth as she stared at the Solstice Goblins. If they had managed to take him out—but they could delay him. Weaken his army, at least.

“So many undead. How powerful is that Goblin Lord?”

“Powerful. As strong as the ones who rode with Velan.”

The words chilled Zevara. But Klbkch would know. She stared at the army of Goblins.

“They’re not going to make it. They’re surrounded.”

“They must. She is there.”

“They can’t, Klbkch. They need—something. They can’t do it. Not alone.”

Zevara looked around helplessly. The [Guardsmen] of Liscor, the adventurers stared at Zevara. They gazed out across the Floodplains, towards the fighting Goblins.

Not one of them moved. Halrac gritted his teeth as he stared at Erin. Typhenous bowed his head. Below, in the Hive of the Free Antinium, the Free Queen listened through Klbkch.

“They are going to lose.”

“No.”

Belgrade spoke involuntarily. He shuddered as the Free Queen and the puppet used by the five Queens looked at him. The Grand Queen’s voice was imperious.

“Why not? This is the desired outcome. These Goblins were not projected as part of the plan.”

“But Erin is there.”

“So? What is an Erin and why does it matter? The Human?”

Belgrade ignored the Grand Queen. He stared down at the map, longing to be above. If he could be there. If he could go—he looked despairingly at Anand. The other [Tactician]’s head was bowed. But his gaze was not despairing as he looked up.

“It is not over yet.”

Belgrade stared down at the map. It was over to him. There was no way the Solstice Goblins, Erin’s side could win.

“How do you know?”

“Because it is her. Erin. Belgrade, it is not over yet.”

The [Tactician] reached out and gripped Belgrade’s shoulders with one of his four arms.

“Believe.”

The two Workers stared at each other. And then Belgrade looked at the map. He closed his mandibles and looked up. Then his head turned.

“Where’s Pawn?”

—-

“Please.”

Pawn stood with Yellow Splatters. They were positioned near the entrance to the Hive. The public entrance, that was. The Painted Soldiers were stationed there, ready to fight the rear-guard action when Liscor fell. They were waiting. Waiting for the city to fall.

But the Worker stood with them. Pawn clutched his censer tied to his walking stick in his four hands. He looked up at Yellow Splatters. The [Sergeant] stood with Purple Smile, at the head of the Painted Soldiers. Yellow Splatters’ arms were crossed.

“She is out there. She is leading the Goblins. They’re fighting. For her. Erin is out there. She needs our help. The Goblin Lord will win. He will—he will kill her. Please.”

Yellow Splatters did not move. The big Soldier hadn’t moved. Even after Pawn had explained what was going on. It was not that he didn’t care. He was listening, as hard as he ever had to Pawn’s please. But he was conflicted.

The Goblins were fighting. Erin Solstice was among them. She was trying to defend Liscor. And because she was there, Pawn had come to him. To Yellow Splatters and the Painted Soldiers. To beg them to defy Klbkch and their Queen. To fight a battle against the Goblin Lord, against the Grand Queen’s orders.

All for Erin. Pawn had asked them to fight, and because they were Soldiers, die. For her. But how could Yellow Splatters ever agree?

It was not their fight. Yellow Splatters looked down the line of Painted Soldiers. It was not their battle. Moreover, it was not a situation where the Antinium would survive. There were hundreds of thousands of Goblins. The Painted Soldiers were six hundred strong, and of that number, only two hundred were ‘old’. They had levels, but they were all under Level 20.

They couldn’t win. They would die, and for what? Friendship? A warm meal? A…smile?

It wasn’t enough. How could you weigh the lives of the Antinium like that? Yellow Splatters looked at Pawn. He didn’t have to explain any of it. Pawn knew. The Worker bowed his head. He had tried for half-an-hour to reason with Yellow Splatters. To no avail. The other Soldiers were restless, but they followed Yellow Splatters in this.

“Please.”

It wasn’t enough. Yellow Splatters didn’t move. He stared down at Pawn. The Worker clutched at his censer. He sought for words, spoke in a trembling voice.

“I know. I know how much I’m asking. I know it’s just one person. I know she’s not Antinium. I know. Even if the Goblins are our—our friends. Even then, I know what it would cost. But Erin…”

He broke off, shaking his head. The Painted Soldiers were all listening. They stood straight, motionless, waiting for orders. But they listened like Yellow Splatters. They judged. They decided, where they had obeyed. It was a terrifying thing.

The Worker went on. He spoke to Yellow Splatters, his voice numb.

“It’s her. She made me, me. I owe her everything. We do. If she dies…if she dies, what purpose have I? She told me of faith. She played chess with me. She was kind when no one else was. If she dies—how could I live? How could I continue?”

The Soldiers stirred. Yellow Splatters hesitated. Pawn looked up at him. The Antinium did not cry, but there was no need for tears. All Yellow Splatters had to do was look in his eyes.

“I have no right to ask it of you. But I am no Soldier. And you are. I beg you. All of you. There is no good reason I can give. Only that she must not die. Please. She gave me everything.”

He bowed his head. Spent. Pawn sank to his knees. He was empty. Helpless. He wished he could fight. But alone he was useless. As useless as he had ever been.

He began to curl up. And a part of him wept inside, though he had never known tears. Pawn sank lower and lower. Until a hand reached down. Yellow Splatters gripped Pawn by the shoulders. The Worker looked up.

The Soldier stood above him. An impassive face. Tearing mandibles. A deep gaze. Yellow Splatters turned. The bright splats of paint on his body caught the light. He looked down the ranks of Painted Soldiers as Pawn slowly rose.

Slowly Yellow Splatters stepped forwards. The Painted Soldiers waited. He raised one finger. Pointed down the line of Soldiers. The meaning was clear.

One hundred.

The Painted Soldiers held still. They waited, and for a second Pawn despaired. He feared none would volunteer. But then a hundred moved.

A hundred Soldiers. They were the not the hundred closest to Yellow Splatters. They stepped out of line, in pairs, alone, in large groups. Seemingly at random. But as Pawn looked down the line for Soldiers, at the hundred chosen, he understood.

They were the first. The ones who had heard Pawn’s stories, the ones who had survived the mass suicide. The oldest. None of them were more than three years old.

Yellow Splatters nodded. He turned, and the Soldiers stepped into line behind him. Purple Smile moved. He looked uncertainly at Yellow Splatters. The [Sergeant] nodded to him. Purple Smile nodded slowly.

That was all. Pawn stared at the Soldiers. Yellow Splatters began to walk. They followed him, abandoning their posts. Disobeying direct orders from their Queen. The Hive.

Going to battle.

Words could not express what Yellow Splatters was feeling. He walked, feeling death in the air. Death, sadness, determination, a giddy excitement at betraying his hive. But strangely, no regret. He marched ahead, through the Hive, until he realized someone was following him. He halted and the Painted Soldiers stopped with him. He stared at Pawn and held an arm out. The Worker stopped, and placed one of his hands on Yellow Splatter’s arm.

“I’m going with you.”

Shock. The other Soldiers stared. Yellow Splatters shook his head. Unacceptable. Pawn was…everything. He had brought the Painted Soldiers freedom. Without him—he was to them what Erin was to him. But Pawn refused to be moved.

“You can’t stop me. You’ll need my prayers. It might help. And I can shout to Erin.”

It made sense. But Yellow Splatters refused to budge. He blocked Pawn’s way. The Worker looked into the [Sergeant]’s eyes.

“I can’t ask you to do this without going as well.”

But if you die—

Yellow Splatters wanted to speak. More than anything, in that moment he wanted to say something. But he had no words. And as he thought them, he realized what he was saying. It was what Pawn had said.

Slowly, the [Sergeant] turned. The Painted Soldiers stared at his back, but Yellow Splatters just kept marching. Slowly, Pawn fell in beside him. The two walked in silence. But Yellow Splatters was happy to have Pawn. Happy. Afraid. He felt alive.

This was how the Painted Soldiers went.

They marched through the dark tunnels, past Workers and other Soldiers who turned to watch. Each Soldier was alone with their thoughts, and each was together. They followed Yellow Splatters, followed Pawn upwards, out of the secret tunnels.

To death. But the Soldiers thought little of that. They had been asked and they had answered. Instead, as the ground sloped upwards, the Soldiers looked up. Bright light shone on their faces, and they smiled, then. Even if the smile was only in their hearts.

It was good to see the sky.

—-

They were losing the battle. Laken listened to the reports coming to his position with a sinking heart. He could only imagine the battle. He could hear distant sounds, the sound of thunder. And around him, the thumping of trebuchets. But nothing else. He bowed his head.

A young woman leading Goblins. An army opposing the Goblin Lord. Here he was. There was good and evil here. Perhaps not right and wrong, but a choice to be made. He looked up.

“Gamel.”

He felt a touch at his arm. Gamel stood by his [Emperor]. Laken tilted his head towards the sky. He could hear only screams. Death. But he thought he knew what had to be done.

“Get me Tessia. Now.”

Gamel ran. Laken stayed where he was. He kept listening. Lord Tyrion was aiming for the gates. He wanted them down and the walls breached by the time the Goblin Lord was finished. The Cave Goblins were dying. The other tribes were being pushed back. They were losing. There was no hope.

—-

“No.”

Rags slid from her saddle. She had arrived too late. Too late. She stood on the cliff, at the edge of the Floodplains. She had come so far. So far, at such speed. But it was too late.

The battle was underway. And even so far away, Rags could see. Her tribe was losing. They were fighting with the Redfangs, with the strange grey Goblins. But they were outnumbered, retreating. And Reiss kept advancing. Even the lightning wasn’t slowing his forces.

“Chieftain. What do we do?”

Rags turned. She saw a few hundred of Tremborag’s Goblins, eight Redfangs, Pyrite, Ulvama, and Garen looking to her. Garen was holding his crimson blade. His teeth were bared and his Carn Wolf was growling. But the Hobgoblin had a grip on his wolf’s mouth, preventing it from howling.

Because of the Humans. Their army was in front of the Goblins. A vast host, infantry, trebuchets, [Mages], and cavalry. They were spread out—Tyrion’s riders in front, the trebuchets in the middle and infantry surrounding them at the back. Rags could see tens of thousands of [Soldiers] in ranks. Waiting to move in.

They were between her and her tribe. There was no way they’d be able to get around them. Garen shifted.

“Could run past. Me and Redfangs.”

“No. You die. And we die.”

Rags shook her head. Garen had barely slipped past them once, and that was with a hundred of his warriors in the cover of night. When they were on the move? Now? They would be dead before they even cleared the trebuchets. She stared at her tribe.

“Have to do something. Have to.”

“Chieftain. We can fight. Cause distraction.”

One of Tremborag’s Hobs offered. Pyrite shook his head.

“Not big enough distraction. Need one to occupy army. Especially—him.”

He pointed at Tyrion Veltras. The Hob was staring at the battle. He had hold of his battleaxe and he was strong enough to lift it. He was restless. They all were. But Rags couldn’t figure out what to do.

How? How could she save her tribe? She burned to race towards them. But that was death. Rags bowed her head. By the time they went around the cliffs, it would be too late by hours. Could they really cause a distraction? With what? Ulvama’s spells? She had nothing strong enough? What if—

Memory. Something tugged at Rags’ mind. A thought. She looked around and recalled something.

Long ago. A skeleton racing out of a cliff. Enchanted armor. Crossbows. Dropclaw bats. A bunch of cursed amulets. And—

A cave. Rags looked up. She stared around and then saw it.

“There.”

Her Goblins stared. They looked at a little cave set into the stone. Rags pointed at it.

“What is it?”

“Cave. Leads to dungeon.”

Rags explained to Garen and Pyrite. Her heart was racing. She had no idea if the dungeon led towards Liscor. But maybe—

Garen’s eyes were troubled. The Hobgoblin shifted restlessly.

“Dungeon is very dangerous. Without [Rogue], will die to traps.”

“What about Chieftain good with rocks? What other choice is there?”

Pyrite questioned the Redfang Chieftain. Garen eyed him, but said nothing. Rags leapt down the cliff.

“Go!”

The Goblins entered the cave cautiously. They looked up for Dropclaw bats, but there were none. They must have all flown off. Rags led the way. She was desperate, still despairing inside. They’d never make it. How long would it take them to find a way through the dungeon? But if—

She paused as she entered the main cave and looked around. Something was wrong. Someone had been living here. There were scorch marks on the ground, trash. Signs of habitation.

“A tribe lived here? Or old trash from your tribe?”

Garen frowned around the cave. Rags shook her head.

“Huh. New.”

Pyrite bent down and sniffed at some leftover charcoal. He straightened, frowning about, and then his keen eyes narrowed.

“There.”

He pointed. There was a sound. Rags turned. Garen’s Carn Wolf growled and the Hobgoblin pointed.

“Goblin.”

A little Goblin flinched and cowered against the rocks. She’d hid herself by a plank of wood. Rags blinked. Garen’s wolf growled, but the Hobgoblin held it still. Rags looked at Pyrite. The Goblin was very small, barely more than a child. And her skin was…grey.

“Me?”

“No, me.”

Rags put out an arm and stopped Pyrite. She approached the Cave Goblin slowly. The little Goblin cowered. She was holding something red in her hands. And she’d been lying on something. It looked like a dirty, white…hat?

“Hello?”

Rags halted as the Cave Goblin flinched away from her. The Chieftain of the Flooded Waters tribe blinked down at Pebblesnatch. The little Goblin looked up. Rags was barely taller than her.

“I am Rags. Flooded Waters tribe Chieftain. Who you?”

The Cave Goblin froze with panic. But then she gabbled her name. Rags frowned.

“Why you alone? You live here? Where other Goblins? Tribe?”

Pebblesnatch was too afraid to speak. Rags squatted by her, trying to demand answers, but the little Goblin was petrified. She kept staring at Garen and his Carn Wolf for some reason.

“Take too long. Want me to charm her?”

Ulvama grumbled. Pyrite stared at the [Shaman] disapprovingly. Garen stared at Ulvama’s chest. The female Hob glared at them.

“With spell.”

“Oh.”

The Hobs shook their heads. Rags glared and pointed.

“Out!”

The others left to watch the battle and figure something else out. Rags stayed. Garen did too. He was checking out the dungeon, frowning into it.

“Dungeon was cleared. Looks like statues gone.”

“Why?”

Rags was astonished. She went to look. There was a strange wall where there hadn’t been before, and a bit of it had been broken down. The statues were all gone—smashed, if the rubble was any indication. She stared around. And then, only then, did Pebblesnatch move.

The little Goblin crept up behind Rags and Garen. The two turned to look at her and she flinched and nearly fled. But she raised a trembling claw. She had the red mana stone in one hand, her chef’s hat in the other. She was afraid. But she looked at Garen. At his Carn Wolf. At the war paint that was so familiar. And she spoke a word.

“Redfang?”

The two Goblins stared at her. Rags opened her mouth, and looked at Garen. He nodded. He tapped his chest.

“Redfang.”

Pebblesnatch stared up at him. She had seen Garen fight Headscratcher, seen him flee. But she had witnessed the Humans, seen the Goblin Lord. And she knew her tribe was dying. She looked to Rags. And then she began to speak. Rags demanded answers.

“What is beyond wall? Is there way through dungeon? Fast way?”

No. No fast way. Or safe way, either. Pebblesnatch bowed her head. She was nearly in tears as she told Rags about the Raskghar, about the dungeon and the invisible much-death in the room beyond. About the secret entrances and exits, and the flooded rift. If they could go through the many trap rooms, maybe—

Rags listened, heart racing, mind blurring with fear and thoughts and impatience. And then everything crystallized. She latched onto something Pebblesnatch had said and stared at the Cave Goblin. Garen looked at her, suddenly alert. Rags stared at the wall. At the dungeon and what lay beyond. And then she turned.

“Get Pyrite. Hurry.”

—-

They were running. The Free Queen saw it through Klbkch’s eyes. She relayed the news quietly. Calmly. She felt his distress. But she kept it out of her tone.

“The Goblins are falling back. Losing ground.”

“Excellent.”

The Grand Queen and her puppet rubbed their feelers together. Her tone was smug. For that reason alone the Free Queen wished the Goblins and Erin Solstice would win. But it was impossible. How could they win? She felt Klbkch’s grip tightening on his swords and urged him silently not to move.

And then she felt it. So did Klbkch. The Revalantor slowly looked up.

“What is that?”

“What?”

Zevara glanced sharply at Klbkch. Both he and the Free Queen ignored the Watch Captain. They stared to the left. Towards an entrance into the Flood Plains only they knew. And then—

The Free Queen’s breath caught as she saw the first bodies leaving her Hive. She felt them. A hundred and two. A Worker holding a censer. A [Sergeant], larger than any other Soldier. And a hundred of the Painted Soldiers.

“What? What is going on?”

“The Painted Soldiers. They have left their positions. And so has Pawn.”

The Free Queen and Klbkch spoke the same words. Their voices were one.

“They are going to try and save Erin.”

“What?”

Zevara stared at the dark Antinium. Her eyes widened. The Grand Queen lurched upwards, alarmed.

“That is not part of the plan! Why did you order this, Free Queen?”

“I did not. They disobeyed me.”

The Free Queen spoke quietly. The five Queens went still.

“Aberration?”

“No.”

“What, then?”

The Free Queen didn’t answer. Belgrade and Anand looked up. Bird tried to sit up.

“Pawn is going? With the colorful Soldiers?”

“Yes.”

The Free Queen watched them march. She felt them in her mind. Both she and Klbkch watched them go. And they thought as one.

“Unacceptable. Unacceptable. Order them back. Recover them. The Hive cannot lose an asset. The battle must be lost. Do you hear me? Free Queen? Free Queen?”

The puppet was raising its voice and the Grand Queen spoke sharply through her scrying mirror. The Free Queen glanced towards her. And in that moment she made her decision. She bent down low, towards the puppet and opened her mandibles. The little copy of the Queen bent back. The Free Queen spoke one word.

“What?”

The Antinium in the chamber stared. The little Queen and the Grand Queen hesitated.

“What do you mean, what? I gave you orders. Carry them out.”

The Free Queen stared. She tilted her head from side to side and then shook her head.

“I did not hear that. Can you speak again? Louder? Your connection is breaking up, my Queen. I am afraid I cannot hear your orders. Hello?”

“What is the meaning of this? I said—can you hear me?”

“I can.”

“My audio reception is perfect.”

“Is something the matter? Why can the Free Queen not hear us?”

“I. Wonder why.”

“I cannot hear anything, my Queen.”

The Free Queen repeated herself loudly over the babble of voices. She looked at the Workers. Belgrade and Anand shot each other quick glances. Anand nodded.

“I believe the, uh, vessel has malfunctioned. As has the scrying glass. I am quite deaf to the Grand Queen’s orders. I cannot hear a thing.”

“Nor me.”

Belgrade nodded, his antennae waving about wildly. The Grand Queen spluttered. The Free Queen smiled.

“I hear nothing. Do you, Bird?”

The little Worker looked up at the Free Queen. His voice was small, but distinct. He looked towards the ceiling. Towards the marching Soldiers.

“I hear laughter. They’re laughing. And so are you.”

The elation in the Free Queen turned to surprise. Shock. She stared down at Bird, tuning out the Grand Queen. Had he just—

The Free Queen kept looking at Bird. Her mandibles opened, and then her head turned. Her attention snapped back to Klbkch. Above, she saw the reaction to the Painted Soldiers play out, on the walls, on the battlefield, and across the world.

—-

“What in the name of love are those things?”

“Send word to Lord Veltras! The Antinium are on the march!”

“It’s only a hundred! Only—”

The Human army stared as the Antinium emerged seemingly from the ground. Tyrion Veltras stared as the Painted Antinium marched forwards, across the Floodplains.

“Jericha. What are those Antinium? A new variant?”

“They’re—we sighted them around Liscor previously but—we have no knowledge of them, Lord Veltras. They’re…new.”

“New?”

Tyrion stared at the Soldiers. They looked just like ordinary Soldiers. But the paint on their bodies. That was different. On any other species, he would dismiss it as decoration. But the Antinium had no decoration.

“There are only a hundred of them.”

“But are they going to reinforce the Goblins? Attack both sides? What?”

“We should ready a defense. Just in case. Attack them from afar, even. If they close—”

Tyrion turned to the arguing [Strategists].

“No. We hold back. Watch them.”

His words were unnecessary. Everyone was watching the strange new Antinium. Tyrion turned back to the battle. It was just a hundred. They couldn’t do a thing. He knew that intellectually. But for the first time since this battle had begun he began to grow vaguely uneasy.

And on they came.

—-

“Is that Pawn?”

Ceria stared down at the Antinium from the walls. She recognized the Worker. The other adventurers craned over the battlements, keeping a watchful eye out for more falling stones.

“It is Pawn! What is he doing? Has everyone gone mad?”

“Pawn, get back here!”

Jelaqua bellowed at the Worker. But if he heard, he never slowed. He was marching with the others. Ceria vaguely recognized Yellow Splatters. She turned to Ksmvr to ask what they were doing. And stopped. Ksmvr was staring down at the Painted Soldiers. And he looked far away.

“Ksmvr? Ksmvr?”

The former Prognugator didn’t turn. He opened his mandibles slowly.

“Yes, Ceria?”

“What are Pawn and the Soldiers doing? They’re not fighting, are they?”

“They are.”

“But they’ll die!”

“Yes.”

The Antinium looked up. His mandible opened and he straightened. He looked down at the Painted Antinium as the Drakes and Gnolls looked down. The adventurers stood together. Ksmvr’s nodded.

“That is what they are doing. Dying.”

—-

At first the Goblins didn’t notice them. They were harrying the retreating Solstice Goblins, pressing them back. It wasn’t easy. The Flooded Waters tribe was dug in. The Redfangs fought like demons. And the Cave Goblins refused to buckle. But by numbers they were losing. Eater of Spears was cutting back. Snapjaw was attacking from the flanks, skirmishing with the Redfangs. And Reiss had created a shield of bone spires. Now he was directing the undead to attack.

So it was little wonder that the Antinium weren’t spotted by the Goblins on either side at first. There were only a hundred. But they were different.

They marched in ranks of five abreast, Yellow Splatters and Pawn in the lead. Each Soldier’s body was marked by paint. Each was unique.

A flower drawn in black paint with white petals. Raindrops, the first ever seen. A series of numbers without reason. Words painted in every color that had meaning only to the Soldier who’d drawn it.

Their march was steady. Quick. And as they marched, they listened. The Goblins were ahead of them. But it was not on them the Painted Soldiers focused. It was on the Worker who marched at their head. Pawn swung the censer, his voice loud. The censer burned cinnamon. The sweet smoke drifted across the Soldiers.

Time seemed slow to him. Despite the urgency of their pace, Pawn felt like each moment was forever. Was this Erin’s [Immortal Moment]? His words echoed in his mind, across the Soldiers.

“We are going to war. We are going to fight, though this is not our battle.”

Click.

The Soldier’s mandibles snapped together as one. Pawn heard the sound reverberate through his soul. He went on. His voice was shaking.

“We pray not for victory. We pray only that we might live. That we survive. That Erin lives. That our friends live.”

Click.

The Goblin Lord’s army had seen them now. Reiss turned on the back of his Shield Spider. His master uttered the first curse word he had spoken in three years. Reiss stared, and then pointed.

Goblins in black armor moved to set themselves against the Antinium. They stared uneasily at the insect-people. But [Archers] were already moving. A thousand Goblins set themselves in place. Enough. The Painted Soldiers’ pace never wavered. Pawn continued, staring at the Goblins as they slowly took positions. They were so far away, still.

“There are no gods for us to pray to. None that will listen to the Antinium. None that will care. We are alone. But we are still Antinium.”

Click.

“So. Pray not to gods, but believe in each other. Fight, and survive. Believe that Heaven awaits. Arrows shall pierce our bodies. Steel rend our chitin. We will bleed and perish. But believe. We may fall, but we will find Heaven afterwards. Even if it only exists in our minds. And know that you will be remembered forever.”

Click. Now the Goblins were ready. A ripple went through their ranks. They were raising bows, aiming. A Goblin [Mage] conjured fire. Pawn’s grip tightened on his staff. He shouted the last words, or perhaps they shouted themselves.

“For so long as one Antinium lives, we shall never be forgotten.”

Click.

There was no signal. No command. The Painted Soldiers saw the Goblins draw back. Their pace quickened. The march turned into a run. Then a sprint. The Goblins aimed. They loosed as one. Pawn was running. He raised his staff up. The censer released smoke. And the arrows flew.

The Painted Soldiers charged. The Goblins were hundreds of paces away yet. But the arrows were falling. Like rain. They landed among the Soldiers, hundreds of them. First one volley, then another. The Goblin Lord’s archers never stopped firing. But the Soldiers ran on. They had no shields to protect them. Only an invisible thing.

Faith.

Believe. Believe they would survive to meet the Goblins. The first arrow struck a Soldier on the shoulder. It did not pierce far, but the tip cut past the shell of the Soldier. Blood ran down his chest. Still he ran.

Arrows fell among the Soldiers. They touched them. The Antinium bled. But none fell.

Perhaps it was a miracle. The arrows seemed to be missing. Or maybe it was the mud, the fighting. Poor visibility, a chance gust of wind.

The Goblins stared. They had expected a few Soldiers to fall. But the arrows were missing. And the Soldiers were drawing closer. The front rank of Hobs shifted uneasily. The Soldiers were as big as they were. And the one in front was bigger than the rest, or so it seemed. But they were Hobs. They held their ground. And the Antinium ran faster.

Pawn was in front. He didn’t know if he was screaming. He didn’t realize he’d outdistanced the others, even Yellow Splatters. He ran at the front rank of Goblins and then realized. He didn’t have a weapon!

The first Hobgoblin in black armor was turning, eyes wide. He had never seen the Antinium before. Pawn started to slow. The Hobgoblin had a mace. It raised it to strike at the Worker. Yellow Splatters charged past Pawn. His first fist struck the Hob across the face. The second grabbed the mace hand. Two more blows struck the Hob and the Goblin fell.

Pawn saw the Goblins turn. One struck at Yellow Splatters with a sword. The Soldier punched and the Goblin fell back, his face broken. A Soldier crashed into the Goblins next to Pawn. Another leapt. The Hobs looked up and a Soldier landed, crushing one with a knee. And ninety eight more charged past the rest.

It shouldn’t have mattered. They were only a hundred. A hundred bodies. A hundred fragile souls, nothing more. But they didn’t stop. The Painted Soldiers overran the first rank of Goblins, then the second. They didn’t stop.

“Go!”

Pawn screamed. The Goblins fell back. It could speak? The Worker ran with the Soldiers. They crashed into a wave of Goblins armed with spears. The metal broke on their bodies. It pierced them. It didn’t matter. They didn’t so much as slow. They had one thought in their minds.

Further. A Soldier reeled back, a spear stabbed through his guts. He looked down at the spear as the Goblin holding it twisted. The Soldier punched down and the spear broke. He grabbed the terrified the Goblin and broke its neck. Then he ran on.

Arrows flew down from above. The Goblin Lord was shooting at his own warriors! The Antinium looked up. One of them was struck half a dozen times. He bled. The raindrops on his body became green with his blood. And he did not stop.

The Soldier with raindrops ran on, ignoring the arrows protruding from his body. His fellows joined them. They had yet to fall. They would not fall.

On. There was nothing to hold them back. The Goblins began to flee in the face of the Antinium. They screamed and turned. Swords didn’t hurt them! They bled, but they didn’t die!

“Hold your positions! There are only a hundred!”

Reiss bellowed. But the Goblins were afraid. The Soldiers charged on, a wedge now. Led by Yellow Splatters. And Pawn. The Worker ran through Goblins, forging ahead. Towards Erin. Towards the Goblin Lord. He whirled his staff and struck a Goblin with the censer. With his other hand he struck another Goblin with a mace he’d picked up.

It wasn’t enough. They’d never make it. The Soldiers were taking injuries. And they were beginning to slow. Pawn saw one fall. The one with numbers. But the others kept moving. They’d never get to the Goblin Lord.

But they didn’t stop. They overran formations, charged past the stunned Solstice Goblins.

Onwards.

The Goblin Lord’s lines began to break.

—-

“Madness.”

Tyrion whispered. The Goblins were retreating. The Antinium were smashing through their lines. It was a suicide charge. But somehow, the Soldiers weren’t dying.

“Do they have some kind of special armor? How are they still moving? What kind of Antinium is this?”

Jericha stared at the Antinium. Her face was pale. The Soldiers should not be doing this. Even Antinium had limits. But not this group. And the Solstice Goblins were rallying around the Soldiers. Redscar pointed and his Redfangs raced after the Painted Soldiers. Lightning flashed down ahead of them, clearing a path. Numbtongue roared and Yellow Splatters looked up. The Goblins surged after the Antinium.

This was the spear they needed. The five Redfangs charged again. The momentum was again against the Goblin Lord.

But he had his army. He could still win. He just needed to slow them. Tyrion gritted his teeth. He looked around.

“Jericha!”

His aide blinked. She looked at Tyrion and then colored.

“My lord?”

“Tell the Gold-rank teams to deploy their [Archers]. Take down the Goblin leaders.”

The [Mage]’s eyes widened. She nodded and shouted orders. Tyrion saw the message race across the lines of his soldiers, to the group of irregular adventurers. They were behind the lines of cavalry. They had no intention of participating in the mass-combat. But at Tyrion’s orders the teams with high-level [Archers] came forward.

“He wants us to hit the Goblin leaders? From here?”

One of the Gold-rank captains exclaimed with dismay. Another, a man named Jackal, turned to the [Messenger].

“Which ones are we hitting? The Goblin Lord’s?”

“No, the Goblins defending Liscor.”

“Damn.”

Jackal swore. He looked at his team. The only other adventurer with a bow, their [Ranger], looked unhappy.

“Jack, what’s the point of this? You saw that girl. Are we supposed to shoot her, too?”

“Only the Goblins. Lord Veltras was very specific about that.”

The [Messenger] interjected unhelpfully. Jackal gave him a long look. The Gold-rank adventurer shook his head. He selected an arrow and put it to his shortbow. The odds of him hitting one of the Goblins from here was remote, but the other adventurers might have a shot.

“We’ve got orders. Tyrion wants those Goblins to lose. So…let’s support that Goblin Lord. Sight on those Hobs. That one on the hill with the bow.”

Reluctantly, the other adventurers took aim. They sighted on Badarrow, who was loosing arrow after arrow. Jackal’s grip tightened on his arrow.

“[Farseeker Arrows]. [Double Arrow].”

He could hear the other adventurers using similar Skills. Jackal drew back. He could see the Antinium pushing forwards. He gritted his teeth. And then he looked up. Something bright flashed in the sky.

“Dead gods! Take cover!”

Jackal pointed up, screamed and threw himself sideways. The other adventurers didn’t bother looking. They dove. And then they saw what Jackal had.

The arrow that flew down out of the sky was glowing, its tip sparking with electricity. An enchanted arrow. It detonated as it struck the earth in front of Jackal’s team. The men and women cried out as the lightning earthed itself, mostly harmlessly.

“My arm!”

“It got my armor!”

“Who shot that? A Goblin?”

The Humans milled about in a panic. Someone blew an alarm, but the adventurers were more concerned with the attack. Jackal pulled himself up. The [Ranger] grabbed his arm.

“That didn’t come from the Goblins. Jack! It came from the walls?”

“A Drake shot that?”

Jackal stared at Liscor. It was far too far away for anyone but a Level 30 [Archer] to hit them from. And an enchanted arrow? His eyes widened. He saw a figure standing on the battlements.

“Five families save me. That’s Halrac. He shot that arrow!”

The adventurers looked up. Some of them uttered oaths. Jackal looked at his companions uneasily.

“Is he—”

“He’s covering the Goblins.”

“He can’t do that!”

Another Gold-rank captain exclaimed. Her face was pale. She raised her bow.

“There’s one of him! He can’t stop us from—”

A second arrow blasted a hole in the dirt in front of her. The adventurer recoiled. Jackal stared at the walls. The distant shape drew another arrow. Jackal looked at his team. Slowly, he lowered his bow. The [Messenger] stared incredulously at him.

“What are you doing? Lord Veltras ordered you to attack the Goblins!”

“Yeah. I don’t think so. You want to take them out, get your [Archers]. Halrac’s got the angle on us and he uses enchanted arrows. And he’s got a new bow. Get the Kingslayer to do it.”

“She’s not—”

The [Messenger] clamped his lips shut. Jackal eyed him, but the man was already riding back. The Gold-rank teams stared as another arrow flew from the wall. But it wasn’t aimed at them. And then they saw more flashes of light.

“What are they doing?”

“They can’t be—”

“They’re supporting the Goblins.”

Jackal was surprised there was no warble in his voice. He stared at the walls. Halrac was loosing arrow after arrow into the Goblin Lord’s army. And he wasn’t the only one.

—-

The first arrow blew a cluster of Goblins to bits. The second one was aimed directly at Reiss. He barely saw it. A wall of bone rose in front of him and the arrow nearly shattered the wall of bone. Reiss stared. Someone was shooting arrows at him! And then he saw a glowing ball of light falling from the sky.

A star. It shone with beautiful blue light, surrounded by a nimbus of blue energy. And it landed and bloomed. Goblins died as the first comet struck the earth. And then the second.

“[Valmira’s Comets].”

Typhenous stood on the walls. He pointed and another comet fell to earth. By his side, Halrac loosed another arrow. The distance was incredible, but the [Scout] had calculated each shot. And he had a bow capable of making it.

To Zevara, it looked as though Halrac was holding nothing but air. Until she turned her head slightly and saw the invisible bow refracted slightly across the light. The arrows Halrac were firing were visible enough—until the [Scout] paused and drew another arrow out of the air. It was transparent and practically invisible. He aimed, fired. Reiss snarled as an arrow streaked past him. Only his master’s warning had saved him from the stealthed arrow.

“They’re covering the Goblins?”

“And the Antinium. Watch Captain, other adventurers are attacking as well!”

A [Guardswoman] shouted at Zevara. She turned and saw one of the other Gold-rank teams loosing arrows as well. Other mages capable of hitting the Goblins at this range were casting spells. Ceria and Pisces were trying to figure out a spell capable of hitting the Goblins.

“Should I tell them to hold their fire?”

“No—no, I—”

Zevara hesitated. She looked back at the Goblin Lord. The Antinium were going for him. The Redfangs were cutting their own way through. This was it. She hesitated. They had a chance. If they—

A bright nova shot from the walls of Liscor. Zevara gaped as a massive ball of fire shot down towards the Goblin Lord’s army. Reiss’ warriors looked up, screamed, and vanished. Reiss shielded his eyes and stared. That had come from Liscor’s walls.

“Olesm!”

The [Strategist] had been using Liscor’s enchantments to shoot down trebuchet stones. He turned as Zevara ran over to him. He raised one claw as the smoldering scroll turned to dust.

“What was—”

“Tactical shot, Watch Captain.”

Zevara stared at Olesm. He didn’t look the least bit ashamed. She hesitated.

“I see. Refrain from further shots. Unless you’re sure you can get that bastard. Focus on hitting those damn rocks!”

“Yes, Watch Captain.”

Olesm saluted with one claw. He narrowed his eyes and turned back to watching the skies. So did Zevara. The next wave of boulders would be coming. She waited, tensed, ready to call out alarm. She saw the trebuchets firing, braced, saw where they would land…

“What the—?”

—-

Tyrion saw the boulders arc into the air. He saw them land. He stared as a dozen boulders crashed into the back of the Goblin Lord’s army. He roared.

“What was that!?”

Jericha was already racing towards the trebuchets. She came back, panting.

“It was Emperor Laken, Lord Veltras!”

“He ordered that?”

“No, sire. He claims they misfired, sir.”

“Mis—”

Tyrion nearly choked on his own words. He nearly turned and rode towards the blind [Emperor] and caught himself just in time. He pointed at Jericha.

“Aim at Liscor! Tell that damned—ensure there are no more mistakes. Go!”

Jericha nodded and fled. Tyrion turned back to the battle. He was apoplectic with rage. His [Strategists] had gone silent. It shouldn’t have happened. But he could see it. So could anyone with an eye. Zevara, Olesm—even the blind [Emperor] must have sensed it.

The laughing Titan of Baleros saw it. He watched as the Antinium carved their way left of the Goblin Lord, drawing his forces away. As the adventurers bombarded the Goblin Lord’s forces. The lightning, the chance ‘misfire’ by the trebuchets—it broke the neat lines of the Goblin Lord’s army. Distracted him. All of it conspired for one thing, one moment that could be exploited, where the waves of warriors between the Goblins and the Goblin Lord drew back. It gave them what they needed.

An opening.

—-

And they came. Reiss tried to stop them. He saw his lieutenants trying to do the same. But Snapjaw was blocked by the trebuchet’s boulders and Redscar rode down on her. Eater of Spears was being targeted by the [Scout] with the magical arrows. And the Antinium had pressed too far into his lines. They were falling. But they had given them a gap. And into that gap they came.

Cave Goblins. A young woman. She led them, rallied them and forced the lines open. And the five charged ahead. Headscratcher. Numbtongue. Shorthilt. Badarrow. And Rabbiteater.

They were wounded. Tired. But they didn’t hesitate. Not for a second. There were only Reiss’ Hobgoblin bodyguards between them and the Goblin Lord. Headscratcher led the way. His axe shone as he cut down Hobs, swinging, clearing a path. And the world watched as he came on.

Ilvriss stared down at the scrying orb. He saw the Hobgoblin swinging, Shorthilt leaping forwards to cut an enemy down as Headscratcher swung again. The magical weapon cut the air, taking down three Hobs at once.

“Nice axe. I’ve never seen it before in my life.”

The Wall Lord clenched his claws into a fist. He saw Badarrow shoot a Goblin at point-blank range, and Rabbiteater dash past him. The Hob caught a blast of fire inside the liquid cloak.

“Waste of a good vintage. Go, you damn Goblins! Go!”

Numbtongue sang as he charged, swinging his guitar. In his seat at the table, Blackmage stood up.

“Go, guitar Goblin!”

Reiss turned. He pointed, and black magic coalesced around his finger.

“[Deathbolt]!”

The five Hobs saw the spell coming and avoided it. Flos laughed as he sat at his table, peering at the scrying orb.

“You can’t hit warriors with that spell! They’re going to reach him.”

“She did it.”

Gazi smiled. Her main eye was closed. Trey stared at Erin Solstice. So did Teres.

“That’s her?”

Erin was shouting. She raised a frying pan and threw it. The dented, battered pan flew through the air and nearly reached Reiss. But Erin was too tired so it just landed a few dozen feet short of him. The Blighted King shook his head.

“Pointless.”

He turned away from the scrying orb and waved his hand, dismissing it. The other nobility hesitated, then clustered around the orb. On came the five Redfangs. And then they were there.

Distant specks. Even in the scrying orb they were tiny. Falene stared at the Redfangs, trying not to blink. She saw them scale the hill, fighting past the last of the Hobs. And then they were there.

He waited for them. Reiss had dismounted from his Shield Spider. He stood tall, black magic swirling into a long sword. Death magic. A blade of darkness. In his other hand he conjured shards of bone. The Goblin Lord waited for the five of them.

They had never met. But it didn’t matter. They were Redfangs. And he was the Goblin Lord. They didn’t say much. Reiss saw them spread out as the Cave Goblins bought their heroes time.

“I am a Goblin Lord. Reiss. Why are you defying me?”

That was all he asked them. And the Redfangs shrugged. Headscratcher smiled.

“Because.”

They took their spots. Headscratcher in front, Shorthilt to the side. Badarrow took aim. Numbtongue and Rabbiteater came at the Goblin Lord from behind.

They fought. Reiss swung the magical blade. He shot bone darts, conjured a wall of bone. The undead rose, bursting from the ground. The Redfangs dodged and struck at him.

Armor of bones. Claws of bone. Reiss caught Headscratcher’s axe by the handle and threw the Hob. He shouted. He was a Goblin Lord! They were just Hobs!

He couldn’t be felled. Not by them! That was the difference between a Goblin Lord and a mere Chieftain. He had done what no other Goblin could. That was what it meant to be him. Reiss slashed and opened up Numbtongue’s chest. The Hobgoblin retreated, drinking a healing potion.

An arrow struck Reiss in the side. He staggered, pointed. Rabbiteater was blown back by an explosion of air. Shorthilt found a Draug locked onto his leg. It bit and tore at him as he cut it down. Headscratcher brought his axe down and Reiss conjured a shield of bone to protect him. The axe bit through the bone and Reiss stumbled back.

“I am Reiss!”

He spun and slashed Badarrow across the chest. The Hob grunted but managed to kick Reiss anyways. Headscratcher shoulder-charged the Goblin Lord. Reiss roared and threw him.

Strength. Skill. Speed. The five Hobs attacked again. Reiss defended himself from all sides. He was stronger than they were. He was beyond any Goblin.

Any one Goblin. But there were five. And it was enough. Reiss stumbled backwards as another arrow struck his leg. Shorthilt cut him across the back and Reiss struck at him. And then Rabbiteater slashed down and Headscratcher cut at him from the side. The Goblin Lord blocked one with spell, the other with his hand. And Numbtongue struck him across the face.

He fell. The Solstice Goblins roared. Reiss struggled to get up. Headscratcher charged him. And the Goblin Lord looked up. His black eyes widened. The white pupils contracted.

“Always. You always disappoint me, my apprentice.”

A voice spoke. Headscratcher blinked. He hesitated, and that was what saved his life.

Reiss’ body jerked. A hand rose and a voice spoke. But it was not Reiss’.

“[Mass Silent Sickle].”

Cutting blades filled the air. Headscratcher’s eyes widened. Rabbiteater threw himself forwards. The liquid cape exploded as the blades lacerated the liquid, cut into his armor. The [Champion] fell back, bleeding as the Goblin Lord rose. But he was not Reiss any longer.

Az’kerash turned. He wore a Goblin’s face. A different body from his own. But it was he who spoke. He who regarded the five Redfangs with contempt. Frustration.

“Five Hobs. An army of three tribes. Antinium. How dare you interfere? My apprentice fails me time and again. So it falls to me to do what must be done.”

The Redfangs looked at each other. Who was this? Every instinct in them cried out that it was not Reiss. And moreover—the way the stranger moved made them nervous. He looked from face to face and then gestured.

“I have little interest in wasting power. This will be enough for the likes of you.”

He raised one hand. The Redfangs braced. The ground shifted. Bone rose from the ground, white, pure ivory. It formed into a blade and a handle, curving, forming a guard, a mesh. The Necromancer drew a pure white rapier from the earth and passed his hand over it.

“[Bone Rapier]. [Bloodcaller’s Curse].”

The blade turned red. The Redfangs watched as the Necromancer lifted the blade. Reiss’ body was injured, but it moved fluidly. Az’kerash smiled thinly.

“It has been long since I last took up arms. This will be enough. Come, you—”

He broke off. His rapier snapped up and he slashed the arrow in half. The Necromancer stared at Badarrow. The Hobgoblin blinked. The Necromancer lunged.

“Watch out!”

Shorthilt slashed. Az’kerash pulled back smoothly. Badarrow stumbled. He stared at the wound in his shoulder. A deep hole had been drilled in his arm. Az’kerash retreated back, slashing. Shorthilt grunted as the blade opened up cuts along his arms. He deflected one, ducked back.

“I am out of practice.”

That was all Az’kerash said. The Hobs looked at each other. Badarrow scrambled for a potion. Shorthilt did the same. The Hobs drank as Az’kerash watched, a sardonic smile playing across his lips. The Redfangs waited. Shorthilt felt at his injures and froze.

The cuts weren’t healing, even with a potion. Badarrow stared at his wounded shoulder. The Necromancer nodded.

“A fool relies on alchemical tricks. So, Goblins. Show me what my apprentice failed to defeat.”

He raised his rapier. The five Redfangs looked at each other.

They could have run. They could have fled.

But they couldn’t have. Not really. They spread out, setting themselves. Headscratcher’s axe glowed. The Necromancer regarded it idly.

“A simple enchantment. Without form.”

He stepped back. Headscratcher roared and swung. The Necromancer let the tip of the magical blade pass by his chest. He turned. Numbtongue, Shorthilt, and Rabbiteater leapt at him.

“Why a guitar?”

Az’kerash slashed across Numbtongue’s chest. He stepped, and blurred out of the way of an arrow.

“[Flash Step].”

He cut across Rabbiteater’s back, twice. The Necromancer frowned as his blade cut through the cloak but barely penetrated the armor.

“A Skill?”

He turned. Shorthilt’s sword curved towards his chest, then down towards his arm.

“Lacking.”

The rapier snapped down. The blade deflected Shorthilt’s attack perfunctorily. Headscratcher charged again. This time he bled.

The five Redfangs attacked as one. The Necromancer wove in between them, using [Flash Step], but no other spells. His blade lanced out, deflecting blows, attacking. The Redfangs stumbled, bleeding.

The Necromancer was toying with them. He didn’t go for deadly strikes. Not at first. He let them attack him. Because it was meaningless. All of it. Headscratcher’s ferocity, the fearlessness, even the strength of the others was meaningless to him.

It was not speed, nor strength, or any ability granted to him by his class. It was simply skill. Skill, and experience. The truth dawned on the Goblins as the Necromancer waited for their next attack, calm, eyes as old as centuries, black as midnight.

It was just…time. Time. Not just ten years of training. Or even forty. But centuries. Az’kerash had fought, practiced, and lived through centuries of battle. Every attack they could conceive of, he had seen done. He knew the limits of form and which motion followed the next.

On the hill, the Necromancer danced. It was an immortal dance. A waltz known only to masters, to those who had studied. The Necromancer was tracing a pattern with each step, following an unseen meter as he traced his steps, thrust, dodged, and parried.

It was a thing of beauty. The height of skill. Az’kerash had studied a way of fighting that turned swordplay into a science. Art. And Goblins had none.

They were warriors, but self-taught. Trained by a warrior who relied on simplicity, economical movements. There was perfection in that. But no patterns. Headscratcher bled, and blood dripped down the haft of his axe. Onto the ground. Badarrow drew an arrow and hesitated.

“Well?”

Az’kerash mocked them. He smiled. The five Redfangs looked at each other. He was a master. And they couldn’t match him. But one of them stepped forwards, nonetheless. It was Shorthilt. The Goblin held his sword with both hands. He moved calmly, advancing, his stance set. And Az’kerash paused. Uncertainly.

Here came Shorthilt. Quiet Shorthilt. Shorthilt, who loved weapons. Who thought about how to cut with the most minimal of effort, how to strike in a way an opponent would never expect. A Hobgoblin, a warrior who studied weapons like poets studied love.

He walked slowly towards Az’kerash. The Necromancer paused, then lunged. A blow aimed at Shorthilt’s heart. The Goblin parried and spun. He cut, and Az’kerash was already gone. The Necromancer scored a cut down Shorthilt’s back. The Hobgoblin didn’t waver, though his blood spattered the ground. He struck out and Az’kerash went for his throat. But Shorthilt was already pulling back. His feint turned into a block. Again, Az’kerash cut him. But the Necromancer was no longer smiling.

Shorthilt breathed evenly. He watched Az’kerash, his blade changing positions, he couldn’t keep up with the Necromancer. He was ten, no, twenty steps behind Az’kerash in the dance. But he did know the dance.

And he was not alone. The other four Redfangs waited. Then they came forwards. They did not know the dance. But they knew their brother. And they attacked alongside him.

Rabbiteater and Numbtongue. Badarrow and Headscratcher. In tandem, alone, all together. The Necromancer spun back. But Shorthilt was moving with him and he could see where Az’kerash would be. The five Redfangs followed Az’kerash, blades cutting air. Stepping forwards, blocking his path.

Around them the Hobgoblins, Az’kerash’s warriors, and the Cave Goblins looked up. They saw their leaders fighting. But—it was not Reiss. The Goblin Lord’s warriors saw the stranger wearing Reiss’ body. Saw his frustration. That look of immortal, confused annoyance.

“Why? Why?”

Az’kerash snapped. His blade lanced out. This time Headscratcher deflected the blade. Shorthilt lunged. His sword crossed past the Necromancer’s face. He swept the blade sideways and Az’kerash stepped back. He raised a Goblin’s claw at the same time as, hundreds of miles away the Necromancer raised his real hand and touched his face. He stared down at the blood on Reiss’ claws. He looked at Shorthilt and the Goblin smiled.

The Necromancer’s eyes blazed. He heard a laugh, from the Redfangs. And an echo of that from his apprentice. He closed his eyes and raised his hand.

“Enough.”

The Hobs leapt at him. Az’kerash pointed.

“[Sightless Winds].”

The skies turned black. A wind howled. Color and light were obscured as a wind blew. Darkness surrounded the Redfang Warriors. Erin looked up. She lowered the shortsword in her hand and stared up. The spell blew around the hill for all of six seconds. And then it was gone. And there he stood.

The Necromancer stood with rapier raised. A smile crossed his face. Headscratcher stood in front of him, axe raised. The Hob stared into Az’kerash’s eyes. He strained. But his arms betrayed him. Headscratcher stumbled back, and Az’kerash withdrew the rapier.

Blood spattered the ground. Headscratcher looked down at the hole in his chest, just below his heart. He sank to his knees. Erin screamed. She ran for the hill.

“Better.”

Az’kerash turned. Shorthilt leapt at him. The Necromancer spun away and cut Shorthilt’s stomach open. He slashed his arm back and the [Weapon Master] fell. His ribs gaped open as Shorthilt slashed at Az’kerash. Rabbiteater screamed and shielded Shorthilt. He dragged his friend away as Badarrow loosed arrow after arrow. Numbtongue charged Az’kerash, but Badarrow tackled him. The Necromancer walked away from them. He ignored Headscratcher and raised his hand.

“Time to end this farce.”

He pointed down. The Antinium were fighting below him. A few dozen wounded bodies, bright with paint. The Necromancer’s lip curled.

“[Mass Stone Lances].”

Spires of rock rose from the ground. They levitated upwards around Reiss’ body and shot down. Yellow Splatters looked up. He saw the first spear aimed at Pawn and threw himself forwards.

The first javelin of stone stopped halfway through Yellow Splatters. The second passed through the Soldier with raindrops. The other Soldiers turned and the spell blasted them apart. The Goblins in black armor, the undead, all were consumed by the thunderous onslaught. Pawn fell to his knees, grabbing for Yellow Splatters. The [Sergeant] reached up for him.

“No, no!”

The Goblins fled around them. The Necromancer turned his hand left. He flicked his hand, and a bolt of lightning curved around him. He looked across the battlefield at the Goblins. Reiss’ warriors and the Solstice Goblins. They looked up at him, and despair filled both. Az’kerash spoke with Reiss’ voice.

“Kill the Goblins! Slaughter the traitors! I, your Lord, command you!”

Reiss’ tribe looked up. They felt the order run through them. Wrong. All wrong. But they moved nonetheless. They surrounded the Cave Goblins, the Flooded Waters tribe, the Redfangs. The Cave Goblins struggled to hold and fell. Rags’ tribe fell back as the undead rose and attacked from all sides. The Redfangs tried to charge Az’kerash, but they were scattered.

“At last.”

Az’kerash shook his head. He stared down at the slaughter, ignoring the Hobgoblins behind him. He half-turned as a young woman ran up the slope.

“Headscratcher?”

Erin fell to her knees. The other four Redfangs were carrying him backwards. Az’kerash pointed and a spray of bone shards sent them tumbling down the hill. Erin ran forwards. A limp body rolled towards her.

“Headscratcher!”

He was lying face-down. Erin rolled him over. Headscratcher’s face was muddy. He blinked up at her. Blood ran from the wound above his heart. He gripped at her hand. Erin grabbed for a healing potion. But it didn’t close the wound. She splashed it over him, and then another.

“Headscratcher! Headscratcher, stay with me!”

The Hobgoblin smiled. He blinked slowly, his crimson eyes leaking water. Erin bent over him, tears falling. Headscratcher smiled. He opened his mouth and whispered. Erin lowered her head.

“What?”

The Hobgoblin began to whisper. Erin heard him cough. She waited. And then she looked down.

“Headscratcher?”

She saw two open crimson eyes. A smile, parted lips. But the words never came. Erin looked up. The Necromancer turned to look back at her. The Goblins looked up and heard her scream.

And they screamed. The Goblin Lord. The brothers who reached out for their lost heart. And the Goblin who rode forwards. A howl burst from his lips. The betrayer. The traitor. Too late. As he watched his son fall. Garen Redfang screamed and rode forwards. And behind him rode Rags.

—-

“Sire! We’re under attack!”

Tyrion turned his gaze away from the Goblin Lord. He frowned at Jericha.

“What? By whom?”

“Monsters!”

The [Lord] twisted in his saddle. He heard the cry go up. He saw the Goblins riding Carn Wolves and his eyes narrowed. But then more [Soldiers] screamed.

“Spiders! Spiders to the rear!”

“Spiders?”

Tyrion was incredulous. He looked back, towards the High Passes. And then his eyes widened. He saw the first Shield Spider scuttling forwards. One, followed by tens of thousands. Hundreds. They poured out of a cave, an opening in the rock face. Only, the cave had been widened. The rocks had been cleared, a tunnel formed. The Shield Spiders had done the rest. They crashed out of the dungeon, past a broken wall. A nest of them.

Shield Spiders.

They were creatures of the dungeon. A nest grown for who knew how long. A trap, in truth. And they had been walled off. Contained. But the passage of so many armies had woken them. Made them restless. But they were still trapped. Until a Chieftain who knew rocks had broken the walls. Then they had been released. They poured out of the dungeon, a ravening horde.

The Goblins they ignored completely. They were, after all, both creatures of the dungeon and thus quite invisible to the spiders. But the Humans? The Humans were prey. The Shield Spiders raced across the Floodplains as Rags, Garen, and the Redfangs rode ahead of them. Behind them Pyrite, and Tremborag’s Goblins ran, screaming in fury. The Humans turned to meet them, but the Shield Spiders fell on them.

“Kill the spiders! On me! Guard the trebuchets!”

Tyrion roared. He rode forwards as his army struggled to turn. The Goblins raced past him. The Shield Spiders tore into the soldiers. Some were as large as houses. Others even bigger, but they struggled to get out of the dungeon. But those that poured out were already large enough. And a dancing Goblin standing on a cliff cackled and pointed her staff down at them.

“Grow, grow and go faster! Get angrier!”

Ulvama shouted. The Spiders below her began to grow and they raced ahead of the others. Frenzied, they tore everything in their wake to bits. Ulvama laughed and cast another spell. A few Hobs and warriors guarded her as the [Shaman] cast her spells, already prepared to run for it. Pebblesnatch threw a rock.

Tyrion Veltras roared as he charged a Shield Spider. They were overrunning the rear. One reared up and smashed at a trebuchet, enraged beyond reason. Another charged forwards and stopped. A young man stood in its way. He raised his hand.

“Halt.”

The Shield Spiders in front of Laken Godart froze. He pointed.

“Begone.”

They hesitated, then flowed away from him. The fleeing Humans turned. Laken Godart raised his voice. His voice rallied the soldiers.

“Stand and fight!”

A wall of bodies formed. Tyrion Veltras charged past them. Lord Pellmia cursed as he rode forwards. His son was in the rear! Lady Ieka narrowed her eyes and conjured a flurry of spectral arrows. She aimed up at the laughing [Shaman] who ducked behind a stone for cover.

The Humans turned and fought. Lord Gralton and his dogs raced into the fray, the mastiffs tearing, biting. The Shield Spider’s rush halted there. But they were only a distraction. The Goblins raced past them.

“Necromancer!”

Garen screamed. He rode straight towards Az’kerash. The Necromancer was staring at the Shield Spiders with unconcealed confusion. His eyes flicked down towards Garen and dismissed him. He pointed and a [Deathbolt] shot down at Garen. The Chieftain cut straight through the magic spell. He screamed. And the Goblins heard him. Redfang Warriors looked up.

“Redfang!”

It was a universal cry. But it came from a voice they had known. The wounded Redfangs looked up. And then a second voice joined it. A young Goblin rode past them. She raced through the fleeing Goblins and raised her sword. A small Goblin shouted.

“To me! Rally! Rally!”

Her tribe looked up. Rags waved her sword. She rode her Carn Wolf past the undead, shouting. Flaming arrows burst from her claws and struck zombies and Draug. Redscar turned. He pointed. And the cry went up.

“Rags! Rags!”

“Chieftain!”

The Flooded Waters tribe took up the shout. Hobs raised their weapons. They streamed towards her. Redscar urged Thunderfur towards his Chieftain. He bellowed at the others.

“Rally!”

The Goblins looked up. They raced towards their Chieftain, abandoning their positions, fighting. There was no strategy. Just her. Rags raced at the head of a wave of Goblins. She was laughing, weeping. She pointed at Az’kerash and her tribe howled. They charged after her.

“That Goblin was dead!”

Az’kerash snapped in fury. He pointed as a spear of stone shot towards Rags. Her eyes widened. A lightning bolt blew the [Stone Lance] to bits. Az’kerash turned. Noears unleashed lightning bolt after lightning bolt. The Necromancer pointed, and lightning curved around him.

“Ridiculous. One Goblin can change nothing! Stop laughing!”

He turned. The Goblins were chanting a name.

“Redfang!”

A word. An idea. A hero. Az’kerash’s lip curled. He saw the Hobgoblin riding at him and pointed.

“Stop that Goblin!”

Reiss’ army moved, forming a wall tens of thousands of Goblins deep. Garen drove into them, heedless of the spears stabbing towards him. His eyes were locked on Az’kerash. The Necromancer pointed a finger at him. And then another flash of red caught his eye.

Another Redfang warrior plunged towards Garen. A single Goblin charged into the army, following his Chieftain. And then another. The Redfang tribe raced towards their former Chieftain.

He had betrayed them. He had left them. All that was true. He was not their Chieftain. But he had led them. And in this moment that was all they needed. The Redfangs charged, and they broke through the black-armored Goblins. Fighting, falling, his name on their lips.

Perhaps they could have been stopped. Snapjaw rode towards Garen. But she was a touch too slow. They passed her, sweeping into the undead, fighting to get clear. The Redfangs roared as they found the strength for one last charge. For him.

Garen Redfang. He rode at their head, a final, bloody red spear. Spiderslicer raced after his Chieftain, grinning. The Necromancer faced the Goblin at last. Garen’s eyes locked on his.

“Fall, you arrogant Goblin.”

He raised his hands and bone spires shot from the ground. Walls of ivory burst from the ground. Stone tipped projectiles shot from the sky. The Redfangs charged through them, as Carn Wolves and Goblins fell left and right. The Goblins and undead tried to block their way. But the Redfangs kept coming. They shielded their Chieftain from the spells. Carn Wolves fell. Redfang Warriors fell. Garen kept riding, his Carn Wolf stumbling. The Hobgoblin’s body bled as the spells tore at him.

But he was nearly there. Az’kerash snarled. He pointed.

“[Deathbolt]! [Deathbolt]! Die, damn you!”

The first bolt caught Garen’s Carn Wolf. The wolf, who had never been named, stumbled. Garen clung to it as it fell. He looked down and the Carn Wolf fell beneath him. The Hobgoblin paused once, and then leapt. He ran towards Az’kerash.

The second [Deathbolt] came for Garen. He was caught, unable to run. So he cut the spell in two. Az’kerash roared in fury. He pointed and a spray of razor-sharp bones sprayed down.

There was no way to dodge it. Garen shielded his face. But a Goblin rode in front of him. Spiderslicer blocked the spray of projectiles the only way he knew how. He fell, limply. Garen reached for him. And then he kept running.

A Hob cut him from the side. A Draug slashed him. Garen stumbled. Arrows rained down around him. A spire of bone burst from the ground. He dodged it, stumbling. He stumbled onto the top of the hill and the Necromancer stared down at him.

“You. He knows you.”

“Yes.”

Garen reached for a healing potion. He found none. His arm ran with blood. He shrugged and raised his sword. The Necromancer stared down at him. Then he looked past Garen. The Redfang Chieftain half-turned. The hill was swarming with the undead and Reiss’ warriors.

“Kill him.”

The Goblins hesitated. But the undead didn’t. They came towards Garen. And four Hobgoblins blocked them. Shorthilt, his body cold, his stomach and chest torn open. Rabbiteater, supporting him, holding a magical axe. Badarrow, tears streaming from his eyes. Numbtongue. He stood over the body of the Hobgoblin and the young woman kneeling over him.

Az’kerash had no words. His fury was expressed by a single movement. He lunged. Garen dodged, and the tip of the bone blade scored a cut down his cheek. He slashed and Az’kerash stepped back. The Necromancer pointed.

“[Bone Spr—]”

He jerked back as Garen’s blade slashed at his hand. The Hobgoblin stepped forwards and the Necromancer backed up. He blurred backwards, raised his hand—

And ducked. Garen was already leaping, cutting for the place Az’kerash’s head had been. Once more the Necromancer tried to take his distance. Once more Garen followed him.

He wasn’t quick enough. Reiss’ body was worn down. Or perhaps Garen was too fast. The Necromancer backed up, and Garen advanced. Below him, the undead swarmed around the hill. The four Redfangs were fighting. And Erin was on her feet. She swung at a Ghoul, trying to keep it away from Headscratcher’s body. The monster lunged at her—

And a flaming crossbow bolt thunked into the side of its head. Erin stumbled back. She looked up and saw her savior. A little Goblin riding a Carn Wolf. She was followed by an army of weary Goblins. They surged past her. Erin’s eyes widened.

“Rags!?”

It was her. The little Goblin pointed past Erin, at the four Redfangs. Then she turned.

“Erin! Get back! We fight! Garen fights that thing!”

She pointed up at the hill at Garen and the Necromancer. The young woman gaped up at her.

“You can talk?”

“Yes!”

Rags grinned. Erin looked up at her. There were a thousand things to say.

But there was no time. The two began to fight the undead swarming up the hill. The Goblin Lord’s warriors advanced slowly, but they had not the will to fight. They watched as the Hobgoblin with the famous name and blade confronted the Necromancer.

Garen Redfang. He limped, favoring his right foot. Az’kerash moved fluidly from form to form, his rapier glowing. He ignored Reiss’ wounds. His gaze was contemptuous.

“You can never win. Why do you Goblins strive so? This has been completely, utterly, pointless.”

Garen didn’t reply. He stared at Reiss. Straight into his eyes. He bared his teeth.

“My brother. Let go of him.”

The Necromancer’s eyes widened slightly.

“Your brother? Hah. He is my apprentice. Mine.”

“No. He is free. Let him go.”

“You cannot break my link with him. Any more than you could hope to defeat me.”

It was true. Garen looked up and saw the thing looking through Reiss’ eyes. The Necromancer. A being of centuries. He had faced Velan the Kind. He was…a monster wearing Reiss’ flesh. Still, the Hobgoblin raised his blade.

“I’ll try.”

Garen tensed. Az’kerash sneered. But he stepped back. With one hand he held the rapier of bone. The other glowed, fingers twisting, preparing a spell. The Necromancer saluted Garen with his rapier, in a fashion that had passed from the world a century ago.

“Very well, let’s end it. And his hopes. Come, Goblin child.”

Garen leapt. The Necromancer struck, with both spell and blade. Below, the Goblins watched. Erin turned and saw the battle.

It was not one for stories. There was no whirling of blades, or long duel like the Redfangs had shared. It was over in a second.

The two had their measure of each other. Az’kerash had experience, a powerful body, and magic. Garen was wounded in a dozen places. But it was the Chieftain of the Redfang tribe who saw through the Necromancer.

The spray of razor-sharp stones tore the air, shrapnel that Garen avoided by throwing himself right. Az’kerash stepped into that opening, in a single lunge. He stabbed into Garen’s chest, and the howl that burst from his lips was Reiss’ voice, despairing. Garen jerked as the blade pierced his chest. But he only grinned. His arm swept down and he cut Az’kerash’s arm off at the elbow.

The two staggered back from each other. Garen stumbled and sat. And Az’kerash screamed. He staggered back, and in his castle, the Necromancer clutched at his hand. His true body was unharmed, but he shrieked, feeling the pain of it. His Chosen looked up in horror at their master as he cried out. And the link broke.

Reiss sank to the ground, clutching at the stump of his arm. He stared at the fallen arm. And then he looked up. A Hobgoblin sat in front of him, pulling the rapier from his chest. Garen touched the hole in his chest and his breath caught. He looked at it and then laughed.

He laughed as blood streamed from his chest. He gazed up at the Goblin Lord as Reiss looked down at him. The eyes were still black and white. But they were his brother’s eyes. The Necromancer had no tears to shed. Reiss stared down at Garen. The Hobgoblin smiled.

“Hi, brother.”

“Garen. Why did you come back?”

Reiss stared at Garen. The Redfang Chieftain went to shrug. Then he shook his head.

“Thought I’d do right thing. Shouldn’t have run. Shouldn’t have abandoned. You. Team. Tribe. Rags. Should have stayed.”

He labored to sit up. Reiss stared at him. The Goblin Lord stumbled.

“Garen—”

“Brother. It’s over.”

Garen’s head lolled back. He grinned bleakly and Reiss looked around.

The undead had fallen. Rags’ warriors held the hill. They stood, wounded. Exhausted. But Reiss’ army surrounded them. Yet the black-armored Goblins made no move to take the hill. They stared up at their Goblin Lord. The Redfangs held their ground, a fraction of their number. Redscar wept as he stood over Spiderslicer.

Dead. So many dead. And for what? Reiss turned to look at the city in the distance. Liscor was cracked. The walls were broken. The eastern gate lay open. He saw Drakes and Gnolls lining the walls. Watching. Reiss stared at the city and saw just that.

A city. It did not shine. It was not beautiful. It was a thing of stone and mortar. Of magic, yes, but only magic. Not dreams. He stared at the city and realized it did not hold what he wanted.

He looked down. His arm bled onto the ground. He heard his master’s voice, raging at him. He looked at Garen. Reiss felt so tired.

“What are we doing? Garen. Brother. What did we do? I do?”

“Stupid things. Bad things.”

Garen’s eyes brimmed with tears. Reiss nodded. He closed his eyes. Slowly, he reached down. His left hand shook as it reached down. Garen raised his right arm. He coughed and blood ran from his chest. Reiss slowly pulled him up. The two stood together. They wept. And embraced. And they were dying. Reiss looked at Garen.

“Brother. I’m so sorry.”

“Me too.”

Garen leaned on Reiss. He gripped Reiss tightly. The two stood there. Below them, the Goblin Lord’s army sighed. They lowered their weapons. They looked down. Rags stared up at Garen and Erin’s eyes overflowed with tears. It was over. The Goblins stood still.

And Tyrion Veltras pointed at the Goblins.

“Charge.”

—-

War horns blew. The Goblins looked up. The Humans were riding. The Shield Spiders lay dead. Their entrance from the dungeon was collapsed and the rest were torn to pieces, impaled, destroyed by magic. Tyrion Veltras shouted orders as he rode forwards.

“Archers, loose at will! Mages, target the Goblins! Full bombardment to the left and right flanks! Cut them off! Cavalry on me!”

“Sire? That’s the Goblin Lord’s army!”

Jericha rode with him. She looked up at her [Lord]. Tyrion Veltras’ face was a mask of fury. He pointed at the Goblin Lord. He had seen enough.

“You heard me. All forces, charge! Drive the Goblins into Liscor or kill them all! I came here to kill a Goblin Lord. He falls.”

He raced forwards. The Humans on horseback thundered after him. Reiss and Garen turned. Rags looked up and saw the silver army sweeping towards them. A glorious host. Humans. Erin raised her head.

“No! Please. No.”

—-

“No.”

Reiss repeated the words. His gaze found Tyrion. The [Lord] was leading the charge. Garen stared at the army.

“We have to run.”

“Where?”

Reiss turned, despairingly. Garen looked around. The mountains were so far away. They would never make it. But—there. He pointed.

“The city. We run for the city!”

Liscor was close enough. Reiss stared at it.

“Liscor.”

He turned. The Goblins were staring, transfixed by the death coming their way. Reiss shouted desperately. He saw heads turn. His Goblins. Rags and her tribe. Reiss pointed.

“The city! Go to the city! Run!”

The Goblins looked up at him. They turned as one and began to run. It didn’t matter whose side they were on. They ran. Reiss turned to Garen, desperately.

“We must get to the city. Hold off the Humans until then.”

Yes, we must.

Reiss froze. The voice in his head. Was it his? But there was no time. Garen clutched at his chest. Reiss stared at him.

“Healing potion.”

He had one. Garen took it. He drank from the bottle. But the cursed wound wasn’t closing. He touched the wound at his chest. The Chieftain’s smile was bitter.

“Garen—”

Reiss reached for him and realized his arm was still missing. Garen offered him the bottle. His eyes were very tired.

“I will stop Humans. You got to the city.”

Yes.

Again, Reiss heard the voice. He stared at Garen. The Chieftain raised his blade. He stopped as Reiss held out an arm.

“No.”

Garen looked at Reiss. The Goblin Lord shook his head. He straightened, ignoring the little voice inside his head. He closed his eyes and listened to his heart instead.

“No. I will stop the Humans. You go to the city. Bring them inside. Save them.”

He looked at Garen. The Hobgoblin’s eyes widened. He met Reiss’ gaze and the Goblin Lord saw his eyes flicker a second in doubt. Reiss smiled and nodded.

“Go, brother.”

For a second Garen wavered. Then he reached out. Reiss took his hand. The two held each other, and the moment was all too brief and as long as forever. Then Garen turned.

“I’ll be waiting.”

“Not for long.”

Reiss called after him. Garen laughed. The two parted. Garen ran down the hill, blade held aloft. Reiss turned to face the Humans. He called the undead Shield Spider to him. The dead, rotting monstrosity crawled over. Reiss stared at the headless, mindless thing. Then he shook his head and climbed up. He nearly fell as he clung to its back. Then, slowly, he began to ride down the hill. Towards the Humans. Buying time. And behind him, his people ran for Liscor.

—-

It was over. But it wasn’t over. Zevara saw Tyrion charging and knew what he was doing. She screamed down at the soldiers on the ground.

“Seal the gates!”

The eastern wall was breached. The gates had been torn open. The wall was crumbling. Two more breaches had opened up. Enough space for the Goblins to flood into the gaps. If they entered the city, if the Humans did, Liscor would fall. Workers and Drakes and Gnolls swarmed around the entrance, trying to haul wood and stone into place. But so slowly.

The Goblins were running. Tyrion Veltras was coming across the Floodplains, a blur of speed crossing the hills and valley like lightning. They fled from him towards the only place that could offer safety.

Liscor.

Zevara saw them coming. She saw the Cave Goblins, the Redfangs, the very Goblins who’d fought for Liscor among the Goblin Lord’s forces. And she wavered.

“They’re coming for the city!”

A cry went up across the walls. Zevara looked down the battlements. The adventurers were staring. The army of Goblins swept towards them.

“Archers. Aim for the first rank of Goblins!”

Zevara’s voice was strangled. She saw Drakes and Gnolls look up. They slowly took aim. Olesm turned. He shouted in horror at Zevara.

“What are you doing? Those are the Redfangs! They fought for us!”

He ran towards Zevara. She knocked him back, pointing at the Goblin horde.

“They cannot enter the city. This is what Tyrion Veltras wants!”

“But they fought for us—”

“And the Goblin Lord’s army is right behind them! If they get into the city—”

Zevara choked on the possibility. Olesm stared at her, his scales white.

“Zevara—”

“Move aside! Tell the archers to loose the instant the Goblins get within range! Form a spear wall at the gates! Block them! I said block the gates!”

Zevara roared as she raced down the steps. She saw the Workers and [Builders] struggling to put a palisade in place. But it was too little. They were dragging chunks of stone from the broken wall over, trying to fill the gap. But there was not enough time.

“Watch Captain.”

Embria sat atop her horse at the bottom of the gates. She saluted Zevara with her spear. The Watch Captain looked up at her.

“Embria. The Goblins.”

“I can see.”

The Wing Commander stared at the desperate Goblins. She shook her head.

“Block the gates. I’ll stop them from entering the city. Don’t go after us. Hold the Humans out.”

“What? Are you mad?”

Embria didn’t answer her. The Wing Commander turned. Her small company of [Soldiers] stood at the gates. Behind them were a thousand of Pallass’ [Soldiers]. They looked up as Embria rode past them.

“Drakes! Prepare to sortie! We need to hold the Goblins back from the city. Don’t falter! Soldiers of Pallass, on me! 4th Company of Liscor, on my tail! [Captains], give your orders!”

She rode forwards. Zevara stared at her back.

“You’ll die!”

The Drake turned. Her face was pale.

“I have orders. Keep Liscor safe.”

A voice shouted from above. Zevara looked up. Relc. He shouted down at his daughter.

“Embria!”

The young Drake raised her spear. She fastened the helmet to her head and pointed her spear ahead. The [Soldiers] tensed. The [Captains] roared as they advanced. Embria moved forwards at a trot.

“[Daring Charge]! [Piercing Arms]!”

“[Shieldwall Formation!]”

“[First Strikes]! [Formation: Accelerate]!”

“[Bravehearts]! [Reckless Charge]! [Minute of Iron]!”

The Skills overlapped with each other. The Drakes forgot their fear. They streamed out the gates, following Embria. The Wing Commander was breathing heavily. The Goblins were streaming towards her. She quickened her pace. The horse began to run. Then gallop.

“[Blades of Glory]. For Liscor! Charge!”

The Drakes and Gnolls followed her with a roar. Zevara saw the Workers drag a boulder in front of the gate. She heard a cry from above. Relc stared as his daughter rode straight at the Goblins.

They saw her coming. And they wavered. But fear drove them on. The Goblins ran for Liscor as Embria’s thousand Drakes surged towards them.

“I told you I could rout two thousand Goblins with a thousand [Soldiers]. How about this?”

Embria muttered to herself. She saw the first volley of arrows fly from the walls. Light flashed from the walls. Someone was activating the enchantments, one after another. Magic blasted the Goblins apart. Embria raced forwards. Her spear swung down and she stabbed the first Goblin. The line of Drakes crashed into the fleeing Goblins. And the Goblins began to die.

—-

“What is that Drake [Commander] doing? She’s left the city!”

Umina cried out in horror. Niers stared down at the projection.

“She’s trying to push them back.”

Marian was white with horror. The Centaur’s eyes were fixed on the red Drake leading the thousand-odd [Soldiers] forwards. She turned to Niers.

“It’s suicide! She’ll be overrun! And if not by the Goblins, she’s exposed to the Humans—”

“That’s their way. If she can hold the Goblins back, Liscor can repair the walls. ”

Venaz stared down at the image in the scrying orb. Every Drake and Gnoll on the wall was firing arrows at the oncoming Goblins. Half of the adventurers were not. The [Strategist], Olesm Swifttail, had made his choice. His claws shook as he unrolled the trigger scrolls. He blasted the Goblins apart, aiming for the black-clad Goblins. But Goblins died either way.

Below, Embria held the line. The Goblins surged towards her, but the ranks of fresh Drakes and the Skills of her company cut them down. Drakes with glowing blades sliced down rank after rank of wounded Goblins. And the Wing Commander spun, her spear slashing in every direction.

And from the other side, the Human army met the rear of the fleeing Goblins. Tyrion Veltras led his cavalry through the Goblins from behind. His [Mages] began bombarding them from behind. They cast spells into the air. The trebuchets fired. It wasn’t meant to harry the Goblins anymore. They had come to finish everything.

—-

Everything. The Goblins looked up. Magic and arrows flew down from the sky from both sides. A sea of Humans came at them from one side, and on the other, the Drakes held the gates to their city. The Goblins turned in despair, searching for a way out.

But there was none. On both sides came death. The death of deaths. Unavoidable. Inescapable. From the ground, from every side. The Goblins cried out. Look. Look up.

The sky is falling.

Rags turned, screaming for the Goblins to follow her. She rode towards Liscor. But the city was death. She looked behind her and saw death. Where could they go? Garen struggled. He fought his way towards the Drakes. He stumbled. Bled. He was lost among the Goblins.

And Reiss rode towards the Humans. Some of his warriors stayed with him. They marched with their Goblin Lord, though he had not asked them to. The rest fled. Reiss rode towards the silver line of Humans, watching as Tyrion Veltras’ sword flashed again and again. He never slowed. And his eyes were on Reiss.

The Goblin Lord bled. He didn’t care. He didn’t bother drinking a potion, though the voice in his head urged him to, told him to turn and run. It didn’t matter.

It was crumbling. His dream. It felt like he was waking up. Reiss saw the silver wave of Humans racing forwards and leading the spear’s tip was him. Tyrion Veltras.

“You.”

If there was anyone to hate, it was him. Him. Reiss leaned forwards. He called for magic. And found some. A dark magic. Not his own. But it would do. He reached for it and called forth a blade made of death. It swirled around his left arm, came into being. Death. Let it at least take him.

He shouted a challenge. The Shield Spider lurched forwards, dying. Reiss raised his arm and lifted the magical blade. He rode forwards as his warriors ran with him, shouting.

The Humans were aimed at him. Tyrion’s lance was steady as he surged on his steed. Reiss aimed at him. He hated Tyrion Veltras. Hated him for causing all this?

Causing all this? Reiss didn’t know. His vision was blurry. He thought of him. His brother. That damn Goblin. Garen Redfang.

His brother. Why was he angry at Garen? He was grateful. Furious. Why did he hate Tyrion Veltras? He was just a Human. The one he should hate was right here. Inside him.

A slave to the end. Reiss felt the voice calling at him. He resented it. He wanted to be free. But he hadn’t been. Garen had been right. Garen was wrong.

There he was. The Human was aimed at him, bent low on his stallion. His lance tip was aimed at Reiss. Swing. Cut him down. Do it. Don’t fail me. Don’t fail us.

The Goblin Lord aimed. He drew his hand back and the deathly blade swung. He shouted as he charged. But it wasn’t Tyrion that Reiss was thinking of.

Look at him! Strike! Kill him! Cut him down with magic, end him. Slay him.

It would be so easy to obey. But Reiss didn’t. He saw Tyrion charging him and his head turned. He wrenched it around, looked back. The Goblin Lord’s mouth opened. He shouted, defying. For an instant. Free.

“Brother—”

The lance pierced Reiss’ chest. Lord Tyrion’s thrust opened a hole in Reiss’ left shoulder, and then pierced through. A hole opened in the Goblin Lord’s chest, exposing his ribs, tearing away his shoulder, his severed arm.

Snapjaw screamed. Eater of Spears stopped and howled. Reiss jerked. The Goblin Lord spun, trying to cut at Tyrion as the [Lord] raced past. He slipped, and the voice in his head cried out in fury. Reiss grinned. And then he fell. And his army broke.

—-

Garen heard the cry. He felt it, in his heart. But he never looked back. He pushed his way through the Goblins. Towards the city. He had to get them there. He had to do it. He had promised.

A line of Drakes and Gnolls held the place in front of the city. They spread out in front of the gates and breaches in the walls. Barely more than a thousand. But they fought with a dozen Skills strengthening them. They cut down the wounded Goblins. The warriors barely had time to raise their blades before the Drakes impaled them. Arrows flew down from above.

Death. Garen wanted to rage up at the walls. But he had no strength for it. So he ran forwards. The Goblins ahead of him died. But the line of Drakes was wavering.

If they could break it. If they could get one Goblin through. Then maybe—Garen raised his blade. When had it grown so heavy? The rust-covered blade was wet. With Reiss’ blood. Garen stared at it. Then he staggered. Something had struck him.

He looked up. A Drake with a halberd stared down at him. Garen turned. The Drake spoke.

“Garen Redfang. Goblin [Chieftain]. Soldiers, pull back.”

The other Drakes and Gnolls fell back. The [Captain] raised his halberd. Three more joined him. They surrounded Garen. The Hob turned.

“Come.”

He struck at them. The Drake with the halberd blocked, grunting. Garen turned, cut at the next [Captain]. They blocked him. Cut him from all sides. Garen stumbled.

He was so weak! Why couldn’t he—he swung and the Drake with the halberd effortlessly parried the blow. He stabbed back and Garen reeled.

“We have him.”

“Don’t let your guards down.”

“Together—”

The Drakes snapped orders. Garen saw them moving out of the corner of his eye. He swung at them. Impacts from the other side. Garen stumbled. He couldn’t fall down.

Not yet. He had promised Reiss. He had promised. Not yet! He roared, but the Drakes just laughed at him. They came at him. Four on one.

Easy. Tremborag could do it. He had fought. Why couldn’t Garen? It was just a hole in his chest. Holes. He stumbled. The blade was heavy in his hands. So heavy. Garen turned. The [Captain] with the halberd swung at his head.

He was Garen. Garen.

“Redfang!”

Yes. That was it. Garen’s head rose. He lifted the sword. It weighed as much as a mountain. But he swung it. Fast. The [Captain] gaped as Garen’s blade sheared through the haft of his halberd. He tried to back away. But Garen swung again.

Faster. This time as quick as when he’d cut Halassia. When he’d betrayed his friends. The Drake fell, headless. The other [Captains] cried out. They leapt at him.

As quick as he’d been when he’d cut his brother. Garen stabbed a Drake through the chest. He spun and the two remaining [Captains] fell back. Garen advanced on them. He roared the word and heard the cry. Who was shouting it?

He was. Garen swung his sword again. The third [Captain] fell. The Gnolls and Drakes backed up. Garen advanced. The city was so close. All he had to do was kill them. And he’d fulfill his promise.

“Goblin. Turn and face me.”

Garen looked left. A Drake with fiery red scales bore down on him, spear in hand. She was beautiful. But Halassia had been more beautiful still. Garen raised his sword. Embria met him in a single charge.

He cut her horse in half. She struck him in the chest. But Garen was already dead. So it didn’t matter. The Drake went down. Garen slashed at her, but she was quick. She met him, spear blurring.

Like that, and that, and that. Garen’s blade rang as he struck at her. The Wing Commander’s eyes were wide. She fell back, as he swung his sword. Faster. And faster still. She slipped in the mud and he cut her across the stomach.

She screamed and fell to one knee. Garen raised his sword and heard a shout. He turned and saw a Drake running at him. He had green scales and he was ugly. He had a spear as well. And he was quick.

As fast as Garen. The Hobgoblin grinned. Relc leapt and his spear thrust three times. Garen parried each blade and swung. Relc blocked the blade and stood over his daughter. The [Spearmaster] lanced out and Garen felt him strike his chest.

He was quick! When had Garen fought someone like this? Really fought? Greydath? Didn’t count. Look at him. Garen struck and Relc’s knees buckled as he blocked. Hard. As hard as Moore had hit him.

Harder. As hard as Headscratcher. Relc backed up. He stabbed again. Garen let him. The two traded blows and Relc bled. Garen had stopped bleeding.

He thought he was grinning. He couldn’t see anymore. But he had promised. So Garen fought, feeling his arms shaking with each impact. He felt something strike his chest. Then he couldn’t feel his arms.

He was having fun. And he was doing it. He tried to speak, but he’d forgotten how. Garen tried to say it, but he thought it instead.

Do you see it, brother? I’m doing it. I’m fighting. We’re fighting together. Just like we promised.

It was true. He knew it had to be. Somewhere, Reiss was fighting. And so was Garen. On the same side. At last.

Hey, brother. Reiss.

He was so sorry about all of it. But he’d done his best, hadn’t he? Garen swung and looked around. Where was he? Where was he? He looked back.

I’m so sorry. Are you—

The spear went through Garen’s chest a final time. The Hobgoblin stopped. He didn’t move. Relc pulled the spear out. He stumbled, clutched at his arm and stared. Garen slowly fell back. He was still looking over his shoulder. Grinning.

The [Spearmaster], the former [Sergeant]—the [Guardsman] stared down at the fallen Goblin. He gasped for breath. Around him, the Goblins stared at the fallen figure. They looked at the Drakes. They turned.

Arrows flew past Relc. He saw magic blowing Goblins apart. He heard the screaming. Saw the Humans charging. The Goblins were dying by the thousands now. Embria was clutching at her stomach. Trying to drink a healing potion. Relc looked around and saw the thin line of Drakes. Killing Goblins. The enemy. The [Sergeant] raised his spear and shouted.

“Fall back! Hold the gates!”

“No—don’t—”

Embria tried to get up. She was trying to go forwards. But the Goblins were broken. Relc saw them streaming away from Liscor. One of them, a Goblin with a scar on his face, stopped. His Carn Wolf crouched over Garen’s body. Relc looked up at the Goblin as he stared down at the [Sergeant]. He backed away, dragging his daughter to safety. Redscar dismounted and stood over his Chieftain’s body. Relc turned and screamed the words.

“Fall back!”

The other Drakes obeyed. They fell back around the gates. And the Goblins fled. Not towards Liscor. Not out of the valley.

Towards the mountains. South.

—-

“Two. Bring down the last one.”

Tyrion aimed his lance away from the fallen Hobgoblin. He pointed. Ahead of him was a running Goblin. She was on foot, urging the Goblins in a new direction.

Towards the mountains. That was their only salvation. The Goblins had to climb. Climb and climb until they were out of range of the horses. But the distance was far too far. And Tyrion was charging after them. The [Lord] coldly followed, running down Goblins. His eyes were locked on Rags.

The broken Goblins saw the Human [Lord] coming. They looked up. Reiss’ Goblins. Redfangs. Cave Goblins. And they looked towards her.

“Save her! Save Chieftain!”

Someone shouted it. Save her. Save one of them. At least one of them. Save hope. The Goblins tried to bar Tyrion’s way. But they couldn’t so much as slow him down. He galloped past Hobgoblins, letting the warriors behind him run the Goblins down. He pointed and the [Mages] sent fire racing ahead of him. Rags ran through spells as they targeted her position. A Human [Mage] on horseback took aim at her with a wand.

Lightning blasted him from his saddle. Tyrion saw a flicker and raised his shield. He reeled in his saddle. A Goblin [Mage] cackled.

Noears stood on the roof of The Wandering Inn. He laughed as he shot lightning down at the Humans. The wind blew around him as he called lightning down again and again. He aimed at the [Lord]. At the Human [Mages] with their wands and robes and conceit. He burned them, and looked up as a hundred glowing spells arced towards the inn. He spread his arms and the lightning flashed a last time.

The magic destroyed the third floor of the inn. It left nothing behind. Tyrion rode on. Closer. He saw a gigantic Hobgoblin charging at him.

“Take him.”

Eater of Spears threw the second axe. Jericha blocked the axe with a shield of magic. The Hob swung at Tyrion, but the [Lord] rode past him. Eater of Spears’ arm struck a Human from the saddle. The rest rode past him. Others stopped. The Hobgoblin roared as arrows struck him from all sides. He reeled as a [Fireball] burst on his chest and then howled. He charged. But the little Humans fled from him.

They struck him from all sides. Aiming for his legs. His eyes. Eater of Spears tried to catch them. But they raced around him. He turned and a spell burned away his face. Still he stood. He kept moving, trying to catch one. Until at last he stopped. Snapjaw watched her friend die as she raced after Rags. She tried to fling herself at the Humans, but her warriors stopped her.

“Her.”

And Snapjaw rode with tears in her eyes.

This is how they died.

—-

Rags turned. She saw Tyrion coming at her. Goblins flung themselves at Tyrion. He didn’t turn. He was nearly on her. Nearly—

“Watch out! Drakes attacking from the left side!”

The voice came from the left. It was panicked and the rider’s reaction was instinctual. Tyrion shifted right instantly, turning in an arc that curved leftwards, looking for the attack. Where were they? Why had the Drakes advanced this far? They were aiming for his head. Where were they? Where were—

There was no one. Tyrion’s gaze found only Goblins. And then the source of the voice.

Numbtongue stood to one side. A broken guitar lay at his feet. He laughed at Tyrion as the [Lord] pointed. He picked up a sword and charged. A spear ran him through. He kept laughing as he swung his sword and cut the rider down. He lay on the ground, gasping for breath. The Humans kept going. He touched his guitar and played a chord.

Lightning flashed down from the sky.

—-

The mountains. They were so far away. Rabbiteater clutched Shorthilt, dragging his friend. Shorthilt’s blood ran onto the ground. The wounds Az’kerash had given him hadn’t closed. He bled. But Rabbiteater refused to let go.

“Come. Hurry! Move!”

Rabbiteater swore at his friend. Shorthilt looked back. The Humans were following Rags. But the second wave of riders was coming for them. He looked up. Rabbiteater gritted his teeth and tried to run, but his feet slipped on the ground.

“Go.”

Shorthilt looked at his friend. Rabbiteater shook his head. His cheeks ran with tears. Shorthilt looked down. His beloved sword was broken. But he had something else.

An axe. The jade edge dripped with his blood. Shorthilt lifted it.

“Take.”

Rabbiteater stopped. Shorthilt pushed at his chest.

“No.”

The [Champion] looked at Shorthilt. The Hobgoblin bled. He held the axe out.

“Take. Run!”

Rabbiteater hesitated. Shorthilt screamed the word.

“Run! Run!”

His blood ran onto the ground. It touched Rabbiteater’s cloak and the cloak turned red. Shorthilt looked at his friend and Rabbiteater took the axe. He turned and ran as the Humans chased him. Shorthilt smiled. He turned and began walking back. He found a chipped sword on the ground. A claymore, in fact.

It was muddy. The edge was dull. Shorthilt stumbled forwards. The Humans lowered their lances and charged him.

He cut them down. His sword cut metal. It cut bone. It cut all things. Shorthilt walked forwards and then turned back. He raised his hand and fell.

—-

“Yellow Splatters? Rain? Counting? Where are you?”

Pawn walked through the bodies. His censer-stick overturned bodies. The Worker pulled at corpses. Not seeing the Humans coming towards him. Not caring about the sea of horses that drove past him. Goblins fled around him, but Pawn paid them no mind. The Worker wandered past a running Hob. He called out.

“Where are you all?”

His voice was lost. Forlorn. The Worker stumbled. He searched ground. Spells fell around him. Pawn’s left antennae was broken. Two of his arms hung limp. But he kept searching. He cried out.

“Please tell me!”

But there was no answer. The Worker fell to his knees. He stared down. A Soldier stared up at him, what remained of his head looking blankly up at the sky. Pawn curled up.

“No. Don’t go. Please! Someone. Anyone. One of you has to be alive. One of you…”

He looked around. The Painted Soldiers lay around him. The Necromancer’s spell had torn the earth. Pawn saw parts. But nothing moved. He cried out.

“Please! Please. Don’t—don’t—”

He dug in the earth, scrabbling, begging.

“Don’t leave me alone.”

Another body appeared in the dirt. Faded yellow paint stared up at him. A large body lay where it had fallen, arms still spread. Protecting him. As they all had. Pawn bent.

“No.”

He clutched Yellow Splatters to him and looked up. The Humans rode at him. They saw the Worker and didn’t swerve. Pawn stared up at the sky. He screamed. And the horses reared. They galloped past him.

And the wave of riders parted down the middle. The Humans fought their horses. Spells rained down around Pawn. But he kept screaming. And the sea of Humans rode past him, on either side. He held Yellow Splatters and the Painted Soldiers lay around him. No one touched Pawn. He knelt on the ground until they passed. And he sat among his people. They were all—all—

—-

All gone. On a hill, a Goblin with a bow shot again and again. His fingers bled and the ground exploded around him. Badarrow stood over Headscratcher and Erin. The army ignored the girl, but they came at him. They wouldn’t stop until they were all dead.

Until she was dead.

Rags kept running. She couldn’t stop. She had failed them all. But they were dying for her. All she could do was run. He wouldn’t stop. Even if she died. So she’d never give him her life. She looked back and saw him racing towards her.

The mountain was in front of her. The slope turned from grass to stones. Rags scrambled up, following the Goblins fleeing upwards. But not enough. It was still, not enough. The Humans followed them up the slopes. She sobbed. Rags scrambled past a pair of Goblins who were sitting down, holding each other. They screamed at a Redfang who’d turned to keep running. She passed by a sitting Hob. He held a battleaxe in his hand.

Rags’ head turned. She saw Pyrite looking back at her. Then he stood. The Hob walked past Rags and barred the way. She turned to scream at him.

“Chieftain.”

He pointed past her. Up the mountain. Rags turned to go back. A Hobgoblin seized her. They dragged her upwards. Snapjaw ignored Rags screaming as she rode upwards. Tyrion bared his teeth. He raced at her. And the Hob walked forwards.

The blazing battleaxe lit up the dark slopes. Pyrite stood in front of the Humans, in front of Tyrion. He waited; a guardian of the place between life and death. Behind him fled hope. She called his name. He smiled.

The [Lord] was riding at him. He didn’t slow.

“Arrogant.”

That was all Pyrite said. He watched the Goblins flow past him and looked up. The sun was setting.

“How red, how red.”

But it wasn’t time for poetry. Pyrite gazed at the sky and thought. He completely ignored the [Lord] charging at him. At last, he nodded.

“It was fun. I wish I were stronger. I wish…”

He looked down. Tyrion aimed at Pyrite. And the Hob lifted his battleaxe. He came down with a roar that shook the mountain.

The lance pierced his stomach. Pyrite slammed against the rocks. Tyrion Veltras paused as he withdrew the lance. The Hob gasped. He reached up. Coldly, Tyrion drew his sword and ran him through a second time. Pyrite stood up. Tyrion cut at his shoulder. The Hob lifted the battleaxe and swung.

Tyrion’s stallion died. The [Lord] slid from the saddle. He struck Pyrite twice more, cutting deep. The Hob swung. Tyrion Veltras blocked with his shield. A third time he ran Pyrite through.

“Die, damn you.”

“Not yet.”

Pyrite grabbed Tyrion. He lifted the [Lord] up and hurled him down the mountain. The [Lord] bounced. The Hobgoblin grinned. Then he saw the [Mage] aiming at him. The [Knights] ran him through. Pyrite laughed louder at the looks on their faces.

“Fat.”

Lightning struck him. Pyrite’s heart stopped. But the lightning was weak. Barely an echo of Noears. He looked down at Jericha. She paled as Pyrite roared with laughter. The lightning stopped.

“What are you?”

“Goblin.”

He swung his battleaxe. They died. The magic burnt him. Steel pierced his chest. Pyrite fell to one knee. He looked back and heard a cry. A little Goblin reached for him. Pyrite smiled.

“Chieftain.”

She was far above them. So far she was out of reach. Pyrite sat back. He reached down for a snack. And he closed his eyes.

Tyrion Veltras reached the Hobgoblin too late. The [Lord] stared down and slowly sheathed his sword. He looked up and saw Goblins climbing into the mountains.

“My lord?”

Jericha looked at him. Tyrion stared down at his stallion.

“Enough. If the [Mages] don’t kill them, let them go. We aren’t done. Get me a fresh mount and turn the army. Liscor remains.”

He turned. Jericha looked back. The Hob smiled at the sky.

—-

The last of the Goblins fled or died. Those that remained waited for death or fought in knots, separated, surrounded by Humans. One of them was Redscar.

He rode with the last of the Redfangs. The Humans surrounded him. Redscar turned, his blades flashing. Thunderfur biting. Goblins died around him. They joined the dead. Countless thousands.

He fought in a slowly-tightening circle of space. Redfangs fought with him, many on the ground. Carn Wolves howled as they leapt at screaming horses. But with each second Goblins fell. Still, Redscar fought.

He was covered in wounds. His war paint was covered by blood. His healing potions had been expended long ago. And his friends, his family, were dying. They covered the ground, overwhelmed by numbers. The Humans were circling, riders charging, infantry hacking at the riders. But they could not bring Redscar down.

Thunderfur leapt forwards, howling, Redscar struck to the left and right, forcing the Humans back. He cut spears meant for him or Thunderfur, parried blades, his arms a blur. The [Archers] and [Mages] dared not target him as he locked blades with the warriors around him.

They fell. Redscar killed them like flies. His blades cut through their armor. He brought [Knights] down. He killed [Mages]. They could not kill him. He turned, two swords in his claws.

In one claw he held the sword enchanted with frost, blood mixing with ice. In the other he held a crimson blade, as red as rust.

Redfang. The rust-red blade bit again and again. And each time, Redscar howled a name. A name few of the Humans recognized. But they feared it.

The onslaught slowed, from awe as much as anything else. The Humans held back, staring. Redscar turned, screaming. They held back, too afraid to approach.

He was one Goblin. One Goblin, not even a Hob. But they could not bring him down.

“Pull back.”

A man rode towards the circle of warriors. They moved backwards and Redfang paused. The warrior on horseback stared at the Goblin. Those who knew him waited. Another man raised his voice.

“Sir Vumat. Allow us to—”

“No.”

“Then let us finish him off at range! If we—”

“No.”

The [Knight] turned his head. He looked back at Redscar. The Goblin leaned over his Carn Wolf. Sir Vumat stared at Redfang and slowly lowered the visor on his helmet.

“If that Goblin lives, he will one day be a threat as great as Garen Redfang.”

Slowly, he rode forwards. Redscar bared his teeth. The [Knight] saluted him.

“I am Sir Vumat. I have come for your head Goblin, dishonorable as it may be to face you wounded. I will slay you here.”

Redscar locked eyes with the [Knight].

“Try.”

They rode at each other. Sir Vumat’s sword flashed. His armor shone. Redscar and Thunderfur howled. Their audience watched.

Four times the two warriors closed. Four times they struck at each other. Then Sir Vumat’s stallion reared, screaming, as Thunderfur’s jaws closed around its unguarded throat. The [Knight] fell from his saddle, his armor torn by Redscar’s blades. He lay still on the ground. Already dead.

Redscar turned. He raised his swords, challenging another to come forwards.

No one dared. But then arrows began flying. A [Mage] targeted Redscar and he felt a sharp pain tear at his right ear as he dodged. He pointed and Thunderfur leapt.

All he wanted was death. But Redscar felt her running. He looked back and saw the distant shapes fleeing towards the mountain. He stared and whispered.

“Chieftain.”

He turned and rode. The last of the Redfangs followed him. Redscar found a Goblin fighting with a dagger, his bow broken. He bent and grabbed Badarrow. The Hob fought him. He had been standing over a body. Redscar dragged him away. He left the young woman behind. She was still there, covering the Hob as Redscar fled the field, tears falling like rain.

—-

“Lord Veltras, the Goblins have fled or perished.”

Jericha stated the obvious. Tyrion could see nothing living on the Floodplains. Nothing but humanity. He passed by the Goblin corpses. He stared towards the hill where the Goblin Lord had perished. He frowned.

“The Goblin Lord’s body. I don’t see it. Ensure he is dead. As well as the other one.”

“I will locate their corpses.”

“Good.”

Tyrion Veltras kept staring at the hill. He saw a kneeling figure. A young woman shielded a Hobgoblin’s body. His army had avoided her, as had Tyrion himself. She was, after all, Human.

“My lord?”

“It’s nothing. Aim towards Liscor.”

The words shocked those around Tyrion.

“But the Goblins are dead!”

“So? This changes nothing. Prepare to charge the gates. Tell the trebuchets to launch a single volley. Jericha, a [Siege Fireball]. Destroy those barricades. On my signal.”

Tyrion took a fresh lance. He studied the gates.

“Ready the charge.”

“My lord.”

“What is it?”

Tyrion glanced to one side. Jericha’s voice quavered.

“I—I’ve just received something. A [Message]. From—”

“There is nothing she can say to stop me.”

“Nothing?”

Tyrion whirled. The air opened up in front of him. A smiling face filled the open space. Magnolia Reinhart stared past Tyrion for a second, and then her eyes fixed on him.

“Oh, good. The projection spell worked. Ressa, hold the artifact steady. Hello, Tyrion.”

“Begone, Reinhart!”

Tyrion slashed his lance through the air. The magical spell wavered but didn’t vanish. Magnolia smiled deeper. Her eyes looked past Tyrion at the battlefield. The look in her eyes deepened.

“I see I was too late. Well, I have enough time for this.”

“Whatever you have to say—”

“Be silent, Tyrion. And listen to me. I warned you. I gave you every chance. So this is my ultimatum. Turn back. Leave with the Goblin Lord’s head.”

“And if not? You cannot stop me.”

Magnolia paused. She was filling the image in the screen. But quite deliberately. Jericha trembled as she stared at something past Magnolia. Tyrion stared, but he couldn’t make it out. What was she hiding? The [Lady] sighed.

“No. I suppose I can’t. But I can ensure one thing. If you go through with this, you may take Liscor. And if you do, I will promise you one thing: you will have nothing to come back to.”

“What does that—”

Tyrion’s breath caught as Magnolia moved out of the way. He saw a keep behind her. An old, rather austere structure. Nothing like her estates. But large enough to be called a palace by some. A fortress, moreover. Defensive. A home he knew well.

The Veltras estates. His family home. And Magnolia stood not a hundred feet in front of it. It wouldn’t have mattered if she were anyone else. The keep was a citadel. But she was there.

And she was not alone. The projection jostled as Ressa placed whatever was keeping the recording still on something and stepped forwards. She stood behind her mistress as Magnolia smiled. They stood together. Just the two of them.

“A lovely home.”

That was all Magnolia said. Tyrion’s grip turned white on his lance.

“You dare. If you dare—I will personally ride on you and—”

“Do what? Cross a thousand miles in a moment? No, Tyrion. Be silent.”

And he was. Magnolia looked at him.

“You could never imagine I’d do this. That is why you are a fool. A damned fool, Tyrion.”

“You have no honor. Not a shred of morality. I warn you—”

The [Lord]’s voice shook. Magnolia gazed at him.

“Well?”

“I will not be blackmailed. Not by you or anyone.”

Tyrion heard Jericha gasp. Magnolia’s right eye twitched. She stared hard at Tyrion.

“Really.”

“Touch them and—”

“It is your choice.”

“I will not be stopped.”

Something cold had replaced the Lord of the Veltras family. He spoke with icy calm. And he leveled his lance at Magnolia.

“Know that you will die. I swear it on my family name.”

“And I swear by my family that I will do what I promise.”

Magnolia stared at Tyrion. He hesitated. Fear crept into his heart, for all he tried to tell himself she was lying. But she wouldn’t. Not her.

“Lady Reinhart. You cannot—”

“Be silent, Jericha.”

The woman fell still. Magnolia regarded Tyrion. And then she slowly shook her head.

“Tyrion Veltras. You will turn around. Or everything you fear most will come to pass. But should that not sway you, if that is not enough—”

“What else could you do?”

Magnolia looked at Tyrion. As if she couldn’t believe he’d ask. She smiled, and it was a colder smile than Tyrion had ever seen before.

“To you? Nothing. However, I thought I’d remind our peers what they’re fighting for.”

Slowly, Tyrion looked around. And he realized that there were more projections hanging in the air. Images. Of [Ladies]. Lady Bethal, smiling, surrounded by her [Chevalier] and husband, Thomast. Her Rose Knights. Chattering to a pale Lady Ieka.

Lady Wuvren. Sipping tea and talking to an older woman in front of Lord Erill. The [Merchant Lord]’s lips were tight. His eyes were locked on his mother. She was looking from him to Wuvren, uncomprehending.

Lady Zanthia. Her house’s retainers stood at her back as she spoke to Lord Pellmia. The [Lord] was white. He stared past her at his city.

Tyrion looked around the battlefield. Not all the [Lords] and [Ladies] had the floating images projected to them. In fact, no more than a dozen had received the message. But it was enough. They looked to Tyrion, faces pale. Desperate. Unbelieving.

“Well?”

Magnolia waited. Tyrion looked back at her.

“This is war.”

“I thought it was already war with the Drakes. Or will you fight on two fronts at once?”

The mocking smile. Tyrion turned from her.

“Jericha. Cut the connection.”

“Lord Veltras?”

“Wait for my order.”

“Tyrion—”

Magnolia’s voice cut off abruptly. Lord Tyrion took a few deep breaths. He tried to calm himself. And then he slowly turned in his saddle.

The others looked at him. Lord Erill, Ieka, his aide, Jericha. An army, waiting, soaked in the blood of Goblins.

Tyrion’s head turned past the image of Magnolia. He looked to Liscor, walls cracked, gates partially blocked. In that moment, Tyrion Veltras’ eyes were cold. He glanced at his allies, soldiers, at Liscor, and at Magnolia. Weighing. Calculating.

The city of Liscor watched, not understanding what was happening. But word was already spreading. The world held its breath as, but for Tyrion Veltras, history would change. The [Lord] looked at Liscor and closed his eyes. Slowly, he opened his eyes and turned.

“Forwards.”

The world froze. Jericha opened her mouth. Tyrion looked at her.

“We march past Liscor. To the Blood Fields.”

The nobility stared at Tyrion in shock. He turned.

“Send a [Message] to the Drakes. The Goblin Lord is dead. However, I, Tyrion Veltras, challenge the Drakes. Meet me at the Blood Fields in six days. Let their armies face ours or forfeit.”

Jericha raised a shaking hand to her head. Erill exhaled, his hands shaking. Ieka stared at Tyrion.

“All of us?”

“No. The nobility will leave. Those who do not wish to do battle. We leave the trebuchets. Half the foot. We ride. Move.”

Tyrion snapped. He rode forwards. Shocked, uncomprehending, the army hesitated. But then the first rank of riders rode after Tyrion.

Liscor watched. The Drakes and Gnolls stood on the walls, weapons ready. But the army of Humans passed by them. They marched away from the city, across the muddy Floodplains. South. To battle in the most traditional of ways. Spellbound, the Drakes stared as Tyrion Veltras’ army broke up, some groups milling about, heading north. They watched as the Humans collected what few dead they had, as they quit the field.

And then wild cheers burst from Liscor’s walls. They shouted for joy as the Walled Cities scrambled, redirecting their armies. But the Drakes and Gnolls and Liscor celebrated. Somehow they were saved. They laughed and cried and hugged each other.

And the Goblins lay outside the walls.

—-

He was dead. Reiss pulled himself up. The left side of his body was missing. His heart was gone. But he still stood. He heard a voice. There was always a voice. But at least now he recognized it.

Reiss.

It called his name. Somehow it knew his name. But it didn’t matter. The voice urged Reiss up, filled him with life.

My apprentice. Kill Tyrion Veltras. End his life. I will give you strength. Go to him and I will ensure his death. Go and—

“No.”

Reiss shook his head. He stood amid the dead. Forgotten. The voice raged at him. But Reiss ignored it.

“No, master. No more.”

There was nothing left. She was gone. He could feel her going higher, ever distant. Her, and so few of them. Reiss wept, but no tears flowed from his cheeks. He staggered forwards as the voice cursed him. His master abandoned Reiss at last and the Goblin Lord laughed.

A hollow sound. He walked forwards, looking at the dead. He fell to his knees and waited to join them. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

He was so tired. It would be over soon. But he was tired. Reiss looked around. And he saw it. Sitting on a hill. The Goblin Lord turned and began walking towards it. A good place to wait to die.

—-

Erin Solstice knelt over Headscratcher and saw the army of Humans leaving. She saw them pass by Liscor. She didn’t know why. She held a limp body in her arms. She wanted it to move. More than anything. She wanted them to get up. She wanted time to stop. She wanted to be undone.

They were gone. All of them. Some were alive. More were dead. She had seen them die. And she couldn’t stop it. They had run right past her. Ignored her. She’d been helpless, but they’d spared her.

She couldn’t even save one of them. Not one. She had led them to this. All to this. Erin cradled Headscratcher in her arms. And then she stood up. She couldn’t help it. She had to—had to—

It wasn’t real. Erin walked away in a daze. All of this wasn’t real. She was going to wake up and find out this was all a dream. The Goblin Lord hadn’t come yet. This was all a dream.

She was dead. She would wake up. Let this be a dream. Please. Oh, please.

But it wasn’t. And more tears ran down her cheeks. She didn’t know where she was going. Mechanically, she walked back, tripping, falling, sobbing. She walked towards her inn. The third floor was destroyed, but the rest was intact. The door was ajar. Erin walked inside and stopped.

A Goblin met a young woman in the inn. She was weeping. Her clothes were bloody.

He was dying. He was already dead. But some part of him held death back. He sat at a table, slumped over. He turned his head as Erin stopped. She stared at him. A—face stared back.

Perhaps he had been handsome once. Perhaps his smile had once been reassuring. His eyes might have terrified. He might have inspired hope, or confidence, or hatred. But now he was just dead. She stared at the Goblin.

“You’re him.”

He took a breath.

“Yes.”

They stared at each other. Erin looked around.

“You’re dead.”

“Almost.”

It was a dream. In a trance, Erin walked forwards. She poked at his side. The Goblin didn’t wince.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“What do you want?”

“Just to sit here. Until it ends.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Erin took a seat across from him. The Goblin stared at her. He was taller than her, but not as tall as he’d seemed. He looked tired.

“Can I get you anything?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay. You…speak well.”

“Yes. I learned to long ago.”

The two stared at each other. Erin trembled.

“Tell me this is a dream.”

“I wish it were.”

The Goblin Lord looked at her. Erin shook.

“Why did you do it?”

“I’m sorry.”

It wasn’t an answer. Erin punched at him. Something broke. The Goblin Lord’s head lolled back. And then forwards. His voice was quiet when he spoke. Sad.

“I never wanted this. I only wanted my people to be safe. For there to be a place—one place in this world—where Goblins could live. One place.”

Erin didn’t respond. She buried her head in her hands. Reiss looked around. His eyes reflected nothing but death. He whispered.

“I never wanted this. But I wanted this. I wanted to take something from them. Everyone who had taken from me. I wanted—to hurt them.”

“It’s not right. They did nothing wrong.”

“Didn’t they? They lived while my people died. That’s enough.”

“It’s not the same. They didn’t know.”

“They kill Goblins for sport. For money. Like rats. Monsters.”

“I know. I know. And I hate them for it.”

Erin whispered. The Goblin Lord nodded.

“You hate them as I do.”

“I do. But I’m one of them.”

“So. What do you do? Do you kill them? Or are you on their side?”

The Goblin Lord looked at her. Erin shook her head.

“I—I don’t. How could I? But I don’t kill Goblins either. I—there’s a sign.”

“A sign?”

She got up to show him. The Goblin Lord read it. And he laughed. He laughed and laughed, wheezing until there was no air in his lungs.

“And this works?”

“No. I don’t think it ever works. But I keep it up. And I give Goblins food. I—I tried to keep them safe. And they died for me.”

“That is what we do. It was not your fault. It was their choice. And his fault. And mine.”

The Goblin Lord nodded jerkily. He looked at Erin. She was curled up in her chair.

“I asked them to fight.”

“They would have anyways. They loved you, I think.”

“I wish they hated me.”

“How could they? You fed them. You gave them—things. You cared. They followed you. I wish I had seen it.”

“It was beautiful.”

Erin closed her eyes. The dead Goblin smiled. Then the smile vanished.

“If only I had seen it. If only I had been there. I wish I had met you long ago. If I had—”

He broke off. Erin looked up. Blood had stopped running from his wound long ago. Erin could see his lungs inflating slowly. Bone and flesh lay exposed. But Reiss refused to die.

“This isn’t our world. We’re just monsters. Why? We didn’t ask…we didn’t want to be. Why us?”

The Goblin Lord spoke bitterly. He looked past Erin.

“From the start we were made like this. Enemies. From the very start. That was what he said. Why us? Was it punishment?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just…by design. Maybe you’re characters in a game. Maybe that’s where I am. Maybe this is all a dream.”

“A game?”

Reiss looked at Erin. She stared blankly past him.

“Like chess. Pieces on a board.”

He turned. The Goblin Lord saw the chess board on the table. He stood up.

“Chess. A game?”

He walked over to the magical chessboard. Erin nodded. Reiss looked down at the board. He stared at the pawns. The pieces.

He tried to break it. But it was the wrong board. Reiss’ smashed it against the table. He struck it, tried to tear it apart. The magical chessboard refused to break. The Goblin Lord’s grip weakened. The chessboard tumbled to the ground, and he laughed hysterically. Bitterly.

“Not so simple. I tried. Goblin Lords have tried. Kings have tried. We all fail. And we die. Look—”

He turned. Erin saw the light in his eyes fading. Reiss stumbled back to her.

“I tried. I did it all for them. I think I forgot.”

He looked at her. She looked up at him. He was so sad. She hated him. More than anything in the world. But he was crying. He had no tears left, but he was weeping. Reiss sank onto the table. Erin stood with him. The Goblin Lord’s one arm rose. He looked up at her.

“Someday Goblins will know peace. Surely?”

“I—yes.”

“Yes.”

He smiled. But it was a lost smile. Reiss stared past Erin. He had never told her his name.

“Someday. Someday…”

That was all he said. His arm fell back limply. Erin stared down at him. Slowly, she closed his eyes. And then she picked him up.

He was too light. Erin walked with him outside. She stared as the Humans rode towards her. The Drakes. Her friends. They met warily, staring at each other. Enemies. But they stared at her. At the body she held. And then it was truly over.

—-

There were words. Questions. Erin answered none of them. She stood, blankly, until they went away.

She let them have the head. It was what they wanted. But she kept the body. Goblins didn’t really believe in burial, anyways. They ate their dead, when they had to. But he had been like a Human. So she buried him.

There was nowhere to do it around her inn. So Erin found a place amid the dead, where a spell had blown away dirt. She laid him there and covered his body with dirt. Then she found the others.

Some people helped her. Erin made them go away. She found them—some of them. One of them. She buried them and stood up.

Ghosts walked around her. Erin walked back to her inn. It was quiet. She lay down in the kitchen. She stared up at the ceiling for a long time. Her eyes closed. And she heard a voice.

[Conditions Met: Warrior → General Class!]

[Class Consolidation: Warrior removed.]

[General Class Obtained!]

[General Level 6!]

[Skill – Inspiring Words obtained!]

[Skill – All-or-Nothing Charge obtained!]

[Skill – Crossc—]

“Shut up!”

[Level Ups Cancelled]

The voice went away. Erin covered her eyes. And outside her inn, past Liscor, an army marched.

Perhaps it was a dream. Maybe it was a story. A book. And if it was, it was an epic about Tyrion Veltras and his failed attempt to seize Liscor. Or perhaps it was a tale of the Drakes and their valiant defense of their home. Possibly the narrative wasn’t about either. It might have been a saga about Magnolia Reinhart. Or someone else.

But it was not about Goblins. And like the side characters, the forgotten villains and fodder of every story, they died and were forgotten. That was how the world worked. The faceless monsters died and the heroes got on with their lives. Already the world waited for the outcome of Tyrion’s challenge to the Drakes at the Bloodfields. They moved on. In between the tale of the Human’s pyrrhic victory at Liscor and the next battle, there wasn’t so much as a gap.

No one asked what happened to the Goblins. No one cared. No one wrote their story. After all, what did it matter? Who would weep for a Goblin?

The answer was a young woman. She lay on the floor of her inn and shook. She sobbed and cried all the tears in the world. It wasn’t enough.

Her name was Erin Solstice.

Interlude – Thereafter

(The Wandering Inn is on break until March 18th for Patreon readers and March 23rd for public readers.)

She had watched him die. Poisonbite scrambled up the mountain. Her hands were scratched and bloody. She was hurt. Her wounds burned. But she was alive.

It was no blessing. Poisonbite’s eyes ran. She could still smell the stench of burning flesh, the death in the air. It rose upwards. Far below, the basin, the Floodplains of Liscor was filled with the dead.

Goblin dead. Few others. They had been cut down like a [Farmer] harvested grain. Poisonbite had fled the fighting. She had hid, and been overlooked by the Humans as they charged past her. She had hid, as she always did. To live. To survive. But no part of Poisonbite could rejoice.

Noears was gone. He had not fled. She had witnessed his end. Seen him conjure lightning from the skies. For a second he had shone brighter than all the Humans. And for that they had ended him.

Why? Poisonbite gasped, wiping at her eyes. Why hadn’t he run? He might have lived. But he had stayed there. And his sacrifice had meant something. More Goblins had escaped because of him. Because of him, she was there.

Poisonbite could feel her. She scrambled higher, heading up a rocky slope full of loose boulders. She had climbed for over two hours, but still the mountains loomed overhead. Taller than imagination. But she was close.

The little Goblin stopped as she crested the edge of the slope. She saw dark shapes. Rocks. And Goblins. They sat or stood so still that they appeared to be part of the mountainside. Only the crimson glow from their eyes betrayed them.

Goblins. Poisonbite looked around. There were so few of them. Cave Goblins. Goblins she knew from her tribe. Tremborag’s former warriors. A handful of Redfangs. And Goblins in black armor. Poisonbite stared at them, but she did not reach for her dagger. She had lost her other one in the fighting.

Poison had failed her. Steel had failed her. As it had failed all the Goblins here. They had died like flies before the Humans. Where a vast army had been were now thousands. And though some Goblins climbed as Poisonbite had done, they were few. The last of them were here. And she was up ahead.

Slowly, painfully, Poisonbite staggered forwards. The Goblins watched her pass. She heard a voice ahead of her. Saw a gathering. Hobs and Goblins stood around a little Goblin kneeling on the ground. She was weeping. Goblins did not cry. But she did. Rags screamed. Poisonbite approached slowly. And she saw tears. Tears and missing faces.

—-

They were all gone. Rags shook with the pain of it. They were dead. Garen. Reiss. Noears. Pyrite. Her tribe. His tribe. Everyone. Everyone was—

Snapjaw had carried her up the mountain. The female Hob stood to one side. She was dry-eyed, but empty. She had watched Eater of Spears die, and Reiss. A few others stood around Rags. She knew some of them. Others had been enemies. But there was no fighting here. The Goblins who wore black armor, who had fought under Reiss, were devastated. They did not look up. They did not move.

Devastation. How had it come to this? They had fought for Liscor. She had seen them. But she had been too late. They had fought and it was all meaningless. Rags still saw him riding at her. Tyrion Veltras. An army of Humans. It had all been for nothing.

Rags choked on the knowledge. She screamed and wailed, though her throat was torn. The other Goblins watched and listened. No sound was enough for Rags’ grief. She only looked up when she sensed the others.

They came to her. First Poisonbite, who would not talk. She sat and curled up, covering her face. But she was not the last. Rags turned and saw them.

He walked up the slopes, followed by Cave Goblins. His armor was torn. He was wounded. Yet, still he shone. The axe he carried was gold and jade. The cloak he wore billowed red, the color of blood. He walked through the other Goblins and stopped before Rags. She looked up. She had never seen this Hobgoblin in her life. But he saluted her.

“Chieftain.”

“Who are you?”

Rags whispered. The Hobgoblin bowed his head.

“Rabbiteater. Redfang.”

The name told her everything. Rags got up and looked at Rabbiteater. He returned her look. She did not know his story. She did not know why he looked like an adventurer, or why the Cave Goblins followed him. But he had lost his friends. He was…one of them.

He joined the gathering. Snapjaw looked up and Rabbiteater returned the look. The two Hobs stared at each other and then away.

“Who?”

Rabbiteater looked at Rags.

“Headscratcher. Shorthilt. Numbtongue. Badarrow.”

The names meant nothing to Rags. But they were part of the countless thousands she had heard. She nodded. Rabbiteater sat down and buried his face in his hands.

The last of them came with the rider. Only he did not ride his Carn Wolf. He urged the injured animal up the slopes. Pushing, pulling. Trying to support its weight. Rags turned as Redscar crested the slope. She looked at him, wide-eyed.

“Redscar?”

Rabbiteater looked up. He saw the Hobgoblin lying on the back of the injured Thunderfur and sprang up with a sharp cry. He ran, sobbing, and Badarrow looked up. The two Hobs embraced as Redscar walked towards Rags. The Goblins stared. Because in Redscar’s hands was a blade.

A rust-red sword, made redder with dried blood. A magical weapon with a name.

Redfang. Garen’s blade. Rags stared at Redscar. Then she looked to the other Hob. Badarrow stood, painfully, supporting his side. He leaned on Rabbiteater and stumbled over to Rags.

“Chieftain. I, Badarrow.”

That was all he said. Rags looked at him.

“Others? Headscratcher? Numbtongue? Shorthilt?”

“All dead.”

Badarrow did not cry. His fingers still bled. Torn from his bowstring. Redscar did not weep either. He sat down. And his wounds dripped like tears.

“Healing potion.”

He was dying. Rags whispered. Then she shouted. One of the last healing potions was found. The Goblins who had followed Redscar up the slopes helped tend to Thunderfur. They looked at Redscar with awe. The Goblin was silent.

Poisonbite. Snapjaw. Rabbiteater. Badarrow. And Redscar. Five. All that remained. Five.

Rags waited. She hoped Ulvama would be there. She had hoped that Pyrite—but he was gone. All who had lived had come here. And this was all that remained.

She looked around. The Goblins did not meet her gaze. They were empty. Shattered. They had all seen death. But this was too much. Too much. Some Goblins just curled up. Others, like Hobs, were sitting still. They would not move. They wanted to die.

So the Goblins mourned. In silence. In pain. The spring air was cold on the slopes of the mountain. The night dark, just before dawn. Rags cried. She cried every tear she had. It was not enough. And she wondered what the point was of continuing on. She saw a Redfang warrior reach for his dagger and look at it.

Perhaps that was what he had been waiting for. On a rocky ledge higher up the slope, a shape stirred. Two eyes opened and red light shone from them. The figure stood and laughed.

As one, the Goblins looked up. They saw a tall figure, half-naked, leap down towards them. On his back he carried a rusted weapon as tall as he was. A notched greatsword. And he had a beard, grey. He laughed as he appeared above Rags.

Greybeard. Greydath of Blades. The Goblin Lord looked down at the Goblins. His grin was wide. His eyes shone. Rags looked up at him. She was not surprised. She was beyond surprise. She had only grief in her. Grief, and anger.

“You.”

“Me.”

Greydath agreed. He leapt down and stood in front of Rags. There was no apology in his eyes. He looked around at the others, clearly counting. Then he shrugged.

It was that shrug which made the fury in Rags rise, loud enough to drown the sorrow. She saw Snapjaw stir. Saw Rabbiteater and Badarrow look up with sudden, furious recognition. Redscar pointed.

“You. You are Goblin Lord.”

“I am.”

He did not deny it. Greydath watched as the Goblins stirred. They looked at him. But they felt nothing. Rags sensed nothing from the Hobgoblin. It was as if he were a ghost. Not a Goblin. Certainly not a Goblin Lord.

“You saw it all.”

Redscar looked at Greydath. It was not a question. Greydath nodded.

“I saw it.”

“You did nothing?”

Rags whispered. Greydath glanced at her.

“Should I?”

The small Goblin had no answer for that. She just stared. But another Hobgoblin moved. Snapjaw drew her sword. She pointed it at Greydath.

“You! You let him die!”

“Reiss?”

Greydath shrugged. It was too much. Snapjaw lunged, sword swinging. Greydath moved. His arm blurred and he blocked Snapjaw’s blade with his greatsword. The sound rang in the night. Snapjaw staggered back. Greydath turned. Rabbiteater had the magical axe in his hands. He was staring at Greydath with hatred. So was Badarrow. The Goblin had an arrow pointed at Greydath’s chest.

“You coward. You did nothing! You let him die! He was Goblin Lord! Like you!”

Snapjaw screamed. She tried to bite at Greydath, but he dodged her. The Goblin Lord threw Snapjaw back. He was still smiling.

“So? He fought.”

“Garen died.”

Redscar’s voice was quiet. He lifted Redfang and Greydath’s eyes flicked to him. The other Goblins were getting up. The Goblin Lord looked calmly at the three Redfangs.

“He chose to. He could have run. He was a traitor. Reiss, a slave. What of it?”

The words made the Goblins furious. They slowly advanced and Greydath waited. His smile was mocking. Designed to infuriate. But Rags did not draw the shortsword at her side. She looked at Greydath’s face.

“Pyrite is dead. You taught him.”

For a second she saw Greydath’s smile flicker. But then the Goblin Lord turned to her.

“So what? He was a Hobgoblin. One Hobgoblin.”

“It doesn’t matter to you that he died?”

Greydath tilted his head back and forth. He stared past Rags, into the dark sky. Then he shook his head.

“Goblins die.”

That was it. It was too much. Poisonbite leapt at the same time the Redfangs swung. Greydath spun. All four Goblins stumbled back. He laughed at them.

“Is that all? Is that all you can do? This is why they died. Because you are weak. And you. You failed them all. You could stop nothing. Just run.”

Greydath pointed at Rags. She felt the words go through her. She stared at Greydath. Hurt and pain and anger welled up and her. And then it vanished. She felt a calm cold settle over her. A certainty. She looked into Greydath’s eyes and saw none of the mockery in his voice. Slowly, Rags shook her head.

“Why are you doing this?”

The Goblin Lord hesitated. Then he shrugged.

“To tell you that you are weak. To make you angry.”

“Is that why you waited? To tell me this?”

Rags asked him. Greydath shook his head.

“Not you. You think I waited for you? No. I waited here. Waited. Watched. For whomever came. For you. Or Garen. Or Reiss or Tremborag. Or even—”

He glanced at Rabbiteater and Badarrow. The Hobgoblins exchanged a glance. Rags looked at the Goblin Lord. The question burned in her heart. All the Goblins felt it and she gave voice to it.

“Why?”

At first Greydath did not respond. Rags pressed him.

“Why? Why did you watch? Why did you not help? Why did you do nothing? You are a Goblin Lord. Stronger than anyone else! Why did you let them die? Why?”

“Because it is meaningless. Because it had to be so.”

The Goblins stirred. Their fury rose. But Greydath was unmoved. He looked around at them. There was no contempt in his gaze. Just age. Tired age. It made them pause. The Goblin Lord raised his voice as he turned to face them all.

“Goblins die. You think you are alone? That this moment is unique? It happens everywhere. A thousand thousand times. In every part of the world. Year by year. Day by day. Goblins die. Chieftains die. Tribes die. Lords die.”

He lifted his greatsword. The battered weapon was just iron. It was bent and chipped. Notched. But when Greydath held it, it shone. The Goblin Lord swung the blade and the air tore. He stared at the blade and he shook his head. Then he planted the greatsword in the ground.

“This sword is useless. I am useless. Goblins cannot be saved by me. Or even a hundred of me. We wait for only one thing. A Goblin King.”

The Goblins listened. Greydath stepped back from his blade, spreading his clawed hands wide. He looked at Rags.

“You ask why I waited? Why I did nothing? Because it did not matter who came. It did not matter if no one came. If I brought you to this place. If I helped, it would be meaningless. I can only watch.”

“Why?”

“Because you are not enough.”

He pointed at Rags. Greydath turned and his finger found every Goblin. They flinched back from him. His eyes burned.

“You are weak. You must be stronger. So suffer. Die. Struggle. But grow. I search the world for Goblins who can rise. Beyond Lords. Beyond all others. I test them, goad them. But never help. A true King must rise alone.”

Rags felt a chill. So that was it. That was the reason he’d sought her out. Not just her, but every Goblin of note. But—she stared at Greydath. For a second she thought she felt him standing before her. Then he was gone again. Not a Goblin Lord. But he had been. Why had he given it up?

“Tremborag said you betrayed Velan. Is that true?”

The Hobgoblin turned. He hesitated a second time, but guilt never crossed his face. Just…sadness. And that age. How old was he? Greydath shook his head.

“No. Velan chose his death.”

“Why?”

If he had answers, Greydath refused to give them. That too was why he had come. To make her question. To make her wonder. It did nothing to heal the pain in Rags’ heart. Greydath shook his head.

“If you want to know, look back. Find it yourself. Garen searched. And so did Reiss. They found something of the past.”

“The key. The treasure of Velan the Kind.”

Snapjaw whispered. Greydath nodded. He pointed up, towards the invisible summit of the mountain, high, high above. Clouds obscured sight. But Rags still looked up. A vast mountain, stretching up as if it could go on forever. Greydath grinned.

“It is surely there! High above. Claim it if you will. The treasure of the Goblin King. Seek the other key. The two will unlock his gift. If you claim it, perhaps you will be strong enough to follow. Perhaps not. But it is waiting. You have the key. Garen’s will. It is your decision to follow his footsteps. To succeed where he did not.”

He pointed at Rags and she felt a jolt as every Goblin looked towards her. But the brief moment of…it was replaced by despair in a moment. Rags laughed and the Goblin Lord looked puzzled. Rags laughed, with wild hysteria.

“Key? What is the point? Garen didn’t know where other was! How can we find?”

Greydath blinked as Rags’ despair. But then his grin returned.

“Search! Struggle! Or die. It matters not. Someday, a Goblin King will rise again. And until that day comes, I will search and wait.”

He turned away from Rags. And it was to all Goblins he spoke now. The former Goblin Lord spread his arms. His body was scarred from tens of thousands of battles. He had lived longer than all of them put together, surely. His words reverberated in their ears. In their souls.

“Grow. Despair. Rage! It matters not what you are! A coward, a traitor, a slave—all these things are what is Goblin! Be what you are. But grow!”

Greydath’s eyes found all of them. He looked from face to face, burning with a passion that Rags couldn’t name.

“Find the truth. It is at the beginning. And only Goblin Kings know of it.”

They stared at him. Greydath held their gaze for another second, then lowered his arms. He was done. He turned back to Rags.

“You will not see me, child. Not until you take another step.”

“Good. I hate you.”

That was all Rags said. She did not like Greydath. She did not trust him. But—she had to admit—the pain in her chest had vanished for a moment. Now it returned, biting. Greydath saw it. He looked straight through Rags, as if he had seen someone like her a million times. But he said nothing more.

He walked past Redscar. Past Rabbiteater, Badarrow, through Tremborag’s Goblins. Past staring Cave Goblins. He left his greatsword behind. Greydath stood on the edge of the slope. He looked back once and grinned.

“Grow. And never forget.”

How could they? The Goblins stared at his back. The Goblin Lord bent. Then he jumped. He hurled himself down the mountain, a tremendous jump that carried him down the rocky slope, onto a distant rock hundreds of feet down. His feet struck the rock and Greydath leapt, propelling himself faster.

He leapt again, launching himself down the mountain. Going faster. He was laughing. Greydath laughed as he fled. Rags listened to it echoing back up towards her. The funny thing about laughter was that it sounded like sobbing, sometimes.

And then he was gone. Leaving the Goblins alone with nothing but the dead. Rags looked around. She tried to find that grief once more, but in truth, she was just numb. So many had died. It felt wrong, but after a while she couldn’t even grieve.

“Pyrite.”

Rags felt something in her mourn. But Greydath’s words had created something else in her. An urge. To keep living. Why had he died? It was to save her. Why had Noears fallen? To protect his tribe. How could she die and let them down?

Garen. Reiss. Rags would mourn them again and again, later. And she would not forget them. But—she looked around.

There they were. Goblins of every kind. Staring at her. Right at her. Rags felt the weight of their gazes and nearly stumbled. She saw someone turn to her.

“Chieftain.”

Rabbiteater bowed his head. Snapjaw knelt. Redscar and Poisonbite approached. Badarrow waited.

“Me?”

Rags asked it as she looked at the others. At Redscar. At Snapjaw. After so much, they still looked to her? Redscar nodded. He half-smiled. Pain ran through him and her. But he still smiled.

“Who else could be Chieftain?”

Rags looked around. At Redscar. At the two Redfangs, Rabbiteater and Badarrow. At Snapjaw. Poisonbite. She shook her head. And then she stood tall.

The little Goblin climbed onto a rock. She stood in front of the Goblins. Thousands. They had lost their tribes. Their leaders. Their family and friends. The Humans had shattered them. The Drakes had pushed them away. They had been used again. Used and killed.

But still, they were here. And the living were here thanks to the dead. They looked up at the small Goblin. She took a breath of the cold air and looked past them. The sky was lightening. Dawn was not far away. Rags closed her eyes. Then she drew her sword. The Goblins below her did the same.

Their weapons were heavy. Blood stained. But as they raised them, flames burst into life. Their weapons ignited, and the fire burned in the darkness. Candles for the fallen. Rags held her flaming blade aloft and looked at them. Her people. She shouted down at them.

“I am Rags! Chieftain of the Flooded Water tribe! Chieftain of the Redfangs! Chieftain of Reiss’ Goblins! Chieftain of the Cave Goblins! Great Chieftain of the Mountain! Follow me.”

And they did. The Goblins limped after the small Goblin. They supported each other. They wept and mourned, but they did follow. Their eyes fixed on the small Goblin’s back. Was she a bit taller than before? Surely. A tiny bit. She seemed taller. Still a child. But taller.

She walked ahead of them as the sun rose. It was cold. And she was so tired. But still Rags walked. The light shone down on her body and she shaded her eyes. And she led them forwards.

Into tomorrow.

—-

They found him as dawn shone down on the battlefield. Only when Tyrion Veltras’ army had left the Floodplains did the gates of Liscor open. Oh, some Humans still remained on the field, but the army had gone. That left only the Goblin dead.

And the Antinium. They lay in a neat row. A hundred and one bodies. Fragments, really. The Painted Soldiers had died as Antinium do. Hard. They had fought to the last. He knelt before them as they approached him.

“Pawn? Pawn!”

Lyonette rushed towards the Worker. He was motionless. She called out and the other searching Antinium made a beeline towards him. Belgrade, Anand—and Klbkch. The Revalantor was riding a horse of all things. He dismounted and the horse shifted uneasily. But it was too well-trained to move.

“Pawn. Are you—are you okay?”

The Worker didn’t move. He knelt in front of the Painted Soldiers. In front of a Soldier with yellow spatters of paint.

“They’re all dead.”

“They fought well.”

That was all Klbkch said as he dismounted. Lyonette looked up, her eyes flashing, but Klbkch just strode past her. He surveyed the dead as Anand and Belgrade approached. They had an escort of Painted Soldiers. They stopped in front of the bodies.

“All of them?”

Belgrade stared at the fallen. Anand shook his head.

“It was statistically unlikely they would survive. The fact that Pawn did is nothing short of a—”

He broke off. Pawn hadn’t moved. His antennae was broken. He was broken. Klbkch stared down at him. Then he glanced at the body.

“Yellow Splatters is dead.”

Pawn jerked. Lyonette glared up at Klbkch.

“Be quiet! Can’t you be kind? Can’t you be sorry for them? Pawn just lost—”

“They were under his command. Pawn led them. They fell. They fulfilled their duties.”

Klbkch stared coldly at Lyonette. He looked across the Painted Soldiers, living and dead.

“This is why the Antinium exist. Why Soldiers exist. To fight and die. How should I speak of them?”

“With compassion.”

The young woman met the Revalantor’s eyes. Klbkch hesitated. Then he shook his head.

“What good would that do?”

Lyonette opened her mouth, but Klbkch was already turning. He bent down and inspected Yellow Splatter’s body.

“Slain by a spell.”

“He died protecting me.”

Pawn whispered. Lyonette hugged him. Klbkch looked back at Pawn.

“Yellow Splatters was unique. His talents were commendable. Belgrade.”

“Yes, Revalantor Klbkch?”

The Worker shot to panicked attention. Klbkch pointed at Yellow Splatter’s body.

“Recover his remains. Bring them to the Hive. I will petition the Queen to perform the Rite of Anastases on his corpse. Yellow Splatters may be revived.”

“What?”

Lyonette stared at Klbkch, uncomprehending. But the other Workers looked up. So did the Soldiers. They stared at Klbkch. The Revalantor nodded coolly.

“The odds of success are low. Yellow Splatters may not have the levels to be resurrected. I suspect he does, but we will see. It may even be possible to give him a more fitting body. Perhaps a voice. The Queen will—”

“No.”

The word was quiet. It came from Pawn. The [Acolyte] looked up. He did not weep. The look in his eyes silenced even Klbkch for a moment. The Revalantor turned to face him.

“Explain yourself, Pawn.”

“No. You won’t revive him.”

Pawn moved forwards to stand between Klbkch and Yellow Splatters. He spread his good arms, protecting the fallen [Sergeant]. Pawn stared at Klbkch, and at the other Antinium.

“He’s in a better place. Why would you want to bring him back?”

“He is needed.”

Klbkch’s mandibles closed together, a tad uncertainly. Pawn shook his head.

“He’s free. Leave him be.”

He faced down Klbkch. The Revalantor wavered, then he turned.

“Decide as you will. But be swift. He must be brought to the Hive soon or any chance of resurrecting him will be gone. I must go.”

“Where?”

Lyonette was incredulous. She stared around the battlefield. At the dead. They littered the ground. So many that she felt sick. But Klbkch walked past and over the dead as if they were invisible to him. The horse whickered as Klbkch mounted it. The [Guardsman] and Revalantor looked down at Lyonette.

“I have my duties.”

He wheeled the horse southwards. Lyonette watched him begin to canter down the hill. Pawn turned.

“And that’s it? They died and that is all you’ll say?”

Klbkch didn’t turn. Pawn shouted at his back.

“What was the point? Why was it only us? What was this for?”

His voice broke. He fell to his knees. Lyonette bent as the other Antinium surrounded him.

“Pawn. Pawn, it’s going to be okay.”

Lies. Pawn looked up and Lyonette blinked back tears.

“She’s alive, Pawn. You saved Erin. You did save her.”

“It’s not enough.”

The Worker whispered. The Antinium shifted restlessly. But Pawn paid no mind. He looked back at the dead as Lyonette tried and failed to haul him to his feet.

“What can I do? What can I say? To the others?”

He gave the other Painted Soldiers an agonized look. They stared down at their brethren, silent. Unreadable. But not emotionless. Lyonette looked at the silent Antinium. She brushed tears from her eyes. Didn’t they know? She raised her voice and the Antinium looked at her.

“They were heroes. Obviously! Tell them that!”

Pawn looked at her.

“Heroes?”

“Yes. What else could they be? Tell them that. They were heroes. And you’ll never forget them.”

Lyonette blinked. Water ran down her cheeks. Pawn stared at the tears. And then he looked at the dead. Slowly, he stood.

“Never. We will never forget.”

The Soldiers looked at him. The Worker stood taller. Never, ever. So long as one Antinium lived. Never. Lyonette could not read the emotions running through the Antinium. She turned her head, stared towards a hill with an inn and a shattered roof.

“Come on, Pawn. We’re going home.”

The Worker looked at her. Slowly, Lyonette pulled and guided him towards the hill. The Antinium surrounded their dead. Belgrade stared down at Yellow Splatters. He looked at Anand, but the other [Tactician] had no words. Slowly, the two Workers looked back. The Painted Soldiers stood around Yellow Splatters. They gazed silently at the fallen [Sergeant] and realized the choice was theirs. Theirs alone.

They made their decision.

—-

Osthia watched the Antinium go. She knelt by the body of a fallen horse, ignoring the stink and the mud and blood that clung to her scales. She had smeared mud onto her body. And she had waited for the Antinium to go.

It was agonizing. Osthia wanted nothing more than to get up and fly past them. But she dared not. That was Klbkch the Slayer she had just seen. And she had recognized the strange Antinium from the battle. They were the enemies of her people.

As were the Humans. Osthia looked around and then dared to crawl a bit further. She was on the lookout; Tyrion Veltras’ army may have left, but a good number of his nobles had split from his army and any one of them could be her doom. She could not be caught.

She had crawled past bodies already rotting, past glowing green flies, through the mud. All to avoid the attention of the Humans. Even now, she hesitated. She had to make it to the city. But her wings were bound. Reiss had kept her under guard until his lines had broken.

She had watched him die. Osthia still wasn’t sure what she thought about it. She knew what had possessed him in his last moments. That dark presence lurking behind his eyes.

Az’kerash. Liscor had to know. Her people had to know. Osthia gritted her teeth. There was at least two miles between her and Liscor. But she had not the strength to keep crawling, nor the patience. She had to risk it all. She got up slowly and began to run.

At first her weary legs betrayed her. But as she ran, stumbling, Osthia found her pace. She ran past and over Goblin bodies. So many. Osthia had seen battlefields before. But this had been a slaughter at the end. She stared at black bodies lying in piles.

They had been the Goblin Lord’s forces. Her enemy. They had killed her uncle and Garusa and so many of her comrades. They deserved death for that alone. But Osthia couldn’t find any victorious glee in her. She only felt numb.

They had died fleeing the Humans. Running away. It hadn’t been a battle. There wasn’t honor in this. But they were Goblins. Just Goblins—

Osthia tripped. She windmilled her arms and her manacled wings flapped uselessly. The Drake caught herself, and stared at the city. She was so close! She sprinted towards it. If she could just get in range of the walls—

Something flickered in the corner of her eye. Who was that? Osthia turned.

Someone was coming. Approaching her at speed, on a horse. A Human? Osthia didn’t bother to look. She put her head down and pumped her arms. She had to get to the city! If they spotted her, noticed she’d been a prisoner—

They had to know. Drakes, not Humans. Az’kerash had been Human. This might be a plot. The Walled Cities had to know! Osthia tried to outrun whomever was chasing her, but they were faster and she was exhausted.

Closer now. But too far away. Osthia waved her arms desperately. Liscor was just in front of her. She cried out, her voice raw and unused.

“Help! Someone deliver a message to Pallass! It’s—”

The rider bore down on her. Osthia spun, ready to make a final stand. She had a sword looted from the dead. But it was no Human who rode the horse, or Klbkch. It was a Drake. He drew up and Osthia gaped up at him.

“You’re—”

His scales were dark red, no, closer to purple. He wore a breastplate that blazed with gold and fire that Osthia recognized. But it was his face that spoke to her.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss?”

He blinked. But Osthia knew him. A Wall Lord of Salazsar? What was he doing here?

“Who are you? Identify yourself. Are you a captive?”

He eyed her suspiciously. Osthia’s bindings gave her away. The Drake nodded, and then remembered to salute.

“I am. Wall Lord—sir! I was a prisoner of the Goblin Lord!”

“Goblins don’t take prisoners.”

Osthia blinked.

“This one did. But—sir, I have critical news! It must reach the Walled Cities! Now!”

She stumbled over her words. She had to say it.

“It’s the Necromancer. It’s Az’kerash. He’s alive! He—”

Ilvriss jerked in his saddle, but not with the pure shock Osthia had expected. Instead, he swung himself to the ground and practically leapt at Osthia. His claw covered her mouth. She jerked in surprise.

“Wall Lord—”

He muffled her. Ilvriss stared around, but no one was nearby. He ignored the female Drake’s protests and hissed at her.

“Quiet! I know.”

She went still, her eyes wide. Ilvriss glanced around again, and then straightened. He stared long and hard at Osthia.

“This Goblin Lord had ties to the Necromancer?”

“He was his apprentice. He—”

Osthia struggled to describe all she’d witnessed. Reiss’ subservience, his resentment, the reasons he’d followed the Necromancer. She couldn’t. But Ilvriss just nodded.

“You must have valuable intelligence. I will hear it. But not here. We’re too exposed. Follow me. What’s your rank and name, soldier?”

He offered Osthia a claw. She stared at him, and then swung herself up into the saddle. The horse grunted.

“Osthia. Osthia Blackwing, [Captain]. Pallass’ 5th Oldblood Winged Division. Wall Lord—”

“Say nothing.”

“But—”

The Drake gave her a long look. Ilvriss shook his head.

“This secret is our only advantage. We will make him pay. I swear it. But we must trap him. Come.”

He urged the horse into a trot, heading back towards Liscor. Osthia saw more Drakes racing to join him. They’d been—combing the dead. The undead, rather. For signs of the Necromancer? She stared at Ilvriss’ back. And then she remembered to ride to avoid falling off. She was exhausted, grieving, though she didn’t know why. But she burned with vengeance.

She would not forget him, ever. And the Necromancer would pay. She swore it. The Drakes rode away from the battlefield, towards the city. They passed another figure, who picked his way across the dead, slowly, stick in hand.

—-

“Is this hell?”

I don’t know. I have always imagined hell, if it exists, as a place of suffering. A place of torment, as you would imagine. Screaming, pure agony distilled into an experience. But perhaps hell is quiet.

If it is, I walk through it. My cane taps the mud. Every few feet I run into something. A body. Sometimes my cane taps on armor, other times flesh. If I were anywhere else I would be confused, unsettled by the strange forms lying around me. But I know what has passed here. And I am sick.

Everything is so…quiet. I can hear practically nothing. Nothing but my heartbeat. There are distant sounds. Galloping hooves, sometimes voices. The buzzing of flies. But around me nothing but silence. The dead lie in droves. Invisible to the blind man.

But I can feel them. Soft shapes, hard metal. They’re lying everywhere. I can’t imagine how many. I know there was a battle here, but I can see none of it. I wish my senses as an emperor extended to this place. I wish I could know the extent of my failure. My unforgivable…

Dead. Just like that. And the smell. I gag, but my nose has already gotten somewhat accustomed to the smell. It will only grow worse as time passes. And, I’m told, the dead will begin rising. I shouldn’t be here. But I can’t help it. I have to know. I have to know.

“Emperor. Your majesty!”

A voice calls out to me. Gamel. He’s been following me. I ignore him. I nearly trip over an arm. Bent down to touch clammy flesh. The body’s warming. I shudder.

“What have I done?”

“Sire, please—”

A hand reaches for me. I knock it away. Walk forwards. I’m deaf to the voice that implores me to move back, to rest. I’ve been walking through the night and into the day. Searching for something to make sense of it all.

How could I? I didn’t realize this would be the result. Could I have done anything differently? There must be consequences for this. There must—I thought they were monsters.

“Laken!”

Gamel grabs me. I start.

“Gamel?”

His voice is hoarse.

“Laken—sire. You must rest. Let me take you away. Lord Yitton and Lord Gralton—”

“Let them wait. Gamel, I have to be here. I have to witness this. How many are there around me?”

I cannot see them. But I know they are there. Gamel hesitates.

“A—score, sire. Many bodies. Please—”

“Thousands? Tens of thousands?”

“I cannot count them all. Your majesty—”

I’m shaking. I push Gamel back and stumble forwards. Where am I? I don’t know. I move forwards, tapping with my stick. Then the tip of it strikes something and something makes a sound. I freeze and Gamel draws in his breath.

“Emperor! Stand back! One of them is alive!”

He draws his sword. I hear it unsheathed, hear the laugh from below. I hold out a trembling hand.

“Gamel, hold.”

“Sire!”

“Hold. This Goblin. Is it hurt? Is it trying to attack me?”

There’s a pause. Gamel gulps.

“It—should be dead, sire. Somehow, it’s breathing. And it’s looking at you.”

“I see. You there. I apologize, but I can’t see you. I’m quite blind, you see.”

I sense something in front of me. Cautiously I tap forwards and hear a faint sound. Breathing. And—a voice? My heart skips a beat.

“Can you talk?”

“Your m—”

“Back up, Gamel.”

I bend my head to listen. A low voice. Weak. But the words are perfectly understandable. If I were not told—no, if I forget all of what’s passed—I could believe I was listening to another Human being lying on the ground.

Maybe this is just a strange dream. Or a trick. But I cannot help but believe. I listen, as the Goblin speaks. And I shake my head.

“I’m sorry.”

I hear a faint laugh. Scorn. The Goblin has every right to it. What good are my words? He—it is a he—is dying. I kneel down in the muck. I hear a sound from Gamel, but I ignore it.

One Goblin. He sounds so Human. I open my eyes, blindly, as if that could help me see him. I wish I could. I wish—and then I have a thought. I bow my head over the Goblin. He could sit up and kill me. I think he could. But he lies there, too tired to add to the dead. And I speak to him.

“I’m—I couldn’t stop any of this. It was out of my control. I can’t change their minds. I can’t do anything for anyone else. Or for you. I shouldn’t. But I want to cheat. The world should not be like this.”

The Goblin gurgles a response. A question. I pass my hand over my eyes. They shut. My eyelids are too tired to keep them open.

“If you are willing, Goblin. Believe. You need not be loyal to me. But if you will it—”

I bend my head down and whisper.

“Live.”

I hear a gasp. The intake of breath. And I sense something beneath me move. That’s all. I straighten and turn. I sense a figure hurrying towards me, hear the jingle of Gamel’s chainmail.

“Your majesty? Are you alright?”

“I am. But—get a healing potion, Gamel. Leave it there.”

“But—”

“Do it.”

I walk away. I hear Gamel hesitate, then fumble at his belt. I don’t wait to see what happens. I don’t wait to see if the Goblin survives. That’s all I can do for him. In fact, there’s nothing I can do here. I can only remember this moment. Never forget it.

“Take me back, Gamel. Take me back.”

He does just that. I slowly walk across the battlefield. Up hills, avoiding valleys. It feels much the same to me. But I stop when I hear a familiar voice.

“Your majesty. What were you searching for?”

“Sin, Lord Yitton. Sin, and guilt. Evidence of it, at any rate. Did you make contact with your children?”

“I did. My daughter does not wish to see me. And I was informed that it would be dangerous to approach Liscor at the moment.”

“But they’re well?”

Lord Yitton hesitates.

“Yes, Emperor Godart. I believe so.”

“That’s good. One good thing, at least. I’m done here, Lord Byres. I intend to return home. Will you join me? Lord Gralton’s forces will be coming with, I think.”

“Yes. I…spoke with Lord Gralton.”

Yitton Byres shifts. He was surprised that Gralton didn’t go with Tyrion. So was everyone else. But Gralton decided staying with me and Yitton was better than going to fight the Drakes. I nod.

“His company will be welcome. As would conversation on the road. And the escort. I’m afraid my people aren’t warriors. And I’m rather stranded. But I’ll happily travel with you, if you don’t mind the slower pace due to the prisoners.”

“I—would be delighted to travel with you, your majesty. However, regarding the prisoners you claimed. The soldiers are talking. They’re quite upset. Would you consider—”

“If you’re asking me to let them go or kill them, the answer is no, Yitton. Mark my words. If anyone harms them, soldier or noble or adventurer, they will pay. Spread the word.”

“…I understand.”

Do you? I wonder. But I don’t want to talk, not now. There’s time enough on the road to speak of morality to Yitton. Gralton too. I walk slowly towards the horse Gamel has saddled. And as I do, I hear shuffling. Sounds to my left. A smell not of horse or Human.

But Goblin.

—-

The train of prisoners was small. Barely a few hundred. But they had been captured, found among the dead. And for all they were monsters, they had been forbidden from being harmed. By the Human who never opened his eyes. He was the blind emperor. Some of the Goblins knew and feared him. Others just hated.

Being alive was little comfort to them. They waited, not sure of what the future held. But it could surely be little worse than the present. The Goblins sat together. And one of them had a hat.

Pebblesnatch curled up, tears running down her face. She clung to the muddy chef’s hat. She wept, and wept unceasingly. By her side, a female Hobgoblin stroked the top of her head.

Ulvama was injured. But she had survived capture and the battle. That was little consolation to her. The [Shaman] stared hatred at Laken. At him and every Human she saw.

Both Goblins looked up as they heard Laken Godart speaking. He was talking to the man named Yitton Byres and another man who smelled like dogs.

“North, Yitton, Gralton. I’ll beg your help until we reach my estates. North. And the Goblins come with us.”

The Goblins looked up as the Humans crowded around them. They were forced up, forced to march. Some resisted. Some wanted to fight and die rather than march again. But the [Emperor] forced them to move. He claimed them as his own and they were spared. But for what, they didn’t know. They could only cling to life. While the dead waited behind them.

—-

A hundred thousand corpses or more. Fields of the dead out of reach. A fallen apprentice. The death of Garen Redfang. And the end of Tyrion Veltras’ plans. The end of his plans as well.

Az’kerash, the Necromancer, walked past the waiting undead. Ghostly wraiths, huge walker zombies, undead knights. And his Chosen. They stood where he had ordered them, ready to be mass-teleported. It had been a day, but the undead didn’t grow bored. But his Chosen, Venitra, Bea, and Kerash, were restless.

And afraid. Their master was furious. He raged. He had screamed. They had never seen him thus. Now he paced back and forth, fuming.

“Disaster. What has passed here?”

No one answered. Az’kerash whirled. He stared past them, clutching at his hand. The same hand that had been severed on Reiss’ body when Garen struck. The Necromancer’s body was wholly intact and pale, but the pain was still there, a memory. He grimaced.

“Of consequence? Nothing. What a perfect waste of my time and energy. My apprentice died without returning anything of merit to me. Useless.”

The word made Venitra flinch. Bea stared past her creator as he strode past her. Speaking to himself.

“A few Drake armies and a Human one. Paltry destruction, and for what? Only Zel Shivertail’s death was of importance.”

He paused. And a look of satisfaction flickered across Az’kerash’s face.

“At least he is dead. In that sense, my investment paid enough dividends. But had Liscor fallen—”

The undead watched their master anxiously. Az’kerash’s anger blazed hot—then, suddenly, after half a day of fury—it suddenly went cold. All the wrath drained out of the [Necromancer] and he stood calm and dispassionate. The living lost significance for him.

“He is dead. And it matters little now, I suppose. A lesson in foolishness. A waste of effort. Little more. Kerash.”

The undead Gnoll stood straighter.

“Master? Do we go into combat?”

Az’kerash shook his head.

“You are not needed. This—distraction at Liscor has cost me enough time and energy. I have work to do. The next generation awaits. Kerash, return to your duties. I will begin work once more. Prepare my materials. And bring me mana potions and—scales. Drake scales, I think. And chitin. Antinium-harvested. Or spiders if there are not enough.”

“Yes, Master. It will be done.”

The Chosen turned. The undead were already moving away. Az’kerash let them go, ignoring Venitra and Bea. He had barely paid attention to Kerash. In times past he had interacted often with his prized creations, his Chosen. But they had failed him and so they were dust, tools to be used and discarded. And they knew it.

So too did Reiss pass from Az’kerash’s mind. He turned his attention towards the future, and a new creation. Something that would last. That would not disappoint. The Necromancer’s mind fragmented, each piece taking a new challenge to think on. If he had any thoughts to spare, it was only to think of another possible apprentice, and to be irritated at the failure of his last one. But it didn’t matter.

Az’kerash repeated the thought to himself. He pushed his defeat from his mind. He dismissed what had passed. The future awaited. And what had he lost? What had happened at Liscor?

“Nothing. Nothing of consequence at all.”

The world remained the same. Az’kerash summoned his magic to him and began to work. The Goblins, his apprentice—the defense of Liscor itself—meant little. After all, what had changed? The Humans made war with Drakes and each other. The Drakes squabbled. There was no change to this world.

—-

Beneath the earth, the Antinium were restless. Hundreds of thousands of Soldiers and Workers shifted uneasily. They waited in the tunnel they had built from the northern-most of the Hives towards Liscor. It was a grand project that had taken five Hive’s worth of Workers tunneling around the clock. Even so, it had only barely been completed in time.

All had been in order. Three Hives had sent their finest into the tunnel, towards the city of Liscor. They had waited there, as Workers continued tunneling. When the time came, the plan was to have them exit the tunnel and march on Liscor at best speed. They could reach the city within a day of nonstop marching. Two at the most.

That was the plan. The Queens had hatched it together and their Hives had obeyed. But their plans had fallen to ruin. Because Liscor had not fallen. The Goblin Lord had been broken at the city and Tyrion Veltras’ aim of attacking halted by Human machinations. And the Queens were…displeased.

“Order.”

Xrn’s voice cut through the tunnel. The Armored Antinium, shifting in their armor, the Silent Antinium, restlessly pacing back and forth, and the beating wings of the Flying Antinium halted. They looked up as Xrn stood above them.

The staff shone in her hands. Her eyes blazed. With fiery orange-red of annoyance, the green of surprise, and a steely grey determination. It was that last which called to Tersk, Prognugator of the Armored Antinium. He held still, though the raging voice in his mind made him want to strike out randomly. He called up at Xrn.

“Prognugator Xrn, my Queen—”

The azure Antinium gazed down at Tersk and shook her head.

“Ignore her. The Queens are furious. Their orders are not to be trusted. Hold your positions until we receive proper orders.”

Pivr fanned his wings.

“But my Queen—”

“I am in charge here. Not the Flying Queen. The Grand Queen has appointed me herself and I speak for her, especially when her judgment fails. Hold.”

Xrn’s voice made the Antinium grow still. It restored order and Tersk felt the balance in him reassert himself. He stood still, waiting. Xrn shook her head.

“We will have to collapse the tunnel. Pull the Workers and Soldiers back. All this effort. There truly is no predicting other species. Alas.”

She stared bitterly up towards the ramp that had been built to carry the army out of the ground. Sunlight shone down into the Hive. Tersk noticed some of his Soldiers and even one of his fellow Prognugators staring at it. Some had never seen sunlight. Pivr, whose Flying Antinium were allowed onto the surface to practice flying, had bragged about being in the sun. But no matter how many times Tersk saw it, he always thought—

Hoof beats. Tersk stiffened as he heard the sound echoing towards the tunnel. The other Antinium heard it too. All of them froze. Workers, Soldiers, Prognugators, all stared towards the entrance. Xrn’s eyes flashed bright yellow in warning, caution. She held up a hand and raised her staff.

Someone had found the entrance to the tunnel. Someone riding a horse. They would have to die if they came closer. The Antinium were in violation of their treaty, far, far outside the zone they were allowed to operate in. They would have to kill the wanderer.

“If they flee, my Soldiers—”

Pivr shut up as Xrn stared at him. The Centenium slowly moved towards the entrance of the tunnel. Her staff had stopped shining, casting most of the tunnel into darkness. She aimed at the entrance, the lights in her eyes turning to blackness. Tersk waited as whomever was above seemed to dismount from the horse. They were approaching, their footsteps crunching the earth above. And then—

“Xrn. Hold.”

An Antinium appeared in the entrance to the tunnel. Xrn froze. Her staff had shone bright pink-red for a moment. But at the sight of Klbkch, she lowered her staff and the magic shimmered out.

“Klbkchhezeim?”

The other Antinium stared as the Slayer walked down the ramp. Tersk felt a surge of something in his chest. He had met Klbkch, but the name, and the knowledge still made him more alert. The Slayer. And his was not the only reaction.

The Flying Antinium’s wings fanned unconsciously as one. They shifted, eternally restless. The Armored Antinium were more subdued. But it was the Silent Antinium’s reaction that was most significant. They crept closer, fixed on Klbkch. The hunched Soldiers of the Silent Antinium, camouflaged, stared at him. After all, he was…

“Klbkch. Why have you come here? We know of what happened at Liscor. There is no point to our presence.”

Xrn was speaking with Klbkch. The Revalantor of the Free Antinium, the one who was meant to guide their Hive towards its destiny, turned his head. He stared at the army of Antinium.

“No. They will not be needed. But this tunnel must remain. My Queen has sent me here to ensure it is not destroyed.”

“Not destroyed?”

Xrn opened her mandibles in surprise. Klbkch nodded. He stepped past her and raised his voice, addressing all the Antinium.

“The Workers will continue the tunneling. The Free Antinium will dig from their end as well. We will complete the tunnel. Not to be used as a staging ground for an assault, but to connect the Free Hive to the others.”

“You mean—build an underground route? But there are hundreds of miles yet to be constructed! We only built this much of the tunnel to prepare for an assault. To link all six Hives would take—”

Klbkch turned to Xrn.

“What? Effort? Workers? We have enough. And time as well. The Antinium lack none of these things. It has only been desire that prevented such activity until now. But that ceases. The Hives will be connected.”

Several colors flashed through Xrn’s eyes at once.

“The Grand Queen has not given her permission for this project. She will surely object.”

“That is her choice, yes. But my Queen has spoken. And her will be done. I have decided as well.”

Klbkch faced forwards.

“The tunnel will be expanded. The Hives linked, the passages guarded. The six Hives will be open to each other at last. So proclaims the Free Queen of the Antinium.”

The Soldiers shifted. It was the same as gasping aloud. Tersk didn’t know how to process this information. But the Workers just streamed past Klbkch, and got to work. Tersk saw Xrn’s mandibles opening and closing as her eyes changed color. Blue, doubt. Yellow, caution. And then—a bright white light. Green and pink.

She smiled. Klbkch nodded.

“We shall have to hide the presence of the tunnel. Workers, seal the entrance after my departure. Xrn. We should speak.”

“Indeed we should. Klbkch.”

He strode up the ramp. Xrn followed him. The Antinium looked up into the sun. Tersk saw Workers move forwards and the light slowly disappeared. But he remembered. And he remembered a city. An inn. He wondered if he would see Pawn again. And he thought that if he did, nothing would ever be the same.

That was probably a good thing.

—-

Liscor was quiet the day after the battle. The relieved celebrations had given way to a strange silence. After all, the city had not been attacked. But a battle had taken place. And there were dead.

Goblin dead. Perhaps it didn’t matter. But the Drakes and Gnolls of the city couldn’t forget that it was Goblins who had been driven to besiege Liscor, and Goblins who had defended it. Both had died. And that meant…

Nothing. To some, nothing. To others, everything. But perhaps the effects were most greatly felt outside of Liscor. In an inn on a hill.

The day after the battle, The Wandering Inn was closed. The shutters locked. It was barred to all visitors, and indeed, most who would have gone to the inn couldn’t even find the willpower to try. The [Innkeeper] did not want visitors.

So her guests stayed away. Even the regulars. They found other things to do. Other people to visit.

And in Liscor’s prison, a Minotaur in a magic cell heard voices. It had been quiet. It was almost always quiet where he stood. His gaze was blank. But his ears twitched as he heard voices, coming closer.

“You have as long as you want. But try to bribe me one more time and I will arrest you. Is that clear?”

“Yes, yes. I apologize. Look, it’s just that in Human cities—”

Someone spat.

“Pah. Go on.”

The Minotaur stared blankly ahead. He didn’t respond to any words or stimuli most of the time. He barely ate any food. But the second voice. Something in it called to him. His gaze was fixed ahead of him. But as a shorter, slimmer figure walked forwards he slowly looked down.

A half-Elf stood in front of Calruz’s cell. Her robes were magical. One of her hands was nothing but bone. She looked up at him. The Minotaur slowly returned the gaze.

“Hello, Calruz. It’s been a while.”

He said nothing. Ceria Springwalker frowned.

“Hey. It’s me. I’m coming to visit you at last, you giant jackass. I wasn’t sure if I should, but—hello?”

Calruz didn’t respond. The Minotaur’s gaze was slightly unfocused. Ceria frowned. She walked back and forth and the eyes slowly tracked her.

“Can you hear me? Are you…”

She hesitated. A thousand things seemed to be on the tip of her tongue. She said none of them. Ceria folded her arms?

“Do you even remember what you’ve done?”

“Yes.”

The half-Elf jumped. She stared at Calruz. The Minotaur’s eyes focused on her.

“I know you.”

“I hoped you would. You’re—what you did—”

Ceria struggled for words. Calruz spoke again.

“Below. She’s still there.”

The [Ice Mage] froze.

“Who? Nokha?”

Again, the Minotaur didn’t respond directly to the question. He looked straight through Ceria.

“I can hear her. You shouldn’t have taken me out. She knows. She’s waiting for you to let her out.”

“Who? Who’s ‘she’? Did she do this to you? Where is she?”

Slowly, Ceria approached the walls of the cell. She stared at Calruz. The Minotaur stared blankly at her for a minute, then two. And then something changed. He blinked.

“Ceria?”

This time he looked at her. And recoiled. He was surprised to see her. Ceria backed up, clearly uneasy.

“Calruz? What were you talking about? Who’s ‘she’?”

“Who?”

The Minotaur stared blankly at her. Ceria looked around. Calruz shook his head.

“Sometimes I feel like…what did I say? What have I done?”

“I—”

The half-Elf had been prepared for something. Not for this. She took another step backwards, looking down the prison. Calruz stepped forwards. He placed a hand on the magical barrier.

“I remember it. All of it. What I did. I went mad. Springwalker, you have to believe me.”

Ceria caught herself. She glared back at Calruz, biting her lip, clenching a fist.

“I believe you’re mad. You—you turned into a monster.”

“I know. I must be punished. But part of it—I didn’t intend for it. I started losing myself. You have to believe me.”

The Minotaur spoke urgently. His hands trembled on the walls of his cell. Ceria eyed him.

“I do. I do, Calruz.”

“Please tell them that. Please. I never intended this. Tell them. Make them know.”

“They’ll never forgive you, Calruz. I don’t think I can—”

“I don’t want that. Death is my only salvation. I’ll settle my debts that way.”

The Minotaur never blinked. Ceria froze.

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s nothing less than I deserve. You and I both know that. Tell them I’ll accept whatever punishment. The Gnolls—they deserve justice. Whatever it takes. Tell them. Please.”

“Oh, Calruz—”

Ceria went over to the cell. She bowed her head and put her hand against the magical barrier of the cell. Calruz stared at her.

“I’ve lost my honor.”

“Calruz—”

Her voice broke. Ceria leaned against the wall of the cell, her shoulders shaking. It was then that Pisces decided to stop listening. He straightened and turned his head. The undead mouse collapsed.

“Well?”

Yvlon stared at him. She and Ksmvr were waiting outside the dungeon. Pisces blinked.

“Well, what?”

“Don’t pretend. What are they saying?”

“I stopped listening.”

Yvlon jabbed Pisces in the side. He yelped.

“I did!”

The armored woman eyed him, but eventually nodded.

“What do you think she’s going to do?”

“Beyond saying goodbye? I have no idea. She may wish to…stay for the trial.”

“I can’t blame her, can you?”

“Captain Ceria is blameless in the guilt of former-Captain Calruz, surely.”

Ksmvr looked anxiously between Pisces and Yvlon. The [Necromancer] nodded.

“Oh, undoubtedly. Yvlon is merely referring to Ceria’s perceived guilt. If she wishes to stay, well, I am sure we can find work here.”

“And after the trial?”

Pisces shrugged. He stared towards the walls of Liscor.

“I imagine we find work.”

“Just like that?”

“It is our function.”

Ksmvr put in unhelpfully. Pisces just shook his head.

“What would you have me say, Byres? Some grand proclamation about our future? We obtained…success in the dungeon. Ceria, perhaps, closure. But this siege, the Goblins…it has made one thing abundantly clear to me. And one thing alone.”

“Go on?”

“Stronger. We must be stronger, all of us.”

Pisces looked at Ksmvr and Yvlon. He touched at his robes, and remembered the army of the undead. The Goblins. The helplessness of the adventurers on the walls, save for a few. He shook his head.

“Stronger.”

Yvlon echoed the word. She felt at her reinforced arms and nodded.

“I can get behind that idea. We need to be Gold-rank. To improve. To become…”

She trailed off. Like Pisces, she stared towards the walls. Ksmvr looked as well. His voice was anxious.

“What will we become? Comrade Pisces? Yvlon?”

The two looked at each other. Yvlon smiled and Pisces raised his eyebrows.

“Why, whatever is worthy, Ksmvr. Something greater. Something new.”

“Together.”

Yvlon put her hand out. Pisces hesitated, then placed his hand delicately on hers. Ksmvr put two of his hands on the pile. The Horns of Hammerad at looked at each other.

“Together.”

—-

In Liscor’s prison, a Minotaur and half-Elf talked. In the dungeon, the monsters crawled. They bred and fought and slept. It was…emptier. There were still monsters aplenty, but some had left. Goblins, for one. The Shield Spiders had retreated, their mad rampage on the surface having reduced their numbers considerably.

None of that mattered to the dark figure that skulked through the darkness. Toren, the undead skeleton hummed to himself as he dragged another body into the dungeon. Or rather, imagined humming to himself. He was a skeleton after all, and he couldn’t talk.

What he could do was drag things. In this case, he was dragging a dead body. A Human [Pikewoman] who’d been slain in the field. And half of a horse. It was a heavy burden, but Toren didn’t get tired. He did hurry though; the smell of fresh meat would attract scavengers. He’d left a few bodies out to distract them, but if he tarried too long he’d have to abandon his prize.

It was a winding route Toren took, around traps, through secret passages. But at last he reached a spot that he knew very well. He had claimed it. A mockery of an inn had been set up. And beyond it, a door had been placed at the far end of the hall. The door was closed. Toren perked up as he dragged the dead body towards it.

He was in a good mood. The skeleton had been in high spirits for the last few weeks, actually. To him, all the events that had passed recently were nothing but good news. First the adventurers had come by and killed a lot of monsters. Then all the annoying Raskghar died. And now?

An army of the dead. Dead Goblins, all about. Some humans and animals too. And there was Toren. Toren, who was in need of the dead.

The adventurers and the people of Liscor had done a good job of cleaning up their dead, but all the rest were just lying there. Fresh for the taking. And since Toren knew that any body could become a zombie or Ghoul if you did things right, he’d collected the bodies nonstop.

The door at the end of the hallway was shut, so Toren let go of his burden to open the door. He dragged the dead woman’s body and the horse’s half into the door and found a place for them. The dead were piled up. Not exactly neatly, but Toren knew where each one was. He wiped his skeletal hands on the dead horse, and then couldn’t help it. He turned to count.

One, two, three, four…thousand…

The dead bodies filled the amphitheater Toren had found. An obscene mass-grave. Only to the living, though. To Toren, it was possibility. It was death, raw and untapped. And he had amassed the collection all by himself.

A skeleton could do a lot if it spent all day and night just carrying dead bodies around. Toren grinned. And then he checked something at his side. A mask. It hung loosely, ready to be put on. Toren hesitated.

The mask called to him. But no adventurers had come into the dungeon for a while. They would come in time. And when they did she would grow louder. But until then, he, Toren was in charge. And he intended to make full use of his time.

The dead bodies lay in piles. Some were already stirring. The dead were rising. Toren carefully shut the door. Soon, there would be more undead. And he knew that they would grow stronger in death, especially with so many dead bodies. He had wondered what would happen if he could harness that power. The dungeon was full of monsters. Full of enemies. Alone, Toren could only run. But with an army?

The skeleton didn’t cackle because again, that was a thing that required lungs. But he was good at grinning. And he did just that. He grinned and squatted by the door. Waiting. And the dead lay. And began to rise.

—-

Jelaqua noticed the first zombie get up as she prepared the pyre. She glanced at it.

“We should burn the rest of the bodies.”

Seborn and Moore glanced at her. The Selphid amended her statement.

“Not us. But the city should. Hells, isn’t there a suppression company for hire on Izril? They’d already be here if this were Baleros.”

“Different continent, Jelaqua.”

“I guess. But Liscor will be swimming in undead if they don’t do something soon.”

“More work for adventurers.”

“It’s just—”

Jelaqua sighed and shook her head. She stared down at the wood as Moore poured oil on the branches. Here was one less undead to worry about. The half-Giant paused as he splashed oil on the body in the center of the pyre.

“Are you sure, Jelaqua?”

He looked at her. The Selphid hesitated. She looked down at the body. Garen Redfang stared up at her. He had no right to look as happy as he did in death. Not with his chest filled with holes. He had taken two dozen stabs from Relc’s spear before he’d fallen. And before that—

Jelaqua traced the hole in his chest. Just above his heart. It was a clean strike. She wouldn’t have imagined anyone could hit him like that. Even a Goblin Lord.

“You know, guys, Selphids love dead bodies like this.”

The Selphid spoke quietly. Moore and Seborn looked up at her. They knew most of what Jelaqua meant, but they let her say it anyways. The Selphid, wearing the Raskghar’s body, spoke quietly.

“Among my people, the bodies of warriors over Level 30 are worth their weight in gold. More, really. Something happens to people as they level. They change. Even in death, bodies like that are as strong as steel. They don’t break. I’ve seen it happen. People moving long after their hearts have stopped. After they’ve taken wounds that would kill them.”

Seborn grunted. He stared down at Garen and shook his head.

“Treasure to the Selphids. He was a traitor, regardless of how he died.”

“But he came back.”

Moore hunched over his staff. He didn’t weep. None of the Halfseekers did. But neither did he look away from Garen. Seborn looked away. Jelaqua nodded.

“He did. But he was a traitor, Moore. By all rights I should claim his body. Or leave it to rot. That’s what Selphids do.”

“To your enemies?”

“No. And not to our friends, either. To the useless. That’s the biggest sign of contempt.”

The other two Halfseekers looked at her.

“Well?”

Jelaqua bent over Garen. She stared down at him. At the slight smile on his face. And she thought of all he was. All he had been. Traitor. Murderer. Friend. Companion.

“Good night, Garen.”

The Selphid stepped back. She lit a torch and tossed it on the pyre. The soaked wood went up in seconds. The Halfseekers watched as the wood blazed. Smoke began rising. The body burned and the three watched until it was nothing but ash.

No one said a word. Not until the pyre was smoldering embers. Then Jelaqua turned.

“He’s gone.”

That was all she said. Moore cleared his throat.

“Do you think the key…?”

He glanced at the pyre. Jelaqua shook her head.

“I checked. He didn’t have it on him. Or in him. He must have given it to someone. Or it was lost in the fighting.”

“Do you think it was true, what he said? About the Goblin King’s treasure?”

Moore stared at the ash. Jelaqua shook her head.

“If it was true, if there is a treasure up there…”

She looked up. The High Passes stretched up overhead. The Halfseekers looked up and took in the enormity of the mountains. So high. None of them spoke. Then Seborn sighed.

“It doesn’t matter. The key’s gone. If we found it—”

Then what? They didn’t have answers for that either. The three stood around, not sure of what to say or do. They were…uncertain. Until someone broke the silence.

It was Moore. The half-Giant stood in front of the pyre and looked down. His hands reached out and lightly grasped the shoulders of his two remaining comrades. The other Halfseekers looked up at him. The half-Giant’s voice was quiet as he spoke.

“Time. Time stopped. For us and for him, I think. Ever since that day we were shattered. And so was he. We searched and lived, but we couldn’t really rebuild. We couldn’t move on. Now we can. Garen is dead. We have fulfilled our oaths.”

“We did, didn’t we?”

Jelaqua tried to smile. Moore did not.

“We can move on. We can dream of the future again, Jelaqua.”

“Some of us have obligations. Debts.”

Seborn spoke quietly. Jelaqua nodded.

“Thinking of quitting, Seborn?”

“I don’t know.”

The Drowned Man folded his arms. Jelaqua nodded. She stared into the ashes.

“I’m tired. But I can’t just turn my back now, can I? I think…one more adventure? One more try?”

She looked up. Seborn hesitated. Moore nodded.

“One more time.”

“There’s only three of us.”

“For now.”

Jelaqua smiled tiredly.

“Maybe we’ll meet someone on the road. Maybe they’ll come to us. Or we to them. It’ll happen. The only question is what we should do until then.”

“Seek fame? Settle grudges? Earn money?”

“Maybe. Do you remember our old motto, Jelaqua? Perhaps that should be our goal.”

Moore rumbled. Jelaqua blinked up at him. And then she guffawed.

“Oh, come on, Moore. That?”

She punched the half-Giant in the side. Moore sighed. Jelaqua turned. She cast the pyre one last look. Seborn walked with her.

“Let’s go.”

The three began walking away. The last of the embers began to die out. They had no words for Garen. He had betrayed them. But still, he had been a Halfseeker. And the Halfseekers had…a motto of sorts. A saying. A goal.

The Halfseekers. The Half Freaks. Those who belong nowhere but here. Adventurers for hire. People, really.

Searching for a home.

—-

“So, was it worth it?”

Magnolia Reinhart looked up from her cup of tea. Lady Bethal, Lady Wuvren, Lady Zanthia, and the women whom Magnolia Reinhart trusted most implicitly sat around her. They were in Magnolia’s mansion. They had left, and they had come back. And the world was changed now.

“I can’t say, Bethal. Not yet. But I believe it was worth the attempt.”

The woman calmly stirred a few more sugar cubes into her tea. The aged Lady Zanthia grimaced and pointedly sipped her dark tea that had no sugar at all in it. Bethal didn’t give up, however. The [Lady] eyed Magnolia.

“You threatened Tyrion to his face. With the only thing that would make him back down. Would you have done it, if he attacked Liscor? Killed the boys?”

The other [Ladies] glanced up at Magnolia. The Lady Reinhart pursed her lips. Only Bethal could be that indelicate in company. Well, Bethal, and Zanthia.

“It was a threat.”

“And?”

The other [Lady] met Magnolia’s eyes. The woman in the pink dress paused. Her eyes flickered, and then met Bethal’s gaze impassively.

“I’m known for keeping my promises, Bethal.”

The [Ladies] waited for more, but that was it. Magnolia sipped her tea. At last Lady Wuvren sighed delicately.

“So you are. I however wonder if it was wise to repeat the threat to the other nobility. That will have even greater consequences.”

“It was necessary to force Tyrion to back up. That young man never backs up if he thinks he has a chance of victory. You have to slap him with the truth before he’ll see it.”

Lady Zanthia growled around her tea. Magnolia nodded.

“It was inevitable.”

“And necessary?”

Bethal caught the sugar cube Magnolia tossed at her. She added it to her tea cup.

“I know it was to prevent the conflict with the Drakes from starting, but was that preferable to this? It seems like we’ve only created a larger mess from all this business with the Goblin Lord, don’t you agree?”

The [Ladies] exchanged glances. Zanthia muttered something about the follies of youth, loud enough to be heard by all.

“No one wins a war, Bethal. And this was a war, make no mistake. We only stopped it from being a larger one. But no one wins in a situation like this.”

Magnolia sighed.

“On the contrary. It’s quite possible to win. It just so happens that we lost this one.”

“So the Drakes won? I hardly imagine they’d agree with that.”

One of the other [Ladies] raised her eyebrows. Magnolia shook her head.

“That wasn’t what I was referring to, Lady Asca. Humans? Drakes? No. I rather imagine Izril lost as a whole.”

The women looked to her. Magnolia sipped from her teacup, her face grave.

“The most famous Drake [General], Zel Shivertail, is dead. The world is poorer for his absence, not least because he was a better man than most men I have met. The Drakes have lost him, many of their soldiers battling the Goblin Lord, and are now wary of Human aggression once more. As for the north—we spent time and effort fielding an army that did very little. The Goblin Lord razed a number of settlements. And now we are at peace.”

“And in this peace you’ve won, we’ll spill as much blood in a civil war between the nobility. Was this really worth the cost, Magnolia?”

Zanthia glanced up. Magnolia Reinhart drummed her fingers on her arm rest.

“I will acknowledge the cost. However…I cannot but believe the decision was correct. Moreover, it has resulted in some unusual gains. Ressa? Please show Lady Zanthia the correspondence we just received.”

A [Maid] moved in the background of the conversation. Lady Zanthia found a letter being offered to her. She frowned, fished out a monocle, and read the letter. She grunted loudly.

“I see.”

“What is it?”

Lady Wuvren leaned over to see. Zanthia shoved the letter in her face. Magnolia explained to the other listeners.

“The letter comes from one of the Walled Cities. And a certain member of the nobility. It would be unwise to name names. And in truth, the letter says very little of consequence. There are more perhapses and maybes than I could count, nothing of substance. But it leaves the door open for an invitation in the future.”

“An invitation?”

“To the Walled Cities. Perhaps to a soirée or gathering.”

“No Human noble has been invited to a Walled City in—”

Bethal broke off. Magnolia nodded.

“Exactly.”

“And all this came from opposing Tyrion’s plans? But the Drakes have to have known your stance, Magnolia. Why all of this now?”

One of the younger ladies looked confused. Magnolia sighed slightly.

“There’s a limit to what one can prove with words. But with this? I have rather indelicately put my finger down on the side of peace between Drakes and Humans, and like-minded individuals have taken note.”

“So. You make gains. But remember the cost.”

Zanthia kept her gaze on Magnolia’s face. The Lady Reinhart nodded.

“I am well aware of the cost. After all, we are the nobility of Izril. And we do not forgive.”

“Or forget. Any of us.”

—-

It was just politics. Lord Erill knew that. Which was why what he had chosen to do was a reply in kind. Less than a day had passed since Magnolia Reinhart had forced Tyrion Veltras to back down. What most people didn’t mention was how she’d done it.

With threats. With an open invitation to violence. Lord Erill was a [Merchant] before he was a [Lord]. He was used to underhanded business, even shady deals and other…unpleasantness. But even he had been shocked by the open threat he’d received.

Accede or die. That was Magnolia Reinhart. And the threat hadn’t just come to him, but the other nobility. But the image he had received had been meant for his eyes alone. His mother. Lord Erill’s blood burned at the thought. He was no warrior. He had come at Tyrion Veltras’ request and lent coin and his warriors to the cause, but he didn’t take to the battlefield. In the same way, he would never reply to Magnolia with steel. Or even an open threat. She was too powerful for that.

But there were ways and ways. Lord Erill knocked on the tent flap. He waited for the response and pushed his way in.

“I have something for you. And your friends.”

The [Lord] didn’t beat about the bush. He cut to the chase. He placed a bag of holding on the table as the occupant of the tent looked up. Erill spoke quickly, trying to conceal the nervousness in his chest. Magnolia was one thing. But this group was another. But Magnolia had made her choice. And so had he.

“I want no part of your…organization. And as far as you and I are concerned, I was never here. This is a one-time offer.”

“Which is?”

“Gold. Gems. Other goods that can be exchanged. Two hundred thousand gold pieces’ worth in total. Consider it my repayment to Magnolia Reinhart. I want her to know nothing of this. And I owe you and the Circle nothing. This is a donation. Are we clear on that?”

“Perfectly.”

Lady Ieka reclined in her chair. Lord Erill nodded to her.

“Then I bid you good day. I’ll see you tonight for dinner.”

He turned and walked out of the tent. Lady Ieka eyed the bag of holding. She stared at Lord Erill’s back and smiled. The [Merchant Lord] hurried away, his task done. He wanted nothing to do with the Circle of Thorns, and the less he knew of them, the better. But he had not been the only visitor to Lady Ieka’s tent. And some had stayed longer.

“Dear me, Magnolia. You do have a talent for making enemies.”

Lady Ieka reached into the bag of holding and drew out a pair of coins. She flicked them up and the gold flew into the air. Lady Ieka waved the smoking pipe she held and the coins turned into butterflies. They landed, fluttering their wings of gold. Ieka smiled.

“The Circle of Thorns will remember this.”

—-

“You know they’ll all be coming for you. You’ve made more enemies and some of the third parties will take their side.”

Ressa stood with Magnolia after the tea conference had finished. Magnolia was watching Reynold ferry her trusted inner circle back to their estates. They’d all be under guard after this. And she had no doubt reprisals were coming.

“I know, Ressa.”

The [Maid]’s look made it clear how doubtful Magnolia’s knowledge really was.

“This was really better than a war?”

Magnolia sighed. She turned from the window and looked at her oldest friend.

“I talked it over with the old man, Ressa. On one of his talkative days. And a number of [Strategists]. They had Tyrion moving south and establishing a defensive line. He would get far enough for sizeable gains, but this would be the prelude to a long, long war. It would merely place the north at an advantage. And in the meantime—he wouldn’t even get to Pallass before the Antinium did something. Or our pale friend.”

“Something has to be done about him sooner or later. Why not force his hand?”

Ressa pointed out that fact. Magnolia shook her head.

“Not yet, Ressa. Not yet. Before we can take either the Necromancer or the Antinium off the board, I need to be sure we’d win. And I’m not. I want to take care of him without forcing a war. Because he’ll just run if he’s unprepared. He needs to die.”

“The bounty you placed isn’t drawing the people you wanted.”

“Give it time. News spreads slowly in some circles. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll try something else. But I think this was for the best. The Drakes can’t afford a war and neither can we.”

“So it’s just backstabbing and poison. Kidnapping, ransoms, plotting…dark shadows lurking in doorways…”

Magnolia forced a smile onto her face.

“That’s why I keep you around, after all. Besides, it’s good to lure our enemies out into the open, isn’t it?”

“By striking the beehive?”

“Hush. What choice did I have?”

Ressa was pointedly silent. Magnolia turned. She walked towards her pink couch and ran her hand along the embroidered fabric.

“It couldn’t be allowed, Ressa. That was all there was to it.”

“If you can live with the consequences…”

“I can.”

“Then there’s nothing more to say. I’ll prepare the staff for war.”

Ressa vanished. Magnolia sighed. She whispered after Ressa’s back.

“Oh, don’t do that. Far better to prepare them for peace. After all, war is a constant. But in peace…things change.”

She looked back out the window. And she felt the world turning again. Shifting. Again and again, on the smallest of things.

—-

He stood on his desk, checking his notes, writing orders, calculating. A thousand things were on his mind, each more pressing than the last.

Painted Antinium. The ramifications of Magnolia Reinhart’s actions. Even the reemergence of the famed ‘Gecko of Liscor’. All these variables were in play. And that was only the Izrilian angle. There were matters in Baleros to attend to. Niers Astoragon scribbled notes as he checked the tally of the Forgotten Wing’s forces across Baleros. He was adding up numbers, checking their monetary reserves. And doing figures all the while.

If you had a head for such things, or experience, you could see that Niers was planning on a lot of investments. Spending capital. And you only did that for a few reasons.

“Going somewhere?”

Niers jumped. He stared back up at Foliana. The [Rogue] had appeared behind him as she liked to do. The tiny [Strategist] glared.

“Not yet.”

“But soon. You asked Peclir Im about travelling. What’s all this for?”

The Titan hunched his shoulders.

“It’s just a short trip. And if I can ensure that our company is prepared in the meanwhile—I can accelerate the training of a few of my students, reach out to some of our old graduates and other companies.”

“Make the company stronger so you can leave it? Hmm.”

“Just for a little trip. But you know it’s best to be prepared…”

Niers trailed off. Foliana eyed him.

“Mm. Where will you go?”

“That’s—”

“Bet it’s Izril. Bet it’s Liscor.”

“Shut up. And keep that to yourself.”

“You really want to visit, don’t you?”

Niers ignored her. He stared at the list of figures, speaking to himself.

“Just a little bit. And then I’ll be ready.”

Foliana watched him work. She vanished after a while. Niers didn’t know if she’d left or was just hiding. He stared at the numbers, and then glanced at something to his right.

It had been hard to get the [Diviner] to capture a single image from the scrying orb, even with these ‘movies’ that Wistram was selling. But it had been done. And now Niers had an image on his desk. It was somewhat blurred by distance. And you couldn’t make out features. But it was nevertheless an image of her. Niers stared at the young woman waving the flag. He stopped work and stared at it.

“Was that you?”

The figure didn’t answer. But Niers didn’t care. He wanted to know. And soon—soonish—he might find out. He just had to work in the meanwhile. Soon, some day—

—-

“It was her.”

In another part of the world, a pair of crowned heads conferred. A loyal servant of the throne waited. The voices were regal, by virtue of station if nothing else. They argued.

She was of the opinion that it could be a mistake, or worse, a trap. He was of a different mind.

“It was her. You saw it.”

“I did.”

Both stared at the pool in front of them. Unlike a scrying mirror, the pool was enchanted water. It had reflected the battle at Liscor for its interested audience up till now. It was really more of entertainment than anything else. They had no stakes in the fate of Izril, directly or otherwise. This had been a pleasant diversion. Or it had been right up until they’d seen her.

Possibly no one else had noticed. After all, she hadn’t been on screen long. And she was certainly not part of the larger narrative. But to them, she had stood out. As the half-Elf casting the scrying spell had been watching, before the battle had started, they had seen her.

For a second the young woman had been in sight. Climbing up the walls, carrying a little white Gnoll. It was uncharacteristic of her, as was her humble attire. But her face, her voice—that was unmistakable.

“Make sure it’s her first.”

The man with the crown spoke sharply to the waiting servant of the throne. The man bowed, crisply.

“I will make the arrangements, your Majesty.”

“Good. Bring her back. Her kingdom has need of her.”

The man stared into the enchanted pool. Her image was gone. But Lyonette du Marquin still stared back up at her father. He sat back on his throne. Wondering where she had been.

—-

A different [King] sat on a different throne. His was far grander. And his name was far more important. As monarchs went, he was known throughout the world. Derided perhaps, but known.

The Blighted King sat, listening to his steward, advisor, and personal mage, Nereshal, speaking. The [Chronomancer]’s words were crisp, and he did not waste time. Nevertheless, Nereshal could not hide his unease.

“Several of the [Mages] are protesting the—the scope of the second ritual, Your Majesty.”

“Do they? Why?”

The Blighted King looked up. Nereshal licked his lips.

“They speak of cost for little gain. Such a ritual might cripple the next generation of the kingdom. And yet—”

“Rhir’s population can sustain ten times the cost if needed.”

The cold voice made Nereshal sweat.

“Yes, sire. But some—”

“They are uncomfortable. It is not a question of cost.”

The Blighted King looked at his advisor. Nereshal nodded silently. The man on the throne turned his head and shook it slightly.

“You saw the recording as we did, Nereshal. The Antinium. Our old enemies gain in strength. They evolve. Meanwhile, the Demons have planted spies in my kingdom. Spies and traitors. What use is a sword if it is not wielded, Nereshal?”

“None.”

“Well then. It must be done.”

“But if those summoned are weak—”

A hand halted the protest. The Blighted King stared ahead. He spoke slowly, reluctantly.

“We erred. The chosen ones are weak. Timid. Children instead of warriors, heroes of prophecy. But they grow with guidance. Too much protection, but it is necessary. We will treat them as the smallest of flower buds, to be raised with care this time. And their comrades will aid in that process. It will be the salvation Rhir seeks. So we have spoken.”

“It will be done. And those who are protesting…?”

“They will obey or be dealt with. Inform them of our will, Nereshal.”

“By your leave.”

The man retreated. The Blighted King sat alone on his throne. As he did, he spared a thought for the cost. But what cost could be greater than the one the Demons exacted on Rhir year by year? And what was promised was worth more than…anything. He had spoken to the children from another world. And they had given him such dreams that even his nightmares were soothed.

Weapons that rained death from the sky. Steel and fire. He dreamed of it. Weapons to end this war with the Demons once and for all. Weapons to purify Rhir.

Someone had left a window open in the throne room. A gust blew inwards and the man on the throne caught a whiff of it. The air smelled of rot and death. The smell of home. The Blighted King sighed and dreamed of the day when there would be only spring.

—-

It was a spring day when the [City Crier] shouted the news to a crowd gathered in one of the northern cities of Izril. Humans and a few non-Humans gathered to hear what had happened in the south. They had no scrying orbs, and didn’t pay for the latest news by [Message] spell. So they listened. The man who stood on the lip of the fountain shouted the news clearly for all to hear. After all, he earned his coin from delivering the news. A little hat sat at his feet. Mostly copper coins sat in it.

“News from Liscor! The Goblin Lord’s army has been defeated! Lord Tyrion Veltras has struck a great victory and now heads south to the Blood Fields to challenge the Drakes! The battle went thusly: first, Lord Veltras besieged the Goblins with weapons from afar! He hurled gigantic stones by means of a great and powerful new weapon—trebuchets! With their aid, the Goblins were broken. Then, as they fell to infighting, Lord Veltras himself led a charge…”

The gathered crowd listened as the [Crier] elaborated on the heroic battle, embellishing a few details, making up the rest. After all, his class demanded he tell the news, but it didn’t demand accuracy or even truth. And it was in his best interests to make Tyrion Veltras stand out in a good light as possible. He was paid for that as well.

The splendid rendition of Liscor’s battle as it happened, with cowardly Goblins and noble Humans riding to the aid of the ungrateful Drakes went on for some while. Most of the people in the square had work to do and drifted in and out. That suited the [Crier] because he could repeat the tale multiple times, changing it slightly each time for the benefit of his audience.

On one of his retellings he got a welcome surprise. Someone tossed a silver coin into his hat. He looked up and shouted his thanks. He got no reply. A City Runner jogged past him. She’d only stopped to listen for a few minutes.

“Letter delivery? Put it over there.”

The [Receptionist] at the local Runner’s Guild looked up and spotted the bag of letters the Runner was holding. She didn’t bother asking about the run or the contents—this was one of the bulk letter deliveries the guild received once or more times per day. It was a direct route and sometimes contained mail from cities hundreds of miles away. Letters travelled down the main road and stopped at city to city, making the round from City Runner to City Runner.

The [Receptionist] didn’t worry that the young woman with the bag was new. You didn’t trust something like this to a green Runner. She accepted the letters, counting them quickly, and then tallied them up, gave the Runner a seal, and pointed her towards the board.

“Are you heading back to Reizmelt? We’ve got two deliveries that could go right now. Or, if you could do a rush delivery, we’ve a contract that needs to get to Malmerra by dawn tomorrow…”

The City Runner paused by the board. She took one of the contracts to Reizmelt and the [Receptionist] had the package by the time she returned. She handed it to the Runner with the instructions.

“Be careful. It’s fragile.”

The warning was heeded as the package was carefully stowed in a bag of holding. The [Receptionist] eyed the bag appreciatively. That was good stuff for a City Runner. She frowned. Something about this young woman seemed familiar, and it wasn’t just her rather unique appearance.

“Hold on. I know you, don’t I? You’re her! The girl who made a name for herself doing that spice delivery two weeks back? Don’t they call you…?”

She tried to strike up a conversation, but the City Runner couldn’t stay to chat. She was already moving. The [Receptionist] sighed. But she knew she’d see that particular Runner again. Everyone went everywhere in this business, after all.

Back out of the city the young woman ran. She ran unconsciously, her stride long, passing by wagons, riders, and foot traffic. Some cursed her, others laughed as they pointed at her feet. Some knew her and shouted at her. She waved but didn’t stop.

And then she was out of the city. There the road opened up. The spring air blew, and the cool wind was at the Runner’s back. She ran across the grassy landscape, along the dirt road.

A City Runner. She was quick. But still, [Riders] passed her on the road. Carriages sped by. She was no Courier. She had seen them running. Some, the fastest, were just blurs or afterimages. Others were slower, but they were so well-defended that trying to take their deliveries from them would be suicide.

She was neither that quick nor that famous. But the road she took was well-travelled, and so there was no danger—unless you counted stepping in horse crap. It meant she wouldn’t be paid as much, as her delivery wasn’t that difficult or time-constrained, but it suited her just fine.

And the wind blew at her back. The [Wagon Drivers] and [Guards] walking with their caravans grumbled as the spring wind blew into their faces. The City Runner ran past them, and they pointed her out. The wind changed back as she passed.

Reizmelt was a small city, but a good one for a Runner. It lay between a lot of cities, so the odds were you’d pass by here for a delivery. It wasn’t where you went for the best deliveries, but as a place to rest it worked. The Runner slowed as she approached the gates. She jogged into the city and checked her destination. She headed to a residential district and several minutes later she was done. A Runner’s Seal lay in her pouch, ready to be exchanged for a few coins.

But not today. The evening sky was drawing in, and the City Runner was tired. So she jogged further into the city. She passed out of the permanent homes and into a place where the transitory went. Inns, brothels, taverns, all littered the streets. The Runner slowed further as she passed by an opening in the city, a square of space for vendors and people to mingle.

In a plaza, a [Fist Fighter] plied his trade. The young woman stopped to watch as he stood in a small ring, lined by nothing but twine. He was bare-chested despite the cool air and his hands were wrapped with leather, making them thicker, rounder. He rang a little bell and called out, attracting attention.

A crowd gathered around him. The young man shouted a time-worn slogan.

“Challenge me! A gold coin to the one who can knock me down and keep me down! Five silver to fight! If you’re standing in five minutes, the gold coin is yours!”

The word ‘gold’ attracted more than a few people over. One of the men, a passing [Farmer], inquired about the prize. The [Fist Fighter], a young man with a twice-broken nose and a boxer’s ears, replied.

“Five silver coins if you’ve a [Warrior] class of any kind. A gold coin if you win. Two silver if you’ve no classes in combat.”

The [Farmer]’s eyes lit up. He handed the young man a pair of silver coins and entered the ring to the shouts and cheers of his fellows. The City Runner watched and saw the [Farmer] had more than his fair share of muscles. And the young man was smaller than he was by a good deal. Still, the boxer waited, undaunted.

The [Farmer] took a few practice swings as the [Fist Fighter] waited. Then he nodded and someone rang the bell. The fight began as the young man tipped over a wooden hourglass.

On the [Farmer] came and his swings were fast and wild. The [Fist Fighter] danced in the area, dodging and weaving, blocking what could be blocked. And when the swings missed he lashed out. His leather-covered fists sent the [Farmer] reeling back. One and two and again. The young man took no hits and the [Farmer] fell down after a minute.

The audience groaned and cheered. Another man scrambled up. He was a tough, a bouncer. He offered five silver to the cheers and entered the ring. The [Fist Fighter] had no time to rest. Nor did he need it. Two minutes later, the bouncer stumbled out of the ring. His companions mocked him, but none of them dared to enter. But they weren’t the only takers by far.

So the boxer beckoned and they came. Mostly men, but a female challenger sometimes came by on the rare day. First the brave or foolish stepped up and were carried out. But then the serious fighters came by. Those who waited for the [Fist Fighter] to tire or thought they knew his game.

And he beat them all. Soon, the little cup by the ring had silver coins aplenty. And the young man was covered in sweat. He was about to scoop up his cup when a new challenger stepped into the ring.

“Boy. I’m an adventurer in a Gold-rank team. What will I have to wager for a gold coin?”

A man with steel armor and an enchanted shield and a steel mace strutted forwards. His team stood behind him. They laughed as the [Fist Fighter] sized up his opponent. The crowd jeered and dared the young man to take the fight. The City Runner watched.

And the boxer looked up and calmly replied as he wiped sweat from his brow.

“Five silver, sir.”

The adventurer went red. His team laughed, and the man took his armor off. He was scarred and his muscles bulged. The crowd oohed and went silent. The [Fist Fighter] raised his gloves and went still.

They started with the bell. The [Fist Fighter] wasted no time. He charged and his fists flashed.

First once. Then twice, he struck the adventurer with blows that made the audience wince. The big man stumbled and cursed. He swung, but the young man danced around him. Punching, jabbing. He struck again. But the adventurer, who was part of a Gold-ranked team, was ready.

“[Flurry of Blows]!”

And his punches were quick. The [Fist Fighter] stumbled as the first punch lifted him off his feet. How many pounds lay between the two? The City Runner counted, and saw the next blow take the boxer in the stomach. The young man stumbled and received a punch to the back of the head.

Down he went. The adventurer nearly kicked at him until he was reminded that was against the rules. He waited as the boxer rose. When he raised his hands, the adventurer rushed forwards with a yell.

The crowd shouted and moaned as the [Fist Fighter] tried to weave and block. But this time he was outmatched. Twice he went down and twice he rose. The big adventurer knocked him down a third time and there the boxer stayed. Not because of a count. If he’d had the strength he would have risen a dozen more times. The Runner had seen it done.

The adventurer who had boasted walked out of the ring, nose bloody, bruised, but gloating. He stopped and took his prize: a gold coin, or in this case, twenty silver coins from the cup. He walked away, laughing with his team goading him for taking the hits in the first place. The boxer lay on his back, staring up at the sky as the crowd departed.

The young woman approached then. She saw the [Fist Fighter] trying to open a small bottle filled with a weak healing potion. But his hands were clumsy with the gloves. So she took it for him and offered him the bottle.

Silently, the [Fist Fighter] drank. He looked at the Runner and nodded to her. She nodded back. After a while he was able to move again.

Coin gone, bloodied, he sat up. The Runner waited, but the boxer was done for the day. He shook his head. She left him there to clean up and collect what remained of his day’s earnings. And she went to the inn both were residents of.

The Huntress’ Haven was ill-named. Not because it wasn’t a haven for anyone who liked hunting; the place was a haven for adventurers and their ilk. But only because the [Innkeeper] was a man, more like a bear himself. He waited the tables himself and turned as the City Runner pushed into the building. He roared at her.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the Wind Runner, back from another delivery! You want food? I’ve got a meat stew boiling.”

The young woman nodded. She waited for him to get a bowl and eyed the simmering cauldron over the fire. The [Innkeeper] ladled some of his soup into the generous bowl. It was thick, with heavy chunks of meat.

There were a few unspoken rules for eating in this inn. Mostly it had to do with the stew, which was pretty much a standard for dinner.

You didn’t ask which kind of meat was in the stew. The [Innkeeper] was a former adventurer and he hunted down most of what went into his kitchen. It was always edible, fresh, and non-poisonous. Cheap, too. Taste was not a guarantee.

The City Runner took the bowl with thanks and walked across the room. The inn wasn’t too occupied despite the dinner hour, which the [Innkeeper] noticed with a scowl. Nevertheless, his regulars ate at their tables.

One of them was a girl who sat at the back. A teen, really. Younger than the boxer, who came in, bruised and bloody to mockery from the [Innkeeper], who had told him again and again not to fight adventurers. The City Runner paid no attention and glanced at the girl.

She was shivering. And hunched over her hot food. The young woman was wrapped in thick layers of clothing despite it being spring and her hair was jet black.

She ate furtively, close to the bowl, in small bites. If you looked closely, and she was unguarded, you’d see she had pronounced canines. Not that she ever smiled or showed you her teeth if she could help it.

The Runner didn’t look. She took the hot bowl and went up the stairs to her room. The inn was old and the floorboards creaked. She found her room, second to the last, and went in. She placed the bowl on the side table next to her bed and looked around.

The wind blew. A small breeze, filled with the scents of the mystery stew, dust, and the smell of the inn. In her small room, Ryoka Griffin let the gust blow the hair around her face. Then she opened the window.

The wind flew from her inn and into the night sky. Ryoka sat in the open window, and lifted the bowl of soup up. She dipped a spoon and tasted. The wind blew in a small tornado, swirling her soup. The young woman smiled and the wind lifted her hair.

“So the Goblin Lord’s gone.”

She looked out across the city. Night was falling. Ryoka ate slowly, savoring the hot meal. The wind didn’t bother her. It was comforting. She closed her eyes, picking apart the story she’d heard from half a dozen [Criers]. Battle. A rout. Tyrion Veltras challenging the Drakes. Goblins fighting Goblins? But Liscor still stood.

“Good thing I wasn’t there to make it worse.”

That was all Ryoka said. She put the empty bowl to one side and perched on the inn.

“Trebuchets.”

A howl filled the air as a sudden gale rattled the tiles on the inn’s roof. Below, the [Innkeeper] struck the floorboards and shouted for Ryoka to keep it down. The wind subsided to a breeze.

“Sorry.”

Ryoka stared across the dark landscape. The air was cool. The wind swirled around her, soothing. The young woman closed her eyes and thought of her friends. Then she opened her eyes. Her past lay behind her. A white Gnoll. A smiling young [Innkeeper]. Shattered ice.

The dark night air was still. But still the wind blew around Ryoka Griffin. She stared up and smelled the earth. The flowering world. And she sighed. Ryoka stared into the night and whispered.

“It’s going to be a beautiful spring.”

End of Volume 5.

Author’s Note:

Another volume ends. This one was the longest. The longest and, perhaps, the hardest. Certainly the longest.

I have mixed feeling about how it ended. As I wrote many times, I wanted to end the Goblin war arc in this volume. Honestly, I thought we’d be done at the end of Volume 4. So much for predictions.

But really, I do have regrets. Some of them are just in how I wrote some chapters, or how I built up plotlines. I made some places too long, didn’t focus on other details. I think…this is the first major war I’ve ever written. It will not be the last.

It’s funny. Each author has their own way of telling stories. Of talking about battle and conflict and loss. I have my own style. I read all the comments talking about how the characters, Goblins especially, seemed to slip out of trouble at the last moment. And honestly? The final battle had always been planned like that.

It’s about expectation. This is a story about fantasy. Magic. Another world. People don’t die as senselessly as they do in our life. Sometimes they do. Other times they lived charmed lives. But war brings death. And characters die.

This chapter ended with despair, with sadness. And it was meant to. I believe a good story has happy moments. Wonderfully inspiring moments. But also sadness. Otherwise how would it reflect life? To me, a great story inspires emotion. Happiness, anger, grief, annoyance…the only failing comes from a scene that doesn’t convey those feelings as strongly as it should.

Did I do a good job? I hope so. And I’ll keep doing my best. And, for anyone worried, after this volume won’t be another war. We will have peace, and all that entails. At last, the Goblin Lord’s arc is done. I can focus on all the stories I’ve neglected. And yes, Ryoka Griffin. Not wholly on one place or another. But I can branch out. The writing doesn’t need to be as constrained. More calm, magical moments waited I’m excited about the future.

But I will take a break. I always take a break at the end of each volume. This time I’m taking 2 weeks off. I feel a bit guilty about that, but only a bit.

I pushed very hard in Volume 5. I wrote chapters that were upwards of 20,000 words in one sitting. My hands and, I think, my mind, are very tired. So tired I can’t really feel it. So I need two weeks. In truth I’ll just have one week off; I have a project I need to finish that will take a week to complete. So, two weeks. On Monday, the 18th, I’ll be back with the first chapter of Volume 6. I’m sorry about the delay, but I think I’ll be ready to write my best then.

Thanks so much for reading Volume 5. I hope you enjoyed it, ups and downs, good parts and bad. I’ll see you soon. After a bit of a rest. I think we could all use one. Waiting for spring,

–pirateaba

6.00

Ryoka Griffin lay dreaming. It was a confused dream, a good one. And a sad one. She dreamed of familiar faces, of the dead who in her dream were living and laughing. An inn on the hill waited for her, and she found herself running towards the door and drawing ever further away.

With every step she took, she ran backwards. Until she came to a place where the ground was bare, and where frozen shards of ice glittered. And she heard the sound again, a fragile noise, as quiet as a heart breaking. Unforgettable.

Bad things had happened. Even dreaming, Ryoka Griffin knew that. Terrible things. Somewhere, in her dream, a girl was crying. And Ryoka was not there. She was far, far away.

But that was not the point of Ryoka’s dream. She was crouching, writing in the dirt next to the ice, when she looked up. She thought someone had called her name. Ryoka looked up and saw a face. It was not icy, nor was it familiar. But the voice was. And the figure laughed and reached out, from somewhere far away. She reached for Ryoka and told her it was going to be alright. And Ryoka reached up and tried to take that hand, believe that promise. She saw a smile—

“Up!”

And a thud nearly shot her out of bed. Ryoka felt the impact shake the floorboards beneath her, felt her heart leap into her mouth, and practically somersaulted out of bed. She landed on the floor, ready to fight whatever had struck her—until she remembered. Ryoka heard another thunderous impact, and the same, booming voice from below.

“Get up, you lazy Runner! You too, [Fist Fighter]!”

Ryoka slowly felt at her chest to make sure her heart was in one piece. She heard someone else fall out of bed. The thumping on the floorboards paused a second, and then Ryoka heard somewhere, down the hall, another impact. The inn’s third and fourth guests were rudely awoken the same way.

“Up! I’m not asking twice! Anyone not down in five minutes eats nothing! Wake up!”

“I guess it’s time for breakfast.”

Ryoka muttered to herself as she rubbed her face. She stared out the window, and noted that it was barely past dawn. She stumbled towards the door, opened it, and walked outside.

A young man was blearily staring at nothing. He was bare-chested, stocky, shorter than Ryoka, but well-muscled. Only, he didn’t give Ryoka the impression of a burly fellow, like the [Innkeeper] who’d just woke her up. He was more of an average frame that had put on muscle without fat. Sinewy was the word Ryoka was looking for.

One of the reasons for Ryoka’s observation of these facts was that the young man in question, Alber, was naked except for some boxer shorts. They’d been put on backwards.

She stared at him. He stared back, and then Ryoka realized she was nearly naked as well. The two gave each other another long look and then backed into their rooms. Five minutes later, Ryoka opened her door at roughly the same time as Alber. Both didn’t say anything as they walked downstairs, but then Ryoka caught herself. She cleared her throat.

“Uh, morning.”

Alber looked back over his shoulder. He hesitated, and then nodded awkwardly.

“Morning.”

That was all they said, but Ryoka counted it as a victory. She walked down the rest of the stairs, avoiding a slippery spot halfway down to the bottom, and saw a huge man for whom the word ‘burly’ had been made. He turned as he set out five bowls of soup on the first of the relatively clean tables of his inn.

“Took you long enough! Here. It’s from last night. Eat up and hurry up—I’m going hunting.”

Ryoka chose one of the bowls and sat at a nearby table. Alber, without so much as a word, did the same. The [Innkeeper] didn’t care. He was already wolfing down his breakfast, which, Ryoka had to note, he’d added two eggs and a heel of bread to. Her bowl was unadorned.

“Good morning, Mister Madain.”

This time Ryoka didn’t get to greet him first. She’d been…choosing her moment when the other two guests of the inn came down the stairs. The person who’d spoken was a thin girl, wrapped up in layers of clothing. She spoke carefully, her pale face poking out of her clothing. She sniffed, and wiped her nose. Madain, or ‘Mad Madain’ as people called him behind his back and when they were sure he was out of earshot, looked up. He grinned at the young woman and the rather woebegone man behind her.

“Morning, Fierre. And morning to you, whoever you are. Enjoy your sleep?”

The fourth guest of Mad Madain’s inn, The Huntress’ Haven, blinked. He was a [Trader]. New to the city of Reizmelt. And apparently ill-liked, because no one had warned him of this inn’s particular idiosyncrasies. He blinked and looked at Madain.

“I, uh, did. Thank you, Mister Madain. But uh, I didn’t know we’d be waking up—”

“Like it? I came up with it myself. We all get up at the same time and eat together! I can lock up the inn that way. Here. Breakfast.”

The [Trader] looked into the last bowl of meaty soup—the double of the one he’d eaten last night. Fierre had already taken her bowl and was quietly eating it. He gulped.

“I uh, I think I might go out for breakfast, sir. Did you say you’ll be locking up?”

Madain scowled.

“Yeah. In ten minutes. You want something from your rooms, you get it now, got it? Otherwise I’ll be back in the afternoon.”

“Ah. W-when?”

The question seemed to be too much for Madain. He slapped the table with an open palm.

“I don’t know! Sometime!”

The [Trader] looked around. He got nothing from Ryoka, Alber, or Fierre. All three had heard variations of this argument before and wanted no part of it. Ryoka’s only concern was filling her stomach, and then figuring out how to wish Fierre a good morning too.

“But this is an inn, isn’t it? Couldn’t you leave it open?”

“If I had a staff, yeah. I don’t. And I’m not leaving my inn open to get stolen from.”

Madain scowled.

“But if a [Thief] broke into it—”

“I’ll hunt him down, and cut his balls off. What’s the problem, man? Either eat or stop asking questions! My food’s getting cold!”

The two men stared at each other for a long moment. The [Trader] searched for words, and then shook his head.

“I’m—going to get my things. Please don’t lock up. I want to pay for my room.”

He went back up the stairs. Madain glowered and shouted at his back.

“You’re still paying for the nights you booked your room for!”

There was no reply. The [Innkeeper] turned back to his bowl. His three remaining guests didn’t catch his eye. Madain glowered at his meal.

“Good. I didn’t like him anyways.”

No one replied. The scene just witnessed was a common one at The Huntress’ Haven. Ryoka, who’d only been staying here for two weeks, was used to it already. And she had to be—you either learned to deal with the most infamous [Innkeeper] in all of Reizmelt, or you found somewhere else to stay. Most chose to find somewhere else to stay.

Mad Madain’s tale was a simple one. He was a retired adventurer. Gold-rank, or rather, he’d been part of a Gold-rank team, which wasn’t quite the same as being certified Gold-rank himself. But he’d been good enough to survive until retirement, and he’d done what most adventurers liked to talk about: open an inn. The problem was that Madain had exactly the opposite temperament that any good [Innkeeper] needed. He might have made a wonderful tavern owner. But [Innkeeper]? No.

One example of Madain’s style was how he woke up his patrons for breakfast. He’d decided early on that it was tiring to serve bed and breakfast all day and wait for people to wake up. So they woke up when he did and got out of his inn when he decided. Sometimes it was before dawn, others, late in the day. Regardless, when he was up, Madain served food, and then left his inn to fulfill his true passion: hunting. He had been a [Javelineer] and his arm was still as strong, even if he preferred to win his fights up close.

All of this just meant that his inn was very, very empty of regular guests. At least of the kind who stayed overnight. Still, if you could stomach mostly meat dishes, leftovers, waking up at dawn, and Madain’s own personality…you couldn’t beat those prices! Bed and breakfast, thank you. Plus you could be sure everything was fresh.

The inn had three regulars. Alber, the [Fist Fighter]. Fierre, who had sharp teeth and multiple jobs. And Ryoka Griffin. City Runner, otherworlder, and now, the Wind Runner as people had begun to call her.

It wasn’t really a mark of fame. Madain still called Ryoka by her nickname because he couldn’t be bothered to learn her actual name. As for Fierre and Alber—they kept to themselves. Alber was flexing his hands, and Ryoka knew he was eating lightly. He’d be out in the square nearest to the inn within the hour, with his little bowl and ring set up. He was a [Fist Fighter], and earned his coin challenging visitors and the citizens of Reizmelt to fights.

In a week, maybe three, he’d probably be off, to another city where people had never heard of him before. As for Fierre—well, apparently she’d been staying at this very inn for nearly a year. And Ryoka didn’t know what her class was, but she’d noticed Fierre’s teeth. They were sharp.

Ryoka finished her bowl quickly and sat back for a moment to let it digest. Despite her rude awakening, she didn’t feel bad today. Not particularly good either—it was another day. But she’d said one out of three good mornings and that was a partial win, wasn’t it?

“Oi, Wind Runner.”

Ryoka’s head snapped up. Madain was looking at her. He pointed with one stub of a finger.

“You’re always humming that tune. What’s it called?”

Ryoka coughed and turned a bit red. She looked at Alber for a second—she’d been staring at him.

“Uh—The Boxer. It’s…by Simon and Garfunkel. It’s just a song I like.”

Alber didn’t notice Ryoka’s stare. Nor did he seem to notice the title of her song. Madain just grunted.

“Who? Never heard of them. The names sound funny. Gnollish. You some kind of fur-lover? Been down south? I heard you came from that way.”

Conversation was unusual during breakfast, at least, two-way conversation. Ryoka scrambled for a reply.

“I did. Uh, I used to run around Celum.”

“Never been there.”

“Oh.”

And like that, conversation ended. Madain went back to noisily eating. Ryoka stared at her empty bowl. Then she glanced at Alber again.

He wasn’t from her world. Ryoka was sure of that. And yet, he was a [Fist Fighter]. Not the first this world had ever seen, but unique to Reizmelt. After all, fighting with your fists was normal enough, but for money? Why not be an adventurer if you liked hitting and being hit?

This world had no boxers. No tradition of the sport, at least, not in Izril. There were [Gladiators] in Chandrar, [Mercenaries] in Baleros, and [Sellswords] throughout the world, but no boxers. At first Ryoka had been sure that Alber was from her world. But he hadn’t looked up at hearing the song’s name.

Oh well. Ryoka sat back in her chair. Eventually, Madain stood up. He didn’t ask for bowls or go around picking them up; Ryoka policed her dish and utensils and left them in the kitchen with Fierre and Alber. The three walked outside as Madain remained to eject the unfortunate [Trader]. The two young women and the young man exchanged a glance. The city of Reizmelt was still dark. Still waking up.

Ryoka saw Fierre coughing into the scarf wound around her head, for all that it was only cool. It was spring, and the world had warmed. Still, she was bundled from head to toe. She was certainly shivering enough to warrant it, but—Ryoka cleared her throat. Now.

“Morning, Fierre.”

The young woman jumped. She looked at Ryoka, and then gave her a smile that exposed exactly none of her teeth.

“Morning, Miss Ryoka.”

She hurried away before Ryoka could say anything else. Which was good because that was all Ryoka had. Good morning. Or ‘Morning’ to be hip and chill with the modern generation. Ryoka sighed. Then she brightened. Alber was striding away, already putting on his leather gloves. Ryoka looked back towards the inn.

“See you, Madain! And good morning!”

The [Innkeeper] looked up from threatening the [Trader] with bodily harm as they argued over his fee. He opened his mouth, but Ryoka was already gone. And she was grinning.

Mission accomplished. Three out of three. The [Trader] didn’t count. Ryoka hadn’t prepared her heart for a fourth good morning. She began running down the streets of Reizmelt. The city had paved streets, smooth brickwork that Ryoka was grateful for. She kept an eye out for crap on the ground, though. Literal poo was not something she wanted to step in, or broken glass or anything else. And as she ran, the wind picked up.

It had been still in the air. But as Ryoka began to move and her stride lengthened, a breeze ran through the city. It was gentle at first. Then it picked up a bit. It filled the air and Ryoka smiled. The wind swept down the street, filling the air around her back. And it woke the city up.

A shutter flew open as Ryoka passed underneath. A man staggered to the open window, got a blast of wind in the face, and shouted at her back.

“Run somewhere else in the mornings!”

Ryoka waved an apologetic hand. The shutters rattled as the wind swept past them, seeming to delight in making as much noise as possible. She heard similar insults from other houses, but then a young pair of hands thrust open a house’s shutters on the ground floor. A little face poked out and shouted.

“Miss Wind Runner!”

A gust of wind blasted into the child’s face. She made a delighted noise, and climbed out of her window. Another child raced out the door. A young boy waved as he ran after Ryoka.

“Wind Runner! Miss Runner!”

“I’ve got work. Shoo!”

Ryoka tried to fend off the little kids running out of their houses after her. Of course, that only made them chase her harder. In the end it didn’t matter. Energetic as they might be, they were quite slow. Ryoka left them behind as she approached her destination. The Runner’s Guild of Reizmelt. She was a regular there. Or at least, the [Receptionist] knew her on sight.

There was a Runner’s Guild in almost every city. Big and small, where they knew every Runner’s face by name or where they had an assembly line. It was almost always a female [Receptionist] at the desk. Apparently that was a policy of the Runner’s Guild.

Ryoka slowed as she entered the building. She made sure to wipe her feet on the mat before entering, and she headed straight for the board filled with requests. The few other Runners chatting or doing overnight deliveries looked up when they saw her, but no one knew her well enough to call out. Ryoka studied the board and found nothing but cheap requests.

Deliver a package to the next city over. Do the daily bulk-letter delivery. Pick up a package from a village and deliver it. The fee for each delivery was marked and Ryoka saw nothing more than a few silver coin’s worth of work on first glance. Then she spotted a nice contract at the bottom. It must have been new, because it was good and no one had picked it up. She snagged it.

The [Receptionist] at the desk had been patiently waiting for someone to come to her. She watched Ryoka approach and then put on a cheerful smile.

“Good morning, Miss Griffin.”

“Good morning. Here’s my request.”

The [Receptionist] checked the paper as Ryoka waited patiently. She’d probably been the one to put it up, because she looked up almost instantly.

“Sixteen silver coins for a priority delivery to Blaiseford’s Lookout. Letter delivery. The deadline’s by evening. Will you take this request?”

The Runner hesitated.

“Any counter-offers on this delivery? Any bounties I should know about?”

Ryoka felt silly for asking, but she had to know. The [Receptionist] shook her head briskly.  She would have said if there was. Ryoka nodded.

“In that case, I’ll take it.”

“Wonderful. One second, please.”

Ryoka waited as the young woman turned and went to a bunch of sorted packages ready to be delivered. She came back with the letter in question—high-quality paper emblazoned with a blue wax seal shaved with wood. Ryoka had expected it to be something like that. Whomever was paying for priority had to be fairly rich. The [Receptionist] briskly spread a map out in front of Ryoka.

“The path from Reizmelt to Blaiseford takes eight hours for the average runner. There is a road the entire way there. However, please be aware that you will be travelling through the Himalt Swamplands if you take a direct route. There is a road that skirts the swamps, but this is a priority delivery and the interior route is relatively well-maintained. Be on the lookout for undead, submerged monsters and bandits, however. We’ve had reports that the Bloodfeast Raiders were operating out of that area two months prior, and although they’ve moved, any signs of activity should be reported immediately. Do you need an illustration of the known raiders?”

The words were spoken quickly and briskly as she traced a path for Ryoka. The Asian girl shook her head.

“No, thank you.”

The [Receptionist] nodded and rolled up the map. Her leg buckled as she went to bend and put it away. Ryoka saw her catch herself. The two pretended the moment had never happened.

“In that case, here is your letter. The seal you will receive is not Blaiseford’s usual seal. It will look like the following: blue stripes on white painted wood and a little crest of a bird, drawn in red—”

Ryoka memorized the seal’s description and nodded again. The [Receptionist] finally handed her the letter in question and marked down the time Ryoka had picked it up. And Ryoka’s name.

Things were more complicated in the north. Around Celum, the process would have been quick. Get to the desk, get your package, hear what deadline there was and if there was a threat in the area—and go. But here Ryoka not only got a rundown of the nearby threats, but her progress was monitored. She was more accountable. And that was because her delivery mattered up north, where it didn’t further south.

To put it another way, the stakes were a lot lower around Celum, and the threats marginal—unless you were to venture near the High Passes. Around Reizmelt, which was further north than Invrisil, the dangers to a City Runner were higher, and not from the local wildlife.

Bandits, bounty hunters, and only occasionally monsters were what killed Runners in the north. When Ryoka had asked about bounties or counter offers, she’d been checking to make sure this delivery wasn’t contested. As in, no one would hire a [Bandit] group to take her out or try and kill her and steal the letter for themselves. It was something she had to be very careful of.

As a City Runner, Ryoka was a low-tier pawn in any power game. It was unlikely she would get involved in a major incident—that was a job for Couriers—but you never knew when you might attract the wrong kind of attention.

Still, this letter was only sixteen silver coin’s worth of cargo. On the other hand, it was almost a gold coin’s worth of money to deliver a single letter. True, it was an eight-hour journey, but it made Ryoka a tiny bit suspicious. So, as she left the Runner’s Guild she did not immediately head for the gates. Instead, she took a detour and went back the way she’d come.

There were more people on the street, and they looked up as Ryoka ran past, the gust of wind following her. It had stayed outside of the Runner’s Guild, but it was still there when she left. This time it was a light breeze on her back. Ryoka turned down the street, passed the Huntress’ Haven, and came to a little door set in an alley not a block away. She knocked twice on the door, and then kicked it once. There was a long pause. Ryoka heard a little slot slide open, saw an eye for one second that she recognized. The pupil was…slightly red. Then the door quickly opened.

“Delivery?”

A young woman stood inside the tiny little retreat. There was a door on the far end which led to a [Carpenter]’s shop, but it was locked, barred, and would never be opened. There were no windows in this…place either. And Ryoka was pretty sure that the entire room was under some kind of magical ward. She could feel it in the air. It hummed in her ears, but she just nodded.

“Just now. I’m asking for an open-and-check.”

She looked at the young woman as she walked behind her counter and sat on a high stool. Fierre, whom Ryoka had just seen, nodded and reached out.

“What’s the delivery price?”

“Sixteen silver coins. I’ll give you…three.”

“Four.”

“Three and six copper?”

“Done. What was the Runner’s Seal description?”

“Blue stripes on a white painted wood chip. Uh, a little bird in the corner. Red.”

“That’s…a [Lord]’s personal seal. Let me look it up.”

Fierre reached for a hand-bound book. She began flipping through it quickly. Ryoka interjected.

“Try Blaiseford. That’s where—”

Someone knocked on the door and kicked once. Both girls froze. Ryoka went still, and Fierre looked up. She reached for something on the counter. A bell. She rang it once. The two heard footsteps, and whomever was there left. They’d be back in thirty minutes. Or they’d find someone else.

“Blaiseford?”

Fierre looked at Ryoka as if nothing had happened. Ryoka nodded, glancing back at the door. Fierre noticed the look.

“Don’t worry. Even if they saw you come in, no one’s reporting you. If they do, they’re in trouble.”

Reassured, Ryoka nodded. Fierre went back to looking through the book. At last, she peered at a little entry and made a sound.

“Ah. Here it is. You’re delivering to Lord Beilkit. Of House Malt.”

“Malt?”

Ryoka suppressed a smile. Fierre looked up. Her lips twitched for a second.

“They’re an old family. A hundred and…two years old. They earn their profits through their lands, actually. Sheep is big on their estates.”

“I see. How about the letter?”

“Let me check.”

Fierre reached for a drawer, pulled out an amulet with a clear stone. She ran it over the letter lightly and shook her head.

“No reaction. Want me to open it? It’s just a wax seal—there’s no trick to the letter that I can see.”

“Please.”

“One second.”

Fierre reached over for a little blade, very flat, and lit a candle. She began warming the blade before carefully teasing at the wax seal as Ryoka watched. The running girl had a moment of qualm as she watched. But only a moment. She watched Fierre begin to tease the seal off the letter. The girl looked up.

“You might want to stand back.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Ryoka retreated to the end of the room. If Fierre had thought it was dangerous, she would have told Ryoka to wait outside. The girl opened the letter slowly, her movements careful, taking care to leave the seal intact. But both she and Ryoka were waiting to see what the letter contained.

Fierre was a Runner’s fence. Or perhaps information broker was a better word. Ryoka knew that Fierre didn’t really deal on the wrong end of the law—certainly not enough for the local authorities to worry about her. She was…an opener. And what she opened were envelopes.

The Runner’s Guild had a strict code. Runners delivered messages, through storms and mud, outrunning monsters and hiding from bandits. They were an incorruptible force that existed only to deliver goods and messages across the continent at lightning speed.

In theory. In practice, Runners were as corruptible as any organization. More so in fact; Runners didn’t earn a lot to risk their lives, at least, unless they were Couriers or had cushy, safe contracts available at all times. So that meant their loyalty towards the people they delivered for was negotiable.

Highly negotiable, in fact. In the north, where information was worth gold, selling details about who was sending what to whom was highly profitable. Ryoka hadn’t known that when she’d first come north, but after two weeks of earning barely enough silver and copper to survive, she’d picked up on how things were done. She’d paid for information, and found out that Fierre was one of Reizmelt’s local go-betweens, the person every Runner knew but didn’t talk about. The person they went to when they wanted to know what they were carrying.

It wasn’t something Fals or Garia would have done around Celum. Even Persua wouldn’t have stooped so low—not because she was unwilling, but because there was no profit in it in the south. There weren’t enough of the nobility to justify the risk. But up north? Here you could earn gold coins for delivering a letter, if you made sure to sell the contents of the letter to a few information brokers on the way.

“No tricks on the envelope. Hopefully the letter’s just folded and there’s no trick to folding it or a slip meant to tear…no dust or other contents…”

Fierre mumbled to herself as she gently inspected the letter. She was holding her breath too, in case someone had sprinkled something nasty into the envelope. Ryoka watched her, praying that Fierre wouldn’t accidentally rip anything or give away that the letter had been opened. If that happened, Ryoka was in trouble. And if the letter contained a trap, she and Fierre were in trouble. It wasn’t likely, but…

The Runner’s Guild had their own methods of checking for poison or traps. After all, they were the middlemen and if one of their Runners delivered the equivalent of a bomb to someone, they’d suffer for it. But again, there were always exceptions. And sometimes people warded their gifts in creative ways.

Risky business all around. A Runner who was deemed too untrustworthy wouldn’t keep their job. And if they annoyed the wrong people, they could skip being fired and end up dead. So everyone walked a tightrope. Was it better to be known to be trustworthy and get hired for that reason, or sell what you could and risk the consequences for profit?

Ryoka didn’t open many letters she was given. But ones from the nobility addressed to each other were a different matter. She waited as Fierre took out a rather lengthy message, again written on expensive paper as opposed to parchment. The opener looked up.

“Want me to read it?”

“Yes, please.”

Fierre nodded. That was another service she provided. She scanned the letter, and to Ryoka’s surprise, the tips of her pale ears went red. She kept reading, though, scanning the letter from top to bottom. Then she looked at Ryoka and shook her head.

“Nothing. An affair, that’s all. Between—”

“I don’t want to know. Please seal it back up.”

Ryoka spoke quickly. Fierre nodded. She put the message back in the letter and began to delicately heat the wax seal to reapply it to the paper. Ryoka breathed more easily.

“So just an affair?”

“Mhm.”

“Was it…interesting?”

Fierre smiled, and then covered her teeth with one hand.

“Um. It’s certainly worth something. The details alone would earn you—hold on.”

She pressed the wax seal back onto the letter and pushed it towards Ryoka. The girl took it, carefully blowing on the seal to cool it before she put it in the bag of holding on her side. Fierre was doing a bit of calculation with her quill, scratching into the wooden desk.

“I could…I could give you six gold coins for the information.”

“Six?”

Fierre flashed Ryoka a grin.

“The details were very interesting. But um, I wouldn’t recommend it. Because the contents of the letter are private, so the risk’s high…”

“…That it would be traced back to me. Got it.”

Ryoka nodded and thought for a second. Six gold coins were appealing, but this secret sounded like it could bite her if the contents of the letter got spread around. She shook her head as she touched the bag of holding at her side. She could use six gold coins. Oh well.

“No thanks. Not a word about it to anyone. Here.”

She put three silver coins and six copper ones on the table. Fierre swept them up and nodded.

“Thanks for the business.”

“Thank you. And uh, see you later.”

The young woman nodded slightly. Ryoka coughed. Should she not have said that? On the other hand, it wasn’t as if they didn’t see each other every day. She walked back towards the door, slid the peeping slot open and checked the alleyway. No one was there. Ryoka opened the door, and slipped out.

Her encounter with Fierre had taken about ten minutes and set her back roughly four silver coins. Not ideal, but it had been worth the time spent. Or so Ryoka felt. She consoled herself over the loss of the silver coins as she ran towards the gates.

“It’s not like it’s not a waste of coin. I know the letter’s not trapped, that I’m not walking into a trap…probably…and I’m solidifying my reputation. You know?”

The wind blew around her in response, snatching her words up. Ryoka sighed, but then she smiled as the wind blew her hair and raced ahead of her, through the gates. The [Guardswoman] on duty looked up, and a man driving a wagon turned his head as Ryoka raced out of the city. The Wind Runner left Reizmelt behind.

“Everyone plays this game. I’m not a bad person for doing it. I’m a bad person for other reasons.”

Ryoka informed the wind. It didn’t seem to care. It blew at her back, lightening her steps ever so slightly. No, more than that, it made a difference. As she ran across the flat grasslands that was Reizmelt’s landscape, the wind blew more and more fiercely, and Ryoka felt herself take off.

The wind at your back. If you had ever run through a gale, you knew how hard it was to run with the wind in your face. But when it was behind you? Sailors on ships, airplanes, runners—it didn’t matter who you were. The wind would slow you down or make you run faster. And the wind was always at Ryoka’s back these days. It was why she was called the Wind Runner. It was…her one triumph.

Ivolethe’s last gift to her.

Ryoka turned her face up to the sky. It was clear. The sun shone down warmly, but the wind made her cool. It blew the scents of spring around Ryoka. Budding flowers, fresh earth—and she felt a chill of excitement run through her. The wind was at her back. Ryoka was running with the wind.

A young boy was sitting with his father as they moved towards the city in a wagon. They were probably [Farmers], or else they lived in a nearby village and they had business in the city. As they moved down the dirt road, they saw Ryoka run by. The little boy’s eyes widened as the wind blew in his face, nearly lifting the hat off his head.

“Look! Dad, look, it’s the Wind Runner! She’s leaving the city!”

He clung to his straw hat, pointing excitedly at Ryoka. She heard him only after she’d passed; the wind snatched up his words and sent them to her. She half-turned and waved. The little boy waved back excitedly, the wind blowing around him. Ryoka smiled.

This was her magic. Her power. She’d run from Liscor, left Erin behind, run far as she could after Ivolethe had…died. She’d run away from it all because she was too weak. Too weak to stand up to Az’kerash and Venitra. Too weak, and too destructive. So she’d run north, to try again. And on the way she’d found the wind.

It had taken her a month and a half. Not long. Not long at all. That was how long she’d been gone from Liscor. It felt like far longer. But Ryoka had counted every day. It had taken her two weeks of running, barely stopping to rest to find Reizmelt. She’d passed Invrisil, the City of Adventurers. She’d gone further north still, footsore, weary. And by the time she’d gotten to Reizmelt, she’d understood the wind.

Not by learning. Not by reaching some epiphany. Just by being alone. Alone, with nothing but the wind to keep her company. And her guilt. And it had reacted to her. Perhaps it was Ivolethe’s loss that did it. Ryoka could still remember the sound.

“I wish she could see this. She’d probably tell me not to get a big head. ‘I said run like the wind, not with it blowing about, you stupid fool!’ Or something like that.”

Ryoka laughed softly, and the wind carried her words away. She was alone. Alone, but for the wind. That was how she lived. There were other Runners on the road of course, and Couriers too. Ryoka sometimes saw them running like lightning across the ground. And there were people on horseback, wagons, adventuring teams marching to slay some monster or other…

But Ryoka ran alone. Alone, but for the wind, and her thoughts. Ryoka started talking to herself in short bursts. It was a new habit—mainly because she felt like the wind listened, even if it didn’t understand. It wasn’t a person. It didn’t think. But it was…something.

“My reputation. It’s probably…good? Fierre’s going to sell what I did, right? Can I…pay to check my own reputation somehow? I really don’t want to be known as a snitch.”

So far, Ryoka had only sold information about what she was delivering three times. And each time, it hadn’t been anything highly confidential. True, she’d never been handed something top-secret, but she liked to imagine she was establishing a reputation was someone who could be trusted not to open deliveries. Okay, she’d had all the expensive-looking parcels opened by Fierre, but she’d never asked to see what was inside. That was important, because Ryoka was sure that Fierre was reporting that detail as well.

Runners went to openers to collect information, but details of what they did with that knowledge would be sold as well. Ryoka had no doubt that Fierre was doing the same dance of selling what she knew to other information brokers, while maintaining some level of confidentiality. And if that was the case, Ryoka had a vested interest in maintaining a reputation as a reasonably-trustworthy City Runner. It was all politics in the north. Politics, alliances—information was coin.

“But at the end of the day, you still need to do the delivery, am I right?”

Ryoka turned her head as if the wind was a real thing, flying by her side. She grinned—and then sensed something. A changing in the winds. Ryoka missed a step and then threw up her arms.

“Aw h—”

The wind changed. Suddenly, it blasted southwards, buffeting Ryoka from the side. It tore at her clothes, and Ryoka found herself stumbling, cursing as grass stems and dirt were blown up and into her face. She staggered in the direction the wind was going, pushing, trying to make it stop, but it was like trying to heave a mountain uphill with just her mind. The wind howled for a second, ten seconds, seventeen—

And then it stopped. Ryoka opened one eye, wincing, and then wiped at her face. She stared a black bug crawling on her hand, and flicked it off. It took wing and a little gust obligingly blew it away. Ryoka looked around.

“Gust from the north. Ow.”

She sighed and shook her head. She thought about swearing or throwing something at…the air, but there was no point. It wasn’t as if the wind had done that maliciously. The winds had changed, that was all. The winds could get very strong around Reizmelt. She should have noticed they were changing sooner.

“I forgot rule one. Okay.”

Ryoka began jogging again. The wind blew at her back, obligingly helpful as always. And if Ryoka wanted, it could blow in her face, whirl away a cloud of gnats—even gust hard if she willed it. But she had to remember the first rule of running with the wind.

Rule #1: The wind is not your friend. It didn’t think, at least, not as far as Ryoka could tell, but it did have…moods. Unlike the fey, the wind was a force of nature and that meant it wanted to blow, to gust. Her control over it was personal. When the air currents changed and a gale blew up, Ryoka could either run with the wind, or fight it—and that was dangerous.

“How would I explain it to Erin? Hey Erin, I can run with the wind. I’ve got…wind speed. No, that’s awful. I can control the wind. Yes, like a super power. No, I won’t use it to sweep dust out of your inn. Okay, maybe. But am I getting paid?”

The young woman laughed. Then she grew sober.

“But the wind—I can’t control it. It’s…not mine. That’s what Ivolethe would say. ‘Ye fool, you. The wind obeys not you nor I! It only follows. If it changes its mind, it will blow your silly head off. The wind is stronger where ye move. But it is not yours. Force it and you’ll…’ I don’t know. But the backlash probably gets worse if I try and conjure a tornado. If I can even do that.”

The wind was stronger where Ryoka was. That was all. Stronger, and inclined to follow her. Where there was no breeze, one sprang up around Ryoka. Where the wind was a hurricane, it would be…a larger hurricane with Ryoka nearby. But she couldn’t control a hurricane. She could only suggest, push the wind slightly. And it didn’t obey her completely even then. Her mood affected the wind. If she raged, it raged. If she was calm, it was calm.

It was like having a magical, invisible friend. Slightly frightening. But oh, so grand. Ryoka looked up as some grass blew upwards. High, high into the sky. So far up that she couldn’t see it. But the wind still rose, ever higher. Some days she could just sit on a hill and stare up into the sky and feel the wind blowing. It made her smile.

Smile. Ryoka kept running. She felt her toes pressing down on soft grass. And she began to run faster.

And that was all Ryoka did for the next few hours. Just run, at a jog she could maintain for hours, watching the landscape change. People on the road passed by, and Ryoka came to a crossroads. She studied the sign, went north. Another hour on the road, and then she went east.

The ground changed then. From solid earth to marshy waters, filled with tall reeds. And unexpected places where the ground suddenly became water. Ryoka ran slower here, keeping to the smaller dirt road. There were fewer travellers around. More bugs. And the Runner girl checked her belt, wary of monsters lurking in the waters.

It was at this point that the wind decided to blow again. Ryoka yelped as some water sprayed her in the face. She took two steps forwards, slipped as the trail suddenly met a spot where the waters had flooded it with spring rains, and fell. She got up, cursing, and shook her fist at the wind.

“You’re as bad a Frost F—you’re half as bad as—you really piss me off, sometimes!”

The wind blew around Ryoka, and she imagined it was apologetic. Grumbling, Ryoka got up.

“I hate marshes.”

And apparently, the marshlands hated her. By the time Ryoka reached the city of Blaiseford’s Lookout, which sat far enough away from the marshlands, she’d decided that the ‘shortcut’ through the marshes was not worth it. True, it had saved her hours, and she’d reached Blaiseford in six hours, but she was muddy, and a few bugs had managed to bite her despite the wind’s protection.

“Is that a Runner I see, or a marsh monster?”

One of the [Guards] at the gate called down at Ryoka as she jogged up to the entrance. She opened her mouth to snap. And then she caught herself. Wait. He was smiling. It was a joke. Ryoka reconfigured what she was about to say.

“You try running through that damn marsh and not slipping. Why the hell did you decide to build a city at the edge of a marsh, anyways? Are you all crazy?”

The [Guard] chortled, and one of his fellows called down.

“It’s good hunting! And we’ve got [Farmers] who love the place! They drained a new patch of land and they’re growing crops faster than we can eat them! What’s not to love? So long as we don’t have to get near the place.”

“True enough.”

Ryoka shook her head. There was a lot she could say about draining wetlands and ecology—but after slipping twice and finding the swampy waters around her, she wasn’t in the mood to speak up for the marshes. She looked up at the [Guards].

“Mind giving me directions? I’m on a delivery to the uh, Malt Estates.”

“Oh, it’s to the left. Just follow the nicer roads. You’ll see it poking over the rooftops. Big building. Blue roof tiles. You see it?”

The [Guards] pointed Ryoka over, smiling. She nodded and waved at them. See? Wasn’t that easy? And she hadn’t cursed at them or flipped them off.

Better. Ryoka ran down the street, attracting few head turns for her appearance. But no one had heard of her in this city. She stopped in front of a very rich mansion that was set inside the city. Rather incongruously, but Ryoka supposed that it was important to stay inside the walls. She walked up the steps to the door and rapped on it loudly.

“City Runner on delivery!”

She waited for a minute. Then the door opened. A very proper [Butler] opened the door and blinked at Ryoka. Not in surprise, but more distaste. His gaze went first to Ryoka’s muddied clothing and then to the two missing fingers on her right hand. And then to her bare and muddy feet.

“You have a letter for Lord Beilkit? Please present it.”

“Here you are. May I request the seal?”

Ryoka fumbled for the letter. The [Butler] looked askance at her slightly grimy fingers touching the letter, but Ryoka wouldn’t give it to him until he presented the seal and she’d checked it. They exchanged letter and seal.

“Thank you. Is there a return letter? I’m available to wait if—”

“No. Good day to you, Miss Runner.”

The [Butler] coldly shut the door. Ryoka stared at the door and heard his footsteps moving off. She bit her lip. No tip. It sometimes occurred, especially in noble houses. Magnolia Reinhart had been famous for her tips—now, wasn’t that an old memory? But nope, not here. All she got was a dirty look after six hours straight of running. Ryoka turned and began walking away. She was hungry, tired, and she wanted a bath.

—-

Okay, so some days aren’t the greatest. I can’t help but curse that [Butler] as I walk away from the fancy mansion. I try to shed as much dirt from my feet on the lovely white stone tiles as I do.

Jerk. He didn’t have to look at me as if I was pond scum. I know I’m dirty. And yes, my fingers are dirty. Okay, I could have wiped them, but I forgot. And what if Lord Beil—whatever wants to send a letter back, full of salacious sexual tension? I could take the letter and save him a trip to the Runner’s Guild. I could even wait outside and come back!

But no, instead I get sent off. Think it was easy running through the marshlands? I was on the lookout the entire time for a Swamp Troll or something moving in the waters. I nearly peed myself when that frog croaked.

Stomp, stomp, stomp. I calm down a few minutes after leaving the mansion. I have to remind myself to be calm. The wind helps. I take a few deep breaths. Speak in my head because speaking out loud tends to get people looking at you strange.

Calm down, Ryoka. You did your job. You got paid for it—well, you’ll get paid for it. You did it, you were professional, you didn’t snap at the [Guards] and you even made them laugh. You said good morning. Now you’ll get some food, maybe see if there’s a bathhouse, go to the Runner’s Guild…you can even use a tiny bit of healing potion for those bites. You did it. Now get out of your head.

The young woman shook her head. And she stopped obsessing over the last encounter she’d had, no matter how much she wanted to. It was hard at first, and then she looked up and felt the wind swirl around her.

“Hoi, Miss Runner! Got the boot, did you? That swanky butler tell you off before or after he took your delivery?”

The [Guards] on the gate were switching posts. Ryoka looked up and grinned. Suddenly, they didn’t seem so bad. She shouted at the taller, brown-haired one as the shorter one with red hair and freckles grinned at her.

“I didn’t even get through the front door. Last time I do a delivery to this [Lord]! Next time he can run through the swamps instead.”

They laughed at that.

“Our city’s not that bad! You just need to take the main road. No one maintains the swamp route—not in the spring.”

“No one told me that. The [Receptionist] at my Runner’s Guild said it was fine.”

“Hah! Where are you from?”

“Reizmelt.”

“Oh? Not far! Hey, I have a cousin who lives around there. He’s a [Butcher]. Do you think I could send a letter with you?”

“For a copper coin, sure. I’m going back there. If you can get it to the Runner’s Guild within the hour I’ll take it with the bulk letter delivery and anything else headed that way.”

The shorter [Guard] brightened. He nudged his companion.

“Hear that? All I need now is a [Scribe]. Who’s open at this hour?”

“Mm. Try the fat lady down Elmheart’s road?”

“But she’s no fun.”

“She’s married, Greilm.”

The two’s banter somehow reminded Ryoka of another pair of [Guardsmen]. She smiled.

“Right, but before that—do you know where I can get something hot to eat?”

“They’ve got wonderful seared fish at this inn—or if you’re in the mood, fresh bread’s being sold at this [Bakery] with cheese in the filling—”

The two directed Ryoka to a number of the best eats according to them. And soon Ryoka was chomping down a hot cheesy mini loaf of bread and a seared fish straight from the marshes. Belly full, she was even able to smile as she went into the Runner’s Guild this time.

“Delivery to turn in. Here’s the seal.”

“Lord Malt’s seal? I hope you didn’t go to him looking like…”

The girl at the counter raised her eyes at Ryoka’s condition. The young woman made a face. The girl was barely sixteen, but she was giving Ryoka the same knowing look the [Guards] had.

“It was a priority delivery. I thought speed was important.”

“Maybe. Next time come here and we can rinse you off first. Speaking of which…you want some hot water?”

“No, I’m headed back to Reizmelt. I’ll take the bulk-letter delivery and whatever else you’ve got. Is there anything?”

“No, sorry.”

The girl looked genuinely apologetic. She handed Ryoka a small sheaf of letters. The Runner girl sighed. Copper coins for the lot, then.

“Thanks.”

The young [Receptionist] eyed her.

“Are you sure you don’t want a bath?”

Ryoka hesitated. She did want one. But she’d be on the road, and so what was the point? She could take one at Reizmelt. She smiled.

“Thanks, but I’ll pass. I appreciate it, though.”

“No problem! Have a good run, Miss…?”

“Oh, Ryoka Griffin. Here. I can sign—”

Awkwardly, Ryoka signed over her name and collected her earnings for this delivery. She wished the girl at the desk farewell and left the Runner’s Guild. And suddenly, Ryoka was in good spirits.

It had nothing to do with the bug bite on her ear, or the mud. Or her tired legs, which were asking for a Stamina Potion. But Ryoka felt good because here she was. Talking to people, making small chat, not blowing up. Being a Human. It shouldn’t feel so good. But it was hard. And she had to work at it. But when it did happen, she felt good.

Ryoka’s high spirits lasted all the way to the edge of the city. Then she started running and her good mood didn’t so much evaporate as…well, it took second place to running. When Ryoka was in the zone she stopped thinking as much. She would have put her ear buds in and zoned out to an audiobook or her songs on her iPhone, but it was dead. And there was no [Mage] she trusted to repair it. So Ryoka ran.

—-

This was a Runner’s life. Run, and run, and run. And get back to Reizmelt footsore, pouring a tiny bit of healing potion on a cut on the bottom of her foot. Tired, exhausted, really. But Ryoka had gone the long way around the marshes and at least she didn’t have any more mud on her. She headed straight for the Runner’s Guild, dropped off her letters, and made one delivery in place of the Street Runner.

“Hey, are you Emid?”

“Who wants to know?”

The [Butcher] turned at his counter. Ryoka presented him with a letter.

“Fresh from your cousin in Blaiseford. Greilm sends his regards and says you should come over and try the fish sometime.”

The [Butcher]’s heavyset face brightened into a smile.

“You spoke with Greilm? How’s that lazy bastard doing?”

“He seemed to be enjoying himself.”

Ryoka smiled. She chatted with the butcher named Emid for a few more minutes. She’d spoken with his cousin earlier this day, but it had been eight months since Emid had last seen his cousin, at their family’s home. And again, somehow that made the run a bit more worth it. Ryoka even got a tip—four copper coins. Generous, for a letter like that.

Tired, Ryoka walked back down the street towards the Huntress’ Haven. She was so weary that she thought she might try climbing into her second-floor room from the outside if Madain wasn’t back yet. It was evening, after all. She paused in a square to look and see if Alber was plying his trade, but he wasn’t there. In another part of the city, probably. But Ryoka did hear a familiar voice.

“News from the Blood Fields! Gather round, gather round! Lord Tyrion met the Drakes in battle after challenging the Walled Cities to combat!”

A [Crier] was standing on a little platform, shouting loudly to his audience. He was a small man, but he had a Skill or his lungs were superb, because Ryoka could hear him clearly at a distance. She drifted over, and, spotting no handy benches or ledges, elected to sit on the ground instead. She saw a few children and adults come over, hungry from news from abroad. The [Crier] shouted his message at his crowd, starting with the news of Lord Tyrion Veltras—a name Ryoka had heard often this last month—first.

“Over forty thousand Drakes lie dead in the Blood Fields! Lord Tyrion Veltras is returning north with the majority of our army intact! Another victory for the north!”

A cheer went up from the crowd. Mostly muted, though. Ryoka saw that it was more adults that were happy about the news than the children. Forty thousand Drakes? It was just a number to them. For Ryoka’s part…she didn’t smile, but listened intently as the man went on.

“Lord Veltras personally led the charge and broke the disorganized Drakes’ lines twice-over! His [Mages] greatly outnumbered the green, and green-scaled [Soldiers] the Drakes took to the field, and our nobility laid havoc to their ranks! First, it is reported, Lord Veltras’ army opened up with a daring charge followed by wave after wave of our finest infantry, wielding Human-forged steel—”

“Which makes it better, of course.”

Ryoka sighed. She listened with one ear to the play-by-play, but then gave up. It was just details of the battle, not whether Liscor was doing well. Or anything else. The audience listened, captivated by the [Crier]’s words, though. He was a storyteller as much as a reporter. And in truth, Ryoka had only one label for his announcements and that was propaganda.

She didn’t believe it was the one-sided victory for Tyrion Veltras that the man claimed it was. And if it had been—why? By all accounts, the Drakes were very good at war. If forty thousand of them had perished, how many Humans had died? Or how had Tyrion Veltras won so decisively?

It didn’t matter. She was far away and nothing she knew could affect what had already happened. But Ryoka still kept and ear out for all news around Liscor. She still felt a pang every time she thought about the city. But if she went back now—no. Not yet. She wasn’t ready yet. She didn’t deserve to go back yet.

Ryoka bowed her head, tired now. She noticed the [Crier] was done, after relating a tale about a giant Griffin slain by some adventuring team up north and the death of a beloved [Toy Maker] in the local area. He didn’t have news about world events at the moment, or he’d judged his audience wasn’t in the mood for news like that.

Ryoka wished he’d talked about the other continents. Chandrar and the King of Destruction, maybe. It had been too quiet over there. Or what about Rhir? Baleros? She wished there was some other way to get gossip, but if she began paying for news she’d eat up her remaining coin supply. And she had spent almost all the gold she had paying for—

Ryoka was feeling the charms at her waist and the equipment on her belt when she noticed two things. Another person had taken the [Crier]’s place, to considerably more enthusiasm and a larger crowd. The [Crier] scowled as a [Troubadour], or perhaps just a [Bard] with a lute took up a spot on the little wooden stage. She began to sing popular songs on request, and in accordance, the crowd began dancing, singing along or just listened. Some [Shopkeepers] moved outside to sell and join the crowd, and a few of the artisans did likewise.

Among them was a familiar face. Ryoka picked Fierre out of the crowd in a moment; she was sitting outside a shop, keeping her body low and sheltering a mortar and pestle with one hand from the light breeze in the air. She was quite careful to let none of what she was grinding spill as she listened to the [Troubadour] sing.

Apparently Fierre had more than one job. Which…made sense. Openers probably didn’t get all that much work and there would be a lot less deliveries this late at night. Plus, Ryoka suspected that if a Courier wanted to use a go-between, they might go to someone with more experience and gear than Fierre.

There she was. Ryoka had a mixed reaction to Fierre’s presence. Part of her, old Ryoka, said to leave her be, to not talk to anyone, and to sit in her room and wait until it was time for dinner and then sleep. But new Ryoka, which was to say, the part of her that wanted to change, said to go over and say hi. But how did you do that? Ryoka had no idea. No experience. So she used her best technique.

What would Erin do? It was a question that guided Ryoka. It gave her courage. And it was one she could always answer. What would Erin do?

“Hey Fierre! I just saw you. Over there. Because I was staring. What’s up? Opened any interesting—uh, I mean, how’s the…’wax business’?”

Ryoka smiled. She filled her heart with the image of her friend’s face and got up. A bit of courage. She walked over to Fierre. And paused as an old woman threw open the door to her shop.

“Fierre! Dead god’s sake, I told you—”

The woman had to be in her late sixties. She had grey hair, a smutched apron and clothing—only the stains weren’t from blood. In fact, they were in quite a number of colors. And the old woman’s skin was similarly tattooed by foreign substances. She was an [Alchemist]; the smell emanating from her shop told Ryoka that. And she was holding something. A light mask made out of cloth. She thrust it at Fierre as the girl looked up. The old [Alchemist] berated the girl as she pointed at the mortar and pestle.

“I’ve told you time and again—you can’t grind Duskwilter stems without a mask! And outside? That scarf’s not enough protection, not by far! You have to do it inside with the mask! And gloves—thicker ones! I’ll—I’ll fire you if you don’t remember next time!”

Her voice quavered with worry, giving away the lie. But Fierre did duck her head.

“Sorry, Miss Kelysta.”

The [Alchemist] shook her head as she picked up the little, sealed package of what had to be the dangerous Duskwilter stems with extreme care.

“You’ll get the shaking and paralysis within four years if you keep it up! And people will look to me! Your coughing—could it be—?”

She noticed Fierre’s shiver and turned paler with worry. The girl tugged the scarf further around her face—she’d been sitting in the shade too—and shook her head.

“It’s just a fever. I caught a cold.”

“Another one? But I gave you a potion that—”

Miss Kelysta disappeared back inside her shop, fussing over Fierre. Ryoka watched. Grinding up poison in front of the shop without a mask? Dangerous. But if Fierre was who Ryoka thought she was, maybe poison was low on her list of things to worry about. But then why was she shivering? To pretend she needed the heavy clothing? Maybe…

Ryoka saw the shop’s door close and realized she’d missed her chance to say hi. Of course, she could; Fierre was probably working away inside. Erin would brush right in, ask about the flowers and if they were good in a stir fry, and probably help Fierre out while chatting to Miss Kelysta. And Ryoka could do that. All she had to do was open the door…

For a solid twenty seconds Ryoka hesitated in front of the shop’s door. Then she turned away. She slunk off as a voice in her head berated her for her cowardice. But Ryoka kept going. Maybe next time. You couldn’t win them all.

—-

Be a better person. Be sociable. Run faster. Learn to read the wind. Ryoka tried to put that mantra into practice that night, as she ate a Corusdeer steak. Rare. The Huntress’ Haven was bustling, Madain was in a good mood from a successful hunt, and Ryoka was enjoying her food.

What kept Madain’s unique inn afloat was the fact that he served meat almost every night, and that his alcohol was cheap. As such, the dining hour earned him a lot of his profits. That didn’t meant the inn was full to bursting—it just meant there were more people in it than his three regulars.

And Ryoka got a steak. Fresh, only a tiny bit too bloody, and she could have seconds if she wanted. If you could get over the early hours and Madain, staying at his inn really was rewarding. But it wasn’t the [Innkeeper] Ryoka was focused on tonight. Madain was busy serving food in between telling stories of his glory days to anyone who would listen.

No, it was Alber that Ryoka was interested in. And Fierre, but the girl didn’t let anyone eat with her. Ryoka noted—only because she made a point of spotting anything that confirmed her theory—that Fierre’s steak was so bloody it could have gotten up and walked.

Alber was sitting at a table, eating alone like Ryoka. He had several bruises unlike her, but it looked like he’d come out ahead without any fights against adventurers. He was eating slowly and Ryoka wondered if he’d cut his mouth. The [Fist Fighter] was surprisingly reluctant to use healing potions of any kind—maybe he’d learned that it wouldn’t toughen his body if he healed up right away.

Now was the time. Ryoka had exchanged good mornings with Alber for an entire week now, and she’d even had that bonding moment with him being knocked flat the other day. She got up and carefully walked over with half her steak on her plate. Alber looked up as Ryoka came over.

“Uh, hi. Mind if I sit?”

Brilliant opening. Just, 100% smooth style. But Alber just nodded and cleared his gloves out of the way. Ryoka sat across from him, which immediately felt like the wrong move. He glanced up at her.

“So. How was business?”

“Fine.”

Alber looked up, slightly uncomfortable. That made two of them. Ryoka tried to smile, and then realized she looked even weirder. Calm down. Do the Erin thing.

“Uh—had any good fights?”

“One. A [Miner]. Good punches. Got me twice.”

Alber gestured to a bruise on his upper collarbone, and tapped his ribs. Ryoka nodded.

“I’ve seen you fighting every day. You’re pretty good. Self-taught?”

“That’s right.”

“Have you ever taken lessons? I mean, from someone else. I’m only asking because I know a thing or to. About fist fighting.”

Alber looked up from his steak.

“You do?”

Ryoka nodded, encouraged by the way this was going.

“Sure! I took lessons when I was a kid—I was wondering if you wanted me to show you a few moves. Your uh, style is good, but it could use work. I’d love to show you what I learned to improve it. When that Gold-rank adventurer got you, I thought that you could have had him if you were baiting him a bit more. If you changed the way you fought—want me to show you sometime?”

Too late, Ryoka realized she might have said too much. Alber was frowning. He looked at Ryoka and both of them heard a guffaw.

“You? Teach him to fight?”

Madain shouted over at the two of them. Somehow he’d overheard. He laughed and some of his buddies laughed with him.

“Sure, let the Wind Runner teach him how to dance about! Use magic while you’re at it! You don’t need tricks! All you need is grit, and this!”

He made a fist and his arm bulged. Half of the guests laughed. Ryoka flushed. She looked at Alber.

“I don’t think you need magic. I’m just trying to help. I know a few things.”

“I got that.”

Alber looked past Ryoka at Madain. He didn’t rise to the [Innkeeper]’s bait. Then he looked at Ryoka.

“Thanks for the offer. But I’m fine, thanks.”

Even Ryoka could pick up on that clue. She rose at once, taking her plate.

“That’s cool, I was just suggesting it. I uh, learned from watching some other fist fighters, but I don’t claim to be an expert. If you want to talk about it sometime—”

She edge back from the table. Madain was still laughing as Ryoka sat back at her table, ears burning. Ryoka scarfed down the rest of her steak—though her appetite was gone—and made her escape as fast as humanly possible to her room. There, she spent the next few minutes gently smacking her head against the wall.

Smooth, Ryoka. Sit down, tell him he sucks at his job, and offer to make him better. That’s the way to make friends. Why didn’t you talk about watching other [Fist Fighters] first? Lead in that way. But no, you had to take your foot, jam it into your mouth, and then—

Ryoka wished she could go back in time and start that conversation over again. Of course Alber would get offended! She wasn’t an expert, but what was her first line? ‘Your style’s good, but it could use some work’. And bringing up how a Gold-rank adventurer who outweighed him had beaten him, as if that justified her criticism. Idiot. Idiot.

Saying good morning to Alber was going to suck tomorrow. Ryoka tried to stop agonizing about that conversation, but she couldn’t. She spared only a bit of energy for sending bad vibes to Madain. But mainly it was to be embarrassed and berate herself.

She decided to hide in her room and pretend nothing had ever happened. Which involved rolling around in her bed with the goose feather pillow over her head until one poked her in the eye. Then Ryoka just sighed and sat in her bed.

“I’m tired.”

She’d done one run, but it had been a long, long one. And while it hadn’t really been worth the coin she’d earned, it had certainly made Ryoka tired enough to sleep. But she felt like she should try and practice. Practice moving the wind.

It was here, in the room. Though the air was still, if Ryoka concentrated, she could feel the faintest of breezes. If she tried, she could conjure a gust, although Madain would probably bawl her out if she rattled the shutters. But Ryoka should practice. She’d tried making a little tornado in her palm these last few nights, but it was incredibly hard. And she didn’t think she was necessary getting better.

Controlling or guiding the wind wasn’t something you could practice. Just experience. But Ryoka knew there was more than just the wind. Ivolethe had told her she could run like the wind. Not just in it. But what else had she said?

The young woman tried to remember. But her body was weary. Her eyelids very heavy. The steak, eaten too quickly near the end, was weighing down her stomach. And the wind was calling to Ryoka, gently pushing her back. Towards her bed. After all, she’d have to get up early if Madain wasn’t sleeping off a hangover. So why not rest? She could practice later. Yes, later. Sometime later.

The Runner lay back and slept. On the whole, it hadn’t been too bad of a day right…? Near the end it had been embarrassing. But she could try tomorrow. She had to keep trying. Keep…

—-

Ryoka slept for a moment. Only a moment, and then a hammering, a shouting din came from below. She opened her eyes groggily, expecting to hear Madain shouting in a drunken rage in the common room. But no—it wasn’t him. She heard the pounding come again, and then Madain’s voice, roaring at whomever it was. But the hammering sound only grew louder and then Ryoka heard a voice.

“Ryoka Griffin! I need Ryoka Griffin, now!”

Ryoka? That was her! The Runner got up, feeling adrenaline replace sleep. Someone was calling her. And that was important. There was only one reason they’d call for her in the middle of the night. She reached for her muddy clothes on the ground and threw them on, not bothering to grab clean ones.

“Wind Runner! Get down here!”

Madain shouted up the stairs. Ryoka was already stumbling towards the door. She went back for her belt. She could hear Alber waking up in the room next door. Ryoka pushed her way out the door and stumbled down the steps. She nearly slipped on the one near the bottom. She saw Madain, bare-chested, holding a lantern and glowering. And in the doorway was a young boy, probably only fourteen years old. His eyes were wide and he was panting. The instant he saw her he shouted, ignoring the late hour.

“Miss Griffin, the Runner’s Guild wants you now! An adventuring team needs an emergency delivery!”

A Street Runner. He’d been sent straight here. Ryoka shook her head, trying to dispel the half-drunken feeling of still being asleep.

“An adventuring team’s in trouble?”

“Yes, Miss! They want you at the Guild! As fast as you can!”

“Got it.”

Ryoka’s heart, already racing, began to beat even faster. The wind picked up. Ryoka took two steps towards the door, and looked at Madain. He too was half-asleep.

“Sorry, I’ve got to—”

“Go.”

He pointed. For once there was no anger in his voice, just the same focused feeling in Ryoka. Ryoka ran, racing past the Street Runner and through the city. She could hear shutters opening as people woken by the Street Runner cursed and hurled insults at him and her. But none came from behind her. The [Innkeeper] would never throw her out for this. He had been an adventurer too, and he knew what the Street Runner’s summons meant.

An emergency delivery. At night. That meant an adventuring team was in trouble. It was the same request Ryoka had answered for the Horns of Hammerad. Somewhere, a team was out of potions or needed something delivered and they were sending out a distress [Message]. But if they were resorting to that, they were desperate.

It was an unspoken thing, but Runners didn’t like delivering for adventuring teams. The risk was too great they’d run into a monster, and if a team was in trouble, odds were that said monsters would go after the Runner as much as the adventurers. That earned them a reputation for reneging or ignoring adventurer’s requests. Hence, most adventurers disliked Runners as cowards and were looked down upon in return.

But Ryoka had known adventurers whom she was proud to call friends. Who she did not deserve to call friends. So she had put herself on a list of one, at least in Reizmelt. If an adventuring party called for help, the guild sent for Ryoka before trying to find a City Runner, much less a Courier willing to take the request.

Ryoka threw open the door to the Runner’s Guild. It was virtually empty, but the same [Receptionist] that had been there in the morning was awake, holding a piece of parchment. She was poring over a map by a lantern’s light. Ryoka strode over.

“I’m here. Where are they?”

“Out in the plains. Over an hour’s run away.”

The [Receptionist] looked up as the Street Runner caught up, panting. He closed the door and the [Receptionist] handed Ryoka the [Message] that had been transcribed on the parchment. Ryoka read it as the woman explained.

“They were clearing a cave and ran into a complex of tunnels. They awakened a group of Wailer Frogs—”

“What are they?”

“Frogs that made incredible noise. They can deafen—and they’re able to scream so loudly they can shatter glass. The team, Pithfire Hounds, ran into them and lost all of their potions. Their [Mages] are out of mana and they’ve being pursued.”

“They can’t outrun them?”

Ryoka was surprised. The [Receptionist] shook her head. She pointed at a spot on the map, close to where Ryoka had just been running. It looked like the adventuring team had been working close to the Himalt Swamplands and retreated towards Reizmelt.

“The frogs are fast—but the main thing slowing them down is their wounded. They report that one of their [Warriors] was nearly consumed by the Wailer Frogs. He’s bleeding inside and has broken his ribs, arms, and possibly other bones.”

“Broken his—how big are Wailer Frogs?”

The [Receptionist] looked up.

“Big enough to eat some people whole. They have a powerful leap, but their main threat is their ability to scream. If you’re not careful they’ll paralyze you or make you deaf and then swarm over you. The Pithfire’s horses are all dead and they’ve been fleeing on foot. They need healing and mana potions.”

“Do you have them? If they’re made of glass, won’t the frogs—”

“Here.”

The [Receptionist] had nine bottles, three mana potions, six healing potions. All in wooden containers.

“It’s all we could fill. There are six more potions in these glass bottles—here. If you can leave them out of range of the frogs—”

“Got it.”

Ryoka grabbed the potions and threw them into her bag of holding. She strode for the door. The [Receptionist] called out to her.

“The adventurers are fighting the frogs! How should they pick up your delivery? If you get too close—”

The Wind Runner’s head turned.

“I’ll give them an opening. Tell them I’m on my way.”

And then she was gone.

—-

There was no time to think. No time to worry. Ryoka ran, and her mind was filled with fear. Fear, and the kind of focus she only felt in moments like this. Time felt slow and fast. One second she was running out of the Runner’s Guild, the next she was running down the street. The young Street Runner was running beside her, shouting something. Ryoka couldn’t hear him. Every stride seemed to be in slow motion. Slow, and then fast.

The wind howled. It sensed something. And it gathered in the air, blowing through the city, slamming against houses, nearly throwing the Street Runner off his feet. And Ryoka ran faster.

The [Guards] on the gates heard the sound. They looked back and saw Ryoka running towards them. The gates were locked. Ryoka didn’t wait for them to open them. She ran up the battlements.

“What are—”

Ryoka leapt. [Guards] shouted in horror as she leapt off the battlements. The walls were fifteen feet high. As Ryoka fell, a blast of air travelled up. It slowed her fall. Ryoka landed, rolling, and got up. She took off as the [Guards] watched her with open mouths and then had to cling to their posts as the wind followed her.

The grasslands were dark. The road empty. Ryoka sprinted down it. She was going at full-speed. There was no way she could keep up this pace. Not without help.

Stamina potion. And healing potion too. Ryoka took a gulp as soon as she felt herself begin to slow. The bitter-sweet potion burned going down her throat. And she felt a second wind burn through her.

“Faster.”

That was all Ryoka said. Faster. Every second she spent running, the closer the adventurers were to death. The Wailer Frogs were pursuing them. And one of their number was wounded. Badly.

Slow and fast. Ryoka ran for twenty minutes. Thirty. Forty. It felt like forever. The stamina potion fell to the ground as she dropped it, empty. But now she was getting close. And the wind was telling her that her destination was ahead. It reserved itself, blowing the scent of blood back at Ryoka. A sound like a wail, loud as thunder even from far away.

Ryoka slowed. She had to get to the adventurers. But the frogs were in the way. She had a plan, though. She reached for the bag of holding at her side, and then a smaller pouch. She opened it and dumped the contents on the ground.

It was the smokescreen bag that Octavia had made for Ryoka. One of the last ones Ryoka owned. And with it, Ryoka reached into her bag of holding and, carefully, dumped a huge cloud of its contents out. Not anything important. Just dirt. Dried, crumbling dirt. Dust.

It mixed with the fine powder that Octavia had mixed up. Ryoka reached for one of her flour bombs and emptied the contents of that onto the ground as well, kicking at the flame that tried to ignite. The wind was calm as Ryoka looked at the huge pile of fine particulates. Then she looked up.

“Give me wind. Blow, winds! Give me wrath! Show me fury! Follow me!”

And the wind howled. It swirled around Ryoka and she covered her face as it whirled the dirt and dust and flour into the air. She began running. As fast as she could. And behind her the wind blew at her back, following her.

The Pithfire Hounds were fighting in the grasslands ahead of Ryoka. There were six of them. Two were carrying a downed teammate, his armor crushed, bones poking out of the chest they’d stripped of armor. The other three were fighting a group of ten or more huge, huge shapes in the darkness. One leapt, and another inhaled, its throat-sac inflating massively. The croaking, bellowing sound was loud beyond belief. And then it opened its mouth and screamed.

The sound deafened the adventurers, and stripped them of what hearing they had left. Their leader, pointing a wand, threw a bit of fire, but it was weak. His ears were bleeding. The frogs leapt back, wary, and then one jumped forwards.

A barking dog leapt at the frog. It was big, a proper wolfhound, but even larger than the ones from Ryoka’s world. It was half-maddened by the Wailer Frogs. The frog leapt back in alarm, and then it opened its mouth impossibly wide. It tried to envelop the dog.

At the last minute, a [Beast Tamer] charged forwards and tackled his dog. He dragged the animal back as the Wailer Frog narrowly avoided swallowing the wolfhound whole. His friend shouted at him, their words unintelligible. They couldn’t hear themselves.

“We have to go! Keep running!”

The [Pyromancer] in charge pointed at the man and woman carrying the wounded adventurer. They were panting, barely able to walk.

“We’ll never make it! We have to fight!”

“Lamont’s dying!”

“Keep running!”

The [Mage] pointed and threw another spark of fire. But the Wailer Frogs had learned the fire wasn’t nearly as strong and closed in. Hop, hop. It was comical—until one smashed into the second [Mage] trying to fend them off with a gust of fire. She screamed as the frog opened its mouth and bent over her.

“Tally!”

The adventurers ran as one. One stayed with the stricken Lamont. The other three charged at the Wailer Frog as the [Beast Tamer] let go of his dog. The five adventurers and dog stabbed the frog, battering it and heaving it off their friend. She lay on the ground, clutching her ribs, screaming, as the frog leapt back.

They were too large. Too large, too many—if only they had their potions. Two of their [Mages] were out of mana and one of their warriors was down. The others had no healing potions. The adventurers looked at each other in desperation as the frogs screamed again. The dog wavered, then threw up. So did the [Pyromancer]. He wiped his mouth and found blood mixed with the vomit.

The sound was enough to make them ill. Even if they couldn’t hear it. He turned, desperately.

“Run! If we can get to Reizmelt—”

It was a futile thought. The adventurer’s Guild had been alerted, but they were too far away yet. Even if an adventuring team tried to get to them, how long would it take to rouse them, let alone run all this way? They’d send a request for a Runner, but would one really come?

Not any of the Runners from Reizmelt that he knew. But the leader of the Pithfire Hounds hoped. He hoped, because there was nothing else he could do. He was turning, grabbing at his friends, trying to urge them to run another hundred feet, when he saw it.

Something on the horizon. A cloud in the night. At first the [Pyromancer], Levil, couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He thought it was a trick of the light. Then he realized it was no cloud. Or at least, it wasn’t one from the sky.

It was a dust storm. Blowing across the grasslands. The wind made visible by all the matter it had picked up. Earth, dirt, grass. It raced towards them, a cloud bound to earth. The billowing cloud was neither long nor wide—it was as if it was following something.

Or someone. Levil blinked as he saw a shape racing across the grasslands towards him.

“Is that a Runner?”

The other members of Pithfire had spotted the cloud as well. They turned, panting, as the Wailer Frogs stopped advancing to eye the strange phenomenon with their bulbous eyes. And then they all saw her. Racing ahead of the cloud, the wind blowing at her back.

“Who is that? Hey, over here!”

Levil bellowed. He waved the wand over his head and conjured a last flicker of flames. The Runner spotted him. She bore down on them and then turned left.

“She’s running away!”

The other [Mage] cried out in despair. Levil stared at the Runner. She was pointing, gesturing with one flat hand. His eyes widened.

“No—get down! Down!”

The others looked at him. They could hear nothing, but they saw Levil throw himself to the ground. They immediately did likewise. The [Beast Tamer] covered his dog’s eyes and mouth. And then Levil saw the Runner charge past them, straight towards the frogs.

The oversized amphibians stared at her. They opened their mouths to scream at her. And then they noticed what was following her too late. A dust storm blew past Levil, stinging his eyes as he closed them and buried his face in the grass. He felt the particles stinging his exposed skin, the wind threatening to pick him up. And then he heard the Wailer Frogs scream—just for a second. Then they choked on the grit and dust blowing straight into their mouths.

Levil laughed and pushed himself up as the cloud blew past him. He heard a scream past the ringing in his ears.

“Saaaaaaand attack!”

Ryoka Griffin slowed and ran past the frogs, who were overbalanced, choking, their mouths and lungs clogged. She ran backwards, stumbling. The grass and ground around her was covered in dirt. The wind blew some more into her eyes.

“I’m a Runner! A Runner! Are you Pithfire Hounds?”

They were lying on the ground. One of them pushed himself up. He was wearing red leather, emblazoned with a fiery dog. And there was a dog, whining, writhing on the ground next to his handler. He looked at Ryoka.

“What?”

“I’m a Runner!”

“What? Are you a Runner?”

“Yes!”

He cupped one hand to his ear. Ryoka saw dried blood around his ears. She nodded.

“Yes! Here!”

She reached for the bag of holding. The pots of healing potions fell out, glass bottles and wooden ones. The adventurer grabbed for one.

“Healing potions! Lamont!”

One of the other adventurers charged over and seized a healing potion. She grabbed it and smashed the bottle in her hands. The potion splashed down over the injured man she’d been carrying. Lamont, the warrior, jerked as the healing potion ran onto his body. Ryoka saw terrible bloody splotches—internal bleeding and exposed bone around his ribs, his arm. His body had been crushed.

“He needs a [Healer]!”

“We need a [Healer]!”

The [Mage] shouted at Ryoka. He grabbed a mana potion, checked the label, then downed it, ignoring the grit in his mouth. He choked, forced himself to swallow, and grabbed a healing potion. The Pithfire Hounds were all doing the same. The [Beast Tamer] was feeding his wolfhound a potion as the animal whined.

“Can you hear me? He needs—”

The [Mage] twisted a finger in his ear, digging out dirt and blood. He looked at Ryoka suddenly.

“I can hear you! Dead gods, I can hear! Tally, Keima—”

He turned. The other [Mage] was drinking a potion. She wiped her mouth, spat dirt. Flames burst from the tip of her wand.

“Lamont. He’s healing, but it’s not enough. His bones are broken and they’re not going back—”

One of the adventurers was bending over her friend. Ryoka saw the exposed fragments of bone twisting in his chest and felt sick. He was groaning, his eyes white. She saw the woman reach for another potion.

“Don’t!”

Ryoka knocked the bottle out of her hands. The woman turned on her, grasping at a sword.

“His bones aren’t set. You’ll only make his injuries worse! He needs a [Healer] to set him or he’s dead! Do you understand?”

The adventurer hesitated. The [Pyromancer] was conjuring fire.

“We’re too far away from the city. We have to stand and fight. Those bastard frogs won’t let us get away!”

Sure enough, Ryoka saw the Wailer Frogs heaving up the dirt they’d swallowed. They were visibly sick, but still intent on the adventurers. And even angrier.

“We can’t leave Lamont. He’s still bleeding—”

The flesh had healed, but in the process, the exposed bones had torn open his skin again. The female adventurer was trying to staunch the bleeding, but she didn’t know how. Ryoka knelt, feeling at her bag of holding.

“I’m [Healer]-certified. Let me see!”

They let her see the wound. Ryoka sucked in her breath as she saw the damage. She had no idea how to go about setting an injury like this. The bones of the rib had splintered through the skin, and the man’s shoulder looked dislocated and broken. He was making small sounds, as if screaming was too much.

“He needs to get back to the city.”

“We can’t spare two of you!”

The [Pyromancer] argued with his friends. Ryoka looked up.

“I’ll go. Let me take him.”

The other adventurers looked back incredulously at Ryoka.

“You? Lamont’s heavier than anyone else! You’ll never—”

“Take his armor off. All of it. I’ll carry him on my shoulders. If I can find a wagon on the road, I’ll get him to it. If not, I’ll stop. But he can’t stay here!”

Ryoka pointed back at the frogs. One was trying to wail. The female [Mage] blasted it with orbs of fire, shouting in fury as the frog’s hide charred and turned black. It recoiled, making a gagging, pained noise.

The other adventurers looked at each other. The [Pyromancer] looked down at his friend.

“Save him. Please.”

“I’ll try.”

That was all Ryoka said. She helped him strip the rest of the armor off of Lamont and then reached for him. It was wrong to move an injured man. Especially with broken bones. But she had to do it.

Lamont screamed once as Ryoka hoisted him up in the fireman’s carry. She felt something sharp dig into her shoulder, but ignored the pain.

“I’m going to the road. If I find a wagon, I’ll take it. Otherwise—”

“If you see the frogs, run.”

The [Pyromancer] nodded. He turned, and his wand and his arms burst into flame. The other adventurers were getting up. The wolfhound growled. The Wailer Frogs leapt forwards, still retching, trying to dislodge the dirt. The [Mage] with the wand checked his belt, ensuring the potions Ryoka had delivered were in place. Then he bellowed.

“Pithfire Hounds—charge!”

They ran forwards. Ryoka heard loud barking, a cut-off wail, and felt a burst of fire warm her back. She began to run. The wind blew her forwards as Ryoka made for the road. She tried not to jostle Lamont, but she could hear terrible sounds coming from his body. She ran as fast and as carefully as she could.

The sky was dark when Ryoka got to the road, but lightening. Ryoka looked up and down it for a sign. For life. She found nothing. She put Lamont down, stretching him out and checked him.

“Alive.”

But his bones had shifted terribly during that short interval. Ryoka grabbed a potion and poured it into his mouth, forcing it open. She saw his flesh rearrange and prayed he would live. Then she stood up and looked around.

“Hey! I need help over here!”

A man with a wagon jerked as Ryoka ran onto the road. He was going fast and one of his horses tried to rear. The man swore and pulled his wagon to a stop.

“What in the—”

He spotted the adventurer. Ryoka shouted.

“I’m a City Runner! That man’s an adventurer! There’s a monster attack!”

“Where?”

Ryoka pointed. She could smell fire in the air. Were the Pithfire Hounds winning or losing? She didn’t know.

“That way, a few hundred feet. This man needs a [Healer].”

“I can see that. Well then—”

The [Wagon Driver] hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he cursed, leaped into the back of his wagon and began shoving things out of the way.

“Get him up here! Hold on—I’ll make a bed! We’re not far from Reizmelt!”

He helped Ryoka lift Lamont onto a bed of the hard sacks of something. Ryoka stared at a pile of what looked like crucible iron, or maybe steel.

“Dragons take me, what happened to his body?”

“Wailer Frogs.”

“Wailer what?”

Ryoka didn’t know how to explain. She was still going a mile a second. She knelt over Lamont. Even that small movement had opened up his injuries. The man urged his pack horses onwards.

“I’ll make us go as fast as I can! But I can’t abandon my cargo or I’m lost, you understand? Don’t worry, Erma and Fox can go as fast as maybe with me guiding them. You just keep that young fellow steady, you hear? Do you have healing potions?”

“Yes! Thank you!”

Ryoka held Lamont, trying to keep him from suffering as the wagon jolted forwards. He was moaning. That was good. That meant he was alive.

“Thank you for stopping.”

That was all Ryoka could think to say when she’d caught her breath. Her body felt like rubber now, and she was shaking. She imagined the adventurers fighting after a night of running. Fighting those…frogs. She shivered, and saw the [Wagon Driver] turn and give her a grin.

“I could hardly run you over, could I? And adventurers—you stop for them or maybe they won’t bail you out next time! I’m pleased to meet you, Miss. My name’s Termin. What’s yours?”

“Ryoka. Ryoka Griffin.”

And she reached out and shook a weathered hand. They spoke little as the wagon picked up speed, rolling towards Reizmelt. For a moment, Ryoka caught her breath. And then she saw the city and she and Termin waved their hands and shouted, and the gates opened. She and three [Guards] carried Lamont into the city on a makeshift stretcher that was made out of Erma and Fox’s blankets, and the [Healer] was roused by the same Street Runner who’d gotten Ryoka. And then…and then…

And then Ryoka sat down.

—-

An hour later, Levil was walking towards the road. He could barely move, but he forced himself to. In his hands he held something. A bag, filled with charred tongues. Wailer Frog tongues. It was all that he’d collected. Trophies, proof his team had slain the lot. And in truth that was all he could find the energy to collect. Wailer Frogs weren’t worth much, and there wasn’t any point in trying to collect other body parts. The scorched, hacked remains lying in the grass weren’t worth much to anyone.

Four of his teammates walked with him. And one of their dogs, Makki. The other one, Dassa, was gone. Levil didn’t know what to say to their owner, Bram. The man was wiping tears away as he forced Makki to follow him. In truth, Levil was just tired and relieved.

They were alive. The Wailer Frogs had gone down to fire and more fire. With healing potions and mana potions, his team had put them down in a long fight. They still might have lost, but the frogs had lost their ability to wail. Their lungs had been filled with dirt. So they’d been saved twice over by the Runner who’d answered their call.

“Levil. I got in touch with Reizmelt’s Runner’s Guild.”

The other [Mage] of their team, Ullica, came over to Levil. She was pale from overusing her spells, but held herself upright through willpower as much as anything else. She was clutching her ribs—the healing potions must not have fully worked.

Levil looked up.

“That Runner. Did she make it back? Is Lamont—”

“He’s alive. I told them she came here and made the delivery—and that she was bringing him back. They told me—he’s alive. All broken up, but the [Healer]’s with him. We can see him when we get back to the city.”

A sigh ran through the adventurers. Keima hugged Bram. He just stood still, closing his eyes.

“Thank the houses. Can you get them to send us a transport? I don’t think we can walk—”

Levil croaked. Ullica nodded. There was a moment of silence as she conveyed the request, and then Levil looked up.

“That Runner. Who was she?”

He could still remember the cloud, and the wind that had followed her. It had been magic. Or—or something. He wasn’t sure. Ullica looked back at him.

“She’s the Wind Runner.”

“A Courier?”

For a second Levil’s heart constricted as he worried about what a Courier might charge for an emergency delivery. But they’d pay it if they had to. They were alive—but Ullica shook her head.

“No. A City Runner.”

“That was a City Runner?”

Keima looked disbelieving. Bram shook his head.

“I’ve never heard of her. IF she’s got a title, why haven’t we gotten word? We keep up to date with all the big names around here.”

“Probably because she’s not a big name.”

“But she’s called…?”

Levil was confused and tired. He went to sit down. Ullica did likewise. The Pithfire Hounds sat in the grass, too tired to move. Ullica spoke exhaustedly.

“I don’t know. That’s what they named her. And I guess it stuck. She’s really, really popular, apparently.”

“With who? Runners?”

“Nah.”

That was all Ullica said. Levil waited, and then he realized she’d passed out. She lay in the grass, sleeping. He nearly laughed, and didn’t when he saw Bram and Makki lying together.

“Well, I’ll remember her. We owe her. The Wind Runner. It’s…”

Levil searched for words as the others slowly drifted off to sleep. The [Pyromancer] blinked.

“Fitting.”

And then his head fell back and he fell asleep.

—-

“Miss Griffin? Miss Griffin?”

Ryoka woke up. She looked around, realized she was sitting at a table, and looked up. The [Receptionist]’s face was filling her vision. Ryoka sat up, realized sunlight was shining through the windows of the Runner’s Guild, and looked around.

“Where—how’s Lamont? Are the Pithfire—”

“All alive. Miss Ryoka, your job’s done. You should rest.”

“I’m fine.”

Ryoka spoke automatically, and then realized she had an audience. A few Street Runners and some City Runners were staring at her. And so was the [Wagon Driver] she’d met. Termin. He was sitting at a table, a mug in his hands.

“How long was I asleep?”

“Six hours. You should get to a proper bed, Miss Ryoka. But before that—I hate to trouble you, but I’d like to give you this.”

The [Receptionist] handed Ryoka something. The Runner blinked at the small bag of gold and silver coins. She looked at it stupidly.

“What’s this?”

“Your fee, Miss Ryoka. We included the healing potions and other items you used. There’s more money for rescuing the wounded adventurer too.”

Ryoka stared down at the gold and silver coins. Then she looked up.

“Mine?”

“Yes.”

The [Receptionist] smiled at Ryoka’s vacant look.

“Maybe you should go lie down. You have an inn, don’t you?”

“It’s closed. Probably.”

Ryoka rubbed her face. She woke up a bit, and then stood up.

“I can climb in through the window. Thank you. I’ll—thanks.”

The [Receptionist] stood back and shook her head.

“No need to thank me, Miss Griffin. I just did my job. But you—well, I’ve heard of Runners doing emergency deliveries, but you helped take out the Wailer Frogs.”

“I just…used a bit of wind magic. I have a Skill.”

Ryoka lied automatically. The [Receptionist] nodded.

“Be that as it may. I feel like I owe you an apology, Miss Griffin. I heard some rumors that—well, I think they were wrong. But you should know, someone’s told every Runner’s Guild north of Invrisil about you. And not in flattering terms.”

“Really? Well, I’m sure they were only half-true.”

Ryoka gave her a blank look. The [Receptionist] covered a smile.

“Thanks.”

“It was my pleasure, Miss Griffin.”

“I’m Ryoka. And who’re you?”

“My name is Alime. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise. Thank you, Alime.”

Ryoka shook the hand. Then she waved at Termin. He waved back. Bemusedly, Ryoka looked around. The other Runners blinked at her. She smiled.

“Hi. Good morning.”

And then she wandered out of the Runner’s Guild.

—-

The sun was bright. Ryoka half-asleep. But she woke up as she wandered about Reizmelt. Outside of the Runner’s Guild, few people gave her a second look, except perhaps to note the color of her skin, her different complexion. They hadn’t heard about the Pithfire Hounds yet. Only the [Guards] on the gates had.

Ryoka didn’t care about that. She kept feeling the little bag of gold. It was more money than she’d earned in two weeks of running deliveries. She remembered the panic, and felt the relief course through her again. She’d done it. Lamont was alive. She didn’t know him. She’d never said a word to him, except to tell him to stay awake or warn him he was about to be in pain. But she was happy he was alive.

She’d done it. The wind blew around Ryoka, warming her. And then Ryoka was in the plaza square. Alber wasn’t there. But she saw a pale, hooded figure walking past her with two extremely heavy-looking pails, one in each hand. The lids were covered, and the pails were clearly full of some kind of liquid.

“I thought you only had two jobs.”

Fierre turned as Ryoka blinked stupidly at her. She blinked in surprise, and then smiled.

“I work multiple jobs.”

“Oh. What’re you doing?”

Another man stopped, his forehead already covered in sweat, and put down the pails he was carrying.

“What’s it look like? Hauling this crap from a storage house to a caravan”

He grunted and pointed. A wagon was parked ahead of them, being loaded by other men and a few women who were placing the heavy pails in the back. A man in rich clothing was supervising. Fierre nodded.

“Part-time job. We’re hauling fresh milk bound to Invrisil, and grain. Sorry, I’d stop to talk but we have to get these in the wagons before they spoil. There are no runes of preservation except in one of the wagons—for the milk.”

She picked up the pails and continued onwards. The man groaned and grasped the wooden handles of his pails as well. He spoke out of the corner of his mouth as he indicated Fierre’s shrouded body.

“I don’t know how she does it, scrawny as she is. I’m a Level 14 [Laborer], and I think these damn bags as heavy as one of those fat [Merchants] paying us. Fat sacks of lard they are, too. Too bad we can’t milk them.”

Ryoka grinned. The [Laborer] smiled too.

“Hey Wind Runner, mind conjuring us a breeze?”

“Why not?”

Ryoka raised a hand and a breeze sprung up. The men and women sighed in relief. And Ryoka sat and watched them fill the wagon until it was creaking under the load. And then the next wagon, and the next. Fierre really was quite strong for a girl who looked like she was in her teens. Very strong.

It was then that they found her. Ryoka’s fans. They came to her, clamoring, already having heard the latest tale about her. But they would have loved her even if she hadn’t just helped fight monsters. They all knew her name.

And that was her. Ryoka Griffin. Not famous. Liked a bit by adventurers, but not by her fellow Runners. And yet, she had a nickname. A title, which was an honor reserved only for famous City Runners and Couriers. Wind Runner. She had not been awarded that title by the Runners, who didn’t really know or like her. Or by the citizens of the cities around here, who had yet to know her. No, only one group had given her the nickname, but because it was them it had stuck and become part of memory.

It was them. Children. Some as young as four, some as old as ten or eleven. They raced down the street, holding mud balls made of wet dirt and grass. Laughing, and calling her name.

“Wind Runner, Wind Runner!”

“Wind Runner! Are you busy today?”

The Runner turned. She gave the children a smile.

“I’m not running today.”

“Then can you play?”

A little girl demanded. She was richer than the other children, at least if the white dress was any indication, but on the streets it didn’t matter. She held a mud ball and looked at Ryoka. The Runner laughed. She leaned back and waved a hand. And the wind blew.

“Do I have a choice? Well? Come at me, then.”

The children shouted in delight. As one—and to the horror of the [Shopkeeper] whose glass frontage Ryoka was leaning against, they threw their ammunition. Mud balls flew through the air towards Ryoka. She looked up—and the wind blew. The children watched with gaping mouths as the spheres of crumbing dirt reversed-course in midair and flew back at them. They scattered with screams of joy.

Kids. For some reason they really liked Ryoka. It was probably the wind. And Ryoka running with bare feet. And her showing them how to do tricks, like standing flips. And—maybe because she sort of liked them. Ryoka laughed as the kids threw mud and dirt at her, watching as sticks were caught in the wind and blown around her. The winds protected Ryoka like an ever-shifting shield.

One of them charged her, mud ball in hand. Ryoka felt the wind twist as he lunged at her, and he went flying backwards, rolling over and yelping. She laughed, and he did too when he got up.

“Come on, is that the best you can do?”

She lay flat on the ground. Outraged, the children charged her and the wind blew them back and forth, sending mud balls flying back at the thrower. Ryoka laughed and felt as silly as she’d ever been in her life. She felt young. And happy.

“Wind Runner! Do that thing! Please?”

Ryoka looked up. A group of children had made a sail. They’d already learned how to play with bed sheets, and a group of children soared past Ryoka, holding up a large white sheet like a sail, laughing madly. She smiled too.

The wind was not her friend. It was unpredictable, and that made it dangerous. But right now, right here, there was nothing to worry about. She smiled, weary, but relieved, and she knew she was at the strongest she could ever be. She pointed, and the group of four children screamed with delight and alarm as the wind threatened to blow and the sheet them upwards, like the precursor to a hot air balloon.

“A moment of grace.”

“What is?”

Ryoka looked up. Fierre was watching the children play, a smile on her face. The girl stood in the shadows, tugging the hood over her face. Her pale skin looked…burnt. Despite her barely being in the sun. Ryoka sat up as the kids soared past her, screaming to go higher.

“Fierre.”

“Hi…Ryoka.”

“Are you off work?”

Fierre shrugged.

“I don’t have to work at my job with letters, if that’s what you’re asking. There’s not enough in the Runner’s Guild. And I just finished doing the hauling job.”

“Oh. Did it pay much?”

“A silver coin for an hour’s work. Good money if you don’t mind sweating hard.”

Fierre showed Ryoka a coin in one gloved hand. Ryoka noticed she was not sweating. The two waited together, watching the children play. Fierre looked down at Ryoka.

“I heard about the adventuring team. Mad Madain kept us informed. He’s happy. I think he’s grateful to you.”

“Well, he is a former adventurer. I guess they stick together.”

“Yes, they do.”

Fierre gave Ryoka an older smile than her face and body should have held. She looked at Ryoka.

“I didn’t know you volunteered to take on requests like that.”

“I…knew some adventurers. Down south. It’s just something I want to do if I can. I’m glad it worked out. It doesn’t always.”

“No. It doesn’t.”

Ryoka felt sleepy, but content. In this moment, talking to Fierre felt easy and pleasant. The girl looked down at her and suddenly asked a question.

“What’s it like? Being a Runner?”

“It’s not easy. Why, do you want to be one?”

Fierre looked wistful.

“I don’t think I could be. Maybe at night—but it’s harder than it looks, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It’s lonely. And dangerous.”

“Have you been doing it long? You’re new, as Runners go. I don’t mean to pry, but I hear things in my job—”

“No, it’s fine. I am new. I’ve been running all my life, but I’ve only been a Runner for less than a year. And really, I’ve only started taking my job seriously…now.”

“Really? But you were a City Runner in Celum. A good one, or so I heard.”

Fierre coughed. It might have been her cold, or an allusion to her profession. Ryoka nodded, frowning.

“Yeah, but I don’t think I understood what it meant back then. I didn’t take my job as seriously. It was just…a job. But now? When I’m running for adventurers, it matters. People’s lives are on the line. So I do my best. Sometimes I’m too late. But I’ll keep getting faster. Better.”

“Until you become a Courier?”

“Huh? Maybe. Until I can go back. I’ve…decided to get better. I’m not going back until I can be useful. Until I can actually…you know?”

Ryoka looked up. But Fierre nodded as if she did know.

“It’s hard. Even Couriers struggle up here. Especially if you get mixed up in bad deliveries. I hope you can get better. You can certainly do—that. It’s a Skill, right?”

She pointed at the children, playing in the wind. One of them threw a handful of grass and watched it fly upwards, laughing. The wind blew it into a pair of open shutters and there was an exclamation of outrage. The children scattered in fear and Ryoka winced.

“Yeah. It’s a Skill. I can’t control it. But it’s uh, [Runner’s Wind]. A very rare Skill.”

“It must be nice.”

Fierre looked mildly jealous. Ryoka shrugged.

“It’s frustrating sometimes. I wish I could do more. You know the feeling?”

“All the time.”

A rueful smile. And a flash of sharp canines. Ryoka glanced at Fierre.

“So uh, what’s it like being a vampire?”

“Well, you kn—”

Fierre paused. What color there was in her face drained completely away. She looked down at Ryoka and the Asian girl grinned sheepishly at her.

“Um…”

“You—how did—I’m not—”

Fierre leapt up. She backed away from Ryoka, stammering. Her hand went to her mouth. Ryoka got up hurriedly, held a hand out.

“Wait a second, I’m not going to tell anyone. I just guessed. I am right, aren’t I? Fierre?”

“I can’t talk about it. Please don’t tell anyone. Please don’t.”

Fierre backed up towards an alleyway, her eyes wide and pleading. Ryoka nodded slowly.

“I won’t. I promise. I just want to talk. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.”

“Good. Thank you. I have to—have to go. Now. I’m sorry.”

Fierre turned and fled. Ryoka half moved to go after her, but her legs were wobbly. Behind her, the children exclaimed in disappointment. The wind died down. They dispersed, and Ryoka stayed where she was. She cursed inside, but only mildly. It hadn’t gone that badly.

After a while, Ryoka realized she hadn’t had lunch. So she trundled over to a tavern and got a hot potato loaded with extras. It was as close to fast food as she could get, so Ryoka walked back to The Huntress’ Haven, eating it and listening to her stomach voice approval. She hoped it was open so she could sit in her room. Take a bath, get the dirty clothes off her—and think about what to say to Fierre. This time she’d be smooth about it. Just tell her she was a…historian? No, that she knew some of the old legends and she was totally fine with vampires, just curious. And then she had all the questions she wanted to ask—tactfully—

Ryoka reached for the door and discovered it was open. Much to her relief. She stepped into the inn and didn’t hear Madain banging about. Which was fine. Ryoka walked up to her room, eating the last bits of her potato. She pushed on the door to her room before she remembered she needed a key. She reached for her pocket—

And the door swung open. Ryoka blinked. She’d forgotten to lock it. Damn. Well, it wasn’t as if she had anything important in there. It was all in her bag of holding. Which reminded her, she needed to stock up on more loose dirt to repeat her sandstorm attack. Sand-attack. Hah! Pokémon wins again. Ryoka walked into the room and saw a shadow move. She spun—

“No! Fierr—”

The slim arms encircled Ryoka’s neck before she could speak. She choked, and threw herself back. But Fierre was clinging to her back, and she was strong. Ryoka couldn’t even throw her off.

“Don’t—not—”

Ryoka gasped for air. She hammered Fierre with her arms and elbows, but the vampire girl didn’t so much as flinch. She tightened her grip further and the world went—

—-

Ryoka woke up somewhere else. Her body hurt. Especially around the neck. Not because of a vampire bite. More because of her crushed windpipe. Ryoka coughed, tried to sit up, and then felt weak all over. She felt bruised, knocked about—and then she realized it was dark. She’d definitely missed dinner.

And there were voices. Above her. Ryoka looked around. It was almost completely dark, but she could sense she was lying on something hard…cold…flat. A smooth surface. A counter?

A coffin. It was made of grey stone, smooth with time. And as Ryoka looked up, she sensed a vast ceiling overhead. Tall rafters. The impressions of statues. And then a commanding voice.

“Serafierre val Lischelle-Drakle, what is it you have brought into our home?”

Ryoka Griffin looked up. And she saw a shadow move ahead of her. It had been so still that Fierre had been part of the darkness. Now she bowed.

“A Runner, mother. She knows who we are.”

“She does?”

The lilting voice rose with surprise. Ryoka looked up, and then she saw a shadow move. Moonlight shone down. A figure leapt down, twenty feet, and landed lightly on the ground. A body moved. And a woman stepped out of the darkness. Fierre rose to greet her, and another shadow appeared. Another figure moved with inhuman grace.

And that was the word for it. Inhuman. They joined Fierre’s mother. One by one. Four of them. Pale skin. Eyes with red pupils. And, in the moonlight, they grinned and their fangs were brilliant, their every movement powerful.

Vampires. Ryoka stared up as they gathered, standing on the lids of the coffins around her. Fierre’s mother glided towards her. She was tall, beautiful, her hair pale, bordering on white. To behold her was to see an image out of legends, given undying flesh.

There she was. Immortal. Graceful. Pale as moonlight, sinuous and powerful. Rashy. Ryoka stared at a red rash running down Fierre’s mother’s right arm. And then she noticed Fierre was wiping her nose on her sleeve. A vampire, a creature of the night, gave a wet, weak cough. The third had an odd swelling around his pale neck, just under his jaw.

The vampires eyed Ryoka. She eyed them. One of them coughed again. Ryoka blinked. She felt at her neck, shrugged. Her stomach rumbled loudly.

“At least you don’t sparkle.”

Then she lay down and promptly passed out again. It seemed like the only appropriate thing to do.

6.01

Ryoka had no experience with kidnapping. Which was a fair statement to make. In fact, it was weird to think of anyone as being experienced with being kidnapped. However, she vaguely felt like there was a class she could have taken, or a few tips she could have memorized from some online self-help article.

After all, it felt like Ryoka had been kidnapped at least once. But not really. Let’s see. Magnolia? Not really a kidnapping so much as a forced meeting. But it was close. Teriarch? Again, no, but being enchanted had a few parallels. Az’kerash? Again, it had a lot of similar qualities. Being interrogated and having fingers broken by Venitra was close…but not the same.

So this was new. How about that? And by vampires, no less. Or was it Vampires? Ryoka had spotted four, plus Fierre. Five vampires. That was really bad if they were about to suck Ryoka’s blood. On the other hand, they hadn’t while she was passed out.

That was a good sign. In fact, Ryoka had high hopes she wouldn’t die. Because while she was no expert on abductions, she was slightly experienced with dealing with creatures of myth and legend. Dragons, the fey—vampires weren’t much worse, right?

The other reason Ryoka was hopeful was that she was lying with her back to the coffin, she could hear the vampires talking, and they hadn’t noticed she’d woken up yet. That meant they probably couldn’t hear her heart beating—if they could, they’d be able to tell it was racing a mile a minute. They were talking to each other, their voices…well, fairly normal.

There was little inflection to their accents. Not that Fierre had ever spoken with the stereotypical vampire inflections. The other voices Ryoka heard could have been from anywhere—with one exception.

“…and what if she does talk? Should we threaten her, or just…get rid of her?”

“I didn’t bring her here to kill her.”

A male and female voice were arguing back and forth. Fierre and someone else. A third vampire, older, his voice a lot more gravelly, spoke next.

“You shouldn’t have brought her here at all, Fierre. If you dealt with her properly—”

“I wasn’t sure I’d be able to safely. I stay at an inn run by an adventurer. I thought mother could help me. She’s the best at this.”

“It might not be necessary. Fierre, has she threatened you? What did she want?”

A third voice, steadiest and most confident of the lot. Also, male. If Ryoka had to analyze by the tenor, she’d guess there were three male vampires here, all of different ages. One was old, another young, and the third middle-aged. That was just a guess, though. Fierre’s voice was uncertain as she replied to the middle-aged one.

“I…don’t know. She just identified me and promised she wouldn’t tell anyone. But—”

“Why don’t we wake her up and hear what she says?”

“Okay. But no one scare her. Rivel. And if we need to, mother, would you…?”

“If thou callst on me, my offspring, of course I will comply. But thy sire is correct. Let us first know this mortal’s intentions.”

And there’s the odd one out. One of the voices, the only female voice beside Fierre’s, was distinctly vampirish. As in, eastern European, Slavic, I-just-walked-out-of-Transylvania, Dracula-style accent and way of speaking. If Ryoka hadn’t known better, she’d have thought that was coming from some kind of hardcore vampire wannabe. From the real thing it was…still cheesy.

But they were vampires. And Ryoka had seen them move. There was something fluid about the way they moved. Graceful, in a way that Humans weren’t naturally. And Ryoka still wasn’t over her first discovery. Fierre was a vampire. Vampires existed in this world.

How about that.

The discussion had reached its conclusion somewhere above her and to the right. Ryoka heard light movements. And then she sensed eyes on her. She held still, praying she wouldn’t be found out.

“Anyone want me to grab a bucket of water?”

A voice. Immediately shushed. Ryoka heard a pause. And then a voice, low, sultry, and echoing in the dark space.

“Awaken, mortal.”

Ryoka opened her eyes and sat up. She couldn’t help it. There was something in the tone that went beyond mere force of personality. Some kind of command that reached into Ryoka and moved her body against her will. It was familiar, almost like Magnolia’s Skill—but different. Where one was a Skill, this was instinctual obedience.

At first it was dark. Ryoka’s eyes caught a glimmer of moonlight, shining down from a slit overhead. A window. And then she took in the room.

She was sitting in an open, wide room. Tall, grand. Filled with open coffins. Smooth, worn stone. Open caskets to place bodies in. And she was lying on one. On top of one, rather. Ryoka felt her back aching slightly. She blinked, looked around—there was no one standing around her. Then she looked up and saw them.

Vampires. Five of them. Two stood in the rafters, on wooden support beams. An old male vampire and a younger looking one. The older one was coughing quietly, the younger one just watched Ryoka. And below them, standing on the ground, were three other vampires.

Fierre, no longer  wearing the dark clothing that normally concealed her face. Her hair was raven black, her skin unnaturally pale. She looked young, as did the two who stood behind her. A man and a woman, both who looked no older than their early thirties. But they felt older. And it was the woman who’d spoken.

Graceful, tall, her dress some dark red and black fabric that nearly blended with the shadows. By her side stood a man in rough clothing. He too was a vampire, but his neck was…odd. Puffy, the skin bulging outwards. But like his wife he had red eyes and that unnatural stillness about him. None of the five vampires moved for a moment. Ryoka stared at them, heart beating. And then the woman moved.

One hand rose. Pale fingers splayed outwards in a grand gesture, towards Ryoka. The female vampire kept her chin raised as she approached, gliding across the dark room.

“Mortal. You trespass in the halls of my family. You speak to one not of mortal ways. We are the children of the night. Vampires.”

Her lips rose in a slight smile. Her voice echoed through the room. The woman stopped in front of Ryoka and looked down.

“I am Lady Colfa, Mistress of House Lischelle-Drakle. And thou art?”

Everything about her screamed vampire to Ryoka. And the entire air wouldn’t have worked except that she was one. In her totality. She looked flawless in the moonlight—and yet—Ryoka’s eyes travelled to her right arm. She’d spotted a rash there, hadn’t she? The female vampire noticed the look and turned so her left side was facing Ryoka. She gave Ryoka a dark look and the young woman’s heart began to beat faster.

“I’m Ryoka Griffin. I uh, didn’t mean to intrude. I mean neither you or your family harm, Lady Colfa.”

Ryoka spoke quickly. Her mouth was dry. Her mind racing. What was the best angle here? What did they want? They sounded like people, remember that. Even if this Lady Colfa was noticeably different. Was she the sire of the others, perhaps?

You’re dealing with ancient and powerful beings here. Even if they seem surprisingly normal. But vampires don’t necessarily think like we do. Be careful. Don’t offend them. What would Erin do?

Probably offend them.  Don’t do that.

“Ryoka Griffin. A City Runner. A traveller who delivers messages. One who is everywhere and nowhere. Who may not be missed.”

Colfa bent her head, inspecting Ryoka. Her eyes were slightly red and they shone as she bared her fangs slightly in a sinister smile. Ryoka kept very still.

“Mortal. Know that thy presence here is borne only lightly. Mine kindred suffer you only for one reason: you uncovered the true nature of our offspring. How?”

She’s got sharp teeth, she has no shadow, and she keeps out of the sunlight. But Ryoka didn’t say any of that.

“I—I’m just familiar with vampires. That’s all. I didn’t mean any harm by it. Look, I won’t tell a soul—”

She tried to move, swing one leg off the coffin. Colfa’s eyes flashed and Ryoka stopped. The lady vampire tapped one lip with an unpainted nail.

“No, you will not. And whether you leave this place is entirely up to our disposition.”

“Look, if I could convince you I don’t mean any harm—”

“Harm? You think you could harm us?”

Colfa turned, quick as a snake. Ryoka froze again. The female vampire bent, inspecting Ryoka like an insect. Ryoka tried not to lean back. Why didn’t she carry any garlic in her bag of holding? She could have at least put a few wooden stakes in there! She swallowed. Colfa had another smile on her face.

“You could harm us as easily as fly, girl. But we could harm you. Easily. And unless you beg, unless you prove your sincerity and give us reason to trust you, you may find another purpose for the coffin on which you sit. Now, tell me or perish, foolish mortal. Once and for all, for what reason didst thou—”

“Baaaaah.”

Ryoka’s heart nearly stopped. She jumped, looked down, and recoiled. Something was down there! It was staring up at her with big, black eyes. Its round…woolly…body was…

A sheep poked its head up over the side of the coffin and stared at both Ryoka and Colfa. Vampire lady and Runner girl stared at it. The sheep stared at them and then baaahed again. Loudly.

“What the f—”

A surprise sheep was not one of the things Ryoka had expected. She leaned back as the animal looked from her and then to Colfa. For the vampire’s part, she looked shocked. And then annoyed. She hesitated, and then flicked one hand at the sheep.

“Shoo. Begone, grazing beast.”

Colfa turned her head, pretending not to notice it. The sheep wandered over and butted her in the shin. It began to rub its head against Colfa’s dress.

“I said, begone.”

Colfa pushed the sheep away. Quite gently. The sheep baahed quietly and refused to go. The vampire shot a quick glance at Ryoka. The young woman had no idea what expression was on her face, but it was frozen there.

One of the other vampires coughed. It looked like he was hiding a smile. The old one sighed, and the other vampire on the floor, the one with the awkward neck, moved forwards. The sheep turned and approached him, still baaahing. Ryoka caught a glimpse of Fierre’s face, a mix of chagrin and embarrassment. The vampire in the rough clothing bent, patted the sheep along the head, and then spoke quietly.

“This way.”

He gently urged the sheep out of view. Ryoka watched him disappear out of the room. Through a hole in the wall. Moonlight shone through, revealing a grassy pasture outside. The vampires and the Asian girl watched the sheep disappear, and then all eyes turned back to Colfa. The Lady of House Lischelle-Drakle hesitated, and then decided to pretend that last moment hadn’t happened.

“Mortal Runner—”

She eyed Ryoka, and seemed to give up slightly. Lady Colfa frowned, and then her tone grew more direct.

“Tell us your intentions, Human child. What purpose did thou have in seeking my daughter out? Was it to extort her for some riches or personal gain? Did you seek to become vampire yourself? Know this gift is a rare and powerful one, not to be bestowed upon any who merely ask it. Tell me why you accosted her.”

That was a sheep. Ryoka’s mind couldn’t get over that.

“I—I just wanted to know if she was a vampire. That’s all. I don’t want to become a vampire. And uh, I don’t want anything from Fierre. I just wanted to know…if vampires were real. That’s all.”

Ryoka looked up. Fierre was staring at her curiously. Almost hopefully. The other two vampires on the rafters exchanged glances. One of them, the younger, spoke.

“Sounds good to me. Why don’t we let her go?”

“Silence.”

Colfa cast a withering glance up above. The young male vampire folded his arms discontentedly. Lady Colfa shook her head.

“The safety of my daug—my offspring, Serafierre, is not one to be taken lightly. I require more proof of your goodwill, mortal.”

She looked directly at Ryoka. The young woman shook her head.

“I don’t know how I can prove my goodwill.”

Colfa’s lips quirked into a smile again.

“No? I have one idea. Serve me, Runner. Swear to obey me and mine kin. As a thrall to our house, eternal-bound. Obey, and you will go safely. Say it.”

Her eyes flashed. Uh oh. Ryoka felt an immediate compulsion to say yes. To obey, and agree to be their thrall, whatever that entailed. She opened her mouth, hesitated, and then closed it.

“No. I’m sorry, but no. I’ll swear not to reveal your secrets. But not to obey you.”

Colfa blinked. Her red eyes wavered. For a second she looked behind her, up towards the rafters. The old vampire sitting there shrugged. Colfa turned back to Ryoka with a frown.

“I am a creature of the night. Vampire. Immortal of blood. You will obey me. Swear it.”

This time whatever she did was stronger. Ryoka felt an urge to agree, to say yes. She fought it. And maybe it was experience of meeting both Teriarch and Magnolia, but she managed to resist whatever Colfa was doing fairly easily.

“No. Sorry.”

“You will obey!”

Colfa snapped, and upped the pressure in her voice and eyes. Ryoka gritted her teeth.

“No.”

“Colfa—”

“Mother—”

The old vampire spoke up at the same time as Fierre. Colfa ignored them. She was angry now. She put all of her energy into her next words. They echoed around the empty room, and Ryoka felt something pulling at her mind.

“I am a vampire. Immortal. Obey!”

Immortal. Ryoka thought of Ivolethe. And Teriarch. She looked up. And her fear turned into anger. Immortal?

There had been no wind in the room or outside. Barely a breeze in the still air. But at Colfa’s last words, dead air came to life. Wind blew through the room and outside. First a gust, and then a howling, whistling current through the opening in the wall. Colfa half-turned, eyes widening, and the other vampires including Fierre cried out.

Ryoka swung herself off the coffin and stood. Colfa turned to face her as the wind blew at her dress, pulling at her hair. Ryoka reached for her belt, gripped a bottle in one hand. She looked Colfa straight in the eye and shook her head.

“Obey you? No. I have met true immortals. And they are nothing like you.”

The wind blew at Ryoka’s hair. It circled the room, whipping up dust, blowing at the vampires. And then it was still. The vampires looked around. The young one spoke uneasily.

“Magic?”

Colfa didn’t respond. She was staring at Ryoka. And the pressure was still there. But Ryoka was resisting it. It wouldn’t work, and she could see the vampire was growing angrier. She was ready for Colfa’s next move. Prepared to fight and run, however unlikely it might be. But to her surprise, a voice interrupted the stalemate between her and Colfa.

“Colfa. It’s not going to work. Let the Runner go.”

The female vampire looked back. The vampire with the odd neck was standing in the opening that led outside. He looked at Ryoka, and then at Colfa and shook his head.

“Your domination won’t work. And she has magic. The Runner has said she won’t reveal our secrets. She came to learn about us. So let her.”

“Himilt!”

Colfa’s voice snapped. Himilt, whom Ryoka thought might be Colfa’s husband, shook his head again.

“What other choice is there? Fierre, we’ll let you explain.”

“But Dad—”

Fierre protested for a second. Her father gave her a long look and she subsided.

“You shouldn’t have abducted her to begin with. Tell her and we’ll see what happens. Unless anyone disagrees? Rivel? Bamer?”

He looked up at the two vampires sitting above him. Both shook their heads. The younger one, Rivel, looked slightly bored. Bamer, the elderly vampire, stared down at Ryoka with a frown but said nothing. Himilt nodded. He turned to Ryoka. And to her surprise, he walked over and held out a hand.

“My apologies, Miss Griffin. We’re wary of guests who know who we truly are. Welcome to our home. I am Himilt Drakle—”

“Lord Himilt val Lischelle-Drakle.”

Colfa hissed at him. Himilt sighed. Ryoka saw he had farmer’s clothing on. She hadn’t noticed at first, what with him being a vampire, which took higher priority, but he was a vampire dressed like a working farmer. His clothes were a bit muddy, and he smelled of the outdoors. His hand was callused. She took his hand and he gave her a gentle squeeze. Himilt sighed again.

“I’m Lord Himilt val Lischelle-Drakle. This is our family home—”

He received an elbow to the side, quick as lightning from his wife. The vampire barely reacted, but Ryoka felt the shock of the impact though their handshake before he let go. That had to hurt.

“—ancestral estates. Please excuse Fierre abducting you. She will explain who we are and answer your questions. You will not be harmed here.”

He looked over at his wife, as if seeking confirmation. She was scowling, and Ryoka noticed that she didn’t have lipstick on either. Her nails weren’t painted, and the grand dress Ryoka had thought she’d been wearing was actually cotton, not silk. In fact, it looked slightly rumpled. She turned towards Ryoka and tilted her head back. Her voice was imperious and still very traditionally vampiric.

“Mortal girl, you abide here by the grace of our goodwill. Should it run out, fear for thy life. Our daughter of fangs will escort you. Heed her every word with care. We shall meet again.”

She turned and swept away from them. Towards a door at the far end of the room. Himilt nodded and retreated. Ryoka watched them go, feeling very, very confused. The other two vampires looked at each other and stood up. The younger one waved at Ryoka.

“Hi. I’m Rivel.”

He leapt to the ground, a good ten feet, and landed lightly without so much as wincing. Then he leapt nimbly out through the hole in the wall. He’d been wearing farmer’s clothes too.

The older one was slower to move, but when he landed on the floor, it was without so much as a wince. He looked at Ryoka, shook his head, and then complained to Fierre and everyone in earshot.

“Why are we up so late? I need to be awake in the morning, you know. I’m going back to sleep. Tell me if we’re killing the Runner or what when I wake up.”

He followed Colfa through the door. Ryoka stayed where she was. She looked around and saw the last vampire standing awkwardly by herself. Fierre looked around desperately, as if hoping one of the older vampires would come back. But they didn’t. She looked at Ryoka and gave her a desperate smile.

“Uh, hi.”

Ryoka stared at her. There were a lot of things she could say, many of them stupid, some of them inflammatory. But that wasn’t the way. So she put aside what she’d just seen and witnessed, gave Fierre an awkward smile, and raised one hand.

“Hi.”

—-

“So you’re a vampire.”

“Yes.”

“And your entire family are vampires.”

“That’s right. I’m um, sorry about choking you—”

“Oh no, I get it. Can’t let other people find out about vampires, right?”

“That’s right. I panicked. Most people don’t remember vampires, but the ones who do don’t remember us fondly. I thought you might be trying to threaten me.”

“I said I wouldn’t tell anyone.”

“Yes, but—sorry. Anyways…yeah. We’re vampires.”

“Uh huh.”

“…”

“…So what’s it like?”

“What? Oh, being a vampire?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, you know…”

As conversations went, this one was awkward. Ryoka thought she knew uncomfortable, but talking to Fierre was establishing a new benchmark. She and the vampire girl sat awkwardly on a stone coffin, half staring at each other and half looking at their hands, and around the room in embarrassment.

Ryoka coughed. There was dust in the air, stirred up by the wind. Fierre waved some away from her face.

“Sorry about that. We don’t clean this place often.”

“Oh no, it was my fault. It’s uh, nice in here. Is this your family crypt or something?”

Fierre looked mildly surprised and amused.

“What? No. We don’t use this place except to store stuff. In the coffins.”

“Not to sleep in?”

That came out before Ryoka could help it. Fierre blinked at her.

“No. We don’t sleep in coffins. I have a bed.”

“Oh. Right. I mean…obviously. Vampires don’t sleep in coffins. It’s just that in legends…I mean, I only know legends, which is why I asked.”

“We don’t sleep in coffins. Not these ones, at any rate. They’re made of stone. Very hard and uncomfortable. I guess we could, but this place hasn’t been used to store dead bodies in centuries. It used to be, but my family bought the land here ages ago and cleared everything up.”

Ryoka paused.

“Your family bought this land? I thought they were your ancestral estates.”

Fierre shrugged, and scratched her neck uncomfortably. She’d taken off her scarf and her heavy, thick clothing. She looked like a normal girl now. With pale skin. Red eyes. And fangs.

“That’s just what mother likes saying. This place has been in the family for…sixty years? But that’s about it.”

“Ah. Right.”

More silence. The two looked at each other. Ryoka took a few breaths. They’d never get anywhere tiptoeing around.

“So you’re a vampire.”

“I am.”

Fierre took a shuddering breath. She was breathing hard, as if this was the most exhausting thing Ryoka had ever seen her do. She looked up and met Ryoka’s eyes for the first time.

Vampire. Creature of death. Blood feeders. Masters of the night. Only, that was what people said. And reality looked different. Fierre was slightly scrawny. She looked like she was in her teens. Her clothing wasn’t the color of midnight—it was worn, nondescript. She didn’t sleep in a coffin.

But she was a vampire. Fierre took another gulp of air.

“Wow. You’re the first person—the first non-vampire I’ve ever met who’s known I’m—ever. You know?”

“No. Not really.”

Ryoka saw Fierre look up. Suddenly, she laughed. So did Ryoka. They laughed, and some of the tension in the air drained away. Just like that.

Wasn’t that easy? Suddenly, Ryoka felt silly. Of course they were like people. If they weren’t, she would have been dead already. How else could Fierre have blended in so well? Ryoka laughed and then coughed harder as more dust entered her lungs. Fierre grimaced.

“Hey, you want to get out of here?”

“Fine by me. Um—where are we?”

The vampire girl leapt off the coffin. She pointed towards the door that her mother had gone through.

“My home. Come on. It’s not much, but I can show you around. This way.”

Ryoka followed her out of the room full of coffins and through a door of plain wood. It looked…recently installed. The masonry was crumbling in this keep or whatever Fierre’s family had bought. The hallways were dark and cold underfoot. Ryoka shivered, hopping from one bare foot to the other. Fierre noticed.

“Sorry. We don’t keep many lights on. Vampires can uh, see really well in the dark. And we don’t get cold.”

“I noticed. You said your family bought this place? What was this, a castle or something?”

“It used to be. A big one, too. But it was already mostly gone by the time it was bought. Now it’s just the keep and some ruins left over. We’ve been working on it now and then, but there’s never enough time—oh.”

She turned left. Ryoka stopped as she saw Himilt, the level-headed vampire, holding a trowel and standing in front of a hole. In the wall of the keep. It led straight outdoors and Ryoka saw tall grass outside. The vampire was industriously applying a coat of dark grey mortar to the stones and repairing a hole in the wall. Fierre looked embarrassed.

Colfa was appalled. The vampire appeared in a blur of swishing red and black, hurrying towards her husband.

“Himilt! What are you doing?”

The vampire looked up and replied mildly.

“You’ve been telling me to repair the gap in the wall for years. I’m finally doing it.”

“Yes, but here? Now?”

Colfa shot a meaningful glance at Ryoka. Unperturbed, her husband spread a bit of mortar on the stonework and plopped a stone into place.

“It’s the best time, isn’t it? First the sheep wander in, now this. If you want to give me a hand, I can do it faster.”

“We have a guest.”

“Um—this way.”

Fierre led Ryoka back, blushing, though it was barely noticeable on her face. Ryoka tried not to laugh.

“Those are your parents? Or your sires?”

Fierre shook her head.

“Don’t you start. My mother’s the only one who talks like that, you know. She even put on a dress to impress you. They’re my parents.”

“Vampires can have children?”

The girl looked back at Ryoka. The Runner girl paused.

“Sorry. There’s just so much I want to know.”

“I can see that. Yes, we can have children. But we’re not—I don’t know what you’ve heard, but we’re not like mother acts.”

“But you are vampires. Immortal. Quick. And strong. You managed to choke me—I wasn’t expecting that. I hit you and you didn’t so much as flinch.”

“Yeah. I didn’t expect you to do that. It hurt a bit.”

“A bit?”

Fierre looked back at Ryoka as she pushed open a door. She grinned toothily.

“Just a bit.”

A change was coming over her. Gone, gone was Fierre the quiet girl who was afraid to show her teeth. She began walking faster, talking more animatedly. She was in her home. And she’d told Ryoka the worst. What could happen next? In a way, Ryoka realized, she’d been the one who was more scared between the two. After all, Ryoka had met a Dragon. Fierre had never so much as told another Human being who she really was.

“Look. This is home.”

Fierre led Ryoka towards a door and threw it open. Rather than continue into the rest of the keep, the walls and indeed, the entire structure just…stopped. Ryoka saw a few broken walls, some flooring partially consumed by grass, and then just nature. She looked out and saw it.

A pasture. Sheep, greyish white and thick in their winter coats lay together, slumbering in the grass. Little lambs, both ewes and rams were protectively shielded by their parents, while a few oddly nocturnal sheep were up and about, grazing the first bloom of spring. A fence boxed them in, and beyond them lay a barn, another pasture where cows slept. The open sky—and below, a large, rocky field full of grass and boulders, along which a dirt road wound.

They were standing on a plateau. And this ruined castle, Fierre’s home, stood on top. Ryoka looked around and backed up from the keep. She looked up at it. It was a decaying mess of a building, but someone had taken the time to repair many of the gaps with fresh stone and mortar, roofing the top, and the keep was grand for all that.

Once, it had been a castle. Now, pedestals of stone were scattered around, the broken walls used as part of the fencing keeping the animals in, overgrown by grass. It was a peaceful, peculiar sight. Ryoka turned her head and saw her standing there.

Fierre. The girl looked at her. And there was something urgent in her posture. In the way she moved. She took a few steps forward, and then turned to face Ryoka.

“This is my home. And you were right, Ryoka. I’m a vampire.”

She flinched, as if saying that word aloud was frightening. But after the world failed to strike her down, Fierre’s shoulders rose. She looked around. And then she grinned at Ryoka.

“I’m a vampire.”

She leapt up, and it was as if gravity had vanished for her for a moment. Ryoka looked up and Fierre landed on the faded stone pedestal. Another leap and she touched the wall of her home. She clung to the wall, and then kicked off again. Higher, landing on the roof of the keep. She looked down at Ryoka and her eyes sparkled the tiniest bit red. White teeth flashed, and Ryoka felt a jolt in her heart.

“Wow.”

Fierre jumped, and she flew through the air, farther than the world’s greatest Olympian long-jump. She landed on a pillar of stone, waved her arms at Ryoka. Spun. Jump again. She soared through the night, laughing in the moonlight. Showing off. Delighted to just be. A creature of legend.

A vampire.

—-

Somehow, unaccountably, or perhaps accountably, they liked each other. Perhaps it was because they were both similar—despite not appearing it at first glance. But when she could be herself at home, Fierre delighted in well, being a vampire. She was proud of it, and all too willing to show off the inhuman agility and strength that was a hallmark of her kind. She could lift a sheep—carefully—over her head, leap phenomenal distances, and see perfectly in the dark.

And Ryoka was Ryoka. Pride was in her nature, but she’d learned to work at being personable. With Fierre she didn’t have to. The two walked around the pasture as Fierre pointed out the livestock her family raised and tended. She’d grown up here before moving to the city to earn a living.

“I’m actually twenty five years old.”

“What?”

Fierre gave Ryoka a toothy grin.

“Oh yes. Vampires don’t really age. We can if we want to, or even get younger. But we don’t have to grow old.”

“Then why do you look like you’re sixteen?”

“Because it’s easier to pretend to get older each year. I was even younger when I first came to Reizmelt. Which is hard, because I’m old inside. For instance, I’m older than you.”

She looked up at Ryoka with an upturned nose. Ryoka reflexively elbowed her. Fierre just laughed. Ryoka shot her a sideways look.

“I bet it also makes it hard to hang around people like Madain, doesn’t it? Given that you could probably twist his arms off.”

The vampire girl tried to look innocent.

“Who, me? I’d never try. I’ve thought of it, but—I’m not sure I could, honestly. He was a good adventurer and I’m not that strong. I can lift a sheep, but tearing heads off or punching holes in the wall isn’t easy.”

“Yeah, but he can’t do that.”

“I’ve seen him punch straight through the wall of his inn.”

“Oh. Crap. Remind me not to make him angry. So you, what, hide among Humans to earn a living?”

“Pretty much. I’m good at it too, aren’t I?”

“Er…”

Fierre glanced up at Ryoka.

“I keep my teeth hidden, I stay out of the sunlight, and I don’t ever show anyone that my shadow’s missing.”

“Yeah, but it’s still sort of obvious if you know what to look for.”

“Really?”

Fierre looked put out. She glanced sideways at Ryoka.

“No one’s ever found out I’m a vampire, though. And I’ve had to survive a few sticky situations. Corrupt Runners trying to do me in, monster attacks—I was even mugged by a gang of [Thieves] once.”

“How did they taste?”

The two started giggling. Fierre put one hand on Ryoka’s shoulder to steady herself.

“I don’t drink Human blood! Really, I don’t!”

“Why not? Are you afraid of making more vampires.”

She shook her head.

“We can control that. It’s not like sucking blood makes new vampires. If it did, we’d have vampire sheep instead of live ones. No, it’s way too risky. Bite marks look distinctive, and if you get spotted—my family’s sworn never to drink blood from people. Ever.”

Ryoka frowned. She kept one eye on the grass, watching out for sheep poo as she walked around with Fierre.

“Then how do you survive?”

“Animals. Obviously.”

Fierre pointed to the next pasture. Cows were resting at night. But again, some were up and awake. Apparently having nocturnal owners meant the animals became semi-nocturnal themselves. Ryoka eyed them.

“You suck their blood?”

“That’s right. Or we harvest it so we can move around. I get blood in bottles each week from the farm. It’s cow blood, mainly. Sheep too. Pigs, goats…we get a lot of blood from pigs during the slaughter, but cows are bigger so we can bleed a bit more from them.”

“Bleed?”

Ryoka had an image of bleeding animals in a slaughter house and shuddered. But again, Fierre shook her head.

“Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt them. And they’re used to it. We only take a little bit each week and we have lots of animals to keep up the blood supply.”

“Huh. So wait. You said vampire sheep. Does that mean—”

A loud baaah interrupted Ryoka. She jumped and saw a familiar white shape heading straight for her. The sheep that had so rudely interrupted Colfa appeared, baahing and staring up at Ryoka and Fierre. It approached the vampire girl. Fierre bent and rubbed its head.

“Hello there, Fluffles. You’ve been a bad sheep, haven’t you?”

Ryoka stared.

“Fluffles?”

Fierre looked up and grinned wickedly.

“That’s right. Fluffles the Sixth. He’s mother’s favorite. You can pet him if you want. I was about ready to die laughing when he came in and ruined mother’s performance.”

“That was something alright. I was about to wet myself before he started baahing. So your mother and your father are [Herders]?”

“That’s right. Except without the class.”

“Oh. Then what’s their class?”

Ryoka looked up, curious. Fierre made a face.

“None. Vampires don’t earn classes. We can’t level up. Mother lost her classes when she became a vampire. Old Bamer thinks it’s a way of keeping balance. Imagine if a high-level [Warrior] were a vampire.”

“That makes sense. Hey—guess what? I don’t have a class either.”

Fierre’s eyes widened.

“You don’t? Are you crazy? How are you doing that wind thing, then?”

Ryoka felt a bit insulted. She straightened and Fluffles the Sixth went off to find more hands to scratch his head.

“Hey, you said you don’t have a class.”

“Yes, but I’m a vampire. You’re Human. I’ve met people who don’t want classes. They’re odd, odd sorts. I should have known you were one of them.”

The vampire looked challengingly at Ryoka. The Asian girl opened her mouth, and sighed.

“Okay, you’ve got me there.”

The two laughed again.

“So why don’t you have a class?”

“I…just don’t trust classes that much. I don’t like the idea of being defined by my Skills or what leveling does to you.”

Fierre nodded.

“That’s fair. It does change you. I’ve seen it happen. Myself, though, I wish I could level up. Skills are wonderful, aren’t they?”

“They are nice. I could use a [Runner]’s Skills, but…is that why you’re an opener? Because you don’t have Skills?”

A low sigh escaped Fierre’s lips.

“Partly. It is hard to earn a lot of money if you don’t have levels. Opening’s a good job because I can fake having Skills that protect me against poison or a lot of traps. Not that I try to get hit by spells, by the way. But it’s saved me twice when there’s been contact poison on the envelope. Vampires are really hard to poison. But I work other jobs as well.”

“I noticed. How many jobs do you have?”

The girl began ticking them off on her fingers. Ryoka looked around and spotted Himalt walking towards the barn, hole in the keep apparently fixed. He was quite quick—so was Fierre. Even walking, they moved faster than normal, as if permanently sped up.

“Let’s see. I work as an opener for Runners. I buy and sell information—but I’m not that well-connected. I help Miss Kelysta out in her shop, mainly by grinding poisonous herbs and so on. I’m a part-time laborer, I do grave digging if the [Gravedigger]’s back is shot. Sometimes I help with building, I’ve earned money as a butcher, and I’ve got experience as a barmaid…”

“Sure you don’t want to add being a Runner to that? You could probably make a good living. At least as a City Runner.”

Fierre hesitated.

“I’d do that, but then I’d have to run at night. Sunlight’s bad for me. Plus…it’s not good to attract that much attention, you know?”

“Right. Can’t let anyone find out. Uh—why’s that so bad? Because people will hunt you down?”

The girl scowled darkly.

“Not most people. Most people don’t even remember us. But a few groups do. Ever heard of the Byres family? They’re famous vampire slayers. So are the Veltras and Terland families. If word got out there were vampires, we’d be hunted down and adventurers would be collecting bounties on our heads.”

“Not exactly ideal.”

Ryoka agreed mildly. She opened her mouth to ask another question and heard a rumble. So did Fierre. Both girls looked at Ryoka’s stomach.

“Sorry. I haven’t eaten since breakfast. Since someone decided to knock me out.”

At least Fierre had the decency to blush.

“Sorry. Why don’t you come inside? We’ve got food.”

“I don’t eat blood.”

This time Fierre elbowed Ryoka, and the taller girl doubled over and clutched at her side.

“We’ve got real food too. Come on.”

This time they circled the keep and went in through the kitchen. There were a lot of doors, and not a lot of locks. Or any, rather. Not even a deadbolt. Fierre looked around the slightly dusty and unused kitchen and began rummaging around on the shelves.

“We’ve probably got cheese, bread…no fresh meat, sorry. Mother doesn’t keep much in the larder except to entertain guests.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

Ryoka heard a laugh. Fierre frowned into a cupboard and then turned and shouted.

“Mother? Where’s the food?”

“Look in the upper pantry, daughter of mine!”

A loud voice echoed back down the hallway. Fierre looked and pulled out a hairy piece of cheese. Ryoka took one look at it and shook her head. Fierre scowled.

“It’s got mold on it! I can’t give her that! Remember what happened last time?”

“Go into the storeroom!”

“Sorry. Wait one second.”

Grumbling, Fierre went into the keep. She came back moments later holding a slice of cheese and a bottle. She handed both to Ryoka.

“Here. Some wine. And cheese. Don’t worry—it’s fresh.”

Ryoka blinked at the fare, but she accepted both. One sniff confirmed that the food was indeed good, and she set to with vigor. Two bites in and Ryoka’s tongue caught up. Her eyes widened.

“This is some good cheese!”

“Isn’t it? We make it here.”

Fierre grinned proudly.

“We raise cows, like I said. Not just for blood. My family sells milk, makes cheese—we earn a lot of money off of our pigs, too. Eggs, wool—it’s good money.”

“I’d pay for this cheese. You want some?”

Ryoka offered it to Fierre, but the vampire girl waved away the cheese before pouring herself a cup of wine. Ryoka had forgotten the vampire part and asked about it. Fierre just shrugged.

“I can eat food. I just don’t need to if I have blood. And with food, it has to come back out.”

“Thanks for sharing.”

“You’re the one who does it all the time. Not me.”

Fierre smiled.

“I am a vampire. I don’t need to sleep as much—although I get tired during the day, I don’t need to eat anything if I have blood, and I heal up really fast.”

She coughed into her hand. Ryoka eyed her.

“But you do get sick.”

“Well, yes.”

“But aren’t you…dead? Or er, undead?”

“No.”

The girl sat up instantly, looking cross. She shook her head vigorously.

“We’re not undead. That’s a myth. If we were undead, why would we need to drink blood?”

“Um…”

That was a good point. But all the stories Ryoka had ever heard had pointed out vampires as being distinctly dead. She stopped chewing for a second and eyed Fierre.

“Do you mind if I check your pulse?”

“No. Go ahead.”

Fierre let Ryoka touch her neck. To Ryoka’s surprise, she had a pulse, albeit very slow. Her skin was cold to the touch, but, Ryoka had to admit, it was just cold. Not exactly the chilling touch of death.

“See? We’re not undead.”

“Nope. You’re more like a lizard. Ow!”

This time Fierre prodded Ryoka under the table with one finger. The Runner girl yelped. Fierre smiled.

“We’re alive. I wouldn’t have this stupid cold if I wasn’t. But like I said, we heal quickly. Although we do get sick quite often…Bamer thinks that’s a curse.”

She rolled her eyes. Ryoka didn’t. She was thinking of the rash she’d seen on Colfa’s arm. But she didn’t bring that up.

“So you’re an immortal vampire—”

“That’s just what mother says. We die.”

“Fine, a powerful vampire—”

Fierre grinned.

“—who works multiple jobs to do…what? Save up for high-quality cow’s blood?”

The grin on Fierre’s face faded.

“No. I’m just supporting the family. I send most of the money I earn back here. It’s not that we don’t earn a lot from our business, but every bit counts, you know?”

Towards what? But Ryoka had sensed Fierre didn’t want to say just yet, so she nodded.

“So you stay at Mad Madain’s because…”

“It’s cheap. And he serves his meat bloody. It’s convenient for me and he doesn’t ask questions.”

“Fair enough. So you’re just an everyday, hardworking vampire girl helping make ends meet. What about your mother?”

“She’s…different.”

Fierre fiddled with her empty cup. She noticed Ryoka’s stare and flushed.

“Okay, she’s very different. She likes being a vampire, alright? She was Human—before father turned her.”

“You mean…”

“She married into the family. She’s a Lischelle. Hence the name. We’re just the Drakles, but mother insists on calling ourselves Lischelle-Drakles because she thinks it sounds better.”

“And no one gets suspicious at the last name ‘Drakle’?”

“They just think it means Drake.”

“…Fair. Okay, so your mother just met your father and they…fell in love?”

“That’s right. He only revealed he was a vampire when they were in love. And she begged to be one. For years, apparently.”

“Huh.”

For some reason, that was the least surprising bit to Ryoka. If vampires ever came to Earth, her Earth, they’d have no shortage of followers. And it also explained why Colfa acted like she did.

“So the Lischelles know your family are vampires? That’s a lot of trust.”

Again, Fierre shook her head.

“Oh, no. None of them are vampires except for mother, and they don’t know she’s one. She keeps it secret. And we’re lucky in that sense. Mother’s name really helps our business.”

“Really?”

“Yes, definitely. The Lischelles are famous [Shepherds], [Beast Tamers], [Herders]…they’re practically royalty among the farming communities. Dad always said he got lucky marrying Mom. She agrees.”

Fierre rolled her eyes. Ryoka sat back.

“So you don’t enslave people with hypnosis, prey on the innocent, or create more vampire thralls to control the living. But you do have the power to do something, don’t you? Your mother tried it on me.”

This time Fierre paused and looked away.

“That was—domination. Yeah, we can do that. It works best on animals, but mother’s gifted, apparently. She can control people. Even make them forget things. It didn’t work on you, though. Why is that?”

“Maybe because I had a charm?”

Ryoka showed Fierre one of her Runner charms. The vampire gave them a dismissive look.

“Charms don’t work on the vampire gaze. It’s not an enchantment so the charms can’t block them. Try again.”

“I’m just stubborn, then. I’ve had people try to charm me before. It never works.”

“Really?”

Fierre gave Ryoka an appraising look. The Runner sat back.

“Give me your best shot.”

The vampire studied Ryoka, and then shook her head lightly.

“No thanks. I don’t practice my gaze. It’s risky if you get found out, or if you meet someone who can resist. I want to live a healthy, long life, thanks.”

“Until you’re what, eight hundred?”

“Forty would be nice.”

Ryoka laughed. But Fierre didn’t. She smiled and reached for the wine bottle.

“There’s a bit about vampires you don’t know, Ryoka. A lot of it’s sort of true. Bamer says we used to prey on people and control a lot of Izril—until we were nearly wiped out, that is. We don’t do any of that anymore. And we’re not immortal. Some of us can live into our sixties, or even eighties…but never longer.”

“What?”

It sounded like a joke. But the convivial atmosphere, helped by the wine, had left Fierre’s face. She looked into her cup, and then drank it down.

“Nothing. It’s nothing. We just have shorter lifespans, that’s all.”

She grinned at Ryoka, showing her fangs. The Human girl hesitated.

“Okay. So you’re all good people. Then why not come out? Why hide?”

“Byres. Silver swords. It’s not worth the risk. We keep to ourselves, stay safe—it’s better this way. That’s what Dad says and everyone agrees. But sometimes people find out and we have to scare them quiet. Or make sure they don’t talk. Like you.”

Fierre leaned over, scooting her chair towards Ryoka. She leaned on the girl’s shoulder. As if the wine was suddenly having an effect.

“Normally, mother makes them forget. That’s why I brought you here. But rarely—it’s never happened with my family—we meet someone who can know about us. Then we teach them a sign so they can find more vampires. We call them Flesh Friends.”

“Really?”

“No. I made that up.”

Fierre laughed and Ryoka did too. The vampire girl leaned against Ryoka. She was cold, but soft. She smiled up at Ryoka and for some reason, Ryoka’s heart skipped a beat.

“We’d be good friends, don’t you think? I’ve always wanted to talk to someone who wasn’t a vampire and knew who I was. I wanted to talk to you, but you were always busy.”

“Really? About what?”

Was it getting warmer? Fierre grinned.

“I wanted to know about the bare feet.”

“Oh. I just like running barefoot. Uh—”

It was warmer. Ryoka was flushing a bit. She shifted, to get a bit of room. Fierre just scooted over, hogging Ryoka’s chair.

“If mother and father agree, you’ll get to leave here knowing our secret. Then I could talk to you about all my secrets. You’d be the only person who knows who I am. Wouldn’t that be nice? We could be…friends.”

The look Fierre gave Ryoka said the opposite of friendship would happen in that case. Ryoka blinked rapidly. What was going on? She was certain—fairly certain—that she wasn’t attracted to Fierre. Or she hadn’t been. Until right now. Now, she was definitely and severely interested in Fierre’s pale lips, her body. Fierre rested a hand on Ryoka’s arm.

Her touch was cool and electric. It sent a shock running straight down Ryoka’s spine as Fierre gently touched her arm. Ryoka felt her heart beating way too fast.  She tried to pull away and her mind finally put two and two together.

“You’re—charming me. Stop it.”

Fierre laughed.

“Didn’t you say to give it my best shot? Well, I am. Are you…interested?”

Ryoka was, very. Fierre tilted her head and gave Ryoka a pointed smile. For some reason that was the most appealing thing in the world. Ryoka swayed. Her head dipped. What was she doing? She wasn’t attracted to Fierre! Or girls! Okay, it was a spectrum of liking someone, but—

“Would you like to be friends? I’m terribly interested. And don’t worry. I won’t bite.”

That last line nearly pulled Ryoka out of it. But the look Fierre gave her dragged Ryoka right back in. And closer to Fierre’s lips.

Don’t do it. Her mind was telling her not to take that kiss, and for more reasons than just that Fierre was trying to make her do it. Ryoka tried to resist, but Fierre’s seduction was a lot harder than her mother’s command. She tried to will herself to stop, but Fierre’s face was on a collision course with hers.

Pull away. What would Erin do? What would Erin do? What would—

“You and I could find a space together. Or close the door—”

The vampire girl was smiling wickedly and running a hand up Ryoka’s arms. She leaned forwards, and her face froze up. She inhaled—

And then she sneezed on Ryoka. That broke the spell quite effectively. Fierre wiped her nose, coughing as Ryoka jerked backwards in her seat. Ryoka felt all her attraction towards Fierre vanish—she wiped her arm and Fierre scowled.

“Damn it. Stupid cold.”

Ryoka was panting. She stared at Fierre as the vampire girl fished around for something. She came up with a potion and drank a mouthful. Her coughing subsided. She looked up and met Ryoka’s eyes. The two stared at each other. Fierre grinned.

“Well? I don’t know about you, but I’d say that worked.”

The Runner opened and closed her mouth a few times. She looked at Fierre, who was giving her a challenging, half-mocking grin. Daring her to say anything. Ryoka looked at Fierre, gulped, and then slowly spoke.

“I think we are going to be best friends. Or I’m going to have to kill you.”

And the vampire girl laughed.

—-

Ryoka had been awoken in the Drakle household closer to midnight than not. And it was into early morning when they exited the kitchen, laughing, a bit drunk on wine, but mostly good spirits. Fierre stopped Ryoka in the hallways and grew a bit more sober for a second.

“I was supposed to tell you about vampires. But you knew almost everything. Even more stories than Bamer. Are there really tales about…Dracula, and vampires where you come from?”

“More than you could know.”

Fierre looked at Ryoka. Without telling her where she was from, Ryoka had told her about Earth’s legends. Most of which it turned out were fairly accurate—you could get a seducing vampire who preyed on virgins and offed anyone trying to get rid of him—he was called an asshole, and a criminal.

Fierre had enjoyed the stories, and Ryoka had confirmed it. She liked Fierre. Vampire Fierre was forthright, honest—and if she didn’t like what Ryoka said, she’d poke Ryoka in the stomach. She was quite, quite strong. And Fierre seemed to like her too, as odd as that was. Now the vampire girl looked…thoughtful.

“You really just wanted to know if I was a vampire? To talk to me?”

“Yeah. I mean, it wasn’t the greatest plan, but I was sleep-deprived and a bit stupid. And we were in the sunlight. If you really freaked out I probably would have bought a wagonload of garlic and some silver, but…I just wanted to know. To be friends.”

Ryoka shrugged. Fierre looked at her, mouth slightly open, showing her fangs. It was how she smiled when she was happy.

“I’d like that. Okay. I’ll see what I can do. I need to talk to my mother. She won’t want to leave you, but if I can convince her you’re trustworthy—”

“We can be Flesh Friends?”

Fierre snorted and then tried to cover it. She turned.

“I’ll be back. You can go wherever you want. Just don’t go into the bull’s pasture. Or leave the plateau. Or wake up Bamer. He’s sleeping.”

She turned and vanished down the dark hallway. Ryoka, who’d grown used to the dim lighting by now, yawned and looked around. She was feeling tired, despite having had an arguably long nap thanks to Fierre. Melatonin, and all that. She thought about waiting in the kitchen, but Ryoka didn’t handle sitting and waiting well. So she wandered the keep instead—for about a minute.

“Cold feet, cold feet.”

The inside was too chilly for Ryoka, so she hurried outside into the grass. The sheep were all asleep by this point, even Fluffles. Ryoka walked quietly around them, staring at the wooly forms, and then noticed a few animals were up. The cows. A few were up and a dark figure was tending to one of them. Ryoka wouldn’t have noticed, but the metal on the bucket Himalt was milking the cow into shone in the moonlight. She wandered over.

“Um. Hello.”

Himalt looked up, and the cow turned one big head and gave Ryoka a watery look. Both cow and vampire seemed quite calm in the moonlight. Himalt nodded.

“Hello. Fierre’s told you all about us?”

Ryoka leaned on the fence, watching as milk squirted into the bucket.

“Mostly she just told me what you weren’t. I knew a lot of legends about vampires—uh, from my home. But there are quite a few differences, apparently.”

“Mm. Such as?”

The vampire’s voice was calm. He looked like a farmer right out of Ryoka’s imagination—except for the pale skin, red eyes, and neck. It was bulbous, and Ryoka eyed it with a growing certainty about why that might be. But she made no comment.

“Uh, I thought vampires were technically undead. And that you couldn’t get sick. Or eat food, really.”

“Well, you’re partially right. Food doesn’t do much for us. A vampire can eat all day and the food mostly goes in and out. Blood’s what we need to live. As for sickness and being undead—we’re not the vampires our ancestors were.”

“Really?”

Himalt’s hands were rhythmic. The cow seemed to be enjoying the milking. Ryoka noticed more getting up. She understood, in a way. If Himalt wanted to do his work out of the sun, the cows had to change when they woke up and went to sleep. He replied calmly, turning his head.

“Not at all. We don’t drink the blood of people. Some of us were famous necromancers. Stronger vampires who burned up in sunlight like kindling. They were probably closer to your stories. But the Drakle line has been born vampires. We give birth. Rarely do people marry into the family.”

“Like your wife.”

The hands paused for a second.

“Yes. Colfa was an exception. But mostly, we marry between ourselves.”

“Um…how many of you are there?”

Ryoka wondered if inbreeding was an issue. Himalt just shrugged in reply.

“I couldn’t say. Hundreds? Not thousands. There are clans of us scattered about. We know each other. Not that the Byres or any adventurers of today would find us—most of the time. I trust you understand why we keep to ourselves?”

“I do. And you have my word I won’t tell anyone, Mister Himalt.”

“That’s good to know. Colfa was worried after her gaze and voice failed on you.”

“Does she work on the farm with you?”

It seemed at odds with Colfa’s grand act, but Himalt nodded.

“Normally she doesn’t wear that dress. She’d be out here, but she’s talking to Fierre. I believe they’ve deliberating what your fate—I’m sorry, thine fate, should be. She’ll agree to let you go, I’ m sure.”

“What would you have done if you decided you couldn’t trust me? Hypothetically speaking.”

Ryoka had to know. Himalt looked up, still milking the cows.

“We’d probably have to find a way to keep you silent. Since Colfa couldn’t use her gaze, we’d turn to magic—or spread the word and try and find someone with a stronger gaze.”

“You wouldn’t kill me?”

“We’re not monsters.”

The word was a quiet rebuke. Ryoka flushed. Himalt shook his head.

“My wife has never killed an innocent soul. [Bandits]? Yes. Monsters? Of course. And wolves, bears…but she has a soft spot. I’m lucky to have met her, you know.”

“Uh huh.”

Ryoka felt embarrassed, as she always did when someone older than her talked about love. Himalt looked up at her, and his voice was calm.

“Miss Griffin, I’m not sure where you’re from to hear so many legends about vampires. But I won’t ask. Secrets should be respected, and I trust you to keep ours. But I have one warning. It’s not made in malice, understand, but I have to say it. Reveal my daughter’s secret or put her in harm’s way, and I will find and kill you.”

The words travelled a little ways in the grassy pasture, and faded. The wind carried them away, so only the Runner girl heard. She stared at Himalt. The vampire didn’t reappear behind Ryoka in the blink of an eye, or intimidate her with some superhuman feat of strength like lifting the entire cow over his head. In fact, all the while he never stopped milking the cow in front of him.

But he met her eyes. And that was enough. For a brief moment, Himalt looked up and something else looked at Ryoka. Not a farmer. Not a Human. It was ancient and terrified the mortal part of Ryoka. It stared at Ryoka as it knelt, milking the cow. And then it was gone, and Himalt was back. He looked back to his task as if nothing had happened. Ryoka shivered. Himilt had more of true Vampire in one glance than all of his wife’s pretenses and airs.

“I promise.”

“And I don’t doubt your word. Good folk shouldn’t, so I apologize again for saying it.”

Himalt stood up. The bucket was full, and the cow seemed happy. It wandered off. The vampire nodded.

“They should be done talking by now. If not, let’s surprise them. Miss Griffin?”

She expected him to lead the way to the gates. But instead, Himalt jumped. It was a graceful movement. He leapt up and landed on the other side of the fence, bucket in hand. And somehow, though the milk sloshed slightly, not a drop of it fell to the ground. Himalt gave Ryoka a slow, pleased smile. And she grinned at him with awestruck delight.

The two walked back towards the keep. They didn’t say much. But Himalt did pause, a little bit in front of the faded stone. He pointed up at it.

“This is our home. Not our first home. The Drakle family moved about for thousands of years. We’ve changed names. Lived in the open or the past. Now there are only a few of us left. Ryoka Griffin, look upon it.”

He turned, setting the bucket down. And again, the farmer changed. A tall figure stood with his back to the keep. Ancient, worn stone grew taller. A pair of red eyes looked down at Ryoka. The wind stilled, and Ryoka looked up at Himilt. A vampire with old eyes stood proudly, chest raised, poised.

He held his hand out and swept it slowly across the ruined, overgrown estate. And she heard his voice, saw his feelings in every line of his body.

Look. Here, amid the ruins. Here I am. Here we are. See what we are. What we were.

The shadows seemed darker around him. Grander. But Himilt cast no shadow. He looked down at Ryoka. He was a farmer. And happy with it, or so it seemed. But he was also a vampire. And though he had changed to live, he had not forgotten. In his way, he was more of his ancestors than Colfa could ever be.

Grand, humbled. A past glory, reduced to this. No—wait. That wasn’t the point. Ryoka looked past Himalt. He didn’t seem merely sad. His outstretched arm took in his fields. The placid animals. The past had changed, become something new. And it was his.

There was nothing to say. But Ryoka knew something of immortals. So she bowed. Slightly, a courtly bow. And the vampire smiled. He turned away and picked up his bucket. And by the time Ryoka straightened he was Himalt the farmer again.

That was how the two found Colfa and her daughter. Himalt and Ryoka were smiling and talking about cows. Apparently vampirism affected animals very differently. Made them dangerous. But magical cows were nice.

“Ahem. Mine husband. Hast thou entertained our mortal guest?”

Colfa looked severely at Himalt. He looked up.

“I have, my dear.”

Suspiciously, as if she suspected Himalt of rolling in the mud just to make her look bad, Colfa eyed Ryoka and her husband. But Ryoka only nodded politely.

“Your husband showed me the grandeur of your estates, Lady Colfa val Lischelle-Drakle. I am honored to be your guest and humbly beg your forgiveness for my temerity earlier.”

She gave Colfa a very proper bow. Himalt and Fierre both rolled their eyes a bit, but Colfa looked delighted. She straightened and smoothed the dress.

“Well then. Since thou hast shown thine sincerity, I judge my daughter’s trust in you to be founded. Mortal Runner, you may go with the forbidden knowledge of our existence—so long as you swear to keep our secret on pain of death.”

She fixed Ryoka with a menacing look. Ryoka nodded, keeping her face straight.

“I do swear, milady. It is a compact most sacred, which I shall honor with every bit of my mortal heart.”

That last bit was probably too flowery even for Colfa, because she shot Ryoka a look. But she nodded.

“In that case, go. Return to where you came hence with the knowledge of what you’ve seen…unless you’d like to sleep first? We have extra beds.”

—-

The Drakle estates lay at the top of a plateau, uphill. It was a good spot, although as Fierre pointed out, it sometimes meant they had to lead the herds down the slopes to graze.

“Not to mention how hard it is to get a wagon uphill in the mud. But it’s nice.”

“It is. And I like running downhill. Which way’s Reizmelt?”

She and Ryoka stood at the top of the hill. The wind was blowing strong, and though the sun had  yet to rise, the sky was lighter. Fierre pointed.

“That way. We’re hours away. As the vampire runs.”

“And the Runner?”

“Well, if you can keep up, we’ll be back by midmorning.”

Fierre shot Ryoka a challenging grin. The Runner blinked in surprise, and then smiled.

“How the hell did you get me out of Reizmelt and all the way out here without me waking up? In secret, no less?”

“Easy. I put you in a wheelbarrow and put a cloth over you.”

“Wait, that worked?”

“Yup. The [Guards] know me. They probably thought I was hauling something. And then I jumped over the walls when they weren’t looking with you. That was harder since you’re heavy.”

“And you ran with me all the way here?”

That would have been a challenge if Ryoka had done that to Fierre, and she was shorter than Ryoka by a good bit. Fierre shrugged.

“It did take the rest of the day.”

“And I was asleep the entire time?”

The vampire girl smiled sheepishly.

“You did wake up. Twice.”

Ryoka felt at her throat.

“Ow.”

“Don’t worry. I was careful. Now, do you want to go? I can’t run as fast in the sun. And I’ll be in trouble if I’m out of the shade.”

“Sure. Let’s go.”

Ryoka began running down the hill. She took off, having been stretching while Fierre was chatting. She heard a startled exclamation from the girl. But Ryoka was already gone.

And the wind changed. It followed Ryoka, and it whistled as it raced down the hill. Ryoka’s legs blurred as she sped up, trying to keep up with gravity. She heard a laugh, and looked up.

A pale shape leapt down the hill. Fierre didn’t bother to run. She just leapt, bounding down the hill, landing off rocks and flipping through the air. Ryoka looked up and saw Fierre wave at her. The vampire disappeared down the hill. Ryoka gritted her teeth and ran faster.

Down from the hill and into the grass. Ryoka hit the road and there she was. Lounging, pretending to sleep. Ryoka ran right past Fierre and kicked some dirt at her. The vampire leapt up and raced after her. She caught up in twelve seconds, and the two locked eyes while running.

Ryoka went into her top-speed sprint. The wind howled behind her for a moment and she lost Fierre. The vampire girl’s eyes widened. She caught up—with a tad bit of difficulty. Ryoka kept the pace for ten seconds. Twenty. The wind was urging her on. Her legs were screaming to stop.

One minute. Her fastest minute ever run, thanks to the wind. Then Ryoka slowed, panting. Fierre nearly overshot her. She slowed, and Ryoka saw a glimmer of sweat.

“You’re not bad!”

Fierre turned and ran backwards, mockingly grinning at Ryoka. She jumped backwards, stumbled a bit, and then turned forwards. Ryoka inhaled some stinging cool air into her lungs.

“I hate you.”

She laughed, and heard Fierre laugh too. The pair of them ran together, Fierre leaping, not bound by gravity. And when she ran, though she had poor form, it was as if she was skating across the ground rather than running. Graceful, wonderful. And Ryoka ran with her, every step calculated, the product of practice and form.

That was how they ran, through the night, while the world was slumbering. The sun kept rising. And then the first ray struck the ground. Ryoka didn’t stop running, but Fierre paused.

She slowed, sighed, and covered herself up. Ryoka saw Fierre glancing up at the sun as she tugged a scarf into place around her neck. Ryoka slowed as well, and the two progressed to a quick walk.

“Do you need to cover up?”

“We’re not walking into the sun. But I’m tired, and it’s harder to run. Besides, I shouldn’t run in the day.”

Fierre looked disappointed. Ryoka just shrugged.

“We’ll jog then. Or walk if you want to. I can keep going. How about you? Need a stamina potion?”

She offered it to Fierre. The girl slapped it out of her hand. Ryoka grabbed for it and missed, swearing. Fierre leapt and snagged it out of the air. She handed it to Ryoka, who blinked at her. Fierre winked.

“I’m still fast. I get slowest at midday.”

So they jogged. Fierre was only too happy to grouse about sunlight to Ryoka.

“It burns us if we’re out in the open. I can get a sunburn just walking outside for a few minutes. Apparently, it was even worse for old vampires.”

“Does it help if you have an umbrella? What about uh…something on your skin?”

“Like mud? Dad says he did that one time when he was desperate. And umbrellas work, but I can’t really explain needing it, can I? Besides, even with an umbrella, some sun gets through. And I can’t explain getting a tan.”

“No, that’s true…”

Ryoka tried to remember how sunscreen was actually made. That would be something interesting, wouldn’t it? Her mind was racing with all kinds of questions about vampires. And as it happened, they had the time to talk. All the time to talk about silly things. And it wasn’t just Ryoka asking the questions.

“So if you stepped on a nail…”

“That’s my worst nightmare. Rusty nail into bare feet. Or glass. But—look, it doesn’t happen.”

“It has to have happened once.”

“Twice. Ever. Glass is something you can spot. The same goes for metal and other stuff. Dog crap…yeah.”

“That’s disgusting!”

“Three times. And it was all the fault of the owners. Look, the worst thing I ever stepped on was a snail. Once. But nails? Never. And even if you had a normal shoe on, a nail would go right through that, wouldn’t it?”

“True. I stepped on a nail once.”

“How’d that feel, then?”

“Well, vampires don’t feel pain as much as regular people. And it healed up soon after I pulled it out.”

“…I hate you even more.”

“Want to become a vampire?”

“No thanks. I like sitting in the sun. You do know that moonlight’s actually sunlight, just reflected off the moon—er, moons, right?”

“What? That sounds silly. Besides, I can handle some light. Like the shade. It’s just direct light that’s a problem.”

“Okay. Garlic?”

“Hate it. I’m allergic. Dad gets hives if someone so much as brings it into the same room.”

“Gotcha. Uh, silver?”

“It burns. It’s one of the reasons I can’t do alchemy full-time. And it makes me itch if there’s too much of it around.”

“Wood stakes? Through the heart?”

Fierre paused and gave Ryoka a look.

“Would you survive a stake through the heart?”

“Point.”

The girl shrugged.

“We can’t heal if something’s stuck in our bodies. I suppose that’s why. Yes, wood hurts. Silver’s still worse.”

“How about crosses? Holy water?”

“Holy what? And why would a cross bother me? Is that some kind of weapon?”

“Hmm. Never mind.”

That was interesting. Maybe there was a faith component involved. Ryoka didn’t doubt it. She continued down her list.

“Can you…turn into a bat? Mist? And how about entering places uninvited? Crossing streams of water?”

Fierre shifted uncomfortably and shaded her faced with one gloved hand. She already looked slightly tan as the sun rose higher.

“Mist…maybe Bamer would know if that’s possible. He’s the oldest vampire I know. I’ll ask him next time I go back home. As for the rest…I don’t like doing it, but I can. How do you know so much about vampires?”

“Stories.”

“Does your country have an obsession with us or something? Because mother’s bad enough.”

“Oh, believe me. If you met some people…you wouldn’t even have to charm them. They’d be begging you to bite them and pull them into your boudoir. You have one of those, right? And they’d expect you to talk like this. With ve accent, you undershzand? Zuh clazzic mark of zhe vampire.”

“Hahaha! Stop that.”

“Vhat? Vhy are you svo angry? I’m just—hey!”

Fierre suddenly grabbed Ryoka in a headlock. Ryoka wasn’t expecting that and was too slow to pull away. She couldn’t. Fierre looked was shorter and slimmer—but she was strong.

“Gah! Get off!”

Ryoka punched Fierre in the side. The vampire didn’t so much as budge. Ryoka didn’t want to hit her that hard—and then she remembered. Vampire. So she drew back, belted Fierre in the side—and nothing happened. Ryoka blinked, and then tried to swept Fierre’s legs. The girl staggered, and it was Ryoka who fell down.

“Oops. Sorry.”

Fierre bent and helped Ryoka up. The Runner girl stared at Fierre.

“That was embarrassing.”

Another shared grin. Ryoka rubbed at her neck.

“You’re a lot more physical than I thought you’d be. You’re so reserved.”

“Well, I have to be. But I’m not, so cut out with that stupid accent. I grew up with a lot of brothers, so I’m used to fights. Vampire fights.”

Ryoka imagined what rough housing would be like with a vampire’s strength. No wonder the Drakles lived in a stone keep.

“How many brothers do you have? Rivel’s one of them, right?”

“That’s right. He’s the only one who stays at home. The others…well, I have one who moved away.”

“That’s two. Not exactly a lot.”

Ryoka grinned. Fierre’s face fell.

“I—had a lot of brothers.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. It was a long time ago.”

But it wasn’t fine. The two began walking now. Ryoka could see Reizmelt in the distance. But she was looking at Fierre. This was the heart of it. After a while, Fierre spoke.

“You noticed my mother’s rash, right? On her right arm?”

“I did. Like I said, I didn’t know vampires could get sick. That’s why I had my doubts you were one at first. I thought you were acting.”

“No. We get sick. Miss Kelysta’s always giving me free potions because of it. They help, they really do. But it costs a lot, so even though we make a lot, it goes to potions. Expensive ones, sometimes. Mother’s not the only one. Bamer’s sick most of the time, but it’s not often bad. But my father—”

“I noticed his neck. I thought he was born like that.”

Fierre breathed in and out slowly.

“No. The neck, and other things happen to vampires at they grow older. It gets worse with time. It’s…a thing that happens. Bamer calls it a curse. The neck, the swelling—that happens. Not just to vampires, but that started about six years back for Dad. We just get sick more easily, that’s all. Mom’s had that rash for ages, Rivel’s healthy, but he used to get terrible fevers. Bamer’s coughed all his life. I got sick last month.”

“And it hasn’t cleared up?”

Fierre shook her head.

“It’s not as bad as some illnesses. I just…shiver sometimes. And cough. I’m healthy, mostly. But vampires don’t live long.”

“Because of the sickness?”

“It’s always something. Something gets you. A bad illness. Or—or something goes wrong and they start going mad. Sometimes it’s like Bamer and you just get…weaker. But that’s the price of being a vampire, right?”

Fierre looked back at Ryoka. The young woman bit her lip.

“All the children get sick?”

“Not at first. It gets worse over time. But we do get sick more often. More and more.”

“I see. Tell me one thing. Was it always like this?”

“Not in the past. That’s what Bamer says. But centuries ago it started. He thinks the Byres family cursed us after we went into hiding.”

“After you stopped preying on people and started drinking animal blood.”

“Yes.”

Ryoka bit her lip. But she said nothing because it was just a suspicion. But a big one. Fierre walked on in silence. After a while they began to chat again, and pretended that the last conversation hadn’t happened.

And they reached Reizmelt at midday.

—-

“Your face is tanned.”

“Shh. Don’t draw attention to it.”

“Or your shad—”

Ryoka yelped as an elbow struck her in the side. She pushed her way into the Huntress’ Haven, Fierre at her side. The inn was still open, but it was, as usual, completely des—

“There she is!”

Both girls froze. A group of five adventurers were sitting inside the inn, talking with Mad Madain. And a large dog was sitting at their feet, licking a plate clean. It got to its feet as the adventurers turned. Ryoka recognized them at once.

“Miss Wind Runner!”

“You’re back. Had a nice night out?”

Madain gave Ryoka a leering grin. Then he looked at Fierre with a frown, clearly not sure if that applied to her. She waved.

“Hi, Madain. I’m going up to my room. I’ve got to get to work.”

She edged quickly towards the stairs, clearly nervous of the dog. It was sniffing at her, and looking wary. None of the Humans noticed. One of them with fiery tattoos running down his arms strode over.

“Miss Ryoka Griffin?”

“Yes. You’re uh—the adventurers, right?”

Ryoka was blanking on their names. She’d just met them. It felt like yesterday. And it was. No, was it two days ago? They all got to their feet. The [Mage] held out his hand.

“We didn’t know if we’d meet you here. You were gone yesterday by the time we got back to the city. We wanted to thank you in person. We’re so grateful for what you did.”

“Oh, there’s no need—”

Flustered, Ryoka shook her head. But the young man gripped her hand tightly. He met her eyes.

“Thank you. Thank you. I’m Levil, Captain of the Pithfire Hounds. This is Keima, Tally, Bram, Ullica—the dog’s Makki. And you met Lamont. He’d be here, but it’ll be at least a week before he can walk, even with potions. But thanks to you he’s alive. Without you, none of us would be here.”

He indicated his team, who came forwards. Ryoka saw another [Mage], Ullica, Keima, a woman with an axe, Tally, who had a bow, and Bram, who kept the dog from jumping on Ryoka. They all insisted on thanking her to her face and shaking her hand. Red with embarrassment, Ryoka tried to downplay what had happened. Which only made things worse.

“If you hadn’t come along—we already lost Dassa. We’d given up hope anyone would come.”

Tally was red-eyed as she hugged Ryoka. Levil gently pried her off. He met Ryoka’s eyes.

“We owe you large for doing what you did. Not just for the potions—if you hadn’t blasted the frogs with sand, we might have lost either way. We’d like to pay you—”

“No, really, you don’t have to. I mean, you already paid me. And it was a lot. The Runner’s Guild gave me the reward to helping with your friend. I can’t ask for more.”

“Are you sure? We’ve got the bounty on the Wailer Frogs. Look, we could give you—”

Ryoka stopped Levil.

“Please, no. I did my job. I was happy to do it. I’m—I’ve got friends who’re adventurers. I know what it’s like.”

The Pithfire Hounds looked intrigued.

“Really? Anyone we know?”

“Uh, they’re a Silver-ranked team. The Horns of Hammerad. They work down in Celum, mainly.”

Levil turned and looked at his companions. The others shrugged. Bram frowned, and so did Madain, who was clearly eavesdropping as he cleaned a table, but no one spoke up. Levil shrugged.

“Horns of Hammerad? Never heard of them I’m afraid. They’re Silver-rank, right? Ah, right. Well, we’re as common as rats I’m afraid. But we’ll spread your name to the other teams. It’s…reassuring to know there’s at least one Runner who’ll answer emergency calls.”

The look he gave her was questioning. Ryoka nodded.

“Anytime. Anywhere. I can’t promise I’ll be in the area, but if I get the request, I’ll answer it.”

Levil smiled.

“Thanks. Now, can we buy you a drink? We’d love to talk if you’re not busy…? And I’m dying to know how you cast that wind spell. I’m a [Pyromancer], by the way. That’s our party. Fire and dogs.”

Ryoka hesitated. But she knew there was the right thing to do and the anti-social thing. So she nodded and took a seat. And to her surprise, she enjoyed herself. The Pithfire Hounds were down-to-earth, good adventurers who didn’t truck about with dungeons, complex missions or traps. They hunted down their prey, smoked it out, and killed it. It was a good job—unless you ran into a monster group you weren’t prepared for, like Wailer Frogs.

“We had no idea they were in the area. They were way further south of the marshes than they should have been. Damn things. If I’d known they were there I would have flooded the caves with smoke. But we went back this morning and destroyed their nest. Still, this was not worth the job with Lamont out.”

Levil sighed. He seemed cheerful for all his friend had multiple broken bones. Lamont was alive when all was said and done. The Pithfire Hounds were most torn up about their dog, Dassa, who’d been killed by one of the frogs.

“It’s so dangerous. Adventurers die too, but dogs—we try to keep them out of the fighting if it looks bad, but Dassa charged right in. Saved us from getting swarmed in the first few moments.”

Ryoka listened to the others talk. She shared a drink, two, and then the Pithfire Hounds decided they’d taken up enough of her time. They excused themselves, stopping again to shake her hand.

“If you need anything—call on us. We’ll be about Reizmelt, and not just to check on Lamont. We’re based around here. We’ll see you again, Miss Wind Runner?”

“Definitely.”

It was easy to smile as she met Levil’s hot handshake. The [Mage] had unusually warm hands, even when he wasn’t casting spells. He nodded at her and the party followed him out. Ryoka sighed, looked over, and saw Madain staring at her. He raised a key in one big hand.

“I’m locking up for the day.”

To his credit, he hadn’t pushed the Pithfire Hounds to leave, and he’d refrained from adding more than a few comments about himself through their talk with Ryoka. But he was clearly ready to go hunting. Ryoka hesitated. Fierre had already left, being too nervous to stay and chat with the adventurers. But Ryoka was too tired to find her and she was really tired.

“Oh. Can I sleep inside? I’ll hop out a window if I need to.”

Madain hesitated. He eyed Ryoka and seemed on the verge of refusing. Then he grunted.

“Fine.”

He stomped over to the door. He paused with his hand on the doorframe as he yanked it open and looked back.

“Good work, by the way. Wailer Frogs suck.”

Then he shut the door. Ryoka heard him lock it. She grinned wearily, walked upstairs, and passed out.

—-

In the evening, a Street Runner woke Ryoka up. He threw rocks at the Ryoka’s closed shutters and shouted at her until she opened the shutters.

“If Madain catches you scratching his inn, he’ll cut you. And I’ll let him. What do you want?”

She growled down at the Street Runner. It was the same boy who’d gotten her for the Pithfire Hounds. He grinned up at her, completely unabashed. Ryoka realized she was wearing only her bra. She eyed the boy, but didn’t close the shutters.

“Spit it out or I’ll jump down there and poke you in the eyes. What’s your message?”

The Runner nodded. He cleared his throat.

“Miss Griffin? Mister Prall wants you to know your order’s ready. He wants you to pick it up today. And you’ve got a package waiting for you at the Runner’s Guild. They won’t let us handle it.”

He scowled, put out. Ryoka rubbed her face. Prall’s order? Oh, right! And something at the Runner’s Guild? A delivery for her. And by ‘us’, the boy meant Street Runners. Which meant the package had to be worth something. Ryoka’s heart began to beat faster. Was this…?

“Wait one second. I’ll be down in—”

Ryoka reached for a shirt. And pants. She came down a minute later, her clothing rumpled. The Street Runner looked up as the wind slammed the shutters closed. He whistled. Ryoka rubbed at her eyes. She could have used more sleep, but on the other hand, she’d sleep well tonight.

“Thanks. Uh—here.”

She fished in her belt pouch and handed the Street Runner a tip. A few copper coins. The Street Runner grinned.

“Thanks, Miss Wind Runner! Say, do you think I could get a Skill like yours?”

“Uh—well, it’s a rare Skill. And you need…a magical class to get it. I’ve got a rare variation of my class.”

“Aw, magic, huh?”

He looked disappointed. Then shrugged.

“See you later, Miss!”

With that he took off. Street Runners were always delivering messages for coppers. Ryoka was glad she hadn’t had to start at that level. She sighed, tried to untangle a bit of knotted hair, and got to work.

Her first stop was Mister Prall. He was a [Blacksmith] of Reizmelt. One of them. Blacksmithing was a good job, especially in cities. Adventurers ran through edged weapons fast, and there was always work making pots, utensils, repairing stuff, and so on. So even a low-level [Blacksmith] could find steady work.

That made hiring one expensive. But when Ryoka had first come to Reizmelt, she’d had Teriarch’s money. And while she’d spent some of it on protective charms, alchemist gear, potions, and so on, the majority of it had gone to two projects. The less expensive one by far had been Prall, and even that had cost a fair bit.

The [Blacksmith] was waiting when Ryoka jogged up. He had three barrels full of her goods, and he looked tired. Ryoka didn’t blame him. One look in the barrel told her he and his four apprentices had been hard at work. It was filled to the brim with her order. Prall took care not to touch his goods as he accepted the other half of his payment from Ryoka, counting the gold pieces. He nodded.

“Thirty six…thirty seven. That’s it, alright. Thanks, Miss Griffin. I’d not charge so much for this much work, but I have to say it’s earned. I’m sick of working iron and if I have to forge one more of these things—bah. It’s done, and as fast as you wanted. Do you want to count to make sure it’s all there?”

One look told Ryoka that he’d toss one of the sharp objects at her if she wanted to. Ryoka shook her head.

“I’m fine. Thanks so much for doing this.”

Prall just shrugged.

“Ah, your coin’s good so don’t worry. I’m just tired. And figuring out the design was interesting. As for the forging…it’s the kind of work I’d leave to my apprentices, honestly. If you want more, I’ll have one of them do the rest. But this will do. How do you want to carry it off? You can have the barrels for what I’m charging you.”

“No need. I’ve got a bag of holding. Uh, but I might need to borrow a glove?”

Silently, Prall found one for her. He even helped shovel the sharp iron objects into the bag of holding as Ryoka held it open. He was more impressed by that than Ryoka’s gold.

“It must be a good bag of holding. Cheap ones don’t let you grab things at will. And really cheap ones you have to reach into. You sure it can hold all this?”

“Definitely. And—yup, I can grab what I need just fine.”

Ryoka pulled out some crumbly dirt. Prall eyed it.

“You have odd things in that bag of holding. Then again…I heard about the Pithfire Hounds. Nice work, Miss Runner. You planning on using these the same way?”

Ryoka blushed. Had everyone heard the story?

“Not in the same way. But they’ll definitely stop anyone from catching me.”

“No doubt about that.”

Prall nodded. He looked at the barrel and how much they had left to shovel into the bag of holding and turned and roared for his apprentices. He let the three of them fill the bag as he and Ryoka relaxed.

“There’ll be adventurers who might want to use that. Mind me selling them, or is this a secret? Because if it is—it’ll cost you.”

The [Blacksmith] was a practical man. He offered to keep the design secret for a fee. Ryoka mulled it over and shook her head.

“It’s easily copyable. And it’s not like I can pick up every one. In fact…damn, I’d better make sure I don’t leave these around, shouldn’t I?”

“Unless you want every traveller on the road and Runner to kill you, I would.”

Prall nodded. So did one of his apprentices, who’d stepped on one of the objects by mistake. Ryoka shook her head. Another invention to add to the list of things she’d brought to this world. But as far as deadly weapons of war went…this was dangerous, but not as bad as trebuchets. And she needed these. Any edge to keep her alive.

Secret weapons in place, Ryoka bade farewell to Prall. She then headed straight for the Runner’s Guild, with a great deal more anticipation.

Heads turned when Ryoka entered the guild. A murmur sprang up. Ryoka slowed as she looked around. City runner and Street Runners eyed her. It was a familiar scene. She’d experience it in Celum and the Runner’s Guilds around there. But this time it didn’t feel…as bad.

“Wind Runner! Good job with the adventurers!”

A Runner called out. Ryoka had no idea what her name was, but she waved back.

“Thanks! I just got lucky, though!”

Some of the other Runners came up to say hi. For the first time Ryoka introduced herself and caught a few names. Mintal, Caawl, Oberfex—she smiled and said hi. It was something she’d never done before. And that was enough.

“Miss Ryoka? We’ve got a package for you. Given that you work here, I thought you’d be back soon enough to let it wait.”

The [Receptionist] at the desk smiled at Ryoka. The Runner smiled back. She hesitated.

“Um…it’s…Alime, right?”

“That’s right.”

Alime smiled at Ryoka. She handed the Asian girl a small box. It was neatly sealed and smelled of sandalwood. There was no need for a covering; it had been sealed without a lock until Ryoka touched it. Then it sprang open. A Runner sighed enviously, and Ryoka stared into the box. She blinked. Her mind went white for a second, and then she slowly reached down and lifted something out.

The Runners and [Receptionist] who were sneaking peaks at Ryoka didn’t see what she picked up. Whatever it was, it was small enough to hide in her hand and be transferred to the bag of holding. But they had no doubt that it was a magical good. The box alone said that plain and clear. A Runner’s trinket of some kind. Ryoka said nothing. She blinked a few times, and then saw something else in the box. A hand-written note. The writing was neat, and plain.

To Miss Ryoka Griffin. Your product, as ordered. The challenge was mostly of keeping to the design, but I enjoyed the commission nonetheless. Please refrain from sending a return message unless you have more business for me.

-Hedault, [Enchanter]. Invrisil.

Ryoka read the message twice, then put the note in the box. Both were useless now, but she tossed them in the bag of holding to find a place to dispose of them later. She’d probably burn the note. Just to be safe. The [Receptionist] smiled at her.

“Anything else?”

The young woman looked up. She felt her hand tingling. Felt a jolt of adrenaline, almost like pain, run through her stomach. Her exhaustion was gone. Outside, the wind had gone still. She reached into her bag of holding with one hand and found the object. She gripped it and nodded.

“Yeah. I’d like to request something. I’m a City Runner. But I’d like to be included in Courier listings.”

The [Receptionist] blinked. The other Runners who’d heard turned around.

Courier listings. That meant that Ryoka would be included on a list of anyone willing to take Courier-level requests. She could be asked to deliver something by name, even if she wasn’t allowed to take Courier-only deliveries. The [Receptionist] wavered.

“That’s…I’ll amend the list and inform the other Runner’s Guilds. A change will be put out at the end of the day. Is that what you would like, Miss Ryoka?”

Are you sure? But she didn’t ask that. Ryoka nodded.

“I would. Thank you. And I’ll take whatever delivery you have right now. Farthest—or hardest.”

She was vibrating. Her right hand was clenched so tightly that Hedault’s creation was digging into her palm, threatening to draw blood. The Runners were watching her. The [Receptionist] looked through her notes. She paused.

“We do have something. All the way to Baepr. But it’s quite, quite—”

“I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure? This one has a counter-bounty on it. The Silversmithers do not want this delivery to reach the Mage’s Guild, and they’ve put a bounty on it. There may be [Bandits] as well as other groups—”

“I’ll do it. Please, give me the package.”

The [Receptionist] was about to protest, but she met Ryoka’s eyes. Slowly, she let Ryoka to the back room which was warded to collect the delivery that had arrived in Reizmelt by guarded caravan and nearly failed to get this far. Ryoka inhaled as she saw a bar of gold, not as perfect as the gold that lay in the gold reserves of other counties, but gold nevertheless.

“It has to get to the Mage’s Guild. Don’t even bother stopping at the Runner’s Guild. [Thieves] may try and take it. And there’s a bounty—a hundred gold to anyone who stops the delivery. And the gold bar. Are you certain?”

“Positive.”

Ryoka lifted the gold bar. Or rather, she managed to lever it up enough to slide it into the bag of holding. The [Receptionist] nodded.

“Go. Take the back door out. I’ll stop all the Runners from leaving for ten minutes.”

Just in case one of them leaked information that Ryoka had the delivery. The girl nodded.

“Thank you.”

She walked out of the guild. The City Runners watched her go. One of them raised a hand.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Ryoka looked back once. Then she stepped out of the inn. She was very still in the street for a moment. Then she slowly breathed in, and out. The [Receptionist] and the other Runners watched her.

At this moment, Ryoka could outrun anything or anyone in the world. She looked down again at the thing Hedault had wrought, and the air was still around her. Ryoka began running, a jog at first. And then faster. Faster.

She ran. Out of the city, through the gates, down the road. And her mind was calm. Blank. Ryoka ran. It didn’t matter how far. Baepr was hours away. The sun was beginning to set in the sky. But Ryoka ran. Faster and faster. And her hand was closed on the cold thing in her hand.

—-

The [Bandits] found her on the road, two hours to Baepr. They must have scrambled to get into position because they burst out of hiding from a distant hill. Men and women with bows, and three horsemen. A [Mage], too.

There weren’t many people on the road where they set their ambush. At the sight of the [Bandits], the people immediately took cover. A caravan guard spread out to block the wagon. But the [Bandits] were aimed only at Ryoka. She looked at them and slowed.

Strange. The lead rider wavered as he saw Ryoka Griffin stop. She was the Wind Runner, wasn’t she? But the wind was unnaturally still right now. And she’d stopped. He was aiming for her with a lance. But she didn’t even look at him or the horse he was riding. She was staring down at something in her hand.

Ryoka looked down at the thing she’d commissioned from Hedault. It shone as she held it up to the light. Cold. Beautiful. Blue. She looked at it and her heart beat painfully in her chest.

Shimmering ice. Ever frozen, magical ice carved into a shape. A flying little faerie, a statue. Carved and enchanted. Caught forever mid-smile, mid-laugh. It froze Ryoka’s skin. It burned and chilled to the touch.

The wind rose. Ryoka looked at Ivolethe, at the figurine, and she looked at the [Bandit Leader]. He saw her smile.

The wind blew. Dust rose from the bag of holding at Ryoka’s side. The [Bandit] cursed and rode at her. A gale whipped up, throwing dust in his eyes. His horse reared and turned. He cursed. And Ryoka Griffin ran.

“Shoot her!”

The [Archers] were racing forwards. They took aim and loosed with their short bows. But the wind caught the arrows and sent them flying astray. The [Mage] raised a hand and pointed.

“[Sleep].”

Nothing happened. A charm at Ryoka’s side flashed brightly. The [Mage] cursed and pointed.

“[Stone Dar—]”

He hacked and coughed as the dust storm blasted him. The [Bandits] shielded their faces, swearing. The [Bandit Leader] pointed at Ryoka desperately.

“Ride her down!”

He and two others rode after Ryoka. She was running fast. So fast that even on horseback they gained slowly. But they did gain on her. Pace by pace. She looked back once, twice. The [Bandit Leader] leveled his lance. He saw Ryoka reach into her bag of holding and braced. But she didn’t hurl an alchemist’s weapon at him. Instead, she began spilling something onto the ground behind her. Metal flashed.

The [Bandit Leader]’s eyes widened as she hurled one of the things at him. He dodged it, and saw a metal mess of points fly past his face. And more were landing on the ground, sticking upright.

Caltrops.

The [Riders] saw the flash of metal and swerved out of the way instantly. Ryoka was relieved; she didn’t want to harm the horses. But it was for horses, carriages, and anything else chasing her that the caltrops were made. The [Bandits] swore as they dodged out of the way. The dust storm circled back around Ryoka. It picked up the iron caltrops, and then the [Bandits] began screaming.

They stopped following her after a minute. Ryoka kept running. She ran faster and faster as the wind dropped the dust and caltrops. She’d have to tell the Runner’s Guild about the hazard. Or maybe—

The wind blew harder. The caltrops funneled back towards Ryoka. Then dropped. Not yet. She didn’t dare go back for them, so she left them and shouted a warning at the first traveller she found. And she ran on. When she tired, when her lungs burned or the wind slackened, she just had to look down at the image of Ivolethe, and feel the biting cold. That was enough.

It wouldn’t be later. But in this moment, now, it was enough. The wind howled around Ryoka. Hedault had captured Ivolethe perfectly. It had cost a small fortune, all Ryoka had, to commission the piece out of Everfrozen Ice. In truth, Hedault had probably done it to her as a favor. It didn’t matter.

It was enough.

—-

That night, Fierre was sitting alone in the Huntress’ Haven. She was eating the wing of the bird Madain had caught, pretending to enjoy it while really just focusing on the yet uncooked in the meat. She wiped her running nose on her sleeve, coughed, and looked up.

The door had opened. A Runner limped into the room. She was sweaty, dirty, half-dead. But triumphant. She walked over to the kitchen and served herself. Another Madain efficiency. Then she came over and sat down at Fierre’s table.

“Hi.”

“I didn’t think you’d be back today.”

“I wanted to keep running.”

Ryoka coughed. Fierre silently poured her a cup from the pitcher of water. Ryoka drank, let Fierre fill her cup, and drank again. She coughed, and then spoke.

“It took me a while to get back. I did the delivery, but I had to hide out for a bit. Usually no one holds a grudge for a delivery, but [Bandits] are a different matter. The adventurers who went after them didn’t find the group. And I had to pick up some uh, pointy things.”

“I heard all that. And you got the delivery to the Mage’s Guild in Baepr. Really quickly. It’s all the buzz in uh, the circles I talk to.”

“Really?”

Ryoka just smiled wearily. Fierre nodded. She looked at Ryoka. Fidgeted. And then she burst out.

“It’s weird, having someone know your secret.”

“It is. But you’ll get over it. And it’s not a bad thing, right?”

The girl looked at Fierre. She smiled. She was tall. Her hair was black, but her skin was far from Fierre’s perfect paleness. She was different. A Runner. Fierre hesitated.

“This won’t change things, you know. Business is business. I can’t help you for free.”

“I don’t want you to.”

“And if people think I am helping you instead of other people—”

“It’s okay, Fierre. We’re just…friends.”

“Friends?”

Fierre savored the word, like an exotic treat. Ryoka nodded. The word was unfamiliar on her tongue as well.

“Friends. I’m just someone to talk to. And someone who can order you bloody steaks without it being suspicious.”

The vampire snorted, and then she smiled.

“Okay. And I’ll be the one who tells you you’re drooling a bit.”

Ryoka wiped her mouth.

“I’m hungry. And tired. And my feet hurt. And my legs.”

Fierre sniffed the air.

“And you’ve burst some blisters on your feet. You should heal those.”

“Stop drooling.”

Laughter. And food. Ryoka ate ravenously. Fierre leaned back.

“Okay. Friends. And I won’t tip the scales for you. Much. But uh, you should know that there’s some attention on you.”

Ryoka looked up.

“Really?”

Fierre nodded.

“You are the Wind Runner. And people are hearing your name. Thanks to the little kids.”

“Little mud-throwing monsters.”

Ryoka leaned back and groaned, wondering if she could use the wind to conjure more food rather than have to get up and grab it herself. Fierre nodded.

“Maybe, but you owe them. Because of that, people are looking into your past. And you’re…slightly noticeable. You know what I found out?”

“Tell me.”

The vampire girl closed her eyes and recited from memory.

“Ryoka Griffin. Possible connection with Magnolia Reinhart, inquired after by a Wall Lord of Salazsar, destroyed a Runner’s Guild in Celum…”

“That wasn’t my fault. And I didn’t destroy the guild. It just got uh, snowed in.”

“…short career. Surprisingly short, but you earned a City Runner’s level from merit alone. And you completed a delivery to the High Passes. However…around here you are an unknown City Runner, and your speed and defensive rating is way below most Couriers.”

“I know.”

Ryoka sighed. Fierre raised one finger.

“But…you’re reliable, you have a reputation as being honest, and you do have a title. And between you and me? After this job, you might be getting more offers directly. People who’re willing to take a risk will go to you. It’s dangerous, but that’s how City Runners become Couriers.”

Ryoka opened one eye.

“Sounds like I’m a Runner you should get to know, then.”

“Maybe.”

Fierre gave her a toothy grin. No one was watching. Ryoka smiled as well. Then she suddenly frowned as if she’d had a thought.

“Hey, you’re…connected, right? You don’t just deal in Runner’s information. Could I hire you to find something for me?”

Fierre raised one eyebrow.

“Money can get you anything. A lot of trouble if you ask the wrong questions. But go on.”

The Runner hunted around. She found her money pouch and pulled out some of her day’s earnings. Fierre blinked as Ryoka offered her ten gold coins.

“How’s this for finding someone? Or a group of people?”

“You must want them pretty badly. This will do. I might have to get more, but I’ll take this on faith. I’ll need names and descriptions.”

“You’re all heart. I don’t have descriptions. I do have names. Three of them, although there are more. It’s a group of kids. My age or younger. Possibly working as adventurers. Rose. Imani. Joseph.”

Fierre hunted for a bit of parchment, then decided to give up and memorize everything. She tapped a finger on the table.

“That’s not enough to go on.”

Ryoka nodded.

“You’ll find them somewhere in Magnolia Reinhart’s estates, or at least under the protection of her people. That should narrow it down.”

Fierre paused.

“That’s…Magnolia Reinhart’s strictly off-limits for a lot of things. You know that, right?”

“Right. Don’t worry though. You won’t get in trouble for asking.”

That was probably true. Fierre mulled it over. She looked at Ryoka. Friend. She didn’t know if she could trust Ryoka entirely, to be honest. She’d met her, abducted her, and they’d talked. But Fierre liked the girl. So she took a risk.

“Okay. I’ll ask about. Now tell me, what was that run like? And what did you get from Invrisil?”

She saw the young woman grin. And though Fierre didn’t know where Ryoka was from no matter how much she’d offered for the information, though she’d been unable to find more about this girl who was a ghost who’d appeared last year, she thought she could trust her. So Fierre hoped. Hoped…she’d made a friend.

—-

My feet hurt. I’m Ryoka Griffin. I sit in Mad Madain’s inn, listening to him drink and talk with his few customers. At another table, Alber is eating silently. Maybe he’s wondering how Fierre and I suddenly became friends. I’m a bit hazy on that myself.

I don’t know if I can trust her. I don’t know if what I’m doing is wise. I don’t know—but I do know one thing.

It’s in my belt pouch. I reach for it as I tell Fierre about the run, drinking from my water glass. I should get more of what chicken or whatever it was that Madain shot. My feet hurt. And my legs. But I can feel it. Smooth as glass. Cold. But so familiar.

Oh Ivolethe. I’m so sorry. And thank you.

I clutch the little icy figurine, cold as pain. But there’s less sadness in me. Truly. There’s so much to do. So much. A world of possibilities.

Rose. Imani. Joseph. If Fierre can find them, all the better. They may still be at Magnolia’s mansion, but I’ll bet they’re gone. I have something I need from them, and they might need something from me. Will Magnolia object?

The wind. I’m thinking of hang gliders, wing suits, even parasails now. The icy figurine hurts. And it’s so familiar I want to cry.

My new friend might be HIV positive. Vampires exist and they’re dying. Disease and rot and sunscreen.

I want to see Teriarch again. And this time talk to him like a person.

Someday, I will run like the wind. But not today. Today, a girl who might be my friend is grousing about alchemists and silver powder. She pauses to cough now and then. And she’s looking at me. Uncertainly. And I think—her face is a reflection of my own.

So I smile. And I sit back in my seat. The spring air is cool. And a breeze blows into the inn, carrying the smells of a new year with it. I relax. Today was a good day. But tomorrow awaits, and the day after that. I have time.

We’re only just getting started.

6.02

It was a cold evening when Octavia Cotton carefully lit a match. It was spring, but sometimes the cold days still remained. This was one of them.

The match sparked and the head flared into life. For most people in Celum, the city that Octavia had made her home for four years, the fire would have been a welcome sight, the heat comforting. But part of Octavia couldn’t help but flinch at the sight of the dancing flame. Even though the match was her creation.

She couldn’t help it. She was a Stitch Person after all. And fire was one of the ways her kind died. It was a horrible death, and Octavia was cautious to the extreme when handling fire. She’d rather juggle acids in bottles than risk a flame igniting with an explosive reagent. The match scared her, but she knew her cotton body wasn’t that flammable. Even so, the spark of fear in her heart was primal. Instinctive.

Still, there were some situations in which fire was quite useful. Like now. Octavia held the burning match up to a rag. Soaked in cheap alcohol. The rag ignited, and Octavia, swearing and moving quickly, grabbed it and whirled it around with the heavy weight it was attached to.

Molotov cocktails had not yet been invented in this world—at least not in the sense of using alcohol containers as makeshift incendiary devices. And Octavia didn’t buy alcohol nearly expensive enough to qualify in any case. The burning rag was tied to a brick. And as Octavia let go, it soared through the dim evening light and straight through the window of an [Alchemist]’s shop.

Not hers, obviously. Octavia heard the shattering of glass, an exclamation, and then a roar of outrage. She raised her head and shouted.

“Eat moths and die, Quelm!”

“Octavia! You half-wit [Boiler]! I’ll cut your stitches off and use you as coat!”

“You stole my matches!”

Octavia shouted as she backed up from the shop. She sensed movement from inside. Then a man, scrawny, but brandishing a club, raced outside. His fingers were stained and he wore an apron. She’d caught him in the middle of mixing something.

“Hah! I perfected your inferior design! I knew it wasn’t that complex! And I’ll be taking all your business thanks to my spark-dust igniter!”

The Stitch Girl hopped from foot to foot in rage. She shook a fist, wishing she’d brought two stones.

“You won’t get away with this! If it’s a trade war you want—it’s on!”

“I’ll bury you in sales! You’d better guard that shop! I’ve got a box of matches with your name on it!”

“Hah! I’ll have a dozen Drakes from Liscor stabbing you in moments if you do that! And unlike me, you won’t be walking away!”

Quelm the [Alchemist] roared and charged. Octavia turned and ran. She sensed a few shutters above her fly open as Quelm’s neighbors caught on to what was happening at last. They shouted insults at Octavia as she fled. But no one called for the Watch. Undoubtedly someone would, but they knew this was an [Alchemist]’s fight. Not worth sticking their noses into, in short.

It was two blocks before Quelm finally gave up chasing Octavia. She slowed, panting, and wiped sweat from her brow. Well, she’d delivered her message. Unfortunately, she doubted it would do anything. And now she…probably…had to pay for a broken window.

Still, it had to be done. Standards were standards. And Octavia, as one of four [Alchemists] in Celum, had to guard her territory. Not just in the physical sense; it was also about what each [Alchemist] sold. And in this case, one of her competitors, Quelm, had just figured out her match formula. And worse—he’d made it better.

“Damn it Quelm. Why couldn’t you have blown up your shop making those matches?”

Octavia kicked at a pebble as she walked down the street. She was already imagining how much business she’d lose. Not just because Quelm’s new ‘sparking matches’ ignited more reliably, but because he was charging less than she had. Before, Octavia had cornered the market and she’d inflated prices as much as she dared. That was coming to bite her now. But she’d really thought they’d have a harder time figuring the matches out!

The Stitch Girl got back to her shop and checked the boarded front. She still hadn’t replaced her glass window, and her shop looked rather run-down. But she liked to think it was a well-known spot, even if that knowing was mostly infamy rather than fame. Come to that, the boards might help if Quelm retaliated. She wished she actually employed guards—this could get nasty if the trade war escalated.

“If Quelm spreads his designs—no, if he partners with that bitch Mabel the Magnificent, or Jeffil—he won’t partner with Jeffil. But if they start learning their own designs—I’ve barely gotten orders from [Merchants] from the larger cities yet! I’ll lose access to the market, and that’s before they figure out a way to copy my designs in the larger cities!”

Octavia clutched at her braided hair, wondering if it was worth selling the recipe to her matches to an [Alchemist] in Invrisil—if she could even make the deal at anything approaching a profit. And then she wondered if it would come to violence. Quelm wasn’t as thuggish as Jeffil, or Mabel—but he did hold a grudge. And he was an [Alchemist]. Could she afford hired help? Maybe a few Bronze-rank adventurers?

Alchemy was a cutthroat business. In some cities, [Alchemists] worked together in harmony and got along fine, creating wonderful potions and other items for the good of everyone. Octavia had yet to find a city where this was the case, but she assumed there was at least one. But in most cities where there was more than one [Alchemist], they got along as well as a bag full of cats. On fire. Filled with bull feces.

It was mainly due to personality. It was a very odd type of person who became an [Alchemist]. Not only did you have to be keen on mixing various poisons and ingredients that might explode, melt, or create something entirely unexpected, you had to be part [Merchant] as well to obtain your ingredients and sell your products.

Most [Alchemists] were odd in some way. You could roughly divide them into two camps: the insane geniuses who just wanted to create and weren’t much good at interpersonal communication, and the ones who were business-savvy, and could sell as well and create. Octavia fell into the latter camp. She liked to think she’d made her store, Stitch Works, quite profitable. She liked to think that.

But if she was honest…Octavia sighed as she looked around her shop. She had potions on the shelves, goods on display, with her boxes of matches prominently featured right next to the counter. She had money in the little safe hidden in her bathroom—a good amount and almost all gold. All in all, she was running a good shop. An average shop.

Not a famous shop. Her potions were mid-tier at best. Octavia was a Level 21 [Alchemist]—she’d just reached the point at which she could consider taking on an apprentice, if one even wanted to work for someone of her level yet. Her store might be something in ten years if she reached Level 30—then she could move to a bigger city up north, or go south into Drake lands. Or she could stay here and be the top [Alchemist] in Celum.

If she was Level 30. If she had real potions to sell. But right now she earned her living selling cheap healing potions to [Guards], [Mercenaries], adventures, and mana potions to the low-level [Mages] who came by. Her profits came in silver, not gold. And while it was steady, it wasn’t much. Octavia had been a middling [Alchemist]. Until she’d met Erin Solstice. And Ryoka Griffin. And had made matches.

“Five levels in two months. Sales through the roof! And the pepper potion, the smoke bag, the er—exploding flour—all of it at competitive, but not too steep prices!”

Octavia puffed out her chest as she remembered the days when her shop had been filled with customers. Then she recalled each of her competitors stealing her designs, producing the same potions and finding ways to improve her formulas, taking her business. That was what [Alchemists] did. It was hard, very hard to come up with something that wouldn’t be stolen at once.

“But I do have something. A Haste Potion. Or—or a lead to go on. And the uh, peni-whatever.”

Octavia muttered to herself. She walked behind her counter and checked on her projects. Mold, growing on pieces of bread—and cheese, she’d expanded the set—in little jars. In all colors too. Octavia had been looking for the blue-green consistency Ryoka had told her was the right mold, but none of the molds she’d found had worked like Ryoka had said. She shook her head, and then looked at her most precious project, sitting in a little bottle in a hidden drawer right under her desk.

A tiny bit of potion. Glowing yellow, streaked with bright pink. It glowed, even the little bit of it as Octavia carefully held it up and regarded the liquid. Even after months of being in the sealed container, the potion looked as bright as it had on the day Ryoka had shown it to her. The colors were vivid, the liquid practically raced by itself. Octavia’s heart beat quicker as she imagined the [Alchemist] who’d made it.

“A high-grade potion of haste. Gold-rank adventurers would sell their hair for a potion like this.”

If she could replicate it—or the penicillin that Ryoka had talked about—Octavia would be rich. And famous. Healing potions were notorious for not working on serious diseases. In fact, they made them worse. An infection would spread even faster with a healing potion accelerating it. Healing potions couldn’t handle sickness; it was one reason why [Healers] were still needed. But if Octavia could distill the anti-disease agent Ryoka had wanted so badly…

Or make a potion of this caliber. The Stitch-Girl shivered and replaced the sample of the potion in her compartment. If she could do either, she’d finally make it. All her hard work, the years she’d spent apprenticing, moving from Chandrar to Izril, fighting for every corroded copper coin—it would all be worth it.

But she couldn’t do either. It was impossible. Octavia hadn’t been able to analyze the precious sample of potion or find which damn mold cured infection. And now she was fighting with the other [Alchemists] over matches.

“I could really use some new products. Or hired help. A few [Thugs] with bats, maybe? But I need coin. I’ve already spent too much on new equipment.”

Octavia cast a glance at the shiny new sets of alchemy gear—magical burners which could more effectively regulate temperature or even produce different flames for special ingredients, enchanted glassware to contain even the most dangerous reactions,  retorts made by master [Glass Blowers] from Terandria, and so on. Octavia was willing to admit she’d splurged too much recently. But if she could get a new product on her shelves, something truly uncopyable—

Her eyes slid sideways as her fingers drummed restlessly on the counter. Octavia’s leg shook, tapping the floor. She looked down and frowned.

“Restless leg. I should check that.”

Absently, she sat on her stool and took off her leg. It was fairly simple; Octavia’s legs were secured to her body with black string. The [Alchemist] had to take off her pants to undo the leg, but as soon as she removed the stitching she felt her limb disappear. And a cloth leg, very detailed but cloth nonetheless, appeared in her hands.

It was a peculiarity of the String People. They had been made, and they made themselves. Their bodies were cloth; they could reattach limbs, or even redesign themselves at will if they had the right materials. In Octavia’s case, she was a String-Girl of the Cotton folk; hence her name.

Octavia Cotton. Not poor, but not rich by any means. Her body was functional, but it developed flaws over time. Like wadded up stuffing, or in this case, misaligned nerves. Octavia checked her leg thoroughly before sewing it back into her body. She felt her leg reattach; the restless shaking stopped.

A good enough body. The kind you wanted as an [Alchemist] anyways; cheap to replace. But what Octavia would have given for a body make of silk! Even really cheap silk! Or another precious material, like satin, or Griffinfeather cloth, or….

Again, Octavia’s eyes slid left. Towards something set into the left wall of her shop. A door.

It was a curious thing. Just a wooden door. It clearly, clearly did not lead anywhere since if you went through the wall you’d be exiting right into the alley and there was no door on the other side. And yet, the door did lead somewhere. It was magical, or the glowing gem set into the doorframe was. It was bright green and it connected the door, in theory, to a magical door a hundred miles south of here. To an inn located just outside the Drake city of Liscor.

Magic. And Octavia’s shop was the place this humble door was connected to. How incredible was that? How potentially lucrative? Some night Octavia lay awake in bed, practically salivating over the possibilities. She’d already secured a deal to sell her potions in Liscor’s market with a  hard-bargaining Gnoll [Shopkeeper].

And she had a…friend? A person who lived in said inn who could give her everything Octavia needed. New ideas, an edge on the competition—maybe even a way to guard her now-perilous shop at night.

But—Octavia hesitated. Her fingers drummed faster on the counter. It wasn’t the time to go. She knew that. Not for business. Even Octavia had a heart. And yet, she wanted to go nonetheless. For reasons other than making a profit. Because—

She was at the door before she knew it. Octavia told herself she was just going to peek. Besides, if the door wasn’t set to Celum, it wouldn’t matter. It probably wasn’t anyways. Probably—

She opened the door a crack and her breath caught. Instead of stone wall behind the door, there was a dark wooden floor. A larger room than Octavia’s shop. The scent of cooked food, wood, and just the faintest whiff of something putrid. The Stitch-Girl hesitated.

She shouldn’t. She knew she probably wasn’t wanted. But she still pushed the door open wider a bit. She’d poke her head in, scope out the scene—

Octavia looked around The Wandering Inn. Her first glimpse of things was of a dark, dark room. Practically pitch-black, in fact. A tall ceiling looked down at her, and the room stretched ahead of Octavia. Impossibly far, like some kind of huge mess hall. Or a theater.

At the far end of the room was a stage. It was empty. And the chairs and tables leading up to it were deserted. It was dark. Octavia could barely make out the far end of the room. The only light came from a pair of big candles burning low on the tables closer to the front door and kitchen. There was no light from outside; not even moonlight. The shutters were closed so tightly nothing could get in. And the inn looked deserted.

Was everyone gone? Surely not. Octavia cracked open the door a bit wider. She stepped into the inn, half-closing the door to her shop behind her. She looked around, heart beating a bit fast. Where was everyone? Normally the inn would be full of life. True, given what had happened, Octavia didn’t expect that, but she’d assumed someone would be—

Click.

Octavia heard the gentle sounds of nails clicking on the hardwood floor. She spun. A small, white shape had crept up on her from behind. Two bright eyes stared up at Octavia. The [Alchemist] nearly jumped out of her stitches. Then she recognized the creature who’d appeared. Not an animal, but a person. A child.

“Mrsha?”

The white Gnoll looked up at Octavia. She sat cross-legged on the ground, staring up at the Stitch-Girl. Octavia passed a hand over her forehead.

“You scared the—hello! How’s my favorite match-seller doing? Ah, is anyone around? Are you alone?”

Mrsha didn’t respond. She just gazed up silently at Octavia. That wasn’t unusual in itself; Mrsha couldn’t speak. But Octavia noted the stillness of Mrsha’s form. Normally she’d be full of energy. Her tail, usually wagging, was still. She just sat and looked up at Octavia, a world of unspoken words waiting behind her eyes.

“Um—”

A creak. Octavia turned again, and saw someone walk out of the kitchen. Lyonette, a girl with red hair, paused as she walked out of the kitchen holding a saucer and smaller candle. She reached for something at her side the instant she saw Octavia—then relaxed. But her voice wasn’t too friendly as she walked over.

“Octavia? What are you doing here? The inn’s closed. IF you’re here to sell something—”

“What, me? No! Never! I mean, not right now!”

Octavia raised her hands and protested. She looked from Lyonette to Mrsha. Neither one was smiling. Both looked…quiet was the only word for it. Not just in words, but in action. They stood together, in the dark common room, staring at Octavia. She already felt like an intruder.

“I uh, was just coming over to say hi. And to check on how things were—were doing.”

“There’s nothing for you here. And don’t bother trying to get to Liscor; we’re not changing the magical door, and I’ve barred the front door.”

Lyonette put her candle on the table and crossed her arms. Octavia winced. Why did everyone think she only thought about money? Oh, right. Well, she wasn’t thinking of it in this case!

“I don’t want to sell anything. Honest. I’m just here to see—is Erin here?”

The word made Lyonette’s expression flicker. Mrsha looked from her to Octavia.

“Erin’s upstairs. She’s alive.”

Not the most reassuring of words. Octavia looked around and saw the staircase.

“I—I mean, I won’t if it’s not a good time, but I could say hi. Is she—how’s she doing?”

Lyonette hesitated. She looked at Octavia suspiciously, as if still suspecting that Octavia was here to make a deal or bargain for something. Then she shook her head.

“She’s not doing good.”

“Still?”

The two young women looked at each other. Lyonette nodded. Then she sat down. Mrsha crawled onto a chair next to her and leaned on her. Quiet. Octavia shifted from foot to foot, but she didn’t sit down. It felt empty in here. Empty and silent, like a graveyard.

Or a wake.

“She’s upstairs. Crying. I check on her a few times every day. She’s…it’s been six days and she hasn’t done anything.”

“I…I know that. I checked in the second day. When uh—six days? It feels shorter than that. I mean, I just heard about all of it. The door only came back when it was over. Obviously. And I was relieved to hear—I mean, I didn’t know until—”

Octavia babbled a bit. Lyonette just looked up at her. The [Alchemist] stopped.

“How bad was it?”

She hadn’t gotten a chance to ask before. Lyonette paused. She seemed to search for words.

“We were in the city. That was all. We didn’t see any of the fighting. We just saw the aftermath.”

“And was—”

The Stich-Girl got no further. The look in Lyonette’s eyes—in both hers and Mrsha’s eyes—was enough. They stared at Octavia in silence. The [Alchemist] paused. She looked around the empty inn in silence for a minute. She chose her next words carefully.

“I heard—in Celum, that is—that people were complaining that the Players of Celum weren’t putting on performances. Er, does that mean the inn’s…?”

“No one’s putting on performances. Erin told Wesle that. And there’s no point anyways. No one’s coming here.”

“No one at all?”

Part of Octavia wasn’t surprised. But it had been six days. She would have expected someone to stop by, if only for Erin. But she hadn’t understood what Lyonette meant.

“No one can enter the inn. It’s impossible for anyone in Liscor to come here, aside from the Horns, the Halfseekers…and me and Mrsha.”

“What? You mean the door’s locked?”

The [Alchemist] was confused. Lyonette shook her head as Mrsha reached out and tipped the candle, staring at the wax as it ran down one side.

“No. I mean, they cannot enter. Most can’t even leave the city if they want to get to the inn. Erin’s not letting them.”

“You mean—with a Skill?”

Lyonette nodded. Octavia blinked. She could do that? Of course, Octavia knew of Skills that could affect a shop’s popularity—like [Shopper’s Stop], or [Discerning Clientele], which could affect which customers you got or how much business came to you, but physically preventing someone from reaching the inn? That went way beyond what most Skills were capable of. Spells as well.

And no one?  Lyonette just nodded when Octavia asked about that.

“No one. No one who was in Liscor. Or on the walls. Even people like Halrac or Typhenous can’t enter. And the rest…definitely not.”

“You mean, the ones who were there. Who watched and didn’t…”

“Yeah.”

The ones who’d watched the last battle of the Goblin Lord. Six days ago, two armies had fought here. Three, if you wanted to count the last part of the battle. Four if you included Liscor. But the two armies that had fought, one to defend Liscor, and the other to take it, had been Goblins.

The Goblin Lord’s army had advanced on Liscor, forced into the action by Lord Tyrion Veltras and an army of Humans intent on using the battle as a pretext to claim Liscor. They had been stopped and Tyrion’s plans foiled—by an army of Goblins who’d appeared to defend Liscor. Cave Goblins, a tribe opposing the Goblin Lord, the famous Redfangs of the High Passes, and the five Hobgoblins staying at Erin’s inn.

They had fought, placing themselves in the Goblin Lord’s way against impossible odds. For an [Innkeeper]. At her request. They had fought. And they had won.

And they had died. That was all Octavia knew. But it was enough. Enough, because she had seen the five Hobgoblins in Erin’s inn. Seen them, and known that Erin treated Goblins like people. And those people had been wiped out to the last. Not just by Tyrion Veltras, who had attacked both armies when he realized his plan would fail, but by Liscor itself. They had fled towards the city and been cut down. Repulsed by the city they had fought for.

It wasn’t something you heard about. All the [Criers] and [Messages] going back and forth were about the outcome of the battle. Tyrion Veltras challenging the Drakes to combat at the Blood Fields, the political fallout in the north thanks to Magnolia Reinhart. Little about the Goblins.

But here, in this inn, the Goblins were all that mattered. And Erin—Octavia shifted in her chair. No wonder no one from Liscor could come through. They’d watched the battle happen and given only a little aid to the Goblin’s side. And at the end…

“How come I can get through? I didn’t have a problem.”

She pointed that out to Lyonette. The young woman shrugged.

“Erin probably didn’t think of you.”

She elaborated at the hurt look on Octavia’s face.

“There wasn’t anything you could have done. The door to Celum was closed. But everyone else—”

“They really can’t get close?”

Octavia looked towards the door. It was shut, and the lock bar was in place. Windows closed…she wished that Lyonette would have at least opened a few windows. Maybe she was worried about crime at night? Or it could be chilly, true, but she could at least light a fire. It was too dark like this.

Lyonette didn’t seem to share the same opinion. She shook her head.

“They can’t get near. They can’t even get up the hill. Olesm tried for three hours yesterday. He couldn’t so much as take a step. I think Wall Lord Ilvriss could, or maybe Relc or Klbkch or one of the Gold-ranks—but they won’t try.”

“Wow.”

That was all Octavia could say. She looked at Lyonette and then glanced at Mrsha. The Gnoll was carving at the candle with one claw. Quietus.

“So Erin’s…”

“Upstairs.”

“Should I…?”

“If you want. I don’t think it’ll do anything. But I won’t stop you. You want to try?”

Octavia hesitated. But she had come this far and this was the reason she’d come to begin with. So she nodded. Lyonette stood up abruptly. She took the candle from Mrsha and nodded to the stairs.

“She’s in my old room. Mine and Mrsha’s.”

She led the way up the stairs. Octavia followed her, expecting the floorboards to creak. But they didn’t. They were new. She waited for sound. Movement. Anything. But the inn was so quiet it pressed down on her. Lyonette stopped before the first door she came to and knocked on it.

“Erin? Octavia’s here. She’d like to speak to you.”

There was no response. Lyonette knocked again, and then silently pushed the door open. Octavia peeked into the room and saw her.

A young woman was curled up on the floor. Her light brown hair was an untidy mess. She was facing away from them, towards a wall.

“Erin?”

Octavia’s voice quavered uncertainly as Lyonette stood to one side. The [Innkeeper] didn’t reply. Octavia coughed, and then she raised her voice brightly.

“Hey! Sorry to bother you, but uh, I was just in the area—you know, magic door—and I thought I’d say hi. I haven’t seen you in a while. It’s…I heard about what happened. I’m…sorry. But I came by to say that if there’s anything I could do—anything at all? I’m not asking for money. I just came by to say—I—I thought I’d just…”

Her voice trailed off. Octavia stared at the young woman’s back. She didn’t move. She didn’t seem to breathe, until Octavia saw her chest move slightly from behind. She walked forwards.

“Erin? Are you asleep? Can you—”

Octavia stopped. She saw Erin’s face. The girl’s eyes were open. Her hazel eyes stared ahead. Tears ran from her eyes. They dripped down her face. Ran onto her clothing. Erin didn’t move. She didn’t look at Octavia.

It had been six days since the death of the Goblin Lord. Six days since the final siege of Liscor. Six days since the death.

“Erin? I…”

“Erin? Octavia’s here for you. Mrsha’s wondering if you’ll get up.”

“Erin? I’m so sorry. Can I do anything?”

“We’re waiting for you. No one can enter the inn. Erin? Please say something.”

“Erin?”

She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. Not even when Octavia shook her. She blinked and breathed and that was all. Salt and water ran from her eyes. And there was little else there.

The tears wouldn’t stop. They would never stop. Erin curled up in her room and didn’t move. Eventually, Lyonette gave up her entreaties. She looked at Octavia and the two retreated.

“I didn’t know. I thought after six days she’d be at least—”

Octavia trailed off. Lyonette shook her head.

“She’s barely eats. She only eats because Mrsha stopped eating when she did. I thought so too. After six days—she’s lost friends before. But this time…they fought for her.”

“I know. No one’s talking about that. They just say the Goblins had a civil war. Or that they fought each other. No one’s talking about the fact that it was her.”

The two stared back into the room. Erin lay there. Mrsha padded into the room. She circled Erin. She reached out and stroked Erin’s hair. Then she lay next to Erin, silent. Lyonette stared at Mrsha. After a few minutes, the Gnoll child got up and walked back towards them. She reached up and Lyonette lifted her up, hugging her. Octavia watched the two silently. Jealous for a second as she saw Mrsha bury her face into Lyonette’s chest and hug her back.

“Let’s leave her alone.”

Lyonette closed the door. She looked at Octavia as they walked back down the stairs. For some reason she glanced towards the far end of the hall before she walked down. But she said nothing of it.

“She’ll move in a bit. She always does. But until then I can’t get her to do anything. Anyways, she shouldn’t really be up for this. It’s nearly time.”

“Time for what?”

Octavia was still trying to process Erin’s grief. But then she noticed Lyonette reached for the thing at her side. She stopped when Lyonette put Mrsha down in the common room and drew her sword.

It was a straight, steel blade. Unadorned, and unremarkable. The kind you could get from any [Blacksmith]. But Lyonette held it as if she meant to use it. She stared towards the door, then slowly moved towards a table. She placed the sword on the table and pulled up a chair. Then she looked at Octavia.

“They’re coming.”

“Who?”

The [Alchemist] looked at the sword, bewildered. But then she heard a sound. A faint shuffling. A bump. Steps from outside. And then a dull, quiet thump against the door. She jumped.

“What was that?”

Lyonette had just said that no one could come to the inn! So who was that? Octavia stared at the door, but Lyonette made no move to open it. She heard the thump again, louder. Something—someone was bumping against it. Insistently. And then there was another thump, this time from a window right of the door. And then another bump. Another.

Something was outside the inn. Somethings. Someone. And they were…colliding with the inn. Striking the shutters. Then Octavia heard a sigh, and the sound of something hitting the door with a dull, fleshy impact. And it clicked. She backed up, eyes wide.

“The undead.”

Lyonette nodded. She stared at the door as Mrsha huddled next to her. The Gnoll’s hair was standing up, but she didn’t look too afraid. She’d seen this before. Octavia was terrified. Her breath caught, and her eyes grew round as she stepped backwards, towards the door to her shop.

“Don’t worry, they can’t get in.”

“But the undead—”

It had to be them. Octavia was suddenly reminded of a fact of this world. When the dead gather, the undead rise. And while graveyards were purified to ensure the remains of the deceased wouldn’t become undead, there was a battlefield’s worth of the dead outside. And by the sounds of it, zombies were converging on the inn as night fell.

Thump. Thump. Thump. The sounds came from all sides now as the zombies ran into the inn, some attacking it with their arms and heads, others just running into it. And those were just the audible sounds. Octavia imagined hundreds of bodies, silently pressed against the inn, as if they could implode the walls just like that. And maybe they could. This inn was made out of wood, not stone. But Lyonette was focused. Grimly calm.

“Erin’s Skills will keep us safe. Just stay quiet and we won’t attract too many. They can’t do anything to get in. Just make sounds.”

The sound was rhythmic, eerie. And worse because the undead truly didn’t make many sounds. Of course, Octavia had heard the classic zombie groaning parodied to her, but these ones didn’t do that. They just sighed, made small sounds. It was terrifying.

“Are you just going to let them stay here? All night long? What if they find a way in? Where are the other adventurers?”

Octavia was unable to keep silent. She knew both adventuring teams! How could they leave Lyonette, Mrsha, and Erin alone? Mrsha looked up. Her tail was twitching each time something struck the inn. Lyonette pointed towards the door.

“The adventurers? They’re outside.”

“Out—”

Lyonette nodded.

“The Horns are out there. So are the Halfseekers and all the adventurers. They’re killing them by the thousands each day, but there are over a hundred thousand dead bodies out there. Closer to two hundred thousand, maybe. And more keep rising each day.”

“Two hundred thousand.”

Octavia felt like she was repeating everything Lyonette said. Her brown skin grew pale.

“They can’t get in.”

Lyonette reassured Mrsha and Octavia once more, but Octavia noticed that the sword was bared and never out of Lyonette’s reach. The thumping on the windows and groans grew louder as more undead joined the inn. Then the [Alchemist] heard a crash as something hit the door. Hard. She jumped.

“What was that?”

This time Lyonette stood up. She stared at the door as something hit it again, far louder than the zombies. She held up a hand and Octavia and Mrsha were still.

“Ghoul.”

The thing outside rammed the door three times. And then Octavia heard a sound that made her skin crawl. Scuffling. And then the sounds of scratching movement outside. From a window, then higher up.

“It’s climbing.”

She looked at Lyonette, terrified. But the [Barmaid] was still calm, if alert. She tracked the thing’s progress up the side of the inn.

“The roof’s sealed. We boarded it up and the Antinium say they’ll begin working on rebuilding as soon as the undead presence lessens.”

Still, Lyonette looked wary as she reached for the sword. The crawling thing outside scraped as it climbed higher and higher—and then Octavia heard a crash and a heavy impact. She looked at Lyonette, but the [Barmaid] was focused on the door. There were more impacts, of a different kind this time, from outside, and then a thump that Octavia felt in her bones. Silence—and then, to the [Alchemist]’s surprise and relief, a voice.

“Lyonette? Are you alright?”

It was Ceria. Octavia vaguely recognized the half-Elf’s voice. Lyonette called out.

“We are. Did you get it?”

“Yeah. It was a Ghoul trying to climb the inn. We got rid of the zombies too. Pisces is keeping his bear Bone Horror back here. Any sign of cracks? Damage?”

“None. We’re fine.”

Octavia heard another voice, muffled. Ceria replied, and then she raised her voice as the sounds of more impacts started up. Someone—the rest of her team probably—was fighting the undead.

“Okay. We’ll be back in an hour. Maybe two. There are more Ghouls tonight. Make sure the windows are closed and locked.”

“Got it.”

Ceria didn’t say anything more after that. Octavia heard faint footsteps, then silence. She looked at Lyonette.

“The Bone Horror’s here. You can’t hear it, but it will guard the inn. We don’t really need it.”

“Bone Horror?”

Octavia said the word uncertainly. She’d heard of such things, but those were higher-level undead. Lyonette nodded.

“Pisces made it. It can handle anything that appears. For now. That’s why the adventurers are trying to burn and kill as many undead as possible.”

Mrsha shivered. So did Octavia.

“Worse things than Ghouls appear?”

“Usually? No. But on a big battlefield? We can get Crypt Lords, Shamblers, and a lot worse in time. It won’t come to that. Liscor’s making sure the bodies are all disposed of.”

“Only Goblin bodies, though, right?. I heard they all died here.”

“Most of them did.”

Lyonette’s eyes were shadowed. She looked upstairs once more. And Octavia was glad that Erin hadn’t come downstairs.

The undead kept rising after that, but the Bone Horror that had been left was defending the inn, by the sounds of the occasionally heavy impacts from outside. Lyonette sat with Octavia and Mrsha, listening maybe. Both she and Mrsha were so grim. Octavia tried to liven things up, but she was no good. In the end, she just sat with them. At some point Lyonette roused herself.

“It’s about time for Erin to come down.”

“She’s coming down? To eat?”

That startled Octavia, given how unresponsive Erin had been. But Lyonette was already going into the kitchen. She came out with, of all things, a little bit of a stew in a bowl, some bread, buttered, and a few Yellats, fried on one side. The meal was warm and hot and it made Octavia realize she hadn’t had a decent meal since…breakfast. Yesterday. She’d just eaten whatever she had since then.

Lyonette noticed the rumbling in her stomach. So she went back and got Octavia another plate like it. The [Alchemist] ate hungrily, noticing Lyonette and Mrsha weren’t eating.

“We had an early dinner.”

And they weren’t much hungry, because Mrsha didn’t even bother trying to steal Octavia’s food. The [Alchemist] polished off her plate and then saw that Lyonette kept glancing towards the stairs. The first plate she’d put out was meant for someone, and sure enough, Lyonette heard a quiet shuffling. And then Erin Solstice walked down the stairs.

“Erin! You’re up!”

Octavia was stunned. She scrambled to her feet, but Erin didn’t so much as look at her. She walked downstairs, slowly, and she was still crying. Less, but her eyes were red and swollen. She looked at Lyonette. The [Barmaid] pointed.

“It’s right here.”

Erin went over to the plate. She took it, and rather than sit, she lifted it and turned right back around. She went towards the stairs, but Lyonette raised her voice.

“He must be in the basement again. I checked his room earlier. He wasn’t there.”

Erin turned towards the trap door to the basement. Octavia got to her feet. She and Lyonette hurried over and helped open the trap door. Erin maneuvered down the stairs, refusing to let them take the plate. She turned, and Lyonette handed her a lantern. Erin looked around. For the first time she seemed to come alive. Her voice croaked.

“Hello?”

Octavia heard a pained note in her voice. She saw a desperate look in Erin’s eye. The [Innkeeper] called out, coughing on her tears. She looked around.

“Hello? Are you there?”

For a second there was naught but silence. Erin looked around, and Octavia thought that if there was one thing keeping her together, even enough to do this much, it was this. Her hand shook on the plate. The lantern light wobbled as it moved across the basement. And then it stopped. A solitary figure was sitting against the back wall. The light illuminated it. Erin called out, desperately, her voice breaking.

And the Goblin opened his eyes.

—-

He had been dreaming. It was the same dream, played a thousand times. Ten thousand.

Somewhere on a hilltop, a Goblin stood. He stared up at the night sky. The stars shone down on him. The grass was soft underfoot. And he was smiling.

The Goblin was there too. He was there. They were all there. They filled the hill. It had no end. And neither did they. Male and female. Tall and small. Hobgoblin, Goblin. Children. Adults. Warriors and those who had picked up a sword. Cave Goblins. Redfangs. Goblins wearing black armor.

The Goblin Lord. From every tribe, they stood together, looking up. At the twin moons that hung in the night sky. At each other. A breeze blew soundlessly over the hill, making the grass ripple. The Goblin who dreamed could not feel it. But the Goblins looked up. And they walked off the hill and into the sky.

At first it was a handful. And then it was more. The waiting Goblins looked at each other. The Goblin looked around and saw a familiar face.

Headscratcher. Had he known him? It felt like he had. But in this place, all Goblins knew each other. He looked past him and saw a tall Hob crouching next to a Goblin whose eyes shone red. He looked sad, but as he turned, another Goblin walked up the hill. As tall as a legend. His teeth flashed and his red war paint stood out. Garen Redfang stood next to his brother.

Reiss. And Eater of Spears looked back. The Goblin knew him too. The Hobgoblin raised a claw. He spoke a word. And then he vanished.

They were leaving. Garen and Reiss were next. They looked back, straight at the Goblin. And there was a silent moment in which Garen raised his hand and made a fist, and Reiss bowed. Then they too vanished.

Like mist. Like memory, already fading. Headscratcher stared up at the stars. He looked back and more Goblins walked forwards and vanished. He smiled once. Softly. Regrets, sorrow, and a quiet calm ran through that one smile. He reached back and the Goblin reached for him. But Headscratcher just shook his head. He said something.

“Wait.”

And then he turned and walked ahead. The Goblin watched him go. More Goblins were disappearing. The hill was growing emptier. More faces turned back to him, some laughing, others calling out.

Wait.

But how could you wait? They were all going. Spiderslicer was next. Noears shrugged and pointed ahead, clapping his hands. Hobgoblins and children followed. Too many to count.

Tens of thousands of Goblins, walking past them. Vanishing into the air. A river, a torrent. And then a trickle. The last to go was a Hobgoblin who sat on the hill, staring back rather than ahead. He was reluctant. But at last, Shorthilt stood. And the Goblins who remained and watched him were two.

He was missing his sword. Shorthilt grumbled, but there was no help for it. He looked back and reached out. He touched both of them, clasping their arms. Wishing them well. Then, with infinite reluctance, he walked forwards. And he was gone.

And then it was just the last two of them. Pyrite and Numbtongue looked at each other. Which was which? For a moment they didn’t know. They had been everyone for a moment. Every Goblin on the hill. Only now, as the last one left, did they become themselves. They stood together.

Neither one showed the wounds they had taken. But they felt them. Each one, weighing them down. It didn’t hurt like pain. But it was a reminder. And with each second, the wind blew harder. Calling them away. But only one. The two met each other’s eyes.

They had never seen each other. But they knew each other. They knew everything in a moment. And Numbtongue smiled and Pyrite bent and tried to eat the grass.

“Good song.”

“Nice axe.”

That was it. That was all you could say. The two looked at each other. Then they grew quiet and looked up. The sky called them. Both wanted to walk into that oblivion. But they also wanted to stay.

They looked back. At each other. Numbtongue was so very tired. Pyrite lowered his head, and the weight of the world pressed down on him.

“I tried.”

That was all Numbtongue could say. He looked up at Pyrite.

“I tried. We did it. She lived.”

Pyrite nodded. He reached out and squeezed Numbtongue’s shoulder gently. The Hobgoblin wiped at his eyes. Pyrite looked towards the sky.

“Tell her I’m sorry. I’m tired.”

The two turned and began walking together. Off the hill. Higher and higher. At first they walked together. But then one fell behind. The other reached for him.

“Here. Take it with you.”

And they offered their hand. The Goblin reached for it and felt the warmth. He looked up—and he was alone. Alone, he felt himself falling. And then—and then—

He woke up. In pain. In darkness. A light, bright and mortal, hurt his eyes. The Goblin shielded his face.

“Hello? Are you there?”

A female voice, cracked and broken called out to him. He saw a figure standing by the stairs. Saw a lantern’s light. The Goblin tried to sit up. His body felt unfamiliar. Heavy. He looked up as Erin walked forwards.

“Hello?”

Numbtongue looked up. His red eyes flashed in the darkness, lit up by the lantern’s glow. He looked around, but Pyrite was gone. They were all gone. And he was there. Lying in a dirty basement.

The broken guitar lay at his feet. Erin stopped when she saw Numbtongue. Her eyes went to him. She was crying. Numbtongue stared at her. He said nothing. There was nothing to say.

The music was gone.

He was alone.

“Food.”

That was all Erin said. She bent down and put the plate in front of Numbtongue. He could smell it. He didn’t respond. Erin looked down at him.

“I—”

There was nothing to say. She turned away, tears falling. Numbtongue watched her go. He moved his legs.

Painfully. His body wouldn’t move right. There was a scar on his chest. A wound. A spear had gone straight through him. He should be dead. But he remembered a stranger telling him to live.

Live.

He drew his knees up to his chest. Numbtongue slowly began to rock back and forth. He tried to hum, but there was no song in him. No music. So he just sat there, rocking back and forth, staring at the untouched meal. Back and forth. Waiting. But no matter how many times the dream never changed. The memory endured. And Pyrite reached out.

“Tell her I’m sorry. I’m tired.”

The Hobgoblin closed his eyes. But he couldn’t cry. There were no tears. No words. Just him. Alone. So the Hobgoblin closed his eyes and went back there. To that living memory. Fading, faded with each passing second. And he tried to stop them. But they were already…

Gone.

—-

Night. And then day. The seventh day after the death of the Goblin Lord, a few Drakes gathered for a conference in Liscor’s city hall. They chatted quietly, looking out across the city.

“Cremation’s getting trickier without wood to fuel the fires. We’re taking from our stockpiles, breaking down a few wagons, but we’ve having to use magic rather than wood. The [Mages] are complaining.”

Watch Captain Zevara was speaking with Ilvriss. The Wall Lord was nodding as Olesm quietly wrote down the tallies of last night’s undead suppression by the adventurers and City Watch. Embria was absent; she was still out in the Floodplains, exterminating the zombies and gathering corpses to be burned with her soldiers.

“We have no choice. As for the smell—I know the residents are unhappy, but again, this is a priority task. We’re over halfway done as it stands.”

“That was my opinion as well. There’s not much to do other than rotate the [Mages] and tell the people we’re working as hard as we can.”

Ilvriss nodded.

“These things happen. Cleanup after a battle is never popular, Watch Captain. But I think any level-headed citizens will understand the need.”

“If I find any, I’ll be sure to appreciate that fact.”

The two shared a quiet chuckle. Olesm looked up, and then back down at his work. Ilvriss paused and glanced at the door.

“Ah. Shieldscale. Come in.”

A Drake saluted at the entrance to the meeting room. She strode into the room, walking with military posture. Olesm glanced up at her. Zevara noted the pair of wings on the Drake. She was unfamiliar. Her scales were a bright, almost too-bright blue. She was clearly a soldier and was armed as such. More importantly, Zevara noticed the acrid tang in the air as she drew closer.

If she was right, this Drake had the ability to breathe some kind of weapon—probably acid. That made her an Oldblood Drake, with both wings and a breath weapon. The rarest of all combinations. Zevara couldn’t help but stand a bit straighter as this Drake saluted her and Ilvriss.

“Watch Captain. Wall Lord. I have the official reports from the Walled Cities about the engagement at the Blood Fields. For your perusal.”

She offered a report, copied twice, to Zevara and Ilvriss. They read theirs as the Drake went over and gave Olesm a copy. Ilvriss read with distaste and then shook his head.

“Disgusting. Of course the Humans are calling it a victory. These numbers—and they’re claiming this is the official report? They’ve shaved off numbers.”

“You’re sure?”

Zevara studied the report with dismay. Reading it, you could infer that the losses weren’t that bad. But Ilvriss just looked disgusted.

“I read Salazsar’s report of the battle. We can count. In numbers alone, that damned Veltras won. We pulled back too many of our elites when it was clear Liscor wasn’t in danger. I told them that was a mistake. We sent three [Generals]—good ones, but hardly our best—and paid for it. His soldiers were more elite, and with the nobility and officers he brought—disgusting. And this is what we’re claiming? A ‘partial victory’?”

He tossed his report onto the table. Zevara sighed as she did likewise. She nodded to the Drake, who’d assumed a patient posture, hands folded behind her back.

“Thank you, um…Captain?”

Zevara had to guess, since the Drake wasn’t wearing her military insignia. Ilvriss looked up.

“Ah, that would be Major Shieldscale, Watch Captain Zevara. I think I mentioned her to you?”

Zevara vaguely recalled this particular Drake popping up in conversation a few days ago, as she herself had done. Ilvriss nodded.

“As I said, her lineage is a long-time friend of the family. She’ll be serving as my aide in a more…combative role than my other adjutants.”

“Where are you from, Major Shieldscale?”

“Salazsar, Watch Captain. Born and raised in the gemstone capital.”

Ilvriss winced slightly as the Major replied. Zevara nodded. That was Salazsar for you. She looked at the Wall Lord and he cleared his throat.

“Asrira here came with a detachment bound for Invrisil. When the siege was lifted, she elected to continue on alone while the rest of her unit was recalled. I needed support, and Major Shieldscale is an accomplished warrior who’s served with distinction for over half a decade.”

To Zevara’s knowledge Ilvriss already had nearly a dozen helpers. But she nodded. Wall Lords loved their retinues.

“Does that mean your sojourn in Liscor is coming to a close, Wall Lord Ilvriss?”

She couldn’t think of any other reason he’d be requesting reinforcements. Ilvriss nodded. And Zevara felt a pang. She might actually miss him. For all he had been difficult to work with at the start, it had been very reassuring to have a Wall Lord on her side.

“That’s correct, Watch Captain. I’ve stayed here far too long as it is. Not that there wasn’t need—but I am of Salazsar, and I’ve been away from home for too long.”

“It’s a long way from here to Salazsar, though. Will you be travelling via Pallass?”

“If it can be arranged. They’re still denying me entry, which I have every right to—but I’ll lean on them as much as I need to.”

Ilvriss grimaced.

“At this point I’m almost tempted to make the trip on foot rather than keep negotiating with Pallass. But the Blood Fields have just been fed, which makes a journey south quite unwise.”

“Indeed. Um, I expect the Council will insist on celebrating you before you go. You might want to give them the heads up—or leave before they can arrange anything.”

Ilvriss stroked his chin.

“I could hardly be so rude. And it occurs to me that a funded celebration would do Liscor good. What with…all that has occurred. Things are finally looking up, aren’t they?”

“It seems that way.”

The two Drakes fell silent. Major Shieldscale waited as Olesm continued to work. They looked out across Zevara’s city. And she agreed largely with what Ilvriss had said.

The siege of Liscor was over. Before it had begun, really. But all the stress and fear that had gripped the city was gone, and that was a relief in itself. She’d been preparing to fight to the last to hold Liscor. Now—well, the eastern gate was still destroyed and there were cracks in the wall that would have to be repaired and fortified before the spring rains came again, not to mention the undead still roaming about the Floodplains and the risk of so many bodies rotting…

But it was over. Liscor was safe. And its people were happy.

There had even been a celebration. A small one, but it reflected the mood of the city and that was one of relief. Yes, everything was looking up. Zevara thought about smiling. But it didn’t seem to quite come onto her face when she willed it.

Ilvriss looked speculative rather than in a good mood. He stared across the city as the sun rose, illuminating the bright rooftops.

“Only a few issues left, I should imagine. One of them being the trial. I assume your prisoner hasn’t given you any trouble?”

Trial? It took Zevara a second to remember what Ilvriss meant. Her brows darkened and her tail curled up a bit.

“Oh, the Minotaur? No trouble out of him. We’re preparing for the trial—we’d have done it earlier, but the witnesses needed time to rest and what with the Goblins…but we’ll start the proceedings soon.”

And that would be that. Zevara still had to deal with the dungeon, but she swore to herself that the Raskghar would never trouble the walls again. Nor would they ever reach them, not with the waters gone. In the mud, they’d have as much chance of taking the city—even in the daytime with the gates open—as Zevara had of flying.

“Good, good. I doubt I’ll be there for the trial unless I’m truly delayed, but I’ll provide any written testimony should it be necessary. As for the rest…it only remains…I suppose it’s just the inn.”

Zevara looked up. The quiet scratching of Olesm’s quill went silent for a second. Major Shieldscale kept staring ahead. But the other three Drakes paused. Ilvriss cleared his throat. He turned his case and looked east. The Wandering Inn wasn’t visible from here. But he looked nonetheless. And his tone was…different.

“I don’t suppose there’s been any word from the inn, has there? The doors are…?”

“It’s still closed.”

Olesm replied flatly. Ilvriss glanced at him. He nodded slowly. Cleared his throat again.

“It’s not that I mind, but she does have the one working door to Pallass. And I gather that these plays have attracted a good deal of interest from Liscor’s citizenry, especially now we’re no longer operating in a crisis. There’s talk of enlisting in the ah, acting troupe. It could be a new form of entertainment and revenue for Liscor, which is always to be desired.”

“That would be helpful.”

Zevara glanced at Olesm. But he was working again. She stared at the eastern wall. The inn was closed. Erin Solstice hadn’t been spotted in a week now, and no one could so much as get near her inn. And it wasn’t that Zevara wanted to see her. Her life was far, far easier when she didn’t see that blasted Human. And yet—

Seven days had passed. The city was upbeat, it really was. People were getting back to work, they were enthusiastic about the sun, relieved not to be dead or under siege—it was all great. But rather than call the mood jubilant, Zevara felt the same sensation that seemed to have gripped the city. That of…waiting.

Waiting. What they wanted, what a lot of Liscor wanted, was just to see the doors open. To hear that annoying voice saying something inane, see a bright smile. But the inn was silent. The doors did not open, no matter how long anyone waited.

Yes, Goblins had died. But in a way, they’d saved the day. And yes, bad things had happened. But Liscor had triumphed. It was good, in the end. It was a victory. Everyone knew it. The Human, that crazy [Innkeeper], Erin, would be sad. She might be angry, and she had every right to be. She could be depressed, grieve, but in time, she would return to normal. Liscor has triumphed. All would be well. And everyone knew that.

They were just waiting for her to confirm it.

—-

On the seventh day, Numbtongue looked up. He reached out and picked up the broken guitar. He looked down at it. Then he tossed it aside and stood up.

He didn’t feel any better. He still felt dead. A ghost. And he still dreamed that he’d see Headscratcher poke his head down from above and tell him to get moving. Hear Shorthilt stomp on the floorboards, or hear the chatter of Cave Goblins. But time had passed. And part of Numbtongue couldn’t even believe in that lie anymore.

It still hurt, too. With every passing second, Numbtongue thought the tears in his heart would open up and swallow him whole. They hurt more than his wounds. But still, he stood.

It wasn’t that he was better. It was just that he couldn’t sit any longer. Seven days he’d sat. It was enough. The pain wasn’t going away from sitting. It never would.

So Numbtongue stumbled forwards. He kicked something by accident, nearly slipped. The plate of food. It overturned and Numbtongue looked at it. He bent to pick it up and nearly fell over. He was dizzy. He hadn’t eaten in…

It didn’t matter. Numbtongue picked up the dishes. He wasn’t hungry. He slowly walked towards the stairs and trapdoor. He could hear voices from above. For a second he paused and hoped. But they weren’t the right ones. Goblins didn’t speak that much, anyways.

“—just disgusting work. It feels like I’m working in a suppression company in Baleros again. Why can’t you get your undead minions to handle all of it, Pisces? Or do that neck-snapping thing and settle things that way.”

Jelaqua was talking to Pisces as she slumped over her table. Lyonette was quietly serving breakfast. The adventuring teams—the Horns of Hammerad and the Halfseekers—were eating quietly. They were subdued. Even Jelaqua, normally energetic, was only partly invested in her conversation. The [Necromancer] she was addressing, Pisces, paused in dabbing his mouth with his sleeve.

“Two reasons. Firstly, because my undead cannot function long without consuming a great deal of mana. They were quite limited in number as well. Secondly, even if I broke the necks of every zombie out there, they would continue to rise. Breaking the bones of the undead stops them for a short time, but nothing short of immolation or pure destruction will—”

“I get it. I was just asking.”

Jelaqua sighed. She tried to smile at Mrsha. The Gnoll cub was eating breakfast quietly.

“Hey there. Sleepy, Mrsha? You’re not racing about.”

The Gnoll looked up and shook her head. Jelaqua’s grin faltered.

“Maybe we should let you run about in Celum?”

No response. Mrsha just went back to eating. Jelaqua looked around. Moore and Seborn, sitting at her table, gave her slow shakes of the head. The Selphid let it drop.

At the other table, Ceria looked at her companions. Yvlon, Ksmvr, Pisces…they were all quiet. A night of fighting had made them tired, but this wasn’t like them. But she couldn’t tell them to snap out of it. It didn’t feel right.

And yet they hadn’t grieved. Not like Erin was. Ceria hadn’t shed more than a few tears. She couldn’t, though she’d known the Goblins. And yet, she couldn’t smile either.

Ceria tried. Yvlon looked up to see Ceria’s attempt at a smile. She stopped eating. Ceria gave up. She looked around, but Erin hadn’t come down for breakfast again. Maybe today was the day to give her a kick and some tough love. She had to snap out of this eventually. How long was she going to be like this? She had to—

The trap door opened. Ceria turned. Her fork fell from her fingers. It clattered on the table. Pisces looked up. Then he turned as well.

The room fell silent. Numbtongue paused as he pushed the trap door up. He stared around. Slowly, he climbed up into the inn. He placed the plate and bowl on the table and looked around.

A red scar stood out on his chest. Half of his body looked…paler. The remnants of lightning. Aside from that, he looked like he had. Numbtongue. But it was Numbtongue. And the others were…

Numbtongue stopped as he stepped out into the light. He had been prepared for something. But this was worse.

It was the stares. All of them, adventurers, Lyonette, Mrsha—they all stared at Numbtongue. They froze, and gazed at him like they’d seen a ghost. That was painful, but it was the second look that cut deeper. Pity. He saw it reflected in their eyes. And he hated them for it.

Pity was even worse.

“Morning.”

Numbtongue could have laughed at the way their expressions changed. He almost did, but he didn’t. He looked to Lyonette.

“Here.”

He offered her the plates and bowl. Lyonette noticed the spilled food.

“Oh. Didn’t you like—”

“Tripped. Not hungry.”

“I can get you something else if you’d—”

“No.”

Numbtongue hated it. The awkward conversation, the painful misunderstandings and imprecise words. That was why he didn’t speak. And the way Lyonette clearly seemed to regret asking about breakfast. As if she should have said something about—about—

Numbtongue hadn’t seen them. He didn’t remember anything. Not after being stabbed. He didn’t know how it had ended. Until Lyonette told them. So he walked towards the door. It was closed.

“Whoa. Hey!”

Jelaqua shot to her feet. She stepped out in front of him. Numbtongue looked at her. Jelaqua gave her a desperate smile.

“Hey! Numbtongue! Why don’t you take a seat? Unless you want to use the outhouse? That’s cool, but uh—why don’t you let us make sure there’s no one outside? Just one second. Moore!”

She snapped. Moore pushed back his chair hurriedly. Seborn was already on his feet. Numbtongue looked from face to face.

“Why?”

“Well—let’s just say it isn’t a good time to go out. Uh, unless you need that outhouse.”

Jelaqua waved her arms at her companions. Numbtongue tried to get around her. She blocked him.

“Hold on. Okay?”

He tried to walk past her, but she held her arm out. The Selphid backed up, and her desperate smile vanished. She took a deep breath.

“There are a lot of…a lot of undead out there. You might be mistaken for one. And it’s unwise to go out anyways. Because…”

She trailed off. Numbtongue waited. Jelaqua looked around. In the end she had to say it.

“Because it’s dangerous. For you.”

Because he was a Goblin. The news hit Numbtongue like a brick in the chest. He staggered, and nearly sat down. Jelaqua reached for him. Numbtongue knocked her hand away.

“Move.”

He brushed past her. Jelaqua half-grabbed for him, and then gave up. Numbtongue reached the door. He found it was barred. He took off the door bar, flung open the door.

And he stopped.

Mud covered the Floodplains. Mud and water. The rains were gone. The grasses dead. It was just mud, as far as the eye could see. Mud, water.

And Goblins.

There they lay. Green bodies. Goblins wearing black armor. Carn Wolves, dotting the ground. Dead. They covered a small part of the Floodplains, really. A large battlefield and then—a stream of bodies fallen as they’d fled towards Liscor. And then broken north, towards the mountains. Dead bodies.

And the undead. They roamed the hills and valleys, sometimes falling, crawling, standing. Lifeless faces, already rotting. Goblins.

Part of Numbtongue wasn’t surprised. Part of him, a dreadful part, wasn’t even shocked by the sight. He was a warrior. He knew what to expect. But the rest of him…hurt.

Just hurt. And Numbtongue was ashamed beyond belief that it didn’t hurt more. But it couldn’t. Seven days had passed. A week. He knew what had happened.

They were dead. He was alive. That was all there was to it.

“Numbtongue?”

The Hobgoblin turned. He saw Lyonette standing in the doorway. The others were standing behind him, staring at Numbtongue or away. None of them knew what to say. As if what they could say mattered. Numbtongue looked at them. Then he walked back inside.

“Uh—”

“Erin.”

The Goblin looked at Lyonette. She blinked and hesitated.

“She’s upstairs. But—”

Numbtongue strode towards the stairs. Anxiously, Lyonette followed him. The Hobgoblin nearly tripped going up the stairs and had to catch the handrail to steady himself. His stomach rumbled. He pushed himself up and ignored Lyonette. He had to see her. He had to know. Was she—

She was there. In the room. Curled up. Weeping silently. Numbtongue stared at her and sagged against the doorframe in relief. She was alive. That was all. They’d done it. They’d—

There was no satisfaction. Erin was alive, but Headscratcher was dead. So was Shorthilt. Rabbiteater and Badarrow? The Cave Goblins were dead. They were all gone. It wasn’t enough. And that was a bitter truth for Numbtongue.

But she was still here. Numbtongue stumbled forwards. Erin didn’t respond, even though she had surely heard him come in.

For a second Numbtongue just looked down at her. He looked at her tears. And he clenched his hand into a fist. And for the first time, the numbness in him began to shift.

“Erin.”

She reacted to the sound of his voice. Erin turned. Slowly. Her eyes widened when she saw him.

“Numb…?”

She coughed. Uncurled painfully. Sat up. She tried to stand and pushed herself up from the mattress. She stood up, wobbling like Numbtongue. She looked at him. And her eyes overflowed.

She’d been crying. But—Numbtongue noticed—Erin’s cheeks weren’t wet. Her eyes were red, but she hadn’t been crying. She was now.

“Numbtongue.”

Erin stepped towards Numbtongue. She halted.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so—so sorry.”

Numbtongue felt a shock run through him. He looked at Erin. She was crying now. But all he felt was anger.

“Why?”

It surprised her. For a second Erin’s tears stopped. She gulped.

“Because I did it. I asked you to—I did this. I’m so sorry. I should never have—”

She broke up, wiping her face. Numbtongue stared at her. He looked at his hands. At his chest. And he was angry.

“We chose to stay. We fought. And we died. This was our choice. Not yours.”

“But I asked—”

Erin wiped at her eyes.

“I’m—I’m sorry. I know you chose. But all of them. Headscratcher. And Shorthilt and…so many.”

Garen. Spiderslicer. Eater of Spears. Reiss. The list rolled endlessly in Numbtongue’s head. A hundred thousand faces flashed before him. And still he did not weep. He looked at Erin, saw her sob once.

Just once. And that was it. Numbtongue looked down at his chest. He touched the red scar of the spear on his heart. Felt the pain. But it was shallow. He dug a nail into it, watched blood start to flow. It wasn’t anything close to real pain.

“Numbtongue!”

Erin saw. She grabbed at his hand. Numbtongue shook her off. He saw her red eyes. But he also saw the truth. She’d stopped crying. Maybe yesterday. Maybe this morning. But whenever it had been, the tears had stopped. They flowed now, but only a few. And in Numbtongue, there was emptiness. Pain, but not enough.

It didn’t hurt enough. Not anymore. Time had already taken the pain away. Numbtongue tried to conjure the desolation, the all-consuming despair and grief he’d felt the first few days. But it was stale. Hollow. He couldn’t cry. And that hurt most of all.

“Don’t. Please. I’m so sorry. If I could do anything—you have to stay here. In your room. If anyone sees you—I won’t let them come near the inn. I promise.”

Erin clung to Numbtongue, hugging him. He looked down at her, feeling her warm embrace. Stay here? He heard her words vaguely, took in the meaning. And he tensed.

Any Goblin could have known what Numbtongue thought in that moment. Any one of them. Headscratcher, Shorthilt, Rabbiteater, Badarrow—or a Cave Goblin, or Reiss. Anyone. But there was no one anymore. No other Goblin to read his unspoken thoughts. No one to know how he felt. So Numbtongue spoke.

“Are you ashamed of us?”

Erin jerked. She froze up and looked at Numbtongue.

“No. Never. Why would you—”

“Because. You. You are here. You want me to stay here.”

Numbtongue reached down. He grabbed Erin’s hands. Squeezed them.

“I should stay here? Hide? We did nothing wrong.”

Nothing. He remembered running with the others. Laughing. Charging together. Erin gulped.

“But if they try to kill you again—”

“Let them. I did nothing wrong. You are crying here. But it doesn’t matter. I—we—deserve better. We did nothing wrong. Why are you hiding?”

He looked at her. Erin struggled for words. Numbtongue turned away abruptly.

“I’m going.”

“Where? Numbtongue!”

She tried to stop him. But in the end, she was weaker than he was. That was one of the reasons why he loved her. Because she was strong while being weak. But she wasn’t strong now. He was disappointed in her. In all of them.

Numbtongue came down the stairs. The adventurers looked at him. One of them—Ceria, stood up.

“Numbtongue. We’re—I’m—so sorry about what happened. What you did was heroic. If there’s anything—”

The same words. Numbtongue gave Ceria a long stare that froze the words on the half-Elf’s tongue.

Sorry. They were sorry. That wasn’t the point! Numbtongue wanted to smash one of the tables. He wanted to rage. But something else burned hotter in him. He looked around. And then he strode for the door.

“Numbtongue!”

The magic door stood in front of Numbtongue. He plucked Celum’s mana stone from it, tossed it to one side. He reached for Liscor’s stone, placed it on the door. Then he reached for the handle.

Hands grabbed him. Numbtongue turned. Jelaqua had hold of him. So did Yvlon. And Erin.

“Don’t! They’ll attack you!”

“So?”

There was nothing they could do to him that was worse. Numbtongue looked at Erin. She didn’t understand. He reached down and tugged her hands off her arm.

“We won. We did nothing wrong. I will not hide.”

Erin looked up at him, desperately. Numbtongue bent. He looked Erin in the eyes.

“Why are you crying here?”

He heard her intake of breath. Then he tore away from Jelaqua and Yvlon. He opened the door. And he ran through into the city.

—-

“Goblin in the city!”

“Call the Watch!”

Zevara raced down the street, hearing the shouts ahead of her. Dozens of [Guards] converged on the street where the screams and cries were coming from. She knew, without even having to look what she’d find.

A Hobgoblin stood in the streets of Liscor. Unarmed. Bare chested. Honestly, barely standing on his two legs. Of course, for anyone who hadn’t ever seen a Goblin it was probably a terrifying sight. His sharp teeth, his crimson eyes, the green skin—it was the image of a monster.

And yet, Zevara recognized this one. He didn’t have his guitar. But she knew him. And as she skidded to a stop she threw up a hand.

“Hold your ground! Wait for my order or I will rip your tails off with my bare claws!”

She screamed at the City Watch who’d surrounded the Hobgoblin, forming a ring of steel around him. And the doorway that led to The Wandering Inn. It was embarrassing, but for a second when she saw it, Zevara’s heart leapt a bit in her chest. But then she covered the feeling with anger and annoyance. What was Erin thinking?

“No one move!”

Another voice rang out, silencing more of the panicked shouts. Liscor’s citizenry had fled the instant Numbtongue had come through the door, but with dozens of the City Watch on the scene and now Wall Lord Ilvriss striding forwards, they returned to stare. The Hobgoblin looked around. He looked—well, confused was the best word for it. He stared at Zevara and then went to looking around the city, completely ignoring the weapons trained on his chest.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! He’s one of the good Goblins! Aw, damn it—”

A Selphid emerged from the doorway, holding up her hands. Jelaqua Ivirith, in a Human’s body, appeared on the scene. Zevara didn’t recognize her, but the voice and more importantly, the pale body was the key. She glared at the Selphid.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“He opened the door, not us! Don’t shoot!”

“Hold your fire on my order!”

Zevara repeated her instructions just in case more of the City Watch arriving by the moment hadn’t gotten the message. Ilvriss raised his voice.

“And mine. Hold your ground!”

The Drakes and Gnolls shifted, a bit uneasily. Not so much out of fear of the Hobgoblin;  they could see the same thing Zevara could, but at the incongruity of the situation. Here was a Goblin. They killed Goblins. But this Goblin—

They had to get it back through the doorway before more people arrived. Zevara saw more people gathering, drawn by the screams. They stared at the Hob and pointed at Numbtongue. She cursed.

“Where’s Relc?”

“Here.”

Relc walked forwards. Zevara turned, ready to curse at him, but she stopped when she saw he was followed closely by Embria. Relc didn’t seem as upbeat as usual. He stared at Numbtongue.

“A Hobgoblin in the city?”

Embria’s tail lashed. She looked at Zevara.

“We can force him back through the door.”

“That’s my intention. Relc, push the Goblin back and close that door before we have more witnesses. I’ll speak to Miss Solstice—”

“No.”

Relc folded his arms. Zevara paused. Embria stared at her father.

“What did you say, Senior Guardsman?”

“I’m not doing it. Find someone else.”

It took a second for Zevara to process what Relc had said. He was refusing? For all he was lazy, egotistic, and undisciplined, he’d never refused an order in his life. She snapped at him.

“You’re a Senior Guardsman under my command. Failure to obey means—”

“I know what it means. I’m. Not. Doing. It. He’s not doing anything wrong.”

Relc looked past Zevara at Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin was just looking around. He stared at the Drakes and Gnolls behind the City Watch. They were staring at him, as warily as he was watching them.

A Goblin. Of course they’d seen the battlefield, if not during the siege than after. They had to know what a Hobgoblin looked like. And they knew what had happened. There was a strange feeling in the air. Not hostility like Zevara would expect. Not fear either, not much. Just…

“Dad! What are you doing?”

Embria hissed at Relc. He looked at her.

“I said no.”

“You can’t do that! They’ll court martial you! At the very least you’ll lose your job—”

“I’m not doing it.”

The Watch Captain and Wing Commander looked at Relc. It was Zevara who gave up. She’d investigate this strange change in Relc later. Right now—she looked around.

“Olesm.”

She caught the [Strategist] as he appeared. Olesm stared at the Hobgoblin.

“That’s—Numbtongue. I think.”

“He’s one of Miss Solstice’s Goblins, isn’t he? We have to put him back through the doorway. He could cause a panic—”

“By himself?”

Olesm looked around. Zevara gritted her teeth.

“We can’t have Goblins in the city. You know that. And it’s not Liscor that’s in danger. He’d be in more danger here. Just take a few [Guardsman], push him through. I’ll cover for you. Now—”

There was an argument at the doorway. Zevara could hear voices. And then a familiar shape appeared. She turned in relief, breaking away from Zevara. There she was. Zevara could curse her out, get the Hobgoblin out of sight before someone tried to kill him or a panic started and sort this all out. She raised her voice to bellow.

Olesm looked over as well. His eyes widened. He stood straighter.

“Erin—”

“Human, this is completely—”

The two Drakes broke off. They stared as Erin Solstice came through the doorway. Ilvriss, who might have been about to shout something at her, stopped mid-inhalation. He paused. So did the citizens of Liscor.

They all knew her. The Human girl. The [Innkeeper]. Annoying, strange, full of as many good things as bad things. It wasn’t that they all liked her. Some hated her guts. But they all knew her. In her way, she’d become a part of the city, as well-known as any Senior Guardsman. And they thought they knew her.

But not like this. Erin Solstice walked past Numbtongue as he looked around. Her eyes were red. Tears ran from her eyes. Not even trying to hide it. She kept wiping at her face, but the tears kept coming. She approached Olesm and Zevara, stumbling, barely able to see. The two Drakes backed up. They couldn’t help it.

“Erin?”

Zevara forgot herself for a second. She stared at the girl. And then she looked around desperately. Olesm looked at her, and then Zevara nodded urgently to Erin. He cleared his throat.

“Erin, you’re um, crying.”

She didn’t reply. She was hiccupping. Tears ran down her face, dripping onto her shirt. Zevara coughed. She tried to look anywhere but at Erin. Behind her, Relc and Embria had gone still. Everyone was staring. Zevara began to grow embarrassed for Erin’s sake.

“You should go back to your inn, Miss Solstice. We’ll…settle things without you.”

She tried to urge Erin back towards the doorway. But the Human girl refused to go. She was crying harder now. Sobbing. The sounds forced themselves out of her chest, painful, uncontrollable. Every eye was on her. The Drakes and Gnolls stared. And then they began to look away.

Tears. It wasn’t something you were supposed to do in public. Maybe a few tears. But this? The Drakes could barely stand to look at her. The Gnolls were different, but no less uncomfortable for other reasons.

“Erin—”

Olesm was at a loss. He reached out, but Erin wouldn’t let him take her by the shoulder. Ilvriss strode over. He looked at Erin.

“Miss Solstice. Let me escort you back to your inn. This is clearly not the moment.”

He swirled his cloak, unfastening it and trying to shield Erin with it. This time Erin looked up.

“No.”

It came out as a sob. Ilvriss paused.

“But you’re—”

“No. No, no, no”

Erin backed away from him. She was wiping her face. Her nose was running. And she was crying. Crying harder than Zevara could ever remember weeping herself. Except in her room, quietly, as a child. It was a terrible mess.

And everyone was watching. Drakes. Guardsmen. Adults and children. It wasn’t something you’d ever forget. But Erin refused to go back to her inn. She kept crying. Because…because of something Numbtongue had said.

Why are you crying here? Why are you hiding? As if she was ashamed of her tears. As if they were only supposed to be in her inn, in a room, behind closed doors. Because Goblins didn’t understand tears. They didn’t understand embarrassment. But Erin wasn’t embarrassed. Not of feeling sad. So she kept crying. And the tears that had dried up fell once more.

“I—we should deal with the Hobgoblin.”

Zevara backed up, muttering to the others. She tried not to look at Erin. It was so difficult. None of the Drakes around her could manage it. But Erin refused to let her go.

“No! No! He didn’t do anything. Don’t hurt him.”

“He can’t be in the city. It’s a matter of safety.”

“He fought for you! He didn’t do—do—”

Erin started hiccupping. It was almost funny. In fact, Zevara did hear a few laughs from the crowd behind her. She turned and the laughter cut off.

“In regards to the Goblin—”

Ilvriss began, but he stopped at Numbtongue moved. He’d been looking around in silence, ignoring the tableau. Now he stepped forwards.

The City Watch tensed. Numbtongue looked at a dozen spears aimed at his heart. He looked past the armored City Watch, at the people of Liscor. Then he spoke. And his voice was loud in the silence.

“We fought for you.”

The citizens and [Guardspeople] shifted. Numbtongue looked at them. Gnolls and Drakes. Staring at him with fear, contempt, confusion. He shook his head. Looked around the city. Waved an arm.

“All of this. We fought for it. We came. We fought. We died. We fought for you. Why didn’t you let us in?”

A stir ran through the crowd. Numbtongue looked around.

“We came here. You killed us. Why? We did nothing wrong.”

“Goblins attacked Liscor.”

Zevara didn’t hear who said it. Numbtongue shook his head.

“But we fought for you. We did. We fought. Why did we die? For what? For this? For stones and you? For what?”

He shouted. The crowd was silent. Numbtongue looked around.

“We didn’t even know what was inside. We never saw this. We didn’t know. But we fought for you. Goblins attacked Liscor. Goblins defended it. We bled for this place. For what? What was it for?”

He had tears in his eyes. A Goblin’s tears. Zevara had no idea they could cry. Numbtongue looked around. He took a step. The spears raised and he stared at them.

“What did I do?”

He looked lost. The tips of the spears wavered. The City Watch looked back at Zevara. She bit her lip.

“Lower your weapons.”

“Zevara!”

Embria hissed at her. Ilvriss turned his head. He met Zevara’s eyes. Then he looked at Numbtongue.

“Guardsmen, lower your blades. Clearly you were called here in error. I see no Goblin.”

The City Watch looked at him. Uncertainly, they lowered their arms. Zevara looked at Ilvriss, heart pounding. Numbtongue stared at the Wall Lord. Ilvriss turned.

“This is clearly a mistake. Watch Captain Zevara, if you disperse the crowds, then—”

He broke off as Numbtongue walked towards him. Ilvriss turned back, and he instinctively reached for the hilt of his sword. Numbtongue walked up to Ilvriss. He and the Wall Lord were nearly of a height. The Hobgoblin stared at the Drake.

“Do you see me?”

“What?”

“Do you see me?”

Numbtongue repeated himself, insistently. Ilvriss blinked. Numbtongue raised his voice.

“I’m here. What did I do?”

The Drake’s eyes flickered. He half-turned to looked around. Numbtongue walked in front of him.

“I’m right here. Can you see me?”

Silence. Ilvriss looked at Numbtongue. Then he nodded slowly.

“I see you.”

“What did I do?”

It was the same question. Zevara heard only silence. She bit her tongue. Numbtongue looked around, lost. Then someone answered him.

“You’re a monster. You were born. That’s what you did.”

Relc looked up. His scales were pale. He leaned on his spear. Numbtongue looked at him. The [Spearmaster] looked at him, meeting his eyes. At last, Numbtongue nodded.

“Then monsters saved your city.”

“They did.”

That was all they said. Numbtongue walked past Relc. The City guards began to raise their weapons. But they looked at Zevara and Ilvriss as they did. And neither Drake moved. So instead, the City Watch stood aside.

Numbtongue walked past them. Stumbling. The citizens drew back, some in fear. Others just staring. And for once, they noticed how thin he was. They took in the scar on his chest, leaking blood. They saw his tears. And they parted.

“We should—”

Zevara got no further. Erin followed Numbtongue. She was still crying. Olesm followed her. Ilvriss turned to Zevara. He didn’t say anything. Then he walked away. Zevara hesitated. Then she waved. Slowly, she began to follow Numbtongue and Erin. It was a bright spring day. Noisy in the rest of the city, as people went about their daily lives. But as the Goblin and the Human walked through the city, it grew quiet.

—-

“Goblin.”

It was a refrain that echoed through the city. People on the streets panicked. Some grabbed weapons. Others fled. Zevara’s City Watch spread out ahead of Numbtongue, stopping people from doing either. The Hobgoblin stumbled as he looked around.

In another direction, Erin walked. Drakes and Gnolls stopped and stared at her as she passed. And whatever mood they had changed upon seeing her. Erin walked towards the Hive.

“It’s a monster. You’re the City Watch! Do your job!”

Lism hissed at Zevara. Numbtongue stared at him, and then at the stalls. He walked past them, wandering from place to place. Every so often he would stop.

“What’s that?”

“A tavern.”

“What’s that?”

“A butcher’s.”

Someone had to explain to him what all these places were. Numbtongue knew some of the names, but not why. A place to cut up meat. A place to drink a certain type of drink. He came to a large building.

“What’s that?”

“A public bath house.”

He had no idea what that was. So he went inside. The day manager panicked when he saw Numbtongue walking past the steaming pools of hot water. He fought his way over to Zevara.

“You have to take him out!”

“He’s looking around.”

“Yes, but if a Goblin enters the baths, we’ll have to drain the entire thing!”

“Why?”

“It’s a Goblin.”

The Drake looked at her as if she was insane. Lism was still arguing, following the [Guardsmen] at a safe distance. One of the Gnolls with a bow and no arrow nocked just stared at Numbtongue as he bent to touch the hot water. The day manager groaned.

“He’s never seen a bath before? He’s tasting the water.”

“That’s a monster for you.”

Lism interjected unhelpfully. A Drake who’d been following the strange procession looked at Lism.

“That’s the same Goblin that lives in the Human’s inn. He was one of the ones who fought for the city.”

“So? It’s a monster.”

“I’ve never heard a monster speak. Or cry.”

“Oh? And I suppose you want to take a bath with that thing? Look at it!”

Lism began to argue with the Drake. Meanwhile, Numbtongue had wandered out of the bathhouse. Zevara left the arguing pair of Drakes behind as a few more people raised their voices.

From bathhouse to an alchemist’s shop. And then the Adventurer’s Guild. Numbtongue stared at it for a long time before going in.

“Numbtongue?”

Selys had heard what was going on. She still jumped at seeing him. Numbtongue wandered up to the desk. He stared at something on it. Zevara grew pale. So did Selys.

A bunch of Goblin ears were sitting on the desk. Bounties being turned in. The adventurers standing in line turned pale. They’d been out hunting the undead zombies. Numbtongue stared at them. His face barely changed.

“Bounties? Adventurers?”

“That’s—that’s right.”

Selys stared at Zevara. The Drake pointed, and an adventurer swept the ears into a bag of holding. Numbtongue looked at him.

“Ears. How much for Goblin ears?”

“It’s—it’s just to keep count of the undead. They’re zombies. Ghouls. It’s not—”

“How much?”

“A copper coin for a pair. If they’re Hobs, silver.”

Numbtongue looked over at an adventurer. A Human with a scar over one eye. One of Gemhammer, Earlia’s adventurers. He pointed to his eye.

“I got this fighting Goblins.”

Numbtongue pointed to his chest.

“I got this fighting Humans.”

Then he looked back at Selys.

“Ears. Adventurers get paid? Then pay me.”

“For…?”

Selys’ gaze locked on Numbtongue’s ears with everyone else. He shook his head.

“Ears. We killed Goblins. Big army. You saw. Redfangs. Pay me for them.”

Someone laughed. Numbtongue turned to look at them.

“We’re adventurers. That’s what they told me. We killed an army. Give us a bounty.”

Selys looked helplessly around. No one was there to give her any aid.

“I’m sorry Numbtongue. But I can’t—there’s no way we could afford that. Even if we could calculate how many Goblins you killed.”

Numbtongue waited. The Hobgoblin looked around and nodded.

“Okay.”

He walked back towards the door. There he turned.

“Were we adventurers? Or pets? Because we fought the Raskghar. We found them. We fought Goblins. I didn’t see you there.”

He looked around. And then he was gone.

—-

As a Goblin wandered, Erin walked through the streets. She couldn’t stop crying. Out here, the sadness of it all hit her harder than in her room. Here—she saw Drakes and Gnolls. Laughing, until they saw her. Going about their lives. As if they didn’t care. Well, she cared. And she refused to stop.

They saw her in the street and they stared. Some went up to her ask if something was wrong. Others treated her as if she was doing something illegal. Erin didn’t care.

A fight broke out as she passed. A Gnoll began arguing with a Drake about Numbtongue being in the city. Someone threw a punch. A brawl started after Numbtongue left the Adventurer’s Guild, over a word someone had hurled at his back.

Monster.

Numbtongue wandered. Erin walked towards the Hive. She walked past the Soldiers, who looked at her. She walked through the Hive and the Antinium stopped. She walked into a room filled with symbols drawn in paint on the walls. There she found Pawn.

“Erin—”

“I’m so sorry.”

Erin sobbed as she reached out. She hugged Pawn as Workers and Soldiers gathered around. She hugged him, crying onto his hard body. That was all she said.

“I’m so sorry.”

And.

“Thank you.”

What else was there to say? Pawn held her and trembled. And sometime later, Erin’s tears stopped. But she didn’t. She walked back up into Liscor and found Numbtongue standing by a fountain. Less [Guardsmen] were surrounding him. A brawl had started in two separate streets and a bathhouse was filled with arguing Gnolls and Drakes. Someone was trying to drown Lism.

“Erin.”

She found people she recognized in the street. Halrac and his Griffon Hunt. Erin just went up to the [Scout] and hugged him. Her eyes were wet, but she didn’t cry.

“Why’d they die?”

And Halrac had no answer. He remained very still as Erin hugged him. Gingerly, as if he were afraid she’d break, he patted her once on the back. Revi hugged Erin.

“I’m sorry.”

And Numbtongue looked back and saw Erin embracing Krshia. He looked around as the Gnoll woman came up to him. And he spoke to her, briefly. Then he got up and walked.

Children ran away from him. Children ran up to him. Children threw stones at him and one was spanked and the others were not. Where Numbtongue passed, some Drakes and Gnolls shouted curses. Others argued. Some were silent.

“Goblins killed my wife!”

A Gnoll struggled to get at Numbtongue. The [Bard] stared into wild eyes.

“Humans killed my family.”

He received only a snarl in response. Numbtongue wandered on.

He wasn’t helping people. Nor was he changing them. Not really. A mob came to lynch him. Relc and Klbkch broke it up with a dozen [Guardsmen]. Zevara counted two dozen brawls stopped by midday. And countless more petty arguments and individual fights.

“It’s turning into a riot. We have to get him out of here.”

She made the call. Numbtongue looked around as the [Guardsman] formed ranks. With shields facing out. Erin tugged him towards the gates. He walked, tripping, half-falling. Stomach rumbling. They led him towards the door and vanished. But the fighting remained.

It was about the Goblins. Some of the people in Liscor spoke up.

“I saw them fighting. Those five Goblins were at the Human’s inn for over a month! They saved our people from the Raskghar!”

“They’re all the same kind. They’re Goblins.”

“It was Goblins who defend Liscor.”

“It was Goblins who attacked it.”

“Thanks to the Humans!”

“Goblins killed my daughter in the Second Antinium War.”

“Goblins slaughtered my family I will never, ever—”

“I didn’t know a Goblin could cry.”

“I didn’t know Goblins could speak.”

Arguments. Fighting. Zevara stood in her office in the barracks and listened to her city boiling. For some reason, it didn’t bother her. It was familiar.

“Watch Captain, requesting permission to call in off-duty officers and Embria’s [Soldiers]. Some are already keeping the peace, but we are understaffed.”

Klbkch stood behind her. Embria turned.

“It’s familiar.”

He paused.

“What is?”

“This. You know, after the Second Antinium War—before you lot were in the city—the same thing happened. I was just a new [Guardswoman]. But I remember the same thing happening.”

“People drowning each other in the bathhouse?”

Zevara smiled.

“Riots. Fights. Half the city fought the other half. Argued about the Antinium.”

Klbkch was silent for a moment.

“I see. About the reserves. May I call them?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. Also, Watch Captain, I realize this is not the moment. But when you have a chance—I have a proposal. I would like to place more Antinium in the City Watch.”

Zevara looked up, surprised. Below, someone crashed into a desk as a fight began in the ranks. From the impact, it sounded like Relc had started it.

“Antinium? But you’re the only Prognugator. That means you’d want to put Workers or Soldiers in the Watch.”

“Yes.”

“Would they be the…special ones?”

Klbkch paused.

“Not necessarily.”

“So you want to put Antinium in the Watch. Workers aren’t equipped for a fight and they have no names. And Soldiers can’t speak.”

“That is correct.”

She mulled it over.

“Granted.”

Klbkch nodded. Zevara turned back to watching the chaos. She kept watching as she saw a group of Drakes fighting with an equally large group of Gnolls before Klbkch led fifteen of her people into the fight. It was chaos. But just what she’d expected, really. And in her head, a Hobgoblin turned to her.

“What did we do?”

And Zevara wondered. She looked to the eastern gates. And she closed her eyes. And she thought.

That was all.

—-

Numbtongue didn’t know what to think after they made him go back to the inn. Erin was—better. Or maybe she had just stopped crying. She was hugging Mrsha. And speaking. And he was still empty. The anger had guttered out sometime on his long walk. Now he was just tired.

But there was something he had to do. So he got up as the adventurers argued and talked to Erin. After all, they weren’t his friends. Not really. If he had any friend, it was Erin. And she…wasn’t’ so much a friend as something else.

“Lyonette.”

She jumped. It was the first time Numbtongue had said her name. But the Hob was full of firsts. He asked for her sword. She hesitated, and then handed it to him.

“Wait—”

They tried to stop him at the door. But Numbtongue ignored them and none of them could stop him. Not without killing him. He walked out into the Floodplains alone.

It was muddy. There were undead. Numbtongue walked past them. Sometimes he had to fight, but they were zombies. A few Ghouls roamed around. But the adventurers had come out of the inn and handled them. And Numbtongue walked further.

He stopped as he spotted a tall undead among the others. A huge, hulking Hobgoblin, shuffling around lifelessly. Numbtongue stared up at him.

“Eater of Spears.”

The zombie did not react to the name. It turned. Numbtongue stared up at him. It hurt. Not just to see him. But to see what a waste it was. A zombie. If Eater of Spears could have seen himself in death, he would have been offended. At least be a Ghoul! Or a Draug. He would have been pleased to be a Draug, surely. And what a monster of destruction he would have been. But as he was, he was just a zombie. Practically harmless. Numbtongue walked past him as Eater of Spears looked around sightlessly.

He had never met Eater of Spears. He had never talked with him. But somehow, Numbtongue knew what he would have said. Somehow…

It was further up. Past the Floodplains, towards the mountains. Numbtongue climbed, legs trembling despite the food Erin had made him eat. He climbed higher, choosing the surest footholds.

A memory. A Goblin thing. It was a thing of Chieftains. A power of their people. Or a curse. Because a Goblin could remember all the failures, all the triumphs of the past. All the grief.

There he was. Up the hillside, slumped in place. Numbtongue climbed higher. A zombie tripped and tumbled past him. The Hobgoblin gasped with the effort. He could sense the adventurers following him. But for now he was alone.

He reached the place, panting, propping himself up on his sword. He looked down.

A Goblin had died here. A Hobgoblin. One among many. But not the same as the rest. Unlike the others, who had died with their backs to the sky, he was lying on his. He stared up at the sky, a smile on his face. Rot had yet to consume him, but had started.

And he was dead. Pyrite’s chest had been torn open. Fire had burned him. Numbtongue looked down and recalled the face in his dream. He tried to connect it to the face he saw below him. But there was nothing that matched.

Slowly, Numbtongue sat. He looked around, but the battleaxe that Pyrite had wielded was gone. Numbtongue shrugged and reached for something. He fished at Pyrite’s side and pulled at a rough hemp sack. Then he hesitated and reached for the Hobgoblin’s head.

Pyrite’s jaws were closed. It was hard to open them, but Numbtongue saw what he knew was there in the back of Pyrite’s mouth. A glowing blue gemstone. Numbtongue plucked it out and put it in the sack. Then he just sat, watching the adventurers climb towards him.

A memory. He looked down at his hand and felt the warmth. Pyrite stared up at the sky, still smiling. And Numbtongue looked over.

“You did it. Good job.”

Then he looked up. A Ghoul leapt at him. Numbtongue rolled and slashed. The Ghoul staggered as Numbtongue’s sword slashed deep into his shoulder. The [Bard] turned. He saw the Ghoul’s body tense. Something in it told him it would lunge—here. Numbtongue dodged, and the teeth snapped down inches away from his arm. He swung his sword in an arc and the Ghoul collapsed.

“Thanks.”

Numbtongue looked down at Pyrite. Then he stood. He tried to lift the Hob, then just gave up and cut off his head.

—-

He buried him with the others. There were five graves, on a hill across from the inn. Numbtongue dug the sixth. He said no prayers, spoke no words when he placed the head in the ground and covered it with soil. When it was done, he looked at the markers.

Garen. Noears. Headscratcher. Shorthilt. Reiss. And Pyrite. There were others, but these were the ones he’d found. He looked out and saw Eater of Spears, wandering about. No one had dared end him yet.

Graves. The dead. Liscor. And Erin. Numbtongue sat down. He lay his head back, against Headscratcher’s tombstone. As he did, he noticed a small yellow flower lay on his grave and Shorthilt’s. Numbtongue looked down at it. And he saw a small white Gnoll tending flowers in his mind.

For some reason that made him smile. He closed his eyes. As he did, he rummaged in the sack he’d taken. He pulled something out.

The blue gemstone. Numbtongue felt at it with his claws, then shrugged and put it in his mouth. He bit down, feeling the hard stone resisting his teeth. Hard, harder…

Crack.

Numbtongue opened his eyes. He blinked, took the stone out, and spat out two broken pieces of tooth.

“Ow.”

He put the gemstone back in the bag. Maybe he needed to practice. And he needed a pickaxe. Numbtongue closed his eyes again.

[Miner Class Obtained!]

[Miner Level 1!]

[Skill – Durable Picks obtained!]

The Hobgoblin opened one eye. Level 1. And he’d only thought about it. But it was enough. He didn’t need the class. He had a memory.

How to spot a vein in the mountain. Which spots contained the best gemstones. How to spot a dangerously loose shelf of rock. How to fight. How to dig up grubs.

Knowledge. Numbtongue’s hand twitched. The dirt on Pyrite’s grave blew a bit as the wind picked up. The Hobgoblin looked over at it. He closed his eyes and tried to dream again. But the dream was gone. Only the memories remained. A gift.

Numbtongue closed his eyes, covered his face, and began to cry.

6.03

The inn was too small. That was all Erin could think. She felt—tired. Not necessarily calm. Not that much better either, really. She was just out of tears. Too drained to keep crying.

But maybe a bit better. Seeing Numbtongue in Liscor had hurt with a sharp pain that had been worse than all the days of being alone with her thoughts and guilt. Worse, and still better. He had reminded her of what was important. Not what others thought, but of her friends.

Pawn. The Soldiers had stood aside to let Erin pass. They knew her. And they knew Pawn. She was glad of that. Part of Erin had been guilty, for leaving him and wallowing in her own grief. But he had not been alone.

Hundreds of Workers and Soldiers, sitting around him. A quiet room with colorful symbols speaking from every wall. There was something eternal there, even more than Erin’s [Immortal Moment]. Religion—no. A sense of weight, of peace. Regret and sadness too, but there had been relief as well. From Pawn and the others.

They would not be forgotten when they were gone. And that simple fact had been enough to drive Erin to tears. But they had not been the same kind.

Now she sat in the little room that was hers but really Lyonette and Mrsha’s old room, staring up at the ceiling. It felt closer. The inn felt smaller, and not just because the third floor was missing. It was too cramped or she was too large, as if she’d tasted the faerie flowers again. Her inn, the place where she’d been so happy to live for months, was far too small.

She couldn’t stay here. Not when every memory she had was of the Goblins eating in her inn for that one night, of Headscratcher sitting at her table, Shorthilt polishing his sword. And of Rags, of all the Goblins who’d passed through her doors.

No killing Goblins. Just thinking that hurt. Erin hated herself. She was disgusted, guilty and heartbroken. But those were just words. Erin had none to describe how she truly felt.

Too small. She had to do something. Erin lay on her back as below her, people walked in and out of her inn. She didn’t need to hear them. She didn’t need to even close her eyes. She could feel them. And she knew Numbtongue was out there, on the little hill with the graves, digging another one. That wasn’t something she just knew; Ceria stopped by to tell her that.

“Uh—we’ve got to keep fighting. But we’ll make sure Numbtongue’s alright. We’ve already told the other adventurers—they knew already, but we made sure—there’s this giant we have to take care of tonight. So…”

Erin didn’t look at her. After a while Ceria left. Erin wished, vaguely, that she’d said something. She wasn’t being a good friend. But she couldn’t be.

Ceria hadn’t been there. She hadn’t fought. Halrac had shot arrows from the walls, or so Erin had heard. Typhenous threw a few spells. Falene had apparently broadcast everything.

So what? They hadn’t been there. They hadn’t laid down their lives for a city they didn’t even live in. Part of Erin hated everyone and everything. But that wasn’t really it either.

She was so young. Even though she was twenty, and she’d be twenty one soon. She was so young. Erin had asked the Goblins to fight for her. Die for her. And they had. She hadn’t thought of the costs. She hadn’t had any other idea than to wave a stupid flag.

She was young. And stupid. And she couldn’t do anything now. Be anything. If she were older, more mature—

“Ryoka’s mature.”

Erin whispered to herself, feeling her sore eyes wanting to close. But she kept them open, staring at the ceiling. Ryoka felt mature to her. She was always thinking of consequences. She’d warned Erin about Toren, about what would happen if people brought technology from her world. But even Ryoka was only a year older.

How did adults, real adults handle things like this? How did they live with the pain tearing them up? Erin still remembered the first Goblin she’d killed. She still remembered when Klbkch had died. And she had lived through the death of the Horns of Hammerad, Ulrien, Brunkr, the Goblins…it was so much. So many names and faces. How did people live like this?

She was so young. And weak. And she couldn’t be. Not anymore. Erin slowly sat up and buried her face in her lap. She had to be…not stronger, but older. She could never, ever let this happen again.

Slowly, Erin thought about her inn. How small it felt. How fragile. Her walls could cave in, despite her Skills. Her inn wasn’t large enough to contain even one tribe of Goblins. And it was so poor. So defenseless. It couldn’t even save Noears on the roof.

“Never again. Ever.”

And when Erin said that, she thought of her inn. Not just as a building, but those in it. And she thought of two faces. Lyonette and Mrsha. They were part of the inn. If there were anyone Erin would trust more than anything, it would be them.

Ceria and the Horns? …No. Not them, or the Halfseekers or Griffon Hunt either. Definitely not the Silver Swords or any of the other teams. It wasn’t that Erin thought she couldn’t trust Ceria, or Halrac with her life. But this was more than that.

In Erin’s head she narrowed her focus down, separating friends from that thing that made them something more in her mind. Drassi? Ishkr? No. Olesm, no. And perhaps never again. Relc—no. Klbkch? He had died for her. But no.

Who else? Only a few more names sprung to mind. No, three. Numbtongue. He was the last one. Yes, a thousand times over. But who else? Krshia? No. Selys?

Erin paused.

“No.”

Ryoka, maybe. But she wasn’t here. And—no, not her either. That left only two.

Of the Antinium, it was Pawn and Bird whom Erin thought of. Pawn? She wanted to say yes. But she remembered him, surrounded by his people. And she thought the answer was no. He had made his own place. So…Bird?

He was a child. And before she had met him, he had nowhere else to go. Bird had always been different. He had fought for her inn, tried to rescue Mrsha. More than that, around her, he was silly and absentminded and—

Yes. Him. That made four. Four in the entire world. Even Erin’s closest friends didn’t qualify, but those four—

Erin looked up. She wiped her eyes and checked her arm. Her skin was dry. She’d stopped crying. She would again, Erin had no doubt. There was an ocean of tears in her that would never run dry. But there was something she had to do. What she should have done ages ago. A week and a day ago. Erin stood up and went to find them.

—-

Lyonette stared at her hands in the kitchen. She was making dinner. Or rather, she was going to cook up some supplementary dishes to go with the pantry’s supplies. Erin’s prefabricated meals had nearly run out, but Lyonette had learned to mix Erin’s cooking and hers. So she’d take a dish of meatloaf, boil some fresh pasta and sauce with it, and thus create an acceptable dinner.

The quality wasn’t really that important. Her guests cared about quantity over quality now. The two adventuring teams would come back late in the night, starving and smelling of sweat and corpses and eat whatever she put in front of them while washing it all down with alcohol. That wasn’t the problem.

The problem—if it really was a problem—was Lyonette’s hands. They’d been hurting, and she’d only now stopped to look at them.

They were cracked. That was all. Red and cracked, the skin open, exposing painful red flesh that hurt every time Lyonette touched something with them. A healing potion would sort it out. But Lyonette had stopped in cleaning the kitchen to stare at them.

No one had told her that too much soapy water led to the skin drying out, especially in the winter. It wasn’t something she’d ever had to worry about at home. Back home, she’d had hand creams and ointments from the kingdom’s [Court Alchemist], and her family had imported other luxuries for her and the other members of her family to use. Perfumes, oils, tonics, and so on for the ladies. And while the men didn’t use such frivolities, they had the best healing potions, experts to take care of their horses and gear and wait on them hand and foot.

Now, Lyonette was cleaning the underside of the stone oven, her hands bleeding a bit. A bit dirty, certainly sweaty. And she’d caught herself doing it, so she’d stopped and sat on the floor.

She looked down at her chapped hands, at the red skin. It hurt. Lyonette touched one of the cracks to make sure and winced a tiny bit. It was nothing to what she’d been through. Starvation, Toren, Raskghar—all the fear and pain was nothing to this. But this hurt in a different way.

Look. Look at yourself. Lyonette found a clean plate and tried to find her reflection in it. She only saw a distorted image. What did her hair look like? She wore it high up, in a bun so it wouldn’t get in the way. Was her face dirty? How did it look?

“It doesn’t matter.”

Lyonette told herself that. But it did. Pawn had reminded her she was a [Princess]. She had clung to the class, for all she’d denied it. She was a [Princess]. Of course it mattered.

She had loved having servants. She enjoyed hand creams and not having to clean outhouses or be on her feet all the time. Who wouldn’t? She missed those things, only, she’d not thought of them for a while. She’d had to survive. And then—she’d had Mrsha to take care of. It was easy to live for someone else. But she still missed it.

The girl’s hands tightened together painfully. She was a [Princess]. What was she doing here? For a moment, Lyonette blinked back tears. She wanted to go home. But there was Mrsha, and Erin and—

She looked down at her hands. She had run away to be important. To level up and feel like she had a purpose. Well, she’d found it. All the adventure she ever wanted, and a purpose greater than herself. In fact, Lyonette had thrown away part of herself, the spoiled part, trod it into the mud and snow to become the Lyonette who could help the people she cared about. But that part of her was still there. And she felt it.

She wanted to be a [Princess] again. She was no [Barmaid]. Lyonette bowed her head. And then she heard Erin calling her name. She looked up and remembered her vow. Slowly, Lyonette stood. She had been a poor [Princess]. And now she was a [Princess] without a castle, living in poverty with cracked hands. But despite her failings, even when she was still in Terandria, spoiled, with barely any levels, Lyonette had still had one thing that made her royalty.

Pride. And she would not forsake her oaths. So Lyonette stood and walked out to speak with the only girl in the world she would work for.

—-

Mrsha was sad.

That was all.

She was sad for Goblins. Not the same Goblins who killed her tribe, but Goblins. They had been kind. They had saved her and the others. And they had died for her. For Erin and Liscor. She didn’t have to understand more than that.

So the Gnoll cub curled up. She was sad, but she couldn’t keep crying. She was just sad. And she wished she were bigger. She wished she were as big as Brunkr, as wise as Krshia. As smart as Selys. As kind as Erin. As…just like Lyonette.

But she was small. And she couldn’t make Erin feel better. She couldn’t help Lyonette that much. So Mrsha curled up and felt terribly, terribly sad. Erin was sad. Lyonette was tired. She was sad. Numbtongue was the last one.

Mrsha wanted them to smile again. She dreamed there was a spell in Krshia’s book that could do that. So Mrsha had read it and read it until her nose started to bleed and Krshia slammed the book. She wanted to help. But Krshia had said it was too much for a child.

So she was sad. Until she saw Erin come down the stairs and call her name. Then Mrsha looked up. And hoped, with all the hope in her heart that something good would happen.

That was all.

—-

And Numbtongue stopped crying after a few minutes. It was, after all, a waste of water. He looked back at the thing he was resting against. Headscratcher’s grave. Guiltily, Numbtongue sat up. But if anyone would have lent him a shoulder—or a gravestone, it would have been Headscratcher.

What would he have said if he could see Numbtongue? Laugh and make a joke? Tease him?

No—Headscratcher would not. Neither would Shorthilt. Numbtongue looked at the second grave, marked by stone. Someone had laid a broken sword across the top. They should have buried him with the sword. Numbtongue scooped up some of the packed earth with the blade and corrected the mistake.

Much better. He lay there, wondering what came next. All he wanted to do was lie down and close his eyes forever.

They were dead. Rabbiteater and Badarrow were gone. Numbtongue hadn’t seen them with the others in his dream. That meant they were alive. Maybe even Rags was. Maybe there were other Goblins still alive.

But the rest were gone. And he was alone. What did that make him? What could he do? Go after them? Try and find them? They were long gone, and Numbtongue had no idea where to start.

Would he stay here? Live in Erin’s inn after all that had passed? That felt just as hopeless to Numbtongue. He didn’t belong here, did he? Liscor had shown him that. Drakes and Gnolls who hated him. Adventurers with sacks of Goblin ears. Humans had killed Goblins. Liscor had stopped them from entering. They were still monsters.

And if he stayed he’d bring more trouble to Erin. That was another fact that inserted itself in Numbtongue’s mind, a neat and tidy shiv to the heart. He could not stay. He did not belong. The Redfangs had always been guests at her inn. She had treated them well. But their time had come. What could one Hobgoblin [Bard] offer Erin? Almost nothing.

He had to go. Numbtongue felt it, and felt the claws digging into his heart drag him down further. He didn’t want to. He loved the inn. But there just wasn’t enough reason to stay. Not enough to make him think he was worth anything to Erin, to justify all she’d done for him and the others.

It never occurred to Numbtongue to count the battle. He just lay on the grass and soil of the graves, listening to the adventurers fighting the undead in the distance. They were going after Eater of Spears—pulling back when they found his body was like iron and they were attracting every zombie in the area. They weren’t using big spells or fighting hard. Even they were tired of killing.

What could he do? He was a [Bard], a class that no Goblin had ever had. A…useless class in some ways. Numbtongue could call down lightning, but his Skills, his class was designed to make music. To tell stories. To perform. What good was that to a tribe of Goblins? Very little. It wasn’t as if they were Humans.

He was useless. If he’d been stronger, the Humans would have made sure he was dead. Numbtongue thought that, determined to feel as worthless as possible. Then he remembered the class he’d gained.

[Miner]. And in his head, a door opened. And he had a thought which was not his own.

Magic gemstones give magical abilities. Could a warrior use that in combat to gain an edge? Is there an easier way to use them than eat them? Could you be a [Mage] without spells?

Numbtongue felt at the broken teeth in his mouth. He remembered the gemstones, and felt the rough sack at his side. And then he remembered killing the Ghoul with the sword. He had done all that. But it had not been Numbtongue who had provided the ability to do either. They had been memories, from a dead Goblin.

Pyrite. And at that thought, Numbtongue had another memory, that of holding a flaming battleaxe and staring up at the sky while Humans died around him.

Smiling and walking with Eater of Spears, eying his belt and thinking of Reiss, calculating a throw.

Digging up grubs in the dirt, grunting with satisfaction at the wriggling things and sharing them out to the Goblin children who came begging, more pleased to share than to eat his snack.

Mining in the mountain, in the depths of silence, hunting for gemstones for his tribe, seeing a glitter—and then a hiss—

Screams in Tremborag’s mountain. A little Goblin peeking around a corner and seeing—

Numbtongue sat up. He clutched at his head. But the images didn’t stop. Memories hit him again and again, little electric shocks running through his head, making everything flash white.

It didn’t hurt. Not like physical pain. But each memory took Numbtongue out of his head, made him think and feel exactly like Pyrite had. It wasn’t his entire life. It was—snippets. Fragments, really. Accidental more than anything. The core of what Pyrite had given him were two things.

Knowledge of the gemstones, the class he had obtained a day before his death, and over a decade of mining techniques and insight. And—

Sword techniques. How to swing with the weight of the axe perfectly balanced. Reading an opponent’s body. Lessons from Greydath. Fist fighting against other Hobs. Taking down adventurers with ambushes and traps. Battling Crelers in the heart of the mountains, blood running down his thigh. Breaking a [Mage]’s neck as she screamed at him, a wand raised to burn—

“Stop!”

Numbtongue cried out. There was so much of Pyrite’s thoughts and emotions in him. Too much. How had Pyrite done it?

Numbtongue knew that too. They had both been dying. Both clinging to life and sharing that dream, that moment as the other Goblins had passed on. After all, Goblins could remember other Goblin’s lives. Where was the line at which the living became memory, trapped in the consciousness of all Goblins?

They had been at that threshold. And Pyrite had known he would die. So he had given Numbtongue the only gift he could.

Memory.

It was something Pyrite had guessed could happen. After all, if you could remember a scene from the past, why not a sword technique? Why not a spell? That was the kind of thing the Goldstone Chieftain had thought on during dark nights, or while mining for gems and minerals. Why not? And a counterpoint—if you could, why hadn’t other Goblins done it? Maybe they had. Maybe it was something they’d forgotten, or that no one had ever tried.

He’d never gotten a chance to test that theory until his last moments. As Pyrite would have said—‘not dead, so couldn’t try’. And given that only Chieftains were able to access far-back memories, it hadn’t been exactly easy to hang around one willing to bite the dust for an experiment. So Pyrite had done it to Numbtongue without knowing if it would work.

And it had. He’d sent more than just Skills. Knowledge he deemed important. Secrets, like the two keys, one of which Garen had. Memory of Tremborag’s form. Conversations with Greydath. Names and places. Important events.

A place where Pyrite had buried some adventurer’s gear he thought was cursed.

Two caves, both of which had been collapsed to contain the Crelers from getting out.

An untapped vein in a hill on top of a surprisingly deep rocky cave network, possibly the remnant of a mountain.

A terrible suspicion of Greydath’s past.

The secret location of a dungeon, lost to all but Goblins, remembered by Pyrite, too dangerous to enter.

Thoughts. Ideas. Plans. Suppositions. Pyrite had thought deeply. And now some of those thoughts, some of his conclusions, some of what was Pyrite was in Numbtongue. And it was terrifying.

A gift.

Here, he had said. Take it with you. Because Pyrite had known one thing. Numbtongue froze as he felt Pyrite’s last thoughts, still neat and orderly, fall into his head. A Goblin should know how to fight. But there was another thing Humans valued. It was of no use to Pyrite—it had been a skill, a talent honed to make the Goblin children in his tribe laugh at shiny baubles. But Humans loved gems.

Numbtongue opened the sack. He saw gold, and gems. Only a few, since Pyrite had given them away to whomever he pleased. But he knew where to get more. More, if it mattered.

Maybe it would. Numbtongue had already given away the Raskghar’s fortune to the adventurers. He didn’t need the money. How would he ever spend it? But maybe Erin did.

Numbtongue got up slowly. The Hobgoblin looked at the graves, and then at the inn. He hefted the little bag. He would give Erin the last gift he could. Pyrite’s will. And then he would leave. And find a place to go. And he would never, ever bring trouble to her doorstep again.

It was the only thing he could do.

—-

The four of them gathered in Erin’s common room. Two had been called. Lyonette and Mrsha were helping Erin set up for the adventurer’s dinner later tonight. Numbtongue had come back of his own volition, and Erin had been waiting for him.

“Numbtongue.”

She went over to him and hugged him. The Hobgoblin let it happen unlike before where he had frozen and even tried to pull away. He looked so tired. He raised something—a dingy looking bag made of hemp to offer Erin, but she didn’t let him offer it.

“Wait. Just take a seat. Do you want anything to drink? To eat?”

He hesitated and shook his head. Erin got him something anyways. Numbtongue stared down at the meatloaf and pasta. He didn’t feel hungry, but his stomach grumbled. So he began eating a bit.

“Mrsha? Lyonette? Don’t worry about setting up. Take a seat here. You want anything?”

“We already ate.”

Lyonette sat at the same table as Numbtongue. Mrsha crawled up into a seat between her and Numbtongue and looked up at the Hobgoblin. He looked down at her. The two were quiet as Erin took a chair. They sat, looking at each other. Mrsha and Erin, Lyonette and Numbtongue. Then all towards Erin.

“I…I wanted to say thank you. First off. Thank you, Numbtongue. For—and to you, Lyonette. And Mrsha. You kept the inn running while I was…”

Erin began haltingly, uncertainly. She didn’t know how to begin. Lyonette just nodded. Mrsha put her chin on the table as Apista flew over, drowsy, and landed on her head. Erin almost thought of smiling at that. Then she looked at Numbtongue.

“I—don’t know what you’re planning, Numbtongue. And I’d understand if you never wanted to see me or anyone from Liscor again. But please, listen.”

The Hobgoblin raised his head, a strange look in his eyes. Erin went on, looking from face to face. Big brown eyes from Mrsha, Lyonette’s bright blue ones, the crimson eyes of Numbtongue’s people.

“There’s…something I haven’t told you. Told anyone, really. Aside from Krshia, and Ryoka. But Ryoka doesn’t count because it’s a secret we share. It’s how I came here, really. To this inn. To Liscor. It’s—how can I say this?”

“Should you say it?”

Lyonette broke in. She glanced sideways at Numbtongue and Mrsha. Her eyes were serious as she looked at Erin. Surprised, but only just, Erin blinked at her.

“What do you mean, Lyonette?”

“Erin, if you have a secret, it’s best never said. Not out loud, ever. Someone might be listening. And even if they aren’t, minds can be read. Tongues can be loosened. If you have a secret—it might be best not to say.”

The [Barmaid] looked grave. Erin hesitated. Lyonette knew. That much was clear. Numbtongue looked confused, and concerned. He opened his mouth and spoke, to her surprise.

“If it is a bad secret—don’t tell me. Don’t tell us. We—I do not need to know. I will not put you or here in danger anymore.”

He stood up. Lyonette looked at him and then pushed her chair back, startling Mrsha. Erin blinked at them.

“No. Sit down. Please.”

The two paused. Erin looked at them and then at Lyonette.

“You need to hear this. I’m tired of keeping it a secret. And even if it is a big secret, even if it’s the biggest secret in the world, you three need to hear it. And only you three.”

Numbtongue blinked. He hesitated, and sat. Lyonette looked at Erin.

“Just us? What about Pawn? Or Selys?”

“Not Pawn or Selys. Maybe I’ll tell them, maybe not. But you three—and Bird when he’s better—have to know right away.”

“Why us?”

Lyonette looked confused. Erin took a deep breath. Couldn’t they see it? No, she barely had.

“Because—you’re part of this inn. You three. And Bird. More than the adventurers, more than Selys or Krshia—you three belong here. Mrsha, Lyonette, Numbtongue—you’ve all lived here. All three of you. I couldn’t imagine the inn without you.”

Slowly, Erin stood up. She looked at them. A furry white child, balancing an Ashfire Bee on her head. A girl far from home, her hands cracked, her bright red hair tied back. A Goblin, bearing faded war paint on his body and a hundred scars seen and unseen.

“We’ve been through so much. You’ve all lost so much. But you were here. You were here and this inn is as much mine as yours.”

Face to face. Erin felt her eyes welling up. But she didn’t hold the tears back. Her voice rose, filling the inn from corner to corner.

“You’re more than guests. More than friends. You’re family.”

Family. The word echoed through the inn. And the world echoed with it. The [Princess] sat, stunned in her chair. The Goblin’s eyes went wide. And the little Gnoll looked up and closed her eyes, suddenly at peace.

“Us?”

Lyonette didn’t know if she whispered it, or Numbtongue. Erin looked at them.

“To me, yes. There’s nothing else you could be. You belong here. Maybe you have homes—”

She looked at Lyonette, then to Numbtongue.

“—or people waiting for you. Maybe you’ll go away someday.”

Mrsha looked up at her. Apista fanned her wings, oblivious. Erin looked at them.

“But you’ll always be welcome here. Forever. No matter what happens. Wherever I go, whomever I become—I’ll always welcome you. That’s what family means. More than friends. This is your home. If you want it to be.”

Erin looked from face to face. She was afraid. And the fear made her shake. She saw Lyonette sit back, face pale. Numbtongue hadn’t moved. And Mrsha? She looked up at Erin. And then she reached up and opened her arms. Erin bent down and felt two arms hug her with all the strength in that little body. She looked up, and felt Lyonette reach out and embrace the two.

Numbtongue was the last to stand. He looked at Erin, and he was shaking a bit.

“But I—”

He broke off. She could hear what came next. I’m a Goblin. I’m a monster. I don’t belong. I’ll—

She reached out and pulled him into the embrace. Numbtongue felt her arm on his, her soft skin, warm. And he reached out, shaking, and wished. And as his arm gently encircled her and Lyonette and Mrsha, his wish came true.

It was forever and a bit that they stood there together. Four souls, in an empty room. But they filled it. And though the night was dark, the past dark. And the pain and grief still caught at them, they stood. Holding each other up, perhaps.

Family. It was a strange word. Some might have said it couldn’t ever apply to them. That they were too different. Too alien, too strange. That there were too many secrets and differences to ever bring them together. But that wasn’t what made a family. It was just being willing to try.

And when they let go, the four saw something different. They looked at each other, and there was nothing magic in what they saw. They were still strangers, still apart. But something else connected them nonetheless, as fragile as a dream, and as strong as a wish.

They tried.

Erin slowly sat, and the others did likewise. Mrsha in Lyonette’s lap, Numbtongue looking around and gently pinching himself. And she smiled.

“I’m Erin Solstice. I come from another world. We call it Earth. I have a home there. Parents. I had another life there until I came here. By accident. Maybe by a spell. My world is nothing like this one. It’s beautiful and stupid and different. It’s home. And I want to go back one day.”

The others looked at her. Numbtongue’s eyes widened. He struggled to comprehend what Erin said. Mrsha looked up, blinking in confusion. And Lyonette sighed. She squeezed Mrsha gently.

“There’s something I haven’t told you either. I’m a [Princess].”

She looked at Erin and Numbtongue. Erin just nodded, though her heart jumped. Mrsha froze up and stared up at Lyonette. The girl looked down at her and smiled. Numbtongue’s face didn’t change much. Slowly, he reached for his side and put something on the table. The little sack.

“I…had a dream. A Goblin gave me his memories. I know things from his life. How to fight. And how to mine. These.”

He opened the sack and spilled the gemstones and small nuggets of gold onto the table. Erin’s breath caught. Lyonette stared at Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin looked at them.

“His name was Pyrite. And I miss my brothers.”

His eyes filled up. That was all he said. Mrsha looked up at Lyonette like a stranger. But only for a second. Then she squirmed and reached with a paw for something hidden in her fur. Lyonette blinked as Mrsha pulled out the concealed wand.

“Mrsha? What are—”

The Gnoll waved the wand over the table. Apista, who’d been napping, took wing in alarm as grass suddenly bloomed under her. She buzzed up into the air in alarm as Mrsha conjured magic grass from the wooden tabletop. Erin and Lyonette stared at the sudden bloom. Mrsha waved her wand at them.

“Oh.”

That was all Lyonette said. Then she looked down at Mrsha. The Gnoll stared anxiously up at her. Lyonette bent down and nuzzled Mrsha.

“You beautiful little [Mage].”

And that was close enough. Erin laughed. Mrsha smiled. And Numbtongue sat back. He closed his eyes and his lips twitched. Then he cracked one eye open.

“What’s a [Princess]?”

—-

A [Bard] was more than just a [Singer]. They were different than a [Troubadour], who sang of entertainments and ballads of love. Bards fought if they needed to, but they weren’t [Soldiers] like [Drummers] were, or [Horncallers]. A Goblin who took up an instrument was unlikely to be a [Bard]. Because in the end, a [Bard] told stories as they sang. They told stories, and legends. Of heroes.

Numbtongue knew of no Goblin heroes of old. Goblins didn’t believe in heroes the same way as other races did. But he believed each of his companions had died a legend. And he had lived a tale no Goblin could ever dream of. A myth of an [Innkeeper] who would shelter a group of Hobgoblins. A tale of a monster girl worth dying for.

And now he heard another story just as strange. Just as great and terrible and fantastic, a tale of heroes and another world. Only, this one was real. And he would never tell it.

Erin Solstice sat at the table and talked. Her audience of three listened, sometimes asking questions or telling their own stories. But if theirs were mortal tales—a girl who ran away from home, even if that home was a castle, a Goblin who was given a gift, a Gnoll who had lost her tribe—hers was a tale magical even by the standard of this world.

“It’s so different. Some days I can’t even count how many things are just—different. There are no monsters. No other races but Humans. The ground’s paved. Not with cobblestones. There’s…our cities are huge, but we don’t have many walls. Our buildings are taller than castles. Hundreds of feet high. Skyscrapers.”

Things like that. Erin even had words that Numbtongue didn’t know. But words that spoke for themselves. Skyscraper. Airplanes. Cars. Motorbike. Internet. Computer. That, more than anything convinced him she was telling the truth. After all, you could make up a world easily enough. But the language? Erin spoke it as naturally as she talked. She had been there. All these things had been common to her.

But to Numbtongue? He tried to imagine an internet, a magical web through the world—only, it wasn’t magical. Someone had built it out of electricity and software and…steel? Magic was a dream in Erin’s world.

“We have gas. Which is really bad and smells! Plus it explodes. But it powers things. You have it in this world. It’s uh, a type of oil. We burn it and make things move. With motors. Like this. See? Vroom.”

Erin was also bad at describing things. She tried to show them what a car was, sketching it on paper. But the thing made no sense. It had wheels and a body, but Numbtongue and Lyonette saw nothing that would make it move besides magic. And Erin couldn’t tell them what an engine was, only that it was a thing that ate gasoline and moved.

So a magic that wasn’t magic. The magic of…electricity. Of steel and invention. That called to Numbtongue. With it, the Humans of Earth, of Erin’s world had done wondrous things.

“We can fly through the air without magic. In planes—big metal uh, ships made of steel. We’ve gone to the moon. I mean, not me—but we’ve gone around our world. It’s smaller than this one. And it’s just us on it. There aren’t Gnolls. No Drakes or monsters. No half-Elves, or Dwarves…they’re just stories.”

“Goblins?”

“No.”

Erin shook her head. She grew silent for a second as Numbtongue wondered if Goblins had once existed and been killed. Then she told him where they existed. In people’s heads. In stories.

“We have books filled with Goblins and other creatures. Movies—they’re like plays, but—um…books, movies, songs, all with different species and places. But we call that fantasy. They never existed in our world. We made them up.”

And even in books, Goblins were terrible, evil things. Numbtongue accepted that as soon as he heard it. After all, Humans had written the books. But there had never been Dragons in Erin’s world. Never even monsters to begin with. Just nightmares and dreams of humanity, turned into legends.

“It sounds so lonely.”

Lyonette whispered as she held Mrsha. She looked at Erin. The [Innkeeper] smiled, a touch sadly.

“How can it be lonely if you never know what you missed? We’re just Humans, and we’re different enough to bother each other. We have wars. Terrible ones.”

“Worse than here?”

Numbtongue couldn’t believe that. But he did when Erin looked up and nodded. Because she had fought with him.

“Worse. I’m sorry, but worse. If a hundred thousand—no. We made weapons that could kill a million people in a moment. And when I hear the news every morning—there are more of us. So we got better at killing each other.”

That was when she told them about firearms. Of tanks and machine guns and rockets. Lyonette wanted Mrsha not to hear, then. But the Gnoll refused to go. She listened, her mind imagining the terrible devices spitting fire and metal more easily than Numbtongue or Lyonette. But they all understood it.

“A weapon that can kill from a thousand paces away. Without magic. That goes through armor, that doesn’t miss.”

“And fires a hundred rounds a minute.”

That kind of devastation was nearly impossible for anyone to imagine. Numbtongue grew still trying to picture it on the battlefield. How would you fight an army of Humans armed with that? Magic armor from head to toe? [Mages] would die before they could cast a spell. With it you could rule the world. And Humans ruled Erin’s world.

But if that was darkness, there was hope. Lyonette sat up when she heard Erin talking about the differences in her world. Lights that required no fuel! That ran on electricity rather than magic. Cooling boxes—refrigerators, and ovens that needed no spark. Even mundane things for Erin were otherworldly here.

“How does it work again, Erin?”

“It’s a faucet. I just turn the handle and…water comes out.”

“From where? The ground?”

“No, you see, there are pipes in my house. And the water’s always there. It’s being pumped—”

“By hand?”

“No, it connects to this big…water plant? And it’s not just my house. Every house in a…city is connected. There’s pipes in each house that run into the street, underground. Together.”

“Every house? Filled with pipes?”

Connecting to a plant that could produce and pump that much water? Lyonette couldn’t imagine it. The amount of steel you’d need! The craft! What [Blacksmith] could manage it?

None at all. Erin had to explain the factories of steel next. And the idea made the [Princess] of Terandria sit up. She envisioned the lines where things were assembled and compared it to her world. And she believed because her world was suddenly lacking.

Erin had come from a time where technology had surpassed Lyonette’s home by far. Where Humans had no classes or Skills—another impossible idea—and been forced to rely on technique and device to bridge the gap. And thanks to that, they had surpassed even the [Archmages] of old. Surpassed, and yet healing potions didn’t exist. They couldn’t call down lightning. But they could reattach an arm. Cure plagues. Fly around the world in a day. Walk on the moon.

Backwards and forwards. That was Erin’s world. Mrsha listened, and she imagined riding in a car, going faster than a horse and feeling the wind on her fur. She imagined the food Erin talked about—and then realized that was what Erin had made. Pizza, popcorn, but more—dishes from her world, brûlées, quiches, tacos and casseroles. And she believed because she had tasted something new and delightful each time.

There was more to say. And Erin had not even touched the beginning when the adventurers came through the door, tired and then guilty when they saw Numbtongue. But the Goblin barely looked at them. They went upstairs to Erin’s room and kept talking after the adventurers had been pacified with drinks and food.

“I wish I could show you. There’s so much. In fact, the only way I survived was to take the things I remember about home. Like the plays. Hamburgers. It’s all from there. I took it. Stole it, really.”

“Can you make any of the things you talked about? Engines? Cars? Computers? …Guns?”

“No. And I wouldn’t make some of them if I could.”

Erin shook her head, troubled. She looked at her lap, where Mrsha was sitting, nodding off a bit and looked up.

“But I’m not the only one. Ryoka is from Earth, too.”

That surprised neither Lyonette, who had spoken with Ryoka and seen her iPhone, nor Numbtongue, who didn’t know Ryoka to begin with. He was beyond surprising, anyways. But he understood what Erin was saying.

“You don’t know how you came here?”

“No. I was going to the bathroom. Then I turned the corner and—bam. Dragon! He breathed fire at me!”

Erin waved her hands indignantly. Numbtongue and Lyonette looked at each other. Erin knew Ryoka was from her world. And there were others. She had heard about Ryoka’s phone call, and there were the ones Magnolia had found. They were in danger if people knew who they were. In danger for the secrets they carried.

“I don’t know what the right thing to do is. Ryoka thinks we should hide who we are. This BlackMage guy wants us to gather in Wistram. And someone’s hunting us.”

“What do you want to do?”

Erin gave them a tired smile.

“Me? I hardly think of it most days. Weird, huh? I barely remember home unless I see something. Or I try and think about it. Really, I just want to go home. My parents are…I’m sure they’re worried.”

Her eyes filled with tears and she hugged Mrsha. The Gnoll hugged her back.

“I wish I could make something from home, though. A car. Or—or something. Something that would help. I don’t know if I agree with Ryoka anymore. It might change the world, but this world needs to be changed. So does mine. But I can’t remember anything. I was—just a chess player. I played chess. That’s all.”

Helplessly, Erin looked at them. She was just an ordinary girl. And they looked at her and saw the lie in every interaction they had ever had with her.

“What does all this mean?”

Lyonette wondered as she took Mrsha from Erin. The Gnoll was flopping over, trying to stay awake, but fighting the helpless battle. Jerking, waking up, and then fading off every few minutes. Erin smiled.

“Nothing? It doesn’t change what happened. It doesn’t change anything I can do. If I could have, I would. But you know. And if there’s something I can give you—or if Ryoka can—we will.”

She looked at Numbtongue, and then at Mrsha.

“I want to teach you some of the things I know. It’s not much. But maybe it can help you. Even our math is ahead of yours. Things like—oh, the stars.”

Numbtongue looked out a window. The stars? They were just stars. But Erin pointed at them and gave them meaning. She told him what they were. And how they functioned. She pointed at the earth and told him why gravity was, why rain fell. And Numbtongue listened. It was a tale of everything.

“Stay here. You can stay here forever. You and Mrsha. And Lyonette—”

Erin looked at the young woman. The [Princess] dressed as a [Barmaid]. Lyonette looked up. Mrsha had fallen asleep. She cradled Mrsha and spoke softly.

“I am Lyonette du Marquin, a [Princess]. Sixth in line to the Eternal Throne of Calanfer, which isn’t actually eternal. We date about six thousand years back.”

“That’s a long time. Longer than uh…Christianity.”

Lyonette just shrugged.

“It’s my home. But I left it because I didn’t matter there. I did nothing. I came here and found a purpose.”

She looked down at Mrsha. Then she sighed.

“I’m royalty. That’s all.”

The two girls looked at Numbtongue. He shrugged. He had a dead Goblin’s memories in his head. Next.

“Well, you’re family.”

The word made a shock race up Numbtongue’s back. In her sleep, Mrsha smiled. Erin looked at Lyonette. Then she started to giggle.

“Sorry. It’s cheesy, I know. I feel like a mobster. You’re family. Capeesh? Wait, do they say that? Am I being racist?”

“It’s not…bad.”

Lyonette smiled. Erin looked from her to Numbtongue.

“I mean it. Don’t go. We need you. I need you.”

No one had ever said that to him. Numbtongue wiped his eyes and wished they could have all heard that. He looked at Erin, and what could he say? She scooted over and hugged him. And he hugged her back.

“What happens next?”

Lyonette looked at Erin, thinking of all the things Erin had said and yet to say. Numbtongue held still, wondering what he could do for his home. And Erin looked at them and was still sad. Her inn was still small. But it was filled, and that stemmed the bleeding in her heart.

“What you always do after stuff like this, I guess. Everything.”

—-

Everything. The next day, Erin woke up early. She went downstairs, made breakfast, and greeted Lyonette and Mrsha as they came down the stairs. She didn’t bother trying to smile. But she did smile a bit when she saw Mrsha scarfing down her eggs and Lyonette teasing her that she never ate Lyonette’s cooking as greedily.

“So, about my bedroom.”

Lyonette looked up sharply. She pointed towards the kitchen with a spoon and Apista landed on it.

“You’re not sleeping in there anymore, Erin. I was sick of tripping over your bed every time I walked in there. You can have our old room. Mrsha and I moved in across from you, anyways.”

“No, that’s fine. Numbtongue can have the room next to mine as well. I just thought I’d make it official.”

“How?”

With a piece of wood, some paint and a brush, and nails. Also a hammer, although Yvlon caught them doing it and offered to use the pommel of her sword. Erin declined. She found a hammer and tapped the sign into place over her door first.

Erin Solstice.

The little plaque hung over her door. Erin went to Mrsha and Lyonette’s room next. Mrsha insisted her name be above Lyonette’s, and the [Princess] tickled her until Mrsha agreed to have it on the same level.

Numbtongue emerged to the sound of his nameplate being put on his door. He stared at it for a long time and touched it until he got paint on his fingers. Then he insisted on retouching the paint himself.

Pisces came out of his room to howl about the hammering. Jelaqua stomped on the floorboards from the second floor and screamed at him for screaming. Erin offered them both eggs and they got up.

“We’re going to leave soon. Halrac’s team is going as well.”

Jelaqua spoke conversationally over breakfast. She elbowed Pisces and the [Mage] swallowed his mouthful of eggs hard. He glared at the Selphid but didn’t try elbowing back. Erin looked at them.

“You’re going north?”

“You know how it is. Another adventure. All our treasure to spend. We have to get it changed into gold first, and get those damned cursed necklaces offloaded—but yeah. I think we’re bound for Invrisil.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll miss you.”

The Selphid shot Erin an awkward, pleased grin.

“Well, don’t go saying goodbye just yet. We thought we’d do it the Erin way.”

Erin looked blank. Then her eyes widened.

“You mean…”

“We’ll take a door, head north, pop back for lunch, our beds, and maybe some work in the area. It’ll be slow, but we’re guaranteed a nice place, right? And if we had a door in Invrisil, well, we could use it now and then to pop back and say hi to our third favorite [Innkeeper], right?”

“Peslas will like that, I’m sure.”

Jelaqua laughed. Erin smiled wanly. But it was a smile. The Selphid quieted down as Moore and Seborn came down the stairs.

“We’ll go further north still. But we’ll be closer by if there’s that door. And…you’d have a way to the City of Adventurers. True, it wouldn’t work that often, but there’s so much in the north. I’d love to show you around.”

Erin tried to imagine it. She couldn’t, but that just made the thought more enticing.

“I’d like that.”

Pisces cleared his throat.

“We may be doing the same thing.”

Ceria and Jelaqua looked at him. The half-Elf swallowed.

“I never said anything about it.”

Pisces sniffed.

“No, but I would imagine the conversation need not actually occur in order for rational minds to come to the same conclusion. There is a finite amount of work to be had around Liscor. Thus—”

Erin jabbed him in the side. Pisces yelped. He glared at Erin and sighed.

“My point is that we will eventually need more work. So a door to Invrisil would benefit us as well.”

Ceria played with her napkin, which she’d yet to use in lieu of her arm.

“I—yes, you’re right, Pisces.”

“As always.”

“Kick him for me, Jelaqua? Thanks. We should keep going. We have to. But—maybe not yet? I want to stay around Liscor. We can probably earn enough putting down the undead, or go through to Celum for some jobs. But I want to stay.”

“Until the trial? With your friend?”

Jelaqua fixed a sympathetic eye on Ceria. The half-Elf nodded.

“That’s fair. We’ll be taking the door north for weeks to get to Invrisil, so there’s no rush. You can come out along the way. Hell, we’ll make it a party on the road. And Erin can come with us! It beats staring at Moore’s back all day and losing a fortune in dice to Seborn.”

Erin smiled. The idea was tempting. But north? She thought of the Human army and her enthusiasm faded a tiny bit. Still, she nodded.

“My door’s open to you all. Both doors.”

“Now, if only there was a way to make that damn thing change from spot to spot without having to fumble with mana stones.”

Jelaqua grumbled into her plate. Ceria sighed and Pisces began explaining for the umpteenth time why that was impossible. Lyonette, who’d heard the conversation, paused and went over to the door after serving Moore a heaping platter. She checked the bowl.

There were three mana stones in it. A green one, a blue one, for Liscor and Celum respectively, and a red stone. The yellow stone for Pallass was gone.

“What’s the red one?”

“Oh. That was the Goblin’s cave. I—the door doesn’t work anymore for some reason. It might have fallen over or been broken.”

Erin looked up. Lyonette studied the mana stone, but she didn’t get rid of it. Instead, she narrowed her eyes and looked at the door.

“What if…?”

She got out some spare wood, the nails and hammer that Erin had yet to put away, and opened the door to Celum to get some quick-drying glue from Octavia. She began working with Mrsha watching her as Erin greeted the others.

“Think the Silver Swords will go north too?”

“To another adventure, definitely. My brother’s done what he came here to do. Which was protect me.”

Yvlon nodded, in better spirits than before. She looked…calmer as she rubbed at one of her arms.

“Talk about overprotective.”

Seborn muttered. Yvlon nodded.

“A bit. But he did do all of this for us. And he didn’t even get any treasure.”

“Which he won’t. Unless you want to give up your share?”

Pisces looked at Yvlon. She eyed him. Ksmvr happily kicked Pisces under the table without being asked.

“He’s rich enough. But I think I will stop by my home if we ever go north. Of course, you’ll all have to come with me. We’ve got decent vineyards. But that’s the only thing I want.”

“And I would like to be an asset to the team.”

Ksmvr chimed in. Pisces rubbed at his leg.

“Commendable. I suppose I’m with you all, as painful as the experience may be.”

“Well, for as long as I have you, I’ll enjoy it. You can all stay here. So long as you keep paying me.”

Erin looked at Moore, and the half-Giant smiled. He tipped a mug up and drank from it.

“You’re too kind, Miss Solstice. But we had one more thing to say, didn’t we, Jelaqua?”

He reached out and nudged Jelaqua with a finger, despite sitting at a different table. The Selphid grimaced. She hesitated, and looked at Seborn.

“You do it.”

“Aw, damn it, Seborn…okay.”

Jelaqua signed and looked at Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin was eating at a table by himself, but not too far away from the others. He kept staring through the window at the sun and mouthing silently to himself, lost in thought.

“Numbtongue.”

He looked up. Jelaqua smiled at him, awkwardly. At some point, Erin realized she’d swapped her Raskghar body for a Human one, one of the casualties of Liscor’s battle. Probably so Mrsha would stop being scared.

“I don’t know how to say this. So I guess this is how. Uh—if you’re not planning on doing anything, we’d like to invite you to our team.”

Ceria slipped with her fork and stabbed the table. Pisces and Yvlon looked up. Ksmvr kept eating because he could listen and eat at the same time. Erin turned her head sharply.

“Me?”

Seborn and Moore were quiet. They sat behind Jelaqua. She nodded.

“We’re down—well, we used to have a lot more in our group. One of our members was Garen. You know why he left. But we talked—for a long time, really. And you Redfangs were adventurers. You just didn’t get paid or recognized. I’m not saying it would be easier with us. In fact, we tend to attract trouble. But if you wanted to continue being an adventurer…we have a spot open for a [Bard].”

Ceria held her breath. A Gold-rank team was asking a Goblin to join them? But Numbtongue had been part of Garen’s tribe. And she had seen him fight. The Hobgoblin looked at Jelaqua. He hesitated.

And then he shook his head.

“No.”

Moore let out a soft sigh. Jelaqua nodded hurriedly.

“No problem. I just thought I’d offer. It’s totally fine if—”

“I am an adventurer.”

“Right, right. That’s what I said. I just—damn it, I wasn’t implying—”

Jelaqua flushed orange. Numbtongue shook his head again.

“I wasn’t mad. You’re right. Your offer is generous. I would have said yes. But I belong here.”

He looked at Erin. And the [Innkeeper] smiled. Every head turned to her. And Ceria was relieved to see both her and Numbtongue smile. Jelaqua grinned as well, in relief.

“That’s good. Whew, I thought I’d stepped in it this time. Shame, though. We could use a proper [Mage].”

Moore flicked her on the back of the head as she went to take a drink. Pisces gave the half-Giant an appreciative nod. Everyone laughed. Jelaqua accepted a cloth napkin from Mrsha. And Lyonette looked up.

“I’m done! I knew it was possible.”

Erin turned. The [Princess] straightened and showed everyone something. It was a crude wheel, just a thin circle of wood, really, able to rotate on a central axis. Half of it rose above the doorframe. The part touching the door had something embedded in it.

The mana stone. Lyonette carefully turned the wheel so the glowing blue stone was touching the magic door. She opened the door, and Octavia’s shop appeared. The [Alchemist] looked up.

“Hey! If it isn’t my favorite—”

Lyonette closed the door. She turned the wheel so the green stone appeared, and the streets of Liscor appeared. A passing Drake looked up. Lyonette shut the door, turned the wheel until no mana stone was connected with the door, and opened it. A solid wooden wall lay beyond. She turned and gave Pisces a long look. The [Necromancer]’s mouth was open.

“You did it!”

Jelaqua exclaimed. She stood up to take a look. So did Erin.

“I was tired of messing with that bowl. It keeps getting knocked over and I have to fumble with the mana stones—this is simpler. If you spin the wheel, you can open the door. Once Jelaqua’s team has their mana stone, I can add it. We might need multiple wheels or something, but I can work out a better system.”

“It’s still not automatic, but it’s a lot more convenient. Now all I need is to put this thing on legs.”

Erin smiled as she inspected the crude wheel. Jelaqua chortled.

“And Typhenous, Falene, and Pisces said it couldn’t be done! What do you think of this, smart guy?”

She laughed at Pisces. The [Necromancer] sniffed.

“It appears to be a non-magical solution to a highly magical equation. Which doesn’t fix the issue of automatically switching connections or the door’s mana constraints. Am I supposed to be impressed by a bit of wood?”

Moore reached over and prodded Pisces.

“Be polite. It’s quite ingenious.”

“I’ll tell Drassi and Ishkr to check both connections while they’re working. They’ve been complaining about the hassle, but if they do it once every thirty minutes…”

Lyonette was talking to Erin. She glanced at the door.

“I’ll go and tell them to come in tonight. Unless the inn’s still closed?”

She looked at Erin. So did everyone else. They held their breaths. Erin looked around. She paused, then nodded slowly.

“No, I think that’s a good idea. Tell them. The Wandering Inn is open again.”

A low sigh ran around the room. Lyonette smiled, set the door for Liscor, and opened it. Erin saw daylight flood into the inn. She heard Ceria laugh at Pisces and his loud sniff. Jelaqua began talking with Seborn about how to transport the door north, by wagon or on foot, and Moore argued for getting another team to do it so he wouldn’t have to walk.

The day was bright and sunny. And Erin stared into it and knew that she couldn’t do it. Her inn was just too small.

—-

“Leave?”

Krshia looked up, surprised. Erin nodded. She leaned on Krshia’s stall. Her smile of the morning was gone, but she wasn’t crying. That didn’t stop the Drakes around her from giving her the fish-eye and a wide berth. There was still some damage on Market Street. Apparently the city had been in turmoil for hours after they’d gone. Erin wasn’t sorry.

“I can’t stay in the inn. Not now. I just can’t. I don’t know what I’ll do, Krshia.”

“Hrm. Why worry?”

The [Shopkeeper]’s prosaic remark made Erin look up at her. Krshia smiled and pushed Erin with one paw.

“Off. I need my display to go here. How much is a good price for Miss Octavia’s potions?”

“Fourteen silver for a healing potion?”

“Hah!”

Krshia laughed. Then she realized Erin was serious. She shook her head and wrote on the chalk board. Erin studied it. Eleven silver and four copper for a healing potion, one of Octavia’s cheapest.

“I was close.”

The Gnoll just snorted.

“Healing potions are expensive. Even these. You think anyone can afford them? A family buys one for a year. And I intend to have their business. Adventurers, now…ah, Miss Tassai. I have that custom-ordered ointment from the [Alchemist]. As you requested.”

She shooed Erin out of the way. The young woman came back after the Drake had done her shopping.

“Why wouldn’t I worry? I have to run my inn.”

“Mm. Why?”

Erin paused.

“Because it’s my inn?”

“Is that not what you pay Drassi and Ishkr for? And Lyonette? Do you think Peslas spends his time working all day? Do you think you need to, especially with your ability to preserve food.”

“Uh—”

Erin opened and closed her mouth. Krshia looked at her.

“Do not stay if it hurts. Go. Run about in the fields. Play baseball—and invite me when you do! Go, drink. Find an attractive young person to have sex with. Or old person. Or buy one of my—”

“No.”

A flash of teeth.

“Very well. But do not stay if it taxes, Erin. Go. Leave the inn to one you trust. Lyonette managed in your absence. Go, and return when you are able. But do not force yourself, yes?”

It was simple wisdom. But it had Erin blinking nonetheless. Go?

“Where? North?”

She didn’t want to go north. She didn’t want to talk to other humans. Not right now. Erin thought of Ryoka—Krshia was shaking her head.

“North. I understand the adventurers would want to go north, but it is hardly the only direction, yes? Why not go south? I will be heading that way in time. It would be a boon to have your magic door take me closer to my destination. There will be a connection to Pallass soon, yes?”

“Uh—I guess?”

“Better to know than to guess. I would like to know. Because the grand meeting of tribes is soon upon us, Erin Solstice. And I must be there. And when I go…I may ask Mrsha to come with me.”

Erin looked up sharply.

“Mrsha?”

“Mm. She may be important. And the fate of the Stone Spears tribe must be discussed, if nothing else.”

Krshia deftly organized her rack of magical potions, looking as calm as could be. Erin suspected she was avoiding explaining herself. Because she knew Mrsha had magic powers? She narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.

“Lyonette would never let Mrsha out of her sight. I wouldn’t want that either.”

“Then do not. Come south. Run across the Gnoll plains. I would be happy to be your guide.”

Krshia looked up. Erin blinked.

“Me?”

“It is not as if Humans are barred from Gnoll lands, yes? Your kind seldom makes the trip. As for the grand meeting—you could be on the outside. So yes, I say come. Come, Erin Solstice. Explore my home.”

Krshia swept an arm out. She pointed south. Erin turned her head. And she had a thought.

—-

“Excuse me, Wall Lord.”

“Let her in.”

Ilvriss didn’t look up. He’d heard Erin arguing with his door guards. He sighed, closed the reports, and looked up as Erin walked into his office. She was holding a guitar. He eyed it.

“Your new help is a jerk.”

Erin announced to him. She wasn’t smiling. But she had that look in her eye that Ilvriss was almost relieved to see. A challenging look. One he was sure would mean a headache for him.

“Captain—er, Major Scaleshield is diligent in guarding me. As she should be. What do you want, Miss Solstice?”

“Are you going to send someone to Pallass? Because I want to reopen my door there.”

Surprising. Ilvriss coughed and made a little note to schedule Hawk’s services today.

“I had every intention. However, your inn was closed until today.”

“Yes. It was.”

The two stared at each other. Ilvriss tapped his claws on the table.

“I will pay for the delivery of course. And I intend to use your door as soon as I can get those egg-brained idiots in Pallass to let me through. Was there something else you wanted, Miss Solstice?”

“Yes. I want a favor.”

The Wall Lord concealed a moment of surprise. His mind raced ahead of the conversation and found…nothing. He had no way of predicting what she was going to ask for.

“A favor? And I assume you intend to pay back said favor? How would you recompense a Lord of the Wall?”

“I’d say it’s a favor I’m already owed. Or rather, the Goblins are. You owe them. Liscor does too.”

Erin stared hard at Ilvriss. He shifted in his seat.

“I…will acknowledge there is some debt. But if you wish to force the Hobgoblin’s entry into the city, that is a matter for Watch Captain Zevara. Even I cannot force her—”

“I’m going to her after you. But you owe the Goblins. And this is part of what you owe. Here. Sign this.”

Erin unfurled a piece of parchment. She slapped it onto the desk in front of Ilvriss. He blinked at it and read the scrawled handwriting quickly. He looked up after a minute.

“You’ve misspelled ‘therefore’.”

“What? No I didn’t.”

Erin scowled down at the scroll. She jabbed a finger.

“It’s spelled right!”

“Then your handwriting is extraordinarily messy. And this parchment is disgusting. I’d rather write on a living goat. Excuse me.”

Ilvriss brushed the scroll off his table. Erin grabbed for it and glared. But Ilvriss had already selected a piece of extraordinarily white paper. He eyed it, and then sighed.

“There’s no helping it. If one is to do this properly…”

He put the blank paper back and opened a drawer at his desk. This time he pulled out a different piece of paper, embossed with Salazsar’s personal watermark. Erin blinked at the delicate border on the paper.

“Spelled to avoid tearing or stains. Don’t try and rip it, however. The enchantment isn’t that strong.”

Ilvriss admonished Erin as he wrote on the paper with a steady hand. She blinked as she saw what he was writing. Ilvriss scrawled his name at the bottom of the parchment.

“Hey! I signed that first.”

“And I am a Lord of the Wall. My signature takes priority. Here. I assume Watch Captain Zevara will be forced to sign this next?”

He handed the paper to Erin. She blinked at it.

“You signed it.”

“A debt is a debt. And a true Drake pays their debts.”

Ilvriss wondered how much chaos that little piece of paper would bring. He looked at Erin as she blinked at the paper and then, without asking, borrowed his quill to sign it.

“You intend to bring him with you?”

“To Pallass? Yeah. And—and maybe elsewhere. Why? Is it a problem? I’ll have this.”

“That’s hardly enough. But there are ways. To tweak Pallass’ tail, I will intercede myself.”

Ilvriss gave Erin a ghost of a smile. He looked at her.

“But you intend to travel.”

“Yes. I can’t stay at my inn. I’m gonna leave. For a little bit. Go north or south. I haven’t…haven’t decided yet.”

She looked haunted for a moment. Ilvriss understood that feeling entirely. He cleared his throat.

“In that case, let me make you a proposal, Erin Solstice. I understand your magic door has limited reach. It could transport you to Pallass, but no further.”

“Yes.”

“But it is hardly as if other means of transport don’t exist. The roads of our continent are well-patrolled. The main ones, at least. So if you leave Liscor, don’t stop at Pallass.”

She blinked at him.

“You mean…?”

Ilvriss nodded.

“Come to Salazsar. Come to the Walled Cities. Go to Pallass first so your expectations are suitably low, but visit them all. The north will wait. Visit my home, Miss Solstice. You will be welcome to visit my estates. That is an invitation I offer to very few.”

She looked at him. Blinking a few times in surprise. It was a refreshing change. Ilvriss nodded to her. Now, while she was off-balance. He handed her the signed bit of paper.

“Here.”

She looked at it. Then she took it. For a moment her hands touched his claws. She inspected Ilvriss, with a curious look. Then she smiled. Just for a moment.

“Thanks, Ilvriss.”

She turned and walked out of his temporary office. The Drake watched her go, arguing with Osthia on the way out. He tapped a claw and muttered.

“That’s Wall Lord to you, you impudent [Innkeeper].”

Then he sat back and smiled.

—-

“This is…”

Lyonette held the piece of paper in front of her. She stared at it for a long time. It was a simple message. But it was written on costly paper that bore Salazsar’s seal. The writing was, in fact, written as precisely as any [Scribe] could do it. But a Wall Lord had done the writing.

And yet, the message was nonsensical. Insane. But—Lyonette read it again. Erin wiped sweat from her forehead. She glanced across the inn, at a Goblin sitting on the stage, tuning a guitar. Lyonette looked up at Numbtongue. She looked around at the busy inn, full of familiar faces. Waiting to talk to Erin. Perhaps to apologize. Or just to be here again. And then she looked down at the piece of paper.

The bearer of this document is a Goblin by the name of Numbtongue. He is a recognized adventurer and is therefore entitled to all the rights of a person regardless of where he goes. And if you have a problem, the following list of people vouch for him and will collectively kick your butt.

Signed,

Wall Lord Ilvriss of Salazar

Erin Solstice, [Innkeeper]

Watch Captain Zevara of Liscor

[Strategist] Olesm Swifttail of Liscor

Guildmistress Tekshia Shivertail of Liscor

Bevussa Slenderscale, Captain of the Wings of Pallass.

Halrac Everam, Captain of Griffon Hunt

Jelaqua Ivirith, Captain of the Halfseekers

Ceria Springwalker, Captain of the Horns of Hammerad

Krshia Silverfang of Tribe Silverfang

Pisces

The actual message was short. But the list of signatures was long. And there was plenty of space to add to it. Erin looked at Lyonette.

“Well?”

“No city would accept this, Erin.”

“Well, they’ll accept it when they hear about a Goblin in Pallass. And I’ll send [Messages] ahead. He doesn’t have to come. But if an adventurer meets him, if he wants to go to Liscor—he’ll have this.”

A document proving Numbtongue wasn’t a monster. Part of Lyonette objected to it. So had Erin, but she’d still made it.

“He needs it. It’s not right, but he should have it. And he deserves it.”

“You got them all to sign like that?”

“Yes.”

Somehow, Lyonette even imagined it hadn’t been that hard for Erin. The [Innkeeper] had an intensity about her at times that would cow even her father. At times. Other times she was silly and relaxed. Was everyone from her world like that?

No, just her. Lyonette looked up.

“So you’re going to leave the inn? Go travelling?”

“Yeah. I mean, not all the time. But sometimes. I’ll…go to Pallass first. Get Numbtongue through. See what it’s like. But I can’t stay here. I’m sorry.”

“Good.”

Erin blinked. Lyonette looked up.

“It’s a good idea. Leave the inn to me. I’ll manage it while you’re gone.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Lyonette sat up. She looked Erin in the eye.

“Give me the authority to use the money in the inn and make decisions. I’ll rebuild it. Change some things. If you’re okay with that. All you have to do is cook while you’re here. I’ll run the inn. And earn you money. You go travelling—bring a magic door with you or something. And I’ll take over the inn.”

“But…”

All of Erin’s objections faded away as she looked at Lyonette. And she remembered Lyonette had run Erin’s inn before. She’d enjoyed it, in fact. She was a [Princess] when all was said and done.

“I suppose you need a promotion.”

“I’ll give myself a raise.”

The two grinned at each other. Lyonette looked around.

“Mrsha can go with you. If it’s safe. And this inn will be here. You’ll come back to it. And—”

And she’d make it bigger. Better. This inn had so much potential. Erin had been content to leave it as it had been, to expand when only necessary. But Lyonette envisioned a different place. A third floor and Bird’s tower was only the start. All she needed was coin, and a chance to try something new. The things from Erin’s world…

For the first time in a while, Lyonette was excited about her job. And she saw that Erin looked happier. As if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

“It’s not yet. So don’t start knocking down walls right away! But as soon as Hawk gets to Pallass—there’s all kinds of places I want to go. And I’m going to send the Horns to look for Ryoka.”

“You think they’ll find her.”

“Them. Or Griffon Hunt. Or the Halfseekers. I want to go north, too. North and south and—”

Erin was speaking when a sound came from the stage. Heads turned. Numbtongue’s quiet tuning of the guitar had turned into faint strumming. The Hobgoblin looked up and stared across his audience. He found Erin and Lyonette in the crowd. They turned to face him as Numbtongue played on his new guitar.

Sparks crackled from the strings. For a moment. But only that. Numbtongue had already used his guitar once.

Lightning from the skies, striking a tall Hobgoblin, a mountain lurching across the ground. For a second Eater of Spears was a ball of light. And then he fell, and Numbtongue played his dirge, played and played and heard the music again.

It was back in him. The Hobgoblin played a riff, and the crowd looked up. Then he began to strum a slower beat.

It was no song that Erin had taught him that came from the guitar. It had no notes. It was spontaneous. Meant to go with words. A quiet melody. Numbtongue played it for a minute. Then he looked up and sang. His voice was quiet at first, but it grew louder, echoing.

Adventurers looked up. [Guards] and [Mages]. Drakes and Humans, Gnolls, Garuda and Selphid, half-Giant and Drowned man. A pair of half-Elves glanced up as Numbtongue’s voice rolled through the inn.

This is a Goblin song,

You don’t know it, so don’t bother singing along

From Baleros to Chandrar to Izril, north and south

You’d never believe it if it didn’t come from Goblin mouth.

But it’s true; we sing and laugh and smile and weep

And we’re proud and wise and foolish and meek

So if it’s a Goblin’s ears you seek—

Remember, you call us monsters, but we sing and speak.

We broke the moths of Liscor’s dungeon and held the breach

And we fought the Raskghar in the deeps

We took arms against brother against the Goblin Lord

For an [Innkeeper]’s tears and no reward

And died to Drake spear and Human sword.

We fought for you, we monsters green

We can rhyme (we’re more than we seem!),

So if you seek us in our hidden homes and quiet dens

Come as people, come as friends

Or come as you always have to be our end.

But remember this day; you’ll never forget

You heard a Goblin song

We’re not all dead yet.

That was all. It wasn’t a good song. Or even a great one. Numbtongue had come up with it over a day, mainly by rhyming. But it was his song. His first song. And while it was poor compared to the lyrics that burned in his heart from Erin’s world, it was enough. It brought tears to eyes, it made people doubt reality.

It was enough. Numbtongue rested his claws over the guitar strings, ready to play another song. And sing it too. He didn’t expect the applause.

Erin Solstice clapped her hands, standing up. She wasn’t the only one. Numbtongue looked up. He heard foot stomps, someone banging a mug—and applause. He saw faces looking up at him. And they weren’t angry. Some had tears. Others looked ashamed. And some just looked at him, a Goblin on the stage, without hatred.

He hadn’t expected that. Goblins never did. But Numbtongue accepted it. He enjoyed it. For a second or two, the applause fell like warm rain. Then it was over. But Numbtongue chased it. He began to play. And the music was there. Changed. Forever changed, but it was there. It echoed through the inn. And this time a Goblin’s voice came with it.

A Goblin’s song. As the people listened, it made them sit up. It brought strength to weary limbs. Hope for the future. And the Goblin sang and sang. He was crying, laughing, smiling. For he was experiencing something few Goblins had ever felt. A wish he didn’t even know fulfilled. A sense of peace. Hope.

At long last, he was home.

[Bard Level 27!]

[Skill – Song of Rejuvenation obtained!]

6.04 D

Night was falling on Baleros. The jungles, always filled with life and motion, died down somewhat as a calmer, cooler atmosphere swept through the continent. Baleros, the continent of war and riches, grew quieter.

But no less alive. And in the break in the jungles, in an open haven of space where the green gave way to white beaches, a Lizardgirl bathed alone in the fading sunlight. Water dripped from her scales as she washed herself in a jungle stream meeting the ocean. Her neck-frills shone with moisture as she turned, her nude body catching the last rays of the sun.

It was there he found her. A proud Centaur, his top half bare, his sweaty skin bared to the cool air. He paused for a second as the Lizardgirl realized he was standing there.

“Oh. Pardon me, Miss. I didn’t know the stream was…occupied.”

“And I didn’t realize I’d have a guest.”

The Lizardgirl tilted her head. She propped her hands on her hips. The Centaur looked down and scuffed at the grass with one hoof.

“I should go.”

“Oh, but must you? There’s enough stream for both of us. And I’m not intending to stop bathing for a while.”

The Centaur looked back. His white teeth flashed in the gloom, and his flank rippled as he trotted forwards. With one bare arm he bent and held out a hand. The Lizardgirl smiled, her multicolored scales gleamed and the frills around her neck opened slightly. She pressed her warm body to his, feeling his short fur ripple in the moonlight. She ran a hand down his tail.

“You’re quite bold, sir.”

“I’m sorry. I thought this was enough stream for both of us. Unless I should bathe downstream?”

She smiled.

“Oh, no. I think we can fit ourselves in together. But ah—why don’t I help you?”

She ran one claw down his flank. The stallion shivered as the Lizardgirl bent lower. And as she reached for his—

“Hey, Daly. What are you reading?”

The young Australian man looked up. He broke off from the steamy scene of Centaur-Lizardgirl sex. The faded parchment in his hands began to roll up. Daly straightened.

A part of the jungle seemed to be speaking to him. That was, until the girl crouching across from Daly moved. Then you could see where her body started and the forest began. But for that, she was quite, quite hard to spot; she stayed still, whispering. And her body was layered in a composite of mud and lichen, so that if she was lying down she might pass for an odd splotch in the earth.

A mosquito whined past Daly’s ear. He didn’t swat at it, even when it landed on his arm. It probably wouldn’t bite him through the similar mud camouflage on his body. And if it did? Daly had too many bites to worry about one more. Instead, he carefully handed the parchment to the girl without a word. His hands had left some mud on the parchment, so she took it by the corner and squinted.

Just like in the piece of erotica, night was falling over Baleros. Only, unlike the idyllic scene with the nude Lizardgirl, Baleros didn’t get quieter with the fading light. If anything, it got louder.

Or maybe that was just how it felt to be in the jungle. Baleros wasn’t all plant and dense tropical forest. Like any continent it differed in geography. But it was best known for the choking, nearly impenetrable green that marked the continent. For, while each continent had uninhabited places, patches of land unclaimed or at least, unsettled by sheer virtue of the size of the world, only Baleros could lay claim to true wilderness.

Between the jungle-cities of the Lizardfolk, or the ordered settlements of the Dullahans, the sprawling Centaurian camps, and the other settlements by the races of Baleros, there was jungle. And you could lose an army in the densest places, where even sunlight never saw the forest floor.

This place wasn’t nearly so deep. But it was deep. No trails existed; Daly and his group had gone off the road and all traces of civilization had vanished. The greenery around them buzzed with insects mating, preying on each other, the croaking of frogs, and…other things.

And here they were, in that chaos. Daly, the girl squatting across from him, frowning at the parchment, and six other Humans. Four were Australian. The other two, the girl included, were from Sweden. Yes, Sweden of all places. Was it that surprising? Perhaps not, but Daly wouldn’t have usually bet on meeting a Swede crouching in the jungle, covered in camouflage, reading in complete silence.

Her name was Siri, no relation to the iPhone voice. It took her a minute to realize what she was reading. When she did, she looked up and raised one mud-covered eyebrow.

“Erotica? I didn’t know you read it.”

“I don’t. Give it here.”

Daly carefully took the loose pages of parchment and wiped at a bit of mud stuck to them. The pages were worn, and some of the ink smudged. It was no book; the parchment was loose and unbound, and the inky handwriting slanted as the writer struggled to keep to nonexistent page lines. But Daly handled it carefully as he edged closer to Siri.

“It was written by a friend. I sometimes read it to have a laugh.”

“Really? One of us? Who?”

Daly paused.

“You wouldn’t know her. Her name was Caroline.”

“Oh.”

Siri understood what Daly meant from the expression on his face and didn’t ask further questions. She looked down at the parchment as they squatted together, shoulders touching. Neither noticed. Or cared.

The jungle buzzed. But the two kept their voices so low that it was barely audible to each other over the background noise. And as the light vanished, the writing faded from sight completely. Neither Siri nor Daly suggested lighting anything, though. And Daly spoke into her ear.

“It’s funny. I’ll lend it to you if you want. And it’s uh, not bad.”

“Hot Centaur sex?”

“And the Lizardgirl. And a Dullahan appears later in. It’s unrealistic, though.”

“Yeah. Anyone with a bare chest would have a bunch of mosquitoes eating them.”

Daly grinned.

“No, I meant the other parts. Lizardpeople have cool bodies, not warm ones. And Centaurs hate anyone touching their tails.”

“Hah. That is funny. Lend it to me, please.”

“After we’re done.”

Daly carefully rolled up the parchment and inserted it into his belt pouch. He half-rose, and looked around. The small camp he and Siri inhabited was quiet. Dead quiet. The few insects who were attracted to the living bodies went about their business, but the Humans barely moved. Even when something bit Daly on the leg, he just stomped it quickly and only checked for blood. He and Siri were quiet. They didn’t ask when the others were coming. They didn’t make conversation. They sat, listening, alert for any larger sounds coming their way.

It wasn’t safe in the jungle at night. It wasn’t insanely dangerous either of course; it wasn’t as if monsters lurked around every tree, or dangerous plants and animals were always underfoot, but it wasn’t as if such threats didn’t exist either. If you had to spend the night in the jungle, you were best served by not attracting attention to yourself.

“What happened to her?”

Siri’s whisper was so faint Daly thought it was just a thought. For a moment. He looked up. She was invisible in the darkness. The moon and starlight were mostly blocked by the canopy. He hesitated.

“She disappeared one day.”

“Oh.”

Daly’s throat constricted. But what else could you say? This was Baleros. A continent defined by conflict. By war. And it was his…home. The place where he lived, at any rate. If you could call it that. Sometimes…Daly closed his eyes. Things were different than they had been when he’d first appeared here, bewildered, confused, surrounded by young men and women from Melbourne’s airport. Back then Baleros had been hell. But they had survived it. And time had passed since then. Two months and a half to be exact.

When had Caroline written this? Right after the battle, that was it. Right after they’d survived the bloody battle between the Razorshard Armor Company and the Roving Arrow Company in the forests. When they’d first formed the United Nations company. Daly felt the parchment in his belt pouch shift a bit as he drew his knees closer to his chest. Back then, they’d been so optimistic. Hadn’t they? It had all seemed like everything was going to be alright. And it had been. For a while. It had been grand…

—-

“She ran one claw down his flank. The stallion shivered as the Lizardgirl bent lower. She reached for his huge, throbbing—”

Kenjiro Murata broke off reading the piece of parchment and stared at what came next. He blinked, not trusting to the translation his brain provided, and then read on. He turned crimson and hastily lowered the parchment.

“Well?”

A girl stared at him. She was blushing too. That was somehow even more uncomfortable, so Ken jerked his eyes back down to the parchment and kept reading. He got four more sentences in and felt the tips of his ears burning. He looked up again and hesitated.

He was a [Negotiator]. A diplomat, but low-level. And Ken was from Earth. He was Japanese, a student from another world who had been accidentally (or perhaps intentionally?) teleported to this one. To Baleros, a continent defined by mercenary companies and war. He had successfully negotiated a ceasefire between two companies, survived a bloody battlefield, and even formed a company of people from his world and this one.

None of it helped in this case. Kenjiro looked at the page of what was in essence…smut. Yes, that was the English word for it. Or…porn. Erotica?

The different words and definitions popped into Ken’s mind. He had never heard the word ‘smut’ before, or ‘erotica’, but he somehow knew the definition of the word in Japanese when he thought of it. It was most likely due to his Skill, [Amateur Linguist]. Thanks to it, Ken had understood exactly what had been written.

“Ah, Caroline-san. This is…”

“It’s a work in progress. I’m not done with it.”

The young woman broke in hastily. She was Australian, about nineteen years old and currently the color of an apple. A red one, that was. She indicated the page and Ken realized she’d only gotten one page in. And amazingly, it looked like there was quite a lot of potential for more pages.

Carefully, Ken put the parchment down and looked at Caroline. He had a number of things he wanted to say, but his desire to be polite, and his class took over. Always be polite. Be accommodating. You could go far with words. Ken had no intention of going half as far as anything Caroline had just described, but he had to know.

“I understand what is written, Caroline. But um, what is the purpose of it?”

If she wanted his input on what the Centaur should do next, he would run away. But that didn’t seem to be why Caroline had pulled Ken aside. She knew he was very busy trying to organize the budding group, the United Nations company, and all the disparate factions that made it up. People from Earth, Quallet and the former mercenaries, all of whom hailed from different cultures, backgrounds, and species. But Ken felt positive about the challenge.

They could make this world. They could form a company that would not only look for people from their world, but would support and protect each other. They had a number of brilliant people among them. Luan, who was an Olympic rower from their world, or at least, an Olympic hopeful. Quallet, a [Mercenary Captain] who’d decided to stick with them even after the disastrous battle he’d narrowly survived, Centaurs and Dullahans and Lizardfolk, including the [Sorcerer], Quexa, and last but not least, Geneva.

The Last Light of Baleros. The [Doctor]. Possibly the most medically knowledgeable person in the world. Ken had watched her work on the battlefield and if there was anyone whose abilities were invaluable and irreplaceable, it was hers. As a [Negotiator], Ken hoped to bring all these people together and create something special. But this?

“It’s what I can do.”

Caroline took a deep breath. She indicated the work of fiction. Ken blinked.

“This?”

“Yeah. I…well, I wanted to be a writer. Um, you know, write novels. Romance novels. I practiced! I had a bunch of fan fiction online about—uh, it doesn’t matter. Some of it was about Japanese manga. Have you heard of…?”

Ken’s polite stare somehow managed to convey his desire not to reminisce about popular manga. Caroline coughed.

“Well, I thought I could write something. There’s parchment in this world. And paper too, but it’s expensive. But I got some ink and parchment from Xalandrass before he left—I didn’t spend much! And I wrote this. So? What do you think?”

“It’s very…creative. But Caroline, what is this for?”

Ken waved the parchment at her. Caroline looked surprised.

“To sell, of course.”

“Sell?”

Ken looked blank. Caroline nodded.

“Yeah. There’s no, uh, romance literature in this world. Not many books at all, really. And none of it is recreational, really. So I thought why not write something like this? I mean, Twilight sold a huge amount! If you think it’ll sell, I could write more, maybe do a short story—or a novel! And copy it…we could sell it, right?”

She looked hopeful. Ken sat back. Now he understood. She wanted to do—she wanted to be an author. And sell this. He had to admit, it was a novel idea.

“I know you’re trying to find ways to make money. Luan’s trying to be a Runner, and Daly’s talking about going back to work in a suppression company. But if that Quallet guy asks—I’m not doing it. Not ever again.”

The Australian girl’s lips compressed into a tight line. Ken nodded. He didn’t blame her. No one would want to walk back into the battlefield, not after what they’d seen.

He had been part of Quallet’s company, Gravetender’s Fist. They’d been a suppression company, hired to clean a battlefield of corpses after each day of combat to prevent the undead from spawning. It had been dirty, dangerous work. But even worse had been getting caught up in the crossfire as both companies who’d been fighting—the Razorshard Armor company, comprised mainly of Dullahans, and the Roving Arrow company, a Centaur group, had begun to ignore the rules of war and target third parties as well as each other.

“We will try not to force anyone to fight, Caroline. And yes, every talent is needed. But are you sure this would…sell?”

He had his doubts. But then Ken remembered that there was a big market for this in Japan. It was just…would it apply to Baleros, where other species were as common, if not more common than Humans? Caroline shrugged.

“It can’t hurt to ask, right? So…will you ask?”

“Me?”

Ken looked horrified. Caroline blushed.

“I can’t!”

“But you wrote it!”

“I just can’t! Ken, you have to! You’re the [Negotiator]. You can ask if the others think it’ll sell. Please?”

“I—”

Ken spluttered. This was not something he’d ever envisioned having to do. But Caroline was insistent.

“It’s for the good of the company! And it might sell a lot! You know about Twilight, right? And Fifty Shades of Grey? They sold millions of books, Ken! Just imagine it! Please ask! I just need feedback from a few Dullahans, Centaurs, and Lizardfolk.”

Only them? Ken bit his tongue. Caroline had named the three most common species inhabiting Baleros besides Humans. The stony-faced, hierarchical Dullahans encased in their armor, who could detach heads and body parts as easily as blinking. Centaurs, haughty, arrogant, and yet also intensely honorable in their own way. And Lizardfolk, who were in a word, social. Extremely adaptive, almost never found alone, and chatty. And Ken had to show this to them? He opened his mouth to protest again, and found Caroline ushering him towards the door.

“Remember to get their feedback! Ask them if they liked the pairings! And the—the descriptions!”

Ken stared at the door as Caroline shut it behind him. The little hut that had been his work area was one of several on the beach. In fact, the small fishing village inhabited by Lizardfolk was entirely on the beach. The slim, scaly Lizardpeople walked to and fro, chatting, casting nets together, and stopping to stare at their guests.

The United Nations company, or rather, the group of people who’d decided to rally under that banner were still in holiday mode. Groups of Humans dressed in bright clothing mixed with a few Dullahans, a pacing Centaur or two, and a gaggle of Lizardfolk. They were mainly Humans from Earth, and they boasted a mix of technology from their world—iPhones, modern clothing, and jewelry the Lizardfolk clearly coveted—some also still carried weapons from their time as mercenaries. Among them was Quallet Marshhand himself, a man with several scars who was clearly out of place in this peaceful setting.

The beach was wonderfully white and beautiful. Ken had never seen somewhere this lovely in person. The waves lapped at the sand, and the food was excellent, the Lizardfolk hospitable. They’d given up their house—for coin of course—and had fed their guests well. Being here had almost made Ken forget the blood and death of only a week earlier.

Almost. But Ken would never forget, least of all in his dreams. What was a bit of embarrassment compared to that? He took a deep breath and marched across the sands. As he walked, some of the people looked up. One of them called his name. Ken turned and waved at Daly, an Australian young man who still bore the axe he’d fought with.

He was relaxing next to Quexa, a Lizardgirl. She had only one foot. The other one had been cut off in battle, but Geneva had helped create a simple peg-leg for her. And the [Doctor] was hoping to improve on that, and bring more modern technologies from her world. She just needed time and resources. And if erotica would fund the [Doctor]’s needs…Ken took a deep breath.

“Excuse me! Mister Revuc, yes? May I ask your opinion of something if you have the spare time?”

—-

“Fucking hell. I think he’s actually doing it. You owe me…two silver coins, Paige.”

Daly watched as Ken approached a Dullahan wearing stiff wood armor. The Dullahan had his head tucked under one arm, but he fastened it to his head and locked it into place as Ken showed him the piece of parchment. Two Lizardboys crowded around and Ken hurriedly shooed them away. They were too young, but the Centaur and five other Lizardfolk he called over all looked interested. Daly watched and then turned to his side.

“Hey Paige, I said—”

“I hear you. Go to hell.”

A young woman lying in the sand half-raised her head. Her ears were filled with two blue ear buds. She was letting the sun bathe her. Reluctantly, she looked up and saw Ken gesticulating quickly to the Dullahan, who was looking quite affronted.

“That’s disgusting.”

“I don’t know. I quite liked it—”

Without looking over, Paige tossed some sand at Daly. He spluttered and Quexa laughed.

“Not the story. The fact that Caroline made Ken ask about it. Let her do it if she’s so invested.”

Some of the other Earthworlders in earshot nodded. Daly shrugged. He brushed sand off his back, and then felt something sweep across him. He looked over. Quexa winked at him as she slapped his shoulder, dislodging the dry sand.

“I don’t know. I think it’s smart, myself. True, Caroline should probably grow a pair and get out there, but if they do go sour, Ken’s probably the only one who could stop a fight. He’s our [Negotiator], after all.”

“Hm.”

Paige just grunted. They kept watching. Daly didn’t know what was being said, but the affront on Revuc’s face changed to something like amusement after Ken kept talking. The Centaur laughed, and the Dullahan cracked a smile.

“See? Look at that. He made them laugh, instead of knocking his teeth out. Caroline’d probably get in trouble. Well, maybe. I couldn’t do that. Not to one of the Dullahan fellows right now. It takes guts to smile at anyone after you see something like that.”

The others grew silent. Something like that. Daly meant the battlefield they’d walked out of. Watching other people from Earth being executed. By Dullahans. Fair, it wasn’t as if Revuc stood for all of them, but the memory was burned into Daly’s mind. Paige looked over and plucked one ear bud out.

“Any news from there?”

“Yes.”

Quexa spoke up. The Lizardgirl sat up.

“The Razorshard Armor company won. They drove the Roving Arrow forces away. It was a slaughter after we left. Both companies were reduced to a fraction of their original force. But the Razorshard Armor company secured the area—for four days. Then another company, Steliers’s Ring, came in and forced them to retreat.”

“Fucking hell. You mean all that fighting was for nothing? They won but then had to give up?”

Across from them, one of the Australians that Daly had come here with, Dawson, muttered. The others just looked up bleakly. Quexa smiled and her tail curled up a bit. Daly saw that, but no one else could. The Lizardgirl spoke cheerfully.

“That’s Baleros for you! Fortunes change in an instant. Even the strongest get eaten. And it’s not like it was for nothing. The survivors leveled. The Razorshard Armor company probably secured a lot of spoils from the dead. Armor, weapons—it wasn’t a complete loss.”

“Still. This place is just like a warzone. If it’s like this, then…”

Someone else muttered. Daly looked up. Baleros was completely different from home. War and battles were commonplace. No one batted an eyelash about hearing about two companies fighting. And this was where he and the others were. Stuck.

After a while, Daly spoke up. He looked back to Ken thoughtfully.

“I don’t know about you lot, but I’m glad Ken’s here. Because if he hadn’t been—if we hadn’t run into Geneva, we’d be dead. Or living like maniacs.”

He saw nods from all around. Paige just closed her eyes and lay back. Daly didn’t doubt he was right, either. He remembered what it had been like, living in Gravetender’s Fist those last few days. He had felt…alive.

Frighteningly so. The fear and adrenaline in the air, the feeling of being on the razor’s edge—it had colored every waking moment. Daly could remember eating feverishly, sleeping, only to wake up in an instant. That had been the mood among him and the other people from Earth. A burning desperation, the realization that they were in another world and how hopeless their situation was.

There had been something liberating in it. Wild, that called them to do whatever they wanted. Eat, drink, and relish every second you’re alive. Because soon you’ll be dead. There had been real despair among them—in everyone from their world as the realization had sunk in. But some of them hadn’t given in. They’d refused to fight, found another way out.

“I killed eight guys before Ken showed up. Eight. It wasn’t even that hard. You just swing the axe, use a Skill—it was easy after fighting zombies every night. Zombies you have to cut off their heads. Centaurs, Dullahans—they bleed and die. If he hadn’t stopped the fighting and helped us get away…”

Paige looked up. Daly stared across the blue ocean. He was still wearing the axe, despite sunbathing. His hand twitched. Quexa looked up. But she said nothing. She looked at the other Earthworlders, but no one else wanted to speak. Paige nodded.

“I saw Anders get run down by a Centaur. Right in front of me. Makes you wonder how Humans survived at all. In this place.”

No one spoke. Desperately, still smiling, Quexa looked around. Her tail curled further, and she pitched her voice up cheerfully.

“Oh, I know the answer to that! It’s because there are too many Humans to get rid of. You’re on every continent—lots of you. Mainly because you reproduce so fast. I mean, Lizardfolk do too, but Humans are really good at it. We’re both good at having sex. Our species, I mean. We might be good ourselves, but I haven’t had enough practice to tell.”

A few of the Earthworlders laughed. Daly chuckled and Quexa brightened.

“Speaking of which, I was going to ask. About sex. Is it normal for Humans to have—”

“Hey.”

Daly raised his voice. The others began laughing. That was how Ken found them. The young man walked over, holding the parchment. Daly broke off from explaining to Quexa, red-faced, why talking about intimate moments wasn’t customary among Humans—at least not in this public a setting—and looked at him.

“Ken! What’s the verdict? Are we all going to start writing Baleros fan fiction, or what?”

Ken only blushed a bit. He glanced over his shoulder and hesitated. He coughed twice.

“There is…potential. If Caroline-san keeps writing, we can try selling her finished story. But it will take time for her to write.”

“No kidding?”

“No. I think it might sell. Um. Among at least two of the species. Lizardfolk are very—how can I say it?—interested. They are open and liked the story. I do not think the Centaurs would, though. Their culture doesn’t enjoy it the same way, as they do not like reading of intimate scenes.”

“And the Dullahans?”

“Um. Revuc was very upset. But after I explained it to him, I think he might have been interested. If it wasn’t so public when he was reading it. Please do not talk to him about it. But Dullahans might enjoy it, if it was not so public.”

One of the others whistled.

“Closet perverts. Really? Are all Dullahans like that?”

“They are not all like that. But culturally, Dullahans do not express things like that. So I am saying maybe they might be interested…so long as no one knows what they’re reading.”

The others laughed. Daly was joking that Caroline should just copy Twilight and trying to explain that to Quexa when he saw some other people approaching. One of the Humans who had been rowing about the waters had finally come ashore. Luan, sweating but visibly delighted, approached.

“Ken! What’s happening over here?”

The others looked up and waved. Daly saw Luan had his own group of followers trailing behind him. He’d been rowing with Aiko in his canoe, teaching her how to row. And he was followed by a host of Lizardfolk, all of whom had been taken in an instant by Luan’s skill. He was faster than any of them on the water, despite the fishing canoes being their crafts. And that was because Luan was truly extraordinary when it came to rowing.

He was an Olympic athlete, or more correctly, the Olympic hopeful of his nation. Luan had trained all his life to excel at one sport. Daly had watched him shoot across the waters. It was strange. Luan had just been one of the others when he was trapped in the jungle. But on the water, he was different.

“Luan. Caroline-san has given me this. She thinks we should sell it. What do you think?”

Ken turned, smiling at his friend. He, Luan, and Aiko had been a close group in Baleros. The Japanese girl waved at Daly and the others. She stuck to Luan—Daly wondered if they were together. The rumor was that Luan was actually a married man, but it hadn’t been hard to tell that Aiko was deeply in to him.

No one would ask. This was a different world. For his part, Luan took the parchment from Ken and began reading. He started laughing almost at once.

“What? She wants to sell this? Are you serious? It’s a brilliant idea! Twisted! It’s like doujinshi, you know, Ken? Aiko could do illustrations!”

“What? No, Luan! No way!”

The young Japanese woman protested vigorously. He laughed, trying to show her what was written. She covered her face and turned away. The others laughed and Daly saw Quexa looking interested. She was going to want to read it next.

Luan returned the page to Ken, who in turn handed it to Quexa when she requested it. The South African man grew serious as he took a seat in the sand with the others.

“I’m not saying it would sell lots, yeah? But if we could sell some copies, that’d be great. And Caroline could be a—a [Writer]. That’s a class, isn’t it?”

“Um. [Scribe] is more common to start with. Ooh. Hey, wait a second! We don’t have warm bodies! Not unless we’re really sick. Is she sick?”

Quexa pointed indignantly at the manuscript, and Daly looked over. He grinned. Luan kept smiling, but there was reserve in his tone.

“I’m sure Caroline could fix it. She’ll gain a class tonight, right?”

“If she doesn’t have it already. I’m surprised. You all don’t have levels. Even you, Luan. Even though you’re fast on the water.”

The Lizardgirl looked at Luan. He shrugged, glancing at the others.

“It’s complicated. But I’ll want to level. Especially if it makes me faster. We should all be trying to level up, I think.”

“We’ve all got [Warrior] classes, mate. Should we keep leveling those classes?”

Daly felt at the axe at his side. Luan hesitated.

“That’s up to each of us, Daly my friend. But we need to earn money somehow. We’re the United Nations company, and we need to feed everyone somehow. I’m going to make money by running messages in my canoe. That’s a good job.”

Quexa nodded absently. Luan looked at Ken.

“And Quallet wants us to be a company. Escorting Geneva around. And fighting. Not sure that’s the right thing to do. But we need jobs and that’s a fact, friends.”

The others grew silent. They sat up a bit. It had been a wonderful few days here. But Luan had reminded them of the facts. They weren’t on vacation. And their surviving the fighting in the jungles hadn’t left them rich. They’d been paid for the fighting, but it wasn’t as if Quallet and the other suppression companies had come out with money from the broken contracts.

“Well, we’ll have another meeting tonight. Caroline can be our [Writer], and the rest of us can look for proper jobs once we head to another town.”

“Yeah. Definitely. We’ll make it.”

Paige smiled. But there was a bit of uncertainty in the smile. Daly could hear her turn up the music in her headphones. Luan looked around. And then he started.

“Oh. Look who’s coming.”

Every head turned. And the Humans grew still. Some sat up a bit. Walking across the beach came another figure that everyone recognized. Her steps were quick, her gait only a slight bit uneven, favoring her left side. But for all that, Geneva Scala was distinguished. Not just her bearing either. No one who saw her could forget. There walked Geneva, the [Doctor]. The Last Light of Baleros.

She had saved hundreds of lives on the battlefield before Ken and the others had found her. Alone, working in the jungle with nothing but scalpel, needles, and healing potions. To the people of this world, her skills were unique. She could do what no potion or spell could. She had brought people from the edge of death without rest.

And it showed. Of the people on the beach, Geneva was the only one who was clearly not smiling. She looked—restless.

“Ken. Luan. Aiko. Hello. What’s happening?”

Geneva paused before the others. Luan turned to her, smiling a bit.

“Geneva, come and look at this.”

He handed her the parchment before anyone could object. Geneva read quickly, and then visibly paused. She frowned.

“This is…”

“It’s erotica. Caroline’s thinking of marketing it. You know, like a cheap romance novel?”

Geneva looked up. She didn’t smile. Her expression seemed to be a perpetual frown. No—more like a concentrated stare. And she was restless, as if she expected to be called upon at any moment. She considered the writing and then handed it back to Luan.

“That’s not the correct anatomy. But if it sells, why not? We need money. We need to leave this place soon.”

The smile faded from Luan’s face.

“Not just yet. We could stay a few more days, right?”

Geneva shook her head.

“We’re running out of money. Do you know how much we have left?”

Luan shifted uncomfortably.

“I do. But some of us are worn out, Geneva. We all need more of a break. You included.”

“I’ll be fine. But we can’t keep putting this off, Luan.”

Daly looked from Geneva to Luan and sat up a bit. The dark-skinned man hesitated. He looked at Ken and no one else spoke. Of the Earthworlders, he and Geneva were the oldest, which wasn’t saying much. At last, he nodded.

“We can leave soon. We’ll talk it over tonight.”

“Are we going to be working as a suppression company again, Luan?”

Paige called out. Luan looked at them. His eyes flickered. Everyone grew quiet.

“If we have to. But Quallet’s on our side, and a lot of Gravetender’s Fist stuck with us. We don’t have to go from battlefield to battlefield. He was saying he wanted to form a proper company, instead of a temporary suppression company. We could do stuff like…guarding places, right? Or we could get other jobs. We’ve got money. All we have to do is stick together.”

“Right. And we’ve got the Last Light of Baleros on our sight and Luan the almighty [Rower]. We’ll be fine, right?”

Daly joked. He heard a few sparse laughs. Luan smiled, but it only revealed a bit of strain. Geneva turned.

“We’re having another meeting tonight? Okay. I’ll be there. We can’t stay here forever.”

She walked off. Quickly, not even glancing at the ocean. As if she was being pursued. The others were quiet as reality came back. Slowly, Daly shifted.

“Guess we’ve got to get back to work.”

He stood up, brushing sand from his legs—

—-

Daly’s hand snatched a large bug crawling up his arm and hurled it off him. The biting thing flew off into the jungle. Daly rubbed at the bite. He made no sound. He heard Siri shift once, changing her stance. But neither she nor Daly sat down, despite their sore legs.

Sitting was a bad idea. Lots of things would crawl over them. And if they were unlucky enough to lie down on a nest of some kind—well, Daly had watched enough nature channels to know about army ants in the Amazon rainforests of his home. They were just a taste of the nasty things you could run into here. No. No sitting or sleeping. They didn’t intend on spending the entire night here, anyways.

“She was right. It really doesn’t look like that.”

Daly whispered to himself. He felt Siri shift, but he didn’t elaborate. He felt at his belt pouch again. The manuscript was longer. But it had never been finished to the author’s satisfaction. And it never would.

Caroline. Listening to her trying to come up with the right words and responding to their teasing each night had been so much fun. He’d really thought it would sell, too. Earn the money they needed. Until…

Daly felt his stomach gurgle. Not exactly in hunger. But it did remind him. He looked up.

“Siri. You eat anything?”

“Not hungry.”

Daly nodded. He wasn’t either. He’d eaten some dried jerky earlier, but he was too alert to settle for a real meal. Absently, he felt at his side. Let’s see. By his count it had been an hour and a half. If they were any longer, he’d have to—

Rustling. The crunch of footsteps in the soil. Daly froze, then turned. He felt Siri jerk to attention. Neither Human moved. Slowly, Daly rose into a low crouch. He reached for his side. The worn handle of an axe fit into his hand as he drew it. Siri, invisible, readied herself. The two were tense. And then—

“Crikey, what was that?”

Someone muttered ahead of them. Daly relaxed. He lowered his axe and grinned.

“Think it was a croc, mate. How’d you lot do?”

The figures ahead of him relaxed. Daly heard shuffling, then the outlines of four people—two male and two female—appeared. Like Siri and Daly, they were covered in mud and bits of nature. And like them, they barely spoke. In fact, they’d navigated their way here in almost complete darkness.

Almost. As they scooted into the camp, Daly could see one of them held what looked like an oversized firefly in their hand. A [Light] spell, but so faint that it barely provided any illumination. Which was the point.

“Sorry we’re late, boss.”

One of the latecomers murmured. He and the others trooped into the small camp space they’d set up. There was rustling—Daly moved aside as someone passed him. He saw the light pass him, and then a face came into view.

Dawson was a friend from home. But covered in mud, only his eyes were visible. He looked horrific in his jungle makeup. Daly nodded.

“Did you run into anything?”

“No. We had a clear go of it. But the damn buggers moved two hundred paces west. We had to follow them.”

“Can you find them again?”

“Definitely. They’re already asleep. So we can go as soon as we’re ready.”

That was good. Daly breathed out slowly in relief. At the same time though, he felt the tension racket up another notch.

“Give it twenty minutes. Anyone needs to eat? Get a mouthful in you. The rest of you—ready up.”

The others nodded. They shuffled around the camp, grabbing what supplies they’d left here. All in silence. Daly stretched. His legs were sore. Not only had he and the others set up camp here this morning, they’d spent all day tracking their quarry. They’d expected them to sleep later, but apparently it was lights out as soon as night fell. Well, it would speed up their job considerably. Daly didn’t want to wait another few hours like this.

“I’m gonna take a piss. I need a light.”

Someone muttered. The [Light] spell travelled to Daly’s left. He saw someone shuffle over. Male or female it didn’t matter. They didn’t get far enough away for anyone to not hear the quiet pattering sound. No one commented. Better embarrassment here than wandering too far out. And light was essential. You never knew what was around you.

That done, the others went back to getting ready. Daly already had his rucksack dropped, and he checked his weapons. He couldn’t afford something breaking. They’d only get one shot at this. The six of them had spent too much time to waste it here. And failing would have more repercussions than just wasted time and effort. It was their reputations on the line here. After all, they were adventurers.

Adventurers. Daly breathed in and out, slowly. His right index finger itched. It was an odd distinction. But adventurers were different from mercenaries in Baleros’ companies. They often fulfilled the same duties, but adventurers operated in smaller groups. They were hired for things like monster extermination over fighting other people. Usually. It didn’t mean the job was all that safer. Monsters were quite deadly.

But it beat killing people. There was that. Daly breathed in and out. String? Good. He loaded and unloaded the bulky weapon. He’d apply the poison at their destination. The [Alchemist] had told him it needed to be a fresh coat. He could hear the others doing the exact same check.

Silence. The minutes ticked by very, very slowly.

Aldenon, or Ald as he preferred to be called, sought Daly out as the others took a brief rest around the camp.

“Daly, I’ve got a bite. Something jumped up and got me on the way back.”

“Venomous?”

Daly was immediately alarmed. He looked down at his friend’s leg, but Ald shook his head.

“I don’t think so. It didn’t do much more than hurt. But it did bleed a bit. I didn’t want to use a healing potion until we could check it out. You know what Geneva said about venoms and potions.”

“Damn right. Let me see. Get that [Light] spell over here, Dawson.”

The light appeared again. Daly looked down and saw dried blood on a leg. He bent, squinted. Ald held still. Daly inspected the wound for eggs, discoloration, but saw nothing as he brushed at the mud and blood.

“Looks fine to me. Just a bit of blood. Not even deep.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Ald relaxed a bit. Daly nodded.

“It’s not gonna slow you down, although it might attract bugs. Already got one bugger in there. Let’s put a bandage over it. If it’s bad, Geneva’ll take care of it when she gets back.”

“I’ve got a roll right here. Let’s wrap him up and reapply the mud.”

Siri rummaged in her belt pouch. Daly nodded.

“Clean it first. Where’s the med kit Geneva worked up?”

“Here.”

One of the others tossed Daly a little rucksack. He opened it and fished out a canteen. The instant he uncorked it, a pungent smell rose from the bottle.

“It’s gonna sting, Ald.”

“Hah. I got bit by a Ghoul. Don’t worry about—fuck!”

Ald bit his tongue as Daly poured the alcohol over the wound and then rubbed the blood and dirt away with a clean bit of cloth. He bit his tongue and kept silent as the bandage was swiftly applied and wrapped up. Daly slapped his knee gently.

“Good as new. Let us know if it starts feeling worse, got it?”

“Thanks, Daly.”

The operation had been very quiet, despite the swearing. Daly corked the canteen and stowed it again, resisting the urge to take a sip. The liquid within wasn’t for drinking, tempting as it might have been.

Medical kits didn’t exist for most companies. They had healing potions and little else. But the thing about having a [Doctor] in your company was that she insisted you be prepared. After all, healing potions couldn’t cover everything. Hence the bandages and other kit they’d brought with them. Antiseptic was especially important. Geneva had been tearing her hair out over the problem. She had a Skill, but she couldn’t be everywhere.

In lieu of rubbing alcohol or a proper antiseptic, Geneva had ordered them to bring whiskey, or a hard grain liquor as a substitute. That was what Daly had poured on Ald’s leg. And the smell was distinct. Some of the bugs flew away at the odor. Some came closer to investigate. Daly heard a grunt.

“Pshaw. What’s that stuff you poured on Ald? That Firebreath Whiskey we bought? It stinks!”

“Yeah. We want to get rid of the smell before we’re on the move.”

Daly scowled. He shouldn’t have applied the stuff here. Sloppy. They had to be more careful. If this was a riskier mission or something had been nearby—

One of the others spoke up thoughtfully.

“You know, we might be able to make a Molotov out of that stuff. Good old-fashioned firebombs? Worth a shot?”

“Maybe…don’t think it’d do much damage against our targets this time. But it’d probably scare them. I don’t think it could start a fire in this wet. What do you think, Daly?”

Siri spoke up quietly. Daly gave it a moment’s thought.

“No. Not this time. We start throwing alcohol around and we’ll be in the red for this job. We’ve got poison. We’ll try that first, pull back and rethink if it doesn’t. Remember, aim for the eyes or the side. No one speaks until we get there. Ready?”

The others gave a quiet affirmative. Daly nodded.

“Move out.”

They stood up. In silence, the six left their camp. Dawson took point, leading the way through the tropical rainforest he’d memorized. Daly walked in the middle, Siri keeping up the rear. The light spell was barely visible. The footsteps were loud in Daly’s ears, despite everyone keeping quiet as possible. They were all listening for sounds that might indicate something lying in wait. They lugged their weapons with them, drawn, but not loaded. Not yet.

Bugs. Mud. Aching legs. There was only one reason for Daly to be out here, being eaten alive. And that was what motivated all adventurers.

Money. It always came back to money. Everything would be fine if they had enough coin. But they didn’t. And soon they’d realized what that meant. Daly’s teeth ground together for a moment before he stopped it.

If they’d only realized how much it cost to run a company, they wouldn’t have pushed so far…

—-

“We’re not going to make it.”

Daly looked up. Paige was counting their coins. Silver, coppers, gold—all of it was in Quallet’s personal bag of holding. And there wasn’t enough. He could see that. Even so, he asked, in case asking would change reality.

“Are you sure? How much do we have?”

“A hundred and eighteen gold coins.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?”

Paige shot him a glance. Daly winced. He scooted over and checked, but Paige had counted the coins into even piles of five. He held his breath. Luan and Geneva were not going to like this.

“We’re never going to get to Talenqual at this rate. We have to stop and earn money. Somehow.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Here. Another town? But we’ll starve long before we get there. And we’ll lose half our company before that. They’re already talking about needing to be paid. I’m surprised they haven’t brought it up until now.”

The others. Daly felt a lurch in his chest. It had been a week and a half of marching. They’d left the idyllic Lizardfolk village on the beach to march back through the jungle. North, towards one of the cities nearby. Quexa and the others had said it was a good place—peaceful, with opportunity to work. But the journey had taken longer than they’d thought.

No—they’d delayed too long. Too many days of stretching out on the beach, wasting money. And then they’d stopped at nice inns, not marched nearly as hard as they could. They were paying for it now. Quallet had insisted the Earthworlders and soldiers still with them pick up the pace, but the Humans from Earth hadn’t been able to muster the discipline, and none of the appointed leaders—Luan, Ken, or Geneva—had had the stomach to force the issue. Daly wished they had. Desperately, he counted the coins and tried to estimate how far they had to go.

“Look, if we all just eat rice—with some of that cheap meat the Lizardfolk sell, er, xelca, and we drink water, how much does it cost us each day?”

“Too much. I’ve done the math, Daly.”

Paige snapped at him. He knew she was just stressed. As the appointed treasurer of the United Nations company, she was already under pressure to save as many coins as they could. And that was before the issue in front of them—the Earthworlders were reluctant to give up the pay they’d earned and pool their funds, no matter how necessary it was, and the others weren’t about to do that at all.

The remnants of Gravetender’s Fist might have agreed to join the company, but they were still separate. Even Quexa and Quallet. And if there was no money to be had, they might up and vanish. And then how would the Earthworlders defend themselves?

“It’s too expensive. We’ve got too many mouths. Even rice and meat add up, Daly. We can’t always cook it ourselves, and it’s way more expensive if we’re paying for meals. That’s on top of paying for rooms, Geneva’s supplies, materials for the Dullahan’s armor, bug repellant, not to mention ink, parchment, [Repair] spells for the electronics…”

“Damn it. What do we do, then?”

Daly scrubbed at his hair. Paige shrugged.

“I’ve done all I can. I can only relay the bad news.”

Which she did. Every night, the leaders of the United Nations company gathered. In Quallet’s tent if they were camping, in a room in the inn if they were paying for lodging—six of them.

Paige, Daly, Ken, Luan, Geneva, and Quallet. The six of them were, each in their own way, leaders. Daly and Paige represented the Australians, who were the largest group of otherworlders who’d survived to join the company. Paige kept the money, Daly had found himself keeping people in line. Stopping them from fighting on the road, wasting money, and so on. Ken was their diplomat, responsible for negotiating prices and more of the peacemaking. Luan was Luan. Geneva likewise. And Quallet was their link to the outside world and common sense.

It was that the [Mercenary Captain] threw at them now. They didn’t want to hear it, but he was insistent. He paced back and forth, looking angry and irritated.

“Companies always bleed coin. The way we earn it is constantly being on contract. Or by controlling and selling a resource of some kind. If we were responsible for guarding a town, for instance…but we’re not. We need to find work.”

“You mean, by taking a fight. Going out there and killing some other poor buggers.”

“Not necessarily. Companies get paid to menace an area, or just patrol. We could take a job clearing pest monsters. Or even undead. Anything to get by. I thought that was why you formed this company.”

The man glared at Geneva and Luan. The two looked at each other. Luan spoke quietly.

“We don’t want to fight, Quallet. It’s too risky. People will die.”

“That’s what happens in a company.”

“It’s not what we want. This company is supposed to protect its members.”

“By letting them starve?”

“By protecting. Finding another way to earn gold. We’re not in this to start fights!”

Luan snapped at Quallet. The man ground his teeth together. Geneva looked up.

“I can do it. I’ll offer my services at a battlefield. If Quallet can get together some people to guard me, I’ll see if Calectus is willing to stay with us and guard me.”

“For free?”

Quallet was skeptical. He had every right to be. The Selphid, Calectus, was already thinking of leaving. He’d done his job guarding Geneva from everything without so much as asking for a copper coin—now he was hinting at leaving more and more with each passing day. He wanted to find some of his Selphid friends and bring them back to meet Geneva. He wouldn’t be happy to learn she was planning on going back to the battlefield.

Neither was anyone else. Ken protested immediately.

“Geneva, please reconsider. Doing something like working on the battlefield—it’s too dangerous, surely!”

The [Doctor] shook her head. Her hands moved restlessly on the table. Daly saw her left hand’s fingers moving, as if they had a mind of their own compared to the right. He shivered but kept silent.

“I’m no use here. I can at least earn money by saving lives on the battlefield.”

“That might be true. But we can’t protect you. When I said we should work as a company, I didn’t mean head to a battlefield as a third party. We should take small contracts. We don’t have the numbers or the punch to defend a target like you.”

Quallet looked at Geneva. She shrugged.

“Then I’ll go by myself.”

“This time they’ll kill you straight off. They won’t risk what happened last time. Word got around. You destabilize a battlefield. No [Strategist] will let you interrupt their plans.”

The Italian woman’s eyes blazed.

“What’s the other solution? Let everyone else fight?”

“It’s not necessarily going to come to battle! I told you, companies aren’t always at war.”

“And it if does?”

“You were [Soldiers]. Mercenaries. You survived one battle, and did it well. Why can’t you do it again—”

“Enough!”

Ken interrupted the two as they argued. He forced himself between Geneva and Quallet, speaking desperately.

“Please! Friends, calm down. No one is going back to the battlefield. We could not convince our friends, I think. We must find another way.”

Quallet subsided. Geneva stepped back unwillingly. The [Mercenary] looked at Ken and modulated his tone, but barely.

“That doesn’t change the fact that the rest of us came with your group because we thought it would be an opportunity. The Last Light, your strange lot—we’re with you. We are. But we have to earn a living and none of us have seen any coin.”

That was true. Quallet had funded them with his funds as well as their own. Daly looked down and gritted his teeth.

“We could fight. At least, do some patrolling. I’m sure at least half of us would sign up for it.”

He meant the Earthworlders. The Balerosian lot, Quexa included, were only too happy to act as a company. Quallet relaxed, but Geneva shook her head.

“I can’t let you do that, Daly. Not you or anyone else. At least two thirds of the Earthworlders are suffering from symptoms of PTSD. I’m not a psychologist, but that’s my diagnosis. And it’s an easy one to make.”

She looked from face to face. Quallet looked blank. Luan shifted.

“A lot of us have nightmares. Flashbacks. They’re unstable.”

“They’re green. This was their first battle. They’ll toughen up. I’ll keep discipline.”

Quallet growled. Geneva sighed loudly. He didn’t understand what they were talking about.

Paige spoke up.

“They’re afraid. They don’t want to fight. We’re not warriors, Quallet. We don’t come from a place where people fight. At all.”

“Well then, you’d better learn. Because a company that doesn’t fight dies.”

That was the last the man said. The others looked at each other. Luan sighed.

“If we stop here and let some of us take jobs while the rest work as a company, can you earn money from tending to people, Geneva? Enough to put us on the road?”

Geneva’s nostrils went white as she inhaled painfully.

“From what patients? Who needs a [Doctor] when you have healing potions? Besides, there aren’t enough injuries. Unless I’m on a battlefield—”

The door burst open. Quallet turned and Daly drew his axe in an instant. Dawson froze as he saw Daly turning towards him. Quallet seized Daly’s arm and brought the axe down.

“What the hell is it?”

He snapped at Dawson. Some of the color flooded back into Dawson’s face. The young man looked around the room.

“Caroline’s gone. Has anyone seen her?”

“No. Did she go outside?”

The others looked at each other. Dawson shook his head.

“We thought she was just somewhere else, but no one’s seen her all night. She was going out.”

“For a walk? I told you not to go out alone! Especially this late at night!”

“I don’t know if she did! But she’s missing.”

“Damn it. Let’s spread out and search. Daly, Paige, you follow me. The rest of you, stay here!”

Quallet cursed. He led the way out the door and Daly followed, heart pounding. They searched for Caroline, asking about the inn, checking the forest. Shouting her name.

They never found her.

—-

“It’s not going to work. We have to split up the company.”

Ken announced that fact to the group the next morning. Daly looked up. He was sleep-deprived, exhausted from a night of searching. Quallet jerked. He’d been half-asleep.

“What do you mean? It’s over?”

Luan and the others looked at Ken as well, in alarm. The young Japanese man hesitated.

“No. The company is not over. But—we cannot be together. Work under the same flag.”

He turned and bowed to Quallet.

“Captain Marshhand, it is clear to me that you wish to have a company that fights and operates as one. You have mercenaries, and I think, the will to earn a living that way, is that correct?”

Quallet nodded slowly.

“That’s right. I’m done with the suppression company work. I want a real company at my back, not new soldiers. And I’m willing to make your company into one.”

Ken nodded a few times.

“I understand that. But I think we have had a miscommunication. A terrible one. You see, Miss Geneva, Luan, and I—we are not trying to form a company that is for hire. We are forming a—a group that protects others like us. That finds other people from our home.”

“Earth. Your strange homeland. I understand that. What’s the problem? Larger companies control land, territory, and so on.”

Again Ken nodded.

“That is true. But this company is small. And those of us from Earth—we are not willing to fight. Some of us might to defend ourselves, but we do not wish to. And Geneva especially.”

Every eye turned to her. Geneva nodded.

“I can’t be part of fighting. Even if it’s just me tending to the wounded on one side—if anyone’s hurt, I have a duty to help them.”

“Well that’s just great. A [Doctor] on our side is our one big asset. You’re telling me you want me to fight—without including Geneva or most of you lot?”

It looked as if Quallet would burst a vein. Ken shook his head.

“No, I think that would be unfair. And I think you and the others would be unwilling. So I am saying…we should split up. Captain Quallet, you should form your company and split with ours. We will earn money ourselves. Your company will be independent.”

The others gathered around the table froze. Daly looked up.

“Hold on, Ken! If we’re alone, what will we do to defend ourselves?”

The young man looked at him. His eyes were serious.

“I do not know, Daly. We must defend ourselves. But I think it is better to do this than have the others leave at once.”

“So we’re going to abandon each other? Just like that? We just made this company!”

“We did not think it through properly. And in truth, I think this is for the best. We can remain allies. But we are not working towards the same goals.”

Ken looked sideways at Quallet. The man rubbed at his face.

“That’s…true. I felt like that from the start. Damn it. I think you’re right. We’re not working towards the same goals, are we? I’m all for fighting, but you lot—aren’t.”

“So that’s it? We split up?”

Ken nodded.

“Anyone who wants to go with Quallet can. His company will earn money—work independently. I hope, I feel that we can keep strong ties. But he will not owe us anything. If he needs help, we can exchange help. Geneva can tend to the injured. I can negotiate on behalf of the company—but we must earn a living by ourselves. Without fighting.”

“Find jobs. Settle down somewhere. I’ll earn money as a Runner, if I can do it rowing. Geneva can work as a [Doctor]. Maybe in a bigger city?”

Luan folded his arms and looked at Geneva. The Italian woman scrubbed at her hair with her right hand and nodded shortly. Ken turned and gave an apologetic bow to Quallet.

“Captain Quallet, I am very sorry about this. But I hope your company will keep good relations with ours.”

The man looked embarrassed.

“It’s…the best way. I won’t say this isn’t disappointing, but it’s for the best. We’ll split. My company will keep ties with yours, of course. But you’re right. We’ll split. I’ll tell the others. I think they’ll all come with me. And we’ll be searching for work today.”

Daly watched as he sat down with Ken to work out how much each group would keep of the remaining funds. Quallet was generous. More than he had to be, really. But it didn’t change the fact that when he left, the room was a lot emptier than it had been. Paige looked around.

“So we’re alone. No more mercenaries, no more Quallet to help us.”

Luan looked troubled.

“They have to earn a living. So do we. And we’re not fighting.”

“So? Baleros isn’t safe.”

Paige shot back. She was still upset. They all were. Caroline had vanished. No one knew if she’d walked into the forest and gotten lost, or if something had gotten her. Or if someone had. They couldn’t stay in the town.

It was hard breaking the news to the others. But in the end, the results were predictable. None of the Earthworlders wanted to go with Quallet. Not even Daly and the others who’d gained levels in the fighting. It was too much to face. His company prepared to part ways with theirs that evening. It was then that Quexa sought Daly out.

“Quexa?”

The Australian looked up. He saw the Lizardgirl fidgeting. She limped over on her peg-leg prosthetic. Geneva hadn’t been able to get anyone to carve or make a better fit.

“Quexa, are you going?”

The Lizardgirl nodded. She took a breath and then spoke in a rush.

“I am. It’s not that I don’t like you all—I do! But I wanted to be a mercenary and I guess you guys don’t. So I’m going. And we’re um, not going to talk. I mean, we can talk if we see each other again! It’s just that I think you and me are—are—”

A hole opened up in Daly’s stomach. He looked at her. Quexa went on, talking even faster.

“I like you! But I was also really upset after I lost my foot, I mean, who wouldn’t be? And I’m not sure it’s a good idea to be together. Right now. Because we’re going our separate ways and I really thought you’d come with us, but you didn’t. But if you did—but you won’t. Will you?”

She looked at Daly pleadingly. He hesitated and put his hand on the handle of his axe. Daly shuddered. He stood with Quexa for a while, head bowed.

Paige found him later. Daly was sitting, staring at the axe that Quallet had shown him how to use. He stood up as Paige came over.

“Daly? Are you alright? Quallet’s left. With the others.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.”

Daly looked up. He didn’t look at Paige. She hesitated.

“You’re sure?”

There was no need for him to answer that. He just looked at her as he buckled the axe to his belt. Daly shook his head.

“Let’s just keep moving. It’s not safe here.”

—-

“Keep moving.”

The present. Daly realized he was murmuring the words. He stopped. The others were glancing at him. Silently, Dawson changed their course, skirting a thick tree in the forest. Daly felt the weight of the axe at his side. And the heavy weapon in his hands.

It was weighty. Wooden, smoothed by sanding, but not varnished or polished. A hunk of wood, really. But strong for all that. And there had been skill in making it. Hard effort. The result might have been crude, but the tool was deadly nonetheless. Daly ran his hands over it carefully, checking the string, making sure the trigger was ready for a quarrel to be loaded into it.

He was holding a crossbow. A big one, far bigger than the small hand crossbows or even the regular-sized ones you saw most people carrying. This was a beast, made almost entirely of wood, save for a few small parts like the screws, sliding mechanism, and part of the trigger. But the rest was wood.

The other five adventurers carried the same. They moved through the underbrush, careful not to get the crossbows tangled on anything. It was twenty more minutes of walking before they reached their destination. When Dawson stopped, Daly knew they’d reached their target. He peered ahead as his friend beckoned him forwards. That’s when he saw them.

Boars. Or rather, something that looked like boars, lying about in the forest. Huge, lumbering things, as big as pigs bred for slaughter in his world. And covered in armor. Their fronts were covered in a dull, matted metal, smeared with dirt and plants and so on, but still noticeably metallic. It was steel, which gave the boars an impression of wearing jagged masks. Their tusks, their faces, were all covered by the heavy metal.

It made them deadly when they charged and they were incredibly aggressive. Hence their name. Stelbore. And they had a high bounty on their heads not just for the steel armor, but because of how aggressive they could be. Stelbore would kill travellers on the road. They ate almost anything. Like pigs.

They were all asleep. Lying on their sides. Nine of them. Two were very big, three more adults but Daly thought only one was male. The other four were smaller. Piglets. Boarlets. Whatever. Daly held up a hand and circled with his fist.

Spread out. The others did at once. They didn’t go far—but they moved from tree to tree, hiding themselves. Peeking out. Their crossbows were prepared, strings pulled back and waiting for ammunition. Now they pulled bolts from their quivers and dipped the heads into a little bottle each of them carried. Poison, bought from an [Alchemist]. It should work on Stelbore. It had worked on other animals, but these things were big. So Daly pointed at the boar and raised three fingers. Then he pointed at the—oh, the sow. That was it. The female Stelbore. He raised two fingers.

No one responded. But they’d gotten his message. Three of the team aimed their crossbows at the boar, the other two at the sow. Daly sighted on the boar as well. He waited, aiming slightly up from behind his tree, bracing the butt of the crossbow’s stock on his shoulder. In his head he spoke.

Aim.

The Stelbore’s underbelly was vulnerable. Exposed. Daly sighted. He felt the crossbow’s trigger pressing against his finger. Waiting for him to pull hard. The stock of the crossbow was smooth. Not entirely so; it wasn’t a professional piece, but it was sturdy. Daly knew that.

He’d carved it himself.

—-

“Hey Paige. Money.”

The young woman looked up. She blinked as Daly set down seven silver coins and two copper ones. A day’s work. He smiled wearily at her. She looked at the coins and up at him.

“How’d work go?”

He shrugged and sat down in the chair next to her. It was hard, wicker, but to him it was a heavenly thing. The little cottage they were renting was cramped, and air conditioning wasn’t a thing. The shutters were open to let a breeze in, but that just meant the hot, humid air was filling the room. Daly could feel sweat dripping down his body. Paige was perspiring a bit, even though she hadn’t been out in the sun.

“Not bad. I got worked hard. But it’s good work. My boss says I pick up stuff well—you know, for someone without the class. She’s looking forwards to seeing what Skill I get tonight.”

“So being a [Carpenter] suits you?”

Daly grinned wearily.

“Suits me and then some. I’m grateful. Didn’t think I’d ever land a job, but my boss is a Naga. You know? Has a big shop and decided to take a risk. It helped that I told her I admired her scales.”

“Ken’s trick?”

The young man nodded and leaned back, trying to find a comfortable spot in his chair. Ken had taught him and the others how to interact with some of Baleros’ races. They all had their peculiarities. For instance, you didn’t get handsy with Dullahans unless you were best friends. And even then it was rude. On the other hand, Lizardfolk loved contact and chatter. And one of their evolutionary forms, the Naga, was incredibly vain. They loved being complimented, hence Daly getting lucky.

“She gave me a trial run. I think she was impressed that I knew how to do some of the stuff she wanted already. You know, planing wood and so on? Apparently she has to explain it all to most of her apprentices.”

“That’s great news.”

Paige smiled. She added Daly’s coins to the little belt pouch she carried at all times quickly. Then she reached for her side. Daly saw her pull out her smart phone and work on it. The screen flashed—but dimly. It was at the lowest brightness setting to conserve power. Paige entered a few numbers and sighed.

“We’re in the black at last. Geneva’s gotten some more customers, and Ken thinks he can talk the Dullahan into leasing us the apartments until we can find something more permanent.”

“Really? I put us over the edge?”

That brought a smile to Daly’s face. Paige nodded.

“You did. Between Luan’s income as a City Runner, Dawson and the others finding work as [Laborers], and so on—we’re good. We’ve bought Luan a boat and paddles, we’ve got some healing potions stored away, Geneva’s set for materials—we don’t have to worry about coins this week.”

“What about [Repair] spells?”

“Accounted for. So long as no one drops their damn tablet or laptop, we can afford to recharge our devices this week. Once. Anyone who runs out of power before then can go without.”

Paige scowled for a second. She brushed at her hair and sighed. Daly noticed she was hunched over. He sat up a bit.

“Anything wrong? How’d it go holding down the fort?”

Paige shrugged. She hadn’t worked all day like he had, but she still looked tired.

“I was managing people, you know. Getting the others to get jobs. I had to kick Sofie into getting out there. And Ben was holding back some of the money he made. Or rather, he spent it.”

“That fucker. Want me to talk to him.”

Daly sat up with a scowl. Paige looked at him.

“I already handled it.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

He sat back. She shrugged.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m just tired. Plus, I had to explain to him why I wasn’t working myself.”

“Because you have to keep the rest of us from goofing off?”

“Exactly.”

Another smile. Paige sat up a bit.

“Anyways. I’ll deal with it, so you just get some rest. We’ll have dinner soon—I’ve bought more fruits.”

“Is it too expensive?”

She waved the phone at him as she turned the screen off.

“We’re in the black, remember? And Geneva insisted. We need a healthy diet. So no more rice and meat for us each night.”

“Aw, but I like eating rice and meat. It goes well with Ken and Aiko complaining about there not being any soy sauce.”

The two Australians laughed together for a second. And then Paige grew serious.

“About what we were talking about last night, Daly. I’ve been doing some sketches. Just—figuring things out, really.”

“And?”

Daly sat up, suddenly alert. Paige sighed. She opened her smartphone, this time to a drawing app and showed him a few sketches. They were rough—they’d been done with a finger, but it beat paying for parchment and ink. Besides how annoying it was to write on parchment, saving coins had been a vital necessity these last two weeks. As Paige had said, until now they’d been bleeding money and barely scraping by. Daly didn’t want to spend a copper coin more than necessary until they had money saved up, and he hoped his new apprenticeship as a [Carpenter] would help bring in that much needed silver.

Luan was already rowing from town to town with his canoe, learning the routes and earning money delivering for the Runner’s Guild. At the same time, Geneva was trying to earn money as a [Healer] would, and not finding much luck. The rest of the Earthworlders were doing what they could, even if that meant hauling goods from the docks all day. And Paige? She was working on doing more.

“I’m not an expert. I told you, I wanted to go into engineering, but in a completely different field.”

“Spaceships. Yeah. So do you have to be a rocket scientist to figure this out?”

She laughed tiredly.

“Better an engineer with actual experience in the workshop. Or someone who actually completed their degree. I’ve never built anything like this. I studied aerodynamics, not…look. I thought it over, and there’s no way I can make most of what we came up with.”

Daly’s smile faded.

“Damn. You sure?”

She nodded.

“I can’t make anything like a gun, Daly. Let alone something more complex. I mean, a gun’s doable, but gunpowder…I need sulfur, which is expensive. And I’d be making a matchlock. A gun you have to load by hand. You think that’d be useful?”

Daly thought about the Redcoats and how slow that was. He grimaced.

“Yeah. Not exactly great compared to a spell or a bow. What about an engine?”

She shrugged.

“Doable, I think, but a different problem. I know how some things work—like a steam engine, and I could experiment with making one. I’m sure I could make it in time, but I’d need specialized metalwork and lots of help. I’d need to hire a [Blacksmith], get high-quality steel, do experiments—none of which we can afford.”

“Right. Of course you do.”

It always came back to money. Daly sagged. Everything they needed, all the ideas the group had come up with to make something from their world that would earn them money—a steam engine to automate travel, or a forge to produce high-quality steel or just a gun—all of it required funds. Which they didn’t have yet.

“Hey. I’m not done yet. I did have one idea of something we could make. Or rather, I could make while you’re working.”

“Really? What?”

Daly opened his eyes. Paige swiped across the phone and showed him a picture. He took a second to realize what he was looking at.

“Is that a crossbow?”

“That’s right. They sell them in the markets. I visited an weapons supplier while I was buying dinner and checked one out. Apparently not just anyone can make them. Normal [Blacksmiths] can’t. They can forge the parts, but a specialist [Carpenter] usually has to put it together at least. Usually a [Bowyer] who knows how crossbows work.”

“But you can figure it out?”

Paige shot Daly a smile.

“I got everything just from looking. And I took a picture when he wasn’t looking. See?”

She showed Daly an image of the crossbow. He swore.

“Don’t go showing your phone about in public! Remember what happened with Dawson?”

“I was careful. But I had to have an image. And all the parts make sense to me. If I can get a [Blacksmith] to sell me a few parts, the rest we can make with wood. I mean, if a certain someone can get ahold of wood.”

She waggled her eyebrows at him. Daly grinned.

“Wouldn’t know where to begin, but I’ll ask around. I’m sure my boss’ll let me have some if I ask her nicely. Or offer her some silver. It’s not like wood’s hard to get around here.”

“True. But I need it cut to very specific sizes so it’ll fit together. I’ll have the measurements for you tomorrow. Can you—figure out how to get the best cut of wood? The strongest variety?”

There was so much they didn’t know. Daly made a note to ask his Naga boss. That was easy—she liked chatting as she worked.

“No problem. Hell, she’s probably helped make crossbows herself. Won’t be a thing.”

“Thanks, Daly. And I think I can improve the design. Or at least, make it bigger. I’m going to try and make an almost all-wood crossbow to begin with. Something cheap we can manufacture quickly.”

“Think it’ll sell?”

Paige smirked.

“If it’s good, it will. This is Baleros. But I was thinking. Maybe I can make one of those advanced versions. You know, a compound bow?”

“Oh?”

Daly only vaguely recalled hearing about them. Paige showed him another blueprint that looked a lot less like a proper crossbow to Daly.

“I don’t know how they work, but the idea makes sense. Some of the Americans were telling me about them.”

The young [Axe Warrior] and soon-to-be [Carpenter] nodded slowly.

“Oh yeah. I remember them talking about that. Wishing they’d brought their pistols. Or a fucking rifle. As if they’d be walking around the airport with one of those.”

“Frankly, I wish they had carried one.”

Paige’s face was bleak. Daly couldn’t argue with that. He looked out the window at Baleros thoughtfully. A bug flew in through the window. Both Paige and Daly eyed it, but it didn’t look menacing. Just big. Daly took off his shoe and smashed it.

“If one of the security agents appeared here—”

“They’d be dead.”

“They’d have a gun. A bastard appears here with a submachine gun? Or even a pistol?”

“Still dead. How many rounds do you think they’re carrying? Enough to fight off a company? And frankly, a [Juggernaut] would tear them apart. Let alone a bunch of Centaurs with bows.”

Daly shook his head. That was true. For a second he remembered and his hand twitched towards his axe. But he was a [Carpenter] now, a carpenter. He shook off the memory and looked at Paige’s phone.

“So try and make a compound crossbow if you can. Looks fucked to me. But I’ll settle for a crossbow. It’s not like this town’s that safe. They got hit by raiders two months back. Ken’s saying he doesn’t want to stay long, and I agree. But we have to earn enough coin and this is the best spot.”

“Agreed. I’ll make one as fast as I can. Compound crossbows are probably impossible until I’ve gotten a good bit of practice. But I can make you a good one. Even if it’s only made of wood…”

—-

“Wood? Crossbow. Wood? Wow, I’ve never seen one made out of wood before. I’ve seen metal ones made by Dwarves. But this is new. Weird.”

A week later, Quexa bent over the first crossbow. Her tail waved to and fro and her neck fills opened a bit as she inspected the crossbow that Daly and Paige had labored over in their spare time. Paige held her breath as Daly just watched Quexa.

She looked…good. Good, for someone with one foot. She could move fairly fast on her peg leg. Fast enough to keep up with Quallet’s company, at least. The revitalized Gravetender’s Fist company had been working in the area. They were still burgeoning, but they’d earned enough to justify a vacation in the town where Daly and the others were staying. Quexa had been the first person they’d shown the crossbow to—they were hoping to impress Quallet with it.

But the Lizardgirl didn’t immediately jump for joy, despite Daly’s hopes. The rampant enthusiasm that most Lizardfolk exuded upon seeing a new thing was tempered by Quexa’s critical eye. She’d seen more fighting. Even though she was a [Sorcerer], it was still dangerous work. But she’d made her choice. Daly ignored his stomach twisting as he watched her.

“Well? How’s it look?”

Quexa looked up speculatively. She hesitated, bit at her lip with sharp teeth. And then she shrugged.

“Mm. I’d give you…two gold coins for it? Maybe two gold coins and eight silver?”

“Two gold?”

Dismayed, Daly and Paige looked at each other. That hardly seemed like enough to justify all the effort and time—not to mention resources they’d burned on it. Paige protested.

“At least make it four gold coins. Why the low price?”

A decent, used steel sword could cost eight gold coins. At least! But Quexa could only shake her head.

“It just doesn’t look that good. I mean, compared to a metal crossbow, right? And if you made it cheap, it’s not that great, isn’t it? And crossbows aren’t that useful. I mean, they have to be strong or what’s the point? Your quarrels will just bounce off armor or a monster’s hide. So it’s not that great. Sorry, is this rude? I’m not trying to be rude.”

She glanced at the two, giving Daly a quick look before looking away. Daly sagged. That was true. This was made of wood. And it wasn’t—polished. Even with all the sanding he’d done and the varnish he’d applied, it was still rough around the edges.

“But it is powerful. Maybe not as powerful as a regular crossbow, but it’ll do the job. Surely that’s worth something. Even if it’s not worth a full crossbow’s price.”

That was Paige’s argument. She repeated it when she and Daly and Quexa showed the weapon to Quallet. He grunted.

“Give to me. Do you have any bolts?”

Daly did. They were wood-tipped and the fletching was wood too. Quallet eyed them, but he took five and tried the crossbow out. He grunted, pleasantly surprised by the strength it took to cock the bow. He fired five shots, landing most of the bolts close to the target Paige and Daly had set up. Daly whistled—Quallet had a far better aim than he did.

“Not bad. It’s strong. Heavy, though. I’d pay you three gold coins flat out for one of these. But Quexa’s right. It’s not worth paying nearly as much as I would for a regular crossbow. Sorry.”

“Would it be worth more if I used metal?”

Paige was visibly upset. Quallet hesitated, then nodded.

“At least sixteen gold coins, then. It’s not just the power of the crossbow, you see. Metal implies it’s a lot sturdier. It can fire harder.”

“But I’m sure this can compare to a smaller one.”

“Maybe. But it’s wood. Most companies will rate wooden weapons very poorly. Even crossbows. Sorry, but that’s just how it is.”

Quallet handed the weapon back to Daly. He stared down at it.

“Well, fuck. Guess we’re not getting rich this way.”

He looked at Paige. Then back at Quallet.

“Okay. It’s not worth much on the market. But you said you’d pay gold for these. Can we sell them to you?”

“Us?”

Quallet and Quexa blinked. The Lizardgirl frowned.

“We don’t need that many bows, Daly. And we’ve got [Archers] who have their own weapons.”

“Yeah, but everyone could use one of these. Paige is going to make one for everyone in our group. You’re not thinking of it like we are.”

Daly hefted the crossbow. He pulled the string back, made sure the trigger was holding the rope, and then grabbed a quarrel. He looked at the others.

“I’m armed now. I get one shot—more if I have a quiver of say, twenty bolts. And that’s just me. I don’t need practice to use one of these. I don’t need a class or Skills. One of these hits you in the face? You’re dead. Give one to each person in the company, and we’ve got dozens of crossbows. With wood quarrels, and practice, how many can we shoot a minute? Six? That’s a lot of shots.”

Quallet frowned.

“I’ve heard of all-ranged companies, but I never thought I’d build one. You’re saying to lug these things around? That’s a lot of weight.”

“For a free shot at the beginning of the battle? Why not? Bring ‘em, fire them, and grab your other weapons. And if you teach your lot to fire them fast—”

Daly was staring down at the crossbow. He turned to Paige.

“We might not make a fortune with this, but we can defend ourselves. And fight. Earth-style.”

She nodded. Paige looked more hopeful. Defense. They’d been worrying about that issue. A lot of the Earthworlders could fight, but it didn’t come to them naturally. But this? This was almost like a gun. Quallet and Quexa didn’t see the danger, but Daly had come from a time where guns could fire faster than you could see. He looked down at the crossbow and wondered if this was a good idea. Then he reconsidered.

It was better than being defenseless.

“All we need now’s a boomerang. Think you can make one of them, Paige?”

She almost smiled. Daly handed the crossbow to her and then took a deep breath.

“Paige, figure out a way to make these things even stronger. I’m going to talk to Ken. Once you and I make more—a dozen or so, I’m going to quit my carpentry job.”

“What? Why? I thought you liked it.”

Daly did like it. But he was doing the math in his head.

“We’re not earning enough money like this. Someone needs to pull in lots of coin and Luan’s already doing deliveries day and night. Geneva’s not getting much business aside from the occasional person with a chopped-off limb. So. I’m going to apply to be an adventurer.”

—-

And so here they were. Adventuring paid more than carpentry. A lot more. At least, if you took contracts that had risk in them. The bounty on a herd of Stelbore, even a small one, was gold, not silver. The only risk was dying.

The Stelbore would gut Daly and the others if they charged. That meant they couldn’t. Daly waited, aiming at the boar’s flank. He didn’t hesitate. You couldn’t. He spoke softly.

“Now.”

He pulled on the metal trigger and felt the crossbow kick. The string snapped through the air and the quarrel launched through the air. For less than a second it flew, and then it buried itself in the Stelbore’s unguarded belly. Five other crossbows snapped at the same time.

The sound was loud. Not nearly as loud as a gunshot, but still loud. The crossbows were powerful. And the impact pressed the wood stock into Daly’s flesh. The bolts were just as deadly.

The Stelbore woke up instantly as four bolts slammed into it. It squealed a piercing sound in the night, and the other Stelbore woke up. The sow who’d been hit shrieked. But Daly was already reloading, silently. He lowered the crossbow to the ground, put his foot in the wooden stirrup Paige had added and pulled on the string. It was heavy, but adrenaline gave Daly strength. He lifted the crossbow and grabbed a bolt.

[Reinforced Frame]. [Quick Assembly]. [Advanced Crafting]. Paige had leveled up quickly. Each Skill had made the wooden crossbows stronger. Daly aimed. He heard Siri fire before him. He pulled the trigger again as the Stelbore writhed, this time Daly aimed for one of the smaller Stelbore.

Snap.

The sound of the string snapping by his ear made Daly’s ear ring this time. But the sight of one of the boars floundering was worth it. The other crossbows snapped as Daly bent, reloading his bow again.

This was his team’s weapon. His company’s weapon, in truth. Paige had learned to make crossbows, so they all had one. It was a simple weapon to learn to use. True, each one was large and bulky, cumbersome to haul about. But Daly’s team had gotten far enough practice by now to make lugging the crossbows around manageable. As for their aim—

The Stelbore were racing about, questing for their enemies. But they were blinded in the night, confused and panicking, still half-asleep. And Daly and his team were covered in mud, hiding behind trees, wearing the scent of the forest. They loaded and fired at their helpless targets. Was it fighting fair? No. But they’d die if even one or two of the Stelbore charged them. This was how you fought.

Click. Crack. Pull. Click. Crack. It was a rhythm. Daly didn’t think. He just bent, reloaded, straightened, and fired. He barely paused to aim at the unshielded parts of his targets. He had practiced too many times to hesitate. Hesitation meant death. Again. The crossbow kicked in his hands. Again.

Pull.

Crack.

Pull.

Crack.

Crack.

Cr—

—-

The sound was a roar. One of the [Bandits], their leader, had just exploded a tree on the outside of the town as a demonstration. A warning. The townspeople raised their heads as the [Fireball]’s detonation rained flaming branches down on the area. The rest of the bandits pawed the ground and shouted.

They were Centaurs. And they had come to loot the town. Or be paid a ransom. Either one worked, and they were quite willing to spill blood. But the leader of the group, a [Mage] with a staff, paused as someone came towards them, holding a white flag.

Geneva Scala walked forwards, ignoring the [Bandit]’s jeers. She spoke loudly, holding her hands up as the Centaur leveled his staff at her.

“I am a [Doctor]. The people in this town are armed. Please, don’t do this.”

“You’re the Last Light of Baleros?”

One of the Centaurs gave a braying laugh. The leader of the bandits grinned down at Geneva. She looked up at him.

“Some people call me that. I’ve taken an oath not to harm people. Please go back and leave this place alone.”

He spat on the ground in front of her.

“Humans and oaths? Well, you can stand there in that case. We’ll see what the Last Light’s worth to a Chandrar [Slaver]. As for the town—if I don’t see gold in five minutes, we burn the place down? You hear that?”

He roared at the town and the bandits cheered. They were ready to charge. Some of them had lances—Centaurs were born to charge, even more than a [Knight] on horseback. Others had bows. They’d strafe the town, burn it to the ground.

“Don’t do this.”

Geneva looked up at the bandit leader. He snorted at her. He raised his staff and aimed at the town—

Click.

The impact of the crossbow rammed into Daly’s shoulder. The sound of the string snapping was the only thing he heard. He saw the quarrel leave his bow from his hiding place on one of the rooftops. He didn’t see the bolt. But he saw the Centaur stagger, drop the staff.

“Company—fire!”

Below him, Quallet roared. Across the town, more of Gravetender’s Fist and the United Nations company rose to their feet. Others standing on the rooftops or hidden behind cover poked out and loosed a first barrage. The Centaurs jolted as the bolts struck them, some splintering on armor, but most finding flesh. They screamed and charged.

“Reload! Spears forward! Hold back—hold!”

Daly pulled at the crossbow with shaking hands. But he was watching too. He saw the first Centaur charged down the main street—

And collapse. He went crashing to the ground as the first of the ropes intercepted him. Daly aimed down at him as the other Centaurs tried to slow and another struck the rope, ripping it from the moorings. Quallet’s soldiers rushed forwards. Daly shot another Centaur in the chest. And then another.

“Stop! Stop!”

At some point someone shouted the words. But Daly kept firing. He only stopped when someone grabbed him. Daly’s hand grabbed the axe—he saw Quallet raise a hand. The [Mercenary Captain] looked at him. There was blood on his armor, none of it his. He pointed.

“Stop. They’re running away.”

The bandits were fleeing. The survivors were just that—survivors. They’d been cut down by Gravetender’s Fist as well as the townsfolk and the Earthworlders armed with crossbows. They hadn’t expected to run into reinforcements, let alone that many bolts flying every second. Daly descended to the street and heard cheering.

Not from the Earthworlders. They stood, staring at the Centaurs. The half-horse, half-Human folk lay in the street, dead or dying. Daly stared down at them. Then he looked up at Quallet.

“This is how we do it. We take them to pieces. Ambush them. Rope traps for the Centaurs and anyone who charges us.”

“You mean, as adventurers?”

The mercenary looked grave. Daly nodded.

“Crossbows and traps. Paige can make more.”

“We’ll buy them. Wood or not. After seeing that—”

Quallet indicated the dead bandits. He looked at Daly.

“You can make those quick. With less resources than most [Blacksmiths] or [Carpenters] would charge for. Are you thinking of creating a market?”

Daly looked across the battlefield that had been the town only minutes before. He saw someone running this way. Geneva. She was shouting for Aiko, looking for survivors. Among the bandits. He shook his head, a cold pit in his stomach.

“Not to everyone.”

This was how they fought. It was close to home. But different. Daly knelt in the dust and looked at a fallen Centaur. He felt his hands itch. But he made himself look. Then he checked if the Centaur was carrying any money…

—-

The battle ended before Daly knew it. One second he was loading his crossbow, the next, he couldn’t find anything to shoot at. The Stelbore were lying on the ground. A few had fled, but they’d died quickly. Still, Daly emerged from cover first. He only signaled the others forwards when he was sure it was clear.

“Poison worked. Or it just bled out.”

Siri checked the boar they’d hit first. It was lying on its side, a huge tusk facing the sky. Daly nodded. He took a shuddering breath. They’d won. The jungle was filled with noise, awoken by the blood and violence. He took another breath.

“Right, let’s strip these bastards and get out of here. Half butcher, two on watch. Siri, Dawson?”

They got to work. Daly knelt and began the gruesome task of cutting the Stelbore’s distinctive armor off. He ignored the rest of their bodies—they were far too big to carry and besides, the poison bolts made that an obsolete option anyways. It was very hard to separate the steel armor from the boars’ heads, but they had time.

Bugs began descending on the corpses before Daly was done. He had to trade off with Siri and Dawson; his hands were numb. But they did it. After about an hour, the Stelbore were stripped of metal and Daly was working up a sled to carry the stuff.

“We’ll be a target. So we want two people in front until we get to the road. Then we’re straight back to Talenqual. Got it?”

They nodded. The team trooped back through the rainforest, three hauling the sled, one on point, the other two moving ahead in case something heard them. Still in silence. Daly had tried to recall all the knowledge he could about operating in hostile environments. All the stupid things you saw on TV, all the little facts—all of it became life-or-death stuff here. The team didn’t smile. They just put their backs into it until they got to the road. Then, muddy, tired, but alive, they headed back towards Talenqual, the city that had eventually become the home of the United Nations company.

Adventurers.

—-

“Bushrangers reporting in. We’ve killed nine Stelbore on the contract and we have their remains. I’m ready to claim our bounty, turn in the materials, and take a bath.”

The [Receptionist] at the Adventurer’s Guild was a young male Centaur. He stared at Daly and then at the bloody pile of Stelbore steel. He opened his mouth and blinked again. He must be new.

Daly knew he was a sight. Though he’d scraped off a lot of the mud and camouflage on the way back, he still had grime all over him. And bites. And he stank, to put it lightly. Still, that was true of most adventurers coming back from a job. Well, some didn’t look like they’d rolled in the mud.

“Wow.”

That was all the Centaur managed after a while. He gulped, looked down at the Stelbore armor, and then fiddled with the papers in front of him.

“You’re uh, the Bushrangers? I’ve heard of you! It’s a pleasure to meet you. Did you say you killed nine Stelbore? By yourselves?”

“Only five adults. The rest were piglets. I assume we get paid the same either way?”

“Of course, of course. Stelbore are counted by the numbers—assuming the little ones had armor? They don’t count if they’re fresh. Litters and all that. Right, right. Let me just calculate—um, we’ll need to weigh the Stelbore armor. But you can leave it here and we’ll do the job! I just need you to sign—hold on…”

Flustered, the Centaur fumbled with his papers. Daly gave him a weary smile. The rest of his team was relaxing in the plain wooden chairs, practically dead on their feet.

“Don’t worry mate, another minute won’t bother us.”

The smile did as much as the words. The Centaur relaxed.

“Thank you. You know, I really am glad to meet you. I heard about the all-Human team that popped up. You’re practically invisible on the job, or so I hear. Even some of the [Ranger] and [Rogue] teams are talking about it.”

“Hey, we’ve had some practice.”

Daly shrugged. He could sense eyes on his back, and not just because of the haul they’d brought in. It was true. His team was a rising name, and in a city like Talenqual, which had a fair number of adventuring teams, that was a pretty good feat. He glanced down as the Centaur presented him a form to sign.

“Right here, please. Name and team.”

Captain Daly, Bushrangers.

Daly had to smile a bit as he signed it. Bushrangers. Now there was a name that would call anyone from home who heard it. Anyone who knew basic history, that was. He’d chosen it for that reason, and also because it fit how his team operated.

The Bushrangers were a Silver-rank team, by virtue of hard work more than impressive gear or high levels. They all carried crossbows, and did mostly hunting jobs. They worked in stealth, and didn’t get into melees unless they could help it. They played it safe and didn’t punch above their weight.

Even so, the work was hard. Daly was proud of his team and so he didn’t spend time talking with the Centaur. He just collected their bounty, agreed to come back the next day for their payment for the Stelbore steel—or claim it after paying the guild’s tax on monster parts—and headed over to their team. Dawson was complaining as Daly came over.

“Fuck me, but did we have to wear all that mud? I get that it’s great camo—I can barely see myself sometimes. But did we need it against boars?”

Daly tilted his head and wondered if he should respond. But Siri, the Swedish girl they’d picked up three weeks back, responded. It had been her idea to use camouflage—that was how she and Tofte had survived after being transported to Baleros.

“It’s necessary, Dawson. It’s our edge. The one thing we’ve got over the other teams—over other companies and mercenaries—are our tactics and tools. They’ve got higher levels. They’re Dullahans in armor and Centaurs and so on. We can’t afford mistakes. If we have to wait for half a day for our targets, we do.”

“In silence.”

“It’s part of the job. Believe me, I’d outtalk you, Dawson. But if it means surviving another day, I’ll go without flapping my mouth. If it’s too much, we can rotate you onto a break.”

Daly interrupted the conversation, surprising Dawson. The burly Australian looked up and grimaced.

“Aw, I’m just talking shit, Daly. Don’t mind me. It’s better than killing zombies with a hammer, or watching a fucking [Mage] vaporize half the forest.”

“Too right. So what say you we get out of here and get back to a real bath? Dawson can use the ocean.”

“Fuck off.”

That cheered up the others. They stood up, ready to get some well-deserved rest. Daly was leading them to the door when someone walked in front of him and barred his way. Several someones.

A group of Dullahans in metal armor—iron, not steel, but good iron—walked forwards. They were all carrying shields and maces or axes. They looked like a Silver-rank team that Daly had sometimes seen going in or out. He’d never exchanged words with them before. But it looked like today was the day. Daly stopped as their leader, a female Dullahan with blonde hair, darker skin, and a rather Grecian nose looked down at him.

“So this is the Bushrangers. Mud covered, filthy as well as arrogant. Which is to be expect of Humans, it appears. Thieves as well as vagabonds.”

The Bushrangers stopped. Some of the other adventurers who’d been gossiping looked around and fell silent. Daly saw the Centaur at the desk gulp and back up. He paused, forcing his hand not to move to his side. His team was tired, their crossbows were unstrung, and the Dullahans looked like they were spoiling for a fight. Why?

“I’m sorry, have we met?”

The Dullahan glared at him.

“I do not believe so. But one does not have to meet an enemy to know them? Or a thief, who steals a rightful assignment. Is that not so?”

“No.”

The other Dullahans chorused together. Daly felt a rising urgency in his stomach. But he forced it down, forced himself to think.

“I’m sorry, but I still don’t know what you’re talking about. Thief? I don’t believe we’ve stolen anything. Those Stelbore were our kill.”

“They may have been killed by your team, but it was our team, the Rustless Guard that deserved to hunt them down. We requested the assignment before you. And you took our quarry.”

The Dullahan adventurer snapped at Daly. He sucked in his breath. Uh oh. He hadn’t heard about another team taking on the Stelbore assignment. Requests to hunt down monsters were first-come-first serve. But there was such a thing as politeness among adventurers. How much politeness depended on which team it was. But these were Dullahans and it looked like they’d taken offense.

What should he do? Starting a fight wasn’t it. Daly’s mind raced. He fell back on a certainty. What were Ken’s rules for Dullahans?

Meet their eyes. Don’t give way, but be respectful. Talk to the Dullahan in the shiniest armor—the one who’s speaking. Make it clear what your rank is. Give and take in equal measure.

Daly looked the female Dullahan in the eyes. He bowed slightly, which surprised her and the others.

“First, pardon me. I’m Daly Sullivan, Captain of the Bushrangers. May I ask who I’m speaking to?”

The Dullahan hesitated. Then she slowly unfastened her head from her shoulders and held it up with one hand, the Dullahan version of a bow.

“You speak to Captain Eldima of the Rustless Guard.”

Daly gave her his best smile.

“Honored to meet you. Captain Eldima, let me be honest. If we stepped on your toes, it was unintentional. We had no idea someone else had the contract. We only saw the Stelbore contract yesterday and went out to collect it at once. Just like us hasty Humans, huh?”

His words provoked a chuckle from around the guild. As Humans, Daly and his team were in the minority. But being called ‘hasty’ was an insult Dullahans applied to Lizardfolk and Centaurs. A bit of humor went a long way. And one of the Dullahans behind Eldima cracked a smile before hiding it. Her lips twitched—a very good sign.

“You didn’t stop to inquire about the beast? My team had been preparing. We were in the guild, making our intentions clear.”

Daly spread his hands out.

“Again, we set off right away. We had poison pre-bought so we didn’t linger. My sincere apologies. If we’d known, we would have let your team handle them.”

He saw two of the Dullahans shift. Eldima’s eyes flickered. Daly was giving them a good excuse, but there was something else Ken had said about Dullahans. They don’t like to be seen to have made a mistake. Always offer them an honorable out. As opposed to Centaurs, who need to always ‘win’ an encounter regardless of whether or not they actually do.

Daly thought quickly, and then gestured towards the door.

“Tell you what, why don’t we buy you a round at the very least? Then we can tell you how miserable it was tracking down those damn Stelbore, and you can tell us how you would’ve hunted them. Because, frankly, next time I think I’ll let someone in armor take those freaky pigs down.”

His words provoked another laugh. And this time Eldima actually joined in. She hesitated, put her head back on her shoulders, and then held out a gauntleted hand.

“I accept. There is a bar we frequent. Allow us to buy the second round.”

“I’d be honored.”

Gingerly, Daly shook Eldima’s hand so as not to dirty her spotless armor. He followed the Rustless Guard out, and nudged Dawson on the way. On cue, the others in his team began striking up the Dullahans in conversation, and such was the change in mood that they even dragged a few other teams out for an impromptu drinking session.

—-

An hour later, Daly and his team exited the bar a bit lower on coin, but higher on friends. They walked down the street, a tad unsteady for sleep and alcohol, as Dawson burped. The cheap alcohol they’d bought was going through Daly as well and he felt the increasing need to relieve himself—and take that bath.

“Captain, you’ve done it again. I thought for sure those Dullahans would try and mix it up.”

“That was impressive.”

Siri agreed. She looked at Daly, eyebrows raised. He only smiled.

“Wasn’t a thing, boys and girls. Just a bit of the Down Under charm. Learned it from the master himself. Ken would’ve had those guys buying us the next round if he were here. Speaking of which—let’s get back to base before we have to spend more money on angry adventurers.”

“I’ve only met Ken once. Do you think he’s back? With the [Doctor]?”

Tofte looked at Daly. The Australian frowned.

“Maybe. They were going from city to city, trying to find work for Geneva and some of the stuff she needs. All down the main roads—but they didn’t know when they’d be back. I hope they return soon. Them or Luan.”

He hadn’t seen the rower in a while. But Luan kept bringing gold back every time he returned. Daly only hoped all that money was going to good use. They were in the black and they had been for a while, but their company could use a lot more coin. For Luan as a Runner, for his team, for Paige…

And for their home. Daly slowed as he came to a large building. It was, in fact, two apartments, but they’d been bought, converted into one place, and now housed more bodies than it strictly should. The house was on the outer edges of the city, closer to the rice fields in fact. Not far past it you’d get to the roads. But it had a nice wooden frontage, and Daly knew they’d been spotted because the doors opened and someone waved at him.

“Daly!”

He grinned up at a girl who smiled at him.

“Hey, Kirana. We’re back. Is Ken back? Geneva? Luan?”

“None of them. But Paige is here and she told us to make you baths!”

That cheered up the Bushrangers considerably. They stormed up the stairs, fighting to be the first ones up. They pushed into the door, greeting Kirana, a girl from India, and some of the other Earthworlders who came to greet them. Daly let them precede him, and then greeted the girl who came to the door.

“Paige. We did it.”

“Never doubted it. How’d the bows work? Any problems?”

Paige looked different. Two months and a half ago, she’d still had something of a shell shocked look. She’d been dressed in her Earth clothing, and wouldn’t let her smartphone out of her sight. Now she had on the loose, light Balerosian dress. Her Earth clothes were safely stored away, as were Daly’s, for the most special of occasions only. And while she had her smartphone, it was as a tool now. Paige’s hands were callused from working with designs and models and she had a different aura about her.

“Crossbows worked fine. So long as we hit the bellies. It wouldn’t have done a thing if they were charging us, though. We needed that poison.”

Paige nodded, but she still demanded Daly’s crossbow and gave it a quick inspection.

“No signs of fraying or cracks in the bow. Good.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“You would be if you’ve ever seen one of the bows snap. But it looks good. I’m working on getting steel bows made. And a mechanism for pulling the drawstring back. That way I can make the strings a lot heavier.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Daly signed as he sat down in a chair. Kirana eyed the mud he was tracking in, but she didn’t say anything. She knew where he’d been, and the gold he placed on the table caught the light in a very pleasant way.

“Our pay. We had to use a bit of it to soothe some ruffled Dullahan nerves. But the rest’s here.”

Paige eyed the gold coins and silver. She took half and handed the rest back to Daly.

“You can keep it. Get some more gear for your team. I’ve got enough to keep us afloat.”

“You sure?”

Daly stowed the coins away in his belt pouch. It was something, that every coin wasn’t going to just paying for food and board. He still felt like they needed a lot more. Magical bolts, gear to fight monsters that actually got the drop on him—

But that was an issue for later. Right now, Daly just wanted a bath.

“We have enough tubs for all of us?”

“You’ll have to wait. Getting something like plumbing’s on my list of things to do. But for now—bathtubs. Don’t worry about water. Kirana and the girls hauled enough for all of you.”

“You’re the best.”

Daly smiled in relief. He stood up as Dawson tramped down the stairs, half-naked, shouting about leeches in his unmentionables. Some of the Earthworlders who’d come to greet them shouted obscenities—others just looked away. Daly laughed, found a tub, washed himself, and felt more alive.

There was no dinner with the others—they’d arrived back far too late. But there was hot food, courtesy again of Kirana who’d taken over those duties from Paige. The Bushrangers ate like starving animals, and then they sat about for a while.

Daly’s finger was twitching. He covered it with one hand and looked at the others.

“I think we’ve earned some quality time with the computer. Anyone up for it?”

They looked up. Half of them were asleep on their feet, but they all nodded. Daly led them up the stairs.

“Hey, who’s got the movie laptop? We’ve got dibs! Give it here and I swear, if anyone’s been draining the battery playing video games…”

His threat went unanswered. The laptop lay in one of the big sleeping rooms set up for multiple people. The Bushrangers found blankets, pillows, and sat together as Daly fussed with the laptop. He looked over his shoulder as Siri sank onto the ground, looking completely different from the mud-covered adventurer with the crossbow. She looked like a girl he’d ask out if he saw her at the bar or in class now. An ordinary, young woman from Earth. He remembered her shooting a Stelbore from the cover of a tree. His finger twitched.

“Ah—what’re we watching this time? The Hobbit?”

“Only if you want me to fall asleep right now.”

Dawson groaned. Siri, who liked all things Lord of the Rings, elbowed him hard. He grunted. Another young woman looked up looked up.

“Can we watch The Martian again?”

“Again?”

One of the other Bushranger groused, but without any real rancor. Kami, their best shot, stared at the glowing screen in the dark room.

“I just want to imagine somewhere cold. And see spaceships and computers and—”

And home. She broke off. No one said anything. Daly cleared his throat.

“The Martian it is. Subtitles?”

“Go to hell.”

Dawson threw a pillow at him. The others laughed. Daly left them on anyways.

A lot of the people who’d been transported from Earth had brought their electronics. But not all of them had survived the initial chaos. Even fewer had survived the fighting. And of what remained, the devices and gadgets were prized. Someone had kept a USB cable, and so every laptop had been given the same software. Much swearing had taken place when it became obvious that the Macs would not accept any kind of data transfer. So the laptops that ran Windows, and in one case, Linux, were prized and fought over.

Not just for the movies. For the music, video games—pictures of home. Daly started the movie and sat back as the movie’s grand sound was redirected through the poor speaker system. At least the quality was good—every time the laptop was [Repaired], it went back to perfect quality. Better, in fact, than it had been when Paige had first bought it.

The plot of The Martian was one Daly could recite by heart. Only a few movies had been kept across all the devices. The Bushrangers had all watched this particular movie at least sixteen times, even the newcomers like Siri and Tofte.

Daly had seen it twenty three. Practically every night someone would be using the laptop, never mind that they’d have to get it charged up using a [Repair] spell. Even on lowest brightness, even sitting together, necks craned to see the small screen—it was worth it. It was one of the few things that kept them sane.

The others began falling asleep sometime around the point where Matt Damon began excavating crap out of the compost. Daly kept watching. His eyes began to blur. But then something exploded on screen and he leapt to his feet, reaching for his axe. He only realized it was a movie after a second.

Heart pounding, Daly sank back down again. He tried to sleep. And it closed back on him, but with dark edges. No matter how much Daly tried, he couldn’t stop his trigger finger from twitching. And when Daly closed his eyes, he could still hear Centaurs and Dullahans killing each other, and he raised his crossbow and fired. And pulled. And fired. And pulled. And—

And he dreamed of being home. It was the most fleeting, most wonderful of dreams. Daly slept. And his people, his family who had lost their homes, his company slept around him. The United Nations. The lost nations.

Dreaming of Earth.

6.05 D

Back home, Daly would have been enjoying his summer break. He’d be flying back, looking forwards to being home. Of course, he’d be looking for a job, but he’d be glad to be home. He’d even like to see his sister. Addy’d been fighting with his parents often, and she was a pain to be around when she was in a mood. But he would have liked to see her.

Funny. It had been months since Daly had thought of Addy. Or his family. It was as if he’d forgotten—

Daly opened his eyes as someone dropped something hard on the ground that clattered. He jerked, sprang to his feet, and whirled.

“Oh my god!”

Lights. Motion. In Daly’s blurred vision, they resolved themselves into a girl, barely fifteen. She was staring at him, holding her hands up. Crouching. Her brown skin was dead white, her mouth was open. He stared at her.

And then he realized he was holding his axe. He’d ripped it from the sheathe, and it was drawn back, ready to strike. Daly lowered it. The Indian girl backed away.

“Sorry. I heard—”

“Sorry! I’m so sorry!”

She backed away. And then fled. Daly hesitated. Then he saw the other figures around him. The other Bushrangers were frozen as well. Like Daly, they’d all woken at the sudden sound.

Half were holding weapons. Siri had a long dagger out; Dawson had snagged the mace. They looked at each other and slowly relaxed.

“Fuck me.”

Dawson lowered his mace. Embarrassed, Daly returned the axe to his side. He heard a laugh from one of the others.

“Not a fun way to wake up. Who was that? We scared her.”

Siri carefully inserted her daggers into its leather sheathe. Daly shook his head. He’d recognized the face, but the name escaped him.

“One of the Indian girls. Don’t know who. Hold on. I’ll make sure she’s okay.”

Carefully he stepped out of the room and looked down the wood hallway. The floorboards were well-worn and creaked as he headed down the stairs. There was a commotion downstairs, and Daly could hear other people moving about.

The two apartments that the United Nations company was renting was home to at least thirty souls at all times. When the Bushrangers, Luan, and Ken and Geneva’s team were back, it was over forty. Not much space for so many people in truth. People had to sleep together in the rooms, and personal space was limited.

However, given that a lot of people worked during the day, it was less cramped in the mornings. Everyone with a day job was already at work—as [Laborers], [Scribes], [Builders], and so on. Someone, Andel, had even found his way onto the fishing ships that operated out of the harbor.

The city of Talenqual was large enough to employ all of the Humans looking for a job. If it wasn’t a capital city, it was at least big enough to have a spot on any continental map. It was a port city, a necessity given Luan’s line of work, and it was relatively peaceful, as the company which claimed the city—the Featherfolk Brigade—wasn’t engaged in any major conflicts. Neither did Talenqual have any vastly rich resources which might tempt other people into fighting for them. It was just a decent place to live in.

Quiet. Except for right now. Guiltily, Daly descended the stairs. He heard a female voice and a few others, reassuring her.

“Excuse me. Morning everyone.”

Daly poked his head into the living room that was the United Nations company headquarters. It was in fact, two living rooms as the apartments had a connecting door which was permanently open. The young man saw the girl he’d scared, along with Kirana and Paige. All three looked up and Daly stopped.

“Hey there. Uh—sorry about that. We heard a noise. She must have dropped something and—”

“We know. It’s fine.”

Paige looked up. She was patting the younger girl, who was wiping her eyes. Daly’s heart sank, but Kirana said something to the girl. Sharply, in another language. Hindi? One of the languages of her nation. The girl gulped and looked at Daly.

“She dropped pieces of wood. She did not mean to wake you.”

“I’m sorry.”

The younger girl gulped. Daly gave her a reassuring smile.

“We should be apologizing. We just heard something and—you know, we’re adventurers. Really sorry, uh—”

“Priya.”

“Priya. Of course. I’m very sorry.”

Daly nodded at her. Priya sniffed. She looked at Kirana, and the older girl nodded.

“It’s fine.”

And that apparently ended that. Kirana got up, Priya hesitated, and then went past Daly. He coughed as she headed back upstairs, and looked at Paige.

“It was just—”

“I get it. It’s not the first time. Andel nearly stabbed Dion by accident the other day. I’ve banned weapons in the house, but you lot are a special case.”

“Right.”

The Bushrangers were the only active fighters among the group. Six of them, all adventurers. Of course the other Earthworlders owned weapons—especially those that had survived their stint as mercenaries—but Daly could see how dangerous that was. He scratched his head, feeling the adrenaline leaving him. He blinked and looked around.

“It’s late out. What time is it?”

“Late morning. We were going to let you sleep.”

Daly rubbed at his face.

“Kind of you. We needed it. We—aw, fuck. The computer—”

He’d forgotten to turn it off! It must have burned through all the battery. Paige looked up and shook her head.

“Don’t worry about it. Kirana saw you were all asleep and turned off the laptop.”

“That’s a relief.”

Daly sighed.

“We’ve got to get ahold of a spellbook or find someone who can teach us [Repair]. Paying for it’s not worth the expense each week.”

“It’s what keeps half of us sane. So I’m including it as a reasonable price. But I am searching for someone who can teach us—none of the [Mages] want to give up our daily contribution. And we don’t have anyone who’s high enough level yet, besides.”

Paige scowled as she sat down at the table. She was working on something. Another design, from the looks of it. She had a piece of charcoal and parchment she was sketching on. She glared at the document, probably thinking of the amount of money they paid to get [Mages] to recharge their electronics each week, and then looked up.

“You didn’t brush your teeth last night, did you?”

“We did not.”

Guiltily, Daly realized they hadn’t done anything like that for the last two days. He felt at his teeth. Furry. He winced. Paige just shook her head.

“Head upstairs. Kirana made some new toothpaste.”

“Really? Alright then. Be down in half a sec.”

He headed upstairs. True enough, Kirana was waiting for him. Priya was nowhere in sight. Kirana offered Daly something. He blinked down at a minty-smelling wooden tub.

“Here. We made toothpaste. Better than last time.”

She smiled as Daly accepted the thick, whitish-yellow paste and sniffed at it. The unmistakable mint smell intensified.

“This smells a lot better than the salt stuff we were using before. What’s in this, mint?”

“Mint. Oil. Salt—it’s better. You have toothbrushes?”

“Yep, I think we’re set. Thanks a lot, Kirana.”

She nodded. Daly made his way into the room and looked about.

“Hey you lot—”

“We’re changing.”

He saw a curtain drawn across half the room. The two other guys were on the other side, not bothering to change clothes from last night. Daly shrugged. He pointed at the tub.

“We’ve got some toothpaste.”

The others looked up. Dawson slapped his forehead in disgust.

“Fuck. I knew I forgot something! It’s been days since I brushed my teeth. Give it here!”

He fished for his belt pouch as Daly set the toothpaste tub on a table instead. He had a toothbrush in his pack as opposed to his belt pouch, and he had to wait for the girls to dress before he could retrieve it. Then he and the others gathered around the toothpaste, filled their brushes—half modern plastic, the other half wood, made of some stubbly brush—and began to brush their teeth.

It was odd. But there was something so satisfying about an activity as mundane as brushing their teeth. Especially because this toothpaste tasted halfway like something you could buy at home. Nothing Daly would have bought if he had an option—the bits of mint that had been crushed and mixed in with the gel did little to counteract the salty, astringent flavor—but it felt like proper toothpaste. Daly fished out a canteen, gargled, and then realized he had to spit.

So did the other Bushrangers. They fought silently to be the first to the loo—in this case, a smelly pair of toilets located at the back of the apartment. There they spat into it, holding their breath and washing their mouths out.

“That’s good toothpaste! My mouth actually feels fresh.”

Siri exclaimed after they’d returned to the room. Daly nodded, running his tongue over his gums. He hoped they wouldn’t start bleeding. The last thing he needed was to lose a tooth or get a cavity in this world.

“And that toilet’s disgusting. Did you smell that? I’d almost rather go in the bush.”

Another girl complained. Daly grimaced. It was true. The toilet wasn’t one of the fancy, flushing toilets he’d taken for granted back at home. It was an outhouse design—that meant wood panel with a hole you could do your business through. And what was uh, excreted didn’t go anywhere. It sat at the bottom of a combined container for both apartments.

“It needs emptying.”

“Not it.”

Half of the Bushrangers instantly touched their noses. Daly didn’t.

“It’s not our job. We pay someone to take it out. [Nightman], the class is called. They take the stuff, use it in the fields.”

“Not [Nightwoman]?”

“You want the job, Siri? Because I hear it pays well. It’s a shite job, though.”

“Hah.”

Siri punched Dawson. The others groaned, imagining that line of work. They’d all had to work hard—well, Siri and Tofte had joined them after the Bushrangers had been formed—but there were some lines they weren’t willing to cross. Daly grimaced.

“It’s what people did for ages in the past. I guess no one’s invented sewers?”

“Oh, they have mate. I was talking with a Lizardguy the other day. He says there are sewers in some cities. Lots of ‘em in other continents like Izril and Terandria, apparently. But they don’t bother with them here.”

“Probably because something’d breed in them if they did. Imagine taking a job there?”

Daly could, all too well. He shook his head.

“You’re putting me off my food, you lot are. Let’s have brekky and then get to work.”

“Another job?”

His team looked at him, not so much with resistance as a kind of weariness. Daly felt it himself. They’d just been on the job. But if there was more money to be made—they could always use it.

“If we see a good contract. I’ll head down to the guild myself. You lot take the day off until then.”

“Right.”

With that, they headed downstairs. They found another surprise waiting for them. Food, again courtesy of Kirana and two of the other girls who stayed about the house. Daly smiled, as Siri and the others found Priya and apologized again.

“Rica and lentils and—what’s the bread stuff? That’s new?”

“It’s called poori. It’s a popular breakfast at home.”

Kirana explained as she filled bowls with rice and poured lentils over the top. She also had several sticks of corn, which had been baked until the sides were turning a bit black. Those were good, so Daly snagged one and tore into it at the table with the others. He was ravenous and the food really was good.

“This is so good. I miss this every time we’re out. And you made these poori really well, Kirana.”

The young woman smiled. She was the [Cook] in charge of feeding everyone, and the second manager of the home front besides Paige. In truth, she’d pretty much taken over the household affairs to let the Australian girl work on more designs, and she and several of the girls from India—another addition to the company about two months back—had really improved the living situation. Especially because it turned out that Baleros’ markets sold a lot of ingredients that they were quite familiar with from their country.

The foods of Baleros were plentiful and a mix of exotic and familiar. Daly had been surprised to see staple foods like corn and rice being served alongside plants he’d never seen before. Blue tubers, spicy red things called Yellats, and so on. But Baleros was known for growing a lot of produce, and there was meat to be had as well. Obviously that was more expensive, so the breakfast was all-vegetarian. But spicy, filling, and just the thing for hungry adventurers.

Paige kept working at another table as the Bushrangers ate their fill. She had some of the money out, in neat rows and was doing calculations. She looked up as Daly was going back for his last helping.

“Kirana, here’s the money for this week’s budget. Try not to buy too many spices. I know it’s important, but that and oil take up a lot of our budget.”

She handed Kirana four gold coins and three silver ones. The girl nodded. Daly’s insides twisted a bit—feeding the company for one week cost two thirds of what they’d been paid to take out those damn Stelbore. True, it was a lot of mouths, but Paige was already separating more gold coins out from their limited stash.

“And here’s the month’s rent. Daly, can you take this over to Miss Hastel on the way out?”

“Definitely. I’ll pop by the Adventurer’s Guild as well.”

Paige paused.

“Already? You just got back from your last job. You could take a break.”

Daly shrugged uncomfortably.

“We’re not that tired.”

He looked around for confirmation. The other Bushrangers nodded, or murmured agreement. But their postures told Daly they could use a break. He felt it too.

It was hard being an adventurer. Not as hard as being a soldier in a company and fighting huge battles, but in other ways just as bad. They’d spent a day and a half scoping out their target and barely speaking, in the jungle with things biting them, alert for every second. One time they’d spent nearly a week tracking monsters down, sleeping in primitive mosquito nets while it poured rain and mud down on them.

But what else could they do? It was all about money. Paige hesitated.

“Maybe you should take a day off. We’re set with coin, especially if Luan comes back. Or Ken and Geneva. They’re set to come back today or tomorrow, you know. They sent a [Message].”

That relaxed Daly a bit. He hesitated.

“If there’s nothing really good…”

Paige nodded. Siri looked up.

“Anything you need us to do if while we’re here?”

She looked at Kirana and the others. Kirana shook her head.

“It’s your day off. Enjoy yourselves.”

That just made it harder for Daly to commit to taking a request. He sighed. But they had a point and the idea was tempting. If he saw something really good at the Adventurer’s Guild…

“Right. I’ll nip down there, but you all take a break. Which reminds me—here.”

He fished at his belt pouch and handed around some of the money he’d kept. Two silver coins to each. The Bushrangers brightened.

“Spending money? We must be doing well.”

“Don’t spread it. But you’ve earned a break.”

Daly met Paige’s eyes questioningly, and she nodded. Some of the other Indian girls looked jealous. Money had been the subject of a lot of arguments in the company, until it was decided that everyone could take a few coins from their job—the rest would go to Paige so she could spent it on necessities and what the company deemed vital. Again though, the Bushrangers were an exception to that rule in some regards.

“I’m off, then. Paige about the crossbows—”

“I’ll get the steel I ordered in a few days. But it won’t be ready for trials for a week.”

Daly grimaced.

“Alright, then. We’ve got poison, still. And it’s damn effective. Killed the Stelbore right off. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“I’ll join you in visiting Miss Hastel.”

Siri offered. Daly nodded. The two of them strode out of the apartments as the other four Bushrangers broke up.

“What’ll Dawson and the others do for the day, do you think?”

Daly looked at Siri as he opened the door and the humidity and sun swept over him. He blinked as he saw several Lizardfolk walking down the street, a Dullahan, and then a Centaur trotting by, pulling a cart. This was home, alright. Siri shrugged. Walking down the long steps, designed to let a Centaur climb them, she looked around the city.

“Probably use the computers, if Paige lets them. Otherwise? Books. Maybe go out and buy something, get a few drinks. Check the markets. We could really use some magical artifacts, you know.”

“I know. But affording even potions is all we can do.”

Daly sighed. He walked into Talenqual, and looked around. The buildings stretched out ahead of them. Few were more than three stories tall, if that. Most were made of either wood or the mud brick the Lizardfolk loved to use. For all that, the city felt vibrant. Alive. A few larger structures near the center of the city stood out, having been made of quarried stone or even reinforced with magic. Beyond the city lay the sea, a glittering sight, filled with boats from the harbor. And in Talenqual walked the citizens of Baleros.

Dullahans in armor. Wood or metal, often decorated or inlaid with fancy decorations if they were rich civilians, or functional iron or steel if they were warriors. Poor Dullahans wore crude, painted wood, but all of them were unmistakably Dullahan—some carried their heads in baskets or slings, allowing them to rotate them in every direction while their bodies walked. Colorful mist, or fog ran from the place where their heads should have been.

Centaurs trotted past them, tall half-equine, half-human people. They were far larger than any other species, and moved briskly. Many of the workers pulled carts or other vehicles behind them, and Daly and Siri kept out of their way. The flow of traffic in Talenqual was such that the Centaurs tended to move in the center lanes, which allowed the slower foot traffic to move on either side of the street—unless you wanted to cross the road. Daly saw a scaly body dart across the road and a Centaur slow and stamp impatiently to let the pedestrian cross.

A Lizardgirl. She ran across the street, laughing and waving at the Centaur. More than Centaurs or Dullahans, it was Lizardfolk who dominated the streets in numbers. Talenqual was a Lizardfolk city after all, and the scaly, friendly people of Baleros moved about in groups, chattering, talking, always on the hunt for something interesting. They had neck frills and colorful, patterned scales that made them stand out. It was rare to see a Lizardfolk not smiling or chatting. Rarer still was seeing one of the evolved forms a Lizardfolk could eventually turn into, a Naga, or Lamia, or other rare serpentine variant.

“Hey! It’s you! Buddy!”

Not fifteen steps out their door, Daly and Siri were accosted by a smiling Lizardman, or perhaps a Lizardyoungman. He was carrying a glittering bottle filled with what looked like a powerful potion in one claw—it shone with four different colors, black, blue, yellow, and flashes of orange as it sloshed about in the jar. He came up to Daly, grinning widely.

“I got that potion you wanted. Really top-grade stuff, right? It was hard getting my claws on it, but for you—”

He got no further as he tried to slide closer. Daly held up a hand.

“Piss off, mate. We’re not tourists. We’ve been here before. United Nations company. We don’t want colored water.”

“Aw.”

The Lizardman deflated at once. He tucked the bottle away and scowled for a second. A few Lizardfolk who’d heard Daly laughed at him.

“You Humans are hard to tell apart! You’re all one color.”

He turned away. Daly called out after him.

“Who actually buys that stuff?”

“Idiots! Wish me luck!”

The Lizardman turned and waved. Siri shook her head.

“There’s hawkers in every world. Has anyone in our group ever fallen for that?”

“Dawson.”

A delighted look crossed Siri’s face.

“He did? He never said!”

Daly nodded, although it was harder to smile at the memory.

“First day we came to a big city. Paid eight silver coins for some alchemy-colored water.”

“Oh.”

“Yep. Luan and Paige nearly throttled him. I’ve never got bit, but you should be careful. The bad scammers are like that, but the good ones have Skills. I nearly found myself buying an amulet from a bloke I could have sworn I was best friends with.”

“Scary. And there’s [Thieves] with Skills too. [Merchants]…it’s a wonder we’re not robbed blind every time we go out.”

“That’s why Paige controls our money. You can’t overspend on what you don’t have. Speaking of which—you really want to say hi to Miss Hastel?”

Siri fidgeted.

“I…I’d like to see her.”

Or her husband. But Daly made no comment. The address of Miss Hastel, their [Landlady], was only a block away. She owned several properties on the street, and she’d naturally chosen the loveliest home for herself. The front of her neat apartment wasn’t mud brick but stone—far more impervious to bugs or rot in Baleros’ heat. Daly knocked once, and after a minute, heard faint noises.

Hoofbeats. Four of them. And then the door opened and Daly felt a gust of cool air. Miss Hastel, a Centaur with tan fur and dark black spots around on her flanks, looked down. Her upper half was dark-skinned, a contrast to her lighter pattern. And she had blonde hair. Dyed, apparently.

She was also heavily, noticeably pregnant. A large bulge in the center of her lower half weighed her down, but it had been covered by a quilt-like covering over her lower torso. Clothing for the lower half was optional for Centaurs, but this was clearly a decorative, expensive dress, bright blue and white. Miss Hastel blinked at the two Humans for a second, and then she focused on Daly’s face.

“Oh, it’s you. Mister Daly and…a friend? Come in.”

She smiled, lifting a hand and gesturing them inside. Daly and Siri obeyed with alacrity, because the inside of Miss Hastel’s house was pleasantly cool. Magically so, in fact. Daly only paused to scrape his boots of the dirt and whatever muck was on them on the rug. Siri did likewise, and they walked into Miss Hastel’s apartment.

“Please, have a seat. Anywhere you’d like.”

Miss Hastel waved her hand around the spacious, and quite tall apartment that was her home. A Centaur’s house was noticeably different from the Lizardfolk dwellings. For instance, while the United Nations company had rented an apartment for Lizardfolk, or perhaps Dullahans, and gotten a building with two floors, with multiple smaller rooms for a number of people, Miss Hastel’s building was one floor, and spacious.

Centaurs did not like cramped spaces. Nor did they enjoy climbing stairs. So Miss Hastel had an open kitchen, a very spacious living room, and even a door less bedroom only partially concealed by a wall. Daly looked around, thinking that the room looked like something he might see back home—with a few differences.

The first, obviously, was the lack of large windows. Even Miss Hastel couldn’t afford more than two small glass ones. The second was that her couches and chairs were quite limited in number. Centaurs couldn’t sit on most chairs, so she had rugs and pillows instead.

“Would you like anything to eat?”

“We’re fine, thank you. We won’t take up too much of your time.”

Out of deference to her, Daly and Siri sat on the ground and Miss Hastel sat on a large pillow, cushioning her belly, with her hooves facing the Humans, though Daly suspected she’d be more comfortable lying flat out. But Miss Hastel was a Centaur and thus she was infallibly courteous to her hosts. And that also dictated how Daly and Siri behaved.

“A lovely home, Miss Hastel. Thank you for inviting us in.”

Daly nodded to the apartment. The Centauress smiled.

“Thank you. And thank you for coming. I’d be out and about, but as you can see I am indisposed.”

She indicated her stomach. Daly nodded politely.

Ken’s Centaur Rule #12, or something. Centaurs value tradition, ceremony. You have to make small talk. It’s one of the reasons why they hate Dullahans being blunt and to-the-point and Lizardfolk indiscretion. Exceptions exist, but err on the side of caution.

“I assume you’ve come about the monthly rent? Or is there another issue with the walls?”

Miss Hastel broached the subject at last. Daly smiled.

“No problem with the walls. Paige is grateful for how fast you got the [Alchemist] to whip up that pesticide. We’ve come about the rent. This is next month’s payment, if you’ll accept it?”

“Of course.”

Different though they might be, the allure of gold was a fairly universal attraction. Miss Hastel’s eyes lit up at the sight of the gold and silver. She let Daly place it on a small foot table in front of them.

“A proper payment. And ahead of time too. Your company are excellent tenants, Mister Dally, Miss Siri.”

“We try to be.”

Siri smiled. She looked at Miss Hastel’s stomach. Daly saw her open her mouth, and then he heard a slam. Someone had thrown open the door, and a loud, exuberant voice bellowed into the room.

“Hello! I’m back!”

Daly jerked. His hand went to his side, but this time another hand caught it. Siri stopped Daly from reaching for his axe. He relaxed at once and she let go. Miss Hastel hadn’t noticed. She’d jumped and was glaring towards the door. Daly turned and saw Miss Hastel’s husband…or partner, or…

Cat?

He was certainly a cat. If you took a look at the ancient Egyptian drawings of cat-gods and compared it to the Beastkin that strode into the apartment, you’d find a lot of differences. This was a proper cat-man, not just a cat’s head on a Human body. He was shorter than Daly, but slimmer, and he had Humanoid fingers. Beyond that though? All cat. His tail wagged as he grinned at Miss Hastel, did a double-take, and spotted the Humans.

“Oh! It’s the Humans! I didn’t know you had guests.”

“Rital!”

The Centaur woman looked completely embarrassed at his entry. Rital, looked completely unabashed. He spotted the gold coins and grinned.

“Ooh! Paying rent? You Humans are so prompt! And easy to deal with! Not like Lizardfolk or Dullahans. Or Centaurs. They’re all awful. Actually, what am I saying? Humans can get pretty bad too.”

Daly grinned. Rital was energetic as Miss Hastel was stately, for all that both of them were probably a decade older than he and Siri. The Centauress cleared her throat meaningfully.

“I think you mean to say that Mister Daly and Miss Siri are excellent residents.”

The Cat-tribe Beastkin nodded cheerfully.

“So long as they keep paying. Otherwise we’ve got a problem. Hey, pal. If you don’t keep paying her on time, I’ll get upset, you get me?”

He glared at Daly, narrowing his eyes. He pounded one furry fist into his palm. Daly tried not to laugh. And the sparkle in Rital’s eyes told Daly that he was having fun too.

“Perfectly clear, mate. Message received.”

“Aw, don’t worry! I’m just kidding. Or am I?”

Rital’s antics brought a laugh out of Daly. Miss Hastel on the other hand looked like she wanted to kick Rital. She stood up slowly and glared at her partner.

“I think Mister Daly and Miss Siri have more important business to attend to. Thank you for coming, you two.”

“Yep! Keep bringing us money! Hasty’s not able to get around that far. What with the kitt—er, foal on the way…”

The Cat-man bounded over lightly and put an arm around Hastel. His long, feline tail curled up around her. Siri sighed quietly so that only Daly noticed.

Miss Hastel went crimson. She looked mortified as she ushered the Humans to the door.

“Please excuse Rital. He’s always so…”

“We’re not bothered. He’s a breath of fresh air, that one.”

Daly reassured the female Centaur. She caught her breath, and then smiled at last.

“To you, maybe. But to other Centaurs…”

She held open the door. Daly walked out regretfully—Miss Hastel’s apartment was cool and lacking humidity, probably thanks to magic. What he wouldn’t have paid for air conditioning at home. Siri paused by the door.

“Miss Hastel, when are you expecting your child?”

The Centauress’ eyes lit up. She paused by the door and Daly stood back and watched as Rital made faces, trying to get him and Siri to laugh. That was, until a hoof shot backwards and nearly hit him in the groin.

“Any day now. I have the best [Midwife] on call.”

“It’s your first birth?”

“My very first. But I’m not worried. Rital will be there—outside, naturally, where he can’t cause trouble. And my [Midwife] is the best in the city. A Centaur, of course. After the birth, I’d welcome visitors.”

“We’ll be sure to be there. I’m sure everyone from the company will want to come over—”

Daly cleared his throat.

“Some of us will certainly stop by. Good day, Miss Hastel.”

He dragged Siri backwards. The Centauress bade them farewell and Rital waved at them before the door closed. The two Humans stood on the doorstep. They very clearly heard Miss Hastel’s voice for a second.

“What have I told you about being rude to—”

“Aw, come on. They liked it. Humans love—”

The Humans in question backed away. They walked a bit away from the apartment, then Daly looked at Siri, a bit vexed. He crossed his arms.

“You know we’ll have to give gifts to the baby.”

Siri was unabashed.

“We’d have to do that anyways. Ken would insist on it. I didn’t know [Midwife] was a class.”

Daly grunted, imaging the cost of a present for Miss Hastel’s baby.

“It’s a variant of [Healer]. Anyways, you got your fill?”

“I did.”

Siri smiled, a bit wistfully. She glanced back towards the door. Paying Miss Hastel hadn’t been what she’d come here to do. She’d only come to see Rital.

It wasn’t that she was interested in Rital in any kind of romantic way. If she was, Daly would have stopped Siri from jeopardizing their relationship with their landlady at all costs. No, it was just that Siri loved seeing a full-sized Cat from the Cat-tribe of the Beastkin. Rital was the only Cat Beastkin in the city. Beastkin were rare, even on their home continent of Baleros. And Siri loved cats. And Rital was more cat than even regular cats. Then Siri frowned.

“I don’t know how Hastel gets along with Rital. He’s the exact opposite of what most Centaurs are like. I’d expect him to be a Lizardfolk’s partner, but not her.”

Daly shrugged. He led the way down the street.

“All sorts of weird couples find love. You know that.”

“But how did he get her—”

“He didn’t. She was in a relationship and the stallion—male Centaur—ran off.”

“Oh. And Rital stuck with her?”

“Apparently they were already close friends. I guess they got closer. Some cats are loyal like that.”

“They are.”

Siri glanced wistfully back at the house. Daly sighed.

“Please don’t try and scratch his ears or something. Because I think Miss Hastel’d kick us all out if you did.”

“I would never. But that doesn’t mean I can’t look.”

Siri glared at Daly. Then she signed.

“I’m going back to the apartments. You’re going to the Adventurer’s Guild?”

“I’ll only take a request if it pays really well.”

“I’ll hold you to it. Later.”

Siri trotted back down the street. Daly watched her go. Then he looked around. Lizardfolk, Centaurs, a scowling Dullahan—he was alone. And for some reason, that felt fitting.

Daly walked forwards and melded with the crowd. He stood out. He was an oddity, a Human, one of the rarer species on Baleros. But he wasn’t a foreigner, or a tourist. In some ways, after several months here, he’d gotten to know Baleros.

Daly watched his belt pouch as he walked, careful of [Pickpockets]. He effortlessly fended off [Hawkers] and other street vendors, and ambled towards the port. The city of Talenqual had grown up around the docks, so most of the more established structures and richer districts were located closer to the spot. Not too close though; the smell of fish and the commerce of the docks wasn’t appealing to most.

“Nali-stick! Want a nali-stick?”

“Xelca meat, fresh!”

“Looking for someone willing to haul cargo off the ships! Fifteen pairs of hands wanted! No Centaurs!”

“Hey, has anyone seen the shop where they sell that new board game? Not the chess one—”

Daly heard competing voices shouting for attention as he walked. He paused and glanced at one of the shouters. A little Lizardgirl, her scales a dusky pink and yellow, was waving a basket of white, fibrous sticks. He paused in front of her and fished for a copper coin.

“Give me a stick.”

He offered her the coin. The Lizardgirl inspected it, fished in her basket, and held one up.

“Nali-stick! Here you go, Mister Daly!”

She knew him! The adventurer grinned.

“Have we met?”

The nali-stick seller looked scornful. She shook her head, the red frills around her neck opening slightly.

“Everyone knows the Human team that came here! You’re the Captain, right? Want more sticks for your team? I’ll give you one for free if you buy five!”

“No thanks. I’m good with one.”

Daly stuck the end of the white stick in his mouth and tore a piece off. It came away—the nali-stick was made up of many fibers—and chewed hard. For a second he only tasted the tough fiber, and then a wave of sweetness flooded his mouth. Daly grinned, and the Lizardgirl laughed as she saw his eyes light up.

Of the exports Baleros was known for, sugar was one of its chief moneymakers. It came from sugarcane, which grew on the continent above all else. The famed plant yielded sugar that the world so badly craved. However, Nali-sticks were concentrated versions of the tall-growing plant. Unlike sugarcane, they were much thinner, but held just as much sweet in their thin stalks.  As such they were highly prized as snacks, and it was a cheap buy in markets where the stuff grew plentifully.

“Want another stick, Mister? Or you want to buy information? Looking to raid a dungeon?”

Daly glanced back down at the little Lizardgirl.

“I could be. Why, you know about some super-secret dungeon full of treasure? Because I’ll treat you to a nali-stick if you do.”

Indignant, the little Lizardgirl pushed her basket up one arm and glared at Daly

“For information about a dungeon? You should pay me silver!”

The Australian adventurer grinned.

“I would. If I thought the information you were selling was good.”

“I’ll swear on a [Detect Lies] spell that—”

“—I’m sure you would. But that’s not the point, is it? If you’re selling information, how do I know you didn’t get it from someone else?”

Daly cut the little Lizardgirl off. She hesitated. He went on.

“And if you know about a special lair that’s popped up, I’ll bet everyone in the city knows about it. Especially at the Adventurer’s Guild, hmm? A new dungeon’s popped up and it’s all the rage? Is that the information you were going to sell me?”

She squirmed, a child caught out in a lie. Daly grinned.

“Well, now I have two reasons to go to the Guild.”

“Aw. But I still told you! Don’t I get anything?”

“Tell you what. I’ll buy you another nali-stick.”

“Five silver!”

He handed her a copper coin. The Lizardgirl eyed it, then shrugged and handed him another stick. Daly laughed and they parted ways.

Two sticks worth of sugar put the pep in Daly’s step. He double-timed it to the Guild and found it was abuzz with activity. Adventurers were pouring out the doors and half of them were armed. It looked like the Lizardgirl was telling the truth. One of the teams fighting to be out first was arguing with another group.

“We have first rights! If the coach comes, we requested it. Stand down!”

A Dullahan in iron armor swung a fist and an angry Lizardman backed up. Daly recognized her as she whirled. Her small team was keeping everyone else back. She eyed him and then blinked.

“Ah. Captain Daly. Are you going after this new dungeon?”

Daly looked at the Dullahans. They were the ones from last night. He paused.

“The Rustless Guard, right? Captain Eldima?”

She nodded.

“Our team just heard about it. I don’t know if you’ve heard the news?”

“New dungeon? Popped outta nowhere?”

He didn’t even have to know the details to guess. Baleros, like all the continents in this world was ancient. Dungeons long buried often appeared as geography changed naturally or artificially. Edima nodded.

“The rainfall cleared an entrance. It’s three miles south of here. Very close. We intend to inspect it first. And your team?”

Daly eyed the Dullahan, thought about the odds of taking on an unknown lair faster than the other teams—if they could even get there before the others, that was—and shook his head.

“My team deserves a rest. It’s all yours, and the best of luck to you if you can get there first.”

The Dullahans relaxed. Eldima offered Daly a rare smile.

“We will take that luck. We are ready to go and only await—here it is.”

Daly heard clattering hooves. Shod. A pair of Centaurs raced down the street, and then another pair. Both were pulling carriages. They stopped and the Rustless Guard poured into the carriages. The other adventuring teams roared and some raced down the street, looking for another carriage. Daly waved up to Edima as she scrambled into the coach last of all.

“Fame and fortune to you.”

Eldima turned her head and nodded down to him.

“It surely awaits.”

And then they were gone.

“Huh. I wonder if they’ll find anything.”

It was a tossup, really. A new dungeon could hold nothing, having already been plundered in ages past, a massive fortune, or have simply become the lair of some monster. But it was exciting. On another day Daly would have cursed not having heard about the dungeon ahead of time. Today? He was relieved for the excuse not to visit it.

The Adventurer’s Guild was practically empty as Daly strode in. All the teams were converging on the dungeon, and wouldn’t it be a right mess when they got there? The desk was staffed by a Dullahan, or rather, her head. Her body was hard at work mopping the floor.

“Any contracts worth looking at?”

Daly addressed the head. The [Receptionist] paused.

“Nothing I can think of. The dungeon’s the rage, but every Silver-rank team and Gold-rank team’s headed for it. You can check the board, if you’d like.”

“Will do. Thanks.”

Daly checked the board. He spotted a few contracts—taking out some large rodents annoying one of the [Farmers], hunting down some birds for a [Fletcher], a lucrative job escorting a trading ship—nothing that the Bushrangers were interested in.

“A day off it is.”

Daly found there was a smile on his face. He walked back out of the Adventurer’s Guild. He could tell the others. Take a longer nap, maybe consult with Paige. But—that was work, wasn’t it? What if he just played a game on one of the laptops—assuming they had juice—or went and grabbed a quick drink? He could do that. Or he could head into the main city and—

“Mister Daly! Mister Daly!”

The adventurer’s head turned. He saw a little Lizardgirl race up to him. The same girl he’d spoken to not half a minute ago. She even had the basket of nali-sticks on her arm. Some bounced out and fell to the ground and other children pounced on the snacks. The Lizardgirl didn’t notice. She waved at Daly and stopped in front of him, panting.

“Mister Daly! I have something else to tell you! You’re giving a bounty on information, right? I remember you said!”

She looked up at him, her eyes imploring this to be so. Daly hesitated.

“A bounty?”

“Yeah! On news about strange Humans! Well, I forgot, but I heard there were some Humans who were spotted in an abandoned village! They were really weird! They have weird clothing, and they were in trouble because they weren’t supposed to be there!”

Daly froze. Strange Humans? Weird clothing? His contented mood vanished.

“Strange clothing? Did they have anything else off about them?”

The Lizardgirl thought, panting.

“They—they had strange lights. Not magical ones, but bright. One of the [Builders] sent to check out the village said they scared him and the others off! With these bright artifacts! But no magic. I can show you the person who saw them, if you want. They’re going to chase the Humans off soon!”

Squatters with bright, non-magical lights. Daly could only imagine one scenario that fit that. He looked at the Lizardgirl, heart racing, then fumbled at his belt pouch.

“Tell me more, kid. And bring me to the person who said they met the Humans. If you do—”

He flashed the Lizardgirl a silver coin. Her jaw opened with delight. She dragged at his hand and Daly looked about. More Lizardchildren were about. He pointed at one.

“You, run to find Siri, Paige, or someone from my company at their apartments. You know the ones? Miss Hastel’s buildings, down on Texal Street. Tell them to ready up the Bushrangers. We might have a mission.”

—-

It was only three of them who took the Centaur-driven transport out of the city. It wasn’t so much a carriage as a wagon, designed to carry more bodies. Daly had no idea how many Humans there were, so he hoped the wagon was enough. And the information seemed good. Daly had met the Lizardman [Builder] who’d been sent to begin reclaiming a village that had been abandoned due to a Spear Spider infestation.

The worry Daly had was whether this was just a waste of time and money. But he’d paid for the Centaur-wagon and Paige had agreed it was important. So Daly took Dawson and Siri with him to the village.

“You’re sure we’re not going to run into monsters on the way? Because we’re not being paid to outrun monsters.”

One of the Centaurs pulling the wagon looked at Daly as he climbed on board. He was one of a pair—the other Centauress was chewing on a nali-stick. She glanced back at him as well. Daly shook his head.

“No fighting or monsters, mates. The village is supposed to be abandoned. We’re only going to check on the Humans living there. Swear it on the adventurer’s code of honor.”

“You don’t have one.”

“Well then, I swear by my good looks.”

Daly grinned. The Centaurs exchanged a glance. The Centauress snorted.

“Let’s just go. The Spear Spiders hit that place last month. If we’re just going there, it’s fine.”

The wagon jolted into motion as the Centaurs grunted and began to pull it forwards. Daly, sitting in the back next to Siri across from Dawson, felt a bit of air begin to blow past his face. He stared ahead as the wagon drove through the city.

It was only midday. But they’d be travelling for a good hour. Siri and Dawson sat in the back, staring at the city as the Centaurs slowly navigated towards the gates. When they left the city, they were still initially slow until they won clear of the foot traffic flowing in and out. Then they picked up speed.

In Baleros, transportation from city-to-city and within the cities had another facet in the form of Centaur-pulled carriages, rickshaws, and so on. They provided a cheap, easy means of transport and had literally outrun the competition in the Runner’s Guilds. The only exceptions were those who could navigate the unpaved areas or waters, like Luan.

The sight of the two Centaurs trotting ahead while their upper bodies remained still was interesting. To pass the time, the Centaurs were chatting quietly. The female Centaur was even cutting some nali, extracting the sweet core for her friend. In the back, the adventurers sat together, talking over the rush of the wind and the sound of the Centaur’s hooves.

“Shit. I didn’t bring my poison with me, Daly. It’s in my pack. I grabbed my crossbow, but…”

Dawson groused. Siri shot him a reproving glance. She had her gear, pack included.

“Do you have enough quarrels?”

“Yeah! But the poison—no.”

“We’re not here for a fight. If it comes to that, we’ll lend you our share.”

Daly reassured his friend. Nevertheless, he checked that he had his sealed jar of poison on him as well. He had brought his crossbow, as had the other two. They were armed for a fight. Just in case.

“Think they’re really from Earth?”

“It sounded like they had a flashlight or some kind of electronics. And who else would hide in an abandoned village? Bandits would have attacked.”

“Guess we’ll see.”

Dawson settled back in the wagon. Daly nodded. He stared over the side of the wagon. Baleros wasn’t all jungle and forest. Like the Americas that Baleros vaguely resembled on the maps, parts were extraordinarily clear and flat. The Centaurs made their homes there. Lizardfolk loved the marshes and swamps. They had settled the port cities while Dullahans claimed the cold north by and large. Other species like Selphids and Gazers inhabited the deeper jungles.

Right now, the wagon was driving through rice fields. The Lizardfolk had created vast paddy fields which, filled from Baleros’ spring rains, were busy growing large quantities of crops. It also had the byproduct of attracting bugs and insects. And frogs and other amphibians too, all of which Lizardfolk loved to eat.

“I hope it won’t rain. I’ve had enough of sitting in the jungle with rain drowning us. And I don’t know how they’ll do in the rain.”

Dawson remarked, nodding to the Centaurs. The male Centaur snorted.

“We have Skills, idiot.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Apparently, the Centaurs could still hear the Humans in the back. Daly scooted forwards. The female Centaur half-turned to look at him.

“Mind me asking how bad the rain gets? This is our first time to Baleros. We had a few nasty close calls with the rain flooding streams on the job.”

“When you were adventuring?”

Daly nodded.

“How bad’s it get? We’ve seen some of the big storms. Does it get worse?”

The Centaurs looked at each other. They spoke at the same time.

“You’ve barely seen the rainy season. You want monsoons? We’ve got monsoons this far south.”

“Miserable weather. Hate it. I can barely walk and there’s mud everywhere. Worst time to work. You might break a foreleg.”

“The only species who love this weather are Lizardfolk. The freaks love dancing about in the rain.”

They groused happily to Daly and the others about the weather. The male Centaur, whose name was Bault, pointed at the sky.

“Don’t worry about rain today. You think we don’t check the weather on long runs? Our climate mages aren’t perfect, but they usually know what’s happening. Unless a company decides to mess with the weather or start burning something.”

“That happen often?”

“The smoke interferes with the clouds. Sometimes it can change what’s predicted. Otherwise—well, there’s no perfect spell for detecting the weather. Some Skills can tell when it’s about to change, but not predict, right? I suppose a [Diviner] could do better, but we don’t have one.”

“Gotcha.”

The female Centaur, Pihava, glanced at Daly.

“So you’re the Bushrangers. I heard you were all [Rogues]. Practically invisible on the job.”

Daly smiled. They were well-known! Maybe it wasn’t just them being Humans.

“I wish. We’re just good at hiding. The idiot in the back’s Dawson, and that’s Siri.”

“Charmed.”

“Our idiot leader’s Daly. Hey, that village we’re headed to was attacked by Spear Spiders, right? What the hell’s a Spear Spider?”

Pihava shrugged. It was quite convenient for her to be able to run and turn sideways to talk. Although she kept looking forward to check the road.

“They’re one breed of Baleros’ resident spiders. There are all types. You’ve heard of Shield Spiders? No? Well, I’d prefer those, honestly. Spearwalker Spiders are tall. Some can grow up to twelve feet high—”

“Siri?”

“Three and a half meters.”

“Fuck. You serious?”

“All legs. They’re tall ones. You know those spiders that have small bodies but really tall legs? That’s a Spear Spider. Only, their legs can impale people. And they have this trick they use to modulate how long their legs are. They’re fast, dangerous—”

“But fragile. I hear adventurers just blast them in the bodies with magic or swing a warhammer and take them apart.”

Bault looked back at Daly. The young man looked at his crossbow.

“Think they’re immune to poison? Because we don’t go for heavy armored foes. We’re skirmishers.”

“Tell you what. If we run into them—and they should be gone, or I’m kicking every head in at the Runner’s Guild—I’ll let you shoot as many crossbow bolts to find out as you want.”

Daly grinned.

“Fair. Say, how many close calls have you had on the road?”

“Well, Pihava’s new, so personally—”

The conversation went on for about twenty minutes, and then lapsed into silence. Daly sat in the back of the wagon and closed his eyes. He could still use a rest. Or rather, his mind told his body to grab the break while it could. It was comfortable in the back of the wagon, and the air cooled him down as it blew past his head. Daly closed his eyes.

Were they really from Earth? If they were…

He drifted off like that. It felt like only a minute before Siri was shaking him. Daly jerked, but remembered enough not to grab at his axe. He sat up and saw they’d arrived.

The village that had been abandoned still bore marks of battle. Brick houses partially caved in, roofs with holes in them—possibly from the Spear Spider legs. Some had been torched, perhaps to ward the monsters off, or maybe by accidental fire. But the rest were intact.

The village was actually on top of a hill. A nice, defensible spot with even a low mud brick wall, crumbling in places. But it hadn’t saved the place. Now, the Centaurs paused below the hill. Bault gestured up at it, sweating.

“We can pull you up the hill. But between you and me, that’ll cost you.”

“No need. We’ll make the trek. You guys wait here and rest a spell.”

Daly hopped out of the wagon. Pihava nodded.

“If you hear us shouting, get down here quick. If we see anything, we’re taking off.”

There were no signs of monsters, but Daly nodded.

“That’s fair. We won’t be long. Siri—”

He looked around. She was already taking point. As the [Scout] of the group, she was quietest, thanks for her Skills. Not that the road up to the village was covered by forest. Still, Daly and Dawson gave her a lead and then followed. Their crossbows were on their back in case they were being watched, but they were drawn, ready to be loaded and fired.

Daly’s skin crawled as he walked up towards the village. He could see several quite intact buildings. And he had a definite sense he was being watched. He looked at Dawson.

“How should we handle it? Call out first?”

He saw Dawson roll his shoulders.

“Up to you. I wish Ken was back here.”

“You think we’d send him up first? What if they were [Bandits]?”

“He’d probably charm them into giving us a hot meal. Why don’t we just march up, shout ‘anyone from Earth? If not, fuck off!’ And then—”

There was a shout from above. Daly and Dawson looked up. Siri had frozen. Someone had shouted and thrown something down at them. A heavy stone. It crashed and rolled down the slope. Instantly, Daly reached for the crossbow and hesitated. He looked for cover—there wasn’t any but the sides of the hill.

“Stay back! This is our place!”

Someone shouted from above. Daly couldn’t see who it was—but the gates of the village had been barricaded with boards of wood. It looked like someone had tried to repair parts of the wall. He saw a flicker of movement, and then another stone flew over the wall. Siri jumped back, but it landed well clear of her and rolled down the hill.

Daly glanced over his shoulder. Their Centaur guides were staring up at them. He waved at them and then looked at Dawson.

“That sounds like a Human.”

“Yeah, not friendly. Hey! We’re Humans! We want to talk! Are you from Earth?”

Dawson bellowed up at the walls. Daly heard a sound, muffled, and then cut off. There was a pause. And then—

“Go away! We have weapons!”

Daly exchanged a glance. The voice was loud, female, and panicked. The first voice had been male. He called up towards the village.

“We’re from Earth! Are you? Do you know—”

He got no further. Someone threw a rock.

“Leave! We won’t be tricked again! If you come any closer, we’ll kill you!”

More stones flew. These ones landed uncomfortably close, so the adventurers backed up. Shielding his face and watching for missiles, Daly hurried down the hill. There he looked at Siri and Dawson.

“They’re from Earth. I’ll bet anything.”

“But they’re fucking agro. Why the hell’s that?”

Dawson grimaced. Siri frowned.

“Did you hear what they said? ‘We won’t be tricked again’. Again. You think they ran into other people from our world?”

“If they did, it didn’t go well for them.”

Daly grunted. He eyed the village. Stones and shouting. He’d bet there were only a handful in the village. It would be easy enough to circle the hill and sneak up it, maybe with a distraction. Siri caught Daly’s eye.

“They’re terrified. You can hear it in their voices. We should do this peacefully.”

“How? If they’re pelting us with stones—”

“No, Siri’s right. We scare them and they’ll run. Someone’s already made them afraid—even of folks from home. We need to coax them to come out. We’ve gotta do this Ken-style. Hold on. Give me a moment to think.”

The other two waited as Daly paced back and forth, looking up at the village. Dawson groaned.

“Ken-style? First you said earth-style, now this. You’re a good leader, but you’re shit with words, Daly.”

“Shut up. Let me try again.”

Daly climbed up the hill. He was greeted by a flurry of stones.

“Go away!”

“We just want to talk! Can I talk to one of you? I said we’re from Earth! We’re like you lot! We want to help!”

“Get lost! We see your crossbow!”

Fuck. It had been a bad idea to take it after all. Daly paused.

“I’ll leave my weapons behind! Look, just say if you’re from Earth or not! Are you Americans? Can you tell me what a iPhone is?”

Hesitation. And then dead silence. The stones stopped flying, but Daly wasn’t about to get anywhere closer and risk them panicking. He walked down the hill, back to the others.

“Why won’t they say if they’re from Earth?”

“Afraid. Fucking hell. What did the other group do to them?”

“Maybe they were attacked.”

There was a dark look in Siri’s eye. Daly and Dawson looked at her. She and Tofte had shown up on their doorstep a while back, and never told the whole story of how they’d survived until now. But they’d arrived with combat classes and experience in fighting. Geneva had diagnosed Siri and Tofte with a traumatic event in the recent past. But since they could still fight and function, Daly had recruited them into the Bushrangers.

Daly paced back and forth for a while, trying to figure out what to do next. What would Ken do? It was a serious question. Without Ken’s primer into how to interact with Baleros’ races, Daly often would have been lost. And it was his philosophy, as well as Geneva’s that had shaped how the United Nations company worked. Daly frowned, bit his lip, and then he had it.

“Well—what if we lure them out?”

“With what, nali-sticks?”

“No. Hey Dawson, did you at least bring your iPhone and the speaker?”

Dawson patted his belt. He was wearing the iconic adventurer’s belt, complete with pouches stuffed full of an adventurer’s gear.

“Never leave without it. Why?”

“I want you to set it up. Turn those speakers up to max blast. It’d better be charged.”

“It is! I haven’t wasted the battery. Not since last time.”

Dawson grimaced. He fished out a tangled mess of cord, and then a portable speaker. And then his iPhone. Daly had lost his. Or it had been stolen, back when he’d been in Gravetender’s Fist. Dawson frowned at Daly.

“You want to scare them with the distraction audio?”

Three of the Bushrangers were armed with smart phones as part of their gear. They had a recording to go with the portable speakers they carried. Using it would set off a timed cacophony to distract a monster or person. Daly shook his head.

“No way. Just play them a song.”

“A song?”

Confusion flashed across Dawson’s face for just a second. Siri blinked, and then smiled. She nodded. Dawson’s eyes lit up as well after a second. He lifted the speaker, turned it on, and then aimed it at the village. He thumbed through the music, and Daly waited impatiently.

“Come on. It just has to be something they recognize.”

“Don’t rush me. There’s a right song for every moment, Daly. I just have to—here it is!”

Triumphantly, Dawson pressed the button. Instantly, a song blared from the speakers. Quietly at first and then with increasing volume as Dawson adjusted the speaker’s volume to max. The song was iconic—at least, to Daly. Siri frowned for a moment before recognizing it.

The two Centaurs looked up in surprise as the first drums, and then a flute began playing. The background buzz of the insects in the jungle grew silent for a moment as a bass began to echo up the hill.

Daly groaned. He shot Dawson a look. The Australian patriot grinned. Daly didn’t even need to hear the lyrics. He knew them practically by heart.

Down Under, by Men at Work. There was some logic to it—if there was one song a foreigner might associate with Australia, it was probably that one. And it was unmistakably from Earth. Still, Dawson had such a big shit-eating grin on his face that Daly wanted to smack the smartphone out of his hands.

But it worked. No sooner had the song ended than Daly saw movement at the top of the hill. Someone peeked over the walls. Daly waited, holding his breath. Then he saw a figure descend the hill.

“Crossbows down.”

The three Bushrangers dropped their weapons and slowly walked up the hill. Dawson began playing Great Southern Land until Daly smacked him on the shoulder.

The person descending the slope was a young man, dressed in a tight-fitting sports shirt with a logo on the breast. The shirt was dirty, as were the sports pants he wore. He looked thin. Worn at. But his eyes were fixed on Dawson’s iPhone. He opened his mouth, hesitated, and then raised a hand.

“You’re really from Earth?”

Daly halted a few feet away. The young man’s accent was familiar. He couldn’t be…? The Australian gave him a smile.

“That’s right. We’re from Australia. We heard there were people here that might be from Earth. We came to check it out. We want to help.”

“Help? How?”

Siri jumped in.

“We’ve got an apartment in a city near here. We’ve got food, money—we’re a company.”

“Food and money? You mean, you live here? You can live here?”

The other Earthworlder looked stunned, confused. Daly’s heart skipped a beat.

“That’s right. We’ve got jobs. We’ve banded together, all of us from Earth that we could find. Are you—how’ve you survived?”

“We—we’ve been scavenging. Eating what we could forage. Hiding from—everything. We thought you were bandits like the last—”

The stranger shuddered. He looked at Daly. And then part of him seemed to unwind.

“Can we go with you?”

Daly smiled.

“We wouldn’t be here otherwise, mate. Come on. Tell your friends to come out. We’ll get you back to civilization.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god.”

The young man fell to his knees. At first Daly thought it was an overreaction. Until he saw the tears. The young man shuddered, and he looked up at them like—like—

Dawson turned away. Daly knelt at the same time as Siri. They helped the stranger up.

“Easy. What’s your name?”

“Blake. I’m Blake. We’ve been starving up there. And when the lizard-things appeared last night, we thought—this isn’t a dream, right?”

A grimy hand clutched at Daly’s arm. He nodded.

“It’s not.”

That was enough. Blake took a shuddering breath. He slowly rose. Daly held him until he was sure he was steady. He was thin. The sports shirt didn’t fit him that well.

“Where’re you from, Blake?”

Blake started. He looked up. Then he suddenly grinned. Daly thought he knew why. Blake wiped at his eyes, and then grimaced. Or tried to. He looked at Daly and Dawson. And then he coughed.

“Well, goddamnit, it had to be a bunch of aussies, didn’t it? Of course you lot’d survive over here”

Dawson looked over, and his face lit up with delight.

“You’re a kiwi?”

“New Zealand. Yeah.”

“Ayyy! How’d you lot survive out here? I don’t see a herd of sheep—”

Siri punched Dawson gently in the shoulder. But Blake was laughing. He turned and looked back up towards the village walls. Daly could sense they were still being watched.

“Those your friends watching us? You mind waving to tell them we’re friendly? The last thing we want is an arrow through the throat.”

“They don’t have weapons. We were going to run if you got closer. Hey! It’s fine!”

Blake turned and waved his hands. He began walked back up the hill and then turned.

“You’ll stay here?”

“Right here. Go on.”

The Bushrangers settled back, as Dawson complained to Siri.

“Aw, come on. It’s great! We just take the piss—”

“Maybe don’t make that the first thing you do?”

The two began arguing over the right timing to tell jokes and be serious while Daly tried to relax. They had time—it took nearly ten minutes for Blake to come back. When he did it was by himself. The others came over the walls very gingerly, and gave Daly the impression they were ready to bolt. Like Blake, they wore colorful clothing that no [Tailor] of this world could have come up with. Even the dyes of Baleros couldn’t quite match the artificial colors of Earth.

“It’s safe! See? They’re Australian. Australian.”

“I’m Swedish.”

Siri raised a hand. The words seemed to reassure the others. They gingerly followed Blake down the hill, staring at the Centaurs with clear fear. There was one more guy, and two girls, all of them younger than Blake. They stared at the Bushrangers, reluctant to go further, but Blake waved them on, shouting a word that Daly didn’t know.

“Is that Italian?”

Siri looked up curiously. Blake turned and nodded. He walked back and ushered the three forwards once more. He turned and spoke to the Australians and Swedish girl.

“They’re Italian. They were on a tour or something—only one of them can speak English well—and they just appeared here. This is Lorenzo, Diana, and Nicoletta—”

“Nicola.”

The last girl introduced herself. She was around Blake’s age, possibly not even twenty yet. No—definitely around nineteen, the both of them. Daly hesitated. Now what was the best move?

Siri made it for him. She reached out and offered a hand.

“Salve. My name is Nicola. I’m from Italy. You’re—from Earth?”

She spoke in halting English, partially fragmented. Lorenzo and Diana watched her, and Daly saw their eyes flickering from him to Dawson.

They didn’t understand English. Well, no wonder they’d had a terrible time of it. Daly hesitated, then he offered his hand. Lorenzo was the first to shake it. The Italians shook hands and repeated the same question, even if it was condensed to one word.

“Earth? Earth?”

And Daly nodded. He repeated himself.

“Earth. Australians. Friends.”

The relief in their eyes was palpable. Daly looked at Blake. The New Zealander was eying him, and then the Centaurs.

“Are those—”

“Centaurs. Yeah. They’re pulling our wagon. We should pile in—this place isn’t entirely safe.”

“It’s not. There were these little spiders in one of the houses—wait, you said go with them? In the wagon?”

Blake looked uncertain. Nicola, who was whispering to the others, translated, and they drew back. Daly hesitated.

“They’re friendly. They’re Centaurs. You know—”

He had no idea how common Centaurs were in Italian folklore, but popular culture was popular culture. That didn’t seem to be the problem though. Nicola shuddered and backed up. Blake hesitated.

“We met Centaurs that—is that why you’re armed?”

“No. To fight monsters. We’re adventurers.”

“Adventurers?”

Every second seemed to be confusing the Earthworlders more and more. Daly hesitated. They had a lot to explain, but here wasn’t the time. Pihava was pawing the ground with one hoof, clearly impatient. Nicola turned to Daly as he was trying to figure out how to reassure them.

“You’re—from Earth? You know how to get back?”

He met her eyes. They were desperate. Afraid. She looked at him with wild hope. As one lost, frightened person did to another. But—Daly wondered if that was how he’d looked at first. Afraid. Terrified, in fact. But with a core of something in her eyes. Determination. The will to survive. Slowly, he shook his head.

“No. We don’t. We’re lost. Like you. But now—”

He reached out. Nicola took his hand. Daly spoke quietly.

“We’ve got you. We’ll protect you. We’re not alone. We are part of the United Nations company.”

Nicola jumped when she heard the words. Blake opened his mouth, his eyes wide. Daly looked at them. He pointed down the hill.

“Come with us. You’re safe now.”

And he knew that was the right thing to say.

—-

“Another world.”

That was all Blake said when they were loaded on the wagon and driving away from the village. It had taken time, twenty minutes in fact, to get the others to approach the Centaurs and into the wagon. But now they were driving back down the way they’d come. Pihava and Bault were pulling the wagon quickly despite the new passengers. Once in a while they’d glance backwards to stare at the Humans. When they did, the Italians and Blake would flinch.

They’d had a nightmarish time of it. Blake explained in a shuddering voice as they drove. He couldn’t take his eyes off the Centaur, until Siri fished out some travel rations and handed them around. The hard, dry meat was salty, a miserable meal. But the other Earthworlders tore into it ravenously. Daly brought out his water and found they were dehydrated as well.

“We didn’t know where to get safe water. There was a stream—but we’ve barely been able to start a fire. We couldn’t find firewood, and none of us had anything useful on us—and there are things out there. In the jungle.”

Blake shuddered as he wiped his mouth. His hand was shaking as he reached for more travel jerky and crammed it into his mouth. Daly squatted next to him, too restless to sit properly on the moving wagon.

“Tell me about it.”

He saw the Earthworlders look around at each other. Daly understood the feeling. How could you explain the shock of it? The sense of being in another world, the confirmation of that reality? But they weren’t describing anything unknown to the others. Blake spoke, coughing on another mouthful of water.

“The first day—I thought I was losing my mind. I was playing rugby with some friends. I went to grab the ball and I landed…”

In another world. In the water, in fact. Blake was so shocked that he just stood there in the waist-deep pool. That was, until something started biting him. He looked down, felt a searing pain, and then ran for the shore. In that time, he picked up three leeches and the fish took two more bites out of his legs. He still had scars. And when he ran into the group of Italians, they nearly attacked him, bleeding and terrified as he was.

Nicola, Lorenzo, and Diana had all been riding a crowded bus when they’d passed through a tunnel and found themselves standing in the middle of a forest. It hadn’t just been three of them. There had been eight. Plus a pair of two confused people. From…

“We think they were from Venezuela. I think that’s what they were saying. But they were speaking Spanish and none of us…”

The initial confusion of what had happened led to an immediate need to get their bearing. To survive. And at first, they’d managed it. A pocket lighter, meant for cigarettes, some branches—they’d even gone back to the pool and collected some water to boil. They’d gotten that far. But after that—

“The first night they got us.”

That was all Blake said. He turned dead white and couldn’t go on. Neither could Nicola. Daly didn’t press them.

Something had happened. After that, the four survivors had fled. They’d hidden from civilization, foraged, kept away from the roads and all species they’d encountered, and eventually ended up at the village. That’s where they’d stayed until Daly and the others had found them.

“How long was it?”

“Three weeks?”

Daly exchanged a glance with Dawson and Siri. Three weeks? Blake wasn’t sure, but even if he was off by a few days, the timing didn’t match up with anyone else. Were people still coming over from Earth? It was a question for later, though. Because Blake and the others had thousands of their own.

“This is another world, isn’t it?”

“Yep.”

“And those are—”

“Centaurs, mate. Centaurs. They live on this continent. We’re on Baleros. It’s inhabited by Centaurs, Lizardfolk, Dullahans…”

Blake stared at Daly as if the Australian were mad. Daly had to admit it was a far-fetched tale. But the only way he could put it was like that.

“This is a fantasy world, Blake. Right out of a story. There’s magic and shit and monsters too.”

“Magic? Now you’re kidding me—”

Siri had to cast a [Light] spell to show them. When she did that. Lorenzo nearly scrambled out of the wagon. Daly gave them the quick rundown, pausing to let Nicola translate—or try.

“Everyone here speaks English. Just English. I don’t know why, but it’s universal.”

“That’s not right.”

Blake frowned. Daly shrugged. It was convenient—until you remembered that Ken, and Kirana and everyone else who came from a country that didn’t have English as a native language was screwed. It was probably why they’d found so few people who didn’t speak English alive.

“We’ll give you the full story later. The important thing to remember is that you’re safe. We call ourselves the United Nations company. To let everyone know we’re from Earth. And there are more of us. You’ll get food and we’ll give you a checkup back at base.”

“Safety.”

Blake breathed the words. Dawson grinned.

“What, you think we’d abandon someone from Earth? We’ve got you. Aussies and kiwis got to stick together, right?”

“Your countries are right next to each other, right?”

Siri looked at Daly for confirmation. He nodded.

“We’re close by. But totally different. You know, Australia and New Zealand have different cultures so we make fun of each other. We have different words, different accents—”

“Ours are better.”

Blake grinned faintly as the two gently ribbed him. Siri looked between the three.

“You both sound pretty much the same to me.”

Daly, Dawson, and Blake all glared at Siri. She shrugged completely unapologetically. She looked over at Nicola.

“More food?”

The girl nodded. Siri fished out a nali-stick and showed them how to eat it. Blake sat back as she offered him a piece. He chewed and his eyes opened wide.

“Sweet!”

“It’s sugarcane. Or something like it.”

“God, I’m so hungry. And this is so—”

Blake started choking up. Dawson looked the other way, but Daly grabbed Blake’s shoulder.

“Don’t worry. Just relax.”

The younger man nodded. It was at this point that Bault looked backwards. He cleared his throat and Daly looked up.

“Sorry, we can’t help but overhear some of that. Are these Humans—friends?”

Daly looked up. He cursed as he realized the Centaurs had probably heard the stuff about this being another world. Or not—they’d been talking quietly up till now. Either way, he could only roll with it.

“That’s right. They’re from the same place. Civilians. Not warriors. They landed in the jungle. Blake here landed knee-deep in a pool with a piranha and leeches or something.”

“That’s awful.”

Pihava looked over her shoulder and gave Blake a sympathetic glance. He tensed up and then slowly waved a hand. The Centauress looked at Daly.

“Is that why your company put out a bounty for any strange Humans?”

Daly nodded.

“We don’t know what hit us. Teleportation spell, maybe. We’re looking for anyone else who’s out of place.”

The two Centaurs exchanged a long glance. Bault coughed.

“I didn’t know that. I just heard there was a bounty. Tell you what, if we hear of anything, we’ll bring news of it your way, okay? Free of charge.”

“And you can hire us. Ask by name. We know all the roads around here.”

Pihava tossed her head and gave them a nod. Daly smiled.

“That’s very kind of you. But if you could keep what you heard a secret, that’d do us even more of a favor.”

“Of course. But we will tell everyone at the Guild you’re looking. Dead gods, a teleportation spell? You should get the Adventurer’s Guild to put out an all-alert.”

Daly blinked.

“You think they would?”

“Of course! If there are Humans wandering around with no idea of the dangers—these ones are lucky to have survived this long! We’ll get you back to the city. Come on, Bault.”

The wagon noticeably picked up in speed. The Earthworlders stared at the Centaur’s backs. Lorenzo whispered something to Nicola. She spoke up.

“They’re nice? Not…monsters?”

Both Centaurs stiffened. Daly bit his tongue. Pihava looked back with a glare that made Nicola flinch.

“We’re not monsters.”

Daly held up a hand and waved it.

“They’ve never seen Centaurs before, mates. Not Lizardfolk or Dullahans either. Just Humans. They’re far from home.”

“Terandrians.”

Bault snorted. But the Centaurs relaxed ever-so-slightly. And they kept moving, fast enough to be back in Talenqual much faster than they’d spent going. They made their way through the gates as the Bushrangers did their best to keep the other Earthworlders from freaking out at the sight of all the Lizardfolk, Dullahans, and Centaurs. It seemed the Centaurs bothered them the most—the Dullahans made them nervous, but not in the same way. The Lizardfolk were just…strange.

“Here’s our stop. It’s not much, but it’s filled with people from Earth. Go on, Siri will lead you inside. Dawson? Do a runner and tell everyone what’s up.”

“You got it.”

Dawson and Siri hopped out. Daly jogged around the wagon as they helped Blake and the others to the ground. He looked up at the Centaurs, who were panting.

“You two did a fantastic job. I’ll say as much next time I’m in the Runner’s Guild. Here.”

He reached into his belt pouch and offered both Centaurs a gold coin. They eyed it appreciatively. It was a generous tip, but they’d run fast and far and Daly was paying for the insult and goodwill.

“It was nothing. Like we said, we’ll spread the word. Call on us.”

“Absolutely.”

Daly promised and meant it. The Centaurs took off, dragging the wagon back towards the Runner’s Guild, done for the day. It was early evening now, and Daly headed straight into the apartments. He heard a commotion, and then opened the door and saw Kirana hugging Nicola, and more of the Earthworlders in the United Nations company surrounded the overwhelmed group.

“Hey! Come on! Clear a space! Let me introduce them!”

Daly raised his voice. He gestured to the group, and spoke to Blake.

“This here’s the headquarters of our group of refugees from Earth. Let me introduce you. Take a seat here—hey, they’re thirsty and hungry. Do we have food…?”

One of the Indian girls, Priya, rushed into the kitchen and came out with food. The still-hungry Italians and Blake set to as Daly pointed around the room.

“Let’s see. This is Kirana, Priya, um—”

“Amoli.”

Daly turned red as it transpired that he didn’t know all the names. They introduced themselves, talking in slow English while the others volunteered their names. Daly heard a clatter down the stairs, and looked up. Paige stopped on the stairs, staring.

“Hey Paige! You’ll never guess who dropped in! Someone from fucking New Zealand of all the luck!”

The Australian girl stared at Blake, and then descended slowly. The first thing she did was give him a hug, which made Daly embarrassed for the ribbing. He coughed.

“Paige is the one who holds down the fort while we’re all away. You could say she’s the boss around here.”

Paige gave Daly a look, and he went on.

“But our real leaders are all out. There’s about forty of us—but we have two guys and a girl who are pretty much running the show. Ken, Luan, and Geneva. And Aiko?”

“Are they adventurers? Like you?”

Blake pointed at Daly’s axe. Daly shook his head, grinning ruefully.

“Better. Ken’s a [Negotiator]. You got classes, so you know what I mean. He and Aiko—she’s Japanese too—they’re always with Geneva. He talks to people, gets them to let her work in peace. Aiko’s Geneva’s number one assistant.”

Besides Okasha. And no one was allowed to know about her. Then Daly realized he hadn’t said what Geneva did.

“Geneva’s a [Doctor].”

The word made all of the new Earthworlders look up. Diana urgently tugged on Nicola’s arm. She’d been swaying in the wagon, and Lorenzo had been helping her move about. Nicola looked up.

“Is she here? Diana is sick.”

Half of the people at the table drew back. Nicola waved a hand.

“No, no. It’s—”

She looked at Blake. He looked grave.

“Diabetes. She’s out of insulin and we—”

“Kirana! Grab us that kit!”

He jumped as both Paige and Daly turned and shouted. Kirana was already grabbing for a bottle. She pressed it on Diana and they rushed to explain what it was. The girl took a sip of the stamina potion after staring at it for a second. Then she gasped, and color flooded into her face. Daly took off and left the apartment to run and find the other person with diabetes—Filip, of Poland. He was working as a [Scribe], but he repeated Geneva’s instructions and Daly came back, huffing and puffing, to find that Paige had already found the hand-written instructions.

They were explaining more about Baleros and this world to the Italians, filling in the gaps that they’d guessed at. It turned out that the announcements in their head were a universal language, so the [Scavenger], [Survivalist], and [Skulker] classes they’d received were all familiar to them.

“We’re all working to survive here. The other species are different—but they are people. You can work and earn money, like everywhere. That’s why so many are out right now. Working. Ken and Geneva and Aiko will be back tomorrow morning.”

“And she is a [Doctor]?”

“That’s right. She doesn’t have her tools, but she studied medicine and she’s the best we’ve got. Her and Luan are the oldest. He’s a Runner.”

Then they had to explain what Runners were. And adventurers again. Daly corrected himself as he sat at the table, drinking some of the sugar water that came from boiling water with nali-sticks.

“City Runner. Well, I say ‘Runner’, but he only operates on the water. He’s a kayak—sorry, a rower. Nothing to do with kayaks. And he’s an Olympian, a professional athlete.”

“He never actually competed.”

Paige demurred. Daly snorted.

“But he’s on the South African team.”

“An athlete? He must be insane on the water.”

Blake looked up. Daly grinned.

“Fast as fuck. When he gets back, you’ve got to watch him zip around. He can move faster in that canoe than I can run. Way faster with Skills.”

It was scary, really. But hearing about Luan was reassuring, as if someone who would have gone to the summer Olympics conveyed more safety. The Italians were relaxing by the time Nicola asked about the name.

“Why United Nations company?”

They’d understood that, but not the reason the Earthworlders had rallied around the name. Daly gave them a wry smile.

“It’s a symbol of home. Yeah, it’s a bit stupid, but a lot of people know the name, right? And it wasn’t us that picked it. Ken came up with it. He’s an idealist. And between you and me, I don’t think he knows quite what the UN did back at home.”

“It’s a good name, though. Really. It stands for something.”

Blake hurried to reassure the others. He looked up and groaned.

“I feel full. Excuse me, do you have a bathroom? And—a bath?”

“We’re hauling water for you right now. This way.”

Daly led Blake upstairs. Paige caught him on the way down.

“Good work.”

He nodded at her, smiling. Then he felt at his belt pouch and frowned.

“Paige, we’re down two gold, nine silver, and two coppers. I’m nearly out of money.”

“Got it. But we brought back four of our own.”

“True.”

Paige glanced over her shoulders. Daly heard an exclamation at the door. More of the company was returning from work.

“Damn, there’s going to be a crowd. I should get them upstairs and find them a room—and a bath—before everyone pours in. They need sleep, not more introductions.”

“I’ll head them off.”

“While you’re at it, can you get some xelca meat? Kirana forgot to buy some.”

“Aw—fine.”

Daly went downstairs. There were more Earthworlders outside. Anders, wet from his work in the harbor, Filip, young men and women from a number of countries. Most were Australian, though. Daly raised his voice.

“Hey, listen up you lot! We just got four more friends from home!”

There was a cheer. Daly shouted over it.

“Right, but before you come crowding inside, wait! They’re tired, exhausted—half starved—and they’ve had enough excitement. Paige is getting them upstairs, so don’t crowd them. Kirana’s got food going, so we’ll cycle you in and out—half of you’ll have to eat on the steps. And would someone buy some xelca meat? I’ve got money—”

“Did someone say xelca meat? My cousin sells it!”

A Lizardman poked his head out of the house across the street. Daly wavered. That was Talenqual, for you. No privacy.

“Uh, yeah. Can we get—fuck. I don’t know, six pounds?”

“Sure!”

“Hey, what’s xelca meat anyways? No one’ll give me a straight answer when I ask.”

One of the Australians called out suspiciously. Daly heard a laugh from the Lizardman, who grinned and crawled out the shutter without answering. They also liked playing pranks. Daly shook his head.

“Thing to remember with Lizardfolk and their food? You don’t ask. It’s probably a toad or fish. Probably. And it’s good when it’s hot, edible when it’s not.”

The Lizardman turned as he walked down the street.

“Ooh. That’s catchy! I’m going to use that. Good when it’s hot, edible when it’s…”

He disappeared. The other Earthworlders looked at each other in amusement. Then they began to ask questions, giving time for Paige to do her job. By the time the Lizardman came back with a wrapped package of xelca meat in the long strips they were sold in, Kirana was ready to cook it. The Earthworlders went into the apartments, eating buffet-style, grabbing bowls and filling them before eating outside or shoulder-to-shoulder in the living room.

Halfway through the meal, Paige came down to announce everyone was asleep. Like Daly, she was immediately barraged by questions. A girl from Poland stood up.

“Are they okay?”

“Fine. Geneva can check, but they’re just hungry. Nothing else. No one crowd them now. We’re putting them up in a room by themselves. So it’ll be a bit cramped.”

“What’s new?”

Someone groaned. Paige folded her arms.

“We’re working on leasing another house. Our neighbors are open to the idea—especially with all us noisy Humans tramping about. We just need Luan to get back with a hefty coin purse. Or someone to lose a limb and call in our [Doctor].”

“Here’s hoping!”

There was a quiet laugh. Paige fielded a few more questions, and then headed back to her work room. And the others ate, talked or complained about their day, but all too soon went to sleep.

They’d worked full jobs. And so they filled the upper floors of the apartment, sleeping in the crammed rooms as Daly and the Bushrangers stayed awake. They hadn’t had that active a day. So they sat together in the dining room of the second apartment with the door closed and talked quietly.

“Looks like we’ve got four new mouths to feed.”

“We’ll manage. We just need to take another big contract. And they’ll work as soon as they’ve got their legs under them.”

“What if they don’t? Like the group we had to kick out?”

“We deal with it then.”

Daly sighed. He leaned back in his chair. Then he looked at the kitchen. Kirana was still hard at work, preparing breakfast this time. He could smell it, and his full stomach decided to rumble anyways.

“You know, half of the newcomers think we’re prepared for this.”

“What?”

The other Bushrangers looked up as Dawson relaxed. He waved his hand.

“This. I was talking to Jeraldo? Think his name was Jeraldo. He and some of the others—you know, the ones who came after us—they think we’re used to this because we come from the great Down Under. Like we’re used to punching kangaroos and fighting off rattlesnakes.”

“Fuck off with that.”

One of the other Bushrangers exclaimed, kneading her fingers together angrily. Daly kept his mouth shut.

“Why, because Australia’s got bugs and spiders? Doesn’t mean we’re all experts. Let’s see. Fuck that, and that, and that. What the hell is that thing?”

She pointed to a few bugs crawling across the floor. They looked like ants—but not ants from Earth. One was blue. Glowing. Daly grimaced. They must have been attracted to the food. Kirana kept a clean place, but Miss Hastel’s apartments weren’t exactly airtight, and bugs were a given in Baleros. No one worried unless it was an infestation.

“It’s a vote of confidence. Who else is going out and actually taking on monsters? Us. And the Swedes.”

He nodded at Siri and Tofte. The Norwegian man looked up.

“Some want to. But not when they know what it’s like.”

The others nodded. Once you’d actually come face-to-face with a monster—even a zombie, you learned how real it was. Hell, even a zombie…Daly remembered having to slowly hack at the zombie’s head, just to bring it down. And the smell, the feel of metal hitting bone…

In the silence, Daly looked around.

“We’re not all experts who live out in the bush. That’s true enough. But someone’s got to do this job. Push comes to shove, we’re our company’s first response.”

“And we volunteered. We didn’t have to.”

Daly nodded he glanced at Dawson.

“Anyone tells you how we should wander off and kill a Spear Spider with a boomerang, you just tell them we’re not used to this. If they want to join up, they can. But it’s not a fun job. I’m proud of you all for stepping up.”

There was a moment of silence. Then Dawson offered a tired smile.

“Love you too, Daly. No homo.”

“Aw, you idiot…”

The group broke up. Daly sighed as they trooped up the stairs—to share a room this time. He stayed up, wondering if he could nap in the living room or if the ants would start crawling in his ears.

Eventually Kirana finished her work and turned out the light in the kitchen. She headed upstairs, missing Daly. He was sitting so still he was invisible. And he had a Skill.

[Faint Presence]. An [Axe Warrior], a [Carpenter], and a [Rogue]. Apparently he might become a [Ranger] if he kept at it. Daly sighed. And then he heard a faint sound.

Someone was coming down the stairs. Daly looked up, about to call out. And then he saw Blake. Daly froze. His hand reached for his side. And then he reconsidered. He reached for something else instead. Blake walked down the stairs, barely making a sound. Quiet, slowly. He looked around the room, and then crept for the door.

“Going somewhere?”

Blake spun. He saw Daly, sitting in the shadows, one hand resting on the table. The other was on his lap. Daly pointed.

“I’m not the suspicious sort. But we had one incident where a bloke tried to rob us and then do a runner.”

“I wasn’t. I was just—I needed to step outside. Be alone.”

Blake gulped. Daly eyed him, then shook his head.

“Outside? You’ll just run into Lizardfolk. And there’s no alone when you’re with even one of them. Have a seat. Here’s the best you’ll get, probably.”

He pulled up a chair. Blake hesitated, and then sat across from him. He stared at Daly.

“I wasn’t going to take anything.”

“I believe you. What’s wrong. Can’t sleep?”

“No. It’s—I did sleep, but then I woke up. I couldn’t get back. All of this—it’s too much to believe.”

The New Zealander uttered a short laugh. It was more like a bark of sound. Daly nodded.

“It’s tough. But believe me, it’s real. If pinching could wake me up—it’s all real.”

“I know. There’s no way I’m dreaming. But I want to be. You know?”

Blake ran a hand through his hair. He felt silent. Daly waited.

“About when we came here. What I said—we got jumped on the first day, you know? Not by bandits or—[Bandits]. By other people. From home.”

“Really?”

Daly didn’t move. Blake looked up.

“Yeah. I don’t know who they were. They just came out of nowhere. This guy ran up—they’d smelled us cooking that fish. They told us to hand it over. One of the Italians said no. They started shoving each other and then—they just attacked us.”

“What nationality were they?”

The other young man looked up. Daly elaborated.

“If you meet them, or if we run across them, it’d be good to know. We can’t take people like that into the company—”

Blake uttered a strangled laugh.

“No fear of that. Like I said, after that day—there were four of us. We ran. I don’t know what the hell those others were—they were like monsters. They didn’t look as if they’d been here for just a day. Completely psycho. And they had Centaurs with them. They were [Bandits], I guess.”

“How many Centaurs?”

“Just two. They were really young.”

“Outcasts. Centaurs expel troublemakers. Most die, or form into groups like that.”

“I guess they do. But they didn’t follow us. So we ran. Eventually we got to this—this village. Headed straight down a road, and found them. They were—Dullahans.”

“Really?”

Daly frowned. Then why were they alone? His hand twitched. Blake nodded. He was caught up in his story.

“They scared us so bad. We were running, and then this head hidden in a tree trunk spoke to us and the bodies appeared out of nowhere. We thought we were dead. But they saw the blood and cleaned us up and even healed us. And when we told them what had happened.”

His voice broke. Daly waited, hearing Blake gulp.

“They were appalled. You know? Just horrified. They patched us up and their head person—their [Village Leader]—told me that justice would be served. The next day a group of them in armor set out. They came back four days later with the heads of everyone in the bandit group.”

“That’s how Dullahans do it. They take heads. On Dullahans it works. They take the heads and the bodies try to get to them. Or die.”

Blake uttered what sounded like a prayer in the darkness.

“Yeah, well, these were Humans. And the Centaurs. The Dullahans told us justice was done. Two days after that they kicked us out when they realized we couldn’t do anything. Herded us out and told us they’d cut off our heads if we came back without money to pay for lodging.”

He looked up. Daly paused. Then he nodded.

“That’s Dullahans for you. I don’t want to say it, but you got lucky. Not that lucky—Lizardfolk would have been nicer. But you could have run into Centaurs. They might’ve killed you then and there if they thought you were lying, or just left you to die.”

“Really?”

The tone in Blake’s voice was flat. Daly nodded. He pointed up.

“You know Kirana? Priya? The Indian girls who help keep the place running? They were the last group we found. Just girls. I think they were this group we met the first night we were here. But—the rest of them were dead. They took to stealing. Got caught in a Centaur town. Guess what they did?”

Blake didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. Daly nodded.

“You know why Kirana and the other girls survived? Centaurs don’t kill women unless it’s in a battle. Even bandits.”

“Does that make them better than Dullahans?”

“I think they can be right bastards. Some of them. But that’s their way. They think females shouldn’t be treated like men. Or they respect the only gender that can give birth. They revere mothers and are really protective of children. Especially because childbirth’s trickier for them. That’s how Ken sees it.”

“Ken. You speak about him like he’s your leader. Him and—Geneva?”

“And Luan. They pulled us out of the fire. We were in a company. Mercenaries. We would have all been slaughtered in this war—but Ken helped stop the fighting. So yeah, I look up to him. All of us do. Him and Geneva and Luan—they keep us together. Because they’ve got actual talent. Ken’s a diplomat. Luan’s an actual athlete. And Geneva…”

The two sat in silence for a while. Blake looked up at last.

“Thanks for getting us. We would have stayed there until someone ran us off.”

“It’s what we do. We have to stick together.”

Daly nodded. He looked at Blake.

“Get some sleep if you can. You’ll have a full day of it tomorrow.”

“I will. Thank you. Again. Thank you.”

Blake stood up. He headed up the stairs, looking calmer. Or so Daly thought.

But was it just an act? Did someone wake up and just happen to go to the door?

People from Earth. Just because they’re all from our home, doesn’t mean they’re all trustworthy. Some nights Daly still wondered what had happened to Caroline. Was it just an accident? What if Pihava or Bault talked?

Stupid. Wasn’t their knowledge from Earth useful? And there were other things to consider. Not everyone could work together. There’d been one fight about one of the boys wanting to set up a place to pray, and squabbles over sleeping arrangements. Friction.

Together but not together. It might get better when Ken and Geneva returned. It usually did. But in his heart, Daly struggled.

He had to believe Blake was on the up and up. He had to believe things would work out. He’d watch Blake. He had to. He had to be the one who made the hard decisions. But he couldn’t turn into the monster. His finger twitched and twitched. Daly tried to make it stop.

Baleros was war. It wasn’t hell, although it felt like it sometimes. There was so much beauty here you could forget the blood and death. And then a day would come along and rip the illusion wide open. But it wasn’t an evil place.

Daly had fought. He still fought, every day in fact. And he’d learned something on nights like this. It wasn’t monsters or even other people you were fighting. What you were really fighting, was yourself. And whether you turned into a monster or didn’t was the real battle.

Slowly, Daly reached into his belt pouch and pulled something out. A compact device, made of wood. He fumbled with it, and then removed the little toothpick-sized quarrel. He stowed the miniature crossbow and carefully uncocked it before packing it into the case Paige had made for him.

Some nights it felt like all he’d done since coming here was learn how to kill things in different ways. With that thought in his head, Daly just pushed back the table and lay down on the floor. He fell asleep slowly, as an ant crawled across his arm.

And the next day, Geneva came back.

6.06 D

They called her the Last Light. The Last Light of Baleros. To most, she was a [Soldier]’s story. And not even a grand one at that. Her legend was small. But somehow, it spread.

She was no warrior. She hadn’t built up decades of triumphs like the larger-than-life figures who dominated Baleros. The Titan. The Seer of Steel. Or even the younger heroes, like Aria Fellstrider, “Battle Hymnist” of Maelstrom’s Howling.

And yet, the Last Light’s tale lived on. It spread from word of mouth, from soldier to soldier, until you could hear a story about her a hundred miles from where she had ever walked. And that was because there was something in the Last Light that called to the [Mercenaries], to [Soldiers].

To anyone who fought on the battlefield, really. The Last Light was someone who would mend you. Save you when no potion could. Her true name, her identity was actually unimportant. She just symbolized a dying soldier’s hope. So they knew her. The Last Light. The [Doctor] of Baleros. And when they lay dying in the mud and gore, impaled by spears, bleeding, mage-burnt or torn from a monster’s claws, they called for her. The wounded, the despairing. Reaching out for a glimmer of hope.

But she was not there. And they died or lived by miracles she had nothing to do with. The Last Light was a legend. The real thing was only Human. And so powerless.

So frail.

And she was coming home.

—-

Geneva Scala rode down a trade road of Baleros. The pony she rode wasn’t too happy about carrying her. And she wasn’t too happy with it, really. But since both were well-disciplined, they plodded down the stone road in disagreeable silence. Geneva occasionally swatted at a fly that landed on her. Her right hand gripped the reins while her left flicked the flies off before they could bite and lay eggs. It was spring, and the air was humid. The pony flicked its tail constantly as its shod hoofs gently struck the stone.

A trade road. Unlike the muddy, sometimes flooded or overrun dirt trails, the trade roads were almost always clear. They connected the major cities of Baleros. They had been painstakingly laid over hundreds of years and were maintained—for it was from them that the lifeblood of Baleros, trade and war, flowed.

The pony Geneva was riding decided to relieve itself as it walked. She felt the gurgling and smelled and heard the distinct plops on the road behind her. She half-twisted, wrinkled her nose, but didn’t bother chastising the pony. There was really no point. Besides, the trade road had all kinds of detritus left on it. It would be clean once one of Baleros’ many storms or showers passed by.

The person riding behind Geneva minded a bit, though. She heard an exclamation, a female voice.

“Oh! きもい! Don’t walk in—ew, ew!”

Geneva sighed. The voice belonged to a Japanese girl, who was horrified as her pony trod right through the smelly leavings. She heard Aiko crying out in disgust in English and Japanese, and then laughter. It came from ahead of Geneva and behind. After all, she wasn’t alone.

The trade road had tons of travellers on it. Caravans bearing goods to and from the ports, adventurers, and of course, companies marching to battle. The party that followed the traffic on the right side of the road was small. Six people, all riding ponies.

“Ken! Miss Essil! My pony—”

“Aiko, it’s fine. Ponies walk through all kinds of bad things. Don’t worry. 大丈夫.”

“But Ken—”

Geneva heard Aiko break off and speak rapidly in Japanese. She heard another voice reply. She looked to her side. Ken was arguing with Aiko, probably about the hygiene of pony hooves. Like Aiko, he was Japanese. A young man with a wide-brimmed farmer’s hat, to protect him from the sun. He was dressed in light Balerosian clothing. Aiko, who had elected to wear one of her hats from Earth, had on a bright travel dress. Both wore longer clothing, to protect their fairer skin from the sun.

However, the extremely pale-skinned duo of riders riding behind them wore no protection from the sun at all. The two Selphid [Guards] riding behind their group laughed.

“Ponies don’t mind what they step on, Miss Aiko. It’s snakes that bother them. Snakes, flies—if you want to help, keep waving the pests away and your pony will thank you.”

Aiko did. She had a long fly whisk in her hand and was diligently keeping the stinging flies from her pony, whom she’d even named. Geneva stared down at her pony. It rolled its eye back as if to dare her to try and play nice. She kept riding, her body automatically balancing to prevent her from being jolted. Well, not exactly automatically.

Geneva was a poor rider. She didn’t ‘do’ horses. Or other four-legged animals bigger than she was, really. She liked dogs. Cats. Fish. Horses were a bit too…Centaurs were fine. But she didn’t feel that riding animals was for her or them. And they agreed.

Normally she’d be saddle-sore from poor posture, but as luck would have it, she was riding like a professional. And it wasn’t really something she was doing. Or rather, she was doing it, but…

“Miss Essil! Miss Essil, my pony doesn’t want an apple! Is that bad?”

The sixth member of their group looked over her shoulder somewhat reluctantly at Aiko. Essil, a Lizardwoman who was more at home in the saddle than on the ground, was a rare breed of her species. In that she didn’t actually enjoy talking all the time. Aiko, by comparison, would have fit in well with the Lizardfolk. The Japanese girl smiled as the two Selphid [Guards] hired to protect Aiko, Geneva, Ken, and to some extent, Essil herself, laughed again. Essil eyed Aiko’s pony and shook her head curtly.

“It’s not hungry because you fed it two apples already. You’re spoiling it. Don’t give it any more or it’ll overeat when feeding. I’ll have to lower how much I give that one—”

She grumbled and turned forwards. Essil scowled at the road ahead, her tail waving in time with her pony, who was calmly plodding ahead of the small group.

“Just—stop fussing over it! We’re nearly at Talenqual—once we’re there I’ll take my ponies and you lot can leave me alone.”

“We love you too, Essie.”

A Selphid wearing a Dullahan’s body called out cheerfully. His name was Maquit, at least when he wore a male body. When she was in a female body, she preferred to be called Maqua. Geneva turned sideways to eye the Selphid as Essie glared back at him.

Selphids. The body snatchers of Baleros. A pejorative nickname, really, since Selphids neither stole the bodies of the living and only rarely stole dead bodies outright. They paid to use the bodies of the deceased, hopping from body to body as they eventually decayed, much like hermit crabs and shells. Not that Okasha had liked the comparison when Geneva had made it.

Nevertheless, Selphids were fascinating. To Geneva, they reminded her of a fictional book she’d read when she was a kid. Animorphs. To her, Selphids were a bit like Yeerks, only they infested an entire body via the nervous system, rather than through the brain.

Strange. Yeerks had terrified Geneva as a child. The thought of aliens living among normal people, of being able to control someone against their will, leaving them helpless in their own body had been horrifying. But Selphids didn’t bother Geneva at all.

They were…people. They had unique personalities, morality, and like people, few were disposed towards mindless cruelty. Selphids were in fact very careful about the rules that defined their culture—they never inhabited living creatures. Doing so was punishable by death by every species in the world—especially their own. And they were also courteous of the dead. They paid the families of the deceased for the bodies they inhabited, and were in fact more careful of their vessels than the owners had been in life.

Which of course made Geneva’s own situation that much more ironic. Geneva saw a fly buzz at her face—no, a mosquito. A big one, with a proboscis that would hurt if it stuck it in her. Mosquitos had evolved to take on the bigger monsters of Baleros, and some had decided that being unobtrusive wasn’t as important as being tough. This one had a much, much bigger body, covered in a thicker carapace.

And it wanted Geneva. It landed on her cheek. She jerked—but her left hand had already snatched the mosquito before her right hand could. It quickly and ruthlessly smashed the bug between its fingers. Geneva felt the horribly unpleasant crunching and squish between her fingers before her left hand tossed the mosquito away. It rubbed its fingers on the pony’s side—the animal snorted unhappily.

The death of the mosquito didn’t bother Geneva. She was a pacifist. She had sworn an oath not to harm. But that didn’t apply to animals—she could eat meat—and it certainly didn’t apply to Baleros’ stinging insects. Nevertheless, she shuddered a bit at the sensation. She heard a whisper.

“Sorry. I’ll deaden the nerves next time.”

The voice hadn’t come from anyone around Geneva. Rather, it was a silent whisper in her eardrums. In her eardrums. Only the [Doctor] had heard it. She whispered back, her lips barely moving. She knew she didn’t have to be loud, only make the barest vocalizations.

“Don’t. It’s fine. Thank you.”

The conversation went unnoticed by Essil and everyone else on the road. They were in good spirits; after all, their journey was nearly at an end. Geneva wasn’t in such a good mood; she felt tired, weary of ponies, and honestly? A bit depressed. A bit useless.

One person did pick up on that. Ken, the young man riding next to Geneva, looked over and his smile grew into a thoughtful look. He stopped teasing Aiko, and nudged his pony a bit closer to Geneva’s. The mare obeyed happily. She seemed to enjoy carrying Ken, who had given her a treat and kept her free of the biting flies. But that wasn’t unusual. People liked Ken. It was his thing.

Ken, the [Negotiator]. Ken, who had managed to get even Essil to guide them at a cheap rate. And book them in good inns. And done most of the talking. And who was a Level 25 [Negotiator]. His latest Skill, [Moodreader], allowed him to see what people’s general states of mind were. Geneva hated that Skill.

She also hated that Ken didn’t outright ask what was wrong. True to form, he waited for a second, assessing her, looking around, and then carefully asked a question. It was how he did so well with the touchy Dullahans and Centaurs—he was polite, deferential—he’d taken the etiquette of his culture and applied to Baleros with splendid results.

“Geneva, are you excited to be back in Talenqual? I think we have achieved some good results that the others will be very happy with, don’t you?”

Geneva scowled, and then tried to smile. Her lips twitched—then turned into a natural smile. Not her own. She turned it back into a scowl. She hated how naturally Okasha could do that.

“It will be good to be back. I can work on isolating a proper antibiotic. As for achievements—we haven’t brought back more money than we left with.”

In fact, they had a lot less. Their journey had set them back, and while they still had a surplus of funds, they’d used up far too many gold coins for Geneva to be happy. Ken nodded, looking slightly puzzled.

“But we’ve made good progress. That’s worth the effort, is it not? And we have done quite a lot.”

You have. Not me. Bleakly, Geneva thought of all the people Ken had introduced himself to, and the talking he’d done while she’d stood around awkwardly as people stared at her. She shook her head.

“It was a good use of time. But I’m just worried about our finances. We didn’t get a [Message] from Paige, so all’s probably well, but without a proper source of income—”

She broke off sharply as she saw Ken’s polite smile grow ever-so-slightly strained. Somewhat guiltily, Geneva realized this was the umpteenth time she’d brought up the issue on their journey. Even he had to be tired of hearing it. She cleared her throat.

“I’ll be glad to be back.”

“So will I. I want to see Kirana and Paige! They say they’ve made new dishes from home. Very tasty ones, I hope!”

Aiko rode forwards, smiling brightly. She was a [Nurse], a [Sketcher]—she was hoping to become an [Artist] with more practice—and Geneva’s assistant in most things. She was a breath of sunshine while Geneva—was not.

“We will discuss it at the headquarters. And maybe talk about renting another space from Miss Hastel. That would be very important. Paige told me the apartments was—excuse me, were—very full already. ”

Ken nodded to himself. Geneva nodded, keeping her mouth shut. She glanced behind her. Maquit and Ilmt, the two Selphids, were caught up in a quiet dialogue of their own. They were fairly relaxed, this being a busy trade road, but they wore the shortswords and bucklers on them at all times.

“Thanks for escorting us to Talenqual despite the detours, Maquit. We appreciate it.”

The Selphid [Guard] glanced up. He grinned, a younger intelligence smiling out past the old Human man’s face. He had a bald head with whips of grey hair and his body was portly. But Maquit was barely out of his teens. And he spoke like it, despite the older voice. An odd dissonance, but you grew used to it with Selphids.

“Our pleasure, Miss Geneva. And if you want to travel again, remember to ask for us! We’ll be in Talenqual as long as it takes to find more work, probably a day or so at the latest. But should you need work, just mention Calectus’ name and you’ll get one of us. If there are any in the city, that is.”

Geneva nodded. Maquit and Ilmt had given her group an excellent deal on their rates and accompanied them wherever they wanted, despite the detours Geneva had asked for. That was because Calectus, the Selphid [Honor Guard] who’d protected Geneva throughout the jungle had spread the word. Geneva was a person of interest to Selphids and so they went out of their way to give her aid. Because they thought she could help them.

Oh, how Geneva wished she shared that optimism. She shook her head, feeling herself grow gloomier again. She turned ahead, and then noticed her left hand doing something. She watched as, unbidden by Geneva’s mind, her left hand uncorked her water flask, raised it to her lips. Her mouth opened and Geneva drank. All of this occurred without Geneva ordering her body to do any of it.

She must have been dehydrated. Geneva hadn’t felt it, but the humidity and heat of Baleros was a constant thing and she was mildly sweaty even in the early morning. But her other body’s passenger, her truest protector and one of the reasons why she could command Selphid aid, would have noticed at once. Not that anyone else would know just by looking. Except perhaps…another Selphid.

And perhaps Maquit and Ilmt had noticed, because their gazes fixed on Geneva for a second longer than normal. But they only smiled when she looked back at them and made a joke about Humans being easier to guard than Dullahans—at least Humans don’t forget their heads! She knew they wanted to talk to her other body’s other occupant, but they’d been very careful and the right moment had never sprung up.

“We’re nearly there.”

Essil interrupted the group’s chatter. The Lizardwoman looked back over her shoulder and pointed as, ahead of them, Talenqual appeared out of the jungle. Geneva looked up and sighed.

Home. Or at least, a place where she lived. She rode towards the city, hunched over her pony. It had been two weeks of travelling. And they’d accomplished…something. They really had. She just wished she could smile. Because after all this time, she still felt so useless that it hurt.

—-

“They’re back!”

Daly was lounging in one of the two sofas the apartment held when Andel burst through the door excitedly. The young Australian man was on his day off from fishing, and he’d seen Ken, Geneva, and Aiko coming through the gates. His words provoked an uproar among the Earthworlders.

“At last! Let’s go meet them!”

Excitedly, Mary jumped to her feet. Dawson waved a lazy hand. He was playing on the one gaming smartphone the company shared.

“Bah, they’ll be here any minute. They know the way.”

“Aiko’s back?”

Kirana poked her head out of the kitchen, looking excited. Daly nodded and she ran upstairs to find Priya, both of whom were good friends with Aiko. Daly looked around. He saw Blake, who was sitting and talking with a few of the other recent newcomers, look up from his briefing about Baleros and the world. So did Nicola and the Italian kids.

“The others?”

Nicola looked confused. Daly nodded. He stood up.

“That’ll be Ken, Geneva, and Aiko. Ken and Geneva are two of our company’s leaders. Along with Luan.”

“They’re very good. The highest-level our group has. You’ll like Ken. He is a [Negotiator]. And Geneva is famous. The Last Light of Baleros is what people call her.”

Nicola frowned, still struggling a tiny bit with Tofte’s Norwegian accent. She hesitated.

“The…Last Light?”

Tofte nodded. He tried to explain how Geneva had gotten the name—which was a trick in itself because the story was complicated. Daly, who had been there, only half-listened. He glanced around and saw Siri coming down the stairs.

“I heard Ken’s coming back? And Aiko and Geneva?”

“That’s right. Our [Doctor]’s returned.”

Daly felt a bit of relief in saying it. Ken and Geneva being here would make him relax a lot. He hoped they’d come with good news, or better yet, a lot of money. But them just being here and not necessarily on the road would be good. Siri frowned.

“I met Geneva only once, when I first came here. Then she left on her trip.”

“Oh, right. I forgot you only got here for a bit.”

It felt like Siri had been part of the company, and the Bushrangers, for ages. But she was new. Daly saw Siri was frowning slightly.

“What’s up?”

“Hm. What’s she like in person? Geneva? She was very—”

Siri broke off. Out of politeness, perhaps. Daly wondered what her experience had been. He hesitated, and then shrugged nonchalantly.

“You’ll see her in a few seconds.”

The Swedish girl eyed him, but didn’t push it. And indeed, she settled back down in the chair she’d been using. Meanwhile, more of the company not working flooded back into the apartments. They wanted to greet Ken and Aiko and Geneva.

Many of the most eager ones were the newest members, the ones who had barely had a chance to get to know Ken and the others before they’d gone on their trips. They hadn’t spoken to Luan, who was always working, or gotten more than their first encounter with Geneva. Ken they knew; he’d helped find a lot of them. But the others were more mysterious. And Geneva?

Sometimes Daly still heard stories about her. From adventurers, no less. And every time Quallet came back with his growing company, newer members of Gravetender’s Fist would be with him, just to see if the myth had any feet. Daly couldn’t tell what they thought after meeting Geneva. But it was the question everyone asked at first.

What was the Last Light of Baleros like, really? What was Geneva, the [Doctor] like as a person? Daly had seen her on the battlefield. But he had known Geneva afterwards. And what she was like was—

The door opened. Ken heard an exclamation from the stairs, and then a shout.

“Ken! Aiko! Geneva!”

Everyone turned. Half the room shot to their feet and crowded the door. Ken heard a familiar voice, exclamations, and then Paige shouting.

“Alright, everyone, back up! Back up and let them through!”

Hers was not the voice of a [Negotiator], but sometimes you just needed to be loud. The Earthworlders moved back and Daly saw a familiar face. Ken was wearing the conical hat, but it was pushed back, and he was smiling, shaking hands. His face lit up as he saw Daly and the Australian felt a jolt of relief in his stomach.

“Ken!”

He pushed his way forwards. Ken approached slowly through the crowd.

“Daly! It’s good to see you!”

“We’ve missed you. Could have used you yesterday—and Aiko too! Hello there!”

“Hello, Daly! Hello Paige! And Kirana, Priya—”

Aiko lit up as she hugged her friends from India. Daly looked around. People were crowded about, Blake, Nicola, Lorenzo, and Diana were craning to see—

And then there was a moment of calm. Heads turned. Some of the laughter died out, and people turned to see the third member of the company who’d come back.

No one leapt forwards to hug her. She did not tower over the others; she was a bit short of six feet, tall for a young woman, and dressed in travelling clothes. But that wasn’t what marked her. Geneva Scala could have been any young woman with Italian heritage. But her eyes. They were…

Intense.

Yes. Intense was the word. Look at Geneva from the side and you might not sense it at first. But take one look at her gaze, or notice how she moved, how she walked or even stood. It wasn’t posture, so much as readiness. She felt intense, and if Ken made you relaxed, Geneva made you check the skies for a storm, or listen to the wind. She had the same pressure in her gaze that Daly sometimes saw in Siri’s eyes when they were about to enter combat, or in Dawson’s. Or his own, in the mirror on dark nights.

You wanted to know what Geneva was like? A look said it all. She looked around the room, clearly conscious of the effect her entrance had had. She nodded.

“Hello.”

Ken could have said that and turned it into an opening for conversation. Geneva’s statement somehow shut it down. That was Geneva, even when she wasn’t acting as a [Doctor]. She was just driven, when there was nothing to drive.

And she didn’t smile often. Sometimes, Daly thought she’d forgotten how. Then she’d give him a natural smile and he’d know it wasn’t Geneva who was doing the smiling. Daly looked around. People were hesitating, silent, unsure of how to greet her. He wondered if Geneva had the same effect on Lizardfolk. Probably not. Even her personality had limits.

Still, it was awkward, so Daly did his best. He put a smile on his face, reached out, and slapped Geneva on the shoulder. She blinked at him.

“Good to see you, Geneva! Our [Doctor]’s back, everyone!”

There was a pause. Geneva stared up at Daly and she saw her lips twitch. Then a natural, welcoming smile came over her face. It looked completely normal. But Daly still felt a shiver run down his spine. A natural smile, but she hadn’t given it.

“Good to be back! Thanks, Daly.”

And that wasn’t her way of saying it either. But the effect was welcome. Everyone not in the know immediately relaxed, and the babble of voices broke out again. They crowded around Daly and Geneva and the others, asking questions. Ken had to hold up his hands and raise his voice.

“Please! Everyone! We just arrived. Let us give Paige some things—we have souvenirs as well! And then we will have time to answer questions! Paige, I have a pack—”

“Put it in my work room. Kirana, do we have food?”

“We have wonderful snacks!”

The Indian girl beamed. There was a cheer—and like that, the twin apartments were filled with people eating the snacks Kirana and the others were bringing out, sitting on the couches and floor and table listening to Ken relate the stories of where they’d been and what they’d seen, or Aiko doing the same, but from a different perspective.

And somehow, Daly found himself standing next to Geneva. That was the second thing you’d notice, if you looked. Geneva Scala, the Last Light of Baleros, didn’t command the room. After you got over the intensity of who she is, after you looked past the legend, you realized Geneva was just…ordinary. Or rather, she didn’t do extraordinary things. In fact, she was fairly quiet. Until something demanded her attention.

“Had a good trip?”

“Uneventful. But yes, perhaps. There’s good and bad—Ken’s planning on filling you and Paige in tonight. We got some of the things she wanted.”

Geneva sighed. She looked tired, and Daly imagined she’d been travelling from dawn to arrive by midmorning. He coughed.

“How was the road? Did you take a Centaur carriage?”

“No. Too expensive. We rode. Ken’s guide had ponies, so we made most of the journey on horseback. Not my idea of fun.”

“Aw, you don’t like horses? I’m partial to them myself. Although they are temperamental buggers.”

Geneva looked up. She hesitated.

“Next time I’ll give you my seat.”

It sounded like a joke, even if her delivery was terrible, so Daly laughed. Geneva didn’t smile, but the corners of her mouth moved. The two looked over at Ken.

“Is Luan…?”

“Nope. He came in once. Dumped a bunch of gold coins on us, slept for almost two days straight, and then went back out. Said he had a big contract. He’s really gunning to get a Courier rating.”

Geneva looked concerned.

“He should take it easy.”

“That’s what I said. But did he listen? He’s flying up in levels, Geneva. He did ask about Aiko, but that was it.”

“Oh. Aiko asked about how Luan was doing too. She had something she wanted to talk to him about. I don’t know what.”

“Ah.”

Both Daly and Geneva’s eyes slid towards Aiko, who was happily chatting away. Geneva shuffled her feet. Daly bit his lip. As far as they knew, it was just friendship. But you had to wonder. Luan was married, but Aiko had admired him until she’d learned about that pressing fact. It was probably nothing. And if it was?

“So—did you encounter any trouble on the road worth mentioning? How were your guards? Did you need an escort? The Bushrangers are doing better. We’ve taken a good number of contracts since you left—all hunting or recon ones. We could spare some of our own if you need it next time.”

The [Doctor] looked up, and then shook her head slightly.

“No, our Selphid [Guards] worked very well. Not that there was any need for violence. They did stop a [Thief] from targeting Aiko one time, but the trade roads are very safe. Honestly, we probably didn’t need them. But they’ve said we can hire them again and Calectus’ name is still good.”

“Well, we’ll definitely have you going with someone. Alone’s too risky for my tastes.”

Daly frowned. Geneva nodded. The two stood together another moment, as something Ken said elicited a laugh. Then Daly had to ask.

“So…how’d it go? The cities, I mean? Did you get the company’s name out? Obviously you didn’t find anyone from home—but how many people did you see?”

He had to know. Daly had been hoping—dreaming, really, of Ken’s small expedition to the nearby cities coming back with a bucket load of gold coins. Enough to put the company in the black for months and give Daly time to think about outfitting his Bushrangers, and Paige the money to really get to work on translating things from their world over here.

They hadn’t gotten any [Messages] that indicated wild success, but that wasn’t the sort of thing you advertised, was it? Especially since rumor had it that some [Mages] were on the take and would sell you out to [Bandits] or other lowlifes. Or just sell your information to anyone who wanted to be in the know.

Daly was hopeful. Right up until he saw Geneva look down. She clenched her hands, and then looked him dead in the eye. There was that intensity. But that was just Geneva on the surface. Behind that, what she’d been through, there was a normal person there. And the guilt in her eyes told him everything before she opened her mouth.

“Nothing.”

“What? Nothing?”

Geneva nodded. Daly saw her close her eyes, and then she spoke slowly. Quietly, above the chatter in the room.

“Nothing. I performed two surgeries—removing an old arrowhead, and pulling three rotten teeth. That’s it.”

Daly felt his stomach drop as if Geneva had slugged him.

“But—”

But you’re the [Doctor]. They’d sent her with Ken to learn what she could, so Ken could make introductions, get their company known. And Geneva was their ace. The miracle worker. The Last Light who’d rake in the coin performing surgeries. That was the plan. But Geneva just shook her head.

“They had [Healers] who could do a lot with potions, poultices, and so on. And there are [Doctors] in this world—or at least, people who can perform the most basic of surgeries. With healing potions though, that’s all they need.”

Of course. Daly imagined it. Cut yourself? Healing potion. Break a bone? Set it and use a healing potion. Lay your leg wide open so you could see the bone? More expensive healing potion, or a [Healer]. And he saw it in Geneva’s eyes. Frustration. She looked away.

“No one needed me.”

—-

It would have been easy if Daly got angry. But he didn’t. Geneva saw him take the bad news like a physical blow. She knew it would hit the others hard, once news got around. Ken was only telling stories of what they’d seen—huge, sprawling Lizardfolk cities, magical artifacts, towers built out of magicked stone that were tall—although not on the level of skyscrapers. Interesting people, fascinating experiences. But nothing about the money.

“So how much did it cost?”

The young man from Australia looked ready for the worst. Geneva paused.

“We’ve got sixteen gold coins. So a little over two thirds of what we left with.”

A huge sigh left Daly’s mouth. That was a lot of money spent. But if they’d used the full amount, it would have been a lot of money—probably a month of the Bushranger’s working their best—lost.

“Not bad. How’d you manage it?”

“Like I said, I did two surgeries. And Aiko earned some money doing her manga sketches of people.”

“Caricatures?”

Daly smiled for a moment. Geneva nodded.

“Close. Lizardfolk loved them. And Ken saved us money by being Ken. He talked us into better rates for practically every inn we stopped at. Same for the [Healers] I visited.”

“So you did get what you needed? There’s something, at least.”

Daly was trying to put a good spin on it. Geneva frowned.

“Yes. And there’s a bit of progress there. But again…”

She couldn’t lie to him. Even if she wanted to. Daly hesitated. It would have been easier if he said how disappointed he clearly was. But he didn’t. Instead, he did the best thing possible. He put his hand on her shoulder and gave her a smile.

“Hey, I’m glad you’re back. We need you here.”

It was the perfect thing to say to make Geneva feel worse. She just nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

“Hey, what’s to be sorry about? If they don’t need surgeries—we should have thought of that. And frankly, it was bum luck. There could have been work for you. Someone slips, cuts off a hand—or has an accident that a potion can’t handle?”

Geneva nodded. That was true. There could have been a dire situation that only she could have solved. But it hadn’t come up, though they’d visited a few sprawling large cities with people living together in the tens or hundreds of thousands. No one had needed her, even when Ken was selling Geneva’s talents as loudly as possible. Because there wasn’t a war going on. And that meant Geneva couldn’t do much.

What she could do, in the end, was teach what she knew. She could make a field surgeon out of Aiko, and anyone else who wanted to learn. She could teach them how to operate, remove shrapnel, staunch bleeding—but what use was that to someone when a healing potion could do the same?

“If someone lost a limb…”

“It has to be fresh. And ice isn’t that common around here. No one thinks to ice a limb, Daly. If word got out what I could do, I imagine they might. But…”

That was something Geneva had on healing potions and [Healers]. She could cut away organs or limbs affected by poison, magical rot, and so on, and use spot-applied healing potion to regenerate the area. She could also reconnect an arm or leg if she was very, very quick and the limb hadn’t begun to rot. In those two areas she was useful. But the rest? Not at all.

“So I didn’t do much. I wish I could say I did, but I was useless on the trip. I would have told you by [Message], but Ken said it was better to break the news in person.”

Or rather, what he’d predicted was that anyone who was at the Mage’s Guild would spread the word about rather than just relay it to Paige or Daly. The Australian nodded. He frowned at Geneva, clearly trying to think of something to say. And then he had it.

“I think the Centaur boy—colt, sorry, please excuse my mistake—you saved would disagree. And the [Wood Cutter]. And Quallet.”

“That’s true, I suppose.”

But those were all people she’d helped earlier. She could have stayed in Talenqual and both of them knew it. Daly coughed, looked around, and then waved.

“Hey Kirana! Can we get one of those? Kirana, you know Geneva, right?”

“Yes! I know Geneva. Hello. Would you like one? This is a dahi kebab. Vegetarian.”

“Hm.”

Geneva recognized the deep-fried vegetable dough ball that was offered. She took one, and bit into the bread-crumb exterior. It was still warm and delicious. Daly snagged two and Kirana scolded him.

“Hey! I’ll share with Geneva.”

“Are you doing well?”

“Yes, thank you!”

Kirana smiled at Geneva. The two paused, because Geneva had nothing else in her arsenal to say. Then Kirana turned as someone shouted her name from the kitchen.

“You’re terrible at talking to people. Were you always like this? Eat the kebab. It’s really good.”

“Shut up.”

Daly glanced at Geneva, then realized who she was talking to. He bit into his kebab and his eyes opened wide.

“Bloody hell, that’s good! No wonder we’re spending so much on our food budget each week!”

Geneva savored the rest of the dahi kebab. It was very good, and she suspected it had been chosen to appeal to the widest variety of people—there were some vegetarians mixed in the Earthworlders, although some had been forced to compromise their values to survive.

“First time having them?”

“Kirana and her lot are always coming up with new stuff. They practically run the kitchens now. Indian cooking works really well with Baleros’ markets, apparently. Lots of spices, similar foods—”

“That’s lucky. Perhaps we could sell some of the foods they make?”

“Paige was talking about that. Kirana wants to hit at least Level 15 before we try that, but she’s open to the idea. Really, the issue would be getting a market stall or somewhere to sell from. And the ingredients. It’s not too bad, but we might need someone to stand watch. And…”

They needed money, but they were waiting for us to come back. Geneva’s last bite soured in her mouth. She nodded.

“We’ll work something out.”

What else could she say? She turned as she saw Ken had gotten up. He waved at the people who were protesting, and trotted over to her and Daly. He gave the Australian a smile.

“Daly, I wanted to talk to you.”

“If it’s about the money, Geneva just filled me in. No worries, mate.”

Ken’s eyes flicked to Geneva for a second.

“She did? Well, I think it is disappointing, but it is not all bad.”

“That’s what I was saying. You guys did accomplish the rest, right? Paige’s disappeared upstairs.”

Ken nodded.

“We did do good work. I introduced our company to many others, and Geneva did meet with every high-level [Healer] in the cities we visited. I think it was productive—I also have many things to share with everyone. A map of the world, and I’ve learned of other continents. And I’ve learned about the Four Great Companies.”

Daly exhaled. Geneva could see him taking that on, bolstering his mood. Now why couldn’t she have said it like that? Probably because she hadn’t done any of that. Except for spending money bribing [Healers].

“Making connections, huh? Good lad! Don’t suppose you’ve got anything that would help us out? The Bushrangers, I mean?”

“Actually, I did. I met a few groups who were interested in yours. I know their names and I wanted to share them with you—later. There were a few intriguing job offers that I saw in other cities.”

“We should take our group on the road, then?”

“Maybe. But I will share more tonight.”

People were already calling for Ken to come back. He waved at them again. Daly smiled.

“Well, I can wait. But oh! Before you go—we had a little adventure of our own. We just finished a contract hunting these armored pigs—Stelbore they’re called, when guess what? We got word of some ‘strange Humans’ hanging out in an abandoned village. So we checked it out and—”

Ken’s eyes widened.

“You found more people from Earth?”

Geneva’s head snapped up. Daly nodded.

“Just yesterday they came in. They’re still hungry, but we rescued four. A kiwi—uh, a guy from New Zealand named Blake, and three Italians. The Italians barely speak English, but I thought you should meet them. And Geneva—”

“Have you given them a checkup?”

The Italian-American was looking around. Daly shook his head.

“Only a once-over. They looked pretty fine—but one of them has diabetes. We gave them your emergency treatment!”

That only worried Geneva more. She looked at Daly.

“Can I see them now? Are they here?”

“Oh yeah. They’re still bulking up. Uh—hold on. Let me get them. Hey! Blake, Nicola! Geneva wants to see you! She’ll do a medical examination!”

Daly raised his voice. The four newest Earthworlders looked up, startled. With Daly’s help Geneva moved them upstairs to a room. Ken stayed below to keep chatting, but Geneva had something to do and she intended to do it now. Better yet, she knew Italian.

“Oh, thank God! No one here speaks Italian! Are you really a doctor?”

Nicola was incredibly relieved to speak in Italian rather than her faltering English. Geneva, whose Italian was rusty, faltered for a few sentences before speaking quickly with the other two. Lorenzo and Diana clustered around her, asking all the questions they couldn’t due to the language barrier.

“Sì, sì, I am a [Doctor]. I was training in medical school before I came here. I want to give you a checkup to make sure all is well. Are you hurt? Diana, I hear you have diabetes.”

“Not very bad. But it was terrible. I was very sick—until they gave me a—a potion?”

Diana explained. Geneva breathed a sigh of relief.

“It is a stamina potion. It helps, although we do not have insulin to properly take care of you. But I promise, I will do my best. Please let me check you just in case first as I answer questions. There are many small ticks and insects in Baleros, as well as diseases. You are probably fine. But could you help me put up a curtain? Then I will check you one by one.”

Quickly, she rigged up one of the privacy curtains that the company used to separate the genders when sleeping in a large room at night. Geneva got out a few tools from the pack she’d carried on her journey and saw the three Italians and Blake, the girls first. They were less embarrassed to get a checkup from Geneva, especially because, and this was the tricky part—Geneva had to see them in their underwear.

In fact, she’d have liked to see them naked, but she settled for verbal descriptions and having them check themselves. That also meant Blake and Lorenzo had to check each other’s rears, an intimate experience neither enjoyed. But necessary.

“No spots? No injuries or other pain? Swelling?”

“None. Thank you, Doctor Geneva.”

Lorenzo replied, blushing a bit. Geneva didn’t blush—she moved her stethoscope and bent her ear to listen to him breathing. She didn’t know what she’d do if she heard something terrible, but knowledge was the first step.

“Breathe in. Hold your breath. Breathe out…thank you. You’re quite healthy.”

In the time since she’d operated on the battlefield, Geneva had made a few more tools with the company’s resources. She now carried a few items out of a general practitioner’s kit. Among them were a primitive wooden stethoscope—really just some paper and a tube to magnify the sounds—a measuring tape, wooden tongue depressors, clean gauze, alcohol for disinfectant, and so on. But her real kit, which was useless now, was far more advanced.

Metal retractors, scalpels, scissors and hooks. Different sized needles with thread specialized for one kind of stitching or another. Clips, clamps, forceps, and tools to cut or snip bone. Sutures.

To most people, a surgeon’s gear might look like some kind of serial killer’s torture devices. And there were commonalities. Surgery wasn’t pretty or pleasant. And unfortunately, Geneva had learned, it wasn’t that useful either.

Back on Earth, Geneva had been studying as a general surgeon. She’d cut corpses open, and been a good student, but her actual experience had been almost all theoretical when she’d been taken. She’d learned to be a surgeon the hard way—by killing her patients before she’d improved.

And a surgeon wasn’t the same as someone practicing general medicine, no matter what people thought. But since Geneva was the only person who’d taken classes and read up on medicine, she had to fill that role too. She summarized her report to Daly and Paige as the four headed back downstairs, relieved and chattering to themselves.

“They’re fine. Completely. Diana’s one to watch, but they’re all fairly healthy for people who survived the jungle. Their only complaint is just malnourishment, I think. The bug bites aren’t infected, they show no signs of fever—and the scars show no sign of inflammation. Keep feeding them simple foods in smaller meals.”

“We’re doing that. Anything we should do for Diana? I have her carrying the stamina potion like Filip and I’ve told Nicola what to do, but is there anything else?”

Geneva shook her head.

“All we can do is stabilize her with the potion if her hyperglycemia begins acting up. Frankly, I’d rather have low blood sugar than high—as far as I can tell, stamina potions generate some kind of insulin that will regulate the high blood sugar, but it requires a high-grade potion. Low blood sugar is simple. We can give her calculated amounts of food. But she and Filip need to keep regulating their intake. It’s guesswork, but I’ll monitor them…”

She saw Paige and Daly nodding, and felt like a fraud. They listened so attentively to her words. As if Paige and Daly hadn’t done everything needed already. Daly had gone out there and rescued the four. What had Geneva done? Come back, proclaimed all was well and they were doing a good job. But somehow the two Australians still looked relieved to hear Geneva say it.

“It’s a relief to have you back, Geneva. We’ll talk more when Ken’s free of everyone—we’ll have to pry him away, but I’m gonna grab us all after dinner for a chat. In the meantime, I’m sure you could use some rest. Do you need to take a nap? Kirana could make you a lunch—”

“I had something to eat, and her snacks. Thank you. I might walk about for a bit. But I’ll be back for dinner. Ah—Aiko’s pack is full of—”

“I put it in my workroom. We filled your space with bodies—the apartments are full to bursting at night. But you can take over my spot anytime. Just let me know.”

Paige reassured Geneva. The [Doctor] nodded. What else was there to say? Nothing.

“Then I’ll…head out for a bit. Exercise my legs.”

“Sure. Good to have you back!”

Paige smiled. Geneva tried, but the courtesy was something she couldn’t return. So her invisible friend did it for her. Which was worse, because both Paige and Daly knew Geneva’s secret.

“Geneva! Will you come and talk with us?”

Nicola called out as Geneva came back down the stairs. The young woman hesitated. The Italians were clearly dying to speak to someone, but Geneva was saved by Paige.

“I think Geneva needs to walk about. Why don’t we work on some English? You’ll need to learn, sadly. But we’ve got some useful stuff. One of us has a smartphone with a huge dictionary loaded onto it, and we might be able to transfer the files, or just switch phones. Do any of you know how to jailbreak phones? Because working with the software is tricky. We should also check your stuff for anything useful…”

Geneva exhaled as Paige took over talking to the four newcomers. Blake looked puzzled as he fished out his smartphone.

“I’d like to help, really, but my phone’s been dead for ages. Unless you’ve got a charger—and a solar panel?”

Daly grinned.

“Oh, mate. You’re going to love this. Guess what? A magic spell charges up your phone.”

“No way!”

The exclamation elicited laughter as the new Earthworlders flipped out. They fished out their electronics—they only had phones, having been teleported while being on a bus—but each one was a treasure trove of data. As were they. As Paige explained as Geneva slowly edged over to the door, anything they knew from earth was invaluable.

“Anything. Chemistry—we have a periodic table up but no one can remember the bottom parts—math, like the Pythagorean Theorem, knowledge of how to replicate different things from earth—”

“Like cake! I remembered how to make that stuff. Beautiful!”

Dawson blew a kiss. Daly laughed.

“But your first cake was utter shit, mate! Leave the cooking to Kirana!”

“What, you’re saying I can’t cook? Shove off! I’ll show you. Hey Kirana! Let me help with tonight’s dinner—”

“We don’t need more poison, Dawson! We’ve got enough to kill the monsters with already!”

One of the other Bushrangers hollered. Everyone laughed. Blake looked at Daly.

“I suppose making weapons would be one of those important things, yeah?”

Geneva froze. She looked at Daly and Paige. The [Engineer] girl hesitated and glanced at her.

“We don’t want it to spread. But yes. Anything you can tell me is useful. However, remember what I said about bringing up anything from home around others. I know how to make gunpowder…I think.”

“And a lot of our tech’s not useful or too hard to build, frankly. Light bulbs, batteries—not that great when you can just cast [Light]. I’ll kiss you myself if one of you knows how to put together a steam engine, though.”

Daly grinned. He felt at his back and then looked around.

“Oh, right. You saw that we used crossbows, right mates? They’re our bread and butter. Paige is trying to improve them, but it’s tough. Guns are out of our reach for the moment. Plus, half of us think a good crossbow is better than one of the old firearms.”

And I told them under no circumstances could firearms be imported to Baleros’ mercenary companies. Geneva felt a pang. She knew what Daly did was important. And she’d seen monsters. Even so. Blake was conferring with Lorenzo, who was interested. The young Italian was making a cranking motion with one hand. Blake was nodding.

“Yeah, yeah. I saw your crossbows, Daly. They look good. Ever think of making a ballista?”

“Sure. We’ll mount it on our elephant. Too hard to carry, mate. But Paige is working on a monster one. We’ll put it on Dawson’s back.”

“Oi, Daly! What’ve I done to deserve all this?”

“Recently?”

Another laugh. Blake nodded, but now he looked excited.

“Yeah, but have you thought about—do you know about repeating crossbows? Lorenzo was saying that there’s one that shoots like that. Chinese or something—”

He got no further because Paige reached out.

“Tell me more! No wait, sketch it!”

There was an uproar. Geneva hesitated. Repeating crossbows? That sounded…terrible. She imagined the damage one crossbow could inflict. And if you chained it up like a machine gun…

“Sounds useful.”

Geneva ignored the voice. She walked outside. Somehow, it was cooler outside than it was inside. All the body heat of so many people crammed together. But not less humid. Geneva looked around the bustling street, took a few breaths, and then began to walk. She needed to walk.

So. She was back. Daly had taken the news well. So had Paige. Neither one would say they were let down. But Geneva felt bad enough anyways. She’d earned no money. She hadn’t had any patients. And she’d wanted to, as horrible as that was.

She was part of the United Nations company. Named after an ideal of Earth. A company that was the only thing protecting the scattered people from her planet. They were poor, but everyone was pitching in. And Geneva was trying. But she felt useless today, and most days after leaving the war between the Roving Arrow Company and the Razorshard Armor company.

And what was worse, in a sick way, she missed the battlefield. She missed being needed all the time. Here she was dead weight unless someone was hurt, and healing potions trivialized how much she could add. What good was a [Doctor] without patients?

“You’re being mopey again.”

Someone spoke in her head. Geneva sighed. It was her invisible guest. The reason Geneva was never alone. Okasha the Selphid voiced her opinion, speaking in a very quiet voice in Geneva’s head. No one else heard. No one else could hear. Because Okasha lived in Geneva’s body. She was a Selphid possessing a living being, the most heinous of crimes a Selphid could commit. If anyone found out, Okasha would die. But she had done it to save Geneva’s life.

A long time ago. No, mere months ago, Geneva had been working as a [Doctor]. An enraged [Sergeant], Thriss, had struck a blow along her spine, paralyzing her. Geneva would have died from blood loss or at Thirss’ hands, if it weren’t for Okasha. The Selphid [Rogue] turned into [Nurse] had killed the sergeant, and then offered Geneva a choice.

She’d gone into Geneva’s body, bridged the gap and the destroyed nerves, and now helped Geneva move. Without her Geneva would be helpless. And she could do more than just that. She was Geneva’s protector, her friend, and the literal voice in her head.

Sometimes she was a quiet passenger that only did a few things, usually with Geneva’s left hand like swat at flies. Other times she was active. She could possess Geneva at will. Not that she usually did that, but a smile, a twist to avoid stubbing her toe, waking Geneva up in the morning at the right time.

Geneva had grown used to Okasha’s presence over the months, but it was still strange. She shared her body now. And unfortunately, that meant sometimes the person she was sharing it with had a difference of opinion.

“I’m fine. I deserve to be depressed. We didn’t bring anything back.”

“You got information. And the [Healers] did give you what you wanted.”

“Daly was expecting us to come back with coin. Instead, we just wasted what he worked so hard to get.”

Geneva heard a sigh in her head. The Doctor spoke, her lips barely moving. Okasha didn’t need to hear the words out loud; she was in Geneva and could read her vocal chords and muscles. Her voice was distinct from Geneva’s own as well, at least when she wasn’t using Geneva’s vocal chords, and she could change Geneva’s voice in astonishing ways if she chose to as well.

“Okay, but what does being sad help with any of this? It’s pointless and it just makes your mood worse. Cheer up.”

“I don’t want to. Okasha, don’t—”

Too late. As she was walking, Geneva suddenly felt a jolt of emotions—a compounded mix of excitement, energy, and what she could only describe as happiness—shoot through her. She stumbled, and Okasha steadied her. Geneva felt the Selphid doing…something in her. It wasn’t a horrible feeling—not like the Selphid writhing about.

Okasha’s biology allowed her to spread out incredibly finely, and her control was impeccable, at least with practice. Geneva was the first living being she’d ever been in, so occasionally there were accidents. But not now.

Whatever was running through Geneva pepped her up in a moment. Instantly, she felt better. The funk clouding her mind vanished. Geneva felt her spirits rise. And then she grew angry.

“Stop that!”

A passing Dullahan looked around and saw Geneva scowling at the air in front of her. He opened his mouth and then Geneva snapped again, apparently to no one.

“I didn’t ask you to do that. I hate it when you do that! Don’t do it again, understand?”

The Dullahan decided to walk faster. Okasha was unmoved.

“I just tweaked a few things. It was just a little adjustment, nothing big. Don’t worry.”

Geneva scowled.

“I know exactly what you did. Those were hormones. Dopamine, serotonin, endorphins. You released them into my brain, my system to make me feel better.”

It was incredible and scary to think Okasha could do that at will. But Geneva knew what she’d felt, even if she couldn’t control the effect it had on her body. She sensed Okasha hesitate.

“…Hormones? No, it wasn’t that. It’s uh, completely different. Look, it’s just this little—”

“Don’t play games. I’m a [Doctor]. I know everything about my body.”

That was a lie. But Okasha fell for it. She was surprisingly gullible, or she overrated Geneva’s knowledge.

“Damn it. Okay, I’m sorry. I was just trying to be—how did Humans ever learn so much about their own bodies?”

“We had to. We didn’t have healing potions or magic. We fought plagues and disease, advanced on the backs of a few people who found a cure, a new way of doing things.”

They had no magic on Earth. No Selphids either. If they did, most of the mysteries that had taken scholars and doctors centuries to uncover would have been solved instantly. Selphids knew almost everything there was to know about the body—even if they didn’t have the medical lexicon that Geneva did.

“I’m sorry, Geneva. I’m just trying to be helpful.”

“By smiling at people? That’s not me, Okasha.”

“Would it kill you to be friendly? Oh wait, you can’t smile.”

“And you smile and then they think I’m crazy because I don’t act like you.”

“Well, excuse me for caring!”

Geneva heard something like a gurgling sob in Okasha’ voice. The Selphid went quiet and Geneva felt her left side begin to drag a bit. Okasha had stopped assisting Geneva’s movements and was just passively feeding Geneva’s instructions to her body. When that happened her left side was slower to react. Geneva’s stride became a limp, but the [Doctor] took a vicious pleasure in knowing her body was under her imperfect control. Then she felt a bit guilty. But she did hate thinking Okasha was influencing her. It was just—

The streets of Talenqual were filled with people. Hawkers selling goods, people going about their business. And children. A Dullahan ran past Geneva, then tripped. She was a little girl, with her head attached to her shoulders and covered by a ratty scarf. Her armor was very poor—plant matter and bark as opposed to anything else. Partially a beggar. She bumped into Geneva and caught herself.

“Whoops! Sorry, Miss Human—”

She gave Geneva a gap-toothed smile, quite unusual for a Dullahan. But children took after every culture, didn’t they? Geneva stopped.

“I’m fine. Are you—”

Her right hand, which had been reaching for the Dullahan child as she backed away, suddenly shot forwards and grabbed the Dullahan’s wrist. The child yelped in alarm. Geneva heard a growl. Her voice. And her face was suddenly scowling.

“Drop it.”

Okasha glared with Geneva’s body. The [Doctor] froze in alarm, but the Selphid had control of her body. The Dullahan tried to get away—her arm began to detach from her body, but Okasha just tightened her grip.

“Leave your arm and I’ll bring it to the Watch. Want to live as a one-armed Dullahan wanted by the City Guard all your life?”

“Fine!”

The Dullahan withdrew a pouch and tossed it on the ground. Geneva’s coin pouch. The [Doctor] gaped mentally—she hadn’t even realized it was gone! Okasha was unimpressed, though. She snagged the pouch, checked it, and put it back on her belt. Only then did she let go and glare at the [Pickpocket].

“Get lost. A poor thief picks on [Healers] and [Doctors], kid. Next time at least go for a [Merchant].”

The Dullahan girl fled. Okasha walked Geneva forwards as the crowd, who had noticed the incident, resolved itself back to normality. A few people shot Geneva admiring glances; Okasha kept Geneva moving until Geneva’s heart rate had slowed. Then they had another conversation.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. You want to walk?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then. Your turn.”

Geneva’s pace faltered, and then returned to normal. Geneva looked around, but the Dullahan child was long gone.

“You scared her.”

Okasha was unmoved.

“So? I don’t feel bad. I would have kicked her if you’d let me.”

“Kicked her?”

Geneva was appalled. Okasha punched Geneva’s right shoulder with her left hand, lightly. A Lizardgirl on the road eyed Geneva with interest.

“It’s for her own good. She has to learn not to be caught. Or the next time someone gets her, she’ll lose her arm, her hand—or just her life.”

The thought was incredibly depressing to Geneva. She looked around again, as if she could draw the girl out of the crowd.

“Then we should have helped her.”

“How? By giving her your coin purse? Someone will just rob her. Or she’ll spend it and steal again and again. That’s how I grew up.”

“No. She needs someone to take care of her. If her family isn’t there, or if they’re not responsible, she needs a home. Guidance.”

“Planning on saddling the United Nations company with a mouth that’ll steal from them and bring trouble down on them?”

“No.”

But that was the option, wasn’t it? Geneva bit her lip.

“On Earth, there are institutions that help people in need like her. Orphanages. Soup kitchens. Homeless shelters.”

“And do they save everyone?”

The cynicism in Okasha’s voice made Geneva acutely aware of what a lie it would be to say yes. She shook her head.

“No. But it’s something. The system is there, even if it is flawed. It’s…”

A helpless rush ran through her. This time Okasha did nothing to stop it. Geneva walked on, looking around. Yes, Baleros had richness, and beauty. But it was a world. This was a city. There was just as much darkness to it. And in Geneva.

That was the problem. Okasha’s hormonal treatment could only do so much. Geneva spoke out loud as she walked down the street.

“It’s—not just me being disappointed in myself, Okasha. I told you. I’ve diagnosed myself. I’ve had a traumatic event. I’m not sure of all of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder’s symptoms, but I’ll bet I have it. Me and Daly and at least half of the United Nations company. The four newcomers certainly did.”

“You told me about that. I still don’t quite get it. I mean, I do. You’re shaken up from battle. But you’ll get over it. Everyone does.”

“Will we? People from Earth aren’t used to war, Okasha. At least, the ones from countries like Nicola’s aren’t. There’re cultural differences, a difference in expectations. Most Humans don’t even see butchered animals. Many will go most of their lives without seeing a dead body more than once or twice—and usually in nonviolent situations.”

And even if they do see them, it’s on the news or at a remove. It’s not war.

Okasha’s voice was wondering in Geneva’s head.

“I can’t imagine a world like that. But if that’s so, perhaps I do understand a bit. You’re all like the children of nobility. Sheltered. So you have this PTSD thing, which makes you sad and depressed all the time, is that right?”

“It’s…the barest of summaries, but I suppose so. There are a lot more complications to it, let alone treating the problem. Mental illness is not my field of study.”

Geneva grimaced.

“But I suppose it is, now. I’m not qualified to be more than an assistant in the operating room back home. Here? I’m the font of medical knowledge.”

“Oh no. Here we go again…you know what you need, Geneva?”

“What?”

“Sex.”

Geneva tripped. Okasha caught her effortlessly and kept her walking, turning her head back and forth as pedestrians walked past her.

“I’m just saying, that’s what we did back in the companies. A new soldier gets the shakes after a battle? Get them drunk, get them laid, and get them a break. Three, four battles after that, if they’re alive, and they’re fine.”

“Having sex is not a solution, Okasha. It’s escapism—”

“It feels good and you should do it. What’s wrong with that?”

“For one thing, I have you in here with me!”

“Is that why you don’t masturbate? Look, I’m totally fine with it. I’ll help, actually. Heck, I’ll do it for you.”

Geneva closed her eyes. One shot back open.

“Watch your step! And don’t get judgmental! I have needs too! Look, if you’d just consider—what about him?”

“What about him?”

“Well?”

“No.”

“But come on! I’m sure he’d be interested. Let me do the talking, though. Unless he likes stone-faced [Doctors] with no sense of humor.”

“Daly laughed at my jokes.”

“He was humoring you. Although he’s a good option—uh, unless he’s still moping about Quexa. I should have told him Lizardfolk don’t do long-term relationships when they’re younger. Hey, you think he and Paige are—”

“No.”

“Okay, what about him? Come on, I know you like him.”

“No.”

“Geneva, that’s an objectively sexy body. Look at it!”

“I’m not dating a Centaur, Okasha.”

“Who said anything about dating?”

Geneva shut up. The problem with arguing with a Selphid in your body was that they could tell when you were lying, and what you were feeling. The heart palpitations, sweat…Okasha admitted it was new to her to have a living body doing these things, but she was good at monitoring a body and she gloated now.

“You and I have the same taste, which is good taste. Admit it! Come on, Geneva. Just one night? Or we can take it slow. I bet you we can get an empty room for a moment in the apartments. Or, hell, I’ll settle for a tree in the jungle, although if there are bugs—”

“Will you be quiet!?”

“But I’m restless. Geneva! Do you know how quickly nerve endings wear out in a dead body? There’s a reason we call it ‘fresh body fun’, you know.”

“Not in my body. Not now, thank you.”

“Wait, does that mean later—”

Geneva groaned. This was going to be a problem. But Okasha was living with her. It was like having a roommate you couldn’t get rid of. Not without suffering full-body paralysis and your roommate being incredibly vulnerable to harm or diseases. That kind of relationship everyone had. She changed the subject abruptly.

“I’m going to talk with Daly and Paige tonight. See if I can do something…anything to help. At least I can tell them about the diseases and my progress there.”

She heard Okasha shudder.

“Horrible stuff. Okay, at least you’re perking up! See? Even talking about sex—”

“But until then, I want you to help me exercise, Okasha.”

Geneva heard Okasha whine.

“Again? But I did that yesterday!”

“And two days ago. It needs to happen at least three times a week, Okasha. Preferably more. You know it’ll be beneficial.”

“Yeah, but you’re not the one doing it. And it’s really tiring! Why do I have to do it?”

Geneva hesitated. This called for some delicate negotiations and Ken was nowhere in sight. She thought for a second, and then spoke quietly.

“If you do it, I’ll eat that awful stuff you like so much.”

She sensed Okasha growing excited.

“Xelca meat? You promise?”

Geneva grimaced. She hated xelca meat. But Okasha loved the stuff. Especially if it was fried up in lots of grease. Geneva liked pasta, but Okasha hated the stuff. To Geneva, it was home cooking and delicious if done right. But the Selphid didn’t like grainy foods. It was a sore point that often resulted in them eating pasta with xelca meat, which both could agree on.

“I promise. I’ll even ask Kirana to make some.”

“And buy it fresh!”

The young, Italian woman sighed, but with resignation.

“Deal.”

“Alright then! Here I go! You don’t mind if I do it now, do you? Keep walking—I’ll try not to make it affect your legs. Okay, how long per muscle? I know, I know—full body workout. And that core thing you keep talking about.”

“Thank you.”

Geneva felt Okasha moving slightly through her body, and then she felt her leg muscles suddenly contract. Her stride didn’t change, but suddenly her muscles were working in her leg. Geneva didn’t feel much more beyond the movement though. She heard Okasha’s voice in her ears.

“Exercise, exercise, move that muscle, suppress that lactic acid. Boring. Move again, move again…”

The Selphid was singing a childlike nonsense song as Geneva felt her moving the muscles in her body. Tensing them, pulling and stressing and really just damaging them to induce the same effects as if Geneva was giving her arms, legs, and core a vigorous workout. But the Selphid was far more advanced than any workout regime; she could even play with the hormones and induce the growth needed for Geneva to gain muscle in the right places.

And that place was everywhere. From the legs, Okasha moved up to Geneva’s thighs and stomach, working out her abdomen which had been mostly fat until recently, her upper arms, and even her neck. Not too vigorously; Geneva had no desire to be some kind of inhuman body builder, no matter if Okasha thought she could do it. But she did think being in prime physical shape would be very handy, and a Selphid was the easiest way to that goal.

In fact, Geneva felt a bit guilty sometimes. She was gaining abdominal muscles at an extraordinary rate. Any beach-going narcissist back at her world would kill for a Selphid to manage their bodies like Okasha did hers. But it wasn’t just vanity—okay, it was a bit of vanity—but as Okasha concentrated on Geneva’s arms she did the truly important work. Geneva wanted her arms to be stronger.

Her hands especially. Geneva was aware that a surgeon’s hands and techniques could change the outcome of a surgery, so she’d asked Okasha to figure out a way to give her more muscular strength, more fine control. And the Selphid had managed just that. Not only could she improve things like Geneva’s grip strength, she could tell exactly what parts of Geneva’s body were sore and redirect her body’s resources to deal with the problems.

“In some ways, Selphids are the answer to every biological issue we’ve been seeking. Pacemaker, nanobots—a Selphid surpasses modern technology in countless ways.”

Geneva muttered to herself. She sensed Okasha pushed her hands open and give her a thumbs up.

“We are useful, aren’t we? But this is dangerous, Geneva. Not for your body—but if other Selphids started doing it. Not everyone’s like me.”

“Not as ethical?”

The Selphid’s voice grew serious as she worked Geneva’s hands, making them twitch as Geneva shoved them in her pockets.

“No. Not by far. If I wanted to control you, I could. And with a living body, I could do a lot more than what other Selphids can. I could Rampage without issue since I can heal your body. And if you had a [Warrior]’s body, it would be even stronger. I’ve been thinking about that.”

Geneva shivered. Okasha felt it and hurried to reassure her.

“I wouldn’t! Ever! I meant that in the sense that I can see why a living body is so dangerous. It makes Selphids more powerful than other species. It’s too tempting. If we started doing it again, it would lead to the Selphid Empire, I’m sure.”

The Selphid Empire. A time when Selphids had ruled over other races. Yes, Okasha was right. That was a problem. Still, Geneva spoke mildly.

“But I trust you. You could have taken my body if you wished to. Instead you share it. You let me have control. Why? Why be so…kind?”

For a second the Selphid paused. Then she spoke, simply.

“You swore an oath not to kill. I have my own.”

Geneva’s heart jumped. Okasha squeezed her hand gently, a gentle pressure on her nerves, as if Okasha was holding her hand. The two walked on.

This was why it worked. Because they could get along. Two chance roommates in a single body turned out to be friends. It was luck. Geneva said nothing more. But her spirits rose, and Okasha knew. The Selphid kept working her body and as promised, Geneva stopped by a meat vendor on the way back.

“Xelca meat! Good when it’s hot, edible when it’s not! Get a stick, three coppers! Five coppers for two sticks!”

That was a new slogan. And catchy. All the meat vendors were yelling it. Geneva had to smile as she paid for some xelca meat. That was Lizardfolk for you. Give them an idea and they’d run away with it.

“Hey Geneva! You’re back! What’s that you’ve got?”

“Xelca meat. Kirana, can you make a little dish with it? Please—ah—please fry it up.”

Geneva sighed. Unbidden, her mouth opened again.

“And can you make it extra greasy?”

“With vegetables, naturally.”

“Not that you need too many.”

“I prefer yellats.”

“But you really don’t need to add them. Just meat is fine. Actually, deep-fried meat would be—”

“Horrendous. So we—I’ll just have some fried meat to go along with whatever you’re making—”

“A lot of fried meat.”

“But not too much, because I’m sure you already have a meal in mind and I’d be delighted to have that.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.”

The look on Kirana’s face as Geneva delivered that monologue was priceless. Daly nearly laughed himself sick as he covered for Geneva—only he and a few others knew her secret. Even the regular Earthworlders had no idea—it was just too risky for anyone to find out about Okasha. The Indian girl took the xelca meat anyways and promised to turn it into something special. Daly grinned at her, but didn’t mention Okasha out loud.

“I’ll say this, it’s nice having Kirana cooking. She knows enough vegetarian dishes to keep our picky eaters happy—and they’re tasty for us meat eaters too! Dinner should be ready in a few. You want to sit? Ken’s still talking. Lips of gold, that one.”

“Of course.”

Guiltily, Geneva realized she’d been moping rather than acting like a responsible leader. She followed Daly back into the apartment and tried to actually contribute rather than drag everyone down. That meant, sadly, that she had to rely on Okasha to do some of the talking.

—-

That night the United Nations ate like champions. In that they ate a lot, talked noisily, and were about as raucous and noisy as any group of young adults. It wasn’t for everyone; Geneva knew that some people ate leftovers in smaller groups, but the act of socialization was important. Everyone she looked at had a job. Even if some had vacation days like Andel, or were off-duty like the Bushrangers, they worked for a living. It changed them.

Gone, gone were the young men and women who had wandered into Baleros. The ones before her were still growing, and still immature at times—like Dawson, who was one of the older ones—but they also had a level of emotional awareness that others their age might lack.

There were no adults to run to, no one to solve their problems but themselves. Paige and Daly broke up fights, but the Earthworlders had to resolve problems themselves. Some didn’t, but most rose to the challenge. As such, Geneva felt oddly at home, as if the young man of twenty years old was a friend in his last year of medical college talking with her over his xelca meat mixed with curry.

“Hey, anyone want a drink? I’ve got some cheap er—I think it’s a rum? Came off one of the boats! Not that crap they sell at the markets that’ll kick you off your ass and then on your back, but it’s still strong stuff! Watch yourselves mind. If you’ve got work—”

Daly’s warning went unheeded as a shout went up and most of the table raised their glasses. He went around dishing out the alcoholic drink. Geneva had a glass herself—she watched as a girl of fifteen had a small shot mixed with a fruit juice.

No one raised an eyebrow. Alcohol was necessary. It helped take the edge off, and aside from Americans, most of the Earthworlders had tried alcohol. And it had the other effect of taking off the most tired to their beds after dinner. Full stomachs, excitement, and a bit of drink—people dropped off left and right.

There were some who stayed up, like the Bushrangers who weren’t working, but they’d had their fill of Ken’s stories enough not to groan too hard when Daly looked around and announced that the kitchen in the west apartment was now off-limits.

He’d chosen it because it had a door. Daly stood up as Geneva got to her feet. He approached her, smiling, but with a hint of reserve.

“Time for our chat. But uh, Geneva, I know this is an important meeting, but Michael—you know, from Spain?—he’s worked up some cards. Wood, but we wanted to play some games. If you wanted to talk, we could do that before—”

Geneva was determined not to bring the group down. And in fact, this suggestion appealed to her. So she cut Daly off with a nod.

“Fine by me. But bring the alcohol. We might as well make a proper game of it.”

Daly’s surprised smile was enough of a reward. That was how Geneva found herself sitting at a table, playing on wooden, painted cards with Siri, Daly, Paige, Ken and Aiko. They represented the United Nation’s leadership—although Luan was as yet missing. Siri was a new addition, but Daly explained her presence simply.

“She’s the best of us Bushrangers and a solid head. If I’m ever unable to take over, I’d trust Siri to make the right calls. Anyone object?”

No one did. Ken did look around, though, with a small frown.

“If Siri is Daly’s um, backup, then Paige should be allowed to nominate someone. Is there anyone you would recommend we listen to, Paige?”

Daly hesitated as he shuffled the thin, wood cards that Michael had made. They were simple, but even the act of shuffling them made some at the table perk up.

“Dunno about the other guys. Dawson’s a fighter, but he’s a bit iffy sometimes. Paige?”

She shrugged.

“There’s no one I’d call a leader. I handle the home front. Kirana’s good, but she bosses around the girls from her country mainly. I think she has something on them, or there’s a reason why they’re listening to her she’s not saying.”

“Caste system? Doesn’t India have that?”

“Mm. Might be? But I think it’s something else. Maybe her parents were someone famous. Or maybe she’s just better at leading them. She had to get them out of the jungle after the guys got executed.”

“True. Ah, well. We’ll hold off on Kirana. Too many girls as it is. Yow!”

Daly yelped. Ken smiled, and the Australian checked the deck.

“Got fifty four cards—no jokers. But instead—hah! Good on Michael. Look.”

He raised a card. Instead of the joker card, Michael had painted a [Doctor] wildcard, complete with a red cross. Geneva blinked at it as the others chuckled. Daly placed the two aside as he shuffled the deck.

“Alright, before we get to chatting—what’s our game? Swedish Rummy? Oh Hell? Donkey?”

“Aiko and Ken probably don’t know those games. Don’t make it complex, Daly. Let’s just start with poker. We can go from there.”

Daly shrugged. He began dealing out the cards. Siri looked at her hand as Aiko quietly asked Paige to refresh her on how to play.

“What shall we play for?”

“How about…coins?”

“Oh come on—”

“Not for real. It’s all company money anyways. But we do have a bit of spending money. Say, we use that and pool it? But the winner takes like…a few silver coins more than the others?”

Geneva nodded and the others agreed. Soon, they were playing cards while talking, pausing only to bid and reveal who had the winning hand. Daly chuckled as he took the first bid with three two’s.

“So? I think we’ve all heard the bad news. No big haul from the expedition.”

Siri looked up. Geneva had only met her once, doing her examination before she’d left. The [Doctor] stared down at her garbage hand and shook her head.

“That’s right. I’m sorry—”

“It wasn’t Geneva’s fault! Healing potions are too useful!”

Aiko protested. She was a poor player of poker, as was Ken. It wasn’t a natural game to them—they probably would have swept the competition playing another game, though. Mahjong, maybe. Ken knew how to play that. Aiko was bleeding silver while Ken won a hand by luck.

“It’s fine Aiko. Thank you, but I can’t say anything other than that I should have seen it coming. There’s no need for [Doctors] outside of a battlefield. Not as much need for them there either, frankly. That’s all.”

Geneva sighed. That was the truth of it. If a company had healing potions in supply, even on the battlefield they could heal most injuries right off. Her business came from poor companies—or situations where healing potions were in short supply. Things like Evercut Arrows gave her work, but they were in short supply in taverns. Usually.

“It can’t be helped. But you did get me some of the ingredients I wanted. And you got our name out. That’s a plus. But Aiko did say you got some work done with the [Healers], Geneva.”

The [Doctor] nodded as she placed her cards on the table.

“Fold. That’s right. I went around to [Healers] and paid them to show me their poultices and secret recipes. Mainly in hopes of discovering something useful. I also investigated past diseases, plagues, and other ailments that occur on Baleros. To familiarize myself with them before I have to treat them.”

She looked as Siri as she said this. The Swedish girl nodded seriously, placing two cards down and gesturing at Daly to give her two in return. She had an excellent poker face.

“What did you find?”

“Honestly? A mixed bag. As I said, injuries aren’t nearly as bad here as they are in our world. True, amputations occur more frequently since healing potions have limits and surgery is primitive, but people survive amputations and there are magical prostheses.”

“Pro-what? Ken?”

“Prosthetics. They’re…”

Ken lapsed into Japanese. Aiko nodded.

“Oh! Like Quexa’s leg!”

“Except some are magic. Which means you can have an arm made out of fire or some shite like that. What else, Geneva?”

Daly frowned at his hand. Geneva shrugged.

“Illnesses aren’t as prevalent either. At least, plagues and other major outbreaks don’t occur that often, despite the lower level of hygiene.”

“Oh come on. Why not?”

“Two reasons. Actually, three. First, a disease like a plague tends to move from city to city much slower, and the population density is lower here. Second, we haven’t as much international traffic. Less chance of diseases spreading to vulnerable populations without airplanes. Third—”

“Healing potions?”

The table groaned. Paige scooped up her winnings. Geneva frowned at her hand. She was getting trash.

“But not in the way you think. Potions don’t cure diseases, remember? They accelerate a body’s natural functions.”

“They make it worse.”

Siri looked up. Geneva nodded.

“Either a [Healer] figures out some kind of cure, or the potions make the disease worse and it kills off everyone it infects. Plagues are far more deadly in this world because of potions. And when a truly virulent one appears…”

The others fell silent. Paige grimaced.

“Please tell me you can cure that. Or do something?”

Geneva glared at her cards and slapped them down on the table, one by one.

“I. Need. Antibiotics. But without them, there are some remedies that seem to work. There’s some antiviral and antibiotic components in each of the recipes I learned. Not strong ones, though. But it’ll do until we can find something like penicillin. I’ve been using red wine or spirits as antiseptic…and there’s honey, ginger—and garlic.”

“How effective is it?”

Geneva sighed.

“Honestly? Don’t get sick. I can do something for you, but I’ll be relying on the body’s immune system as much as what I can do externally. But I am working on medicines. Poultices based off the [Healer]’s personal remedies that combines the best. So I’ll be able to do some work…but I’m not about to try and cure diseases.”

“Unless we can get an [Alchemist] to figure out how to find the penicillin mold.”

“If it exists. And won’t that be expensive?”

Daly muttered sourly. The table fell silent. Geneva felt a pang in her stomach. Ken, who’d lost every hand since his lucky one, looked up.

“It is not hopeless, though. We are improving. A few months ago we were afraid of paying rent and eating rice. This is better. The Bushrangers are gaining fame. We are saving money. This is working.”

The others looked up. Ken smiled around the table. Then his eyes slid to the cards.

“Five copper coins.”

He had a good poker face too. Geneva calmly slid her coins over.

“Raise.”

“Call.”

“I Fold.”

“Fold.”

Ken met Geneva’s eyes, a polite smile on his face.

“I raise.”

“I fold—no, I don’t—shut up, Okasha!”

Two voices burst from Geneva’s mouth. She scowled and put down her cards as Siri blinked and Daly sat back. Paige and Ken showed their cards along with everyone else. Daly laughed as it was revealed that Geneva had pure trash and Ken had a straight. The [Negotiator] took the round, and the others tossed in their cards.

“You had nothing!”

Okasha protested with Geneva’s voice. The [Doctor] closed her eyes.

“That’s why I was bluffing. Ken and Paige probably would have folded if we went another round. Okasha, you’re terrible at gambling.”

“You have nerves of steel.”

The Selphid grumbled. Ken smiled.

“Hello Okasha. I probably would have folded. Geneva is very hard to read.”

“Hello, Ken. Hi everyone! Nice to meet you, Siri.”

Okasha smiled with Geneva’s face and introduced herself. The Swedish girl had heard about Geneva’s secret, but she had to do a double-take and ask the usual questions of Geneva. Did it hurt? What was it like? Geneva answered as best she could as Daly narrowed his eyes at Ken.

“Wait a second…are you reading our moods with your Skill?”

“I would not do that!”

Ken protested innocently. And his meager coin pile attested to that fact. Geneva grumbled as the table got back to the game.

“Let me do the gambling.”

“Fine. I’ll drink. Pass me the bottle, Paige? Thank you!”

The conversation passed back to the expedition’s results. Ken had a lot to say. He’d been more than just a mouthpiece to talk up the United Nations company. He’d observed, listened, and gossiped with as many people as possible. And his conclusions were frank.

“Baleros is…dangerous. Of the other continents, it is one of the most dangerous. Chandrar and Baleros are considered to be roughly equal—although Chandrar is more dangerous because of the climate than war. But Chandrar has slaves and the King of Destruction that we heard about.”

“Oh yeah. I heard people muttering about him.”

“Yes, he is concerning. But Baleros is just as dangerous. We were unlucky to come here, but luckier in some respects. There is a continent—Rhir. It is very dangerous.”

“I heard there are Demons there.”

“Demons? As in actual…?”

“I think they are a type of monster, Daly. Not Demons like…yokai, Aiko, or anything else. But it is very deadly. On the other hand, Terandria and Izril are safer. There are Drakes, who are apparently very angry who fight with Humans and Gnolls on Izril. They hate Lizardfolk, but Humans live on the northern half of Izril.”

“And Terandria? I’ve heard it’s mostly Human.”

“Yes, it is safe…but it is farthest of the continents away from Baleros. All the continents are. Ship voyages are also dangerous and take a long time. We could hire a good ship and [Captain], but…”

“…Paying for all of us would be tough and we’d be starting from scratch, huh?”

“Exactly.”

“On the other hand, it’s something to consider. Okay, how about where we are?”

“Well, I think we chose a good city. You see, we are here—”

Ken paused the game to pull out a map of Baleros. They were on the lower southeastern coast, and Talenqual was connected via the trade roads to most of the other major cities in the area. He outlined a few zones north and to the west.

“There is fighting over there, but I think it is unlikely to come here. Talenqual is safe. And—this may be good or bad—but it is not controlled by a Great Company.”

Daly nodded. He frowned down at the map. They were just a dot. Baleros was massive, and to Geneva, it vaguely resembled the Americas, albeit with a few noticeable differences. There was no Panama Canal—the continent was a fairly solid chunk that had a large southern jungle and vaguely hammer-esque north half. She watched as Daly traced their route—barely more than an inch on the map.

“Hell, this place is big. Tell us about the Great Companies, Ken. They’re the big players around here, right?”

Ken nodded. He sat back as the card came took a nap and the others leaned in.

“Okay. There are Four Great Companies. You know of them right?”

Everyone sitting at the table nodded. How could you not? The Four Great Companies were the most powerful forces on the continent. More than nations, more than cities. Their reach was vast, and hundreds, possibly thousands of smaller companies had links to them.

“Well, I asked and each one is different in…temperament? Reputation, leadership—they are all distinct. As you know, the Iron Vanguard is up north. They are mostly Dullahans.”

“A species company.”

Paige put in. That meant a company that represented a species’ interests as much as their own advancement. Ken nodded.

“But not all Dullahans. The Iron Vanguard is old and established in the north. The north is ah, cold. One of the only cold places in the world.”

“Pause. What do you mean ‘only’ cold places, Ken?”

The Australian girl frowned as she held out a hand. Ken pondered how to reply. Geneva stepped in for him.

“Only two continents have snowy regions. Except for Chandrar—the desert might qualify as a tundra. But besides mountains, only two areas have semi-permanent snow. The north most parts of Baleros and Terandria.”

Paige frowned.

“Nothing on the south side?”

“Not a thing. Chandra’s farther south, and it’s a desert. But not snow. And there isn’t an Antarctic region that I can tell.”

“Odd. Where is the equatorial line, then?”

Siri traced a finger across the map, perplexed. Daly hesitated.

“There might not be one. I was chatting with a bloke in the bar, and he claimed the earth was flat. Think that’s right? Or is it just a round planet and no one’s made the connection yet?”

Ken shook his head gravely.

“No, I think the earth may be flat, Daly. You see—I asked and there is an end of the world. Ships sail off it. It is a known fact.”

“Ah.”

The table went silent. Everyone tried to digest that information. Paige sat back, shaking her head.

“Two moons, a weird equator, the end of the world…I wish we had a telescope. Or a satellite.”

“You can build one later. Go on, Ken. The Iron Vanguard’s northern Dullahans. And?”

“Ah. You see, the Iron Vanguard has many…fortifications. The north is poorer, but it has some good metals to mine. So the Dullahans fortify it—and the Iron Vanguard controls much of the region. They are…an aggressive company. But they prize heavy armor.”

“Bunch of [Knights] tromping around tanking fireballs. I get it. And knowing Dullahans, they’re a right laugh.”

Aiko giggled. Ken nodded. That was fairly spot on.

“Their leader is the Seer of Steel. A [Juggernaut] with a body made of the most expensive armor money can buy.”

Siri raised an eyebrow.

“Why do they call him the Seer of Steel?”

Geneva muttered into her drink. Okasha poured her another refill. Both of them liked alcohol.

“Because he doesn’t go into battle with his head. He leaves that far, far away in his fortress. He controls the body with a scrying orb in place of his head. That way you can only hit his body. He’s practically impossible to kill, or so it’s said.”

“That’s properly intimidating. But I suppose a big shot would be like that.”

Daly slid his eyes sideways to Siri. Geneva wondered if they were trying to figure out how they’d kill something like that. Aiko looked around and spoke brightly.

“Very scary. But the Male—male—Ken, how do you say it?”

“Maelstrom’s Howling.”

“Thank you. Yes, they are not so bad. They are Centaurs! And Lizardfolk. They have a younger leader and her mother, and they control the—middle?”

She pointed to the map of Baleros.

“Very open plains. They have the most space, but since it is so wide, they cannot control—”

She mimed to say ‘all of it’. Ken nodded.

“And there is another company which emerged recently. The Forgotten Wing Company. They seized a lot of land from the other companies. They are the closest to us. Based in the south.”

“Yes! They are led by the Titan!”

Daly’s brows show up.

“I heard of that guy. The best [Strategist] in the world, right? What do you know about him?”

Ken shrugged.

“Much of is it gossip. So I did not trust it. But he was very intelligent. He teaches other [Strategists], and he is famous. Apparently he loves playing games of strategy? Anyways, his company is considered very powerful, but—”

He raised a finger.

“—It is considered fragile.”

“Fragile? How? It’s a fucking massive company, isn’t it?”

Daly frowned. Ken nodded.

“It is. But it is new. And people think that since the Titan and the leader—it has another leader called Three-Color Stalker whom no one knows except that she is a powerful [Assassin]—they think that if those two die, the company will fall apart.”

“Ah. So a few high-level blokes are the only things holding it together.”

“Yes. Pretty much. But while they live, it is very dangerous.”

“And the last company? The Eyes of Baleros?”

Siri was done drinking. She pushed her glass back and got some water instead. Ken frowned.

“I know little other than they are based deep in the jungle. Very secretive. They have the smallest land, but no one fights them. They are a species company. Of Gazers.”

The others at the table frowned. None of them had met a Gazer. From what they understood, they were a secretive people with huge eyes that had powerful magical properties. Ken hadn’t been able to get much solid information about them, but what he had heard had disinclined him to meet them in person.

“I have heard of Gazers and I…do not think they would be a good company to anger. From what I understand, the Eyes of Baleros is a very difficult company to work with.”

“Huh. So. We have a mixed company? The Forgotten Wing? A Centaur and Lizardfolk company, a Dullahan company, and a company made of…Gazers.”

“Actually, it is Centaurs, Dullahans, Gazers, and the Forgotten Wing Company.”

Aiko corrected Daly. Ken nodded.

“There was a Lizardfolk company who was the fourth Great Company, but the Forgotten Wing company replaced them.”

“So they’re really dangerous. Fine. That’s valuable information, Ken. But from where I sit, we’re not in a position to tangle with them anyways. I’m more focused on getting a solid base of support around here. Maybe work out a deal with Quallet—fuck, I don’t know. We need land or some big revenue source.”

Daly sighed. Paige nodded as she knocked back another shot of rum.

“I agree with Daly. I’m not suggesting we attract attention to ourselves, but having some backup would be nice. We’ve got allies, but they’re small players compared to a Great Company. And if war threatens, the company protecting this place, the Featherfolk Brigade, isn’t going to necessarily cut it. They don’t owe us anything, more to the point. And if they don’t like another company basing themselves here…”

“You want an army.”

Geneva spoke quietly. Daly looked up. He hesitated.

“Not one to fight with. But—there are big [Bandit Lords] and other companies out there, Geneva. I’d be reassured if we could scare them off rather than chance it if battle came calling.”

There was nothing she could argue with about that statement. Geneva was well aware of how Baleros worked. The strong survived. Daly sighed longer, louder.

“Honestly? A Gold-rank adventuring team would make any company hesitate. If we could get the Bushrangers to that level—”

“Impossible.”

Siri said it flatly. The Australian glared at her, but she was unmoved as she sipped her glass of water.

“We don’t have the levels, Daly. And though we do level, it’s too slowly. To level faster, to gain more money, we need artifacts to take on more monsters. Crossbows are too weak.”

“I know, but we’re paying the United Nation’s bills here, Siri.”

She nodded, but the frown didn’t go away. Paige looked between the two.

“I’m working on this new invention that might help—but we could use money back at home too. The apartment’s so full that we’ll start having fights.”

“And my tools and experiments take money. Rather than earn it.”

Geneva looked into her glass. How many times had Okasha filled it? She slumped over at the table. Daly winced.

“Don’t mind me, I’m just running my mouth. Look, Geneva. If you need money, we’ll earn it. You just keep figuring out stuff like antibiotics, syringes, and so on. We can pay the bills with the Bushrangers.”

“But Daly, you just said it. You need better weapons. Armor. Artifacts.”

Aiko looked worried. Daly grinned.

“Don’t worry. That’s if we want to take on bigger threats. We can earn a living just taking on lower-level monsters, right Siri?”

The Swedish girl nodded reluctantly. Geneva tried to remember the Bushrangers telling stories of hiding in the forest while bugs ate them alive. But Daly acted like it was nothing.

“Daly, you work very hard. If we can support you and your team—”

Ken began, but the young man from Australia waved a hand.

“Don’t worry about it. We can keep going on as we’re doing. It’s not the most profitable, but hey, even if Dawson bitches about it, a few days of rest make up for some hard hunts. Besides—”

He smiled tiredly.

“It’s not like I do much around here.”

Everyone looked at Daly. Paige shook her head and rolled her eyes. Ken frowned and slowly stood up.

“I do not think that is true. You hold together the company when we are gone. We rely on you.”

“Naw, that’s you and Luan and—”

Daly looked at Geneva. But Aiko was protesting.

“I think you are excellent, Daly! We need you, so do not be—Ken’s what’s the word?”

“Modest.”

“Modest, yes!”

Daly flushed a bit.

“Well, okay. But look, I just meant the Bushrangers can keep funding us. And Luan’s pulling in coin—”

“Like I said, give me a few days, no one day—there’s a lot Blake was talking about I want to try and I have this idea—”

Paige spoke up. Siri leaned forwards.

“We can take on other assignments. If we get other weapons. They don’t have to be magical. But I was thinking. What if we carried warhammers—”

“For armor? That’s heavy—”

“Well, only some of us. But with traps…”

“I am going to talk to Kirana about opening up a stall outside! We can sell some of her cooking.”

“—And if I can get the formula right, we don’t even need to use metal. Ken told me about a Japanese version that—”

The conversation was growing confused. Lots of voices melded together. Geneva slumped at the table, pouring herself another drink. She whispered the word in between the voices.

“Sorry.”

So many people trying so hard. And here she was. She vaguely realized that Okasha was trying to get her to stand up.

“Your liver isn’t happy. And I’m…drunk? We should lie down.”

That was a good point. Geneva got up. She didn’t remember excusing herself, only that the others were smiling and positive and she—felt useless. She trundled up the stairs. Paige had told her to go to her workshop to sleep. After two tries, Geneva found it.

She lay on the ground, world spinning around and round. Trying to think. Okasha was singing in her head, babbling. The silly Selphid was drunk. Couldn’t hold her liquor. Not like…Geneva.

“Whee. Hey, I’ve never been in a living body, so I had no idea it does this when you get drunk. Did you know you have this weird thing that—”

“Go to sleep Okasha.”

At some point the Selphid did. Geneva felt it tugging at her mind too. She couldn’t move anymore, even when Paige and Aiko stumbled into the room and went to sleep. Geneva just lay there, feeling the floorboards pressing against her cheek. Her thoughts were muddled. But she knew one thing.

She was useless here. Useless, for all her knowledge. Sometimes she wanted to go back to the wars. Where she had some use. But she couldn’t. She knew that. She couldn’t be a [Doctor] on the battlefield.

Because in war, it seemed that all a [Doctor] could do was make things worse.

—-

The next day Geneva woke up without a hangover. In fact, she felt fresh, good—and had a bladder that seemed to encompass her entire body. She got up, peed, and heard Okasha whispering in her head.

“Everything hurts…”

She’d taken care of the alcohol in Geneva’s system but couldn’t do the same for herself. Geneva let Okasha rest and ate for both of them. Then she went upstairs and began to do the only work she could. And even that was deferred work.

“How do the petri dishes look, Aiko?”

The girl peered into the glass dishes that Geneva had bought. The cultures of primitive gelatin were growing molds. The [Nurse] had a mask on her face. Geneva stood back, watching.

“Careful with the petri dish. Remember, my sterile field is down. The masks—”

“Yes, Geneva. I know. The bacteria is growing well. But the antibiotics…see?”

Aiko handled the dishes carefully, taking care not to bring them too close to her face. The masks were Geneva’s design, but she couldn’t be sure how well they protected Aiko. Geneva peered at them, taking care not to touch the petri dishes.

Her hands were sterile, thanks to her Skill. And while Geneva had learned she could temporarily disable the field that cleansed the area around her, her hands would kill the bacteria in a moment. She frowned at the samples she’d made up.

She had mixed several of the [Healer]’s poultices into new batches, trying to find a mix of antibiotic agents to replace penicillin. So far the results were promising…but hardly as good as penicillin itself.

“Not bad. But not good either. Look at how the bacteria’s resisting the samples. We have two strains—#4 and #6 that look like they’re the best. We’ll try them against other cultures. Let’s get a mouth swab. From someone else. Daly, maybe.”

“Yes, Geneva.”

Coming up with an antibiotic was one of the achievements Geneva was determined to hand the United Nations company. It was essential. Preventing diseases might not earn much money for the company—healing potions really did kill off a lot of people with bad illnesses if used carelessly on them—but it was vital nonetheless. She’d trade her left leg for penicillin. Hell, both legs. This world needed it. She needed it. Without that, Geneva’s skills outside of a battlefield were practically zero. Infections were the one thing she could cure, but this—

Geneva was laboring over another antibiotic test case with Aiko when someone pounded on the door. Daly thrust open the door, stopped as Geneva shouted at him, and backed up.

“Sorry! But I thought you should know—we just got word that the Gravetender’s Fist company is marching towards us!”

Both Aiko and Geneva looked up. Geneva’s heard skipped a beat.

“Did they say if they had injured?”

“No word on that. But they were doing a patrol along contested territory. I’m going to say hi to them! Meet me there!”

Daly raced out of the room. Aiko looked at Geneva. She nodded.

“Pack up. Seal all the containers. Carefully. Then we’ll head out.”

She straightened. A company had injured usually, even if they were on peaceful duties. Accidents happened. Not that she wanted it. And healing potions—but there was a chance. She should hurry. Geneva looked around for her medical kit. Okasha, who was still recovering from her hangover, whispered in her ears.

“The company’s back? Oh good. Maybe someone will be hurt so you’ll stop complaining.”

Geneva ignored that. But a part of her, a cynical, dark part, hoped Okasha was right.

—-

The Gravetender’s Fist company was camped outside of Talenqual. Naturally a mercenary company couldn’t all enter a city. That was practically an invasion. And in fact, it was only because Gravetender’s Fist had a reputation for honesty that they were allowed near the city at all. That, and the fact that the reigning company who controlled the city, the Featherfolk Brigade, outnumbered them substantially.

Gravetender’s Fist was still a small company. But they were gaining respect. Not only did they have an experienced leader, Quallet Marshand, but every soldier was armed with a crossbow, which they usually fired before switching to other weapons. It was an interesting tactic, and refilling quarrels and selling crossbows had earned the United Nations company a tidy profit.

And Quallet’s company had strong ties to the United Nations company. Even if one wasn’t under control of the other and neither company owed the other anything, they had an agreement to support each other where possible. But none of that was really why Daly hurried towards the camp. He only stopped when he saw a distinctive Lizardgirl walking towards Talenqual with a slight catch to her stride.

Quexa looked a bit older than Daly remembered from his first encounter with her. But she was no less cheerful, and by now her peg leg barely slowed her.

“Daly! I knew we’d see you! I told Quallet we had to stop here, and he agreed! How are you? You look good! Are the Bushrangers doing well?”

“Quexa. It’s good to see you.”

The two stopped as they met just outside of Talenqual. Daly looked at Quexa, and then noticed she had company. Quallet, a Lizardman, and two officers that Daly vaguely recognized were accompanying the [Mercenary Captain] along with Quexa. She was his second-in-command. Quallet nodded at Daly as the Australian turned to greet him.

“Quallet. How’s business?”

“Good. We’re off-duty. We finished a patrolling job. Decided to stop by here.”

“I heard. Did you see any fighting?”

Quallet shook his head.

“Mostly quiet guard duty. But we did run into a [Necromancer]-led company on our route back this way. Brief battle—we both agreed to a ceasefire after we shot two volleys at him. Nearly broke his magic barrier.”

Daly smiled.

“Good to hear. Hey, I know Paige and Geneva are headed this way. I just—came along first.”

Quallet nodded. He glanced at Quexa then cleared this throat.

“We’ll head into the city. We’ve got business there. Quexa, find me later. I need to talk to Geneva.”

That got Daly’s attention.

“Anyone killed?”

“No. I’ve got two bad infections among my troops for Miss Geneva to look at. Human.”

He walked past Daly. Quexa fidgeted. The other officers followed Quallet, but the Lizardman stopped. He held out a claw.

“Hey, you’re the Human that Quexa had sex with! Hi! I’m Zalel!”

Daly choked. He hesitated, looked at Quexa who was blushing with embarrassment, and held out a hand and the Lizardman shook it energetically after a moment.

“Uh, nice to meet you.”

“Great to meet you too! I’d love to chat, but old Quallet’ll get mad. Quexa, I’ll catch you later! Hey, wait up!”

Zalel followed the others. Quexa stared daggers at his back until he was gone and then turned hurriedly to Daly.

“I didn’t have sex with him. He’s just an old friend. Just so you know.”

“I didn’t ask.”

Daly instinctively replied. Part of him wanted to say it was fine whatever Quexa did, but that would be a lie. He hesitated.

“So, how’re you doing?”

“Good! I’ve been practicing new spells. Marching with the company—it was pretty dull, but hey, the job’s a job, right? And the company’s growing. It’s good to see you.”

Quexa blurted that last bit out. Daly smiled.

“Look at us, standing around. Say, want to go for a walk in the city? We can talk on the way.”

“Sure! I’m just dying for a nali-stick by the way.”

“It’ll be our first stop. My treat.”

“Oh, really? You’re so nice.”

“Well, maybe you can do me a favor in return.”

Quexa gave Daly a sharp look and he elaborated.

“We’re looking for someone who can teach us [Repair]. Know any [Mages] who might be willing to do it for cheap?”

“Oh. Sure! I know a few names. What, are the ones in this city giving you a hard time with your flashy-things? Leave it to me! But tell me—how’ve you been? What have the Bushrangers been doing? Let’s find a cool place to sit and you can tell me about it. Over a few nali-sticks. And some juice?”

“I’d love that. You’ve got the time, right?”

The Lizardgirl smiled.

“Quallet won’t mind. Come on!”

She pulled Daly forwards. He followed her, and saw Quexa turn her head back and paused for a second.

“I’m not having sex with you afterwards, though. Just throwing that out there. Well, not just for a nali-stick…”

For the second time in as many minutes, Daly nearly inhaled his tongue. He stopped, sighed. And then he laughed.

—-

“I didn’t want to interrupt you. But both of them have it bad and they were whining to me the entire way here. They insisted I get you right away.”

Quallet looked as if he were always in a bad mood. But Geneva knew him well enough to know he was genuinely concerned for the two Human men he wanted her to see. For her part, she was fully equipped. Not that her patients needed surgery—they had infections. Bad ones, but Quallet had spared her the details.

Aiko was following Geneva, carrying some of their gear. Geneva paused in front of the tent where her first patient was waiting.

“Where’d they get the infections? Battle?”

“I wish. They got it at the last town we stopped at.”

Geneva frowned, perplexed.

“From what? Cuts? Something they ate? A bug?”

The [Mercenary] looked embarrassed. He shifted from foot to foot, a rare sign of discomfort.

“No. Ah, from a brothel.”

“Oh. So the infection’s…”

“I can tell them you don’t need to see them if—”

“No, it’s fine. I just need to be sure. It is on their genitals?”

Quallet nodded. He flushed a bit. Geneva was calm. She looked at Aiko. The [Nurse] looked distinctly embarrassed. Geneva was a [Doctor] and to her, private parts were all the same when someone was on the table. But Aiko was hesitant.

“You can let me do the diagnosis. I’ll only call you in if I need help.”

The Japanese young woman shook her head vigorously.

“No! I’m your assistant. So I will go with you! It’s just…”

She flushed again. Quallet looked at the both of them.

“I don’t think embarrassment’s going to be the worst of it. I took a look and—”

He shook his head.

“—it’s bad. The worst case of it I’ve seen.”

“Does it have a name?”

Geneva frowned. Quallet shrugged.

“It’s one of the new ones. I think they call it Yellow Rivers. But I didn’t ask too many questions. I’ve kept them isolated like you said I should do, but I wasn’t about to leave them.”

“No. You did the right thing. I’ll handle it from here. If there’s anything I can do—they know I can’t work miracles, right?”

Quallet nodded. But the look he gave her told Geneva that the story of the Last Light was still widely told in his company. She shook her head and took a breath. Not a surgery. But she was still a [Doctor].

“Alright, Aiko. Excuse me—”

She pushed open the tent flap. The man sitting on a cot and clutching at his groin looked up. His eyes widened as she saw Geneva and Aiko with a mask on. His eyes went to Quallet, filling with hope.

“Is she—?”

The man nodded. The mercenary practically scrambled to his feet. Geneva held up a hand, wishing her reputation didn’t precede her. Now the fear was in her. What if she couldn’t help him? No, she had to see first. She was ready.

“Please. I’m just a [Doctor]. I can’t work miracles. I’m told you have an…infection. May I see it?”

“Uh—show you? Here?”

It was funny. For all she was a [Doctor], and he had clearly been hoping to see her, the man was obviously unprepared to drop his pants in front of two young women. But Geneva was used to reticent patients. She had the man lie back, and pull his trousers down slowly. Aiko hid behind Geneva, peeking from behind her.

She needn’t have worried. The instant the man’s trousers and then underwear were off, embarrassment was the last thing that was in the mind of the two girls. Geneva saw the yellow-stained, wet underwear peel away. She saw a flash of paler skin. And then red and yellow and—

“Ah.”

Aiko’s eyes went wide. She covered her eyes—then her nose—and then dry heaved. Geneva mastered the impulse as the smell hit her—and then her nose went dead.

Thank you Okasha.

But there was no way to turn off her eyes. Geneva stared down at the man’s groin, which was saturated with the worst case of…Yellow Rivers was a good name for it. The Human man looked up at Geneva, eyes pleading, full of pain. He was a man. Male, and proportioned as any man from Earth would be. But the rash and…it was hard to tell at first.

Geneva had seen a lot of horrific sights in medical school. But, she had to admit, even her stomach wanted to eject itself. Aiko was still gagging. Not just because of the sight. Because of the smell and the way the infection dripped.

But Geneva was a [Doctor]. And after a moment she took to assess the situation and control herself, she got to work.

“This is clearly a problem. You used a healing potion on it, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I thought it was a sore, but after I used it—it hurt so much. Please, can you fix it? I’d lose it. If it meant all this went away, even cutting it right off would be—”

The man whimpered. He was in a world of suffering. And that, more than anything, gave Geneva the ability to touch the inflicted areas, clearing pus away, getting a good look at the problem and telling Aiko to hand her the antibiotic treatments she’d worked up. That, and a strong pair of gloves.

—-

The first patient took thirty minutes to tend to, and Geneva gave him a list of instructions and promised to be back the next day. His infection wouldn’t resolve itself overnight, no matter what he might have hoped, but she could see that her visit had given him some hope of surviving. The second patient Geneva saw was a little better—but only just.

“The same symptoms, the same illness and vector. It definitely came from your brothel.”

“And will it spread?”

Quallet was waiting for Geneva and Aiko after they finished the second patient. Geneva scrubbed her hands in two buckets of soapy water, never mind the fact that her hands were sterile and she’d worn gloves. There were some things you just needed to wash up for.

“Not if they keep out of contact of the others. And obviously I should say this: no sexual intercourse.”

“Won’t be a problem. You couldn’t pay anyone in the company to touch those two. Man, woman, Lizardfolk, Dullahan, Centaur—I don’t even think the Selphids would want a body like that.”

“Definitely not.”

Quallet nodded back towards the tent.

“Will they survive?”

“It’s down to how well my treatment works. And how clean they can keep the injury. They won’t be marching with you any time soon. They need rest, and the infections can’t be contained and agitated by their clothing.”

The [Captain] grimaced.

“So, what? They’ll be lying buck-naked with that out for—”

“Not in the open. There are bugs. I’ve bandaged the infections and they’re not to agitate them. But yes. We’ll need two medical tents. And I’ll be back.”

Quallet gnawed on his lip, but he acceded without much fight.

“As you wish. But the cost—”

“It won’t be much for the treatments. Don’t worry about it.”

“Nonsense. I’ll cover it. And I’ll take it out of their hides once they’re better.”

Quallet shook his head and growled. Geneva looked at him. He was a good man, for all he acted aloof sometimes. She sighed, wiped her hands on a towel, and stood up.

“I hope I can make a difference. But seeing that—there’s something I need to do. Aiko, we’re headed back for the headquarters.”

“I’ll go with you. I need to talk to Paige about more crossbows anyways.”

Geneva nodded. She, Quallet, and Aiko who wasn’t feeling hungry or eating ever again, walked slowly back to the city. They didn’t make much conversation. Quallet and Geneva lived in different worlds. But somehow, they understood each other. They each had their way of living.

“Geneva? How are the patients? I heard there were some people with bad infections.”

“Oh yes. Quallet can fill you in. But I’ve just had a thought. Actually, I could use your help. I need to make something.”

“Really?”

Paige perked up. Geneva nodded. She led them upstairs and borrowed some parchment. She began sketching her design. It was simple, really. It took Aiko a few seconds to figure out what it was. Paige got it in a moment.

“Oh come on. Really?”

“You think it’s not necessary? Because believe me, after what I just saw? We need them.”

“Oh, the infections were down there? Oh, gross…”

Geneva ignored the comment. She kept sketching, noting different materials down. Okasha raised Geneva’s hand and pointed at the image.

“What’s that?”

“A tool that will stop more infections. But we don’t have the right materials. Paige, there’s obviously no rubber available to us, but I think linen might work. Can you get me some?”

The Australian girl hesitated.

“I can get you linen—but really? Sorry, I know it’s silly, but this? There’s potions—”

Geneva interrupted her brusquely.

“And this is a different issue. Get me the linen. I need it to be waterproof, and come up with a treatment for it. Something that won’t harm internal organs, but which might neutralize anything. Aiko? Where’s the medicine kit?”

The two girls went to get what Geneva wanted. Meanwhile, the [Doctor] tried to wrap her mind around the problem. They’d need it to be protective, but not cumbersome. It could not come loose. How would you hold it on? And obviously it would have to be tailored. Dullahans were like Humans, but there were different sizes. And Centaurs and Lizardfolk…

Geneva stared down at what she had designed. The simplest of tools from her world. Something so basic she hadn’t thought of it. Well, she had when she’d heard of some of the Earthworlders having sex, but when she heard about morning-after potions, she hadn’t looked into it. But after seeing that viral infection, Geneva was sure it was necessary.

“I don’t get it. But then again, this really isn’t a Selphid problem, is it?”

Okasha stared down at the blueprints. Geneva ignored that. The Selphid might understand bodies, but she didn’t understand germ theory.

“This will save lives, Okasha.”

“I guess? But will it save Selphids from our problem?”

Geneva looked up.

“Not in this way. But the problems are related. I’ve thought a lot about the symptoms you’ve described to me. Obviously I need to see the patients first, but if I’m right, isolating an antibiotic or even taking measures like this might—”

The door crashed open. For the second time this day Geneva spun. She thought it was Paige, or Aiko being loud. But it wasn’t. It was Daly. He was panting.

“Geneva! Get your surgical kit!”

Geneva’s pulse spiked. The tone of Daly’s voice, his posture, it all told her one thing. And then she felt a jolt of fear.

“Is it Quexa?”

He’d been on a date with her. But Daly was shaking his head. He pointed to the hallway where Siri was shouting at the other Bushrangers.

“I just got a [Message]. At the Adventurer’s Guild! It’s the groups of adventures who went to the dungeon!”

Geneva just stared at him blankly. She had no idea about the dungeon that had just been found. Daly tried to explain, tripping over his words as he beckoned at her.

“The Rustless Guard, Salamander Swimmers, the Fivefold Verminslayers—all the adventurer teams who got to the dungeon are retreating. They broke through into an old tomb and unleashed a bunch of monsters!”

Monsters. Geneva whirled and looked for her surgical tools. She rushed out the door after Daly, shouting for Aiko and then giving up and running after him. He was shouting at the Bushrangers to assemble. But they were far from the dungeon! Still, Geneva ran after him.

“What kind of monsters? Spear Spiders? Face-Eater Moths?”

She’d treated both injuries. They were horrific to deal with, potions or not. But Daly just looked back, his face grim.

“Worse. Snakes.”

—-

Captain Eldima looked up and saw death. It flowed from the dungeon, dozens of sinuous bodies. She turned and shouted.

“Retreat!”

Around her adventurers were running. The Dullahan turned and ran, trying to carry both her tower shield and mace. But she was so slow. Her new iron armor dragged at her. And she knew the enemy was closing on her. So she turned. It wasn’t heroism that prompted her, just the knowledge that she couldn’t escape. She looked back and saw them.

Snakes. Or rather, serpents. Not pythons or the other snakes of the jungle. As dangerous as they were, these snakes were far, far worse. They were huge.

Giant snakes. That was all. But even the smallest was as wide as Eldima. And the largest? It rose and struck like lightning. An adventurer screamed—the fangs sank into the Lizardgirl’s back and she jerked twice before the jaws crunched down. And then the snake swallowed her whole.

Effortlessly.

That was what the dungeon had held. No treasure. Even after all the excavation of the tunnels, all the adventurers had found was already-looted rooms. And then the snakes. They’d been resting in the dungeon, fat, gorged on the prey that wandered by the entrance. Now they had a meal.

“Rustless Guard, stand and fight!”

Eldima cried out. Her Dullahans turned and formed a wall of shields. The first snake slithered towards them. It regarded the metal-clad Dullahans and hesitated. But it could smell their heartbeats. So it wavered, and then struck.

The impact threw Eldima and three of the Dullahans back a step. But they’d blocked the snake. It recoiled, hissing, and one of Eldima’s [Warriors] charged, swinging an axe.

“No! Kiltem! Get—”

Too late. The snake lunged. But not with its mouth. Kiltem’s charge was stopped as the serpent rammed him with its body, sending him to the ground. Quick as a flash, it was on him. He screamed as it bit at his body, rending the iron and his flesh beneath.

“Off him!”

Eldima charged forwards and bashed the snake with her mace. It recoiled, but its scales were thick! It butted Eldima, knocking her back. She stumbled—and another snake swung towards them.

“Keep running!”

“No! Kiltem’s down!”

Eldima shouted at the others. But they were wavering. The snakes had already taken out two adventuring groups in the dungeon. Eldima and the others had been battling them for an hour and a quarter, frantically trying to collapse tunnels in the dungeon, setting traps, anything to slow the serpents. But the hungry monsters had kept coming regardless.

And now? It was over. Eldima raised her shield, hoping to strike a blow at the serpent still trying to eat Kiltem. She had [Power Strike]. But it might not even damage the serpent. She swung desperately. She saw the snake coil and tried to bring up her shield—

The impact knocked Eldima’s head loose from her body. She hadn’t secured it properly, and her head went flying. Eldima felt the air rushing past her head, and then screamed in pain as her head struck the ground. Desperately she rolled her eyes, but she was on her side. She could see her body, and tried to control it. The snake was puzzled by the missing head, but it wrapped itself around Eldima anyways and squeezed.

Pain. On the ground, Eldima’s head screamed. Her body fought, but it was constricted, helpless. Her team tried to save her, but the second serpent was fighting them. And all Eldima could do was watch and feel her body dying.

It was every Dullahans’ worst nightmare. This was like how they executed their criminals. Eldima’s eyes filled with tears. She struggled, cried out—

“Please!”

And she saw a flash out of the corner of her eye. Movement. But not the fleeing adventurers. Movement in the other direction. A figure advancing, rather than fleeing from the dungeon. Eldima saw the figure raise something in its hand. A crossbow. And as she watched, he fired once.

The bolt shot from the wooden bow. It sped across the ground and hit the serpent crushing Eldima in the eye. The shot was perfect—the serpent recoiled, screaming, and let Eldima go. She saw her body fall to the ground. Sobbing, Eldima ordered her body to run towards her and snatch up her head. She placed her head on her body and turned, feeling her bent armor, her fractured bones. And then she saw him. She’d thought it was her imagination. But there he was.

Daly, the Captain of the Bushrangers, raised his crossbow. He pulled the drawstring back, loaded another quarrel, aimed, and fired. The second bolt struck the serpent menacing Eldima’s team in the side of the head. It turned. The bolt had broken on its scales. But it was distracted. The Dullahans backed away, carrying their fallen comrade. And Daly pointed.

“Bushrangers, advance!”

Five figures strode past them. Each held a crossbow. Each raised it and fired. Five more bolts flew. One struck the serpent in its open mouth and it recoiled. But only for a second. Then it came on.

The other serpents had noticed the strange anomaly in their fleeing prey. They turned, locking onto the Bushrangers. The five reloaded, and then broke up as the snakes advanced, shifting their aim to individual snakes. They fired—the bolts struck scales. The snakes flinched, but then realized they weren’t hurt. So did the adventurers. One cried out.

“It’s not going through the scales, Daly!”

“Then aim for the eyes! Just keep them busy! Siri! Hit the lure!”

“On it!”

One of the Humans had something in her hands. She hit something. A light blossomed on the device she held. Eldima, staggering towards the group, trying to shout at them to run, heard a loud sound. And then a deafening sound that went straight through her body and armor.

The thundering dubstep was cranked up past what the speakers should have allowed. It was so loud that Eldima’s ears rang. She clamped her hands to her ears. But the effect on the sensitive snakes was even worse. They had no ears and they writhed in agony and retreated as the sound thundered. One of them lunged—Dawson raised his shield and went flying.

“Fuck!”

The Bushrangers had attracted all the attention of the snakes. They abandoned the fleeing adventurers and focused on the team. Anything to get the music to stop. But Siri used the speaker like a weapon, aiming it at the nearest serpents.

“Pull back!”

Eldima staggered towards Daly. He was shouting, waving his team back. But too slowly. They were going to be surrounded! And whenever this strange artifact ran out, they’d be dead.

“No! A few more moments! Get in position! Stay with us!”

Daly roared at his team and Eldima. She thought that’s what he said—she couldn’t hear anything. The serpents were getting over their fear of the blasting music, though. Rage was propelling them forwards. Daly was pointing back. The Bushrangers ran backwards. The snakes followed.

They were going to die. They’d responded to the [Message] spell in time, but the Bushrangers were an ambush group. They weren’t equipped to go up against giant serpents! Eldima despaired. And then she looked behind her and saw them.

A row of bodies. It stretched across the muddy ground. Hundreds of bodies. Centaurs pulling wagons. Lizardmen and Lizardwomen holding crossbows. Dullahans armed with pikes. Eldima froze. There was an entire company here! A huge one! What company had appeared? She knew that the Gravetender’s Fist company was in the area. But this was too large to be just theirs.

Then she saw a Lizardgirl at the front of the ranks point at the serpents. The agitated monsters hadn’t realized the danger they were in. But they got a clue as an orb of fire blasted from her claw and struck one in the face. It writhed in agony. And the army in front of them raised their crossbows.

“Move!”

Daly grabbed Eldima. His team was racing to the side. Out of the way. And before they were even in the clear, the first volley of crossbows fired.

Hundreds of bolts flew through the air. Behind them, Centaurs with longbows aimed and fired. More [Mages] threw fire and lightning and acid. The serpents weathered the bolts, took the spells. They charged forwards, armored, huge. But the assembled force didn’t waver. The first rank of pikes swung up as more spells and arrows targeted the snake’s eyes. And then one of the [Mages] threw a bolt of lightning that left only a crater where the largest serpent’s head should have been.

“Dead gods.”

Eldima whispered. She heard laughter above the ringing in her ears. She looked up and saw Daly, still grabbed hold of her, whooping and laughing as the serpents fell. Only one even reached the lines of warriors. The Dullahan looked up, at Daly, and her thoughts were wonder.

—-

“How did he do it?”

That was all Eldima could ask. All the other adventurers could ask. Bewildered, they watched as the company of warriors and irregulars calmly butchered what remained of the serpents, hauling the valuable meat and scaly hides away towards the city. Eldima looked around.

“How?”

Her gaze was on Daly. He had led a group back into the dungeon, to look to survivors. Now he was tending to what wounded there were, with a small team. Eldima’s ears were still ringing, but she saw Dullahans who’d been fighting pass her by and managed to ask the question everyone wanted to know.

“Who? The Human? He didn’t call us here. And we aren’t one company. The two on the field are from Gravetender’s Fist and the Featherfolk Brigade. You should recognize us.”

The Dullahan looked affronted. Eldima instinctively bowed her head; she was wearing mangled iron armor and he wore steel.

“I am terribly sorry. But if he did not call you all—how?”

Why would so many respond to an adventurer’s [Message]? Normally they’d just lock down the city and leave the adventures to their fate. The Dullahan wearing steel frowned severely, but responded grudgingly at last.

“It was the Captain of the Bushrangers who made the plea, but our company commander acceded to the request thanks to another member of his company. A…[Negotiator] convinced us to engage in this fight, as it was clearly one we could win.”

“You?”

“And the others. He pulled every one he could grab out of the city. Adventurers, Runners. Sailors.”

For a second the Dullahan looked almost admiring. He pointed at a figure who hadn’t been part of the fighting.

Ken. He and Daly had organized the operation. And it was true. They hadn’t bothered to invite just one company. They’d gathered everyone they could find.

Giant serpents could kill one Silver-rank team. Or even a group. But a Gold-rank [Mage] who headed the Mage’s Guild in Talenqual? The Guildmaster of the Adventurer’s Guild? A [Captain] and his crew? Child’s play. And they had come. For sport. For the nobility of the cause. For an easy battle and a share of the profits. Anyone could make the argument. But only Ken had done it.

Eldima stared. But then she noticed another figure passing by all of the wounded, rapidly going from figure to figure, and then the silent shapes. Checking them. And Eldima’s eyes widened as someone whispered her name. She recalled a rumor and saw a legend in the flesh. And she looked at Daly and wondered what company he belonged to.

—-

Wonder. Relief. Such were the emotions of the survivors. But Geneva was just…frustrated. She roamed the battlefield, ignoring the dead serpents who were being butchered. The smell, the sounds—all of it was reminiscent of a warzone between companies. But in this case—

“Any wounded? Any injured?”

Geneva called out for the eighth time. But she heard no one. No cries of pain. No shouts for a [Healer] or a potion. What adventurers had died were dead. And the others?

“I’m fine. A healing potion took care of my wounds. And you splinted my bones. I will be fine. I am in your debt, [Doctor].”

The Dullahan named Kiltem reassured Geneva when she went to check on him. He was one of the few people she’d treated and even then, the adventurers had known what to do. He would need to be carried and heal for at least a week, but with potions his broken bones and body would mend quickly.

There was nothing for her to do. Again. Geneva looked around the battlefield, at Daly who was congratulating and thanking some of the people they’d called upon with Ken, at the Bushrangers testing their crossbows on a serpent and shaking their heads—at the departing adventurers, [Warriors], and [Mages].

Useless. She’d come out here, rushed out here thinking to help evacuate the wounded. To save lives. But this hadn’t been her battle. It had been a triumph for the United Nations company—thanks to Ken and Daly. Thanks to diplomacy, words. Goodwill.

Geneva loved it. Hated it. She turned and walked over to Daly.

“Geneva? Everyone well?”

“They’re all fine. The dead—I can’t do much for them.”

Daly was high on relief and victory. But he paused as he saw Geneva’s face. He reached out and grabbed her shoulder gently.

“It’s good they didn’t need help, eh?”

She looked up and met his eyes. Guiltily, Geneva realized he was right.

“That’s true. I’m sorry.”

“Hey. Everyone knows you want to help. And you do.”

“How?”

He shrugged.

“Just by being here. Look.”

He pointed. And Geneva turned. She felt the eyes on her at last. Soldiers from Quallet’s company. The Featherfolk Brigade’s warriors. Even adventurers and sailors. Looking at her.

“They know you’ll be there when they need it. That’s enough.”

Daly’s voice was quiet. Geneva looked back at him. He smiled at her.

“Sometimes a [Doctor]’s work is just in the head. Just making people feel safe. Right?”

Geneva hesitated. And then her lips quirked. It wasn’t quite a smile. But it was close enough.

“No wonder Quexa likes him.”

Okasha remarked softly. For once, Geneva couldn’t disagree. She looked at Daly.

“You did a good job.”

He grinned, a look of delight for the compliment. Then he gave her a slight bow.

“Wish it were always that easy. But then, how’d we split the coin? Lousy job, this. Didn’t earn a copper penny, what with that lot hogging everything.”

Geneva chuckled. Daly nodded towards the Centaurs who’d raced a lot of the people on foot here.

“That lot’ll be heading back soon. Want to hitch a ride?”

“I think so. Let me at least fuss over the Dullahans with broken bones.”

After Geneva had loaded the Dullahans onto the smoothest wagon and ensured they were moving comfortably at a slow pace, she and Daly took another ride home. The two Centaurs were chatting the entire way back.

“Fantastic! I don’t know how you got those grouches from the Mage’s Guild to do it, but that was incredible! And we saved those adventurers.”

“And we get paid, right?”

“We’ll guarantee it ourselves, even if others claim all the serpent hides and meat.”

Ken reassured the Centaurs. Pihava tossed her head like a horse, her long hair doing the same work as a mane.

“That’s quite generous! Your company pulled out all the stops. Why? Do you know the teams that were in the dungeon?”

Ken and Daly exchanged a glance. They were riding in the front. Daly answered for them.

“Nah, just the one. It’s not that. It’s just—they needed help, right? And you don’t abandon your mates when they’re in trouble.”

“But they’re hardly your mates.”

“Not yet. But I think we could become friends. And hey, that’s what our company does best. Right Ken?”

He nudged the Japanese [Negotiator]. They laughed. Geneva listened to the laughter. And she felt…better. Peaceful. Daly was right. It was a blessing not to be needed.

The Centaur’s wagon pulled into Talenqual with the others, pausing as the sudden influx of traffic caused a small jam. But they were content to wait, and Ken and Daly called out towards the others getting back to their jobs and lives, shouting congratulations, thanks. And Geneva was sure their company would be a name on every lip tonight.

“Alright! Back to the headquarters! I don’t care what anyone says—I’m buying some alcohol and we’re partying it up!”

Daly exclaimed to the cheers of his team. He was leading the way, talking about the battle—mainly about the high-level spells and Skills they’d seen. Geneva was following them, listening calmly, not feeling the painful lurching of impatience in her stomach. It was so pleasant, she didn’t notice the Bushrangers stop until she nearly ran into Ken’s back.

“What’s the matter?”

Someone was standing in front of the twin apartments. Not one of the United Nations company. A stranger. Geneva didn’t recognize him. Nor did she know what she was looking at for a second. A cat…man? No. A Beastkin, from the Cat Tribe.

His fur was silky. His body sinuous. He entranced the eye, as if he’d stepped out of an Egyptian hieroglyph. But then Geneva saw his lowered ears. The look on his all-too understandable face.

“Rital?”

Daly paused uncertainly as he spotted the Cat-man. Rital turned. He had been standing in front of the United Nations headquarters, as if lost. He focused on Daly.

“Daly.”

There was something wrong. The elation of the Bushrangers faded. Daly looked at Ken.

“Hey, mate. What’s the matter?”

Because something was clearly wrong. Rital’s mouth opened and closed. The impish, fun-loving look on his face was gone. A look of desperation was there. He stared at Daly.

“It’s Hasty. Hastel.”

“Your wife?”

Daly didn’t know if they were married. Rital shook his head, but then he went on.

“She’s giving birth.”

“That’s…that’s great. Right?”

Rital didn’t respond. His eyes were wide, unblinking. He half-turned his head, staring down the street.

“She’s—it’s not—she’s not doing—the [Midwife] is with her. A lot of them, actually. But they say it’s—they’ve been going for two hours and it’s—it’s bad. It’s very bad.”

The obvious question was, ‘how bad?’ But somehow Daly couldn’t ask. He saw it on Rital’s face. The Cat-man looked back at him.

“I heard—there’s nothing I can do. No potions or magic. But I heard—your company has a [Doctor], right? That’s like a [Healer]? They can’t do anything. So I thought—”

Daly was frozen. He didn’t know what to do. What to say. He knew little about childbirth. And the other members of the Bushrangers were frozen too. There was nothing they could do.

But behind them, a young woman moved. She moved when no one else could. That was the function of a [Doctor]. Geneva pushed past Daly.

“Where is she?”

Rital stared blankly at Geneva, and then his eyes focused on her. With desperate hope. Fear and panic and a host of other terrible emotions ran through him. He reached out as if to touch Geneva, as if to see if she was real.

“It’s bad. Really bad. Are you the one they call the Last Light? Can you save her? Please?”

Geneva looked into Rital’s eyes. Daly saw her hesitate. A childbirth. It wasn’t the kind of surgery she was trained for, he knew. And she didn’t lie. Geneva didn’t, to her patients or her friends. But she reached out, and grabbed Rital’s hand. And her grip was fierce enough to wake him up a bit. Geneva looked in his eyes.

“Take me to her. And I’ll do my best.”

He stared at her. And then he turned and ran. Geneva whirled. She shouted a name. For Aiko. And then she was running. And even Daly couldn’t keep up.

—-

Miss Hastel was in her apartments. Lying on her side. A rug had been placed beneath her—not an expensive one, but a comfortable, well-used one. For the birth. And she was surrounded.

Two Centaurs, both female, a female Lizardfolk, and a female Dullahan were crowded around Hastel. All of them were [Midwives], a specialist type of [Healer]. The best in the city. But for all the expertise in the room, it was deathly quiet.

Miss Hastel’s face was pale. She was making a faint, animal’s noise. Her breathing was heavy. Sweat was drenching her body and the carpet. And protruding from her lower half, hanging from her abdomen were two legs.

Geneva took in the scene in a moment as she burst into the apartment. She saw the [Midwives] turn in shock and anger. Their faces were pale. Hands bloody. Miss Hastel was bleeding too. But it wasn’t serious.

By her side, Rital was babbling. Trying to explain and plead at the same time. Geneva looked at him and made a call.

“Leave. There’s nothing you can do. I’ll save her if I can. Guard the door. Let Aiko and whoever I need through.”

Give him a task. One that he could do and feel like he was helping. Rital jerked. But Geneva wasn’t focusing on him. Next. The [Midwife] in charge was a Centaur. Geneva strode up to her.

“What’s going on?”

“Who are you? This is a very dangerous—”

“I’m a [Doctor]. I was told there was a problem. What is it?”

The Centaur met her eyes. She was older than the others, in her sixties or so Geneva would have said. She wavered, and then spoke quickly. Geneva listened, hearing Miss Hastel making incoherent sounds. One of the [Midwives] trying to comfort her. The room was tense, like a wake. If any of the Balerosians could have prayed, they would have.

And the sound beneath it all, beneath the pounding of Geneva’s heart, was the sound of her fear. The sheer terror only her will kept at bay.

She’d asked for this. She’d wanted the call. Begged for it in her mind. But that was the thing. When the call came, when the emergency happened, you were never quite ready for it.

Childbirth. Ken had once observed that Centaurs treated females differently than men. They didn’t execute female prisoners. And pregnant mothers were treated carefully regardless of the cause.

There was culture behind that reason. Culture and biology. Because Centaurs had tricky births.

Horses could have complicated births. So could Humans. But whatever their problems, Centaurs were worse because they combined both horse legs and Human head and hands together. Still, a body’s natural functions usually made the process of birth go correctly.

But not always. And it was in those complications where every expecting mother’s nightmares lurked. And a nightmare had occurred. The foal, the baby Centaur that Miss Hastel was delivering had come out the wrong direction. The [Midwives] hadn’t known until they’d seen the angle of the legs, but they’d guessed. A sinking feeling not yet given voice. That quiet terror, building each second with certainty.

“The legs are tangled up with the birthing cord. It can’t come out.”

“It must.”

“If it does—”

That was all. The cord was tangled. The legs at the wrong angle. There was no way to correct it. The [Midwives] could have reversed the foal if it was in another position, but the foal was coming out as a dog sat. Part of it would come out, but the rest would be unable to be born. And the umbilical cord was tangled.

It was the death sentence for Centaurs. The [Midwives] had tried their best to remedy the situation, but there was only so much they could do. Walking, getting up and moving—they’d made Hastel do all of that, and the [Midwife] the Centaur landlady had hired was good. She’d helped with the pain, tried to correct the birth when she’d sensed it going wrong—but there was a limit to her Skills. To her experience, even.

Right now she was stopping the birth with a Skill. But Miss Hastel was groaning and her strength—and the foal’s—was fading fast. Both might die. The foal certainly would.

And here was Geneva. She understood nothing of foaling. She had not been raised on a farm. But the situation reminded her of a situation she’d studied in medical school.

Breech birth. The baby was at risk if a vaginal birth occurred. In this case, the birth would be fatal. So there was only one option Geneva could think of. But the knowledge terrified her.

How long had it taken to hear the [Midwife]’s hushed explanation, put together the obvious on her head? Geneva spun. She rushed to the door. Rital was there. He turned, hair on end, claws out. Daly was panting outside. He looked up. Geneva snapped at him.

“Get me Aiko. Now. And I need more hands. Steady ones. Paige. Siri.”

At the very least. She needed steady hands. And she needed potions. Geneva snapped and Daly ran. She walked back inside, head light.

A surgeon knew how to do a Caesarian Section. But Geneva would have gotten practice. She would have observed—and this was a Centaur. The biology could be—no, it was completely different. And Miss Hastel was already at the limits of her strength. Geneva would be fighting the contractions, racing against time.

If she cut the baby—

A thousand thoughts. Okasha was panicking in Geneva’s head. But the [Doctor] had an icy well in her. Something cold reached up and took control of her hands. Because if they shook, her patient died.

The [Midwife] was blocking Geneva’s way as she got ready. She’d seen the scalpel and feared the worst. The other [Midwives] were staring in horror at Geneva as she checked the sharpness of her blades. The Centaur blocked her, ready to do violence to prevent what might be a horror far worse. Geneva looked up at her.

“I can save her.”

She met the older Centaur’s eyes. And she saw the hopelessness, the fear and pain. And Geneva showed the [Midwife] what was in her eyes. In her very soul. The Centauress hesitated. And then she stood aside.

And Geneva prayed. And then she began her work, and she prayed no longer. Because the child, Miss Hastel, were in no god’s hands, dead or alive.

They were in hers.

—-

Cut. Slowly. So gingerly that Geneva could see the layers of cells peeling back. But oh, even more carefully. Look. Wait. Measure and cut again.

But too slow and it was too late. The [Midwife] was holding each contraction back with all her might. They all were. And hands were holding Hastel. Female hands. She had passed beyond the point of conscious thought. She was more animal than person, lying on the carpet. But she was awake. She couldn’t be put to sleep. There was no way. No time.

Skin was one thing. It could be stitched once more. Healed. But blood was another. A healing potion might do terrible, terrible things if it acted on the contracting birth canal. And it would close the damage Geneva needed to do. So Geneva had made up a transfusion. She had thanked every star in the sky that the compatibility test had revealed Miss Hastel could accept blood from most of the Centaurs outside.

They had given blood. The tube was crude. The blood poured into Miss Hastel’s veins. A horror show that Paige had to keep steady, keep feeding blood as Geneva measured Hastel’s blood loss and intake. And all the while, she cut. Tried to stem the bleeding. But inside—

The baby was there. Tangled up, half-borne. Blood soaked the carpet. One of the [Midwives] began to panic and was ejected. Another fainted. Geneva paid no attention so long as they were out of the room.

A tangled umbilical cord. A knot, like a shoe lace. But oh, be careful. Be so careful. She untangled the foal. Hands wet with blood. If her hands weren’t sterile, this too would have been wrong. But she had Skills. And skill.

Swifter. Too much blood. More blood from outside. The bucket—clean. Gods, if there were rust—

Focusing. The Centaur made a sound, tried to move. The Human girls had to hold her down with all their might. And the [Midwives] were doing the same. Geneva extracted the foal. It was limp. It was not breathing. But the umbilical cord was cut. The Centauress said to wait. Geneva couldn’t.

The foal in a safe place prepared for it. The Centauress—blood. See past the blood. Get rid of it. Aiko’s steady hands. Okasha made each movement of Geneva’s as precise as a laser.

See the damage. Begin to repair it. So many places—a dropper. Drops of healing potion as she stitched. Healing the wound, but not wholesale. More blood. Stitch. Quick, even, quick, even—

Something like an actual body reappearing. More healing potion. Watching bloody tears turn to scar, and then heal. Together. Together. Check—remove the thread. Pulse? Breathing? A staring eye. The shock of a lifetime. But no words. Just waiting. She knows you’re helping.

Stitch. Pray. Stitch. And then—a cry. Baby horses—foals—didn’t breathe for a few seconds. But it took a Centaur child until they could raise their heads, a few minutes—before they would cry.

The sound made Geneva’s hands tremble for a moment. But she stilled herself. She sealed the rest of Miss Hastel. Healed her. And then she sat back.

Then she could shake. Then she could hear. Breathe, inhale the iron scent in the room. Hear the voices outside, see the relief in the others.

Siri, who had faced down a serpent with a crossbow and a dagger, sat on the ground, white-faced, unable to move for a second. Kirana, who’d held the Centauress down as she thrashed, was pale as ice. But then someone breathed. A girl from Earth whispered a prayer. And then the others realized it was done.

Geneva moved backwards. Her tools were bloody. They didn’t belong near the healed Miss Hastel any longer. The Centauress was covering her face with one arm. Tears in her eyes. She was alive. And then the foal cried again, a true wail. And the people outside went silent.

Listening.

Geneva leaned against a wall in Miss Hastel’s lovely home, her hands dripping blood onto the wallpaper. She didn’t even notice. The sweat Aiko had wiped away time and time again dripped down her face. She only raised her head when she heard and saw a Centaur approaching.

The old [Midwife] had regained some of the color in her face. More than the others in the room. She was tough. And she knelt to speak with Geneva. And the look in her eyes was an echo of the look Geneva had seen.

“My name is Caleffe Umbalt. I am honored, Miss Scala. Truly.”

“I—”

Geneva coughed. Her throat was dry. Someone handed her a water flask. She drank, coughed, nearly choked. Caleffe waited for her to speak.

“I—was just doing my job.”

“Then it is a job no one else could do. You saved her when I thought no one else could. I have heard of the Last Light. But I did not give the stories credence. Until now.”

“I’m not her. I’m just a person. I can’t work miracles.”

“So you say.”

That was all Caleffe said. She looked over her shoulder.

“What was that? I have heard of…cuttings been done. I thought you were going to kill the child. Remove it—that was how a Centauress was saved once. But never have I heard of someone cutting into her belly and removing…I would trust no one with that task. Not even the highest-level [Butcher] or [Blademaster].”

“Never them. I’m a [Doctor]. That was Caesarian Section. The first I’ve ever done. It’s something used if a birth can’t be done traditionally. Only a [Doctor] can do it.”

“I see. Then fate truly was kind.”

“My child?”

Geneva’s head turned. Miss Hastel’s head was raised. She was looking around. And Geneva saw a limp, wet shape. Clearly unhappy with being alive, struggling to get up. The [Midwives] rushed over. Caleffe stayed put.

“I can only thank you. From the bottom of my heart. Geneva Scala, you have saved their lives.”

She looked at Miss Hastel and the child. Geneva shook her head.

“It was an emergency. I did what I could. But I don’t want to ever do that again.”

A blind Caesarian section on another species without anesthesia or assistants or…Geneva wondered if something this nightmarish had ever happened. No, surely there had been worse cases. She heard a strangled laugh to her left.

Paige was sitting on the floor. Her legs had given way after she’d put the blood transfusion equipment down. She looked at Geneva, face pale, but laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

The Australian girl shook her head.

“Did you hear what you said, Geneva? Only a [Doctor] can do it.”

Geneva’s slow mind took a moment to react. She could hear Okasha whispering in her head.

“Thank goodness, thank goodness. A child!”

And then Geneva’s brain processed what Paige was saying.

“Oh. Oh.”

Caleffe nodded. She looked again at Miss Hastel.

“I know of many women who would prefer to know there was another way, a backup. Especially for Centaurs. The fear of it—”

“No scarring or stretching, right?”

Paige giggled, a touch hysterically with relief. Caleffe looked at her with great interest.

“Really?”

“Caesarian sections should only be performed if necessary. There is still a risk, and the operation is traumatizing.”

Geneva said that automatically. But her mind was racing. A potion could heal the trauma in moments. Miss Hastel was even able to stand, though the [Midwives] were urging her to rest, and Rital was trying to support her—a somewhat futile endeavor. But she was standing, and she looked—

Another cry made Geneva’s head turn. She nearly dropped her scalpel. The foal was standing. He—it was a he, Geneva had barely noticed—was a tiny thing. A baby and a horse, mixed into one. But there was something entirely Human about the way he struggled to his feet, instinctively going towards his mother, who couldn’t be stopped from going to him.

Geneva stared. And in her head, the fear, concentration, intensity of her work, willpower, determination, all of it coalesced into a single moment. A kind of realization. A thought.

She’d saved dying men and women of all species, dragged them back to life and heard them thanking her. She’d saved lives on a bloody battlefield only to watch them die minutes later. Afterwards she’d been as numb as relieved. The victory bittersweet. But this?

She looked down at the colt, already trying to stand. This was pure.

“I guess I should have trained to be an obstetrician.”

Geneva numbly spoke. It was the kind of stupid thing you said after an event like this. Caleffe looked confused. Paige grinned. And somehow, Geneva found herself sitting. Watching as a baby Centaur suckled for the first time. And then the door was opening, and she heard a cheer that made the baby start wailing, and people were staring at her—and she’d forgotten to wash her hands—

At some point, Geneva slept. And it was a fine, good, deep sleep. The call had come. And she’d been up to the task. That was all she’d wanted.

—-

That night, Talenqual celebrated. For what, you couldn’t say. Not because no one knew—but because there were too many reasons. Because of the victory against the giant snakes? Because of Miss Hastel’s amazing birth that had defied all odds? Because of the Last Light? Because the legends were true?

You couldn’t say. But the streets were abuzz and the United Nations apartments were filled with motion and life. Daly felt like he was caught up in a whirlpool. Every time he turned around there was something to drag his attention. Kirana showcasing her foods to a hungry street. Rital, coming to shake his hand and thank him again and again because Geneva was asleep. An adventurer doing the same for different reasons—

“Mister Daly?”

Daly turned. A Dullahan with somewhat battered armor was standing in the street, head in her hands. She was chewing on a dahi kebab. She looked embarrassed and relieved and straight at Daly.

“Eldima? I mean, Captain Eldima, right?”

The leader of the Rustless Guard shook her head.

“Eldima is suitable. After all, your company saved mine.”

“Ah, well, it wasn’t just us. It was everyone—”

“Only one company organized it. It was yours.”

Daly didn’t fight Eldima on the issue. He turned and looked down the street. The Dullahan joined him. People were partying with the Earthworlders, and someone—Dawson probably—had just begun playing some music, almost as loud as when they’d fought the serpents. The bastard had even started with Down Under.

“You spent money for us. Hiring the Centaur Runners. Convincing the other companies and adventurers to help us. And it seems your company is giving out free food.”

Daly winced. That perception was probably one reason why this street was getting flooded. But he could only shrug.

“That’s the United Nations company for you, I guess. We’re poor, but rich in friends. Which is, I dunno, better? Something like that.”

He glanced sideways and saw Eldima smile slightly. Rare on a Dullahan.

“It is a strange philosophy for a mercenary company to have.”

“Ah, well, we’re more than just mercs. We form alliances. Friends. We don’t have enemies, really. This company wasn’t meant to seize power. But to protect. Gather folks like us.”

“I see. It is strange. I would have laughed to hear that a while ago.”

“Why?”

“Because that is how all of the Great Companies first formed.”

The Dullahan looked back at Daly. He hesitated. Eldima tilted her head, and then put it on her shoulders and fastened it. She took a deep breath, then looked at Daly.

“I would like to join your company.”

“What?”

Daly was caught off-guard. Eldima hesitated.

“We owe you a debt. Besides which, my team is—not doing so well. We are slightly in debt for our armor and it is hard to find work that pays enough. Reaching bounties on time, the cost of healing potions…”

“We’re not so hot ourselves. The Bushrangers aren’t famous, Eldima. We barely get by. And our headquarters—”

Daly gestured. Eldima nodded.

“I understand. But we would be willing to collaborate. Work together. But I feel—your company is one that I can trust. One that it would be good to be…friends with.”

She looked at Daly, almost pleadingly. He hesitated. But then the music swelled, and all he could do was smile. He held out a hand.

“Well then. I can’t say for sure what’ll happen next. But we can always use more friends.”

And he saw a smile. And that was all you needed on a night like this. Daly laughed. And he looked up for a second, grinned at the sky, and then taught a Dullahan how to dance.

6.07 D

Aiko Nonomura sat at a table and felt a bug run up her leg. She brushed it off absentmindedly, not even bothering to check what it was. A few months ago, Aiko would have screamed, cried, and washed her leg—especially since Baleros’ bugs were the kind of things that lodged in the mind. Literally, if they crawled up your nose.

Today though, was different. Aiko could have stomped a dozen bugs and not blinked twice. There were more important things to worry about. Geneva had taught her that.

Yesterday, Aiko had helped deliver a Centaur baby—colt. A baby. And she hadn’t panicked or fainted. She couldn’t. She’d been Geneva’s assistant. Wiping sweat, holding clamps—Aiko had seen worse than a childbirth. And in surgery, the stakes were never higher.

There was no surgery today. Everyone was hung over, or tired from last night’s party. But the present leaders of the United Nations company were here. Geneva had woken up and they were talking.

Just—talking about the future. But Aiko could sense a shift in the mood from last time they’d talked, two days ago. There was more optimism. Not just from Ken—he was always trying to be cheerful and bring everyone’s spirits up, even if Aiko could tell he wasn’t happy. But the reason the group felt better was because of her.

Geneva. She sat in her chair, not tense, worried or guilty for once. The intensity of her eyes, that glare that could go through you, was subdued. She had done her job. She had saved Miss Hastel and delivered the baby. She felt…confident. Calmer. And Aiko was reassured for it.

They all were. Around the table, Daly, Paige, Siri, Ken, and Aiko sat, listening to Geneva outline her proposal.

“So, a clinic?”

Daly sat up. He looked good too. He’d come in late last night, and no one asked why. Come to that—some of the United Nations members hadn’t come back until the morning. Aiko wasn’t sure what to make of that; it wasn’t the fact that they might have found love outside the Human genome that bothered her. Dullahans, Lizardfolk—even Centaurs you could love, she was sure.

Because they were like people. You didn’t think they would be. You thought they’d be like aliens, but all too soon it felt like you were just talking to someone with a different face. And when you closed your eyes…

“A clinic. It doesn’t have to be large, but I need at least one room to perform surgeries in.”

Geneva nodded. Siri frowned a touch anxiously.

“That means another house at the least. Can we afford it?”

Paige snorted, but gently.

“We can afford it and maybe get two apartments on this street. Miss Hastel’s gratitude knows no bounds.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say no bounds—”

“Okay, she’s still going to charge us rent. But her gratitude goes a long way. We can definitely get a good deal on it. And from what you’re saying, Geneva, money might not be a problem anymore. Is that right?”

Paige looked at Geneva hopefully. The [Doctor] smiled slightly. She actually smiled!

“No. I think I’ve found a permanent source of income outside of treating amputated limbs and so on.”

“C-sections. Who would’ve thought?”

Daly leaned back. Ken looked from Geneva to Aiko.

“You think it will earn money, Geneva? And that you will have business?”

“I think so. Miss Caleffe told me Centaurs have the most complicated childbirths out of all the species, but there are always problems a [Midwife] has to learn to anticipate. And Caesarian Sections are a way to avoid those complications. It’s not an easy way out—”

“Even if healing potions don’t leave a scar and it’s less strenuous on the body than pregnancy.”

Paige muttered under her breath. Geneva gave her a reproving look.

“I don’t want to make it seem like this is the better option. And I am concerned about complications during the operation. I had no experience prior to this, and Miss Hastel was the first surgery I ever performed. There are four main species on Baleros, each with different anatomies…”

The others let Geneva go on. But despite the good [Doctor]’s reservations, her conclusion was the same.

“I can be on call for childbirths. And if a [Midwife] detects a problem, or if a mother comes to me…I can perform the operation. It might be a case where those who are affluent come to me to have the operation done to preserve their figures or lessen the pain.”

Geneva grimaced. Aiko nodded. She’d heard of that happening. Too many operations as opposed to natural births. But that was a moral quandary for later. Right now, the point was that Geneva had something that everyone needed.

After all, wars came and went. Healing potions could heal most mundane injuries. And severed limbs were rare, if distressing anomalies. But childbirth was forever.

“We might get more patients coming in just by word of mouth alone. Saving Miss Hastel’s baby put your name out there again.”

Paige was trying to figure out how much they could spend to get Geneva’s clinic up and running. There were things to be considered, like how to charge people. Geneva was firm in that she’d give anyone who needed medical attention aid, especially pregnant mothers. Ken proposed a fine alternative—charge them by what they could pay. A [Merchant]’s wife could make up for a half dozen poorer patients.

But there was something else Geneva had to talk about. And it came up the instant she turned to Daly.

“I hear a group of Dullahans may be joining your team.”

“Ah. The Rustless Guard? Yeah. I spoke to Eldima last night. She was really impressed by our group. And I think we can hit it off. Uh—working together that is.”

Daly grinned sheepishly. A hint of a blush crossed his features. The others around the table reacted according to their personalities. Siri sighed. Paige rolled her eyes. Ken looked away politely. Aiko covered her mouth as she smiled. Geneva just stared.

“Did you two have sex?”

“Aw, come on Geneva—”

“Answer the question.”

Daly hesitated.

“It was more like…uh, well, we didn’t get to sex, but—”

“Kissing? Penetration of any kind?”

“Fuck me. Why’s it so important?”

Daly stood up, flushing red with a bit of anger. Geneva sighed.

“Because—the next time you’re in that situation, you need to ask Eldima, or Quexa, or anyone you meet if they have any symptoms of infection around their genitals. And to be safe, you need to use this.”

She pulled something out of her pocket. Aiko recognized it at once. Paige had been helping Geneva make them based on the blueprints the [Doctor] had worked up last night. She must have been fast, because the completed product was already in Geneva’s hands. The first prototype of many.

The group of Earthworlders stared at the object curiously. Geneva shook it out and Daly’s eyes widened. He took only a second to identify the crude linen condom and groaned.

“Oh come on. STD’s? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Siri blinked down at the object Geneva placed on the table. Ken eyed it, looking very surprised. He stared at Geneva.

“Condoms. And you want us to…”

“Wear them. Use them. And ask your partners if they show signs of infectious diseases. I’ll be giving the company a full lecture on what to ask for and symptoms later today. I should have done it last night before we had a party. If I hadn’t fallen asleep—I’m giving everyone a second checkup. This time pants and underwear off. No objections.”

Geneva grimaced. The others looked at each other. Siri frowned.

“Is this serious, Geneva? Pregnancy isn’t a problem in this world. There’s a potion for that, you know. As for diseases—I haven’t heard of any. You said so yourself that plagues were rare.”

“That’s what I thought. Until I saw two of Quallet’s patients who had just contracted something called Yellow Rivers in a brothel. They were seriously ill. They’d used healing potions and the infection had rapidly progressed. I have pictures. Do you want to see?”

The table blanched. Aiko felt her breakfast try to come up. Ken took one look at her face and hastily replied.

“No, we believe you. So there are infectious diseases, Geneva?”

“Yes. And if there’s one, there are more.”

Geneva tapped the condom grimly.

“I know there are potions to prevent pregnancy. And it’s not enough. A potion might prevent pregnancy, but only a condom will prevent STD’s—even then, it’s risky. So use one. Especially if you’re having sex with someone from another species. Don’t have sex unless you’re sure they’re fine, understand?”

Daly grumbled as he sat back down and leaned back in his chair, covering his eyes.

“You know, there was one good thing about coming to this world—”

“Magic?”

Siri smiled as Daly glanced up at her in ire. Then the Swedish girl looked at Geneva.

“I mean, could the infections also be magical?”

Geneva paused.

“It’s a distinct possibility. My two patients I’m treating by cleaning out their infections, bandaging them, and giving them an antiviral and antibiotic treatment based on the [Healer]’s recipes. It will take me some time to see how effective the treatments I gave them are. But if it’s partially magical…I can’t stop a magical disease. I don’t know how. If there’s a magical antibiotic or…neutralizing agent, I need to use it.”

“There are dispelling charms and magics. I suppose an [Alchemist] might be able to find you an herb or mixture you could use.”

Geneva nodded.

“More research to do. But these condoms should work. They’re waterproof and I’ve soaked them in a mild mixture I think should kill off bacteria. It works on the cultures I’ve been growing. Still, there’s only one way to be sure, so everyone needs to know the risks.”

Daly put his face in his hands.

“How’re we supposed to explain this to Quallet and the others?”

“I’ll do it.”

Ken looked miserable as he volunteered, but Geneva held up a hand.

“He’s in the city, isn’t he? Or rather, camped outside it? I’ll go with you.”

“We all will.”

Paige sighed. Aiko stood up and followed the group into the apartments. She looked at the other Earthworlders. Daly’s reaction was probably indicative of how the others would react. Sexually transmitted diseases felt like an Earth problem. But they were even worse here. She thought of the infected soldiers in Quallet’s company and had to excuse herself to sit down for a minute.

—-

Aiko found the others talking to Quallet in the inn he’d rented. The [Mercenary Captain] was nodding as Geneva told him about STD’s in general terms.

“It’s a serious problem, Quallet. Your soldiers need to be briefed on the risks, especially of visiting brothels. Ken or I can give them the lecture themselves, but I have to insist they hear it.”

Quallet was nodding, before Geneva finished her sentence.

“You’re damned right it’s a problem. Anyone who comes down with that kind of sickness can’t use healing potions. It just makes the…rash worse. Very quickly. By all means tell them. And I’ll make sure Quexa and my other officers knock it into their heads. But what’s this thing?”

He waved a hand at the condom Geneva was holding. Daly covered his face as Geneva explained what it was.

Credit to Quallet. His face barely twitched as she described—and showed him with a handy banana, the ubiquitous tool across all worlds—how it should work. But then he looked at the condom a second time and nodded.

“How many can you give me?”

“Excuse me?”

“For my company. It would ease my mind—and others, of course to have them. Even if they’re not perfect. I’ll buy…damn. At least four hundred? They’re cheap, right? Or can we…reuse them?”

Geneva looked at the others. She had to excuse herself to go into a huddle with the others.

“We could import that materials and make up a few thousand. It’s not hard. It’s just—well, you know how they work, right?”

“Who’ll make them?”

“We could get some of the people without jobs to do the work. It’s really not that bad. The pricey bit’s getting the materials and doing the condom properly. Linen, you see? But get a few [Stitchers]…”

“We could outsource. Hire some Lizardfolk in the city to do the job. So long as there’s quality control.”

“Are we really getting into the condom business?”

Paige looked mildly upset as she protested. Daly, who’d finally gotten over his reservations, slapped her on the back. She punched him in the gut in return.

“Ow! Come on, Paige! We’re miles ahead of Baleros in terms of uh, STD-prevention! Who’s got the best sex diseases? We do! Go Earth!”

Ken just sighed. Geneva was working out a plan to manufacture condoms with Paige and Quallet. Aiko leaned back as Ken and Daly began talking seriously about…boy things. She looked out the window of Quallet’s inn, towards a glittering, shining body of water. It shone green in the morning’s light, and she could see people on the docks, ships in the harbor.

The ocean. For all that Baleros was jungles and forest around the city of Talenqual, it was a port city. And the sea was vast. Aiko looked out across it and thought of the one member of the company who hadn’t returned. She looked back.

“I’m spreading the word right now. No one’s visiting a brothel until we have more of these things. Geneva, I’d be grateful if you came with me.”

Quallet hurried down the steps. Geneva followed him. In the silence, the others looked at each other.

“Hell, if it earns us money…”

Daly shrugged, sighing. Paige nodded.

“It’s important. I’ll work with Geneva on this. But while she’s gone—Aiko, close that door for a second.”

Aiko did. Quallet’s room was quiet for a second as everyone glanced at Paige. The [Engineer] lowered her voice.

“Ken, you brought back what I needed on your trip. Alchemist’s materials. I haven’t been able to get ahold of the right stuff until now, but you found exactly what I needed.”

The young man from Japan smiled.

“It was the right ingredient? The [Alchemist] had a difficult time telling which substance you wanted, Paige. I am glad it was correct.”

She nodded.

“I can get more now that I know what to ask for. And it’s more plentiful than I thought. Charcoal, saltpeter…there are volcanos too. So…I can make gunpowder now, guys.”

She looked around. The room went silent. Daly’s head rose and Siri’s eyes flashed as she looked at Paige. The two adventurers looked at each other.

“Guns?”

“Geneva won’t like it at all. And she had a point about spreading the tech, Paige.”

Daly frowned, worried. Paige nodded.

“Guns would be hard to make. And I’d have to have a [Blacksmith] help me, so it’s risky. They’d be able to see what I’m doing even if all I need are the metal parts. And…someone sees you using the guns, or just hears a rumor and you’ll have people trying to steal it. Take it.”

“So what’s your idea? You have one, right?”

Siri met Paige’s eyes. The Australian girl nodded.

“I do. I’m skipping guns. I’ll…work on something. An emergency weapon like Daly’s poisoned miniature crossbow. But my real focus will be grenades.”

The others paused. Daly exhaled.

“Grenades? You mean…bombs.”

“It doesn’t need a metal shell. I could make a pot and fill it with shrapnel. It’s not even that far from an [Alchemist]’s creations. They have exploding flasks filled with oil, and so on. But these will be non-magical.”

“You’ll need a separate space. And be careful. If you set stuff off—”

“I’ll be careful. But I want your approval before I argue it out with Geneva.”

Aiko bit her lip. Geneva wouldn’t like this at all. But Paige was looking at her, so Aiko nodded hesitantly. She’d seen monsters. If the Bushrangers were fighting them…oh, would they sell this to Quallet?

“We’ll take on the arguments. It’ll be a company secret. And no one lets the grenades be touched by anyone else. We use them, and that’s it.”

Daly’s eyes were lit up. He was already thinking how to use them. Ken nodded slowly. Aiko felt her stomach twist again. So that was today. Condoms and babies. Grenades and gunpowder.

The room fell silent after that. Aiko looked again out the window. Softly, wishing he were here to say something—no, only that he were here, she spoke.

“I wonder where Luan is?”

The others looked at her. Aiko, staring out the window, saw Daly give Ken a look and then lean over to whisper. Ken made a very unhappy face, but he nodded. It was Paige who finally spoke up.

“Say, Aiko…while we’re on important topics, about you and Luan.”

“What about Luan?”

Aiko turned, confused. Paige hesitated. Ken took over for her.

“It is not that we do not understand, Aiko. But even if we are in another world, Luan was married. So it is not good to—I know that you liked him, but even so, this is—”

He was glancing at the others. Daly sucked in his breath and Paige was wincing. It took Aiko a moment to realize what Ken was suggesting. When she did understand, she was furious. She stomped over and punched Ken in the arm.

“It is not that. Never that.”

“Really? Aiko, stop, stop! But you’re always asking about Luan, so we thought—”

“No! It is—it’s about—”

It had been a secret between Aiko and Luan. A hypothesis, as Luan had put it. But he’d confirmed it, so she was sure he would take care of the matter before he came back. She might do the same. But she didn’t want a tattoo. Nevertheless, Aiko told them, furiously. Ken’s mouth opened. Siri’s eyes went wide. Daly and Paige looked at each other.

“Oh. I had no idea.”

“Is Luan sure?”

“He is married. He has a wife and baby.”

Aiko punched Ken in the shoulder again, hard. He stepped back and made a silent gesture of apology. She glared at him—they’d have words later. But Daly was turning pale.

“I think he’s right. I noticed it too.”

“When was the last time you thought of them?”

Paige looked at Siri. The Swedish girl shook her head.

“Not even once. Not even—”

Suddenly, there was a look of anguish in her eyes. Daly bit his lip. Ken, Aiko, Paige, they all paused as familiar faces came back. Aiko closed her eyes.

“You see? We do not remember.”

“So what’s Luan going to do about it?”

Aiko turned to Daly. The Australian was shaking his head. She pointed at her arm.

“Make sure he doesn’t ever forget.”

—-

And miles to the north, and east, far from Talenqual, at least for him, a South African man paused and took a sip of water. From a canteen at his side. The slightly warm water was very sweet to him. Refreshing. And also, his last drink.

That wasn’t too bad, but Luan Khumalo had underestimated the length of his journey by a few hours. He still wasn’t too concerned because he’d been regularly hydrating so he wasn’t in desperate need of water, but he made a note to store more water and rations. Just in case.

Then again, there was a lot of water around him. But as the saying went, water was all around, but not a drop of it would Luan drink. The ocean’s saltwater lapped at the side of his boat. And though Luan had reached the ocean from a river outlet, he hadn’t refilled his canteen in that water either.

It wasn’t a good idea. Even if Baleros’ waters looked fresh, leeches and other water-born creatures could easily be drank if Luan had tried the water. If he was desperate he could boil some water, but Geneva had still warned him to buy his supplies at the Runner’s Guild instead.

“So I’ll get some water before I head back. It’s not a problem. Yeah.”

Luan tossed the empty water flask into the bottom of his small boat with a sigh. Then he picked up the two mounted oars attached to his boat and dipped them into the water. He pulled back, a single, fluid stroke. His boat shot across the water.

Boat. Actually, it was more like a canoe, but thinner. Built for Lizardfolk—it was as close as Luan could come to a proper single scull. Nevertheless, it was far bigger than anything he’d use in a race. Nor was it designed in the same way a modern shell would be.

And yet, Luan’s oars dipped into the water. He pulled, his legs straining against the wooden brace he’d installed. The water resisted, and in accordance with physics, the boat moved. The shell broke out of the surf and Luan felt gravity fighting him. He pulled the oars back, dipped them into the water, pulled again.

Long, power strokes. A steady, unfaltering pace. Luan breathed evenly, his body performing the action he’d practiced a hundred thousand times with ease. And his boat moved across the water.

Sculling. That was what you called it if you understood what Luan was doing. Rowing was another acceptable word. Paddling or kayaking would probably tempt Luan to smack the asker with an oar. But he accepted that not many people understood the very real difference between rowing and paddling. After all, some people would never so much as enter a boat in their lives. They’d live landlocked and that was fine, if a bit sad. But Luan had made sculling his life’s work.

On Earth, he had been an Olympic hopeful. The person who would have represented his nation of South Africa in the single sculling event. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that Luan was one of the best in the world at what he did.

And that thing was getting from point A to point B as fast as possible. Two kilometers, to be exact. Not that anyone in this world used kilometers as measurements.

“How many miles can you go in a day, Luan? Twenty? Fifty? Stupid…American…system!”

Luan growled to himself between oar strokes. Yes, two kilometers was what the single scull event he’d trained for was measured in. Two kilometers. The fastest team of rowers in the world could go two kilometers in under six minutes. That was blazing quick. As for a single sculler, well, you’d be slower, but only by a minute. Yes, you could go faster than some people could run. But the difficulty was completely different. On land, any decent athlete could run that fast, if only for a while. But in the water?

Luan’s oars dipped into the water. He drew in, knees pressing inwards, and his arms stretched out. The paddles of the oars, which had been flat and drawing back, turned, twisting, and dipped into the water. Luan felt a moment where his weight pressed against the oar handles, and then he pulled.

Or rather, he pushed the boat through the water. It was a smooth movement that made the water ripple with the force as all the energy in his legs and arms and the weight of his body went into the motion. Accordingly, the boat moved faster, and Luan felt the power of the thrust carry him across the ocean. He bent forwards for another drive. Which was what you called that motion. Aiko had described it as ‘pulling the oars’. Luan had given up trying to correct her.

The shell was moving fast. And it would go faster if Luan could stop tearing at the water with each drive. It was throwing off his smooth rhythm and wasting the energy he was putting into the oars.

It made him feel like a beginner, actually. But Luan had grown…stronger over the last few weeks. So markedly so that he was struggling to find a new style that would keep up with his more powerful movements. He kept lapsing into his old patterns and having to correct himself.

Because that was the thing. Luan was flying across the ocean. This close to the shore, the waves weren’t that large, but Luan ignored them regardless. His single scull broke through the crest of a wave, soaking Luan from behind. He swore, but kept going, knowing he had more or less flat water to go through. And that his destination wasn’t far away.

He’d been rowing for a long time. For hours, in fact. And when he’d started, it had been from a town up the river he’d come down, twenty eight miles away. And he had at least fifteen more to go.

“How many is that in kilometers? Seventy?”

Something like that. A long ways to go even on land. But Luan wasn’t that tired. And he was sure he’d get to his destination—a port city named Cinfal—soon enough. And that was because Luan could see how fast he was moving by the passing shoreline.

Here was the thing. His boat wasn’t nearly as streamlined as a modern craft. Luan hated it. It was made of wood, and far, far wider than any boat designed for speed would be. And the riggers for his oars were a clumsy construction; he’d had to get them specialty-fitted and made by a [Blacksmith]. Even his oars were heavier. They’d given Luan blisters until he’d made the handles easier to hold. He’d also lost some of his calluses, but even so, they weren’t as nice on the palms.

All of these things made him slower. Especially the design of his shell and the weight. And yet, still, Luan Khumalo knew he could enter any Olympic race and win it with this boat and oars.

“Because I am a [Rower]. Not just a rower, but a [Rower]. Isn’t there a class for [Sculler] instead?”

Even the leveling system didn’t use proper terminology. Luan grunted. The sun shone down on his bare back. He swung the oars, feeling the smooth motion. Dipped them into the water. As Aiko put it, pulled.

And the boat nearly left the water this time. The force was like nothing Luan had ever felt, even when rowing in a coxless pair with his best friend. For a second he stared at his arms. He had muscle of course, and he was an athlete. Even so, he shook his head.

“Bloody unfair.”

Yes, that was it. The more time Luan spent in this world, the more he was convinced that was what was happening. To him and the other people from Earth. They were part of a system that was just…

Unfair. Frankly, ludicrously unfair. Perhaps others would have called it magical, wonderful, but Luan was an athlete. He took no drugs. He practiced and exercised to achieve a mastery over the one thing he was truly good at. He’d devoted his life to becoming a master at rowing. But someone could paddle about for a few weeks and gain a Skill that made them so much faster in the water than they had any right to be.

Skills. Levels. They allowed someone to reach past their limits. To do what was impossible. Luan had known it. Hell, he’d reveled in the fact, at watching Daly use [Power Strike] or marveling at the way Geneva could make a bleeding patient just stop with a touch. That was one thing. But this?

Pull. The next drive made the wind rush past Luan’s back. He gritted his teeth. His shell was shooting through the water, much, much faster than anyone from his world could ever hope to be, he was sure. He couldn’t tell, but he thought he was going faster than most people could hope to run. Without Skills, that was.

[Boat: Spray Cutter]. [Power Strokes]. [Greater Endurance]. [Lesser Strength]. [Enhanced Durability – Oars]. [Boat: Lightweight Craft]. [Wave Sense].

Those were his Skills. Those, and a few more. Each one had made Luan’s already high-speed that much more ludicrous. One Skill. One Skill could turn you into the best athlete in the world if you were close.

[Lesser Strength]. Oh, it sounded weak, but it had made Luan so much stronger it was insane. As if he could lift and extra…what was it from pounds to kilograms, again? Ah yes, an extra 20 kilograms with each arm. Ridiculous. If you had that Skill on top of a body? The weight limits at the Olympics would have absolutely no meaning. As for [Greater Endurance]—

Luan had healing potions and stamina potions on his belt. It was a thing Runners used. Magic to make them fresh and rested, able to run all day at their peak performance. He hadn’t used a potion and he’d been going at a fast pace this entire time. He could do three races back to back and win each one. His boat was barely affected by the waves. He could, and had blocked an axe with his oars and not even chipped it. As for the rest?

Ludicrous. Unfair. And…so much fun. Luan wanted to laugh and marvel at the speed at which he was going. Laugh and weep because he hadn’t earned it. Not really. He’d just leveled up. The system had given him levels and a class. He was an [Expert Rower]. Level 27 in only two months.

“Perhaps I earned it. I don’t feel like it, though. Not at all. This is too easy. What if I were a [Warrior]? Level 27? What must they feel like if they’re Level 30? 40? 50? Like gods. And that’s too much power for any one man, woman…Dullahan…”

Dark thoughts for such a beautiful day. Baleros slowly passed by Luan on his right. Forests and jungles devolving to brilliant white sand or cliffs. And the ocean was another marvel. Untouched by trash, even a hint of it. Pure and brilliant, green fading to blue in the distance. A world without pollution. Luan wanted to turn and admire it. But he did have a job. So he kept rowing.

With his back turned, mind you. The biggest danger Luan’s technique held was that he was rowing with his back to the front of the boat. In other words, he couldn’t see what he was rowing towards. Not a problem if you were on a lake, competing in a race. But on the ocean, or going up a winding river?

If he had to go slow, Luan would scull with one of the smaller oars. But when travelling from port to port along the continent’s shoreline, he used a different technique. Luan glanced at something propped in front of him as he drew forwards for another drive. A flash of light—he avoided staring at the reflected sun. But the image in the angled glass showed him a shape pulling out in front of him to the right. Luan cursed and pulled, using more force on his right. His shell turned.

“Thank you, mirrors. Thank you Paige.”

He’d spotted the second canoe coming off a beach just in time. Luan’s course took him right, and the figures on the canoe turned to follow. He heard a shout.

“Hey! You there! The Human on the boat! Hold on, we want to talk!”

Lizardfolk. Luan chanced a glance over his shoulder and saw them. They were turning, trying to catch him. Luan could change the course of his shell—right now he was headed around them, but that meant they had time to catch up. He could do that and make it a race, but instead—

“[Second Wind].”

Luan spoke the Skill and felt his body grow even fresher. Now he felt like he was on a day’s full rest. He swung forwards and drove his oars into the water. The South African man heard an exclamation from the boat and then a shout.

“One, two, stroke, stroke! Come on, catch him! There are eight of us—”

The eight Lizardfolk on the canoe turned. They were all using single oars, rowing towards Luan, trying to intercept him. But it was a futile effort. They had coordination, and maybe some Skills of their own, but their canoe was too heavy, their technique imperfect. Compared to Luan they could have been sitting still in the water. He raced past them and heard a shout.

“Aw, damn it you guys—”

Luan turned his head, wary of arrows. But the Lizardfolk had just given up. Some were laughing at their leader who was exasperatedly berating them. Another waved and Luan grinned.

Good-natured Lizardfolk. Still, if they were [Pirates] or [Brigands] they’d force Luan to hand over his cargo and all the money he had on him. The [Rower] wasn’t about to take that chance. He kept going and spotted the canoe heading back down to the beach where it had been hidden.

“Most definitely bandits of some kind. But at least they didn’t shoot arrows at me.”

After all, it was dangerous doing his job. Luan’s boat was marked along the side with a bright white splotch of paint, upon which was drawn a letter. Not alphabetical letter, but an actual letter, envelope and all. It was a crude but effective way of letting people know he was a Runner—or rather, water-based Runner—delivering messages for the Runner’s Guild. It usually worked, but sometimes it made him a target.

Still, Luan hadn’t ever run into anything he couldn’t outscull yet. And he’d been working for two months. In fact, he was so good at his job making deliveries from port to port that people were already remembering his name. Calling him the ‘Human who actually knows how to row’. Not the flashiest of titles, but it was getting there.

A [Rower] from Earth. An athlete good at one thing, and one thing only, really. Luan’s smile faded. This was all he could do. He was no warrior, he didn’t like fighting, and he had no head for magic. He couldn’t help Paige build a steam engine or figure out how batteries were made—how were they made? Acid? He could only row. And so he did. Straight into Cinfal’s harbor and towards the docks. But Luan had to pause to let the navy pass him by.

“Whoa.”

Sixteen ships had been crowding Cinfal’s harbor. It was a large city, but the armada of vessels were huge. The largest warship was so big that it hadn’t even been able to get near the docks. It was a massive vessel, with four masts that took an age to pass Luan by. No paddles for this great beast of a ship; it had opened all its sails and wind was blowing hard into them, despite there being only a slight breeze to the day.

“Magic. I suppose that’s how you do it.”

Luan shaded his eyes as the lead warship passed him by. The hull wasn’t just plain wood; it had been painted yellow and black, giving it an eerie look, that of strikes of lightning against a black background. And on deck? Hundreds of [Sailors] and [Soldiers] moved about, armed with cutlasses, swords, some even wearing armor despite being at sea. A few waved to Luan as he passed. The others eyed him like an insect in his tiny craft.

And the warship even made waves. Luan cursed and swung his oars, dodging the first swells the ship left. The other fifteen ships followed it out of the harbor, all propelled unnaturally swiftly by the wind. Luan was sure he could take them any day in a race, even with a huge head start. But to see such massive vessels moving like that was still eerie.

When they were gone, Luan rowed into the harbor. He looked up, shouting, and switched to single-oar sculling to navigate past the smaller fishing ships and vessels still present. He waved and a Dullahan directing traffic in point and shouted in a voice even Luan could hear.

“Right-most dock, Human! Watch out! Trading cog’s inbound!”

Luan glanced up, saw the cog moving slowly towards him, and picked up his oars. The Dullahan blinked and a few Lizardfolk unloading ships laughed and clapped their hands in delight as Luan zoomed past the cog to his place. By the time he’d tied his boat up, the Dullahan was striding towards him.

Part of Luan, a small part, wanted to act like a certain pirate captain as he stepped onto the dock. But since he didn’t want to sink his precious shell, he clambered out and waited for the Dullahan politely.

“Runner, are you?”

The female Dullahan propped her hand on her hips. Her head was being carried in a sling around her neck, much like a baby would be. Luan looked at that as he nodded.

“On a delivery.”

“Priority?”

“No. I can pay now.”

“Ah, well then, how long will you be here?”

“Let’s call it a day. I can actually drag this thing onto the docks if you’ve got a place to put it…”

It was far heavier than a modern boat, so Luan didn’t really want to do that if necessary. The Dullahan [Harbormistress] shook her head.

“No need. You saw that fleet heading out? They were our big customers. We’ll have open docks for at least a day or so. The fee will be four silver for the night.”

Luan grimaced. Four silver? That was a lot—but he was renting a space. And…he mentally tried to gauge how much it would be to pay for only a small time and hire people to haul the boat and rent more space.

“Four silver it is. Here you are.”

He carefully placed the silver coins into the Dullahan’s waiting palm. She couldn’t nod, but her body performed a kind of half-bow.

“It is accepted. Your name, Human?”

“Luan. Luan Khumalo.”

“You will be recognized by anyone managing the docks if I am not there. Need you further proof, or will name and sight alone suffice?”

“It will suffice. Thank you.”

The Dullahan nodded and then she was gone. Luan checked the knot securing his shell, and then bent to grab his things. He could leave most of it in the vessel; a good harbor left no fear of [Thieves] stealing. But just to be safe, Luan took his most precious gear and his delivery, leaving only the empty water flask and some travel rations in the boat. And then he entered Cinfal.

“Excuse me. Coming through. Runner on a delivery.”

Luan’s first few steps out of the wet harbor and port area was into a market where fresh fish and, predictably, hawkers were waiting. They were hoping to prey on any fresh arrivals with shiny goods or the latest gossip. Directions to a brothel? Sharpen your sword? Like the seasoned [Sailors] and [Travellers], Luan pushed through them with an eye on his belt for stray hands. His cry also abetted the press of bodies somewhat—a Runner had no time to buy knickknacks.

“Which way to the Runner’s Guild? Anyone?”

A dozen hands pointed. Luan hurried down the street, a touch unsteadily since his legs had grown used to the rowing. He made it to the Runner’s Guild quickly though; like any good guild in a port city, it was located near enough to the docks. There was a Lizardgirl receptionist at the desk. She looked up and grinned toothily as Luan came in.

“Hey! You’re that Human I heard so much about! Skin as dark as night and fast as a bird on the water? Luan?”

“That’s me.”

Luan dumped his package on the table. It was mail—and four individual deliveries, all held together in a thick bag. And heavy. The town he’d come from had paid him on top of the four individual deliveries to get to Cinfal fast—the City Runners who went on foot didn’t want to make the difficult journey all the way here, as the foot-route was twice as difficult and long as if you went by ocean.

“Wow! I got a message from Paxil that you were coming with a bunch of mail. Let’s see…four individual deliveries?”

“Right here.”

“Thank you! We’ll get Street Runners on it right away. May I see your runner’s seal? Just a formality. Thank you again! And did you encounter anything of note on your way here?”

“I saw eight Lizardfolk on a canoe. They pushed off a beach and tried to catch me. I wasn’t sure if they were [Bandits], but I didn’t stick around to find out.”

“Ooh. Got it.”

The Lizardgirl noted the information down for any Runners in the area, or law enforcement. Then she smiled at Luan.

“Alright! We’re all set! Your payment for the packages as well as your current unclaimed coin comes to…”

She rummaged for Luan’s file, which was meticulously updated by [Message] spell between the Runner’s Guilds, especially if Luan was in the area. The Lizardgirl blinked and Luan saw her neck frills open for a second in shock.

“A lot, I know.”

He smiled wearily at her. Luan hadn’t been back to Talenqual in a while. He’d gone from city to town to village, doing deliveries nonstop. As such, he had a fairly good idea of what had made her eyes pop.

The Lizardgirl stared at the number again and then coughed. She lowered her volume a tiny bit.

“Fifty four gold coins from all your deliveries. You want it all now? Because I’ll have to open the strongbox to get it all if you do.”

Fifty four coins. Luan’s smile sprang to his lips unbidden. Now that was the fruit of hard work. And from the look a Centaur [Runner] standing at a counter next to him was giving him, it was good even by City Runner standards.

“No. Just…four gold coin’s worth. I’ll pull the rest out when I get home.”

“You got it! Wow. That’s a lot of money. You sure you’re just a City Runner? I heard you can make it from Talenqual to Ravelm in less than two days!”

“I’m hoping to make it to Courier eventually. But a City Runner I am. Thank you.”

Luan accepted the four gold coins from the Lizardgirl and signed the receipt she handed him. She sighed.

“Wow. And you use that tiny boat! Who taught you how to row that well? Lizardfolk? It wasn’t Centaurs, that’s for sure. Right, Minta?”

She laughed and indicated the Centaur. Minta the Centaur didn’t laugh back with her.

“Let’s just say I was pretty good at it back home. One of the best, in fact.”

Luan smiled. The Lizardgirl nodded and didn’t ask for more details. She waved the next Runner in line forwards as Luan strode towards the door.

There went Luan Khumalo. A few of the Runners in the guild knew him, and he thought he recognized a few faces, but it was them knowing him, not the other way around. Because, and Luan was proud of this, Skills or no, he was developing a reputation as an excellent City Runner. Only two months and he’d already made a name for himself.

Luan specialized in lightning-quick deliveries from spot to spot. After all, it wasn’t as if he’d trained to do long-distance rowing. Even with [Greater Endurance] and all his Skills boosting his speed, there was a very hard limit on how far Luan could go. But fast? He could do fast.

“And it’ll be faster still if I can hold onto some of that gold I’ve earned.”

Luan muttered to himself as he pushed out the Runner’s Guild door. Now that he was on land and not in an athlete’s mindless trance, he could think about his future. He’d been mulling over the idea in his head. He was faster than the world record holders in his world already. But he could be even quicker in the water if he had the money to spend.

“Get a boat made of the lightest-weight wood. Sliding seat—and make it actually aerodynamic.”

That meant a proper single scull, long and narrow, not wide, like the one Luan was using. But to have that, he’d need a bag of holding, a good one, to hold his deliveries and other gear.

“And paddles. Lightweight. Made of that good wood the Lizardfolk use. Expensive. And enchanted.”

Yes, enchanted. Paddles enchanted with the [Weight] spell were what he wanted, according to an [Oarsman] he’d spoken with in a tavern. They’d add as much as fifty pounds to each stroke. And a spell could make the boats and oars practically featherweight. Add that to something to put the wind on his side—

Luan wondered if he could actually achieve liftoff with that kind of setup. He sighed happily, and then frowned.

“But that’s hundreds, thousands of gold coins. And from what Paige said, this might be going towards a new apartment for the kids to live in.”

His good spirits sank a bit. But Luan refused to let them sink further. He shook his head.

“Children. They come first.”

Perhaps that was a harsh generalization. But Luan did truly feel like one of a few adults sometimes. Some of the Earthworlders brought over to this one were only fourteen or fifteen. Luan and Geneva were older than they were by a decade. They had to take care of them. And the fifty four gold coins Luan had labored for was a big step in that direction.

“Time to head back to Talenqual. After a good night’s rest. Big dinner. Yeah.”

Luan licked his lips. He was exhausted from nearly a week of non-stop work. Part of him thought it would be best to get back to Talenqual tonight, but he was too tired to contemplate rowing for that long. If he could, he’d have arranged it so Paige could withdraw his earnings at the Runner’s Guild. But they were very careful to make sure a Runner’s hard-earned money wasn’t extorted or stolen from them.

Luan was about to head to the nearest inn and ask about a lovely bed and some food when a thought sprang out to him. Something in the back of his mind.

Children. No, child. Remember.

And then Luan did. The spring in his step faded. His smile vanished.

A sour-faced Dullahan passing by the Human on the street saw Luan’s smile turn into a dour look to rival his own. He stared as Luan’s pace slowed.

Child. His child. Remember it. Aiko’s words bounced around in Luan’s head, along with his inescapable conclusion.

He’d forgot again. Forgot…that he had a child. That he was married.

That they were left behind.

In the bustling streets of Cinfal, right outside the Runner’s Guild, Luan stopped and stared at the sky. Remember them. Remember their faces. Worst yet, you must remember to remember. Because if you don’t—

You’ll forget. Forget as easily as a lost pair of keys, or a missing sock. As if they didn’t matter. As if they never existed. It was the same for Aiko. For everyone, Luan suspected. But he hadn’t brought his conclusion to the attention of the others yet. It was too strange an anomaly to fully understand.

And yet—he was certain it was true. Because Luan kept forgetting his baby’s face. And that—

“No.”

Luan’s fingers dug into his palm. He had to remember. A wild craze swept through him. For a second he wanted to hurl the gold coins in his palm into the face of the Dullahan staring at him. Grab his oars, grab the knife Daly had given him and stab and cut everything around him. Gone. Gone from home and his family!

But that was not the way. Luan relaxed slightly. It was no one’s fault here. No one around him at least. Possibly no one at all was responsible for this. It might just be an accident. If it was the doing of someone, Luan would have vengeance. But if not?

Remember.

Luan walked slowly down the street. He thought of Aiko and what she’d suggested to him.

Yes. No time to go back and tell the others. Luan had to do it today. How long had it been since he’d forgotten this time? Six days? And he’d talked with Aiko, tried to force himself to remember. But the instant he’d stopped repeating the names in his head, capturing the face—it was gone. So, Luan decided to do what he should have done from the start. He turned to the nearest Lizardperson on the street and began to ask directions.

—-

“Hello?”

The Lizardwoman in the small tattoo parlor looked up. She was a Lizardperson. She had scales. Admittedly, there were colorful designs painted on top of the scales, but as [Tattooists] went, Luan was fairly certain that this didn’t recommend her.

He stopped uncertainly in the entrance to the shop. The Lizardwoman’s eyes brightened as she saw what might be her first client in a while wavering. She scrambled out from behind her desk.

“Come in! Welcome, welcome! This is the Inked Scale, the best—and only—tattoo place in Cinfal! You want a tattoo? Have a seat! I’ll get some designs.”

“Ah, no thanks. I just came by to…I’ve got a design.”

“Ooh, really?”

The Lizardwoman stopped fumbling for some sketches. She walked back over to Luan as he walked over to a chair. The shop was very small and quite empty. He saw vials on racks, needles—and brushes.

“You do tattoos here?”

“Oh, sure! Tattoos for the fleshy folk, scale art for anyone who sheds. We even have stuff that keeps away fur if you’ve got body hair. Anything you need I can do! Don’t worry, I get [Sailors] from all over the world in here! Drowned People are the worst, between you and me.”

She winked at Luan. Reassured, the man smiled at her.

“I’m looking for something simple. Ink tattoo. Two words on my right hand. Right here.”

He placed his fingers on his arm, just below the wrist. The Lizardwoman nodded energetically. She already had a very long, very sharp stick of—Luan gave it a second look.

“What is that?”

“What, this? Never seen a tattooing needle before? Don’t worry, I only use the tip.”

The Lizardwoman smiled at Luan. She showed him a long, bamboo stick that had been carved with some extremely sharp points dark with ink. Half of it was lacquered, but the tips—Luan blanched a bit.

He’d seen tattoos being done before, but now that he recalled it, it was always with a tattooing machine. An electronic, handheld, mechanical device. He hadn’t made the obvious connection that no person in this world would have that kind of technology. The Lizardwoman saw he was having second thoughts and tried to reassure him.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry! The ink goes here, see, and the little needles go into your skin and let the ink stain it. It doesn’t hurt—er, much. Not unless the needles are really sharp, and believe me, they’re wicked sharp! Wait, this isn’t reassuring, is it?”

“I’ll…you can give me a tattoo, right? No blood or open wounds?”

“None at all. I’m Level 21. That’s good by our standards. And I’ve got healing potions in case you start bleeding, tons of experience—”

The Lizardwoman reassured Luan. He bit his lip, but he’d come this far.

“Okay. Can you put the names in black ink here? I’ll write them out so you can see the right spelling.”

He wrote carefully on a piece of parchment the Lizardwoman handed to him. She looked at it once, nodded, and then eyed Luan.

“That’s easy. I can have you done quick. But…ink, you said?”

“Yeah. Is that a problem?”

Luan grimaced at his arms. He’d barely see the tattoo. But what other choice was there? Aiko had suggested them as a permanent reminder. The Lizardwoman clearly saw his problem and swished her tail back and forth, but not for the reason Luan was expecting.

“It’s just—I don’t think black ink’s gonna show up well on your skin. You sure you don’t want other colors? Cause we’ve got lots.”

“Other colors?”

Luan looked up with a frown. Wouldn’t they be just as hard to see? But the Lizardwoman was nodding energetically.

“Yeah! What, you thought I’d use natural inks on that skin? No thanks, pal! We’ll use a magical dye—it’s cooler anyways. I can make it glow in the dark, too. What color do you want? White? Red? Pink? Ooh, and look at this. This ink changes color depending on how warm it is. And this ink—”

She showed Luan a rapidly changing ink that flashed from color to color. He blinked at it.

“Uh, no. I’ll take—gold? Do you have—”

The Lizardwoman was already pulling out a golden vial. Literally golden in color. Luan stared at it as the liquid ink rolled back and forth. She eyed him, smiling.

“Glow in the dark? Other effects?”

“No thank you.”

They’d make him too visible at night. Luan nodded as she offered him two more variants on the idea of gold and yellow. Then he frowned.

“How expensive is this?”

“For you and that tattoo? A gold coin. Yeah, I know it’s a bit pricey, but this ink isn’t cheap! Still, you don’t want much—[Sailors] now, they pay for the big stuff. You sure you don’t want your ink to do anything cool? I can make your tattoo change shapes too!”

“No. Just the names.”

“You’re the customer! You have half an hour to do this?”

“Yep. Here’s your payment.”

Luan handed the Lizardwoman a gold coin. She smiled and tucked it into her purse. Then she grabbed the vial and her bamboo needle.

“Here’s the rules: you sit there, I do my work. Don’t move your arm or I’ll have to put it in a clamp. Tell me if it hurts real bad and we can stop. But if you do, I get to tease you, got it? If you start bleeding I’ll use a potion, but I don’t like to do that while tattooing. They mess up the ink sometimes.”

“Got it.”

Luan laid back and put his arm out as the Lizardwoman instructed him. He’d never wanted a tattoo and was afraid of that stick. But the first time she jabbed it into his skin he only flinched a bit. And then the poking pain was a constant, so he quickly relaxed.

To his surprise, the Lizardwoman wasn’t at all chatty while doing her work. She was intent, her eyes focused on the delicate lettering she was writing onto Luan’s skin. And there was also a second reason.

Not five minutes into the tattooing, someone else entered the parlor. The [Tattooist] glanced up, but said not a word. Luan, whose eyes were closed, didn’t look up until he heard some heavy clicks on the floor. Then he looked up and saw a Minotaur standing over him.

“You’re the City Runner who goes by the name of Luan?”

The Minotaur stared down at Luan. The South African man tensed for a second. He couldn’t help it. The Minotaur was something right out of legends. Bull’s head, complete with horns. A humanoid body, heavily muscled but concealed by light Balerosian clothing. And like Centaurs, hooves instead of feet.

Minotaur. But Luan’s paralysis only lasted as long as it took him to realize the Minotaur was speaking English and behaving…like a normal person. Luan realized. Here was another species of this world. The Lizardwoman didn’t even seem bothered by his presence.

And then Luan realized he’d been addressed by name. He frowned up at the Minotaur.

“That’s me. Do I know you?”

He was sure the answer was no. For a reply, the Minotaur pulled up another chair and sat down on Luan’s other side, quite unbidden.

“My name is Venaz. I have an offer to make you, Luan the Runner.”

Luan glanced at the Minotaur, and then at the [Tattooist] who was ignoring both of them. He frowned.

“I’m a bit busy, friend.”

“Which is why I came here. You can’t run away. Hear me out first. I’ve noted your career. You’re Luan. Human affiliated with a new company. United Nations or something. Served in Gravetender’s Fist, a suppression company as a mercenary before becoming a Runner. You’ve served for two months, but you have a number of notable deliveries.”

“Excuse me, I’m busy. If you want to talk, you can find me at the Runner’s Guild—”

Luan spoke up angrily, but Venaz only raised his voice, talking over Luan. He had an imperious nature and Luan gave up trying to interrupt him after five tries.

“—not only considered near Courier-level on that boat in the water, but you’ve done what Runners consider dangerous deliveries. Noticeably, a mission to escort a young Dullahan being pursued by a suitor to her home city, delivering through crocodile-infested waters…does that count? Stupid report. But you did a trip to pick up a Dullahan in the starving city of Phelt before it was wiped clean…”

Luan stared at the Minotaur. Unbidden, the memory surged around him. Dragged him in.

Lizardfolk were friendly, cooperative, and social. They were the most pleasant of folk to be around—until you saw them at their most desperate. Then they were animals, like anyone else.

The desperate Dullahan [Merchant] at the docks. Yanking him on board and then seeing hundreds of slim bodies pouring into the harbor, leaping off the docks as Luan swung the oars and pulled through the water desperately. The Lizardfolk were screaming. They clawed at the boat as the Dullahan kicked their claws off the boat. Luan was struggling, forcing the boat further from the harbor. Only as he fought his craft clear of them did he hear the starving Lizardfolk’s voices.

Take me with you.

Help.

Save my child.

Bring us.

Let us…

Luan jerked. The [Tattooist] must have sensed it, because she stopped just in time. She stared at Luan as Venaz paused. The Human caught his breath. The Lizardwoman grabbed his arm firmly.

“Hold still, please.”

After a second, Luan did. The pain returned. Venaz kept reading as if nothing had happened. But Luan was still remembering Phelt.

Starving people. The town had been raided of food and coin and they had nothing to pay with. So rather than request food, the [Merchant] had bought his own life. Luan hadn’t known. The town was a blip on the map. Luan still remembered them trying to swim after him.

He should have stopped. But they’d eaten all the other non-Lizardfolk in the town already. The Dullahan had survived with an invisibility potion. Luan could remember the Dullahan shaking, talking about it.

Still, he should have slowed. Should have reached for one of the children being held out to him. Should have…

The next day Luan had gone back with as much food as his little vessel could carry. But by that point, cannibalism had turned the townspeople against each other, not just outsiders. Luan had seen the nightmare, dropped the food on what remained of the docks, and fled.

Memory. Luan blinked, and Venaz was still talking. Listing off more of Luan’s accomplishments. How did he know so much? Luan shook his head, which earned him a tut of disapproval from the Lizardwoman.

He needed to go back to the two apartments. Hopefully Geneva would be back. Or Paige. Luan could use time on the impromptu ‘therapy couch’ with one of them listening. The [Rower] glared at Venaz.

“Do you have a point here?”

The Minotaur harrumphed and stopped talking for a moment, which was a relief. The problem was when he started again.

“My point is that I know your capabilities. You’re fast on the water, nearly as fast as a Courier. But you’re not, which suits my needs. I have a job for you. It’s in three weeks. Interested?”

Luan stared at him. He looked around the parlor and then glowered at Venaz.

“You could have put in a request! Asked for me by name. I’d be happy to meet you whenever. This is rude. You are aware?”

His words and look bounced off Venaz’ face. The Minotaur sat back.

“I’m aware of Runner’s Guild protocol, thank you. But I wanted to meet you privately. Putting out a request is blatant. No one’s to know of this conversation taking place.”

“Oh. Really?”

Luan rolled his eyes at the Lizardwoman sitting right next to them. Venaz smirked.

“No one I’ve not accounted for. Why else do you think this place is empty?”

His words made Luan pause and look around the parlor. He’d assumed the Inky Scale was just unfrequented, but then, he’d seen the tattoos the [Sailors] sported on the docks. Venaz nodded to the door.

“The sign says closed now. And until this moment I was using an artifact. No one noticed me coming in. The [Tattooist] will give me something that fades in a few days—I am no [Warrior], but a [Strategist]. As for you, you’ll go out the back after we’re done here. Our meeting was chance, and so this incident will not be reported by those watching me—if I haven’t given them the slip already. I’ll be doing enough suspicious things later that anyone will write this moment off. Well, the Professor might not, but he’s not the one I need to fool, is he?”

He smiled smugly, proud of himself. Luan digested this little monologue. Professor? Spies? This Venaz thought highly of himself. Then again, if he had a magical artifact he had money to wave about.

“Why me?”

“As I said, Couriers attract too much attention. So I scouted you out. You’re the City Runner who most easily fits my qualifications. Waiting for you was a simple task.”

“You knew I’d be here?”

That threw Luan. But Venaz’s smug smile said it all.

“You inquired about tattoos in the last two Runner’s Guilds you visited, which indicated it was on your mind. This was the first city where you claimed any of your earnings, which gave me the clue. If you hadn’t stopped here, I would have found you in the inn this night.”

For some reason, Venaz felt like he was Luan’s age. Maybe even younger. Despite being taller than Luan and a lot bigger. Or maybe Luan just felt old these days. He frowned, deeply unhappy.

“People told you everything I was doing?”

Venaz shrugged.

“Everyone sells everything. For a price. This is Baleros. What did you expect? Now, about my offer—”

“Done!”

Both Venaz and Luan blinked and looked at the Lizardwoman. She blew on Luan’s skin and then tapped the slightly sore flesh.

“Look at that! Good, clean work! Not even a bit of blood! Like it?”

Luan stared down at his arm. There, written in gold, entirely without him knowing, were two names. Gold ink glittered at him, spelling out two words he would never, could never forget again.

His eyes stung. Luan looked down and thought of the two faces. His family. Smiling. Holding his son. Now the image was clearer in his head. And now, he was certain, he wouldn’t forget. All he had to do was look down.

“Thank you, Aiko.”

Luan felt the beginnings of tears. But then Venaz’s voice sounded right next to his ears, ruining the moment.

“You told me you could stretch out the tattoo for as long as I needed.”

He was scowling at the Lizardwoman. The [Tattooist] spread her claws innocently.

“It wasn’t a big job! And I’m an artist! What, you want me to poke him for another ten minutes? Because that’s rude and it hurts! You can do your tattoo now if you want.”

“No.”

Luan stood up suddenly. He glared at Venaz.

“I’m going back to find an inn. I paid you—”

He looked at the Lizardwoman who looked mildly embarrassed and nodded. Luan turned to Venaz.

“—so you can find me or put in a formal request.”

He spun to go, but Venaz caught him. Luan went two steps, but the Minotaur didn’t budge. Luan spun back to him, angry now. Venaz’s face was impassive.

“And as I said, that’s not an option. Hear me out. It benefits you and I.”

He paused for a second and eyed the tattoo shining on Luan’s wrist.

“Hm. I didn’t ask. What’s the tattoo about? Odd writing, that.”

Luan wanted to cover the tattoo. He glared up at Venaz.

“The names of my son and my wife. So I don’t forget.”

“Did you think you would? Shameful.”

The casual comment made something snap in Luan. He raised a fist and punched Venaz in the solar plexus as hard as he could.

Nothing happened. Except to Luan’s fist, that was. Luan felt like he’d punched a mildly rubbery rock. More rock than rubber, really. He stepped back, suddenly wary. Venaz had let him go, but he hadn’t so much as budged. He eyed Luan, and then the Minotaur grinned.

“My name is Venaz, City Runner Luan Khumalo. I’ve told you it twice now. Remember it, for it will one day be famous. So, do we have a deal?”

Luan stared at Venaz, rubbing his knuckles. Then he had to laugh. The Lizardwoman stepped back, sweeping her fragile vials of ink out of the way as he and Venaz sized each other up a second time.

“Okay, what’s the mission? How dangerous is it?”

“Not at all. But I require your word before I tell you more than the rough details.”

“Tell me the basics, then. I won’t commit to anything too dangerous. Or illegal.”

Venaz nodded. He spoke briskly now, eyeing the designs the [Tattooist] hopefully shoved in front of his face and waving them away.

“Twenty gold pieces to deliver a small object to my person alone in a port city north of here. The danger to you will be minimal, although you will have to be swift and precise. There may be pursuers, but if you are caught—which you will not be because you are a significant portion of my plan—you will likely only be held for a few hours. At most, roughed up.”

Luan didn’t know if he liked that. But—twenty gold pieces? He heard the Lizardwoman gulp and agreed. That was a good job. Especially if the danger wasn’t that great. Still—Luan eyed Venaz and folded his arms.

“No. Forty.”

“Forty? For a small delivery? You overestimate your worth.”

Venaz’s eyebrows shot up. Luan shook his head.

“Forty gold pieces. You researched me, and you admitted that I am an important part of your plans. You need a fast City Runner on the water who is not a Courier. I’m your best option and you know it.”

The Minotaur glowered. He muttered to himself. Luan thought he caught ‘must be what the Professor’s always telling me about’ before he looked up abruptly and nodded.

“Fine. Forty.”

Luan thought for a second and then shook his head.

“It’s sixty gold pieces now.”

“What?”

“The price went up.”

“In two seconds?”

“I just remembered that you insulted me and bothered me when I asked to be left alone. So, sixty gold pieces, friend. Can you pay that much?”

“Yes. Sixty, damn it, but not a copper piece higher.”

Venaz growled in disgust and gave Luan something almost approaching a look of admiration. He sighed.

“I’ll pay you ten pieces up front, fifty on delivery. Do we have a deal?”

He held out a hand. Luan hesitated.

“One last thing. Promise me no one will be hurt by what you’re doing? No one dies? I’m not bringing something illegal or that harms someone else?”

If the Minotaur couldn’t make that promise, Luan would do it anyways. But Venaz just grinned.

“No one dies. As for harm—they’ll be bruised, maybe a few broken bones at most. But this is no war. Runners have their codes about interfering in battle, after all.”

That was enough. More than enough for sixty gold pieces. Luan had risked his neck for less. He held out his hand gingerly. Venaz gave Luan a crushing handshake and then nodded to the side. The [Tattooist] stretched her arms, sitting by the closed door as Venaz and Luan spoke in low voices. Luan listened, no longer annoyed, but a Runner listening to a well-paying client.

Outside, the city of Cinfal hustled and bustled and presumably got on with their lives. Inside the parlor though, the Lizardwoman [Tattooist] debated over what inking she’d give the Minotaur, trying not to listen as he spoke to Luan. Venaz’ voice was quiet, his eyes alight as he showed Luan a map, and then another map, and then explained why three weeks was so important and where Luan fit in.

“That you don’t know my name means you don’t get what’s happening. Well, in three weeks, an annual event occurs. Wait—no, biennial. No—hold on, the Professor sometimes doesn’t hold it at all. But it is a significant event, and I will be participating in it, as will my class. And the former classes, which is why I intend to win. You see, once every…few years, the Professor, whom you know as the Titan of Baleros has a little game…”

Luan jerked at the name. Venaz grinned, his eyes alight. And Luan realized he’d quite forgotten to why Venaz needed someone with the skills of a Courier. Or exactly who would be chasing him. But it was too late to back out now. And on Luan’s wrist were etched the two names. And so long as he had that, he could do anything.

—-

So it was that in Cinfal, the best laid plans of men and Minotaurs were begun. But in a city much further inland, a creature far smaller than a man or Minotaur was hard at work. He was, in fact, about the same size as a mouse. But Niers Astoragon was considerably more dangerous than a mouse, and after a certain encounter with some rats, he’d begun hunting the damn things at night. After all, the greatest [Strategist] in all of Baleros had to find enjoyment somewhere, didn’t he?

He wasn’t quite enjoying himself now. Not that he was miserable, but Niers was more in a state of mind that could be describe as busy concentration rather than actual fun. Luan would have understood; there was a joy to doing something you could do, but other times it was just the work of it that kept you going. Work, and pride in your work.

Not that Niers was rowing a boat. Rather, he was poring over a piece of paper, walking down and reading the neatly-written words row by row. It was slightly tedious, and Niers debated hopping back onto his reading seat so he could read them from above. But he liked to move, and sitting meant he’d have to ask someone else to bring the next paper over, which was a waste of time.

“Hah!”

That was all the Fraerling said as he reached the end of the report. He stamped on the carefully written signature and the wax seal below it and then kicked the piece of paper off the desk. A hand caught it as the paper dropped to the ground. Peclir Im, the [Chamberlain] of the Forgotten Wing company and the man responsible for keeping a good portion of the citadel that was Niers’ academy and home running, picked up the paper and put it in another pile as Niers strode past him for another report.

“That idiot Balegilt wants two more [Mages]? Write a reply and tell him he can have his [Mages] when he learns not to let [Snipers] pick them off! He’ll go without and he can take his entire company to hell if he objects!”

Peclir Im nodded.

“You wish me to write that verbatim, sir? Or in spirit?”

Niers paused.

“In spirit, I suppose. Balegilt’s Marsh Troll company is useful. But damn them if they’re not careless. Give him a warning, Peclir. If he keeps losing our people, we will sever our ties with him.”

“I shall make a proper note.”

Peclir did just that, jotting Niers’ reply down on a piece of parchment he held. The Titan scowled.

“Where’s the next report?”

“Here, sir. And I repeat, if you wish, we could hire a Fraerling to copy all this down. It would save you the necessity of calling on myself—”

“I don’t need a [Scribe] reading all this confidential information, Peclir. Regular reports are fine by me.”

“As you wish. This is a detail by our 14th Division.”

“Where did we put—ah, right. Holding action. And they’re facing…”

Niers read the brief and much less eloquent message by one of his field commanders. He grimaced.

“Skirmishes with Centaurs. Oh, how wonderful. It must be a local clan. Not a company; they’re too scattered. We must have angered the entire area somehow. Send in our [Diplomats]. And make sure they’re Centaurs too. The nuance will be lost on someone not of that species. In the meantime, the 14th is to avoid killing—if possible. Next?”

Peclir checked his notes.

“There are two battles taking place at…Selx’s Ravine and the Olkem Grasslands. I have the coordinates.”

“Show me. Nothing too large, I hope?”

“You would have been notified, sir. These are allied companies—”

“We still want to win, though. Let’s see what their odds are. Ah. This would be over that damned mine we’ve been fighting over. If we take it, I’m sending some high-level [Miners] to get what we can and then abandon the place. And the other…? Oh.”

Niers Astoragon looked down at the magical map as Peclir indicated the two battlegrounds. He grimaced, told Peclir to message one of the two commanders embroiled in the battles to retreat if things went south, and got back to work. Peclir hurried over to the door to issue a few instructions to a waiting attendant helper, who in turn hurried off to make the necessary [Message] spells. By the time he got back, Niers was kicking his way across the desk.

“Casualty reports. Income reports. Where are my level reports?”

“Here, sir.”

Peclir handed Niers a list of every person of note who’d leveled in Niers’ company this week. That included class changes and gained Skills. The [Strategist] ran his eye down the list, grunting as he saw nothing too extraordinary.

“Alright. We’re moving past supply counts for now, Peclir. We’ve figured out what was draining our ration of mana potions and no one’s complained. And I’m sick of doing numbers. I’ll make the new students do it as an exercise in logistics. Onto incomes. Another wonder. Where’s the abacus? Not yours. I meant, mine.”

The Fraerling was managing his company. Or rather, to put it another way, overseeing the affairs of the Forgotten Wing Company, one of the Four Great Companies of Baleros and arguably one of the powers of the world. And he was doing it while kicking over empty ink pots, kicking over full ink pots and swearing, hunting for a cheese crumb as a snack, and generally mucking about.

In ink.

It wasn’t that Niers wasn’t taking this seriously. But the reports and questions on Niers’ desk were things he didn’t strictly need to take care of himself. He had a system in place and if he’d let it work, nothing would have reached his attention. That was the point of a good chain of command. Niers had trained his subordinates to take care of all the things he was pouring over.

But someone had to be at the top, and since Foliana was there, it fell to Niers. He didn’t obsess over every detail all the time, but he made it a point to do a deep inspection of all his company’s affairs at least once a week. And that was on top of giving orders to the officers, various company commanders and so on for large-scale movements, vacations, and so on.

“Enough, Peclir. We’re good on income reports.”

At last, Niers sighed and sat back. The various holdings of the Forgotten Wing company, from direct control to payments from protected cities, to their income in trade and goods bought and sold and any number of sources were finally looked over. Peclir knuckled his back and straightened.

“Anything else, sir?”

“Give me…five minutes. Or I’ll drown myself in that ink pot.”

“I’ll procure a fresh one in that eventuality.”

Peclir gave Niers a moment. The Fraerling grinned, and then sighed. A thousand things his company was doing, and a thousand little mistakes that could lead to big ones if no one was watching.

Accumulating too many gemstones and selling them in bulk would crash a market. Bunching up too many sheep in one place meant they could all catch a disease. Taking away a city’s main source of income meant it grew poorer and unrest started. Not to mention directing forces, conducting diplomacy with the thousands of companies in Baleros, fighting monsters, worrying about that damned Yellow Rivers disease in the brothels…

There was always something to do if you looked for it. That was the curse of command. The more you could do, the less time you had to do it. How could you ever quit? The answer was that you couldn’t. Not if you yourself were irreplaceable.

“This is the problem with becoming one of the Four Great companies in one lifetime. Not enough experience and not enough high-level subordinates to fall back on. Right, Foliana? Foliana?”

Niers looked up. No one replied, so the Squirrel Beastkin wasn’t in the room. He shrugged and went on talking.

“If one of us dies, it falls apart. Which would please the others no end. But if we keep doing well, we die anyways of old age. Or we slow down and die. The point is, we need fresh blood. Our next generation has to be as good as we are, or better, or we should scrap the company now rather than watch it fall apart and come back to bite us. And we’ve got a few good candidates, but not enough. So what do we do? Find loyal personnel abroad or hope we gain more good recruits? Because if we need it—”

“I thought the company was doing quite well as it was, sir.”

Peclir appeared in the doorway, fresh inkpot in hand. Niers sat up. Peclir set the pot down next to him. The tiny [Strategist] grinned up at the Human.

“You’d think so, Peclir. But that only accounts for when I am here. When I’m here, the company functions well. But if I go for a while…”

“Ah. You require a fallback for your vacation.”

Peclir raised an eyebrow. He had to be aware of Niers’ plans. You couldn’t hide much from a [Chamberlain]. You had to trust them. Even so, Niers hesitated.

“Yes. I’m hoping to get some system in place. More so than we already have in case of emergencies, that is. But I won’t leave until I’m sure I can trust this company to more than that tree rat.”

“Our glorious leader?”

“Who? Foliana, yes. She needs subordinates she can order about in my absence besides you. Where is she, by the way?”

Normally Foliana would be here, listening to Niers. Although she was as helpful as a wet sponge. The head of the Forgotten Wing company was, in fact, not good at any facet of managing it. But she did stick about, if only to needle Niers. The Fraerling looked inquiringly at Peclir. The man pointed above.

“I believe she’s currently eating oysters in her room, sir.”

“And throwing up, no doubt. She hates oysters.”

Niers groaned. He was going to have to endure Foliana eating every variety of oyster under the sun for the next few days or even weeks.

“Who’s the target this time?”

“She did not say, sir. And I did not ask.”

“Fair enough.”

Not even Peclir would be that keen to ask Foliana who she was targeting. But he had to be guessing. The oysters were a big clue. As was Foliana’s diet in general, that was.

Muffins, spaghetti. Oysters today. As soon as Foliana completed her job, it would be something else. Fruits, maybe. Dates. Or some other dish, foul or fair.

It wasn’t a secret. When Three-Color Stalker ate your food of choice, she was aiming for you. Some said it was a way to get inside your head. Freak you out that she was coming. Others claimed it was so that the target would be lulled by a familiar smell. A few idiot [Mages] in Wistram thought it was so Foliana could study her victims, through some kind of food-psychology.

“Why does Lady Foliana eat the food of her victims, Lord Astoragon?”

Today was the day Peclir finally asked the question. Niers sat up and grinned. It had to have eaten away at the man, but he’d been working here for years without so much as asking it. Now that was self-control. And he was only too happy to answer. Again, it wasn’t a secret if you were in the know.

“Not to camouflage herself or anything stupid like that, Peclir. The reason is simple: she’s showing off. Warning her target.”

“Ah. To disturb them?”

“Hardly.”

Peclir’s eyebrows shot up. Niers chuckled to himself. That was what people didn’t get.

“It’s just to warn them. Nothing else. No advantage in it—and a lot of disadvantage if it’s something Foliana hates. But she does it because it’s her thing. Everyone needs a calling card. What’s the point of doing something if it isn’t with style?”

“That’s the entire reason?”

“Yup.”

The [Chamberlain] closed his eyes for a moment.

“Another grand mystery, solved. Well, thank you, sir. I believe I’ll lie down and weep for the grandiose mysteries and designs of the powerful after we’re done here.”

“You do that.”

Niers laughed. Peclir didn’t get it. But when you were that high-level, your reputation meant as much as actual efficiency. When Foliana ate oysters, anyone within a thousand miles who loved the dish started watching the shadows. It meant that someone who loved oysters was her next target. How much better was that reaction than being the silent, unpredictable killer?

“I’m feeling better now, Peclir.”

“I am pleased my disappointment fuels you, Lord Astoragon.”

Niers threw a tiny bit of chalk at Peclir. It bounced off a button on his lapel and was promptly lost forever. The [Strategist] looked at his papers and sighed.

“Enough reports. Let’s do the daily tasks. Meetings, I think. Have I got any?”

He usually did. Niers’ day was filled from start to finish with things he could be doing, but didn’t. For whatever reason he’d put them off, delay, forget entirely—and spring on things that really mattered. He liked unpredictability, at least from his side. After all, the Titan of Baleros had enemies and he didn’t like being caught out.

But today at least, this year, had been peaceful. Only a few battles, all low-scale. Not every year in Baleros was huge bloody wars, at least for a Great Company. In fact, the Four Great Companies had found that peace was more profitable for them, at least in the long run. They could earn money off of their holdings and trade, and as a result, it was their allied companies, smaller divisions and so on that usually saw fighting.

Baleros was bloody, but if two or more Great Companies fought, the jungles would turn red with blood. And that wasn’t what anyone wanted. For the moment, at least.

So Niers’ day-to-day life looked like this: check the health of his company. Make big decisions like rising to provocation, seizing resources, etc. Meet with those too important to ignore. Annoy Foliana. Eat. Sleep. Be annoyed by Foliana.

Teach his students. If every Great Company had their specialty, from the Iron Vanguard’s emphasis on outfitting their soldiers and constructing military bastions, the Forgotten Wing company’s trait was its base of officers. It trained students from around the world into military geniuses.

Not just [Strategists], but [Lieutenants] who got hands-on experience, [Commanders] who would see action in the jungles, even [Generals]. But it was known for [Strategists]. And those who were able to join Niers’ coveted classes, much less the rare group of elite students, were sure to become forces that would influence the world in the decades to come.

That was what Niers spent most of his time on in days of peace. In war too; there was nothing more instructive than letting a [Strategist] command a battalion of [Soldiers] if they were ready for the job. And if they weren’t? Well, that was why the Titan’s nickname was also the Professor among his students. He liked to think he could bring out their best quality, and his lessons were often…inventive as a result.

“How are the students doing, by the way, Peclir?”

The [Chamberlain] sighed at the innocent tone in Niers’ voice.

“Your core students?”

“Those? No, I gave them the weekend off. They’re preparing, no doubt. Getting up to no good. Give me a report on all their movements later. I want to see how they’re planning for this—if they even know what’s coming at all. Wil has some idea, but I think the others haven’t read the signs. I know Venaz hasn’t. He thinks this will be a little event.”

“I shall light a candle for his survival later. And the report. But your new students are currently in their beds. Most of them. The children of nobility sent from Terandria were particularly distressed. After being made to survive for three nights in the jungle with no supplies. I believe their parents have sent several angry [Messages], sir.”

“I’ll read them in my bath with a glass of wine.”

Niers chuckled to himself, in a good mood. He glanced at Peclir.

“Anything else? Wait, I asked about meetings.”

“Ah. Right. I was waiting upon a list…here we are.”

A door above Peclir’s head opened. A little Fraerling popped out using the Fraerling walkways built into the citadel.

“Sorry, Master Im! Apologies, Lord Astoragon. There was a rat in the tunnels.”

“Another one? I thought I got rid of all the nests!”

Niers sat up, alarmed. Rats were a danger to Fraerlings. But the [Messenger] only grimaced.

“You did, sir. This one was quite dead. It wasn’t cleared, though. I had a [Servant] remove it.”

“Ah. Oops.”

Niers sat back and shrugged as Peclir gave him a long stare. The [Chamberlain] accepted the small bit of paper the Fraerling carried and adjusted his spectacles to read the tiny handwriting.

“Hm. Ah, yes, there are a number of people wishing to see you, Lord Astoragon. As always.”

“What’s new? Anyone of note?”

Niers sighed. People always wanted something of you if you had something to give. And the Titan of Baleros? He had money to spend, which meant there were [Merchants] offering artifacts, [Mages] trying to get him to fund their research, adventuring teams hoping for some fame or a tipoff from him, [Cooks] trying to get him to eat their cooking—one time a [Chef] had even baked a life-size replica of Niers. Now hadn’t that been fun to use as a prank on his students?

But generally all they wanted didn’t really help Niers, so he’d made it known that you could come and petition the Titan for an audience—but you weren’t likely to get it. And still, they came. There was actually a quite profitable business in the city for people waiting to see him for months or even years. Mostly in vain.

“Hm. Well, here is the list, sir. I don’t see anyone too notable, but then again, I would underscore the Naga near the bottom.”

Peclir handed the sheet to Niers. The Titan grunted and ran his eye down the list. The same old suspects. But he paused at the Naga.

“Xalandrass. War merchant. I don’t know the name. Small fry?”

“Fairly. His fortunes turned south when he was caught up in that incident by the ah…Razorshard Armor company?”

“Ah, I remember. Those two idiots broke the rules of engagement. Well, it seems Xalandrass survived. Why’s he here and why do I care?”

“I couldn’t answer the first part, but I understand that he tried to bribe his way to the front of the queue.”

“How much?”

“Two hundred gold pieces. As much as he could afford, sir.”

Niers’ eyebrows rose. Bribes weren’t uncommon, and they were wasted effort since Niers just gave it back to the briber, but two hundred gold pieces wasn’t small. And if Xalandrass was in trouble, it made it more interesting still.

“So he thinks he has something I want, does he? Very well. Send him in. I’ll meet him in the sitting room with the velvet curtains. You know.”

“I will send him there at once, sir. Refreshments?”

“He may have whatever he wishes.”

Niers hopped off the desk and strode onto Peclir’s waiting hand. The man spared Niers the effort of climbing all the way to the Fraerling walkways and departed via the door. Niers took the considerably quicker tunnels running through the citadel. Along the way he spotted where the dead rat had been.

“Ah. Oops. I remember that one. Caught it running away. Must’ve slipped my mind. Oh well.”

Niers strode up the sloping walkway, navigating by memory to the waiting room. Along the way he met a few other Fraerlings. They were employed by his company—a rare thing. Even in Niers’ company were Fraerling a rare sight. They wanted to stand aside, but the Titan waved them onwards.

“Keep moving, for dead god’s sake! It’s not as if this tunnel isn’t big enough for all of us. Let the tall folk bump into each other.”

That made them laugh. Niers saw a new hire, the [Messenger] who’d done the delivery, point at his back. They did that, the first few months they were here. After all, there were legends of Drakes, kings and heroes of Lizardfolk, giants among the Dullahans and so forth. Even the Goblins had kings, wretched though they were. But the Fraerlings only had one hero.

Sometimes it weighed on Niers. Sometimes he wanted to go away. To Liscor, in this case. But he couldn’t. Not just yet. So Niers sighed, kept his back straight, and prepared his entrance.

—-

Xalandrass the Naga had seen better days. Worse days too, like fearing for his life while two companies battled feet from his wagon’s door. But better days, still. He’d spent a lot of his coin, or rather, lost it escaping from the battlefield. And the days since then hadn’t exactly refilled his coffers.

Still, the Naga was if nothing else, vain. He’d brought out his best silk vest, and his hair was combed. He wore jewelry on his arms, decorative bangles, but nothing too ostentatious. His serpentine head was gently powdered, and he had oiled his scales. His long, serpentine lower half shone as he slowly entered the waiting room the [Servant] had pointed him towards.

He was afraid. Despite being a Naga, one of the forms a Lizardfolk could turn into if they were truly exceptional, Xalandrass was acutely aware of whom he was meeting. He had treated with company commanders with a mixture of arrogance and deference, but this was someone else.

“Ah. Hello?”

Xalandrass looked around as he entered. He slithered into the room slowly, watching the ground. A Naga was a humanoid upper half and a serpentine lower body. Their tails were powerful and they were similar to Centaurs in that they resembled a cross of species. Xalandrass paused, afraid of running over something.

He knew the Titan’s true stature. In that he wasn’t a fool. He was, slightly, in assuming that Niers would be anywhere near the ground. Xalandrass glanced over his shoulder at Peclir Im, whom he was taller than by quite a bit.

“Lord Astoragon…”

“He may be along shortly. I cannot say when he will arrive. Your patience, please. If you have any wishes for refreshment, simply ring the bell..”

“Oh, no. I am quite fine. Quite—quite fine.”

Xalandrass coughed and reassured the [Chamberlain]. Of course the Titan wasn’t here yet. He was incredibly busy. Xalandrass was just lucky to have gotten a meeting this soon. He settled back on the open carpet, breathing a sigh of relief as Peclir Im clapped his hands and a gentle [Light] spell filled the room.

Xalandrass looked around, noting that this was a room built to accommodate Naga or Centaurs. Open, without more than a single table. And on it…was a little armchair? Oh! Just the size for a Fraerling. And a fat candle, in case the [Light] spell ran out. Of course.

Xalandrass chuckled. And in that moment, as he relaxed, preparing to wait as long as it took, he was at his most unguarded. So that was obviously the exact time when Niers made his entrance. He stepped from behind the fat candle he’d specifically had placed in every room for such moments and turned.

“You—wished to see me?”

The Naga’s eyes locked on Niers. He recoiled with a shout of horror that filled the room. Niers smiled as Xalandrass reared back instinctively, and then fell over himself with apologies. He flourished, giving the Naga a small bow.

“Niers Astoragon, at your service. I am pleased to meet you, Xalandrass the Naga. Peclir, thank you for bringing him here. I will see him now.”

Peclir rolled his eyes as he shut the door. Niers winked at him and then turned his attention to Xalandrass. The Naga was trying to collect himself—and failing.

“My apologies for the little surprise. How may I help you? I was told you had a matter of importance, and of course I’m eager to hear any information…of merit.”

Niers stepped around the candle in front of his armchair. This too was a tactic. Xalandrass was trying to calm down and now Niers had cut to the heart of a subject. The Fraerling watched him carefully.

A smart negotiator might calm down and take a few breaths. Someone with ice for blood might even address Niers’ rude introduction. But Xalandrass, [Merchant] though he may be, wasn’t that good. He rushed over himself, tripping over his words in his haste to address Niers. As if he was afraid he’d be tossed out for not instantly answering the question. Well, in another company. But not here.

“Lord Astoragon. I’m so delighted—forgive me, I hardly noticed—er, I did come here with vital information! To the best of my ability. I was…you are no doubt aware I was involved in that unpleasantness between the Roving Arrow company and the Razorshard Armor company? Well, aside from the tragedy that unfolded, I made a number of significant encounters at that time.”

“Indeed?”

Niers put a lot of emotion into that one word. Impatience, a hint of intrigue…Xalandrass nodded as fast as he could.

“Indeed—yes! A number of personages took to the field. I don’t refer to the companies. But rather—that was the battlefield on which a unique individual appeared. I don’t know that you’ve heard, but the Last Light of Baleros—a [Doctor] who cures the wounded—took part in that battlefield. And I observed her work. Truly splendid. And I came here to…to tell you…”

He was mopping at his brow with a handkerchief. Niers stared at him. Suddenly disappointed, he sat down in his tiny armchair. If all Xalandrass wanted to tell him were more rumors about this Last Light, then Niers would pass. Baleros was full of legends, heroes who rose and fell in the course of a moon’s cycle.

“I’ve heard of this Last Light. But an individual, even a [Doctor] isn’t a unique occurrence on the battlefield, Merchant Xalandrass. I trust she isn’t the topic of your visit?”

The Naga gulped.

“Not entirely, Lord Astoragon. But she is related! I did, in fact meet her. And several others whom I can only describe as—they were all part of—but perhaps I should show you this. It speaks far better than I can.”

He was fumbling at something at his side. A bag of holding. Niers eyed the odd object that Xalandrass pulled out. The Naga tried to flourish it, and then panicked as he realized the only place to set it was on the table where Niers was sitting. He offered it up with two hands, slithering closer to let Niers see.

“What is that?”

Niers frowned. Of all the things he’d expected Xalandrass to pull out, this wasn’t it. He stared down at some kind of…it was a compact tube, that was for certain. And there was…glass on one end? Glass and something inside of it. But the rest was made of a colorful steel—no, it wasn’t a steel. But it wasn’t a wood either. Or any other substance Niers could name.

“This, Lord Astoragon, is a device I obtained on that battlefield. Not from the companies, but from some strange individuals. Humans. I believe it is known as a…flashlight. If you will allow me to activate it?”

The name was instantly familiar to Niers. You didn’t need to be a genius to know what it did. But he was intrigued. So he clapped his hands and the lights in the room went out. In the darkness, lit only by a pair of windows covered by velvet drapes, he saw Xalandrass fumble with the device.

Belatedly, Niers wondered if this was an assassination attempt. Well, he had on his gear and Xalandrass would have been screened. So if it was, it was original. But Niers didn’t sense a spell come at him. Instead, he heard a click—

And a beam of light shot from the end of the flashlight. It was bright. Almost painfully so. And as Xalandrass swept it up and down the room, Niers saw the glow came from the thing inside the flashlight. It was being magnified outwards. Strange. Xalandrass swept it across the room, flashing it at Niers once and then apologizing hurriedly. Then the Fraerling clapped his hands and the lights returned.

The Naga swept backwards. He gestured to the flashlight proudly.

“You see?”

“I saw a light. A cute artifact, but hardly better than a mage’s lantern. And too bright to do more than give away your position. Unless you can control the spell?”

Niers replied drily. Xalandrass wavered, and then he slapped his forehead.

“Oh! Of course! I neglected to mention—Lord Astoragon! This isn’t a mage’s artifact. This device isn’t magical. Not at all!”

He raised the flashlight. And now Niers’ eyes locked on it. He frowned.

“Explain. And bring it closer. You may place it here, please.”

He gestured to the table. Xalandrass did so, talking hurriedly.

“No magic at all. Feel free to examine it, Lord Astoragon. It’s got components inside—you can see the metal and glass past the…”

“Odd surface. Too smooth, but it’s definitely not metal. What’s it made of?”

Niers interrupted Xalandrass, running a hand along the strange body of the flashlight. He glanced up sharply and saw the Naga hesitate.

“I’m told it’s called ‘plastic’, Lord Astoragon.”

“But you don’t know. And it’s completely non-magical. Not even a rune or mana stone inside?”

“I had a [Mage] friend of mine test it. She swears there’s no magic at all.”

Now that was strange. Niers studied the device. There was no fire to it, even when he pressed the button and it lit up. Something was glowing, but—Niers went blind for a second as he stared at the glowing filament of…whatever that was inside it. That wasn’t magic. No, that was some kind of metal. Wasn’t it?

He glanced up and saw Xalandrass was watching him hopefully. Niers stepped back, hit the button on the flashlight, and decided to sit. He blinked spots out of his eyes.

“Well, Xalandrass, congratulations are in order. You’ve got my full attention.”

The Naga puffed up a little. Niers held up a hand.

“Don’t waste it. Without exaggeration, tell me. What is this device? How did you get it?”

“Ah, well, I would love to embellish the tale, but the answer is simple. I acquired it in the line of my business. A few mercenaries from a suppression company hired for the battlefield came over and tried to barter for some alcohol. They offered this in trade and I took it.”

“For alcohol?”

Niers’ eyebrows shot way up. Even a weak artifact was worth far more than that. Xalandrass smiled.

“They were desperate. And I offered them quite a bit to drink for these trinkets. And others.”

I’ll bet you did. Niers had a low opinion of war merchants, who sold to companies when they were at their most desperate. They preyed on the short-of-luck. But he didn’t say any of that out loud.

“So, you made a good business deal from some soldiers desperate for fun. Who didn’t realize what they were carrying?”

Xalandrass pondered that.

“Let’s say that their good sense was in shorter supply, Lord Astoragon. There were others whom I made better offers to who did not relinquish their…objects. All part of the same company I might add. All Human. All new to warfare.”

“Ah.”

Niers was getting an image. A group of desperate travellers, who’d bartered this away. Poor enough to work in a suppression company. But rich enough for…? And they didn’t know the worth of this.

“Tell me more. Or rather, show me.”

“The flashlight is a good start. But I obtained a handful of these during the battle. Taken from the…deceased. I traded for it with some Dullahan soldiers. To them it was only a flash of light and sounds, but I discovered they could be [Repaired]. Sir, please look.”

If the flashlight had been calculated to grab Niers’ attention, the second thing that Xalandrass showed Niers was intended to seal the deal. Because Niers had no idea what it was. It was a rectangle. Some object made of the same foreign substance as the flashlight, but the front as was smooth as glass. And it had a…button on it. And when Xalandrass pressed it hard and it came to life…

“What is that symbol? An apple?”

“Keep watching, Lord Astoragon. But—steel your eyes. There are a number of bright shapes.”

“Sound?”

“And look. If I touch this…”

The screen came to life. Xalandrass’ fingers delicately tapped one of the square beacons of light and it expanded. Niers stared as something appeared. He saw words. Nonsensical. Xalandrass tapped one of the words and it lit up. Everything on the thing in front of him changed. And then a face appeared. Niers jerked back, but the face was still, like a [Mage]’s illustration. And then there was music.

At least, Niers thought it was music. It sounded nothing like anything he’d heard. He stared at the screen, at the moving thing at the top, at Xalandrass’ face, and then held up a hand. The Naga instantly hit a strange pair of vertical bars near the bottom and the music stopped.

“Take it back, please.”

Niers settled back in his chair as Xalandrass retreated, looking pleased. The Titan realized he was showing his curiosity and bewilderment and cursed internally. He looked at Xalandrass and decided to play the Naga’s game.

“Alright. I am mystified. Xalandrass, tell me what it is.”

“They called it an ‘iPhone’, Lord Astoragon.”

The Naga pronounced the word clumsily. Niers stared at the device. And then at the flashlight. His mind offered him several explanations. But he went with his gut.

“No magic.”

“None whatsoever.”

“And you got that off of the dead, did you?”

“They would not part with it until…several of their members were caught trying to desert.”

“Ah. By which company?”

“Dullahans.”

That meant beheading. Niers winced.

“And those soldiers gave these things to you for a song and a dance? One would assume they’d have realized the importance, given them to their commanders.”

“As I said, these devices were damaged when I obtained them. One made light, the other…nothing. But I had my [Mage] friend [Repair] them and…”

Xalandrass gestured. Niers thought for a second. The Naga was clearly excited. He knew something of the worth of what he held. The problem was, Niers wasn’t sure he did.

“You see, Lord Astoragon, this iPhone has many functions. One of them was playing that music. But the others—”

“Stop.”

Niers cut him off. The Naga paused, and Niers looked at him. He wanted to talk about the device, but Niers had only one question for him.

“The Humans you bought this from. The ones new to war. Where were they from? What continent?”

“Ah, well, they said—”

“Again. Stop. Don’t tell me what they said. You’ve reached a conclusion, Xalandrass. Tell me it. And then tell me why. I’m not here for a story. Where are they from? Answer me. Now.”

Niers didn’t sit up in his chair. He didn’t raise his voice. But he concentrated and some of Xalandrass’ confidence faded.

“Tell me everything you saw, Xalandrass. Tell me in order, in a way that exaggerates nothing. You came here because you saw an opportunity. This is your chance. Use it wisely.”

The Naga wavered. He looked at Niers, and then hit a button. The iPhone went dark. The Naga drew himself up, and then relaxed, his tail coiled inwards upon itself. Perhaps there was some wisdom in him, because when he spoke it was as Niers had asked.

“I met them in one company. Gravetender’s Fist. The Last Light had been on the battlefield, tending to the wounded. She was an anomaly, but as you say, there are those who are strange. But the children in the company—they were odd. They wore unique clothing, and spoke with accents not familiar to me. They knew each other—or rather, they all came from the same place. But I heard numerous names from their lips. All foreign. This is what I saw. This is what they did.”

Niers listened as the Naga told his story of meeting the Gravetender’s Fist company. Of witnessing their arguments, splintering, overhearing odd snippets of conversation. And then—of seeing Ken and Daly rescuing a wounded soldier. Of Geneva, the Last Light, reattaching a Dullahan [Juggernaut]’s arm. Of a flag. Of all that had passed before and after and most importantly, the conversations Xalandrass had had with the children on the road as they fled that battlefield.

He never said outright what he thought. But he didn’t have to. The strange names. Earth. Americans. Australia. And the things their devices could do, their references to Geneva’s skill as something natural. And what Xalandrass had overheard the children saying to each other.

How did we get here? Magic exists? Really? You hear about Nagas in stories. Want to go home. What about the others?

A thousand clues that pointed one way. It was such an obvious conclusion that Niers would normally suspect a trick. But the device Xalandrass held said otherwise. He showed Niers more of what it could do. Niers stared at a screen full of characters even smaller than he was move about before vanishing and wondered if an [Illusionist] could do that well.

No magic. A [Doctor] with skills beyond any other [Doctor]. Names and places never heard, never spoken aloud before. And Xalandrass saved the best for last.

“They formed a company after that. The United Nations. A symbol of their home, Lord Astoragon. Something they hoped would draw others to them. Unite them. Something only they would know.”

And Niers remembered the report he’d read. His mind turned to fire. It raced from conclusion to conclusion, igniting. Not just with what Xalandrass was hinting. At last, part of a bigger picture unraveled in his head. He had a moment he’d felt a thousand times as a [Strategist], that of seeing the big picture. Of knowing.

Flashlight. Chess. The game of Go. A new game coming from an established Drake city. A girl waving a white flag. Wistram’s new concept of scrying orbs and viewer mages.

One conclusion. One that made sense. Niers found his breath coming quickly in his chest. The world turned itself upside down. Only, it wasn’t one world was it?

It was two.

At least two. At least two worlds. How else did you explain the flashlight? The iPhone? No other way. Maybe if Niers weren’t in his position—but he had all the resources and experience of a head of the Great Companies and he had never heard of a material like the one the two devices were made of. Xalandrass was a war merchant. He had seen any number of artifacts. But what was most telling was the way it fit with the other things he’d picked up on. Mysteries unsolved. It could solve everything. Chess, the dungeon Niers still thought about—

Her.

And Niers felt his heart racing. He felt his mind bursting with thoughts, and he was filled with too much energy to contain. But he didn’t move. He sat in his chair as Xalandrass finished and held still. He didn’t tap his leg, he didn’t raise his hand. He didn’t give any signs as to the turmoil in his soul. He just tapped the armrest of his chair.

Xalandrass watched the Titan greedily, expectantly. He was prepared for Niers to shout after a moment, or swear, or do anything in line with his colorful personality. But nothing happened. Not a twitch. Not so much as a smile or a movement of the eye. Niers’ finger kept tapping the cloth. The Naga watched, confidence wavering. He had to know the value of his information. But when he saw Niers’ face, his certainty fled.

“Er. Lord Astoragon. This is all happenstance. But the coincidences. I have a supposition—and I am sure one as intelligent as you has come to the same conclusion. If what I believe is correct, then—”

Niers slowly looked up. Xalandrass’ tongue tied itself in knots in his mouth.

“It is interesting, isn’t it? I’m not sure what to make of it. But I think you have something. What, I’m not sure about. But something.”

The Naga’s hearts beat hopefully. He waited as Niers pondered. Then, the Titan stood up.  He walked once around the table, lost in thought. Then he stared at the Naga.

“I don’t know how adept a [Merchant] you are, Naga Xalandrass. So I will be blunt and spare us both embarrassment. Not a word of this to anyone else in passing. Not this, not the company, and not your good fortune either. I’m buying silence and all these trinkets—even the ones you’ve ferreted away and didn’t intend to sell me at any cost.”

A huge breath of air left Xalandrass’ lungs. He opened his mouth and Niers cut him off again.  Brusquely. Calmly. Was he thinking the same thing Xalandrass was? That the children were from somewhere else? Did he not fully believe? He was so…calm. Unnervingly so.

“Twelve thousand gold coins for your information. Let’s call it two thousand per…flashlight? Ten thousand for these other things. Per item. You won’t walk away with more than…six thousand gold coins right now. But the rest will come in business deals. Stay at your inn for two nights, and then head north. You may run across some lucrative opportunities there.”

That was a lot of coin. Enough to make Xalandrass rich and prosperous again and then some. Rich, generous…but hardly worth the information if the Naga was right. True, it was objects and unverifiable claims—at least for now, but the Naga couldn’t conceal his disappointment. Then he had a thought.

“Ah, but what about the price of silence, Lord Astoragon?”

The Fraerling gave him a ghost of a smile. It was the right question. He looked at the Naga speculatively, then raised his voice.

“Peclir!”

The door opened. Xalandrass spun, but it was just a Dullahan [Servant]. Niers pointed.

“Find Peclir. Tell him to bring me the purple cloth covered item.”

“At once.”

The door closed. Xalandrass waited, his scales sweaty, until the door opened. Niers was content to wait. When Peclir returned with an object in his hands on a small pillow, Niers nodded to it.

“Show Xalandrass. You want to know what I buy for your silence? This.”

Peclir looked at Xalandrass. He approached slowly and twitched the cloth back. Both of the Naga’s hearts stopped beating at once. He stared at the object, reached out a hand, and snatched it. Back. Wordlessly he looked at Niers. The Fraerling nodded.

“For yours and your [Mage] friend. It will make its way to you in time. In a bundle of wool, I think. Check each shipment that crosses your path. You have no objections?”

“None I—so generous! Of course I will keep the utmost silence and never, ever—”

Xalandrass tripped over his tongue. Then he had a horrible thought.

“Er, Lord Astoragon. It crosses my mind that perhaps, it could be that my information, my guesswork, might be in error. The possibility is small, but if that should be the case…”

He looked at Niers nervously. The Fraerling smiled again.

“If you’re wrong, we’ll renegotiate. But you’ve told me everything and you’re sure you’re correct, aren’t you?”

The Naga placed his hand over his secondary heart in his chest.

“I would swear on any truth spells you know. If—”

If he wasn’t using them already. Niers had a truth detection spell, but he rarely bothered to use it. Watching people was more important. Besides, you could fool [Detect Lie] spells. Not many people knew that. The Titan shook his head.

“Oh, I trust you Xalandrass.”

The Naga sighed with relief. Peclir took the cloth-covered object out of the room and Niers watched the Naga’s eyes follow it. A fortune indeed. But Niers had many fortunes, and [King]’s ransoms, and so on. And buying this secret was worth the price. There was a reason why people still came to him. Because if they had something he truly wanted, Niers would make them rich. He had let that be known too.

And this information. Oh! If it were true…Niers was still thinking. It was beyond just one company now. Xalandrass only saw the United Nations company. But Niers was looking at the world. What if this weren’t one incident? Surely not.

If this is so, then the world changes. If this is so—the flashlight. No magic? What’s inside? I need a [Blacksmith], a [Mage]—you can [Repair] it?

The King of Destruction’s reawakening. The death of Zel Shivertail? Tyrion Veltras’ actions—no, the [Emperor]? Trebuchets? Of course.

But deal with the Naga first. Niers cleared his throat to get Xalandrass’ attention.

“All your artifacts will go with Peclir. And your silence means another Great Company hears nothing of this. If you are aware of any rumors like this—”

“—Not spread by me! Of course not!”

“Oh, no. Not you. If you hear of any rumors, you will bring them to me. And remember, Xalandrass?”

Niers raised his voice. The Naga was over the moon with his success and the reward. He glanced back at Niers. The Titan smiled. And it was a grandfatherly smile.

“The reward matches the information given. Of the service rendered. As do the consequences of betraying that trust.”

That was all he said. That was all you needed to say. But for a second Xalandrass looked at Niers and remembered who he was talking to. A foot-high Fraerling. A tiny person. Someone Xalandrass could squash with a single palm.

And the Titan of Baleros. And Xalandrass remembered all the legends and wondered if they were true.

That was enough. Niers left him with a mixture of jubilation and fear. The right mix, or so you hoped. It was a balance. But he gave instructions to Peclir Im about Xalandrass, very precise instructions, and then went to his study. Niers walked over to an inkwell, made sure the door was closed, and went crazy for half an hour.

Peclir Im entered the room after the shouting had died down. Or rather, when Niers had begun shouting for him and ringing the bell. Niers was standing in a mess of torn up paper and ink and other possessions. Peclir blinked; he had no idea what Xalandrass had said, but he’d rarely seen Niers this upset. Or was it jubilant? The Titan was something, and he was pacing back and forth, reading from a document and muttering under his breath.

“Oh, Venaz. You clever, stubborn idiot. This is just what I need. This, and nothing else. You’ll play your role. And I’ll be sure you do. Thank you for Minotaurs. Thank you for—Peclir?”

His head snapped towards the [Chamberlain]. Peclir hesitated. There was a wild look in Niers’ eyes. The same kind of look Peclir had seen a few times before. If the Titan of Baleros was a giant, it was a sleeping giant. A friendly, sleeping one most of the time. But someone had just woken him up.

“May I help you, Lord Astoragon? I have a message for you. An important one from the Iron Vanguard company. I thought that even under the circumstances—”

“Give it here.”

Niers snatched the paper from Peclir. It was written small, for a Fraerling. Even in his madness, he was still able to note small details. Peclir had already read the note.

“The Seer of Steel accedes to the Titan’s request. Tulm the Mithril will be present in three weeks’ time. Well, that makes it perfect.”

The [Strategist] had a crazy grin on his face. His mind raced. Yes, Venaz would probably do what Niers was thinking. Which gave him the perfect opening. Manipulate the minotaur. He could see Peclir watching him for some clue. But he couldn’t know. Hell, Foliana would have to be told in their secret room, spelled against every single eavesdropping measure in the world. If he was right—

Where was that damn Magnolia Reinhart’s letter? And—damn, he’d need to check every report on suspicious activities. He’d written it all down somewhere. But first—

Niers looked around. His desk—or rather, the table where he slept and worked was just a normal table. Cluttered—less so after his rampage. But there was something by his tent.

A picture. A [Mage]’s illustration, copied in perfect detail. It had been taken from a battlefield. From another person’s eyes, at range. Still, Niers had requested his [Diviner] to enhance the image. It was still faint. Blurry.

But on that hill, a girl stood. In the mud, her clothes plain. She held a flag of white. And her back was turned. Niers stared at it. He spoke softly. Start with her. At last…

He had to know.

“I need to hire someone. Peclir?”

“Yes, Lord Astoragon? You wish me to make a call?”

“Not to anyone in Baleros. Send a [Message] spell. Encrypted. Look up the cipher. But I need to make a call. To…the best.”

Peclir waited. Then he coughed.

“The best whom, sir?”

“I worked with some experts in First Landing before. The best of the best.”

The [Chamberlain] waited. Niers stared at the picture. Then he looked up. The die was cast.

“First Landing. Tell the Brothers of Serendipitous Meetings that I have a proposition for them. And send them some of our finest wine via our contact there. I’ll be awaiting their communication with greatest pleasure. Or something like that. And Peclir? They have access to my personal [Diviner]. Day or night. I want to speak with them immediately.”

“I shall send the [Message] spell at once.”

Peclir bowed and left the room. Niers stood alone, staring at the picture. Then he took a deep breath. He looked around, at the destroyed desk, at the papers, at the report of Venaz’ not-so-covert actions…if you knew what to look for, and then at another report.

“The United Nations.”

Niers stared at the name. And then at the flashlight Peclir had left on his desk. He walked over to it. Touched the material that did not come from this world. And then he smiled.

“After years of searching, of wondering. At last. The world changes. Let there be light.”

He hit the button. And there was.

6.08

Here came a story about a bee. She woke with the dawn. Bees do that. Even Ashfire Bees. Especially in the spring. After all, they lived and died by the changing green, the bounty of nature. In the mornings, bees would be flitting from flower to flower, gathering nectar and pollen, the lifeblood of a Hive.

Female bees, that was. Drones, the male half of the hives, were lazy creatures who neither gathered nor produced honey. They ate honey, but their main purpose was to mate with the queen. They had neither stingers nor, in any real sense, agency. They existed to mate, or if need be, try and defend the hive or regulate the temperature. But they weren’t more than that. When they mated, they died.

This Ashfire Bee was female. Which was important. She was a worker bee, or at least, not a queen. Also very important. Queens were unique to a bee hive. The entity by which the entire hive revolved around. This bee was not a queen, for all that she had eaten enough royal jelly. Even though the potential was there, she was virginal; she had not mated with a drone. And she had no hive. What would you call a bee like that?

The bee had no words. And she had no thoughts deep enough to speculate. So she was a worker. But she was female, and that was enough. For didn’t all workers have in them a shred of what could be queen?

The bee did not think such large thoughts as she woke up, though. In fact, she thought very little. She was, after all, a bee. And what did bees think of, really?

Very little. A bee wasn’t like a Human, or a Drake, or even a more intelligent creature like a monkey or dolphin. Bees were simple insects who lived by instinct. So this bee, who woke up in a little basket of wood that was lined with cotton, crawled out and flexed her wings. Then she took off, because she had sensed movement.

After all, if a bee loved anything, surely it loved to fly. That was one of the reasons for which it was made. Up, the bee flew, chasing after the thing that was racing about.

Another fact. Bees had a different sense of color than many bipedal races. Unlike Humans, they saw no red. They could see orange and yellow to some degree, but their senses shifted into different spectrums as well. They could see ultraviolet, a color only abstractly known to most Humans as a concept. In this world, only a few hundred Humans would even know the idea. And Selphids and Antinium of course. But they had a different word for it.

The creature that raced about was white. White, and just a bit ultraviolet. Her fur shone in Apista’s vision. And so the bee flew after her, zigging and zagging to match the energetic creature. Not in malice; Apista’s long, reddish-orange stinger on her backside wasn’t extended. In fact, if anything, she thought of this racing creature as…what?

Bees had no idea of friend. No concept of family. They knew of hives, and so that was this bee’s closest approximation. This thing was of her hive. But even bees could see the obvious. The white fluffy thing wasn’t a bee. It was closer to a bear cub, if a small one. But it was nevertheless friend, a valuable part of the hive that must be protected, even with Apista’s life.

How the bee knew this, she did not know. She didn’t think of it. It simply was, and that was enough. She caught the racing white thing at last and clung to its…head? The fur gave the bee’s legs ample purchase, and it had learned that the white thing didn’t mind her holding on. She and the white thing raced about the room for another minute, and then pounced on a shape lying on a bed in the center of the room. Apista saw the movement, and took off before the white thing landed. She heard an oof, and felt—not in her mind, but close enough—a mix of emotions.

Surprise. Mild pain. Panic—and then—exasperation? Half of the emotions weren’t things the female bee could process, but she got surprise and panic. Her stinger extended and she flew to the attack. But what? Not the white thing. The being who was so upset sat up, and the bee heard a voice.

“Mrsha! I told you not to wake me up that way!”

A Human, a young woman sat up. She grabbed for the white thing, who was wriggling like a larvae emerging from its cocoon. She caught it, and the worker bee, still poised to attack something, suddenly felt a rush of emotion.

Love. The bee had no concept of this either. For a bee did not love. But it understood happiness, contentment, and satisfaction. And the outpouring of all these things was so great that it immediately relaxed.

Bees had little concept of past and future. They understood the changing of seasons, but that was a biological instinct as much as thought. There had been something possibly dangerous, and then not. The bee was content. She landed on the white thing as the Human stroked its head. the bee heard an exclamation—odd in the way bees heard, but familiar—and then the voice.

“Apista! You’re awake too? Why didn’t you stop Mrsha?”

And the bee said nothing because it had nothing to say. Nor did it realize that was its name.

Apista.

Bees had no names. And besides, this bee couldn’t understand language to begin with. But it had grasped that the particular rhythm of a particular voice meant something. Aapiissstaaaa. And when that voice said it, it usually meant warning. Or food. Or an invitation to rest and have something touch it. So the bee crawled up the white thing’s head, and the touching thing happened now.

Pat, pat. A large hand stroked the top of Apista’s body. The bee let it happen. It couldn’t properly feel the touches. Bees had very few nerves compared to a Human. But it felt the contentment coming from the person touching it, and so Apista was similarly content. Even if she didn’t understand why.

Lyonette du Marquin patted Apista’s body very carefully, and then felt a soft head butt. She looked down and saw Mrsha was demanding the same. She laughed and obliged, running her fingers down Mrsha’s soft fur, scratching her back.

Almost like a dog or cat. But the difference was that Mrsha did the same. She combed Lyonette’s hair gently with a paw. And the look in her eyes was far too intelligent for any animal. She was mute, but not stupid. A child, but growing by the day. And all too soon, she patted Lyonette’s arm and pointed a furry claw at the door.

“Oh? Done so soon?”

Lyonette teased Mrsha. The Gnoll child looked up at her, rolled her eyes, patted her stomach twice, pointed at the door, and then leapt from the bed Lyonette was sitting in. She landed on the floor with all four paws, again like a cat, then straightened and caught Apista as the bee flew after her. She lifted the bee, flew her over her head, and them patted her stomach and Apista’s.

“Oh? Food for you and Apista, is it? How selfless.”

The Human smirked. But she was proud all the same, and Apista felt it. Even if proud to Apista only translated into—the hive is big, there is much honey, we shall not starve. But pride Lyonette felt, because Mrsha was talking.

Sort of. Mrsha was mute. She’d been born that way, and for that reason she’d been abandoned as a child by her true parents. She had been raised by the Stone Spears tribe who had treated her as…well, a handicapped child, but one of their own nonetheless. But it meant that while they’d taught Mrsha what every Gnoll child living in a tribe must learn—how to help with chores, what to do not to interfere with the adults, and so on—they had never thought to do more.

But Lyonette had. And so had Erin. The [Innkeeper] had no grasp of sign language from her world—but she knew it existed, and she’d played chess with more than a few people who had spoken to her through sign language, interpreters, and the game itself. And Lyonette was simply intelligent, and had understood that language wasn’t a sole thing—even if this world had only one true language that everyone spoke.

So Mrsha had begun coming up with her own way of speaking. Encouraged by the two, she’d developed some simple signs over the last few days, since Erin had told them about her true origins and shared some of the knowledge of Earth with them. She could say she was hungry—two pats on the stomach, one was pain if she held it there—or that she needed to go to the bathroom. A quick twirl with arms spread, to indicate running around and needing a place to go.

Some of the ways Mrsha had chosen to communicate had Erin and Lyonette in stitches because they were original. Others were heartfelt.

Sadness to Mrsha wasn’t miming tears running down the face, or an expression. It was two tiny paws clasped together, and then drifting apart. Sadness. A thing broken, gone forever. Destruction. Desolation.

Nothingness.

But today Mrsha was happy. She didn’t need a sign for that. Her wagging tail said it all. Mrsha had combined Human sign language with Gnollish tells. Her ears and face and tail could do as much talking as her paws, and both Erin and Lyonette had long ago learned up to pick up on the signs. It also meant older Gnolls could understand Mrsha quite easily once they learned a few of her words.

Mrsha patted her leg urgently. Hurry up! Lyonette groaned and put her legs out of bed.

“Alright, alright. I’m getting up. Don’t you dare open that door until I have my clothes on, understand?”

Mrsha sighed through her nose, but she waited as Lyonette put on some clothes. Mrsha was technically naked, but she had fur on, and Gnolls really didn’t wear much in the way of clothing even when they were adult. A Gnoll could walk around with barely more than a breast band and loincloth and males just the cloth and not attract much attention—at least, from most. Drakes and Humans on the other hand were more prudish.

True, City Gnolls were pickier about their garb and Lyonette had met a few Gnolls who went around fully dressed. But Mrsha hated shirts, hated pants more, and had hid both cute hats that Erin had bought for her in the stove. So Lyonette dressed herself and no one else. In the meantime, Mrsha tossed up Apista and raced around the room after her.

The bee named Apista had no concept of plans, or the complicated futures that Mrsha and Lyonette envisioned. But she had learned this new schedule, and she knew what was coming next. So like Mrsha she was prepared to eat. And she could sense that intention from her…other hive member. Or was it her queen? No. Her…master?

No. It wasn’t a thought Apista would ever have of Lyonette. She didn’t know the girl’s name, or what she was—to Apista, Lyonette was a fairly blobby thing, sometimes wearing odd colors, but always with the same pheromones. And Apista would recognize her everywhere. For Lyonette was her. Apista’s other self.

It was through Lyonette that Apista understood more of the world. Because she could sense Lyonette’s thoughts. They were abstract, often confusing. But always there. When Lyonette was angry, Apista felt it. When she was confused or tired, Apista knew. She and Lyonette were connected, and so the bee thought of Lyonette as another bee. Just uglier, unable to fly, and who did many odd things.

But she was the more important bee of the two. She had raised Apista from a larvae, fed her, and cared for her. So Lyonette was the most important thing in the wooden hive. Second-most was the white thing, for which both she and Apista cared for greatly. The other two things Apista thought of as being part of the ‘hive’ were the green thing that was sort of friendly, and the scary thing.

They met the green thing two steps out of the door when Lyonette finally opened it. Mrsha scampered out, and then paused. So did Lyonette. She stopped and stared at Numbtongue, who’d walked out of his room roughly the same time as them. He stared at them.

“Um. Hello, Numbtongue.”

Lyonette only hesitated for a moment. Mrsha stared up gravely at Numbtongue, and then raised a paw in her silent greeting. The Hobgoblin blinked at them and there was a moment of…

What? To Apista, it was a moment of wariness, like if a bear was approaching the hive and it might have to be driven off. She fanned her wings and took off of Mrsha’s head. To ward the green thing off. It wasn’t exactly part of the hive, although she sensed Lyonette’s goodwill towards it. The green thing stared at her as Apista flew, stinger extended threateningly—

Apista flew. Lyonette uttered a word with her name in it, but the feeling of caution emanating from her only grew more, and Apista just interpreted that as more warning against the green thing. So she flew at it—

And the green thing grabbed Apista.

Numbtongue stared at the struggling bee in his hands. He thought he’d grabbed it in the right spot. Gently, around the abdomen to hold the stinger back. But Lyonette exclaimed.

“No, Numbtongue! Let her, go, she’s going to—”

The Hobgoblin had underestimated Apista’s flexibility and strength. The bee wriggled. It was caught! It reacted as bees do. She coiled up, one angry ball of insect. And then she did what came naturally.

Apista stung.

—-

“I am so sorry. Apista does that whenever she’s around new people. She doesn’t mean any harm by it—she just warns them off. She does it to everyone, but you grabbed her. No one’s done that before.”

Lyonette apologized to Numbtongue profusely as they sat at the table, applying a bit of healing potion to his hand. Only a few drops, but it was necessary. Apista’s stinger had gone right into Numbtongue’s hand before he’d let go, and her stinger was big. Apista herself was bigger than two hands put together now, and her stinger was dangerous.

Even more dangerous than a normal Ashfire Bee’s stinger because Apista was the size of a queen. And worse still because of Lyonette’s Skill. [Crimson Stinger]. The [Princess] hadn’t had a good chance to see what the change had wrought in Apista’s stinger aside from making it larger and more red, but now she saw as she tended to Numbtongue’s hand.

The wound in his hand was inflamed, and it was already puffing up. Lyonette pouring the potion into the wound, watching the swelling go down—a bit.

“There must be a lot of venom in that stinger. I’m so sorry—”

“It’s fine. Doesn’t hurt that much. Good morning.”

Numbtongue shrugged. He flexed his hand, barely wincing as the skin closed up. It was the first thing he’d said all day. Lyonette stared at him, and then couldn’t help but smile. The Goblin [Bard] looked at her, and then at Apista.

The bee was confused. It had stung after being grabbed. As far as it was concerned, everything was great. The green thing had let it go and retreated. But Lyonette was angry. At Apista. The bee sensed it and didn’t know why. It flared its wings, wondering if the situation called for more stings. The green thing was keeping well away from it while the white thing bounced up and down at the table. Apista was about to fly about to look for more enemies when it heard another voice.

“I told you that bee’s a menace! A menace I say!”

Erin Solstice walked over, planted a huge plate of eggs and bacon in front of Mrsha, Numbtongue, and Lyonette, and mock-glared at Apista. She had tankards in her other hand as well. Milk for Mrsha, water for Lyonette, and milk for Numbtongue.

“That’s a lot of eggs, Erin.”

Lyonette eyed the eggs with mild alarm. Mrsha reached for the heaping plate and Lyonette grabbed her paw.

“Ah! Did you wash your hands, miss? And where’s your plate? And fork?”

Mrsha’s face fell. She slunk off the table and found the washing bucket of water and the little soap ball. Apista flew with her. She thought about drinking from the bucket, but experience had taught her that was not good water. She was flying with Mrsha because she was wary of the fourth creature in the wood hive she lived in.

The scary one. If Lyonette was a fellow bee, and the white thing a precious creature, like a baby larva, and the green one…a green one, then the scary one was a threat. Like a wasp, or a bear, but somehow, still part of the hive. Lyonette liked her, and so Apista didn’t consider the scary one a threat—but she was still scary.

Erin Solstice stared at Apista warily as the bee flew about Mrsha. Apista was giving her much the same look.

Bees did not see like people. In fact, their eyes weren’t much hot stuff anyways. They could make out bright colors to find food, but it wasn’t for clear, stunning, high-resolution analysis. So Erin didn’t look that much different from Lyonette in Apista’s mind. But bees were also animals, and in that sense, Apista saw more than Lyonette.

To Apista, Erin was bigger than her form. At times she was just the size of her body. But at others she filled the room, the wood hive that was Apista’s home. She became the hive, and in those moments she was a terrible giant. A thing the bee had no words for and which scared Apista.

So, the scary one. Right now Erin wasn’t scary, but the bee had decided long ago not to get too near her. She flew past Erin and investigated the bright eggs and meat. Not her choice of food and indeed, Lyonette instantly shooed her away.

“No, Apista! I’ll get your food in a moment. Erin, I’m going into Liscor today. We need more sugar for her water, and I’ve got some other errands to run.”

“Sounds good! I’m going into Pallass.”

The word made everyone look up. Erin’s face was set. Lyonette scratched her head.

“Pallass?”

“That’s right. Just to see what it’s like. You know, get a feel for the place? Ilvriss is still banned from there and no one else is using the door—those jerks still don’t feel like visiting Liscor. So I’m going through.”

“Okay then. Mrsha will come with me, I suppose. Or visit Krshia?”

Mrsha, sitting at the table and bouncing up and down, waiting for her plate and fork, nodded eagerly. Lyonette smiled.

“And then that only leaves—”

They stared at Numbtongue. He was staring at the eggs and bacon as hungrily as Mrsha. He looked up belatedly and then shrugged—caught himself—and opened his mouth.

“I will go into the mountains. To mine.”

“With the mana stone?”

Erin was anxious. Numbtongue nodded.

“With stone. You’ll check the door?”

He looked at Lyonette. She nodded as well.

“If I’m not here, Ishkr or Drassi will check it every ten minutes. And they’ll have it set to your mana stone by default.”

She nodded to the rotating mana stones that had been installed on the door. There were five now. One for Celum, Liscor, the mana stone that Numbtongue held, a bright purple gem, an orange gem for a door that Griffon Hunt and the Halfseekers used, and Pallass. Erin nodded, smiling.

“We’re adding more mana stones! Hawk just put that stone up in Pallass—I’m still not sure how useful it is since we barely do anything, but I guess it’s convenient for security and stuff. Plus, Ilvriss paid for it so that’s cool by me. But we’ve got two more connections.”

“That door that Griffon Hunt’s helping bring north to Invrisil. And Numbtongue’s personal door.”

Lyonette looked at Numbtongue. He reached into his pouch and showed them the purple gem.

“Have it here. Good way to go from mountains to here.”

“You’re sure you want to go alone? I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Erin looked at Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin shrugged.

“Not too dangerous. Just climbing and looking for good spots mostly. Boring. And if I find anything—”

He pointed to the gem. Erin huffed and hesitated.

“Just remember you need a door to get it to work.”

“I will bring one. And mine all day.”

“You sure you just need a pickaxe? What about a shovel? Don’t miners work in teams or something?”

Numbtongue shrugged.

“Probably. But that’s not how Goblins mine. Not how he mined.”

The others fell silent. Apista flew into the kitchen and inspected some bacon grease before resuming her patrol, checking on if anything had changed in her ‘hive’, the inn, while she’d slept. As the sole proper bee, she had to make sure nothing had penetrated the hive and was lurking there. Like…hive beetles. Or spiders. She hated spiders.

“Okay then. I guess that’s our plan for today! Lyonette, the inn’s all yours. Now, let’s get some plates and dig in before the adventurers come by! There’ll probably be at least a few groups. Griffon Hunt’s started eating here every morning, plus the other teams come by to relax…”

Erin clapped her hands. Lyonette helped her get plates, smiling.

“They come here for the good food. You should be happy.”

“Yeah, but all they do is eat, argue, and take turns escorting the door.”

“Well, they are relaxing after the dungeon.”

“Adventurers relaxing means one of them starts causing trouble at some point. Remember when they tried playing baseball again? Right outside the inn? They cracked two windows.”

“Well, they paid for them. And today Ishkr will be here, not Drassi. I can trust him. I’ll be back soon enough, Erin. I’d let someone else get the supplies, but I have other business…”

“Ooh. While you’re at it, can you get me some more eggs? They’re cheap, but I, uh, used them for breakfast. And I want to make some more egg-based dishes when I get back from Pallass. Egg drop soup. I don’t quite know how to make it, but I assume you have egg, and soup, and there’s dropping involved…”

Lyonette sighed, but Apista felt the hint of amusement from her. The bee flew down as Lyonette filled a bowl with water and sugar. Erin eyed the bee greedily drinking up the syrup before Lyonette had even carried it back into the common room.

“You sure Apista’s fine with just that? I thought she needed more.”

“Well, I haven’t let her out of the inn for fear she’ll get attacked by birds, but there are the flowers.”

Lyonette waved towards the little yellow flowers blooming in the planters near the windows. Erin stared at them.

“Oh. Right. I forgot! We should make some more faerie flower drinks, Lyonette.”

The [Princess] shuddered.

“They’re not exactly social drinks, Erin.”

“No…but they are good for some people. Sometimes. And Halrac and Ilvriss ask me if I have more now and then. Say, could you get more honey as well?”

Lyonette paused.

“From the Ashfire Bee hive? I haven’t gone back there in a while. I could…try.”

The last time she’d harvested honey from them had been in the winter, but she’d stopped with the spring rains and the uptick in monsters. Now the Floodplains were muddy, but some of the muck was turning into proper soil again. And there were plants blooming, the last of the undead had finally been taken care of…it was beginning to be a proper spring. Erin hesitated.

“I mean, I know it’s dangerous, but your smoke trick’s worked before, right? And honey is a money earner.”

“True. I’ll try it. After I see Krshia. Oh—and I’ll visit the Players of Celum and see why they haven’t dropped by yet.”

“Would you? It’s totally slipped my mind. Well, not slipped my mind, but every time I go through to Celum, Octavia’s bugged me about new potion ideas and helping her burn down this other guy’s shop…”

The two chatted as Apista drank the precious water and sugar up. She knew it was exactly what she needed to survive. But Erin was right. Water and sugar were one thing, but a bee lived on honey. And Apista was predisposed to another thing too.

Nectar. As she was not a queen who lived to lay brood, she was instinctively motivated towards the little flowers. So as the other adventures came down the stairs, and Numbtongue and Mrsha fought for a rasher of bacon and Erin and Lyonette circled the inn, the Ashfire Bee flew up and towards the little planters near the windows. There she landed and inspected the flowers.

They were small, and yellow. Vibrant, like little coins of gold sprouting from the soil. Ironic, since that was how Erin had first received them. Fake gold coins, a faerie’s trick payment. But she’d taken the flowers and planted them, and they’d bloomed into flowers that were very useful, and very magical.

One sip of the nectar could make you see things. Mix it with alcohol and you’d see the past. Or a past that might have been or…just dream. Lyonette had found you could burn the flowers too. Dried and burned, they created an incense that put the Ashfire Bee hive to sleep and allowed her to collect honey. The flowers probably had other uses too, but they were as yet still growing and multiplying, and Erin wanted a veritable garden first.

A certain little Gnoll and Apista were responsible for the much larger body of flowers in the planters along the windowsill. Encouraged by their efforts, the flowers had multiplied from three boxes of scattered blooms in the soil to six full boxes, and a seventh one on the way once Lyonette or Erin transplanted the delicate flowers. To Apista, it was a bounty of nectar.

And yet, still the bee hesitated. Bees had short memories in some regards, but in others? They could navigate back to a patch of flowers pollinated years ago. Because while individual bees died, a hive remembered. And Apista, short though her life had been, knew these flowers.

She knew what would happen next. But it wasn’t a strictly negative experience, one that would warn her away, like getting grabbed by the green thing or accidentally getting smacked by Mrsha while the Gnoll was asleep. It was something else. And because Apista had no concept of it, because she was programmed to seek the nectar in the little flowers and because part of her wanted to, she drew closer. Her proboscis lowered and she delicately inserted it into the bud of the first flower.

Bee fact. Regular Earth bees could forage as many as six miles outside of their hive. Ashfire Bees, the colossi of the bee families in this world, could forage for as many as twenty miles outside their hives, and further still if need be. They had to, as smaller flowers were far too tiny to provide them with enough nectar.

In that sense, the six beds of faerie flowers were just a warm-up for the Ashfire Bee. In another?

Apista drank. And the world slowed ddddddoooooooowwwwwnnnnnnnnnnn…………

Bees didn’t think like people. But they did think. And Apista was thinking about thinking, which was a novel experience for any bee. The idea of thought was to her like this strange thing. You could think? About thinking? That was…like…

Thought. Apista raised her head. Yellow flowers looked at her. But from a different angle they looked like blooming gold. Or gold that bloomed through a flower. Maybe they were gold and the flowers were the illusion. Maybe this window was—

Apista ran into the window. Okay, maybe it wasn’t an illusion. The Ashfire Bee crawled up the window. Wow. This hard stuff was really hard. And see-through. She could see right through it, but it was there. Outside the sky glowed with dawn light. Apista wondered if it had anything to say. She fanned her wings.

She could see—

—the shape of—

—tomorrow—

And it was green. With pink polka dots.

Apista tripped. And when bees tripped, they tripped hard.

—-

“Huh. You know, I never realized it, but what does Apista do all day when you’re working, Lyonette?”

Erin was about to leave for her trip to Pallass when she spotted the Ashfire Bee. It was crawling all over the window where the faerie flowers were blooming. Erin assumed it was good for the little things, for all Apista could have squashed them. But they really had been growing nicely.

Lyonette looked up from learning a new word Mrsha had invented. A tap on the nose and quick circle meant ‘tracking’. An important word for Gnolls. She was wondering if there was a way to write all this down for other people. A book, maybe?

She looked up and blinked at Apista. Lyonette frowned, then shrugged, unconcerned.

“All day? Mostly that. She always gets like this after eating. Quiet. Some days she just sits on the flower beds for hours. I guess I should let her out more, but I feel like she’s pretty happy like this.”

She got up and walked over to Apista, picking the bee off the window. Apista didn’t resist. Erin eyed Apista as Mrsha tried to teach her the new word.

“…Is she trying to fly upside down?”

“I think so?”

To Lyonette, Apista’s mind was a distant thing. She could sense if the bee was hungry, in pain, or so on thanks to their [Lesser Bond] skill, but that was about it. Right now she was getting…something approaching static from Apista’s mind. It happened surprisingly often. Lyonette assumed Apista just wasn’t thinking that much.

“Well, that’s bees for you. Must be nice. That’s a nice word, Mrsha! Tracking. Got it! I’ll remember. And you can ‘track’ me down if I’m late. I’m off to Pallass! See ya!”

Erin waved at the others and walked through the magic door. Numbtongue was already gone for the day. That just left Lyonette, the adventurers who’d come downstairs and into the inn, and the hired help. Mrsha padded over to Ishkr and tugged on his leg. She was determined to teach everyone her new word.

“Mrsha, don’t—well, okay. But don’t bother Ishkr if he’s busy, got it?”

Lyonette sighed as the Gnoll [Waiter] obligingly bent down to learn Mrsha’s word. Some of the other adventurers looked up; they were playing dice and waiting to change places with the Halfseekers, who were lugging the door north.

“—Not even at Celum yet. Why don’t we hire a carriage and speed the process?”

Halrac was grunting to Dawil. The Dwarf shrugged as he rolled some dice in a cup.

“You in a hurry, lad?”

“I’m older than you are.”

“And I’m a Dwarf. I get to call Humans ‘lad’ and ‘lass’. Besides, the slow pace means we can take jobs around the door if we want.”

Halrac grimaced.

“True. Esthelm has hunting missions. It’s just—”

“Too good for Bronze-rank requests?”

The Dwarf grinned, teasingly. The [Scout] almost smiled.

“I was going to say that killing too many animals would hurt their [Hunters]. Roll the dice, will you?”

“I will, as soon as we put up some money on this. How’s five coppers sound? Hey, pointy ears! You want to get on this? And no cheating like last time, or…”

All seemed well. Lyonette looked at Ishkr. He was managing a pair of Gnoll workers today.

“You can handle watching Mrsha for a few hours?”

“Yes, Lyonette. Honored Krshia is busy at work, and I think she will be fine here. One of us can let her run about outside now the undead are gone. Although I think she is content here.”

Ishkr was referring to Mrsha wandering over to Typhenous and Revi. They were talking magic, and the Gnoll was content to listen to them—or sit on Moore’s lap when he was relaxing. Lyonette nodded.

“I’ll be back, then. To Celum first. Remember, every ten minutes, and keep—”

“—the door attuned to Numbtongue’s stone. I understand.”

Ishkr patiently nodded. Lyonette smiled sheepishly.

“Thank you!”

She put Apista back on the windowsill. The Ashfire Bee lay there, content with the world, or so Lyonette vaguely felt. The [Princess] shook her head. She stepped over to the magic door, envying Apista’s simple way of being. She on the other hand wasn’t always so happy. Even though Erin had given Lyonette run of the inn, the job wasn’t always easy. Especially when Lyonette thought about money coming and leaving the inn.

True, they were a thousand gold coins richer from the Redfang Goblin’s gift. But the third floor and Bird’s tower were still gone. Adventurers made up their small day-to-day earnings and the new staff required pay too. Lyonette had big plans, so she needed big business. Which meant the Players of Celum had to come back and start putting on huge shows.

“They’ve been gone for a long time. I thought they’d be chomping at the bit to come back, but they didn’t. Not while Erin was crying, and not even afterwards.”

Lyonette frowned to herself, worried. That probably meant they were putting on performances in Celum. Which was…not ideal. But she had hopes she could convince them to come back to The Wandering Inn. Jasi and Wesle owed Erin a lot.

The instant Lyonette pushed the door open and stepped into Octavia’s shop, the [Alchemist] sprang from behind her counter.

“Lyonette! Just who I was looking for!”

“Not now, Octavia. I’m just coming through.”

“Right, right. But while you’re here, why not stock up on some potions? Stay and chat? Have a stamina potion, on me. This one’s extra sweet! Why don’t you sit, talk about Erin—has she mentioned me at all? I’ve just got this thing going on that—”

“Octavia, please. I don’t have time to talk.”

The [Princess] tried to fend off the dark-skinned Stitch-girl. She gritted her teeth, wishing she could shove Octavia out of the way. But that wasn’t right, was it?

“Come on, Lyonette? We’re pals, aren’t we?”

“I don’t think so?”

“What? You’re breaking my heart, Lyonette! We’ve been the best friends! You and me, both working with Erin. Buddies, ever since you and Mrsha stayed here during the Face-Eater Moth attack. And friends help friends, right? If you could just…”

Lyonette felt a hand dragging at her. She shook Octavia off, making for the door. She tried to tell herself it was just Octavia being Octavia. No need to get upset.

Be polite. Smile, don’t think of Octavia as a peasant. And don’t kick her even if she shoves another potion bottle in your face.

“If you could just—”

At last, Lyonette slammed the door to Octavia’s shop. She shook her head. Octavia. That [Alchemist] had a way of getting on people’s nerves. She was always, always trying to get Lyonette or Erin or even Mrsha to do something.

“Not once have I walked through there without Octavia trying to get me to sit and listen to her idea for twenty minutes. Or spend a dozen gold pieces to ‘fund’ her.”

Lyonette grumbled to herself. She stomped away from the shop, and only then noticed that part of the boarded-up exterior of Stitchworks was slightly charred. Lyonette stopped, frowning at the exterior.

Ever since one of Erin’s plans had ended up with the front of Octavia’s shop getting knocked in, it had been boarded up. It didn’t exactly make the shop look appealing, but the [Alchemist] hadn’t bothered to fix it. Only, it looked like someone had nearly set fire to the wooden exterior.

From the outside. Lyonette wondered if Octavia had dropped some matches or something. She frowned, hesitated, and then shook her head.

“Probably nothing. And if I go back in, I’ll have to listen to that…that…peasant talk some more.”

The invective sipped out of Lyonette’s mouth before she could stop it. She caught herself, frowning, and then turned and hurried away from the shop, suddenly ashamed. Lyonette walked past a gossiping couple of women, hurried down a street past a man with a cart full of radishes, and towards the base of the Players of Celum. All the while she was thinking to herself, barely noticing the people around her.

Peasants. Wasn’t that what Lyonette used to call them? It felt like a foreign word now. A stupid one to apply to everyone who crossed her path. True, it was somewhat accurate because they weren’t royalty, but—no.

“That was old Lyonette. Old me. I’m not like that. Judgmental. Stupid.”

Lyonette muttered to herself. The man with the wheelbarrow gave her an odd look. Lyonette gave him a strained grin and he decided to cross the street to the other side. The [Princess] shook her head.

It had just been a slip of the tongue. But it was a good reminder. She couldn’t be old Lyonette. Not bossy, not stuck-up. She had to be nice, and friendly, a good [Barmaid], a helpful friend…

Perfect. Meek, unassuming, content to be a [Barmaid]. And that was something Lyonette didn’t enjoy either. She’d loved running Erin’s inn without Erin. Being a host, being in charge.

Being a [Princess]. Pawn had shown her that. She didn’t want to be just in the background, but the old her had been a nightmare. So where was the compromise?

Lyonette shook her head. She felt more and more like the old her, sometimes. It was her [Princess] class reminding her. That was why she’d volunteered to run Erin’s inn while the [Innkeeper] went on a semi-vacation. She’d wanted the job, wanted the power. She had so many ideas…

At last, Lyonette came to the large storehouse that had been converted into the base for the Players of Celum. It was, of course, locked, and usually had a pair of hired [Guards] lounging about the front to prevent fans of the Players from breaking in and watching the [Actors] at work.

They weren’t here today. Which was curious. And slightly worrying. Lyonette hesitated, and then knocked hard on the door. She waited impatiently for a few seconds, knocked louder, and waited some more.

“Maybe they’re out?”

Lyonette wondered if she should do the Erin thing and push her way into the storehouse. But was that too bold? Too rude? Too much like old Lyonette? Because she wanted to. She knocked a third time, and then put her hand on the door’s handle. She was about to yank the door open when someone pushed from inside.

“Whoops!”

The young woman sprang back. She saw an unfamiliar face appear in the doorway. A young man, with a painted face. An [Actor]. He wasn’t one Lyonette recognized by name, but she’d seen his face in some of the plays. She blinked at him and he blinked at her. Then his eyes widened.

“Miss Lyonette?”

“Uh—Temile?”

The [Actor] nodded. He pushed the door open and beckoned Lyonette in.

“Come in, come in! I didn’t expect to see you today! Apologies—we were practicing and we barely heard—is Miss Erin alright? Is the inn open at last?”

Lyonette stepped into the storehouse and looked around. The Players of Celum had bought the place with the first of their earnings and turned it into a miniature theatre and dressing room. There were wigs, costumes, fake weapons, a stage to practice on and seat for the ‘veteran’ [Actors] to critique the newbies, a place for Esme and the [Writers] to come up with new material or alter Erin’s plays, and so on. It was a bustling place, or it had been the other two times Lyonette had visited it.

But today the storehouse was almost empty. A dozen people were in the building, three on the stage, the rest watching. There was one person fiddling with the costumes. Lyonette stared around. The Players of Celum was a troupe of over sixty members now! They were the hottest thing since flaming Corusdeer! Where was Wesle? Jasi? Grev, and Esme? Kilkran?

“Temile, where is everyone? Are they performing?”

“Ah. Well, you see—I wish we’d been able to tell you. But what with the siege of Liscor and us not knowing when Miss Erin’d be back, and then the door going dead and—”

Temile was hesitating. His painted face, already supposed to look sad, looked even more apprehensive as Lyonette turned to him.

“What? Did they start performing at other inns? That’s fine, but Erin’s inn is back open. And we could really use the business…what?”

“You see, Miss Lyonette—and don’t be angry, it’s not my choice! Wesle and the others were talking it over, but we gave Miss Erin our word we wouldn’t put on plays anywhere but her inn. But everyone needs paying for food and families and so on, and we were just sitting there. And then came along an offer—”

“An offer?”

The [Actor] nodded miserably.

“A good one. From Lellisdam.”

Lyonette had never heard the name before. Temile elaborated.

“It’s a big city. Nearly eighty miles north of here. Far from Celum, but it’s one of the bigger cities on the road north.”

“Eighty miles? And they left? Without telling us?”

Lyonette was horrified. Temile winced.

“Well…you were out of touch! There was talk of war with the Drakes, and the [Mayor] of Lellisdam had heard rumors of our acts! He sent us gold as an advance, promised to pay for the entire troupe to come down the road with an escort…there was a huge argument about it. Lots of debates.”

“But in the end, they chose to go?”

Lyonette felt weak at the knees. Temile sighed.

“It weren’t easy, but yes. Jasi wanted to tell Erin, but the offer wasn’t going to sit. So…I’ve got a letter from her to Miss Erin explaining. The Players left for the north. Me and two of the old crew, Damius and Rima, stayed with some of the new recruits. We’ve been sitting here, learning the old plays and living off the funds from the main group. The plan was that if you took a long time to get here we’d train up a new group while Wesle, Jasi, and the others earned money up north. There’s tons of interest in our plays, and no one in the north’s even heard of us yet. There’s a fortune to be made. So…”

“I get it.”

Lyonette spoke flatly. So, the Players had gone. She shouldn’t be surprised. Not really. But she was anyways. And she’d been counting on them to start pulling their old crowds in. Now…Lyonette looked about at the handful of [Actors] and the recruits. One of them was on stage. Lyonette could see him waving his hand about like a boneless chicken. Temile followed her gaze and winced.

“They’re new. But they want to learn, and we’re working on them. Not everyone’s got Kilkran’s voice, or Jasi’s instinct.”

“Can they put on a play? I was hoping we could have you back. But…”

Lyonette stared at the [Actors]. Temile nodded hurriedly.

“Of course! We’re overjoyed to have the inn open. And we’ll put on a performance tonight! Dead gods, this is the time to recruit those Drakes and Gnolls, isn’t it? We might not be able to do as well as Wesle and Jasi, but with time and practice—we’ll draw in some crowds, at least, I’m sure. Why, with a few weeks to get our new group up to speed…”

He faltered a bit as Lyonette looked at him. But all the [Princess] did was nod, and put a fake smile on her face.

“I’m sure Erin will be delighted. And yes, by all means come tonight. There were Drakes and Gnolls interested in joining. I’m sure they’ll be…a real help.”

“We could use more hands. Er, claws, paws, and whatever. So ah, tonight? I’ve got to tell the others if we’re actually going to—I mean, prep them. We’ll do a simple play, I think.”

The man edged away from Lyonette. She nodded and saw him hurry over to the Players, shouting and pointing back at her. One of the young women on stage seemed to be taken with a bout of stage fright already. The actor with the floppy hand had the opposite reaction and began emoting with twice the waving of his arm. Lyonette debated staying, but decided she couldn’t. If she did, she might end up saying something she’d regret.

She went back the way she’d come, fuming a bit inside, and trying not to be angry. Part of her wanted to take the [Actor] to task. Would it have been that hard to send someone with a message? Really? Instead, the Players had just left for greener pastures. But she bit her tongue—it was entirely understandable of them.

Understandable, but it didn’t make Lyonette less angry. But she was slightly proud of herself for not blowing up at Temile. It would have done no good. She’d be polite, nice, and if they fouled up on stage and drove away her guests—

“I’m back!”

Lyonette slammed the door on Octavia before the [Alchemist] had a chance to pester her. She saw the adventurers were still at their tables, and Mrsha was watching Dawil arm-wrestle Typhenous. And lose.

“Damn it! What kind of spell is that?”

The Dwarf roared in frustration as the elderly [Mage] cackled. Lyonette sighed, but then saw Ishkr poke his head out of the kitchen.

“We’ve got the Players of Celum tonight? Should I get ready for a lot of customers?”

“Yes, and no. We’ll probably get some crowd, more from Liscor, at least until they realize what’s changed.”

Lyonette sighed. Ishkr raised his eyebrows, but she didn’t elaborate.

“Send one of the Gnolls—Rishka? Into the city and spread the word that the Players will be performing tonight. But maybe only people interested in joining should come. I’m going there too. I’ll be back.”

“Understood.”

Ishkr nodded. Lyonette walked towards the magic door. She slipped through it, not noticing or caring that Dawil, in his huff, had gotten off to pee away his frustrations. He slammed the door open and it slowly began to close. No one cared; they were all busy watching Typhenous begin to arm-wrestle Falene, both [Mages] actively casting spells on themselves and each other.

The door bounced back slowly towards the shut position. And that was fine, because Dawil would close it on the way back in. Or someone else would. Mrsha was too responsible to go outside without a Gnoll watching her now, and the zombies had mostly been eradicated. This was an inn full of adventurers, so what was the worry?

None at all. Unless of course, a completely faerie flower drugged Ashfire Bee decided that it was going outside. Then you might have a problem.

—-

Apista the bee spoke to herself for the first time. It was not the way a bee thought, but she had eaten from flowers and so it felt fine.

She said, or whispered, or spoke however a bee does, “Oh, I am a bee, and a bee I must be. But what is a bee, if a bee is not free?”

There was no one to listen, or even to hear. And her other half, the bee that walked and thought, wasn’t here. She had been, but now she was distant, as it sometimes happened. “Damn magic,” thought Apista, though she had no notion of magic or how to swear.

In other days, Apista might have lain and thought deep thoughts about flowers and basked in the sun. But oh! Look there! She saw an open door, a crack. And a great plot was begun.

Stealthily, as stealthily as a bee could be. Apista crept towards the door. It was a fabulous plan, as smart as an Ashfire Bee could hatch. But it was foiled by the creature of scales who came through the door, as loud as thunder, as loud as a boar.

“Ishkr! I’m here to work! Hey—”

Apista took wing, racing for the door. The thing of scales exclaimed, “Oh no! Apista! Shut the door!”

She lunged, but the door was ajar and the Dwarf coming through already sloshed at the bar. Apista flew at his face and he jumped in surprise. The scaly thing, whose name might be Drassi, shouted, “Stop her! Get her, Dawil!”

And the Dwarf leapt for her, ready to foil her plans. But clever, she, the bee. She dodged and wove around the grasping hands, landed in the beard and crawled up the screaming face. Then she leapt again and flew out the door. Apista laughed at the one chasing her of scales and fright. She shouted at them in words they could not hear, “At last, I fly free!”

And then she was airborne! Apista flew through the skies. Free for once of her hive of wood. Free at last, as free as a bee. As free as could be. Until a terrible thought occurred to her. She was free, but could she be? (She was clearly still high or drunk or tripping, as you clearly can see.)

She had no hive, nor purpose. Apista flew through the skies, aimless and helpless, suddenly gripped by philosophical woes. She looked at the sky, and wept, only bees do not weep. And there was no one to hear her. She was still hallucinating that she could speak.

“What reason have I?” cried the bee. “What am I to do? By what reason am I free?”

And the sky spoke. “You are alone.”

And the bee knew it to be true. So it flew across the land, looking for her other half. For she completed she, but even together they were a bee twice alone. For what is a bee without a queen? Two bees then, flew together. Neither one worker, neither one queen. But both in between.

So the bee found her other self and flew down to her. Asking, “What shall we do? What do you see? What pulls you, and how do you see me? What shall I do? By what reason am I free?”

Thus was began Apista’s great quest in the open. And in an inn made of wood, a Drake stood in the door. Drassi stared at the open sky, mouth agape. Dawil swore as he felt at his beard that Apista had crawled up, and Drassi saw Apista’s form grow smaller and smaller in the sky. She gulped and looked back at Ishkr, who’d arrived too late.

“Oh, Ancestors. Lyonette is going to kill me.”

—-

Lyonette’s journey to Liscor was uneventful, at least to begin with. She made her way down Market Street, saw a familiar Gnoll at her stall, and made her way towards her. She got halfway there when an angry voice shouted at her.

“There, you see? The [Thief]! I’ve been telling everyone, that inn is just a den of criminals! Look at her, without the decency to stay out of the city! She was exiled! And look! She’s swanning right about, defying the law. Just like that!”

Lyonette jumped. She looked around and saw the shouter was a familiar Drake. Lism was shouting from his stall, his scales red and purple as he shouted at the people around him.

“Not only did that damn Human bring a Goblin into our homes, but a [Thief]! They caused riots in the city and one of their flesh-loving friends nearly drowned me in the confusion! Are we to let this pass? I ask you! You, Shopkeeper Malvilla, didn’t that [Thief] steal from you? And you, Skemil? And even honored Krshia over there was a victim! But it appears that Gnolls forgive and forget too easily! Not so with Drakes, I say!”

An accusatory claw was pointed at Lyonette. She flushed as all eyes turned towards her. The two [Shopkeepers] mentioned gave Lyonette dark looks. Lism, still spitting outrage, pointed at Lyonette.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself? Nothing? Just like a Human! First your kind attack our city with Goblins, and now—”

“Shut up, Lism! No one wants to hear it. I came here to buy fruits, not hear you spray.”

A passing Drake shouted, annoyed. Lism turned his wrath on the Drake.

“Oh yes? And where were you when the Humans were throwing rocks at our gates? Waiting to welcome your Human friends with open arms?”

The Drake glared and opened his mouth. Not coming up with a response, he went with a simpler option and turned his claw into a fist.

“Shut it. Or I’ll shut that mouth for you.”

“Oho? You and what Humans? Got an army of fleshbags with you?”

“That’s it—”

Lyonette slunk away from the argument towards Krshia’s stall. The two Drakes were shouting at each other. Lyonette’s ears were crimson as Krshia waved her closer. The Gnoll bared her teeth, her eyes flashing as she looked at Lism.

“Pay no notice, Lyonette. He’s been angry since someone tried to drown him in the baths. And angrier still since half the city thinks it’s a pity whoever did it didn’t finish the job.”

“I—thank you.”

The [Princess] felt her cheeks redden. She looked at Lism. He was getting jeered on as the Drake on the ground challenged him to leave his stall and take a few swings, but there were a number of people still glaring daggers at her. Her and Krshia. Mostly Drakes, but a few Gnolls too.

“Has he been like this all the time?”

Krshia grimaced and dug at her ear. Lyonette realized she’d packed some wax in there as makeshift earplugs.

“All of yesterday, the day before, and today. The Watch warned him twice to keep it down, but he’s argued they’re showing favoritism since they didn’t investigate who tried to drown him. So they’re letting him waste his breath. I wish I could say that I had the same hopes, but that’s the price of healing and stamina potions, no?”

She grimaced. Lyonette nodded. She glanced back at Lism.

“He’s right. But wrong. I was let back into the city, but I didn’t ask for it. Zel intervened on my behalf. And it wasn’t us who led the Goblins here. Erin fought the Goblin Lord’s army.”

Krshia nodded. The Gnoll knew everything Lyonette was saying, but the [Princess] had to say it again. Just to hear it and not what Lism was shouting.

“It is a fact most Gnolls know, Lyonette. And we have settled our debts. Ignore Lism—he speaks because he cannot act. And those who listen reveal themselves. Myself, I just wish I had better earplugs.”

She offered Lyonette a toothy grin. The young woman half-smiled. She wished she could shout all those things back at Lism. But she had no ground to stand on. She had burned down Krshia’s shop and stolen from half the shops on this street. Every time she came here she did feel their gazes on her. But she hoped she could rectify that today.

“I’m not staying long. But can you add some sugar to my delivery list for tomorrow?”

“Hrr. Of course. How much?”

“Um. Make it a big sack. I know it’s pricey—”

Krshia waved that away.

“Not so much now that the siege is lifted and spring begun, yes? One of the [Merchants] already made it from Celum. His goods were pricey, but the prices will already go down. Sugar is expensive since it comes from Baleros, but there are no wars there to drive up the price either.”

“Lucky for us, hrm?”

Krshia blinked, and then laughed at Lyonette’s imitation of her way of speaking.

“Go along with you now! Unless you want to hear Lism bellowing more?”

Lyonette did not. She walked away from the market, but not before Lism got a few parting shots in.

“Hah! Look at that! Running like the cowardly Human she is! Not a tail to tuck between her legs! Hey—don’t you climb onto my stall! You attack me and I’ll call the Watch! I have a right to free speech! Not that a Human-loving pervert would understand anything off—”

For a second Lyonette thought about going back. For a second. But no. Running up to Lism and calling him a peasant with eggs for brains would not be helpful. As much as she wanted to do just that. Lyonette walked down the street, passing by Drakes and Gnolls and knowing they could see her red cheeks and ears. And then, like that, a bee fell out of the skies and landed on Lyonette’s head.

“Apista!?”

The Ashfire Bee buzzed, her wings flapping rapidly as the Drakes and Gnolls took one look at the oversized insect and sprang away. Lyonette grabbed at Apista as the bee wobbled erratically around her in flight. The Ashfire Bee’s thoughts were disjointed, but Lyonette caught confusion, desperation, and—melancholy from her. She’d never sensed these emotions from Apista. Or seen her act like this!

“What is going on with you? And how did you get out of the inn? Did Mrsha let you out? Is something wrong?”

Lyonette scolded the bee. But Apista didn’t seem worried, or in battle-mode as she might if something was wrong, like the inn being attacked. She landed on Lyonette’s open palms at last and fanned her wings. The [Princess] brought her up to eye-level, hesitated as she noticed the crowd staring at her, and made a rapid decision.

“Just hold on to me and don’t make a fuss, understand? I’m bringing you right back to the inn. After I—drat. You know what? Just stay here.”

Lyonette placed the bee on her shoulder and started walking. And despite the bee’s odd emotions, it did obey. Lyonette could do that, at least. She hurried down the street. Apista helped her make better time than usual; half the pedestrians took one look at Lyonette and decided to walk around her.

“I wonder if owning other pets is like this. Father used to have a dog, but it’s not the same as [Beast Tamers] raising an animal, is it?”

The young woman groused as Apista rubbed her face on her shoulder. She still felt the bee’s wooziness, quite intensely in fact. Lyonette hadn’t noticed it, but now she realized it was the same feeling she got from Apista every morning.

“It’s the faerie flowers, isn’t it? Of all the—no wonder you lie about all day! I’m going to have to stop you from eating those! Why didn’t I notice it until now?”

Predictably, Apista didn’t respond. But Lyonette sensed the bee sobering, or waking up, or…doing whatever bees did to flush out their system as she walked down the street. She guessed that Apista would usually go back to the faerie flowers for seconds or even thirds.

Idiot. Lyonette sighed as she pushed the door open to the Watch Barracks and strode in. She marched up to the front desk. A Gnoll was on duty. He looked bored—right up until he noticed the bee on Lyonette’s shoulder. Then he stared at that as if it was the most interesting thing he’d seen all day.

“Uh. Excuse me, Miss?”

Lyonette pointed at Apista.

“Pet. I’m a [Beast Tamer]. May I ask if the Watch Captain is in today?”

“Um. She is. Are you looking to see her about…?”

The Gnoll waved at the bee. Lyonette shook her head.

“I’d like to request an appointment. I can do that, right?”

The Gnoll tore his gaze away from the bee. He looked at Lyonette, blinked, and then nodded.

“You can…I’ll send up a request. But ah, she’s usually busy. If this is a minor matter, I or another [Guardsman] on duty could help you out, Miss…?”

“Lyonette. And no, I’d like to speak to the Watch Captain.”

The Gnoll frowned dubiously, but with a sigh, and another look at Apista, he got up and walked up the stairs to the second floor of the barracks. He came back a few moments later and shook his head.

“She’s busy. If she has time, she’ll hear your request. Please take a seat.”

Lyonette’s spirits fell, but she did find a seat. The barracks were full of activity—people coming in, Drakes or Gnolls being charged or paying fines, other [Guards] doing paperwork or chatting—it only occurred to Lyonette after a moment that the Gnollish [Guardsman] at the desk had omitted an important detail.

“Excuse me.”

He looked up and sighed.

“Yes?”

“How long did Watch Captain Zevara say I’d have to wait?”

The Gnoll frowned. He was scribbling on something on the desk, with the air people had of something quite important. Since Lyonette could see the nude sketch he was doing of a Gnoll (not much different from a regular sketch, honestly), she wasn’t impressed. The [Guardsman] covered the paper with one paw and spoke briskly.

“She didn’t say, Miss Human. Watch Captains are very busy individuals. If you have a concern, I can redirect it to a Senior Guardsperson. However, for Watch Captain Zevara…”

“I see.”

“Please have a seat. I will let you know if Watch Captain Zevara wishes to see you. If you’d like, I can schedule you for a formal appointment.”

“And when would that be?”

“Watch Captain Zevara would have to make the determination. But perhaps later this week? Next week?”

Lyonette stared at the Gnoll. He stared back, the picture of helpful unhelpfulness.

“And will she have time for me today if I wait?”

“Maybe? It depends on—”

“Watch Captain Zevara. I see. Thank you.”

Lyonette went back to her seat. The Gnoll sighed in relief, muttered something about crazy Humans, and went back to his artwork. Lyonette sat very still as Apista crawled up the side of her face. A passing Drake, clearly hung over, walked past Lyonette, burping, and did a double-take. He pointed at her, laughed, and Lyonette remembered what she’d told herself.

Don’t be rude. Don’t be old Lyonette.

And then Apista started licking the sweat off the side of Lyonette’s face. Another Gnoll, younger, female, clearly new to her job, walked up. She hesitated.

“Miss Human? Do you know there’s a bee on your face?”

Lyonette looked up at the helpful Gnoll. Then she snapped.

—-

Apista’s faerie flower induced trip was slowly fading from her system. The bee had stopped believing she could make weird sounds with her mouth like Lyonette did, and stopped believing the sky was giving her sage advice. She was still muddled however, but she’d found Lyonette and she could sense the young woman’s emotions quite clearly as she clung to her face.

Exasperation, impatience, worry, guilt, more worry, and then…anger. It came from Lyonette, thorns amid flowers. Apista froze as the [Princess]’s turbulent emotions, came to a boiling point in the guard house. The anger was red hot and blossomed like flames. Instinctively Apista fanned her wings, but a hand caught her before she could fly and present her stinger to everything and everyone in the room as a warning sign.

“Stop.”

The command was mental and verbal. Apista felt it telling her to not fly about and cause a scene and stick to Lyonette. It was a powerful order, as if Lyonette were Apista’s queen of the hive. But the Ashfire Bee’s instincts were awakened by Lyonette’s anger and Apista wanted to sting something.

And yet…maybe it was the faerie flower nectar, or being so close to Lyonette. But Apista understood in a flash that this wasn’t a time for her stinger. Or rather, not her stinger. Because someone had kicked Lyonette’s hive, and the young woman was about to unveil her sting. So the Ashfire bee clung to Lynette’s shoulder as the [Princess] got up, marched over to the Gnoll at the desk, and asked where the toilet was.

—-

“Watch Captain Zevara?”

The Drake woman was writing at her desk, sorting through reports when the door opened. There was no knock, and no one announced themselves, as was customary of any [Guard]. Zevara looked up, already scowling, and opened her mouth to roar at whomever it was. She stopped as she saw it wasn’t one of her people, but a Human who opened the door and stepped into the room.

“What in the name of scaled rats—who let you in here?”

Zevara rose behind her desk. She recognized Lyonette of course. And she’d decided not to see the girl as soon as her desk-guardsman had told her the Human wanted an appointment. So seeing Lyonette in person made the Watch Captain even unhappier.

“How did you get in here? This is a restricted area!”

No one was supposed to just walk into a Watch Captain’s office. Lyonette shrugged, looking around. She had huge bee on her shoulder, waving its antennae at Zevara. But if the Drake let that slow her down, she’d never have survived Erin.

“I walked upstairs when the person at the desk wasn’t looking. When people on the second floor stopped me, I told them Erin sent me.”

“You what?”

Zevara nearly spat fire in disgust. She was going to smack at least a dozen heads down there. One [Innkeeper] could not do as she pleased! True, if there was anything that would qualify as an emergency, Erin Solstice could probably qualify. But this was ridiculous!

“If someone’s dead, or we’re under attack, or there’s a disaster about to happen—”

“There’s not. This is personal business.”

“Then get out.”

Lyonette stayed put.

“I was told you were busy. So am I. I won’t take up much of your time.”

Zevara felt heat rising in her chest. She fought down the instinct to flame, but some smoke still escaped as she glared at Lyonette.

“You think you can just walk in here and demand to talk to me?”

“Yes I do.”

That threw Zevara for a second. She stared at Lyonette. For a moment she debated shouting for someone to kick the girl out. But she had a feeling that might lead to Erin Solstice marching through her door in an hour. Rather than take that risk, she sat down, steepled her claws together, and glared at Lyonette, wishing she had [Evil Eye] as a Skill.

“Start talking.”

“I’ll have a seat, thank you.”

Lyonette walked forwards and calmly sat in the chair across from Zevara. Again, the Watch Captain blinked. She didn’t have a Skill that allowed her to use aura powers like a Wall Lord, but even without one, she’d mastered her hostile presence skill, as most busy people did. But Lyonette ignored the atmosphere as if it didn’t exist. In fact, she seemed…

Cool. Composed. Her chin was slightly raised, but not so high as to be condescending in any way. Just raised, and her shoulders and back were straight without slouching. She looked Zevara in the eye, and her voice was level despite the fumes coming from Zevara’s mouth. If Zevara had met a junior [Guardswoman] with that level of poise, she would have immediately promoted them on the spot.

Coming from Lyonette, the effect was almost intimidating. Zevara instinctively found herself sitting straighter and composing her thoughts, as if she were talking to another officer or someone she needed to impress, like Ilvriss. She caught herself doing it and stopped. With a growl, Zevara glared at Lyonette.

“What is it?”

“I’m here about my criminal record.”

Zevara hadn’t expected that either. She looked at Lyonette, frowning.

“What record? You mean, your exile and thefts? Taken care of. Or didn’t you notice that you’re strolling about my city without anyone arresting you?”

Maybe she’d heard Lism shouting in the Market Street. That damn [Shopkeeper] was agitating hard, but Zevara couldn’t really arrest him after she’d let the people trying to drown him in the bath off. Lyonette nodded coolly.

“I know that. And I also know that General Zel Shivertail interceded on my behalf. You can’t have been happy about that, war hero or not.”

“I was not. But I made an exception for him, and you got your sentence cleared. Good for you. You had connections. What’s your point?”

Zevara glared, reminded of the moment when Zel Shivertail, the Tidebreaker himself, had stridden into her office. No one had stopped him either. Now that was something you remembered all your life. And then Zevara felt the pang as she remembered his funeral. Lyonette shook her head.

“My point is that I broke a law. I was exiled. A crime fitting for the punishment.”

“And you’d like an apology, would you?”

If she did, Zevara would punch the girl. Or…maybe not. That was an Ashfire Bee, wasn’t it? Erin kept one of those as a pet? Zevara eyed the thing. Was it napping? Lyonette leaned forwards and the Drake looked back at her.

“I’m not asking for anything. In fact, I agree with the sentence. If anything, I think me being allowed into the city was the real problem.”

Thrown and thrown again. Zevara’s jaw opened a bit before she snapped it back shut. She stared at Lyonette. Why was the Human saying this?

“Really. You don’t mind the punishment, despite you nearly dying in the snow?”

It had been a cold day when they thrust the girl out of the gates. And they’d known it was close to a death sentence. But she’d have been dead at the paws of the Gnolls if she’d stayed, jail cell or not. Of that Zevara was sure. And Lyonette’s gaze didn’t waver.

“There must be law. And that was Drake law, wasn’t it? I survived. And I got a second chance, fairly or not, thanks to Zel Shivertail. I don’t think I’ll get a third.”

There must be law. The words came at Zevara, full of…authority. She actually believed that. Impressed, despite herself, Zevara leaned back in her chair.

“Really? What makes you say that?”

Lyonette blinked once, as if surprised.

“The letter of the law, of course. The punishment for offence in Drake cities differs from Human cities in Izril. And from Terandria. Jail time is customary, but offenders of lesser misdemeanors may pay off their debts and clear their names, if not their records, as though nothing had happened. The fines are steep, but Drakes take a more mercantile approach to punishment.”

She raised one finger as Zevara gaped. Now she sounded like some kind of [Lecturer]. Or…[Historian].

“On the other hand, severe offences are much less lenient. Depending on the severity, the least of the punishments employed will be exile. Sometimes exile with a hand or tail removed depending on the city. Thereafter a criminal is marked; if they commit an offence of similar severity in another city, they are put to death.”

Practically the definition of Drake law, at least in general. Zevara had never heard anyone quote it at her, at least, no one who wasn’t a Drake. She stared at Lyonette.

“And you know that how?”

The young woman, no [Barmaid], shrugged nonchalantly.

“I studied Drake law at one time. I never thought it would be useful. I’m well aware that the second time I break the law, I could be put to death.”

Studied where? But Zevara bit her lips on the question because she didn’t think she’d get an answer. She studied Lyonette, and realized the girl was moving towards a point. So, intrigued, she bit the bait.

“That is the law as described by most city-states. However, the implementation is hardly so strict. If you returned to stealing, I doubt I’d request the death penalty for that. In another city, perhaps. But your exile was also due to the Gnoll’s outrage at the time.”

“I understand that too. I’m not disputing it. But as I said, I was let back into the city without paying any fine. I’d like to redress that error.”

It took Zevara a second to work this out. Then her eyes narrowed.

“You want to pay the damages you caused?”

“That’s right.”

Lyonette met her eyes. The Watch Captain drummed her claws on the table.

“And just what would you like in return? No, wait—I think I get it now. You want your things back, don’t you?”

She could have just come out and said it. But from the way Lyonette smiled, slightly, with a polite twist to her lips that gave nothing away, Zevara felt like Lyonette had maneuvered her into making the connection. Quite adroitly too.

If she’d just come out and said she wanted to buy her old things, what would Zevara have done? Thrown her out. But if you looked at it like repaying your debts to the city…

“You took the artifacts I had on my possession at the time. That’s standard procedure as part of recouping costs. But I’m fairly certain none of them have worked for you, have they?”

Zevara frowned. She could barely remember the minutiae of her job, but she was organized, so she yanked open a drawer and paged through the Watch’s reports of miscellaneous objects in their possession. She found the piece of parchment, yanked it out, and studied it.

“Those artifacts? Between all the incidents plaguing Liscor, they weren’t exactly on the top of our list, but I recall…ah yes. They were almost all drained of mana, and the others seemed to be locked, due to keyword or some other nature of the enchantment. We were keeping them to have a Wistram [Mage] look at them when they checked the enchantments on our walls.”

“So you still have them. I’d like to pay my fine, and reclaim my items.”

Zevara looked at Lyonette. As she recalled, the girl had owned artifacts that not only gave her the [Invisibility] spell, but had allowed her to throw webs and even [Fireballs] among other things. Those were powerful artifacts.

“Why should I entertain that idea? You barged into my office, you’re a former [Thief], and those artifacts are quite valuable.”

“If you can use them. If not, they’re useless. You’d pay a [Mage] more money than it’s worth to uncover their secrets, believe me. And as I said, there must be law. My exile being commuted aside, if I pay my fine, I should be entitled to the confiscated goods, shouldn’t I?”

Damn. That did make sense. If you agreed with exiling Lyonette, it was fair to let her buy back her things. Zevara scowled. She’d let Lyonette nod to her exile being fair, so she was supposed to nod to this.

“Are you a [Diplomat] of some kind? A [Diplomat]’s child?”

That would explain a lot. A wealthy nobleman’s daughter, run from home. Lyonette blushed slightly.

“No, but I’m pleased you think so. About my possessions—”

“I’m thinking. Hold onto your tail.”

Zevara glared and thought, but only for a moment. She sighed and pulled up some scrap paper. Why was she doing this? Oh yes, to make a headache go away. That was why she did most things these days.

“You’ve made your point. Rudely, barging into my office without permission, I might add. No wonder Erin Solstice hired you. Now, your fines. According to the damage reports—and this is bearing in mind that I’m charging you three times the damage you’ve done—”

“The Drake custom. An eye for two eyes and a tail, right?”

Zevara almost dropped the quill she was holding. She glanced up at Lyonette. Was this the same [Thief] who’d shouted childish insults at her a few months ago? She nodded.

“Correct. Bearing that in mind, and from what the affected [Shopkeepers] have claimed…I’m going to ignore Lism’s claim here…and the notable absence of a substantive claim for Krshia’s shop, despite what the Gnollish reaction was at the time…forty seven gold coins.”

Lyonette sucked in her breath. Zevara eyed her.

“Too much?”

“No. Well, it is a high number. I suppose I’m just relieved it’s not more.”

Zevara shrugged.

“You burned some stalls. But those were trade goods, not exactly enchanted artifacts. Even so, you racked up a steep fine. Congratulations. Between your spells from those artifacts and raiding the shops, you managed to beat the previous offender’s record quite handily.”

Lyonette paused.

“Who was the previous offender?”

“The [Necromancer]. Pisces.”

“Of course.”

The young woman sighed. Then she fished some coins out of her belt pouch. Zevara saw the sparkle of gold. Lyonette placed them on the table, eight coins.

“Here you are. That’s how much I can pay right now. I have a salary with Erin, but I can’t afford to pay the entire fine now.”

“Not going to ask the [Innkeeper] to foot the bill?”

That was sarcasm, but to Zevara’s surprise, Lyonette shook her head.

“Her money needs to go to rebuilding the inn and…other things.”

Zevara suppressed the urge to whistle. For a moment her tail coiled in a knot of jealousy. Erin Solstice could afford to pay nearly fifty gold coins like that? She covered the instinctive emotion with a cough and looked at Lyonette.

“I’ll keep your artifacts impounded until the last coin is paid from your debt. But I will keep them. If you have a payment on your fine, place it at the desk and make them issue you a receipt.”

“Thank you. You’re very generous, Watch Captain.”

Lyonette smiled at Zevara. The Drake eyed her.

“I am, aren’t I? I don’t know how you talked me into that.”

Talking of law and reminding her of the death sentence. That was clever. Zevara felt a twinge of admiration, and covered that too with a dark glare.

“The next time you barge into my office, I’ll toss you out the window. Understand?”

“Perfectly. Thank you. I won’t waste your time anymore.”

Lyonette stood, nodded, and walked out of the room. Zevara saw the Ashfire Bee wave its antennae at her. She was gone so quickly Zevara was left staring at her back. The Drake blinked, stared at the eight gold coins, and swept them to the side. Drat. Now she’d have to divide and return the coin among the victims. And file a report.

Still, the encounter hadn’t left a sour taste in Zevara’s mouth, aside from the smoke. Lyonette. Zevara had never recalled the girl having as much presence, or being so…reasonable. Probably because Erin was the one Zevara was used to talking with. This had been almost pleasant. Now, why couldn’t Erin be as easy to deal with? Zevara sighed, returned to her work, then got up and strode downstairs to yell at the Gnoll manning the desk. A good shouting always made her feel better.

—-

Victory! Lyonette wanted to punch the air as she left the watch barracks. The Gnoll at the front desk had seen her coming down the stairs and was getting to his feet, but he never got a chance to speak. Zevara had come down the stairs like a storm and Lyonette had practically skipped out as she gave the Gnoll a tongue-lashing.

On her shoulder, Apista nestled next to Lyonette. Aside from the prickling of her legs, she was pleasant company. Her wings thrummed quietly and Lyonette felt the bee mirroring her satisfaction.

That was the way to do it. Not by yelling, or throwing a tantrum like a child. Be an adult, but be confident, be brave. Copy the examples Lyonette had seen at court, from foreign dignitaries, [Kings] and [Queens], not just her parents.

Back straight, chin up, glide, don’t walk. Act as if you have every right to be on the street and no one else does. No wait—ignore that last bit. Everyone has a right to the street, but you own the street. Something like that. Yes.

The next stop Lyonette made was a quick one. She asked for directions twice, both times from people with pets. The first time a Drake with a cat on a leash which neither was happy about, the second from a Gnoll who owned a dog. They directed her to a shop filled with noise. Lyonette opened the door and heard a minor commotion in the back.

There was a bell on the counter, and cages around the room. Only half of them were in use; a number of cats were lazing in the sunlight in the store front, and there was a dog sniffing something on the ground. Birds in cages who went still the moment Apista came in. The Ashfire Bee fanned her wings and Lyonette soothed her.

She rang the bell. The shop went insane for a few seconds, and then a Gnoll poked his head out of the back.

“One second, please! Thank you! Everyone else—quiet!”

The shop went silent, as the dogs and birds and one lizard all went still. One of the cats looked up and meowed defiantly, but the rest were quiet until the Gnoll came out. He had blood on his paws, and there was whimpering coming from the back. A dog? The Gnoll wiped his paws on his fur and looked at Lyonette. His eyes focused first in the bee on her shoulder, and then on her face. His eyes widened with recognition.

“Sorry. I was dealing with a dog who had toothache problems. I had to pull—but I see there is no Mrsha. Is this a business call, or social? Miss Lyonette?”

He remembered her. Lyonette smiled.

“Business, Mister Elirr. I wanted to ask for advice. Do you have the time?”

“Of course. I take it has to do with that bee? I recall it from the inn. Quite a fierce one too. I ah, have a seat. I have a seat somewhere around here…”

The older Gnoll looked about. Lyonette shook her head.

“I won’t impose long. Unless—I am imposing?”

Her conversation with Zevara and Lism’s shouting had reminded her of the injustice she’d done the Gnolls. But Elirr waved that away with a brisk paw.

“You are known to the Gnolls of Liscor. But the debt was paid. Moreover, you are Mrsha’s caretaker and she is owed a debt. Come in. I can give you—shoo!”

He scared a cat off a stool and offered it to Lyonette. Then he found a tea cup, some tea, and before she knew it, they were sitting and chatting at the counter. The Gnoll grinned at her.

“Pardon the animals, yes? They’re part of the job, but sometimes it seems they’re training me.”

Lyonette smiled politely. Part of her was still humming from her encounter with Zevara. So she acted more like that Lyonette and less like the polite, helpful, personality-less [Barmaid].

“You’re a [Beast Trainer], aren’t you? [Beast Tamers] and [Beast Masters] raise only a few animals at most.”

“Ah, you understand our class.”

“I’ve known some of both. [Falconers], [Kennel Masters], and so on.”

Elirr sniffed.

“Specialists. I deal in pets, myself. More variety and challenge that way. But between you and me, I’ve tamed Shield Spiders for a dare and handled Griffin babies, but cats are the worst.”

He raised his voice. A few of the cats lounging at the window looked up as if they understood. Elirr glared at them.

“Yes, you! I don’t care if you’re all intelligent. You’re pests! If you eat another bird by unlocking the cages, I will eat you, understand?”

One of the cats lifted its tail and displayed its rear end. Lyonette laughed with delight as Elirr hurled a pellet of dried dog food at it.

“They can understand you? I had no idea?”

The Gnoll shrugged, but he was smiling, and his tail wagged.

“It depends on the species. You know [Beast Tamers] and such classes improve an animal? Dogs can grow beyond their natural size, or run faster, become tougher—it applies to all animals. All can learn some intelligence, if you have the right Skills. But some animals are naturally smarter.”

“And cats are smarter than dogs?”

“Would you doubt it? Or perhaps cats are more suited to some things. I can train a dog to fetch wounded [Soldiers] from battle, or even apply healing potions—so long as the bottles are properly scented for them to pick out. But I can never tell how intelligent the cats get. I think they can understand words, at least some of them. But maybe they just understand tone? They’re clever enough to insult, at least.”

Lyonette looked down at a pure white cat that was twining about her legs. It leapt up onto her lap, clearly demanding a scratch. Apista fanned her wings and the cat hissed at the bee.

“Enough of that.”

Elirr snagged the cat with one paw, deftly hoisting it up by the neck. The cat yowled, protesting the indignity, but Elirr was soon scratching it behind the ears and it was purring loudly. Lyonette let Apista crawl down her arm and stroked the bee very carefully with a fingertip. Elirr eyed the bee.

“I have never seen a [Beast Tamer] with an insect before. I’ve met some who had such creatures, but they live such short lives that it hardly happens.”

Lyonette felt a pang as she thought about how long Apista might live. She hoped Ashfire Bees lived longer than regular ones, however long that was.

“Really? Like what?”

“Oh—a Lizardwoman who kept ants. A colony as snacks as much as entertainment. A Dullahan who raised beetles. Not roaches, you understand. Beetles with big shells and huge horns.”

“Oh! I’ve seen pictures of them. Terandria doesn’t have many.”

“Yes. Hrr. Apparently some Dullahans like them as pets. But as I say, they aren’t my expertise. Still, I assume you’ve come because this one is acting up?”

Elirr offered a finger to Apista. Lyonette was afraid the Ashfire Bee would show her stinger, but there was something about the Gnoll that appealed to the bee, because she walked up Elirr’s arm, fanning her wings. The Gnoll smiled.

“Ah, Ashfire Bees. I know something of them. Deadly and immune to smoke or fire which most would use to harvest honey. A terror for adventurers to fight—as many monsters are. But their honey is sweetest yet. I wondered how Krshia came by any honey from their hive. It made a lovely snack and the cats enjoyed it with their milk. I understand more, now.”

Lyonette nodded.

“I got Apista from that hive. I have a trick—but I’ve raised her and not done much with her, until now. Today she found me in the city. She must have slipped out the door. I don’t know how I should raise her. Any tips?”

Elirr puzzled that over for a second.

“Hm. You mean, how you should level or how to make her obey?”

Lyonette didn’t want to mention she had consolidated her [Beast Tamer] class into [Worldly Princess]. She hesitated.

“Both. I mean, she obeys just fine most of the time. But what should I do with her?”

The Gnoll frowned.

“Do? Nothing. If she is a pet, she is a pet. Feed her. Love her. That is all. But if she is not, then you have a problem. I see it sometimes with those who buy animals I have bred to war and keep them as pets. Animals have a nature to which they are inclined. It may be Apista seeks to realize that nature—or that she is simply uncontrollable.”

“Uncontrollable?”

Elirr nodded.

“Some animals are beyond [Beast Tamers] or even [Beast Masters] unless you are high enough level. Some…beyond even the highest-leveled, I suspect. I do not know. A [Beast Tamer] over Level 40 is exceptionally rare. I can think of a Named Adventurer who is so high, but no higher. So functionally, yes, there are animals that cannot be tamed. I could barely tame a Griffin, and only to the most basic of social functions, for instance. And insects may be too foreign for some training. Like Crelers, for instance.”

“Someone’s tried to train a Creler?”

Lyonette was appalled. Elirr nodded.

“Fools do anything, and there was a point. Imagine one of those in war? But it was futile, as I’m sure you can imagine. The first of the [Beast Tamers] who tried it enjoyed some success. Hrr. But it was short lived. He was found two months later in his home, dead. The Creler had devoured half of him and laid eggs in the rest. More tea?”

Lyonette hesitated, then saw the twinkle in Elirr’s eye. So she gave him a polite smile.

“Please.”

The Gnoll guffawed and filled her cup.

“Ah, but you are different than I thought you’d be! As befits one who raised Mrsha. Again and again I must change my thinking. But where was I? Crelers. Even the [Beast Master] who took the case found the Crelers were simply too instinctual, too…predatory to handle. The most he could do was direct them like a weapon, and as they grew older, their destructive instincts only increased. They are all hunger with little else to guide them. And the adults? The Gnoll who tried it told me she sensed a dark intelligence from it. Too intelligent. She suspected it was gaining too much from her Skills and had it destroyed at once. Terrible things.”

“So, a [Beast Master] can truly make an animal intelligent.”

Elirr raised a finger.

“To a point. But only beasts, I think. A truly intelligent creature, say, a Unicorn, if one existed, might not qualify as a beast but person. And some animals grow truly smart, but I have never met one I thought I could carry a conversation with. They were only able to grasp a bit of nuance, learn to perform small tasks. If they had more potential, they would not be animals, yes?”

“True. So is Apista a pet, or something I can’t control?”

Elirr studied the Ashfire Bee.

“She has not stung me, which is a positive. Have you any Skills with her?”

“Uh…[Crimson Stinger] and [Lesser Bond].”

“Ah. Then I would not worry. The [Beast Master] who took the Creler could not bond with it. A bond denotes trust between master and animal. If you have it, she will obey most things, even if she does not understand. What she becomes depends on you.”

That reassured Lyonette. She smiled and thanked Elirr, and traded for his cat while he stroked Apista’s back and checked her over. She left a few minutes later as Elirr bade her farewell. He declined to accept payment, but left her a bit of advice.

“If you wish to tame this bee, I might suggest giving it a purpose, even if that purpose is only to be loved. I raise the dogs to be either companions or war hounds. Either suits, depending on the nature of the dog, and they can be shaped by lessons and Skills. But they must have purpose, or to what reason do we tame them?”

That was true. Lyonette looked at Apista. She felt guilty, remembering how she left the bee to its devices or to play with Mrsha so often. If she should carry Apista around or have her on a leash or some kind—both ideas were fairly ridiculous—or she needed to let the bee…be a bee. And how did you do that? Lyonette didn’t know, but she resolved to find out.

—-

Before she left the city, Lyonette made one last stop, and this one was happy chance. She’d been intending to wait for Pawn to come by, although she feared he was still in mourning, but she saw a gathering of Drakes and a few Gnolls at an intersection and stopped to see what was happening. Then she spotted a familiar burly Drake and an Antinium, distinct because he had only two arms and slimmer frame, as well as twin silvery swords, at the center of the gathering.

“Excuse me. Pardon me. I have business with that Antinium.”

Lyonette tried to force her way towards Klbkch, but she was rebuffed. A [Princess]’s haughtiness got her pretty far with Zevara, but there are some who generate their own natural egos that could resist even a [King]’s presence. She ran up against one such individual now in the form of an older Drake with slightly faded orange scales.

“We all have business with that Antinium, young Human. So wait your turn!”

She shook a claw in Lyonette’s face. The [Princess] backed up a step and Apista fanned her wings. Lyonette soothed the bee and looked at the Drake.

“My apologies, Miss…?”

The Drake harrumphed.

“Elissa Slipscal, Miss. Not Slipscale—that’s a fault many Humans make! Now, if you don’t mind? I’m protesting to Senior Guardsman Klbkch about the rent.”

She turned back to Klbkch, who was writing and listening to the other Drakes and Gnolls. Relc hesitated, then waved at Lyonette when he saw her. She waved back, then directed her attention to the discussion. Predictably, Elissa Slipscal’s was the loudest voice.

“The rent’s gone up another four coppers this week! Four coppers! On top of last month’s rise? It’s nearly doubled what it was when I first moved here! Honest Drakes can’t afford to keep the rent rising, but did that [Landlord] listen?”

“I would assume the answer is no, Miss Slipscal.”

Klbkch’s voice was polite and matter-of-fact. Relc rolled his eyes, but Elissa looked pleased at Klbkch’s response. It gave her more time to talk.

“And you are correct! He wouldn’t hear of a reasonable argument! And we’re not the only block with issues, you may believe it! Rent’s going up across the city! What will the Watch do about it?”

Klbkch folded the bit of parchment and addressed the crowd. Lyonette watched, partially admiring Klbkch’s poise. From one trained leader, at least, leader in theory to another, she could see that Klbkch had a presence similar to Zevara’s. It calmed the crowd and made them hang on his words, for all he was an Antinium.

“I believe this issue is one of predictable cause. Liscor is a city of finite size due to the static walls. It may be possible for the buildings to expand upwards or down, but that would require action on the part of the property owners. Until then, given the influx of adventurers and other visitors, space is at a premium.”

“A premium that comes at our expense! How will you fix this, Senior Guardsman?”

Elissa raised her voice. Klbkch nodded slowly.

“I can only relay your concerns to Watch Captain Zevara, but I will forward the issue to [Strategist] Olesm as a matter of city-wide concern. The issue of housing may be taken up by the Council, but the Watch will address any exorbitant rent issues.”

Amazingly, that seemed to satisfy the crowd. It wouldn’t have flown in a Terandrian city no matter who said it, but things were different here. One of the Gnolls, dressed with a skullcap, and minimal clothing besides, bared his teeth.

“Will you arrest the [Landlord], Senior Guardsman? I would enjoy watching that, yes?”

“I was instructed that doing so was technically out of our jurisdiction last time we did it. But I will defer to Senior Guardsman Relc’s judgment on the case.”

Relc, who’d been scratching his tail, looked up. The crowd glanced at him, at Klbkch, and murmured approval. So did Lyonette. Relc grinned.

“Don’t worry. We’ll talk sense to any greedy [Landlords]. Or I’ll trip, right Klb old buddy, huh?”

He elbowed Klbkch. The Antinium looked at his partner.

“Please stop elbowing me. I am aware of subtext.”

The crowd began to disperse, but to Lyonette’s chagrin, more Drakes and Gnolls wanted to talk to Klbkch. He was popular! This time Lyonette moved through the queue. Without Elissa to stop her, she made it to Klbkch. The Antinium turned to Lyonette.

“Ah. Miss Lyonette. How may I help you?”

“Hello Klbkch. I was hoping I could talk to you about the inn—”

“Oh! How’s Erin doing?”

Relc bared his teeth in a grin. Lyonette smiled.

“Good. She’s…good. You saw her, didn’t you?”

“Saw? Oh yeah. I’m glad she’s still doing well. I would have visited, but Klb’s been busy, and I—”

Killed Garen Redfang. People were still talking about that. Lyonette looked up at Relc. He was apparently famous for his past as the Gecko of Liscor, a soldier who’d fought in any number of battles in Liscor’s army. But all she could think of was Relc drinking, swearing, and causing trouble. As a retired war hero probably would act.

“I’m sure she’d…like to see you.”

“Really?”

“Maybe not.”

Relc’s face fell. Lyonette hurried to reassure him.

“Give her time.”

“Hey, I can’t blame her. I’ll keep it chill. Maybe pop by with Klb someday. Until then I can drink in the city—until the kid catches me.”

Relc winced. Klbkch ignored his partner as he turned to Lyonette.

“Relc’s familial problems aside—”

“Hey!”

“—what was it you wished to discuss, Miss Lyonette? The restoration of the inn? I have bookmarked a time for Belgrade to lead some Workers in reconstructing the third floor and Bird’s tower later this week.”

“You have? I’m very grateful, Klbkch, but I was actually hoping to modify the inn. I know the Antinium are busy—”

But not with what. Pawn, the one day he’d come to the inn to speak with Erin and sit quietly while Lyonette held his hand, had just said that every Worker and Soldier was involved in some kind of project. Klbkch’s face revealed nothing of what that might be, so Lyonette hurried on.

“—but I’d really love even a small team of Workers to get started. I have designs?”

She hopefully dug around in her belt pouch and showed Klbkch some of her sketches. Relc peered over Klbkch’s shoulder.

“Ooh. That looks good! I think. Why’s it look all funny?”

“Because they are a [Builder]’s blueprints. Not a sketch. I believe I should also call you a fool. Fool.”

Klbkch studied the blueprints Lyonette had worked up. He looked up and nodded slowly.

“I am impressed, Miss Lyonette. These blueprints are slightly inaccurate, but I understand what you intend by them. Were you trained as a [Builder] of some kind?”

The look he gave Lyonette said plainly that he knew she was not. She smiled sweetly at him. Klbkch was far harder to deal with than Zevara. Lyonette knew how to deal with an officer like Zevara. But Klbkch? Unreadable, different culture. No guessing at his true emotions.

“I read a few blueprints in the past. What do you think? Can it be done?”

Klbkch studied the diagram.

“Hmm. Extensive landscaping. And stone? I am offering Erin a discount on Antinium services, but even the cost of purchasing the raw materials will be somewhat expensive, Miss Lyonette. Does the inn have the funds?”

“I…think it does? But I was also hoping that I could pay you and negotiate repayment depending on the costs.”

Lyonette was banking on Klbkch’s relationship with Erin. The Antinium hesitated, and then his mandibles opened. He made a soft clicking sound almost like a sigh.

“I believe that would be acceptable. Still, you are correct that the Hive is busy. The Painted Antinium will resume patrols, but deployment of Workers outside the city will require either Pawn, Belgrade, or Anand to supervise. I will direct Pawn to meet with you tomorrow if he is…recovered. Will that be suitable?”

“Very much so. Thank you, Klbkch.”

He nodded to her.

“No thanks are needed. I am merely performing my duty as a [Guardsman]…and as a Revalantor of the Hive, apparently.”

Lyonette smiled and stepped back. She heard Klbkch call out to the crowd.

“Next? I am on duty for two more hours. If anyone has concerns you may address them to me or Senior Guardsman Relc—”

Everyone flooded around Klbkch, ignoring Relc. The Drake fished out a pouch of buttery popcorn and chortled to himself, content to eat the greasy fast food that had partially invaded Liscor. Klbkch was left alone as anxious people came to ask him questions.

Lyonette smiled as she saw him bending to address a little Gnoll who’d lost something. She heard another quiet sigh as she departed.

—-

The bug thing was gone. Only when Lyonette was far away did Apista stop trying to dig herself deeper into the Lyonette’s pockets. She was sure, sure, that the bug-thing had noticed her.

It had been a fun ride with Lyonette up till now. Of course, Apista hadn’t understood much of what Lyonette had done, but she’d appreciated the emotions filtering through to her. From anger and then ice-cold calculation and confidence at the barracks, to triumph and pleasant feelings with the big furry thing in the shop.

Apista had liked the furry thing. And she didn’t know why. And then more of…well, it wasn’t a positive emotion or a negative one. Lyonette sometimes just become focused, like Apista would when she was concentrating on a difficult task like navigating over a bunch of drunk people in the hive-inn. No bad emotions, in short, which Apista liked.

Of course, Apista had never gotten the answer to the question she’d asked in her drug-induced haze, but the bee could barely remember what had happened then. The nectar of the faerie flowers was potent but wore off leaving vague memories at best. Honestly, Apista didn’t know what kept her coming back—

Aside from the fact that the flowers were very magical. The effects aside, Apista felt something in her telling her that the flowers had what she needed, just like how a part of her told her when she needed sugar or water.

The same part of her had reacted to the bug thing. The big, brown-black bug. Apista didn’t like it. She didn’t like them, whenever they entered the inn, in numbers or just alone. She was afraid of them. In the same way a mouse feared a cat, or cows feared Wyverns. One was developed to eat the other, and Apista’s stinger would do little against Klbkch’s carapace.

Lyonette left the city with Apista clinging to her head, watching for the bug in case it followed her. It did not, but the bee was wary. She could sense Lyonette’s thoughts going concentrated again, and heard the young woman murmuring to herself as she headed back to her inn.

Only, she didn’t take the magical door. She poked her head into the inn for a second to reprimand the scaly thing, who was ‘very sorry, I tried to catch her, Lyonette’, and then collect a little basket she’d prepared this morning. And a sledge? Then Lyonette walked back out the door and exited Liscor’s gates, pulling the sledge behind her. She went up the mostly muddy hilltops, muttering to herself.

“A busy day. But if I can start saving gold coins—a thousand gold will pay for a lot of the renovations, but I can’t use it for my fine. Can I? Well, if I earn a few hundred gold coins—and how am I supposed to do that? More plays, I suppose. And Erin had some ideas on how to improve the inn…”

It was all noise to the bee. Apista fanned her wings, enjoying being out. She was never out. She was always in the inn. And while that had food and the white thing and was usually safe from bug things, the outdoors called to her. She would have taken wing and flown about, looking for flowers blooming in the mud, until she sensed something from Lyonette that made her hesitate.

Fear. Not just surprise, or anxiety, but a jolt of true fear. That made Apista’s stinger come out. She cast about on Lyonette’s head, but there was nothing that was dangerous around her. Not even Rock Crabs. And yet, Lyonette was afraid as she marched across the muddy terrain. She had her stinger with her, a steel sword sheathed in leather. And that basket.

Apista had no nose. But she had antennae, and that was better than any nose you could ask for. She could detect a very familiar scent coming from the basket. But something else was growing in the air, wafting towards Apista. It confused the bee, because it smelled like herself.

And then Apista spotted the cave where Lyonette was heading towards and she sensed them there. And they sensed her.

—-

It had been a long time since Lyonette gathered Ashfire Bee honey. A long time. No, only a month and a bit, right? The rains and floodwaters had stopped her, but it had barely been a month, hadn’t it? Why, just forty days ago she’d been in this cave, okay, maybe fifty days. Sixty? Sixty days, maybe, and she’d been at the mouth of this cave, ready to harvest honey and jelly and Ashfire Bees like it was nothing.

Only, it wasn’t nothing. Lyonette knew that. She could pretend it was easy, that she’d gotten used to it—and she had in a way—but the tension never left. As Lyonette prepared the small fire and the faerie flowers she’d gathered, she felt her hands shaking.

She made them stop, but the fluttering in her stomach wasn’t so easy to control. She was going to raid an Ashfire Bee nest for honey. And that wasn’t something you said lightly.

Ashfire Bees. Apista was clinging to Lyonette’s head, the size of two hands joined together. A little bit bigger, actually. The average Ashfire Bee was ‘only’ as big as a hand, or a hand and a half if you had smaller hands like Lyonette. That made them the biggest, nastiest, and deadliest bee, wasp, or hornet that Lyonette had ever encountered.

Their stingers wouldn’t just hurt, they could put out an eye forever. And the venom they pumped could kill you quite, quite dead. There were thousands in a hive. Lyonette had seen them. Each time she gassed the hive she’d cut into it and pull out a wall of honey, larvae, and see the bees, sleeping, fallen on the floor…

The hive filled the back of the cave the Ashfire Bees laired in. It was deadly to trespass there, regardless if you were an animal, monster, or adventurer. Lyonette imagined that even bears wouldn’t be able to steal Ashfire Bee honey. Okay, maybe a magical version of a bear like a Mossbear. But even so.

There was a…thrumming to the cave as Lyonette built the fire of dry wood and kindling. That made her heart skip several beats. The hive was awake. Last time she’d done this, hadn’t it been quiet? They’d been hibernating.

“But they’re probably not active yet, right? And if they are, so what? The smoke gets them even on the wing. It’s fine. Just light the fire and fan the smoke, Lyonette. Fine.”

The [Princess] whispered to herself. She remembered her first failed attempted with just fire and not the soporific faerie flowers. Bees, hurtling themselves into the snow like the ‘bullets’ that Erin had described in her stories. The buzzing—them killing a Rock Crab. Imagine how fast she’d die if they—

Lyonette realized she’d stopped building the fire. She shook herself. She could always back out. No, she’d told Erin she’d do this and she would. She could! More importantly, Ashfire Bee honey was worth a lot of money! She could sell this, claim some of it as her own money, and get her artifacts back. Imagine what she could do with them? Zevara had no idea what they could really do. Lyonette had wasted half their charges just getting to Liscor. If she had even the Cloak of Balshadow—

Control your fear. Be brave. Be a new Lyonette. You started it here when you raided the hive the first time. You can do it.

Lyonette’s breathing slowed. She took a few breaths, raised her chin, and put the faerie flowers on the fire. She felt at her head. Apista was…buzzing. Her wings beat rapidly as Lyonette lifted her down. She felt excited. But Lyonette mentally ordered her still. She didn’t want to risk scooping Apista up. She should have left her behind, honestly, but the Ashfire Bee’s presence reassured Lyonette. As if she knew what she was doing with Apista around.

“Okay. I can do this. Apista, you stay put, understand? Firewood, flowers…stay right there. I’m going in. And I’m going to come out with jars and jars of honey and bees. Pawn will be happy about that.”

Yes, think of Pawn. Lyonette put the two huge glass jars on the ground next to her. They were slightly muddy from the sledge. How would she drag this in the grass? No—if the hive became active, it would be dangerous even to get near. This might be the last time until the winter came again.

Lyonette wished that didn’t make her feel so relieved. But she took the emotion anyways to give her confidence. Slowly, carefully, she lit one of Octavia’s matches and tossed it on the kindling. It lit the dry wood and shavings at once.

Fire blossomed. Quickly, Lyonette stepped back and grabbed the long-handled fan she used. She began wafting the flames and smoke as the fire started devouring the wood—and the faerie flowers Lyonette had placed on the firewood.

You could use dry flowers, but Lyonette had found that fresh flowers actually worked better in some ways. It took longer for whatever was in them to burn, so the fire had more time to build. By the time they released their effects, Lyonette was fanning hard, blowing the smoke into the cave.

And holding her breath. Apista hovered well back from the cave as well. Lyonette knew how strong the faerie flowers were if you were close to them and she had placed the fire inside the cave to avoid the wind blowing the smoke in her face. Now, that had been an unpleasant moment, waking up in the snow half-frozen to death.

But this time the wind was stopped by the cave, and Lyonette was fanning hard. The smoke entered the cave and she heard the thrumming turn to a sudden roar. The bees had detected the smoke.

Normally, smoke calmed a hive. Bees would go into flight mode and begin devouring the honey, half-blinded by the smoke and confused, preparing to flee their hive if the fire enveloped the fragile fortress they’d built. But not so for Ashfire Bees. They were practically immune to fire; Lyonette had once caught Apista fanning her wings in the fireplace. And when they detected flames near their hive they went out and smothered them.

They were coming. This was the pants-wetting moment of the ordeal. The moment when the buzzing filled the cave and Lyonette sensed movement coming at her. She fanned desperately and saw the first bee shoot around the bend in the cave. It was an Ashfire Bee, not as big as Apista and stinger black instead of crimson, but huge, a giant among bees, poised for the attack—

It dropped and hit the floor with a small bump of sound. Lyonette breathed out slowly as the buzzing abruptly went out. There were more pattering of noise as the worker bees flying to investigate dropped, already asleep. Still, Lyonette kept fanning until the fire was mostly ashes. Only then did she grab her jars, punch the air in relief, and step into the cave.

“Bees first. Two big jars of bees, and two jars of honey.”

Lyonette muttered to herself as she grabbed a pair of tongs and began picking up unconscious bees. She’d enter the hive after that, slice her way in and grab as much honey as possible. And some larvae, why not? Klbkch had asked for some, and Pawn apparently considered it a delicacy.

Or was that too cruel to Apista? No, wait, wasn’t all of this cruel to Apista? Lyonette would feed her some royal jelly to make up for it tonight. Or—could she raise another bee? A sister for Apista? Or a brother? Wait, what gender was Apista anyways? Lyonette assumed she was female, but was there a definitive way of checking? Maybe Erin would—

The relieved thoughts flooding Lyonette’s head suddenly came to a stop. She turned her head slowly. Because she’d heard the sound.

A distant…buzzing. Not from inside the cave, but from behind her. Lyonette froze. And suddenly, she realized the error in her thoughts.

Normally it would work. Her faerie flower smoke plan, that was. In the winter, the bees would be in the hive, staying put and disinclined to move. They might smell the smoke and be roused to action, but by the time they came out, the soporific magical effect would put them out. But that was assuming they were all in the hive. Only, this was spring and the bees weren’t all in the hive, were they?

She’d thought that since none were around the entrance, the hive hadn’t begun looking yet. And the Floodplains were so muddy and there weren’t any blooms—but these were Ashfire Bees. Twenty miles was the area they could patrol around their hive. And if need be? They could go farther.

And like bees, they could tell when their home was in danger. Maybe it was a warning pheromone, or maybe their queen’s telepathic link. Either way, the bees were returning. All of them.

Lyonette dropped the tongs. She dropped the glass jar. She ran for the exit. She was halfway out when the first Ashfire Bee dropped out of the sky, buzzing, stinger raised.

“Oh my—”

Lyonette flung herself down into the mud, rolling down the incline leading up to the cave. But the bee wasn’t aimed at her. It was attacking the fire! The dying embers and ashes of the faerie flower scattered as the bee struck it, knocking fiery sparks into the air. More followed. Lyonette, eyes wide, heart thumping, scrambled to her feet and ran. The bees ignored her, at least for the first moment.

They were attacking the remains of the fire, dispersing the smoke as they swarmed around it, fanning their wings. Lyonette snatched up her basket and ran. But she knew she’d never make it.

“Apista!”

She screamed, but her beloved pet was lost among the other bees. Nearly a hundred had come back and were circling the fire. They flew into the hive, probably to investigate that it was unharmed. Then they came out with a vengeance. And they went straight for Lyonette.

She was running. Head down, arms pumping, each stride hitting the muddy earth, taking her down the huge hill. A perfect run. Even the mud wasn’t slowing her down and Lyonette didn’t slip as it spattered around her. But it was no good. Even a [Flawless Attempt] couldn’t save her.

A fact of bees. A laden bee, or rather, a honeybee from Erin’s world average about twelve miles per hour when laden with honey and pollen after a trip foraging. A bee unladen could go twenty miles per hour. Hornets, wasps, could reach twenty five miles per hour to hunt their slower prey. The maximum speed of a Human sprinting, again, based on Humans from Erin’s world, was twenty eight miles per hour. The fastest person in that world could hit twenty eight miles per hour, for ten seconds. Perhaps longer. But twenty eight miles per hour was it.

And Ashfire Bees could do thirty.

They caught her as she was ascending the hill. Lyonette turned. She flung the Tripvine bag, but it exploded harmlessly in the air. Vines, tangling and green, burst everywhere, trying to coil around their target. But the Ashfire Bees just flew around it. They shot at Lyonette. She screamed.

“No!”

That was it. Nothing else. Just—no. It could not end like this. Not today. Not when everything was so…normal. She raised her hands, turning, trying to find a place to dive. A pool of mud, maybe. Some scrap of cover that might shield her from the stings.

But there was nothing. No snow. No cover. Lyonette turned as the first bee aimed at her face. She saw its stinger, black, pointed straight at her left cheek—

And then she saw another bee, larger, angrier, and oh, so gloriously familiar hurtle out of the sky and smack the first bee with its abdomen. The Ashfire Bee worker tumbled out of the air, confused by the attack. The other bees flew around Lyonette, a terrifying whirlwind, but the bee defending Lyonette had all their attention. Hers too.

Apista, crimson stinger extended, buzzed as she flew around Lyonette, crashing into bees headed too close to the young woman. She was emitting a sound with her wings Lyonette could hear even amid the droning of others. It sounded louder, and the bee herself looked larger and more intimidating than any of the others. They backed away as Apista flew at them.

“Apista.”

The bee’s mind was open to Lyonette. She was angry. Angry, afraid—for Lyonette?—but mostly angry. She saw the other bees as attacking Lyonette, her hive, and she was warding them off. Her stinger jabbed at another bee and it flew back, clearly intimidated by this foreign bee.

Lyonette looked around. The Ashfire workers were hesitating. This wasn’t going according to plan. They had one modus operandi, which was: find intruder, sting intruder. But this other bee was…different. It called to a different instinct in them, and so they hesitated. Neither Lyonette nor Apista realized why they weren’t attacking until they heard another buzz, coming from the cave entrance. Only, if the buzzing had been a primordial thrumming in the ears before with the hundred or so workers, this sounded like thunder.

“Oh, Calanfer eternal. My kingdom witness.”

Black and yellow streamed out of the cave. A torrent. A hurricane of bodies. It spiraled up into the sky, like a tendril, an arm made of thousands of bodies. And it spiraled down towards her, a hive’s worth of bees. Drones, workers, and leading them a shape larger than the rest.

A very large, very angry bee. The queen of the Ashfire Bees shot out of the hive, followed by her throng. They buzzed around her as she stopped in the air, looking down at Lyonette and Apista. No, that wasn’t right. Lyonette was practically a speck. The Ashfire Queen had only one target.

Apista.

Yes, the bee was no queen. She had no hive. But she had been raised on royal jelly. She was of queens, even if she wasn’t one in truth. And though bees were social, though they were all part of a hive, nothing about that rationale extended to queens. When two queens met, after birth or in the wild, only one could be tolerated.

The queen gave no warning. She issued no challenge—or maybe it was Apista who was the challenger. Either way, she dove, and her hive flew in the air as she lanced towards Apista, stinger extended.

“Apista!”

Lyonette saw her beloved pet rise, stinger extended likewise. She darted at the queen and for a moment they were tangled, stinging, missing each other, stingers glancing off abdomens as they tried to inject one another with poison. Then the queen twisted, and Apista went flying.

She was smaller than the queen Ashfire bee. She was of queen’s stock, but Lyonette was no worker who knew instinctively what to give Apista and when. The smaller bee was smacked by the queen’s wings, and narrowly avoided a stinger to the face. Her stinger was as large, but she had never fought before. The open air was new to Apista, and the queen had weight, experience, and her hive on their side.

The other bees were bombing Apista, ramming into her as the queen tried to make the fatal sting. They didn’t sting her directly, but they rammed Apista as the smaller bee tried to fly away, gain distance on the queen. Battered, buffered, Apista was lost in the maelstrom. Lyonette couldn’t see her, but she could feel Apista’s panic, and fear.

The [Princess] stared up at the swarm. She could have run. She could have fled as Apista fought for her life. But she forgot to. In that moment, as the queen dove at Apista, out of sight, Lyonette felt something building in her. Rising. She was a poor [Princess]. A weak one. She had no home. She had run from home. But here was her pet. Her friend.

Her subject. Lyonette felt the emotion rise in her, fury and rage and possessiveness. And she pointed and screamed.

“Apista!”

The word blew the bees apart above her. Did they go flying, pushed by something, or did they push themselves? Lyonette only knew that they flew apart, leaving two bees in the sky directly above her head. Apista and the queen. The queen reacted to Lyonette’s voice, tumbling and then righting herself in the air. She pointed her stinger down at Lyonette and the young woman suddenly felt the air around her change. The bees darted forwards. Apista, high above, sensed the danger and dove—but there was one of her and hundreds, thousands of the enemy. Lyonette sensed Apista’s fear change to a burning fury. And then—

Apista burst into flames. One second she was diving, a bee of gold and black, and the next she was on fire. The bees around Lyonette scattered, as much from shock as anything else. Apista dove past Lyonette, her wings trailing flames. She was…shooting it out of her body somehow! Like a jet’s stream—something Lyonette had no concept of until Erin had drawn her a picture—some small holes in Apista’s body were jetting flames. The bee blasted past Lyonette, and the girl felt the heat of her passing.

Lyonette had only seen her do that once before. To fight off a bird. But now Apista was wreathed in fire. Lyonette gasped as she flew rings around her, burning trails in her vision. She blinked in the afterimages, turning, perhaps to run now Apista had scared the bees off. Then she saw another bloom of light.

Above her, the queen bee burst into flame. Lyonette’s head snapped up as the queen blazed fire and descended towards Apista, a burning meteor aimed for Apista. That would have been enough to reignite the fear in Lyonette’s heart. Enough. But then she saw the bees forming behind the queen. Like a huge mass, a swarm like she’d seen smaller bees form, but larger, with the queen at its heart. They shot after Apista, who was flying, burning, across the Floodplains. And then, without warning, with a sudden burst of heat and light that scorched Lyonette even where she stood, they all burst into flame.

—-

The walls of Liscor were always patrolled by at least forty members of the watch, ten for each cardinal direction of the wall, and at least one pair of Senior Guardsmen. That was the minimum requirement for any Drake city at any time. Currently there were two hundred [Guardsmen] on the walls of Liscor at any time, although Zevara had still left the oversight of the walls in the care of Senior Guardsman Jeiss and Senior Guardsman Beilmark, the Gnoll-Drake pair known throughout the city.

It wasn’t a bad job, now that Liscor’s siege and the dungeon threat was over. In fact, it beat walking the streets some days. You got to stand around, and even make idle chatter. With so many [Guards] about, you could relax because you had dozens of eyes in every direction.

That was what Jeiss, the Drake, enjoyed. What he didn’t enjoy were stupid rookies who’d just been promoted coming up to him and asking questions.

“Senior Guardsman Jeiss?”

“What?”

The Drake opened one eye irritably. He saw a younger Drake gulp. Light pink scales—oh dear, he must have been humiliated growing up. Jeiss would have recognized that coloration, so he guessed the Drake was one of the new recruits. Zevara wanted at least two hundred more [Guardsmen] in the city by the fall, and she was pushing the Council to give her a budget for double that. After what he’d seen, Jeiss didn’t blame her.

It didn’t mean he had to like the rookies, though. They were always asking stupid questions. Like, ‘How should we stand’? ‘What if we see some Shield Spiders, do we call someone?’ ‘How come that big Drake gets to slack off?’ Stuff like that. Jeiss wished they’d just leave him alone. When he was a junior [Guardsman], he’d known to keep his mouth shut.

“What?”

He snapped at the young Drake. The junior [Guardsman] gulped. He had a spear and watch-issued leathers, but he wore them like a bad dress.

“It’s just—I saw something and I was wondering if I should report—”

“Is it monsters?”

“I uh, don’t think so. It’s this bright—”

“Is it a spell? Is it aimed at the city?”

“I don’t know!”

“You don’t know if it’s a spell? Why don’t you ask your other [Guardsmen] what they think?”

“Well, they don’t know either. So they said I should ask you, because—”

Jeiss was about to argue more when a paw reached out and poked him in the side. Hard. Senior Guardswoman Beilmark, who was reading an installment of Olesm’s latest chess magazine—he’d just come out with a new edition after a long hiatus—looked up and scowled at him.

“Just go and see, Jeiss.”

“Aw, come on.”

Jeiss was trying to relax. Senior Guardsmen got to sit and he’d been on his claws all day. But Beilmark just poked him again. It was a Gnoll thing, and Jeiss had gotten used to it—mostly.

“Go.”

“I had to go the last three times!”

“He’s a Drake. We agreed you handle Drakes, I handle Gnolls.”

“That was before I remembered how many Drakes serve compared to Gnolls.”

Jeiss grumbled. He got to his feet and glared at the young, pinkish Drake.

“Lead on. And I swear, if this is another spell coming from that damned inn, or someone on the road—”

His tongue froze in his mouth as he spotted the ball of flame blasting across the Floodplains. It was huge, larger than any fireball. The junior [Guard] gulped when he saw it.

“Uh—I didn’t see that. I only saw two flames—”

“Beilmark! Get over here! Guardsmen, ready up!”

Jeiss turned and roared, scaring the junior guardsman. Beilmark’s magazine went flying as she leapt to her feet. Across the wall, other [Guards] looked up. Some of them grabbed their weapons and turned their attention towards Jeiss. The smarter, older ones, directed the rookies to look ahead. You never knew what was coming from behind.

“What is it?”

The Drake just pointed the fireball out to his partner. Beilmark swore, a growling Gnoll epitaph.

“Is that…a [Fireball] spell? It’s way too large to be one. Some kind of spell?”

“It can’t be! Look how long it’s lasting! And it’s…turning? Ever see a [Fireball] do that?”

It was true. The ball of flame looked like it was following something. Jeiss’ eyes narrowed. It was hard to see from all the light, but it looked like a tiny speck of fire was detached from the fireball. Every time it turned or changed direction, the fireball changed to follow it.

“What in the name of the Walled Cities is that?”

And then the little flame darted up towards the walls. Jeiss’ eyes widened. He turned and shouted.

“Incoming! Brace, brace!”

The [Guards] on the walls raised their shields and hunkered beneath the battlements. The pink Drake was frozen until Beilmark dragged him down. Jeiss hunkered behind the stone, but his head was half-risen. He saw the fireball flying at him, then turning upwards to follow that speck of fire. And then it shot past the walls in a blast of heat. And Jeiss saw what was inside the fireball.

“Bees?”

Thousands of them. They were swarming, following one bee as it shot across the city. The angry bees’ wings were like thunder, but the terrifying thing were the flames each one was emitting. Jeiss stared as the buzzed past a rooftop. Thank the Ancestors that they weren’t dropping sparks. Then he saw them blast towards him again and ducked. The fireball zoomed back over the wall and down across the floodplains. And that little bee was still flying.

For a moment after they’d gone, Jeiss could only stare. Then he got to his feet and shouted.

“Aw, hells. Ashfire Bees! Everyone off the walls! Remember your drills! Full body armor only! Get an adventuring team!”

Beilmark was already shouting the same. The [Guards] evacuated the walls. Their armor and training was little good against bees. Someone was hitting the bell, warning the city. It wasn’t an attack warning, but it was a ‘get indoors’ warning. Jeiss waited, heart pounding, hoping Zevara or Olesm or Ilvriss would get here soon. But his eyes kept turning back to the little bee flying ahead of the others. And he thought of a Human girl with a bee on her shoulder he’d seen in the barracks that morning.

“Beilmark. You don’t think—”

Her teeth were bared.

“—that this is an Erin Solstice event? Yes! I do! Why can we not have one day when something doesn’t threaten Liscor?”

Jeiss hesitated.

“I was going to say, do you think the weirdness is spreading? And second—is this a threat? Or is this the coolest race you’ve ever seen in your life?”

Beilmark and the junior [Guardsman] looked at him in silence. Beilmark stared at the fireball, at the little bee, and then reached into her belt pouch.

“Five silver says the little bee escapes.”

“No way. Five silver says they get her and we get buzzed.”

“Um. Two silver on the Human doing something to stop the bees?”

Both Senior Guardsmen looked at the pinkish junior [Guard]. He wavered at their stare as Jeiss and Beilmark exchanged glances. Then Jeiss slapped him on the back.

“Welcome to the Watch, kid. You’re going to go far here.”

And below them, Apista flew.

—-

Up. Down, left, right. Corkscrew through the air. Catch the wind, and dive. So close to the earth she could feel the mud hardening as her flames cooked the ground. Up again. Over a hill, past a Rock Crab which hid under its shell. Up, up, spiraling—and then down.

Behind her flew the swarm. Thunderous. Apista could feel the other queen’s rage. Intruder! She screamed it in the ways bees understood things. Intruder! Another queen was not fit to live.

But Apista was no queen. Not that it mattered. Her hive was threatened. Lyonette was in danger. So she flew, burning. And the bees flew after her.

Up, around—the wind buffeted Apista and she slowed. In that second the swarm nearly caught her. They dove at her, but she fell downwards. She didn’t know the sky like they did. The changing wind, the way the air interacted with other things, flowing, it was all new to Apista. She was at a disadvantage there.

But in other ways she was ahead. Because bees loved to fly. Surely, they did. And Apista was flying. For the first time her wings were open. And the flames issuing from her body gave her more speed. She flew, feeling alive. Fierce. And with each passing second she found she was flying faster, faster. The flames poured from her body, bright and hot. And behind her, the other bees were faltering.

The queen was tiring. Lyonette stared up with open mouth. But it was true. The queen of the Ashfire Bees was running low on flames. You could see the fire around her fading, and the workers had already run out of steam. Their flames went out one by one as they exhausted whatever fuel supply they had. Mana. The bees had to have mana! And they’d just run dry.

But Apista and the queen still had juice. And it seemed that Apista had far more mana than the foreign queen did. For her flame was burning fiercely. Even more than she had at the start, or so it seemed to Lyonette.

Hotter and brighter than any other bee. Apista left a trail of fire in the sky. Lyonette could feel the magic she was burning up, but the bee had deep reservoirs.

“How? How could she…”

But Lyonette knew the answer before she’d even begun. She remembered Apista lazing in her flower bed box, sipping the nectar of flowers, a gift of faeries.

Magical flowers. Days, months of drinking faerie flower nectar and living in Erin’s inn. It all added up. And as Apista soared, Lyonette felt her joy. Sheer, pure joy. She flew up, and the swarm turned too slowly. Apista lost them on the next turn. Now she was flying alone, a streak of fire in the sky.

They saw her. The adventurers on the walls, the betting [Guards], Drassi from the inn. The Drake opened the door to let Mrsha play, took one look at the bees flying about, and dragged Mrsha inside and closed the door. But Lyonette stood in the mud, staring up at Apista and laughing.

Alone. Nothing could catch her. Apista flew up, and then circled back. The swarm was hovering in the air, tired, uncertain. Apista aimed straight at their center, an arrow made of fire.

She charged the queen, and the workers and drones scattered before her. The queen backed up, but she was tired, and afraid of Apista’s vitality. Lyonette watched, her heart squeezing.

Was Apista about to take the hive? She felt like that was what the bee was doing. That was how bees worked, wasn’t it? There had to be a queen. And when one queen died, another would rise.

But Apista?

The bee flew at the queen. Stingers extended, they clashed twice. Lyonette felt Apista driving for the kill. Felt, and felt something in her protest.

“No. Apista—”

Above her, the little bee broke off the assault. Suddenly, she wasn’t stabbing at the tired queen, but flying in a circle. The queen, bewildered, hesitated, and then began to circle as well. Lyonette stared up, confused.

All the bees were doing it now. Apista, still flaming, circled the others. The workers and drones shielded their queen. They darted at Apista, but she flew at them. And then—what was it?

Only a thing of insects. Only Klbkch could understand it. Standing on the walls, the Senior Guardsmen opened his mandibles.

“Ah. Of course.”

Everyone stared at him. The Antinium looked at them. Senior Guardsman Jeiss, Senior Guardswoman Beilmark, Zevara, Relc.

“What? Is it not obvious?”

“No. What happened?”

The bees were dispersing. Flying back towards their cave. Zevara watched them anxiously, nervous of a threat immune to her fiery breath. Klbkch spoke calmly.

“I believe she just claimed her territory.”

“What? Her?”

Jeiss poked a claw at the little bee. Apista was descending, flying back towards Lyonette. Klbkch nodded.

“I am not an expert on Ashfire Bees. But I believe that was a queen’s battle turned into a hive’s dispute. And it appears she won.”

The people on the walls stared down at Lyonette. At Apista, flames gone out. Jeiss let out a long sigh. There was something incredible out there. A thousand Ashfire Bees. And one little bee had chased them away. He almost smiled. Then he felt a jab at his side.

“Damn it, Beilmark!”

“Pay up.”

—-

She flew down from the sky. The young woman reached up to her, laughing, shaking with relief. She sensed Apista’s emotions. Exhausted, hungry, but triumphant. Lyonette raised Apista up in shaking hands and kissed the little bee repeatedly.

“You are the bravest, most wonderful—”

Apista fanned her wings, still warm, but cooling. She seemed to be venting heat—or else it didn’t cook her from the inside. Actually, maybe the flames were her way of cooling? Lyonette didn’t care. She cuddled the bee, hugged her, and then went home.

Of course, there were people to talk to. There always were. And Mrsha had to come up with a new name for ‘bee’ in honor of Apista. But the upshot of it all was that there was a large contract on the Ashfire Bee nest that none of the adventurers really want to fulfill. In the end, Pisces volunteered to use a Bone Horror, and Ceria and Falene were willing to try an ice spell.

The destruction of a semi-innocent bee nest aside, Lyonette had only one other eventful moment in the day. And that was realizing she’d forgotten to get Erin’s eggs! But she had a brilliant moment. So, as noon fell and Krshia was closing up her stall, Lism was shouting about how another Human had nearly killed everyone by bees, as said bee flew down from the sky.

Everyone in the market ducked. But the bee was alone, and Krshia, spotting the tiny slip of parchment, reached up and with a very careful paw, let Apista drop the scrap into her palm. She unrolled the slip of parchment and read it.

Dear Krshia, please send three dozen eggs with the next shipment. Chicken, please. Apista will deliver messages from now on if convenient. Of course, I’ll come to chat. Mrsha says hello.

–Lyonette

And Apista was as happy as a bee could be.

—-

A few last things. That night, Erin and Numbtongue came back from their outings. Erin was waving her arms and exclaiming over the people she’d met in Pallass.

“You’ll never believe what a day I had! Okay, first, I went through into Pallass and guess what? I met this couple that—”

Meanwhile, Numbtongue had wandered deep into the mountains and brought back some souvenirs. He uncorked a bottle that made Typhenous’ eyes pop, and Lyonette listened to both with a wide smile. Apista dozed in the fireplace, listening to the logs crackle beneath her. She paid no attention to what was said. After all, she was a bee.

That night, as everyone went to bed, Apista woke up when Lyonette was asleep with Mrsha in her arms. She crawled out of her cotton basket, fanned her wings, and noticed it was dark. Well, that was usually a call to sleep, but something made Apista fly out of Lyonette’s opened window. The [Princess] had left it open because she was sure Apista could protect herself and that the bee wouldn’t fly away now.

And that was true. But she hadn’t realized that Apista might fly just to fly regardless. And while a bee was blind at night, a bee that could make fire was not.

Apista’s glow lit up the sky. An owl, swooping past it, decided that it didn’t like hot food and flew away. Apista flew higher, past some Razorbeaks who eyed the tasty insect wreathed in flames and opined for deserts served cold. Higher and higher, until the inn was small below her.

Below her lay Liscor. And the inn. The inn was a small thing compared to the city, but Apista knew it as her hive. As home. And in her head, she felt Lyonette’s thoughts about the inn, complex, foreign, but just a part of Apista as her body. For, after all, she and Lyonette were connected. Apista was more than just a bee. More than a pet. She had part of Lyonette in her. The girl had shaped her, as all good owners do their pets. As all pets their masters. It wasn’t necessarily intentional. Sometimes you could shape or be shaped just by loving.

This wasn’t actually a story about a bee. Because bees had no stories. It was really a story about a [Princess]. A young woman who was no [Queen]. But no ordinary worker, no normal girl either.

It was a strange thing to be a princess. Frightening. Because you had no home. Not one that was truly your own. But you couldn’t hide either. You had to live with that, searching for a way to be complete.

And that was what Lyonette was doing. Apista saw it. Below her, the inn changed. It transformed, turning into something Lyonette was dreaming up. She might not have intended it. Or perhaps she had—Klbkch had seen it. But not the whole truth. Only Apista, flying high above saw it rising from the earth.

After all, it was the nature of [Princesses] and of bees. Even when they were alone, their instincts drove them to build a home. To grow into queens and [Queens]. And so that was what Lyonette was doing. Doing what all [Princesses] did, in their heads, in their hearts. In reality.

They built castles.

Apista looked down and saw it. A fortress of stone, sitting on a hill three times as large. Not a castle in the strictest medieval sense. This one lacked the height of a citadel, and it was inviting, as much an inn as fortress. But it was nothing like the inn. It was larger, grander, the ramparts of dirt leading up to it able to be defended in case of attack. A castle made of an inn. A tower for Bird to sit in. A garden blooming with yellow flowers. A place to bathe, a room filled with books—

An inn made of dreams. And Apista flew down towards it, staring at the dream. And she knew Lyonette was building it. Her hive. Slowly, out of gold and stone and people. It was not the hive Apista would have chosen. But it was a hive nonetheless.

And Apista could not wait to call it home. So the bee flew back in the window and slept. And the bee and the [Princess] were happy. After all, it was their story. And if it wasn’t, they’d take it. For surely, surely.

One day they would be [Queens].

[Worldly Princess Level 17!]

[Skill – Apista: Enhanced Intelligence obtained!]

[Skill – Apista: Agile Flier obtained!]

[Skill – Imperial Aura obtained!]

6.09

“Okay. I’m going to Pallass.”

Erin said it for the sixth time that morning. Lyonette looked at her. The young woman was feeding Mrsha eggs as the Gnoll grabbed for the fork, trying to feed herself thank-you-very-much. It was morning in Erin’s inn, and Erin Solstice had decided. She was going to Pallass. Today was the day.

“Are you sure?”

The determination filling Erin’s chest wavered. The young woman hesitated. She paused, fork full of egg, and hesitated.

“Yeah. I mean, I said I would. Why? Do you think I shouldn’t?”

Lyonette gave her a long look.

“No. I was just asking.”

“Oh.”

Erin exhaled slowly. She looked around the table. Four people sat there, including herself. Erin, Lyonette, Mrsha, and Numbtongue. The Goblin was examining his palm, poking the red, newly-healed skin.

“How’s the hand, Numbtongue?”

The Hobgoblin looked up. He moved to shrug, then reconsidered.

“Fine. Thank you.”

The act of verbally replying was clearly new to him. But he’d done it rather than give a taciturn shrug as he might have before. Erin gave Numbtongue an encouraging smile, and then looked at his right hand. This morning Numbtongue had come down with a nasty sting in his palm, courtesy of Apista. Apparently he’d grabbed her and she’d stung him.

“Good, good. Well. You’re going into the mountains and you’ve got your mana stone…”

This time Numbtongue did reply nonverbally, with a roll of the eyes. He plucked the mana stone from his pocket and showed Erin for the eighth time that morning. She knew she deserved that, but she did worry. Numbtongue had been building his strength since emerging from the basement, and he’d announced his intention to go mining in the mountains. It had something to do with the memories of the dead Goblin in his head. He wanted to find gemstones or something up there and Erin couldn’t forbid him. Well, she wanted to, but he’d insisted.

“Great. Awesome. Just remember…”

“Use the magic door. It will be set to my mana stone. Adventurers in the inn I can call for help. Bring potions. Be very careful.”

Numbtongue sighed and ticked off Erin’s points on his fingers, effectively shutting her up. While he was doing it, Mrsha leaned over and forked a good portion of his eggs up with her fork. The Hobgoblin’s head snapped up and Mrsha froze. She stared at him and he stared at her, eggy fork in hand. Then Mrsha stuffed it into her face.

“Mrsha, you are incorrigible.”

Erin smiled at the white Gnoll. Happily, Mrsha wagged her tail and raised her hands. She drew a smile on her face to match the one already there, and then did a curious thing. She made two fists of her paws and placed one on the top of the other in quick succession.

“Now, what does that mean?”

Lyonette frowned. So did Erin. Mrsha had recently begun creating her own sign language, an activity that had warmed Erin’s heart to no end. She’d encouraged the Gnoll child and tried to learn every word Mrsha came up with. And she thought she knew them all. But this?

“Mrsha, what’s that word mea—”

Erin began to ask, but to her astonishment, the little Gnoll wasn’t looking at her, but Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin was scowling at her. He clearly knew what the word meant. He replied back with an expressive glare. Erin and Lyonette stared at him, and then Lyonette cleared her throat.

“Numbtongue? What did Mrsha just say?”

The Hobgoblin blinked. He stared at them and then shrugged.

“Goblin sign. Sort of. It means…I’m better than you. Ha ha. Ha.”

He looked at Mrsha. The Gnoll gave Numbtongue a big grin. Erin’s jaw dropped in astonishment. Mrsha had used a Goblin sign? But then she saw Numbtongue’s lips twitch. And Mrsha had just stolen food from him, hadn’t she? She’d grown so much more at ease around the Hobgoblin of late. After the battle. What a mixed blessing that was.

Filled with confusing thoughts, Erin ignored Lyonette exclaiming over the new words and getting Mrsha to teach it to her directly. Her thoughts drifted. Today she was going to Pallass. Yes. Because…well, because she had no other reason. Anyone could have talked Erin out of it. A hole in the roofs, a runaway Rock Crab, Octavia’s shop lighting on fire…if Erin had a reason she wouldn’t go. But there was no reason, and no one to stop her. Her inn was empty.

Oh, not completely empty. The Horns and Halfseekers would be downstairs in a bit, and some other adventuring teams, most notably the Silver Swords and Griffon Hunt would be along shortly. They were bringing the magic door north and the Silver Swords were talking about finding a new adventure every day. But besides them and a few other teams, no one came to Erin’s inn. Especially not her friends.

She hadn’t gone back to Liscor after her dramatic day with Numbtongue. Erin hadn’t really felt up to it, and none of her old regulars were coming in. Selys, Olesm, Ilvriss…even the Antinium were staying away. Well, the Antinium were probably busy doing Antinium things. But the others?

Erin had stopped blocking them from coming to her inn. But she still didn’t know if she wanted to see them. Some of them, like Selys, Erin was only too glad to see. Krshia was part of that list, but Olesm? Relc?

Relc. Erin closed her eyes. She’d heard about him defending Embria and killing Garen Redfang. Him aside—she didn’t know what to say to Olesm if she saw him on the street. She’d seen him before, in the city, but she hadn’t spoken a word to him. And she didn’t know if, when she saw his face, if she saw Zevara now, what she’d…

…

So, Pallass. It felt like a year since Erin had last entered the city and then she’d only had what, an hour or so of being led around? Ilvriss had suggested she see the Walled Cities, and so Erin had decided she would. By herself to begin with. Lyonette was managing the inn, Mrsha was a bit too excitable for Erin’s tastes in a foreign city and…

She looked at Numbtongue. The Goblin was still flexing his hand that had been stung as he deftly snatched some bacon from Mrsha’s plate with the other. The Gnoll looked up, eyes wide as the Goblin casually bit the hot bacon and gave her a challenging look. That was clearly payback for the eggs. The two stared at each other and then both began to fight over the last of Mrsha’s bacon.

It brought a smile to Erin’s face to see. Yes, she’d go alone. And if she could, she’d take the others to Pallass. Although her door still had that problem where it couldn’t take more than two or three people through before needing to be recharged. But maybe Erin would stay in Pallass someday. Or visit the other Walled Cities. But to do that, Erin had to visit Pallass. The city that had given Liscor little aid, that hadn’t done anything. While Goblins had died…

Lyonette didn’t notice Erin turning away from the table and walking back. She was busy calling out to Apista, who was obliviously feeding on the faerie flowers. Erin stared at the open windows, at Liscor in the distance.

“Time to go away for a bit.”

That was all she said. And that was the only reason, really. Erin bade farewell to the others. Lyonette had charge of the inn, Mrsha was waving to Moore with a greasy paw as he came downstairs, and Numbtongue was stretching, preparing for his journey into the mountains. Erin stopped at the magic door and adjusted the little dial on it. The mana stones moved, until the yellow stone for Pallass was fixed and shining on the door.

“Well. Here I go. Lyonette—”

“Just come back if you need anything. I’ll be in and out. And I’ll check on the Players of Celum for you. It’s all sorted, Erin.”

The young woman smiled at her. Erin nodded. She looked at Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin rolled his eyes and held up the mana stone again, but he nodded to her.

“See you tonight.”

Mrsha waved, a universal sign. Erin turned. She saw the adventurers looking up at her. Familiar faces. She saw dead Goblins sitting around a table with Numbtongue. Even now, two weeks afterwards. It wasn’t something that went away. And Erin feared, she hoped, it never would. But it still hurt. Too much.

Ceria was opening her mouth and hesitating. But Erin didn’t want to be here. So she made up her mind. She opened her mouth and spoke brightly.

“I’m going to Pallass for a bit! Maybe to look around. I’ll see you all later!”

And then she opened the door and stepped into Pallass, the City of Inventions.

—-

The sun shone down on Pallass. It was always sunny when Erin had visited Pallass. Perhaps it was the location of the door. But the walls, tall as they were, only obstructed part of Erin’s view. And while Liscor was likewise encircled by high mountains that blocked the sun, Pallass felt more open. Erin stared up at the blue and cloudy sky as she walked through the door.

Into another city. Onto smooth slabs of stone. Even into different air; it felt fresher, more open than Erin’s inn air. The sun touched Erin’s skin. She heard background noise envelop her. Hundreds of voices. She stared around the street and saw Drakes and Gnolls and even a few Humans on the street! Erin’s spirits lifted. She took two steps—

And a Drake with a spear stepped forwards and pointed it at her gut. Erin froze. The Drake was wearing a steel breastplate and leather armor underneath. On his arms was a bright yellow shield, but Erin didn’t get a chance to investigate further. She backed up as the Drake [Guardsman] with the spear aimed it at her stomach. He glared at her, body tense as another Drake appeared behind Erin with a sword.

“Human! Don’t move a muscle! Your arrival was not cleared with Pallass.”

“What? Cleared? I just walked through here!”

Erin’s hands shot up. The Drake glared at her and then looked at his companion.

“Some kind of mistake with that teleporting door?”

“Maybe. Hell of a mistake, though. Think we should frisk and send to lockup or check with the inn?”

Erin heard the Drake behind her growl. She saw several Drakes on the street turn to stare at her. The Drake with the spear hesitated.

“Let’s call it in. First we make a report and then—hey, I said hands up!”

Erin had lowered her hands. She glared at the Drake, eyed the very pointy spear, and then slapped it. Or tried to. The spear barely budged as Erin tried to knock it away from her stomach.

“Stop pointing that at me. What have I done wrong? I’m allowed to go to Pallass! Anyone is! That’s the point of a magic door!”

“You weren’t cleared. We have a list of allowed visitors per day, and you aren’t on it.”

Erin’s face went blank. Then she remembered. Hadn’t Zevara said…? She sighed.

‘No one uses that stupid thing. I never did. Look, I own the magic door. That means I can go through, okay?”

She pointed at the door behind her. The two Drakes eyed her dubiously.

“Anyone could say that.”

“Anyone? Hello? I’m the [Innkeeper]! Don’t you recognize me? Erin? Erin Solstice? Okay, what about this? I had Hawk the Courier put it back just three days ago.”

“So? Everyone knows that.”

Erin stared at the [Guardsman] with the spear. She exhaled slowly, and then decided to inhale before the tip of the spear tickled her stomach.

“Well—well, okay. But I am who I say I am! Anyone can tell you! In Liscor, I mean. You can open that door and ask—well, okay, it’s dead because someone else is using it, but in a bit it’ll probably be—if you want proof, get…Watch Captain Venim! He knows me.”

The two Drakes hesitated. But Erin had remembered the one name of someone she knew in Pallass. Watch Captain Venim. They exchanged a glance, and the one breathing down Erin’s neck muttered.

“I mean, we’re calling this in, right? Couldn’t hurt.”

“Right. I’ll uh—get a Street Runner?”

“Think it’s worth the paperwork?”

Apparently the spear-wielding Drake didn’t think it was. He hesitated, gave Erin another look—she was giving him a dirty glare—and then lowered his spear and legged it down the street at a brisk pace. Erin turned to face the other [Guardsman]. He had either sheathed his sword or hadn’t drawn it to begin with.

“I don’t have to keep raising my hands, do I?”

He had yellow scales, which went well with the patch on his armor. He was wearing all leather and shrugged.

“I don’t think so. But stay where you are.”

Erin turned to look at the Drakes, some of whom were pointing at her. This wasn’t how she had envisioned returning to Pallass, but, she had to admit, it was consistent with last time. She folded her arms, grumpily.

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll be forced to draw this sword and stab you.”

Erin eyed the sword in its sheathe. She decided to stay put. She stood there with the Drake as the passerby generally lost interest. All that was except for a couple of Drakes, young, in their teens, who came up.

“Guardsman, who’s the Human? Did she come through from Liscor?”

The Drake [Guardsman] looked embarrassed.

“Watch business. Move along.”

“Aw. But she is from Liscor, right? Are people coming through.”

“Just me for now.”

Erin turned to the Drakes. They blinked at her, looking her up and down as if she was an oddity. But Erin had seen other humans on the street. Wearing armor, sure, but…the [Guardsman] with the sword sighed.

“Ladies…”

“Oh, alright. Spoilsport. Who’re you, Miss Human?”

“Erin!”

Erin called after them. One of the Drakes turned. She was tall and had had red and black scales running in stripes down her body.

“I’m Frasi! This is Oza! Don’t get arrested, Miss Erin! Welcome to Pallass!”

“Thanks! I’ll try! And I’ve been here before!”

Erin waved at their backs. The Drake [Guardsman] made a grumbling sound.

“Please keep quiet.”

“Is that an order?”

She heard him sigh. But no more Drakes approached as now Erin and the Drake were just standing awkwardly by the door. Erin looked about.

The street was wide and flat. Unnaturally so to Erin who was used to Liscor’s cobblestones and dirt roads. But Pallass’ floors were smooth, made of huge squares of stone, like those Erin would see in modern cities. The stone was a light beige, and houses and other buildings lined the open street.

A few things set Pallass apart from Liscor. The first were the walls. They stretched up above the roofs of the houses, four walls in each direction. They were huge and filled part of the sky, a solid mass of stone. Solid, but not plain. Because Erin could see, far off in the distance, another ‘floor’ of buildings built into the side of Pallass. That was what she remembered.

Pallass was a Walled City, but it more closely resembled an pyramid of sorts. It had long, flat floors that stretched around the walls. The top floors were narrowest, still wide enough to hold a massive amount of room, but the floors grew in size before reaching the bottom. Connecting each floor, which all held vast populations of shops, homes, and so on were the stairs. Pallass had four grand stairways that ran from the bottom of the city to the top. But what was also unique were—

“There!”

Erin pointed. The Drake, who’d been leaning against the door she’d come in, started. He stared suspiciously at Erin and pointed. She was following a small shape with her finger. He squinted at it.

“What? The lifting platforms? Oh.”

Erin stared at the elevator as it carried a group of Drakes and Gnolls upwards. It stopped at a floor above her and she watched as the people inside got out. Yes, elevators. Pallass had them, at least, a strange magical version of them. She could see the pulleys moving as the elevator descended. Apparently Pallass fueled their elevators not with steam or some other device, but with mana stones. It was for that reason and others that it was given its nickname.

The City of Invention.

“More like the City of Jerks. Hey, is your Watch Captain Venim here yet? I’ve got places to be.”

Erin turned and glared at the Drake. He glared back, clearly not impressed by her.

“Watch Captain Venim is a busy Drake. And he’s one of the Watch Captains who serves Pallass. If he’s not available, then you’ll have to…”

“There he is! Over here!”

Erin cut him off and waved at a familiar Drake making his way through the crowd. Watch Captain Venim wasn’t taller than the other Drakes and his scales were a fairly common grass green, but he wore bright yellow armor that stood out, and he had the businesslike stride that carried him through the crowd. The spear-Drake was following him.

“Watch Captain!”

The Drake snapped to attention and saluted Venim, as if he hadn’t been slouching against the door for the last ten minutes. Erin glared triumphantly at the Drake with the spear. She waved at Venim, who was eying her as if uncertain why she was here.

“Hey! It’s Watch Captain Venim, right? It’s me! Erin Solstice? You remember me, right? Can you tell these jerks I can come here?”

Rather than reply immediately to her, Venim turned to the two Drakes.

“At ease, [Guardsmen]. This Human is the proprietor of the inn in question. Give us a moment to talk and I’ll sort this out.”

“Yes, Watch Captain.”

Erin was slightly disappointed he didn’t immediately reprimand the Drakes. Both saluted and stood back a few paces. She looked at Venim, half-relieved, half-annoyed still.

“Sorry about this. I totally forgot about the daily lists thing.”

Venim coughed. He looked much as Erin remembered—straight-backed, rather formal. Sort of like a male Zevara, in other words. She didn’t know him too well, but in her mind he was one of the ‘good’ Drakes from Pallass. Although she really only knew one other person—that jerk Gnoll [Senator].

“It was an unfortunate mistake, Miss Solstice. We neglected to ask for the daily lists from Liscor after the door was reinstated. In truth, we’d mostly overlooked it what with travel being nonexistent between Liscor and Pallass…”

“Because of the Goblin Lord’s army. And the door being stolen. Yeah.”

“Yes. That.”

Venim studied his feet. Erin remembered that the fact that Pallass hadn’t sent a massive army through the door was a sore point with Liscor.

“So. I don’t have a list, but it’s my door and I thought I’d come through. I can go now, right?”

“Not just yet. Miss Solstice—”

“Erin.”

“—Miss Erin, why did you come through to Pallass? Is this a business trip? A social visit or…?”

“Um. I thought I’d look around. I don’t think I’ll stay overnight. I’ll just wander about, head on back through before it gets dark. Maybe see the sights. It’s a big city, right?”

“Wander about?”

Venim stared at Erin. She nodded.

“Yeah. Why?”

She heard a strangled noise from the spear-Drake, who she’d already classified as ‘angry and uptight’ in her head. He glared at her.

“You can’t just wander through that door! It’s a gateway between Liscor and Pallass, not—”

“Guardsman Kel.”

Venim raised a hand and the Drake fell silent. Erin stared at Kel challengingly.

“It’s my door. I can go through when I want. And I can send through anyone I want. That’s the deal.”

“If they’re approved. You are supposed to clear a list with Watch Captain Zevara—”

“Next time I’ll write my name on that list, happy? And I might bring over my [Barmaid]. And her uh, adopted Gnoll kid. Is that a problem?”

Venim stared at Erin. She stared back. She could tell he clearly wanted to snap at her, but he didn’t. Instead, he took a deep breath.

“We’ll send a [Message] to Liscor and work out an approved list of names. For now, let’s consider this an unfortunate misunderstanding. You’re free to go, Miss Solstice.”

“Thanks.”

Erin smiled at Venim. He tried to smile back, but clearly his face wasn’t in it. Erin took two steps to the side as all three Drakes watched her, and then spun casually back to face Venim.

“Oh, and I might be coming through with a Goblin someday. Got a problem with that?”

The Watch Captain was turning to face the two Drakes, both of whom looked uneasy, as if they feared a reprimand. His head snapped back around so fast Erin heard something crick.

“What did you just say?”

Erin stared innocently at Venim. Inside her heart was pounding. So much for slipping that by him.

“Uh. A Goblin. He’s a friend and an employee at my inn. And I think he’d like to see Pallass, so…”

“A Goblin.”

Venim’s voice was flat, and suddenly, without patience. Erin nodded slowly.

“That’s right. A Hobgoblin, to be exact. His name’s—”

“You mean, a monster.”

Erin’s breath caught. She looked at Venim.

“No. I mean a Goblin. He’s allowed n Liscor.”

“What?”

The chorus came from three Drakes and a passing Gnoll woman. She looked around as all three Drakes stared at her. Venim covered his eyes.

“Miss—”

“Excuse me! Didn’t meant to pry, yes?”

The Gnoll hurried down the street. Venim raised a hand as if to stop her, and then whirled on Erin.

“A Goblin is not allowed in a Drake city, Miss Solstice!”

She folded her arms.

“Why not? He’s an adventurer, and he has a pass from Wall Lord Ilvriss, the Guildmistress of the Adventurer’s Guild, several Gold-rank team leaders and Pisces—”

Venim stepped forwards, cutting the rest of Erin’s words off. He pointed at the door, meeting Erin’s eyes with a contained glare.

“I’m not sure what Watch Captain Zevara is thinking. But let me make this clear, Miss Solstice. If a Goblin enters the city, we will kill it. That is standing Pallassian law. Is that understood? As for entering and leaving, please fill out the correct paperwork from now on. We will begin asking for the daily lists in the morning.”

Erin froze. Venim glared at her. She said nothing. She knew he was expecting something. After the silence dragged on too long, Venim stepped back. He still looked angry, but she caught a brief feeling of awkwardness from him. She wasn’t sure if that was her Skill, or just her learning to read Drakes. It was the slight curl in the end of his tail.

“I am pleased that Liscor stays standing. I understand you had a great deal to do with that and for that Pallass’ City Watch offers you our thanks. But the law is the law, Miss Solstice. It must be incorruptible. Please, understand me. Your…Goblin worker is free to work in your inn, but it must never step foot into Pallass. I trust you understand that. And I do apologize for the inconvenience.”

So saying, he held out his claw for her to shake. Erin stared at Venim. Then she stared at his extended claw. Hand. Erin reached out slowly, and then instead of shaking his hand, poked a finger at Venim’s snout. He recoiled.

“Oh yeah? Well, I’ve got two words for you, buddy. ‘No way.’”

The two Drakes standing beside Venim stirred as Erin treated them all to a glare. She pointed at the door.

“This isn’t over. I’ll be back. And if you ever hurt Numbtongue—that’s the name of the ‘monster’ by the way—I will kick your scaly butt. Have a nice day.”

She turned and began to stomp down the street. Venim was staring at her back. She heard an exclamation from the spear Drake, Kel.

“You can’t just threaten—”

Erin pushed past him, ignoring his spear. He uttered a hiss, but she was walking fast down the street. Kel, Venim, and the third Drake whose name no one had mentioned—it was Nevvim—stood, staring at Erin’s back as she stalked away from them.

“Watch Captain Venim? That was clearly a threat. Do you want us to go after her and arrest her?”

Nevvim spoke quietly. Watch Captain Venim stared at Erin’s back. She was staring at a passing Dullahan. He felt a moment of heat, the famed Drakeish temper rising within him and struggled to contain it.

For a second Watch Captain Venim hesitated. And the chances of him having a good day teetered on the brink of chaos. After a moment, the Drake slowly shook his head.

“Leave her. Pallass owes that Human some kind of debt, and Liscor too. She’s not likely to cause trouble and if she persists in this Goblin thing—I’ll send a [Message] to Watch Captain Zevara asking about it.”

He shook his head and turned away, banishing Erin from his immediate list of concerns. He was allowed to, and his chances of a good day skyrocketed from there. If he had arrested Erin, things might have turned out far more eventful for him. But that was a story for another timeline. Erin Solstice walked away from the [Guards], and into Pallass.

“Lousy, no good stupid jerks—”

She stomped for about a minute, and then her feet began to hurt. Erin stopped in the street, turned to look back, and realized she was in Pallass again. Drakes and Gnolls walked past her, moving around her and giving her odd looks.

Noise. And sight. Erin was overwhelmed by both for a moment. It felt like she was standing in any big city, watching pedestrians go past her. Some were city-dwellers, going to work, others clearly tourists from the way they pointed and stopped to stare at things. Gnolls, Drakes, a few Garuda, and then a passing Human.

She was wearing armor. Erin stared at her as she passed. Strange. She’d thought few Humans lived south of Liscor. Well, a Walled City had to have some Humans, surely? This woman was wearing armor. So maybe she was an adventurer? It comforted Erin to think she wasn’t the only Human in the city. Then she heard a shout.

“Street Runner, coming through! Watch your tails!”

Erin turned her head. She saw a Drake with bright white-pink scales running down the left side of the street, near to Erin. She was young, probably fifteen if she’d been Human. She had a full satchel pressed against her chest and she was running at near full-tilt. Erin saw people stepping casually aside and then realized she was in the way.

“Whoops!”

Erin leapt back as the Street Runner dashed past her. The Drake twisted to avoid Erin and keep her satchel from striking her.

“Sorry, Miss! Street Runner on delivery!”

She was already a dozen feet away. Erin stared at her back and then looked around. She’d seen Street Runners in Liscor before, but never been close to being run over by one. She wondered where the Runner was going. Then she wondered where she was going. She hadn’t come here with a plan.

Someone interrupted Erin’s musings. A loud, flat voice called out to her.

“You, Human. You need knives.”

Erin turned. A man was standing in front of a small shop. It was more of a stall built into a building, like Krshia’s stall, but permanent. He was one of the [Shopkeepers] selling his wares on the street. Only, he was Human.

And wearing armor. Erin blinked as she saw the man was wearing a full-body set of iron armor. She assumed it was iron; it wasn’t bright enough to match her image of steel. But it had been polished quite finely. She wondered why he was wearing it though—wasn’t it hot? Still, she had to admit he was impressive. The man gestured to Erin. She looked around, and then took a few steps closer.

“Me? Did you say I need a knife?”

Erin wasn’t in the mood to shop, but the novelty of meeting another Human was enough to bring her over. The man nodded. He had a very dour, expressionless face. And his voice was just as flat.

“You’re looking for a sharp knife. Everyone needs knives.”

The strange, armored man said this as if it were indisputable fact. Erin opened her mouth, thought, and had to agree that he had a point.

“I could use a knife for my kitchen, maybe. Er—are you selling them?”

The man nodded slowly.

“That’s right. I sell knives. Sharpest, finest, crafted by Maughin himself. You could skin a wyvern with the blades. You looking for a cooking knife? Something that can cut through tough materials? A skinning knife? All-purpose?”

“Uh, actually, I’ve got a really sharp knife. Believe me, it can cut through…hands…really well. But I suppose I could browse…what’s it like living here? As a fellow Human, I mean?”

Erin edged closer to the shop. The man gave her a very odd look.

“I wouldn’t know about that.”

“Oh. You’re new here too? I just came to Pallass. Hi. Erin Solstice.”

The man stared at Erin. He held out his hand. It was gauntleted and unpleasant to shake, but Erin had resolved to make that her fourth question going into this conversation. He eyed Erin.

“Lorent. I’m lived here all my life. A Pallassian native.”

“But you said—er. Never mind. So, uh knives. You sell just knives?”

Lorent nodded and then shrugged. He performed the nod somewhat awkwardly, while the shrug was natural.

“That’s correct. I’m a [Sharpener]. I take knives and give them an edge that will last. Beyond what the metal is shaped for. You buy my knives, you get a lifetime guarantee—bring them here and I’ll give them their edge again.”

“Hey, I get that! And that is a good deal!”

Something like a smile appeared on Lorent’s face.

“Ah. You understand. Not everyone does. But you see these knives? Watch.”

He showed Erin a few of the knives on his shop counter. All looked wickedly sharp, and they had a little logo emblazoned on the hilt. A knife and grindstone.

“Custom-made. And watch.”

Lorent picked up a knife, and pointed to something else on the table. A block of wood. It was anything but square; it looked like someone had cut a bunch of pieces off with a razor. It was sitting next to a basket with a pillow in it. Erin blinked at the basket, wondering if it was to hold the knives, and then jumped as Lorent took a swing at the block of wood.

“Holy smokes!”

It wasn’t the swing that bothered Erin. It was the fact that Lorent’s precise cut had gone through the block of wood with a single motion. It sheared off a plate of wood a centimeter thick, which landed on the table. Erin stared at it and reached for it—

“Careful. You’ll cut your fingers. The edge is sharp.”

Lorent stopped her. Then he showed her the knife, not letting her take it, but allowing her to inspect the edge. Erin did, and saw that no imperfection on the edge.

“Wow.”

“You see? Quality steel plus my Skills do this. And I can sell you a set or a custom-made knife. The price is high, but you’ll get years of flawless cuts if you treat it right.”

Erin was tempted, but she had a billion questions.

“I get its super sharp, but why do I need a knife that sharp? I’ll take my own arm off! And why knives? Surely you could do that to an adventurer’s sword, right?”

The [Sharpener] frowned mildly.

“I do that on the side. But knives are an art. Sharper is safer, if you respect the blade. Ever had your fingers slip while cutting something like a tomato? Or a fish?”

Erin shuddered. Lorent nodded.

“A sharp knife doesn’t slip. Mine don’t—ever. So, about the knives. Want to see what I’ve got?”

“Uh…I didn’t really, but you’re actually starting to sell me on this. Tell you what, do you have a good kitchen knife? Let me see it and we can talk coin—I could actually afford a good knife now that I think of it…”

Lorent nodded. The man eyed Erin’s hands and raised a finger.

“One second. I have just the knife. I just need to get it from the back.”

“Don’t worry, take, your t—”

Erin was smiling and waving a hand when Lorent reached up. He put both hands on the side of his head. Then he pulled his head off his shoulders, placed it in the basket on the counter, and his body promptly turned and walked into the back of his shop.

The young woman froze. Her eyes bulged as they stared at Lorent’s retreating torso. Then they fixed on his head. He was talking calmly, looking up at Erin from the basket.

“It’s also about contouring the handle to the grip. A good knife should fit the hand. So I’ll see if the ones I have fit yours. They might not—you’re a Human, not a Gnoll or Drake and your bone structure’s different. But I know a [Carpenter] who can sand down the grips if need be at no extra charge to you—ah, here we are. I actually had two, now that I recall. Take a look.”

His body walked back out, carrying a pair of knives in its hands. Erin stared at the headless body as it placed the knives on the counter, picked the head back up, and placed it back on the shoulders. Loren twisted his neck back and forth and rolled his armored shoulders as if nothing had happened. He gestured to the knives.

“Don’t worry. These aren’t sharpened yet. I like to let my customers handle their knives first, see how they handle.”

Erin stared at the knives. She did her best, inspecting them and practicing cutting as Lorent made a few remarks. But she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. She tried to ask Lorent twice, and then gave up. The sight of him pulling his head off like Erin would take off a hat had thrown her. She looked at Lorent helplessly.

“I—I think they’re great knives. But uh, I left my coin purse in my other pocket. I’ll uh—over there!”

She turned and fled. Lorent sighed as the Human girl escaped into the crowd. But he comforted himself as he reclaimed his knives and left his head to watch the counter while his body walked back into the shop.

“She’ll be back. They all come back. Everyone needs knives.”

You could bet gold on that. Civilizations rose and fell, but everyone needed knives. Even damn [Mages].

—-

Erin made it two streets away from Lorent before her heart stopped pounding. Part of her wanted to go back, apologize, and ask the obvious, but she had to calm down first. Clearly Lorent wasn’t Human.

“Duh. Not Human. Humans can’t do that. I’m pretty sure.”

Even so, Erin had to feel at her neck. She’d cringed to see Lorent’s neck do that! And in a basket? How did his body see? No, wait—what was he?

Part of Erin was even ashamed for having that reaction to begin with. But she couldn’t help it. Lorent had been a new level of weird, even for Erin. Because—okay, look. Most people were normal, despite their appearances, right? After you got past the looks, they were just…people. Erin had gotten to know the citizens of Liscor and in a lot of respects, they behaved exactly like Humans, with only a few quirks. She was fine with them.

Drakes she could handle. Gnolls were totally fine. Humans? She saw them all the time! Every time she looked in a mirror. Dwarves, half-Elves? Standard. Half-Giants? Erin didn’t know about the others, but Moore was too easy to like. Drowned Men? A bit out there. Garuda were a intimidating for a bit, but only because Bevussa had been so vibrant and new.

Selphids…well, Jelaqua had thrown Erin for a few times, but Erin had gotten to know Jelaqua, no matter which dead face she was wearing. Jelaqua’s true, hidden form still made Erin squeamish, but day-to-day, Jelaqua was just a person, albeit a different one every time you turned around. But that armor-dude had been the first overtly magical being Erin had met.

“He pulled off his head! Like that! And there was this glowing…thing inside! Is he a magical suit of armor? Or…did the Headless Horseman come here a few thousand years ago and get really busy?”

Erin kept walking, just so people wouldn’t stare at her mumbling to herself. Only, now she was giving every passing armored Human the fish-eye. And she began to realize that all the people she’d thought were Human were in fact the same people as Lorent.

“So there are Garuda and…Lorent-people in the city. Did anyone ever tell me that? No? Well, they should!”

Still, Erin had to admit that both species were minorities. Drakes and Gnolls were predominant by far, and from what Erin could tell, there were four or five Drakes to every Gnoll. Pallass was still a Drake city. Erin shook her head.

“I’ll double back and ask later. But right now I just have to…”

She saw an opening in the crowd. An opening in the buildings, in fact. And that opening was in fact the end of this floor. Erin saw a guardrail, a few benches, and as she approached…

“Whoa.”

Erin stared down over the guardrail and down into the heart of Pallass. Three hundred feet or more down, straight to the ground. The floor below her stretched out a bit before ending, and then the floor after that stretched a bit further…and right at the bottom of the city was a large building, that looked almost like the tip of a fountain pen. Erin guessed it was some big important building. But her eyes were drawn to the tiny specks below her, people walking about, wagons entering the ground floor—

“It’s so…big.”

She had heard that Pallass held over a million souls in its walls. And looking at the distant far wall—where people were walking on the same floor as Erin—she could believe it. This city was massive! It was Liscor times ten, no, even larger. She couldn’t imagine any army ever taking this place. The Humans would have been lost here, and forget riding a horse around. There was nowhere to ride!

That was why Erin hadn’t seen any animals on the upper floors. They probably couldn’t get beyond the ground floor. Which meant those elevators and Street Runners and the steps were the only way to transport stuff.

“It must be a nightmare to haul stones to build stuff or do…anything.”

Erin muttered to herself. But then she saw something else. A large elevator, cut against one wall, rising slowly. And on it were a pair of…Erin squinted.

“Horses? And wagons?”

The massive elevator rose and came to a stop above Erin’s floor. She couldn’t see, but she saw the elevator slowly descend with a lot of boxes on it a minute later. She slapped her forehead.

“Cargo elevators. Of course. You clever Drake jerks. But it still means not a lot of horses on the second floor. And how do they uh, get rid of pee and stuff like that?”

No helpful diagram of Pallass’ plumbing system appeared this time, so Erin left it as an unsolved mystery. But now her interest was rekindled. She stared down at a floor below her. Part of it was shadowed from above.

“Do they live in the shadow all day? How would you live like that?”

And no sooner had Erin wondered than she found out. She looked about, spotted an elevator, and hurried towards it. It was filling up with Drakes as Erin approached. She paused uncertainly, but a Drake tossed her head.

“Getting on?”

“Yes, thanks!”

Erin wasn’t sure if you had to pay to ride or something. She didn’t remember that on her tour. What she wouldn’t give to ask more questions this time! Who had her tour guide been? Nell…Nelliam? Could she ask if—

“Floor?”

Erin jumped. The Drake who’d invited her in was staring at her. She was a Drake in her mid-twenties, and looked busy and not-at-all happy to be talking to the ignorant Human. The other Drakes grumbled as they stared past Erin.

“Uh, floor? Sorry, I don’t know.”

One of the Drakes laughed. The female Drake, who had a very normal green scaly pattern but vibrant, almost pinkish neck spines, sighed.

“What floor do you want to go to?”

“Er…the one right below us?”

“Six.”

The Drakes chorused as one. Erin blushed, but the Drake was busy closing the little door. Then she pulled a hand-lever by her head and the elevator went down.

“Whooooooaaaa—”

Erin’s exclamation at the rapid descent was followed by a sudden increase in gravity that made her stumble. The elevator was slowing! The Drake had pulled another lever and the elevator was coming to a halt. They were on the floor right below. Erin pulled herself upright and then realized the Drake was opening the door.

“Six.”

She looked pointedly at Erin. The young woman realized this was her stop.

“Oh, thanks! Uh, sorry about—”

The instant she walked out, the elevator door clicked shut and it dropped. Really fast. Erin stared over the second guardrail and distinctly heard a voice travelling up at her from below.

“Humans. Who goes one floor d—”

And then it was gone. Erin winced. So. Embarrassing yourself in another city? Check. But to be fair…she walked away before completing the thought.

“Okay, so there are people who run the elevators. And they go fast. A lot faster than at home. I wonder if they ever go crash? Ooh, maybe I’ll use the stairs next time. But that’s also so cool. If they have elevators, do they have escalators? Could they make…?”

Erin realized she was walking along the second floor, technically underneath the first one, but she could still see just fine. It was only a bit darker, that was all. She looked around and saw dozens of metal posts, upon which were fixed glowing glass orbs. And inside…

“Oh! [Light] spells!”

Or something very similar. The mage lights glowed, giving off a bright, natural light so close to sunlight it had fooled Erin for a second. It was actually eerie to see; she’d expected the lights to be harsh and artificial. But that wasn’t how magic worked here, was it?

Erin stared up at the lights and then down the street. People were working here, just like above. Only, it felt like this was more of a residential district. She saw a lot of what looked like apartments reaching all the way up to the point at which the ceiling, or seventh floor began. She wondered what it was like to live in Pallass.

“Probably the same as anywhere.”

Erin shook her head. She walked down the street, head swiveling to see anything interesting. Maybe she could find the…Greeter’s Guild? And ask about Nelliam? Someone could give her directions, probably. And he could answer some questions. And when Erin was tired of looking around she’d…

She’d…she’d…do what? Walk down another street? Buy a knife? Erin stopped. She looked around at a gaggle of Gnolls racing past her. They were young, and playing with something on the ground. A ball made of leather. Kicking it back and forth, trying to grab it. Like kids playing soccer, or if you wanted to be mean, dogs chasing a ball. They were laughing. And maybe it was that that made Erin realize.

She was lost. This was another city. And Erin was still lost. She looked at the Gnolls and wondered if the Goblins would have played a game like that. She stared at the houses, at Pallass, grand and wonderful and wondered how many soldiers it held.

“Why didn’t you help? Why didn’t you do anything? Why did they close the gates? Why did I ask them to fight? For this?”

No monster had ever set foot in Pallass. No Goblin. Erin remembered Watch Captain Venim’s face harden. She’d thought he was one of the good ones. And he probably was, for a Drake.

Suddenly, Erin wanted to throw up. She wanted to leave, to go back to her door. But it felt far away. And Erin felt lost. She stood in the street and heard a little voice.

“There. See? Mom? I told you! I saw her in the orb! She was at Liscor!”

Erin turned. She saw a little Drake boy, pointing at her. His scales were bright red, and he was gaping at her and pointing a claw at her chest. His mother, an older Drake with less-vibrant scales that had a more purplish hue, was tugging him down the street. She had a laden basket in one arm.

“Keep moving, darling. Don’t point. It’s rude. And it’s probably not the same Human.”

“But I saw her—”

“Yes, yes. You and your friends, watching those scrying orbs all day. You could be practicing, you know! Or earning money as a Street Courier. Hurry up, I need to get to the [Butcher] by midmorning.”

“But mom she was there! At Liscor! With the—”

The Drake whined. Erin slowly filled in his words as he was tugged out of sight.

“With the Goblins.”

She looked around. At a city not touched by monster attacks or fear or war. Who had no Humans in it, at least none that Erin had seen. Who knew nothing of what Goblins were. And she felt so, so…that it hurt.

It had been a mistake coming here. Erin felt lost in a sea of faces, and they had never seemed so alien to her as now. She was lost, alone. And she wanted to go home.

But home hurt too. Erin felt her eyes sting. She had run away from home. She couldn’t bear it. Even though Numbtongue had lost more. She couldn’t stay. So she’d run. But here was worse. She wanted Numbtongue to be here. To have Mrsha and Lyonette by her side. Without them it was just Erin again. Without her inn. As lost and terrified as she’d been on her first day here.

Tears sprang to Erin’s eyes. She tried to stop them—until she realized she was doing it. Then she let them flow. Erin began to snuffle and wipe at her eyes.

Part of her still told her to be embarrassed. But Erin didn’t care. It didn’t matter if people saw. Why was it wrong to cry in public? Because the Gnolls and Drakes were staring at her? Some were pointing. Only, now she realized.

They knew her. They had seen her. Some had to have recognized her. The girl who led the Goblins. Did they care? Did it matter? Pallass had done nothing. Liscor had done nothing. Erin still couldn’t forgive them. Not Zevara or Olesm or Selys or Krshia. She hated them all. Even if it wasn’t their fault. Hated them because there was nowhere for Goblins to run, but they’d died for a city they couldn’t even enter. Erin hated them and wished they would all burn in—

“Hello? Miss?”

Erin looked up. She wiped at her blurry eyes and saw a figure standing in front of her. He had dark, near-black fur. He was tall, as Gnolls were.

A Gnoll looked down at Erin. A man, or rather, a fully-grown Gnoll. Middle-aged, in fact, starting to develop streaks of grey in the blackness of his fur. He looked down at Erin and smiled, baring his teeth.

“Hey, young Miss Human. You’re looking down. Is something wrong?”

“No. Nothing. Sorry.”

Everything. Erin wiped at her eyes. Her nose was starting to run. The Gnoll looked at her.

“You look like you could use a rest. Why don’t you come with me? My place isn’t far from here. I’ll treat you to a drink. Or a snack?”

“No, I’m fine—”

Erin didn’t want to go with the Gnoll. But he bent and offered her a paw. His smile was reassuring.

“Nonsense. It would be my honor, yes? And the snack is on me. Come, I insist. I have candy.”

—-

Erin left. And after a bit, so did Numbtongue. He didn’t use the magic door. He just walked out of Erin’s inn. On his back was a small pack, a rolled up bundle of wood secured with straps. The straps were tight, but positioned so the bundle could be ditched immediately if need be.

At his side, Numbtongue carried a sword. Plain, made of steel. It wasn’t as shiny as the swords of the adventurers in the inn, and it wasn’t magical at all. In fact, it had taken several bad blows that had partially damaged the edge despite the previous owner’s attempts to care for it.

But it was a sacred blade. Numbtongue would have traded it for nothing at all. And in the same way, the guitar he owned was just as important.

The neck had snapped. The base had been damaged. But thanks to a [Repair] spell and some patching with wood, it could still be played. Numbtongue had restrung it himself. Tuned it. But he left the guitar on a table. After all, it would just be a door away.

“We will check the door regularly, but leave it attuned to your…stone.”

Ishkr, the Gnoll, spoke to Numbtongue before leaving. He addressed the Goblin awkwardly, blinking into his red eyes. But he did speak to Numbtongue. The Goblin hesitated.

“Thank you.”

That was all he said. And Ishkr did not smile. But he did not curse Numbtongue. He nodded, and Numbtongue wondered how many Goblins had been accorded that little privilege. He wished the others could have seen that. Perhaps they had, but he wished they could see it again.

Rabbiteater and Badarrow were alive. They had to be. But where they were was a mystery. Gone, perhaps. Fled into the mountains after Chieftain Rags. Numbtongue knew they were probably long gone; they wouldn’t have stayed with Human and Drake armies below. It was not for that reason he climbed.

It was just to fulfill a dead Goblin’s will. That was all. Numbtongue stepped out of the inn and into the mud and grass.

The Floodplains were still mostly mud. The rains had killed the grass, and while some was trying to reclaim the hills and valleys, there was still mud. Unevaporated rainwater. And accordingly, bugs.

Midges, to begin with. But a mosquito buzzed past Numbtongue as he walked down the hill, carless of the mud that got on his feet and the foot wraps he wore. Down the hill. Up the next. And by that time he could smell the humidity and aftereffects of the rain. That smell that almost conveyed the image of grime. Not fresh rainwater here. Not good to drink.

Numbtongue had taken nothing but a mana stone, the bundle of wood, his sword, and two healing potions at his belt. He’d even left the pickaxe along with his guitar in the inn. What was the point of taking extra weight, after all?

No point. And Numbtongue was aware of the merits of magical-door based travel. With that in mind he set a fast pace, as fast as Garen Redfang would have pushed him on the march. Down the hill, heedless if he slipped. Up, digging his toes into the muck. A green thing buzzed past Numbtongue’s face. He nearly swatted at it until he saw the glowing abdomen. He paused, eyed the acid fly, and without knowing what it was, decided not to hit it.

It wasn’t interested in Numbtongue anyways. It was circling with the other bugs, looking for dead fish trapped in the valleys. Or the bodies of the undead.

The undead Goblins were mostly gone. They’d been eradicated by days of adventurers killing them and burning their bodies. But some had fallen in the valleys, or lay submerged, buried. Waiting. Or just decomposing as the magics animating them failed. It was to these things, dead fish, dead flesh, that the bugs and these acid flies congregated.

“Not a fun place to live.”

That was all Numbtongue decided. A place that rained for one month and was muddy and nasty for the rest of spring wasn’t his idea of a good spot. The High Passes were at least honest about the misery you got. He kept moving, aiming for the nearest mountain. That was to say, the base of the towering mountain that disappeared into a cloud above him.

Miles away. But Numbtongue kept moving. Up a hill. Down a hill. Underhill? No. The Goblin’s pace was a mix between a jog and a run. By the end of the third mile he was sweating hard and swearing as he nearly fell down a hill. Numbtongue picked himself up, spotted a giant rock, swore again, and saw it begin to scuttle his way.

The Rock Crab was sated. It had eaten well during the rains, and had even had a good meal afterwards from all the wandering dead things. True, they hadn’t sat quite well with it, but food was food. And because the Rock Crab knew the value of food, it wasn’t about to waste a potential meal.

Its many legs pierced the mud, giving it a firm purchase going down the hill as it scuttled towards the green thing it had spotted. Two huge pincers prepared to lash out from beneath the rock and tear the green thing to bits. The Rock Crab passed over the slope, paused—

And saw nothing. The green thing was gone. There was just mud, some growing flowers and grass, and a long bit of wood. And a glowing purple light. But the Rock Crab’s eyes didn’t function like Human or Goblin eyes, so it regarded the purple thing as a mere irritant. Certainly not food.

Frustrated, the Rock Crab cast about for a while, and then crawled off. It would search the muddy valleys for food instead. The place where the green thing had been was quiet for a good few minutes after Rock Crab had left. Then the door opened, and Numbtongue climbed out.

It was awkward, walking through the door in the inn and having to haul himself up out of the door which was lying on the ground. But it was a small price to pay. Numbtongue plucked the mana stone from the door, dismantled it, and kept moving.

The adventurers had been surprised to see Numbtongue jumping through. One of them, the half-Elf that Numbtongue couldn’t stand—Falene Skystrall—had asked if he wanted her to chase off the Rock Crab. If the other one, the one with the skeletal hand, Ceria, had asked it, Numbtongue might have said yes. But he remembered Ylawes from Esthelm. The Silver Swords weren’t bad, but they reminded Numbtongue of the adventurers who’d sometimes come to battle with the Redfangs.

Righteous. That was the word for them. And it summed them up so well. Well, maybe not the Dwarf. But Falene and Ylawes? Yes.

Keep moving. Numbtongue ran up the hill, looked for the Rock Crab, and kept moving. He was sick of hills by the time he got to the point where they stopped. Then it was actual grass, a slope going up at a steep, steep incline…

Here was what Numbtongue did. He climbed. First up the grass, on two legs and on all fours if he needed better purchase. Higher, to a point where grass became broken stones, large boulders. Easier to climb; they reminded Numbtongue of the High Passes.

Higher. Ever higher. Vegetation became sparser Numbtongue went. And he climbed as fast as he’d run, trying to get at least a few hundred feet higher. He had a suspicion that anything below two hundred feet would probably have been checked by Liscor’s residents over the years.

About two hours in, Numbtongue was exhausted. He’d been going full-speed and his hands were cut a bit, he had dried mud all over his legs and he wanted some water. So he reached for his pack, and unrolled the bundle of wood.

It was in fact, wood slats. Not the prettiest of things, held together by little bits of rope as they were. But unrolled it formed a kind of…of bedroll? If you laid it down, sure. But it would be the most uncomfortable bedroll in the history of beds if you lay on it. But if you placed it just so against a bit of rock, and put a doorknob in the little hole you’d been carrying in your belt pouch? And if you slapped a mana stone on the door and opened it?

You got nothing. Damn. Numbtongue waited. After thirty seconds, the inn appeared. Ishkr jumped as he saw Numbtongue appear. The Goblin walked through the door.

“Numbtongue!”

Drassi waved at him. She was helping in the inn, serving the adventurers. Numbtongue saw they hadn’t really moved much since he’d last seen them. From the looks of it some were gambling while they took turns lugging their door north.

“Trouble?”

Ceria looked up sharply as Numbtongue entered the inn. The Goblin shook his head and grimaced.

“Thirsty.”

“I’ll get you some water. Stamina potion?”

“Water. And I need…”

Numbtongue gestured at his muddy clothes. Ishkr nodded.

“We have some buckets in the kitchen. I’ll refill them from Liscor’s wells later, so use them as much as you need, yes?”

“And Erin had better invest in a well. Because getting to that stream of hers is a nightmare with all this muck! I’ll talk to Lyonette about it.”

Within minutes, Numbtongue had washed the mud off of himself outside and gotten a long drink of water. Then he took a ten minute break next to the fire. He watched Dawil lose an arm-wrestling competition to the old Human [Mage], Typhenous, and vaguely approved of the blatant magical cheating. Then he got back to work. He missed Apista flying out the door and the chaos that ensued.

Slower now. Numbtongue stopped his mad dash up the base of the mountain and took a more leisurely pace. Still a decently fast hike, but he was looking around now. Checking the mountain, the distant rocks, the odd tree growing on a flat bit of land, the flowers, and the bird that flew past him. It was peaceful up here. Quiet.

It was what Numbtongue needed. He had just his thoughts to deal with. And Pyrite’s. It had led him up here, where Numbtongue wouldn’t have ventured. After all, why bother climbing a mountain? To look for food? Sure, if you were desperate, but the valleys held enough. No, you only climbed if you had a reason. And that was to mine. It wasn’t Numbtongue’s idea. It was Pyrite’s.

Numbtongue was trying to consolidate the memories in his head, understand them rather than lug them around. It was like…the difference between knowing that fire was hot and feeling the heat of a flame on your skin. Numbtongue could think and pull out the information he needed, but it was a conscious effort. He would rather know, and the part of Pyrite was insistent that mining was important. It was strange how Numbtongue knew how important it was to Pyrite.

He had never met the Hobgoblin. But he could imagine him climbing beside him, peering at the mountain and rocks around them, grunting and pointing them out. It was eerie. It felt like more than just Numbtongue’s imagination. Was this what Chieftains could do? See the past Goblins, talk to them? But the Pyrite in Numbtongue’s head didn’t turn or make conversation.

He was still dead.

But he was showing Numbtongue what to do. How to navigate the terrain without wasting energy. What to look for. Numbtongue followed the instincts in his mind. He climbed, and now he was thinking. Remembering what was, to Pyrite, knowledge bordering on subconscious. But all fresh to Numbtongue. And what Pyrite was telling him now was all about caves.

Caves. Pyrite had been an expert on caves and rocks, and he’d found that not all caves were made equal. There were six basic cave types, or so he understood.

The first were meltwater caves. That was Pyrite’s name for them. They were distinctive, and the type Numbtongue knew of best. Stalactites hanging from the ceiling, large, cavernous networks. The Dropclaw Bat cave adjacent to the dungeon had been one such. But what Numbtongue hadn’t known was that each cave was made up of a certain type of rock, usually limestone.

These caves existed because groundwater and rain would eat away at the stone, dissolving it bit by bit over centuries and millennia. Hence the caves were usually one type of stone predominantly, and had the stalagmites, columns of stone, and other distinctive features. It was usually the den of animals, bugs, and opportunistic monsters.

Two other caves were due to water as well: stream caves and sea caves. Pyrite only differentiated the two because sea caves were a product of waves and the oceans carving out stone, and stream caves could come from anywhere. Ice that melted and froze over centuries, redirected streams slowly eating away a tunnel, and so on. Like meltwater caves, all three were natural and largely unhelpful unless you were looking for something to eat. Sea caves sometimes got interesting as [Pirates] would stash loot there, but there was nothing intrinsically special about such places.

On the other hand, the last three caves were interesting indeed. The first of which were tube caves. They were long, winding, smooth caves that were the product of some incredible force pushing its way out of the mountain. They were winding, and unless they’d collapsed, tended to go down a long, long ways. Useful, in short, if you wanted to hunt about. But Numbtongue knew that the High Passes were too old for tube caves to be common; instead, he’d most likely find fracture caves.

The fifth type of cave that Pyrite knew of were fracture caves. Products of earthquakes, seismic events, or something else that made weak stone crack and collapse, giving rise to natural pockets or places under the earth. They were helpful as much as tube caves were; you never knew what you’d get or how the cave would turn out. If you were on the hunt for gemstones, you’d look for tube caves or fracture caves to find as much variety as possible; meltwater caves were usually of one type of stone, not what you wanted.

And yet, all these caves were natural. And thus, the odds of finding anything in them was still remote. That was why the sixth type of cave was Numbtongue’s best bet. And he spotted one after two hours of climbing.

At first, he thought it was a fracture cave. A product of chance. And perhaps that was how it had started. But as soon as Numbtongue gotten ten feet inside, he realized it was the sixth type of cave: monster caves.

If caves were by and large products of nature, that was because few things could make a dent in earth and stone without considerable efforts. Even the best of Human and Drake mines took ages to expand. And they weren’t caves, obviously. They had supports, structure, annoying Humans with pickaxes every few feet in…

But monster caves? They could be large and winding. And it wasn’t hard to see why. Give a creature the ability to eat, dissolve, or otherwise break stone and a few decades, and you’d get a cave. They were the sixth type of cave, and honestly, probably the most common. And if you were lucky, they were exactly what you wanted when hunting for rare stones. Because there was a trick to monster caves that few people, even adventurers, had realized.

The trick was that monsters dug towards mana. Some ate it, while others simply couldn’t ignore the allure of gemstones, or felt the tingling in the air and gravitated towards such spots. They didn’t always unearth whatever that source of mana was, but the odds were heightened that if you poked around in such places, you’d have a better chance of finding gemstones. Especially magic ones.

Was it useful information? Numbtongue paused as he stared at the knee-high tracks and distinctive nibbled look of the rock walls. He looked up—there was a lot of space not bearing the nibbling marks. The monsters must have collapsed the rock by accident. An adventurer might pick up on this information, but the hint about mana? Why would they bother?

After all, if you were an adventurer you killed monsters for loot. Caves weren’t a good source of loot; most monsters didn’t have pockets or covet gold like people did. And if you were [Miners], you tended not to want to run into monsters. On the other hand…

“Gemhammer. Are they miners too? Do they mine?”

Numbtongue remembered Erin telling him that Gemhammer was a former group of miners who’d learned to fight after a particularly nasty monster infestation had invaded their work space. So they probably weren’t familiar with the monster cave theory either. Perhaps it was only Pyrite. Perhaps…he had been unique.

That gave Numbtongue some comfort as he unrolled the door and set it up against the cave wall. Here was knowledge only a Goblin had time to learn. Only a Goblin needed to learn. Because they couldn’t settle a place and exploit it like people. Here was how Goblins mined.

Numbtongue opened the door, retrieved his pickaxe, and his guitar just in case he needed to throw a lightning bolt—he doubted it could be used inside a cave, but you never knew—and a lantern. Then he stepped back into the cave and walked forwards, pickaxe in hand.

A Goblin entered the caves, pausing, staring up at the ceiling. The first thing you checked for was faults, signs you wouldn’t have the cave collapse on you. The next thing Numbtongue checked for was gas, anything in the air that was dangerous. He did that by inhaling rapidly a few times and deciding he didn’t feel faint.

The third thing Numbtongue checked for was what he knew was there. Monsters. He found traces of them after a minute of walking into the cave. The tunnel expanded and shrank, turning into one nesting cavern—buried by rocks, another tunnel, at one point so low that Numbtongue had to duck, and then more exposed space.

Pyrite’s memories told Numbtongue what he was probably going to find before he found the first cracked, dried up shell. Only a few species were so careless in tunneling that they let the stone above them collapse and slowly excavated the entire damn place. And that was the small, roly-poly insect with lots of legs and a curving shell that scuttled past Numbtongue. He stopped.

Rockmites.

The little things filled the next bend in the tunnels. They were all over the walls, scurrying from place to place, industriously widening their domain. Their little jaws were incredibly strong, but the real trick to them was the dissolving acid they squirted. Not enough to be used in combat, but just enough to weaken the stone so they could tear chunks of it away.

They ate stone, or at least, Pyrite thought they did. But stone is a poor diet, so Rockmites also gave lichen a place to live. It was that which constituted their diets. Lichen, rocks, small insects that came to feast on the lichen…Rockmites had it simple and good. They could hollow out huge nests where they lived in quiet peace, creating an ecosystem to live in without disturbing anyone.

Oh, and if you disturbed them, they’d swarm all over you and tear you apart. Numbtongue recalled that pressing bit of information a moment before he stepped into the cave. He froze. But Pyrite was calm. Or he would be, if he were here.

This was all you had to do. Numbtongue slowly walked forwards, watching each step he took. The Rockmites sensed him instantly; they didn’t really pause in their tasks for the most part, but the ones closest to the ground let go and fell off. Then they scurried towards the Goblin.

Step. Step. Numbtongue kept his balance, guitar raised, pickaxe held at his side. He stopped when the little shapes crawling around him grew too many to avoid stepping on. Then he waited.

The Rockmites were investigating this intruder warily. The scuttled around him. Thousands of eyeless little bugs, clicking on the stone floor. Numbtongue wondered what they tasted like. Pyrite answered for him.

Not good, unless you boiled them with a lot of salt. And even then, not worth the effort. They could take chunks out of you fast. If they attacked, run and don’t stop.

But they wouldn’t attack. Numbtongue had to believe that. He held very still, waiting, until the first Rockmite scuttled up his leg. It didn’t take long. Numbtongue felt the prickly, painful legs crawling up him, and before the first bite could take a chunk out of his flesh he opened his mouth.

Click!

It wasn’t a word, but a sound. Numbtongue made the clicking sound as loud as could be and felt the Rockmite let go at once. The others around him fled back a few feet. Numbtongue waited. They scuttled around him, and then approached.

Click!

Again, the Rockmites fled. And now they had the hang of it. Scuttle forwards, and Numbtongue would click loudly. After four attempts, the Rockmites decided that this strange thing was neither food nor danger. So they left him alone and scuttled back towards the walls. Numbtongue exhaled slowly.

That’s all you had to do. Just click as loudly as you could and they’d realize you weren’t food and leave you alone. If one bit you? Shake it off. But don’t step on them, take no sudden moves…Rockmites weren’t predators. They didn’t want to kill you, just live. If you left them alone, they’d leave you alone.

Humans never understood that. But Pyrite had and he’d walked through countless Rockmite caves, sometimes passing by the bones of creatures who’d come with malice aforethought. And now Numbtongue walked past them.

The Rockmites had settled one big nest, but their tunnels were ever-expanding to accommodate their nests and lichen production. Numbtongue passed from the nest down the first tunnel he found, clicking now and then to scare away the Rockmites. And now he was sure of it.

There was magic here.

You could feel it. A vibration at the back of your mind and head, a constant tingling, as faint as could be. You couldn’t really sense it in Erin’s inn—there was always something going on, for one thing. And that magic door sucked the mana right out of the air. But here? There was something magical giving off a faint emanation and Numbtongue, moving ever so slowly, couldn’t help but sense it.

“Natural leyline? Lost artifacts? Magic monster? Gemstones?”

There were all kinds of things that produced magic. And where magic was, the stones picked it up. Over time, over the course of many years. The right stones, the right combination of magic. Pyrite didn’t know, but he had at least observed cause and effect. And it was a second Goblin trick that Numbtongue employed now.

He reached into his pocket and pulled something out. The mana stone. He’d left the door at the entrance to the cave, but Numbtongue wasn’t about to leave the stone to be snatched by some greedy crow. Or worse, have an adventurer or Mrsha try and follow him. And the mana stone had another use here too.

The darkness of the cave was very absolute. And as Numbtongue turned off the lantern, even his eyes couldn’t piece it. But then he lifted the mana stone up and a different, softer light filled the room.

The mana stone was purple, a deep, calm, plum glow. It filled the cave around Numbtongue, glinting off Rockmites silently gnawing away, off the stone ceiling, a faint light. But Numbtongue felt like it was bright enough to see everything. In the darkness, even the little light was a beacon. So Numbtongue held it up and held still.

Wait. For minutes, as your heartbeat faded, as the Rockmites dug in the distance, as noise stopped. Wait. Wait and focus—not on the mana stone, but past it. Sensing the darkness. Sensing the level of light. And then take a step. And another.

Hold the mana stone up at eye-level. But always look ahead. Watch your step for Rockmites, walk. Down this way? Or that? It doesn’t matter. You’ll go everywhere in the end. Wait, and step carefully. Watch the glow.

That was all you did. Hold up the mana stone and follow the glow. Where the light of the mana stone grew brighter, or where you saw flashes amid the cave walls, you stopped. You might find a bit of ore, gemstones, or something magical.

Wait. Wait and walk. Contrary to what someone might think—if the thoughts of Goblins mining ever crossed their mind at all—Goblins weren’t active miners. They didn’t hammer at stone, trying to expose veins and tear out huge sections of earth with grit and sweat. They waited. They moved in places only monsters went. Searching for the light.

Numbtongue did the same now. He walked slowly, carefully, inspecting this cave. Perhaps the first of many today. There were no guarantees, after all. The magic he felt in the air might be in his mind after all, or so faint he’d never find it.

In time he would gain a prospecting Skill. But this was how Pyrite had done it starting out. Not looking for gold or gemstones, which often required digging and guesswork. But walking through the dens of monsters. So Numbtongue walked deeper into the Rockmite tunnels, following the glow, and the footsteps of the Goblin he had never met.

Waiting. Walking. Slowly. Learning how to live without fighting.

—-

The first thing the strange, black-furred Gnoll did when Erin stopped crying was offer her something. A white, fibrous stick, one of several in a small packet.

“Nali-stick?”

Erin stared at it. She sniffed, wiped her nose on her sleeve, and stared at the Gnoll. Then she looked around.

“If you’re going to kidnap me or drug me, you want to lure me into a back alley first. Or a van. Or wagon, I guess.”

The Gnoll looked shocked. He stared at Erin, and then burst out laughing. Some of the Gnolls on the street turned as he laughed, nearly dropping the little white sticks on the ground.

“And why would I do that?”

“I dunno. Isn’t there an expression about not taking candy from strangers around here?”

“I thought Humans never looked gift horses in the mouth.”

The Gnoll grinned, his teeth flashing. He pointed at the little sticks.

“These aren’t poison, Miss Human. And I’d be a poor [Kidnapper] or whatever the correct class is to try and take you in Pallass, much less on the street surrounded by Gnolls. We can hear a scream even behind closed doors and track a scent for miles.”

That was true. Erin looked around. This area did have a lot of Gnolls in it compared to the seventh floor. The Gnoll saw her indecision.

“We can also smell drugs and poison. Well, most. Ah, but perhaps you don’t know nali-sticks? These aren’t poison. And I’d prove it by offering it to anyone who asked.”

He didn’t raise his voice, but he didn’t have to. At his words, the group of Gnoll youths broke off from their game of kickball and raced over. The older Gnoll fended them off, grasping the small package to his chest.

“Back off! One! I’ll share one with you all. Here. Split it—”

Before he’d finished, the little nali-stick was torn apart and shared among the four Gnolls. Erin saw them chewing and closing their eyes with looks of bliss. That convinced her.

“If this is a drug—”

“Just sugar.”

The Gnoll assured her. Erin was about to say she’d try a drug in her current mood—at least, one of the fun ones that didn’t take your nose off—but she was content with that. She accepted the nali-stick, eyed it, and then bit the top third of it off and chewed.

Instantly Erin’s eyes grew wide.

“Sweet!”

“Isn’t it?”

The Gnoll chuckled at Erin’s reaction. The other Gnoll youths were begging for another, and with a sigh, he plucked another from his pack. Instead of giving it to them, he raised it and threw it across the street. The Gnolls yelped and dove for it. Erin thought they wouldn’t mind a bit of dirt.

Neither would she. The nali-stick was as concentrated with sugar as anything she’d eaten from home. It was sinful. Delightful. She ate the rest of her stick, licking her fingers, and noticed the Gnoll was watching her.

Here would be the point where a suspicious person might wonder if he was trying to approach her with some kind of ulterior motive. If not strictly kidnapping, then something else. But Erin didn’t get that sense from this Gnoll. He had a terrible, terrible way of approaching anyone from Earth, but he couldn’t know that.

“Thank you. I’m Erin Solstice.”

The Gnoll transferred the remaining nali-sticks to his other paw and shook her hand gently.

“Rufelt. City Gnoll.”

“City Gnoll?”

It was an odd way of introducing himself. Erin knew there was a difference of course; Mrsha was a Plains Gnoll and she didn’t let anyone forget it. But it seemed to matter here. Rufelt grinned sheepishly.

“Ah. Apologies. That’s a habit from meeting other Gnolls. It helps avoid confusion, you see. Do you know the difference between a City Gnoll and a Plains Gnoll?”

“One lives in tribes, the other lives in cities?”

Rufelt nodded. He tucked the nali-sticks into his belt pouch as he spoke.

“Correct. But the difference is more…hm, let’s say, serious, than that, shall we? By saying I am a City Gnoll, I avoid confusion. Which can happen if a Plains Gnoll assumes I’m one of them.”

“How so?”

He grinned wider, but, Erin thought, with a slight edge.

“Well, to hear them say it, a City Gnoll is a domesticated fool without tribe or loyalty. But I would say that being a City Gnoll means I don’t roll over and bow to tribe loyalty. I am free, not borne into a family of hundreds or thousands who all have connections to me.”

“…There’s a lot to unpack there.”

“Indeed. But that is a difference I would not trouble you with at the moment. In truth, I hoped to speak with you, Erin Solstice. I know your name—”

“From Liscor?”

Erin was suddenly weary and much less happy with meeting Rufelt. He tilted his head.

“Mm. Yes. But not just from there. I heard you were in Pallass, or rather, word spread someone came through the door. So I wished to find out who. And I am pleased I met you, yes? And I think my wife will also be. She is coming and not pleased I found you first.”

He pointed. Erin turned, expecting to see…but what she saw was a female Drake, her scales bright purple, striding down the street. She was around the same age as Rufelt. And, Erin realized, she was the first middle-aged Drake that she’d met. She knew younger Drakes like Embria and Selys, and older ones like Tekshia, but Zevara was around two decades younger than this Drake.

“Ah. There you are, Rufelt. And this is the Human? Erin Solstice? Lasica Feltail. You’ve met my husband.”

“I told you a Gnoll could find a Human faster than any number of Street Runners you paid.”

Lasica turned and gave Rufelt a look that Erin read in two ways. Exasperated, annoyed at his gentle needling. And below it, affection. A complex look that didn’t stop her from turning to slap his shins with her tail.

“Bragging becomes a Drake, not a Gnoll. Anyways, Miss Erin? I will call you Erin, if you don’t mind.”

She held out a hand and Erin found herself shaking it before she knew what she was doing.

“Uh, no. But um, why did you both want to see me?”

Lasica exchanged a glance with Rufelt.

“You mean, why did we want to meet the first person from Liscor since the siege ended?”

“Or why we wanted to meet someone willing to pay Pallass’ fee for entry?”

“Or the fact that it was the Crazy Human Innkeeper from Liscor herself who entered?”

“Wait—hold on. Fee? And wait—do they really call me that?”

Erin looked from Lasica to Rufelt. The Drake tapped her foot, staring at Erin with raised brows.

“Hm. Are you being serious? Yes, they called you that. Do you think you can lead an army of Goblins without earning a name? Let alone the stories I’ve heard of your little inn. Rivers of blood, skeletons as guests, serving Crelers for breakfast—”

“I think she means the fee, dear.”

Rufelt muttered to Lasica. The Drake glanced at him and then turned back to Erin.

“Ah. They didn’t make you pay to enter Pallass?”

“No.”

“Hmf. Well, I suppose a hero of Liscor deserves free entry. But that doesn’t change the fact that we want a word with you about that—”

The Drake woman’s impatient tone was quelled by Rufelt, who put a paw on her shoulder. He murmured as she glanced at him.

“Lasica. I think this is not the time for confrontation. Miss Erin was distraught when I met her.”

For a beat the Drake locked eyes with her husband and Erin saw something invisible pass between them. A thought, perhaps. Then the Drake turned back to Erin.

“Not the time, then. But for later. In truth, we wanted to welcome you to Pallass. From what I heard, Venim and the Assembly gave you a poor welcome last time—and this time as well from the sounds of it.”

“I had a [Greeter] show me around. But about this fee—”

Erin protested weakly. Lasica rode over her, like the tide over a sandcastle at the beach.

“A [Greeter]? Then you’ve barely seen the sights. Come back with us, and we’ll work on you—first your mood, from what I see that’s Rufelt’s job. And then—”

“I didn’t know there was a fee to enter Pallass at all. No one told me. How much was I supposed to pay?”

Lasica paused. Rufelt raised his eyebrows.

“No one told you about the fee?”

“No…”

Erin was wondering if it was something else she’d missed with Watch Captain Venim, or if he had waived it for her. Rufelt scratched at his neck.

“Hm. Interesting.”

“Intriguing. Tell me, Erin. Does five gold coins to use the door to Liscor ring a bell?”

Lasica folded her arms. Erin’s eyes widened.

“Five gold coins? That’s robbery! No one told me about that—and wait, five coins? Do I get paid some of that? I never set a price on the door. But I should. Shouldn’t I? But I’m sure no one pays to go to Pallass, or if they do, Zevara never said!”

“I see.”

Lasica’s eyes narrowed. She glanced at Rufelt. He was blinking and running a hand down his furry chin, staring at Erin.

“Rufelt, do you think this is another gambit by…?”

“The Protectorate? I do indeed, my dear. And one that Liscor might not even be aware of. Worth a mention, do you think?”

“Absolutely.”

Lasica nodded as if she were declaring war. She swung around to face Erin, who was blinking at the two of them. It had been a long time since she heard people half-finish each other’s sentences. Her parents used to do that all the—

“Well, I had intended something else, but I’ll change my schedule. Come on, we’d better muster the troops. The Protectorate’s not getting away this time. Erin, if you’ll come with me, we can do some good.”

She turned, gesturing at Erin. The young woman nearly fell into step behind Lasica before she knew what she was doing. The older Drake was imperious. She looked at Rufelt, who was walking next to her, looking cheerful and relaxed.

“Wait, but I—sorry, we’ve just met. And I appreciate the uh, stick, but I have things to do.”

She didn’t, really, but the sudden turn of events was startling. Lasica turned and gave Erin a long stare, condensed into a moment.

“And you were planning on doing what, exactly?”

“Um. Wandering about and crying some more?”

Lasica gave Rufelt another look, this time a glare. Erin practically read the ‘you didn’t say that’, and his apologetic look of ‘you didn’t give me a chance, my dear’. Lasica turned back to Erin.

“All the more reason to come with us.”

“We’ll show you the city as we walk.”

Rufelt took Erin’s left and Lasica the right. They urged her on, and Erin found herself somehow walking without them touching her. Lasica was on her right, talking briskly, Rufelt on the left, adding little asides.

“You see, we were looking for you, but this news about the door changes things. I don’t want to intrude, but it really is important. I know you might think it’s just Pallassian politics—”

“And minor ones at that.”

“—But it does matter. You know—actually, you might not—that Pallass is a democracy? Well, we have yearly elections and we’re a week away from ours. And so any edge is needed.”

“We didn’t come to you expecting to hear there was no fee on Liscor’s side. And in truth, we’re pleased to simply meet you, Erin. May I call you that? But Lasica’s on the warpath, and I’d like to support her on this.”

Erin’s head swiveled back from Lasica to Rufelt, blinking as they made their way towards the elevator. She settled on Rufelt.

“I thought you were a City Gnoll who answered to no leader.”

He turned and gave her a toothy grin.

“Ah, you’ve not ever been in a relationship then. One where you give and take.”

Erin was wondering what he got from Lasica. She looked at the Drake, at Rufelt, and blurted out something boiling on the tip of her tongue. She couldn’t help it.

“I’ve never met a Gnoll and Drake couple before.”

The said Drake and Gnoll stopped in front of the elevator. Lasica pulled a cord absently and a bell rang. Then she turned to look at Rufelt. He met her gaze, and then both turned back to Erin.

“Well, now you have. Have you ridden the floor lifts before, Erin?”

“Uh, yes?”

“You don’t get nervous about heights, do you? There’s no fear of the cables breaking—and if they do, there’s a feather fall enchantment. We use the stairs anyways because the lifts do terrible things for the stomach, but we’re in a hurry and I don’t fancy going two floors up on foot.”

“Oh, I’m fine. But where are we going?”

“To visit the blacksmithing section.”

Rufelt smiled at Erin as the elevator came back up. The Drake with the pink neck spines sighed when she saw Erin. Lasica stepped into the elevator.

“Nine.”

The Drake looked at Erin.

“Which floor, Human?”

Her voice was audibly impatient. Lasica’s head turned slowly. She narrowed her eyes at the elevator attendant and her tail lashed a bit.

“She is with us. Nine.”

The attendant looked at Lasica and Erin saw her quail a bit.

“My apologies. Going up to the ninth floor…”

Erin felt the elevator shoot up, and braced herself. The other occupants were steady on their feet. Rufelt smiled again at Erin and gestured to their rapid ascent.

“Fascinating things, aren’t they? So recent as well! Imagine if we could build a spire, or something straight up like the [Architects] are suggesting? True, it would go over the walls, but could anyone hit such a building if we placed it in the center of the city? And we could use the floor lifts to make a journey from the top to bottom a matter of minutes!”

“It’s a splendid idea. But who’s going to pay for that much stone and enchantments?”

Lasica folded her arms. Rufelt shook his head, but not exactly to disagree.

“It need not be a work of years. It may take decades—”

“Why bother, then? You know it will be fought over for ages by each new assembly. If you do something, do it fast.”

“You just said there’s no money—”

“I asked where the money would come from, not that there wasn’t any to be had.”

“Of course, Lassi.”

Rufelt smiled at Erin. So did Lasica, after a second. The elevator stopped and Lasica marched out.

“A difference of opinion. We often argue about politics.”

“That was a fight?”

Erin stared between Drake and Gnoll. Lasica shook her head.

“Not a very good one. This way. This is the smithing floor, by the way. Ninth. If you ever come looking for someone to forge to anything, this is your stop. But that’s not really your line of work, or ours, is it? The finished products are on seventh along with a lot of shops—”

Erin stepped forwards out of the elevator with Rufelt by her side. Her eyes widened as she felt herself on the top floor of Pallass, besides the battlements. She looked around.

“Whoa.”

The ninth floor was the smallest. At least, in horizontal space. It was a narrow band running around each wall compared to, say, the second floor, but that narrow band was still large enough to support a very large space. So large, in fact, that the first thing Erin saw outside the elevator was a row of outdoor forges. And she could hear a rhythmic clanging of metal on metal coming from one.

“Behold! The smiths of Pallass!”

Rufelt had to shout to make himself heard as Erin followed Lasica towards the third forge. The [Blacksmiths] of Pallass had been given their own quarter near the top of the city and their work spaces had been placed right next to each other. They were sprawling complexes, with anvils, multiple forge fires depending on how big each forging studio was, and rightly so.

Erin could feel the heat of one of the furnaces from here, and she saw a sweating Drake pounding on an orange-white piece of steel. A blade? It was cooling fast despite the heat and she saw him shove it in a furnace filled with coals—and fire—and begin working a pair of bellows.

“Hot steel!”

Someone bellowed. Erin jumped, but she was well clear of the voice. A Drake passed her by, carrying what was indeed a very hot piece of steel. She noticed Rufelt crossing to her other side as he did.

“This is incredible. Look at all those furnaces.”

Erin hadn’t ever seen a [Blacksmith] at work, let alone the dozens within view. Rufelt shuddered.

“Incredible? Yes. But dangerous as well. There’s a reason most of the [Blacksmiths], [Armorers], and apprentices and so on you see are species other than Gnoll.”

He gestured at his fur. Erin eyed him and thought of how fast you could burn yourself when your entire body was covered by hair.

“Yeah I get that. But uh, why are we up here?”

She was still caught up in the flow. Lasica was walking ahead of them, peering at the forges as if looking for someone. She slowed down a bit to explain.

“It’s about the Protectorate.”

“Start from the beginning, dear.”

“Of course. Actually—can you explain it, Rufelt? I don’t know how I would to someone who’s not a Drake.”

“Hm. Yes, allow me. Erin, I believe my wife spoke to you of Pallass’ democracy, right? Are you familiar with the term?”

“Oh, a little bit. Yeah.”

“Good. That saves me much explaining. Well, we elect our ruling body, the Assembly of Crafts, by district. There are hundreds who fill the assembly, but they are not all individuals, yes? You see, there are factions. There are always factions. We elect Senators, but each tend to belong to a party. An affiliation of ideas.”

“Different parties. Different groups. Totally with you.”

Rufelt raised his brows as if to say, ‘really’? But one look at Erin’s face convinced him. Lasica broke in.

“Indeed. Well, of the major groups, there is one that concerns us. The Protectorate has been growing lately. Excuse me—they call themselves the Protectors of the Walls, and take a hard stance on immigration, trade, and so forth. They’ve been popular because their tariffs favor local businesses, but they go too far, at least in some of our opinions.”

She turned and gave a passing Drake a glare, as if to suggest that he was one of the complacent ones. Rufelt chuckled as the accused Drake gave Lasica an odd look and hurried past. She went on calmly.

“We don’t like them, Rufelt and I. But happily, their party took a large blow to their influence after Liscor. Too many people saw them as tail-dragging cowards who could have done more to aid the city. Instead, we cut ties and the entire world saw how few soldiers we sent while every other Walled City and lesser city-state was marching armies north.”

“Wow. So Liscor’s siege had more of an effect on Pallass than I thought.”

Erin looked at the married couple and saw Lasica smile. Rufelt grinned again.

“Not just Liscor. A certain [Innkeeper] had as much to do with the Protectorate’s misfortune as well. Had Liscor fallen, the Protectorate might have claimed it was all sensible precautions they took. Instead, they look like fools and will lose ground in the yearly elections. Or so I think. And this soon-to-be scandal will only fuel that flame, don’t you think, Lasica?”

“Oh, definitely. As if we needed another reason to like you.”

“Wait, you like me? You barely even know me!”

“Well, give it time. We just have to pop in to visit—hey! Is this Maughin’s forge for the day!”

Lasica shouted as she came to a large and very busy forge. Erin saw a Gnoll—covered in a protective apron and patches of missing fur—look up as he worked a grindstone and sent sparks flying on a blade. He shouted an affirmative. Lasica bellowed at him.

“I’m looking for Maughin? Is he available?”

Rather than shout, he pointed. The Drake turned and walked around the forge. Erin followed, and Rufelt stayed behind the two.

“Don’t get too close! They’re running about with steel in there and sparks go flying! You stay back too, Rufelt!”

Erin saw Lasica approach the main section of the forge. And there she saw two people working on anvils, both with their own dedicated forge. One was a Drake, younger, and the second was another of those not-Human people in armor. She—it was a she beneath the soot, Erin thought—was brushing at some very hot metal while a huge man in armor, twice her size, was shouting orders at her.

“Faster! Remove the scaling in one stroke or you’re wasting heat! You don’t need a skill, just move your hands!”

His voice was clearly audible over the sound of the other forges. The female…armor girl nodded and brushed faster. She apparently did it right, because he pointed and she was on the piece of metal, hitting one spot, and, from what Erin could see, making it longer, stretching it out.

“Maughin!”

The word made the armored man look up. He scowled at first, but when he saw Lasica waving at him, his face changed. Not exactly to happiness, but at least the scowl dissipated a little. He shouted at one of the other armored folk waiting in the wings and got a nod. The other apprentice or worker took over supervising as Maughin strode towards them.

He was another person in armor, like Lorent. But this fellow, Maughin was huge. A proper giant! Not as tall as Moore, but certainly nearly as broad-shouldered. His armor was metal, finely engraved, but, Erin had to notice, light plates of steel rather than the heavier armor Lorent had worn. Even so, he was very sweaty and red in the face. As he walked over, he reached up and—Erin was ready for it, but she still gasped—took off his head and carried it in one arm.

“Lasica. Rufelt. And who is this?”

Maughin’s voice came from his head as he held it out, away from his body. Erin didn’t know if it was an insult or to keep him cool—until she realized he was holding it down, at head-height. Lasica nodded to him.

“Maughin, meet the Human from Liscor. Erin Solstice. Do you recognize the name?”

The huge man paused. He wiped a bit of sweat from his forehead, carefully patting his head with a bit of cloth. Erin didn’t know whether to stare at the head or the body.

“The name strikes a bell. From Liscor?”

“The very same. And guess where she just came from? The doorway that costs five gold coins. Which, as it turns out, was free for her and apparently anyone coming through from Liscor. What do you think about that?”

The armored giant thought for a second. Then he turned his head to spit.

“Politics. Why are you bringing this onto my forge floor?”

Erin kept staring at him. Maughin eyed her and Lasica. The Drake was cool, and addressed his head calmly.

“We only want you to bring it up with the other [Smiths]. Say, by sundown? You can just send an apprentice over. But you know this is bad for trade.”

“I do. On the other hand, trade flows north regardless of a single door.”

“But through the Blood Fields? You must admit you have few clients as far north as Liscor, and none in Human lands. And here’s a door, only we’ve apparently been deincentivized to use it. Did I mention that no one on Liscor’s side knew of the charge? At least, not the [Innkeeper] herself.”

Maughin’s head turned towards Erin. She froze up. The giant’s head frowned at her.

“Is this true?”

“I—I—how do you do that with your head?”

The man blinked. Lasica stared. And Rufelt, who’d been hanging back, barked with laughter.

“Maughin, you might be the first Dullahan she’s met! Don’t frown so!”

The armored man—no, the Dullahan stared at Erin. Then, slowly, he placed his head back on his shoulders. He spoke slowly.

“Apologies. I did not realize that there were Humans who didn’t recognize Dullahans on sight. Was this…offensive to you?”

Erin noted the small frown and the nudge Lasica quickly gave her. She waved her hands.

“No! Not at all! But I’ve never seen—I mean, I’ve seen people without heads, but they’re normally dead when that happens. I had no idea there were people like…uh. Hi! I’m Erin Solstice.”

She held out a hand. Maughin took it and gave her the lightest of squeezes. Lasica smiled, looking amused.

“Maughin is a Dullahan. From Baleros.”

“Oh.”

Erin finally remembered where she’d heard the word Dullahan before. But she’d never seen a Dullahan or quite understood what a Dullahan was until now. Rufelt and Lasica gave her the condensed version.

“So you can remove heads and limbs? And you wear armor, but you can decorate it? That’s so…so…”

Erin pondered for words. Hermit crab-like? Robot-ish? She settled for a safe bet.

“…cool! I bet there’s all kinds of stuff you can do! Like—do your work and put your head down and read a book! Wait, you can’t flip pages that way. Or…or go swimming with your head above water! But you can’t see that way…”

“Dullahans can sense the area around their bodies. But it is not so convenient. Nevertheless, I am pleased you speak so highly of our abilities. Not all Humans do.”

Maughin was a slow, deliberate speaker. And like Lorent, his face didn’t change as visibly as another species’ might. Erin got the sense that he was quite formal outside of the forge. Lasica jumped into the conversation, then.

“As I was saying, you had no idea of the fee levied on visitors from Pallass, did you, Erin?”

“What? Oh, no. Not at all. And I wouldn’t charge a thing! I only agreed not to ship Runner’s goods through the door. You know, so they wouldn’t go out of work? And merchant’s goods. But visitors are welcome!”

Maughin pondered this. He looked at Lasica.

“So this is a Protectorate bill?”

“Or at least, something the Assembly did under wartime powers that they didn’t inform us about. All perfectly legal, but not exactly fair. This is hardly a measure to save lives, is it?”

“No.”

Maughin looked displeased, but he didn’t spit again. He looked at Lasica and sighed.

“Are you going to bring other guilds into this?”

“At least the [Alchemists] and some of the other businesses. We do good work inside the city, but these tariffs are hurting us all, Maughin. If this needs to be our sticking point to get more support, so be it. What do you say?”

The Dullahan chewed this over. At last, he grudgingly nodded. But he turned to Erin as he did.

“You have my support on condition. [Innkeeper] Solstice. Will you swear that Liscor had no knowledge of these fines?”

He bent down to look at Erin. She gulped but met his eyes.

“Absolutely. I didn’t know, and Watch Captain Zevara didn’t either. Or she would tell me.”

Erin thought she would, at any rate. She hoped Zevara would. Maughin nodded.

“Then I will speak to the others and reach an accord. Although I’m uneasy about opening a door fully to another city, even so.”

Lasica sighed.

“It’s not a full connection, Maughin. That door can barely handle a few travelers per day. After the [Mages] moved the soldiers back from Liscor they were half-dead, and the Assembly requisitioned everyone in the city. Come on, you know this is a good deal. Even if they only let people through, you could get orders from Liscor. The City Watch at least will want to bulk up after the siege.”

The Dullahan was nodding reluctantly.

“True. That might open up business. But I was more concerned about—”

“Done!”

Every head turned as a shout came from the forge beside Maughin’s. Erin heard a low, bass voice and an accent that was half-familiar. Then she saw a short, bearded fellow stumble out of his forge, holding a breastplate. The metal didn’t gleam; it was black with soot or something else, and bits of it flaked off as the Dwarf hurled the breastplate on the ground. But from the pure sound Erin heard as it struck the stone and the way it only flexed a bit at the impact, she was sure it was a sturdy breastplate.

“Pelt.”

Maughin looked over disapprovingly at the Dwarf. The other [Smith], who was shouting back into the forge, looked over. He blinked at the Dullahan.

“Maughin. Taking a break off? Good for you. I’m done as well.”

Erin glanced at the sky. It was barely past morning! Maughin seemed to share the same opinion. He stared at the breastplate lying on the ground.

“You finished your suit of armor?”

The Dwarf, Pelt, shrugged.

“Breastplate. Good enough for me. I’m done for the day. Armor looks good. So we’re done. One of the apprentices can do the engraving and inlays.”

“And if they err?”

There could be no greater sin, clearly. But Pelt shrugged.

“It’s adornment. It doesn’t matter. The steel is sturdy. And I don’t feel like making more. Who’s the Human?”

He pointed a finger at Erin. She smiled and Lasica began to explain. Pelt cut her off with a rude sound.

“I don’t care. Vote whomever you want into your damn seats. So long as the walls don’t come crashing down, leave me out of it.”

Affronted, the Drake glared at him. Rufelt looked resigned. Pelt stomped past them, as a Drake hurried out to collect the breastplate from the ground. Erin stared at the Dwarf’s back as Maughin shook his head and turned, quite deliberately, to talk to Lasica with his back to the Dwarf.

“Who was that?”

Rufelt sighed and shrugged.

“Pelt. A brilliant [Smith], but a lousy worker. An odd combination in someone with high levels. But Maughin probably wishes Pelt would drink himself senseless all the time or sober up and take him on as an apprentice.”

“He’s that good?”

Erin blinked at the Dwarf, who was shouting for an elevator as he rang the bell. He looked unsteady. As if he was already drunk or, alternatively, hadn’t bothered to stop while forging. The Gnoll frowned.

“Good enough that he can work for a fraction of the time as our good Dullahan and still be competitive. There’s a saying of the two of them. You’ll always go to Maughin for good, high-quality work. But you hope Pelt has a good day and if he does, you buy from him.”

Erin glanced back at Maughin. From what she could see, his forge was the largest and his apprentices were working very hard alongside the journeymen. Meanwhile, in Pelt’s forge, a single Drake was cleaning up and working on the breastplate.

“It doesn’t seem quite fair.”

Rufelt nodded.

“Levels dictate much. And despite Maughin’s skill, he cannot yet match Pelt. But in a few years? Perhaps.”

“I had no idea there were…Dullahans in Pallass. Or Izril, to be honest. Are they common, just not in Liscor?”

The Gnoll frowned, but it was Maughin who approached and answered for him.

“There are few Dullahans on the continent, but we have a community in Pallass. After all, it is a city that offers [Smiths] a chance to work. We supply the southern half of the continent with much of the armor and weapons from these forges. If you so desire, Erin Solstice, I will take a commission from you. I shall remember your name.”

That had a ritualistic sound to it. Erin smiled and bowed to Maughin slightly.

“And I will uh, remember yours. Maughin, right?”

He nodded. Erin waved goodbye as the Dullahan walked back to his forge, already calling for an apprentice. Lasica shook her head.

“Well, that was simple, but I could have done without Pelt. You’re lucky he didn’t spot you, Rufelt. He’s still sore at you for cutting him off.”

“Then all is well, Lasica. Where to next. Let’s not drag about our guest more than we have to.”

“I’m fine.”

Erin was actually enjoying this a bit. Meeting Maughin had been fun. And she had a sense—even if she was hazy on the particulars—that she was doing something that was going to bug Pallass’ Assembly of Crafts. So she was all in. Lasica smiled.

“Hm. Well, we don’t need to go far. We’ll visit Xif, the [Alchemist] so he can send word along through his guild. And…stop by Melinni’s storehouses?”

“If you can bear it.”

The Drake lashed her tail.

“To tweak the Protectorate’s noses? Yes.”

“A noble sacrifice. Lead on, then.”

To Erin, Rufelt pointed across the ninth floor to the other side.

“We’re headed to the [Alchemist]’s section next. The other side, you see the colored smoke coming from that roof? That’s our destination. It is a bit of a walk—the [Engineers] haven’t developed a floor lift that goes sideways, yet.”

“Or at least, one that doesn’t take up too much space.”

The two marched across the floor, Erin walking between them. By this point her curiosity was fully stoked.

“Okay, I get that Maughin’s a good [Smith], but what’s the plan here? Get people angry at the Assembly and then what?”

“That’s all we need to do. It just needs to be the right people. Butchers, bakers—well, a [Chef]—and potion-makers. And a [Smith]. Throw in a few more high-leveled shopkeepers and artisans and we can cause a fuss. By sundown, the Assembly will have to issue an explanation for why we’re cutting trade with Liscor, and they might throw the Protectorate entirely under the wagon.”

Rufelt smiled happily to himself. Lasica nodded. They passed by a huge stairway, one of the four leading straight down all nine floors. Erin saw a crowd coming up the steps, some looking winded from the climb. She was passing along the walkways around the stairs when she heard another voice.

“Excuse me! Street Runner, coming through!”

This time she looked and saw the Gnoll hurtling past her in time. He leapt—not towards the busy stairs, the right side of which was going up, the left travelling down—but towards the ramp separating the two. Erin watched as the Gnoll charged down the incline, and wished, for a second, that she had a piece of cardboard so she could sled down.

She saw the Gnoll pass by a Drake girl kicking her feet while sitting on one of the guardrails, perilously teetering on the abyss. She looked up, and to Erin’s horror, stood up on the guardrail and pointed at the Street Runner.

“Race you!”

She leapt. Erin jerked, but then she saw the young Drake’s wings unfold. The Gnoll racing down the steps grunted as the Oldblood Drake girl dived past him, laughing merrily. The Street Runner didn’t look too pleased; Erin saw him turn abruptly and the girl Drake turn clumsily, crying out.

“Foul, foul!”

Rufelt and Lasica laughed at the young woman’s reaction. The Drake reassured Erin there was no danger.

“And if there was, it’s her parent’s fault for not getting her flying lessons. We’ve got enough Garuda and they’re natural-born fliers. Don’t worry. Some of the scaly brats love to race Street Runners. More often than not they lose; many of them don’t exercise their wings enough.”

“I’ve never seen—okay, I’ve seen one other person—but Drakes with wings are new to me. I know a Drake who breathes stuff, though. Mostly smoke.”

Lasica nodded.

“Oldblood Drakes are rare. Liscor doesn’t have…? Well, I suppose it’s a smaller city, isn’t it? What kind of breath is it? Just smoke? Acid? Frost? Lightning?”

“Fire.”

“Ah, generic. Well, that’s still rare enough. And speaking of rare…I have no proper segue. Here we are.”

She was leading them to the house with the chimney belching smoke. Rufelt coughed as they approached, then sneezed repeatedly.

“Another place I’d stay back from. This is why I hate the ninth. Lasica, mind if I…?”

Lasica nodded. Erin, who’d already caught a strange whiff in this section of the ninth floor, realized they were along a street filled with houses or studios that had the same weird scent emanating from them. A few had blown-out windows. One looked recently vacated. And burned.

The house in front of them looked normal, except for the smoke. Lasica waited and Erin blinked as the door opened and revealed a Gnoll with shaggy tan fur—stained every color imaginable and singed in two places.

He smelled like eight things at once, none particularly good and all nose-searingly strong. Rufelt refused to even go near him and left Erin and Lasica, whose noses weren’t nearly so good, to talk to the [Alchemist].

“I can barely smell at all these days. A byproduct of my work. So you are the [Innkeeper] one hears so much about? I am Xif, [Alchemist] of…”

He glanced over his shoulder quickly at the sign over his shop.

“…the Cunning Crafts. No, Cunning Crafts is my shop. My apologies, yes? Oh, and I am a City Gnoll, if anyone asks.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you.”

“And I you! Very kind of Lasica to bring you to meet me. Why, I saw the events at Liscor—a terrible thing, what those Humans were about to do. But you stopped them! Only, I doubt that’s the only reason you’re here?”

He was nothing like Octavia, from his pleasant, if befuddled demeanor, and the way he gave Erin the impression he was thinking of five things at once, like some chess players she’d met. Always thinking ahead and around her. He nodded when Erin pointed out the difference.

“Why, some [Alchemists] create potions in number to make money. But I, like others in Pallass, live only to create that which no one has ever seen. Or to rediscover and recreate lost recipes of old. It means I do not earn as much as some—”

Lasica rolled her eyes and twitched her tail irritably.

“—But he’s the best [Alchemist] in the city. At least, when he’s not endangering the rest of it with his experiments. There’s a reason why we put the [Alchemists] on the top floors.”

“To deal with the smoke and other stuff floating up?”

Erin pointed at the chimneys. Lasica shook her head.

“No. To make it easier to throw [Alchemists] off the walls if they cause trouble.”

“Sadly, true. I’ve lost many a good friend who incurred the wrath of the city.”

Xil’s ears lowered. Erin stared in horror at him. That couldn’t be true. Could it? But his face—

She saw Lasica’s grin and Xil’s smile, then. Erin stared at them in astonishment as the old Gnoll and Drake woman chuckled.

“You’re teasing me?”

She heard a laugh from Rufelt, who’d also listened to the joke. Xif leaned over, chuckling. He didn’t smell that bad, actually. Once your nose shut down, that was.

“Drake humor. It always involves someone suffering, yes? Pleased to meet you, Miss Solstice. It was a brave thing you did. I hope to see at least one Gnoll pass through from Liscor if Lasica has her way. Which she will, of course. Naturally I’ll agitate my fellows. They’d love nothing better than to harvest acid flies around Liscor, but none of them have thought of it yet I’ll wager. They’ll cause a stink, quite literally if you want it, Lasica.”

“A metaphorical one does for us. Good day, Xif. Stop by this evening if you’re free. We miss you at the bar. But do remember—”

“To wash. Ah, yes.”

The Gnoll bid them farewell. Lasica nodded, smiling a bit at the door and Erin thought she liked the old Gnoll more than Maughin. But the next moment she was all business.

“Onwards, then. We’ll stop at that damn—the scaly tease who—we’ll stop by the fourth floor, and then I can let you relax at our place.”

“And what exactly is that place?”

“You’ll see once we get there. But I think you should know already.”

Lasica walked on. And Erin couldn’t help but follow. She stared at the Drake as Rufelt followed them, sneezing and complaining about [Alchemists]. Erin was getting a funny feeling. The oddest sense of déjà vu. Only, it was coming from Lasica’s back as she led them to an elevator.

Down five floors at a dizzying pace. This floor was filled with less people than Erin expected, and more large, warehouse-like buildings and workers hauling goods. In fact, warehouses were the right word for it. For, at the next stop Lasica rapped on a small building connected to a very large warehouse. The sign read ‘Melinni’s Meats’. Well, that was straightforward enough.

“Rufelt! How wonderful it is to see you! And you. Lasica.”

The Drake had nearly perfect white scales, spotted only by a few pink dots along her tail. She and Lasica greeted each other like old enemies, and Rufelt hugged Melinni as she was introduced to Erin and given the rundown. The Drake [Butcher] clucked her tongue after she’d heard the story.

“The Protectorate’s afraid we’ll visit Liscor?”

“Maybe they just wanted to make it seem like only Liscorians would want to visit Pallass and not the other way around. Or devalue the door. Or do any number of things. The point is, we’re causing a fuss. Can you get the other [Butchers] in on this?”

“For you, Lasica? No. For Rufelt’s sake? I suppose so.”

Melinni sighed, and Lasica glared, but Erin had been watching the two Drake’s tails and she suspected half of their animosity was staged. Melinni did insist on showing Erin her ‘shop’ before they left, though, and it turned out her butcher’s shop was more of a storehouse for all the meat you could ever want.

“That’s…a lot of meat.”

Erin stared inside the disturbingly room-temperature storehouse at the racks of fresh meat, sausages, cuts of animals, fowl, fair, and still bloody. Melinni dealt in all kinds of meat. From Wyvern to rabbit. The Drake spread her arms wide, showing Erin the glowing preservation runes on the floor.

“More meat preserved here than you could eat in ten years, Human. But still, it is only a fraction of Pallass’ stockpiles. Come and see if you would like—but mind the floor runes!”

She led them down the main section, where buyers could point out what they wanted. But access beyond there was strictly forbidden; only the workers could pick out the meat and cut it.

“Slippers only if you walk past this point. Each section is double-warded, but we must take care not to scratch the protective runes.”

Melinni was the richest [Butcher] Erin had or possibly would ever meet. She could separate every bit of fat from a bit of meat with ease, but she’d found her real fortune in preserving meat long enough for it to be used. Her store house was one of the biggest on the fourth floor—Erin was slowly realizing that everyone Lasica and Rufelt knew were the big cheeses of their floor. She had to tell the Drake about the runes she’d accidentally damaged in her inn. The Drake was beside herself with the pain of Erin’s recollection.

“Oh, darling. You should have stayed away from that! But, rotten as it was? I’m surprised it was still going. Don’t beat yourself up too hard. Any good [Enchanter] would have spelled the wood against that sort of thing, but do they bother?”

“No.”

Rufelt and Lasica chorused with Melinni. Erin looked from face to face.

“You have problems with [Enchanters] too? I was trying to get some work done, but I hear they’re hard to hire.”

Melinni shuddered.

“Oh, the worst. Good [Enchanters] are hard to come by. I speak of the ones who work without asking for more coin, or slacking off on the job or arguing about design. Pallass has some and I hate them all to some degree. I tend to work with generalist [Mages], but their knowledge is often not so specialized…”

Rufelt nodded.

“The bar has several enchantments, but upgrading is very difficult. I’ve been waiting for a good Wistram [Mage] to stop by for months now. There’s a fault in the seal of one of our preservation runes, or so I think.”

Bar. Erin stared at the Gnoll and Lasica elbowed him, but it was too late and Melinni didn’t care. The Drake led them out, talking animatedly with him about the magical equivalent of home fixes.

“The trick is to apply a tiny bit of silver powder combined with crushed mana stones—any will do—and a tiny bit of glue. If the rune is working, it sometimes connects the…the gap? I’m no [Enchanter], but we’ve done that for two faulty runes and it’s worked both times. I still store the daily cuts there, though. One can never be sure…”

“You have a bar?”

Lasica looked put out as they bade farewell to Melinni, or rather, her husband did.

“That was a secret. Rufelt has a bar. I own the kitchen. We’re a partnership. Or did you think two random strangers had sought you out.”

“Well…I’ve had weirder encounters.”

Rufelt chuckled.

“I somehow don’t doubt that. But we are in the same business as you, Erin. And we always check out the competition. We’re headed to our bar now. We’d be delighted if you joined us. We didn’t mean to drag you about.”

“I didn’t mind. But are you sure? Don’t you have a business to run?”

Lasica waved that away.

“We make our money at night. And we have preservation runes of our own. We’ll stop by there. And we have to treat you, not just for the news about the door—”

She stopped as they neared the steps leading up to the fifth, which was their floor. A loud, chanting voice had risen above the general noise of the crowd. Erin saw the Drakes and Gnolls on the stairs look over their shoulders and clear a path on the left side. Then she saw a huge, muscular Drake wearing tight-fitting clothing charge up the stairs. He was followed by six Drakes and a Gnoll.

“One, two, three, four! Move those legs, you slugs!”

The Drake turned and roared at the seven following him as he jogged in place at the top of the stairs. He turned, and began running their way, exhorting the exhausted Drakes to keep moving. The Gnoll ran after him as the Drake’s voice echoed past them.

“You call yourself proper apprentices? I’ve had bowel movements faster than you! Pump those legs! Do you want to be [Mages] or not!?”

“[Mages]?”

Erin stared at the Drake. His clothes looked almost like something she’d see in a gym on earth, albeit missing logos or the flashier artificial fabrics. And he looked nothing like any [Mage] she’d ever seen. Moore was strong, and Pisces was, despite appearances, rather fit, but this Drake had muscles.

He had—there were bunches of muscles standing out that—put it this way, if Erin was testing a group of bodybuilders for drugs, she’d skip the line and start with this Drake instead.

He looked like a weight lifter from her world, but he’d stopped before his muscles got comically huge. Not that there was much funny about a Drake who looked like he breathed protein shakes and bench pressed in his sleep.

Really, there was something unnatural about him. The biggest and burliest Drake that Erin had met was Relc, but this Drake’s body showed that he was someone who deliberately worked out on a regular basis, totally different from a soldier’s muscles. He had abs. And he was a [Mage].

“Rufelt? Lasica? Who is that?”

The Drake sighed.

“And here I thought we’d get her back to the bar without showing her one of the crazies. Erin, meet one of the people that makes Pallass famous. Here’s Gremalkin, the famed master of…I don’t know, what does he call it again, Rufelt?”

“Physical magic. His personal school.”

“Yes, that. And those dying Drakes and that poor Gnoll girl are his latest batch of apprentices.”

Erin stared at the Drakes trying to keep up. Half had simply collapsed after getting to the fourth floor, and Gremalkin was jogging around them, bellowing insults.

“You lot are a disgrace! You call that exercise? I call it a warm up! If you can’t do two laps up and down the stairs by the end of the month, you can forget ever mastering magic! Stop whining about your lungs! Breathe in, suck it up, and run! You think just because you can throw fireballs that you deserve a break? On your feet!”

There was some commonality between Gremalkin and Erin’s middle school gym teacher that was eerie. She walked towards him as Lasica and Rufelt both urged her to the stairs leading up. The Drake [Mage] was pausing to bellow again when Erin raised a hand.

“Uh, excuse me—”

“No stamina potions! And no giving them a claw up! They get up and run or they can resign right now, Miss—”

The Drake shouted, and then glanced at Erin. He stopped, dead in his tracks and looked her up and down.

“Are you from Liscor? No, wait—are you that Human from Liscor? The [Innkeeper]?”

Erin saw heads turn. Grimalkin wasn’t quiet. She saw Lasica sigh.

“That’s right, Grimalkin. This is Erin Solstice. From Liscor. And please, don’t make a scene—”

Too late. Grimalkin looked Erin up and down and strode over to her. She got the whiff of sweat, and then stared up at a bulging pectoral. She looked up as Grimalkin eyed her.

“So. You’re the Human who led that Goblin army against the Goblin Lord, are you? Charged into battle with nothing but a flag and dared, dared the Goblin Lord to a fight?”

Part of Erin quailed at remembering. But Grimalkin was so loud he was even drowning out her sorrow.

“It wasn’t just me. It was the Goblins. They sacrificed their lives so—”

“But you led them. You were there. And you’re, what, an [Innkeeper]? Any combat classes? Any at all? Magical artifacts?”

“No. No, none. I got some after, I mean, I’m a Level 2 [Warrior] if that counts, but—”

“Testicles!”

Grimalkin bellowed the word over Erin’s head. She jumped. Everybody on earshot, from elderly Drake ladies on the stairs to a Street Runner passing by, turned to stare. The muscular [Mage] turned and shouted back at his apprentices, who were still trying to stand back up.

“Do you hear that? She charged an army of monsters herself! Testicles! You lot can barely get up a flight of stairs!”

The muscle-bound Drake glared at the male Drakes, all of whom were sweating and gulping for breath.

“While this Human—”

He slapped Erin on the shoulder so hard she nearly fell down.

“—has more balls than all of you lot put together! And more of whatever you two have—”

He pointed at the panting female Drake and Gnoll.

“—in her testicles! I’m assured Humans have testicles of some kind.”

He turned back to Erin for a moment as if asking for confirmation. Erin staggered upright.

“I don’t have…testicles.”

Grimalkin digested this for a moment and then turned his head.

“Gonads, then! The point is if an [Innkeeper] can fight with only her brawn and wits against a Goblin Lord and his army, no true [Mage] should be anything less!”

He pointed at the female Gnoll, who was definitely the odd one out.

“You there. You want to become a [Mage]? Prove it! And the rest of you, if this Human can fight a hundred thousand Goblins—”

“It really wasn’t like that—”

“—then you can all do five laps! On me! Miss Human, it was an honor.”

He turned and gasping, his six Drakes and Gnoll apprentices lurched into motion behind him. Grimalkin seemed so pumped up by meeting Erin that he left the others in the dust in a moment. The unfortunate Street Runner who was doing a delivery in the area found the [Mage] running neck-and-neck with him, as if challenging him to a race.

Erin watched Grimalkin disappear behind a building with her mouth open. She only looked around when she heard a wheezing sound. Rufelt was doubled over laughing.

“Don’t be rude, Rufelt.”

But even Lasica was smiling. She took Erin by the shoulder and led her up the stairs. Erin could still hear Grimalkin’s voice echoing back towards them, but it faded as they climbed to the fifth floor. And there, just off the main stairwell was a large bar. No, a tavern. Erin stared up at the sign.

“Tails and Scales, the best bar in all of Pallass!”

Rufelt pushed the door open. Lasica followed him.

“And the best tavern thanks to me. Ignore Rufelt. He’s only good for serving drinks. Have a seat, and…”

And before she knew it, Erin had a cold drink in one hand, Lasica was in the kitchen cooking something up, and Rufelt was leaning across from her, whipping up a second drink from the many, many kegs and containers scattered across his bar. Erin had about six types of alcohol. He had over a hundred liquids to mix from, and more substances besides.

“Anything you want, ask for it and I’ll mix it up. My [Bartender] senses tell me you don’t get drunk, so I’ll take that as a challenge.”

He winked at her. Erin stared at him, and then at Lasica as she came out of the kitchen with a bowl of…Erin stared.

“Pork bits on sweet maple-glazed breaded chicken. Disgustingly unhealthy, but that’s what makes a smile appear on Rufelt’s face. If you have a dish, order it up. I can make anything you want, or close enough. Fancy some wyvern meat? It’s very good fried thin and crispy.”

Lasica was busy slapping Rufelt’s paws away from the toothpicks holding the little steaming bites together. Erin looked from face to face.

“I—I’m so grateful. But I don’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense!”

Both husband and wife chorused. Rufelt snagged one of the chicken bites and swung himself back to his cup. He poured something that looked to Erin like an ale into the see-through glass, and then a deep blue liquid which pooled at the bottom. Rufelt swirled the glass and the blue tornadoed up, somehow staying separate from the rest of the alcohol. He presented it to Erin, and the glass was ice-cold as she touched it.

“A drink and food. For you. You are, after all, a guest.”

“But I’m an [Innkeeper]! I mean, I serve food and drinks all the time. It’s…”

Erin closed her mouth. It felt weird to be someone else’s guest. Rufelt’s eyes twinkled.

“Ah, but that’s Liscor, yes? Here you’re just Erin Solstice, a poor Human girl dragged about by a strange [Bartender] and his [Chef] of a wife.”

Lasica tapped him gently on the brow.

“Besides, even an [Innkeeper] needs a break. And as a rookie to the business, we thought we’d help out.”

Erin looked from smiling face to face. And then, suddenly, she understood. All day she’d been following a crazy Gnoll and Drake about, listening to them convince people to go along with their plan. It seemed like everyone knew Lasica and Rufelt, even if they didn’t say it. And here they were, in their apparently famous bar, tavern, whatever. Offering Erin a drink and food on the house.

That wasn’t the crazy part. The crazy part was…it was exactly like something Erin would have done. Find someone crying on the street, and offer them something to eat. And with that thought Erin looked up and met Lasica’s eyes. She saw the Drake smile, watching her, and Rufelt’s open grin. Erin stared down at the spinning drink in her hand. She didn’t even know she’d picked it up. She took a sip, and the blue tasted like ice and sugar mixed with the strong rum.

And part of the spinning, part of that drink shot down Erin’s throat, making her cough and burn. But as it did, the blue liquid lit up. And something in Erin’s chest began to rise. She took another sip, and felt a smile spread across her face.

“That was a happy drink, wasn’t it?”

Lasica leaned across the bar to look at her husband. He raised an eyebrow.

“And that’s [Comfort Food], isn’t it? Go on, take a bite.”

Erin did. And while her taste buds raved and ranted, she felt warmth spread through her like a hug. She looked up, and the Drake and Gnoll couple were smiling at her.

“You’re no ordinary [Bartender] and [Chef], are you?”

“Some call us magical. But I prefer amazing.”

Lasica winked. And Rufelt poured a drink for himself that foamed up straight out of his mug but never overflowed over the sides, a perfect cylinder of foam. He grinned, and Lasica swept around Erin.

“We’ll have the help in later, but right now you’re all ours. Take a seat. Tell us what’s wrong. And have a snack. This one’s a unique little something I came up with from Baleros. The Gnolls love it. I call them mud bites.”

“Mud—”

Erin saw the little ball of peanut butter mixed with chocolate and ate one before she could help it. Then Lasica produced some walnuts—because not everything had to be cooked, Rufelt—and they were sitting with Erin. She looked at them, and wondered if this was how her guests felt. She could only hope so.

The Gnoll leaned over a counter, mug ready to be polished with a cloth because [Bartenders] just had to do something with their hands, and the Drake smiled asking Erin about dishes she knew and came up with. Erin looked around the bar and felt it welcoming her in.

She closed her eyes and smiled. And then opened one suddenly as something the two had said struck her.

“Wait, rookie?”

6.10

There was darkness. There was stone. And there was a pickaxe. Lit by a plum glow, the dusty steel head rose. The pair of hands gripping it lifted it up, and back. For a moment it rested on a shoulder. Then it swung forwards, an arc gathering speed and weight.

Momentum. The tip of the pickaxe struck the wall. The stone cracked. The sound sent little bugs scurrying. Rockmites. But the green arms paid no attention. The head stayed where it was.

Up the pickaxe swung again. A precise tool, for all its weight. A careless swing could be useless, a waste of energy. But the one who held the pickaxe aimed carefully at the wall.

Ahead and down. There was nothing special about the bend of wall where the miner stood. But he had been breaking into the stone for an hour now. Rocky fragments lay all around him, and he’d cleared the ground around his feet twice. Ahead and down. The glowing purple light of the mana stone, plum in color, told him that. He lifted the pickaxe again and swung it. He was sweating in the darkness. But he felt good. He was working. Working. A novel concept.

“When I was small, I learned to speak by stealing it. I stole words, hiding in the sewers of a town. Far, far north of here. Goblins can live in sewers. We can live everywhere.”

Numbtongue’s voice echoed slightly in his ears. No one replied to him. The Goblin didn’t pause as he swung again, digging out the wall.

“Humans lived above my head. Fighting, arguing, laughing…living. I watched them, sometimes. There was a place right outside the Mage’s Guild. Outside of other guilds too—I would listen there. But it was the Mage’s Guild where I learned all the big words. Sometimes they would argue, or gossip about secrets where they thought no one could hear.”

Again, the pickaxe swung. The stone glowed; was it brighter? Numbtongue thought it was, but if it had, the glow had changed without him noticing. Slowly, like memory changed in the head with time, sneaking up quietly.

“I learned to speak because I thought it would make the Humans listen. That if only they knew I could talk, they would stop hunting us. They knew we were in the sewers. Just not how many. One day they swept the sewers with every adventurer they could muster. [Guards] and [Mercenaries] too. Even [Militia]. Trying to kill us for good.”

Who was he talking to? Himself? That was a waste of breath. Like tears. No proper Goblin would waste air like that. But Numbtongue was a [Bard]. And though there was no one to hear him, he imagined he was telling Erin. As if she were sitting on the ground, trying to pet one of the Rockmites, listening. Just listening.

“I spoke to them, then. Then I shouted. Pleaded and begged. It only made them come after me. I survived. There’s nothing else to say. That was how I met Garen Redfang. He rode down out of the hills. Before he had made the High Passes his permanent base his tribe roamed, until we were too strong to hide and the Gold-rank teams were following us. He saved me and those that fled. That’s how I became a warrior.”

Maybe he was practicing. Trying to tell the Erin in his head before the real thing. Because Numbtongue was still afraid of talking.

“So I don’t talk even though I can. Because Goblins are dumb. We do not talk. I didn’t need to with the others. Now I speak—but it’s still hard. Because I fear…I’m afraid no one will listen.”

Numbtongue turned his head. In his mind, the imaginary Erin smiled at him. But he saw only darkness. The Hobgoblin stood in the cave, feeling sweat sting his eyes. He wiped at his forehead. Shook his head.

“Goblin. Better not talk. Better talk like Goblin. Stupid talking to self.”

The [Bard] grunted to himself. That sounded better, somehow. More like a proper Goblin. But was he behaving like that because that was how the world expected him to be? If Headscratcher were here—

Numbtongue closed his eyes. If he were here, he would have poked Numbtongue in the side and grimaced. And that silent gesture would have been enough. It would have said to Numbtongue—no. Don’t do that. You can speak differently. Better. So do it. Don’t pretend to be someone you’re not.

“This is why I am a [Bard]. A Goblin of words and music.”

The guitar lay on the ground, out of range of the rocky fragments as they fell to the ground. Numbtongue said nothing more after that. He was saving his words. To talk to Erin. To talk to her tonight, maybe. If she had time. Maybe while she and he had a drink at her bar. At night, when no one else was around. His words were for her. He didn’t feel like sharing them with the others, adventurers, even Lyonette.

That was all Numbtongue wanted. A quiet chat at night around a table. A few minutes, an hour to speak with Erin. If he had that, he could be happy. And he could tell her too, if she invited him. His past, his fears…

And that he thought chess was really boring. And she would laugh, or be angry, and that would be—

Chink.

The sound as the tip of the pickaxe rang was different from all the other times Numbtongue had swung. It was louder. Higher-pitched. He’d hit something different. Instantly, the Goblin stepped back. He stared among the broken pieces of rock and dust. What had he…?

Translucent, white—no, grey. Oozing from the stone, a pale ashy glow. Numbtongue sprang back in alarm. Then he caught himself. It wasn’t a monster. And it wasn’t dangerous. He realized what it was as the memories in his head identified the liquid.

Mana sludge. The liquid slowly ran out of the gap in the wall his pickaxe had made. A slow, dripping substance as thick as paste. But It was semi-translucent, and had an odd, inner sparkling quality. As if little motes of light were caught in the liquid.

Numbtongue stared at it, entranced. But if he’d been Pyrite, the older Hobgoblin would have just sighed and shook his head. Mana sludge. Not good. No one touch. Or drink.

“Raw mana. In stone. Bad stone?”

Numbtongue muttered to himself, figuring out how Pyrite would have phrased it. Mana sludge was the Hobgoblin’s word for it. He was well aware the stuff was magical, but to him it was about as appealing as dirt; hardly worth the effort of collecting. A failed mining expedition, in short.

But Numbtongue wasn’t so certain. He studied the raw mana sludge as it dripped to the ground. Some of the Rockmites scurried closer, and then backed away, probably sensing the magic the stuff held. So did Numbtongue. He reached out and felt the slightest tingle in his fingertips as his fingers were bare millimeters away from the surface of the glowing stuff. He tried to recall all that Pyrite knew of it.

“Let’s see. Can’t eat. Will make Goblins horribly sick—goes straight through system. Comes out as…ergh. Touching not too bad, but depending on the color can be dangerous. This is…fine. Tastes like—did he eat everything he ever found?”

The Hobgoblin shook his head. He prodded the mana sludge and found it was neither warm nor cold. Eerily so in fact; it felt strange on his fingers too. Absolutely none of the mana sludge would stick to his fingers. He could feel it, and it almost felt like incredibly smooth stone on his fingers. But unlike water or other liquids, it stuck to nothing but itself. Numbtongue thought Mrsha would love to play with it.

He summed up Pyrite’s notes in his head. Mana sludge. Inedible. Could come in other colors, but generally this color. Useless to Goblins—children would play with it, but mana sludge was hardly better than actual mud, and given the dangers of eating it compared to mud, Pyrite kept it away from them. He’d found no other uses for it. But he did know of its potential.

Yes, potential. That was why Pyrite left it alone. Give the mana sludge years or decades and it would slowly condense, crystalizing. Into mana stones.

“Ah. Name makes sense now.”

Numbtongue nodded. He stared at the vein. He must have tapped into the top of whatever amount of mana sludge there was, because it had already stopped leaking from the hole. And there was clearly more. He frowned.

Yes, if he came back here in a few years, the mana stone would harden, crystalizing into a vessel imbued with magic. The air would take care of that. But given that there was no other mana source about, it would probably turn into a vein of lightly magical quartz-like mana stone. Plentiful, but hardly potent in terms of mana.

Numbtongue didn’t have years to wait and Pyrite regarded the quartz varieties of mana stones as cheap anyways, so leaving it there didn’t appeal to him. What should he do with it, then?

“Scoop some up. Take it to the [Mages].”

Yes, that was the right choice. Because while Pyrite hadn’t seen much use for the mana sludge before now, he hadn’t ever thought of using it. Mining had been his hobby, and a fairly useless one in his mind until right before his passing. What would he have thought of the stuff now? How might he have used it?

Absently, Numbtongue felt about in his belt pouch. He pulled something out. The light in the caves changed, growing brighter. The purple glow of the mana stone was a consistent light, but it was dim compared to the bright glow of the bright, blue, almost viridian stone Numbtongue held in his hands. He stared at it.

“That’s not a mana stone. This is a mana stone. No. That not mana stone. This is mana stone.”

He smiled as he thought of Pyrite’s reaction to the mana stones used on Erin’s door. He would have called them ‘cheap’. The Hobgoblin only kept the most brilliant of mana stones in his collection, and this one, the brilliant blue stone, had been the one Numbtongue had taken from his mouth. The Hobgoblin studied it.

Pyrite had even known how to cut gems. This one had six facets; it was no perfectly symmetrical stone, but a lopsided gem, that nevertheless sparkled, cut cleanly on all sides and polished. Pyrite had enjoyed cutting stones; he’d even done art, or made dice out of rubies. A tiny emerald marble for a childhood friend that eventually became part of her necklace. She had died. Numbtongue could remember her smile.

The Hobgoblin dropped the glowing blue stone and pressed his hands against his forehead.

“Stop.”

He could remember the young Goblin’s nickname. He tried to push it away, but the memories flooded into his head. Too many, too fast to repress. Stickhair. She always had sticks in her hair. She was a [Scavenger]. She’d been part of Tremborag’s tribe, one of those sent to scavenge or steal as opposed to raid.

Back when he’d been young, Pyrite had been press-ganged into serving as both [Warrior] and [Scavenger]. Later, he’d become a permanent scavenger when they’d found he had a nose for finding pretty gems. The Goblin hadn’t seen the value in the gems that Tremborag loved so much and his lieutenants adorned themselves with, but he’d squirreled one away and carved it into a gem for Stickhair. And she had smiled and he’d been struck with that.

They’d had sex on a day in the middle of fall. She’d jumped on him, and he, young, and passionate, had wanted the same thing. They were still both growing, and both became Hobs around the same time.

The emerald marble was given a small hole for a necklace she wore, and each time Pyrite brought her a new stone, she would smile and sometimes that led to warm nights. Other times she or he would find someone else. They were young. But Pyrite remembered the smell of her teeth, plucking a twig from her—

“Stop!”

Numbtongue shouted. The cave rang with sound and the memories stopped as he pounded his head against the wall. His head burst with pain and Numbtongue staggered back. But it stopped the memories.

Panting, the Goblin sat down. He stared blankly ahead of him, still remembering another Goblin’s life. His hands shook uncontrollably as he felt at his head.

“Too much. You gave me too much.”

He whispered at Pyrite. He wasn’t angry at him. But that rush of vivid experiences had been too real. The [Bard] sat there, panting, until the soft glow of the two gems and the mana sludge calmed him. He stared at the glowing liquid, felt around on the ground, and picked up the now slightly dusty blue mana stone. Numbtongue stared at it. Then he popped it into his mouth and chewed.

“Ow.”

After a few seconds, Numbtongue spat the mana stone back out. His teeth hurt. The mana stone was way tougher than your average rock. How had Pyrite ever eaten the damn things?

The memories were his gift. The experiences with Stickhair, knowledge of the earth, even information about what everything tasted like and how badly it would mess up your poos—all of it was Pyrite’s gift to Numbtongue. But it was the knowledge of gemstones that the Hobgoblin Chieftain had considered too important to be lost.

What Pyrite had known before his death was this: you could use magic without being a [Mage]. With gemstones. He had consolidated his [Mining Chieftain] class into a [Magestone Chieftain] one. He hadn’t found out the potential of the class, but he had entrusted Numbtongue with the knowledge.

But Numbtongue feared he wasn’t the Goblin that Pyrite was. He didn’t think as deeply. He had not lived as long. And he had no idea how to use the powers of the gemstones, even if he could figure out a way to crunch this one with his teeth.

How would a [Bard] use magical gemstones? How would anyone?

Numbtongue sighed. He wiped the saliva-covered blue gemstone on his clothes, spat out the dirt in his mouth, and had a thought. Maybe…he was doing this wrong.

“Pyrite ate gemstones. But Pyrite was a big eater. I don’t eat rocks. Anymore. So…what do I do?”

Numbtongue’s eyes went to the guitar lying on the ground. A Rockmite was investigating it. The Hobgoblin stood up and the insect fled. He picked up the guitar and ran his claws down the strings.

A guitar. An instrument made by Gnolls, but very similar to the ones in Erin’s world. In fact, he recalled Erin comparing his guitar to one she was familiar with.

“Except, instead of an electric guitar, yours is actually electric, Numbtongue! Uh, don’t play it close to me. I don’t like static electricity.”

He smiled a bit and played a simple chord, plucking the strings with his long fingers. His nails were untrimmed, but Numbtongue had carefully bit them shorter on his playing hand because it made a better sound. Unlike Drakes, Goblins had something closer to Human fingers. Numbtongue had no idea how a Drake would manage a string instrument with their claws and very reptilian nails. He was impressed Gnolls could play, but then, their paws were actually quite dexterous.

“Hmm. Song. Song…”

Numbtongue stared blankly ahead as he searched for a proper tune. Then he had it. His random strumming became intentional. He began to play a quick, snappy tune. And the sound that came from his guitar changed.

[Electric Chords]. No [Lightning Melody] because Numbtongue didn’t want to call down lightning in the cave, even if he could. But the sound the guitar gave out crackled, and the chords changed to something almost approaching the crackling of thunder.

The silent cave filled with sound as Numbtongue began to play faster. It was a self-taught riff; everything he played was self-taught, actually. He’d learned a number of songs from Erin’s home, but he’d had to come up with the melodies based on her vague humming. Numbtongue played low on the chords, an echoing beat.

He was trying to call on the power of the stone resting on top of the guitar. Numbtongue could see the gemstone glowing, a bright viridian. But was it glowing brighter? Was he calling on the magic?

Time to really play. The Hobgoblin’s fingers danced faster. And a different kind of light began to fill the cave.

Flashes of bright lightning. Sparks of electricity shot from the chords as Numbtongue played them, lighting up the cave in flashes of light. The simple strings flashed with blue lightning, lighting up the guitar. The Rockmites in the area scurried away in alarm.

Numbtongue grinned wildly. The cave rolled with sound for a minute. Then five. His playing reached a fever’s pitch. He began the most complex solo he, knew, and the sound roared. And the gem—

Did nothing. Numbtongue stopped, looking at the blue gemstone with a miffed expression. He prodded it hopefully.

Nothing. Okay. Well, that was a new piece of information. Music was not the answer. At least, music from his guitar wasn’t doing anything to the stone. Numbtongue sighed, and looked around.

“Maybe just ask the [Mages] what the mana stones do. Why didn’t I do that earlier? Oh. I don’t like Pisces. Or Falene.”

Too much sniffing and rolling of the eyes. And that superior tone. Numbtongue grumbled to himself. He actually liked Revi, though. Moore scared him. Ceria was…attractive. Anyone who knew what bugs tasted like was attractive to Goblins. But Numbtongue, er, liked her dirty blonde hair, it not being a color among Goblin hair. As for Typhenous—

“Gah!”

Numbtongue’s foot suddenly encounter a jolt and went numb. He leapt backwards, swearing, and stared at what his foot had just touched. What was—

The mana sludge? The mana sludge had shocked him! The Hobgoblin stared at it. The little puddle of liquid had just given him a jolt of electricity! Why? And—was it…yellower?

Yes! It was! In fact, it was now a very light yellow, and Numbtongue could swear the little lights caught in the liquid were now moving faster. Almost as if…he squinted, keeping his face back from the liquid. Almost as if there were tiny jolts of lightning running through the stuff now.

Slowly, curiously, Numbtongue reached out. He hesitated, but he’d already touched it once. So, carefully he brought his finger closer, closer—

About two inches away from the mana sludge, Numbtongue saw a blue bolt of electricity arc out of the stuff and hit his finger. He jerked his hand back, swearing. It was electrified! He’d just gotten another jolt!

Shocking stuff. Numbtongue sat back, rubbing his ironically numb finger and foot and thinking. Well, he’d just turned the mana sludge into another variant Pyrite was familiar with. If the mana sludge was different colors, it had different effects. For instance, the Hobgoblin had once found a red variant of the stuff that had been so hot he could set fires with it. He’d had a wonderful time using it as an impromptu fire starter until an unfortunate incident with a forest…

“Electricity. Guitar. [Electric Chords]. Mana sludge.”

Numbtongue stared at the stuff. He stared at his guitar, and the chords which no longer sparked with lightning. Then he stared at the mana sludge. He grinned. He was going to need a jar. And…gloves.

—-

The tavern was called Tails and Scales. Or maybe it was a pub. Erin wasn’t one for socializing in either, so she had no idea what the difference was. Nor did she like beer, a fact that had vaguely offended some of her friends. And her father. But Erin liked the drink in front of her. It was some kind of rum mixed with a sweet, chilled liquid that was separate from the rum. Every time Erin took a gulp, it ran down her throat, burning and sweet.

A bit of food went in her stomach as well. Bits of chicken, breaded and glazed, sprinkled with bits of crunchy pork. Each bite was delectable and Erin felt it warming her up. But the food didn’t settle in her stomach or weigh her down; it anything, she felt more awake with each bite.

It was probably thanks to a Skill. And the drink was doing something to Erin’s mood as well. Each gulp made her feel better. She looked across the bar at a Gnoll with black fur streaked a bit with grey. He was a [Bartender]. Rufelt. And sitting next to Erin was Lasica, a [Chef]. The two were a married couple. They’d dragged Erin about the city before revealing they owned a very popular establishment. In the same business as Erin.

And they’d called her a rookie. Erin was half-fixed on that, half-frowning over something she’d realized, and a third half was listening to a commotion outside. Someone was shouting—several someones, actually.

“Wait, rookie?”

Erin looked at Rufelt. The Gnoll grinned at her, baring his teeth in a Gnoll’s smile.

“Oops. Lasica my dear, you might have offended Erin.”

“There’s nothing offensive about speaking the truth. Give me the bright pink stuff with that Balerosian white you did up last night.”

The Drake woman looked unconcerned as she pointed across the bar. Rufelt fetched a proper wineglass out, filled it with a white wine, and then added a shot of a vibrant pink liquid from a glass container. Erin blinked. The glass container had a spigot, also made of glass. And it was one of a row of similar vessels, all containing different liquids. All probably alcoholic. Some were glowing. One was resting on the top of the container, and it had been flipped upside down.

“Here you are. A Jungleblood Sunrise. I wish you’d remember the names.”

Lasica shrugged. She snagged the glass as it spun down the slick counter past Erin. The white wine (which was in fact slightly yellow and green, in defiance of proper sense) and pink liquid were spinning together. The Drake rolled her eyes as she drank half and sighed, visibly relaxing.

“Ancestors, that’s nice. But you know I don’t remember any of the silly names you and your bartending friends come up with. Can I get another? Iced?”

Erin opened her mouth to protest. Several things, in fact, but Rufelt was faster. He snagged another wineglass from behind him as he spun, filled the glass with pink stuff in the same motion, and then pulled open a drawer behind the bar. Erin blinked. Ice cubes, or rather, ice chunks since they weren’t nearly as tidy in form as cubes, appeared in the wine glass. The white wine poured on top and the glass spun past Erin again.

Literally spinning. She watched as the pink liquid swirled up and the wine downwards, forming a vortex around the ice. The glass came to rest perfectly in front of Lasica, contents still spinning in a miniature vortex. She did not look impressed.

“What is it with you and spinning your drinks, recently?”

The Gnoll sighed.

“It looks like a lot of fun. And it is! And it’s not my ‘bartending friends’, love of my life. It’s all [Bartenders]. I didn’t invent the name; a Balerosian [Bartender] came up with Jungleblood Sunrise herself. A pity, because I would have called it something less confusing.”

“Mm. Why do they call it that? This is hardly the color of blood.”

Lasica pointed to the pink and greenish-yellow liquid.

“Uh, excuse me—”

Erin broke off, because she wanted to know the answer. Rufelt shrugged.

“Apparently it’s not referring to blood, but a type of flower. You see, it weeps it’s…what would you call the stuff in flowers? Nectar? No, the wet stuff. Anyways, it weeps it in the morning, so when the sun rises, it catches the light and looks quite similar to that. Pink on yellow and green.”

“Fascinating. Also, completely pointless.”

Lasica drained her first glass and started on the second. Erin stared between her and Rufelt as he sighed. She waved a hand and both looked at her. Rufelt grinned sheepishly.

“Excuse me, Erin. We sometimes get lost in ourselves. We’re not used to company before the bar opens.”

“Oh, no problem. Uh—a few questions. First, rookie? Second, I’m not used to people being nice to me and feeding me. That’s my job. Third, we call putting alcohol in ice ‘on the rocks’ where I come from. Do you do that? And fourth—is that stuff floating upside down? Is—is it antigravity alcohol? I’m fine with any of these questions being answered, by the way.”

Both Rufelt and Lasica looked at the upside-down liquid Erin was pointing to. They paused as they considered Erin’s questions. Rufelt eyed his wife. She eyed him back, and her tail wagged a bit, although her lips only moved up slightly. Rufelt stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“On the rocks? Hm. I like that. I think I’ll use that from now on. It has a…good sound to it, yes? And that is one of my magical liquids. I’m not sure about er, anti-gravity, but it floats! It’ll go straight up and it’s a devil to mix with drinks unless you can do it right. Want a taste?”

“Can I? Wait, how do I drink it?”

“Let’s find out, shall we?”

Lasica rolled her eyes as Rufelt snagged another tumbler. She leaned over to Erin, smiling a bit. She still had quite a presence, and Erin wondered if all middle-aged Drakes were like that. Tekshia was certainly intimidating, although she was even more no-nonsense and somewhat abrasive, too.

“We didn’t intend to drag you around, Erin. I apologize again for that, but we had good cause. We did want to meet you—that was always part of the plan. As for taking care of you, well, why not?”

“But that’s my job.”

Erin protested weakly. Rufelt was mixing two liquids in the tumbler before he approached the upside-down stuff. He paused there and took a breath. Lasica watched him with Erin.

“So? We see someone in distress, we usually invite them in for a drink. Especially if it looks like they’re having a bad day. Like you. I could practically sense that you needed some of my pick-me-up food. Have another bite, by the way. It’s [Comfort Food], designed to help. But save your appetite; I’ll make you a splendid lunch. Rufelt, you’d better not spill that! What was it, eight gold per fluid ounce?”

“Eight—”

Erin stared at the liquid in horror. But Rufelt only glared mildly back at his wife.

“Thank you for reminding me. Just give me one second. And here—”

His hand blurred. Erin saw the tumbler go up, and the half-filled liquid turn upside down. But before gravity could take effect, the spigot opened and a splash, just a splash of the upside-down liquid (bronze, semi-transparent, and quite quick), came flying upwards. It mixed with the other liquid and Rufelt twisted the tumbler right-side up.

“Mixing.”

He had a strange metal rod about the size of a thermometer in his paw. He stirred the drink vigorously, and then placed it on the bar and slid it towards Erin. She stared at the liquid—the drink was close to black.

“It’s basic, strong, and a bit sour. You don’t have to finish it, but mixing sugary stuff with the Dwarfrain isn’t something I want to do. But if you’re going to take a sip, make it quick.”

Rufelt advised Erin. She stared at him, and then realized the liquid in the cup was rising up!

“It’s floating!”

“Well, what did you expect?”

“But how do I…”

Erin didn’t bother to wait for a reply. She lifted the cup, and the rising liquid floated up towards her lips. She sipped the stuff, made a face because it was strong and bitter, like one of those stupid lagers that Bevussa liked, and then gagged.

“Itsh!”

“Keep swallowing. Don’t let it win! It’ll give up after a second.”

Lasica laughed as Erin’s throat tried to force the liquid down and it kept coming back up. At first Erin was horribly reminded of throwing up, but then it was actually sort of fun—until the liquid lost whatever was keeping it floating and it went straight down her throat. She began coughing as Lasica patted her on the back.

“Fun, isn’t it? Rufelt has a collection of these silly drinks. He’s not just a [Bartender], after all. He’s got an advanced version of the class.”

“Agh! It burns! What do you mean, advanced version? What class is it?”

“That would be telling, I’m afraid.”

Rufelt snagged the tumbler and took drink of the liquid threatening to float past Erin’s head. She let him have it; one sip was enough.

“Telling classes is a bit too personal for people we’ve just met. Even an [Innkeeper] in the same line of work. But I’ll tell you for nothing that both he and I have…rare versions of our class. The kind you only get past Level 30. And so do you, I imagine. Rookie.”

Lasica offered Erin a sip of her drink. Erin took it, coughed again, and sighed.

“That’s good. I’m not a rookie! Am I?”

“You might have a lot of levels, Miss Human. But you seem like one to us. And it’s not about levels. Here. I know you can probably drink anything I serve all day and all night—my [Bartender]’s senses are telling me you’re probably immune to my alcohol—but have this.”

Erin blinked at the next cup that appeared in front of her. She sniffed it, tasted it experimentally and found…it was water. She began drinking it down as Lasica offered her another peanut butter and chocolate ball.

“Snack?”

“That’s chocolate. Where’d you get that? No one I talked to knew anything about it.”

The Drake blinked in surprise. Rufelt blinked as he cleaned the finished cups.

“You know about chocolate? Well, color me impressed. This came right from Baleros. A new thing—well, relatively. We’ve had cocoa for ages, but some [Chef] over there started experimenting, and, well, I got some with my latest shipment. We’ve a deal that sends goods straight from a [Merchant] in Baleros to the city. One of the things you need to acquire. Rookie.”

Erin blinked at Lasica. She opened her mouth, and the Drake popped a piece of her breaded chicken in there. Erin blinked, at first with mild outrage, but then she realized Lasica was treating her like a kid. Rather than make her mad, it was almost pleasant. There was something affectionate in Lasica’s teasing tone. And she was twice Erin’s age. Then Erin thought about what she’d said.

“Wait, a trade route from Baleros? That has to be…”

“Thousands of miles? Difficult to get someone to regularly ship from the ports all the way to Pallass? Expensive? If your answer was all of the above, that’s only half of the problems. Whenever the Drowned Men start raiding ships, or there’s a war, we get cut off.”

“Which is why we have a huge store of everything Lasica and I need in a part of Melinni’s private warehouse. The one we didn’t show you and not many people know about. That’s something else you need. I’d say a warehouse or some kind of area with runes of preservation first, right Lasica? Connections second.”

“Oh, agreed. Here’s what most [Innkeepers] we know agree on, Erin. The ones who’re actually smart, anyways. First you need to lock down a healthy supply of food. Not just enough for next week, but for months. Enough rare ingredients to weather any storm. Of course, you’ll expand your inventory slowly—”

Rufelt held up a cautioning paw.

“—don’t rush your rare ingredients. We did that once and sold for far too little. Focus on, say, a basement with runes of preservation and basics, like milk, grain, meat—enough for six months based purely off that. It is vital in case the supply of food plummets.”

“How?”

Erin couldn’t imagine that happening in a city like Pallass, with huge storehouses full of preserved food. Lasica grimaced.

“Easier than you think. Melinni’s got runes of preservation, but they don’t stop insects. In fact, fresh meat makes it worse. You can still contaminate food—it just stays preserved, which means entire batches of meat we thought were good can be off if, say, the cattle were all sick. And in times of plague, or general famine…”

“Pallass can feed itself, but with a million mouths, it still has to ration. And it does not open its gates to other cities. It couldn’t if it wanted to. There are simply too many mouths out there. I wish we had more storehouses, but Melinni and Pallass’ [Quartermasters] are working off of centuries of investment. So food first. At the very least, you won’t be short of meat or so on during the winter. Oh, and stock up on firewood. I hear that’s an issue around Liscor.”

Rufelt sighed. Erin looked between him and Lasica. The shouting from outside was still going on. Someone was shouting for the Watch.

“Um. I have a basement full of corpses, so I don’t know about the basement thing. But I have a [Field of Preservation] around my inn—”

“What?”

Lasica shot up in her chair. She stared at Erin and then at her husband. Rufelt’s jaw dropped open. The next moment he was glancing at the door. He leaned forwards and Erin leaned back a bit at the expression his face.

“A word of advice, Erin? Don’t mention that again. There are people who would target you for that Skill alone.”

“Field of—that is such a cheap Skill—”

Lasica groaned and covered her face with her claws. She looked at Rufelt.

“Imagine how much gold we could have saved with that! And how many accidental—the number of times we’ve had a rune scratched and not noticed it, I can’t count!”

Rufelt nodded. He looked at Erin seriously.

“I appreciate the trust, but I don’t think that was trust so much as naiveté, Miss Erin. Be warned; we could have been the wrong couple to tell that to.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”

Erin blushed. Rufelt was scolding her, albeit gently. The Gnoll nodded, still half-frowning.

“No other mention of Skills, either. I’d hate for a wagging tail or tongue to reveal something truly important.”

“Basement full of corpses?”

Lasica had caught onto the first bit Erin had said. She stared at Erin. The [Innkeeper] gulped.

“I’m not a serial killer! I uh, just have a Selphid guest—”

“—and she wants to store bodies in your inn. That’s fairly ingenious. Melinni actually had a similar offer, but she wasn’t about to have dead bodies lying next to her merchandise. But in an inn? If you were in Baleros, I’d first ask how much you wanted to be the Selphid-only inn. But if you were fine with that, you could make a fortune just renting your place out to dead bodies. But that’s a specialized type of [Innkeeper] I don’t think you want to get into.”

The Drake [Chef] shook her head. Erin hesitated.

“Wait, so what kind of [Innkeeper] do you think I should be? Because I’m…er…well, I can’t say, but I’m something.”

Rufelt eyed Erin.

“Hm. A class consolidation? That means you’re at least Level 20. No—don’t correct me.”

Lasica nodded. There was a slight flush to her cheek scales, whether from excitement or the drink, Erin couldn’t tell.

“This is all above-board advice, Erin. We like you, but we’ve known you for about an hour. So let’s continue down the list, shall we, Rufelt? First storage. You should invest in some runes of preservation. They’re worth three or four times the gold you spend, even if it’s a pain to get an [Enchanter]. And if some Ancestors-damned, lucky [Innkeeper] gets an entire field of—”

She put her head down on the bar. Rufelt patted his wife on the arm and took over.

“You might have levels, Miss Solstice, but an inn, tavern, or any establishment like ours thrives on more than that. You need to be original. From what I understand, your magic door is a first step there, but you should cultivate some signature dishes. Lasica and I boast the widest variety of dishes in Pallass, mainly because of our Balerosian ingredients. Plus, alcohol and dinner being prepared by experts in the field is a tough combination to beat.”

“Even if a certain [Innkeeper] can give his clientele a night worthy of any [Lord] in a Terandrian mansion for a fraction of the price.”

Lasica grumbled under her breath. She sat upright, sighing.

“But I mean what I said about finding a connection. Ours was a chance meeting, but we sprang on the opportunity to have a highly-leveled friend in Baleros. And it’s paid off for us—and him. Cultivate friends. Your clientele is a good place to start, but there are always people looking out to make strong friends, and an [Innkeeper] as famous as you might start getting some offers. Be careful of whom you trust.”

“But don’t turn down a good opportunity. We could have been affiliated with one of the largest Gnoll tribes in the continent if we hadn’t let that opportunity slip us by.”

Rufelt sighed. Erin’s head swiveled from him to his wife. She felt like she needed to write this all down!

“What’s next, Rufelt?”

“Security? Guests. Hrm…ah, investing money.”

“Right! Security. You want—”

“There he is, officer! Walking around, just like that! Arrest him! It shouldn’t be allowed! There are children on the streets! I don’t care if he’s—”

A loud voice from outside cut the Drake off. She frowned at the door then shook her head.

“Ah. I think I know who that is.”

“Who?”

Erin peered at the door. There were glass windows, and she could see a crowd gathered outside. The loud voice had come from right outside the door, and Erin saw several of Pallass’ [Guardsmen] escorting someone past them. Guardsmen for a reason, as it turned out. Erin saw a figure in the center of them, being pushed forwards. Two of the [Guardsmen] were holding a blanket up, but it slipped and she caught a glimpse of…

“Aw.”

“Dead gods!”

“Hey.”

Erin and Rufelt recoiled, the girl in shock, the Gnoll in disgust. Lasica just raised her brows.

The Drake being arrested was very naked. He had dusky yellow scales, and he was slim. Erin could hear him protesting loudly to the [Guardsmen].

“I just misplaced my clothes! It was an accident! I would have put them on. Eventually.”

The [Sergeant], or whomever was leading the group glared at his ward, making sure only to meet his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. How many times is this? Come on, you’re spending another night in the cells. Move it along people! Nothing to see here.”

There was a burst of laughter from outside and the [Sergeant] flushed. A female voice—a Gnoll, in fact, shouted loudly.

“There’s everything to see! This is absurd! Disgraceful…”

Erin stared as the nudist Drake was finally taken out of view. She turned to Lasica. She looked amused and resigned. Rufelt was just shaking his head.

“Who was that? Or what was that? No, wait. My question is: is that normal?”

“Only if he’s about.”

Rufelt grumbled to himself. Lasica nodded. With a mix of shame and twisted civic pride, she pointed at the door.

“Erin, that was our resident Named Adventurer who just got arrested. Saliss of Lights. I’d explain, but…okay, security. You want at least a few good [Bouncers], [Guards], or whatever. I heard a rumor you’ve got Hobgoblins working at your inn?”

“I—I did. I only have one now. But hold on, that was—”

“Okay. Well, you want someone. Even if you have Skills, you want someone. That goes for staffing as well. Finding a good support [Barmaid] or [Barkeep], or someone to take up the slack really helps. I suppose it’s less pressing for you since you are an [Innkeeper]—”

“A Named Adventurer? And he’s a stripper?”

“That would imply he normally has clothes. Right. I don’t know if you know this, Erin, but [Innkeeper] is a generalist class in a sense. You see, it’s not like a [Bartender]. Rufelt has some overlap with your job, but his area of influence and tasks are more specialized. So he’ll make far better alcohol than you, but he doesn’t have a skill that affects the entire tavern. Or gives him a stupid field.”

“But I can make some fantastic drinks. And some of them have effects. Like the one I gave you at the start. I can cheer someone up, make a drink that gives energy or knocks someone out, and I can even handle liquids that normal bartenders can’t. For instance, a Level 20 [Bartender] couldn’t even mix that floating drink I gave you.”

Erin stared at both husband and wife. She looked at the door, pointed at it, and gave up. The Drake and Gnoll stared at her, friendly, helpful for no other reason than…they were good people. And utterly determined not to answer any questions about the naked Named Adventurer. Erin sighed.

“Okay. Fine. What about guests? And uh, do you have a piece of paper?”

—-

“…and a dedicated clientele is important. You can be open to all, like we are, but you’d better be the best. From what you’ve said, it sounds like you want adventurers as your main revenue base, is that right?”

“I…I mean, it’d be nice.”

An hour later, Erin’s head hurt, but she had two full pages of cramped and slightly blotched notes from all Rufelt and Lasica had told her. They were full of tips, and Erin had realized she was full of questions.

“I didn’t know there was so much to know. I mean, about being an [Innkeeper]. I just got my class from cleaning a room. In an inn, obviously, but still. I had no idea how much I’ve missed.”

Rufelt laughed lightly.

“There’s nothing you need to know about being an [Innkeeper], Erin. That’s why you’ve done so well. But there’s experience, tips from others. And somehow, we doubted the [Innkeepers] in Liscor or Celum had been helping you out.”

Lasica nodded, absently reading over Erin’s shoulder.

“Adventurers travel about, which is a problem, but your door solves some of that. But you do need better security. And your golem idea is novel, I’ll grant you, but it is a pricey investment. And if you break one, that’s a lot of gold gone in a moment. Just look into some [Guards].”

“Got it. Maybe the Antinium?”

Lasica and Rufelt shuddered. Erin looked up.

“They’re nice! Really!”

“I find that very hard to believe. But then, I lived through the Antinium Wars. I do hear the Hive around Liscor is different from the rest. But let’s just say I won’t test that theory.”

“I’m going to bring Pawn through to Pallass someday. With Numbtongue. And Mrsha too, I guess. Uh—okay, that’s written down.”

Lasica squinted at the parchment.

“If you say so. Your handwriting is atrocious.”

“Hey, I’m drunk!”

“No you’re not.”

“…You’re right. Okay, what about the innkeepers? Why wouldn’t they help me?”

Lasica and Rufelt exchanged a look.

“Ooh. She doesn’t know, Lasica. In that case, we should probably introduce her later.”

“To the good [Innkeepers] in Pallass, at least. For another day.”

Erin waved a hand in front of their faces. She didn’t mind the husband-wife talk they did, or the fact that Lasica’s tail twined around Rufelt when they stood together, but—okay, it was obnoxious sometimes.

“Know what?”

“Innkeepers talk amongst each other. That includes tavern owners and people who manage hostels, and so on, by the way. It depends on where you are and who you know, but I could, say, get in touch with someone in Celum if I had an issue that extended there.”

Lasica explained matter-of-factly to Erin. Rufelt nodded.

“It’s all informal—nothing like the Merchant’s Guild or Mage’s Guild or so on—but it does exist. In some cities, [Innkeepers] work together. Like in Celum.”

“Liscor’s not like that. But they do share something. And we know this because both groups don’t like you very much. Celum especially.”

Lasica sighed. Erin blinked at them. She remembered Miss Agnes mentioning there was a group of [Innkeepers] in Celum, but it had slipped her mind. Rufelt nodded sympathetically.

“They might cause you trouble, but you shouldn’t worry too much, yes? You have a magic door and they don’t. Just bear it in mind.”

“Great. Something else to write down. Thank you, by the way.”

Erin grumbled to herself. Lasica laughed lightly. She looked at Erin, and then at the window.

“Hm. We’re into early evening. Almost time to open up. And I need another drink.”

“Water for you. You need to cook Erin one proper meal and one more drink would make you too tipsy for your best. Besides, we have a business to run tonight.”

Sternly, Rufelt handed Lasica a glass of water. She sighed, but sipped from it. Erin looked at the two.

“No, seriously. This is so helpful. Thanks for being so nice. And I—I didn’t do anything to deserve it.”

“Besides save a city? Besides building your inn from practically nothing? Don’t be silly, girl.”

Lasica walked past Erin. She had a wet cloth in hand and she was polishing something in the center of the room. Tails and Scales was very bar-focused, but it had a number of tables. And, Erin had overlooked this, one of the tables in the center of the room was quite strange. It had no chairs around it and the top was flat and black. And it was a solid block, not a table at all, in fact. Erin stared as Lasica checked something, opening a door in the side of the black…whatever it was.

“But—still. Thank you. No one’s been so nice to me before. I should—I mean, I can’t pay you, but I’ll return the favor—”

Erin stammered. She caught Rufelt looking at her oddly. Lasica just shook her head and turned to filling the door with something. Wait. Coal? But Erin was looking at Rufelt’s odd expression.

“What?”

“Erin Solstice. We don’t want money. And you may consider this a favor, but we would rather you didn’t. We did this because we wanted to meet you. Even without that, if I had seen you crying on the street, I would have done just this. Do I need a reason to make you a drink?”

The Gnoll looked at Erin. The young woman hesitated.

“No. Of course not. It’s just…it’s been so long since I met someone who just wanted to…help me.”

Rufelt’s eyes widened a bit. He looked up and Erin knew he was meeting his wife’s eyes.

“Has it really been that long?”

“No. Yes. I’ve met great people. Who helped me out a lot. The Horns, the Halfseekers…but they’re guests. The last time someone just…helped me when I was in pain was—maybe it was Klbkch and Relc?”

A soft intake of breath from behind Erin.

“The Slayer and the Gecko of Liscor?”

Erin laughed at that. She felt incredibly sad and welcomed at the same time.

“No. Just Relc and Klbkch! Klbkch was—he gave me a healing potion for my hand. And Relc? He’s a jerk, and a good guy sometimes. And I think he’s better. He killed the closest thing Numbtongue had to a father and Klbkch is really mean to Pawn. But they helped me without asking for anything. So did Krshia, but that was back then. Since then I help people. I have friends.”

“But you’re the one who supports them most of the time, isn’t that so?”

“I guess.”

Erin looked down at the bar’s countertop. It was very smooth. Very beautiful wood. She heard a footstep, and then felt a light touch on her shoulder. Lasica looked down at her.

“That’s what an [Innkeeper] is. They give shelter to their guests. The best ones do more. I’ve never wanted the job. A [Cook] only has to do one thing. A [Barkeep]’s job ends with their shift. I think you need a break, Erin.”

“I do. I know.”

Erin stared down at her inky, messy notes. A paw reached out and gently tugged them away from her. Rufelt put them behind him.

“Well, Erin. Consider this an invitation. Whenever you wish, for whatever reason, you may leave your inn and come here. Don’t worry about debts or payment. When you need someone to look after you, come here. You’ll always be welcome in Tails and Scales.”

“What he said.”

Erin looked up at a smiling Drake face. She saw Rufelt leave the bar. And her eyes overflowed. But they weren’t bad tears. She was just a bit overwhelmed. Just a bit tired. So Erin cried at the bar as Rufelt panicked a bit and Lasica found her a warm towel to wipe her face on. Then there was another comforting drink.

And the tavern opened. By the time the first Drake [Barkeep], one of Rufelt’s apprentices, came in, Erin’s tears were dried. Two [Servers], a Gnoll and Drake joined the mix. All of them introduced themselves to Erin.

“This is my apprentice, Usshi.”

Rufelt introduced the [Barkeep], who gave Erin a smile that made you want to smile back. And the two [Barmaids]. People were already waiting at the door when the Gnoll [Server]—a class for someone who was just starting out their career in that area—opened the door.

“Erin Solstice. We meet again.”

The young woman blinked at Maughin and several of his fellow [Smiths] and apprentices. She stood up to greet him, then Xif, and to Lasica’s displeasure, Melinni. They’d all come to talk more about the Pallass issue, but after a quick discussion where Lasica leaned in, they didn’t invite Erin. They filled the tables, talking to Lasica as more Drakes, Gnolls, Dullahans, and even a Garuda couple came in.

Some were [Mages]. Others [Scribes], [Weavers], [Potters], and others that Lasica and Rufelt knew by name. There was even a [Hauler] who’d reached such a high level that he’d become a [Cargomaster]. The Garuda pair were [Aerial Dancers]. Erin met them all. Rufelt served drinks, some plain shots, others glowing, magical, wine and spirits and occasionally, juice.

He did it quickly, with a flourish, sometimes suggesting a change in the order that was always accepted. He knew his customers. And he was flawless—except for his fondness for spinning the drinks about. He only stopped that when Maughin complained about the third in a row.

And then Lasica started cooking some appetizers, or an early dinner. She didn’t go into the kitchen. Rather, the kitchen came to her. A [Line Cook] came in to learn from her, and Erin saw why.

“A hibachi grill!”

“A hot plate table. Hands off.”

Lasica corrected Erin. She had been throwing coal into the furnace at the bottom of the table, and now she lit it. Erin stared as she tossed some oil on the table, and then some thin strips of meat. Almost at once they began to cook and she flipped them onto a plate.

“It’s—but—how? That’s from where I am! How did you—”

Rufelt grinned at Erin’s face.

“If there was ever a way to burn their food, Drakes would surely find it. Just be glad Lasica’s not cooking flambé. And order what you want! She can cook you up a wonderful bowl of these noodles, with some meat and fried vegetables…”

“C-can I have an egg?”

Lasica laughed. Erin had her egg. She had a lot of food, actually. Her stomach seemed to have forgotten its usual dimensions as she ate Lasica’s hot, delicious food greedily. And she found herself sitting next to Maughin, then Xif, and then others, talking to them. Not as an [Innkeeper] did to the guests, but as someone with all the time on their hands to pester Maughin about what was under his armor, or ask Xif about magical food, a topic he was only too happy to work with her on.

Erin laughed as Rufelt showed off at his bar, serving a flaming drink to a brave Gnoll, and then a crowd favorite—an alcohol that turned the entire glass invisible too. They let him make six drinks and then searched for them. Erin found one and it turned her tongue green as a bonus surprise.

And then the Dullahan walked in. Not one of Maughin’s [Smith] friends. Her armor was ceramic, painted white and green, and very beautiful. And she held a cello.

“Ah. Our [Cellist]. I almost forgot we’d asked her to come in tonight.”

Maughin leaned over the bar. Erin stared as the Dullahan musician set up. There was a little stand for her head with a pillow, a stool, and she was ready. She sat at a corner of the tavern, almost like an afterthought.

Until she began to play. And Erin realized she had a Skill. There were other instruments playing with the Dullahan. But she was alone, and the song that filled the tavern was slow and beautiful.

It changed the atmosphere of the room. From energetic, the room grew thoughtful. And then Lasica abandoned her grill. She let the [Line Cook] take over, and Rufelt stepped out from behind his bar. They moved to a clear spot in the room and began to dance.

They weren’t the only ones. The Garuda got up, and so did some other couples. Erin looked around. She saw the Dullahan [Cellist] play on as the tables and chairs were pushed back. The Drakes and Gnolls danced slowly, not with skill for most part, but just lost in each other. The music invited that kind of slow, quiet moment. Those who didn’t dance just sat back, drinks in hand, or ate quietly, savoring the music.

On her stand, the Dullahan’s eyes were closed. Her body played on. Erin envied the quiet, serene look on her face. And she envied the way Lasica and Rufelt smiled at each other as they occupied the center of their home.

“Doesn’t it make you jealous? As Gnoll and Drake couples go, theirs is one of the most famous in Pallass. Everyone knows of Tails and Scales. Normally you have to be invited to come in by a regular.”

Erin looked around. Usshi, the young [Barkeep], was serving drinks. She looked at Erin.

“A drink?”

“Oh—what should I get? Uh…”

Erin didn’t want to ask for something that would require Rufelt. Usshi waved a claw.

“Ask me for anything. Rufelt has a Skill that passes on some of his talents to me. [Bartender’s Gift] or something. I only hope I won’t need it. And you don’t need to pay anyways. How about something cold? Have you seen this?”

The Drake pulled a tumbler out and filled with some rum and juice it before Erin could protest. And then she went over to a counter in the back of the bar. Erin stared as she placed the tumbler of alcohol on it. Erin saw the sides of the tumbler frost over—the [Barkeep] took it off and quickly handed it to Erin.

“Ice-cold. And just wait—”

She pointed. To Erin’s astonishment, the alcohol hadn’t turned entirely to ice. Rather, it had become a slushy. Usshi handed Erin a spoon and wooden straw. And Erin nearly cried again because it was from home. And she stayed in the tavern, drinking, eating, talking. And for one evening, Erin forgot she was an [Innkeeper].

—-

Numbtongue eventually got the electrified mana sludge into an empty bottle with a big cork with the help of some gloves, a small spade to shovel the liquid into the jar, and a lot of patience. And some shocks. But he didn’t mind the effort. He was pleased with himself. So pleased, that on the way to the inn and back he didn’t notice the change in the cave. But on his final trip out, he sensed it.

The Rockmites were agitated. They were scurrying up and down the walls. And when Numbtongue passed through their main nest for the third time they turned towards him.

The Hobgoblin froze. Too late, he realized that his performance with the guitar, not to mention the electricity, maybe even the mining, had upset the insects. They had ignored him earlier, but now they were registering him as a threat. They scuttled off the walls and onto the ground.

Run. Or fight. If he could call down lightning here, he could probably fry them all if he didn’t collapse the cave or hit himself. But as Numbtongue was reaching for the guitar and sword he carried, he hesitated. The Rockmites were agitated. But this was their home. Was he going to kill them? He had intruded here.

He looked down at the jar of liquid magic stone he’d wrapped up as the Rockmites advanced on him. It was his. The Rockmites had no need for it. He’d made this. In a way—he’d mined it out of rock, with Pyrite’s memories and the help of Erin’s door and the Rockmites—but even so, Numbtongue had stolen this from no one.

It was one of the first things Numbtongue had ever made without stealing. Besides that, and music. Was he going to taint it by killing?

“No.”

The word made the Rockmites hesitated. They were advancing in a rolling wave, preparing to surround the Hobgoblin, engulf him in one movement. They held back as he set his burdens down and lifted his guitar. But the chords did not flash with electricity. Numbtongue played slowly. The music was quiet, gentle, not like the hard thunder of earlier.

Because he was no thief. Not a killer. Not even scaring. Not here. Not today.

The song that filled the cave was a soft tune at first. Soft, gentle plucking on the strings. So soothing that even the Rockmites sensed something was different. They held back, waiting, confused. And then Numbtongue began to sing.

“It was a flash of white waving

We followed her together

Laughing as if we knew

My brothers came to rest in the mud.”

The tune was slow to come out just right, the words painful. And he played to insects who knew nothing of him. But it didn’t matter. They held still. And Numbtongue sang, as he could only do when he was alone. To them, to himself.

“Blood has long spilled

Now and then, again

I’m tired, so I’m asking

When will we stop?”

They approached him, and drew away. The Hobgoblin bent, and they scuttled back. He tried to make them understand. He was a [Bard]. If he couldn’t play to all species, both monsters, and people, what point was there?

“I came here not to harm you

Or for you to hurt me, listen;

A Goblin asks for peace. Will you agree?”

They did not respond. How could they? Maybe they didn’t even understand. But as Numbtongue kept playing, he walked forwards. He sang, and the Rockmites backed up.

The lyrics didn’t match the tune on the guitar. The pacing was off. Numbtongue improvised the forth verse. And the fifth. But it didn’t matter. He knew this song by heart.

It was the same song as he’d sung in the inn. It wasn’t about the words. It was the message.

Peace. At least for the moment.

The Rockmites probably barely thought, and they might not even hear Numbtongue’s words as such. But they listened, an audience as he sang a universal song. And they let him go.

If you were cynical, you could have said they were just confused by the music, wary of Numbtongue with guitar in hands. But if you believed, as Numbtongue did, maybe the music had meant something.

“Could use more work. Needs better words.”

He grunted to himself as he approached the door. The purple mana stone went on the door. He opened the door, scowled at the stone, and leaned against the cave’s entrance. He closed his eyes.

“Tomorrow I’ll go higher.”

And he played his song again.

—-

Late in the evening, Erin Solstice walked back through her door into her inn. Her home.

“I’m not drunk! I just drank a lot of alcohol! But it’s okay since it’s me!”

Erin protested as the surly Drake [Guard] shut the door in her face. She glared at the wooden door.

“Jerk.”

She stuck out her tongue, and felt happy about being so silly. She looked back at the door. She’d gone to Pallass looking for…something. And instead, the city had jumped out at her. Surprised her. Made her actually like it this time around. She sighed.

“Okay Pallass, you win round one. But next time? I’m gonna rock your socks! …Do Drakes or Gnolls wear socks?”

Erin was caught up in that thought for a second. She wasn’t drunk, in point of fact. But she was happy. And excited to the point of being silly. No, she’d remembered she could be silly and she was rejoicing in that fact. She was almost debating opening the door to heckle the Drake some more, then she remembered to set it to purple.

As soon as she did, the door opened. Erin jumped as Numbtongue strode through. He blinked as he nearly ran into her. She smiled up at him.

“Oh. Numbtongue. How was your day?”

The Hobgoblin was dirty, sweaty, and looked tired. But he looked at peace. He hesitated, then gave Erin a half-smile.

“Good. You?”

Erin hesitated. Then she grinned.

“I had a great day. But what happened to you?”

The Hobgoblin hesitated. He looked around the inn. There was some kind of commotion; everyone was gathered around Apista, and Lyonette was talking with Pisces, Ceria, and Falene for some reason. He shook his head.

“Later. Maybe tonight we can…talk?”

The hopeful look in his eye didn’t pass Erin by. She nodded.

“Tonight. Over a drink? I learned a few recipes, although I have no idea how to make mine fly.”

The Hobgoblin gave Erin an odd look. She laughed. Then she turned.

“Lyonette! Hey guys, what’s up? Anything happen while I was away?”

For some reason that got her the oddest look. But Erin was too excited to wonder why. She waved her arms, trying to get their attention.

“You’ll never believe what a day I had! Okay, first, I went through into Pallass and guess what? I met this couple that—”

Erin paused. She stared at the gathered adventurers. They were all blinking at her. Erin’s gaze travelled across them. She stopped on Pisces. He blinked as she pointed at him.

“You could use some abs. You too, Ceria. Typhenous is old so he’s fine, and Moore’s cool since he can lift cows, but the rest of you need to work out.”

Erin turned. Her finger wavered as it went to the other [Mages] in the room. She wasn’t drunk. Definitely not. She definitely hadn’t gotten drunk because she was immune to alcohol, right? Unless she’d turned it off just to see what it was like. That…sounded like something she would do.

The others stared at Erin. Revi opened her mouth, but Moore spoke up.

“Lift a cow? How strong does she think I am? I could use a spell maybe, but with my arms? I’d strain my back!”

“Take it as a compliment, Moore.”

Jelaqua slapped Moore on the shoulder. She laughed, and Erin looked at Lyonette.

“So, did I miss anything?”

—-

As Erin listened with open mouth to Lyonette’s story about Apista, Numbtongue presented his mana sludge to Typhenous. The old [Mage]’s eyes popped as he stared at the jar Numbtongue carefully held away from his body in gloved hands.

“You found that in the mountains? Why, it’s—magicore! Revi, come and see!”

The other adventurers looked up, scenting something interesting or profitable. Revi walked over, frowning alternatively at Typhenous, the jar, and Numbtongue.

“What? What did you say he found? It looks like yellow goo, Typhenous. Mixed with dirt. Is it valuable?”

The old [Mage]’s voice shook a bit.

“I should imagine? To the right buyers, certainly. How much did you say you found, er, Numbtongue?”

The Hobgoblin met Typhenous’ eyes steadily.

“I didn’t.”

The old [Mage] paused. Then he coughed.

“Of course, of course. I was just curious. You see…it’s just, this sample? It’s raw magicore. That’s the layfolk term for it. It’s more like…unrefined raw mana, in physical form.”

“Incorrect.”

Pisces and Falene both spoke up at once. They glared at each other. Pisces held up a finger, Ceria elbowed him and interrupted Falene as well.

“It’s not raw mana so much as mana-infused rock. Close enough, I know. Shut up, Pisces. Numbtongue, Wistram prizes the stuff. If you apply the right magics to it, you can turn it into a mana stone of unrivaled quality.”

Numbtongue blinked at the magicore. You could? No, that made sense. But it wasn’t something useful to Goblins. Typhenous was staring at it.

“If you were to place a monetary value upon it…there is a difference in quality, but if there were a…a vein of it in the mountains, it might be worth…might I inspect it, ah, Numbtongue?”

The Hobgoblin studied Typhenous for a second. Then he shrugged.

“Here.”

He offered it in one gloved hand to Typhenous. The [Mage] grasped for it greedily, and then let out an exclamation of shock.

“Ah!”

The jar tumbled from his hands as the [Mage] snatched his hands back. Numbtongue grabbed it on the way down. He chortled to himself as Typhenous shook out his hands.

“You ass. Typhenous, are you okay? That was hilarious.”

Revi alternated between a glare of concern and an amused expression. Typhenous gave Numbtongue a reproachful look. Ceria blinked at the magicore.

“Huh. I didn’t see that. Looks like it’s picked up some kind of focus. Electric, by the looks of it.”

Pieces sniffed. He opened his mouth and Falene jumped in. The half-Elf gave Numbtongue a superior look and adopted a lecturing tone to the group.

“Not nearly as valuable, then. Raw magicore is free-form, transmutable. This now has an elemental quality; thus its potential is shaped.”

She tapped one finger against the glass jar, and Numbtongue noted with irritation that she didn’t let it shock her somehow.

“Of course, any full [Mage] of Wistram would know that. Now, I would take this and—”

Falene went to pluck the glass jar out of Numbtongue’s grip. It didn’t budge. The half-Elf stopped. Numbtongue gave her a grin with all his teeth,

“Mine. Not yours.”

“I was merely making a point. If you’ll let me—”

The jar didn’t budge. Falene let out a slow breath. Ceria looked amused as she glanced at Numbtongue. Then she eyed Falene, and jabbed her in the side.

The older half-Elf made a sound and jumped. She glared at Ceria. The [Ice Mage] had an innocent look on her face.

“Sorry, Falene. My hand slipped. But that is Numbtongue’s jar. And he can do what he wants with it. We can’t take it away from a fellow adventurer, can we?”

She gave Typhenous a pointed look. The [Mage] coughed.

“No, no, I just wished to see…may I ask if that was the only sample found though? Please?”

He gave Numbtongue an imploring look. The [Bard] hesitated, then relented.

“No. Probably more. I just hit upper part of vein. Opened hole—there’s more. Raw. This is…different. Made it electric.”

He saw the way the adventurer’s eyes changed at that. Falene glanced over her shoulder at Dawil, as if to signal him. The Dwarf raised a finger.

“I don’t mine! Up yours, pointy ears!”

Typhenous licked his lips.

“…How much more? And Numbtongue, I might be forward in this, but if we could strike a deal for however much more you could find…”

The Goblin bit his lip. He didn’t like thinking about money. It wasn’t something Goblins prized. Erin noticed and broke off from her conversation to ask what all the fuss was about. When she stared at the magicore and gingerly touched it, she yelped.

“Gah!”

“Erin, we said it was electric!”

Ceria looked amused as Erin waved her hand. The [Innkeeper] shrugged, still happily drunk. Or drunk and happy, which was even better.

“I just wanted to find out! Hey, is it toxic or something? What happens if Numbtongue takes it out of the jar?”

The half-Elf scratched her head.

“Toxic? Only if you drink it. Or if it’s giving off fumes. But in the glass jar it should be fine. It’s not really a liquid, Erin.”

Pisces nodded. He looked down self-importantly at Mrsha and Ksmvr, the only audience he could find.

“Magicore is technically valuable, but I would put it far below gold, above silver in terms of rarity. Certainly not as rare as most gemstones of decent quality, but if Numbtongue could wheel away, say, a barrel of the stuff he might earn several hundred gold coins for it. At least. If the quality were high, which from the translucency I deduce it is not, he might earn more. You see, magicore is easily appraised at a glance. The translucency, or rather, the lack of any detail marks it as highly unfocused, and it is that lack of focus, the raw potential that [Mages] interested in creating mana stones crave…”

Mrsha blinked up at him. Ksmvr was scribbling notes. He raised a hand.

“Question, Comrade Pisces. What is the use of mana stones outside of Miss Erin’s door? I am aware of their effects as mana reservoirs for [Mages], but have they any other effects?”

“Ah, Ksmvr, I’m glad you asked.”

Pisces smiled self-importantly. He gestured at Erin’s door.

“You see, those stones on Erin’s door are quite poor-quality. Which is good; they need not be more than simple ah, anchors by which to guide the teleportation spell. But mana stones in general have any number of effects. They can hold an enchantment, allowing a [Mage] to weave his or her spells through the stone to aid in concentration, power mechanisms or fuel artifacts needing magic, or, and this is the most common effect in war, be used as a single-cast spell.”

“Ah, much like an [Alchemist]’s potions.”

Ksmvr nodded. Pisces nodded, and Mrsha nodded as well just to be included.

“Indeed. But mana stones are rarer, and depending on the size and quality of the gem, they can contain very powerful spells. I made a habit of studying a few, ah, in hopes of incorporating them with my undead creations, but sadly only a master [Gem Mage] would be able to use a mana stone without shattering the crystal itself.”

That caught Numbtongue’s attention. He wandered over to Pisces as Typhenous shocked himself again and Erin mused about light bulbs and batteries out loud. The [Necromancer] glanced up at Numbtongue and hesitated.

“Ah. Numbtongue.”

“Pisces.”

The Hobgoblin and [Necromancer] stared at each other for a second. Then Numbtongue reached into his belt pouch.

“You know mana stones? Can you look at this?”

“Well, I am only moderately studied in the subject. But I suppose I could look at—”

Pisces inhaled as he saw the glittering blue mana stone in Numbtongue’s palm. Half the adventurers turned their heads again. Typhenous craned his head, but it was Falene who exclaimed.

“Let me see that!”

This time Numbtongue didn’t protest. He held out the stone and Falene hesitated a second before holding her hand out. Numbtongue’s eyes narrowed, but he dropped the mana stone into her palm. The half-Elf hesitated.

“Thank you.”

She stared down at the mana stone and held it up to the light. Pisces, scowling, tried to see, but the half-Elf accidentally moved to get a better view and cut him off. Then she stared sharply at Numbtongue.

“Where did you get this?”

“From a friend.”

Numbtongue met her eyes without blinking. Falene frowned.

“Do you have any more?”

He gave her a Goblin shrug. Falene pursed her lips.

“If you do, I will buy them from you.”

“Let me see! Is that a pure mana stone? Without defect?”

“As Numbtongue addressed the question to me, I should see first. Miss Skystrall? I believe—Miss Skystrall?”

Falene held the stone out of reach of the other two [Mages] who squabbled over it. Ceria covered her eyes and Revi pulled Typhenous back, hissing at him.

“Stop embarrassing yourself!”

But Falene’s attention was all on Numbtongue. When he reluctantly showed her another of Pyrite’s remaining stones, she very nearly gasped. She made him an instant offer, a number that made Erin’s jaw drop. Numbtongue just shook his head.

“Mine. I don’t want to sell.”

“But these are no use to you. Numbtongue, is it? Listen to me. If you desire gemstones, I can provide them. But these are worth far more than simple jewels. These are high-grade mana stones. You have no idea what focus they have—or what use they might be. In the possession of a [Mage], they could be quite valuable. But they’re of no use to a non-[Mage] let alone—”

She closed her mouth abruptly. Numbtongue, who could fill in missing words, gritted his teeth. The inn fell silent. Erin glared.

A tankard banged at a table in the corner of the room. Falene and Numbtongue turned, and Dawil, sitting with Ylawes, Halrac, and Seborn, all of whom hadn’t deigned to get up, pointed at his companion. The Dwarf’s voice was a rumble.

“Falene, you’re a half-wit.”

The half-Elf’s cheeks turned red. She waited, eyes flashing at Dawil, but he only took a long drink from his tankard. Then he looked at Numbtongue.

“That’s all I wanted to add. Sorry about her. She’s slow. Carry on.”

Numbtongue grinned. He looked at Falene.

“Mine.”

He held out a hand. After a second she dropped them into his palm. Typhenous cleared his throat.

“I would like to make an offer, Miss Skystrall’s nonwithstanding—”

“Hey. What about us?”

Ceria raised her voice. She looked at Pisces.

“We could use those, right?”

“If one was so inclined…and we have ample funds…”

Pisces’ voice trailed off as he recalled where his team had gotten the funds from. Revi rolled her eyes. She looked at Numbtongue.

“You could just smash it.”

Everyone stared at her. Revi raised her hands.

“What? You could. I don’t know a lot about mana stones or advanced magical theory. [Summoner], remember? But I know some things and I know that you can trigger a mana stone by smashing it. Looks like that one has a focus. So…keep it, and smash it if a monster attacks. Who knows? You might get lucky.”

“That is the most idiotic—”

Falene ducked as Dawil threw an empty mug at her. She pointed and it zoomed back towards his face. Ylawes batted it down with a reproachful look. Falene pursed her lips, but fell silent. Pisces coughed.

“As Miss Skystrall said—”

“Oh god, not more [Mage] talk. Please say it in simple words, Pisces. Or I’ll hit you.”

Yvlon looked up from her table where she was dicing with Jelaqua and Moore. The [Necromancer] sighed.

“Fine. Rock goes smash, something happens. But no one can tell what. That stone could simply dissipate. Or explode. Or…”

He waved his hands and glared at Yvlon. Mrsha waved her paws as well, looking excited at the idea. Erin eyed the stone and edged back from it a bit. Numbtongue frowned. He knew all of this, okay, parts. He wanted to know how to use mana stones without being a [Mage]. He looked at Revi again.

“Okay. I can break the stone and get…something random. What about breaking it with my teeth?”

Revi stared at him.

“You mean…eating it? That sounds like the dumbest idea I could think of. I guess it would do something since all that mana would go into your body. But who would do that?”

Numbtongue stared at the stone. Pisces cleared his throat.

“None of these hypotheticals are strictly safe. Numbtongue, if I may offer a solution? If money is not your objective and I have no reason to believe it is—why not offer the stone to Octavia? She could brew a potion out of it. At least, I know some [Alchemists] use mana stones. She might charge you coin, or one of the other stones, but if she could reliably harness the stone’s power, then you would have a brew you could at least throw or ingest, again assuming you could discover the effects. But happily, [Alchemists] have many ways of discovering a stone’s effects.”

Numbtongue brightened at that idea. That did sound good. Falene looked disgusted, however.

“Octavia? You would bring [Alchemists] into this? Please spare me such notions. There are two decent [Mages] among us and four untrained fools—”

“Gee, thanks.”

Ceria rolled her eyes. Revi copied Dawil. Typhenous stroked his beard.

“As much as it pleases me to have your respect, Miss Falene—”

The half-Elf cut him short with a look.

“I was referring to myself and Moore.”

“Oh. How unfortunate.”

A painful silence fell as everyone glared at Falene or deliberately didn’t look at her. Ksmvr walked over to Yvlon and tugged on her arm gently. He didn’t bother lowering his voice.

“Miss Skystrall seems quite agitated. Yvlon, please explain her state of mind.”

“Well, you see, Ksmvr, some people are just sour—”

Jelaqua began, but Falene whirled. The Selphid raised her hands as Falene’s eyes flashed with more than just indignation. Her voice snapped across the inn.

“If I am upset, it’s in wasting over a month of time and effort to rush to Ylawes’ sister’s aid, with little thanks and no reward. However, that would be enough save for the fact that the other teams here have clearly benefitted while we received nothing more than some gold.”

“We all participated in the lottery, Falene—”

Ceria broke off as Falene pointed a finger at her without looking.

“Do not lie to me, sister. I may not be able to see inside a bag of holding, but I can hardly miss Ksmvr and Pisces sitting in their rooms, rolling in piles of gold and gems.”

The inn fell silent. Numbtongue’s head turned, with all the others to Pisces and Ksmvr. The [Necromancer] had turned bright red. Halrac closed his eyes, his sole contribution so far to the night. Yvlon banged her head on the table. Ksmvr opened his mandibles.

“Ah. We must have left the door ajar, Comrade Pisces.”

“Falene. You know we didn’t come here for treasure. If the other teams found…something, it was their discovery.”

Ylawes spoke up quietly. He didn’t quite look at any of the other adventurers, though. Dawil sighed. Falene stared at her team captain, lips white.

“If I wish for some, small benefit, what of it? Numbtongue has no use for those mana stones. None at all. While I—”

Crack.

Falene blinked. She whirled, and stopped. Numbtongue stared at her defiantly. The cracked blue mana stone emitted a burst of viridian light as he crunched it between his teeth. He closed his mouth, but the burst of magical light lit up his head from the inside.

“What did you do?”

The half-Elf [Battlemage] stared at Numbtongue in horror. But he was distracted. His mouth first felt slightly numb, and then he felt saliva gathering, as if the rock was actually tasty and hadn’t just cut open his mouth. But it wasn’t saliva or blood. Numbtongue’s cheeks bulged and his eyes widened with alarm.

“Numbtongue?”

Erin stared at the [Bard] in horror. Numbtongue tried to say something, or spit what was in his mouth out. A bit of viridian spurted out of his mouth. Falene recoiled.

The liquid never touched the ground. Halfway down it turned to gas, a thick, clinging substance that hovered in the air. Falene gaped at it with everyone else. Mrsha took a step forwards, and Pisces pointed.

“No one touch it or inhale it! [Wind Blast]!”

The bit of magical smoke was funneled towards the door. Typhenous and Lyonette dove out of the way. Pisces cursed.

“Someone get the door!”

Half the adventurers moved, but Jelaqua leapt first. She didn’t need to breathe, so she hurled the door open. Pisces pointed and the wind blew the smoke out. Then he turned to Numbtongue.

The Goblin’s cheeks were bulging. There was more liquid filling it! Pisces’ eyes grew round.

“Someone get—”

Numbtongue knew there wasn’t time. He was about to have the liquid whatever-it-was spurt out his nose, or he’d swallow it. Neither option appealed to him, so he looked around and grabbed something. A jar. Numbtongue tore off the lid and spat.

The Goblin made a bleh sound as the blue-green liquid poured from his mouth into the jar. Part of it turned to gas on the way down, but most of it landed squarely in the container he was holding. He coughed it out, corked the lid, then stared at the jar.

“Do you see how dangerous it is? Who knows what effect that gas would have had on your lungs—or on us all? There is no telling the effect. As for your reckless—”

“Falene.”

Ylawes interrupted the half-Elf as she began to shout at Numbtongue. It wasn’t just the gas Numbtongue was still exhaling. It was the jar. The jar full of electrified magicore. And now, blue liquid. Numbtongue saw the two liquids mixing. And both were glowing brighter. And the liquid was turning to gas inside the jar and expanding and the cork was starting to tremble…

He smashed the cork back in. But now the entire jar was shaking. Numbtongue exhaled more viridian in horror.

The adventurers took cover. Moore pulled Mrsha behind him. Falene, standing closest to Numbtongue, backed away in horror.

“Falene? What’s about to happen?”

Ylawes had his shield up. The half-Elf looked at him.

“I don’t—”

“Falene?”

The jar was shaking. Numbtongue felt the glass expanding. His arms shook as the electricity suddenly became twice as strong. He looked at Falene. She shouted.

“I don’t know! Toss it away, toss it—”

—-

Two Drakes climbed the hill towards The Wandering Inn. One was male, the other female. Selys was leading Olesm, urging him to climb faster.

“Come on. I’m sure she has time for you. The adventurers are at her inn all the time. You can at least apologize, and if she clocks you, well, wouldn’t that make you feel better?”

“She doesn’t want to see me, Selys.”

“Yeah. Probably not. But how long are you going to avoid her?”

The [Strategist] shook his head. He stared up at the inn on top of the hill.

“I shouldn’t visit her now. The door wasn’t working. She’s cut Liscor off, Selys.”

“She’s not mad anymore, Olesm. I think. She was never angry, just sad. Look, let’s just go up there and if—”

The door opened. Olesm and Selys saw something blew blast out followed by a gust of wind. They blinked up at the inn and heard a shout. Then nothing.

“Uh…”

Someone appeared at the door. Numbtongue. He raced outside, a glass jar in hand. He threw it as far as he could—straight towards them. Both Drakes saw a tiny, glowing jar filled with yellow, blue and green, hurtling towards them.

They ducked.

The jar landed in the mud in front of them with a wet thump. Both Drakes breathed a sigh of relief. They stared at the jar. Then they noticed how it was shaking. They looked up at the inn in alarm. A half-Elf appeared in the doorway. Her eyes went round as she saw them.

“Run, you idiots!”

The two Drakes stared at the bottle. Then they turned and ran. Three seconds later, the jar exploded as the pent up liquid turned to gas and mixed with the magicore.

Selys heard something hiss and then bang of sound behind her. She half-turned and a glass shard flew past her face. She stopped and stared as Olesm tripped and tumbled in the mud.

The glass jar had burst, but not with the force of, say, an explosion. It was just that the blue gas laced with crackling volts of electricity was expanding too fast for the jar to contain it. Now it expanded into a huge cloud, twenty feet in diameter. It hovered in the air, like some kind of strange earth-bound viridian cloud. Selys could see miniature bolts of lightning earthing on the ground below the cloud.

Selys stared at the cloud. Olesm picked himself up from the mud. They looked at the cloud, and then at the inn. Selys forced saliva into her dry mouth.

“I think that was an accident, Olesm. Honest. But…just in case, let’s go back tomorrow.”

—-

Lastly this happened. Ceria was busy listening to Falene shout at Numbtongue when she felt a poke in the side. She yelped, and immediately realized why all of her friends hated when she did that to them. She turned to glare—but softened it when she realized who was doing the poking.

“Captain Ceria, may I ask what tomorrow brings?”

Ksmvr stood politely at attention, armed with his short sword, dagger, and other gear. He even had his cloak on and the bow strapped to his back. Ceria had to smile; he was always ready. She turned and saw Pisces and Yvlon looking at her. The [Wounded Warrior] raised an eyebrow.

“I was wondering that myself, Captain. We’ve been sitting in the inn a long time. Time to get back to work?”

“We have a lot of money. But I suppose we have to wait to get it exchanged at a big city.”

Ceria mused to herself. She looked at Pisces and the [Necromancer] shrugged.

“We do have an Ashfire Bee contract. But I would not be remiss for more work. However, if our lot calls for sitting and eating to excess, I would not object.”

He said that, but the look in his eyes were a challenge. Ceria smiled.

“I suppose you’re right. We could go to Celum tomorrow. Take a few local requests on.”

The Horns brightened. Ksmvr stood straighter, his mandibles opening and raising with delight. He hurried over to the table where he had been sitting and grabbed his pack. Ceria laughed.

“Ksmvr, we’re not going yet!”

“No, but I must be prepared. I am already prepared, but I wish to make sure. At last. I have been sitting here in readiness for the last nine days. I am pleased that my rations are not yet completely spoiled.”

He was pawing through his things. Ceria blinked.

“Your rations? Wait. Did you buy rations? Ksmvr, that was a waste of money—”

He looked affronted and shook his head.

“Captain, that would be a waste of funds. Of course I did not buy any. I kept the rations from our last expedition.”

“…What last expedition? You mean, to the dungeon? Ksmvr, that was weeks ago. Unless you mean when you were going to rescue me—”

“No, I refer to the moments when we last ventured with Griffon Hunt.”

Yvlon frowned.

“How long ago was that? Ksmvr, let me see—”

She bent to reach for Ksmvr’s pack. The Antinium obligingly opened it to show her, and Yvlon’s face changed halfway down. Ceria had never seen someone turn green that fast. Yvlon staggered back, slapping the flap shut.

“Silver and steel!”

“Oh gods, what now? Has the Antinium kept a Creler as a pet?”

Revi threw up her hands. Ceria shook her head. She hesitated and looked at Ksmvr. The Antinium stared innocently at her.

“Ksmvr. Hand me the pack.”

He did so. Ceria hesitated. She could smell…something. But the sturdy leather concealed whatever was in quite well. It had done for a long time, apparently. She stared at the pack. Slowly, she opened it.

Pisces and Yvlon recoiled. Ksmvr had little in the way of olfactory senses, so he just peered at his rations.

“Ah, they are nicely decomposing. Perfect for renewal if they grow fungi. On the other hand, they can be an appropriate lure—”

—-

“One more try. It was an accident. She doesn’t hate me. She doesn’t hate me—”

Olesm approached the inn. Selys was using him as a shield. He stared at the closed door, saw it open. He hesitated.

“Erin?”

A bag flew out the door. It clocked Olesm on the chest, spilling its contents all over him. Selys took one look at it and fled.

Inside the inn, Ksmvr stared at his rations and then at Olesm turning over to throw up as he scrambled to get it off him. He turned to Ceria. She was giving him a look that told him he had made some mistake. The Antinium wilted.

“Ah. I take it this was another mistake on my part? Comrade Pisces—”

And Erin watched all of it happening. She looked at Numbtongue, who was ignoring Falene as he plucked at his guitar. At the other adventurers, debating over what the smoke had been and how useful a weapon it might be. At Apista, riding Mrsha’s head, at Lyonette, poring over some plans for the inn. And Erin did something that made it all that much better.

She laughed.

[Miner Level 6!]

[Skill – Grinder Teeth obtained!]

[Bard Level 29!]

[Song – Lightcaller Harmony obtained!]

[Song – Peaceful Melody obtained!]

6.11

Sweat rolled down the side of his face. It matted his fur, turned it darker. It dripped onto the stone floor. But of course, she couldn’t smell it. She could hear him, but he made no sound as his face lowered towards the ground.

Slowly. His arm compressed and his body—seemingly far too large to be supported by a single arm—followed. For a second Ceria thought he would collapse as his arm shook and his face nearly touched the ground. But his balance was perfect and slowly his body rose.

A pushup. One of many. Ceria had known you could do them one-handed, but she was no [Warrior]. She didn’t like the idea of exercising to begin with. But he was one of those maniacs who trained even out of battle. Yvlon and Ksmvr were like that, actually.

Another pushup. Ceria heard a faint grunt, but that was it. She watched as he adjusted his body, putting his entire weight on his arm. His one arm. The Minotaur’s horns nearly touched the ground of his cell this time as he lowered, then pushed himself up.

“How many do you do each day?”

It was the first thing she’d said in a while. He glanced up. She saw his muscles strain as he levered himself up. All…what, three hundred pounds of him? At least. Calruz was a giant of six foot seven, fairly tall even for Minotaurs, but he didn’t look stretched. His body was solid muscle from years of fighting and training. The idea that he could lift his weight with one arm was ridiculous.

But maybe it was because he only had one arm. Ceria stared at the missing gap on his right shoulder, where the solid muscle and bone just—ended. Calruz had lost his arm a long time ago, to Skinner, and he’d had to learn to fight and survive with just the other one. You probably got a few Skills that made you stronger if that happened, right?

“So. You do this every day now? The guards tell me you’ve been working out nonstop.”

Calruz shrugged as he took a break to take a sip of water. He had some in his cell. The Drakes guarding him weren’t stupid; they’d left buckets of water in the cell, fresh water to keep Calruz from dehydrating and dying of thirst. Ceria wondered if they gave him more food. She wasn’t going to ask.

Which meant she was going to ask, but later. She shook her head.

“Pushups with one arm. What else?”

“Situps. Stretches. Odd—it’s hard to explain. I need to move muscles, but I can’t. So I try different poses. Stretching out.”

The Minotaur’s voice was quiet, but that still meant it was quite loud. Ceria nodded. She stared at Calruz. Absently, her good hand rubbed her right hand. She felt smooth, cool bone. And shuddered because it was her hand, but she couldn’t feel it.

“So. You started working out? Why? You want to look good in jail?”

The Minotaur looked up at her. His dark brown eyes blinked once at Ceria’s face, and then both of them looked away.

“I have to do something or go mad. This is what I know. It makes sense.”

“Yeah? You were having a blast doing the empty stare a while back.”

The Minotaur’s ears twitched. He was so calm now, but Ceria still found ways to needle him.

“I suppose I got tired of that. I couldn’t see the point the fifth time you visited me. I can try doing it again if it helps.”

Ceria snorted. The half-Elf stared past Calruz. She shook her head.

“Parchment and ink, too? What, is this a luxury cell?”

“Hardly. I asked for that. They gave it to me so I could draw maps of the dungeon. And I’m sure they wouldn’t have let me do even that unless you’d intervened.”

Another pause. Ceria bit her lip. Calruz didn’t look at her. He was doing something else now. Sitting against the wall, only without a chair. It looked…strenuous. He wasn’t facing towards her—he spoke while staring at the opposite wall of his cell. That way she didn’t have to meet his eyes. They preferred it that way.

“Yeah, well, you know the other teams aren’t going to trust your maps, right?”

A shrug. Calruz’ hooves stayed planted on the ground, but she could see his legs tense with the effort of keeping his body against the wall.

“They don’t have to. I wouldn’t. Even the Raskghar could get surprised by traps. But the maps are a general layout. As best I know. If they help, or reveal opportunities—even make them aware of the dangers of being cornered—it’s worth it.”

Ceria couldn’t argue with that. A map, even from an enemy, was better than going in blind. And she thought…she thought some of the teams might use the maps. A lot wouldn’t though, but she didn’t tell Calruz that. Her eyes went to the maps. They were meticulously drawn; the Minotaur had labored over them, refusing to waste any parchment or drops of ink.

“So. What after the maps and your exercising?”

“Nothing. I keep exercising. When the maps are done I’ll stop there.”

The Minotaur’s voice was flat. Ceria nodded. She hesitated, stared past Calruz at the bare wall. A magical barrier separated the two, sometimes barely visibly, other times shivering with light as dust motes struck it. But for that, they could have been mere feet apart.

“So. We’re leaving. I mean, all the northern teams. Halfseekers, Griffon Hunt, the Silver Swords…we’re all uh, taking off.”

“With the Raskghar’s treasure. You’ll have to get it exchanged. I don’t know where. I’ve never had a haul like that. I was…dreaming of it. How I’d do it when I got out.”

That made Ceria pause. She stared at Calruz’ face. He looked ahead, a statue but for the sweat dripping off him. She hadn’t told him where they’d found the treasure. He’d just worked it out in between one of their meetings.

“Invrisil.”

She saw him pause and nod.

“Of course. It’s good the other teams are going with you. You won’t be shortchanged.”

Ceria shuffled, scuffing at the ground, although the prison was kept very clean.

“The Silver Swords aren’t part of it. I mean, they weren’t given the treasure. They uh, found out.”

“I see. Will there be trouble?”

“If there is, there is. But Ylawes didn’t seem inclined to press it. I had a chat with Jelaqua and Halrac and we decided we’d give something if they really pressed. But we’re mostly afraid of the other teams finding out. You know, Gemhammer, the Wings of Pallass, and so on?”

“They’re all staying?”

“They didn’t make a huge fortune in the dungeon. Some of them got a bit of the loot—so yeah. They’re staying. I expect we’ll hear more from them. After all, we have Erin’s door.”

“Indeed.”

Calruz didn’t say much. He’d already commented on the door. He was just sitting there, listening. Ceria knew he was paying attention, though. When the silence drew on too long, the Minotaur spoke.

“Thank you for coming.”

That was it. Out of nowhere. Ceria looked up, but he hadn’t even turned his head. She felt—there weren’t words to describe it. The half-Elf glanced about. The prison was mostly empty, although there were some troublemakers in the far cells near the entrance. Around them was empty, though. She reached for her belt.

“Time for a snack.”

At last, Calruz looked around. He stared at Ceria as she pulled out a Gnoll treat—a salted fish packed with a meaty paste. It lasted quite a while before going bad and it actually tasted pretty good. The Minotaur eyed the snack and shook his head.

“The guards won’t let you give that to me. They make the cell’s field permeable to feed me, but only then. You can’t pass it through.”

The half-Elf stared at the Minotaur.

“Who said anything about you? This is for me.”

She bit into her meal. Calruz stared at her. She knew he probably got prison rations, which again, weren’t as bad as you might get in a prison in Terandria. But hardly tasty food. She saw his cheek twitch. Then he barked a short bit of laughter.

“You always were a pest. I can’t imagine how your new team puts up with you.”

“Go rot your face. I’m a great leader.”

The Minotaur chuckled, the first sound of amusement she’d heard from him.

“If Gerial could see you now—”

He paused, broke off. The amusement flooding his face grew bleak in a moment. Ceria felt the fish snack in her mouth grow less appetizing. She stopped chewing. Swallowed. Calruz stared ahead, breathing slowly.

“Say their names.”

“I remember.”

“Say them.”

A shuddering breath. The Minotaur spoke harshly.

“Gerial. Hunt. Terr. Coblat. Grimsore. Sostrom. Barr.”

Ceria nodded. After that, there was nothing to say. She put the rest of her snack in her belt pouch. Someone moaned across the prison. A late-night reveler waking up and regretting. Probably the drunk Relc had brought in with a huge lump on his head.

It was early morning. Just past dawn, really. Ceria knew that, and she knew she couldn’t stay. Not that she ever did.

“I’m going to leave. We have to take care of that Ashfire Bee nest.”

“Be safe.”

“Yeah, whatever. I’ll have the other Gold-rank teams with me. At least Falene, anyways. I’ll be back tomorrow. Look, if you need more parchment, or some new quills, you could do some sketches of—”

“Don’t bother. I’m not going to be here much longer.”

Calruz looked up. He met Ceria’s eyes again.

“They’re going to execute me. I know Drake law. I deserve it, Springwalker.”

“I—know that. What, did you think I’d try to help you out with that?”

No reply. Calruz just met Ceria’s eyes. She turned away. The Minotaur spoke quietly, illuminated by the magical runes surrounding his cell.

“Better to die sane than down there, like a monster.”

She closed her eyes.

“Tell me it wasn’t your fault.”

No reply. She turned.

“Say it. You’re different now. Down there, it was a spell. The water. Or—”

“I can still hear the voices sometimes. I did it. And there was no reaction when they tested me. No magic. It was just me.”

Calruz shook his head. He stopped sitting against the wall. He stood up and faced Ceria.

“It was me.”

His hand pressed flat against the invisible wall in the air. Ceria looked at him. She turned. She couldn’t say anything. Why couldn’t he lie?

She was walking away when Calruz called out after her.

“Olesm.”

Ceria turned. The Minotaur was staring at her, a frown on his face. He spoke haltingly.

“There was…he was with us, wasn’t he? A part of our team. I forgot his name. What happened to him? I thought you said—when we were below. What of him?”

The half-Elf stared. Calruz was frowning. He still couldn’t remember everything of what had happened below. She forced herself to smile.

“Olesm? He made it. I told you. He’s not adventuring anymore. But he’s fine. Yeah. I think he’s…fine. I’m going to go. But I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Farewell.”

That was all Calruz said. He watched as Ceria left, hurrying past the cells, pausing to speak with the guards. Different from his memory. But she’d come every day, if only for a few minutes. Sometimes for hours. To shout at him, annoy, poke, prod, tease. Reminisce.

“Thank you.”

The Minotaur whispered. He meant that. And he also wished she’d stop. He closed his eyes and sat against the wall. Waiting. For tomorrow or the end.

—-

What had happened to Olesm? That was a good question. And the truth was, ‘nothing much’.

Or rather, Olesm had done well. He was no adventurer, putting his life on the line. He was a [Strategist] now. In a sense, he had made it; becoming a fully-fledged [Strategist] at his age made him a rising star, if anyone was doing constellations. And he had survived a potential war with the Humans. He had helped fight back the monsters and Raskghar plaguing Liscor, and he was due an extra gold piece and six silver per week thanks to his new class.

Yes, everything was on the up and up for Olesm. If you considered his fortunes, he was on a meteoric rise. But again, that assumed people were thinking in stellar terms. And they weren’t. And Olesm wasn’t happy.

If you asked him why, he couldn’t point exactly to the reason. Maybe it was being hit with rotten travel rations yesterday. Or nearly being engulfed by some crazy blue lightning cloud. Or it could be his guilt over the way the Goblin war had ended. But it might have just been that he hadn’t seen Erin Solstice again. And the fact that he was being ripped off.

“How much did you say it would be for your services, Miss Rissa?”

He stared at the female [Scribe] sitting across from him. The Drake woman had faint yellow and blue scales running down her body in a crisscrossing pattern. It made her stand out compared to Olesm’s uniform sky-blue scales. But you’d hardly notice because the [Scribe] was wearing long, concealing clothing that covered her arms, legs, and even her tail.

The effect was something like staring at a mobile pillow. Apparently Miss Rissa grew cold easily, and since she sat in the same place, she’d outfitted herself and her work area to be as comfortable as possible. No stool for her; she had a high-backed chair filled with cushions, a wide writing desk and several magical quills. And she was glaring at Olesm.

“Twelve silver per copy. That’s my final offer.”

“Twelve? I could get the same amount done for eight silver!”

The [Strategist] clutched at his head. He stared at Rissa.

“Last time it was only nine! And I paid that!”

“Well, I’ve heard that these magazine things are valuable. So I want to see some more coin myself. Twelve silver, or you can go to my competitors. And you know I’m the best. You want steady reproductions of these maps and these…whatever they are?”

“Go strategies. They’re sketches of good chess and go games.”

“Go what? You mean that other new game? Either way, it looks like a pain to recreate. So. Twelve silver. That’s my final offer. Don’t make me make it thirteen. That’s an unlucky number, so we’ll skip to fourteen then.”

Olesm sighed. He opened his mouth to object, saw the [Scribe]’s eyes flash, and gave up.

“Twelve silver, then. Can I pay for twenty copies now? I have to get more money.”

“That will do.”

Miss Rissa watched greedily as Olesm slowly placed several gold coins on the table and hunted around for more. He wanted to object, but he wasn’t in the mood to risk alienating the best [Scribe] in the city. Rissa was temperamental, but she was quick.

“I can have at least ten done by the end of the day.”

Coins disappeared as Rissa flipped through Olesm’s latest creation. It was a hefty little package and she wrinkled her nose at all the chess notations Olesm had written down. Then at the maps with scrawls of neat words accompanying them.

“What’s this? It’s not your usual bad handwriting. I thought I’d have to correct it.”

“No, Miss Rissa. I had a copy made—”

The [Scribe] gave Olesm a glare. He raised his hands.

“—just to see how it would look! And the handwriting is better, isn’t it?”

“This is Jeckl’s handwriting, that stupid Gnoll. You’re not giving him my work, are you? Because if you are—you can see his line work isn’t nearly as good as mine. And his inks…”

“Incomparable, truly. You’re my preferred [Scribe], Miss Rissa. I’ll just take that copy—you can get the best notes from my original. Thank you—”

The magazine was really just a sheaf of papers that Rissa thrust rudely at Olesm. He scrambled to put them in order, treating the soft paper very carefully. He’d used paper instead of parchment, and it had cost him a pretty penny (rather more than a copper penny, actually), to write the latest edition of his chess newsletter.

“You didn’t put one of these out last month. Or the month before.”

“I’ve been busy. I’m hoping to make them more regular. Every two weeks, or three. If I can afford it.”

Olesm wished his tail weren’t sulkily curling up. To be fair, he had been busy. There had been no time for stuff like chess and his hobby of noting down Erin’s games and commenting on them when the fate of Liscor was at stake. But recently, he’d had ample time to write.

“You see, I have four of ah, the best games I had recorded written down in notation with some of my commentary. I chose two games sent to me to include with commentary from my special guest, and she—er, my guest also provided some sample games of Go, this new craze sweeping through Baleros. It’s in-depth stuff and she explained a ton of theories, hence all the notes on various strategies. And after that, I have some commentary on Liscor’s siege and my perspective on the Raskghar attacks, not to mention the Face-Eater Moth incident—”

Rissa grew slowly more cross-eyed as she listened to Olesm talk. She shook her head and waved her quill, interrupting him.

“I don’t need a summary. I’ll have to read it myself. Leave me to my work! Gah. You’ve written double-sided? I suppose it saves parchment, but I’ll have to use my lightest inks…come back with the rest of my money and I’ll have the first professional copy ready.”

“Yes, Miss Rissa. Thank you—”

The door nearly hit Olesm on the way out. The [Strategist] glared as Miss Rissa’s long-handled stick adeptly flipped the sign on her tiny shop. From ‘Available’ to ‘Reserved’. He yawned and glared up at the sun. It was barely past dawn; he’d been lucky to get here in time to get her services for the morning.

“Twelve silver? It’s not like I make that much for each magazine. In fact, I don’t! What am I supposed to do, charge a gold piece for each? You’re lucky I need you to send this to Lord Astoragon. Then I’m getting these done cheap at Jeckl. At least he’s not a jerk.”

He glared at the shop, and then stomped down the street. He was hoping to sell at least two hundred copies all told, which would make up for the price of the initial twenty done by Rissa. It had been a while since Olesm had run out an edition of his chess magazine. Heck, it wasn’t long since he’d started making them. But Erin had encouraged him and…well, that was all he’d needed.

“Last time I sold, what? Eighty? They went out to Celum and I think some people took more north. Somehow, one of them reached the Titan himself. If you add that to my dedicated mailing list…if I charge ten silver, and I can get the Runner’s Guild to buy them off me—can I do eleven? Twelve, to make up to Rissa? If I sell two hundred copies—but what if I make too many? Then I’m down…”

The [Strategist] muttered to himself as he tried to do some math on the go. Liscor’s streets were still filling up, but he had a lot of work to do. And it wasn’t even his work day yet. Today and yesterday had been Olesm’s days off and he’d hoped to talk to Erin. Since he hadn’t and had been hit with a bag and nearly blown up, he’d spent last night working on the chess magazine, which was really just a [Strategist] magazine now. Gloomily, Olesm walked down the street.

“I should really have a name. Olesm’s Insights. No. That’s terrible. Chess Monthly? But it’s not chess anymore, is it? Er, the Liscorian Perspective? This is why I need Erin. She’d have a catchy name like—”

“Olesm!”

“Hm?”

The Drake turned. Someone was calling out to him. He saw a tall figure striding down the street, around two elderly Drakes arguing with an old Drake that Olesm recognized. Tekshia, Guildmistress of the Adventurer’s Guild, glanced up at hearing Olesm’s name and then let the tall figure with bunny ears pass. Hawk strode towards Olesm with alarming speed. But that was Couriers for you. Tekshia kept arguing with the other two Drakes, sitting at an outdoor restaurant or maybe a pub. Olesm turned to Hawk.

“Hawk?”

The Courier of Liscor wore a light vest and nothing else on his upper body. He had long pants on, tailored to fit his rabbit hindquarters. But they were simple clothes, meant for strenuous motion, not fashion. He was clearly working today, but Olesm saw no package in his hands.

“Anything for me?”

“Not just yet. I haven’t run in the last few days. Did a long run to Pallass and got back a bit through that magic doorway a few days ago. I decided to take a holiday for a bit—I’m about to hit the Runner’s Guild for work. I expect there’s at least a few deliveries waiting on me.”

Olesm nodded. Hawk, as the sole Courier living in Liscor, could do deliveries south of Liscor where normal City Runners couldn’t. With the Blood Fields active in the spring—especially after the battle between the Drake armies and Tyrion Veltras’ forces—it was too dangerous for anyone to go south. Which meant that messages and deliveries usually waited on Hawk.

“I imagine they’ll be relieved you’re coming in. But uh, if you’re going to do a trip south, mind waiting for a day? You see, I just got my latest chess magazine done. I don’t know if you’ve heard of it…”

The [Strategist] flushed a bit and trailed off. What was he doing, talking to Hawk about his magazine? But if the Courier went it would be days before Olesm could send a delivery south.

To his surprise, Hawk’s ears perked up. The Rabbit Beastkin gave Olesm an appraising look. They’d rarely talked, but as Liscor’s [Strategist], Olesm had gotten to know Hawk and made a few requests of him in official capacities over the years.

“Your chess thing? I heard about that. Mind if I see?”

“Oh! Of course!”

Flustered, Olesm presented him with the sheaf of papers, Jeckl’s copy that had offended Rissa. The Courier flipped through the pages, blinking at the chess notation. Olesm winced; it definitely wasn’t eye-catching stuff, unless you were a [Strategist]. But he had a growing audience—some people had sent him a lot of gold in donations! And the Titan had read his work! That had to count for something.

“Hefty. And this is going out by the Runner’s Guild?”

“Yes. I’m sending them by way of City Runner to various [Strategists] I know. I can’t copy too many, but…I’m hoping to do two hundred. Uh, I’d only be able to pay you to do eight or so! You can just bring them to Pallass’ Runner’s Guild. It can go to the other recipients from there.”

Hawk frowned.

“Hm. They can’t copy illustrations at the Mage’s Guild. At least, not unless the [Mage] knows a sketching spell or has [Artist] classes. Sounds like it’s worth my while, then. How much for six?”

“O-oh. Well, if it’s only six, wait, at your rates—”

Olesm fumbled, confused. Hawk laughed. He shifted, his wide rabbit’s feet restless as ever.

“I meant six for me to buy. On top of the eight you want sent out. How much are you charging? Two gold pieces per edition? If it’s only two hundred, this is a limited run, right? That drives up the price.”

He reached for his money pouch. Olesm gaped at him.

“Two gold pieces? No, it’s ten silver!”

“Ten silver?”

This time the Rabbit Beastkin recoiled. He stared at Olesm and shook his head.

“For this? And you’re selling only two hundred? Olesm, friend, you’re going to get ripped off that way. How much do you think these things are worth?”

“Uh—not two gold pieces.”

“Well, no. But people will pay for a premium to get a copy first. Once it gets spread about and people make more copies it’ll be worth less. But Olesm—remember that ring and the note I gave you from you know who?”

Hawk waggled his ears at Olesm. The Drake stared at them and jumped.

“You mean from—”

“—ah, no names. Courier’s code an all. But yeah. If he read your copy, you bet it’s popular. I heard some people were making copies in Baleros of your older editions. And this? This is new. So it’s worth me paying for—if you’re not about to spread them via [Message] spell or something.”

Hawk gave Olesm a stern look. He was lecturing, but only slightly, and Olesm listened. You could learn a lot from a successful Courier, and Hawk was rich.

“There are clients in other Walled Cities who made me an offer to get them one of your chess magazines if you come out with one. They’ll pay double for exclusive stuff like this. As long as its exclusive. Don’t let the Mage’s Guild get a hold of one of your copies unless you want to lose all your profits. And don’t trust the City Runners not to sell it to the first Mage’s Guild, or even the one in Liscor. Some might even get it copied by a [Scribe] too.”

“But isn’t it easy for anyone to copy? I mean, I’d expect that…”

Olesm trailed off weakly. Hawk nodded.

“So would I. So the trick is you make a few copies, say, forty? And you send them off and get paid a premium. Then, after four days, you make up a batch—your two hundred—and sell them to the Runner’s Guild and Mage’s Guild in Liscor and Pallass for cheap. That’s what I’d do.”

“Wow. But people will pay that much?”

Hawk gave Olesm a strange look.

“The Titan reads your magazine, Olesm.”

“But—I know that, but—it’s just a small enterprise! I just started a few months ago, I’ve put out like four editions!”

“And the Titan—damn, I said his name twice—reads your magazine. That means every [Strategist] and er, chess lover around the world will want a copy of your magazine. How many do you think there are? Thousands. Tens of thousands. That’s your audience. You won’t reach most of them yourself; your magazine’s going to be copied. But you can have an exclusive list who’ll pay you in gold for early access. Don’t take that for granted. So, about the copies?”

Hawk patted Olesm on the shoulder in a friendly way. The [Strategist] stared at him, mouth agape.

“Well I uh, well, I’m having more copies done. But—but I’ll have some tonight! Definitely! I can contact you—”

“I’ll stop by and delay my run until then. Let me know, alright? And remember, keep them away from [Mages] unless you want to ruin my profit margin—and yours!”

Hawk strode off. Olesm gaped at him. Hawk was delaying his run for some of the chess magazines? The Drake felt a surge of elation and fear. Then he had a thought. He turned and rushed back towards Rissa’s shop.

“I’m bus—”

The Drake [Scribe] snapped as the door flew open. She stared at Olesm and glared.

“What? Do you have more of my money?”

Olesm shook his head, panting. He pointed at the papers on her desk. She was already halfway through one copy. He’d seen Rissa work and she was fast. All those Skills. He coughed and spoke hurriedly.

“Those twelve silver coins—they’re for exclusivity, right? You’re not making anyone else any copies. Right?”

He saw the [Scribe] freeze for a second. She glanced down at the papers and confirmed Olesm’s worst fears.

“Well, I—this is hardly enough money to be exclusive. And you didn’t ask. I have my work to do, but I suppose if anyone asked—”

“You can’t do that! Those are mine! You can’t copy them! What were you going to do, make more copies for the Runner’s Guild? The Mage’s Guild?”

He saw the older Drake woman bristle, but her tail was twitching rapidly.

“That’s highly—what an allegation! What I do with works provided to me is my business. If you wanted me to keep it exclusive, you should have made that clear. And if you want me to avoid making other copies, the price will be sixteen—”

“No!”

Olesm lunged for the desk. He tore his precious copy of his magazine away. Rissa made a startled noise.

“Give me that! You paid me—”

“And I want my money back! You’re no longer hired!”

“You can’t unhire me!”

The [Scribe] tried to get up, but her padded clothes made her awkward. And she was hardly fit; she swiped for the copy Olesm was stuffing into his belt pouch. He tore frantically at the half-finished copy on her desk, ripping it to shreds.

“They’re mine! Anyone who wants a copy has to pay me! Me! And if you think I’m paying you sixteen silver—”

“You’ll pay me more than that! How dare you! I have every right to make whatever copies I please—”

The door opened. Olesm stopped dancing about, waving his magazine copy over his head. Rissa stopped reaching for it and trying to stab Olesm with a quill. They turned towards the door. Ilvriss, Wall Lord of Salazsar, stared at the two of them and coughed.

“Swifttail.”

“Wall Lord!”

Olesm stared and then realized he was still fending Rissa off with one hand. He straightened, blushing fiercely.

“I was uh, just—”

“I believe I heard. Miss Rissa Inkscale?”

“Yes? The best [Scribe] in Liscor at your service, Wall Lord Ilvriss. I was just having an incident with a disagreeable client. How may I serve you?”

Rissa hurried behind her desk, beaming at Ilvriss and giving Olesm a death-glare at the same time. Ilvriss eyed her and then turned to Olesm.

“I have some work I needed copied. Minor sketching. But if you’ve reserved Miss Inkscale’s services, Swifttail, far be it from me—”

“No. No, I was, uh, cancelling my order. And I’ll need my money back.”

Olesm glared at Rissa. The [Scribe] purpled, but she dared not object in front of Ilvriss. The gold coins and silver appeared back on the counter—minus one of the gold coins Olesm had paid her. He gave her a flinty look, but took it anyways. Ilvriss stared at the papers Olesm clutched to his chest.

“Am I to assume you’ve come out with another edition of your…magazine? I recall you telling me about that. General Shivertail made a passing remark on the subject.”

Olesm jumped. Zel Shivertail had read his magazine? He stammered.

“Wh—yes! I did come out with a new edition. But uh, I’m trying to figure out a way to market it. And having it copied—”

“Exclusivity. I quite understand. Well, her work is hardly high-level [Scribe] quality, but if that’s the issue…”

Ilvriss tapped a claw on his chin as he thought. Olesm waited nervously. So did Rissa, who was quite cowed by the Wall Lord’s presence despite this being her shop. Ilvriss just had that effect. He was the picture of a Wall Lord, grand, commanding, and, Olesm had to admit, handsome. Olesm only got called cute by the Drake girls, but Ilvriss was like the [Lords] you heard about in stories. A real Wall Lord of a Walled City in the flesh. In Liscor. And, what was stranger, he knew Olesm’s name and took an interest in Olesm’s life.

The younger [Strategist] had no idea why, but Ilvriss had taken an interest in him and treated him almost like a protégé at times. Like now, in fact. Ilvriss came to a decision and nodded brusquely at Olesm.

“Allow me to lend you my personal assistant. We can discuss a moderate fee for the transaction later, but I think this would be a useful instructive moment. Assuming you don’t object to slightly lower-quality work?”

“What? No, not at all! I’d be honored!”

“Wall Lord! I—”

Rissa cut off as Ilvriss gave her a cool glance. Too cool, in fact. Cold. Olesm wished he could give someone that look on command. Ilvriss snapped his fingers gently.

“Miss Inkscale, I’d like to request your services for a series of prints. Monster sketches, mainly. The copies of which I have…here.”

He placed a sheaf of sketches, all on snow-white paper, on Rissa’s desk. The [Scribe] blinked and Olesm caught a glimpse of several disturbing creatures as she paged through them. They looked like crude illustrations drawn by someone with no talent. Even so, they looked quite disturbing. And undead. Ilvriss tapped the papers.

“I know you’re no [Artist], but I’m told you have the [Illustrator’s Vision] Skill. Are you able to see the intention behind these?”

“I—yes, Wall Lord. Horrific beasts. Still sketches, though. I’m getting imaginative images rather than anything concrete. Whoever made these didn’t see them, only heard them, I’m afraid.”

“That’s what I expected. Nevertheless, if you’d be able to transcribe the internal images, I’d be most grateful. By tonight? I will pay for speed, hard work, and exclusivity.”

Rissa blushed a bit. She straightened and looked at Ilvriss.

“Of course, Wall Lord. It would be my honor. I can have the sketches done by then. In color?”

“I understand there’s very little. Black ink will suffice. My assistant will come by sundown to collect them. Good day. Swifttail? With me.”

Ilvriss gave Rissa a slight bow and a smile that had her blushing. Then he swept out of her shop. Olesm, in awe, watched him go. Then he saw Rissa glance at him.

“Well? What are you standing around here for?”

She snapped at him. He jumped and hurried after Ilvriss out. The Wall Lord was waiting for him. Olesm had to admire that. He’d gone in there, hadn’t haggled, just made his request and left. He wondered if money was even an obstacle for Ilvriss. And would Rissa even overcharge him? A Wall Lord?

“I hope I didn’t interfere too much, Swifttail.”

Ilvriss glanced at Olesm. The [Strategist] blushed again.

“Not at all, Wall Lord. It was my fault. I didn’t realize my magazines were so…”

Valuable? It felt ridiculous to say that to Ilvriss, who had gemstone rings on his claws and wore silk clothing day to day. But the Wall Lord only nodded as if it were reasonable.

“It’s hard to appraise the value of something new. Your magazine is a new commodity, but, I think, gaining in worth. You’re aware the Titan of Baleros praised it? That alone makes its earning potential substantively higher. From what I heard, you’re aware you should be making it exclusive?”

“Yes, yes—I just met with Hawk, actually. And he said…”

Olesm hurried after Ilvriss, talking quickly and summarizing his chat with the Courier. Ilvriss nodded. He was leading Olesm back down the street, towards the City Hall. It was slow going, even though both Drakes knew where they were going. That was because Ilvriss had to stop every few seconds to greet someone.

“Mister Rekil. A pleasure to meet you.”

“Good day, Miss. And who is this young one?”

“Guildmistress Tekshia. An honor.”

“Wall Lord.”

The old Drake was still sitting, with her two companions. One of the old male Drakes looked up, munching on some kind of pretzel.

“Is that Wall Lord Ilvriss? Fine fellow! Good job on those Walled Cities, young Drake! I visited Salazar once. Beautiful place. You still mining those gemstones?”

“As always, Mister…?”

“Rudss.”

The old Drake extended a claw and Ilvriss shook it. The Wall Lord nodded.

“Gemstone mining, magical or not, has always been Salazsar’s greatest source of income. Our mines are actually expanding, in fact. We’re looking into claiming some new areas for forge work. Steel, armor and weapons to go along with our magical productions.”

“Ah, but Pallass has the best steel, or so they say. That was how it always was. Pallass for steel and potions, Salazar for gems. Oteslia was where you ate, and Zeres from where you sailed. You went to Fissival if you wanted to learn magic and not go to Wistram, and Manus to become an expert warrior. But now Salazsar wants gems and steel? That’s risky, that is. You tell the other Wall Lords it’s not easy upsetting history like that.”

Olesm winced. Rudss was an old Drake, one of the retired veterans from Liscor’s army who could live off his savings and pension. He was the kind who sat about and had an opinion on everything. But this was Ilvriss he was jawing off to. But Ilvriss didn’t seem to mind. The Wall Lord smiled a bit as he nodded.

“I’ll be sure to pass that on to my companions, Mister Rudss. And I hope that if you ever come to Salazsar, you find your stay pleasant. Guildmistress Tekshia? A pleasure.”

“Good day, Wall Lord.”

The elderly Drake inclined her head. Ilvriss walked past her. Olesm, following, could hear Rudss talking loudly to the other two.

“See? That was a proper Wall Lord. Always time to talk. Not like those stuck up [Senators] from Pallass. They had their Wall Lords and nobles—still do—but are they running things? Not likely! And look where it’s got Pallass. No, you want a proper city? You let them run things—”

“Is Salazsar looking into investing into arms manufacturing, sir?”

Olesm glanced up at Ilvriss. The Wall Lord smiled slightly.

“It’s been an ongoing topic for the last six years. And it’s a nice topic to bring up, Swifttail. But frankly? We might poach a few [Smiths], but we’re not looking to fight in that area. Panicking Pallass is always worthwhile, however. Because if we wanted to, we could entice some of their best [Smiths] away.”

“Ah. Of course.”

Olesm nodded. It was a known fact that of the six Walled Cities, Salazar was richest by far. Not that any of the Walled Cities were poor, but Oteslia, famed for its agricultural and pastoral harvests, wasn’t nearly as affluent as Salazsar, who provided gemstones to much of the world. Even Pallass, the famed City of Invention couldn’t compete with Salazar’s sheer economic might.

“Frankly, it might be worth doing. They have two high-level [Smiths] in Pallass from last I recall. You wouldn’t happen to recall the names, would you, young Olesm?”

“Hm. Maughin the Dullahan of Baleros and uh, Pelt the Dwarf of Terandria, sir.”

Olesm knew a lot of facts about politics, people of note, and monsters in general. A [Strategist] had to understand not only politics, but remember high-level individuals who could literally turn the tide of battle. And both [Smiths] certainly qualified. Ilvriss snapped his claws.

“Of course. Thank you. Yes, both [Smiths] are quite good. Neither one is world-famous, but I’ve heard Maughin may hit Level 40 within the decade. And as for Pelt…I recall reading a report claiming his Skills indicate he’s at least Level 40 already. Why the Dwarves would have let him go…”

“Probably his habits, sir. He’s a notorious drunk and his work ethic is quite poor.”

“All the more reason why Salazsar could easily poach him. A Level 40 [Blacksmith], even a poor one, is a rare commodity, Olesm. Baleros has a few, and so does Izril, but Chandrar and Terandria both lay claim to more. Dwarven steel still claims a sizable portion of even Pallass’ markets and Chandrar always has some rare pieces, although their [Smiths] are hardly as organized or well-funded. Desert tribes somehow produce unparalleled masterpieces, but they can’t compare with the sheer volume of Pallass’ forges.”

“I’m aware of the disparity, Ilvriss, sir. Are you suggesting we need higher-quality weapons?”

“Mm. No. A Level 10 [Soldier] doesn’t do particularly better with a masterwork spear in his hands. Cheap steel like Pallass provides is more advantageous, and we can equip our soldiers better than the north. But they have their [Knights] who use magical gear that tip the scales. It’s my opinion we need more elites, and not just Oldblood Drakes. Hence my interest in [Smiths].”

“Really? But, Wall Lord, traditionally our elite units have taken a backseat to high-quality standing armies.”

That was the notable difference between Human doctrine and Drake when it came to war. Humans favored elite attack forces and disposable infantry. Their [Knights] were a terror on the battlefield, as were their [Mages] and Gold-rank adventurers, but Drakes had won battles based on their superior general forces and [Generals]. The claim was that a Drake [Soldier] was worth one and a half Human [Soldiers] in a massed battle. But Ilvriss was shaking his head.

“I’ve been…thinking on the subject. And our standing armies need more elite forces, Olesm. To hunt monsters, to battle incredible foes—steel and courage only go so far.”

That was true, but it was still an unusual stance for Ilvriss to take. Olesm hesitated.

“Does that have anything to do with the pictures you gave Miss Rissa, sir?”

He saw Ilvriss give him a sharp glance. The Wall Lord frowned.

“Those? Those were merely sketches, Olesm. Reproductions of…well, monsters I’d heard about. Hardly my concern. I was more speaking to the loss at the Blood Fields.”

“Of course, sir.”

Olesm nodded. But he thought, privately, that Ilvriss had hesitated for a second. Still, the Wall Lord was all cool grace as he swept into the City Hall and Olesm wondered if he’d imagined it. It was hard to read Ilvriss.

The City Hall of Liscor had traditionally been a place to settle complaints, for the Council to meet, and for officials like Olesm to work. It had been a quiet place, for all it occupied a spot in the center of the city. The Council of Liscor, a body of the heads of the Guilds and so on, were happy that way. But of late it had seen a lot of use. And with Ilvriss stranded in Liscor, he’d practically taken over the place.

A pair of Drakes, Ilvriss’ personal guards, stood at the front doors. And the instant the Wall Lord entered, a female Drake hurried down the steps. She was attractive, and had a pair of spectacles on. Olesm had noted that everyone in Ilvriss’ employ tended to some degree of perfection. Whether in beauty, or in the case of his personal guards in his retinue, skill at arms.

“Wall Lord. Orders?”

The female Drake paused before Ilvriss, glancing at Olesm. Ilvriss nodded.

“Welsca, make a note to pick up the sketches at Miss Rissa Inkscale’s at sundown. Until then, I have need of your services. Young Olesm has his latest chess magazine finished. He requires copies. How many, Olesm?”

The [Strategist] cringed as the female Drake, Welsca Crimsonscale, one of Ilvriss’ personal adjutants, glanced at him. She didn’t look exactly hostile, but he had a feeling that she outranked him as the personal aide of Ilvriss. And here he was giving her work.

“Er, I was hoping for sixty copies, Wall Lord. But I’d hate to—”

“Can you have them done, Welsca? The issue is having them copied.”

Welsca pursed her lips.

“I can, Wall Lord. But I’d need to hire at least one [Scribe]. It would be a simple matter if they’re trustworthy. Have you a name I could use, Strategist Olesm?”

“Er, yes, I do. There’s a Gnoll by the name of Jeckl who’s very reasonable—”

“I will see to it, then. May I see the papers?”

The Drake paged through the reports, eyes flicking over the pages busily. Ilvriss glanced at them with some interest.

“Ah. Interesting chess games. Am I right in thinking they come from Miss Solstice, Olesm?”

The [Strategist] coughed hurriedly. He didn’t want anyone to know that Erin was his mysterious chess master, but Ilvriss was bound to know.

“That’s right, sir.”

“I don’t find the game as fascinating as others, but I can admire Skill. I had some notion of Miss Solstice’s skill in the area but…how would you rate her, Welsca? Welsca?”

The Drake jumped. Olesm thought the red scales on her cheeks turned slightly darker for a second, but like Ilvriss her expression was almost instantly neutral.

“Apologies, Wall Lord. These are magnificent games. Truly…and there’s even commentary on this new ‘Go’ game. Which was first released in your last issue, isn’t that so, Strategist Olesm?”

She looked at Olesm. He jumped.

“That’s right! How did you—er, you read the magazines?”

“I believe Welsca is quite good at chess. As for Go—will they sell well, Welsca?”

“Oh yes, Wall Lord. Quite well. Although—the last section is controversial.”

She handed Ilvriss the section with maps. Olesm cringed. That was the last part of his magazine. He’d included chess games, the games of Go and strategies Erin had outlined for him, but the part about Liscor’s siege…he watched as Ilvriss read quickly. The Wall Lord’s brows raised.

“Ah. I see. That is notable. Olesm, you understand this will provoke a reaction?”

Olesm took a deep breath. He’d written about Goblins. His opinions, as well as his insights. He’d made it—well, he’d been honest to how he felt. And if anyone had a problem, it was his magazine, not his stance as Liscor’s [Strategist].

“I do, Wall Lord. But I feel it’s only right. I mean…”

He floundered, but Ilvriss was nodding.

“I can’t say I disagree. A bold choice. Welsca, copy it. Young Swifttail may account for his own words, especially as a [Strategist].”

“By your leave, Wall Lord. Although I will correct some of the spelling errors. And the maneuver employed during the Raskghar battle was a triple flanking maneuver, but the formal term is a triple envelopment.”

Olesm blushed as Welsca pointed out the mistakes. She nodded at him and left with the copy Jeckl had made. Ilvriss had Olesm’s original. He chuckled at the look on Olesm’s face.

“Don’t worry, Swifttail. Welsca is a fan, though she’d hardly admit it. And she is an active [Strategist].”

“She is?”

Olesm twisted to stare at Welsca’s back. Ilvriss nodded calmly.

“A former field officer in Eartiv’s army. I recruited her oh, twelve years back. She’s currently a [Veteran Adjutant], a straight promotion over her [Strategist] class, but perhaps not one with as much room for advancement. Nevertheless, she’s my best staff member in terms of coordination. You’re aware of the [Adjutant] class? Up the stairs to my office.”

Olesm followed Ilvriss up the staircase.

“Vaguely, sir. [Adjutants] are a mix of er, [Secretary] and [Soldier], aren’t they?”

The real phrase Olesm had been thinking of was ‘Combat Secretaries’, although that was more of an insult. Ilvriss nodded.

“Correct. They’re able to fight, but they receive a number of utility Skills that allow them to perform a [Secretary]’s roles. Welsca will be able to get your copies made, and she’s knowledgeable enough to aid in battle. You’re aware the rest of my retinue are former officers as well?”

“Yes, sir. A Wall Lord’s escort is generally considered to be the equivalent of an officer base. A dangerous addition to any army.”

Olesm spoke up, reciting his lesson from memory. He saw Ilvriss smile.

“Well, so long as the Wall Lord is capable. Now, about your magazines…ah. Captain Shieldscale. A moment.”

They were striding along the third floor to the office that Ilvriss now occupied when they met a Drake in armor. Olesm stopped, blinking at the Drake striding towards them. Like him, she had scales, but hers were bright blue, almost too bright. She had the posture of a career soldier, but unlike Embria, she had wings and an acrid odor about her.

Oldblood. Like how Zevara always smelled a bit smoky, Olesm was sure that this Drake was an Oldblood capable of both flight and breathing acid. The rarest of the varieties of Oldblood Drake and highly prized in any city. She stopped in front of Ilvriss, and gave him a crisp salute. She was wearing fresh armor, and unlike Olesm and the Wall Lord, she was armed with a sword and shield and in full battle gear despite being in the City Hall.

“Wall Lord. I was coming to see you as per your instructions. Is there a change in scheduling?”

“Slightly, Captain Shieldscale. I’m assisting young Olesm with an issue. We will be only a few minutes.”

“Yes, sir! I’ll await your call.”

She stepped to one side, opening the door to Ilvriss’ office smartly. Ilvriss nodded at her and strode in. Olesm did likewise, after giving the Captain a longer look. He’d met her once before; she’d turned up after the battle for Liscor. One of the reinforcements sent through from Pallass, maybe.

She was intense. And her scales were very bright. Olesm wondered if she was one of those people who dyed her scales. Maybe she had an unfortunate coloration?

“Uh, is Captain Shieldscale a new addition to your retinue, Wall Lord?”

Ilvriss was rummaging around in his desk. He glanced up and Olesm definitely saw him hesitate.

“Her? Ah, yes. Osth—Osthmissa Shieldscale arrived with a detachment from Pallass. Although our relationship is too formal for personal names. Ahem. She’ll be serving as added security. She’s a quite adept [Captain] of the Oldblood. But I digress. We’re here to ensure your magazines earn their full worth. That means your initial sending will go via Hawk, who is trustworthy, to some of your clientele in the south. But I assume some will go north, too?”

“That’s right. But I don’t know how I can prevent the City Runners from just copying them at Celum and selling them…”

Olesm sighed. Ilvriss smiled slightly.

“Courier Hawk had the right idea. An initial, limited run keeps the price high until you mass-produce copies. Hiring trustworthy Runners and making sure that they understand this is a confidential delivery helps. But to ensure no copies are leaked…”

He was pulling objects out of the desk and setting them on the counter. Olesm saw him pull a piece of wax out that had glittering flakes embedded in it. To his eyes, it looked magical, not to mention expensive. Ilvriss muttered to himself.

“Magical sealing wax and…where’s the flashfire dust? Captain Shieldscale?”

“Top drawer, sir. The sealed box. You have two seconds.”

“Thank you.”

Ilvriss pulled out a box. Then he looked at Olesm.

“As Welsca will be making more copies, I’ll brief you on how to make these letters and lend you the wax and dust to work at your leisure. Hawk need not take these letters as he is a trustworthy Courier, but for the ones going north…observe.”

He took the loose papers of Olesm’s magazine, inserted them into a large envelope. Then he pointed to the box.

“Two seconds.”

Olesm saw him flip up the lid, scoop up a handful of a strange, red dust, slap the lid shut, and pour it into the envelope. Instantly, Ilvriss sealed the lid. Olesm blinked. There was a trace of powder on Ilvriss’ claws and it turned to smoke after a moment.

“Flashfire dust?”

“Incinerates in the open after two seconds. Anyone opening the envelope will have it ignite. Be sure to press the envelope flat or the air will ignite the dust. And then the wax…”

There was no licking of the top of the envelope to stick it to the paper like there would be in Erin’s world. Instead, Ilvriss used the wax he’d taken, using a candle to drip it onto the envelope. Ilvriss let the wax harden and then pressed one of his rings into the wax. It left a distinct imprint, and the red wax sprinkled with gold shone as Ilvriss held the envelope out. The Wall Lord studied it with satisfaction, and then blinked at his ring and then laughed.

“I put my seal on it! Force of habit, Swifttail. But you see? The magical seal can’t be removed without destroying it or the envelope. And if they do get the letter open…”

“The dust incinerates it. That’s a lot of expense, though, Sir Ilvriss! And what happens if it gets to my uh, readers? How will they open it? And the cost—I couldn’t possibly pay for—”

Olesm broke off as Ilvriss held up a claw. The Wall Lord smiled somewhat affectionately.

“Nonsense, Swifttail. These are simple tricks of the trade. As a [Strategist], I expect Liscor would want you to understand as much of your job as possible. Possibly they’d send you with their army for field training, but I find [Strategists] who only understand war lack civic training to an alarming degree. You’re familiar with the various countermeasures against spying?”

“Yes, of course. Codes, incomplete messages, and direct delivery versus [Messages]. But this—”

“Consider it a gift. For one of your magazines? Welsca will enjoy reading it. And this should do for the first batch of exclusive sendings. In a few days’ time it will be moot, but until then this will prevent tampering until it reaches the intended owners. Naturally, you’ll need to send them a [Message] spell informing them of the countermeasures—the local Runner’s Guild can extract the documents safely.”

Olesm gulped, but what could he do but nod in the face of Ilvriss’ generosity? Private [Messages] where you pay for privacy, exclusive, trustworthy City Runners…Olesm gulped as he added up the costs. But if Hawk was paying two gold per magazine issue, and if he received the same…would his readers pay the cost? Olesm had no idea.

“Here. Your first letter and the wax and box.”

Ilvriss handed all three to Olesm. The [Strategist] stammered his thanks, but Ilvriss waved it away.

“It’s nothing. A trifle.”

Olesm was sure that was true for Ilvriss. But he thanked him again. Ilvriss smiled, and Olesm thought he seemed genuinely pleased to have helped Olesm. That gave the [Strategist] the courage to ask another question.

“Er, Wall Lord, you’ve been nothing but an asset to Liscor. But I can’t help but notice you’ve stayed here for quite some time. When you and General Shivertail—”

He broke off, the memory of the famed Zel Shivertail still fresh. Ilvriss nodded.

“Go on.”

“—When you and General Shivertail got here, you told the Council you’d only stay for a while. And you’ve told me you wish to return to your Walled City. Are your plans changed?”

Ilvriss’ smile twisted. He sat down in his chair.

“Hardly. But I need to get through Pallass, Olesm. I’m sure you’re aware of the difficulties I face any other way now. If I had left earlier during the winter…but now the Blood Fields are active. It was well I stayed, but politics is holding me in Liscor and that is a problem I wish to resolve. Quicker than ever.”

“The Assembly still won’t grant you passage through Pallass?”

Olesm was surprised, but only a bit. Drake politics got petty and Pallass was quite capable of refusing Ilvriss entry. Still, it was hard to imagine they could do this forever, especially since Ilvriss had the credit for helping Liscor repel both the monsters and the Humans. The Wall Lord grimaced.

“They’re exercising their one right in this situation—their right to entry of their city. But that’s about to end. Naturally, I won’t tolerate this state of affairs, Olesm. But Pallass does hold the advantage since I am alone. A rare change of events for them, I’m sure. But not to last much longer.”

That sounded ominous. Olesm gulped.

“Uh, as Liscor’s [Strategist], may I ask what you intend to do, Wall Lord? It’s hardly advantageous for Liscor to be caught between Walled Cities.”

Ilvriss blinked. Then he laughed.

“Don’t worry, Swifttail. I’m hardly about to start a huge incident. Underhanded pettiness requires a reply in kind. Thus, I’m sending Erin Solstice after them, of course. Or haven’t you heard that the Assembly of Crafts is already having to explain a tax on Liscor’s magic doorway?”

Olesm hadn’t. But he gulped anyways. Pallass might be a Walled City, but he imagined Erin was a match for it. Ilvriss grinned predatorily.

“Mail your magazine out, Swifttail. And send Captain Shieldscale with you, would you? I do hope your magazine is well received. How many readers did you say you had?”

“I’m not sure, Wall Lord. I’ll be sending the uh, first sixty to my readers on my list. As for the others…”

Olesm had gotten a lot of mail from people before all this business with the dungeon. He hoped to get more. Apparently a lot of people read his magazine, but his reading list—the people he’d be mailing to, sometimes free of charge, was very short.

There were about forty five names on the list. Friends, [Strategists] and [Tacticians] he knew or who had asked to be put on there—it seemed like the rest had acquired copies of his magazine through other channels. Olesm felt another bit of spite and jealousy rise up in him, thinking of his work being stolen! Stolen without him earning a copper coin!

But the names of two of his readers calmed Olesm down as he left Ilvriss’ office. One of them was a legend. Niers Astoragon, who would be getting a [Message] spell and a physical copy by Courier and damn however much it cost. And one more name. But Olesm was too cowardly to give it to her in person, so he sent it the only other way he could.

—-

Ilvriss, Wall Lord of Salazsar, sat in his office as he watched Olesm leave. He frowned, listening to Olesm speak to Captain Shieldscale outside, and then hurry off. He leaned back in his chair.

“Hm. Interesting.”

He didn’t have long to think on what Olesm had asked him, though. The door opened a beat later.

“Wall Lord? The [Strategist] told me—”

“Come in, Captain Shieldscale.”

Ilvriss called out loudly. He saw the door open fully. Captain Shieldscale, her scales bright blue, her breastplate gleaming, strode into the room and closed the door behind her. Ilvriss nodded. He spoke casually as he twisted a ring on his finger.

“Ah, Captain. You have the report on Liscor’s—”

The ring on Ilvriss’ ring finger twisted all the way around and the turquoise gem flashed. The light wasn’t a single glare though; it seemed to expand in an instant, filling the room until there was a bubble nearly touching the walls. Just for a moment, and then it was gone. Ilvriss sat up, leaving off the last of whatever sentence he’d been about to make up. And ‘Captain Shieldscale’, or rather, Osthia Blackwing, relaxed slightly.

“We’re clear?”

“My ring is active. Unless someone’s capable of piercing a bound Tier 5 [Denial] spell, we should be invisible.”

Osthia Blackwing scratched at her bright blue, artificially colored scales.

“He could do it. I’m sure he could. Reiss—the Goblin Lord was sure that his master could cast at least Tier 7 spells. Probably Tier 8.”

The thought of that made Ilvriss’ insides clench, but he spoke briskly.

“I’m aware. But [Denial of Observation] is a specific spell that can fight off even a higher-level scrying spell. I’m not aware of any spell short of a truly epic magic that can pierce it, and if Az’kerash has such spells, he is already aware of us. Since we’re both still alive, I assume it’s working. Have a seat.”

There was a beat of hesitation, and then Osthia pulled up the chair and sat. Her back was rigid, and her posture military-straight. Ilvriss eyed her. She was nothing like the desperate Drake he’d found running towards Liscor in the hours after the Goblin Lord’s army had been routed. Gone were the shackles on her wings, and her atrophied muscles had bounced right back. Now she looked like what she was—a former officer of Pallass. An Oldblood [Captain] in Pallass’ army, in fact, one of two sent to destroy the Goblin Lord months ago. Her entire army had fallen and her uncle, Thrissiam Blackwing, one of Pallass’ star [Generals], had been slain there. Osthia had never had a chance to avenge him, but she had survived her captivity.

She was different now, of course. They’d dyed her scales blue instead of black, and given her a fake name. She was…damn, what had he told Olesm her name was? Osthmissa Shieldscale. Ilvriss hoped the cover was unnecessary. With luck, Az’kerash would assume she was dead or not remember her. But even so, he double-checked that his ring was still active before he spoke.

“Well? What’s the result of your investigation?”

“I made the inquiries like you asked, Wall Lord. I can trace the origin of Regrika Blackpaw and all the cities she’s visited—and the deaths of notable personages around that time—to every city in the last six years. If I correlate the two, half of the cities she’s visited had a person of note pass away or disappear under dubious circumstances.”

“Ancestors damn it.”

Ilvriss closed his eyes and struck the armrest of his chair. He stared past Osthia, gritting his teeth. Regrika Blackpaw, the fake Named Adventurer. A strange, mysterious murderer that Erin Solstice had revealed to be behind the murder of Brunkr—and then, subsequently, Ulrien of Griffon Hunt. There was a bounty on her head, but Ilvriss was sure no one would ever claim it.

Because, as it turned out, Regrika Blackpaw was no Gnoll after all. She was an undead servant. One of the minions of Az’kerash, the Necromancer. A being thought dead, but who Ilvriss was now completely certain was alive. The same monster behind the Goblin Lord. And behind the death of General Zel Shivertail.

No one knew that he was alive. Everyone had assumed that Az’kerash, the bane of Terandria, a being of incredible power, had been slain at Liscor by Zel Shivertail himself during the Second Antinium Wars. It wasn’t a stretch of an assumption to make either; thousands had seen Zel rip the Necromancer in half. But somehow he’d survived. And he’d been plotting and weakening the Drake cities since then.

“Ill enough news, I suppose. But we knew she’d been killing high-level Drakes already. Shivertail and I had been making inquiries. But what about your second line of investigation?”

Osthia nodded. She pulled something out and placed it on the table.

“This is the second investigation I conducted. A list of every city where an individual known as ‘Perril Chandler’ visited, ostensibly as a [Merchant].”

Ilvriss ran his name down the list.

“And the second list?”

Osthia’s lips tightened.

“Every Drake person of interest who was present in two or more cities at the time of Perril Chandler’s visit.”

The list of names was eight long. Ilvriss wished there were far fewer. His claws tightened on the paper.

“I recognize six of these names. Two of them—two of them I know.”

He could sense Osthia watching him carefully. She was an unknown quantity to him, and, he suspected, he to her. They were allies of convenience, but he was a Wall Lord of Salazsar and she a [Captain] of Pallass. Technically they’d be enemies under some circumstances, but she was dead to her city. And dead to the world if Az’kerash knew she yet lived. He thought he’d killed her, but his apprentice, the Goblin Lord named Reiss, had conspired for her to live. For some reason.

“They could just be coincidental, Wall Lord. But I did check and double-check. All Drake cities keep lists of persons of interest as well as [Merchants] of note who enter, so…”

“Yes, I’m aware. I don’t imagine Az’kerash knows of that protocol, or if he does, he was too arrogant in assuming no one would remember his name. Which no one did—these names. Each one will have to be investigated. Quietly.”

“I’m at your disposal.”

Osthia sat up straighter. She was practically vibrating in her chair. Ilvriss glanced at her. He could feel it too. A boiling fury. An urge to grab his sword, put on his armor and—

But no. No, it wasn’t time. Osthia had a reason to hate Az’kerash, but Ilvriss had just as much reason, if not more. Periss, his second-in-command, was dead. He’d thought Ryoka Griffin had caused it somehow. But the truth was that she’d stumbled onto Az’kerash’s lair. The Necromancer thought he’d disposed of all the evidence. But through Ryoka, through Osthia, Ilvriss knew. So he was biding his time. He had to be patient. And so did she.

“No. Neither you nor I will be making the inquiries personally. And you will stay out of the public eye as much as possible. We return to Salazsar first. And then—then we gather allies. I need to be secure in my estates, though. And that means our objective is to get past damned Pallass and the asinine Assembly of Crafts first.”

He saw Osthia’s eyes flash as he insulted her city to her face. She didn’t say as much to him, though.

“Pallass is a proud Walled City. If you made a humble request—”

“Pallass is as petty as any Drake city on the continent. I won’t beg. For one thing, it’s out of character. For another? The Assembly isn’t a body of Drakes I trust. They might let me into the city, but I have political rivals who wouldn’t hesitate to send [Assassins] if they saw an opportunity. No, I want to be past Pallass and heading to Salazsar without anyone knowing my exact timetable.”

Osthia straightened.

“Then what’s my role? You’ve taken me in, and I’m grateful. But everyone needs to know that Az’kerash—”

“No. A select number of individuals need know. And that number is up to my discretion.”

The two Drakes glared at each other across the desk. Osthia spoke slowly, her voice taut.

“I did not survive my captivity to make this a political issue—”

“This is not politics. This is about victory. If the Assembly of Crafts in Pallass were informed, I guarantee you that within the hour, word would reach Az’kerash. They are not subtle. And it is my belief that Az’kerash would welcome a war.”

“His minions were damaged by Zel Shivertail. One was destroyed! Reiss said—”

“The Goblin Lord may have hated his master, but he is not in possession of all the facts. If Az’kerash were to attack—”

Ilvriss was leaning over his desk, and Osthia was on her feet. The door opened and a Drake hurried in.

“Wall Lord, I’ve made two copies, but I saw fit to let the Gnoll [Scribe] do the rest of the work. It was easy enough to get him to swear to secrecy—”

Welsca paused as she saw Ilvriss and Osthia facing off. She stared sharply at Osthia, who immediately stepped back. Ilvriss sat back down and coughed.

“Welsca. You’re early.”

“Yes, Wall Lord. My scribing Skills aren’t good enough to do illustrations, merely quick writing. I saw fit to delegate. My apologies, I didn’t hear anything—”

Her eyes went to Ilvriss’ glowing ring. The Wall Lord nodded.

“I was just discussing our plan of action with Captain Blackwing. However, your presence reminds me. Summon Veel, please, Welsca. I wish to make this a discussion rather than…now, please.”

“Yes, Wall Lord.”

Osthia sat back down and Ilvriss collected his thoughts and calmed himself. Within the minute, Welsca was back and Veel, a former [Sword Captain] and Ilvriss’ best warrior in his small retinue was in the room. Veel was a Level 26 [Sword Captain], a strong fighter with an enchanted blade, and Welsca was a former [Strategist], as Ilvriss had told Olesm.

Olesm was correct in that a few good adjutants could be the same as an officer core. An asset to any army or in times of peace, very capable help. What the Wall Lord hadn’t said was that a retinue of a Wall Lord was still a retinue. Ilvriss was higher level than all of his subordinates, and capable though they might be in all their fields, none of them was a Zel Shivertail. Or even a Periss. Zel could have torn Veel apart with one claw and he was a better [General] than Ilvriss, even with Welsca’s aid. He had been…extraordinary.

And now he was dead. And one of the few people who could have stopped Az’kerash on equal footing was gone. In his absence, Ilvriss felt vulnerable. And as he explained to Osthia, his caution was not misplaced.

“In this room stands all but one person who knows Az’kerash is alive. Ryoka Griffin is aware, but to my knowledge, no other beings in the world know of Az’kerash’ return. Perhaps there are others and we may have allies, but until we know for certain they aren’t the Necromancer’s pawns, we operate alone.”

“And why aren’t we telling more people? At least Watch Captain Zevara?”

Osthia faced Ilvriss directly, refusing to use his rank. Welsca and Veel shot her dark looks, but Osthia wasn’t Ilvriss’ subordinate, for all she pretended to be. Ilvriss had to convince her, and the Wall Lord did.

“Because I cannot be sure who is trustworthy—completely trustworthy. And second, because each person who knows is a liability that may lead to Az’kerash becoming aware that his cover is gone. And if that happens, we go to war. And that would be a deadly mistake. Isn’t that so, Welsca?”

The former [Strategist] nodded.

“I’m not the right person to make the complete call on this, Wall Lord, Captain Blackwing. But I’ve run the numbers and Az’kerash was capable of fielding at least four hundred thousand undead in a single army. He was routed by the Goblin King, but he still assailed Liscor with a smaller force and nearly won. Against Liscor’s walls with their entire army defending it and Zel Shivertail and three other [Generals] attacking him at the same time.”

“But he’s only one [Necromancer]. If the Walled Cities marched on him—”

“—the Antinium would hit us. It’s not even a question of if, Blackwing. It’s when.”

Ilvriss leaned on his desk. He stared at Osthia, who’d grown pale.

“You might not have fought in the Second Antinium War, but I did. And believe me; the Grand Queen will attack if she thinks there’s a weakness. And the Necromancer is that weakness. Between his armies and the Antinium we could be fighting a losing battle. Our only hope is twofold: that Az’kerash doesn’t think he’s strong enough to triumph yet, and that the Antinium are equally biding their time. But we must be ready for both to keep assailing us, or in the worst case, join forces.”

“So what’s your plan? Hide the fact that Az’kerash exists?”

“From everyone but a select few. And then we find out how many loyal Drakes he’s gotten to. How wide-spread his allies might be. Regrika Blackpaw could not have existed without some corrupt officials covering her. As for killing Az’kerash, we need to figure out a way to do that too. Captain Veel?”

The Drake gulped and saluted. He was older than Osthia by a decade and a half, a seasoned warrior, but he still looked pale.

“I agree with Welsca’s determination, Wall Lord. I…I did some thinking into how I’d take out the Necromancer. Or just his minions based on what Captain Blackwing told me.”

“And?”

“And…and had I all the resources at my disposal, sir, I’d need a group of Level 30 plus adventurers, [Captains], and so on to take on the Chosen. Preferably around a hundred.”

“A hundred individuals over Level 30, Captain Veel?”

The Drake nodded.

“Yes sir. Or a Zel Shivertail. I tried running the numbers in my head. If I had elites, over Level 20—but a thousand of them might get mowed down by that group. As for the Necromancer? The only way I could think of taking him out would be a massive army. Exhaust his spells, fight off the undead he animates—”

“But he’d keep reanimating from our dead.”

Veel nodded towards Welsca.

“Yes, he would. But unless you can call me three teams of Named Adventurers—and even then, I’d don’t know if they’d risk their lives against the Necromancer, let alone him and all his pets—I can’t think of a way to beat him short of vast numbers. He has to be over Level 60.”

“Reiss thought he was over Level 70 at least. Maybe over Level 80.”

Osthia muttered. The room fell silent. Ilvriss felt his scales tingling.

Over Level 80. He could think of no one, no one in the world who was higher level than that. The Blighted King? The King of Destruction? The Archmages of Wistram? Niers Astoragon? All would be Level 60 to Level 70, but not higher than that.

Individuals capable of shaking the world reached Level 60. The kind of [Kings] who could build an empire the size of a continent, like Flos, the King of Destruction, were around that level. But beyond that?

Niers Astoragon, the Titan of Baleros had become the head of one of the four Great Companies of Baleros, but Ilvriss would bet he wasn’t over Level 70. Past that level were where monsters and legends were born. The kind of old heroes, like Redcal, the Drake hero of legend who’d slain the Minotaur King over a thousand years back.

Or Archmage Zelkyr, the last true [Archmage] of Wistram who’d created an army of Golems that still protected Wistram to this day. They were powerful enough to be called armies on their own. And they could brush away armies of low-level soldiers like trash, even by the hundreds of thousands.

“Zel Shivertail defeated the Necromancer once.”

Osthia spoke quietly. Ilvriss nodded.

“He did. He beat him with the aid of Antinium, in Liscor’s darkest hour. Not a hundred feet from the walls of this city. In close-quarters combat. That was his strength. But the Necromancer is a…[Necromancer]. And that means his servants are his strength. Recall that he had lost a good part of his army to the Goblin King. And he still brought giants of bone to assail Liscor. He could conjure ghosts and wraiths and undead far beyond mere Crypt Lords and Draug. His servants are an indication of his strength.”

Welsca nodded, adjusting her spectacles.

“Indeed. [Necromancer]’s summoned creatures are generally weaker than the Necromancer in question by a substantive margin. The fact that his creation, this…Venitra, could pose as a Named Adventurer speaks to his strength. And troublingly, I’m not sure if she’s stronger than the average Named Adventurer or weaker.”

“And he can make more. Which means every day we’re not attacking him gives him more time!”

Osthia slapped the table. Ilvriss nodded, waving Veel back as the Drake glowered.

“True. But if we did corner Az’kerash, even if we could fight the Antinium, Osthia, what’s to stop him from escaping or faking his death if we corner him again? Remember. Zel Shivertail beat Az’kerash once. And the Necromancer survived and came back. And he killed General Shivertail the second time.”

Silence. The other three Drakes stood with cold sweat on their scales. You couldn’t forget that fact. The Goblin Lord hadn’t killed Zel Shivertail. The Necromancer had. He’d killed Zel and Periss. Two crimes Ilvriss intended him to answer for.

“Realistically, Osthia Blackwing, this is my determination. As it stands, there is no force the Drakes can muster capable of killing the Necromancer. We might beat him in a war, but there is no team, no force who can take out his Chosen, who can beat his undead creations in a battle. There are individuals. Named Adventurers, teams, elites from Walled Cities—but if it came to war, the Necromancer could pick them off, leave us with no one capable of killing him. That’s what he’s been doing all this time.”

Ilvriss walked around from behind his desk. Osthia, Welsca, and Veel followed him with their eyes. All were below Level 30. Ilvriss was below Level 40. He’d always thought he could match Zel with his artifacts. That the other [General]’s strength was nothing to a strong army, proper economic might. Now Ilvriss wondered if Zel were laughing at him from beyond the grave.

No, he’d never laugh. Zel, give me strength. Periss—

Ilvriss turned.

“So we need allies. I have a list of Drakes I want to approach. I have a list of Drakes I want to investigate. And I have a third list of artifacts, of old Drake legends. The Heartflame Breastplate appeared after Zel’s death for a reason. It may not have protected him, but with other artifacts, with Drake heroes, we might be able to form a force capable of humbling the Necromancer. And…it pains me to say it, but it won’t just be Drakes.”

The others looked at Ilvriss sharply. The Wall Lord took a breath. He hated to say this out loud, but he had no choice.

“If it comes to it, we’ll recruit from other species. There are…individuals of note. Opportunities. But to start, to be in a position to build a force like that, I need to get back to my city. Captain Blackwing, you and I are on the same side. But make no mistake; I am still a Wall Lord and this is my war to wage. If you object, say so now.”

He waited. She hesitated, but said nothing. Ilvriss nodded.

“Good. In that case, here’s what I intend to do. First, I intend to make sure Liscor stays in a position of power. If we had to fight the damn Humans as well as the Necromancer and Antinium? No, Liscor must stand and it has many individuals of note. Potential, in short.”

“Is that why you’ve been aiding Strategist Olesm, Wall Lord?”

“Partially. He has potential, Welsca. As does Watch Captain Zevara. A straightforward, trustworthy Drake. I’m not sure about Wing Commander Embria, but the Gecko of Liscor actually fought that thing called Venitra for a few seconds. But we can’t recruit them. Liscor needs them, and it needs to grow from the dungeon. But I can lend my aid, which I intend to do.”

“But you’re still stuck here, aren’t you, Wall Lord?”

Osthia stared at Ilvriss. The Drake grinned, but it was mirthlessly.

“Yes, I am. At least, that’s what I’ve been telling Swifttail and the world. I’m still railing against Pallass, aren’t I? But I have at least one asset I intend to make use of. Welsca? Do you have a copy of Olesm’s magazine?”

“Right here, sir. Would you like to discuss it? It’s quite fascinating—”

Ilvriss sighed. Welsca did love chess.

“No, thank you. This isn’t for me. It’s for someone else.”

“Need you an escort, sir?”

Veel straightened. Perhaps he was ashamed of his estimation of Az’kerash’ strength, but Ilvriss waved a claw.

“No. She doesn’t appreciate rank.”

“Ah, you’re visiting her.”

The other two Drakes sighed. Osthia looked confused. Ilvriss made a face that was partly over exaggerated, but he nodded.

“Captain Blackwing, I’ll be back. I need to visit the first of what might be unusual allies. At the very least, she’s thwarted Az’kerash again. Which means that Erin Solstice has the support of Salazsar.”

“The [Innkeeper]? But what can she do?”

Ilvriss turned, his claw on the door. He twisted the ring and the spell went out. He smiled, for once with genuine humor.

“I don’t know. But I imagine that’s why she’s an asset. No one knows what she’ll do next.”

—-

Magazines and chess. Ilvriss didn’t actually like chess. But it occurred to him, finally, to wonder just how good Erin Solstice was. He stared at the young woman as she peered at the pages, oohing at the neat chess notation. She was so engrossed that she completely ignored the Wall Lord. Until he coughed.

“Oh, sorry Ilvriss. This is some good stuff! Okay, a lot of it’s my stuff, but these two chess games are good! And Olesm has a chess puzzle! I can’t wait to solve it. Don’t know about the strategy, but he said…nice things about the Goblins, I guess. Why didn’t he deliver it himself?”

There were a lot of things the Wall Lord could say as he sat at the table near the magic door in Erin’s inn. He could have remarked on the lowered number of guests in her inn, or her repeated use of his name rather than his title. But he declined to do so and replied politely instead.

“I believe young Swifttail is ashamed to visit you. Perhaps owing to his involvement in the defense of Liscor’s walls.”

The happy look on Erin’s face faded.

“He should be.”

“For doing what was asked of him?”

Ilvriss lifted a brow. Erin stared at him.

“Yes.”

The Wall Lord considered this and nodded slightly.

“Well, he requested me to bring this to you. Which I did. Perhaps he will work up the courage to visit himself, but for now, I have a small piece of business with you.”

“What have I done this time?”

Erin sighed, putting her hands on her hips. Ilvriss reached for something in his pocket as he glanced towards the far end of the room.

Erin’s [Grand Theatre] Skill was still in effect, and at the far end was the stage. And there were [Actors] on the stage, a motley Human crew with a few Drakes and Gnolls gathered around. Ilvriss nodded at them.

“I take it you are resuming your plays?”

“Yup. They’re holding auditions for a new crew. Why? Wanna join?”

Erin gave Ilvriss a smile that was either teasing or mocking. Or both. The Wall Lord snorted softly.

“Hardly. I see the quality of their acting has dropped markedly. Where’s the young Drake who was there? She at least had a presence.”

“They left. Went north, I think. Better jobs. I’m…well, it’s good for them.”

The slight hurt on Erin’s face was another thing Ilvriss didn’t comment on. He sighed.

“A pity. I might have hired them, if only as a novelty act myself.”

“What, to go to Salazsar? Aren’t you still banned from Pallass?”

“Yes, and I continue to protest the fact. But if I can direct your attention downwards?”

Ilvriss held something up. Erin’s eyes went round.

“Hey, that’s—”

“One of mine. I assure you. They aren’t hard to come by, especially not for a Wall Lord of Salazsar. Nor is that door of yours hard to understand.”

“But wait. It’s no good unless you have another—”

“Hawk arranged it for me. Or did you think I would have simply hired him for one delivery? Rest assured, it is in a safe place. It only requires your discretion—and permission—for me to activate.”

Erin stared at Ilvriss open-mouthed. Then her eyes narrowed. He wondered if she’d be outraged, or annoyed. Instead, to his surprise, she just grinned.

“You’re sneaky. Like a snake.”

“An unquestionable insult. But I thank you nonetheless. May I assume I have your approval?”

“Sure…but do you need a distraction or something? Because I can do a great distraction.”

“Spare me. Just a moment will suffice. If you’ll allow me? Take the stone off, give me five minutes, and open the door again. I assume you can count?”

Erin nodded. Then she narrowed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him. Smiling to himself, Ilvriss stood up. Casually, he walked over to the door, placed the black mana stone he’d shown Erin on it, opened the door, and slipped through.

There was no need for a distraction. After all, people used Erin’s door all the time. And so what if the mana stone he had used was black? Who kept track of the colors? The door was open a fraction of a second for Ilvriss to slip through, then he closed it and knew he had five minutes before Erin would put the stone on it again and open the door.

Plenty of time. Ilvriss didn’t know where he was now. It was dark, but he’d made arrangements so when he coughed, there was a spark of light.

“Apologies, Wall Lord.”

The Drake who lit the lantern was neither tall, nor short. Neither fat nor thin. He wasn’t anything in particular, and it was hard to even remember his face. That was the quality of a good [Infiltrator]. Or [Spy]. Ilvriss wasn’t sure which this Drake was, but he knew the name.

“Lawes of Pallass, I take it?”

“Stationed here at your orders, Wall Lord.”

The Drake nodded to Ilvriss. The Wall Lord nodded back politely. He consulted the notes in his head.

“You’re one of our operatives. Six years?”

“Coming on seven come fall. Yes, sir.”

Ilvriss glanced around the room. It was small, made of stone and mortar. A hut? He continued making idle chatter, trying to gauge Lawes. The Drake was trustworthy, or Ilvriss would have walked into a trap, but you could never be too sure of a spy, even an employed one.

“How long have you been waiting?”

The Drake grimaced.

“Four days. I rented this hut in the village on the pretext of needing to get away from the city on some real gambling debts. The Courier dropped off the stone and it took me hours to locate it; a goat had picked up the bag. I assumed that was the reason for the delay.”

“Ah, my apologies. I wasn’t able to access my side of the door until now due to complications with the owner. Can you keep guarding the door?”

“As long as need be, Wall Lord. But I was told to expect allies from your side?”

Lawes looked sharply at Ilvriss. The Wall Lord nodded. He’d said that, but he’d come through first. If there had been a trap, Ilvriss would have wanted to spring it himself. He had enough artifacts to make any would-be ambushers regret it.

“I will send through two of my men shortly. They’ll occupy the hut. Unless people in the village would ask questions?”

“Not if they stay in this room.”

Ilvriss nodded. It would be four of his people, and Veel would lead them.

“In that case, my next task is simple. I need ten horses, ready to go. Fast and with stamina—I intend to head straight for Salazsar when I leave.”

The Drake [Spy] inhaled sharply.

“It won’t be easy to procure them.”

“You have time. Just do it covertly.”

“Hm. I could make it seem like I’m trying to get some horses and sell them to make up for my debts…I’ll have them in a few days.”

Ilvriss nodded. He was counting down in his head and knew he only had a few seconds left.

“In that case, I thank you for your service. My men will see you tonight. And I will commend your service upon my return to Salazsar with some suitable reward.”

The door opened. Lawes bowed his head.

“You’re too kind, Wall Lord.”

“Hardly.”

Ilvriss stepped back through. Erin blinked at him and then plucked the black mana stone from the door as the Wall Lord shut it. She handed it to him and Ilvriss tucked it into his pocket.

“So, did you have fun? And where did you go?”

“Somewhere convenient. It will take me to Salazsar, assuming my contact isn’t untrustworthy. I’m still unsure, but Captain Veel will ensure that any traps will be dealt with. Should they occur.”

The young woman shook her head as she eyed her shut door. After a second it opened and Numbtongue strolled out, pickaxe in hand. He stopped, staring at Ilvriss. The Wall Lord eyed him and turned back to Erin.

“I only hope you’ll be discreet about this.”

“What? Oh, sure, sure. Hey Numbtongue, how’s it going?”

The Goblin didn’t reply. He was staring at Ilvriss. The Wall Lord glanced at him. He turned back to Erin and the Hobgoblin walked around. Erin stepped back as Numbtongue moved between her and Ilvriss. The Drake stared at him.

“I see you.”

Numbtongue didn’t budge. Ilvriss sighed.

“Numbtongue.”

At last the Hobgoblin moved. He looked at the [Innkeeper] and smiled.

“Hi. Got more magic sludge.”

At last, Numbtongue looked at Erin. He lifted a jar which made Ilvriss turn his head and frown, and then wandered off to a table. The Drake blinked at the jar.

“Was that…raw magicore?”

“Yup. Numbtongue mined the stuff. Or…I dunno, scooped it up? Can you mine a liquid?”

“Yes. But how did he—never mind. I’m afraid my stay in Liscor is now limited, Miss Solstice.”

“Well, you’ll be back, won’t you?”

The Wall Lord blinked. He looked at Erin, who was smiling up at him.

“My home is Salazsar, Miss Solstice. My sojourn in Liscor, although surprisingly pleasant, was just that.”

“True. But I have a magic door and you can always visit. Or I’ll make it uh, go farther. Or you could always ride back to Pallass. Don’t be a stranger, right?”

For a second the Wall Lord just blinked at Erin. Then, surprisingly, he laughed.

“Ah, Erin Solstice. Perhaps I will return one day. But until then, I’m afraid I will be going. For quite some time. And I’m not sure whether I should thank you. Your company has been exceedingly unpleasant and, somehow, beneficial.”

“Thanks?”

She blinked up at him. And she was so young. Ilvriss bent down to her.

“I will leave in three days. With no warning to Liscor’s Council or anyone else. I expect Pallass won’t even notice I’m gone until I appear back in Salazsar. But perhaps, yes, perhaps I will return. The door will stay in place, after all.”

“And I’ll check every day. Or maybe I’ll just wait until you send me a [Message]. But if you need to come back, just let me know.”

Erin looked up at him. Totally ignorant of what it meant to promise a Wall Lord of Salazsar to help him spite Pallass behind their backs. But that was why Ilvriss almost liked her. She didn’t know who he was, even if she had guessed some of it. And he had guessed a lot about her. So, to her surprise and his, he held out a claw.

“Miss Solstice, we won’t see each other until that night. So I bid you farewell.”

Slowly, Erin reached out and took his clawed hand. She shook it gently, and he was surprised to see her tearing up a bit.

“You’re going too? The other adventurers are leaving and…well, good luck. You have to come back, alright?”

“I will.”

And somehow, he meant it. Ilvriss looked around the inn and thought of Liscor. A proper backwater city, notable only for being a border city to the north. Without a hundredth of the grandeur of Salazsar. Constantly imperiled by monsters. If he had thought of it a year ago, he would have sneered at the notion there was much of worth here? Now?

Now, he slowly reached for his left claw. Ilvriss absently tugged on one of his rings as he spoke.

“I imagine Pallass will cause a fuss. But they won’t figure out what was done, obvious though it may be, for quite some time. They have frail imaginations. I expect there will be some fuss, but I am sure you are quite capable of generating more than your fair share to offset the balance.”

“Oh, definitely. Don’t worry. I know you have a job.”

Erin smiled wetly at Ilvriss. He smiled back. And he wished he had more time. But—

“When you come to Salazsar, speak my name and you will be welcomed. Until then, Erin Solstice, consider this a token of repayment. For the city, for hospitality. A sign, if anyone should ask. If you need it. Hide it. Show it when you need it. And never let it be said a Wall Lord isn’t generous.”

He handed her something. Erin blinked down at it. For a second her eyes narrowed, then they widened.

“But—hey! Ilvriss! Hold on—”

But he was already walking through the door again. For once he left her speechless.

Three days later, he was gone. And on the fourth day, Erin Solstice heard a Wall Lord had appeared in his home city. Watch Captain Venim and the Assembly of Pallass were really not happy about that. She had to slam the door on his foot twice and shout a lot. But they had no idea how Ilvriss had gotten through and she could tell them it wasn’t an [Invisibility] spell without lying.

Frail imaginations indeed. After they’d left and the chaos had calmed down, and in the days since, Erin stared down at what Ilvriss had given her. It was a band of metal. Not half as well-adorned as his other rings or signets of his office. It had no gem. It wasn’t even shiny.

It was a ring of copper. Copper. But someone had written on it in gold. And the engraving said one word:

Salazsar.

And when Erin looked it, she knew it was more valuable than any of the magical rings with gems. She stared at it, on her index finger where it fit perfectly. Then she shook her head.

“Stupid Ilvriss. I’m not marrying you. You can have it back when we see each other again.”

And she swore, someday, that she’d meet him again.

6.12 K

“The Quarass is dead. May she live again.”

That was all they said. In the streets, in their homes, staring at armored [Soldiers] with hatred, or dying with blades in hand. That was what was spoken. The people of Germina whispered the words. Then they shouted them. They gathered in the streets.

The Quarass was dead.

They were words which shook the world. At least, the world according to Germina. In fact, most of the other nations had already moved past that news. It was weeks-old, and just one revelation among many.

At the time, yes, the news had rocked the foundations of every nation that had heard it. It had become the topic of every conversation, every bit of gossip and worry and [Generals], [Strategists], and [Rulers] had all gathered to discuss the events surrounding the Quarass’ death. Because she had been killed by none other than Flos Reimarch.

The legendary King of Destruction himself. Slumbering no more. The man who had conquered an entire continent as a boy, then begun a war of conquest that had threatened to engulf the world. He had been stopped—but only by a hair’s breadth by every nation uniting to force his armies back. And, some speculated, had he not gone into his slumber after the death of two of his Seven, his famous generals and leaders, his empire might still be the mightiest in the world.

That was Flos. And he had reawakened. Months ago, the rumors had begun spreading. The quiet, tiny kingdom of Reim, reduced to a single city and a few villages had suddenly revitalized. Somehow, the impoverished people living there were transforming themselves into an army. And then had come the news that had given more than one ruler a sleepless night.

The King of Destruction had awoken. He was forming an army. He was back.

Of course, it had always been a possibility. Flos Reimarch had never died, and never suffered a grievous injury to force him to retreat. He’d simply…stopped. And his kingdom had collapsed into pieces and been claimed by other nations as his armies disbanded or turned traitor, his loyalists fleeing without the benefits of his Skills or leadership. And the King of Destruction had returned to his throne in the city where he had been born and sat no longer on this throne.

It was a mark of how much he had been feared that even decades after his kingdom had vanished that no one dared to attack Reim. Yes, the King of Destruction was slumbering, his people impoverished, his treasuries empty. And yes, even his legendary Seven—now five—were scattered, and only his Steward, Orthenon, known as the King of Destruction’s left hand, still remained.

But though his enemies were legion, no one dared send an army against him to finish Flos Reimarch off for good. Just in case that were to arouse his wrath and reawaken that slumbering monster.

But now he was back. Someone, something had woken him up. And the other nations closest to Reim had done the only thing they could think of: they had declared war and sent a coalition army to take Flos’ head before he could regain his former strength.

They had failed.

It was a story the people of Germina knew. After all, they had sent their sons and daughters off to war. Their country of Germina bordered Reim. And their ruler, the Quarass, had personally desired Flos’ death. So Germina and the Kingdom of Hellios had spearheaded the attack. And Germina had not stopped there; they had sent child-assassins to slay Flos, and a powerful [Geomancer] with an ambush force from Hellios to draw Flos out of his capital and slay him.

Again, they had failed. And though the coalition army had first routed a force led by Gazi and Orthenon, they had discovered it was a trap; upon nearing the capital of Reim, the King of Destruction had unveiled a working of Drevish, one of his Seven, now deceased. The legendary [Architect]’s will had laid the army to waste with lightning hurled from the towers of Reim. And Flos himself had led his army on the counterattack and taken the remains of the coalition army prisoner.

He had ransomed many of the [Soldiers] and surviving officers back to their countries, in accordance with the traditions of war in Chandrar. And also in the same tradition, those that their nations had not bought back became slaves, which he sold to one of the Traders of Roshal, a nation that controlled the slave trade across Chandrar and the rest of the world.

All of this was backdrop, however. The true tragedy had come in the months afterward. Flos Reimarch had not been content with the defeat of the coalition army. Or rather, his wrath had spared the other nations who had taken part and focused solely on two countries. Germina and Hellios. Leading his army from Reim, he had come north. And on the battlefield he had smashed Hellios’ army and the might of Germina in the course of a day. His armies had split, one to occupy a surrendering Hellios.

But he had accepted no quarter from Germina. The King of Destruction led his armies personally into the capital of Germina, the city built around an oasis from which Germina had been founded. Ger. And in its streets he had cut down everyone in his way and ascended the steps to the Palace of the Quarass. And there he had beheaded her.

The Quarass is dead. Let her rise again.

They could all remember the moment Flos had strode down the palace steps, bloody blade in hand. They had not seen her head, but they knew. You could feel the Quarass’ death, feel her Skills protecting her nation pass with her. They had raged against the King of Destruction, then, but his army had filled the city. So they had been forced to choose between subjugation and death.

It might have been surprising how few chose death to an outsider, especially given how beloved the Quarass had been. But that was because outsiders didn’t understand the truth. Now, nearly a month after the Quarass’ passing, as Flos’ armies still occupied much of Ger and the country, keeping order, hope had blossomed on the streets. They whispered it, and gathered in secret.

The Quarass lives.

—-

This was Germina. Hot, arid land, almost desert, defined the nation. Germina, like Reim, was not a land of riches. Chandrar, the continent was not rich. It was arid, which meant heat by day and freezing cold by night in many regions. Some parts were prosperous, but no part of Chandrar was as rich as the jungles of Baleros, overflowing with life, or Terandria or Izril, whose greenery was but a dream for many living in barren parts of Chandrar.

Perhaps only Rhir was harsher, and even then, only because of the Demons. But Chandrarian citizens often claimed parts of Chandrar were worse even than the blighted lands of the Demon King. Toss an army of demons in the great desert and see how many crawled out.

Yes, the desert. Chandrar had several, but the largest was the desert which occupied the center of the continent, effectively cutting off civilization for thousands of miles so that nations had emerged around it, but never flourished inside the unrelenting hell of sands.

As luck would have it, the Kingdom of Germina bordered that desert, situated in the northeastern quadrant of Chandrar. It was one of the kingdoms closest to the desert that bordered it on the west; aside from the damned Khelthans, of course. Reim and Germina were both hard lands to settle and grow anything but the tough Yellats in.

But Ger had been blessed. For it was located on an oasis, a vast reservoir of water that had sustained Germina for thousands of years. The first Quarass had claimed the land, and the Kingdom of Germina had begun millennia ago. It was a Shield Kingdom, one of four remaining, ancient, sometimes waning in power, but never erased. Not even the King of Destruction could do that.

Germina was, of course, landlocked. To the northeast Hellios was a sometimes friendly neighbor, ruled by the current Queen Calliope. There was no [King]—Treland of Hellios had died decades past at Flos’ hands during his first wars of expansion. Calliope was the only ruler of her kingdom, followed by her son, Prince Siyal. Both had been spared death. For now.

The other nations around Germina were likewise small, having reclaimed themselves out of Flos’ empire once he slumbered. They were powers, but not, say, equivalent to the confederation of String People nations to the south, or the richer coastal nations on the south of Chandrar.

To the north, nations like the realm of Belchan which was a parliamentary government who elected a [Minister], and the Republic of Jecrass, who had a [King], ruled. Minor powers, but powers nonetheless. West of Germina was the land of Kheltha, of course, and no one threatened them. They had stayed out of the war with Flos.

None of these nations could by themselves threaten Flos, even with his small army. The King of Destruction was too high-level, and his vassals—Orthenon, the King’s Steward, Gazi the Omniscient, Mars the Illusionist, and Takhatres, Lord of the Skies, were all titans in their own way. The only threat to Reim was if multiple nations united to crush it—a process that Germina’s folk hoped was already underway—or if the Empire of Sands took action.

Of all the nations on Chandrar, the Empire of Sands was the newest. In the decades after Flos had entered his slumber, a new [Emperor] had risen and claimed the western civilizations across the great desert. He had expanded rapidly and his empire was now a major power, if a distant one. But he had set himself as an enemy of Flos, and announced it by sending him the head of one of his Seven. Drevish, the [Architect].

But both nations were too far apart to yet do battle. The desert separated them and while Takhatres had led his tribe to raid the Empire of Sands, no retaliatory force had made the dangerous journey to strike at Reim. The King of Destruction had likewise ground to a stop as spring began; his armies continued to occupy Hellios and Germina, but all three nations were still mortal. They needed to eat, plant crops, and bury the dead.

But now a change had come over the citizens of Ger. The initial shock of the King of Destruction’s army sweeping through the capital in a bloody evening had faded. Their fear and despair had turned to fury. And that seed of hope was growing. So, you could feel it as you walked across the mud-brick streets of Ger, past houses built of the same material.

If you peeked down a street not patrolled by [Soldiers] wearing Reim’s colors, you could see people gathering. Their clothes were light in color and plain; mostly white or grey, the product of wool or other light fabrics for the day. The women dressed in long, flowing dress sometimes banded by color, but often as plain as the long-sleeved clothing worn by men. Both genders kept little of their skin exposed to the sands that could sometimes blow in, scalding and stinging exposed flesh. But Germina was hardly colorless; the people just left it to the buildings.

Pigments. Dyes made of crushed insect shells, or plants, bright and colorful, adorned each house. You couldn’t walk past one building without some motif. Often they complimented each other; it was rare to see a house that clashed. Sometimes the houses were drawn with fanciful motifs, like a bird, or a stylized mythical creature. Other times they were just plain colors, artfully brought together by the owners. But the paints were beautiful and the owners of each building tended to them more than their clothing. After all, they would pass in time, but a home could last for centuries if it was tended to.

Color on the buildings, white clothing. Rebellion on the streets. More than one young man was hiding a knife, or a club unsuccessfully in their clothes. Young women did it too of course, but they were more artful about it. If you passed by some girls with braided hair, you’d notice the shiv woven into the hair, ready to be plucked out.

But there hadn’t been much violence this morning. The city was waiting. There had been a few incidents, some too-obvious malcontents arrested, an idiot attacking a band of [Soldiers] killed, but the city was quiet.

“Too quiet.”

Venith Crusland, one of Flos’ vassals and a [Lord] and veteran of countless wars, grunted to his wife as they surveyed the city from the steps of the palace of the Quarass, known as the Seat of Ger. Probably because it did look a bit like a seat, being the tallest building built on a slope on top of the city. Or maybe because it was located directly on top of the reservoir of water that fed the city via the wells. Or…Venith didn’t care.

He was surveying the streets of the city from this commanding spot, using a monocle enchanted with a farseeing spell. He hated the thing because it was a stupid device you had to hold with your cheek against your eye and because it stank to him of pointlessness. Why couldn’t the [Enchanter] who’d made it create something more practical? With two lenses? He held it up to his eye as he followed a patrol of [Soldiers] across the city, noting how people got out of the way.

“Maresar, do you see? They’re all congregating near that one plaza. And it’s too quiet. Did you hear me?”

“Twice. And it’s fine.”

The [Lord] glanced up. He had dark hair, not entirely black, closer to brown, and a stern, set face. His wife, Maresar, was far more relaxed than Venith, who was restlessly feeling at his sword and shield. She was tall, had short-cropped, black hair, and darker skin than Venith. She was a former [Bandit Lord], but she hadn’t bothered stringing her longbow. That relaxed Venith a bit; Maresar’s instincts were excellent and if she didn’t seem ready for battle, it meant they were probably safe.

“What do you think? There. Look at that group. Fifteen youths. All armed. We should break it up, orders or not.”

He offered the monocle to Maresar, but she declined. She squinted at the spot he’d pointed to, picking it out with her eyes, enhanced by her [Eagle Eyes] Skill. She shook her head.

“No. They’re not a threat.”

“Until they attack someone. I don’t want to lose another soldier to a cut throat. You and I could—”

“No. We have orders.”

Venith bit his tongue. He and Maresar had been assigned to Ger by Orthenon a month ago, when it had become clear that the citizens were not tolerating Flos’ armies. With Maresar’s help, Venith had made it clear that anyone attacking soldiers would be dealt with in moments. She could hit half the city from her vantage point with her bow and no amount of civilians armed with knives or clubs or stones could harm Venith. They were too high-level. Still, today, Venith felt his back crawling.

“It won’t be one or two groups that erupt if this comes to a head. You’ve seen this before. You know this city will erupt in violence and if it does, it will be all of them versus us.”

“I know.”

“So…”

“We have orders. He told us to wait, so we’re waiting. Don’t you trust him?”

“I do.”

Venith ground out the words. He did trust, but it was hard. He shifted, walking back and forth until Maresar caught him. She squeezed his shoulder gently and Venith looked at his wife. He grew calmer again.

To change the subject, he glanced southwest. He couldn’t see anything; a damn dust cloud had kicked up, obscuring the horizon, but he imagined he could still see the capital of Reim, the city in the distance.

“Calac’s in Reim still, isn’t he? With Orthenon.”

The [Lord] spoke sourly. He didn’t quite like Orthenon, although they were on the same side. The King’s Steward had his grudging respect over his friendship. Maresar nodded.

“And one of the twins. And Gazi.”

“Hmf. Do you think he’s well? Calac, I mean. He wanted to accompany us, but after his previous failure—”

“You told him no. So I said no. What more do you want?”

Venith didn’t say anything. Being a [Lord] was difficult. Being a father was worse. He glanced down at the streets again, spotted a girl with a potion bottle, handing it to a man who placed it in his pocket. He grimaced.

“Where is he? He told us to wait, but did he tell you anything? His Majesty?”

He looked up. Maresar bit her lip absently. She was scanning the city.

“No. But he’s here. You can feel it too, can’t you?”

The [Lord] nodded tightly. He swept his monocle across the city.

“What’s he doing?”

“He told me he was going to crush them.”

Venith’s head snapped up. He stared at Maresar.

“The rebels? Himself? By force?”

“Yes. Maybe? And no. He told us to wait. Trust him. You do, don’t you? Or are you having second thoughts?”

“I do. I do. I made my choice and I don’t regret it. It’s just, it’s been so long—”

At last, Venith saw Maresar smile.

“Yes. It has. But if I look at him, it feels like yesterday, doesn’t it?”

“…Yes. It does. Sometimes. Other times…”

“So. Wait.”

Venith did. He saw them moving. The citizens of Ger. They were moving towards one spot, some gathering on rooftops, all of them. Towards a place hidden by a line of houses. He longed to ride down there and find out what—but he had orders. So he waited. And he waited for the King of Destruction. And on the wind he heard the whispers.

The Quarass lives.

But Venith had seen her die. He glanced at Maresar and shook his head. Germina was a Shield Kingdom. Ancient. It had been defeated easily enough on the battlefield, but Venith knew that a kingdom’s power wasn’t always based in the force of its army. There were old secrets. And he feared Germina had at least a few. So he waited. And he wondered where his [King] was. Usually you could spot him by the crowd. And the commotion.

—-

There was a crowd. But the King of Destruction would not have been welcome in it. They were gathering as Venith had noticed, in a plaza too small to hold all of them. But they had chosen it precisely because it was out of sight of the palace. The people of Ger waited as a group of men, all former [Councilors], [First Warriors] or [Highborn]—Ger had no [Lords] or [Ladies]—fussed at the center of the gathering.

They were a motley group, different in station and rank. Some were barely important and had the Quarass been alive, the inner circle of men wouldn’t have deigned to consort with them. But two thirds of the Quarass’ court had been slain when the King of Destruction had taken the palace. So those that remained weren’t in a position to quibble.

In fact, the leader of this group of men was a [Councilor of State], the only member of the Quarass’ council who’d survived. He was hardly a leader, but he had loved the Quarass as fiercely as the other men.

As they all had. All those gathered in the plaza, sitting, standing, were fixed on the circle in the center. The men, sixteen or so, formed a ring of bodies, shielding something, someone with their long robes. It was the [Councilor of State] who walked back and forth, murmuring to himself, glancing at the sun, which was nearly overhead. He was dressed in a colorful robe, bright scarlet, normally strange for a man to be wearing. It made him look like a splash of blood amid the white. Every eye followed him as he walked back and forth.

And he was afraid. You could see it if you looked in his eyes, so he kept his gaze upwards, towards the clear blue skies and relentless sun. He was waiting for it to be exactly midday, but the sweat that rolled down his face had as much to do with the fear churning away at him as the heat. The other men standing in the circle were likewise sweating harder than the crowd, and more than one of them followed the leader in red’s pacing back and forth. The others had to fight to keep from glancing behind them. They too were afraid.

Perhaps, had they been zealots, they might have clung to the righteousness of their purpose. They could have reassured themselves in the divinity of their task, the infallibility guiding them, that they were following a higher power. But faith was dead as were the gods. So it was only men who gathered here. Men, who were desperately afraid that their gathering would be broken up, or worse, that they would fail.

The people of Germina had gathered here because they knew what must be done. They knew who waited in the circle of men in robes. If the men here failed—and oh, they could fail—they would be torn apart. If the King of Destruction’s soldiers were to interfere, if everything wasn’t right or something went wrong…

Sweat and fear hung in the air in the circle of men. But the crowd was just waiting. They were common laborers and highborn folk. Men and women. But those in the circle, those in charge, for now, were men.

Men. Not women, for all that there were just as many daughters of Germina in the crowd as sons, young and old. But that was the way of things. The Quarass ruled, female, her word law, her lineage passed from daughter to daughter. And it was men who found her when the Quarass died.

The last of the crowd entered the plaza as the sun finally reached its zenith in the sky. A few people pushed through the crowd, though everyone was fighting for a view. A sea of faces, and the feeling that this was an important moment.

In such atmospheres, an errant cough or someone who needed to use the bathroom precisely at the wrong moment stood out. The leader in red was afraid of each instance, afraid that anything ruining the sanctity of the moment would cause the ritual to fail. But there were so many.

A pair of crying babies provoked each other. Someone tripped, causing a small collapse in the crowd. And worst of all, one of the men in the circle hurried out, causing a ripple to run through the crowd. Every eye fixed on the man, a [First Warrior], equivalent to what other countries called a [Knight] in terms of rank, hurried over to the [Councilor of State].

“Dead gods, what is it? Get back to your place! We’re about to start!”

The [Councilor] scream-whispered at the [First Warrior]. The younger man was far more fit than he, but both were practically white in the face. The [First Warrior] shook his head.

“The—she’s thirsty. She needs a drink.”

“A drink?”

Belatedly, the [Councilor] realized he’d forgotten to provide for that simple amenity. The…person sitting in the circle of men, who’d closed ranks to avoid her being seen by the crowd, had been sitting for hours in the sun. The [Councilor] cursed.

“Water. Fine, then. Sands take it! Get some!”

“From where?”

“I don’t know! But hurry!”

The [Councilor] saw the [First Warrior] hesitate, and then turn. He called out; his voice strangled.

“Water. We need water. Has anyone a flask?”

Silence. And then several people offered theirs. The warrior hurried around, grabbing two nearest and disappeared into the circle. Standing at the edge of the circle, the [Councilor] heard a muffled voice, a quiet, female one. A child’s voice. And then the [First Warrior] hurried out. The circle made room for him and he nodded at the [Councilor].

Good. All was well. All would be well. The [Councilor of State] wished he were dead. He wished someone else were in his position. If he got this wrong—

If he had been capable, he would have prayed. But the thought of prayer didn’t even cross the [Councilor]’s mind. So he was just afraid. But the sun was overhead. And so he began.

“People of Germina. Bear witness! Gather here, in this sacred heart of the city. Gather, and bear witness! The Quarass is dead! So gather, sons and daughters! Gather! I, the son of Ger, call to you! Gather and bear witness!”

The crowd shifted. All eyes were on the [Councilor] now, on his red robes. He felt his voice crack on the last sentence. Oh, dead gods, he’d said it wrong. It wasn’t ‘people of Germina’, was it? It was ‘children of Germina’ or was it—‘chosen of Ger?’ And was it sons or daughters or—what had the old woman he’d consulted say it should be? She’d told him to shout this without the crowd, but he hadn’t dared. It was all going to go wrong. It wasn’t going to work! And then what?

Everyone was staring at him. The [Councilor] froze, but there was nowhere to run. So his tongue went on as his mind began screaming.

“Gather! Gather together! Gather to bear witness! The Quarass has fallen! But Germina must live! So gather—”

He faltered. They were gathered. What should he do? He switched to the next part, stumbling over his words.

“Pay heed. Lay down your burdens and still your hearts. For you will bear witness to a resurrection. The Quarass has fallen. By blade, by war. By wrath and treachery, by the King of Destruction!”

That stirred the people in the crowd. The [Councilor] saw faces contort with fury. He went on.

“But now is not the time for vengeance. The Quarass is dead. Germina is broken. The sands will take the kingdom and wash the stones away to dust. Our blood shall soak the deserts and no thing will grow. The kingdom needs its heart. So the Quarass must live.”

She must live.

The murmur came from the crowd, thousands of voices speaking as one. They hadn’t practiced it; it was spontaneous and it dried the [Councilor]’s throat even more. He coughed.

“So—so we are gathered. To witness her rebirth. By blood of lineage she will be called. By the needs of her people she shall arise! By the will of Germina, she returns! Bear witness!”

Lies. All lies. The ritual called for the Quarass’ firstborn daughter. But her daughter was dead, killed in her bed six years past after trying to take the throne. The bloodline of the Quarass had ended with her. So they’d found a child. A girl who looked a bit like the Quarass. The old woman had said that might do. But she wasn’t sure. And the child was—a child.

But he was in too far. He’d never had a choice, really. He was the only one who knew the words, or so the others had been convinced. But the [Councilor] didn’t know the words. What he was shouting was a mix of what he could remember and what the old woman thought was supposed to be said. He was sure that ‘bear witness’ wasn’t supposed to be said so many times!

“So let seven come forth. Three of the sands. Three of Chandrar. Of those gathered here, who has the will? Who will be chosen? The will of Germina calls you. Who will witness the Quarass and make the oath?”

This time the crowd moved as one. Those sitting surged to their feet. And those standing crowded closer. The [Councilor] had to shout as the men in the circle locked arms, afraid they’d be rushed.

“Hold! Hold back! I will—choose among you.”

Only, here it all went wrong. The crowd was pushing forwards and someone—the [Councilor] didn’t know who—shouted.

“The three aren’t chosen! One comes from foreign lands! One comes of Germina! And one comes as a child!”

The [Councilor] froze. And the crowd drew back. He looked to see who’d said it. It had been a young voice. Female. Worse, she’s sounded confident. The [Councilor] ran with it.

“Yes! Yes! One of Germina! Who will—”

A surge again. But the [Councilor] was ready. He jabbed a finger at a likely figure. He remembered one of the old three, an old woman who’d been the Quarass’ guide until her passing. The three had to be exemplary, so he pointed at a woman in the crowd.

“You. Name yourself!”

The figure he’d indicated stepped forwards as people looked at her. She hardly needed introduction as she gave her name.

“[Highborn] Vaitsha Zectiou. I am Vaitsha, daughter of Germina. I will witness the Quarass.”

She was one of the richest of the [Highborn] in the city. A powerful woman. The [Councilor] nodded and she stepped forwards, until she stood in front of the circle of men. She shot the [Councilor] a sideways look as he scanned the crowd.

The child was next. He didn’t remember a child—but the Quarass had been in power when he’d been born. So he pointed at a young boy.

“You. Do you have the courage to accompany the Quarass until her passing?”

The young boy shook and trembled in fear. He looked about to wet himself and stammered a string of gibberish. The [Councilor] knew he’d picked wrong. So he shook his head before the boy could speak again. He sought once more, found another boy in the crowd, this one older. Nine or so? He looked like a [Street Tough], if he had a class at all. But his eyes were piercing and he didn’t waver as the [Councilor] pointed at him.

“You. Have you the courage to accompany the Quarass?”

“I do! And may I serve the Quarass and the sands take me if I have anything less!”

The youth shouted back. He had a scar above one eye, and, as he walked through the crowd, a large one on his uncovered left leg. At least he wasn’t a slave. What a mistake that would be!

Two down. But the last was suddenly a pressing issue for the [Councilor]. A foreigner? Germina had few foreigners in its capital before the war with Reim. And now—he shouted desperately.

“Who comes from foreign lands? Who of Chandrar will bear witness to the Quarass? Who will swear the oath?”

And then there was silence. The children of Germina looked around, suddenly wary. A foreigner? Any one of them would have volunteered, but according to the rules one voice had shouted—and the [Councilor] didn’t even know if they were real!—it had to be a foreigner. But who could that be? One of the [Soldiers] patrolling the streets? If they had to kidnap someone—

Fear. It was all going to fall apart. If a patrol happened by and they heard what was happening because the ritual took too long—they’d stationed people to ward off any patrols headed this way. But they had to have a third. The [Councilor] shouted again.

“Is there anyone not of Chandrar? Not born on Germina’s soil?”

He hoped someone in the crowd had been born outside of Germina. A cousin, maybe. Or a wife? A husband from afar? Anyone! He heard a few voices and the crowd broke up, seeking the speakers. But then a figure bellowed, louder than the rest.

“I have come far, from lands where Germina’s name has long passed. I am a son of the sands, Chandrar born. I am not of Ger and was not borne of its waters. But I will bear witness to the Quarass. I will swear the oath.”

The crowd parted. A giant strode forth, a tall man with dark skin, his features plain, but his arms and body huge. For all that, he looked intelligent, and he had a pair of glass spectacles on his broad nose. A [Scholar]? He glanced around and people stared up at him. The [Councilor] could have wept.

“Yes! Come, then! And all bear witness! You three, stand before the circle. The Quarass is dead, but she must live!”

They were at the heart of it now, and hope was replacing fear in the [Councilor]’s chest. The three stood together, Vaitsha and—damn, the other two hadn’t named themselves!

No hope for it. The [Councilor] lifted his arms and turned, the ill-fitting red robe swirling around him.

“You three will bring her forth! The Quarass is dead, but the Quarass lives! Step forwards and claim her, chosen three! And swear an oath—”

He broke off. The bespectacled giant was looking at him. It was just a look, but it told the [Councilor] he’d erred somehow. The broad-shouldered man spoke, in a voice that carried across the crowd in a way that the [Councilor]’s shouting could not. The crying babies went silent. The gathering, already silent, went still.

“The Quarass is dead. Germina waits. So by Ger and by the blood of Quar, let the kingdom never pass in the shadow of the sun. Let the Quarass be reborn. So we gather here. Three. One of Ger, to remind the Quarass to be of who she was. One of childhood to follow the Quarass until her death and take it in her place. And one of distant sands, to tell her of what is and what must be. Let us bring her forth, and swear our oath on blood and the stones of Ger to ever be her protectors.”

There was silence after that. And the [Councilor] felt something stir in his chest. The words struck home; they were too real to be fake. He sagged in relief. Someone else knew the old words!

“Yes. Yes, that’s—that is what must be done. So bring her forth. You three. Enter and call her name. And let it be the last time her name is ever spoken. Hear it, and know that who you find within is dead. And she will emerge the Quarass. Swear your oaths before her then.”

And like that, the circle of men opened. It was a precise movement, so that the crowd only saw the backs of the three before they stepped forwards and the circle closed. And then there was nothing.

No one spoke. No one moved. The [Counselor] heard very little, even close to the circle of men as he way. He could see them looking outwards, arms linked, eyes wide. But what passed in the circle—no one could say.

There were voices. A female voice—that of Vaitsha. A rumble from the giant. A high-pitched voice from the youth, nervous despite his courage. And then—the [Councilor] heard a higher voice still. A girl’s tremulous words. A name, but he didn’t hear it. And then the circle opened and the crowd saw her.

A girl. She was dressed in white, a simple dress of cotton. Her face was dark, and her eyes pale yellow. Her hair was parted in a widow’s peak and a warm black—that was slightly like the look of the old Quarass, though fifty years separated the two. This child couldn’t have been more than ten.

And she was a child. Not the Quarass. How could she be? The [Councilor] froze. He could feel the crowd rustle. But not like before. Now it was an ominous sound. They had been promised the Quarass. And the child who was shaking with nerves and fear was not her. Her dress was wet near the neck where she’d spilled some water on herself while drinking.

“Hold.”

The giant said the word before something could happen. He looked across the citizens of Germina and the [Councilor], who had never prayed, tried to believe that he knew what was missing. And somehow, the foreigner did.

“Before the Quarass is reborn, she must accept the oaths of the three and hear her people call for her. So I stand here. A foreigner of the sands. Finder of the Quarass, charge me with my oaths.”

He pointed at the [Councilor]. The man jumped, and stopped looking for a way to escape. He turned back and again, his tongue took over for his brain.

“Do you swear to protect the Quarass, stranger of the sands? Do you swear to be her guardian and guide? If so, swear by blood. Swear on the stones of Ger, with all to witness!”

It was a desperate shout. The stranger nodded. He reached for his belt and pulled out a simple dagger of steel. He cut his arm, a powerful gash that made half the crowd wince. His blood ran down his arm as he held it out, letting his blood drip on the mud brick stones.

“I swear it by the Shield Kingdoms, by Germina’s soil and the Oasis of Ger. The Quarass lives and let my flesh and blood spill upon the sands before her.”

His words echoed. They shouldn’t have. But for a second they rolled, like distant desert thunder. And for a second, the [Councilor] could swear he felt a breeze blow in the plaza. It smelled of distant lands. Of sands, a world unknown.

Suddenly, the atmosphere changed. The fear in the [Councilor] went away. He felt a stirring in the air, like magic, but more powerful. He turned. Suddenly there were words in his chest, and his eyes were alight.

“You. Child. Do you swear to protect the Quarass? Do you swear to be her guardian and companion? If so, swear by blood. Swear on the stones of Ger, with all to witness.”

The youth had no dagger. But there was a bit of mud brick broken on the ground. As if by chance, he bent and snatched it up. With a single furious slash he opened his wrist. Blood dripped onto the stones.

“I swear! I swear by the Shield Kingdoms! By the Oasis and waters! The Quarass lives! Let me die before she does!”

And his voice was thunder. This time the breeze blew, and the [Councilor] was reminded of his youth. Of a time he had all but forgotten, when he was young and knew so little. When he was young.

All watched as he turned for Vaitsha.

“Do you swear, daughter of Ger? Do you swear to protect the Quarass? To be her guardian and friend? If so, swear by blood. Swear on the stones of Ger, with all to witness.”

Vaitsha’s eyes were wide. She spoke, trembling, pulled by the same force now guiding everyone present. Her hands retrieved a delicate belt knife, ivory and steel, and her cut was no less deep than the other two. Her blood ran down her dress and stained the ground.

“I swear. I swear by the Shield Kingdoms, by Germina, my home. By the Oasis, I swear to be her friend. And let me die before she does. Let me be worthy of it.”

A sigh ran through the audience. But it wasn’t over. The [Councilor] turned. Now he shouted. Now he screamed, where he had not dared to before. As if he were afraid of being silly. Now his lungs burst as he howled at those gathered.

“The oaths are pledged! The three stand before you! And she awaits! So call to her! Sons and daughters of Germina, call to your Quarass! And so long as Germina endures, let her come! Call her!”

He saw them look at her. The child looked up, shaking. And the voice that came from her was a scream that shook Ger. It broke paint. It made the foreigners on the streets clap their hands to their ears and sink to the ground. It killed—yes. Two rooftops collapsed, sending those sitting them to their deaths. The word.

“Quarass!”

The girl fell backwards. Her eyes rolled up in her head. She collapsed, and the giant caught her. A brown hand laid the child down on the ground and every eye fixed on her. Men. Women. Children. Even the [Councilor], who had forgotten to run. He stared. Hoping. Praying that the ritual really could bring her back.

Hope. That was all they had. Not faith for gods. Not religion. But perhaps there was something similar. The gods were dead, but you had to believe in something. And so they called for her. And, slowly, the small figure stirred. She raised her head, looked around. She sat up, clutching at her brow. And then she got to her feet, unsteadily, using one hand for support.

She was the same as she had been. A child with a large forehead. Dark hair. Pale yellow eyes. But when she looked around, her gaze found the [Councilor]. And his heart stopped. Because he felt it. He saw it in her gaze. He felt it in his soul.

“The Quarass lives.”

It was a whisper. Then a shout. The [Councilor] turned. He raised his arms and his eyes wept even as he laughed and screamed it.

“The Quarass lives!”

It was her. You couldn’t deny it. It was the same presence. The same feel that came from her. Faint, weak, but there. She was the Quarass of Germina. And the crowd roared. They fell to their knees and bowed. The sixteen men fell to their knees, weeping like the [Councilor].

Only the three who had pledged their oaths stood. The boy was caught between bowing and staring at the girl Quarass in disbelief. Vaitsha was staring at her ruler with tears in her eyes. And the giant? He looked around and spoke. And his words cut through the rejoicing like a razor sheared wool.

“The Quarass died. And she lives. I have sworn it. To protect her with my life before hers. I swore it on Ger. I swore it on the waters that give you life and on my blood. But that is the oath of a foreigner. There is one more oath I have to give.”

The [Councilor] turned to him in disbelief. The crowd looked up. The giant with dark skin and glasses reached for his neck. He had noting there, but as his hand grasped something and tore it away, an amulet shimmered into existence. It dropped from his hand, a broken jewel and silver chain. And the giant changed.

He grew no shorter. But his bulging arms became thinner, if not by much. His skin changed, and his dark hair became red and gold, only slightly faded by time. There were wrinkles on his face left by age. Grief and mirth. But what changed most about him was his presence.

Before he had been a man. A colossus who commanded the eye. But the figure who stood before the Quarass now was a different kind of giant. The kind men fought and died for. A figure to love or hate, but never ignore. He attracted every eye, as if the world bent around him. But that was his nature. For he was a [King].

The King of Destruction stood in front of the Quarass. He surveyed the crowd, which had gone still with shock and fear and turned. The [Councilor] quailed before him, but it was the Quarass he sought.

She stared up at him, a small figure. She did not turn to run or flee, though she shook. The other two tried to place themselves in front of the king. The street boy tried to charge the King of Destruction but his legs wouldn’t move. Vaitsha tried to throw herself in his path, but the King of Destruction walked around her. He stopped in front of the Quarass. Then he bent.

His arm was still cut open. His blood still ran. The [King] slowly bent onto one knee, looking down at the Quarass. And his voice had that same quality, the same echo as he met the Quarass’ eyes.

“I swore to protect you. And I swear it again. I will allow no harm to come to you. I will pledge myself to death before you. So long as Germina endures, I will be your guardian and guide. I, Flos Reimarch, swear it by my Seven. By Reim, my kingdom, my heart. I swear it by my crown. I swear it as your King.”

His voice rang throughout the plaza. Flos, the King of Destruction, turned. And when he looked around, the spell broke. The crowd screamed in horror and awe and the [Councilor of State] regained his senses. He raised a hand, pointed at the figure behind Flos.

“P-protect the—”

The words froze in his mouth. The King of Destruction was too close. He could slay the Quarass in a moment. The other men who’d been part of the circle had their weapons drawn, but they were afraid. Even the [First Warriors] were no match for the legendary king.

But he was alone and the crowd had seen their Quarass. They surged forwards, shouting the same words. They might have swarmed Flos, but the [King] only raised his wounded arm. He pointed.

“Halt.”

And they did. Against their will, they stopped moving. The King of Destruction looked at them.

“People of Germina, do you seek my life?”

Of course they did. They shouted at him, helpless to move but free to rage.

“Murderer! Monster!”

“You ravaged our lands!”

“You killed my son!”

“You killed my mother!”

“This is our city! Begone, murderer! Begone!”

“King of Death! King of Destruction!”

The insults and cries poured out, jumbling, too many to be heard. Flos listened, seeing the rage in them. Then he raised a hand and there was a silence again.

“Yes. I did all these things. And I would do them a second time. I destroyed your armies. I slaughtered your kin, your friends and countrymen. I invaded your lands and I hold your city in my hands. But tell me, people of Germina. Should I do it a second time? For these are my lands now. I claimed them by right of conquest. And you who strike at my [Soldiers] strike at my kingdom. You would make war. So tell me, people of Germina, should I bring destruction to Ger a second time?”

He spread his arms, looking around. The crowd quailed. The King of Destruction’s eyes blazed.

“I left your people unscathed! I left your homes intact! My armies did not despoil, did not loot or rape or pillage! But still Germina seethes, fighting my armies day by day. Your people’s blood and mine run in the sands. To what end?”

“Our freedom. Germina will not tolerate you, tyrant.”

The voice came from behind Flos. He turned and looked at Vaitsha. The [Highborn] lady stared hatred at him. The King returned her glace as if she were an ant.

“Then the war has not ended. And to protect my people, I would slaughter all present. Man, woman, children. Make no mistake, Vaitsha of Ger. But I have said it once and I say it again: I am your [King]. And you have witnessed this as well: my oath.”

He raised his arm. And the sight of the blood reminded everyone that yes, Flos had sworn the oath. So the bloodlust pumping through their veins slowed and they listened. Warily, for here paced the lion. Flos looked from face to face, and few could meet his eyes for long.

“Forty years.”

The [Councilor of State] blinked. He stared at Flos. So did the others. Flos said it again.

“Forty years. How long may a Human man live? Even a [King]? A hundred years? Likely, at most. So. Forty years. And if blades take me, or a spell claims my life or my heart gives out, much less time. But forty years. For forty years, I claim Germina. I claim your kingdom and name you as my people. My subjects.”

There was a roar of protest from the crowd. But again, Flos silenced them.

“Forty years! And I will rule you as [King] and Germina shall prosper. Once, I rode across Germina and you fought for me. Do you not remember those days? Were they not the greatest you have lived through before or since?”

He turned, eyes blazing. The [Councilor of State] flinched. But he did remember. There was war, but there was always war. And people returned from the front lines with gold and treasure and more levels than you could count. There was no shortage of food, and Germina grew as it expanded. He remembered those days. And he remembered them as Flos turned his head and he caught a glimpse of that figure from afar. It was true. Once he had been their [King].

“Germina was once mine. Mine, but it forgot me as I slumbered. And its ruler has always been the Quarass. She reigned even as I ruled. But when I awoke from my slumber, she took arms against me. For that she died. I killed her.”

Yes. And if they could have killed him, the people in the crowd might. But they looked at the Quarass, standing still behind Flos. And they felt something shift in the air. This time they listened, wondering what came next.

“Your Quarass lives. She is young, but she lives. And I came here to swear the oath you all heard today. Let all the children of Germina hear it, not only those of Ger! I stand surety for the Quarass’ life with my own.”

Flos raised his arm a third time. The bleeding was slowing, but still it ran. Vaitsha and the youth were pale behind Flos from blood loss, but he seemed not to even notice.

“As long as I endure, I will protect the Quarass. And when I pass, Germina will rise once again. But will it do so as a broken nation, governed by an iron fist, or as a proud one? I cannot be shifted. I have claimed Germina, but I would rather you join my kingdom. Join my kingdom and ride with me across all the sands of Chandrar! Let your kingdom return to its glory, children of Germina! Be mine until my death. I have need of you.”

He held out a hand and the [Councilor] felt something pull at his heart. A part of him wanted to step forwards and shout that he would follow Flos. But only a part. The rest of him wanted to shout at the [King], if only he dared. And he saw the rest of those gathered were just as conflicted.

The King of Destruction saw it too. He waited for a heartbeat, and then turned. The Quarass stood behind him, a child, but their ruler. It was to her Flos spoke next.

“This is my pact, Quarass of Germina. You sent armies into my lands. You attacked my people. And you used children as weapons of war. For all these things and more, you paid with your life. But we were once allies.”

He extended a hand to her, the same hand streaked with drying blood. The citizens of Ger looked up as Flos held it towards the small figure.

“I hold you no grudge now; join with me and let your people strive alongside mine until it is time. I will not contest Ger and I will not keep you from your throne. But we must be allies of blood until my death. Take your kingdom, Quarass, but do it as part of my own, and I will make yours a nation remembered in legends for a thousand years. Will you accept my offer?”

The Quarass looked at him. Her eyes were old. Scarcely half an hour ago they had been young, innocent and afraid. But something older looked out from them. Old and young. She was still a child. But she was the Quarass. And because she was both, she hesitated. The citizens waited. On her words turned their fates. If she ordered it, they would fall on Flos and it would be his death and theirs. If she ordered it.

At last, the Quarass nodded. Oh, so slightly. And she reached out with her tiny hand and took Flos’ outstretched palm. Her voice was quiet, but all could hear it. The silence was absolute. The Quarass spoke.

“Yes. By Ger’s waters I say it is so.”

A sigh ran through the crowd. A sigh, and then a voice of protest, swiftly cut off. The spell was broken. A hubbub rose, voices asking what had happened, someone shouting again, trying to shout to the Quarass. A woman screamed vengeance against Flos and launched herself, but the crowd was against her. There was still something moving them. The will of the Quarass, this time.

The [Councilor] felt it. He bowed to the Quarass, sinking to his knees in his red robes, sweat staining his clothing. He was so relieved he couldn’t move; his legs had given out. Some of the other former councilors and members of her court did the same, or tried to move closer. But the King of Destruction forced them back with a glance.

So it was with the crowd. Those who wished to see the Quarass crowded forwards, or simply wept in place with the same relief. But others who couldn’t stand the agreement, who stared at Flos with hatred, began to push away.

Not towards him, though some vowed vengeance and shouted his death at the [King]’s back. But they still moved back out of the crowd, as if they couldn’t help it. And they kept moving, running down the streets, fleeing the [Soldiers] of Flos’ army who were finally moving towards their [King]. They fled the city, a few hundred, while the rest of Ger remained.

Chaos. Venith Crusland marched a full three hundred [Soldiers] through the crowd, ordering them back, shouting at them to make way. His [Soldiers] forced through towards the King of Destruction and encircled him, ignoring the insults and crowd pushing forwards. There was no violence, which surprised him but not Maresar.

“He told you. Keep them back. [Thunder Arrow]!”

She drew an arrow and shot it into the sky. The people closest to her ducked and covered their ears, flinching back. Venith guided his horse forwards, shouting.

“Form a ring around the [King]! Back up! Back up, I said! Your Quarass will be fine! You can see her later! Get back!”

“Venith! Venith!”

He heard someone shouting his name in the press. The voice was familiar, so Venith pointed. A group of his [Soldiers] pushed into the crowd and emerged with someone. An unfamiliar Germinan girl. Venith stared at her, confused. Then the girl tugged at a ring and her figure changed.

Like Flos, the illusion magic turned the dark-skinned girl into another figure. Slightly taller, fairer skinned, like a Terandrian or someone born of Izril. Venith did recognize her.

“Teres!”

The young girl from another world nodded and Venith pointed. The [Soldiers] brought her into the circle of space and Venith leaned down to shout at her.

“Is this his Majesty’s doing?”

“Yes! He helped bring back the Quarass!”

“I gathered that! What next?”

Teres could only shake her head. Venith cursed. He held out a hand.

“Come on, I’ll bring you to him!”

He rode Teres towards Flos, who’d stayed where he was. The King of Destruction stood in silence next to the Quarass, keeping the people around her away by sheer force of presence. The young child was staring wide-eyed at her citizens, who were still fighting to get to her. Calling out her name.

“A strange sight, isn’t it? You’ll get used to it soon.”

The King of Destruction remarked as Venith led Teres towards him. The [Lord] stopped to let Teres jump to the ground, then turned to marshal his soldiers to keep holding the crowds back. Flos turned. The Quarass looked up at him. Teres, who’d approached hesitantly, halted and shuddered.

The child. Teres had seen her before the ceremony, before everyone had called out her name. And she’d just looked like a kid, then. An ordinary kid like the young boy with the scars standing behind her. But now her gaze held something old in it. And she didn’t look as afraid as before, even as the King of Destruction bent to speak with her.

“A second thing, Quarass. These child [Assassins] that Germina uses. I wish them stopped. I know your kingdom houses their training grounds and my people have not found them yet. I do not wish the children killed or…abandoned. But let them grow as children. No more of them, not as tools of Reim. Not ever. Have we a second deal?”

The Quarass tilted her head. Her lips were calmly pressed together, her gaze imperious. Teres saw her glance towards her crowd, up at Flos—not one whit afraid. A silent calculation ran behind her eyes, and then she nodded. Her voice was still a child’s, but it sounded like an adult.

“I agree. But I will not stop from using my [Assassins]. They are mine. And we are allies, King of Destruction. The Quarass kneels, but she does not bow.”

Flos nodded gravely. He met the Quarass’ eyes levelly. It was a ludicrous sight, the imposing King of Destruction of over six feet in height stooping to address the tiny Quarass. Ludicrous until they glanced at you.

“Just so. My soldiers will stop patrolling by sundown. Your palace will be cleared by then as well. And if ever you should call, I will come. It is a heavy burden you wear. That invisible crown.”

The Quarass hesitated. The impassive mask slipped suddenly.

“Yes. It is. Thank you.”

For a second she looked like a child again. Then her back straightened and she nodded to Venith and Maresar and the [Soldiers].

“Withdraw them. Those are my people. They should come to me.”

“As you wish. Venith!”

Flos turned and roared. Teres and the Quarass jumped, as well as everyone around Flos. He had an incredible voice. Venith turned and Flos raised his arm. He’d healed it with a potion and apparently shared it about because neither Vaitsha nor the boy were bleeding any longer. Flos waved his hand at Venith in a circle.

“To me! We leave the Quarass to her people!”

The crowd roared and Venith slowly drew the circle inwards, forming around Flos and Teres. The Quarass took a few deep breaths, then glanced at Teres with a frown. She was standing by the King of Destruction and you would have had to have been a fool to not have noticed how she was standing by his side where no one else was.

“Who is this? She is not one of your Seven, King Flos of Reim. Is she a wife? A consort? A slave?”

Teres’ jaw dropped. Flos laughed, and the child-Quarass scowled, embarrassed.

“No. She is not. This is Teres, one of my two personal attendants. Remember her, Quarass.”

“I will.”

Those old eyes swung to Teres and the girl shuddered. She heard the clatter of hooves and saw Venith riding towards Flos.

“To the palace, your Majesty? I can’t keep the crowd back and the ones who fled the city looked—”

“To the gates, Venith! Leave Ger as I promised! Those who fled are enemies of Reim—and of Germina.”

The King of Destruction looked at the Quarass and she nodded. He stepped forwards. Venith dismounted, but the King of Destruction waved a hand.

“Keep your horse, I’ll walk. Teres, with me!”

He beckoned her, and she followed. Just like that, or perhaps, as expected. You couldn’t help but follow if someone like Flos beckoned. The Quarass knew that. She knew many things, for all she was a girl of barely nine years. She was old and young. She had died, and her body had been carried out of the Seat of Ger weeks before. But she now lived again.

The Quarass lives. And as she watched the King of Destruction go, his pledge echoed in her mind. The young Quarass heard a timid voice.

“Quarass?”

She turned. Vaitsha was on her knees. So was the [Councilor of States] and what remained of the Quarass’ court. She knew them all from memory. She knew their names, their pasts, everything the old Quarass had known. But the new one didn’t feel the same way about all of them. She was afraid, scared, and at the same time, weighed down, just like Flos had said. She wished he had stayed, but her memories told her she had to be alone. At least for now.

“Rise, Vaitsha. I am the Quarass. And you are one of my three. What is it you have to say?”

The [Highborn] lady rose, cheeks pale. Eyes sparkling as she looked at her ruler in the flesh. She hesitated, but the young Quarass wasn’t the King of Destruction yet so she gave words to the uncertainty she and the others around her probably felt.

“Quarass, is it wise? He is the King of Destruction. And he swore an oath. But.”

She trailed off. But. But he had still invaded. But Germina would be absorbed into Reim, even if the Quarass could still rule. But the world feared and hated the King of Destruction and Germina would have to fight wars in Flos’ name. The Quarass knew that too, but she took a different view from the old one. Each Quarass was different, after all.

“Yes. He is destruction and yes, he did invade. But we have sworn an oath. Better to be a kingdom under another [King] than one ruined by fruitless war. The King of Destruction is a fool, and a force of nature. He cannot be stopped. And though he is a fool, he does not forswear himself. So we are part of Reim. And any who would harm him go against my will. Let that be known.”

She saw Vaitsha’s head bow, along with the other members of court. The Quarass felt a headache, the first in her young life beset her. How many would be traitorous, or how many could be trusted once they realized she wasn’t the old Quarass? Had the [Councilor of States]—whose name was Ilhmet, a detail even the old Quarass hadn’t really cared much to remember—chosen wisely in Vaitsha and…

The Quarass glanced at the ground. The young street boy had not risen. He was still kneeling, pressing his head to the mud brick. She bent.

“You. What is your name?”

He looked up with her with wide eyes.

“Me, Quarass?”

She glared at him. A young face looking into a boy five years older than she was.

“Yes, you. You are one of my three, are you not? Well, the King of Destruction is already left. So tell me your name, my guardian and companion. And rise, for I have need of your strength.”

The young boy rose. He smiled at his Quarass, and she saw he was strong, for all he was a street child. His body was wiry, and his eyes burned with the courage of a man already.

“I will be your strength, Quarass! And whatever else you ask of me! I am Khalid, who has no last name!”

There was still blood on his skin and clothes from where his arm had bled. The Quarass stared at it. Then she held out her hand. Khalid stared at it, but the Quarass was intent.

“Then, Khalid. I will hold you to that oath. Until my death, let us remake Germina into what it was and could be. Come with me.”

Khalid hesitated. But the Quarass was frowning, so he gingerly took her hand. And the crowd that surged forwards as the King of Destruction left paused when they saw him holding the Quarass’ hands. They stopped and stared as the Quarass turned, and her eyes flashed with the memories of countless dead women, and Vaitsha and her court knelt behind her.

It was indeed a moment you saw only once in your life. Of such moments were legends born, here, on a small mud brick street, between a street boy and a girl ruler. But such legends are not always told, and another legend that had already echoed around the world once walked calmly out of the city of Ger, capital of Germina.

—-

Flos Reimarch, King of Destruction and ruler of Reim and now Germina, stretched his arms up and yawned. Something popped and he twisted his neck.

“Ah, that’s better. Venith, pull your soldiers out of Germina but keep them in place. You and Maresar will hold here until Orthenon gives you further orders; he’ll no doubt wish to visit, but I shall recall you to Reim shortly. Germina is now allied with Reim, if you had not heard. Maresar, rally your riders. Those who fled the city will soon take up arms against it, and I would rather the Quarass not deal with traitors on her first day.”

Venith and Maresar turned towards their King. The [Soldiers], who had been pelted with paint pellets and sand, coughed and wiped their faces. Teres stared at Flos.

“What, just like that?”

He glanced at her. Flos Reimarch’s voice was a normal Human baritone, when he wasn’t speaking as a [King]. But if you listened, you could still hear that odd reverberation behind some of his words. He was tall, imposing, and Teres had to admit, handsome, all of which gave him the regal air of…of…well, a [King]. One right out of a children’s book, if the artist was exceptionally talented.

“I told you I planned on crushing Germina’s rebellion today, didn’t I, Teres?”

“You did, but I thought you’d be hanging people or doing something else! I had no idea you meant all that!”

Venith coughed as he stood next to his king. He glanced at Teres, with the same bit of bewilderment she always saw him give her. He was still working out her exact rank. Maresar, who was more easygoing and didn’t really care, leaned on Venith’s horse and addressed Flos over the back.

“The Quarass. We can trust her?”

Flos stroked his beard.

“Hm. I can’t say for certain, but my instincts tell me yes. And I have sworn to leave her city. The Quarass was always practical, and her current incarnation seems level-headed. More importantly, she is brave, which is a far better quality to have. So we will give her trust—but only that. Venith’s army will camp outside and still request supplies from Germina. Even if she rallies her entire city, it would be a mistake to set them against your forces.”

“As you wish, your Majesty. And I will hunt down those stragglers. May I ask why they fled?”

“[The Choice of the Conquered].”

Flos sighed. Maresar’s brows shot up, but she only nodded. Teres stared at Flos.

“The choice of the what? Is that a Skill?”

Venith shot her a glare, probably for talking to the King of Destruction out of turn. Some of the [Soldiers] were also giving Teres the fisheye, but she was used to it. Flos only grinned as he replied.

“Of course. It’s one of my Skills. A powerful one, too. You saw those in the crowd who left after I made my vow and the Quarass allied herself with me? They are rebels. Traitors who won’t obey me or her.”

Teres remembered them pushing out of the crowd, shouting at Flos.

“You mean, you made them like that?”

Flos hesitated.

“Say rather that I gave them a choice. I gave everyone present a choice, Teres. That is the nature of the Skill. If there is even a glimmer of chance that they would acknowledge me as their ruler, they weren’t affected. Only those who will never bow, never suffer me will flee. Only someone exceptionally high-level or strong of will could have stayed.”

“Oh. So it’s like a…lie detector test? A loyalty test?”

“Mm. Something like that. But as I said, it only finds those for whom I would never command their loyalties. Anyone with even a hint—isn’t affected. Half the crowd could well end up trying to kill me, but there’s a chance they’ll be my citizens. Which is fine by me!”

He laughed again, carefree as could be. That was Flos, and believe it or not, this was actually not that strange of a day for Teres anymore. She shook her head.

“So we resurrected a Quarass, identified a bunch of enemies, and now Maresar hunts them down, Venith camps, and we…do what?”

“Confer, for one more moment. Venith, I need a horse and escort. We head to Hellios on a similar errand. Actually, I would do without the escort if you need the men, but Orthenon will object.”

“As would I. You’ll have a hundred men, your Majesty.”

Flos sighed as Venith turned and shouted for horses and the escort. He looked at Maresar.

“Lady Maresar—”

“I wasn’t a [Lady] when you first met me, your Majesty.”

He grinned.

“Bandit Lord Maresar, then. Maresar the Wolf.”

She laughed and Flos went on as Venith gave both his liege and his wife a look of chagrin.

“Hunt down the fleeing traitors by all means, but don’t overreach. Some might have high levels and flee to pockets of resistance. I struck a deal with the Quarass to ban her child assassins, but some of her [Assassins] may rebel. So be on the lookout for them.”

“I will be careful, my liege.”

“And Maresar, take them captive if possible. Execute them swiftly only if you must.”

Flos sighed. Maresar nodded, the slight smile on her face never changing. Teres eyed her. Take them captive meant turn them into slaves. But she bit her lip rather than say anything. If Trey had been here, he might have objected. Flos sighed.

“It is a pity that they fled, Teres. [Choice of the Conquered] is a useful Skill, but…were I a better king, much less a better [King], I think they would all have stayed. But this is enough. Now Germina is part of Reim.”

“And that’s a good thing? It feels like you just gave up the country.”

Flos smiled.

“Hardly. You think I could manage to subdue Germina without years of martial rule? This was far easier since I knew the Quarass could be reborn. And this is how my empire always expanded. Province by province, kingdom by kingdom. Germina will regain much of its strength with its Quarass, and now its armies will march alongside mine.”

“It’s that easy?”

The King shrugged. Venith had left and was returning with two horses.

“Not at all. Orthenon will need to work closely with the Quarass, and there will still be unrest, difficulties…but it will be far easier now. Venith, I commend you for keeping Germina and the area from full-blown revolt until the Quarass was found. I was honestly worried that they’d forgotten the ritual.”

“It was nothing, your Majesty. And I will await Orthenon’s visit with pleasure.”

Lady Maresar rolled her eyes and smiled silently. Flos grinned and patted the stallion Venith led towards him. He swung himself into the saddle as Teres awkwardly mounted with a stirrup.

“I missed your lies, Venith. Well, Teres! To Hellios, then! It is a two-day ride from capital to capital nonstop. If we rest our horses and with my Skills, we’ll make it in one. Come! You can tell me a story of gods on the way.”

And like that he was gone. Venith shouted at the escort of [Soldiers] to ride after the King of Destruction as he rode down the road that slowly changed from mud bricks to just dirt. The King of Destruction rode on, Teres, a girl from another world at his side. It was early spring. And this was how the King of Destruction spent his days. Riding, talking about other worlds, laughing with his companions of old.

And plotting to take over the world. As one does.

—-

The ride through Germina’s lands was quiet. That wasn’t to say that Teres didn’t see people. There were villages, even a town they passed on the road heading east. But there were no travellers on the road aside from a City Runner who took one look at their procession and started running perpendicular to them.

Germina might have had trade, but the [Merchants] and caravans normally travelling between nations and cities had no desire to be caught up in the continuing battles between Germina’s remnants and Flos’ army.

Only one type of caravan would brave the journey right now, and Teres was glad not to see any of that sort. She contented herself with looking around at the arid lands and sparse settlements until that grew boring. Germina, as a nation of oases, was relatively flat, much like Reim. Hellios was apparently more fertile, if only by comparison.

It was a day’s ride from Ger to the capital city of Hellios, Blalevault, even with the fresh horses and Flos’ Skill, which made the ground pass underneath the hooves of their horses flash past. It was a deceptively slow journey to Teres; until she realized that she was comparing the speed they were going at to that of a car.

Still, a day was a day, which meant that somehow they had to pass the time. Teres didn’t know how the [Soldiers] following them and riding ahead did it, but Flos occupied himself by talking with her. It went something like this. They would be riding along in silence, Teres not thinking of much in particular and zoning out until she had a thought or question and rode closer to Flos to ask it. Or he did the same to her.

“So, if bringing the Quarass back was so important, why did you wait for nearly a month to do it? Venith was sending you reports of how hard it was to keep control. Why did you wait for them to decide to do it and not do it yourself? Or at least tell them how to do it? That priest guy had no idea.”

Flos, was the King of Destruction, but he was surprisingly approachable. And he liked to talk. He shrugged as he rode, back straight, as if he’d been born in the saddle. Teres had learned to ride, if only to keep up, but she wasn’t nearly as good as Flos or Orthenon. Even though she’d gained the [Rider] class and several Skills.

“The court of the Quarass was in hiding, Teres. They feared I would execute them, especially if they knew what I was doing. If I had told them I desired the Quarass’ rebirth, do you think they would have trusted me? No, they would have been suspicious. Moreover, I think that the rebirth of the Quarass is a function of the will of the people as much as it is a hidden requirement of her class. If I had forced it, perhaps the ritual would have failed.”

“Oh. So what is the Quarass? You killed her—and now she’s back? I thought she was like a [Queen].”

“She is the ruler of Germina. No more, no less. There is no one in the world like her. [Quarass] is a unique class. And the first Skill she obtains is [Memory of the Quarass].”

Teres could guess what that Skill did. She shuddered, remembering the old look in the girl’s eyes.

“Is it evil? I mean, they turned that girl into…”

Flos’ face was troubled. He hesitated, and casually slapped a bug threatening to bite his horse out of the air.

“She would not have gained the class had she not wished it. But you are right, the child did not know what being Quarass meant. Still, if you are asking whether the class and Skill will take her over—it affects her, but each Quarass is different. I should know; I have met three now. Her Skill does not convey wisdom, nor, I think, is it always helpful. But that child had a spark of her own. She may prove to be a better ruler than the previous Quarass. At the very least, she and I are allies. But I will keep Maresar and Venith here until Orthenon may speak with her and establish governance to his liking. And hers.”

Teres digested that. She frowned.

“Okay. But how do the memories carry over? That was like…rebirth.”

“A form of it. It is a function of her class, which, as I said, is unique. A power that Germina somehow discovered. Or created. Secrets, Teres. This world has secrets. The power of the Quarass’ class to resurrect itself is one such, if a small one.”

That didn’t seem small to Teres. She opened her mouth, inhaled a bug at speed and coughed. Flos slapped her on the back, laughing, until she spat out the bug and washed her mouth out twice.

“Beware of bugs. Especially as fast as we travel. My turn to ask a question. I believe I asked you to tell me more about gods on the way here, Teres. You told me much about the various religions…can you elaborate on these holy wars you said took place?”

Teres scowled as she spat some water out. She could still taste bitterness in her mouth. And a feeler. She spat that out too.

“Trey’s the one to ask.”

“But he stayed in the capital. I don’t think he enjoys riding or my company enough. These holy wars?”

Sighing, Teres thought for a second.

“I don’t know. Okay. There were these kingdoms who believed in Christianity. And they had the Pope.”

“He who was highest of the [Clerics].”

“Um…yes? The closest man to god. And he said—I think, something like ‘the people living in these countries don’t believe in our god. Go kill them.’ And that’s what happened.”

“And the nations who practiced Christianity…?”

“They went to war. And they killed a lot of Muslims. And they got killed.”

“Hm. It feels like you skipped over a lot of the details in your account. But I understand the gist. And these nations sent their warriors to fight and die? For a god’s will? Did he manifest to them?”

“Nope. The Pope said so and so everyone went off.”

“On his word alone. Unbelievable.”

Flos frowned to himself. Teres couldn’t help but interject her opinion.

“That’s faith for you. It makes people crazy. Anyways, Trey’s the one you want to talk to. He actually paid attention during the sermons in church.”

“I will ask him about it.”

Flos nodded slowly. He glanced up at Teres.

“Still, faith is a powerful thing. I’ve thought on it, Teresa Atwood. And I believe it is one of the fundamental differences that separates my world from yours.”

“Probably. But I mean, didn’t those people love their Quarass? That entire ritual looked a lot like something religious, you know.”

“Mm. Perhaps it did. But I think there were differences.”

“Which are?”

The King took a few moments to think. He opened his mouth, frowned, and spat out a bug. Teres was vaguely disappointed by that.

“The difference is this. In this world, Humans—no, people know the gods to be dead. We cannot believe in them; I have never heard of a…[Preacher] in my world, let alone religion. And so, we know there is a limit to all things. Immortals may die. Magic is finite. The gods are dead.”

That was a cynical outlook on life. Unusual, coming from Flos, who was normally impossible to depress. The King of Destruction went on as Teres shielded her face with a scarf.

“Faith has its limits in the heart, Teres. Not like your world. And so I may conquer the hearts of Germina’s folk, by nurturing their fear that the line of the Quarass will die out and by giving them hope that I will let it continue. They do not have the blind faith of your world that some…god will swoop down from the heavens to make things right. That is what they do, isn’t it?”

It sounded like Flos had trouble saying the word ‘god’. He had to frown as he pronounced it, but he’d been saying the word more often of late. And asking questions about god nonstop on their ride here, for that matter. Teres nodded, smiling at the image of gods swooping down out of the sky like birds. But wait, wasn’t that what they did? She frowned.

“Well, some myths, er, have that. Beams of light from heaven. But sometimes it’s just a voice. Or—or people say miracles happen thanks to god, like a bridge collapsing and no one getting hurt. But they never see god. It’s all invisible. The invisible hand of god.”

“Ah, invisible workings. So they flit about invisibly?”

“No, no…they’re miracles. It might not even be god, but you see, if there was a god he’d be omniscience and omnipotent. So he could just save lives by willing it. You see…”

Teres had trouble explaining what a god was to Flos. He seemed incapable of grasping a being that was all-knowing and all-powerful. He kept asking for clarification until he finally got it. And when he did, he just shook his head with a vague look of disappointment.

“Omnipotence. Omniscience. Odd things to imagine. Your gods sound more like dreams, to me. How would such a being exist? Why would they let evil exist? Ah, wait, I know the answer to that one. Evil must exist, or how else would we outline what is good? Dark needs light to shine. Ah, but it must be aggravating to be a god!”

He laughed heartily as Teres gave him a sidelong look. That was another thing Flos did. One second he was interested in mundane things—like ice cream—the next, he was speaking of good and evil as if he understood the perspective of gods. She rolled her shoulders and shifted in her saddle, wishing she had a pillow.

“I guess that’s what some people say. But that’s only if gods exist. And that’s up for debate.”

Half a year ago she would have laughed at any suggestion gods existed. Now she wasn’t so sure. Flos smiled.

“If they exist. If they exist? And here I thought your world had more faith than mine.”

The question and the smile—more like a smirk—needled Teres. Sometimes Flos behaved that way, as if their two worlds were in competition. And sometimes Teres felt as if she had to defend Earth, as if Flos’ admiration or scorn mattered.

“Well, we can’t know for certain! There are contradictions in holy books, like dinosaurs existing when ‘apparently’ the god of Christianity made the earth in seven days. And no one can prove their god exists because they don’t do miracles, which all apparently happened in the past. So it sounds like bollocks to me. Anyways, if people knew it wouldn’t be faith, right? It’s the eternal question or some shite like that.”

To the young woman’s surprise, her outburst only provoked gales of laughter from Flos, that made some of the soldiers riding ahead of them turn to see what was going on. He righted himself in his saddle before he fell off and gave Teres an amused glance.

“Ah, Teres! The eternal question? You clearly don’t believe in gods, but you don’t understand. Teres, you are that answer to your world’s eternal question. Because you can ask whether god exists or not in this world. I cannot. The fact that your world can even believe in gods while we know that none exist in our world…doesn’t that prove there are yet some in yours?”

It—Teres opened her mouth. Closed it. She rode on, shaken. Flos shook his head.

“Or maybe it only proves we had some. And that they now lie dead.”

He stared ahead. Teres was determined not to open that can of worms no matter what. She wondered what Trey would think when she told him what Flos had said. If they could talk without fighting. She slumped in her saddle. She and Trey hadn’t been getting along since…well, it was his fault and her fault. But she hated being alone from her twin.

“Do you always talk like this? Is that why none of the others would ride with you?”

Flos snorted; he seemed to enjoy it when Teres poked at him.

“They have their duties. And I don’t always pester my vassals. For one thing, they don’t have entertaining stories like you do. Well, not true ones at any rate. I’m not always so introspective, Teres. Sometimes, yes, I think deeply about the world. Other times I wonder what ‘soda’ tastes like. The rebirth of the Quarass was a time for deep thoughts. I fear our next errand will be a time for quick thinking and petty triviality.”

Teres glanced up the empty road. She thought she could see the land rising ahead of them.

“We’re going to Hellios, right? To conquer it? Crush it?”

“That. To bring Hellios into my kingdom, rather than waste time occupying it. Although we might have to expend more resources and time on Hellios.”

Flos sighed. He leaned on his saddle and his horse glanced up at him. Teres scrunched her eyebrows together.

“Okay, another question. If it’s important to take over both nations, why didn’t you do Hellios while you were waiting for Germina to resurrect their Quarass?”

The King of Destruction smiled again, although he was studying the landscape ahead with a kind of weary anticipation.

“Ah. That answer is simple. The Queen of Hellios, Queen Calliope, is haughty. As are Hellosians. A proud people, whereas the folk of Germina love their Quarass. It is far easier to convince them to submit once another nation has followed suit. Besides, a month of occupation proves to them that they cannot oust me so easily. The hearts of men are not so easily won over.”

“What about the hearts of women?”

“Even harder. But it’s vital we secure Hellios, as Orthenon tells me the other nations won’t let us consolidate these lands for much longer. We had a break during the winter and, I think, while the other kingdoms secured their borders in case I continued to advance. But our new neighbors won’t fall as easily as Germina or Hellios this time.”

Teres’ stomach churned.

“You mean, more armies? More war?”

“Perhaps. It need not come to that. But I wish to secure Hellios. If we do, we’ll have ample time to react to any threat coming from the north. There are a trio of nations bordering our lands at the moment to the north and east. Of them, the realm of Belchan and the Jecrass Republic are closest. Even so, Belchan is eight days north of Hellios’ capital even with a marching Skill for any army. No danger—unless we’re attacked from multiple spots at once.”

Eight days of marching with Flos’ Skill? Teres tried to figure out how far that was.

“How many miles is that?”

Flos counted on his fingers and gave up.

“You’ll have to ask Orthenon when we return. I don’t know exact distances of the places I’ve visited, but I know exactly how long it takes to march an army there, or a group of [Riders]. It’s one of the reasons Orthenon and Takhatres are so invaluable; they can reach the swiftest of attacking forces where Mars or Gazi or I would struggle to react in time.”

“But you sent Takhatres across the desert. Why did you do that? His tribe could have wiped out both Germina and Hellios.”

And saved Reim from nearly falling to the coalition army. Flos nodded as if he read Teres’ mind.

“Takhatres would be invaluable here. But he’s occupying the Empire of Sands. While his tribe harasses them they’re forced to expend forces on him, and he can hit any army trying to cross the desert. My kingdom needs that time. We can manage without Takhatres for the moment. Already you could say Reim has expanded three times over. If I can take control of Hellios and Germina’s armies and their economies, I will have a true base of power to draw on besides my Seven.”

“I guess…”

“Fear not, Teres. My enemies at present aren’t a concern. Any single army a kingdom nearby could field is no match for mine. And as I said, we have ample time to react if Hellios is secure. I’m more interested in the future. Now, I was thinking about our chat from last night…”

Oh no. Here we go again. Teres sighed. Flos had that look in his eye.

“So, these guns from your world. I understand they shoot hundreds of ‘rounds’ per minute. Bullets, which despite being tiny can go straight through armor. But Mars is surely immune to such weapons. Her armor is magical. I’ve seen it withstand countless weapons at point-blank range. A sledgehammer swung by an Ogre couldn’t dent it. A ballista couldn’t pierce her chest plate.”

“I understand that. But they’re guns, Flos. They’re a lot more powerful.”

“How much more? I refuse to believe your bullets have more force than a ballista in a single shot.”

“Oh yeah? What about tanks? They have…armor piercing rounds. They could put a hole in a castle. Can Mars survive that?”

“Yes.”

Flos’ calm expression made Teres grind her teeth.

“No she can’t. Don’t be stupid.”

“You haven’t seen Mars as I have, Teres.”

“And you haven’t seen a tank. Or a missile. They can blow up—look, if one hits her, she’s dead! Maybe she survives ordinary guns and not like…RPG’s or sniper rifles, but she can’t beat a tank. She can’t. One of them rolls through and it’ll shred an army, Mars or not. It has machine guns, Flos. I explained them to you. An army from this world can’t beat one from mine.”

The King of Destruction gave Teres a sideways look, almost irritated himself. He breathed out slowly.

“Fine. I accept the power of your weapons. But you are still incorrect. It would be simple to triumph in a battle I planned against your world.”

He raised a finger as Teres furiously opened her mouth. Instantly, her mouth shut. She glared as Flos went on.

“In case Mars isn’t totally proof against your missiles and tanks, I would find a single high-level [Pyromancer] and order the [Mage] to disable combustion on the enemy army. What will your guns do, then? From what I understand, they must ignite, mustn’t they?”

“Well, yes, but—guns aren’t that simple. It wouldn’t—”

Teres tried to remember how exactly guns did work. It wouldn’t work if—that wasn’t fair, was it? What about bombs? Or…she stared at Flos.

“How did you come up with that?”

He sighed.

“Easily. I spent several days devising numerous strategies against your world’s weapons until I realized your lack of magic is a crippling weakness. It doesn’t interest me any longer. What else have you?”

She glared.

“We have bombers. And nukes. I told you about them too. And before you say anything, they’re flying miles up. Too high for Amerys to reach like you said yesterday. How would you stop one of those?”

“A flying vessel that can go higher than even Amerys could reach, is it? Capable of destroying cities with a single weapon? I see. Indeed, that is a challenge, indeed…”

Flos murmured to himself, stroking his beard. Teres resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Every time she told him about the military might of Earth, or some device his world hadn’t dreamed of yet, Flos would grow excited.

“You know this is stupid, right? If our world invaded yours—and I don’t even know if that’s possible—you’d be fighting an entire world.”

“So? I have one right here. And mine is filled with species yours has never seen, Teres. We have magic. You have technology. It would be a fair battle in some ways.”

“Please.”

“No, I’m serious. If I had to prepare against Earth, if, say, a portal had opened between our world and yours and both sides were sending armies through, I know how I’d begin to compete with your advanced weaponry.”

Teres felt a flutter of uncertainty in her chest. He’d been thinking of it?

“Really? How?”

Flos casually stretched one arm, then the next.

“The first thing I would do is collect some guns and armor to be copied and retreat. Prisoners too; your world’s [Engineers] and soldiers. After all, traitors and turncoats exist in every world. And even if producing these weapons is beyond us, we can always capture more. But I would make every effort to manufacture some of the materials of your world. And—yes, I think preparations can be made. Kevlar is a cloth, you said? An army of Stitch-People made of kevlar would do well against your powerful guns, wouldn’t you say?”

“Stitch-People? But—you can’t do that. Can you?”

Teres tried to imagine the few String People she’d met being made out of kevlar. It boggled the mind. But that was how they worked, right? They sewed fabric for limbs. Flos looked amused at her reaction.

“Of course they could. Any cloth would do. String People are like Dullahans in that they craft themselves. But if I had to choose between the two, I would wish for an army of the Stitch-folk every time. Tell me, how would an army of Humans with guns face a similar army, equipped with guns but made of this wonderful material you and Trey keep telling me exists, but can’t describe in any detail?”

Teres bit her lip. Flos eyed her and went on.

“Now, to counter your aircraft…you said they’re electrical? Amerys might be able to disable them no matter how high they fly so long as she knows they’re there. But just in case…how high did you say they could fly, again? And how fast?”

“Mach 9.”

“And that means…? Come now, Teres. This is all hypothetical. And besides, I wouldn’t conquer your world right away if we discovered a portal leading between our worlds.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“I’d request their surrender first.”

—-

Some days Teres didn’t know if Flos was merely insanely overconfident, or if he was actually deviously intelligent. Certainly she’d given up trying to convince him that Earth was impossibly advanced for his world to take on. After hearing some of Flos’ theories about how to counter everything from a nuclear bomb to bioweapons, she was half-believing he’d have a shot. The thought wasn’t pleasant, but Teres was also sure of something else.

Flos was a good ruler. A good man, for what that was worth. Yes, he believed slavery was fair, but that was a fault she was trying to work on. And he might be the King of Destruction, but she had never seen him behave in a way that was less than…noble. It was strange for Teres to admire someone; she was used to crushes like she had on Orthenon, but Flos inspired. However, what she sometimes forgot was that he didn’t always inspire loyalty, like the devotion of his subjects. Sometimes what he inspired was hate.

Case in point. The next day, after a long night of riding, sleeping after being pestered by Flos to describe various military scenarios and then what Oreos were like, Teres woke up after four hours of sleepy riding to find they’d passed into Hellios and were nearing its capital. It was…northing like Ger had been.

If the capital of Germina had been quiet, discontent, simmering out of sight, Hellios’ capital city was a full-blown boil with a grease fire on top. Flos’ army was camped outside of its gates and Teres could see scorch marks on the earth and arrows. Fresh ones too; a new volley was launched and landed well clear of Flos’ army camped well outside of the walls of the city.

Hellios had fallen, and the city had been taken, but Flos’ army had withdrawn from occupying it after Orthenon had decided it wasn’t worth the casualties it would take to hold it. Part of that reasoning probably had to do with the person he’d stationed in charge of the army.

“My king! I’ve longed to see you!”

The instant Flos approached the camp, a tall, bodacious woman dressed in very form-fitting armor ran out to greet him. She was tall, impossibly fair of skin, and had the kind of beauty that inspired the words bodacious, exquisite, delectable, and uh, beautiful.

Mars the Illusionist stopped in front of Flos’ horse, beaming up at him. Teres glanced sideways at her as some [Hostlers] raced forwards to take the horses of the other soldiers. She dismounted as Flos, laughing, leapt from the saddle.

“Mars! How goes it, my [Vanguard]? I see that Hellios still has some fire!”

The woman pursed her lips, looking vexed but only for a second. Luscious lips. That was another phrase. She needed no makeup, and her skin was perfect despite the heat. Teres could see some of the male soldiers—and two of the female ones—giving Mars a long look. She tried not to stare as well. Flos appeared impervious to Mars’ charms, however. The [Vanguard] and one of Flos’ infamous Seven led them to the center of the camp.

“The defenders shoot arrows at us any time we get within range, milord. But they’re smart enough not to sally out or sneak out—at least, after the last eight times they tried. We have them cornered and they know it. They don’t dare attack so long as I’m here.”

She reclined on a chair, her body languid, her molded breastplate gleaming in the sun. Teres stared at her chest. She met Mars’ eyes as the [Vanguard] winked at her.

“Hello, Teres. Like the spell? It’s a new look.”

“It’s great. Do all of your illusions have huge breasts?”

“They attract attention. And arrows, strangely enough. I can’t count how many [Mages] have seared me straight across the chest rather than aim for my head, for all it looks unguarded…”

Mars sighed, and her lips curved up in a smile that would win any heart. But it was all an illusion. Teres knew that, although she had to fight to remember that when a stray gust of wind blew Mars’ hair, or she wiped a bit of dust from her gleaming, gilded armor.

But that was Mars the Illusionist for you. She hid her true form with spells. But illusion or not, she was the most powerful of Flos’ servants, at least in level. And with her present, Hellios’ forces cooped up in the walls of their city wouldn’t dare sally forth. Teres had seen Mars fight in a battle only once. And when she had, she’d been unstoppable. Invincible.

Still, Mars was hardly a leader like Venith or Maresar and the camp showed it. She’d left the organization to a [Strategist] under her command and apparently she’d spent her time in camp sparring, taunting Hellios’ defenders, or drinking and gambling.

“A true soldier to the last. But I need into that city, Mars. Would you care to walk to me?”

“After a month spent staring at the walls and listening to their weak insults? Walking with my sovereign? You don’t have to tempt me any further.”

Mars leapt up. She grabbed Flos’ arm and laughing, he followed her. The two walked through the camp as men and women raced forwards, but Flos walked through them with a single sentence.

“I intend to take Hellios myself.”

And that was it. The [Strategist], one of Venith’s men, fell back with the others. They didn’t ask how Flos intended to do it, or if he was crazy. The King of Destruction wanted to take Hellios with just Mars and Teres. So they watched and the [Soldiers] dashed out of their tent and cheered Flos’ name.

King of Destruction! Teres could fell the reverberation in the air as they approached Hellios’ capital. Blalevault was a city set into the side of the mountain, hence the reason why the defenders couldn’t go around Mars’ army in the cover of night. But it was well-fortified and the walls were imposing. Flos stopped at the point where the arrows littered the ground. Behind him, his army spread out, chanting his name.

“Flos!”

The roar came from thousands of voices. Hellios seemed to shake with the sound. The King of Destruction raised a hand and his army roared. Teres, standing next to him, shook with the sound, but neither Flos nor Mars moved. She was smiling up at him, and he was smiling at her. Like the oldest of friends or lovers. That was how Flos looked at all of his Seven. It was a look to make Teres jealous, for only her bond with Trey was more intimate.

Hellios had spotted the King of Destruction. They’d heard him long ago. Teres could hear someone blowing a horn and saw people racing across the walls, filling it. Archers, [Knights], she saw several draw their bows back.

“Incoming. Stand behind me, Teres.”

Mars warned the girl. She raised her shield as the first arrows flew. They were over three hundred meters away from the walls by Teres’ metric reckoning, but a few arrows still flew all that distance. Then one shot from a bow aimed straight at Flos. It fell through the air, aimed at his face—

The arrow snapped on Mars’ shield as she lifted it. The [Vanguard] poised like some kind of action hero, lifting her shield over Flos’ head. The King of Destruction held still as Hellios loosed more arrows, but whoever had shot that arrow must have used a Skill, for none came closer.

“Hellios! I have come to speak with your Queen! Open your gates and let us enter in peace!”

Flos bellowed the words at the walls. His voice was so loud! Teres winced. She saw the bows stop loosing arrows. For a second there was silence, then she heard a distant shout.

“Sands take you, King of Destruction!”

Someone on the walls bellowed the words back. There was a shout, and more sound as the defenders screamed and jeered. The sound was a cacophony with few words Teres could hear, but what she could make out was all foul.

Flos’ army shouted back, but they fell silent as Flos raised a hand. Mars glared at Hellios.

“The barking of a defeated army, your Majesty. They can’t hold out for even a day and they know it. And Orthenon has the rest of the country locked down. Do you want me to send the army forth? We can take those walls.”

“No. I won’t waste lives. Ours or theirs. This is simple enough, anyways. Hellios might not be Germina in terms of loving their Quarass, but they are still loyal.”

Flos walked forwards, heedless of the second volley of arrows that fell short and the fireball that exploded after only a hundred meters in the air. He raised a hand and pointed at the walls—the jeering redoubled in volume as the people on Hellios’ walls dared the King of Destruction to come closer. But Flos only looked at one person.

“Mars! Enter the throne room. If anyone threatens my subjects or myself, put Queen Calliope to death and slay everyone in the castle! My army, if I or Teres should fall, burn Blalevault to the ground and erase Hellios from every map in the world.”

The people on Hellios’ walls suddenly went quiet. Behind Flos, his army roared his name. Teres turned to stare at Flos. He wasn’t smiling.

Mars was. At his command, she strolled forwards, her bright red hair, the color of today, last time it had been purple, streaming behind her in the wind. Her face was bare, her armor beautiful. But it fooled no one.

Here came Mars the Illusionist. Teres saw the defenders pull back as one. Then they began firing and loosing spells as she came within range.

Hundreds of arrows struck Mars in the face, across her armor, and yes, across her breastplate. A [Fireball] exploded, engulfing her in flames. Someone threw a bolt of lightning. Both standard spells. War spells that could kill a group of [Soldiers] in a single blast. But when the smoke cleared, Mars was walking forwards. Her pure skin wasn’t scratched. Her armor gleamed.

An illusion. But the Mars underneath was just as unharmed, Teres knew. And the knowledge made Hellios’ defenders quail, then redouble their assault. Teres watched as they shot quiversful of arrows at her, and then, when she was within forty feet of the walls, they just gave up.

“Open the gates. Or Mars will cut every soldier on the walls down.”

Flos bellowed at Blalevault’s walls. They hesitated, but this time Teres could sense the fear on the distant figures. The gates opened and Mars strolled through.

“Our turn.”

Flos calmly walked forwards. Teres stared at him and then walked after him, cringing as the walls grew closer.

“Wait! But should we let Mars—”

“If they were going to shoot me, they would do it regardless. No, they’ll refrain, tempting a target as I might be. And those who think to kill me will be held back by those who fear for their lives, or their families.”

“Are you sure?”

Flos looked back over his shoulder.

“No. So you need not accompany, Teres. But I will protect you if someone tries.”

For a second Teres debated staying as Flos walked onwards. But perhaps it was his nature as [King], or maybe it was her. She followed.

Mars was through the gates by the time they arrived and heading up the street. Blalevault was organized such that the street leading through the central gates led straight up towards the keep built into the back of the mountain. Teres saw that while the defenders had given up, some were still trying to hold her back from the palace.

They couldn’t stop her. Teres saw a man fling himself at Mars. He was as tall as her illusion and broader still, but when he tried to stop her with a bear hug she just kept walking. His legs began sliding and he scrabbled for purchase. He couldn’t so much as break her stride and ended up being dragged ten feet before she kicked him off her.

“After Mars.”

Flos walked through the gates. Teres stared up at the faces on the walls. Hundreds of eyes stared hatred and fear at Flos. If she had time, she could have stared at Hellios impressive walls, built up from thick-cut blocks of stone, or the architecture of the city, which was all stone, intricate work compared to Germina’s simple mud huts, but terribly lacking in color despite the colorful roofs. If she had time she could have seen the people, judged the condition of Hellios’ defenders after a month of defeat. But Flos was walking so fast that Teres could only see a blur of faces.

They were all there. Hellosians, the people of Blalevault. Staring at Flos, some clearly trying to shout insults at him. But fear and his presence held their tongues. Flos walked up the street, glancing to his left and right, his face impassive. What he felt, Teres couldn’t guess at. He was moving too fast. He’d spend two days in Germina, blending in with the people under his illusion spell, listening to them. But here he was nearly at the castle when someone threw a rock at him.

“Flos!”

The King was already turning. His sword was in its sheathe, but it slashed the rock into fragments before the world had left Teres’ mouth. The crowd gasped and drew back in horror. The King of Destruction turned and pointed at the culprit. She froze, tiny hand lifting a second rock.

A child. A girl, who was instantly shielded by her mother. The people of Blalevault stared at the girl in horror, and then at Flos, remembering his vow. The King of Destruction studied the girl for a second and then shook his head.

“Children don’t count.”

The breath that the crowd let out was like a gust of wind. Flos paused as Teres stopped by his side. He looked at the child holding the rock.

“I hate you! Die, King of Destruction!”

She struggled in her mother’s grip. Children were supposed to be cute, but there was nothing cute in the way this girl’s face contorted. Her mother held onto her.

“Don’t, spare her, your Majesty, please!”

She begged as Flos drew closer. The people around the woman drew back. Teres saw a few men clench their fists and thought that if Flos hurt the girl, they would attack him, order or not. But that wasn’t what Flos did. He bent and looked down at the girl.

“Why do you hate me, child?”

The girl went still for a second in her mother’s arms. She looked up.

“You killed my da.”

Then she threw herself at Flos. Her mother had to drag her back. Flos looked at her, and then around at the citizens of Hellios. They stared at him, and the same hatred in the girl’s eyes was in theirs.

Then Teres understood. Hellios was different from Germina in one way. The people of Germina had hated Flos for killing the Quarass. For bringing war to the country. For all these things, they hated Flos, but Hellios’ hatred ran deeper. It was darker. And Flos knew it.

“What is your name, girl.”

He looked down at the struggling girl. She shouted defiantly in his face.

“Delani of Hellios! You’ll die! Queen Calliope and Prince Siyal will cut off your head!”

She screamed, red in the face as she tried to kick at Flos. Teres saw his shoulders slump for a second. Then he knelt.

“Quiet.”

And the girl was. She held still, flushed with rage as Flos looked at her. He spoke quietly, to her, to the watchers.

“I did not make war first, Delani of Hellios. I understand that does nothing for your heart. But do not waste your life here. Grow. And wait. And find me when you are older if you still bear a grudge. I will be waiting.”

Then he stood up and kept walking. There was only silence after that. Delani’s mother dragged her away and no one else attacked Flos. Teres followed him. It was a long road up to the keep.

“They loathe me in Hellios twice-over, Teres. There are no memories of my reign over them that are pleasant. I have taken this city twice now. Both times I was hated. I fear Hellios will be harder to rule than Germina by far. But I will not have it stab at my back a third time.”

Flos spoke quietly as he entered the open doors to the castle. The wooden gates looked…cracked, as if Mars had rammed her way through. Teres stared at three bodies in the entryway. They looked unconscious, rather than dead.

The keep was stone. Impressively tall, but short. Apparently it was expanded with each generation. Flos slowed his pace; Teres could hear a commotion coming ahead of them, from the throne room. He stared at the servants cowering in the stone entryway and gestured around it to Teres.

“The first time I walked these halls was as a boy. I was…fourteen? Fifteen? Maybe fourteen. King Treland had made an incursion into Reim, hoping to take our lands after my mother’s passing.”

“What happened? I mean, how did you defeat him?”

Teres expected that was the start of Flos’ famous exploits, but he shook his head.

“I couldn’t defeat him in outright battle. So I used trickery, of course. His armies were stronger. He was a much higher-level [King] than I at the time. So I diverted my forces. Gazi—she was with me, even back then—helped me lead a small force north, around his troops. Treland hadn’t expected that and we took the walls by surprise. He’d left only a token force behind.”

“Oh. And then?”

Flos’ face was shadowed. He stared ahead. The doors to the throne room were thrown open. Two [Knights] lay on the ground. One’s faceplate had been bashed in. The other was clutching at his groin.

“I marched up to his throne room and challenged him to personal combat. He accepted, so I killed him there. Calliope was a young woman, then. It feels…like only a moment has passed since then. A moment and a century.”

Then he entered the throne room. Teres heard a blather of voices before he entered, shouts, and then dead silence. She walked forwards and saw a tableau.

Here stood the King of Destruction. His sword was sheathed at its side and he wore plain clothing, well, plain for a monarch, though she knew he had armor on underneath. And there was the court of Queen Calliope.

They had…nobles, courtiers, a Master of Ceremonies, [Knights], [Ladies] who might have been in waiting, pages, servants, even a steward of their own. But they were the backdrop. The true actors to the scene stood on the dais surrounding the throne at the back of the room.

Three of them. One was Mars. Her shield was on one arm and her sword drawn. She held it lazily, pointed at a woman with a crown sitting still in the chair. Queen Calliope. And next to her, his sword drawn and aimed at Mars, was Prince Siyal.

Teres had seen him once. He’d been a [Messenger] who’d brought news of war. She remembered an angry young man and found her memory hadn’t lied. Prince Siyal’s face was flushed and the expensive sword in his hands was held in a double-grip. Mars didn’t appear bothered, though the sword was nearly poking her in the cheek. She was only a few steps away from Queen Calliope, who stared past her at the King of Destruction with burning eyes.

Queen Calliope. She was…well, she looked like a [Queen]. In that she had an expensive dress on. And she had a crown, although that was silver rather than gold. But other than that? She didn’t look like Flos, who had the bearing of a hero of stories. Calliope just looked like a middle-aged woman, hair going to grey but artfully concealed by some kind of hair dye that hadn’t been applied recently enough to cover a few hairs. She looked normal.

And perhaps that was most telling of all. Because when Flos walked forwards, the room shuddered. The King of Destruction slowly walked towards the throne. Mars stepped back, sheathing her sword as Flos came to a stop, still far away from the throne. He spoke quietly, but with that same echo Teres had heard yesterday.

“Twice now, Hellios has made war on Reim. Once, Treland invaded and I took his head. The second time? You have cause for fury, Calliope, but you acted poorly as ruler of your nation.”

“Flos of Reim. You will answer for your crimes against Hellios.”

Queen Calliope’s voice shook, but whether with rage or fear it was hard to say. Her eyes were locked on Flos and her hands were white on the armrests of her throne. Prince Siyal hadn’t lowered his sword, only pointed it at Flos.

“Threaten my mother, King of Destruction and I will—”

Flos raised a finger. Prince Siyal’s mouth snapped shut. Teres could see him trying to open it furiously, but both monarchs never looked away from each other. Flos shook his head.

“Tell me, Calliope. Was vengeance worth the cost?”

“You murdered my husband.”

“He attacked Reim. I challenged him to a duel. He lost. I did not despoil Hellios, though it was within my power. Now, you send your armies against me. Twice, Calliope. Should I repay you for the lives of my people you slaughtered as they fled towards me?”

Queen Calliope’s face didn’t move, though the rest of the court visibly drew back.

“Do it. And the world will see you for the monster you are.”

For a second Teres saw Flos’ eyes narrow. He glanced around the room and she thought he was measuring up every life there. Weighing it. Standing next to the throne, Mars looked around, her gaze cold, her smile taunting. But then the King of Destruction shook his head.

“I do not come here for your head, Calliope of Hellios. I do come for your kingdom. I would have Hellios join Reim, have your people work with mine as equals and your armies and mine march to the ends of the earth together.”

The intake of breath was sharp. Calliope glared at Flos.

“Never. We would rather die than join with you. That is Hellios’ answer, Flos of Reim. And Germina would answer the same in a heartbeat, if you have not asked them already.”

Again, Teres sensed that the room wasn’t quite on Calliope’s side. Even her son, Siyal, gave his mother a glance before glaring at Flos. The King of Destruction spread his hands.

“Germina has agreed. The Quarass of Germina was dead, but now she has risen. And the new Quarass has pledged to join her kingdom with my own.”

The Quarass lives. The murmur that went through the court was short-lived. Calliope glared around, and then compressed her lips.

“My answer stands. What will you, then, King of Destruction? Or—will you accept this? Withdraw your forces from Hellios. When the last of your soldiers is gone, I will accept an alliance with your kingdom.”

Teres glared at Calliope as more murmurs sprang up. She saw Mars roll her eyes and mime to Flos a punching motion. The King ignored her. But he did stare at Calliope with something like disgust.

“I trust you less than the Quarass of Germina. I will not settle for an alliance, even sealed by blood. I require your abdication, Calliope. You will not be harmed on my word as a King. But Hellios will be part of Reim. Until such time as it is earned back.”

“What?”

The word burst from Siyal’s mouth at last. He strode down the dais—two men and a woman threw themselves at him, stopping him from approaching Flos. Siyal struggled and then shouted at the King, face flushed.

“You dare to claim our throne? By what right? King of Destruction or not—”

He fell silent as Flos looked at him directly once. Siyal paled as Flos glared.

“Yes. I dare, Prince Siyal. By what right? By right of conquest. Or did you think this was a negotiation? Do you think you held off Mars with that sword? If I ordered it, she would clear this room of life in a minute.”

“Thirty seconds.”

Flos ignored that too. He pointed at Siyal, who’d gone pale.

“Did you think my words were an idle boast? I could erase Blalevault as easily as Hellios. I could empty this city and wash your stone buildings with blood. I should. By rights I should, to make up for Hellios’ slaughter of my people. For war. I do not because I remember that the people of a country do not answer for the monarchs’ crime. So I offer your mother—and you—this one opportunity. Take it, or I will take your lives.”

Siyal backed up a step. Then he half-looked at his mother. She stared at him and Teres wondered what kind of a mother she had been. She got her answer as Calliope dipped her head slightly. Siyal froze, and then turned. And he raised his sword.

“Flos of Reim. I challenge you to a duel. For Hellios! To the death!”

The throne room was silent. Teres saw one of the people around Siyal, the man, trying to pull him back. The woman was sobbing, pleading with him. Flos stared at Siyal, and then looked at Calliope. This time Teres felt his fury like a hot brand, burning her chest.

“He is your son. Low, even for you, Calliope. Or did you think it would work? If so, you understand nothing of why your husband fell.”

“Your enemy is me, Flos of Reim! I challenge you—”

Siyal paused as Flos looked at him again. The King of Destruction shook his head.

“I refuse your challenge.”

“Then your honor is forfeit! Leave go of me—”

Siyal struggled forwards, but stopped as Mars blocked his way. There was no smile on her face this time as she placed her blade in front of his chest. Flos looked at Siyal.

“Do not throw away your life, Prince Siyal. If you raise your blade against me, Mars will answer you. And she is not merciful in battle.”

The young man hesitated, raising his blade. And Teres prayed he wouldn’t try it. Siyal glanced at his mother again, but she gave him no cue this time.

“I—better to die defending my home than to see it destroyed! You would tear Hellios apart and destroy our legacy!”

The [Prince] hurled the words at Flos, as if trying to convince himself. Flos sighed. But he faced Siyal more readily than Calliope.

“No. Recall what I said to your mother. I take Hellios, but only because I find its ruler unworthy of it.”

Now there was another conversation happening. A different tone than the raw contempt between Calliope and Flos. Siyal wavered, his sword loose in his grip. Teres thought she could have disarmed him with a single blow. If Orthenon had seen Siyal’s grip, he would have smacked the [Prince] across the head.

“Then—Hellios is to be mine? If my mother abdicates?”

Mars rolled her eyes. Flos was more patient and just shook his head again.

“Are you worthy of it? No. But you might be, in time. You are young, foolish. But I have seen worse become the best of men. Your mother will not rule Hellios, but you might. Here is what I offer. Serve me, Siyal of Hellios. Win battles in my name. Grow, [Prince], into a man who could lead your country. And I will restore Hellios to you. Not just your lands of now, but the lands Hellios held in days of yore.”

“What?”

The court was shaking. From fear, something like incredulity was blossoming. Hope, worming its way out of despair. Siyal shook his head.

“You don’t own those lands! And Hellios was mighty! In our founding—how do you offer kingdoms so easily?”

The King of Destruction spread his hands. He turned to face the room, slowly looking at the faces around him.

“How now? Boy, I am Flos. One day I will rule all of Chandrar and the lands beyond it. Why should I not reward my loyal vassals? But a kingdom must be won by valor and service. So that is my offer to you, as a [King] to a [Prince]. Will you accept it?”

The [Prince] wavered. He stared at Flos white-faced. And Teres saw his sword-tip lower. Or maybe his arms were just tired? But the voice came from the throne, harsh and unrelenting.

“Siyal will never serve you, Flos of Reim. And I will never leave this throne.”

Flos looked up. Calliope was staring at him. She stood, then. It was a grand gesture as she pointed down at Flos. But she still seemed smaller.

“If you wish to take Hellios, it will not be with false promises. Do as you did in decades past, Flos of Reim. Or begone from my sight.”

She glared at Flos. And he bowed his head. Teres saw him close his eyes. And then open them a moment later. Flos sighed. Then he shrugged.

“So be it.”

He began walking towards Calliope. Flos strode up the throne room, casually, as if he were going for a stroll. But he drew his sword. And his eyes were locked on Calliope’s head.

Teres felt a surge of cold panic run through her. He wasn’t going to—now? Here? Just like that?

The suddenness had caught everyone else off-guard as well. For a moment Teres saw them make the same incredulous assessment. And then the terrifying realization that Flos was serious.

“The Queen—”

Several warriors lunged forwards. But they stopped when Mars turned to face them. Siyal was on the floor, choking, clutching at his throat where she’d struck him. Flos kept walking. Calliope backed up, sat down on her throne. She stared at Flos. He came up the dais steps, two at a time. He raised his sword as the noise reached a furor behind him and Teres ducked behind Mars, her sword drawn too. And he—

“Enough! I yield. I abdicate. I abdicate.”

The words burst from Calliope’s lips. She stared up at Flos. He paused, sword in hand. Slowly, he sheathed it. Then he nodded.

“Do it, then.”

With all eyes on her, with trembling hands, Calliope lifted the silver crown from her head. Flos took it. Then without looking he hurled it across the room. Someone whimpered. Calliope stared at Flos. He nodded.

“Good. Then I accept your crown, Calliope. Let it be known that you have abdicated, and that I take Hellios as my own. Prince Siyal will not become [King]. But I pledge upon my own crown that should he prove his worth, I will grant him Hellios.”

He turned and walked down the steps of the dais. Siyal scrambled up onto all fours. He coughed, and then shouted with a strangled voice.

“Do you think I’ll serve you just like that? King of Destruction?”

Flos didn’t bother to slow as he walked past Siyal.

“No. But if you are a true [King], you will come for your kingdom.”

And to that there was nothing Siyal said. He lowered his head as Flos strode past Mars and Teres. Silently, the two women followed him. Flos was nearing the doors to the throne room when Calliope shouted at his back.

She was on her feet now. tears streaked the makeup on her face. No longer a [Queen], just a woman. But she still hated him, Teres could see.

“Are you pleased with yourself, Flos of Reim? Or must you take everything from me on the tip of a sword? My husband and my home, and now my son?”

Flos turned once at the doors. He put his hand on them as Mars stood at his side. A King and his vassal. And he looked old, then. Old and disappointed. He stared back at Calliope. And it was disappointment, more than his contempt, more than his fury, that made the woman quail.

“Would that you had never invaded, Calliope. Would that Treland had never taken arms against me. Had that happened, I might never have been known as the King of Destruction and we might have lived in peace as neighbors. But, I think, we would never have been friends.”

Then he turned and was gone.

—-

They left Blalevault in silence. No one stopped them. If anything, the people were relieved. News of what had passed in the throne room was already spreading. And the people were…wary.

They did not hate Flos one bit less. But he had offered them something. Like Germina, it was a deal. A chance, a way out besides death. They could rise up, or they could bide their time. Wait and take the King of Destruction’s offer.

Teres thought she knew what they’d choose. But Flos didn’t seem happy, for all he’d won a bloodless victory. He gave curt orders in the camp. Watch the city; he didn’t trust Calliope, for all she was no longer [Queen]. Then he retired to Mars’ tent.

Teres found him inside, drinking a cup of wine with the [Vanguard]. Mars was talking softly, but she wasn’t as provocative as before. She’s switched guises; from a redheaded beauty to a younger woman, still flawless, but more like a soldier, with short-cropped green hair.

“Teres. Come in. We were talking about the past.”

Flos looked up. He took a gulp of his wine as Mars sat back and motioned for Teres to join her. There was a cup of wine and Teres accepted it, drinking a bit and grimacing. Mars drank the poorest of wines, but Flos didn’t seem to care.

“I don’t know if Siyal will accept my offer. Either way, it will be a long time before I trust Blalevault to a small guard. Orthenon will have to work hard to keep the city from erupting in plots. Then again—Hellios was manageable in my first campaign once I let them fight their enemies. Which they have many of, thankfully.”

“Do you think that Queen will give you trouble, Flos?”

Mars spoke softly, using Flos’ name for the first time Teres could remember. Flos shook his head, staring into his goblet.

“Calliope? She’s not brave or clever enough for true dissent. And she’s lost her class. Her Skills too, some of them. She’ll keep some Skills, gain a new class. But she cannot take back her abdication. Nor will her people forget. Siyal is the one who will decide their fates, if anyone from her line does.”

Mars nodded. She offered Flos a refill from a wineskin and he took it and drank again. Teres gulped. She looked from Mars to Flos.

“Were you—were you actually going to cut off her head if she didn’t say anything?”

She didn’t know if she wanted the answer. But to her surprise, that made Flos laugh. He looked up, grinning slightly.

“Kill her? No. Calliope must have thought so. But I had no intention of killing her in that moment. I was going to slice that damn throne in half. Take her crown, break it. Maybe spank her like a child.”

“What? But that’s so…”

Teres almost said childish. But Flos was smiling and Mars was giving her a thumbs up.

“Why shouldn’t I? And it would work better than you think. A [Queen] needs dignity, Teres. More than a [King], sometimes. And Calliope is prideful. I’m not in the habit of killing more than I have to, despite what the rumors about me say. And I don’t kill monarchs. Usually.”

Teres paused. That begged the question.

“How many rulers have you killed?”

Flos looked at Mars. She held up a number on her fingers, balancing the cup between her thighs. Flos shook his head and counted on his fingers.

“Er…sixteen? No—twenty three if you count…often in battle, we’re drawn to each other, you see. And when I was first starting out, other rulers thought they could best me in battle with their [Champions]. That stopped when Mars joined me, but I suppose I came to them after that.”

“Twenty three?”

“It happens. I don’t think of it as a good thing. And I don’t plan on killing any rulers out of turn, Teres. Calliope was a fool. But she had cause to hate me. Hellios does.”

“But you didn’t start the war. They did. And you spared them. They wouldn’t have done the same if they were in your shoes!”

Flos shook his head slightly. He looked tired now. Tired, when he had been full of life in Germina. He looked as old as he was, that was it.

“What did that ever matter? They have cause. That child has cause. And I will not take their hatred away. I will bear it. That is what a [King] does. For Reim, I will take the hatred of my enemies. For my kingdom, I will be a monster. But Teres—sometimes it is hard. I am glad you were here to see a day when I was not forced to be that monster.”

He looked up. And Teres saw him smile again. So she sat on a rug in Mars’ tent. And she said the first thing that came to mind.

“This is awful wine. You know, I heard there were magical wines in this world, which we don’t have. But this is terrible.”

“Hey, we’re in a camp outside of a city famous for exporting stone. What do you want?”

Mars protested. Flos laughed.

“This is terrible stuff. But I’ll drink it and gladly. Still, when we get the chance, remind me to show you some magical wines, Teres. They are quite lovely, although you can sometimes taste the magic in them. [Mages] love the stuff, but I prefer…”

He began telling Teres a story, and Mars chipped in, grinning. And Teres sat and listened to the King of Destruction as he forgot his gloom and became lively again. And she thought that was why she was here. She and Trey could do what all of Flos’ vassals and armies and Skills could not. So she kept him company for a while, as Hellios fell to the King of Destruction and the Quarass sat on her throne and looked to the future.

This was Chandrar. And believe it or not, this wasn’t that out of the ordinary as days went.

—-

As Teres and Flos drank in Mars’ tent outside the capital of Hellios, two nations away a young boy perched in the window of the tallest tower in Reim. Not in the window of the tower, of course, but on a stool just on the edge. Trey Atwood wasn’t suicidal. He stared across the nation of Reim, north and east, as if he could see his sister there. Of course he couldn’t, and any mental link with his twin sister was purely in his head. But he liked to imagine he knew she was well.

“There you are.”

A quiet voice spoke behind Trey. He yelped, nearly fell out of his stool, and windmilled desperately, although he was far from the window’s ledge. He fell onto the ground and looked up.

Four eyes returned his gaze. The fifth, main eye was shut. But Gazi’s sharp-toothed smile more than made up for its lack. The half-Gazer knelt. She was wearing her brown scale armor and on her back was tied the claymore she never let leave her side. Trey backed up on the ground, babbling.

“Oh please, not more training. I’m tired, I don’t want to be hit with sticks or cast spells while blindfolded and if you make me dodge your sword again, I swear I’ll jump and die and—”

“Shush.”

Gazi raised a curiously segmented finger to her lips. Trey went quiet. The Gazer put a foot on her chair and stared out the window. He saw one of her four eyes twist downwards. Another stared at him and the other two rolled around, exposing the whites of her eye. Checking the staircase behind her and the floors below.

Gazi, or Gazi the Omniscient, one of the King of Destruction’s Seven, waited for Trey to get up. She glanced out the tower and shook her head.

“If you jumped, you might not die.”

“What?”

She grinned at him, an unsettling smile that had too many teeth and sadistic malice. Trey knew it was a fake smile Gazi used, but it still intimidated him.

“If you lived, which you could, you’d break both legs but not die. With healing potions you’d be on your feet in a month. Sooner if my lord used better quality potions on you. Which he would. But you would wish you’d be dead.”

Trey shuddered. He edged away from the window. Gazi looked at him.

“You don’t like heights. Why did you come up here?”

“To escape you. I thought you were going to make me train.”

“It’s for your own good. If you aren’t accompanying my lord, you should be working to improve yourself. And if you fear heights, you should be cured of that.”

“No thanks. Please? Just let me look out. I’m waiting for Teres to get back. They’re done with Hellios now, right?”

Gazi tilted her head.

“Yes. Orthenon received a [Message] not an hour ago. He is preparing to ride to Germina and Hellios to arrange a system of control. We must have their resources, not to mention their warriors.”

“Flos got both nations to cooperate? Just like that?”

“He is the King of Destruction. But no, it will not be that simple. There will be unrest, but that is a job for the King’s [Steward]. And for me.”

Gazi indicated the sword on her back. The famous Named Adventurer and [Scout] was known for her ability to catch spies and plotters. Trey wondered if she would be fine with her wounded eye. Someone had damaged it before she returned to Reim. But Gazi seemed confident.

“If you say so. I just want to see Teres.”

And Flos. But Trey didn’t say that out loud. He both admired and hated the King of Destruction at times. Admired for what Flos was, and hated because he allowed slaves. Because he was still someone who would kill thousands to rule the world. Strangely, that was why Gazi seemed to have taken Trey under her wing. It was a mixed blessing, because of all of Flos’ Seven, Gazi was the one who scared Trey the most. Orthenon didn’t count.

“Well, we will all be back in time for his return. Orthenon moves faster and I will wait for his arrival. But in the meantime—”

“No training, please?”

Trey begged. Gazi gave him a sinister curve of the lips.

“Not yet. I was going to say there’s someone on the road.”

“Is it Flos? Teres?”

Trey heard a sigh as he scrambled to the window. He stared out across the roads leading to Reim, the capital city of Flos’ small kingdom.

“What did I just say? No. It’s someone you know, though. See if you can make them out. Use the spell.”

“The spell? But—”

A foot kicked Trey in the back. He screamed a bit and grabbed the window.

“Okay, okay! Don’t do that again!”

“Cast the spell. You’re capable of it. And you don’t need the staff. Do it with your hands. Concentrate…”

It was hard to do that with a steep drop below and Gazi’s impending foot threatening him from behind. But Trey had been taught by Gazi and she was surprisingly good, if ruthless, at teaching magic. He concentrated, pulling a strand of magic from a reservoir in his body he hadn’t known existed. He wove it upwards, focusing on a spell. Trey spoke.

“[Farsight]. Ow!”

His vision zoomed in, accompanied by a stinging pain as his pupils frantically sought to compensate. Trey blinked, and then stared at the tiny dot that he’d spotted coming down the road. His eyes widened. He saw a caravan of dark-skinned travellers. Camels, a wagon, no, a box with wheels completely covered from the sun. And leading them was a veiled girl he knew.

“Nawalishifra! She finally came!”

Gazi nodded. She leaned out the window carelessly besides Trey.

“She swore an oath. And it seems she’s brought much of her tribe with her. Good. My [King] has lamented the lack of a good [Blacksmith]. We have a few, but…let us greet her.”

“How?”

Gazi turned. Trey froze as he saw all four eyes turn towards him. He gripped the edge of the window, but he felt a hand on his.

“Gazi? Gazi, how—no, no, no—”

—-

“So, we have arrived. Strike my hands, but this journey was long. And we would have made it quicker had you dung-beetles not gotten half the carts stuck in the sand. This is Reim, is it? It seems too poor to be the home of the King of Destruction.”

Nawalishifra Tannousin, or Nawal of the Tannousin clan stopped and shaded her eyes as she stared up at the palace that was Reim’s capital. Behind her, the caravan of Tannousin warriors and clanswomen and clansmen stopped. They had travelled for weeks and were dusty with grime. Their passage into Reim had taken three stops as [Soldiers] halted them, but each time Nawal had spoken their name and they had let her pass.

Now she stared up at the towers, and then back at the walls of the city. Reim was circular, and it had towers jutting up at regular intervals across each wall. Much like a crown. In fact, she had heard that the towers had come to life and shot lightning down at the army that had besieged Reim not two months past.

The thought of so much devastation made Nawal shudder. But still she stood by her words. Tall as the citadel was, she could see the places where stone had eroded. The city, for all it was bustling, was too plain, and the people too underfed, too poor. Was this truly the home of the King of Destruction, whose grandeur and terror had conquered a continent?

A low voice from behind Nawal made her turn. One of the senior clanswomen, who was like Nawal, veiled, lowered her voice and hissed at Nawal.

“Nawalishifra, remember what the [Headman] told you, and the elders. Mind your tongue! You have sworn an oath and the King of Destruction sent part of his payment, but you are not to offend! You are a woman—”

“Do you think I do not know that, you sand clod, you? Bezha, do I not bleed monthly? Do I not have breasts? Am I not veiled? Do not speak to me of what I know. I will mind my tongue in the presence of the King of Destruction and his servants, and not before.”

Nawal glared irritably at Bezha. She heard a sigh from the older woman.

“Only know that you are here because no one else was suited and you made an oath, a foolish oath!”

“How was I to know that the master of Trey Atwood was the King of Destruction himself? Were it any other man, my boast would have been true. And it will still be true, the sands take me if I lie!”

“Do not be overconfident!”

Bezha snapped back. Nawal tossed her head, but kept silent. In truth, she was afraid. She was the best [Blacksmith] of the Tannousin clan since her father’s passing. But she was young, not of the level he had been and she feared the King of Destruction might scorn a weapon made by a woman, for all he had claimed otherwise.

If the elders and [Headman] could have sent anyone else, they would have. But Nawal was the only one skilled to work Naq-Alrama metal flawlessly. So she had come, and if she failed to uphold her vow to forge the King of Destruction a blade beyond what he had ever seen before, her tribe would surely suffer his wrath.

All these things were the knowledge that kept Nawal moving towards the citadel, though part of her was terrified and would have fled screaming. The King of Destruction. She had glimpsed him but once, speaking to the world, a figure as grand as she had imagined. What madness would his palace hold? What wonders? Part of her wondered if the stories of his majesty were over exaggerated. But surely there was some truth. Or else, why fear him? Surely…

Nawal paused near the gates. She had expected to be welcomed by a thousand servants, or to be ushered into the most meager of stables like insignificant servants until the King of Destruction deigned to see them. But neither event had occurred. A man was striding towards her, tall and gaunt, as smooth as a moonlight shadow across the courtyard. He was clearly a warrior of very high-level and Nawal was stepping back to let one of the men greet him. That was, until she heard the scream.

All of the Tannousin clan looked about in confusion. Some of the guards grabbed their weapons uncertainly. Nawal glanced to her left, to her right, behind her, at the strange man who’d stopped, and then up. She saw a shape hurtling from one of the towers and heard a familiar voice screaming.

“AaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhohgodI’mgoingtodie—”

Another shape plunged with him. The Tannousin caravan scattered in fear, but Nawal held put. She’d spotted the figure, and she saw the wand in the armored woman’s hand. As Trey Atwood plummeted to the ground, fifteen feet from it, Gazi raised a wand and spoke a word.

“[Featherfall].”

The two slowed. Trey, arms flailing, still screaming, slowed until he reached the ground. He landed softly and clung to the stones, shivering like…something that wobbled a lot. Nawal stared at the woman who’d landed on her feet next to him.

No, not woman. Gazer. Her four eyes turned towards Nawal, though her main eye remained shut. Nawal shuddered and the Tannousin clan backed up around her, keeping their eyes down. It was said that those who met the main eye of Gazi the Omniscient died soon thereafter. But Nawal was staring at the famed adventurer’s armor. At her sword.

Gazi grinned at the Tannousin clan, and then addressed Trey on the ground.

“You need to practice that spell. It’s always useful to know. I’ll toss you off the tower every morning until you can do it. Blindfolded. With your hands tied.”

“No…”

He moaned. And then looked up. Nawal’s smile was locked in place as Trey scrambled to his feet, blushing as he looked at her.

“Nawal! I mean, Nawalishifra?”

Nawal’s heart sank. But Trey had addressed her, and the other Tannousin men were terrified. She heisted, then bowed.

“That is correct, Trey Atwood. We have come, in accordance with my oath. To forge the King of Destruction a blade unlike any he has ever seen!”

She prayed her boast was not idle. But perhaps she had time to perfect a masterwork? It didn’t seem like the King of Destruction had that high hopes for her. Maybe he would forget. Maybe he would be content with just a blade of Naq-Alrama metal and not the best blade ever forged. He’d only sent one person to greet them, after all, and Trey and Gazi the Omniscient didn’t count. Trey smiled.

“He’ll be delighted, I’m sure. He was expecting you. He’s out, but—Orthenon! This is Nawalishifra. The [Blacksmith] I told you about.”

Nawal froze. The Tannousin men and women turned, like statues, to stare at the gaunt man waiting for them. Orthenon, the Left Hand of the King of Destruction raised an eyebrow as he stared at the Tannousin folk. At Trey. And Gazi, who grinned. And at Nawal. And she quailed and wished she had never boasted of metal, never picked up a hammer so she might not disgrace her tribe and her father with her failure.

The King’s Steward. Gazi the Omniscient. And the King of Destruction was expecting her.

Oh, sands take her. What had she gotten herself into?

6.13 K

You were used to hearing their names. Like distant thunder. Like legends of old, like Dragons and heroes of a bygone era. [Kings] and [Queens], monarchs—famous adventurers, they were all the same. Names you heard, but never expected to meet. Giants you painted in your imagination, half-real figures who shook the world, but you were always so far away you only felt a rumble in the ground. Until the day you met one and realized everything was true.

And there he was. Orthenon, the King’s Steward. A tall, gaunt man with a long mustache and dark, somber clothing. He could have been an ordinary servant but for the gold that lined his clothing and the sword at his waist. And even then, you might have assumed he was a [Butler] of some kind, but his eyes betrayed him. They pieced straight through you with a glance; as imperious as any ruler born.

In that, he was every bit of the legend. As for the rest? He was not accompanied by an army of servants. His clothing was rather plain, for all it looked well on him. He stood by himself, straight and balanced. Not quite glaring at Trey and Gazi.

They’d fallen from a tower. Or rather, it sounded like Trey had been pushed. But there she stood as well. The half-Gazer, her skin orange-brown, her hair tied into dreadlocks and braided back. Three of her eyes looked towards Nawal and the rest of the frozen Tannousin clan, the fourth was staring at Trey, who was brushing himself, still shaking from his fall.

Two of the King of Destruction’s vassals, here, in the flesh! You couldn’t have asked for a grander reception, however incidental. Nawal couldn’t take her eyes off Gazi’s armor or Orthenon’s single-edged sword. But mindful of what had to be done, another of the caravan stepped forwards and bowed deeply.

“Lord Orthenon of Reim! I am your humble servant, Silmak of Clan Tannousin. With me travel thirty two of my kin. Among them I name Hesseif, who is chiefly tasked with defense of the caravan. Bezhavil, my aunt second-removed who is tasked with overseeing the womenfolk and managing the caravan itself, and Nawalishifra, who will serve as, ah, the [Blacksmith] in forging the Naq-Alrama steel. We have come far, bearing it, and are prepared to honor the oath made by Nawalishifra to the King of Destruction, long may he live!”

Silmak, the caravan’s leader, at least in name, swept a low bow towards the still Orthenon and the rest of Clan Tannousin, breaking from their stasis, immediately knelt on the ground. The men who had been guarding the huge, covered wagon in which sat the precious Naq-Alrama metal, the treasure of their clan, were the only ones who stood standing. They and the three Silmak had mentioned.

Hesseif, Bezha, and Nawal all approached and bowed deeply with Silmak. Nawal wondered if they should have knelt, but the stern face watching them gave no sign of displeasure. Then again, that might be as easily expressed by all of their heads suddenly rolling on the ground. She bowed her head, keeping her veil in place with one hand. And she kept it bowed, until she heard a voice.

“I am Orthenon, the King of Destruction’s [Steward]. In the name of his Majesty Flos Reimarch, I greet you, Silmak, and your clan.”

An audible sigh of relief rippled through the kneeling Humans. They raised their heads, and Nawal saw Orthenon give Silmak a slight bow. He was in his twenties—Silmak, that was—and it was a mark of his experience that he didn’t waver as he returned the bow a second time, deeper. There was a reason why the elders and headman had chosen Silmak to lead the caravan and do the speaking, and not just because he was a man.

Orthenon went on, his voice crisp, still glancing at Trey, who was edging backwards, face flushed. Nawal remembered Trey. Oh, how could she forget? The strange foreign boy who knew nothing of blades? And whom she had boasted to right before it turned out he and Gazi Pathseeker were both the King of Destruction’s servants in disguise? But Orthenon was speaking to Silmak, and Nawal focused on him lest she give offence.

“By the sands, I offer you sanctuary and friendship, Silmak, and to that of your clan gathered here. Let no one offer you violence under his roof, and know that should you ask it, both water and wine will flow so long as either remains in these halls. You are honored guests, so enter and find rest until the oases of Chandrar bleed dry.”

It was a good welcome, short, but powerful. The Tannousin clan straightened their backs. Honored guests? And the King of Destruction’s Steward had come to greet them? It was something you could brag till the end of your days. And then they remembered why they were accorded such honors, and all eyes turned to Nawalishifra.

[Blacksmith]. The one in charge of working the expensive, practically unique Naq-Alrama metal that their clan alone knew how to manufacture. By rights, she should have led the caravan and done the speaking. But there was a problem. Nawal was female. And as fast as Silmak had tried to slip that into their greeting, there was no way Orthenon had missed that. His piercing gaze met Nawal’s and she immediately looked down, shuddering in apprehension.

“Nawalishifra of Clan Tannousin. I greet you. His Majesty has accepted your pledge to forge for him a blade without equal. So long as you pursue that vow, let the palace and indeed, the city of Reim be open to you and whatever you need be made available.”

Another powerful greeting. But Nawal wished it were not so pointed.

“Lead me to your master, foreign warrior! Pay my cost and I will forge your master a blade sharper and finer than any he has laid eyes on in his life! My oath on it! I swear it on the body of the man-who-was-my-brother, cursed be his name!”

That was the oath Nawal had sworn near three weeks ago. She had had cause to regret it since. She had sworn—on the blood of her brother, whom she’d killed when he’d tried to sell her as a slave—to forge Trey’s master a blade that he had never seen before if he would pay her cost. And the King of Destruction had taken that offer. He had sent a bag of holding full of gold by Courier to her tribe and requested her presence in his capital city. Nawal’s clan had debated the offer for three full days before it was decided that she had to come, woman or not.

But she was still female. And young. And Orthenon had to know how tricky Naq-Alrama steel was. The King’s Stewards stared at Nawal, but made no comment as to her gender or inexperience. Instead, Orthenon only nodded.

“The affairs of Reim keep me busy; even to this day I prepare to ride north. However, four servants shall show you to your quarters and answer any needs you have.”

He gestured, and four servants, two men, and two women, seemed to appear out of the doors behind him. It was well done, but again, Nawal had half-expected the number to be two hundred.

“We thank you, Lord Orthenon. It is truly generous.”

Silmak again answered for the clan. Orthenon inclined his head. Again his eyes swept left. Towards Trey, who was now trying to sneak past the waiting servants.

“Trey.”

The young man froze. He looked back, with a pained expression that betrayed all too much. There was one who understood nothing of diplomacy or intrigue! Nawal studied Trey a second time.

Clearly a foreigner. He had pale skin, and he looked odd in his clothes, for all he dressed like a city man. Yes, it was that awkwardness that marked him as not from Chandrar, from his dark blonde hair to the way he gave Orthenon a wide-eyed look. And the way he spoke!

“Er, yes, Orthenon? I was just uh, being shown how to fall by Gazi.”

He looked around, as did Nawal, but Gazi Pathseeker had vanished. Nawal’s heart jumped although she should have expected nothing less. Orthenon looked disapproving, but he nodded succinctly. Then he turned back to Clan Tannousin and gestured at Trey.

“I understand your clan has met Trey Atwood, Honored Silmak. I would ask that you excuse any errors he makes. Trey Atwood is a companion of the King of Destruction, someone chosen to follow him. Bear that in mind, all of you.”

Trey turned red, but the Tannousin clan members gave him a look as if he’d sprouted another head. Nawal’s heart skipped a beat. One of the King of Destruction’s personal attendants? Not just a servant? Who was he? Then again, Gazi the Omniscient had spoken of training him…

Orthenon spoke again, driving all eyes back towards him.

“As for your task—I understand the journey was long. To have made it this far so quickly from Clan Tannousin’s traditional homes must have taken weeks of marching without rest. So, rest, and when you are able, I, or the King of Destruction shall discuss the nature of the blade you will forge.”

“It is understood. We shall await his summons with the greatest anticipation.”

Silmak’s voice was slightly hoarse with nerves. Orthenon nodded. Without another word, he turned and strode back into the palace. One of the servants stepped forwards, an older woman.

“Will you follow me, Clan Tannousin? Your rooms await. And if you would care to retreat for lunch, it is being served. Follow me.”

She turned and the clan awkwardly followed her as more servants came out, to take the horses and belongings. There was a moment of hesitation when it came to the wagon, because the Tannousin men guarding it would let no one handle the contents or approach the wagon, not even the King of Destruction’s servants. But that was dealt with by letting them carry their burden inside, and Nawal was following Silmak anyways.

The thirty two men and women milled about, beginning to follow the lead servant. On the way, they passed by Trey, who was awkwardly standing to one side, looking around as if still searching for Gazi. He caught Nawal’s eye as she passed him by and raised a hand, grinning sheepishly.

“Hi. I uh—I’ll see you around, Nawal.”

She stared at him. Trey’s smile slipped, but Nawal nodded.

“We have met again, Trey Atwood. I will see you, if it is permitted.”

She bowed slightly, her hand resting on the little dagger at her side. Trey blinked at her, at it, nodded, and walked backwards before turning. Nawal watched him go, and the burning question in her breast finally made its way out.

Was that it? Was this all?

Part of her thought this was more than enough. She had seen two legends, and heard both talk! The palace of the King of Destruction opened for her, and Nawal followed the four ordinary servants into the castle. But she couldn’t help but feel it should have been grander. Everything, that was.

—-

“Ow.”

Across the world, Erin Solstice cut herself with a knife as she sliced some pork for a premade meal in her kitchen. Or rather, she thought she’d sliced herself. But when she checked her hand and the stinging line of pain, she found she’d barely cut into her skin.

“Whew. That’s a relief. No missing fingers? Check, check. I could have gotten myself badly! Then again—”

Erin frowned as she felt the edge of her knife gingerly with one finger. It was certainly sharp, but she’d had to work it through the meat, which had led to it cutting her to begin with. True, it was also her fault for getting her fingers in the way, but recent events had led Erin to focus on the quality of her knives. Or rather, their sharpness.

“You’re not that sharp, are you? I thought you were hot stuff, but I guess that was back when I first sliced my hand open by accident. Now look at you.”

Erin placed her knife on the table counter and stared at it. The plain steel stared back. Erin tried to think of how many things she’d cut in the time since.

“Too many to count! And you were always there with me, buddy. Well, I’m afraid to say that you’ve lost your edge. Sad. What’ll I do?”

The knife didn’t respond. Erin bent until it was at eye level.

“Don’t worry. I know a guy. Well, a Dullahan. But why should I settle for just him? Maybe the problem’s not just the knife being sharp. Maybe you’re just not up to scratch!”

She poked the knife.

“Ow. Okay, you’re still sort of sharp. But…I mean, I never went to Liscor’s [Blacksmiths]. But Pallass has really good [Blacksmiths], right? Hold on, I’m going to ask. Hey, Selys!”

Erin poked her head into the common room. There was a shout.

“What?”

“Does Liscor have [Blacksmiths]? And are they any good compared to Pallass?”

“Liscor has [Blacksmiths]! Why wouldn’t we? But Pallass is known for having good [Blacksmiths]!”

“Got it, thanks!”

Erin reappeared in the kitchen, although her conversation would have been perfectly audible if there was anyone to hear. Which there wasn’t; there was only a knife on the counter and some sliced pork. Erin shook her head sadly as she picked up said knife.

“Well, buddy. It might be curtains for you. I’m gonna check this out. Let me just slice the rest of this pork…”

She sliced the pork, shoved it to one side for Lyonette to use in the stir fry she’d wanted to try out with her [Flawless Attempt] Skill, and wandered into the common room.

“Hey, Ishkr! Tell Lyonette I’m going to Pallass! See you all later! Still on holiday!”

Erin waved at the room. No one waved back. Selys was too busy playing with Mrsha and her ball, and the other adventurers were busy reading one of Calruz’ maps and arguing. It might turn into a fistfight, or it might not. Erin walked over to the magic door and changed it to Pallass.

“Nobody cares about me anymore.”

She grumbled as she stepped through the door. Instantly, there was sunlight and noise. It was midday in Pallass, or just about. Bright, sunny—Erin looked around and noticed a Drake glaring at her.

“Oh hey! It’s you again! Okay, I know I’m not on the list, but—hey, don’t you point that spear at me!”

That was how she began her day. This tale had no bearing on Nawal’s introduction to Reim, or Trey’s, but it was still relevant for other reasons. After all, Erin had little notion of or interest in the King of Destruction. But this wasn’t a tale about him today.

—-

“…And here is the interior well. You may draw from it freely at need. Please seek out one of the servants if you have any other needs.”

The old woman finished her tour and Bezha nodded. Both she and Nawal stared at the indoor well—who would have thought of such a thing?—and tried to guess at how much water it could supply. A lot, surely, if it was free for anyone to use. Reim must have been one of the natural oases—like many of the kingdoms or cities, it had grown on top of the only available water supply. Of course, there were some parts of Chandrar that even had streams and rivers, but Nawal had never seen them. She was born of the Tannousin tribe, and they wandered the edge of the great desert, plying their trade while mining the scattered deposits of ore only their tribe remembered existed.

It was a harsh life, but if they abandoned their lands, someone else would swoop in to control the valuable resources of metal. After all, it was said that in Chandrar, water was worth the same as blood. By the same token, steel and wood were worth their weight in gold if shaped correctly.

The King of Destruction lacked for neither, or so Nawal had assumed. The brief tour had taken her to the banquet halls, past training grounds filled with soldiers, through bustling corridors filled with servants, and finally here, to a wing of the palace devoted to guests. And now she and Bezha returned to the quarters gifted to the Tannousin clan.

The quarters were…nice. Yes, nice was the word. The palace of Reim had enough unused wings and rooms to house a caravan twenty times the size of Clan Tannousin without issue, and so the clan found themselves treated to wide, spacious rooms freed of dust and beds of soft cotton. Nawal had her private room, as did Silmak, Hesseif, and Bezha, as befit their status. Meanwhile, the rest of the clan was given two large bunk rooms, one for the women, and one for the men.

Spacious. You couldn’t ask for better treatment, really. Had they been in any other castle or palace, Nawal was certain they’d be sharing rooms, and that their status, even as a blacksmithing clan, wouldn’t earn them private rooms to themselves. But here she had her own private bed, freshly made. ‘Nice’ might be too weak a word. This was excellent treatment for a nomadic tribe who had done nothing yet to earn it.

And yet—cotton sheets. Nawal had to poke them a few times to be sure. The soft cloth was luxurious, to be certain, but they weren’t exactly silk. Perhaps it was a reminder of their status? But the drapes and other decorations in the palace had been made of cloth too, not silks or more expensive fabrics. And the walls had been decorated with some paintings, but many spots were conspicuously bare. Had the palace been looted?

Bezha wondered the same thing as both Hesseif and Silmak met with them. Obviously it was inappropriate for them to be together in a closed room, two men who weren’t Nawal’s immediate family in the same room, but Bezha was Hesseif’s aunt and they were all of the same tribe, so they left the door partly open. This wasn’t the time for strictest adherence to custom either.

“It’s fine treatment, Nawali. Don’t prod so. Were this any other castle, you would be overjoyed for a single room for us to share! And the quarters are filled with beds so that the men and women can stretch out and not roll into each other as they sleep! This is beyond gracious!”

The older woman pointed that out to Nawal. The [Blacksmith] scowled, flexing her callused hands restlessly.

“But this is the King of Destruction’s abode, is it not? Surely there are some rooms meant for the most privileged of guests, and we are not they! Our beds are simple, but is this a courtesy of goodwill or the basest of rooms spared because we are considered savages?”

Silmak shook his head.

“Hardly savages. You heard the way the King’s Steward welcomed us. Perhaps there aren’t any rooms filled with silk beds and rugs that span wall to wall?”

“And pretty maidens to wait on us hand and foot.”

Hesseif sighed. Nawal glared at him and the big caravan guard hunched his shoulders. Technically he and Silmak were in charge, but Hesseif was actually rather timid outside of battle. And Silmak? He only sighed when Nawal shifted her glare to him.

“It may be we are treated as those of lesser station, Nawal. What of it? Would you argue if you heard a [Lord] resided in the most luxurious of rooms, or a [First Warrior] of a tribe? No, I would not. And yes, it is odd that our rooms are not grand as the legends say, but perhaps silk bed sheets are too much to ask of the King of Destruction’s castle?”

He raised his eyebrows meaningfully and Nawal flushed. It was true; expecting that would be insane anywhere but the King of Destruction’s castle. Bezha nodded, running her tattooed hands up her covered arms.

“Perhaps such riches were sold off, too. Twenty years would lay any kingdom low. Perhaps they sold all of what was here to survive. It would not do to bring it up lest we cause offence. We should not cause any offence.”

She looked at Nawal when he said that. The young woman blushed and tugged her veil more securely around her face furiously. She gripped the dagger at her side.

“I will mind my tongue. But I represent Clan Tannousin, and we are due respect!”

“And the King of Destruction is due deference and fear and awe! And you are a woman!”

Bezha smacked Nawal on the back of her neck. Nawal’s grip tightened on her dagger, but she didn’t unsheathe it. Silmak looked between the two, not wanting to intrude on the argument and go the way of Nawal’s brother.

“Patience, Nawal, Bezha. We know not if offence has been given or taken. It is simply good now that we were issued a welcome and both bed and sustenance, is it not? We should eat first, and then inquire. But tell me—that foreign boy whom the King’s Steward spoke of. Trey Atwood. He was the one who you met, wasn’t he, Nawal?”

The young woman nodded. So did Hesseif.

“He was the same, Silmak. I would recognize him a thousand times over, sands strike my eyes if I err. Nawal must be careful around him, lest she give offence, even to someone not of Chandrar.”

A second poke at Nawal. The [Blacksmith] girl knew they were right—she’d gotten into trouble countless times and been taken to task by everyone from her deceased father, may he rest in the sands, to Bezha. But she still tossed her head defiantly.

“I did not know he was so important. But he is still a servant, is he not? Should I not speak to him like some dumb mule? I am the one chosen to forge the Naq-Alrama blades. To speak with a foreigner like Trey Atwood is not as disgraceful, surely.”

“You swore to make a blade that surpasses any the King of Destruction has ever seen. Let us hope he has never laid eyes on a Naq-Alrama blade. Or that he does not hold you to the strictest words of your promise.”

Silmak’s eyes were guarded. Nawal’s bluster faded. She looked around the room. Hesseif, Bezha, both stared at Nawal with the question in their eyes. Could she do it alone? Nawal had been trained by her father, yes, and aided him when he was too weak to do the forging, but always under his supervision.

This year was the first since his passing, and this would be the first blade of Naq-Alrama steel she forged unaided. It was a challenge even for a fully experienced Tannousin [Blacksmith] and Nawal was yet young and low-level for the work, even if she was the best in her clan by far.

Part of Nawal faltered. But then she straightened her back defiantly.

“I will forge him blades of our steel, that can cut through any spell! If he asks for more, I will rise to his challenge! What else can be done? Until an apprentice rises in level and skill, I am the only [Blacksmith] our tribe possesses. If I cannot forge the Naq-Alrama steel perfectly, our people will scatter to dust.”

Nawal pounded her breast passionately.

“I may curse the fact ten thousand times waking that I was born a woman and not a man, and that no other apprentice lived long enough or had the skill to follow in my deceased father’s footsteps, may he rest in the sands, but I will not disgrace our tribe! If I do, may my hammer twist in my hands and my blood water the sands!”

The three Tannousin clan leaders nodded solemnly. What choice did they have indeed? The King of Destruction had offered them gold where no one else would take their steel, let alone Nawal’s craft. If they had to live in the stables with the animals, they would humble themselves to keep their clan alive.

Bezha sighed as she sat in a chair made of soft, polished wood and backed by fabric.

“Then remember that, Nawali. Do not disgrace us, and we will support you. I will see to the caravan as I always have and ensure they do not cause offence—even find work for them if work is to be had in Reim.”

“I will guard the metal. It is being kept in a room and we will stand watch day and night, and let no one not of our blood enter, or any ray of sunlight in.”

Hesseif bowed his broad, shaved head. Silmak nodded. His eyes sparkled, and his hands, tattooed like Bezha’s, sparkled and lit up as he looked at Nawal.

“And I will prepare your forge, Nawalishifra. When the time is needed, we will do all in our power to give you no reason for failure. The rest lies on you.”

Nawal nodded, pride filling her along with fear. Her clan was with her. What else could she ask for? She bowed her head low, once, and the others did likewise. Then she went to find Trey to ask him to show her around the castle. He seemed the most approachable, the least guarded and easiest not to offend with careless talk.

Most importantly, he was a foreigner and she could speak freely to him and ask how good the King of Destruction’s [Blacksmiths] were. And at least in this, Nawal hoped the legends of the King of Destruction were exaggerated. Because she wanted to see the competition she would be facing.

No one could remember specific legends of the King of Destruction’s [Blacksmiths], although all agreed they must have been mighty workers of metal and magical ore, so Nawal had hopes the greatest of the masters had died out or gone elsewhere in his slumber. At the very least, she was relieved none of the legends mentioned Dwarves serving the King of Destruction. They would be really hard to outdo.

—-

Erin Solstice stomped down the streets of Pallass towards one of the elevators, grumbling to herself. This was actually a good sign, despite the people who gave her weird looks.

“Stupid uptight Drake guards. It’s my door! Security risk, am I? Your face is a security risk! That’s what I should have said. Boom! Nice one, Erin. High-five, self-five!”

Erin slapped her hands together over her head and laughed. She felt better today. More like normal Erin after—gosh, how long had it been? Ages. But somehow she was in a good mood. Even if she thought about Goblins, she didn’t want to cry—at least not now.

“Ninth floor, please! That’s the blacksmithing section, right?”

Erin asked the elevator attendant. The female Drake, who Erin could have sworn was the same one as yesterday, sighed and nodded.

“That’s correct Miss. Please stand clear of the ledge.”

“Whoops. Sorry.”

Erin walked further into the elevator and watched the Drake teen pull a lever. The elevator started to go up very quickly.

“You know, you should really have buttons instead of that lever! So the elevator stops on whatever floor you press a button for! It’d be a lot safer I bet!”

The Drake frowned as Erin gestured to an imaginary set of buttons.

“What would my job be, then?”

The young woman wavered and gave the Drake attendant a blank look.

“Uh…pressing the buttons, I guess?”

The Drake thought about that. She pulled a second lever and the elevator slowed.

“That would be nice. Hm. Ninth floor, Miss.”

“Thanks!”

Erin smiled at her, walked onto the ninth floor, and immediately heard a different noise take over. Clanging, sharp and brisk, filling the air, and behind it, a dull mix of voices, the sound of metal rasping on metal. Shouts as someone carrying white-hot metal navigated around the edge of a blacksmithing shop—the sounds of serious work.

There was something appealing about it; Erin had never seen anything like it in her world. Industrial factories were precise, mechanical without fault unless something went wrong. But this? This was organized chaos.

“Time to find me a [Blacksmith] and see about that knife. I wonder if I can get an extra-sturdy one if I have to slice up Ashfire Bees or stab monsters with it too?”

Erin rubbed her hands as she walked forwards. Last time she’d admired how many forges there were, but she hadn’t really appreciated the layout. Pallass had effectively created half a floor dedicated only to the blacksmiths, and given them rows of forges to work out of. Each one was more or less identical, such that you could move into one for the day, set up, and move out, or rent a space indefinitely.

It was the first step towards industrialization; Erin saw there was a dedicated cargo elevator meant to ferry supplies to the smiths, and more than one Street Runner was loitering about, perhaps waiting to deliver a finished product or take a request. Erin passed by working Drake and Dullahans, until she came to three forges near the middle and spotted some familiar faces.

“There’s Maughin! And uh…Pelt!”

Erin spotted the two [Blacksmiths] she’d been introduced to yesterday. Maughin, the giant among Dullahans, and Pelt, the Dwarven smith. Both were at work, but that was a generous term in one case. Maughin was busy tending to some metal in a furnace and instructing some of his journeymen at the same time, but Pelt was leaning on his anvil, scowling at some metal and hitting it with desultory whacks of his hammer. He was clearly hung over and not feeling it.

There was some irony in the two working side-by-side. As Erin approached, she saw Pelt grimace as someone hit a piece of metal especially hard in Maughin’s smithy. He turned and bellowed.

“Can’t your apprentices keep up a decent rhythm, Maughin? Or do all they know is how to hit something too hard!”

“Better that they have energy to spare than none at all.”

The Dullahan’s head glared back from its seat in a small basket where it could watch the metal heating in the furnace. Pelt snorted and flipped his hammer, catching it by the hilt.

“If I wanted to, I could do my job and yours. Don’t make me come over there!”

“The only time you’d come over is if we had anything to drink. Leave my apprentices alone!”

The two snapped at each other and got back to work. Erin eyed Pelt. Hm. Now, what had her friendly guides to the city said? You went to Maughin for reliable stuff, and Pelt for masterworks. Well, the Dwarf looked cranky, so she headed to Maughin first.

“Excuse me! Hey! Excuse me, Maughin!”

“Don’t enter the forge, Human! We’ve hot metal about! Master Maughin’s busy! If you have a request, make it at the shop! Third floor!”

A female Dullahan stopped Erin, shouting as she picked up her head. Erin backed up a few steps, but she saw Maughin’s head turn.

“Ah. Miss Solstice. Lasica and Rufelt’s acquaintance. What can I do for you?”

He walked over swiftly, motioning his apprentice back. Erin smiled up at him.

“Hey! Maughin, I was hoping I could commission a knife. Er, mine’s all dull and I thought I could use a new one. So…”

The Dullahan was frowning and shaking his head slightly.

“A knife, is it? I would oblige you, Miss Solstice, but my forge is swamped with orders. I won’t have time for at least three days to even think of something like a knife. But there are plenty of good smiths on this level. Ask about their forges. You might be able to squeeze in the order.”

“Got it! Thanks!”

He nodded and went back to work. Erin backed up.

“Well then. I guess—hey! Your name’s Pelt, right!”

The Dwarf looked up and winced as Erin walked over. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Maughin look back at her, twisting his head all the way around on his shoulders. Erin smiled as the Dwarf gave her the exact opposite of a smile.

“Oh, you. The Human. What do you want? A knife? Go to hell, I’m not taking orders, and especially not for anything that doesn’t involve lots of gold.”

“Aw. But I could use a knife and I heard you’re good. Plus, you’re not that busy.”

He sneered at her.

“I’m working on a gear. For those damn elevators. You’ve probably never seen something like this—”

He indicated the half-forged gear. Erin was a bit impressed when she looked and saw it resembled a proper gear like she’d find in a clock, teeth and all. And he was doing it by hand, which was crazy enough!

“What, that? I know gears. Yours looks nice. Big one, though. Probably needs a smaller gear to make it work. And uh, one of those rotating axle things. You sure you can’t make a knife? I can pay.”

Pelt looked at Erin. He stared at his gear, looked up, and then glared.

“No. You want a knife? A hundred gold pieces and I’ll forge you one.”

Someone laughed. Erin paused uncomfortably. She was still new to the economics of this world despite having lived here—food was cheap to an extent, but anything magical or high-quality like armor and weapons, especially enchanted ones, were exorbitant. But she was sure that a kitchen knife wasn’t worth even ten gold coins.

“Er, no thanks. I’ll ask around.”

“Get lost, then.”

Pelt turned his back on Erin at once. She glared at his back. Then she heard more laughter and a louder voice.

“Hah! If Pelt won’t make you what you want, why not stop over here, little Human lady? I might have time!”

She turned. Pelt’s forge was located next to Maughin’s, which was on the right, but on the left another smith was working. Alone, unlike Pelt who had a single Drake apprentice and Maughin’s space, which was two forges filled with workers. Erin saw a Gnoll in a large apron and nothing else waving at her. She headed over, blinking at him. He was a tall, lean fellow with long, wiry arms.

“You’re a Gnoll!”

“Well observed, Miss.”

The Gnoll leaned on his anvil, grinning toothily at her. Erin blinked, and then laughed with him. He had one of those infectiously good-natured personalities, and the attitude of joking when he spoke. She liked him at once.

“Sorry, I just thought most Gnolls don’t smith! Fur and all that.”

“Well, it does get in the way. But I’m no ordinary smith! I normally don’t work here, in fact, but I’ve rented the space for the day. How do you do? Bealt. City Gnoll and [Farrier]. At your service.”

He held out a paw, the fur singed and sooty around his hand and Erin, smiling, shook it. She felt a strong grip and a rougher paw than some of the Gnolls’ hands she’d touched.

“Erin Solstice! [Innkeeper] and uh, City Human!”

That made Bealt laugh again. He was setting up for the day with long, thin bars of metal about half a finger length’s wide, and pouring charcoal or maybe coal—Erin couldn’t honestly tell the difference if there even was one—into his furnace, arranging it just so.

“Pleased! So, you need a knife, Miss Solstice? Yours run out?”

“I think so. At least, it’s fairly dull, but I was shopping for a new knife anyways. Er, a special knife for really tough stuff like bugs or…I was thinking of cutting a Shield Spider up and serving it to some my guests!”

Bealt nearly lost his grip on his hammer. He swung around.

“Shield Spiders? And you want to cook one? Wait—you must be Miss Erin Solstice of Liscor! The crazy Human with the inn! Why didn’t I realize it before? Let me shake your hand again!”

He shook her hand, laughing, and sniffed her this time.

“Ah, but I heard of what you did. And heard more from my kin in Liscor, although I’ve not gone through to visit. Welcome twice, then! And if you need a knife, I think I can fit you in. I don’t have that much work, you see, but you might need to wait.”

“I literally have nothing else planned for today. So I can wait!”

Bealt chuckled.

“I mean, I’m going to be at least a few hours! I rented this space to make some horseshoes.”

“Horseshoes?”

Erin supposed that was a traditional blacksmith-y thing to do. But Bealt grinned.

“Yes! It’s my trade. I always like to have some ready, and Pallass has enough horses to give me all the work I need. I am a [Farrier]—do you know what that is?”

“Er…I don’t. Sorry, I was going to ask.”

“No problem! Farriers are simply a type of smith that also deals with horses. I clean their hooves, shoe them—and if they throw a shoe or get injured, I’m the one called to help them.”

Erin began to recall her vague and limited farming-related knowledge.

“Oh! So you’re almost like a horse doctor!”

“Only for the hooves, Miss Solstice. Only the hooves. But if you want to watch, I’ll show you my craft right here and now. The furnace is lit, I have my metal ready—”

He indicated the lengths of metal, and Erin stared at the bars, wondering how you’d turn that into a horseshoe. Or rather, how you’d make a perfect bend. All the Gnoll had was a hammer and a few tools. One of them looked like a long spike.

“—And I’ve got the Skills to do my work quick and easy. Better than a grumpy Dwarf or a Dullahan overworked! I can have your knife done by the end of the day, and my horseshoes as well!”

Bealt’s voice carried over to Pelt, and Maughin, both of whom turned and glared. Erin raised her eyebrows, delighted by the way the solo Bealt was needling the two experts. She raised her voice too.

“Well, if you can, I’d love to see how you make horseshoes! And a knife! I don’t know a lot about smithing, actually.”

It was the right thing to say. Bealt’s grin spread from ear to ear.

“Well then, take a seat, Miss Solstice! There’s one to be found I’m sure. And if you value your ears, maybe get a bit of wax! It gets noisy. But let me make a few shoes first! And remember this: there are many smiths, who make all sorts, from swords to knives and nails! Some make armor and some delicate art! But if you need quick work and reliable steel, always ask for the [Farrier]!”

He swung his hammer and the anvil rang with the sound. Erin was delighted with Bealt’s easy way. But she saw the other smiths glaring, and she knew that what he’d said was fighting words. And part of Erin, the devious part, sat up and began to form a plan.

—-

Well, as second meetings went, his with Nawal had been about as poor as you could hope. Trey wondered if she’d seen his shaking knees. And he’d ruined Orthenon’s greeting to them. That scared Trey almost as much as Nawal’s wrath. Almost. Orthenon was scary, but fair. But Nawal had killed her brother the first time he’d met her.

Then again, she was still outclassed by Gazi. The half-Gazer appeared as Trey went to lunch and got his meal of fried Yellats and some actual meat—goat—along with some fresh rye bread. Trey was eating it with some tea—Chandrar had tea, but it was all dreadfully spicy stuff, sadly—and happily eating by himself. Then she appeared, and Orthenon moments later.

“Trey.”

Neither of them carried their food with them. It was set before them when they sat, Gazi next to him, Orthenon across. The [Steward] ate the same as Trey, efficiently wielding his fork and knife. Gazi ate with similar etiquette, although she didn’t even bother tilting her head to look at her plate since her eyes could look through her skull.

Trey gulped down some of the Yellats in silence. He had good table manners, so the company fit him, as opposed to say, Teres, Mars, and Flos, all of whom ate faster and with less grace. Mars was especially bad and treated half of her foods like finger foods despite them being anything but.

“Er, hullo, Orthenon. Gazi. Good morning. Or lunch. I didn’t interrupt you greeting Nawal and the others, did I?”

“Clan Tannousin did not take offence from what I saw. But mind yourself, Trey. Chandrarian folk take perceived insults seriously, and the desert clans are especially touchy.”

Orthenon did not greet Trey. He spoke in a clipped manner as he sawed his goat meat in half and ate a slice. Trey nodded. It felt like Orthenon was one of his teachers sometimes, strict and unbending.

“Right. I understand that. Ah, did you want me to show Nawal around?”

“Perhaps. I understand Gazi is done teaching you for the day.”

The man shot a glance at Gazi, not especially friendly. She smiled toothily at him.

“Trey protests he’s overworked. And I think you want me to deal with Clan Tannousin, Orthenon.”

“Correct. You have your eyes on them?”

Gazi tapped a finger on her right cheek. Trey hadn’t noticed—you didn’t really stare at Gazi’s revolving eyes unless you didn’t want to eat—but two of her eyes had been rolled up in the back of her head all this time while the other two roamed free.

“Already watching. They appear to be settling in. I detect little guile from them. Just worry. It is in their body language. The ones mentioned were the leaders.”

Orthenon nodded, patting his lips with a handkerchief. He’d already finished eating! Trey stared. Forget Flos or Mars, Orthenon was the quickest! And somehow, the cleanliest!

“I doubt they’re spies, but if you could monitor them, I would be grateful.”

“Of course. And I will guard Reim in your absence. You ride to Germina?”

Orthenon’s brow creased slightly. Trey looked between him and Gazi, trying to read the unspoken words as much as the spoken ones. Some of Flos’ vassals did not get along, and Orthenon and Gazi’s relationship highlighted that. They were professionally courteous, but Gazi had said plainly to Trey that she and Orthenon weren’t always on the same page. Although…they had been a couple once. That boggled Trey’s mind as well.

“I will be departing tomorrow morning, yes. The Quarass must be spoken to, although I expect she will restore order quite quickly. Nevertheless, I intend to relieve Venith and Maresar and set up contacts and arrange a system while we are there. We must have Germina’s soldiers joining our army soon, not to mention their [Assassin] corps.”

“More spies for me to watch. Move them slowly. I don’t have enough eyes, especially with this one missing.”

Gazi sighed and tapped her main eye gently. It was always closed, still healing or still damaged from whomever had poked it out. Orthenon nodded brusquely.

“I will keep you informed. As for Hellios—I may have to spend weeks there, dealing with the aftermath of his Majesty’s edict. It will not be easy, although the abdication of Queen Calliope will smooth things considerably.”

“Speak to Prince Siyal. His Majesty desired his cooperation.”

“Naturally. Until then, Trey.”

The young man jumped as Orthenon looked back at him.

“Yes?”

“His Majesty will return soon if he is travelling at full speed. No doubt he will wish to stay in Reim and you will of course accompany him. Until then, if this Nawalishifra seeks you out, accommodate her reasonable requests. She is a guest and one of rare talent. I still don’t quite understand how the Tannousin Clan was persuaded to send a caravan to us.”

Orthenon drummed his fingers on the table. Trey looked blank.

“They’re that impressive? I mean, I know that magical metal they make is really good. But how special is it?”

Both the Steward and Gazi exchanged a look over Trey’s head. Gazi smiled slightly.

“A Naq-Alrama blade would suit his Majesty. But Clan Tannousin normally charges a fortune even for a dagger made of their metal. The fact that we could persuade one of their smiths, even a young one, to journey here is a great boon. They normally take no sides, and only sell their blades at bazaars like the one we visited.”

“I understand you’re to thank for that, Trey.”

Orthenon frowned again at Trey. Sometimes he did that too, as if he was trying to figure Trey out. Gazi nodded.

“He found her by chance. But it was truly luck, because the Tannousin clan had ready Naq-Alrama steel and no one capable of smithing it, Orthenon.”

His brows snapped together.

“Really? But the girl they claimed to be a [Smith] was—”

“Their best smith died and only his daughter was able to work the Naq-Alrama steel.”

“Ah. Naturally. A female smith wouldn’t be accepted by the tribes. Or in a lot of the northern lands. Well, that is a coincidence. A fortunate one for you to find. Trey.”

Orthenon shook his head dismissively, before giving Trey another long look. The young man from England rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. Orthenon stood up, and a servant took his dishes and utensils away.

“I must return to work.”

That was how he said ‘goodbye’. But Orthenon didn’t make it out of the room. He got four steps when a voice called his name.

“Orthenon! I beg a word, if you have the time?”

The man turned. Striding towards them was a figure Trey recognized. Several figures, actually. They wore turbans and carried light clothing, often exposing their bare skin despite the sands and heat. Their leader wore a long, curved blade at his side, and the two following him were armed—one with daggers, the other with a bow and short sword. They stood out, even from the other [Soldiers] dining in the banquet hall.

They were part of the Serpent Hunters of Clais. They were a band of irregulars in Flos’ army, mercenaries who’d come to join his banners the instant they’d heard of his return. As far as Trey understood it, they were notable for two things: using envenomed blades and being String People.

String People. Quick to smile and take offence, and energetic, even at the hottest parts of the day. The man speaking to Orthenon had pale gold stitch marks around his neck, shoulders, bared midriff, and joints on his wrists and elbows. Knees too. Stitch-People could and would remove inured or damaged body parts, turning them back into cloth to be repaired. They were like Cloth Golems—only, say that and you’d get your teeth knocked out.

Now the three paused before Orthenon and their leader swept him a dramatic bow. Then again, they were always like that. The Serpent Hunters had been in Reim for months, and Trey had gotten used to them. A bit.

“Steward Orthenon, I hate to interrupt, but I crave an audience on the word of our trainees. The one his Majesty ordered us to induct into our ranks?”

“Of course. Speak.”

Orthenon turned to face the leader, who was named Jelaim. He nodded, and the Stitch-Woman beside him stepped forwards. She unsheathed her daggers and Trey gulped as he saw the blades flash out. But it was a flourish, nothing more. Jelaim grinned at him and Gazi seated at the table.

“Morning’s greetings to you, young Trey, and to you, Lady Pathseeker! You see our weapons? Enchanted blades, and poisoned in their sheaths.”

The daggers the female warriors twirled in her grip were indeed coated with a dark black substance, and the metal beneath shone bright silver, too bright for the banquet hall’s lighting. They were curved and wicked, and Trey knew the Serpent Hunters were considered some of the best warriors present at the moment.

Orthenon, who was one of the best warriors in the entire kingdom, perhaps the world, didn’t look impressed.

“I’m aware of the Serpent Hunter’s arms, Jelaim. What is your point?”

“Ah, Steward! The point is only that we lack more such weapons to give to our trainees! We have dozens now, learning our tricks and fighting, but we can give them no weapons that will not corrode with our venoms. We need weapons.”

Jelaim struck an anguished pose, and the Stitch Warriors behind him performed parodies of the same pose. That was another thing. String People could be extraordinarily dramatic. Trey almost laughed, but Orthenon just sighed.

“We have steel blades being churned out in our forges. You’ve seen Smith Daiton’s work. If you need new weapons, I can order him to focus on blades for your recruits.”

“But that is steel, Steward Orthenon. Our blades must be at least enchanted to not decay with our poisons. Can more not be spared from his Majesty’s treasury?”

Jelaim protested, looking from Orthenon to Gazi. Orthenon frowned, shaking his head.

“We have few enchanted blades, aside from the collection Mars brought, and those are already distributed amongst our officers. I understand your problem now. Mage Ulyse!”

He raised his voice. Another body turned in the hall and Trey saw a second notable group turn and move towards them. The Serpent Hunters turned as a pair of [Mages] in long robes walked towards them. But these [Mages] were also unique; both carried light parasols, bright and colorful, ostensibly to block out the sun.

But Parasol Stroll as they were known, was a [Mage] group in which each of their members carried a parasol which was enchanted to enhance their magic and even cast spells on its own, like a staff or wand other [Mages] used. The two of them, a middle-aged man and a younger woman, approached. Orthenon addressed the man swiftly.

“Mage Ulyse, Mage Mirin, I’m aware Parasol Stroll is already busy performing the work of the Mage’s Guild and coordinating the rest of Reim’s magical needs. But have you an [Enchanter] or a [Mage] capable of enchanting blades for Jelaim’s warriors?”

“Ah. Enchantments is it? We know a few spells, if only to make our parasols. But I’m afraid the task isn’t that simple. Hm. No it is not.”

Ulyse, the leader of Parasol Stroll, had distant eyes and greying hair. He never quite looked anyone in the eyes, but Trey, who was himself learning to be a [Mage], could sense his magical power hidden behind his vacant stare. Ulyse had a bright yellow parasol, which looked to be made of silk or some other shiny cloth and embroidered with moons of silver. It was closed, but Ulyse tapped the tip on the ground as he thought.

“What is the problem, Ulyse? If you need blades, we have enough to spare from the forges. Even if some are lost to the enchanting process.”

Orthenon frowned, crossing his arms. Ulyse shook his head. Despite the [Steward]’s impatience, he couldn’t be rushed as he gave his reply.

“The quality of metal…is not good. Yes. That’s how I would say it. Metal requires purity and we have seen Smith Daiton’s blades. Beautiful, but flawed. Incapable of holding enchantment, right Mirin?”

“Yes. They are combination steel. Imperfect. Good for weapons. Poor for enchantments.”

The younger [Mage] spoke up. Mirin was quiet, her face shadowed, her voice soft. She was the kind of girl Trey might have fallen in love with at home, older than him by about six years, and reluctant to speak, but erudite when she did. Orthenon nodded.

“There you have it, Captain Jelaim. We did bring in a smith from the Tannousin clan, but she is not obligated to make blades for us. I will inquire, but until then, all we have is steel.”

“Oh. Tannousin has sent one of their [Smiths]? Perhaps there is hope after all.”

Jelaim had been sagging, but now his eyes shone. He turned to Orthenon.

“Where is this smith? And how long will he stay? Does she pass through?”

“She is staying to forge a blade for his Majesty. As for the rest, I would ask that you not make requests of her until his Majesty has spoken with her clan. I must return to my work, but Trey will be able to answer you any questions you have.”

Orthenon’s brisk voice gave Trey the impression he’d be checking his watch if he had one. He turned, nodded once as a goodbye, and strode out of the banquet hall, moving so fast Trey felt the wind pass him by. That was Orthenon for you; he was like lightning on a horse too.

Jelaim didn’t seem put out by Orthenon’s speedy departure. He turned to Trey and swept another bow. Trey copied it awkwardly.

“Ah, Trey! So you’ve caused another stir! And so early yet! Not even lunch past. Have you finished your meal? I wouldn’t wish to bother you while you eat.”

“Thank you. But I’m done, uh, Captain Jelaim?”

“Captain!”

Jelaim laughed and the other two String People behind him laughed as well. Trey turned red as Ulyse and Mirin smiled, but politely. Gazi—well, she was already grinning.

“Don’t call me Captain, Trey Atwood! Captain is a term for a class, for soldiers! True, I might be a mercenary captain, but I have none of these classes. Call me Serpent Hunter Jelaim, or Hunter Jelaim if you must stick to honorifics. But I would prefer my name and be honored to use yours!”

Trey blinked at that little speech.

“Serpent Hunter? Then that means you…hunt serpents?”

Again Jelaim laughed, slapping his thigh as if Trey was hilarious. Which, from Mirin’s quiet chuckle, he was.

“I am a [Serpent Hunter]. Not that I always hunt serpents. But from this class we have built our group. It’s a class that uses poison in our weapons, you see?”

“Of course. And you’re uh, taking new recruits? Is that what you said?”

Jelaim nodded. He gestured to the curved blade at his side.

“Training. His Majesty welcomed us into his home. We will fight his enemies of course, but he desires us to take any of the String Folk into our ranks and teach them our ways. Thus, our ranks swell with dozens of new recruits already, and perhaps hundreds or thousands should his Majesty claim a land filled with our kind.”

“Why only String People? Is that one of your rules? Do you not teach Humans?”

Jelaim shook his head.

“Not out of malice, no. But practicality. String People can take off a limb as easily as you take off clothes, Trey Atwood. If we are struck by a snake, we can remove our arm before the poison spreads. How can poison damage cloth? It may ruin it, but a new arm can always be woven. Humans are not so fortunate. It is a miracle your people ever settled Chandrar, but here you are.”

He grinned at Trey, gesturing to one of his bare shoulders, at the golden thread. Trey nodded slowly.

“Well I uh, I’m happy to help if I can. But like Orthenon said, Nawal is only here to forge a blade.”

“But you know her by name. I don’t suppose you’d be able to…? No, no, we should not intercede until his Majesty returns. When that occurs, I will ask for your help perhaps.”

Jelaim shook his head, looking crestfallen. He glanced at his companions.

“Until then, we will have to teach without venom. Perhaps dyes? To make the recruits understand a single cut to themselves is deadly. We will work on it. But I will leave you to finish your meal, courteous Trey. And you, Lady Pathseeker, Mage Ulyse and Mage Mirin.”

He bowed and the two String Warriors behind him did likewise before retreating. Trey blinked at them. He was about to return to his cold bread when the [Mage] coughed. Ulyse sat down across from Trey and blinked at him.

“Ah, Trey. I meant to speak with you.”

Trey stared at Ulyse, mouth open, about to take a bite of his bread. Ulyse stared past his ear.

“I understand Lady Gazi is quite adept at teaching. But—perhaps her focus is narrow? If we had time, one of our members would aid with your instruction, Trey Atwood. This is what I meant to bring up, an offer for later as Jelaim did.”

He said that despite Gazi being right across from him. Trey hesitated.

“Er, thank you? But Gazi’s teaching me a lot. Quite…quite a lot. I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“Ah, but his Majesty, our [King] Flos asked. And we have been too busy to follow his wishes. And a young [Mage] should have as much instruction as possible.”

Ulyse blinked slowly at something only he could see, shaking his head sadly.

“However, Parasol Stroll is much smaller than the Serpent Hunters, as befits a group of [Mages].”

“But no less deadly.”

Gazi cut in, smiling slightly at Ulyse. The [Mage] bowed back, and Mirin raised her parasol and unfolded it. Her bright crimson-and-indigo parasol spun as she bowed, an elaborate gesture for such a simple compliment.

“You honor us, Lady Pathseeker. Our numbers do indeed allow us to fight an army many times larger, but I fear it is still a weakness. Especially since we serve as his Majesty’s sole [Mages].”

Ulyse looked mournful. Then he took Trey’s bread and began to eat it, speaking to the young man and to the air again.

“We are stretched thin. Too thin, accompanying the armies in Hellios and Germina to provide magical aid and protection, as well as to send basic [Message] spells. Reim lacks for [Mages]; all left in his Majesty’s slumber. And Reim never had as many [Mages] as some nations even in its glory. Only the one was famed throughout the world.”

Mirin nodded. She spoke quietly.

“Amerys. If she were here, his Majesty Flos would not need to fear enemy [Mages], at least. One wonders why she has remained in Wistram. Perhaps she truly has turned traitor. A strange thought, though.”

“Yes.”

The word came from Gazi. And it was so heavy that Ulyse’s eyes focused on her and both he and Mirin as well as Trey hesitated. All four of Gazi’s eyes had focused for a moment on Mirin. And her smile was gone.

At once, both [Mages] stood up. Ulyse nodded.

‘We’ve given offence.”

“It was not taken.”

Gazi smiled, but it was her fake smile that Trey had learned to spot. And Ulyse was not fooled either.

“We leave you to your lunch, Trey. But one more thing. I think you still have a staff in your quarters? Mirin complains that it gives off an aura at night.”

Trey jumped.

“How did you—”

Ulyse nodded.

“It was a powerful staff you took from the [Geomancer]. A useful tool for magic, but not if you lack the spells or experience to control it. We can teach you how to use it to augment your powers. I will speak to Orthenon or Lady Gazi when we have time to teach you more spells. Until then, Trey Atwood.”

He bowed and turned. Both of Parasol Stroll headed away from their table. Trey stared at their backs, at his now-empty plate, and at Gazi.

“Are all of King Flos’ vassals a bit crazy like that, Gazi?”

The half-Gazer looked at Trey with all four eyes and he shuddered. But then her eyes focused and two rolled back in her head.

“They are all unique, Trey. As people are. I am no longer hungry.”

“Because of what Ulyse said about er, Amerys? He’s a bit weird, but he doesn’t’ mean—”

“I don’t take offence from him, Trey. But what he said is true. Amerys was loyal. If she is not returned, it is concerning. We need her. And if she is an enemy, we must know.”

Gazi stood up. She walked away from the table and a servant took her plate. She spoke without looking back at Trey.

“I will find you tomorrow to practice more spells. This time bring the staff. You will learn to cast [Featherfall] with it.”

Trey gulped, but he didn’t dare protest. Then Gazi was gone too, and Trey had to return his plate and cup to the servants in the kitchen himself.

A room, no, a kingdom full of adults who all knew more than he did. All busy, all with their own interests, which were all in service to Flos. It was enough to make Trey lose his marbles sometimes. He wandered out of the banquet hall before someone else could find him. Trey hurried down the corridors of servants until he reached one of the unused wings of the palace reserved for guests, where far less people visited.

And then he was alone. No Gazi, none of Flos’ vassals. Just alone to do whatever he pleased. Which was what Trey had wanted, but somehow it left him empty.

“Swords with poison. Orthenon going to talk to the Quarass and a [Queen]. [Mages] with their spells. And what am I supposed to do? What about you, Teres? How useful are we to Flos except as…as entertainment? Inspiration for him?”

Trey scuffed along the corridor, scowling. He didn’t know how strong Jelaim was, but the Stitch Man looked fit and agile and his companion had made those curved daggers flash. He’d seen Orthenon and Gazi fight. And he could feel Ulyse and Mirin’s power radiating from them and their parasols. It made Trey feel like an ant. So, and because Gazi expected him to, he began to practice magic. Of all the things in this world, that alone was actually fun.

“[Light]. [Sand Arrow]. Combine it to…[Lightsand Arrow]!”

A ball of light appeared, and then a spinning projectile of dust, of sand, forming into a blunt projectile. The two merged, and a flash of light shot down the hallway, busting into a shower of sand that would have blinded a foe. Trey grinned—he could perform that spell with his bare hands! He shot another [Lightsand Arrow].

It was a weak spell, but it could blind an opponent and Gazi had taught him to aim perfectly with it. He hit a patch on the wall, a spot on the ceiling—and then saw the [Servant] with the dust cloth down the corridor glaring at him. She was cleaning and he was getting the sand everywhere.

“Sorry. I’ll clean it up. [Sand Sprite].”

Trey instantly folded his hands behind his back. Meekly, he conjured the sand on the ground towards him. It flowed across the ground, leaving the stone hallway spotless once more. And in front of Trey, a little golem of sand rose upwards. The [Servant] stopped glaring at Trey long enough to stare at the golem in puzzlement. Not because the golem itself was that unusual—although it was a fairly tricky spell, even temporarily—but because of how it looked.

The little figure looked like an odd, bobbleheaded figure like one of those cheap plastic figurines from Earth. It had a simple head with two big eyes, a crude body which didn’t match the oversized head, and a spear made of sand. It had nothing approaching a normal Human’s anatomy, or that of any other creature in this world.

Golems, spells, everything was based on a [Mage]’s image of the spell. Trey’s unique version of the miniature sand golems weren’t like anything other [Mages] could create. Mainly because his were ungainly and impractical, based on toy designs rather than form and function. Gazi had pronounced his sand sprites the ugliest, most useless creations in history. But she’d still praised him for learning the spell.

“Walk. And uh, don’t get sand anywhere.”

Trey ushered the little sand sprite golem down the hallway away from the servant. It trundled in front of him, walking oddly, balancing its huge head. Trey let it walk towards a window, and then couldn’t resist.

“Attack! Me, I guess?”

The little sand golem whirled around and nearly fell over. But it lunged at Trey with commendable speed and began whacking him with its little spear. He watched, tickled by the sensation. The sand sprite’s tiny spear was about as painful as, well, being hit by some soft sand. That was the flaw with sand golems, apparently. They were weak, easy to scatter, but held an advantage over other materials in that they were easy to conjure and maintain. Especially in Chandrar.

“Why can’t this be all I do?”

Trey mused as he squatted down and conjured another sand sprite to duel the first. This one had a sword and a shield and the two little figures hit each other and charged, a mockery of real fighting. Yes, this was what Trey liked. There was no danger to this. He wasn’t hurting anyone. But he was casting magic, and creating these little creatures out of his mind. Why couldn’t he just do this? Why did he need to be one of the two people Flos, the King of Destruction wanted by his side? Why did Trey have to be his moral compass? He was only sixteen. He was only…

“Trey?”

The young man looked up. The two sand sprites turned into lumps of sand as he lost control of them. He looked up, and saw a veiled girl, clutching a dagger at her side, approaching him. Nawalishifra stopped and stared at the young man crouching in front of the pile of sand.

Trey stood up hurriedly, wiping his hands and blowing the sand out of the open window. He smiled at Nawal. At least she was around his age. Well, a bit older. But at least she was like him a bit. And he rather fancied her. He wondered what Teres would think when she met Nawal. He hoped no one would get stabbed.

—-

“Trey.”

Nawal saw the young man stand up. The little golem of sand he’d been watching, collapsed. He flicked his fingers as he rose, and the sand blew upwards in a narrow funnel, out the window. She blinked at the sight. He was a [Mage]! She’d thought he was just some…well, just some servant. But he knew magic!

In her internal estimation of him, Trey rose another notch. Perhaps he really was someone special. The King’s Steward had spoken highly of him. But Nawal couldn’t help but remember the awkward stranger who’d come asking about her tent in the bazaar. And because she needed to, she approached Trey and spoke.

“I have been looking for you. You remember me? Nawalishifra of Clan Tannousin? And you, you Trey Atwood, who pretended to be a humble person of a common master when you served the King of Destruction? A fine trick you played on me!”

She glared at him, hand on her dagger, but with less heat than she might have otherwise had. Trey backed up a step.

“Uh, Nawal! Sorry. I mean, it’s good to see you again. I didn’t expect to see you so soon—I mean, I didn’t ask you to make that vow! And his Majesty did pay your clan, right? He really wanted to have one of your magical swords.”

“A Naq-Alrama blade. Not a ‘magical sword’. And he paid, or else we would not be here. But what he paid for was our journey, not the blade itself. Not that I would doubt the King of Destruction, and you should not either, as his loyal servant.”

Nawal tossed her head, adjusting the veil so she wouldn’t inhale it. Trey winced.

“Right. Er, sorry. But it is good to see you.”

That surprised Nawal. She flushed, and drew the veil more tightly around her face. Were all foreigners like Trey so forwards? She glared at him.

“We hardly know each other.”

“Um. Yeah. But we’re around the same age. You’re a bit older, but there’s few people my age in the castle. I was hoping to find you, actually. I could show you around? If you want me to. And I’d like you to meet my sister when she returns. You two might be friends.”

His sister? Friends? She was here to smith. But Trey was treating her as if they were two childhood friends from the same clan. She glared, but then decided to jump on this chance.

“I may meet your sister in the fullness of time, Trey Atwood. But I would take you up on your offer. I am new to the King of Destruction’s palace. And I have some questions for you.”

“Uh? Well, okay. I don’t know everything, but ask away. What did you want to know?”

Trey made a stupid face. Nawal rolled her eyes. She gestured around the bare corridor, where a servant was cleaning the hall. It had no artwork, or statues or suits of armor. It was just…a hallway. In a palace, but it lacked even a carpet, and the windows weren’t made of glass.

“I have walked around the palace. And seen my quarters. The beds are of cotton. Tell me, do the beds in your room consist of cotton or silk? Or do you sleep on stone, as a lesser servant?”

“I’m not a servant.”

Trey frowned, contradicting what Orthenon had said. He frowned.

“My bed? It’s cotton. Nice. Why do you ask?”

So maybe it wasn’t a slight. Nawal gestured around the palace.

“Simply because this is the home of the King of Destruction, is it not? His seat of power in Reim? His base from which he once conquered all of Chandrar and launched a campaign against the rest of the world?”

“…I guess. Why?”

Nawal stared at Trey. He gave her another stupid look. She stamped her foot.

“Well then! Why are his halls not filled with grand carpets hundreds of feet long? Why were only four servants sent to escort us to our quarters? Why are the beds not made of silk, even for his servants? Where is his fabled armory? The ten thousand swords of myth and legend that he won in a thousand battles? Surely some still remain. What of the artworks, the statues and wonders carried from around the world? Have all gone? And this palace—is this truly his home?”

Trey gaped at Nawal. He looked around, and stared at her.

“Beds made of silk? Grand treasury? I’ve never heard of anything like that. Flos—er, his Majesty used to have a lot of stuff, it’s true. But it’s all gone now. And this is his palace. Why do you ask?”

Nawal shook her head. How could he not know? Even as a foreigner?

“It was said that the King of Destruction’s citadel was larger than one could imagine, that the spires on top of the towers reached beyond the clouds.”

“Really?”

“Of course! How do you not know of this? Every child is told the King of Destructions’ story, of his grandeur! I came here expecting to see his castle rising out of the ground for hundreds of miles. Instead I found his city poor and his palace worthy of any [King], but not of him.”

“Yeah, well, he was asleep—or rather, he was depressed—for about twenty years. A lot of stuff went bad, or so Orthenon and Gazi said. And why does it matter? I thought a lot of Chandrar hated the King of Destruction. Most of the world does, apparently.”

Trey shrugged uncomfortably. Nawal stared at him. Then she turned.

“Why would that matter? He was still the King of Destruction. His myths still are told like tales of old. Hate him. Love him. But he was a legend worthy of Chandrar.”

She had grown up hearing his stories as a baby. Nawal stared at the plain servant, who was scrubbing at a stain on the wall. She shook her head again.

“Have you not heard one of the King of Destruction’s tales? Of his city of Reim, fairest in the world? How he turned it from a small kingdom no one knew into a world power? It was said that in those days when his strength was at its peak, the streets of his cities flowed with wealth. No one wanted for food or drink, and even the beggars were richer than some [Lords]. Every day caravans of treasures taken from far-off lands would flow into his kingdom, and heroes and adventurers from across the world would journey here, to seek his favor and fight in his name.”

She didn’t even mention the harems filled with [Princesses] and brides from across the world, or the stories of his rooms filled with the skulls of his enemies, or the dungeons in which his enemies were fated to live and suffer eternally. One would assume the virginal brides were all far older by this point, and that those kept in the dungeons expired. And if there were rooms full of skeletons, a prudent visitor would never inquire about them.

“Really? He had all that?”

Trey looked at Nawal, his eyes slightly wide. She looked back and saw he didn’t know. That hurt part of her. She’d thought that at least that legend had spread about the world. Chandrar had little to boast of sometimes.

But while those from other nations might sometimes laugh at the poor folk of the desert, they would all stop laughing when they asked what Chandrar had wrought in the last hundred years. Because the answer was always the King of Destruction. And for all he had been a terrible figure, he had made the world look to Chandrar with fear and awe.

“These are all things said of the King of Destruction’s city, Trey Atwood. These and more. I came here expecting to see some of that, even if it had faded. I saw so little I believed it to be an insult, a mirage. Is there anything like that? Anything you could show me?”

Nawal waited, hoping for Trey to say yes, to say that there was some legacy of that grandeur left. But he only bit his lip and hesitated. And part of the hope in Nawal’s chest, that youthful girl hearing stories around the campfire, died in her chest. She looked around the bare corridor and her heart sank.

Was this all that remained? Or, worse, had the legends been true to begin with?

“Sorry, Nawal. I don’t remember seeing anything like that. No caravans of treasure. No…well, Mars had an armory of magical swords. And there is gold in the treasury. But I don’t think there’s nearly as much as you think.”

Trey looked doubtful as he shook his head. Nawal stared at him, then closed her eyes.

“Then perhaps the King of Destruction’s legend is just that. A myth. A fable. I was a fool to think otherwise, naïve that I am. I thank you for telling me the truth, Trey Atwood.”

She turned. And there, lounging against a wall, suddenly there and making both Nawal and Trey jump, was Gazi. The half-Gazer grinned as Nawal unsheathed her dagger and Trey yelped.

“So you are disappointed, Nawalishifra of Clan Tannousin? Is this palace not enough, though you were offered the right of guests under my lord’s roof? Only say so now and I will answer your complaint.”

There she was, leaning against the wall. Neither Trey nor Nawal had seen her appear, nor had the servant cleaning the hall, who’d frozen, eyes wide as she stared at Lady Gazi Pathseeker. Gazi of Reim. Nawal’s breath grew tight in her chest. She had met Gazi once, but under an illusion spell. Now, up close, she was terrifying.

Gazi the Omniscient. That was one of her names. Another was Dunestalker. A terror of the night, an assassin who hunted other spies and traitors, anyone who would threaten her [King]. She at least was the same as her legends.

Oh, you might not think so if you just saw her. Gazi’s almost rusty, scale armor wasn’t impressive and her claymore, for all it was brilliantly made, wasn’t obviously magical. But Nawal knew of steel and she knew both armor and sword were not of steel. Or any metal she could identify at a glance, for that matter. The unique coloration of the armor told her it wasn’t adamantine, and the claymore wasn’t mithril, but neither were they common metals either.

“I—I did not seek to give offence Lady Gazi. I only meant that I expected to see the wonders of his Majesty’s palace. Not—”

Nawal realized her little dagger was out and she sheathed it quickly. Gazi smiled, but it was no welcoming smile. It was almost perfectly crafted to make Nawal shudder, a smile with malice hidden behind the curve of the lips. Trey was staring at Gazi, not with fear, but with confusion. He must be mad, or he hadn’t heard of her stories either.

Gazi detached from the wall and walked around Nawal as the [Smith] froze in place. Her voice was soft, pleasant but for the metal buried beneath the gentle tone.

“Sometimes legends grow until they are too big to fit reality, Nawalishifra Tannousin. Sometimes. And sometimes they fade. But hold your judgment until you have seen my lord in person once more. And when you walk through this palace, remember you see ruin. Two decades of despair. You and your clan have come to restore part of what was lost.”

“I—yes. Of course.”

“Good. You understand that. Then I welcome you still. But mind your words under this roof. And Trey?”

“Yes, Gazi?”

“Escort Nawal around the palace yourself. And keep her away from Orthenon. If he had heard what she had said, I doubt he would be so understanding.”

Gazi walked away from them. Quick, and despite her armor, silent. She turned a corner and was gone. Nawal remembered to breathe after that. That was Dunestalker. Silent. The King’s protector in the shadows. If you so much as breathed a word of dissent against the King of Destruction, she would cut you down. Oh, but Nawal had make a mistake! She looked at Trey, trying not to let her teeth chatter.

“D-do you think I gave offence?”

“To Gazi? No. No, that sounded like uh, one of her friendly threats. But she is right. I don’t think Orthenon would like you saying that.”

Trey looked troubled. Nawal wanted to laugh.

“I would never speak so in his hearing!”

“Really? But you’re speaking to me—”

Nawal shook her head. Both she and Trey stepped out of the way of the servant as she came down the corridor. They began walking, if only so Nawal could put Gazi’s ominous words behind her. She spoke briskly to Trey, taking solace in his simple nature. He couldn’t be that important and be so ignorant, could he?

“A woman should not speak to a man in the open, as he is in the midst of his work. By the same token, a man should not approach a woman before seeking her husband or brother or father first. In private, things are less important, and between family of course exceptions exist. But if I spoke to the King’s Steward? I would cut off my ears rather than hear of such idiocy from another of my clan!”

“But you’re speaking to me and I’m male.”

Nawal snorted. Trey looked very hurt, so she explained.

“You’re a foreigner. You don’t count. Besides, I must see the King of Destruction’s forges if I am to work there, and neither Hesseif nor Silmak is willing to go. Those fools, they wish only to gossip of the King of Destruction’s legends and look about like children. But I am here to forge. So take me there, Trey Atwood.”

“The forges?”

“Yes! Surely the King of Destruction has his need for [Blacksmiths], even if they do not forge magical works of art with each passing day, each greater than the last! Surely he needs nails and tools for his servants to work! He does have forges, does he not?”

Nawal threw up her hands. She was going to hit Trey if he said no. The young man hesitated.

“I’m sure he does. No, he definitely does! There’s at least one master smith—of course, I can take you right to him!”

That was a relief. Nawal nodded and bowed.

“Lead on, then.”

Trey hesitated. He looked around, forwards, back, and then sheepishly pointed back at the servant making her way down the hall, grumbling about sand and [Mages].

“Uh, let me ask where to go.”

—-

It took Trey fifteen minutes and two more servants to locate the forges. They weren’t in the castle, but outside of the main palace, for reasons that soon became obvious. The instant he approached the open-air forge, Trey was overwhelmed by the heat emanating from one of the furnaces, and the air was filled with the ringing of hammers on metal. He approached timidly, but made his way to one of the [Smiths]—mainly because Nawal was pushing him the entire way.

“Excuse me? Is Blacksmith Daiton here? I’m showing a guest around the palace, and uh—”

Trey shouted at a laboring apprentice. The young man looked up, saw that it was Trey, and his eyes widened.

“Sir Trey! Let me get Master Daiton at once!”

He sprang up and hurried over to an older man with grey hair and a growing bald spot on his head. The [Blacksmith] came over, and Trey was astounded to have his hand shaken at once as the friendly smith came over. He knew Trey was one of Flos’ personal followers, and he was overjoyed to have Trey here. And when he learned Nawal was a fellow [Smith], his grin spread ear to ear.

“I am Daiton, master [Blacksmith] of his Majesty’s forges. You won’t find a better smith in all of Reim, or Germina or Hellios, I’d wager! There are plenty of low-level sorts as we’re in demand, but I’m the most high-level—and oldest—by far in the area. It’s a delight to have you, Sir Trey, and you, young lady. Are you an apprentice by chance? It’s rare to have a woman practicing the craft, but welcome! I’d be honored if you used my forge so long as it’s here.”

He addressed Nawal directly, but she refused to reply. She’d suddenly turned shy. Nawal half-hid herself behind Trey, keeping her eyes to the ground and peeking around the forge furtively. She whispered to Trey urgently into his ear.

“Tell him I thank him for the great compliment, and that I hope to learn from his expertise. Tell him I am Nawalishifra of Clan Tannousin.”

Trey half-turned, frowning at Nawal.

“Why don’t you say it? You’re right—”

He received a jab to the back and a glare. Oh, right. Daiton was a native Chandrarian and Nawal was female. The [Smith] girl hissed at Trey.

“Tell him!”

“Er, sorry Master Daiton. This is Nawal. Ow! Nawalishifra of Clan Tannousin. She’s a [Blacksmith] come to forge a sword for his Majesty.”

“A smith of clan Tannousin?”

Daiton’s eyes widened and several of the workers who’d heard looked around. Daiton immediately gave Nawal another look, but her eyes were lowered and her veil was tightly around her face.

“I’ve heard Tannousin smiths are some of the best in the deserts. And a female smith? I thought—no matter. You’re welcome twice over then, ah, Nawalish—Nawali—Nawal of Tannousin. Perhaps we could swap techniques, if you’d trade secrets.”

“She would accept that gladly, Master Daiton.”

Trey answered for Nawal. He looked around, listening to the whisper in his ear.

“Uh, Nawal wonders if this is your entire forge. Could we have a tour, maybe?”

Daiton nodded at once.

“Please, step inside. But mind the steel and sparks! This is indeed his Majesty’s forge. We have other buildings, but they’re disused so this is the only active forge. Plenty of room, though! I’ve been here since his Majesty went into his slumber and I waited right here until he woke up. I’d do it for another ten years without hesitation.”

He puffed his chest out, and Trey nodded appreciatively. Daiton gestured at the men working around the forge.

“I have eight workers I’m training. Journeymen [Blacksmiths], apprentices…I’m hoping to double that number when I can trust my senior workers by myself. And have at least forty men working the forges around the hour in a few months! Even if Germina and Hellios start producing, there will be a great need for fresh weapons and armor, repairs, and that’s only for armies! Nails for houses, parts for barrels and axles for wagons, tools for every sort of craft—”

“Arrowheads.”

One of the younger apprentices, younger than even Trey, groaned as he labored over an arrowhead. Daiton scowled at him.

“You want to be a [Fletcher]? Half of it’s making the arrowheads, Fedi! Don’t complain, you’ll level up! And once we have more craftsmen flowing back into the capital, you’ll stop having to make arrowheads all day long.”

“So your forge makes all the materials for the kingdom?”

Trey looked around, impressed. That was a lot of work! Daiton shook his head.

“Not all. But weapons? The vast majority. There’re two other [Smiths] in Reim at the moment, but they handle more mundane work. Myself? I make blades for his Majesty. Come and see. This is my signature work.”

He led Trey over to a barrel of swords. Daiton pulled one out and Trey whistled as he saw a flash of steel. The smith handed the blade to Trey.

“Don’t worry, the edge isn’t sharpened yet. But this is a complete sword, one of many we’re making for the army. They’ve got old weapons, but new steel’s vital and we’re working around the clock here to meet that demand. We’re hoping to have two hundred swords made and four times that many spears if we keep getting enough wood.”

“It’s so light!”

Trey had held Teres’ sword, but he was already impressed at how balanced and how light swords actually were. Nothing like the heavy things he’d imagined. Daiton laughed.

“Light and strong! You can flex that one and it won’t bend or snap! And look—this is what I meant by signature. See the steel? Give it a close look.”

Trey did. And then he saw what Daiton meant. There was a pattern on the blade! The steel wasn’t one, shiny uniform color. His eyes widened as he stared at the curvy lines running down the blade.

“Bugger me. Is that…I’ve seen this pattern before!”

Damascus steel. It looked exactly like it! Trey stared at the fine, wavy lines on the metal of the sword, almost like the patterns of wood grain, or water running through the steel. Daiton puffed out his chest, delighted that Trey had noticed.

“Ah, sir! You have an eye for steel? You recognize the decoration? It’s pattern-steel. Forged from multiple types of steel, forge-welded and hammered together…all my swords are like that! Although you can only see the pattern on these ones.”

He indicated the swords in the barrel.

“These are obviously swords meant for officers. Note the etching and the hilt work? The rest of my apprentices can make swords to various degrees of quality, but we don’t bother etching those with acid.”

“Wow. That’s incredible!”

Each of the swords had its own unique pattern, and as Trey looked around, he saw more swords in the process of being made. And each one was made like that?

“It’s all pattern-welded, as I said. That’s my style. I take multiple layers of steel, forge them together and create a blade out of the result. You see, it adds to the strength of the finished product and it produces this lovely pattern. As steel forging goes, you’re hard-pressed to beat it.”

Daiton showed Trey what he meant. He’d taken several flat pieces of steel and melted the ends together. That turned into a ‘billet’, or a solid chunk of steel.

“See, the trick is you take these individual pieces and squeeze them together. Thus, weaker steels mix with the good if there are impurities or flaws, and the entire piece is stronger—and beautiful if you take the time to work it right. It’s a technique I use for every sword, and his Majesty himself has used some of my blades—although he breaks them with every other swing!”

Daiton laughed and Trey, reminded of Flos’ insane strength, had to laugh too. He looked at Nawal who was inspecting the sword Daiton had first shown Trey.

She didn’t look nearly as impressed as Trey thought. She peered at the edge and tapped the metal with her fingernail. She frowned closely at the pattern, then shook her head slightly. Daiton didn’t notice, but Trey walked back over.

“Isn’t it beautiful? Daiton’s a good smith, isn’t he?”

He desperately wanted Nawal to see something wonderful in Flos’ palace to impress her. But the veiled girl only looked p and shook her head.

“For art, and an officer’s blade I suppose? But it’s just a pattern. No more.”

“But that’s Damascus steel. It’s legendary, isn’t it? Really tough and really strong?”

Trey protested. That was Damascus, right? But Nawal was shaking her head.

“It’s not. I’ve seen steels with a similar pattern—you mean the steel that naturally has these little lines, don’t you? That’s a pure steel. Superior to this. This—this is just a pattern, made by the metal.”

Trey deflated slightly at Nawal’s mater-of-fact voice.

“Oh. But this is still a good sword, right?”

The look Nawal gave him was…well, it went straight through Trey. She leaned over and whispered to Trey as Daiton came back.

“Ask him to show you the ones he’s made. Not his apprentices.”

“What?”

“Anything the matter? I can show Miss Tannousin my process if she wishes.”

Daiton beamed at them. Trey gulped.

“Uh, Nawal was wondering if you had any of your blades she could see, Master Daiton.”

The man looked confused. He gestured to the sword Nawal was holding.

“Miss, uh, Nawal is holding it there.”

That was what Trey had thought. But Nawal gave both of them a surprised look. She eyed the blade again, closing one eye to stare at the metal. She tapped it and shook her head. She gestured at Trey and he leaned over.

“What’s the matter? That’s the sword Daiton made.”

“But it’s impure. The steel isn’t that good. It’s a poor sword. Tell him that.”

“What? No it’s not. I can’t just—”

“Anything wrong?”

Daiton looked concerned. Trey glanced at his face and gestured helplessly at the blade.

“It’s uh, Nawal is just studying the metal. She’s uh, wondering about the quality. Of the metal?”

The smith nodded understandingly.

“It’s a fair question. We have to buy iron scrap—it used to be we got our shipments via caravan, but I suppose now we’ll have access to Hellios’ iron mines. That would certainly improve the quality of the iron. And our steel. Still, the pattern-welding accommodates even for poor stuff, so I’m confident we could do twice as many swords per week if…”

He stopped as Nawal finished inspecting the blade. She put it slowly in the barrel and turned to Trey.

“It’s a bad sword.”

“What?”

This time Daiton heard. The smith’s jovial expression turned to shock and then anger in a second. Nawal glanced at him and then looked at Trey.

“Ask him how he made it.”

“He showed us, Nawal. With the metal and—”

Trey glanced fearfully at Daiton’s face. Nawal stared at one of the apprentices.

“And he takes the steel afterwards and has his apprentices forge it? Like that? Out in the open?”

She pointed. A journeyman was taking a solid billet of the pattern-welded steel and striking it with a hammer. The white-hot metal was being hammered out until it was longer, and longer.

“Um—er, Master Daiton—”

Daiton scowled at Nawal. He addressed her directly.

“Yes. That’s my process, girl! What of it? Look, this is how I do my work!”

He strode over and interrupted the journeyman at his task. Daiton took the hammer and began pounding away at the metal, glaring daggers at Nawal the entire while. Trey blinked. The journeyman had been hammering at the metal, but as Daiton struck it, the anvil rang with the force of his blows. Everyone turned to look as the metal began to flatten ten times as fast under Daiton’s hammer as the other men.

It wasn’t just strength; Trey saw a man with huge arm muscles hitting a piece of metal an apprentice held with a huge mallet of a hammer and not moving it half as fast a Daiton. As the metal in front of Daiton cooled, Trey saw that he’d lengthened it a good foot. He picked it up with his tongs and put it back in the furnace to reheat. He strode back to Nawal, glaring at her.

“With my Skills, I can cut the time it takes to make a sword in half! Do you know of another [Blacksmith] who can work like that? I have over a dozen Skills that help me with shaping the metal quickly! [Steady Rhythm], [Malleable Metal], [Twicelasting Fires], [Blazing Forge]—”

He began listing off Skills on his sooty fingers. He was glaring now and Trey was afraid Nawal’s sharp tongue had ruined Daiton’s goodwill. But Nawal was staring defiantly past Daiton’s shoulder, still not meeting his eyes. She looked at Trey.

“Tell Master Daiton that he has the Skills to move metal faster and with more ease. But that does not change what I said. His steel is poor steel. Poor quality of metal. And his swords are likewise flawed.”

The forge suddenly went silent. Trey hadn’t realized everyone was listening. Now the hammers went still and everyone looked at Nawal. She refused to meet anyone’s gaze but Trey’s. Daiton rumbled ominously.

“That is—I’ve had fellow [Smiths] insult my work before, but never to my face. And never in my own forge! You claim my work is flawed, girl? My steel is poor? Try one of my swords! And look at me! Do you have a problem with my skills and experience?”

Nawal refused to meet Daiton’s eyes. She looked deliberately at Trey.

“Trey Atwood. Deliver a message to Master Daiton. Tell him he should melt down his hammer and use it for scrap metal where it would do some good. Or cut off his hands and live with the goats, old fool that he is for thinking he produces fine craftsmanship. I have seen better swords rusting in the sands, young though I am. I spit on the idea that he is a master smith worthy of working in the King of Destruction’s forges!”

Her voice rang in the silence. Trey’s mouth hung open in silence. So did half the men in the shop. The other half straightened, and the look in their eyes was murderous. Trey glanced up at Daiton and flinched at the look in the older smith’s eyes. He spread his hands and looked around nervously.

“Uh, what I think she meant to say was—”

—-

Nawalishifra of Clan Tannousin had a reputation. Believe it or not, she was known to have something of a sharp tongue. Something of an attitude. Woman or not, her blistering remarks and insults had been known to cut more than one manhood down to size. That was why the elders and headman of her tribe had feared to send her out. Not just because she might give offence as a woman, but because her tongue might get her into trouble.

Actually, that had been true both of Nawal and her brother, Allaif. Where his over-exaggerated promises and sometimes outright lies and flattery had gotten the clan into trouble, Nawal’s remarks had been just as disastrous. But Bezha, Silmak, and Hesseif had all known Nawal since she was a child and it had been hoped they would be enough to rein her in.

But no one had expected her to create this much of a disaster on the first day. Nawal stood, not exactly staring past Bezha as the older woman screamed at her outside of the forge. All the [Smiths] in the King of Destruction’s employ were engaged with a glaring contest with the Tannousin folk, and the forge had gone to a standstill.

“Nawal, you fool, you imbecile! Did we not say to mind your tongue? Instead you have given offence at the first sign! And now a bet?”

“I simply said that I could forge a better blade than the so-called Master Daiton could within the span of a day. I spoke no lies. He was the one who challenged me to prove my words, and so I will.”

Nawal tossed her head. She ducked as Bezha took a swing at her face.

“You idiot! You sharp-tongued cow of a hornet, you! Why say that? Why challenge the King of Destruction’s personal smith? What difference is a bit of skill?”

Nawal caught the second slap headed towards her face. She spoke sharply.

“It is not just skill, Bezha! It is the quality of the metal itself! Or did you not see and test the swords? Look, you fool with your eyes only towards me!”

She pointed. Both she and stared around the forge. They stared at the angry [Blacksmiths], at the metal chunks and billets of steel waiting to be hammered out, and at the swords in progress.

After Nawal’s insult, Daiton had been on the verge of throwing her and Trey out of the forge. Until she’d made her claim. Then he’d lost his temper for real and demanded she bring her clan. Which she’d done. All thirty two of them were gathered outside the forge, and Hesseif and Silmak were inspecting the swords that Daiton had so proudly shown Trey, doing the same inspection of the metal.

They were also eying the crucible steel, the round mounds of steel that Daiton and his apprentices forged from raw iron. Nawal was familiar with the process and she could see the raw metal sitting, waiting to be pounded into billets. But it was bad metal. And as Silmak approached and handed Bezha one of the crucibles, her face changed to a look of dismay.

Crucibles. Trey, who was standing and watching from the side, looking very nervous, had to be explained what they were by one of Daiton’s apprentices. Nawal of course knew instantly. Crucibles were the containers in which you smelted metals, transforming it like in the case of iron, into steel.

In this case, Daiton used little pots, about the size of two hands in height, which he’d fill with cast iron on the bottom, pure iron and a bit of charcoal higher up. Then he’d seal the pot to make it airtight, and heat it up hot in a smelter. If done right, you’d get a puck of steel, which was actual steel as opposed to weaker iron.

That in itself was worthy of praise—not every [Blacksmith] could refine steel so well. And as Daiton shouted, it was an insult to think his steel was inferior to any other metal.

“It’s beautiful metal! You look at this, Sir Trey! Tell that girl, who won’t even look me in the eye, that this is quality metal! See how it’s flawless?”

He showed Trey the puck of metal and Trey had to agree. The steel wasn’t smooth, but it looked like one solid bit of metal. But that was because he was an amateur. Bezha was staring at the puck, and then the bar of flattened steel that one of the apprentices had made out of it.

“The grain of the metal is so large. And they made it from this? I can see the slag on the bottom. Did they remove the impurity?”

“No. Look. This is the bar one of the apprentices was using.”

Silmak handed Bezha one of the straightened pieces of metal, a long rectangle of steel. It was fairly straight and ready to be transformed, Nawal could give it that. But Bezha recoiled as she saw the soot and griminess of the metal.

“That’s how city smiths do their work?”

“In open air forges, no less. If they were making something simple I could understand. But blades?”

Silmak shook his head. He looked at the sword Hesseif was inspecting, and then raised his voice as he addressed the rest of his clan.

“Nawalishifra is right. A Tannousin [Blacksmith] would never work so. The steel is inferior; a blacksmith of our clan could make a superior sword.”

A rumble went through the listening smiths. The Tannousin clan members looked at each other, nodding silently in agreement. Daiton’s face purpled, but Trey seized his arm.

“Master Daiton! They’re guests of his Majesty!”

“Guests or not, I won’t have some tribe—even Tannousin—stride into my forge and insult me! That girl claims she can make a better sword? Prove it or get out and never sully my forge again!”

He pointed at Nawal. All eyes went to her. Bezha closed hers, but didn’t argue as Silmak and Hesseif looked at Nawal.

“Nawal. Can you forge a sword today?”

“If you prepare my space, I will.”

Silmak nodded. He turned and clapped his hands.

“Clear the space. We need brooms. Water.”

“They can use one of our spaces. Listen up, lads! This is a contest! These outsiders think our blades are pig iron crap! Well, I’ve a mind to forge a sword and shove it down their throats!”

Daiton turned and roared at his apprentices, who let out a hoarse cheer. They rushed into the forge, clearing a spot as they glared at the Tannousin. The clan split the forge down the center as Daiton’s people evacuated, and to Trey’s astonishment, began clearing everything out of the way!

Tools, the other anvils, even the ground. A broom appeared, and then a bucket of water. The clan washed the floor as they carted out all of the objects in their side of the room. Daiton turned red again, but he whirled around as the Tannousin clan emptied the forge of everything.

They left a single anvil in the large space they’d cleared. But they didn’t bother filling the forge with charcoal, and instead, Silmak, their leader, produced some chalk and began drawing on the floor! He drew a huge circle around the anvil as Hesseif and three other men returned, lugging a huge box made of…stone?

Yes, it was a stone box which they set on a stand of stone at chest height. Trey peeked inside and saw the interior of the box was filled with glowing runes. His eyes stung and he wiped them. Then he realized the circle that Silmak was drawing was filled with the same runes.

“Excuse me, what are you doing?”

“Trey Atwood. I am preparing Nawalishifra’s forging space. Please, do not interfere with the circle. I would tell you of its nature, but these are Tannousin secrets, and I ask you to look away.”

Reluctantly, Trey did. Silmak finished drawing on the stone floor of Daiton’s shop with the chalk and clapped his hands. The circle blazed with magical light and Daiton swore.

“Magic? In my shop? Are you trying to enchant that anvil? It doesn’t matter if the anvil or the hammer’s enchanted! With my Skills—”

“We are not enchanting anything. We are preparing a space. The metal decides the quality of the sword. Not the tools used.”

Nawal snapped at Daiton, although she had to glare at Trey to do it. The smith turned purple again, but he turned and stalked off, leaving Silmak to finish preparing. He shouted at his apprentices.

“Get me some of our unfinished swords! Yes, those billets! We’ll finish our swords and I’ll do some myself! Where’s my hammer gone?”

Trey could see Daiton’s forge busy at work while the master blacksmith scowled at the Tannousin clan. And the young man could tell that the forge was filled with experts, no matter what Nawal said. The forging of the swords went something like this as far as he could tell: the metal was first heated in one of the huge forges, which were filled with coals or charcoal or something, a blazing heat that was making him sweat even from where he was standing.

Once the metal was glowing with heat—not just red, but orange—the smith would take it over to the anvil with some tongs, where he would instantly begin striking the metal with a hammer. Or even just holding it while another man lifted a huge sledgehammer of a tool and struck it, flattening it out.

The process was meant to hammer the metal out, turn it from the lumps of steel into something resembling a sword. And Trey could see how hard it was. Even when it was hot, the metal was tough and a smith had to be careful to hit it hard enough to make the steel deform and move, but not so hard as to split the metal or bend it in the wrong direction. It would take weeks or maybe months for some of the apprentices to hammer the steel from a crucible cast into a sword, but Daiton could do the work faster. He showed Trey, turning his back on the Tannousin clan members as they continued to set up.

“Look at that! Without a Skill, you’d spent hours doing what I just did. That’s why my forge can produce so quickly. I can handle the first shaping of metal, and my apprentices can take care of the details. And if I need to, I can take a sword from the raw steel to the finished blade myself! What’s wrong with my method? My steel?”

“I don’t know, Master Daiton. Nawal’s uh, prickly. But she is good, I think. It’s just—”

A voice interrupted them. Trey turned. Nawal was standing behind him. She was still veiled, and her clothes still covered most of her body, but she’d rolled up her sleeves. Her bare arms had muscle and she held a hammer in one hand. Both Daiton and Trey stared at the odd sight. But Nawal’s voice was cold.

“Impure. Your steel is impure, and your forge only builds in more impurity, for all you clean away by striking it. We will show you true blacksmithing now. But we must have steel to do it. All we have brought is Naq-Alrama steel.”

“So. You’re ready with your little magic circle? Your forge isn’t even hot.”

Daiton pointed at the furnace, which was indeed flameless. Nawal stared at Trey.

“We have our own heat. Steel. Have you any of quality?”

“I have pucks and bars. All ready to be processed. Take your pick of my inferior steel and make me a blade better out of it!”

Daiton growled. Nawal looked at the bars of steel he’d indicated. She went over to some, grabbed one, discarded it, found another, tapped it against the table, listened, shook her head, and found another. It took her five minutes before she came back with eight bars of steel. Daiton’s eyes bulged.

“What are you doing with that? Do you plan on robbing me too?”

Nawal glared at Trey, who glared back. He was getting sick of being the supposed middleman!

“We steal nothing. But we need enough steel. This will do, I suppose. We must fold the steel.”

“What? It’s been folded! That’s good steel, right there! We hammered it out of the pucks!”

Nawal gave Daiton a scornful glance before she caught herself.

“You hammered it into shape. But you did not fold it. Did you bend the metal on itself? How many times did you fold it, then? Ten times? Twenty? Sixty?”

“Sixty—you’d get nothing left if you folded steel that many times!”

“Nothing but pure steel.”

Nawal turned. Trey thought Daiton would tear out the rest of his hair, then. He threw up his hands, red-faced, furious.

“Fine! Take the steel! But you’d better have a sword by sundown, or I will see you pay for all the steel you’ve wasted! Show me how fast you can make a sword!”

He snatched his hammer and strode away, his apprentices scattering in front of him. Trey found Daiton swearing and striking his hammer on the other side of the shop. The [Blacksmith] turned to him, glaring.

“They’ll never do it. A sword on top of folding all that metal? Never. That girl understands something of the craft, but she’s arrogant by far! I’ll make her tribe pay for all the metal they used, his Majesty’s orders or not.”

Trey feared this would come to Flos’ attention, but he didn’t know how to stop it. And part of him was curious to see if Nawal could back up her big words. He looked back at Nawal, who was laying the metal flat and speaking with Silmak, who was still busy with his magic circle.

“Uh, Master Daiton, what did you mean by folding steel?”

“Oh, that? She was talking about a way to purify the metal. That’s what gets me so angry. The girl, that Nawal’s right that our steel isn’t as pure as it can be. It’s pretty damn strong! But if you took it, heated it, and folded it in on itself, you’d hammer out more of the…eh, what do you call it?”

“Impurity?”

“Yes, that. All the crap in the metal you get from forging it. That’s what folding steel is. It’s an advanced trick not every [Blacksmith] knows about. I shouldn’t be surprised the damn Tannousin clan knows the way of it, though. And the concept’s simple. You fold the steel over. Hit it and hit it until it’s a solid block again. You’re always losing steel that way, you see? The heating and reheating while you strike it—it’s purifying the metal, leaving you with less, but better stuff. But doing it as many times as they claim you need to? They’d waste enough material to make nine swords just to make one! And the effort required!”

Trey glanced at Nawal, then at the sky. The sun was already setting.

“She’s got until sundown to forge the sword?”

“So she claims. That’s, what, eight hours at most? Impossible. Impossible to do. If she has a Skill, she could move the metal fast. But folding the steel and making a sword? In a day? I can make swords this quick because I have a team that takes shifts. By herself, with a Skill? She’d have to take at least two days, probably closer to four or five to do a proper job of it. And she’s not more than a girl. Blacksmithing is hard work on the body!”

Daiton raised his voice. Some of his apprentices were nodding. He turned, perhaps to shout that at the Tannousins. That was when Silmak, standing in the center of the circle he’d drawn, raised his hands up and then clapped them together.

The sound was soft. But the blast of air that burst from the circle was anything but. The sound was like a gunshot of noise and Trey shielded his face as grit and dust blew throughout the forge. Daiton coughed, swearing.

“What in the blazes was—”

He half-charged Silmak, who was standing in the large circle he’d drawn around the anvil and that stone block, and then staggered as he crossed the boundary of the circle. Trey saw him gasping wordlessly, then stumble out.

“Master Daiton!”

He jumped forwards, afraid the smith had had a stroke or heart attack. But as Trey passed into the magical circle he felt it too. He couldn’t breathe! Inside the circle there was no air! No oxygen, nothing. A void. Trey clawed at his throat, and then stumbled backwards. His lungs reflated with air and he gasped a shuddering breath.

“What was—what is—”

He coughed, and then saw Silmak step out of the circle. The spellcaster took a long gulp of air and then breathed out slowly.

“The circle is finished. The furnace will burn. My part is done. All that remains is to let the smith forge.”

He stepped away and Nawal moved forwards. She was holding the bars of metal she’d taken, and she placed them on the anvil before stepping out of the circle to grab her hammer. She took a deep breath before she entered and exited the circle. Trey stared.

“No air?”

Daiton was still gasping for breath. Silmak was concentrating on the stone box now, so the woman, Bezha, spoke. To Trey, again.

“Air burns the metal and adds impurity as you forge. Everyone knows that. That’s part of how the black metal, known as scaling, is produced.”

She pointed to the flakes of black metal lying on the ground. Bezha bent and picked some up to show Trey. It looked like burnt metal, which it was.

“This is the impurity in metal that smiths hammer out. Not just impurity though; the metal itself is always burning thanks to the heat and air. So it hardens.”

She nodded at Daiton’s forge. Trey turned and saw it was true.

As the metal in the forges grew red hot, it also developed that…scaling. Like black spots on the metal as it cooled. It flaked off as the apprentices struck the metal, falling to the ground like ash. Daiton scowled.

“We brush our metal clean of scaling if it gets too much, but it’s an inevitability. So your fancy trick prevents that. So what? You can’t breathe in there. And if there’s no air, there’s no fire!”

He pointed a trembling finger at the magic circle. Trey understood. So the circle was meant to prevent the metal being affected by the air? That was an ingenious solution. But Daiton was right. Basic chemistry meant that no oxygen meant no fire. But then he saw Silmak point at the stone box. And the runes inside began to glow and Trey felt something else blast outwards.

Heat. The stone box was filled with a blazing heat, so much that the air rippled and all the sweat on Trey and Daiton’s bodies dried in an instant. They recoiled and moved out of the way as Silmak, gloves on now, placed two blocks of stone in front of the box, sealing it off. Then the heat wasn’t so bad, but Trey could still feel it coming from the box, as hot, no, hotter than the furnaces.

Bezha smiled mockingly at Trey and Daiton.

“You seek heat, young foreigner? There it is. That is a rune furnace. Silmak’s power fuels it, as does all the magic of the Tannousin Clan. We provide the heat to melt metal.”

“Shaman magic.”

Daiton backed away from the box distrustfully. But now he was staring at Nawal. He’d said she had no heat to melt her metal, but now she did. And the furnace was inside the void of air.

“So the metal gets hot enough to move. And the anvil’s inside the circle, so that means you can heat it and shape it without air touching it. Without getting that uh, impurity. Scaling.”

Trey looked at Bezha. The woman nodded.

“And the rest will come out as the metal folds. See? It begins.”

Nawal had stepped into the circle again. She opened the rune furnace and put in one of the bars of metal. Trey caught another glimpse of the inside of the box. It was bright. There was no flame, but the rune inside was glowing white, and the small enclose was built so that the heat only had one way to flow out—and as Nawal placed a brick in front of it, all the openings were sealed.

Daiton shook his head as Nawal stepped outside again and took another deep breath.

“I suppose that’s one way of doing it. But she still can’t breathe. Are you telling me she’ll be taking that thing out and pounding on it without taking so much as a breath? In that clothing? In that heat?”

“Yes.”

Bezha looked at Trey and Daiton. They both stared at her. Nawal was standing outside the circle, breathing deeply and heavily. Daiton stared at her.

“Madness. Unless she’s got a hammer long enough to let her work outside of that circle, she’ll never do it. And I’ve spent long enough staring at cheap tricks! Where’s my sword blank?”

He stomped past Trey to his side of the forge and snatched up his hammer.  Trey saw him take out an unfinished sword, a long bar of metal, and begin hammering hard on it. The metal moved at once and Trey watched as Daiton narrowed one side, forming a handle of sorts. But then he turned back because Nawal had reentered the circle.

The bar of metal glowed as she took out. The veiled young woman made no sound as she walked back to the anvil, the glowing metal in hand. Her hammer was bright. Polished. And Trey saw the ground, the tongs, even the anvil’s surface itself had been cleaned.

The metal was placed on the surface of the anvil. Nawal raised her hammer. And she brought it down. Her lips were closed. And she wasn’t breathing.  But the first strike of her hammer made the anvil and metal ring. It was a simple strike, but the second fell as soon as the hammer rose. And the third hit the metal. Again. Faster. Faster.

The sound was the first that had come from Nawal’s side of the forge. In fact, Trey realized she’s stopped speaking after the circle had been drawn. He stared at her.

Nawal’s eyes were focused on the bright metal beneath her. Her hammer rose and fell. One strike per second. And then two. Heavy blows; Trey could see the weight of each strike make the metal want to jump, but her other hand held the metal still. Nawal kept striking the metal. And Trey realized. She was in the circle. She wasn’t breathing.

“Dead gods. Is that girl actually doing it?”

Daiton had looked up. He was staring at Nawal. She was still there, hammering on the metal. For five seconds. Ten. Then twenty. Forty. Trey counted. On the forty fourth second, Nawal moved. She let go of the cooling metal and walked out of the circle. He heard a sharp intake of breath. Nawal walked around the edge of the magic circle once, breathing slowly, deeply. Then she took a breath as she entered the circle. And she seized both the tongs and hammer and pounded on the metal.

This time she didn’t last the entire time. But that was because the metal had turned from yellow to orange to a cherry red. Before it cooled, Nawal had strode back towards the rune forge and returned the metal to the container. Then she walked back to the anvil. And swept it with a cloth. A miniscule amount of scaling fell to the ground. Nawal did the same to her hammer, cleaning it of soot. And then she stepped out the circle. She walked it once, and then returned to the center.

The metal was hot. Nawal took it back out. And her hammer struck the metal. Once, twice, three times. So fast that Trey saw her arm blur as the hammer she held rose and fell. Again and again. And she did not breathe.

Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. Forty one. Forty two. Forty three. Forty four—and Nawal walked towards the forge. She replaced the metal to heat and walked outside of the circle. She breathed then, a pained gasp for air. This time her cycle around the circle was slower. But she’d timed it so that when she returned, the metal was ready to be struck again. And she took up the hammer and worked. In a void, without a sound.

Trey had forgotten there was anyone else in the forge. He only turned his head when he heard one of the apprentices utter a word. Daiton’s face was frozen with shock. The old [Smith] stared as Nawal walked out of the circle and took another precious breath of air. He looked away as if tearing himself from the sight and met Trey’s eyes.

“She’s going to burn out. That kind of pace? Without taking a breath?”

But he said nothing of her hammer work. Because there was nothing to say. Nawal struck the metal as fast—no, faster than he did. Like a machine, each blow on the center. And the metal moved as quickly for her as it did for him. As she’d said, she was folding the first bar of steel. Folding and folding it again, producing the black scaling, the impurity which she swept out of the circle.

“She can’t do that for more than a few more tries. Surely. A smith needs air! That girl will hurt herself! You—do you let her work like this all the time?”

Daiton rounded on Bezha. The woman was watching Nawal. All the Tannousin clan were. Some were sitting, others standing. But their eyes were on Nawal as she slowly made a circuit of the magical circle and stepped back in. Metal rang.

“She has a Skill. More importantly, the Tannousin smiths are trained to hold their breaths at a young age. If they do not gain this Skill among others, they are not meant to be smiths. This is a pattern Nawali has learned since she could hold a hammer. Look. She has the pattern set now.”

Bezha replied calmly to Trey. She pointed. And Trey saw Bezha was right. Nawal was tracing a pattern in the ground. And he saw how each step, each phase was predetermined.

Hammer the metal for exactly forty four seconds. Return it to the runic box to heat. Step outside the circle and breathe. Return to the circle, wipe her hammer and anvil once, reclaim the metal. Hammer it again, return to the furnace. Breathe.

It was a pattern. And Nawal kept to it, though she had to work without air. Sweat was already running down her forehead, dripping down her veil.

“Her clothes.”

They were thick. And that veil couldn’t have helped either. Trey looked around. Bezha’s eyes were steady.

“That is how she must dress.”

“In the forge? But it’s so hot. And the air—can’t she take a break?”

“When she is done, she will rest. Now she forges. This is a competition, is it not? Where is Smith Daiton’s sword?”

Bezha looked at Daiton. The [Blacksmith] looked down and realized his metal had gone cold. He cursed, shoving it back in the furnace.

“That girl’s still folding the steel. This isn’t even the first step if she wants to use all eight bars and make a sword! I’m halfway done—I just have to beat out the shape. This is no fair match.”

But he’d lost some of his confidence in saying it. Bezha just turned her attention back to Nawal. And the girl traced the time in her slow steps. She took the metal, already reduced, out of the runic furnace. Trey saw her take the second bar of metal and place it in the furnace. Nawal began to hammer the first one, lengthening it, turning it into a flat bar of metal. The first of many she’d turn into a solid piece. Into a sword.

Her hammer flashed. She worked in silence, without air. And then she began to speed up.

—-

This is how Bealt made a horseshoe. He took a bar of metal, heated it in his furnace until it was bright yellow, and then took it to his anvil. There he placed it against the round horn of the anvil and raised his hammer.

One, two, three! Bealt’s hammer flashed down and the metal rang. He hammered a bow into the horseshoes. Then, he flipped it and used the round horn of the anvil to bend the rest of the horseshoe into shape.

“So that’s what that pointy thing is for!”

Erin laughed in delight. The Gnoll [Farrier] grinned. From the straight bar of metal he’d made a ‘U’ shape, almost a horseshoe already! He grinned, and Erin thought he would continue hammering. But the metal was already red, cooling so quickly she couldn’t’ believe it. So Bealt placed it flat on the hammer and grabbed the odd spike.

“What’s that for?”

“Fullering. That’s what it’s called, Miss. Making holes in the horseshoe, so it can be nailed to the hoof. See the little groove? It’s so the nail heads don’t stick out when hammered in. See? Watch.”

Bealt placed the spike so its narrow tip was on top of the horseshoe’s center. Then he gave it a few powerful blows. Erin saw he’d punched a hole through the metal.

“Oh! I get it!”

So that was how you made holes in a horseshoe? Bealt made two more before the metal had cooled even further. He lifted it.

“Too cold to work. I’d stress the metal. So in to the furnace it goes. See?”

He tossed the horseshoe back in, rearranging it so the burning charcoal heated the horseshoe evenly. Erin nodded.

“I get it. But you have to be quick, don’t you?”

Bealt flashed her a pleased grin.

“Ah, well, it depends on the metal. Some things cool quicker than others, but yes! Speed is a virtue, Miss Solstice! Sure, you can take your sweet time, but that’s for delicate stuff. Not [Farrier]’s work! If a horse has thrown a shoe on the road or in a race and the [Messenger] needs to be gone or the [Farmer] at work by sunrise, the [Farrier] must be done!”

He’d raised his voice again. Erin could tell both Pelt and Maughin were listening. They could hardly have missed how she was sitting in Bealt’s forge, listening to him talk about his craft. And there was something impressive in how fast the [Farrier] made his horseshoe.

It took him two heating in the forge, and the second one was only to pound the rest of the horseshoe into shape. Erin watched as the [Farrier] took the spike and hammered more holes along the horseshoe’s rim as it cooled.

“And…done! A horseshoe, like many you’ve seen no doubt. If you check a shod horse any part of the world, this is what you’ll see. Nothing to it.”

Bealt presented the horseshoe to Erin after it had cooled. She ran her fingers across the still-warm metal, marveling at how fast he’d worked. She stared at the bar of metal he’d used and shook her head.

“Just like that! It’s amazing!”

“You’re too kind. But as I said, that’s [Farrier] work for you. Proper speed, proper quality. I can have your knife done, although it won’t be this quick. Horseshoes are simple.”

“But you make it look so…what level are you? Really high? I’d never be able to get the rod-thing to bend like that! This is so cool!”

Erin was genuinely excited. There was something about watching a piece of metal bend like that with only a hammer to shape it that no hydraulic press could match. But she must have raised her voice a bit too loudly, because a loud snort came from the forge next to them.

“That’s enough to make a Human excited? I suppose you’ve never seen a master working, then, brat.”

Pelt glared over the top of his anvil at Erin and Bealt. The Gnoll raised his eyebrows, but Erin stuck her tongue out at Pelt.

“Bleh. Big talk for a guy who can’t finish his metal-thing.”

She pointed at the piece of metal Pelt was working on. The Dwarf’s eye twitched. He picked up the metal and tossed it onto the ground. His apprentice scrambled after it, but Pelt snatched up a bar of metal like the one Bealt had used. He inspected it for a moment, then looked at Erin with a sneer in his face and voice.

“You call that expert work? You can make a horseshoe in a single heat. Watch.”

So saying, he stuck the metal in the furnace. There were a few minutes of awkward staring in which Erin folded her arms and Bealt, chuckling heated up another piece of metal himself. But then Pelt’s metal was hot. He pulled it out and called to Erin.

“Watch.”

He placed it on the anvil as Erin rolled her eyes. Pelt raised his hammer, angled the metal to make the bend like Bealt had done. And his hammer moved. Erin saw it strike once, twice, and suddenly the metal was bent into a U-shape!

The Dwarf flipped it around the horn of the anvil and his hammer blurred. Strike, strike, strike! The clanging of metal was a quick melody of beats, over in a second. He held up a horseshoe, the twin of the one that the [Farrier] had just made, and held out a palm.

“Fuller.”

His Drake apprentice scrambled to get it to him. Pelt angled the spike and drove in the holes into the horseshoe with a single blow each time. It was still glowing red, still cooling when he held up the horseshoe.

“Done.”

Erin gaped. It was a proper jaw-drop. Pelt had done it! In half the time it had taken Bealt! The [Farrier] looked up from his second horseshoe and stared at the horseshoe the Dwarf had made as he placed it on his anvil. He straightened and called out to Pelt.

“Fancy. And fancy-quick, sir. But can you do that twice? I’ve sixty horseshoes to make, and I dare say that was a skillful trick you pulled off, but can you swear you’ll only heat once when doing work like this? My horseshoes always fit, with no mistakes to their curve.”

He gestured to his first horseshoe. And now Erin saw that Maughin was looking over, again obviously eavesdropping with his detached head. And some of the other smiths behind Bealt were listening as he called out to Pelt.

“A [Farrier] can take one of my shoes and fit it to any horse’s hooves wherever they may be. And I do that work in two heats. I could do it in one, but then mine might not be perfect. Would you wager you could cast thirty shoes in one heat and have them all come out perfect?”

Pelt had a sneer that could out sneer even Pisces. The Dwarf folded his arms.

“On my hammer, I could make you a hundred horseshoes and not one would be different from the other! Don’t mistake me, boy. I’ve made more horseshoes than you’ve dreamed of. I could make them in my sleep. If you want to test that, buy me drinks for the night and I’ll forge you thirty horseshoes as perfect as you like.”

Erin glanced at Bealt. The Gnoll smith was still for a second. Then he grinned, that wide, slightly scary Gnoll smile with teeth. It didn’t always mean they were happy to see you.

“Drinks, then. My horseshoes made in two heats each, yours the one. Thirty horseshoes apiece and if either Gnoll or Dwarf slips up, they pay for the other’s night. And if you can make thirty perfect, I’ll pay your drinks until you stop.”

Erin held her breath, but Pelt spat on the ground.

“Done!”

He reached for his hammer, but a rumbling voice interrupted him. Maughin walked out of his forge, huge hammer in hand, fitting his head on his shoulders. He stared at both Pelt and Bealt with a challenge in his eyes.

“Make it twenty each. Twenty perfect, and the fastest done is the winner if no one else errs.”

Bealt glanced up and Pelt turned his head.

“You think you can keep up, Maughin?”

“I wouldn’t offer to pay if I wasn’t sure. And the winner drinks in Tails and Scales. Is that enough of a wager for you, Pelt?”

The Dwarf licked his lips. His eyes lit up. Erin looked from smith to smith. Maughin’s apprentices crowded around behind him and some other smiths abandoned their work at their forges to watch.

Suddenly, it was a competition. Erin cleared her throat and the smiths broke off their staring contest to look at her.

“Uh, well, I suppose if we’re doing this, its twenty horseshoes? And you’ve all got your own forges? So…ready, set, go?”

Instantly, the three broke up. Bealt swung himself back to his ready forge and tossed another piece of metal into the furnace, discarding his half-finished horseshoe for later. Maughin hurried over to his furnaces as his apprentices cleared the space of their work, grabbing metal for him to use. Pelt tore back into his forge, shouting at his Drake apprentice for his metal. And Erin watched.

What skill, what speed! Okay, it was just horseshoes, but it was still fascinating to watch! Erin saw other smiths and apprentices gather, and a few of the Street Runners and other people walking on the ninth floor gathered to see as well. Because even if they were just horseshoes, it was fascinating to see a master make them.

And how they did it! Maughin was the first Erin focused on. The giant Dullahan was as strong as he looked. He only needed to hit a piece of metal once to make it bend. In fact, he was so strong that Erin saw he had to pace himself not to wreck the shape of the horseshoe. He had to focus to get the right bend in place, let alone angle the fuller to poke the holes in the horseshoes. But the Dullahan was crafty and had a strategy to make up for his lack of speed.

He was using all the forges in his shop! Maughin had three in the space he’d rented, and he walked from one to the other. The instant one of his horseshoes was at the right temperature he took it out, hammered it, and as it cooled, stuck it back into the forge to be heated again. But was that enough?

Erin looked at Bealt and saw the [Farrier]’s hammer flashing. He had a fast rhythm to all his motions, and while he had only one forge, he knew how to make a horseshoe with the most economical of movements. True to his word, he only needed two heats each time. And somehow, his metal was heating up faster than Pelt or Maughin’s! The Gnoll laughed as he took another orange-yellow piece of metal out of the furnace.

“A [Farrier] must work quick! And the quicker the metal heats, the quicker it can be struck! Some smiths have Skills to move their metal faster, or make the end result tougher! But the [Farrier] must be done soonest!”

His hammer sang on the anvil as Maughin labored to catch up. Bealt was skillful and fast as he claimed. But it was Pelt who was the master of the three. Erin saw that, and so did the audience. You could just see it. The Dwarf used one forge, and his metal didn’t heat as fast, but when he took it out, his hammer flew and the horseshoe was done before the metal was red.

Not even Bealt could match that speed, or indeed the flawless precision by which the Dwarf fullered the holes in the horseshoes each time. And yet, he was still slower, and not just because of his forge.

The Dwarf had the bars of steel ready to be turned into horseshoes lined up next to his anvil. His apprentice would hand him each one, ready to be heated up. But before the Dwarf put them in the furnace he’d lift each bar of steel up, stare at it. Tap it against the anvil and listen to the sound it made. Each time, he’d inspect the bar of metal he was given, as meticulous as could be, despite the competition.

That struck Erin as odd, because the precious seconds or even minutes it cost Pelt to inspect each bar of steel was giving Bealt a chance to move past him. A Drake [Smith] shook his head as he stared at the Dwarf inspecting his sixteenth horseshoe as his apprentice hopped from one foot to another, practically begging him to put it in the furnace. Bealt was on his seventeenth shoe, and Maughin his fourteenth and fifteenth simultaneously.

“That’s Pelt for you. Miserable drunk he might be, but he won’t accept any imperfection in his metal. Pallass churns out the steel some of the smiths buy, but he refuses to use it. Forges his own steel himself out of iron with his apprentice; and even then he’ll discard anything that has impurity. Not that I know how you’d be able to tell by just looking.”

“Maybe it’s a Skill?”

Erin suggested. The Drake shrugged.

“It’s probably a Dwarf thing. A Skill should be faster, shouldn’t it? Either way, he’s going to lose if he doesn’t hurry up.”

And he was right. Pelt was on the eighteenth horseshoe when Bealt threw down his hammer and raised his paws in the air. There was a groan from Maughin’s apprentices and Pelt just scowled, but both smiths kept working. After all, they had promised to make twenty perfect horseshoes each.

And then they were done. All three collected their twenty shoes and placed them on their anvils, Pelt’s in a mess, Bealt and Maughin’s neat and stacked. And somehow, it fell to Erin to be the judge.

“Oh wow. Yep. Those are identical. Ahem. Looks like good…steel? These are made of steel, right? Nice sound they make. I bet if I was a horse I’d love these on my feet. Wait. You hammer these in with nails, right? Maybe not.”

Erin wandered from anvil to anvil, lamely inspecting the horseshoes in front of the audience. The thing was…the thing was…they were identical. Each one. Even Pelt’s, when she organized them. She could even see through the holes on Pelt’s when she stacked them all together, he’d hammered in the holes that perfectly. And Maughin and Bealt’s, if not that flawless, were too close for anyone to object to.

Erin came to a stop in front of the three waiting smiths. Pelt was scowling and Maughin looked disappointed. Bealt was smiling. Erin cleared her throat awkwardly.

“Well, these look really good. So…I guess Bealt wins?”

There was a rippled through the audience. No one looked happy, although that had been the nature of the bet. Pelt kicked over his stack of horseshoes, growling.

“So the damn Gnoll can heat his horseshoes faster. So what? Mine are flawless! Not a hole out of place! Can he make anything else better, or is shaping a bar of metal all he can do?”

“I can do better. But no one challenged me to more. And I think I’ve proved a [Farrier]’s worth.”

Bealt smiled as he looked at the other two. Maughin frowned.

“Speed at least. But if I this was a matter of decoration, or of a more complex shape—”

“Sour grapes, Smith Maughin. Or do you have another task in mind?”

“I wouldn’t shy away from another wager. Say, drinks and food?”

“But what would we forge?”

Pelt growled at the two. Bealt blinked. He looked at Erin.

“Well…I do have one more promise to fulfill. A certain knife for Miss Solstice. Which the two of you were too busy for, weren’t you?”

He looked at Pelt and Maughin. The two smiths turned to Erin. She grinned weakly.

“Oh, that? Well, I need a knife, sure. But is that really—”

“That settles it! A knife, and not just made fast, but made well! We’ll test them and the sharpest, the strongest—”

“And the most beautiful.”

“Yes, all those win! Let the [Innkeeper] judge! Not just us three! Any [Smith] that wins we’ll pay for as the master of blades! Who’ll join?”

Bealt turned. Half the smiths shouted agreement and strode to their forges.

“Wow. A competition? Er—this is like one of those game shows. Only, with knives instead of food. Is there something like that? Iron Blacksmith? Um—”

Erin looked around. The smiths weren’t listening. Maughin was already calling for his best steel billet. Pelt grunted as he hurried over to his forge, hunting for his best metal. And Bealt was likewise pulling steel billets out, as he sketched a knife that looked more like a hunting weapon on a piece of parchment with charcoal. He caught Erin’s eye as she approached.

“Sorry for making this a huge thing.”

“Ah, what of it? This is fun!”

The [Farrier] grinned at Erin’s apprehensive face. He laughed as he turned up his furnace, then nodded at Pelt.

“It may end with me paying for someone else’s food, but this is more fun than I’ve had all week! And as for Pelt—I’ve never seen that Dwarf participate in any competition. Someone’s riled him up, and the other smiths for that matter. And me. And it occurs to me you had something to do with that, Miss Solstice.”

He stared at Erin. The young woman gave him a wide-eyed look.

“Me? But I mean, I guess…”

She looked doubtful. Bealt shook his head.

“You have a way about you. Intentional or not. I wonder if half the stories I hear from my kin in Liscor are true.”

He bent over his parchment, chuckling, and heard a light chuckle in return. The young woman sat next to him.

“Well, some of them are. And I’ll say sorry again. But I really wanted to see how good Pelt was. And everyone likes a good competition, don’t they?”

Bealt glanced up sharply. He saw Erin smiling at him, and the wide-eyed look in her eyes was gone. His jaw fell open and she gave him a wink.

“What can I say? It’s a knack. Better get to work! I like the curvy thing on that knife. Ooh, but I’m a judge aren’t I? Impartiality! Hey, you know, this would be great if I had something to sell for the audience…”

—-

The forge sang with sound. It was a competition between sounds. Between ways of life. On one side, Daiton was forging, loudly swearing, ordering his apprentices about, talking as he waited for his metal to heat. On the other side, Nawal existed in a world of silence. The only sound was the ringing of her hammer, and then the slow tracing of her footsteps around the magic circle.

It was a contest, although Trey thought the outcome rested on Nawal, not Daiton. The [Blacksmith] had forged a sword, but it had been done out of an existing piece of metal already worked on for days. He held up a sword, and Trey had to admit, it looked quite good. Daiton had smoothed the hammer marks in the metal, and given it an edge that only needed a grindstone to make sharper. It was a traditional longsword, and now he held it up for his audience to see.

His apprentices looked properly impressed, if accustomed to the sight. The Tannousin clan watched silently. Daiton showed the sword to Trey, who was the only one who showed any real interest in the blade. He wiped sweat from his brow and nodded to the furnace.

“I’m done. Time to quench it.”

That was the process Trey had yet to see. He watched as Daiton heated the blade in the forge again, like he would do before hammering on it. But this time he inserted the sword hilt-first. One of the apprentices explained why to Trey as Daiton gently pulled the sword back and forth, heating the handle and lower part of the blade until it was white-hot.

“The tang—that’s the hilt part without the handle, Sir Trey—that heats first. You can get it nice and hot, but the edge you heat last. Master Daiton’s taking care with the sword. Overheat the delicate edge and you could ruin the hardness of the edge.”

“And when it’s all hot? What does he do, toss it into one of the barrels?”

Trey had seen the barrels of liquid. He assumed they were water, but the apprentice looked shocked at the idea.

“Oh no! For a sword? The water would make the edge far too brittle! Master Daiton will put it in oil. And he won’t keep it in there. If he dropped it, the sword might break at the bottom. See?”

He pointed. Daiton had lifted the glowing blade. He marched over to the barrel and without hesitation stuck the sword into the deep barrel. There was a gout of flame, but Daiton was wearing gloves. He held the blade in the oil, then pulled it out. Trey saw the [Smith] hold the sword up to eye-level and inspect the length of the blade. Then Daiton’s face twisted into a grimace. He lowered the sword with a look of disgust and grabbed a file.

A metal file. Daiton rubbed it against the edge of the longsword, then hurled the file to the ground with a curse. The apprentice and Trey watched as he carried to back to the furnace and plunged it back in. Then he turned and almost shamefaced, addressed the forge.

“I misjudged the heat. It’s too soft and there’s a warp. I’ll have to requench it.”

The other smiths sighed, but they didn’t look too upset. Trey didn’t understand what had happened, so asked the helpful apprentice again what had gone wrong. The apprentice pointed to reheating blade again as Daiton grumbled about having to straighten the metal.

“The heat is crucial. When you quench a blade—and you can do it many ways, sir, and the liquid matters—it must be at the right temperature. Master Daiton was quenching his blade in oil, but the quench went wrong for whatever reason and the blade isn’t hard. The file bites into the edge, where it should glide across if it were properly heated.”

“So it was too weak. And the warp?”

“It means it’s not straight.”

Both Trey and the apprentice jumped. Hesseif had appeared behind him. The huge man was a proper [Warrior], but he had an air of familiarity as he nodded to the blade Daiton was hammering on.

“Quenching a blade more than once makes it weaker. Your master, he left the blade in the oil too long. He should have pulled it out sooner; it cooled too much. As for the warp—he can straighten it, of course.”

“He can?”

Trey looked at the apprentice. The young man tried to glare up at Hesseif, but for all his muscles, Hesseif was far bigger. And scarier.

“Oh yes. Daiton’s shown us any number of ways to straighten a blade—before or after quenching. It’s not an exact thing, Sir Trey. Anything can go wrong.”

That wasn’t an opinion the Tannousin clan seemed to share, though. They watched at Daiton requenched the blade—this time he pulled it out of the oil and announced it was perfect. But their expressions told Trey it was anything but. Still, as Daiton handed the sword to an apprentice to be finished, Trey had to admit it looked like a good sword. But Nawal was trying to make a great one.

The Tannousin caravan was still waiting. They were watching Nawal as she kept straightening her metal. She was so far behind Daiton—but she’d folded her metal, all eight bars of it, into a single chunk of metal. The ground outside the circle was littered with the slag, the scaling, the impurity she’d hammered out of the metal. Now the bar she held glowed as she hit it again and again. And it was growing longer with each cycle she walked!

“Sir Trey, look. Master Daiton’s blade is nearly finished.”

The apprentice urged Trey over. He stared at the blackened exterior of the blade. It was the right shape, but the metal was all sooty. The exterior needed to be ground away, and the quenching wasn’t the entire process either as the apprentice explained.

“Tempering comes after. You heat the blade—not as hot as the quench—and put it in oil. You do that again and again to get the exact hardness of the metal you need.”

“So it’s not done?”

“No, Sir Trey. But the quench was the biggest hurdle. See the blade now? It’s straight and true. No more warp. No cracking on the edge, though. Ready for grinding.”

“A good sword.”

Trey said it automatically. But his eyes went to Hesseif and the big man shook his head. Twice quenched. And the steel wasn’t perfect. Trey was far from an expert, but he was getting a sense of the Tannousin clan’s objections.

So was Daiton. He scowled as he stared at Hesseif and Trey. His eyes slid to Nawal and the metal she was working on and he snapped at another journeyman smith.

“Another sword! Hand me another—I’ll make this one excellent. Where’s the one Makel was working on? Give it here!”

He grabbed another unfinished sword. His hammer fell, and hers, making the metal ring. This time Daiton beat the metal in a furious rhythm, elongating the sword, pausing, his hammer tapping the edges lightly, giving it an edge, smoothing the metal. But his was one sound in the forge. And when Nawal began her hammering again, her sound joined him.

Two rhythms. The other smiths worked as well, hammering, sweating, aiming for the place where the metal should be. Trying to coax steel to move. That was the endless beat of the forge, the work of smiths as their hammers rose and fell. Ceaseless, until they paused to let the metal heat. And then the hammers fell again and again.

—-

The ninth floor of Pallass rang with sound. Erin had heard it before when she’d stepped off the elevator. But now the sound filled her ears. It was hypnotic.

Dozens of sweating Drakes, Dullahan, and a few Gnolls, almost all male, some even bare-chested (although that just meant scales or fur or armor, so did it really count?) due to the intense heat, labored in their forges. Each one forging a blade. A knife. For her. But really for them.

Each one had a different design in mind. But each followed the same pattern. Heat and strike. Move their metal into shape. With nothing but brawn and sweat and the tools they had.

A crowd watched the impromptu competition. Younger smiths too unsure of their skills to compete, and onlookers who admired the skill of those who shaped metal. Among them was a huge Drake [Mage] with bulging muscles of his own who’d taken his apprentices to watch and observe.

Grimalkin was nodding, looking extremely satisfied as he watched the display. A few teenage girl Drakes and Gnolls were eying the male blacksmiths and giggling. But most of the audience was actually older, and had come, like Erin, to see experts at work.

It was amazing. Each smith was pounding away at the metal. Maughin’s huge hammer fell, like a miniature clap of thunder each time, pounding his billet of steel flat with ease. Across from him, Bealt was curving his blade, his hammer moving almost too fast to see.

But Erin’s eyes were on Pelt. The Dwarf hadn’t sprung into action like the other smiths right away. They had pieces of metal ready to turn into knives and but for the shaping, they were nearly done. But he’d taken a different tack. He’d grabbed a long, wide piece of iron that was too big for anything but some kind of cleaver and he was folding both sides up. Erin had to ask one of the [Smiths] watching was he was doing.

“He’s not going to use that, is he?”

She pointed at the wedge the Dwarf was making. One of the Drakes shook his head.

“He shouldn’t. That’s iron, not steel. But wait…he’s got some steel right there. Oh! He must be making the blade out of both metals!”

He looked excited. Erin looked blank.

“What? You mean, like one half iron, the other half steel? Why?”

“No, no, the edge will be all steel. But the rest—what’s the right way to describe this? He’s putting the metal he intends to make into an edge between two softer metals. That way, the spine of the blade is more flexible while the edge is sharp.”

Erin stared at the wedge. Then her eyes widened as she saw Pelt place the bar of shiny steel between the iron and hammer it shut.

“Oh, like a sandwich!”

“…That’s right.”

The Drake glanced at her. But Erin understood now. The Dwarf was making a sandwich of iron with the steel in the center. Or…was a taco the better way of looking at it? Yes, an iron-and-steel taco. He inserted the length of steel between the wrapper of the red-hot metal, and sealed it all up with his hammer. Then he stuck it back in the furnace.

“Is that a good way of making a knife?”

“Well, it means it’s not one solid thing, you see? It can make a blade better, certainly. Give it flexibility and strength. I’ll say this—it’s harder to do than just plain steel. But look at the other smiths! Some are already nearing completion!”

He pointed. And Erin saw it was true. A few smiths had Skills that could move metal very quickly and their knives had appeared out of their steel very quickly. But the two to watch, that was, Maughin and Bealt, were both still beginning their work.

Both smiths still hammering away at their billets. That was the word, wasn’t it? Both men, well Gnoll and Dullahan, were working fast. But there was a difference between the two’s styles. Maughin was a lot slower than Bealt. The Gnoll hit twice, or even three times for every stroke of Maughin’s hammer.

But the Dullahan made up for his slower speed with his strength. Every time he hit the metal, Erin could see and practically feel the impact. Meanwhile, Bealt was hitting as hard as he could, but both were still working hard to lengthen their billets into proper knives.

“Good work. Solid. If they quench well, they’ll have a knife in no time. You’ll judge them on the speed at which they finished, won’t you? And the cutting edge?”

The Drake was bouncing on his feet, tail wagging excitedly. Erin eyed him.

“Sure…I’ll do that. Uh, I might need to write down who went first. And uh, maybe get some fish to slice. What else do you cut with knives? Apples?”

She was looking around, wondering if she’d gone too far with her competition. Then she noticed Pelt. He was standing in front of the furnace, staring into it. The [Smiths] to his left and right were all hammering on their knives, shouting at each other, laughing as they waited to reheat their metal. But Pelt was still.

So still. Like a statue, just watching his metal heating up. Erin’s gaze swung back to him and she felt premonition stir the hairs on the back of her neck. She saw Pelt reached out with his tongs and grab the metal. The little sandwich of metal was glowing with heat. And he placed it on his anvil and grabbed his hammer. And every part of Erin screamed at her.

Look at him. See? He’s lost his scowl. Look at his eyes. Look at his expression. Peaceful. And see his hammer rise. See him open his mouth. See him strike!

And he did. And the first sound was like a bell ringing.  The second followed it, so fast Erin blinked and missed it. Pelt’s hammer rose over his head and he brought it down, in an arc and struck the metal. Twice. Three times. And then Erin lost count.

At first no one noticed. But then the sound chimed again, and again. Not just a rhythm, but a wild racing metal heartbeat. The smiths around Pelt looked up. And they stared.

A flash of metal. A blurring arm. That was all Erin could see. Her eyes couldn’t track Pelt’s hammer, but she saw the metal changing on the anvil in real-time. Maughin and Bealt, wrapped up in their work, didn’t notice at first. Then they glanced up at the strange sound and stared.

Pelt held the metal as still as water on the lake. But his hammer fell a dozen times per second, so fast Erin saw afterimages. Again and again, faster than Bealt, so hard Erin thought the anvil might crack! The sound the Dwarf’s hammer made drowned out all the others.

The other sounds stopped. The smiths halted in their work. Men and women, Drakes, Gnolls, Dullahans. They’d all stopped to stare at him. Pelt’s hammer was the only sound in the world. And it drowned out everything. He was lost in the center of the blur of his arm and body, moving like the only real person in a slow world.

Pelt’s mouth was open. Erin could see him roaring, but his words were lost in the rush of sound. And then it stopped.

The Dwarf raised the metal and Erin saw it was cooling. He put it in the furnace and placed bricks in front of it, containing the heat. There he waited, his back to the others. No one moved. They watched as Pelt stared into the blinding flames, staring at his metal until it was just the right temperature. Then he tore it out and began hammering again.

One heat. And then two. Each time the metal went into the furnace, it looked different. First it was just a bar of two metals joined together. Then it was longer, a curve appearing near the point, a handle clearly defined. The third time the knife went in, it looked…close to done.

“Dead gods.”

The Drake at Erin’s side breathed out slowly. Erin had forgotten and inhaled a breath of painful air. She stared at Pelt as, this time he took the knife out and grabbed something from a pot. He covered the back edge of the knife with it, leaving the edge untouched.

“What’s he doing now?”

“He’s going to quench it. But that stuff—clay? He’s only quenching the edge, then. See?”

Pelt was holding the knife over a barrel of oil. And the rest of his knife was indeed covered with a smooth coat of clay. Only the edge was visible, glowing still. The Dwarf didn’t hesitate. He plunged the knife into the oil, lifting it as flames shot up from the oil. Erin gasped, but Pelt didn’t waver, though he wore no gloves.

Once, twice, three times. The knife cooled with each dip into the oil. And when it came out—clay fell away, what hadn’t been burned off. Pelt raised the knife, and it was done. The Drake standing next to Erin sighed with longing and she looked at him. A [Smith]. And then she looked at Pelt and realized she was staring at a master.

The Dwarf stared at his knife as it cooled. The other [Smiths] had stopped their work at their forges, put down their hammers to see. It was a finished knife. In…an hour? No, less. Erin could see it.

Pelt held it up as his apprentice dragged something over. A grindstone. Of course! He just had to sharpen that edge, remove some of the chaff that coated the blade and it would be perfect. But suddenly Pelt’s expression wasn’t so calm. He was frowning at the blade. At one side of it, tilting his head back and forth. Erin slunk forwards and heard him muttering to himself. She caught one word as he turned to the grindstone.

“Maybe…”

The apprentice helped work the grinding wheel. Erin saw the Dwarf delicately put the blade’s edge to the wheel and sparks flew. They landed on his face, his beard, and his clothes, but he didn’t flinch. The blackened metal from the quench flew away and revealed a bright inner core. Around Erin the watching audience, smiths and apprentices and onlookers alike, sighed.

“Perfection.”

Maughin had abandoned his knife at his anvil. He walked forwards to stand with Erin, as if he were ashamed of the knife he had tried to forge. And why not? Pelt’s blade was a work of art. It was almost unfair how beautiful it was.

The knife’s back was straight, and curved slightly towards the point. The edge was similarly straight as a razor until it tapered off, but what was most striking was the wavy line running across the blade. It was like waves—the edge was brighter, while the metal of the back of the blade was darker. Erin was sure the line had come from where Pelt had applied the clay. A sharp edge and softer spine, two kinds of metal made into one.

“A masterwork.”

Bealt stepped out to stare at it. A masterwork done in less than an hour. Erin didn’t have to be told that was an incredible feat. But Pelt’s expression had soured. The Dwarf’s contented look during the forging, his excitement, had given way to an ominous look. And Erin and the smiths sensed it.

One side of the knife became polished, perfect and beautiful. But there was…something wrong with the other side. And Pelt unearthed it after only a few seconds of grinding. Erin heard an oath, and the Dwarf jerked the blade back from the grindstone wheel. The Drake apprentice stopped spinning it and the other smiths crowded around to see what was wrong. Erin peeked over Pelt’s shoulder and saw it.

There. The slightest of cracks in the still-blackened outer shell. A fault in the pristine steel, right near the edge. The Dwarf dropped the blade with shaking fingers.

“A flaw in the metal. My metal.”

“Aw, but that’s noth—”

Erin froze as Pelt turned. His eyes were suddenly huge in his face. Maughin peered at the knife, shaking his head.

“A superficial crack. You can easily grind it away and have a perfect blade still.”

“No, no. It’s there. Impurity in the metal. The fire, the hammering had no issue. So it was a flaw in my steel. It must have crept in. And I didn’t notice. I was too busy thinking of the knife.”

“It’s the tiniest of flaws, Pelt. And you’ve won the competition by any reckoning. I haven’t the heart to finish my blade.”

Bealt objected, looking down with envy at the knife. But the Dwarf was shaking his head. he turned to Erin and she backed up. There was a wild light in Pelt’s eyes.

“An impurity. I didn’t see it. Didn’t think to check—forgot to check. I forgot to check.”

Pelt looked around, his gaze suddenly cornered. He lifted the knife, and then stared at the crack. With a shout, Pelt hurled the blade away. Erin saw his apprentice duck as the knife clanged across the ground.

“Pelt! It’s just—”

Maughin reached for the Dwarf, but the shorter smith tore away. He looked around at his audience and his face turned into a snarl.

“What are you looking at? Begone! I’m done! Done!”

He rammed into the crowd and ran past them, abandoning his apprentice and tools. Erin heard his running footfalls. And then silence.

“What was that? He overreacted!”

One of the Drakes [Smiths] exclaimed, a touch shaken, a bit angrily. Some of others agreed, the rest were shaking their heads. Erin looked up at Maughin and then at Bealt. Both had bleak looks.

“That wasn’t the first time this has happened, is it?”

“How could you detect an impurity so small? No—before that, look at this blade.”

Maughin spoke slowly. He walked forwards, past the Drake apprentice who was sitting back, woebegone. The Dullahan stared down at the knife. His voice was low when he spoke.

“I am a Level 35 [Armorer]. I’ve labored for over thirty years to reach my level of skill and experience in my craft. Some thought me gifted, and I believed that too when I left Baleros to impress another continent with my skill. But Dwarves, half-Elves, even some Lizardfolk will outlive me. Most Dullahans die before ever turning eighty.”

He bent, brushing dust off the knife and held it up. The Dullahan shook his head as he inspected it, and then brought it to the grindstone. He sheared off the excess metal, quietly, and lifted the blade. The crack was gone, and the metal shone on both sides. Maughin went on, still shaking his head as he held the small knife in his massive hands.

“But Pelt? How old is he? Over a hundred? How many decades of experience does he have? How many Skills? To think an outcast from his home could outperform us so easily. And yet he gave up, though this blade is near perfect. Why? We do not ask, but now I do. Why? What could bring him so low? And why did the world see fit to grant him such skills and we…”

The giant Dullahan’s voice turned rough. His fist closed over the knife as if to snap it, and his arm tensed. But then his face sagged and he gently opened his hand. He stared down at the beautiful knife, and gently handed it, tang first, to Erin. She looked at the blade and touched the cool metal softly. Maughin’s eyes were sad.

“What good is the purity of metal if the hammer that shapes it lacks heart?”

She had no answer. And part of Erin felt bad for egging on Pelt to begin with. She remembered the Dwarf’s face, that look of deepest regret and anger.

“Everyone has a story. Everyone has a past. Sometimes we can’t get past it. I…shouldn’t have bugged Pelt. I think he made a mistake and he’s still hurting.”

“Wisdom. I hear it spoken.”

The [Armorer] nodded heavily. He let Erin look at the knife for a second and then waved a hand.

“Take it to a [Sharpener]. Do you know Lorent? He spoke to me of you and he is one of the best. He can finish the knife; one of my apprentices can fit the handle if he cannot.”

The young woman looked up.

“You’re sure? But Pelt threw it away and I didn’t pay—”

“Take it, Erin Solstice. It would be a crime to waste that metal. And a better knife you will not have from Pallass’ forges, I promise you. If Pelt seeks the cost of the work, I’ll pay him myself. To see him working with his heart was worth the cost. Now, I have work to finish.”

He walked off. Erin clutched the knife, feeling the not-yet fully sharp edge biting into her palm. She stared around at the crowd, the smiths going back to their forges, and shook her head.

“And just when I thought Pallass would be relaxing. I guess this is something else for my to-do list. As for you? You’re coming with me, friend.”

She lifted the knife and began to walk away. It wasn’t how Erin would have preferred to end her day, for all she had a knife ready to be sharpened, practically free of charge. She wished it had ended differently, and wished she could hear that glorious sound again, and see the Dwarf’s face, lit up, and laughing. But the sound was faded. And though the hammering and roar of the furnaces began once again, it was a quiet sound.

But on another continent, the hammer still fell, and a girl with a veil screamed her purpose silently in the echoing forge.

—-

How long had she worked? Trey had no notion. The hours had passed as he stood there, watching her. Sweat ran down her face. Her veil was wet, despite the heat. Her face was pale.

She couldn’t breathe. Not until she left the circle. But she kept returning to it. Again and again, even when Daiton had stopped his work. He had tried to continue, but his arms had tired. So had his apprentices. They had stopped, and now they watched with the rest.

Down the hammer fell. Down again and again. In a place without air. On a piece of metal without flaw. And it glowed in a forge without flame. But the product, the metal being shaped had something the others blades lacked.

The complacent. The inexperienced. The weak of heart. All fell away in time. But she kept going. She had less Skills, less experience than some. But her drive kept her standing. Her will let the hammer rise and fall.

She was spending less and less time in the circle. And her walking was slower. But she refused to let the metal overheat. She refused to stop. And as the sword emerged from the metal Nawal had folded, Trey saw the beauty of it. It was not hidden like the other swords; it was there, bared to see. A shining blade, heating and cooling on the anvil.

There was no scaling; the previous folding of the steel had burned the impurity away, and Nawal had swept the ground clean again and again. Between heats she’d even cleaned her hammer and anvil. Now the metal bar slowly extended, earning a point, a recurved spine and a long, cutting edge.

“She’s dying.”

That was all Trey said as Nawal walked slowly around the circle. Her shoulders were slumped. She looked impossibly worn. But her clan refused to let anyone go near her. And Nawal herself had only stopped to drink water.

“She is nearly finished. The task was long. Longer than she would take normally since she purified the steel. But she is nearly done.”

Silmak stood with his arms folded. Sweat stood out on his brow despite the cooling air as the sun set. He had been maintaining both spells, and his vigil was taxing as Nawal’s work in its way. He pointed with a strained finger.

“Look. She heats the edge alone. This is the final time. The quenching. After this is it is done.”

“What if she gets it wrong? If the edge isn’t sharp?”

Silmak looked back at Trey and shook his head.

“She will only quench it once. If she fails, the sword is worthless. See how she heats only the edge? She can tell how much heat is in the blade. It must be perfect or else the spine will be too hot, the edge too cool.”

“But—”

Trey’s voice trailed off. That was the Tannousin clan’s way, wasn’t it? Perfection or nothing. He imagined all the hours of work going to waste. And he prayed Nawal would do it correctly.

“The oil.”

A group of men led by Hesseif dragged the barrel over. Into the circle where air wasn’t permitted. Not even here would air touch and corrupt the blade. Trey saw Nawal lift the bright edge as the rest of the blade cooled, dark or red. He thought she hesitated once. Then she turned and approached the barrel of oil.

There was no ceremony. Nawal thrust the sword into the oil and no smoke emerged. No bubbles rose; it was, after all, a vacuum. She stared there, gently shifting the sword, pulling it out of the oil, dipping it back in. And then the sword came out and Nawal turned. She stepped out of the circle and held the sword up. And she spoke, in a voice hoarse from hours of disuse.

“It is done.”

A sigh ran through the Tannousin clan. The smiths around Daiton stared. The sword Nawal held dripped with oil. But more than that. It gleamed.

There was no scaling, no soot or burnt metal. Nothing a traditional fire or quench would leave on the steel. And Nawal had hammered the metal so finely, with such precision that no marks existed on the smooth metal.

It was not perfect. There was no handle or hilt to the sword, just the bared tang. And Trey could see the edge wasn’t there yet. But the metal still looked beautiful. It had taken so little of…of anything, be it soot or that scaling on Daiton’s blades. It was just metal, gleaming after the oil bath.

“Who will sharpen it?”

Nawal looked around. She staggered and hands reached out. Bezha caught her. Another man took the blade, as careful as could be. A grindstone appeared, and smaller files were produced as the Tannousin clan members gathered around the blade. Silmak turned to Trey and the other watchers.

“Hers is to shape the metal. The rest of the clan performs other tasks, such as sharpening the edge, detailing it. Etching with acid. We will only sharpen today.”

He bowed slightly. Trey bowed back, not knowing what else to do. He heard a noise and looked sideways. Daiton was staring at the blade as it was slowly sharpened with exacting care. The [Blacksmith] spoke through numb lips.

“I—have not seen a [Smith] make a sword from a raw piece of steel in a day for years. Let alone…what level are you? Who taught you?”

He looked at Nawal. The girl was being held up by Bezha and another woman. She spat the veil out of her mouth as they offered her water and something to eat. But her eyes were no less fierce than they had been this morning. She looked Daiton in the eye.

“I am Nawalishifra of Clan Tannousin. My father forged Naq-Alrama steel. That is my only claim, but he taught me all he knew, and if I lie, may my blood water the sands.”

The older smith met Nawal’s gaze. This time it was he who looked away, not her. He stared at Trey and his voice was lost.

“I have heard of the desert tribes and their famous smiths. But I thought there was little difference, even for magical steel. I thought…”

He said nothing more. He just looked at Nawal’s blade. And Trey felt bad for him. Nawal sat down as her tribe worked on the sword, passing it from person to person. From rough grinding of the edge to delicate work with smoother stones. The blade grew sharper with each person, until Trey was worried for the hands that ran across the edge. But the Tannousin clan was experienced and not one drop of blood touched the ground.

Trey didn’t know what to do next. Daiton was sitting in his forge, staring at the magical circle as Silmak slowly destroyed it with his foot. Everyone else was just staring at the blade or being silent. He looked at Nawal, and then saw something heading towards them.

From the palace. A tall figure strode towards them, followed by four other figures. Carrying parasols. Orthenon and four members of Parasol Stroll including Mirin and Ulyse walked towards the forge. The smiths, the Tannousin clan, and Trey all looked up as the King’s Stewards approached.

Orthenon asked no questions. Neither did he waste time on greetings. He looked down at the sword a young woman held with a piece of cloth.

“The sword. It is done?”

Everyone looked at Silmak. The [Shaman] bowed.

“Not yet, Steward Orthenon. It must still be sharpened thrice more.”

The Steward nodded.

“Perfect the edge, then. But do it quickly and without error. And the second it is finished, hand it to Mage Ulyse.”

He stood there, waiting, and the four [Mages] behind him folded their parasols and waited. Trey expected the Tannousin clan to be nervous, and they clearly were, but even that didn’t let them hurry their work. Fifteen minutes later, the blade was passed to Silmak. He hesitated, then handed it to Nawal. She took the blade and with both hands, offered it tang-first to the Steward.

“It lacks a handle, Lord Orthenon—”

Silmak cautioned the man. Orthenon shook his head.

“That does not matter at the moment. Ulyse. This blade. Will it do?”

The [Mage] sighed. He lifted a finger and the sword spun through the air, towards him. It paused in the air and he touched it, gently.

“Ah, this is a pure thing. Can you feel it, Mirin? It will hold an enchantment. But which one?”

“We are four. Strength is all we could manage, surely.”

The young woman murmured to him. Ulyse nodded.

“Four. Strengthening it is. Together, then.”

He looked at the other four [Mages]. And they all raised their parasols and opened them as one. It was more than a symbolic gesture—as they did, Trey felt them casting a spell. Out of sight, invisible, but for Ulyse’s moving lips, the hypnotic swirl of Mirin’s colorful parasol. But Trey saw it, saw the magic wrap and weave as the four, led by Ulyse, twisted it around the blade.

And then—did they tie a knot? No, that wasn’t the word for it. They tied the magic into the metal, anchored it in some way Trey couldn’t describe, only see. And the enchantment made the blade glow in Trey’s vision. A complex spell held in the blade, but a simple purpose even he could understand at his low level.

Strength.

“Done.”

Ulyse announced softly. He lifted his finger, and the sword twisted around. It returned to Orthenon, back first, and he gently lifted the blade out of the air. Inspected it. Ulyse leaned on his parasol, suddenly tired, but his smile was one of satisfaction.

“It will not break so easily, and great force will be needed for the blade to so much as bend. It is not what we could do if there were eight, or even sixteen, but I think any [Enchanter] would pronounce it decent work.”

“Good. Nawalishifra of Tannousin.”

The young woman roused herself a second time. Orthenon handed her the sword. It glittered as she took it gripping the spine gingerly, staring at the metal.

“It is enchanted? Just like that? Then it is no longer my blade.”

“You forged it. The [Mages] simply gave it the power. I’m told it is simpler if the metal is newly made.”

“Simpler for you, maybe.”

Ulyse grumbled. The other tired [Mages] nodded. Orthenon ignored them.

“Present this to his Majesty. Daiton. Bring one of your blades. My king has heard of your bet and he wishes to see both swords.”

“He’s here? He’s back?”

Trey looked up, alarmed. He stared towards the sky. The sun was nearly set! Orthenon shook his head.

“He is returning. You can see his progress down the northern road. He will be here within the hour. And a banquet shall be held then.”

He turned. Orthenon strode away. But Trey followed him this time. He ran to the edge of the walls and exclaimed. The others, smiths, Tannousin clan, and others, followed. And they shouted too.

—-

“Nawal! Nawal, come see!”

Nawalishifra of Clan Tannousin was so tired. Her lungs burned. Her arms hurt more than she could remember them ever aching. She had pushed herself so hard. But she refused to fall down like some weak coward. She clutched the sword to her, then realized she might actually fall on her blade. And wouldn’t that be a disgraceful end? So she looked around.

“Hesseif. Guard this until the King of Destruction touches it.”

The big [Warrior] accepted the blade with reverence. He nodded and Nawal turned to the insistent voice calling her name.

“What is it, you…you loud-mouthed boy?”

Trey smiled at Nawal, his eyes lighting up.

“Come and see! It’s what you wanted!”

He reached out, and to Nawal’s shock, tugged her by the arm. She staggered after him, half ready to flay him with her tongue if she could but find the words. But her insults stilled in her mouth as she reached the parapet.

The forge was located on a rise. Outside of the castle, but still within an inner wall. Beyond it lay the city of Reim. But further still, you could see the north road. And on it came a procession.

And there it was. Nawal’s eyes widened as the others helped her towards the edge of the parapet with Trey. She clung to the stone, her knees suddenly weak.

A glittering train slowly rode across the darkening landscape. A procession of horses, mounted warriors, and, swarming to meet them, a crowd of Reim’s people. But it was the wagons Nawal stared at. Even from this far away she saw they were laden with treasure.

Gold, catching the sunset light. Gemstones. Treasures of magic and art. They filled the wagons and shone with light. A man rode at their head. A figure flanked by two smaller riders. Nawal saw a glint of red and gold as he raised his hand towards his city. And she turned and saw Trey’s smile.

In days of old, it was said that the King of Destruction’s city flowed with wealth. Every day, caravans would enter the city, bringing treasures from the world over.

Nawal had thought it was a lie. She had looked upon Reim and seen the small truth buried behind the myth. Or so she’d thought. But now she looked upon the glittering train of wagons below and saw a different truth.

It was not an endless stream, just eight or so wagons. And the streets were hardly paved with gold, and the [Beggars] weren’t as rich as [Lords]. But the King of Destruction still rode through his city, followed by a caravan heaped with gold and artifacts. And when the roar of the crowd that flocked out to meet him reached Nawal’s ears, it felt like the entire palace shook.

“Legends. So it’s true. There is truth in his stories.”

She wavered on the parapet. The King of Destruction was riding through his city. And it felt like he was looking up at her. Her head felt light. Her knees weak. Nawal breathed shallowly.

Trey smiled at her. He looked at Nawal’s pale face, and then at the shining blade still held in Hesseif’s hands.

“Some things are true.  There are legends. And the King of Destruction fits his stories. His vassals are the kind of thing you read about in stories. But I think…I think you’ll fit right in among them, Nawal.”

She looked at him. Trey pointed at her blade. She wanted to laugh. That bit of metal? Hardly. But he meant what he said. He was a fool. But she couldn’t help but like that. Nawal smiled at him. A genuine smile. Then she wavered and fell.

Trey caught her before she hit the ground.

6.14 K

(The Wandering Inn, Volume 1 is coming out as an audiobook! The narrator is doing live reading on her Discord, invite here! You can listen to her streaming most week days at 2 PM EST if you’d like to hear the audiobook being produced! Please be respectful on her server, and look forwards to the finished product!)

“Nawali. Nawali. Nawalishifra.”

The girl was lying down when she woke up. She heard the voice at first. Familiar. And she was being held, she realized. In someone’s lap.

“Nawali. You must wake up.”

Bezha called to Nawal in a soft, gentle voice. As she had done for many years, ever since she had begun helping to care for Nawal and her brother as children. And that name, Nawali—only she called Nawal that. An affectionate name she still used even though Nawal was grown.

The girl shifted. She felt leaden. Drained, and her lungs hurt. Her arms—she could barely move them. It was not an unfamiliar sensation. Hadn’t she felt that in the forge a hundred times before? It was the same pain, the same feeling that was an echo of the beat of the hammer or air in her lungs, fighting to explode outwards as she walked the smith’s labyrinth. It had broken other apprentices, her brother, and worn her father down.

But that was only half of the feeling in Nawal’s chest. The other half was like a hidden sunrise in her. She felt good, though she didn’t know why. At first she struggled to remember. Was it the triumph of forging a sword? No, not necessarily. That sword of steel was just that; a sword, far from a masterwork for all it had been done pure. Why was she happy?

And then the girl lying in the warm embrace remembered. Her eyes opened. An older, lined face smiled down at her. Bezha. And clustered around were some of the other women. No Silmak. No Hesseif. And no…Trey?

“Bezha.”

Nawal croaked. The woman nodded. She held something and Nawal felt cool liquid at her lips. Instinctively she gulped and tasted a sour, bitter liquid. But refreshingly cool.

A stamina potion diluted with water. The thing for exhausted bodies. Nawal felt some strength enter her limbs. But she didn’t rise yet.

“Nawali, you must get up. Do you have the strength for it?”

“Why?”

Nawal was exhausted. All she wanted to do was rest. That was her right, wasn’t it? Part of her, the sleepy part, resented even having to speak and be awake. But Bezha was insistent.

“Up. You are tired, this I know. But you must be up. Don’t make me pinch you.”

“Why? For what? I finished the sword. Isn’t it…”

A yawn cracked Nawal’s mouth open. She didn’t feel the veil on her face. Of course; they must be in a woman’s room, where men were outlawed normally. Bezha shook her head in answer to Nawal’s question.

“It is not the sword. The sword was made perfectly. But you must be up. He has mentioned your name. And already they are gathering in the banquet hall.”

The word sparked something in Nawal’s chest. She peered vaguely up at Bezha. Part of her still felt like a young girl in a younger woman’s arms, rather than an adult held by her aunt.

“Who?”

She saw Bezha’s eyes widen incredulously. A light flick across the temples; Nawal winced. But it was an affectionate tap.

“The King of Destruction, of course. Don’t you remember?”

And then Nawal did. The shining caravan, the King of Destruction riding at the head of the group, the roar of his citizens. The moment she’d laid eyes on him again and realized that the legends were true.

The happiness in her breast leapt and rose. Nawal slowly sat up. And it was the [Blacksmith] of the Tannousin clan who let the others help her change out of her sweaty, smelling clothes and into a more colorful dress. But it was the young girl who walked out, followed by her clan. Rejoicing, laughing and smiling as she entered the banquet hall.

Because the legends were true. And Nawal walked into the banquet hall and heard the roar of sound. She saw a room heaving with people, a room that could hold over a thousand still crowded by soldiers, servants, and…people from the city. Citizens, come to see their King. Feasting, drinking. And as Nawal’s eyes travelled up the room, she saw him sitting at a table halfway up the room. As if he’d forgotten to sit at the head table. But there he was, sitting with a group of awestruck children who looked up at their King.

At the head of the room sat the grand table, heaped with delicacies. And there sat Orthenon, eating efficiently as he talked brusquely with a soldier on his left. On his right was the empty chair. And past it was Teres, staring at Nawal. Then Gazi, then Trey.

But they were all the background. Nawal stopped. She’d seen him. And so had Clan Tannousin, who paused behind her.

Silmak, who’d forgotten the speech he’d prepared. Hesseif, who rubbed his eyes like a boy. And Bezha, who looked younger, like Nawal, remembering a hundred tales as they looked at the [King] leaning over and inspecting the food on a young girl’s plate. His red-gold hair flashed in the light as his head turned.

And a myth came to life. A story turned, and the girl inside Nawal smiled. For there stood the King of Destruction. And before he spoke, before she realized her impropriety and knelt, and Silmak stammered a greeting that was lost in the noise, before Nawal recalled the King of Destruction’s darker tales and apprehension and the other mortal emotions overwhelmed the feeling, for just that moment, Nawal smiled. And he smiled too.

That was the kind of [King] he was.

—-

“No one speak anything ill of him. Do not mention his slumber, or his enemies. Make no promises and offer no insult no matter what is done. Never forget why we are here, and where we are.”

As they sat at the tables near the head banquet table, Silmak hissed at the rest of his clan. All thirty one other men and women, from Bezha to the youngest, all nodded, and those that did not hear nodded as his instructions were passed down the table. It did not need saying, honestly, but they felt better hearing it. Nawal, who sat next to Silmak and Bezha, felt unsteady. She looked around, at the sea of faces.

She didn’t remember Silmak’s awkward greeting to the King of Destruction, or what the [King] had said. Or rather, she remembered it in flashes. Entering the vast banquet room with all eyes on her for a moment as Flos of Reim returned to his seat at the head table. And now they were sitting, feasting as he sat there.

And it wasn’t a situation where Flos was sitting at the head of the room and where Nawal could turn and stare at him from afar. No, it was more like—

“Ah, I would that you had been with us, Trey. I wonder what you would have made of the Quarass. As for Hellios—well, your company on the road would have been appreciated. Teres tired of answering all my questions, I think. And Mars, Venith, and Maresar all had to remain, at least for the moment. Perhaps Orthenon could take you with him to Germina?”

Nawal heard a slightly indistinct voice over the background noise. She heard a laugh, and then a dry voice, even closer.

“I fear my journey must be swift, my lord. So I shall travel alone. Although if you wish it—”

A chuckle. Nawal’s skin tingled.

“No, no, Orthenon. It was a joke. I have at least eight questions to ask Trey, and I don’t think his presence would be helpful in Hellios. Where I suspect you’ll spend the longest.”

“You do trust the Quarass of Germina, then, my lord?”

That voice was soft. Female. A pause and then—

“Let us say that I looked into her eyes, Gazi. And I judged her to be true when she agreed to work with me. If nothing else she is brave; and that is to her credit. The last Quarass was craven. This one will not be, so she will be a fine ally or enemy. Either way, Orthenon need not linger there overmuch, although he will visit Germina first. But tell me, Trey. What’s this I hear about—”

If she turned her head, she could see him. Here was the thing. It was not like most banquets, where the ruler and his guests of honor would sit at the front of the room, staring across their diners. Flos, the King of Destruction, was eating in the center of his banquet hall, and for some reason his table was so close to his diners that you could lean over and hold a conversation with him.

Nawal could hear every single thing Flos said, and while some of the other people at his table were out of earshot, he was far too close for her to relax. She stared at the food on her plate and realized she’d eaten some of it. And it was good food! Delicious, or at least, she thought so. But she could feel Flos’ presence to her right, and it distracted her. The other diners too, who listened covertly to him speaking. Until he spoke her name and her heart stopped.

“So tell me, Orthenon. What passed in my forges before my arrival? You mentioned something. And Clan Tannousin are my guests this night. And you Trey, spoke of your acquaintance. Nawalishifra, a female [Blacksmith]. I sense that something has occurred. Where does Daiton fit into this?”

Clan Tannousin froze in their seats. Nawal felt sweat suddenly run down her clothes. Orthenon neither laughed nor made small talk, either of which might have been preferable, even if it delayed the anticipation of the events reaching the King of Destruction’s ears.

“My King, I heard only half of what transpired. But from what I understand, Clan Tannousin’s smith disputed the quality of Master Daiton’s work. They competed to forge a sword.”

“Ah. And?”

“I have the results of both. I wished to wait until after the dining to present both to you. Again, if you wish it…”

“No. No, I believe I shall wait. Ah, how exciting. And…intriguing. You saw the entirety of the affair, Trey? Speak up! I can barely hear you.”

Nawal chanced a glance to her right. She saw Flos leaning over, past a girl who was looking at a boy too much like her to be coincidence. Trey had mentioned he had a twin sister. But he was speaking to Flos! A mere servant? Hah! Nawal tried to disappear in her seat and saw Silmak feverishly take another gulp of wine and refill his cup. She didn’t hear what was said, but she sensed the rest of her clan’s eyes on her.

“Be calm. Be calm, Nawali…”

Bezha’s voice whispered to her. Nawal nodded. She wanted to reply that she was calm and the sands take her eyes if she was not! But she wondered if that oath might actually induce blindness in this moment.

The King of Destruction had heard of her rash bet! But—Nawal comforted herself—he would see the rightness of her statements. She had forged a blade that the so-called master blacksmith Daiton could not. For all his layering techniques, his sword was simply inferior in quality to the steel in her blade. He might have an aesthetically pleasing blade, but put to the test, her sword would break long after his had shattered to pieces. And hers had held an enchantment!

“I see. I see. Tell me the rest later!”

Flos straightened and Nawal breathed a sigh of relief. Too soon as it turned out. Because no sooner had Trey sat back than a voice, louder and audible to Nawal, cut in.

“My lord. Might I speak into your ear?”

Gazi Pathseeker raised a hand. Nawal glanced swiftly up at her. She froze. Gazi was staring right at her with all four eyes. Two immediately shifted over to Flos as the King of Destruction, bemused, leaned over.

“Very well. What is it?”

Gazi turned her head to whisper to him. But two of her eyes were still looking at Nawal. And the [Smith] girl suddenly had a terrible, terrible premonition.  Because Gazi’s smile was every bit as evil as the rumors said.

“Oh. I see. Really? And…what did you say?”

Flos listened for a second, half-smiling as Gazi kept whispering. Orthenon, glancing over at them, frowned at Gazi, and Teres, who was having to lean back for the entire thing, glanced up sharply. At Nawal. And then, horror of horrors, Flos’ head turned to look at Nawal.

She felt her heart stop for one shuddering second in her chest. That would have been enough to plague Nawal’s dreams for a month. But then the King of Destruction stood up. And the banquet hall quieted slightly as the King of Destruction spoke in a voice loud enough for all to hear.

“Nawalishifra of Clan Tannousin. Might I exchange a few words with you?”

He looked at her. Nawal stood up. She couldn’t help it. And though she knew she should not speak to another man who was not a foreigner, Flos clearly desired a reply. And one did not refuse the King of Destruction.

“Your Majesty. I am honored to be your guest. I—we of the Tannousin Clan are honored to serve you.”

She’s said honored twice! But Nawal was speaking around the huge lump of sand in her throat, and she felt awkward and stupid. She bowed very low. Every eye was on her. There were voices still speaking, but most were listening to the King of Destruction. Flos smiled at Nawal and inclined his head.

“And I am honored to have a smith of the Tannousin clan in my lands. I hear—but time enough for that later. For now, Nawalishifra Tannousin, a rumor has reached my ears. A bit of gossip from my vassal, Gazi Pathseeker.”

Nawal glanced at Gazi. If looks could kill—but the Named Adventurer was grinning, and her looks could kill. Nawal’s voice trembled.

“A—a rumor, your Majesty?”

What could Gazi have said? And then Nawal remembered and her blood froze. No, not that. But it was too late. Flos was nodding.

“My loyal vassal, Gazi, tells me you think my days of glory were exaggerated. She tells me you were disappointed by what you saw of my palace. Is this so?”

The banquet hall went silent. It wasn’t a gradual silence, the last of the voices fading away, or even a sudden hush. Everyone just stopped. And this time Nawal felt the looks pierce her like spears. Orthenon looked up from his already-empty plate.

“I—I—I—”

I meant no disrespect. Don’t kill me! Please forgive—

Nawal’s stuttering voice cut off as Flos held up a hand. The King of Destruction didn’t look angry. If anything, he was smiling gently. He looked around at the others. There were not a lot of friendly stares, but the [King] captured their eyes before he spoke again.

“You are correct.”

Nawal breathed again. Flos held up a hand against the murmur of protest that rose up. He gestured around.

“Is it not so? In times past, my city was grander. And this was but one of the kingdoms that flourished. Perhaps my towers did not pierce the clouds, and perhaps the streets were not filled with gold, but yes, Nawalishifra. There were legends then.”

His subjects quieted. They looked and nodded, changing their minds from anger at the insult to…nostalgia? Flos gestured around.

“I recall a time when banquets in this castle were so plentiful that we could have filled every room and not had enough space to stand. Then again, this room is already overfull. But in those days, I recall standing outside and seeing every house filled with guests sitting on roofs. And [Lords] figuring out how to balance plates on thatched roofs. Do you recall that, Orthenon?”

“Yes, my King. As I remember it, five of our guests fell and broke bones.”

“They did, didn’t they?”

Flos looked around at the room. And Nawal, still standing stupidly, saw more than one head nod. She stared at older faces in the crowd. And there was that sense again, of legends becoming reality. They had been there. They had seen it.

That great head swung back and Nawal stiffened again. But the smile Flos gave her was disarming.

“So fear not, Nawalishifra. I take no offence from your words. If anything I agree, and wish I could grant you the sights of old. But I cannot. And the fault of that is mine alone. I, who slumbered.”

He spread his arms, a cup of wine in hand. And who would gainsay the King of Destruction? Flos shook his head, but then he turned to a man sitting at his table. A [Mage] in robes. And next to him, two other [Mages] who sat across from some Stitch-People, warriors to look at them.

“Ulyse! Jelaim! Will you give our guests but a taste of what glories there used to be?”

The group looked up. Nawal vaguely recognized the [Mage] with the bright yellow parasol who stood and gave Flos a bow. Ulyse of Parasol Stroll smiled slightly.

“It would be our honor, your Majesty. A small entertainment. Mirin? Palke? Asimi?”

The four [Mages] stood. And they swept across the table. Nawal felt a hand tug her down as the [Mage’s] walked past her, down the center aisle of the banquet hall. She saw Bezha gesturing her down and sat. But she looked back at Parasol Stroll. They walked towards the double doors in the center of the room and turned their backs to the room. Nawal, the audience, saw them raise their parasols. Unfold them.

Four brightly colored umbrellas opened. Only, they weren’t quite umbrellas. They were small, meant only to block the light. The four parasols twirled behind the [Mages] for a second, hypnotizing. Ulyse’s yellow-and blue parasol spun, hypnotizing the audience with their colors. And then as one, Parasol Stroll turned. And vanished.

It was like they’d turned a page in a book; as their bodies rotated, the rest of them that should have been there never appeared. So they turned and disappeared from sight. There was a slight gasp at that, but anyone who’d seen an [Invisibility] spell had seen something similar. The real show began a moment later.

Every light in the room suddenly went out. Candles, orbs of [Light], braziers—all vanished. Nawal felt a moment of panic, and then realized the room was lighting back up. A blue, ephemeral light took the place of the darkness. And then, soaring upwards were butterflies.

Blue. Gold and violet. Red like blood. Pink and green and orange. Turquoise and magenta, every color imaginable. Even puce. They fluttered up from a man’s hands. And Ulyse’s words echoed.

“To the King of Destruction! To days of old, I present to you a small performance from Parasol Stroll. Watch, oh guests of Reim. And remember the light shows of old.”

He gestured. And a hundred more butterflies sprang from his fingertips, flying over the heads of his guests. The bright little things changed, became swooping owls and eagles and other birds. They flew up, circling the banquet hall. They flew up and up until they reached the ceiling and dove.

The audience ducked as the birds landed among them, but the light did them no harm. The birds shattered like glass against the ground, their bodies breaking into shards of light that bounced across the room and faded. When they looked up, Ulyse was gone.

“The King of Destruction.”

No one could tell where the voice came from at first. Then, suddenly, it was distinct. They turned back towards the doors and saw Mirin. Her parasol was indigo and teal, and it was spinning behind her. Faster and faster. She raised a hand, and from the ground, from the stone floor and air, suddenly there was water.

It rushed up around her, a river of liquid that shot up to the ceiling far overhead. It flowed around the [Mage] encasing her but never touching her. The water rushed past her, crashing down in a wave that dove over the heads of those seated. Again, some ducked, but the water didn’t touch those seated.

It crashed over and passed under the other tables. And there were cries of shock, because it turned out the illusion of water was no illusion after all! People jumped up as the water soaked their boots and feet. But Mirin just pointed, and the water rushed down the center aisle, a wave rolling towards the King of Destruction’s table, right past the Tannousin clan.

Nawal reached up, and felt the water run through her fingers and down the hall. The King of Destruction laughed as the towering wave built and stopped in front of him. It crested and broke over his head and froze there. And vanished, falling into nothingness. Flos reached up and a bit of water landed on his palm, melting away like liquid snow.

Laughter broke the awed silence. From the back of the room this time a group of people walked forwards. Not Parasol Stroll, but the Serpent Hunters. There were eight of them, all armed, and they carried curved daggers tipped with black venom. They stood four by four in two lines and began tossing the blades at each other.

Those nearest them ducked away, but the Serpent Hunters caught each blade and tossed it back, juggling it in the air first at the person directly across from them, then in a pattern, the first to the fourth, the second juggling every blade that came back to them, the third throwing alternately to the first and the forth, and so on.

The Serpent Hunts walked down the hall, juggling their weapons, and then, before it could dull, suddenly grabbed their weapons out of the air and tumbled sideways, placing their backs to the King of Destruction where he’d turned to look in his chair.

Jelaim, the leader of the Serpent Hunters, strode down the hall. He called a challenge and his eight warriors mockingly took it up. They threw their weapons at him, first two, and then four daggers. They passed within inches of Jelaim’s cheeks, sides, one through the gap between arm and armpit as he walked forwards in a sauntering pace. Then the warriors threw eight, all towards his chest.

They were going to hit! Jelaim paused. He bowed as the daggers flashed at his chest—then towards his face! There was a gasp—

And a [Mage] appeared. His parasol spun, red and black, and the daggers went flying! His parasol knocked them aside as if it were as strong as steel. The daggers flew erratically, but the [Mage] snapped his fingers and they halted in the air. He folded his parasol with a flick, and then waved it in the air, tracing something burning in the space above his head.

And then sparks filled the sky. They drifted down, bright, glowing embers of light. Only, this spell went wrong, because rather than go out or burn harmlessly, it turned out they were quite real! Half the audience ducked under the tables as the burning flames landed and the abashed [Mage] waved them away. Jelaim laughed as he bounded onto a table.

“To the King of Destruction! Serpent Hunters, a show of arms!”

Two of his warriors unsheathed longer blades, a shortsword and a scimitar. They lunged at Jelaim and he dueled them both, his blade flashing across the table as they pivoted and whirled, both lashing out with real envenomed blades, but never touching each other in a display of perfect skill. And then the [Mages] returned as one and cast a spell. And Nawal and the other members of the audience looked up and gasped. They laughed; they shouted in horror and cheered.

For here were miracles. Here was magic and might and a sight to delight the eyes! But as Nawal watched, as her eyes travelled back to the laughing [King] on his throne and saw his boisterous laughter replaced by a melancholy smile on his face, she wondered what wonders had passed in this very room in days of old. Her heart hurt to imagine what had been lost.

The display went on for half an hour. Between the Serpent Hunters doing a few duels that took several minutes, and three spells from Parasol Stroll going wrong and taking a bit of time to clean up, there was ample time for Nawal to rediscover her appetite and clear her plate twice.

When it was over, Parasol Stroll swept the King of Destruction a bow alongside the Serpent Hunters, and the applause filled the room, even from the group of people that were slightly singed, wet, or smelled mildly of turnips.

“My gratitude, Ulyse, Jelaim! You have captured a bit of the past, and for that I thank you.”

Flos got to his feet after the show had ended. He commanded silence, and had it. The King of Destruction looked around and down at Orthenon.

“We have feasted my return. And welcomed our guests from Clan Tannousin! But now, I think, it is time. For I have heard there was a dispute between my [Smith], Daiton, and Nawalishifra of Clan Tannousin. It seems both have forged a sword. And it falls to me to decide which is the better work. Is that so, Orthenon?”

“That is the quarrel as I understand it, your Majesty. And both blades are present. Master Daiton.”

Orthenon stood up and gestured. The servants hurried to the back of the room and returned with a blade, wrapped in black cloth. At the same time a man sitting at one of the tables nearby stood.

Daiton was pale, as he stepped forwards. The King of Destruction turned, and Nawal and Silmak were already on their feet. They approached the King of Destruction as he stepped around his table and regarded both Daiton and Nawal. The young woman’s heart was beating out of her chest, but she enjoyed a moment of satisfaction at Daiton’s trembling knees.

“Master Daiton. You have one of your blades to show me?”

“I—”

Words failed Daiton for a second. He simply held up the sheathed blade. It was a lovely one, and the sheathe was made of a bright leather crisscrossed by a rich red thread and betokened with a gold-leaf adornment on the tip and handle. And when Flos unsheathed the blade, there was a murmur of admiration.

A blade gleamed in the light, and those close enough to see saw the delicate pattern of steel that Trey had mistakenly called true Damascus steel. But anyone with eyes to see—and that included Orthenon, Gazi, some of the warriors including Serpent Hunt as well as the King of Destruction himself—could tell that it was just a pattern of steel. And as Flos smoothly unsheathed the blade and swung it, it did tear the air with a pleasing sound.

But that was it. It was a sword as good as you could find in many [Blacksmith]’s shops. Perhaps better than a low-level smith could ever craft, certainly a worthy blade for anyone who needed something of steel. But that was it. It was sharp. But no one would sing legends of this sword.

“I see. A fine piece of work, Master Daiton. One of your blades fit for an officer, or perhaps even one of the nobility. The steel looks beautiful, as does the patterning.”

“Your Majesty honors me.”

Daiton hung his balding head, muttering. He shot a glance at Nawal and she returned it, full of scorn. If he had not boasted of his work, or challenged her, perhaps it would not have come to this! But then Orthenon was gesturing and Flos laid Daiton’s work aside so the blade draped in black cloth could be revealed.

“This blade is the work of Nawalishifra of Clan Tannousin, my lord. But the enchantment on it comes from Parasol Stroll.”

“From them? You mean, this blade was fit to be enchanted?”

Flos’ eyes sharpened as he reached for the cloth. Orthenon nodded slightly. Flos glanced around. To Nawal’s surprise, he looked straight at Teres, the girl who looked as plain as Trey sitting beside Gazi. Flos held her gaze before addressing Teres and the room.

“A blade cannot be enchanted unless the metal is exceedingly pure. And I am told Tannousin steel is so. But this was forged with Daiton’s metal, was it not? So let us see—ah.”

The note came as Flos pulled the black cloth back. And the sword that the servants offered to him shone in the light. Nawal heard a susurration and felt her tense back straighten a bit.

A gleaming sword forged of pure steel rose in Flos’ hands. It had a simple handle with no guard, made of wood and carved in haste—that part wasn’t enchanted. But the metal of it, the single-edged blade slightly curved and given a wicked slashing edge was magical. Still, even had there been no enchantment, it would have still competed with Daiton’s ornate blade on looks alone.

“I see. This is a beautiful sword, isn’t it?”

Flos lifted the blade and swung it through the air. His hand blurred and Nawal heard a gentle sound; the blade cut air without much noise. Flos balanced it with one finger, changed hands, and swung it with one hand, then two. He made the blade appear graceful in his hands; he knew how to use it like any master, Nawal could tell. He inspected the edge, tapping the blade thoughtfully, then tried to flex it, holding the back and handle. The metal barely flexed. Flos looked thoughtful.

“Enchanted by Parasol Stroll. Ulyse. Do you claim to have placed the strongest enchantment you could upon the weapon?”

The [Mage] nodded.

“To our ability, yes, your Majesty. If we were more than four, we could have done a stronger enchantment. But linked, we were only able to place one of strengthening on it. It is still a match for most blades in terms of quality.”

“Hm. I see. Nawalishifra of Clan Tannousin. Do you claim this blade is worthy of the enchantment it bears? Would you put your craft against Daiton’s as you claim?”

Flos turned to Nawal. She gulped, but in this at least, she was defending her clan’s pride. She answered back as boldly as she could, her voice quavering only a bit.

“As the sands are my witness, I do, your Majesty! I call insult to the blades served by a master to the King of Destruction! They are not of pure steel, and not worthy to be called a master’s work. My steel, humble though it may be and woman-forged, is barely worthy.”

A ripple went through the audience and Daiton’s face drained further of blood. Flos only nodded.

“I see. Then I will test your claim.”

That threw Nawal. Did he mean to slice Daiton’s sword with hers? Hers was enchanted! That alone proved it was of better quality than his. But Orthenon seemed to know what Flos meant. The [Steward] gestured at the servants.

“Bricks. Here and here, to hold the sword up. Ten for each side. And a sledgehammer, I think. A maul will do if one can’t be found.”

The servants rushed out of the hall. Flos nodded. Nawal and Clan Tannousin stared in mounting horror as they saw what was happening.

Ten bricks of stone were carried in. They were placed on the ground, piled up, forming two columns. And on that column Nawal’s sword was placed, supported on both tip and handle. Next, a huge sledgehammer, capped by a heavy striking head for breaking stone—or armor—was brought to the King’s Steward. The man carrying it handed it to the King of Destruction. With one hand, Flos casually lifted it from the base of the handle and held it out as his audience watched.

Again, the King of Destruction turned and addressed the table behind him, ignoring the horrified look on Nawal’s face.

“I believe I once told you, Teres, that a proper sword, with a proper enchantment could survive a blow from a warhammer. But the metal that makes the sword must be fine to hold the enchantment, and forged just as perfectly. If the blade is weak, or the metal imperfect, the magic is likewise flawed. So. This is my test of Tannousin’s craft.”

Then he turned back to the sword resting on the blocks. With one hand Flos lifted the sledgehammer, and before Nawal could close her eyes, brought it down on the center of the blade held up in the air by the bricks. She saw the sledgehammer connect perfectly in the center and heard a crash of sound.

And her sword crunched. Not the metal—but the handle and sword tip! With nowhere to go, they tore through the bricks piled up underneath, cracking them with the force of the blow. The sword itself barely even flexed, but the bricks shattered and the sword tumbled to the ground. There was a burst of sound, but hardly louder than the roaring in Nawal’s ears. She stumbled and Silmak caught her. But there, in the remains of the bricks, dusty, but perfectly intact, was her sword.

Flos held the hammer to the servant and bent to pick it up. He inspected the blade and shook his head.

“Unharmed. A strong enchantment and the metal itself is just as powerfully made.”

Nawal felt light-headed. She smiled victoriously behind her veil as Flos turned to Daiton. The man was looking down at the crushed blocks, swaying on his feet. He looked like he might faint.

“Daiton.”

Flos had to say his name twice before the [Smith]’s head jerked up. The King of Destruction gestured to Nawal’s sword in his hands.

“Daiton. This sword is beautiful. And I think, beyond what you have made. Do you dispute this?”

“No. No, your Majesty. I cannot. It surpasses my own. And—Nawalishiffa of Clan…she did it in a day. With my steel, sire. I cannot match that feat.”

Daiton whispered. Nawal’s excitement faded as she saw the old man had tears in his eyes. Daiton slowly looked at his sword and bowed his head.

“I’m ashamed. But I will retire my hammer. I cannot call myself a master if a smith half my age can outperform me so. None of my blades could hold such an enchantment.”

He turned to go, stumbling, but Flos held up a hand.

“Hold, Daiton.”

The man stopped and turned back. Flos held up Nawal’s blade. And he glanced at Nawal now.

“Nawalishifra of Clan Tannousin. Daiton is my master blacksmith, and I gave him my charge of forging my armies their arms and armor because of his skill. You have placed a superior blade in my hands. But I have a question for you, Nawalishifra. Do you then claim you can do Daiton’s work? Provide my armies with steel for all the tens or hundreds of thousands who join my rank?”

He gestured towards the sword he held. Nawal gulped. A hundred thousand? She could barely forge one sword every day, and she’d forced herself to get one done! If she had to refine metal for more blades, even if her clan helped her, no, even if she had apprentices…

Silmak broke in, his voice high with nerves.

“Your Majesty, I am ashamed to say that would be impossible, even for the best smith of the Tannousin. We forge a single blade of masterpiece slowly. We could never hope to supply an army, let alone the numberless warriors who serve the King of Destruction.”

Flos nodded.

“I see. But that is what I require from my master of smiths. Daiton may not produce a blade of this quality, but his swords are strong steel and he can make enough to outfit an army. Hm. It is a quandary. On one hand, I cannot deny the fact that Nawalishifra’s blade is the better one. But if she cannot produce more than a single blade, am I to give the rest of my [Soldiers] rocks?”

He glanced meaningfully around. Orthenon nodded briskly, and some of the other warriors in the room were doing the same. Then Flos’ eyes settled on Nawal. And suddenly, she had a horrible realization.

Of course Flos knew Daiton wasn’t able to produce blades worthy of enchantment. Of course he knew Nawal was the better smith—probably before he’d even seen the blades! He was the King of Destruction and a seasoned warrior in his own right. He had to know the quality of Daiton’s blades. But he was content with that.

And he was right—he didn’t need enchanted blades for regular soldiers, just good steel, produced as fast as Daiton could manage it. But Nawal had challenged him and in doing so, insulted the King of Destruction in his halls by showing his smith up.

But he was giving her a chance. Nawal forced saliva into her mouth and spoke up loudly.

“Your Majesty. I—I cannot forge steel as fast as Master Daiton. I am slow, and my purpose is to make and forge Naq-Alrama steel. In that, I will humbly serve, but I could never replace your master of smiths. I humbly withdraw my sword from comparing it to Master Daiton’s, and beg your forgiveness—and his—for the insult.”

She bowed as low to the ground as she could. She heard more voices around her, and then a quiet again. Flos nodded.

“Raise your head, Nawalishifra. I do not take offence. And I am grateful to have laid her eyes on a blade this peerless. As for Daiton, I think he is humbled in his own way, but I think the matter is closed.”

Nawal did raise her head. She saw Daiton nodding fervently, and nodded as well.

“I beg for forgiveness, your Majesty. I did not mean to bring insult, and I did not realize the difference in what was sought. I only saw the…the quality of metal.”

Flos inclined his head. He turned to face the rest of the room, and in doing so, picked up Daiton’s blade. He held both side by side.

“Well and so. Remember this, to all who listen. Yes, I do not expect any enchanted blades from my forges. But Master Daiton’s art is in his way, peerless. For he makes [Smiths] out of apprentices with ease and can create swords I am proud to give my [Soldiers]. I would not ask him to make me a blade capable of slaying Dragons. But when I call for my armies, I know they will be armed with the finest steel he has made, and count myself lucky to have his services.”

He looked back at Daiton and bowed his head slightly. Nawal heard someone bang on the table—Jelaim, banging his cup. And then there was applause. Daiton looked up, tears in his eyes, and knelt shoulders shaking as he wept. Flos looked at Nawal.

“My smith indeed. I commend Daiton and his apprentices. And yes, I do need blades that can be enchanted. But that is why you have been summoned, Clan Tannousin. I expect you to live up to your reputation as the peerless smiths of the desert. You have already proven your skill. Continue to do so, and I will reward you with my gratitude equal to your labors.”

He looked down at Nawal and Silmak. And the two knelt, and both pledged to forge Flos the greatest blades of Naq-Alrama steel he had ever laid eyes upon. And Nawal meant it. As she rose and shook Daiton’s hands and apologized again to the teary-eyed smith, she saw how Flos had engineered all of this night so that neither Daiton nor Nawal would bear the offence of her petty feud.

And she admired him. Admired and feared. But she was no longer petrified as she sat down in her seat. She looked up at him as he sat, still inspecting her blade and chatting to his [Steward] and wondered if this story might be told about the Tannousin clan fires someday. That of the foolish girl [Smith] who had challenged herself against his [Blacksmith] and failed to best him. Would they say she was foolish for missing the point? Or that the King of Destruction had cleverly twisted it so that the outcome was a draw? Would they tell legends of her?

Now that was a terrifying, and incredible thought.

—-

The banquet ended. Oh, there were no doubt other events of note, at least from Clan Tannousin’s side, wonders and things to think deeply on, but to the King of Destruction, there was less wonder and more mundanity. He enjoyed himself of course, but Nawal was right that he had tasted delicacies and hosted banquets that people still told stories about. So the food and drink was a passing pleasure and Flos retired after two more hours to his room.

There he summoned Orthenon, his [Steward]. The man was actually waiting outside his door, having anticipated Flos’ summons. He slipped in as Flos was sitting with a cup of mulled wine.

“My lord?”

“I’ve been thinking, Orthenon. Trey and Teres both call me by my name, usually without honorifics. It’s been so long and the casual appellation is somewhat delightful. People in their world are usually so informal. Would you ever consider doing the same?”

The [Steward] paused as he came to sit across from his ruler.

“I don’t believe I ever would, sire.”

“A pity. Gazi said the same thing. Mars tried it, but she gave up.”

Flos sighed. He hadn’t really expected anything different from Orthenon. It was a mark of their bond that Orthenon even sat in his presence; he was a man who believed in formality, and though he was as much friend as vassal to Flos, he couldn’t bear to be too informal. As one might expect of a man who’d been raised in the Drath Archipelago.

“Never mind. I’ve given you my instructions regarding the Quarass. I don’t intend to keep you—will you set out tonight?”

“As soon as we finish speaking, your Majesty. I will send Venith and Maresar back. Then Mars when I reach Hellios.”

“Good. I could use Mars. And Gazi too, if her eye were healed. You and they are the only things keeping our enemies from assaulting us. They fear you, and rightly so.”

“They will have more cause if Germina and Hellios’ armies both join with yours.”

“True. But even then, do you think that Nerrhavia would fear us? Or Fetohep’s armies of Khelt? No, no. It is my Seven that shook the world the first time. And I fear that without all of my Seven, this undertaking may yet fail.”

Orthenon was silent for a moment, and Flos knew he was taking his words seriously. Of course. Orthenon had plotted Reim’s strategy countless times and he was the one who had led their armies to devastating victory after victory along with Queravia.

“Takhatres is stalling the Empire of Sands himself. But when he returns we will have two armies, and one of them devastating by any measure. If we have time, I can bring you an army that could fight even a coalition of states with you leading them and Mars and I supporting. And should Gazi heal, we won’t need to watch our backs. However…”

“We still lack for [Mages]. Yes. And that is a void only filled by Amerys.”

The two men fell silent. Flos stared into his cup. Orthenon stared at him, then the window, which reflected the dark desert and city of Reim.

“It is not like her to be silent, your Majesty. If she truly did turn traitor—”

Flos held up a hand.

“What is there to betray? I left her, and my kingdom. Her wrath would be expected. Ah, but Orthenon—I’d expect her [Message] at least. I’m sure Wistram has something over her, but to think they could hold her this long? Even with two Archmages, I would still place my faith in her.”

“Perhaps there were three.”

“Perhaps. Wistram has not deigned to answer my challenge. And I must have Amerys. Orthenon, I am troubled by her absence. But I realize I cannot dwell on it. Germina is now our ally, or so I hope, and let that be enough to give other nations pause. If the Quarass…no. You will do as you see fit. Enough, let’s talk of something happier before you leave.”

Flos sat up and smiled at his old friend. Orthenon gave him a brief smile as well. Someone could mistake him for being emotionless or cold. But that was only because they had never seen Orthenon’s wrath, or heard him laugh. Such events were rare, but Flos cherished each memory.

“As his Majesty wishes. Then, what of the sword you held? How is the sword of the Tannousin smith?”

Flos raised an eyebrow.

“Fine? It was a sword of pure steel. I’ve held similar enchanted weapons before. But—then again, it is excellent work for a single day. I wager half the Dwarf [Smiths] I’ve ever met would be hard-pressed to pull off such a feat.”

“I agree. I had reservations upon seeing a female [Smith] from the Tannousin tribe. But they have brought Naq-Alrama steel. Do you intend them to forge you a personal sword?”

Flos waved his cup idly.

“Well, one would be nice to have. My old sword was enchanted quite wonderfully, while a Naq-Alrama sword is but a mage-killer. I was thinking of asking for a spear for you, Orthenon. And blades for Takhatres on top of a sword for myself. What do you think?”

The King of Destruction was pleased by the grin that lit up Orthenon’s face.

“I would be delighted.”

“I thought you might. Naq-Alrama steel is worth paying a fortune for, even if we get only a handful of weapons out of it. But if I can convince this Nawalishifra to stay, I would benefit from more weapons of that quality. It will be tricky, but Trey has a way with people, or so it seems.”

Orthenon frowned. Flos knew he didn’t quite like Trey as much as Teres, and still regarded the twins as oddities, potentially dangerous ones.

“I confess that I do not know Trey as well as you do, my King. But you have an eye for people I lack. If his presence may persuade the Tannousin clan, by all means let him stay with them. He was part of the impetus of today’s bet.”

“Ah. You see? I must have a talk with him tonight. Send him here as you go, would you?”

Flos laughed hugely. This was what he enjoyed. The randomness and unpredictability of people. Gold was stagnant, and magic got old. But people? Each one was different, and those that interested him seldom failed to disappoint.

Orthenon pensively watched as Flos took a drink of his wine.

“In truth, I still wonder about her competence, your Majesty. Nawalishifra looks too young to be a full-blooded [Blacksmith] by her tribe’s standards. She is obviously quite good, but I once heard that a [Blacksmith] had to be Level 40 to work Naq-Alrama steel.”

“So did I. And yes, I doubt she’s at that level. And the actual forging of a blade is only half of a [Blacksmith]’s work. Preparing the metal is just as important. But her father apparently forged that ingot before his passing, so perhaps it is in her capabilities. If it isn’t? We will see.”

The [Steward] nodded. That they would. He cast a glance towards the door and Flos knew their time was nearly at an end. He grasped for a few more sentences before they left. Something fun. Idle chatter. He would miss Orthenon for however long the man took to settle Hellios and Germina. The task might take him weeks or months, but Orthenon never protested, no matter how arduous his work.

“A funny thing. I’m told Naq-Alrama steel is twice as tricky to forge as mithril, but no one speaks of adamantine.”

“Perhaps because few know how to forge it themselves. And it is such a rare metal.”

“Easy to miss, or so I’m told. I heard a [Miner] once dug up a huge vein. He thought the stuff was useless, so he sold it to a [Bricklayer] to make cheap bricks of. It apparently isn’t that hard unless processed.”

“It is not.”

“Ah! Then that explains it. You see, one day a Dwarf from Terandria visited the city the [Bricklayer] was working in, and he came across a wall built of the stuff. Can you imagine, Orthenon? Enough metal to make several breastplates of pure adamantine, baked into the side of a crumbling wall!”

Flos chuckled and Orthenon smiled.

“If I spot any, I will bring it back, my King. But I must be off. Have you any surprises to offer me before I go?”

Flos did. But he knew that would prompt a final discussion, so he’d been holding it in until the last moment. But now was the time. He sighed as he put his drink aside and leaned forwards.

“A few surprises, but all necessary as I will convince you, old friend. Firstly, I intend to issue an edict, Orthenon. An edict, and perhaps reform one of the units of old.”

“That would be welcome on both counts. Have we the resources for a unit?”

The [King] shrugged.

“We brought back some treasure from Hellios and Germina. I will see, but it is on my mind. But the true surprise for you and the world is that I’m planning on conducting in that most displeasing of enterprises. Diplomacy. The world waits for me to declare war again, and the kingdoms and nations of Chandrar already plot my downfall. So I intend to give them something else to think about.”

Orthenon’s brows shot up and together sharply. He hadn’t expected this, which made Flos happy. If he hadn’t, it was likely no one else would be expecting this either.

“What do you intend to send to the other nations of Chandrar, your Majesty?”

He had a wary look on his face, as if he might have to physically restrain Flos—as he’d done more than once—from making a stupid mistake. But Flos was confident Orthenon would see the merit of this plan. He smiled broadly and sat back in his chair.

“Peace, Orthenon. I intend to issue a world-wide declaration of peace.”

A bark of surprised laughter came out of Orthenon’s mouth, a moment of true levity. He laughed, and Flos committed the moment forever in his mind. But the King of Destruction didn’t laugh with Orthenon. He raised one eyebrow.

“It wasn’t a joke.”

—-

Trey Atwood sat in the banquet. He ate in the banquet. He had some of his hair catch on fire in the banquet when one of the Parasol Stroll mages did his fire trick. He watched Nawal during the banquet. This was what Trey Atwood did.

He thought Nawal looked very relieved after she sat down at her table, but he didn’t get a chance to talk with her. And she disappeared too soon afterwards. He hadn’t seen her after he’d caught her from fainting—and nearly been tackled by that huge guard, Hesseif, and Bezha, who may or may not be Nawal’s mother.

But it didn’t surprise Trey, honestly. Nawal and her entire tribe had looked overwhelmed by the King of Destruction’s scrutiny—and his presence. And she had already collapsed once from her task of smithing, so they retired quickly after the banquet started winding down.

That left Trey with Gazi. Only, Gazi left the table first, and Flos and Orthenon left shortly thereafter. And so Trey was left with Teres at last.

Trey had eaten during the banquet. And chatted to Gazi, and watched the show, and worried for Nawal. What he hadn’t really done was talk to Teres. Things were still awkward between them.

Oh, they’d said hello. Trey recalled them reuniting after the week or so apart. She’d found him playing with his sand sprites and wondering to himself if Nawal would be okay.

“Hey. I’m back.”

“Oh. That’s grand. How was it?”

“Good. It was—okay, here’s what happened…”

And they’d talked. And Teres had given Trey a full accounting of what had gone down with Flos and the Quarass and Hellios and he’d been properly amazed and asked questions, but at no point had he sat down right next to her and leaned on her shoulder or vice-versa. At no point had they began talking so fast their words overlapped, or hugged each other or…or felt close.

They felt like friends. Or family members. Or like brother and sister, even, but not like twins, which is what they were. So close they could sometimes know what the other was thinking. But now Trey couldn’t tell what Teresa thought. She had changed. And so had he.

They’d fought. And they still hadn’t figured out how to come back together. Trey wondered if they ever would. He wondered if they should. They’d been so angry at each other at the time.

Gloomily, Trey picked at his food. He kept glancing up at Teres because he had the feeling she was doing it when he wasn’t looking. Finally, there was a point when they both looked up at the same time and caught each other staring.

“Uh.”

“What?”

“I was just—”

“Okay, fine, but it’s only—”

They stopped. And grinned at each other, because they’d had a moment of simultaneous understanding.

What? I was just checking to see if you were checking. Okay, fine, but it’s only because I want to talk to you. Idiot.

She missed him after all. Trey scooted closer, taking over Gazi’s spot. Teres rolled her eyes.

“You think she sat between us on purpose?”

“Could be. She’s like that. Sometimes she’s nice—”

“Hah!”

“She is! But she hides it. I told you. And sometimes she likes being mean. Like she was to Nawal. But she’s never really mean—”

“Tell that to his Majesty. He told me all kinds of things on the road. Gazi’s dangerous, Trey. She was a slave once, you know that?”

“I do.”

“Well…he found her and raised her and I guess she was a lot more timid. But she became one of his Seven by killing a lot of people. A lot.”

“I know. She said she got to be one of Flos’ best vassals by playing up being scary.”

“I don’t think scary’s the right word. Here’s what I heard she did once from Flos. There was this spy, and she ate both his eyes and then—”

“Excuse me, Sir Trey. His Majesty requests your presence at once.”

Trey and Teres jumped. They saw one of the servants beckoning to Trey. He swallowed a moment of disappointment and then an impulse to tell the servant to go away. That might work on Flos, well maybe, but his servants treated the King of Destruction’s words like law, and they would drag Trey if need be.

“Me? But—what about you, Teres?”

He looked at his sister, hoping she would come with him. But the servant just shook his head.

“His Majesty ordered only your presence. This way.”

He was already impatient. Teres made a face.

“I bet he wants to talk to you about all kinds of stuff from our home—”

She waggled her eyebrows, although Trey wasn’t sure how secret their secret really was to begin with.

“—to you. I couldn’t handle it. Go on. I’ll talk to you tonight.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. And you can tell me about that veiled girl. She’s a [Blacksmith]?”

Trey sighed as he saw Teres’ disapproving look to where Nawal had been. He slid out of his chair and followed the [Servant], who set a quick trot through the castle.

“In here.”

The [Servant] pointed Trey to a room Trey was vaguely familiar with. It wasn’t Flos’ bedroom, but a sitting room Flos sometimes used. It had a lovely view, and a balcony. The King of Destruction was using that when Trey entered the room.

“Ah, Trey. I’m grateful you’re here. Thank you—Eim, isn’t it? Your father used to deliver me a nightcap when I was younger.”

Flos thanked the [Servant], and Trey found a seat rather than look at the way the manservant’s eyes would light up. He heard the door close after a moment of conversation and Flos came over to sit down. The King of Destruction smiled at Trey. He had a cup of wine in his hand, half-empty.

“It has been a long time since we spoke, hasn’t it? A week? It feels like months! Would you like a drink? Something else to eat?”

“No thank you, your Majesty. I was talking with my sister. We hadn’t seen each other either.”

Trey pointedly glanced at the door. Flos paused, and Trey felt a moment’s pinch of conscience. Flos was nothing but kind mostly, and aside from the slave thing, which Trey had been forbidden from bringing up (and had given up trying because Flos wouldn’t listen even when he tried), he was good to talk to. But Trey couldn’t bring himself to be as casual and say ‘Flos’ like Teres did. And he was peeved about not speaking to Teres.

“Ah, my apologies, Trey. I’d forgotten the bonds of siblings. No, twins. But I hope you two will chat tonight. Teres did mention missing you on the road.”

“Did she?”

Trey perked up a bit. Flos smiled.

“Don’t tell her I said that. I won’t keep your overlong. But I did wish to call you here to talk. You know it eases my mind to talk to you two.”

“Is this more stuff about history? Teres said you pestered her all about war and our world.”

Flos shook his head, which relieved Trey a bit.

“No, no. I just wanted—well, a willing ear, I’ll confess.”

The [King] looked actually embarrassed as he shifted in his seat. Trey looked nonplussed so Flos explained.

“You see, Trey, it is enjoyable to see your reaction as someone not of this world. You are one of a handful of people I am able to speak to without a level of…distance. As a [King]. And explaining concepts to you, or informing you or Teres of my plans helps firm them in my mind. I used to do that to the other of my Seven back in the day. Not Mars, or Gazi—or Orthenon—Mars is a terrible listener at times, Gazi gets bored, and Orthenon is too serious and too sharp.”

“Who’d you talk to, then? Takhatres? Amerys? Or…the others?”

Trey tried to remember the other three of the Seven. Drevish he knew, the [Architect]. But the other two were…

The [King] noticed Trey’s moment of hesitation. He smiled sadly.

“Takhatres was good to talk to. Amerys was almost as poor a listener as Mars. The three you’re thinking of are Drevish, Queravia, and Tottenval. They were my companions of choice for these kinds of talks.”

“Why them?”

“Why not? Well, perhaps because all three had different qualities. Drevish was an [Architect], one of two of my Seven not suited to war so he had no patience for grand strategies. He would listen and give me his frank—and quite sharp!—opinions. But he would listen, and his ideas were fascinating, as you might expect from someone who could build a castle out of water in the desert.”

“He did that?”

“Oh yes, to prove he could. It used up so much magic and Orthenon was so furious…but it was a grand sight, and I think I gave Drevish an entire vintage of wines to celebrate. Ah, but where was I? Drevish was one, and Tottenval another. Both cared little for war. Have I told you about Tottenval?”

“No. Only that he died at sea.”

“Yes. It was…he died saving my life where no one else could. And he was no warrior, but a [Gardener]. Not even a magical one. He made Reim bloom and fed my entire kingdom. A Beastkin from Baleros. I will tell you of his passing someday. But not today. Not now.”

Flos shook his head, a shadow crossing his features. He took a long drink of wine, as if to banish it.

“Tottenval was good to talk to, mainly because he was so incurious. I would tell him some grand scheme Queravia and Orthenon had concocted, or of our latest enemies and their might, and he would say, ‘so?’ As if it were the most mundane thing in the world! That would only make me try and describe the magnificence of what I saw to him even harder, until he got it or I realized how trivial the matter really was. The perspective of a [Gardener], Trey.”

Trey nodded, trying to imagine Tottenval in his head. He wondered how he had died. And how he had saved Flos’ life.

“I get it. But what about Queravia? Weren’t you…”

This time Trey was afraid to say it. Hints from Mars and Gazi had helped him here, but Flos’ expression had changed. It wasn’t just grief, and the King of Destruction’s fine metal cup bore the imprint of his hand when he lowered it this time.

“Yes. We were close. If that was what you were asking. Who told you? Mars? Gazi? Someone…no. Another topic. Another time. Yes, I loved talking with her just because her company was enjoyable. That was all.”

Flos got up and refilled his goblet. Trey stared at his back until Flos sat down again. This time the King of Destruction shook his head.

“Another time. Why did I bring that up? Ah, merely to say that I enjoy talking to you and Teres in the same way, Trey. And I would like you to know more about my enemies. You see, I’m about to put into place a rather daring plan—at least in some senses of the word. But I’m not entirely confident in it. Or rather, I suspect only some of my enemies will accept my proposal and I’d like to think over the others.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“Send a message. Which reminds me, if anything lands on the balcony let me know, would you? I’m expecting a guest before I retire.”

Flos pointed over his shoulder at the balcony. Trey craned his neck around, frowning. The King of Destruction waved at him to sit back down.

“Later, later. For now, a little lesson.”

“I get those from Gazi every day. And Orthenon too!”

“Ah, but do they teach your geography? The affairs of other nations?”

“Yes. All the time.”

The King of Destruction looked put out.

“Well, I’m preparing my own lesson. How well do you know the other nations bordering ours? Belchan? Jecrass? Khelt?”

Trey squirmed in his seat.

“I can point them out in a map. But I need to see one.”

Flos grimaced.

“A map? I could order one brought, but maps of nations are always changing. And if I do that, I’m liable to spill this wine at some point and Orthenon will kill me if I ruin…no, I have a better idea. A moment!”

He raised his voice. Trey didn’t know who was listening, but the door instantly opened and the servant, Eim, poked his head through.

“Your Majesty has a wish?”

“Parchment and ink, please, Eim. Scrap parchment I think, but large enough for a table. And…hm, these tables are too short. A larger table.”

“At once.”

The door closed. Trey stared at Flos.

“You’re going to draw a map?”

“Of course. It sounds entertaining, and I do know the various nations. But while I wait—there was something else I was going to do, Trey. Issue an edict and form a unit.”

“What, like a proclamation? And why a unit?”

Trey frowned at Flos. The [King] chuckled.

“Sort of. I’m not talking about regular edicts and units of soldiers, though. I’m referring to a [King]’s Skills. It’s past time you learned more of mine.”

“Isn’t it dangerous for me to know?”

“Dangerous as in secret? No, I imagine most of my Skills are well-known. And I want to explain this because I’m wrestling with which edict to issue. You see—hm, how should I explain this? Well, you know that as a [King], many of my Skills affect my kingdom, don’t you, Trey?”

The young man nodded. Flos nodded as well.

“It’s a boon, especially if you consider how large a kingdom can be. And a single Skill can do…ah, so much! Now, generally kingdom-wide Skills are rare, even for rulers to obtain. I have a few, like a Skill that allows my soldiers to level up quicker. That is a very powerful Skill, if a low-level one for a [King] specializing in war. But just having it can make my nation more powerful than one without a high-level [King] over time, you see?”

Trey did see.

“So your powers affect your kingdom, but not yourself as much. That’s why you’re weaker than Mars in battle.”

“Exactly. Her Skills are almost all specific to herself. But mine affect more people. Both have their merits, but one thing a ruler can do is issue…temporary Skills. Or should I say, conditional Skills? For instance, I have the power to issue an edict over my lands. But only one, and should I issue another, it will replace the first.”

“Oh. That’s exactly like a video game. Like a buff. I get it.”

The King of Destruction paused, looking miffed.

“I’d forgotten how much these video games of yours resemble this world. I must try one on that phone of yours.”

“It’s out of battery, remember?”

“Hm. Yes. Drat. I recall. If only there was a way…you had that cord thing, don’t you? Maybe Ulyse could charge it. He can conjure lightning, if not as much as Amerys.”

Trey sincerely doubted Ulyse’s ability to conjure electricity would do anything but fry his iPhone, but he nodded.

“Maybe…but go on about edicts.”

“Hm, yes. I can only have one. And before you say that it is a simple task—an edict shapes my will and my kingdom. I cannot change it as easily as one might change boots. It’s just like blessings, honestly.”

“Blessings?”

Flos waved a hand.

“A type of Skill that monarchs gain. Again, you may only have one active. [Blessing of Rains], for instance, was considered a wonder in Chandrar because it guaranteed regular rainfall, however little. I have one, and only one. But edicts? I have three. And each is powerful, but comes with a cost, so I have not been willing to use one yet. But with three nations nominally under my control, it is time to use one.”

“Okay then. What are they?”

Trey leaned forward, a bit excited despite himself. Flos took a drink, smiling.

“Neither Drevish nor Tottenval. Well, my edicts are, [Edict of Bloom], [Edict of Silversky], and [Edict of the Blooded]. Care to guess what each does?”

“Er, I don’t know about Silversky, but one sounds like restoration, and the other like war.”

The [King] looked pleased.

“Correct! The [Edict of Bloom] revitalizes a war-torn kingdom. Ideal for Germina and Hellios, although we’ve hardly razed much. But Reim would benefit. It allows crops to grow quicker, wounds to mend, children to be born and conceived more fruitfully and quickly among animals and people—”

“Wait, born quicker? That’s not on!”

“Why not? A child will be born in six months fully formed rather than nine for a Human mother.”

“But you can’t just—wouldn’t it make her hungrier or—how does that work?”

Flos shrugged.

“I think mothers do get hungrier, but the time of plenty affects all things, Trey. By contrast, [Edict of the Blooded] boosts preparation for war. All those with an inclination to fight level up much quicker and those with the talent for battle discover it.”

Trey thought that sounded reasonable. Mothers giving birth faster and crops growing sounded like way too much power to him. He saw why Flos had waited though; with Germina and Hellios under his command, he’d have lots more crops growing, and in the spring too!

“Okay, but what’s [Edict of Silversky]? Does it turn the sky silver?”

“No. But it does change the weather. I think the Skill comes from the nature of silver as a pure metal, rather than anything else. You see, I gained the Skill during a particularly bad set of sandstorms that threatened my kingdom. The [Edict of Silversky] is a purifying edict. Under its effects, lies are difficult to tell, the weather balances, and hostile presences find themselves unwelcome in my kingdom. Most importantly, it frees the dreams and feelings of my subjects from negative influence, and that is sometimes more than just external. Those who find themselves plagued by sadness or fury without reason calm, and I consider it the best of my edicts to use in times of peace.”

“Huh. That does sound nice. It almost sounds like that edict uh, purifies bad thoughts. Like someone with depression. Imbalances in the head.”

“You think so too? We did talk about medicine, didn’t we? If only we had some [Doctors] from your world. Hm. But yes, it is a valuable edict and the one with least consequence. But I fear it will be the [Edict of Bloom] or the [Edict of the Blooded] I call upon.”

Trey frowned and sipped from his sweet cup of grape juice. It was excellent, really.

“What’s the negatives of using either edict? Shouldn’t a Skill be helpful?”

Flos sighed.

“Edicts are temporary, Trey. As such, their effects are more pronounced, and there are disadvantages. The [Edict of Bloom] may invigorate my lands, but it is also a time of strife, for monsters will take advantage of the rapid growth as well. Too, the rapid growth takes nutrients from the soil and as you pointed out, mothers require more sustenance, as do animals. It is intensive on the people, for we may reap harvests and grow, but it takes work.”

“And the [Edict of the Blooded]? Wait—do people get violent?”

“Ah, you understand. Yes, my people train to war, but it encourages them towards battle, sometimes with tragic results. If I used it, Hellios might see more rebellions by young men, and I would receive reports of higher rates of injury among my soldiers. It is a tradeoff.”

“What does the [Edict of Silversky] do, then?”

“It simply makes things calm. Pure to the extent that it is sometimes agonizing. No harsh weather, no great storms, no lies—imagine not telling a lie for a month, Trey. People crave excitement, if in small amounts. It is an edict I use after a long time of unrest.”

Trey nodded. Now that Flos said it, all three edicts sounded like trouble in their own way.

“So which will you use? Will you use any of them?”

Flos grimaced.

“I must. It is an advantage I cannot turn down. And I think—yes, I think the [Edict of Bloom] is the one I must use now that I say it out loud. War may be imminent, but it is spring, and there is no better time for it. We will be able to reap two spring harvests or an earlier autumnal harvest this way.”

He gently slapped his hands together. Trey flinched, expecting the edict to begin right then and there, but Flos just shook his head.

“I will issue it tomorrow. It requires at least a bit of ceremony and I wouldn’t spring it on my subjects. They will know what to expect. Now, onto units. If I explain edicts, we should explain units before my servants return.”

He gestured at the door. Trey blinked, wondering why it was taking them so long. Flos grinned.

“They’re probably trying to find a table they can fit through the doors, and parchment worthy of me writing on it. Never mind. Units are simple, Trey. And they are a Skill that reflects across [Generals] as well. We may designate a group to have certain…qualities. To be granted powers simply be inducting new members.”

“You mean, like a group of warriors who all have flaming swords?”

“Ah, exactly. Except that if it’s my Skill, they don’t need to have enchantments on their blades. Their swords will simply burst into flame when they draw them. They’ll have burning armor too, I suppose, although that would be inconvenient.”

Trey’s jaw dropped. He’d only meant that as an example!

“That’s good too! Why haven’t you made one of them yet? Wait…”

Flos was twirling a finger, smiling. Trey thought and applied a video game’s logic to the answer.

“…You can’t yet because you haven’t met the requirements.”

“Ah! A splendid answer! That’s exactly it, Trey. I have several units I could call into being and none of them I can yet form. Some units are simple to create—such as only needing some [Riders] to form a cavalry-based unit like [Driftwind Riders], who always have the wind at their backs. But more powerful units require certain conditions be met. For instance, a group of riders who also all wear heavy armor to become the [Steelshorn Relentless]. In which case their armor—which was already a pain to deal with—becomes twice as thick. Thankfully, they weren’t immune to lightning.”

Flos sighed as he poured Trey a refill of his drink. Trey gulped some more down.

“So how’ll you fix that problem?”

“By checking on how many enchanted blades we have. I don’t need too many, just a hundred or so—”

“A hundred?”

“—to form the weakest of my units, yes. Even if all the blades are only slightly magical, turning a hundred soldiers into a unit would make them considerably stronger in battle. But I don’t think I took that many. The Quarass’ treasury and Hellios’ had gold and other artifacts I’ll have Gazi sort through, but not quite enough blades.”

Again, Flos sighed. Trey choked on his wine.

“You robbed both treasuries? I thought you allied with the Quarass!”

The King of Destruction tugged on his beard.

“Of course. But I still need gold and her artifacts were going to waste. I will share with her of course, but as our armies will fight together, my officers need them most. Venith’s shield is enchanted, but he could use some enchanted armor like the old days. And if I had a few artifacts for Parasol Stroll…”

Trey sat back in his chair. That was Flos for you. One second talking about the benefits and demerits of Skills, the next casually robbing kingdoms of their treasures. He heard the door open.

“Your majesty, sincerest apologies for the wait. We have a chair and table as well as the parchment and ink—”

“Ah, Eim, wonderful. Place it here. Trey, move these chairs back.”

Ignoring the servant’s protests, Flos casually pulled his chair back and they brought a huge table in with six men. And parchment and ink. Trey stared at it as it filled the quiet sitting room, quite out of place, but Flos seemed pleased.

“Thank you. That will be all. Trey, gather around here. Time to the heart of tonight’s little discussion. I am going to show you Reim’s enemies. At least our immediate ones.”

He laughed heartily. Trey walked around the table to Flos’ side. The King of Destruction was already dipping his quill into the ink pot, murmuring to himself as he drew.

“Let’s see. I suppose I’ll start with Chandrar, shall I? Not all of it, since the perspective needs to be closer. But if I do the eastern and northern parts…there. And here’s Reim. You see it?”

Trey did, and he’d seen the map of Chandrar enough times to know it looked like a lowercase ‘R’, at least, that was how he thought of it. The western half was longer than the eastern, but it was wider than it was long. Okay, a really stretched lowercase ‘R’.

But what had shaken Trey when Orthenon had first pointed them out on the map was how small Reim was. Flos didn’t seem to mind, and he pointed out the little blob of Reim proudly to Trey.

“We are in the northeast of Chandrar, one of the countries bordering the great desert. As a consequence, Reim is dry, as are the nations around us. Germina, Hellios, especially Khelt…you see? Germina is north of us, Hellios northeast. Both are so close by so they contributed most to the army that attacked Reim.”

The King of Destruction drew two small nations up from Reim. Trey squinted at the map, confused. It didn’t look like the one Orthenon had.

“Hold on, Fl—er, your Majesty. I thought Reim didn’t border Hellios and Germina until now. It was even smaller than this and there were some cities between us. Which you took over.”

Flos waved a hand.

“Of course. Not all lands are held by one kingdom. There are individual cities here and there, areas ruled by tribes…lesser countries who come and go around Reim to the south here. I’ll just draw a few of the ones that I know. But I excluded the ones north of Reim and the others because I can’t be bothered to draw every single one in.”

“Hey. That’s—”

Trey protested. Flos turned to him.

“I could conquer one of those cities or states with Mars and five cats, Trey. Don’t bother with the small details.”

Oh, to be a fly on the wall if anyone heard that. Trey almost felt sorry for the [Kings] and rulers Flos casually ignored with the strokes of his quill.

“There. You see? We have those smaller countries bordering our south I can’t be bothered to remember. Poor lands, by and large—really a no man’s land. To the north was Germina and Hellios, both our former closest enemies. Our most dangerous at the time.”

Trey nodded, biting his lip.

“But you took them out in two battles, so they weren’t all that strong, were they?”

Flos turned to Trey, looking astonished.

“Of course they were! Trey, these were both established nations with hundreds of years of history—thousands in Germina’s case. It’s old beyond belief, one of the four remaining Shield Nations!”

“Yeah, but its power has waned, right? Or—or it’s still a small nation.”

“Compared to some. But it could still command respect from around Chandrar.”

Flos frowned at Trey, looking deeply troubled by Trey’s blasé attitude. Trey frowned at Flos, deeply confused by Flos’ respectful attitude.

“But you beat Germina and Hellios like that! I was there!”

He snapped his fingers. Flos shook his head, sighing.

“Trey…both nations had strong armies. Both nations have power—streng—they had cunning rulers, at least, Germina did. And they were known quantities not to be ignored. Germina is known for its [Assassins] and Hellios its [Knights]. And stonework. That I defeated both nations isn’t due to their weakness; it’s due to my levels and the fact that Orthenon, Mars, and Gazi all rode with me on these nations.”

“So even though they were strong…”

“Am I called the King of Destruction or not?”

“Oh.”

Flos smiled, looking very amused by Trey’s stupid look.

“Trey, what you fail to understand is that my level is truly high, as are those of my Seven. A big nation—bigger than Germina—would have one or two individuals at most who could equal one of my Seven. And a [King] of my level is an even greater threat. As it stands, most nations on Chandrar I could defeat with Mars, Orthenon, and Gazi at my back in an open battle, even with only Reim’s army. It’s when they join forces they threaten to overwhelm me.”

The casual arrogance—no, the casual confidence in Flos’ voice reminded him again of who he was talking to. Flos, who could talk about squashing a country larger than Germina as if it were a sure thing. He shook his head.

“Okay. But now both countries are yours. What’re you drawing now?”

“All the countries that could threaten Reim, at least in the short term. You see this nation to our west? Khelt. And these two northern countries north of Hellios and Germina? Those are the Republic of Belchan, to the west, and the Realm of Jecrass, respectively.”

Trey peered at all three nations. Khelt bordered Reim, at least, according to Flos’ map. And Belchan and Jecrass were both around Germina and Hellios in size.

“Are any of these nations dangerous?”

Flos hmmed for a second.

“Belchan is home to one of the [Mage] schools in Chandrar, not nearly as famous as Wistram, but still important. Moreover, it is a fruitful place—you see, it gets more water, as do the nations on the coasts. Jecrass is known for its fine horses, and I know their [King], Raelt, of old. But he was ‘only’ on the level of the Quarass, so I suppose both nations are ‘only’ as militarily powerful as Germina and Hellios.”

He gave Trey a sardonic look over the map. Trey hunched his shoulders defensively.

“Okay, I get it. They’re good nations.”

Flos laughed, and reached out and ruffled Trey’s hair. Trey held still, wondering at the odd familiarity of the gesture.

“Good, but not the most powerful. You are right in that. Their northern neighbors actually concern me. As does Khelt, but I think their [King] won’t move. If they did, Reim might be wiped off the map!”

Flos laughed heartily. Trey nearly dropped his drink.

“What? But you said—”

“Khelt is a terrible nation to fight. I learned that the hard way. Don’t worry, they’re unique. And their [King] isn’t prone to starting wars. But if they fight on their lands or around them, the armies of Khelt are insanely difficult to beat. After all, I can’t demoralize them, they don’t tire, and that damn Fetohep can bring back more and more…”

The King of Destruction grumbled to himself as he stabbed Khelt a few times with his quill. Trey stared at him.

“They’re undead?”

“What? No, only the army. I’m not actually sure about Fetohep. Ah, it might be wise to send someone in person to deliver my message to him. Venith, perhaps. He can be touchy and the last thing I need is one of his armies demonstrating his ire. But happily, his nation is one of the few that doesn’t outright hate mine!”

Flos brightened a bit. Trey did not. He stared at Flos, then at the map.

The King of Destruction had kept on outlining countries as he spoke, taking time to make them properly squiggly, as Trey saw it. Two nations appeared north of Belchan and Jecrass, and a very large kingdom appeared south of Reim, only separated by the tiny strips of no-man’s land. To the left, Flos drew a few other states, a long strip of a country, a weird, tiny circle, and two more nations. Then the King of Destruction flexed his hand and grimaced.

“A cramp! This is so taxing! And these countries are annoying to draw! I think I’ll skip our eastern and western borders. There’s not much to draw, anyways.”

“But you’ve just done the north and south!”

Trey protested, pointing at the nearly empty space east and west of Reim. Flos shrugged.

“To the west lies the desert, past Khelt. The Empire of Sands is across that desert, but no one will threaten our western side. Except Khelt. And the eastern coastal nations are a mix. Some are large enough to threaten us and powerful—but they are too far, at least for the moment. There’s a little desert over here, you see—well, I forgot to add it in. It doesn’t matter. These are the nations that concern me most at the moment.”

He tapped the map. Trey stared. Four nations north of Hellios and Germina, including Belchan and Jecrass, the huge nation to the south of Reim, and four smaller countries to the southwest.

“Why these?”

“Hold on, I just need to outline the rest. I’m making up the borders, but it’s so tiring to draw Nerrhavia. But this looks close enough to a proper map…there was this bit that looked like part of a square over here where the Sarmathi ate a section of Nerrhavia, wasn’t there?”

Trey watched as Flos leaned over the parchment, glaring at the tiny details he was adding, all apparently from memory. But it was apparent he was losing patience as the minutes dragged by and Trey drank more wine from his cup. At last, Flos threw down his quill.

“Ah, but this is a tiring business! No wonder [Cartographers] are so difficult to come by! Enough! I won’t bother with the rest.”

He held up the map and showed Trey triumphantly. To Flos’ credit, it did vaguely resemble the maps Orthenon had shown Trey. The young man stared at it.

“Okay.”

Crestfallen, Flos looked at Trey.

“Okay? I labored for nearly half-an-hour on this!”

“I see a bunch of nations. But why are they so dangerous?”

“Because each one has the potential to invade. And all but one hate Reim—or specifically me—to some degree or other. Actually, almost all the nations do except this one. Right here, see?”

Flos pointed to one of the southwestern nations he’d drawn. Trey eyed it.

“So we have only one ally?”

“Possibly? I knew their [Empress] back in my days before my slumber. She was a growing teen then. So she would be…her empire willingly joined with mine, so I have hopes she’d ally if we drew close enough to share forces. That would be Tiqr, by the way. Stronger than Germina or Hellios, incidentally. It has a Garuda population and a great deal of animals. Like war elephants.”

“Oh! That’s like Persia from my world!”

Trey blinked. Flos nodded.

“Your world uses them too? I wouldn’t see why not. They are quite deadly. But I feel poorly for the animals, especially when so many die. Nevertheless, that is Tiqr’s business and with any luck we won’t fight them. But they are possible allies! Er, the other nations are all enemies without a doubt.”

“And this big nation to our south? Are they weak by any chance?”

“Ah, Nerrhavia’s Fallen. Um…no. No, they are not weak. But their ruler isn’t prone to war—she didn’t even send any forces against us with the coalition army. Queen Yisame. Is she still in charge? Ah, yes. She is. She’s rather careful as rulers go, I suppose, or she doesn’t hate me as much as some nations. But she would be a dangerous enemy. You see, all this land was formerly smaller kingdoms and states of String People. But it unified oh, six thousand years back? Into a powerful empire that ruled for thousands of years then was overthrown. Into the Kingdom of Nerrhavia’s Fall that we now know today. One of the largest and most powerful nations of Chandrar, but you could say its finest hours have passed.”

He talked about all of this as if it was known history. And as if the current nation was somehow a shadow of itself despite being so powerful. Trey was also curious about the name.

“Why’s it called that?”

“Because it was the kingdom that overthrew Nerrhavia. Who, I am only guessing, was a ruler not well beloved. A dangerous enemy, but not one determined for my head. Yet!”

Trey gave Flos a flat stare. The King of Destruction only grinned.

“The nations that aren’t Tiqr or Nerrhavia?”

“Pomle, Savere, and Illivere. All dangerous, although Pomle—the tiny one shaped like a circle—isn’t hostile towards us. They’re neutral by and large, but they could go to war, and they possess significant military might despite being so small. Illivere’s prosperous and dangerous if political, and Savere is prosperous, dangerous, seafaring, and their ruler hates me.”

“Why?”

“Hm. Well, it’s a story in itself. Suffice it to say, if we get near any coast, she might be a significant problem. But we’re landlocked, so all’s well for now!”

Flos laughed hugely. Trey didn’t laugh.

“Okay. Two nations to the north. Big one—why are there three dots?”

“Those? I marked the capitals of Germina and Hellios for you. And those dots are…dungeons. Ah, yes. The Thalassocracy of Medain is a nation of adventurers, blessed or cursed by three vast dungeons. All three have been explored for centuries, but they are magical dungeons and still spit out enough threats to employ any number of adventurers. Their ruler doesn’t have a personal grudge towards me that I know of, but his forces were among those that marched on Reim.”

Trey almost wanted to visit Medain and know what a nation full of adventurers looked like. But he supposed that wouldn’t happen so long as he was around Flos.

“Wonderful. And that last nation to the northwest?”

Flos’ smile faded.

“Ah. The Claiven Earth. That’s what they call themselves. Claiven hates me. And it’s one of the few nations I couldn’t conquer outright before my slumber. It…may be a problem.”

That was it. Trey couldn’t hold it in anymore. He threw the map up with his hands.

“Everywhere might be a problem! You have one ally on this map and every other nation either doesn’t like you, might attack, or hates your guts! Are we going to die?”

He was hyperventilating just imagining all these foreign lands, all far bigger than Reim or Germina, lining up to attack Reim. Trey took in a huge gulp of air, and felt a large hand descend on his shoulder. It was comforting and warm. Trey looked up. Flos’ huge smile took away his fear for a second.

“Trey, oh, Trey. Don’t worry.”

Trey gulped and nodded. Flos stroked his beard, smiling.

“Everyone dies someday. Besides, looking at this map and my enemies—this is the challenge I dreamed of! And each nation might invade, but my plan will deal with half of them, at least. I’m sure of it. Diplomacy was never my forte, but remember, I am the one they fear. And I plan to use that to my advantage. At least to build up some more strength and consolidate Germina and Hellios.”

Trey shuddered, shaking his head.

“You’re barking mad. You’re crazy. At least tell me what you’re doing! And how would you even win, even with Germina’s armies and Hellios’? How can you control so much land?”

“Well, you see, there are some artifacts I must have. And if I can get Khelt’s ruler on my side, ally with some nations like Germina, and my plan works—”

Tap. Tap.

Flos turned at the same time as Trey. The young man saw a figure standing on the balcony adjourning the sitting room. He heard a shout at the same time.

“The skies! Someone’s landed on the balcony!”

“Protect his majesty! Sire—”

Trey looked around as the door exploded inwards and Eim rushed forwards, holding a belt knife. Flos clicked his fingers and slapped his forehead.

“Ah, I knew I forgot something. Eim, put the blade down. Call off the alarm. That is a Courier. And my guest.”

Eim slowed in his mad charge to get in front of Flos. The figure on the balcony hadn’t moved. Eim looked at Flos, then turned and rushed back to the corridor, stopping the five soldiers rushing in and shouting frantically.

“Er, your Majesty? Who is that?”

The figure did not look Human, and as Flos walked forwards and opened the glass doors, Trey realized it was not a Human who walked into the room. Her feathers were a brilliant green speckled with white, and her form was tall and thin. Trey had only known Takhatres and a few of his tribe, but he had never met a fat Garuda. Presumably they wouldn’t fly.

But this Garuda had. And she was beautiful. Her beak opened slightly as she bowed, and her feathered wing-arms extended in a courtier’s bow to Flos. Then she looked up.

“Pardon the intrusion, King Flos of Reim. But I was told to visit this balcony.”

“The fault is mine, Courier. I apologize for the late hour and the danger, but I have need of your services. By all means, come in. And partake of wine or grape juice if you wish it. Trey, a chair.”

Trey immediately pulled up a chair, but the female Garuda shook her head. She turned to face Flos, still smiling.

“I fear I’ll be too busy for wine, and grape juice goes through my system quickly. But I am grateful for the offer, your Majesty. I came here to take an urgent message, or so I understand it.”

“You are. To every nation south of here. To the rulers of Nerrhavia, Tiqr, Illivere, Pomle, Savere…I have contacted City Runners in Hellios who will deliver my message north and east.”

The Garuda tilted her head slightly.

“I see. An important letter. You have my word I will carry it without failure or disclose its information to any but whom you intend to read it.”

Flos chuckled.

“No need to risk your life, brave Courier. I am already indebted to you; you were the only Courier who answered my call. May I ask your name? I’m told you call yourself the Sky’s Mirage. Is there a reason for the nickname?”

The emerald Garuda shrugged, opening her wing arms slightly.

“It’s not the name I chose, but nicknames seldom are. Apparently it came from those who saw me on the ground as I flew high above the sands of Chandrar. I’m told my feathers on the blue sky are a lovely sight from the ground. But I’d prefer you just use my name, your Majesty. Or have you forgotten me?”

She looked directly at Flos. The King of Destruction paused, and his eyes narrowed.

“Have I? I’m sure I would remember someone so striking…but we have met, haven’t we? Were you a City Runner, once? No. No, wait. Your plumage. And your voice…you were a Street Runner who delivered my message to Drevish when assassins sought his life! How could I have forgotten you, Chaita of Keymos!”

The Garuda opened her beak in a brilliant smile.

“You do remember! And you were the first person to ever trust me with a message of such importance.”

Flos held out his hands and took Chaita’s wing-hands.

“You saved Drevish’ life, then. I am ashamed to forget. Chaita, I would welcome you into my palace and feast you any other night. And should you ever tire on your journeys or fear for your life, come to Reim and you will be welcome in any land under my rule, I promise you. But I fear I must ask you to swiftly deliver my message.”

“Your Majesty is too kind. And it is my honor.”

Chaita ducked her head. Flos smiled sadly.

“Do not let that endanger your life. For this letter will soon be known by all. But the rulers of each nation must know first. So. It is here.”

He reached for something at his side. A bag of holding, because the scrolls he pulled out were far too large to have been hidden anywhere else.

“They are not sealed by magic or any other device. You need not wait upon each ruler to hear them read aloud either. In fact, I warn you it might be prudent to leave before you witness their reaction.”

“I shall bear that in mind. But I am a Courier, and even the King of Destruction’s messages are bound by the Runner’s Guild.”

Chaita accepted the scrolls and delicately put them into her own bag of holding. Then she turned and walked towards the balcony.

“I would stay longer, but it is a long flight. Your Majesty, I may take up your offer again.”

“I will be waiting. Chaita of Keymos, I will not forget your name again.”

Flos bowed slightly and Chaita bowed as well. Then the Garuda leapt, and she was gone from view, flying in the night sky before Trey could blink. It had happened so fast that some of the shouting of intruders in the sky was still going on by the time Flos closed the balcony doors.

“And that is that. I apologize, Trey. And it seems I’ve kept you from your sister too long. Have you any questions for me?”

Trey had about a thousand as he always did. But he decided to ask only one, the obvious one.

“What was on the scrolls?”

Flos shrugged wearily.

“As I said, a message to the other kingdoms. All of them, not just the ones I listed on the map. Which you may keep, by the way. The scroll is simply a dictation of…my terms. Or would it be easier to call it a warning? Ah, well, either way. The prelude to war if they so choose. Don’t worry, I informed Orthenon of my plans and he did not object. Much.”

That sounded ominous to Trey. But Flos didn’t appear too bothered. He fished around in his bag of holding.

“Ah. I have a few spares. Here. Read it and see.”

He handed Trey the scroll. The young man unfurled it and read apprehensively. He looked up at Flos’ pensive expression twice, but the scroll didn’t seem that bad. It actually sounded positive! Until Trey reached the ‘or else’ part. Then he turned pale. He looked up, and saw the King of Destruction’s smile.

A prelude to war indeed. And so Chaita sped across the dark skies as Orthenon rode to Germina. They were not alone, for the messages they bore were carried by dozens of City Runners who began to run across the sands of Chandrar. Each one brought a burning message, hurtling from city to city, making monarchs and rulers worry as they read it. The message it contained was simple: peace.

Or at least, the peace only a King of Destruction would offer. And the world turned and that night, perhaps the only ruler who got a good night’s sleep was Flos of Reimarch. Although his hand hurt from all that map drawing.

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(The Wandering Inn, Volume 1 is coming out as an audiobook! The narrator is doing live reading on her Discord, invite here! You can listen to her streaming most week days at 2 PM EST if you’d like to hear the audiobook being produced! Please be respectful on her server, and look forwards to the finished product!)

If there were a list of Top 100 Rulers in the world, then King Raelt would be on that list, but only because there were a limited number of [Kings] to go around. He would be somewhere near the bottom of that list, though he wasn’t a bad [King] and in his way, he was actually quite good at his job. His kingdom was not mighty, but it had prospered in a medium sort of way and it had not folded when confronted with adversity.

And there had been some adversity. And strife. And just a smidgen of cataclysm. But King Raelt had led his nation, the Realm of Jecrass through it all and he could look at himself in the mirror and not blink. Those were enviable qualities in a leader of people. So Raelt was a decent [King] if viewed from that lens.

On the other hand, Raelt was no monarch to sing songs about, at least in his mind. He was no Siren of Savere or Quarass with countless years of history and a unique country to manage and culture to draw upon. Jecrass had its quirks, but it was no Pomle.

By the same token, Raelt wasn’t worthy of a ‘name’ other than his own. Unlike the dancing, brilliant Bannermare of Baleros, or the Lord of the Dance in Terandria, or even Chandrar’s own King of Destruction, Raelt was known as…King Raelt. And it was a fine name he had, but it spoke to his insignificance in the eyes of the world as they measured such things.

So, he was not famous. He was a decent [King]. And Raelt had been content to live that way. He would have spun out his entire reign as [King] of Jecrass, a small country north of Hellios and Germina and just south of the big players on Chandrar’s northeastern coast quietly trying to improve his realm. Arguing with his court, practicing his hobbies (of which he only had one he was truly good at), and worrying over his daughter as she grew up.

In another life, maybe he would have had that luxury. But time had not been kind, for the worst sort of disaster had woken up. And hope as Raelt might that the disaster would go away or that he had changed, time had proven otherwise.

And now the disaster had sent a message. A proper letter. And Raelt sat upon his cold, hard, metal throne that some previous idiot of a [King] had decided would look good, and listened to it being read aloud. Or rather, he was trying to make that happen but people kept objecting.

“Your Majesty, please wait. All of the royal court has yet to gather, and several of the Wardens are no doubt yet on their way. Wouldn’t it be prudent to wait another half hour before unsealing the message in the presence of the full court?”

A fawning, sycophantic voice was giving Raelt a headache. It had to be said that he hated his job sometimes. Not because it involved making hard decisions—he could handle that. But making those hard decisions was often a tedious political business, and as such it invariably involved his royal court.

Raelt loathed, no he despised, no, he wished he could tie all of his royal court up and feed them to pigs. He had things he hated and liked in this life, but the courtiers, nobility, and various ‘people of importance’ who often appeared in his palace were on the top of his hate list.

They were sneaky, backstabbing, arguing bastards the lot of them and Raelt would have happily traded his entire royal court for a room full of [Bandits] he had to argue with each day to get things done. [Bandits] were at least honest about what they did.

“Warden Emile, I do not care to wait. This message is of the utmost importance because it came from Reim, and it bears the seal of the King of Destruction. More importantly, it arrived just this morning and the knowledge it contains is essential. Anyone not present may be brought up to speed later.”

“But sire, please, let us at least gather a few more figures of note. Jecrass should be united as its most important figures hear out the King of Destruction’s words.”

The King of the Jecrass eyed their apprehensive faces. Why did they hesitate? As if not hearing the letter’s contents would delay the worst? Raelt sighed loudly.

“The most important person in this room has already read the letter, Warden Emile. That would be me, incidentally.”

“Your Majesty!”

“Would you like to know if it is a declaration of war?”

The man shut up. Raelt kept speaking, looking around the room. He was vaguely pleased to see more than a few faces had paled. Men and women looked up at him. Humans of various shades of skin, but all Human. In Chandrar, a few races accounted for most of the population. String People. Garuda. But Humans most of all. Jecrass was a land of Humans, and sometimes Raelt wondered, if he had been a String Person and ruled the Stitch People, whether his life would have been easier. He spoke into the silence, curtly.

“It is not. But the declaration is also no trivial matter. Geril. Read it to my court and skip the introduction. It’s a short letter anyways. Read us the first part of the King of Destruction’s missive.”

An old man stepped forwards. He was a [Servant], but a prince among servants, as they measured such things. And eminently more respected than the disgruntled nobility assembled in Raelt’s court. Some were seated, but they stood up, as if the King of Destruction’s words impelled them towards their feet. Raelt’s own presence was hardly sufficient for that. Geril cleared his throat.

“Ahem. By your Majesty’s will…after the greeting, the King of Destruction writes thusly: ‘Word of my return has spread and with it, claims that I will once again embark on a campaign of conquest. However, I seek no legions of enemies, and to make war on nations for the sake of it has never been my purpose. To allay such fears, I, Flos, swear that I shall make war on no nation or group that does not threaten Reim or my subjects. I offer peace to Chandrar and the world and swear my armies shall march upon no enemy that does not give me just cause.’”

Raelt gripped the armrest of his throne as he watched his court blink and stare as Geril raised his head. He let them digest it, noting who reacted with relief and who thought about the contents of the letter.

And it was a letter. Sent via City Runner to Jecrass; they must have traded off Runners three times to make it here by night. Raelt was sure other [Messages] bearing the same contents were probably speeding to other nations if the King of Destruction had not hired a Courier. Well, the physical letter itself was just a formality. The contents of the letter would still shake Chandrar.

“Well, that’s not so bad.”

Warden Emile looked much better than he had a second ago. Raelt stared at him and mentally downgraded the man’s intelligence by another point in his head.

“That would be half the letter. There was a threat, I believe. Geril?”

The court stiffened as one again and Raelt smiled, imagining the collective clenching of certain body parts his words had caused. Several of his nobility gave him dark looks, but then they were riveted by the old [Head Servant] once more. Geril slowly traced a finger down the page.

“Yes, your Highness. Skipping forwards it reads…‘I have but one demand in the name of the peace I offer. Let my people go. Once, my kingdom spanned Chandrar and further, and still some call to me as their [King]. And I claim them, for what King will not hear the cries of his subjects, no matter how far removed? If any claim allegiance to me, let them come free of harm and prejudice from every corner of the world. Give my subjects to me and I will hold to my vow. But enslave my subjects, offer them harm or imprisonment or make war on Reim, and I will reply in kind.’ After that, there is a short farewell to his Majesty and the King of Destruction’s signature.”

Raelt grimaced. Simple and to the point. He was frankly surprised that Flos had made the letter read in anything close to formal parlance. He might has well have said it with his usual bluntness. I won’t attack you, so give me my subjects. If not, I’ll attack you.

The court buzzed for a second after Geril had folded the piece of paper back up. Raelt saw Warden Winta dab at her forehead, Dulfe and Cerani lean in to talk quickly, looking upset, and then heard Emile’s piping voice once more.

“That’s still not so bad, surely?”

Raelt leaned on the left side of his throne and sighed into a hand. He looked down at Emile. The man—no, the boy was only twenty seven. New to his estates and position since his father had passed away.

“It is not a message that brings me any comfort, Warden Emile. I’m glad you’re able to put your mind at ease with so little effort.”

The young man looked both pleased and confused by the statement. But another noble, an older woman in her forties, pursed her lips.

“Your Majesty, it does sound like a positive message. Or am I wrong as well? The King of Destruction has pledged not to assail Jecrass. Surely that is worth celebrating? As for his subjects, what of it? There may be some dissenters in Jecrass. Why not send them to Reim?”

A few nobles nodded with her as she gave Raelt a not-quite-challenging glance. He leaned on his palm and shook his head.

“The letter has more nuance than that. Recall the latter half. Geril may read it out loud if you’ve already forgotten. It means, Warden Cerani, that anyone who claims allegiance to the King of Destruction is under his protection. In short, anyone who fought for him during his reign, or anyone who bears sympathy to him could quit this kingdom and travel to his, and if we stop or gainsay them in any way, Flos of Reim will declare war on us.”

Silence followed that remark, and Raelt was again pleased to see Cerani’s mouth drop open as the words finally clicked for her. Emile still looked blank, but another Warden, Dulfe, a frog-like fellow, raised his voice in a passionate shout.

“Do you intend to submit to his demands like that, your Majesty? Surely we cannot simply accede to this—this provocation without baring some fangs! He could steal away a tenth of our working population with a snap of his fingers!”

“I hardly think it will be that large a number, Warden Dulfe.”

Cerani looked troubled. The older man in his forties turned to her, gripping the lapels of his coat fiercely. She returned his look, although warily.

“Milady Cerani, you underestimate the lure of a threat like this. Some of Jecrass’ citizens will no doubt stay out of loyalty to the nation—as well they should! But I fear malcontents and ingrates abound. Why, my lands might lose most if the King of Destruction’s words reach the agitators and rebels. I move to seal this letter—”

“Denied!”

Raelt’s happy voice cut Warden Dulfe off. He was pleased to see the man color. He looked around at his friends and allies in the room, clearly doing a headcount.

“Your Majesty, I would put this to a vote among the peerage of Jecrass.”

“Even if every Warden of Jecrass and lesser peer of the realm voted against, I would still make the news of this public, Warden Dulfe. I’m afraid the news will spread, if not from Jecrass than elsewhere. Moreover, I don’t intend to fight the King of Destruction on this. Or did you forget the part where he claims his subjects in our lands, whomever they may be?”

King Raelt was even more pleased by the way Dulfe spluttered, but there was nothing he could do. For any other decision Raelt made, Dulfe could and might hold a vote and have the other nobility oppose Raelt’s decisions. And Raelt could force through his orders; he was a [King] after all, but his nobles could drag their feet or outright oppose them.

Sadly, they were powerful. Raelt was powerful, but so were the members of his court. They were technically [Lords] and [Ladies], but Jecrass didn’t see landowners as nobility all the time. More important to Jecrass, with its sprawling plains and pastures mixed in with the arid landscapes Chandrar was famous for was the control of water.

Anyone who owned so much as a stream could build farmlands, raise animals, and dole out the precious resource to anyone living on their land. The nobility of Raelt’s court were all heirs to areas of land that held water in some abundance or other. So they were River Wardens, the name for their kind of nobility in Jecrass. But Raelt’s private name for them was River Robbers because sometimes it was hard to tell a [Lord] from a [Bandit Leader]. He looked down at Dulfe and the list of the man’s faults was a silent mantra in Raelt’s head.

“I remind you, Warden Dulfe, that this is the King of Destruction we are referring to. Not any [King], and not a man known for his patience and skills at diplomacy. If you fear too many of your people will quit your ever-so-pleasant duchy to join Flos of Reim’s empire, well then, perhaps you should have amended their living and working conditions as I demanded of you at last year’s summit, hm?”

He gave the slightly frog-eyed man a happy little smile. And in his head, Raelt thought that might be the best result of the King of Destruction’s declaration. Did he know what he’d done? Or was he unaware that his call would bring in more than just his people to his banner? No, surely he’d thought of that.

And it would work, on at least some of Dulfe’s workers. Dead gods, the man had put a copper tax on every bucket of water drawn from his wells! Both he and Dulfe knew his tenants might well desert him en masse. Dulfe’s bulging eyes narrowed a bit as he glared up at Raelt’s unconcealed good humor.

“I remind his Highness that those are my domains, and while I am subject to the authority of the crown, my will should be respected. I am, after all, a very loyal citizen of Jecrass.”

His words caused a small hush and Raelt felt his hand twitch. But he schooled his body and face and gave Dulfe no other sign his words had raised Raelt’s temper.

Surely the King of Destruction wouldn’t suffer a jumped-up [Lord] making snippy remarks at him. That was one thing about Flos that Raelt envied. But he couldn’t afford to make Dulfe an outright enemy, so Raelt didn’t call for his sword and instead spoke with a bitingly pleasant tone. You could make words as sharp as any fencing sword.

“You mean, you pay your taxes, Warden Dulfe. As far as I’m concerned, that is the duty of all of my nobility, not a particular sign of loyalty. I know a [Baker] in the capital who pays his dues to the crown every year. I’ve never heard him bring it up, and I meet him at least once a week as I walk about my city. On the other hand, I think you bring up your contributions at least twice a day in court, Warden Dulfe.”

There were a few chuckles at that and the man’s face turned red. He straightened stiffly, gripping his lapels.

“A [King] should not be concerned with the minutiae of his subject’s affairs, your Majesty. Surely you have better uses of your time, perhaps on more walks?”

Raelt waved that aside. There was a limit to how far he could push Dulfe without it being an insult and the man was wary of directly antagonizing his [King]. Still, he’d pay for that later, Raelt promised in his head. But he had to make this clear to all of his court, so he turned his head and spoke in a carrying, kingly voice. Which really just meant loud.

“Perhaps the rights of my citizens on your lands is a discussion to be put aside until later. However, if it turns out any of the King of Destruction’s citizens were harmed, I will happily direct his queries your way, Warden Dulfe. Or do you plan on refusing to let his subjects go? Anyone present?”

He looked around. And no one, not Dulfe or Emile, or Cerani or anyone else could offer up a reply. All Dulfe could come up with in the end was a spluttering complaint, much like a toddler.

“It appears we must accede, however roguish the demand! I will let anyone who claims the King of Destruction’s name go, your Majesty. But I will consider it an assault on Jecrass!”

Raelt nodded heavily.

“That might be wise on both accounts, Warden Dulfe.”

The man blinked up at him, but Raelt was serious. The [King] pondered for a second, wondering at the implications. But he didn’t share his concerns with his court. There were better people to talk to. So he just decided to twist the knife one last time.

“And while we’re on the subject of it, please send me a proper census of all the citizens who claim the King of Destruction’s protection as you make a proper announcement, Warden Dulfe. That goes for the rest of you as well. I would know who we’re losing to Reim.”

“What? We have to announce it?”

Dulfe spluttered, but Raelt nodded.

“Indeed. And make a firm accounting of all those intending to leave. I require it.”

The other Wardens looked annoyed and irritated by turns. It was a reasonable request, but they’d have to count all their citizens planning on leaving. Dulfe’s face turned a deeper shade of magenta, but it was a royal order and he could only bow his head. He shot one final remark across Raelt’s bow as he turned to go.

“I only hope your Majesty is as diligent in protecting our borders against Reim’s aggressions. Or else it would appear that we should contribute less of our hard-earned gold to the royal coffers each year. Perhaps a vote? Until then, your Majesty, I take my leave.”

That was a threat. Raelt bared his teeth at the man’s back as he received a perfunctory bow. He stood up as his court milled about.

“I will take my leave as well. Geril, see to it my guests are properly served and I’m sure the late peerage will wish to be caught up.”

“Your Majesty won’t stay and deliberate a further course of action?”

Warden Cerani looked dismayed. Raelt turned his head.

“Beyond acquiescing? Not at this moment. I shall let you know if my plans change. Until then, I must confer with my peers. Good day to you.”

He ignored the flurry of curtsies and bows as he stepped down from his throne and walked out a side door of his throne room. Raelt strode down the corridor as he heard the doors open and swift footsteps. Geril was following him, but Raelt wasn’t in a mood to chat with his old servant.

“Dulfe, you pompous frog. A vote to cut your own taxes? I’ll double the levies on your land if you so much as hint towards it!”

The problem was the man might actually force a vote. And threats aside, Dulfe was influential enough to make a bad enemy. But Raelt didn’t intend to let the man get away with insulting him in public—well, in front of the royal court—without some payback. A [King] had ways, so Raelt swiftly turned left at the intersection and then hurried up some stairs while Geril panted to keep up.

Raelt was quick on his feet and very fit and Geril was old, so Raelt hated to make the man move fast, but he had to be in position.

He knew the layout of his palace by heart. And calling it a ‘palace’ was generous because in truth, it was smaller than some castles Raelt had known. But a [King] had to live in a palace, and worse, this one had a name for every corridor and room. Raelt slowed as he came to an open corridor and felt a warm breeze on his face.

“Your Majesty?”

Geril panted as he climbed the stairs. Raelt waved at him and the [Head Servant] caught his breath. It was a shame he’d never gained [Lesser Endurance] as a Skill; it would have served him well in his old age. Perhaps Geril should have been less active, even semi-retired. But that might have killed the old man outright. Raelt turned to him.

“My apologies, Geril. But I need to speak with Lyfelt in the Warded Chambers to discuss the King of Destruction’s letter. I thought we’d take this route to get there. I could use a breath of fresh air. And a drink to clear the bad taste from my mouth.”

“Ah, the Sunset Retreat corridor, your Majesty? Excellent choice. Shall I bring you a beverage? Wine, perhaps?”

“It’s barely past breakfast. Make it water. With ice for a treat. And bring me an orange while you’re at it, Geril.”

The old servant hesitated as he beckoned to a young boy ready to run the errand.

“Er, all the ones we have are still from last year, your Majesty. They’re not quite fully deteriorated, but I fear our preservation runes aren’t able to keep them fully—”

“An orange, Geril. I don’t care how bad it is as long as a bit’s edible.”

“Yes, your Majesty. At once.”

Geril bowed his head. He didn’t leave Raelt’s side, but the young boy ran off to fetch the [King]’s water. And the orange. Raelt for his part took a slow, almost snail’s pace of a walk forwards and felt the light of the palace change. It had windows of course, but now bright sunlight streamed through a place where the walls of the palace just…stopped.

The Sunset Corridor was one of the unique parts of Jecrass’ palace. It was lovely, long stretch of walkway with a swooping, modernistic design where the hallway opened up, letting great, sloped balconies give anyone walking along it an unparalleled view of the countryside. It was also the most defensively idiotic choice you could make, but one of Raelt’s predecessors had decided he had to have it in, so Raelt could walk along the Sunset Corridor and survey his kingdom as the morning breeze warmed his skin.

During a sunset, Chandrar was beautiful and the previous [Kings] of Jecrass had forbidden anyone from establishing buildings on this side of the palace to keep the view unobstructed. There was plenty of space in Jecrass anyways. It was a flat nation, with more water than dusty Reim or Germina or Hellios, which allowed it to cultivate vast plains. And on those plains the people of Jecrass raised sheep, cows, goats, and many animals of pasture. But what Jecrass was known for was…

“Horses. I see there’s at least two herds out and about. Are they the royal stock?”

“I believe so, your Majesty.”

“Hm. Well, good for them.”

Raelt eyed the distant four-legged creatures roaming about and grazing on the grass. He felt they somewhat spoiled his view, but he couldn’t air that comment out loud. Someone might be listening.

King Raelt was a man of likes and dislikes. It had already been noted that he hated his court, but he had more than a few dislikes in his kingdom. Horses, for one. Raelt disliked horses and felt like the feeling was mutual. Which was ironic because the Realm of Jecrass was known for the superior stock of horses it turned out, from warhorses to racers to sturdy plow animals.

But Raelt could never enjoy riding the things, or caring for them. Possibly it had to do with one of the times Raelt had broken a tailbone, leg, or arm riding the things. But horses were only one of his dislikes and as Raelt impatiently waited at a precise spot about three quarters of the way down the Sunset Corridor, the young servant boy raced back with water and an orange fruit.

“Allow me, your Majesty.”

Geril peeled the orange with careful hands as the servant handed Raelt a glass of cool water. He savored the bits of ice floating in the drink, for all they were almost already melted. Ice, now, ice he liked. It was a luxury in Chandrar, but a [King] must have his indulgences. He drank down the water—it was important to stay hydrated after all—and glumly looked at the orange Geril presented him.

“It is rather…”

“It’s fine, Geril. Hand it to me.”

The half-peeled orange was indeed far past its prime. Still edible, but not the sort of thing you’d give to a [King]. Geril had done his best and found the best part of it to peel and let the mushy bottom unpeeled, but Raelt still regarded the orange glumly. It was a known fact that the King of Jecrass liked oranges, but that was partly a lie.

Raelt bit into the half-rotten orange slice and chewed it. Slimy, mushy—the [King]’s mouth revolted at the sensation. Raelt hated eating oranges. He didn’t hate orange things. Carrots, for instance, were delightful and crunchy. And they grew well in arid climates! But his [Royal Gardener] refused to have such a mundane crop in his tended gardens. Oranges and other rare fruits were all the vogue.

It was another feature of being a [King] where you were at the mercy of your [Gardener]’s whims. Still, his daughter loved the stuff and Raelt liked oranges for a reason other than for their taste. He chewed the pithy, slimy orange slice slowly, trying not to grimace as Geril waited with him. Raelt had to endure the chewing for a good four minutes—then he heard what he’d been waiting for. The clip-clop of hooves outside the corridor. Instantly, Raelt swallowed and turned to Geril.

“Delightful, Geril. But I fear you were right. The rest of this orange is too rotted for my tastes. We’ll have to check the runes in the storage rooms. A shame we can’t make them perfect. Ah, well.”

He glanced across the balcony as he spoke and with one hand, flicked the orange through the air. It fell from the balcony, coincidentally just as a small group of riders emerged from below. The rider in the middle never saw the orange coming. Raelt heard a small impact, and then a shout of pain and then fury. He hurried down the Sunset Corridor, smiling, and Geril followed him. The old [Servant] might have been laughing. Or tutting quietly.

There were three entrances leading out of his palace. Of the three, anyone who wanted to use the stables would have to pass this way, and Raelt knew the voices of his [Hostlers] by heart. He could time the exact moment someone would be passing below the balcony of the Sunset Retreat corridor. The rest was just a matter of aim. And Raelt had splendid accuracy.

“I believe his Majesty might have accidentally struck someone with his orange. A terrible accident, sire. It might even have been one of your Wardens afflicted. Shall I ensure the victim is alright?”

Raelt raised his eyebrows as he turned his head to Geril.

“A [King] shouldn’t be concerned with all the minutiae of his subject’s lives, Geril. That’s a valuable lesson I learned just today. Onwards, I say. No one’s died from being struck by an orange. And if they have? Well, there’s probably worse fates.”

The [Head Servant] sighed, but he made no further comment. Raelt smiled to himself and in a much better mood, led the old man at a walk towards his actual destination, the Warded Chambers. Servants bowed as Raelt passed by and he gave them a proper kingly nod and a few words to the people he remembered. The young ones came and went, but there were a number of old folk like Geril that had tended to Raelt since he was an infant. Raelt was nearly at his destination when he heard a slight ding, a jingle of sound. He turned and didn’t quite sigh as he saw the young woman striding towards him.

“Father! Is it true that the King of Destruction sent a letter? May I see it?”

The young woman walking towards Raelt was dressed in riding leathers, and beneath them she wore leggings and a tunic meant for the sparring courts or for travel. She was the exact opposite of most [Princesses] with her long-legged stride—something she shared with her father—and the fencing sword strapped to her belt. She walked with a cat’s grace, and her presence was heralded by the chiming of a small, silver bell tied to the sword at her waist.

Princess Jecaina of Jecrass stopped in front of her father. She was just into her twenties, young, brash and confident, and beautiful, although Raelt was biased in everything when it came to his daughter. He smiled as he greeted his daughter, although his eyes flicked to the sword at Jecaina’s waist.

She owned a beautiful sword, slim and agile, a [Fencer]’s blade which suited her because she had that class. The silver bell was another thing she never went without, which irked Raelt for all of his fatherly love. He hated bells. He had a sword, but he refused to let bells near it.

“Yes, Jecaina. The letter arrived during breakfast. It quite ruined it, actually. You would have been able to read it. If you’d been there.”

It was a mild rebuke and it bounced off Jecaina as she tossed her head, letting her hazel-green hair fly for a second. It was a peculiarity of some of Jecrass’ bloodlines that their hair could actually turn green. Raelt’s hair was simply a light brown, but his daughter had inherited the rare strand of color from her mother.

“I was riding with Liass and Mellia. Besides, the letter hasn’t gone anywhere. May I see it?”

“Later. I need to speak to Minister Lyfelt about it. Don’t bother Geril for it, Jecaina. I’m sure you know what it says.”

Her eyes sparkled.

“The King of Destruction’s peace! And he’s calling for his subjects, or anyone who claims loyalty to him! Isn’t it splendid?”

“I don’t believe I used that word, did I, Geril?”

“No, your Majesty. I believe that word is not suitable for her Highness’ ears.”

Jecaina laughed.

“You swore, father? But it’s not a threat! We can give the King of Destruction what he wants. And isn’t it a wonderful chance? I could ride to Hellios, or maybe even Reim and see him now that he’s sworn to peace!”

“Absolutely not, young lady. You’re not to go riding anywhere near the border, much less on another week-long jaunt.”

Raelt had a miniature heart attack at the thought. Jecaina scowled at him. They were nearly of a height, both tall, inheriting the royal family genes.

“Father! I can handle myself. And surely the King of Destruction wouldn’t stoop to kidnapping.”

“He might not, but someone else might. You are Jecrass’ heir and next ruler by right.”

She tossed her head again, challengingly. Much like her favorite horse, actually.

“I only have half the claim. If you had a child, you could nominate them. And I could go adventuring!”

“Spare me.”

Raelt grumbled under his breath, although Geril was nodding in agreement with his daughter’s suggestion. King Raelt was as yet, unmarried, and he had no children, at least directly. He looked down at his daughter, dismayed. Jecaina of Jecrass was little like her adopted father. She was more like her mother, who was Raelt’s half-sister.

That technically made Raelt the uncle of Jecaina, rather than father. But it was her mother who had given birth to Jecaina after a tryst gone wrong and she had abandoned her daughter. So Raelt had raised her.

It was a story everyone in Jecrass knew, but only Jecaina brought up her heritage. Anyone else who tried that, River Warden or not, would be heaved straight off the Sunset Corridor balcony.

“I don’t intend to get married soon enough for you to join any of Flos’ subjects and ride to his capital, daughter. And you should be wary of the King of Destruction’s proclamations. He is a dangerous man. Possibly the most dangerous in the entire world at this moment.”

Jecaina’s eyes widened. She protested, taking an aggressive step towards her father as if she were about to lunge.

“But father, he’s a legend! I grew up hearing stories about the King of Destruction—everyone did!”

By ‘everyone’, Jecaina meant all of her young friends, noble or rich enough to ride about with the nobility and the [King]’s daughter. Raelt had told no such stories and he cursed the crowd around Jecaina who had spread the King of Destruction’s myth to her. But then again—she was right. Flos of Reim was a legend and now he was back. There might be a lot of young folk who joined his capital. He’d have to try and mitigate that, somehow.

“The King of Destruction is no hero young lady. I don’t know what stories you’ve heard—”

“He was a champion of the people, wasn’t he? Don’t lie, father. Didn’t he start a war with the Medilean Kingdom when he heard the royal family had been overthrown and a tyrannical [Warlord] had taken over? Wasn’t he the man who fought the Order of the Black Judgment when they became little more than bandits?”

Raelt bit his lip. He answered carefully, trying to force the words through his stubborn daughter’s ears.

“He did do that. And he fought in the name of justice, that’s true enough. He would start a war over a single wrong and tens of thousands would die. That does not make him a good [King]. Or even a good man.”

“But he did conquer all of Chandrar. Isn’t he a man worth following? Shouldn’t I meet him? You met him, or so Liass’ father claims.”

“Warden Telimt is a liar and a braggart. And he’s telling the truth in this case, which is why I’m convinced Flos’ return won’t bode well for Jecrass or anyone else. There will be a proclamation and anyone who wishes may leave for Reim. But Jecrass is still Reim’s enemy.”

“But father! The King of Destruction could be a powerful ally! Jecrass has never wronged him. And—and at least three of his Seven are with him! Mars the Illusionist, Gazi the Omniscient, Takhatres, the Lord of the Skies—and Orthenon, his [Steward]! Wouldn’t you like to see them? Just once?”

The [Dueling Princess]’s eyes were shining. Raelt felt a twinge of conscience at the look in her eyes. If he were her age, he might have felt as she did. But he had to be the one to put his foot down so he shook his head.

“He is not an ally I want, Jecaina. I don’t trust him. In fact, I think Minister Lyfelt and I—oh damn, will you initiate contact with him, Geril?—will condemn his letter. At least in word. The other northern nations will most likely do the same. Claiven certainly will.”

“But Dad—can’t I at least meet him? As a dignitary? Mellia says I could go as a diplomat. The King of Destruction’s supposed to be very handsome, and so is the King’s Steward. And he’s supposed to be unmarried…”

It was possible Raelt might have a heart attack before he even reached the Warded Chambers. He tried to banish thoughts of Orthenon and Flos from his head and he pointed a finger at his daughter.

“You will not ride into Hellios, and nor will you or your friends join any caravan headed towards Reim. If I catch so much as a whiff that you’re planning it, I will bar you from the stables. And the same goes for your friends. If need be, I’ll throw them in the dungeon for a day or two to cool their heads. Their parents will hear of this as well.”

“That’s not fair!”

“It’s my order. And I’m still the [King].”

Raelt snapped at his daughter. She stomped a foot.

“You—you tyrant!”

Jecaina scowled at her father. She turned and stormed off. He shouted after her.

“I’m a [Tyrant]? You haven’t even met the King of Destruction!”

She didn’t reply. And the servants who scurried out of the way didn’t even look at their [King]. Raelt adjusted his crown, feeling flushed with anger and embarrassment. He hurried down the corridor and found Geril standing in front of the Warded Chambers. They were marked by a magical door and the most secure part of the palace, warded against eavesdropping and other magical and physical means of spying.

“Everything alright, your Majesty? I ah, spoke to Minster Lyfelt. He is awaiting you.”

“I’ll be with him in a second, Geril. Did you hear that?”

“Your daughter’s parting words were fairly audible, your Majesty. I take it she wished to visit Reim?”

“She thinks he’s a hero. Damn Liass and Mellia and her friends, gallivanting about and putting thoughts in her head. She’ll have to rule them someday and old friendships will complicate things. I need to teach her to be a proper ruler, rather than a half-wild [Princess].”

“She is quite skilled in some ways.”

“With a blade? That’s not ruling. That’s a hobby. She’s not going to be a [Warrior Queen] of old, Geril. And she’s not going to meet the King of Destruction. Nor will anyone else. Put a word in the border patrol’s ears about watching for young nobles trying to sneak into Hellios.”

Geril nodded.

“Shall I send a message to the families of her companions, your Majesty? I could also increase her bodyguard.”

Raelt shook his head glumly.

“Don’t bother. That will only make her more rebellious. Leave be—Jecaina might dream of visiting Reim, but she’ll probably give up when she realizes how far she’d have to ride just to get to Hellios’ capital, let alone Reim. I dread the day when she learns a movement Skill, though.”

“Perhaps your Majesty would like another glass of water? With some lemon?”

The [Head Servant] suggested gently. Raelt hesitated, and shook his head.

“No, I’ll speak to Lyfelt. Let no one in. This won’t take long, I hope.”

He straightened his attire, checked his light crown was straight on his head, and then opened the magical door. The Warded Chambers were a series of rooms that contained a number of Jecrass’ secrets, but Raelt needed only one of them now. He walked straight into the first room, ignoring the two side doors, and stopped in front of a large, marble statue. It was the head and shoulders of a man, although the carving was generic. The man had a head of hair, eyes, a nose, but there was something plain about him. He had no distinguishing features and that was the point. It was an enchanted item of course, and the eyes of the statue were turned sideways and the mouth was moving. Raelt heard a few words as he walked into the room.

“—yes, send the reply to Medain and copy a response for Claiven. I’ll speak with the parliament in half an hour, but delay my arrival until—ah, Raelt!”

The statue’s eyes turned back towards him. Raelt half-smiled as the statue’s lips curved upwards.

“Minister Lyfelt. I’ve kept you waiting.”

“Not at all. And it’s my pleasure, King Raelt. But let’s dispense with the formalities, shall we?”

“Of course.”

Raelt inclined his head. There was a high stool which he perched on, wishing the marble bust were closer to the ground. But the damn [Enchanter] had installed it at a normal head’s height, as if you wanted to stand and talk to the stone statue for hours. Perhaps he’d thought Raelt would keep it by his throne or something.

Fat chance of that. Raelt knew that whoever looked through the mirror on the other side could see and hear whatever was happening around the statue in Jecrass. And while he trusted the man on the other side, Minister Lyfelt was still the head of Belchan, and thus the ruler of another nation. They had set up this system to communicate, but Raelt wouldn’t share all the workings of his court with Belchan.

The marble bust had cost Jecrass’ treasury 28,413 gold pieces exactly. Raelt had added in the price of getting a [Mage] who specialized in both enchanting and stone magic to come from Belchan, carve and enchant the marble head here while being housed in the finest rooms and treated like a royal visitor, and then come back to repair the magical head twice when the spell malfunctioned.

Was it worth the coin? Well, yes. Raelt and Lyfelt could communicate instantaneously this way, which saved the issue of trusting a [Mage] with [Message] spells. Additionally, they could properly chat rather than write brief text messages to each other. Raelt still resented the cost, but Belchan had paid for an enchanted mirror and that had to be double what he’d spent.

That was Belchan for you, though. They were home to one of the [Mage] schools of Chandrar, not nearly as impressive as Wistram, but certainly lucrative for the magic users that called the nation home. Added to that, Belchan was richer in water and natural resources—they had a small gold mine as well as rich fields for agriculture. The one thing they didn’t have was a monarchy, which currently Raelt regarded as a plus.

Prime Minister Lyfelt of Belchan must have been sitting, because the marble head craned up a bit to meet Raelt’s face before something changed and the head lowered again. He’d probably adjusted his seat. His head looked left slightly and the nondescript features—a far cry from Lyfelt’s handsome visage, spoke curtly.

“I’m speaking to King Raelt of Jecrass. Turn away everyone at the door.”

He looked back at Raelt and smiled.

“Apologies, again. You know how busy it is with the King of Destruction’s letter.”

“It’s actually fairly quiet around here. But a [King] doesn’t have to deal with as many people as a [Minister].”

“True, true.”

Lyfelt chuckled. He had a very pleasant voice, the kind of soothing tones you could listen to for hours. Despite the statue speaking, he still had a great deal of charisma, some of it inborn, some of it part of his class. He had been elected [Prime Minister] by Belchan’s people and unlike Jecrass, the country was a democracy, a rare sight in any part of the world. It had a parliament and the position of Prime Minister was a result of a party winning a majority, as Raelt understood it.

He was glad Lyfelt had won, and not just because the man was easy to talk to. Lyfelt was a career politician, someone who’d gained a [Politician] class and consolidated it to [Minister]. He wasn’t born into his position like the River Wardens of Jecrass, and so he’d risen to ruler of a nation purely by his political savvy.

“I’m planning on issuing an announcement with the contents of the letter later today. What of Belchan?”

“Ah, I believe I’ll let it filter through the parliament members. They’ve been briefed and they’re already taking sides on the matter. As if there’s a choice. I trust you make that clear to your court as well?”

“I had to hammer it into their heads. But I don’t see an option besides agreeing to the King of Destruction’s terms, do you?”

Lyfelt grimaced.

“Not at the moment. But there are more options available, Raelt. A pity your River Wardens can be so…so…shortsighted. But then, half of the minor parties in my parliament are like that.”

Raelt nodded, feeling some of the weight of this morning drop off him as he and Lyfelt groused about being rulers. The two men were friends, although they were dissimilar in quite a number of ways. But fate had conspired to make them allies, and the friendship had come over time.

After all, both Jecrass and Belchan were in the unenviable position of being neighbors to two major powers, the Thalassocracy of Medain, and The Claiven Earth, as well as adjacent to the traditionally hot-headed Hellosians and Germina.

Jecrass and Belchan had always allied to keep Medain from expanding southwards, and occasionally that alliance had included Germina and Hellios and all four nations had fought with Medain’s armies of adventurers and soldiers in the past.

“How do you think this will change issues with Medain or Claiven, Lyfelt?”

“Aside from the fact that we’ve lost Hellios and Germina? Well, with this letter we might not have to watch our borders. But if Medain pushes south…it’s tricky, Raelt. I don’t think either country will do so immediately—they’re rightfully wary of the King of Destruction. It just depends on what he does next and whether we can trust the letter.”

“You don’t think we can?”

The bust smirked.

“I trust no one’s word one hundred percent, Raelt. Even when sworn in blood. Even yours, old friend. I intend to use Flos’ declaration to my advantage, and I advise you to do the same. I’m already speaking with Claiven and Medain about this. Perhaps even get some kind of agreement hammered out, even if it’s only a joint condemnation of the conditions. If I play it right, Belchan can even be the reluctant nation coerced into opposing the King of Destruction with a small bribe.”

“Just be careful. Flos of Reim is no one to play games with. I knew him when he was becoming the King of Destruction.”

Raelt warned his friend, although he feared it was falling on deaf ears as he watched Lyfelt’s confident expression. Lyfelt was new to his position for all that he’d served for six years as [Prime Minister], and for him, power was still an intoxicating berry drink. To Raelt, who’d been born a [Prince], power was like an old riding glove. Slightly stained and frayed, certainly useful, but not exactly pleasant.

“Don’t worry, Raelt. Both Claiven and Medain hate the King of Destruction far too much to worry about our countries, except as bulwarks between him and them at the moment. They’re sending me [Messages] nonstop, hoping I’ll agree to some kind of ‘defensive pact’ that allows them to put their soldiers in our borders.”

Raelt grimaced at that, and then frowned.

“I didn’t get any [Messages].”

Lyfelt’s head shook slowly from side to side.

“You rely on your Mage’s Guild, Raelt. Whereas I have a [Court Mage] and King Perric of Medain knows that. The Claiven have also reached out to me, and you by proxy. They are concerned, but no one’s suggested refusing.”

“I don’t know how that would be a good idea. That would give him cause to go to war. Unless every nation did that, and the ones that didn’t would be safe.”

The minister was nodding impatiently.

“A trap in the words, obviously. Far easier to give him what he wants. What’s a few thousand citizens, or even ten thousand?”

“You’re not concerned by that?”

Raelt was surprised, but Lyfelt scoffed.

“Anyone who would follow the King of Destruction wouldn’t vote for my party or for me, would they? And I’ve already had to deal with a few incidents involving his supporters in some of my cities. Unpleasantness. I’ll be glad to wash my hands of them.”

Unpleasantness? Raelt shifted uncomfortably. It sounded a bit like what Warden Dulfe had described.

“Treat them with care, Lyfelt. The King of Destruction cares for his subjects.”

The bust rolled his eyes.

“I won’t be hanging them, Raelt. I’ll just turn them out and let them go on their way. It will free up housing, solve the issue of those damned fights over the King of Destruction—”

“So you’re going to do it.”

“Of course, of course. But I won’t make that decision until parliament’s fought it over for at least a day or two. And I’d encourage you to do the same. I’ll send over a few [Messages] when I’ve pinned down some of the other nations on a joint agreement. Feel free to correspond with the others, but be coy, Raelt. Let them think we’re hesitating to condemn Flos because we’re too close. As if we think he might renege on his word.”

“He won’t. Flos was never one to break his oaths lightly.”

“Obviously, or I wouldn’t count on him. But if we can make the other countries incentivize ours…what’s the tariff on Jecrass’ horse stock? I might be able to get Medain to lower the taxes they charge on [Merchant] caravans coming through their borders.”

“Always looking for a better deal, aren’t you?”

“One of us has to. How’s your daughter taking this by the way?”

“Terribly. In that she was excited by the news. She thinks he’s some kind of hero and I have no idea where she got that from. Some of her young noble friends, no doubt. I haven’t said a word to her—”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. My little boy’s just as excited, but when I can tear myself away, I’m going to sit him down and talk to him about the King of Destruction. Temper his views with mine. You should do the same.”

“Jecaina won’t want to listen.”

“Well, what if you phrased it like this? Have her come over to ah, suggest who might visit Hellios, perhaps as a diplomatic party. Yes, one of your River Wardens and their offspring of course. Purely as emissaries, not as a friendly overture—we can even coordinate this with the negations with Medain. But you can call Jecaina over to ask her who’s the most level-headed and when she demands to go, you can say—”

Raelt listened, blinking, as Lyfelt conjured a scenario out of thin air and laid it in his lap. He frowned, nodded, and left the Warded Chambers feeling a lot better. The man was truly quick with ideas and ways of pulling other people’s strings. And King Raelt felt better for having spoken to another ruler, even if the conversation had only confirmed his course of action.

“Your Majesty?”

Geril was waiting for him, standing rather than sitting. Raelt wished the old man would just take a seat. He had been sitting and talking for a good forty minutes! He let Geril hobble after him until the man’s feet weren’t so stiff.

“I spoke to Lyfelt. Summon a [Mage]—I’ll need to send a good deal of [Messages] throughout the day. And I need to return to my court. More politics.”

“I see. And what will the realm’s response be?”

Geril’s voice was slightly anxious. Raelt smiled at him.

“We will give him no reason to find issue with Jecrass. That goes for anyone passing through our borders. I have no doubt there will be at least a few groups travelling south from Medain. We will treat them as his subjects and let anyone who wishes to leave go unmolested.”

“Will we dissuade them in any way, sire?”

“Not with violence. With words? Perhaps. I will be touring different estates later. Warden Dufle’s especially, to see if I can persuade his folk to move elsewhere in Jecrass, not out of it. Even those who claim to follow the King of Destruction might be persuaded. They are citizens of Jecrass, even if their loyalties lie elsewhere. Let’s hope some change their minds.”

“I see, I see. And is that Belchan’s response as well?”

“It will be, eventually. We may make a statement with the other nations, but I have no desire to give Flos an excuse.”

“But your Majesty—if his proclamations pass purely unchecked, is this not a victory for Reim?”

Raelt had been thinking the same thing as he spoke to Lyfelt. But now he shook his head.

“Minster Lyfelt assures me that this won’t be the case. He told me Reim’s worries don’t lie north, but rather in the south. There is a…gathering taking place of the rulers there.”

Geril’s brows creased. The elderly man frowned for a second.

“The south. Pomle?”

It was a good guess. Raelt nodded.

“The very same. They’re moving fast. Lyfelt is content to let them do…whatever it is he thinks they’re doing. I think we’ll find out in the next few days what is going to occur. But it won’t involve Jecrass at the moment.”

He turned and rested a hand on Geril’s shoulder. Raelt smiled down at his old retainer, and the [Head Servant] nodded. He smiled up at his [King], much as he had for over four decades of being at Raelt’s side, from boy to man.

“His Majesty does his best. I will gather the remaining court and find a [Mage]. But you have a bit of time, if you don’t mind me saying so, my liege. Why not rest an hour.”

“I may do that. Thank you, Geril.”

The [King] looked out the windows at the bright morning. He felt tired, but the weight was off his shoulders, mostly. He’d done what he could. Let the other nations make plots and schemes. Raelt was going to nip down to the stables and see if he could steal some carrots from the horses and eat them in his quarters. And he was going to savor the moment. Because he had a feeling those days would be in short supply in the future.

So went the [King] of Jecrass. And in Pomle, another sort of ruler was having an equally eventful day.

—-

It was past midmorning and into early evening when Orjin of Pomle was interrupted. He was in training, balancing on a pile of rocks with one foot. The stack was about six feet high, made up of a large rock with a relatively flat top, followed by ever-smaller rocks that threatened to shift and fall down with every move Orjin made with his one foot balanced on top of them.

But he didn’t fall. And despite Orjin being tall and heavy, from muscle, not fat, and despite the sweat beading his dark skin, he kept balancing on the rocks. That in itself was mildly impressive; Orjin had to constantly shift to keep the unstable tower of rocks from collapsing. But you wouldn’t know the complexity of the task unless you’d tried it once.

What was really impressive no matter how you looked at it was that every few seconds, Orjin would hop in the air and his feet would change from right foot to left. And the tower would tremble, but never collapse.

It was training, albeit of an unusual kind. The theory was that if you could keep your balance on a shifting pile of rocks, you could run up a collapsing hillside, or fight on a rocking boat. There were Skills who would give you perfect footing no matter where you went of course, but Orjin wasn’t the sort to rely on gaining a Skill when he could simply learn what was needed.

However, the figure who strode up to him had no time for rocks, balancing, or sweating in the sun. She cleared her throat as Orjin shifted from left foot to right, lightning fast, and he looked down at her.

“Salii. Is there something you need of me?”

“Yes, Orjin. You’re needed by the water grounds in a few minutes. Do you have anything to wear?”

He gestured at his bare chest and the loose pants he wore. They were worn and Salii eyed them with clear dismay.

“Something more formal if you have it.”

“Why?”

Orjin sighed. He looked down at Salii and saw some of the sun’s light shining off her dusty, brown scales. She was a Drake, a rarity in Chandrar. She was also a [Secretary], or some class similar to that. If she was asking, it meant something was happening that required Orjin’s presence.

“There is a gathering, Orjin. At least eight nations are converging on Pomle. The first of them will be here within the hour, if not sooner.”

“Not for war.”

Orjin said that as a certainty. If that had been the case, Salii would have told him already. She shook her head, looking peeved as she saw him flip. One hand was suddenly supporting him as he held perfectly still, balancing upright. It was an impressive physical feat, but even Orjin couldn’t maintain it for more than a second. Then he lost his balance and the tower of rocks came falling down. So did he, but he turned and landed neatly on the ground. Salii stepped back as the rocks fell around her. She swished her tail.

“Orjin—”

“I know. Tell me now.”

The man sat on the ground, sighing. Salii sat with him, and he looked at her, attentive, if not quite happy. He was no [King], or ruler in the sense of having a class. Perhaps he should have one, but Orjin of Pomle had no desire to be a leader. The fact that he was one was purely coincidental and had no bearing on how he lived his life. Most of the time, that was.

“Where should I begin? Last night—no, I suppose, yesterday, the King of Destruction sent out a bunch of letters via Courier and Runner. [Messages] too, so some of the nations received word before the others. The upshot of it is that they all received the contents of his message and they’re gathering here to discuss what the King of Destruction said.”

“Ah. He sent a letter?”

“Yes. To Pomle as well. I read it. Do you want to…?”

She offered an opened envelope to Orjin. He waved it away.

“Just tell me.”

“Well, essentially what he said was…”

Salii repeated the bare bones of Flos’ declaration to Orjin. When she had finished, he shook his head.

“Peace. And he wants his subjects to return to him? This doesn’t concern Pomle. We had no quarrel with the King of Destruction and if anyone wished to go to him, they are already gone.”

“I know. But it matters to other nations. And because the rulers want to talk in person, they sent word. They’re coming.”

“Eight nations? Which ones?”

“All of our neighbors. And a delegation from Nerrhavia’s fall. They’re all moving fast, especially Nerrhavia to get here.”

“Fine. Why does this concern me?”

The [Martial Artist], the warrior, folded his arms. Salii looked exasperated.

“Because you’re the Strongest of Pomle! The ruler!”

“So? Let them talk here.”

“It might not just be talk. Your presence is needed to guarantee the peace. And to make sure none of the other rulers take offense by your absence.”

Orjin sighed louder. Of course, he’d suspected that would be the case. He thought about refusing, or walking off. Salii couldn’t stop him if he did, but…she was Salii.

Pomle was a small nation. If you looked at it on the map it would be almost a complete circle, a little dot sandwiched between other nations, right at an intersection between four, in fact. It was a tiny nation, smaller even than Reim had been. But it was important, for Pomle was known far and wide as neutral territory.

It had no government, no rulers, and those who came to Pomle were free to do as they pleased. Most who lived in the country trained for combat, [Martial Artists], hermits practicing some style of weaponry—more than one famous warrior had trained in Pomle’s single oasis or on the plateaus of its grounds. But other sorts came to Pomle too. Outcasts. Refugees. Criminals.

No one regulated them. Or at least, no one actively made the people pay taxes or follow any rules. Troublemakers were dealt with. Murder and crime were also not tolerated; Pomle’s warriors would take matters into their own hands. Only two things held any sway over Pomle. That was the tradition of the Strongest, and Salii.

Orjin was the Strongest of Pomle. It was a simple title and there was an even simpler way of choosing the Strongest. Whoever beat the current leader of Pomle took his or her place. Orjin had won this position eight years ago and those who had challenged his position had all been defeated. There hadn’t been many challengers, actually; few people wanted the position. Most just wanted to live peacefully, and the Strongest had obligations.

One of those obligations was listening to Salii. No one could quite remember when she’d appeared. It had to be five years ago? At least. But one day she’d shown up and started ordering people about. And they had listened mostly, because she had good ideas. Like how to settle quarrels over bathing. Organizing a place for children to play where adults wouldn’t accidentally intrude. Even convincing a [Mage] to draw some runes of preservation so food could be stored.

Things like that. Orjin hadn’t questioned Salii at first, and she’d gotten him to do any number of tasks he wouldn’t normally, from sorting out troublemakers to quelling monsters. He didn’t mind that; monster fighting was good practice. But sometimes she had requests like these.

“Why must I be there? For the status of the other rulers? If that is simply it, I will refuse.”

“Not just that, Orjin. All the monarchs are bringing escorts. And if they fight each other, it might be war. And that war could involve Pomle. If you’re there, you can make sure no blood is spilt—er, less blood is spilt.”

That made sense. Orjin tilted his head towards the sun, sighed, and then nodded.

“I have some more colorful clothing with my things. Let me dress.”

He stood up. Salii watched him leap over the collapsed pile of rocks, and run towards a tall plateau of orange-red rock that defined Pomle’s geography. Orjin wasn’t long; he moved fast and before more than two minutes had passed he was running past, with a more formal skirt made of bright, colored cotton, and a loose cape of some kind of animal or monster hide. He still had no clothing on his upper body, though.

“Where’d you get that?”

“A [Merchant] gave it to me once, for saving his life on the road. Will it do?”

“It’s…fitting. Okay, come on. Let’s walk to the watering grounds.”

Orjin nodded. He walked across the bare, cracked earth with Salii. She was fully clothed and wore shoes; he did not. He was barefoot, but he didn’t feel the heat radiating up from the ground. Nor did he sweat as much as the Drake. The two headed towards a distant spot where a small stand of trees had grown up, and water gathered.

An oasis, and not a mirage. The watering grounds were really just a hole in the ground where water had collected. Enough to let people live and as such anyone in Pomle would invariably visit the place for the precious resource. It was also the most populated area, as those less inclined to solo survival had made some structures here, or found a reliable source of food from the thirsty birds and animals that came to drink from the watering grounds.

The Strongest of Pomle and the [Secretary] of Pomle set a quick pace at first, but it slowed when it became clear that their definition of ‘quick’ varied. It wasn’t that Salii was out of shape; she had lived in Pomle and that was a harsh lifestyle at times. But Orjin was just too quick. He slowed to a crawl as she huffed and caught up to him, jogging. Orjin waited for Salii to catch her breath and then spoke.

“I have never asked it, Salii, but what brought you to Pomle?”

It had been five years since he’d known her and this was the first question he’d really asked beyond her name and what she did. Salii glanced up at him, surprised. The Drake swished her tail and shrugged. She consulted her little sheet of parchment secured to the clipboard of wood as she spoke. It was one of the things she always carried with her.

“I thought it would be a challenge. Pomle has no industry. No trade goods or proper economy to speak of. There are no bureaucrats, no system of government besides the tradition of the strongest, and no treasury. There isn’t even a proper waste disposal system in Pomle.”

“We bury our waste far from the water.”

“I meant sewage, Orjin. Half of Pomle’s citizens live in tents or isolated structures, very few of which are made out of stone. The rest sleep in the open. This place would give any other [Secretary], [Overseer], or [Manager]-class nightmares.”

“So, why did you stay?”

“Well, I thought I’d level up faster here.”

“And did you?”

The Drake [Secretary] gave Orjin a toothy smile. He smiled as well. That was a good answer, all told. For if you were coming to Pomle, it was probably to do just that. Level up, to be alone, or to find a challenge. Pomle was not a place where you came to be famous or make a fortune. It was a special, small nation, the newest to Chandrar.

“Here we are. Oh, Ancestors. Some of the monarchs have already arrived! Orjin, you need to say something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know! Give the peace speech you did last time.”

“Very well.”

He sighed. The watering grounds were clearly visible ahead of him. He could see the relatively wetter ground were occupied. Someone had set up tents here, and not the weathered homes of some of Pomle’s residents. These were bright, silk affairs and there were pennants flying from the top of them. Horses, people…Orjin couldn’t remember when he’d last seen so many gathered here.

“Let’s see…this looks like Mediv, Xem, Lamullt—none of the huge nations are present yet. But these are still [Kings] and [Queens], Orjin. Look. That’s one delegation right there, by the edge of the watering grounds.”

Orjin saw them. Two dozen riders, looking for a place to tie up their mounts. And that was just the main group. It looked like a small group of richly-dressed folk—the [King] and [Queen] perhaps, and a son—along with some courtiers. Behind them were a double-row of soldiers riding camels. They were trying to eye the other guests at the watering ground and shot Orjin and Salii a distrustful glance as they approached.

“[Camel Knights]?”

“Something like that. I’ll announce you—”

“No need.”

Orjin had spotted another group at the edge of the watering hole. They were leading their horses to drink and he thought he could tell the [Knights] apart, if only because they were wearing the heaviest armor of all the three groups. They were offering the water to their horses, and chasing away some of Pomle’s people from the watering hole. Orjin could hear one of them shouting as he approached.

“Clear off! This is Lamullt’s royal escort! Anyone who interferes with the path of his Highness of Lamullt will be dealt with!”

The [Knight] speaking looked hot, irritable in the dry weather, and out of patience with the children and people of Pomle, none of whom were showing him deference. Orjin could see they were the owners of the silk tent, striped yellow and white. And the [Knight] was keeping the others from the watering hole.

“Orjin—”

“You there. Back up. This is Lamullt’s—”

Another armored man blocked Orjin’s way as he strode past the bright tents. He glanced dismissively at Orjin, and then noted the man’s body with another frown. He put his hand on his sword.

“This is King Victal of Lamullt’s—”

“The watering grounds are open to everyone. Stop interfering with Pomle’s citizens.”

Orjin stared at the man. The [Knight] glared at him.

“Did you not hear me? This is Lamullt’s [King] residing in the tent over there! He has claimed this space in preparation for the meeting of the monarchy. This…hole will be free for others to use it when—”

He got no further. Orjin was reaching out to brush him aside and watching the man’s hand tighten on his sword. He wouldn’t get the chance to unsheathe it if he tried. But before he could, and violate the law of Pomle, a shape hurtled past Orjin and a wooden clipboard smacked the [Knight] in the face.

“Gah!”

“Back up!”

Salii slapped the [Knight] over the head as he jerked back. He tried to grab his sword, but the [Secretary] dealt him two more swift blows to the head with the edge of her clipboard. She was quick, and Orjin stopped to admire her technique. Before the [Knight] could draw his blade or his comrades interfere, Salii was shouting at him.

“You, draw that sword and you and Lamullt violate the peace of Pomle! And you, the idiots at the watering hole! Pull your stallions back! If they foul the waters, they’re horse meat!”

The [Knight] at the watering hole jerked his head around. He scowled at Salii.

“How dare you. And who is this?”

He pointed at Orjin, who was looking around, surveying the other two camps. Nobles, retainers, servants—they were making a mess as they set up everywhere. He felt disgusted; normally he’d let any caravan go through Pomle and just stay far away, but he had to be here for this? On the other hand he saw what Salii meant. All three nations had brought warriors, escorts, and they would be a hard fight to put down for most of Pomle’s warriors if they started one.

“Shut up and move those horses back! Draw that blade and you will lose that hand! This is the Strongest of Pomle, Orjin! And in this land, none of you have any rights beyond entry! If you offer violence in this place, you void that right!”

Salii was shouting at the [Knights], waving her clipboard in the leader’s face. He stared at Orjin, glancing at the man’s bare chest and his skirt made of cotton. Orjin thought it was a wonderfully colored thing, but he glanced to one side and saw a group of what might have been nobles in rich silk attire staring at him. Orjin returned the look blankly, and then saw someone push the tent flaps back.

A [King] emerged from the tent, and a localized hush fell amid his subjects. Not on Salii, Orjin or any of Pomle’s subjects. No longer impeded by the [Knights], several children leapt into the watering hole with a splash.

The bit of noise drew the attention of the other two parties. They drew closer, eying each other like foreign cats eying each other. A man in bright clothing strode forwards as the riders approached on their horses. Orjin spotted a circlet of gold on the man and women in the center and one of silver on the boy following them. The [Herald] took a deep breath and shouted.

“His Majesty of Xem, his Royal Excellency, [King] Aliman. Her Majesty of Xem, her Royal Excellency—”

One of the other men stepped forwards and tried to shout over him.

“You are in the presence of his Highness of Mediv! Bow your heads before—”

“Silence.”

Orjin lifted his foot and stomped. At the same time he used a Skill, and a tremor ran through the ground. Just for a second. Salii, standing next to him, lost her balance and the riders’ horses reared. In the watering hole a bit of the dirt exterior collapsed and the children happily screamed as they jumped into the water. The shouting men stopped and every head turned towards Orjin. He looked around.

Now, what did Salii want him to say? Oh, yes, the speech. Orjin spoke as he looked at both [Kings], the one from the tent, the one on horseback, and then the woman standing behind a line of [Soldiers] who were all pointing their spears at him.

“This is Pomle. I am the Strongest of Pomle, Orjin. Thirty years ago, we claimed this land and fought every nation who tried to impose their rules on us. And for thirty years, Pomle has known peace. The King of Destruction’s armies passed us by. Pomle has nothing, though many claim sanctuary in our lands. But we have always been a place for those who wish to train. This is why Pomle is neutral ground.”

He looked around. Three rulers stared back at a man without a shirt, sweat dried by the sun, dust covering his legs and feet. Orjin returned their gazes impassively.

“So I warn you once, rulers of foreign countries. Hold to this peace. Conduct your talks as you will, and I will guarantee the peace. But to anyone who violates the peace, their safety is no longer assured. Stop no one from drinking from the watering grounds. I will stay here to maintain the peace so long as the talks continue. Salii is the [Secretary]. Speak to her if you have any questions.”

Then he turned and walked away. Salii blinked as all eyes turned to her. The Drake smiled. She waved her clipboard.

“You heard him. If you want to tie up your horses, you’ll have to find space further away from the watering hole. The same goes for um, ditches to relieve yourselves. It has to be away from the water. As for the meeting, please keep this space clear. We’re expecting the delegation from the Illivere League to arrive any minute now…”

—-

Orjin didn’t bother to socialize with the first monarchs who arrived. They didn’t seem keen on approaching him either. Their escorts on the other hand kept staring at Orjin warily, as smaller predators tended to do when a larger, more dangerous creature was around. Of course, Orjin had no intention of starting violence. He was more annoyed by the spears and other weaponry, but Salii had talked him into letting them keep the arms.

“It’s not like Pomle doesn’t have our own warriors around and they are monarchs. They fear assassination. And you have your hands and feet.”

And they were weapons in themselves. Orjin acquiesced with bad grace and spent his time sitting on top of one of the date palms that grew around Pomle. That got him more askance looks, but it was perfectly common; several children strong enough to make the climb had done the same, and Orjin recognized two warriors, one a [Spear Dancer], the other a [Martial Artist] like him, sitting on the tree tops and watching the sights. That was how Orjin spotted the delegation from Tiqr first.

The noise that split the air as the delegation came into view was a trumpeting blast. But it came from no horn. The creature that appeared over the tops of the palms was grey, huge. It’s steps were long, and as it swayed its huge head, its tusks caught the light. Ivory, capped with gold. And it was similarly adorned with a riding booth.

On top of it sat a woman. And before her raced warriors wearing cloth armor riding striped zebras. Hyenas bounded forwards, terrifying the horses of the other animals. They raced ahead of men and women who walked side-by-side with lions. The elephant raised it trunk to the sky and blew another sound, scaring the birds out of the watering hole.

They flew about her as she rode in. A laughing woman dressed in clothing almost as revealing as Orjin’s. But her garb was made of feathers and bright cloth. And as she approached, the rest of her escort dove out of the sky. A flock of Garuda of every color, swooping about her.

“Tiqr.”

Salii stood with Orjin as he watched the procession come to a halt. It was as large as all three escorts that had come before it, and then some. He shook his head as the woman on the elephant’s back patted the animal and it blew a third trumpet before she slid to the ground off its back.

“I know that much. And that woman riding the Grand Elephant. She would be the Empress of Beasts, wouldn’t she?”

“She would.”

Salii stared at the [Empress] as she landed on the ground. She was nothing like the monarchs who stared at her as if they were witnessing another strange beast. The [Empress] looked to Orjin like a warrior as much as a leader. And he knew without asking that she was a [Beast Master]. Her mount proved that.

Elephants were already huge creatures. But the Grand Elephant was easily half again as large as the regular elephants that Orjin knew. It seemed impossible that such a huge creature could exist, let alone sustain itself, but Grand Elephants were able to travel vast distances in search of food. And in the savannas of Tiqr, food was abundant. As were other, less friendly animals.

Hyenas. Riding zebra. Even a pair of lions. All these animals would scarcely tolerate each other, let alone Humans in such close proximity. But the animals took their places, as docile as could be. And as she walked past, the hyenas crouched. The Lions lowered their maned heads. Even the elephant appeared to kneel.

“Strongest of Pomle!”

The [Empress of Beasts] came to Orjin first. She ignored the other monarchs and laughed as she embraced Orjin. She smelled of the wild and she was strong.

“I am Empress Nsiia of Tiqr. I greet you, Strongest of Pomle. I have come to this gathering with little warning and for that I offer you my apologies. My escort will drink of Pomle’s waters if it is acceptable and for that boon I offer you this.”

She gestured, and Orjin saw that there were more conventional forms of transport behind her procession of animals. From a wagon a pair of brawny men jumped to the ground with a coffer. It was filled with jewels.

“Treasures of Tiqr. A small price for water, is it not? Will you accept?”

Orjin felt a claw jab him in the back repeatedly. He ignored it.

“Pomle welcomes all those who offer no violence, Empress Nsiia of Tiqr. No gift is needed.”

Salii kicked Orjin in the back of the legs and only succeeded in hurting her own foot. The Empress smiled, and there was a sparkle to her eyes from within, like an inner light.

“It is a gift offered freely, then. As friends must. Tell me, what is your name?”

“Orjin of Pomle. And if that is the case, I will accept.”

“Good. I would that I could speak with you longer, Strongest. Until then—”

Nsiia inclined her head and Orjin did the same. She swept past him as Salii hurried forwards to claim the bounty of gemstones. Orjin ignored the gems as he watched Nsiia sweep past him. He eyed one of the hyenas, who was baring its teeth in that unsetting grin as it watched one of the camels. He didn’t know what to make of Nsiia. He was more sure of Illivere, who arrived next.

“This is the escort of the Illivere League’s people. It has to be.”

Salii pointed out the next group that approached from the east. She was muttering to Orjin, trying to catch him up on everything she thought he should know. He was listening with only half an ear; Nsiia had settled her people in and she was speaking with one of the monarchs as the rest turned to watch the next ruler approach.

“I’ve heard of Illivere’s riches.”

“It’s not the same as Tiqr’s. Frankly speaking, Empress Nsiia is the poorest ruler of the four major nations that will appear here. Illivere will be the second-richest.”

Orjin thought of the casket of jewels, so casually offered up.

“The Empress of Beasts appeared rich enough to me.”

“It’s by comparison. She’s still richer than Mediv or Xem or the other smaller nations. But Illivere makes its fortunes from its industry and high number of artisans. It exports cheap goods, everything from cut stone to food to processed ore. And its people are almost all craftsmen or scholars—few laborers. And that’s because the country runs on—”

“Golems.”

The procession was close enough for Orjin to pick up the huge, lumbering shapes walking among the shorter Humans on horseback and foot. Salii caught her breath.

“Yes. They’re one of the few nations that manufactures them. The Illivere League has a powerful army, if a slow one, and their workforce never slows. They only need repairing and energy. They’ve brought some with them, obviously.”

“I see War Golems.”

The steel giants that walked ahead of Illivere was truly massive. Some of the shorter, porter golems made of stone or sand that were ‘only’ seven or eight feet tall. But the pair of giants that walked ahead of the group was fourteen feet tall. Both held flags with Illivere’s symbol on it. And it was a procession of four Golems that carried a palanquin loaded with treasures. The man who rode in front of it was fair-skinned, bespectacled, a figure who looked more at home inside reading than out in the sun. He also greeted Orjin first after his herald had called his name.

“Strongest of Pomle, this is a small token of Illivere’s gratitude for allowing us to meet on your soil today. Please accept these vintages from Illivere’s orchards, foods and delicacies from all over the league’s holdings.”

The man who stood shorter than both Orjin and Queen Nsiia was polite, well-spoke and quick and precise with his words. He was no ruler, but someone like Orjin, who had been given the position without the class. For all that he seemed impossible to shake, and shook Orjin’s hand fearlessly.

“Thank you, First Crafter-Magus Femithain of Illivere. We will accept your gift.”

Orjin sighed as he looked at the massive pile of goods the golems were mechanically piling up in front of him. They moved slowly, but with confidence in every move. The animals of Nsiia’s group and the horses and camels all stayed as far away from the golems as possible. Femithain bowed slightly again to Orjin and went to greet Empress Nsiia, fearless and self-contained.

That left Orjin with the huge pile of goods. And these weren’t exactly able to be squirreled away by Salii. He heard a tap as someone landed behind him. One of Pomle’s warriors had jumped to the ground. She leaned on her spear and looked at him.

“Orjin. More gifts?”

“Apparently.”

“Where do we put them?”

The Strongest of Pomle looked at the pile of food. It was all rich stuff, but it was going to rot fast in the sun, especially because there were few good places to store all of it. He waved a hand at the crowd of Pomle’s folk, who were watching Illivere’s golems make ready the camp from afar.

“Spread the word. We have drinks, food…let Salii take whatever she wants first and make sure no one takes what she claims.”

The spear-wielding warrior grinned and bounded off. In minutes, she was back, and she snagged a bottle of wine from the cargo before hundreds of Pomle’s citizens descended on the gift. They grabbed what they could carry, walked off, and those who wanted more came back for it. Orjin ignored all of it; he had no desire for the food or drinks at the moment. He was sure someone would share it with him if there was any left over later.

Femithain was clearly trying to suppress his expression as he watched a huge crowd gather and claim the rest of the goods. A little Garuda girl, barely more than a chick, ran off with a bottle of Illivere’s finest vintages and some of the others began eating or drinking the rich goods there on the spot.

Salii fought her way out of the mess, looking disgruntled. She glared at Orjin as she wiped sweat off her forehead.

“I rescued some of the goods. We’ll keep it stored for later, or perhaps to trade. Did you have to let the rest of it be eaten now?”

“We don’t have many places to store so much. And for what occasion would we save it for? If you wanted, we could have traded all of it for money.”

“Yes, but Crafter-Magus Femithain clearly intended these as a gift to you.”

The Drake looked pointedly at Orjin. He shrugged.

“He gave it to Pomle. And it is Pomle who enjoys his gift. It’s fairly done. You know that.”

“Yes, but some tact—”

“Another group is coming. South.”

“Savere. Hold on, I’d better get the rest of the goods into shelter?”

“Why?”

Salii pointed up. Orjin stared at the skies and blinked. The bare, blue skies had suddenly clouded over. And as the distant procession drew nearer, a miracle happened.

Rain began to fall. At first a drizzle, then a shower. It soaked the wet earth. Pomle’s people looked up, surprised. The watering hole greedily drank the liquid as it ran into the space. The rest wet the earth and before the waters could truly begin to conjure a flood, the rains stopped. The clouds vanished.

And the Siren of Savere walked forwards, and the waters formed a path in the sands for her.

Orjin stared.

If Tiqr was a land of beasts and people, and Illivere one of regulation and commerce, and Pomle free chaos, then Savere fell into a position between Tiqr and Illivere. Its people were wild. They rode forwards with no semblance of order, laughing. And more than one looked to Orjin like folk from the waters. Indeed, some were even walking alongside the woman walking in the center of the trail of water.

Drowned People. Children of the ocean. And the chaotic warriors who raced ahead of their [Queen]. But it was the Siren who made the biggest impact as the waters she called lapped at the feet of those gathered in the watering grounds. Water, that most precious of things in dry Chandrar. And here was a [Mage] who controlled it.

“I am Revine, Siren of Savere. I have come to speak of the King of Destruction.”

That was all Revine said. She offered no greetings to Orjin, nor to the other monarchs. She stood at the watering hole and looked down at it. Her folk spread out, laughing and pointing at the animals of Tiqr and the Golems of Illivere as if they were some huge jest. The Drowned People stood behind Revine.

A child wandered up to the Siren of Savere as she surveyed the watering hole. She picked her nose as she stared up at Revine. The Siren stared at her, and then at the small watering hole.

“Is this all the water Pomle has, child?”

“Yes? Can you conjure rain?”

“Yes. And my people demand it of me. Without water, the Drowned Folk wither and die. Without water, all things die. This water is…insufficient. So let more fall.”

The Siren raised her hand. And the clouds gathered. Orjin looked up and saw more water begin to fall from the skies. Just like that. At first a shower, then a torrent.

Pomle’s citizens ran for cover. The other monarchs retreated, some shouting insults. Femithain shook his head as his Golems set up covering for his people. Empress Nsiia stood in the rains and laughed as her animals enjoyed the rain. And Orjin? He shook his head.

“A dangerous ruler. The most dangerous of the three in a way.”

He looked at Salii. The Drake wiped water off her scales as she tried to cover her clipboard.

“The most powerfully magically, at least. She’s drawing the water from the atmosphere. It will be twice as dry in Pomle for a while after this.”

Orjin could only shrug at that. He watched the Siren of Savere for another moment. And then he turned away.

“One more, isn’t there?”

“Yes. Nerrhavia has the farthest to come. But they swore they would be here. And I don’t doubt it.”

The [Secretary] wasn’t wrong. The rains lasted for an hour, by which time the ground was saturated and the watering hole overflowing. At Salii’s request, it was even widened by people with shovels and sticks to contain more water. The sun had returned and Orjin’s damp skin was drying by the time he looked east a final time and saw them.

Chariots. Dozens, possibly as many as a hundred, racing across the ground. This was an army, and all the other monarchs looked up. Some were uneasy, others just wary. The Siren of Savere narrowed her eyes as her cohort gathered around her. For if her country was mighty, if Tiqr and Illivere were both major powers, here came a colossus of nations. Even Orjin was familiar with it.

Nerrhavia Fallen, one of the largest nations of Chandrar. And because of that, the most powerful, wealthiest, and most populated nation of all those gathered here today. A kingdom of String People, vast beyond belief. That was who rode the chariots into Pomle, riding around the other groups. Bright folk, their skin glossy, almost shining in the light.

String People. Made of silk. If cotton was to normal flesh, then silk was something beyond that when Stitch People made their bodies out of the stuff. They looked inhumanly beautiful and graceful, and their features were perfect. Of course; they’d stitched their appearances out of cloth. They could be what their hearts desired. So they drove their chariots in, hundreds of perfect folk. And the [Queen] who rode a chariot of gold pulled by two white stallions was the most beautiful of all.

Queen Yisame of Nerrhavia was light brown of skin, with flawless flowing black hair, and skin softer than should have been possible. Her eyes sparkled like brilliant emeralds, and her features were perfect down to the line of her nose, to her lips. She moved like she was dancing at every moment, and she possessed a radiance about her. An aura.

She was a monster to Orjin. He looked at her once as she stepped down from her chariot and he knew her body was made of some fabric more expensive than silk. She wore it, she had made her features of it, and she had become something…strange. He was attracted to her and so was everyone who beheld Yisame. They stared, men and women alike. Even the animals. That was what made her terrifying. The [Queen]’s escorts followed her, forming a procession of warriors and servants, each more fantastic than the last. All made of silk.

Graceful, beautiful, and strong. Silk provided little protection against slashing weapons compared to regular cotton, but warriors who were made of the stuff were lightweight, stronger than normal, and hard to damage with fists or blunt weapons. It was also one of the most expensive of fabrics, manufactured only in nations like Nerrhavia. Yet all of Yisame’s escort was made of the stuff.

It was a show of power. Orjin of Pomle watched with Salii for two minutes, and then went to get a drink of water. The procession was still coming in after that, so he walked off and had a drink from the watering hole while he heard chariots roll in and horses whinny.

Salii found Orjin at the edge of the pool. She glared at him.

“Orjin, she’s waiting for you!”

“Who?”

“Queen Yisame! She’s greeted the other monarchs!”

Orjin got up reluctantly. He walked back and found that the ruler of Nerrhavia was indeed waiting for him. She looked down her nose at him and his still-damp skirt. Her attendants looked askance at Orjin’s bare chest and flawed body.

“Strongest of Pomle?”

The word was half-question, half-mockery at the title. Orjin stared up at the beautiful face, the mischievous smile and distant look, as if Yisame were looking down at him despite Orjin being taller. He nodded curtly.

“Some call me that. I am Orjin of Pomle. And you are welcome in Pomle, so long as you abide by the laws of hospitality, Queen Yisame of Nerrhavia.”

“I will consider it. But I have come far to speak only of one man. All else is paltry. You may go. Pomle has nothing I wish of you.”

Yisame flicked her wrist at Orjin and the others around her laughed. Orjin turned to go without so much as a word. Nerrhavia had nothing he wished for either.

So they were gathered here. Four major nations of Tiqr, Savere, Nerrhavia, and Illivere. A few other monarchs had arrived, their entrances completely overshadowed or rained over by the other, larger nations. To Orjin, it was like seeing four adults walking among children.

Empress Nsiia of Tiqr.

Crafter-Magus Femithain of the Illivere League.

Revine, the Siren of Savere.

And [Queen] Yisame of Nerrhavia Fallen.

They were the names to remember here. Each knew the others, if not by face, then by name. By presence. Each one was highest in level in their own way. Although of the four…it was strange. Femithain might have been the highest-level, but he was no ruler. Revine was mighty as a [Mage], but Orjin thought it was Empress Nsiia who boasted the highest level as a ruler of all of them.

And by contrast, Yisame felt like the lowest-level if he closed his eyes and compared her presence, not her escort. Compared to them, the lesser monarchs hovered about, striking a mix between courtesy and their own self-importance. It took a while for the introductions to be finished, and in that time Orjin realized Nerrhavia and some of the other nations had brought delicacies to be served to those attending. Since he was apparently included in that austere gathering, he ate his fill as he waited for things to get interesting or for everyone to go away.

The actual meeting, as such, was very short. Informal, even. The gathered rulers waited about, perhaps for Orjin or Salii to ask one of them to speak. But why would Pomle do that? Eventually, the rulers realized they would have to take matters into their own hands and broke up, some talking to another and others gathering in small groups to talk while their retainers hovered about them.

It was rather like watching groups of birds mingle together. Orjin, eating some roasted meats that tasted like a bird of some sort, sat patiently on the ground. His ears, like his eyes and nose, were far stronger than they should be and he could hear snippets of conversations. From some. At times, there would be pockets of silence as one of the monarchs deployed a spell or Skill that muffled Orjin’s hearing. The sensation was unpleasant, like cotton wedged deeply in the ear.

No one was happy about the King of Destruction’s letter. But the degree to which they were concerned varied from monarch to monarch. Femithain was concerned and made his objection clear to Revine as they spoke together.

“He wants his people back. His veterans. If other nations allow this, a number of Reim’s scattered allies might reach his kingdom without making enemies of every nation around them.”

“A clever trick.”

The Siren’s voice was low, her gaze piercing. She glared past Illivere at some of the haughty Stitch-Folk from Nerrhavia. She looked back at the Crafter-Magus.

“His allies are scattered, but with this he could guarantee their safe passage. And you are right. There are many who fought for the King of Destruction. He could form an army of experienced soldiers. It strengthens Reim and buys him time against his enemies.”

“However, by the same token he has pledged to attack no one.”

“You think that matters? The King of Destruction will find an excuse. He always has. What will stop him from breaking his vow when he has grown enough in strength?”

“His enemies, one suspects. But you are correct, Siren Revine. This benefits Reim. The question is: will enough nations defy his imposed ‘peace’? This is one such gathering, but I would not commit Illivere to such a course of action.”

“…No. No, it would make targets out of our nations. That is true enough. And yet, what if Nerrhavia dared? The Empire of Sands is already the King of Destruction’s enemy. He cannot fight on too many fronts.”

“But how many might he fight on? I have heard reports the Lord of the Skies and his tribe are raiding the outskirts of the Empire of Sands constantly. If he were to send Takhatres against the League of Illivere, just one of his Seven—”

“He cannot stand against all of us.”

“But who is ‘us’, Siren? I came here to discuss a course of action, but fighting the King of Destruction does not appeal to me.”

That was Illivere. Cautious and refusing to commit. Whereas Revine, the Siren of Savere was open about her hatred for Flos. On the other hand, Empress Nsiia and Queen Yisame of Nerrhavia—

“I cared little for the proclamation, Queen Yisame. But tell me, does Nerrhavia desire war? You sent no army against Reim with the coalition, and you were surely able to do so.”

Yisame brushed her hair back impatiently, wrinkling her nose as Nsiia fed one of her hyenas by hand.

“I did not care to. It is true that the smaller nations petitioned Nerrhavia to enter the battle. What of it? Nerrhavia does not fear the King of Destruction. Nor do I wish to spend the time and energy it would take to battle his nation. The only thing that has roused my ire is his demands of my nation. In that, Flos of Reim has erred and provoked my response. And you, Empress of Beasts?”

Nsiia grinned up at Yisame’s face as the hyena prowled away.

“I counted Flos of Reim as my ally, once. Tiqr will abide by his peace and his request. It is a simple thing to answer, isn’t it?”

“She said that? Curious.”

Femithain and Yisame stood together, speaking quietly. The Queen of Nerrhavia looked down at him.

“And you, Crafter-Magus? What does the assembled will of Illivere think? Or is it paralyzed by fear?”

The Crafter-Magus’ gaze didn’t waver as he adjusted his spectacles.

“Illivere waits and thinks, Queen Yisame. There are actions that benefit Illivere. I think war does not benefit Illivere. On the other hand, it benefits few nations, Nerrhavia included. I came to ascertain if I had allies…or enemies before choosing my next course.”

He held Yisame’s gaze, not affected by her charms. She hesitated.

“Very well. I withdraw my words.”

“I thank you for that. As for Queen Nsiia, she seems to be held in her course. May I ask if Nerrhavia is the same?”

“How do you mean?”

“Nerrhavia is an enemy of Reim, or at least, no friend. It would fain see the King of Destruction ended. But Flos of Reim is battling the Empire of Sands, is he not?”

“So?”

“Is the Emperor of Sands an enemy to Nerrhavia? I’ve heard he is of the String People. And he claims…”

For the first time Yisame looked uncomfortable. She held up a hand.

“I did not come here to discuss that…one. I only care for the King of Destruction’s letter.”

She swept away from Femithain, and his eyes followed her. A few minutes later, Nsiia and Revine nearly came to blows.

“The King of Destruction looted Savere! His armies plundered my lands and my treasuries! Shouldn’t I hold a grudge against that?”

“As far as I understand it, he did to Savere what your [Pirates] have done to other nations for years. Or did your ships not raid Zeres four months back? Izril, Terandria, Baleros—Savere is a home to ships and theft from every part of the world, isn’t it, Siren?”

The [Empress] and the Siren stood eye-to-eye, glaring at each other. There was a dangerous feeling in the air, but Nsiia’s hand was on her belt. She had put aside the spear she carried, but her knife was still there and Revine knew it. The Siren breathed in heavily.

“My ships and my ports offer sanctuary. Moreover, it is my land. My grudge against the King of Destruction is mine to carry, not for others to judge.”

“Then is it war between Savere and Reim?”

The Empress of Beasts challenged Revine. The Siren’s eye twitched. Behind her, the watering hole’s calm surface began to shift ominously.

“Not yet. But should Reim’s territory ever expand towards any coast, it will not be safe from my wrath. Or that of my sister. And if you claim friendship with the King of Destruction, I would warn you as well, Empress of Beasts.”

She turned and stalked away. Orjin sat and watched Nsiia shake her head and turned to soothe her hyenas, who’d gathered around her protectively. Salii frowned as she watched the gathering.

“She’s the only one of them who’s speaking out in Reim’s favor. It might be a mistake.”

“Perhaps.”

That was all Orjin said. He watched as Revine and Yisame spoke quickly and quietly in a bubble of silence. They both showed something to each other. Orjin could see it was a letter before they quickly hid it once more. He saw Yisame nod and Revine bare her teeth. They were not the only ones with the letter, or the only ones who shared a conversation in silence.

The tension bubbling up between Nsiia and the other monarchs was now in full boil. But it came to a head when Nsiia raised her voice after an argument with the Queen of Xem.

“I was but a girl when Flos of Reim appeared on Tiqr’s borders. I opened my borders to him and joined my armies to his because I believed in the righteousness of his cause. Hadn’t he done away with monsters and enriched his lands beyond belief?”

She looked around as the other monarchs turned to face her. The Empress of Beasts spread her arms wide, shouting to them and the other retainers in their escort.

“He brought wealth back to Chandrar! Those who accepted him as friend prospered! It was his enemies, those who refused to join with him and made war who suffered. Did he not bring riches unimaginable back to his kingdom?”

“By looting every land he came across! Tiqr might have been spared, but Savere was not! Nor was Nerrhavia!”

Ravine’s eyes were furious as they locked on Nsiia’s. The [Empress] smiled coldly. She was younger than the other three, save perhaps for Yisame.

“He was willing to fight against the other continents who wanted to turn Chandrar into a plaything to be fought over by their armies. Yes, his ambitions failed and he abandoned his people. What of it? He has returned, and whatever wrongs he has committed could be aimed at any nation here, ten times over.”

She turned to face the other monarchs. And some could not bear to meet her eyes. Those that could gave her hard looks. Nsiia shook her head, contemptuously.

“I do not call myself the King of Destruction’s subject any longer. I am not the girl I was, nor is he the [King] I know. But I will not join with you to attack him if that is what you plot, like cowards hiding in the dunes. I came here to say that, and to dare a bit of bravery from the hearts of my fellow rulers. I see that was a lost cause. Cowards, the lot of you.”

She turned and began to walk away. That was too much. One of the String People in Nerrhavia’s delegation unsheathed his sword.

“No one insults Nerrhavia’s Queen so! To arms, brethren!”

Nsiia whirled as dozens of String People unsheathed their weapons. Behind her, the Grand Elephant trumpeted alarm and her Garuda and Human soldiers grabbed their weapons and sprang up. The Stitch-Warrior who’d shouted charged at the Empress of Beasts. He sprang and Orjin caught him and slammed his head into the ground.

A smooth move. And the blow cracked the earth a bit. The Stitch-Warrior went limp, and Orjin felt at his head. Yes, the right amount of force. His skull wasn’t even cracked; the silk body made him tougher. But not that tough. He turned as another warrior rushed at him.

“You d—”

He’d probably said ‘you dare?’ Orjin watched him land on the ground after he’d kicked him and realized he’d never know what was said. He turned, stepped back as a silvery blade slashed twice at his chest, and lunged forwards. The Stitch-Woman went down, choking.

“Defend her Majesty!”

“Protect his Royal Highness!”

“To me, men of Xem—”

“Golems, on guard! Hold, and defend but do not engage—”

“Strike the skies, Garuda! Circle and aim! To me, Mezha!”

A flurry of voices screamed orders at once. Nsiia leapt backwards as her Grand Elephant, Mezha, charged forwards. Everyone scattered as the trunks scythed the ground and Nsiia pulled herself up into the chair on top. Garuda were in the skies. Orjin saw dozens of blades being drawn. He lashed out, knocking another one flying with a fist. He dodged a thrust, chopped down and knocked a spear from a loose grip. He punched up and the body went flying.

“Stop, stop! No violence in Pomle! Stop, or else—”

Salii was shouting, but no one was listening. She ducked as a blast of water knocked a dozen [Knights] to the ground. The Siren of Savere was pointing at Nsiia. And it might have been war then, or death. But that was when Orjin grabbed the spear.

“Her highness—”

The first Stitch-Warrior screamed as the spear tip went under his armpit and cut up. His arm went flying, and he clutched at his shoulder. It wasn’t bleeding; the arm had turned to cloth as Orjin severed it. But the pain was real. And every head turned as Orjin charged towards the Stitch-People on their chariots. They were trying to mount up, but the stallions were frightened by the other animals and the magic. They turned, aiming at Orjin as he leapt at them.

[Spear Dance: Crashing Rapids]. The screams of the warriors half-mounted in their chariots filled the air. Legs, arms, hands, all went flying. The instant Orjin’s spear severed the limbs, they became cloth, bits of silk, cut by the powerful blows. The only time the warriors bled was when the spear failed to sever a limb completely. Orjin whirled his spear, cut both legs off a downed Stitch-Warrior and turned.

Elephant. It was rampaging towards him, intent on crushing everything in its path. Orjin rushed at it. The Grand Elephant was huge. He leapt at it and saw its head go down, trying to gore him. But the Grand Elephant hadn’t expected Orjin to jump so high. He leapt up until he was nearly level with its forehead. He saw Empress Nsiia gaping at him and drew back a fist. He punched Mezha in the skull once. The Grand Elephant blinked, stopped, and sat down.

“Empress!”

A jet of water, blasted past Orjin’s head. It missed Nsiia and the [Empress] ducked. The Siren of Savere was pointing at her. The second jet of water shot at Nsiia, hundreds of pounds of concentrated water, enough to blast flesh to shreds. Orjin, standing on Mezha’s head, raised a fist. He balanced on the dizzy Grand Elephant’s forehead, shifted his weight, aimed—and punched. Once.

The explosion of water and thunderclap of sound made everyone around Mezha duck. Water rained down harmlessly as a blast of air knocked the Siren back onto her rear. Orjin leapt down, spear ready. He threw it and hit a Golem in the face. The steel behemoth staggered and Orjin charged it.

[Aeriform Shockwave]. A punching technique. Orjin didn’t use a Skill for the Golem. He just charged into its leg and began hammering on it. Pivot, punch. His fists left imprints in the steel, but the Golem was tough—

“Hold, hold! Yield! We yield!”

Someone was shouting frantically. Orjin looked around, blinking, and realized the War Golem was stumbling back. The [Knights] had thrown down their swords and the String People were holding up their hands—those that weren’t lying on the ground, that was. All stared at the man standing in the center of the destruction.

The Strongest of Pomle. He looked around, breathing a bit faster. Mezha was still blinking as the elephant felt at the place where he’d punched her. The String People were cut to pieces—but alive. And the Golem was limping back, one leg badly malformed, the spear embedded in parts of its head.

“What was—”

Queen Yisame shakily looked out from behind her ranks of protectors. There were hundreds of them and only one of Orjin. They could have brought him down; the best of her defenders had stayed with their [Queen]. But their confidence wavered as they realized Orjin had only been the first.

Nerrhavia’s finest looked up from their gilded chariots. They saw the people perched on the cliffs, sitting on top of the palm trees, standing on the dry ground.

Pomle’s warriors. They were staring down, armed with spears, some just bare-fisted. Savages living in a small nation. That was, until you remembered how Pomle had formed.

Neutral ground.

“Orjin. They’ve put down their weapons.”

A shaky voice spoke behind Orjin. He turned. Salii was clutching her clipboard like a shield. The Strongest of Pomle shook his head. He’d lost himself in the heat of combat for a second. He looked at the assembled rulers. They stared at him. Any one of them might be able to wipe Pomle off the map. With time. With their resources, and their standing armies. But in this place?

“Bear a weapon again and the peace of Pomle is gone for the nation who strikes. Is that clear?”

They nodded. Orjin stood up. He rubbed at one of his fists.

That hurt.

“Then proceed. I’m going to have a drink of water.”

He turned and walked off.

—-

“Would you challenge yourself against Mars the Illusionist, Strongest of Pomle?”

That was what Empress Nsiia asked Orjin when he returned from having a drink of water and reflecting on the fight. He looked at her.

“Mars the Illusionist? If she came to Pomle, I would challenge her. But in war? No.”

“You’ve never dreamed of going into battle? You’re as strong as any Named Adventurer, I would guess.”

Orjin shook his head.

“Killing people does not interest me. That isn’t why I train.”

“But your strength…”

He sighed. That was what was so hard to explain to [Warriors].

“I did not kill the String People of Nerrhavia. I tried not to hurt your elephant, Mezha. I do not enjoy killing. Fighting, testing myself, breaking my limits? I enjoy that. But I would not fight the King of Destruction’s armies for so petty a reason.”

Nsiia blinked at Orjin. She looked around Pomle, little more than a watering hole and dust. And she didn’t understand. Even so, she clasped his hands.

“I thank you, then. I might have been hurt or gravely injured despite my protections. And you spared Mezha, for which I am grateful as well.”

“She was not hurt?”

That made Orjin smile slightly. Nsiia nodded.

“She’s merely dizzy. But well enough to walk with a healing potion. I think I shall be going soon.”

“That seems wise.”

Indeed, no one else had deigned to talk with Nsiia after the incident. Her people were indeed packing and the Garuda warriors were warily circling even now. But one man did step forwards to exchange a few words before the Empress of Beasts left.

Femithain spoke to Nsiia in a little bubble of silence. He’d included Orjin in it for some reason, but the man made no comment. He sat back down and listened as the two spoke quietly.

“Illivere is neutral, Empress. But I think that word means something different to all those present. I would warn you…”

“Not to ally with the King of Destruction? As I said, I am neither his ally nor his enemy for now. You are all intent on being his enemies, Crafter-Magus.”

“He is not a man who inspires peace, Empress Nsiia. But I fear it is too late for talk of alliances and enemies. I would caution you to…to simply be wary. You see, even your form of neutrality is a side. And when all those present skew one way, neutrality of your sort appears to be something else. This meeting was more than to measure the reactions of each ruler to Flos of Reim’s demands.”

Nsiia’s gaze sharpened as she looked at Femithain. The other monarchs were watching him warily as well, but the Crafter-Magus was unreadable.

“I see. Thank you for the warning, Femithain. Perhaps…”

He held up a finger.

“Let us leave it at that.”

“Mm. Then I will take my leave.”

Femithain bowed his head. Nsiia nodded curtly and turned to Orjin a final time.

“Was this an extraordinary day for Pomle, Strongest? Or was that battle one of many?”

Orjin thought about the question and then shook his head.

“Today was another day, Empress of Beasts. Perhaps I will remember it as extraordinary. But I think it meant more to those who came here than to Pomle itself. I thank you for your gift. Should you return, Pomle will be open to you.”

The Empress of Beasts smiled sadly and nodded.

“True words. And true neutrality. Such is Pomle, I see. If we meet again, Strongest of Pomle, I would like to speak longer. You were the most enjoyable person to talk with here, however briefly. But I think I shall be quite busy.”

She turned and raised a hand. Her animals laughed and roared and trumpeted and screamed and the Empress of Beasts departed. The other monarchs watched her go. They spoke for an hour after she left, in silence. Orjin watched them. Then they too went.

“Salii.”

The [Secretary] was counting the jewels Nsiia had presented them when Orjin found her. She jumped and guiltily closed the coffer’s lid.

“Er, I was just—what?”

“Are you able to make sense of what passed here?”

Orjin sat with the Drake. She hesitated and bit her lip.

“I do have a letter. A second one, not from the King of Destruction.”

“You didn’t tell me you received one.”

“That’s because Pomle received no such letter. I…copied it. There were several being waved about, and their little magical silencing spells can’t stop a [Secretary]’s Skills. Not one of my level. Would you like to read it?”

“Yes.”

The Drake nervously handed Orjin a letter, an exact replica of the ones he’d seen in the other’s hands. He blinked at it.

“How? We don’t have paper.”

“I can copy any material I want. Once a day. I told you I leveled up fast here. Read it.”

The Drake urged Orjin. Slowly, he opened the letter, noting the seal.

It was a letter from the Emperor of Sands. An envelope that smelled of rich spices, oils, and was written on white paper and gilded with some red metal that shone in the light.

“I see.”

Orjin read for five minutes. He read the letter twice. Then he calmly ripped up the letter, but he didn’t throw it away. It would make good kindling for a fire. Salii winced, but said nothing. It was better that the letter be destroyed anyways, rather than anyone know it had been read. The Strongest of Pomle looked at his [Secretary].

“It explains what’s about to happen. Do you think the Empress of Tiqr knew?”

“I doubt she did. Unless…did Femithain warn her?”

“He did. But perhaps she knew regardless.”

“What does it mean for Pomle?”

Salii was nervous. Orjin stared at the watering hole, now occupied just by Pomle’s people, and at the warriors training as night fell.

“Nothing.”

“But—”

“It changes nothing for Pomle. Why would it?”

Salii didn’t answer. Orjin left her there. He walked away from the watering hole after filling a water skin and returned to his camp. There he practiced hitting a Grand Elephant for six hours, dodging around its huge body, trying to figure out ways of incapacitating it. And then he practiced his Skills. Restlessly, aware of his limitations. The Strongest of Pomle trained until his arms and legs hurt and he was too tired to keep moving.

Orjin of Pomle slept restlessly that night, although he had trained hard and thought even longer. He wasn’t sure exactly why, but he drifted off to sleep dreaming about the people he had seen and the nations they had come from. The rulers, all of whom commanded vast tracts of land that stretched farther than the eye could see and armies beyond counting. Yet up close they were so small for how much power they commanded. Giants, wearing the skins of small folk. Orjin drifted off, imagining that.

The next day, the Illivere League, Savere, and the Kingdom of Nerrhavia’s Fallen along with six other nations to the south of Reim all declared war on Tiqr.

6.16

“You know, I could quit. Right now. I could quit my job, walk into grandmother’s office and tell her to go eat her tail and walk out. Just like that. I could quit and do something else for the rest of my life.”

Selys Shivertail looked around the Adventurer’s Guild. She glanced sideways at her coworker. Maviss, a Drake with pink and red scales, paused as she applied a little scale moisturizer to the scales around her eyes. She had a little makeup kit with her, with everything from paints to touch up off-color scales, to moisturizing products and powders.

Sometimes Selys envied Humans, with their hair and innumerable ways to color lips and change eyelashes and other bodily features. Then again, Drakes could paint their scales. But Selys had given up the makeup game. Now, looking at her friend, she was tempted to get back into it. It was usually expensive. But…

“You could do that, Selys. But I think Guildmistress Tekshia would rip off your head. Or run you through with one of her spears first. I don’t think anyone’s ever quit to her face. Most just hand in a letter. She’s fired people before to their faces of course…think you’d survive because you’re her granddaughter?”

“No. She’s probably kick my tail out and refuse to let me quit. But I could. Not that I’m gonna.”

Selys slumped on the counter, playing out the conversation in her head. She winced as the path took a predictable turn. Her grandmother, the infamous Tekshia, was very hard to argue with because if she started losing, she resorted to violence. And it had to be said she was still stronger than Selys in her old age, which didn’t seem fair.

“I’m just saying, Maviss. I could quit.”

“But what would we do without you? You’re the only person who knows everything around here. Besides your grandmother of course. And if you think I’m going to work with her at the front desk—”

Maviss gestured around the Adventurer’s Guild. Selys looked around from her desk. It wasn’t too busy at the guild, hence their idle chatter. Sometimes there was a huge line at the receptionists’ desks, which were placed around a central beam in the middle of the room.

Other times it was peaceful, like now. The few adventurers in the back of the room, sitting at the tables and chatting were taking a break from their jobs. The rest were out, either doing nearby requests around Liscor or exploring the dungeon. But carefully. The huge drama of the Raskghar attacks, the dungeon exploration and so on was over. It was peaceful. And Selys was a bit bored.

“What would you even do with all your free time, Selys?”

“I don’t know. Go shopping. Party more often? Hang out with Erin and Mrsha?”

“Ooh. That little cutie? I haven’t seen her around.”

“Lyonette’s protective. But I could do that. Maybe visit Pallass? But I wouldn’t be working, you know? I wouldn’t have to deal with stinking adventurers or clean up blood or work late hours…”

“But you’ve done that all your life. You told me just last week you like bossing adventurers around and working here.”

“I said that?”

“Yup.”

Maviss delicately applied some scented oil to her scales. Selys leaned back and nearly fell over; her stool had no back. She caught herself on the desk and sighed. It was true. She really didn’t mind her job usually. Her coworker shot her a glance.

“Why are you saying this now? Because of all the money you have?”

“What? Who told you how much money I have? I mean, er, well, it’s just that I could.”

Selys scratched at her neck. Her tail curled up before she caught herself. Maviss rolled her eyes and her tailed waved back and forth a tad irritably.

“Come on, Selys. Everyone knows you’re loaded after inheriting your…I mean, General…you own the Heartflame Breastplate.”

“Yeah.”

For a second both Drake’s faces fell. It was still hard to say it. Zel Shivertail, Selys’ uncle, was dead. And he’d left the armor he’d been wearing to her.

“…Okay, I do have more money. So yeah, I could quit.”

“How much?”

“I can’t say.”

“That much? I heard you paid for a night at the Tailless Thief with Warsh and the others last night.”

“Only because they didn’t have enough on them. And I had money, so…”

Selys rubbed her head as she remembered that night out. She regretted it, too. All she’d woken up with was a sense that she’d spent too much coin. But she couldn’t even tell how much she’d spent; the little trove of gold coins hadn’t noticeably decreased in any quantifiable sense of the word. Maviss gave her a sidelong glance.

“You know what I’d do?”

“What?”

“Quit my job, like you said. Take a trip to the Walled Cities. Spend like a month or two in each one, going to big parties, seeing all the sights…”

“That sounds like work.”

“You’re just saying that because you’ve never travelled, Selys.”

“I’m a Liscorian, born and bred.”

“How would you know? You’ve never been past the Blood Fields! Selys, there’s a door to Pallass in The Wandering Inn! And you know the innkeeper yourself! You could at least take a vacation.”

“Well…that might be nice. Maybe I’ll talk to grandma about it. I could probably get her to agree if I bought her a present. Or offered to pay for her vacation.”

“Now there’s a good use of money. Bribing your grandma.”

Selys laughed. She shook her head. It really was something she had to think about sooner or later. At the very least she had to find a place for all that gold. Or just get a bag of holding…Selys noticed Maviss was busy writing something down now.

“What’re you working on?”

“Oh, just filling out the details of that request the uh, Horns of Hammerad accepted.”

“The Ashfire Bee one? Watch Captain Zevara put that up.”

“Mhm. And they decided to go for it today. Wonder what took them so long.”

Selys shrugged.

“Ashfire Bees are no joke, Maviss.”

“True. Darn. I’ve filled out the form, but…what’s the Ashfire Bee threat ranking? I think I need to add whether this was a natural-based threat for Liscor or a migrating one. Little help?”

“Ashfire Bees are ranked as a Silver-rank threat. Check your monster encyclopedia. Lower left desk.”

Selys pointed. Maviss ducked down and came up with a worn book. She flipped through it quickly.

“Thanks.”

“So did the Horns go to take on the bees alone? That’s dangerous, Maviss.”

“Nah, the…Human, half-Elf, and Dwarf team went with them. The…Silver Swords. And the Halfseekers. They were going to watch, I think. But really? Three teams? Two Gold-rank teams for an Ashfire Bee nest. Couldn’t they just send one [Mage]? They’re a Silver-rank threat, right?”

She looked up. Selys shook her head as she borrowed some of Maviss’ moisturizer.

“That’s deceptive. We rank threats based on how dangerous monsters or animals are. Ashfire Bees are dangerous, but they don’t actually attack many people. One might sting you if you step on it or agitate the bee, but that’s not a threat. But hives? Hives are dangerous. You can prepare, and there are ways for a Silver-rank team to wipe them out—if they prepare right. But if you’re suddenly attacked by a thousand Ashfire Bees?”

She raised her brows. Maviss shuddered.

“Point.”

She dipped her quill in ink and scribbled quietly for a second. Selys leaned over.

“Make a note of the Hive’s size, will you? We’ll add this to the monthly report to the other guilds. If there are other Ashfire Bee nests in the area, they should be careful. Although they are good for flowers.”

“Yes, boss.”

Silence took over for a moment. Maviss finished her work, stamped the signed document and slipped it into a folder under the table. She leaned back in her chair, then looked over at Selys.

“So…how rich are you?”

“Mm. Not saying.”

“A hundred gold pieces? No, wait, four hundred? You didn’t sell the armor, but I saw Miss Ivirith wearing the armor. And Wall Lord Ilvriss.”

“Drop it, Maviss.”

“A thousand gold pieces, then. Two thousand? Four thousand?”

“Maviss…”

“Come on! I have to know! Six thousand. Eight? Ten—”

“If I had ten thousand gold pieces—”

“Aha! So it’s less. Okay, under ten thousand. Just wink if I’m getting close. Eight? Six? Four? Come on, Selys. Two? Selys? Selys…”

—-

Outside of Liscor’s walls, a mile or two away from the city was a cave. It was a noisy cave, especially in the spring. Ashfire Bees flew in and out, bearing huge loads of pollen and nectar, food for their massive home, a hive in the back of the cave. The oversized bees were terrifying and fascinating.

On one hand they were generally peaceful. They made honey. On the other hand, they were the size of your hands and a single sting would be a world of hurt. And disturb their hive? There were hundreds of Ashfire Bees in the hive. Even someone in armor would die within seconds of incurring their wrath. Which was why the three groups of adventurers waiting outside weren’t sending a person into the cave.

“See, I can appreciate this. This is a solid use of necromancy. Baleros has no problems with undead. Well, less problems. Here we have a problem and instead of sending the Selphid, we send a Bone Horror.”

Jelaqua Ivirith commented to Moore and Yvlon as they stood well behind the giant two-headed bear Bone Horror slowly lumbering towards the cave. It was a monstrosity of bone, with a reinforced body and spiky protrusions that would allow it to gore anything it ran into or crushed. It was a monster worthy of a Silver-rank team, but it was on the side of the adventurers.

Pisces, standing next to Ceria and Falene, pointed, and the Bone Horror slowly entered the cave. The Ashfire Bees flying overhead buzzed down. A few landed on the Bone Horror, as if inspecting it. Then one tried to sting it.

“All going well so far. Can you see what it’s doing?”

Ceria watched as the Bone Horror entered the cave. Pisces nodded absently. Falene was wrinkling her nose as she watched the [Necromancer] at work. It was a surprise she’d come here with Pisces but she’d insisted.

“I have some sensory perception, yes, Ceria. I’m moving it forwards slowly. The bees are, ah, beginning to try and dissuade my creation. But of course their stingers cannot harm it.”

“Just aim for the hive. Ceria and I will handle any stragglers after your Bone Horror has demolished the hive. Or if it somehow fails before destroying it. I intend to use [Frostdart Swarm]. What about you, Ceria?”

“Eh. [Ice Wall], probably. I’ll just freeze the bees solid. Seems like it’d work best. I don’t have that many spells against crowds anyways.”

Falene sniffed. It was such an imitation of Pisces that both he and Ceria turned to look at her.

“You should expand your repertoire, Ceria. A [Mage] should have magics for every occasion, even if you have a forte.”

“I’d like to do that, but we need to buy spellbooks first. The one I have is higher-level than I’m capable of at the moment. I’m learning spells—but slowly. Besides, I was kicked out of Wistram before I learned the good spells.”

“True. Which is why I suggest you stop referring to yourselves as Wistram graduates.”

Pisces turned his head to glare at Falene.

“We were accredited by Cognita herself, Miss Skystrall. Which I’m sure you’ve heard about if you’ve finally inquired into our pasts.”

“I only—”

“Hey! Are you arguing or killing bees? We’re not standing out here for fun! Well, I am. But Moore’s not!”

A shout interrupted the start of another fight. The three [Mages] turned. Jelaqua was waving at them. Ksmvr, standing next to her, waved too.

“Hello, Captain Ceria, Comrade Pisces! Is our help needed?”

Ksmvr’s gestured took in the small crowd standing with them. Three teams had gathered at the Ashfire Bee cave. Jelaqua, Moore, Yvlon, Ksmvr, Ylawes, and Dawil were all waiting. Seborn hadn’t come, mainly because it was fairly overkill. The other adventurers were standing in the mud. Ceria waved back.

“Sorry! The bear’s headed in! Give us a sec!”

She got a wave in reply. Jelaqua turned back to keep talking with Yvlon. Dawil, Ylawes, and Moore were still chatting. Ksmvr was still waving with one arm, poised to spring into action. Ceria turned back to Falene.

“Look, we were given the right to call ourselves graduates, Falene. I admit we’re not high-level enough, but—are you angry about our past?”

She looked at Falene, a bit apprehensively. The half-Elf [Battlemage] paused.

“I am not. I was not at Wistram, so I cannot comment about any…incidents that may have occurred. But you two are still too inexperienced to be called full Wistram graduates. Which is a pity, because if you were, you could easily be a Gold-rank team by now. As it is, you lack the variety and power to reach Gold-rank. For now. But it could happen.”

It was perhaps the nicest thing she’d said in a long time. Ceria and Pisces both looked at her in surprise.

“Really?”

“Don’t take it to heart. I was merely remarking to Moore that it was a shame. You see, a proper [Mage] has spells for every occasion, so even a lower-level [Mage] who knows more spells could in theory beat a more powerful [Mage]. But in your case, both of you have such limited spell selections…”

She sighed, eyes flicking between the two. Ceria wondered if this was still a compliment or if it had slipped into an insult. Pisces sniffed.

“I have a sufficient variety of spells given my [Mage] level, Miss Skystrall. However, my [Necromancer] spells are fairly extensive for my level. My Bone Horrors for instance are a strong accomplishment even for my level. Or would you call the ability to maintain two Bone Horrors at once a Silver-rank adventurer’s level? It is beginning to tear into the hive, by the way. The bees are quite agitated.”

It was true. The droning from the cave was getting a lot louder. Falene paused. She eyed the cave.

“I suppose it is more than most Silver-rank teams could commit to an engagement. But hubris is dangerous. There are some Silver-rank teams who are quite capable of taking down Bone Horrors with ease. And they are not Gold-rank teams for the same reason you are not yet; they lack experience, or raw firepower, or…”

“I get it. Thanks, Falene.”

Ceria sighed. Falene shot her a glance and Ceria tried to give her a smile. She knew Falene cared, in her way. But it was hard to talk to her. She turned to Pisces. This conversation would be easier—if it had to happen—after they were done standing in the muck and having a nice drink at Erin’s inn. That was what Ceria and her team had been doing all the time of late. Drinking, eating, while the door slowly moved north to Invrisil. Did Ceria feel lazy for doing it? Yes. But she was enjoying herself. And besides, they were working. Even if this was just an easy—

“Uh oh.”

Pisces’ voice made Ceria looked up. His eyes were suddenly locked on the cave. He licked his lips.

“Ah. Er—back up. Back—oh dear.”

“Pisces? Something wrong?”

The [Necromancer] didn’t respond at first. The buzzing inside the cave had reached a crescendo. Ceria exchanged a glance with Falene.

“Pisces?”

“The uh—the Bone Horror began demolishing the hive. But—oh no. The bees are covering the Bone Horror.”

“So what? They can’t hurt it, right?”

“That was my assumption. And I thought the flames they emitted weren’t hot enough to—but it is very hot and I think the bone is—the bone is cracking—”

Ceria heard a snap at the same time Pisces yelled. She jumped. The cracking had come from the cave! Pisces stumbled back.

“Pisces?”

“They broke it! I just lost my connection! They burnt my Bone Horror to pieces! And they’re coming! Raise a barrier!”

He pointed towards the cave. Ceria blinked. She raised her hand and looked at Falene.

“[Ice Wall].”

“[Bone Wall]!”

“[Force Barrier]. It’s hardly an issue. They won’t be able to—”

The walls of bone and ice were rising out of the ground, sealing off the cave. They made it halfway up, Ceria’s ice spell racing up faster than Pisces’ bone magic when there was a thrumming sound. And then a few hundred bees blasted out of the cave.

A flaming, flying fireball of insects smashed into the growing bone wall, blowing it to pieces. Ceria saw her ice wall melt in a second. The bees shot towards the entrance and stopped, ramming into something at the entrance. Falene’s [Force Wall] bulged but held. Falene staggered. And suddenly her expression had grown intense. Her eyes widened and she raised her staff and planted it in the ground.

“Oh tree rot. My wall just—”

“Raise another! Now!”

Falene shouted at her. Behind her, the other adventurers looked around and saw the bugs swarming at the entrance. Ceria tried.

“Okay, it’s coming up! It should—grass shit! They just melted it!”

Her ice wall got hallway up before the heat melted straight through the wall. Ceria tried again, but her ice magic couldn’t even get close to the bees.

“Pisces? How’s that bone?”

“It’s cracking! They’re too hot! We underestimated them! Back up!”

He grabbed Falene, but the half-Elf shook him off. She had planted her staff in the ground.

“If I move, the [Force Barrier] will break. I’m—holding them—Ylawes, Dawil!”

“Here!”

The other adventurers raced up towards the cave. Ylawes stared at the bees, then at Ceria and Pisces.

“The Bone Horror—”

“They turned it to ash! They’re a lot hotter than I thought they were! We need to pull back!”

“You can’t outrun bees! Aw, hell! Moore! Cover me in vines! I’m going to get in there. You cover me while I knock as many down as I can. If I can get enough—”

“We’re with you.”

“Indeed. Allow us to be sacrificial decoys while the [Mages] retreat. Then we shall retreat, assuming we are alive.”

Yvlon lifted her sword. Ksmvr had already readied his Forceshield and shortsword. Ylawes looked at Jelaqua and held out a hand.

“No.”

“Ylawes—”

“I meant Ksmvr. Yv, put your helmet on. Shield your face. Borrow Ksmvr’s shield. Dawil?”

“Helmet on. Face covered. Just block the bees and our armor will hold. Got it?”

The [Warriors] nodded. They were squaring up, facing the cave. Jelaqua cursed as she lifted her flail.

“Moore! Thorns on all of us! Can you do a face covering? Ah, hells, hells—I’m just glad we have more bodies back at Erin’s inn! Falene, let us get close! Can you set up some spells? Ceria? Pisces? We could use a trap or spell!”

“I can’t do anything. I can only hold this barrier and it’s draining my mana too quickly to—”

Falene was gasping. Ceria looked around, trying to figure out what she could do.

“I can throw some ice magic but they’ll melt it! Hold on—”

“No time. I’ll hit them with a lightning spell as they come out, but I don’t know [Lightning Bolt]. Ceria, start running. I’ll pick up Falene and [Flash Step] after you. Ksmvr. Run! Moore as well!”

Pisces’ face was tense. Ksmvr looked around as he handed his shield to Yvlon.

“I believe it is time to run, friend Moore. We are useless and fragile. Friend Moore? Hello?”

“I can’t keep holding it—”

“Let it go in ten seconds! Get ready!”

Ylawes strode up towards the entrance. He’d raised his shield in front of his face. Dawil took his left side, Yvlon his right. Jelaqua was already waiting. The Selphid turned back to face the others.

“They’re going to come out in one mass. Cover your faces and maybe you won’t get stung too bad. But we have to be bait. Get in there, kill that queen. Got it?”

“I believe we might be in trouble.”

Ksmvr was tugging on Moore’s arm. Falene gasped.

“I can’t—”

“Run!”

Pisces grabbed Falene and lifted her up in both arms with a grunt. The willowy half-Elf yelped and her spell went out. The bees buzzed forwards as Ceria, already running backwards and shouting for the others to follow, fired an [Ice Spike] at the fireball. She watched it melt as the Ashfire Bees blasted forwards—

“[Earthen Spire].”

A quiet voice interrupted the shouting. As Ceria ran past Moore, the half-Giant tapped his staff on the ground. A wall of stone shot up, a huge rocky stalactite four times as thick as Ceria or Pisces’ spells. It shot up like lightning. Ceria, looking back over her shoulders, saw the bees flashing towards the cave’s entrance for only a second before a crash of sound and spray of rocks made the adventurers near the cave flinch back.

Ceria ducked as some rocks blasted out, but they were only fragments. She saw a few bees buzzing around the entrance, heard a dull buzzing from within and then there was silence. She stared at the cave. The entrance was completely closed off, by…stone. Actual stone, not a temporary magical conjuration. The other adventurers looked around. Moore exhaled slowly. His plain walking staff raised and he straightened his shoulders. He regarded his work, then looked around.

“I think most of them avoided that. But the cave’s sealed. I don’t believe Ashfire Bees can dig, and the spire is solid stone. Is everyone alright?”

The adventurers gaped at him. Falene, sweating heavily, kicked in Pisces’ arms. He dropped her. The half-Elf floated before she could land in the muck and righted herself. She walked over to Moore, reached out, and held out a hand. He bent down and offered her an arm. Falene leaned on it. She wiped some sweat from her elegant locks, and then looked at Ceria and Pisces. She pointed at Moore.

“That would be the difference between a Gold-rank [Mage] and you two.”

Ceria stared at Moore and couldn’t find any reason to disagree.

—-

“Okay group, what did we do wrong?”

The adventurers trooping back to Liscor on foot looked over. Jelaqua clapped her hands, smiling with her pale lips. It sounded lighthearted, but it was a serious question. Ceria hesitated. Ksmvr raised his hands, two of them at once.

“If I may, Captain Ivirith, I would venture to say that our teams took this assignment too lightly. We underestimated both the heat and offensive force of the Ashfire Bees, who were able to destroy Comrade Pisces’ Bone Horror with ease.”

“Ridiculous. I solidified the bone. That bear weighed over two hundred pounds without flesh! Even if it had been burnt in a bonfire, it wouldn’t have expired half as quickly—”

Ksmvr went on, ignoring Pisces for once.

“Moreover, Miss Skystrall’s spell, while effective, was flawed in that she was unable to use additional spells, which she no doubt possessed. And the Ashfire Bees were unable to be contained by either Comrade Pisces or Captain Ceria’s magic alone.”

Ceria winced. That was true. She’d been about as useful as a shroom back there. Her [Ice Walls] spell, which were so powerful usually, had been as effective as a sneeze at stopping the Ashfire Bees when they were on fire. Jelaqua nodded at Ksmvr, grinning.

“Sounds about right. But don’t be too hard on Ceria or Pisces, eh, Ksmvr? Us warriors couldn’t do much more than act as meat shields. If I had brought a few high-grade alchemy potions, we could have done something. But we should have had another fallback. Good job Moore was testing out his new spell, huh?”

“Indeed. His actions saved us much death and casualty.”

“Yeah. Good job, big guy!”

Jelaqua slapped Moore on the back. Ylawes nodded. Dawil nudged Moore’s thigh. Ceria and Pisces also voiced their agreement. Moore blushed.

“I was only relieved it worked.”

“Was that a new spell?”

Yvlon glanced up at Moore. The half-Giant nodded.

“I acquired it after the battle with the Redfang tribe. I’d leveled up from the dungeon, but this was the first spell I earned. And it is…rewarding.”

A small smile spread across his broad face. Falene, walking by him, nodded as proudly as if she were a doting mother. Ceria glanced at Pisces. His eyebrows were raised. They began to whisper to each other as Liscor’s gates came into view.

“Tree rot, I thought we were in trouble, Pisces.”

“I as well. That was a…commendably powerful spell.”

“No kidding? That was strong! Sealing caves aside, imagine being hit by that? He could wipe out our entire group in one shot! That’s either Tier 3 or Tier 4. Well, a fireball’s Tier 3—”

“But that rock stays in place. Definitely Tier 4. It’s earth manipulation. Quite powerful. You know, I had heard other [Mages] had different areas of strength, but I’d forgotten how useful earth magic is with its permanence. It shapes the earth, whereas [Ice Magic] is quicker, but less malleable, less durable—”

“And it melts. Yeah. We suck.”

“Indeed. Hello, Captain Ceria, Comrade Pisces. I am reflecting on my worthlessness as well. I am very depressed.”

Ksmvr popped up between Ceria and Pisces. They jumped. Yvlon walked forwards to join them, shaking her head.

“We made a bad call, Ksmvr. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“My remonstrations are purely mental agony, Yvlon.”

“Don’t do that either. We’re lucky we had the Silver Swords and Halfseekers to bail us out.”

“And don’t you forget it! Aw, don’t worry though. Live and learn! We got out of this alive! So I’ll forget that none of us thought to make a backup plan either! Selphid’s tits, I’m not taking a contract on Ashfire Bees again!”

Jelaqua laughed behind them. Dawil nodded.

“Stroke of fortune we were all here. We’ve gotten complacent after the dungeon. But we learned our lesson, eh? Speaking of which, Jelaqua.”

“Hm? What’s that, Dawil?”

“You said Selphid’s tits. That a common Balerosian expression?”

“Eh, pretty much. Why?”

“Well, I was wondering. Do Selphids have—”

Ylawes coughed. He nudged Dawil hard, his face red.

“Dawil. That’s not polite conversation.”

Jelaqua grinned.

“Hey, I don’t mind. And I could tell you the answer, but I could also show you. Anyone? Uh…anyone?”

The other adventurers laughed. Ceria shook off the moment of robes-soiling fear and filed the moment of trauma away for later reflection. She walked back into Liscor, listening to a convoluted description of Selphid anatomy until they got to the Adventurer’s Guild.

“Hey, Selys! We’re back!”

Jelaqua sang out as the pushed the door open. Selys was sitting at the desk, chatting with another Drake [Receptionist]. She looked up.

“Oh? You killed the Ashfire Bees, then?”

Jelaqua looked back at Ceria. The half-Elf sighed. She’d been the one to take the contract, so she had to explain.

“Sealed. Not destroyed. Uh, we’re giving credit to the Halfseekers. You see…”

She gave Selys a truncated explanation of what had happened, with Jelaqua throwing in little asides. Selys blinked, but she nodded at the end of Ceria’s story.

“Sounds like you handled it. And sealed works as well as destroyed. The nest will starve itself out. I’ll see about putting out a warning for no one to try and unseal the cave—not that I’d know why. Some paint will do that. Let me just write that down…and your reward. To the Halfseekers, I guess.”

“Aw, we don’t need—”

“You sealed it, it’s yours.”

Ceria indicated Jelaqua should take the gold and silver coins. The Selphid demurred for another second, but then scooped up the coins.

“I guess we won’t argue over it. I sign for completion, right Selys?”

“That’s right. Normally we can’t give you the money until we confirm the cave’s sealed, but a Gold-rank team is trusted. And…yes, that’s all. Thanks!”

“Ah, perks of the job. Well, shall we head back to the inn?”

Jelaqua grinned at the others. Ceria nodded. She looked around.

“Are the other teams in the dungeon?”

“The…Wings of Pallass are in. So are the Flamewardens. I haven’t seen Gemhammer and the Pride of Kelia is hunting some Shield Spiders.”

“Got it. Well, we’ll head back to the inn. Everyone else coming? First round’s on me.”

Still a bit shamefaced, Ceria waved at the others. Jelaqua laughed.

“You mean, on us! Why not? We should relieve Griffon Hunt. They’re dragging that door along. Selys, will you join us?”

She looked at the Drake. Selys sighed.

“I’d love to. But I’m still working. Tell Erin I might stop by tonight.”

“If we see her. She’s usually at Pallass. She likes it there. Says it’s exciting.”

“She does?”

Selys rolled her eyes. The Drake sitting next to her jabbed her with a claw.

“Told you. You should go with sometimes, Selys! With your…four thousand gold pieces?”

“Maviss!”

Ceria left the guild as the two [Receptionists] began bickering again. She walked towards the door to The Wandering Inn, talking with the other adventurers, arguing with Falene over which spells she had to learn, cheering up Pisces over his lost bones and destroyed Bone Horror, and checking the sun high in the sky and wondering if it was too early to drink. It felt like another day of peace after the travails of the past.

And like all things, it couldn’t last.

—-

The Wandering Inn was not a busy place anymore. It had been. Somehow, the inn, which had been rebuilt and operated only for a handful of months, had gone through a golden age, a dark age, and a Goblin age, not to mention the good old…ages, when a skeleton had been waiting the tables and Erin’s signature drink of choice was blue and slightly poisonous.

Well, those days were gone. All of them. And the days of Erin’s full inn with audiences watching the Players of Celum on stage were gone. As were the Goblins. Now all that remained were adventurers and a handful of Drakes, Gnolls, and Humans from Liscor and Celum who trickled in and out, sometimes only to order a hamburger, pizza, cake, or another one of the unique foods Erin had pioneered.

The good days might come again. Already there were [Actors] on the stage at the end of the room. A group of Drakes and Gnolls were lined up and reading lines from Hamlet. Ceria didn’t give it a second look. She did focus on the young woman talking to a dark-skinned Stitch-Girl, though.

“Erin! I know you’re going to Pallass, but can I bother you for a second? I have this little problem and I could use some help!”

“I’m on vacation!”

Erin was trying to get to the magical door that Ceria and the other adventurers had just come through. She was having trouble because Octavia was clinging to her waist. The [Alchemist] was speaking quickly, and pointing at the adventurers.

“Look, I don’t want to bother you, but I talked with Krshia and uh, she’s busy so I was hoping you could get some of your adventurer friends to lend me a hand! There’s a tiny issue I have with my shop. Some—some guards would be great!”

She caught sight of the teams at the same time as Erin. Octavia brightened up and spoke even faster.

“And look, we have three, no, four famous teams right here! If I had them—no, just one adventurer standing guard in my shop, or—or helping me sort this business out, that would be great. Fantastic! And I’m sure we could work out a deal? For some free—I mean, a discount? A…sizable discount?”

“Hey Erin. We’re back. Bees aren’t a problem anymore.”

Ceria waved at Erin and took a seat at one of the tables, not even commenting on the Octavia situation. The other adventurers looked equally unfazed. Erin pried Octavia off her.

“No, Octavia. If you’re having trouble, deal with it yourself. I’m on vacation. Or ask one of the teams, but I don’t think they’re gonna say yes.”

“But—oh, Ceria! Jelaqua! Uh…my best [Knight] customer! Can I—”

“No.”

“Nope.”

“I’m afraid I must decline.”

Ceria, Jelaqua, and Ylawes instantly replied. They might not know Octavia, but one look was all they needed. Like Erin, Ceria had the feeling Octavia had some scheme in mind—or she’d gotten herself into trouble. She didn’t want to be part of either scenario. She was slightly surprised Erin wasn’t interested, but the girl had a slightly wary look on her face as she shooed Octavia back towards the door. She was tired of the drama too, Ceria supposed.

“Out! No, no buts. If it’s life or death, you can ask for help. But it’s not. Is it?”

“Well maybe—”

“Shoo.”

Erin closed the door in Octavia’s face after pushing her out. The [Alchemist] didn’t want to go, but she didn’t have a choice. Erin was pushing with more than just her hands. The door closed, Erin turned back to the others and gave them a smile.

“So? How was it? Did you freeze them all up? Or did Pisces’ Bone Horror smash them? I asked you to bring back as many as you could, didn’t I? Wait—did he use zombies? In that case, no bees makes more sense.”

Ceria shook her head, smiling ruefully.

“We nearly got into a lot of trouble. Those damn bees…if it hadn’t been for Moore, we might have been cooked.”

“Really?”

Erin sat down and listened to the story with wide eyes. Falene sighed as she accepted a cup of cold water from Ishkr.

“I would have used lightning spells. That seems to be the most effective weapon against Ashfire Bees. We simply underestimated how resistant they were to ice magic as well as fire.”

“Well, it’s sealed off now. And that was our only job, so we might head into Celum and see what they have for work. Liscor’s a bit crowded.”

Ceria cracked her fingers and sighed. Erin looked from her to the other Horns.

“Oh. You’re going back to work?”

“We’re ready for it. And Celum won’t have difficult jobs unless something out of the ordinary happens, Erin.”

Yvlon smiled, rubbing at one of her arms. Erin saw Ylawes glancing at them and wondered if they were bothering Yvlon. She claimed she couldn’t feel pain, but—actually she hadn’t spoken about her arms of late, even to complain.

“What about you guys?”

Erin turned to the Silver Swords and the Halfseekers. Jelaqua shrugged.

“We just had breakfast, so I’m not in the mood for any food. Maybe a drink? What did we do yesterday? Just gambled, I guess. We could go for a walk, right, Moore? Where’s Seborn?”

“Here.”

Seborn spoke to Jelaqua’s left. She nearly jumped out of the table. So did Ceria—she hadn’t seen Seborn until he’d spoken.

“Dead gods, Seborn, don’t do that!”

“I’ve been drinking and watching the [Actors]. A walk or some dice would suit me, believe me.”

“I’ve got some Go boards and chess boards. The Antinium haven’t come by of late, so no one’s using them…I’d stay if anyone wanted to play.”

Erin smiled eagerly. Seborn looked up at her, and then at Jelaqua.

“If you want to lose to Erin, be my guest. But I think I’ll walk.”

“Beat you black and blue, did she? I’ll walk. Ylawes?”

“Falene might play you, Erin. But I’m no player of er, those sorts of games. I might talk with Griffon Hunt. They were telling me about fighting Griffins, which I’ve never done. Where are they at the moment? Through the doorway?”

Ylawes looked at the door. Erin nodded and went over to it to adjust the dial.

“Yup. They went through this morning and they’re still there. You wanna go through?”

“Please.”

“Alright. Octavia’s in Celum, and the door—”

Erin adjusted the dial with the mana stones and smiled.

“Here we go. This is so convenient. Why didn’t I…? Okay. Hey, Halrac! Are you—huh?”

Erin pulled the door open. But a curious thing happened: the door didn’t reveal Griffon Hunt and their surroundings. It stayed empty, which meant Erin was just staring at the wall of her inn. She closed the door and frowned at it.

“Weird. I haven’t been to Pallass today and no one else—hold on a sec.”

She opened the door and closed it a few more times, but all it revealed was the dark wood wall. Erin blinked.

“Huh? Uh…Moore? Ceria? Pisces? Falene? I might need a bit of help here.”

—-

A doorway and over a hundred miles away, perhaps even further, a team of adventurers walked down one of the main roads between cities. It was heading north, and currently passing up a slight incline, a gradient of a very long and short hill. There were three of them. There should have been four. Four had come south, but now only three remained. Two were sitting on a wagon pulled by a pair of horses, the last was walking. Halrac was talking to Revi and Typhenous though, so he stayed close, eyes scanning the traffic coming down the hill and head turning in every direction as he talked.

“So the news is accurate?”

Typhenous, the old man sitting comfortably in the wagon on a cushion, looked mildly offended.

“You know me, Halrac. I have a network of sources which are very reliable. And I wouldn’t give Revi uncertain information.”

“Hm. It’s worth the coin, Revi?”

“I think so. Didn’t you hear what I just said? I just read the King of Destruction’s second proclamation before I heard about war being declared on Tiqr! That’s huge!”

Revi was sitting as well, and scowling down at Halrac. The Stitch-Woman pulled at the threads on her hand irritably. The hand came off and turned to cloth; Revi fished out a needle and began to resew it back onto her arm in a way more to her liking. Typhenous coughed as he watched the process with mild fascination.

“Explain it to me again, dear Revi. These er, nations historically had their issues with Tiqr. And yes, Tiqr was potentially an ally of the King of Destruction. But what’s stopping him from declaring war on all the nations involved?”

“Nerrhavia? Illivere? Savere? Are you serious, Typhenous? Those are all heavy hitters and even if Reim goes up against them, Nerrhavia might actually win, King of Destruction or not! Moreover, they’re allied, you see? If it was Nerrhavia vs Flos, they’d be watching their backs because the other nations might take them apart. But this way they could oppose Flos if he declared war. Which he can’t, because Tiqr’s not part of his domain.”

“I see, I see. And if they declared for him?”

Typhenous stroked his long beard rapidly as he thought out loud. Revi shrugged.

“What’s he going to do? He’ll be at war and the other nations could tear Tiqr apart before you could get an army there, even with movement Skills. It’s too far and any force would be taken out. Nerrhavia’s got chariots and a massive army; they can intercept anything Flos might do. Sure, there’s Takhatres, but word is he’s across the desert. So…”

Halrac sighed. He glanced up at a passing bird overhead and stepped sideways as a rider came down the road. The rains had fallen this morning and Halrac might have been splashed if he’d stayed in the same spot. The rider passed by and Halrac returned to his spot. He spoke up to Revi as she flexed her reattached hand.

“Chandrarian politics. Until it affects Izril, I don’t care. The King of Destruction never made it past Zeres, anyways.”

The [Summoner] poked her head over the side of the wagon to show Halrac one of her fingers, proving her hands were in good working condition.

“Don’t underestimate him! I keep telling you, if he’d gone solely against Izril rather than splitting his forces between Baleros and Izril—”

“Yes, yes, Revi. I quite agree. His [Mage], Amerys, was able to lock down a Walled City practically by herself. But continental pride just goes so far. Besides, isn’t your home nation at odds with Flos?”

Typhenous soothed Revi. She huffed back into her seat.

“I’m just saying, Chandrar deserves respect. At least we got that when Flos was rampaging all over. These days all I hear are sand jokes. Anyways, my home nation is part of the Empire of Sands now. I have no idea what’s happened back home and honestly? I’m not going to find out. At least not until—”

There was a door lying in the bed of the wagon. It had a gem embedded in the top and it had been lying without any complaint until now. Suddenly it opened and Revi jumped as another room appeared on the floor of the wagon.

“Aha! It worked! Hey, guys! Wanna snack?”

Griffon Hunt looked down at a smiling face. Erin Solstice waved up at them from the ground, an odd perspective that did weird things to the mind if you stared long enough. Halrac hopped onto the back of the wagon.

“We’re still moving, Erin.”

“I know…but you could take a break. Hey, is there a problem with the door on your end?”

“Nope. And I could use a snack, Halrac. Or trade out with one of the teams.”

Revi peered into the doorway. Halrac eyed Typhenous. The elderly [Mage] shrugged.

“We have been walking for a few hours. Or rather, you have. Let’s just pull us over to the side.”

“Fine.”

Halrac let Revi move the wagon off the road. There weren’t many people, but the few that were present were stunned to see Typhenous stand up and suddenly disappear. Revi was next. Halrac climbed up into the wagon when he heard a voice from the other side.

“Hold on. Something’s—”

Suddenly, the door went blank. Halrac stared at the bed of the wagon. In her inn, Erin stared at the door.

“Huh? It’s out of juice. What happened? I thought you guys charged it up!”

She turned to Ceria and Pisces, who’d done the job to make up for their earlier failure. Pisces frowned and peered at the door.

“We did. If not all the way, then adequately for any number of trips. Maybe…”

“Don’t talk, act. Typhenous, let’s fill this up properly.”

Revi scowled and put her hand on the door. So did Typhenous. The [Mage]’s brows shot up.

“The door’s drained.”

“What? But it was only you two who—”

The door came back to life and an image of the road flickered into view again. Halrac was standing outside the door, scowling, his bow drawn, the arrow loose on the string. He glanced up sharply.

“Problem?”

“No, the door just ran out of mana. Don’t worry, Halrac.”

The [Scout] nodded and grunted.

“Thought something had happened. Can I come through?”

“Yup. Uh, is the wagon okay?”

“It should be fine for a few minutes. We can keep the door open?”

“Yeah. Just come through in case that happens again.”

Halrac did. When he did, the door suddenly went dark. Erin made a disgusted sound. But Typhenous, who was peering at the door came to the same conclusion that Pisces did.

“Ah. I see. The door is simply too distant, Erin.”

“Precisely my thought. The door isn’t malfunctioning, Miss Solstice. It’s simply that we’ve finally reached a distance too great for casual travel.”

Typhenous straightened with a groan and massaged his back. Erin stared blankly at him and then her eyes widened.

“You mean…”

Jelaqua came over and peered at the door as the image of the other side reappeared once more.

“We passed Celum a long while ago. So we must be…well, hells. If we’re two hundred miles away, doesn’t that mean each trip is like…one half of Invrisil?”

“Assuredly. Even if it’s only a third of the distance, that’s a considerable distance. And the mana drain must be exponentially increasing.”

Typhenous sighed as he rapped on the door with his staff. Pisces nodded. He sniffed.

“I suppose this will inhibit travel somewhat. We can recharge the door, but it is taxing.”

“Aw. I guess we’ll have to let only one team go through at a time. And only rotate you guys out once per day or something. That’s a pain.”

Erin peered at the door, looking miffed. She shook her head.

“I really need to see if this thing can be upgraded.”

“Unless you know an [Enchanter] on the level of Warmage Thresk…”

“Who? Anyways, let’s have a snack while you guys decide who’s going through. For like, a day, unless one of you lovely [Mages] wants to recharge the door? I’ll give you free drinks.”

Erin looked around hopefully, but she didn’t have any takers. Ceria felt tired even from the few spells she’d cast this morning after recharging the door once. The other [Mages] demurred as well. It was Halrac who stared at the door and the clear skies beyond and looked around slowly.

“Maybe it’s time to go.”

Erin blinked. She looked at Halrac. So did Revi and Typhenous. Revi raised her eyebrows.

“Go, go? I mean, if you want to, Halrac. But couldn’t we stay until Invrisil?”

“I heard one of our companions is working far west of there. We’re close enough; it would save us a lot of travel to split around now. And if we’re wasting mana—perhaps it’s time. We’ve saved a lot of effort in travelling this far. What do you think? Typhenous?”

“We have been sedentary. I dislike to say goodbye so abruptly, but you have a point. I wouldn’t be adverse to it.”

Typhenous stroked his beard. He looked at Revi and she nodded. Halrac turned to Erin. She looked at him, and then his teammates and laughed nervously.

“Aha. Ha. But you don’t mean that, right, Halrac? Right?”

“I do. I think it’s probably time. This is…as good an excuse as any.”

The [Scout] didn’t quite meet Erin’s eyes. But he was certain. Erin opened her mouth and closed it a few times.

“But—”

“That may be our cue as well.”

The voice came from behind them. Erin turned. Ylawes was on his feet. The [Knight] looked towards the door.

“We’re far enough north. We could begin looking for work at the first village we come across. And today’s job reminded me. We have been staying here a long time.”

“Without profit.”

Falene got up too. Dawil glanced at the two of them, then sighed and downed his mug. He got up.

“I suppose you’re right for once, lad. It has been fun, but if we’re all leaving, better to do it together.”

“Wait, wait. You’re not serious. Are you?”

Erin looked from Ylawes to Halrac. The [Scout] still had trouble meeting her eyes, but Ylawes came over. The [Knight] held out a hand as he removed his gauntlet.

“We’re truly grateful for your hospitality, Miss Erin. But my team and I came south to check on my sister. Since she no longer needs my help and she won’t come to our estates…I think this might be a proper opportunity to say goodbye as well.”

“But…now? The door’s just on the fritz. Don’t mind it.”

Erin kicked the door. She looked around. This was too sudden. And yet, it had been coming. And the third Gold-rank Captain who stood up confirmed it. Jelaqua had an odd smile on her face. Regretful, embarrassed. But she came to stand with Ylawes and Halrac.

“I guess we’ll do the same. Moore, Seborn? Guess we’ve got to pack. Toss everything in your bag of holding and get ready to go.”

Moore looked up. He was patting Mrsha’s head. Seborn stood up. Erin turned around.

“Wait, wait, wait. This is so fast!”

“But we have been thinking about it. We are going to Invrisil for a reason, Miss Solstice. But I think our paths will take us away from the City of Adventurers, at least for now.”

Typhenous spoke gently. Erin looked at Jelaqua.

“But you guys are taking the door, right? You don’t have to go. I mean, you’re not going. You can come back whenever! So it’s just…”

The Selphid waved her hand gently as she shook her head.

“Nah. Think about it. We’d have to charge up your door to let all three of us go back and forth, and we need to have a team watching that door, right? You wouldn’t be able to go to Pallass if we did that, anyways. So…we’ll head out. You might see us once or twice before we get to Invrisil, but I think it’s good to say goodbye. With the others. For solidarity.”

She couldn’t quite meet Erin’s eyes either. The [Innkeeper] looked around again. The Horns were staring at the other teams in surprise. But it was mild. In her heart, Ceria couldn’t be that shocked by the sudden decision. The Halfseekers, Griffon Hunt, the Silver Swords…they were adventurers. Come to that, it was strange for Ceria to have stayed so long in Liscor. She didn’t stand up, though. She couldn’t do that to Erin.

The young woman was laughing a bit. But it faded away as she looked around.

“You’re serious. But why not go tomorrow?”

“Better today. We’ll get our things.”

“Oh. Okay. Um…but…”

Erin blinked as Halrac reached out. He changed the mana stone on the door and walked through to Liscor. She stared at the Silver Swords as they went through.

“But—”

“Let’s get our stuff. We’re not gonna run off, but we have uh, stuff to pack. Lots of little shiny rolling things. Boys?”

Jelaqua headed up the stairs. Erin looked up as Moore got up. He gently put Mrsha on the floor and walked up the stairs. She faintly heard his voice and Jelaqua’s as Mrsha ran up after him.

“Does it have to be so soon, Jelaqua?”

“Hey. Do I look like I’m smiling? It’s just that if they’re going—you want to say goodbye later? It’s already hard…”

Someone opened a door and the voices vanished. Erin looked around. The Horns were sitting in place. Lyonette and Ishkr blinked at her. And Erin panicked.

“Hold on. Hold on, cake! Ishkr, do we have any cake? Anything?”

She ran into the kitchen. Lyonette followed her in as Erin tore it apart, looking for cake or the ingredients for it. But she didn’t have anything festive. She still couldn’t keep ice cream without it melting.

And—it felt like a moment before both teams were back. After all, they just had to pay and put everything they needed into a bag of holding. It took them minutes. The door opened and Griffon Hunt and the Silver Swords walked back in. Jelaqua, Moore, and Seborn were already sitting in the common room.

“Okay, there’s no cake or ice cream. But if you just hold on, I can make one. Give me an hour and I can whip something up! Or I can get Lasica and Rufelt to help me—”

Erin came back out of the kitchen and looked from face to face. It was Jelaqua who cut her off gently. The Selphid gripped Erin’s shoulder with a pale hand and smiled at her.

“It’s fine, Erin. You’ve done so much already. We don’t need a party. Honestly, I’d feel bad if you gave us one. We normally don’t stay so long in one place.”

“But this is so sudden! This is a snap decision! You shouldn’t make those! And you’re springing it on me without giving me a day to process it! Can’t you wait an hour? Can’t you—”

The [Innkeeper]’s voice faltered and broke. She looked around.

“Do you have to go so quick?”

The inn fell silent. The [Actors] on stage realized there was a real drama going on behind them and turned. The other patrons turned to stare. Perhaps this was why they’d come to begin with. To see a moment. But this was no [Immortal Moment]. And it was going far too fast.

“Just wait a day? Please? We can have a party.”

Erin implored Jelaqua. The Selphid did hesitate. And she did smile. But she shook her head.

“I think we’ve been doing that. Wait an hour and it becomes a day. Wait one day and it becomes a week. We got treasure from the dungeon, Erin. We did it. But we’re tired. I’m not going back in that dungeon. So…it’s time to go.”

She looked around. Ylawes nodded. Halrac finally looked up. He met Erin’s eye.

“It is. And it’s easier this way. Which is why we’re going. It’s time to say our goodbyes.”

It did feel too soon. It did feel abrupt. But as all three teams looked at each other, they knew it was time. Jelaqua had spoken the truth. You could put off going again and again. But you’d never feel like it was the right time to go.

“Well—well, you have to wait one second! I’m not letting you go empty-handed!”

Erin looked around defiantly. She ran into the kitchen and rushed out. She shoved a small canteen into Halrac’s hands.

“Here. Faerie Flower drink. And for you guys I’m making a lunch basket. At least for Moore! And—and Dawil can fill his water flask with that stupid lager and—”

“Erin.”

Ceria stopped her. The young woman looked up as Ceria grabbed by the arm. Ceria wanted to tell Erin to stop overreacting. That it was just a goodbye. That they’d be back. But she couldn’t, because as she looked into Erin’s face, she saw the girl’s eyes were overflowing.

She was crying. And when the adventurers saw that, they felt…terrible. And they knew it was beyond time to go. Because she was an [Innkeeper]. And they were adventurers.

They could not stay forever.

There was no party. And it was a split decision. But there was a formality to it nonetheless. The teams went one at a time. The Silver Swords were first. Ylawes, wearing the silvery armor that still shone by virtue of polishing. Dawil stood next to him, taller than you’d think a Dwarf could be, a hand on his hammer. Was he blinking too fast? Falene was dry-eyed as she held her staff. But she bent her head and nodded to Erin.

“It was a pleasure.”

“You helped my sister and I in countless ways, Erin. I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality.”

The young woman sniffed and rubbed at her nose and eyes as she looked up at Ylawes.

“I thought you were a jerk! And I know you’re sort of a jerk, Falene. Dawil is cool.”

“Hah! Hear that?”

The Dwarf nudged his companion. Falene almost smiled as she looked down at Erin. And then Ylawes knelt. As a [Knight] might to a [Princess]. He held Erin’s hand for a second before he stood.

“We didn’t converse often, it’s true. And I think your…Hobgoblin friends affected how we interacted. I do wish we could have spoken longer, Miss Solstice. But it isn’t a farewell forever. The Silver Swords are always roaming. And if we ever pass by Invrisil or Liscor in the future…”

He drifted off. And his eyes went back to Erin as he stepped back. Falene was next. She looked down awkwardly at Erin and sniffed.

“It was a pleasure. At times. Your inn is quite fascinating, Miss Solstice. Even if we haven’t spoken—”

“I didn’t mean you were a jerk, jerk.”

Erin snuffled. Falene tapped her cheek and Erin’s running nose and tears dried for a second. The half-Elf looked at Erin, looking uncomfortable. Then she nodded to herself and adopted a lecturing, familiar tone. But a caring one.

“Be cautious of Wistram, Miss Solstice. I have no doubt they’ll be interested in that door of yours. As will others. I suggest you refuse all offers and invest in some form of security. And if you should need a proper [Enchanter], try Hedault in Invrisil when your door is active. Inform him that Falene of the Silver Swords recommends you and he might be more inclined to entertain your requests. As for the rest, I can only bid you good luck and farewell. I am sure we will meet again. For what is time to half-Elves?”

Erin snuffled. Falene yelped as an arm thrust her aside. Dawil took her place.

“You are terrible at goodbyes, Pointy. Which is my new name for you.”

He turned to Erin, who was laughing in between her tears. She looked at him.

“I met a Dwarf in Pallass! I was going to tell you all about him! His name is Pelt and—do you have to go? Can’t you talk sense into Ylawes and…everyone?”

The Dwarf smiled into his beard. He held Erin’s hand, patting it gently.

“I’d love to. But what do you do when they’re speaking it? As for Dwarves—I told you! We don’t all know each other. But I do know that one. Watch out for him, lass. He got kicked out of our people’s home for a big mistake. Not really his fault; he was only one of the smiths. There was this thing with the forge master, you see—but that’s his tale.”

He took a breath and shook his head.

“I’d stay if I could. You’re generous, the inn’s fun, and even if you don’t sell enough good alcohols, I like it here. We’ll be back. For what’s time to a Dwarf? A lot, that’s what! But I’ll be sure to make the boy and Pointy drop by.”

“Thanks.”

Erin gripped Dawil’s hand. He eyed the knife in the little sheathe at her side.

“Nice work. You keep yourself safe now, you hear?”

He stepped back. Next came the Halfseekers. Jelaqua, wearing leather armor instead of an enchanted artifact, her skin pale and dead. But her eyes alive. Seborn, half-man, half crustacean, but more than the sum of his parts, nimble as a cat. Moore, stooping, eyes already filled with his own tears. Gentle and mighty.

Jelaqua wasn’t crying. She was hiccupping, though.

“I said I wouldn’t cry. Seborn, you go first. I can’t.”

She turned away. And Erin realized the body she wore wasn’t crying. But someone inside it was. Seborn went first.

“I think we haven’t spoken much either.”

“But you’re cool. Like sea-Batman.”

The Drowned Man smiled. His crab hand opened and closed softly.

“I have no idea what that means. But I seldom do with you. You’ve been kind, Erin Solstice. That’s a rarity for Drowned Folk. If we meet again, if you meet one of my kin, I hope you’ll treat them just as well. Thank you. That’s all I can say.”

He stepped back. Moore was next. A big tear fell from his eyes.

“This is always so hard. No—this is uniquely hard. Miss Erin, your inn was the most comfortable place I’ve stayed in years. And Mrsha, Lyonette…if I could stay, I would. But I buried my friend here. And my companions are going. We have to start again. I’m afraid…but I will remember your kindness.”

He bend and Erin gave him a tight hug. Jelaqua was next. She was still hiccupping.

“This is…this is so embarrassing. Erin, I—you’re my favorite [Innkeeper]. I’d stay. I would. But I’ll get fat and Moore will get way too attached, more than he is already. And where would we be? I…this is hard. But we have to go. But we will come back. Promise.”

She gripped Erin’s arms. Then she hugged Erin. The Halfseekers joined the Silver Swords. And then only Griffon Hunt was left. They walked forwards. Halrac, his dour expression for once struggling to hide something. Revi, tugging on her strings, looking embarrassed and sad. And Typhenous, looking…melancholy. Happy and old, as if he remembered his age suddenly. Halrac spoke abruptly.

“It was worth the trip. If Ulrien were here, he would have said so. I wish you could have talked longer with him, Erin. But it was worth it. Thank you.”

He turned away. Erin tackled him from behind. She hugged him as the [Scout] froze. She only let go once she was done. He was blushing as she turned.

“I’ll miss you!”

“And we’ll miss you. Despite everything. Somehow, this was fun.”

Revi held out her hand. Erin took it. The Stitch-Woman surprised Erin by hugging her.

“Who ever knew that a strange skeleton would lead us here? You stay safe. You’re insane and crazy and I hope your inn does well. We’ll be back. And you just wait for us. We’ll be properly famous, then.”

She let go. Typhenous was last. He stroked his beard as he looked at Erin, at her inn.

“Ah, Miss Solstice. I don’t know what to make of you. I don’t know what to say of your inn. I owe you my apologies for my impositions. Thanks for all you’ve done. I still owe you a debt. And I will repay it someday. But for now, we must away. And so I can only leave you with this.”

He bent and gently hugged Erin. Then he stepped back.

And there they were. Nine adventurers. Three teams. They looked at Erin and she was overcome. So, to let her say something, and because they were left, all three teams said their farewells to the Horns of Hammerad.

Ceria, Pisces, Yvlon, and Ksmvr shook hands and exchanged hugs. Each of the adventurers had advice for them, each in their own way, stern and caring, abrupt and funny.

“Don’t be afraid to run away.”

“You’re not Gold-ranks yet. But you have potential. Keep practicing until you can properly call yourselves Wistram mages.”

“You did well.”

“Keep advancing. Your team has done well. Take it slowly.”

“Don’t let that your Captain turn into someone like Pointy.”

“Best of luck.”

“Luck, young Pisces. Miss Yvlon. Ksmvr. Ceria.”

“Hey, you’ll make it! Just watch out when Ksmvr goes places or he’ll scare people. That goes for Pisces too.”

Ylawes paused as he gripped Yvlon’s hand gently. He looked at her arms, and then into his sister’s eyes.

“You’ve found a good team, haven’t you, Yvlon?”

“I have.”

“Then I will see you later. Visit father and mother when you can. Your sister would like to see you. But if I see them first…I’ll tell them you’re well.”

He turned. And the door was waiting. The adventurers slowly walked towards it. Moore was slowest, Falene fastest. The half-Giant had to bend down.

“Mrsha. ”

He’d said goodbye with the others. But Mrsha didn’t want to let go. She clung to Moore’s leg, looking up at him pleadingly. The half-Giant looked so stricken, Lyonette had to help pry Mrsha off him. And then he had to say goodbye to her as the others gathered around the door. Moore bent down and his face was completely wet. But he lifted something with one hand, concealing it as he spoke.

“Keep practicing. You’re quite surprising, little one. You’ll be better than I ever could be. But remember, you aren’t just a [Mage]. You’re something more.”

He offered her a flower, as white as Mrsha’s fur, with a tiny pink center. The Gnoll clutched it in her paws, her eyes leaking tears. Moore stood. And the adventurers stood in front of the door. They turned.

“I—I—I don’t know what to say! Someone say something good! What can I say?”

Erin wept as she looked from face to face. She raised a fist and shook it weakly.

“You—you’re all jerks. Because you’re too nice! You came in here, made friends with me, saved my life. How dare you? How dare you do all that and just go without me being able to say how much I’ll miss you? Why can’t you stay?”

And at least, that was a question they could answer. Ylawes stroked his chin. Falene sniffed and sighed. Dawil grinned. Jelaqua laughed and hiccupped. Moore bowed his head, smiling though his tears. Seborn laughed softly. Halrac blinked. Revi snorted and Typhenous stroked his beard. They answered as one.

“Because we’re adventurers.”

Then they turned and left. Erin called out to them. She didn’t know what she said. She shouted their names, she shouted goodbyes. She shouted insults and jokes and knew she couldn’t have stopped them.

They walked out the door, the [Mages] going last to charge it with magic. Falene was last to go, which was really a mistake because she marched through without a final backwards glance, having said her goodbyes.

And then they were gone. Erin burst into tears again. Mrsha howled, and there was sadness. But that was how it always was with goodbyes. The best ones hurt the most.

—-

Nine adventurers appeared in a small road leading north. They walked up, out of a door parked against a stationary wagon. The horses and a few passersby got the fright of their lives, but the adventurers moved in silence. A few stayed on the wagon. One took the reins and steered the horses to the road. The rest walked. In silence, for quite a few minutes. In the end, perhaps predictably, Revi broke the silence.

“That was emotionally exhausting.”

The other adventurers glanced at her. Then they burst out laughing. And the silence, the reverie was broken. They laughed as if they’d heard a fantastic joke. And then they walked or rode on, leaving the inn behind them. Revi grumbled to herself as she sat next to Typhenous.

“Erin is the most involved [Innkeeper] I’ve ever met! I bet’s that’s her class. [Emotional Innkeeper] or something.”

“Yeah, well. We’ll be back. Besides, who starts crying over a single inn?”

Jelaqua shook her head as she walked with Ylawes and Halrac. The other two captains looked at her. The Selphid grinned.

Three teams went north. The Halfseekers. The Silver Swords. Griffon Hunt. Neither Halrac nor Ylawes said it out loud, but it did feel like an ending. Even more than leaving Erin’s inn, this was the last time they might meet in months or years. Perhaps forever. But they didn’t say it. Jelaqua looked from captain to captain, then she put her hands behind her head.

“Damn. It really feels like we’re really not going to see each other for a long time when we walk around together like this, huh? Sort of ominous.”

Halrac chuckled. He couldn’t help it. Ylawes gave him a sideways glance, and then smiled. They walked in silence for a bit, and then Halrac pulled something out of his belt pouches. It was a bit of parchment, worn and folded. He began checking it with a quill as he walked. With the other hand he was investigating the contents of his bag of holding. Jelaqua eyed him.

“What’re you doing, Halrac? Making sure you didn’t leave anything behind? Because I’m sure Erin will flip if you come back so soon.”

The [Scout] gave Jelaqua a long look. She just grinned at him.

“I’m checking our income. We’re finally making money. I’m just doing a tally to make sure I know how much we have. I did a count a few days back, but I feel like I missed something.”

“Oh. We should do that too. Uh—hey, Seborn! How much money do we have?”

The Drowned Man walking with Moore and patting the Half-Giant on the arm gave an eloquent shrug. Jelaqua sighed.

“Moore’s gonna cry about Mrsha for days. You were right, though, Halrac. Imagine waiting a day? Erin would get us in some epic party or have this big thing before we left…you bastard.”

The [Scout]’s lips twitched again at that. What was wrong with him today? He might have taken a sip of Erin’s last gift to him, that was what it. He shook his head as he looked at the wagon.

“We’ll be back. A door in Invrisil means Erin’s inn will have access to both north and south.”

“Yeah, but not until she can upgrade the door itself or find a way to generate—how much did Moore say it was?—a shipload of mana.”

Ylawes chuckled this time. Jelaqua gave him a very pleased grin.

“So what’s happening with your groups? We’re on to new adventures. With the money we have, we need to rebuild our team. Maybe we’ll come back, but Pallass’ teams have that dungeon locked down. And frankly, it smelled like a huge trap to me.”

Halrac and Ylawes both nodded. The [Knight] frowned.

“I got that sense too while we were in the dungeon. Some of those traps were deadly. The horde monsters nearly took out Liscor. The Raskghar on the other hand were probably an unexpected threat from whomever built the dungeon. However, it was the inner city we never saw that perplexed me. I listened to that Minotaur, you know.”

“What, Calruz?”

Both Jelaqua and Halrac were surprised. The [Knight] nodded.

“Briefly. I visited his prison to question him. I wanted to see if he truly was the monster he seemed to be.”

Halrac’ grip tightened on his quill.

“And?”

“He was uncomfortably sane at times. Sane, and then—I think he truly did go mad. Or the dungeon had some hold on him. But he described the inner city to me. The…things in there. The deceased guardian. I’m not ashamed to say it made me uneasy. I can’t fathom why that city exists.”

Halrac paused in doing calculations to nod.

“I agree with you, Ylawes. The Minotaur’s description of the inner city makes me uneasy.”

“Why’s that, Halrac?”

Jelaqua gave the [Scout] a curious glance. They were both old adventurers and Jelaqua was technically older than Ylawes and more experienced, but he had seen more dungeons and he was a [Scout]. The man paused before replying.

“Because a few hundred thousand Infested creatures—even if they’re as dangerous as Ghouls—isn’t a threat worthy of this place. Our team never met this…Facestealer, but the Flesh Worm boss called Skinner wasn’t worthy of this dungeon either. If Erin Solstice and some Antinium could do it in, even if it was her, it was too weak.”

Ylawes and Jelaqua nodded slowly. The Selphid snapped her fingers.

“True. Someone with the power to make a dungeon like that would have many boss-class monsters, not just three. And even those horde rooms felt basic.”

“So either there’s some big trap that we haven’t seen, or those three boss monsters and this Mother of Graves are truly dangerous enough for the entire dungeon…”

Ylawes rubbed at his chin. Halrac nodded.

“Or it wasn’t meant to be a dungeon, but a hiding place. Or…someone raided most of it before we ever got there.”

“How do you figure? We made out pretty rich, didn’t w—”

Jelaqua caught herself as she gestured at Halrac’s bag of holding. Ylawes sighed, but he just shook his head. Halrac nodded as Jelaqua developed a cough.

“We did. But consider this: the first treasure hauls out of Chalence pulled nearly four million gold coin’s worth of looted treasure in the first year. It turned the team that first cleared the dungeon into Named Adventurers. Six teams of the adventurers retired on the loot and eighteen became minor landed nobility from that alone.”

“…Damn.”

“But that was Chalence. A legendary dungeon.”

“So? This dungeon wasn’t as impressive, and perhaps it was a vengeance dungeon. But even so, there wasn’t nearly enough treasure. It’s very strange how little there was. And that inner city—it could be the lion’s share of treasure is in the center. In that hole Calruz found or it was never there to begin with. Either way, Jelaqua is right. It was dangerous. Let the other teams work on it carefully. I feel quitting was the best move.”

Silently, the other two captains nodded. They walked on. After a while, Halrac made a small noise. Jelaqua glanced up.

“Something wrong?”

The [Scout] was checking his list. He glanced up and looked around.

“No, nothing. I think we’re fine. I didn’t realize we had so…”

He trailed off as he glanced at Ylawes. The [Knight] looked stoically ahead. Halrac stowed his list and walked on. Fifteen minutes later, he calmly turned his head and spoke to Jelaqua.

“Is Typhenous still looking at me?”

The Selphid’s head nearly turned, and then she caught herself. She swatted at an imaginary fly and looked right.

“No.”

“Good.”

Ylawes glanced sideways at Halrac. The [Scout]’s face hadn’t changed. But the way he’d asked and said that…

“Is there an issue, Halrac?”

“Yes. The numbers don’t add up in my list. And I saw Typhenous glancing at me while I was doing my calculations.”

Both Jelaqua and Ylawes inhaled sharply, but they never broke their measured stride. Jelaqua cursed under her breath, keeping a smile on her face.

“Damn it all. If it’s not one thing…you want a hand?”

Ylawes looked sick, but before he could offer, Halrac shook his head.

“You’re misunderstanding the situation. Typhenous didn’t steal. The opposite, actually. I’m going to have a word with him.”

He turned and walked back towards the wagon. Jelaqua and Ylawes heard him call out. Typhenous got up and hopped off the wagon. They slowed until they were at a distance. Jelaqua whistled.

“Well, that’ a new one on me. What do you think happened?”

“I shouldn’t speculate.”

“Aw, spoilsport. Well, I’m gonna talk with my team. I heard you were going to go soonest, right? Don’t run off without letting us know!”

Ylawes nodded. Jelaqua jogged around the wagon to Seborn and Moore. The half-Giant had stopped crying, but he was still red-eyed. Jelaqua grabbed both, Seborn by the shoulders, Moore by the small of the back.

“Hey you two! Ready to be independent adventurers living on the road?”

“Yes. And no.”

“We’re still going to Invrisil, aren’t we?”

“Yup, Seborn. But we’re free after that. Unless you have an idea? You were hinting about that before.”

She glanced at the Drowned Man. Seborn was silent for a while.

“I do have things to do.”

“Like what?”

“Secret. It’s personal. I’m not in trouble like Typhenous, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“But you don’t want to say.”

“Nope.”

“Come on, tell me. We’ve been journeying together for ages. Why keep anything from us?”

Jelaqua prodded Seborn. The Drowned Man gave her a reproving look.

“And if I don’t want to tell you? What will you do?”

Jelaqua shrugged.

“Threaten you until you stab me and run off to become the most famous Goblin Chieftain this side of the continent?”

Seborn chuckled. Moore didn’t. He looked distressed.

“That’s truly not funny, Jelaqua.”

“I thought it was.”

“Exactly. And you know I’m not gonna let this drop, Seborn. Lies and secrets tore our group apart once. It’s not happening again.”

The smile Jelaqua gave Seborn was friendly, but she tightened her grip on his arm. He looked at her and hesitated. But he still shook his head. Jelaqua sighed.

“Fine. You want to play coy? Then it’s time to go back to the old ways. If a member of our team has secrets, we settle it. Moore? You know what to do.”

—-

Dawil and Falene joined Ylawes as he walked on the other side of the wagon. That left just Revi driving, much to her displeasure. The Dwarf and half-Elf looked quizzically at their leader.

“Something up with Typhenous, lad?”

“Perhaps. But it’s their dispute. Let’s leave them to it.”

Falene nodded to the right.

“I note another dispute on our right.”

Ylawes looked over and nearly tripped. The Halfseekers were busy as well. Moore was holding Seborn by the ankles and shaking him vigorously. Seborn was swearing loudly, cursing as vulgarly as any [Sailor] as he wriggled, but the half-Giant wouldn’t let go. Jelaqua danced around him, laughing.

“Tell us, Seborn! Don’t make me get a feather! You know Erin would give one to me—she’d probably help out! And then you have to deal with Moore’s tears and me bothering you!”

The Silver Swords watched as Seborn swore at Jelaqua in reply. Ylawes shook his head.

“That is one unique team. Brave and honorable, though. In their own way.”

Dawil nodded.

“Aye, it was a pleasure, wasn’t it? And poor Erin. The girl’s lost friends and now we walked out on her.”

“It was inevitable. And this was better than a long ceremony.”

Falene sniffed. Dawil eyed her.

“You still tetchy, Pointy?”

She reached over and slapped him on the back of his helmet. After a second Falene waved her stinging hand. Ylawes sighed.

“If it’s about the gold—”

“What else would I be angry about, Ylawes? I respect both teams. But the fact remains that they earned a small fortune and didn’t elect to share it with our team. Let your sister have her windfall, very well. But what of the other two teams? Is there no honor among adventurers?”

The half-Elf snapped at Ylawes. He blew out his cheeks tiredly.

“Falene, what would you have me do? March up to them and demand a share? That’s not honorable or fair. Or likely. We don’t even know how they got it.”

“The Goblins gave it to them.”

Falene and Ylawes looked down at Dawil. The two Gold-rank adventurers stared as he walked along. Dawil eventually noticed and glanced up.

“What?”

“How do you know that, Dawil? None of the others would give me a straight answer.”

“Nor I.”

“That’s because you asked them. I asked him. Numbtongue.”

“…That worked?”

The [Axe Champion] sighed gustily. He looked up at Ylawes and shook his head.

“Have you not noticed what those Goblins are like, lad? After all this time? Yes, it worked. I bought him two drinks—which really was me giving Erin money since he doesn’t pay for anything in her inn—and apologized for Falene after that mana stone thing. Talked a bit with him about mana stones and how Dwarves use them, you know, for runes? I didn’t even have to press him. I asked and he told me. They knew where the Raskghar’s treasure was hidden. Turns out it was in a separate room from the rest that the Cave Goblins all knew about. So they brought it out.”

“Just like that. And they gave it to the other teams? Not ours? Why?”

“Apparently they thought it was fair. And they don’t like our team. Seems they were the Goblins in Esthelm we met.”

“The Goblins in—”

“Stop gawping. Or did you not recognize them? I recognized that archer. And you were suspicious.”

Ylawes had to admit that was true. He looked at the wagon and shook his head. Part of him wanted to sit down and—but it was far too late for that. He felt a pang in his chest.

“Still. I suppose that explains it. And Falene, if the Goblins gave it to them, that was their choice. So—”

“I’m not dropping it! You’re holding back because of your [Knight] class, but I demand a vote! Dawil! Are you with me or not?”

Falene growled at the Dwarf and Human. She stomped along, her ears twitching violently. It was the most worked up either had seen her. Ylawes blew out his cheeks exasperatedly. But Dawil took a level tone, which was surprising given how often he needled Falene. But his tone was serious.

“Falene. It’s fair. And before you turn on me, let me explain.”

He held up a hand as Falene whirled on him. Dawil waited until she was listening and then pointed at the teams. At Halrac and Typhenous, who’d rejoined Revi on the cart. At the Halfseekers, who’d given up on making Seborn talk.

“Yes, we fought as much as they did. Yes, we didn’t get any coin. But it is fair. It’s their reward for going in first. For being the ones who went in and died. All of them buried teammates here. Ulrien. Ceria’s team. Yvlon’s team. The other Silver-ranks. Even the Halfseekers buried their old companion, traitor though he was. You want a vote, Falene? I say drop it.”

The half-Elf turned to Dawil. He held her gaze and Ylawes, watching them, saw a flash between them. Dwarf and half-Elf. For all they got on each other’s nerves, they shared a bond. That hint of timelessness. That age that sometimes left him feeling like a boy, as when they’d first met. At last, Falene’s shoulders sagged. Dawil smiled. He patted Falene on the arm and looked at Ylawes.

“So. Liscor was a bit of a gauntlet at times. Fun at others. But what do you say, lad? Another adventure?”

Ylawes smiled. He looked at the blue sky ahead of them. And he remembered the death and chaos and…pain that had haunted Liscor. And something, a knot in his chest loosened. Underneath the clear sky and the sun he held out a hand. Dawil placed his palm over it.

“Another adventure. It would be my honor, friends.”

Both looked at Falene. The half-Elf hesitated, but then she nodded regally. She laid her delicate palm over the two of theirs.

“Very well. I suppose someone has to be the adult here.”

Dawil laughed, and Ylawes had to smile. Falene gave them an arch look, but then relented and smiled as well. Ylawes looked around.

“There’s a village that way. I think we’ll pass through it. Make our goodbyes then.”

And so they did. There was no long farewell as there had been with Erin. And no tears either. But all three teams exchanged handshakes, or a gentle hug between Moore and Falene, much to the half-Giant’s surprise.

“You were a stick in the mud. But a good one, and you were a sight during the Face-Eater Moth attack. It was fun adventuring with your team too. Good luck, you guys.”

Jelaqua squeezed Ylawes’ hand as she met his eyes and he looked into her dead ones. Ylawes wanted to tell Jelaqua she was the first Selphid he’d truly met, and that he had more respect for her people after meeting her. But one look told him she knew that.

“An honor, Miss Ivirith.”

She grinned at him and turned to shake Dawil’s hand. Then Ylawes took Halrac’s hand. The [Scout] didn’t smile. But he nodded, one adventurer to another.

“Best of luck, Ylawes. If we meet again, let’s share a drink.”

That was a proper adventuring goodbye. No fancy oaths. Just a promise to drink together if they survived. And it was enough. Coming from Halrac, it meant a lot.

“Don’t be a stranger!”

Jelaqua called out as the Silver Swords stopped in the village the road was leading them past. Falene waved at Moore.

“Farewell.”

Moore’s eyes were a bit misty. But there weren’t any tears as he waved goodbye to Falene. The other two teams went onwards. But the Silver Swords walked into the village. And the villagers stopped to stare.

Of course they stared. One team of adventurers as peculiar as the Halfseekers was a sight to see, much less three Gold-rank teams at once. And here was a [Knight], standing in their village! Was he on a quest? On some dire errand? Ylawes walked into the square and raised his voice.

“Good people of Ambault. I am Ylawes of the Silver Swords. My team will be passing through this area today. If anyone has a request, a need, seek us out now or on the road.”

They stirred at that. The Silver Swords. Back around Liscor, Ylawes’ team was only a name. But further north, it was a story. One of the villagers hurried forwards.

“Sir. Are you the Ylawes who liberated the town of Ryhm from those Trolls two years back?”

“That was us, sir. Have you a problem?”

Ylawes shook the man’s hand firmly. The villager sucked in his breath.

“Not me. But my cousin—she lives closer to the High Passes. South and west of here. Further along the mountain range than the entrance, so she thought she was safe. But after Lord Tyrion’s army passed through and those Goblins—there was trouble. Eater Goats. And then, following them, Gargoyles. Sir, she and her village haven’t enough gold to hire proper Silver-rank for the job, much less Gold. A bounty’s been out for the past two weeks, but no one’s taken it. If you could think about—”

“Of course.”

The man blinked. Ylawes had replied with the speed of someone utterly set in his course—or someone not thinking at all. He stared up at Ylawes, but the [Knight]’s eyes were firm.

“If there are Gargoyles we’ll take care of them. The Adventurer’s Guild has a bounty on their heads. Your sister doesn’t need to worry about the price. Let me know where her village is and we’ll head there directly. We may need to purchase horses.”

“I—I could lend you some. Or sell you them if need be. You could bring them to my sister’s—she lives in Orefell. Thank you, Sir Ylawes!”

The man grasped his hand. Ylawes shook it a second time.

“What’s your name, sir?”

“Ambriel, sir. Bless you. You just showed up. And my sister’s village is in dire need. They lost eight folks already, and the Gargoyles have eaten half a flock—”

A crowd was gathering. People were listening in, not even hiding the fact. Neither Ylawes nor Ambriel kept their voice down either. The [Knight] asked a few questions and turned.

“We will be there as soon as we can. Falene? Horses. Mister Ambriel will lend us some, but we need saddles. Dawil?”

“Potions. Aye, lad. I’m on it. Hey, is there a [Herbalist] around here? A [Healer] or [Alchemist]? Damn, we should have stocked up more on Octavia’s stuff. But I have three potions, and…”

The two adventurers hurried off. Ylawes turned. The [Knight] looked at Ambriel. The man was still blinking at him. It was a familiar sight to Ylawes.

“And you don’t need a fee besides the bounty the Adventurer’s Guild set? You’ll go straight off?”

He looked at Ylawes, as if he couldn’t believe it. The [Knight] smiled. He shook his head, amused.

“Of course. Where else would we be?”

And there was something so pure, so childlike and honest about his expression that some of the villagers had to look away. Falene came back with the horses, and Dawil with some cheap potions a few minutes later. Ylawes mounted up and pointed.

“Silver Swords—forwards!”

—-

The second parting was less dramatic. It came at a fork in the road. Halrac had seen the sign, so he asked Revi to stop the wagon. She hopped down and the [Scout] pointed.

“We’ll go too. This road takes us west of Invrisil, which is where we’re headed to begin with. We might see each other again. If we do…”

He held out a hand awkwardly. Jelaqua took it.

“A drink. Don’t be strangers, you lot. It was a pleasure to work with each other, truly.”

“It was a pleasure, Moore.”

“I haven’t apologized for hitting you when we first met, have I?”

The half-Giant shook Typhenous’ hand. Seborn nodded to Revi.

“Best of journeys.”

“And to you. Uh—we don’t really know each other.”

“No.”

“But we are pals, aren’t we?”

Jelaqua laughed. Halrac smiled. Griffon Hunt watched as Seborn clambered up and began to drive the wagon away as Jelaqua and Moore walked together next to it. Then they turned and began heading west and north.

“Damn. Now I feel terrible saying that to Seborn. I liked him. I just…didn’t speak to him enough.”

Revi muttered at her hand. Typhenous smiled. He glanced twice at Halrac’s back before speaking softly to Revi.

“I’m sure he had nothing but goodwill, Revi. And ah, we’ve had enough goodbyes.”

“True. I’m exhausted.”

Revi yawned, and stretched. She lowered her arms and looked between Typhenous and Halrac. Neither man said anything. Revi scowled. Then she glanced over her shoulder, the way they’d come.

“Did you see the Silver Swords? Just walked into a village and asked if anyone needed help, like the old days. Didn’t ask about money—not that anyone in that village looked like they could pay. Think they’ll sort out those Gargoyles?”

“No doubt. Ylawes promised, and the Silver Swords don’t go back on their word.”

Halrac grunted. Revi eyed him.

“So how do they make ends meet? Taking a few lucrative jobs every now and then? They had good gear, but if they’re spending as much on potions as they make from killing monsters…”

“You’d be surprised how many old grandmothers will pull out a family heirloom, or remember an old dungeon or buried treasure when a handsome [Knight] rides in and cuts off a monster’s head without asking for a reward. It’s a viable tactic.”

“So why don’t we do it?”

“Because not all grandmothers have artifacts under their beds, Revi.”

“Ah.”

The [Summoner] walked along in silence. Then she threw up her arms.

“Alright, spill it! What were you two talking about? And don’t lie or I’m summoning a Shield Spider and loosing it on both of you!”

She glared at Typhenous and Halrac. The old [Mage] looked down. Halrac turned his head. His glare was back in full force.

“Typhenous added gold to our bag of holding.”

“What?”

“He added nearly seven thousand gold pieces.”

“Seven tho—how?”

The [Scout] clenched one hand into a fist.

“He wouldn’t say. Typhenous?”

The old man looked up and met the [Scout]’s eyes. Typhenous shook his head slowly.

“Ah, Halrac. If you had to ask, you know. I have contacts. I have a past.”

“And you used those contacts and that past. If you did half the things I’m imagining, give me a reason I shouldn’t shoot you here and now.”

Revi paled. Halrac had a hand on his quiver. And she knew he could nock and loose and arrow faster than she or Typhenous could move. The [Mage] kept Halrac’s gaze.

“I told you. I did nothing to harm any of our team or our friends. And I will swear that on a truth spell.”

Halrac’s white-knuckled grip loosened only slightly.

“You will. And you will tell me everything you did, or I will kick you out of this team and more.”

“Of course. But I didn’t want to speak of it with Miss Falene eavesdropping. Wistram [Mages] have the habit. And some things aren’t…wise to speak of in the open.”

Both Halrac and Revi looked around. But there was no one to listen. Still, they understood the warning. Typhenous shook his head.

“You may not be pleased, Halrac. I will admit, at first my actions were simply…selfish. But later on I did try and use them to help Miss Solstice. And I did this for the team. All the gold I was given is in our bag of holding. As it should be.”

Halrac’s grip was still tight on his bow. But he eventually nodded.

“There’s no help for it. Telling the others would have been a mistake. But mark me—we will have a discussion. Ulrien told you—”

“I know. But that is who I am, Halrac. And I have a greater debt to the team than anyone else. I was the one who brought us low.”

Typhenous leaned on his staff. His voice, confident before, became weaker. Pleading. Revi looked at him with concern. Halrac turned forwards again. His voice was cold.

“You’re a team member. The mistakes the team made aren’t any one person’s fault. Ulrien and I both approved.”

“And I cast the spell.”

Typhenous’ voice rasped painfully. There was nothing more to say after that. Revi walked between the two, silent. After a long time, perhaps thirty minutes as they passed through the outer part of a forest, walked along a river and past…well, a few homes, not even a village of scattered, isolated folk, Halrac spoke.

“We’re going to square some of those debts. We settled…our obligations outside of our team. But we didn’t have enough for the others.”

Neither Typhenous nor Revi spoke. The [Summoner] scuffed along the ground.

“That’s why we’re going this way, huh? Fine. How much are we giving each?”

“Eighteen thousand gold pieces.”

“Eighteen thousand? But they didn’t spend—”

“Eighteen thousand. Six thousand per teammate. It squares us for what they lost. The hit to their reputations. It’s not a debt. Ulrien would have called it a point of integrity.”

“Damn. And we just earned this much. We earned it and—”

Revi couldn’t help it. A few tears of frustration welled up in her eyes. Typhenous patted her gently on the back. And he looked more pained then before. Furiously, Revi dashed the tears aside.

“Fine. But if they want to come back, we’ll—they’ll—fine. But this is it, you hear? Once this is over, we’re done. We’re going to make Griffon Hunt as good as it used to be.”

“Agreed.”

Halrac and Typhenous both nodded. Revi calmed down. She walked with them, her team. So few from when she’d joined a few years back. But they were a team. Joined by tragedy and error. Held together by guilt, and integrity.

“So we just go visit—who? Cassielle? Elm? Briganda?”

“Elm. He’s apparently hunting solo.”

“Fine. Fine. And then—”

Revi broke off. Someone had spotted them on the road. The narrower, winding trail they were following was passing near a cottage. And a woman and two children were hurrying out towards them. Halrac looked up.

“Excuse me! Sir—sir, are you a [Hunter], by chance?”

The woman called out anxiously. The children, a girl and a boy, hid behind her anxiously. And the woman was afraid too. You would be, of travellers on the road. Halrac stepped forwards and small family stopped, a ways away from him.

“I’m a [Scout], Miss. An adventurer. We’re Griffon Hunt. A Gold-rank team.”

The woman looked visibly relieved to hear that. One of the children, the boy, poked his head around her to stare at the adventurers. Revi waved and he disappeared. The little girl peeked out around the other side. She couldn’t be more than six.

“Can we help you?”

“I—I’m afraid we couldn’t afford it. I was hoping you were a [Hunter], sir. You see, my husband was struck by a Corusdeer. He’s healing, but his bones have yet to mend even with the potions. The [Healer] says he’ll be at least a week more in bed before he can walk, and we live off of hunting. Our winter stocks are nearly over and if we could just get a buck or some birds…”

She looked helplessly at Halrac. The [Scout] glanced back at Revi. She was avoiding looking at the children as she muttered.

“We’re adventurers.”

She expected Typhenous to cut in, or Halrac, but the old man was subdued. And to her shock, Halrac nodded.

“We’re adventurers. Our fees aren’t cheap, Miss. If you want hunting, it will be expensive.”

The woman sagged. She opened her mouth and Revi nearly popped her jaw, about to curse Halrac out. She thought he was the one who—but Halrac was quicker. He drew an arrow from the quiver and looked up. Before either Revi or the woman could blink, he notched the arrow and shot nearly straight up.

The children dove behind their mother. She looked up. And screamed as a hawk fell out of the skies, an arrow buried in its breast. Halrac calmly watched as it fell. The bird didn’t strike the ground, though. It stopped close to the ground. Revi looked over and saw Typhenous had pointed his staff at it. Halrac walked over. He grabbed the bird as it levitated up and walked over to the woman. He yanked the arrow out and showed it to her.

“These are expensive. Steel. I buy only the best. So here’s my price. Four copper coins per arrow if one breaks or fractures. I’ll hunt for two hours. Deal?”

The woman looked down at him. She looked at the hawk. Her eyes welled up with tears.

“Oh, thank you—”

Halrac backed up as she tried to thank him. He gave the two kids a piercing glance as the mother wept and Revi saw the flicker of embarrassment, swiftly hidden. She covered a smile herself. When Halrac had brusquely walked off back towards the forest they’d passed, Revi walked after him.

Typhenous had stayed to check on the house and the injured husband and because his legs were hurting. Halrac walked along, quietly, eyes scanning the distance for anything larger than a squirrel. And when he saw it, he drew an arrow back and loosed it. Revi hummed until he turned to glare at her.

“What?”

“Softie.”

Halrac glared, but Revi just smiled. He turned his back on her and aimed and shot.

“What’d you hit?”

“Digger Badger. Good eating, but they smell.”

“I don’t suppose you told that woman you have [Reinforced Arrows], did you?”

The [Scout]’s shoulders tensed as if he might snap at Revi. But he just walked towards the indeed smelly badger and retrieved his arrow, checking it for cracks.

“Hunter and trapper families live hand-to-mouth. It’s hard after winter. The husband must have been desperate if he was hunting Corusdeer. They’re dangerous. If he pushes it or if the family has another accident—you need coin and food.”

“Or levels.”

“He might be young. She’s not old. Besides, high-levels are hard to get.”

“I’m not arguing. And I’m not telling you we should hurry up, see? But you seem to know a lot about this. Were your parents…?”

Halrac paused. He slung the badger up and Revi saw him feed it into his bag of holding, head-first.

“No. But I knew enough families who were like that. I grew up close to here.”

“Really?”

Revi had never really asked about Halrac’s past before. She knew some of the basics, like his time as a [Soldier]. But Halrac hadn’t talked much and their group had been professional, for all they were a good team. He nodded slowly.

“Ever heard of a village called Riverfarm?”

“Nope. That’s your home?”

Halrac shook his head.

“I’m from the village next to it. Windrest. But Riverfarm’s the only one people even remotely hear about. There used to be a Troll living around those parts. Anyways, that’s near enough to Invrisil. Near enough to where Elm’s working too. We might stop by.”

“Home and old friends. Sounds like fun.”

“I know it’s not paying work—”

“I’m not complaining. And believe me, I will when I’ve had enough. Let’s square it with Elm, like you said. But what’s after that, Halrac?”

The [Scout] paused. He looked around, arrow drawn. But he didn’t immediately set out for new quarry. He spoke softly.

“We already have something. I didn’t discuss it with Jelaqua. But she was there. And so were a lot of others. I don’t know about them, but what that Antinium said. Klbkch the Slayer. Do you remember?”

Revi had to think for only a second. Then her eyes widened.

“Christmas party. I thought it was only something that Drake was making up. Or Erin.”

“She doesn’t lie. And have you noticed? Odd things happen around her. Many, many…Typhenous told me he’s noticed something. Which is why I didn’t put an arrow in his belly. One of the reasons. So she’s probably wrong. Wyverns roost in the High Passes. Even fire-breathing variants. But have you ever known a Wyvern to abandon its prey?”

“No, I have not. And Erin’s not exactly fast at running. One of those or a Griffon would get her after twenty feet.”

“Exactly.”

“So…but could it be true?”

Revi looked at Halrac. The [Scout] closed his eyes. Then he opened them and whirled. The rabbit was quick, but the arrow quicker. He walked after it.

“First we settle things up north. Then we investigate rumors of…Dragons. Carefully.”

Revi nodded. She followed Halrac as he retrieved his arrow. And her blood was humming. Debts and guilt. Clues and mysteries. But she felt better now, on the road. It was time to settle the past. And as she heard Halrac walking softly through the forest, she saw his gaze and felt the same feeling.

Griffon Hunt was going back to work.

—-

“[Flame Spray]! [Lightning Orb]! [Steel Arrows]! [Sticky Webs]! [Jet Spray]—”

The spells crackled from Falene’s staff, as fast as she could chant. The flames and orb of lightning burst across one Gargoyle’s face, forcing the huge creature made of living rock rear back as the spells struck its sensitive eyes. Arrows bounced off another Gargoyle’s face, and webs held another. Falene’s jet of water came just in time; they blasted a group of stone shards one of the Gargoyles hurled at Dawil’s back. The Dwarf roared.

“Don’t bother with the Tier 2 spells, Pointy! Hit them with something big or get lost!”

He swung his hammer and intercepted a Gargoyle’s claw as it swung at his body. The creature screamed as Dawil’s swing crushed the shell of the Gargoyle’s body and orange-red blood spurted out. The Gargoyle recoiled, but another was coming at Dawil, spitting more shards. The Dwarf covered his face with one hand and felt the impacts strike his steel armor.

“Gah! Elder’s balls, that hurts!”

There were six Gargoyles, two aiming at him, one on Ylawes, and three heading towards Falene. The half-Elf was backing up and she had a barrier deployed, but the Gargoyles were huge, as tall as small trees and as big as—Dawil was too busy hammering the Gargoyle’s knees to make a comparison. It was strong, but his armor was thick and he was even stronger. The trouble was, the Gargoyle was huge and even if he broke its legs, it could still spit stones.

“Falene! They’re charging you!”

The Dwarf roared. Falene raised her staff and a [Lightning Bolt] struck one Gargoyle in the chest, and then the other. But the third rammed into her barrier and the half-Elf rolled back as the [Force Wall] spell exploded. Dawil swore.

“Ylawes!”

The [Knight] was dueling his Gargoyle, swearing as he tried to shield his horse. He was dismounted—the first Gargoyle had knocked him from the saddle. They’d been far closer to Orefell than the adventurers had expected. They’d been ambushed by the damn things on the road. Even so, they could win if Falene—

The Gargoyle was charging her. Dawil swore. Heedless of the Gargoyle trying to batter him with his claws, he turned. His hand went to his side, to a little axe on his belt. He yanked it out. The Gargoyle’s back was open. Dawil lifted the small hatchet, felt it balance perfectly, and roared.

“[Champion’s Throw]!”

The axe flew. Falene, raising her staff dizzily, saw the Gargoyle scream and buckle. The axe spun through the skin on its back, through part of its spine, and stopped—halfway out of its chest. It toppled over as Dawil turned, roaring, and bashed another Gargoyle in the knee.

“Ylawes!”

The [Knight] was finally pushing back his Gargoyle. He let the horse behind him run and slashed at the Gargoyle’s arm, drawing blood with his enchanted sword. He struck his shield as the Gargoyle punched with all of its might and its fist rebounded off his gleaming shield.

“Silver Swords advance! [Challenge of the Knight]!”

Four of the Gargoyles focused on him. Dawil hammered on his until a trio of [Lightning Bolts] hit his Gargoyle in the same spot, one after another. The third blew the Gargoyle’s head off. He looked back. Falene was angry. And the Gargoyles, already bleeding and realizing that Ylawes had barely taken more than a few blows, began to flee.

“After them!”

Dawil roared and Falene brought down two more, one with webs on the wings, the other with more lightning bolts. Dawil and Ylawes finished off the grounded one; the other two leapt away. They couldn’t really fly; they were far too heavy. But they could glide and their wings gave them jumping power.

“Damn. I never thought they’d be hunting the roads. That was close.”

Panting, the Dwarf struck the third Gargoyle on the head, making sure its brains were well and truly mushed. Then he stumbled back to the Gargoyle he’d killed with the axe. Heedless of the gore, he bent down and retrieved the axe, taking care not to touch the edge, even with his metal-plated fingers.

“Falene, are you alright?”

“Fine, Ylawes. My spell took the blow; it was just the blowback that struck me. My head’s ringing, but I’m well.”

Ylawes nodded.

“We’ll have to track them down. I’m sorry I missed the ambush.”

Dawil straightened, wiping the axe on the grass.

“Not your fault, lad. They looked like stones to me too. Cunning bastards. At least we don’t have to look for them.”

He walked back to the other two. Falene cleared her throat.

“Dawil. Thank you for saving me with the axe.”

“No problem, Pointy.”

Her eye twitched, but she let it slide. Dawil was feeling a bit frantic himself after that engagement, so he took a steadying breath. As he surveyed the three downed Gargoyles, Falene indicated his axe. She knew he had it of course, but this was one of the first times he’d used it in combat.

“You never used that Skill. Not once in all the time we were fighting in the dungeon or battling the moths.”

She looked pointedly at the downed Gargoyle. Dawil shrugged.

“It’s my final resort, Pointy. I would have lost it in the dungeon or against so many moths. If they’d truly cornered us, maybe. But only then. Besides, I can’t lose this axe. It was a gift. And there’s no replacement for it.”

“It looks…impressive. May I see it?”

“No.”

“But—”

“You’ll cut your fingers off. Believe me.”

“Is it enchanted, Dawil?”

Ylawes had come back with one of the horses rein’s in his hand. Dawil shook his head. He showed them the axe, letting them note the delicate metalwork with pride, but he didn’t let them touch it. He meant what he said about the edge.

“Just metal, Ylawes. Falene. Just metal. But forged by a master.”

“By who? Someone like that Dwarf, Pelt? The one Erin mentioned to you?”

Dawil snorted.

“Hah. He’s not fit to polish the hammers of the smith that made this. And I’m not losing this, no matter what. I just wish I didn’t have this damn [Axe Champion] class. Why couldn’t it have been a hammer throwing competition?”

He sighed and indicated the warhammer that was his weapon of choice. Ylawes nodded.

“I always thought it was odd. Still, you saved Falene with that. Thank you.”

“Just lucky I was here. Dead gods, but that’s twice now we’ve come close to death today. Ashfire Bees and Gargoyles. We can’t underestimate our enemies so much.”

Falene and Ylawes nodded. The half-Elf eyed one of the dead Gargoyles with distaste.

“True. However, it proves a point again. The Horns could not have taken on the Gargoyles if ambushed. Perhaps if they prepared…but six is a considerable threat.”

Dawil nodded. He imagined a new Gold-rank team might well have lost some people—or been wiped out depending on their composition. He grunted as he imagined how the Horns would have fared.

“They’re young. The Horns. But they can grow into their abilities. That Pisces brat is already fairly good. And if your sister gets some powerful Skills, Ylawes…remember what it was like, being on the cusp of Gold-rank?”

Ylawes nodded.

“Is that why you were talking with Ceria and Pisces, Falene? You think they can make the transition?”

The half-Elf sighed.

“If they were properly Wistram trained—”

It was actually Ylawes who sighed.

“Oh, dead gods, Falene. Don’t go on about it again. Yes, they’re not fully-certified. So what? What did they do that was so heinous? Pisces is a [Necromancer], but he’s not nearly as…foul as the two I’ve met.”

Falene shook her head.

“I never asked. I can be discrete, Ylawes. I just thought it was a shame. If they had completed their training, they would already be Gold-rank. If they both left in their third-year, they must have been very gifted. But I don’t know why. My…contacts in Wistram refused to say unless I did them some favors, including naming exactly where Pisces was at this moment.”

Ylawes and Dawil looked up. They were busy cutting off the heads of the Gargoyles to turn in. Dawil grunted.

“So what do you know?”

“Ceria Springwalker. Pisces, no last name given. Both students expelled in their third year. At the same time several of the senior [Mages] in Wistram challenged the higher levels of the academy and…failed. As for the reason Pisces and Ceria left, I understand there was an incident that involved the deaths of more [Mages] and students, but not what.”

Falene pursed her lips. Ylawes frowned, but neither he nor Dawil could think of anything more to ask. Eventually, Falene pointed at Dawil’s axe.

“Where did you get that? You told me you won your class in a drunken competition, but you neglected to mention the significance of the axe.”

Dawil paused in stuffing the last Gargoyle head into his bag of holding. He looked from Ylawes to Falene. And a small smile passed his lips. He straightened as Ylawes led the skittish horses back to him. The [Knight] indicated the clear trail the Gargoyles had left. Dawil mounted up and spoke conversationally.

“Didn’t I tell you this story once? Ah, well, it’ll make a nice walking tale while we track down the rest of these Gargoyles. Let’s go. I’ll lead. Pointy, you stay back in case we get ambushed. Those damn things love to spit rock shards. Now, you remember me speaking of home? Well, there was this competition, see. Dwarves love competitions. Only, this one was special because of the prize. This axe. I don’t know how it got involved, but someone mentioned that this hatchet had been specially forged as a prize and every Dwarf in the entire damn city wanted to win it.”

The other two adventurers gently kicked their horses into motion. They followed Dawil as he lead them after the Gargoyles. There would be another fight soon. But the Dwarf spoke conversationally, calming their nerves, keeping them steady. Falene peered at Dawil.

“Your entire city? Isn’t that almost the entire population of Dwarves in Terandria?”

“Aye. We have one settlement, although we’re spread out. But yes, you could say at least half the Dwarven race was competing.”

“And you won it.”

“You see this axe? Want me to shove it up your nose for a better look?”

“You won that competition.”

“It’s a grand story! Let me finish it before you ask! And yes, I thought I had no chance as well. Which is why me and some of my mates joined the competition sloshed as it were. I’d drunk…eh, well, I don’t know how much. But somehow I kept winning. Even too unsteady to walk a straight line, I hit every target straight on. Even when I was up against Dwarves with [Unerring Throw] and we were doing trick shots and curved throws, it was like my arm was magic. I hit targets blindfolded. I hit them when I couldn’t even see them! There was this target that was over a hundred feet away, and I was sure I couldn’t even throw an axe that far. But—and you’ll never believe this…”

Dawil kept one eye on his companion’s faces, the other ahead of him, watching for odd boulders. Soon there would be Gargoyles, and then they’d have to bring them to the village. If they were lucky they’d get something out of it. If not? Well, they’d get some money for the heads and they could check in at every village and town they passed towards the next Adventurer’s Guild. There was always someone in need of help. And wasn’t it worth helping folk if you could? A simple logic for a simple Dwarf. And a simpler half-Elf and Human.

Dawil smiled and the Silver Swords rode off. On another adventure.

—-

“And like that, we’re alone.”

Jelaqua looked back wistfully the way they’d come. Moments ago they’d been walking with Griffon Hunt and the Silver Swords, or so it had seemed. This morning she’d woken up in Erin’s inn. In Liscor. And now they were so far north and they wouldn’t go back to The Wandering Inn. At least, not for a while. And even when they did open the door, it would just be to say goodbye.

“We could visit tonight. To say hello.”

“No.”

Seborn had been ready for Moore’s suggestion and he shot it down at once. The half-Giant looked hurt. Jelaqua sighed, but sympathetically.

“We said goodbye so we could make a clean break, Moore. Either we stopped and did some weird stuff where two of us had to guard the door at night while the other one stayed at the inn—or we say goodbye now. You can’t go back, even if Mrsha misses you. I miss her. And Erin. And those nice beds!”

“Erin cooked food enough for me. Proper food. And she gave me a proper bed, even though she had to bully that [Carpenter] in Celum to do it.”

Moore looked wistfully at the wagon. Jelaqua sighed.

“She’s spoiled us. The next [Innkeeper] we meet is going to be unpleasant. Sideways looks, questions about rotting…”

“Overcharging us.”

“Sleeping in the stables. Tip offs to the local watch…”

The Halfseekers sighed. They looked at the door in silence. Jelaqua shook her head.

“We know good sorts in Invrisil. And there’s that great [Innkeeper] up north. You know? Hey, I wonder if we can introduce Erin to her someday. You know? She’s over Level 40 and Erin’s…what?”

“At least Level 30.”

“What? No. You think so?”

“She has a preservation Skill, Jelaqua. And the mana in her inn can fuel the magic door. That’s more mana than I have. She has to be Level 30. At least.”

Jelaqua whistled.

“Well then, we met a good person to watch, boys. And we will see her again. Soon she’ll have a door to Invrisil and if she ever manages to improve it…sky’s the limit. But for today, I’m afraid we’re sleeping on the ground or in a barn unless we find a nice town with a friendly [Innkeeper].”

“I hate the spring. Too many bugs like my skin.”

“They like seafood, Seborn. Stop complaining. Moore’s way bigger than you are.”

“I don’t like the bugs either. You don’t feel the bites, Jelaqua.”

The two gave Jelaqua a reproachful look. She scowled at them.

“Hey! You think I have it easy? Try fighting of ticks, worms, and everything else that thinks I’m food! Little bastards think they can get this body? It’s claimed!”

She slapped her chest. The Halfseekers followed the wagon in silence for a bit, Seborn driving it down the road lit by a sinking sun. At last, Moore spoke up.

“Sometimes I don’t know why we don’t retire. Or I do, at any rate. I could live for…years off of what we earned. If I took a few minor jobs now and then. Jelaqua, Seborn, you might even retire.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to. And this is enough for us to live modestly, Moore, but it won’t pay for more than a few artifacts. I don’t want to quit. Not now. Not when we’ve finally settled things with Garen.”

“Exactly. And I have things to do.”

“Which would be…?”

The [Rogue] didn’t reply. Jelaqua sighed.

“Well, if you promise you won’t split right away, we can upgrade our gear and maybe see about finding some new teammates. There must be someone willing to work with us. Even if they’re only Silver-rank. We can carry them until they’re higher-level. Unless you’re serious about retiring, Moore?”

She glanced up anxiously at the half-Giant. He shook his head immediately.

“I’d be willing to do that. I’m not retiring right away. I just hate…”

He waved his hand, indicating bugs in general. Jelaqua nodded.

“We’ll see if they have some [Healers] with bug repelling incense or potions or something in the next village. Looks like there’s one up ahead. See it?”

The other two nodded. They quickened their pace to beat the night. Jelaqua sighed. She did want to keep going. But sometimes it did seem like the road ahead was long.

“We spent a long time chasing Garen’s shadow. A long time, lads. What will we do now? Find work? Gain money?”

“Rebuild. You said it yourself.”

Seborn looked over. Jelaqua blinked at him. The Drowned Man gestured at her and Moore.

“We’ll find more teammates. Start from there. The Halfseekers were never at full strength. If we get three more teammates, or even two, we can take on proper requests. I won’t leave. Take me to First Landing and I can settle some things with my old crew. A matter of honor among…[Pirates].”

Jelaqua whistled. Moore blinked. Seborn rarely brought up his past.

“You have a death match or something? Because if you do, all you had to do was—”

“I don’t owe them. They owe me. And I’m going to let them know I want to collect.”

“How much are we talking here?”

“Wait and see. Happy?”

“Very.”

Jelaqua grinned to herself. Now there was a surprise from one of her teammates she could learn to like. The wagon trundled forwards, and the town came into view. It was one of those nothing-settlements, at least in Jelaqua’s eye. The road north even passed directly through the village; it had probably grown up as a way station over the years. There were people in the streets, and Jelaqua sighed as she noticed some heads turning in the distance.

“Alright, see any [Healer] signs? Inns?”

“No. And no.”

“Aw, come on. This is a village! It has to have…”

“See those burnt buildings?”

“…Ah. Well, that looks like trouble. Damn. [Bandits]? The Bloodfeast Raiders hit another place?”

“If they had, this village would be ash. Accident, [Bandits], it doesn’t matter. We’re not sleeping here. And they’re giving us the look.”

The Halfseekers fell silent. Seborn didn’t need to elaborate. Some of the villagers had spotted Moore at a distance and then Seborn and Jelaqua. She was hard to identify, but a Drowned Man and a half-Giant sent some of the villagers scuttling into their houses. Jelaqua raised her voice and shouted ahead before anyone could grab a weapon. Or form a mob.

“Hoi! We’re the Halfseekers! Gold-rank adventurers, passing through! Don’t mind us!”

That gave the villagers pause. They didn’t exactly come rushing out to welcome the trio, but they didn’t run either as the wagon trundled into the village outskirts. They knew the Halfseekers, just like people knew the Silver Swords. They stared. Gawked. Pointed. Whispered.

It wasn’t pleasant. Jelaqua saw Moore hunching his shoulders in a way he never had in Erin’s inn. She’d almost forgotten that, or the look on Seborn’s face.

“Steady, boys. Let’s just keep going. With luck, we can get to a town before night. If not—that camp’s looking better than ever.”

“Agreed. Moore can make us a shelter.”

The half-Giant nodded silently. The Halfseekers quickened their pace. They saw Humans watching them. Fear and disgust and—some children rushed around a house.

“Look! I said I saw them! I said it was a Giant and a—”

The boy excitedly leading them on froze when he saw the Halfseekers looking at him. The children fell silent, but then they began talking amongst themselves, pointing without trying to hide the fact. Jelaqua hoped one of them wouldn’t come up and ask a question. Or…do something else.

Contrary to popular belief, and in her experience, children weren’t innocent. They could be just as unpleasant as their parents, because they learned quickly by example. She turned her head, feeling sour. Maybe visiting Erin’s inn wouldn’t be so bad. But they’d said goodbye. Maybe retiring wasn’t such a stupid idea. Jelaqua had always thought she’d go back to Baleros if she retired, if the Wasting didn’t claim her. But now she imagined staying in Liscor. If—

The village had become a crowd. A gathering of faces. In their way, the Halfseekers were more popular than the Silver Swords could ever be. Jelaqua wasn’t worried—so long as the crowd didn’t turn into a mob. It could happen. Sometimes it only took a word. But then she saw something. A break in the uniform faces of a single species.

There they were. Perched by a tree, the older one sitting up in the branches, his tail curled around his seat. The other was standing by the tree, her fur ruffled, a farm worker’s trousers on her lower half, but her upper body free of clothing but for a breast band. Furry. Jelaqua nudged Seborn.

“Look. Two kids.”

A Gnoll and a Drake. There was nothing odd about that. Nothing odd, except that they were children, living in a Human town over a hundred miles north of Liscor. They stood together, of the village but apart, not with the other children though they were of age. Just a Gnoll and a Drake, perhaps thirteen and eleven. Seborn saw, and nudged Moore. The half-Giant was less covert, but all three Halfseekers slowed their pace and stared at the two watchers.

“Fellow travellers? It’s rare, but [Merchants] do go north sometimes. Through the Blood Fields in the spring, though…”

“No way. Look at them. See how they’re dressed? They’re not travellers. Some Human must have adopted them.”

Yes. That was it. Jelaqua wasn’t much of a reader, much less a [Reader], but she could read the two like a book.

Look. See how they stand alone. How the Drake has a discolored patch of scales. A bruise from fighting? And look at the other children who stop to gawk at the Gold-rank team and point. Humans. Think on it.

“War orphans, perhaps.”

“Maybe. From one of the annual wars? Or one of those skirmishes? Maybe orphans from the Second Antinium War? The Drakes did send some forces north.”

“Could be any of those things. Maybe slavers? They’re outlawed in many Drake cities, but they still come through.”

Moore shook his head. He looked at the children, sadly.

“There’s a story there.”

“There’s always a story. Keep walking, Moore.”

He did. But he, Jelaqua, and Seborn all felt it. A sense of…

Kinship. And they felt the eyes of the two on them. The two children stood together, outcasts. Even if they were loved. They were different. By fang and scale, by fur and tail. It wasn’t something the three Halfseekers needed to speak aloud. It was, after all, a common story. You could see it everywhere you went, no matter how old you grew, no matter which continent you visited. There were always those who were different.

That was their difference. Griffon Hunt, who left quietly were adventurers to their core. They traded in favors and gold and they had their pride, but they weren’t like the Silver Swords. That group rushed from danger to danger, fighting for causes, without pay, without pause. They were champions, an old sort of adventurer the world still needed. But the Halfseekers? They were different.

“Hey, Moore. You know [Earthen Spire] now, right? Did you learn any other spells? Any fancy ones?”

“A few. But I’ll use a small spell if you don’t mind.”

“Fair enough. What about you, Seborn?”

“I can juggle. Good enough?”

“Maybe not. Village is nervous. Bared blades or even sheathed ones might spook them. Let Moore do his thing.”

The half-Giant nodded. He stopped walking for a second, and then, gently, tapped the ground. He spoke no spell. But suddenly, where his staff had touched the dirt path, a flower bloomed.

There was a gasp from the villagers. Drawing back for a second. But the flower was simply beautiful. It was light blue, vibrant. It was also magical, transitory. It bloomed upwards for a second, and then began to wilt almost at once. But as Moore began to walk again, another flower bloomed, and another. A trail followed his staff and the people watched as the half-Giant continued onwards.

So did the children. It was just a tiny bit of magic. Just a spark. But it was enough. It put a name to them. It gave their words credence.

Halfseekers. And as Jelaqua, Seborn, and Moore passed by the tree, passed by the two children whose stories they didn’t know, they moved. Jelaqua was first. She thrust her hand high in the air, making a fist. Seborn did the same. Moore lifted his hand into the air while his other held the staff.

They did not stop. They did not pause to fight or ask what story the two children had. They had no time, and perhaps, no power.

They were just adventurers.

But the little Drake and Gnoll stared at them as they passed. And they looked up, at a half-Giant whose staff left a trail of swiftly blooming and wilting flowers in his wake. A grinning Selphid, who twirled her flail. At a Drowned Man, who walked with shadows even under the setting sun. And they saw the three adventurers looking back at them.

The other townsfolk stared, perplexed by the three Gold-rank adventurers’ raised hands. It was almost a silly sight. But that was because it was not for them. But the children saw. They saw the three pairs of eyes looking back at them. And their hearts lifted. Without having to say it, they understood what the Halfseekers wanted to say.

We see you. We know your story. We see you.

“Lads!”

At the edge of the village Jelaqua stopped. She bellowed up at Seborn, riding the wagon, at Moore, his staff training flowers. The villagers jumped. The sound cut through the air and almost silent gathering. It was loud, as loud as Jelaqua could shout. She raised her flail over her head and screamed.

“Who are we? What’s our name? What’s our purpose?”

“Halfseekers!”

Moore and Seborn both shouted the word. It was a small sound in the skies. But they shouted it a second time. Jelaqua shouted it with them. And then they kept walking. And Jelaqua knew two pairs of eyes were fixed on their backs, even as they walked into the night.

“That’s why I keep going.”

Neither Moore nor Seborn replied. But they were both smiling slightly. And Jelaqua did remember. Liscor was wonderful. But it wasn’t where the Halfseeker’s true purpose lay.

It was in villages like this. Towns. Cities. Anywhere you wanted. That was where they were.

Outcasts. That fact wouldn’t change, no matter what you did. You could try, you could fight it, you could earn respect or be chased away. But it wouldn’t change who you were and who they were. And a child, a lonely soul could do little but exist with that knowledge in their chests.

But there they were. Adventurers. Names you heard stories about. Jelaqua Ivirith. Seborn Sailwinds. Moore of Raithland.

Heroes. Not to the many, but the few. To the two children who watched them pass through their town without a word. To the half-Elf living far from home, the Drowned Girl living in a port city, the Scorchling listening to stories around the hearth. They could not fight their battles. But they could exist, and shout their names across the world.

Jelaqua leapt up onto the side of the wagon. She clung to it and pointed ahead, never once looking back. Moore, walking next to her, raised his staff and Jelaqua raised her fist again. She laughed as she looked north, past a setting sun.

“Onwards. To another adventure. We’ll get to Invrisil and…damn, I forgot to grab all my bodies out of Erin’s inn. I guess when we reach Invrisil, we can pop in one last time. Eh, it feels weird after that goodbye, though.”

“Can you take the bodies with us?”

The Selphid shrugged.

“Bag of holding works. But they’ll rot in time. I’ll see about paying for accommodation. Or maybe she’ll let me keep them there? I can put them in a corner or something. Maybe put a few barrels in the way so no one gets spooked? They’re not going to reanimate and that’s a lot of bodies.”

“Planning on selling them? Because I know a few crews who deal in fresh corpses.”

Jelaqua laughed harder as Moore looked askance at Seborn.

“No. But on the other hand—I know a [Captain] too. Plus, can you imagine how much a Raskghar corpse would sell for in Baleros? It doesn’t play in Liscor, but up north, why not? You don’t mind if I switch out my Human body and keep the Raskghar one for like, big fights, do you?”

“Honestly, Jelaqua. Please don’t joke about that. You know what the laws are like. Besides, I’m sure Miss Solstice would let you keep the bodies.”

“You think so? Ah, of course. She’s too nice like that. But I’ll take them. Get some storage worked out. Invrisil does have a spot I can use. Otherwise, Pisces will probably salvage them for parts.”

They looked ahead. At last, Moore sighed.

“It will be hard saying goodbye. When we reach the City of Adventurers, that is.”

Jelaqua reached out and patted his shoulder.

“Someday, we’ll visit again.”

Seborn nodded. And the three kept moving. The night didn’t seem so harsh, suddenly. The road didn’t feel as painful. They walked on as Moore hummed a tune and Jelaqua began to sing. The road called and the adventurers strayed further from hearth and home. They’d left their homes long ago and now they lived where profit and glory called. Onwards, and away.

So the Halfseekers left. Seeing where the winds took them.

—-

And in the Wandering Inn, Erin wiped her tears away.

“I’ll see them again. And when I do—my inn will be twice as awesome. Or I’ll come to them. But I will see them again.”

She vowed to the quiet room. At her table, Ceria looked up. She looked at her team. Yvlon was still staring at the door where her brother had gone. Ksmvr was eating bread. Pisces was mournfully sketching a new Bone Horror.

“When we meet them again, we’ll be Gold-rank.”

That was all she said. Her team nodded. Ceria got up. She walked over to the door to Celum and opened it.

“Ceria, buddy, a little word about—”

The half-Elf closed the door for a second. She looked at the others.

“Coming? I want to go to Celum’s Adventuring Guild.”

Her team stood up. They stepped into Celum, Pisces sniffing as he stared at a burned patch of wood near the entrance to Octavia’s shop. Yvlon fended the [Alchemist] off. It just wasn’t the time for her. Not at the moment.

The four walked down the street. People stared at Ksmvr. Some panicked. Ceria wondered if they’d get to the Adventurer’s Guild. Her stomach twisted as she remembered the last time she’d been there, with the first Horns of Hammerad. With Calruz. But she kept walking.

It was time to be an adventurer again.

They didn’t make it to the Adventurer’s Guild. Or rather, they made it, but something happened first. The Horns heard a shout and saw someone jogging down the street.

“Ceria! Is that Ceria? And Yvlon!”

A young woman raced down the street. She looked like an adventurer, or maybe one in training. A [Guardswoman] perhaps? But young. She was about Ryoka’s age. Maybe a year or two younger? She looked good. Fit. Her clothing was loose and almost ill-fitting, but it only added to her look. Because her body was toned. Muscular, but thin. A body to make Ryoka jealous. Even Yvlon looked mildly impressed.

“Ceria! Long time no see!”

The girl caught up to them. Ceria blinked.

“Excuse me. Do I know you?”

She thought she’d remember, but she knew a lot of adventurers in Celum and elsewhere. The girl gave her a delighted grin.

“It’s me! Don’t you remember? We talked the last time we were in Celum!”

“Who? Have we met?”

A laugh was her reply. The girl spread her arms.

“Come on—you remember me, don’t you? Ryoka and I hung out all the time! Well, when she wasn’t busy. I’m a City Runner! Fals, Ryoka and I were friends! Where is she, by the way? I heard she was up north, but—”

The half-Elf’s jaw dropped. Ceria stared at the girl. She tried to fit her mental image in her head. But it was impossible. The other girl had been pretty, but she had been…stockier. Sturdier. With arms and muscles that could lift a cow. A [Farmer]-girl turned City Runner.

“Garia?”

Garia grinned in delight. Yvlon looked astonished. Garia spread her arms, gesturing at her body with delight.

“Garia Strongheart! I’ve changed a bit, huh? I uh, lost some weight. And I have a new class. I’m a [Martial Artist].”

Ceria opened her mouth. She stared at Garia. And then looked around. It was the old Celum. And she had come from the old inn, the old Octavia’s shop. But here it was. Just as the old faces were leaving. Something different.

Something new.

6.17 S

“Ashfire Bees, huh?”

Selys shook her head as she left the Adventurer’s Guild. She’d put in her time; it was past midday, which meant she’d been working for nine hours. That also meant she’d been at the Adventurer’s Guild since dawn, but that was the life of a [Receptionist].

“Yeah. It was surprising. I didn’t know it would be so—tough—”

Maviss, walking out besides Selys, had to cover a huge yawn. She wasn’t done yet; it was just her halftime lunch break. She shook her head, her tail lazily trailing in the street behind her. That was Maviss for you; she’d spent all the time in the world working on her scales, but she’d drag her tail in mud if she was sleepy.

“Sorry. I didn’t know the Horns and the Silver Swords would struggle so much.”

“Swarm monsters surprise adventurers. Unless they’re prepared or well-rounded, they can get into lots of trouble. That’s why we’re told not to recommend nest assignments to teams with all-[Warrior] makeups. Not unless they have magical items or artifacts.”

“Mhm. I don’t ever recommend things to the teams that come in. I’m too tired.”

“Well, you’ve got four hours left. Don’t fall asleep just yet. I’m off.”

Selys was decidedly unsympathetic. Maviss shook her head, yawning again.

“How do you do it, Selys? I couldn’t do the overnight shift.”

“Years of practice. Besides, it’s Guild policy. A [Receptionist] has to be on call at all hours, even if the Guild has times when it’s closed.”

“I guess that makes sense. But we barely have enough to cover all the shifts! Ever since those two newbies quit…is Tekshia going to hire more?”

Selys grimaced. The tip of her tail slapped the cobblestones.

“She’s looking. But we need more room in our budget.”

“Whaaaat? But all that treasure from the dungeon—”

“We’re not operating under Human laws, Maviss. Liscor’s Adventurer’s Guild gets a budget. Our cut goes to Liscor’s treasury, not the Guild vaults. Which we don’t have. We get a safe and the money from the Raskghar and other dungeon expeditions will probably go to fixing the gates, the walls, paying for soldiers who got hurt or died…”

“So you’re saying we won’t get new replacements.”

“Let’s just say ours isn’t the most lucrative job around. Although it beats some. We’ll get more people in, and if we do, Grandma will give us vacations. Once they’re trained.”

“Wonderful.”

Swish, swish. Maviss’ tail was picking up dust. Selys glanced at it. As Erin had learned, you could tell how Drakes and Gnolls were feeling depending on how their tails moved. It did vary from person to person, but some signs were universal. And Maviss’ tail said she wasn’t really upset so much as very, very sleepy.

“Get some tea or you’ll fall asleep at the desk. You’re the only one working until Warsh comes in.”

“Yes, mom. Hey, do you want to have lunch together?”

“Sorry, I had a big snack an hour ago.”

“Oh. Then I’ll see you tomorrow. Hey, is it three thousand—”

“Bye, Maviss.”

Selys walked off. Maviss called something at her back, and Selys waved a hand. She wasn’t mad, really. But she knew that telling Maviss exactly how much money she had would be trouble. Not least because all of it was stored in the bottom of her dresser in her apartment. Any [Thief] would jump at the chance to rob Selys. Because Selys was rich.

A week ago, Jelaqua had walked into Selys’ small apartment and given her a share of the treasure she’d earned from the dungeon. It was the Drake’s cut of the profits for letting the Halfseekers use the Heartflame Breastplate. It wasn’t a third of the Halfseekers’ take like Selys had initially tossed out as an offer, but it was still a percentage. And that percentage had appeared in the form of enough gold to knock Selys out.

Literally. She’d woken up to Jelaqua pouring water on her face. Selys had gotten a cold from that, but the sight of a pile of glittering gold pieces had alleviated her suffering. Mostly. She’d also turned into a Level 8 [Heiress] as well, but she hadn’t gained a Skill. Another mixed blessing.

As for how much money Selys had, well, the answer was that she had a good bit more than three thousand gold coins. Maybe as many as six thousand, and it was actually starting to worry her a bit. Her apartment floor might actually cave in from the weight. So Selys’ first job on the day off was to store her money.

The problem was that Selys didn’t know how much a bag of holding cost, she didn’t know how to carry that many coins with her without one, and she didn’t know how much money she had. She knew how much Jelaqua had given her, but some of Ilvriss’ money had joined the pile quite recently.

He’d rented the Heartflame Breastplate after the Halfseekers and before he’d left in secret to return to his home, he’d sent one of his aides to pay Selys the fee. Which was more gold than she’d earn in a year. But on top of the money Jelaqua had given her it had seemed almost paltry, more money to join the pile. Selys had stared at it and tried counting. She’d made fifteen stacks before she just gave up.

And that was the thing. Selys might have been a Drake, a member of a species descended from Dragons, but she’d realized that having a lot of gold was really like having a lot to eat. It was great if you were hungry, but once you were full, it just looked like…stuff. And now she was rich, money had lost its value for her.

“I’m no hoarder, like Grandma can be. But I don’t know what to do with what I have. Look at that.”

Selys paused on her way down the street. The area around the Adventurer’s Guild catered to their kind, so there were [Shopkeepers] selling goods made by [Blacksmiths], [Alchemists], [Fletchers], [Carpenters], and more. Some shops were multi-purpose, others carried a specific set of items, like the shop she was walking past that had every kind of weapon on display. Selys saw iron mixed with steel weapons, all fairly sharp, as well as a small selection of potions in bottles. A Gnoll was browsing as the Drake [Shopkeeper] tried to close the sale.

“I could buy a dozen of that shop’s best steel weapons. Eight times. And I’d still have more money than Maviss ever had in her life.”

Selys shook her head. She walked by another shop and her eye caught a gaudy protective charm. Something to deflect blows? It was probably only good for a hit or two from something small; deflection charms were usually weak, according to Tekshia. And the bad ones were poor at sensing what was an attack; you could deplete them by stepping too hard or jumping.

But she could buy it. She could buy a magical artifact with the gold she had. Most Silver-ranks wouldn’t have as much gold as Selys before they hit Gold-rank. With this, she could actually become an adventurer. And she had the Heartflame Breastplate—or rather, it was being stored in the Watch Barracks until Selys could find someone to rent it. She could practically become a Silver-rank adventurer if she outfitted herself. If she wanted to…

Selys had once wanted to be an adventurer. Before she’d learned how dangerous that was, and how unglamorous. Her grandmother had talked her out of it, really, by telling Selys stories of her past. And Selys had to admit, she wasn’t talented. Her uncle, the famous [General] had taught her a few claw-fighting tricks.

Her grandmother had taught her how to use a spear and a sword. Selys had learned, but she’d never grown adept at any of those fighting styles. She wasn’t talented, which Tekshia had said could be made up for, but it meant Selys was disadvantaged. That had been enough for the young Drake girl.

And the adult had seen war. So no adventuring. But what else was money good for? Fancy things like Maviss had said? Jewelry? Magical items? All of that appealed to Selys, but now that she had money, she didn’t have anything she wanted to spend it on that much. She’d rather have the gold than regret spending it.

“Oh no. I am hoarding.”

Selys groaned. That was one of the classic symptoms! Being a miserly Drake who couldn’t spend so much as a copper coin. She struck her head lightly with the heel of her palm, then heard someone shouting her name!

“Selys! Hey, Selys! Are you off work?”

The Drake looked around. She brightened up as she saw three of her friends, Mica, Warsh, and Lellia coming towards her. Mica was a Gnoll [Clerk], Warsh was a Drake [Receptionist] working at the Guild like her, and Lellia was a [Spinner] apprenticing in a [Tailor]’s shop. Selys hung out with them quite often, but she knew a good number of people her age in Liscor. Some, like Drassi, were old friends, or co-workers like Maviss. But this group Selys had known since she was running around the streets as a hatchling.

“Warsh, how are you doing? Hello, Mica, Lellia. You dyed your fur?”

She looked at Mica. The edges of the Gnoll’s dark fur around the side of her face, normally a dark brown, were blonde. The Gnoll preened and smiled as the three stopped in the street to chat.

“That’s right. I got the edges dyed yesterday. What do you think? They look good, yes?”

“Yeah. Very…attractive! I like the way it stands out. But won’t it get you in trouble with your boss? I mean, at the store?”

Selys eyed Mica. The Gnoll was a [Clerk], who, like a [Receptionist], [Waiter], and so on, could fill a lot of jobs. Mica was employed running the counter at a [Shopkeeper]’s store who dealt in produce, which was one of Liscor’s only exports.

The city mainly imported goods; it was subsidized in no small part by the army’s mercenary work and the area had some natural resources, but nothing dramatic like Pallass’ ore mines or Oteslia’s huge agricultural industry. However, shops like the one Mica’s employer ran were important; they had preservation runes and could store food for a long time.

They were the closest things to the grocery stores Erin talked about. Some didn’t even bother with stores; they kept warehouses and let other [Shopkeepers] buy from them in bulk. That was how business was done in Liscor; artisans didn’t sell their goods personally like in Celum and northern cities. They went through [Shopkeepers] and thus they could rely on middlemen to handle the cutthroat business of business while doing their work.

“Oh, that old place? The owner pitched a fit so I quit. I hated working there anyways. He was always telling me to sweep up after myself. As if I can help shedding! And I never got any fur in the food.”

Mica waved a paw in disgust. Selys nodded, but she wondered if that was a good move. [Clerks] weren’t exactly in high demand in Liscor. At least, at the level Mica was at—Level 14—they weren’t. She was a Level 6 [Washer] and a Level 3 [Sweeper] too, which didn’t exactly help out much.

“Well, if you’re happy, that’s fine. Hey, I’m off work. Maviss’ pretty tired Warsh, so I wouldn’t be late or she’ll rip off your tail. I was going shopping.”

“Hey, why don’t we come with you? I could buy some trinkets.”

Lellia eagerly offered and Warsh and Mica nodded. Selys hesitated.

“Well, you probably won’t want to go where I’m going. I’m checking out the [Merchants]—the pricey ones, you know? So…”

The eyes of all three of her friends sharpened. There were [Traders] and [Merchants] in Liscor, but only a few dealt in expensive objects and demanded gold. Warsh looked at Mica and Lellia.

“Why don’t we come with anyways? I have a bit of gold.”

“Yeah!”

“If you want.”

Selys awkwardly motioned and the other three fell into step with her. It wasn’t that Selys didn’t want to talk with them—it was just it was going to be awkward buying a bag of holding with them in tow. And it was also strange that they were all here. Mica usually had her job, which made sense, but Warsh slept in until it was his shift on a working day. As for Lellia, she didn’t get out nearly as much as the other two.

“So, how have you all been? I mean, since the other day?”

They’d had a huge party at the Tailless Thief just the other day. Selys had spent far too much and woken up with a terrible hangover. Mica pointed at her fur.

“Besides this?”

“I just helped sew up a few dresses. You know.”

Lellia dismissively flicked her tail. Warsh, walking ahead of Selys, grinned.

“And I work at the Guild. Nothing interesting anymore. Just those Gold-rank teams coming in and going out, always covered in mud. Except for the Wings of Pallass. Those are some sleek Drake ladies, and the Garuda is—”

He cut off as the other three all glared at him. Warsh coughed, blushing slightly.

“What about you, Selys?”

“Oh, nothing much.”

“Aw, come on. Nothing? What about your crazy Human friend?”

“Erin? I haven’t talked to her in a bit. She’s in Pallass.”

Lellia oohed appreciatively.

“Why didn’t you go with her?”

Selys made a face. That was what Maviss had said!

“I don’t want to. Her door can’t take many people and besides, what does Pallass have?”

“Um, everything? It’s a Walled City, Selys.”

“I guess. And Erin did invite me. But it was the way she said it! ‘Pallass has cooler things than Liscor, Selys. It’s way more exciting. Come on, you can meet so many cool people there!’ Can you believe that?”

Warsh looked at Mica. The Gnoll raised her brows.

“I can.”

“Totally.”

“What?”

Selys looked at her friends. Lellia laughed.

“You’re like my Dad, Selys. Liscor isn’t better than Pallass! If I could have gone, I would have.”

“What’s wrong with liking Liscor?”

Selys blushed a bit and grumbled as her friends laughed. First hoarding and now civic pride? She was turning into an old Drake! She quickened her pace and turned left. It wasn’t far from the Adventurer’s Guild—the street she wanted, Trader’s End, was just a bit north and east of her position.

There was no need for Selys or her friends to ask directions where they were going. They knew Liscor by heart, and so they came to the wide street quite quickly. It was like and unlike Market Street, which Erin frequently visited. In truth, the Human girl had never come here. And why would she? Unless she were exploring, Krshia could handle all of her immediate shopping needs.

But by the same token, it meant Erin didn’t really know Liscor, for all that she’d lived in the city for so long. And if she had, perhaps she wouldn’t have so flippantly written Liscor off, at least in Selys’ opinion. The Drake inhaled the smell of spices, saw the huge caravans, a rolling wagon parked in the street, a few [Merchants] sitting and drinking with customers at small tables, [Guards] watching passersby with care and boredom written across their faces…this was Trader’s End.

“Pallass is more exciting, honestly, Erin…”

The little street wasn’t a one-way street. Nor was it filled with [Traders]. They tended to be crowded out, unless Liscor was blocked off. But with the spring had come [Merchants], and they liked to have a place to conduct business. So any caravan selling up-scale goods would stop here for a day or two, and any wealthy socialite or someone with extra gold to spare might visit. Selys had only bought from this street once, but she liked to visit.

And if Erin had ever known of this street, or come across it by chance, she might have met more of her kind. For there were Human [Merchants] aplenty. At least, in the spring. In the winter it was true that few Humans visited Liscor; Drakes took the opportunity to come north from the Blood Fields. But with the aforementioned fields being active in the spring and summer, it was time for Humanity to pour in.

“There are even more [Merchants] than usual. Think they’re here because of all the adventurers?”

“Of course, scales-for-brains. Why else would they make the journey? They’re not going south. And look, some are selling fabrics from the north! That looks like a Balerosian print! Selys, come see!”

Selys looked over. The first [Merchant] Lellia was pointing to was indeed selling bolts of fabric, ready to be cut out by a [Seamstress] and sewn into a work of art. The patterns were indeed beautiful and colorfully dyed—a waving, blue and red pattern separated by a white stripe. If you looked closely you could see there was a second pattern in the blue and red, smaller triangles of darker thread that looked magnificent. The [Merchant] was pointing it out with evident satisfaction. Selys gulped. That would make a great dress, and it was high-quality cotton, practical for wearing, not just fancy to-dos. But if you wanted to turn that into a dress for nights out…

“No touching, please, ladies!”

The [Merchant] had two big [Guards], both Gnolls, blocking the bolts of cloth. He was a Human with a bit too much weight and an older man’s paunch, but a quite thick and glorious head of hair and a shining jade amulet that spoke to anyone with an eye for trinkets. He was dressed just as colorfully as his wares, and Selys bet he’d done it to impress. Drakes liked flash and so more than one female Drake was crowded around. A few Gnolls too, eying the fabrics the man was showing off.

“Please, buying customers only!”

He gently but politely shooed off a few Drakes with questions, calmly noting the cut of their own dresses and jewelry. His wave took in Selys, Lellia, and Mica who’d joined the group. Warsh rolled his eyes. The [Merchant] had a little cup of wine in hand and a carafe of the stuff at his table but no client—it was a tactic Selys was familiar with. He’d invite someone who could probably pay to sit down and drink with him. At the level of a [Merchant], business was as much being social as it was having something to sell.

“Selys, what do you think? Wouldn’t that look amazing on you? And it’s not a tricky cloth. My teacher could whip up a dress in a few days! What do you think?”

Lellia was urging Selys to investigate the cloth. And it did call to Selys. She wondered what the price was. A hundred gold coins? For the entire cloth bolt, maybe. It couldn’t be two hundred, could it? And she could sneeze two hundred gold pieces out and not blink! Having the dress made would be even cheaper. She hesitated. But she didn’t have the gold on her, which reminded her why she’d come.

“Miss Gnoll, would you like to inspect my cloths? I have quite the selection! More still in my wagons! Please, come and have a drink. Ladies, please, a few steps back for my guest!”

The [Merchant] had spotted a rich-looking Gnoll in the back. He waved and the [Guards] came forwards, parting the onlookers and escorting a Gnoll who was wearing a very light, very stylish sarong-style dress, with a cut shirt that let her arms breathe around the shoulders and sides while still covering her arms and the rest of her body. It was a look Gnolls could pull off better than Drakes and Humans; they had hair to hide what would be too much flesh or scale to modestly reveal. Lellia sighed as Selys turned away.

“I’m not here for clothes. Maybe I’ll take a look later. Warsh, do you see anyone selling magical goods?”

“Who isn’t? But there’s a few of them selling goods for adventurers. Want to see? They’ve got a fancy magic sword! It’s freezing the bucket of water solid!”

“Is that all boys like? Gnolls and Drakes. You’re a [Receptionist], Warsh!”

Mica called out after him. Selys followed the Drake down the street. She saw there were more [Merchants] with magical items gathered around there. One of them, a Human in his late thirties, was lounging against the side of his wagon, taking his ease. The side of the wagon had unfolded, displaying a trove of objects of all kinds. Bags of holding, never-dip quills, cooling stones, rarer potions…there was a harried younger [Trader] doing the work of answering questions in front of the display and four [Guards] standing around the wagon. Selys stood on her tip toes to look. Mica poked her gently.

“What do you think? Will you buy anything? What did you come here for?”

“Uh, maybe. I don’t know, though. That’s a lot of gold to spend and I didn’t bring any…”

“Oh come on, Selys. You’re loaded! You can spend some, yes? And then why don’t we get some cloths like Lellia suggested? We can have her master make them into dresses and go to a party. Why not tonight?”

Selys frowned. Were there bags of holding in the wagon? Then she looked at her Gnoll friend, confused.

“Dresses? But that’s way too expensive, Mica. And you just quit your job.”

“Well…but we could go together. Why not? At least let’s go for some drinks after this. Come on.”

There was something—off about the way Mica was speaking. Her tone was wheedling. Selys half-looked at her, and something in her head lit up. Did Mica think…?

Unbeknownst to Selys, the [Merchant] yawning as he sat by his wagon had sat up suddenly. He couldn’t have heard Selys or Mica speaking. They were too far away and he wasn’t listening. But he sat up nonetheless, and his eyes locked on Selys. He got up as Selys turned to face her friend.

“Mica, do you want me to buy you a dress?”

“What? No. I didn’t—it would just look good on you. And me and Lellia, yes? Right?”

Mica laughed, but her tail, which Selys had been watching, suddenly went very still. Lellia, who’d been pointing out an item to Warsh, looked up.

“But you can’t pay for something like that. So I should pay for it?”

“Only if you want to. I mean, it would look good.”

Selys nodded slowly.

“It would. But that’s one fabric. And three of us dressed the same might look…tacky?”

“Just a bit! But hey, it would be really cool, wouldn’t it?”

Lellia came over. Selys looked at her smile and took a breath. She forced a smile onto her face.

“Yeah, but if we were doing it, wouldn’t it be better to have three dresses? Each one different?”

“But I can’t afford that. So…I mean, it would be up to you. But it would look really good at party, wouldn’t it, Selys?”

Mica grinned hopefully. Selys nodded, and inside her stomach began to twist.

“It would. But for what party? We had one just the other day.”

“But the Tailless Thief is open all the time, Selys. And Peslas was a great host. Why not visit there again after this? Or—we could visit one of the bars. There’ll be a great troupe at the Wishdrink’s tonight. We could go dancing there, with you, us, and some of the others. They’d all be down for that.”

Warsh cut in, and Lellia and Mica nodded excitedly. Lellia leaned on Warsh’s shoulder, speaking faster and gesturing at the [Cloth Merchant]

“I bet my teacher could even cut some dresses out and sew them up if it was a priority order, Selys.”

The Drake [Receptionist] looked at her friends. Wishdrink’s was a very expensive bar, which was to a ‘bar’ what the Tailless Thief was to an ‘inn’. It was very upscale and not only were the drinks fantastic, you could dance, eat well, and have a great night out. If you had money to spend. Selys had never been there. And she suspected the others hadn’t been there more than once or twice at a bigger party.

“I don’t know.”

“Aw, come on, Selys. Your day off starts now! And besides—no, wait. What if we all went to Pallass.”

Lellia looked around. Warsh and Mica’s eyes lit up.

“Pallass?”

“Why not? Selys’ friend has a door, right? And we’ve never been—I mean, I’ve never been there! I bet there are tons of fancy places to visit!”

“But you need to ask to go.”

“Well, we can all put our names down. No one else is going to Pallass, right? And it’s free.”

Selys’ stomach was twisting over and over again now.

“But Pallass is expensive. I hear its way more expensive, especially for a really high-level establishment. Some don’t even take new customers. You have to know the owner.”

“Yeah, but money’s not a problem, is it? I mean, if it’s to visit Pallass…”

The copper penny dropped. Only, since it was Selys, it was a gold coin and it clunked. All three of her friends were looking at her. At her.

“I have to work. What if all of you went?”

Mica snorted.

“What would be the point of that? Come on, Selys. You can afford to take time off—or quit your job! You keep talking about how much your grandmother makes you work. Just walk back into her office and tell you quit! Then you can join the rest of us and have some real fun, yes? Besides, you have enough money—”

“Uh, Mica—”

Warsh had noticed the sudden change in the way Selys’ tail was wagging. Her face remained the same, but her tail had stopped dead in the street. And it was beginning to curl up. But Mica, in her excitement, kept going.

“We can get dresses, go to the Tailless Thief tonight—or visit Pallass! Why not? It will be fun. And you should come. You have to come! We told everyone—”

“Mica.”

Lellia had spotted the same thing. She stomped on Mica’s foot. The Gnoll yelped, then she looked down.

“Oh.”

The three friends fell silent. They stared at Selys. She was clenching her claws so tightly she could feel her scales grinding together. She spoke levelly as she could.

“I like my job.”

No one said a word. Selys went on, looking from face to face.

“I like working with my grandmother, no matter what I say. And Warsh, you have to go to work later today. So I’m not drinking. I’m not going to a party and I don’t want a dress. I’m not in the mood. Okay?”

She met Warsh’ eyes. He didn’t meet hers. Selys was going to leave it at that. She was going to, but Mica burst out despite Lellia’s silent signals.

“Aw, come on, Selys—”

The Drake whirled and shouted in her friend’s face.

“I’m not spending my money for you, Mica! I’m not buying you a dress and I’m not paying for you and everyone we know to party! I thought we were friends!”

The Gnoll backed up. Selys took a gulp of air and realized people were staring. Lellia looked astounded. Warsh was turning red. Mica looked hurt, guilty, and then angry.

“I thought we were friends too, Selys. What’s wrong with spending some of your money? You told us you inherited it and you have more than enough to spend!”

“Mica—”

Lellia was trying to pull the [Clerk] back, but Mica was taller and stronger than her. Selys glared. What had she said at the Tailless Thief?

“It’s mine. I choose how to spend it!”

“Well—fine! Maybe you should just keep it yourself, you hoarder!”

Lellia and Warsh gasped. Selys felt her face turning crimson. She pointed a claw at Mica, who’d realized she might have gone too far. She raised a placating paw, too late.

“Selys, I didn’t meant that. I only meant—Warsh was saying—”

“You and Warsh can go eat your tails. And you, Lellia. If I see you—you know what? No. As far as I’m concerned, all three of you can—”

Selys never got to say the rest of what was boiling away in her stomach. Someone reached out and before she could speak, very quickly, but firmly, grasped her on the shoulder. It was just a touch, but instantly Selys felt a cool, calming feeling run through her. Her words died unbidden and a man, the same Human [Merchant] who’d been sitting against his wagon, stepped forwards.

“Why don’t we leave it at that? Miss Selys, good Drakes, Miss Gnoll, I think this fight won’t do more than create grudges if it goes on. And this is a public street. Let’s say you agree to part ways, for now. I think that’s wise.”

He looked around. Warsh, Mica, and Lellia stared. So did Selys. The [Merchant] was shorter than the first, middle-aged [Cloth Merchant], about Selys’ height. But he had more youth and energy about him, even if he was wearing a traveler’s garb. And his touch was still calming Selys down. He smiled at her friends.

“I think Miss Selys here will benefit from some time alone, don’t you?”

“Uh—right. Yes. come on, Mica.”

Warsh grabbed his friend. Lellia did too. They towed Mica back. Warsh half-turned. He hesitated.

“Sorry, Selys. I didn’t—”

Then he turned and left. Selys looked around and saw at least two dozen Drakes and Gnolls staring at her, along with several [Merchants] and [Guards]. She turned crimson. But the [Merchant] only twisted his head around and whistled.

“Febin, get one of those tables. And a chair. And something to drink. Not wine. A juice. My guest and I will have a talk. In the shade over there.”

He pointed at a tree whose roots were trying to overgrow the little triangle of soil it was planted in. Selys found herself seated, and on a minute, sitting across from the Human. It was only after he’d offered her some refreshing apple juice and she’d taken a cup down that she could speak.

“Thank you. I think.”

“My pleasure, Miss Selys. It is Selys, isn’t it? My name is Farri Sightly. I’m a [Merchant].”

He offered a hand and Selys gingerly shook it. Farri pointed back at where Selys had been shouting.

“I noticed your fight. I stepped in before you could ruin that friendship. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Some friendship.”

Selys slumped in her seat. Farri smiled.

“I think your friends will realize how they acted when they have a chance to think. That young Drake boy already did, I think. Credit to you for realizing what they were after, but don’t hold too much of a grudge. Money tests friendships hard, and I hear it’s worse among Drakes. It’s plenty bad among Humans. Trust me. I speak from experience.”

Selys looked up sharply.

“What did you hear?”

Farri took a drink of juice.

“Nothing specific. But I already knew you were rich before you started shouting. I just had to take one look at you to know that. Fresh wealth? Inheritance or some kind of windfall? You’re no adventurer.”

He tapped underneath one eye. Selys blinked at him.

“You have a Skill?”

“[Evaluation of Wealth]. A handy Skill for any [Merchant]. Or [Thief]. It’s not the most common Skill, but I’d watch your purse, Miss. Or make sure your money’s in a safe place. You have a freshly-come glow about you, and that speaks of new money.”

That was exactly what Selys had been worried about. She stood up.

“Thank you. For stopping me and the drink. But I don’t want—”

“Please. Sit.”

Selys hesitated. She wanted to go, but the man’s voice was soothing. And she found herself sitting down. Only when she’d done that did she glare at him.

“That’s a Skill too, isn’t it?”

He coughed, embarrassed.

“Er—[Prolonged Negotiations]. I’m surprised you noticed.”

“I know my way around Skills. And [Merchants]. Fine. I can’t leave. But I’m not a rookie about to be fleeced, you know.”

He looked shocked. And a bit hurt.

“No, no, that’s not me! What kind of low-life do you take me for? I’m purely here as someone hoping to make some lucrative sales. Because something tells me the cost of some juice and a few words will earn me at least a few hundred gold coins. It’s the big sales I’m looking for, Miss. And that means cultivating relationships with potential clients.”

He looked meaningfully at Selys again. She hesitated.

“Well…I did come here to shop. But I don’t have any coin on me.”

He nodded.

“That’s a common occurrence, Miss. Or did you think most of the rich customers walked out with bags of holding stuffed with thousands of gold coins? If they’re stupid, they do, but most learn to deposit their gold at the Merchant’s Guild and arrange payment there. Or, if your money’s elsewhere, the Watch will help you collect it and pay me without asking for more than a small fee. The City Watch in Drake cities, that is.”

“Really? I had no idea they do that.”

Selys blinked. She looked at Farri and hesitated. She knew it was partly because of his Skills, but she was feeling more and more inclined to trust the man with every passing second. So she took a deep breath.

“Okay. I am looking for a bag of holding. But…that was to hold the money I have.”

He smiled, and Selys could have sworn she felt his delight in her trust in him. She told herself it was a Skill. Skill, and charisma, which you needed if you wanted to be a [Merchant].

“Ah. A bag of holding would help with that. But it’s still vulnerable. As I said, it’s safe to place money in the Merchant’s Guild…although there are fees. But if you wanted to protect your gold, could I suggest a box enchanted with the holding spell? I sell magical vaults too.”

“Really? Aren’t they really expensive?”

Selys had heard of magical vaults, but in her mind they were always huge, warded rooms filled with treasure. Farri shook his head.

“There are always degrees of enchantment. Some nobles have huge vaults crammed with so many wards they can’t even fit a compression spell inside—for fear the magical goods will corrupt the compression as well. But if you just deal in gold, I can sell you a very small, very easy-to-conceal vault that looks as plain as anything. Thieves will have trouble finding it, and if they aren’t attuned to the lock spell…I have all kinds of varieties, from lethal to noisy to incapacitating. Would you like me to show you some examples? And while I’m at it, I can sell you some very cheap bags of holding. And anything else you might care to see.”

He gave Selys a very soothing smile that made her want to trust him. And she knew it was a Skill. She knew it, but she still stood up and followed him over to his wagon.

“I guess I could take a look…”

[Kings] have been made into [Beggars] from that line alone. But while Farri might have been a high-level [Merchant], he was true to his word. Better to have a client that might come back again than earn a reputation as a [Swindler]. His prices were fair, and Selys bought too much. A magical vault, a small bag of holding, a quill that could automatically refill itself from the matching inkpot, a talisman that kept away bugs from her house, a little cooling stone, and a very bouncy ball that bounced away from you until you said the retrieval word…

“You’re willing to give me the bag of holding? Just like that?”

Selys blinked down at the bag of holding, a little blue satchel with bright yellow ties. Farri gave her a winning smile as his apprentice [Trader] dutifully packed up the goods she’d bought and set them aside.

“I can pick a client, Miss Selys. Trust goes both ways. If you ran, well, the City Watch in Liscor is good at their jobs and we [Merchants] usually have our own ways of getting even. Besides which, a bag of holding isn’t the worst of risks to take. I’ll be staying at the Firehearth Inn after evening. I’d advise you to request a [Guardsman] accompany you when you transport the coin.”

“I will. And I’ll come to your inn. Um. Thank you.”

“A pleasure. And if you have any other needs, please let me know. You see, I don’t often come by Liscor. But I’m always willing to change my route, and if—”

Farri was trying to lay on the charm, giving Selys a handshake with his other hand clasping hers gently, smile in full bloom. But here at least he failed, because the [Cloth Merchant] from earlier sidled over and with great delicacy and powerful hips, bumped Farri out of the way. Selys blinked as Farri swore and nearly fell over.

“Miss Selys, was it? I do regret not spotting you earlier. Can I tempt you to sit down and peruse some of my fabrics? I’d love to sell you a sample—and for a first-time customer, I’d let you have the first purchase at a say, twenty gold coin reduction? Humric Mames, at your service. [Cloth Merchant]; my wares come from Baleros and Chandrar and String People buy from me as well as the nobility.”

Selys’ jaw dropped. Farri turned, glaring. He strode back over.

“Don’t listen to that fool, Miss Selys.”

He tried to shove the [Cloth Merchant], but Humric was impossible to budge. He crowded Farri out. And he wasn’t the only one.

The [Merchants] visiting Liscor might not have all had Farri’s eye for wealth, but they still had eyes. And the new addition to the list of Liscor’s elite hadn’t escaped their notice. They crowded around, but Humric was like a rock. A rock that moved and could careen into his fellow [Merchants] sending them sprawling while his [Guards] gave him the chance to make his pitch to Selys. Which Humric did, speaking at a very rapid pace as he tried to guide her to his wares on display.

“I’ve been travelling to Liscor quite often. But what with the dungeon and this latest business…still, it’s a profitable run. And if I come back, I’ll be sure to bring back an inventory from Invrisil. I can even procure items from First Landing. Perhaps you’d like to make a request? I’d be delighted to find whatever you need. And there are a number of delectable new items. The latest fashions from Terandria, or perhaps some of Baleros’ latest…?”

Selys knew it was a Skill. She still bought three bolts of cloth, the first blue and red pattern heavily discounted. The second a black-and-gold bolt of silk for her grandmother. And the third some very fine yellow cotton she wanted to make into a dress. And Humlic smiled all the while. In the background Farri fumed and the other [Merchants] tried to get Selys’ attention. It was the quick [Merchant] who got the first sale. But it was the man with the [Hip Bump] technique who closed the second deal.

—-

“Oh Ancestors, what have I done?”

Selys sat in her apartment, head in her hands. She stared down at the pile of gold hidden away in her dresser. And in the back of her wardrobe. And underneath her bed. Gold, not pure gold which was heavy and less shiny, but gold coins winked up at her. Selys stared at them, at the neat rows she’d arranged. She slowly pushed them into the plain, brown bag of holding and stared at it. The blue bag of holding was on her dresser; the brown one had come separately. As had the red one emblazoned with Humric’s initials.

Selys took a great deal of care to keep the brown bag of holding away from the other two. Bags of holding did not play well together, and she’d been warned to keep these three out of proximity and to finish as quickly as possible. Lesser bags of holding could handle being close together for a while, but the stronger the enchantment, the shorter the time span before something…happened. So Selys opened the door and held the first bag of holding out.

“This one’s to Mister Farri. Trader’s End.”

“Got it. Do you have a personal seal, Miss?”

Selys blinked at the Street Runner waiting for the bag. He was a short Drake, quite young, and practically bouncing on his feet. She shook her head.

“I don’t. Er, I could get a standard one—”

“No need. I’ll get Mister Farri’s seal or he can send someone to testify. Thanks!”

The Street Runner took the brown bag of holding and raced down the apartment steps. Selys watched him go, then turned. A Gnoll woman was waiting patiently by her door. She’d stepped aside to let the Street Runner go.

“Sorry. I’ll get the other bag of holding done soon.”

“No need to rush, Miss.”

The Gnoll City Runner gave Selys a lazy smile. The Drake tried to return it; she hurried back in and counted.

“One, two, three, four, five…ten…twenty, thirty, forty…”

It took her a while, but she got the red bag of holding belonging to Humric filled and handed it to the City Runner. The Gnoll didn’t ask for Selys’ seal. She just nodded.

“This will go to Merchant Humric within five minutes, Miss Shivertail. If you have any complaints, you may testify at the local Runner’s Guild. You may also confirm the delivery by asking for me or my fellow Runner, and we will provide a full summary of our delivery on request.”

“Oh. Thank you! I uh, that’s fine. Thank you. Really.”

“It’s an easy service.”

The Gnoll grinned at Selys. She touched a paw to her brow and took off. She didn’t bother with stairs; she just vaulted from the second story and landed on the street before taking off with a long, loping stride. Selys watched her go.

City Runner and Street Runner. That was the difference. Humric hadn’t bothered to make Selys do the footwork, and Farri had copied his example. But it was a mark of the difference between the two; Farri had sent a Street Runner with a plain bag of holding, while Humric had paid for a City Runner to deliver Selys’ gold and sent one of his personal bags of holding. And it made a difference; somehow, Selys found herself liking Humric’s expansive, aggressive style more.

He’d gently bullied her into buying some cloth, all while plying her with wine, grapes from Chandrar, and insulting Farri and the other [Merchants] to their faces while they looked on. And to top matters off, he’d given her this easy way of paying and receiving her goods, and had his [Guards] escort Selys away from Trader’s end before she could spend any more money.

“A [Merchant] doesn’t just treat his clients like a friend, Miss Selys. Oh no, he treats them far better!”

Selys laughed to herself as she remembered that. She walked back into her apartment. Then she panicked again.

“Oh no. What have I done?”

She’d spent so much. More money then she’d spent in…all of her life? Yes! Definitely! But then Selys stared down at the pile of gold. She peered under her bed. She checked the wardrobe. She sat down.

“One, two…three hundred. A thousand over there…”

Her money pile hadn’t…decreased that much. Selys had spent a lot. But she hadn’t spent that much. The most expensive item she’d bought had only been, what? An eight hundred gold piece vault? Yes, and the bag of holding was only six hundred and sixty gold pieces. The cloth had been cheap. Selys stared at her gold piled up on the floor. It shone at her.

“I could go back there and buy more cloth from Humric. I could buy those ten bolts he picked out for me. And it wouldn’t even…”

The Drake stared at her bag of holding. She stared at the gold. She grabbed the bag of holding, shoveled some gold into it, walked out of her apartment, looked at the little key in the lock, then ran back in the apartment, grabbed her dagger, and locked the door. Then she hovered at her window, staring out it anxiously until a Street Runner passed by.

“Hey! Hey you!”

The Gnoll girl did a double-take. She looked up and Selys waved at her frantically.

“Up here!”

“I’m on delivery, Miss! Urgent! It’s fresh fish!”

The Gnoll girl complained. Selys threw a gold coin at her. The Gnoll immediately raced up the stairs.

“How can I help you, Miss?”

“Another gold coin if you get my grandmother. Tekshia Shivertail. Tell her I want her to come over now. It’s an emergency!”

“Do you have a s—”

“No, I do not! But it’s two gold pieces. Oh, you also have to tell Mister Farri in Trader’s End I want my magical vault now. If you do the delivery it’s a third gold piece.”

The Gnoll’s eyes lit up. She didn’t ask for a seal again; after all, you only needed them as proof of deliveries completed. If the customer was fine with handing money out in advance or on completion, Runners could skip that step. They only registered with the guild so packages could be delivered and handled by the people there. The Street Runner took off like lightning, abandoning her delivery of fish. Selys waited by her window, watching her stairs like a hawk. Then she realized a [Thief] could come in through her windows and was trying to block all of them when someone rapped on her door.

“Who is it?”

“Me.”

Selys hurried over to the door. She knew the voice, but she was in full paranoia mode by now.

“Who’s me?”

“Me, you idiot. Let me in.”

The Drake waiting outside impatiently pointed at the City Runner, the same Gnoll woman who’d taken Humric’s delivery, and the Gnoll stepped back. Tekshia Shivertail waited as the lock slowly turned in the door.

“Grandma? Are you—”

Tekshia kicked the door. Selys, who’d been leaning against it, went flying. She screamed as she hit the ground, rolling like Tekshia had taught her as a hatchling. Tekshia Shivertail, retired Gold-rank adventurer and Guildmistress of Liscor’s Adventuring Guild walked into Selys’ apartment. She stared at the gold on the ground, sighed, and raised her voice.

“City Runner, bring in that vault. Selys, stop sniveling.”

She waved in the Gnoll, whose jaw dropped as she saw the gold piled up on the floor. Selys yelped.

“Grandma!”

“Stop whining. You’re going to move apartments anyways. You’ve complained about how small this one is for years in my earhole. Give the City Runner a tip; don’t offer her gold, what are you, flea-brained? You’ll have Street Runners expecting a handful of silver just for delivering a letter five feet! Now, attune yourself to this damn vault and start putting the gold inside. Why you haven’t done this already I have no idea. You have as much sense as your mother. More than your father, I suppose. Get moving!”

Tekshia Shivertail did not wait to see Selys move. She went into Selys’ kitchen and brewed some tea, and came out to find Selys doing what she’d told her to. The City Runner was gone, only slightly disappointed by a six silver tip for running for five minutes. Selys was shoveling gold into the magic vault.

Tekshia, an old Drake with faded green and grey scales, watched her granddaughter working as she took a seat on Selys’ bed. Selys paused to rub at her back; gold coins, even if they were alloyed, were heavy in bulk. Only then did Tekshia speak.

“You’ve finally gotten the bug, don’t you, my dear?”

Selys glanced up. Tekshia clarified.

“Hoarding.”

The [Receptionist] turned red.

“Grandma! I spend money! And I’m not hoarding, I’m just—”

She paused, realizing that denying she was a hoarder while she had gold in each claw wasn’t the most compelling of arguments. Tekshia smiled, and her stern face relaxed a bit. Normally she had a glare that could cut through wood. But she did smile. Then it snapped back into a look that was frightening to rookies working at the Adventurer’s Guild, both [Receptionist] and adventurer alike. To Selys, it was just how her grandmother’s face was normally.

“Hoarding isn’t just about gold, girl. It’s about owning things. Or did you think Dragons just sat on gold? No. They covet treasures. We do the same things. We fill our homes with everything we want. You’re starting it; I do it now and then. But I’m not rich any longer. And you just came into your wealth. But you’re caught between wanting to keep your gold and spend it, aren’t you?”

“I spent some of it.”

Selys sulkily pushed more gold into her vault. It was rearranging itself, piling up in miniature as Selys watched. She could easily pull it out and it would organize the coins by denomination as well as categorize jewelry and other valuables. Tekshia snorted and kicked the vault, which was metal but carefully painted to look like plain wood, with one foot.

“This? This is cheap, girl. You should have paid for one worth at least two thousand gold pieces. Probably four just to be safe. The next time you meet the [Merchant] that sold you this, make him trade it in.”

“Four thousand? Grandmother, that’s more than half of what I have! I think!”

“You’ll get more. Don’t be stingy when it comes to protecting your treasure. And you’ll need it to store everything you buy. Or did you think [Thieves] only went for vaults? Smart ones will rob everything but the vault, even if they’re barely Level 10. And thanks to your idiocy—and your stupid, gossipy friends, the city knows you’re rich.”

Selys winced.

“Grandma, I only—”

“You didn’t think. And I suppose it’s a credit that you didn’t realize how much you had until now. Actually, I take it back. That’s not wisdom, that’s just stupidity.”

Tekshia reached out and flicked at Selys. The Drake recoiled.

“I…I just got it a week ago. I had no idea what to do with it. I went to work! You saw me! And I didn’t steal any of this—”

“Of course you didn’t. Do I look like an idiot? You got it from renting out the Heartflame Breastplate, the treasure of our people like a cheap toy!”

The old Drake glared at Selys. The [Receptionist] winced. Tekshia sipped from her cup. Loudly.

“Well done. I would have never thought of that. Are you a [Heiress], by any chance? That’s the only class I can think of that fits. If you are, level up as much as you can. I’d like to live in a mansion when I finally retire.”

“A mansion?”

Selys’ jaw dropped. Then she realized what Tekshia was saying. Selys sat back on her tail.

“You’re proud of me?”

The old Drake shot her a stern glance.

“You’re more addled than I thought. Drink some tea! And why wouldn’t I be proud? You made money. True, you had to use a legendary artifact to do it, but you didn’t sell it. You own the Heartflame Breastplate and somehow you turned that fact into thousands of gold pieces. Even if you nearly got all of it stolen. Still, you’ve got more money than I ever dreamed you’d have. I always thought I’d be richer than you even with what remains of my savings. Huh. I guess I got that wrong.”

Selys blinked at her grandmother. Somehow she found herself sitting among the scattered gold pieces, sipping from one of her cups. Her grandmother still had a lecturing tone, but the words were…positive. That was rare. Selys felt a kick in her stomach, a good one. She took a breath.

“I guess I need to let you know I’m quitting, then.”

It was hard to imagine. But on the other hand…Selys would like sleeping in. And she’d have more time to visit Mrsha and talk with Erin. She almost smiled at the thought. Tekshia did not. She scowled at Selys.

“Quit? What gave you that idea? And refill my cup, would you?”

She thrust out her tea cup. Selys blinked at her.

“Grandma, you said yourself! I’m rich! Why would I work a job?”

“Because I said so. You’re not quitting until I get a better replacement.”

“Grandma!”

The old Drake sighed. She sprang up from her bed with more agility than she had any right to. Selys shot her a look as Tekshia refilled her cup herself, grumbling about unfilial granddaughters.

But not every granddaughter had a grandmother who could still do backflips and outrun Street Runners. Even if Tekshia complained of aching bones and body. She looked back at Selys, her tail very calmly lying on the bed. That was another feature about Tekshia; when she didn’t want you to, you couldn’t read a thing about her from her tail.

“I still need a [Receptionist]. And you’re my best one. Maybe you can consolidate the classes. Either way, you’re not allowed to quit. But I will let you work the day shifts. Six hours instead of nine. If I can hire some replacements, you can work the odd day. Actually, if you’ll pay their yearly wages, I’ll give you as much time off as you want.”

“But that’s not fair! I’m rich!”

“And I’m your grandmother. You can’t quit now, when all these adventurers are traipsing about my Guild and you’re one of the few people who know how things work. Besides, once you run off to spend your fortune, I won’t see you anymore.”

Selys was about to protest, but then she saw Tekshia’s face. Her tail never moved, but the old Drake’s face was less guarded. It was a sad look. Tekshia looked around the room. Her eyes found something on the walls. A little portrait, framed and covered with glass. Expensive; but Selys had bought it the first year Tekshia had begun employing her.

The illustration was a sketch; the kind of thing that was a prelude to a proper portrait. It showed two Drakes. It wasn’t a scene from any scene out of life, although the details were accurate, as far as Tekshia had always said. The [Artist] had drawn it from a memory. Tekshia’s. The Drake looked at it. So did Selys, but whatever emotions she felt were old. Incomplete.

She envied the look in Tekshia’s eyes and all the gold lying on the floor would have been a small price to pay to make that picture complete. To hear a voice. Wait—

Tekshia stood up and walked over to the portrait. She glanced back at Selys, looking sadder and older than Selys ever wanted to see her. Tekshia reached up and half-touched the portrait, claws gently skating over class.

“If your uncle could see what you did with the armor, he’d be proud, I think. So would your parents. At last, someone in the family who figured out how to get rich by being smart, not being a warrior and risking their tails or sponging off of Zel’s fame. I suppose this counts in a way, but he gave this to you. Don’t let anyone steal it.”

Selys looked up at her parents.  Her voice was smaller as she stared at the gold on her floor. And now it looked more like metal. Like trash, covering the plain, worn wooden apartment she hated, but which felt like a home.

“Grandma, what should I do? Really? I didn’t sell the armor because Uncle Zel gave it to me. But what should I do with…?”

She waved a claw. Tekshia took a seat at Selys’ little table and sipped from her cup. She glanced at Selys.

“Learn to be rich. Don’t run from it. And don’t pretend you’re not. What’s the point of doing that? Don’t be guilty either. Don’t think you have to give it away, or do your friends favors. It’s yours. You earned it, by luck, by chance, but it’s yours. Keep doing that. Don’t squander your fortunes. I did, when I was your age.”

Selys scooted forwards on her bottom. She frowned at her grandmother.

“What, you did? You told me you weren’t rich.”

“I did? I must have lied.”

“Grandma—”

The old Drake hunched her shoulders and her tail wrapped around her chair’s leg.

“You were probably too young. And it’s an embarrassing story. What did I say, that I quit and just had enough to live in my means? That was a lie.”

Selys shook her head. And for a moment she forgot the gold around her. As she absently flicked a gold coin from underneath her bottom she looked up at her grandmother. And she could have been a little hatchling looking up at her grandmother in Tekshia’s apartment, a decade ago.

“You told me you lost it all when the Necromancer attacked the city.”

“Ah. That’s a good lie.”

“But it is a lie?”

Tekshia sighed.

“Yes. It is. I suppose you’re old enough now. I might as well tell you since it’s a mistake you shouldn’t make. Sit up. Don’t slouch. Let’s see. There’s enough tea. Do you have anything to eat?”

“Um. I have crackers with a fishy paste. It might have gone bad. Or—oh! Erin gave me some cookies the other week. They’re a bit stale—”

“Those. Now.”

Selys obediently got her grandmother the stale cookies. Tekshia shot her a look.

“You have enough cookies to eat that you leave some to get stale?”

“I’m too tired from work to think about eating most of the time, Grandma. And I’ve been going out recently. Well, I was, with Warsh, Lellia, and…”

“I see. I see. Well, give them here. You may have one too, I suppose. Not that one! Mm. These are good.”

“They go well with milk, apparently.”

“Do they? I don’t like milk much. Milk tea isn’t for me. And I don’t trust it. It comes from cows. And those great, stinking things are disgusting. They have parasites, you know. Ever see a Creler burst out of a cow? You’ll never forget it.”

“Grandma, please. Your story about how you were wealthy?”

“Yes, yes. I was getting to that. Now, where should I begin?”

Tekshia chewed on the cookie, thinking. At last, she began, and Selys leaned forwards at the little table, wondering when she’d grown taller than her grandmother. But the crackling voice was just like she remembered.

“You know my career. I wasn’t the best Gold-rank, hah, I could never get close to Named Adventurer status no matter how hard I tried. My teams came and went; I wasn’t the best adventurer, but I wasn’t the worst. I made a name for myself.”

“Tekshia the Spearmaster. Yes, grandma.”

“Don’t interrupt! Yes. Tekshia the Spearmaster. It should have been Spearmistress, but I heard too many jokes about that. I earned that class. Not like that Relc, who got it from killing a [Spearmaster] in battle. So I was good. But I knew I was getting older and frankly, I got tired of the adventuring life. Too many days hunting Trolls in bogs. So I quit.”

“Just like that?”

The old Drake looked annoyed. She chewed her cookie furiously and sipped more tea.

“No, not ‘just like that’. It took a long time to make my decision. Years. But I did it in the end. I retired from Gold-rank adventuring. And I was rich. I didn’t feel like it at the time. Adventuring is like a tunnel. No, wait, a staircase. Tunnels are idiotic. You keep chasing higher and higher, saving up for the next artifact, saying ‘if only I had real armor, not this steel crap’, or, ‘if only my spear were tipped with adamantine, not just enchanted’. And then when you quit, you realize how much gold you spent on just a potion.”

“How rich were you?”

“Richer than you are right now. By quite a lot, young lady. And I spent the money I had, too. I spent a lot of it on parties. Drinks, food, a fancy house, travelling…what adventurers normally do. Some of my old friends got into trouble. I helped them out. Some of the less-successful adventurers could use some gold. I had gold for years, even when I was pregnant. Even when your father was growing up and married your mother. Even when you were born. I wasn’t as rich, then, but I had investments. I was still one of Liscor’s wealthier citizens come the Second Antinium War. And then I…er…donated the rest to Liscor’s army.”

“You did what?”

Tekshia looked defensive. And uncomfortable.

“It was a different time! After the First Antinium War, when we held the walls and we could count the number of officers that survived? I had [Majors] and [Colonels] knocking on my door, very nice young Drakes and Gnolls. Always in need of gold. Always so thankful, as were the high command. And between all of it, the donations to the city, the rest, I suppose it ran out. That was an unpleasant day. I had to sell a lot of my gear to pay off the debts by the time I broke even.”

She watched as Selys put her face on the table. Tekshia was blushing, but she cleared her throat and Selys looked up.

“Don’t misunderstand me, Selys. I’m not poor. I had my job as Guildmistress and that earned me money. I could live and I still live quite comfortably off that. But I used to have money. And take it from me, adventurers spend money like a…Eater Goat shits.”

“Grandma! Wait, how often is that?”

“Often. And the wealthier they are, the more money they spend. That goes for most rich people. It’s rare to meet someone who can make more money come in than go out who’s new to the game. So don’t spend everything at once. Or if you do, hold onto that armor. Never let it slip away. You made your choice to keep it; never offer even a part of it, no matter what they offer you.”

After that, Tekshia finished her third cookie. Selys sat at the table, tail moving back and forth restlessly.

“So you think I should keep making money off the armor?”

Tekshia nodded.

“That would be wise. And I would tell you to spend a lot of it on artifacts. A better vault, somewhere with wards, perhaps on security—at least on some protective charms! You know what most adventurers wear. Get that. After that? You should leave Liscor.”

“But it’s my home.”

The Drake snorted.

“So what? It’s one city. Do you know how big Izril is? You’ve never been to another city in your life, girl. When I was your age, I’d visited three Walled Cities and at least two dozen cities!”

“And broken fifteen hearts and gotten married twice.”

Selys rolled her eyes. Tekshia raised a fist. Selys edged her chair back.

“I may exaggerate. But there’s a reason those arrogant idiots in Pallass look down on Liscor. If they ever come to Liscor, we’ll kick the scales off them in a back alley, but they are right.”

She pointed at Selys with a yellowed claw.

“You’re rich, Selys. You should go to Pallass. You should accompany that deranged girl, Erin Solstice. She’s more of a child than you are. She might need a rich friend, and you need to find out how to make that armor earn you money. Rent it to the Flamewardens for now; their leader will pay well to wear it. Most Drakes will, if only for a few days.”

“And will this be my life?”

Tekshia paused.

“Only if you want it to be. You don’t have to keep the armor. You don’t have to be rich, girl. But shouldn’t you find out what that means before you give it away?”

She was right. She usually was. Selys looked up at her grandmother. She was a bit teary, but she didn’t know why. She nodded.

“Okay. I’ll do that. Erin wants me to come with her anyways. I’ll spend money and…make connections. Wall Lord Ilvriss was talking about it. I’ll visit the Flamewardens. But you have to do one thing for me, Grandma.”

Tekshia eyed her suspiciously.

“…Give you more days off?”

Selys laughed. She stood up and went over to the portrait. She unhooked it from the wall and showed Tekshia it. The Drake stared down at the sketch.

“Grandma, you have to find a [Mage Artist]. Or whoever drew this.”

“[Sketch Wizard]. I think that’s what he called himself. Why?”

“So you can get another [Mage] to do this. But do it in color. Or do a memory. They can do that, can’t they?”

Tekshia’s eyes widened. She took the portrait, inspected it.

“They can. It’s very expensive, but Wistram [Mages] can do it. Some of them. I think some of Fissival’s [Mages] know the spell. Idiots becoming [Battlemages], [Summoners], [Necromancers] and [Illusionists]. If they really wanted to earn money, they just need to learn that spell and make it cheap enough for old folk. But it’s possible if you have enough gold.”

Selys gulped.

“Then do it. I want to know what my parents said. What they were like. I’ll pay for that. And I’ll earn whatever it takes…”

She felt a lump in her throat. Selys looked down and saw Tekshia’s eyes were moist. The Drake blinked rapidly. She glanced up at Selys and then down at the portrait.

“You want to know what they were like having sex? Because I walked in on them twice when I was—”

“Grandma!”

Selys laughed and cried. Tekshia smiled and stood up. She hugged her granddaughter once. Briefly. For such a tough Drake, Tekshia was surprisingly reticent about physical contact. Then she nodded.

“Make at least twenty thousand gold pieces first, you precocious granddaughter. That’s probably what it would take to lure a [Mage] all the way here and get what you want. For now…”

She walked over to the pile of gold on the floor next to the magical vault. Selys expected Tekshia to give her another pearl of wisdom, but the Drake just bent. She had a bag of holding at her side too, a good one from her adventuring days. She casually shoveled some of the gold into it.

“I’ll take this. And this. And some of this. The old folk and I could use a night at Wishdrink. Don’t bother coming to work tomorrow; I’ll make Warsh cover your shift.”

“What? Hey!”

Selys blinked as Tekshia nimbly hopped up and headed for the door. Selys blinked at the bare patch of her floor.

“Tekshia!”

The old Drake was already out the door as her furious granddaughter appeared in it. She laughed up at Selys, more like a [Witch]’s cackle.

“That’s Grandmother to you, Selys! And give me some of that cloth you bought! And if you didn’t buy anything nice, buy more!”

She speed-walked away as Selys shouted insults. The Drake [Receptionist] caught her breath, and then smiled as she closed her door. Her neighbor stomped on the floor to let Selys know to keep it down. Selys ignored it. She looked around and saw a Tekshia-sized gap in her apartment.

The old Drake had been bossy, mildly condescending, rude, and she’d stolen at least a hundred gold coins. And somehow, after her visit Selys felt a lot better. She looked at her vault, slapped the lid shut, lifted it, and ran out the door to find a new apartment.

—-

Selys was learning a lot of things today. She knew about speed, but now she was learning a new equation. Money = speed. It was a simple formula, but the more money you offered people, the faster you got places. New apartment? Money up front worked wonders. [Merchants] having lunch? Farri and Humric were at her service!

Something else Selys was learning was the effect gold had on friends. Or maybe silver was a better analogy. Because on some money cut and divided, but the silver shone through. Whereas other relationships tarnished. Or turned black.

It was another easy thing to spot. Some friends were poor friends. They came up to Selys and said things like—‘hey, I know Mica, Warsh, and Lellia said those things. But I want you to know that I would never’—and so on and so forth.

The true friends just apologized. Best friends, or oblivious ones like Erin never brought it up to begin with. Or in Drassi’s case, had brought it up all along and never lied about her intentions.

The final thing Selys learned was that she was mildly out of shape. She was so tired from running around the city and lugging the twenty-pound safe about that by the time she threw her safe in her new apartment and turned the spelled key in the lock, she had to go lie down. Or buy a stamina potion. She didn’t own any, but her new home was conveniently located near the eastern gates. Near to The Wandering Inn and a certain Market Street.

Selys dragged herself over there and saw the street was bustling. [Stall Keepers] and the lower-level [Shopkeepers] might not have permanent dwellings or fancy mobile caravans like the [Merchants] on Trader’s End did, but a lot of money still went through this street, albeit in smaller denominations.

Selys spotted the familiar stall and Gnoll at once. Krshia was a face to remember in Market Street—she might not be the Gnoll rubbing shoulders with Farri and Humric, but she was a [Queen] of the low-level earners. Which would make Lism the [King]. It was a loveless marriage.

Someone else had gotten to Krshia before Selys. Or rather, someone else was hovering around Krshia, talking fast as the Gnoll tried to conduct business with her clients. Octavia ducked as Krshia irritably swatted at her. Selys slowed down to listen.

“Krshia, friend! You know we’ve had a long and profitable business relationship, right? Well, I have an opportunity for you! I hear you know Gnolls. Well, I could use a few er, bulky lads to help me out! Just for a day or two! It’s nothing underhanded, probably, but for the sake of our relationship—”

She stopped as Krshia turned to stare at her.

“We have been working together for little more than a month, Octavia Cotton. Little time to call each other business partners, yes? Not enough time for favors.”

“Yeah, but—come on, Krshia. Think of our business! You can earn a lot of money! If my potions were to er, vanish suddenly, that’s coin down the drain! Think of it as an investment.”

Krshia shook her head as she handed another Gnoll some change.

“One of your potions was defective. You need to quality-check your batches, yes?”

“True, yes! But—”

“You stink of desperation. I will not risk my fellow Gnolls on something that smells and sounds illegal. Go ask an adventurer. Or hope Erin Solstice is inclined to help you. But that might be a mistake.”

Krshia shook her head. She turned her back on Octavia and no matter how much the [Alchemist] pleaded, Krshia ignored her. Octavia gave up and passed by Selys, muttering to herself.

“Lousy Gnolls who think they’re above underhanded…no, no, positive, Octavia. Erin will help out. She loves helping out! I just need to phrase it like…hey, watch it! Busy people are coming through!”

She walked around Selys, looking irritated. The Drake ignored her. Although it was the [Alchemist]’s creations she had come here for. Krshia smiled as Selys approached her counter.

“Ah, Selys. Good morning to you.”

“Hey Krshia. Can I get a stamina potion please? Uh, not a defective one.”

The Gnoll grinned at Selys.

“I tested these myself after the defective one was discovered. They are fine. That is twelve silver coins.”

“Twelve? That’s cheap…can you make change for a gold coin?”

“Hrr. Of course. But a cheap potion is cheaply sold. Miss Octavia makes them in bulk and I will admit, they are effective. If crude. You only need drink half for a good effect.”

Selys popped the vial Krshia gave her. It was indeed a small amount of liquid compared to a full-sized bottle, and true to the Gnoll’s word, the stuff was vile. Selys had tasted bad potions, but this was on another level. She gagged, but got it down. And when she did—

“Gah! That’s strong!”

It was like being smacked around by a pot’s worth of caffeine. And about as pleasant. Still, Selys felt her tired body perk up instantly. The taste probably had to do with that as well. She corked the vial and fake-retched a few times deep in her throat to try to get the taste out. Krshia offered her some water from a flask.

“Here.”

“Thanks. Ancestors, but that’s foul. Good price, though.”

The Gnoll smiled as Selys tilted the flask down, letting water splash into her mouth.

“Mm. True. But I hear that is the least of your concern today. Someone has been spending coin. Quite a lot of it, yes?”

“You heard that already?”

Krshia smiled at Selys’ dismayed expression. She tapped one ear.

“One simply has to listen. And it is a topic of much gossip, yes? And important for any [Shopkeeper] to know. But I wished to bring it up out of more than just idle chatter. Will you speak with me for a second?”

Selys lowered the water flask, perplexed. Then she had a surge of apprehension. But Krshia was older. She wouldn’t try and take advantage of Selys. Right?

“Of course.”

She stepped to one side as Krshia abandoned her stall. A customer heading towards her growled in disappointment. Krshia waved in apology, but apparently this was more important than business. Which only made Selys more wary. The Gnoll took the water flask back and drank.

“Mm. Thank you. So how shall I say this most simply? You know that I am of the Silverfang Tribe, yes, Selys?”

“Of course.”

It was in Krshia’s name. Or rather, she used her tribe’s name rather than having a formal last name like Drakes and Humans. Krshia nodded.

“Well, I am a…highly placed member in my tribe, for all I live in Liscor. You see, I am still a Plains Gnoll at heart, for all that I live in the city.”

That was an important distinction. And Selys wasn’t surprised by Krshia’s admission; she’d seen and heard from Erin how much sway Krshia had. She looked at Krshia, trying to get anything from her brown eyes, or her tail. Krshia grinned and Selys turned red as she saw the Gnoll could tell what she was doing; the trouble with Gnoll tails was that they were so short!

“I apologize. I do not mean to alarm you, yes? No doubt many people have been badgering you. Let me be more plain: I came to Liscor with some of my tribe to build ties. But also to prepare a gift for the Meeting of Tribes. You know what this is?”

“It’s…the biggest event among Gnolls, right? Some annual gathering?”

“Yes. But not annual. It happens every ten years. Sometimes it is even missed. But it is an important time. The fortunes of a tribe may change, or great worth may be acquired at the Meeting of Tribes. Which is why all seek to present a gift better than any other.”

Selys nodded. She was trying to think ahead of the conversation. Why did Krshia want her help? Selys drew a blank so she just waited for Krshia to explain.

“The Meeting of the Tribes is still a ways away. But I think the Silverfang tribe will have much to speak of. And a worthy present to give.”

“Oh. Good. I guess that’s a feather in your cap.”

This time Krshia blinked. She frowned, looking perplexed.

“A feather…in the cap?”

“That’s right. It’s a Human expression. I heard Halrac using it. Apparently [Hunters] put feathers in their hats to show what the biggest animal they killed was. Posturing, you know?”

Krshia grinned.

“Ah. I see. Gnolls do not wear hats, mostly. But I know [Hunters] who made headbands or other apparel out of feathers. It is a good expression. There is another feather I would add if I could, Selys. But it is not an easy feather. And yet it would be quite a big one, and good for the city. Will you hear me out?”

Selys wanted to say ‘I’m doing just that, aren’t I?’ But she knew that was rude and she wasn’t her grandmother so she couldn’t get away with it. So she nodded politely. Krshia took a moment. Then she spoke softly, glancing towards the roof of the City Hall, one of the taller buildings in the distance.

“I have a proposal which no one in the Council has seen fit to acknowledge. I cannot even speak to a Council member formally to suggest it. You see, many issues plague Liscor. Fewer now than there were a few weeks ago. And in fact, these are smaller problems. Solvable problems, unlike siege or war. One you are familiar with. There is a housing crisis in the city and the dungeon has yet been mostly a drain on the city’s profits.”

“Oh, I know about that.”

Selys made a face. She’d paid far more than she’d expected for her apartment, and it had only been achieved by negotiating for a room at the previous owner’s expense. She felt a bit bad about that, but her apartment was open and she hated her upstairs neighbor. She was a Gnoll with acute hearing and she and Selys had been the bane of each other’s lives. As for the dungeon—Selys knew about that indeed.

Krshia nodded.

“I would solve both by expanding Liscor and placing a small fee on the dungeon for adventurers.”

“Expanding Liscor?”

Selys blinked at the idea. But Liscor’s walls were enchanted! And they were tall, and sturdy! You couldn’t just add onto the city, could you? But Krshia seemed to think so. The Gnoll was nodding.

“It is a foreign concept to Drakes. They think of their cities as permanent. But someone built the cities. They can be expanded. Humans do it all the time. And yes, it is sometimes careless, and they often lacks walls. But a wall can be built, yes? And the coin for that could come from the dungeon.”

“How? It’s hardly raking in the profits, aside from the Raskghar haul. And adventurers do not take kindly to upping the fee they pay on huge treasure hauls. We can’t change those even if we wanted to; the Adventurer’s Guild has a code.”

Krshia nodded amiably.

“Very true. But a city can regulate the dungeon’s access, yes? What if Liscor charged a few copper coins for each entrance into the dungeon? That is very nominal even for a Silver-rank team. And this dungeon is so far filled with monsters. Who uses the parts? The adventurers bring some things back, but they leave much. Insect organs, moth wings, spider shells, all of it is useful, isn’t it? And once we know what can be obtained, we might find more uses. I propose to create a list of monsters in the dungeon. An organized inventory of the monsters in the dungeons and the harvestable parts and a system to request materials.”

Selys blinked. That was a great idea! Why hadn’t she or Tekshia thought of it? She nodded.

“We could…do that. Other cities have a system like that in place. Pallass probably does it. But…”

She grimaced, realizing why she hadn’t thought of it and Tekshia hadn’t brought it up if she had.

“…That’s a lot of work. Too much for us right now. We’d have to create a list, interview adventurers, check out bestiaries, consult [Alchemists] and so on…it’s fine if we had more staff, but we don’t. And Krshia, I hate to say it, but even with this amount of coin, it wouldn’t be enough to fully hire enough [Builders], let alone [Enchanters] and so forth to fully construct a new part of the city or even smaller villages on the nearby hills.”

Selys hated to rain on the [Shopkeepers]’s parade, but Krshia was nodding even before she finished.

“It would not. But Liscor is not entirely poor, is it? And what makes a city thrive is an industry. So far, as I understand it, much of Liscor’s wealth comes from its army. It has no…specialty. But a city that thrives off of a dungeon can be richer. Moreover, more space and more need for adventurers besides treasure will drive growth. More merchants will visit the city, more people who cater towards adventurers. It is already happening, but Liscor is not adapting to the problem.”

The [Receptionist] knew Krshia was right. She rubbed at her neck spines.

“I agree. But what’s the problem? You can’t bring this up with a Council member? I don’t know if I can help. I barely remember who…oh. You want Grandmother to help? I’m sure she can get you a meeting…no?”

The Gnoll was shaking her head.

“A proposal is only so much, Selys Shivertail. What if the Council disagrees? What if they do not see my vision? And are they the best fit for the job? I hear that during Liscor’s siege, they did very little. They left it to Watch Captain Zevara, to Wall Lord Ilvriss.”

“That’s true. I heard the same rumor. So what?”

Krshia Silverfang grinned. She spread her paws wide.

“Well, do you not see it? I am saying that if the current Council is inept, why not allow me to join it? The Council selects its own members every few years. By my reckoning, this is the year for it. So let me be the first Gnoll to be part of Liscor’s Council. And let me not be alone.”

Selys blinked. A Gnoll? Gnolls had never been on Liscor’s Council. They hadn’t even been that common in the city until…recently. Until after the Second Antinium War they’d begun appearing. Krshia and her clan. She looked at Krshia.

“No Gnoll’s ever been on the Council, Krshia. The Council is all Drakes. And they pick their replacements. Or the Guilds do, or something.”

Krshia nodded.

“That is true. Liscor has no election. Which is why I would like to change that. With your help and others. I have thought long about this and it is my decision: Liscor must have a vote. Give the city a chance to choose its leaders. And if that happens, I will ask to be elected part of the Council.”

She said it so plainly, as if she were stating facts, rather than trying to overturn Liscor’s governing system. Selys looked up at her. Krshia spoke plainly, gesturing at Selys and the City Hall in the distance.

“If I can find a way onto the Council, I would try to implement these proposals. A new dungeon tax and expanded powers for the Adventurer’s Guild and a formal request system for raw materials that might attract artisans into the city. Expanding parts of Liscor or even creating new villages to lower the rent issue—as well as establishing a maximum fee that a tenant may be charged.”

“But how—”

Krshia forestalled her, raising a furry finger.

“As for how, aside from the dungeon, I would request Antinium aid for building at low rates. They already make building cheap, yes? I do not expect the Hive to help for free—perhaps for concessions regarding the size of their Hive or allowing more Antinium aboveground? And—ending the bounty on certain monsters, such as Goblins. Would that not save the city money?”

That last part made Selys draw breath in sharply. She looked at Krshia and narrowed her eyes.

“You want Erin’s help, don’t you? You’re serious about this.”

“Have I given a sign that I was joking?”

Krshia returned Selys’ glance full of serious confidence. Selys crossed her arms warily.

“Did she talk with you about this?”

The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] grinned toothily at Selys.

“Believe it or not, some ideas can be my own, yes? This is a small…campaign. But I have the support of many of the Gnolls in Liscor and I believe that if the Council were pressed to hold elections, I and perhaps other Gnolls might win the seats.”

They could do it. If they made it an election, they might do it! Selys knew Krshia was well-liked and the Gnoll population in Liscor was at an all-time high. And Krshia’s ideas were good! Despite inner cynicism at the idea, Selys began to grow excited. Liscor’s Council would never allow it. Much less the army. But if they could do it…!

Then Selys had a thought. She looked at Krshia, confused.

“What do you need me for, Krshia?”

The Gnoll shook her head.

“Not much. Money is useful, but I and some of my friends are willing to put money behind our mouths. If you could donate a bit of gold, we could fund more gatherings with free food, perhaps rent a few taverns.”

Ah, so that was it. She’d gone about it in a roundabout way, but it came down to the same thing. For a second Selys got mad. Then she calmed down. It was a reasonable request. And this was coming from Krshia, for a cause Selys liked, rather than to buy a friend a dress or go partying. She was about to say yes. Then she hesitated. Her grandmother’s words echoed in her mind.

She didn’t have to give money for free, did she? Selys looked up at Krshia. The Gnoll was watching her. Carefully.

“I like your idea, Krshia. But I can’t just give money away for free. Say I do help you. I have some conditions.”

The Gnoll nodded slowly. She seemed ready, wary, but ready.

“Speak. What would you have, Selys?”

Selys didn’t know. And then she did. Of course, hadn’t she been moaning just this morning about it? She took a deep breath.

“If you win, I want a bigger Adventurer’s Guild. Twice as big, with more staff, more money for us as well. We can take on those roles you want if we have more money to buy updated bestiaries, hire trainers…”

Krshia’s brows crossed.

“That is an expensive proposition. I already have more things I wish to give Liscor, and I do not know Liscor’s budget, Selys. I would not wish to go back on my word.”

“I get that. But we need this for the dungeon tax and that monster parts request system, Krshia. And look at it this way. Grandma might back you if you agree. She’s been complaining to the Council for decades about the problem.”

Krshia thought about it. She muttered to herself, too quietly for Selys to hear. Then she looked up.

“I agree.”

Selys smiled in relief. Krshia held out a paw.

“I suppose this makes us allies. Working together towards a goal. Although you may simply give me money and I will do what I can.”

The Drake grasped Krshia’s paw firmly and received a crushing grip in return.

“Agh! Too strong, Krshia! No way. I’m in this. I like your idea. And I think I can help you out even more. You need to force the Council to make this an election, don’t you?”

Krshia nodded heavily.

“This is the most complicated issue. I have discussed it with some others, but it is hard to convince the Council to do something they do not have to do. We were thinking of gathering support. Unless you have an idea in mind?”

Selys grinned. Now this was a job she could handle. Not as an [Heiress]—okay, partly as an [Heiress], but also as her main class. A [Receptionist].

“I can do you one better. Come with me. Uh, that is, if you can let your shop…?”

Krshia waved at the stall.

“No one will steal from it. Unless we’ll be gone for hours, it is fine, yes? Very well. I may need to hire someone to help me run my stall soon, however.”

She followed Selys down the street, calling at a Gnoll to tell her she was leaving. Selys saw the Gnoll wave back and wondered how many Gnolls would vote for Krshia if she asked for it. She glanced back at Krshia’s shop. It looked more prosperous now; it seemed the Gnoll had recovered some of her fortunes.

“You have enough money coming in now?”

“Oh yes. Business has been good. Better than it was before now that I have new Skills. And if that Octavia could provide me with more potions, and better quality, I could even think about opening a shop.”

“That’s great.”

Selys meant it. Krshia laughed, baring her teeth.

“So says the Drake with a legendary artifact and more gold than I have earned in my life.”

Selys blushed.

“It was luck. I didn’t—”

A paw touched her shoulder gently. Krshia smiled without rancor.

“Stop. Do not apologize for fortune. It was merely a joke.”

The Drake hesitated. Then she kept walking. She appreciated what Krshia had said. She’d sounded like Tekshia. But still, how did you start a conversation up after a line like that? Eventually, Selys remembered Octavia.

“What was Octavia asking you for, Krshia? It sounded like she wanted some…help.”

Krshia shook her head.

“That one manufactures her problems like potions. I do not care to get involved; I know a bad investment when I see one. Where are we going? The Watch Barracks?”

She’d spotted the iconic building down the street. Selys nodded. She led the way inside. There was a Drake at the desk. He looked up as Selys walked forwards.

“Can I help you, Miss?”

“Selys Shivertail. I’d like to see Watch Captain Zevara? If she’s not busy.”

The Drake sighed. He looked tired and disinclined to be helpful.

“The Watch Captain is very busy, Miss. If you’d like to wait, I can let her know you’re waiting. But I doubt—”

He cut off as Selys leaned over the desk. She grinned at him, a mimicry of a certain smile she’d seen Erin use now and then. But Selys had her own way of getting what she wanted now.

“Hey. Tell her it’s Selys. Selys Shivertail. The owner of the Heartflame Breastplate? Wall Lord Ilvriss returned it to me a few days ago.”

The Drake sat up. He blinked at Selys and she saw his mouth open a bit. Some of the other [Guardsmen] looked up. Krshia, standing besides Selys, grinned. The Drake stared at Selys, then he stood up.

“One second, Miss Shivertail?”

He was gone for half a minute. Then he came down the stairs and Selys and Krshia went up. That was the thing about being a [Heiress]. And being rich, for that matter. Suddenly, everyone had time for you.

Still, time was not infinite, at least in Watch Captain Zevara’s office. And the Drake made that very clear with a glare that made Selys’ stomach do a flip and fall on its back. She didn’t know how Erin was so flippant around Zevara. The Drake was impressive! Not only was she Oldblood, but she had Selys’ respect, not least because she was a female Watch Captain. Those were rare.

Selys admired Wing Commander Embria too, although they’d never really had a chance to talk. But it was weird. She was Relc’s daughter and that was hard to fathom. Zevara cleared her throat.

“How can I help you, Miss Shivertail? Miss Silverfang?”

She was perplexed, but she heard Selys and Krshia out silently and patiently, tapping one claw on her desk and frowning. When Krshia had finished her outline—with Selys’ new idea included—Zevara leaned back in her chair.

“You want an election. Like…a democracy? That’s unheard of in Liscor. And only Pallass elects its Assembly of Crafts. Miss Krshia, do you think this really has a shot?”

The Gnoll frowned.

“If I did not think so, I would not have brought it up, Watch Captain. But I acknowledge it will be difficult. And yet—the election is the thing. If the Council can be persuaded to hold one, I believe I can win.”

She met Zevara’s eyes firmly. The Watch Captain frowned. She exhaled a plume of smoke. Selys noticed the window was open; it probably had to be with Zevara around.

“An election. You think I can…? Well, I actually can. Or at least, I can make it a big enough issue that the Council has to acknowledge it. But that opens every seat up on the Council. And my position as well—assuming they’d even agree to it.”

Selys and Krshia exchanged a worried glance. The Gnoll coughed.

“I understand this is an issue, Watch Captain. But my proposal would help the city. Would you consider it?”

Zevara shot them an amused glance. She sat up.

“Consider it? I’m halfway towards agreeing. If the Council wants to threaten my job, let them try. I’ve been petitioning them for more money and they haven’t agreed. The Watch needs a full upgrade to everything, from weapons to armor to magical items. The siege and the dungeon prove that. We can’t rely on adventurers forever. If you can get me that money, I’ll help you take this to a democracy. And Ancestors help us all if that happens.”

Selys sucked in her breath. Krshia hesitated.

“That…may be a problem. Liscor is not unlimited in its wealth.”

The Watch Captain nodded.

“I know. But I need that budget. And I understand the Adventurer’s Guild needs more money as well. And your proposals to expand Liscor would solve a lot of domestic issues. If the problem is money…”

Both her eyes and Krshia’s darted sideways to Selys. The Drake [Heiress] held up her claws.

“Hey, I have money, but not enough money to pay for an entire city. We’d need someone with a lot of gold. Like, a lot. Or find a new way to get the city enough money.”

Krshia’s ears drooped slightly. Zevara sighed. Then, suddenly, she opened her eyes again. She spoke very slowly.

“I…do know someone who has a lot of gold to spare. But you and I would need to talk with him.”

She looked at Krshia. The Gnoll frowned, and then raised her eyebrows. Her expression cleared and she almost smiled.

“Ah. I think I know who you mean. That ties in nicely with my plans.”

“Doesn’t it?”

Selys looked from face to face. The two older adults were giving each other that self-satisfied knowing look. Selys cleared her throat.

“Who do you mean?”

“Klbkch.”

“Klbkch?”

Zevara reached into the cabinet behind her and rifled through the files. She extracted a piece of paper and stared at it, hiding it from Krshia and Selys’ view.

“His Hive, I mean. Yes…they could do a lot. I think.”

“Would he agree?”

Zevara looked up. She bit her lip.

“I can only ask. But before I do that…this is a risk, still. The army won’t like the idea of any kind of election. They might try to interfere. And the Council could well try to replace me if we can’t force an election. This is a risk. I might need to think on it. Give me a day or two, please.”

She looked up at Krshia. The Gnoll nodded, but Selys spotted her place to come in. Because she was on fire now. She’d found a use for both her money and what influence she had. She raised a claw. Both Krshia and Zevara looked at Selys. The [Receptionist] felt silly and lowered her claw. Then she pointed at Krshia before turning to Zevara.

“I don’t think we should wait. The Council usually replaces itself during the spring. Well, the election could take a while so let’s do this now. Krshia, I’m on board with you. I’ll give you four hundred gold coins to jumpstart your campaign. And if Zevara agrees to help…I’ll let her borrow the Heartflame Breastplate for two weeks.”

Krshia’s eyes went round. Zevara’s eyes went even rounder. She half-rose from her chair, then sat down. Selys eyed her with satisfaction. The Watch Captain opened her mouth, caught herself, then coughed.

“Four weeks.”

“Three?”

Zevara nodded tightly. Selys smiled.

“Deal!”

She saw Zevara nod, but she had the distinct impression Zevara had just made a triumphant fist under the table. Krshia looked from face to face, grinning with pleasure. Zevara coughed a few times and cleared her throat. Then she rifled her papers unnecessarily.

“I’ll schedule an appointment. Klbkch’s off-duty for the next two days, but he might be able to fit in a meeting in his other capacity. I just need to wait for him to leave his Hive. As for other people to talk to, Olesm would be one. And perhaps…Erin Solstice. Unless, dead gods, this is her idea, isn’t it?”

She paled suddenly. Krshia and Selys both grinned.

“No. For once it’s ours. But Erin Solstice might help.”

“Or hinder. Still—damn, it’s a shame Wall Lord Ilvriss isn’t here. Because you could send her into the City Hall. We still could as a last resort. Although the Council might have my tail if I let her loose on them.”

The Watch Captain was frowning. So were Krshia and Selys, thinking the problem through, and what to say to Klbkch. But it was we now. They were in it together.

And as Selys looked around, at the two older women she respected in the city besides her grandmother, she felt a buoyancy in her chest. She stopped worrying about the money in her apartment and suddenly, wondered if she could persuade Zevara to hold off on the Heartflame Breastplate so she could lend it to the Flamewardens for a bit. After all, they might need more money. And the breastplate would look best on Zevara if she stood next to Krshia while they got her elected.

Suddenly, the world opened up. Selys realized something. This is what she wanted to do. Her worry, her confusion over becoming an adventurer, of how to use what she’d been given disappeared. Because she wasn’t an adventurer. She didn’t want to be one. This was who she was. Why change that?

She was no [Mage]. She couldn’t change the weather, and she was no [Warrior] to swing a sword and bring down a monster. She couldn’t play a [Bard]’s song and captivate an audience or lead an army like a [General]. But she could do all those things.

She could hire an adventurer. She could bribe a crowd or fund a campaign. She could hire a damn army, or at least some [Mercenaries]. And she could make it rain gold. Or silver. That was probably more cost-effective. Selys looked at Zevara and Krshia, then she cleared her throat. They looked at her. A Gnoll who led her tribe in Liscor, and a Watch Captain of a Drake city. And they waited for her to speak. Selys had a big smile on her face as he tail swished back and forth excitedly.

Swish, swish.

“Hey, do you know if I can buy land in the city? And uh, how much does that cost? Also, Watch Captain Zevara, can I hire the City Watch? Or do I need to talk to adventurers? Because I could really use Relc’s help…”

After all, the breastplate’s just the start.

[Heiress Level 11!]

[Skill – Everything Has a Price obtained!]

[Inheritance – Shadow of His Name obtained!]

6.18 H

[Martial Artists]. A term for people who use skills and techniques designed for combat, be it self-defense, war, competition, or other activities. They differed from traditional [Warriors] in a simple way. While anyone could learn to use a sword, and there were indeed teachers of swordplay or soldiering, anyone who knew how to fight could be a [Warrior]. It was a broad term that applied to self-taught amateurs as well as those formally taught by experts.

But [Martial Artists] practiced a system, an evolution of a traditional fighting style refined over decades, centuries, and so on, until it was a culture unto itself. Until you could call the act of carrying out moves a form of art in itself. That was what being a [Martial Artist] meant. But it was a rare class in most parts of the world.

“After all, who fights with their fists? It’s not really viable, especially for humanoid races. No—even Drakes and Gnolls wouldn’t do that well. Think about it. You’re up against some [Warrior] with a sword. Even if it’s made of iron, the sword’s a lot longer than your arm. Plus, it’s made out of metal. I don’t care how sharp Drake claws are—you’d normally get skewered before you got in arm’s reach. That’s why [Fist Fighters], [Brawlers], and so on are normally just tavern toughs or drunks. It’s rare to see anyone use that kind of class outside of a city.”

Ceria was explaining the concept of [Martial Artists] to her team. She was sitting with them in an inn in Celum. It was called The Drunken Swordsman, and it was a fairly nice inn as they went. Ceria wouldn’t have necessarily stayed here when she was journeying with Calruz and Gerial in the original Horns of Hammerad; paying for their entire group would have wasted too much coin.

Now of course, her team could afford it, but it was surprising to Ceria because the young woman sitting next to her was staying here of her own volition. No, everything about Garia Strongheart was surprising. Ceria shot a glance at the City Runner for the ninth time in as many minutes. She couldn’t help but stare.

Garia was thin. Or, thinner. She was still far from a half-starved girl, or a [Lady] striving to wear the sleekest dress possible. But even so, the change in Garia from when Ceria had known her was astounding.

The City Runner had been, to put it politely, a bit sturdier than most. She’d given Ceria the impression she ate too much, but that was a misleading look because more than a bit of her extra weight had been muscle. Garia had been strong as could be, but slow, which meant she’d been a low-level, if dependable, City Runner called on for heavy deliveries at a slower pace.

She’d been friends with Fals and Ryoka and had often been seen in the company of the two when Ceria had come across them in Celum. But that had been ages ago. Now?

She was thinner. Still not quite as thin as someone like Falene, who was practically the definition of austere elegance in how she presented herself, but closer to Yvlon in terms of size, albeit a tiny bit bulkier. But all that extra flesh was muscle. Which meant that Garia Strongheart looked great. No, incredibly good. Ceria was surprised at how attractive Garia had become. The half-Elf paused for a second, wondering if her face had changed as well. Then she realized she was staring and coughed.

“Sorry.”

“No problem. Hey, can I get you anything to eat? It’s on me. Mister Timbor, can we get some drinks please? And some of your fries? Hey, you’re going to love this, Ceria.”

Garia turned and waved to a big [Innkeeper] helping wait the tables. Timbor waved back good-naturedly. Ceria blinked.

“You seem familiar with him.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m something of a regular. I’ve made Celum my home base. It’s close to my family’s home, and I’ve gotten a lot faster lately. And I’m earning a good bit more, so I can afford to stay here.”

The City Runner turned and flashed Ceria a smile. She was clearly excited, and chatty. She’d practically dragged Ceria to the inn and the half-Elf had agreed, to satisfy her curiosity as much as anything else. She had to know what had happened to Garia. Besides, the only mission her team was on today was to do some work at the Adventurer’s Guild. It wasn’t as if they had to be in a hurry.

“Ahem. Sorry, Ksmvr. Where was I?”

Ceria turned back to the Antinium. Ksmvr was sitting next to Yvlon across the table. Pisces, who had more space to himself and was leaning back in his chair, raised one eyebrow in amusement.

“I believe you were explaining to Comrade Ksmvr why [Martial Artists] were so rare, oh, Captain Ceria. Because hand-to-weapon combat is quite foolish, is that correct?”

He was eying Garia as well, but unlike Ceria he wasn’t at all unobtrusive about it. Yvlon and Ksmvr were politely sipping from the drinks the [Barmaid] had just brought over—neither of them knew Garia as well as Ceria or Pisces. Ceria glared at Pisces as she lifted her drink to her lips.

“What? Yeah, I was. Do you have a problem with that, Pisces? It’s not hard to figure out. Weapons have reach, cutting power—and you can enchant them! True, some races have claws or sharp teeth. So what? We’re not animals. What kind of an idiot would use her fists to pick a fight with someone with a sword? Besides Calruz, that is?”

Pisces just kept smirking at Ceria. Ksmvr meanwhile politely raised one of his three good hands. The place where his fourth arm should have been was just a stump, healed but not regenerated. Sometimes Ceria worried about that. Ksmvr was an outcast from his Hive, but surely they could do something about his missing arm? He’d assured her it wouldn’t ‘impede his combat effectiveness unduly’, but that wasn’t really the point.

“As a matter of fact, Captain Ceria, most of the Antinium do not fight with weapons. Workers may arm themselves with bows, but aside from the Armored Antinium, all other types of Antinium Soldiers only fight with their natural appendages.”

“Ah. Uh. I didn’t mean—obviously the Antinium are an exception, Ksmvr.”

“We do practice exceptionally straightforward and somewhat high-casualty forms of combat, Captain Ceria. I take your point.”

The half-Elf turned bright red. It was worse because Ksmvr was so polite about it. Yvlon shook her head with a slight smile.

“Ceria didn’t try to insult your species, Ksmvr, I’m sure. But she’s right that other species don’t have, uh, the Antinium’s skill at fist-fighting. Your species has four arms and shells. We fragile Humans have weak skin and two hands. It’s not a good idea for us.”

“Indeed.”

Pisces was sitting up in his chair. He nodded towards Garia with his slight smirk. Ceria shot him a warning glance, but he was too far away to kick.

“As I understand it, [Martial Artist] classes are practically unheard of in most continents. It is difficult to implement it as a fighting method across armies of [Soldiers], and it carries several demerits, which Ceria has kindly listed. However, as I recall, the people of the Drath Archipelago as well as some Minotaurs have that class. Miss Garia appears to have picked up the class somewhere. Which might be the reason for her dramatic weight loss. You look quite fetching, Miss Strongheart, if I might say so. I congratulate you on the change.”

“Pisces!”

Yvlon and Ceria both snapped at the [Necromancer]. But Garia just laughed, and that at least was the same as Ceria remembered. The boisterous young woman reached over and slapped Pisces on the back; he nearly smacked the table with the front of his face.

“Whoops, sorry, Pisces! I’m not offended, Ceria, uh, Miss Yvlon. I’m glad you said something! It’s the first thing most people say to me—the ones who aren’t polite like Ceria, that is. Isn’t it incredible?”

“It is.”

Ceria gave up as Pisces shook his robes and the wine he’d ordered slid off the enchanted cloth and onto the floorboards. A passing [Barmaid] gave him a dirty look, which he ignored. The half-Elf looked at Garia now that she’d broached the subject.

“How on earth did you change so much, Garia? If you don’t mind me asking? It’s a Skill, right? From your [Martial Artist] class?”

Garia chuckled, looking delighted at the attention.

“That’s right! I actually got the class nearly a month and a half ago. And the Skill I got—[Weight Control] was one of the first I received! Level 6, if you can believe it! I’ll tell you all about it. But here come the fries! Take a look at this!”

One of The Drunken Swordsman’s servers had come over with a plate of fried wedges of potato. French fries, not nearly as thin as Erin would slice them, but unmistakably the same. There was even some ketchup with the fries. Pisces brightened up and levitated two towards him before the plate was even set down. Ceria murmured in appreciation and took one. It was salted very pleasantly and the ketchup was very good, if too sweet for her tastes. Garia beamed.

“Do you like it? It’s a new addition to Celum! They’re called ‘french fries’, but we just call them ‘fries’ for short! Aren’t they a great snack?”

“Mhm. They’re quite nice. These ones could use a bit more crisp for my taste, though.”

Yvlon commented as she politely ate a fry in the singular. Ksmvr had taken nearly as many as Pisces and the two began to devour the large platter with Garia’s help. The city Runner looked shocked and a bit crestfallen.

“Wait, you’ve eaten these before? I thought they’d be a huge shock! They came out just last week and I haven’t seen you all around in Celum. You’re still at The Wandering Inn in Liscor, right? I’ve been meaning to stop over there and talk to Erin, but I keep putting it off.”

All four Horns of Hammerad smiled. Ceria coughed as she turned to Garia.

“Actually, Garia, we’ve been eating these fries for months now. Or didn’t you hear? These came from Liscor. From Erin, actually.”

“What?”

The City Runner looked stunned. Ceria nodded.

“I guess it is new in Celum, although some people do come through to the inn regularly. They must have copied her recipe. Took them long enough; you can get fries in any tavern in Liscor if you ask. It’s great with a drink of ale.”

“No way. I thought that one of the [Innkeepers] here had invented it and Erin copied it when I had it at her inn! They never said it was from Erin! What about Miss Agnes? Her inn was partnered with Erin’s, wasn’t it? Only, last time I visited it wasn’t doing so well. Although her husband is up and on his feet these days.”

Garia shot the [Innkeeper] named Timbor a confused look. He was a big fellow. Pisces smirked unpleasantly.

“I believe that’s because they have a particular grudge against Erin Solstice, Miss Strongheart. As I recall, your [Innkeeper] was one of the ones who upset Erin in particular.”

“What? But Timbor’s a great innkeeper. He’s had me over since—you’re sure? I need to talk to Erin.”

Ceria drummed her fingers on the table and snatched one of Pisces’ fries as it floated past her face. He scowled at her.

“If you do, watch out for the Hobgoblin staying at her inn. He’s quite friendly, but he hates people screaming at him.”

“Hob—hold on, how much have I missed? Did that little Goblin, er, Rags, turn into a huge one?”

“Oh—no. What happened was…”

It was strange for Ceria to recount all that had happened to Garia. After all, the City Runner had known Erin through Ryoka. But it had been in a peripheral sense; she’d never been at the heart of the drama in Erin’s inn like the Horns of Hammerad, and she’d missed a lot of action. The City Runner listened with mouth agape as she heard the stories. Face-Eater Moths. Raskghar. The siege. Goblin heroes and death. Zel Shivertail, the legend.

“Dead gods. And I thought I’d changed. But one look at your team told me…I can’t quite recall if we’ve been introduced. I knew the Horns had changed; I saw you during the siege of Liscor—I mean, the one with the Face-Eater Moths. And I heard about Lord Tyrion’s army and the Goblin Lord, but I wasn’t near a scrying orb for that. I’ll have to pay to see a recording if there’s one available. I’m sorry if I haven’t introduced myself before. Garia Strongheart.”

She stood up. Yvlon and Ksmvr did likewise. The [Wounded Warrior] smiled slightly as she held out a gauntleted hand. It was bad manners to eat with her gauntlets on, but the woman was doing it anyways. Ceria had noticed Yvlon wore her armor—at least her gauntlets and armguards—at all times. To hide her damaged arms?

Then Ceria wondered if the Free Antinium’s gels would help with her arms as well. She hadn’t complained about her injuries of late, but that was because she couldn’t feel her arms. Yvlon shook Garia’s hand, smiling, and neither commented on her etiquette.

“I have seen you before, Miss Garia. But I can’t say we’ve ever talked that much.”

“Garia, please. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Yvlon.”

“And I am Ksmvr. Hello. I am one of the Antinium, but I am not hostile towards you at the moment Miss Garia. So please do not fear for your life.”

Ksmvr held out one of his hands. Garia blinked, but didn’t even miss a beat as she shook it. Ceria groaned.

“Don’t mind Ksmvr, Garia—and he is an Antinium, but—”

“Don’t worry. I met that other one. Klbkch? And Pawn. Ryoka’s told me about them, so I’m not scared. And I hear Antinium have been in Celum before. Honestly, I was a bit worried we’d have people panicking, but they’ve seen, uh, Ksmvr before?”

“Once or twice. There was a baseball game…”

Ceria looked around. Ksmvr was indeed getting a lot of looks, but the Antinium had been spotted in Celum a few times before. Still, if Ksmvr were alone, Ceria would have bet people would have panicked. Another thing to worry about.

“Anyways. Where were we? Oh, right. Erin’s inn is one thing, Garia. But how in the name of tree sap did you…”

The half-Elf waved at Garia in general. The City Runner laughed again. She looked so happy. And she was clearly doing well; Ceria distinctly recalled Garia being worried about her job and how she was doing before.

“Like I said, Ceria. I got the class. [Martial Artist]. Level 14! I’ve been leveling like crazy. No one can believe how fast I’m shooting up, but I’m training every chance I get between runs. My weight’s just one change I’ve had. Look at this!”

She lifted her light tunic. Ceria blinked as she saw a very taut stomach and toned abdominal muscles. And something else she’d seen on Calruz when the Minotaur went shirtless. A six-pack of muscles.

“Oh.”

Yvlon sounded admiring. Ksmvr leaned over, looking blank.

“I do not understand what this configuration of flesh means. Comrade Pisces, please explain.”

“It shows high abdominal strength, Ksmvr. And I realize the distinction is lost on you, but I find it a quite attractive view.”

Pisces leaned over for a better look. Garia turned red and Yvlon reached over to punch him.

“No, don’t!”

The Runner girl looked pleased as she lowered her shirt. That was another change. Garia would never had been so bold. Ceria blinked as Pisces edged back from Yvlon and Ksmvr prodded his own stomach.

“So you’re really trying to be a [Martial Artist], Garia? Aren’t you a [Runner]?”

Garia took a longer drink and nodded.

“That’s right. But the two classes have great synergy. After all, both are about the body. I’m hoping I can consolidate the classes. But I have no idea what class I’d get and I’m running out of ways to improve. I do practice punches every day—and kicks as well as this dodging routine I learned—but I’m just dying to meet Ryoka again. I want to see her face—and get her to teach me how to do some flips!”

“Ryoka taught you how to do those punches? Now it makes sense.”

Yvlon sighed and rolled her eyes. Ceria nodded too.

“Of course. She took both you and Calruz on, remember, Yvlon?”

“As if I could forget. That was one way to meet her.”

The [Warrior] rubbed her cheek ruefully. Garia smiled.

“She told me about taking on Calruz with her bare fists. That’s not something I’m ever going to do, but when she visited my parent’s farm, Ryoka also taught me how to do a basic punch. She wanted me to defend myself. Honestly, I didn’t see much point in it, but she did some incredible tricks as well, so I thought—why not? My dad was all hyped up after her visit too. He practically forced me to try her punches the day after she left, and then spar. I don’t know if you’ve met him—”

“Wailant Strongheart? Doesn’t he run a really productive farm around Celum? I remember hearing about how productive his fields are.”

Yvlon looked curious. Ceria blinked at her.

“How do you know that, Yvlon?”

“I do take an interest in that kind of thing, Ceria. My family runs a number of businesses. He runs his farm practically by himself, or so I heard. Dangerous, even for a farm located close to Celum. But I take it he’s good at fighting?”

Garia smiled ruefully.

“Dad’s not alone. But you’re right. He can take care of himself. So can my mother. She’s a [Green Mage].”

“That explains it. Is your father a former adventurer, then? A soldier?”

“No. He was a [Pirate].”

Yvlon choked on her drink. Ksmvr politely patted her on the back.

“You are drowning, Yvlon.”

“Thanks, Ksmvr. A [Pirate]? You don’t hear about that every day!”

“No. But that’s an entire story…anyways, my dad’s still really good with a sword. And his fists. He kept egging me to become an adventurer and learn how to fight. I’m no good with a weapon, though. After Ryoka left he made me do a hundred of her punches exactly like she did, and then tried to get me to spar. Normally I can’t even touch him, but he kept egging me on. And then I threw one of Ryoka’s punches and got lucky and—”

Garia spread her hands helplessly. Ceria winced. Pisces frowned. He leaned over to Ceria.

“Ceria. Correct me if I’m mistaken, but wasn’t Garia in the possession of the ah, [Enhanced Strength] Skill?”

“Yup.”

Pisces winced. So did Yvlon.

“Ouch.”

Ksmvr looked up.

“Ah. That Skill is a more potent version of [Lesser Strength], is it not? I thought it was difficult to acquire for [Warriors], though.”

Yvlon dabbed at her mouth with a handkerchief.

“Rare, yes. I wish I had it. But it’s more common for [Farmers].”

“And I was one until I quit. It’s one of the reasons I was so big growing up, or so my mother always said. And I got a solid hit on my dad during that sparring session.”

Garia waved a hand. Ksmvr stared blankly at her. Ceria smiled slightly.

“Ksmvr, it’s not a complete comparison, but remember Calruz? Imagine him hitting you as hard as he could. He’s probably a bit stronger, but I remember a guy with [Enhanced Strength] nearly knocked him flat in a bar brawl one time.”

“Ah. I see. The potential for bodily harm rises. Commendable.”

Garia shook her head.

“I didn’t hurt my dad that bad. But I did knock him out. It was a lucky shot to the head, but still. I can’t tell you how good that felt! I’ve never so much as touched him when he didn’t want me to. That night I gained the [Martial Artist] class. And I decided that if I could knock my father out, a good punch would do just as well for any [Bandit] I met. Or monster! So I kept practicing off-and-on. And then I got to Level 6 and I realized what my class could do for me.”

She indicated her body. Ceria frowned.

“So you got a Skill and you could just lose weight? Like that? Isn’t that insanely powerful?”

Yvlon nodded.

“I know dozens of [Ladies] who’d kill for a Skill like that, Garia. Literally kill.”

“Well, they can learn to do a few punches and see if they get it. I don’t think it’s a powerful Skill by the standards of my class, you see. It just helps me lose weight, which is what I wanted. I guess that’s why I got it?”

She looked around the table for confirmation. Pisces nodded. Somehow he’d signaled for another plate of fries, unabashedly putting it on Garia’s tab.

“Indeed. It’s a well-known phenomenon that classes and Skills are acquired often in line with the user’s desires. I myself don’t have any Skills involving the summoning of flesh-based undead, for instance.”

“Silver and steel, Pisces. Of all the things to say while we’re eating.”

Yvlon glared. Pisces raised a hand.

“I merely bring it up as a point of reference. I much prefer skeletons to zombies, you see. Rotting flesh is so…unrefined.”

“It also carries disease. I am contributing this fact to the conversation.”

“Thank you, Ksmvr.”

The Antinium beamed. Garia looked around.

“I don’t know about all that. But I’m just so happy I got the class. It’s not the only Skill I got of course—I learned a few techniques too! I can do a really fast kick, I have a dodging Skill—and I’m a lot faster on my feet! But that’s just because of the weight loss. I can’t wait to see what other Skills I get, though. So I’m learning all I can about my class. But Ceria and Pisces are right. There’s practically no one with this class in Izril.”

“Huh. So what will you do?”

Garia shrugged.

“I’m trying to see if there are any [Martial Artists] or people with similar classes among the adventurers on the continent. There probably are, and I’ll see if I can talk to them and if they’re willing to share. Aside from that, I do my research. [Mages] know a lot, you see, and experienced travellers from Chandrar are helpful. If I could go to a larger city or a port…oh, and you’re wrong about [Martial Artists], Ceria. Just a tiny bit.”

“Oh? How?”

“Weapons are actually part of the fighting styles [Martial Artists] use. You see, it’s about the attitude and…discipline? The point is, some use hands and feet, but there are entire styles that take other body parts into account. Also, there are groups of [Martial Artists] in Chandrar too, Pisces. There’s this famous nation called Pomle and I was trying to see if I could send a [Message] spell there, but they don’t even have a Mage’s Guild.”

Garia sighed. Pisces sniffed.

“I knew that. I was simply referring to the practice in a broader cultural sense, not minorities by continent—”

“Shut up, Pisces. She’s more of an expert than you.”

Ceria smiled at Garia, privately delighted. The City Runner grinned at Pisces.

“Well, I have done my research. But if you know anything Pisces, I’d love to find out more. There really aren’t any experts around. Oh, there are [Brawlers], and I’ve heard of [Fist Fighters], but they’re completely different. I did hear a rumor about a…[Mage] in Pallass? He apparently trains his body. And doesn’t Erin’s inn have a door to Pallass?”

She looked hopefully at Pisces. So did Ceria, although the comment wiggled at a part of her memory. But she didn’t keep her ear to the door like Pisces did with his constant spying. She was more of an expert on adventuring and uh…half-Elves. He nodded at last.

“I believe I know the [Mage] you’re referring to, Miss Strongheart.”

“Garia.”

“Miss Stronghear—”

The young woman reached over and poked Pisces. His chair rocked a bit.

“Garia.”

Yvlon was smiling. Pisces blinked twice.

“…Garia. The Drake in question is known as Grimalkin. I’m familiar with a few particulars about him; he didn’t attend Wistram, but he did visit the academy…hm. He graduated from Fissival, but his ah, unique beliefs make him a pariah in the magical community. However, I believe his theories are sound, if excessive. Ceria, you might remember him. He’s the one who challenged an Archmage to a duel.”

The half-Elf snapped her fingers.

“Him? I remember that!”

“Someone challenged an Archmage of Wistram?”

The others leaned forwards. Ceria nodded.

“Two years after I left Wistram with Pisces. I remember hearing all about it. He lost, didn’t he?”

Pisces sniffed.

“Of course. He isn’t a high enough leveled [Mage] to beat any of the current Archmages. I believe he was up against Archmage Feor, a bad matchup, given Feor’s extensive abilities to control a duel.”

“Right, right. Good thing he wasn’t up against Amerys, though. She does not hold back.”

Pisces’ lips twitched as Yvlon, Ksmvr, and Garia all looked blank.

“He might have done surprisingly well. He did land a hit that nearly shattered Feor’s barrier spell. Apparently he suffered a bit of the impact. I would have quite liked to have seen that.”

So would Ceria. And she was impressed too; she knew how good an Archmage’s barrier spells probably were.

“So he’s some kind of fighting [Mage]? That might be what Garia wants.”

Pisces sighed.

“Alas, I think ‘physical mage’ is all too apt a term for Grimalkin. He emphasizes physical enchantment spells. Which means he can fight on par with a Gold-ranked [Warrior] with ease, but as a consequence he neglects other forms of magic. His motto is that a [Mage] should be able to keep up with [Warriors]. I admire the concept myself, as I combine aspects of fencing combat with my spellcraft in battle, but I doubt Grimalkin is that acquainted with the kind of fighting Miss…with what Garia desires. [Martial Artists] use Skills and battle techniques, not spells and they can rival even powerful spells at high-level.”

He indicated his rapier as he spoke. Ceria was nodding, but she saw Garia looked disappointed. Ksmvr waved a hand.

“Comrade Pisces. Comrade Pisces, please explain to me. How powerful would you rate a [Martial Artist] compared to a regular [Warrior]?”

“Well—”

“I’ll answer that, Ksmvr. I am the expert here after all.”

Yvlon smoothly interrupted Pisces. He sighed loudly, but took a drink as she took over. That was actually a good sign, as was the way Yvlon didn’t glare at him in any seriousness. The Horns were easy around each other, and Ceria could see Garia glancing from face to face as she sipped from her drink, listening.

Yvlon shot Ksmvr a smile as the Antinium turned to face her. They had a good connection. If Ceria could sometimes sense what Pisces was thinking from their shared past, she thought that Yvlon liked Ksmvr, and she was the only person who Ksmvr didn’t address with any degree of formality.

“You see, Ksmvr, it’s a hard question. [Warriors] like me wear armor, but I do know [Martial Artists] usually go without. It’s more of a question of how rich and what level we are. You see, at low levels, the [Warrior] wins if they’re equipped right. We can wear armor and use steel weapons. Bare hands and feet aren’t much use even with some Skills. And the problem continues at higher levels.”

“Ah. I see. Your Sword of Weight and my Forceshield would be powerful weapons a [Martial Artist] lacks.”

Ksmvr indicated the sword at Yvlon’s side and the small bucker he carried. Yvlon nodded.

“Exactly. But it’s not all clear-cut. For instance, [Martial Artists] have to train and not all [Warriors] do. I practice my swings, but I don’t do the…”

She waved her arms vaguely. Ksmvr copied her. Garia shook her head amused, but didn’t break in.

“…So maybe [Martial Artist] is a stronger class than general [Warriors]? It might be like having a [Blademaster] class in terms of quality. And their Skills are quite good. But we get enchanted gear. So it’s more even at higher-levels. One thing’s for sure, though. Take away a Gold-rank [Warrior]’s gear and give him just steel and pit him against a [Martial Artist] of the same level, and I know who I’m betting on.”

Ksmvr nodded a few times. Then he raised his hand.

“To clarify, which one would you bet on?”

Everyone laughed at that. Garia called for another round as Ceria got up to pee. She had to chuckle over Ksmvr. But someone stopped her on the way back from the toilet.

“Miss. Excuse me, Miss.”

The [Innkeeper], Timbor, halted Ceria. He gave her a wide and slightly nervous smile as he indicated her team.

“That uh, that thing with you. That’s one of them, isn’t it? An Antinium? From Liscor?”

“That’s right.”

The man licked his lips as Ceria frowned at him.

“He’s not going to do anything, is he? I know Garia, and she’s a good girl. Er, and I know your team’s the Horns of Hammerad, right? But one of the Antinium…it’s safe, it won’t act up, right? You can promise me that?”

Ceria glared.

“Ksmvr can control himself. He’s an adventurer.”

“Right, right. I only wanted to know…”

Timbor backed up, for all he was quite a bit taller than Ceria. She debated freezing his feet to the ground, and then shook her head. If she hadn’t met Ksmvr, Pawn, and Klbkch, she might have felt the same way.

“He’s quite nice. Don’t worry. We’re not staying the night. We have an inn. Ksmvr hasn’t killed anyone there yet.”

The [Innkeeper] flushed a bit.

“Of course. Look, I didn’t mean to say…”

Ceria let him go at that. The others were laughing as she came back. Garia was telling them stories of her new adventures on the road.

“…and that’s when I realized I really was a lot better! Fals came running back up to me, and then he just stared at the dead thing on the road. He couldn’t believe it! I was going to keep running, but it turned out the bounty on the monster was worth more than my delivery!”

Yvlon chuckled at that. Pisces leaned over to Ceria as he smiled.

“She punched a Rockdevil to death.”

“What?”

The [Ice Mage] nearly spat out her drink. She stared at her full mug, and then at the [Barmaid] filling Pisces’ tankard.

“Hold on, we didn’t order—”

“Mister Timbor sent a free round around.”

“Oh.”

Ceria felt a bit bad about her sharp tongue now. Then she felt better because it was a free drink. Pisces raised his eyebrows as he watched Garia showing Yvlon and Ksmvr a scar.

“Trouble?”

“No, actually. The [Innkeeper] was just worried about Ksmvr being Ksmvr.”

“Ah.”

“That reminds me. When we go to the Adventurer’s Guild, let’s be careful. Because they have weapons and I’d hate for one of them to react badly to Ksmvr.”

“I quite agree. Although, is your guild in Celum that dangerous?”

Ceria made a face. She tried not to drink too much ale before a job, but this was free. She’d have to sober up a bit. Maybe she’d grab a sobering potion at Octavia’s before she left.

“Not really? But you never know. Look, it’s been a while, but Yvlon and I know most of the groups around here. Let’s head over after this. And when you get there, try not to mention the undead…”

She saw Pisces nod. Garia was turning to her as he sat back up in his chair.

“So Ceria! Erin’s doing well, or better, I guess. I’ll drop by and visit her. And little Mrsha too! But have you seen Ryoka around? I’m dying to talk to her, but no one’s seen her in Celum for ages! Is she running errands around the Drake cities?”

Ceria stopped drinking. She looked up. The smile faded from Yvlon’s lips. Pisces looked up as he ate one of the remaining cold fries.

“Ryoka? We haven’t seen her, Garia. Not for a long while.”

“What? I thought she was in Liscor! What about Mrsha? She was looking after her!”

The Runner looked shocked. Ceria shook her head. She looked up at Yvlon and remembered the day Ryoka had disappeared.

Regrika Blackpaw. Her mysterious mage friend. Her chasing after Ryoka—

She gave Garia a truncated version of the story. The City Runner shook her head.

“And she just left? No one told me!”

She pounded the table, making the cups and plates jump. Ceria eyed her.

“You wouldn’t have been able to help, Garia. Believe me—we ran into Regrika or whoever that Gnoll really was. She took out a Gold-rank adventurer like that.”

She snapped her fingers. Yvlon nodded.

“Ryoka had some kind of connection to her. She left before we could get answers, but there’s a bit of ill will, Garia. Griffon Hunt, the Halfseekers, not to mention Liscor’s City Watch, Zel Shivertail, that Wall Lord Ilvriss…all of them wanted to talk to Ryoka. If she comes back, she’ll have some explaining to do.”

Pisces nodded. His tone was suddenly pensive as he leaned back in his chair.

“I believe the circumstances around Miss Griffin are…complicated. One thing is for certain, however. She is nowhere near Liscor. Nor do I believe she ran south. That would prove unwise.”

“Because the Blood Fields are active?”

The [Necromancer] blinked.

“Hm. Of course. Besides, Erin did indicate she’d run north. It is surprising you haven’t heard news of her, Garia.”

Garia folded her arms and closed her eyes.

“Maybe I was listening in the wrong places. I thought she was in Liscor. You know, semi-retired and looking after Mrsha? She had a lot of gold. If she went north…I’ll ask Fals. Or I can put in a request through the Guild if Ryoka’s still running. I want to see her. And if she’s north, I can do a long run.”

“How far do you run these days?”

Ceria blinked at Garia. The City Runner smiled a bit.

“A lot farther than I used to, Ceria. Farther, faster…and I can defend myself. I still can’t handle people with arrows or the dangerous kinds of monsters, but I can usually outrun anything. And I’ve taken care of myself since then. I’m not the Garia from before. I wish I’d learned this years ago. Maybe I would have been on the track to becoming a Courier by now, not Persua. Although now half the male Runners in the Guild keep asking me if I’d like to go running with them. Which they didn’t do before I lost weight, but they seem to think I can’t remember two months ago. They’re annoying and some of Persua’s friends are mean. Still, I’m glad she’s gone.”

The half-Elf had to agree. She downed the rest of her mug and then she got up from her chair.

“We’re not the same either, Garia. It’s been a long time since we were in Celum. For work, I mean. But we are better. The Horns are back.”

Even if Calruz is in jail. Even if he’s going to die. Ceria paused at that bleak thought. She shook her head.

“I’d love to talk to you tonight. But we did come here to do a job, so…”

“Of course. I shouldn’t have kept you. Hey, why don’t we meet at The Wandering Inn for dinner? If Erin’s made fries, what else has she done? I’d love to find out!”

Garia got up. Ceria nodded.

“If we don’t have an overnight request at the guild, I’d love to. We’ll send word. Or stop by at the Runner’s Guild.”

“Sounds good. And hey Ceria, Yvlon, all of you. If you need something delivered, feel free to ask at the guild. They can get in touch with me even if I’m on a delivery. I’m still not as fast as Ryoka, but I’m the best City Runner in the area now.”

“You?”

The City Runner smiled at them. Ceria had never seen that look on her face. It was proud, triumphant, and for a second Ceria forgot the old Garia. Then the young woman turned.

“I’ve got to go practice. I’ll see you tonight hopefully!”

And then she was gone. Ceria looked at her companions. Yvlon looked thoughtful, Pisces and Ksmvr were busy eating the last of the fries. The half-Elf shook her head. She noticed Timbor, the [Innkeeper], lingering nearby as they left. He was staring at them, or maybe just Ksmvr? But he said nothing as the Horns made their way into the street.

“Whoof. I drank too much. What was that, three mugs?”

Ceria muttered as she left The Drunken Swordsman. Yvlon steadied her with one hand. The [Warrior] didn’t look at all tipsy, but then she’d had some watered wine and then rosewater tea for her drinks.

“You need to sober up. Or pray our destination’s a ways away.”

“If the request is a day or two away…gah. I’ll be fine.”

Pisces wrinkled his nose as he brushed crumbs off his spotless white robes.

“Ah, the most tiresome aspect of adventuring. Can we choose a request closer to Celum? I would prefer to exterminate monsters and recline in comfort tonight.”

Ceria mock-glared at Pisces.

“We don’t get to choose the jobs, Pisces. Well, we do, but the best paying ones aren’t fun for exactly that reason. Besides, you’d better get used to this if you want to continue with us. We need to make a name for ourselves now we’re done with Liscor and the dungeon. Or we’ll never make Gold-rank.”

The [Necromancer] sighed but he didn’t argue. Yvlon tsked softly as she walked with Ceria down the street. It was a familiar route for her and Ceria. Pisces and Ksmvr trailed them. The Antinium was getting a lot of looks now. Ceria just hoped no one would call for the Watch.

“Captain Ceria, may I ask a question?”

“Yes, Ksmvr. You don’t need to ask.”

“Thank you. When you say we are ‘done with Liscor’, do you mean we will be travelling away from Liscor? Will we not stay around Miss Erin’s inn?”

The question brought Ceria and Yvlon up short. They turned to look at Ksmvr. Then they shot a glance at Pisces. He shrugged.

“I defer to your judgment, Captain Ceria, Comrade Yvlon. You are the senior adventurers as you constantly remind me.”

Yvlon sighed.

“I like Erin’s inn. But even with a door to Invrisil—especially since you can’t take more than two or three people per day—we’ll have to leave her inn eventually. We can stay in the area and visit often, but I think we’ll have to say goodbye at some point like the other Gold-rank teams.”

“Oh. I believe Erin will cry.”

The half-Elf rubbed at her head.

“She will. Dead gods, that will be painful. We don’t have to face that just yet, though. Like I said, we’re not at Gold-rank yet. Falene made that clear, along with those damn Ashfire Bees.”

Pisces leaned forwards. The flow of traffic on Celum’s street had practically stopped. People were staring at Ksmvr. He was staring back with interest.

“So our current objective is…?”

“Get more artifacts. Get to Invrisil and call in whatever favor Ryoka bought for us. Uh…find Ryoka? Maybe. Level up a bit. I’m Level 28. If I could hit Level 30…I’d love to gain a new class instead of [Wounded Warrior]. Something actually strong, like Ylawes’ [Knight] class. I feel like the weakest link sometimes.”

Yvlon grimaced as she flexed one arm. Pisces eyed it silently.

“I happen to agree with that. We could certainly use some refinement of our existing tactics as well. I admit my Bone Horrors aren’t at the level I desire. Yet. And I need new bones. I’ve lost all but the components for one Bone Horror after the last one was incinerated.”

Ceria shook her head as she turned the street. The Adventurer’s Guild was only a block away.

“Is that humility I hear, Pisces?”

“Merely common sense, Springwalker. Or don’t you agree?”

“I agree. Totally. I have [Ice Wall] and [Frozen Armor] now, but those are defensive spells. Pretty good ones; I’m miles ahead of old me. But until I can throw [Ice Lance] around like my old master, I’m only good at locking down opponents. And when I do learn the spell, you’d better watch out! Because then I’ll be—”

“Still considerably weaker than Falene, Revi, Typhenous, or Moore?”

“Shut up, Pisces.”

Ceria irritably kicked at Pisces. But he [Flash Stepped] out of the way. She balefully eyed him as he smirked at her.

“Come to think of it, aren’t you in the same boat? You don’t have any offensive spells past Tier 2. And your rapier isn’t much good even when you set it on fire. Your Bone Horrors do all the work and they’re surprisingly fragile.”

He sniffed at her.

“I’m refining them, Springwalker. Or do you think it’s easy to design undead? It is not. And since I cannot use traditional undead forms like skeletons, much less humanoid corpses, I must design new Bone Horrors from scratch. Additionally, the cost of animating a Bone Horror is considerable. If I maintained them like normal [Necromancers]…”

Yvlon scowled.

“You’d have an army. How many can you raise?”

The aforementioned [Necromancer] hesitated.

“Well, if I needed to…you are aware [Necromancers] and [Summoners] are related in discipline, yes? Only, the undead are permanent constructs while [Summoners] like Miss Revi use temporary beings that are generally more potent or diverse. So in theory, if I were trying, I could raise quite a number of er, low-level undead. Zombies. Ghouls. Skeletons. But I fear that method leads to circular patterns. I would need to constantly acquire more undead as I expended them. You see, the undead thrive on death magic, so they would need to generate it to avoid me paying the cost in mana myself…”

“And then you’d unleash them on a village to gain more and we’d have to hunt you down. I get the idea.”

Yvlon sighed. She shook her head.

“Fine. Forget I asked. Your Bone Horrors are strong enough even if you can only summon a few. And I like you more when it’s just those.”

“Why Yvlon, I was unaware of your positive sentiments. I return it quite happily.”

Pisces smirked. Yvlon rolled her eyes. And Ceria realized someone hadn’t spoken up recently. She looked back.

“Ksmvr? What’s wrong?”

The Antinium was trailing behind the other three, looking at the ground. He looked up and opened his mandibles. A woman walking out of the shop turned white as she saw him.

“Monster! H-help! It’s a—”

“Oh, shut up.”

Ceria pushed her aside. She pulled Ksmvr forwards gently. The Antinium clicked his mandibles softly as Yvlon and Pisces looked back.

“Ksmvr, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing, Yvlon, Captain Ceria. I am merely ruminating on my despair. You see, I am quite useless. And Yvlon’s statement about her being the weakest link is fundamentally incorrect; I am clearly the weakest and most inept of the team. I tender my apologies and crushing guilt to the team.”

The other Horns looked at Ksmvr. Then they exchanged glances. Ceria coughed.

“Hey, Ksmvr, that’s not true…”

“I appreciate your lies, Captain Ceria. But the facts do not lie. I am the lowest-leveled among the team by far. I have not even hit Level 20. Whereas Comrade Pisces is now in excess of Level 30, and both you and Yvlon are closing in on Level 30, which is a mark of true ability.”

Ceria bit her lip. That was true. Level 30 was the point where you really started standing out from the crowd. She’d been fantasizing over what she might get at Level 30 for a Skill—or maybe a rare spell. It was amazing how fast she’d leveled since she’d first met Ryoka back in Albez. Then, she’d barely been Level 23.

Gaining six levels in as many months was fast leveling at this stage. Even if Erin was…well, she didn’t count. And [Mages] at Level 30 or higher were nothing to sneeze at. Come to think of it—Ceria eyed Pisces. If he didn’t have the restrictions placed on him by Liscor and Celum’s laws regarding undead, could he have a small army of undead following him around like he’d said?

But Ksmvr was the priority to cheer up right now. Pisces placed a hand on Ksmvr’s shoulder in an uncharacteristic display of warmth.

“Ah, Ksmvr. Don’t despair over your lack of levels. I understand the Antinium level slowly. You should regard your inferiority not as a mark of failure, but as a byproduct of being in the company of the truly gifted.”

“That is true. I am quite inferior.”

The [Necromancer] sighed.

“That is not quite what I…one’s competence does not merely reside in their level, Ksmvr. In time you will rise to something approaching my competence. I am sure you will eventually outstrip Springwalker and Miss Byres.”

Both of them glared at Pisces, but he was doing his best. The [Necromancer] paused as if he’d just had a thought. He turned to Ksmvr.

“Besides which, you are barely three years old.”

Yvlon tripped. It was a full-body thud which attracted every head. And it must have hurt. But she was on her feet moments later.

“You’re how old, Ksmvr?”

The former Prognugator scratched at an antenna.

“Three. I was created in secret by my Queen as a replacement Prognugator in case of Revalantor Klbkch’s injury. I understand you are trying to cheer me up, Comrade Pisces, but I was considered fully trained by my Queen’s standards after two years since my creation.”

“Ah, but friend Ksmvr, Captain Ceria and I took er, at least a decade of training to reach our levels.”

Pisces put his arm around Ksmvr’s shoulder. Ceria and Yvlon were too busy waving silently at each other to interject. The Antinium brightened.

“Truly?”

The young man nodded grandly.

“The maturation of Humans, half-Elves, and other species is much slower. Now, I grant you, it would still have taken you quite a long time to reach our level. But your current failing can be excused. I’m sure Ceria would agree with me.”

He glanced pointedly at Ceria. She stopped dancing about and cleared her throat.

“Er, yes. Of course. You’re one of us, Ksmvr. And you’re quite accomplished. For a three-year old. Pisces. You didn’t mention that to us.”

Behind Ksmvr, Yvlon made a fist. The [Necromancer]’s smile turned glassy.

“What? Well, it’s perfectly natural for Antinium…”

“Still, you didn’t think it was important?”

“The lifespan of Antinium…”

Ksmvr held up a hand as he looked back at Ceria.

“Captain Ceria, I am fully aware of your complaint and prepared to address it.”

“Oh? Go on, Ksmvr.”

He nodded.

“I am aware that you know of the average lifespan of Workers is only around two years in length. However, I would like to hasten to assure you that this is not a biological clock in any way, but merely a byproduct of high mortality rates owing to monster invasion, drowning, and accidents in the Hive. My body will not begin to deteriorate in quality owing to my age for at least a decade.”

“Oh.”

“Please do not be angry at Comrade Pisces. He merely sought to keep my advanced age a secret to avoid embarrassing me. You see, the Prognugator of a Hive must be trained, for years, whereas Workers and Soldiers are practically fully competent moments after being created. I had to learn to use weaponry, study tactics, history…”

Ceria sighed.

“That’s not quite why we were mad. But I’ll discuss it with Pisces later. Look…you’re fine as you are, Ksmvr. Let’s just drop that and deal with it later. Look, we’re here.”

They’d finally arrived at the Adventurer’s Guild. Ksmvr stared up at the two-story building and tilted his head from left to right. Ceria had to own it wasn’t the most impressive of spots. Oh, it was certainly bigger than Liscor’s guild, nearly twice as large, but it was still the Adventurer’s Guild of a moderately small city.

It was worn, the sign marking the guild was old and the paint had faded, and the guild had open shutters, not glass. Some loud laughter drifted out from the guild, as if it were a pub. Still, it was familiar to Ceria. In a way, it was home.

“What a mediocre guild. We might as well have gone to Pallass. Or waited until Invrisil. This is almost as poor as Miss Selys’ guild. Ah…don’t tell her I said that.”

Pisces studied the guild’s frontage dismissively. Yvlon and Ceria turned to glare at him.

“It’s not a big guild. It doesn’t need to be. And there are good Silver-rank teams in there, so watch your tongue, Pisces. Come to that—Ksmvr.”

“Yes, Captain Ceria!”

He straightened at once. Ceria eyed him.

“Don’t be nervous, Ksmvr.”

“I will endeavor to suppress my natural apprehension, Captain! But this is the second Guild I have ever entered! I must make a good impression!”

Ceria thought quickly. She really liked Ksmvr, she did. But she knew him pretty well now and she knew exactly how much trouble those words might mean.

“Right…how about you don’t. Uh, Ksmvr, this guild hasn’t ever seen Antinium. So they might react—we’ll handle it. Yvlon and I. What I want you and you, Pisces, to do is stay quiet, follow our leads, and don’t cause trouble. Got it?”

“Understood, Captain! I will be quiet and not cause any trouble!”

“Wonderful. Pisces?”

“Yes, oh, glorious Captain?”

He gave Ceria a sycophantic, fake smile. She gave up.

“If you start a fight, Yvlon and I won’t bail you out. Alright, Yvlon. It’s been a while. Want to see the regular crowd?”

The [Warrior] smiled. But there was a hint of…what? Apprehension? Something like that in her eyes. Ceria felt a strange flutter in her stomach as well and couldn’t place why. Why was it?

Oh. Because the last time I was here, I was with Calruz. Calruz, Gerial, Solstrom, Hunt…we were about to go to Liscor.

The memory froze Ceria in her tracks. She stared up at the guild. Then she shook her head, took a deep breath, and pushed open the doors.

—-

A worn room. Floorboards recently swept clean. Swept, but not scoured, because years of mud and dirt trekked into the room had etched itself between the cracks in the floorboards. There were stains too. Dark ones. Places where adventurers had bled. And perhaps, places where they had died, surrounded by friends after a mission gone wrong.

Marks of victory, small triumphs and battles forgotten by all. Scratches where someone had demonstrated a new Skill. Worn tables and chairs but not too worn; after all, adventurers would start fights or break furniture by accident. So the wood was cheap and the only permanent fixture was the desk with the [Receptionist] and the board filled with slips of paper. Jobs.

Ceria Springwalker looked around Celum’s guild. It was like she remembered. All of it. She felt a wave of nostalgia and sadness grip her. Then someone prodded her in the back.

“May we come in?”

Thank goodness for Pisces. Ceria jabbed an elbow backwards, missed Pisces, and hit Yvlon’s breastplate. The [Warrior] jerked out of the same reverie. As Ceria cursed and rubbed her elbow, Yvlon walked past her.

“Looks like a midday crowd. Not that many teams in.”

Ceria looked up. Instinct overruled her feelings. She surveyed the room a second time. The Adventurer’s Guild really did resemble a pub in a lot of ways. There were plenty of tables and chairs to sit about and adventurers being pragmatic, some did indeed bring their lunches to eat while they prepared for a job or came back from one.

More than that, an Adventurer’s Guild always had someone hanging about. It was a place to socialize. All of your friends might be here if you were an adventurer. This would be more of your home than any inn.

Yvlon was right. This Guild wasn’t nearly as crowded as it could be. It could probably hold close to eighty people before feeling quite cramped. Right now it held only about three dozen, including the staff. Ceria shrugged.

“I don’t know. This isn’t too bad. Looks like, what, four to six teams with a bunch of individuals?”

“Something like it. See anyone you recognize?”

Yvlon studied the room casually. Adventurers had noticed the door opening and some were casually turning to see if there was anyone they knew, or someone new to note. Ceria frowned.

“I’m looking.”

She thought she spotted a group by the job board. The telltale sign was the lack of any glint of metal on them. Ceria motioned Pisces and Ksmvr over. The [Necromancer] looked bored. Ksmvr was the exact opposite. He was craning to see and more and more of the adventurers were noticing him. Ceria saw one woman punch her companion and point. They weren’t stupid; they could see Ksmvr was one of them. But an Antinium had probably never walked into Celum’s Guild. If Moore, Seborn, or Jelaqua had walked in, they’d get the same kind of look.

“Let’s get a seat before we start chatting. Over here. Pisces, please don’t start a fight.”

Yvlon looked at Pisces. He sniffed.

“I can be the model of discretion if I so choose.”

“Do it, then. Good morning, Miss.”

Yvlon waved at the [Receptionist] as she passed by. The woman at the desk looked up.

“Good morning Miss—”

Her eyes widened a bit. Yvlon paused, but before she could ask if the [Receptionist] knew her—and it would be awkward because like Ceria, most of the staff looked the same to Yvlon after a few Guilds—Ksmvr tugged at Yvlon’s arm.

“Yvlon, please explain. Is this guild similar to Liscor’s? I note a number of architectural and stylistic changes, but the concept remains the same. Is this so?”

“That’s right, Ksmvr. We’ve got a [Receptionist] like Selys, a place to hang out—training yard’s around back probably—and they’ve got a supply of emergency potions. This guild doesn’t sell food or drinks, but it’s got the basics. Job board, place to sit, place to turn in bounties and collect gold.”

“Ah. Thank you for clarifying. I wondered if Drakes and Humans were dissimilar in how they ran their guilds.”

“It might be different in a Walled City, or how they manage their guilds up north, but Liscor vs Celum? We’re too close by to be that different. Come on. I think I spot…”

Yvlon headed towards the tables near the end of the room. Some of the adventurers were looking their way. After all, Yvlon was hard to miss. No, their entire team was hard to miss. Ksmvr aside, Yvlon was wearing all-plate armor and even if you couldn’t tell it was enchanted, it meant she was pretty successful. Or her family was rich. And Pisces and Ceria both wore robes, marking them out as well. And Ksmvr was Ksmvr.

A young man a few years younger than Yvlon, a bit younger than Erin, was staring at them uncertainly. He looked at Yvlon first, and then at Ceria. The half-Elf saw his eyes go to her face as she scrutinized him. Was he…?

The adventurer’s eyes widened as he saw Ceria’s hand. But then he stood up. He raised his voice.

“Is that Ceria? Ceria Springwalker? And—Yvlon?”

The guild went silent. Now every head turned. Ceria felt her heart jump. Yvlon stopped.

“Caddin?”

The young man walked towards them. He wore leather armor, and he carried an odd weapon with him. It was a sword. A sword, but one made of wood. From handle to hilt, it was just wood. But polished wood. Expertly carved and honed until it had an edge that could cut paper or flesh. It still looked incongruous, but Ceria knew the sword had killed more than one monster. She smiled broadly at Caddin as he halted, staring from her to Yvlon with shock.

“It’s us, Caddin! Are you surprised to see us? We just came from Liscor! We’re the Horns of Hammerad. The new group, I mean. The old one’s…”

She trailed off. Ceria felt her heart skip another beat as Caddin stared at her. She waited for him to ask the obvious. But he just stared at her.

“Yeah. We’d heard you’d reformed the Horns of Hammerad. But I couldn’t believe it.”

His eyes shifted to Yvlon. The woman smiled at him.

“Good to see you again, Caddin. How’s the team doing?”

“Us? We’re good. Yeah. They’re right over here. Hey! Guys!”

Caddin waved a hand absently. Ceria saw six people stand up. Three more men, three women. That squared with what she remembered. One of their group was a [Mage], but she, like the others, wore leather armor. And not one of them had a hint of metal on their persons. Their weapons were wood. Even the tips of their arrows were crafted out of wood. They paused behind Caddin as Ceria introduced the Horns.

“Caddin, this is our new team. You know Yvlon, but this is Pisces and Ksmvr. He’s from Liscor and Pisces is from Wistram. Ksmvr’s an Antinium, but they’re fairly normal in most ways.”

“Hello. I am Ksmvr. I understand you are competition.”

The Antinium raised a hand as he extended one to shake. Caddin jumped.

“An Antinium? I thought they—”

He caught himself. Gingerly he reached out and shook Ksmvr’s hand, flinching a tiny bit as he touched the Antinium’s exoskeleton. Ksmvr shook his hand cheerfully.

“I have now met Mister Caddin. Is he a superior adventurer, or inferior, Captain Ceria?”

Yvlon suppressed a sigh. She waved at the [Mage], a woman in her mid-twenties with faded ashy hair as she came forwards.

“Caddin’s a Silver-rank adventurer, just like us, Ksmvr. My team knew him back in the day. His group’s named Thunder’s Solace. They have a [Lightning Mage] for a leader. Their entire team goes without metal so they can use electric spells without getting hurt. And this is their leader and said [Lightning Mage]. Hello, Alais.”

She reached out. Alais gingerly gave her a one-armed hug. She blinked as Ksmvr extended his hands, but shook them.

“Yvlon. It’s good to see you…I thought we wouldn’t meet. After I heard about Liscor—but I did hear your group was back. Ceria.”

She nodded at Ceria. The half-Elf vaguely remembered Alais, but not as well as Yvlon. She nodded back. Alais blinked again at her and Yvlon, looking far more surprised than Ceria would have thought. Well, after Liscor…but she didn’t bring it up, like Caddin. He was still staring at Ceria. Ksmvr didn’t notice their feelings. He was speaking cheerfully, and Ceria was glad of that.

“It is a pleasure to meet a [Lightning Mage]. May I ask if you are superior or inferior in magical capacity to Captain Ceria?”

Pisces gently coughed next to Ksmvr.

“I believe the term is [Aeromancer], Ksmvr. And asking about inferiority and superiority is considered a social flaw in most circumstances. A pleasure to meet a fellow [Mage].”

He stepped forwards as Alais and her team focused on him. Yvlon and Ceria both held their breath, but Pisces seemed to have taken Yvlon’s words to heart. Perhaps too much so. He instantly approached with a hand outstretched and a charming smile.

“Captain Alais, is it? My name is Pisces. I’m delighted to meet you. I’m a [Mage] from Wistram. I hope you won’t hold it against me.”

It was a joke about Wistram [Mages] and their hard-to-work-with natures at times. Alais’ eyebrows shot up and there was a chuckle from the other adventurers. Whatever awkwardness had persisted from Caddin spotting them vanished in a second. Alais reached out and Ceria bit her tongue as she shook Pisces’ hand.

“I’m very pleased to meet you. You’re a new part of the Horns of Hammerad along with, er, Ksmvr here? Are you a general [Mage] or a specialist of some kind?”

Pisces smiled apologetically.

“I’m afraid I haven’t reached that degree of specialization with my [Mage] class. However, I do practice a bit of fencing. Perhaps I’d make a good [Spellsword]? May I assume your team knows ours, or at least Yvlon and our captain?”

He indicated Ceria politely. Alais looked at Ceria and Yvlon.

“Oh, of course. From nearly two years back. We’ve worked with…Yvlon’s old team a few times. And I know Ceria’s old team. Where are my manners? Come and sit with us.”

She gestured towards their table. Ceria followed Pisces as he sat down next to Alais and her team. Somehow, she and Yvlon were at the edge of the table while Pisces and Ksmvr were in the center. Of course, they were the unknown quantities. Caddin was asking Ksmvr exactly what he was while Pisces listened to Alais introduce her team.

“…and that’s Caddin, of course. We’re a mix, mostly [Warriors] and [Archers]. Not really [Hunters] for all we look the part. You see, it’s about my magic. I’m a specialist. Nothing like a Wistram-trained [Mage] in terms of quality, of course, and I’ve got some [Warrior] classes as well. Not exactly a pure [Mage], right?”

She shot Ceria quick glance. The half-Elf sighed. Wistram [Mages] did earn their reputation for snobbishness. But Pisces was shaking his head.

“Practically speaking, a pure [Mage] is quite inflexible. We should all have some means of defending ourselves, if only to fight foes capable of using anti-magic effects. My fencing is as much hobby as for self-defense, which is a necessity among [Mages], wouldn’t you agree?”

The [Aeromancer] was nodding eagerly, forgetting the others as she talked craft while Ksmvr tried to explain what an Antinium was, from his perspective.

“Of course. But it’s a tricky line. I’m good with a staff, but as an [Aeromancer] I find it’s hard to avoid electrifying metal. You see, I’m self-taught, so my team’s had to learn how to use non-metallic weapons…”

Alais looked embarrassed, but Pisces shook his head.

“It’s quite understandable. I wouldn’t dare to fire off a [Lightning Bolt] spell around Yvlon. Wistram does teach control, but electrical spells are extremely hard to control given how fast the currents move. If we have time, perhaps we could exchange lightning form techniques? I might not be able to cast Tier 3 spells, but I do have some knowledge of spell theory I could compare…it would be a pleasure to learn from someone with practical experience, however. I find Wistram students often fall behind people with field experience…”

“You son of a Creler.”

Ceria mumbled to herself as Pisces instantly charmed Alais and the other adventurers. And somehow, he even seemed partly genuine to her. But she knew he was still putting on an act to make a good first impression. She didn’t know if she hated or was grateful to him for it.

And she’d forgotten how likeable Pisces could be if he tried, damn it! Ceria watched him play the humble [Mage] from Wistram so well she nearly forgot to take part in the conversation. Yvlon, who’d waited for the introductions to finish, leaned in.

“It’s been a while, Alais. How’s your team been? We haven’t seen each other since Liscor. Has anything big come your way since then?”

Alais looked up. She frowned and Caddin and the other five looked up as well.

“Nothing to say, Yvlon. We earned some gold, but we spent it getting some new equipment from a [Carpenter]. You know how it is. Wooden swords. Maces, clubs, wooden arrows. We’ve been keeping ourselves busy.”

Ceria raised her eyebrows. That was hardly an answer. Normally any seasoned adventurer would have a story to tell, or complaints about money lost. Yvlon frowned, but someone else approached their table.

“Hullo there. Is that Yvlon and Ceria I see? Mind if I stop by?”

That voice was familiar. Ceria twisted. Her face burst into a smile. She shot to her feet.

“Stan! Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

An older man in his early forties was standing by the table. He wore chainmail and had a dagger at his belt along with a small, brown pouch, but he didn’t carry any other obvious weapons. He let Ceria hug him and then shook Yvlon’s hand. He stared at Ceria’s skeletal hand for a second and then at her face, before nodding to Alais.

“I didn’t think to see you today, Ceria. Yvlon. It’s—quite good to see you two looking so healthy.”

Caddin shifted. Ceria blinked at Stan. Normally he’d be bursting to ask her questions, like someone half his age, but he was more reserved as well. Her stomach twisted. Had someone passed away recently?

“How’s the team, Stan? Are the Boltspitters well?”

“Us? We took a few bad injuries, but nothing to speak of. Lailli’s laid up with a broken foot, but we’re working to keep her fed in the meantime. Who are these two? I heard you’re named Ksmvr?”

“That is correct. I am Ksmvr.”

“Pisces.”

The [Mage] stood up and shook Stan’s hand. Ceria smiled as she waved at Stan and the two members of his team sitting at their table.

“This is Stan, you two. Crossbow Stan. He’s the only Silver-ranked adventurer around here that has anything like a nickname. He’s a bit of a legend locally—he’s got his own fighting style too!”

Ksmvr looked very interested.

“Really? Please elaborate, Captain Ceria.”

“Why not let Stan explain. You love that, don’t you Stan?”

The adventurer smiled. He touched his belt and the bag at his side.

“I do indeed. I’m a [Crossbowman] by trade. I don’t know if you’ve ever used one, but the damn things take a bit to load. True, you can fire them fast, but there’s nothing like a good bow for speed. Except you can load a crossbow ahead of time. So if I needed to fight, I could do this—”

He raised his hand. And suddenly there was a loaded crossbow aimed at the table. Two of the younger adventurers sitting with Alais’ team swore and jerked out of their chairs, but all of the older ones just laughed. Ksmvr had frozen in place. He opened his mandibles slowly.

“I see. That is impressive. Look, Captain Ceria. I did not move. See?”

He waved a hand at her. Ceria smiled.

“Good job, Ksmvr.”

Pisces sniffed, then caught himself and looked dutifully impressed.

“I see. A bag of holding to store a preloaded crossbow. But may I be so bold, Crossbow Stan? I’ll bet you didn’t keep just one crossbow, did you?”

The veteran adventurer chortled. He flicked his hand next to the bag of holding and a second crossbow appeared, replacing the first. It was a neat trick, but the adventurers he was pointing at did not appreciate it.

“Put it away, Stan! You’ll hit someone one day! At least use an unloaded crossbow!”

“Aw, shut up, Caddin. I’ve never hit anyone yet. By accident, anyways. But you’re right, young man. That’s my specialty.”

“I assume that is a bag of holding, as Comrade Pisces said?”

Ksmvr peered at the small bag at Crossbow Stan’s side. The man nodded proudly.

“That’s right. Preloaded crossbows. I have six of ‘em. My bag can’t fit any more. Every time I had enough coin, I spent it on a better bag of holding. Not that I need a new one now; if I can’t take down what needs taking down in six shots, I might as well be dead. I guess I need better crossbows or enchanted quarrels now, but this is good enough for Silver-rank work.”

He made the second crossbow disappear quick. Ceria nodded approvingly. Stan, or Crossbow Stan as he was affectionately known, was an old man in the adventuring job. Not as old as Typhenous, but he’d stayed in the Silver-ranks because he didn’t have the punch to go any higher. That didn’t mean he was a slouch though; she’d seen him put four crossbow bolts into a charging Ogre in less than ten seconds. Ksmvr nodded.

“I admire your style of fighting. It complements your advanced age and decaying reflexes.”

“Oh, Ksmvr—”

Ceria put her head down on the table. Stan was too busy laughing to take offense.

“So this is an Antinium? It can tell jokes! And you—you’re one sharp [Mage] if you can figure out my trick, young man. Pisces, was it?”

He paused.

“I feel like I remember your name. I’m sure we haven’t met, but have you been through Celum before, sir?”

Pisces raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

“I’ve passed through once or twice, but I wasn’t an adventurer then. This is a career change. I hope I can count on you to teach me the ropes as it were.”

He shook Stan’s hand. The man smiled again.

“Pleased. Have you known Ceria and Yvlon long, Pisces?”

He glanced up at Ceria and Yvlon swiftly for some reason before looking at Pisces. The [Necromancer] gave Stan a disarming smile.

“I knew Ceria back in Wistram. We met while she was in Liscor, and I was delighted to join her team after it reformed.”

“I see. I see. Well, I just wanted to say hi. I won’t keep you. Perhaps we can have a chat later today. Is your team going to take a request today, Ceria?”

“We thought we’d look around. We’re planning on working in Celum for a bit, Stan, Alais. But we can stay and chat! How’s it been?”

“Oh, you know. The same sort of assignments. There was a bit of a flood of monsters after Lord Tyrion’s army passed through, as well as those damn Goblins. Critters from the High Passes came out; we had to kill a good number of Carn Wolves and Eater Goats and a few other nasties. Not worth taking up time, with.”

This time both Ceria and Yvlon frowned. Stan and Alais? The man looked down at the [Aeromancer] and cleared his throat. She stood up.

“I don’t want to take up your time if you’re going to work. It’s already midday. We’ll catch your team later, Ceria. Where are you staying?”

“The Wandering Inn. You know it?”

“That inn in Liscor? I’d heard it was in Stitchworks, but I’ve never been. Never wanted to go to a Drake city and besides…but we’ll maybe pop by. I’d like to chat with Pisces about magic if I may.”

Stan nodded.

“Right. We’ll catch up later. Ceria, Yvlon. Good to see you again.”

He turned and returned to his table. And for some reason, Thunder’s Solace vacated their table to join him. Ceria stared at them and bit her lip for a second. She turned to Yvlon.

“That was a bit abrupt.”

The [Warrior] gave her a crooked smile as she watched the other adventurers go.

“They must be thinking about Liscor.”

“Think they don’t want to talk about Calruz and the others? I was ready for it.”

“They might be trying to spare our feelings. They noticed your hand. We can tell them it’s okay to talk about later.”

“Right.”

Ceria shook herself. You couldn’t be too considerate in this line of work. She appreciated it, but Alais and Stan had both experienced losing teammates before. She looked around.

“I guess we’ll tell the [Receptionist] how long we’re staying and that we’ll work around Celum for…a few days? Ah, Ksmvr, that’s something teams like to do. It helps if someone wants to hire us and the guild can keep track of the teams in the area in case of emergencies. You take a seat or check out the job board. I’ll be a moment.”

She got up. And the other adventurers got back to their seats or their discussions, although some still stared at Ksmvr. And Ceria and Yvlon, but that was only to be expected. The hubbub returned, but quieter. Ceria supposed the other teams were sizing their reformed party up. She approached the [Receptionist].

“Hi there. I’m Ceria Springwalker and I lead the Horns of Hammerad…”

The woman at the desk blinked at her. Ceria had to repeat herself a few times; whoever the [Receptionist] was, she wasn’t on the ball today. When she finally got back to her table she had another surprise. Ksmvr was sitting with Pisces and Yvlon. He had a full stack of the papers from the board on the far wall. Yvlon was trying to make him put them back.

“But Yvlon, we can easily clear all these requests. If we do ten today, and twenty tomorrow…”

“Ksmvr, did you steal all the requests from the board?”

Ceria was scandalized. Ksmvr’s mandibles drooped as he looked up.

“Have I committed another social error?”

“A small one.”

Yvlon sighed. She pointed at the now-bare job board at the back of the guild.

“Ksmvr, there’s a few unspoken rules in the Adventurer’s Guild. One of them is that it’s not polite to take all the requests. You can do it, but you lose a lot of friends that way. And if another group takes a request, stealing their mission is also bad sport.”

Ksmvr looked from her to Ceria. Pisces was yawning as he looked around the room; none of this was news to him.

“Oh. But how is it determined whose request is taken? This system is largely unintuitive.”

Ceria smiled.

“It is. But it’s easy to tell. Go put the requests back. You see, the second board there, with the three requests on it? That means someone’s taken it, but it’s an open assignment. Like gathering materials, ooh, taking out a pair of Eater Goats…checking up on a possible Troll sighting…you see? Out of courtesy we won’t take those. And if we did, we’d talk with the teams involved, reach an understanding.”

Ksmvr nodded as he re-pinned the pieces of paper he’d claimed.

“I see. I see. What is that board above it?”

“Exclusive contracts. See? Escorting a [Trader], someone wants a bodyguard…things only one team can do. But the board you took from is open game for now. It’s generally organized so the harder and riskier assignments are near the top. See? Each one has a difficulty assessment for the recommended level—as well as if you might need a certain class, like [Mage]—as well as location, pay, urgency, and so on.”

Ksmvr peered closely at the board as Ceria worked her way up to the top.

“I see. I see. Ah, Captain. We could gather Sage Grass. It pays in copper coins per pound.”

“…Not really our thing, Ksmvr. Besides, the local farms make the prices too low.”

“Would you like to hunt down some wolves?”

“How much is the pay per head?”

“Four silver coins.”

“No. Unless someone puts a substantial price on the heads of a monster, it’s generally not worth our time, Ksmvr.”

“And four silver coins is not?”

“To track wolves? We’re not [Hunters] and it could be a pain.”

“Ah. So what is our preferred assignment?”

Ceria frowned absently.

“Something that involves high risk. It generally means more pay. Plus, high-level monsters have bigger bounties. What about—oh. This…might be ours.”

Right there, at the top of the board was a bounty. And it was a good one. Twenty gold pieces and sixteen silver ones, with the potential to earn a lot more if Ceria was right. She stared at it. Ksmvr peered up at it.

“That is substantially higher than all other requests. Is it a powerful monster?”

Ceria shook her head absently. She noticed Yvlon and Pisces getting up to see. She plucked the request off the board and showed them. Yvlon frowned. Pisces raised his brows.

“Not monsters. Humans. This is a [Bandit] extermination request.”

“I didn’t know a group had popped up.”

“It must be new. Do you think we should…?”

Pisces shrugged. Ksmvr peered at the request. His antennae were twitching rapidly, which Ceria knew meant he was puzzled.

“I was unaware Humans could put bounties on each other. This changes my perception of the role of adventurers.”

“No, Ksmvr—it’s not—these are [Bandits]. Lawbreakers. We’re not [Mercenaries], but someone has to take care of [Bandits] as well as monsters. And sometimes the local City Watch or militia or [Lord] can’t handle the matter, or they do it by putting up a bounty. We get paid to take on the [Bandits]. It’s dangerous. Monsters are predictable. People aren’t.”

Yvlon nodded. She absently studied the request.

“Still, this is a twenty gold bounty.”

By her side, Pisces sniffed.

“Is that considered high, Yvlon? I would assume a single [Bandit] would be worth twenty gold pieces.”

“Well, yeah. If they were high-level. But this must be fairly low-level group. Or the bounty hasn’t risen yet. It’ll go up if they keep causing trouble. If it were the Bloodfeast Raiders, it would be…what’s their bounty?”

“Four hundred thousand gold pieces, I think. If the entire group’s destroyed, or most of them. Eighty thousand for credible information about who their members are or how they operate. Twenty thousand per head on top of that.”

Yvlon whistled. Ceria shook her head.

“A bit more than our pay grade. But this? We could do this.”

“For twenty gold pieces…”

Pisces sniffed. Ceria frowned at him.

“It’s a lot more if one of the [Bandits] has an individual bounty. What’s this say? There are about thirty of them? We can keep any money they’ve stolen usually and sell their gear.”

“How charitable. But thirty individuals is a considerable risk.”

“You’ve got that right!”

Someone called out. Ceria turned and saw more than a few adventurers had been listening. Stan waved at them from their table. He was frowning as he pointed at the paper in Ksmvr’s hand.

“Ceria, I’d stay clear of that one. Me and Alais were talking about clearing it with a few other teams, but the gold reward isn’t high enough, even if we can keep their possessions. The bandit group that’s referring to isn’t hard to find—but they’re dangerous. They’ve got at least two [Mages] and a leader. Some kind of [Bandit Chief]. My group ran into some of them a while back. They tangled with a few patrols, raided a caravan…there used to be more, but they killed several adventuring groups and quite a number of [Guards] and people in outlying villages.”

“Jeeze. How’d your team get away?”

Stan shook his head.

“We ran for it. It was only fifteen we ran into and they weren’t after us. I shot two; Lailli got knocked off her horse. That’s how she broke her foot. I wouldn’t take them on without outnumbering them. We do know where they’re probably camped, but no one’s had the guts to go after them yet.”

The Horns looked quickly at each other. Yvlon raised her brows and Ceria nodded quickly.

“Really? Then maybe we can join you, Stan. We wouldn’t even need that many teams. With your group and Thunder’s Solace if you’re willing, Alais, we could probably take on that [Bandit] group.”

Caddin snorted.

“You insane, Springwalker? There’s, what, fourteen of us if we combine forces? Not counting Lailli. There’s around thirty of the [Bandits], probably more.”

“If we know where they’re at…how reliable is the intel, Stan? We can set a trap. And believe me, between our team, I’m sure we can handle a good number.”

Ceria looked at Pisces and Yvlon. If they were low-level [Bandits]…Yvlon put her hand on her sword and Pisces smiled. She could practically see him plotting how to use his Bone Horror to greatest effect. Ceria turned back to Stan, but the older adventurer wasn’t jumping at the idea.

“I don’t know, Ceria. We’d like that bounty, but working together’s a bit…”

“Come on, Stan. We’ve known each other for years. Trust us. We’re a lot higher-level than you remember. Me and Yvlon have new gear too, and Pisces and Ksmvr are good, for all they’re newbies.”

The half-Elf came over to the table and leaned over, trying to persuade Stan. Caddin, sitting next to the man, snorted.

“We know about your gear, Ceria. That’s not it.”

“What, then? Our experience? We’ve fought a lot worse than [Bandits], Caddin.”

Ceria looked at the young man, confused. He scowled up at her.

“Don’t play dumb. You know exactly what I’m talking about. Do you think we’d join with you? Really?”

His tone was very hostile. Ceria stared at him.

“Caddin, I don’t get it. What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? You just stride in here and ask what’s wrong? Don’t you know? Or don’t you remember?”

He shot to his feet, knocking his chair back. Ceria blinked at him. His face was flushed. And she realized he hadn’t so much as smiled at her once, or spoken to her beyond that first meeting. She looked at Alais. The [Aeromancer] avoided looking at Ceria as well. She grabbed Caddin’s arm and tried to pull him down.

“Caddin, drop it.”

“No! If you and Stan aren’t going to say it, I will. Look! She doesn’t even get it. Not her, or Yvlon. Does her team know?”

Caddin shook Alais off him. He shoved back from the table and strode around Ceria. She realized the room was silent. Caddin pointed furiously at Yvlon as he stopped in front of Pisces and Ksmvr.

“You, Pisces. And you…Antinium. Do you know what those two did?”

Pisces raised his eyebrows.

“What do you mean by that?”

Suddenly, Ceria had an unpleasant feeling. A horrible sinking in her stomach. She thought she knew why Caddin was so angry. She looked at Alais and Stain. Neither team captain met her eyes. Caddin clenched his fist.

“I mean, do you know what happened to their previous teams, Mister Pisces? Or do you not care? And what about that Antinium thing?”

“Ksmvr.”

“Does he know? Or did they recruit him because no one else would work with them? Yvlon and Ceria. They both lost their teams. Both of them! And Yvlon was a captain! She lost her entire team, the Silver Swords! And all of the Horns of Hammerad died but Ceria! Did you hear about that?”

Ceria went pale. Yvlon had gone white. Pisces blinked at Caddin. He looked around and his gaze focused on the silent room. He narrowed his eyes for a moment and then turned carefully to Caddin. Innocently, he spread his hands.

“I am aware Ceria lost her team. How could I not be?”

“Then—how could you—”

The Silver-rank adventurer spluttered. Pisces paused. His eyes darted to Ceria’s face.

“I know it was a tragic accident. A dungeon dive gone wrong. But surely that wasn’t Ceria’s fault. Or Yvlon’s. Adventuring is a terrible business.”

Pisces’ voice was smooth and reasonable, even sympathetic. Caddin choked.

“But I heard—”

Pisces gripped his shoulder.

“Please, friend. Let me explain what I heard as someone who was there. You see, I know my friend. And believe me, Liscor’s dungeon was truly terrible. I don’t know what rumors have passed this way—”

“More than rumors. There was a man…”

“Even so, was he a witness? Because I was. And let me just say first—”

Ceria felt herself begin breathing again. Pisces was trying to steer Caddin back to the table, speaking in a carrying voice. So that was why…she looked at Stan and Alais. She had to clear whatever misinformation they’d been spread. Both were listening to Pisces, which was a relief. But Stan was rubbing at his head, looking very perplexed.

“Pisces. I thought I knew the name. Where did I…?”

“Let’s sit. Is there a drink I can buy? I’ll clear the air. But first, what is my friend accused of? Yvlon? She’s quite honorable, friend Caddin. And when her team went into the dungeon—”

Crossbow Stan abruptly got up. He pointed a trembling finger at Pisces. The [Necromancer] broke off and Ceria felt a lurch in her stomach. Oh no. She sensed what was about to happen.

“Dungeon. You mean crypt. And I remember that name. Pisces. Someone’s looking for you. And you lied.”

“Excuse me?”

Pisces turned, but his posture was suddenly wary. Stan shook his head. He raised his voice until it was almost a shout.

“You’re not a [Mage]. You’re a [Necromancer]! A filthy [Necromancer]!”

And that was it. The silence of the guild, the tense atmosphere turned hostile in a second. Ceria’s head whirled as she heard the screech of wood on wood. Eight adventurers had just gotten up. Pisces looked around as he took a step back. He hesitated, sighed, then sniffed haughtily.

“I’m quite clean, sir. But I will acknowledge the truth of your words.”

Caddin jerked away from him as if he were infected. He stumbled back, face twisted, and then pointed at Ceria.

“You see that? A [Necromancer] and one of the bug people! No one else would partner with her, or Yvlon!”

“Is this true, Yvlon? Are you really working with a [Necromancer]?”

Alais was on her feet. She glared at Yvlon. The armored woman’s face was pale, but her voice was steady as she held up a hand.

“Pisces does use necromancy. But hear us out.”

“Traitor!”

An adventurer shouted that. The hair on Ceria’s neck crawled. Pisces had a hunted look and for good reason. [Necromancers] weren’t popular in Izril after Az’kerash. But adventurers had another reason to hate them. After all, they were sometimes called on to take care of undead outbreaks, and if a [Necromancer] was behind it…

“Stan, Alais, everyone, let’s calm down.”

Ceria called out. She raised her hands, shouting to be heard. The two captains looked at her. Ceria waved her arms, praying neither Pisces nor Ksmvr made things worse.

“What’s going on? Why are you all so upset? Pisces is a [Necromancer]. It’s true. But he doesn’t animate people. He uses bear skeletons. And Ksmvr’s Antinium. So what?”

“So wh—”

“Caddin. Let me handle this.”

Alais pushed Caddin back hard. She walked around the table and came face-to-face with Ceria. She wasn’t smiling. And she wasn’t looking at Ceria like a fellow adventurer. She glanced at Ceria, and then at Yvlon. When Alais spoke, it was to the silent Adventurer’s Guild. Three dozen heads turned to watch her and Ceria. The adventurers of Celum were silent as Alais began.

“Ceria, I don’t know you that well. But I know Yvlon. We’re friends. We were friends. But here’s the thing. The last time we saw each other, you were about to go to Liscor. With Calruz as your leader, not Ceria. And Yvlon, you had your team. Where’s Kina, Veitul, Domie? Where’s everyone else? Horn? Solstrom? Gerial?”

She looked at Ceria. And the half-Elf knew that Alais knew the answer. Ceria felt a pit open up in her stomach and cold memories leak through.

Ceria stared at him. Gerial’s face was white, and he looked almost as bloodless as Skinner’s body. He shuddered and she felt it.

“Run. I’ll—I’ll buy you some time.”

He pointed down the corridor. Ceria’s feet began to move, but she halted them.

“Gerial—”

He shoved her away.

“Run, damn you!”

Skinner. Ceria’s heart was beating wildly. She looked at Alais. At the grim look in her eye.

“They’re dead. They died in the crypt.”

She nodded.

“They died in Liscor. We all heard about it. It was a massacre, wasn’t it? But somehow you two survived, and you’re already adventuring again? Practically unharmed? With a [Necromancer] and one of…of those?”

She pointed at Ksmvr uncertainly. The former Prognugator didn’t wave a hand. He’d sensed the mood. Alais went on.

“It feels like we just heard about Liscor when news came from Albez that the Horns of Hammerad had just found a huge amount of treasure there. Ceria, what would you think about that?”

Ceria shook her head.

“The way you say it…we didn’t just get out. We lost a lot. Yvlon barely escaped. She was hurt and I—I lost my hand.”

She held up her skeletal hand. Alais nodded slowly, staring at it.

“I see it. But it’s still moving. And if you made it like that, how’d no one else get out. Gerial? Calruz?”

This time Ceria wavered.

“Calruz did make it out.”

“Then why isn’t he—”

“He got lost in the dungeon. And he lost an arm. He’s mad now and he killed a bunch of other people. Alais, I made it out because I found somewhere to hide—”

But of course that was the wrong thing to say. Ceria bit her lip. Caddin shouted.

“Aha! You see? She hid and Yvlon ran!”

“Everyone ran!”

Yvlon burst out. She snapped at Caddin. The [Warrior] whirled, looking around the guild. She wasn’t afraid like Ceria. Yvlon looked furious.

“Spit it out, what you’re saying. Alais! Are you saying we abandoned our teams? We were all retreating. The other teams died fighting, but once that monster came out—Skinner—we knew it was impossible. So we ran. Ceria and I were lucky. Pisces and Ksmvr joined us later. What’s wrong with that?”

Alais said nothing. She just looked Yvlon up and down, uncertainly, as if she couldn’t trust a word Yvlon had just said. Stan got to his feet.

“Yvlon. Ceria. A question. After you two got out, what happened to the adventurers that died? Their families?”

“We made sure what was left was cremated. There wasn’t enough to bury and we couldn’t figure out who…we made sure the families got all the money we had left. I survived by the skin of my teeth, Stan.”

Ceria spoke through numb lips. She looked at the old adventurer. He met her eyes, searching. Then he nodded.

“I want to believe you, Ceria. And I heard the families of the deceased got something. But it’s just…a [Necromancer]? Really? And you know what they say about the Antinium.”

He held up a hand before Yvlon could shout.

“And it’s not just that. Look, we’ve talked to more survivors of that night than just you two. One of Cervial’s [Hunters] from the Flawless Flight made it this way a while back. Poor bastard had nothing left. Said Liscor’s City Watch had confiscated all of his team’s possessions and their gold was gone. The way he told it, both his team and Gerald’s went up against that boss from the dungeon first. The Silver Swords and the Horns were out of the way. He said he never saw your teams—you’d already run away.”

Ceria’s stomach twisted. Cervial and Gerald had been trying to open Skinner’s door without realizing it was already unlocked. They’d never stood a chance. Yvlon clenched her gauntleted fists.

“Say that again. Who was it who’s spreading those lies?”

Stan raised his hands slowly.

“I’m not saying I believed him. He was done as an adventurer and he was cursing Cervial and Gerald as well. Said they’d walked their teams right into a trap like fools. Which I don’t believe. But he did say that all of his team’s possessions and the loot they’d gathered were confiscated by Liscor. Is that true?”

“True. I barely had anything left. My wand was gone, and Yvlon lost everything but her armor and sword. The rest went to the adventurer’s family, honest.”

Crossbow Stan nodded. He looked at Ceria, and she realized he was staring at her side. At her wand. Slowly, he pointed at it, then at Yvlon.

“Fancy enchanted armor you’re wearing these days, Yvlon. Magical buckler on that Antinium. And Ceria’s got a new wand. Where’d it all come from?”

Ceria felt a flicker of anger at the implication. Yvlon was already furious. She snapped back.

“Albez. Did you hear about that?”

Stan nodded slowly.

“I did. And I’ve been to Albez before, many times, Yvlon. Probably before you were even born. I’ve never found more than a few trinkets. How’d you find treasure in Albez? Let alone a haul like…”

He waved a hand at them. Ceria shut her mouth firmly. Olesm. Stan looked from her to Yvlon. Alais cut in.

“We’re not saying your teams didn’t fight, Yvlon. Maybe you did. Maybe you got lucky. Or maybe you ran. We can’t prove it and truth spells are tricky when everyone saw something different. But suddenly partnering up after the crypt? Suddenly finding treasure in Albez when no one’s found anything worth speaking of for nearly a decade? Working with a [Necromancer]?”

She pointed at Pisces. He’d folded his arms and was looking around. He glanced pointedly at Ceria, but she couldn’t signal him anything. All the other adventurers were just watching. But their eyes…

Stan took over, like the fatherly figure he was to so many adventurers in the area.

“If you can tell us how you got so lucky, we’ll believe you. Maybe you found a map. But if you did…where? Did you get it from the crypt? Did you, maybe, find something and not tell anyone about it? Not share it with the survivors? Or the deceased?”

“Did you leave them—”

Caddin broke off. He was trembling. So was Ceria. But she was shaking with nerves. One wrong step might lead to something very bad. Everyone was listening. She looked at Yvlon. The [Warrior] hesitated. She glanced at Ceria, then she spoke.

“There was a map.”

The stir in the room was the prelude to something. Yvlon raised her voice.

“There was a map! But it didn’t come from Liscor. It came from a Drake we met in Liscor who was part of the dungeon raid. Ksmvr joined our group by chance. I was penniless and Ceria too. She knew Pisces from Wistram. And Ksmvr we’d met. We took a chance when we discovered there might be treasure still in Albez. We took a chance, risked our lives and we found it! It was luck. It was a miracle! But we didn’t steal it from the people who died in the crypt. That was a nightmare. But I swear, I kept fighting until I thought I’d die. Ceria barely survived herself and she helped hold the undead off. I’ll swear that on any truth spell you want.”

She turned, putting a hand over her heart. No one spoke. Ceria looked at Caddin. He looked furious, still. And Alais and Stan—none of them looked like they quite believed Yvlon.

“Well? You can cast a spell! Test me!”

Yvlon shouted. Alais shook her head.

“Maybe we will. But Yvlon—it still doesn’t sit well with me.”

The armored woman rounded on her. Alais didn’t flinch from Yvlon’s furious stare.

“What doesn’t sit with you, Alais? The truth? Do you want to see my arms? I burned my armor into my bones in Albez!”

“I don’t doubt that—”

“Then what do you doubt?”

Alais crossed her arms. The air around her was crackling with more than just tension.

“You were never the sort to work with [Necromancers]. You hated them. As for Antinium—this Ksmvr thing looks safe enough, but you’re telling me the Drakes just ‘happened’ to have a map of Albez all this time? And never exploited it?”

“It was chance. He found it purely by luck.”

Yvlon ground her teeth. Alais raised her eyebrows.

“Pretty lucky to find a map of Albez in Liscor, isn’t it?”

Silence. Stan looked at Ceria. His eyes were worried and upset, but he did still look at her.

“Anything you want to add, Ceria?”

The half-Elf spread her arms helplessly.

“Yvlon’s telling the truth. I don’t know how to prove it besides swearing on truth spells, Stan. Either you believe us or you don’t. I know you can look at it bad, but we earned our treasure separately from the crypt. Maybe one’s tied to the other. If I hadn’t survived and met Ksmvr when I did, I wouldn’t have been tipped off to Albez. But we didn’t steal from the dead. We ran, but there was no choice. If you’d been there, you would have seen it. I lost this hand trying to stop the undead. Believe me.”

She raised her skeletal hand and showed Stan that. He nodded slowly.

“I’m trying, Ceria. But you have to understand us. Even if what you said was true. Even if it’s on a level, all of it…it’s hard to look at you or Yvlon.”

“Me? Why…?”

“Because your team was the one that brought everyone to Liscor. The Horns helped convince the others. And Yvlon—you were a team captain. You lost your entire team. And you walk in part of a new one? You think it’s that easy?”

Caddin spat on the ground. Ceria stared down at the wet mark on the floorboards. Yvlon glared at Caddin.

“People have lost friends before. Stan! You lost two thirds of your team when I was a rookie! And Alais, you’ve lost at least six members!”

“Yes. I did. But this is different.”

The woman crossed her arms defensively. Stan on the other hand looked troubled. And Ceria remembered that he’d stayed far away from the guild for a long time after that disaster. She looked at Yvlon. How easy would it have been if it were Stan coming back wearing new magical artifacts and a new team after…?

“Yvlon. I get their point.”

The woman rounded on Ceria. The [Ice Mage] glared at her and Yvlon hesitated.

“I get it, Yvlon. It’s not true, but they’re upset. They have every right to be. We…lost our teams. We can explain, but it doesn’t change what happened. And working together…I get that too.”

She looked back at Alais and Stan. They nodded. Ceria turned. Ksmvr was still seated, silently watching. She wondered how much he understood. Pisces was aloof, coldly looking around.

“Look, if anyone’s not convinced, get a [Mage] with a truth spell. Or come to The Wandering Inn and find us there. We’ll tell you what happened as many times as it takes. For now…we’re not going to stick around. Just think about what we said. As for this—”

Ceria walked back to Ksmvr and held out a hand. The Antinium handed her the bounty on the [Bandits]. Ceria brought it over to the [Receptionist]’s desk. The woman stared silently at her.

“I’d like to take this request, please. Can you note that we’re trying to complete it?”

The woman stared at her. She stared at the bounty. Behind Ceria, someone laughed incredulously.

“By yourselves? Are you mad?”

Ceria turned her head slowly. She spoke very deliberately to Caddin.

“We can handle it.”

“You’re not getting any help from us.”

He gave her a disgusted look. Ceria turned her back on him, clenching both hands.

“We don’t need it. Like it or not, Caddin, we got stronger after Liscor. We leveled.”

“By taking the treasure you found from Albez. I didn’t see you sharing it with any of the families that died.”

The [Receptionist] jumped as Ceria slammed her hands on the table and turned.

“We had a fund! They got what we could give! Are we supposed to give everything to them? We didn’t even get that—”

She broke off. Ceria turned away.

“Forget it. Let’s go. Ksmvr! Pisces, we’re leaving! Come on. Yvlon, you too.”

She walked towards the door. A few adventurers blocked Pisces’ way.

“How do we know this [Necromancer] isn’t using corpses from our graveyards? Or he isn’t responsible for the undead?”

Pisces sniffed.

“I suppose you’ll have to take that on faith. Ask me a truth spell. But get out of my way.”

“And the Antinium?”

Some of the adventurers were standing around Ksmvr. He hadn’t moved, mainly because standing up would run him right into a man in leather armor from Thunder’s Solace who was standing over him and glaring down at the Antinium. Ceria turned back. And the bones of her skeletal hand were beginning to freeze over as more than grief and guilt took over.

“He’s going with us. Stan, tell the others to let Ksmvr go. He’s done nothing wrong.”

“Tell that to us, Ceria.”

“Okay. Back up. Before I make you.”

One of the other [Mages] made a scoffing sound. Ceria turned. But she’d crossed over from apologetic to angry. Yvlon strode over.

“Back up. Ksmvr, come on.”

She thrust the adventurer standing over him aside. The man stumbled, then whirled. He put a hand on the wooden mace at his side. Yvlon immediately put her hand on her sword hilt.

“Don’t do anything you’ll regret, Jerat.”

“Same to you, Byres. Just give me a reason.”

The two tensed. Ceria opened her mouth, but she didn’t know what to say. Part of her wanted Jerat to attack Yvlon. Part of her was shouting. Yes, she knew what it looked like. Yes, she understood their feelings. But part of her was furious.

How dare they. How dare they think we ran and left everyone to die. How dare they assume we abandoned our friends? How dare they think that? Especially because—

It was partly true. So Ceria hovered on the brink of lashing out. Jerat’s knuckles went white on his mace’s grip. He lowered his posture—

“Jerat!”

Stan snapped. He slapped his hands together, making the room start. Jerat looked up. Stan drew a finger across his throat.

“Cut it. Let them go. We’re all too hot-headed right now. We’ll talk this over. Speak later. Back up. That goes for you too, Caddin. Everyone. Let them go.”

The adventurers slowly backed up. Ceria could see hard faces, tensed muscles. But Stan was speaking sense so the other Horns had room to move. Ceria began breathing slower. Pisces walked toward the door. Yvlon turned and offered Ksmvr a hand.

Ceria was so relieved the Antinium had heeded her words to stay still and not cause trouble. One of his stray comments could have ignited everything. Yvlon was breathing hard, still. Caddin stomped past her, and then turned. He glared at Yvlon as Ksmvr grabbed her hand.

“Guess you got ‘lucky’ again, Byres. I’m sure your team’s real proud of you from where they’re lying in the dirt, Yvlon. We all are.”

The Antinium had been rising, hand holding Yvlon’s. Ksmvr fell back lightly into his seat as Yvlon let go. He watched as Yvlon straightened. Ceria and Pisces, standing by the door, saw Yvlon turn. The [Wounded Warrior]’s hands clenched. Her armored fists rose. Caddin’s glare of hatred turned to one of alarm.

He stepped back, too slow, and too late. Yvlon’s fist caught him across the jaw and sent him flying into the table across from him. Caddin skidded across the top, knocked over a [Mage] sitting in the chair, and tumbled to the ground. The other adventurers stared at him, got up—

And the entire Adventurer’s Guild burst into chaos.

—-

“Ksmvr, don’t move! Stay down and don’t draw your weapons!”

In the first moment of action, Ceria screamed. Then she reached for her wand, blasted a Bronze-rank adventurer off her feet with a spray of snow, and ducked. The first chair passed over her head. Ceria raised her skeletal hand holding her wand and snapped.

“[Frozen Armor]!”

She saw and felt ice race across her body. A glistening sheet of ice covered Ceria, weighing her down, changing to imitate actual plate armor. Just in time—someone struck her in the chest as she rose. A Human woman shouted in pain as her fist struck not soft flesh, but Ceria’s icy armor. The half-Elf rocked back, pointed her wand, and shouted.

“[Ice Wall]!”

The adventurer tried to jump back. But the ice that shot up snared half of her body. She fell down, and Ceria halted the spell. One adventurer down.

Dozens to go. Some of them hadn’t immediately entered the fight, but the instant Ceria began casting magic, at least five [Mages] began sending spells her way. Ceria dove behind the [Receptionist]’s desk, raising another [Ice Wall]. Two spells hit her and one shattered her armor. But the spells weren’t meant to kill, just really hurt. Neither Ceria nor the other [Mages] were using deadly spells.

Yet. She saw Yvlon kicking over a table and trading punches with Jerat as another adventurer tackled her from behind. Yvlon was shouting in fury and despite Jerat’s size, she was punching parts of his face in. Of course; he was probably eight levels behind her! But she was outnumbered. Ceria pointed at the adventurers around her and shouted.

“[Ice Wall]!”

Three adventurers shouted as ice engulfed their legs. It wasn’t a vertical [Ice Wall] Ceria had just conjured, but a horizontal one. Some broke free of the ice and stumbled away, but Ceria could engulf them by altering her spell. She aimed again, then something struck her in the head. Something hot.

“Aaah!”

Ceria screamed as something burned the side of her face and her hair. Her [Frozen Armor] had caught part of the spell, but that had been a dangerous attack! She turned, ducking down and clutching at her head and saw the [Mage] who’d thrown the fire. He was pointing at her with a wooden stave of his own. Ceria aimed at him, and then saw something charging at him from the left. She screamed.

“Pisces, no! Don’t!”

The [Mage] turned, saw the huge skeleton of the bear charging him and screamed once before the bear crashed into him. The [Mage] went flying, but the bear didn’t savage him. It turned and rammed into another adventurer, sending the man sprawling. Someone screamed.

“Undead! The [Necromancer]’s—”

Ceria heard a gurgle. She looked around wildly and saw Pisces. He calmly raised a chair and brought it down on the head of another [Mage]. The man’s friend charged Pisces, but the [Necromancer] blurred away.

[Flash Step]. Pisces turned and hit another adventurer menacing Yvlon with a chair. Then he disappeared again. No one could hit him; he was moving too fast with the chair. He gestured, and his bear charged a group of adventurers. They drew their weapons. Ceria froze one, but the other charged the bear with a yell. It was fine if it was the bear. If it no one—

“Kill the [Necromancer] before he summons more!”

“Fucking tree rot!”

Ceria leapt up. Her first blast of snow shot Caddin, the speaker off his feet. The second blunted [Ice Spike] hit a woman with a bow in the midriff. Pisces whirled. He saw a [Rogue] flip towards him, and pointed.

“[Shock Volt].”

The spell blasted the [Rogue] off her feet. She landed on the floor, twitching. Ceria looked around.

“Pisces, look out!”

He whirled and saw the man with the crossbow. Stan was standing behind his table, using it as cover. He had one of his crossbows in hand. He was aiming at Pisces’ midriff, as if that would stop the rampaging bone bear. Ceria pointed her wand at him.

“Stan! Drop it—”

Too late. Stan fired. Pisces’ eyes widened and he vanished. He disappeared, blurring over to the left, but Stan was ready. The first crossbow had disappeared and the second one he yanked out of his bag of holding, even as Pisces stopped. It was already loaded and Pisces wavered. The bolt flew and cracked on the wall of ice Ceria conjured from the ground.

“[Ice Wall]!”

“Dead gods damn it!”

The man cursed. Ceria ran past him, blocking more spells with ice walls as she took cover behind him. Just in time; a [Warrior] smashed into the [Receptionist]’s desk, turning it into splinters and sending the woman running for cover. Ceria hid behind Stan, shouting curses. She’d frozen Stan up to his neck. He was chattering already with the cold and jerking his head, but the ice was far too thick to move in.

“Pisces! Get to cover!”

He ignored her. Ceria was raising [Ice Walls] around her, creating a maze the adventurers had to try and smash through or run around. Ceria frantically downed a mana potion, but she realized she was safe. The [Mages] weren’t able to blast through her thick walls of ice and the other adventurers with weapons were being caught by her spells. They were…sort of weak!

And Pisces was still fighting. He ducked as an adventurer with a hatchet took wild swings at him. The [Necromancer] stepped backwards, adjusting his [Flash Step] to stay just out of range. He waited until a swing overbalanced the Bronze-rank adventurer, then appeared behind her and kicked her knees in. The young girl went down and Pisces delicately kicked the hatchet out of her hands. Then he turned as Yvlon howled.

She’d been fighting the other [Warriors] in a cleared space in the center of the Guild. Like some of the adventurers, Yvlon wasn’t willing to draw blood, so her sword remained in its sheathe. But she was still fighting, even without her weapon.

And she was winning. There were half a dozen adventurers lying on the floor, and the number was going up rapidly. Yvlon had grabbed a shirtless adventurer and was demonstrating why going without armor was a stupid idea for a [Warrior]; she hammered his stomach until he started puking, and then kneed him in the chest. He fell down and someone rammed into Yvlon from behind.

Jerat. He struck her armor from behind with a mace, an extraordinarily stupid move because it didn’t even stagger Yvlon. She turned around and punched the man in the face. Ceria winced as Yvlon’s gauntlets opened up cuts on his face. Down he went. Yvlon kicked him twice on the floor and then turned. Someone tried to bull-rush her, but Yvlon outweighed the Silver-rank adventurer and he bounced off her armored body, hurting himself more than anyone else.

Ceria stared. They were just too…weak. The other adventurers, that was. Even the Silver-ranks. Only a few could put up an equal fight, and the ones that could didn’t have Yvlon’s gear. With her helmet on and enchanted armor, Yvlon’s only weak spot were the gaps around the front of her head. Even when someone smashed a chair over the back of her head, it only made her turn and throw the chair-wielder into the [Receptionist]’s desk.

But the scream had come from Yvlon. Why? Ceria saw her duck, and then a flash of light. Yvlon screamed as a second bolt of electricity shot across the guild’s floor. It shocked her, making her flash in Ceria’s vision. It wasn’t a killing spell, but Yvlon stumbled back, armor smoking. Ceria turned as Yvlon tried to charge the spellcaster and adventurers got in her way.

Alais. Ceria shot a blast of snow, but the [Aeromancer] shot lightning back. Ceria blinked, felt a kick in her chest—

And got up from the floor, head ringing. Her armor had taken the brunt of that, but it still felt like being kicked by a horse. She got up, swearing. She was going to freeze Alias’—

“Alais! Watch out! The [Necromancer]’s aiming at you!”

Someone screamed. Alais turned. Pisces was speeding towards her. She whirled her quarterstaff and aimed the tip.

“[Electr—]”

Pisces cannoned into Alais. He didn’t bother with a spell; he just [Flash Stepped] into her and rammed her off her feet. She landed hard on the ground, winded, but she was a veteran. Her staff was still aiming at Pisces.

“[Light—]”

He kicked Alais precisely in the face. Her head snapped back, but she still tried to cast the spell. Pisces raised one finger.

“[Lightning Jolt].”

He was faster. The lightning shocked Alais, making her convulse. Pisces kicked her in the stomach, and then stepped back. Alais tried to get up, her muscles still jerking, and looked up. She screamed for a second before the undead bear sat on her. Ceria, about to shout at Pisces, stopped.

He hadn’t killed anyone. Or injured them, aside from a few punitive spells and possible some broken bones. And the undead bear had simply lain down on Alais and another adventurer rather than attack. Pisces stepped back and calmly waved at Ceria. She realized between her spells and his, they’d cleared all the [Mages] from the room.

“Over here!”

He appeared on her left and kicked a Silver-rank [Scout] in the groin. Ceria froze some more adventurers for good measure.

“How many did you get?”

“Eight?”

“I think I got ten!”

Pisces shrugged. He looked at the swearing adventurers encased in ice. Then he looked back at Yvlon.

“And I believe our Miss Byres will have ten out…that makes thirteen.”

He pointed. Ceria, panting for breath and drinking the rest of her mana potion, saw Yvlon rush another adventurer. He flipped a table over to stop her; she kicked it into him and then punched. He had armor on like her, but the wumph Yvlon’s fist made as it went into his leather-covered stomach made Ceria wince. Then she grabbed Pisces.

“Her arm! Is it—”

“It’s fine. Watch that other Silver-rank Captain. He’s trying to use his bag of holding to absorb your ice.”

Pisces pointed at Stan. The man shouted obscenities at Ceria as she thickened the ice to prevent him moving his hand to his bag of holding. Her ice was already melting, mixing with the blood on the ground. Ceria looked around, breathing hard.

“Where’s Ksmvr—”

“Safe. Watch out.”

A chair flew at both of them. Ceria ducked. Pisces raised a hand.

“[Wind Shield]. [Flying Bone Club].”

The chair bounced off a whirling shield of air. At the same time, a bone detached from the skeletal bear’s body and flew at the adventurer who’d thrown the chair. He turned to run; the bone clocked him on the back of the head. Down he went. Ceria paused to stare at the bone as it clattered to the ground.

“Was that an actual spell?”

“It worked. I think Yvlon’s finished, Ceria. We may need to stop her.”

Pisces pointed back at Yvlon. Ceria turned and saw she was the last one left standing. Quite literally; every adventurer around her was on their knees, comatose, or crawling away. Blood was dripping into Yvlon’s blonde hair and she had splinters of wood embedded in one cheek. But she was too angry to notice. And she was holding one adventurer, slamming him into one of the last tables.

“Say it again, Caddin! Say it again!”

The young man of maybe eighteen or seventeen was gasping, weakly flailing at Yvlon with his left arm as his other tried to pull her hands off. Yvlon slammed him into the table and Ceria heard him make a gagging cry.

“Yvlon! Stop!”

“Say it again!”

“Yvlon!”

The [Warrior] let go of Caddin and spun as Ceria ran over. She cocked a fist and Ceria raised her wand. Yvlon froze as she saw Ceria and Pisces. Ceria knew she had bruises on the side of her face and she might have a cut. Pisces looked as pristine as when he’d come in.

“Yvlon. It’s done.”

Ceria looked down at Caddin. The young man was lying on the table, panting, making hoarse sounds up at the ceiling. Ceria wondered if Yvlon had cracked his ribs.

The [Wounded Warrior] took a shuddering breath. She looked around the Adventurer’s Guild. So did Ceria. Only then did she see some of the adventurers had freed themselves from her ice. And more than a few were still conscious. But no one was aiming at her, or Pisces, or Yvlon. The fight was out of them.

The guild was trashed, too. Ceria had seen brawls, but this one was destructive, by any standard. There were only about three good chairs left. She looked around for one to sit on; the world had turned grey after so much mana usage. Then she saw Ksmvr. He was sitting in front of his destroyed table, calmly waving at her.

“Ksmvr!”

He opened his mandibles cheerfully as Ceria hurried over.

“Hello, Captain Ceria.”

“Are you hurt? Did anyone hit you?”

“I was struck by an accidental chair. Aside from that I am quite fine. I stayed down, did not draw my weapons, and did not cause trouble. Did I do well?”

The half-Elf stared at Ksmvr with open mouth. Then she burst out laughing. Yvlon and Pisces turned to look and began laughing too. Ceria laughed and laughed—until suddenly she realized her laughter was getting hysterical. She stopped. Then she looked around.

The adventurers of Celum looked at her. Stan had freed himself with the help of a [Mage] casting a flame spell. He was shivering, his face blue. Alais was sitting up; the bear had gotten off her and was sitting in front of Pisces as he slowly disassembled it, letting the bones float into his bag of holding. She was clutching her nose, which was dripping red. Ceria hoped it wasn’t broken.

“Uh…”

Yvlon walked past Ceria, breathing heavily. She was drinking from a healing potion. She didn’t look at anyone, until a sobbing, breathless voice came from behind her. She turned. Caddin was trying to sit up. He was making a bad sound and Ceria knew some of his ribs were busted. But he still glared at Yvlon, tears in his eyes. Her and Ceria.

“How come you walked away when everyone else died? How’s that fair?”

The room was silent. Yvlon stared at Caddin. She slowly drank the vial of healing potion down and didn’t answer. She turned her back as Ceria looked around. Bleeding adventurers stared at her. Time to go.

“You weren’t able to do that last time, Ceria.”

Stan croaked as she went to walk past him. Ceria turned. She glared at Stan.

“I guess I changed, Stan. I leveled up. I thought that’s what we were supposed to do.”

He stared bleakly at her, then around the trashed guild. As if he’d had no part in what had just gone down.

“Some of us changed a lot.”

What could you say to that? What could you say that would give voice to all the loss, the pent-up feelings, the past both Ceria and Yvlon had left behind but was now dug up, lying bloody and exposed? Ceria stared at Stan, at Caddin and Alais. She shrugged.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

She raised a middle finger. Then she turned.

“Come on, guys. We’re going. Ksmvr—”

Pisces was already opening the door. He began to step outside, and then stopped. Ceria saw only his still back for a second, and then the [Necromancer] slowly retreated back into the guild. And she saw his hands were raised. A man followed him with a drawn sword. He wasn’t an adventurer. Ceria’s stomach lurched as she recognized the insignia on his armor.

Celum’s City Watch. The man shouted as he kept his sword aimed at Pisces. More [Guards] streamed into the guild behind him, some holding bows, a few with wands. Most with swords, spears, axes…they advanced on the adventurers as the man with the sword bellowed into the room.

“Weapons down! Half the City Watch is right outside the guild! No one move! [Mages] with your hands behind your backs! If we so much as see a spell or undead, we’ll put a dozen arrows into you! You’re all under arrest!”

“Oh, tree rot.”

Ceria reflexively raised her hands. She kept them high as two [Mages] immediately trained their wands on her. They might be lower-level and their wands might look cheap, but a [Stone Dart] spell could still kill at this range. The other [Guards] were shouting at the adventurers, forcing them back. The [Captain] in charge kept shouting until there were a good twenty men in the room and more pouring in. Then he looked around.

“Alright! Who started it?”

The adventurers stared. It was a familiar scene. Someone had heard the fighting and called the City Watch. And they had showed up after the fighting as usual. They weren’t paid to risk their skin in a brawl. But after it? They could arrest anyone they wanted to. Ceria was grinding her teeth, ready to argue her way out. Or run if there was a chance. But then she saw the [Receptionist] push her way forwards. The woman raised her hand tremulously.

“She started it! Her and her team!”

Her hand pointed to Yvlon. Everyone looked at the [Warrior]. Yvlon turned crimson.

“I was—”

“Alright. You’re under arrest. Who else is in her team, Miss?”

The [Receptionist] flinched as Ceria shot her a glare, but she pointed. [Guards] surrounded Ceria and Pisces. The [Cryomancer] swore.

“Hold on! That’s a load of—they attacked us! All of them! We were only defending—”

“Save it! You started this brawl; you’re paying for it! And you’re spending time in our cells—I won’t have adventurers tearing up my city!”

The [Captain] shouted at Ceria. She shouted back.

“What? Pay for this mess? No way! They started the fight. Yvlon threw the first punch, but we’re—”

“Silence! Men, arrest her and toss her in jail! That one too!”

“He’s a [Necromancer]!”

“A what?”

A dozen blades were instantly thrust in Pisces’ direction. He held his hands up, eyes flashing fury. Yvlon tried to lower her hands, but a spear leveled at her throat put them back up.

“He didn’t—”

“Shut up! You’re under arrest! This isn’t a debate! Get them in chains, and if we have anti-magic cuffs, I want them on that [Necromancer]! And the half-Elf!”

“Hold on! You can’t just—”

The [Captain] ignored Ceria. And when a [Guard] forced her to her knees, the half-Elf remembered. Oh. Right. This wasn’t Liscor. This was a Human city’s City Watch. Which meant they were less professional even than Relc. And their Watch Captain was less concerned with the minutiae of who’d done what, and more concerned with less trouble. It was a refreshingly simple approach to policing. And Ceria had forgotten how much she hated it.

“That all of them?”

“No. No, you missed one!”

The [Receptionist] panicked as the [Guards] began to drag the three Horns of Hammerad to the door. She pointed frantically back at a figure behind them.

“It’s one of them! Take it too!”

“It? What do you—”

The [Captain] choked on his words. He’d spotted the figure in one of the three remaining chairs. The Watch had overlooked him not because of his appearance, but because he’d been so still, so calmly unobtrusive in the heaving, destroyed guild. Now they focused on him and recoiled.

He was sitting at the table where he’d been before the fight had started. And true to his words, he hadn’t thrown a punch. He hadn’t even gotten up. The [Guards] and adventurers all stared at him as Ceria stopped cursing the [Guard] putting her in manacles and Pisces and Yvlon looked over their shoulders. Ksmvr raised one hand and opened his mandibles in a smile.

“Hello. Are you going to arrest my companions? Because I believe we have a request to fulfill.”

The Watch Captain stared at him in horror. He stuttered for words.

“An—Ant—”

“I am Antinium. Hello, my name is Ksmvr. I request to be identified as a Horn of Hammerad, please. Thank you.”

The man stared at the [Receptionist] and the other adventurers. Their looks reflected the expression on his face. He worked his jaw soundlessly, then turned to one of his [Sergeants] and shook his head.

“Arrest it too. We’re going to need to tie the other arm up.”

He indicated Ksmvr’s three free arms. The Antinium studied a [Guard] as one of the younger recruits approached.

“H-hold still. You’re under arrest.”

The young man stuttered as he addressed the Antinium. Ceria, cursing, watched Ksmvr eye the manacles and then look to her. The Antinium tilted his head from side to side. Then he slowly stood up.

“No, thank you.”

The [Guard] froze. He looked back for help at his superior. The [Captain] blinked. He looked around at his men and the adventurers as if to reassure himself, then barked at Ksmvr.

“You! You’re under arrest!”

Ksmvr shook his head slowly.

“I am not.”

“Yes you are, you—think! Resist and we’ll kill you, got it? You so much as draw your blade—you’re under arrest, damn it! Do you even understand that?”

The Antinium watched the [Captain]. There was something unnerving about the intent way Ksmvr stared at the [Captain]. Then he shook his head again.

“No. I completely understand the concept of arrest, Watch Captain. And I do not believe I will be arrested. I, personally, have done nothing wrong. And if you try to arrest me, sir, I will have to kill you.”

Silence. The guild had gone still for the confrontation. It had frozen in anticipation of the fight and come to a halt afterwards. For the arrests, it had paused to watch the proceedings. Now it just stopped. Every eye fixed on Ksmvr, and a cold chill swept the room. The prelude to true violence. Death. Ceria choked.

“Ksmvr. Don’t—”

Ksmvr spread his three arms out innocently. He looked at her, and around the room. His voice was pleasant. Cheerful, as he met the [Captain]’s eyes, then Ceria’s.

“What? It would be self-defense. I have done nothing wrong.”

He paused.

“Yet.”

6.19 H

People liked to insult the local City Watch, especially in Human cities. Ask any local and you’d get some commentary about how their local law enforcement was about as effective as a hamster with a toothpick, and as corrupt as a bag of [Lords] with their britches stuffed full of gold coins.

The comparison was even worse because Drake cities were known for their effective system of policing themselves. But to be fair, that was because most Drake cities conflated ‘City Watch’ with ‘standing army’ and thus they allocated huge discretionary budgets. Indeed, Drake culture was largely based around supporting their military, which meant the somewhat laissez faire north fell behind.

It honestly wasn’t that bad. Ceria knew City Watches got a bad rap, but what were they supposed to be? Perfect? Take a small city with a limited budget—especially if it wasn’t located on a major trade route or exporting some valuable resource—and think about how much you could pay your average [Guardsman].

Most likely even the [Watch Captain] wouldn’t be high-level and the [Guards] might see some action, but they wouldn’t be equipped or ready to take on dangerous monsters or individuals. They weren’t being paid to be heroes. So usually they did the best job they could, and yes, some cities did have a corruption problem, but others were fine. Not great, not excellent—just fine. If a disaster happened, it happened not because of the local law enforcement, but because it was a disaster.

With that said, Ceria had known bad [Guards] and good ones and they shared a common feature, which was their disdain for adventurers. They hated high-level adventurers who were paid better, had expensive gear, and usually flouted the law and took any opportunity to get back at them.

Which meant that the unlucky adventurer who was arrested would get their gear stripped off them, earn kicks and bruises if they resisted, and if they were in one of the aforementioned corrupt cities, might even see some of their gear disappear along with their gold if the [Guards] thought they could get away with it.

Ceria wasn’t as worried about that in this case; they were Silver-rank and could get their gear back, even if some gold ‘vanished’ by accident. Thank goodness their share of the loot was with the Halfseekers pending their visit to Invrisil. No, what she was worried about was Ksmvr.

“I have done nothing wrong. Yet.”

The Antinium stood in front of what had to be at least forty of Celum’s City Watch. There might be more outside; Ceria seriously doubted half the Watch had shown up, but it was a small army capable of putting down any amount of brawling adventurers at least. And she was terrified for Ksmvr. Because his threat had made the [Guards] back up for a second, but soon they would realize he was alone and his team were in cuffs.

Ceria had her arms twisted up by a female [Guardswoman] and she knew that any spell would result in her being knocked out or shot. And that was the thing about the City Watches in any city. They could be efficient, corrupt, or ineffectual, but even so, they were still good at killing things. And they would do it, too.

“Ksmvr—”

The half-Elf yelped as the [Guardswoman] twisted her arm up another foot. She swore, but forced the words out.

“Don’t be an idiot, Ksmvr!”

“I will do my best, Captain Ceria. I was explaining to this Watch Captain that I have done nothing wrong. After all, I did not partake in the brawl.”

The Antinium politely nodded to the destroyed room. The [Captain], a burly man who Ceria vaguely recognized as having taken part in one of Erin’s plays, looked around.

“That true?”

Some of the adventurers nodded; the rest just stared at Ksmvr with obvious distaste. The [Captain] hesitated; then he looked around and realized he was in front of his men. And that Ksmvr was alone. He caught himself and scowled.

“Doesn’t matter. This thing’s part of your team, right half-Elf? It’s under arrest. Antinium, if you attack, we’ll—”

Ksmvr moved. Forty [Guards] instantly leveled their weapons at him, but the Antinium had simply raised one of his hands.

“Excuse me, [Captain]. But I repeat I have not taken part in this altercation. I am innocent. Therefore I cannot be arrested. I have done nothing wrong.”

That was true. But—Ceria was swearing as she stood on her tiptoes to avoid her arms being wrenched out of their sockets—she could have told Ksmvr the facts didn’t matter. Not with a peeved Watch Captain. He snapped impatiently at Ksmvr as he waved six of his [Guards] forwards. They moved slowly; like him, they’d probably only seen the Antinium in Erin’s inn. And you heard stories…

“I decide what’s right or wrong here. And you’re under arrest. Because I said so, got it?”

The Antinium stared at the [Captain] slowly. One of the [Guards] held up a pair of manacles.

“Don’t move—”

He jumped back as Ksmvr spread all three arms. There was another moment of tension, but less pronounced. Ceria could see one [Guard] cracking his knuckles as he snuck up behind Ksmvr with three of his mates. As soon as they got Ksmvr in cuffs, it would be a few kicks at least. If they hurt him, Ceria was going to—she saw Yvlon tensing as two [Guards] held her. Another fight would not be a good idea. The [Ice Mage] braced—

“Ah. It appears we have reached an impasse, then. I claim that under the law, I have committed no crimes save for association with my team. You claim that I have broken a law you refuse to name. So tell me, Watch Captain. Is it war?”

At first Ceria was focusing on Yvlon. The [Guards] were sneaking up on Ksmvr and the [Captain] was looking around as the adventurers patched themselves up with cheap potions, assessing the damage. Then every head swung back towards Ksmvr as if he were a lightning rod in a storm.

“What?”

The Antinium [Warrior] looked innocently around the room.

“I repeat. Is it war? I am asking for confirmation, Watch Captain. Because if it is, I would like to notify my Hive so they may send a declaration formally. However, if you are declaring war by surprise, I quite understand. No doubt the official commencement will begin after—”

“Wait. Wait—what do you mean, war? War with who?”

The Watch Captain was staring at Ksmvr. So was Ceria. Ksmvr looked puzzled; his antennae waved about uncertainly.

“Why, with the Antinium of course. If you arrest me, it will be war. With the Free Antinium and all five Hives of the Antinium. If you place me in cuffs or kill me as I resist arrest, the Antinium go to war with the Humans of Izril.”

He turned to look at the [Guards] behind him as he said it. They sprang away from Ksmvr as if he was suddenly covered in spikes. The Watch Captain licked his suddenly very dry lips.

“Now, see here. You’re just an Antinium. Aren’t there…I mean, one Antinium isn’t…”

His voice trailed off. Ksmvr was just staring at him. But it was such a contemptuous, Pisces-like stare that the meaning was plain across species. He spoke very slowly and clearly as the room focused on him.

“I am Ksmvr. A Prognugator of the Free Antinium and individual of my Hive. I am unique. There are many Antinium, but the death of a Prognugator means war. Or do you not know of Klbkch the Slayer? The Small Queen, Xrn? We are second only to our Queens. If I am arrested without cause, this will count as a military action against my Hive. There is only one response to that. I have done nothing wrong. So, tell me, Captain. Is it war?”

He raised his voice and stepped forwards. The entire room shuddered and moved back in response. And every eye went towards the Watch Captain, who’d lost all color in his face. Ceria was just staring at Ksmvr.

It wasn’t every day you saw someone actually come close to evacuating their bowels in public. But the [Captain]’s expression suggested that if Ksmvr shouted, he’d be waddling as he ran away. And they would run. War with the Antinium? Ceria saw the face of the [Guardswoman] who’d relaxed her grip. The woman looked horrified, as did everyone else. Who would want that? But Ceria was amazed for a different reason.

Ksmvr was lying! The Antinium looked around the room, calm as could be. But Ceria knew that Ksmvr was lying through his teeth. His mandibles, whatever. He was outcast from his Hive! Klbkch had cast him out and taken his spot as Prognugator.

But no one else knew that. The [Captain] began to back up.

“War? No. No, absolutely…no. We would never arrest—you’re an adventurer, right? Your team…”

He looked at the Horns, suddenly instantly conflicted. Ceria looked up sharply, but Ksmvr just tilted his head.

“I believe they are under arrest. They did start the brawl.”

“Damn it, Ksmvr.”

Ceria audibly heard Pisces curse behind her. The Antinium glanced at Pisces and tilted his head the other way.

“My team has committed a crime. Thus, we must be punished. But I have not, so I will remain here while they serve their sentence. If they are due to be executed, I will of course petition—”

“No, no. They’re just going in jail. We’ll—uh, it’s just an overnight sentence. Right, lads?”

The [Captain] turned. His Watch instantly nodded. They would have agreed to anything at that moment. Ksmvr nodded happily as well.

“I see. That is good. Then I am not under arrest? There is no war?”

“No. No. In fact, you are completely free to go. Now, if you want.”

Ksmvr ignored the note of hope in the [Captain]’s voice. He Shook his head.

“I must see my companions are properly arrested first. It would not due for them to be mistreated.”

And rather to Ceria’s chagrin, Ksmvr did just that. The City Watch escorted her, Pisces, and Yvlon out of the guild as the [Captain] remained to get a full account of what had gone on. And the Horns were hauled to Celum’s jail and put in a cell together.

Ceria had to admit it was the politest and somehow the tensest walk to her cell she’d ever had. Ksmvr walked right behind the [Guards] as they hurried the Horns into a cell. They were so flustered they forgot to grab the adventurer’s gear and had to come back for their weapons.

“Dead gods damn it. Hey, don’t you dare mess with that wand. I want it back, not snapped by accident!”

The half-Elf swore as one of the [Mages] in the City Watch took her wand, eying it avariciously. The [Mage] glanced at Ksmvr, who was loitering in front of their cell and hurried off. Yvlon had given up her sword and Pisces was surrendering his rapier with a very sour expression.

“This everything?”

The [Guardswoman] in charge, a [Sergeant], glanced nervously at Ksmvr as she grabbed Yvlon’s Sword of Weight, eying it appreciatively. Yvlon nodded and Ceria glanced sideways at Pisces. He sneered.

“Of course. Would we lie?”

Normally that tone and sentence would have earned him a boot in the ribs. But the [Sergeant] held back on snapping as she glanced at Ksmvr.

“Uh. Fine. We’ll be back. You lot—cast any magic and it’ll be worse for you. We’ll get your side of things in a moment, once the [Captain] comes back. If there are fines…”

“The other adventurers joined the fight. We took on one team. They piled on.”

Ceria had thought of the least expensive excuse and the one that would survive a [Detect Lies] spell. The [Sergeant] looked at her and shook her head.

“We’ll see about the damages. At least the damn Guild wasn’t buried in snow. Anyways—”

She shifted with the sword and rapier in hand and looked at Ksmvr again. He waved at her politely.

“Hello. I am not under arrest?”

She jumped.

“No! I mean, no. I’m going to put these away. You…don’t linger. There’s a waiting time on visitors, you know.”

“I shall leave soon thereafter, then. I would not like to break the law.”

Ksmvr nodded politely at the Human woman. She looked surprised.

“Er…thanks. Well…”

She backed away. Ceria looked around her cell. It was one of the shared ones used for common, low-risk prisoners. Metal bars, stone floor and a hole in the floor that probably led into Celum’s sewers. It stank.

But at least they had the cell to themselves; across the way was another general holding area with two drunks, a petty [Thief], and some a woman who’d murdered her husband with her bare hands after she’d found him cheating on her. The [Thief] and drunks were staying well away from her.

“Silver rot. I’ll bet that [Sergeant]’s going to swing my sword around the moment she’s out of sight. And that [Mage] is going to use your wand, Ceria. I hope she doesn’t hurt anything with it; the sword can kill someone if they spar.”

Yvlon sat down on the floor, groaning. She still had a few light cuts around her face; she hadn’t taken enough healing potion to cure all of the damage from her fight. But she mainly looked tired and upset. Pisces grumbled; he was feeling at his bag of holding.

“Fools deserve their fates. Onto more pressing matters. Ksmvr, would you please tell the Watch to release us?”

Ksmvr looked confused.

“But Comrade Pisces, that would be illegal.”

All three Horns looked up. Yvlon bit her lip, but Ceria and Pisces just looked at each other.

“Yes…but it would be convenient, Ksmvr. Nice lie, by the way.”

“Thank you, Captain Ceria. I am ashamed of the ruse. But I thought it was the only way to prevent a death sentence or Comrade Pisces being horribly maimed.”

“Wait, what? What for?”

Yvlon and Ceria looked at Pisces. He looked embarrassed.

“Ah. You uh, remembered our discussion, Ksmvr. That explains it.”

The Antinium nodded happily.

“I did. I was concerned for your safety as you told me how common execution sentences are for menial crimes. As well as the fact that [Necromancers] are unduly hated. Thus, I lied, despite the extreme risk it entailed. I am glad you will not be killed.”

Ceria smacked her head gently against the bars. Pisces coughed rapidly, turning even redder. Yvlon looked disgusted.

“That explains it. Pisces—”

She wavered as she stared at the young man. Then Yvlon turned to Ksmvr and to Ceria’s surprise, she only sighed.

“He’s told you a half truth, Ksmvr. Pisces probably did get in a lot of trouble for being a [Necromancer], but his ‘menial crimes’ probably were a bit worse than that. And yes, he might get roughed up pretty bad if people found out what he is, so it’s a legitimate concern. But the only time it would be a death sentence is in a Drake city. And even then, not for a brawl.”

She looked meaningfully at Pisces. The tips of his ears were red as he nodded.

“A slight exaggeration, Ksmvr. I…apologize. In my defense, I was recounting stories to him.”

He glanced at Ceria. The half-Elf bit her lip. She wasn’t sure whether she should laugh or not. She instead looked at Ksmvr.

“What did you mean, ‘extreme risk’, Ksmvr? It’s just a lie. And a darn good one. You can spring us out of jail with it, right?”

Ksmvr nodded.

“No doubt, Captain Ceria. However, if the issue is not a life-or-death matter, I would hesitate to do so and in fact urge that I do not. Because it may turn the issue into a deadly matter. For us. You see, if my former Hive finds out I have claimed Prognugator status, they may attempt to seize and execute me as well as my team. Revalantor Klbkch would not hesitate to do so, I think.”

Ceria’s mouth fell open in horror. Her eyes slid sideways to Yvlon and Pisces.

“He—he wouldn’t do that, right?”

The Antinium shook his head seriously.

“I am not a Prognugator. To claim otherwise is one of the most serious affronts I could make to the Hive. I have no doubt I would be executed if he had overheard what I claimed. Recall that I threatened war with all of the Antinium.”

When he put it like that…Ceria gulped.

“Okay, scratch getting us out. It would look bad after you agreed to arrest us. And that might make Celum issue a complaint. And if they do…”

She looked at her teammates. Yvlon and Pisces nodded rapidly.

“One night’s fine. A fee’s welcome.”

“I relish squatting in this squalid, stinking hole of a cell.”

“What they said. You did good, Ksmvr. At least we didn’t earn a beating. Which we would have done with Pisces’ tongue. And at least we won that fight. Although…”

The half-Elf sighed. She looked at Yvlon. The woman was sitting down, rubbing at her arms and not meeting her eye or anyone else’s. Ceria hesitated.

“…We’ll have to talk out why it started.”

“I see. Should I be arrested to partake in this conversation?”

Ksmvr looked from Yvlon to the cell. Ceria shook her head.

“No, no, the last thing we need is more trouble. You just…stay out of trouble. Okay, Ksmvr? Maybe go back to Erin’s inn, alright? Let her know what—no, you know what? Don’t tell Erin what happened unless something worse occurs. Just go back, have a drink…we’ll be out in the morning.”

Ksmvr nodded obediently.

“Yes, Captain Ceria. But what about our request?”

Ceria’s mind went blank as she tried to recall.

“Our what? Oh. The [Bandits]. They’ll keep a day. Don’t worry. We’ll jump on it when we’re out.”

Pisces sniffed.

“A menial task. But one that is worth twenty gold pieces plus loot…hardly worth the cost of sitting a night in jail. But as that is a separate matter…Ksmvr, here. Take this.”

He had been busy fiddling with his hands and his belt. Now, to Ceria’s surprise, she saw him pluck a ring off his finger and hand it to Ksmvr along with his personal bag of holding. She eyed him with great surprise.

“What’s that for?”

“My ring enchanted with the [Shatterbolt] spell, as well as the bag of holding containing all my bones. Be very careful with it, Ksmvr. I can sense where the bones are of course, but while the bear bones are still present, what remains of them, there is another skeleton that must not be lost.”

The [Necromancer] met Ksmvr’s eyes. The Antinium nodded seriously.

“I will be very careful, Pisces.”

“And you’re giving that to Ksmvr because…?”

Pisces rolled his eyes as he turned to Ceria.

“Because I would rather not have my ring confiscated. If I had time, I would have sequestered your wand and Yvlon’s sword for the bag of holding along with my rapier. Or do you think the [Guards] will be so polite after Ksmvr is gone? They’ll come back to do some very invasive searches, I have no doubt.”

Ceria grimaced as she realized Pisces was right. Then she felt a moment of grudging admiration.

“Smart to hide your bones. They’d probably burn all of them.”

“Exactly. If you have anything else you’d like to ensure isn’t looted, now would be the time.”

Pisces looked around. Yvlon shook her head.

“All I’ve got is my armor and they won’t take that. Keep Pisces’ stuff safe, Ksmvr. I’m…sorry about the fuss.”

She looked miserable. Ksmvr stared down at her as he attached the bag of holding to his belt.

“I do not mind, Yvlon. I do not fully understand. But I wish to. And I will stay out of trouble, Captain Ceria. Do you have any other instructions for me?”

“Uh…no. No. Thanks, Ksmvr. You were a help. You’d better get out of here before the [Guards] come back.”

Ceria smiled wearily at Ksmvr. The Antinium nodded.

“I will wait for your release tomorrow morning, then.”

“Thanks! And Ksmvr, it’s not at dawn! You can go to sleep!”

Ceria called out as he turned and walked down the jail. He turned and waved his acknowledgement. Ceria saw him pause to speak with the [Sergeant] at the far end of the jail; she was indeed practicing cuts with Yvlon’s sword. Then she opened the door, let him out, and he was gone.

A silence fell over the cell after Ksmvr had gone. Ceria looked around. The other inmates had been an audience to the adventurer’s discussion. Now they stared at their cell mates.

“That thing’s an Antinium, ain’t it? Weird devils.”

One of the [Drunks] leaned against the bars, looking miserable and hung over. The [Thief] nodded.

“Dangerous. No wonder the Drakes fucking hate them. Hey, how much to stay silent about him not being a Prognuga-whatsit?”

Ceria swore and sat up. Before she could formulate a threat, Pisces stepped in.

“If you were wise, friend, you’d keep your mouth shut. Ksmvr may not be a Prognugator, but I am a [Necromancer]. And imprisoned or not, I do not take kindly to threats.”

The [Necromancer] cast a minor illusion spell as he did, so his voice sounded deeper and far more sibilant. The shadows around him seemed to creep towards the other cell. The [Thief] scrambled back with a shout as the two drunks fled.

“Keep back! You so much as cast a spell and I’ll shout, and the Watch will be all over—”

A hand descended on his shoulder. The man spun and stared into a woman’s face. Her eyes were bloodshot with tears, but the husband-killing wife’s voice was steady.

“Shut up. You tell anyone and I’ll kill you. I did it once. I’ll do it again. Be quiet.”

The [Thief] froze. The self-bereaved wife let him go and he backed up into a corner and tried to squeeze into the stone. The wife looked around with a very lost expression. She was a young woman. Barely eighteen. She must have just been married, or else married young. She was attractive, but she was a mess; she’d been crying when the Horns were brought in. Ceria caught her eye.

“Thank you.”

The murderess looked back at the half-Elf, looking lost.

“He looked nice.”

“He is.”

“Good. Good. I’m…I mean it. I’ll kill him if he so much as squeaks.”

She pointed back at the [Thief]. The man’s face was white as he shook his head frantically. Ceria’s skin crawled; that was another thing about prisons. Sometimes the [Guards] separated by cells, but sometimes they didn’t think someone was a threat and you spent a night sleeplessly watching the other people in the cell. They’d underestimated this girl.

“That’s…quite alright. Thank you, though. But he can stay alive unless he speaks.”

The young woman nodded.

“Okay. I’ll remember that. And him. But I don’t mind it. I don’t have any other reason. I killed him, you know. Myself. I leveled up from it. I’m all red now. It’s so red up here…”

She tapped her skull. Her eyes dripped tears. Ceria found herself backing up unconsciously. She licked her lips.

“I’m sorry to hear it.”

“I did level up.”

Pisces moved forwards. He gave the woman a charming smile and a slight bow.

“And we are grateful. Truly. You look quite tired, Miss. We’ll leave you to your rest. I’m sure it’s been a long day.”

“It has. Thank you.”

The woman retreated. So did Pisces and Ceria. They backed up until the woman was somewhat out of view. Ceria breathed out. Then she turned to Pisces and Yvlon. She wanted to say something, but aware the others might still be listening with Skills, she just looked at Yvlon.

“Alright. Want to talk about it?”

The woman had watched the exchange silently. Yvlon looked up. Her face was shadowed in the dark prison with only a few lanterns providing light.

“No. But we should. I know I shouldn’t have taken the bait. But—”

“I was angry too. But you’re just feeding into what they think, Yvlon. You know what it’s like. Tomorrow we’ll grab Stan and Alais. Kick some sense into them if we have to. If we can find Olesm, the Halfseekers even, get someone to vouch for us…”

Yvlon was nodding. She looked up.

“Thanks. I’m sorry.”

Pisces sniffed and then clearly regretted it.

“This isn’t the first night I’ve spent in a cell. Although perhaps one of the only full nights I will spend in one. We could slip out, but alas, I’m an adventurer now. I suppose I can tolerate this.”

Yvlon’s lips quirked the slightest bit.

“Thanks, Pisces. I didn’t mean it. I’ll control myself. It’s just—”

Her voice broke. Ceria saw her shoulder shake. In the darkness, she finally made out Yvlon’s face. It was running with tears.

The half-Elf looked at Pisces. He’d frozen. So she knelt and grabbed Yvlon.

“Hey now. It’s not true.”

“But I did lose my team. I did. We lost them. Sometimes I forget their names. Their faces. I don’t dream about them anymore, Ceria. I ran, just like—”

Ceria sat on the ground and grabbed her friend. She rocked back and forth with Yvlon as tears and memory both filled her again. Her eyes stung. She whispered.

“It wasn’t like that. We did all we could. It wasn’t like that. We tried…”

Silently, the [Necromancer] turned his back and began investigating the hole into the sewers. Ceria thought she saw him drop something into the sewers. But she was focused on Yvlon. She wiped at her own eyes as she rocked back and forth. It was very quiet. That was all. And soon, the tears stopped. After all, their friends had died a long time ago, or so it felt now. It just hurt sometimes.

That was all.

—-

And then Ksmvr was alone. He checked out of the jail and the [Sergeant] walked him to the door. No one stopped him. No one tried. After all, he was innocent. Although Ksmvr was quite aware that he could be guilty by association.

That was a common crime he had studied up on while he was learning how Drake and Human society worked. Loitering, resisting arrest, and ‘suspicious behavior’ were all valid tactics used by both Drake and Human [Guards] to opportunistically arrest undesirable elements or pursue personal agendas. It was a very convenient loophole in a system designed for equality.

Ksmvr had quite approved when he’d first studied it in his Hive in his formative two years. If you were going to have a flawed society based on individual freedoms, they might as well be curtailed by those with the true power.

It was lucky the ruse worked. Or I might have been arrested. Which would not have resulted in the death of Comrade Pisces. Hm. So is it good that I successfully lied and endangered my team to no gain? I will not be able to hear the discussion Captain Ceria has with Yvlon.

Ksmvr frowned as he walked away from the jail. To an Antinium, the equivalent of frowning was holding his mandibles close together but not touching, while his antennae drooped slightly. Perhaps, he had been rash. But he had acted on the best information available.

“Now I am a free citizen. Bereft of my team until tomorrow. What should I do?”

The former Prognugator stopped in the street and looked around. He realized everyone was staring at him. Over a hundred pedestrians, from children to people conducting their business, to [Guards] peeking out the windows of their barracks were all staring at him.

Ksmvr the Antinium. He had on his magic cloak, and Ksmvr had his enchanted short sword on his left, with his one good arm. On his right was the little Flamespread Dagger, and his shortbow was positioned to be drawn over his right shoulder as well. He had on four magical rings counting the one Pisces had just given him, and Ksmvr had a necklace on, the one that prevented food poisoning.

There was a little quiver of arrows on his left side, behind the shortsword, and Pisces’ bag of holding was located on the right side of his belt behind the dagger. A row of two potions filled the rest of the belt, as well as a small money pouch containing seven gold coins, fourteen silver, and three copper coins as well as a copper penny, a denomination not always used or accepted, but informally treated as a de facto currency.

In short, Ksmvr was armed and prepared for anything. But since there was nothing to do, the Antinium was lost. He looked around and noticed a good deal of flinching.

“I am clearly unwelcome.”

Those were the facts. They didn’t bother Ksmvr in the slightest. He stared around Celum, wondering what he should do with his time. Captain Ceria had told him not to cause trouble, to not tell Erin about what had occurred unless necessary, and to go to sleep at some point. Beyond that, Ksmvr was free to act autonomously. Which he would.

He wasn’t a slave, after all. And neither was he a mindless drone, like many of the Soldiers and Workers of the Hive were. Ksmvr was aware that his team worried over his behavior sometimes, and regarded it as obsessive. But that was a misconception he had yet to clear up. As he’d told Comrade Pisces time and time again…

“I am not without free will. I have simply chosen to devote my entire life to my team. Because there is nothing else in life that gives me purpose or value. Without it and my teammates, I am nothing.”

What was so hard to understand about that? But Comrade Pisces had gotten such a funny look on his face and awkwardly patted Ksmvr on the shoulder multiple times while clearing his throat. Ksmvr shook his head as he marched down the street.

“Silly Comrade Pisces. He exaggerates, as Yvlon says. But we are all with our quirks. Comrade Pisces is a [Necromancer] and duplicitous. Yvlon has a temper but she is very kind and caring. Captain Ceria eats bugs, which is a trait reviled for some reason and she likes sugary foods. I am a failure and weak link in my team.”

This was the way the world was. Ksmvr walked down the street and headed left. He knew the route, although he’d only been to Celum a few times before and rarely outside of Octavia’s shop. But he had memorized the route the [Guards] had taken to get here from the Adventure’s Guild.

And Ksmvr could trace his route from the guild back to Octavia’s shop if he so chose. He had an excellent spatial memory. And it never occurred to Ksmvr he could take another route. Why bother? He had time and this way was certain.

“What should I do next? Hm. I could drink, but that is a social activity and I do not need further energy reserves. Moreover, tipsiness is difficult for Antinium to acquire without Rxlvn. I could practice? Or acquire valuable information by listening to Captain Bevussa and the other adventures in Liscor’s guild. Perhaps Miss Selys has—”

Ksmvr was pondering his options as the Adventurer’s Guild appeared before him. He walked up to the front door, turned around, and then began walking in the direction of Octavia’s shop. But it was then that he paused. Something was happening. Ksmvr looked down.

His rings were…vibrating on his fingers. Ksmvr hadn’t noticed it at first, but they were definitely shaking. And the vibration was getting stronger; it had grown to the point where he could feel it, even with his limited nervous system. He stopped at once and investigated the phenomenon.

“My rings are vibrating. Why? A spell? Perhaps. A function I was not aware of? Comrade Pisces’ ring? But he has never mentioned it. And…all four rings are vibrating. And my sword. And necklace. And bow and dagger and…”

Ksmvr suddenly realized that all the magical items were shaking. From the cloak, to the bow, to the sword…and they the effect was increasing in magnitude exponentially. He looked at his gear, alarmed.

“What is this? What will happen if it grows worse?”

He hesitated. This was something he would ask Captain Ceria or Comrade Pisces about. But what should he do? He was about to check for someone casting a spell on him from afar when his predicament attracted the attention of one of the adventurers exiting the guild.

Crossbow Stan. The man was talking to Alais, the [Aeromancer] and Silver-rank Captain Ksmvr had been introduced to. He paused as he saw Ksmvr and his expression was guarded. Then his eyes widened in horror as he saw what was happening to Ksmvr’s gear.

“Troll balls! It’s dissonance! Pull those rings off!”

He bellowed at Ksmvr. The Antinium looked up.

“What is?”

Stan waved his arms frantically. Alais looked up, alarmed. Her eyes widened as well, signifying great alarm to the Antinium. Genuine alarm. She shouted.

“Your gear! There’re too many enchantments! Take it off! Now! Or it’ll explode!”

Explode? Ksmvr’s arms moved in a blur. The adventurers blinked as the weapons, rings, and necklace all fell to the ground in a blur. Ksmvr was yanking at his cloak as Stan called out.

“It’s fine! It’s fine…Ksmvr? Look, the shaking’s stopped, see?”

Ksmvr paused. It was true. The shaking had stopped, and the rings and his weapons had ceased vibrating, even though they were all piled on top of each other on the ground. He bent to investigate.

“Curious. But they are in closer proximity. Why has the effect ceased?”

“Because they’re enchantments. You can’t have too many on your person at once. All of ‘em in the same place isn’t so bad; they’re not active. You could toss twice as many artifacts in a bag of holding without a worry. But on you? They’ll explode, or the enchantments will combine or break or do something nasty.”

Stan and Alais came over with a few of their teammates. The old man was wiping at his balding head as he stared at Ksmvr.

“I’m surprised you had that many on you before without the dissonance kicking in. Most adventurers have a limit of four items, max, including a bag of holding. Did Ceria or Yvlon not teach you the basics?”

The tone in his voice was accusatory. Ksmvr instantly took offense. He straightened and spoke slowly.

“I was made aware of the issue. But it has never come up until now. I am given to understand these artifacts are high-quality. It seems Comrade Pisces’ ring and bag of holding exceeded my threshold.”

“Must be. Damned thing. Glad nothing happened. I’ve only seen the dissonance get that bad once; and then the fellow’s gear all imploded. Took parts of him with it.”

Crossbow Stan shuddered and some of the adventurers blanched. Ksmvr bent.

“I see. Then may I assume I can reequip my gear and stow the rest?”

“That’s right. Just put what you don’t need in that bag of holding and put the rest on one by one until you feel a quiver. Slowly…”

Ksmvr obeyed. He put on his gear, piece by piece, until he saw the telltale vibration start. Then he immediately pulled off the offending item and rearranged his equipment. It seemed that he had indeed reached the limit of items he could equip. But—it wasn’t as bad as he had feared. Ksmvr ended up only putting two items in the bag of holding.

“I suppose the necklace is least useful. Followed by…the Ring of Waterbreathing. However, it may be very important. I will reequip it at the slightest sign of rain. Happily, it appears I can wear my rings, cloak, sword, bow, dagger…and bag of holding together without issue.”

The adventurers watched as Ksmvr reequipped himself. Alais was blinking hard and one of her teammates was staring.

“That’s a lot of magical equipment!”

“Is it?”

Ksmvr looked up. He noted that the other Silver-rank adventurers all possessed one or two magical items each. A wand and some enchanted robes, or an amulet or a mildly enchanted sword. You could tell, sometimes, by the way the light shone on the metal. Or sometimes [Enchanters] added superfluous effects like a sparkling blade. Usually that meant they were low-grade. Crossbow Stan stared at Klbkch as he put the ring away.

“A Ring of Waterbreathing? Well, ain’t that a useful little tool? Not that I’d take a contract fighting monsters in the water. Still—how many items does your team have, er, Ksmvr, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid that information is classified, Captain Crossbow Stan. I would not like to reveal my team’s secrets without Captain Ceria’s permission. If you were her friend, I think that information would not be so confidential.”

“Captain Crossbow Stan?”

One of the adventurers laughed and Stan flushed a bit, but he did smile, which indicated to Ksmvr his words were humorous or at least, well-received. The adventurers stopped in the street and Ksmvr noted they were giving him a moderately friendly look. Cautious, but not nearly as hostile as the looks they had directed at the rest of his team. Perhaps Antinium were more welcome than [Necromancers] and perceived team-killers? Interesting.

“We’re—sort of friends. Your Captain, and I. Ceria and Yvlon—I did know them back in the day. So you can tell me what you’ve got, surely?”

Captain Stan’s tone was what Ceria would have described as ‘wheedling’. And his smile was too fake, much like the ones Comrade Pisces sometimes wore. Ksmvr instantly reevaluated his assessment of the adventurers; they were probing for information. So the Antinium reacted appropriately.

“Your fight in the guild would indicate you are not friends with my teammates, Captain Crossbow. You attempted to shoot my teammate in the stomach.”

“Hah. Well, that was—had to stop him animating undead, right? I didn’t know it wasn’t going to savage the others.”

“And the lightning?”

Ksmvr looked at Alais. The [Aeromancer] looked uncomfortable.

“It was a fight. Besides, Yvlon had that enchanted armor on.”

“Damn. She didn’t use to have that. And her levels! She put down at least a dozen people by herself. Caddin’s going to need healing for at least a few days. Too soon for the job.”

One of Alais’ teammates complained sourly. He didn’t quite glare at Ksmvr. Alais glared and one of the other teammates nudged the complainer. Stan gave them a meaningful look and a nod of the head. Another unspoken message. We need to talk to the Antinium and acquire information due to its naiveté, so cease making inappropriate comments! That was Ksmvr’s read of the body language. He continued playing the part.

“I do not understand. If you are their friends, why the reason for the hostility and the fight? Your accusations are without merit, as far as I understand them. If you had confirmed this, you would understand the truth.”

He looked pointedly at Stan. The man rubbed at his head as the other adventurers muttered invectives and curses on Ksmvr’s teammates. Crossbow Stan sighed tiredly.

“Look, Ksmvr. I’m sure you’re a fine…fellow. But those two are—you heard what Caddin said. Well, even if Ceria told us all the truth, it’s hard. Seeing them get out of Liscor like that? And then getting rich in Albez? No one’s pulled out a haul out of there, like we said, for years. It’s just suspicious. And even if it’s not…look, we made our mistakes.”

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the guild.

“Why don’t we bury the hatchet? You can at least tell us about Albez, tell us the story. Over a few drinks? And maybe tell us what you got? Those rings and that gear, right?”

As if she’d been waiting, Alais broke in with a smile that Ksmvr read as fake.

“Actually, the guild’s a mess. Why don’t we get a drink? I know a good inn. It’s on us as an apology.”

They glanced at Ksmvr, but they were unable to read the Antinium’s mandibles. And that uncertainty—and the disdain in some of their eyes—was an open book to Ksmvr. He thought quickly.

This scenario will either lead to me revealing some information as a tactical exchange of intelligence, or a situation where I am killed and my equipment looted. It is a fitting use of time in the former case and the latter’s possibility is remote. However—

Ksmvr looked at the adventurer standing behind Alais who’d been complaining, a man with freckles and dusty hair.

“I would like to partake in this conversation. But did I not hear correctly? You have a request, do you not?”

The adventurers blinked. Alais half-turned and then nodded, off-guard. She was already behaving in a friendly manner to Ksmvr. His polite tone and demeanor were no doubt helping this effect, and her own natural desire for his goodwill aided the effect.

“What? Oh, yeah. But it’s a job for tomorrow. We need to get some other teams, but we can spare some time tonight…we’re just going to send a [Message] spell to some teams we know about that bandit job—”

“Alais—”

Stan broke in, but it was too late. Ksmvr’s antennae waved quickly.

‘The request involving the bandits? But my team has taken that job.”

Wasn’t it a courtesy between adventurers? Then again…Alais winced.

“Yeah, well, things have changed. The [Receptionist] just got an update on the bounty. Look, you know Adventurer’s Guild share bounties, right? Big ones, at least. They communicate, and with the Merchant and Runner’s Guilds, passing on valuable intelligence. The [Bandits] are one of the things they notified the local cities about.”

Ksmvr nodded.

“Of course.”

“Yeah, well, this [Bandit] group isn’t famous, but they’re still a threat. Enough to wipe out a caravan, even a well-protected one. Sure, they might lose half their number, but the other half will come away rich. And that’s what they wanted. They’ve cut off the trade going through the pass towards Esthelm and Liscor; a few [Merchants] heard about it and upped the bounty by eighty gold coins.”

She paused for what Ksmvr assumed was dramatic effect. He said nothing; reactions were superfluous effort. After a moment Alais awkwardly went on.

“So it’s a hundred gold bounty on that group of [Bandits]. Poor bastards don’t stand a chance with that kind of reward on them. And we’re going to be the group that takes them out.”

Stan was nodding. He looked apologetic as he glanced at Ksmvr.

“You can tell Ceria and Yvlon it’s our contract, now. We’re getting some teams together and we’ll take it. They can do another request when they get out of jail.”

The group of adventurers held their breath as they waited for Ksmvr’s reaction. The Antinium didn’t need to think. He nodded and opened his mandibles happily, raising them.

“Of course. I will relay the message. Good luck with your hunting. And if I do not take up your time, I would join you for a night of drinking and optional debauchery. Perhaps at The Wandering Inn? I will be staying there tonight.”

Both teams looked relieved. Alais smiled.

“Sure. We could meet at sundown? I’ve been meaning to visit that famous inn.”

“So have I. It’s free to use that door, right?”

Ksmvr nodded.

“It is in Stitchworks, a shop run by an [Alchemist]. The door is not always active, but if you leave it open, it is checked at a regular interval. If I am not there at that time, I may be in my room. Miss Erin will know where to find me. Oh, and do not be alarmed by the Hobgoblin or white Gnoll, both of whom I understand to be objectionable socially in some way.”

“Hobgoblin?”

Captain Crossbow Stan nodded, covering Alais’ startled reaction.

“I heard about that. We’ll see you then, then.”

“Excellent. I will bring my artifacts for further recommendation. I would not like to have more adverse effects regarding this magical dissonance.”

The adventurers brightened at that. Alais smiled. Ksmvr was turning to go, when he had a thought. He turned back and politely raised a hand.

“Excuse me.”

Stan and Alais turned back as some of their team went into the Guild, perhaps to talk to their other teammates.

“Yes, uh, Ksmvr? Anything else you need?”

“Regarding the [Bandit] group you are pursuing. May I ask where they are based, exactly? I would like to inform my team so we do not accidentally cross paths tomorrow if we take another assignment.”

Both captains hesitated, but Crossbow Stan smiled after only a moment.

“Fair request. And cautious. From where we ran into them and what we know, they’re in the Humpbacker Hills. You know, that really tall section of hills that starts appearing before the actual mountains if you head southwest? Just short of the High Passes—a good ride from Celum by horse, but not too bad. There’s a little valley there. Just stay out of the region; we’re clearing them out tomorrow and we don’t want anyone spooking them beforehand.”

“I understand. I will inform my team. Thank you.”

“See you tonight.”

“Yes.”

Ksmvr waved; the other teams left. He saw Alais putting her head together with Stan as they went in the direction of the Mage’s Guild, which was located not far from the Adventurer’s Guild for convenience. Ksmvr wondered how many teams they considered appropriate for this job. He also wondered if the two laughing adventurers in Alais’ team were laughing at him. At the silly Antinium without a clue.

There was something people always misunderstood about Ksmvr. His team as well, but people who didn’t know Ksmvr especially. The Antinium stared at the backs of the adventurers and shook his head slowly.

“I am not stupid. You idiots.”

He turned and hurried down the street. Away from the Adventurer’s guild. Suddenly, Ksmvr had a lot to do. And it was all thanks to his new skills.

Not his Skills. Ksmvr was a Level 18 [Warrior]; an embarrassingly low level. But he had not fought in many engagements. He had shot up in levels from his initial Level 12 status when he’d first joined the Horns of Hammerad, but Ksmvr hadn’t fought much outside a few encounters with the Raskghar. And even then, he’d only leveled once from that.

No matter. Ksmvr had not spent all that time uselessly. He had developed skills along with his Skills, and he had gained them from his companions. From observation. Questions. They were more valuable than any number of levels.

Comrade Pisces’ ability to lie. Comrade Yvlon’s skill at arms and integrity, although the integrity was hard to use properly. Comrade Ceria’s leadership. And more. Ksmvr had observed Erin and Mrsha’s manipulation of innocence and duplicity. These were valuable skills. Ksmvr had put several of them to use for the first time and it had paid off. Now he practically ran back towards Stitchworks. He got there just in time to see the attack.

A group of men wearing cloths over their faces and hoods were standing outside of the [Alchemist]’s shop, shouting. Ksmvr slowed as he noticed they had weapons. Not swords, but rocks, bricks, an empty bottle, and a maul. Their leader had that and he seemed to be issuing a threat. Ksmvr watched with interest was the man with the maul smashed open the boarded up front of Octavia’s shop. The other men threw their stones, bottle, and bricks through the opening. There was a crash of glass.

“Help! Someone get the Watch!”

“You started this, [Alchemist]! Don’t make Mister Quelm finish it! You know what you have to do!”

The [Thug] with the maul bellowed into the shop. Ksmvr could still hear Octavia’s voice from inside. At last, someone else took up the call. Only then did the men turn and scatter.

The Antinium knew from the [Thug]’s speedy retreat that the City Watch was incredibly unlikely to arrest them, even if a [Guard] were in the area to give chase. Not that it mattered; he opened the door to the shop, hoping the stones hadn’t broken everything.

“Excuse me—”

“Stay back! I’m warning you! I—”

Octavia stopped as she held up two bottles filled with her Pepperspray potion. She stared.

“Ksmvr? Oh, thank goodness! Help me out! Those [Thugs] just smashed a hole in my shop! Run them down! Cut off their heads or something!”

She pointed with a shaking finger at the front of her boarded up shop. It was well and truly smashed in, and Ksmvr noted the projectiles had broken a few potions on Octavia’s shelves. Nothing too important; her alchemical wares were intact. He stepped around a puddle.

“Well? What are you waiting for? They’re getting away! Or, no, I know where they’re going. It’s this ass—”

Octavia rushed past Ksmvr, trying to hurry him out of the shop. Ksmvr held up a hand.

“I am not here to assist in that regard, Miss Octavia. This appears to be matter for the City Watch.”

“They won’t help! They think this is a fight between [Alchemists]! Which it is, I’ll grant you, but I didn’t think it would come to this! That damn Quelm bought out the muscle I approached. And he wants—look, do you want money? I’ll pay you! You’re an adventurer, right?”

The [Alchemist] was very insistent. Ksmvr stepped around her and investigated her wares. He addressed Octavia absently.

“I was instructed by Captain Ceria not to cause trouble. I feel that involving myself in this issue would be a mistake, as it is not strictly adventurer’s work. So I will not help you. I do have an order, however. Three healing potions and one stamina potion, please. Also, one smoke cloud bag.”

He had some potions, but more was always welcome. Octavia stared at him.

“But—”

“Three healing potions please. One stamina. I do not need the smoke cloud bag on second thought. I will not need it.”

“Uh, that’ll be—”

The [Alchemist] numbly accepted the coins Ksmvr handed her. Then she stared at Ksmvr. Her expression was pleading.

“I know I’m not your favorite [Alchemist]. People are making that clear today. But, look, I could really use some help right now. Ksmvr, buddy? Come on, just let me talk to Ceria. I just need some help. I just—”

She reached for Ksmvr’s arm. The Antinium walked back towards the door. One objective down. He turned perfunctorily at the opening in Octavia’s shop front.

“Captain Ceria is currently under arrest. You may talk to her tomorrow. Goodbye.”

Then he left. Octavia ran out after him.

“Wait! Ksmvr. Please?”

But he paid no attention to her. Octavia wasn’t important on Ksmvr’s internal list of affiliates, friends, and teammates. She was useful to his team, but there were many [Alchemists]. Perhaps if he had not been busy, he would have taken up her problems. But he had something to do. Something that mattered.

So Ksmvr hurried down the street, glancing up at the sun. Not even midday, which was good. He needed all the time he could. He wasn’t sure how long he had based on vague directions.

The Antinium made one last stop in the city. He found a local stable. The [Horse Handler] took one look at Ksmvr and went for his belt dagger. The Antinium had to reassure him he wasn’t a monster first, which was an amusing and unnecessary question to ask. When the man was calm, Ksmvr tried again.

“Hello. I would like to rent a horse.”

“What? Naw, naw…you’re pulling my leg. Aren’t ya?”

The man had a thick accent. He stared at Ksmvr as if the Antinium were joking. Ksmvr was not. He pointed at the sign behind the man.

“This is a stable, is it not? It rents horses? I believe the concept is simple. And you are employed here?”

It was indeed a simple concept. Ksmvr gave the man money, a full deposit on a horse, which was quite a lot, and he could ride the horse out right now. If the horse were injured, stolen, or died, Ksmvr would get less or none of his deposit back. Otherwise, he was simply renting the horse for a fee.

He could buy one if he had the funds, but that wasn’t what the Antinium was after. He didn’t have enough for one thing; he was lucky the deposits weren’t the full price of the horse. But that was because the stables operated on trust; the handlers had perfect memories and if you mistreated or stole one of their horses, not only were you banned for life, but the men and women managing the stables across the continent would rat you out to local law enforcement wherever you went. You didn’t cross horse people.

The man running this stable blinked at Ksmvr. For some reason this simple concept seemed to be failing him, the horse handler.

“You’re one of them bug people. Why do you need a horse?”

“Why does anyone need a horse? That is a rhetorical question, by the way.”

“What?”

The two stared at each other. Ksmvr shifted impatiently. He tried again.

“I am a Silver-rank adventurer. My qualifications are impeccable. I am fully capable of riding a horse. I need one.”

“Naw, naw…I’m not selling to a bug person. Might not get ‘em back. And it’ll break my heart if one of my lads or lasses got hurt. Can’t trust adventurers anyways. Go on. Shoo.”

He waved vaguely at Ksmvr, looking mildly afraid. The Antinium gave up. He strode past the man into the stables.

“Hey!”

“Hmm. This horse looks reasonably able. I will pay for this one. Here is the fee.”

Ksmvr dug gold coins out of his pouch, relieved he had enough to pay for the horse’s rental fee. He resolved not to get it killed; it would be far too expensive.

“You can’t just take one! Mister Fairday doesn’t like you anyways. See?”

The horse was indeed frisky. It pranced in its stall, showing Ksmvr the whites of its eyes. It couldn’t decide if it was hostile or afraid. Ksmvr spoke in a soothing voice as he held a hand out.

“Shh. Or I will have to discipline you by riding you firmly while offering you encouragement in the form of food.”

It took him a few seconds, but a calm approach and even calmer voice worked on the horse. It stopped threatening to rear. Ksmvr turned back to the [Horse Handler]. The man looked impressed despite himself, but he refused the coins when Ksmvr tried to pay.

“Look, no offense, but you’re still one of them bug folk. Can’t trust one of you lot on a horse. Who’s to know you don’t eat horses?”

Ksmvr stared at the man as the hostler folded his arms defiantly. The Antinium sighed. Then he spread his arms wide.

“I see. Is it war, then?”

“…What?”

—-

Fifteen minutes later, Ksmvr rode out of Celum’s gates. He knew his presence was noted by the [Guards] on the gate, but he hadn’t spotted any of the adventurers on the short ride out the gates. His horse trotted a hair too quickly, and it snorted a few times. Its ears kept trying to lay flat and it was snorting. But Ksmvr rode patiently and quickly guided the horse down the road.

Heading south. More than one traveller on the road did a double-take at the sight of Ksmvr on the horse’s back. He heard exclamations, oaths, screams, and more on the road. His horse nervously whinnied—Ksmvr made it pick up the pace. Only when he was moving faster and heading off the road, towards a certain landmark did the horse calm and the exclamations cease.

It was better that way; the horse moved slower on the uneven terrain, but Ksmvr vigilantly watched the ground and got off to let the horse rest. Well, rest just meant Ksmvr ran alongside the horse. He was still in a hurry.

He patted the horse now and then soothingly; it wasn’t happy about him being on it, despite the [Horse Handler] doing his best to convince the animal to let the Antinium get on. But Ksmvr was a capable rider and the horse gradually adjusted to his presence. True to his word, Ksmvr did indeed bribe the animal with food, which no doubt helped.

Was it really that much of a surprise to see Ksmvr on horseback? The Antinium wondered to himself as he rode.

“Yes, perhaps. My team might well be surprised. But they would not be if they considered my origin. Riding is among one of my abilities.”

It was true. Ksmvr could ride, shoot, fight with almost any weapon commonly used across all five continents, lead an army with any number of strategies, perform rapid calculations, hide, assassinate, identify poisons, fight barehanded, construct fortifications, identify a wide variety of spells, read and more. He had been created and trained to be superior to his common counterparts in every way. And even if he was a failure, he had been made in the image of one of the greatest Antinium to have ever lived.

Klbkch the Slayer. Only, Ksmvr was an inferior copy. A defect. As the Antinium rode towards his destination, he thought to himself and out loud. That was what Ksmvr the Antinium did when he was alone. He thought about the future, the present, and the past. Especially the past.

“I was created in secret. To be a Prognugator of the Free Antinium should Klbkch ever fall. I was not meant to exist; my very existence was illegal.”

He knew that. The Free Queen had told him herself. To create him, she had experimented, replicated the methods of making Prognugators of old. It had been costly, and done without the Grand Queen’s authority; she had not desired unique Antinium to come from the Free Antinium’s Hive.

But the Free Queen was gifted. And she remembered how it was done. There had been countless failures. But Ksmvr had been created out of the phenomenal cost to the Hive. Only, he’d been wrong.

Just how wrong? Ksmvr had narrowed his failure down. He spoke out loud as his horse bore him on.

“My faults were twofold. Firstly, in my body. In my origin.”

His body was that of a Worker’s. The Free Queen had only had two forms to choose between; she had spent time on his creation, not towards developing a new form of Antinium. Ksmvr did not understand the formulation process, but he understood it was beyond difficult; even changing a few details about the Worker and Soldier’s forms could throw off body chemistry, balance, muscle formation, and a thousand variables that would create useless rejects.

And because Ksmvr needed the use of his hands, he had become a Worker. Klbkch had been given the same form. But it was a mistake.

“The Worker form is weak. Too weak for a Prognugator. Both Revalantor Klbkch and I suffered from its ungainliness. Four arms are useful, but the agility of Klbkch’s current form with two arms far befits his style.”

Ksmvr had dueled Klbkch after the Revelator’s rebirth. That had hammered home just how ill-at-ease Klbkch must have been in a Worker’s body. Of course, Ksmvr had known his Worker’s body all his life, but only after seeing Klbkch had he understood how fluid and beautiful the Slayer’s fighting style really was. The style Ksmvr had learned from imitating Klbkch had been developed out of necessity. It was weak. However—

“That was a minor fault. Levels and experience may still compensate for biological disadvantage. It speaks to my inferiority. Revalantor Klbkch’s current form is far more agile and adept. As are the other Prognugator’s bodies. I observed Pivr and Tersk’s forms to both be superior in construction to my own. But body only limits my capabilities. My second fault was far worse. It lay in…me.”

Ksmvr touched his chest. He thought about his first assignment. His first responsibility in the days after Klbkch had been brought to the Hive. Slain by Goblins of all things, protecting a young girl with his body when he could have easily finished off the Goblins if he’d let her die. Ksmvr remembered and it hurt.

“At that time I truly thought I was equal to him. I thought I could replace him just like that. That was what my Queen said. Did she lie? Or did she mistake me. Surely…she knew. She knew. Only I did not know.”

The Antinium paused. He reined in the horse and let it rest. He fed it water. Then he leaned against it. He wished he could close his eyes to the truth. But the Antinium’s eyes never closed.

“No, I knew. I just pretended I did not.”

Walking, now. Ksmvr led the horse. His destination was closer than he thought. He didn’t need to hurry; he needed to arrive at a specific time in the evening anyways. It gave him time to think. To remember.

“The days after Klbkch fell were exciting. I felt happy to be in charge. But when the undead attacked. I was—”

Trying to figure out how to protect the Hive when Liscor fell. Ordering the Soldiers to hold their ground around the Hive’s entrance, ignoring the desperate pleas from Watch Captain Zevara. Trying to ignore what he was truly feeling.

Fear. Wondering if he’d made the right choice not sending aid to Liscor, to the inn with Erin Solstice. Hiding behind the simplicity of logic. Waiting for orders. For relief. And when it had come, it had come in the simplest of forms: a fist to the face.

“I should have fought. I should have understood. But I didn’t. It was so easy when I was learning how to fulfill my job. My Queen, why did you not tell me how hard it was to make choices? To be alive?”

Ksmvr looked further south, towards a split in the towering mountains. There lay his Hive. His home. But they did not need him. They had cast him out. A reject. Ksmvr tasted as he stopped for lunch; the beautiful lunch he’d bought from a stall vendor was dust. He offered the rest to the horse after eating a satisfactory amount of nutrition.

“Failure. And again. Failure.”

First the Hive. Then he had been offered redemption at Albez. But he had failed there too. He had contributed so little. And Yvlon. Her arms were damaged, perhaps permanently as a result of her doing what Ksmvr had failed to do; destroy the fire elemental.

What was worse, what truly hurt, was that she hadn’t blamed him for it. She’d told Ksmvr eighty four times it wasn’t his fault. That he’d done all he could. That he was a valuable part of the team. She said such…wonderful lies like that. They all did.

Resting was done. Ksmvr got up and began to walk. His horse excreted as it followed him. Ksmvr stared ahead.

“And then? Cowardice. Fear of the water. With a Ring of Water Breathing. I lost my Captain. I could not stop the Raskghar from taking her.”

Mistake and mistake again. Captain Ceria had been kidnapped and Ksmvr could have stopped the Raskghar. But he’d been swatted away. And he had been afraid of going in the water. Afraid. If they had been faster, if he hadn’t delayed…

If, if, if. It boiled down to the same thing. What he had talked with his team about. Ksmvr was the weakest. He knew it. In level, in experience. In diversity of talents. He was a burden on his team.

But he could not be forever. Or else they would make the rational decision at last and get rid of him. Replace him with someone more capable. Like Olesm, who was far higher-level. Or Numbtongue, who had multiple powerful Skills and a superior body. Or Mrsha. She could cast magic.

Ksmvr drooped as he walked. It was true. He knew it. The only reason his team had not cast him away was because they were not rational. They were kind. How weak. How…wonderful. He could not let them down again.

“Never again. I would rather die.”

That was all Ksmvr said. He walked forwards, towards a cluster of hills. The sun set overhead, slowly falling out of the sky. And at last, as evening fell, as the sun was lowering beyond the ridge of mountains half blocking it to the west, did Ksmvr stop. He spotted smoke, so two miles away he tethered his horse to a tree. It whickered and lipped at his palm as he offered it some oats.

It had grown to like him, somehow. Ksmvr gently tied it, so that if a predator attacked it, the horse might yank free in desperation. He stared at the horse as it tried to bite at a leaf on the tree he’d tied it to.

“You are a simple creature. I envy you your guiltless life. Until you break a bone or grow too old and are no doubt slaughtered for food or parts. But then, so are the Antinium. We are much alike, you and I.”

He reached out.

“Pat. Pat. If I do not come back, try to stay alive for a day. The other teams may find you.”

The horse made a horse sound. Ksmvr stared at it. Then he checked his equipment. Shortsword. Dagger. Three rings. Potions. Cloak. Shortbow. Arrows. He turned and began walking towards the distant smoke trail.

Ksmvr hesitated. Then he came back and stroked the animal for a few minutes longer.

“Good horse.”

And then he left. The horse watched Ksmvr go until he was a blob in the distance. Then it resumed trying to eat leaves off the tree.

—-

The [Bandits] haunting the road south to Liscor and Esthelm had no name. They weren’t nearly big enough to earn a title of notoriety. They hadn’t even existed as a group for more than two weeks, really. Of course, they had all kinds of names they called themselves. The Devils of Humpbacker Hill, the Scourge of Celum, Remendia’s Nightmares…it had to be said their names weren’t that original or impressive.

They were just [Bandits] of the ordinary kind. They’d come out of some [Thugs] from the city, a local gang of [Raiders], [Poachers], and [Thieves] mixing with some honest, simple [Bandits] who’d survived long enough to have a few tricks. The reason they’d migrated to robbing [Merchants] was because they had a [Bandit Leader] and more than a few decently-leveled members.

They were becoming more dangerous, but they’d lost as many of their group as had joined. Healing potions were scarce, people on the road often had guards, and they’d had a run in with some adventurers. They’d killed one group; the other had gotten away. But the bandit group was still relatively confident. Some were even talking about moving after a few scores around here. Hence the fancy names.

But it was notable that the [Bandits] didn’t call themselves the Bloodfeast Raiders or pretend to be the other notorious [Bandit] groups like the famous Gnoll group, the Tailscutters. You didn’t cross the really bad groups. Because they were real. And they were oh so nasty if they thought someone was imitating them. Worse than any stinking group of Silver-rank adventurers…

And the [Bandits] were ready for an attack. They knew they would be attacked, so they invited it. Why not? Adventurers meant their gear was loot, and they had magic and you could ransom some of them. The [Bandits] would level from them, so they’d planted their bait. A careless bit of smoke and they’d camped in the same spot for days now.

They’d even propped up some corpses to look like they were in the camp. Only, if anyone got close, the real sentries would alert the hidden camp and they’d emerge from a hidden cave and cut the attackers to bits.

It would work, too. There were two good [Mages] in the group and a heavy-hitter who’d been a former Silver-rank adventurer herself. And their [Bandit Leader] was a devil of a fellow, fast with his enchanted longsword and merciless. They could wipe out the local Silver-rank teams. All they had to do was wait and feast on their spoils in the meantime. And if a passerby strayed too close? All the more fun.

The strange figure approaching the [Bandit]’s fake smoke signal mystified the [Sentries] at first. The appointed watchers stared first in confusion and then mild alarm at the approaching creature. They scrambled to alert their group. The thing was approaching the camp on purpose. And it looked like a traveller, or maybe an adventurer. But none of them had ever seen something like this.

When the [Bandit Leader] finally roused himself to look, he shouted a curse and ordered the entire group of bandits out of the cave. He ignored the questions of the others as he grabbed his weapon.

“Come on, you flesh bag bastards! Get moving! Surround it, but no one attack! I didn’t think they left their damn Hives. We’re going to have some fun.”

He swished his tail with excitement as he raced out of the cave. Nearly thirty [Bandits] followed him. They were smaller in number than Alais and Stan had estimated, but no less deadly. The group emerged from their cover and surrounded the traveller on the road. He looked around as they formed a circle, whooping and shouting. Some of the [Bandits] recoiled at the sight of Ksmvr, but he waved happily.

“Hello! I have a question! Excuse me…”

He caught sight of their leader. The [Bandit Leader] was striding towards him, a huge grin on his face. To Ksmvr’s surprise, the person was a Drake. The Antinium stopped as the Drake halted in front of him.

“Well, well. An Antinium? What can I do for you, friend?”

He gave Ksmvr a huge, toothy smile as his tail moved slowly back and forth behind him. Ksmvr spoke brightly as he looked around at the [Bandit] group.

“One, two, three, four…hello. My name is Ksmvr. I am a friendly traveller and adventurer looking for the location of some [Bandits] camped around this location. Would you happen to know where they are?”

The Drake blinked at Ksmvr. Then he threw back his head and guffawed. The other [Bandits] laughed as well. Ksmvr looked around. He took a few steps forwards towards the [Bandit Leader].

“Excuse me. I am not sure what is funny. I asked—”

He stopped as the Drake lazily extended one hand. His enchanted sword’s tip poked into the front of Ksmvr’s chest. The Antinium stared down at it.

“That answer your question, Ant?”

The [Bandits] went silent with expectation. Ksmvr tilted his head from side to side as he eyed the blade.

“I am uncertain. Is this an indication of direction? Or intent? If you are said [Bandits], I would prefer verbal confirmation.”

The Drake chuckled.

“Of course we’re the [Bandits]. Typical Antinium.”

His head half turned and he addressed the watching [Bandits].

“Stupid as they come. I don’t know why the city put up with—”

Ksmvr swept up the blade with one arm and lunged. The Drake reflexively tried to jump back, but the Antinium barreled into him. Ksmvr’s hands were bare as they came up. The longsword tried to cut into his side. Two of Ksmvr’s arms caught the Drake’s. The third dragged at the [Bandit Leader]’s neck spines. The Drake cursed as he tried to throw Ksmvr.

“Ancestors damn it! Get him—”

He screamed and then the noise became a terrible gurgling rasp. The Drake stumbled back, hands clutched to this throat. A stream of red gushed between his claws. The [Bandits] stared. Slowly, the [Bandit Leader] let go. His throat was gone. He fell, making a bubbling sound. And Ksmvr straightened.

The Antinium spat something on to the ground. The [Bandits] around him recoiled. They were paralyzed; they stared at the Antinium for one gut-wrenching second. Ksmvr closed his bloody mandibles and the incisors in his true mouth closed. He looked around.

“Thank you. I was certain, but confirmation is helpful. Let’s see.”

Ksmvr spun. His shortsword appeared in his left hand. His dagger in his right. He reached into his bag of holding; the Forceshield flickered into life. The [Bandits] backed up. Too slow. Ksmvr charged right. A young woman with a sword tried to bring it up. Ksmvr lunged. His enchanted shortsword went through her worn leather armor. The thrust carried her into the ground. Ksmvr planted one foot on her chest and yanked his blade free. He looked left and slashed.

“Two.”

A [Bandit] jumped clear of the shortsword. Ksmvr raised his Forceshield. The man on his right swung with a wild scream; his club bounced off the shimmering, translucent field generated by the magical buckler. Ksmvr’s arm didn’t so much as waver. His dagger shot out and the man ducked back.

Too late, he realized Ksmvr was aiming for that. The Antinium whirled right. His left arm came up. The [Thug] tried to block. The club intercepted the blade, but Ksmvr’s momentum carried through. The shortsword stopped, cutting into the club and the man’s head, across his eyes. Ksmvr pulled his blade back.

“Three.”

He turned. The [Bandits] stared at him, but the shock had run its course. One of them shouted.

“Get that thing! Kill it!”

The rest finally moved. Those with ranged weapons or magic ran back as the others advanced shoulder-to-shoulder. The air was filled with panicked shouts.

“He killed the boss!”

“Don’t let it get close! That shield’s magic!”

“Out of the way!”

The [Bandit] with the largest voice was a woman in full plate armor. The former Silver-rank adventurer. She had a huge spiked mace in hand and a shield in the other. She rushed past the slower [Bandits], aiming at Ksmvr with a roar. The Antinium turned. He raised his hand. Three rings shone on his fingers.

He flicked his wrist at the woman in armor.

“[Shatterbolt].”

The ring Pisces had given Ksmvr flashed. A flicker of silver, a translucent bolt as thin as a needle shot out. The woman couldn’t dodge. The bolt struck her plate armor, and the armor and the [Bandit]’s body cracked. Ksmvr saw the armor break where the bolt had passed through, then blood begin to drip from the opening. The woman was already dropping. Already dead.

The [Bandits] charging Ksmvr slowed, tripping over themselves. Someone shouted in horror. The others tripped over themselves to get back. Some couldn’t believe it. The woman in armor was dead. Just like that. Her armor, her levels, that little spell had gone through it all like it was nothing. It wasn’t fair.

“Twenty six. Heavy armor down. Three high-level opponents remaining. One [Swordsman], two [Mages].”

Ksmvr looked around. The [Bandits] were milling, afraid to approach now. But they were mobilizing. Some were racing towards their cave. Others taking their ground. Ksmvr advanced on the melee fighters who’d closed. They swung at him, swearing. He lifted his Forceshield.

“Get clear! I can’t get a good—”

One of the [Mages] was shouting, gesturing for his comrades to fall back. They tried, but Ksmvr kept advancing. He jabbed with his shortsword, but they kept back. He slashed at a [Warrior] wearing chainmail and holding a shield and sword.

This time Ksmvr’s blade deflected off the hide shield. The man jabbed back, shouting as his buddies to get around. Ksmvr saw the [Bandits] moving and struck a blow before retreating with his third arm. He lanced out with the dagger as his left arm pretended to thrust low at the man’s shins.

The man saw the feint with the sword and shifted his shield. With a snarl of triumph, he blocked the dagger. The curved metal tip stuck into the hide shield. Ksmvr nodded.

“Terith.”

The metal of the enchanted Flamespread Dagger turned red. Then it ignited. The flames raced across the hide shield in the blink of an eye. It covered the shield, the arm holding it, and then the man in a moment. He was engulfed by flames. For a second he didn’t know what had happened. His laughter turned to confusion. And then pain.

The burning [Bandit] screamed and dropped his weapons. He stumbled towards his companions, hands outstretched, and then dropped to the ground and began to writhe. The other [Bandits] looked horrified. They ducked back as Ksmvr slashed at them with dagger and shortsword.

“Teri—”

Ksmvr began to utter the command again, but a blow struck him from behind. A woman hammered the back of his head with a mallet. Ksmvr stumbled, turned. He swung his dagger and shortsword, but she jumped back. This time someone struck him from the side; a spear jabbing towards his side. Ksmvr deflected the blade.

Surrounded. He looked around. The [Warriors] had all closed with him. They were lashing out, attacking together. Ksmvr blocked with his Forceshield, parrying with his shortsword at the same time. He effortlessly blocked the mallet again with the shield, but someone hit him in the back. He stumbled.

Not good. Ksmvr bent his knees and took a blow to the face. He sat down. He had to get up. He had to—a [Bandit] was snarling at him, mallet raised. And the burnt [Bandit] was on his feet. Somehow he had survived. He got up and lunged, biting. He tackled the woman with a mallet. And began clawing at her. Biting at her…face…?

She was screaming. The [Bandits] surrounding Ksmvr turned their heads. They saw their friend, biting, trying to eat his friend. They couldn’t understand. The burnt [Bandit] tore a chunk of flesh off the mallet-wielding woman and she howled. She bashed at him, pushing him off her and another [Bandit] ran through his companion with a spear. But that didn’t end the nightmare. The corpse stumbled forwards, arms grasping, mouth open impossibly wide.

A zombie. Ksmvr pushed himself up. He swung his sword, forcing a [Bandit] back. Another swung a greatsword at his stomach. He blocked with the Forceshield effortlessly. His dagger darted down, touched the greatsword as the [Raider] tried to pull it back.

“Terith.”

Flame. The man screamed and burned and fell down. Ksmvr turned. The zombie was flailing at the others, ignoring the spear in its stomach. And someone else was on his feet.

The Drake. He lurched forwards, ignoring the hole in this throat. He took another [Bandit] by surprise. As she whirled, he buried his teeth on the place where neck met collarbone and began to chew. Her screaming drowned out the other sounds for a few seconds, even when her friends tore the undead Drake off her.

Ksmvr slashed at another [Bandit], forcing them to split their attention between him and the two zombies. They stared at him. Someone shouted.

“Oh hells, it’s an Antinium [Necromancer]! Run for your lives!”

It was a young man. He turned to run. An [Ice Spike] flashed past his face. It buried itself in the head of the burnt zombie. The undead staggered and fell down, but it was rising. A [Mage] roared; his hands shimmered with ice magic.

“It’s just a zombie! Kill that Antinium!”

The two zombies clawed upwards. But the [Bandits] were faster and more agile. They hammered at the corpses. Ksmvr looked for an opening, but the [Mage] was targeting him. He saw a [Bandit] charge him with another shortsword. Something flew between them as Ksmvr braced. The [Bandit] halted, swiped at his face. Something landed on it, dodging around his hand.

A Face-Eater Moth. It was pale, wings tattered. And it was dead. But it still flew. The [Bandit] recoiled in horror, swiping at it, but it had latched onto his skin. He screamed as the undead Face-Eater Moth’s razor-sharp maw opened and tried to take off his nose. Ksmvr jumped forwards and stabbed the man through the stomach. He stared as the little Face-Eater Moth fluttered past him and the man’s corpse jerked.

“Thank you, Comrade Pisces. Don’t tax yourself unduly, please. Long-range undead summoning must be difficult.”

In fact, only three zombies rose from the fallen [Bandits]. But it was enough of a distraction. Ksmvr ran free, pausing to set fire to two more [Bandits].

“Terith. Terith. Terith.”

The third time he thrust with the Flamespread Dagger and spoke the word, the bandit blocking did not ignite. He stumbled back, flailing in horror anyways, so Ksmvr cut him across the arm, but the man’s scale mail blocked a fatal blow. Ksmvr ran past him, winning clear of the [Warriors]. He raised his shield and an [Ice Spike] blasted past his head. Ksmvr ran towards the steep incline of a hill ahead of him; a rocky face littered with soil and grass provided him with a wall to put his back behind. He spun.

“[Ice Spike]!”

The shard of ice splintered off Ksmvr’s Forceshield. The [Mage] snarled in disbelief. Ksmvr lowered the shield. The warriors had fallen back to let the two [Mages] and archers work. They began lobbing spells at Ksmvr. One was shooting [Ice Spikes], an inferior version of Ceria’s spell but no less deadly, the other threw orbs of acid. Ksmvr ran with his back to the hill, holding his Forceshield up as he did, he sheathed the Flamespread Dagger.

“Four applications in combat. Uncertain recharge time. Another deficiency I should have investigated beforehand.”

A blob of acid splashed at Ksmvr’s feet. He recoiled as the stinging liquid nearly struck his legs. Then he turned. A blur—a [Bandit] on horseback! There were eight of them, riding at him from their cave, screaming. The first had a spear.

“Get him!”

The [Bandits] were screaming. Ksmvr held up his shield as more spells and arrows struck the hill behind him. He crouched to shield himself, but that meant he couldn’t run. And the [Bandits] on horseback were aiming right at him. The lead rider couched the spear like a lance. He aimed down at Ksmvr’s heart.

“[Lancing Thrust]!”

His spear shot out. Ksmvr looked up. And he jumped. The [Bandit] spear tracked up, aiming at him. At his head, at his belly, his feet—

The men and women looked up. Ksmvr flew ten feet up into the air. He turned as he flew.

“Imposs—”

The [Bandit] riding down on him looked up. He tried to dodge in the saddle. Ksmvr’s shortsword sheared through part of his head. The horse reared and fled as its rider dropped from the saddle. The Antinium landed. He spun, leapt again.

A horse reared. The woman with a sword in hand tried to hold on. Ksmvr leapt over the horse and struck her on the way down. She fell out of the saddle and the horse, overbalanced, fell on her. Ksmvr rolled. He raised his Forceshield, blocked a swinging long-handled club as a [Bandit] rode past him and leapt.

“He can fly?”

The Antinium sprang up the side of the hill. Each jump took him higher and higher. Ksmvr couldn’t fly. But he could jump impossibly high. The [Bandits] on horseback circled the hill, staring up at him. Ksmvr stopped. Then he leapt down and landed on a passing rider.

The impact broke the horse’s legs. It killed the [Bandit]. Ksmvr tumbled down but he was on his feet in an instant. The Ring of Jumping had negated the impact. For him. He looked down at the broken man’s spine and the dying horse.

“Sorry.”

Magic. Ksmvr was too slow this time. The [Ice Spike] shattered on the rim of his Forceshield, spraying him with fragments of ice. But the Antinium had an exoskeleton, not skin. He leapt back and the [Bandits] charging him cursed.

“It’s too fast!”

“Pull back! Surround it when it jumps down! Don’t get too close!”

The [Mage] with the ice spell pointed. There were at least ten [Archers] behind him. They had poor aim, most of them. But their arrows still tracked Ksmvr as he leapt back up the steep incline. The Antinium landed on a rock and perched there, nearly twenty feet up. He sheathed his shortsword.

“Now what?”

One of the men on the ground swung his sword as he stared up at the distant Antinium. He turned to a man who’d retrieved the magical longsword wielded by their former [Bandit Leader]. The [Swordsman] grunted.

“Let the [Mages] and [Archers] pick that thing off. If it comes down—charge it!”

“But what if it runs aw—”

The man stumbled. He blinked down at the arrow in his chest and fell forwards. The [Swordsman] recoiled. Then ducked. A second arrow missed him.

“Drat.”

Ksmvr took aim again. The [Mage] with the ice spells shot an [Ice Spike] at him; Ksmvr’s third arm delicately maneuvered the Forceshield into place. The spell shattered on his magical buckler. Ksmvr lowered the shield, raised his bow with his other two arms and shot the arrow he’d drawn.

A scream. The [Ice Mage] dropped, clawing at the arrow in his thigh. Ksmvr drew another arrow. Loosed it as he calmly shielded his face with his Forceshield.

“A handy way of fighting. Three arms is beneficial.”

The [Mage] trying to yank the arrow out sprouted an arrow from his collar. This time he stopped moving. The [Bandits] milled about. The remaining [Mage] and [Swordsman] pointed.

“Get him!”

The ones on the ground hesitated. They had the numbers, still. They outnumbered Ksmvr by a lot. But the incline was steep. As a group advanced on Ksmvr, more arrows frantically shot at the Antinium. A few were on target but none hit Ksmvr. Because of his Forceshield.

The magical buckler was only a bit bigger than Ksmvr’s hand. But the field it projected created a huge shield. And unless it overloaded, Ksmvr had an unbreakable shield. One that had no weight and transmitted no force from the impact. The [Bandits] couldn’t overload the shield. And Ksmvr had three arms. He drew an arrow and loaded his bow as he held his shield up, covering his vitals. Then, swiftly, he aimed and fired. A [Bandit] fell, rolling down the hill and screaming. And before anyone could blink, Ksmvr’s shield was back up.

There he stood. Shortbow in one hand, Forceshield in the other. The magical shield was raised as Ksmvr nocked another arrow and aimed. A flurry of arrows shot towards him, a coordinated volley, too many to block. Ksmvr turned around, showing the [Bandits] his magical cloak. The arrows glancing off the rock face around him could have been rain; they struck his cloak and failed to penetrate the magical cloth.

“Ah. That explains why I survived blows from behind. A cloak is useful.”

Ksmvr turned back around. His third arm moved his shield and blocked a ball of green acid; he calmly flicked the magical substance backwards and watched it splash down on the [Bandits] climbing up towards him. He deflected an arrow. Then with his other two hands he aimed and loosed his.

“Fall back! Get back to the cave!”

The [Swordsman] on the ground shouted at his companions. He could see what Ksmvr already knew; the [Bandits] would never pry him from his ledge. And Ksmvr could advance and retreat as much as he wanted. The Humans streamed backwards. Ksmvr loosed more arrows, but they had their shields up. He took this moment to drink a healing potion, then a stamina potion. He counted.

“Hm. That [Mage].”

Ksmvr focused on the [Mage] who had been throwing acid. She was retreating quickly. But she wasn’t as fast as the others. And they thought Ksmvr was going to stay on the hill. So he leapt.

Down from the hillside, falling. Leap; the ground blurred and Ksmvr soared up. He fell as the [Bandits] turned. But he leapt again, covering the ground as his Ring of Jumping carried him up. Leaping forwards like a frog. Landing—

“No—”

The [Mage] tried to duck. Ksmvr lashed out with the shortsword and dagger he’d drawn. The sword glanced off her arm. The dagger buried itself in her stomach.

“Terith.”

No fire. Ksmvr twisted the dagger and the woman screamed. He pulled the weapon free.

“Now—”

“[Flash Cut]!”

The side! Ksmvr twisted. This time he was too slow. The [Swordsman] darted forwards, magic longsword in hand. He sliced at Ksmvr’s side and his sword blurred under Ksmvr’s guard. The Antinium staggered.

“I’ve got him! I’ve g—”

The [Swordsman] stopped. He stared. Ksmvr looked down at his side.

“Huh.”

The magical blade was lodged in Ksmvr’s side. It had cut into his carapace. But not deep. The magic blade was—stuck. The [Swordsman] tried to slice through Ksmvr. But he couldn’t. And when he tried to pull the blade out he failed.

Ksmvr lashed out with his shortsword and dagger. The [Swordsman] made the mistake of trying to hold onto his weapon; the shortsword flashed down and he stumbled back, screaming as his stump of a hand squirted blood. He ran as Ksmvr swung at him. Ksmvr dropped the Flamespread dagger and felt urgently at his side. The blood—there wasn’t much blood. How? That sword was magical. How…?

Ksmvr stared at his hand. Three rings flashed at him. Ring of Jumping. Ring of Shatterbolt. And…

“Ah. My Ring of [Barkskin]. I’d nearly forgotten about it. Thank you for reminding me.”

He straightened. An arrow struck him in the shoulder. The tip buried itself in his shoulder. But it only lodged in the outer layer of his carapace. Ksmvr looked around.

There were still nearly twenty of them. The [Swordsman] was drinking down a healing potion, clutching at his hand. They retreated towards the cave.

“Hold it back. It’s got some kind of protective enchantment. We need to bash it’s brains in. Just hold the cave. It can’t jump in there…”

The [Swordsman] was sobbing. The [Bandits] retreated, watching the Antinium walk slowly towards them. It was blocking the arrows with its shield. But it hadn’t pulled out its shortbow.

“We can kill it. There’s just one. There’s just one. Get the warhammers. Get ropes! We’ll surround it.”

The [Swordsman] ordered desperately as he clutched a plain shortsword with his offhand. The others hesitated. The [Swordsman]’s face was pale and he’d lost his good hand. He wouldn’t lead after this. But he would help them kill the Antinium who’d stolen his hand. They dropped their blades, grabbed mallets and hammers and ropes, set themselves at the entrance to the cave. It was a good strategy. It would work. It would have worked. But as they waited, tense, silent, they realized something.

The Antinium had vanished. He’d slipped out of sight while they retreated. And something else had happened. Something terrible.

It was simple. The sun had set.

And suddenly—it was dark. The [Bandits] stood together in the cave as blood dried and sweat turned to ice. They looked at each other.

Suddenly, it was very dark. The sun had disappeared behind the High Passes. And in its absence, they were suddenly blind. The [Swordsman] looked around.

“S-someone get a torch. Or a [Light] spell—”

“Yimmie’s dead. So is Freezy.”

One of the others muttered in the darkness. Someone else fumbled for a torch, cursing.

“Anyone got a fire spell? I’ve got a flint.”

There was a spark of light. A torch flared up. At the same time, a blur of motion shot towards the entrance. Someone shouted.

“Watch out!”

Something leapt over the heads of the people in the front of the cave. The [Bandits] recoiled, striking at each other, at shadows. There was a scream. The blossom of light jerked and fell. The men and women shouted in horror and someone snatched at the torch. More light bloomed. A [Light] spell. There was a silhouette. The [Bandit] shrieked as Ksmvr dashed at her.

“Help me! Hel—”

An impact. A gurgling sound; the [Bandits] around her slashed wildly, but Ksmvr was gone. They backed up, holding their torches, shouting at the others.

“It’s in the cave! It’s in the cave—”

“Get out! Run!”

“No, stick together—we can box it in! Don’t run, don’t—”

But it was too late. The [Bandits] streamed out, some fleeing in a blind panic. The rest stayed together, holding up torches and balls of light. They heard shouts in the night. Screams…the fleeing shapes fell one by one. A dark blur leapt around them, jumping, rather than walking. The remaining [Archers] tried to hit it, but their arrows bounced off the magical cloak or missed.

And then there were no more sounds. Just darkness. The [Bandits] looked around. There were eleven left. The [Swordsman] was pale as he looked back and forth.

“Show yourself!”

There was no sound. No movement. The hills towered around the bandits. The grass waved in the night’s breeze. The sky was cloudy. Shadows flickered. The [Bandits] jumped, clustering together.

“We surrender!”

A young man shouted, his face pale. He held up his arms, raising his hammer and letting it drop as his torch burned over his head. An arrow shot out of the darkness. He screamed.

“Coward!”

The [Swordsman] bellowed. But the rest were silent. They drew together. Ten. They would have prayed, but the gods were dead. So they just held together, fearing, waiting. Ready to fight and die rather than run and die alone.

A minute passed. Then two. Three more arrows flew out of the darkness, but the [Bandits] had shields up. One yanked out an arrow, sobbing, as another poured healing potion on her wound. And then he appeared.

A shadow, walking under the moonlight as the clouds parted. A dark brown and black figure holding a shortsword and dagger. His buckler flared to life as he activated it again. The dagger burned red.

His segmented eyes reflected the lights from the [Bandit]’s torches. His carapace was cut. Pierced by arrows. But he had taken no great wounds. He walked forwards without words. Straight at the [Bandits].

A monster out of Rhir. A nightmare worthy of the legend.

Antinium.

The Humans shuddered. They backed up. But then they held. It was hold or run. If they ran, they died in the night. The [Swordsman] held up his blade. He stared at Ksmvr. His voice was hoarse.

“What are you? What are…”

Ksmvr twitched one antenna. His mandibles opened and rose.

“Me? Substandard.”

And then he leapt up. And he fell, shrieking like a thing out of hell. For psychological effect.

—-

The Adventurer’s Guild in Celum was quiet in the very early morning. Some adventurers were early risers by nature, and others had come in after an overnight job to collect their pay. But it wasn’t bustling just past dawn. The only sounds that were present in the guild mainly came from the bleary-eyed [Receptionist] doing her job, and from Stan. The old man was sitting at a table, grousing loudly.

“Damned Antinium bastard. We waited all night and did it show? No! And that young [Innkeeper] said she hadn’t seen him! When I get my hands on that—that bug thing—”

“Maybe it realized we were trying to bargain for those artifacts.”

Alais looked bleary and slightly hung over. She’d enjoyed herself at The Wandering Inn, despite Ksmvr’s no-show. Stan folded his arms.

“If it—he—did, he could at least have let us know! It’s damned rude.”

“We put his team in prison. Still, you’re right, Stan. Maybe Ksmvr got into trouble? I checked Celum’s jail, but perhaps he fell afoul of Liscor?”

Stan calmed down a bit.

“Or maybe he got hurt. Or lost. I heard someone say they saw him riding out of Celum. On a horse. I thought they were twisting my leg, but—”

“Stan?”

Alais had jerked up in her seat. Stan turned his head. He swore.

“You!”

Ksmvr looked up as he trudged into the guild. His body was covered with mud and dust. And blood. Dried green blood spattered his armor. He had a few cuts, but the rest were healed. He swayed and stood straighter.

“Me.”

Crossbow Stan got up and strode towards him. His fists were clenched.

“You’ve got some nerve coming here after—”

He stared at Ksmvr.

“What in the hells happened to you?”

“I completed the request. I killed the [Bandits].”

Ksmvr walked past Crossbow Stan. The man stared at him in shock, then outrage.

“You? You’re kidding. You couldn’t have killed—there are at least thirty—hey! Where were you last night? We told you—”

He grabbed Ksmvr’s shoulder. The Antinium stopped.

“Let go of me please.”

“Not until you—”

Ksmvr drew his shortsword. The other adventurers looked up. Stan stepped back. The Antinium turned his head. Alais was on her feet.

“Thank you. Now, excuse me.”

He walked up to the [Receptionist]’s desk. The woman eyed him with apprehension and ill-concealed distaste.

“I can’t just give a bounty out for someone who claims to have killed [Bandits]. You need proof. And I’ll have to test you with a [Detect Lies] spell. Besides, like Mister Stan said, the [Bandits] are at least—”

Ksmvr reached for his bag of holding. He placed it on the counter, then looked around. He eyed the counter and shook his head. The Antinium trudged over to a table and dragged it over. The adventurers winced at the screech of wood on wood. Ksmvr stopped the desk in front of the counter.

“This is enough surface area. Here is my proof.”

He reached into the bag of holding and pulled out a severed head. The [Receptionist] recoiled and then screamed. The Drake’s vacant, lolling head stared at her. The head was bloodless. Ksmvr placed it neatly on the table.

“You—that—”

“What did you do?”

Alais grabbed her wand and pointed it at Ksmvr. He turned.

“The request. Wait until I’ve finished, please.”

He reached into the bag of holding. Another head appeared. The room recoiled. A Human woman stared blankly at Ksmvr. And then a man. A young man, a girl…

“Dead gods.”

Crossbow Stan backed up. Ksmvr kept pulling heads out of the bag. One, two, three, four…ten…twenty…twenty nine. He piled them up. And then he turned.

“There.”

The adventurers stared. Stan stared at the Drake’s head. The [Receptionist] had backed away as far as possible, shaking and trying to climb over her desk and away.

“That—that Drake. I recognize that one. And—and that one. That’s the [Bandit Leader]. And that one—that’s their [Mage]. Freezer.”

He pointed at one of the heads on top of the pile. Ksmvr nodded. His voice was loud as he turned back to the [Receptionist].

“Thank you for the confirmation, Captain Stan. However, I will readily submit to a truth detection spell to prove all of these individuals were [Bandits]. I hope this is sufficient proof, though.”

He looked at the woman. She was shaking so hard she couldn’t formulate a reply. She made a shaky animal noise. Ksmvr stared at her.

“Is this sufficient?”

“I—you—y—th—”

The Antinium looked at her. Then he leaned over the table.

“Thirteen hours.”

The [Receptionist] froze. Ksmvr spoke slowly.

“Thirteen hours after defeating the [Bandits]. That is how long it took to collect the bodies, create a pyre for disposal, remove the heads, burn them, collect their gear, reclaim my horse which had wandered off, set the others free, and ride back here. Thirteen hours. I have imbibed two stamina potions. My wounds have yet to fully heal. I have had inadequate sustenance. I am hungry. I am tired. I am in a bad mood. Is this sufficient?”

“Yes!”

The woman cowered. Ksmvr nodded.

“Then please give my team the reward. I believe it is a hundred gold coins.”

“I—I have to get a signature!”

The [Receptionist]’s eyes darted around for help. There was none. Ksmvr looked around and the adventurers flinched. They saw the blood on his carapace. Green, Antinium blood. Which meant the streaks of red weren’t his. They stared at the heads. At him. Ksmvr turned back to the [Receptionist].

“Paperwork. Quill and ink, please.”

Her hands shook as she fumbled for the right form. Ksmvr studied it. He dipped a quill in the inkpot as the woman fled towards the back. The [Guildmaster] wasn’t in today. She had to open the Guild’s vaults herself.

She returned, still shaking, and stared at the heads as if they were a dream. The pile stared back at her. The woman realized this wasn’t a dream. The slowly decomposing heads were—she looked at Ksmvr. He looked up and she shrieked.

“I’ve finished my details. Where do I sign?”

“H—h—he—he—”

Ksmvr stared down at the general spot the finger was shaking in.

“Here? I see.”

He began scribbling on the form. After a moment he looked up.

“Pardon me. Do I list my team as ‘The Horns of Hammerad’ or do I omit the prefix?”

“H—h—”

“Horns of Hammerad. Thank you.”

He finished writing. Ksmvr held up the piece of paper. He looked at the [Receptionist]. She was frozen. He waved the paper at her and she backed up.

“Naturally I’d like to turn in the heads as monster parts for processing. My bag of holding couldn’t fit the other body parts, but I will accept any fee the guild posts on Human heads, brains, flesh or skeletal matter. Assuming they aren’t collected as part of the bounty?”

Stan saw the woman had frozen. She looked like she was going to have a heart attack. One of the other adventurers was being sick; a few others were gagging or throwing up as well. He stared at the heads. It was just a dream. That Antinium couldn’t have—

“We don’t—we don’t—use heads. Not Human ones. Or Drakes.”

“Really? Odd. Then I will collect my payment.”

“Here!”

The [Receptionist] dropped the bag of gold on the counter. A head rolled off the pile and onto the floor. The sound it made, the fleshy thump, was the realest thing Crossbow Stan had ever heard. The [Receptionist] stared at the head. She turned and ran out of the building, screaming. Three adventurers followed her.

“Dead gods. Dead gods. Dead gods. Dead…”

Alais was swallowing hard. Stan couldn’t take his eyes off Ksmvr. The Antinium was counting the gold coins one by one as he put them in his bag of holding. When he was done, he straightened and looked around.

“Is my team not released yet?”

“No.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Ksmvr nodded at Stan. Then, ignoring the heads he walked over to an empty table and chair. The adventurers left in the guild scattered in front of him. Ksmvr pulled the chair back. He sat down in the chair and opened his mandibles slightly. The upright, rigid posture the Antinium had kept up all the while turned into a sag. Ksmvr leaned forwards; nearly fell out of the chair. He tried placing his arms on the table. No good. He kept falling sideways. So he stood up, walked over to the wall, just underneath the job board.

Ksmvr sat with his back to the wall and curled up like a pill bug. He was sitting like Workers and Soldiers did, trying to stay awake but fading, fading…

The Antinium passed out as the morning light filled the Adventurer’s Guild and a rookie team of Bronze-rank adventurers entered the building and saw the pile of severed heads. He didn’t hear the screaming. He was already asleep. That was how his team found him, three hours later.

—-

“Dead gods.”

“Tree rot.”

“I wish he’d saved the bodies.”

Three voices woke Ksmvr up. He jerked upright amid a babble of voices. Waking up took Ksmvr a few moments. He heard the three familiar people. An argument. Shouting.

“What’s to be done? If it went out and butchered—”

An arguing voice raised in reply, exasperated, worried, shocked.

“Hey, Stan recognized two of them! If you want to test him, be my guest! But I’ll bet those are exactly the same [Bandits] you wanted dead—”

“All by himself?”

A sneering tone.

“Of course. Or did you think the Antinium bred pacifistic, ineffectual warriors? I hardly see what all the fuss is about—”

An authoritative tone.

“Try and arrest him without proof and I will drop you. Alais, drop the wand. If you point it at him again—”

Ksmvr woke up. His vision returned. He looked around. There were people gathered around the table. Lots of them. Celum’s City Watch, adventurers, people staring at the table with the heads on them…but the three people Ksmvr wanted most were right there, protectively standing around him. He sleepily opened and closed his mandibles.

“I slept as ordered, Captain Ceria. Was your incarceration pleasant?”

The voices stopped. Every eye fixed on Ksmvr. He saw a half-Elf jump, then turn. Ceria Springwalker looked down at Ksmvr.

“Hey…Ksmvr.”

“Hello Captain. I have completed our request.”

Ksmvr sat up, watching Ceria’s expression closely. He tried to see if she was angry, or disappointed. Or sad or…but her face was hard to read. A strange expression was written across it, once Ksmvr had no name for.

“I see that, Ksmvr. Why did you go alone?”

The Antinium felt a pang of fear in his chest. He clasped two of his hands together as he spoke.

“Because…I heard other teams were going to take our request. And I thought our team should not forfeit our request. You were gone. I stayed out of trouble. I did not tell Miss Erin where you were. And I slept.”

“You didn’t think taking out a [Bandit] gang was too much?”

The Antinium shook his head.

“I calculated the risks. I estimated that since you or Comrade Pisces or Yvlon could handle the group yourselves, I should be able to. I had help. Comrade Pisces helped. And I borrowed his ring.”

“He told us about that in the jail. He didn’t know what happened after that. Someone squashed his moth.”

“Yes.”

Her face was still unreadable. Ksmvr wanted to look at Pisces or Yvlon, but he was afraid of what he might see. He clutched his hands tightly together.

“I hope I did not act out of place. I only wanted to be a helpful member of the group…”

His voice trailed off, becoming small. Ksmvr looked down. He heard nothing for a second, and then Ceria reached out.

“Hey. Ksmvr.”

He looked up. The half-Elf smiled at him. She looked around, at the heads, at her teammates, and then at Ksmvr. She patted him on the shoulder gently, looking at his unhealed wounds.

“Good job. But next time don’t be so reckless.”

Ksmvr opened his mandibles in a smile. That was all he wanted to hear.

Good job.

—-

There was more after that of course. More shouting, explanations—Ksmvr was only too happy to explain, and to apologize for his brusque behavior after his sleep.

“It was most unprofessional. I can normally go for a day without sleep without undue mental effects. I am most sincerely regretful.”

For some reason, that didn’t really help matters. But Captain Ceria had taken over the conversation and aided by a [Detect Lies] spell and the expedient of pointing at the heads and saying ‘are those the [Bandits] or not? Okay, what’s the problem?’, somehow much of the issue seemed to resolve itself. The Horns were only stopped by a hysterical [Receptionist] who demanded what should be done with the severed heads.

“I could take—”

Pisces yelped as Yvlon turned and delicately punched him in the stomach. He rubbed at his gut as the [Wounded Warrior] turned back to the shrieking [Receptionist]. Yvlon waited until the woman was done screaming before she replied.

“I saw [Receptionists] in Liscor’s Adventurer’s Guild finishing off Face-Eater Moths after the monsters attacked the city. You can grab a shovel.”

“Yeah. We did our job. Come on, Ksmvr. You need a proper bed.”

“I do not use beds. But the consideration is welcome.”

Ksmvr followed Ceria as she pushed past the adventurers and City Watch. They didn’t look happy, but they stood well clear of Ksmvr. They were still staring. The Antinium was nearly at the door when a thought hit him. He held up a hand.

“Captain Ceria. Pause a moment, please. I would like to address the room.”

“Oh? Go ahead.”

Warily, Ceria turned. Ksmvr looked about. A sea of Humanity and a few non-Humans stared at him. The Antinium bowed politely.

“Good morning. I apologize for any unorthodox behavior. However, I would simply like to say that my team has done nothing wrong. You were wrong for falsely accusing Captain Ceria and Yvlon. If you do it again, I will take umbrage.”

They just stared at him. Ksmvr studied the glares, the looks of fear, and nodded.

“I would also like to note that with the Horns of Hammerad’s successful completion of this assignment with a solo member of our group, when no team was capable of doing so by themselves, we have established our superiority over other teams in this guild. I understand that equates to dominance in Human culture.”

At last there was a shift in the crowd. Ksmvr saw an adventurer open his mouth furiously.

“What the hel—”

Ksmvr turned, quick as a whip to face the adventurer. The man froze for a second. He stared at the Antinium and his tongue failed him.  Ksmvr nodded.

“Dominance.”

Then he turned and walked out the door. Ceria followed him, shaking her head. Yvlon was smiling. Pisces stopped to laugh for ten seconds before the other two pulled him after him.

—-

The Horns of Hammerad walked down the street. A [Necromancer] in pristine white robes, a yawning half-Elf, a [Wounded Warrior] wearing bright armor and lending her shoulder to an Antinium covered in mud and blood of two colors. People stared as they passed, but the four didn’t care. They spoke to each other and only to each other.

“Well, we’ve officially burned our bridges in Celum. I wouldn’t be surprised if we’re banned from the city.”

“For something I did?”

“…Nah. I think it was a bad scene. And Celum’s clearly too small for us, right Yvlon?”

“After this? I think so. Time to go north. Or south?”

“True. I wonder if there’s work around Pallass? You know, in Drake lands?”

“I should imagine so. And I believe even the tiresome Drake governance would be a welcome improvement over Celum’s benign incompetence.”

“I’m going to assume that meant what I think it did. Ksmvr, how are you? Need another potion?”

“I am quite well, Yvlon. I am only…tired.”

“Don’t scare me like that again.”

“I did not wish to. I only wanted to be helpful.”

“You were. Really. But Ceria’s right. We do things as a team. If you wanted to prove you can hold your own…you definitely did that.”

“Thank you. Thank…you for saying that.”

“Indeed. You must discuss your tactics. I observed some of it. Fine work using all of your magical artifacts. Ceria, Yvlon, I will readily admit that Ksmvr’s strategy outstripped our own. And his Ring of Jumping—we have severely underestimated the mobility it affords.”

“Really? Ksmvr can tell us over drinks, then. Oh, damn. We stood Garia up!”

“We can invite her as an apology.”

“Indeed. I must also confess I tricked both Captain Stan and Captain Alais yesterday.”

“Seriously? Ksmvr, I could kiss you.”

“…Okay? But I have an announcement to make.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Indeed.”

“I have obtained the [Skirmisher] class as a result of my reaching Level 20.”

“Ksmvr!”

“Well done!”

“Indeed. Quite appropriate…don’t poke me! I’m being genuine.”

“Sorry. Couldn’t tell.”

“Ahem. May I finish? I have also received the [Quick Movement] Skill along with an evasion Skill. I believe this, combined with my Ring of Jumping, will expedite new tactics that…Yvlon, you are hugging me tightly. Yvlon? I am having trouble breathing. Oh, Captain Ceria?”

That was all. There was more, but that was enough. The Horns walked back together, talking, laughing, smiling. A team, however fragile.

And in the Adventurer’s Guild, as a [Laborer] earned one of the most unpleasant hauling jobs in his lifetime, a [Receptionist] hurried out of the guild. She made a beeline for the Mage’s Guild and sent a [Message]. It was one of eight, all with the same content. All with the same intended recipient. The [Messages] read something like this:

The [Necromancer] known as Pisces and [Ice Mage] Ceria Springwalker are both present in Celum, travelling in the Silver-rank team, Horns of Hammerad. Please send to current location of Wistram group led by Mage Montressa du Valeross to claim five gold coin reward.

Naturally, only the first sender got the reward. It was cruel, but that was how it worked. Anyways, Ksmvr didn’t care. He was eating a celebratory cake. It was a very good day for him.

6.20 D

Talenqual. It wasn’t cool enough for a proper name, like the City of Serpents, the Ironforged Hearth of the North, the Titan’s School, and so on. It was just Talenqual.

That was fine. Unless you had an ego issue about something like that. This may have been true for the company which controlled the city as its prized headquarters, a hard-won seat of power for them. But it was just peachy for everyone else who lived there. Talenqual was a good city. It just wasn’t famous.

It was, in fact, a lot nicer to live in than other cities. Like, say, Liscor, the Drake city that had been popping up in the news lately. Talenqual was much nicer than Liscor vis-à-vis their location, natural resources, and most importantly, discretionary budget. As a port city, Talenqual could trade on its nali-stick fields, abundant orchards, pastoral land, as well as pull in trade and sustain itself with fishing. By contrast, Liscor survived solely based on its limited holdings and its army, which was never around to actually defend the city.

True, the company controlling Talenqual, the Featherfolk Brigade, had only a fraction of its forces near the city. But the company acted as a support to the local law enforcement, and it never left Talenqual unguarded. Additionally and more importantly, the Featherfolk Brigade was willing to pay to eliminate threats it couldn’t be pressed to deal with itself.

So, snakes. About two and a half weeks ago, a group of Silver-rank teams had gotten wind of a possible dungeon near Talenqual. They had dug into it and, as was the way of many dungeon raids, uncovered death and monsters instead of treasure. They had unwittingly unleashed a pack of massive snakes capable of swallowing regular warriors whole.

It might have meant the end of the Silver-rank teams, but an unusually rapid and effective response from the city’s highest-level inhabitants had destroyed almost all of the giant snakes in a short, one-sided battle. It was a triumph that had saved lives and come at no real cost. A wonderful achievement.

However, it didn’t mean all the snakes were dead. A lot had been killed, skinned, and harvested for meat and other parts (giant snake eyes were a delicacy), but the city was well aware of the dangers if the giant snakes were left to reproduce or if more were left unchecked. So they’d put a hefty bounty on snakes. And as the torrential spring rains let up one midmorning, one group of adventurers was there to collect.

A trio of giant serpents slithered out of their lair, angry and looking for blood. A Human fled ahead of them, arms pumping wildly as she ran for her life. The snakes followed her, fast as horses. The young woman had a head start, but they were closing fast. And they were angry; the smoke and controlled fire the adventurer had set outside of their subterranean home probably played a part.

They were going to catch her. Siri looked over her shoulder as she dashed out of the clearing around the snake’s lair and towards the edge of the forest ahead. The snakes were hot on her heels. But if she could just make it to the trees—!

One of the serpents coiled and sprang. Siri saw it coming as she glanced back and swerved. She heard a huge impact to her right and decided that was too close. The watchers in the trees agreed.

“Now!”

A hail of crossbow bolts struck the serpent that had leapt at Siri, going for the eyes. The snake recoiled as the steel-tipped bolts clattered off its scales; two landed but barely went through the thick scales of the snake. Too far away. Siri swore and doubled her sprint. The snakes’ attention split between her and the forest. They had sensed the heat coming off the group in the forest. Two split off while one kept chasing Siri.

“Hit the eyes! Hit the bloody eyes!”

A male voice shouted as a second volley flew from the trees. This time his order had an effect; one of the snakes reared back, making a pained hissing sound like steam escaping a twelve-foot kettle as it reared back. The other bolts snapped or bounced off. And the two snakes were heading into the forest—Siri dodged into the trees as the one following her lunged again and hit a tree.

Now the snakes were close to the attackers. They slithered around the trees, looking for their prey. They’d sensed the heat of their would-be victims. And they were…

Up?

One of the giant snakes, patterned purple and green across its massive head, looked up. It opened its mouth, exposing a set of small, fanged teeth. Daly, sitting in the treetop, realized that meant it wasn’t actually venomous. It was a relative of the boa constrictor, which squeezed its prey to death before consuming it whole.

This breed of giant serpent had clearly taken a similar, but different approach; with its humongous body it could literally smash a bear or deer to death without worrying about horns or claws damaging its armored body. It was clearly an apex predator in many regards. For a moment the Australian adventurer marveled at the magical biodiversity of nature. Then he pulled the trigger and shot a crossbow bolt straight through its eye.

“Got it! Two have only one eye; take the others out!”

Around him, the Bushrangers shouted as they poured more crossbow bolts down. The snakes, writhing in agony, struck the trees with their heads, shaking the branches, but failing to dislodge the adventurers. The Bushrangers had chosen their positions well. Daly loaded his crossbow as he looked around.

“Where’s the third serpent!?”

He saw movement in the trees. Daly heard a shout and swore as he stood up on his branch. He was very high up and felt a jolt in his stomach. But he had to see. Where was she—there!

Siri was running towards them, dodging through the trees as her enraged snake tried to follow her. It was quick, but the trees were slowing it down, giving it no opportunity to spring again. It was still too fast, though. Daly looked down. Siri was passing a very tense set of trees. Almost, almost…he waited until the serpent was passing by the stand of thick-trunked trees and then shouted.

“Edima, now!”

A group of Dullahans exploded from their cover. The Rustless Guard, a group of Dullahans wearing armor led by Captain Edima, leapt forwards and hauled on the ropes they’d set between the trees. The thick coils of ropes came up and suddenly, the giant snake found itself snared. By a net! It turned, but the Dullahans were braced and heaving hard; six of them drew up the net and secured it to the pre-cut anchors in the trees.

They’d formed an enclosure around the snake! It immediately tried to break free, but the ropes were as thick around as Daly’s arm and secured hard; the giant monster also had no room to move as the ropes forced its body into the enclosure. It heaved and Daly saw the ropes strain, but it was trapped.

For now. It could break free, but this bought them time. Daly whistled as he saw Siri come to a halt. Edima turned and he pointed.

“Snakes inbound! Get ready!”

The two serpents had noticed the Dullahans on the ground and decided to give up trying to knock the crossbow-wielding adventurers off their trees. They slithered forwards and Edima shouted.

“Rustless Guard, forward!”

Her Dullahans moved forwards, shouting as they brought up their heavy weapons. Warhammers, axes, shields—they were a heavily-armed and armored team. By contrast, the Bushrangers were light on gear. Daly turned to his team.

“We’re going down! Move it!”

His team scrambled down from the trees. They’d all taken positions at least fifteen feet in the air, well above the serpents, but that meant they’d normally have a terrible time getting down without risking broken bones. Normally, except for what they were all wearing.

Harnesses. And as Daly grabbed a rope and checked his figure-eight knot, he grasped the rope tied to his harness and jumped. He immediately went down, but slowly; he used one hand to lower himself at a controlled drop to the ground. The rope was running through a device attached to his harness; as Daly jumped down his tree trunk, he watched it taking the rope, letting him stop himself from falling too fast.

The other Bushrangers were doing the same. Six adventurers plunged out of the trees with Daly to varying degrees of expertise. It was a textbook maneuver, one they’d practiced. But it went wrong. Halfway down, Daly heard a ping from his left. He looked over just in time to see one of the metal devices snap. The man holding onto his rope dropped with a scream.

“Dawson!”

The Australian hit the ground with a thump. Daly shouted. He leapt downwards and tore himself loose from his ropes. Cursing, he ran over to his friend in the harness. Dawson was sitting up, but his face was white.

“My—my shoulder—”

Daly saw a horrible protrusion poking out of Dawson’s shoulder blade, moving the leather armor he was wearing. He swore. Then he noticed Dawson’s right leg was also sitting at a bad angle.

“Hold on! Don’t move! Tofte! Cover Dawson! Drag him away! The rest of you, harnesses off! Follow me!”

He couldn’t focus on Dawson. The Rustless Guard had engaged the serpents in the trees and all Daly could see were the backs of the serpents. He yanked off the restrictive harness, swearing as he tried to pull it off one leg. Then he charged forwards. Four of the Bushrangers went with him as Tofte ran over to Dawson.

The fight with the giant serpents was one that had happened before. And Captain Edima’s team had been part of it. They’d lost horribly; the serpents had sent the Silver-rank adventurers fleeing, helpless in front of their superior size and strength and armor. But that was because they’d been surprised. And that was the thing about adventurers; if they survived, they learned from their mistakes. And they didn’t lose twice.

This time, there were only three serpents. And they were fighting in a bad environment. The trees prevented the giant constrictors from moving as freely. And the Rustless Guard was fighting in the gaps, refusing to be encircled or let the snakes bite them. And as the Bushrangers charged in, they developed another advantage.

“Nets!”

Daly shouted as his team grabbed the nets they’d tossed to the ground and rushed to help bind the serpents. It was quick, desperate work; the snakes did not want to be bound, but their heads were busy biting and striking at the Dullahans. And that gave the Bushrangers time to sling ropes and nets underneath the huge serpents and pull, anchoring the ropes to trees, and limiting the serpent’s mobility.

It wasn’t clean. Daly swore as the serpent he was trying to force a rope under twisted and nearly crushed his entire arm. He wrenched his limb free, feeling a moment of horrible pain, but getting clear before it took his arm. And when he got a rope under it and began to ensnare it, anchoring the other end to a tree while Siri wrapped up the snake and anchored her section, he saw two other members of his team struggling.

“Tie the knot!”

Kami, an Australian girl, was shouting at Aldenon. He was struggling with his end of rope and the serpent whose tail they’d grabbed wasn’t having it. Daly turned.

“Kami! Don’t try and hold it yourself! Don’t—”

Too late. As Kami began to let go, the snake twisted and tore itself free of the ropes. Aldenon fell backwards as the rope came loose in a tangle that snapped himself across the face. Kami screamed; Daly saw that she’d been pulled right off her feet. She fell down and he realized the force of the snake had nearly wrenched her arms out of their sockets.

“Damn, damn—”

Daly sprinted over towards Kami and dragged her back. He grabbed the rope as Aldenon retied the knot and got the snake’s midsection this time. It strained at the rope and the entire rope nearly snapped, but suddenly it was anchored. And the Rustless Guard descended on the snakes as the remaining Bushrangers continued to ensnare the snakes. But that was only the distraction.

The nets held the snakes; the Dullahans finished the job. Edima and three Dullahans waded into the snake that had knocked Kami off her feet; they’d brought warhammers and began hacking at the snake’s head as it found itself more and more restricted. Unable to dodge or move away, the snake bit and head-butted furiously. But it was trapped. And for all its scales were tough, with a good swing and the right weapon, the scales opened up.

The first snake collapsed after five minutes of fighting, the remains of its head a mess of gouged flesh and deformed impact from the warhammers. The Dullahans turned to the second, which was still fighting the nets. It tore itself free of one anchor as a rope snapped, but the Dullahans kept the head at bay as Edima and another Dullahan attacked the midsection. It was firmly held in place so the Dullahans didn’t risk fighting the head; they just hacked the snake in two.

“[Razor Slash]!”

Edima’s axe sliced through the first layer of scales and flesh like it were paper. Her battleaxe dug into the snake as it screamed; the other Dullahan helped her keep chopping through the snake. It survived the bisection, but it died shortly thereafter. That just left the third snake, still enmeshed in the trap.

“What do we reckon?”

Daly panted as he watched the second snake’s mouth fall open and the weakly writhing body stop at last. Edima wiped blood out of her eyes; the arms and front of her armor were soaked red. She looked grimly at the snake.

“Same as the other two. We’ll cut through its body; we can save the head.”

“Got it. Bushrangers—”

“Or we could try wrapping it up.”

Daly paused. He looked at the Dullahan [Captain]; she had dark skin but blonde hair, a combination not seen often on Earth. She paused to look at him as her team formed up.

“We could capture it. If you have more ropes and you think we could, Sir Daly—we could drag it back to Talenqual. It would be an effort, but I think many [Beast Masters] would pay a lot of gold for a snake like this.”

“Seriously?”

The Dullahan nodded seriously. She kept her eyes on the serpent all the while; it was fighting the ropes and Daly could see some of the fibers snapping; the nets wouldn’t hold forever.

“Snakes can be trained. Or kept as a pet, even. And if you breed them for food or eggs…”

“Daly.”

Siri came up, panting. The other Bushrangers were on their feet, even Kami, and they looked tired, but mostly unhurt. Daly hesitated. All eyes were on him, both his team’s and the Rustless Guard. He thought for a second then shook his head.

“No. Too risky. We can’t haul it all the way, and I don’t trust our ropes. Take it out, Captain Edima.”

“Yes, sir. You, you, and—”

Edima turned instantly and selected three of her people. Daly didn’t watch them take out the final snake. He looked at Siri.

“Help them out. I’m checking on Dawson.”

She nodded. She had a coil of rope slung over her shoulder and her crossbow in her other hand, loaded and aimed at the ground.

“Got it. You want me to shoot the eyes out?”

“Apparently we can get as much as a gold coin for each eye. So no, not unless they’re struggling.”

Siri nodded. Daly jogged back through the trees. He found Dawson sitting with his back to the tree. Tofte was covering him with a crossbow and shortsword. The young man from Norway looked up sharply.

“How’s it?”

“All sorted. Dawson, mate. How’re you doing?”

The Australian grinned palely at Daly.

“Fuck me, Daly. I think I’ve dislocated my shoulder. And my leg’s twisted or—my damn gri-gri broke!”

Daly nodded. He’d seen the metal piece snap off during the descent. He couldn’t think of anything to say, though. Sorry it happened? Too bad?

“Glad you didn’t fall further. Too bad you didn’t fall on your head though; you’d be fine, then.”

Dawson laughed, swore, and cursed Daly at the same time. The Australian breathed a sigh of relief. He straightened and looked at Tofte.

“We’re going to need a stretcher.”

“I can walk. Just give me a shoulder—”

“Forget it. We’ll get Edima’s squad to help us out. For now—let’s get one worked out. Tofte, break out those blankets from the packs…”

And then it was over. Edima’s squad finished off their serpent without more than a bite on one of the Dullahan’s arms, and healing potions sorted out the rest. They came over, panting, drinking water, stamina potions or healing potions, and gathered around Dawson. Daly started giving orders after a short break.

“Alright, we’ve nearly got a stretcher worked out. Tofte’s got crafting Skills. Edima, anyone in your team have any classes in crafting?”

The Dullahan shook her head. She was washing her iron armor off; bugs were already landing and circling.

“I’m afraid I don’t. How is your man? Is he injured beyond a healing potion?”

“Shoulder’s dislocated. According to Geneva, we don’t want to use a healing potion. She needs to set it right. And his leg…I’m not sure how bad it is.”

“Doctor G will put me right. Don’t you dare pour a healing potion on me.”

Dawson groaned. He was fading. Daly looked around quickly.

“Siri.”

“Right here.”

The Swedish girl was cutting some rope up to help make the stretcher. Daly nodded in the direction of the main road, some three miles south of here.

“See if you can get to the road with…Kami. Your arms alright, Kami? Good. Then go over there and find a Runner or someone willing to give us a lift for Dawson. I want him back in Talenqual fast. Make sure it’s a smooth ride—and then call for our friends from the Runner’s Guild. Uh…”

“Pihava and Bault?”

“Exactly. I want them and…make it two other pairs with big wagons. We’ll get Dawson to the road.”

“Got it, boss.”

Siri and Kami turned and grabbed their packs before heading out at a jog. Daly looked around.

“Edima?”

“Sir?”

The Dullahan straightened. Daly saw her team glance up and caught himself. They weren’t in a combat situation so he took a breath.

“Sorry. Captain Edima, I would be very grateful if your team would assist us with butchering the serpents. The critters are already gnawing at them and I want to save the meat.”

The Dullahan smiled at Daly.

“Of course. My team is free for whatever you need.”

The Australian nodded.

“Excellent. Then—can you begin cutting the snakes up? Hack them into pieces we can actually carry to the wagons? Try and get them in pieces so we can harvest big chunks of their skin.”

“Of course.”

Dally nodded. He looked at the rest of his Bushrangers.

“As for our team…I’ll help Dawson with that stretcher. Aldenon, Tobi, you’re both on lookout for anything smelling blood. The rest of you, let’s make up something to help drag the snakes towards the road…”

And so they did. It wasn’t as easy as Daly made it out to be; without her [Razor Cut] Skill, Edima and her team had a hard time making precise cuts and the bloody snake parts were being covered in bugs. The Dullahans swore and their armor got bloody and dirty, as did the precious snake parts. And dragging them through the jungle was a hellish ordeal; Daly had to come back and help once he had helped lift Dawson up with two Dullahans and bring him towards the road. Three miles of walking through forest, and then flatter ground was no fun for Dawson. He fainted when they dropped him, but he said little. He just gave Daly a thumbs-up when he got to the wagon.

“Sorry for falling back there, Daly.”

“You did nothing wrong. Your device broke, Dawson. You just rest up. Geneva’ll see to you as soon as you get back. You’ll be on your feet by the end of the day.”

There was hope in Dawson’s eyes as he leaned back in the small rickshaw Pihava had galloped over with.

“That’s be nice. Hell of a thing, healing potions. Back home, this would have…”

He trailed off. Daly checked him anxiously, but Dawson was just unconscious. Daly looked at Kami.

“You go with him. Tell Geneva to check out your arms. And put in a message at the Adventurer’s Guild that we have oversized snakes ready for dissection. They’ll probably direct you to a [Butcher]’s—have them meet us at the gates.”

“You got it.”

Kami swung herself up into the rickshaw. Pihava pawed the ground anxiously.

“Your friend’s okay?”

“Right as rain, Pihava. He’s not badly hurt. Thanks for getting here.”

The Centauress smiled.

“No problem. And your other wagons are on the way!”

Daly waved her off, then went to help pull the snakes out of the jungle. Three miles of carrying bloody, buggy, smelling snake parts, sometimes as a group of eight, balancing the bloody harvest on their shoulders. That wasn’t the part of adventuring you ever thought about, but the snakes were money. As much money as his team would get for killing the damn things. Daly sent off one wagon full of the bloody cargo for immediate butchering in Talenqual; he warned the drivers they’d have to wash off the meat first. The Centaur, Bealt, just laughed.

“Don’t worry. Our [Butchers] will get good cuts. And they’ll make sure nothing lays eggs in the meat. Good thing you went to the Adventurer’s Guild; they’ll hire quality butchers.”

The other three Centaurs shuddered as they turned and began lugging the laden wagons back with them. Daly grimaced as well; he knew the bugs of Baleros were nasty and imagining one of the horde of bugs swarming the snake meat laying eggs he might eat…well, his stomach was already turning and he was covered in guts and blood. Best not to think about it.

“Is your team coming with us, then?”

The final wagon pulled by two Centaurs eyed Daly’s team apprehensively. It was a crowd. Daly shook his head.

“Not us. We’ll call for another pair of wagons, I think. Can you pull your wagon a bit off road? Sorry, but we have one last stop to make.”

The Centaur shrugged.

“You’re paying us. You’ve got more stuff for us to carry?”

“Yeah. Little snakes and eggs.”

The Bushrangers hadn’t forgotten the would-be dungeon and snake’s lair. A final return trip took nearly an hour, which made Daly regret hiring the third wagon; they got paid for waiting about. But it was fruitful. Cleared of their adults, the Bushrangers and Rustless guard found two baby snakes the size of doors and a heap of eggs.

“Oh my god! I’m gonna throw up.”

One of the Bushrangers looked green at the sight of the pile of giant eggs. Daly almost laughed.

“This bothers you?”

“It does when they’re so big! And they almost look like chicken eggs!”

Aldenon shook his head. He eyed the eggs mistrustfully, as did Edima’s group.

“Are we smashing them, Daly? Burning?”

“Neither. We’re taking Edima’s suggestion. We take the snakes and eggs. Alive and intact. Come on, we’ll take the eggs in pairs. Wrap those snake babies up.”

More work. By this point, both teams groaned, even the stalwart Dullahans, but Daly and Edima egged their teams on, partly with bad puns, partly with the thought of how much live snake eggs were worth. Daly shouted as his team lifted the eggs, groaning at the weight.

“You want to earn some spending money? Think of how much a [Beast Tamer] pays for a serpent egg! Or how much it’s worth to someone who likes eating the stuff! I’m sure some Lizardfolk [Chef] will pay gold for these. Drop it and you drop our income, got it?”

That did the trick. In the end, Daly bullied, coerced, and flattered the teams into filling the Centaur’s wagon. By that point two more wagons had returned with Pihava and Bealt leading one, and three wagons returned to Talenqual. The bloody, dirty, sweaty adventurers sat in the back, washing themselves off with the last of their water. They were tired and exhausted. But the instant they saw the city, their spirits rose.

“Drive us straight to the harbor, Pihava, Bealt! I’m jumping in the water!”

One of the Bushrangers called out to their Centaur Runners. The two chuckled. Daly would have loved to join them, but he regretfully called the wagons to halt.

“I’m going with the eggs and little snake babies. Adventurer’s guild, please.”

“I will go with you.”

Edima looked like she could have used a dip in the ocean too, but she offered and Daly accepted. Their wagon went to the Adventurer’s Guild. Happily, a Centauress [Receptionist] was already waiting for them with Siri.

“We thought you’d be back earlier. What’s this? Eggs? And…”

The [Receptionist]’s eyes widened as she saw the snake babies. Siri blinked at the large serpents, still very young but still as big as any snake Daly had ever seen in Australia.

“They’re adorable!”

“They weigh a ton. Miss, can we sell these? And these eggs are all fertilized so they contain live snakes. No telling on when they’re hatching. Can we sell them to the Guild?”

The Centauress blinked hard, but selling giant snake eggs was, in fact, a situation she’d been trained for.

“Of course. We’ll need to find buyers quick. But I can quote you a price now. Or we can negotiate on what the Guild gets…”

“We’ll let the Guild do the sale and take our cut, thanks.”

“Of course. As for the little snakes, let me contact a [Beast Master] right now.”

The Centauress trotted off quickly. Siri peered at one of the snakes that Daly had roped up to prevent it from moving.

“It’s cute. Could we keep one, maybe?”

“Keep—you want one of those? As a pet?”

“We could try. Imagine having a fully-grown snake if one of our team became a [Beast Master]? I could try.”

Siri gently stroked the little snake’s head. It was quivering a bit; Daly stared at it. It was cute. But…he sighed.

“We can’t feed one of those yet. Sorry, Siri. But imagine how much meat it’ll eat? And finding a place for it? No.”

She looked so crestfallen, Daly had to throw her a bone.

“Tell you what. If we find a cuter, smaller animal on another hunt, we can talk about keeping the babies. If we find them. Deal?”

“Deal.”

She smiled. Now Daly would have to worry about Siri suggesting monster hunting contracts from now on. Then again…he did feel a pang of regret as he imagined a giant, fully-grown snake for a war pet. But the sight of a [Beast Master] Lizardman hurrying back and the gold he gave Daly for the snakes and three of the eggs was very soothing in itself.

Daly waited for the Centauress to give him a receipt for the remaining eggs, the money from the [Butchers] who’d dissected the snake parts, and then he claimed the bounty for the destruction of three giant snakes and their nest.

Money, money, money. Daly counted it all, put it in a bulging coin pouch, and then he had to go to the harbor and wash the blood and filth off him. Siri and Edima joined them. The Dullahan sighed as she splashed the salty water on her armor.

“At last! I was about to become sick.”

“Bloody oath! That’s a good feeling!”

Daly dunked himself twice, sighing as he felt so much cleaner. A fish swam up and nibbled at a bit of snake; he watched it flit away through the water, then turned.

“So. How was that for our first big team-up? Captain Edima, mind joining us for a drink? Because I think we deserve some congratulations…and we should talk about how it went.”

The Dullahan paused in the act of scrubbing at her hair. She’d taken off her head to more easily tend to it, and Daly was curious to see how the water interacted with the vacant gap between her shoulders, from which light red mist was drifting. To his surprise, the water just flowed over the opening, and the mist disappeared, but a red light shone from inside the Dullahan’s body when she dunked herself. The head glared and Siri poked Daly.

“Don’t be lewd.”

“Lewd? I ah—come on! Sorry, Captain Edima.”

The Dullahan blushed a bit.

“Edima is fine, Sir Daly.”

“Then Daly’s fine, at least when we’re not uh, working. A drink?”

She nodded as she fastened her head to her shoulders. Daly chose the nearest pub and wasted no time; the Bushrangers and Rustless Guard were waiting, so he handed Edima a stack of coins.

“This is your team’s share. We’ll get more later, and sort out the exact numbers, but pass this out, please, Edima. And as for you Bushrangers…”

He passed out a gold coin apiece. Edima looked shocked; her team had taken the smaller cut and each member was still getting a good bit more than that. Siri smiled as she explained.

“It’s company money. This is their bonus.”

“Ah. I see.”

The Dullahan nodded a few times. Daly nodded as well and waved a hand. He raised his voice.

“We’ll see about the rest, and I’ll get this to Paige. But for tonight, your first three drinks are on me, both teams!”

They cheered loudly at that. Daly smiled as the Humans began shouting orders at the Lizardgirl server who came by, and the Dullahans raised their hands, letting their team go in order of importance. He excused himself and took another table with Edima and Siri. They settled down and Edima looked at Daly. He lifted a hand as a second [Server], a Centaur, delicately navigated around the tables.

“Excuse me. I’d like a mug of whatever beer you have.”

“We’ve got several. Have a preference?”

“Uh—your best bitter.”

“That will be a Calian lager. And who’s next?”

The Centaur looked at Daly. Both he and the Human were keenly aware that rank mattered, so Daly instantly turned to Edima.

“Edima’s next.”

She nodded appreciatively.

“I will have some dry Seamaster’s Gin.”

“And for you?”

Siri paused.

“I’ll try the gin as well.”

“I’ll have your drinks in a moment. Are you paying for that table?”

“That’s right. Send the bill over here, thanks.”

The Centaur blinked a few times. Daly clarified.

“We’ll pay.”

He nodded and trotted off. Daly sighed as he leaned back. It was amazing how many linguistic similarities this world had with his. But the concept of a ‘bill’ was still foreign to most places, especially since that was a waste of paper, parchment, and ink. He waited until everyone had a drink and downed half of his mug. Then he decided to order an appetizer.

“Got any snacks?”

The Centaur raised his eyebrow.

“How do you feel about shrimp? Sautéed?”

“Beautiful. Give us a plate and some for that lot.”

“Four plates, then?”

“Sure.”

Daly smiled as the Centaur left and came back minutes later with some hot, spiced shrimps that earned him another cheer. He leaned back.

“Captain Edima, help yourself. My team’s eating at headquarters, but a snack’s welcome.”

The Dullahan nodded appreciatively, but she still waited for Daly to snag one of the shrimps first before taking one for herself.

“Indeed it is. You’re quite generous with your team, Daly.”

“Ah, well…”

Daly grimaced. He was a bit embarrassed, actually. Drinks weren’t expensive, and neither were a few plates of shrimp. Compared to the amount of gold still resting in his belt pouch, he was stealing from his team. But it was gold that the entire company would use, so he tried not to feel too bad. He’d definitely ask the [Bartender] to buy a bottle or two for tonight, thought.

“I’m not sure about generous, but after a day of hard work, we’ve all earned a break, Edima. How’re you feeling? Your team?”

The Dullahan stopped chewing and swallowed. She answered slowly, glancing from Daly to Siri. She’d put her head on the table and was feeding it to eat. Daly knew he shouldn’t stare, but Dullahans were still fascinating to him. Half of Edima’s team was doing the same thing, placing their heads on the table rather than keeping them on their shoulders.

“I would say my team is in very good spirits, Captain. As am I. This was one of the smoothest hunts we’ve had. And the least bloody. Not one member of my team was badly hurt, and against those giant snakes? It was refreshing to get back at them.”

She grinned toothily and Daly and Siri nodded. Edima paused.

“I hope your subordinate is well, though. What happened? I didn’t see one of the snakes attacking him.”

“Ah, that? He fell when he was rappelling down.”

“Rappelling?”

“Using ropes to descend the trees. I didn’t see what happened either, Daly. What was it? Did Dawson let go?”

Siri glanced at Daly. The Australian grimaced and took a longer drink before waving for a refill.

“Nope. His, uh, gri-gri broke midway down. Damn thing just fell to pieces.”

Edima looked confused. Siri drew in her breath sharply.

“I thought they were in good condition!”

Daly grimaced.

“So did I. But I guess the [Blacksmith] who worked them up didn’t forge them quite right. Paige is going to be pissed.”

She was the one who’d come up with the idea for the Bushrangers, after all. Although it had been Paige, Dawson, and a few others in their company who’d had the experience with climbing to redevelop the tools from home. Still, just knowing how to tie a figure-eight knot, how to belay, and use a gri-gri had provided a huge advantage. Edima looked very impressed.

“Perhaps the [Blacksmith] is not entirely at fault, although I do not know the mechanism he made. I’ve never heard of a team with the type of gear your team used, Daly, Miss Siri. I know some that can fight in heights, but the way your team went down the trees so quickly…it is profoundly different from how my team operates. No—most Dullahans would not ever dream of climbing trees. Perhaps throwing an arm up for an ambush, but sitting in the trees? The limbs would break under my weight.”

She gestured to her armor. Daly nodded.

“It’s a new tactic on us, too. But I like it. Assuming we can make sure there are no more accidents, we’re going to use this a lot. Sitting in a tree and shooting a Stelbore would be a lot safer than the ground.”

Edima nodded cautiously.

“The Bushranger’s ability to ambush and lay traps is quite amazing. Those ropes simplified a difficult fight, as did smoking the snakes out of their lair. But I hope our teams can continue working together?”

She looked hopeful. And no wonder; over the last two weeks, both her team and the Bushrangers had participated in a number of jobs together without so much as a hitch. This latest one had put more gold into Daly’s pockets and Edima’s than any job he’d done prior to this. He smiled reassuringly.

“No doubt about that. Your Rustless Guard has exactly what my team lacks, Edima. Armor and heavy weaponry. If you’re willing, we’ll definitely work on other jobs. Say in two or three days? Unless a really good job pops up.”

The Dullahan nodded rapidly.

“Of course. This will be a welcome break, and we have money to spend. I will contact you if I see anything. Otherwise, I thank you again for a job well done.”

A smile played over her lips. Daly smiled and lifted his mug as his refill came just in time.

“Cheers!”

—-

It was only an hour later when Daly left the tavern. The rest of his team he left to their drinks, having covered his promised amount. He might have stayed longer, but he did want a proper meal at the headquarters. And he wanted to check on Dawson.

Siri came with him. Daly had told her she could stay, but like Edima, who’d taken off at the same time, Siri didn’t quite ‘fit’ with the rest of her team. She looked at him as he stuffed the bottle of wine under one arm. She was carrying some of the Seamaster’s Gin, which she’d taken a liking to.

“I’m not quite one of the team, Daly. You and I are team leaders. I can’t always hang out with them.”

“True enough.”

There was a disconnect, sometimes. Daly liked his team and they worked hard, but if it came to something hard to do—like breaking up a fight, assigning punishment, or telling someone off, he had to do it. So did Siri, and that meant friendships and relationships were different. Also, they were the ones who made some of the big decisions for their team.

They were the only ones who knew about Okasha, for one. For another, they were the two who Paige called upon when she talked over problems in their group. Ken, Aiko, Geneva…they made up an inner circle. It was a known fact, and no one had accused them of being dictators. But still.

“Where’s Dawson? Geneva’s clinic?”

“Probably headquarters. She wouldn’t need to treat him that long. She told me she can fix a shoulder or even broken bones quick.”

“If she can cut people open and get to the issue, she can pour healing potion on the bone, yeah. I just wish she had anesthesia.”

Daly shuddered. Siri nodded. Both of them had been patched up by Geneva and the process was more effective than any healing potions thanks to her many Skills. But it hurt. Geneva spot-treated injuries with healing potions, and to do that for, say, internal bleeding, she had to slice your stomach open. While you were looking up at her from the operating table.

“Headquarters it is. Hope Dawson likes this.”

The two headed off one of the main streets and down a fairly well-paved road. Normally they would have had to do a few more turns and twists to get to a poorer street where their cramped headquarters was. But not this time. They reached the United Nations company headquarters ahead of time. And it was a proper headquarters now. A pair of double-story buildings were theirs, and two streets over was Geneva’s clinic, a small place, but very clean and with thick doors. To muffle screams and crying.

“Hoi, Kirana! Is Dawson here?”

Daly opened the door and shouted into the apartment. He heard a voice, then someone pushed out of the kitchen. Priya, one of the Indian girls, pointed shyly next door.

“Kirana’s in the other apartment. Dawson is there too.”

“Got it. Thanks, Priya. Where’s Paige?”

“Same place. Dinner’s here. In twenty minutes.”

Priya pointed to a sand hourglass placed outside of the kitchen. Both Daly and Siri perked up.

“Awesome. In that case, we’ll be right back. And can you send someone here to get the Bushrangers? They’re at…uh, the Lizardgirl’s Frill.”

“Yes.”

That was that. Daly waved as he closed the door. They didn’t have a convenient door linking apartments yet, but Paige was talking Miss Hastel into letting them make one, and Daly had assured the Centauress [Landlady] that he could do it himself if need be. And both buildings were a lot bigger than their previous setup.

Nevertheless, a third building would be nice to avoid people sleeping so close together. And maybe with this…Daly pushed open the door.

“Hey Dawson, you bastard! You’d better not be hurt! We’ve got a job tomorrow!”

“Fuck off!”

A loud, cheerful voice came from a couch. Daly saw Dawson lying on his back, eating some snacks as Kirana and Paige sat in chairs around him. He glared at Daly came into the building.

“I thought you’d be checking on me right out of the clinic! You had a drink, didn’t you? Don’t lie!”

“Everyone had a drink, Dawson. But don’t be too upset or I won’t share this bottle with you. Fancy wine or gin?”

“Wine! Who bought the stinking gin?”

Siri went over and handed the bottle to Kirana as the young woman stood up.

“Me. How’re you doing, Dawson?”

The burlier fellow sat up and grimaced.

“I’m good. Doctor Geneva set my arm, which hurt like—but she fixed my foot too. Says I need two days of rest, but if we really have a job…”

“Would I do that to you?”

“Yes.”

Daly grinned as he offered Dawson the bottle. Dawson grunted appreciatively; he liked wine better than beer or spirits, especially the sweeter varieties you could buy. Kirana tutted.

“No drinking from the bottle, please! Here.”

She went into the kitchen and got a cup for Dawson. He poured himself a big drink as some more people came down the stairs.

“Hey Lorenzo, Nicola.”

Daly greeted the two Italians who were walking downstairs. Lorenzo waved and spoke in somewhat mangled English.

“Hello, Daly. You came back?”

Daly paused and enunciated clearly for their benefit.

“From adventuring? Yeah. We got back. We have wine. Want some?”

He pointed. Lorenzo and Nicola brightened considerably. But Kirana fended them off, much to their dismay.

“At dinner! Dinner! We can have some.”

“He has some.”

“He fell out of a tree!”

“Out of a…?”

“Tree. Yeah. It’s…Nicola?”

“Albero. È caduto da un albero.”

“Oh! How?”

Daly laughed. He tried to explain while Paige helped herself to some of Siri’s gin. Kirana took the two bottles away before more could be shared as the others came back. And soon it was time for dinner.

“Oh boy. What’re we eating today?”

“Dum aloo—potatoes and a curry sauce with rice. Also, we have some salads, some sweet muffins for desert that Priya has baked. But our main dish is steak.”

Daly’s mouth began to water at once. Dawson heaved himself up at once.

“Steak? I love the sound of that!”

“Sit back down. We’ll bring it over.”

Paige pointed at the couch. Dawson lay back, grinning happily. Then he frowned.

“Wait. I thought Indian people can’t eat cows or something.”

“Beef. And that’s not an issue.”

The two Australians frowned.

“Why wouldn’t that be—”

And then Daly realized. He roared in outrage.

“Wait a second, we’re eating snake?”

—-

“To be fair, it was really good snake.”

Daly burped. He had to hand it to Kirana; she’d turned the snake meat from the giant snakes into something that wasn’t only palatable, but tasty. Everyone had stuffed themselves on meat, while the vegetarians that were left had eaten the dum aloo, which really was delicious.

Daly had to admit, ever since Kirana had begun managing the kitchen, the food had turned from passable to downright delicious. If you added that to their new living environs, their teamwork with the Rustless Guard and all the little updates since Geneva had made her big breakthrough…he actually felt good. Strange as that was, Daly felt good about life here. And how crazy was that?

It wasn’t perfect of course. It was just better. Paige had taken one look at the Bushranger’s gold and told Daly a third building wasn’t an option.

“We can’t afford the rent yet. I want to have gold in case of emergencies and even with our jobs, three buildings is pushing it with the other projects we’re committing to. Miss Hastel is charging us as little rent as possible, but we still need to pay her.”

“Hey, I get it. No worries, Paige. We’ve got a lot more room than we did in the old place even with this. Where’s Geneva?”

Daly hadn’t seen her at dinner. Paige sighed.

“At her clinic. She’s working on a new procedure or her antibiotics or something. If she’s not back in an hour I’ll get someone to fetch her.”

“Gotcha. Ken and Aiko, how’s your side of things? Anything happen while we were on our trip?”

Ken relaxed next to the others at their small table. They were in an upstairs room next to Paige’s private workshop. Downstairs they could hear voices, laughter, someone shushing loudly—the others were watching a movie on a laptop with the last of the wine and gin. The mood was good. Ken smiled.

“I did well. My job is mainly listening and talking, so I ended a few fights.”

“What about?”

Paige sighed.

“God. Remember Michael? Well, some of the others have joined him. They’re not getting along with people praying. Especially since some of them want to pray to Mecca. And guess where that is?”

She waved a hand. Daly grimaced.

“So they’re mocking them?”

“Yes. And worse, there’s fighting about which direction they should be praying towards and if there is a god. And let me tell you, that’s not a fun argument to have. Ken sorted it, and I don’t know how.”

The young man nodded modestly.

“It is my job. After that I went around the city.”

That meant he was doing the rounds, as some of the others put it. Ken had no set job; the United Nations company didn’t have far-off contacts as of yet. But they did have allies, and Ken made a point of visiting everyone from Miss Hastel to the Silver-rank teams that Daly knew, to [Shopkeepers], [Captains], and so on at least once a week.

He’d go out and buy small gifts, or treat them to a meal, or buy a drink. Small things that he was budgeted for that made everyone favorably inclined towards him. It was an excellent use of a little bit of coin. Ken pretended it wasn’t nearly as important as Daly’s job, or Geneva or Paige’s, but he had been the one who’d been able to call an army to save Eldima and the others back then. But Ken just turned to the young woman sitting next to him.

“Aiko was working at Geneva’s, so I do not know how she is.”

“Good! We saw two patients, both of whom had Yellow River.”

Aiko shuddered. She shook her head.

“But they wanted fast cures, not what Geneva told them to do. Even though her patients in Quallet’s camp got better! I think they will be back, hopefully before it gets worse…but there are a lot of mothers asking about Geneva’s C-section! She doesn’t want to give many, though.”

“Principles.”

Daly sighed. Paige looked annoyed.

“She’s right that not everyone needs them. But we’re getting a steady income from her now. Add it into the jobs people are working and the Bushranger’s money, and we will be able to afford a third building soon. Unless we have anything else we should be spending money on? My workshop and Geneva’s experiments eat up some of our coin, but what should we save up for now?”

The Japanese [Diplomat] twiddled his thumbs absently. He looked up and nodded a few times.

“I think it is time to invest in what Daly called the ‘big things’ now. After the third building, perhaps?”

The others looked at each other. Paige sat up a bit and Siri stopped sipping the last of her cup.

“You think so, Ken?”

He nodded carefully.

“Perhaps not all of our money should go there. Paige’s emergency fund is very wise, I think. So how about this? We save up enough money for her fund. Then we put the rest towards the apartment and rent for a month or two. And then after that? We allocate…twenty percent to paying for things everyone has been asking for. More regular [Repair] spells. Books. Proper beds. Um…”

“Toys?”

Paige suggested a tad bit sarcastically. The [Diplomat] hesitated and gave a [Diplomat]’s response.

“Not toys, but fun tools for everyone to use. A chess set, perhaps. Things like that. But that is twenty percent. The rest should go to buying Daly’s team magical equipment, or Paige some magical wood. Spellbooks. And the boat Luan mentioned last time he was here.”

All eyes turned towards Daly. He felt a skip of excitement in his chest.

“That would be the turning point, sure enough. We’ve been keeping our heads above water. But if we can spring for some actual magical gear, like proper armor or get Paige the materials she needs to make a magical crossbow…”

So far the Bushranger’s income had gone solely towards the company and putting a roof over everyone’s head and feeding them. Daly hadn’t begrudged that, although it had been hard. But now, if all the money everyone made was going towards equipping them…he held his breath. He wasn’t going to push for it. Ken looked around.

“Do you think it’s a good idea?”

“I’m sold. Especially since I’ll get more things to work with. And I want to try and learn magic. I think we all do.”

Paige leaned forwards, nodding. Siri did to, as did Aiko. That meant all of the current leaders were in agreement, and Daly didn’t think Geneva would object that hard either. He smiled.

“Then it’s settled. We’ll all draw up a wish list and take turns getting what we need. I’d be happy to make that a first priority after a third building and a spellbook. The Bushrangers have added a few of our own, but if I could get two or three [Mages] working with us, we’d be able to do a lot more.”

“Count me in. I want to learn magic.”

Siri nodded. Aiko was sighing. Everyone was, actually. Magic. Now that would be something worth all the struggles. Ken clapped his lands lightly, looking pleased.

“In that case, I think we have done well. Daly, thank you and your team for working so hard.”

The others murmured their agreement. Daly grinned at Siri.

“Ah, it’s nothing. We’re going to be loafing around for a day or two anyways. But I’ll light a fire under the asses of the Bushrangers and they’ll work twice as hard once they hear they’re going to get some gear. That’s all I’ve got. Anyone else have something to bring up?”

They didn’t. So that night’s meeting of the United Nations leadership adjourned. Daly stretched as he got up.

“I need a bath.”

“Me first.”

Siri pushed past him. Daly sighed, but let her go ahead. Baths were a luxury, given that you had to get the water yourself. He glanced around as he filed out of the room. Paige was still seated, and she was giving him…he paused and let Ken and Aiko pass by.

“We should call this the security council meeting or something. Of the United Nations? Only, we actually like each other and get things done.”

Aiko laughed a bit. Ken looked blank.

“Is that a joke? I’m sorry, I don’t understand it.”

“You know, the security council from…never mind.”

Daly put his head against the doorframe. Ken smiled again and Daly heard him ask Aiko something in Japanese—probably for an explanation. They left and Daly waited a beat before looking back.

“Something up?”

Paige slowly got up from her chair. She nodded at the door and Daly tilted his head. Everyone else was out of earshot. She walked past.

“Let me get some things. We’re going for a walk.”

“Why?”

She didn’t reply. Curious, Daly went downstairs and found that Geneva had finally returned. She was eating in the kitchen as the others watched Les Misérables on a laptop. Daly waved at her as Geneva munched on cold snake steak.

“Hey Geneva, how’s it going?”

“Good.”

He waited. Geneva chewed her bite and looked up. She paused.

“I didn’t have anything extraordinary happen to me. I saw Dawson; he wasn’t too badly hurt but the fall could have been worse. Be careful with that climbing.”

Daly nodded.

“It was the uh, gri-gri that snapped. We’ll check our gear carefully, maybe get more made and test them out.”

“Got it. I heard you killed some snakes.”

“That’s right. I think you’re eating some of them.”

The [Doctor] paused in her next bite. She hesitated, then took a bite. She chewed, and Okasha’s voice, higher-pitched and decidedly more cheerful, came out of Geneva’s mouth.

“Not bad!”

“Hey, Okasha. Take care of Geneva for us, will you?”

“Will do. Don’t get upset, Geneva. It’s just snake…”

“I hate snakes. Why did it have to be snakes?”

Daly snorted and left before Okasha could ask what was so funny. Geneva had a sense of humor? He was about to tell Paige about that as she came down the stairs. Then he noticed the look on her face. The hint of tension, hidden, and the very large, and very bulky object she had wrapped up in a sack that she was carrying oh, so carefully. Daly hesitated. Could she have…?

“Where to?”

“Outside.”

Paige stepped behind the glowing laptop’s screen and Daly followed. No one else commented; they were too busy watching the movie. The two Australians walked out of the building, down the steps, and then down the street. Daly eyed Paige and the thing she was holding. It was round, and she had a smaller burden clutched in one hand.

“Can I take…?”

“No. Take the smaller one and for the love of god, don’t drop it. And don’t let anyone see until we’re out of the city.”

“How far out?”

“To a place no one can see. It’ll take twenty minutes. Come on. This is heavy.”

Paige picked up the pace. Daly glanced down at the small object she’d handed him. It too was concealed in a sack, but as he looked at it, something on the back of his neck began to prickle. Daly didn’t have [Dangersense], but if he had he thought it would be going off right now.

And his intuition was good, so he followed Paige swiftly, bearing his small burden carefully as could be. As they walked through the dark streets of Talenqual, both he and Paige stayed well away from anyone carrying a torch, a lantern, or any kind of fire.

—-

Fifteen minutes of power walking later, Paige and Daly were well outside of Talenqual and in a private area of trees, off the main road. It wasn’t so deep that they couldn’t run for Talenqual; you could even see the city if you walked back a bit. But it was private—they’d passed by the outer farms and orchards to the left and gone off the main trade road.

It wasn’t exactly quiet about; the local wildlife had a cacophony of their own. But Daly sincerely doubted they had an audience.

“Alright. What’ve you got to show me you didn’t want to tell the others about?”

Daly turned to Paige. She bit her lip as she slowly and gingerly lowered her burden down.

“It’s not that I didn’t want to tell them. I just don’t know whether I should. Especially Geneva. Siri will need to know, but you asked for this and I…wanted to get your opinion first. Remember what you asked me for? It’s done.”

She reached out and took Daly’s much more lightweight burden from him. She opened it up and gingerly pulled something out. Daly’s pulse skyrocketed at once.

They came in many shapes. And they didn’t look like the ones you saw on TV, most of the time. Except that at some point, they probably had. And the little, papier-mâché sphere the size of Daly’s hand looked exactly like one of those cartoons. Except that the orb was a whitish-grey color, not black. And the fuse was a lot, lot longer than normal and it wasn’t lit. Otherwise? It was a bomb.

“Fuck me sideways. Is that a grenade?”

“You asked me to make one. So I did.”

Paige hunched her shoulders. She stared down at the bomb—no, the grenade-sized bomb in her hand. Daly’s skin crawled. I was just holding that! He looked at the little sphere.

“Is it safe?”

The [Engineer] looked up irritably.

“I wouldn’t have given it to you if it wasn’t safe! Don’t worry. I’ve thrown these things, knocked them about—at a distance—even put an arrow through one. They don’t explode unless there’s fire and the sphere is sealed tight. But yes, this is a grenade. Packed with gunpowder. You want to see what it does?”

Daly nodded. He stared at the little orb. Paige had actually made…? His skin was crawling with unease. He’d never seen a real weapon like this up close. She took a few breaths.

“Okay. I’m going to light it, toss it, and it’ll go off. I didn’t fill it with anything but gunpowder, so it’ll explode, but we’ll be safe. I’ll throw it there. See? I have a clear shot. ”

She walked a good bit away from the bag she’d put down and reached for her belt. She cursed.

“Damn it. I forgot to bring a lantern or something. I need to make some fire. Give me a second?”

“Sure.”

“Hold this.”

Daly froze as Paige tossed the bomb at him. He swore as he caught it.

“Don’t do that!”

“It won’t go off. Stop being a baby. You said you wanted this and I made it.”

“Yeah, but I don’t juggle explosives. Isn’t there a chance it could ignite?”

“Probably? But it’s humid. Here. Hand it back.”

Paige had a small burning candle in one hand. Daly gingerly handed it back and the girl took a breath.

“Okay. Here goes.”

She swiftly lit the fuse with one end. Daly saw the flame slowly burning down the waxy rope and Paige turned. She threw the orb far and fast between a group of trees; it hit the ground and rolled for a moment. Daly watched the fuse burning. The fire didn’t exactly race down it. Still, he held his breath. Until he realized it was going to take a bit.

“Sort of slow.”

“I haven’t figured out how the fuse works best yet. And I’ve made them long for a reason.”

“Still, if we’re using this in a combat situation—”

“Just watch this one, okay?”

Daly shut up and did just that. He shifted from foot to foot as the fuse slowly burnt away. It really was too long, but Paige’ eyes were locked on the little orb. Daly wondered how much of a bang it would make. Surely not much? Grenades were small, but weren’t they filled with…higher-grade gunpowder or something? Paige had just gotten the ingredients for the stuff a little while ago. So surely—

Bang.

That was the sound the orb made. But it wasn’t a ‘bang’, or a mere pop of sound. It was a full explosion that made Daly half-duck and shot his heart up into his mouth. The sounds of the jungle instantly stopped. And the explosion was a lot larger than he’d thought. He felt the wind change from where he was standing and when he stared at the spot where the orb had been…

“Damn.”

Daly had to force himself to inspect the blast spot. It took a moment to find the actual impact spot; some of the forest floor had been blown away, but the actual zone of impact was very small. He looked at Paige.

“That was a lot bigger than I thought it would be! But the impact…”

She shook her head.

“If you’d have been standing next to it, that wouldn’t have been fun, believe me. But grenades don’t do damage because of the explosion. It’s the shrapnel that does it. And I used paper and nothing else. That was a demo. What do you think?”

“What do I think? I think you just made a grenade, Paige! In what, two weeks? Who’s a rocket scientist, then?”

Daly grinned shakily at her. But Paige didn’t look pleased. She pointed at the bit of overturned earth.

“If I gave you some of those, Daly, shortened the fuses, and packed them with some rocks or metal, they’d be like grenades. What do you think? Would they help out your Bushrangers against those snakes you fought this morning?”

The adventurer hesitated. He looked back at the blast zone and forced himself to think. If they were filled with shrapnel and he threw, say, four of them…if you tossed one in a snake’s mouth, that might be different, but if it hit their armor? Reluctantly, he shook his head.

“I don’t think so, Paige. Grenades were anti-people weapons, right? You could shred some people if they were bunched up with one of these, but not a monster. Ironic, huh?”

He glanced up. Paige shook her head slowly. Slowly, she bent and reached for the second sack, the much larger one.

“I was afraid you’d say that. Okay. In that case, I’ve made this.”

This time she pulled out a bomb. Daly recoiled; this wasn’t a grenade. It was a bit smaller than a basketball, with an iron outer shell and a wick. It looked like a bomb from a cartoon. But the way Paige held it, and the look on her face…

“You carried that around?”

“What am I supposed to do, cart it? And if you use this—if anyone does, they have to stand some bouncing. I’m going to light this, so you and I need to run at least a hundred feet out of the trees. See this fuse?”

She indicated the very long piece of string. Daly stared at it.

“A hundred feet? We won’t even see—”

“You don’t want to see it any closer. Believe me. You get back. I’m lighting this thing. I’ve filled this with shrapnel. A hundred feet out of the trees at least. I’m running for two hundred and you and I are staying close to the ground. There’s an incline over there; we take cover behind it.”

Paige set the bomb down. Daly hesitated. Then he turned and ran. He found the incline and, panting, crouched down behind it. He glanced up and saw Paige running after him. She tumbled over the rise of dirt and panted.

‘Get down!”

She lay flat. Daly hesitated.

“Hold on, we’re far enough, aren’t—”

“Get down, you idiot! Or do you want to be hit! Cover your face and stay down! Shrapnel could still hit—”

Maybe this fuse was faster, or the run had taken longer than Daly thought. Either way, this time the explosion made his heart stop. It was so loud, he heard his ears ringing.

They had to have heard that in Talenqual! What if someone investigates?

Daly nearly got up but Paige held him down. She waited for ten seconds. Only then did she get up.

“Let’s see.”

This time the blast wasn’t hard to miss. Nor was the destruction. Daly stared at the shredded tree trunks, and then at a tree. It had fallen down, and he could see a few bits of metal embedded in the trunk. Shakily, he looked over at Paige.

“You could blow up a house with that! And you had that in your workshop?”

“I kept it locked away. But yes, I did. And you asked me to make this thing.”

That was true. But Daly still couldn’t believe it. He looked at Paige, shaking his head.

“You made a bomb? Just like that?”

She nodded. Paige looked around, but there weren’t any pieces of the bomb’s casing left to find on the ground. She slowly shook her head and bit her lip.

“I’m not happy about this, Daly. I know I said I could do it. But it was too easy to make. Once I had the ingredients, it took me three days of careful experimentation to figure out the right ratio of sulfur, saltpeter, and charcoal to make the gunpowder. I did some tests with containers. After that, I had a [Blacksmith] make a shell like this and bought some metal scrap. Daly, it took me less than a week to make this. Imagine what happens if Quallet got ahold of this? Or a larger company?”

“I had—I didn’t ask you to make one of these to sell, Paige. Geneva would kill me first. But we can use them.”

“You’re sure? After that, you’re sure you want one of these?”

Paige looked up questioningly. She stared hard at Daly. And for a second he hesitated. He understood what she was asking, why she’d shown him this in private. You want to me to make more of these? And for a second, the decent part of him agreed with Paige. But…he looked around at the jungle and clenched a fist. Then he slowly replied to Paige.

“When we take on monster contracts, we have to weigh how dangerous our target is against the reward. We took a risk on the snakes and we spent two days preparing and another scoping out the nest. We needed ropes, we had to team up with the Rustless Guard…and it was still closer than I’d like. Those snakes are the baddest thing we can take on. Give us some of these and we can take on almost anything.”

He kicked at the blown up earth. Paige just stared at him.

“You want to bomb monsters?”

“You want me to fight them with crossbows and swords? Paige, maybe the Bushrangers shouldn’t earn money like we do. But aside from Luan and Geneva, we’re the only source of income the company has. And after seeing some of the monsters we fight, I think adventurers are needed. I don’t think this world needs bombs. Especially not Baleros. But give me one of these and no one can copy it, right?”

“Not unless you don’t use it.”

Paige folded her arms, looking deeply troubled. She stared again at Daly.

“You really want more?”

He closed his eyes and nodded.

“I asked. And I think…yeah, I think we do need them, Paige. You saw the snakes we brought in, didn’t you?”

“I saw parts of them.”

“Well, they were a lot bigger in person. Say we go up against them again. I’d like to use these. Just our team. Just when we have to. We don’t show them around, we only bring them when we know there’s a fight that involves them. Deal?”

He saw the [Engineer] nod.

“Agreed. No one gets these, no matter what.”

“And with that said…I want three of them. Make sure they’re sealed perfectly. I don’t want a chance of them going off.”

“Three. You want three? I can do that. I can do it. But I need more ingredients.”

Paige scrubbed at her hair distractedly. She looked at Daly. Then she shook her head.

“I suppose you still want the ballistae, too. Or those oversized crossbows you were thinking off?”

“The big ones? Yeah. If we can mount it, or use a stand, we could pierce even the serpent’s hide. What, can you make them?”

For a second Daly wondered if that was an out. But Paige shook her head.

“I was talking with Blake. Apparently ballistae were made with something called torsional force. As opposed to draw force, like what we have with bows and the crossbows I’ve made.”

Daly raised his eyebrows.

“Okay? What does that mean?”

“It means they did something else. Blake said that he thought it involved skeins of rope or something, but he wasn’t sure.”

“How does he know all this stuff, anyways?”

“Video games. Apparently the models in some games are quite close to real life.”

“Huh. So he doesn’t know how this torsional thing works, though, right?”

“Nope. And I bet if I had a YouTube video I could build one from that. But no one’s downloaded a video on their phones and the internet’s not exactly around. So until I can figure out how the Romans did it, I can’t build anything stronger.”

“Oh. Then I guess…”

Daly indicate the bombs. Paige nodded. She stared around the forest, unnaturally quiet, and then gestured back at Talenqual.

“We should probably head back. They might try and see what that sound was.”

“Of course.”

But neither Human moved right away. Paige kept staring at Daly. At last, she spoke.

“You know, I was really hoping you’d see what the bombs did and say ‘No, don’t make any more, Paige. Absolutely not.’”

Daly’s heart twisted in his chest. He held out his hands, helplessly.

“Paige. We need those.”

She rounded on him.

“Do we? Do we really need those?”

Her finger shook as she pointed back at the blast zone.

“Daly. I feel like I’m a terrorist. Look at that. You want me to make more of those?”

Daly nodded. Paige halted and stared at him, but he pointed back at the explosion. And this time he wasn’t as scared of the weapon as before. He was remembering something else.

“Ever seen a [Fireball] explode? It’s just as nasty. Worse. Remember the battle between those companies? They were throwing around spells like that. And some monsters can take a [Fireball] to the face and keep on coming. Those serpents could. If we want to hit Gold-rank, or go any further, we’ll need those, Paige. We’ll use gunpowder on monsters.”

“So long as it’s just monsters.”

She stared at him. Then she turned her back and began walking away. Daly followed her.

“Paige, I swear, if I thought—”

“Don’t. You convinced me, Daly. Don’t justify it.”

He fell silent. The two walked on, pausing to hide as a group of [Guardsmen] did indeed pass them by, looking for the sound. After that, Paige and Daly went back to the main road and pretended to be coming back to Talenqual. They walked together in silence, and the triumph of this morning felt like a long way away to Daly.

Good news and bad. Daly walked back to his bed and Paige said nothing else. He was troubled, like her. But they needed an edge. And if that meant making bombs…he fell asleep, wondering if he’d said the right thing.

—-

The next day, Daly woke up, ate food, lounged about, and did things he forgot about five minutes later. Around midmorning he found the Bushrangers relaxing after their big job and ordered them into the living room. It was time for a lesson. Siri was in change with Tofte helping her. They got ten minutes in when Dawson looked up and complained loudly.

“Daly. I have to ask. Why do we have to study another language in a world that speaks only fucking English?”

He glared at the alphabet Siri had written down for them in her native language. Daly sighed, but he explained as patiently as possible.

“We have two Swedish speakers, Dawson. If we need to talk when the enemy might be around, or warn each other, another language is perfect. It could be a huge advantage. That’s also why we have hand signals and need to be able to write in Swedish too. We can leave each other messages.”

“And why’s it got to be Swedish? Can’t it be pig latin? Or something easier? No offense, Siri.”

“Offense taken.”

Daly waved a hand for silence. He frowned as he replied.

“I thought about Japanese, or one of the languages Kirana and the other girls speak, but apparently there is a nation of islanders about that speak some kind of weird language. Drathians. They sound Japanese, so that’s out. And Siri and Tofte already know the lingo; this makes the most sense. Plus, it’ll help because Sweden isn’t that big a country so the odds of running into another Swede are a lot lower than someone from India.”

“What does that—”

Dawson was frowning, but Siri looked sharply at Daly. She replied for him.

“He means if we have to go up against people from Earth.”

The Bushrangers fell silent. Daly saw some of them look at each other uncomfortably. Dawson swore.

“Fucking hell, mate. What are you planning?”

Daly’s voice was cold in his own ears.

“Nothing. But I’m preparing us for everything. You heard Blake and his lot’s story about the [Bandits], right? We need to be careful. From now on, any hint of survivors from earth we investigate cautiously. We watch them before we take them in, and we put people on them for the first month.”

“Jeeze, Daly.”

“It’s what we have to do. It’s not a question of ‘if’ we’re going to run up against some nasty people from home, it’s ‘when’. Or do you want to be the idiots who get stabbed in the back? Don’t worry though; we’re already looking into buying amulets enchanted with [Detect Lies] along with getting a [Repair] spell.”

That didn’t cheer up the group much. But they did sit still as Siri went over the alphabet and a few basic words. Daly didn’t have the heart to push them to learn more than a few words despite his speech; but he did warn them they’d need to remember.

“Siri’s going to ask you and so will I. Just remember the words for now. Got it?”

The others nodded. Dawson looked very uncomfortable. So did everyone else. Siri was frowning at Daly. She’d been the one to suggest using Swedish, but she looked curious. She drew Daly aside as the others began to get back to lazing about. But she never got a chance to ask her question because the door blew open and Michael burst into the room, shouting.

“Luan’s back!”

Daly whirled about, his spirits suddenly rising. He heard an oath from upstairs and Paige appeared in the stairwell. Kirana rushed out of the kitchen and more members of the United Nations company rushed down the stairs.

“You serious, Michael?”

“I just saw him! He’s coming into the docks! Come on, let’s go greet him!”

“Alright!”

Dawson was on his feet. He charged out the door with some of the others. The Bushrangers all got up, but Siri and Tofte, both of whom didn’t really know Luan, weren’t as excited as the others. She looked at Daly with a big frown.

“Why are we running to meet him like children?”

Daly paused, about to go out after the others. He beckoned at Siri and she and the rest of the team followed him. The [Axe Warrior] spoke as he led them in a brisk walk.

“Look, we’ve got three big leaders. Geneva, Ken, and Luan.”

“And you and Paige.”

Aldenon interjected. Daly hesitated.

“Well, yeah, but they were the original three, you know? The ones who started it all. And they’re all…well, look at it this way.”

He tried to explain to Siri, who was raising both eyebrows skeptically.

“Ken’s a nice guy. Everyone likes Ken, but that’s his thing. He’s not scarily good at what he does like Geneva or Luan. And Geneva’s amazing, no question; no one can do what she can in this world. But she’s…”

Daly hesitated and looked at the Australian members of his team for help. They pitched in cheerfully.

“Depressing?”

“Too serious all the time?”

“Got a medically implanted stick up her butt?”

“Distractingly hot?”

Daly rolled his eyes as the others laughed.

“Thanks, Kami. What I mean is, Siri, Tofte, is that Geneva’s good, but she’s doing something she’s learned. She’s smarter than any [Doctor] in this world. But Luan? He’s genuinely just…better. At rowing. You know? He can do what Centaurs, Dullahans, Lizardfolk, all of them can do, but he’s the best, never mind if they have magic or special abilities. You remember Humans can do things better than the other species when you’re around him. And he always comes back with a lot of gold.”

They thought about that. Siri shrugged.

“Gold’s a good enough reason for me. Let’s go.”

And so they did. Daly reached the harbor docks just in time to see Luan finishing paying the [Harbormaster]—it wasn’t hard to spot where he was; a good number of Humans were standing around him and the tall [Rower] was laughing and trying to answer a dozen questions at once. He looked good. Tired, but good. And then Daly saw just how tired and pushed his way through. His was the voice of authority.

“Alright, give Luan some space!”

The others drew back reluctantly. Luan turned. He grabbed Daly’s arm and the two hugged briefly. Daly was grinning and Luan had a weary smile on his face. Genuine, but very tired.

“Luan, mate, I missed you two weeks back when you dropped off a ton of gold. You didn’t even stay a full day! You’re pushing yourself too hard!”

“Hah. Well, I’m back now, aren’t I? Sorry I didn’t send a [Message]—I just finished a three-day trip. Hello everyone! Paige, Kirana, and…are there new faces around here? Have we new people?”

Luan had spotted Nicola in the crowd along with Blake. He began to walk forwards as Daly started to explain, but then he stumbled. He caught himself, and shook his head as Daly reached out to steady him.

“Sorry. I don’t have my ground legs yet.”

He smiled, but Daly was instantly concerned. He gestured at Luan’s face.

“You’ve got bags under your eyes, mate. And you’re swaying where you stand.”

Luan stopped.

“No I’m not.”

He yawned hugely. Daly looked at him and Paige folded his arms. The South African man hesitated, then gave them a sheepish grin.

“Okay, I know. But offers are coming in faster than ever. People are hearing about ‘Luan the Rower’ and I can make enough to keep us afloat. I’m faster than anyone but a Courier on the water, and I can take the riskier deliveries because it’s so hard to catch me…”

He yawned again, hugely. Paige shook her head as she looked Luan up and down.

“No more deliveries right now, Luan. You’re staying put and getting some rest. No rowing for at least four days. The Doc’ll back me up on this one.”

He hesitated and then nodded slowly.

“I could do with some sleep. I’ve been—”

He yawned a third time and brought his right arm up. Daly saw a flash of bright color and stared. There was something on the inside of Luan’s arm. No…not something.

Gold, tattooed into dark skin. It shone as Daly stared at it. Two names.

Nandi. Lubanzi.

Luan lowered his arm and saw Daly’s stare. He didn’t hide the tattoos; rather, he held out his arm so Daly could get a better look. His smile was bitter, sad, but mainly just tired.

“I’ve been pushing myself harder. It helps me stop thinking. But I don’t forget anymore.”

Daly hesitated. Paige stepped in for him, grabbing Luan’s arm and placing it around her shoulder. She was shorter than he was, so there wasn’t really much for Luan to lean on, but it made him smile.

“Come on. Aiko’s worried sick about you.”

Daly nodded. He turned and waved a hand. “We all are. Hey, you lot. Grab that boat-kayak and bring it with us. We can fit it somewhere in headquarters; better than paying rent on it.”

Several of the Bushrangers grabbed the boat and lifted it out of the water. Luan looked surprised.

“You sure there’s room? Also, it’s called a scull. It’s a single scull…I need to upgrade it. If we can afford a bag of holding, I can get a new one—it’s not a kayak, Daly. I’ll have to hurt you if you say that again.”

“Yeah, yeah. We can talk about that. We’ve got tons of money so I guess you can use some of what you’ve earned…this way. Hey Siri, nali-stick? Or just a stamina potion.”

Siri disappeared and came back with one of the sweet sticks and offered it to Luan. He thanked her and bit into it. The sweet rush of sugar perked Luan up enough that he was walking steadily by the time they reached the United Nations company headquarters.

“What is this?”

He blinked up at the building, realizing for the first time that they weren’t at the old headquarters. Daly grinned hugely.

“You didn’t know? We’ve upgraded, Luan! Miss Hastel gave these two buildings to us for a song, and we’re looking into a third next door! Come on inside; it’s a lot nicer! And we’ve got proper couches!”

“If I sit down in one, I’ll fall asleep.”

Luan joked as he came inside. But he didn’t fall asleep; the crowd gathered around him was probably part of that, as was the reheated snake meat. He ate it ravenously as he tried to speak about where he’d been and gone.

“I’ve been to several big cities—this is good, what is it?—and seen a lot of wonderful things. Some danger. There was this group of [Sea Raiders]—but I’ll tell you later.”

“What cities did you see, Luan? Come on, tell us!”

One of the younger members of the company, barely fifteen, was practically hopping with excitement. Luan smiled.

“Tell you? I borrowed a smartphone. I can show you.”

He pulled out a phone out of his pocket. The others immediately fought for it until Paige ordered them to stop fighting before they broke it. There was only a small charge left, but it was enough for a few minutes of browsing. Daly craned his neck to see as the others exclaimed over it.

“Whoa! What a city!”

“Is that a dancing Lizardwoman?”

“And a dancing Centaur? I didn’t know they danced!”

Luan nodded.

“They were having some kind of festival. I have a few videos too. And a few pictures of some shops, potions…I tried sneaking a picture of a spellbook when I was browsing, but, well…look.”

He showed the others a picture of a book. But the page was…white. Not blank; it was pure, eye-searingly white as Daly stared at the photo. Only after he’d looked away did he see a faint coloration to the painfully white photo. Luan gestured to it and shook his head.

“It’s like this with videos too. You can sort of see some colors, but the pages just turn white. Some spells look different on screen, too. Some are invisible, or different colors than what I see.”

“Maybe the pixels can’t represent the full color scale. Damn. It was worth a shot.”

Paige looked disappointed. A few seconds later the phone died, so she went and had someone get it charged with a [Repair] spell. She also chased off some of the crowd, telling them Luan would relate more stories over dinner. Daly was all set to bring Luan up to a room for some needed rest, but the athlete asked for some strong tea instead.

“I should stay up. I do have something I need to tell you, as well as stories. And you have something to tell me, it seems!”

He gave Daly and Paige a short and meaningful look both understood. Then he listened attentively as the others told him about the battle with the giant snakes, Geneva’s delivery of Miss Hastel’s baby, and their new home. He’d heard some of it the first time, but he hadn’t stayed long. And by the time the story was done, even Geneva had come back to greet Luan.

“You did all that by yourself? I have nothing but respect.”

Luan looked at Geneva. She smiled faintly at him.

“It’s just my job. Good to see you, Luan. You need sleep.”

He sighed, but gently.

“In a bit. I want to know more about your new clinic. You say you’ve been getting patients? That’s exactly what we wanted, isn’t it? And what about delivering babies? Is it profitable? Do you have many clients?”

Aiko nodded excitedly.

“She’s done eight Caesareans so far. A lot of mothers are worried about giving birth, or they have complications…one even came from fifty miles away when she heard there was a [Doctor] here. Word is spreading like lightning!”

She gestured at Geneva proudly as the [Doctor] coughed, looking embarrassed.

“Funny. A [Doctor]’s only popular on the battlefield. But [Midwives] and mothers gossip a lot faster and wider.”

Paige looked amused. Aiko smiled.

“And I helped! I know how to do a lot for mothers. But it is new! And scary! It is hard to deliver babies well across other species; their bodies are all different. And the last delivery was frightening! Geneva delivered the baby and then…the head fell off! Geneva was so shocked and everyone panicked but the mother! Because it was a Dullahan baby, you see?”

“That wasn’t funny.”

Geneva shuddered as she remembered that moment. Everyone else was laughing. Luan closed his eyes, a broad smile on his face.

“That’s wonderful. It really is.”

Daly thought he might not open his eyes and fall asleep just like that. He coughed, trying to think of something else to say. His eyes went back to the gold writing on Luan’s arm.

“So, Luan. About your tattoo. Aiko told us about what you two had figured out and we’ve confirmed it. No one remembers home unless we really try. Our family, our friends…it’s like a blank spot in our heads. We remember tech and politics and everything else. But we don’t feel nostalgic unless we try to remember.”

The room went silent. Daly looked around and realized everyone had gone silent. For a moment they remembered home, and the smiles went ever from everyone’s face. Paige elbowed Daly hard in the stomach.

“Nice going, Daly.”

Luan opened his eyes. He nodded heavily.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one. I thought…well, we can talk about it later. But I think I’m actually falling asleep right here. I take it back. Can I get a few hours’ sleep before dinner?”

“Of course.”

Instantly, everyone was solicitous. Luan went upstairs and fell asleep immediately after putting his head down. Daly walked outside with Geneva as the others talked, the phone having come back so they could look at more pictures again. He stood outside was the [Doctor] stood with him. Both were uncomfortable together. Geneva broke the silence with all the grace of a beached whale.

“It’s surprising you brought up the tattoos. I thought it was my job to depress everyone.”

He glanced sideways at her.

“That’s two jokes in two days. Careful, or we might think you’re Human after all, doc.”

She smiled at that.

“I do have a sense of humor. It’s just buried by experience. I’m working on it. Okasha’s not helping; her jokes are worse than mine are, if you can believe that.”

“Hey!”

Daly laughed. He stood outside with Geneva and glanced north. Last night flashed into his mind. He casually glanced to the side.

“Hey Geneva. Paige was talking to me last night, and uh…”

“Mister Daly? Miss Geneva?”

Someone interrupted them. Daly bit his tongue and looked around, annoyed. He stopped glaring as he saw a Naga approaching them. Like Xalandrass, the Naga was tall, sinuous, and stood out even in Talenqual’s busy and diverse streets. The Lizardfolk stood back respectfully as she stopped, her tail coiling around itself as she stood straighter. She smiled down at Daly and Geneva, both of whom looked up at her with surprise. Daly hesitated.

“How can we help you, Miss Naga?”

She smiled at him.

“I’m glad you asked! You can follow me. I was told to get two of your company, and you two are the leaders, aren’t you? Our boss especially wants to see you, Miss [Doctor].”

“Boss?”

The Naga nodded. She gestured down the street, pointing to the center of the city and the tallest, grandest buildings.

“That’s right. I’m part of the Featherfolk Brigade. And our leader wants to speak with the United Nation’s company leadership right now. Will you follow me?”

—-

The Featherfolk Brigade. On the walk to the building that housed the company’s leadership, Daly tried to remember everything he could about them. He knew they were a company, mainly Lizardfolk, that had claimed Talenqual.

According to Ken, they weren’t the biggest players around, but they certainly weren’t small-timers either. They had the numbers and firepower to defend a large city—Ken had called them upper-middle tier, which meant they were way above a tiny company like the United Nations company, or even Quallet’s Gravetender’s Fist.

Normally the two groups would never interact; if the Featherfolk Brigade took part in a conflict, one of their subdivisions would account for all of the United Nation’s personnel in a fight. But their leader had asked specifically to meet them. To meet Geneva.

Daly wished Ken were with them. But the Naga hadn’t let them get reinforcements. She’d asked, politely, that they come at once. But Daly had sensed it wasn’t really a request.

“What does your boss want with us, uh, Miss?”

The Naga turned her torso while she slithered forwards and gave Daly a smile. She had brilliant pink and red scales on her upper body, and she was practically naked except for a breast band.

“He wants to see you, of course. You’re a new company in our city. Why wouldn’t he be interested? And she’s the Last Light of Baleros. Don’t worry. He’s not angry at you. I think.”

Hardly encouraging. The Naga brought them to a huge, almost castle-like building with six floors that dominated the center of the city. It was a literal hub of activity and Daly saw that it was both home for many of the company’s soldiers, administrative building, and more.

Lizardfolk dominated the halls, but Daly saw a number of Nagas and even some other Lizardfolk evolutionary variants he couldn’t place. They stared at him as he passed and he sensed very little hostility, only the Lizardfolk’s ever-present curiosity. But he couldn’t help but grow tenser; some of the warriors looked incredibly strong and he was quite aware of how vulnerable he and Geneva were. He glanced over at the [Doctor], but saw she was walking as steadily as ever. He had to admire her cool. Or was it just indifference?

The Naga stopped at a pair of impressive wooden double doors. She gestured towards them.

“Right inside. He’s waiting for you.”

There was no use waiting. Daly looked at Geneva and opened the doors for the both of them. The doors opened and revealed a room rather like an executive’s office. Only, this room was a wide enough to make any CEO jealous, and there was in fact no glass front.

The office was open to the outside and the city lay beneath! There were a pair of curtains that could be swept forwards, but walk too far and you would fall six stories down. Despite that, sitting on, or rather, around a comfortable cloth chair, was a Lizardfolk. Only, he wasn’t a Lizardman. And neither was he a Naga. He was…something else. Daly stared.

Where his arms should have been were two massive, beautiful plumed wings, the feathers changing from gold to green at the tips. The strange Lizardfolk’s body was a brilliant light green as well, with a softer beige underbelly. His scales looked like plates as he slowly slithered upright and Daly realized the reason for the huge building; the leader of the Featherfolk Brigade was over seven feet tall as he drew himself upright, and that wasn’t even counting the rest of his tail wrapped around his desk and chair!

The stranger drew himself up as they entered and his wings spread. When he spoke, his voice was lighter than Daly had expected, but still powerful and melodious at the same time.

“Good morning to you, Humans. You must be Daly of the United Nations company, and Geneva, the Last Light of Baleros. My name is Fezimet. I am the leader of the Featherfolk Brigade. And before you ask I’m a Quexal. You’ve probably never seen anyone like me, am I right? Tell me I’m right.”

He smiled widely, and Daly blinked as Fezimet wangled his resplendent wings. Daly immediately placed the Quexal as one of the vainer subtypes of Lizardfolk like Nagas and reacted accordingly.

“I haven’t! And it’s an honor to meet—did you say a Quexal? I’ve never even heard of your kind before. Incredible, isn’t it?”

He covertly nudged Geneva. She, like him, stared at Fezimet’s scales as the Quexal drew himself up, basking in their attention.

“Yes. Impressive.”

He laughed delightedly.

“You know something about Lizardfolk! That’s rare to see among Humans not from Baleros! Come closer. Sit, sit. Do you want something to eat? Drink? I have all of Talenqual’s finest delicacies to call on.”

“I’m fin—”

“We’ll have some uh, Seamaster’s Gin and some shrimps if you’ll indulge us, Fezimet.”

“Of course! One moment.”

The Quexal reached for something on his desk. He didn’t have hands. His wing-arms seemed quite flexible, but his only true appendages for grasping were lower down, and they were a pair of long, bird-like legs. But they were incredibly dexterous; Fezimet delicately grasped a bell with the tips of his claws. He rang it gently and he was clearly adept at using his appendages for humanoid tasks. Even so, it was disturbing on another level as well.

The door instantly opened and Fezimet addressed the Lizardgirl and repeated Daly’s request. The Lizardgirl nodded and dashed off.

“Now, come, sit, sit. My desk has chairs for folk with feet and those without. Tell me, how have you enjoyed Talenqual this far? Are you well? Tell me everything.”

Daly and Geneva warily sat down. The Australian cleared his throat, but it was Geneva who spoke up.

“What do you want to know, glorious Fezimet?”

Both Daly and Fezimet started. But Geneva was smiling politely, friendly even. And her tone and the way she spoke—it was Okasha, Daly was certain. Fezimet hesitated, clearly thrown off-guard for a second.

“Well, I suppose I’d want to know if the legends are true. You are the famous Last Light of Baleros, aren’t you?”

Geneva-Okasha shrugged lightly.

“Some call me that. But I only participated in a few battles.”

Fezimet nodded knowingly.

“That’s all it takes. One or two to make a legend. Especially one so…unique. Would you mind telling me how you started? A [Doctor] is surely a rare class. What drew you to the battlefield?”

The [Doctor] raised an eyebrow.

“What else? Money?”

“Ah…”

“But I wanted to save lives as well. I did that. But I grew tired. If you’re asking how I came to join the United Nations company and form it, it was when I met some kinsmen from Terandria by chance. To begin with, I had joined with the Raverian Fighters…”

Not for the first time, Daly caught himself wondering at Okasha. And he was especially relieved that she was with Geneva in this situation; the Selphid spoke on Geneva’s behalf, acting enough like the [Doctor] to almost fool Daly, but smoothly giving Geneva a more sociable personality, and incorporating some lies with her story. Fezimet listened, asking a few questions, and the food Daly had requested seemed to appear in no time at all. The young man sipped from his drink and shrimp as Fezimet ate what might have been roasted rat, listening to Geneva’s story.

“And you decided to form a company. Well, I understand the reasoning; after two betrayals, why not stick with kin? Reasonable, reasonable. But after your company formed, why did you decide to come to my city?”

He stressed the ‘my’ a bit. Geneva paused. She glanced sideways at Daly and he jumped in.

“Well, we’d heard Talenqual was a very safe place. Very safe and prosperous, with everything you could want. Harbor, strong economy…why not work from here?”

The Quexal looked pleased at the answer.

“Hm! True, very true! But did you choose it because of my company?”

The Australian hesitated.

“No. Should we? We uh, didn’t think to ask which company ran the city. We probably should have; I knew the Featherfolk Brigade was a mi—was an upper-tier company, but I’ve never heard of a Quexal before. What makes you…you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

The question received an arch smile in return.

“Ah, I see what you did there. But I’ll entertain it because you should know. You ask what a Quexal is? Feathers and scales. Wings, too.”

Fezimet spread his wings again. He seemed not to tire keeping them open. He chuckled as he saw Geneva and Daly’s eyes go to his bright colors.

“Like all Lizardfolk, I was once one of my smaller kin. But I achieved this rare radiance for my unmatched abilities. Quexal are rare. Rarer than Lamias or Gorgons. There are few of us on Baleros, but those of us who remain are powerful. We do give up a lot. Hands, for one thing. But I don’t miss them. And yes, we can’t use swords that well, or other weapons, but most of us know some magic. I think it’s a requirement; I can blast my enemies from afar. Or crush them with my tail. Or bite them. It’s not hard.”

He smiled, and his serpentine face revealed a row of teeth that would probably take off Daly’s head in a single bite. The adventurer eyed the fangs; venomous, he had no doubt.

“Quexal are the fastest of the Lizardfolk evolutions, bar none. We can jump and even glide depending on the circumstances. We are mighty, and a Quexal has always led the Featherfolk Brigade. Hence the name. That answers your question. Now I have mine. What do you want to do in my city?”

This time Daly didn’t know what to say. He glanced at Geneva, but she was frowning, and Okasha must not have known how to respond. So Daly went for it.

“Honestly? We just want to find more of our friends from home, ah, glorious Fezimet. And we’d like to earn money ourselves. More than just enough to survive on.”

“Ah. So you aren’t planning on joining with Gravetender’s Fist? Are you intending to go to war? I hear the Bushrangers are quite capable. Will you expand your ranks? You’ve already made one alliance with the Rustless Guard.”

He knew a lot! Daly gulped.

“Not at all. We’re a part of the company, but most of us aren’t fighters. We got enough of a taste of action with Gravetender’s Fist.”

He thought he saw Fezimet relax a bit after hearing that. Did the Quexal have a [Detect Lies] spell or something?

“I see. And so your company wishes to make ends meet. To partake of the riches of my company’s city. Well, well. I suppose that’s acceptable. And you two don’t seem to be lying about that. But this [Doctor]’s business…”

He pondered for a moment before glancing at Geneva.

“I’m told you can deliver a baby free of complication by cutting a mother open, is that right?”

Geneva nodded slowly.

“I can do that. It’s not risk-free, but it’s less risky than a childbirth if there are complications.”

“Of course. But you know Lizardfolk don’t need to give birth? We lay eggs.”

Geneva shrugged slightly.

“Eggs can fail to hatch. Or something can go wrong inside. Nothing is perfect. My job is to try and save lives.”

She met Fezimet’s eyes calmly. The Quexal looked from her to Daly.

“I see. As noble as they claim. Well, I’m content with what I’ve heard. Your company has permission to remain in my city. You don’t seem like troublemakers or a threat, and you’ve saved at least one of my [Landladies]. As for your new…practice, I’ll send one of my Nagas over to watch sometime. Just to make sure it’s alright. Then we can talk about compensation.”

“Compensation?”

Daly hesitated. Fezimet smiled.

“For working in Talenqual, of course. After all, you knew it was such a glorious city when you came here, didn’t you? But let’s not talk about that. Eat more of those shrimps. I’ll have one myself. Now, tell me, Captain Daly, about your team. I hear they’re practically invisible in forests…”

—-

Two hours later, Daly wished he hadn’t eaten so many shrimp. It wasn’t that they were undercooked; it was just that there was a limit to how many crustaceans he could eat. And he’d had too much gin. He should have asked for water and crackers.

“Steady.”

Geneva murmured as she helped guide Daly back down the street towards their headquarters. He erped and tried not to throw up.

“That damned feathery snake can drink like no one’s business. Think…we’ll be okay?”

“I think so. Hold on, Geneva. I’m helping your liver filter all this. You’re going to need to pee bad…let’s get Daly inside.”

She opened the door. Instantly there was a voice.

“They’re back! Get Paige!”

Daly found a few hands steadying him as he lurched inside. He went straight for the kitchen—not to throw up, but to drink some tea to settle his stomach. Then he drank more water, and looked at Paige.

“What happened? All the others said was that a Naga came and took both of you.”

She looked worried. Daly shook his head.

“It’s sorted. I think. Nothing big. Tell you later. We’re having a meeting tonight. Is Luan awake?”

“Not yet. We’re going to have lunch. Uh…”

“Pass.”

Daly spent the rest of the day slowly sobering up and trying to digest too many shrimps. He had an appetite by the time dinner rolled about and Luan was up. They ate and Daly listened to Luan’s stories without bringing up their encounter with Fezimet. Only after the dinner had ended did Paige stand up.

“Alright. The company leaders are meeting. Everyone else, you can talk to Luan later.”

“Aw!”

“Come one, what’s this about? Is it the Naga…?”

“We should be allowed to listen!”

Paige scowled at the protesters, who were all mostly older people around her age.

“No, and no. Some of what we have to talk about is potentially dangerous or…”

She glanced at Daly.

“…Or would be bad if it’s gossiped about. We’ll tell you everything we can. But later.”

“Who elected you?”

Someone grumbled that. Michael, probably. Paige opened her mouth and Ken smiled.

“Should we have elections? I think it would be dangerous to make this a vote. After all, the responsibilities of our job are sometimes…a lot. And we cannot share everything, so if you wanted to vote for someone to listen with us…”

He trailed off. The murmurs fragmented and most of the group shook his head. That was Ken, framing the idea as not much of a solution at all. Daly lurched upstairs. The others found him with his head in his hands in their meeting room. Paige closed the door last. Luan yawned.

“You look worse than I do, Daly. What happened while I was out?”

“Too much to drink. We had to go met the leader of the Featherfolk Brigade. Fezimet the fucking glorious or something.”

The other’s gazes sharpened at once. Ken sat up, looking mildly worried. Paige sat down across from Daly.

“What did he want?”

Geneva frowned and Okasha answered.

“I think he was scoping out our company. Trying to figure out if we’re a threat.”

“How?”

“Oh, you know. Taking control of parts of his city, sowing dissent, just whether or not we’re easy to work with…”

“Did you reassure him we’re no threat?”

Daly grimaced and shrugged.

“I tried. I think he bought the line that we’re only here to make money. But he hinted—strongly—that his company wants a cut of what Geneva’s doing.”

“Shit.”

“It’s just a tax. I think he was really curious about Geneva. But he’s…something. His company’s also massive. There were tons of Nagas and Gorgons—I wish Ken had been there. He might have figured out more of what Fezimet wanted. Okasha’s right. I think he was just trying to scope us. And he got me pretty good and drunk.”

“If he calls for us again, I will try and speak to him.”

Ken nodded. Aiko sighed, looking relieved.

“But it means it isn’t a problem, yes?”

“For now. But we’re getting heat from a big company. I guess that means we should keep an eye out to avoid pissing anyone off. Good work, Daly.”

Paige drummed her fingers on the table. Daly gave her a weak grin. He wasn’t drinking gin again for at least a month. Siri, who would have done well in his place, looked around with a frown.

“In that case, maybe we should listen to Luan. You said he had something to say?”

Luan nodded. He looked at Siri for a moment and then reached over.

“I think we’ve met. Paige told me you’re working with Daly? I’m Luan.”

“Siri. We met once. Briefly.”

He shook her hand.

“I’m a [Rower]. I’m aiming to be a Courier, but I’ll settle for a good position as City Runner. And I’ve been working hard, perhaps too hard of late, but the money’s been coming in and I’m glad it helped with…”

He gestured to the room around them. Paige nodded.

“We can start putting the money towards a better boat and gear for Daly’s team, Luan. We’re finally making more money than we need for the essentials. Which means you shouldn’t take so many risks. You brought in more gold than anyone by yourself at the start. You deserve at least a week’s rest.”

Everyone nodded at that. Luan smiled, but traced the gold ink on his arm.

“That’s good of you to say, Paige. But I have a job in three days I can’t get out of. Remember all that gold I dropped off two weeks back? Well, some of that was an advance payment. Listen, while I was getting my tattoo done in one of the cities, I met this Minotaur…”

Luan relayed the short meeting with Venaz to the others. Daly sat up, frowning and trying to think about why a [Strategist] would want to hire Luan for a delivery in three weeks.

“And he said it was all above-board?”

“He did. But I don’t know if I trust that. I did some digging and I found out he is who he says he is. He’s a student in the school run by the Titan of Baleros himself.”

Several of the people sitting around the table drew in sharp breaths. The Titan of Baleros. One of the heads of the Four Great companies. And one of his students was hiring Luan? The [Rower] looked around the table.

“I’m committed. And I may not have had a [Detect Truth] stone, but I think this Venaz was telling me the truth. I could ruin his reputation, and what’s the point of me taking a really dangerous job without knowing?”

“Still, it’s suspicious. It sounds like you’re getting involved with something political, Luan. I don’t want you making enemies.”

He nodded.

“But I am committed, Paige. And I’m a City Runner; this is what we do. If anyone takes offense…well, I’ll be careful. I need to row out to my destination in two days. But I had a thought.”

He paused and drummed a hand on the table.

“…We’ve been looking for allies. Quallet’s company is one, and it sounds like Daly’s allied with a Dullahan team. But a Great Company has the resources to protect anyone they want. If this Venaz is a student of the Titan, perhaps he had connections. Perhaps I could meet with someone high up in that company. Talk to them about Geneva’s abilities. We were saying that a [Doctor] with her talents would be useful even to—no, especially to a big company who doesn’t want to lose valuable leaders, right?”

He looked around the table. Daly did too; Paige and Siri were frowning, Aiko looked troubled, Geneva was pensive, and Ken was staring down at the table. Paige slowly replied.

“It’s true we were trying to get Geneva’s name out there, Luan. But that was before we discovered she could deliver babies. This way is safer. It doesn’t pull her into politics and…”

She looked around. Aiko and Ken nodded, but Daly wasn’t so certain.

“Hold on, Paige. That’s true, but didn’t we just get warned by the Featherfolk Brigade? And our position isn’t that stable here. One bad war comes our way and we need to run. It might be risky getting involved with a Great Company, but if the Forgotten Wing company’s decent—”

“Ken, what’s the Titan’s reputation?”

“Some are terrified of him, some respect him. Most agree he is honorable, but he is known for winning, sometimes in underhanded or sneaky ways. He is a formidable opponent. But it is said that he is generous and his company is very good to the areas it controls.”

Ken looked around the table. Daly nodded a few times.

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Either we don’t use this and Luan does his job, or we take a risk. So here’s what I think.”

He took a deep breath and looked at Luan.

“If this Venaz guy really has a connection to one of the Great Companies of Baleros, try and exploit it, Luan. Try and mention Geneva. Who knows? Maybe this Titan guy will see the merit in a [Doctor]. I don’t know about C-sections. But it can’t hurt to try. And I hear he likes chess and Go, right? Aiko learned Go in Japan.”

“And we know Shogi. Perhaps we could interest him?”

Ken looked intrigued at the prospect. Paige was hesitant.

“Maybe. It could work. But I’m against it. Let’s put it to a vote.”

“I thought Ken just said—”

“I mean, among us.”

“Oh. Alright then, I’m for it. What do you think?”

The table slowly went around. Daly was for. Paige against. Ken put his vote in and after a moment of hesitation, Aiko disagreed. Siri hesitated, and in the space where she did, Luan nodded.

“I can take the blame if things go wrong. But I think—what’s the harm in trying? I will be very circumspect and get a feel for what it’s like. I may only meet this Venaz. And he’s hard to work with. I’d rather meet someone else, so we’ll see.”

That made up Siri’s mind. She nodded.

“I vote for too, then.”

“Me too. If nothing else, I can spread the word about diseases like this Yellow River.”

Geneva quietly spoke up. One of her hands waved excitedly and Geneva glared at it.

“Okasha says yes too, apparently.”

“That’s it, then. Three days from now, Luan does his delivery and tries to get our name out.”

Paige didn’t look exactly upset, but she did look a bit worried. She glanced over at Luan.

“What’s happening in three days, then? Did this Minotaur say?”

“He hinted it had to do with something his teacher, the Titan was putting on. But apparently it’s not dangerous…not really. I don’t know that that means, but the worst that will happen is that I’ll be caught, beaten ‘lightly’ and held for a day.”

Luan grimaced. Daly didn’t like the sound of that. Still, he had to admit it still sounded worth the risk. Fifty gold coins was a lot of money for a delivery.

“Well, that’s that. I think we can discuss the rest later. Luan, you clearly need more sleep. Let’s get some. Unless anyone else has something to add?”

Geneva took charge for once as she nodded at Luan, who was beginning to doze. He jerked upright and looked around. The others looked around and shook their heads. Only Daly and Paige hesitated. They locked eyes for a second and Daly felt the unspoken question coming from Paige.

Should they tell the others about the bombs now? Daly wasn’t sure and Paige was hesitating. They both knew what the reaction would probably be, at least from Geneva. And yet, this was the leadership. The others deserved to know, but right now?

She looked at him apprehensively. Daly hesitated. But if they could keep it quiet—or if they could prevent anyone from learning how they did it…

Gold-rank. Money to buy Siri spellbooks, or fund a giant snake. A third building. Gold-rank, where Daly could actually buy artifacts for himself and magical wood to make crossbows that didn’t break. Gold-rank, where they could defend themselves from Quexals who thought they could lean on their company.

A way to fight anything and everything. Daly closed his eyes. And yet. ‘I feel like a terrorist.’ That was what Paige had said. And what would Geneva do? She would flip out.

He could still say it. It was only three easy words.

“We’re making bombs.”

They might even agree. They might not. But this was the moment at which he could reveal the truth and they could put a stop to it. She could put a stop to it. He looked up at Geneva and felt the words dancing on his tongue.

We’re making bombs. Is this right or wrong? We’re bringing weapons from our world to Baleros. Will it change anything? We’re making bombs. Should we stop?

We’re making bombs. Geneva, how do you feel about that?

It would be so easy. Daly looked up, across the table at his friends. At the [Doctor]. At Paige.

He didn’t say it. And neither did she.

6.21 D

“Hey. Did you do your homework today?”

“Of course. And it was a pain. What about you?”

“As if I’d turn up today without having done it. Look. See here?”

It was a curious phenomenon. An odd system. As immortal in its own way as mountains or geography. Somehow, despite magic and monsters and the passage of time, society still conspired to bring it about. And that strange thing was called school.

Worlds over, it was the same. As people progressed, as ideas became facts and theories and methods codified, institutions of learning would appear. Erin and Ryoka and those from her world knew of school as a part of life, but in other places, school wasn’t such a basic pillar of existence.

In Baleros, no, in the world, there were fewer places to learn. Oh, you could learn to swing a sword or hammer, or even pick up one of the more mentally challenging trades wherever you went. Apprenticeships were common as dirt. But places where people sat in classrooms and learned from people whose sole job it was to teach? That was rare.

The Academy of Wistram. Belchan’s [Mage] Schools. The Draconae Scholarium of Fissival. To name but a few places. [Mages] had more colleges than any other class, perhaps owing to the complexity of magic. But there were other institutions that had been created that were just as notable.

For instance, the Walled City of Manus trained officers, leaders in the field. Terandrian kingdoms had training programs where [Squires] trained from a young age to become fully-accredited [Knights]. Similarly, if you wanted to learn [Fencing], there were training schools there too. And if the life of an [Assassin] called to you, well, there were darker, private schools too. Places where children were trained in poison or forced to learn to become killers—or die in the training.

But all these places of learning, cruel or voluntary, prestigious or infamous, shared a commonality. They were schools, and there existed a relationship between teacher and student, class and pupils that seldom existed anywhere else in the world. Where else could you wake up and know what your day was, if only in general? Where else was life systemized, learning turned into a process experienced en masse? Nowhere.

And still, some things were the same no matter where you went. Regardless of how hard it was to get into some schools, the great honor or privilege it was to have the money or talent to reach Wistram Academy or the libraries of Fissival, you’d meet students who showed up every day with their homework done, and those who clearly resented the effort. It was still a pain to be taught for some, and they took little away despite the time spent.

Unless you liked what was being taught. Unless what was being taught mattered and your teacher was…a genius. One of the greatest authorities in the world. Then you showed up early, and you obviously did your homework. Because you had fought tooth and claw and nail to get here.

“Look. Here’s my homework.”

Marian yawned as she sleepily trotted towards the citadel from the city streets. She was holding a large fang. It was huge, yellowed, jagged at the end; as large as the Centauress’ arm. And around the base, despite the tooth having been cleaned, Umina could still see a bit of flesh. In short, it was a freshly acquired tooth, and the Lizardgirl hoped that whatever had owned the tooth was very dead. Or it would be quite, quite upset.

“Ooh. That’s nasty. What’s it from?”

“Guess.”

Marian smiled down at her companion. Umina was a Lizardgirl with pink-and-yellow scales, a pattern running from the violet frills around her neck to her long tail. Unlike Drakes, the Lizardfolk of Baleros were smaller, thinner, and possessed more vibrant patterns than Drakes, who were usually monochrome.

They had frills of skin around their necks which could raise in moments of excitement, but were usually kept folded, a sign of their connection to their primitive relatives. And Lizardfolk were certainly unlike Drakes in that they were, by and large, much more friendly. They were laid back, cheerful, and enduringly social.

It was wrong to generalize, but Drakes were known to have inherited their ancestor’s greed, tempers, and snappishness as a whole. Whereas Lizardfolk like Umina were curious. The smaller Lizardgirl peered closely at the tooth as Marian held it lower.

The Centaur had to trot slowly and Umina had to hurry her steps for them to keep the same pace as they walked towards the citadel. The sun was still rising and Umina yawned as she studied the ivory.

“It looks like…an Armorgator’s tooth? One of the giant alligators that lives in the water?”

“That’s right. I thought it was a crocodile, though. Aren’t they the same family?”

Umina shook her head. She blinked at the weight of the tooth as Marian handed it to her. The Lizardgirl whistled as she imagined the mouth that must have given up this tooth. If the tooth was the size of her elbow up to her claws…she imagined a twenty foot-long beast lurking in one of the huge rivers of Baleros and shuddered.

“This is a boat killer alright. And it’s definitely an alligator, Marian. Crocodiles live in salt water.”

“Oh. I had no idea.”

“That’s because your people live on the plains. Far away from water. Trust me; it’s an important distinction. Alligators and their kin aren’t nearly as aggressive as crocodiles. Although both are quite vicious and if one got to be this big…I hope it’s dead.”

The Centaur smiled.

“It’s dead alright. I wouldn’t have dared bring this in unless it was. What, do you think I’d cheat?”

She tossed her head a bit and her long hair flicked in the morning’s breeze. Much like a horse would toss their head. And the look Marian gave was slightly offended, even though she and Umina were fast friends. A Centaur’s pride, that. Umina shook her head instantly.

“Not at all. And I have my homework right here. Want to see?”

“Sure. What did you get?”

“This.”

The Lizardgirl fished in her belt pouch and offered up a handful of quills. Sharp, thin, and long. Umina could handle them with a bit of care due to the scales on her hands, but she cautioned Marian.

“Careful. They’re sharp.”

The Centaur took one look at them and snorted softly.

“Sorry, Umina. But are you serious? Those come from Scattershot Porcupines. Honestly…porcupines?”

“They’re a threat. And you know what the homework was.”

“I suppose. But…”

“Let’s just see what the Professor says.”

Umina refused to let Marian’s skepticism sway her. She put the quills back in her pouch as Marian took the tooth again. It was indeed an impressive trophy, but Umina wondered if the Centauress had understood the point of the Titan’s homework. What he wanted from you often differed from what he told you to do.

The Lizardgirl and Centaur trotted up the hill towards the palace. They were walking along the streets of the city that had been built beneath it. But the citadel was the thing. It was worthy of any [King], but it didn’t house royalty. Rather, it was the seat of power of one of the Four Great Companies of Baleros—the Forgotten Wing company. And it was also a school.

Soldiers were on duty at the open gates. But it was students, hundreds, who made up the foot traffic at this early hour. Some citizens too, but aside from the staff—and for a citadel of this size, there were a lot of employees—the streets mostly belonged to those who had come here to learn strategy from the world’s greatest expert on the subject.

Some of the city folk waved at Umina, especially the Lizardpeople; they were used to the sight of the student’s daily commute. And indeed, a lot of the business of the city was designed to cater to the students, from lodgings to inns to a very profitable business selling ink and paper. Umina and Marian waved back as they trotted into the academy.

Some of the other students noticed them, but aside from a few nods of acknowledgement, the pair was left alone. They were…different. And they headed to a different place than the other students. While a majority flowed towards some classrooms, or outside to the large training grounds reserved for students, Umina and Marian went up.

“I wonder how the others have done?”

Umina reached the third floor with Marian and headed straight for the end of the hall. The citadel was indeed a school, but it had reserved the lower floors for education. The higher floors were reserved for housing its inhabitants, war rooms, armories…and it was naturally off-limits to regular inhabitants. Go any higher and one of the guards would stop you. And the third floor was fairly empty too; only the advanced students ventured this high up. And a room at the far end of the hall was Umina and Marian’s destination.

A small classroom with a lectern opened up for the Lizardgirl as she walked in, holding the door open for Marian. It was more of a lecture hall than a classroom to be honest; a semi-circular set of raised seats, like slowly rising balconies, let the students look down on whomever was standing at the podium. The podium was absent of a teacher at the moment, and the students were clustered on the ground in front of the seats.

The best part of the Titan’s school for [Strategists] was that it was exactly not like school in all the right ways. Or at least, this class was. Umina looked around at the students gathered in the small classroom. There were just under fourteen of them. And like her and Marian, they had all shown up early. And they had all done their homework, or tried, at least. Some had clearly failed, but they had made their best effort.

That was because this school, the Titan’s school, wasn’t like other academies. It wasn’t Wistram, where the [Mage]-students were known to have outrageous parties, or other institutions like some of the Terandrian [Knight]-schools that sometimes cropped up in the news with stories of disgraceful conduct by the would-be [Knights] as they turned from children into adults. No, this was a school that expected adults. You came here to learn, not to grow up. And if you didn’t apply yourself as hard as you could, you had better just leave.

That went double for this class. This group was infamous because it was the Titan’s private class. The one that followed him on campaign, that took daily lessons from him. Everyone who was here had either paid an outrageous sum or had won entry by being gifted beyond all the other students. Sometimes both. In the citadel with its population of eight hundred or so would-be [Strategists] at the moment, everyone in this class was recognizable on sight. Especially the ones who stood in the center of the room, talking quietly.

Venaz the Minotaur. Cameral, a Dullahan. Yerranola, the class’ only Selphid. And the Human from Terandria, Wil. Umina and Marian joined their group, along with Jekilt, a short Centaur with darker skin.

He was a [Commander] who’d enrolled in the school and was older than the other students by a decade. Even so, while he was with them, he was a [Strategist]. And he didn’t talk down to the six standing with him; they were equals, if not in age, then experience. Because this class was a competition, and all of the students, not just the seven, were competing to stand out.

“Morning, everyone. How was your homework?”

Marian yawned as she trotted over to the others. It wasn’t a casual question either; it had been a week since she and Umina had seen the others. They had all been on the road for the last week. And their homework had been a rather impressive assignment. The others were bearing trophies like Marian’s horn and Umina’s quills. Well, most of them.

“Naturally, I succeeded in my task.”

Venaz, the Minotaur, turned and snorted. He was holding a rather impressive pelt in his arms; it was huge and as he unfurled it, Umina saw it was a huge bear’s hide. The Minotaur smiled smugly.

“Mossbear. My team eliminated it and two others. What of you, Marian?”

“Oh, I don’t know. All I have is this tooth.”

The Centauress smirked as she showed the giant Armorgator’s tooth. Umina smiled as Venaz’s triumphant look instantly turned crestfallen. That was Venaz. She looked around.

“Hi Cameral. Yerranola.”

“Hello, Umina.”

The Dullahan nodded politely. He was holding a rather large mana core in his hands. Yerranola smiled. She was wearing a dead Lizardman’s body, but Umina thought of her as female. She waved a huge scale at Umina.

“What’s that you’ve got? Quills? My team managed to bag a giant carp or something. Not my best showing, but the Professor might not yank my head off for it. At least I have something. Better than poor Wil and Jekilt.”

She indicated the other two. Umina turned. Jekilt was pawing the ground restlessly. He flushed.

“You needn’t have spoken, Yerranola.”

“Don’t be mad. Jekilt.”

The Selphid teasingly smiled. She looked at Wil and her smile wavered. The Human was looking at his crisply-cut leather boots.

“Aw, don’t feel too bad, Wil.”

“I’m ashamed.”

He spoke quietly. Umina looked around. The other students had proof of their homework too, with one other exception. She looked at Wil and Jekilt.

“What’s wrong? Did your teams not finish their mission?”

“Mine quit. It was a sensible choice, but…a failure’s a failure. I regret choosing them now.”

Jekilt pawed the ground, looking annoyed. He glanced sympathetically at Wil.

“As for Wil…better he explains.”

“Wil?”

The young man shook his head. He was a [Lord], and as such, and because he was Human, he was more fully-dressed and better dressed than anyone else in the room. Umina had noticed Humans liked to cover a lot of their bodies; compared to her light clothing or Cameral, who just wore his steel armor, Will was fully dressed in a dark blue tunic and leggings that wouldn’t have been amiss at court. Whereas Marian and Jekilt only wore clothing on their upper bodies. And Venaz…well, he was dressed, but somehow, the bare-chested Minotaur seemed as fitting as clothing for him. He was glaring at Marian as she needled him.

“Three Mossbears, Venaz? You could have done better, I’m sure. My Armorgator was over twenty feet long. More than enough to swallow a Mossbear whole, I bet.”

He snorted angrily. Yerranola rolled her eyes.

“They’re already getting into it before class.”

She looked at Umina. The Lizardgirl shrugged helplessly. Marian was her best friend in class, but the Centauress and Venaz got along like fire and oil. In that when you put them together, they tended to combust. Venaz snorted as he clenched one fist.

“If I’d been allowed to take part myself or lead the team—it’s quality that counts, Marian. Quality. You and I were both assigned Silver-rank teams.”

“And I did better. Come on, admit it.”

“The Professor will judge us. Where is he, anyways?”

“I saw him outside. We’re going to meet with him soon, I think. We just…”

Cameral cut off. The other students looked around as the door opened. A Centauress trotted into the room. But she wasn’t one of the students. She was in her mid-forties, had a pair of spectacles, a slight limp on her back right leg, and a scar on her right flank that reached down to said leg. But she moved swiftly and the students immediately stopped talking and looked at her.

“Miss Perorn, good morning.”

Cameral and two of the Dullahans present immediately took off their heads and inclined their head with their hands, a Dullahans’ bow. Marian and Jekilt inclined their torsos as well. Umina didn’t, but that was because there really was no need. It was just that the Dullahans felt the need to show the courtesy and the Centaurs respected the teacher who’d just come in. Perorn, the Centauress, walked past the podium and turned.

“Good morning. I won’t keep you long. This morning’s class is cancelled as Lord Astoragon has another class to teach. A new group of potential students has arrived, and he intends to lead this morning’s class. Thus, you will leave your…homework…here and head straight down to the training grounds. I will inspect your results first, however. Please present your results if you have them, or give me a short verbal report in front of the class.”

She gestured at Venaz. The Minotaur immediately stepped forwards and showed her the Mossbear pelt.

“A trio of Mossbears. I contracted the Silver-rank team, Thunri Dwarves, to deal with them.”

Perorn had a clipboard. She noted down Venaz’ details swiftly.

“I see. Any casualties?”

“None.”

“Thank you. Please place the pelts…here. I suppose Niers—Lord Astoragon—will want to inspect them later.”

Perorn sighed and indicated a space behind the lectern with one hoof. Venaz placed his pelt down carefully and Marian stepped up. Umina and the others got into line. She was near the end and noted Wil was right behind her. He looked downcast.

“It’ll be okay.”

“You haven’t heard what happened.”

“Next?”

The line moved fast; Perorn asked only for basic details. Umina showed her the quills.

“Scattershot Porcupines. I had the Bronze-rank team assignment.”

Venaz looked disbelievingly at the quills. Marian sighed and Yerranola raised her brows. Umina knew how it looked. Scattershot Porcupines were not a threat. Oh, they could fire their quills, which turned the already dicey business of getting near a porcupine into a positive threat, but they were hardly able to kill in most cases. But Perorn only noted down the detail. She glanced up.

“I see. The name?”

“Uh…they didn’t have one.”

The Centauress paused. Her eyes flicked up to Umina. And a small smile crossed her stern face. She also had a scar running down one cheek, but it was nearly invisible except if you were up close. Healing potions usually covered most injuries anyways.

“Ah. I’ll note that. Next?”

Umina laid down her burden on top of Venaz’ Mossbear pelt, which was being used to hold most of the trophies. She felt encouraged by Perorn’s smile; she might be right after all! Then she turned to watch Wil step up. He was, of course, empty-handed. Perorn gave him a severe look.

“Lord Kallinad, do you have anything to present?”

The young man flushed and Umina winced as Wil Kallinad, one of the two Humans in this class, shook his head. He looked miserable, even more so than Jekilt and Yerranola had been.

“I do not, Strategist Perorn. The adventuring team I contacted failed during their mission.”

Perorn adjusted her spectacles as she stared down at Wil.

“To what extent?”

He hesitated.

“Six out of the nine adventurers perished, Miss Perorn.”

“Ooh.”

Umina’s gasp was part of the class’ groan out loud. Marian leaned over.

“Wil was told to hire a Gold-rank team, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah. I guess they got beaten. The Professor’s going to chew him out about that!”

The Lizardgirl shuddered. Perorn stared at Wil, then made a short note on her paper.

“I see. Thank you. Well, that’s all for me. I’ll leave this here—”

She flicked the clipboard onto the lectern and turned.

“Follow me. I’ll take you down to Lord Astoragon. My class is on the way.”

She trotted out the door. The others followed her, abandoning the paper and quills they normally brought along. If they were going outside, notes would just get dirty. Umina walked after Marian. The Centauress and the other students formed a group that followed Perorn at a respectful distance. Marian looked slightly aghast.

“Miss Perorn came here just to take notes and lead us? Surely someone else could have done that. A [Servant] could have done the job!”

“She likes making sure things are done. Remember when we saw her taking over for one of the [Tacticians] one day?”

Umina shrugged. Marian grumbled as she trotted a hair faster.

“But still. It’s her. I know we have the Professor around all the time, but…her?”

The Lizardgirl nodded. She understood the feeling. She watched as Perorn trotted down the Centaur ramps as opposed to the narrower stairwell. Perorn was a teacher, but she didn’t have the [Teacher] class. Rather, she was one of the instructors that the Titan employed out of his own company; Perorn was a [Strategist] in the Forgotten Wing company, a figure of renown in her own right.

Umina had studied three of her campaigns in class—the Centauress was fifty one, had slain over sixty enemy [Generals] and leaders in combat, fought for three years in Rhir against the Demons, and even taken down a small army of Trolls and other giant humanoids during the Mountainkin Incursions eight years back! If you knew [Strategists], you would know her name. Perorn Sadiluc, or, if you wanted her nickname, ‘Fleethoof’.

And here she was, teaching a class! But that was just how this school operated. It brought in famous [Strategists] to teach classes, rotating them in as these famous officers in the Forgotten Wing company returned from their duties for well-earned vacations. Sometimes one would stay to give a talk, or lead some students on a practical lesson for a day or two.

Other times they might be here for a month, or an entire season. And they were always battle-hardened veterans. And why not? The Forgotten Wing Company was filled with the best [Strategists] and warriors in all of Baleros. And the greatest [Strategist] of them all, Niers Astoragon, was the student’s main teacher! You sometimes forgot that.

On the way down, the small group of students passed by a few classrooms. These were far larger than the ones on the third floor and held many students, sometimes as many as a hundred. And the teachers weren’t as illustrious as Perorn, but they were good at their jobs. Umina heard a shout as she passed by a room on the second floor; she stared inside and saw a Dullahan roaring at a room full of students.

“Today you’ll be learning how to direct specific units in the field in the midst of a battle. There are a number of ways to do it, but regardless if you’re using flags, horns, magic, drums, or any other signal, you must be able to signal everything from a squad to an entire battalion to maneuver, brace, engage the enemy, set up pikes, retreat—don’t bother writing this down! You need to have this memorized; no one’s letting you read your notes when a bunch of [Riders] are charging your left flank! There will be a test in three days, and if one of you missed a single basic order—”

She winced as she saw the students fumbling with their quills and rolls of parchment. Marian tsked softly as she stared into the lecture hall.

“They must be pretty new if they’re learning basic commands.”

“Maybe it’s an officer training course. Three days. Yikes. I remember having to learn horn calls and getting them confused with drums. Old Rustarmor there will chew them to bits and spit them out.”

Umina shook her head. She peered at the grizzled Dullahan, who had earned the semi-affectionate name Rustarmor by his students. Despite his armor being free of rust; it was the dark red coloration he’d chosen to paint his armor that gave him the nickname, much to his displeasure.

Venaz snorted as he took one look into the room and tromped on by. The Minotaur was the tallest member of his class, bar none, and only Marian came close to his height.

“Idiots. If they can’t memorize the instructions in a day, why bother becoming [Strategists]? They’ll only be third-rate if they can’t even train their minds to memorize basic horn commands.”

His voice was deep and booming and Umina winced as the Dullahan inside paused to glare at the passing students. Venaz didn’t lower his voice for anything. Marian slapped Venaz on the back as some of the students in the class rustled like offended ducks.

“Don’t be rude, Venaz. Some of the students are quite young. They can hear you when you insult them in public, you know.”

“Good. Next time I’ll raise my voice so all of them get the message. They came here to learn. This isn’t Wistram or some place to be coddled. I’m glad I’m taking part in the Professor’s instructional lesson with the new students. I enjoy this every time it happens.”

Venaz rubbed his hands together, grinning unpleasantly. Marian sighed, but turned and deliberately walked in front of Venaz, showing him her behind. He stepped out of her way, grunting irritably; the sound of both his and Marian’s hooves clicking on the floor was the only sound for a moment.

“So, anyone here read the latest installation of that [Strategist] from Liscor? You know, Olesm whatshisface?”

Umina spoke up brightly. Yerranola chuckled and Cameral nodded.

“I paid for an early edition. Why? You read it too?”

“I got ahold of one. Just the [Message] spell; I hear there were maps, but I didn’t get sent one. Mind if I borrow it?”

“Oh, sure, sure. But I bet the Professor will have something to say when he reads it. Have you read it, you lot?”

The Selphid looked around. Venaz shook his head.

“I didn’t think it was worth paying for. Why? Has he included more chess strategies? The Professor’s only interested in that new game, Go, anyways.”

“He’s got chess and Go and something else. Actual strategy! He wrote his analysis of the Siege of Liscor.”

“Really?”

The other students looked around. They were, after all, [Strategists] as well. Yerranola grinned widely.

“Yep. But his analysis…I’m not going to say he’s wrong, but you have to read it. I’ve got a copy ready to show the Professor if he hasn’t read one yet.”

“I bet he has a copy himself. There’s no way he wouldn’t.”

“Yes, but he might not have read it yet. And let me tell you, when he does—”

“Just spit it out, Yerranola! Cameral, what does it say?”

The Dullahan was frowning.

“It was about Goblins. You see, this Olesm Swifttail seems to think that Goblins saved Liscor. He even went to go as far as to say they might actually be potential allies, not monsters. He cited several Hobgoblins and a tribe that—”

“He said what?”

Venaz’s voice made Perorn turned around. The [Strategist] glared at the Minotaur.

“Quiet. My class is up ahead. You all proceed down to meet Lord Astoragon. In silence.”

Her look made the Minotaur flush. Perorn stepped into one of the advanced classes and the rest of the students followed her, keeping silent until they reached the first floor. The Venaz whirled on Cameral, Yerranola, and Umina.

“Someone wrote that? Show me the article. This is outrageous. If that idiot thinks—Goblins? I’ll write in myself to tell him how idiotic that notion is.”

Umina raised a placating claw.

“Don’t worry, Venaz. You’re not alone. I think half the [Strategists] on Izril will be kicking down his door, never mind the ones overseas. I don’t know what possessed this Drake to write it, though.”

“I just want to see what the Professor says.”

Yerranola chuckled. Venaz calmed down a bit, but he stomped ahead, angrily muttering about idiots. Marian looked at Umina.

“You’re still keeping tabs on Liscor? Or just that chess magazine thing?”

The Lizardgirl swished her tail idly. She noticed some of the others looking at her sidelong.

“Just a bit about Liscor. The Professor did have his big lecture on the siege, remember? And there’s that dungeon…mind you, I’m more interested in Chandrar at the moment. Remember the King of Destruction’s announcement a few days back? Now that’s going to be huge news. I bet the Professor brings it up first.”

The others nodded and Umina sighed internally as they began to discuss the dramatic events from a moment back. War in Chandrar. But that was normal. Liscor on the other hand…she noticed Marian smiling at her and pretended nonchalance.

That was the thing. Marian was her best friend, but they were still students competing to be…well, the best. Umina would graduate from Niers’ school sometime, and hopefully it would never happen, but maybe she’d one day face Yerranola across the battlefield. Or Marian. Or…anyone.

Even Niers Astoragon himself. This was school, but it didn’t mean life stopped. Umina was already trying to get any advantage she could for when she graduated, and a hint about the Titan’s interest in Liscor—or an inn—was an advantage Umina wanted to keep to herself.

She didn’t want to ever face Marian in a situation that meant life or death. But some secrets were secret.

“And here we are. Looks like Miss Perorn was right. It’s a new class of students.”

The group of students reached the outside at last. The first thing Umina saw was a large collection of people, lined up in the morning sun and the slightly muddy cleared area that was used for practice skirmishes and other activities.

They were Lizardfolk, Dullahans, Centaurs, but also species from across the world. Humans of course, but Drakes, Gnolls, even a Garuda! Half-Elves, no Dwarves, but that was hardly surprising…Umina didn’t see any Gazers either, but the assembled students accounted for most of the world’s species.

“New students. I forgot this was the time the Professor accepted new students in. Damn. I hope they don’t take up too much time.”

Jekilt looked annoyed by the group. Umina got why; they were new applicants to the Titans’ school. They’d paid to come here and receive lessons, but most probably had only a few levels in the [Strategist] class. They might aspire to be [Lieutenants], [Generals], [Strategists], or what have you, but they’d come here green as grass and that meant they’d be wandering around, asking stupid questions, and most importantly, getting in the way. But Umina was sympathetic.

“We’ve all been there, Jekilt. Except you, I guess; you were a [Captain] when you got here. But they’ll learn soon enough.”

The Centaur snorted.

“That’s not what bothers me. It’s the arrogance. Especially from the young stallions, Humans, and those Drakes.”

“Hey.”

Kissilt, one of the Drakes in the class, protested mildly. Jekilt looked at him.

“You disagree? Your lot strides in and thinks that you know everything. I’m not saying Drakes are the worst; Centaurs are just as bad. But those Humans…”

“True.”

The Drake looked mollified. Wil, one of two Humans in the group, blushed a bit as the others looked at him.

“I can’t defend that. But it’s not fair to say all Humans, Jekilt. It’s Terandrian nobility I’m afraid you’re thinking of. That includes me.”

“But we like you.”

Yerranola threw an arm around Wil’s shoulders. He shuddered because the Selphid’s hug was literally like being hugged by a corpse.

“Thanks, Yerra. But I’ll admit a lot of the Terandrian aristocracy doesn’t handle Baleros well. Especially uh, dealing with non-Humans.”

“You Humans.”

Jekilt snorted again and pawed the ground, but Marian cut in.

“How many are from Terandria, Wil? I can’t tell.”

She cast an eye at the Humans waiting about in the sun. There were a lot of young people, some as young as…sixteen? The bulk were younger than thirty, and there were only a few as old as Jekilt, career soldiers perhaps who had the money to pay for lessons. Most of the Humans were young, in their early twenties or late teens.

Umina tried to guess how many were Terandrian as well, but aside from the quality of clothes, it was an enigma to her too. Wil was more experience and ran a quick eye across the group before shrugging.

“Looks like your usual lot. I see at least a dozen applicants from Terandria. There might even be a member of the royal family.”

“Really? Where?”

The students stared at the young man Wil pointed out. Umina caught a sharp nose, a quickly turning head…the Human in question was shorter and slimmer of stature, more like a Lizardfolk. Wil grimaced.

“That might be the son of Taligrit’s royal family. Third [Prince]. I don’t know.”

“Your people pop out so many heirs…”

“Well, it’s an advantage, isn’t it?”

“Only if they level. How much better is a [Prince] than a [Lord]?”

“Why are we waiting about? Where’s the Professor?”

“Bet he’s going for a showy entrance. And why did he want us to come down here?”

“It’s the usual, the usual, remember?”

“Oh.”

Umina’s eyes widened with some of the others. So that was—then she heard a blare of trumpets. Her head turned with all of her class and the new students. And that was when she saw him.

Or rather, she saw the [Servant] carrying him. It was a Selphid who bore a large platform, really an elevated table with a small top nearly six feet high. And Umina was too far away to see, but standing on top of that table was a figure. The new students stared at the table, and then as it grew closer, they blinked as they saw it had an occupant.

Yes, here he was. The Titan of Baleros. At first the students stared. Then, some of them, especially the ones not native to Baleros, began to snigger. The older new students, especially those who looked like actual soldiers, didn’t laugh. The others clearly thought this was a joke.

The Titan of Baleros! That was who they had come to see. It was for him they’d sailed, sometimes across the world to learn from! And what was this? A Fraerling? One of the tiny folk? But he was called the Titan of Baleros. And it was him standing on that platform.

What all the stories usually forgot to mention was that the Titan of Baleros was a Fraerling. The smallest people in the world; only a foot tall. He looked like a Human, except shrunk down; standing and addressing this new class, he was barely visible from a distance. Niers Astoragon even had to use a voice-amplifying artifact for his words to be heard by those in the back.

“Good morning!”

The students stopped laughing. Some looked up. Niers Astoragon, second-in-command of the Forgotten Wing company, the Titan of Baleros and the Professor as he was known by his students, waved a hand.

“Silence, please. Yes, I apologize for the delay. However, we’re ready to begin. If you’ve just arrived, let me introduce myself. I am Niers Astoragon. The Titan of Baleros as some know me. You will know me as your teacher for however long you’re enrolled in my school.”

There were some chuckles from the audience. But the rest had caught on and some were staring. They were realizing that no, this wasn’t a joke. This little fellow…was the Titan? Really? Umina watched their expressions. Niers went on.

“I realize some of you are tired from your travel. We have students from other continents. However, as is customary, you will all receive your first lesson here. You have all come to learn from my school. To become [Strategists], or simply achieve an officer’s class. I intend to start you on that process now. With a brief combat exercise. You’ve been issued helmets and weapons, haven’t you?”

Umina saw the students had a yellow helmet; some had placed it on the muddy ground, which was a mistake. And they were wearing armor and holding weapons…some raised them now. The Fraerling might have nodded, but few people saw.

“Excellent! In that case, we’ll begin. You may know that my school has a reputation for mock combat exercises. You will all take part in them as you study here and even experience this fake combat yourselves. I intend to provide you with a little sample of said combat, although I myself will not participate directly. As you can see, helmets do little for me.”

There was a laugh from some of his audience. The Titan didn’t seem to mind. He cheerfully stood on his platform and Umina felt a prickle on her scales. He was being too nice—when he’d done this to her group, two years ago—

“Some of you are soldiers, and some have even experienced battle a number of times. The rest of you come from places that might not have ever seen war. That changes today. You have all come here, some at great expense, I know. But if you cannot handle today’s first lesson, you will be sent back!”

The students stiffened. That was a departure from what they’d expected. But Niers’ voice cheerfully shouted on.

“I have only a few demands of you. But this lesson is one of them. You’ve heard it said that I can take anyone, anyone, and turn them into a [Strategist]? I can. But only if they have the will and drive to do it. If you lack that basis—there’s nothing I can do. If you can, my promise stands.”

He paused there, and all the eyes fixed on him. Niers Astoragon spoke slowly.

“Five levels. If you are under Level 30, by the end of your training here, you will gain five levels. In a single year. That’s for the basic course where we hammer you into functional officers. If you stay for two years, four, or even six, you will emerge even better. That’s my promise. And I stand by it.”

The restless students standing in the muggy heat and sun went still. Five levels. In a year? Maybe if it was from Level 1 to Level 6, that would be a safe bet. But Level 20 to Level 25? But it was a common claim. And it was one of the reasons why Niers’ school was so popular. The Titan’s voice floated through the air, calm and serious.

“I have raised [Strategists] out of [Farmhands]. I have made [Generals] out of people without even a level in [Soldier]. If you have the will, I will teach you. Make no mistake, it won’t be easy. But you can achieve any class you wish if you strive for it. Take a look to your left. You see that group there? That is my most senior class.”

The group of a hundred or so new students looked over at Wil, Umina, Marian, and the others who were waiting in the shade. Umina waved as did Yerranola and some of the others; the rest just waited patiently. They’d heard this speech before. They’d stood through it. Niers pointed at them, a tiny shape standing on his dais.

“Regardless of how they entered, no one in my advanced class will exit below Level 30. If you have the aptitude, the talent, or just the drive, you may be inducted into their ranks, regardless of tuition. The coming months will determine if there are any of you who make that cut. But today we find out if any of you are going to stay. Venaz!”

He roared and the new students jumped. The Fraerling turned towards Venaz. The Minotaur hadn’t moved.

“Professor?”

Niers pointed at him.

“Today’s lesson is one for the new students to see what battle is like. They should understand what the [Soldiers] experience when they are led into combat. Thus, I am giving you command of an army. The students will be part of your infantry; my soldiers will not be allowed to harm them! You will also receive training troops in excess of mine. Try to keep your side alive and defeat my army, will you?”

“As you wish, Professor!”

The Minotaur grinned hugely and strode forwards. Marian groaned and Umina felt a prickle of disappointment. She wished she had been chosen. The new students stared as Venaz strode forwards. Then they looked around. They were going to be part of an army? And take part themselves? Umina saw the worry on the would-be [Prince]’s face until a young man next to him nudged him and said something reassuring. She saw the [Prince] nod, looking relieved. She could imagine what was being said.

The Titan—if he was the Titan—had said that they’d be fighting? But they weren’t allowed to be hurt. So what was the risk? They’d see combat, alright. Maybe show off some of their sword Skills! Most of the students looked excited by the idea, as if they’d forgotten they were here to be [Strategists], not [Warriors]. Umina shook her head.

“Oh, you sweet, poor, hatchlings.”

Yerranola nodded cheerfully.

“They’re dead. Let’s find somewhere to sit and watch. Anyone have something to drink? Oh, look! Here come the training soldiers! Wow, the Professor’s called out a lot of them!”

She pointed. Figures were marching onto the training grounds, holding weapons and wearing no armor save for a metal breastplate that covered only their chests. Umina recognized them at once.

Selphids. Umina watched with interest as some of the Terandrian and a few of the Izril and Chandrarian students recoiled from them. The pale-skinned warriors moved with as much grace as their living counterparts, but their bodies were dead. Some bore the fatal wounds they’d taken; the others were unmarked. But this was the army that formed up on either side of the field. Venaz eyed his command and shouted; he was far away from the watching students and Niers, but he had a field roar that made the students in front of him wince.

“Aren’t you underestimating me, Professor?”

“Not at all! Do your best, Venaz!”

Niers’ voice cheerfully came back. Umina saw a group of Selphids surround him, carrying halberds and spears. It was a familiar situation. Like Niers had said, they were engaging in a war game. With live soldiers.

Well, sort of.

The thing about [Strategists] was that you couldn’t teach experience. And playing games with boards and figures was fun and you could level, but Niers Astoragon promised to train experienced [Strategists] who actually knew how to lead. Which meant that he made his students command actual armies in battle. But what if there was no handy war to be had? Well, then he had his training squads.

Over a thousand [Soldiers], [Mercenaries], and even Bronze-rank adventurers found employment at the Titan’s school. It was cheap pay and you might get bruised, but you could level up. Because you’d be issued with blunted weapons and you’d fight in formation, obeying a [Strategist] or officer’s commands, but actually fighting your opponents. Bones would be broken as two sides fought in various terrain, flanking each other, demonstrating different tactics—people got hurt.

And if one side lost badly, there could be serious injuries. Usually it wasn’t bad thanks to the practice weapons, but the Titan had let it be known that anyone who was hurt by accident would be healed with a healing potion or compensated for an unhealable injury. And despite the risk, there were no shortage of volunteers for his war games. It was better than getting hurt in actual combat.

Still, there were those more suited for fights than others. And Selphids were the perfect species for mock battles. After all, their bodies were dead. They lined up, cheerfully shouting greetings at the Professor or Venaz; taking their ease as they formed into distinct units to be commanded. Umina saw Niers directing his army as Venaz surveyed the units he’d been given.

The advanced students retreated to some stands that had been built to let people view the battlefield from a height. There were some regular citizens in the crowd; to the city folk, watching the Titan’s war-games was excellent, free entertainment. Niers’ students settled into a spot high up by themselves as they talked. Yerranola shaded her eyes as she stared down at the battlefield.

“I see what you mean, Jekilt. Those Humans and Drakes are giving my people a lot of dirty looks. Looks like none of them have ever seen a Selphid before.”

“To be fair, there are more Selphids on the field than I’ve seen in my entire life before now.”

Cameral commented placidly. Wil nodded. He was peering at the battlefield with a pair of enchanted spectacles. Umina nudged him and he offered her it to look.

“Aside from the Eyes of Baleros, the Forgotten Wing company employs way more Selphids than any other major company. Especially because they’re so useful in training exercises.”

Marian snorted softly.

“Well, they’re going to be more use than those new students. They can take orders. Look at Venaz. See how angry he’s already getting trying to make them form up?”

She pointed. The Minotaur was indeed bellowing orders and the Selphids were smoothly moving into place, but the students were a disorganized rabble. Jekilt shook his head.

“They might be a disadvantage unless Venaz gives them a simple order. At least they’ll slow the Professor’s troops down.”

“Hah. Do you think Venaz would give any other order?”

The others chuckled. Jekilt grinned.

“True. Umina, what’s the numbers on each side?”

The Lizardgirl called out as she surveyed Niers’ side and Venaz’s, watching the formations charge as both [Strategists] sized each other up.

“Forty [Crossbowmen], twenty [Riders], sixty [Soldiers], and a small command of about ten fighters including the Professor himself. Against that, we have…the students, which are about a hundred being protected by eighty [Soldiers]. Venaz also gets sixty riders and a personal command of about thirty plus himself.”

“Huh. So Venaz has a lot more numbers, and more [Riders], but no ranged. Sounds like your kind of matchup, Marian.”

“Probably why I’m not taking part. Unless the Professor’s going to use his Skills, he’ll be hard-pressed to keep those horses off his archers. Think Venaz will win?”

Marian frowned at the battlefield as she held out a hand for the spectacles. Wil shook his head steadily.

“He’s going to lose. It doesn’t matter that he has double the Professor’s numbers. The students he has are worthless and the Professor’s got range on him.”

Umina frowned.

“You don’t know that, Wil. The Professor never sets up a battle against us he can’t lose. He says it’s no fun. If Venaz charges him with the [Riders] just right…”

“We’ll see. Oh, look. They’re starting!”

Yerranola pointed excitedly. One of the [Trumpeters] had blown a blaring call to arms. The audience in the bleachers sat forwards as both armies jumped into motion. The instant the horn blared, Venaz roared an order and his [Riders] shot forwards. The infantry advanced, closing the few hundred feet at a walk at first, which would soon accelerate into a run. Marian made a disgusted sound.

“He’s just going for a charge. Look, he’s aiming straight at the Professor’s archers!”

“Hey, let me see! You’re right…but I mean, what else does he need to do? Hold on—look!”

The Selphid pointed excitedly. The crossbows in Niers’ army had instantly opened up, firing at the [Riders]. Umina saw the unit swerve to dodge as Venaz shouted; she wondered if he’d used a Skill or if their leader had just anticipated the bolts. The training soldiers were allowed some autonomy even with orders; they wouldn’t charge blindly into fake-death.

“Here they come! The Professor’s dropping a few, but…what’s he going to do? Is he pulling his infantry back, Yerra?”

“No. I don’t think—they’re advancing. And the riders are heading straight for—no, look! He’s sent his own riders in!”

The twenty mounted Selphids were charging straight at the sixty or so coming at them. Umina inhaled sharply. They were going to collide! Selphids or no, that many horses dying would be tragic! She saw Venaz pointing and shouting; he was giving the order to charge! Jekilt growled in disgust.

“Typical idiot—he’s going to lose half his riders and maim all those horses!”

“But he’ll get to the crossb—no! Look!”

Another volley of crossbow bolts flew up. Venaz’ riders stumbled; Umina saw several stop in place. The riders didn’t tumble from their saddles as the bolts struck them; they weren’t tipped with metal. Neither did the horses get hurt, despite the volley of projectiles.

The horses wore protective headgear, as did the riders. When the painted crossbow bolts struck them, the [Riders] would dismount if the horse died, or give up completely if the horse and rider were struck. And more were downed, but the rest were coming on; Niers’ crossbows were clearly being operated by people without [Archer] classes. Then Umina saw the horses swerve right, and then into Venaz’ riders.

“Look at that! Here they go!”

Horses reared and swords began flashing. The Selphids on horseback fought carefully, but Umina heard more than one animal cry out in pain. She felt for the horses, but the Selphids on horseback were taking each other to pieces. And Venaz’ charge was fumbling. Half the riders had to turn to fight the ones attacking them. And the crossbows were reloading…the rest were coming on…

“They’re going to hit his archers! They’re—oh, look!”

Yerranola shot up in her seat. Wil plaintively called for the spectacles, but she was pointing and everyone saw the sudden change in the crossbows as the forty Selphids tossed their weapons down, bent into the mud and picked up something.

“Spears! It was a feint! They’re his infantry!”

Yerranola laughed as suddenly, the cavalry found themselves heading right for a wall of pikes and spears. It was too late to turn back; riders were committed. Rather than actually hit the horses with the very real spears and pikes, though, the leader of Venaz’ [Riders] slowed the charge. Umina heard a cry.

“Horses meet pikes! Casualties: total! Twelve of pikes for Lord Astoragon fall!”

The riders guided their mounts off the field. Meanwhile, Venaz’ remaining riders had cleaned up Niers’ riders but found a group of pikes charging straight at them. They tried to disengage, but although they outran the pikes, they found the true archery unit had reclaimed their weapons. A volley picked off all but the stragglers and they too exited the field.

Umina grinned with delight as she watched Venaz practically hopping with rage from his side of the battlefield. All throughout the stands, the audience was laughing and some were heckling Venaz. Cameral was shaking his head with his hands.

“That fool. He should have noticed those were fake [Crossbowmen] the instant that first volley landed. He was gambling on the fact that the Professor wouldn’t expect a full-charge, but of course he did.”

“To be fair, if he hadn’t done that, Venaz would have forced the Professor to ward his archers and expose his command while his infantry got into range.”

Umina pointed out Niers’ command where the Fraerling was presumably issuing orders from. Venaz’ larger command was advancing now, with the rest of his infantry. Marian winced; the crossbows were reloading and Niers’ infantry, just under fifty, were moving forwards in a line.

“Yikes. The Professor took out all of Venaz’s horse, but he’s still outnumbered two to one. Think those crossbows will even the odds?”

“He can get off at least three volleys…and he’s aiming for the regular soldiers. What do you think, Umina?”

The Lizardgirl watched as the crossbows volleyed the first rain of bolts at the students.

“I think Venaz is in trouble, numbers or not. His Selphids are falling like flies. And as for the students…remember what it’s like?”

Her classmates nodded. They watched as the infantry streamed across the field. They were a ragged formation, actually slowing down the Selphid [Soldiers] as the bolts rained down around them.

The new students raised their shields as the [Selphid] soldiers around them screamed and shouted, advancing under the hail of crossbow bolts. They had helmets on, but—Umina remembered her first lesson vividly. You were advancing through the mud, with Selphids screaming in your ear as crossbow bolts fell around you. And they hurt! They were wooden bolts with powdered paint tied to cloth balls for the tips, but that was still a painful strike if it got you between the armor.

But that wasn’t the scary part, oh no; she didn’t see any of the students running despite the intensity of their advance. The really horrific moment came next.

“Charge!”

Both Niers’ and Venaz’ forces had finally closed the gap. Venaz had left a lot of his Selphids behind, but the students were on their feet. They hadn’t been told to lie down even after being struck by bolts. And they clearly wanted a fight after being pelted with the painted crossbow bolts.

And both sides had real weapons. Steel glinted. The students charged with a ragged yell. The Selphids on both sides shouted. But Niers had the advantage in numbers now, students notwithstanding. The first rank of his Selphids charged into Venaz’ soldiers.

And they began to hack them to pieces.

Umina winced. The first two to meet were a Selphid wearing a Gnoll’s body and a Selphid Lizardman holding a glaive. The glaive-wielding Selphid swung as the Selphid with the Gnoll’s body charged with a sword. The glaive cut through the Gnoll’s arm and he screamed as blood spurted from the wound. He dropped and the Selphid with the glaive hacked at his legs, drawing blood, chopping through flesh, bone—

The students wearing yellow helmets paused in horror. A Selphid charged forwards and another ran him through the belly. He fell down, screaming and writhing and another soldier hacked at his head. It took six strikes, and the soldier finally yanked the head up by the roots and screamed. He hurled it at the students.

“Oh dead gods. They’re using that fake blood.”

Umina saw blood spurting from wounds as Selphids on both sides began to hack at each other. Both groups of soldiers clashed in earnest, trading actual blows; Umina saw metal hacking into flesh, exposing bone. The blows were deadly! The Selphids took aim at each other, screaming as if they were actually fighting.

Not the students; anyone with a yellow helmet the Selphids on both sides avoided. And indeed, some let themselves be run through with the weapons as they fought with students. Their chest plates protected the centers of each dead body where the Selphid inside would be resting, ensuring that a fatal blow to the Selphid was never struck. But that meant limbs, heads, and other parts of the body were free game. And both sides let each other have it.

The shrieking Selphid with an axe chopped another Selphid’s head off and the defeated Selphid’s body collapsed, spurting some painted red water as the Selphid with the axe screamed happily. He whirled and Umina saw a terrified new student from Terandria screaming and raising his shield as the Selphid hacked at it. One blow, two, three…the Selphid let the student run and chased him, screaming—

And laughing. It was a game for the Selphids. They weren’t being hurt. This was just their host body. But the students had forgotten that. And faced with actual gore—Umina could remember what she’d felt. She’d been in their shoes.

Look. There, a Selphid was dragging out the guts of another [Soldier], and another was hacking at a dead body as a group of students fled, screaming in terror…the students around Umina were laughing, but it was tinged with a bit of memory. Umina pointed at a student who’d just frozen in place as Selphids from Niers’ army butchered Venaz’ force around him.

“I think I peed myself when that happened to me. I had one Selphid on my side holding onto me, screaming in pain and waving a bloody stump of an arm around…”

“Hold your ground! Hold!”

One of the Selphids under Venaz’ command was shouting desperately, trying to rally the students. And some were fighting; the ones with actual combat experience were dueling Selphids, who were taking care not to hurt their opponents. But the majority of the hundred were running for the hills. The city folk in the stands were in stitches, enjoying the spectacle. Mindful of what Niers had said, Umina looked around.

“It doesn’t actually matter if they hold their ground, right?”

Wil shook his head. Embarrassed, he rubbed at his neck.

“I ran when it happened. All of us did; we got routed when the Professor sent some of his [Riders] to hack up our group. I think it’s only if you ask to go home. But I imagine a lot will after this.”

Umina stared at a student hiding behind a dead body as the [Soldiers] from Niers’ side pursued the rest, still screaming their lungs out. She wanted to imagine all the brown on the new students was mud.

“I don’t doubt that. Dead gods, I forgot how much the Selphids screamed.”

Yerranola sighed as she watched her kin pursuing the routing students and Selphids from Venaz’ force.

“It’s to make it as real as possible. Besides, they’re having so much fun. It must be great, working this kind of job. I’m so jealous.”

“Really, Yerranola?”

The others looked at her. The Selphid [Strategist] nodded wistfully.

“Free bodies if you get yours destroyed, you can Rampage when you’re doing a training exercise and not worry about busting up all the muscles in your host, and you get respect, pay, and the chance to beat spoiled students over the head? It’s any Selphid’s dream come true.”

“Well, they’re all due for a new body thanks to Venaz’ tactics. The Professor really must have shook him; he got his infantry butchered without so much as using a Skill.”

Marian nodded. She snatched the spectacles and peered around.

“Where’s that idiot got to? He’s oh, hold on! Look at that!”

She pointed. Suddenly, Umina saw a group moving forwards, despite the routing infantry. It was Venaz and his command unit of thirty. He’d advanced around the main body of his infantry, using them as a shield! Now his remaining [Riders] streamed towards Niers’ infantry, cutting them off as they tried to turn and block them. But Venaz and his thirty-some soldiers were charging. Straight at Niers’ command unit!

“It was all a decoy? Look, he’s going for the Professor! Will the crossbows get him?”

They hadn’t noticed Venaz’ group in the chaos of the students fleeing. Umina saw a command go out and the archers turn. But it was too late.

“Look, they’re firing—but now it’s too close!”

Venaz was leading his command straight at Niers as the crossbow bolts fell around him. Eight or so of his thirty soldiers went down from the sudden volley, but the rest made it. And now it was a melee between both sides and if the crossbows shot, they’d risk hitting their own side!

“Dead gods! It’s ten vs thirty! And the Professor can’t fight!”

Alarmed, Marian stared through the spectacles. The laughter in the stands had ceased. Umina got to her feet.

“Wait, what if he falls. If they trample him—”

“He’s got magical artifacts, right?”

The others clustered around Marian, trying to squint and see the distant commotion that was the last fight on the battlefield. Marian shook her head urgently.

“He does, I’m sure. But does this mean…Venaz won?”

The others stared at each other. Niers had lost training exercises before, but it was rarer than a blue moon when it actually happened. Had Venaz’ last-ditch gamble worked? Umina couldn’t believe it. This was such a simple exercise! Both sides hadn’t employed any Skills or real tactics; it was just to teach the new students a lesson. But had Venaz really…?

Then she heard a voice, roaring across the battlefield. Amplified, loud as anything—

“Volley!”

The crossbows rose. Umina’s eyes widened. They took aim.

“They’re shooting at the Professor’s command?”

In disbelief, Marian exclaimed. The bolts flew and cut down the Selphids fighting between Venaz and Niers’ command units. Selphids on both sides lay down, shouting as they pretended to be writhing in agony. Umina saw Venaz turning his head in disbelief. And he was staring at the wooden dais, knocking it over, snarling—

“He’s not there!”

Umina watched as the second volley cut down Niers’ troops and Venaz’s. The ranged unit reloaded and fired again, and the Selphids obligingly lay down. A third volley took out the rest, until only a single Minotaur was left standing, furious, painted with the colors of a dozen crossbow bolts.

“Hold! Battle’s over! Hold!”

The shout went up across the battlefield. The remaining warriors put down their arms. Umina laughed in delight as she suddenly got it. Cameral, Wil, more than half the group was smiling. Marian’s eyes widened as she stared at the unit of archers with the enchanted spectacles. She chortled as well.

“Excellent! Venaz is never going to live this down.”

She pointed. And as Umina and the others leapt down the stands, they saw him. The Titan. He was standing on the helmet of one of his Selphids. The Titan bellowed cheerfully, waving his arms.

“The battle’s over! Training soldiers, stop harassing my new students, please!”

The female [Arbalest] whose helmet he was using waved at her fellow Selphids in the distance as the students ceased their panicked flight. Across the battlefield, the ‘dead’ Selphids were getting up. Those without legs or with bodies too damaged to stand were helped up by their comrades as they laughingly slapped backs or squirted out the rest of the colored ‘blood’ their bodies were carrying.

It was over. And just like that, the students realized the blood-covered [Soldiers] chasing them with actual weapons were just acting. The Selphids stopped running and laughed, pointing at the new students. Shamefaced, they turned back. Niers’ voice reached them across the field.

“I see you’ve mastered the first lesson any [Soldier] learns: when to run away! Come on back now, and we’ll have another talk. Anyone with injuries, raise your hands and our [Healers] will be with you in a moment! As for my colorful Minotaur—”

There was a laugh from the stands. Niers turned to face Venaz. The Minotaur was stomping towards him, ignoring the cheerful Selphids around him.

“Venaz, wash yourself off! The rest of you, gather in our classroom for a debriefing. I’ll be with you in thirty minutes! Come on, you new students, pick up the pace! Enjoyed your taste of war? If you’re upset, remember that this is the least you’ll see on a battlefield. So rethink your decisions. And come forwards! Move those legs! Now, if you’re going to stay here…”

Umina walked off the field, smiling and shaking her head. She waved at Venaz, but the Minotaur stomped right past her, shouting for a bucket of water. The Lizardgirl looked back at the new students, who were looking up at the Titan as he addressed them.

Some of them were shaking. Others had actually thrown up during the fighting. Umina watched with a bit of sympathy as they gathered, shaking after that ordeal. They’d certainly seen fighting. Watching anyone, even a Selphid acting being cut to pieces by a sword had to be jarring. She turned as the others in her class began to walk back inside, talking cheerfully. They hadn’t been forced to take part.

“I expect we’ll lose at least twenty. None of the actual soldiers, obviously. Some will probably get to an advanced class fast. Did you see that Gnoll with the spear? He actually got two of the Selphids!”

“Clearly a [Warrior] of some kind. I wonder if he served in one of the Drake armies or he’s a tribal Gnoll?”

“Tribal. Definitely from a Plains Gnoll, not city.”

One of the other students waved a paw. Cameral turned to the one Gnoll in their group.

“What makes you so sure, Feshi?”

She bared her teeth.

“Aside from the smell I got from him? You can tell by his war markings. On his fur? No one from the cities would dare wear that.”

She pointed at one of the Gnolls among the new students who hadn’t run away screaming when the Selphids had been routed. He did indeed have some bright paint on his dark run. Umina squinted at Feshi; the Gnoll was one of the newer students to their class and she had white stripes and a curious pattern on her arms.

“You’ve got some yourself, Feshi. Is it a mark of status?”

The Gnoll [Tactician] grinned at Umina.

“Yes. Sometime I will explain it. But it will take too long now, I think. And here is Venaz!”

She pointed. The Minotaur was already back, his fur wet and dripping. It looked like he’d dunked a few buckets of water over his head. The others waved at him, and Marian trotted forwards, smiling archly.

“Venaz! Did you enjoy painting with the Professor? That was some beating you received!”

He growled at her.

“If it hadn’t been that damn mud—that’s twice now the Professor’s used hidden weapons on me! His Selphids came onto the field having already swapped their gear! If I’d have seen them do it—”

“—Then it wouldn’t be a surprise, Venaz. Honestly, you should have expected it.”

The Minotaur sneered at Marian, in too poor a mood for even an attempt at civility.

“What would you have done, tried to hit-and-run his forces? He would have chopped your riders up like the last four times he did it.”

Marian colored. She opened her mouth and Umina jumped in.

“I’m sure the Professor was expecting you to try for a charge, Venaz. This was a battle he was supposed to win, to give those students a taste of war. And you got his command. Let’s wait to see what he says, alright?”

The Minotaur growled, but he subsided and Marian didn’t poke him further as they went back to their classroom. There they milled about, chuckling over the battle and speculating over some of the new students’ aptitude. They didn’t have to wait long. Soon enough, a door set into the ceiling opened and someone walked out.

There were small doors set high up in each room of the Titan’s citadel. The Fraerling’s tiny walkways. And there were little ramps that let them walk down. The Fraerling marched out of the door and leapt—from his walkway to the lectern. It was a six foot drop, but none of his students so much as batted an eye; they’d seen him do it many times before.

“Good morning, class! And what have we learned today?”

The Titan of Baleros was in good spirits. He beamed at his class and especially at Venaz. They laughed as they took their seats. The Minotaur folded his arms and growled.

“To not trust the Titan of Baleros to fight fair?”

Niers Astoragon raised an eyebrow.

“I thought that was obvious, Venaz. But come, aside from my little trick, does anyone else have any observations?”

Marian snorted. The Centauress raised one hand as she took a seat, folding her hindquarters into the padded cushions designed for her people.

“I do. Venaz, this ‘lead from the front’ strategy you’re always preaching got your entire force wiped out. Again. Haven’t you learned your lesson by now?”

The Minotaur colored again. He swiveled in his seat and looked up at Marian with a scowl.

“Better aggression than cowardice. Or how would you have taken out a superior, ranged force? Danced about while they shot you to pieces? I knew the Professor had pikes. So I risked a frontal charge—”

“And then you got cut to pieces. You even missed the Professor when you attacked his command force.”

Marian taunted Venaz from her higher seat. The Minotaur opened his mouth furiously, but Niers forestalled another huge argument between the two.

“Marian. Thank you, you’ve made your points.”

The Centaur ducked her head at his reproving tone. Niers looked at Venaz.

“Do you have anything to say yourself, Venaz?”

Almost sulkily, the Minotaur folded his arms and looked down at the desk in front of him.

“If it were anyone but you, sir, my strategy would have been sound! Once I took out the enemy command, their army would be left without a leader. I could then rally my forces and retreat or retrench and win the battle.”

“But the crossbows—”

Venaz glared at Wil.

“I could block one volley with my [Arrowguard Formation] Skill! I didn’t use any because the Professor didn’t. And with his demise, we could have used the fallen bodies as shields.”

“But wouldn’t the crossbows still have—”

“Not if he was there!”

Venaz snapped. Niers looked at him and the Minotaur subsided. Niers walked up to the edge of his lectern and sat there, feet dangling over the side. He nodded thoughtfully.

“Venaz is correct that he would have taken out my command. And if this were a larger battle, all of my [Strategists] would have been killed, it’s true. If I were a [General], that would be a crippling blow, regardless of whether or not I personally escaped.”

He forestalled the Minotaur’s response with a tiny palm. Umina leaned forwards, listening as Niers looked around the room. His eyes met hers for a second and she caught his smile.

“However, knowing your opponent matters. And aside from the trick with the riders at the start…if it were me, Venaz, I would have sent my command forwards without going myself. And if I were you, I’d have taken those remaining [Riders] and charged the crossbow line instead of stalling my foot soldiers. You could have done a lot of damage if you’d gotten close enough. And you would have split their attention away from the fight at the command nicely.”

Umina saw Venaz blink.

“You mean, split my forces further?”

“Why not? You don’t need thirty troops to take on ten. Send fifteen to take out my command, stall with five, and send the remaining ten, your riders, and yourself to hit my crossbows. The horses can probably dodge in and stop them from picking you off…it’s a desperate gamble, but I think it would be a more efficient use of your soldiers. Either you win and decimate a large number of my crossbows, or I force you back. Regardless, I never get to shoot up your soldiers at my leisure.”

The other students digested that. Marian raised a hand.

“So you’re saying Venaz wasn’t aggressive enough, Professor?”

“Possibly. I hope Venaz can take my words to heart. I know he prefers a cautious strategy most of the time…”

Niers laughed, and after a second Venaz had to chuckle himself. The Titan relaxed, as did his students. And the classroom took on a different air from the lectures, or the shouted introduction Niers had given to the new students. In this room the tone was conversational, friendly. Intimate. Niers reached for a tiny wand and flicked it; he began drawing in the air, illustrating the battle with bright lines of color.

“I understand Venaz’ line of thinking, Marian. If he wasn’t going to retreat, he might as well gamble on doing enough damage. And Venaz would have been one of the highest-level fighters on the field. Lead from the front. There is a good deal of practicality behind the concept; a [Strategist] rallies the soldiers around him and if you’re confident in your abilities, why not regard yourself as a valuable piece on the battlefield?”

Venaz was nodding with a broad smile on his face. Niers raised a tiny finger.

“However, let’s not confuse practicality with culture. And there’s a lot of that in your strategy too, Venaz. I understand Minotaurs promote bravery on the battlefield. But it’s making your tactics predictable. And you know what I think about predictability.”

“It gets you killed.”

Umina chorused with some of the other students. Venaz drummed his fingers on the desk. He was searching for a response, Umina knew. The Minotaur was incredibly stubborn and refused to be easily swayed by anyone, even Niers himself.

“I understand that, sir. But there’s nothing wrong with having a style. Didn’t you say that high-level Skills develop as a result of your style? If I were to gain a powerful attacking Skill, like your [Charge of the Strategist]—wouldn’t I be remiss if I didn’t use it in battle?”

The tiny Fraerling smiled. He tossed the wand back on his desk as he spread his hands.

“I did indeed. And never let it be said that I underestimate Skills—if you’d used yours during the battle and I had not, you might have won, Venaz. But there’s knowing your opponent as well. Even the King of Destruction doesn’t use his best Skills in every battle; he adapts. And an unused Skill is one the opponent watches for the entire time. And again, if I know you’ll commit to every massive attack yourself, why shouldn’t I always keep an archer in reserve to aim for you?”

Venaz chewed that over for a second.

“I suppose so, sir. But consider my perspective as well. My people don’t respect a [Strategist] who won’t fight on the frontlines.”

“Then don’t fight every battle on the front, Venaz.”

“But what would be the point if I didn’t consider myself an asset, as you said, Professor? What if I just fought elsewhere, in say, smaller skirmishes as a feint—”

“Dead gods, Venaz! Stop arguing!”

From her seat, Yerranola hurled some fruit peels at him. The Minotaur growled, and the Titan waved a hand.

“I think your obsession with having to fight is the real issue, Venaz. But Yerranola’s correct. We can’t stick onto this debate; I’m tired of having it with you and I intend to discuss actually relevant work today. Which brings me back to my assignment. You’re all back I note, and it’s been a week. How have you done? I see Perorn’s left her notes. Kind of her. Hm. Interesting. And, oh dear. Let’s not beat about the bushes. Wil?”

The young man stood up. He was pale.

“Yes, Professor?”

Niers waved impatiently at him. He peered down at the large clipboard.

“Sit, sit. And calm down, Wil. You’re not in trouble. Although I fear your Gold-rank team might be very unhappy with you. But they knew the risks. What do you think was the problem? I see they were hunting a Cyclops. Nasty. And rare. Still, they should have been able to handle it; it seems they were a well-respected team.”

“Yes sir. They—I thought they could handle it with some degree of risk. I didn’t expect them to be completely wiped out. It was—I’m sorry to have wasted—”

Wil was red-faced despite the Professor’s words and stumbling over himself. Umina looked away guiltily. Niers glanced up. The other students were shifting, as one does in a situation like this. Cameral was pointing his head the other way, pretending Wil’s embarrassment was not happening, Marian was looking at her notes, Yerranola was trying to pat Wil’s leg covertly—

And Venaz, true to form, was staring at Wil with arms folded, clearly willing the young man to hurry up and finish. Niers lifted a hand.

“Calm down, Wil.”

For a second Umina felt the voice grow…firmer if that was possible. So firm it was an inescapable order. Wil stopped stuttering. His face grew less red. Niers looked up at him with a friendly smile, like a grandfather. He shook his head.

“You’ve been with this class for, what, a year now?”

“Yes sir.”

The Titan nodded.

“Then you know it’s not about money. I gave you your funds to hire the adventuring teams as part of the exercise, Wil. And these are all monsters in my company’s territory; it’s not about that. Nor is your failure solely your fault; each team evaluates the danger of the request and takes it. Calm down and tell me what you think happened as impartially as you can. In the meantime, Marian. I see you had your team hunt an Armorgator. That’s a sizable task for a Silver-rank team.”

Wil sat back in his seat, breathing slowly. Yerranola offered him a drink. Umina glanced up at him; he was relaxing. The young man from Terandria was often high-strung and nervous when it came to classwork; he was steadier on the battlefield, ironically. But embarrassed though he might be if the flushed cheeks were any indication, the Titan was giving him time to recover. And Wil was taking it.

That was what the Titan’s personal class was like. Some of it was lectures, but by this stage, all of his students were expected to know a myriad of strategies and formations. Any one of them could take to the field at a moment’s notice and command an army—some of them had, in actual battles!

No, what they gained from these lessons was practical experience in the field and discussion, conversation, even arguments with Niers Astoragon himself in the class. It wasn’t a situation where you were ever totally wrong; and there was no penalty for being incorrect. You were meant to learn, and the Titan strived to make sure you did.

“…And so, I was sure that the team I hired could take on the Armorgators with zero risk, sir. If they stayed at a distance and bombarded the monster with spells the creature would never be able to snap them up. The worst that could happen was that it could retreat.”

“And so they killed the monster after a day of work. Nicely done. And it does rid the area of a large threat. Hm. I see.”

Niers nodded. He glanced around the room and raised his voice.

“As you all recall, my homework was to find a team and have them take on the most pressing threat to the area possible. Whether you were assigned Bronze, Silver, or Gold-ranks, I asked you to form a request that would see a specific team used to their best effect. Marian’s clearly done well, but I think…Umina? Would you explain these quills?”

He pointed down at the pile of quills on the Mossbear pelt. There were several chuckles from the students. Umina got up.

“Yes, sir. I believe the Scattershot Porcupines were the best threat for my team to deal with.”

Niers tapped a foot as he stood on his lectern.

“I understand Scattershot Porcupines are not exactly a dangerous threat. Except to my people. It would seem that your team could have taken on a more powerful enemy. After all, the local [Guardsmen] and even a [Mercenary] could probably handle a few errant porcupines, couldn’t they?”

He looked at Umina, with perhaps a stern look in the eye. But the Lizardgirl saw the twinkle. She smiled.

“That’s true, sir. But may I present my argument?”

“By all means.”

“Then, firstly, I’ll say that my Bronze-rank team had no name listed. And they didn’t when I hired them.”

“I did see that. Was there some reason for this? An unregistered team, perhaps?”

Umina shook her head.

“No, sir. The reason was that they were still arguing about what the name should be. The team I hired was the greenest, newest team I could find that I thought had potential.”

There was a shift in the classroom. Marian blinked as she looked sidelong at Umina. Niers smiled.

“I see. You wouldn’t task a team like that with a big threat, would you?”

“No sir. And Scattershot Porcupines are dangerous. One can put out an eye; they can also run away fast. A team has to learn to flank them, keep them from running, even track them down. Especially if their [Mages] have poor aim. It took my team five days to eliminate all of them. And I put a bounty on each head they brought me, and gave them an exclusive contract.”

The Titan smiled.

“I see. So you were training them?”

“Their [Mage]’s aim, and their [Hunter]. Yes, sir. As for why I thought this was the most pressing threat—this particular group of porcupines had been straying near villages and more than one child had been hit by quills from them. They might not have killed anyone, but they were encroaching into Lizardfolk territory. And that might be more of a threat than a known Armorgator or Mossbears who stay in their homes. No offense, Marian, Venaz.”

Umina looked at her classmates. Marian blinked at her. Niers was grinning. He applauded softly.

“Well done. That’s excellent reasoning.”

“Oh, but there’s one more thing, Professor.”

The Lizardgirl looked at the Fraerling. He raised one eyebrow.

“Oh? Enlighten me.”

“The Scattershot Porcupines were encroaching into Lizardfolk territory, but they were also migrating into the forest. Near a Fraerling village, sir.”

The room went silent. Niers looked up sharply. He stared at Umina, then he nodded.

“Ah. In that case, you have my thanks twice over. The smallest of creatures can destroy a Fraerling village if things go wrong. And if the Tallguard had to fight a pack…a quill can go straight through a Fraerling. Well done, then. Well done indeed.”

“Thank you, Professor.”

Umina sat, and felt that triumphant bubbling in her chest. Marian leaned over and whispered to her.

“You didn’t tell me that!”

“It was part of the exercise. Not everything’s about size, Marian.”

“Exactly.”

Niers had overhead the two. Umina blushed and Marian sat up. The Fraerling looked up at them with a faint smile.

“This lesson was to help you deal with adventuring teams, which I’m sure you will all have to do. Monsters are tricky and adventurers, for all their quirks, are better than [Soldiers] at dealing with them. You were also tasked with identifying which threats would be too much for your teams and which were the most pressing. Umina clearly focused on the societal impact, while Venaz and Marian weight in on threat-analysis. Neither approach was wrong. With that said, Wil. Do you have an answer?”

The Lizardgirl sat in her seat, a bit red with the gentle rebuke. Wil got to his feet, then remembered he didn’t have to stand and sat back down, flushing. Then he stood back up anyways.

“I do, sir. And I think it was just…bad luck.”

“Bad luck?”

Venaz looked incredulous. Wil halted and Niers gave Venaz a reproving look.

“Bad luck is a legitimate answer, Venaz. Go on, Wil.”

“It was…the Cyclops had a den set up and I informed the team of where it was. However, I didn’t know another team had been pursuing the monster. A different contract on the same Cyclops. Both teams ran into each other by accident as the first tried to smoke the Cyclops out. And the other team hunting it was Silver-rank. Unprepared. They hadn’t told anyone in their guild they were going after the Cyclops; there was no way of knowing.”

Niers grimaced.

“Unprepared adventurers going after a bigger score in desperation. I’m familiar with that all too well. Go on.”

“Well, as I heard it from the survivors, they found the first team right as the Cyclops emerged from the den. It went after the [Mages] first—by luck, perhaps—and from then on…”

Umina listened to Wil’s account of his team’s demise, wincing along with the rest. It had indeed been a very poor encounter thanks to the first Silver-rank team’s bungling, and both teams had lost nearly all their members. Niers shook his head when the story was over.

“Ill luck indeed. And it would have been hard to predict. I agree with your assessment, Wil. Don’t take your team’s failure too hard to heart—as for the survivors of that Silver-rank team, I’d be concerned for their lives. Vengeance from other adventuring teams is not a pleasant discussion. I’ll look into it perhaps. Alright. Who else has a story to tell?”

He glanced around at the show of hands.

“Venaz? If your team just went head-to-head with the bears, I’m not impressed. Dwarves are stout fighters. How would that push them? Mossbears aren’t exactly dangerous anyways and I asked for threats, not trophies. Yerranola? Not too impressive, unless you have something to add? Jekilt? Your team failed their mission. How did that happen?”

Five other students spoke, and Niers commented briefly on each story or result. It wasn’t just commentary; he shared his own thoughts and experiences from being an adventurer, as well as how to employ the other teams to best effect, or how to give them a bit of help with or without their knowledge. But that was just the homework. And while it had taken the students a week, Niers didn’t dwell overly long on it.

“Alright. Enough about adventuring. I trust you’ve all been keeping up on recent events. What do you think about the latest developments in Chandrar? The war against Tiqr and the King of Destruction’s proclamation?”

Umina raised her hand with half the class. This was another moment she looked forwards to because Niers gave his frank opinion on the situation. And hearing the Titan’s thoughts was worth gold. She wondered if the rulers of each nation would take his advice if they were in her seat. Then she had another thought: was one of the students relaying the Titan’s words to other nations? It wasn’t out of the question. Umina wasn’t doing it; the risk wasn’t worth the reward.

But this was another aspect of the class that students in the other classes missed. They studied tactics; Niers’ best class studied politics. Politics were as much a [Strategist]’s lot as tactical engagements. And grand strategy, the movements of armies and kingdoms, was just as important.

Niers had explained it to Umina and the others like this: a regular [Strategist] could just think of his army and the conditions affecting it. But a true [Strategist], the ones he was trying to train would think about the nation, country, or cause they fought for as a whole and how their army would affect that. They were fighting on multiple levels and as such, their actions mattered.

“To be frank, I have to admire the Empress of Beasts and what she tried to do at Pomle. If you look at the situation objectively, the King of Destruction is in a bind. If he goes to war, the other nations will turn on him. But they’re being played.”

Niers had ordered Venaz to help Marian put up a map so he could use his wand to illustrate the political situation. He pointed at Tiqr, now at war with all of its neighbors.

“You see, Tiqr is in trouble, but these other nations have now incurred the King of Destruction’s wrath. A risky position to be in. They’ve shown their hand—too early, I feel. I have no doubt the Emperor of Sands orchestrated this. If I were in, say, an advisory capacity to the Queen of Nerrhavia’s Fall, I would have told her to take the position Tiqr did at the summit. Which would have backfired splendidly had my nation been the only one present. Two on the other hand…”

“Why would you have stayed out of war with the King of Destruction, sir? Isn’t it wise to attack him straight off? I almost feel like the other nations are making a mistake not going after him, rather than focusing on Tiqr.”

Umina raised her claw to ask the obvious. Niers smiled at her and Umina’s heart skipped a beat.

“The King of Destruction is frightening, that’s why, Umina. Yes, it’s sensible to attack him in concert. But the first coalition army he smashed to pieces. True, it wasn’t nearly what could have been fielded against him, but imagine you’re the [Strategist] that has to commit to an offensive against the King of Destruction. Knowing what you know of his past?”

He looked around the room. Umina gulped. She wouldn’t take that job, not for love or money. Niers went on.

“I imagine all the [Generals] of each nation are shaking in their boots thinking of how to go up against Flos, let alone Orthenon. Remember, the King of Destruction can turn the tides even in the face of impossible odds. If Nerrhavia’s Fall committed a hundred thousand soldiers to a battle against Reim in its current state, Flos would win. The first battle, at least. And if you’re the nation bearing the brunt of the conflict, you’re wide open to an attack after Reim is defeated. Either way, you lose. With that said—it would be smart to oppose him, as you said, Umina. But tiring yourself out fighting Tiqr and making him your enemy straight off is a poor choice.”

“So you would do…what, Professor?”

The Fraerling smiled.

“Take a middling stance. Which was what Tiqr’s [Empress] tried to do. She was certainly not Flos’ worst enemy at that summit by all reports. But neither did she declare for him—she still hasn’t. Normally that would give her an advantage in negotiations; I’d push for concessions to join a coalition against Reim. But as I said, it backfired. It seems the rulers of each nation were coerced or too hotheaded to take a measured approach. Now, if I were in another nation, say, Belchan or Jecrass, I would be complying with the King of Destruction and playing both sides.”

“But if the King of Destruction attacks…”

“If he attacks, he’s broken his vow. In which case, all bets are off the table. But Flos was never one to forswear himself. If he breaks his oath, Cameral, I can’t predict what he’ll do. But if I were Jecrass’ [King]? And if it were me? I would consider what benefitted my country. And frankly, if the Forgotten Wing company were based on Chandrar, I would, at this moment, be approaching the King of Destruction for an alliance.”

A gasp filled the room. Niers rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be dramatic. I realize my past with the King of Destruction is public knowledge, but he’s no fool. Nor am I; betting against the King of Destruction is a fool’s game. It always was. And if I had a navy with faster ships, and I was sure the other Great Companies wouldn’t stab me in the back, I’d be taking all of you to Chandrar to earn as much gold and prestige as possible. Chandrar is rife with opportunity. Especially if you have the stomach to trade in slaves.”

He grimaced and took a small sip from a cup.

“Well, it’s not as if Baleros doesn’t have enough gold. And the jungles may run red with blood, but Baleros doesn’t live on tears. The Slavers of Roshal will benefit from this conflict more than anyone else. Gah. Enough. Let’s focus on armies. Tiqr’s definitely in trouble. Aside from the fact that their [Beast Tamers] aren’t exactly good at large-scale battles, they’re up against Nerrhavia and Illivere. Savere isn’t a threat so long as the fighting stays away from the coasts, but it means they’ll be raiding constantly…

Only the Titan would force his best students to command a full-scale defense of a nation from eight different hostile armies and expect them to win a scenario like that. Umina scored points, as did Feshi, both of whose species had historical precedents for that kind of fighting. Marian got berated for trying to apply her usual strategy to Tiqr’s forces, and Venaz earned a grudging point from Niers for his suggestion.

“Hire Minotaurs. My people have already been contracted to fight the King of Destruction.”

“Which they haven’t done.”

Venaz shrugged stoically at Marian.

“I haven’t been home in three years. But if they gave their word, they gave their word. They probably can’t land yet.”

Niers smiled crookedly.

“I’m not surprised. The odds of any coastal nation allowing a fleet from the House of Minos to land is remote, no matter what they say. But the King of Destruction had better watch his coastal expansions twice over. But if they’re against Reim, why hire them, Venaz?”

“Because that’s the King of Destruction. This is a separate matter. If Tiqr can pay, have them contract four warships. They won’t hit Savere, but Nerrhavia has a large coast. Minotaur [Mercenaries] could pull most of their forces away with ease.”

“Trust a Minotaur to vouch for his own people. You might as well hire a Great Company from Baleros.”

Yerranola muttered. Niers smiled.

“Good point, Yerranola. And I said no. Tiqr can’t afford my services, and as I said, our navy’s not at that point yet. I can’t imagine the Iron Vanguard would say yes either, and they’re the only Great Company with a navy large enough to join the fray.”

The Selphid inhaled her snack. Literally. She didn’t choke as oxygen wasn’t exactly a problem, but Umina had to sit through a few nasty minutes of squelching as the Selphid cleared the blockage in her throat. Niers chuckled.

“I keep telling you, don’t underestimate rulers. They can be cunning, desperate…but I wanted to bring something else up. Yerranola, I think you had something to say?”

“I did, sir. Sorry about the sounds. Uh, have you read the latest chess newsletter from Liscor, by any chance?”

Yerranola looked innocently at the Titan. Niers’ eyebrows shot up.

“I didn’t. Has it arrived? Peclir must have notified me and I forgot. I’ll have it sent here. Unless you have a copy?”

The Selphid waved a stack of papers over her head. Niers smiled.

“Of course. Cameral too? And Umina, I see. Well, give me one—spread it out on the ground so I can read from here. The rest of you can share it around.”

“Here, Marian.”

As Yerranola trotted down, Umina shared her version with Wil and Marian. She knew what it said, and Marian had gotten the basic outline. But the Centauress still exclaimed over what was written.

“Employing Goblins as…an irregular adventuring force? Cancelling the bounty on Goblin ears? Is this Drake an idiot?”

“I can’t believe this. Either he’s mad, or Liscor gone completely off the rails. I knew it was insane already with that Hive below it, but this? The Walled Cities must be in uproar.”

Kissilt frowned over Cameral’s shoulder. The Drake’s tail was lashing with agitation. Venaz was just as incensed.

“This Olesm Swifttail would let Goblin Lords pop up left and right. I don’t know what’s possessed him, but this is far outside of his regular chess commentary. It’s a disgrace, isn’t it, Professor? Professor?”

The Fraerling was reading. He looking up calmly.

“Shut up, Venaz. You’re speaking like every Minotaur student I ever had.”

“But sir—”

“Do you recall that just a decade ago, my company had a pact with the only Goblin-led company in Baleros? Or have you forgotten the name of the Goblin’s Lament company already?”

The students fell silent. Niers looked around.

“It was a strong company. And until he became a Goblin King, Velan the Kind was considered the equal of any company leader. A Goblin Lord you could reason with. He didn’t earn that reputation by being untrustworthy. He kept to his promises more than any company I can name. Including my own.”

“And then he slaughtered entire cities and declared war on the world.”

Venaz’ eyes burned crimson for a second. Niers looked at him and the Minotaur glared back. The air went icy around Niers and Venaz’ eyes and fury dissipated. Umina sat back in her seat. The Titan glared at Venaz until the Minotaur looked away.

“Yes. He did. But that is the nature of Goblin Kings. And until that day, I trusted Velan the Kind. I spoke to him. And he was sane, Venaz. I don’t know what the House of Minos endures. But if this Olesm Swifttail claims to have met Hobs that defended Liscor—I believe him. Or did you not see Goblin fighting Goblin during the siege?”

The Minotaur didn’t respond. He was struck dumb, at least for the moment. Feshi looked uncomfortable. She raised a paw.

“Hrr. But there is precedent for wariness, yes? Professor, are you suggesting now that this idea should be put into place?”

The Gnoll held still as the Titan shifted his glance to her. Then, abruptly, Niers sighed. He stroked his beard, looking older and more tired.

“I suppose not, Feshi. In light of what I now know? No. But again, I think we are making a mistake in how we view this young [Strategist]’s claims. Olesm Swifttail is not saying we must make peace with Goblins, or hire them. These are suggestions. His observations. Since when has having an opinion been so wrong?”

He glanced up.

“Kissilt, I see you opening your mouth. Before you speak, consider that this [Strategist] is floating an idea. The reaction of the Walled Cities and his fellow [Strategists] are predictable. But you know what I think about that. All of you, I want you to engage with this idea in a way that doesn’t make me think you’re giving me a gut reaction. Especially you, Venaz. I’m sure this Olesm Swifttail is already getting a very vocal response. But point out the good in his suggestions. He’s also done some commentary on the Siege of Liscor. Thoughts? These Painted Soldiers he references…”

“We saw them during the battle, sir. Those Antinium with colors?”

“Yes. And they concern me more than any suggestion about Goblins. If the Antinium have come up with a new breed of Soldier—what was their kill to death ratio before the Goblin Lord took their formation to pieces? Someone go and tell a servant to fetch a recording of the battle. I think we’ve got one of Wistram’s new movie crystals…”

Umina had more than one reason to admire Niers during the rest of their lesson. Not only did he have his students do a calculation of the Painted Soldier’s kill-to-death ratio and compare it to other Antinium groups—a very disturbing result, even if you accounted for the fact that their opponents were Goblins—he gave them a short story about employing Goblin adventurers, something so rare it had only occurred once in Baleros.

“And only when Velan was alive. The only other instance of a Goblin adventurer I have ever heard of is in Izril. Garen Redfang of the Halfseekers. And as I understand it, he died at Liscor.”

“Slain by the Gecko of Liscor himself.”

Kissilt murmured. Niers looked up.

“One of Liscor’s champions, Kissilt? Can you elaborate on him? I do recall him, but I don’t know all the particulars of famous Drake soldiers, I’m afraid.”

“No, sir. I mean, I know a little, sir, but he’s no longer considered part of the standing army. He’s a former [Sergeant] in Liscor’s army. I grew up hearing about him. Pallass is close to Liscor and I suppose he’s just one of the names I heard growing up. I thought he was retired. But he would be good enough to take down even a Gold-rank adventurer.”

“Hm. Interesting. Never underestimate retired warriors, even old ones. Especially old ones, I should mention. More than one [General] has died when entering a supposedly conquered city. A seventy year-old Dullahan [Sniper] can still fire a crossbow. And they really don’t like armies burning down their homes.”

Stories, reminiscence, his take on what he personally would do, and debate. It was the kind of class Umina enjoyed most. Even more than a mock battle where she could choose her army and face off against one of her fellow students, using all her Skills on the training field. This was what she enjoyed. It was fun being in the Titan’s class, arguing with Venaz, trying to impress him with an observation.

And it couldn’t last. It never did last long enough. After four, all-too-short hours, the Titan had to go. His students might take other lessons, but Niers Astoragon had to manage his company, or do a thousand other things. That they got this much time with him was important. But today, the Titan didn’t send them off with one of his assignments, or simply his blessing and an injunction not to get too drunk before tomorrow’s class. Today, the Fraerling clapped for everyone’s attention as he stood on his podium.

“That’s enough for today. And I hesitate to bring this up, but if you’ve forgotten, our little game begins shortly. Has anyone forgotten? Because now might be a good time to panic.”

The class chuckled and shook their heads. Niers smiled affectionately, but there was that twinkle in his eyes his students had learned to pick up on.

“Excellent. We’re gathering in Daquin in two days. If you’re not joining me on the trip, be there by midmorning or you’ll be unable to compete in the exercise. And remember the rules of the game. No deaths. No blades or dangerous magic. Aside from that, do your best and try to distinguish yourselves. I think this year’s audience will be very interested to see how you do. As will I.”

Umina’s stomach twisted with apprehension. She looked around the class; most of her fellow students looked excited. Wil looked somewhat sick, but he always did before a test. And this was a test, even if it was a game.

“Sir, any word on who will be uh, finding us this year?”

Marian spoke up casually. The Titan laughed.

“I’m sure you’d like to know, Marian. But if you haven’t found out, I won’t be telling you. Isn’t knowing you’re going to Daquin enough?”

“Come on, Professor. A hint would help—we are going up against our seniors, aren’t we?”

Niers waggled a finger at Kissilt.

“That’s what they said when they were in your shoes, Kissilt. Just relax. Lay a few traps. Make plans; I’m sure they’re thinking of how best to box you in.”

The Drake grumbled, but good-naturedly. He was excited for the competition, Umina could tell. The Drake looked up at her and grinned. He wasn’t nearly as hostile as most Drakes who met Lizardfolk, but the ember of competition was still burning hotter in his eyes.

“Think you can survive until the end, Umina?”

“That depends on what the Professor’s done to mess with us.”

Umina peeked at Niers. He grinned, but didn’t take the bait. Marian shook her head.

“Professor, when did this game start? And why is one of the biggest tests of our entire academic lives a game of hide-and-seek?”

Niers sighed.

“Marian, when you get to my age…”

His students laughed or groaned; it was the answer the Fraerling liked to give when he was avoiding the question. But there was that twinkle in his eyes. Umina looked down at the Titan and wondered.

It was said that the Titan of Baleros lived on excitement. If he were to go a week without some kind of chaos or excitement occurring, he would die of boredom, or so the myth went. Which was patently untrue. Niers Astoragon was perfectly capable of living without some kind of interesting event occurring in his life every few days. It was just that if you offered him the choice between a peaceful life and offing himself, he might just choose the latter.

This event was one of the things the Titan used to entertain himself when he wasn’t on campaign. It was also considered one of his penultimate tests of his students. And it was a simple concept, really.

Once every few years, sometimes once a decade, and at one point, he’d done it every year for eight years straight, the Titan of Baleros would announce a game with his students. It usually happened in times of enduring peace; it never happened when there was war or unrest. It was a game that involved his students, past and prior. He would take his students to a location, be it a city, or patch of jungle, or even an artificial maze and give them a day to hide while an entire army searched for them.

It wouldn’t just be Umina’s special class there. Over a hundred of Niers’ students nearing graduation and even some recent graduates would be invited to intend. His current students and recent graduates would be hiding. And the seekers would be his guests of honor—the older [Strategists], his first students, veterans of dozens of wars.

It was a game of hide and seek. But what a game! What competition! The former students of the Titan would relentlessly hunt down the new students while the hiders tried to fulfill some kind of criteria that changed every year. And it sometimes got intense.

Because the game wasn’t ‘find someone and they’re out’, or even ‘tag you’re out’. It was ‘capture the hiders by whatever means necessary’. Which meant the students could and did fight back. And the seekers could subdue them by whatever means necessary short of permanent bodily harm. And they had some of Niers’ soldiers armed with clubs, nets, and other helpful tools to facilitate that process. And the new students often laid traps, made alliances—they’d fight back with every trick they knew to stay free and clear of their pursuers.

Ostensibly, it was a game designed to teach Niers’ students what it was like to be cut off from their forces, to prepare them for situations where they might be hunted by [Assassins] or an enemy army in a city, jungle, or what have you. In practice, Umina suspected it was the Titan’s way of having fun.

“Call it a hobby of mine. And it certainly provides entertainment. At least for me. I understand it’s an opportunity for all of you.”

His students nodded to varying degrees of excitement. That was certainly true. In the past, this might have been just a game Niers played for his own enjoyment and his student’s benefit in outwitting each other. But as was the nature of all kinds of spectacle, word had spread and now his semi-regular competition had an audience that would come from all over Baleros to watch.

And it mattered. It always did. Umina saw several students including Venaz look around warily at the Titan’s words. Because of course, they were all already being watched.

It was a fact. Umina, Marian, Venaz…they were all the Titan’s best students. When they graduated, they would be the best crop of [Strategists] of their age in the entire continent. Perhaps one of them might be as brilliant as Perorn Fleethoof, or perhaps even as gifted as the Titan of Baleros himself.

Other nations and companies kept an eye on Niers’ class; some had even approached Umina, covertly or publicly to test her out, see if she might make a good hire. And if there were eyes on Umina already, well, during the games there would be even more. Umina had seen visitors watching her as she conducted those war games against her fellow students, evaluating her.

This would be another chance to stand out. If she somehow performed really splendidly, she might even get an offer to serve as a [Strategist] in another company, or for a nation after she graduated. Some students had even quit the academy during school because they’d impressed a visiting [King] or ruler so much!

“A chance to win prestige in the eyes of the world. A rousing competition for me to enjoy. Sea and surf at Daquin; they do some very fine prawns too. What’s not to like?”

The Titan looked around at his students. They smiled back, but with an edge. It was all fun for him, but they were [Strategists]. They wanted to win. And there was a reason, even more than the thrill of beating older [Strategists] and their classmates. There was a rumor about winning this particular game. Umina had heard some of the older students whispering about it in the past.

There was always a way to beat your pursuers outside of outwaiting the seekers. Sometimes it was to solve a puzzle, or travel a certain distance. One time it had been to subdue a Wyvern the Titan had let loose, and hadn’t that been a bloody year? But the risk was always worth the reward, and it was always the same.

The reward was that you got to go to the Professor’s private rooms, you entered, and apparently, you could ask him anything you wanted. Any question in the world and the Fraerling would answer it if he could, be it personal or huge, earth-shattering.

Any question. The students looked at each other, wondering if it was true. And because they wondered and because Venaz was…Venaz, he raised his hand.

“Professor, sir! I have a question.”

“Go on.”

The Titan looked at the Minotaur with a sparkle in his eye. Venaz got to his hooves, and hesitated, which was uncharacteristic even of him.

“Professor, I’ve heard that this…contest of yours has a reward. I’d like to know if that’s true or not. Otherwise, what’s the purpose of victory?”

The Minotaur met the Fraerling’s eyes. Umina held her breath along with the other students. Niers looked up at the ceiling.

“Hm. A reward? I wonder. I do know there are rumors—I wonder how they started? Which prize would you be referring to, exactly, Venaz?”

“Professor…”

The Titan’s eyes twinkled as the Minotaur growled at him. He stood upon his lectern for a moment and Umina wondered if he’d refuse to answer. Then he smiled.

“The answer, Venaz, is yes. Any question in the world. If I know it, I’ll answer it. So choose your question wisely. If you win—you only get one.”

The silence in the room was complete. Umina felt her heart skip a beat. So it was true. Then she saw the Titan grinning with delight. His students exhaled slowly. Venaz looked around.

“Any question? But what if—”

“Ah.”

Niers raised a finger. The Minotaur shut up. Niers Astoragon looked stern.

“Venaz, obviously there are some questions that are tantamount to giving away the secrets of my company. Obviously some questions are dangerous.”

His student nodded, a tad disappointed. Niers smiled.

“I’ll answer them. Any question in the world. As dangerous as it may be to know. I’ve done it before. And some of my students have died because they asked a question and got my answer. Not from me, personally. But I know a lot. Any question. Any question. My level, the location of buried treasure. The name of your greatest enemy. Their weakness. What Foliana had for breakfast. Anything.”

His students stared. And then they whispered. Marian looked at Umina, vibrating with anticipation.

“What could you ask…?”

She cut herself off. Niers raised a hand.

“If you win. If you’re the one who finishes first. Don’t get excited; there’s only one winner. And you’re hardly the only competition. Two years running, the victor hasn’t come from my advanced class. Remember that.”

His students calmed down. And then they appraised each other again. There could only be one. Niers Astoragon smiled.

“Well, as I said, we’re leaving tomorrow. Pack your things. Make your plans if you haven’t already. Remember the rules. Try to win. Class dismissed!”

He leapt from his podium and strode up the platforms leading towards the Fraerling ways. Before anyone could stop him—and a few of his students shouted questions—the Titan was gone. And that left Umina excited, nervous, and very scared. She glanced at her fellow students, then hurried out of the room, grabbing her notes and things.

Let the games begin.

—-

“I’m going to lose.”

Twenty minutes later, Umina sat in her small room in the apartment she’d rented only five minutes’ walk from the citadel. She buried her head in her claws. She’d known it already. And she’d tried not to get excited by the game because of it, but now she wanted to win. And she knew she was going to lose.

It wasn’t that Umina didn’t have the drive. Or the levels. She was a Level 27 [Strategist], a genius for her age. At nineteen years old, Umina was one of the youngest students in Niers’ advanced class, a prodigy among her species. She had a dozen Skills she could call on, and she placed with the best when it came to his field exercises or debates in class. She could and had beaten every one of her classmates in the practice war games; she was especially good at taking down Venaz, who, despite his brash attitude and nature, was still one of the best students when commanding the training soldiers in practice.

However…Umina’s face fell as she checked her purse of coins. She had all her worldly wealth sitting on the table in front of her, illuminated by a [Light] spell she’d cast. The Lizardgirl counted unhappily.

“One, two, three…”

The coins came out of her purse, as if by counting them Umina could double or triple their number. But no matter how many times she counted them, she barely had more than twenty coins.

Silver. Not gold. And she had two gold coins, but that was rent and food for this month. If Umina spent them, she’d be destitute until her family sent her more money. And while she could probably survive by borrowing from her friends, at least Marian…what was three gold coins’ worth of money going to buy her?

“Maybe some rope. A few blankets? I could get…a potion or two…nothing! Not even enough to avoid a [Scrying] spell!”

The Lizardgirl hunched over her desk, scattering the coins miserably. Then she hurried to pick them up in case one rolled between the cracks in her floorboards. She sat at her table, her tail curling and uncurling.

“I want to win. I want to win. But unless there’s a puzzle, I won’t have half of what the others do! If it’s Wil—even his clothes are enchanted! And Marian has her bow. Even if she can’t shoot arrows at people, she can still pay for…everything! Venaz probably made plans. I know Yerra’s been plotting how to win. And I can’t do anything.”

She was poor. That was just how it was. Umina wanted to cry, but she knew that would be stupid. The fact that she had gold to spend and she was Niers’ student was amazing. And she wasn’t poor. Not really. It was just that compared to the others in her class, she was. Most of them could drop ten gold coins on something without blinking twice. Umina couldn’t drop ten silver coins without doing a double-take.

“Umina? Hey, Umina!”

Someone was calling from outside. Umina looked up. Her room was very small, even by Lizardfolk standards. She hesitated.

“Marian? I’m busy—”

She tried to put away her coins. But her Centaur friend was insistent.

“Umina, I’m coming in!”

“Hold on—”

Umina swiped her coins into her pouch and hid it at her belt. Marian trotted into the room.

“There you are. Come on. We’re going to have a drink together. The Professor’s setting off tomorrow and you’re going with him, right? Let’s talk with the others before that. They’re at the Stalker’s Pub.”

“I’m not that thirsty.”

Umina mumbled. She knew her tail and frills were drooping. Marian eyed her.

“Well, come anyways.”

“I don’t want to.”

“I think you should.”

“Marian, I really—hey!”

The Centauress trotted forwards and picked Umina up. Before the small Lizardgirl could protest, the Centaur had tossed her on her back.

“Come on! Where’s your key?”

She trotted out of Umina’s apartment, pausing to let the Lizardgirl lock the door and then trotted down the ramp that led to Umina’s apartment on the second floor.

The presence of Centaurs meant that many buildings in Baleros were designed to accommodate them, which meant the stairs were often ramps and buildings tended to be wider and shorter, the rooms very spacious to avoid claustrophobia. Umina knew Marian hated her small room and so she didn’t protest. Especially because she was on Marian’s back.

Centaurs were like horses. Half their body was humanoid, but their lower half was horse. Except that they hated being ridden by people they didn’t implicitly trust. Anyone who tried it on a dare might get their head kicked off their necks. The fact that Marian let Umina ride was a sign of true friendship. The Centauress trotted down the ramp and into the street.

“What’s gotten you so upset, Umina? You were buzzing in class when the Professor complimented you on your strategy. And he chewed me out for my strategy.”

She tossed her head. Umina ducked to avoid being slapped by Marian’s hair. She hesitated, and then muttered.

“I don’t think I’m going to do well, Marian.”

“What makes you say that?”

The Centauress looked over her shoulder as she walked down the street. A few Lizardpeople waved at Umina and she waved back, trying to smile. She knew that they could tell it was fake, but at least they were out of range before they could come over and ask what was wrong. She had Marian for that.

“It’s just…I know you made preparations for the games.”

Marian nearly missed a step. Her hooves clicked on the smooth paving stones.

“I have. Not as much as the others, maybe. Why?”

“I haven’t done a thing?”

“What? Really?”

The Centauress looked astonished. Umina shook her head miserably.

“I can’t afford to.”

“But you did so well at his other assignments. Like the adventurers—”

“You know the Professor normally gives us a budget. I use his budget. I can’t pay for anything else. Especially not traps or potions or…anything.”

“But if it’s just a few potions or a little ring, surely—”

“Marian. You know I—you know what? Look.”

Umina grabbed her coin pouch. She’d never shown Marian it explicitly. Why would she? The Centauress had never needed to ask. Now Umina shoved the pouch in front of Marian and opened it.

“Well, that’s not so bad if you—”

“That’s all I have. If I use that, I don’t eat, Marian.”

“Oh.”

For a while, Marian’s hooves were the only sound the two made. The Centauress blinked at Umina, looking ahead now and then to make sure she didn’t run into anyone.

“That explains why you don’t always drink with us. Or buy much. Cameral thought you were just bad at handling alcohol. I thought that too.”

“You weigh three times what I do.”

“Only three?”

That made Umina smile a bit. Marian picked up her pace.

“I didn’t know you were that tight on coin, Umina. But you don’t fall behind all of us. If anything, everyone else thinks you’re serious competition.”

“No they don’t.”

A hand ungently flicked Umina across her forehead. The Lizardgirl recoiled. Marian frowned at her.

“Yes they do. You got into our class based on pure talent. That’s more than anyone else can say. Everyone else paid more to get into this class, including me. You were in the one year program and the Professor let you join our class!”

“I guess I did. But you’re all still as good as me. You beat me last time we faced each other.”

“Because you fell off your horse. That doesn’t count. You trounced Venaz three times so far; no one else has done that. My best is two wins in a row.”

“Well, I’m glad you think I’ll do so well. But it doesn’t change the fact that I can’t pay for any preparations. Or artifacts. Someone casts a [Scrying] spell and they’ll find me in a moment.”

Umina flopped over Marian’s back. The Centauress hesitated.

“It’s not all about—”

“Say it’s not all about money and I’ll pull your tail, Marian. I know how much you have.”

“…Sorry.”

The two trotted along. Umina could tell they were entering the entertainment district of the city, which was wide and prosperous; Niers’ students liked to use their free time and they often had coin to spend. Most of them, at any rate. Marian frowned at a few students as they passed by.

“Wil’s rich. Or rather, his family is. So is Venaz, that bastard. I mean, they’re both really rich. Wil’s a [Lord]’s son, and I don’t know what Venaz is, but he can toss around gold like water. I guess I always thought I was poor compared to them, but—I suppose not. My family’s not that wealthy, Umina.”

Umina resisted the urge to tweak Marian’s tail. Friends or not, she’d probably get bucked off for that.

“How do you have so much gold, then?”

The Centaur’s gait faltered.

“I…got a lot of support from my clan. Everyone I knew contributed money to fund me. I need to repay them.”

Oh. Centaur pride. Umina could just imagine how that went. Marian would be the pride of her clan. They’d probably all pitched in. Her tail wagged unhappily.

“Makes sense. Yerra’s got a lot of money from her family too. Selphids supporting Selphids. I wish I had that.”

“That didn’t happen for you?”

Marian was surprised. But she needn’t have been. Umina sighed.

“You know what it’s like in Lizardfolk cities. We like each other, but we’re not organized like Centaurs. Some of my family’s friends helped pay for me to get here and sometimes I get donations, but it’s random. My people mean well and they’re really proud of me being the only Lizardfolk in the Professor’s current class, but I’m just one of many, you know? How many Lizardfolk [Strategists] do you think the Titan’s taught?”

“You’re special. And if you don’t have a lot of money…what if we teamed up?”

Umina perked up, then felt a prickle of conscience.

“So we can fight at the end, Marian? You know how it works.”

“Well…maybe no one’s ever won as a pair before. But I’ll tell you; I’m not certain I did all I could to prepare. I have a few tricks, but if we worked together, my money and your brain—”

“You think I’ve got any fancy ideas? I only got to ‘buy an invisibility potion and hide in a corner’. Only, I can’t afford that. I don’t know what this year’s criteria for winning is, Marian.”

“Well, don’t give up just yet. Come on. There’s a reason why I wanted you to drink with the others. I’m paying, so try not to look so down.”

They’d come to an inn. The Stalker’s Pub, named after Three-Color Stalker, the rarely-spotted leader of the Forgotten Wing company. It was a regular haunt of Marian, Umina, and the other students, and the Lizardgirl saw there was already a crowd at their usual table in the corner. She slipped off of Marian’s back as she saw Yerranola, Venaz, Cameral, and Wil already sitting down. They were drinking and trying to console Wil, who looked about as miserable as Umina.

“Marian.”

“Venaz.”

The Centaur and Minotaur greeted each other shortly. Venaz looked at Umina and waved her forwards as he dragged a seat from an adjacent table with one hand.

“Come on and sit down. One of you help console Wil. I’m sick of hearing him moan already.”

“You’re heartless, Venaz. Wil, what’s wrong? Still upset about the adventurer teams? The Professor said it wasn’t your fault. Excuse me! One ale and some mulled wine!”

Marian looked over at Wil. The young Terandrian noble was hunched over his drink. He did look morose. Umina accepted a tankard of ale as Marian sipped her wine. Wil shook his head.

“It’s not about today’s lesson. Well, partly. I wish that Gold-rank team hadn’t gotten killed. But it’s more to do with the Professor’s game. I want to win.”

“You and me both, pal.”

Yerra slapped Wil on the shoulder as she drained her mug. If Umina and Marian were a pair, Yerranola and Wil often sat together, although Umina wasn’t sure if the Selphid was just forcing her company on Wil. He didn’t seem to mind, and Cameral was often a seatmate of the two. The Dullahan had removed his head and was offering his head a finger-sized bowl to sip from. His head spoke as his body got up and left the table, possibly to pee.

“Everyone wants to win. But what’s troubling you, Wil? Umina, you look similarly dispirited. Unless I’m prying?”

His eyes shifted towards the Lizardgirl and then away, wary of intruding. Umina smiled.

“No, not much, Cameral. I’m just down about the competition too. I don’t see myself winning.”

“I do.”

“Shut up, Venaz.”

Marian glared at him. Wil shook his head, still looking troubled.

“I’m trying to win, Cameral. I realize that’s a bold claim especially with—”

He indicated his peers, who were some of the best in the Titan’s class.

“—as well as the other students competing. But I think I have a chance. And I’ve made…extensive preparations. It’s just—have any of you actually had a command, before? Outside of the Professor’s lessons? I know you have, Yerra.”

The Selphid nodded.

“Definitely. The Professor made me lead one of his wings on campaign one time. That was terrifying, right, Marian?”

“Yup. We did it, but we had a bunch of officers standing by. So it’s not the same.”

The Centaur sipped from her glass. Wil nodded.

“I’ve done that too. Only, the Professor’s always there so I know that if I really make a mistake, he might catch me. I mean, no one’s there to stop you and if you make a mistake, people die. Or you create a huge incident. Have you ever been in that position?”

All of the others, excepting Venaz, shook their heads. The Minotaur grunted.

“Of course.”

He looked around as his friends gave him skeptical looks. Venaz glared.

“Do you think my people would have sent me here without practical experience. I’ve led more than one mission where people could have died or did die. It’s not fun.”

“Did you ever make a bad mistake?”

Wil looked at Venaz. The Minotaur hesitated.

“Once. I haven’t forgotten it.”

“How do you know if you’re right?”

Umina watched as the powerful drink Venaz was imbibing noticeable lowered in his tankard. Venaz wiped his mouth.

“I thought I was right. Why? Are you hesitating over some decision?”

The young man from Terandria nodded quietly. He traced on the well-worn table.

“I’ve made the calculations. And I’m sure my reasoning is right. But if I’m wrong? It’s such a big leap. And if it pays off? I could be set up. But if I’m wrong…I’ll embarrass myself and cause—”

He grimaced and took a long drink. No one pressed him for details. Venaz sat back in his chair, eying Wil. Yerra sipped from her mug.

“It’s not the end of the world if we screw up, Wil. Granted, I don’t know what your plan is, but the worst we can do is look like idiots. I’m fine with that.”

She glanced around with a quick smile. Wil drained his mug and waved for another.

“If only it were me, Yerra. Then I’d be fine. But this involves my family. You know I’m from the high nobility in Terandria?”

The others nodded. Marian shot Umina a quick glance; the Lizardgirl just kept drinking, listening. Wil sounded awful, which somehow made her feel better. He went on as he received and drank his new round.

“I’m a second son. Not as important as my older brother, but a lot of hopes are on me. My family paid a fortune for me to be here. I realize I’m not as gifted as…”

He looked sideways at Umina and the Lizardgirl blushed. She opened her mouth, but Wil shook his head.

“I know I earned my place in the Professor’s class. But I still had to pay part of my way in. I worked hard to stay, but my family’s invested a lot in me. I can’t let them down. And if I embarrass them with everyone watching? What then?”

The others nodded. Marian patted Wil on the back.

“I know what you mean. My clan’s going to be watching the games too.”

“And my family. You are not alone, Wil. The thought of embarrassing myself—I’d rather strip off my armor and walk around naked for a day.”

Cameral gravely announced to the table as his body came back, wiping its hands with a handkerchief. Everyone looked at him. Coming from Cameral, that meant a lot. Yerra grinned uncertainly.

“I don’t know about all that. But we all want to win. No hard feelings if we lose, right?”

She nudged Wil. The young man stared into his mug. He had three sitting next to him. And it hadn’t been long since they’d started drinking! He shook his head again. Umina felt it was her chance to chime in.

“Wil.”

He looked at her. Umina hesitated, then tossed him her coin pouch.

“That’s what I’ve got.”

He blinked into the pouch. Venaz leaned over.

“Hmf. Well, that’s a relief for me.”

“You jerk.”

“Ooh, that’s tough. You mean that’s all you have to spend?”

“She means that’s all she has, period, Yerra.”

The others fell silent. Wil looked at Umina. She cut him off before he could grow embarrassed.

“It’s not your fault. I’m just not rich. So if I go into this competition or spend my money, I’m taking a huge risk. I might not be able to eat, or pay rent—I might have to borrow from Marian or someone else. That’s my problem. If you’re afraid of embarrassing your family…you had a chance. Whether you use it is up to you. That’s what the Professor would say, I think.”

The others fell silent. Wil silently handed Umina her pouch back. Yerra smiled.

“Spoken like the Titan himself, Umina.”

Wil nodded. He got up. The [Lord] straightened his clothes, then looked at the others, a touch unsteadily, but with a hint of steel in his gaze. The same steel he’d shown when he beat Umina or the others on the training fields.

“I’m sorry for complaining. You’re right, Umina. I’m going to do it. There’s no turning back. I wish you all the best of luck. But I intend to win.”

He walked away from the table, then came back to put a few coins down. The others watched him go in silence. Umina wondered what Wil had planned; whatever it was, she was sure it was big. Venaz broke the silence by snorting and finishing his drink.

“Insecure. One wonders how he manages to pick his clothes in the morning.”

The others let out a huge sigh. Umina wondered if that was Venaz’ way of being encouraging. Regardless, Marian still slapped his shoulder hard. He didn’t even budge.

“Didn’t he outmaneuver you in our sea training exercise, Venaz? And he’s brilliant, and I meant brilliant at logistics. Maybe he knows something we don’t. Plus, you’re forgetting something.”

“What’s that?”

“You’re an ass. Do you know how hard it is to have you in class? You don’t respect anyone but the Professor.”

The Minotaur laughed softly into his mug. He raised two fingers and a Dullahan trotted over with two more drinks. The Minotaur drained half of one in a breath, a feat that made Cameral blink, and then looked up. He surveyed his fellow students with the lofty, arrogant gaze, and then nodded slowly.

“I respect most of you. It’s just that I have to be better than all of you. That’s why I came here. To prove that. If I’m inferior—well, it won’t happen. Which is why I must win the Professor’s game of hide-and-seek tomorrow. I’d rather it were a combat exercise. Either way, I have a question I want to ask him. And so I’ll win. Simple as that. I’m not underestimating Wil; it’s just that I’ll overcome him.”

“And you pull that confidence out of…?”

Yerra raised both brows. Venaz replied steadily.

“My very soul. If I could not, I would not be here.”

He finished his mug and reached for the second. The others stared at him. Umina sipped her drink. She wished she had Venaz’ fire. Or his coin; he was drinking Firebreath Whiskey, a Drake favorite. That was expensive and he was downing it in mugs. Yerra eventually stood up.

“I’m taking the Professor’s games seriously. And after this, I think I need to make a few more plans. You all should too. I knew this would be a big event, but after hearing Wil, I think it might be a lot more important than we thought.”

She got up. The Selphid tossed a few coins on the table and walked out the door. Venaz looked over at Marian and Umina.

“What about you two? Are your preparations in place? I don’t feel the need to change mine.”

Cameral sighed as he fed his head some nuts with a spoon.

“Money is a factor. I can’t afford to spend too much on this game, even if it’s important. I have spent some money, but I’m not confident I can win like Wil or you, Venaz. Thus, I am hedging my bets.”

“You too?”

All four remaining students turned. A Gnoll was standing next to them, mug in hand. Feshi gestured at the table and Umina edged her seat back to let her slide in.

“Feshi? How long have you been listening?”

The Gnoll grinned.

“Not long. But I saw you sitting here and wanted to join in. Are you talking about the competition in Daquin?”

Marian let the Gnoll sit next to her in Yerranola’s seat.

“What else would we be talking about? How committed are you, Feshi?”

Feshi shrugged, her ears flicking cautiously.

“I wouldn’t waste my tribe’s coin overly much either, yes? But I have made some preparations. But are we sharing plans? Because I think that would be unwise. We are competing against each other, of course.”

Venaz harrumphed. He was displeased at Feshi’s entrance; the Minotaur didn’t get along with Feshi. He didn’t get along with Marina of course, but theirs was a rivalry, whereas Feshi and Venaz clearly just didn’t like each other. He eyed the Gnoll over his drink.

“I’ll win, of course. I’ve been making plans. I’m warning you, if you get in my way, I’ll have to deal with you. I intend to ask the Professor a question after the games. As well as prove my abilities to the world.”

The Gnoll bared her teeth in reply.

“Minotaur might? One bag of Tripvines and you’ll be caught. This is a game about intelligence, Venaz. Cunning. Or did you forget this morning already?”

Venaz scowled. His brow darkened, but before he could answer, someone else called out. A group of students at another table, most older than Umina, turned around. There were two Humans, a pair of female Dullahans, and a male half-Elf sitting at their table. They were from one of the senior classes, but not part of Niers’ special group. The half-Elf looked at Umina’s table.

“So you’re all planning to win the competition at Daquin too. Tell us, does the Titan’s special class get a heads up about what the game’s going to entail this time?”

“All we know is what you know. The Professor doesn’t give us any favors. He wants a fair game.”

Marian calmly shot back. The half-Elf glared.

“Well, I’m glad about that. We’re intending to take first place too, you know. Don’t forget about us while you snipe at each other.”

He and his table turned their backs. Umina stared at the half-Elf. Venaz looked amused.

“Was that a challenge?”

Feshi grinned. She eyed the other students and spoke loudly and casually.

“They’re going to try and foul us up. Not that subtle, yes? I suppose the other classes are working in concert against ours.”

The backs of the other students stiffened slightly. Feshi grinned. Venaz just waved a hand.

“Rabble multiplied is still rabble.”

For a second Umina thought the Dullahans would turn around and throw their drinks at him. But then just got up and left. Marian exhaled slowly.

“Venaz, you have a talent for picking fights.”

He shrugged, unmoved.

“They clearly wanted to provoke us. I simply baited their trap. Knocking a few candidates out of the race wouldn’t bother me unduly.”

“Should I check my bedding for poison, then?”

Umina joked lamely. Venaz glanced down at her.

“Not from me. But this is a competition. And I regard the stakes as significant. Don’t you?”

The others fell silent. After a moment, Feshi cleared her throat.

“Alright. To my purpose in coming here. I’m not saying we have to team up. But…there’s no rule against it. I have been speaking with the others. And the Professor’s only rule is literally ‘don’t kill anyone’. So our class has decided on a truce.”

Venaz snorted softly. The Gnoll frowned irritably at him and then went on.

“Truce. Everyone here doesn’t attack each other unless our plans get in each other’s way. We’ll have enough trouble getting past our pursuers and the other students. I noticed in the supply reports the Professor had us doing that there’s a big increase in the provisions in Daquin. At least enough for a thousand soldiers. Maybe two thousand.”

Marian sucked her breath in sharply.

“That’s going to be a nightmare to evade. Forget running about.”

Cameral shrugged. He’d put his head on his shoulders, perhaps wary of a brawl.

“It’s still possible. Daquin is a big city. But if you add that to whatever hunters the Professor brings in…sometimes the graduates bring in their own hunting groups. Especially if they’re big names.”

“What I’m worried about is who the Professor brings in to hunt us. He could call on any of his graduates. And he’s trained…how many [Strategists] over the years?”

Marian frowned. She scratched at the table. Umina sat upright. She’d had a terrible thought.

“Oh dead gods. What if it’s Miss Perorn?”

The others looked at her. Cameral shook his head. It wobbled on his shoulders.

“No. That would be…unfair.”

Umina looked at him. The Dullahan hesitated.

“Even for the Professor. Surely?”

“Think about it. She’s been teaching us this last month. If the Fleethoof herself leads the hunt, how fast do you think she’ll catch us? She could run half of us down herself!”

The others sucked in their breaths. Venaz bit his lip. His crossed legs began to jiggle and the table shook.

“I would…I relish the competition.”

“You would! I’d be scared hoofless if I had to run from Lady Perorn!”

Marian looked pale at the thought. Umina was muttering to herself, getting more and more nervous.

“If we see her in the group going to Daquin…aw, no. I’m getting chilled just thinking about it. And remember what the Professor said? There might be a huge audience this time. This could be my chance to land a really big job after I graduate. Especially with Chandrar and the King of Destruction…”

“Are you thinking of working in Chandrar?”

Feshi looked surprised. Umina hesitated. She hadn’t talked about this with anyone. She noticed the others, Marian, Cameral, Venaz, looking at her.

“If I get a really good offer…I’d be scared tailless of going up against Flos, but I mean, if I got paid enough, Feshi…”

Soon she’d be working and fighting actual battles. She’d seen blood and commanded a force before, but the real thing was coming closer with each passing week. Soon she’d graduate. That was terrifying. Niers’ game was terrifying for different reasons. Umina was breathing hard. Then she felt a hand grip her arm. She looked up and saw Marian. The Centaur smiled down at Umina.

“It’ll be alright, Umina. You’re not a full [Strategist] yet. And this game’s a game. Come what may, if we win or lose, we won’t die.”

“Not if we play by the rules.”

Cameral remarked calmly. Venaz nodded. He drained his last mug, then stood up. He looked reluctantly at Feshi.

“Very well. A truce?”

“If everyone agrees…”

The Gnoll glanced about. Umina nodded. Marian pointed at the door.

“What if Wil or Yerra says no?”

“Where’s the benefit in that? We’ll all be travelling together. There’s no alliance, but I say we’d all agree to a truce. Within the class. We’ll have enough competition and whoever’s chasing us to worry about fighting each other. Truce unless we foul each other.”

The others at the table nodded. They stood up, fumbling for coins, Marian tossed money down for her drinks and Umina’s. She looked at Venaz, then at Cameral and Feshi.

“We’re part of the truce, but Umina and I are working together. We’re going to win as a team. Umina, we’re going to make some plans tonight.”

“Marian, are you sure?”

The Lizardgirl held her breath. The Centauress gave her a wide smile.

“Two tails are better than one, even if mine doesn’t flex. I want to win this thing and ask the Professor…”

She broke off. The others looked at each other. Venaz, Cameral, Feshi…and there was Wil, Yerra, and all the others. Umina’s heart beat faster. Only one person could win. Unless she and Marian really did win as a pair. And if they won, they could ask…

Anything. Was it the Titan’s arrogance? Or did he really think this was a prize worthy of winning the competition? Any question in the world. Umina thought of all the things she could ask him. There were so many mysteries the Titan surely knew. Stories about him, about Baleros.

Like whether he knew what lay in the upper floors of Wistram. What the great treasure that the Forgotten Wing company had been founded on. Whether the rumors of him being cursed by Queravia during their battle was true or not. What level Niers Astoragon was, really. What his greatest and most powerful Skill was and what it did. The names of the most powerful people in the world. Their secrets.

Umina could ask about anything. Everything. But one question came to mind. Perhaps, if it were her, she’d ask a simple question. The question everyone wanted to know.

Who was his mysterious opponent he played chess with? Did he know who they were? Or perhaps she’d ask him if he knew, truly, how to become a Naga. Or a Lamia. Or if the Foliana really did have a map to the world’s greatest treasure. Or what he had really thought of Velan the Kind, if he had really been friends with the Goblin King before Velan had gone to war. Or if he knew where there was any buried treasure. Or…

A thousand and one questions. And Umina couldn’t pick just one. If she won, would she ask about Dragons? Or something else. Would she even win? That was the question. Umina felt her heart beat faster as she walked out of the pub with Marian, and for the first time she put her mind to winning. Truly and seriously. But she feared her fellow students had already laid deep plans. Still, there was always a chance. Umina set off with her Centaur friend in tow, making plans.

She still had no idea just how exciting the game of hide and seek was going to be.

6.22 D

The city of Daquin was one of Baleros’ many port cities. It wasn’t quite a metropolis, but it was large. Its harbor could hold as many as eight warships at the same time without being overcrowded; the buildings were by and large stone, a product of a nearby quarry and the city’s rich history.

It was also over a hundred and fourteen miles away from Elvallian, the capital of the Forgotten Wing company and the training school Niers Astoragon and his company of students had departed from. And that was as the sparrow flew, if it could even get that far without being eaten.

Two days after they’d departed from the school, Niers Astoragon, and a company of nearly four hundred staff, teachers, guards, and students reached the city. Over a hundred miles in two days.

It was a trivial journey. Not worth even mentioning. The students rode while talking to each other merrily, thinking up last-minute plans, forging desperate alliances and fomenting betrayal all while enduring lectures from some of the teachers riding with them. The [Soldiers] watched the roads. The staff ensured there was hot food and that each of the stops was as comfortable as possible.

Nothing stopped the small procession. And it was small. And the distance was still negligible. Yes, for another rider it might be a heroic distance to travel in such a short amount of time, especially by foot. But for a Great Company of Baleros?

If you wanted to, you could talk about enchanted wheels, horses raised by Beastmasters, the Skills employed by the [Strategists] that made the road disappear, and the prudence of travellers who decided not to block the Titan’s personal mobile home and travelling vehicle when not on the campaign.

It looked like a doll’s house mounted on a pushcart and it was pulled by a donkey. To a Fraerling, it was the height of luxury and Niers could relax on the porch while talking with people riding across from him and do paperwork at the same time.

The only vexation for Niers Astoragon were the bugs, and his mansion-on-the-go had enough warding spells and enchantments to fight off three Trolls. But it was entertaining watching him shoot down horseflies with a bow and arrow from the roof. Yes, you could talk about all of that. But that wasn’t the point.

Two days later, they were here. Umina, Venaz, Wil, Cameral, and the others who hadn’t elected to travel via horseback piled out of the comfortable open-roofed coach they’d been chatting in. Somewhat tensely. Because they were here.

Daquin. It wasn’t that impressive. Elvallian was three times larger. If anything, Daquin was a letdown to anyone expecting to find something better after wandering through the Titan’s city of cities. But Daquin was special. Here the Titan’s game would begin.

The [Strategists] and other students took in the city for a moment. And instantly, some of the perceptive students realized why Niers had chosen this city for his game of hide-and-seek.

“Narrow alleyways. An unfortunate lack of an [Architect]’s oversight when constructing the thoroughfares. You could hold an army in some of the streets. Others are too wide to easily block. The buildings are stone and wood; many with multiple stories. Some have doors that connect between buildings; Lizardfolk design. No sewers, though. But there are a thousand hiding spots. Only a few vantage points either. See?”

Marian pointed out a tower to Umina as she trotted into the city. The Lizardgirl, stretching her legs, hopped after her friend nervously. She looked around, trying not to hyperventilate.

“Right. Right! It’s great for hiding. There’re a few high spots. That large tower, there—”

She pointed to an extraordinarily high tower nearly half again the size of the building below it. Marian nodded.

“Looks like an archer’s tower. Or a watch tower. Either way, you could put someone up there to watch for [Pirate] raids or armies. Set up a high-level [Sniper] or [Mage] with long-distance spells…nice defensive spot.”

Yerranola laughed as she strode into the city. She elbowed the Minotaur walking beside her.

“Too bad we’re not staging a war game, huh, Venaz?”

The Minotaur snorted softly.

“This is enough of a battle for my liking.”

He folded his arms as he surveyed the city. His eyes lingered on the open harbor; it had a bowl-shaped opening with external watch towers and a sea gate that could be closed. It was open, but Umina spotted several ships lingering in the harbor. They bore the Forgotten Wing company colors; it looked like Niers had even taken over the harbor for his games. Umina gulped as she passed down the street, following the Titan and some of the teachers. They were walking casually while the Titan borrowed a shoulder for a ride.

“Hey. Look at all the [Soldiers].”

She pointed. The other students looked. Yerranola gulped.

The streets were full of Lizardfolk, Dullahans, and Centaurs. Some were Daquin’s citizenry, but Umina saw an entire platoon of Forgotten Wing company soldiers marching out to greet the Titan himself. Yerranola muttered an oath as she counted.

“I can’t tell, but if every street is like this—how many did the Professor put in Daquin? A thousand?”

“Two thousand. It’s not enough to cover the city by far, but it’s a lot.”

Wil appeared behind the others. His face was so pale it was nearly white, but some color actually went back into his face as he stared across the street. Marian tossed her head uneasily.

“All this for a game. The Professor really doesn’t do things by halves, does he?”

“Would you expect anything else? Where are we gathering? Or are we just waiting for the others to gather?”

Venaz looked back irritably. Umina’s heart skipped a beat as she looked back and saw nearly two hundred of the oldest students following them. Older students in the [Strategist] classes, those training to be officers—she saw dozens of eyes staring at her and turned forwards hurriedly. Yerra gulped, for a second losing her semi-permanent smile.

“Ooh. I got a lot of evil looks just now. Was there a Gazer in the crowd?”

“Rabble.”

“Some of those students have been studying as long as you, Venaz.”

“We’re part of the Professor’s personal class. Don’t let them shake you. The victor of this competition will come from our class; of that I have no doubt.”

The Minotaur raised his voice as a pair of Centaurs trotted by. They turned and stared at Venaz. He stared back, unruffled. Umina gulped.

“Yeah, but Venaz—look ahead. Those aren’t students. See that group? I think those are graduates.”

The Minotaur turned with the others. They saw a group of fifty or so, waiting ahead of them. The Minotaur hesitated.

“Ah. Alumni. Seekers?”

“No. Didn’t the Professor say they’d be competing against us? They’re competition.”

“They…could be trouble.”

Umina nodded in agreement. She recognized some of them. The group was mostly in their late twenties, having graduated only recently. But some had already begun to make waves. She squeaked as she pointed at a half-Elf bearing a curved sword at his waist and wearing some kind of bright, white-steel armor covered by an armored cloak.

“Isn’t that Tefret, the [Mage Captain]? I heard he graduated two years back! He’s supposed to be employed in Terandria!”

“We’re supposed to beat him?”

“Of—of course. Don’t raise your voice, Marian. He’s barely higher-level than we are—”

“He killed a half-Giant in his first campaign after graduating. You ever beat a half-Giant, Venaz? Venaz?”

The urgent voices of the students in Umina’s class were only a backdrop to the larger conversation from the rest of the Titan’s students. The Lizardgirl grabbed Marian’s arm as they walked forwards. She spotted a Dwarf and Lizardman walking past her, both looking nervous as well. The Dwarf was panicking much in the way Umina was.

“Grandfather’s beards! I thought we wouldn’t have to complete against graduates, Sillk! It was bad enough having to deal with the Professor’s special class—that lot have seen actual combat!”

The Lizardman was nodding. He was maybe three years older than Umina and quite handsome. She stared at him as he placed a clawed hand on the Dwarf’s shoulder, but his tail gave away his nerves as well.

“Calm down, Merrik. We have a shot. We just need to win. The game’s not just about hiding. We have to be the first to win—or the last ones standing. And between my class and your uh…beard, we’ll make it. We’ll—”

He caught sight of Umina staring at him. She smiled and waved weakly. The Lizardman, Sillk, paled, and dragged Merrik forwards. She clearly heard the Dwarf’s voice.

“What? What? Oh—isn’t that Umina? Blast it. Is she marking you?”

“Me? No way. Steady. Let’s just calm down…”

The two hurried forwards after the Professor. Umina swished her tail. Somehow, their panic had reassured her. They weren’t alone. She looked around and remembered the Professor’s lessons.

Calm down. Look around. See the other expressions? They’re all nervous. From Venaz to the other students in other classes. Even those graduates—we’re all competing, but no one’s that confident. See the way Tefret is standing? Hand next to his sword. Even a [Mage Captain]’s probably intimidated. Even though this is a game. He wants to win. So you have a chance. Remember that.

And she was calm. Umina felt her mind, the cold part that came out in the middle of battles, take over. She breathed evenly; she wasn’t just a student. She had seen battle. The Lizardgirl looked around and saw a few students meet her eyes. Some other students were doing what she was doing.

But the ones to watch were calm. A Garuda with red feathers gave Umina a nod. A Dullahan woman with a quarterstaff in one hand looked back fearlessly. And then to her left, Feshi. And Wil. The same eyes. They’d calmed down too. That was the first step in winning a battle. The Gnoll grinned at Umina and the Lizardgirl grinned back. Then someone grabbed her arm hard.

“Umina.”

And here was someone who hadn’t calmed down. The whites of Marian’s eyes were showing. Despite her experience, the atmosphere or perhaps the numbers of competing students had gotten to her. Umina winced as she saw the Centaur’s hooves; Marian was giving herself away as she practically pranced in place. Then again, the Lizardgirl was sure she’d been just as bad a minute ago.

“I’m getting nervous! I know we prepared, but do you really think—”

Before she could glance towards the harbor, Umina grabbed Marian’s arm and gave it a squeeze with her claws. The Centaur yelped and tried to pull back. Umina didn’t let go.

“Marian! Calm down! This is just like a war game with the Professor. A skirmish. Imagine you’re against Venaz. Don’t give in to the pressure; that’s how you’ll lose!”

It worked. It might not have on someone else, but like Umina, Marian had lived through her introduction to battle. Being attacked by Selphids in training wasn’t the last ordeal the Professor had put them through. And he’d taught them how to resist even [Fear] spells in combat. The Centaur stared at Umina, then the Lizardgirl saw her breathing shift. She inhaled slowly, and her eyes flickered. The pulse Umina felt through the Centaur’s arm slowed. After a second, Marian patted Umina’s arm.

“You can let go.”

The Lizardgirl did. Then she saw the blood on the tips of her claws.

“Oh. I’m—”

“It’s fine. It shook me out of it. You ready?”

Marian ignored the small punctures on her arms. She gestured around and Umina saw her classmates had almost all gotten control of themselves. Feshi was smiling and sniffing the air, Jekilt’s arms were folded, but the [Captain] was icy calm. He probably hadn’t panicked. Venaz was growling and making a fist. Yerra was grinning and slapping Cameral’s shoulder. Wil was checking the sky, the position of the sun—only Cameral seemed to be panicking, and even then, not as bad as some of the other students.

“Look. The Professor’s stopped. Looks like he’s greeting the [Mayor] of the city.”

“Can’t be the [Mayor]. Daquin has a sitting council.”

“Fine, their council, then. Is this important?”

“No, not really.”

The students had entered a large plaza. Marian pointed out the Titan. He and the teachers had stopped to talk with a group of dignitaries, four Lizardfolk, and two Dullahans, who were presumably the leaders of the city. There was some smiling and bowing going on—all very relaxed. Some of the [Soldiers] accompanying the group were offering the council a gift. Daquin’s citizens, the soldiers, and students waited.

Umina kept glancing about. There were so many! True, a lot would just be part of the audience. But Umina hadn’t considered how many eyes might rat out the hiders to whomever was seeking. Marian looked around, using her height to eye the [Soldiers].

“Looks like this isn’t a group of elite soldiers. The Professor might have just called in one of the reserve units. He’s got a good mix; no one specific species.”

Some of the [Soldiers] were yawning, while the others were talking to each other. They were clearly part of the game; they eyed the students with amusement and Umina saw they were equipped with clubs, truncheons, nets—the equipment to take down the hiders. She gulped.

“Those are going to hurt.”

“We can fight back.”

“You mean, you can. I get hit by a club; I’m lying down. I—”

“Miss Umina! [Strategist] Umina! Over here!”

Someone shouted her name. Umina’s head turned around. It wasn’t one of the students in her class, or even a student at all. Out of the waiting citizens of Daquin, she saw a Lizardgirl waving excitedly. Umina blinked. Then she raised a hand. The Lizardgirl shouted back as some of the students turned to look.

“Miss Umina! I’m a big fan! You have to win the Titan’s game, alright? I’m going to be a [Strategist] when I grow up, like you!”

Umina turned bright red. The other students were looking at her! Some were glaring, but Umina saw a flurry of hands from the crowd. The Lizardgirl’s mother waved excitedly as well.

“Miss Umina! Win for the Lizardfolk!”

“I want [Strategist] Xelic to win!”

A Lizardman next to the mother pointed at Xelic, one of the other students in the special class. Xelic turned bright red and raised a claw, clearly not sure whether to wave or not. There was a laugh from the crowd, then a cheer.

“Umina! Xelic!”

The Lizardgirl looked around. Daquin was a Lizardfolk city, so at least a fourth of the crowd was Lizardfolk. And they all began taking up the chant, shouting the names of one or the other Lizardfolk in Niers’ class. Marian turned to look at Umina with the students. Yerra grinned.

“Umina! I didn’t know you were famous in Daquin!”

Umina wanted to curl up under a rock. She muttered loud enough for the others to hear as she tried to duck her head.

“They know me.”

Venaz harrumphed, but to Umina’s surprise, he looked vaguely approving.

“Of course they do. You and Xelic are in the Titan’s personal class. It’s a mark of honor.”

“But we’re attracting attention!”

It was true. The other students—and there were around two hundred—could scarcely have failed to notice the growing cheering from the crowd. They turned to look and Umina felt more than one very annoyed gaze on her back. A few of the Lizardfolk not in her class looked rueful; a few even clapped along with the others, laughing. And from the gathering with Daquin’s leaders, Niers Astoragon and the teachers were turning—Umina went scarlet as her fans laughed and cheered louder.

“Marian, hide me. Or trample me.”

Before the Centaur could oblige Umina’s death wish, another voice rang out. A young Centaur in a [Laborer]’s outfit reared in the crowd and shouted loud enough to be heard.

“Marian Felthof! Win for the Centaurs!”

He bellowed and some of the other Centaurs called out. Another called out Jekilt’s name. Then the air split as both Centaurs and Lizardfolk began cheering for the students they recognized. Marian raised a hand as it was her turn to blush; Jekilt raised one fist as the Centaurs stampeded in place. And the Dullahans in the crowd—

Didn’t cheer. But to Cameral and the two other Dullahans students, they were nodding, raising their heads over the crowd to see. Cameral bowed slightly, his face pale. The crowd cheered and roared, filling the air. They’d decided the games had begun and were cheering—even over the Titan’s greeting with the council. Umina blushed, waved, and looked at the other students. They stared back. Yerra waved at a Selphid wearing a child’s body in the crowd and muttered to her friends.

“We are so dead. They’re going to go right for us the instant the games start.”

Umina nodded with the others. Venaz was cracking his knuckles. He didn’t appear bothered by the lack of a Minotaur crowd cheering for him.

“I see Daquin’s citizenry is here. But where are the seekers? And the guests? My sources told me that in previous years, there could be a huge guest presence. At least a few [Emissaries]—even royalty from overseas at times!”

He looked around, dismayed. Umina scanned the crowd and realized Venaz was right. Despite the people in the square, they all looked like Daquin’s native inhabitants. No one stood out, and if there were another company here, she would expect to see them with a sizable escort. But all she saw were Forgotten Wing company soldiers.

“I guess no one’s coming? Maybe this is normal for them. Oh—wait, there are a few robes by the Professor.”

Feshi growled.

“Wistram [Mages].”

“You sure?”

The Gnoll glowered at the [Mages], a group of sixteen or so, waiting to one side and looking around. They were clearly [Mages]; if their colorful robes and staffs didn’t identify them, the aloof looks they were giving to the crowd would have tipped Umina off. Feshi’s glare was another hint.

“I am sure. I can smell them.”

“Looks like the Professor is greeting them. Dead gods, I hope he tells us the rules soon. Or—wait, if the seekers aren’t here, is he going to be leading the hunt?”

“Don’t jinx us, Yerra! Maybe it’s just the soldiers who have to find us and some kind of riddle.”

“Or—”

Umina saw a Centaur turning in the crowd, holding what had to be Niers Astoragon at head height. The Lizardgirl felt herself go pale. The Centauress looked back across the audience at the cheering crowd. And she stared right at Umina.

—-

Perorn Sadiluc, known as Fleethoof, looked back at the source of the sudden cheering. The plaza was filled with bodies; most of the city had gathered to see the Titan in person, which was quite difficult even for those at the front. But they knew the game was taking place, and so they actually outnumbered the two hundred students and fifty or so alumni who had come to play in the Titan’s game. Now Perorn picked out a student from the crowd who she knew by name.

Umina, one of Niers’ prized students. A sharp mind and flexible one too, able to answer quickly and adapt to new situations with ease. She was standing next to Marian, a Centauress. Another bright candidate, but Perorn distinctly recalled Marian going red and stammering both times the [Galewinds Strategist] had called on her. It was a flaw in her Centaur students that Perorn had no time for. But perhaps it was unavoidable.

“Lady Fleethoof?”

The Centauress turned her head back. She realized the council member, a Dullahan woman in her late sixties, had addressed her. Instantly, Perorn ducked her head, embarrassed, although it didn’t show on her face.

“My apologies, Councilmember Felit. I missed what you were saying.”

The Dullahan looked horrified. She adjusted her head on her shoulders, bowing deeper than Perorn hurriedly.

“No, no. Our apologies for keeping you waiting. And for our citizen’s indiscretion.”

She turned a scandalized eye towards the cheering crowd. All four of the Lizardfolk members of the council looked appalled and delighted.

“So sorry! And it’s a pleasure to meet you. And honor, truly! You and Lord Astoragon!”

One of the Lizardmen bowed to Perorn and the small Fraerling perched on Perorn’s shoulder. Niers Astoragon bowed back, and his voice was a mix of politeness and cheerful informality.

“No offense taken, Councilman Ulli. We are grateful for Daquin’s hospitality today. Please do warn the citizens that they may be included in the games if they stay outdoors. The participants have been warned that dangerous weaponry and spells are off-limits and we have [Healers] standing by, but accidents happen.”

“We will inform them again, and call upon the [Guards] to clear the streets. And we will not keep you any further, will we, Councilmembers?”

The Dullahan woman, Felit, bowed to Niers. She looked pointedly at the Lizardfolk and the Dullahan man. He nodded instantly; the Lizardfolk looked disappointed.

“But I wanted to ask—”

Ulli yelped as Felit stomped on his tail. He withdrew, looking unhappy, and all of the Council had to shake Perorn’s hand and bow to Niers before they withdrew. It was a ceremony Perorn was used to and she smiled briefly and repeated each name once. Then they were gone. She turned her head to speak to the tiny Fraerling on her shoulder.

“Now the [Mages]?”

She saw Niers, a tiny man dressed all in blue and gold, grimace. He tugged the rakish hat he’d chosen lower on his head and grumbled, before nodding.

“Ah, Wistram’s delegation. We might as well or they’ll kick up a fuss. Before that, who was cheering? I couldn’t see; your hair’s in the way.”

He kicked at Perorn’s long hair, auburn mixed with strands of grey. Perorn sighed, but she turned to let him see. Niers grinned as he saw the crowd cheering his students.

“Ah. My advanced class has gotten the attention of the crowd. That might make them targets.”

“If you wanted them to be inconspicuous…”

The Titan shook his head.

“No, it’s fine this way. Let’s just hurry the ceremony up; we can bring in our guest soon. I imagine they’re getting impatient.”

Perorn sighed, but she trotted over to the waiting group of [Mages]. She saw them stand up and adjust their robes hurriedly as they saw her coming over. She spoke to Niers with a slight frown.

“And who is this mystery guest? You didn’t tell me.”

“If you had an ear to the winds, Perorn, you would have seen it. It’s obvious to anyone who knows what to look for. Sadly, I think only a handful of students know. Even in my class, I think only Wil figured it out. Did I make it too hard? But this is fine. He’ll be entertaining enough.”

Niers sighed. He looked at the [Mages] and shook his head. Hopefully, he glanced up at Perorn.

“What if I let you do the introductions, Perorn?”

“No.”

“They wouldn’t mind.”

She paused and glared at him.

“You’re the Titan of Baleros. You organized this game; Wistram’s here at your request.”

“I didn’t invite them. I would have used our [Mages]. Very well. But I’m hardly impressive to most of them. You’re the one the Council was making duck eyes at.”

Niers looked huffy as he checked his clothing and hat. Perorn debated flicking him off her shoulder for a second. But it was true. Like Daquin’s ruling Council, the [Mages] stared first at her. Their leader, a half-Elf woman in sweeping, emerald silk robes emblazoned with purple blooms, bowed deeply.

“Lady Perorn Sadiluc. I am First-Mage Teura of Wistram, assistant to Archmage Feor and the leader of my small gathering. I thank you and the Forgotten Wing company for the invitation to—”

Perorn held out a hand and felt Niers nimbly leap onto her palm. Teura, froze in the middle of her half-prepared speech as she spotted Niers.

“—And my deepest thanks to you as well, Lord Astoragon.”

The [Mages] jumped. They stared down at the Fraerling and half of them blinked. You could tell which of them hadn’t ever met Niers before, but they all hurriedly bowed as the Fraerling strutted forwards and nodded to Teura.

“A pleasure, Mage Teura. I’m surprised you’ve left the academy.”

The half-Elf calmly addressed Niers as if nothing was amiss. Some of the [Mages] were openly staring, but the rest had composed themselves. Their eyes flicked to Niers. This was the Titan of Baleros. Perorn held still, seeing their eyes go to her next.

“It was at Archmage Feor’s request, Lord Astoragon. We could hardly ignore such an event, could we? Especially given our function.”

“Ah, yes. Well, I’m delighted to have you watch.”

Niers sighed, his tone and face suggestion he was anything but. Teura didn’t react; she merely bowed again.

“We will observe from the side and several points around the city without interfering of course. But if I may request that some of our members accompany you? For the best position.”

“As you will.”

The Titan waved a hand. Teura nodded and gestured; a Centaur came forwards along with another half-Elf. Perorn nodded to the Centaur, a younger male. He might have been in his early forties or late thirties, but he looked like an excited colt as he bowed to her.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Lady Fleethoof—and uh, you as well, Lord Astoragon!”

He hurriedly bowed to Niers as Teura shot him a glare. Niers only chuckled, and Perorn, lifting him back to her shoulder, politely greeted the [Mage].

It couldn’t be helped. No, it was to be expected, really. They stared at her, the [Mages]. At Niers too, but in surprise. Because, after all, he was the Titan of Baleros. But when he didn’t try, when he just hid on Perorn’s shoulder, Niers was…a Fraerling. Small. Whereas Perorn was hardly equal to him in terms of fame, but her name was widely known as well.

Perorn. Fleethoof. And she looked the part. The Centauress walked back, conscious of the eyes on her. The crowd was still cheering for the students. They were watching her and Niers of course, but they hadn’t done anything but a few greetings.

In many ways, Perorn knew, they were letting down those who had gathered to see them. Unless Perorn was racing across the city, sword in hand, leading a charge, or Niers was…being Niers, they were disappointments. Almost as bad as Foliana, although you could argue she was everything you expected in another sense.

But Perorn wasn’t in the mood to race; she wasn’t a young mare anymore, her back leg hurt as if a storm was coming despite the clear skies for some reason, despite the ointment she’d used, and this wasn’t her game. She had been invited to come to Daquin; Niers had insisted on it for some reason. But she wasn’t taking part.

“I’m not taking part, am I, Niers? You promised me that. If you intend to trick me into performing, I will step on you.”

The Centaur [Strategist] turned her head to glare at Niers. The Titan of Baleros smiled, sitting on Perorn’s bare shoulder. He stroked his beard, smiling lightly.

“I did promise you. I’m attached to my unsquashed body, so I suppose I can’t cheat and add you.”

“It would be unfair. If I went against your students, I’d have half within the hour.”

Perorn felt the need to justify herself, to Niers’ smug expression as much as anything else. He grinned at her.

“Oh, really?”

She raised a finger warningly, ready to flick. She wouldn’t ever have done it of course; Niers’ magical equipment would probably break her finger if she flicked too hard. The Titan sighed.

“I don’t need you, Perorn. As a seeker, I mean. My guest is already here.”

“Where?”

She glanced around, frowning. Niers smiled.

“If you had a spyglass and you were on that watch tower, you’d see him. He’ll be inbound as soon as I give the signal. No—I think he’ll chose his moment. You are listening, aren’t you? Give me a chance to mention Wistram first, and then you can come in.”

Niers raised his voice and looked around. Perorn felt her skin crawl. A listening spell? Or maybe Niers just meant there was a spy in the audience. She trotted towards the waiting students.

“Where would you like to speak? And you’ll do it yourself; I’m not holding you up while you speak.”

“There will be a dais. Ah. Here!”

Niers was pointing. On cue, a pair of [Soldiers] were dragging forwards the little wooden dais Niers liked to use to speak to people on a level. Perorn trotted forwards and Niers hopped onto it. The crowd, murmuring, went still, and the students looked up.

And Perorn saw the moment of disappointment. The Titan was a speck from afar. And he landed on the dais lightly. His teachers spread out behind him, some notable [Strategists]. Perorn felt most of the eyes go to her, and the murmur spread again.

“Fleethoof.”

And where was the Titan? Invisible. Barely noticeable. Perorn knew Niers hated that. But as the Titan walked forwards onto the wooden platform, six feet up in the air, he cleared his throat. And then his voice was louder. And then the Titan of Baleros really appeared. Niers spread his arms and roared.

“Citizens of Daquin! Thank you for your patience!”

His voice boomed down the plaza. The sudden sound made his audience jump. Perorn winced and wished she could plug her ears. Niers stood on his platform and looked at his students. They stared up at him.

“And my students, thank you for your patience. I realize many of you know why you’re here. It’s my custom to play a little game between my former students and current ones. Hide and seek. A children’s game, a Fraerling’s life.”

He chuckled as the audience shifted, not sure if they should laugh.

“This game is meant to teach you what it is like to be alone. Cut off from your forces. Isolated. But more than that; it’s a test of wits. Are you better than my former students? Can you seize victory from them and claim the prize? And yes, the prize is real. To anyone who wins, I’ll answer any question of your choice. There’s also wine; I enjoy a drink, so the lucky student who fulfills the game’s requirements first will share a few cups with me in my quarters at their leisure.”

The students stood straighter hearing that. Perorn saw many eyes light up. So it was true! There were rumors, but they hadn’t known. She looked at Niers.

Any question in the world. Any question at all, the Titan of Baleros will answer. Truthfully. She saw Teura and the other two [Mages] from Wistram shifting behind her, watching. Perorn knew how Wistram operated—she imagined that any of the [Mages] would have given a finger to be in the student’s place. Come to that, Perorn might have competed herself if given the chance.

Any question…the students fell silent as Niers raised a hand. He was tiny, but now you could see him clearly, even three hundred paces away. It was like he was larger, or perhaps distance stopped mattering. There he stood. A little man dressed in tiny clothes. With a hat. But you couldn’t look away. And he occupied your view. He stole the attention of a city. The Titan of Baleros. He should have been born a giant.

“This is the game. I’ve played it for decades now. With my first students. And though you’re hardly the last, I’m no less excited to see how you fare than I was the first time. More so today, in fact. Because you know what’s coming. Many of you have made preparations. Some of you may have laid traps, or forged alliances, or prepared artifacts, spells—some might call that cheating. I would not. You know what I would say: you’re preparing properly given the situation!”

There was a chuckle from his students. One of them, Yerranola, whooped.

“There’s no such thing as cheating, Professor!”

The Fraerling laughed along with the others.

“Only in chess, Yerra. But you’re right. In this game, as you know, I’ve set only one rule: no one gets hurt. And by hurt, I mean, no one dies or suffers permanent injury. You can knock someone out, put them under a [Sleep] spell, use confusion magic, illusions—I draw the line at shooting someone in the legs with arrows because accidents happen, and blood’s so damned hard to wash away—but everything short of that is fine. So cheat away. You’ll need to.”

He looked around. Now the air was vibrating. Perorn felt it and she had to stop herself from shifting on the spot. There was excitement in the air. She looked at the students, many of whom she’d taught herself. They were all nearing the end of their time here. Some would become [Strategists], others officers like [Captains]. Many had the classes; they were ready to lead armies. To fight. And yes, to die. But they wouldn’t die easily. Some would become legends in their own right. And none of them would have made it here if they didn’t have the will to win. They stared up at the Titan, waiting impatiently. But Niers wasn’t done. He glanced up at the sky for a second. Waiting for something?

“As is customary, I have my seeker prepared. And it is a former student of mine. They’ll be taking command of my soldiers in the city. The Forgotten Wing company has about a thousand soldiers here, very happily being paid to take part in the game. Or paid, at least.”

He gestured to some of the soldiers standing in the square. There was a cheer from a few of them until a [Captain] shouted at them. Niers waved the [Captain] back with a relaxed hand. The soldiers had cheered for him, not the students, Perorn knew. They were, in fact, giving the students very expectant looks.

“My soldiers deserve their fun. They like money, but being paid to catch a bunch of students who might fight back and draw them into traps is not what I would call a fun vacation, even if they’re not fighting. So aside from the luxury of being able to crack a few of my best student’s heads—”

Another chuckle from the soldiers.

“—I’m offering them an incentive. For each student they personally catch and subdue, and they do have to subdue you, the soldier or group earns ten gold pieces. Per student, if that wasn’t clear.”

That provoked a moment of silence from the students, and a huge cheer from the soldiers. Neither group had been expecting that. The citizens of Daquin, caught between the conflicting emotions of worry and elation, decided to cheer as well. The Titan winked; you could hear it in his voice even if you couldn’t see it. From behind him, Perorn imagined his delighted expression.

“Just something to incentivize both sides. But I have two more surprises—”

His students groaned. But they had expected that. Niers scowled at them.

“Don’t be so upset just yet. Before my seeker arrives, let me first clear up a misapprehension you might have all had. There are, I note, very few guests outside of Daquin’s illustrious citizenry. Splendid as they might be, this is somewhat of a mediocre turnout given the past visitors who normally sit in on these games, isn’t it?”

There were nods from the crowd as the illustrious citizenry tried to figure out if they’d been insulted. Niers pointed around and Perorn saw he was right.

Normally there were a lot of people who’d gather for something like this. [Diplomats], visiting dignitaries, [Commanders] of companies, and their entourages…but this time the gathered audience was incredibly small. Just a few [Mages] and some small-time mercenary leaders. Perorn wasn’t sure if the students were relieved or disappointed. Venaz was clearly heartbroken. Niers waited until the murmurs had died down, and then went on.

“Fear not. Especially you, Venaz. You have your audience. And they’re watching already. Or haven’t you noticed our guests from Wistram? They are here—”

He pointed back towards Teura and the other two.

“—And around the city. They will be stationed on rooftops, in the streets, to follow you no doubt and watch the games. And if you hadn’t forgotten, that means something else. Or has Liscor taught you nothing? The King of Destruction? Ah, I see you’ve already figured it out, Wil. Umina, good, Merrik…try not to throw up, lad.”

As if he were in class, Niers began pointing out students in the crowd. The rest struggled for a beat to catch up to what the Professor meant. Then Perorn heard a gasp. She shifted and looked back at Teura. The half-Elf met her gaze, and Perorn knew that for a second, her face had appeared on a scrying orb. Not just one. Or even ten. And not just in Wistram. But in every building with a [Mage] to catch the signal, in every mansion with a scrying orb willing to catch the spell that was sent out—

—-

“Hold the spell.”

Archmage Feor spoke dreamily as he stared into Perorn’s face. Fleethoof herself. The aged half-Elf stroked his beard. She was older than when he’d met her last. It felt like a moment ago. And for the half-Elf, not much had changed. He was old. Far older than Perorn.

But she was a Centaur. And he was part immortal. Feor closed his eyes. He remembered a fiery mane of hair, a Centaur with no limp who had fought with him on Rhir. It had been two decades since then. Perorn was in her fifties and he—

“Archmage, we have over four hundred contacts. And more requests are coming in. Should we—”

A [Mage]’s voice spoke behind Feor, strained. He looked back and saw nearly fifty [Mages] of Wistram, linked in the magical circles they’d drawn. They needed no tactile connection; they sat or stood as they pleased, and there was food and drink enough to keep them linked and more [Mages] on standby. Once the connection had been fully established, they could move about, even perform mundane tasks. It was only at this moment as the image of the Titan spread across the world that all those present struggled with the enormity of the spell.

“Broadcast the image to anyone who requests it. Add connections slowly. This isn’t a race.”

Feor spoke sharply, annoyed by the intrusion into his memories. He saw the [Mage] nod and turned back to the image in the scrying orb. Niers Astoragon had replaced it. A tiny man, but Teura must have amplified her vision. He appeared in the orb, and Feor saw a flash of darkness as Teura blinked.

“There must be a better way to record the images. Perhaps with an artifact, as young Aaron suggested.”

Feor mused to himself. He listened as Niers spoke, as crisply as if he were in front of Feor. After all, the concept of recording an image and sound wasn’t anything new. [Mages] had known how to do that for years. But sending the same signal across the world? Creating a…network? Even that wasn’t an entirely unheard of idea. But for entertainment? That was new.

The Titan looked around. He turned his head, and Feor’s heart jumped as Niers Astoragon met his eyes for a second. The Fraerling spoke, in a whisper magnified to a shout.

“The world is watching.”

—-

From Wistram to Terandria to Izril. From the King of Destruction staring into his marble-sized scrying orb to Lady Magnolia Reinhart, drumming her fingers and having Ressa note some of the students to Wall Lord Ilvriss, sipping wine in his home and watching with a critical eye.

[King] Raelt stared into the scrying orb his servant, Geril, had fetched for him out of their armory. It was slightly dusty and his daughter was getting in the way.

“Jecaina, please move back. I can’t see.”

The nobles of Terandria sipped wine and scarfed foods in the courts. Monarchs of lands not embroiled in war watched, some enviously, others with idle interest, others picking out faces out of the crowd. The Quarass of Germina watched, drumming her fingers on her throne, a child witnessing something she had seen in the past, but in a new way.

The Emperor of Sands waited, reclining on silk cushions. The Blighted King stood in his war room, glancing at the orb only now and then, impatient, speaking with his [Generals]. The leaders of Baleros watched, the Seer of Steel with patience, the Bannermare with jealousy and her mother with disdain. A thousand pairs of eyes. Then two thousand. Ten thousand—[Merchants] in their shops. Adventurers in their camps. Students in Wistram’s lower levels crowded into rooms. Cognita. Az’kerash. Greydath.

A Dragon slept through it all.

—-

Daquin shook. The city trembled, and Umina’s knees went weak. She stared up at her teacher as he stood on the dais. Her eyes travelled to the [Mages] behind her. And through their eyes, she imagined a hundred thousand, no a million souls were staring back. At her. At the city. At him.

The entire world was watching the Titan’s game. Umina began to hyperventilate.

The students shook. Some cried out. Others gasped. A few, were just silent. Someone fainted. Umina looked to her right. Marian had gone still, her mouth half-open. Yerra’s grin had frozen on her place. Cameral was muttering.

“Of course we knew it was a possibility. But we didn’t think—for a game? But if it is the Professor’s game—”

Umina looked up. Venaz had turned into a statue. The Minotaur gulped twice; she saw his throat move. Then he coughed.

“Hmf. W-well, it’s only fitting. Appropriate, even. No, the more who witness my triumph, the better!”

But even he couldn’t hide the tremor in his voice. Wil was muttering on Umina’s left.

“I’m going to do my best. I can’t be caught. I can’t fail. I can’t…”

Feshi breathed in and out, looking calmer than Jekilt. He was lying on the ground, passed out.

“I wonder if my tribe can see me?”

She waved a paw experimentally. Umina opened her mouth and felt her stomach roiling. Forget calm! This was—

“Attention.”

The word was like a bucket of water. Jekilt jerked and his hooves moved randomly for a moment. Marian started breathing again; Umina felt her terror subside. Everyone looked back at Niers, students, soldiers, and citizens alike.

“Don’t be nervous. It’s just the world.”

The Titan laughed. No one laughed with him. They stared at him, a tiny Fraerling perfectly at ease. Then everyone remembered. He was the Titan of Baleros. And suddenly, the stage seemed fitting for him, if no one else. Niers Astoragon walked forwards. And his eyes found his students. Not just Umina and his private class. All of them.

“If this is enough to scare you, how can you call yourselves my students? Look at you. This is the world. This is everyone. Your enemies. Your employers. Your allies. [Kings] and [Queens]. Monarchs. They are watching. And look at you. Why are you shaking? It should be with excitement. You may never have a chance like this again. This is your chance to show what you can do in the eyes of the world. This is my gift to you. A stage to create your legend.”

His words swept across his audience. They stopped shaking. And they looked up and realized he was right. You might never get a chance like this again. Umina’s claws clenched. She heard Venaz growl.

“My people are watching me. I will not let them down!”

A rumble went through the crowd. Niers raised a hand.

“Yes. A stage fitting for legends to be made. But that only applies if the challenge is appropriate. So. Students. Audience—across the world. I know my trivial game of hide-and-seek might not interest you. But a game is only as good as the players. On one side you have my students. But for a game worthy of this moment, for legends to be made, I call upon a living legend.”

He raised a hand. And Umina heard a drumbeat. It rolled through the air. The people looked up. Another beat echoed. Niers spoke over it.

“For this year, I have but one seeker. Although I understand he has brought some of his company. To find my students as they try to hide, I give you one of my oldest students. He has come from the north.”

Thump.

A drumbeat echoed through the air. Umina felt it roll off the buildings. Where had it come from? Behind? Ahead? She looked around wildly.

“He won this game, in years past. And though his company has many demands of him, he agreed to seek. You may know of him as the second-in-command to the Iron Vanguard. Equal in rank to the Titan of Baleros.”

Umina’s neck snapped around. No. She heard a laugh. Cameral was laughing. The Dullahan stared up the Professor. But Niers wasn’t laughing.

Thump.

It was coming from the harbor. Umina looked towards the sea. There were buildings in the way of course. She wouldn’t—

Thump.

Her heart skipped another beat. There, above the two-story buildings was something. A…piece of wood. And below it, canvas. No, cloth, dark grey. A sail.

But from so far away? And the buildings—the harbor! There was only one kind of ship large enough to be seen from this distance. A warship. And then Umina saw it wasn’t just one. She counted.

Six.

“One of my oldest students. Some may call him my finest.”

The Titan’s voice was faint, for once. The drumbeats kept echoing. Growing louder. A rolling beat. Like thunder. And now Umina heard something else.

Footsteps. Marching, the sound of hundreds, thousands of feet striking the ground in rhythm. No—not just heard. Felt. Was the ground shaking?

“Move back, soldiers.”

Niers pointed. Umina saw the Forgotten Wing soldiers near one entrance of the square reacting. Grabbing at their weapons; they looked up at the Titan’s voice and backed up. Fast.

Here they came. A wailing horn blew. The drums began to beat faster and faster. And the first rank of Dullahans marched into the square.

Dullahans wearing steel. Marching five abreast, moving in perfect formations, in two columns. They spread out, moving into two wings at either end of the other side of the plaza, across from Niers. They moved in step, their armor gleaming.

Thump. Thump.

Like the beating of her heart, now. The drums pounded, drowning out all sound except for the marching Dullahans.

Then Umina saw a column of riders pass between the infantry. Their spears were raised. They rode forwards and the students backed up. The Dullahans marching on the ground suddenly stopped for a moment.

Then Umina saw some huge Dullahans stride forwards. Male and female, their armor as black as night, their heads secured to their bodies and covered by dark helmets. The Midnight Shield. Invisible in the darkness. Unstoppable in battle.

Elites of the Iron Vanguard.

And they flanked a figure who walked among them, at first invisible. But as he moved forwards, they spread apart and his armor shone. Silver and brilliant. A color beyond chromatic. He carried his head under one arm and Umina felt her heart skip a beat as she saw him.

And like that, the drumbeats stopped. The Dullahans came to a halt. The two columns flanked him as the riders formed an interior wall, holding up their spears. The Midnight Shields passed underneath, and he walked through ranks of his soldiers. The students parted; they couldn’t help it. Umina saw him pass by as the Dullahans in black armor passed bare inches from her. She saw dark skin, hair as pale as ash. Eyes as silver as his magical armor.

Niers’ voice was quiet as he spoke.

“My students, please welcome your opponent for these games. I see he has brought his company.”

More and more Dullahans fell in behind him, filling the plaza. Not all Dullahans; here came a platoon of Lizardfolk. [Mages]. Adventurers, moving out of synch with the rest. Niers looked down at the Dullahan in shining armor as he strode towards him. The [Strategist] came to a halt as his soldiers parted. He walked forwards and raised his head.

The Titan bowed slightly. Then he looked around. His eyes found the [Mages] of Wistram, pale and silent. The petrified citizens of Daquin. The waiting Dullahans. Perorn’s burning gaze as she stared at the Dullahan, Niers’ former student. And then Niers looked at his students. He smiled slightly.

“The second-in-command to the Iron Vanguard. My former student. A victor of this humble game in years past. You may know him as Tulm the Mithril.”

—-

She knew he was coming. The instant Niers had said the Iron Vanguard, Perorn had known who it had to be. Their second-in-command. The [Strategist] who commanded the entire Great Company. The one answerable only to the Seer of Steel. The most legendary [Strategist] on the continent short of the Titan.

He marched with his army as they filled the plaza. Unlike Niers’ soldiers, who had stood to attention, the Dullahans marched in perfect formation. Their armor gleamed. But it was him that Perorn was looking for. She only realized he was there when she saw the Dullahans moving.

The [Soldiers], the citizens of Daquin, even the students like Cameral bent as he appeared. They knelt, removing their heads like helmets, turning them up while their bodies bent down. To look. To stare. It was unconscious. And even among Niers’ soldiers, the Dullahans bent.

They couldn’t help it. Unlike Niers, he didn’t hold back his presence. He didn’t hide it. Tulm didn’t hide who he was.

There. A flash of metal. A color brighter and somehow deeper than silver, a radiance you couldn’t find in common metal. Magic, wrought into armor. His entire body was made of it. Worth more than any [King]’s ransom.

Mithril.

Tulm the Mithril. Perorn felt a shudder run through her body. Her back right leg screamed. She reached for her sword and then caught herself. Then she felt the crushing presence.

It wasn’t just the Dullahans. Behind the Titan, the ranks of teachers and Perorn felt it. Like a weight on their shoulders, a pressure. Compelling them to kneel.

There were [Kings] without this kind of force. Perorn looked to her side. A Lizardwoman gritted her teeth. She was a [Brigadier General] over Level 30, but she was still sweating. By her side, a Gnoll’s knees were buckling. Perorn growled at him.

“Steady.”

The others looked at her. They locked their legs. But as he drew nearer, the pressure grew stronger.

“It’s—like the last time I saw him—”

A Drake gasped. His scales were pale. Perorn stared at the approaching Dullahan. Exactly like the last time they’d met. She had to fight not to grab her sword, to charge him. She raised her voice, ignoring the drumbeats.

“Hold your ground. If one of you bends a knee, I’ll run you through myself!”

The others tried. But they were slipping. Out of the corner of her eye, Perorn saw one of the Wistram [Mages], the Centaur, kneel. None of the students were doing it; he was only directing his aura at them! Perorn bit her lip.

“Niers.”

The Titan turned. He’d been staring at his old student. He saw his teachers, his people struggling. He stared at Perorn and then looked forwards. His gaze locked with the approaching Dullahan.

“Kneel? You are my [Strategists]. Don’t you dare.”

That was all he said. But at once, the pressure on the group behind him lifted. Perorn saw the Lizardman stumble and felt the weight lift off her shoulders. She stared at Tulm the Mithril, then at Niers. He still had a ways to go. Would it be appropriate to…?

No. But he didn’t deserve it from her. Perorn broke ranks. She trotted forwards to Niers and bent.

“You called him. Are you mad?”

The Titan looked up at her. He spoke quietly; amid the beating drums, Perorn would be surprised if anyone else could hear, listening spells or not. The Wistram [Mages] were still pinned by his aura, anyways.

“Not yet. But you can see why I didn’t tell you who was joining the game. You would have refused. Foliana certainly did.”

Perorn’s hands clenched. She pawed the ground, staring at the Dullahan. He was looking at her. Her and Niers, his former teacher.

“If I had any notion—what are you thinking? That Dullahan? He’s—”

She bit her lip. He was Niers. If the Titan was the most famous Fraerling in existence, Tulm the Mithril was an equivalent existence. Niers raised an eyebrow.

“The Centaurs have you, don’t they?”

“Horseshit. He’s the second most important figure in the world to Dullahans outside of the Seer of Steel. If he’s to Dullahans—you might as well bring Archmage Nailihuaile here from Wistram, and the Bannermare over here as well!”

“I did ask. They both declined. Which surprised me in both cases. You know how they like to cause a scene.”

Perorn glared down at Niers. He hadn’t turned to look at her. He and his student were engaged in a staring match and neither one was blinking as the Dullahans marched towards him. The students were parting in front of the Dullahans like sheep in front of wolves.

“You did ask, didn’t you? I shouldn’t have expected anything less. This is cruel. Even for you.”

“Why? This is just a game. A game of hide and seek. I just chose a good opponent.”

The Titan spoke dreamily. Perorn stomped a hoof and he looked up. Fleethoof stared at the Titan. And Tulm the Mithril closed on them.

“He was the one who took away my leg. Why did you bring me here, Niers?”

Niers Astoragon looked up. A tiny man. Then he looked at Tulm the Mithril, leading an army into the city. And Perorn saw him smile bitterly. And she remembered how he felt about his student.

She thought nothing he could say would stop her from leaving. From attacking or—but she was wrong. The Titan of Baleros looked up and gave Perorn a slight smile.

“To have a good day.”

—-

They met in silence. The Midnight Shield slowed, and the armored Dullahans paused about twenty feet in front of the Titan. To get any closer might as well be an act of war. Trust only ran so far.

Then again, he was as dangerous as his escort. More so. Tulm the Mithril walked forwards. Niers waited for him. He could hardly leave his wooden pedestal. By his side, Perorn tensed. Her eyes locked on Tulm and her arm strained as it didn’t quite reach for her sword hilt.

Tulm paid no attention to her. He was staring at Niers. He halted a few feet before his old teacher. And Niers Astoragon gave him a bow. First. And it was a proper bow, not a simple nod of acknowledgement. It might have meant nothing to non-Dullahans. But Perorn and the Iron Vanguard watched. And there was an imperceptible shift in the ranks of the Dullahans behind Tulm.

Satisfaction. Perorn followed Niers’ example, gritting her teeth. Tulm waited a beat and then bowed back. It was a copy of the Titan’s bow to the last centimeter. Then he straightened and spoke softly.

“Are we equals, then, teacher?”

Perorn tensed. It was the same voice! The same tone, even. But Niers held up a hand and the [Galewinds Strategist] held herself in check. He answered casually, in a tone that was almost playful.

“I don’t see how I can look down on you anymore. You’ve grown up, Tulm. Your armor’s quite nice.”

The Dullahan had put his head on to bow. Now he took it off and held it under one arm. His head spoke back, eyes looking Niers up and down calmly.

“So you’ve said before.”

“Did I? Time plays tricks on me. The last time we met was across a battlefield, wasn’t it? I didn’t congratulate you on your victory, then.”

“No. You did not.”

The two stared at each other. Niers bared his teeth. You could charitably call it a smile. He held out a hand, politely indicating the furious Centauress next to him.

“May I introduce Perorn? You recall her.”

Tulm’s silver gaze flicked to Perorn. She spoke one word, infused with over a decade of…everything. Her back right leg had stopped hurting. It felt as good as the moment it had before he’d hamstrung her.

“Mithril.”

“Fleethoof.”

They met gazes once. And then both looked away. Any longer and one would have gone for their weapon. Perorn had a curved shamshir. Tulm wore a mace made of mithril, enchanted to hit like a sledgehammer. But his true weapon was a halberd. Niers clapped his hands together as if neither Centaur nor Dullahan were imagining gutting the other.

“I see the hosts of the city are getting nervous. Tulm, as the reigning champion of hide and seek, I hope you can win without turning half the city to ash this time. Hopefully your advanced experience and levels means you can seek without destroying.”

He looked sardonically at Tulm and the Dullahan turned his head back to Niers. He smiled coldly.

“It is not my intention. But tell me. Why am I truly here, then, teacher?”

The Fraerling gave Tulm a blank look.

“You didn’t read my message.”

“I read your message.”

“It specifically stated that this was my competition—”

Tulm leaned forwards. He raised his head to meet Niers and spoke flatly.

“You called me here. Over two thousand miles, with a letter sent into the heart of the Iron Vanguard’s mightiest stronghold with highest priority, by one of the best Couriers in the world. As if it were a declaration of war.”

Niers smiled.

“I hope it didn’t bother the Seer of Steel unduly.”

Tulm didn’t blink. He stared at Niers, as if his old teacher were a puzzle to be unraveled. With an axe.

“You had to know it would throw all of Baleros into chaos. The other Great Companies and half the continent waited to see what your letter meant. All this, for a child’s competition.”

The Fraerling [Strategist] shrugged.

“What can I say? I like my games. And you must agree, this time is different.”

He gestured to Teura and the other [Mages], who were trying to eavesdrop and finding their spells were unraveling around the trio of [Strategists]. All they could do was stare and let their viewers try to read lips. Incidentally, the price of those with lip-reading Skills or the talent had gone up exponentially in the last few minutes. Tulm shook his head with his hands.

“The world now looks through a hundred thousand eyes. Do you fear it? I thought you would rejoice, teacher. But you look disturbed.”

“I enjoy Wistram’s company, Tulm.”

“Ah. I see. So is it just for this that you called me? More sport, my greatest of teachers?”

Niers paused. He stepped forwards, to the edge of his little platform and Tulm bent forwards. Niers smiled with his teeth until the two were very close, and then both turned their heads away from the three Wistram [Mages] slightly. The Titan whispered up at Tulm the Mithril while still smiling as the silent crowd watched.

“Tulm, are you trying to annoy me by calling me teacher every two seconds?”

“Are you going to continue avoiding my question? Teacher?”

The two stared at each other. Tulm spoke softly.

“If you want me to crush your new students in front of tens of thousands, I will. And I will show them exactly what the difference is between me and them. A harsh lesson, even for children. You could have sent Fleethoof against them if you wanted to test their mettle. I will not be so kind. You tempted me here, but I do not intend to play your g—”

He paused. The Dullahan stared down at Niers Astoragon. The Fraerling’s face was too tiny for anyone but Tulm and possibly some of the Midnight Shield to see clearly. And he was grinning. He was giving Tulm a grin from ear-to-ear, his eyes as wide as they could go, his teeth bared. Unblinking.

The Dullahan and Fraerling stared at each other for one long minute. Then Niers spoke, his eyes still opened wide as could be.

“Go ahead and crush them. I want you to try.”

Tulm hesitated. He looked down at his former teacher. Niers stared up at him. And the expression on his face.

You could call it a smile. He spoke very slowly.

“Try.”

—-

Umina had thought the Professor couldn’t surprise her any further. After the Wistram [Mages], she thought his reveal might not surprise her. But he had. He always did.

Here he was. Out of the blue, as if Niers had summoned him. A Dullahan wearing armor made from a metal rarer than gold. A magical substance. Mithril. The kind of gear a Gold-rank adventurer would jump for joy to obtain. And his armor was made all out of it. It wasn’t an alloy. It shone with an inner light. But it was the Dullahan’s face Umina couldn’t take her eyes off. As he walked towards the Titan, putting his head on his shoulders, she stared at his back.

The second-in-command of The Iron Vanguard. The greatest [Strategist] of the Dullahans.

Tulm the Mithril.

Umina’s head was ringing. In a trance, she saw Tulm bow slightly to Niers. She saw him look up at Perorn, and saw her reply. He was speaking—she didn’t hear any of it—it wasn’t meant for the audience to hear. Like everyone else in the plaza, Umina was transfixed. Then Tulm the Mithril turned and he squashed her.

Just like that. Like a bug. The Dullahan ran his gaze across the students and smashed them flat. With just a look. Umina knew there was an incredible gap between her and the Professor. But Niers Astoragon was the kind Titan of Baleros, her teacher. Tulm the Mithril was—

Terrifying. It felt like he was reaching into Umina’s chest. She couldn’t breathe. She was supposed to fight that?

Marian was shivering as she held Umina’s arm. Venaz had frozen in place, his arms still folded. Umina looked around, for anyone who could—she couldn’t meet the Dullahan’s eyes! Cameral was still kneeling. Feshi was growling, biting her lip, looking down. Yerranola was making retching sounds in the back of her throat.

And Wil? He looked sick, but he met Umina’s eyes as she glanced at him. He nodded slightly. He’d known! How? There must have been clues. The Professor had probably left hints, but only Wil had picked up on it. No wonder he’d looked sick. How was he going to—how was she going to—

Oh, Nagas save me. I’m going to embarrass myself in front of the entire world. I wasn’t prepared for this!

Forget hide-and-seek. Forget that it was a game. No matter what they played, it was unfair. There he was, standing at the head of an army of Dullahans! There had to be at least another thousand in the square! And him! Umina took another glance and shuddered.

Tulm the Mithril. One of the greatest pupils of the Titan to have ever left his school. He’d beaten his teacher on the battlefield. He’d crippled Fleethoof’s leg. He’d killed Goblin Lords, brought armies to ruin and leveled one of the oldest Lizardfolk cities in the world in a week-long siege. They said he could destroy a Walled City if his company were to ever come to Izril.

They said he’d killed a Dragon. But Dragons were just a myth, a distant rumor. But they said he’d killed one. And a myth stood in front of them now. The students in the plaza looked down. They shook. If Niers had shouted ‘begin!’ half of them wouldn’t have even known what he meant. All thoughts of the game were gone from their heads. Before the game had begun, they’d lost.

“Ahem. Thank you, Tulm. You know how to make an entrance as always. My students, citizens of Daquin, and…everyone else, I introduce your seeker. Tulm the Mithril. I won’t forestall the game any longer. Without further ado, let me tell you the conditions of the game.”

Umina looked up dully at Niers as his voice echoed through the square. He wanted to talk about the game? His voice was just a distraction from Tulm as the Dullahan stood on the Titan’s left, Perorn on his right; Umina couldn’t meet his gaze, but she couldn’t look away from his armor. It was hypnotic. Painful. Traumatizing.

“The rules are simple. You know them well. You hide. Those who are caught and subdued—firmly subdued—have lost. They may not rejoin the game even should they break free. To ‘win’ this game, one need only refrain from being caught. But that isn’t true victory, is it?”

Niers chuckled. There was no response. Without missing a beat, the Titan went on.

“To be the first to win this game and claim the prize, the rule is simple. You will all leave and have half an hour to hide within the city. My soldiers and the Iron Vanguard will lock down the gates and harbor. And indeed, they will continue guarding the gates and harbor thereafter, but the rest may be deployed by Tulm as he wishes to find you all.”

Stop talking. It doesn’t matter. Umina focused on Niers. She couldn’t get his voice out of her head. It was writing itself into her memory, despite the oppressive feeling of Tulm’s presence. Part of her whispered—was Niers using a Skill, too? If so, Tulm had the stronger presence.

“Pay attention, please. I will not repeat myself. And you will all be running anyways. Because to be the first to win, you must simply return here. To this area of ten feet by ten feet around me.”

The Fraerling waved a hand.

“I’ll outline the area with chalk or rope. It needn’t be precise. But simply return here, by magic, or air, force or treachery and you win. Naturally, Tulm will attempt to keep you at bay as best he can. But the one who reaches me first wins. Simple as that. If no one arrives by sundown, well, there is no victor. Those who escaped till the end will have won a small victory, but not the full prize. Is that clear?”

It was. And Umina would have rejoiced before, because she could have won. But not against him. Silence fell as Niers waited for a response. And one came, from Tulm himself. The Dullahan spoke softly, and like Niers, his voice was amplified.

“Teacher. Do your students have the heart for your game? It seems my presence has dismayed them.”

Tulm’s voice was dry, deeper than Niers’. And commanding. Oh, yes. Calm and cold precision filled every word and it made the raucous sound die away at once. Tulm the Mithril looked at his old teacher. Umina shuddered. He was right. But Niers Astoragon just looked up at his former student and shook his head.

“What, are you suggesting I cancel my game, Tulm? I quite enjoy it. And my students wouldn’t have come all this way to forfeit out of hand, surely.”

He looked around. And his students tried to answer him. But Umina’s jaw was locked. She saw Venaz clenching and unclenching his hands, sweating. Tulm looked around. Umina looked down as the eyes swung towards her.

“It would be embarrassing, certainly. But I look around and think you overestimate this generation, teacher. Can they answer me? Even one? Without you to bolster their courage with a Skill, that is.”

He swept his gaze over the crowd again, at the paralyzed students, at the kneeling Dullahans. And Umina saw the flash of challenge in his eyes before she looked at her feet. So that was it. He wanted to embarrass Niers. If the Titan didn’t use a Skill to fight back, they’d be crushed. And his game would end. So he’d be humiliated in front of a watching world.

And it would be their fault. Hers. Umina strained, but she couldn’t force her head up to meet Tulm’s gaze. She tried. She saw blood running down Venaz’ leg as his fingernails dug into his flesh. But he didn’t say a word either. And what could Niers do? All he had were words.

“They cannot answer me, Teacher.”

“They can.”

The Titan’s voice snapped in Umina’s ears. But it was fainter now. He’d stopped using a Skill. She saw him, tiny, in her peripherals. Tulm was looking at him. But Niers wasn’t looking at his student. He spoke loudly, without a Skill. With just words.

“Your trouble has always been that you rely on Skills and levels, Tulm. And yes, you have as many levels as any two of my students combined, most likely. So what? My students will answer me. Not for my sake. But because I’ve set the stage.”

Look up. Look up! He’s waiting for you! Umina fought. She heard a groan from Marian. But her neck didn’t move. Niers went on. And suddenly, his voice was burning. The lighthearted, conversational tone he’d used all this time was gone. He spoke louder, even angrily, like he would when he was shouting from his lectern, at Venaz, at her.

“A watching world. A secret answered. Victory over their peers. And you, Tulm. Who some call my greatest student. Tulm the Mithril. The most famous [Strategist] on the continent besides myself. Perhaps you don’t know why I called for you. It’s because I can’t attack my students without mercy. But you can. Is it unfair, to put untried children up against you? Of course. But if life were fair, what would be the point of striving? So I’ve given them this. My gift. A challenge for them to rise to. If they cannot, they aren’t the brave young people I see every day. If they can’t, I should retire here and now. Because they can.”

She still couldn’t do it. Umina was biting down so hard she felt her lip bleeding. And Niers’ voice sang in her ears as Tulm pressed down.

“My students exist to surpass me. One of them will, someday. They surprise me every day. I refuse to believe levels would hold them back. I refuse to believe a simple Skill could keep them silent. When my students graduate, they will take their place on the battlefield. And when they fight, they will take their opponents to the depths of hell, be it an Archmage, a Lord of the Wall, the King of Destruction, or Tulm the Mithril himself.”

Umina looked up. Shakily, past Tulm. Her ears were ringing, but she heard Niers above it. She would have heard him if she were deaf. He was looking around, at his students. From face to face. He was looking straight at Umina.

“You are afraid. I would expect nothing less. You’re not fools. But don’t let history stop you. Don’t let names or fame hold you back. You may be students, but you’re my students. Someday you’ll clash with legends. Someday, perhaps, you’ll be my opponent. And that moment will be the same as this. When that day comes, there’s no excuse I can give you, or you to me. There’s no saying that you weren’t ready. So. Here is your opponent. Do you have the courage to face him?”

Click. Umina felt her teeth meet. She spat blood. Then she stood straighter. She drew in a breath of air. But he shouted before her.

“I do, Professor!”

Wil raised his hand. And he bellowed the words at the Dullahan soldiers, at the others, and at Tulm the Mithril. That bright gaze fixed him, but Wil didn’t step back. He was only looking at Niers.

“I can. Give me the chance and I’ll win.”

“Me too!”

Umina shouted. She saw the silver eyes staring at her, but she stared at the mithril armor defiantly.

“In a game of hide in seek. In a war game. Across a chess board. I’ll take on any opponent. I’ve played the Titan himself and won.”

A murmur ran through the crowd. Then a roar. Umina jumped as Venaz raised both arms.

“I am Venaz, from the House of Minos! I challenge you, Tulm the Mithril! I’ll take the Titan’s prize, my oath on it! Bring forth the entire Iron Vanguard and I swear our class will still claim victory.”

He pointed towards the Dullahan. Tulm blinked. And like that, the spell broke. Marian reared up, and uttered a war cry that came from both lines of her heritage. Feshi howled. And the students stood up and screamed their answer from a thousand throats.

Umina was already yelling. Venaz bellowed louder than the others, but Marian was shouting next to him. The people of Daquin watching from their windows and roofs shouted as well. Centaurs stomped their hooves and Lizardfolk shrieked. Dullahans pounded their armored hands together. And they were shouting down at the students. At her. Umina realized she was raising a hand. And the Titan was looking at her.

Wil. Umina. Venaz. Marian. Feshi. Jekilt. Yerranola. Cameral. Xelic. Merrik. Tefret. Over two hundred and fifty students shouted and cheered. And Tulm the Mithril watched. At last, he turned to Niers.

“So it seems we have a game. But tell me, teacher. You told me I had a reason to participate. And I see no opponent worthy of my striving.”

His gaze passed contemptuously over Venaz. The Minotaur roared and slapped his chest. The Dullahan was speaking loudly, but even his voice was nearly drowned out by the cheers. They were endless. And despite Tulm’s presence, he had no sway over the crowd.

His armor shone. And he’d brought an army to hunt for him. But the Titan of Baleros had called them his students. He had dared them. And for him, they could at least hide from an army.

In this moment, if he shouted ‘charge’, they would have fought the Iron Vanguard there and then. But the Titan wasn’t so bloodthirsty. This was just a game.

But the stakes had never been higher. They were for pride. Pride in their teacher, and truth. And then the Titan added to them. He spoke, his voice echoing down the winding streets and across the port waters.

“That is quite true, Tulm. And I suspect there are few things you could ask that the Seer of Steel wouldn’t be able to answer. Or you yourself. So this year, and in honor of our audience…”

He shot a sardonic glance at the [Mages] from Wistram.

“…and yourself of course, I’ve decided to add another incentive. To the student who reaches me first, in addition to the usual reward, I will give them a suitable gift from my vaults. A prize unlike any other, from the Titan of Baleros. My oath on that. And if you’re not satisfied, you may take any sword, and piece of armor, any artifact you wish short of—”

His words cut off at the second roar of sound. Umina gaped. Any weapon? Short of one of the best artifacts. But the Forgotten Wing company had an armory any Gold-ranked team, no, any Named Adventurer might drool over! And a personal gift?

Tulm’s arms were folded.

“And if I catch them all? Before sunset?”

He glanced pointedly up at the sun, still rising in the sky. Niers smiled.

“If no student reaches me, then I suppose I’ll owe you a gift.”

He met Tulm’s eyes again. The Dullahan stared at his teacher. Then he turned his back.

“And that justifies my journey? The presence of my company?”

He gestured at the waiting soldiers. Niers spoke with a silkily smooth voice at the back of Tulm’s head.

“Of course. It will be suitable. Even for Tulm the Mithril. A gift even the Seer of Steel would envy. You have my word on that. If you wish, I’ll give it to you publicly. With a bow wrapped around it.”

Tulm turned his head on his shoulders. And this time the silence was profound. Everyone’s mind was racing.

What kind of gift would impress Tulm the Mithril? And then a thought hot on the heels of that—what will I get if I win?

Niers shattered the silence with a clap of his hands. Which, magnified by his spell, was like the sound of rocks shattering. The crowd jumped as the Titan faced forwards.

“Well then. Enough wasting time. Dead gods, we’ve spent far too long on this. Everyone knows the rules. Students! You have half an hour to hide. No one else is allowed to move from this plaza. This game ends at sunset. Or when someone reaches me. Begin.”

This time Niers didn’t bother clapping his hands. He just stood in place. The students stared at him. The Titan’s eyes twinkled.

“That’s seven seconds already elapsed. My, you’re all confident.”

And then they realized the game had begun. Umina whirled. She saw Venaz glance at the sky.

“Nearly…nearly…damn!”

The students nearest the edge of the plaza were already turning and running. Umina saw a Centaur leap over the heads of the crowd nearest him; a Garuda took wing. The Lizardman she’d spotted earlier slipped past a line of Dullahans; his Dwarf friend didn’t bother and charged through, knocking several to the ground.

“Run for it!”

Yerranola was the first to run in her class. She leapt up, bounding up over the heads of the other students and then sprinting faster than Umina had ever seen her go in her life! The Selphid had to be Rampaging! Already?

“Watch for the Dullahan [Mages] everyone! I think—haekcho!”

Feshi bounded after Yerranola. She was sneezing hard and Umina saw one of the Dullahans was pointing at their group. The others looked like they were waving their hands. A spell?

“No spells during the hide-and-seek phase!”

Niers bellowed and the Dullahans stopped at once. His words provoked the rest of the students to take off. And desperate alliances were forming even in the chaos.

“Cameral, team up!”

A Dullahan girl snapped at Cameral. He fastened his head to his shoulders as he ran, thudding past Umina. She looked around desperately; now everyone was shoving to get free. Venaz hurled a Drake aside as he ran for the nearest alley. Umina’s head searched left and right. Where was—

“Marian!”

She shouted desperately. Someone seized her from behind. Umina shouted, but Marian flipped the Lizardgirl onto her back.

“Hold on!”

The Centauress had done a quick circle to gain momentum. Now she galloped ahead at full speed. The students ahead of her could get out of the way or be trampled. The Centaur shouted as Umina clung to her midriff.

“[Rapid Retreat]!”

She accelerated. Umina felt wind blast her in the face and saw the Centaur shooting towards a group of Dullahans from the Iron Vanguard. They took one look at her and scattered, abandoning their formations. Marian raced down a side street, a three hundred foot dash in three and a half seconds. She slowed as her Skill ended—but the ground still flashed past Umina. She screamed at Marian.

“Go straight! We’re going to the harbor!”

The Centaur raced ahead. A few students made it into their street as Marian raced down it; some stopped where they were, looking for nearby places to hide. Others took off, going as fast as Marian and Umina. But not too far. Because victory lay behind them. It waited with the Titan as he laughed, waiting for his students to best the Dullahan standing to his left. His students ran with his words echoing in their ears.

They would be back. And they were going to win.

—-

“It seems I’ve fallen into your trap once again, Professor. This feels…nostalgic.”

Tulm the Mithril stared at the flurry in the courtyard. He spoke absently, bitterly. Almost…fondly. The Fraerling was sitting on his wooden dais now that attention was off of him. The Titan paused in waving at some of his staff to look back at Tulm. But the gaze the two shared was anything but nostalgic. Niers reached into his bag of holding and pulled out a tiny folding chair. He sat down on it.

“You don’t say.”

The Dullahan slowly turned his head on his neck to stare at his former teacher. He stared at the chair. Niers pulled a stool out of his bag of holding and put his feet up. Behind him, the [Mages] of Wistram stared, capturing the scene for the world to see. The Titan, the running students. It wasn’t a war. It wasn’t important, but at the same time, it was.

The world watched. Perorn was glad none of the [Mages] were looking at her, though. The huge smile on her face was uncharacteristic as it was smug. Tulm glanced at the Centauress, then slowly put his head on his shoulders.

“My own fault. But this game is still mine. If you want a winner—I will win. I have three thousand soldiers if you permit me to command your forces.”

“I do. And pull the crew off those six warships while you’re at it. Fill the streets if you want to. Use [Mages]—I’m sure you can get some to teleport in to help you out. Excuse me, I asked for a lime drink. Something properly sour. No sugar, thank you.”

The Fraerling frowned at Councilman Ulli, who’d hurried over with the drink in one claw. The Fraerling frowned at the drink, which was in a thimble still essentially the size of a bucket for him.

“Terribly sorry, Lord Titan! I’ll get you uh—a fresh lime right away!”

The Lizardman turned red. Niers waved at him genteelly.

“It’s not a race, Councilman. Oh, and while you’re at it—a Centaur’s seat for Perorn unless she wants to watch somewhere else. And a drink? Tulm, will you have anything?”

“No.”

“And I’ll watch somewhere else. Best of luck, Mithril.”

Perorn stared at Tulm’s back. He ignored her and the Centauress stormed off. Niers waited for his lime, reclining and watching the Dullahan. Tulm spoke absently at last.

“If Fleethoof cheats—”

He turned and raised a hand. The thimble bounced off Tulm’s palm and the sweet limeade trickled down the mithril. Tulm shook his hand. Niers sat back down. Tulm waited a beat.

“If Perorn or any of your people cheat, the world will see. But you brought those [Mages] here for that reason, didn’t you? I think I’ll decline your offer. My ships stay where they are and my crews likewise. None of your students will leave the harbor or the gates. I intend to catch them all and the water won’t hide them. First Armor Captain.”

“Sir.”

A Dullahan, one of the Midnight Shields, stepped forwards and pounded on their breastplate. It was impossible to tell whether they were male or female with their helmets on. Tulm nodded towards the ranks of Dullahans.

“Send word to the fleet. Every [Soldier] aside from the ship crews is to disembark once the thirty minutes window has passed. Each warship will hold the harbor entrance and allow no one through; I want spotter watching the waters. The [Mages] will begin setting up wards—”

He hesitated and then glanced at the Wistram [Mages] before eying Niers briefly. The Titan looked up from accepting a second drink.

“Thimble? I have no idea, Ullim. You know where they get to. Maybe it fell down? Thank you. Nice and sour.”

The mithril-clad Dullahan frowned at the Wistram [Mages]. They were edging closer, and a few more were hovering on the outsides of the plaza.

“Focus on anti-teleportation spells at once. I want each entrance sealed to the plaza and watchers on the rooftops. [Mages] with net spells. No one will reach the Titan by air, ground—have a [Mage] begin sending signals through the earth to check for tunnels. And each squad is to activate anti-invisibility and anti-illusion countermeasures…”

He stared as Niers sat back. There was a bowl of candied nuts on his left, enough to feed the Titan for about a week, and some sliced fruits on his right. Niers leaned further back in his chair and sighed. Then his head came up and he blinked at Tulm.

“What? I’m waiting for the game to start. Don’t worry, I’ll let you know when you can leave the plaza. Want some snacks? I could play a game of chess to pass the time.”

He grinned. Tulm stared at him expressionlessly, then turned. The Dullahan [Captain] followed him, already giving out orders. Niers drew his sword, sliced off some banana on his right, and took a huge bite. He sipped at his drink, sighed, and looked around.

The Iron Vanguard was spreading out in formation and his soldiers were hopping to Tulm’s orders, reluctant though they might be. The citizens of Daquin were being moved out of the way by the seekers, and some had gone to their houses. Others were staying out for a better look, even if it meant being clubbed by accident. He raised his voice and shouted as he spotted some of Wistram’s [Mages] casting spells he recognized.

“No [Mage] leaves the plaza until the time’s up! You with the wand over there! Try to leave with that [Invisibility] spell on and I will have you tarred and feathered as a sideshow!”

The [Mage] jumped and the citizens of Daquin cheered. Niers sat back as the [Mage] hurried out of the crowd. He looked around and caught Tulm staring at him again. Niers waved. The Dullahan’s expression never changed, but he turned around. And what was Perorn doing? Talking with what looked like a [Merchant]. Why?

Ah. Bookkeeping. The Titan waved a hand and made a signal; one of his Selphid [Spymasters] approached, with a sugar cube.

“Get me our [Diviner]. We did bring one, didn’t we? I want to know the odds as they come in, and any conversations we can intercept. Oh, and get me the good wine. My stock, and don’t let anyone stop you. Perorn can have it over my dead body.”

“Any bets, sir?”

“I’m afraid Wistram would notice. No. Just interception.”

The [Spymaster] nodded and vanished. Niers laughed. He sat back, had a drink, and gestured for Teura to approach. No chair for her though; she could bloody well stand. The Titan smiled as he watched the world focus in on Daquin and his students. It was going to be a very fun day.

For him, at least.

—-

Luan stared at the city in the distance. He checked his map again, but Venaz had told him the name enough times. The City Runner, or rather City [Rower] stretched in his small single scull. He was already limbered up to be honest; he’d gotten up early, had a stamina potion, and rowed out here from the neighboring port city hours ago. He’d been waiting all this time to go in.

Now Luan almost wished he’d ignored Venaz and gone in sooner. Because the sleepy harbor of Daquin had exploded with activity. First a few galleys had appeared, and one larger ship and sailed into the harbor. Not too bad; it could have been a [Merchant] group, but Luan had spotted armor on too many of the crew. But he would have still bet he could escape all of them if need be. And he was going in, so what was the worry?

The worry was the six gigantic warships that had appeared out of the blue and charged into the harbor. Each one was massive and their crews were all Dullahan. Luan had been prepared to row for the horizon, but there hadn’t been any sounds of fighting. Just a few horns, those damned loud drums and now…silence.

But something was going on in the city, Luan was certain. The South African man checked his heartbeat. Too fast, but he was nervous. Again he debated cancelling, but his reputation was on the line. So were fifty gold coins. So he just held his breath and checked the sun.

“Almost time. Almost time…”

The little bag of holding was clasped firmly between his knees. Luan eyed the warships. They’d set up a perimeter around the harbor. That was clear enough. And Venaz had warned him something like this might happen. Well, Luan had a few options…the City Runner held his breath. Then he checked the sun, swore, and began to paddle forwards. Slowly at first.

“Well, here goes. Venaz, friend, if I die today…”

He looked down at the bright golden names on his arm.

“You’d better have that gold ready.”

Then he began rowing for Daquin. Just in time to see the Centaur and Lizardgirl racing across the docks.

—-

Umina and Marian raced down the street. They’d taken a circuitous route, having gone the wrong way out the plaza first. But they were still galloping along, or the Centauress was. Umina clung to Marian’s torso as the Centaur slowed from their sprint, but she was still moving fast.

Ahead of them were only a few students; most weren’t heading their way, down a slope towards the harbor. Obviously the Iron Vanguard would be coming from that direction, but a few had taken the risk. Intelligently or not. Umina saw a Drake and Gnoll [Tactician] duo she recognized running down the street. The Drake was screaming at her friend.

“There should be a cover to the sewers somewhere on the street! Or a drain at least! Where is it? Is it covered beneath the dirt, maybe? Help me find it!”

The Gnoll shouted at her partner’s back.

“There aren’t any sewers, you idiot! That was your big plan!? I thought you had a brilliant idea!”

The Drake was horrified.

“No sewers? What kind of a primitive city is—”

Marian galloped past them. Umina peered over her shoulder.

“Don’t go too fast! There’s an incline! And take a left down this street! To the port!”

Marian turned her head, breathless, as she galloped.

“We’re sticking to the plan? But the Iron Vanguard’s ships—”

“So what? There are still others in port! Left!”

The Centaur swerved. The two broke out of the street and into the wooden pier. Umina swore as she saw the Iron Vanguard’s black vessels and grey sails. There were distant figures milling about on the decks.

“Oh, hells, Umina! They can see us from the harbor!”

“Back into the buildings, then! Use the smaller ships at the docks as cover! Pretend we’re going back!”

Umina dropped from Marian’s back. The two raced back behind a building and then came out, low to the ground, blocking their view of the Iron Vanguard’s warships with one of the smaller trading vessels anchored at the docks.

Marian panted; her withers were streaked with sweat. On a Centaur that meant the part of her body where her humanoid torso met the horse part of her body. Centaurs had weird anatomy. But Marian had raced across the city faster than almost anyone else, proving why her species was unmatched on the plains. [Knights] on warhorses were dust compared to a Centaurs on the charge.

“This had better work, Umina. We’ve got—”

“Twenty minutes left. We’re fine, Marian. We can do our fallbacks! Just hold on—hey! Hey up there!”

The Lizardgirl had led them to the side of a ship. Now she called up cautiously. There was a second, then a scuffle and a [Sailor] poked his head over the side. His eyes widened as he saw her.

“What’re you doing? And what in the name of krakens is going on in the city!”

“Haven’t you heard? The Titan’s game of hide-and-seek is going on!”

Umina hissed up at him as Marian gulped for air. She felt silly putting it that way, but the [Sailor]’s eyes widened.

“Of course we heard about that, but—Captain! Vexula! Ronny! Get over here!”

More [Sailors] appeared on the edge of the ship. Umina wished they wouldn’t be so obvious about it. They blinked down at the two [Strategists] huddled up against the side of their ship. One of them narrowed her eyes.

“Hang on. Don’t I know you…? What’s this about the city? We know the Titan’s having some kind of game, but where did those warships come from? That’s the Iron Vanguard! Is the city under siege or something?”

“No. Tulm the Mithril is taking part.”

“What?”

Umina shot a glance over their shoulder. Every second they spent…she waved at the [Sailors], one of whom looked like a [Captain].

“Hey. We’ve got a favor to ask. My friend and I are trying to win this thing, but the Iron Vanguard’s going to be unloading soldiers in moments and searching the city! Mind if we hide in your ship? Please?”

Marian stared at Umina. She mouthed silently, something along the lines of ‘that’s your plan?’ But the [Sailors] just blinked at each other. Then one nodded.

“Of course! Let us get a rope! We’ll haul both of you up on the sly. Hey! Get those crates in the way! We’ll smuggle you two below decks and if any landlubber asks—well, no one’s getting on our ship, Great Company or not!”

The crew instantly went running. Marian blinked at Umina.

“How did you do that?”

The Lizardgirl just grinned.

“Know your audience. Remember the crowd? Look.”

She pointed. The first [Sailor] was already back. And as the others tossed down a harness used for horses for Marian, the Centaur noticed what had made Umina pick this ship. The crew, with the exception of Ronny, were all Lizardfolk.

“Umina, right? You’re doing us proud! The Titan’s personal class! You’d better win this one for us!”

The [Sailors] congregated around the two as they helped lift Marian, hiding them as the two disappeared below decks. Marian was following Umina shaking hands and touching tails as she smiled. The Centaur stumbled as she went down the cramped and to her, very narrow stairs; she was breathing harder even though the below decks were quite spacious.

“We need a hiding place. Can we move your stuff?”

“Sure, sure. Need a hand?”

“Just tell us when the Iron Vanguard moves in! And in the name of Nagas, don’t act suspicious!”

“Uh—”

“Just don’t act unnatural! Get drunk or something!”

The [Sailor] brightened up and headed upstairs. Marian looked at Umina as the Lizardgirl checked the hold.

“We don’t have nearly enough to take on Tulm the Mithril’s soldiers. Your tripvine bag won’t work on the elites, Marian. We need a better plan and fast.”

“I’ve got gold. And some stuff in my bag of holding. Is the world…rocking to you?”

The Centaur replied faintly. Umina glanced up.

“We’re on a ship, Marian.”

“Oh. Centaurs don’t like being at sea. Or boats. Or small spaces, Umina.”

“Bear with it until we can go, Marian.”

“We could go now. There are better hiding spots.”

Marian danced in place nervously, then felt ill. Umina sighed.

“No. We hide here, at least for the first hour.”

“But if someone gets to the Professor before us—don’t you want to win?”

The Lizardgirl paused. She met Marian’s eyes and there was a fire there that made the Centaur forget her sea—her harborsickness for a moment.

“I do. And we’re going to win, Marian. But we need intelligence on how Tulm is moving. How many soldiers are on each street, whether he’s concentrating his forces or spreading them out—anyone who rushes the plaza right off will get caught. We need to wait for an opening.”

“But if we’re trapped in this wooden box—”

Marian gulped. Another Lizardwoman had come down. She eyed Marian and silently handed the most important object in the pair’s plan so far. A bucket. Marian immediately clutched it to her chest.

“Damned Centaurs. Get seasick on a rowboat in the middle of a pond. What can we do for you, Umina?”

The Lizardgirl smiled at the older [Captain].

“We could use eyes and ears, [Captain]. No one said we couldn’t ask for help. Can you put some of your crew out to let us know what’s happening?”

“Can do! Don’t worry, my crew’ll love to help out. No one’s getting on our decks. And—”

Both Lizardfolk winced as the boat rocked in a gentle swell and Marian promptly threw up.

“—don’t worry about your friend here. Or my decks. This is the most fun we’ve had in ages! Tulm the Mithril! And the Titan himself! You think we can win?”

“We can.”

Umina met the [Captain]’s eyes and got a grin. She reached out and patted Marian on the back.

“But first we hide. And wait. And we see what happens next. The Professor always says that information wins wars. That, and armies. We’re working on the second part.”

—-

“Halt! The harbor is sealed by the Iron Vanguard company!”

The order came when Luan was a few hundred feet from the warships. He cursed, but he slowed and half-rose to shout back with hands cupped over his mouth.

“I’m a City Runner! I have a priority delivery! I can’t stop!”

There was hesitation aboard the warship. Except for war—no, even in war, City Runners were usually accorded immunity. The Dullahan aboard the ship called back.

“No entry! You will have to wait! If the request is urgent, the package can be relayed!”

“I don’t think that’ll happen.”

Luan muttered to himself. He stood up.

“I can’t deliver to anyone but the recipient! You know the Runner’s Guild rules! I can prove I’m a City Runner! I have my seal here!”

So saying, he paddled forwards. The Dullahan on board turned and paced up to what looked like the [Captain] or another officer. He came back and shouted after a second and Luan had closed maybe fifty feet.

“No entry! By order of Tulm the Mithril, no one is allowed into the harbor! Turn back at once!”

Tulm the Mithril? Luan had no idea who that was, but he sounded like someone important. Still, the City Runner had no choice. He pretended to go forwards at a decent rowing pace, as if he were putting his back into it.

“I have to make my delivery! Sorry, friends!”

“No—”

The voice cut off and Luan saw the Dullahan gesture exasperatedly towards him. Some Dullahans approached with nets and began slinging them from the first warship to the one at anchor across from them. They were going to form an artificial wall! Luan grinned.

“Too slow! Here we go!”

He swung around the boat, then put his back to the warship. In the mirror, he saw the Dullahans pause, hoping perhaps that he’d given up. Not so; Luan had just gotten in the proper sculling position. He bent forwards, dipped his oars in the water and pulled. And he took off.

“[Power Strokes]!”

Luan saw the water heave as his agile craft shot left—not towards the gap between the first warship, but between another pair. The Dullahans blinked and stared for a moment—Luan was shooting across the water faster than they could run! He heard a cry from the Dullahans on watch.

“Dead gods! Put the nets down now! [Mages], stop that boat—”

Pull. Swing. Dip. Pull. Swing—Luan heaved and the force shot his scull out of the water. He felt the boat land and grinned. A net landed in front of him, which was really behind his scull—the Dullahans had misjudged how fast he was going.

“Is that a damned Courier?”

“[Mages]! Get over here now! I said—”

Pull! The oars didn’t send a huge splash of water flying; that was poor form. All of Luan’s strength went into the water and sent his boat flying. He saw someone pelting up the decks. But before the [Mage] could even get to the aft of the warship he was through the gap. He shot through the harbor as the [Mages] raced to the starboard of their ships. More nets, but he was out of range. But spells?

“No, no, no—”

Luan turned right. Something—it looked like a huge net made of spider webs—struck the water with a large splash next to him. The second spell was a ball of purple which imploded in the water, creating a whirlpool and trying to drag Luan in. He rowed furiously, dodged a third spell that looked like some kind of magical anchor, and saw the docks coming up fast. No time to slow—

“Gah!”

The impact splintered the front of Luan’s boat and capsized him. Luan frantically grabbed at the pier’s docks as he surfaced and with bag of holding in hand, clambered over the side. He saw a ship full of Lizardpeople watching him with interest from their ship.

“Look at that Human go!”

“Is he a student? Good luck, Human!”

Luan heaved himself onto the docks, swearing and dripping with water. He stared at his broken scull, but it was too late for regrets. He saw the Dullahans on the warships pointing, but for some reason they weren’t chasing him! He decided not to chance it. If worst came to worse, he’d buy a ride back to Talenqual. Fifty gold pieces could buy him the scull of his dreams—or at least, a much better one.

“The Starlight Requiem. The Starlight Requiem—”

The [Rower] panted as he ran up an inclining street. The inn was close to the docks! He just had to go up two streets. He was prepared for anything or to fight through a crowd, but the streets were eerily empty. All he saw was a running Lizardperson—no, wait! Was that a Drake?— disappearing down one street. And then another empty street. And…windows with people staring down…

Luan slowed. He looked around. Every window in the upper floors was full of staring faces. Lizardfolk, Dullahans…they stared down at him. Someone shouted from above.

“Hurry up! Time’s nearly up!”

“Time? What time?”

The face looked confused. Luan looked around and his stomach was in knots. What had Venaz gotten himself into? He spotted a sign and raced towards it.

“The inn! Hello? Is anyone—”

The Runner pushed open the doors and staggered in. He took one look around. The [Innkeeper] looked up. He was a Dullahan and his body lumbered towards Luan like something out of a horror film while his head shouted from the counter.

“Oh no! You can’t hide in here! I can’t have my inn destroyed!”

“Wait! I’m looking for a Minotaur—”

“I sent him out too! No one’s hiding here! I get enough things broken with the [Sailors] brawling! Out! Out!”

“But where did he—”

The Dullahan chased Luan out; the man backed up fast and the doors slammed in his face. He looked around and grabbed at his hair.

“That goddamn—where is he?”

Venaz was nowhere in sight. And judging by the commotion, something was going on. Something bad? Luan stared up at the people in the windows.

“Did a Minotaur come this way? I have a delivery for him! I’m a City Runner!”

There was an ooh from above. Some of the watching citizens turned to each other.

“Should we tell him?”

“What if he’s on the Mithril’s side?”

“But a City Runner—anyone remember where he went?”

“…No.”

“Damn.”

Luan ran down the street, looking around frantically. But no one was on the ground! It was as if—then he saw a group of [Soldiers] marching towards him. There were eighteen Lizardfolk and three Centaurs. They stopped as they spotted Luan. One of the Lizardfolk frowned.

“Wow. They suck at hiding. Is this really who’ll be commanding us? Hope this one’s a washout.”

The Centaur leading the group frowned. He was armed with what looked like a catch pole. Another Centaur had a long, curved stick much like a hockey stick, ideal for tripping people up. The Lizardfolk had nets, staves. And clubs. Luan gulped.

“I’m a City Runner. On a delivery.”

He held up the bag of holding and fumbled for his seal. The [Soldiers] stared at it. They looked at each other. The Lizardman scratched at his frills.

“Okay, that’s sort of smart. Do you think he’s telling the truth, though? Anyone can get a seal if you paid enough. Is it a student?”

The Centaur looked vexed. He stomped a hoof.

“Take anyone on the street! That’s what the Mithril said and we’re part of this game. You want to turn down ten gold coins?”

“When you put it like that—get him!”

“Wait! Shit—”

Luan turned to run. The Lizardfolk and Centaurs raced after him. He heard galloping hooves and knew there wasn’t much point in running—Luan stopped with his hands up in front of a closed stables. He turned and Centaur bearing down on him reigned up.

“Sensible, Human. Look, if you are a City Runner, you’re in bad luck. If you don’t run, we won’t beat on you. How’d you get into the city, anyways? The gates are locked tighter than an Ogre’s ass.”

“How tight is that anyw—”

“I got in through the harbor. Past the warships.”

The Centaur looked surprised, then delighted.

“You got past the Iron Vanguard? Hah! So much for sea superiority. Alright, turn around and we’ll put some ties on you. You can sit in the plaza with the other captives; you might be the first one. The game’s just started. Shame you aren’t a student, though.”

“Game? What game?”

“You didn’t hear? Well—damn, we’ll let them explain. It’s just begun though, so you’re lucky you’re off the streets. It could get chaotic. Especially with Tulm the Mithril seeking. I heard that when he played against the Titan, he burned half a city down—”

Luan stared at the Centaur as the [Soldier] fumbled with some rope. The other [Soldiers] looked disappointed they couldn’t beat Luan up. They were chatting to Luan as a patrol of Dullahans came around the street. They were marching fast and armed like this group, but the way the Lizardfolk and Centaurs stiffened told Luan they were at odds, for all they were on the same side.

“Halt!”

“We’re on your side, idiots!”

The Lizardfolk shouted back. The Dullahans marched over to them and the leader pointed at Luan.

“Is this a student? We’ll take him.”

“And steal the gold reward? We have him, thank you, [Captain]. Your [Strategist] may be in charge, but we can do our job.”

“I’m not a student—”

“Did you say the game’s started? I thought it was in two more minutes!”

The Centaur snorted as he pawed the ground, his group facing off with the Dullahans.

“Your time’s off. Lord Astoragon just called a start to the game! Think we’d cheat and—”

He broke off and turned. So did the Dullahans. And Luan. They stared at the stable doors. The muffled voice had come from there. Someone from inside spoke.

“Hah. Told you that timekeeping artifact’s utter trash, Tompha. Alright. I guess we’d better start this off.”

Luan threw up his hands and shouted.

“Start what off—”

The game of hide-and-seek, the Titan’s challenge, the competition in Daquin, started in earnest next to Luan. It started with a whumph of sound as the doors of the stable blew outwards. A group of eighteen students burst out of the stables, riding full-tilt on stolen horses straight for the plaza. The [Soldiers] turned to run after them and one threw a bottle. Luan turned and dove as he saw the glass break; he felt something strike across his back and try to unravel, but the tripvine missed.

As Luan rolled to his feet, he saw the [Soldiers] groaning and swearing in the middle of a tangle of vines. Another bottle broke and a pair of Dullahans dropped like stones; the soporifics vapors knocked out the audience in the apartment above. The students rode past them, shouting as a wall of Dullahans raced towards them. Towards Luan too. The [Rower] took one look at the students, the [Mage] hurling arrows made of light, the Dullahans with nets, and he ran for it. He was going to kill that Minotaur.

If he ever found him.

—-

The explosion from the stables was audible even in the plaza. No one had been making a lot of noise before that. From his seat, Niers looked up and smiled.

“And so it begins. High Mage Teura, move that scrying orb closer, will you? And everyone else, stay out of the winner’s circle. I won’t have you interfering with the game.”

He waved at the group of teachers, onlookers, Wistram [Mages], and others clustered around the circle. They shuffled obligingly out of the way as the half-Elf [Mage] floated the scrying orb closer to Niers’ seat. She and Niers were the only two in the winner’s circle. Outside of it was a ring of Dullahans in black armor.

The Midnight Shield. They didn’t so much as budge at Niers’ order. And they would have really ruined his view of the game, but happily Niers had the scrying orb. And Wistram’s [Mages] had spread to every corner of the city to watch. That meant Niers could watch the game through the scrying orb with everyone else and see the action already in progress.

A group of eighteen students were racing down a street, barely two blocks away from the plaza. The view was from a rooftop, and Niers could actually see the [Mage] with this vantage point slowly tracking the action from above. He enjoyed this perspective immensely, although it did mean he sometimes saw himself in the scrying orb as the viewpoint shifted to Teura’s vision.

“Lord Astoragon, do you have any comments? It’s surprising to see your students moving so quickly, isn’t it?”

Teura spoke on Niers’ right hand. He shrugged and reached for a bit of candied nuts, then eyed himself in the scrying orb. He sighed, sat up, and spoke with a smile on his face.

“Not at all. They’re probably hoping to catch Tulm off guard. Boldness is a strategy in itself. And they’re on horseback. We should be seeing them—”

A clatter of hooves. The viewpoint switched back to the students. They were racing up a street. Niers watched them throwing alchemist weapons with abandon; one of them was casting spells. He chortled with delight.

“And here’s Tefret himself! A [Mage Captain], one of our graduates in fact. He’s pushing in hard. And I think the Iron Vanguard—excuse me, Tulm’s force—has underestimated my students. Money can bowl over even a regiment of battle-hardened Dullahans!”

It was true. The Dullahans had come armed to catch, not to block a dozen exploding flasks which showered them with oily slicks, sleeping gas, vines, and in one case, some kind of liquid that was apparently very painful to get into the eyes. The Dullahans backed up, calling for shields—which of course they hadn’t brought. Niers glanced up with a smile and saw the viewpoint flick to Tulm the Mithril, standing calmly next to a map of the city. The Dullahan glanced up and Niers saw his eyes in the scrying orb for a second. He spoke a single order.

“Southern entrance. Have the unit hold ground; the riders won’t reach them. Xol. Cut them off.”

In the scrying orb, the [Strategists] were racing towards a row of Dullahans. They’d outpaced everyone else and had blasted their way clear. The half-Elf, Tefret, was throwing [Light Arrow] spells from the tip of his wand, a veritable storm of magical bullets. But they weren’t deadly; they had the force of a hammer to the jaw at worst and the Dullahans guarding the plaza did have shields. They held their ground, holding behind the shields, refusing to buckle in front of the impact. The [Riders] refused to slow as well. They were aiming for the Dullahan wall, and Niers looked up and saw them at the entrance to the plaza.

“Confusing. Reality meets scrying orb.”

He shook his head and jumped up. Teura yelped as the Fraerling climbed up her arm and onto her head. Niers saw his students riding at him behind the wall of Dullahans just in time. They passed by a building and the wall exploded outwards. A fist grabbed a student off his horse and slammed him gently into the ground. Gently by comparison; the Human girl might have broken a few ribs. But the Dullahan [Juggernaut] who charged out of the side of the building could have squashed her and her horse like a bug.

“Dead gods! [Juggernaut]!”

The students screamed. Three horses reared—the gigantic Dullahan swept and hand and knocked all three students off with blows that were almost too fast to see. He was quick! And strong—he grabbed another horse as it ran past him and plucked the student off.

“Back, back!”

“We’re nearly there!”

The remaining students panicked. One threw a tripvine bag at the colossus wearing crimson armor with silver inlays. The [Juggernaut] caught the bag; it exploded in one hand. He lashed out and the student went flying. The Dullahan rose, high, higher, until he loomed above the horses below. Fourteen feet high; he had to have been crouching to have hidden. He charged forwards and the students scattered.

Niers heard a gulp from below. He looked down and saw the scrying orb had changed. A Drake sat in place, face pale.

“T-that would be—Xol of Ingrilt. Wouldn’t you say, uh, Sir Relz?”

A second Drake appeared in the picture. He was wearing a monocle and tapping his claws together rapidly.

“Indeed, Noass. Xol of Ingrilt, one of the largest and most famous War Walkers in the Iron Vanguard company. Often seen in the company of Tulm the Mithril’s personal vanguard, so it’s not surprising to see him here in one sense. In the other—deploying a War Walker in an urban environment is…and against students who might not even be Level 20? Some of them—I wonder if the Titan of Baleros would care to comment. We er, understand he is watching no doubt, and perhaps this development had caused him to reconsider his claim to ah—”

The image broke off. Niers saw another [Mage], the Centaur, edging around to stare at Niers standing on Teura’s head. He looked over and saw Tulm staring at him. Niers smiled and adjusted his voice so it boomed across the plaza to Tulm.

“Ah, Tulm. You only brought one?”

He was rewarded by just the slightest of changes in expression. Then Niers turned and watched the rest. He completely ignored the two Drakes trying to get his attention as the scrying orb flicked back to the action.

—-

“Move! Scatter!”

Tefret bellowed at the other students. Eleven raced away; Xol and the pursuing Dullahans had already knocked out seven. The Dullahans on the southern entrance to the plaza had formed a triple line; there was no chance of getting past them. And Xol was pursuing the others. The giant was outrunning horses, at least in the narrow streets. Xol whirled as Tefret charged him on horseback.

“Xol!”

The [Mage Captain] leapt from his horse and slapped it to make it race away. He aimed his wand and pointed.

“[Storm Arrows of Light]!”

A hundred missiles shot from the tip of his wand, blasting outwards in a spiral. They hammered Xol as the Dullahan turned towards him. The [Juggernaut] didn’t bother to shield his face. He just charged, into the hail of magical arrows.

“Trees rot it all—[Aerial Burst]!”

The half-Elf pointed at the ground and leapt. The shockwave blasted him off his feet and into the air. He landed on a rooftop, sprinted across the top, and pointed down.

“[Sticky Webs]! [Water Geyser]!”

The webs shot down, hitting the giant Dullahan. A huge column of water blasted out after the webs, enough to knock several Dullahans down. Tefret leapt.

“[Featherfall]! [Hammer Kick]!”

He hit the ground lightly from the two story drop and kicked a charging Dullahan. The metal armor bent around midsection as the Dullahan dropped. Tefret whirled. He had to run! Time for another plan. Without using deadly spells, there was no chance of felling Xol. On the plus side, the [Juggernaut] couldn’t pursue him hard. If he ran—

The half-Elf sprinted for an alley. He stopped as his [Dangersense] screamed at him and halted. The wall exploded outwards and Xol appeared. His armor was wet and a few strands of webbing clung to the enchanted metal. Tefret looked up at him with a weak smile.

“Then again, I didn’t have a chance anyways, did I?”

Xol bent. The giant Dullahan tensed. Tefret raised his wand.

“[Valmira’s—]”

A hand grabbed him. The [Mage Captain] fired the spell into the palm for all the good it did. He went up and then slammed into the ground. His body didn’t break. The paved stone did. Tefret grinned up dizzily at Xol as the Dullahan stared down at him. The half-Elf croaked.

“I am a huge admirer of yours. May I buy you a drink?”

Xol smiled.

“Later.”

—-

“Dead gods. Dead gods.”

The first encounter with the Iron Vanguard spread like wildfire across the city. Half the students creeping out of their hiding spots immediately retreated. The fire that Niers had lit under their bellies vanished.

“A [Juggernaut]? How are we supposed to beat that?”

A Drake grabbed her Gnoll friend and whisper-screamed in the apartment they’d hidden themselves in. The Dullahan watching out the window gave them a sympathetic look. The Gnoll [Tactician] was breathing heavily.

“I—I do not know. Dullahans should be slow, no? Maybe—”

“Slow? You saw that thing! It caught a horse! And it got Tefret like that!”

The Drake snapped her claws. The Gnoll nodded a few times. She licked her lips.

“Piccy, we may be outmatched. We are only in our second years. Maybe we should give up. The other students may be able to take on the Iron Vanguard. But we—”

“Give up? But we won’t get another shot for years! I knew we should have prepared more. I knew it. Oh, Ancestors, why didn’t we think? We can’t go outside. We go and we’ll get caught like that—”

Piccy snapped her fingers. She clutched at her neck spines and glanced at the window. Then she heard a pop.

A Dullahan [Mage] appeared in their room. He wore no robes; his armor shone like glass, a brilliant yellow stone mixed with dark black metal. He pointed at the Drake and Gnoll.

“Located.”

“Jump for it!”

The Gnoll went for the window. The Dullahan pointed as the apartment’s room owner fled.

“[Water Wall].”

A torrent of water shot upwards, engulfing both [Tacticians] in a moment. The Drake and Gnoll floated helplessly, choking for a few seconds before the Dullahan [Mage] levitated them out and into the air. The [Mage] paused to turn back to the other Dullahan who was staring in horror at the captured students.

“My apologies for the disruption, Miss. Please submit any water damages to the Iron Vanguard pending the conclusion of this exercise.”

Then he leapt and floated down the street. And the Wistram [Mage] had seen it all.

“How did they find them?”

Noass pounded the seat of his armrest, staring at the replay of the two [Tacticians] being caught. He turned to Sir Relz. The Drake was thinking.

“No doubt the two were giving off some kind of signal. But what? I have to think it was a [Scrying] spell employed by the Iron Vanguard’s mages. They must be looking for magical hotspots.”

“Can you explain, Sir Relz?”

“Naturally. Any artifacts that give off magic, any powerful spellcaster would show up under certain scrying spells. Those would obviously locate some of Daquin’s citizens, but more than a few students would easily be caught this way unless they have counter spells! This is—well, it’s effective, but is it sporting?”

“It certainly wasn’t for those two poor girls. Two of Izril’s own, gone like that! This really is a one-sided match so far. And what’s this?”

The image blurred. Daquin’s watch tower, at least eighty feet in the air, had a guest. That would be a Wistram [Mage], who backed up as she saw someone else climbing up. A furry, somewhat shaggy—the two Drakes stared.

“That’s no Gnoll. I know Gnolls and that is not a Gnoll. Sir Relz?”

“No…that has to be—”

The Fox Beastkin growled up at the [Mage] staring down at him.

“Move.”

She leapt sideways into the air, making an affronted sound as he shoved her aside. The leather-clad adventurer took no notice. He strung a longbow as he stood on the small tower, staring around. Then he took aim.

“Got one.”

He pulled an arrow out with a shaped head, aimed it, and loosed in less than a second. The arow flew down, emitting a shrieking sound as the carved head caught the air. And when it landed, it detonated with a cloud of smoke. The running Centaur yelped as Dullahans converged on her location. The [Sniper] looked around and twisted.

“Got two. Twenty gold pieces.”

He loosed again, shooting an arrow through a window and pegging a Dullahan peeking out in the chest. She felt back as smoke billowed from the window. Noass and Sir Relz stared. The Drake with the spectacle spoke slowly.

“That would be a Gold-rank adventurer. Samile the Watcher, part of the Whisperstep band. It appears Tulm the Mithril is expanding his vision with him on the tower. Noass, would you have a chance of hiding against a Gold-ranked [Sniper]?”

“Not a chance, Sir Relz. And I would dare any Silver-ranked team to do better than these poor students.”

Both Drakes were nodding. Sir Relz looked back in the scrying orb, and fixed it with a stern gaze.

“Lord Astoragon, I’ll ask again since you appear not to be hearing me. Is this unfair?”

—-

“Oh, shut up.”

Feshi growled at the image in the scrying orb. She was crammed into a root cellar. A very small, unfinished root cellar. But it was practically invisible even up close, the smell of the cellar would foil any nose, and the dirt provided some protection from scrying spells. As did the talisman tied to Feshi’s necklace of fangs. It was a gift from her tribe’s [Shaman] and she defied the Iron Vanguard to find her with their spells. She could even watch the scrying orb.

All in all, it was a wonderful hiding spot. The Gnoll had located it in a preparatory visit to Daquin. Feshi’s only complaint was that she hadn’t been the only one to find it. She shifted, and nearly collided with the person sitting next to her. Wil stared into his scrying orb and winced; another student was caught.

A Dullahan [Strategist] both he and Feshi knew had been beating a group of Dullahans back with a quarterstaff. He’d fought quite well—right up until Xol had charged into the alley and rammed him into a wall. The Gnoll sucked in her breath.

“This is not good, no? I expected a formidable opponent. Perhaps even Fleethoof herself as Umina predicted. But this is ruthless. As befits Tulm. Is there no hope?”

She looked unhappily at the Human crammed in next to her. She rather liked Wil, for all he was vaguely depressed most of the time and unconfident. Better that than arrogant like Venaz, though. But Feshi didn’t see a happy ending for either of them. She had a few tricks, but nothing that would work if everything was one-sided as this.

To her surprise, Wil glanced up at Feshi. And his eyes were alight with…emotion. It burned so bright that the Gnoll wondered if she’d gotten into the root cellar with the same Human. Wil even smelled different. The [Lord] and [Strategist] shook his head.

“We’re not done yet, Feshi. I’m not done. None of our class has been caught.”

The Gnoll met his eyes.

“No. This is true. Forgive my panic. But you have a plan. Or is courage enough?”

Wil was about to respond, but Feshi perked up one ear. She held up a paw and he went silent. The two [Strategists] held their breaths. They heard a muffled bark.

“Hunting dogs. We should be safe here. They can’t smell us. These roots stink.”

Wil whispered.

“How many tricks does this Mithril one have?”

Feshi growled. She smeared more half-rotten produce on her and Wil for good measure and heard him gag. The Gnoll shook her head.

“I can handle them even if they get near. But this is serious. This Tulm, he wants to beat the Professor rather badly, no?”

“He does. And he’s pulling out everything he has. Wouldn’t you?”

The Gnoll grinned.

“Only if it didn’t get me insulted. These two Drakes, I know them. They commented on Liscor’s siege and those moth attacks. One wonders if Wistram approached them to speak about this. It seems like an interesting job, yes? If only—”

“—they weren’t so stupid?”

Feshi blinked. Wil was staring down at the scrying orb. He glanced up.

“Sorry. They are playing the uh, fools. You know, the oblivious bit? I saw a comedy routine by [Jesters] back home like this.”

“You think they’re foolish?”

The Gnoll squatted to peer into the scrying orb. In the lull between more students being caught the two Gnolls were using a map of Daquin and talking about the various sweeps going through the city. There were at least three thousand soldiers on the ground, but the city was home to tens of thousands. Without magic or other devices, Tulm’s forces would be searching for weeks to find all of the students.

Then again, he didn’t need to find them all. There was only one way to win. And while Feshi supposed the Dullahan [Strategist] might be humiliated a bit by a less-than-complete victory, it was hollow for the hiders. Wil grimaced at the orb. He looked up apologetically.

“I thought that was what you were going to say. Don’t you agree?”

“Hrr. I don’t believe they’re underrepresenting our competition.”

“But we haven’t begun to fight yet.”

The Human looked up. And Feshi caught the same look in his eyes that had driven her people from northern Izril. That burning, indefatigable emotion.

Determination.

And as he spoke, the viewpoint shifted. Wil and Feshi watched as a group of Dullahans swept down a street, moving into houses—after knocking first of course—checking each floor, keeping alert for [Mages] or the screaming arrows from the watchtower. They looked up and down the street. And then they saw them.

A group walking towards them down the street. The Dullahans relaxed. Another soldier group. Until they saw the Dwarf walking among them. That gave them pause. Then they saw the lack of uniforms and grabbed their blunt weapons.

“Surrendering?”

The Dullahan [Sergeant] called out, smiling. Some of her [Soldiers] laughed. The group of students looked puzzled. There were six of them. A Gnoll, the Dwarf, Merrik, a pair of Centaurs, a Garuda, and Drake. Feshi didn’t recognize any of them outside of this morning. She stared.

“Surrender?”

Merrik, the Dwarf spoke. He had a greatclub over one shoulder. He looked at the others and they grinned. He shrugged at the Dullahan squad.

“If you like. Put your weapons down. Tie yourselves up while you’re at it.”

The Dullahans lost their relaxed postures. They formed up, coming down the street while the Dullahan relayed a [Message]. There were twenty four of the Dullahans. Six students. The Dwarf counted.

“That’s…hold on. One and a one fifth for you lot, eighteen for me. Got it?”

“Your math is terrible.”

“Bite me, Kelsa.”

The Dullahans looked at their [Sergeant]. He gave a curt order.

“Take them!”

They charged across the ground. The Dwarf roared. He jumped forwards. The students charged. The Dullahans weren’t expecting that. Merrik brought his club up. The [Sergeant] had a shield in hand and a truncheon in the other. The Dullahan roared.

“[Ram’s Charge]! [Power Strike]!”

He shot past his men. Merrik slowed and brought up his club.

“[Hammer Blow].”

The two met with an impact that shook the street. Dullahans stopped and took cover as shrapnel from the paving stones flew in every direction. They looked up and saw a shape in the dust. Merrik stood over the Dullahan. The [Sergeant]’s armor was bowed in. The Dwarf bent and felt at his head anxiously. He looked up and nodded.

“Phew. Didn’t kill her. Didn’t know it was her, either.”

The Dullahans stared. They looked at Merrik as he sauntered forwards. One croaked.

“How—”

“Oh. That. [Body of Stone], lad. And it’s [Giant’s Hammer], not [Hammer Blow]. I just like shouting fake Skills for fun.”

Merrik brushed at his tunic. The fabric flapped away, revealing something underneath. Steel. The Dwarf winked.

“You’re not the only ones with armor. Ready?”

And then he charged. The Dullahans braced. A pair of Centaurs leapt over Merrik and the [Sergeant]. Kelsa had a staff in one hands. She whirled it, struck a Dullahan over the top of his helmet and then under the chin. She danced sideways, kicked—a Dullahan caught the hoof and spun.

The second Centaur caught a catchpole on one leg and then a net across the chest. He kept running. The Dullahans shouted as the catchpole was torn loose from a hand. The three Dullahans holding the net skidded across the ground as the Centaur ran on. Then he circled and trampled the fallen [Soldiers]. Carefully.

“Forwards! For Oteslia and the skies!”

The Drake shouted. She flew forwards, and the wooden club carried snapped twice, striking hard enough to dent metal. Dullahans surged forwards. More were coming down the street! The Drake spun, hacking at those surrounding her. Then she opened her mouth.

“Oldbl—”

The warning came too late. The Dullahans surrounding her shouted as a jet black fog burst from the Drake’s mouth. They stumbled out of the cloud, choking, and a few seconds later, the Drake strode forwards. She dispersed the fog herself, dragging out the Dullahans who’d inhaled the black smog and fainted. She whirled as a Dullahan clubbed her across the back of the head. He drew back his mace and a blunt wooden tip of a sword struck him between the eyes.

The head of the Dullahan bounced to the ground. The Gnoll tsked as she walked past the Dullahan [Soldier] as his body crumpled, unconscious. Dozens of Dullahans were swarming towards her. She left the rest of her group to fight the patrol.

The second group of Dullahans slowed slightly as she walked towards them. The Gnoll carried a rapier, or rather, a wooden imitation. Sturdy at the tip but still flexible, a bludgeoning weapon in the shape of the dueling sword. But however incongruous it was, it fit. The Gnoll’s hand glinted as she lifted the rapier. Her paws glided across the street, her stance never wavering.

A silver bell chimed on her paw. The Dullahans set themselves. Their [Lieutenant] drew a wooden sword. He charged the Gnoll, shouting for his men to surround her. The [Fencer] stepped in, her eyes gleaming.

“Fight’s going one way! Keep it up! And leave some for me!”

Merrik huffed as he ran to catch up after the scattering Dullahans. They were falling back, regrouping. He ran after one, raising his club over his head and shouting a war cry. A fist punched through the wall just over his head.

The Dwarf froze. He looked up as Xol tore a hole in the side of the wall. The [Juggernaut] looked down. He raised a fist and Merrik brought up his club, swearing. Xol swung, then leaned back mid-strike. He dodged the kick at his head. Xol lashed out again, with a jab that cut the air. He still missed her.

The Garuda back flipped through the air. She caught herself in the air and dove.

“Axe kick. Palm strike. Punch. Punch. Cross kick.”

She calmly pounded Xol across the chest, transitioning from the kick to punches and another kick. The [Juggernaut] struck again, but she missed. His armor rang with a second punch and the Garuda flew back. She landed and flipped sideways—a fist struck the stone.

“Punch.”

She punched the arm before it withdrew. Merrik roared.

“Grandfathers damn it, Peki! Stop shouting your moves!”

“Move back. I can’t hold him long.”

The Garuda balanced on one leg, holding up the other claw-foot, her wings poised to take off, dodge or strike. A [Martial Artist]’s stance. One who fought on both air and ground. Xol stared at her. Then he charged.

Punch, left, right, up—the Dullahan slammed with his shoulder, hoping to hit her. But he missed. The Garuda spun past him and kicked the side of his head. Then she flew up and dove.

“[Aerial Dance: Waterfall Strikes].”

The Garuda vanished. A blur replaced her, striking its way down Xol’s armor. He raised his arms, guarding, staggering as the blows took him off-balance. Peki reappeared on the ground, panting. Her friends were retreating, fighting off the other Dullahans.

“You’re not very good without your weapons. You should have brought your shield at least.”

Xol righted himself slowly. He adjusted his head on his shoulders.

“I’ll reclaim it. Tell me. Who taught you how to fight like this?”

The Garuda smiled.

“Pomle’s Strongest.”

She flew at him. The Garuda struck Xol three more times on the chest and disengaged. Xol retreated, and Peki flew back towards her friends, who were calling for her. The Dullahans stared at their retreating leader. The Dullahan [Commander] looked up.

“Call in reinforcements.”

She slowly drew a potion and drank it. Her form blurred. The Dullahans next to her stared at their commander. A [Mage] uttered a spell and a Dullahan in front of him raised a glowing weapon. A Centaur from the Iron Vanguard company trotted forwards and drank a potion. Her skin and fur turned dark, glossy, like metal.

“Ah, hell. They’re buffing themselves. Time for a tactical retreat?”

Merrik eyed the advancing Dullahans, who were approaching in formation. He looked over his shoulder then ducked.

“Bastard!”

An arrow hit the ground where the Dwarf’s head had been. It burst and the students leapt back. There was a flash—Merrik emerged looking dizzy.

“Light spell. Faugh! Someone do something about that idiot! I can’t see! Cover me!”

His friends dragged him back. The Dullahans charged, sensing the weakness. Kelsa raised a hand.

“Alright. Now.”

The doors of the apartments opened up and down the street. And people poured out. Dullahans dressed in nondescript armor, holding polished clubs. They laid into the Iron Vanguard with considerably more expertise with the weapons. From an alley behind the Dullahans, a group emerged. Adventurers. The [Mage] in front pointed.

“Floor is hot! [Salamander’s Embers]!”

Fragments of a flaming, magical substance coated the ground in front of her. The other adventures set up. [Archers] and [Mages] began to fire arrows which exploded into sticky substances or hit with a nonlethal punch as the [Mages] cast similar spells. The [Warriors] strode forwards, wearing magical footgear and armor. They began beating down the Dullahans in the back row.

Merrik roared. More Dullahans were emerging from every side now; Tulm the Mithril had seen what was going on and was sending more reinforcements. But more students were arriving by the second, some leading groups.

[Thugs]. Adventurers. [Mercenaries]. Fighters for hire. Merrik pointed a club at the struggling Dullahans ahead of him.

“We need to clear this lot up and retreat! Everyone on me! I’m using my big one! [Battalion of Glory]! Charge!”

His club began to shine. The Dwarf charged, and his friends and the fighters on the street began to glow with that same light. They rushed the Iron Vanguard, and their roar seemed amplified by a hundred voices. They crashed into the Dullahans as the [Soldiers] fought to get back.

“Commander charge! Retreat!”

Too late. The adventurers and students took down the Dullahans from both sides. By the time Xol was marching back at the head of a massive force, the forty or so Dullahans on the street were unconscious, stripped of their weapons and items. And the students had retreated. They were instantly pursued, but the [Mages] found the adventurers were able to push them back. Three Dullahans went down, immobilized in short magical duels.

And the Gold-rank adventurer on the watch tower found a Garuda shooting up at him. He shot arrow after arrow at her and his aim knocked the [Martial Artist] out of the sky. A better matchup. Until Samile the Watcher saw the arrow flying up. He dodged sideways; the arrow exploded and the burst of air blew him screaming off the watch tower and towards the ground.

—-

“The officer classes.”

Feshi and Wil stared at the other students in the orb. The Gnoll breathed the words out slowly. She looked at Wil.

“No wonder we did not recognize them. They aren’t new students. They’re the Professor’s officers, yes? Some of them are aspiring [Generals].”

Wil smiled. He stared at the retreating group, who had fled after Merrik’s Skill ran out.

“They’re all officers. They could have used [Strategist] support; that Dwarf used up his Skill in a battle they’d already won. Some of the others may join them.”

“Wait—look. Jekilt’s already doing that.”

The Gnoll pointed. In the rapidly changing orb, the two saw their classmate. Jekilt was leading a band of nearly fifty fighters through the city, fighting to link up with the others. Wil nodded.

“He must have called on a part of a company. Maybe his friends he keeps talking about.”

The Centaur was fighting with the Iron Vanguard, but like the others, he was moving fast. There were more students popping up around the city, but even combined, they had only a fraction of the Iron Vanguard’s force plus the Forgotten Wing [Soldiers]. But by the same token, the Iron Vanguard couldn’t use all of their soldiers without leaving the plaza exposed. Wil and Feshi looked at each other. The Gnoll bared her teeth.

“So you were right. What now. Do we go above?”

“Not yet.”

Wil’s eyes were fixed on the scrying orb. He glanced up through the slits in the root cellar’s trapdoor. And then he looked at Feshi.

“Listen to those Drakes. They’re fools twice now. They’re acting as if this changes anything.”

Feshi smiled crookedly.

“I agree. This is our teeth we’ve bared. But that Tulm, he has not used a single Skill. And I think—we had better keep hidden until we see what he can do.”

Wil nodded. Then his eyes flicked to the scrying orb.

“It looks like the Professor will give us a chance to see just what we’re up against.”

—-

“Foul!”

Niers shouted cheerfully. Samile the Watcher stopped shrieking as half a dozen [Mages] caught him mid-fall and gently lowered him to the ground. He sat there, breathing hard, looking quite flushed. The Titan stood on his dais and shouted into the scrying orb.

“That was fairly lethal! But in fairness’ sake, I’ll say that there were few ways to take that adventurer out that weren’t lethal! Either give him a Ring of Featherfalling or no one goes up there!”

He pointed at Samile. The adventurer nodded vigorously. Then the Titan sat back down and continued watching. From atop Teura’s head. The half-Elf coughed pointedly but politely.

“Lord Astoragon. Do you have any comments? I understand our [Commentators] and our audience would like you to speak some words. We have four hundred and twelve [Message] spells directed at you—”

She winced as Niers jumped off her head with a sigh. The Titan adjusted his hat, kicked over his folding chair and footrest, and the bowl of nuts. The audience watched as he cleared his dais.

“Very well. If Wistram insists, I suppose you could twist my arm into it. Now, as for that last encounter. I’m pleased to see my officer classes are paying off. The Dwarf is Merrick, a fine [War Leader] rather than a formal military class. I understand he fought several brisk battles in the mountains against Trolls before coming here. Rather hasty with his Skill, but as you can see he is indomitable against a lower-level class of officer.”

Niers gestured towards the scrying orb as he paced back and forth. The [Mages] desperately tried to recall the image of Merrik. The scrying orb flicked to Sir Relz and Noass. The Drake cleared his throat.

“Ah, so would you say this Dwarf is a contender for—”

The Titan spoke right over the Drake, loudly drowning him out. He gestured towards himself and the feed was replaced by him once again.

“A fine stalwart lineholder capable of reversing the odds in any army. As for Kelsa and Romin, they’re clearly adept at taking the fight to the enemy in that quintessential Centaur charge, although I’ll note that both were handicapped without their weapons. Romin uses a lance you see—quite impossible to use nonlethally when he charges.”

He chuckled. Teura opened her mouth, but Niers pointed and it snapped shut. The [Mage] glared, affronted, as he went on.

“And Kelsa usually had blades on her staff. Both ends; quite deadly too. I forget what she called it. As for Peki, her style speaks for itself. As far as aerial commanders go, I consider her my best. It reminds me of the time she executed a rather splendid raid by air during a training exercise. With twenty Garuda she managed to defeat a force of nearly a hundred, ironically by using nets—”

Perorn watched Niers strut about, recounting his story as both the Drakes and Teura tried to cut him off. But it was too late. And now the Titan was calling out his students by name as they appeared on the scrying orb.

“Wonderful deflection by Jekilt there. But he is a [Captain] and he can easily divert a charge. You see, it’s impossible to take him with a similar number of unled soldiers. Hah, well, even a [Captain] of the same level might struggle to do it. See how he’s leading his troop down that alley? He hasn’t spotted the Dullahans, but his [Dangersense] plus his intuition skill, [Battlefield Awareness] is letting him outmaneuver the enemy. He may have other Skills, but I’m afraid that’s his business. Nevertheless…”

He knew each student. Their quirks, their abilities, and their strengths. And the Fraerling was cheerfully shouting into the scrying orb, broadcasting his praise across the world. You couldn’t pay for a better endorsement.

“Pay for publicity. There’s a new thought. I had to kill enemy [Generals] and monsters to get my name out there.”

The Centauress murmured ruefully. She watched Niers, her earlier vexation at him completely forgotten. Because he was playing another game, below his cheerful support of his students. What was it he always said?

“Tell a story, Perorn. History is a story. And stories win hearts, more than any speech.”

It was all about stories. And here was one now. The world had seen him appear and nearly crush Niers’ students. Tulm the Mithril, one of the most powerful Dullahans in the world. You would bet he would win if you just looked at the odds. But would you? If you weren’t part of the Iron Vanguard, if you weren’t a Dullahan—no, even if you were, who wanted to root for him?

Look at Cameral, his hiding place discovered, throwing Flashfire Dust into the eyes of a [Mage]. Look at a Dullahan girl, wrestling with a [Soldier] twice her size, throwing him, getting away. Children vs adults. A new generation vs an old one.

Tulm the Mithril. Call him Tulm the Villain. Because he wasn’t the one who should win. Every species was represented here, or nearly. Dwarves, half-Elves, Humans, Drakes, Gnolls, Garuda—so many species. No matter who you were, you had someone to cheer for. And across the world, Perorn thought they were.

“Show us victory. Show us you can beat the Mithril.”

She looked at the scrying orb. Then Perorn’s head turned. She saw Tulm standing at his impromptu war room, snapping orders. He appeared unruffled. But that was only a façade. He was irritated. The Wistram [Mages] crowding around him, asking questions didn’t help. He was not used to this. And worse, someone was making comments every few seconds.

“Agh! And that group of Dullahans going down the alley is jumped by Xelic and Sillk. Ah, Sillk, one of our [Rogues]. A splendid takedown of the Dullahan leader. Foliana would have been proud. Are you watching, Foliana? Ah—I would like to mention that Sillk is one of our officers in training. We do not and have never operated an [Assassin] training school, contrary to popular opinion.”

“Would you swear that on a truth spell, Lord Astoragon?”

The Fraerling paused.

“I hardly see the need to. Anyways, as I was saying, wonderful ambush. A shame Tulm, my prized student missed it. Really a pity, but no one’s perfect. And he’s not serious yet. Ah, and there goes another patrol. Tragic, tragic…he might consider bringing them in now that my students are going on the offensive, but I trust his strategy.”

He turned and gave the watching audience an unconvincing smile. Perorn laughed. It was the twinkle in his eyes. She saw Tulm stiffen at his table; he had a scrying orb to listen to as well. Or rather, a scrying mirror. Orbs were tricky and broke and rolled about. Perorn didn’t know why people loved the damn things.

Still, the Titan’s voice was just that. A voice. Niers Astoragon had given his word not to interfere, let alone use a Skill. You could tune him out. It was just psychological warfare. If you ignored it, it didn’t have an effect on you.

And if you believed that, you didn’t know anything about the Titan. Perorn watched. And she waited. And if she could have heard Wil in his root cellar hiding spot, she would have agreed. Anyone who thought Tulm was rattled, that he was losing or unprepared was a fool. The Dullahan looked up as Perorn stared at him. And the audience around Niers, laughing at a joke the Fraerling had told at one of Tulm’s past mistakes as a student went quiet.

A cold wind blew. No—it was a wind that had no basis in air. It blew only through flesh. It touched only bone. Freezing. And he stood straighter.

Like a statue that consumed light and gave only a silver glow. With eyes that shone in the day. And the sea of calm that had drowned even the Titan of Baleros. The ice that had crippled Fleethoof.

Tulm the Mithril turned. He bowed towards Niers once and placed his head on his shoulders.

“You were right, Professor. I suppose I must do my best.”

That was all he said. He turned.

“Call them back. Xol takes the north, I will lead the south.”

The Dullahan standing next to him blew a horn. The Midnight Shields stood taller as Tulm walked past him. He looked around and the Dullahans standing in the plaza looked at him.

“The Midnight Shields will hold this ground. Four hundred of the Iron Vanguard holds these streets. The Forgotten Wing’s [Soldiers] form hunter packs of fifty. Form up in companies of two hundred and disperse the rest as independent patrols. Wait for my mark for targets.”

Horns blew. The [Mages] raised their hands to their temples. Dullahans fell into ranks, their painted armor gleaming in the light. Tulm walked down their ranks. He stopped in front of his chief [Mage].

“Activate the Screamer Dust.”

“The—”

Perorn inhaled. And then she saw the [Mage] move his fingers. He whispered a word. A single incantation. An activation phrase.

And the world began to shriek.

—-

“What’s happening!?”

Umina and Marian heard the air began to vibrate. And then the vibrations turned into a hum. A shriek of noise that split the air, louder and higher-pitched than any cry. In their root cellar, Wil and Feshi were deafened by the noise. The Gnoll’s ears were bleeding as she tore herself out of the cellar.

Hiding in the water by the harbor docks and the remains of his boat, Luan saw the Centaur and Lizardgirl staggering out of their hold. The [Sailors] backed up, shouting over the noise. But it was intense! The two [Strategists] shouted at each other, and then the Lizardgirl pointed to the water. She dove and the sound faded. Marian did the same and Luan saw the two treading water. The ringing in his ears faded and he heard the Centauress, still shouting, paddle towards the water.

“What in the name of horse shoes was that?”

“Screamer dust! We must have gotten hit by it! But I have no idea when—”

The Lizardgirl was shouting too, rubbing at hear earholes. Then her eyes widened.

“The plaza! Remember those [Mages] throwing something? Feshi was sneezing—oh, Nagas! We all got hit! Listen!”

She grabbed her friend. Luan could hear it too. The dust or whatever had been causing that noise had washed off the two in the ship, but across the city the sound was echoing. Hundreds of students were flushed out of hiding. And the waiting soldiers pounced on them before they could wash their dust off.

“That dirty, cheating—”

The Centauress swore with words Luan had never heard before. They sounded like horse expressions. ‘Salt licking coward?’ He almost laughed, but the look on her face was bleak. The Lizardgirl nodded. Then her eyes widened.

“Hold on. One’s getting nearer! It’s—”

Luan saw a huge, bellowing figure sprinting down the street. Right at him. The [Rower] dove just in time. Venaz plunged into the water, flailed about, and then swam to the docks. He heaved himself out of the water, cursing.

“Underhanded. When I get my hands on that spineless—”

He broke off as he saw the two looking at him.

“Marian! Umina! So that’s where you two have been. I should have known. You got doused as well?”

“We were hiding here! Where have you been?”

The Minotaur shook his head. He wiped water out of his eyes, casting a glance up the street.

“Never mind that. We need to move. Now. More students will be trying to get here. And the damned [Soldiers] are sure to have heard us. I passed a patrol of Forgotten Wing soldiers on the way here.”

“You idiot, Venaz—”

“If I had my plan in place—”

“You!”

All three turned as Luan heaved himself out of the water. The [Rower] glared at Venaz. He stomped towards him. The Minotaur brightened.

“Ah! Perfect!”

“Where were you? And what is going on? I did not get paid for—”

The Minotaur was holding his hands out, completely unapologetic and reaching for his bag of holding. Marian was staring at Luan. Umina was looking at neither. She glanced up the street.

“Oh no. Here they come!”

She pointed. Luan saw a patrol of Dullahans, Centaurs, Lizardfolk, and Selphids charging down the street. Three Humans too. Venaz swore. Marian pointed.

“This way! Plan B, Umina! Follow me!”

She grabbed the Lizardfolk girl and tossed her onto her back. The Centaur galloped down the docks as the [Soldiers] pointed and gave chase. Venaz turned to Luan.

“My bag!”

“My money!”

“No time.”

The Minotaur glanced around. Luan backed up, but Venaz didn’t bother with the bag. He grabbed Luan and like Marian, tossed all six feet plus of the [Rower] over his shoulder and took off. Luan swore and tried to break free, but Venaz was thundering along. He followed Marian as the Centaur wove and changed streets. The howling was still in the air. And then the Centaur halted.

“What is that?”

A wall of dark grey fog was coming towards them. Venaz stared as Marian backed up. Umina pointed.

“That way!”

“Put me—”

Luan bounced about and nearly bit his tongue. Then he heard a door slam. A flurry of voices, Venaz’ outraged tone and then a horrible smell. Luan twisted as he saw a huge opening into darkness. He realized what it was as Marian half slid down and shouted.

“Whoa, whoa, wait—”

Too late. He was tossed down the outhouse’s receptacle into the communal septic tank. Luan wished he could have landed on his feet. He did not. Worse, the ‘floor’ was liquid and it went up to one ear. The [Rower] got up immediately then something splashed his face. Venaz had landed. The Minotaur uttered a bellowing oath as the privy closed and the Lizardwoman shut the toilet lid. Only a sliver of light entered the communal tank. Luan sensed something with a very big body and four legs getting up next to him, making incoherent whinnying noises. Then there was a flicker of light.

“[Light].”

A very small orb appeared in Umina’s claws. She held it up and looked around. She was standing knee deep in—and Marian, Venaz, and Luan were covered in—

The [Light] spell went out. It was better that way. Luan tried not to breathe. Venaz spoke in a controlled voice.

“Where are we?”

Umina’s voice quavered. She spoke brightly, opting for cheerfulness.

“Uh…a communal waste pit? You see, Lizardfolk cities don’t have sewers. Too many things grow there. But we need to get rid of waste. So we dig these spots and empty them with uh, [Nightmen]. Or [Nightwomen]. Although that’s an antiquated term that comes from Terandria with Humans, you know? The class is usually [Scourer], which sounds so much nicer. Or [Hauler] is a good generic one, because, you see, these have to be emptied. Or [Digger]. In fact, people in this line of work have to be good at digging, like the woman who runs this pit. We should be grateful she let us—”

“Umina. I’m going to murder you if you don’t shut up.”

Silence. After a second, Venaz spoke.

“I wish to leave. Now. Where’s my bag of holding?”

“…Are you talking to us?”

“No. The Human. Luan the Runner.”

“I am going to murder you, you damn Minotaur.”

“Oh. Uh, hello.”

“My bag of holding. Then we can be gone.”

“Where’s my money?”

“Hold on. I have it here. Hmph. I suppose this calls for a tip. Hold on. Let me just—”

“…Well?”

“Hah. Life is full of surprises. Would you believe I dropped my money pouch? Hold on, it might be in here.”

—-

The mists rose. Thick and dark, like iron dust. The air grew heavy. Perorn felt it dragging at her legs. Her body.

You couldn’t run in it. It sapped energy. Sight became difficult. And these mists were worse. Magic began to fail in them. Lesser spells ceased.

An army could die in the mists. An army had died in the mists. Perorn remembered the darkness, fighting alone as her army lost maneuverability. Was cut to shreds. Because the mists only affect his enemies. The Iron Vanguard strode through the mists as the shining figure walked at their heads. She heard him as he passed her by. Tulm’s voice echoed in the dark plaza.

“[Battlefield – The Cold Iron Mists]. [Legions of Steel].”

The Wistram [Mages] choked. Perorn saw a desperate flare of magical light; a clear space opened around Teura. The [Mage] desperately held the mists back, but only in a radius around herself. She was sweating. And the screaming filled the air.

“Screamer Dust. He must have—earlier—is—fair—?”

The voice from the scrying orb was distorted. But Perorn had no eyes for the orb. She stared at Tulm. His Dullahans marched past her. And their bodies were—steel. Not just their armor, which looked thicker, but their skin. As if Tulm had given each one of his [Soldiers] an Ironskin Potion.

“Bastard.”

She croaked as he passed by, coughing in the mists. She knew the students had to be affected too; the mists were rolling through Daquin. Tulm could fill a battlefield with them.

The glowing figure stopped. A head turned and silver eyes pierced through the mist.

“As I recall, the Professor used to say there was no such thing as cheating. Only intelligent preparation. Or does that only apply to his current students?”

Perorn had no answer to that. She just coughed. Tulm walked past her.

“Xol. Take your company north. I will catch the students from the south. From there, we hunt down those caught by the Screamer Dust that the patrols do not capture. The remainder will be found or the time shall elapse.”

“By your order, Mithril.”

A giant walked through the mists. Perorn staggered blindly towards the shapes. Unfair. That was what she wanted to say. You couldn’t let someone like this fight against the students. It wasn’t fair. This was a Skill she had lost to. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t—

“Perorn.”

A voice stopped the Centauress. Niers stood on his dais, in his circle, lost in the darkness. The Titan looked so small as she bent to speak with him.

“This is insane, Niers. How can anyone fight this?”

The tiny man looked up at Perorn. He reached up and grabbed her finger.

“Believe in them, Perorn. My Fleethoof.”

“I do. But—”

Perorn coughed. The mists were lightening. Teura was standing taller, gritting her teeth, banishing the fog around her. The air in the plaza lightened. Perorn stared at the half-Elf as she bent, panting. Niers raised his eyebrows.

“…I somewhat regret standing on her head now. That was impressive.”

“Thank you.”

The half-Elf wiped sweat from her eyes. She looked up at Perorn and gasped. The scrying orb had gone dark. Now it flickered to life, showing the Titan and Perorn. Teura’s voice rasped from it, a double of her voice as she spoke.

“What now, Titan of Baleros? Can your students handle this?”

Everyone was silent. Looking at him. Niers Astoragon stood small in the scrying orb, as the mists covered the city. The world waited with bated breath. The Midnight Shield turned their heads, waiting. And the Mithril strode through the city, leading thousands to crush hundreds. Students coughed and fought to breathe and see.

And the Titan of Baleros looked up at the sky as the mists threatened to engulf the sky. And he sighed. And smiled.

“Yes. How many times do I have to say it? Yes.”

He pointed up.

“Your [Mage] on the watch tower. Have him take control of the spell. And look around. Probably towards the harbor. I think one of my [Strategists] is cornered there.”

Teura looked up. A Garuda [Mage] levitating in the sky next to Samile raised her wing. The scrying orb flickered. And Perorn saw a city engulfed in dark, roiling iron. As if Tulm had torn down a cloudy sky and filled the city with it. She heard a gasp from the people around her. But she saw the mists had not fully engulfed the city yet.

They were slowly rolling down towards the harbor, the most distant point in Daquin. And sure enough, there was a young man standing at the docks. Wil. The young man was dripping as the [Mage] enhanced her vision. And standing in next to him, aiming a wand which blew apart a group of [Soldiers] slowly advancing down the docks, was a Gnoll.

“Feshi too. And a wand with a wind spell. Good lad. He’s generous and thinks of contingency plans.”

Niers smiled down at the image as Wil turned and hurled an orb that exploded and covered the area with fast-hardening mud that became as strong as stone in a second. The [Soldiers] still came on. Perorn stared down, willing them to run. They could at least dive! Or break through! But the Gnoll and the Human held their ground.

“Lord Astoragon, what—”

Niers held up a hand. He closed his eyes. And Perorn saw a flicker of moisture as the Titan rubbed a finger across his eye.

“You see, he doubts himself. And he’s always questioning his place, I think. A good attitude to have, but he underestimates his strengths. Except when he’s on the field. Then he shows me that steel. That spine that the Kallinad family possess. Unwavering. Unyielding. And brilliant. And he’s my best student in logistics, bar none. He can plot a company’s course across a continent by the differences in their supplies, if you can believe that.”

“Lord As—”

“Shut up. He’s early. And so are they. But they can’t have missed it. And Wil was always willing to improvise. So here they come. Look. In this moment, Wil Kallinad is my best student.”

He pointed. And Perorn saw it. At first, it was only a flicker in the waters. The confused [Mage]’s gaze was fixed on the wrong place, on the dark harbor. But then she noticed it. And looked up. And Perorn saw the view shift up, going to clear skies.

The sun still shone. Beyond the dark city filled with clouds, the sky was clear. And the sun, slowly beginning to set in the east, illuminated the shapes on the water.

Ships. They sailed towards the port, white sails billowing, running with a wind that blew against the darkness. The black vessels of the Iron Vanguard held their ground and the Dullahans on the docks called out, firing warning spells over the port. But the warships never slowed.

Four of them. Four, to match the Iron Vanguard’s six. Smaller, perhaps, but not by much. And they sailed ahead, crewed by [Captains] without fear. Drowned Men. [Storm Sailors]. The wind blew on their backs as they shot towards the gaps in the blockade, filled by nets to capture smaller vessels.

The Iron Vanguard’s navy tried to turn. Tried to cast spells. But too slow. Too late. The first warship crashed into the prow of one of the warships and the stern of another and sailed through, cracking through the thick wood. The other three ships sailed through the gaps, sending Dullahans [Sailors] tumbling into the water.

The boats surged towards the port. Towards the dock with Wil and Feshi. The [Soldiers] trying to apprehend the two had stopped to stare. A fist of fifty Iron Vanguard [Dullahan] led by a squad of [Riders] had joined the Forgotten Wing soldiers. They halted in place, watching the ships surging towards them. And they didn’t slow. The Dullahans backed up. The Forgotten Wing [Soldiers] fled.

The first warship crashed into the docks, sending wood splintering. It ran aground, the hull missing Feshi and Wil by less than a dozen feet. The Gnoll stared up at the ship. Then the side of the ship fell outwards. A ramp opened, exposing the ship’s belly.

“A transport ship?”

Perorn whispered. The gangways fell down, wide enough to drag a wagon down. And out they came. Rank after rank of gleaming [Knights] already mounted on warhorses. Their armor shone. They carried padded spears and practice swords. Weapons meant for tourneys. Jousts.

A game. The second warship hit the docks, slower, but ran aground and began unloading [Knights] as well. [Archers] on the decks shot blunt arrows at the Iron Vanguard unit, forcing them back.

“There are a thousand members of the Iron Vanguard here. Tulm could bring his ships to the harbor, perhaps, but it’s now occupied. Two thousand of the Forgotten Wing are also under his command. In case you ask, I gave Wil no instructions. No hints. I certainly didn’t tell him how many soldiers to bring. I will swear that on any truth spell in the world.”

The Titan’s voice was the only sound in the world. Perorn just stared down at the harbor. Hundreds of [Knights] were riding forwards. And behind them [Squires], simple [Cavalrymen] and [Cavalrywomen], [Footsoldiers], [Archers], and even [Storm Sailors].

The crew of the ships leapt off the decks, whooping and fighting the [Soldiers] with fists and improvised clubs. [Mages] teleported off the ships or walked onto the water, already throwing magic at the iron mists.

But that was the backdrop. The tableau, the moment of forever was the first [Knight] who’d charged off the ship, leaping her horse off the deck rather than wait for the gangplanks to go down. Perorn saw a flash of brown hair, a helmet falling. And an arm, reaching down to Wil as the [Strategist] reached up with a smile on his face.

“Who is that?”

“That would be his sister. Lady Talia Kallinad. [Summer Knight] of the Order of Seasons. And that is her order. And the Kallinad’s personal army. And the banners of a dozen other noble families too.”

The Titan wiped at his eyes. He looked old as he stood there. Old and as happy as Perorn had ever seen him. He sat down, watching as Wil pointed ahead and his sister broke away from their embrace.

“Full marks, Wil.”

The army of Humans formed up. And as Tulm the Mithril turned his head and listened to the report shouted at him and slowly raised a hand to cup it to his ear, the darkness hanging over Daquin lifted. The sun shone through for a second. And Wil, standing next to a wide-eyed Feshi, looked at his sister. She bowed.

“Your command, Sir [Strategist]?”

He took a deep breath. And he pointed as the [Knights] raised their padded spears.

“Charge.”

6.23 D

“You lost your money pouch.”

“No. Maybe. Perhaps. It might be down here.”

“Are you really searching—”

“Oh gods, Venaz!”

“Shut up, Marian. Move those hooves. I have to find my money pouch. I had a lot of gold in there.”

“It’s not worth looking through—watch those hands!”

“I am going to murder you.”

“Venaz, where were you? We saw you jump into the harbor.”

“Hmf. Hiding in an attic. I could ask you the same question, Umina. That is you, there, isn’t it?”

“Of course. We were in a ship—”

“Don’t tell him that! We’re competitors!”

“Oh? So you want to fight now, is it? I’m willing to settle the score, Marian.”

“Big talk from a Minotaur crouched next to my right hoof. Forget about the money, Venaz. It’s gone. You probably lost it in the harbor.”

“I’m going to kill you, Venaz. Do you hear me?”

“Then I’ll go back and find it there. I have to have my bag of holding.”

“Whoops! Hey! Watch the hands!”

“Sorry. I’m trying to kill the Minotaur.”

“We all want to kill the Minotaur. But—wait. Hold on. You said you’re a Runner? What’s one of your lot doing here?”

“I had a delivery for that Minotaur. Venaz. He dragged me into this. I’m going to kill him. Where is he?”

“Hm. Not here—”

“Hey!”

“Gah!”

“Sorry. Don’t get near me. This is a very small space. And it stinks! My hooves are twitchy.”

“Umina, you can cast magic. Light up this cesspit again.”

“Hold on, Venaz. That patrol was hot on our heels. We have to keep hidden!”

“Gah! Who’s near my tail.”

“Sorry. Where’s Venaz?”

“Over there.”

“No, that’s me.”

“Oh. Sorry, Umina.”

“I’ll have your gold. I swear to you, Luan the Runner. Just give me a second—”

“Alright, everyone shut up!”

“I’m going to—urk.”

“Gah!”

“Don’t kick me, Marian!”

“Okay. Okay. Everyone calm? Or do I need to kick you both again?”

“No.”

“No.”

“Very well. Let’s start from the beginning. Voices quiet. I think they’re searching the apartments.”

“…Quiet.”

“…”

“…No one here! Damn those students. What do you think—invisibility potion? Or…?”

“…Screamer dust is off that group. Let’s follow the sounds instead. Besides, did you see that Minotaur. Huge, ugly bastard. Venaz, I think. One of the Titan’s top pet students. Not worth fighting that.”

“Steady, Venaz.”

“Get off me. I’m going up there.”

“Over your dead body!”

“I’ll help with that.”

“Shh!”

“…Nah. Let’s go. Sorry for the bother, Miss. Alright patrol! Let’s—holy Nagas, what the hell is—run! Get out of—”

“…”

“I think they’re gone.”

“No kidding? Wonder what scared them off?”

“Maybe some students? Those clouds that Tulm the Mithril conjured?”

“Could be.”

“Hmf. You should have let me go up there.”

“And blow our cover? This is our hiding spot, Venaz.”

“You’re welcome to it. I just followed you because I had no other choice. I want my bag of holding. I just need that money. Move over. I’m still searching.”

“Aw, Venaz—”

“I promised. I won’t forswear myself. This is—gah. I’ve waded through monster stomachs cleaner than this!”

“Venaz, stop. I’m serious. You’ll catch something and you’re about to throw up.”

“Shut up—Umina. I promised. I need—”

“Will someone explain what’s happening?”

“Oh! Sorry. I forgot you were here. Your name’s…Luan?”

“Yes. What’s going on? What were those clouds? Why is the harbor filled with warships?”

“The Professor’s playing a game. Haven’t you heard?”

“Professor? What? No. You’re making no sense.”

“Sorry, I meant the Titan of Baleros.”

“What about him?”

“Uh—this could be tricky. Well, let me put it this way. Do you know about the Forgotten Wing company?”

“A little.”

“Raise that hoof, Marian. I feel—no. That’s not gold.”

“Venaz, stop. Look, Mister Human. This is all a game.”

“With magic fog, warships, and people trying to bash my skull in?”

“Yes?”

“Explain. Please.”

“Well, let’s start from the beginning. My name is Umina. I’m a student of Niers Astoragon. The Titan. That’s Marian, the Centauress who kicked you. And Venaz is the one on his hands and hooves.”

“I’ll find that gold. You have my bag of holding?”

“Yes. Okay, now what’s this about a game…?”

“Well—”

—-

It was just a game. You could say that. Just a game. Why did it matter when there were people dying across the world? When monsters threatened lives, when war pressed down? There were some who would rail at the injustice. Why did a game matter? Why didn’t the world care about what was truly important, what mattered?

And they were right. And wrong. Because it was a game, yes, one where no one was supposed to die. On the other hand, it was a game set up by the Titan of Baleros. On one side you had Tulm the Mithril, the Iron Vanguard, and against him you had a class of students, all trying to reach their Professor in a plaza. Trying to make it to a small circle ten feet by ten feet across, to win a prize like no other.

The truth. And a gift from the Titan’s treasures. That alone made it a great game, one where the prize meant something. But the rest of it? The reason why the world watched?

Because it was real. It was true. The powers of the world, adults, rulers and leaders and monsters alike, watched children putting everything they had on the line for victory. Striving, as hard as they could. And so was it a game or reality? A mix of both, perhaps.

It mattered. It mattered so much the losers wept. It mattered enough for an army to sail from Terandria. And now they clashed on the street, with [Soldiers] from the Forgotten Wing and Iron Vanguard. And those soldiers gritted their teeth and held their ground, fighting with blunted weapons, breaking bones, drawing blood. Because although it was a game, they had pride. They wanted to win.

They all did. You could see it in the student’s eyes, hear it in their voices. The tremble, the longing.

Victory.

And that was why Luan could rationalize it all. He was standing up to his calves in…muck. Excrement. He was, in fact, standing in a septic tank, a collective latrine used by the citizens of Daquin. He had seen the very same thing in Talenqual; the pits were filled, as it were, by a block or a few houses, and periodically emptied by [Nightmen], by [Scourers]—those employed to take the collected matter. It was, after all, valuable in its way. You could use it as fertilizer.

But why anyone would stand here stretched the City Runner’s belief. The South African man might well have believed this was all some prank, or that Venaz, the Minotaur breathing shallowly next to him was entirely insane. Until he heard the Minotaur’s voice. The Centauress, Marian, and the Lizardgirl, Umina, explain. Then he understood.

Not everything. The feud between the Titan and his student, the politics of the Iron Vanguard, the fact that these three [Strategists] were students at some kind of academy and so on was a lot to digest. But Luan already believed. And part of him already understood the important part. Because of who Luan was.

An athlete. An aspiring champion. Someone who competed in the truest sense of the world. He, Luan, had made his life’s dream about victory. He had a window; his body would grow old and he would lose his edge all too quickly. He could lose his chance thanks to injury, bad luck, any number of factors. But if he succeeded? If he trained until his sweat was blood? If he had the drive and will and courage?

He could have been the best in the world. Unmatched. Luan would have competed against the world’s finest, in front of millions. And win or lose, he would still have numbered among the greatest in his sport, in what he did.

So yes, Luan understood what drove the students. Better than Ken could have. He listened as they told him why they were here. And he understood.

It still didn’t make standing in sewage any more fun. But it stopped Luan from trying to kill Venaz. The Minotaur was doing the exact opposite of hyperventilating as he tried to search the waste he was standing in. Luan heard swearing, sounds of disgust, gagging—until the [Rower] could bear it no more.

“Enough. Stop looking around. You’re not going to find it.”

“I have to have my bag of holding.”

The Minotaur’s voice was steady as he straightened. He was barely visible with the tiny crack of light that came from the privy above. Luan reached for the Minotaur’s possession, the bag of holding.

“To win, yeah? Take it.”

He offered it. Venaz hesitated.

“But my gold—”

“I’ll track you down after this. And if you don’t pay me, I’ll…”

Luan hesitated. Threatening to break Venaz’s legs or offer the Minotaur any kind of physical harm was ludicrous.

“…I’ll make sure the Runner’s Guild hears all about this. But you want to win.”

“I must.”

“Then—here.”

Luan held the bag of holding out. And the Minotaur hesitated.

“I should pay you first. This lacks credibility. You were right to demand your payment. It’s dishonorable.”

There was a plaintive note in his voice. Luan hesitated. He wondered what Ken would have said if he were here. If he had told Luan about Minotaurs—but it was the competitor who spoke back to Venaz.

“Do you want to win, or not? I don’t know about your Professor or this grand secret. But do you want victory?”

“Yes.”

“Then take it.”

Luan thrust the bag of holding out. It wasn’t exactly light—it felt like it was ten pounds of weight, despite being very small. It also felt full. But Luan hadn’t undone the drawstring. He waited for a moment. Then there was a splash—he felt a huge presence, and then a hand close over his wrist. Venaz spoke softly.

“Thank you.”

Luan didn’t know what to say to that. Frankly, he was still angry. His boat was damaged, possibly sunk. He was covered in—and he’d been chased and nearly beaten black and blue by the soldiers on the street. But after his anger had faded and he’d heard what was going on, the student’s situation had impressed itself on him. He looked around.

“So you’re all in the same class? The Titan’s class?”

The three shapes nodded. Luan tried to be suitably impressed. But even though he knew of the Titan of Baleros, he didn’t know the legends well enough to be in awe. And the three had done little to impress him. Now the Centaur shifted her hooves. She—Marian—spoke.

“If you’re worried about Venaz paying you, don’t be. He’d rather drink this entire midden’s contents than renege on his word. He’ll pay you after this is over, Luan, is it?”

“That’s right.”

Venaz made a snorting noise to Luan’s right as he opened the bag of holding.

“You’re exaggerating, Marian. If I had to choose between breaking my word over fifty gold pieces or drinking this filth, I’d rather give up fifty gold. Kraken’s tooth, but this is disgusting! Umina, what possessed you to hide here? I can’t see anything either.”

The Lizardgirl spoke up nervously. She had a higher-pitched voice, and from the way she shifted, was clearly more hesitant than her two companions. She sounded younger, too.

“Well…it’s a perfect hiding spot, isn’t it? Short of magic, no one will even think to look here. Dogs won’t sniff us out—we could hide for a long time here.”

“I’d rather be caught.”

Marian groaned. She sounded faintly sick. Luan was trying not to breathe. The smell did not get better over time. He looked around.

“Well, I did my job. Can I leave now?”

“No.”

All three students said it at once. Luan scowled.

“Why?”

“You’ll give us away. We need to win this thing.”

“You mean, get to the center of the city and reach your Professor? Like a game of capture the flag?”

“Hm? Well, I suppose so. It’s a lot more involved than that. Did you notice the soldiers?”

“I was nearly beaten by the soldiers. What kind of game has people attacking City Runners and civilians?”

Venaz grunted.

“What kind of proper game wouldn’t have that? Damn. I can’t find…Umina, can I get some light?”

“Sure. Just for a second. [Light].”

The Lizardgirl cast a spell. A hovering orb of light illuminated their surroundings. Luan saw moldy, slimy wooden walls, the Lizardgirl, a Centauress standing next to her, Venaz, one filthy hand holding the bag of holding—and then the [Rower] realized that Umina had illuminated what he was standing in.

He wished she hadn’t. Luan looked down and retched. It was semi-liquid, that was true. But there were…crusts. Venaz made the same mistake and uttered an oath. Marian began dry-heaving.

“Sorry!”

The light disappeared, but Luan had enough. He raised a hand, realized what was on it, and let it fall.

“I wish to leave now.”

“You can’t. I’m sorry, but we need a plan. Those mists rolled in moments after the Screamer Dust. Tulm the Mithril must have used one of his Skills, or his [Mages] conjured something incredible!”

“That was a Skill. [Cold Iron Mists] or something like it. A [Mage]-killer technique. Lesser artifacts and spells will fail inside of the fog. And we’ll be weighed down. Not that it matters. I intend to move shortly. What of you two? We are competitors, but given what we’re up against, I wouldn’t mind teaming up.”

Venaz was pulling something out of his bag of holding. Luan heard a clank, and then saw the Minotaur shifting. Venaz’ was lifting something up.

“Watch out or I’ll hit you.”

Luan shifted back a few steps. Marian lifted a foot with a wet, sucking sound.

“Umina, both your ideas are good hiding places. And I think we could hide here for a good time. But we need to win, not just hide. That’s the point of the game. We haven’t figured out how to defeat the Iron Vanguard, but we won’t manage it here. And frankly, if I have to stay here another minute longer than I have to, I will kill you and everyone down here ending with myself.”

She sounded serious. Luan shifted back from her. Umina sighed.

“I suppose you’re right. But we are at such a…I don’t know how to take on those Dullahans. You’d need an army! This isn’t just hide-and-seek. They can seal off the plaza with how many bodies they have. But you’re right. Venaz, a team up? What did you bring in that bag of holding?”

Marian shifted again.

“And why did you have a City Runner deliver it? You could have just…brought one. I did.”

Venaz’s voice was muffled for a second. Luan heard another metallic rasp.

“I thought our possessions might be confiscated, or the Professor would have interfered with our equipment somehow. I expected a trick. Just not the Iron Vanguard. Historically, he’s pulled tricks like this before—confiscating all the student’s equipment and clothing and making them hide naked in the jungles. Casting an anti-magic spell that wiped out their equipment. Unleashing [Thieves] on us before the games started—”

“Dead gods. He did all that?”

The Minotaur’s voice was reproving.

“You should have studied. The Professor’s created countless undesirable scenarios. I thought a City Runner would ensure I got my possessions and maintained a huge advantage. Now, I wish I’d hired a mercenary company instead. Still, I feel better prepared now. Ready to leave?”

“Yes.”

The others chorused as one. Umina waded past Luan and shouted up at the door.

“Excuse me! We need out!”

“Already?”

There were hurrying footsteps. A flash of light. Luan looked up at a [Nightwoman], a Lizardwoman whose job it was to wade in what he was standing in every day. He had never had more appreciation for her class than now. Umina looked apologetic.

“Sorry, we can’t handle the smell. Mind if you get us a ladder? Er—stairs, for Marian? I’m really sorry.”

The Lizardwoman smiled.

“Aw, for you, anything. And we can get the Centauress up—we’ve got a platform for emergencies. You wouldn’t believe how many Centaurs fall in the toilet each year!”

“That happens? And thank you!”

The Lizardwoman disappeared. That left Luan and the other students standing in the now-illuminated tank. Luan shifted, saw something float past one foot—he closed his eyes.

The wail of the Screamer Dust had subsided, but he could still hear lots of shouting at a distance. More so than before, in fact. A game that engulfed an entire city? He shook his head. Well, it was the Titan of Baleros…he wanted to dunk himself in the harbor right after that.

“Nearly there! Hold on! It’s a bit heavy, but we’ve got a few hands! Don’t drop it on Umina, you guys! I’m rooting for her! Stand back!”

“We?”

Venaz looked alarmed as everyone moved to the side. Umina waved a claw at him.

“This apartment belongs to uh, the night soil collectors around here. I think they like to stick together.”

“Or no one else tolerates their company.”

“Venaz! They’re really nice. And that’s true. Okay, let’s get up there, ask what’s happened, and—”

A flash of light. Marian, who had been silent and trying not to throw up, suddenly spoke urgently.

“Umina, we need to leave, now.”

“Why? Wh—”

Umina, Luan, and Venaz saw the hatch opening. Behind them. The stairwell the [Nightpeople] lowered and the open privy was one spot of light, but on the far side of the wide tank a hatch had opened, to expose light into the darkness. And someone was preparing to—Luan climbed up the steps so fast he nearly knocked over Umina ahead of him. Venaz was right behind Luan, and Marian moaned as she got up the stairs.

“Oh, dead gods, dead gods, dead gods.”

“Sorry about that. Here. Let’s get you some water and uh, more water.”

The [Nightwoman] looked apologetically at her guests. There was a small crowd of her co-workers around her, mostly Lizardfolk and three Dullahans. They insisted on shaking hands—after a few buckets of water had been splashed on all four. It didn’t get rid of the smell, but it helped. Luan breathed freely as Umina spoke to the [Nightwoman] again.

“We’re really sorry. I could handle it, but my friends…we also have to get moving, I guess. Still, you saved us from that patrol.”

The [Scourers] beamed as one, treating Umina like she was a minor celebrity. Which she…was? Luan eyed Umina as he sluiced himself off with more water. Venaz was demanding soap.

“No problem! Pleasure to be of assistance! This game is so exciting! And we want you to win, of course! When I think that you were using this pit—whenever I clean it, I’ll think of you! And uh—”

She peered at Luan with a frown.

“Is he a student too? Not one of the Titan’s personal class, is he? I know all the names. Unless he’s a new addition?”

“No, no. I’m a City Runner. And I really should be going—”

Luan raised his hands hurriedly. He looked towards the doors.

“I’ll find you later, Venaz, yeah?”

“Yes. Wait in the city. I’ll be sure to get you your money.”

The Minotaur breathed in and out. Only now did Luan realize something had changed about him.

He was wearing armor. The metal gleamed as water ran down it. Umina turned and stared along with Marian and the other [Nightpeople]. Venaz gritted his teeth.

“What? I told you I came prepared for a fight. This is only part of my gear. I’m not hiding any longer. Ready to go?”

“Nearly. Just one question. You said you were a City Runner, Mister Luan?”

Marian dumped a bucket of water over her tail. Luan nodded.

“I go by water, though. I’m a [Rower].”

The Centauress frowned.

“Odd. How’d you get through the harbor, then? The Iron Vanguard had at least six warships sealing it off.”

Luan smiled faintly.

“Well, they didn’t manage to seal it off fast enough. I slipped through.”

Everyone looked at him. Marian blinked.

“You got past six warships? In…what? A dingy?”

“A scull.”

“A what?”

Venaz snorted, then turned his head and spat back into the privy. The [Nightpeople] looked disapproving at that.

“He’s the fastest City Runner on the water short of a Courier now. Why else do you think I hired him?”

“Huh. Then are you any good in a fight?”

Marian eyed Luan. The City Runner hesitated.

“Not much good. But I served in a suppression company once. Saw some fighting, but I’m mainly good at rowing. Very good, actually. Why?”

Umina was looking at her friend. Marian was thinking hard. At last she came to a decision and reached for a bag at her waist.

“Mind staying with us? I’ll pay you twenty gold coins and Venaz’ fee right now if you help us win this game.”

“Marian!”

Umina exclaimed as Luan’s eyes went wide. Venaz blinked at the gold Marian held out to the City Runner.

“You want to hire my Runner? Why?”

“An edge. Luan’s a City Runner and he’s free to hire, right? Why can’t we hire help? The other students have done it.”

“Still, twenty gold pieces? Is he worth—”

Luan glared at the Minotaur. He hesitated over the gold coins.

“I’m afraid that arrogant cow’s right, Miss…Marian. I’m not good off the water.”

Venaz choked and turned red. Marian smiled.

“Just for calling Venaz a cow, I’d hire you. You made it this far. One person could make all the difference. What about it? You won’t break more than bones and if you do, there’s healing potions at the ready. And I want to win. Umina?”

The Lizardgirl started.

“You sure, Marian? The gold—”

“—is mine to use. If we win, it’s worth it. What about it, Luan the City Runner? My [Headhunter] Skill says you’re more valuable than I think.”

The Centauress stared at Luan. He blinked at her. And then he looked at Venaz.

Victory. The man smiled wearily.

“Well, why not? I’m in it this far. I could use some money and a diversion.”

He took the coins from Marian. She offered him the twenty gold pieces; he declined the rest. He’d get it from Venaz. The Minotaur snorted as Luan stepped up behind him. Umina was thanking their hosts.

“If there’s anything we can do—we can’t fight, but we can make sure those Iron Vanguards have clogged privies if they stick around long enough!”

The [Nightwoman] chortled. Umina laughed.

“We’ll let you know. Alright. Ready?”

Venaz nodded. He thrust open the door to the apartment and stepped out, fists clenched. His armor shone as he strode out, ready for war. Marian followed. She’d drawn a bow from her bag of holding. Umina and Luan had only their fists and a few items at their belt, but they followed. Ready for anything. Ready to take on the Iron Vanguard. Ready for—

“Forwards! Take the street!”

A rank of men and women in armor galloped down the street. Venaz lurched backwards, fists raised. But the Humans in armor weren’t aimed at him. They were pursuing a group of Dullahans, and Lizardfolk! Banners streamed behind them as they rode forwards in a wedge. And behind them came thunder.

Marching boots. Shouts. Luan saw dozens of Humans racing past him, armed with shields, clubs, some holding bows. Another rider was leading them, bellowing orders.

“[Knights] move up in spear formation! Archers, divide with foot soldiers and take those two rooftops. The rest of you, shield formation and move up—”

He thundered past the group of four. Luan heard the soldiers streaming down the street shouting as well.

“For Kallinad and the Order of Seasons!”

“Push the Iron Vanguard back!”

“Wil Kallinad! Victory for Terandria!”

And then they were gone. The sound of battle broke ahead of them. Venaz stared down the street. He walked out a few paces and stared at the backs of the running Humans. Marian trotted out behind him. Umina and Luan stared after them.

“Did they just say ‘Kallinad’? Was that a mercenary company or something?”

“Uh, maybe? Maybe—”

All four looked back. They flattened themselves back into the apartment as a second wave charged down the street, and then a third. Then they heard the horn blasts. Then, as the four climbed to the rooftop and the rooftop audience pointed them towards the harbor, they saw the four warships at the docks. Luan’s jaw dropped.

Those weren’t there when I left!

Venaz, Marian, and Umina were all staring. The streets were filled with Humans, fighting the Iron Vanguard! Pushing them back! Venaz stared at a rank of [Knights] as they harried a group of Dullahans.

“Ah. I…might have underestimated Wil.”

“No kidding? Hey, Venaz? Exactly what did you bring in your bag of holding?”

Marian and Umina turned to the Minotaur. He coughed, and looked into his bag of holding. The Minotaur rummaged around inside, pulled out a mace, a few pieces of paper with glowing lettering, a picture of a colorful dog…he put them back in the bag and looked around.

“Damn. Well, now I feel really foolish.”

—-

An army in the streets! Warships in the harbor! Chaos reigned in the plaza where Niers Astoragon stood. Not just among the Iron Vanguard; they were scrambling to react. Somewhere in the streets filled with grey fog, Tulm the Mithril had halted his advance to deal with the unexpected attack. But the arrival of the army Wil Kallinad was leading had thrown everyone into confusion.

The Wistram [Mages] were scrambling to get a new vantage point on the battle. Teura was ordering more [Mages] to watch Wil. And members of Niers’ own company like Perorn were visibly ecstatic. The Centauress was practically prancing in place with delight.

“Dignity, Perorn.”

Niers murmured out of the side of his mouth. But he couldn’t hold back his smile either. He watched as Wil sent the soldiers still disembarking from the warships charging up the streets, gaining as much ground as possible before the Iron Vanguard could regain their footing. Niers would have been happy to watch in silence, with only the audio from the scene.

But, sadly, there were always those whose first reaction to an unfolding drama was to give their opinion about it. The sort of people who would be standing in the crowd as someone drowned and offering their commentary on the other people diving in. Those sorts. And unfortunately, there were two who were debating the latest turn of events even as the images of Wil, his sister, and the army she was leading appeared on the scrying orb.

“Four warships filled with [Soldiers] and even a [Knight] order! Unbelievable, and the crews themselves are taking part! Amazing! Incredible! An inspiring turn of events! Sir Relz, can you credit this?”

The two Drakes were leaning over their upholstered arm chairs, staring at their own scrying orb and loudly speaking to their captive audience. The one with the monocle was nodding rapidly, but with a huge frown on his face in contrast to Noass’ look of amazement.

“I can, Noass, I can—I have eyes! But I don’t know that inspiring is the word I would use. Think on it, Noass. Yes, this a game-changer. But is it fair?”

He gestured to the image in the scrying orb as Noass sat back, looking confused.

“Anyone with the might of a Terandrian house could have pulled off this tactic. That the other students in the Titan’s classes haven’t isn’t due to a lack of skill. Consider this, Noass. If Wil Kallinad can pull an army out of his pocket, how can anyone else hope to compete?”

Niers saw Noass sit up a bit. He wondered if the Drake’s guild of assassins was still extant. Did they do contracts on public figures? He saw Noass cup his chin in his hand as he pointed at the orb, looking mildly outraged.

“Hold on, Sir Relz. I have to respectfully disagree with your assessment. Even if you knew Tulm the Mithril were going to appear in this game, Sir Relz, could you convince your family to send over a thousand soldiers to another continent? Let alone call on half a dozen other noble houses?”

He waved a claw at Wil, who had appeared in the scrying orb again in between his comments.

“And let me remind our audience that no one saw these warships coming! Not even the Iron Vanguard, which boasts the most powerful navy of all the Great Companies in Baleros bar none! Sir Relz, how can you dismiss that as simply the product of wealth?”

The other Drake adjusted his monocle haughtily as he frowned at his friend.

“I just have a hard time giving this as much credit as you, Noass. To me, this stinks of an advantage born of station, not achievement. I realize that my own position as a noble contradicts my statements, but I am a son of Pallass, not some arrogant Lord of the Wall, like Salazsar’s jumped up tyrants.”

“Oh, come now, Sir Relz. You can’t make this entirely referential to Drake politics. Even if you’re going to bring in someone like—like Wall Lord Ilvriss as a point of comparison—”

Mercifully, whomever was controlling the broadcast decided the two Drakes were getting off-topic. Their voices cut off and Niers could focus on Wil. The Titan watched with a [Strategist]’s eye as he saw Wil’s forces moving and Tulm’s preparing to intercept from a bird’s eye view. Not bad. Then again, he’d see how well Wil was doing and how shaken Tulm was in a few minutes. He murmured to himself as he reached for his lime juice.

“I saw it coming. But I knew where to look.”

The Drake [Commentator] duo was half-right this time. It wasn’t just that Wil had the resources to call on; it was that he’d figured out Tulm the mithril was coming. He had plotted a sea route that took the warships to Daquin’s harbor without alerting a Great Company or the other ships at sea. Yes, they hadn’t been looking, but still. If you understood anything of logistics, of the effort it took to move that many warriors, you would look at Wil and want him to manage your armies.

It was proof of his ability. But there was another reason why countless eyes were glued to the scrying orb, to the drama unfolding in Daquin. It was sheer, simple amazement. Admiration.

The daring. The audacity. Noass was right. If you had the chance, even if you were nearly completely certain, would you risk it? Could you?  Niers looked up. Teura was watching him again. He cheerfully smiled at her.

Yes, they were all watching. Everyone from the [Kings] of Terandria to the Wall Lords in Izril. Watching, and seeing Niers’ student. Evaluating him as a [Strategist], to be hired or fought against.

Wil Kallinad. A name known around the world in a moment. He was challenging Tulm the Mithril to a battle in the streets. Putting himself against the greatest [Strategist] of the Iron Vanguard on purpose. This was his moment. Niers only hoped he made the best of it.

—-

He stood in the street, with a map of Daquin unrolled on the back of his sister’s warhorse. His ears were ringing. The ground felt like it was shaking.

Dark clouds rolling down the street. Flashes of armor. Ringing hooves, [Knights] riding past him, armor ablaze with the light of magic.

“Wil! I brought half of the reinforcements you asked straight from our garrisons! The other half came from the families you contacted! We got them on ships and the [Captains] are letting their sailors take part! They were really impressed with your sea route, and they’d just love a chance to stick it to the Iron Vanguard—”

His hands were sweaty. Shaking. Heart beating out of his chest. [Mages] made the air shake as they held the cold iron fog off. Flashes of magefire from the rooftops. Skirmishes already.

“Lord Kallinad, my name is Sir Kelm. I am a Knight of Autumn and the Order of Season’s representative. I and a hundred and twenty six of my peers have joined Lady Knight Talia by her request. We understand this is a non-lethal confrontation and have equipped ourselves accordingly—”

Glancing up. Seeing a Drowned Man with a tentacle for an arm, holding a club with his good hand, grinning at him with a face half-fish.

“I didn’t bring any [Strategists], but we’ve got an army here, Wil! And with the crews of the ship—you know, I got three propositions from the sailors on the way here?”

The horse snorting, shaking, restless. Glancing up. Checking the slowly setting sun, seeing Feshi’s wide eyes and shocked expression. A ring of steel. [Knights], [Field Commanders], [Captains], surrounding him. Waiting. Doubtful, impatient, excited.

“Sir Kallinad! I am Lance-Commander Wylint, serving House Teoring and commanding two hundred of my men! We are disembarking and looking for orders—”

Glance up. See Talia’s face. Excitement, passion. Her horse shifting. Not her favorite war-griffin, Amberwing. Too dangerous. And conspicuous. Wouldn’t like a sea voyage. Waiting faces.

Fear. Terror. Uncertainty. Elation. A thousand and one emotions and more, running hot in his veins. And just when he thought he’d break under it, a realization. The Professor’s words, beating in his chest.

“You only get once chance, lad.”

“What’s that? Wil?”

Concerned faces. Wil Kallinad glanced up, taking in the ring of Humans around him. One Drowned Man, a [Captain]. And Feshi. The Gnoll stared at Wil. And he breathed in and out slowly.

For a moment, Wil looked around and memorized the moment. And he knew that as long as he lived, he would never forget this day. Never lose this moment. Whether it was in shame or glory. And he stood a bit straighter. The fear and panic in his breast didn’t disappear. It never did. But he mastered it.

Thank you, Professor. You gave me a chance.

“Wil? Are you—”

The [Strategist] turned. He cut his sister off. He checked the sun, and began snapping orders.

“Lance-Commander Wylint, you are now acting-[General] on the field. Unload those ships! I want the soldiers moving up the streets as fast as they unload! Don’t worry about formations! We’re taking the first six streets from the harbor and holding there. Keep a [Mage] on standby and I’ll have orders for you in minutes!”

“Sir!”

Will turned and surveyed the people around him. His mind was snapping to ideas and conclusions like lightning, too fast to fully process into words. The [Captain]? No. The [Knight] in brown and red, stained armor. Autumn Knight.

“The Iron Vanguard is using [Message] spells, but they have horns and drums as well. We’ll relay using messengers on horseback to avoid mixing signals. Sir Kelm, take your men down the main street. Engage the enemy at your discretion, but fall back in the face of superior numbers or if Xol is spotted. I will send you reinforcements as needed; the other [Rider] and [Knight] patrols I will split up across side streets. We will be preparing to flank and ambush the enemy; all mounted forces are to prioritize withdrawing.”

“Hit and run tactics? But we brought—”

His sister was confused. Wil held up a hand, not looking at her as he checked the map.

“The Iron Vanguard has the numbers and superior soldiers. They’ve also fielded Xol, one of their War Walkers. We cannot take him.”

“If we used lances—”

He glanced up. Talia was taking a breath, ready to argue. Sir Kelm was watching, the [Captain] grinning. Wil glanced at the waiting officers. Some were watching him. He nodded shortly.

“If this were a situation where the both sides used lethal weapons, I wouldn’t have brought half as many [Knights]. Especially against the Iron Vanguard. They can’t kill our horses or unseat our cavalry as easily; but this is still the Professor’s game. We’re pushing in fast; the goal is still to reach the central plaza. Commander Wylint! These streets I want fortified! Here, here, and here!”

He stabbed chokepoints. It was easy. He’d memorized the map a week ago and he knew where the Iron Vanguard’s force roughly was. If you calculated how fast a Dullahan could run—they could dig in. After that…Talia was glaring at him.

“Wil! We can win this! I didn’t talk father into coming all this way just to run from a fight. Trust me, we can—”

“Knight Talia, the [Strategist] on the field is speaking.”

“I—”

His sister fell silent. Wil nodded to Sir Kelm. The [Knight] saluted.

“By your order, Sir [Strategist]. What’s the signal for retreat in case of emergency?”

Of course. Wil hesitated.

“Three horn calls, Sir Kelm. My apologies.”

He nodded and Wil remembered. Don’t flush with embarrassment. Don’t panic. He switched to the Drowned Man.

“[Captain].”

“Captain Squallcut, at your service.”

The Drowned Man gave Wil a grin. One of his eyes was part fish and it winked with a pale, yellow light. The Terandrian officers shuddered. Wil glanced around.

“To your stations! Move those men up with Commander Wylint! Are you waiting for the Iron Vanguard to set a picnic!”

They jumped and ran. Squallcut laughed and gave Wil a bow that looked halfway sincere.

“So you’re not just able to plot a course through the ocean currents, then? A master on the deck.”

Wil felt a grin take over his face, unfamiliar. Wild. His heart was beating. He could feel it, louder than war drums.

“This is my ship, Captain Squallcut. Can I trust your men to take orders, or won’t they obey?”

The Drowned Man looked amused. He waved an arm and two more [Captains] followed him. One was a Gnoll with a peg leg, a bandana tied over her head. The second, a Garuda whose feathers on his legs had turned to scales.

“They came for a fight, not a Terandrian dancing lesson. If the orders are good, we’ll think of obeying.”

Feshi turned and bowed to the Gnoll [Captain]. The Gnoll grinned.

“So this is the Human who sailed us through the Kraken’s Gulch? He barks fire! Little land-cousin, does he have the courage to lead a [Storm Sailor] crew? And take the consequences of failure?”

The Gnoll [Strategist] hesitated. Wil answered for her. He didn’t know Gnolls, but he knew [Pirates].

“What’s your name, [Captain]?”

The Gnoll with the peg leg gave Wil a long look. She wore a cutlass at her side.

“They call me Saltears, boy. On the sea, that is. If you want my real name, ask me when I’m in irons.”

“Then stow your sword, Saltears. No one draws blood.”

“Says who?”

“The Titan himself. And he’ll drown Storm Sailors in the waves if his orders aren’t obeyed.”

The Gnoll paused. She looked at Wil. The young man met her eyes and then the Garuda’s and Squallcut’s. They were watching him closely.

“I don’t need your men, [Captains]. But if you and your ship’s crews will fight, on land or sea, I’ll pad whatever my sister’s paying you myself. The Iron Vanguard will be attacking us from the rear. And we have to sally forth and reach the plaza. But mark me—if your crew won’t take my orders, you can wait on the sides. I mean to dance with Tulm the Mithril himself, and I’ll drag him over the world’s edge if I need to. There’s no room for mutiny in this battle. Understand?”

They waited. And then the same grin spread across three faces. Saltears removed her cutlass and tossed it backwards towards a [Storm Sailor].

“Boy, we’ll hold your harbor against six warships or twenty! The rest of my lads will move with your land slugs. Where do you want me?”

Wil bared his teeth.

“Can you punch through a street full of Dullahans? I want you to bring a message to a bunch of students fighting. There’s several hundred of them—some are officers, others are [Strategists]. Tell them I’m overseeing the command of Kallinad’s army. If they want to fight, they can flank the enemy soldiers. We’re all going towards the same spot. You need to cut through the Iron Vanguard to get there—and those clouds. [Mages] choked in them.”

The [Captains] looked up. Saltears perked up one of her ears.

“Good thing we’re not [Mages]. Say I do that. What then?”

“How’s thirty gold pieces for every officer you knock out sound?”

The Gnoll [Captain] grinned as a reply. Wil straightened. Negotiations were done. The [Captains] strolled past the soldiers forming up. Wil pointed.

“[Mages]! Hold those mists back. Sir Kelm, advance!”

The [Knight] raised a padded spear.

“Knights of the Autumn, with me!”

And then moved. Wil snatched his map and strode back. A group of [Mages] and officers approached him. The first thing he demanded was a table. He heard Talia mounting up behind him.

“Wil? Where do we go?”

Her voice was tentative. But it was a fair question. A group of knights in bright, burnished armor of gold, brass—the colors of summer—were lined up behind her. Wil raised his head.

Fighting. He pointed at the map.

“Move forwards. Gather at the second command spot. [Mages], you have your orders. Horse! Feshi—”

The Gnoll grinned at him. Her eyes flicked to Wil as he mounted up.

“You planned this. Am I part of the plans?”

“Only if you want to be. Can you ride?”

The Gnoll hesitated. Then she held up a hand. Wil pulled her onto the saddle. He felt her grab him as he turned to his sister.

“Talia! We’re supporting Sir Kelm! Take us down that street!”

His sister whooped as she lowered the visor on her helmet.

“Forward, Knights of Summer! Take the streets!”

She began riding forwards. Wil kicked the horse into motion. He saw Talia’s head twisting towards him and she raised her visor in alarm.

“Wil! Stay back! You’re trying to win, remember?”

“We need to push in. We’ll reform later. You need me.”

There was no time to argue. The [Knights] rode forwards, a solid body. Wil eyed the numbers. Disperse them later. For now, they were a fist. And he intended to gain as much ground as he could.

“Infantry ahead! They’re filling a street!”

A [Scout] raced back. Wil saw Humans already skirmishing with a group of Dullahans who’d blocked off a street exit ahead of him. It hadn’t even been ten minutes! The Iron Vanguard had lightning reflexes. He pointed at the group as the Knights of Summer slowed.

“Pull the soldiers back. We’re breaking through. Advance at a trot!”

Thunder. The Human [Soldiers] fell back. The Dullahans did not follow. They looked up and saw the riders coming at them. To their credit, the line only wavered. Then it formed into a solid formation. Braced. Wil kicked his horse.

“Canter!”

Faster now. He could see the Dullahan [Sergeant] shouting orders as the [Knights] lowered the thin lances as spears. Wil shouted.

“Stow lances! Swords!”

Hesitation. He saw the [Knights] switching weapons. Spears might kill at this charge. The Dullahans were also pikeless. But they were still braced. They thought the [Knights] wouldn’t charge for fear of their horses injuring themselves. That was their only mistake.

“Gallop!”

On they came. Feshi was howling something behind Wil. He roared as the first rank of [Knights] closed on the ranks of Dullahans.

“[Ram’s Charge]!”

The Dullahans [Sergeant] raised his hand too late, eyes widening.

“[Shieldwall—]”

The impact sent Dullahans flying. Wil saw the formation scatter like pebbles before a wave. He shouted as he saw [Knights] lashing out with swords.

“Ride on! Keep moving! Avoid trampling!”

The Humans caught their horses just in time. The wounded Dullahans pulled back as the Knights of the Summer raced past them. Wil looked around. He bellowed one word.

“[Healers]!”

They were already converging on the fight. Wil pointed, and his [Knights] rode onwards. Faster. He bared his teeth. Take as much ground as he could in the first few minutes. And then push! Push!

He could feel the Iron Vanguard reacting. Moving to slow his army’s advance, hold them back before they could consolidate their position. And soon he’d be sending the full weight of his army against Wil. Tulm the Mithril. Wil pointed ahead.

“Charge!”

The clouds of grey iron waited. His [Knights] cut a path of silver as they rode into darkness. And then there was only thunder. And, waiting in the darkness, that magical shine. That flash of armor.

Mithril.

—-

An army of silver raced across the streets below them. Venaz stared. Marian paced back and forth, counting. Umina rubbed at her eyes.

“Whoa. Is that the same Wil we know?”

He was racing at the head of a small vanguard of [Knights], some kind of elite Terandrian order. Umina looked at her classmates. They were almost petrified for a moment. Strangely, it was the City Runner they’d just met, Luan, who looked calmer. He looked up and met her eyes.

“Some game. Was this part of the plan as well?”

She grinned weakly.

“No.”

“Dead gods. Wil called in his family’s army. If this were any other situation, this would be an act of war.”

Marian spoke slowly. She followed the Humans as hundred raced down the street. There were [Sailors] mixed in among them; Umina thought she saw a Gnoll with a peg leg. But her mind had to be playing tricks on her. Venaz nodded.

“Incredible.”

Both the Lizardgirl and Centaur looked at Venaz. Coming from him, that word said it all. The Minotaur glanced up. He gestured to the streets below.

“He’s turned this into a proper battle. This isn’t a game of seeking anymore. The Mithril has to engage the Humans or they’ll punch through and get him to the plaza. Look; the Iron Vanguard’s already pulling back.”

He pointed ahead. Only a few of Daquin’s streets were visible from their rooftop ahead of them, but Umina saw Dullahans in full retreat. She nodded slowly, watching the Humans capturing street after street. But what looked like a complete victory was just an illusion. Umina had already done a headcount and come to a few conclusions.

“They’re still outnumbered. The Iron Vanguard plus the Professor’s [Soldiers] still have at least a two-to-one advantage over Wil’s force. Plus, their main punching class is [Knight]. They’ve got horses, but not enough and they’re up against Dullahans. And the Iron Vanguard at that. Heavy-infantry specialists.”

“Mobility versus armor.”

Marian nodded. She was frowning. The Centauress glanced up at Venaz.

“It’s like the battles we’d play out, Venaz. Only, in these streets, Tulm has it.”

“Only if you discount the other students.”

The Minotaur snorted. He was eying a plume of smoke in the distance, arms folded.

“I see what Wil’s going for. He’s trying to link up with the other students who bought adventurer groups or mercenaries. There are at least a hundred students still in the game. If you put that many up against the Iron Vanguard—no matter how many officers they have, they’ll run out of Skills first. So with Tulm the Mithril. He can only use his active Skills so many times per battle. Like that terrain-changing Skill he used; he won’t be able to use it twice.”

He gestured at the roiling clouds, still engulfing a good portion of the city. They were growing thinner; [Mages] were actively fighting the clouds. But it was slowing the Human’s advance. Marian nodded.

“So, Wil’s trying to break the Iron Vanguard’s formation and mount a charge that gets him to the plaza. Failing that, he’ll trying to out-Skill Tulm with the students. It could work. The issue is whether or not he’s got an answer to all of Tulm’s high-level officers in his party.”

“If he has [Knights], the quality of his [Mages] are presumably—”

Luan glanced from [Strategist] to [Strategist]. Their shock of a minute ago had faded. Now they were casually discussing the unfolding scene as if they were at ease. He raised a hand.

“This is still part of the game?”

All three glanced at him. Umina blushed and Marian blinked.

“It’s a surprise.”

Luan stared at her. The Centauress didn’t look that surprised. His heart was still racing out of his chest. But they’d already begun talking tactics! Still, his comment reminded them why they were here. Venaz pounded a fist into a palm.

“Damn. I’ve been completely outmatched. Very well. Come on. Let’s go.”

He strode towards the stairs. Marian stared at him.

“What?”

The Minotaur looked up as he checked his armor.

“I’m moving forwards. I came here to participate, not hide! Are you with me, or not?”

The Centauress hesitated. She looked at Umina.

“We’re outmatched.”

“Yes. But the point isn’t to beat the Iron Vanguard. It’s to get to the plaza. Like it or not, Wil is going to open up a path for everyone if he starts taking ground. Better yet—I think we can use his army to our advantage. Venaz! Head left!”

Umina shot to her feet. Venaz was already clattering down the stairs. Luan followed them as he and Marian ran down the wide steps. He still had no idea what was going on, but they did. The Minotaur snorted.

“You want to take us away from the fighting?”

“You want to fight both Humans and Dullahans? Both sides will take us for foes!”

“Hm. Point. Which way, then?”

“Left! We’ll circle around the main advance. We just need to get behind the Iron Vanguard’s lines!”

The Minotaur nodded. He began jogging down the street. Umina waved at Marian. The Centauress held out a hand.

“Need a ride?”

“I’m fine! Let’s go! Follow Venaz! You too, Luan!”

“I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Luan muttered as he ran after the three. A formation of Humans was marching up towards them. Luan heard a shout.

“Uh oh. They’ve spotted us! Go, Venaz!”

“This way.”

The Minotaur turned and pounded down an alleyway, Luan ran after him. Marian galloped past him with ease; Umina panted as she ran just behind Luan. Venaz turned up a street, cursed, and pointed.

“Next alley! There’s fighting all over!”

Luan entered the second street, saw two [Mages] throwing spells at each other, and ran as a splash of some kind of yellow liquid hit the buildings across from him and steamed. He ran down the next alleyway, hearing shouts from behind. And above.

“Look! More students!”

“Which ones are they? Oh! I recognize that Minotaur! And the Lizardgirl! That’s Umina!”

“Hells, they know us. They’re giving us away!”

Marian growled. Venaz reached a second street and pointed up it.

“Not for long. Brace yourself. That fog—”

His voice was muffled. Luan entered the third street, saw the dark grey fog, and hesitated. Umina ran past him.

“Hurry up!”

Cursing, Luan followed her. The street didn’t exactly vanish, but the instant Luan hit the outer edge of the dark, iron-tinted mists, the shouts and sounds around him grew dimmer. The air felt…heavy. His pace slowed. His breathing came a touch heavier.

“Jungle rot. This is a Skill. It’s hard to breathe! Everyone here?”

Marian slowed. Ahead of her, Venaz was looking around slowly. The fog had reduced visibility. Sound. Everything was halved for Luan. He could still see the three [Strategists] in front of him, but their voices were quieter. Umina frowned.

“This…is Tulm the Mithril’s terrain Skill. [Cold Iron Mists]. Dead gods. This is the Skill he used when he beat Professor Fleethoof in battle.”

“Selphid’s tits. And he’s using it on us?”

Marian’s face was pale. Venaz shook his head. He took a breath, frowning.

“Damn air. But this works against him as well. Even if his troops are immune to the effects, visibility is still low on both sides. We can sneak through. Come on.”

He led the way down the street at a slower pace. Luan followed, hair standing up on his neck. A Skill had done this? Suddenly his [Lesser Strength] Skill and his other abilities he’d thought were too powerful seemed paltry by comparison. The three [Strategists] moved slowly, heads spinning left and right. Umina breathed in and out, taking huge gulps of air.

“We don’t want to go too far. The Iron Vanguard’s holding the center of the city. We just want to get closer and find another hiding spot. An apartment—”

“Hold up.”

Venaz held a hand. All four suddenly paused. Venaz frowned. Marian cupped a hand to an ear.

“I thought I heard—”

“Now.”

The shout came from all around them. Suddenly, the mists exploded as a group of Dullahans and three Centaurs raced out of the street. They’d been hugging the walls! Luan spun as nearly twenty rushed the four of them. Marian reared.

“Umina! Get behind me!”

“Oh, Nagas—”

The Lizardgirl grabbed at her belt. Luan hesitated. The [Soldiers] were armed! And he’d forgotten to grab anything like a weapon. But they wouldn’t kill him—

Just break every bone in his body! He dodged back as a Dullahan swung a cudgel at him. Marian grabbed an arrow. It was thick, with a heavy pouch of sand for a tip. She drew and loosed and the Dullahan charging her cursed as her arrow struck him across the cheek. A heavy blow. But he still came onwards. Marian swung her bow. Luan dodged backwards again, collided with Umina as she ducked a Centaur racing at her. Luan stumbled, and then felt the club strike his arm. He shouted in pain, raised a hand—

And Venaz grabbed the Dullahan, tore the club from the armored [Soldier]’s grip, and then hurled the Dullahan through the air, armor and all. The Dullahan crashed into three of his friends and they all went down. The Minotaur turned, punched the Centaur targeting Umina in the chest, and hit another Dullahan with a thwack that Luan almost felt. The Centaur stumbled and knelt; the Dullahan just fell backwards without a sound.

“You idiots! Grab a weapon and fight!”

Venaz roared at the others. He tossed the club at Luan and whirled. He didn’t bother with a weapon; the Dullahan charging him struck with a wooden sword at Venaz’s stomach. But he hadn’t noticed the Minotaur’s armor. The wooden sword bounced off the metal. The Dullahan swore. Then Venaz grabbed him. The Minotaur head-butted the struggling Dullahan, tossed him to the ground and kicked.

A female Dullahan with armor flew back six paces, her armor bent around the hoof print in the steel. The Dullahan patrol halted for a second and stared. Eight of the twenty down in seconds! Venaz turned. The Minotaur roared across the street, his voice cutting even through the heavy fog.

“I am Venaz! Foremost student of the Titan himself! Come at me, you pathetic cowards!”

They hesitated. Then they did just that. Luan gripped the club with two hands and swung desperately. He nailed a Dullahan across the shoulder as he appeared out of the mists, and tripped up another with a foot. He kicked as the Dullahan stumbled and swore; the Dullahan’s armor was hard! But he knocked the Dullahan down. Before the [Soldier] could get up, Luan hit him across the back of the head. Not as hard as he could have; with his [Lesser Strength] Skill, the Dullahan’s eyes still rolled up and her head popped out of her armor.

“Umina!”

Marian drew an arrow and loosed it. The blunted sand-filled pouch struck a Dullahan straight between the eyes. He stumbled and fell forwards. Umina was ducking, dodging as Venaz took on half the patrol by himself. She reached into a pouch and hurled something into the eyes of a Dullahan. He shouted and reached a hand up as he swung blindly. Umina dodged back and Marian knocked him out with an arrow as well. She whirled—Luan raised his club.

“It’s me!”

“Help Venaz! Go left! I’ll use a Skill! Umina, get behind—”

The two stopped shouting and turned around. They looked around. And then they realized that the fighting had stopped. Venaz straightened as he dropped a pair of [Soldiers] he’d bashed together. The Minotaur grunted, wiped at his armor, and looked around.

“You got yours, then? Good. Grab a weapon if you don’t have one and keep moving! We’re sure to have attracted attention.”

He began trotting down the street. After a second he noticed he wasn’t being followed and came back with a huge scowl.

“What?”

“You just took out fourteen [Soldiers] by yourself!”

Marian pointed accusingly at Venaz. He looked around, and a mildly smug expression crossed his face.

“Well, they were clearly low-level. I didn’t see the [Sergeant] or [Lieutenant] leading this group. Maybe he was the one I dropped at the start? It would explain why they fell apart so quickly. It just goes to show that you can find trash in any army. Raw recruits; the Mithril should have brought veterans. But he underestimated me.”

He looked around. Marian was still staring. Umina rubbed her head.

“Even so. Are you a [Warrior], Venaz? I’d expect that from Jekilt, but Minotaur or not—!”

She gestured at the bodies. Venaz snorted impatiently.

“Do I look like I wasted levels on a fighting class? No! I have a few levels, but I’m a [Strategist] to the core. Come on. Stop wasting time!”

He set off. Luan staggered after him and after a beat, the Centaur and Lizardgirl followed. The Minotaur led them through the fogs, grunting and following the buildings on the left side of the street. After a moment, Marian spoke up again.

“Okay, so how did you do that? And don’t tell me it was your armor; you didn’t use a single artifact. Unless you have some kind of potion?”

“What, you mean like a battle pill? Do I look that weak?”

Venaz gave her a scornful glance. Marian opened her mouth and Umina slid between them.

“Venaz, you know what Marian means. You’re clearly good at fighting. Are all Minotaurs as good as you or did you learn that somewhere?”

The Minotaur slowed. He looked back with a smile.

“I learned it, of course. And Minotaurs are good. But no one is as good as me. Why do you think I’m here?”

He stomped on. After a second, Marian frowned.

“Here as in on Baleros? In the Titan’s class?”

“Obviously. Keep up, Marian. You’re normally quicker than that.”

“You—”

“You’re the best among your kind?”

Venaz turned to look at Luan. The [Rower] was rubbing one arm; he’d used a tiny bit of healing potion, but he wasn’t looking forwards to getting hit again! Still, it beat walking around with a huge bruise for a week.

“That’s right. I won the competition for the honor of learning from the Titan himself. Everyone in the House of Minos under thirty years of age participated. And I was the best, the sharpest, bar none. Or did you think my people would have funded me to learn here if I wasn’t the best at what I did?”

Umina whistled softly.

‘Wow. So you beating those [Soldiers]—”

Venaz waved a gauntleted hand.

“Skill at arms isn’t difficult to come by. Other species mistake Skills and levels for combat prowess. Minotaurs do not. I’ve pitted myself against seasoned warriors many times before. Against a Level 20 foe I’d have to get serious. Level 30 and it’s difficult, but doable. Even higher-level foes can be taken down in the right circumstances. And to learn from the Professor, I beat a Level 28 [Armored Veteran] in a duel with bared swords. There were hundreds of competitors; everyone wanted to win. I even beat our [Prince] for the honor.”

“Seriously?”

“You have a royalty?”

“You still owe me money.”

Everyone paused. Luan shrugged.

“Just adding that. So you’re one of the best, Venaz, friend?”

The Minotaur grinned at the Human man.

“Let’s just say that with this armor on and my bag of holding, I won’t be an easy target, even against the Iron Vanguard. They probably have no idea how strong I am. Marian doesn’t.”

He glanced back at the Centauress, who’d bitten her lip. Umina nodded.

“No wonder you keep arguing with the professor over your ‘lead from the front’ philosophy. You can’t fight in training matches.”

“He forbids it. Well, I’m perfectly content to crush my opponents with my mind. I’ll save my talents for actual combat for when I take to the field. And for this game. Now. Enough gossip. Let’s move out. These mists are hard enough to fight in without walking into another ambush.”

The others fell silent. And now they did follow Venaz with a will, because the Minotaur clearly knew what he was doing. He made less sound with his armor on than Umina and Luan did—let alone Marian with her hooves clopping on the street. The Minotaur was listening as he slid down the street—thanks to that, the students heard the second patrol well before they spotted them.

“Damn fog. I’m blind as a Dropbat out here. That Tulm the Mithril must want to win this all on his own because we’re not going to spot a thing until his Skill ends! How long do you think it’ll take?”

A voice floated up the street, a loudly grousing [Soldier]. It was clearly not one of the Iron Vanguard; as a few shadows appeared, the students and Luan crouched by a stairwell. The patrol walked past them, still talking.

“Forgotten Wing soldiers. Our lot. They’re not keeping to noise discipline!”

Umina hissed at the others. Marian made a face as she drew an arrow.

“Should they? This is probably just as bad for them as us! It sounds like they’re not included as being on Tulm’s side! Makes sense; they’re not his people.”

“This is your Professor’s men, yeah?”

Luan looked at the passing shapes as he whispered at Marian and Umina. They nodded. Venaz growled.

“They’re not on our side. But they don’t enjoy working with the Iron Vanguard. We can use that. Follow me. We’ll sneak around.”

He rose to his feet and stealthily moved up. Luan followed him, then Umina. The aggrieved patrol walked onwards, still talking.

“An hour? Yeah. Sounds about right. So that means an hour of walking around in this crap.”

“At least we’re not fighting the Iron Vanguard. I served with Fleethoof. You know. In the battle.”

“No kidding, [Captain]?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just say that the sooner this game’s over and I see the back of that damned Dullahan, the better. He can bite my equine ass if he thinks we’ll help him win. With that said, ten gold pieces is still ten gold pieces. And if we do run across a bunch of arrogant little snots thinking they can sneak past us—”

“Oh shit.”

The soldiers turned. Luan whirled around as he heard galloping hooves. Marian, drawing an arrow, yelped as a Centaur [Captain] charged out of the mists and rammed into her. He had a staff in one hand and whirled it. Marian took a hit across the head and torso as the Centaur whirled.

“There’s four! Surround them and—”

He dodged backwards as Venaz lashed out with a kick. The Centaur blocked with his staff; the wood bowed inwards and splintered with the impact, but the staff held. He swore and backed up.

“They’ve got a good fighter! Get over here!”

Running footsteps. Umina reached for her belt as Luan held his club up. Marian scrambled backwards as Venaz advanced with his arms raised, grinning. The Centauress shouted at Luan and Umina.

“I’ll back that idiot up. You two, run. We’re bait—secure our next spot!”

So saying, she charged a [Soldier] coming out of the mist. Luan looked at Umina. She pointed down the street.

“Follow me!”

The patrol raced after them, but Luan and Umina were already moving and the fog obscured vision, and the pounding footsteps were hard to place. They settled for Marian and Venaz. The two whirled, keeping the group back. The [Captain] faced off against Venaz. He whirled his staff; the Minotaur grunted as he blocked a strike aimed at his chest, and then his chin in quick succession.

“I’ve got him, Captain!”

Someone shouted from behind Venaz. A Lizardman lunged forwards, swinging a cudgel. He connected solidly with Venaz’ back and heard an unpleasant clang.

“Uh—”

A seven-foot tall Minotaur wearing full plate armor raised his fist as he turned around. The five foot six Lizardman [Soldier] looked at his cudgel. He backed up too slow. The thump of the Lizardman hitting the ground made the other Forgotten Wing soldiers wince. They backed up as the [Captain] came at Venaz again. The Minotaur was laughing and shouting.

—-

“Forwards! For glory and the House of Minos!”

The sound came from behind them as Luan and Umina staggered out of a cloud. The Lizardgirl hissed.

“The mist’s lifted here! That means we either went the wrong way—or someone lifted the fog around here!”

Luan looked around wildly.

“Why would they do that? And where do we go?”

“Anywhere. We just need to secure a route away from that patrol. Hurry! Let’s make sure the street is clear. I have some wards—anyways, the only reason someone would do that is if it was someone against the Iron Vanguard. Or if they needed to cast magic—”

She stopped. Both she and Luan looked around. They saw an empty street. Empty windows, too. And in one apartment, dripping water. Almost as if—

A shape floated out over a balcony. Umina flattened herself in a shadow and Luan crouched at once. A Dullahan with shining crystal built into his armor was floating through the air at street level, her head floating next to her body, swiveling back and forth. The Lizardgirl hissed at Luan.

“Oh hell, [Mage]! She must have heard the fighting. Hold on—distract her!”

“Me? How?”

The Lizardgirl didn’t answer. She was creeping sideways, risking being spotted to get behind the Dullahan. Luan cursed.

“Just a game. Just a game—twenty gold pieces. Hey you! Down here!”

He jumped out and waved his hands. Instantly the Dullahan looked down. Before Luan could blink, she dropped out of the sky. Her head was on her shoulders in a moment. She pointed a finger at him. Luan swore and raised the club. She was fast!

“[Water W—]”

The Dullahan ducked as the club spun over her head. She pointed at Luan’s chest.

“[Water Wall].”

Water shot upwards from the ground, engulfing Luan in a second. The [Rower] struggled, arms flailing. He didn’t panic; he’d been in situations like this before. He just had to swim free—Luan’s eyes widened as he realized the water was thick. And it was keeping him in the center! Air was only a foot away, but he couldn’t make his body move as he tried to swim towards it. He saw the Dullahan smile slightly. Then her eyes narrowed. She spun as Umina burst out, shouting.

Choking, submerged in water, he saw the Lizardgirl hurl something at the [Mage]’s face. The Dullahan raised a hand and a shimmering barrier appeared, but it couldn’t block the cloud of dust. The particles swirled around the shield and the [Mage] doubled over. Luan flailed desperately, saw Umina run forwards as the [Mage] tried to point at her—

The water surrounding Luan collapsed. He hit the ground as it splashed around him, coughing and gasping for air. He crawled up and saw Umina racing towards him.

“Are you hurt? Sorry, I had to get into place!”

“I’m—”

Luan coughed up some water. He felt her slap him on the back and got up.

“I’m fine. What did you do? How’d you get—”

He looked at the Dullahan. Her head had rolled off her shoulders and she was unconscious. Umina grinned weakly.

“Just some flour and grit. It gets in the lungs and you hack a lot, but that’s all. [Mages] hate stuff like that, though. They can’t concentrate. Good thing her barrier spell was so poor. Low-level [Mages] usually use shield spells, not full-body protection spells. That’s a mistake, especially against clouds and other tricks like that.”

“How’d you get her to stop the spell?”

“I kicked her in the head. That works too.”

“Oh.”

Luan stared at Umina. Somehow he’d expected something more impressive. The Lizardgirl shrugged.

“Anti-mage tactics on a budget. I learned that getting into fights back at home. There’s always someone who’s got a [Sorcerer] spell and they can scorch your tail right off if you let them. Don’t worry, she’s just unconscious. Now, help me set up!”

So saying, Umina grabbed what looked like strips of paper and handed a stack to Luan. He stared blankly at them.

“What’s this for?”

“They’re ward talismans. They’ll keep anyone from reaching us if we stick them on the alley entrances. Confusion ward, I think. They’re not mine. Venaz gave them to me.”

Umina held up a piece of paper about as wide as Luan’s hand and a bit longer. He blinked, and then grinned in sudden delight as he recognized them.

“Are those talismans? Ofuda?”

They looked exactly like the Japanese warding charms he’d seen from their culture. The symbology didn’t look exactly like Kanji, but the concept was the same. Umina looked blank.

“What? Maybe. These are pretty strong! They should work on that patrol and these are…anti-scrying wards! Venaz really did come prepared! These are Drathian—here, put these up on the alleyway. I need to figure out where we are. Excuse me, this map…”

She indicated the ones Luan should put up. Gingerly, almost reverentially, he stuck the warding papers on the alley they’d come through, four of them. Two made him vaguely nauseous as he stared at the glowing ink, and the other two had some kind of closed eye inscribed amid the magical writing. They weren’t sticky, but somehow, when he placed them, they instantly gripped the stone brickwork as if they’d been glued in place.

“So sugoi.”

For a second Luan let his inner fan of Japanese culture escape. He wished Ken were here to see this! Then he turned to Umina.

“All done. What next?”

“Call them! Venaz! Marian!”

Umina shouted down into the alleyway, into the mists. Luan took a breath as well and bellowed as loudly as he could.

“This way! Street’s clear!”

For a moment he only heard distant sound of fighting and shouts. Then pounding footsteps, growing louder rapidly. Luan stood back just in time; Venaz hurtled through the alleyway, half-carrying Marian. She had a black eye and several discolored bruises on her arms already.

“Marian!”

“She just took a few hits. Move aside.”

Venaz grunted and grabbed a potion from his bag of holding. Unceremoniously, he uncorked it and splashed Marian in the face with it. The Centaur gasped and came back to life. She staggered to her hooves, looking around wildly.

“The patrol—”

“We won free. And you used the talismans. Good work.”

Venaz trotted over to the alleyway. He frowned at the four glowing ward papers and then at Umina and Luan.

“You didn’t need to use four. Two is enough. One for the patrol, one to blank scrying.”

Umina looked embarrassed.

“Sorry. I didn’t know how strong they were. Can you remove them?”

“Too late. They’re activated. These are high-quality. Even a Level 40 [Warrior] would get turned around. Unless that [Captain] has a [Scout]’s Skills or an artifact, we’re safe. It doesn’t matter. I have more.”

Venaz flicked his fingers. Absently, he rubbed at one horn and cursed.

“He wasn’t bad. Those [Soldiers] nearly got us. Why is there no mist here? Have we gone the wrong way?”

Umina pointed silently. Venaz noticed the unconscious Dullahan [Mage] at last.

“Ah. Good work, you two. It seems this Skill affects even the Mithril’s own [Mages]. Good to know…where are we?”

Marian sat down for a second to catch her breath. Umina shook her head as she investigated her map.

“We’ve gone down several streets. I don’t know where we are exactly until we get onto a roof.”

“Better not. They’re watching the roofs.”

“Right. Well, I think we’re a lot closer to the plaza now. We’ll know once we run into the fighting.”

Venaz frowned.

“Yes. I’d like to know how far Wil’s forces have pushed in. We’re moving blind. But we are getting closer. I can feel it.”

“Oh, you can feel it? I can feel a knot on the back of my head.”

Marian scowled at Venaz. He ignored her as he glanced up and down the street. He grabbed another bottle from his bag of holding and tossed it at Marian.

“Enough rest. Stamina potion. Drink a mouthful if you’re tired; its top-tier so don’t waste it. Let’s keep moving; those charms only ward the alley behind us, not in front.”

He began striding forwards. Marian got to her feet with a grimace. Luan declined the potion although Umina took a swig.

“Whoa. It even tastes good. Venaz, exactly what else do you have in that bag of holding besides those charms? They’re from the Drath Archipelago, aren’t they?”

“Of course. The House of Minos trades with the Drathians. They have useful tools. And most other species have a lot fewer counters to them. I have a few other…surprises. But nothing I’d care to use just yet. We are still competitors, Umina. Marian.”

The Minotaur shook his head. Luan eyed his back.

“So let me get this straight. One of your classmates brought in an army. And you brought a bag of holding, some artifacts and some armor, and you two have some potions, alchemist weapons, and flour.”

He looked at Umina. She blushed.

“Well, if it works…”

Luan groaned.

“I chose the wrong team, didn’t I?”

Venaz turned his head to glare at Luan.

“In the first place, if this were a survival game, or one of the Professor’s games where he demanded we hunt down monsters—I brought weaponry.”

“For a game of hide-and-seek in a city, Venaz? Really?”

The Minotaur snorted.

“It’s not always simply hiding or seeking. Sometimes the Professor changes the rules. If he unleashed Wyverns like he did in the last competition—”

Luan stared at Venaz as the [Strategist] broke off and grumbled under his breath. He looked at Umina.

“What kind of person is your teacher?”

The Lizardgirl smiled.

“He’s great.”

It was such a genuine remark Luan had no reply to that. He looked around. Umina cleared her throat.

“Anyways, it’s not as if the Professor’s the one targeting us. He set this up, but Tulm the Mithril’s our opponent. And he—”

“More soldiers!”

Venaz snapped. Luan, Umina, and Marian looked up. They tensed, ready for another skirmish. But this time the fight had come and gone before them.

A group of Dullahan [Soldiers], Humans, and even a pair of horses were all lying on the ground, being tended to by a small band of Lizardfolk wearing robes. They looked up as the students halted. Instantly, one of their number strode forwards. It was an old Lizardwoman. She raised her hand as Venaz made a fist and lowered his head to charge.

“[Healers]! Back off, or we’ll have you expelled from the game!”

The students and Luan hesitated. Now they saw the [Healers] were bending over the injured, tending to bleeding wounds with healing potion or poultices. They were even treating internal bleeding and broken bones, setting the wounds before applying healing potion or magical salves. The [Healer] who’d stopped the students raised an eyebrow.

“Oh. You’re the poor fools who still haven’t been caught. Do you have any damage we need to clean up?”

“We ran into two patrols a few streets back.”

Venaz jerked a thumb over his shoulder, still looking wary. The [Healer] sighed exasperatedly.

“How bad? And if you’ve hurt them badly—”

“Just bruises. Maybe a concussion or two. Broken ribs at worst. Don’t worry. I held back.”

The Minotaur smirked. The Lizardwoman gave him a look which removed the smirk. She sighed and gestured.

“Roleis, Armiga, you two see what’s wrong over there.”

Two of the [Healers] got up. Marian opened her mouth, hesitating. The old Lizardwoman noticed and smiled.

“Don’t worry; these [Soldiers] aren’t continuing. Titan’s orders. No one gets hurt. Still, if there aren’t a dozen deaths by the end of the day, I’ll be surprised. Horses, people—accidents happen when you have idiots charging each other with sticks, even if they are padded! Some game.”

She scowled angrily. Venaz looked at his companions.

“Who did the fighting here? Kallinad’s forces? From the docks? It looks like they took this street. Why didn’t they hold it?”

The [Healer] sighed.

“It’s all hit and away. It keeps us running, but those Humans aren’t getting any closer, even with their [Knights]. The Iron Vanguard has stalled them and both groups are clashing in the streets without getting into a big confrontation. That will change soon; I know your lot. Hotheaded, the lot. But why am I telling you?”

She eyed Venaz severely. The Minotaur ignored her; his eyes were narrowed on the street ahead.

“We can use this. So long as we don’t run into too many patrols, we still have a chance.”

“Fat chance of them going after you. Hey, does anyone have a scrying orb? Maybe they’ll show you bashing heads so we know where to find your victims.”

The Lizardwoman [Healer] glared. Luan looked from her to Marian and Umina, who were arguing over the map and their location.

“So there are two companies fighting? Or is it three? I’m not clear on that.”

The [Healer] raised her brows as she turned to Luan. She seemed to figure out he wasn’t a student at once, because she gave Luan a more measured—and polite—reply.

“There are two companies doing the seeking. The [Soldiers] of the Forgotten Wing company, and the Iron Vanguard. We belong to the Forgotten Wing company, and so do these three nominally, at least.”

She gestured at Marian, Umina, and Venaz.

“It makes sense our soldiers aren’t seeking your friends as hard as the Iron Vanguard; they don’t want to get that badly hurt, no matter the prize. Ten gold isn’t worth fighting him.”

She pointed to Venaz, who looked pleased at the compliment. Luan focused on the second part of her statement. He’d heard that before.

“Ten gold pieces per student? That’s what the soldiers get for capturing someone?”

He glanced sideways at Marian. The Centauress looked up and tossed her head.

“Don’t get any funny ideas. You’re being paid more to help us, remember? And this is guaranteed money.”

Umina nodded absently. She sidled up to the old [Healer] who seemed content to talk while her coworkers actually did the healing.

“Excuse me, Miss Healer? Could I ask you to show us where we are?”

“What, and help you cheat?”

The old woman exploded. Umina winced. The Lizardwoman hesitated and eyed Umina.

“Well, it couldn’t hurt. What with those Terandrians bringing an army in. You’re Umina, aren’t you? My granddaughter’s your age. Alright, show me. Yes, yes…you’re right about here. And before you ask, no, I don’t know where the fighting is. But if you listen, they’re probably…”

She bent over the map. Venaz edged over to see with Marian. Luan looked at the injured soldiers. All this fighting. It made more sense now. You had to reward everyone taking part, or give them a chance. He frowned to himself.

“A game. If that’s the case, why not…”

An idea nagged at his head. Then he heard a curse. Venaz was looking up and down the street and Umina was folding her map. Marian galloped down the street and came back instantly.

“You were right! There are at least a hundred coming down the street!”

“[Soldiers]? Which side?”

“Does it matter? We’re going to be pounded flat either way! We have to outrun them!”

“But that’s the way we have to go to the plaza! Maybe we can break through. I have—”

Venaz was rummaging in his bag of holding. The [Healer] snapped at once.

“No more fighting! The wounded need to be cleared out! I forbid you to use an artifact!”

“We need to go forwards. We’re running out of time!”

The Minotaur pointed at the sun, which was nearly on its way to becoming evening. The Lizardwoman drew in a breath, and Luan grabbed her arm gently. He looked up the street where the unmistakable sound of marching boots was coming from.

“Excuse me.”

She yanked her arm free of Luan’s grip and glared at him.

“Threaten me, and the Titan will feed you to the worms, no matter who you are. This isn’t up for debate. That goes for you. Prized students or not—”

She rounded on Venaz. Luan raised his voice urgently.

“No. I was just wondering—you’re prohibited from fighting, but would you be willing to earn some gold?”

The [Healer] paused. And the other [Healers] who’d been tending to their tasks looked up. Marian, Venaz, and Umina looked at Luan sharply. The Lizardwoman glanced over her shoulder and then around, as if looking for watchers. Then she eyed Luan.

“I’m listening.”

—-

Half a minute later, a huge patrol of the Iron Vanguard came down the street. They were ready for a fight; [Soldiers] armed with shields and heavy clubs were at the front, with archers and padded arrows and [Mages] following behind. They even had two of the Midnight Shields leading their group. They stopped when they saw the wounded on the street. The Lizardwoman strode up to them at once, scowling.

“We’re [Healers]! This lot just got taken out! Keep clear of the injured or I’ll have your head!”

She pointed. The [Commander] leading the battalion hesitated. He eyed the injured Humans, Dullahans, and others alike. It was impossible to tell who had belonged to which side as the wounded groaned or tried to sit up.

You could guess in broad terms, but there had been some Dullahans even among the [Storm Sailors] and Humans were employed in the Iron Vanguard, however infrequently. He frowned at a Minotaur lying still on the ground in full plate armor. He looked unharmed—until you saw the red blood smeared across his neck. He also stank. A Centaur was lying next to him, nursing both arms in a sling while a Lizardgirl moaned as a healing potion was being poured over her. A dark-skinned man was sitting against a wall as a [Healer] held up some fingers.

“We need to get through.”

“Take a side street, then. We can’t move the injured.”

The [Healer] snapped at the Dullahan. He hesitated, then nodded.

“Acceptable. But let us cast one spell. [Geomancer], forward! Seal the street.”

“Hold on. You can’t—”

The [Healer] jumped as, behind her, a wall of stone rose, neatly blocking off the street behind the wounded. The Dullahan [Commander] winced at the ferocity of the old Drake’s stare. He removed is head and bowed it slightly.

“Our apologies for the disturbance, Miss Healer. We have our orders.”

The Lizardwoman folded her arms, unimpressed.

“Get to it, then. And don’t interfere with our jobs any more, or you won’t see us when someone splits your head open.”

The Dullahan [Commander] nodded and after checking his helmet to make sure it was secured tightly, ordered his men down a side street. The [Healer] watched him go, and then waited for a minute. After that, she looked at the Minotaur, Lizardgirl, Centauress, and Human, who were all sitting up.

“Well, well, well. It looks like one of you has a brain after all.”

“More than just a brain. Brilliant idea, Luan. I knew hiring you was worth it.”

Marian got to her hooves, looking delighted. Umina was smiling fit to burst and even Venaz looked pleased. The [Healer] who’d been pretending to tend to her cleared his throat meaningfully.

“Speaking of which…”

“Of course. Here.”

Marian counted out some coins. The gold and silver vanished into the [Healer]’s palms and the Lizardman gave her a delighted bow.

“Much obliged, Miss [Strategist].”

The others crowded around for their share. One of them however looked troubled.

“Is this cheating? Our orders were—”

The Lizardwoman shoved past him, with a claw outstretched.

“I don’t see a problem with it. If the Titan had a problem with us, he would have added it to the rules. Do you see a problem?”

She tossed several gold coins at the other [Healer]. He perked up.

“You know, I’m feeling a lot better about it. Gold is a very therapeutic metal.”

“You said it.”

Marian sighed as she handed out the rest of the money. She scowled into her own bag of holding and glanced up.

“I’m spending a fortune today. Venaz, you’re paying me at least half back.”

“You’ll get it. Stop nagging me. If I had my money pouch…”

Venaz stomped past them. He glanced at the Lizardwoman and his gaze became calculating.

“How much would it cost to escort us towards the plaza? We’ll triple Marian’s payment.”

The Centauress choked, but Umina nodded.

“Not a bad idea. Let’s get as far as we can with this.”

The [Healer] hesitated, but then she shook her head, reluctantly.

“Ah! We can’t leave our area. We do have a job and lives are on the line. You’re on your own after this. Good luck; hope you win. I’d love to see the Iron Vanguard get their tails tweaked.”

She folded her arms. Venaz sighed and cursed, but he didn’t try to argue. The four set off again. Luan hurried after them and Umina turned to him. She smiled.

“Really good idea, Luan. I wish I’d thought of it.”

“Worth twenty gold coins?”

“At least!”

Marian nodded.

“I’m glad I hired you. I knew my Skill was steering me the right way. If you have any other ideas, we’d love to hear them.”

The two [Strategists] gave Luan approving looks. Venaz grunted.

“Yes, well, recall that I was the first one to hire him.”

“Yes, yes. Now, let’s keep moving. We’re closing in. There’re only few dozen streets between us and the plaza at most. We can take a circuitous route here to avoid more patrols until we get to the Iron Vanguard’s really fortified streets—”

“Hey!”

All four ducked. Luan grabbed for the club and realized he’d dropped it while pretending to be wounded. He dodged behind Venaz as he looked around for the sound and then up—

Umina, Marian, Venaz, and Luan stared up at an open window. The apartments were filled with faces. And more people were standing on the rooftops! The cold iron mists had begun to dissipate, and the people of Daquin were watching the students with avid expressions. Someone shouted.

“That’s Venaz! And Umina! And uh—”

“Miss Marian! Who’s the Human?”

Excited voices called from above. Luan saw a Lizardboy waving excitedly at Venaz. Shouts filled the street at once.

“Good luck!”

“We saw you trash that patrol! Excellent punch!”

“Umina! Umina, will you marry m—”

Bemused, the students waved up at the windows. Venaz snorted, looking pleased and annoyed.

“Idiots. They’ll blow our cover.”

“Too late to change it.”

Marian smiled and waved, causing a male Centaur half her age to swoon. Umina looked up and frowned. Then she raised her arms and waved back.

“Then let’s use this. Hey yourselves! Anyone have a scrying orb? What’s the situation look like? Is Wil—I mean, are the Humans winning?”

—-

Umina, Marian, Venaz, and the unfortunate City Runner they’d hired. To some, their tale was all-encompassing, the most important story unfolding in Daquin. It certainly was to the individuals in question. But the truth was that their struggle was just one of hundreds unfolding in the city.

Students running for their lives. Turning, fighting. Outwitting foes left and right. Triumphing, failing—the image of their battle against the Iron Vanguard was a never-ending shift of perspectives. Not one tale was told, or even fifty. It was all of the most significant dramas, with commentary, replays, twists and turns—

Some might have called it too many perspectives to keep track of. And it was true that some students were captured without much agonizing on parts of the audience. But others were names.

Wil Kallinad. Merrik, the Dwarf. Peki of Pomle. The [Rogue], Silk. Jekilt and his band of [Soldiers]. And yes, even Venaz. The Minotaur was certainly popular with his people if no one else. But to the disappointment of many, he had only appeared once in the scrying orb as the main focus in a satisfying, if short dustup. Umina’s defeat of the [Hydromancer] had also been caught, incidentally, as had their trick with the [Healers].

In truth, their perspective was, as of this moment, rather inconsequential compared to the other students who’d been making waves. Niers had watched as, with audible groans, the people in the plaza witnessed Jekilt finally subdued by a vanguard led by Tulm himself. The Mithril cornered the Centaur [Captain] with calm detachments of soldiers, slowly boxing the Centaur in until Jekilt was taken out from afar with a spell. But if Jekilt’s defeat was the talk of the hour, Wil’s dramatic battle with the Iron Vanguard was the hottest thing this century.

And it was only getting hotter. Niers watched as the company that had missed Venaz and the others walked straight into an ambush by nearly two hundred [Soldiers]. The Dullahans put their backs up as well as their shields as enchanted arrows rained from the rooftops and [Foot Soldiers] rushed in from all sides. But the ambush was a feint; the Dullahans in fact outnumbered their attackers, and they were meant to be held in place as Wil’s forces tried to seize a choke point five streets over.

They succeeded, but not before Xol had waded into the ambush and taken out two dozen [Soldiers] himself. Both sides drew back as Wil’s Human army advanced and the Iron Vanguard regrouped for another push outwards. Across the city, the students still fighting towards the plaza clashed with the Iron Vanguard and Forgotten Wing [Soldiers]. This was the stalemate that had occupied the city for the last two hours.

Bloody melees, feints, ambushes—the Iron Vanguard were giving ground as the students and the Kallinad forces advanced. But both sides were being ground down and the numbers lay with Tulm. And the students had yet to penetrate the inner third of the city around the plaza. So were they really winning?

No. They were not. To the excitable Noass and Sir Relz, each gained street was a cause for triumph and damn impartiality. But to Niers, it looked like Tulm had held his ground splendidly against Wil’s advance. He had given ground, yes, but he was whittling down the Humans. And he had the numbers to win a purely defensive battle around the plaza, even fighting from all sides.

“Still. They have a chance. If they manage to link up with Merrik’s group. Or if they can just take out Xol, or Tulm himself—”

Perorn clenched a fist as she watched through the scrying orb. Two seconds later her face appeared in the orb, repeating herself word for word. The Centaur turned and scowled at Teura in real time. She trotted back from the half-Elf [Mage] and towards Niers, who was watching from his pedestal in the center of his circle. He was still surrounded by the Midnight Shields. The Dullahans didn’t budge, even for Perorn.

“Move. Please.”

They stared at the Centaur. Niers sighed.

“Perorn, if you want to discuss with me, I’m afraid I’ll have to come to you. One moment.”

He got up from his pedestal, touched a ring, and leapt twelve feet through the air and onto the head of a Dullahan in black armor. The Dullahan twitched as Niers strode up his helmet to talk down to Perorn.

“Yes?”

“What do you think?”

The [Galewinds Strategist] folded her arms. Niers raised an eyebrow.

“I think you’re biased.”

“Of course I am. Or are you telling me you’d prefer that b—prefer Tulm to win?”

Niers shrugged. He was aware of Teura edging closer for a better view, probably amplifying his words at a distance.

“I’ve merely set the stage. The winner is the most deserving. Of course, I’m watching my student’s contributions. All of them.”

He looked pointedly past Perorn. She turned and Teura’s head snapped around. There came Tulm. He was escorting Jekilt into the plaza. The defeated Centaur looked visibly upset; he still had scorch marks from the flame walls that had boxed him in. Tulm strode over to his war table, ignoring the [Mages] clustered around him, asking for a comment. Niers rolled his eyes.

“Look at this. Will we have Wistram’s [Mages] on every battlefield after this, I wonder?”

“Only the important ones. And once we put an arrow or two through them ‘accidentally’, I think they’ll stop hanging around.”

Perorn pawed the ground restlessly. Niers shook his head.

“But they might well be everywhere. If—ah. Hold on.”

He broke off and leapt back to his pedestal. Something was happening. Tulm’s head snapped up as a shout went up.

The streets were mostly clear of individual students at this point. A few groups, like Venaz’s, had managed to get by with few or no helpers like Luan. But by and large, any student who hadn’t had the foresight to team up or hire help was now caught. And the streets were so inundated with soldiers that hiding near the plaza was all but impossible.

Ironically, if you were hiding at a distance, you were probably safe. No one cared about the students who’d decided to wait it out. But around the plaza, the Iron Vanguard was patrolling in so many numbers and in such force that anyone would be caught in moments.

Indeed, a score of students using [Invisibility], illusion, and even [Polymorph] spells and items had been caught by the [Mages] watching for any kinds of magical movement. Over the roofs or on the ground; their nets were stretched so finely that even a Fraerling would probably be caught in seconds if they got too close.

Which was why the group that appeared with a covered wagon down the main street leading straight into the plaza was all the more notable. They rolled the wagon forwards, pulled by four horses. Lizardfolk with swords ushered the wagon forwards, fending off the Dullahans that poured towards them. The horses raced ahead, urged onwards by the driver at the front. Faster and faster—and then the horses ran to either side, reins cut!

“What?”

An exclamation came from the watchers in the plaza. Niers just adjusted his wooden pedestal until he could see over the heads of the Midnight Shields. He stared down into the scrying orb as Tulm raised his voice.

“Report.”

“Sir, intruders on the eastern main road. All have been apprehended, but the vehicle is still moving. The horses are gone, but it’s been driven. It’s a…wagon?”

It was indeed a wagon. Just a wagon. Hurtling down the slight incline of the eastern road, picking up momentum. A wagon. And, clambering up over the driver’s seat, throwing her hood back to expose her face, was Yerranola, the Selphid.

The plaza was guarded of course. Over a thousand feet away, a rank of Dullahans three rows deep was waiting and braced. Wil’s soldiers hadn’t even gotten near them yet. And if they had, the elites of the Iron Vanguard would stop even their Knights of the Autumn cold. Definitely. What would a wagon do?

Then again…the Dullahans standing in formation stared. It was a wagon. Just a wagon. But it was…

A wagon.

The wagon was loaded to build momentum, and somehow, Yerranola had managed to convince a [Carpenter] to reinforce the front with wood, turning it into a mobile battering ram. Without horses, it was now speeding towards the plaza’s eastern entrance.

“Out of the way if you don’t want to get hurt!”

The Selphid was crouched on top of the wagon, laughing maniacally as it hurtled towards the ranks of Dullahans. A few [Mages] hurled spells at her, but without using a [Fireball] or a wall spell, they couldn’t stop her. And that might well kill the Selphid, dead body or not. Should they use a spell? Could they remove her somehow?

The [Mages] hesitated, and by that point it was too late. The wagon was going faster and faster. How fast was it going now? Forty miles per hour? Fifty? Sixty? And in that moment all the Dullahans guarding the plaza did a quick mathematical equation. If you understood force is mass multiplied by acceleration…even if you didn’t know the exact math, even if the basic concept was something every sentient being understood…

How much did wagons weigh again?

Over two thousand pounds of wood hurtled across the ground at the Dullahans. They hesitated; they were braced in a shield wall, but they could figure out what would happen if that hit them. The front of the wagon had been shaped into a ram. And painted red. The [Captain] took one look and issued a desperate order.

“Dodge! Everyone out of the way, now!”

The wagon hurtled forwards. The Dullahans were moving, running, diving out of the way. In the plaza, Tulm looked up. He stared at the wagon coming in from his right.

“Oh dear. And just what will Tulm the Mithril do about th—”

Noass’ voice cut off as Tulm straightened. Yerranola screamed a war cry as she aimed straight for the center of the plaza. For Niers.

“Professor!”

Niers smiled and waved. He jumped down from his pedestal as Wistram’s [Mages] crowded around him and the Midnight Shield for a better look, shouting questions. Perorn was nowhere to be seen.

“Lord Astoragon! Are you worried about this?”

Niers was counting. Twenty seconds? Twenty five? He looked over casually as the wagon grew larger and larger in front of him.

“Me? Why should I be?”

“It’s a wagon, Lord Astoragon. Surely even the Titan—”

The Centaur [Mage] hesitated. Niers was standing on the ground. The Fraerling looked up at the Centaur cheerfully.

“Unless Yerranola has truly atrocious aim, I think I’ll be quite fine, don’t you? The wagon should pass comfortably overhead. Even if I stretch. You all may wish to move.”

The Wistram [Mages] looked up. They stared at the wagon, which was hurtling at them. It would pass far, far above Niers. But they would be paste.

“Barrier spell.”

Teura murmured somewhat urgently. Niers raised a hand.

“No barrier spells! If you interfere, I’ll have all of you tied to rocks and hurled into the harbor!”

He glared at the [Mages]. They hesitated. Then they stared at the Midnight Shields. They hadn’t moved. The group from Wistram looked at Tulm. He was watching the wagon as well. He wouldn’t let it hit them.

They stared at the wagon, which had somehow endeavored to pick up more speed. And at Niers. At Tulm. They were pretty sure. Pretty sure but then again, he didn’t have anything to lose. The wagon was ten seconds away. The [Mages] ran for it.

“[Lesser Teleport].”

“[Flash Ste—]”

The sight of the robed [Mages] diving for their lives was ironically captured by a watcher from above. And the wagon was still coming on. Niers stood still, staring through a gap in the Dullahans. Yerranola was laughing, pointing at him. He sighed.

“Ah, I think I see. Well—”

There was only one barrier left between the Selphid and her destination. The Midnight Shields. And at last they did move. The black-armored Dullahans marched forwards, forming a line of steel.

“Strategist?”

One of them spoke beneath her black helm. Tulm raised a calm hand.

“I leave it to you.”

“Yes, sir! [Lineholder Formation].”

The Dullahans braced. They didn’t draw their weapons. They didn’t raise their shields. They just stood their ground. And suddenly, they were a wall of black metal. Yerranola’s eyes widened. The Selphid took one look at the stationary Dullahans as her wagon screamed towards them. The circle.

“Uh oh—”

The crash was one of the most epic collisions captured on scrying orb. It was the kind of thing you watched once, twice, and then a third time just to remember. The reinforced wagon splintered. The contents of the wagon, weights, nails, all of it, exploded like, like…like a [Fireball] made of wood against the Dullahans. They were the immovable force, though. And the wagon smashed itself to bits against them.

Naturally, the Selphid went flying. She hit the ground and three Dullahans were on her in a second. Everyone else in the plaza, [Mages] to captured students to other Dullahans and teachers alike ducked as a hail of wood landed around them. Perorn, who’d wisely taken cover, watched as the wood fell down, temporarily a weather phenomenon.

Niers watched as the wooden splinters rained around him, blocks of wood twice as large as he was landing next to the Fraerling. He raised his eyebrows as a dagger of wood spun towards his face. At the last second it bounced off something. The Fraerling glanced down. A ring flashed on his finger. He sighed as he kicked the bit of wood out of the way.

“I’ll grant you it got you into the plaza, but against the Midnight Guard? Not exactly a smart move, Yerranola.”

He looked around for the Selphid. She was squirming as the Dullahans held her. Yerranola’s back was broken, and she was peppered with pieces of wood; one stood out from her chest where it was embedded three inches deep. Still, the Selphid grinned with her classic, irrepressible good nature.

“Whoop! Looks like that failed! See you, Professor! I—oh, hells!”

She gasped as one of the Midnight Shields slammed her onto the ground. The Selphid blinked up at them.

“Ow. I felt that.”

“Student apprehended. Strategist, your orders?”

“With the others.”

Tulm waved a hand. He’d barely glanced up from his map where he was plotting Wil’s forces. Yerranola groaned. Niers sighed. Then everyone turned as one of the spectators, one of Daquin’s Councilmen, raised his voice.

“Reckless! Absolutely—someone get a healing potion! This [Soldier]’s injured badly!”

The Lizardman was pointing and shouting. And little wonder. A Dullahan was lying on the ground. His armor was steel, but that hadn’t saved him; wooden pieces had perforated the metal like it was parchment. And blood was already spreading from his wounds as he tried to pull himself up.

“Healer!”

The cry came from a dozen throats as [Soldiers] from the Iron Vanguard rushed to tend to their fallen comrade. The moment was a tableau, captured once again by Wistram. A healing potion was produced and used at once. The Dullahan got to his feet, cradling his visored helmet as his body was helped upright. For a second, everyone was focused on the injured Dullahan.

“Heal the wounded. Reform the guard on the eastern entrance at once. As for the Selphid—place her with the other students. Now.”

Tulm was glancing towards Yerranola, his expression irritated. He spoke curtly. Yerranola’s face was a mask of horror.

“I’m really sorry, Professor. I didn’t think—is he alright?”

She strained to see as the Midnight Shields led her towards the other captured students. She called out again towards Niers. The Fraerling didn’t answer. He was staring at the scrying orb and the wounded Dullahan as the [Healer] rushed over to him. The [Soldier] was trying to get to his feet.

“I can walk. I can…I’ll go.”

He stumbled forwards, shrugging off help. The other Iron Vanguard Dullahans hovered around him, then composed themselves. True to Dullahans, they let the [Soldier] slowly proceed towards a [Healer] rushing towards him, passing slowly by the center circle.

It was a moment where no one was holding their breath. No one except Niers. And perhaps Tulm sensed it with a Skill. Or maybe it was intuition. But as the [Soldier] stumbled again, the Dullahan [Strategist] glanced up. His expression was absent for a second, puzzled. And then, suddenly intent. He pointed at the injured Dullahan and shouted in a field roar.

“Hold! That Dullahan’s armor isn’t bearing the Iron Vanguard’s insignia! Soldiers—”

Too late. Cameral began sprinting for Niers’ circle. The Iron Vanguard jerked as one. The Midnight Guard whirled. They charged Cameral. And they were quick! The Dullahan tried to swerve, but he was too slow. He knocked a hand free, charging at the circle with Niers in it. But he’d never make it. So—

He threw his head.

It was an easy toss. A lazy arc, belayed by the suddenness which with his body came to a halt as six Dullahans tackled Cameral at once. But they’d missed the head. And it flew.

Up, up! The Midnight Shields not tackling Cameral looked up. Several tried to change course, but their heavy armor weighed them down. It was too late. The world watched, open-mouthed as Cameral’s head fell down to earth, towards Niers, who’d stepped aside to give him room. He was going to make it! He was going to—

Tulm the Mithril leapt forwards. His jump carried him eight feet into the air, impossibly high. His mithril armor shone as his outstretched arm shot for Cameral’s head. Niers, staring upwards, saw the moment unfold.

Tulm, his eyes wide, hand outstretched. Cameral, shouting, his head slowly rotating as it dropped towards Niers. The Midnight Guard, lunging. Tulm’s hand, covered in the bright, magical metal, reaching, grabbing—

He caught Cameral and twisted out of the way, landing with a crash as the Midnight Guard leapt too. The Mithril rolled, grasping Cameral’s head by the hair. The Dullahan student was grimacing as his body lay, pinned by four of the Midnight Guard. Tulm held Cameral’s head upright as he scrambled to his feet. He paused, wavering.

The Midnight Guard froze. The audience in the square froze. And every eye turned towards Niers Astoragon. They all stared, students, teachers, spectators.

Had Cameral done it? Had his head passed into the circle, or had Tulm caught him in time? The world waited. And Niers studied the circle marked by ropes. He checked the air where Cameral’s head had been, glanced at the two Dullahans, Tulm and Cameral’s head.

The Fraerling raised his arms. He waited for one eternal heartbeat, for the effect, for the drama, and then swung them down.

“Out!”

And the audience went wild.

—-

Minutes later, a lifetime of excitement later, Yerranola and Cameral were being spoken to by Wistram [Mages] as they sat with the other former contestants. The [Mages] were of course, lenses for the world to witness all that was unfolding and they did more than just watch the action in the streets.

They were interviewing the losers for their thoughts, opinions, and of course, reactions to what was happening. And now the latest two students were the subject of all the attention, despite the battle still raging in the streets.

“Of course it was planned. You think we stuck a bunch of wooden bits in Cameral’s armor and drew some blood to fake his accidents for fun? Come to think of it…”

Yerranola was chatting happily to the [Mage] asking her questions. She looked relaxed, for all her body was in tatters. Cameral was uninjured. His faked injuries had already been healed, for they had been quite real. But he had never been in any danger not planned. He was more subdued, but he did manage a quiet nod and a reply.

“Neither Yerra nor I had made enough preparations for this event. After we saw the Mithril and the Iron Vanguard arriving—we might have continued, but Wil’s strategy showed us just how unlikely we were to succeed. So we teamed up.”

“And this was your plan?”

The scrying orb the [Mage] was holding up switched to Sir Relz. The Drake was leaning forwards, interviewing the two [Strategists]. Yerra nodded casually.

“It was worth a shot. I was the bait and Cameral was just going to run for it. I know it’s not that impressive, but we decided to be bold since we had no other good hands to play. I hope the Professor won’t scold us for it.”

She glanced at Niers. After a moment, the sighing Fraerling appeared in the orb.

“Boldness is a virtue. I won’t say either Yerranola or Cameral exceeded my expectations, but they certainly came closer than any other student. Yerra was the first to break the plaza’s encirclement, unorthodox and risky through her plan was. How close it was depends. A head isn’t exactly a body; I would have had to think if Cameral had landed on whether that counted. But perhaps Tulm has an opinion on how good the gambit was?”

He winked at the audience. The screen switched to Tulm. The Dullahan, who had returned to his war table, glanced up briefly.

“Remove the [Mages]—”

The image went dark for a second. Niers, relaxing in his seat, saw Tulm walk away from the protesting Wistram [Mages]. Niers whistled, and Tulm stopped as he passed by the circle, guarded by a double ring of somewhat abashed Midnight Shields this time. Niers hopped onto another helmet and spoke quietly to Tulm.

“He nearly got you. Cameral. If you’d been a hair slower, he might have won. You didn’t think they’d be this aggressive, did you? You’re still underestimating them.”

He grinned as he perched on the very uncomfortable Dullahan’s head. Tulm glance at the Midnight Shield, and then up at Niers. He adjusted his head. His voice was impassive as ever.

“Tell me something. Was that Human boy—Wil Kallinad—really the surprise you mentioned? He will never make it in the plaza. You know he has no chance.”

Niers smiled. The two locked gazes. At last, the Titan shrugged.

“Alone, you’d be right. But teamwork nearly won once already. I wonder what happens if the other students work together?”

He turned back to his pedestal. Tulm stared at Niers’ back as the Titan helped himself to another lime drink and a candied nut. Then he looked around. His soldiers stared back. Slowly, Tulm glanced at his [Mage] responsible for sending [Message] spells.

“Command Xol to advance. Have the first to sixth Armor Captains begin sortieing with their units. It’s time to end this.”

—-

“The plaza is in sight! Just six more streets away!”

Merrik roared as his group advanced. The Iron Vanguard was pouring out to meet them. But an equally large force was marching with Merrik and his group.

Wil’s forces were advancing down the street. It had not been an easy battle. The [Knights] were tired. More than a few had been unhorsed. More than a few had been carried off the streets. And yet, still they came.

Humans. Terandria’s champions. And behind them was Wil, still moving forwards, still clashing with Tulm the Mithril himself. It was enough to make Merrik proud of his homeland. Even so, he was going to win this. The Dwarf hefted his greatclub as he walked forwards. Some of his friends walked with him.

Not all.

Kelsa was out. She’d been taken by nets. Romin was limping bad; a bone had been broken. Maybe even shattered. But he was still with them. He could heal later.

Cemiza was out. The Oldblood Drake had been caught by a [Mage]. But her friend, Kaelma, the [Fencer] with the silver bell, was still with them. Unharmed. So was Peki, the Garuda [Martial Artist].

And Merrik too. Oh, he’d taken bad hits, but nothing a healing potion couldn’t sort out. Now the Dwarf raised his club and roared and the soldiers around him cheered. He was out of Skills. But he was so close!

“Hold on, Professor. We’re nearly there!”

Merrik charged forwards. The Dullahans charged right back. There were a lot of them. But they could take them! They could—the Dwarf knocked three Dullahans down, aiming at their knees, then heard a voice that made his heart sink.

“Second Armor Company! Advance!”

A titanic roar worthy of the Professor himself. But this voice was properly huge, booming. It came from a giant.

“Aw, Dragon’s nuts! Here comes Xol! Peki!”

The Garuda flew up. Xol was impossible to miss. He was leading the Second Armor Company straight into the fray. [Knights] charged at him, using their spears like lances; the War Walker flicked them off their horses. He wasn’t holding a weapon. But he did have a massive tower shield. Peki dove at him.

“Rematch. Flutter kick. Swallow punch. Dodge—”

She flitted through the air, striking. Another Garuda went down, knocked clean out of the skies. Merrik grinned.

“Go Peki!”

Xol had halted as the Garuda advanced on him. He raised his shield as the Garuda spun left, daring him to strike and be countered. Xol’s voice was huge. Yet, almost conversational.

“You were right. Without my weapons, it is hard to beat one of Pomle’s warriors. I would that we had chance for a rematch.”

“Punch, punch, kick—”

“[Attraction Shield].”

Merrik felt a tug at his side. He stumbled. Then he saw Peki fall out of the air like a stone. Xol held his massive shield up. And the Garuda slammed into it and stuck there. Pinned. She wriggled, struggling against the shield, but it held her as if the Garuda’s body were suddenly magnetized. Peki looked up as Xol raised his shield.

“This is bad.”

Xol brought the shield down. Merrik charged forwards, but it was much too late. The people below Xol scattered as the shield came down, Peki-first.

Whumph.

When the [Juggernaut] raised his shield Peki remained, lying on the broken street, her wings spread. Unconscious.

“Peki!”

Her friends raced forwards, outraged. Heedless, they charged at Xol. Romin, Kaelma, Merrik—but a group of Dullahans brought down Romin, trapping him with catchpoles. And someone shot out from the side—Kaelma stumbled backwards, her cheek suddenly bleeding! The Gnoll turned, growling, raising her wooden rapier.

A Dullahan stepped out of the line of soldiers. He was unique, because his armor was made not of metal, or even wood or stone. But of cloth. It looked like padded armor as he gestured to Kaelma. His voice was soft, even amid the fighting.

“Second Armor Captain. Heldam. I challenge you, [Fencer].”

He had a wooden rapier like hers. And on his wrist—a silver bell. Kaelma hesitated. Then the Gnoll slowly walked towards Heldam, as graceful as a cat. He slid forwards to meet her. The silver bells chimed as they advanced.

Merrik looked around. Suddenly, he was alone. And the soldiers with him were struggling, suddenly bereft of leadership. He raised his voice.

“Pull back! Pull—”

A hand grabbed him. Merrik felt himself being raised into the air. He swore and struggled, but Xol’s grip was immense. The [Juggernaut] raised Merrik up and regarded him. Merrik stared at Xol and bared his teeth desperately.

“Ever hear about the Dwarf who felled a Giant?”

He wrenched an arm free. His club was still there. He swung desperately, and his greatclub bounced off Xol’s hand. The [Juggernaut] smiled faintly.

“Yes. I heard he cheated.”

Then he lowered his hand and Merrik found out what it was like to be Peki.

—-

“Ah, no! He got the Dwarf!”

Umina groaned as she stared into the scrying orb. She, Venaz, Marian, and Luan were all hiding. For a second time. The Minotaur’s protective talismans were affixed to every window and door in the apartment they were hiding in. The Lizardfolk couple who’d let them in didn’t mind; they were as excited as could be as they clustered around the scrying orb.

“Dead gods, look! The entire team’s wiped out! Wil’s forces are on the run!”

Dismayed, Marian pointed. Umina saw it was true. The Iron Vanguard had finally come out swinging with all they had. And they’d taken the students and Humans completely off-guard. Umina groaned as Xol casually unhorsed a Knight of the Autumn with a single blow.

“It’s really unfair using that [Juggernaut]! Short of lethal weapons, how are you supposed to take him out?”

“Immobilize him? Magical spells?”

“None of that works with his reinforcements.”

Venaz snorted.

“That’s the point. If he were easy to deal with, he wouldn’t be the Mithril’s best warrior on the field. Even so, look how far Wil’s company has come.”

He pointed to the map he was studying. Umina checked it too. Wil was in as many as five streets away from the plaza in certain sections. And Umina’s group? Eight streets. Venaz clenched a fist.

“We have a chance. We just need a way to get past the majority of the Iron Vanguard and the Professor’s soldiers. If we had a clear shot at the Professor, there’s just the Midnight Shields in the way.”

“Elite soldiers. But they can’t do more than break our bones. It’s definitely possible to get into that circle. I have some items.”

Marian checked her bag of holding. Venaz nodded.

“But we have to get through all of the Iron Vanguard’s main army. And Wil hasn’t the strength to push in. Not anymore! He needs help. By my count he’s used up all his Skills. And something must be done about Xol. None of us can take him out.”

“You surprise me, Venaz. I thought you’d be raring to challenge him yourself.”

Venaz shot Marian a slow look.

“I’m not an idiot. Xol of Ingrilt is more than a match for all of us.”

Luan shifted. He’d been quiet since he’d helped them use the [Healers]. Umina thought the City Runner had still been processing the game, having not quite ever gotten the full story. Now he glanced at Xol, who was front and center in the scrying orb as he waded through the Humans.

“Xol, huh? He’s the largest [Juggernaut] I’ve seen so far. Is he special or something?”

The other students glanced at him. Umina raised her brows as her tail swished back and forth. More and more surprises! Marian’s instincts had been spot on. She nodded carefully.

“You’ve seen [Juggernauts] before? Sorry, I mean, War Walkers? They’re really rare.”

“It was the only battle I’ve ever taken part in. I saw them fight. I won’t forget that. This Xol is a gentle soul by comparison. Hey, is this scrying orb’s image something I can watch later? If my company could see this—”

Luan replied absently. He was holding something in one pocket. But he hadn’t taken it out. Marian nodded.

“War Walkers are notoriously good at…killing. They’re big targets too, though. As bad as using Giants in battle. Still, in a situation like this, they shine. And Xol is bigger because he’s one of the oldest and strongest War Walkers alive. He could beat any [Knight] that Wil brought with him. Probably.”

“Without their enchanted weaponry? Definitely. We have to evade him. Strike while he’s distracted. It might be time for a gamble. Force our way in. I can hold off…some of the enemy.”

Venaz checked his talismans again. Umina was still focused on Luan.

“You have a company? That’s unusual for a City Runner.”

Luan glanced up.

“Yeah. I’m part of a company. The United Nations company. We’re based in Talenqual.”

Umina looked excited.

“Talenqual? That’s my—”

Venaz snorted as he reached into his bag of holding.

“How many nations are part of your company? Don’t answer; it’s a terrible name for a company. You should change it.”

Luan glared at Venaz.

“Venaz is a terrible name for a Minotaur. You should change it.”

Venaz’s brows snapped together. Marian looked delighted, but then she intervened, for once the peace mediator.

“Argue over names later. It’s time to make a decision. Wil’s forming up. He’s going for the decisive blow as well.”

It was true. Across the city, Wil’s force was drawing in, abandoning their fortified streets. Umina whistled.

“He’s even abandoning his rear. He’s going all in.”

“Smart. It’s the only way he wins. One push takes all. But Xol and Tulm—he won’t make it alone.”

Venaz stared at the image in the scrying orb. Then he looked up.

“I’m going. This is our chance. Umina. Marian. Do you concur?”

The two looked at each other.

“We concur. Let’s do it. I still don’t have a plan, though.”

Luan hesitated. Umina noticed that. She turned to him.

“Do you, Luan?”

“Something like that. You’ve all said this is a game, yeah?”

“Of course. Have you ever seen a battle this bloodless?”

Venaz lifted an eyebrow. Luan ignored him. He glanced down at the map, then at his coin purse.

“Well then. You bought me. And you bought out the [Healers].”

He nodded at Marian. She nodded slowly. Umina felt her brain fizzling. She raced ahead of Luan’s words. He didn’t mean—

“Ten gold’s what’s motivating the soldiers of your company to fight, right? So why not—”

“Why not bribe them to help us!”

Umina sat bolt upright. Luan nodded. Marian started.

“Bribe them? It’d never work. [Soldiers] are loyal, especially to a Great Company. The idea of bribing any of them to follow us—”

“In a battle. Obviously not. That would be suicide for them and us. But this isn’t a battle, is it, Marian?”

Venaz looked up quietly. Marian hesitated. Then she grabbed her coin pouch.

“Luan, can I borrow—one, two, damn, I brought a lot, but—”

“If I had my coin pouch—”

“Shut it, Venaz.”

Umina glanced up as the Minotaur and Centauress began counting and calculating. She met Luan’s eyes. The Human man had a slight smile on his face. A pleased expression. Umina felt a flash of admiration. And then curiosity.

“You have a unique way of thinking. That’s twice now you surprised us.”

“I’m sure you’d have come up with something. You’re all taking this more seriously than I am, besides.”

That was true. Umina was sweating with nerves. She needed to use the toilet before she went. She hopped from one foot to another.

“Still, have you ever been a [Strategist]? Or thought of being one? Do you play chess?”

An odd expression crossed Luan’s face.

“Me? No. Never. But I do know chess. Do you think this will help you win?”

Umina hesitated. She looked at Venaz and Marian, alight with the idea. Then she shook her head.

“…No. Assuming Marian has five hundred gold pieces, which she doesn’t, how many could we hire? Two hundred? One hundred? No. This will help, but it’ll be luck and something else if we beat Tulm. And that’s not how a battle should go. The Professor doesn’t believe in luck.”

Luan nodded. His eyes flicked to Umina.

“In that case, maybe you should change plans.”

“No. I mean, no, your idea’s great. It’s just…there’s something more to it.”

Umina spoke slowly. Luan’s plan was making her own brain buzz. She had a thought, nibbling at the corner of her mind. She pursued it as she thought.

“A truly great plan is something no one expects. Something original. But a great idea is only the first step. A [Strategist] builds on that idea. They take the unexpected and turn it into something no one is prepared for. Like…hold on. I need to go to the bathroom.”

The Lizardgirl hurried out of the room. She couldn’t hold it anymore. And as she was sitting on the toilet, she had it. She raced back into the room. She didn’t even wash her claws.

“Luan. I have an idea. Will you listen?”

She told him the idea, whispering to him in a corner. The City Runner’s face lit up and he grinned.

“That is smart. But would your Tulm the Mithril expect it?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But if it works, it’s sure to work. And this might be something even his [Mages] miss. It’s so…basic. And it would be quick. So quick—but—”

Umina hesitated. She looked at Marian. Could she do that to her friend? Tell her to risk it all on this? No. Marian would hate gambling it all on this. But Umina had nothing to lose. She looked at Luan.

“I’m going to try it. Can I…can I ask you to let them know?”

“Of course.”

Luan stared at the Lizardgirl. Umina hesitated.

“Maybe I should tell Marian…”

Her conscience gnawed at her. Gnawed and pricked. If she was wrong—but if she was right—Luan stared at her. Slowly, the [Rower] bent. He spoke quietly.

“Do you want to win?”

Umina paused. She looked up at him.

“Yes.”

With all her heart. The Human studied her eyes. Then he nodded.

“Then win. There’s honor in sports. But this sport is all about cheating. Or so it seems. So win. And have all your regrets afterwards. But win.”

And in his eyes flashed the same thirst for victory that boiled in Umina’s gut. The Lizardgirl took a step back. Then she nodded and fled. Back the way she’d come.

“Umina?”

Marian looked around as she finished counting her coin. The Centauress trotted around the apartment, looking for her friend. She turned to Luan.

“Where did Umina go? Did you see?”

The City Runner nodded.

“She has an idea and went to try it. She’s trying to win. In her way.”

He met Marian’s gaze. The Centauress was hurt. Then angry. She pawed the ground.

“Aren’t we all? Why can’t she—never mind. Come with us.”

She gestured to Venaz. The Minotaur was straightening, checking his armor. He turned.

“Forget Umina. Victory belongs with us. We’re going. And you’re coming with us.”

He nodded at Luan. The Human smiled.

“Of course.”

—-

They came out of the apartment. Three of them, and at least two ready for a fight. Marian’s bow was drawn. Venaz strode forth wearing his armor. Luan had a table leg.

Why was he there? Moral support. To make up for Umina’s absence. A good luck charm.

“An extra body to take a block for my back.”

“You’re all heart.”

“You’re being paid. And soon, so will the other soldiers. Let’s find a patrol.”

“Can’t we just head straight towards the plaza?”

Marian looked at Venaz. The Minotaur shook his head.

“Too many of the Iron Vanguard. And what if we run into a larger group of the Forgotten Wing company?”

“Oh. Right. We can’t bribe them all.”

“Exactly. We should—”

Venaz broke off. He turned his head, held up a hand. Wil and Marian froze. The Minotaur paused.

“There’s a large force coming up the north. Riders.”

“Wil’s group?”

“They might take us out. The other way, then. Towards the plaza—”

The three began hurrying down the street. They hadn’t gone more than twenty paces when Venaz halted again. He hesitated. This time Luan and Marian had heard it too.

“That’s a lot of footsteps.”

“Back to the apartment!”

They raced backwards. Too slow. Too late. The first [Mage] appeared on the rooftops. Five more appeared and began throwing spells. The first raised her hands and shouted.

“Wistram, Wistram!”

The other five stopped. On the far end of the street, a group of Dullahans floated over the rooftops. They saw the three Human [Mages] and two half-Elves and began throwing spells at once. The Wistram [Mage] fled, shouting. Venaz groaned.

“They’ve spotted us. The apartment’s no good! Form up!”

He put his back to the wall. Marian did likewise. And there they came.

An entire army of Humans. A regiment plus of Dullahans. And Luan, Marian, and Venaz were caught right between them. Both sides spotted the students and Luan; the Dullahans pointed.

“Take them!”

“Venaz—”

Marian’s head swung left to right. The Minotaur was rummaging in his bag of holding.

“One second. It’s time to pull out my last resort. I can’t use this. No, not this one either. No. No. Damn. Why did I have to have such impeccable selection?”

“Venaz! Hurry up!”

Marian loosed an arrow at the Dullahans. The Humans ignored the students; they were charging the Dullahans. Only a few [Knights] remained and mostly on foot. The Minotaur grabbed something. He straightened, and turned towards the Dullahans. Ignoring the arrows bouncing off his armor and the spell that crackled harmlessly over the metal, the Minotaur raised a fist.

“These are weapons from my homeland. The House of Minos and the Drath Archipelago fight with more than just spells. Behold! Art is a weapon.”

He raised a fluttering piece of paper and cast it into the wind. Pages flew upwards. Luan caught a glimpse of one. A painted dog, drawn in vibrant colors, fluttered through the sky as the Dullahans charged. Then, the dog moved. It stretched, and then ran, and raced forwards. Off the page. Into reality.

A dog as large as a horse leapt onto the ground. Its fur was brilliant white; it was outlined with black and it had large, yellow eyes with intelligent pupils. It was a dog. But not a dog. It was…a drawing. A caricature of life.

And yet it moved. It was art, and yet it bounded forwards. And it was paint, ink, but it bit. The Dullahans shouted as the summoned dog leapt on them. The painting grabbed two Dullahans and worried them, shaking its head left to right.

“Don’t kill them!”

The Minotaur bellowed. The dog paused. The Minotaur pointed.

“Knock them down.”

The dog raced forwards. The Dullahans froze. They struck at the dog, but their clubs were ineffectual against the painted creature. And more of Venaz’s images were coming to life. First another dog, to match the first. Then a galloping horse, a unicorn but with two horns and a flaming mane. A screeching wyvern, claws extended.

“Summoned creatures! Fall back!”

The Dullahans shouted as they began fighting the monsters. The Humans raced forwards, attacking with the summoned creatures behind them. Venaz bellowed instructions at his creatures as he strode forwards. Luan took cover behind Marian, guarding her back as she loosed more and more arrows. The Dullahans were in disarray. Then a giant strode forwards, wearing a huge, horned helmet. The [Captain]’s voice was a bellow.

“Hold, you cowards. Those aren’t summoned beasts! They’re talismans. Painted Beasts. They’re as dangerous as Silver-ranked monsters. Hold your ground. Form a shield wall and fight them off. [Mages]—take the creatures apart. Don’t hold back.”

The [Mages] dueling on the roofs took aim at the summoned creatures below. Venaz growled as fire blasted one dog apart. He glanced up at the [Captain]. The huge figure strode towards him, larger than any Dullahan. Then the [Captain] removed his helmet.

A Minotaur tossed his helm aside. The Dullahans in his company advanced, shouting as they pushed the Humans back. The Minotaur swung a huge staff around, knocking a [Knight] senseless. He advanced, pointing at Venaz, who was shouting at his summoned animals to pull back out of the [Mage]’s range.

“Venaz of Hammerad! Turn and face me, coward!”

The Minotaur [Strategist] whirled. The Dullahan’s [Captain] threw aside his staff. He spread his arms. He was as large as Venaz. No, maybe larger.

“I am Shailt of Tergim. I challenge you to a duel. Fists. Run and forfeit your honor.”

“Never.”

Venaz bared his teeth. The Dullahans and Humans looked up and cleared the way as the two Minotaurs charged. The two roared as they came at each other. And when they met in a clash of steel, Luan could have sworn the earth shook.

Reeling. Regaining their posture. Trading furious blows, punches, kicks. Throwing each other. Locking horns and hands, struggling for a second’s advantage. Luan lost track of Venaz as the two threw each other across the street. He was in the thick of it now. Marian circled as Luan clubbed Dullahans trying to swarm the two. He was so lost in the fighting that when the first Human appeared he nearly hit her. The [Knight] jerked back. Then she lanced out.

“One side, [Soldier]!”

Luan saw her shoot past him. The [Knight] swept a Dullahan off his feet with a single slash from the wooden greatsword. Then she barreled into another group. She heaved and they went flying. She was fast! And the Dullahans went down like pins in front of her.

“[Knight]! Call in the [Mages]!”

“[Sergeant]—”

“He’s down!”

“Sixth Armor Captain! Captain Shailt! We need—”

The Dullahans were in disarray. Caught between Venaz’s perishing summoned creatures and the Humans led by the [Knight], they were losing. The Dullahan [Mages] fled backward as the Humans and half-Elves rained down spells from above. And their [Captain], the Minotaur, collapsed as Venaz landed a punch to her jaw and shattered it.

“Healer!”

Venaz bellowed as he stood over the fallen Minotaur [Captain]. The Dullahans surrounded their leader, but Venaz forced them back. He cleared a path himself, bellowing for a [Healer]. The Minotaur was carried away. The Dullahans, seeing their company leader gone, retreated. The Humans let them go. The [Knight] planted her sword in the ground as Venaz, panting, bleeding from both nostrils and stumbling, walked back towards Luan and Marian. The Centaur had only a few injuries; Luan was nursing a gash on his arm.

“Potion.”

The Minotaur tossed one at Luan and drank one himself. He stared at the Armor Captain being taken off the field.

“Damn. The jaw bone shattered. I—didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“You took that guy out. That was an Armor Captain. One of the Iron Vanguard’s company leaders!”

Marian stared at Venaz. He hesitated.

“She was strong. But she threw her weapon aside to fight me. It was a favor to me.”

“She?”

The Minotaur didn’t reply. He watched the [Healer] tending to the Minotaur. Then he turned. The potion bottle crunched in his grip and the [Knight] stopped a few paces away. She planted her sword in the ground.

“You two are students, aren’t you? Venaz and Marian?”

“Who are you?”

The Minotaur clenched a fist. Luan looked around. There were over a hundred Human [Soldiers] around him. He didn’t like the odds. Marian shifted.

“Venaz—”

“Relax. If we wanted to attack you, we would have done it. We’re on the same side. This is the first engagement we’ve won this close to the city’s center. I know the two of you; my brother speaks highly of both of you.”

The [Knight] removed her helmet. Luan saw a shock of sweaty, auburn hair. Pale skin, a battle-maniac’s smile. Venaz snorted.

“Your brother? You wouldn’t be—”

“Talia Kallinad. Come with me. I think Wil will want to see you.”

Venaz hesitated. He glanced at Marian and Luan. Then he nodded.

“Lead the way.”

—-

“All four [Captains] have withdrawn. Some of their [Storm Sailors] are fighting on, but the [Captains] are done. They’ve had their fun.”

“Xol took out three of my Autumn Knights. We can’t stop him.”

“Merrik’s down, Wil. Peki, everyone else in his group but Kaelma. And she barely got away. We’ve lost our hammer, no?”

Wil leaned over the war table. He checked the map once and then twice. It added up to the same tally.

Outmatched. Outmaneuvered. Part of him wasn’t surprised. What had he expected? Fighting Tulm was like fighting the Professor. Even with his surprise attack. Even with the other students—

This was it. Jekilt, Merrik, even Yerra and Cameral were down. The adventuring teams had retreated and now the sailors were pulling out. They were tired of being beaten down. Wil glanced up.

“How many [Knights] can do battle still, Sir Kelm?”

The man hesitated.

“Sixty four. Half unmounted.”

Wil nodded.

“In that case, have them prepare. We have one last assault left. Commander Wylint, I will leave you in charge of the rear. Keep us from being encircled long enough for us to settle things.”

“Lord Kallinad! I can keep going—”

The [Commander] was barely on his feet. Wil shook his head. His stomach was twisting. Was this it? He looked around. The faces around him were grim. As if they were really losing a battle. But they were. And it might not be life or death, but it felt like it. Wil closed his eyes.

“One last push. We take the plaza’s south entrance. Form up—”

“Wil!”

He turned.

He spun. The [Knights] standing around him turned, hands on their wooden swords. But the voice wasn’t another call to arms. It was Talia. His sister walked with a slight limp. On foot; her warhorse had taken a fall and was being healed. And following her—Wil’s eyes widened.

“Marian? Venaz? Where have you two been?”

The two walked forwards, followed by a dark-skinned Human man that Wil had never seen before. Wil stared at Marian and Venaz. He’d wondered if Marian was still around with Umina—he hadn’t seen them captured. But he could scarcely believe Venaz had made it this far without being surrounded. The Minotaur glanced around as the Humans blinked at the two visitors.

“Wil, I met them when we engaged that Dullahan company. We sent them packing, in no small part thanks to these two.”

The Humans brightened at Talia’s news. Wil nodded. A small victory, but every bit helped. He looked at Venaz.

“Are you two trying to reach the plaza?”

“Trying. Is this your gambit to take out the best competitors now, Wil? I warn you; it won’t be easy.”

Venaz flexed an arm and stared around. The Humans stared at him. Wil nearly laughed.

“If I had time to deal with competitors—I wish our entire class was here. Or haven’t you seen the Iron Vanguard forcing us back? They’ve taken out all but a dozen students and I think the rest are hiding. Where’s Umina, Marian? Did she get captured?”

“No. I think not, at any rate. We got separated recently.”

The Centauress frowned. She looked at Wil’s map. And then at the ongoing tally of numbers on both sides he’d written up in shorthand. She winced.

“This is it, then?”

“One last push. You care to join in?”

“We were thinking of trying our own hand. But if you offer us no choice…”

Venaz eyed the map. He snorted dismissively.

“A simple assault? That’s my inclination too, looking at your numbers. This is the moment. If you allow the Iron Vanguard to regroup, they’ll surround you. You press on, or you allow victory to slip through your fingers.”

The others at the table blinked at Venaz. But Wil nodded.

“He’s right. This is it. We can’t do anything else.”

“But assaulting the plaza directly? We can’t break through their ranks, let alone those Midnight Shields.”

Sir Kelm frowned. Wil nodded heavily. He saw Venaz hesitating. The Human man was elbowing him and whispering to Marian as well.

“What? And who is this?”

Marian chewed her lip, and then nodded. Venaz looked ready to protest; she kicked him with a hoof and he growled, but let her go on.

“This is Luan. A City Runner. He’s helped us get this far. He had an idea. We were going to try it out before we ran into your soldiers, Wil. How much money do you have on you?”

Wil glanced at his sister. She raised her brows.

“Enough to pay for all of this. Why?”

“Have you thought about bribing the Forgotten Wing’s [Soldiers] to join your side?”

Wil’s eyes widened. He saw the officers around him glance up hopefully. But just as fast as Wil felt the surge of elation, he drooped.

“No. I hadn’t considered it, but it won’t work, Marian.”

“Oh come on. They’re not friends of the Iron Vanguard. And if we paid them, even something like five gold coins per head—”

“Even then. If we try, Tulm will outbid us. That strategy won’t work. Maybe it would if you found a patrol, but the Forgotten Wing and the Iron Vanguard have closed in around the plaza. You’d have to bribe them all together. And how could you even arrange that in the middle of a melee?”

Wil shook his head. Marian stomped a hoof.

“Damn! If only we’d had this idea sooner—”

Venaz pounded a hand on the table.

“Enough. It won’t work. In that case, I’ll lead the assault myself. Marian, you join us. Between us three, we might be able to force through the plaza. We’ll combine our charge Skills. I haven’t used any of mine. I’ll lead the charge on Tulm myself if he comes out. I can take that Dullahan, mithril armor or not. If he sends his Midnight Shields, put your [Knights] against them.”

He pointed at Talia and Sir Kelm. Wil was nodding, even as he weighed the odds of Venaz getting past Xol. But what other choice was there? Marian was shifting uncertainly, but nodding. And then Feshi spoke.

“You forgot to count me, as usual, Venaz.”

The Minotaur blinked. He looked past Wil and saw Feshi standing among the officers. She had been with Wil since the harbor. Now, the Gnoll bared her teeth in an unfriendly smile at Venaz.

“Fine. You’ll be part of our final assault, Feshi. Four of the Professor’s students stand a better chance than three. If you have any Skills—”

“Our assault? I didn’t see you fighting all this time.”

The Gnoll snapped back. Venaz ground his teeth.

“I found my own way here. And I will be the one to end it.”

“How? By beating Tulm with your fists? Not so, I think. But I have an idea. It’s my turn to shine. Wil. Will you lend me your ear?”

Feshi looked at Wil. He glanced at her. He thought Feshi had been sticking with him all this while out of desperation, perhaps hoping to claim victory if he won. Now the Gnoll was grinning.

“Do you have a plan, Feshi? One that can even the odds?”

The Gnoll nodded. She rolled her eyes upwards. Wil glanced up at the windows. Daquin’s citizens were watching, as were a pair of Wistram [Mages]. He wished he could appear confident.

“I can do a bit. I have yet to use my best Skill. But I have had a better idea after hearing Venaz and Marian’s trick, yes? I can even the odds. Even put them in your favor. If my plan works, I will pull away most of the Mithril’s reinforcements. But if I do it, I think, I will lose my chance to win.”

“How? I mean—will you do it?”

Wil stared at Feshi. He wanted to believe she was lying, but unlike Venaz, Feshi was never full of hot air. The Gnoll smiled lazily at him.

“I can. If I fail, I fail. But if I succeed? I will hand a chance at victory to you, I think. Even to Venaz and Marian. But I will need to lead. So I ask for a deal, Wil Kallinad.”

Time was running out. Wil knew that. But he was grasping at straws. He met Feshi’s eyes.

“What sort of deal?”

“Hm. I want something to give to my tribe. I had hoped to bring a secret from the Titan of Baleros himself. But anything of worth will do. I require a present to give to the Meeting of Tribes. Can you offer me something like that?”

Wil’s mind spun. A present? Now? He opened his mouth to tell Feshi he hadn’t a clue. Talia leaned over.

“Two trading caravans from the Kallinad harbors straight through the Gnoll Plains over six years. Will that do?”

Feshi and the others glanced at Talia. Wil’s older sister winked at him.

“It’s not a bad deal for us. And it’s worth a good deal to Gnoll tribes. What of it, Miss Feshi?”

The Gnoll hesitated. Her eyes flickered.

“Four trading caravans. Each one led by at least a Level 40 [Merchant].”

“Deal.”

Talia reached out. Feshi gripped her hand tightly. Then she looked around. Sir Kelm, the other Humans, Wil, Venaz, Marian, and the City Runner named Luan all stared at her. The Gnoll smiled. Or was it a smirk.

“So close, yet so far, Venaz. Your idea was good. Excellent, even, yes? But you can take it another step. Using the Mithril’s own troops against him is one idea. But flawed.”

Venaz glared at her.

“It wasn’t actually my idea. But what do you have planned?”

“An army. One without fear. Numberless. To drown the Iron Vanguard and the Forgotten Wing alike. Your idea gave mine wings. So I give you credit. But this? This is my moment.”

The Gnoll’s eyes flashed. She walked past the war table. And she raised her paws. The Wistram [Mages] stirred, tracking Feshi with her eyes. But it was not to them the Gnoll looked at.

It was the people in the windows. The ones on the rooftops. Feshi shouted, her voice a growling roar.

“Citizens of Daquin! This is the final hour, yes? Tulm the Mithril waits! And our army, small as it may be, will challenge him a second time!”

There was a stir. The people watching from above looked down at Feshi. Some called out her name. Others just shouted encouragement. Feshi spoke above it all.

“We will try. But I think that we cannot win. Not against Tulm the Mithril. Not against the Iron Vanguard and the Forgotten Wing company. How could that be a fair battle?”

Silence. It was true. And yet—Feshi’s eyes burned.

“If only we had an army. Reinforcements. Wil Kallinad, he called an army from Terandria itself! If I could, I would call the Gnolls of Izril. But why wait for them when an army just as grand waits here?”

The citizens of Daquin stared down at Feshi. But some of them caught on. Feshi grinned up. She pointed with one paw.

“This is desperation. This is madness! Still, Tulm the Mithril awaits! The Iron Vanguard challenges the Titan’s students! And we are few. But if I called on you, would you come?”

Us? The shock rippled across the people standing on the roofs. Children, adults, laborers and shopkeepers looked at each other. And then down at Feshi in doubt. She wanted them to fight [Soldiers]? But the Gnoll was continuing.

“No one says that you cannot participate! So, come! We are only students! And you may not be [Soldiers]. But these [Soldiers], they have no swords. They cannot kill. And they are mighty. But with your help, we can win! Will Daquin help defeat the Iron Vanguard? Defeat Tulm the Mithril? You have that chance! Who will join us?”

She spread her arms out, raised them, beseechingly. Then she looked up. Pointed. Every head turned towards a [Mage] of Wistram. He froze as every eye fixed on him.

“Will you? Wistram’s [Mages]? Do you have the courage to take up arms? This is a game. But it is your chance. The Professor challenged us to defeat a legend. Will you be part of that legend? Or will you live knowing, always knowing that you could have made history and you did not?”

They stared down at her. And the Gnoll raised her paws.

“I call upon heroes. I call upon champions! I call upon you. Daquin! What say you? Have you any lions that prowl through Baleros’ jungles? Would you be Nagas? Or would you be Drakes, hiding behind your walls?”

She grinned. And then the silence broke. There was laughter. The Lizardfolk sitting above laughed. Drakes? They laughed and the first Lizardfolk swung himself down, dropping two stories.

“I’m no Drake!”

A door opened. A serpentine figure slithered down the steps.

“And I am Naga.”

She slithered forwards. And at that, a score of Lizardpeople rushed out the doors. And then Dullahans. They marched out their doors. Dullahans, Centaurs. Humans.

“For history?”

A Dullahan [Baker] adjusted his head on his shoulders and grabbed a rolling pin. He looked around. Feshi grinned.

“For Daquin.”

And they came. In tens. Then hundreds. Then thousands. Children had to be restrained by parents. But the rest came, shouting. Laughing. Cheering the bold Gnoll who dared them. Because they were Lizardfolk, Dullahans, Centaurs, and yes, more species still. And some had cheered for the Iron Vanguard. Others had no strong interest in the students winning. But they were citizens of Daquin first. And she had offered them a chance for history, a chance to be part of history.

It was just a game, after all. Wasn’t it? Wil stared up. The Humans looked around, counting. One street. Then two. Feshi turned back towards him.

“We can hold them for half an hour. The rest is up to you. Be the lance and break them.”

Then she turned and bounded forwards. And the city erupted around her. Wil watched her go. Then he turned. Venaz was blinking. Marian shuffled her hooves.

“Wow. I didn’t know Feshi was that good.”

An arm squeezed Wil tight. Talia was flushed with excitement as she pointed to the map.

“This is it, Wil! We can do it! The Iron Vanguard will be stuck in the streets! If they beat down Daquin’s citizens, they’ll be called monsters!”

“Even if they try, there are ten of Daquin’s own for every one of them.”

Sir Kelm observed quietly. He was frowning, eying the soldiers around him. Wil nodded. Then he frowned.

“We have one problem, though.”

“Which is? You’ve just been given an army of tens of thousands! What could be wrong now?”

Venaz snorted. Wil glance up at him and shook his head.

“No one can stop Xol. Without lances, the [Knights] have as much chance of slowing him down as—we tried ropes and he pulled a dozen horses off their hooves. Could Centaurs do better, Marian?”

“Uh—”

Marian paled, which was as much an answer as any. Wil shook his head. He looked at his sister and Sir Kelm. If it came to that—

“Let me try.”

Someone spoke behind Wil. He turned. The City Runner was looking with interest at the map. He glanced up and around. The table stared at him blankly. The Minotaur and Centaur sharply. Luan smiled. His arm flashed gold as he held up a hand.

“I think I have an idea. I can stop Xol for a while. A few minutes, at least. Pay me and I’ll do it.”

Wil blinked at him. Talia sucked in her breath. It was a ludicrous notion. But in this moment, all things seemed possible. And—Wil glanced at Talia. She nodded.

“How much?”

Luan thought for a second.

“Ten gold pieces. And eighty silver pieces to pull it off. I work cheap.”

Wil opened his mouth. Talia grabbed gold from a pouch and tossed it at Luan.

“Done. Are you sure it’ll work?”

“Give me a few minutes. Where is he?”

“This street, as far as we can tell.”

Wil pointed. Luan nodded. The [Strategist] stared at him, searching.

“Do you have a plan?”

Luan grinned.

“I think so. I know a fact about War Walkers. My best friend knows a lot about Dullahans, you see. And I don’t fancy fighting in this final battle. Venaz, Marian, I’m coming back for my fee after this.”

“Stop Xol and I’ll double it.”

The Minotaur folded his arms. Luan shrugged. He jogged off. Wil turned back to the others. It was just a flicker of hope. But it was there. He took a deep breath.

“Here we go. Sir Kelm, ready your men.  Commander Wylint?”

“Sir?”

“No rearguard. We trust the streets to Daquin. We’re going in. Form up. Marian, Venaz, and I will all take to the front.”

He looked at the other two. Marian reared, making the Humans step back. Venaz flexed his arms and grinned fiercely.

“To victory. We’ll go in together. Three of the Professor’s finest. You two had better move fast. Or you’ll lose to me. Come! Form the ranks! Prepare the charge!”

He turned, roaring orders as if he were in command. Wil watched him go. Marian rolled her eyes. But there was a spring in her step as she followed him.

Talia turned to Wil. His sister glanced back at Venaz, and then leaned forwards. She indicated Venaz’s back.

“I like him. But he smells terrible.”

Wil laughed. And in the street, Feshi turned. Wil nodded.

“Go for it, Feshi.”

She couldn’t hear him. But she led the street forwards anyways. Wil mounted up. He knew word was spreading like wildfire. From scrying orbs. From word of mouth. And even the Wistram [Mages] were hesitating. You could feel it in the air. Didn’t you want to be part of it?

You could hear it. A roar that filled a city. A burning force as bright as the feeling in Wil’s chest when he’d seen the ships approaching from the harbor. Only, now it burned in everyone. If you had to call it something, you could call it hope, or courage, or just inspiration.

Victory. Something everyone wanted to taste once. And it came from a thousand lips, in a thousand voices in a thousand words. But they were all saying the same things. And if you listened above the roar of people filling Daquin’s streets, you could hear the Titan laughing and Tulm the Mithril finally losing his temper.

—-

A small thing, in between Wil, Venaz, and Marian leading the Terandrians in a last-ditch charge. In between the Iron Vanguard coming out in force, leaving only their last line of defense around the plaza. Struggling to cross streets filled with Daquin’s citizens, who gave the [Soldiers] the fight of a lifetime. In between that moment, there was just him.

Xol of Ingrilt. He strode forwards. He had heard the call to rally. He knew what was happening. But he was too slow. And there were too many people in the way.

The streets were filled with civilians! Xol cursed as he strode forwards, shouting to clear the way. People ran out of his path, but the War Walker had to be careful. Xol tried to move as fast despite the danger to Daquin’s citizens. He was no fool. He knew this was the endgame.

They’d rallied Daquin, somehow. It was a masterful trick. Worthy of the Titan himself. Was this his plan all along? Had Tulm foreseen it? Perhaps. Perhaps not. If the Mithril had one fault, it was that his strategy was pure, like his armor. It could deal with any eventuality. But only if Tulm himself was allowed to be free. When he was unfettered by rules, he would destroy. And it was a terrible thing. But here—

Time was running out. Xol swept aside a group of Centaurs trying to block his path, stepped over a Lizardman kicking at his foot.

He had to hurry. Victory or defeat would be the difference in how long it took the scattered Armor Captains to regroup with the main force, to encircle Wil and the remaining students as they pushed forwards. A minute could be all it took for the students to reach the plaza—or for Tulm to capture enough and cement his victory. Just a few seconds of time—

The War Walker was nearly there. He turned down a side street, saw the trap too late and halted. He was already caught. He shifted. Just an inch. But any further and he would—Xol slowly raised one wrist. He spoke into the gem embedded into his gauntlet.

“Xol. I request immediate support. I am trapped and unable to move. Request immediate support.”

He heard the distant reply. But it was too late. Xol was caught. And the battle began even as he stood in place. Helpless against the most insidious of traps. What could stop a War Walker, a [Juggernaut]? One of the Iron Vanguard’s strongest?

A little Lizardfolk girl. She was happily standing on one of the War Walker’s feet. And Xol would have shifted, would have lifted her off and placed her to one side with the utmost of care. But for the other children clinging to his leg. The Centaur running around his other foot. The children, Lizardfolk, Dullahan, Centaur, who ran around him, laughing in delight.

“Move, children. Please. I am needed.”

They shrieked in terror and delight. Xol stared down at them as they refused to go. They were holding something. A glint of silver. Coins.

Slowly, the Dullahan looked up. He cast around for the creator of the trap. And found him. A man, a Human man stood a few feet ahead of Xol. He met the [Juggernaut]’s eyes and nodded.

“I’m told War Walkers can’t have children, so they prize babies and children above all else. And Dullahans themselves are very careful around the young.”

“Who told you that?”

“A friend. He’s met War Walkers before. And he knows a lot about Dullahans.”

“I see. And you are?”

The man walked forwards. The children waved at him and he waved back with a slight smile. He offered another coin to more children who ran up. They ran towards Xol excitedly. Free money to get to run around a War Walker? Xol turned his head and saw a few parents, looking alternatively terrified and amused. But he wouldn’t move. The Human was right. Xol looked back at him.

“Luan. I’m a City Runner hired to help an annoying Minotaur out.”

“I see. That explains things. A [Strategist] would not have done this. Using children, even to win a game, even if you are assured of their safety, is wrong.”

Xol stared at Luan. The City Runner shrugged a bit.

“Good thing I’m not a [Strategist]. Besides, they seem happy enough.”

He indicated the children happily trying to climb up Xol’s legs. Xol was afraid, more afraid than he had been all day, that one of them would fall off. He held very still and looked at Luan. The Human was smiling a bit. Xol spoke carefully. Levelly.

“Once a patrol reaches me, I will help end this game. I would advise you to be out of my way when that moment comes. I cannot waste any more time, but if you are still here, I will hit you.”

Luan lost his smile. He hesitated, eyed Xol, and then decided it was time to go. Dullahans were already fighting their way through the crowd.

Luan hurried off. Xol watched him go, and then noticed a Lizardboy about to fall off his shoulder. He reached out and caught the child as the Lizardboy fell with a sharp cry. The child laughed with giddy relief as he scrambled up Xol’s arm. The War Walker’s head turned to watch more children swarming up his body. He stared up and saw a Wistram [Mage] watching him with a smile on her face from a rooftop.

Xol sighed.

—-

And on they came. Tulm the Mithril stood by the entrance to the plaza, his gaze burning like cold embers. Watching. On they came. An army of Humans. [Knights], riding in their armor, like Dullahans. [Soldiers] on foot. [Mages], flying or moving across the rooftops with [Archers].

And citizens. Civilians. They joined the final push, fighting against the Iron Vanguard and the Forgotten Wing companies, secure in the knowledge that this was a game. That they could fight without fear for their lives.

It would be so easy to drop a [Fireball] among them. It would be so easy to cheat. Because this was cheating. Wasn’t it? Daquin was rioting. The civilians were fighting—even in the plaza! The Councilmember had to be carried out on stretchers with bruises. They’d even gone after Wistram’s [Mages], who’d elected to impartiality after all.

“We have immunity! We’re with Wistram!”

A [Mage] shouted as he tried to levitate out of a crowd of citizens all too ready to knock him over the head. But those were just words. And in this moment, words were useless. She had already used them.

The Gnoll, leading the city. Madness. Tulm memorized her face. And then he looked forwards. The Gnoll was too far back. She’d never make it. But here they came.

Three of them. A Minotaur. A Centaur. And a Human. The [Knights] charged into the Iron Vanguard’s formation with a roar that staggered even the Midnight Shields. Which was one was using a Skill? One? Two? All three?

It didn’t matter. Tulm signaled. Every soldier not holding the crowd back pressed forwards. Every [Mage] was casting spells, battling the Humans and Daquin’s citizenry, forming walls of earth.

And yet, they came on. Over walls of earth, shattering barriers of magic. Overrunning formations of steel and flesh. It was almost inevitable. As his teacher would say, they had the momentum. And something else.

“Youth.”

Tulm the Mithril sighed. He walked forwards. And for the first time he donned his helmet. His armor shone. And as the sunset marked the end of Daquin’s long day, he strode into battle.

—-

The world watched. Marian lead her charge, shooting arrows as [Knight]’s spears splintered on wooden shields. She shouted, fighting forwards with Sir Kelm. The Midnight Shields formed a line in the sand. And they held. But with each step, they were forced back.

“Forwards! [Unit: Freedom’s Gallop]! On me!”

Marian turned and wove back through the press of bodies. Somehow, despite the melee, her hooves landed in open space each time. The [Knights] and Sir Kelm followed her, charging out of the ground and straight back in. The bodies seemed to move magically out of the way.

The second charge hit the Midnight Shields as they fought in the melee—Marian saw one Dullahan in black armor go down to a strike from Sir Kelm’s spear. She kicked at another and saw the Dullahan raise his shield. Marian reeled; she felt like she’d cracked a hoof!

But they were faltering. Just another push! Just another—Marian looked around and saw Wil striking from horseback. His sister was with him, on the ground, dueling an Armor Captain. There were even some students in the press. They were all fighting forwards. Nearly. Nearly—

And then she saw him. He strode forwards, followed by a dozen Knights of the Summer. Venaz. And his voice picked up above the rest.

“[Unit: Enhanced Strength]. [Unit: Unstoppable Advance].”

Marian’s blood chilled. Here he came. And Venaz had used both of his Skills. The [Knights] following him swung their weapons and the Midnight Shields faltered. The armored Humans didn’t break stride as weapons struck their armor. They could not stop. They could not be stopped.

The lines broke around Venaz. He cleared the area around him, punching, knocking Dullahans flying. For one minute he was unstoppable. After that it would be over.

But a minute was all he needed. The Minotaur rampaged forwards, bellowing. And he was headed straight for the plaza.

No! Marian fought to get to him, but her Skills were too deadly. And he was the best for this moment. Wil was shouting and his soldiers were fighting. But Venaz was entering the plaza.

And only one person stood in his way. The Dullahan’s armor shone as the Midnight Shields backed up around him. He waited, his armor glowing with light. Venaz bared his teeth in a savage grin as he came face-to-face with him.

Tulm the Mithril.

The fighting slowed. Both sides, Humans, and Dullahans turned to look. You couldn’t help it. They watched, waiting. Would the Dullahan retreat? Could he stop Venaz? The [Knights] locked blades with the Midnight Shields. Venaz charged. He had thirty seconds. Less. But all he needed was to take out Tulm. If he fell—

The Dullahan stared down at Venaz. He looked past the Minotaur, at the distant shape of Xol. Charging through the crowds, but too slow. Too far. The Dullahan looked up. Teura hovered overhead. He stared up, and the Titan of Baleros waited. They both smiled. Ruefully. And Tulm spoke.

“[The Twice-Born Warlord].”

Venaz raised a fist. Tulm looked down. He raised a hand. Caught the Minotaur’s fist. And—

Marian looked up. She ducked. The Minotaur landed behind her, with a thump that shook the ground. He blinked down at his torn armor. Then he looked up at Marian.

“I might have underestimated him.”

Marian looked up. Tulm raised a fist. A Knight of the Summer raised his shield and spoke a Skill. The Dullahan hit him. The [Knight] went flying.

“How?”

The Centauress stared. Then she looked back. Xol approached. Calmly, the War Walker bent. He knocked Sir Kelm off his horse. Marian ducked as a finger flicked at her chest. She felt the crushing strength. The casual, incredible—and then she had it. She looked up and saw Tulm turning. He hurled another [Knight] back. And he looked up at Xol and nodded.

One and the same. One as strong as the other. A monster of strategy and one of might made into one body. [The Twice-Born Warlord].

“I can—I can do it. Give me a second.”

Venaz was getting up. He clutched at his chest, spat out some blood. Marian turned. Tulm was striding towards them, ignoring the blows against his mithril armor as if they weren’t there. The Centauress raised her bow.

“Tulm.”

The Dullahan’s head turned. Wil rode towards him. His sister called out, but she was locked in combat. Wil raised his sword in a salute. Tulm nodded.

They walked towards each other. Venaz heaved himself up. He charged Tulm from the left, Wil from the right. And Marian? She leapt.

The Dullahan blocked Venaz. He knocked Wil from his saddle. He looked up and reached—too late. Marian leapt over his head. She collided with a Midnight Shield. Hit the ground. Ran forwards.

“Stop her!”

“Go, Marian!”

Voices behind her. Marian raced across the plaza. An open shot. A last line of Dullahans was between her and the Professor. She could see him, sitting on his platform, grinning. Waiting. The Centauress ran. She fired twice as she ran. Her hands had never moved so fast.

[Hurricane Arrows]. The air blasted around her arrows, twisting. The Dullahans held. They were turning, encircling her. But she could make it. Marian turned, dodged a net. She felt something strike her back left leg.

“No—!”

She went down. A [Mage]’s spell seared across her leg and Marian screamed in agony. She heard a roar from the crowd. Protest. Tulm’s cold voice.

“Enough. Non-damaging spells.”

“Strategist. I—I have no excuse. But! I sense—”

“Enough. Take her. Xol, the Minotaur.”

“Face me, you—”

Marian struggled to three hooves. Healing potion. She was reaching for it. Tulm was striding towards her. A [Mage] behind him whirled, desperately casting spells as a volley came from half of the Wistram [Mages] present. They were all distracted! Marian got to her feet. So close. If she could just leap—

And there he was. Standing up. Watching her. Niers Astoragon waited. Venaz charged forwards, ducking Xol. Wil ran. Tulm whirled, uttering another Skill and a curse. Marian leapt—

And the stone ground went pop. Marian saw the head poke up, like a cabbage. Niers Astoragon leapt up with an oath. Tulm whirled. Marian landed and crashed as her bad leg gave way. Venaz ran into Xol’s fist. Wil stopped in his steps, panting.

The Midnight Shield whirled. They stopped. Tulm the Mithril stared. He looked down.

A little head was poking out of the ground. Off-center. Just inside the circle of rope. A little head, covered in what looked like and smelled like…crap. It was unmistakably a Lizardgirl’s head. Her neck-frills were dirty, covered in filth, but she was blinking. Staring around. She gaped up at Niers. And then then she looked delighted. She saw Marian and looked guilty.

Then Umina stared around. And everyone stared back. She wavered. For a second Umina hesitated. And then she put on her best smile. She looked up at the Fraerling staring at her.

“Uh. Hi, Professor. Did you know that [Nightmen] make excellent sappers? And that there’s an outhouse—excuse me, communal waste pit twelve feet from this spot? Well…underneath, now. And that if everyone’s busy, you can sneak into a pit and wait till all the [Mages] are occupied and uh—”

She broke off. Umina stared about. Then she retreated into her hole. Marian stared. She looked at the Titan of Baleros, who was blinking at the hole. At Tulm, who had gone white with fury. At Venaz, Wil, and the thousands of others.

And Marian tried. She really did. But she couldn’t find it in her to be glad for Umina.

No one else looked happy either.

6.24 D

There she was. Like a soiled yellow bell pepper, poking up out of the ground. Or—or a lemon covered in crap. Or maybe a yellow onion that someone had dropped in a latrine, half recovered, and then sprinkled with bits of pink—

You know what? There were no proper analogies. None at all. Umina’s yellow scales with the pink patterning was distinct in itself. Add that to her head poking out of the hole in the ground incongruously, and the—not to put a fine point on it—waste that had splashed on her in the tunneling process, and you had a sight like no other.

Marian stared at her friend. Tulm the Mithril stopped in his tracks. The Iron Vanguard, the struggling students, citizens of Daquin, and oh yes, the world stared at Umina. She half-ducked, as if trying to retreat into the tiny tunnel she’d squeezed her head out of.

And Niers Astoragon snickered. All eyes turned towards him as the Fraerling chuckled. The look of surprise that had crossed his face vanished in a moment. And it was replaced by hilarity. The Fraerling bent over, putting his hands on his thighs on his wooden platform as he laughed, and then guffawed. He tried to stop it, but he had to lean against a tumbler not to fall over.

The Titan of Baleros was laughing uncontrollably. He laughed and laughed, and the world waited, uncertain, disappointed. Angry, even. And the Titan of Baleros laughed on.

After about a minute of him laughing, people started getting upset. They looked at each other. And then they caught themselves. Looked around. At the streets full of people. The Human [Knights] from Terandria, fighting with practice swords against the Iron Vanguard. Xol, looming over Venaz, frozen in place with his fist raised uncertainly.

Some of the people in the plaza began to laugh too. It didn’t take everyone; the Dullahans, especially the members of the Iron Vanguard, just looked to Tulm in silent trepidation. But Lizardfolk rolled on the ground laughing, Centaurs snorted, Humans went ha-ha to various levels of actual humor—the [Knights] were as stone-faced as the Dullahans.

Laughter. Marian didn’t laugh. She was staring at Umina. The Lizardgirl was looking around, laughing but not really laughing, and looking more nervous than she ever had before. She was also deliberately not meeting Marian’s eye. The Centauress shifted her stare to Tulm.

The mithril-clad Dullahan was staring at Umina. He was still aglow with the light of battle. The strength he’d borrowed, no copied from Xol burned in him. And his eyes flashed as he turned his gaze to his teacher. He was not amused. And, to be fair, a lot of other people weren’t either.

Teura, the half-Elf from Wistram, looked apoplectic. As if her own pride had been wounded by the sudden and anticlimactic end to the Titan’s game. Some of the other captured students looked shocked and outraged as well. And the Humans around Wil, especially his sister and Sir Kelm, looked equal parts shocked, horrified, and furious. And it was the anger that was beginning to grow as shock faded.

Before any of that could boil over, Niers Astoragon caught himself. The Titan choked, coughed, and stood upright. With a monumental effort, he stopped his raucous laughter, coughed once, and tapped a ring on his finger. His voice boomed through the plaza, making Marian rear slightly in alarm.

“Enough! The game is over!”

The Titan’s voice was like a wave. It cooled the air in the plaza instantly. The laughers stopped laughing. And the anger vanished from the other faces. They stared at the Titan as Marian stopped rearing. She landed and nearly screamed; suddenly, pain was blooming through her leg!

Marian looked down and saw scorched flesh. Her stomach roiled. She suddenly recalled the Dullahan [Mage] who’d hit her with the fire spell and the pain took that moment to remind her that yes, she was in a lot of pain. She staggered and Niers saw it. The Titan leapt up, like a grasshopper, onto the head of the nearest Midnight Shield. He pointed at her.

“[Healer]! Healers to the front at once! Everyone else, hold your ground! Weapons down! The game is won! Anyone with a healing potion, bring it out now and treat anyone in dire need! Move back! Slowly—I want those on the outskirts to move back! Disperse! Clear the streets of bodies if you’re uninjured! Anyone who is injured, scream for help!”

His words contained the same force Tulm the Mithril had used on the students at the start of the game. But there wasn’t the same oppressive pressure; people just moved and only realized they were obeying halfway through. They broke up and Marian saw the old Lizardwoman running towards her.

“Hold still!”

“My—my leg.”

Marian gasped. She pointed at her fetlocks, where the pain was radiating from the worst. But her entire leg was black. She could smell her cooked flesh.

“I see it. Don’t move. Raise that hoof off the ground!”

Marian obeyed, wincing. The [Healer] bent over her, her tail twitching angrily.

“Magic burn. What spell was it? [Firebolt]? Something along that line. Tier 2, but potent. Don’t worry. I can fix this. I need a second to make sure the healing potion works the right way, though—what idiot cast this? If it had hit your chest—”

She rummaged around in her satchel by her side, ripping out a jar and tearing off the lid. There was a thick cream inside. The [Healer] grabbed the good part of Marian’s leg and began applying it. Swiftly, and probably as gently as it could, but Marian still suppressed a cry as she held still, quivering.

“Hold still. Good, girl. You’ll be fine. I just need to apply this or the potion won’t get to your skin. Burns don’t heal right—this is going to hurt.”

“Aah! Aaaah!”

Marian had assumed the cream was some kind of painkiller, or a concentrated healing poultice. It was not. It was in fact closer to acid—she could feel it eating into her skin! She tried to move her leg, but the old [Healer] had a grip like steel.

“Hold. Still. The potion can’t work on burnt skin. It’s cauterized. Give this ten more seconds—”

“Healer to the eastern plaza. I see five Dullahans downed and a [Knight] in need of aid. Don’t touch that man! Lay him flat and don’t remove the armor; the [Healer] will do that!”

Niers’ voice boomed past Marian. The [Healer] winced. Marian, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes with the pain, saw a shape charging towards her out of the crowd. The Dullahans around her moved back. Tulm the Mithril was still staring at Umina, but now he glanced up and walked left.

“Marian!”

Perorn ran through the crowded plaza, around bodies, through gaps as if she were unimpeded. And she was; Marian saw her moving through the crowd as if they weren’t there. A Skill worthy of Fleethoof. The older Centauress stopped in front of Marian. The [Healer] snapped up at her.

“Her leg’s burned. I’m healing it. Stand back!”

“I have a potion. Higher quality. If she needs it—”

“She’ll be fine. Stand back, I said! This isn’t serious and I got to it in the first minute. The wound looks clean; I can see blood now. Marian, you will feel—”

The [Healer]’s voice drowned out as the pain shooting through Marian’s leg was suddenly, instantly, relieved. The Centauress put down her leg instinctively and looked—the flesh was regrowing before her eyes.

“Raise that leg! Keep it up until the potion’s done!”

Marian did as the [Healer] snapped at her. Perorn looked down, and the old [Strategist]’s face was filled with relief. She glanced up at Marian and for a second the younger Centauress saw a hint of pain in Perorn’s eyes. Unconsciously, Marian glanced at Perorn’s back right leg. The damaged one. Perorn limped back a step as the [Healer] straightened, and glanced backwards.

Her eyes met Tulm’s. The Dullahan looked at her. Perorn stared back.

“Fire spells? Are you mad? They could have killed Marian or crippled her for life. That one seared her to the bone.”

“It was an error on the part of my [Mage]. He panicked and reacted instinctively.”

Tulm replied coldly. He glanced past Perorn at Umina. She was shifting in place and calling out to someone below her. The Dullahan glanced over his shoulder.

“Tunneling?”

“Mithril, I barely picked it up. I was concentrating on defensive spells and there was no sign until a minute in. The tunneling began so close to this location. I have no excuse.”

The pale [Mage] saluted. Tulm stared at him. Niers Astoragon, from his perch, surveyed the plaza, then looked down. Everyone was moving back, but several people were pushing towards him. Teura and the Wistram [Mages] were among them.

“Lord Astoragon, what—”

Teura stared at Umina. The Lizardgirl stank. She was wiggling, trying to get free of the very narrow opening in the ground. Niers ignored the Wistram [Mage]. He was looking at Tulm.

“Any objections?”

Tulm the Mithril glanced up at him. He paused for a long moment, and then shook his head.

“I concede.”

“Very well. Will you take your forces back now or stay the night? Your wounded should stay here; I will arrange transport back.”

The Dullahan removed his head and shook it.

“No need. We will send a ship the next day. Until then, I take my leave.”

“What? But—”

Teura backed up as Tulm walked past her. She was struggling to keep up, as was Marian. Niers just nodded. Tulm paused and turned his head back, although his body kept facing the other way. His head stared at Umina.

“A final question. What is the name of this student?”

“Umina Caxical. One of my advanced students.”

“I see.”

Tulm stared at Umina. She quailed. Then the Dullahan placed his head on his shoulders. He walked forwards. And his voice rolled through the plaza.

“Iron Vanguard. Return to your assigned warship. Leave the injured.”

The Dullahans and other [Soldiers] in the square belonging to the Iron Vanguard stiffened. They turned and began marching as the Midnight Shields broke formation around Niers to surround Tulm. There was no precise march or accompanying drumbeat this time; the Iron Vanguard left in disarray, slowly forming up into units as they marched back.

It was so quick! Marian stared. She still hadn’t gotten past the fact that Umina had won. Umina. By tunneling through the privy! She looked back at Umina, who was struggling, one arm free.

“Steady—steady! I’m going up, not down. Just don’t drop m—”

“Lord Astoragon, is this really the end of the game?”

Teura demanded, as if she couldn’t see Tulm and the Iron Vanguard marching away. Niers turned to her, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course. Or do you not see one of my students trying to extricate herself from the ground? I do. And if this is an illusion, it’s a fantastic one. Your audience might not be able to smell Umina, but I can. Wonderful work, by the way, Umina. If you’d been a moment slower you might have lost. And if you’d been too early, Tulm would have detected you, I have no doubt.”

“Thank you, sir. Uh—could someone help pull me out?”

Umina waved an arm. She seemed to be sinking down despite her best efforts to get up. Marian could hear muffled shouts from beneath the earth. Something below seemed to be caving in. She made no effort to help Umina.

Neither did Wistram’s finest. They kept staring at Tulm. Marian could hear someone shouting from the scrying orb. It sounded like one of the Drake [Commentators] having a heart attack. Niers ignored them all. He clapped his hands together and beamed around.

“A fine game. Unexpected endings, always lovely. Don’t be alarmed by Tulm’s sudden departure. I imagine he has a schedule to keep, and he probably doesn’t wish to be interviewed, especially by a bunch of inbred leeches—I mean, the wonderful [Mages] of Wistram. Let’s clear up the plaza, get the wounded sorted out, and then we can move onto the conclusion. Perorn? Lend me your shoulder, will you? My Dullahan needs to go.”

He hopped off the Midnight Shield’s head and the black-armored Dullahan marched away at speed. Perorn caught Niers, placed him on her shoulder, and turned. The [Strategist] was already shouting more orders at the crowd. Marian looked at the [Healer]. The Lizardwoman slapped her leg. Marian yelped.

“That hurts!”

“Tender flesh. Lots of nerves. Good. You’re healed! Just don’t go galloping for a day.”

The [Healer] stood up briskly, already looking for another victim to heal. Marian stared at her. She looked at Niers.

“This is so sudden! Shouldn’t there be an announcement? Or something? Or—”

“Plenty of time for that later. He said the game was over, didn’t he? Good thing too. I was getting tired of fixing people up. Anyways, what do you want? You lost. That Lizardgirl won, and good thing too. I won money. She won; game’s over. Wasn’t the worst game I ever saw, wasn’t the weirdest either.”

Marian stared at the [Healer] as she put the lid on her jar and tucked it into her satchel.

“What, really?”

“Absolutely. This was tame compared to last time. Alright! If anyone’s hurt, scream! If not, you can fix yourselves—”

—-

The game was over. But it didn’t feel over. It had gone down so quick, and the announcement had been so sudden—not to mention the Iron Vanguard leaving so abruptly—that no one felt like the game was actually done.

Which was intentional, Perorn could tell. Niers Astoragon had issued the abrupt statement on purpose. He was taking advantage of the confusion. People expected something to happen, and in that gap while they waited for the ‘correct’ thing to occur, he could fit in any number of his personal agendas. Some of them were important. Critical, even.

“[Healer] down that street! Move; there’s someone with a head injury on the left side of the street!”

The Titan ordered a group of [Healers] as Perorn trotted forwards. The Fraerling was surveying the city as a whole, using a scrying orb for its actual intended purpose for once. And the [Healer] corps he’d dispersed rushed en-masse about the city, tending to the most in need of aid first. And there were a number of people who needed it. [Knights] unhorsed with head injuries, horses hurt in the battle, members of the Iron Vanguard who’d been trampled—

“Tulm the Mithril pulled out in a second. Was that prearranged?”

“Healing potion! I didn’t actually arrange that, Perorn. That’s just Tulm. He’s smart enough not to want to stick around and have me rub defeat in his face. And he lost, so he’s not getting what he wanted. Believe me; if he’d have won, he’d be sticking to me like glue this instant.”

Perorn grunted. That did sound like Tulm. He hadn’t even claimed his injured soldiers. He was just off, giving no one time to see his defeated expression. Not that he’d show weakness that obviously.

“Bastard.”

“Careful. There are [Mages] still listening to us. Which brings me to my second point. I’m going to make a little show of awards in a second. Would you help me with…?”

Niers leaned over and whispered into Perorn’s ear. The Centauress nodded, turning her head to survey the plaza.

“Fine. I’ll find the other teachers. You can show off as much as you like. Where do you want me to put you?”

“One circuit of the plaza. I want our [Healers] to get to everyone they need to first. Then the pedestal. That would do.”

Dutifully, Perorn circled the plaza as Niers ordered his [Soldiers] to help disperse the bewildered crowd. Half of Daquin’s citizens were still clutching their weapons uncertainly. Perorn eyed them.

“Feshi actually managed to rally the city into fighting!”

“Wasn’t it brilliant?”

Niers smiled. Perorn eyed the torn up street, the injured people being tended to, many of which were Iron Vanguard members, and didn’t know if she agreed. She walked back towards the pedestal and Niers leapt onto it.

“Citizens of Daquin! Thank you for your patience!”

The plaza jumped as one. Niers’ eyes twinkled as the Fraerling took the spotlight once again. He spoke, casually letting his amplified voice ring out across the plaza.

“And to my students and the audience, thank you as well. Let me repeat myself. The game is over. And we have a winner. One of my students has infiltrated the winner’s circle. From the ground! You may not have seen her, but I present to you—Umina Caxical!”

He gestured. Every eye fell on Umina, who was tugging a foot out of the ground. She froze and then waved a claw, looking terrified. She was still covered in dirt and stuff that resembled dirt. Niers smiled.

“A rather unorthodox win this time. It appears Umina tunneled under the ground through what I can only term a sewage depot. It appears the [Mages] in the plaza did not notice her. Nor did Tulm the Mithril himself. He has conceded defeat, so once again, congratulations to Umina on a victory well-deserved!”

There was a moment of silence at that. Some laughter even sprang back up. It was so—ridiculous. But the Titan forged ahead as if it was perfectly natural, and his audience was caught.

“Very well, very well. I think a bath is called for, or a bucket of water at least. But let us not waste time. Tulm certainly hasn’t. The Iron Vanguard is returning to their ships and my [Healers] are tending to the wounded. But the game is not quite concluded! As with every battle, I think the dissection afterwards is just as critical as the experience itself. So, then. Students! Class is in session! Gather around, all of you!”

His sudden bellow made the students in the plaza jump. Venaz, Wil, and Feshi all appeared, at once, but Niers was beckoning to another group. A mass of students, seated or standing, some nursing bruises, others unharmed. They stood up slowly and approached. Everyone but the Wistram [Mages] gave way to them. And they surrounded their teacher, the Professor, as if they were in class. Niers looked down at them and smiled.

“Well now. Thoughts on today’s lesson? Questions? We will be studying this in class when we return to the academy, you know.”

They stared at him. Then one of the students in the crowd—Yerranola—laughed. Niers smiled along with her.

“I’m serious, Yerranola.”

The Selphid stopped laughing. Niers walked up and down the platform, looking across the students. And suddenly, he wasn’t speaking to the plaza or Wistram’s [Mages], or to the audience across the world, but to them.

“Well. It was a fine game. Unexpected, yes. Unfair? Probably! But that is the nature of all games. And whether you were caught, or you survived to the end—”

He nodded to Venaz, Wil, Marian, and Feshi, who were standing together. Wil looked tired, almost too tired to be upset. Feshi propped him up with a sympathetic paw on his shoulders. She didn’t look that put out. Venaz was still disbelieving, almost shell-shocked. Marian…she looked around for Umina. The Lizardgirl was hiding. The Centauress glanced back up and found Niers staring at her. His voice was soft.

“Whether you won or lost. Whether your plans went awry or failed in just one part to come to fruition. I saw it all. Your struggles, your defeats. I saw it. And you did me proud. Each and every one of you. I called for you to challenge Tulm the Mithril, and you did. For that, I thank you.”

His students looked up at him. The Titan, their Professor, smiled, and it was a fond smile meant only for them.

“I hope, no, I trust most of you will level up after today. Perhaps even more than once. But what sort of teacher would I be if I didn’t reward what I saw? So I have a few announcements to make. We have a winner of this game. Umina. Step forwards.”

And she appeared, from behind Perorn. Cleaner, but smelly. The students stared at her. The world stared, but this was a class. And Umina, flushing, afraid to meet anyone’s eyes, stood in front of Niers. He smiled gently.

“Congratulations, Umina. A prize from my vaults and the question of your choice is mine. When we return to Elvallian, I will set aside an appropriate date. Have your question ready then. Until that moment—well done. Your trick with the [Nightmen] was…inspired, to say the least. I didn’t expect it. Nor did Tulm. It was not a victory created solely by you, but you seized an opportunity. And that is the key to winning any battle.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Umina mumbled softly. Marian stared at her friend. And then Niers looked up. His gaze swept the students.

“But Umina isn’t the only student I have to reward. [General] Felk?”

A Drake walked forwards. He was one of the teachers. He stood next to Rustarmor and three other teachers from the academy. Felk looked around calmly and called out in a parade-grounds voice.

“Sillk. Venaz. Marian. Jekilt. Kaelma.”

The students walked forwards slowly, through the crowd. Marian saw the other students turning to look at her. She was suddenly nervous. She fell into place with the other students, glancing from side to side. Felk eyed them and nodded.

“Lord Astoragon?”

“Thank you, General.”

The Fraerling looked down from his seat at the students. He met each’s eyes in turn. Sillk’s abashed look, Venaz’s downcast expression, Marian’s stare, Jekilt’s level gaze, and Kaelma’s questioning glance. The Professor smiled.

“Don’t be disappointed. Or rather, only be disappointed in appropriate measure. This game was not easy to win. Chance played as much part as strategy. Nevertheless, I see fit to award you five for excellence during the game.”

The students looked up, confused. That wasn’t part of the game! Niers cut off Teura, who was trying to point that out. He shooed her back with one impatient hand.

“My game. My rules. Don’t interrupt, please. Now, where was I? Ah yes, Sillk. You first.”

The Lizardman walked forwards, hunched, checking his dark clothing. The [Rogue], who Marian had never seen once the game started, looked up at Niers. The Professor studied him kindly.

“I almost expected you to team up with Merrik. I’m pleased you two did not; you were most effective fighting in your strengths. I’m pleased to see you didn’t hold each other back with friendship.”

Sillk jumped. He blinked up at Niers, and then opened his mouth reflexively.

“Er, thank you, Professor.”

The response was so automatic, that some of the students laughed unconsciously. And Marian felt something ease in her stomach. For a second it felt like class and a student giving a particularly bad response. Niers laughed along with the other students and Sillk turned red. Merrik growled from the crowd.

“What do you mean, ‘thank you’? You’re getting it when this is over, Sillk!”

Niers waved a hand for silence. He went on, as, behind him, the scrying orb on his pedestal began flashing moments from the battle where Sillk had taken part.

“Very well done taking out the enemy officers. You got captured the instant the [Mages] tagged you with a locator spell, though. Any thoughts?”

“Uh—no sir. I mean, yes, sir.”

Sillk turned bright red again and went on.

“I should have gone to ground sooner than I did. I regret not doing that. I opened myself up for being tracked; I should have been just as aggressive, or even more so, but then hidden. Instead I got myself caught when I could have survived for much longer.”

Niers nodded appreciatively.

“Good answer. Well done indeed. I saw less leadership than I would have liked, but you coordinated well with Jekilt and your fellow students on the field. I’m afraid there’s not much of a reward for you, though. You’ll be eating tea leaves for the next three days.”

“Sir?”

Sillk looked blank. Niers smiled.

“I think Foliana has an opening for you in her schedule. She doesn’t have a set curriculum, but three days of shadowing her will prove instructional. Learn from her how she disappears.”

The students, who had been full of levity a moment ago, went silent. Behind Niers, Teura and the other Wistram [Mages] looked stunned. Marian felt the same way. She stared at Sillk. He was going to be taught? By Three-Color Stalker herself? She was notorious for not taking apprentices—as far as anyone knew. But this was a reward. And…

Did Niers have special training courses for [Assassins]? And if so…Sillk gulped, but he bowed.

“It would be an honor, Professor.”

Niers smiled drily.

“Say that after three days with Foliana. I have no idea what she’ll do, so I apologize in advance. Venaz.”

The Minotaur stepped forwards. Niers studied him.

“Interesting ploy with the City Runner. It would have worked if I had decided to take action against the students, but it handicapped you earlier on. I’m afraid you trusted to your battle prowess instead of considering a larger offensive.”

The Minotaur bowed his head, uncharacteristically quiet. Niers went on.

“You did well fighting through the patrols, though. And your leadership at the end took the fight to Tulm himself. I’m afraid you underestimated him, but the experience should be instructive. Venaz. Any thoughts?”

The Minotaur shook his head briefly.

“I have nothing to say, sir. I’ve embarrassed myself in front of my people.”

“Nonsense.”

The snap in Niers’ voice made Venaz look up. He met the Professor’s gaze. Niers glanced irritably at Venaz, and then the scrying orb.

“If you’re referring to hiding and being outclassed, that was a mistake every student here made save one. The point is how you reacted to adversity, not your preparations. With that said, you demonstrated considerable skill in making it to the end of the game unscathed. That alone merits a reward. And I’m sure the House of Minos agrees. If not, that is my sole opinion.”

Venaz stood a bit straighter. He glanced up at Niers, and then bowed his head quickly.

“Thank you, Professor. I…I was unprepared, but I found the value in teaming up with other students. No—more than that, listening to sound advice no matter where it came from. From the City Runner I hired, no less.”

The Titan smiled, and there was approval in his tone.

“That is a lesson worth learning. If you took away only that, I’d say you gained something from today.”

The Minotaur nodded and then hesitated.

“Yes, Professor. I have to ask—is Armor Captain Shailt recovering?”

“You may check on her later. I understand she was left in our [Healer]’s care rather than brought with the Iron Vanguard. Now, as for you, Venaz, I think some instruction into evasive maneuvers in an urban environment would be helpful. General Felk is an expert at urban warfare and you’ll be accompanying him as he returns to his duties in a month’s time.”

“Yes sir. Thank you, Professor.”

Venaz stepped back, blinking a few times. Marian was next. She smiled as Niers asked how her leg was and complimented her maneuvers in the plaza.

“Thank you, Professor. But I really didn’t do much.”

Niers nodded calmly.

“True. Other students made more heroic efforts. But you made it to the end, and if you’d had a second or a few feet, you might have won. What have you learned?”

“How poorly I do in close-quarters combat, sir? I was nearly taken out by a [Captain]; my bow wasn’t nearly as useful as I would have liked.”

“The flaw of every [Strategist] is weakness in combat, at least compared to [Warriors]. I’m glad you recognize that. But since it is important, you’ll get to receive personal instruction from our weapons masters until you can use a bow to fend off even a Level 30 [Warrior].”

“T-thank you, sir?”

The Titan grinned as Marian stepped back. Some of the students winced and one of them patted Marian on the shoulder. Kaelma received a similar gift; the [Fencer] had done well, but Niers pointed out her dueling Skills had been on display without any actual leadership. So she would lead [Scouts] on patrol for two weeks.

Now that it came to it, the Titan’s rewards didn’t sound like rewards so much as personalized training. Which was a reward, but it wasn’t always fun. Shadowing a [General], receiving one-on-one lessons from [Weapon Masters]…Marian groaned, imagining the bruises. Niers called over another group of students who’d also done well, but then someone else took his place.

Fleethoof. And when Perorn stepped forwards, the students looked up and went quiet. And the watching [Mages] leaned in. The Centauress’ voice was crisp.

“Peki. Merrik. Feshi. All three of you did exceptionally well.”

“Indeed. I particularly liked—”

Perorn walked in front of Niers. She stared down at the three students, the [Martial Artist] Garuda, the Dwarf, Merrik, and the Gnoll who’d rallied Daquin, Feshi. Her gaze was severe, but Marian thought she looked pleased.

“Peki, outstanding fighting Skills. Subpar choice of opponents. You lack experience against fighting opponents with high-level Skills or artifacts. You will report to my company and engage in duels against my officers.”

Marian winced. Peki only smiled.

“Yay.”

The Centauress gave her an icy smile. She turned her attention to the next student.

“Merrik.”

“Fighting maniac from Pomle—er, hi, Professor!”

The Dwarf straightened to a laugh from his fellow classmates. Perorn raised an eyebrow.

“Excellent leadership. You led your classmates and auxiliary fighters splendidly. Right up until the moment you wasted your best Skill in an early engagement.”

“Well, you see, Professor Perorn, I planned on—”

“You need experience. You’ll get that accompanying me. I plan on doing a patrol across our territories, battling monsters and [Bandits]. I expect you to learn something from the ordeal.”

“Oh, grandfathers. Not field training—”

Merrik shut up as the Centauress gave him a quelling glance. She looked at the third student.

“Feshi.”

The Gnoll smiled, baring her teeth. Perorn nodded.

“As far as ideas went, your ability to rally Daquin was exceptional. The rest of your performance was not.”

The Gnoll looked abashed.

“Hrr. Yes, Professor. I failed to use my best Skill at the end as well. I thought about it, but it would be little use with so many bodies in the way. How should I improve?”

“By learning to employ your existing Skills more effectively. To that end, you’ll be shadowing me on campaign. You’ll serve as my second. I expect you to fill that role to the best of your abilities.”

There was a gasp from the students. Feshi looked delighted and alarmed. She bowed.

“I will do my best, Professor!”

“Very good.”

The Centauress stepped back. Aggrieved, Niers cleared his throat once or twice. He looked at his students, then past them. Wistram’s [Mages], Daquin’s people, and his soldiers looked on. They were entertained, if puzzled by this moment. Now the Titan smiled and they stood straighter, expectantly.

“And so we have rewards. Or punishment. But exemplary though some performances were, and many were truly impressive, I have one student yet to call upon. Wil Kallinad. Walk forwards, lad.”

Every eye swung towards Wil. He was standing silently to the side. With some of the Humans from Terandria. Now he did walk forwards, and Marian saw his face was pale. He was…well, if Venaz was downcast, Wil looked smashed into the ground. He managed a stiff bow before Niers.

“Professor.”

“Wil.”

There was kindness in Niers’ eyes as he looked at Wil. He paused for a moment.

“You brought four warships from Kallinad’s harbors. Across the sea. And of all my students, you were the one to predict the Iron Vanguard’s arrival. You foresaw Tulm the Mithril and you challenged him.”

“Yes sir. And I failed.”

Wil looked up steadily. Niers shook his head.

“I could argue that without you, none of the students would have had a chance at victory, much less succeeded. But you are correct. You were outplayed in the end. By guile.”

He gestured at Umina, who went even paler than Wil for a moment. Niers paused.

“If you could have done something differently, what would you have done, Wil?”

Everyone waited for his response. Wil opened his mouth, gulped a few times, and then looked up. At last, he croaked hoarsely.

“I would have won, sir.”

Silence. Niers nodded.

“Fair enough. I suppose you feel disappointed. I suppose the cost of four warships—and crew, and [Soldiers], not to mention the [Knight] order accompanying you—weighs on you. And it should. [Strategists] may answer to [Kings], or [Generals], or any number of employers. But when we give our orders, our analysis, lives hang on the balance. On our decisions a nation’s hopes and lives may rest. Never forget that.”

Marian held still. Wil looked up, shaking with each sentence, but nodded.

“Yes, Professor.”

Niers waited. The world waited. The Titan walked back and forth, studying Wil.

“You lost. But you took on Tulm the Mithril. Don’t forget that either, Wil. You surprised him. I know Level 40 [Strategists] that can’t claim the same.”

Wil looked up. Niers went on. His voice rose slightly as he gestured in the direction of the harbor.

“It was a masterful move, Wil. I saw the ships coming because I looked. I lost them after they left the harbor, but I knew they were coming. Next time, everyone will be looking so learn to prepare decoys and cover your tracks. You’ll never be able to pull the trick you pulled today as easily. And that is because the world knows your name. The world saw you outmaneuver a Great Company. Come this close to victory. And for that display, I have only one thing to say. Umina.”

He turned. The Lizardgirl jumped and stuttered.

“Y-yes Professor?”

Niers looked at her. She looked at Niers. The students, Daquin, and the world as always, held their breaths. Niers glanced around, then he smiled.

“I’ll see both of you later. Umina, I’ll have your gift ready. Wil, no gift. You did lose. But have a question ready. Both of you.”

Marian felt her heart catch in her chest. Wil’s eyes widened. Marian heard a wild cry and saw Wil’s sister raise a hand in the air. And then Wil opened his mouth to say something—to protest—but it was drowned out by the roar of sound behind him.

Humans, and not just Humans! Daquin’s citizens screamed and clapped and shouted in delight with the others. The students around Wil swarmed him, clapping his shoulder, shouting in excitement. The Titan stood on his pedestal and laughed as Teura tried to shout at him. He had to wave his hands for nearly a minute to be heard.

“Enough! Enough! No questions. The reward matches the deed. Enough said. So let’s continue. To my students, officers, strategists. To my soldiers of the Forgotten Wing Company, and those of the Iron Vanguard who have yet to depart. To Daquin and its citizens, who won a victory over a Great Company this day. I congratulate you all. And as the Titan of Baleros and member of the Forgotten Wing company, I offer you my hospitality this night.”

And at his words, Marian heard a roll of sound. Not the slow thunder of the Iron Vanguard’s drums, but a far more welcome sound and sight. Wagons rolled forwards, and [Servants] leapt down. From bags of holding, and the stores in the wagons, they began setting up tables. Chairs. Rolling out barrels; kegs were far too small. The students and Daquin’s people stared. Then someone shouted.

“A feast!”

“A feast indeed! My people are setting up across the city, so don’t swarm them here! I’m renting every inn, pub, and miserable dive in the city! Open your doors! And if one of my students leaves Daquin sober, I’m expelling that student on the spot!”

Niers roared and his students cheered wilder than anyone else. They swarmed the tables and the [Servants] who had to beat them back with ladles as they tried to serve food. The excitement, expectation, and surprise of the last hour, all faded as Marian looked around and realized how hungry she was, how tired.

So she pushed towards a table, grabbed the nearest edible-looking thing, ate, drank, and felt better. And she forgot about the heartache, defeat, and all the other emotions whirling inside of her. The game was over.

And that was a relief.

—-

The Titan of Baleros had a flair for drama. But saying that was an understatement of understatements. It was like saying that Crelers had a bit of an eating problem. It completely missed how aggravating, how annoying Niers Astoragon could be. And while Perorn had worked with him for decades, he still managed to catch her by surprise.

Like now, for instance. She had coordinated the rest of the student’s ‘rewards’, which were rewards, but really just rare training opportunities with the Fraerling. But the announcement about Wil winning the right to a question had caught her off-guard as much as anyone else.

She pushed through the crowd surrounding Niers, Wistram [Mages] demanding an interview, Councilmembers asking if he was really going to pay for everything, only to find he’d disappeared. He was good at that, too, which meant Perorn had to answer all the questions.

She found Niers after the mob had dispersed to go look for him. Or rather, he found her; the Fraerling had hidden in a little alcove underneath the pedestal. Like a spider. It was an uncharitable comparison, but Perorn wasn’t happy to be left facing a sea of aggressive questioners.

She glared at the Titan as he pulled himself back up the platform. No one noticed, not even the Wistram [Mages]. As Niers had once remarked, the fact that they trusted to spells to notice invisibility enchantments and so on and so forth meant that they were terrible at noticing the mundane. And Fraerling were masters of hiding in plain sight.

“Quick, put me on your shoulder. Before they notice me.”

Briefly, Perorn debated ratting Niers out, or abandoning him. But knowing him he’d just wriggle out of it and cause her more trouble. So she held out a hand and he raced up her arm as if he were running up a slope. He perched on Perorn’s shoulder and she trotted off. The celebration was in full swing, and more than a few [Mages] and Councilmembers were distracted by the barrels already being emptied of expensive alcohol.

“How much did you spend on the celebrations?”

“Do you want to know that? Or do you want to kill me about Wil? You can take your pick, but I’d rather not add to how snappish you’re going to be.”

Niers dangled his legs over Perorn’s shoulder, looking more cheerful than he had any right to be. The Centauress glared at him, limping slightly as she walked across the city.

“What was that stunt at the end? You just ruined the purpose of the entire game!”

The Fraerling stroked his beard, looking unconcerned at her reaction.

“As a matter of fact, I did not. Umina still won. And she gets a larger prize than Wil, but he still earns the right to the question. It’s not as if this is the first time. I did it two games ago. Or would you have let Wil toss himself into the ocean after losing to Umina?”

“I’d have rather you gave him a suitable reward. Or are you sympathetic to him because of how much money he spent?”

The Fraerling raised his eyebrows.

“The reward matches the deed, Perorn. Or do you disagree?”

The Centauress hesitated. The Titan looked seriously at her.

“I overplayed his bravery and the challenging Tulm bit, but he outmaneuvered the Iron Vanguard. They didn’t see him coming. I lost track of those damn ships.”

“You did? Really? I thought you made that up.”

“Well, I was hardly able to send scouting ships, was I? He kept them out of sight of regular vessels the entire way across the ocean. Tell me you could do better. Name me one of our best [Strategists] that could pull of a trick like that without sweating. And then tell me the reward is undeserved.”

Niers stared at Perorn. She hesitated.

“I suppose not. Even so—you know what the Kallinads will want to know, don’t you?”

“Mmf. Something political. I have something in mind. It will cause a fuss, but it shouldn’t get back to us.”

Perorn eyed Niers. His idea of a fuss was largely different from hers.

“And Umina? The gold you spent on this party? Healing potions? Was it all worth it? Not to mention—how many died?”

Niers paused. His expression grew somber.

“Seventeen deaths. Eight of ours, two civilians, six from the Iron Vanguard. One [Knight].”

“Low on the Terandrian’s side.”

“I didn’t count the horses. Twenty four of them.”

Perorn felt a twinge of pain. Horses weren’t Centaurs, but as distant kin, even if Centaurs were vastly more intelligent than horses, she felt the pain.

“What will you do about that?”

The Titan swung his legs in silence for a moment.

“Award the families double the standard pension. This wasn’t a battle. They weren’t meant to die. I’ll reach out to the Seer of Steel for his people. And I’ll have someone speak to Sir Kelm of the Order of Seasons about his [Knight].”

The two moved in silence for a minute after that. Well, Perorn walked and Niers sat. She could already see people eating, talking animatedly, clustering around a [Mage] in hopes of appearing in the scrying orb, and pairing up. The relief, the adrenaline and rush of triumph—it was almost as if this was the end of a battle. She spoke quietly to Niers.

“People always die. [Soldiers] die in camp when they quarrel with each other. Or after visiting a brothel and having their groins slowly rot off them. They die tripping while marching.”

“I know. It doesn’t change that this was my game.”

“Even so. You don’t have to—”

“We’ll pay them, Perorn.”

The Centauress dropped it. She looked at Niers. And thought. She knew her boss well. And she knew that nothing with Niers Astoragon was straightforward as it seemed, even when he looked like he was on a razor’s edge.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

He stood up and stretched. Niers absently raised a tiny whistle around his neck and blew it. The shrill sound was quite inaudible to Perorn, but she knew what was coming. She glared and reached out to grab him. He sidled down her shoulder.

“No. I didn’t. I’m going back first to Elvallian. You’ll be back at the academy tomorrow? The students will head with the convoy, but you can run back if you want to meet me there. We should plan out the student’s curriculums after this.”

The Centauress known as Fleethoof glared. She knew Niers wasn’t trying to hurt her—at least, she thought he wasn’t—but sometimes it felt like he forgot on purpose.

“I’m in no condition to run.”

Her right hind leg hurt. Now that Tulm was gone, Perorn felt her tendons protesting her every movement. Healing potions hadn’t saved her leg after it had been hamstrung; she had saved some mobility, but the pain and her own aging body made her old feats of speed a distant memory. She scowled and Niers looked up at her.

“It will feel better by the time you return.”

“Oh, really? And do you have a poultice for me? I don’t want one. I told you, [Healers] with painkillers don’t change the fact that my leg can’t move the same way it used to. And I won’t damage it just so you—”

“Perorn.”

The Titan stopped her with a word. He could do that. But Perorn swore that if the next words that came out of his mouth didn’t placate her, she would knock him off her shoulder and stomp on him. She waited as the Titan met her gaze. A tiny man on her shoulder. Perorn heard beating wings. Niers looked up, and then smiled crookedly.

“I told you you’d have a good day. Do you think seeing Tulm humiliated slightly was all of what I meant?”

Perorn blinked.

“I—yes. Of course. If it wasn’t just to see this, then what did you bring me for?”

Suddenly paranoid, she stared hard at Niers. But he only gave her his most enigmatic smile. He leaned forwards. And suddenly Perorn felt a hum as her rings warned her that he’d just employed an artifact. His anti-listening spells. He whispered in her ear.

“Venaz. Search for Armor Captain Shailt. Try to be discreet. Let him take the lead.”

“What—”

Niers stepped back. Perorn grabbed for him, but it was too late. He tipped his hat to her and leapt up. Perorn stepped back as a claw descended and snatched the Fraerling up like a bug. The owl flapped its wings once and took off. The Fraerling sped into the night, as the trained bird flew back towards the academy, as fast as a swallow.

Perorn watched him go. She cursed once. But she knew the owl would be flying too high for her, even if she decided to race after him. Damn animals. The Titan employed [Beast Masters] among his other tricks.

And then Perorn thought about what Niers had said. And her instincts, the little animal sense at the back of her brain, tingled. She looked around, murmuring.

“As bad as Foliana in his own way.”

He loved secrets. But he seldom lied outright. And so Perorn went searching for Venaz. She found the Minotaur a few minutes after a certain City Runner did. Perorn had to stop and speak to Daquin’s Councilmembers, as well as Wistram’s [Mages] and everyone else vying for her and Niers’ attention. Again.

Luan had to check on his boat.

—-

The game was over. She’d won. Umina walked around the streets of Daquin, feeling drunk on exhilaration, confused, and almost, a tiny bit, disappointed. Because no one was trying to kill her. No one was screaming that she was a cheat and should be punished. People seemed…happy.

But she wasn’t. Umina felt as guilty as she ever had, worse than when she’d pushed her neighbor’s son down the stairs because he’d shoved her the day before that. She’d seen Wil’s face after the game ended, and the disappointment on Venaz’s. But the worst had been Marian.

She’d been so close. Umina’s heart had stopped when she’d poked her head out of the ground and seen Marian leaping at her, and Tulm, Tulm the Mithril blocking her way. And he’d looked at her. And asked her name.

Umina’s heart pounded wildly at the memory. But if she dwelled on that, she’d start shaking, so she kept walking. Daquin’s citizens were in the streets, making merry with Wistram’s [Mages], the Forgotten Wing soldiers, and the students. They were the noisiest, and the center of attention, demanding to see themselves in the scrying orbs, which were on replay as Noass and Sir Relz gave their commentary on the game, drinking, being toasted and toasting each other—

And crying. Yes. There were tears amid the laughter and congratulations. Frustration, jealousy, disappointment—the other students had done their best after all. Some had spent money, or time, or any number of things on victory. And Umina had won. She tried to slink past the first few groups, head on a swivel for Marian. But the third wave of students clustered around a food table spotted her.

“It’s Umina! Get over here!”

A Dwarf’s bass voice roared over the crowd and everyone turned. Umina froze, but Merrik appeared and tugged her over to his table. He and some of the officer students were drinking, and they greeted Umina with shouts of delight. And surprisingly, none of them seemed angry. They sounded angry, but only for a second. Kelsa merrily cursed at Umina as she and Kaelma practiced quaffing. Jekilt shook his head as he drank more sedately from a mug.

“You bastard of a Lizardgirl, you did it! Right under our noses! Hah!”

Merrik slapped Umina on the back and then wrinkled his nose.

“Phaw! You still stink! Here, take a drink and pour it over your head!”

He grabbed a mug and filled it with one hand. Umina took the mug, trying to speak, and saw a huge feathery shape appear next to her. Peki tilted her head and nodded a few times.

“Good trick. Dirty trick. I didn’t see it coming. Good job, and I hate you.”

She nodded at Umina as she dipped her beak into her drink. Umina ducked her head.

“I’m sorry—”

“Sorry? What’s there to be sorry about?”

Merrik was instantly outraged, as were several other students. Jekilt shook his head as he trotted over. He was eating some sticky balls of rice sweetened with a lovely sauce Umina knew from back home. Her stomach rumbled and Jekilt passed her a few. Umina scarfed them down. The [Captain] shook his head.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about. You won, Umina. A win’s a win. It makes all of our effort look pointless, though. Which is the lesson the Professor probably wants us to learn.”

He looked at the others. Kaelma nodded as she adjusted her head and poured the drink down for maximum, Dullahan-style quaffing effect. Umina blushed.

“I still feel bad. You were all fighting so hard, and I used you as a distraction. Especially Wil. I couldn’t have done it without him occupying the Iron Vanguard.”

Merrik grinned.

“Hear that? She couldn’t have done it without us occupying all of the Iron Vanguard’s [Mages]! Which means—eh—wait—so no one would have won if we didn’t do our best. But since we did, Umina won. But if we’d all acted like she did—so how would we have won?”

He broke off, muttering to himself. One of the others, the Oldblood Drake with the folded wings, shrugged. She spat a small wisp of darkness out; it dissipated quick in the blood-red, evening sky.

“Probably by having a better endgame plan. Facing Tulm the Mithril in a scrum was suicide. You saw how he flattened your Minotaur with a single punch, right?”

Jekilt nodded.

“Venaz? I’ve never seen anyone do that. What was the Skill he used?”

“[The Twice-Born Warlord]. Now there’s a Skill worthy of a legend.”

Merrik sighed longingly. The others nodded. Peki frowned.

“You think he has the Skills too? Is he exactly as strong as Xol? These are the questions. I would have liked to fight him.”

“Fat chance of that now. You saw how he swanned off at once. Can’t take a defeat, that one.”

“It’s not like he’s going to stay and drink with you, Merrik. Or that he’d be that fun to hang around. I am disappointed that Xol left, though. I wanted to ask him to sign my armor!”

“Me too! And I owe him a punch for smashing me into the ground! My head’s still ringing! Hey, did you see how he took out Tefret? Poor bastard didn’t even stand a chance. And I thought he’d be the one to make it to the endgame! Let’s see if we can get it on replay. Oi! You, the [Mage] with the hat!”

Umina edged back from the group as they turned on a [Mage] trying to pour an entire keg’s worth of alcohol into a bag of holding. She was glad, really, but she had a job to do, so after raiding the food table for a very tasty rodent of some kind on a skewer, she headed out in search of the person she really needed to talk to.

It wasn’t hard to find her. Marian hadn’t gone far, and she stood out from the crowd because she was, well, a Centaur. Even in packed spaces, Centaurs got space. After a horse steps on your foot once, even by accident, you don’t let it happen twice. She was eating from a plate heaped with oats and covered in a spicy salsa that the Centauress liked. Even though it gave her indigestion.

She was talking with another Centaur, a student from another class. Umina edged over. She knew Marian saw her, but the Centaur [Strategist] didn’t acknowledge her. Umina coughed.

“Uh, Marian. Can I have a word?”

The other Centaur glanced over and saw Umina. Marian turned her head and something about her posture might have given away her feelings; the other Centaur made himself scarce in a moment. Marian and Umina stared at each other. The Centauress chewed her food, and swallowed. She spoke shortly.

“Hi, Umina. Congratulations on winning.”

“Thank you? I mean—I wanted to say sorry.”

“What for? It was a game. You won. Congratulations.”

Marian furiously shoveled another mouthful of oats and nearly choked. She glared at Umina.

“Everyone knows all we had to do was win. You did that. Good job.”

“Marian. I really am sorry. I just—”

“Just what, Umina? Just stabbed me in the flank?”

The Lizardgirl was silent. Marian took a deep breath. She stared at Umina, and a note of hurt entered her voice.

“I thought we were a team. Wasn’t that what we said? Why did you run off?”

Umina traced the ground with one foot.

“I—I just had an idea. You know, with the [Nightwoman] we met? I wanted to see if she’d help me. I didn’t know if it would work. It was just an idea. I thought it wouldn’t work, so…”

“If you thought it wouldn’t work, why didn’t you tell me? No, don’t answer. You thought it would work, and you wanted to win.”

Marian abandoned her food entirely. She tossed her plate on a table to fold her arms. Umina protested weakly.

“I really didn’t know. And—look, I knew you and Venaz wanted to try Luan’s idea. You might have succeeded! You nearly did.”

“Except that you won.”

The two stared at each other. Marian tossed her head angrily. Umina spoke in a small voice.

“I really am sorry. I didn’t know you were that close. If I’d known…Marian, look. I have a question, alright? And I get an item from the Professor’s vaults. What if—if I gave you the question? I can ask it and tell you—”

Marian jerked as if Umina had slapped her. Her cheeks grew red.

“Don’t patronize me! If you’re going to stab me in the back, don’t give away your victory. You won. You ask the Professor a question. Don’t be like—”

She waved an arm, frustrated. Umina nodded. She looked down at her claws.

“I really am sorry, Marian.”

“Yeah, well. Sorry doesn’t change anything, does it? We were supposed to win together.”

That was true. Umina rubbed at one eye. Marian glanced at her. Looked away. Then she looked back.

“I suppose at least one of us won.”

“Marian. I’m so—”

“Don’t say it. Just—fine. Fine, okay?”

Marian reached out and grabbed her friend. She hugged Umina so tightly the Lizardgirl squeaked.

“I’m not forgiving you just yet. I’m out a lot of money thanks to you, and I have to duel a [Weapon Master] every morning now! You owe me big. So you’d better tell me a bit about what the Professor’s room is like and what he says to you. Got it?”

The Centauress let go. Umina nodded rapidly. She opened her mouth, caught herself, and decided to stop talking for a while. And that helped. So did the alcohol Marian filled up in a huge tankard. The Centauress drank down one mug, then another. In quick succession. So went the legendary Centaur tolerance for alcohol. After that, Marian looked more cheerful.

“And at least I didn’t have to wade through that sewage again. That almost makes it worth it. Was it nasty?”

“You have no idea. The last place we were in was clean compared to the one I had to have the [Nightpeople] excavate.”

Umina shuddered. Marian paused as she grabbed her plate of oats.

“It wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh yeah? How’d I get poo on my head?”

Marian thought about that. She put her plate back, no longer hungry. Umina wasn’t much either. She looked around, struck by a thought now she’d talked to Marian.

“Where’s Luan? I didn’t see him. Did he get captured?”

“Him? No. I lost track of him in the final push. He helped us out, though. And he stopped Xol! With children, no less! He’s one interesting City Runner. Want to see if we can find him?”

“He stopped Xol with—yes, let’s find him!”

Marian nodded. She led Umina through the crowd, catching her up while Umina described in brief her adventure in the septic tanks, locating the right one and waiting for her moment. In truth, Marian’s story was far more engaging; Umina’s had mostly been one of patience and trying not to throw up.

“Oh, look! There he is!”

Umina spotted Luan in the crowd. It wasn’t hard to find him either after a bit of searching; he was Human, but his skin tone made him look Chandrarian, and the Terandrians were also a bit shorter than he was. Umina waved excitedly.

“Luan!”

“It’s you two. I saw you won. Good job!”

Luan smiled as he walked over. He’d been looking around the party. Now he grinned at Umina in a satisfied way that told both [Strategists] that he had no idea how momentous Umina’s victory had been. Umina glanced at Marian.

“Thanks. I uh, well, I owe you for encouraging me. And giving me the idea, really. Where were you? Did you get captured in the end?”

“Me? No. Once everyone poured out of the apartments I decided to stay back. I’ve been looking for my boat at the harbor.”

Luan made a sour face. Umina frowned.

“Your boat? I didn’t see it.”

“Exactly. My scull’s wrecked and sunk. It wasn’t that strong to begin with, but the collision—I’ll have to take a Centaur cart all the way back to Talenqual, or rent a canoe here. I’d rather take the cart.”

Luan scowled. Marian raised one brow, slightly offended by the comparison.

“Since you’re still here, can I ask whether or not you’ve been paid?”

“I have your gold. But I haven’t seen that damn Minotaur yet. Do you know where he is?”

The [Rower] scowled. Umina looked around.

“Not me. But that’s a good point? Where is Venaz? I’d expect him to be arguing with everyone and challenging all the officer classes to a fight.”

Marian craned her neck. She shaded her eyes against the sunset’s glow.

“He looked down after the battle. Was losing really that hard on him?”

“Let’s find him. I want to apologize to him as well.”

“Don’t bother. I’m the one you owed the apology too.”

“Marian…”

The two were joking as Luan looked around with a frown. He took in the tables and Umina distinctly heard a gurgle from his stomach. He pointed hesitantly to a table laden with food.

“This food’s free, right? Can I get some even if I’m not a citizen of Daquin?”

“Of course!”

Luan smiled.

“In that case—hold on. I’ll be back in a second.”

He hurried over to a table and grabbed a plate. Umina laughed. And then she saw something peculiar. Luan reached into a pocket and, after a glance around, pulled something out. Umina saw a bright glow, almost like a spell coming from a little device in his hands. The City Runner held it up and did a slow circle, before going over the buffet with it in hand.

Almost as if he was…she frowned and nudged Marian. The Centauress spotted Luan’s motions and nodded. The two trotted over as Luan filled a plate. And he put the little rectangle back in his pocket. Marian casually glanced at his laden plate and cup.

“Nice selection. What was that flash of light?”

Luan froze for a second. Then he gave her a disarming smile.

“Uh—artifact. I uh, just wanted to get a better look. So my friends back at the company could see everything. Where do you think Venaz is?”

Neither the smile nor quick topic change fooled Marian or Umina. They exchanged a look. Interesting. It could have just been any number of minor magical artifacts. But given that it was Luan…Umina’s instincts tingled.

Something to discuss. Or look into. But neither [Strategist] brought it up. Instead, Umina looked around with a frown.

“He mentioned that Armor Captain. Shailt? What was that about?”

“Oh! You missed it, Umina. We ran into an entire company right outside the apartment and Venaz was challenged by their leader. She was a Minotaur and he actually took her down!”

“An Iron Vanguard’s Armor Captain?”

“That’s what I said! He was worried about her. Something about her jaw? I don’t remember. Let’s find a [Healer]. He might be with them.”

Ironically, the [Healers] were hardest to find. Not because they didn’t have an aid station set up where those too badly hurt to be cured immediately were being treated, but because it was so hard moving from street to street.

Daquin was packed, and people who recognized Marian and Umina just had to come up and congratulate her, or tell Marian how close she’d gotten. Luan had finished one plate and was halfway through another by the time they spotted a familiar horned head talking to a [Healer].

“Venaz! There you are. Why aren’t you having fun?”

The Minotaur turned around. He still wore the uncharacteristically depressed expression he’d had earlier on. He nodded to the Lizardgirl.

“Umina. Congratulations on your victory. It was well-deserved. I need to remember that underhandedness in the future.”

They were the right words, but without any of the arrogance that normally came with it. Umina blinked up at Venaz. He noticed Luan and grimaced.

“Luan. I haven’t found my money pouch. I’d get the Merchant’s Guild to withdraw me some coin, but—”

He gestured around the chaotic streets. No Merchant’s Guild was going to be open; Umina saw a [Merchant] dancing in the street with a [Barman]. Luan folded his arms.

“Can you borrow some?”

“From another student? I suppose so. I’ll do it in a few minutes.”

The Minotaur sighed. This melancholy was so unnatural that all three, Luan, Marian, and Umina, stared at him with worry. Even Luan, who’d known Venaz all of a few hours.

“Venaz, what’s wrong?”

He shook his head slowly and glanced towards the aid station. It was a commandeered inn and the patients were resting upstairs. Although given the raucous streets, the rest component was debatable.

“I’ve disgraced myself in front of my people. No matter what the Professor says.”

“What? You hardly did worse than anyone else. You even got a reward! I know it wasn’t as good as Wil, but—”

“Not that. I know my performance wasn’t stellar, but I demonstrated my abilities and faced off against Tulm himself. I don’t regret that. It’s Armor Captain Shailt.”

Venaz pointed towards the door. Umina glanced in, but the other Minotaur must have been upstairs already. She glanced up at Venaz.

“Is she badly hurt?”

“It was a weaponless match. If she’d kept her weapon, I have no doubt I would have lost, even if I’d used one of mine. But the duel was fair. I pride myself on my victory! She’s at least a Level 30 [Warrior]—the fact that I bested her is a mark of pride. Or it would be. But her jaw—”

He broke off and stared at one of his clenched fists.

“I misjudged my strength. I was wearing gauntlets. I hit her too hard and my punch shattered her bones. I know it did. I felt it.”

“But that wasn’t all your fault. She challenged you.”

Marian shifted her hooves uncertainly. Venaz shook his head stubbornly.

“To injure another Minotaur is normal. If this were a battle, even a death could be understood. But in a sparring match? A game? A permanent injury is far different than a wound that could be healed by potion. If I force Armor Captain Shailt to retire because of my careless blow, I could never forgive myself.”

He paced back and forth in front of the inn. And he looked so guilty that Umina couldn’t help but feel bad for him. She’d never seen Venaz beat himself nearly this much up over anything, even losing to Marian. And in a way, she could respect his guilt. She put a hand on his arm, standing up on tiptoe to do so.

“Hey. It’ll be fine. The Professor runs a Great Company, Venaz. You think he doesn’t have the best [Bone Healers] around? If Shailt doesn’t get better with the [Healers] here, I’ll bet he calls in an expert, no matter the cost. The Iron Vanguard will for one of their Armor Captains.”

Marian nodded encouragingly.

“They have experience with all kinds of injuries, Venaz. There’s no way you did enough damage with a single punch to be beyond fixing.”

Venaz perked up a bit, but grew despondent just as fast.

“True, true. But even then, shattered bone is different from a break. All the pieces—you can’t even heal them with a potion. And if the wound begins to heal before it can be seen to—”

Umina wondered if they could find the Professor, or another [Healer] to reassure Venaz. She was about to suggest it when Luan, who had been listening intently, stepped in. The [Rower] tapped Venaz on a shoulder and spoke seriously.

“If your Armor Captain doesn’t have the right [Healer] see to her here, Venaz, my company can help out. Either bring her to Talenqual, or I can bring my friend to her. There’s a [Doctor] in my company who can mend almost any wound. She might be able to restore even shattered jaws.”

“Your company?”

Umina blinked at Luan. Venaz did too.

“Your stupid company?”

Luan sighed.

“My company has an expert with us. She’s a [Doctor], not a [Healer].”

The man said it as if this was a good thing. All three [Strategists] blinked at him. Umina swished her tail uneasily.

“What, one of those weirdoes who hacks off limbs with saws and stuff? They’re…okay, I guess, but most of them aren’t better than a [Healer] with decent potions.”

Luan looked offended.

“She’s far better than that. My friend—Geneva—she’s saved hundreds of lives on the battlefield. [Soldiers] had a name for her because she was so good at saving lives, they call her the Last Light of Baleros. I saw her save a War Walker shot full of Evercut Arrows once. His arm was nearly gone and she reattached it by herself.”

Marian whistled slowly. Umina’s jaw opened. She had never heard of the Last Light of Baleros. But a [Doctor] who could reattach an arm? Short of serious magic or a healing potion like no other, that was incredible. And Evercut Arrows? Venaz stared at Luan and spoke slowly.

“A [Doctor] who can perform that level of healing? On a battlefield? That’s…incredible. If I had a [Doctor] like that in an army, I could reduce casualties by…you could create a vastly more efficient army that way!”

He was blinking fast. Umina waved an urgent claw.

“But she could also help Shailt, if need be, right?”

“I don’t see why not. I can at least ask her. She’s mended broken ribs, and all kinds of other breaks before.”

Luan nodded. Venaz looked up. He frowned, then nodded decisively.

“If Shailt does not recover. No, even if she does. Luan. If your [Doctor] friend is willing, would she consider journeying to Elvallian? I’d like to introduce her to the Professor. That is—the Titan of Baleros.”

The [Rower]’s eyes widened. Umina and Marian glanced at Venaz in surprise, but not for the same reason. Marian snapped her fingers.

“That might actually impress the Professor. If he hasn’t seen something like this already. Damn. Can I take partial credit, Venaz?”

“No.”

“You want Geneva to come to your—city? To meet the Titan?”

Luan spoke slowly. Venaz nodded.

“Why not? He’s always interested in new ideas. And even if he doesn’t allocate class time, I could get his interest by running an experiment. Hire someone to be cut open and test her versus a healing potion. Or break a leg. Yes. What’s her rate?”

“Rate? I uh—”

“Venaz. There you are.”

A voice interrupted Luan as he blinked and tried to respond. The students and City Runner turned to see an older Centaur trotting towards them. Marian bowed slightly.

“Professor Perorn!”

Luan looked up at the Centauress as both Venaz and Umina bowed slightly as well. He stared at her and the Centauress stared back. Her eyes shifted to Venaz.

“I was told you were asking about Captain Shailt. Her injuries don’t seem to be outside of healing. Lord Astoragon has sent for a healer specializing in this kind of injury. You needn’t worry. Who is this?”

Venaz let out a relieved sigh. He gestured to Luan.

“This is Luan, Professor Perorn. Luan, this is one of our teachers. Perorn Sadiluc.”

Luan bowed slightly, copying the students. And again, Umina saw he had no idea of who Perorn was.

“Pleased to meet you, Professor. City Runner by water. I’m a [Rower]. I was hired for this game by uh, Venaz.”

The [Galewinds Strategist] nodded politely as well. She looked Luan up and down searchingly, and Umina wondered if she was unhappy about the City Runner’s participation. No. That made no sense. But she definitely looked interested. Then again, Professor Perorn was the sort of person who would sweep a dirty corridor in the academy if she spotted it.

“Did I hear you saying you intended to bring someone to the academy, Venaz? After the last incident with the fire spitters, I’d hope you’d run any ideas by a teacher first.”

The Minotaur hesitated as Marian snorted.

“This is hardly on the same level, Professor. I’m considering inviting a [Doctor] with exceptional skill. She’s apparently renowned as the Last Light or something. You see, it would fit nicely with my proposals about a casualty-intensive battlefront that I intend to submit to Professor Astoragon…”

Marian and Umina both rolled their eyes, but Perorn’s eyebrows shot up. She glanced sharply at Luan and shifted her hooves slightly.

“The Last Light of Baleros? I heard a rumor about her. Tell me, how good is she?”

Luan frowned. He hesitated, and then nodded decisively.

“The best in the world. I think I can say that definitively.”

This time all three students made sounds of disbelief. But Perorn didn’t. She looked at Luan, and then glanced at the other students.

“One second, please.”

Umina backed up as Perorn drew Luan aside. They spoke for a moment and she saw Luan glancing at Perorn’s hindquarters. No, at her leg. Umina’s jaw dropped. Marian blinked rapidly.

“Does Professor Perorn think—”

“No way. The best healing potions didn’t save her leg.”

“But a [Doctor]—don’t they just cut off arms?”

“Sew them back on too is what I heard. Mad. I heard they were close to [Necromancers]. But the Last Light of Baleros?”

“Hmf. Luan didn’t lie. Not according to my amulet. I’d better do more research. If he’s telling the truth—”

All three broke off as Perorn exclaimed.

“Really? You’re sure about that?”

The students tried to covertly shuffle forwards. They caught the tail-end of Luan’s reply.

“I don’t know. But she could reattach a hand that’s just been severed. And I know of operations that can splice tendons together. Maybe Geneva could…”

Both Centaur and Human looked up. Venaz looked up and pretended to stare at the sky. Umina tried to whistle. Marian turned around. Perorn glared.

“I believe I was clear on the meaning of privacy. Or do I need to prepare a lesson on civility as well?”

“No Professor.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s an open street.”

Marian kicked Venaz. Perorn looked at Luan. She nodded curtly.

“Bring her here to the academy. I’ll authorize it. I’m sure Lord Astoragon will if need be as well. We’ll send a formal invitation along with the cost of travel expenses. Does this [Doctor] need any tools?”

Luan smiled. He looked excited, as well as nervous.

“She has her own set. And she has a number of tools that can help with everything from sickness to delivering babies.”

“Delivering babies? Alright, now I’ve heard it all.”

Marian was derisive. Luan protested.

“She can do it! Geneva’s capable of delivering children when there are difficulties in childbirth as well.”

Umina was skeptical.

“You say that. But childbirth, fixing bones, reattaching arms…this isn’t some fake cure-all, is it?”

She expected Luan to grow defensive. But to her surprise, the man’s expression calmed. He smiled.

“No. It’s medicine. You see, what Geneva performs is known as a Caesarian Section. Anyone can do it, but she is one of a few experts—perhaps the only one who can do it reliably. The way it works is—”

It was just as well Umina hadn’t eaten much. She listened to Luan’s description with mounting horror. A way of cutting open stomachs to remove babies inside the mother? It sounded barbaric. And yet, Luan described it with such confidence and detail that Umina was impressed, despite herself. Venaz was shaking his head after Luan was done.

“Babies, limbs, I have to see this. So does the Professor. If you’re not lying, bring her over by all means.”

“I’ll arrange it. And yes, Venaz, you’ll get credit.”

Perorn stomped her hooves briskly. She looked around.

“You all enjoy the night’s party. I have to return to Elvallian.”

“Oh! Professor, aren’t you going back with the caravan—?”

“Too slow. I’minthemoodtorun.”

Perorn’s hooves shot forwards. She zipped forwards, surprising Umina. The revelers turned and stared as Fleethoof galloped past them, from standing to faster than a Human could sprint in a moment. Luan stared.

“Who was that?”

“That was Fleethoof. One of our Professors. Almost as famous as Tulm the Mithril.”

Marian informed him archly. Luan stared at her. He blinked a few times.

“I’ve got to ask more questions.”

“And you have to meet our class! They’ll want to hear all about your [Doctor]. And I want to know more about your [Rowing]! And how you beat the Iron Vanguard into the harbor!”

Umina pointed back towards the plaza. Luan nodded amiably. He grinned.

“I could use some drinks. And more food. But just one more thing before that. Venaz.”

He turned to the Minotaur. Venaz blinked at him.

“Yes?”

“Give me my money.”

—-

Out of Daquin. Like lightning. The owl that had carried Niers back towards his home had nothing on the blur that raced down the streets, around people, jumping over wagons, as fast as any Courier. Students, civilians, and [Mages] looked up and stared. Some cried out her name in surprise. But by the time their words were echoing, she was gone.

Fleethoof. She raced down the trade road, weaving around other travellers on the road. Her four legs galloped, and the ground melted away in front of her. Perorn ran with the humid wind on her face as the sun set. And she felt alive.

She was indeed running back. Her leg hurt, but something, perhaps, a meeting beforehand, had caused Perorn to forget all about her pain. It blossomed fiercely in her chest, beating right next to her heart.

Hope.

And on a warship heading north across the coastline of Baleros, a silent crew attended to their duties with the exact opposite feeling in their guts. They were the Iron Vanguard. The might of a Great Company. More powerful than any one nation. And yet, they moved in almost complete silence. Nursing bruises, minor cuts, and worst of all, injured egos.

They had lost. But far more egregious, far more terrifying was the fact that he had lost. Their leader. You couldn’t have gotten a laugh out of the crew with a Level 40 [Jester]. And as they sailed through the beginning night, a Dullahan bearing a precious cargo headed above decks from the ship’s hold.

He was carrying a head. And it wasn’t his own. This head was far larger, and it still wore the helmet, the armor identical to his body. Xol, the War Walker, patiently waited as the Dullahan porting him carried him up the steps and onto the deck. The crew of Dullahans all paused to bow to him, those that weren’t immediately busy. He acknowledged them briefly as he passed, but the dour mood had infected him as well. His bearer took him towards the ship’s cabin, normally reserved for the [Captain], but now occupied by a much more prestigious guest.

The Dullahan stopped at the door to the cabin. A pair of silent Midnight Shields were standing guard at the door and their attitude was intense. They were taking the defeat worst of all. The Dullahan gulped, but the Midnight Shield let him knock anyways.

“Strategist. Xol to see you.”

“Enter.”

A crisp voice instantly replied. One of the Dullahans on guard swung the door open and the Dullahan porter entered. And there he had a surprise.

Because inside the cabin wasn’t doom, gloom, or even sulkiness. In fact, the person standing inside the cabin, his armor gleaming, was quite calmly feeding himself dinner while his head rested on the table. The Dullahan porter paused, surprised.

He didn’t look upset. And, strangest of all, he wasn’t. As the Dullahan carried Xol’s head into the cabin on a pillow, Tulm the Mithril glanced to his right at an orb he was speaking into.

“Xol has arrived, Seer. Your pardons, Xol, I was finishing my meal as I spoke. May I offer you refreshment?”

“It would be welcomed.”

Xol replied politely. As was customary among the Dullahans, the status of the two had already been decided the moment Xol entered the room. And despite the War Walker’s age and status as a titan among Dullahans, Tulm was still the superior. Now the two heads rested together on little cushions, talking together as Dullahans did in a little circle of heads, leaving their bodies free to act autonomously.

In this case, Tulm’s body was feeding himself and very quickly a Dullahan [Server] entered the room and began to serve Xol food. Headless, of course; it wouldn’t do for someone to join the conversation. Especially because the attitude was very informal, as befitted old friends. If someone else joined the conversation, everything would have to be very formal. Especially given who was listening from the scrying orb.

“A light wine, then. And to eat?”

“Mm. I will have the catch of the day, whatever that may be, with a pasta sprinkled with the oregano sauce. Hold the addition of salt and provide me with a lemon for the fish.”

“Noted.”

Tulm delicately wrote the requested dish down and handed it to the headless [Server], who took it and came back with a plate of food and drink during the conversation. The duality of heads and headless would have bothered another species, but Tulm and Xol barely broke stride. Tulm instantly turned back to the scrying orb.

“As I was saying. The defeat was close, and avoidable. If I had prepared more fully, it might have been reversed despite the intrusion of House Kallinad’s reinforcement. As it is, I can only offer my regrets, Seer.”

Xol held his breath. Tulm was apologetic, but there was little actual regret in his tone. Certainly not the humiliation or pain the rest of the crew was feeling, Xol included. There was a rumble from the orb.

“DO NOT REGRET IT, TULM. I QUITE ENJOYED IT.”

The voice rumbled throughout the cabin, a low, bass roar that reminded those listening of the thunder of rocks falling down a mountain. It was—well, to call it a shout was wrong because a shout was a certain way of speaking that involved force, effort, the maximal volume lungs could produce. This voice was as loud as any shout, but it was spoken in a conversational, even casual tone.

It was loud. Tulm’s own plate vibrated slightly and he winced as the liquid in his cup danced and a bit splattered on the tablecloth. Xol wished he could massage his ears; he’d felt his earwax vibrate.

“Seer, may I regretfully request that you lower your tone? Our confine is enclosed.”

“APOLOGIES. HOW’S THIS?”

The operatic, booming tone lowered slightly in intensity. But not by much. Tulm sighed. Volume control was among the Seer of Steel’s few weaknesses. He tried to adjust the scrying orb’s volume instead, and the volume did indeed reduce. But the size of the voice couldn’t be changed so easily.

“I have a few small victories to share. Among them was my ability to use my appraisal Skill on all of the students and a number of the Forgotten Wing officers during the game. I have had a [Scribe] write down their rough levels and Skills. The information will help us if we come across them in the field or in hiring. A small compensation.”

He indicated a sheaf of papers. The voice in the orb rumbled.

“USEFUL. BUT A LOSS IS A LOSS. I SHARE YOUR DISAPPOINTMENT, TULM. HOWEVER, IT WAS A GAMBLE.”

“Yes.”

Tulm calmly fed himself more of his dish, a lasagna-type meal neatly arranged and cut into pieces. Xol stared from Tulm to the orb.

“Pardon me, Mithril. Seer. But the crew and I were under the impression this was our battle to lose. Morale is low.”

Tulm glanced up and nodded.

“As it should be. However, Xol, I regard this loss as partially inevitable. The Titan invited me to this game. I came with every advantage I could reasonably take, including yourself.”

“And I was unable to grant you victory. It was my weakness, Mithril.”

“WAS IT? I THINK OTHERWISE. AS DOES TULM.”

Tulm nodded.

“To play the Titan’s game is to invite defeat. The only question was whether he intended us to play or not. I decided to take the risk. And I lost. I am ashamed. But not surprised. My teacher is insurmountable in his ability to play mind games. If I dragged him onto the battlefield, I would be more sure of victory. But this game?”

He shrugged. Xol stared at Tulm.

“Then, Mithril, if I may ask. Why take the risk? Why invite humiliation to the Iron Vanguard, however great or small it may be?”

“BECAUSE OF WHAT WAS OFFERED.”

The Seer’s voice made the cutlery rattle. Tulm nodded briefly. He looked up at Xol.

“A question.”

Xol’s brow wrinkled.

“I thought it was the prize from his armory. A gift worthy of the Seer of Steel. What question could the Titan answer that the Seer of Steel could not?”

He looked respectfully at the orb. There was a rumble, not so much words, but noise. Tulm put down his fork.

“Only one that matters. It is not your concern, Xol. Yet.”

That was a polite way of saying that Xol wasn’t important enough to know. Which told the War Walker exactly how important the question must be. He looked at Tulm’s head and the Dullahan closed his eyes. When he opened them, his silver gaze met Xol’s steadily.

“If I had won, I would have considered it worth the cost even if we had left four out of the six warships and their crew at the bottom of the harbor. And as much as it pains me, even you, Xol.”

Xol inhaled sharply. He hadn’t taken offense; why would he? But it was the magnitude of what Tulm suggested that gripped his heart below decks.

“Then why did we not deploy a dozen warships? Bring in as much of an army as possible?”

The Mithril smiled ruefully.

“I’m sure the Titan would have countered that. He already broadcast his game to the world. I brought what I could, Xol. I employed any number of tactics. And still I failed. His student, Wil Kallinad, was impressive. As were some of the others. I regret my defeat. But it was worth the risk.”

The three fell silent. And after a moment, the Seer of Steel spoke.

“INDEED. BUT WHAT WOULD MOTIVATE THE TITAN TO PLAY A GAME OF SUCH RISK WITH LITTLE REWARD?”

Tulm frowned. Now that was the question, wasn’t it? He stared at his empty plate. And then, to Xol’s surprise, he chuckled. And then laughed. It was a short laugh, but it was a laugh. Only in this unguarded room did it come out. Xol stared at Tulm. The younger Dullahan looked up. And then he addressed the orb, as was proper.

“My apologies, Seer. Xol. But I recalled something the Professor once said to me. He told me once that he’d burn down a forest to win a card game, if the stakes were high enough.”

“Ah.”

Xol exhaled softly. It was a phrase he’d expect from the Titan of Baleros.

“Then the only question is, was what the Titan sought worth the risk?”

The War Walker glanced at Tulm, looking for answers. But the Dullahan just frowned, pondering. No one spoke for a while. At last, the Seer of Steel’s voice vibrated through the room.

“TULM. UNCOVER THAT ANSWER IF YOU WILL. I WILL AWAIT YOU IN PERSON. IF THE TITAN WILL NOT ANSWER BY GAMES, THE ANSWER MUST BE FOUND ANOTHER WAY. IF THE QUESTION IS NOT FRUITLESS IN ITSELF.”

Tulm raised his head and nodded. Slowly, he fastened the head onto his shoulders and looked at the scrying orb.

“And if it is a question worth answering?”

“THEN IT IS WORTH ALMOST ANY COST. PAY IT.”

Tulm the Mithril nodded, and Xol did likewise. That was all that needed to be said. The figure in the scrying orb turned.

“XOL.”

“Seer.”

The image winked out. Tulm sat back and rubbed at one ear. Xol envied him.

“So this is a defeat for the Iron Vanguard.”

“A setback. A defeat would see far more ships burned and our officers downed, if the Professor had willed it. Xol, I thank you for your efforts. You have leave to rest. Unless you have anything else to bring before me?”

“I do, Mithril.”

Tulm glanced at Xol’s head, surprised. It was rare for the War Walker to request anything.

“Speak.”

“I request to allocate forty, no, sixty gold coins from my funds. And to request connection with the central Adventuring Guild in any major city.”

“Easy enough. I will conduct both affairs now.”

Tulm reached for the scrying orb. He spoke into it, and after a few instructions to the [Mage] controlling it, and a slight pause, an image appeared in the orb. A very nervous, very widely-smiling Lizardman appeared.

“My—my goodness! Tulm the Mithril and Xol of Ingrilt? How can Zevai’s Adventuring Guild assist my honored guests today?”

“The smallest of things.”

Xol spoke politely and carefully, aware of Tulm’s curious eyes on him. He was embarrassed to even bring it up in front of his commanding officer, but there was no time like now, in case he forgot.

“I would like to put a bounty up. On one Luan the City Runner.”

Tulm glanced at Xol. The Lizardman blinked only once, and then nodded rapidly.

“Of course, of course! Anything for the Iron Vanguard—”

“No. This is a personal bounty. Please register it as such.”

The Lizardfolk instantly scribbled a note. He was sweating; he didn’t want to make a mistake.

“Naturally. I have made the note. Um, Sir Xol, may I ask a few questions about the nature of the bounty?”

“Yes.”

“Ah. Well then. For helpfulness’ sake, may I ask if this is a lethal or nonlethal bounty?”

“Nonlethal.”

“Oh! Nonlethal, excellent, excellent. We have a wide selection of options if you have any preferences. We offer maiming, permanent disfigurement, loss of an eye, branding—that’s extra—minor humiliation, property damage, superficial beatings—”

“No permanent damage. Superficial beatings. And did you say property damage?”

“Yes, of course! We can put in a request for burned houses, financial damage, theft—I know this isn’t how other continent’s guilds do their jobs, but we aim to please, and if you have any specific items in mind…”

“He has a boat. Destroy the boat. But don’t harm him. That’s all.”

“I have made a note. And I will place the bounty up at once! Ah—”

“The Iron Vanguard will send the payment directly.”

Tulm spoke up for the first time. The Lizardman jumped.

“Of course! And if you have any more needs, please don’t hesitate to—”

The connection faded. Tulm sat back and regarded Xol. The Mithril looked amused.

“A small thing, Xol? Did the City Runner cause you some form of insult?”

The War Walker frowned mildly.

“Some things should be dealt with. There is fairness and there is justice. I did not appreciate the risk to the children.”

“I see. It is your decision.”

“Yes.”

The two sat in silence for another minute. Xol sighed. His pride still hurt, even hearing Tulm’s reasoning. The Mithril glanced at him, and then out the porthole at the sea. The ship’s lights illuminated the dark waters, but the horizon was vast and the sea endless. The Iron Vanguard’s navy, first and foremost among the Four Great Companies—no, the only naval power of the four, was a small thing compared to the vastness of the ocean.

“It was just a game, Xol.”

“Yes. And I wonder who really won?”

Tulm the Mithril looked up. His eyes flashed. He wondered the same question. For after all, as sanguine as he appeared, he had lost. He sat with Xol, thinking about the Titan, wondering what game his former mentor was playing.

They called him the second-greatest [Strategist] of Baleros. The second of the Iron Vanguard. Second in many things. And they told stories about him. Many of the stories were fake. The rest were exaggerated. But there was one thing no one knew. Tulm’s class. A class only he, the Seer of Steel, and Niers Astoragon knew he possessed. Perhaps Foliana too, but you could never tell what she knew. Or if she cared. But it was his class, and it was a class to shake the world.

[Dragonslayer Strategist].

Sometimes the legends were true.

—-

So Fleethoof ran, Tulm the Mithril sailed away, and his students laughed and partied. Victors, each in their own way. And Daquin became a name on every lip until it was not. And for a day, the world revolved around him.

The Titan of Baleros flew through the night, back towards the academy. The owl holding him was swift, and he was nearly back home. Still, he resented the trip; he realized that Perorn would only have arrived a little bit behind him if she was going all-out. Speed was a relative thing, sometimes.

Even so, the Titan was in a good mood. He hummed to himself as Elvallian’s spires came into view and the welcoming lights of his academy appeared before him.

They were coming to see him. All thanks to Venaz, a few lucky moments, and of course, a game that had pulled in every eye across the world. And they all wondered and speculated what his purpose was.

And they were right to wonder. And right to suspect. But the truth was that it was all a feint. The game. Tulm. Even Niers’ question and his gift to Umina, which he’d have to come up with. Oh, he always had his game. And he always liked it to be fun. But this time, it had all been to arrange one meeting. Such a casual one that while everyone stared at Niers’ grand plots and designs, they missed the little trick, the moment hiding amid the grandeur.

Niers laughed to himself. He’d nearly started a war to arrange a meeting. Good thing Tulm hadn’t won. Anyways.

That was what you called a proper distraction.

6.25

I am dreaming. Dreaming of a small child following me with wide eyes. Her fur is forest brown and she sniffs as she pads along behind me. She makes no sounds, but she trusts me. As I descend into the crevasse and reach for her, she trusts me. As the Goblin takes my fingers, she clings to me. Even later, I think, she trusted me.

Me, the one who brought doom to her tribe. Who awakened the Necromancer’s wrath. If you trace my path, you can see the bodies of everyone I’ve ever met. The Horns of Hammerad. Periss and her soldiers. The Stone Spears tribe. Brunkr. Ulrien. Zel Shivertail. They meet me and die.

Even Ivolethe.

But Mrsha? I left her behind. I left behind.

I ran away. I left her and ran. I should have never met her.

I shouldn’t have ever taken Teriarch’s request.

I should never have come here.

I should never have been—

And then I wake up. I sit up in bed and clutch at the sheets. I smell sawdust. I can hear someone thumping around beneath me, hear a voice, a crash of wood. For a second I want to curl up. Or jump up and hit something.

Then I feel the wind on my face. I see a tiny figurine, carved of ice, sitting by my bed on the dresser. I reach for it and feel it. Cold and painful. And I remember.

I’ve felt this way before. So I take a deep breath. Once, twice. You’ve been here before. Calm down. In this moment I hate myself. I hate everything and everyone, except perhaps Mrsha. But I hate and I despair and I know I’m feeling this way.

It’s happened before. And because I can remember it, because I can learn, I won’t make the same mistakes again.

Or at least, I’ll try.

—-

It took a few minutes for Ryoka Griffin to come back into her own head. A few minutes before the bleak, utter weight in her stomach evaporated enough for her to recede. Then she sighed, let go of the icy figurine she’d picked up, and looked around.

“It’s going to be a bad day.”

The young woman sat up in her bed, tossing some of the thick, itchy sheets off her. It was dark. Nighttime, in fact. Outside, the wind rattled the shutters, but Ryoka could tell that while the sky was lightening, it was still far from dawn.

“Bad dreams.”

That was all she said. But it wasn’t just a bad dream. She felt it on her, that heavy, apathetic and wretched feeling. It was already a bad day. Sometimes they came about. Days when she wanted to do nothing more than distract herself. Watch the most mind-numbing show. Steal a drink. Punch something.

Go for a run. And on these days, she would run like fire, until everything hurt. But you couldn’t outrun your own head. So today, Ryoka just sat up. She listened to the thumping and banging from below and realized those sounds weren’t in her head. So she got up, grabbed her belt and the pouches and trotted towards the door as she tied them around her waist.

Slowly, carefully, the Asian girl opened the door to her room, creaking it open bit by bit. Her hand was on one of the alchemist weapons at her belt. She was listening, but the crashing about seemed to still be coming from downstairs, so Ryoka put one foot out the door. The hallway’s doors were closed. Dark shadows filled the corridor. Ryoka glanced towards the steps leaning downstairs. She hesitated. Memory pricked her tired mind. And then someone spoke.

“Don’t go downstairs.”

Ryoka jerked back, heart pounding in her chest. There was someone in the hallway! The dark shape resolved itself—not into an [Assassin], but a very real, and very familiar shadow in the doorway opposite hers.

“Alber?”

He nodded. The [Fist Fighter] was similarly undressed and his bare chest was pale in the moonlight. His pants were long, ragged. And he was lowered, as if ready for a fight. He glanced up at her, and then nodded to the stairwell. The young man’s voice was low.

“He’s at it again. Drunk.”

Ryoka took a second to process that. Then the pieces fit, along with the memory. She whispered back.

“Madain?”

Alber nodded. Ryoka relaxed. But only a tiny bit. Alber held still as she tilted her head. Both of them listened to another crash and a slurred, raging voice. At last, Alber indicated the stairs with a tilt of the head.

“If he comes up the stairs, I’ll shout.”

The Runner girl hesitated, and then nodded.

“Thanks.”

She retreated back into her room and closed the door. But now Ryoka was tense. It wasn’t thieves or a fight. But it was dangerous. She imagined the huge man, Mad Madain, the adventurer-turned-innkeeper overturning tables. She could hear him swearing, and then a muffled shout. The words were indistinct, but they made Ryoka’s heart jump in alarm. She was tensed, imagining what would happen if she or Alber had to stop the man.

Time ticked by, agonizingly slow, and then flashing by in a blink. Eventually the violence below subsided. Ryoka lay in her bed, too awake to go back to sleep. She yawned as she relaxed a bit, but knew her sleep wouldn’t come back so easily. Ryoka lay back, staring at the ceiling and felt amiably miserable for a while.

Eventually she drifted off to sleep, but it was a half-sleep, a dozing, waking, not-at-all sleep that passed by the hours until morning, but left her feeling tired and groggy. Ryoka Griffin got up, dressed herself, and walked out her door, all the while feeling empty, tired, and quietly, desperately sad underneath it all. That was how she started her day.

It was a good thing she was used to it.

—-

Alber got up after a few hours had passed since the last sounds from the inn’s common room had died out. He hadn’t slept since then. There was no point, since you couldn’t tell when the Madman’s tantrums would last. Or how dangerous they would get. He’d kept his word and stood sentry at the door until the worst had seemed to pass. But you never knew.

The [Fist Fighter] was a young man. His name was Alber. And that was more information than most people needed to know about him. He earned a living by taking fights. If people knocked him down, they earned money. If he stayed up or knocked them down, he earned money. Alber loved the simplicity of it.

Silver for normal folk, gold for adventurers and experts. That was how he did it. He could pull in good money beating passing travellers or the local toughs who thought they could win because they had a Skill or two, and the adventurers and other sorts kept him honest. They were the challenge. Sometimes Alber beat even Gold-rank adventurers who relied too much on their artifacts and walked away with a full purse. Other times he woke up on the ground with a broken nose, or ribs.

It hurt. Sometimes it was agonizing. But it was what he knew and he liked it. It was his life. That was why anything that intruded on that cycle was unwelcome, especially the Madman. Alber had faced the inn’s owner once. That was enough. The Madman, or Mad Madain, or just ‘Madain’ if you wanted his real name, deserved Alber’s nickname. He was crazy. But he was strong. Alber could have taken him down if the man were drunk enough. But it wasn’t a fight the young man would have relished.

Alber scowled as he opened the door. It was early, he was tired, cold, and hungry. But there would be no food after the Madman’s fits of rage so Alber would have to find food elsewhere. As for the cold, he’d pick somewhere in the sun to ply his trade. He exited his room, the leather gloves slung carefully over one shoulder and found that the Braggart was leaving her room at almost the exact same time. She turned and blinked at him as she locked her door.

“Morning.”

The Braggart smiled. She looked as weary as Alber, but she was smiling. She’d begun greeting him every morning. Alber almost resented that, but he ducked his head.

“Morning.”

She nodded and down the stairs they went. The Braggart was dressed unlike the times she’d come to her door, half-naked. She had a fit figure and was tall, unlike most of the girls Alber had ever met. More like an adventurer than a Runner, really, although she fit both bills. He remembered the sight of her half-naked form in the night and was glad she was walking in front. She did look strong. Maybe she could throw a punch.

But she was still the Braggart. Alber knew her real name was Ryoka Something, but he didn’t bother with names when nicknames served. He didn’t stay long enough anywhere to bother remembering, and for this girl, Braggart fitted. She was arrogant. He had thought of her as just the Drathian before, but he vividly recalled the one conversation they’d had in full a week ago when she’d claimed to know more of fist fighting than he did. Hence the name change.

Still, she was better company than the Madman, if only because she was usually quiet. Speaking of which…Alber paused as he descended the stairs with the Braggart and entered the common room.

It was destroyed. Alber had seen bar fights, tavern brawls, and participated in a few himself, although he didn’t drink that much. But he was still impressed; the Madman had smashed enough chairs, tables, and ceramics all by himself to leave only a fraction of the room intact. And—Alber’s stomach clenched—he was still there.

Unfortunately, the Madman hadn’t slumped off to his room to pass out there, or even fallen asleep in the kitchen. He was still awake. The huge, bear of a man was sitting at one of the good tables, staring blankly ahead. His eyes were bloodshot, his beard and tunic stained. He didn’t look like he was ready for more fighting, but you never knew. Alber watched him for a second, and then noticed that the Madman was sitting next to someone.

A slight, shorter girl. She had black hair, very pale skin, and was dressed in a number of layers in dark clothing. She even had a hat on, inside, and if she could have huddled more into her clothes, Alber thought she would have. Cougher was eating from a bowl of stew, the exact twin of the bowl Alber had eaten for dinner last night. Gristle and fat stew, heavy on the meat and spice and little else. The Madman’s specialty dish.

“Fierre.”

Braggart greeted the slight girl after a quick glance at the Madman. He jerked as Cougher put down her spoon. Her bowl was nearly empty. The Madman looked up.

“You two. Where’s my rent?”

Both Runner and [Fist Fighter] blinked. After a second, Alber grimaced and dug at his belt. So that was the score today, was it? The Madman had done so much damage he needed more coin. Or he wanted a drink.

“Here.”

He placed a silver coin and two bronze ones on the table in front of the Madman. The City Runner fumbled for her purse and did likewise. The Madman glared at Alber and the Braggart. He swiped the coins from the table.

“Bad night?”

The Braggart looked at the Madman, and Alber could have sworn her tone was sympathetic. Which was stupid; the Madman didn’t want or deserve sympathy. Sure enough, he spat as he glared at her.

“Mind your own business, Wind Runner.”

Ah, that was the other name for her. Alber felt the wind blow on his tunic from an open window. Wind Runner. It was true. He’d taken to closing the shutters each night because the wind did blow harder when she was around. The Braggart looked undeterred by the Madman’s comment.

“Just asking. Hey, is there breakfast…?”

The Madman twisted to stare at Cougher. She put down her bowl quietly. The little click of wood on wood made his eyes bulge and he snarled.

“No. Get out. All of you!”

They did. Quickly too; the Madman looked ready for more smashing. Alber left the inn, mentally calculating how many days he’d prepaid in advance. If the Madman asked again…was it really worth staying at his inn? Well, the rent was dirt-cheap, the food was free when it was available, and the Madman didn’t turn his nose up when Alber walked in beat up or bloody. He did laugh, but Alber could ignore that.

Just a waste of a man. The [Fist Fighter] sighed and began walking down the street. He’d get something hot, and then find a place to knock down a few hung over drunks in honor of the Madman keeping him up. And then? Hopefully there would be new faces coming into Reizmelt he could make money off of. Otherwise, it would be those who hadn’t tried themselves against him. Another week or two and he’d have to travel south to find more business.

And that was all Alber thought on his day. He walked out of the inn and saw the Braggart stop in the street. Her feet were, of course, bare, and the wind swirled around her as she brushed at her hair with her right hand. Alber noticed her two missing fingers and wondered how she’d lost them again. But it wasn’t his business so he’d never have asked. The one thing he liked about the inn, about the Madman’s domain was that no one bothered anyone here. Except for good mornings. And—

“Ryoka. How’d you sleep last night?”

“Pretty good. Except for the crashing about. After that, things took a turn for the worse. How’d you get your bowl of soup without Madain killing you?”

The Cougher smiled. Alber paused as he took his gloves off his shoulder and pretended to check them.

“I’ve known him for a while. You do look tired. Want to get something to eat? I know a spot that’s open.”

“Sounds good. Unless you need to be at work?”

“Not me. And I could use something else to eat.”

“Lead on, then. Hey, how often does he do that…?”

The two strolled off down the street. Alber turned his head to follow them for a second, frowning. That was the sixth day in a row they’d shared a meal together.

“When did they become friends?”

The [Fist Fighter] unconsciously flexed his hands, shaking his head. Girls. What could they possibly have in common? Then he trotted off to get some food. They had nothing to do with him, after all. He had a job to do.

He liked it.

—-

Fierre the Vampire noticed Alber going as she led Ryoka down the street. The Human girl was yawning. Fierre was not. She’d gotten six hours of sleep and that was all she needed. By contrast, Ryoka looked as weary as Fierre had ever seen her.

Granted, she had only known Ryoka for a few weeks, and only seriously watched her this last one, but it was a noticeable difference. Normally Ryoka’s heart would be pounding faster as she warmed up for the morning. Now, her pulse was slow. Sedentary. Fierre could see the City Runner also had messy hair.

“You didn’t get any sleep at all, did you?”

“Some. Like I said, it was a bad night. Not just because of Madain.”

Fierre nodded.

“Was that the first time you’ve seen that?”

“Hm? No. I saw it once before. He does that every other week, then?”

Fierre cast her gaze upwards towards the brim of her hat. She tugged it a bit lower with a cloth-wrapped hand. The sun’s rays were yet weak, but they still felt unpleasant on her skin.

“Nearabouts. Sometimes he has a dry spell, but he always has a fit like this at least once a month. He’ll go around smashing things, fighting with his friends—if they haven’t left already by that point—and cursing until he passes out.”

Ryoka frowned. She shifted her feet, stepping lightly on the cold paving stones in the morning. Fierre glanced about the street; she saw a woman fifteen feet away, rubbing her fingers together and blowing on them with the spring chill. Fierre could see a little embroidered flower on the gloves the woman took out as clear as if she were standing right next to the woman.

Ryoka groaned as someone threw open their shutters above them. Both Fierre and Ryoka stepped back fast; the chamber pot emptied over the side and Ryoka cursed up at the window.

“Use the toilet! That’s why you have sewers!”

The man in the window stared down. About to hurl down an insult, he paused when he recognized Ryoka.

“Up yours, Wind Runner!”

“Don’t make me blow that in your face!”

Ryoka glared. The man snorted, realized she was serious, and closed his windows hurriedly. Ryoka sighed. She skirted the splash on the road as Fierre hurried around her. The Vampire wished Ryoka had made good on her threat; she could smell blood in the piss and stool very clearly. Being hungry and disgusted wasn’t a fun feeling.

“And his neighbors don’t stop him?”

“What?”

Fierre glanced at Ryoka and then remembered their conversation. The Vampire opened her mouth, realized her canines were showing, began to cover her mouth, and then relaxed. She gave Ryoka a toothy grin instead and saw the young woman’s eyes lock onto her teeth.

“How? They complain of course, but the City Watch isn’t interested in trying to stop him. Sometimes they slap a fine on Madain, but he’s generally ignored.”

“Poor neighbors. Well, I know how he feels.”

“Who? Madain? Turn left here. There’s a [Baker] down this street.”

“Good choice. Does she do anything with vegetables? I need something green after eating another meat stew. I know you’re fine, but I need plants.”

Fierre grinned again, then covered her mouth when she noticed a [Laborer] exiting his house, his jerkin twisted.

“She does a very nice spinach-and-cheese puffed pasty. And I eat plenty of green things, thanks.”

“Frogs?”

Ryoka grunted as Fierre leaned over and shoved her lightly. The push was light, but Fierre had used her full strength, so Ryoka skipped a few steps before she caught her balance. She looked over at Fierre with raised eyebrows. The Vampire smiled, a thrill rushing through her stomach.

“Don’t insult me. I told you once.”

“So noted. Sorry. I am in a bad mood. It’s one of those days, you know?”

Fierre eyed Ryoka. She didn’t know. Moreover, she’d expected Ryoka to bite back as it were. Embarrassed now, she pointed.

“This is the shop. Miss Helma?”

The [Baker] had an open front to her shop, a window and a counter from which delicious aromas wafted forth. Ryoka eyed a basket of breads and instantly dug for her purse. Helma, whom Fierre knew from her [Laborer] job, came to the window at once.

“Fierre? And who’s your friend?”

“This is Ryoka Griffin, Miss Helma. The Wind Runner. We’re both here because Madain’s had one of his nights.”

Fierre spoke more carefully to the [Baker], keeping her lips closed and not showing her teeth where possible. Helma, a woman with a surprisingly sultry voice given her age, propped her hands on her hips. Dusty; she was baking, Fierre could tell from the heat emanating from the inside.

“That man is trouble. I’ve told you again and again, Fierre. You should find somewhere else to sleep! I’d take you in myself if I didn’t have children running about and my husband wasn’t coming in at odd hours. And—the Wind Runner? So you’re the young lady my children can’t stop talking about!”

Ryoka ducked her head, smiling ruefully.

“Hello, Miss. I’m nothing special. I just have a way with the wind.”

Helma laughed pleasantly.

“Could you conjure me a breeze, then? It’s hot in here, never mind the spring day. I dread the summer. But what can I do for you two? I have some pies, tarts, fresh bread, and if you wait, I’ll fill one with some fruit paste. That’s a treat my children love.”

Ryoka looked longingly at the breads on display.

“I heard you had spinach and cheese pasties.”

“Of course! Fresh! How many would you like?”

The tarts were still hot, and pleasingly plump. Ryoka bought six and one meat pasty.  Fierre was less hungry and bought some cheesy bread, which she liked. The two walked down the street, holding their hot food while Ryoka offered Fierre two of her vegetarian pasties for a bite of Fierre’s bread. The hot food filled their stomachs and before long, both were smiling.

“That’s better. Hey, Fierre. How bad does Madain get? Alber was suggesting he might come up the stairs and start taking swings at us. Should I be sleeping with one eye open?”

The City Runner let the wind pick up the crumbs she was dropping. A breeze was now blowing down the street, a nice cool one that passed right by Helma’s shop, Fierre noticed. The Vampire smiled and raised an eyebrow.

“Sometimes he does. But it never bothers me. Madain likes me, I think. And if you need help, I can handle him.”

It was a boast, but Ryoka didn’t give one of her snippy replies this time. She just smiled, bit into her meat pastry, and nodded.

“That would be welcome. Madain looks like he could snap Alber in half like a twig, barehanded or not. And I’ve seen him throw his axes. Myself, I think I’ll just jump out the window if he comes up the stairs. I think it’s not all his fault, though.”

Fierre paused. She looked at Ryoka quizzically.

“How do you mean? If you mean his friends—they’re not his friends. They only drink with him because he’s good for free alcohol. Once he starts talking about his team and the old days, they get lost fast.”

The young woman grimaced.

“I get that. What I mean is—I think he and I are a bit the same. I feel like we’re kindred spirits. We have good days and bad days, Fierre. Neither of us can help it. Some days it rains and pours, even if the sun’s shining. Sorry, I don’t know how to say it. It’s…a type of sickness. Only it’s all in the head.”

Now Fierre did pause in her tracks. She looked hard at Ryoka and sniffed. Sometimes you could smell if someone had been drinking, or—or anything. Her mother was really good; she could even tell if someone was using something like Smilingsand on an animal. Or other tricks to make them look better at fairs. But Ryoka smelled normal. Fierre’s eyes didn’t tell her the Runner looked any different. Disturbed, Fierre shrugged.

“Madain? He just drinks a lot. And you seem normal to me.”

The crooked smile Ryoka gave her was different. Not like the quick and brilliant grin she’d give at a comment that Fierre had learned to spot, or the relaxed grin of satisfaction. Or the not-a-smile she was so good at. This one was tired. But somehow, it also reminded Fierre of her father’s smile. Ryoka shook her head.

“I have a bad temper. And some days are tough. Don’t think too much into it, Fierre. I know my problems. I feel bad for Madain, that’s all. No one ever told him it’s not all his fault. But you’re right; the drinking probably does a lot of the work even on a good day.”

“Is that what this is? A bad day?”

“Oh yes. And I’m being careful today. So I’m warning you in advance, Fierre. If I’m snappish or lash out—”

“You’re anything but. Actually, you’re disturbingly calm.”

Again, Ryoka smiled and it was bitter.

“I’m trying to not do what I normally do. Believe me, if you gave me a gold coin, I’d go back there and try and kick Madain through his own privy door.”

Fierre thought about reaching for her belt, but the joke was childish. And suddenly, Ryoka felt a lot older. In truth, Fierre was the older one by a number of years. But…the Vampire cleared her throat and averted her gaze, embarrassed.

“I’m not bragging. I could actually take him down if I had to. Especially if he’s drunk. I think.”

“I know you can.”

Fierre felt her cheeks turn red. The heat wasn’t much, but given her cold body, it felt like a hot spot. She turned her head so Ryoka wouldn’t see.

She was so strange. Even more than Fierre’s normal friends had been growing up. Not only had she found Fierre out, she hadn’t flinched even when her mother had used her Gaze on her, and she had all those weird Skills that Fierre had never heard about. And she wasn’t afraid of Fierre for who she was. That was the strangest part of all. And the most welcome.

Sometimes she was combative, or challenging. But at other times, times like now, Fierre would say something that was a boast, and Ryoka would just nod. And when she looked at Fierre, the Vampire thought that Ryoka believed every word she was saying. And she still wasn’t afraid of Fierre, or filled with envy.

It made Fierre too much at ease around Ryoka. She had to remember the girl was a stranger. Her parents, Bamer, they’d all warned her to stay wary. Stay wary. Fierre bit her lip and changed the subject.

“About those people you wanted me to find…I haven’t gotten any leads. I told you it would take a while, especially with Magnolia Reinhart. And there are waves around her.”

“Oh?”

“Politics. A lot of people want information, so I’m trying not to let them know I want different information than the stuff they’re after.”

“Ah. Well, you have time.”

“I’m still looking. Don’t worry. It just takes a while for information. Uh…will you be doing deliveries? I’m going to spend an hour or two at my brokering job, but then I’m helping lay down a foundation by midday. So…”

Fierre hesitated. More people on the streets. She could smell them; feel the blood pulsing through their veins. Normally it didn’t bother her, but she was feeling more Vampirish than usual. Probably because of all the nighttime exertions. She’d have to have more of the goat’s blood for a midday snack.

“Do you—do you want to go for a run tonight? I’m free. We could race north again. Or you could show me more of those fighting moves.”

Ryoka’s lips quirked up.

“And you can throw me through a tree?”

“That was an accident. Really.”

“You’re too strong. And it would be fun to run. But—”

Ryoka studied the sky, and then shook her head.

“Not today, sorry Fierre. I think I’ll have a short night of it.”

“Bad day?”

“Exactly. Tomorrow should be good, though. Hey, I’ll see you later, alright? I probably won’t stop by to have my letters opened, though. If I’m not there in thirty minutes, there’s your answer.”

“Alright. Uh—get better soon?”

The City Runner nodded. She took off, jogging down the street while Fierre turned to go to the place where she conducted her information brokering. She paused to stare at Ryoka as she left. Exactly what did she mean? Sickness in the head? Fierre shook her own head, but she watched Ryoka as she left.

She was an enigma. But she knew who Fierre was and she didn’t flinch, even when Fierre gave Ryoka her best smile. And to the Vampire girl, that was as attractive, as fascinating as the sweetest blood. Fierre licked her lips. And then she disappeared into the shadows. She was already getting a tan.

—-

You’d never have guessed Ryoka was having a bad day. Well, this time. Before, Ryoka distinctly recalled telling Ceria to go to hell and picking fights with Minotaurs while trying to push Yvlon’s face in. Or just being unpleasant to be around. Had she punched Erin in the face?

Probably. So this time she watched herself as she entered the Runner’s Guild. Ryoka was bracing herself, because she knew she had more talking to do in this guild than in Celum’s guild, where Garia and Fals had been the only people to speak to her. But, strangely, the instant someone called out her name, Ryoka didn’t feel the instant surge of visceral resentment she normally did.

“Miss Ryoka! Good morning!”

Ryoka turned. A familiar face was at the counter. The [Receptionist] leaned over and smiled. Ryoka smiled back.

“Good morning, Alime. Anyone ask for me? Any emergency calls?”

It was the question she always asked. Alime shook her head.

“No, and no, sorry to say, Miss Ryoka. No one’s requested you by name, and no one’s in need of an emergency Runner. You’re first on my list, aside from the Couriers.”

“Well, that’s fine today.”

It wasn’t as if Ryoka wanted to be the first on call or she enjoyed those emergency runs. It happened more than you thought; someone needed an antidote from a high-level [Alchemist], there was a need for a lightning-fast delivery of gold, or perhaps a spice for a banquet, or…well, some emergencies weren’t really all that. But sometimes adventuring teams got into trouble. And Ryoka had cemented her reputation as the first person to call after the Pithfire Hounds had gotten into trouble.

It had changed a lot around the guild, actually. Some of the Runners waiting for their delivery turned in their seats. A few called out; Ryoka waved a hand. She was walking over to the requests board when another City Runner, dark skinned, short, perhaps even Dwarfish, caught her. He was chewing a lip nervously.

“Griffin. I’ve got a favor to ask. Let me take the delivery to Blaiseford. They’re asking for the fastest runner in the Guild, but I’m plenty fast and I need the coin. Call it a favor?”

He looked pleadingly at her. Ryoka blinked. Normally the rule was the fastest Runner usually got the contract. One of those rules she’d taken advantage of in Celum. Let’s see. What would she have said back then? ‘My contract, get lost?’ Sounded about right.

This time Ryoka forced a smile. And it wasn’t forced after a second.

“No problem. Todel, right?”

He nodded, relieved. Ryoka shook her head.

“I’m not looking for a big run just now. And Blaiseford? I did that a week ago. Miserable. Those damn swamps…”

That was all she had, but Todel grinned.

“They are disgusting. And those bugs—gah! But I know a quick route through that usually isn’t submerged even when it rains.”

“Really? Show me that and you can take all the big runs today.”

He grinned.

“Deal. Thanks!”

He trotted off, looking relieved. Ryoka walked over to the board, smiling a bit. She came back after a moment to the desk where Alime was working.

“Hey, Alime…”

“No deliveries suit you?”

Alime looked surprised. Ryoka shook her head.

“I’m not in the mood for a long run, or a big one. Can you tell me what quiet deliveries you have? Ones that don’t take me into [Bandit] territory or near monsters.”

This time Alime blinked. Quiet requests were common; it meant Ryoka wanted a safe, quick run that wouldn’t put her in danger so long as she stayed on the main roads and nothing unexpected happened.

“Of course. I have a few. I just never thought I’d hear you ask for it.”

“I’m low-energy today. What’ve you got?”

“Hm…let me plot you a route. How long do you want to run?”

“Uh—six hours? I could do an eight-hour circuit, actually. So long as I can take a break or slow down.”

“I think I can fit you into…”

Alime’s eyes flickered as she ran down a list of entries on the parchment in front of her. Ryoka had no idea how [Receptionists] like Selys did their job, but Alime actually earned her pay. She was plotting a route of deliveries such that Ryoka could earn money and do a loop ending at Reizmelt.

It wasn’t always easy, but the [Receptionists] at the Runner’s Guilds were expected to do just that when asked, as well as memorize all the latest updates on the condition of roads, monsters, things to watch out for…Ryoka had known none of this before now, because she’d never talked to a [Receptionist] other than to collect her delivery or get paid.

“Ah. Okay, I have you doing a bulk-letter delivery to the village of Nonsfru, passing by a farm with a small package for the [Farmer] there, and then you’re heading down a main road, doing two deliveries in the town of Ingli, before you pass by a hut—here—and come back this way. They’ll have a bulk-letter delivery reserved for you as you pass through Enam. Given your speed, it should take you six hours or eight if you’re stopping for longer breaks.”

“That’s perfect.”

Alime nodded. Then she frowned.

“Although…the pay for all the deliveries is low, Ryoka. These are all safe and non-priority. So unless someone’s tipping well, which I doubt, you’ll probably earn…six silver coins and eight bronze for the lot.”

She hesitated. That wasn’t a lot. Especially compared to what Ryoka could earn for the faster, harder jobs. A few bronze coins could buy you a small snack, and ten of them, a silver coin, was a decent amount of money, but enough for a pretty good meal anywhere you went. But six silver coins was low, especially for Ryoka. Even Street Runners could earn more than that pretty easily.

To Alime’s surprise, Ryoka didn’t blink twice at the quoted price.

“Suits me. I just want to run. What am I carrying?”

“Well, here’s the letters we have. Hence the low pay to Nonsfru. And here is a little package. The [Farmer] you want lives at a farm down the road from the village. The farm’s name isn’t listed, but if you take the south road and run for three miles…”

Ryoka Griffin listened to the directions, memorizing them, asking a question about any dangers on the road—a [Highwayman] spotted three days back, bears, nothing dangerous—and then she left, with the deliveries tucked away in her bag of holding. Quick and efficient. She didn’t need to fumble with a pack like the Runners without bags of holding, and she didn’t need a map. Alime sighed as she leaned over to her coworker.

“She was so silent when she first came in. I believed all those tales about her getting other Runners injured and stealing jobs. Now? I’m glad she’s about.”

Her coworker, a teenager who was learning the ropes, looked up.

“Do you know why she left Celum, Alime? It’s far from there. And I never heard of a hotshot City Runner who controlled the wind. The kids only started calling her that after she came here.”

Alime nodded, frowning mildly.

“I wonder. She’s not a Courier, but I wouldn’t mind challenging some of the other Runner’s Guilds for better deliveries. She can handle them. And that means more coin and traffic flow through our guild.”

“Don’t we get all the same deliveries depending on who’s closest? We’re all Runner’s Guilds.”

The other [Receptionist] looked puzzled. Alime sighed.

“Not at all. Think about it. Each Guild needs to deliver everything it has, promptly and quickly. Things like bulk letter deliveries can wait a few days. Even a week! But quick deliveries, and priority ones need to be done when they’re promised. So what happens if a Guild doesn’t have enough good City Runners to meet the demand, especially high-priority deliveries? Emergencies?”

“Oh.”

“Exactly. Bigger cities and bigger Guilds sometimes take contracts from further away because they always have enough Runners. Sometimes we lose contracts to Invrisil. Which means they get more funding and we don’t. So you’d better hope our Wind Runner sticks around.”

“Right. Good thing she’s not like the rumors.”

Alime nodded absently. She stared at the door Ryoka had left through, as another mud-splattered Runner walked in, carrying a chicken in a cage and looking very put out.

“Yes. But I did ask Celum’s Guild for a little dossier on her. And she’s different from what they said. She wasn’t when she first came here. But she is now.”

“How so?”

“Well—she hasn’t buried our guild in snow, for one.”

“…Do you mean, with a shovel or something?”

—-

Nonsfru was a village notable only for the name. And even then, it wasn’t exactly the strangest of names. It was a place you could miss if you sneezed twice while on the run. And it looked ordinary.

Perhaps—perhaps it had an [Emperor] living in one of the houses. Or the small mine that sustained the village was in fact host to a legion of Crelers just waiting to be unleashed by a careless pickaxe. Or all the villagers were werewolves. All these things could be true, but they probably weren’t.

And the farm three miles south of the village was a farm. It had one main corn field and a smaller, secondary field for a number of crops. But the main thing was corn. Somehow, despite the spring, one harvest was already in bloom. It was definitely a Skill, although the effect was limited, because the field wasn’t that big.

A combine harvester could roll down the entire field in less than a minute. On the other hand, you could probably feed all of Nonsfru with the corn from the field for a good while. And the corn was already ready to be eaten!

And such corn. The corn stalks were sixteen feet high, giants of their kind, and the corn was thick and heavy and the kernels looked like how you imagined gold looked, not like what it actually was. The green husks were practically begging to be pulled off to expose the prize. Which was coincidentally what had attracted a flock of crows at the moment Ryoka Griffin rang the bell at the fence and waited.

No one came out of the farmhouse just past the field, but the bell had scared off the crows. Ryoka eyed them and the lush field of corn as she waited by the gate. It was a big flock, to feast on an equally ripe field. And the corn!

It was an optical illusion that made the corn seem smaller. The field was actually on a gradient, so the corn looked shorter until you got close. But from above it was a target and the one scarecrow perched on the small hillock overlooking the field wasn’t scaring the crows off. The straw figure stood on the ground in front of the pole as the birds circled lower, lower—

And then up again, cawing in alarm as Ryoka rang the bell again. She waited, but there was no response and the crows began circling down. They were very wary, and so was Ryoka. But she had to do a delivery, so she hopped over the gate and ran up to the farmhouse.

“Excuse the intrusion! City Runner! Anyone home? I have a delivery for [Farmer] Lupp!”

Ryoka called out loudly as she approached the farmhouse. She knocked on the front door, tried the back, tried the front again, and then decided the barn was worth a shot. A single cow gave her a long stare as Ryoka approached the open barn doors. She stared back.

“Well, he’s nearby. You don’t leave a door open, right?”

She eyed the cow, who seemed perfectly content to eat hay rather than the lush grass outside. It wasn’t even tethered. The farmer was definitely close by. Had he gone for a stroll?

No. And he was very close. But Ryoka hadn’t spotted him. The Runner ran past him twice as she checked the farmhouse, the barn, and then the road again. Only when she noticed the way the scarecrow wasn’t standing upright did the figure transform from an object into a person. And then she saw him, standing in the field, watching the crows.

“Hey th—”

Ryoka broke off, because the scarecrow imitator was giving her a glare as the crows circled lower and lower. He didn’t move so much as a muscle. And as Ryoka stopped, the crows decided there was no threat and finally descended for their corn field feast. And as the first one alighted on a corn stalk, the scarecrow lifted the shortbow he was holding.

Ryoka heard a flitting sound, then a squawk and a thump. One of the bodies dropped from the sky and the other birds took wing at once, cawing in panic. The archer waved his bow and hand and shouted at them, harrying the crows off his fields. They fled, so fast that Ryoka saw several feathers float down as they took wing. She approached slowly; the [Farmer] still had his bow and he was giving her a long look.

“City Runner, are you? Where’s your seal?”

“Here, sir.”

Carefully, Ryoka dug at her belt and pulled out her seal of identification. The [Farmer] relaxed when she showed it to him. He nodded.

“Let me grab that bird and put this away. Be one second.”

He trotted off, bird in hand. Ryoka saw him disappear into the farmhouse and waited. Half a minute later, the [Farmer] came back.

“You’re Mister Lupp, am I right?”

“That’s me. Lupp. And here’s my farm. Sorry I didn’t call out to you earlier. Didn’t want to spook the birds. Took them long enough to come down.”

The [Farmer] trudged back towards his field. Ryoka walked after him, noting the man’s tanned skin, worn face—he had enough crow’s feet of his own, and he looked as weathered as his field. No overalls for him; he was dressed like a scarecrow, ragged, with bits of straw hanging out of his costume to complete the effect.

“Nice trick with the birds. Was it necessary, though?”

Lupp grunted. He stopped by his field and Ryoka saw him bend over. He dragged out the real scarecrow and propped it up; it was dressed exactly like Lupp, with a big hat to hide the head.

“Have to put the fear of death into them. Or else what’s the point of scarecrows? It doesn’t matter if I hit one anyways; just shooting will scare them off for a day. But they’ll be back. They always come back.”

He sighed. Ryoka reached out as he tried to hang it up. With a grunt, Lupp tossed the scarecrow onto the perch and secured it with some rope.

“Thanks. It’s first harvest what with my Skill and all. Plants started blooming before the frost had even melted off the ground. Hardy, my plants. And they grow fast. Have my work cut out taking them all in and replanting by the end of the week.”

“I see that.”

Ryoka eyed the massive corn stalks appreciatively. She had to crane her neck to stare up at the ones towering above her.

“This is an impressive field. But it’s your only one?”

“That’s right. I’m a one-man farm. I supply Nonsfru with corn, and some of the local [Traders]. You saw the village on the way here?”

He didn’t seem in a hurry for Ryoka’s package. And she wasn’t in a hurry to give it to him. She nodded.

“I passed by. But the village has several farms. I saw two, and they’ve got corn growing too. Not ripe, but—I’ve heard that a single farm can feed a city. If you don’t mind me asking, how can you make a living? I’m sure there’s stiff competition. Wouldn’t the big farms drive down prices everywhere?”

Lupp glanced at Ryoka in surprise. She shrugged.

“Sorry. Just a question I have. I’ll be on my way if you’re busy. I do have your delivery.”

She held it up. Lupp blinked at it.

“Ah, no, no. It’s no problem. I’m just surprised a young city girl like you’s asking. Not many folk your age think about how we survive. And to your question—sure, some of us have the Skills to feed a town, or even a city ourselves. But think of it. How many hands need to work on a farm as large as the ones you’re imagining? And aside from the effort of seeding, weeding, and watering say three dozen fields of different crops, fencing it off, plowing it, and so on, what happens when you put that many good plants together?”

Ryoka blinked. Then she cast her eyes towards the sky.

“Animals. Of course.”

The [Farmer] grinned, exposing a missing tooth, but very white teeth.

“And monsters. You think smart crows is bad? Try giant moles. Hungry Mossbears. Corusdeer herds that can burn down any wooden fence—and your house! Farming isn’t easy, even if you’re close to a city. Half of farming is being able to take care of the land you have. Protect it. Time was, a Level 20 [Farmhand] wasn’t worth half as much as a Level 12 [Warrior] willing to stay up with a sword at nights.”

“Really?”

“Oh, not my farm. Well, not often. But pass down a more populated road? Bah. I still have to watch out some nights for hungry travelers passing down my road. Good thing I have a Skill and sleep lightly. Still, idiots run when I shoot an arrow. Monsters don’t.”

“What eats corn?”

“What doesn’t eat corn?”

Ryoka thought for a second. Lupp nodded.

“And we’re growers. You think we have it bad? Try owning lots of livestock around areas with Griffins. You’ll watch the skies every day of your life. Everything likes a good steak. Trolls, [Bandits], damned Goblins…”

He waved a hand in disgust. Ryoka nodded without commenting on the Goblin thing. She didn’t know what she was doing. But she’d been chatty all day. And this was the first [Farmer] besides Wailant she’d talked to. And he seemed bored. She’d jogged all the way here. She was still tired.

“Me, I don’t do big fields. Small ones that grow and harvest multiple times a season, there’s the real beauty. Easy to guard, easy to plant. Best high-quality crops in the area. No magic dust in the soil, no spells. Just a Skill, fertile ground, and hard work. I have a bit of a name around here. People like my corn, and the [Traders]’d give me more coin if I didn’t sell just to the villagers. But I always keep some aside and they take what they can get. There’s always a want, even if the larders are full in the harvests. Say, where’re you from?”

“Reizmelt.”

He whistled.

“Isn’t that eighteen miles north of here? Bit of a run, even for a City Runner.”

She smiled. The wind blew and Lupp and Ryoka watched it rustle the field of corn. The swaying stalks were mesmerizing.

“I took it slow.”

“Still, it’s a long run. Here. Try my corn yourself and you can tell I’m not all talk and no stalk. Go on.”

Lupp reached up and plucked the nearest piece of corn from the stalk. Ryoka was about to refuse as politely as she could. And then she caught herself.

“Thanks.”

The corn was heavier than she was used to. A bigger yield, and when she pulled off the husk, she blinked down at the corn. It was huge. And it would have driven every genetic food scientist to tears if they saw it. This was a unit of corn. So, mindful of Lupp’s stare, Ryoka raised it to her mouth, and took a bite.

The field was very silent. The cow wandered out as Lupp and Ryoka stood on the edge of his field. Ryoka made very little sound as she chewed and Lupp just waited. After a few seconds, Ryoka turned the cob and worked her way down it. She chewed, swallowed, bit again, and repeated the cycle. Then she looked up.

“This is delicious.”

The [Farmer] laughed, and his voice crackled like footsteps rustling through hay.

“Good, right? Before I tasted the real thing, I imagined this was what gold tasted like. Well, they’re my golden fields. I may not have as much as the huge farmers, but I sell my crops to folk I know and they love it. What I keep from the animals, that is. Go on, finish it.”

Ryoka did just that. The corn wasn’t nearly as sweet as some of the stuff she’d had, but it was much more savory, and so good that she didn’t mind eating it raw. With that said, if you grilled it, added a bit of butter and salt? But she ate the entire cob there and then, never mind her breakfast already in her stomach.

“Go on and toss it. Helli’ll eat it.”

Lupp indicated his sole cow. Ryoka tossed it and the cow stared at her before turning her head and nibbling delicately on a piece of grass. Lupp laughed, and Ryoka smiled.

“Thank you. I appreciate that. Your corn’s the best I’ve ever had and that’s no lie.”

“Ah, thank you, Miss. That’s what a [Farmer] wants to hear after leveling up all his life.”

The man looked proud. Then he noticed the package Ryoka had set aside.

“That mine, is it?”

“Oh. Yes. It’s a delivery from Reizmelt. The sender is uh…”

“Kamine? She’s my daughter.”

Ryoka nodded. She handed the small, carefully wrapped little package to Lupp. The old man took it and Ryoka saw his wrinkles return. The laugh lines deepened, and his face sagged. For a moment.

“Ah. She’s good about sending packages on the regular. Every month at least.”

He looked happy to have it. But also sad. He hesitated, glanced at Ryoka, and opened it up. Ryoka blinked. The package had been small, hand-sized. It was, in fact, a whittler’s knife, a small knife with a short blade. It had a bit of cork protecting the head from cutting through the wrapping. Lupp looked at it.

“Nice bit of steel. I wrote to her that my old knife’d grown too dull. Hope she didn’t spend too much on it. This—looks good. Level 20 [Blacksmith], at least.”

He ran his hand down the whorled wood handle. Ryoka saw him stare at the handle, and then glance, just once, back at the farmhouse. She wondered what had happened to Kamine’s mother. And she knew she would never, ever ask.

Lupp cleared his throat after a second.

“I have a seal. Let me find it.”

He trudged back up to the farmhouse. And he held the whittler’s knife very carefully as he went in. Ryoka waited for a few minutes this time, before Lupp came back out.

“Sorry, sorry. I kept the place more organized when my wife was…around.”

He held out a dusty seal to Ryoka. One that identified his location as Nonsfru, the equivalent of a stamp. Only, Runners received them. Ryoka took the wooden token and tucked it into her belt.

“Thank you, sir.”

“I wish I could give you a tip. I would, but—”

For the first time in the conversation, anxiety stole over Lupp’s face. He flushed and Ryoka instantly held up a hand.

“No need for a tip, really. This isn’t a hard run. And the corn was good enough for any tip.”

“Still, you came all this way—”

“On a circuit. You weren’t the only delivery, believe me. And I’m not in a hurry. Today’s an off-day, for me.”

Lupp relaxed a bit as Ryoka gave him a reassuring smile.

“Eighteen miles is an off-day?”

“For me, it is. But I’m not working hard.”

“Oh. Injury? Or just tired?”

He peered at her bare feet and then stared for the first time.

“What’s happened to your shoes, girl?”

“I run barefoot.”

“You’ll step on a nail! Or have them torn up by rocks.”

“My feet are tough. And if you’ve got nails lying around, I’d watch your feet, boots or not.”

Lupp blinked, and then he conceded with another laugh. He shook his head.

“Eighteen miles. So what’s kept you from your real running, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He glanced at Ryoka. And she hesitated.

Here was the point where she could give him an easy reply, like she was tired, or resting, or even mention the Pithfire Hound’s rescue as an excuse. Anything would work; some answers would prolong the conversation. But only one was the wrong answer as she knew it. But that answer was the most honest. So she gave it, with a shrug. Something about Lupp made her want to be straight with him. And she so seldom was. So she was honest.

“It’s just a bad day. You know? I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. And I guess it’s following me around. My [Innkeeper] had the same moment. Last night he was tearing up the common room. Me? I just wanted to roll under my bed and stay there. You ever have days like that?”

She waited, her heart beating a touch faster. Fierre had just given her a blank look. But Lupp didn’t. The man blinked at her. And then he glanced around.

“Days when you wake up and the shadows are long? When there’s crows in the fields, but you can’t find the heart to chase them? I know those days.”

Something in Ryoka’s chest eased. And not just because Lupp didn’t look at her as if she was mad. Because, suddenly, they were looking at each other. With far more understanding than two strangers had any right to. All because of an honest moment. Lupp beckoned Ryoka over to a seat on his porch.

“You too?”

He gave her another smile.

“What do you mean, ‘me too’? I should be asking you that. You’re too young for days like that.”

“I don’t think it has anything to do with age.”

“It should. Old folk can have these days. But young ones? That isn’t right. You and the [Innkeeper], huh? Seems like the mood spreads. I wouldn’t know; I keep to myself. I can go a week without seeing more than a few people on the road.”

Ryoka glanced down his hill. The road that passed by his farm was empty. And it had been empty all the time they had been talking. She looked at Lupp. And she could have left. But instead, she continued the conversation she wasn’t supposed to have, the one she didn’t know you could have with a stranger.

“It’s not that bad today. I’ve had worse days. But—how do you do it? Deal with this kind of day?”

Lupp sat next to Ryoka. He stretched out his legs, groaning softly. Ryoka heard quiet clicks. And the [Farmer]’s voice was quiet as he looked across his land.

“Some nights are bad. Like when there’s rustling outside, and my [Dangersense] is screaming at me to make no noise. Those nights, and the day or days thereafter I bar the door and hold up with a knife in hand. Healing potion at the belt. If it’s real bad, I send a [Message] spell with a scroll. The worst time was when the team didn’t scare it off. And I found bits of them when I dared open my door.”

Ryoka shook her head. Lupp went on.

“Those are bad days. Terrifying. But the worst are the ones where I wake up like you. And sometimes the days become weeks. Sometimes I don’t know what to do. I think of Suzaine, or an old friend. And those moments are the worst.”

He looked at Ryoka. She nodded. She understood him far too well. Lupp glanced at her. Then down at his hands and up again.

“Used to be I’d drink too. Like that [Innkeeper] of yours. Drunk as a rat, was he? Thought so. I gave it up—well, I can’t say why exactly. Just grew too miserable. And it didn’t help. In the end, I came up with my own method. When I start staring at the shadows too much, when I stop talking to myself, I get out of the house. Leave the farm.”

He gestured to the gates, the wooden fence around his property.

“Sometimes I go to the road with a basket of corn. Or some bread I baked myself. Or I take a trip into Reizmelt. Other times, I get a letter from my girl, just like today. And I invite the Runner in if they’re the right sort. Never on a bad day. But sometimes I have to talk no matter what—I’m going to market. Or the times I do talk come back and hold it all at bay for a week.”

He smiled quietly.

“It’s all it takes. A friendly hand. Offering someone some corn and watching them smile. Even a good old cursing match with one of those damn [Wagon Drivers] who hit my fences when they’re drunk. It helps. Other times I just have to be alone.”

Ryoka nodded quietly. She watched Lupp’s face.

“I wish I’d done that. Or tried. I had people when I was younger. I just hated them. I wish I’d gone somewhere else. Tried something.”

“It’s easier when you’re out here. You can stay away when you have to. Not that hard. Worse in a city. Can’t imagine being an [Innkeeper]. Sounds like a shit job, so it does.”

“I can agree with that. Although, my best friend’s an [Innkeeper]. And she’s twice as nice as I’ll ever be.”

Lupp laughed.

“The good ones are like that. Although, I knew a devil of an [Innkeeper]. Hated everyone’s guts, but the man brewed the best ale I’ve ever tasted. Hung himself in the center of his inn one day. Used a keg of his latest batch of ale as a stepstool. Took himself out right in the center of the room so you’d see him as you walked in, just like that.”

“Yikes.”

“We found him the next day. Big stink it was, people thinking he was murdered. Turns out he wasn’t. Big stink. But you know what we did in the end?”

Ryoka didn’t have to think. She looked at Lupp.

“You drank the ale.”

“Of course. Were we going to let it go to waste? Best ale I ever had, too.”

He laughed, and Ryoka laughed with him. It wasn’t funny. It was just…funny. The two just sat and talked, as if they had known each other for years. At last, Ryoka stood up, embarrassed.

“I have to get running or I won’t get back before nightfall. Thanks. I didn’t mean to keep you.”

“From what? The corn will keep. And I enjoyed that. Here. Before you go, take some corn with you.”

Ryoka blinked as Lupp walked with her down to the field. He plucked eight ears off and handed them to her. She piled them into her bag of holding.

“You’re sure? These are so good—”

“Go on. Have a few. And boil them or crisp them up when you eat them. Call it a gift from one kindred soul to another. Your tip.”

Abashed, Ryoka ducked her head.

“Thank you. Oh—do you have anything you’d like to send to your daughter? I’ll be going back to Reizmelt. I could bring her some corn.”

Lupp drew in her breath.

“I don’t usually send by way of the Runner’s Guild. How much would it cost? Money’s tight—”

“Free of charge.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Give me four more ears, then. That’s worth silver to me.”

“Not gold?”

The [Farmer] looked pleased, mock upset, and grateful all at once. He cleared his throat a few times.

“I’d—I’d like that. You can get it to Kamine? Really? Could—could you bring her some milk? It shouldn’t spoil too fast, but—”

Ryoka grinned. She turned to face Lupp.

“Sir [Farmer], I’m the Wind Runner. If you want to bake her a pie, I’ll get it to her before it’s cool. Free of charge. Just dare me.”

Lupp blinked at Ryoka. And then he laughed and slapped her on the shoulder. She waited while he milked his cow, found a jug to hold the milk in, and listened to his message. She left the farm as the wind blew. And it did blow, a mighty gust that made the corn bend and rustle in the field. Lupp watched her go.

“Wind Runner?”

He stood on his farm and watched the girl go. And whatever day he might have had before this moment, it was better now. For him. And for her.

—-

Back she ran. Well, forwards and back. Ryoka completed the rest of her deliveries and ran faster than before. Not a sprint, but the wind was at her back. And each time she stopped or met someone on the road, she spoke for a little bit. If the client wanted it. If they weren’t busy.

Sometimes it was a remark on the weather. Other times it was a comment on the place, or just a greeting. And often, it was responded to with a curt reply, or a nonanswer that went nowhere. But sometimes, twice, her conversation turned into something longer.

The second time occurred on her way back to the city. Ryoka was running down a dirt road, fast. She was headed north, and she passed by a wagon, startling a group of children dozily riding with their parents. They laughed and clapped as Ryoka blew past.

“Wind Runner, Wind Runner! Make a tornado!”

Even twenty miles away from Reizmelt they knew her. Ryoka turned and the wind blew around her and the children laughed in delight as the mules pulling the wagon stopped in surprise. Ryoka raced past them. Then she heard an exclamation from behind and turned her head. Instead of the wagon, she saw a blur racing towards her.

Green and blue. A mounted shape. An armored warrior riding a horse, standing up in his stirrups. Fast as—Ryoka blinked. Then she turned, prepared to sprint off the road.

“[Knight] errant! No fear, Runner!”

The rider called. Ryoka relaxed slightly, but she kept a hand near her bag of holding. She kept running on the road, and the [Knight] caught up to her in seconds. Instead of passing, he slowed his horse. Ryoka, running at full-tilt, saw him glance down at her.

Was this a challenge? She gritted her teeth and sped up. She was nowhere near as fast as the [Knight], but the wind blew hard on her back. It did not do that for the knight, and Ryoka accelerated a half-step. She kept pace with the [Knight] for a hundred paces, then two hundred. At four hundred, Ryoka felt herself running out of steam, so she slowed rather than force herself to keep going. To her surprise, the [Knight] slowed with her.

“Need something?”

Warily, Ryoka slowed further, panting. The [Knight] drew almost to a standstill with his horse in response. He held up a hand and Ryoka took him in for the first time.

He was certainly a [Knight], or at least, he looked like one. His chest plate was a gentle green, while his shoulders and legs were a sapphire blue. His insignia was emblazoned on his chest—some kind of wheat stalk of all things. His charger was similarly adorned, and Ryoka saw the man had a sword and spear. Neither one was near his hand as he held it up.

“My apologies, Miss Runner. I mean you no alarm. I was simply impressed with your pace. Not many can keep up that speed, City Runner or not. You might have kept even with a regular horse. I am a [Knight] in service of the order of Clairei Fields. We prize speed above all. I tender you my sincerest compliments for the display.”

“Oh. Uh, thanks. It’s well-taken. Although you’d outrun me in any race.”

The [Knight] tilted his visor up and Ryoka caught a glimpse of pale indigo eyes. She blinked, but the [Knight]’s voice was calm, conversational even. He didn’t remove his helmet, but it looked locked into place.

“On horseback, perhaps. But you kept pace at a good clip. And with bare feet, no less! Tell me, is it some feature of your class? It seems dangerous at speed.”

“What? This. It’s just a hobby.”

“A hobby?”

“Yes, well, I do have the uh, [Barefoot Runner] class. But barefoot running is just a choice I make. I think it feels better, and I can run faster. You see, bare feet help my form. And you don’t actually step on that many rocks. Er…”

Ryoka slowed to a jog as she ran alongside the [Knight]. She gave him a quick pitch for running barefoot, and he listened politely. He nodded after she was done.

“Truly admirable. I’m almost relieved you weren’t a Courier, Miss. Or I’d have had to explain to my order why I was left behind by a barefoot runner.”

The said barefoot runner grinned and she caught a smile behind the visor. The Clairei Knight rode onwards, and after a moment, tilted his head to Ryoka.

“Miss Runner. I notice the wind has been blowing behind us steadily for the last few minutes. Unusual, but dare I ask—are you the infamous Wind Runner of Reizmelt I’ve heard about?”

“None other. Are people talking about me from that far away?”

Ryoka blinked. The [Knight] dipped his head.

“The children are, if none other! And where children talk, surely their elders at least whisper? I’m honored, again. And perhaps our meeting is fortuitous. You see, I have a delivery tasked upon me by my order. I am to hire a Runner in Reizmelt to bear a gift. And it occurs to me that none other than the Wind Runner would best represent our interests.”

“A gift? I can definitely do that. Is it priority?”

The Clairei Knight halted his horse.

“Not priority. But the circumstances around the request are strict. It is to be delivered tomorrow, just past morning to a precise location. Not far; within the city’s confines, in fact. To a [Lady] of some renown. The delivery is one of ceremony, I understand. My order has sent a number of my brethren and uh, sisters of the order to carry these gifts from city to city.”

“Why not deliver it yourself?”

The [Knight] sighed.

“I asked my order’s grandmaster the same thing. It appears that this is some matter of politics. Regardless, the fee is quite handsome, and I understand it would fall under a direct request.”

Ryoka’s ears instantly perked up. A direct request? That meant it would be something registered as a personal delivery. Her reputation could only benefit from having one of those under her belt. And free gold?

“If you don’t mind having a barefoot runner do the delivery, I’d be honored, sir. And I can spare you a trip to the guild. I can take your details and log the request when I return to the guild…”

The Clairei Knight brightened up when he heard that.

“That would truly be helpful, Miss Wind Runner. Sparing the effort of selecting a Runner for the delivery and journeying to Reizmelt would mean I could rendezvous with the rest of my order at another city. You would do me a great personal service. On that note, I have been remiss. May I ask your name, fair lady?”

“Ryoka Griffin. And I’m not that fair or much of a lady.”

“A damsel who rescues a [Knight] from distress is as much a lady as one that requires rescuing.”

It was prettily said, so Ryoka smiled and fished out a quill and parchment from her belt pack. She noted the [Knight]’s request, then handed him one of her seals so he could ensure the package was delivered exactly as he wanted and hold her accountable if need be. Not that it was necessary; it was a straight forwards delivery at a certain time of day.

“I’ll have the paperwork done the instant I return to Reizmelt, Sir Molte.”

“And that’s it?”

Ryoka nodded. Sir Molte sighed in relief.

“Excellent! My order seldom makes use of City Runners. Since we all have speed Skills, our junior members are often tasked as [Messengers]. I’ve had enough of it, and this after I was denied the right to join Lord Veltras’ army—but I shouldn’t complain. Thanks to you twice over for taking my burden, Miss Griffin! I wish you all the speed the winds grant you!”

He saluted Ryoka and flipped his visor down. She nodded and her turned his horse. The stallion took off down another road as she watched him go. Ryoka saw the Clairei Knight accelerate until he was a blur, and then disappear. She blinked and stared down at the very slim parcel she’d received from him.

“Don’t open until right before delivery, huh? Wow. I guess this was a coincidence and a half. Good luck for me, though.”

She smiled and kept running. And soon, she returned to Reizmelt. And after delivering some milk and corn to a very surprised daughter, who was a [Shoemaker] of all things, Ryoka successfully avoided buying a pair of shoes and returned to the Huntress’ Haven. And there she stopped a while. And thought.

—-

The Huntress’ Haven was closed. It had been closed all day and it continued to be closed, not least because there was no more sitting room. Madain had kicked some of the broken chairs and tables out of the way, but absolutely no attempt at actual cleaning had taken place.

Obviously dinner was cancelled. But Ryoka still stopped in the inn, and not for her room or to find Fierre. She walked to Madain’s room on the ground floor and knocked once.

“Get lost.”

“Madain. It’s me.”

The door stayed closed. Ryoka fidgeted. At last, the door opened a crack.

“There’s no dinner. Get lost or I will throw you out.”

A bloodshot eye stared at the City Runner. Ryoka tried to smile.

“I know. I thought you’d still be hungover. Here. I brought something to eat.”

She held up an ear of corn. Madain stared at it. Ryoka lifted the basket she was holding in the other arm. Some of Helma’s fresh bread was in the basket too, along with some tarts. Ryoka heard Madain’s stomach grumble.

“What the hell’s this?”

“Food. Look, we don’t have to eat together. It’s just something I thought you could use. I’ve—”

“Fuck off.”

The door slammed shut. Ryoka stopped, mid-sentence. She stared at the door. At her basket.

She’d spent thirty minutes coming up with something to say and buying all the food. Thirty minutes, trying to figure out what she’d say to herself. And he just—

Hot fury swept through Ryoka. For a second the wind threatened to gale, and she raised a fist, ready to kick the door down and break the damn basket over that ungrateful bastard’s head. Then she caught herself.

“No.”

Carefully, slowly, Ryoka looked around. She found a table, dragged it over, and even tried not to make the wood screech. She placed the basket on top, and turned. Ryoka glanced back once at the door and turned to go. She didn’t expect the door to open or Madain to say anything. And he did not.

“Fierre, you want to get something to eat?”

Somewhat grumpy, but oddly satisfied, Ryoka found Fierre as she finished her shift. The Vampire had been working as a [Builder] all day and she was covered in grit. She looked not the least bit tired, despite having hauled heavy bricks and stones about all day. She smiled at Ryoka.

“Sure. Steaks?”

“You can have them. Let’s find somewhere good to eat.”

And so they did. That was all there was to it. Ryoka sat with Fierre and they talked. Today’s conversation was about [Knight] orders. Fierre didn’t like them. Ryoka thought the Clairei Knight hadn’t been too bad, even if he had been slightly condescending. The Vampire girl didn’t agree.

“They’re all the sons and daughters of the rich. Usually nobility. Sometimes there are commoners, but you can’t trust all of them. It was [Knights] who hunted down my family. Dad hates them. Especially the old houses, like the Byres family. At least they’re just individual [Knights]. Orders are the worst.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Orders train their [Knights] in a system. You can get the class other ways, but an order has specific types of knight. Even special classes. They have…specialties. Clairei Field’s a larger order around here that specializes in speed. Not that they’re that much. Compared to Terandrian [Knights], most of Izril’s are lackluster.”

“How so? Are they under leveled?”

“No…but Terandria has ancient [Knight] orders. And they’re larger, better funded in general—they’re more depended upon. So the Clairei Knights aren’t much of anything compared to, say, the Order of Seasons. Speaking of which, did you see the Titan’s game in Daquin?”

“I heard about it. But I don’t have a scrying orb. Do you have video?”

“A what? And I do have access to a mirror. We can watch it—I hear it’s amazing. And you can see real [Knights], for what it’s worth. You see, they have actual specialized classes, like their [Summer Knights] or their [Knights of the Summer], I forget which one it is. They have unique abilities and…”

And Ryoka saw the game in Daquin. And she was suitably amazed, even caught with the scope of the battle. And worried. And by the time she tiptoed into the inn and fumbled her way upstairs into her bed, she was so tired she nearly forgot it had been a bad day. In fact, it even felt okay. Ryoka lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling.

“I did it.”

She’d gotten through a day without ruining something. Wasn’t that a victory? Ryoka thought about it.

She still felt miserable. But she clung to that thought. She hadn’t made anyone else’s day worse. And that was enough. So Ryoka slept. And the next day, she felt better.

—-

“Griffin.”

Ryoka looked up as she ate some runny eggs at her table. She glanced around the swept inn, at the few righted tables, Alber eating, Fierre eating bloody soup, and then at Madain. The [Innkeeper] still looked hung over, but he had made breakfast. And he was even speaking.

“Morning, Madain. Need anything?”

“No. I—”

The big man hesitated. He glared at Ryoka, and slapped more eggs onto her plate. She eyed them.

“The damn corn was good. And the other things. Thanks. Don’t bother with it again.”

He turned and stomped off. Ryoka watched him head into the kitchen. And she smiled. It was a small victory. She looked up and saw Alber and Fierre staring at her. Ryoka waved and both went back to their food.

“What was that about? Corn?”

Fierre stared at Ryoka. The City Runner hummed as she left the inn. Alber was already outside, putting on his gloves. He’d come back with a black eye last night.

“Just something I got from a run. I think it worked. Hey, Fierre. I have a big delivery in about twenty minutes.”

“Really? I didn’t hear anything about that.”

The Vampire was instantly curious. Ryoka plucked the thin package out of her bag of holding. Fierre’s eyes locked on it.

“Who gave you that?”

“The Clairei Knight I told you about.”

The Vampire looked excited.

“Really? Then I can definitely open it. I won’t charge you more than—”

“Whoa. I’m not opening this one. I’m delivering it honestly.”

Ryoka forestalled Fierre. The girl looked disappointed.

“But if it’s an important gift—”

“He gave it to me, and apparently any City Runner would do. I think it’s ceremonial. And I want to prove I’m good for some deliveries. Especially ones with [Knights]. This is my first personally requested delivery. Ever. So I’m doing it right.”

Ryoka smiled. Fierre sighed.

“Oh, fine. I have enough work anyways. Have fun on your delivery. Where’s it to?”

“Inside the city, believe it or not. To a [Lady].”

Ryoka smiled, even as memory pricked her. Fierre frowned.

“A [Lady]? But Reizmelt doesn’t have a [Lady].”

“Well, she must be passing through.”

“But that might mean—”

Fierre glanced up sharply at Ryoka. Then she clicked her fingers.

“I have to go. I think I have clients.”

She hurried down the street. Ryoka frowned at her, and tucked the slim package into her bag of holding. She’d get to see what it was right before she delivered it, anyways. She hummed softly as she strode to the Runner’s Guild.

“Ryoka Griffin!”

Todel strode towards Ryoka the moment she entered. Ryoka turned and gave him a very real and cheerful smile.

“Todel. How were the swamps?”

He clasped hands.

“As nasty as ever. But I earned my coin! I owe you one. And after this, I can buy you at least a round! Fancy a drink later today?”

“It’s not even morning.”

Ryoka glanced out the window. Todel chortled.

“A few drinks won’t kill you. Or a day off, Wind Runner! Listen, it’s all on me. I just got my first personal delivery and I’m ready to hit the city after I finish it!”

“What, really? Congratulations!”

“Thank you!”

“I got my first delivery as well. I met a [Knight] on the road and he offered me one.”

“What?”

Todel looked delighted. He slapped Ryoka on the back.

“Now that’s luck. Me, I think I was the only City Runner around when whomever it was made the request. That, or my run to Blaiseford really impressed someone. Either way—when’s your delivery?”

“Very soon. You?”

“Soon. But I’m not worried. It’s simple. Let’s have a seat. I’m so nervous—but I got the package tested and it’s straightforward. Some kind of lover’s token, I think. It’s—”

Ryoka held up a cautioning hand as they took a seat.

“Steady. I don’t want to know and you need to keep it a secret.”

Todel looked abashed. He ran a hand through his hair.

“Right, right. Sorry. I’m just so—Melodie! Come over!”

Another City Runner that Ryoka had been introduced to recently had just jogged through the doors. She made beeline straight for Alime’ desk.

“In a moment, Todel! I need to get my delivery. Is it here, Alime?”

“Right here, Melodie. Congratulations.”

“Thank you!”

The girl trotted over towards Ryoka and Todel. She had wild green hair and olive skin. It was apparently all-natural and the girl was always leaping from spot to spot. She had a jumping Skill that could let her reach the roof of a house with the right run up. She beamed at Todel and Ryoka.

“The Wind Runner! And Todel.”

“You’ll have to come up with a name for me soon, Melodie. Fancy a drink?”

Todel rubbed his hands together as he grinned at both of them. Melodie smiled.

“A bit early, isn’t it? But I’m up for it! And I’ll buy you a round.”

“No, no, it’s on me. I’ve got great news!”

“So do I. Guess what just happened last—”

The doors burst open. A Street Runner that Ryoka knew, a Dullahan of all people, burst into the guild, fastening on his head.

“I’m here! I’m here! I’m not late, am I?”

“Ghalim! What’s—”

Todel’s voice was drowned out by more Runners pouring into the guild. Six City Runners, eight Street Runners, and two other Runners that Ryoka didn’t recognize were hot on the heels of the Dullahan. They came in all at once and swarmed around Alime’s desk, shouting for their packages. Ryoka stared.

“One at a time! I have your packages! One at a time! Line up!”

The [Receptionist] had to shout until the Runners formed a rushed line. She began passing out packages. And Ryoka saw they were all the same size, more or less. The wrappings varied, and some looked…opened. But each Runner took theirs and checked it hurriedly. Some clearly knew what was inside.

“Todel. Miss Ryoka. Melodie. Good to see you all.”

Ghalim approached them, looking pleased as he tucked his package into his armor. Ryoka stared at it. The Dullahan looked smug as he glanced at the three City Runners. He was quick, but he’d been demoted to Street Runner twice for tardiness, Ryoka gathered. Normally he seemed troubled by it, but today he was positively bursting in his armor.

“You’re here early, Ghalim? Have a job already?”

“As a matter of fact, someone asked for me. Me. I’m about to do a personal delivery. How’s that for a morning, eh?”

The Dullahan puffed out his chest. Melodie and Todel looked astonished. Ryoka narrowed her eyes.

“A personal request? Congratulations, Ghalim! Ryoka and I just got ours. Is this some kind of luck or what?”

“Actually, I just got a personal delivery too, Todel. My second one.”

Melodie spoke up. Todel turned to her.

“What? But that’s—”

“Did someone say a personal request? I just got one!”

“Me too!”

The other Runners looked around. Ryoka leaned back as they crowded around the table. And she started counting. More Runners were coming into the room. And they all wanted the same thing from Alime. No—three didn’t want anything from her, but they looked like they had their packages already.

“Hold on. Hold on. Does everyone here have a personal delivery they’re doing today?”

Todel had to shout. The Runner’s Guild went quiet. Nearly every Runner in the room raised their hands and nodded. The partly-Dwarvish runner looked astonished.

“Is there some kind of huge event we don’t know about?”

“No clue. But I’m being paid well to do my delivery. Speaking of which, it’s nearly time!”

Ghalim pointed at the position of the sun in the sky. A number of other Runners nodded. Ryoka got to her feet. It was indeed time. But suddenly she didn’t feel so good. She looked around.

“Anyone else going on their delivery? Want to run together?”

The other Runners looked at her and nodded. Ryoka glanced at Alime. The [Receptionist] had noticed what Ryoka had. She met the Runner’s gaze, but didn’t stop Ryoka as the young woman jogged outside. And the other Runners followed her.

“I’m not going with you far. It’s just a short trip for me. Good thing too, or I’d be holding you back, eh, Griffin?”

Todel joked as he ran alongside Ryoka. She didn’t immediately reply. She headed down the main street and the others followed her. City Runners. Street Runners. They laughed. Melodie ran faster, next to Ryoka, grinning as the wind blew her hair from behind.

“Thanks for the wind, Ryoka! But we’re going to split at—”

She faltered as Ryoka turned right, off the main street. The other Runners blinked, but some whooped. They poured down the street, surprising the early-morning pedestrians who stared at the cavalcade of Runners as they followed Ryoka. The girl ran straight. And then she turned left, off this street. The crowd turned with her. And, suddenly, there was a lot less laughter.

“I’m going down this street. You?”

Todel looked at Ryoka. She nodded tightly. The precious package the Clairei Knight had given her was in her hand now. And she saw some of the other Runners taking theirs out.

“Down this street. And then—”

“Left.”

The Runners turned as one. They looked at each other and their steps slowed. There was only one street they could all be going to now. Gladwell’s Walk, one of the richest districts in Reizmelt. They looked at each other.

“Everyone?”

Melodie looked around disbelievingly. Ryoka just nodded. She tugged off the wrapping of her package, pulled away the delicate paper that had been secured with string. Todel’s eyes widened.

“But that’s—”

Silently, Ryoka looked around. The other Runners of Reizmelt stared at her. She saw the copy of her item in their hands, held delicately to avoid injuring the runners. Ghalim, whose hands were armor, stared at Ryoka.

“Is—is this a joke? But I was paid well. They asked for me by name.”

“Me too. I have a message to deliver.”

“And I—what do we do?”

Todel looked at Ryoka. She glanced at him and the others. They stared at her, the Wind Runner, as if she had the answer. Calmly, belying the tremor in her heart, Ryoka pointed.

“We do our job. Follow me.”

So down the street they came. Over twenty Runners, running in a group. The pedestrians stared. And the Runners came to a stop in front of a large, suburban…it could have been a mansion. Inside of a city. But there was even a lawn.

Ryoka’s heart was beating too fast. Her skin was tingling and she was shivering. She rang the bell at the gate and saw the doors open. The [Butler] stared as he spotted the crowd of runners.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“Runners. Here to call on the [Lady] of the mansion. We have a priority delivery.”

Ryoka spoke for all of them. The [Butler] hesitated as he slowly walked towards the gates. He counted and stared at all of their faces.

“Please wait. I will inform the mistress momentarily. Her company has just arrived. Please—”

He hurried back. Ryoka stared at him. She didn’t recognize him. But now the memory was washing over her.

A mansion in the city. A [Lady]’s request. A delivery to—

She saw the door close. Around her, the Runners shifted, looking uneasy. Todel was muttering something.

“…present to you…”

Ryoka stared at the mansion. A [Butler]. But she had [Maids], didn’t she? And she travelled a lot. And she was—

What had the [Knight] said? Politics. Ryoka waited. She had forgotten how to breathe. It couldn’t be. Did he know it was her? Was this all some chance? She waited. And then she heard a scuff. The door opened. The [Butler] reappeared, bowing, and someone stepped out of the apartment. Ryoka saw a flash of pink. Her mouth opened.

“Magnol—”

A pink [Knight] stepped out of the door. The word caught in Ryoka’s mouth. She stared. A pink…[Knight]?

Yes. The armored woman strode forwards and another one exited on the left, through the double doors. One was male, the other female. They marched as the sun shone off their brink, rose-pink armor, their helmets removed. Ryoka saw an older man, a young woman. And flanked between them, gracefully walking down the steps, a surprised look on her face was—

A stranger. Not Magnolia Reinhart. She was taller. Thinner. And beautiful. Not that Magnolia Reinhart hadn’t been beautiful, but this was a [Lady] among ladies. She wore a free, riding dress, slashed yellow and red, and her hair was short. She was younger than Magnolia, by a bit. And her voice was spirited, loud even. But captivating, too.

“What’s this? It’s a small army of Runners. Are they all here for me? Thomast? Thomast, come and look at this!”

Lady Bethal Walchaís clapped her hands together and laughed as the Runners stared at her. The [Butler] dabbed at his brow.

“I’m terribly sorry to disturb you, Lady Walchaís. I understand you’ve just arrived, but it seemed—”

“Nonsense! I’m delighted. Although I wonder who’s arranged this on my holiday of all things. Sir Kerrig, was this your idea?”

Playfully, the [Lady] turned towards the [Knight] on her left. The older man, who had a battleaxe strapped to his back bowed slightly.

“Not I, Lady Walchaís. May I suggest caution? This is unusual. Please allow me to inspect whatever is being delivered.”

“And ruin the fun? Oh, no. If no one’s [Dangersense] is going off, I want to be the first to see. Thomast! Come and look, dear!”

Bethal clapped her hands as she walked towards the Runners. Ryoka stared at her. She had never seen Lady Bethal before in her life. But she had something of Magnolia’s air. Todel bowed hurriedly as she approached.

“Lady Bethal of House Walchaís?”

He stepped forwards. Instantly, the female [Knight] reached for her sword. Todel stopped, his face pale. Bethal clicked her tongue, frowning.

“Lady Welca, please. These are Runners. Let the man speak.”

The [Knight]’s cheeks flamed and she bowed hurriedly.

“Apologies, Lady Walchaís.”

She stepped back, glaring at Todel. The City Runner gulped. He looked at the others and the words spilled out of him.

“Lady Bethal Walchaís, I have a small token for you. A—a mark of esteem from one of your colleagues. I beg to offer—”

He fumbled for the object he’d put behind his back and stumbled over his words. Ryoka stepped forwards. She felt Bethal’s eyes travel to her and felt a small shock. There was power behind that cheerful gaze.

“We beg to offer you this gift. A gift given to those who earn it. So bear witness to this lowly bloom, and let all who witness it know its significance. The smallest of things.”

So saying, she lifted the item in her hands. Slowly, as one, the Runners did likewise. Lady Bethal blinked as she saw the same small item held in each hand. Some of the Runners knelt, others offered it up like a gift from an admirer. And it was a lovely sight.

Dozens of black roses, the petals stained so darkly purple as to be black on first glance, rose in the spring air. Each one was delicate, freshly-plucked. Some were enchanted, so the dew still glimmered on the petals. Others were crushed by indelicate handling, Ghalim’s fist. More than one had drawn blood from the carrier. The thorns were razor sharp. But they rose, and the Runners knelt or bowed, holding the gifts aloft.

Sir Kerrig stared. He looked from flower to flower, and slowly relaxed his hand from the battleaxe on his back. He looked at Lady Bethal.

She had gone white. And she wasn’t the only one. Welca Caveis gasped. She stared at the flowers in horror, then began to draw her sword. The [Butler] had also gone pale. He backed away, into the house. Ryoka stared at Lady Bethal’s face.

“We beg to accept—”

“Who gave you that?”

The female [Knight]’s hand closed over Ryoka’s wrist. The young woman jerked. Welca’s eyes were blazing.

“How dare you. How dare—”

“Lady Caveis! Control yourself!”

Sir Kerrig snapped. His eyes darted from Lady Bethal’s face to the uncomprehending Runners. He pulled Welca back and she let go of Ryoka’s wrist.

“Lady Walchaís.”

Ryoka was afraid. She looked at Bethal’s face. The woman’s eyes were locked on the black rose Ryoka held. A thorn pressed into Ryoka’s skin, cutting into her flesh. She tried to shift her grip and cut herself. Red blood dripped down the stem.

“This is a gift? To me?”

Bethal looked from flower to flower. The Runners stared up at her. Sir Kerrig glanced at Welca.

“What does it mean?”

“It’s a message. A flower code. One of the symbols used by Izril’s nobility. But—”

Welca broke off. She was trembling. Melodie looked uneasily at her face.

“We—we don’t know what it means. Lady Walchaís, we were hired to give you this. We didn’t know it would be all of us. We swear—”

“Who?”

Bethal’s voice was quiet. She looked at Melodie. The young woman froze, her eyes wide. She’d stopped breathing.

“Who?”

“The Order of Clairei Fields sends this one.”

The gaze swept to Ryoka. The City Runner felt her heart freeze in her chest. Todel stuttered behind her.

“Lord Erill sends this one, Lady—”

He too froze. Lady Bethal looked from him to Ryoka.

“Who else?”

Melodie gasped.

“Lady Ieka’s. This comes from—”

She trailed off. But more Runners spoke up, their voices mingling together.

“Lord Sandic.”

“Lady Danica and her husband, Lord Vite.”

“The House of Averin.”

“The Indivu Estates.”

“Lord Pellmia.”

“Sir Ashca.”

“The Houses of Wekle, Kelid, and…”

On and on the names came. One by one. Each one with a flower. A rose, as black as could be. They were beautiful. But Lady Bethal stared at them with unblinking eyes.

At last the halting flow of voices came to a stop. The Runners stared at Bethal. She looked across them.

“I see. So this comes from my peers, does it? From orders of [Knights]. From noble houses. Do you—does anyone here know what this means?”

No. The Runners shook their head. Ryoka was staring at the flower. Now she saw it, she knew it had to mean something. A black flower. If you didn’t know flowers could be a language at court—no wonder Todel had thought it was a lover’s token. She looked up and met Bethal’s gaze. It was like staring at lighting. Ryoka looked down.

“The black rose. Perhaps only Izril talks with flowers.”

Bethal’s voice was the only sound on the street. The only sound in the world. She looked from flower to flower. And her voice was soft.

“In days past it meant something else. But that changed with the passing of decades. With the Goblin King. When he rode across Izril, these roses, rare and precious, were cut from their gardens. Did you know? They were sent to men and women. Across the north, after Velan had been slain. And half of those who received the flower died soon thereafter. Do you know why?”

No one replied. Welca was shaking. She stared at her [Lady]. Bethal slowly reached out and plucked the black rose from Ryoka’s hand. She lifted it.

“They killed themselves. Because everyone knew their shame. Never mind if they burned the rose, or hid in their homes. Because of what it meant. The black rose was a symbol of cowardice, sent to all the peers of the realm who fled, or hid rather than face the Goblin King.”

Ryoka’s breath caught in her chest. Bethal looked up. And her eyes glittered. Her lips curved up into a smile. As graceful as the curve as a flower’s petals. As dangerous as the thorns.

“This is a token from my peers. With it they’ve named me a coward. For siding with Magnolia. For condemning Tyrion Veltras at Liscor. They sent the black roses to me. Me.”

Her hand slowly tightened around the rose, heedless of the thorns. Sir Kerrig made a sound. He started forwards and stopped. Lady Bethal was looking at him. The [Knight] froze in his tracks. Slowly, Bethal turned. And her voice was very, very quiet.

“I fought in the Second Antinium War.”

Blood ran down Lady Bethal’s wrist. The Runners were held still. Lady Bethal went on. And her eyes were glittering like gemstones.

“I stood against Velan the Kind during the Sacrifice of Roses. My family around me and I saw the Goblins burn against the gates of First Landing.”

Tears fell from her eyes. Blood was already running down her arm. Dripping onto the ground. And still, Lady Bethal looked at them. Her voice whispered and roared.

“I was there. I saw them break on our swords. I fought, when the Walchaís line ended. In a single hour. The Goblin Lords rode through our lines and the Goblin King himself assailed us. But we never ran. We held our ground. We walked through arrows and flames with nothing but pride and we never stopped. We never stepped back.”

Water and blood dripped and mixed on the ground. Lady Bethal’s hand trembled, and the rose snapped.

“Gone. And we were gone. We walked through the night. And when the dawn came, First Landing stood. The Goblin King broke his armies there. And the world knew that the flowers of Izril were deadly as they were beautiful. I was there. I saw it all.”

She turned. And Ryoka bowed. Slowly, the Runners knelt. And they were not alone. The Rose Knights fell to one knee. And the people on the streets, children, adults, young and old, bowed. They knelt. And Lady Bethal wept. The bloody flower fell from her hand and struck the ground. She lowered her bleeding hand and looked away.

“So they call me coward. How many never stood with me? Who among them did? We were there. How dare they?”

No one could speak. Ryoka was trembling. Bethal looked around. And no one dared meet her gaze. She stared at the blood on her hand and then she noticed the water on her cheeks. She touched her tears and her fingers left a streak of blood. Bethal looked at her hand, and then she laughed.

The sound made Ryoka look up. She saw Bethal throw her head back and laugh. Shaken, the others on the street looked up. Lady Bethal Walchaís laughed. Her voice rang down the street as she laughed, as if it was the funniest thing in the world. Laughter as the tears still ran down her face.

Madness. And when the [Lady] lowered her head and the laughter faded, Ryoka looked up and saw Lady Bethal’s eyes on her. And she shuddered, because she saw a kindred spirit. Despair and laughter. A good day turned bad. Lady Bethal scrubbed at her face with one sleeve. Then she turned and smiled brightly at the City and Street Runners before her.

“So it goes. Thank you ever so much for delivering your gifts, dear Runners. I would invite you in, but I’m terribly pressed for time at the moment. Would you please return a message to your clients?”

They raised their heads uncertainly. Lady Bethal’s eyes sparkled. She smiled and touched a finger to her lips.

“I am sure my fellow [Ladies] have received the same rose. A symbol of contempt. A provocation. It matters not. It may be a taunt. It may be a message. I do not care. I am Lady Bethal Walchaís and this rose means more than any word, any gesture they could imagine.”

So saying, Lady Bethal turned. She clapped her hands lightly, and her two [Knights] rose. She called into the house, to a man who stood silently behind her.

“Thomast, dear? Bring your good sword. And someone fetch me an axe. I am going to murder a good number of my peers. My Knights of the Petal? Arm yourselves for battle and mount up. Oh, and Runners? Here is the message I wish you to return to your clients.”

Lady Bethal turned. And her blood fell on the ground as the black roses fell and broke. Bethal’s voice never changed a beat as she met Ryoka’s eyes.

Madness and sadness.

“Tell them that this is war.”

6.26

War. Was it just her, or was there too much war? Both in her world and here. Not a day passed when Ryoka didn’t hear about the King of Destruction in Chandrar, or about some conflict in Baleros between companies. A spat in Terandria between kingdoms.

Battles at sea. Dead gods or living ones, wasn’t there enough with just monsters? But then again—

There she stood. Tears still ran down her cheeks. And she was still weeping. But she had promised war and death. With a smile, no less. She had commanded her [Knights] to war just like that. And she was like Ryoka. That was what the young woman felt.

Lady Bethal Walchaís. She stood in the middle of the street, the solo actor in a play where everyone was the audience. And Ryoka had a terrible, hideous urge to laugh at that moment, while Bethal’s words were still ringing in her ears.

Not because Ryoka didn’t believe Bethal was serious. Or because she couldn’t fathom what Lady Bethal was talking about. She had forced a street to kneel with her presence alone. As she had spoken about the Sacrifice of Roses, Ryoka had felt the pain and loss and as if it had happened to herself. A fragment of the agony Bethal was giving off.

It was like heat. Yes, like heat. If Bethal was the center, then the heat was radiating off her. But instead of heat it was pain. That was what her aura felt like to Ryoka. Pure, concentrated emotion. And still, Ryoka wanted to laugh.

Because it wasn’t funny. Not really. Not at all. The black roses lay on the ground, amid the blood dripping from Bethal’s hand. And the tears. And that wasn’t funny at all. But if Ryoka didn’t laugh, what else could she do? She had not been there.

Bethal turned, her face a mask of tragedy underneath that polite, eerily cheerful smile she’d adopted. Her [Knights] looked at each other. And Ryoka waited for blood and carnage, perhaps starting with the petrified runners standing in front of Lady Bethal. But at that moment a second actor strode onto the scene. Stage…center. He came out of the mansion behind Bethal.

“Thomast. There you are. Where were you?”

Bethal turned to him. Ryoka saw a man dressed in a light red coat and long, black breeches. His hair was yet unmarked by gray; it was a warm black, and he had decided a mustache would be his only nod to facial hair. His eyes were a mix of yellow and green and he walked with a long, unbroken stride. Cat-like, one might say, but Ryoka had seen cats wipe out spectacularly. This man walked as if he knew where each step would go exactly. And he carried a sword, a long and thin dueler’s blade, at his side.

“Bethal. My apologies. I was seeing to our luggage. What happened?”

His voice was quiet. Lady Bethal turned to him. Her smile trembled on her lips.

“Thomast. Did you hear me? I said, I need an axe. And I want to summon all my Knights of the Petal. We’ll ride on the nearest house. Which is it? Never mind. We’ll start with House Averin and work our way down. I want to kill at least six of my peers by midnight—”

The man looked at her. And then at her hand. He reached out and caught Bethal’s wrist.

“You’ve cut yourself. Lady Welca, a healing potion.”

The female [Knight] started and fumbled at her belt. Sir Kerrig, the older man, was faster and handed Thomast an opened vial. He poured some of the liquid on Bethal’s hand. Three drops, and the deep cuts left by the thorns were gone. Bethal stared up at Thomast.

“Did you hear me? I said—”

“Black roses. I heard your voice. So that’s why.”

Thomast studied the ground. His eyes passed over the Runners and they flinched, but Thomast had none of the fire coming off of Bethal. The [Lady] glared.

“Yes! They sent them to me. To me, Thomast. Do you see it? Do you see what they dared to do?”

“I see it.”

“Well? What are you going to do? I know what I shall do. You, [Butler]. An axe. This mansion has one, doesn’t it?”

Bethal clicked her free hand at the [Butler] hiding behind the door of the mansion. He jumped and stammered.

“An—an—”

“I rented this mansion for the week. If it does not have an axe, I will burn it to the ground. I want one in front of me. Axe. Now.”

Bethal’s voice snapped as she lost the last veneer of patience. And this time the snap in her voice was like a whip. The [Butler] jumped, then ran into the house. Ryoka felt a prickle down her spine. So that was a [Lady]’s ability to command. It was eerily similar to Magnolia’s charm Skill, only more direct. For a second Ryoka had been about to run and find an axe herself. No, this wasn’t Magnolia’s charm in fact. It was closer to Teriarch.

“Good, good. Now, I want my Knights of the Petal armed. Sir Kerrig, grab that battleaxe. Lady Welca—”

“Bethal. Wait.”

Thomast captured Bethal’s other hand as she pointed at her [Knights]. The woman halted and glared up at him.

“Are you still catching up, Thomast? I said—”

“I heard you. And I’m afraid I must object.”

“Object?”

Now Ryoka felt a prickling sensation in the air. Bethal looked up at her husband and the air around her felt like thorns. It was so real that Ryoka and Todel, who were closest to her, shifted back. Thomast, who was right next to his wife, nodded.

“You’re not thinking straight, Bethal. You can’t repay this with blood.”

“I can and will. Don’t try to talk me out of it—”

“Give me one hour. At least to prove these were sent by everyone who named themselves.”

“You want to prove it? Why? No one else would dare appropriate so many names, not even Magnolia herself! And I will question my peers when I meet them face-to-face. Politely. And if they lie…let go of my hands, Thomast.”

The thorns were growing stronger. Thomast, however, was undeterred.

“Not until you promise to wait for one hour.”

“Why? So I can cool down? I won’t. Let go of me, Thomast. I won’t warn you twice.”

Bethal tugged at Thomast’s hands. He didn’t budge.

“No. I insist, Bethal. An hour’s all I ask. We’ll go for a…walk.”

“A walk?”

She hissed at him. And suddenly, the thorns in the air around her become real. Ryoka shouted in pain and Todel howled. Both stumbled back. Ryoka stared at her legs and grabbed at the thorns that were buried there. She saw nothing—until blood started running from several holes in her legs. Long, deep cuts. Todel was clutching at his arm. The shoulder he’d turned towards Bethal was running with blood. From sharp cuts much like Ryoka’s own.

The other Runners stared at the two in horror. They drew back fast. Bethal turned to glare at them and Thomast, who hadn’t moved, sighed.

“You’re injuring them, Bethal. Pull back your aura.”

The woman glared. But the thorny feeling around her faded just a tad so the thorns were imaginary instead of simply invisible. Ryoka grabbed a potion and splashed it on Todel’s arm and then her legs. To her relief, the wounds healed at once.

“They deserve it. They sent the roses.”

Lady Bethal’s voice was still furious, but a slight tone of guilt was layered underneath. Ryoka saw Thomast’s eyes flicker as he glanced at her and Todel.

“I imagine they had no idea what they meant. Bethal, a walk.”

“You won’t let go of me until I agree?”

Bethal stared up at her husband. He nodded.

“Then I agree. Let me go.”

“Promise.”

“I promise.”

He sighed.

“Promise me on our wedding vows.”

Bethal’s cheeks flamed. She turned her head; the [Butler] was running back with a wood chopping axe. He came to a halt, panting madly.

“You don’t trust me?”

“I trust you implicitly. Your word, not one bit. Swear to me on our wedding vows, or on House Walchaís’ name.”

Bethal glared at her husband.

“And if I don’t want to swear? I can stand like this all day, you know.”

She kicked her husband, disproving her statement instantly. Thomast didn’t move. He bent his head.

“Bethal.”

“I won’t. Choose something else, Thomast.”

Another kick. He nodded slowly.

“Then swear it by the Sacrifice of Roses. By their honor, an hour’s time. Or you will do disgrace to their honor.”

Lady Bethal went white. Her hands trembled in Thomast’s grip. She spoke slowly, and so quietly and deliberately, Ryoka instantly looked up in alarm.

“I swear. Will that do?”

Thomast nodded silently. Ryoka opened her mouth to tell the man not to let go of Bethal for any reason, but it was too late. The fool let go of Bethal. Instantly, she raised a hand and slapped Thomast across the face.

Crack. The audience on the street winced and Thomast’s head turned slightly with the blow. He didn’t move, though. He looked down at Bethal.

“An hour, Bethal. And a walk. Or at least come inside. This isn’t the right spot.”

He gestured towards the mansion. The [Butler] backed off with the axe as Lady Bethal turned her head. She was breathing hard. She raised a hand again, glared at Thomast, and then whirled.

“Fine.”

She strode into the house without a second word. Ryoka was impressed; Thomast didn’t even rub his cheek as he turned to the [Knight] on his right. The man bowed to him slightly.

“Sir Thomast, I regret my inaction.”

The man shrugged slightly. He touched the handprint on his cheek ruefully. So he had felt that.

“She is your [Lady]. And my wife. Nevertheless. I understand the black roses. I take it these Runners delivered them?”

He glanced at the Runners outside the gates. Sir Kerrig nodded slowly. The shorter, young woman also dressed in pink armor glared at Ryoka and the others. Her hand tightened on a longsword at her side.

“Sir Thomast, your orders?”

“I’ll attend to Bethal. In the meantime, Sir Kerrig, take Lady Welca and conduct an investigation of Reizmelt’s Runner’s Guild. Ensure that these flowers were indeed sent by those named. I’ll try to persuade Bethal to wait until—”

Ryoka heard a clatter of hooves and turned left just in time to see Lady Bethal riding around the side of the mansion. She was mounted on a speckled, pale grey and white mare, already saddled. Thomast looked up at her. Bethal stared down at him innocently.

“A walk, Bethal.”

“I only promised to wait an hour. And I’ll be having my walk on my own, Thomast. My [Knights] are free to accompany me.”

“Lady Walchaís, wait!”

Sir Kerrig and Welca instantly turned towards the stables. Bethal ignored them and began to trot off. Thomast made an exasperated sound for the first time. He turned to Sir Kerrig.

“The Runners. I’ll follow her.”

“You will not!”

Bethal glared. But Thomast had already disappeared. One, two, three—each step carried him twice as far as a normal man’s stride! He was around the side of a house in a second. Ryoka blinked. That was quick! And in a moment he was on horseback and riding at Bethal.

“Bethal—”

“I don’t want to hear it!”

Bethal turned and wheeled her mare around. She dug her heels into her horse’s sides and the mare took off. Bethal galloped past Ryoka and the Runners who sprang out of the way. Thomast was hot on her heels. Ryoka heard him call at Bethal to slow down. The [Lady] replied with a curse Ryoka had heard Relc shout once.

They were out of sight in a moment. The pink [Knights], the [Butler], still holding the axe, and the citizens of Reizmelt watched them go. Ryoka stared around, and then looked at Todel’s white face.

“Who was that?”

He grinned at her, the blood still drying on his arm. Sir Kerrig, the [Knight] in the pink armor turned back to Ryoka. His expression suggested chagrin. Welca’s suggested violence.

“That was Lady Bethal Walchaís, Miss. Last of her line. All of you remain here. I have some questions to ask you. And I believe I will need directions to your Runner’s Guild.”

He didn’t put a hand on the huge battleaxe strapped to his back. And the young woman didn’t actually draw her sword. But no one decided to run away. Ryoka stared at the place where Lady Bethal had been, and then at the blood and the black roses on the ground.

Lady Bethal. The last few minutes said it all, really.

—-

Six people on the street weren’t part of the scene, the drama as it unfolded. Or rather, if they were, they weren’t members of the audience, but the supporting cast. They watched as participants, not as observers. And they spoke quickly in the moments after Lady Bethal had galloped away.

“Damn. How’d she get mounted that fast?”

“They just arrived. Why couldn’t they have timed it later?”

“Never mind that. I had a clear shot at her. Why did you block me? The order was to make it public.”

One of the six hissed at the other. A distinctly female voice replied to him, although all six were hooded. And it had to be said, six hooded figures were usually the opposite of invisible—unless they were standing at the back of the crowd that had watched Lady Bethal’s speech. They were getting a lot of looks. One of the six shifted, distinctly aware of how unprofessional all this was.

“I blocked you because it was a bad shot. She was moving. And even if you’d hit, her husband and those bodyguards would be on us in seconds. You think we could take them?”

“There are six of us.”

The angry one was now sulky. The female glared out of her hood.

“Against two [Knights]? Are you mad? Wait until they’re alone. We’re getting paid for the attempt, but the bounty on either one is a hundred times that.”

“Fine. Looks like the [Knights] want those Runners, anyways. Suits me.”

Four of the hoods nodded. One of them was less sure.

“There’s still the husband. He’s a known duelist, isn’t he? The [Chevalier] Thomast. I know he has an enchanted blade. And he’s probably got other equipment.”

“So? There are six of us. One of him. And he may be a [Fencer], but he has no bell. He’s just good for a [Lord]. We can do it.”

The other five nodded. They slipped backwards, again, attracting a number of looks. They weren’t very professional. They were in fact, rookies. But they were still [Assassins]. Which meant that they were somewhat good at their jobs. They followed the horses out of the city. After stopping to rent six of their own.

It really was unprofessional.

—-

Lady Bethal rode south out of Reizmelt like an arrow. She didn’t stop at the gate, and she didn’t bother avoiding the people on the road. They avoided her. Bethal furiously urged her mare forwards, taking to the main road and sticking to it. And she was being pursued.

Thomast Veniral, [Chevalier] and husband to Lady Bethal rode his stallion after her with dogged determination. She had a few seconds on him, but both their horses were excellent. And while she was the better rider of the two, he was dogged and neither had riding Skills. So she failed to lose him in the first, frantic ten minutes.

Bethal rode furiously, but even in her fury, she couldn’t bring herself to harm her horse, so before the animal could tire or risk a fall or injury, she slowed the mad gallop. When she did, Thomast caught up. Breathing heavily, she glared at her husband.

“Go away.”

“I can’t do that, Bethal. You’re unprotected by yourself.”

“Get Kerrig, then. And Welca.”

“They’re investigating the origin of the roses—”

“Leaving you with no choice to follow me, is that it?”

Thomast quietly slowed his panting stallion. He looked at Bethal and shook his head.

“There’s no place I’d rather be.”

She glared at him. The stare bounced off Thomast. After a second, Bethal lightly moved her reins. The mare trotted forwards, down the road.

“I’m not going back to Reizmelt. I’m going for a ride. An hour, you said? I’m going to ride for an hour. Unless you have a problem with that?”

The look in her eyes dared Thomast to say anything. He only nodded.

“A ride is as good as a walk.”

Bethal turned her head and made a disgusted sound. She rode on, and Thomast followed her.

South, down the road. There were too many people for Bethal’s taste, so at the first juncture, she took the road less travelled by. Further away from eyes. The first few minutes were just streaming fury on her side and Thomast quietly waiting. His stallion snorted and kept edging closer to the mare, who wanted to walk closer to the stallion. Bethal on the other hand kept moving their horses apart, but animal magnetism drew them together again and again.

After the umpteenth time she’d moved her mare back, Bethal spoke abruptly.

“I know they sent them. All of them. Sir Kerrig will find that out. It’s obvious they were the ones who sent the roses. It wasn’t a ruse.”

“You are most likely correct.”

Her eyes flashed at him.

“I am correct. And when I meet them, I will cut off their heads. Each and every one of them. How dare they, Thomast? How dare they?”

He didn’t reply. She glared at him.

“Don’t you think they deserve it? Don’t you? They called me a coward! When my family, my brother and father and mother all died there! Where were they, Thomast? Where were they?”

She screamed the words, scaring a passing traveller nearly off his horse. Thomast didn’t reply. Bethal cursed and turned down another road, going further away from a larger settlement.

“I’m going to kill them. And you won’t stop me. I won’t calm down. An hour? You can make me wait a year and I won’t forgive them. Ever. They’re going to die.”

“Of course, Bethal.”

She turned her head.

“You can’t trick me. I am going to pick up that axe and do it myself. Do you hear me?”

“Yes. I do.”

His calm reply only incensed Bethal even more. She screamed at him, her hands tight on the reins.

“Are you even listening?”

Her mare stopped, alarmed. Bethal glared at her mount and kicked it to make it move. Thomast patiently soothed his stallion as the horse rolled its eyes back at its master. When Bethal had gotten her mare to keep moving, Thomast cast a glance at the sky. Clear weather and gentle winds. It was at odds with Bethal’s screams. But there were less travellers. He cast a glance on the road behind him, frowning for a second. Then he turned to Bethal.

“I’m listening. Don’t forget the children.”

“What?”

Bethal was breathing hard. Thomast fingered his mustache.

“When you cut off their heads with the axe yourself. Don’t forget the children.”

That brought her up short. Bethal turned to glare at Thomast. She opened her mouth, made a fist, and turned her head.

“Only the adults, then. Only their damned parents.”

“Of course. We can ensure the children find another home. They can grow up by themselves.”

Bethal flinched for a second. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. She spat it out after a moment.

“Don’t talk me out of it.”

Thomast nodded. He rode along in silence as Bethal healed her lip with a healing potion. Then she spoke up.

“Someone put them up to it. Who? I’m going to kill that person. I will.”

He waited. Bethal glanced at him. She was breathing less heavily now, and her cheeks were less flushed.

“I know what you’ll say! You’ll say this is a trap to make me attack them! Or—or to lose my temper! I am completely calm! But would you stand by while your family’s name was insulted? While you—you’re not a [Lord]. You have no idea what kind of an insult this was!”

“I do not.”

Thomast steadily met Bethal’s glare. She turned her head. Her mare accelerated as the [Lady] urged her to go faster. Thomast caught up after a second. Bethal was breathing hard once more.

“I didn’t mean that. I just meant—they died there! They died and these ungrateful leeches are accusing me of—of—”

Bethal made an inarticulate noise. She hit the saddle horn in front of her, shouting and crying. Her mare again stopped in alarm. Thomast reached over, but Bethal yanked away from him.

“I won’t forgive them! I won’t ever forgive them!”

He nodded. Bethal urged her mare forwards. He never lost her. After her outburst, she was furious. And then, a minute later, crying.

“I still dream about it, Thomast! They were there. And after that Goblin Lord—how dare they? How could they? Mother and father. I was right there. And then the Goblins were—”

She pointed a trembling finger, at spaces and at a time only she could see. Thomast waited. He listened as Bethal’s voice changed to horror. Pain. Fear. And then fury once more. He listened as she vowed fury and bloodshed.

After half an hour, she was crying again. In ten more minutes, she was raging. Furious. The horses continued down the winding trail, halting and stopping. And Thomast listened. Sometimes he spoke, but not to say much. He just waited, as Bethal’s swings between fury and grief grew less and less. He looked at his wife and saw both emotions taking their toll, tiring her.

Was it madness? Insanity, as some called it? The fragile female ego overloaded by grief and past trauma? Thomast had heard it all said, usually behind Bethal’s back. And even then, never to his face. Not anymore. Some were afraid of the last daughter of House Walchaís. But she had never been terrifying to Thomast.

She was, and had always been just Bethal. And she was weeping again, so he dismounted and offered her a hand. They had gone a long ways, and the road had become completely empty around them. They were in the proximity of a rural village, having passed around it twenty minutes back.

“Come on down. Let’s walk and give the horses a chance to rest.”

Bethal hesitated, but dismounted. She was crying now. And now Thomast let her slide down. He held her for a second.

“Thomast. Do you think they’re right?”

He looked down at her. Bethal blinked up at him, her face a mess of tears and snot. Thomast gripped her arms.

“They are wrong.”

She paused. Now she was looking at him. And now that she was, now that she was listening, Thomast hugged her. She buried her face in his tunic.

“They’re wrong, Bethal. You know that.”

She gripped him tightly, crying into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry I hit you. I’m sorry. But the flowers.”

“You have every right to be angry. You just can’t kill them. It’s a trap. You know that.”

“I know. But—”

That was all she said. But. Thomast squeezed her harder. And she clung to him as if they were the only people left in the world. If only that were true. The [Chevalier] looked around, speaking quietly to Bethal.

“They’re wrong. They weren’t there. And they will never know what it was like. I don’t. You don’t have to forgive them. Just don’t let them trap you.”

“Why the black rose? Why that, Thomast?”

Bethal’s voice broke. Thomast shifted, feeling his rapier moving at his side. He glanced around.

There was no one about. They’d come far, and a little farm was the only thing nearby. A field of crops, a scarecrow at rest…the air was still as Thomast turned to face Bethal. She stepped back a tiny bit and stared up at him. She’d wiped her face onto his damp shoulder. Now she looked even more beautiful. He felt his heart squeeze. He let go of her with one hand and put his hand at his side.

“Someone must have asked them to send it.”

Bethal nodded. She sniffed hard, and her voice took on a hint of normalcy. For the first time, she frowned as she thought. A few residual tears squeezed themselves out of her eyes, but she was done crying.

“Not Tyrion. But who? The Circle of Thorns? Damn them. And damn Magnolia for pulling us into it. She plays her games and she always gets what she wants. This is her fault.”

“You agreed to help her.”

“Because the alternative was war with the Drakes! You heard her!”

Thomast stepped back as Bethal glared. He put a hand on the hilt of his rapier.

“I think it was the correct decision. But you knew there would be consequences.”

Thomast turned his head as he spoke. He stared backwards, at a distant stand of trees, and then eyed the trail around them. Bethal sniffed again.

“But this? Am I supposed to lie down and take this? Really, Thomast?”

“No.”

The man raised his voice. He looked around and then turned to his wife.

“Bethal Walchaís. I love you.”

She stopped. And stared at him. Thomast spoke only to her as he slowly drew the rapier on his right side. He stepped closer to her, and his voice was steady.

“I am not much of a man for words. I don’t know anything else but how to fence. And I am no master at that, just a student. But I do love you. If you go to war, I will be your sword. If you seek the stars, I will learn to fly. That is what I’ve always pledged.”

She looked at him, wide-eyed. She reached out, but Thomast held up a hand. He turned his head.

“Step back, Bethal. You six, come out.”

The [Lady] turned as he pointed with his rapier. The shadows on the road shifted. Six shapes appeared. One stood up, having crawled for a hundred feet in the grass. Another had slipped from shadow to shadow until he’d lain by the road’s side. Two more appeared, their enchantment broken. The last two were lying in the brushes, dozens of feet away. They rose as Thomast looked at them.

“Assassins.”

“Amateurs. Experts wouldn’t have revealed themselves. But they did wait until we were alone. It was my mistake. Stay behind me, Bethal.”

Thomast stepped in front of Bethal, facing the six [Assassins]. His rapier was held in one hand. The [Assassin] who’d crawled close spat. Two flint-colored eyes glared at Bethal and Thomast under a face wrapped by black cloth. He was dressed like an ordinary citizen, a traveller with worn clothes. But his face was wrapped. His identity concealed. The man’s voice was muffled as he glared at Thomast.

“Take him. He’s only a [Fencer] without a bell. He doesn’t—”

He gasped. The [Assassin] next to him leapt back with a shout. The first [Assassin] stumbled and stared down at the rapier that had run him through the chest. Thomast yanked the blade free and stepped back. He’d stepped six feet in a second, lunging forwards in a [Fencer]’s classic strike. He stepped backwards as the other five [Assassins] learned one of the cardinal rules of their craft: don’t make speeches.

Thomast flicked his blade and a flicker of wind blew along the enchanted metal. He calmly flicked the tip and the [Assassin] nearest him dodged the slash of air that cut towards her head with a curse. He nodded at the remaining five.

“The [Fencer]’s bell? You must have heard incorrectly. I don’t have one because it makes too much noise. My lady wife despises the sound. Now—”

He leapt again. But this time his thrust missed the second [Assassin], who screamed as she retreated.

“[Flawless Dodge]!”

Thomast broke off the lunge mid-strike and turned. Two arrows and three darts flickered at Bethal. She turned, lurching left, too slow. Thomast appeared in front of her. He slashed four times, so fast that she couldn’t see his blade move. But the wind and his sword cut down all five missiles mid-flight. Thomast slapped the mare’s flanks and then the stallion’s as the [Assassins] repositioned, shouting at each other.

“Circle them!”

“Deploy the spells!”

“Someone get in here! I can’t get close without—”

“Thomast!”

Bethal cried out. One of the [Assassins] was pointing a wand. Thomast flicked his rapier. Wind cut across the distance between them at the same time the [Assassin] fired the spell from her wand. Lightning shot across the air and exploded in the air as it struck the blade of wind Thomast had created. The [Assassin] cursed, reeling back—

“—Lunge.]”

This time, the blade spearing her through the chest withdrew in an instant. Thomast leapt backwards, rushing towards Bethal across the odd forty feet his Skill had taken him in a moment. The remaining four [Assassins] drew back silently. They looked at each other. One nodded slowly.

“We can do it. Stay back. Force him to use his Skills. Be ready to d—”

He ducked as a blade of wind passed over his head. The other three began throwing spells and weapons. Thomast whirled, cutting them down. And Lady Bethal watched.

This was the final scene. The drama in the middle of the road in the middle of nowhere. Four black killers, a [Chevalier], and a [Lady]. And while two had fallen, the rest refused to die as simply.

Four versus Thomast, and he had to guard Bethal at the same time. And these weren’t bandits, a horde of Goblins, or inexperienced enemies. They were [Assassins], fighting with poisoned darts, blowpipes, and magical items as well as their shortswords and daggers.

And they kept a distance. Thomast might have struck them down even so, or closed the distance in a moment, but they bombarded him with spells and weapons. He was a blur, cutting down arrows, slashing the air to make spells explode around Bethal. And he couldn’t reach them without abandoning her; the wind slashes he could make were all too easy to dodge.

And all Bethal could do was watch. Her hands were white-knuckled at her sides as she kept very still, at the center of the fighting, watching Thomast parry and pivot around her. She kept her aura up, but the [Aura of Thorns] only worked if someone struck at her. It penetrated flesh and blood. Not steel. Thomast struck down two more poisoned darts as he calmly stepped around her, guarding her from every side.

“Thomast—”

Bethal could see sweat running down the [Fencer]’s brow. He refused to slow, but she knew how hard it had to be. He was a [Fencer], trained to dueling, to solo battles, not to defend! And it was ten times harder to protect her and himself. Bethal wanted to tell him to break the stalemate, even if it meant risking her injury. But she dared not disturb his concentration.

Slowly, Bethal stared down at her right hand. She had a priceless ring, one of the treasures of House Walchaís on her index finger. It was far plainer than the wedding band on her ring finger, but it could deflect a number of attacks that came at her. But poison? Thomast had healing potions, and so did she. But some poisons could overwhelm even the best potion. So she hesitated. And then, within less than five minutes of the battle starting, it came to its finale.

“[Daggerhail].”

“[Power Shot].”

“[Flash Cut]!”

Three of the [Assassins] stopped and shouted. Dozens of daggers filled the air as, from the other side, the [Assassin] with the bow shot one arrow. The third [Assassin] charged in, her shortsword flashing at Thomast’s chest. The [Chevalier] paused. And then he vanished.

Bethal heard a ringing sound. She saw the daggers flying at her, and then she saw Thomast. Striking down a dagger in front of her, parrying the charging [Assassin], running her through, knocking down a dagger to the side, slashing the arrow in half, turning with the force of the impact—in a dozen places at once! Teleporting from spot to spot, each time striking, in a moment—

[Flicker Onslaught]. A Skill for a Skill. The daggers crashed out of the sky. The [Assassin] screamed and died and the arrow meant for Bethal exploded in the air as time resumed. Thomast stopped, panting and whirled. Because he had been counting. So had Bethal. She saw the fourth [Assassin] appear in her shadow.

“[Shadow Leap].”

He was close. Too close. Thomast’s last step had carried him away. Now he lunged, but slow, too slow. The [Assassin] raised a dagger, mouth opened wide to scream a Skill—

And the scarecrow shot him through the head.

The man’s knees buckled. He collapsed as Thomast’s blade ran him through and the [Fencer] dove, blocking a blow meant for Bethal. But it never came. And as the [Assassin] collapsed, the two remaining [Assassins], Bethal, and Thomast looked around, trying to figure out what had happened. Then they saw the scarecrow.

There he was, standing in front of his field of corn. With a bow. The fake scarecrow raised his bow and put a second arrow into the air. The [Assassins] dodged out of reflex and Thomast got to his feet. The remaining two stared at the [Farmer]. One raised his hands, dropping his blade.

“No. Mercy. Please?”

He looked at the [Chevalier], turning to him with bloody blade in hand. Both he and his companion fled. They ran, one leaping from shadow to shadow, the other running as fast as any City Runner, his figure blurring.

“Go!”

Bethal shouted. Thomast leapt after both. She saw all three vanish for the second and heard a scream. Bethal stared at the two dead figures around her and stepped back. The one with an arrow in his head still held his poisoned dagger.

“Miss! Miss! Are you alright?”

Bethal turned. The scarecrow was waving at her. Bemused, she saw him run over. Then she saw how the [Farmer] had disguised herself and laughed. He wasn’t laughing. The man put an arrow in all four bodies on the ground as he checked the road. Only Bethal and Thomast’s horses were moving, trotting back and snorting, eyes wide. The scarecrow archer looked around.

“What—what were they? [Bandits]?”

“[Assassins]. Thank you for your help, sir.”

Bethal curtsied in her riding dress. The [Farmer] looked at her with wide eyes. Then he cursed and raised his bow. Someone was leaping towards them down the road. It was Thomast. His steps blurred him forwards, much like the [Flash Step] spell. The [Fencer] stopped, eying the [Farmer]. The scarecrow put down his bow.

“Thomast. Did you get them?”

The [Chevalier] shook his head.

“I caught one. The other one would have taken me too long. There might be more about.”

He reached for his side and wiped his blade on a handkerchief, then tossed it aside as he stared at the [Farmer]. The man stared at him, with awe as much as fear. Then at Bethal. The [Lady] was frowning, and in his opinion, far, far too composed after what had just happened.

“Do you think there might be more on the road back?”

“Or around us, waiting for me to lower my guard.”

Thomast nodded. He looked around warily. The [Farmer] hesitated, and then broke in, waving one hand.

“Not on my farm, sir. No one enters my fields, animal or person without my knowing it. Them six were the only ones about. And you two.”

Both Bethal and Thomast looked at him. Uncertainly, the [Farmer] waved at his farm.

“You’ll be safe there. At least, I’ll know when someone comes closer. Even a Level 40 [Thief] can’t hide on my lands. So long as we’re right on them. Come on. We can hide there and I can call for some help. Blow a horn, maybe—”

He was beckoning them towards his fields, eyes wide with fright. Bethal looked at Thomast. He raised his brows. Bethal looked the scarecrow archer, and then eyed his field of corn. She clapped her hands.

“Very well. What did you say your name was, sir [Farmer]?”

The man hesitated.

“Who? Me, Miss? Lupp.”

—-

“So this is your farm? And you live here alone?”

Around fifteen minutes later, Lady Bethal was sitting on Lupp’s porch, eying his fields and home with interest. Thomast was silently staring at the one cow. Lupp was still shaking.

“That’s right, uh, uh, Lady Bethal. I live by myself. I’m a simple man, so forgive my rudeness.”

“You may call me Bethal. And I owe you a debt of gratitude, sir. Thomast might have been badly hurt, charms or not. You helped us and I will not forget that.”

The [Lady] gave Lupp a bright, beautiful smile. She was out of place in his normal, regular farm. But her presence was also soothing, so Lupp began to stop hyperventilating. He gestured at the black bodies lying on the road.

“You’re awfully calm, Lady—Miss Bethal. Is being attacked that normal to you?”

“More than you might think, sir. Assassins? Rare. But I’ve seen worse.”

The [Lady] turned her head to regard her husband. The [Farmer] licked his lips.

“I’ve seen worse too. But I’ve never actually seen an [Assassin] before. You hear stories—but sometimes I think they’re just stories. The Assassin’s Guild isn’t real, though, is it?”

“All too real. And all too mundane, I’m afraid. Thomast, stop bothering that cow. What do you think they were?”

Thomast turned his head. The two horses were calmly grazing nearby. The [Chevalier] sighed.

“They were amateurs. Good ones, but rookies. Probably the first tier or rank of recruits the Assassin’s Guild calls their own. They were well-armed, though, which means they were paid in advance. And quite a bit. They wouldn’t have been a problem if Sir Kerrig or Lady Welca were here.”

Bethal’s eyes narrowed.

“But I raced off. And if you hadn’t followed me, I would be dead. So someone planned this. The roses and [Assassins].”

Lupp stared from Bethal to Thomast with open mouth. This was all far, far too momentous for him. His head was spinning and he needed a lie down. He clutched his bow to his side as he stared at Thomast’s expensive rapier, which probably could have bought and sold his farm four times over.

“Begging your pardon, miss. But who are you? And who’s your uh, husband?”

He was rewarded for his guess with another smile from Bethal.

“I am Lady Bethal, Mister Lupp. As I said. And this is Thomast. Sir Thomast, if you like. But we’re just travellers. I regret disturbing your lovely farm. You said you manage it alone? And you grow corn?”

She pointed down at the field. Lupp nodded a few times.

“That’s right. Nonsfru’s best corn. Best corn for miles, really. Not that I’m biased, mind. I’ve never tasted better. But I’d say my field’s the finest. I have all these Skills, you see. But about those [Assassins]—”

“Really? The best around? Why don’t you sell to a city, then?”

Distracted, Lupp wrinkled his nose.

“And have to cart my corn in? Or hire someone to do the selling? When my wife was around, we’d do it sometimes. But it’s hard selling corn, even the best corn. These days I don’t bother. And the village loves my corn. Why not sell it to them?”

“Fair point. I want some. I’m hungry. Thomast, do you want corn?”

“I’m sending a signal to our [Knights], Bethal. They’re riding towards us as fast as they can, but they’ll be at least thirty minutes.”

The man replied calmly as he wrote on a little scroll he’d pulled out of his bag of holding. Lupp stared at the bag of holding. Bethal got to her feet.

“Well then. I’m having some.”

She walked down the hill from the house. Absently, as if he didn’t notice what he was doing, Thomast followed her, still writing. So Lupp did too. The cow and horses came along as well for solidarity.

“What huge plants!”

Bethal exclaimed as she stared up at the corn, which towered above her. Lupp decided to explain, because corn was the only thing in this world that made sense at the moment.

“Ah, that’s because of my Skill, Miss Bethal. I can control the quality of my plants. And I choose the best seeds. I don’t grow them any higher because the damn birds love them. But I’ve seen corn tall as sixty feet.”

Bethal turned to stare at Lupp.

“You must be joking, sir.”

He grinned, taking off his scarecrow’s hat.

“No, Miss. I’ve seen it myself. And corn can grow monstrously tall, even without a Skill helping it. To be fair, once they get any taller than these, they need scaffolding to hold them up. Or a bit of wind blows them right over. But that’s just for size. My corn’s got taste too!”

“So I see. Would you mind if I took this one?”

Bethal reached up. Lupp nodded and she plucked an ear off the stalk. She blinked at the weight and size of the corn, husked it, and sniffed.

“It smells good. Thomast, do you want a bite?”

He was still writing. Bethal sighed and took a bite. Her brows raised and she began chewing. Lupp stared at her.

“How good is it?”

He had confidence in his corn. But she was a [Lady]. Lupp waited. He got no response. Bethal slowly, methodically, and unapologetically cleaned the corn until there was not a single kernel left. Then she smiled.

“That was the finest corn I have ever eaten, I think! Thomast, you must try some. Mister Lupp wasn’t exaggerating!”

The [Farmer] looked delighted. Thomast looked up.

“Really?”

“Yes. Have some! Mister Lupp, how much for some corn?”

“Oh, oh, for free, of course. If it’s just an ear or two—”

Lupp found himself holding another ear of corn. And somehow, he found himself sitting back on his porch, chewing his favorite meal while Bethal and Thomast bit into theirs. The two sat together. Lupp kept staring at them, but Bethal was apparently ravenous, never mind that some corn got on her expensive riding dress. Thomast ate more slowly, but he left nothing behind either, save for the cob which he offered to his stallion. The horse gave him an affronted look, but ate it anyways.

“Delicious.”

Lady Bethal closed her eyes. Lupp still couldn’t take his eyes off the bodies in the road. He looked at Bethal and wondered what kind of a person could see death and not blink like that. And he saw her opened her eyes and give him much the same look.

“So you grow your corn here, Mister Lupp. Every day of the year you can. And you take this wonderful corn and you sell it to the local village. For what? A copper coin per ear of corn?”

“I couldn’t charge them that!”

The [Farmer] was horrified at the idea. He stared at the field and imagined what would happen if he charged that rate.

“That’s prices for the winter. It’s a copper for two, and a deal of one for three if they buy in bulk. That field’ll earn me…let’s see. Three or four per stalk. And I plant around six hundred. And I harvest twice a season. Sometimes three if I’m quick. So er, this field’ll earn me…”

He tried to do the math, his brow furrowing. Thomast’s lips moved. Bethal stared at the field.

“Six hundred crops of corn works out to six hundred pieces of copper if they all have three ears and you sell at your cheapest rate, Mister Lupp. At your best, if you assume half of your corn has three ears and half has four, seven hundred ears sold half at two per copper and half at three per copper earns you exactly eight hundred and seventy five copper coins.”

Lupp stared at Bethal. She went on, counting on her fingers.

“Let’s see. A silver coin is ten copper. And gold twenty silver. So this field is, in fact, worth around four gold coins, seven silver, and five copper. Does that sound right to you, Mister Lupp?”

The [Farmer] stared at Bethal. He frowned, bit his lip, and nodded.

“That’s…almost what I earned from last harvest. Of course, it goes up closer to winter. Down in the summer and fall with the other harvests…”

He flinched at the look in Bethal’s eye.

“You sell your corn for less than five gold coins, Mister Lupp?”

“I can live off five gold coins for months, Miss. Even with repairs and buying other things, it’s usually more than enough.”

The [Farmer] mumbled as he played with his hat. He was thinking of how much he actually spent. Arrows were expensive. A lot more expensive than corn, but it took work to make the shafts and tip them with iron. Bethal shook her head. She looked at her husband.

“Maybe it’s Reizmelt. The area is flatland and the soil is good. Farms were common. And Blaiseford has very rich soil thanks to the swamps. Even so. Mister Lupp, if you took your harvest into Reizmelt, you could and should charge two copper coins per ear of corn. For this quality, people might pay three. And if you put this before a [Lord] who had the appetite for corn—and many do enjoy it—you could sell an ear of corn for a silver coin apiece.”

Lupp choked on his own spit. Bethal patted him on the back. When the man had his voice back, he spluttered.

“I’d never have the—the stones to do that, Miss Bethal! Never. I don’t even go down to the village most weeks. Having to go to a city and charge prices like that—”

His stomach churned at the thought. Bethal nodded.

“Which is why the stomachs of the good folk of Nonsfru have profited immensely. As have any [Traders] who come by your farm. But you could be earning more, Mister Lupp.”

“I don’t need that much coin, Lady Bethal.”

“No. You don’t. But you might. If you fall sick. If you’d like to hire someone to help you harvest the crops. Or, perhaps, if you simply wanted to hire a [Hunter] to eradicate your crows.”

Bethal waved a hand at the fields. Sure enough, Lupp saw a flock circling. He cursed, but he was out of costume. Thomast glanced up and unsheathed his rapier. He thrust once, and after a second, a crow fell out of the sky in two pieces. The rest of the flock flew away. Lupp gaped at the man. Bethal smiled.

“Mister Lupp, you may not have much interest in a profit. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t avoid turning one. What if when you harvested this field, you agreed to sell your very delightful corn to me?”

“You, Lady Bethal? But would it be too much? Even supposing you fed your entire household…I suppose there might be hundreds in your service, come to think of it.”

Lupp eyed Bethal. She flashed him another smile.

“There are indeed. But I think I’d only keep some. The rest I’d put in storage and offer to a [Merchant] who caters to [Chefs] and other experts of cooking and good taste. I think I could get a silver piece for the corn. If not an entire piece, then certainly at least seven copper coins per ear or something equally pleasing. This is the best corn I have ever had. Would you let me take care of that?”

The [Farmer] stared at Bethal. He expected her to laugh, or tell him it was a joke, but she looked serious. Worse, she was holding a hand out.

“One harvest, Mister Lupp. And we can negotiate how much I take. But even if it I took half, which I would not, you would be ahead…”

She broke off as Thomast put a hand on her shoulder. The [Chevalier] glanced at Lupp and shook his head.

“You’re disturbing him, Bethal.”

“Am I?”

Bethal blinked. Then she saw how pale Lupp had gotten. She stood up abruptly.

“Why?”

Lupp made a strangled sound.

“Why? Miss, no, [Lady]. It’s one thing for me to chase off a few [Assassins]. But you can walk into my farm and tell me I could earn twice, three times what I’ve ever earned? And you want me to sell to you? A [Lady]? Just like that?”

He stared up at Bethal. She looked uncomprehendingly at Thomast.

“Of course. Why would that be an issue?”

“Life isn’t that simple, Miss. Good fortune doesn’t just ride down like that.”

Lupp informed Bethal with all the authority he could muster. Bethal raised an eyebrow.

“In your experience, Mister Lupp?”

That silenced him. Thomast shook his head. He took Bethal’s shoulder.

“I think Mister Lupp needs a moment.”

“But Thomast—”

“Away, Bethal.”

He firmly pulled her back. Leaving Lupp together with his thoughts. He stared at Bethal and Thomast as they walked away. The [Lady] hissed at her husband.

“I nearly had talked him into it!”

“He was about to kick us both off his farm. Or run himself.”

Thomast gently chastised Bethal. She heard the tone in his voice and glared.

“Oh? And you think leaving him to sell his wonderful corn for a pittance is fair? Isn’t that the best corn you’ve had?”

“It is good. He must either be Level 30 or have a very specialized number of Skills. Probably both. And that’s probably why he has such a small field.”

Thomast picked some corn out from his teeth. Bethal tossed her head.

“Obviously. So why stop me?”

“Because you frightened him. This isn’t like the horses, Bethal. You can’t order him to give you all the corn he produces and make him rich.”

“Richer. Hardly rich.”

“Even so. It’s terrifying for him. And how could he trust you? He may have never seen a [Lady] before in his life. And you come into his life after leaving four people dead in front of his farm and make him the best offer of his life. Isn’t that frightening?”

Bethal thought about this. She hesitated and stared towards the road.

“I see your point. But his corn is delicious. And I’ve discovered him. Why shouldn’t I make him an offer that benefits both of us? That’s what the nobility does, Thomast.”

He didn’t reply. Bethal scowled.

“Oh, we fight. And send each other black roses. But our duty is to our lands. So we spend our gold and time and even our soldiers to benefit ourselves and our people. If a [Lady] is poor, she enriches only herself. But I don’t. And what I focus on prospers. Or is House Walchaís’ famous stock of horses not proof of that?”

“You told me you spent a fortune on horses on a whim when you were younger. It took you two decades to turn it into a profit.”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

Thomast sighed.

“Go slowly, Bethal.”

“I can be slow. I just think that—”

“Your ladyship?”

The couple turned. [Farmer] Lupp had approached them, hat in hands. Deferentially, he bowed. Bethal scowled.

“Stop that. Don’t bow. I told you, call me Bethal.”

He stared at her. Then he awkwardly ducked his head.

“I beg your pardon, Bethal. But if you were serious, I would take you up on your offer. It sounds like a dream, but…seven copper pieces for an ear of corn? I’d be a rich man. And even if I don’t use it, I do have my old age to think about. I’m nearly there myself. And my daughter’s a [Shoemaker]. Not high-level. But if she had the right materials and a bigger shop, she might make something big of herself. So if you’d be willing, I’d take any deal you’d offer me. I can have this corn all harvested in two days. One if need be.”

Bethal cast a triumphant glance at her husband. He looked resigned as she turned back to Lupp with a huge smile.

“No need to hurry, Mister Lupp. We have to return to Reizmelt, and then our estates, I fear. But I promise you I will send a Runner in…say, three days? And I will have a contract with the Merchant’s Guild at that time.”

“I would be greatly honored if you did that, Miss Bethal.”

Lupp ducked his head, looking relieved. Shocked, still; you could see it on his face. Bethal had happily overturned his life in a second. And both she and Thomast saw it.

A moment of regret passed between the two. Bethal’s smile faded. She looked around at the quiet farm and the bodies on the road. She stared at them, and shook her head. Then, quietly, she turned back to Lupp.

“I am sorry for disturbing your farm, Mister Lupp. But I keep my word. And if nothing else, your corn was the best I ever tasted. And my word is on that.”

She smiled. And Lupp managed one of his own.

“That’s all I wanted to hear, Bethal.”

She laughed in delight. And then she dug in her belt pouch.

“Fields of gold indeed. Well, let’s call this an advance. I expect to earn it back. So you can take this—”

Lupp glanced down. His eyes went round. He stared at the small pile of gold winking up at him. Actual gold, not corn. He looked at Bethal.

“—and you can use it to hire someone to help you if need be. Or at least hunt down those wretched crows. And if you were to expand your field, I could—Mister Lupp? Mister Lupp?”

The [Farmer] quietly, and without a word toppled over. Thomast caught him before he hit the ground. He checked Lupp’s breathing, and then stared at his wife. Bethal had the grace to blush.

—-

The pair of [Knights] in pink armor who galloped into Lupp’s farm found Bethal offering the man a stamina potion as he sat weakly on his porch. They galloped up the incline, weapons drawn, scanning for enemies. Lupp stared at the two [Knights] in their pink, pink armor and nearly fainted again. Bethal scowled at Sir Kerrig and Lady Welca.

“Enough of that! Can’t you see you’re scaring [Farmer] Lupp? Have the decency to show some decorum. The [Assassins] are long gone regardless.”

Lupp stared as the two sheepish [Knights] dismounted. Sir Kerrig immediately knelt.

“Lady Walchaís, I regret not being here myself—”

“Thomast was. And Mister Lupp. They were quite enough and I raced off. You did your job. Stop apologizing and help Thomast get rid of the bodies.”

Bethal ushered the two [Knights] towards the road. Lupp stared at the pair as he sat back.

“They—they’re pink.”

“I thought it was an underused color in [Knight] heraldry. Those are my Knights of the Petal. I have very few of them compared to some [Knight] orders, but I am pleased to say they fall behind few on Izril.”

Bethal informed the [Farmer] pleasantly. He stared at her. Then he went back to staring at his corn. He tried to focus on his field and ignore the [Knights] digging some shallow graves with the [Chevalier] across the road.

“Lady Bethal?”

A quiet voice eventually made both Bethal and Mister Lupp look up. A somewhat dirty young woman in pink armor bowed to Lady Bethal. The [Lady] stood up.

“Welca. Did you find out who sent the roses?”

Welca looked nervous and unhappy.

“Yes, milady. They all came from their senders. The Guild confirmed it. One of the Runners was even approached by a [Knight] on the road. All of them are genuine.”

Bethal’s smile faded a bit. Her eyes flashed as she recalled the very reason she’d come out this far.

“I see. In that case, I think some action is appropriate, don’t you?”

She caught the look in Welca’s eye and sighed.

“No beheadings. Thomast was very clear on that. And I have to agree. I splendidly walked into one trap.”

She indicated the road, now clear of bodies. Thomast and Sir Kerrig trotted up the slope and the impromptu war council was joined in front of Farmer Lupp’s porch. No one wanted more corn; the grave dirt somewhat cut down on Kerrig and Welca’s appetite.

“So, they are genuine. I knew it. And I told you, Thomast.”

“You did. But you needed to be calm to hear it, Bethal.”

Thomast calmly sat next to his wife. Bethal sighed, vexed.

“I suppose so. But it doesn’t change my feelings. They will pay. An insult must be repaid, whether to a [Lady] or [Farmer]. Don’t you agree, Mister Lupp?”

“I—I—ergh.”

“The first thing we should do is inform Magnolia. The other [Ladies] of her circle might be in danger as well.”

Thomast smoothed his mustache. Bethal sighed.

“If they were attacked, it is far too late for that. Magnolia knows by now, I’m sure.”

Lupp leaned over to Sir Kerrig and whispered.

“Is that Lady Magnolia Reinhart that Miss Bethal’s talking about? The Magnolia?”

The [Knight] nodded, watching Bethal and Thomast. Lupp had to take a walk to calm down. Bethal frowned.

“I don’t care about Magnolia’s game. Let her sort it out. If one of us is dead, there will be blood, Thomast. I’m only concerned with what I am going to do. And my estates. They should be warned.”

The [Chevalier] nodded.

“True. A [Message] spell would be swiftest.”

“Not if I want to mobilize the Knights of the Petal. They won’t answer to [Messages]. And rightly so, if this is some kind of intrigue with [Assassins]. I suppose we must hurry to Invrisil or pray there’s a Courier capable of delivering my message. Reizmelt doesn’t have a Courier, do they?”

Bethal looked hopelessly at her [Knights], both of whom shook their head. Welca raised an armored hand.

“Lady Bethal, give me leave and I will deliver the [Message] to my peers myself. I can make the ride.”

“And leave Lady Walchaís undefended a second time?”

Sir Kerrig glanced at Welca. She flushed and lowered her hand. Bethal studied Welca thoughtfully.

“I only need one [Knight]. Plus Thomast. As long as one of you shields me, Thomast can kill anyone quite easily. We could send Welca. What do you think, Thomast? Thomast?”

The [Chevalier] was studying the skies. He looked down.

“I would rather send Sir Kerrig to fulfill a task, Bethal. We can ride back ourselves. It will take an hour or two, but we won’t lose much time either way.”

“Really? What do you want Sir Kerrig to do?”

Bethal frowned. Thomast raised an eyebrow.

“Send a message himself. I’ll tell you on the road. But we should be moving if we intend to return to Walchaís lands before dark.”

“Very well. So much for a vacation.”

Bethal stood up in disgust. The two Rose Knights were already on their feet and fetching the horses. Bethal and Thomast said goodbye to Lupp as he stood by his field of corn. The [Farmer] gripped Bethal’s hand lightly, sure that this was all some sort of dream. But her smile told him it was real.

“Goodbye, Mister Lupp. I’m afraid we must fly. Tell me, do you know if Reizmelt has a Courier? Otherwise we’ll be riding west as fast as we can.”

Thomast was talking to Sir Kerrig. The [Knight] nodded and mounted up. He galloped east as Welca held the reins of Bethal’s mare. Lupp blinked at Bethal.

“Reizmelt? No Couriers there, Miss. Some pass by of course, but unless you call for one, there won’t be any.”

“A pity. I won’t wait hours when we could be back quicker ourselves. We’ll be slower. Far slower if we need to avoid any more [Assassins] on the road. It might not matter.”

Bethal sighed exasperatedly. Lupp blinked at Bethal. Then his eyes widened.

“If it’s speed you need, Miss Bethal—I do know of one City Runner who might fit.”

“Really? Are they good?”

The [Lady] raised her brows. The [Farmer] ducked his head.

“I don’t know, Miss. I’ve never seen her, except for a few seconds as she left. But they do call her the Wind Runner…”

And thus the play came full circle.

—-

Ryoka Griffin held still. Very still, to control the beating of her heart as she stood in front of Lady Bethal Walchaís. She was taller than the woman, but Lady Bethal somehow felt at equal or greater height. The woman peered at Ryoka and frowned.

“So this is Reizmelt’s best City Runner?”

She stared at Ryoka’s feet. The young woman was instantly embarrassed. She stared at the young woman in pink armor standing behind Bethal instead. Lady Welca Caveis? So she was a [Lady] and a [Knight]? There was also the silent [Chevalier], Sir Thomast, who was giving Ryoka an inspection as well. But the older [Knight], Sir Kerrig, was gone.

Ryoka didn’t know what had happened, but she could piece together the clues. Sir Kerrig and Lady Welca had taken the Runners back to the guild and interrogated the [Receptionist] at length about the origin of the black roses. She had just confirmed that all of them were indeed sent by each group that had been represented—an arduous process that had taken nearly an hour in itself and left the Runners cooling their heels and talking anxiously—when news had come in like thunder.

From the [Mage]’s Guild. There had been multiple attacks by [Assassins] on a number of [Ladies]. All in public, and all affiliated with Lady Magnolia. That had been enough to make everyone in the Runner’s Guild wonder if there was a war starting between the nobility. But the two Rose Knights had taken off like bolts of lightning once Sir Kerrig got a [Message] spell on the little scroll he carried. No guesses why.

Neither Welca nor Sir Thomast looked like they’d just killed someone. Okay, maybe Welca did. But Ryoka couldn’t help but feel a prickle as she stared at Thomast’s blade. Why else would the [Knights] have rushed off? And where was Sir Kerrig?

And why had Lady Bethal immediately gone to the Runner’s Guild on returning to Reizmelt, nearly an hour later and demanded to see Ryoka of all people? It was a mystery. But Ryoka thought at least one piece was about to be unraveled now. If only Bethal would stop staring.

“You run with bare feet? Don’t you get thorns or rocks in your soles?”

The [Lady] wrinkled her nose as she pointed at Ryoka’s feet. The City Runner stared at her.

“I uh, have calluses. Lady Bethal.”

The [Lady] stared at her.

“And those help? What about nails?”

“I try to avoid those.”

“Ah. Tell me, Miss Ryoka Griffin. Are you fast? How many movement Skills do you have?”

“Uh—I have three. But none of them help me run faster. Just longer. My speed’s at a City Runner’s level.”

“I see. And how about your defenses? Could you outrun, say [Bandits] on horseback?”

Ryoka’s pulse picked up. She tried to answer carefully.

“No. But I could deter them. Or lose them. I have Tripvine Bags, potions, and these—”

She reached into her bag of holding. Welca tensed and Bethal held up a hand.

“Show me.”

Ryoka pulled out a caltrop. Bethal eyed it.

“That is a nasty weapon. Do you throw it?”

“Sometimes. But I can drop them and they’ll slow horses. I’m banned from using them unless my life is in danger. And they are a hazard.”

“You could certainly inconvenience a road with them. And they’re fairly pointy. Ouch.”

Bethal poked her finger idly on the caltrop. She shook her head.

“What about [Mages]? High-level enemies?”

“I…have a wind Skill that I can use to blow a dust cloud, Lady Bethal. I’ve outrun [Bandits] before and survived an ambush on one occasion.”

“Hmm. Can you block lightning?”

Ryoka gulped.

“I…haven’t had to deal with that. There was a Lich that I managed to avoid one time.”

“I see. I see…Thomast?”

Bethal glanced up. The [Chevalier] was frowning. His arms were folded. He was glancing at Alime. The [Receptionist] was half-hiding behind her counter, staring at the noble guests with wide eyes; besides Ryoka, Lady Bethal’s entourage and Alime, the Runner’s Guild had been cleared out. Ryoka could see some of her fellow Runners furtively peeking in from outside.

“I don’t think she’s fit for the job, Bethal.”

Thomast answered at last. Ryoka’s stomach sank. The [Chevalier] eyed her.

“With respect of Miss Griffin—she’s no Courier. It would be dangerous to risk a City Runner. She could lose her life, and if she’s intercepted, the message could be disastrous for us.”

“That was my thought. Alas, we’ve wasted a few minutes. We’ll have to go back on horseback. Oh well. Mister Lupp can’t be full of good ideas all the times, it seems.”

Bethal clicked her fingers exasperatedly. Ryoka stared at her. Did she just say Lupp? No, that had to be a coincidence. The young woman saw Bethal turn, and realized her opportunity was slipping away. She raised her voice hurriedly.

“I can do it.”

“Excuse me?”

Bethal turned back to Ryoka skeptically. The Asian girl took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what the request is. But if you’re looking for a qualified City Runner—I might not have the speed of a Courier, but I have never failed a delivery. And I have outrun monsters. I’ve run the High Passes before.”

Thomast’s head turned back to Ryoka. Bethal blinked.

“You have? How far in?”

“Not far. But I completed my delivery. And I’ve done emergency deliveries for adventuring teams.”

“What rank?”

Ryoka hesitated.

“Silver. I’ve never been requested at Gold-rank or higher.”

Bethal exchanged a look with her husband. He frowned and gave her a covert shake of the head. Lady Walchaís sighed.

“If it were just your life, I might give you a chance Miss Griffin. But this message must be delivered without fail. I’d risk the consequences of it arriving too late, rather than having my words subverted. And if you are caught? You will most likely be killed and the damage will spread to my lands.”

She spread her hands. Ryoka’s heart sank. She nodded slowly.

“I understand.”

“Very well. Welca? The horses. We’ll press onwards as Thomast sees fit.”

Bethal sighed and waved a hand. The female [Knight] tromped towards the doors. As she opened them, Ryoka heard some excited shouts. Which surprised her; the City Runners and people of Reizmelt were already backing up from the fearsome Lady Bethal. But someone was calling out with an excited voice.

“Miss [Knight]! Miss [Knight]!”

“Did you kill any [Assassins]? Is it true they have a Guild?”

“Is [Lady] Bethal a real lady? Is she really going to cut off the heads of other nobles?”

“Are you going to hire the Wind Runner?”

Welca stopped, looking affronted. Bethal’s head turned towards the door. And Ryoka recognized the voices as she saw the tiny bodies hopping up and down.

Children. They were as immune to the fear of Lady Bethal’s class as they were to Welca’s scowl. The [Knight] ushered them back from the horses. Lady Bethal walked outside. The children stared at her. They oohed as Thomast followed her. He blinked at them. One of the children pointed at his side.

“Did you kill them all with your rapier?”

He didn’t respond. Bethal smiled as she accepted the reins of her mare. Ryoka walked out of the guild, feeling sheepish. To her great chagrin, the children grew even more excited when they saw her than when Bethal had come out.

“Wind Runner! Wind Runner!”

“Are you going to deliver a message?”

“Blow us about! Conjure the wind, Miss Ryoka!”

They swarmed her. Ryoka turned red as Bethal glanced down from horseback. The [Lady] pursed her lips and called down to Ryoka.

“The Wind Runner? The [Farmer] said the same thing. What does that mean?”

“I can call the wind, Lady Bethal. It helps me out. It’s…just a nickname.”

Ryoka coughed and shuffled her feet. The children piped up.

“She can do more than that! She nearly blew me off my feet!”

“She’s fast!”

“And she killed Wailer Frogs with the wind!”

Intrigued, Bethal looked down as Ryoka tried to hush the children. She glanced at her husband. Thomast sighed.

“Bethal…”

“If she can do that, maybe, Thomast. Miss Ryoka. Show me. Prove it.”

Bethal turned back to Ryoka. The young woman blinked up at her.

“Show you what? The wind?”

The [Lady] raised a delicate eyebrow.

“At the very least. Show me your Skill. Or magic, or whatever it may be. I won’t send a City Runner to her death. But if you can do something out of the ordinary…”

She glanced around the windless, empty street skeptically. Ryoka stared at her. And then she shrugged.

“What kind of wind would you like?”

“If you have to conjure it. Anything, Miss Griffin. I just want to see something, even if it only ruffles my hair—”

Bethal’s voice cut off. She frowned at her hair, blowing across her face. She stared at Ryoka.

“Well. I suppose that is possible. But can you make a larger breeze? Something—”

She blinked. Now her riding dress was ruffling. Bethal smoothed the dress as the children around her laughed and clapped their hands.

“And is that it?”

Ryoka wiped at her forehead.

“It’s something. That’s control, Miss Walchaís. If you want a gust, I can do something stronger. But I’d have to include more than just you.”

“More than just me? What do you—”

Bethal looked around. And then she saw it. The wind was blowing her hair. And her dress. Her horse’s mane blew in the wind. But Sir Thomast, standing next to her was unruffled. His clothes didn’t move an inch. And neither did Welca. The children on the street were running about, begging Ryoka for a breeze.

And on the street, the air was silent. The Runners and people of Reizmelt looked up. Lady Bethal sat in a small cyclone of wind. She looked through it at Ryoka. The City Runner’s eyebrow was raised. Ryoka grinned.

Uh oh. She’s going to kill me.

She waited for Bethal to explode in fury like before. But the [Lady] just blinked at the wind. And then she laughed. And her laughter was carried away on the breeze.

“Well! Can you show me a gust, then, Wind Runner?”

The air quieted. And then the wind blew harder. The children laughed and some sailed down the street with their cloth sails. The adults shielded their faces and the horses tossed their heads. Bethal blinked as a gust swept towards her. The wind blew past Bethal and Thomast, whipping at her hair. The [Chevalier] looked up and shifted, sheltering his wife from the breeze. And the wind blew harder still. Lady Bethal shielded her face. One of the Runners lost his balance and slipped, catching himself in the wind.

And Ryoka held still in the street. The air howled around her, but she called on it. She dared the wind to blow, to whip Bethal’s hair across her face. She dared because not daring would have been pathetic. She had one chance. And when she saw Bethal raise a palm, Ryoka asked the wind to stop.

And it was still. Reizmelt’s street was eerily silent in the sudden absence of the wind. Bethal looked at Thomast. He raised his brows. The [Lady] turned to Ryoka. And she nodded.

“Give it to her, Thomast.”

“You’re sure?”

The woman gave Thomast a flat look.

“Today I met a [Farmer] and tasted the best corn of my life. Today I was called a coward by my peers. One more chance seems worthwhile. Do it, please. It’s not as if you don’t have another.”

Thomast sighed. But he dismounted and walked over to Ryoka. She stared up at him. He bent.

“Miss Griffin. This is your proof. Do not lose it. Your destination is the grandmaster of the Knights of the Petal. Sir Nathald. And here is your message.”

He bent his head to whisper. And the world went silent around Ryoka for a second. Sound returned as Thomast stepped back. Ryoka blinked, wide-eyed. Then she schooled her face.

“I have it word-for-word.”

Lady Bethal laughed.

“In that case, your destination is west. We’re heading there ourselves. But each hour you gain on us is another hour that may matter. So.”

She pointed towards Reizmelt’s western gates as Thomast mounted up. Lady Bethal pointed. And her voice rang across the street.

“Go! Show me what you can do, Wind Runner! Run and let no one stop you.”

She gestured. Ryoka bowed. She bent, and adopted a sprinter’s crouch. But she didn’t take off. As Lady Bethal frowned, the wind blew again. The [Lady] looked up and then down. Ryoka was reaching for her belt pouch. She drew something small and blue, a faint statue and grasped it in her right hand.

“Well. I’m no expert. But you said it just happens. So here I go, Ivolethe.”

The young woman looked up at the sky. The ice was cold in her hand. Ryoka took a deep breath, and then another. The wind picked up and blew harder as Bethal urged her mount back. She leaned against her husband, who drew a riding cloak around her. Ryoka held still, staring upwards.

She would never have another chance like this. Maybe there would be more important deliveries. Maybe riskier ones. But this was the first run of this kind she had done. One where people might stop her, where important decisions rested on her shoulders. She had run before, to save lives. And this was different from that.

But no less important. Ryoka looked at Bethal. The client wanted her to be as fast and as true as possible. So Ryoka clutched the ice until it felt like the cold was burning her skin. She stared up at the sky as the wind blew harder. Runners shaded their faces and the children shouted and clutched at pieces of cloth, blowing down the street.

The [Guards] on the gates of Reizmelt held their ground, swearing, and the citizens covered their faces and retreated to the shelter of stone as the wind whipped at them, sending grit and debris into the air. And still, Ryoka waited.

“Come on. Is that all? Blow, winds. Let’s show them what magic means.”

And the winds blew. They picked up, stronger and stronger. Bethal shielded her face, laughing with delight. And Ryoka stared up, as the wind grabbed at her, pushing at her back, urging her to run. But she held her ground. Waiting. Waiting until she could fly.

And then she felt it. And she took off. Racing past the startled horses as Lady Bethal’s mare reared. Past the children, sailing across the street and calling her name. Past Runners who took off, trying to race her and falling behind. Faster, faster—

—-

They were waiting for her. A group of [Mercenaries]. And, a band of adventurers. And they were led by one very upset, very unprofessional [Assassin]. But they were still here, waiting to fall upon the City Runner when she emerged from the city.

No one was happy about it. Not the [Mercenaries], who swore up and down that they wouldn’t risk a confrontation with House Walchaís or her Knights of the Petal—just the City Runner. Not the [Assassin], whose only goal was vengeance and to strike a blow against Bethal Walchaís and her husband, however small. And least of all the adventurers.

One of them edged closer to her leader. Tally, the [Ranger], hissed at their Captain, a [Fire Mage] who’d been all too quick to take the black-clad stranger’s gold in her opinion. She’d done shady things as an adventurer, but this crossed a line. She soothed the team’s war hound by scratching the dog behind the ears while she hissed at him.

“Levi, this is insane. Are you completely mad? We’re going to sully our name, taking this contract. And what if it’s someone we know?”

“Tally, shush.”

The [Fire Mage] rubbed his hands, absently sending a few sparks falling to the ground. He was nervous. But Tally wouldn’t shut up.

“Have you seen our employer? This isn’t a contract, Levi. I’m not even sure if that shady fellow’s legitimate. His gold’s real, but is he really an [Assassin] from the Assassin’s Guild or a faker?”

She nodded at the shrouded figure arguing with the [Mercenary Captain] opposite them. Levi turned and sighed. Then he hissed at Tally.

“Would you shut up? I know what I’m doing! Just watch the gates, will you?”

“I won’t! We’re the Pithfire Hounds, not mercs or murderers! Either pull out of the deal or I’m walking and so’s the team! We’re not killing an innocent City Runner, no matter if it is Lady Bethal Walchaís or whatever who’s sending the message! That’s politics! We’re not for the Reinharts or against them or anything!”

Tally’s stomach twisted at the thought. They weren’t nearly high level enough to play at politics in Izril. Levi just glared at her.

“Are you deaf? Didn’t you hear what that [Assassin] said? Lady Bethal’s at the Runner’s Guild. So she wants to send a message fast. By Runner, since [Message] spells can be faked or intercepted.”

“So?”

Tally gave Levi a blank look. The [Pyromancer] growled, and their war dog, Makki, growled as well.

“So she’s going to hire the best Runner in the city. And Reizmelt has no Couriers. Who’s the best City Runner in Reizmelt, then?”

The [Ranger]’s eyes widened.

“You don’t mean—oh. But why are we—”

“We’re aiming left. Wait for my signal. Why do you think everyone else isn’t giving me grief? They’ve figured it out!”

Levil hissed back. Tally turned bright red. She looked at her teammates. Keima rolled her eyes. Lamont, Bran, Ullica…they were checking their weapons. Levil met their eyes and nodded.

As one, the Pithfire Hounds looked left. The [Mercenary] band glanced up. One of them eyed the war dog uneasily from his mount.

“You lot ready? We need to hit whoever’s coming out fast.”

“Don’t worry about us. We’re fast. And we’re ready.”

Levil conjured an orb of fire. The [Mercenary] nodded shortly. He glanced up at the Pithfire Hounds as the adventurers casually glanced at the city. Now Tally was picking out a target. Levil nudged her.

“Stop being obvious.”

“I’m sorry, do you want me to help or not?”

“If you weren’t so bad at hiding things, I wouldn’t have to keep anything from you. Which is rich, because you’re our [Ranger]!”

“Bite him, Makki.”

The dog sniffed the air. Then she howled. The [Mercenaries], Pithfire Hounds, and lone [Assassin] looked. Up. Levil stared at Reizmelt. Then he glanced up.

“The wind’s gone flat.”

“What is that?”

The [Fire Mage]’s head snapped back down. His eyes widened. Someone was coming out of the gates of the city.

“That’s her.”

“That’s the City Runner! Get her!”

The [Assassin]’s voice cracked with fury. The [Mercenaries] mounted up in an instant. Three were on horseback, four on foot. Two [Mages]. Just like the Pithfire Hounds. Levi held up a hand as his team tensed.

“Wait for it—”

The three [Mercenaries] on horseback came down the slope with shouts. One had a bow. Levil began to swing his hand down. Then he saw the figure racing out of Reizmelt’s gates disappear. Something billowed up around her. Levil stared as the [Mercenaries] pulled up their horses uncertainly. Tally blinked.

“Sand?”

It was sand. Dirt and sand, being picked up from the road. From Ryoka’s bag. It blew upwards. And Levil saw a familiar shape emerge.

A billowing dust cloud, a hundred paces high blew across the road. It raced across the earth, a vortex of sand and dust and debris. It whirled, a miniature twister. Just like the one that had saved his team. But as the [Fire Mage] watched, he noticed one key difference.

“She’s in it.”

The whirlwind blew down the road. But the City Runner did not emerge from it, or run behind it. She was in the vortex. And the [Mercenaries] on horseback drew up, reluctant to even go near the dust.

“It’s just sand! Get in there! Kill the Runner!”

The [Assassin] bellowed, losing his cool. The [Mercenary Captain] shook his head. he pointed a staff towards the whirlwind.

“We’ll never catch her with horses. They’ll go blind a hundred paces out. Net spells. I’ll throw a fireball straight down the tornado. You, adventurers, help us—”

“Now.”

Levil turned. He pointed a wand left and spoke a word.

“[Fireball].”

The [Mercenary Captain]’s eyes widened in horror. He raised his staff, but it was too late. The bloom of fire blasted towards Levil and he felt the rush of heat. Makki raced forwards, barking, and the three [Mercenaries] on horseback turned.

“Pithfire Hounds, forwards! Take them out!”

Keima, Lamont, and Ullica charged. The [Assassin] leapt out of the ashes, cursing. He raised a trembling shortsword.

“You dirty adv—”

Tally’s arrow sprouted from his stomach. He grabbed the arrow and Levil blasted him with fire. The [Assassin] fell backwards and Levil turned. The dust cloud was racing west. He saluted it, then joined his team.

“Part favor repaid. But mostly profit. Good luck, Wind Runner.”

The Pithfire Hounds closed on the remaining [Mercenaries]. And the wind blew west. At her desk, Alime, the [Receptionist] stared at the cloud over the roofs of the city. She could see it, even through the window. Shakily, she looked around. Then she snapped at one of the other [Receptionists] on duty.

“Time it. Ryoka Griffin, the Wind Runner, left Reizmelt at half past noon. Tell the Adventurer’s Guild in Walta to time her arrival. This run’s going to define her. Tell them to expect her. And tell them—here comes Reizmelt’s Wind Runner.”

—-

It wasn’t a simple run. And it wasn’t quick, either. And each step was blowing wind. As the dust picked up, Ryoka ran through a cloud of sand and grit. She could see ahead of her—barely ten feet. So she followed the road. She followed her instincts. And the whirling dust around her cleared and shifted as the first minute became an hour.

Her lungs burned. Her arms pumped. And Ryoka ran. She didn’t pace herself. She didn’t slow down. She just kept the same, furious pace she’d started with. As if she could keep it up forever. And for the first hour, she could. The blowing wind, the urgency of her task, Lady Bethal’s daring, it kept her going.

But then she faltered. Ryoka slowed, going from signpost to signpost. The dust dropped out of the air. She looked around wildly as the wind slowed. Pursuers? Ambushes?

She had no idea. She couldn’t slow. But an hour in and Ryoka had blown through her reserves. If this was a marathon or a race—and it was—she was overtaxed. In her world, she would have been a fool.

“In my world.”

Ryoka spat as she checked the signpost again. She grabbed a potion from her belt and downed it as she ran left, down the main road for Walta. The stamina potion burned its way down her throat. And suddenly, Ryoka felt more energy burning from her legs. She took a breath and ran.

The wind picked back up. A procession of wagons on the road halted and the drivers cursed. But the dust cloud had emerged once again and nothing could stop Ryoka. She ran. But her reinvigorated body could only go so far. After ten minutes, she began to flag.

Healing potion. This time her aching bare feet healed after a single mouthful. Her legs felt strong again. Ryoka picked up her pace. And time stretched on.

—-

No pacing. No slowing from that mad run. Stamina potion again, the instant Ryoka felt her pace slow. And then another healing potion. The shots of energy and relief ran through her like the strongest energy drink. So much concentrated energy it felt like poison.

Which it was.

The second hour was no better than the first. The third hurt worst of all. By the fourth, Ryoka had stopped processing the trauma. Her body was healing, refilling itself with energy. Now she felt like more machine than person. She drank down the last drop of her stamina potion.

She was running as fast as she could, in the center of the vortex of sand. It had blown out twice, but the winds faithfully picked up the grit Ryoka poured out of her bag of holding. And Ryoka was still running.

—-

Sprinting, racing across the ground. As fast as she had ever run.

The fourth empty bottle hit the ground as Ryoka dropped it, heedless of littering. She felt the rush of energy pour through her limbs and she picked up the pace again, as if she had just begun running. Not started four hours ago. And she was getting close.

“Clear winds.”

Ryoka gasped. The sand cleared from the wind, allowing her to see ahead of herself. She knew where to go. The signs told her she was getting closer to Walta. But she still had far to go.

And she was flagging. The third stamina bottle shook in Ryoka’s grip. Her entire body was shaking. And when she finally forced the liquid down her throat, it burned and hurt. Ryoka felt sick. But she couldn’t stop. If she stopped, she’d collapse.

—-

The potions hurt now. As bad as mana potion sickness. But she was closer. Ryoka could feel it. The winds were at her back, propelling her forwards. She didn’t have the strength for the dust cloud. Or—or was it that the winds sensed her weakening spirit? Either way, they had slackened.

But they still blew. And she still ran. Her feet were cut up. Ryoka took a mouthful of healing potion and threw up as she ran. Too many potions. She gulped down one last mouthful and ran. Fast—as fast as—

If you can’t run faster, even with magic, what’s the point?

A laughing, running demon was urging her onwards. He was a black shadow against the tunnel of Ryoka’s vision. She chased him across a field, across roads, around large wagons and shouting voices. Hands dragged at her. Horses raced past her. They wanted to drag her down. But the wind blew, and no one touched her.

Fast. Faster. So many potions. Ryoka threw one behind her. She didn’t know if she’d drunk it or not. Or if she’d even opened it. Had it been full? She staggered.

The ground was harder. Not dirt anymore. Ryoka looked around. Something—a bright blue shape beckoned her right. And ahead. Ryoka ran after it, as fast as she could.

The tunnel was getting longer. The darkness more profound. Ryoka paused to throw up on a rock. The rock moved, shouted, and kicked at her. She staggered.

“Sorry.”

“What the hell are you—what kind of trash Street Runner are you?”

The rock turned into a person. A staring Centaur. A Centaur. Ryoka focused on her as she wiped her mouth. The Centaur was standing and pointing at her filthy leg. Ryoka leaned on her.

“Sorry. Where am I?”

“Walta’s Runner’s Guild! You just came in here and—hey! HEY!”

Ryoka pushed past the Centaur Runner. Centaur Runner? The desk swam in front of her. She saw a woman rising behind it.

“Ryoka Griffin?”

“That’s me. I haven’t run in a circle, have I? Alime?”

Ryoka glanced around. The guild looked so familiar. The [Receptionist] shook her head.

“I’m not Alime. You’ve been running for hours. You outran three ambush parties.”

“I did? I didn’t even notice them. I—I have a delivery. For the Grandmaster of the Petal Knights. Sir Nathald.”

“I know. He’s on his way. You’re sick. Miss Griffin. How many potions did you take?”

“Six? Eight?”

Ryoka heard a mutter. The woman turned to a patch of darkness on Ryoka’s left, and then to her.

“Healing and stamina?”

“Maybe.”

“Help her throw up.”

“I’m fine. I did—”

Ryoka felt an unfriendly finger in her throat. She gagged. And then she did throw up. The world hazed out, and then stopped being so dark. Someone was offering her something. Ryoka tasted water. The [Receptionist] was bending over her when Ryoka looked up.

“The [Knights] are here for you, Miss Griffin.”

The young woman just wanted to lie on the ground. But somehow, that got her up. She clutched her side, the bag of holding she’d refused to let anyone touch.

“Okay. I have it right here. I’m—”

She got up with someone’s help. The [Receptionist] pulled Ryoka to her feet with the angry Centaur. She pushed Ryoka to a group of pink people.

“One more thing. Miss Griffin. You just ran seventy nine miles in less than five and a half hours. And that’s as the bird flies. You’ve passed the qualifying speed for a Courier.”

“Oh?”

Ryoka blinked at the woman. She turned and staggered past her.

“I had help. The wind’s with me.”

The arm holding her snorted. The half-horse girl dragged Ryoka forwards, her hooves clopping on the ground.

“Centaurs are faster. This one’s half-dead.”

“She outran three ambush parties. The first is wiped out. The other two never even caught her—”

“I never even saw…”

Ryoka blinked and stopped. Her vision swam clearer. A group of pink…[Knights] were assembled in front of her. Two dozen. A man with a grey beard and hair removed his helmet.

“Miss Ryoka Griffin?”

“That’s me. Who’re you?”

“Sir Nathald. We were told to expect you. You have a [Message] of utmost importance for us. Do you have proof of Lady Walchaís’ authority?”

“I do.”

Ryoka blinked. She shook her head and nearly fell over. Sir Nathald and the Centaur girl caught her. She stared hard at the [Knight].

“Do—do you have proof you’re all Rose Knights?”

The pink-armored [Knights] glanced at each other, bemused and amused. The Centaur snorted. Sir Nathald didn’t laugh. He reached out and offered Ryoka something.

“Here. Will this suffice?”

It was a seal. Custom-made. Ryoka studied it. It was a match of the seal that Bethal had shown her. The unique rose-quartz melded with the crimson wood would be very hard to forge. She nodded.

“Pretty good. Got more proof?”

“The Runner’s Guild vouches for them. Show them your proof, Miss Griffin.”

The [Receptionist] appeared in Ryoka’s view. The Runner gave up. She reached for her bag of holding and pulled something out. It was tiny and cold in her hand. It chimed softly as she held it out.

“Here’s mine.”

A silver bell. It was much worn, scratched on the side. The [Knight] peered at it close, noting two of the scratches. He nodded after a second.

“Sir Thomast’s. He would never give it up. And it’s genuine.”

“You’re sure, sir?”

“A [Fencer]’s bell. I’m sure. Pardon me, [Receptionist] Clavine. Please clear your Guild. What is your message, Miss Griffin?”

Ryoka felt people moving around her. She blinked up at Sir Nathald.

“Password. Thomast told me…Bethal says that Sir Tipel’s favorite steed is a warhorse. But a Griffin would be much more desirable if he had the courage to tame it. But Lady Walchaís has always wanted to ride—”

“A Kraken.”

Sir Nathald’s voice was amused. Ryoka nodded.

“Double authentication complete. Here’s the message. Thomast sent it. Bethal’s been sent black roses. People tried to kill her.”

Amid the gasps of the Rose Knights, Ryoka leaned forwards. She tried very, very hard not to throw up into Sir Nathald’s ear as she whispered.

“And this is what he wants you to do…”

She looked up at him. Sir Nathald’s face didn’t change one bit.

“Of course. We’ll lock down the border at once. You five, secure the estate. Eighteen will ride to escort Lady Walchaís and Sir Thomast home. The rest of you—with me.”

—-

“They’ve received Ryoka Griffin’s message and confirmed it. An escort is riding towards us now.”

Thomast announced as he checked the [Message] scroll. Bethal sighed, slightly relieved as she checked the forest road ahead of her.

“Good.”

“We need a more secure way of communicating, Bethal. Something that can’t be blocked. Or else next time the Order of the Petal might not be able to trust our communications.”

Thomast rolled up the magical scroll. Bethal smiled crookedly.

“That City Runner seemed to do the job. But I agree. In a world where we can watch what’s happening in Baleros, we still can’t trust [Message] spells. Couriers and Runners are still more reliable. I’ll ask if Magnolia has some artifact stashed away. Or else we’ll simply have more [Knights] do the delivering of messages.”

“Agreed. But for now, you and I will ride with at least an escort of six at all times.”

Thomast turned to Bethal. She sighed.

“Very well. Now will you tell me where Sir Kerrig went? If my safety is so important.”

“His task is just as important. It’s an affair of honor.”

“Which means?”

Bethal rode next to Thomast and leaned against him. He smiled.

“I simply told them to act in a manner I felt befitting. No deaths. No war. So he’s going to find the Order of Clairei Fields. I understand their representatives were still close to the city. And he’ll…”

Thomast whispered into Bethal’s ear for a moment. She blinked.

“Thomast! Him and Sir Nathald? The entire order? Really?”

Bethal shot up in her saddle, looking delighted and shocked. Thomast reached out and stroked her hair.

“I never said I wasn’t angry. And I never said you had to let it all slide.”

She looked at him and laughed. Then she reached out. He held her hand.

“Thomast? I do love you.”

“I never doubted it.”

—-

It was a proper inn. The best in the city. The [Innkeeper] was quite prosperous. His tables were polished to perfection, and he employed a [Chef] with [Advanced Cooking]. His drinks were famous, locally, at least. And his beds were as soft as could be.

And they were [Knights] so of course they found their way there. The six [Knights] of the Clairei Order were toasting each other after a long journey on the road.

“Six days from the Order’s headquarters. And six days back. Six deliveries, when a single junior [Knight] might have made it themselves.”

The [Knight] speaking, a young man with the beginnings of a mustache, grimaced. His companions did likewise as they toasted him. Six mugs clinked, and they all downed their drinks. The speaker wiped his mouth with a sigh. At least the alcohol took the edge off.

Sir Molte of the Clairei Knights, rumored to have the fastest [Knights] on the entire continent, was about think up another toast. It had been a long journey, and he was in the mood to drink. The proof lay in the three rounds of mugs that had already been taken away, and the satisfied smile on the [Innkeeper]’s face. The Clairei Knights were downing their fourth round when the door opened.

“Good evening, Sir Knight!”

The [Innkeeper]’s voice made Sir Molte glance up. For a second Molte wondered if a seventh member of their order had joined them by chance. But one look towards the open door instantly disproved that theory.

A man wearing polished, bright, pink armor stepped into the inn, looking around. He had a quite handsome face, but his armor? You couldn’t call it a pale red, or a light purple. There was no way getting around it. It was pink. And there was only one order on all of Izril, no, surely, the entire world who sported that unfortunate color.

Sir Molte eyed the man’s bright, pink armor and repressed his amusement. Some of the other Clairei Knights were less circumspect. Molte heard a chuckle and a snort. He waved them to silence and stood up as the [Knight] walked past the [Innkeeper].

“Sir Rose Knight! Come join us! It’s always welcome to have a fellow knight errant at the table!”

“Pink or yellow, it matters not!”

One of the other [Knights] called out. There was a chuckle from the Clairei Knights and a cautious chuckle from the other tables nearby. The [Innkeeper] hesitated. But the Rose Knight walked towards the six Clairei Knights as if that had been his intention all along. He removed his helmet and carefully put it into a bag of holding at his side.

Sir Molte eyed the bag of holding with envy, and then took a good look at the armor. Of course, the Knights of the Petal were renowned for their nigh-unbreakable armor. The quality of their arms—Molte nearly choked on his drink as he saw the battleaxe on the [Knight]’s back. Now there was a weapon no one in the Order of Clairei Fields would ever dream of using! He half-rose and beckoned for a chair.

“Come and sit, Ser. I am Sir Molte. Will you drink with us?”

The other [Knight] was clearly a good deal older than the young Clairei Knights. And that demanded respect, even if the armor did not. The Clairei Knights schooled their merriment. The Rose Knight looked at them. Then he shook his head.

“I’m afraid my business does not allow me to drink. But I do have business with you, sir. And your order.”

“Oh?”

Sir Molte looked up. There was an aspect of the older [Knight]’s tone that Molte didn’t like. He reassured himself that his sword and shield were still on his person. And his comrades numbered five. The [Knight] was alone.

“Indeed, sir. I understand you were one of the [Knights] who delivered a gift. A parcel to six [Ladies] around these lands. As far south as Invrisil and as far north as First Landing.”

Sir Molte jumped. One of his fellows dropped her mug with an oath. Molte stared up at the Rose Knight. That was a secret mission from his order’s grandmaster!

“You seem to have come by way of precious information to our order, Ser Rose Knight. May I ask how you know what our task was?”

“By tomorrow, I imagine the world will know of what was sent. Already half of Izril does. Your task, Sir Molte and companions, was to deliver a flower. To Lady Bethal Walchaís, among others. Did you know that?”

The [Knights] shook their heads, puzzled. The Rose Knight gave them a mirthless smile.

“Well, perhaps it is as well. But your order’s grandmaster surely knew the flower and message that was sent. You only knew the item was to be sent as a token of the Order of Clairei Field’s will.”

“Goodwill, surely.”

One of the [Knights] next to Molte protested. The Rose Knight stared at him and the younger man went silent.

“If that is goodwill, then Rhir overflows with kindness, sir. The item sent to Lady Bethal was none other than a black rose. A mark of cowardice among Izril’s nobility as I understand it.”

The six [Knights] went silent. Sir Molte, who had been raised as a [Lord] and understood something of flowers, went suddenly pale. The Rose Knight nodded.

“You may imagine my [Lady]’s displeasure. And it was curious that the Order of Clairei Fields would impugn Lady Bethal Walchaís’ honor so. She fought during the Sacrifice of Roses. Or were you not aware?”

He leaned over the table. Sir Molte began sweating. He forced a smile.

“Ser Knight—I’ve not caught your name. My fellow [Knights] and I cannot speak for our order, much less our grandmaster, but I’m sure the reasons for whatever—discourtesy was afforded Lady Walchaís were known.”

“Such as her dishonorable conduct towards Lord Tyrion and the allies of the realm. Not to mention her sabotage at the siege of Liscor.”

One of the other Clairei Knights muttered. Sir Molte shot his friend a look. This was not the time for politics. The Rose Knight’s face didn’t change.

“I’m sure the Order of Clairei Fields has any number of reasons. But a discourtesy is a discourtesy. Which is why I’ve come here. At the behest of Sir Thomast, consort and husband to Lady Bethal Walchaís. I am Sir Kerrig Louis, by the way, Sir Molte.”

“Ah. Well met. And you are here to do what, exactly, Sir Kerrig?”

Molte held still. He wasn’t reaching for his sword. It would be inconceivable to draw steel on the man and moreover, he was alone. Wasn’t he? Molte glanced at the door and saw the [Innkeeper] hurrying over.

“Sir Knight! Why don’t you have a seat? I have a number of rooms—private and public! And a drink for the long road! The inn’s finest!”

He had a mug brimming with the sweetest of ales. The inn held its breath as the Rose Knight regarded the beverage. The Clairei Knights held still.

At last, Sir Kerrig accepted the mug. The world exhaled. Sir Kerrig lifted the mug to his lips and Molte raised his and cried out in relief.

“A toast, then! To good honor and the Knights of the Petal!”

Six mugs rose with his. The Clairei Knights. And Sir Kerrig. He lifted his mug. And then, slowly and deliberately, poured the contents over Sir Molte’s head.

The inn went silent. Molte stared at the liquid dribbling down his armor as the [Innkeeper] fled. The Clairei Knight shot to his feet with a roar of fury. Without missing a beat, Sir Kerrig swung the mug and smashed it into the man’s face.

The stout wood mug cracked. Sir Molte’s face did much the same. He staggered back and landed on the table. It collapsed under him with a crash. The other Clairei Knights cried out in shock and got to their feet. Sir Kerrig tossed the handle of his mug aside. He raised his voice until it echoed around the inn.

“I will not drink with cowards who send insults to smear my [Lady]’s name. Nor will I stand idly by to watch churls and base scum take the class of [Knight]. I am Sir Kerrig of the Knights of the Petal. The Clairei Knights are now the enemies of my order, until proper redress is made to our [Lady]. As such, I challenge all of you to a duel of fisticuffs.”

He raised a hand and made a fist. The Order of Clairei Fields stared at him. Then one of them drew a sword with an oath.

“You’ll answer that insult with steel, you bastard!”

She rose from her chair. Sir Kerrig slowly put one hand on the haft of the battleaxe on his back. He lifted it out of the harness. The Clairei Knights froze as the enchanted battleaxe sparked with lightning. Sir Kerrig looked at them.

“If you would like to make this a contest of arms, I would not object. If not, I would sheathe that sword, young lady. But arms or not, you will answer to me here.”

The [Knights] froze. They looked at each other. The female [Knight] eyed her plain, steel sword and sheathed it slowly. Sir Kerrig lowered his battleaxe. He nodded.

“Very well. In that case—”

A groggy Sir Molte’s first sign something was wrong was when he felt himself being picked up. Then Sir Molte flew. He crashed through one of the windows of the inn and landed on the ground. Sir Kerrig calmly throttled the second [Knight].

“The Order of Petals draws no blood unless necessary. We are all sons and daughters of Izril. This should not come to beheadings or violence. So Sir Thomast has proclaimed. With that said?”

He gripped the [Knight], ran him forwards, and smashed him into the wall. The [Knight] collapsed and the [Innkeeper] shrieked at the head-sized hole in the delicate wood paneling. Sir Kerrig turned and the remaining [Knights] backed up. The old [Knight] smiled coldly.

“This is war.”

—-

And so the Order of the Petal rode to war. House Walchaís was locked down; the lands secured as all traffic in and out of its borders temporarily halted. The [Lady] of the land returned home with a fierce escort of her most loyal defenders without further incident.

It was one event among many taking place across Izril. Battle lines were being drawn, and the Rose Knights began to answer insult with injury. And this event happened because of a message sent by Lady Bethal Walchaís to her trusted Grandmaster of the Rose, Sir Nathald.

And few people cared to know more than the implications and direct outcomes of Lady Bethal’s decision. But for those who looked, history in this moment had a footnote.

On a Thursday, Lady Bethal Walchaís was the recipient of the black rose, a symbol of cowardice across Izril. She was also the victim of an unrelated, unknown assassination attempt by unknown clients. Subsequently, the Lady Walchaís returned home and sent immediate word requesting an escort and for her Order of the Petal to rise to assail the enemies of her realm as she saw them. The message she sent arrived by Runner, not spell.

And the Wind Runner of Reizmelt delivered it.

6.27 M

Magnolia Reinhart. To many, she was as much of a legend as any Named Adventurer that Izril could boast of. She was a name that defined the continent, for better or worse.

Pallass. First Landing. Tyrion Veltras. Saliss of Lights. Terithia Kinslayer. The Bloodfeast Raiders. The Terland family. Zel Shivertail—or who would now step into his place? Klbkch the Slayer.

Heroes and villains. All depending on who you asked, of course. But in that list there was always her name. Magnolia Reinhart. And she was a villain to many. To very many, in fact. They still told stories of her rise to power and how she had claimed authority over her family.

She was a schemer, someone who used assassins and poison without scruple or mercy. A manipulator. And a woman. Those ideas often ran so close together, especially when people talked about women with power. Magnolia Reinhart could not be trusted.

“Compared to who?”

Ressa shook her head as she pinned her hair back. It always bothered the [Head Maid] of Magnolia’s household whenever she heard those statements. You couldn’t trust Magnolia? She often kept her word. More than most of Izril’s nobles. Who would you trust if you couldn’t trust her?

Lord Tyrion? Sure, if you wanted to beat your head against the unwavering brick wall that was his skull and stubborn pride. Another noble? Lord Erill? The man had as many ties to the underworld of crime as he did to honest enterprise. Lord Pellmia? That man had enough blood on his hands and enough broken vows to match anything Magnolia had ever done. One of the Walled Cities? Ask Liscor how Pallass honored its debts.

And as for women—no. It was just because Magnolia was the first among them that they called her untrustworthy. She was a woman in power. And that was frightening.

To some. But in Magnolia’s mansion, when Ressa opened the door to her private quarters and stepped out, she didn’t see fear or terror of poison on the faces of the staff as she swept through the carpeted floors. She saw a good deal of fear, true, but it was all directed at her.

Here she came. The true terror behind Magnolia, at least to her staff. And it wasn’t because Ressa was unflinchingly strict. She could be that—but it was rather how she tended to operate when there weren’t guests about. Ressa had ways.

Her first way was to get up before dawn. When the sky was still growing brighter, Ressa flitted from shadow to shadow, inspecting the hallways for dust and possible signs of infiltration. She was a [Maid]. But she had been trained like an [Assassin]. And she had inherited the best Skills of both classes.

Now Ressa leapt. The [Maid] dusting the hallway outside of Ressa’s room looked around. It was the constant occupation of the staff. A mansion as large as Magnolia’s estate obviously needed tending, but the staff hunted even the smallest of dust motes to extinction for a good reason: it helped them level.

The [Maid] class was one of the easiest classes in the world to level up if you kept busy. And it was infinitely combinable. And so if you could gain a level from dusting vigorously for a month, why not have the highest-level staff in the world? The ultimate cleaners. And if need be—

Fighters. Mages. And yes, assassins. The [Maid] in question was yawning, not having Ressa’s tolerance for early mornings. But she was dutifully dusting—right until she noticed a noticeable stain on the wall. This required more than a feather duster. So the [Maid] clicked her fingers and produced a small orb of water. She dipped a cloth into the water, cleaned the stain, inspected the wall, and created a bloom of light to inspect it. She leaned forwards, and then whirled.

“[Sticky Webs]!”

The spell shot up across the hallway, towards the figure perched on the ceiling. Ressa jumped out of the way and ran down the wall. The [Maid Mage] gasped—Ressa’s hand was at her throat. She stared down and saw Ressa’s gloved hand. It was holding a feather, from the duster.

“You dropped it.”

“Miss Ressa. I—”

“Phesofi. You did spot me. But you used water on an ink stain. Next time apply an alchemical tonic.”

“Urk.”

Phesofi looked behind her at the wallpaper, which might have the tiniest of smudges now. Ressa shook her head.

“Good work. Clean up.”

She dropped the feather. Phesofi caught it and then stared past Ressa at the webs now clogging the upper hallway. And at Ressa’s slight footprints that had dirtied the polished woodwork. The [Maid] sighed.

Ressa continued onwards, ignoring the [Maid Mage] as she levitated up to take care of the stains. They did level. And if you had a [Maid Mage] class, when you leveled, you leveled up as both a [Maid] and a [Mage]. Far faster than you’d level as a pure [Mage]. Even if your Skills were divided, that was power.

“Phesofi, good. Next—”

Ressa walked up the side of the wall, avoiding a large and hairy [Maid] passing down the next corridor. Bekia, the sole Gnoll [Maid], sniffed the air. Then she looked up.

“Good morning, Miss Ressa.”

“Morning, Bekia. Pass.”

The Gnoll nodded. Ressa walked on the ceiling, a fact that annoyed some of the staff assigned to clean up there no end. But this was a test. She passed down the next corridor and looked down. A young [Maid] was wiping at the side of a regal painting. Ressa frowned, although this girl wasn’t one of the combat-capable staff she was testing on her patrol. Ressa dropped from the ceiling to the ground, twenty feet. The mansion had three floors, all with tall ceilings for good reason.

“Mavi.”

The [Maid] whirled around and screamed. Instantly, Ressa heard running feet. Both Bekia and Phesofi appeared around the corridor. They relaxed when they saw Ressa and the terrified [Maid].

“M-miss Ressa? I didn’t hear—”

The young woman stuttered. Ressa had appeared behind her like a ghost. The [Head Maid] stared at Mavi. She pointed at the cloth in the girl’s hand.

“You are polishing the portrait of Sir Gilet’s triumph over the King of Griffins with—is that chamois leather? Absolutely not. You’ll tarnish the silver.”

She reached out and touched the edges of the silver painting. Mavi the unfortunate [Maid] shook in place.

“I’m terribly sorry, Miss Ressa. I only though that since it looks so good, I should use—”

She held up the delicate cleaning cloth. Ressa made a disgusted sound. Amateurs. Mavi had probably never served in a noble house with actual, precious silverwork.

“Use cotton. And soap and water! Bekia, take Mavi in hand and ensure she doesn’t make more mistakes.”

“At once, Ressa.”

The Gnoll [Maid] hurried over. Mavi stared up at Bekia with huge, round eyes. The Gnoll was over six feet tall, while Mavi, not yet seventeen, was a little over five feet. Bekia gave her a friendly smile. For a Gnoll, which meant lots of teeth. Ressa sighed. She stepped back and to Mavi’s horror, vanished.

“Hrm. Not too bad of a tarnish. We can clean this easily, yes? Good thing you didn’t do the entire painting. I’m surprised no one caught this earlier. But you were hired in a few days ago, yes? Tsk. What do they teach young [Maids] these days?”

The Gnoll inspected the silver, ignoring Mavi’s expression. The girl stuttered as she pointed at the space Ressa had been.

“Wh—but—she—”

“Hm? Oh, Miss Ressa is just very busy. She doesn’t mean much by her words. She is really quite kind, yes?”

Bekia turned and gave Mavi a reassuring smile. The girl stared at the Gnoll and gulped. She was hyperventilating, so Bekia gently let her sit on the carpeted floor.

“I’m going to die.”

“It’s alright.”

“B-but I heard she killed [Maids] who didn’t do their jobs right!”

The Gnoll looked shocked.

“Miss Ressa? No, no. She would never do that. Not unless you damaged the painting. Er, that is a joke, yes? She’s very nice. Just…secretive. You’ll get used to it.”

“But there’s Golems walking around the courtyard! And I went near the gardens and the [Gardener] threatened to feed me to the plants!”

“He does that. Didn’t anyone tell you not to go near the garden?”

Mavi sniffed.

“I only wanted to pick a flower.”

“Better you don’t. The [Gardener] regards his flowers like people. Pick a flower and he’ll pick you.”

The girl shuddered. Bekia realized that she wasn’t actually being reassuring and laid a big paw on Mavi’s shoulder. The girl stared at it, wide-eyed. Bekia smiled again.

“You haven’t met a Gnoll before, yes?”

“No…”

“We will be friends, then! And you will do fine. Most new staff have a terrible first week. But the ones who stay, they do well. And you will stay, I think. You would not be hired if you were not promising.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. Now, let’s clean this silver and you will have breakfast with me. And I will explain to you about cloths, how to clean footsteps off the ceiling, and why the gardens are so very dangerous, yes?”

Mavi wavered. She looked ready to run. But faced with Bekia’s smile, the girl realized that a Gnoll’s toothy grin was the least scary thing in the mansion. So she sniffed again, stood up, and nodded.

That was all Ressa had waited to see. The [Head Maid] walked away across the ceiling, invisible and soundless. She didn’t leave that many footprints either. Even so, Bekia turned her head to wink.

Bekia. A good [Maid]. One of the best, really. A proper [Maid] as opposed to the combat staff. A devil at polishing and hunting down vermin. And she can cook as well as any [Chef] with [Advanced Cooking]. If only she could handle the shedding, she’d be perfect.

Ressa nodded to herself. Bekia was a credit to the mansion. Phesofi on the other hand was a Wistram graduate, who still acted more [Mage] than [Maid]. She’d been with them…two years. She had potential, but she had to act her role. Was she [Mage] or [Maid] with magic? If she couldn’t be the latter, she couldn’t be part of the staff.

And you wanted to be part of Magnolia’s personal staff. The benefits were considerable. True, the demands could be just as unreasonable, but Magnolia Reinhart’s people did not want for money or security, for their jobs or their families. But you had to be good.

Very good. Ressa proceeded down the next corridor. This time the hallway was filled with glass windows; the front of the mansion. She saw a colorful shape glide across the glass; one of the magnificent, enchanted animals that swam across Magnolia’s mansion as if the walls and windows were water.

Ressa kept away from the windows and landed on the floor again. The hallway had several pedestals bearing treasures on display. Ressa crept from pedestal to pedestal, until she was nearly upon the [Maid] staring out the window. Ressa reached for one of the throwing daggers and flicked it from her wrist as she slid behind the [Maid].

“Sacra.”

“Ressa.”

The woman lowered her mace. Ressa lowered the dagger.

“Pass.”

Sacra nodded. She put the enchanted mace into her bag of holding.

“Weekly security check?”

“I’m conducting it early.”

“Nervous?”

Ressa frowned.

“Perhaps. Something’s in the air. Keep your mace ready. Magnolia may call on you.”

Sacra nodded. She turned to inspecting the window as Ressa leapt back up to the ceiling. A [Manservant] hurrying down the corridor with a load of cleaned curtains saw the shape flitting upwards. He stared up as Ressa stared down at him from the ceiling. His scream was no less high-pitched than Mavi’s.

“Quiet. The household is asleep.”

Ressa glared at the man. He nodded as he grabbed at the curtains. Sacra suppressed a snort. And Ressa was gone again.

Her reign of terror was indeed a combination of her habit of sneaking up on people and her strictness. And the fact that Ressa was known for her role in disposing of nuisances around Magnolia Reinhart herself. But yes, the main reason the staff feared her were instances like that.

Reynold was enjoying a cup of tea in the kitchen. He was eating a sandwich. Ressa whispered in his ears as she stood upside-down right behind him.

“Failure.”

The [Combat Butler] jumped, spilled tea on himself, and reached for his sword all at once. Ressa waited until he’d recovered from his minor heart attack.

“Watch your back, Reynold. And clean up the crumbs.”

She indicated the crumbs on the table. Reynold nodded miserably as he adjusted his outfit, which would now need cleaning and pressing. Ressa walked onwards. Now she slipped out of the mansion and did a check around the estate.

Magnolia Reinhart’s estate was large. It wasn’t part of Invrisil, but rather a decent distance away from the city, separate, but not isolated. The place was more like a fortress than a retreat; aside from the ensorcelled walls and gates, layers of security lay between any visitor and Magnolia Reinhart herself. And in the months since the last attack, the defenses had grown only more elaborate.

The most obvious of defenses marched past Ressa as she quietly walked on the ground, still walking in the shadows of the night. Steel Golems passed the [Maid] by, their heads on a swivel. These gargantuan warriors were more of a show, though. They could help against an army, but despite being giant metal war machines, Ressa knew they were as useless as stationary rocks against anyone in her line of work. She slipped past them, and this time skirted a shadow in the air.

A giant floating raincloud passed Ressa by. It was enchanted to rain on the parts of the estate that needed water. And while it wasn’t raining yet, Ressa didn’t trust it not to rain. She also didn’t like to get below something that could throw [Chain Lightning] spells around. She did a circle of the gardens, inspecting the flower beds, some of the statues, enchanted and mundane, even the walls for signs of tampering or failures in the wards.

The only place Ressa didn’t go was the garden. It had its own protector and was, in a way, the most dangerous part of Magnolia’s mansion. And Ressa did not get along with Nalthaliarstrelous, the [Gardener]. The man was also a [Druid] and Bekia was quite correct in that he took his job seriously. His overgrown hedge maze could probably kill a small army if they wandered in.

Inspection done, Ressa walked into the mansion and visited the kitchens. She didn’t scare the [Chef] on duty, a male Dullahan. The last thing she needed was for him to burn any food by accident. Ressa collected her breakfast and glanced around.

“Have Reynold bring today’s meal to the carriage. We’ll be departing at first light.”

“Yes, Miss Ressa.”

The Dullahan, his armor a decorative mix of silver and wood—painted with floral designs by a master [Artist], very attractive to other Dullahans—watched gloomily as Ressa gulped down her breakfast. Simple porridge and fruit for the [Head Maid]. And she was done in less than a minute. It was good food, which was all the more heartbreaking to the [Chef], but he had learned that Ressa ate fast.

This was how Ressa’s day started. By the time the sun was rising and Magnolia Reinhart was waking up, her right hand and best friend had checked the mansion from head to toe, terrorized the staff, eaten her own breakfast, and collected the day’s itinerary. As Magnolia Reinhart’s head rose from her luxuriant bed, Ressa was standing next to it, a prim and proper shadow for her mistress, the most powerful [Lady] of Izril. Or so Ressa believed.

Magnolia Reinhart, the Deadly Flower Blooming in the North, head of the Reinhart family, and one of the most famed and feared Human women in the world opened her eyes. She stared at the ceiling, raised her head from the pillow—and let it fall. Then she rolled over.

“Another hour, Ressa.”

The [Maid] stared at Magnolia’s slumbering form. Magnolia rolled over, curling up in her silken sheets. Ressa cleared her throat.

“You have a busy day, Magnolia. You’ll need to be on the road in ten minutes. Dressing alone will take—”

“I’m sleepy, Ressa.”

“I’m aware of that. Should I cancel your schedule, then?”

Ressa’ crooked eyebrow suggested that she would hit Magnolia with her list if the woman did. Magnolia groaned.

“I’d like that. Where am I going?”

“Village inspection. We’re headed to Talizmet and then Embrie. Unless you have other plans?”

Magnolia smiled into her pillow.

“No, that sounds quite nice, actually. Fresh air and all that. Is the carriage ready?”

“Reynold should have it prepared and ready to go. Are you getting up?”

“In three minutes.”

Ressa stared out of Magnolia’s window. A huge eye stared back at her. An enchanted whale swam down the outside of Magnolia’s mansion. Through its transparent body, Ressa could see the sun rising.

“I think you need to get up now. Magnolia. Magnolia Reinhart. It is time to get up.”

“Ressa. You are as terrible as those shrieking sounds those children showed me on their devices. No, worse. Just give me two more minutes…”

Magnolia’s voice faded away. Ressa leaned over her. She whispered to Magnolia’s comatose form.

“If you don’t get up I will make you get up.”

“How?”

“I will push you out of your bed.”

Magnolia considered this. Wearily and very grudgingly, she rolled over. Then she sat up.

“I detest you at times, Ressa, for all of our long enduring friendship.”

“I’m prepared to be hated. That’s part of my job.”

Magnolia nodded glumly.

“I fear that hatred doesn’t encapsulate all of the delightful emotions I’m feeling right now. May I at least see my apparel, tyrant?”

Ressa sighed. The wardrobe slid open and rows of dresses arranged themselves in the air as she clicked her fingers. Magnolia blinked blearily, not one whit impressed by the magical dresser.

“I think the mauve dress. The long arms and lattice, yes. Mm. Nicely trimmed. I’m feeling properly mauve today.”

“As you wish. It’s a dull color, but I don’t choose your dresses for you.”

Magnolia sighed, exasperated as she stood and quickly changed clothes with Ressa’s help.

“Ressa, you wear a black and white maid’s uniform. And your fashion of choice is dark grey, green, or blue. And that’s when you’re not on the job.”

“And you like pink.”

“Mauve.”

“Either way. You’re dressed. Do you want anything else?”

“Dignity? But I suppose I’ll find that later.”

Magnolia sighed. She slapped her cheeks lightly and turned around. The bleary look in her eyes faded, as did the casual, chatty tone in her voice. She sighed, and then a [Lady] gave Ressa a smile that you could use to hammer a nail into the wall. You could bounce bricks off Magnolia Reinhart’s façade. And she’d just woken up.

“Ah, well, time to be about the business of the day. Let’s be on with it, shall we?”

She walked towards the door as Ressa held it open. And the complaining, sleepy Magnolia was a thing of the past. The real thing, or rather, the person everyone else saw delicately walked out the door, calling a cheerful greeting to the first servant she saw in the halls. Only Ressa saw the complaining Magnolia, the one who wanted to sleep in. She saw Magnolia’s weakness and that was a cherished moment of weakness. For Magnolia Reinhart let few people see that she had anything close to vulnerability. She had too many enemies. And too few friends.

“Are we taking the main carriage or the backup today?”

Magnolia chatted softly to Ressa as they walked through the halls of Magnolia’s mansion. Now the place was beginning to wake up with the house’s [Lady], and servants were filling the halls.

Not all were there just to clean or cook; many had other roles. Tending to guests if they were there, shopping, preparing for little trips abroad to fulfill Magnolia Reinhart’s tasks, battling the encroaching garden…Magnolia had a large staff, and all of them paused to greet the lady of the house. Magnolia frowned absently.

“The main carriage’s enchantment spell is still malfunctioning?”

“Apparently. I’ve had the [Enchanter], Hedault, look at it twice, but he claims the encounter with the Goblin Lord has damaged the wards beyond his ability to repair. He insists we call upon a [Mage] of Wistram for further repairs.”

The two women walked down the mansion’s corridors. Magnolia smiled and greeted servants who curtseyed to her while Ressa glared over her shoulder.

“Damn. But that isn’t his specialty, is it? Hello, Mavi. Don’t mind Ressa. She’s in a mood. Good morning, to you all.”

She passed by Mavi, who was with Bekia as the Gnoll showed her how to clean a vase to Ressa’s standards. Magnolia smiled at the younger, Human girl with freckles as Mavi jumped and stammered a greeting. Mavi paled as Ressa gave her a look. Magnolia sighed.

“Don’t bully the younger staff, Ressa. You’re supposed to be nurturing.”

Magnolia flicked a hand impatiently at Ressa. The [Maid] leaned back and the fingers missed her by a second. Magnolia flicked her wrist again and missed; Ressa dodged the waving fingers with ease.

“I’m kind to the staff in my own way. However, I am their boss.”

“And I’m their employer. Surely that gives me the authority to give orders?”

Ressa snorted softly. Magnolia sighed.

“Of course not. How silly of me. Good morning, Reynold!”

The two walked out of the double doors of the mansion. A [Butler] stood by an astonishingly pink carriage. He swept Magnolia and Ressa a quick bow.

“Milady Reinhart. Miss Ressa. Where to first?”

He held the carriage door open as Magnolia settled herself inside. The sumptuous carriage was rich enough to make any transport pleasant, and the padded, cushy interior was only a fraction of the carriage’s delights.

As Reynold climbed into the driver’s seat, two ghostly horses appeared and the carriage smoothly began rolling forwards. The wheels actually levitated a few inches off the ground, and the entire vehicle could reach insane speeds without the occupants feeling a thing. Inside the carriage, Magnolia leaned back as Ressa fussed with a silver-domed, covered tray.

“Talizmet first. What’s first on our list, Ressa? And is this breakfast I smell?”

The [Maid] lifted the cover with a nod. A pleasant aroma filled the carriage.

“Spiced biscuits. Nutmeg. Assorted fruits. Milk. Some butter. A boiled egg.”

“Delightful, delightful.”

Magnolia smiled in genuine delight as Reynold took the carriage out of the mansion and out onto the road at gathering speed. Both women ignored the landscape blurring outside. Magnolia peered around the hot plate of food with dismay.

“However…I heard you say milk, but where’s the tea, Ressa?”

“I have a small pot here. But there is no sugar to add to it.”

Ressa shook a tiny kettle. Magnolia froze as she reached for her cup.

“Well, that’s clearly a mistake. Check the side cupboard. I always keep a spare bag there.”

The [Maid] gave Magnolia a cold smile.

“You’re mistaking me. What I meant to say was, there is no sugar anywhere in this carriage, Magnolia. Even in your hiding places. You’ve been having too much. You’re gaining weight.”

She poked at Magnolia’s midriff. The [Lady] sat up indignantly.

“I resent that! I have a full figure compared to you, Ressa. But I’m hardly overweight.”

“Because I watch your diet. Skills or not, you eat too much sugar. Your teeth should have melted years ago.”

“Hence the ban on sugar for breakfasts?”

“You can have some later. For now, you may have tea with milk. Or none at all.”

Magnolia’s eyes slowly narrowed as she stared at Ressa. She took a deep breath.

“Ressa, I love you like a sister sometimes. And bearing in mind that I am a Reinhart, you should understand exactly how much of a threat that is. Don’t take away my sugar. Or I’ll have to get nasty.”

Her glare could have pinned a gnat to the wall. Ressa was unmoved.

“So that’s no tea, then?”

Magnolia glowered. Then she raised her cup.

“Fill it. And if I don’t have a sugar cube by midday, there will be blood.”

“Duly noted. Eat up. Your food’s growing cold.”

—-

The pink carriage that bore Magnolia Reinhart was obviously as famous as the woman itself. Death to [Bandits], the fastest and most obnoxious vehicle on the road, it could travel over a hundred miles an hour. It could even fly. So Magnolia and Ressa arrived at the village they’d chosen almost minutes after Magnolia had finished her breakfast.

Talizmet wasn’t far; it was in fact on Magnolia’s lands. That was to say, the area around Invrisil, the City of Adventurers. Magnolia Reinhart owned Invrisil, the surrounding demesne, and a few other properties as her main holdings. Of course, the Reinhart family possessed far more land, but if any could be said to be Magnolia’s explicitly, it was this area.

“We’re just rolling through this village, Reynold. Keep us moving, but at a walking pace. Ressa, where did the money go?”

“Let’s see. You gave the [Headman] a sizeable fund after the winter snowmelt and spring rains flooded the village four weeks back. The record states that the village suffered extensive flood damage.”

“So I note.”

Magnolia stared gloomily out the window. The pink carriage had slowed as it entered the village, but the wheels still failed to touch the ground. Which was a good thing; the street was more mud than road, and though some parts were dry, it was hardly an ideal walking surface.

In the same vein, Talizmet was not a village on the up and ups. Magnolia could see water damage around three feet in height on the exposed foundations of some of the wooden houses. In other places, the water had clearly damaged the wood. Talizmet was based next to a river—too close, really—and the spring rains and snowmelt had flooded the area.

“I don’t see any effort to fix the houses, do you, Ressa?”

The [Maid] was looking out her window.

“None. Neither is the road rebuilt, although the [Headman] had plenty of time to have it dredged, or even paved if need be. I believe Sacra left him with the details of several reputable [Builders] in Invrisil.”

“She would have. Where has the money all got to? Healing potions? Or have they decided to rebuild a farm? Shore up the river, perhaps?”

Magnolia’s left hand drummed in her lap. Her face was still as she slowly surveyed the damaged village. Ressa glanced at her notes, printed on costly, clean paper in handwriting that would be a match for any [Scribe]’s. Another task of the staff.

“No. There weren’t many injuries and the outlying farms didn’t suffer unduly.”

“The river then. Take us forwards, Reynold. Unless—”

And then they saw it. As the carriage turned around a block of houses, Ressa took in a sharp breath. Magnolia hissed softly. There, standing out like a sore thumb in the middle of the village was a new building, untouched by water damage. A new, sturdy foundation had been laid, and the building was even raised to avoid the same issues of flooding. But it was one building. And it was—

“An inn. A damned inn?”

Magnolia raised her voice in disgust. Sure enough, a large inn had been constructed, and the lights in the windows told Ressa that the inn was getting business, even in the morning. More than one villager looked to have been getting their breakfast there. And from the way a woman missed a step as she walked out of the building, they’d gotten more than just food.

“At least we know now where all the coin went.”

Ressa’s dry voice hid the anger she was feeling. Magnolia didn’t answer. The [Lady]’s hand had stopped drumming and clenched into a fist in her lap.

“Yes. We have. And I’ve seen quite enough. Reynold.”

The [Butler] looked back through the sliding door towards his employer. His face was equally affronted, although it quickly smoothed over into careful neutrality.

“Yes, Lady Reinhart?”

“Find the [Headsman]. Or if he’s not available, one of the sober villagers. I believe you know what to do.”

Magnolia sat back in her carriage, fuming. Ressa silently offered her more unsweetened tea. Magnolia sipped it, stared at Ressa, and poured the tea out the window. Meanwhile, Reynold leapt lightly to the muddy street and looked around, straightening his lapels.

The pink carriage could hardly have been missed as it drove into Talizmet. The color, the enchanted horses and wheels—all of it pointed to one individual. So a number of Talizmet’s villagers were already congregating and someone had roused the inn’s patrons. They came pouring out of the inn to stare.

“Lady Reinhart? Here? Herself?”

It was inconceivable. But then—this was on her land. And she’d just pulled in. So was she here to see the [Headman]? On some other business? Had she sent word and had they failed to notice it? The villagers grew increasingly anxious as Reynold stood by the coach, searching the faces.

Like an unsettled anthill, the villagers gathered, and then found their victim. A man stumbled forwards, middle-aged, his cheeks slightly ruddy and flushed with more than just nerves. He straightened his clothes as he marched towards Reynold in the mud.

“Er, sir! Sir Butler, may I help you?”

The [Headman] of Talizmet halted as Reynold delicately blocked his way. The [Headman] craned his neck, but the windows of the carriage were now covered. He stared at Reynold. The [Butler] gave him a polite, small smile.

“I believe you can. I am Reynold, in service to Lady Reinhart. May I ask if you are the [Headman] of Talizmet, sir?”

The middle-aged man gulped and stood straighter.

“I am. Er, well met, Mister Reynold. My name’s Boultend Drawe. [Headman] of Talizmet. Although the village has seen better times, eh, sir?”

“Indeed, Headman Boultend.”

“Ah—but we’ve been ever so grateful for Lady Reinhart’s aid! The gold’s gone to good use, as you can see.”

Boultend grinned uncertainly. Reynold was looking around as he spoke to Boultend, and his expression, while politely friendly, wasn’t exactly warm. The [Headman] gestured at the inn.

“It’s uh, a real help. Fresh food, good, strong drinks, and the [Innkeeper]’s a right sort. We got him two towns over. Why, with a bit more gold, we’d be able to turn the rest of the village into a place anyone would want to visit. Is—is that why Lady Reinhart’s here?”

His worry suddenly turned hopeful. Boultend stared at the carriage with its magical horses and gilt exterior. He edged closer to Reynold, raising his voice while trying to be conspiratorial.

“We could use a bit more of her funds, to tell you the truth, sir. I’d hardly ask, but the roads are still a mess, and the houses could use more raising. And if we could see to the river as well? I’m sure Lady Reinhart’s generosity would make the young folks ever so gratef—”

The [Headman] stopped then, because the look Reynold gave him wasn’t [Butler]-like at all. It was rather like a man deciding whether to crush a snail in his path. The [Headman] stopped, gulping.

For a second the look was there, then it was gone. Reynold smiled, and it was a polite smile, with no actual engagement on the part of the person behind it. A servant’s smile. He too raised his voice so the people of Talizmet, edging closer, could hear.

“Relief funds? I’m afraid you misunderstand, headman Boultend. Of course the issue of Talizmet’s flooding distresses Lady Reinhart greatly. But, having seen the splendid new inn Talizmet had constructed in lieu of repairing the roads, houses, or shoring up the river against further flooding, Lady Reinhart has decided that the village clearly doesn’t need anything other than the inn. This visit was simply to confirm that fact.”

Color drained out of Boultend’s face. The villagers looked shocked. The [Headman] scrambled to block Reynold’s path as the [Butler] marched back to the carriage.

“Hold on! But sir—our village is in dire need! Surely Lady Reinhart can see that herself!”

“She can and did see the reports, sir. But as I noted, she has also seen how her generous donation to Talizmet has been spent.”

Reynold knocked aside Boultend’s hands and straightened one of his cuffs. Boultend spluttered.

“But we built—”

“An inn. Talizmet has little foot traffic. It does not need an inn, sir. Nor was this the first thing the village should have attended to. Perhaps you thought you could claim the funds were ill-spent, or the costs exceeded your funds. However, Lady Reinhart is known to take a personal interest in how her money is spent. She has seen quite clearly how Talizmet’s [Headman] prioritizes his village.”

Reynold calmly delivered the words like a splash of cold water. Boultend, now completely sober, watched in horror as Reynold climbed into the coach. He reached out, as if to pull the man back. Perhaps he might have even had the thought to throw himself in the way of the carriage, but Reynold’s hand stopped him. As the [Butler] got into his seat, his other hand slid towards the sword at his waist. And Boultend backed away.

“Sir! Mister Reynold, let me speak to Lady Reinhart! I—we may have erred, but we thought her generosity would surely extend to more than a few repairs!”

Reynold checked his seat. He flapped the reins gently and the carriage began to move forwards slowly.

“Perhaps it would have. But generosity is wasted if not put to good use. I hate to take up more of your valuable time, sir. I will not trouble you, and indeed, Lady Reinhart is quite busy. Please clear the street.”

The carriage turned. Boultend ran with it as a buzz ran through the air. He could see everyone in his small village watching, so he abandoned the voice in his head and grabbed for the side of the carriage. Instantly, a hand like steel gripped his, crushing his fingers and pulled them away from the seat. Boultend stared up into Reynold’s eyes. Wincing, gasping, he forced one last plea out.

“Sir Butler. What are we supposed to do? If the river floods again—”

Reynold bent over. He spoke in a carrying voice as he forced Boultend back from the carriage.

“I’m told a stiff drink wards away all ills, sir. Perhaps it works as well on water?”

Then he let go. Boultend staggered back, clutching his injured hand. Reynold sat back upright, flicked the reins, and the carriage accelerated. It left no tracks on the mud and the villagers watched as it sped out of the village, in an instant moving faster than a horse could run. And then the carriage was gone, and it was as if it had never been there.

Silently, Talizmet’s villagers stared at their [Headman]. He looked around, suddenly hunted, and they considered what had just been said. What had transpired. They stared at the inn, which in hindsight, didn’t look like such a good idea now, did it? And they looked at Boultend and thought.

But of course, it was far too late for reasonable thought. Magnolia Reinhart had come and gone. And she had been here, in their little village! One of the richest women in the world and she had been here. And they could have impressed her. She could have changed their lives. She already had of course, but the people of Talizmet were only now learning the lesson they should have thought of at the start.

You only got one chance.

—-

The carriage ride away from Talizmet was silent for five minutes as Reynold drove away from the muddy, small village. He kept to the road, keeping his speed shy of the anything insane. He was on the lookout for wagons, travellers—anything that might be unfortunate to hit. Only when he was on a relative straightaway did he increase the speed to the point where he left birds in the dust.

Inside the carriage, both Ressa and Magnolia were silent. The [Maid] silently made a few notes on the paper concerning Talizmet. She knew better to interrupt Magnolia. When the [Lady] did speak, it was in a tight, but controlled voice.

“Unbelievable. I’d heard their [Headman] liked his drinks, but to this extent? If he’s not thrown out of the village in a week, make sure to send Sacra by again in disguise to help relocate them. The families who actually have a head on their shoulders don’t deserve to pay for the rest of the village’s idiocy.”

“Of course.”

Ressa had already made the arrangements. But she appreciated that Magnolia wasn’t too incensed to let anger cloud her judgment. And the [Lady] was angry. Her eyes were flashing. But she only took another sip of tea.

“Talizmet was a failure. The village may well disintegrate. If it does not, it has far to go. They never should have built so close to the river. Or if they had, they should have taken precautions.”

“The flooding may not have happened in years prior. Or if it was, it was probably more manageable. Whoever founded the village might never have thought of it, and once it was a community, who would move? Would you uproot them? Or would it have been better to tell the [Headman] exactly what to build and oversee the process?”

Ressa calmly filed the paper away. She was playing out an old conversation with Magnolia, to give her friend a chance to vent. Magnolia pursed her lips.

“Of course not! If I ordered them about like Tyrion, what would they learn? Am I an expert on fishing village architecture? Should I hire an [Architect] for them? No. I am content to let them sort out their own issues. Even give them money if need be. But if that money is misused—”

“That’s why we do these checks. You’ve found out Talizmet’s leadership is inept. What’s to be angry about?”

“The fact that he is inept. And that the people will suffer his idiocy. And theirs.”

Magnolia slumped back in her seat. Ressa nodded. Neither mentioned the fact that Magnolia could have paid to rebuild the entire village in stone a hundred yards to the east in a heartbeat. Because that wasn’t the point. And if you didn’t understand that, you didn’t understand Magnolia.

She could be cruel. But often, she wasn’t so much cruel as practical. She did not waste money. And to some, practicality, no—a refusal to spend every single coin possible to help someone else—was often called cruelty. And what those people failed to recall was that Magnolia Reinhart owed them nothing. A [Lady] or [Lord] could manage their estates and care for their people well, protect them at every turn, and make their lands prosper. It did not mean they had to. And still, Magnolia Reinhart spent more on her own lands than any two nobles combined.

“Embrie, Reynold.”

Ressa knocked on the front of the carriage. Reynold acknowledged and the [Maid] sat back. Magnolia sighed. She sipped more tea, grimaced, and looked at Ressa.

“Alright. One village down. Let’s get to the rest of my business. I suppose. Top concerns of the day?”

Ressa nodded. She had a bundle of papers with her, and aside from the reports on both villages, she had a list of items for consideration. The first she flipped through was world events. Then spy reports. Income and expenses—Ressa had of course read it already, but she was refreshing her memory.

“Let’s see. Rhir is quiet, but the Blighted King’s latest failed offensive and the attack on the palace mean both sides are probably recovering. The Titan’s game hasn’t upset Baleros…I see two minor conflicts, but nothing noticeable. Terandria is speculating on what the Kallinad family will receive from the Titan, so most of the politics are focused around that. You are aware of the marriage proposed between the Kallinad family and—”

“Yes, yes. Not interesting. No wars?”

Ressa raised an eyebrow.

“Not in Terandria. Chandrar is stirring. The Emperor of Sands has declared war on two more nations. Meanwhile, Jecrass and Belchan have both affirmed the King of Destruction’s claim. As have a number of other nations, including Nerrhavia’s Fall. On the other hand—Tiqr is already on the defensive.”

“Already?”

Magnolia frowned, surprised. Ressa nodded.

“It seems the Illivere League and Savere both launched immediate assaults into the land, and Nerrhavia is already moving. Along with the smaller nations, the war golems and Savere’s [Raiders] have forced Tiqr’s forces to retreat.”

“Tiqr has beasts, don’t they? They can’t fight golems. Odd. I thought Illivere would be slowest to move since their leader is usually so neutral and hospitable. I wonder if it’s a feint on his part. Never mind. We’ll see what Flos does, if anything. If he breaks his oath, all the better. Izril news?”

Ressa turned a page and grimaced. Magnolia raised her brows.

“Well?”

“Do you want to hear it?”

“Ah. Should I guess? It involves me. And people are not happy about me.”

It was an accurate summation. Ressa shook her head.

“There are a number of prominent voices calling you a coward for your actions against Tyrion. Some individuals are even calling for you to be censured at the next gathering of nobility.”

Magnolia sat back.

“I take it there’s a coalition forming? And a censure is new. They’ve lost their fear of me. I have no doubt there will be a sizeable party in opposition.”

“You could put a stop to it, you know.”

“How? By poisoning a few bodies? For talking?”

The [Lady] frowned. Ressa shut her mouth and hesitated before replying.

“Your father and mother would have taken a different approach.”

Magnolia turned her head to regard her old friend. Ressa hesitated.

“They would have.”

“I am not my mother. Nor my father, for which we should all be grateful. It is not a good method, Ressa. The Reinhart family’s historical doctrine is to rule by intimidation and fear. Or rather, the hint of such things. We are, traditionally, great friends until we are enemies. And then we are the most deadly of enemies.”

“I know.”

Ressa had more cause to know than most. She knew the Reinhart history. Magnolia went on, pointedly ignoring Ressa.

“And what makes the Reinhart family so feared is that the line between friendship and mortal enemies is invisible, incalculable, and unpredictably quick to move to those in the middle. So far better to be a good friend than an enemy.”

Sighing, the [Maid] sat back.

“It worked.”

Magnolia scowled as she nodded.

“It did! But somewhere in the past two centuries, my family decided it was better to be a terror than an unpredictable, yet generous friend. Hence the state of affairs when I took over. Were it not for dear Regis, I might have been born a pauper. Or not at all.”

“None of that means you can’t instill some nervousness in the hearts of your opponents, Magnolia.”

“And again, I ask, over what? Ressa, if they want to insult me, they may. But I am trying to cultivate an image other than that of decidedly attractive tyrant. The fact that anyone is willing to voice their dissent is a step in the right direction, or so I feel. Or do you think it’s better if they took me holding my peer’s beloved ones hostage in silence?”

Ressa didn’t respond to that. Magnolia sighed.

“I have made the reason for the actions I took perfectly clear. My peers may not agree with it, but many do recognize that we averted a war with the Drakes at the last moment. If they wish to censure me, they are welcome to do so. But I will not provoke them for insults that are rightly deserved. Or would you have me start poisoning everyone?”

The [Maid] glowered.

“Playing peacemaker only works so long as there is still a threat.”

“And who should I threaten? Name me a list of actual enemies that seek my head, Ressa.”

“The Circle of Thorns?”

“And how many of them are there? Who are they? Are they even peers of the realm? Until I know that, I won’t fall into the Reinhart way of shoving a vaseful of roses down the throat of anyone who so much as sneezes at me the wrong—”

“Lady Reinhart? Miss Ressa? We’ve arrived.”

A delicate cough cut off the argument between the two women. Ressa slowly sat back. Magnolia smoothed her skirts. Both of them glanced towards the front of the carriage and the open sliding door they’d forgotten was open. Magnolia called out in a cheerful voice.

“Thank you, Reynold! Take us around the village.”

She opened a curtain as Ressa did the same. This time Magnolia took one look at the village of Embrie and smiled.

“My. Would you look at that!”

What greeted the three visitors to Embrie was an odd display on the street. Sheltered out of the sun in makeshift awnings were a bunch of seated women, tending to long, wooden contraptions. Looms. And the outdoor looms were perfectly positioned to take advantage of the cool spring weather. Not only that; Magnolia saw women sitting together, sewing fabric, some delicately dying the fresh fabric, and others adding embroidery to finished dresses or bolts of cloth.

“It’s a small fair outside. Ressa, is all this new?”

The [Maid] regarded the outdoor looms and then checked her notes.

“Embrie did have a few strong [Weavers] and other tailoring experts, but not this many. And not nearly this many looms. They must have taken the gold and had some more made. I can’t account for the dyes, though.”

“Does any town nearby import the dyes? Or do villages around here make it?”

“Possibly—yes. Yes. There’s a village fifteen miles north of here that creates a yellow pigmented dye, and another that manufactures green and blue.”

“And so I see on display here. With a few other colors.”

Magnolia nodded at the dyed cloths, which did indeed feature all three colors as the primary colors in their patterns. They were all different, though, and very pleasing, if not as complex as a richer fabric in pattern. But a simple bolt of blue cloth was still very desirable. And…Magnolia smiled.

“Look. They even have children learning it.”

She indicated a few girls who were watching as an older woman showed them how the loom worked. That decided Magnolia. She pulled at the carriage door.

“I’m going to get out. Reynold, drive us closer.”

“Wait.”

Ressa was out her side of the door and scanning the street in a flash. She had already done a check, but now she scrutinized the entire area with her Skills and one of the artifacts she carried. The [True Seeing] spell revealed nothing, but Ressa still made Magnolia wait for a few seconds to check everything from the needles to the children. And meanwhile, the carriage had been spotted.

The women of Embrie watched as Magnolia Reinhart left her carriage. And the susurration that arose was of a different kind than Talizmet’s nervousness. A lot of it had to do with the way Magnolia swept out of her carriage at once this time, with a beaming smile and a cheerful ‘hello!’. It caught people off-guard, especially people who thought they knew Magnolia Reinhart, one of the famous Reinhart family. It was like when Magnolia would open the door to greet City Runners. And when she wanted to be, she was very friendly.

“Lady Reinhart?”

One of the older women murmured in disbelief. Magnolia smiled. She had never been here. And Embrie had never had reason to suspect Magnolia would take an interest in their village, aside from the fact that it lay on her lands. She swept forwards, Ressa at her side and Reynold carefully settling the carriage.

“I’m terribly sorry to intrude. But I was just passing through and I couldn’t help but notice you all! How do you do? I am Magnolia Reinhart, yes. And you are?”

“Ah—my name is Lettice, milady.”

The older woman, caught quite off-guard, tried to curtsy. Magnolia tutted.

“No need for that. I’m just popping in. I wouldn’t want to disturb you at your work. Tell me, is this a village of artisans? I’ve not seen so much fabric since I was at Invrisil’s bazaars! And such colors! Hello to you all! And hello there.”

She bent, smiling, to one of the girls, who was staring open-mouthed at Magnolia’s own magnificent dress. The women abandoned their tasks and hesitantly approached, put off-guard by Magnolia’s greeting and the lack of an escort. They might have seen nobility riding past, but Magnolia had come alone. But there was a second reason why they soon abandoned their wariness and became welcoming.

If some were afraid of her with or without good cause, Magnolia had her admirers. And they were her people.

Women. Both young and old, they stood around Magnolia, talking to her, listening, and gaining a measure of the Lady Reinhart that Izril knew. Because of course, Magnolia was a name they knew. And she was a female name. One of the few among so many males. And the woman herself did not disappoint. Soon, Magnolia was laughing and asking innocent questions she already knew the answer to. And she was charming. Without using a Skill.

“My. And you wove that yourself?”

She looked admiringly at a girl who was showing her a little scarf made out of yellow thread. The girl nodded proudly and Magnolia clapped her hands.

“How wonderful. I don’t have the patience for knitting, weaving, or anything to do with thread. Sometimes I wish I had, but I have a terrible time with my own hair as it is. Ressa, do look at this scarf! Would you try it on for us?”

The girl nodded ecstatically. Magnolia laughed delightedly, and it was genuine.

“A little [Princess]! And I daresay your fabrics will sell well at any market you choose to go to. Tell me, please, Miss Lettice. Is this a new venture?”

The old woman smiled.

“A new one, Miss Reinhart. That’s right. Oh, we’ve made cloth for decades, but dyeing them and even tailoring dresses is new. You see, we’ve come into some money after a richer harvest, and we noticed that wool was cheaper than it had been in years. Well, we already needed new clothes after some bad moth infestations—so we thought, why not take it further?”

She waved excitedly at the dyed fabrics.

“And we knew that Vitti made good dyes and approached them to get it cheaper than if we bought it on the markets. For some of our product, we got it for a song. And if we turn this into a business, we could sell more than just clothes and our field’s harvests!”

Magnolia beamed.

“That is wonderful. And will you sell it to Invrisil?”

Lettice’s face grew cautious.

“Well—I don’t know that we’d go that far. Perhaps if our fabrics made it to the nearest town and did well, but I imagine a [Merchant] would take it the rest of the way if he thought it was worth doing, begging your ladyship’s pardon. We take pride in our work, but this isn’t nearly as good as some cloth. Nowhere near good enough for a dress like yours.”

She indicated Magnolia’s dress. The [Lady] nodded.

“I won’t deny that, Miss Lettice. But I imagine that in a few years’ time it might well be. After all, you must all be leveling quicker in your classes. And with a diverse set of tailoring Skills, you could produce something fine. Not that I think you should try going to Invrisil just yet. But might I ask what you intended to charge for each bolt of cloth? Because, you see, if it were me, I wouldn’t ask for, oh, what do you think a good price would be, Ressa?”

Innocently, Magnolia cast towards Ressa. Amused, but hiding it, the [Maid] replied with the going rate for fabrics in Invrisil. Embrie’s women brightened, but Magnolia pounced on the emotion before it could bloom too far.

“True, Ressa, but that is in Invrisil, which sells to so many. For a town? I imagine so many products would lower the price by at least four silver coins. If you sold it to one town, of course. Now, it would be difficult and even dangerous to send a trading caravan to multiple spots, but [Merchants] are well aware of the profits to be made. And if you could bring one here, and nail him or her down to a reasonable, price, I’d say…fourteen silver pieces for that lovely bolt over there might not be beyond possibility! Although, again, if I were in your shoes—or lovely yellow scarf—I might hint to multiple [Traders] and [Merchants] that a deal is to be had here. After all, competition spikes prices. Now, with that money, how were you going to reinvest it?”

The women were blinking hard at Magnolia’s speech, but some of them caught on. Lettice was among them. The old women gave Magnolia a frown, and them a smile that smoothed the lines on her face.

‘Well, Lady Reinhart. My man would want to put the money into his field. Perhaps buy some more livestock. But I want to sew, and if I knew I’d have more work, I’d want something to help out here. How would you spend the money?”

Magnolia’s eyes twinkled. And perhaps in that moment, some of the villagers put together the real reason the pink carriage had stopped here. But did they know the whole picture? Ressa couldn’t tell, but she did see how the women lined up to shake Magnolia’s hand and exchange a few words before she left. From old to young to child, who had to reach up as Magnolia bent to shake the tiny hand.

“Nothing is certain. But if your village continues selling cloth, it may prosper. With all the pitfalls and wonderful things that entails. You may change the market, ladies. But it does depend on you. And your decisions will affect the village. I do hope your counterparts realize that.”

Magnolia left them with that simple message. Lettice curtseyed and Magnolia returned the gestured, quite gracefully. Reynold, who’d had to stand still and put up with a range of ages flirting with him, gave a blushing bow. Ressa just nodded. Magnolia returned to the carriage and they were gone in minutes. But their actions might linger for years. And the memory of the [Lady] who told Embrie’s women they had power? That might linger a lifetime.

One could only hope.

—-

Magnolia Reinhart was in a better mood on the return to her mansion. She hummed as she sat back in her chair, holding a small, finely-woven handkerchief, colored yellow slashed with blue.

It was true it wasn’t nearly the quality of the handkerchiefs that even her [Maids] used, but it was a gift. And if someone saw Lady Reinhart with it, perhaps Embrie would get a lot more attention. Or perhaps that was a bad idea so soon. Ressa was prepared to discuss the matter, but Magnolia didn’t bring it up. She just put the handkerchief on the table and folded her hands.

“They used the subsidies on wool well. And the gold was put to better use than in Talizmet. I saw new roofs, a fresh well. I wonder if the husbands grumbled?”

Ressa grunted.

“The sensible ones wouldn’t. They know how much damage leaking water can cause. But it was money well spent.”

“Sensible. The exact opposite of Talizmet. And not just because it was women who had a voice in how the money was used. Why is it that a bag of gold makes fools out of everyone, while slightly fuller pockets brings out prudence? Maybe next time I should simply send materials and workers, rather than gold, Ressa.”

“Isn’t that deciding how the money should be used?”

Ressa raised an eyebrow. Magnolia threw the handkerchief at her. The [Lady] calmed herself after a second.

“I’m very pleased, Ressa. Hopefully the money we invested in the sheep herds will increase the flocks to Embrie’s benefit. Let’s make sure the [Shepherds] do well.”

Ressa nodded and made a note. That was all Magnolia Reinhart would do. Ensure that the sheep population increased in this area. She wouldn’t step in to save Embrie unless a natural disaster occurred. Outside of the advice she’d given the village, she would keep away. And she might never see Embrie’s people again. But if, someday, cloth from that small village appeared in Invrisil’s markets, it would be worth it.

That was what Magnolia Reinhart did with her days. She offered people a chance. A hand, or sometimes a leg to stand on. Never a ladder and certainly no flying carpets. Just a chance.

And not just for villagers too. On the way back, Magnolia Reinhart called on Reynold to slow his carriage and approach an interesting sight twice. She was an avid window-watcher and the first time she wanted to see a team of seven adventurers hauling a boar’s carcass out of the woods.

“Ressa, do you recognize that team?”

“Not from this far.”

“Reynold, ask them what their team is.”

The [Butler] hopped down from his seat and came back a minute later.

“They call themselves…Haresbane, Lady Reinhart. They’re a Bronze-rank team returning from a hunt. The local village put out a request for game to augment their stores until the first harvest. They’ve foraged some mushrooms as well.”

Magnolia watched with approval as the adventures got to their task. Sometimes [Hunters] were hired for tasks like this, but for a village, it made sense that they’d put out a request for a team of adventurers, especially if they were hunting boars.

“I see. And they’re skinning the boar with some dedication. No meat wasted. And they’ve pulled in a good amount of game already. Ressa, put them on the list, by all means.”

The [Maid] nodded. She wrote down the name and location for one of the many [Informants] or [Spies] to look into. By the end of the week, Ressa would know the particulars of this team, and how reputable they were, what crimes they’d committed, if any, and how they were all regarded. She might even have transcripts of conversations they’d had, if she really wanted it.

“If they’re suitable, should I offer them some challenging requests?”

Magnolia tapped a lip as she inspected the team. There were two women and five men, ranging from teens to the late thirties.

“Yes. Nothing too arduous, but something to help them level.”

Ressa nodded. There was an art to that too. Crafting a suitable request that did what was needed—cull a growing animal population or halt a dangerous monster—while at the same time giving the teams a challenge they could level from without putting them in danger of their lives, was difficult. But it could help. One successful mission with a large reward could boost a team’s career.

Villages. Adventurers. If people knew how much Magnolia Reinhart meddled, would they be more reassured or more suspicious? Or would they be relieved to know she didn’t meddle nearly as much as some people thought? Certainly, this wasn’t anything new. Izril’s nobility often took note of things they had interest in, and the only variable was how overt they were in supporting their passions. Magnolia was discreet. Most of the time. But the second time the carriage slowed, she was anything but.

Traffic near Invrisil had slowed Reynold’s carriage, although he could have taken them off-road if need be. But he hadn’t, and the sight of a man racing down the road on horseback caught Magnolia’s eye. Not least because the man had the distinctive surcoat that marked him as a [Messenger], not a Runner. She tapped on the sliding panel.

“Reynold. Find out what that [Messenger] is delivering. If it’s not confidential.”

The carriage sped up. The [Messenger] barely slowed as Reynold called out to him. Magnolia heard a warning shout, and then as the pink carriage was recognized, a breathless exchange. The carriage kept level with the panting horse, and Magnolia eyed it.

“Rare to see [Messengers] around here. They’re normally attached to noble households. Perhaps he’s from one of them?”

Ressa nodded silently. [Messengers] were usually privately employed, as opposed to the public Runners.

“Sometimes I wonder why more Runners don’t use horses, Magnolia. It’s certainly faster.”

Magnolia smiled.

“Ressa, I would imagine that’s obvious.”

“Only to someone like you who delights in studying the minutiae of economics. Just tell me.”

The [Maid] refused to be baited. Magnolia sighed.

“It’s fascinating. No, really! You see, horses are quicker. And with a pony express, or stallion express, or what have you, you can indeed get a package moving faster than most Runners could dream of. At least, anyone who’s not a Garuda or a Centaur. But if you need to send written correspondence, a [Message] is faster than any horse. And if a [Messenger] or [Runner] switches horses, oh, three times on a hundred mile journey…how much more are you paying them?”

“Ah. So it’s about expense.”

Magnolia nodded happily. The [Messenger] was still shouting at Reynold breathlessly. She waved at the mare he was riding. The horse just stared back, panting as it raced its ghostly counterparts.

“Feet don’t require food. Nor do they throw horseshoes, require stabling, and so on. Runners are cheap, if slow. On the other hand, most Couriers can outdistance horses with ease. Which is better, a [Beast Master]-trained horse trained for years and ridden by a dedicated [Rider] that can be lamed or killed, or a Courier who can outrun almost anything she comes across?”

“I understand. You don’t need to belabor the point.”

Ressa sat back. She eyed the horse. She could probably outrun this [Messenger], at least if it were a quick dash. But she didn’t have the stamina to be a Runner. She was meant to kill things at speed and disappear. It had used to bother Ressa that she immediately wondered how she’d kill anyone she came across. Now she was used to it. And that fact sometimes bothered her.

At last the [Messenger] pulled away, or rather, the carriage slowed to let the horseman ride ahead.

“Well? Anything urgent, Reynold?”

Reynold spoke back to Magnolia and Ressa as he steered clear of the road.

“Ogre sighting, Lady Reinhart. A pack of them have descended and are laying waste to the nearby countryside. They’ve already sacked a village; most of the people fled and sent an immediate request for aid. But their gold and valuables were all left behind in the village. The [Messenger] is taking word to the Adventurer’s Guild, but…”

Ressa saw him grimace, which was unprofessional. But Reynold had been born in a small village just like Talizmet, Embrie, or the one being attacked. Magnolia’s eyes sharpened at once.

“How many Ogres, do they know?”

“Sixteen or so, Lady Reinhart. They think it’s an accurate count, but there might be more.”

“I know there are more. Reynold, get back to the [Messenger]. I will guarantee a twelve gold piece bounty on each Ogre head. Thirty for the leader. That should bring any Silver-rank team in the area to deal with the issue.”

Reynold nodded and Ressa saw a flash of a smile as he turned forwards. The carriage accelerated and before she shut the sliding panel, she heard Reynold shout to the [Messenger]. Magnolia sat back in her seat, thinking aloud.

“If there are sixteen here, there must be at least fifty total in the mountains. Ogres don’t multiply like Goblins, but they do grow fast. Still, this bounty is sufficient. If the Ogres are well-armed or have magical weapons, I will triple the bounty.”

Ressa nodded. The bounty was generous, but in this she would never call it a waste of funds. After all, Magnolia collected a tax on her lands, and ogres destroying villages and disrupting trade would take far more money than any bounty on their heads. And again, that was what separated Magnolia from other nobles.

“You don’t want to send Reynold and a team up into the mountains? He could probably deal with most of the ogres with some backup. Sacra and Phesofi alone might be enough.”

Magnolia pursed her lips before shaking her head, rejecting the idea.

“You know the family motto, Ressa. Gold for blood. I agree with it, at least in this instance. Bethal does it the opposite way. She’d have sent her Rose Knights in. But would they level from a fight like that? Not unless the Ogres were truly dangerous. She prefers to crush her foes. I would rather adventurers level up and gain notoriety from their deeds.”

Ressa nodded. So the adventurers might get hurt or die. But they would level where Bethal’s [Knights] would advance slowly, and not grow as fast. That was Magnolia’s style. And it was why some people called her cruel or uncaring.

Izril’s people had to help themselves. Magnolia Reinhart could only give them aid. She would incentivize the Ogre’s deaths, but she would send none of her people to hunt down the monsters themselves.

“Speaking of notoriety—about our earlier discussion.”

Magnolia’s smiled faded. She looked at Ressa, mildly vexed.

“I was in a good mood, Ressa. Don’t let’s spoil it. Please?”

“Tell me again why it was better for you not to make an example of one or two of the loudest dissenters, Magnolia. You don’t need to poison them. But some humiliation, something to make the other nobility duck—you’ve done it before. Why not now?”

Magnolia was silent. She sat back, pensive, before looking up and replying slowly.

“I must have peace, Ressa. I do not want a political war on my hands. Not now I’ve received an invitation from my Drake counterparts. And it would be war if I used you or anyone else. I don’t have the Assassin’s Guild at my back. The Circle of Thorns is one thing, but rousing the wrath of my peers is far, far less preferable than enduring their petty slaps to the face.”

“As long as it is just that.”

The [Lady] Reinhart ignored that comment. She stared out a window, at a blurring landscape.

“The nobility have their way of doing things. They tolerate aberration and new ideas only as long as they can see clear benefit—and as long as it does not impact their lives. Tamper with it and we face every house as an enemy. It has taken me decades to foster the idea of peace between the Drakes and Humanity. I have my supporters. This squabble has put me in the position of coward, saboteur, and thug by threatening Tyrion. And yet, it has won me some small measure among the Drakes. I will take that.”

Ressa gave a grudging nod. That was true.

“But why not back up threats with teeth? Why not move on the Assassin’s Guild after they sent back their refusal? You could destroy it. Or at least, put a bounty on their guild that would make them run for cover.”

A few Named Adventurers sieging the guild would give Ressa no end of satisfaction. Although it would be a dangerous feat for any one adventurer or team, Named or not to try it. Magnolia sighed.

“Because it would result in bloodshed. Much of it, Ressa. And while the Guild is my enemy, if I placed myself that openly against them—with the purpose of annihilating them rather than keeping them as—well, the Assassin’s Guild which is free to choose targets, I would have to kill them all. I rather grew tired of killing people, Ressa. It was not something I ever wanted to be good at.”

The [Maid] digested that.

“I’ve never heard you sound so melancholy about it.”

Magnolia Reinhart looked up shortly.

“Do you have nightmares about the people you’ve killed, Ressa?”

“Never.”

“Liar.”

The two women sat in silence. Ressa met Magnolia’s gaze. Slowly, the [Lady] shook her head.

“Better to be less feared than I was a decade ago, Ressa. Better that than even children checking their plates and cups when I pass them by. It may be better for a ruler of any kind to be feared, rather than loved. But what sort of heart can bear it? I missed their smiles.”

She looked at the handkerchief on the table. Ressa only sighed. She couldn’t argue with that. She flipped through her notes. Reynold had lost the [Messenger], and they would be back at the mansion shortly.

“Very well. I’ll drop it. In that case, aside from my petition for you to let me build you an army—”

“My family has an army, Ressa. Regis will give me artifacts if I need it. Izril needs more armies like a Goblin needs teeth. I have a household staff that can deal with nuisances.”

“But not Goblin Lords.”

Magnolia glowered. Ressa crossed the item off the docket.

“A discussion for tomorrow, then. I will convince you. Now…I do have a note from one of our households. The staff report conflicts with their guests. Care to guess who I’m referring to?”

Magnolia closed her eyes for a second and massaged her temples.

“Our guests from another world?”

“Yes.”

“Are they…?”

“Safe. Unhappy, but safe. But vocally unhappy. They want to speak to you. It seems they quite hate being adventurers.”

“Which part? Killing monsters? Diving into their guts for treasure? Risking their lives? I wonder why? They are free to pursue any profession they wish.”

“It seems they would like not to pursue a profession. They want to return to the mansion.”

“No.”

Magnolia gave Ressa a bright smile. The [Maid] returned it mirthlessly. She wouldn’t entertain the idea either. The otherworlders Magnolia had collected had been a nightmare of incivility towards the servants. And they caused a mess.

“Their argument is, and I’m referencing their complaints directly here, is that you failed to provide them with any way to succeed. They have no magical gear, no support, little training other than the services they can pay for in their city—”

The thunderous frown on Magnolia’s face darkened further. For the second time today, genuine heat entered her voice.

“And why do they deserve magical artifacts, pray? I am giving them an opportunity. I give everyone an opportunity to rise or fall. They have chosen to sit in the mud and weep about it.”

“That is their complaint.”

Ressa calmly put the piece of paper down. Magnolia stared past her [Maid]. Then her eyes focused. She blinked and intoned her next words very slowly and carefully.

“They came here with nothing, Ressa. Nothing, as lost children, half of them stealing from honest people within the first day of arriving. And they expected me to give them magical swords and treat them like conquering heroes in our backwater world. Because their world can blow cold air out of a box. I say no. Once they prove they can fight without magic swords, they can use them. If they can master a spell by themselves, I will give them a spellbook. If they find a profession and excel, I will sponsor whatever they need. But I do not believe in handouts. Tell them that.”

“As you wish.”

Satisfied, Ressa made a note. Magnolia huffed for a few seconds, then glanced up at Ressa.

“Do you tell me these things just to annoy me, Ressa?”

“I would never.”

The [Maid] lied to Magnolia’s face. Her employer made a fist. She punched, and Ressa leaned aside. One of the perks of being both [Assassin] and [Maid] was that no matter how angry Magnolia got, she couldn’t hit Ressa. Sometimes it felt like they were young women still. And then something happened that made them feel as old as…

Teriarch.

—-

Magnolia and Ressa returned to the mansion. Reynold immediately went to the kitchens for lunch and a deserved break. Ressa was shuffling her notes, deciding what other issue Magnolia should address first—one of her Gold-rank teams she was actively sponsoring, forging ties abroad, hunting down clues for artifacts—when all of a sudden, she looked up. She dropped the stack of paper in the middle of the hallway.

“Intruders.”

The [Lady] spun as she reached for her door. The staff in the hallway looked up. Bekia, who was polishing the windows next to Mavi, raised her head to howl. Ressa cut her off.

“Bekia, silence. They’re not in the mansion. They’re outside the walls. My wards are all going off.”

Magnolia’s brows snapped together.

“How many and where?”

“The garden and the eastern walls. Twenty, ten on each side.”

“Did they trip a ward by accident? Or are they open?”

Ressa grimaced.

“They’ve tripped three wards in total. But they’re trying to be stealthy. Either this is a ruse—no. What’s the point of revealing themselves? This feels like amateurs. This is a test.”

Magnolia’s brows shot up.

“Of our defenses? We had that with Ryoka, remember? And those were professionals. What is this, then?”

The two had their answer as Reynold slid around the corner. He was panting after having run to the third floor in seconds.

“Lady Reinhart! Miss Ressa! There are two dozen Runners at the front gate! They all have a message for you!”

Ressa turned, disbelieving. That had to be the stupidest trap she’d ever heard of. Only, it wasn’t a trap, at least in full. Reynold had taken one of the packages from the City Runners, despite the Runner’s strict instructions to deliver only to Magnolia Reinhart herself. The [Butler] had checked it twice, but Ressa intercepted the black rose before she let Magnolia handle it. It was clean. But the message was as clear as the look on Magnolia’s face.

“The black rose of cowardice. Well. Well, well. And all the Runners have the rose?”

Reynold was as versed in flower language as Ressa. His face was very pale as he nodded.

“All of them, milady. And they all come from different senders. I—I will turn away the Runners at once if you wish it. I do not believe they are aware of what the gesture means.”

“No. They would not be. Or else they have spines of steel. Well, so this is the escalation of my peer’s ire with me.”

Magnolia gently inspected the black rose. Her hand trembled a bit as she gripped the stem between two fingers.

“A black rose. For me. I stood at the Sacrifice of Roses. This is—eminently fitting as an insult. A coward who would threaten her own peers is a coward as great as one who fled the Goblin King’s armies, is that it? I won’t say they don’t have a point. But what sort of a coward attacks a Drake city that has done no wrong? What kind of a coward welcomes the slaughter of tens of thousands?”

She looked up, eyes flashing. Ressa’s own hand was on the enchanted dagger. Her blood was boiling. Magnolia Reinhart straightened her back and the air around her grew tense. Heavy. Fury rolled off her like waves.

“Even for an insult. This is too much. Call us cowards. But we fought at First Landing. Nothing will change that. This is beyond tolerable. They have declared war on me, my peers. Or else they invite it. How many declared, Reynold? No—”

Her eyes widened. The smell of fury and taste of it hanging around her vanished in a heartbeat. Magnolia took a breath and controlled herself. Then her eyes opened and narrowed.

“It wasn’t the only one.”

“Magnolia?”

Ressa forgot her station for a second. Magnolia’s eyes had become calculating, and her pupils were flickering, darting from idea to idea that only she could see.

“It is not just me. The flowers are such a pointed reference. And whoever’s at my walls—this is a coordinated attack! The other ladies who were with me must have received similar gifts. And if so—”

She spun to Ressa.

“Warn the other [Ladies], Ressa. Bethal, Pryde, Wuvren—all of them! If someone dares strike at me, they will certainly be assaulted.”

Ressa turned. She leapt down the hallway, calling for Phesofi. The [Mage] sent the [Message] spell there and then, but had no answer. And, barely a minute later, as Ressa sprinted into Magnolia’s private sitting room, she saw Reynold standing to attention, sword drawn, while Magnolia sat at the table.

“Magnolia. We need to take you to the safe room.”

“Do you think the people skulking outside the walls will really pose a threat, Ressa?”

Magnolia raised her eyebrows. She was calm now, even cold. But her eyes were locked on the rose. Ressa hesitated.

“There might be a second wave. Or this could all be a feint.”

“No. I think I know exactly what’s going on. This is a message, Ressa. A declaration. And the [Assassins], if they are [Assassins], are a separate message entirely. From the same source? I think not. I won’t hide. Prepare a welcome for our guests. If they even get here.”

Ressa wavered. But Magnolia was looking at her, and the [Lady] Reinhart’s voice was the voice of authority at this moment. Her voice was steady as she picked up the cup and sipped from it.

“You sent the [Message] spell?”

“Yes, Magnolia.”

The woman nodded lightly.

“No doubt we are too late for a warning. But it should not matter. Unless someone is—check on Bethal. As for the rest? They should be fine.”

Her eyes glittered. Reynold gulped softly as Magnolia turned to look out the window.

“Deserved or not, this insult is grave. And the assault on peers of the realm? It hasn’t happened on this scale for years. So there is a message twice-over. Peace be gone. And everyone is vulnerable, even the Deadly Flower of the North and her delicate peers. However. Someone has forgotten the flowers of Izril have thorns.”

—-

Once upon a time, she had a father. And then the Second Antinium War engulfed the continent. And her father died in the March of Roses. She wasn’t even born, then. She was a surprise. A single bloom in the aftermath, when her mother discovered her father had left something of him behind.

A memory. Eliasor had grown up under her mother’s care, in her household. For nine years—no, ten now, she had heard the same. Her father had died a hero. He had marched against the Goblin King and saved a continent.

But she had been a hero too, hadn’t she? Eliasor’s mother, Patricia had been there. She had walked with her husband through the same trial and the only difference was that she had lived.

She had been a hero. But she was dead too. It had happened months ago. It felt like a second ago. Eliasor still saw her mother’s head, staring past her. And then the [Assassin] falling to the blade of the [Chevalier], Thomast. It was some small consolation. But it didn’t help.

And as memories worked, it was never complete until she appeared. Lady Magnolia. She had been Eliasor’s mother’s old friend. Her mother had always spoken of Magnolia Reinhart as if she could do anything. But she couldn’t save Eliasor’s mother. In the girl’s memory, Magnolia appeared. She pointed down at Eliasor.

“You are a [Lady] of Izril now, Eliasor Melissar. Your line begins and ends with you. I fear you must rise. I will support you and protect you. But I cannot take your place. I would that I could.”

Was that how she had said it? Somehow else? Eliasor didn’t remember the words. But she remembered gaining the class. Her mother had always said that it would be when Eliasor turned ten. Or thirteen. Fourteen at the latest. Eliasor remembered going to sleep excited, dreaming of that moment when she’d become a [Lady]. When she’d gain a class.

Now, it felt like a stone on her shoulders. Everything did. Life weighed Eliasor down. She didn’t sleep. She couldn’t. Even sleeping draughts brewed by [Alchemists] didn’t help. They couldn’t change the truth.

Eliasor was alone. Her mother was dead. And if she had a choice, she would have lain in her room until she faded away. But her servants wouldn’t let her. They had called for Lady Reinhart after Eliasor stopped eating.

And Magnolia Reinhart had sent another [Lady] in her place. By magical carriage, another [Lady] had come. Less famous, but no less fearsome. Lady Zanthia, withered and old, with cold hands and iron hair and face. She had taken Eliasor from her home.

And now Eliasor was a guest of Lady Zanthia’s. A young [Lady] housed by Zanthia’s house to learn to become a [Lady]. She had six peers of the realm who all studied with her.

Eliasor hated them all. She was a [Lady], and so were they. But the six with her had been expelled from their houses. Well, five had. For being lazy, promiscuous, rude, arrogant, and lazy again. The sixth was just there because she had to learn from Zanthia according to her family. They didn’t like being there.

Nor did Eliasor. She resented Lady Zanthia and the other members of her house. Three [Ladies] including Zanthia had charge of the young wards and they watched the seven like hawks. Eliasor couldn’t lie about. She had tried, but Zanthia had ways of getting her up. Even when Eliasor tried to ignore a prodding finger, she couldn’t ignore smelling salts, cold buckets of water. A full [Lady]’s voice of authority.

It was unkind. Eliasor sometimes wept into her pillow. Her mother had never been so unkind. But Zanthia would not let her rest. She was pure evil. As evil as the Goblin King.

All this was so. And Eliasor had been studying under Zanthia for two months. The woman was letting them walk through the quiet city where her wards resided at one of her estates. It was meant to be a treat, although the old woman was quite clear none of the girls had earned it.

“I do not recall a single instance where I would compliment you seven for having learned a lesson. In your studies both in etiquette, law, and rhetoric, you are all quite obstinate failures. But the mind wastes without activity. So here we are. Follow close. We can always continue our lessons in your rooms.”

The old woman’s cracked, precise voice made Eliasor grit her teeth. But anything was better than having Zanthia talk at her and demand answers. So she meekly followed Zanthia down the busy street. The [Lady] walked with a small escort of the town’s guards folk. The other young [Ladies] giggled and looked around, some looking sidelong at the handsome young men guarding them, who blushed. Eliasor, who was ten, just looked down at her feet. But apparently even that was cause for censure, because Lady Zanthia stopped the group after a dozen paces and turned.

“Eliasor. Spine straight. Shoulders back. Mind your pace.”

The girl sagged. She was too tired. She opened her mouth to protest. She looked up, and Zanthia’s glare skewered her. For once, Eliasor glared back.

She wanted to go back to her room. She had dreamed of her mother again. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be home. She wanted to go to her mother’s bed and lie there. But Zanthia didn’t care. The old woman clicked her tongue as the other young [Ladies] winced and fell silent. Zanthia’s daughters, two younger [Ladies], sighed impatiently as the old woman began to lecture.

“I teach young women such as yourselves to become [Ladies]. It is not simply a matter of being born or inheriting a class. And proper posture is one of the foundations of true nobility. Eliasor. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you, Lady Zanthia. But I don’t care. I don’t want to be a [Lady].”

The other young girls gasped. Zanthia’s eyes narrowed. Backchat was cause for discipline.

“I don’t recall ever asking your opinion, Lady Eliasor Melissar. And as I understand it, you are a [Lady]. You have the class. And you are last of your line. You have no right to refuse.”

Eliasor jerked as if Zanthia slapped her, which the old woman never had. She glared up at Zanthia seething with more hatred than she’d ever had. Zanthia returned the look impassively.

“You have no right. A [Lady] may not lie in her bed and refuse eating. If I must feed you with a straw, I will. And if I must drag you kicking and screaming and mold you into a [Lady] with my bare hands, I suppose that will be my duty. I’ve had worse students than you, girl. Worse than any of you. I taught Magnolia Reinhart how to sit straight and Lady Pryde to mind her tongue. By all means, resist. But you are [Ladies], and I will have you uphold your duty.”

Her tone reminded Eliasor of her mother. That was the worst thing. Patricia Melissar had scolded Eliasor three times in her life like that. Eliasor’s eyes filled with hot, frustrated tears and she desperately wished none of the other [Ladies] could see, or the [Guardsmen] or townsfolk. But she couldn’t help it. She was about to scream, or rush at Zanthia and try to strike the old [Lady], though she was as tough as metal. But then it happened.

A horde of Runners. Shouts in the street as the town [Guardsmen] belatedly tried to stop them. A cry. Zanthia turning and her voice snapping order.

“Cease this at once!”

And then Eliasor saw it. The first black rose, offered on bent knee. Towards Lady Zanthia. First one, then another. And then over twenty Runners, all offering the same token. The same insult.

Zanthia went white and then crimson with fury. Her two daughters gasped. The other young [Ladies] shrank back in horror. But Eliasor felt a jump of visceral delight.

Served her right.

“This is a message from my peers?”

Zanthia stared at the black roses. The Runners looked at each other, unaware of the message. But Eliasor knew. She looked gloatingly at Zanthia. She didn’t know where the old woman had gone a few weeks back, but she had heard the outcome. All of Izril had. Zanthia had threatened peers of the realm—blackmailed Lord Tyrion Veltras with Magnolia Reinhart!

So this only made sense to Eliasor. It was justice. And it served Zanthia right. She hadn’t been there. She wasn’t a warrior like Eliasor’s mother and father. Eliasor raised burning eyes, wishing she had had the idea herself. But her angry pleasure faded when she saw Zanthia’s face.

The old woman was staring at the roses. And there was a haunted look in her eye. A haunted, painful look that Eliasor recognized. She had seen it in the mirror. And then there was fury. The same fury in Eliasor’s chest. The old [Lady] turned. And the Runners quailed. The other [Ladies] dipped their eyes. The townspeople froze. But Eliasor met Zanthia’s gaze.

“I was there. I marched with the men and women of First Landing. I walked with the banners of Melissar. I saw House Walchaís fall. I saw my sons die like lions. I saw it.”

She looked at Eliasor. Lost and tired. And the girl stared up at the old [Lady]. She had been there with Eliasor’s father? With her mother? Suddenly, the girl had a hundred questions to ask.

But she never got the chance. Because at that moment, they came. Shadows out of a side street. Flashes of steel, a leaping body past one of the Street Runners. A sword, cutting. The [Guardsman] stumbled. A sword protruded from his neck and he choked blood. Eliasor’s eyes went wide. A black shape wrenched the shortsword through the neck, sawing. The head came loose. The [Guardsman] collapsed.

Another raised a sword. An arrow took him through the chest. Black figures were everywhere, overwhelming the town’s guard. Black shapes, covered in clothing that hid their identity.

[Assassins].

The street erupted into a panic. The townsfolk ran back, screaming for the Watch. The Runners turned and fled. The remaining [Guardsmen] closed ranks. Eliasor saw one of the older [Ladies] shouting.

“Close ranks! Keep together!”

The other girls fled towards her, sobbing in terror. They had never seen someone die. Never seen so much blood. But Eliasor had. She stared at the [Assassin] who’d killed the first [Guardsman]. And she heard someone calling her name.

“Eliasor! Run, girl!”

Eliasor knew she should. The black figure was cutting down another [Guardsman]. She knew she should flee or he would kill her. But…what was the point? Her life was hollow. Her mother was gone. Her father was long gone.

And the [Assassin] was here. Not just one, either. Nearly a dozen. They had come for her. Like her mother. Deep down, Eliasor had always known they would. No matter what Lady Magnolia and Lady Zanthia promised. But the realization of her nightmare made the moment no less horrible.

This [Assassin] was no dark figure like the one in Eliasor’s dreams that strode into the ballroom time and time again with her mother’s head. This one was shorter, almost portly. And clumsy. He had the [Guardsman]’s severed head in one hand. And as he turned to the [Ladies], he raised it.

He tried to brandish the head, like the [Assassin] that had killed her mother. But this man had made a poor cut. Bone and sinew hung from the head and blood spattered his clothing. Eliasor heard him curse. It was the only sound in the world to her. The head, and the black figure the only thing.

“Eliasor! Run away!”

One of the other girls shouted it. But Eliasor didn’t run. The [Assassin] was coming towards her, bloody sword in hand. And she didn’t run. She didn’t move towards him. She just held still, as the other [Assassins] fought and killed the guard. And Eliasor stared into the two eyes visible, the strip of flesh not covered by cloth. And she thought the pale brown eyes were too normal. Too ordinary to belong to her death.

But there he stood. And the [Assassin] held the dripping head in one hand and lowered the blade. A touch awkwardly. As if he didn’t know where to stand or how to act. Like Eliasor sometimes felt at court. She looked up at him. And the man wavered.

“Aren’t you going to run?”

Even his voice was ordinary. A tad breathless, muffled by the cloth. Eliasor shook her head. She replied as blood thudded through her veins.

“A [Lady] faces death without fear.”

She raised her chin. For a better cut than the poor [Guardsman]. The [Assassin] wavered. Then he half-shrugged and swung his blade. Eliasor Melissar, who was now ten, watched the blade swing for her throat and waited for the red arc to reunite her with her mother.

But the blade never touched her skin. A hand spotted with age and wrinkled with time reached out. And the blade halted. Lady Zanthia caught Eliasor with one hand behind her back. The [Lady]’s arm gripped Eliasor tightly to her. And her other hand blocked the blade, an inch from Eliasor’s neck. The [Assassin] strained and cursed, but he couldn’t move it forwards. And Lady Zanthia turned to the girl.

Eliasor looked up with wide eyes at the old woman. Lady Zanthia knelt, her dress dirtying in the blood and dirt of the street. But she didn’t look at that. Her eyes met Eliasor’s. And the girl saw Lady Zanthia smile. It was a smile that hid tears, shock, and emotions which Eliasor had no words for. A [Lady]’s smile. The old woman looked at Eliasor, and then she embraced the girl.

“Well said. Well said, Patricia Melissar’s daughter. You will be as great a [Lady] as your mother. Perhaps greater.”

The [Assassin] wrenched his blade free from the block in the air. He stepped back and swung at the two. Eliasor’s eyes went wide. Zanthia turned her head and her eyes narrowed. She raised a palm and flicked it.

“Begone.”

And the [Assassin] flew. He cartwheeled through the air, screaming, and struck the wall of a building ten feet distant. The fighting [Assassins] and wounded [Guardsmen] turned to stare. And Lady Zanthia rose.

“Avi, take Lady Eliasor.”

Lady Avi stepped forwards. Eliasor felt a hand pull her back. She saw Lady Zanthia step forwards.

“[Guardsmen], stand back. Guard my wards and my fellow [Ladies].”

She gestured. Uncertain, the [Guardsmen] stumbled away from their opponents, clutching at half-severed limbs. The [Assassins] regarded Zanthia, eleven of them. They spread out. One raised a bow. Zanthia regarded the archer. The [Assassin] froze. And then the arrow flew.

Fast, fast. A shaft aimed straight at Zanthia’s unguarded heart. But the [Lady] just raised a hand and flicked a finger. And the arrow broke in midair.

“Impossible.”

One of the black figures muttered it. Another raised a hand and threw something. A dart. Zanthia flicked a second finger and the metal dart clanged in midair and clattered to the ground. The [Assassins] stared at her.

“Together, then.”

They backed up, drawing bows and drawing daggers. One grabbed a wand and rolled behind a cart. Eliasor stared as Zanthia calmly turned her head. One of the other girls made a squeaking sound.

“But how—is she a [Warrior]?”

The [Lady] who grabbed Eliasor, Lady Avi, smiled as her companion snorted.

“Have you heard of a warrior who could do that? That isn’t a class. It’s a Skill.”

“What Skill?”

A second dart flew. Zanthia swatted it aside. An [Assassin] rushed at her and she flicked the figure off her feet as if swatting a fly away. Lady Avi watched her mother.

“[Deft Hand]. It is one of the first Skills any [Lady] learns. But it is by no means weak. Refined, it is a weapon, a shield as strong as magic.”

The [Assassins] loosed as one. Dozens of missiles flew at Zanthia from every side. The old [Lady] flicked her wrist. The arrows snapped out of the sky as if something had struck them. And then she turned. The young [Ladies] in her care stared at her with wide eyes, Eliasor included. Zanthia smiled, and the old lady’s smile was the most beautiful thing Eliasor could remember. Lady Zanthia spoke softly.

“Young women, be brave. We are the flowers of Izril. And we do not wilt before cowards hiding behind masks.”

Behind her, the [Assassins] dropped their bows. They charged her with a roar, screaming in dissonant harmony. And Lady Zanthia walked through them. She raised her arm and scattered them like petals on the breeze. She spun and a bolt of lightning arced around her hand. She sent it back in a roar of light and sound that blinded and deafened Eliasor. A black shape exploded into flames. A second spun past Zanthia, clutching at a twisted arm.

But still they came. Left, right, above, below. From behind—Zanthia twisted and the enchanted blade bounced off a bit of air as she flicked her hand. Now she was using both arms, and the [Assassins] spun around her, going flying as she deflected them. But they were so quick.

Zanthia took a step forwards, and then another, her hands moving in every direction. And then she took another step. And another. And suddenly, she lowered her hands. Her arms came up, and she held an imaginary bit of air. Suddenly, and without reason, she was dancing.

Yes, dancing. Dancing across the street, whirling, as if an invisible partner held her. For a second Eliasor couldn’t believe her eyes.

Neither could the [Assassins]. They picked themselves up and stared. But then they leapt. And they went flying.

This time it was part of the dance. As Zanthia whirled, the [Assassins] around her were knocked back. A step forwards forced the attackers in front of her back. And Zanthia’s eyes closed. And she danced.

It was an old dance. Something that belonged on a ballroom. Eliasor had seen it before. But now Zanthia danced the weaving, turning steps alone. Lady Avi breathed slowly as she watched the old woman trace a path amid the [Assassins].

“[Gliding Steps]. [Waltz: The Traveler’s Journey]. [Polite Deflection]. The qualities of a [Lady] are more than the Skills we are born with, Lady Eliasor.”

It occurred to the black killers that the other [Ladies] were an easy target. So they turned to the remaining [Guardsmen] and the women. But Lady Zanthia spun through them, an invisible force that hurled them aside like toys. And something was happening. The patch of air in Zanthia’s arm where her dance partner should be was…twisting.  Changing.

“What’s happening?”

Eliasor stared at the air that Zanthia held. It had been air, but now it looked like an instinct figure. A person, hazy, but growing more detailed with each step. Lady Avi inhaled, and Eliasor heard the catch in her voice.

“Lady Avi? What’s that?”

The woman looked down. And then she gestured at Lady Zanthia and the spectre. Now Eliasor saw a face. Legs. Clothing, appearing in details with each passing second. Ali’s voice was quiet. Awed.

“One of the ultimate Skills of our class. [The Eternal Partner]. That a [Lady] might never dance alone.”

Eliasor looked ahead. And now she saw him in his entirety. A smiling face. A tall figure, taller than Zanthia. Gracefully curved to accommodate her height. And on the dance went as the [Assassins] changed targets again, sensing the danger.

The [Lady] danced with her ghostly partner across the street, and the dark shapes armed with weapons charged her. But though they leapt and spun, slashing wildly, Lady Zanthia danced through them all. The weapons glanced sideways. The figures staggered, pushed back by an invisible force.

And the arrows curved in flight. They missed the elderly woman and the phantom who held her hand as she glided across the rough ground as if it were ice. With each step, a missile flew astray, striking one of the attackers, or a shape now charging the younger [Ladies] and their escorts tripped, or went flying.

But that wasn’t all. What drew the young Eliasor’s eyes was the dancer who held Lady Zanthia’s arm, led her on a quick progressive step, a natural turn. And then—gently, a slow twirl with one arm raised as Lady Zanthia slowly spun underneath.

And with every step, the phantom seemed to grow in clarity. In focus. From a ghost, a pale distortion in the air, he took color and form. Until a man danced with Lady Zanthia. His skin was dark. He wore an old-fashioned doublet, decades out of style. And his neck bore the distinctive stitch marks of his people. He smiled down at Lady Zanthia and the old woman’s lips turned up as she walked forwards with him.

The [Assassins] fell back as the figure stepped back. He bowed, one hand out, and Zanthia did the same. They came to rest, and if you stared at them and nowhere else, you could believe the simple street in the city was in fact a ballroom.

He was dressed so. In clothes from another age. And he couldn’t have been more than thirty years of age. He looked at Zanthia, and the old woman, her hair pinned back, her face lined, smiled and sixty years fell away in a moment. She inclined her head and the figure turned. He was no longer a ghost, but real. Cotton-and-blood. And he drew his sword and gave the [Assassins] a bow.

Wide-eyed, they stepped back. One raised a bow, and the Stitch-Man darted forwards. His sword slashed once, and the black-clad shape fell, clutching at an arm cut to the bone. They fell back, and the dancer set them to flight. He darted left and right, his sword a blur. He leapt and his figure split as he landed. Two figures now advanced.

He had Skills of his own! The Stitch-Man engaged an [Assassin] in a clash of blades as the attackers began to flee in earnest. One took a parting shot at Lady Zanthia. A [Fireball] bloomed and the [Lady] turned. She twisted her hand, and the orb of fire flicked upwards and exploded in the air. She stepped back. And the Stitch-Man turned to the next opponent as his phantom-double downed his opponent.

“Who is that?”

A shaky voice from another girl. Zanthia watched as the Stitch-Man pursued the ten—no, nine [Assassins] now. He was everywhere, and his doubles struck with all the reality of the original. Men and women died. And the [Ladies] watched. Ali’s voice was soft.

“That was her first husband. The Emir Sandel of Chandrar. He passed away nearly four decades ago. Father.”

“Father.”

The other [Lady], Lady Havilet standing next to Ali agreed. Eliasor looked up at them. And her heart squeezed. She clung to Ali’s dress. Because she’d just realized that they’d lost their father too.

And their mother walked through from the fleeing black figures. She followed Emir Sandel as he put them to flight and then to death, laughing. Eliasor could hear his voice. And she saw him turning, as if to show off to Zanthia. The old woman waved a hand, and Eliasor thought she was scolding him.

And the black-clad murderers died. The last fell back, begging for mercy. But Emir Sandel had none to give. He saluted the figure and swung his sword. And then he straightened with a long sigh.

With the last of the [Assassins], the shade of Sandel paused. He was growing more indistinct. Less colorful. Imprecise. He turned back, his form blurring and fading. Like an old memory. He strode across the ground, towards Lady Zanthia as his clone disappeared, the Skill undone. And so too was the man’s memory. He paused once before Lady Zanthia, and he was only a blur. Still, he knelt, and she held out her hand. Across a lifetime, he reached for her.

Before he touched her fingers he was gone. And the only proof of his existence was the blood he had left on the ground and the certainty in Eliasor’s heart that she had seen him. That left only Zanthia. And she looked old as she turned back to her wards and her daughters. Old, as four decades returned.

“It appears our outing was disturbed, [Ladies]. But take note. A [Lady] has work to do after a disaster. Not least is tending to our guards before their limbs are lost.”

She clapped her hands briskly. And time resumed. The townsfolk crept back out of hiding. The City Watch arrived too late, shamefaced, perhaps having delayed their arrival. The Runners were promptly arrested. And Lady Zanthia stood amid it all, directing the children off the street because this was not a sight for them, having the [Assassin]’s weapons bodies and weapons collected, tending to the wounded. She said nothing of what had passed on the street until the [Ladies] were walking home. Without an escort; there really wasn’t a point.

“Lady Zanthia? What was that Skill?”

Eliasor had to ask. And for once, the old [Lady] didn’t snap her head off. She looked at Eliasor appraisingly, and the girl thought that Zanthia finally saw something she liked. So the old [Lady] ducked her head as if she were embarrassed.

“We are creatures of attention, young lady. We are not desperate [Criers] who demand attention, or sycophantic [Bards] who strum our vanity onto any ear who listen. But are [Ladies]. We steal every beam of light we step into. We attract the eye and mind and demand respect and consideration. By elegance or wit, beauty or passion. That is what it means to bear our class.”

It was an answer and not at the same time. Eliasor nodded. She brushed at something wet on her cheek and found it was someone’s blood. Unconsciously she shuddered and reached out. And Lady Zanthia’s hand found her. As if she had been waiting for Eliasor to reach out. The old woman took Eliasor’s bloody hand in her own. And her voice was gentle as she led Eliasor back to her home. At least, for now.

“It was ill-done, this attack. Wrong, Eliasor. Just as your mother’s death was. Someone must be held to account. You see, this is not the way we do battle. Yes, we of Izril war amongst ourselves. But seldom with open blood. Someone has violated that law. Magnolia threatened it, but fools have forgotten why we play politics instead of war. And in doing so, they have forgotten that the flowers of Izril are not shrinking blossoms.”

Eliasor. Zanthia looked towards the sky. And her hand gently tightened over Eliasor’s.

“But I promise you, you will have vengeance. Whether by Magnolia’s hand or mine. Or your own. Never forget them. That is what makes you strong.”

—-

Two hundred miles east and south, another [Lady] was entertaining. Her estate was open to callers. And oh, there were many. The [Lady] flittered from guest to guest, never staying long, and every eye followed her.

She was nearly sixty years old herself. But the years that had turned Lady Zanthia into iron seemed not to touch Lady Wuvren. She laughed as she swung around the dance floor, dancing, chattering, snacking, flirting. And if you looked at her, you would never guess her age. Never in a million years, because time had lost meaning for Wuvren.

She looked like a much younger woman. She could have been twenty eight. She was in the prime of her life.

True, betimes she seemed older. A woman in her full thirties. A mother of forty, bending to speak to a child. It came out in the way she spoke, the age in her eyes and voice. Sometimes. But in appearance, she was almost always a younger woman, with little more than two decades and a half behind her.

And it wasn’t an illusion. Her skin was as fair as it had ever been, her hair, now styled in the fashion of the day, long and sweeping with only the hint of a curl, was as vibrant as it had been back then. She even acted young, which befuddled one of her guests, an [Earl] from Terandria beyond belief.

“I must confess, I had heard of your beauty in [Bard]’s tales, milady. I am struck. Simply struck that not a word was untrue.”

The man took Wuvren’s hand, searching her eyes for even a hint of the age he knew she bore. But Wuvren’s touch felt smoother than most of the young women he’d courted. And her eyes danced with merry delight. Teasingly, she snatched her hand back.

“Oh? You came all this way on a [Bard]’s song? And you claim not one word is untrue. Do you call yourself my admirer, then, sir?”

She teased him gently. The [Earl] blushed and stammered.

“Well, I—one hears rumors. I hate to question it, but I have heard rumors. A [Lady]’s age is of course your own business. But—”

He trailed off because he had no idea how to proceed without giving further offense. Some of the other men in attendance looked appalled, but Wuvren just laughed. She spun around the Earl and somehow he found he’d linked arms with her. The young? [Lady] leaned on his arm and spoke with a sigh.

“Some women wear their years like weights. Others bear them lightly. Myself, I prefer to wear it like a veil. Which is to say, as a delicate façade. Or not at all. Does it bother you that much?”

She looked up at the [Earl]. He fell over himself to say no. Wuvren laughed.

“Then you must join me for dinner. After a ride? I have a delightful hunt planned, and I would love to see your skill with the bow.”

She left the [Earl] before he could think to protest. On the way, Wuvren passed by a stately man with a trimmed chestnut beard. She eyed the man as she stood to attention, chatting with another woman.  The man turned with a sigh to regard Wuvren and the [Earl] who was watching her every move.

“You’ve won another convert, mother.”

“Don’t fret so, Gilliad. And hold my arm to chase away the bad men if you don’t want to lose me.”

“Mother, please. Must you?”

The older-looking man looked appalled and resigned. Wuvren laughed and threw her arms around him, attracting looks of jealousy from most of the men in the room. Gilliad just sighed.

That was how the roses came. And the [Assassins]. In fact, the Runners never made it into the estate; they were stopped at the door. But the [Assassins] were more determined and leapt down from the open windows overhead. They landed among the men and women, eliciting shouts of horror.

“Lady Wuvren! We come for your head!”

The lead [Assassin] pointed their blade at Lady Wuvren. A tad uncertainly; the [Lady] didn’t look the part. Gilliad reached for his dagger, but Wuvren pushed her son back. She stepped forwards as nine shapes spread out, warding the other guests and bodyguards back. Wuvren’s guards stopped as they saw the leader’s blade was inches from Wuvren’s chest. But the [Lady] never blinked. She put one hand on the flat of the blade and pushed it from her chest. Then she winked at the [Assassin] in front of her.

“Would you hit a [Lady], Miss?”

“I—how did you—what?”

Caught off-guard, the [Assassin] stuttered. She lowered her blade. Wuvren sighed. Two men and a woman swooned.

“I couldn’t bear it. Blood, shed upon my floors. Yours or mine. Wouldn’t you like it more if you sat? I have all the time to talk with a delightful young woman. Or man. [Assassin] or not, I always have room on my staff. Would you at least lower the blade so we could talk?”

Her voice was hypnotic. The female [Assassin] lowered her blade. Another black-clad figure growled and shook his head. He grabbed her hand, twisting her head and his away from Wuvren.

“You idiot. I told you not to look at her! She’s got charmed eyes!”

“And a charming face. Tell me, sir, would you care to—”

The [Assassin] leapt back, swearing. Gilliad’s dagger slashed the spot where he had been. The [Assassin] grabbed his companions, who all jerked stupidly.

“Retreat! Her Skill is too powerful!”

The [Assassins] looked at their new leader and stared at Wuvren. Two never looked away. The rest ran for it. Three went down as Wuvren’s guests went for them. The last four had horses hidden for a getaway. Wuvren walked and saw them flogging the horses, racing away as her guards caught them.

“Well. That man was quite good. But I nearly had the young woman.”

Wuvren complained to her son. She sighed.

“Maybe I’ll leave her with a gift. Here. [Heartbreaker Kiss].”

She put two fingers to her lips and flicked them towards one of the retreating shapes. The female [Assassin] jerked and clutched at her chest as she rode away. Wuvren saw Gilliad glancing at her. She explained lightly.

“Heart broken. But not dead. I’m not Bethal or Magnolia. Or even Zanthia, for that matter. Gilliad, find out who they were. But be careful. And oh, send word that I need to speak to Magnolia.”

“Yes, Mother.”

The man retreated, shaking his head. The other guests flocked around Wuvren, shaken. The [Earl] was particularly upset. His enchanted sword was bared as he glared at the retreating shapes.

“What was that? Is this some kind of Izril plot? Is this how politics are done in Izril?”

Wuvren purred as she smiled around at her guests. Then she focused on the Terandrian man.

“Not usually, my good [Earl]. But I am allied with Lady Magnolia Reinhart. It appears her acquaintances are the subject of some ire. A silly quarrel for such a reaction. But I fear we are under attack nevertheless. I wonder, who will protect us?”

She gently swooned into the [Earl]’s arms. He held her for a perfect moment as she fell against him. And her soft arms, the gentle pulse in her veins and her flushed face—surely she couldn’t be as old as they said? And even if she was, who cared? The man’s thoughts quickly eroded and he bent to profess something, anything.

Then one of the other suitors kicked the Terandrian [Earl] in the back and half a dozen hands were there to prop Lady Wuvren up. Someone offered her a handkerchief, a flask of water. A sweet stamina potion. Someone else punched the [Earl].

—-

Beauty and age. A [Lady] could enhance one and stave off the other. But those were Skills for women who feared loss, or coveted one value or another. What did you give the [Lady] who had both? Perhaps you gave her a Skill in the form of lineage, genetics that always threw true. Or a gift for money. The ability to manage her lands or charm others. Or, perhaps, you simply gave her—

Power. The [Lady] stood in the middle of her city, amid broken black roses. And the [Assassins] approaching her with weapons couldn’t get any closer. The [Lady] was furious. She stared at the black figures and her eyes flashed, the orange pupils darting indignation and fury as her citizens looked on in shock.

“I am Pryde. And you sent four to claim my head? How dare you? How many did you sent to Magnolia? Zanthia? Wuvren? Bethal?”

The [Assassins] stared up at her. They had leapt for her from the cover of a rolling wagon. But something had pinned them. It was so hard to move—one was reaching for a crossbow, but the wood was cracking and his bones creaked. And he was six feet away from her. But he couldn’t move. Lady Pryde stamped a foot.

“Four [Assassins]? Send a hundred! Send a thousand! Tell your Guildmaster that I want him to take this contract himself.”

She pointed at the silent attackers. The one with the crossbow finally raised it. Lady Pryde’s brows snapped together. She pointed.

“[Ego is Weight].”

The gravity crushing the man redoubled. The crossbow snapped in his hands. He lay flat on the ground and Pryde stood over him. Never had anyone been so aptly named. Or perhaps the name had forged the woman. She beckoned imperiously.

“Come. If you can even touch me. I am Lady Pryde of House Ulta.”

They reached for her. But that was as far as they got. The citizens of Ulta’s city advanced with a roar of outrage. They descended on the four immobilized [Assassins]. And when the bodies had been dragged away, they surrounded their [Lady]. And she stood up and passed each of her subjects, touching a bloody brow or a hand.

A [Queen] of [Ladies]. Untouchable, undefeatable.

—-

And they were dying. To guards or the [Ladies] who blew perfume laced with magic, or deflected spells with magic fans. The black-clad [Assassins] fell like flies. And disbelief was written on their lips.

It should not be like this. They had known the dangers of this job. They had known it was suicide. But they had expected at least one group to succeed. And the riches of killing even a single [Lady] would have made the killers rich beyond their dreams, even divided a dozen ways. But they had failed.

And it was to be expected. They were just recruits. The lowest rank of the Assassin’s Guild, whose shadowy number was in the thousands. Possibly even tens of thousands, if, as rumored, they had bases in southern Izril still. And to send a message, the Assassin’s Guild was willing to throw away nearly a hundred of their weakest.

For a message. It was a gesture that might reward the guild in dividends. But it was a bitter truth to the last group of [Assassins] crouched outside of Magnolia’s estate. This group wasn’t plotting an ambush. They weren’t even at that stage yet. And unlike their comrades, even the ones who had assaulted Bethal, these were the last to act.

Because they were afraid. No delusions of riches or fame could sway the twenty, ten in each group, who had been given the contract for Magnolia Reinhart. They knew they would never claim that bounty. But they had orders. So they waited as long as they could, whispering. Unprofessionally.

“She killed the [Mage] who went after her. And, what was it, two dozen of our own? They were the Guild’s best.”

“And she’s got her personal [Maid]. Ressa. She was trained by the Guild! I heard she was even an [Assassin].”

“A Reinhart. We’ll never make it inside. We won’t last ten paces.”

One of the [Assassins] in the garden group shook her head miserably.

“If we don’t try, we’re dead. All we have to do is try. Then we can run at the first sign of danger. We’ll level up just from the attempt.”

That was true. The [Assassins] looked at each other. Slowly, both groups moved. The first one on the west side readied their grappling hooks. They climbed over the walls, silently, alert for any helpful [Servant] they could accidentally be discovered by. And they did get over the wall. Not all of Magnolia’s private estate was warded.

The [Assassins] landed on lush, thick grass. Very high, grass, in fact, that went up to the knees. They stared at the unkempt, unmowed lawn, and then at the huge, brambling walls of hedges they hadn’t spotted from the outside. The hedges that stretched up and up until they were over a dozen feet high in the smallest spots. The [Assassins] blinked at some huge, half-rotten toadstools growing out of the ground.

“This is a [Lady]’s garden?”

Someone muttered in disgust as he kicked at a tall stand of grass. The others looked around uneasily. Someone drew a blade.

They had gotten into Lady Magnolia’s estate. Her garden, more specifically. Or rather, the hedge maze part of the garden. Which was tended by her [Gardener]. And because they had chosen to enter through that spot, they were never seen again.

The second group that infiltrated the mansion didn’t choose the garden, which meant they survived for longer. There were ten of them. They were detected across the stretch to the [Mansion]; a [Maid] spotted them while dusting. The Gnoll calmly shot one with a crossbow. The other nine ran for it.

Three made it into the mansion. The Steel Golems got three with blade and crushing blows. One was knocked out by the stables by a horse. Two more had been running along the wall when one of the magical creatures swimming across the front of the mansion had opened its mouth. The remaining three had seen a whale pop out of the stonework to swallow their screaming friends. The last three never looked back and ran inside, blades drawn.

Three people stood in the entrance hall to Magnolia’s mansion. A [Butler], polishing his sword with a handkerchief. A [Maid] who held a huge, enchanted mace. And a miserable [Assassin], armed with similar weapons as the ones the [Assassins] carried. The [Maid] glanced up as the three [Assassins] skidded to a stop.

“Only three? Sloppy. They’re definitely third-rates. The ones that attacked the mansion the first time were some of the Guild’s best. I have no doubt. These ones are expendable.”

“They’re trainees. Barely qualified for their first missions. Probably between Level 10 and Level 20 at most.”

The black-clad man looked up, sighing. The [Butler] glanced at him.

“Like you, you mean.”

Theofore the luckless [Assassin] nodded. Reynold stood straighter.

“Well, it should be a good warm up. Who wants all three?”

The [Assassins] drew back as Reynold drew his sword back. Sacra sighed and propped her mace on one shoulder. One of the [Assassins] pointed at Theofore.

“Theofore? We thought you were dead. The Guild’s put a bounty on you.”

“Life isn’t so kind.”

Theofore sighed. He drew a throwing dagger and flipped it. The [Assassins] tensed. Theofore looked at his companions.

“You know I’m better than all three of you. And these two could kill an entire training team without breaking a sweat. Surrender. You’ll live. But you won’t like it. Don’t, and you’ll die. Either way.”

He shrugged. The [Assassins] stared at him. They looked behind themselves and then weighed the odds. They tossed their blades to the carpet and held up their hands. Sacra glared.

“I just cleaned that carpet. Drop another blade on it and I’ll kill you. Blood comes out easier than poison.”

—-

Five minutes later, Reynold poked his head into the sitting room and coughed once before delivering his message.

“All sorted, Lady Reinhart. We’ve ah, recovered the weapons from the garden. Theofore is looking through them now. We’re turning the corpses over to Mister Nalthaliarstrelous. For…composting.”

Magnolia Reinhart looked up. She was reading [Messages] while sitting on her personal, pink couch. A cup of sugar with some added tea was sitting in front of her.

“Thank you, Reynold. Have Sacra see to the interrogation. You may have the rest of the day off. If I need a driver, I will make Ressa do it.”

“You’re too kind, Lady Reinhart.”

Magnolia smiled and tilted the tea cup to her lips. She frowned as she read the rest of the [Messages].

“So. The party accompanying Lady Zanthia, Wuvren, Feli, Sypaci, Allima—no word from Bethal, but we have to assume she was attacked too.”

Ressa nodded silently. Magnolia glanced at her.

“All failures. Do you think they underestimated us that badly, Ressa?”

“I think they wanted to see how good each [Lady]’s defenses were. And perhaps they were wary of sending their best in case they did fail. It could be the Circle of Thorns or whoever hired them was simply cheap. The Assassin’s Guild is expensive, even for the richest of [Merchants]. This must have cost tens of thousands of gold coins.”

Ressa replied drily. Magnolia nodded. She made a face.

“What is that idiotic Guildmaster thinking? Then again, knowing him…what a waste of bodies. But the Guild has members to spare. I suppose this is their message, then. Assassinations are open game. They aren’t under my control and so on and so forth.”

She set her cup down and stared at the pile of black roses on the table in front of her.

“And Izril is officially divided. There are now sides. How wonderful. We have dozens upon dozens of enemies publicly declaring against us, with more to come no doubt.”

Ressa nodded. She studied the list of names of those who’d sent the flowers to the [Ladies].

“No black flowers from any of the Five Families. Is that unusual?”

Magnolia glanced up.

“Tyrion knows better. And this wasn’t his idea. I’m rather surprised one of my family didn’t send a flower my way, though. As for the other families—they know what’s coming next. They’ll pick sides soon enough. But they aren’t idiots.”

Ressa nodded.

“Do you think the senders of the flowers organized the [Assassin] attacks?”

Magnolia sipped thoughtfully from her cup.

“It certainly puts us against them, doesn’t it? But no, that’s too convenient for our real enemies, Ressa.”

She tapped the flowers in front of her.

“These are from some of those who joined Tyrion’s army against the Goblin Lord. They’re expressing their contempt openly. Foolishly, one might say. The [Assassins] are different. The Circle of Thorns sent them, I have no doubt. Everyone else assumes I still have a contract with the Guild—or I did until today. Even if they had doubts, who would organize such a concerted attack with the danger it might be traced back to them? No.”

All that was true. Ressa nodded, and hesitated.

“Even so, you could make an example—”

“No.”

“What about the Circle of Thorns? At least one of the nobility in Tyrion’s camp must have been part of the circle. How else would they have coordinated the attacks with the insult?”

Magnolia rolled her eyes.

“I’m sure there is someone. At least one of the nobility who rode with Tyrion Veltras is in the Circle of Thorns. Oh, that narrows it down so much.”

The [Maid] glared.

“You’ve been attacked. And insulted. You can’t let this slide, Magnolia.”

Magnolia picked up a flower and studied it. She sniffed it and tossed it down with a grimace.

“I don’t intend to. But I told you, Ressa. I’m trying to move away from fear. Surely I can be formidable and merciful. Or is twenty missing [Assassins] a light touch?”

Ressa didn’t reply to that. She just folded her arms.

“How are you going to reply, then? A stiffly worded letter? A few roses in kind?”

Magnolia smiled brightly.

“Oh, no. I’ll simply hit their coffers instead.”

So saying, she stood up. Magnolia held out one hand and Ressa felt the air in the room go still. She backed up a step. Magnolia glanced around. She took a breath, and then spoke in a level and ringing tone.

“I, Magnolia Reinhart, declare a [Trade War].”

She brought her hand down and slapped the coffee table lightly. The roses jumped and the table and floor shook for a second. Ressa winced as the reverberations ran through the mansion. The door slammed open and Sacra appeared with a mace in hand.

“Lady Reinhart, what was—”

“Just a Skill, Sacra. Close the door, would you?”

Magnolia waved a hand tiredly. Sacra did, hesitating. The [Lady] Reinhart looked at Ressa. She raised an eyebrow.

“Good enough for you?”

Ressa blinked at her.

“It’s a start.”

Magnolia rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“Ressa, send out [Messages] to Invrisil’s Merchant’s Guild and to our other affiliates. The clever ones shouldn’t need to be warned.”

Ressa nodded. In minutes she had [Messages] flying out to all of Magnolia’s affiliates. And that was all Magnolia said on the matter. But the shaking, trembling quake that she’d struck the table with still reverberated as it ran down through the mansion, into the bedrock and ground. And it grew and grew, a tremor. A quake of vibrations. And it grew and grew, until the entire land around Invrisil—

—-

Shook.

It was an earthquake! On his way to Invrisil’s market, the [Farmer] named Tanel clutched at his wagon as his horses reared. The tremor was minor, but sudden. It shook the ground under him and sent his covered wagon’s contents spilling as a rope suddenly snapped. Tanel cursed and swept out of his seat, rushing to pick up the fallen goods.

He was a [Berry Farmer], a good one too. And his Skills had given him an early harvest, which he was contracted to sell to Invrisil’s markets at a mint. This early, berries would be in high demand, and Tanel was looking forwards to making a profit. He’d just crossed into Invrisil’s territory from Averin lands.

It was normally an uneventful trip. Invrisil was very safe, what with it being the City of Adventurers, and the Averin lands, if less prosperous, benefitted from their proximity to one of Izril’s main cities. Up until recently, Tanel had considered it a boon for his farm. These last few days however, he’d heard that tensions were on the rise between Averin’s house and Magnolia Reinhart. Over some big to do down around Liscor and the Goblin Lord, who was now dead.

It was nothing to do with Tanel. He just wanted to make money and retire young. And Invrisil loved his berries. He was hurrying to pick up the precious cargo, wondering how it had spilled with such a minor shake when he noticed something awful.

“Bruised?”

Horrified, Tanel looked at the squished and bleeding berries. If he hadn’t known better, he would have sworn this was the worst of his crop! He looked into the wagon and stared.

“They’re all—but I could have sworn—”

His berries were all bruised! Some were damaged from the trip, and some even had mold on them. How was that possible? Tanel always, always checked his fruits before going to market. Had the trip somehow turned them all bad at once? The [Farmer] stumbled back, his visions of a cushy return to his farm on the border of Averin crushed.

“No, no, no—how is this happening?”

Then he remembered the quake. And he had a terrible premonition, a sense in the back of his head. He shouldn’t have come to Invrisil. Tanel couldn’t say why. But he was certain. Invrisil was a bad place to be. Bad to sell his goods. He’d have to find another market for his second harvest. It would mean no gold and pittance in his pockets, but it was just no…good here.

Bitterly, Tanel reflected that meant less money for the tax collectors when they came by too. It was a bittersweet feeling at best. Mostly bitter.

—-

“Dead gods, that was a bit of a quake.”

Two [Traders] sitting in one of Invrisil’s open-air restaurants looked around shakily. One of them, a local stock merchant in Invrisil who sold a number of wares, grabbed at a bag of gold on the table sheepishly. Then he let go and laughed. The [Trader] sitting across from him, a man who handled the Indivu Estate’s purchasing, laughed a bit contemptuously.

“No need to panic. The gold won’t fly away. And we do have a deal, don’t we?”

They were about to close a profitable deal where Invrisil would sell some much-needed stocks of alchemical ingredients to Indivu for their [Alchemists]. The Invrisil [Trader] felt like he was getting the raw end of the deal, but he needed to shift the ingredients now before they expired, and the Indivu [Trader] had given him little bargaining room. Reluctantly, he nodded.

“For the gold on the table, I can do it.”

“Then we have a deal. We’ll shake and sign.”

Impatiently and rudely, the Indivu representative held out a hand. The [Trader] gritted his teeth as he reached out. At that moment, he heard a shout.

“Street Runner, coming through! Coming—whoops!”

A running girl struck the table the two men were sitting at. Her hip accidentally struck the bag and something—a loose seam, a cut in the bag—burst. Both [Traders] watched, as, in classic fashion, the bag of gold exploded raining gold down the street.

Invrisil’s pedestrians might be richer than, say, Celum or Liscor’s people, but no one turned down free gold. Hands were snatching the pieces even as they fell and people grabbed the money and ran. The Street Runner fled and the Indivu [Trader] clutched at his head.

“Stop! Call the City Watch! [Thief]!”

He turned desperately to the Invrisil [Trader]. But the man was already backing away.

“Terribly sorry, but it appears the gold is no longer on the table, as it were. So—”

He fled. The Indivu [Trader] tried to follow him. He slipped on a gold coin.

—-

Was it luck or design? Existing faults being exploited, or new ones being created? The Merchant’s Guild of Invrisil didn’t know and they frankly didn’t care. Magnolia’s [Message] hit their guild like a [Fireball]. Within minutes, [Merchants] were apologizing to customers waiting who represented various estates.

“I’m terribly sorry, sir. But your line of credit is no longer good in Invrisil.”

A [Merchant] wiped at her forehead as she tried to explain to a very upset young nobleman why he couldn’t borrow any money. Another, a journeyman [Trader], was frantically erasing prices on the board, much to the confusion of a young [Secretary] who’d come to arrange transport and goods.

“The price of barley is four coppers higher per pound. For anyone buying and selling in Vite lands. And a number of other estates. I’m sorry, Miss. I have a list. It just came in from the Merchant’s Guild.”

She tried to protest, but it was no good. And indeed, the heads of the Merchant’s Guild realized the very same thing when they called on Magnolia Reinhart an hour later. The [Lady] met them at her gates, just in time for them to see a [Butler] having some of the staff drag a few dead bodies towards the garden. The [Merchants] stared and swallowed their objections fast. Magnolia Reinhart’s face was the picture of pleasantness.

“So good of you all to come here! Despite my explicit [Message] that already stated what was going on. Let me say it twice, then, ladies and gentlemen. You may sell to my competitors. At one and a quarter times the rate you will charge anyone else. Anything less, and you will fall foul of my Skill. And believe me, even the best [Merchant] will find themselves mildly inconvenienced. Anyone of a lower level, say, Level 30 or less, will be significantly distressed.”

“A [Trade War], then, Lady Reinhart?”

One of the senior [Merchants] stared at her, mildly appalled. Magnolia nodded.

“The very same. Products entering my lands will not do well. It is of course an inconvenience. But I think the Merchant’s Guild can help Invrisil weather the slight pinch for a good time. My competitors? Less so.”

The [Merchants] considered that. Invrisil didn’t lack for suppliers, although it might raise rates. On the other hand, anyone who wanted to import goods through the trading hub of a city was now facing massively increased prices and a string of bad luck. They hesitated.

“How long will this ah, situation last, Lady Reinhart?”

The [Lady] twirled a black rose between her fingertips. The [Merchants], who were already in the know, shuddered.

“Oh, as long as it takes, good gentlefolk. As long as it takes. I may accept an apology. In time. Until then, please let me excuse myself. I hate to be abrupt, but I am terribly busy as you must now know. And I think my [Gardener] wants to turn some skulls into pot holders. Good day to you!”

Ressa slammed the gate in front of the [Merchants]. She watched them go, then followed Magnolia as the [Lady] swept back towards the mansion. Magnolia was already thinking aloud.

“We’ll need to watch the borders, obviously. There may be raids. Of a certainty I think we’ll see unpleasantness. [Knights] dueling. Young [Lords] deciding to get their own back. But I haven’t declared a [Trade War] for nearly ten years. I imagine a number of my peers are having a very unpleasant shock right now. They really shouldn’t underestimate my level.”

“Is that the start or end of it?”

Ressa glanced at Magnolia. She was tempted to ask about sending Sacra on a mission, or performing the more traditional Reinhart maneuvers in the dark. If not assassination, then certainly espionage. But Magnolia shook her head.

“Money is enough, Ressa. Money, and perhaps a few judicious secrets leaked. Time to send some rather inappropriate gossip. All truthful, of course. I’ll need my little black book, a quill, some good stationary—”

Ressa smiled thinly. That was closer to the Magnolia she knew.

“Planning on starting some duels of honor?”

“I don’t think enraged brides-to-be duel their prospective husbands, Ressa. They tend to just go for the kill. I’ll send off a few letters to begin with. Oh, and get me some good Runners, Ressa. Couriers, preferably, but trustworthy City Runners in Invrisil will do for some of these notes.”

“We have a list.”

Ressa was already pulling a few names from memory. She paused as she thought of one name in particular that had come up of late. But she didn’t say it out loud. Instead, she looked at Magnolia. The [Lady] sighed. Tired, but fierce.

“[Assassins] and [Runners]. Intrigue in Izril. It’s a fine time to be a Runner, I suppose.”

“You mean, dangerous.”

Magnolia turned back with a smile.

“It’s one and the same, Ressa. Risk equals reward. And I believe, yes, I believe it’s never been better to be a Runner. After all, we are at odds, Ressa. The noble Humans of Izril are squabbling again.”

Her face fell.

“Again.”

Ressa shook her head.

“Better than being at war with the Drakes?”

She saw her friend pause. Magnolia turned her head, searching the sky, as if for a clue. At last, she turned back to Ressa and shrugged.

“I think so. But we’ll have to wait and see. Won’t we?”

6.28

The grass was lush and green. The perfect height, which was to say, short. Not like the tall, whippy adult grass that was what real grass actually looked like. This grass was fresh. It had the kind of green quality and density that you only saw on lawns religiously tended to by their owners. It was the kind of grass that invited the viewer to walk outside barefoot, so you could wriggle your toes in it.

There was the grass. It was growing on a hilltop. And on that hilltop sat an inn. The doors flew open. A young woman raced out onto the grass. She raised her arms and then cartwheeled across the grass.

“It’s spring! Proper spring!”

A white shape bounded out the door after her. Erin Solstice laughed as Mrsha raced onto the grass and did a flying belly flop. Erin completed her cartwheel and caught herself, a bit dizzy.

“I did it! Hey Mrsha, did you see that?”

The Gnoll nodded rapidly. She raced around on Erin on all fours, then got onto two legs. She raised her arms, waving them, clearly encouraging Erin to do it again. The [Innkeeper] laughed.

“Like this, Mrsha! See? Here I go!”

She took three steps, raised her arms, and then lunged. Her body twisted down, her hands struck the ground, and to Mrsha’s amazement, Erin cartwheeled. The Gnoll’s tiny mouth popped open as Erin cartwheeled across the grass.

“Whoop—whoop! I nearly went over the edge, there! Careful!”

Erin caught herself a second time, this time from going over the edge of the hill. It would be a somewhat steep roll down the hill, and the lovely grass covering the top hadn’t managed to infest the slopes. Brown mud stared at her as she hopped back towards the inn. She spotted a figure standing in the doorway.

“Cartwheels! Want to try, Lyonette?”

The [Princess] stared at Erin, perplexed.

“I’ve never done something like that in my life. How on earth did you do that? You don’t have the [Tumbler] class, right?”

Erin hesitated.

“Do I need to? It’s just a cartwheel. Most guys can’t do it, but I learned it in gym class.”

“Oh. Another of your Earth things. You can really just do that?”

Erin propped her hands on her hips as she smiled at the younger girl.

“I bet you can do it. Come on. It’s simple. Watch. All you have to do is put your arms up, lunge, and then twist—”

She did a slower cartwheel to show Lyonette and Mrsha. It was too slow, so Erin fell down halfway through. Mrsha leapt on her, tail wagging, and Erin laughed.

“Mrsha! You’re getting heavier! Off! Lyonette, you try.”

“You’re sure you can do that?”

“You don’t need a class or a Skill for everything, Lyonette. And this is easy-peasy. Come on.”

The [Princess] looked dubious. But then she shrugged. She raised her arms.

“Okay. Like this?”

She copied Erin’s pose. Erin nodded. Lyonette took a deep breath.

“Alright. Then—”

She took five steps back, and then came out at a run. Erin opened her mouth to tell Lyonette she was going too fast, when the [Princess] did a perfect triple-cartwheel past her and Mrsha. The Gnoll and young woman gaped. Lyonette caught herself at the edge of the hill, raised her arms, and smiled.

“Done!”

She turned and Mrsha crossed her arms, shaking her head. Erin raised her voice.

“Cheater! You used your [Flawless Attempt] Skill!”

Lyonette laughed as Mrsha indignantly signed ‘not good’ to her. She held up her hands, palm out and bowed her head. ‘I’m sorry’. Then she turned to Erin.

“Well, I wanted to do it right! And now that I did it right, I can do it again. See?”

So saying, she took a step, and did a nearly-perfect cartwheel again. Erin put her hands on her hips, miffed.

“Can’t you fall down once or twice? That’s unfair!”

Lyonette sniffed, raising her brows in an imitation of Pisces.

“What, and descend to the level of you peasants? Besides, it’s convenient. I can learn how to do something right once and never have to worry about it again. Like my poached eggs. Or learning how to flip pancakes. Or riposting in my sword lessons from Yvlon and Pisces.”

“Yeah, but—but I can’t do that.”

Erin sighed mournfully. She glanced at Lyonette as the girl raised her arms to encourage Mrsha. The Gnoll child was wobbling a bit on her two feet, although she could walk when she needed to without issue.

“I’ll trade you my uh…[Alcohol Immunity] Skill for your [Flawless attempt].”

“No thanks.”

“I’ll throw in [Lesser Endurance]? And [Quick Recovery]?”

“You have your rare Skills, I have mine. If you could trade, I’d take your [Wondrous Fare] Skill for it and nothing less.”

“Ooh…”

Lyonette turned to smile at Erin. Then both watched as Mrsha raised her arms, frowning hard. The Gnoll cub tried to imitate Erin, but only managed a slow somersault. Erin laughed.

“You nearly did it! Come on. Let me help you.”

Like her gym instructor had once done, Erin helped lift Mrsha’s legs as the Gnoll went through the cartwheel.

“Look? See? It’s not hard at all.”

Erin said that, but she noticed how uneasy Mrsha looked when she was upside down. Lyonette, watching, flicked some hair out of her face.

“You say this is from your world, Erin. Do people do that all the time?”

“Well, only the athletic ones. I haven’t done it in ages, but I saw the grass and…”

Erin waved a hand. Lyonette nodded. Mrsha kicked her legs to make sure Erin was holding them tight.

“Don’t worry, Mrsha. Erin won’t let go. It’s not dangerous, see?”

“Yeah! The worst you could do is cartwheel and hit your head or something. Or roll down the hill.”

A finger poked Erin in the back, hard. Mrsha looked up anxiously.

“Ignore Erin. And on that note, I’ve never seen anyone I knew personally do cartwheels, Erin. Maybe they did in the towns or villages, but only [Tumblers] and other entertainers would do that. I’ve never seen a [Knight] or [Warrior] pull that off. I wonder if it’s a defensive move?”

“I…don’t think so?”

Erin tried to imagine Ceria or Yvlon cartwheeling out of the way of an attack. She shrugged.

“It’s just for fun. What’re you worried about, Mrsha? I’ve got you!”

“I don’t think Gnolls do acrobatics. I could see Garuda doing this, or String People. But some species aren’t built for it. Imagine a Drake trying this? With the tail? Or a Dullahan.”

Erin laughed.

“Yeah! I should show Maughin! Or Pelt! Maybe that would make him laugh.”

So saying, she patted her belt and felt a leather sheathe against her fingers. Erin adjusted her personal kitchen knife, and caught Mrsha as the Gnoll warily did a handstand and promptly fell forwards.

“Easy! It’s not hard, Mrsha. Although maybe a handstand would be simpler. But I bet you can do it. Want to try one on your own?”

Mrsha shook her head vigorously. But after four more slow cartwheels, she did give it a try. Erin and Lyonette applauded wildly and Mrsha raced around, looking delighted. Lyonette bent down and Mrsha hopped into her arms.

“You have to learn to do that so you can show Krshia. She’ll be very impressed. Right, Erin?”

“Exactly! And I’ll show Maughin! Hey Mrsha, did you know you can do multiple cartwheels? Well, Lyonette spoiled that. But watch me!”

Erin took a breath and inhaled the fresh, cool air with delight. She stared up at the blue sky, the bright sun, and beamed.

“It’s springtime! Here I go!”

Mrsha and Lyonette sat down on the grass and watched as Erin began cartwheeling across the small hilltop. Aside from the inn, the hill had room for a few outhouses, a sign, and little else.

The inn was still partly-destroyed from the Goblin Lord’s attack on Liscor. The third floor and tower were gone. But the second floor and ground floor had been all fixed up. It looked a bit ramshackle, but if you focused only on the bottom, it was quite nice. And Erin Solstice, the [Innkeeper], laughed in the spring air outside of her inn.

“Whee! Whohoo! Yeah! Watch me! Hold on. I’m getting sick.”

She paused to steady herself. Her stomach wasn’t pleased. Erin put a hand on one of the walls of her inn.

“Whoof. Is this what getting old’s like?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Lyonette grinned as Erin turned to glare at the eighteen-year old girl and Mrsha, who was six. Erin shook a fist.

“Just you wait. You’ll be twenty before you know it! Or twenty one. My birthday’s coming up and it’s getting close to summer!”

“We’ll throw you a party. And Mrsha will cut up your cake so it’s nice and easy to swallow. She’ll even help you with the icing, right, Mrsha?”

Lyonette tickled Mrsha. The Gnoll wriggled and yelped silently. She squirmed out of Lyonette’s grip and raced away. Erin laughed.

“Let’s do a flip next! Hey, I bet I can—no, wait. I can’t. But Lyonette can do one with her fancy Skill!”

“You’ll have to wait four hours until that. Mrsha, you can run about, but remember, you can’t leave the hill! It’s dangerous and you’ll get mud all over your paws and fur!”

The Gnoll paused as she scampered towards the edge of the hill facing Liscor. She looked back and put a paw over the edge, staring at Lyonette. The [Princess] frowned.

“Mrsha. Don’t you dare.”

Mrsha weighted the odds of disobedience and grudgingly drew her paw back. Erin smiled as she crept over. She leapt and snagged Mrsha. The Gnoll thrashed wildly in delight.

“Gotcha! Let’s play tag, Mrsha!”

A big smile came over Mrsha’s face. She nodded rapidly. Lyonette sighed.

“I have to manage the inn. You two have fun. But please don’t get all muddy!”

“Yes, Mom!”

Erin raced after Mrsha, laughing. Then she stopped. She frowned and looked up suddenly.

“Mom?”

Mrsha’s slowed. She turned around. Lyonette bit the inside of her cheek. But her gaze was fixed on both Erin and Mrsha. Because Erin’s face had suddenly gone blank. Both the Gnoll and the young woman hesitated. Erin Solstice stared up at the sky. And for a moment, Lyonette saw her expression cloud. Then she shook her head and the smile returned.

“Whatever. Hey, this isn’t large enough to play tag in and we don’t have enough people! Liscor’s all mud and rain, but at least we’ve got grass, right Mrsha? Lots of it! But I bet Celum has a lot more.”

She looked at Mrsha. The Gnoll nodded and smiled, and her tail wagged a bit. Lyonette sighed in relief. She walked back towards the inn as Erin decided to give Mrsha a piggyback ride instead. She paused at the open door to the inn to look around.

Springtime for Liscor. It was actually a disgusting sight. The hill that The Wandering Inn stood on was indeed lush, where the grass and other plants had yet to reclaim the mostly muddy Floodplains around Liscor. No matter where Lyonette looked, she only saw brown mud and dirt, with sparse patches of color where the plants were regrowing. But the valleys were still full of thickening mud. And aside from Liscor’s drab walls, the mountains were the only distinct contrast in the background.

And yet, the area around the hill was verdant. And the culprit responsible for that was sitting next to Erin, tail innocently wagging as she panted excitedly. Erin picked Mrsha up and twirled her, laughing.

“Who’s the best little [Mage] ever? You are! Yes, you are! Did Moore teach you how to do this?”

Mrsha shook her head and reached for her little wand strapped to her side. She waved it excitedly and Erin leaned back before she got an eye poked out.

“All by yourself? Well, don’t work too hard. But you did very good! Maybe I should give my [Gardener] a raise?”

She laughed as the Gnoll’s ears perked up. Lyonette watched as Erin handed Mrsha a copper coin and Mrsha, as serious as any Gnoll with money, spirited it away in the tiny pouch she now carried around her neck.

So there sat Erin Solstice, playing with Mrsha. Weeks had passed since the days when she hid in her rooms. And even if the sun was occasionally lost for the clouds and rain, those days had passed. The eternal rain around Liscor had ended. And things were looking up.

Better and better. Lyonette walked back into the inn. And it was Lyonette who straightened her apron and checked for grass stains. Her red hair was tied back with a handkerchief, and it was a familiar eye that Lyonette ran over the guests in her inn. Because it was her inn.

For now. Erin was on break. She still cooked and helped with some tasks, but she often went into Pallass. Or just walked around Celum, or played with Mrsha. She needed it. And Lyonette needed this.

“Not too busy. Drassi, can you make a run into Liscor? Erin’s thinking of trying to make more egg drop soup. And she uses a lot of eggs. I think she’s being too literal.”

“Can do, Lyonette!”

A Drake happily saluted and abandoned her table-cleaning duty. Lyonette nodded to the [Barmaid], then raised a finger.

“You have one hour.”

“Aw. Okay, fine. I’ll be back!”

Drassi pouted, but she and Lyonette knew that an hour was more than enough. And given the chance, the [Gossip] would have happily spent three hours chatting with everyone she met in the market and on the way back. She headed towards the magic door. Lyonette turned her attention past her.

“I’m telling you, Pisces. It may not be ‘economical’, but these guarding contracts are worth good money. We can do a few and come away with gold. What’s your issue?”

She saw a group of adventurers sitting at one of her tables. Pisces, Yvlon, Ceria, and Ksmvr were all sitting together, arguing. They too were a fixture of the inn. Pisces raised one finger as he sat back, nursing a cup of water.

“They may be worth more money as a whole package, but as I explained twice, Ceria, the pay-per-hour is far, far less reasonable than we would earn hunting monsters. Moreover, we do not level any of our classes when we guard our clients. In most cases. It’s more efficient to hunt down monsters rather than waste time on fruitless idle work.”

“You just don’t like standing around. You could read while we did it, you know. We don’t all have to be on guard duty all the time. It’s good pay.”

“I do not mingle well with most of our esteemed clientele.”

Yvlon sighed.

“That’s because you sneer at them, Pisces. Look, until we get better requests by going north or getting that door to Invrisil open, we can’t do monster hunting all the time. We’re wiping out the local jobs. We’ll have to go to Ocre or Wales soon.”

“Yes. Our efficiency is a cause for great distress in the other teams. Another sign of dominance.”

That came from Ksmvr. Lyonette snorted gently and Ceria and Pisces laughed. Yvlon sighed.

“Ceria, don’t encourage Ksmvr. I told you, Ksmvr, it’s not polite to say that to the other adventurers in the guild.”

“Keep doing it, Ksmvr.”

The Antinium’s head swung back and forth between Yvlon and Pisces. He wavered, then turned to Yvlon.

“I will not do so in the future, Yvlon.”

“Traitor. Is it so wrong to mock the teams, which, might I remind you, conspired to jail all of us and then attempted to usurp our mission? We may have struck a nonaggression pact, but I personally believe—”

“Shut up, Pisces.”

The adventurers laughed again. They sat back easily and Lyonette saw Ishkr pass them with a tray of drinks. He was heading towards the back of the inn. And when she turned her attention and ears there, another conversation became audible. Or rather, a soliloquy.

“Is this a dagger which I see before me,

The handle toward my paw? Come, let me clutch thee.

I have thee not, and yet I see thee still.”

On the stage, watched by a few scattered tables of early morning guests was a Gnoll. He stood on stage, grasping at a dagger before him. Macbeth, staring at a very real dagger being held up on a string, paused in his delivery of the soliloquy and coughed. An impatient voice yelled from behind the curtain.

“Cut! What’s wrong this time, Yimur?”

The Gnoll looked apologetic as the other [Actors] appeared. Two of the audience members sitting at the tables booed; the Players of Celum took no notice. The ten or so veteran Human actors and new aspiring cast of Drakes, Gnolls, and Humans crowded around the lead Gnoll.

“Sorry. It’s just that…hrr, it’s these lines, Director Temile. I do not know if this is all too fitting for a Gnollish Macbeth. You see, I agree with the changing of ‘hand’ to ‘paw’, but this dagger? It makes no sense, yes?”

He scratched at one red-brown, furry ear as he spoke to Temile, the lead direct and [Actor] now that the main cast had left Celum for the north. The man scrubbed a hand through his hair impatiently.

“It makes no sense. Why not? It’s a dagger. Macbeth is staring at it. What’s there to wonder about?”

Yimur spread his paws out helplessly.

“If it is a dagger, why does Macbeth have a hard time seeing it? Even if it is pitch-black, he should be able to see it if he can make it out. Gnolls have very good eyesight. I understand that a Human might not have an issue, but if I see a dagger, I know it’s a dagger, yes?”

He looked around. The other Gnolls nodded along with some of the Drakes. Temile groaned.

“It’s meant to be a metaphor. Look, Erin explained it to me once. This fellow, who you’re playing—”

“Macbeth.”

One of the Drakes added in helpfully. Temile turned to glare.

“Yes, Macbeth. Whose part you were selected to play before all the others, by the way, Yimur. He’s staring at a dagger. In his mind. Alright? We’ll get rid of the prop. Or maybe we’ll say it’s an illusion spell. But he doesn’t know it’s a dagger, see? He’s wondering if he’s gone crazy.”

“Even so, if it were a Gnoll, he would know what he sees. Why does he have to wonder? I know that’s a dagger. And that’s a spoon. And that’s a cup. Why would I waste words wondering, even if my mind is playing tricks on me?”

“So would Drakes. We know daggers. We’re not all crazy like you Humans.”

The non-Human cast agreed. Temile clutched at his hair.

“It’s an illusion in the mind! Madness! He’s thinking to himself, alright? And if you want to be Macbeth, you’ll start imagining a dagger too! Take it from the top!”

Temile stomped back behind the curtain. Lyonette watched as Yimur the Gnoll disconsolately took his position again. The Gnoll stared at the air and gasped.

“Is this a dagger which I see before me,

The handle toward my paw? Yes! Come, let me clutch thee.

I have thee not, which surely indicates an illusion spell and yet I see thee still.”

“Cut!”

Lyonette laughed. So did some of the audience. The Players of Celum weren’t ready to put on any big plays, not if the arguing cast was any indication. But they were practicing every day in the inn, day and night, and the casting call had attracted nearly a hundred applicants. And they did bring in some guests, who came just to watch the plays and the actors working out the bugs in their routine. When they finally started putting on proper plays, Lyonette expected some good business.

But the inn was still pulling in money. Not huge money, but enough. Lyonette had big plans. And as a breathless Erin came in with a tousle-haired Mrsha, Lyonette was pleased enough that she could just direct one of the Gnoll servers to bring Erin and the Gnoll some water rather than have to do it herself. Erin smiled as she came to a table and Mrsha drank thirstily from her cup.

“That was fun! How’s the crew, Lyonette?”

“Dreadful as I understand it. You want to give them some pointers?”

Erin laughed as she watched Yimur do another take of Macbeth’s soliloquy.

“No thank you! I got enough questions from Jasi and Wesle’s lot. The Players are a lot more into plays than I ever was. They’d be right at home in a class discussing all that. I’m just lucky that I got a B- in class.”

“That’s one of your scores, right?”

Lyonette tried to remember Erin’s lessons about Earth. The young woman nodded.

“It’s uh, below average. A tiny bit. Anyways, I remembered the plays thanks to my Skills. Someone else can interpret them. Whew! I’m beat. I think I’m going to do some work now. Enough grass.”

She plucked at some grass stuck to her tunic. Mrsha shook her fur and Lyonette sighed. Someone would have to clean that up. She still helped clean. But the smile on both faces was eminently worth it. She cast a glance at Erin. The day had started well. And knowing the [Innkeeper]’s new routine…

“Are you going to Pallass today? I’d like you to look for some rarer ingredients in the market if you do.”

Erin hesitated. She frowned and glanced back towards the magic door. Ishkr trotted over and changed the dial holding the magic stones. He checked all the locations for waiting guests, shrugged since there was no one, and closed the door. Erin shook her head.

“Maybe not Pallass today. I’m gonna stop bugging Rufelt and Lasica every day. Plus, I want to make some stuff to take to them. I promised I’d show Lasica my cakes! So how about it, Mrsha? Want to help me make some cakes today? If you promise not to keep stealing from the bowl, I’ll let you lick the spoons.”

Mrsha looked up and nodded rapidly. Lyonette frowned.

“Mrsha’s been gaining a bit of weight, Erin. She needed it, but no extra slices of cake. Okay?”

Mrsha shot Lyonette a betrayed look. Erin smiled.

“I promise. And it’s great weather for it. I just need to maybe get more eggs and…”

Her head turned towards the bright windows, letting in sunshine. Erin frowned. She was suddenly struck by a thought she hadn’t had in months.

“Hey. You know, it is springtime.”

“You don’t say?”

Lyonette glanced at the windows and raised her eyebrows. Erin blinked at her.

“What I mean is, it’s been spring for a while. I hear some [Farmers] are even pulling in harvests. Everything’s growing, right?”

Mrsha rotated her paws in front of her chest, twitching her ears impatiently.

Go on, go on.

Erin absently nodded.

“Right. So…I wonder if we can harvest some blue fruits?”

Both Lyonette and Mrsha sat up. They stared at Erin. She looked at them.

“We couldn’t in winter. But it is spring. Right? They were the first things I ever ate here. And I bet the trees are still there.”

“Could be.”

Lyonette blinked. Blue fruits? She had no idea…no, wait, she did remember Erin moaning about not having any. Erin got to her feet. She looked at Mrsha.

“Want to go for a walk?”

The Gnoll grinned. Lyonette hesitated.

“Put your boots on first, Mrsha. And no running on all fours! And Erin, remember to take some emergency items.”

“Yes, Mom!”

—-

And there they were. Blue fruits, hanging from the pale grey trees. The bright, rounded shapes were unnaturally colorful in the muddy valley. Mrsha and Erin’s boots splashed in the bottom layer of congealing mud. Both Gnoll and young woman were slightly muddy; it had been a dirty trek. But it was worth it. Erin breathed out as she stared up at the blue fruit trees.

“Oh wow. So that’s why they’re impossible to knock down. They were under water!”

The valley of blue fruit trees had indeed been under water. When the rains had come, this entire area had been submerged, Erin was sure. Now, as the sun and air slowly dried the area, higher valleys like this were nearly dry. Still, Erin was fascinated that none of the blue fruit trees had collapsed. She was sure the mud and draining water might have shifted a lot of the landscape. Why hadn’t the trees been toppled? She walked around one, staring up at the tall branches.

“Must have some kind of…incredible root system. And the ability to photosynthesize under water? Can trees hold their breath? No—wait—do they need to breathe?”

Mrsha looked blankly up at Erin. The young woman stroked her chin.

“Well, I was bad at biology anyways. And look! They’ve got blue fruits! Well, hm—those are black.”

She pointed at some of the fruits higher up. Mrsha squinted and nodded. The smaller fruits on the limbs were black, wrinkled, not nearly as lush or round as the lower-hanging, earliest blue fruits.

“So the fruits aren’t ripe until they’re blue. And they’ve got those big, poison seeds. Don’t bite any until we get to the inn, Mrsha. I’m serious. I think I got poisoned once and I threw up. Pisces said they’re deadly and he’s right sometimes.”

Mrsha nodded seriously. She eagerly waved the basket she’d carried. Erin laughed.

“Yes, yes! We can get some! Let’s see. I normally just kick the trees and wait for the fruits to drop. But ick. And that sometimes makes the cores break. Why don’t we do it like this? Mrsha, you get a ride on my shoulders. Can you reach them?”

The Gnoll nodded. After shucking her boots, she stood on Erin’s shoulders and began plucking fruits. Erin kept her steady and the Gnoll filled the basket. Although she had to stop every few seconds to glance down at Erin for reassurance that Erin was holding on tight. Mrsha really didn’t like heights, or cartwheels or anything that altered her sense of gravity.

Erin wondered if that was a difference between her species and Mrsha’s ancestors. Humans evolved from apes, right? What did Gnolls evolve from? Hyenas? Erin bet there was a video of a monkey doing a cartwheel. Right? There had to be one.

The orchard was bigger than Erin remembered. Or rather, looking at it now and all the budding fruits hanging off the tall limbs, Erin was sure that it could provide the inn with enough fruits all year if the trees kept producing into the fall. Especially with her [Field of Preservation] Skill. The only thing was that Erin didn’t remember there being nearly so many fruits when she’d first found this place.

“We can make a lot of blue juice, Mrsha. Get those ones too! We’ll get a big basket and Lyonette can help us get the rest later. Or we’ll borrow a bag of holding from Ceria.”

Erin trotted over to another tree. She stared up. The trees had a lot of fruit! So why hadn’t she noticed so many? Did they produce less in the fall? Or did the orchard have other eaters? She’d never seen one of the Dino Birds eating from it, and the Rock Crabs avoided the place like the plague. So how—

Mrsha was reaching for another blue fruit when she noticed Erin had stopped. She kicked gently, and then looked down. Erin was staring blankly up at her. The young woman’s voice was quiet.

“Oh. Rags’ tribe must have eaten these all the time as well.”

Mrsha’s ears drooped. Erin stared up at her and her face scrunched up. But neither she nor Mrsha cried. Erin stared at the basket tucked under one arm. She lowered Mrsha. It was nearly full to the brim, anyways.

“It’s okay. Let’s go back, huh? And then you can have the first batch of blue fruit juice. I think we should water it down though; it’s too sweet! But hey, we can make a carrot cake, okay?”

The [Innkeeper] smiled. And after a moment she didn’t need to force it. Mrsha nodded eagerly and Erin carried her back to the boots, which were partially embedded in the mud. Erin looked at the orchard as Mrsha put her boots on.

This was Erin Solstice’s new world. With less evil Goblins, but one dear friend. Instead of walking alone, a little Gnoll held her hand. And her inn had patrons, guests she knew and loved and people who came to her inn because it was a place. Everything changed.

Except for Rock Crabs. One came over the hill and Erin and Mrsha chased it away and legged it back to the inn. Rock Crabs sucked.

—-

“I shouldn’t have let you go. Not without a guard.”

Lyonette was fretting when Erin and Mrsha told her the story. The Gnoll shook her head while she let Lyonette clean her fur with a bit of soapy water. Erin raised a hand.

“Hey. In my defense…I did have some potions and a Tripvine Bag. It’s just that blue fruit cores work best on those rock-jerks.”

“It’s still dangerous. At least neither of you were hurt. But you both have to take more care. At least bring more items! Or we can have Ishkr or Numbtongue go with you.”

“As what, bait?”

Lyonette recriminations were cut short by Ishkr emerging from the kitchen. The Gnoll had the basket they’d brought back and some blue paws. He placed the basket on the table and Erin saw it was filled with sticky blue fruit cores, all unbroken.

“Good work, Ishkr! That was quick!”

“No problem, Miss Erin. I’m going to get some water and wash my paws. Where do you want the basket, Lyonette?”

“By the window, Ishkr. They can dry out and then we’ll keep them to chase the Rock Crabs off. No, Apista! Leave Ishkr alone. And don’t you dare break those cores! Ishkr, sorry, but can you wash them in the stream first?”

Lyonette chased Apista away. Ishkr eyed the Ashfire Bee and nodded.

“Watch out for those big fish!”

Erin called at the Gnoll’s back. Then she turned to Lyonette.

“I love employees.”

“They are useful. I’ll pulp the rest of the fruits myself. It really is as sweet as you claimed! I thought you had to be exaggerating. And the colors!”

The [Princess] smiled widely with delight. She wanted to rub her hands together, but they were all muddy and Mrsha was squirming. Erin nodded. She had a cup herself. She sipped from it.

“It’s so sugary! Just as good as anything back home. Totally worth nearly getting eaten by a Rock Crab for.”

Lyonette nodded.

“We can sell your blue fruit drinks for a big profit, I think. Especially since no one else in Liscor seems willing to harvest blue fruits.”

Pisces, sitting close to them, leaned over.

“Because they’re a deadly poison. The amount of toxins in one fruit core could kill you quite, quite dead even with a healing potion! I’ve told Erin this time and time again. The fact that none of us have perished yet is a statistical anomaly, not a cause for complacency!”

He stared at the three females. Mrsha rubbed her nose. Erin rolled her eyes and Lyonette took Pisces’ words to heart. Pisces stared at them, then sat back up right and raised his empty cup.

“Another blue fruit beverage, if you would be so kind. I will admit that the sacchariferous nature of the drink makes it quite refreshing.”

“Me too. I love this stuff. Tree rot, I’d forgotten how good it was!”

Ceria sighed as she sipped from her cup. Yvlon looked mildly appalled as she watched both get big refills from one of the Drake [Servers].

“I’d forgotten how sweet this is. It’s okay for me. No more, thank you. Do you have any water?”

She pushed her cup back. Ksmvr gently vibrated in his seat as he reached for the pitcher.

“I believe I am experiencing a sugar overload. I will have another, thank you.”

Lyonette gently motioned and the female [Server] drew back before Ksmvr could help himself. She turned to Erin.

“Do you have a price set? Or can I choose one?”

Erin shook her head.

“I dunno. You charge what you want for it, Lyonette. And we should start putting out those acid fly traps I told you about. Remember? No, wait. You don’t. You came after the acid flies!”

The [Princess] frowned.

“I’ve seen those green things buzzing around with all the dead fish and mud. That’s money too?”

“It is. I’ll tell you all about them! And my traps! I sold this horrible face-eating acid stuff for a lot of money to adventurers!”

Lyonette’s eyes lit up. The idea of selling acid in jars sounded dangerous, and the concept of farming flies was gross. But she could get behind the idea of money. The idea of acid flies filled her with avarice, rather than disgust. Okay, and a bit of disgust. She snapped her fingers together, thinking of a good spot for the traps. Not too close to the inn; Mrsha might get hurt.

“I’ll take care of it. And—Pisces, it’s six copper coins per cup! Got it?”

She looked at Pisces. He yelped.

“Six copper—that is sheer robbery, Miss Lyonette! Sheer, pure, theft of—”

Ceria slapped the [Necromancer] on the shoulder.

“Pisces, you’re rich now. You can afford the drinks. Remember?”

“Oh. In that case, I’ll take a sealed container of the drink, if you would. And some snacks for my room.”

Lyonette rolled her eyes. She looked back at Erin, doing some quick calculations.

“Six for now. If we sell just thirty four cups or a few pitchers, we’re up an entire gold coin, Erin.”

“Ooh. That’s a lot more than I charged. I think. Yeah, I used to charge two copper coins. Wow.”

Erin shook her head. Lyonette bit her lip.

“No wonder you never made money, Erin. You need to be competitive.”

The young woman paused. She screwed up her face and then gave it a resigned shake.

“But what if they complain? Or it’s too expensive? I’d feel awful. I’m no good at being mean.”

“Well, I can be mean. Peon.”

Lyonette smiled and Erin laughed. The [Princess] glanced down at Mrsha. The Gnoll was dozing in her arms.

“You need a nap, Mrsha. Too much excitement already.”

She lifted the sleepy Gnoll up and looked at Erin.

“The money will be very useful. I’m getting the Antinium to do a lot of construction work. First they’ll be expanding the hill. But Pawn hasn’t been too active of late. I think he’s…thinking. I hope he visits today.”

Erin nodded.

“Yeah. I haven’t seen him. I hope he’s okay. It took me a long time and he lost Yellow Splatters and a hundred other Soldiers. I could see if Klbkch will let me into the Hive after the cake…wait, expanding the hill?”

She blinked up at Lyonette. The [Princess] shifted Mrsha to one arm as she began to explain. Then she saw Erin’s eyes slide to the magic door, currently connected to Liscor. Forewarned, Lyonette was already turning when the door burst open and Olesm Swifttail burst into the inn.

“I’m quitting.”

The Drake’s blue scales flashed in the spring sunlight. He’d come through the magic door at a run. As it slammed against the wall Mrsha woke up. She stared at Olesm as he hurled an armful of letters, half opened, onto the ground. Erin and Lyonette stared at Olesm’s heaving chest, the tears in his eyes, and the letters. The Horns and other guests turned to stare. The Players of Celum stopped rehearsing.

One of the Gnoll regulars in the inn raised his mug. He grinned cheerfully.

“At last! Blue fruit juice and drama! This is what I pay for!”

—-

It had been nearly two weeks since the last huge dramatic incident in the inn. Plenty of time for peace and quiet, which it had to be said, was much needed. But some habits died hard it seemed. And Lyonette was savvy enough to know exactly what to do.

“Anyone want more blue fruit? I’m mixing it with some ales, spirits—I’ll try some blue fruit and gin mixer. Special discount. Only eight coppers to try it out! We also have some great pretzel snacks and some fries. Mayonnaise is free for a big platter. Hands? Anyone?”

As Ishkr circulated the tables with the staff and Lyonette made a killing, Erin was with Olesm. She got him into a seat as the Drake sniffed and pounded the table, upset, but not actually crying that much. The Horns watched, munching their food and Mrsha began sneaking fries from plates as Erin sat.

“Come on, sit down Olesm. What’s this all about?”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to come here. I mean—”

The Drake [Strategist] sniffed and Erin watched some snot disappear back up a nose hole. She made a face.

“Uh, napkin?”

“Here.”

One of the employees passed her one. Erin beamed. It was so nice to have hired help.

“Thanks, Fysi! Here, Olesm.”

She passed Olesm a napkin and he blew his ‘nose’. Drakes had noses like lizards, which meant their nose-holes…Erin looked away as he wiped and sniffed again.

“I’m sorry. I really am. I know you don’t want to see me. But I just got this all by City Runner and I—”

Erin stared at Olesm. She felt a mix of emotions. Anger, guilt, heartache—but none of them were overpowering. She glanced around. Numbtongue wasn’t in the common room. He was relaxing after having a bad encounter with some Rockmites the other day. And if he did come down? Well, Erin would deal with that.

She had a lot to say to Olesm. And he had done a lot. But Erin didn’t feel able to kick him out of her inn, distraught as he was. So she put her past with him aside for a second. Because they were friends. And Erin could know that, now. They were friends, still. And so she patted him on the back.

“It’s okay. What’s wrong?”

“My newsletter. I—I knew it was a bad idea. But I thought—and I sent it and I didn’t get an immediate response, because I didn’t check! They were all coming in letter form. From my big clients. I didn’t even go to the Mage’s Guild. I’ve been too afraid to. I’ve been reading the replies. But—oh, Ancestors. I’m quitting. I’m never writing another newsletter again.”

Olesm collapsed into his seat, hiccupping as the scales around his cheeks turned darker. Erin looked around.

“Your newsletter? You mean, the chess magazine with the strategy? What’s wrong with it? I thought everyone loved it! Hey, a blue fruit juice over here? With gin?”

“Thank you.”

The [Strategist] snuffled as he accepted a cup. He took a big drink and blinked. He stared at the cup.

“You have blue fruit juice in again?”

“Yup. Just today. Are all those letters about your chess magazine?”

Erin stared at the letters Olesm had dropped. The Drake nodded.

“I—you know I normally do chess games and now those games of Go? Well, I had some of your old ones written up. But I thought I’d give some commentary. Just as a [Strategist]! You know? I do have the class. But the response—”

His claw indicated the pile. Ishkr dropped a bunch on the table and Erin nodded to him. She reached for one of the opened ones and stared at a long letter full of angular script.

“May I, Olesm?”

“Go ahead.”

The Drake put his head down. Erin read the letter out slowly, ignoring the screeches as the inn’s patron’s edged closer to read. Pisces unapologetically levitated a few letters towards him. Yvlon slapped his arm. Ceria grabbed a letter to read. Erin ignored both.

“‘Dear Strategist Swifttail. With respect, please eat your tail, then stand in front of a wagon so your death increases the intelligence of our species as a whole. Your commentary—I hesitate to call it an actual ‘analysis’—of Liscor’s battle with the Goblin Lord is ludicrous, ill-thought out, and frankly wrong. Moreover, it is purely unnecessary in what is meant to be an impartial commentary on chess.’”

Erin blinked. The opening of the letter looked like it had been written by someone very angry. And the contents suggested the same.

“‘Your notions about Goblins are the most ludicrous worm slime I’ve ever heard of in my life. I cannot fathom how you ever became [Strategist] for a city. Liscor is ill-served in your position, and I personally cannot bear to read your inane drivel any longer. I am unsubscribing from this newsletter. Please refrain from sending me any correspondence in the future. Strategist Beillfamt of Tullss.’ Whoa. What did you do to make him so angry?”

“Just keep reading.”

Olesm didn’t look up. Erin reached for another letter. She got two lines in this time and recoiled. There wasn’t any mention of what Olesm had done that was so egregious, but the sender was very explicit in what should be done to Olesm.

“Wow. He wants you to do what with a Creler? No, Mrsha, you can’t see.”

Erin hurriedly pushed Mrsha back. Meanwhile, at the Horns’ table, Pisces was cackling as he read through a letter. Yvlon’s lips twitched as she read from her letter.

“‘Dear Scales-for-brains’…oh my.”

Ceria read from another.

“‘To the idiot who thinks he knows strategy…’”

“This one is golden. ‘I will hunt you down and eat you alive. You have been warned!’ Ah, it’s too much! May I take some of these to read later?”

Pisces waved his letter, laughing even harder. Olesm buried his hands in his claws.

“Some of them couldn’t even be delivered. The Runner’s Guild said at least fourteen contained poison, feces, hex spells, and bugs!”

“Are there any bugs here?”

Ksmvr looked interested. Erin shook her head. She read another letter, frowning. Then she looked up.

“You said Goblins weren’t monsters?”

The inn’s guests glanced at Olesm. He jumped and slowly met Erin’s eyes. She looked at the letter she’d received. This one wasn’t as rage-filled as the others.

To Olesm Swifttail of Liscor,

I wished to write you a letter in regards to your latest newsletter, of which I am subscribed. I am a passionate fan of the new game of chess, and sincerely interested in the strategic elements of the game, as well as this new game of ‘Go’, which has just reached my city. However, I was somewhat disturbed when I discovered that your latest edition of your newsletter contained a substantial analysis of the Siege of Liscor and commentary on the Goblin element which factored into the entire affair.

Without delving into the mechanics of your analysis of the battle itself (which I have to say was well done), I confess to being greatly disturbed by your suggestions that the Goblins were in fact victims of Human and Drake politics in the battle.

I was even more alarmed by your proposal for a hypothetical peace with the Goblins, wherein the Adventurer’s Guild’s bounties on Goblins would be rescinded and they would be considered people. Let alone forging trading and non-aggression pacts with smaller Goblin tribes! I consider this suggestion dangerous, not to mention irresponsible to suggest to your audience, and I believe many of your readers share the same opinion.

We have had Goblin pacts in the past. Historically, there are four instances of Goblins on Izril being awarded exemptions from monster status. In all but one case, the Goblin individuals or tribes eventually came into conflict with the sovereign powers and were destroyed. Most recently, Garen Redfang, a noted Gold-rank adventurer slaughtered half his team before fleeing. I understand he perished at Liscor, which all to the better. But it only proves the point: history shows Goblins are unlikely to be trusted.

Strategist Olesm, your arguments, while well-intentioned, fail when shone upon with the light of history. I have enclosed three books with this letter, which detail in part the efforts to make any kind of lasting pact with Goblins on Baleros and Chandrar respectively, as well as their use as auxiliaries in Rhir at one point. Note the Baleros book – Monstrous Warfare with additional commentary by none other than Niers Astoragon, the Titan of Baleros whom I understand you hold in some regard. He underlines the same points I have just made.

Please educate yourself and present any further arguments with factual references to back up your assertions, or at least an acknowledgement of counterarguments. I do await further newsletters with impatient anticipation, and would request that you include a more basic guide to the strategy of this new ‘Go’ game that has come from Baleros. You appear to have a quite expert player you are sourcing from, but the nuances of your three examples are lost on me at the moment. Thank you for your time.

Yours truly,

[Strategist] and [Historian], Quelmi Seventails of Fissival

Erin stared at the letter. Olesm was hitting himself on the forehead. He snuffled.

“Yeah. I wrote it. I just thought—I know what you must think, Erin. And I thought you were right! Sort of. At least at the battle, I thought, if we had tried some other tactic, or if we’d had any framework for peace—I just suggested using Goblins as a deterrent for other monsters! I proposed hypotheticals in which they could be treated as something other than monsters. And I got…”

He waved a hand weakly at the letters. Erin picked up another. This one said that if Olesm ever made it to the Drake’s city, he would be beaten. The next one was from a Human. It was no less vitriolic. Erin shook her head. She looked at Olesm.

“You actually wrote that Goblins aren’t monsters? And you didn’t expect people to jump down your throat and try to pull your stomach out?”

Ceria looked skeptically at Olesm. He glared at her with one red eye.

“I thought they’d understand my point, Ceria! These are supposed to be [Strategists]! Can’t they accept an idea? Instead, they hate me. It’s over. No one’s ever going to read my newsletter again. I’m going to be a pariah in every city in the world.”

He collapsed into his seat. Yvlon rolled her eyes.

“Don’t be dramatic. They’re not all bad. This one thinks you’re hilarious. Have a read.”

She flicked a letter at Olesm. He grabbed for it and read. His face only grew more morose.

“So I’m a joke as well as a traitor and an idiot. Wonderful.”

He slumped back over and drained his entire cup. Erin stared at the second letter. She shook her head.

“So they didn’t like it. Not all of them hated it. And—maybe your ideas did suck.”

This time everyone stared at her. Erin looked around.

“What? Maybe they did.”

“You’re the last person I’d ever expect to hear that from, Erin.”

Ceria gave Erin a very long look. The [Innkeeper] sighed.

“Olesm’s writing to [Strategists]. Maybe his proposals sucked. Strategically. You know? I know about magazines and being good at something. I used to make fun of idiots who wrote in the chess stuff I read. This letter says that Olesm didn’t think his arguments out or use facts. I get that. It doesn’t mean his ideas weren’t right. Just that he didn’t cite his sources and stuff. See?”

She passed the letter to Olesm. He began to read gloomily. But then his expression grew more intent. Erin looked around.

“Hey, everyone grab a letter. They’re not all bad, are they?”

“This one’s not.”

Lyonette passed one to Erin. She read it.

“‘Too much personal opinion. Not enough chess. I didn’t sign up for that, thanks.’ Lyonette, this isn’t nice.”

“It’s not super bad. And they say they want more chess, right?”

“Indeed. This one advises Olesm to ‘stick to what he knows’. Heh.”

Pisces chortled. Ksmvr waved another letter.

“This one seems the least hostile. Miss Erin. Come see.”

He handed Erin a letter. She read it. It wasn’t so much a letter as a pair of sentences.

I don’t agree about the Goblins. But keep up the good work.

There was no sender or address. There were, however, four gold coins stuck to the back of the letter. Erin nearly dropped the letter in shock. When she showed Olesm the letter, the Drake’s head snapped up and his eyes went wide.

“What? That can’t be right. That’s a bribe to have the City Runner hit me over the head or something. Isn’t it?”

“It came with the letter and you don’t have a bruise. I think it’s for you. And—look. Here’s another.”

Ishkr had another letter which Erin read out loud.

“‘To Olesm Swifttail. I like it. None of my [Strategist] teachers liked your proposal. They’re probably sending you outraged [Messages] right now. But I wanted to say that we study strategy in Manus’s school, and all of my classmates think your strategy makes sense. Why do we have to practice the same strategy that Drakes a thousand years ago used? Ally with the Goblins? Try out new ideas? I wish you taught my school instead of these old flake-scales. Please keep writing about new and interesting things like this!’ Wow! Olesm!”

The Drake grabbed the letter and read it himself. Then he read the long one Erin had gotten. His eyes widened.

“They actually liked it? This is from students in Manus? But that’s the officer training school!”

“This one’s complimentary too. And this one.”

More letters began appearing in front of Olesm. Of course, for every good letter there were ten or sometimes twenty bad ones, but they started appearing the more Erin looked. People who hated Olesm’s guts, people who wanted him to get back to chess. Ambivalent, amused—it wasn’t all vile. Of course, the vile letters still hurt. Erin was so offended by one letter she had to burn it.

“That hurt my feelings! Wow! No one reads that, especially not you, Olesm. You’ll seriously cry.”

Pisces just laughed harder.

“A [Writer] or [Scribe] wrote that. They can make words hurt as much as stones. Ah, but this is good.”

He sipped from his drink, reading another letter. Erin glared at him.

“I’m glad you can enjoy Olesm’s pain.”

The [Necromancer] looked up sardonically.

“Why shouldn’t I? It’s not as if any of this matters.”

“It doesn’t?”

Everyone looked at him. Pisces shook his head. He scornfully tossed his letter into the fireplace.

“These are just words. Well, I suppose the letters that were trapped bear some danger. But what should Olesm care about anyone’s opinion? He is free to say what he chooses. And if he is correct, then the opinions of his peers are worth less than the barking of dogs. If he is wrong—well, he is still free to say what he wishes. But deriding an opinion is the mark of small-minded folk.”

His eyes glittered as he leaned over his table, looking at Olesm. Ceria followed Pisces silently with her head. After the [Necromancer]’s speech, the inn was silent. Olesm slowly looked up. He looked down at the letters in front of him. Then, abruptly, he rubbed at his eyes and stood.

“I’m…going to write an immediate newsletter. After I read those books. He said there were three other times when Goblins weren’t considered monsters in Liscor? And one that didn’t end in death? I’m going to find it. And do a tutorial. And—Erin, can you show me how that Shogi game worked?”

He looked at Erin. The young woman blinked.

“Of course. But you’re writing another newsletter?”

“I have to clarify my position. And put more chess into it. I’ll—I’ll attach some of the notes the Adventurer’s Guild gave me on the Raskghar too! That’s critical information! I can’t just do nothing, can I?”

Olesm grabbed at the letters. He looked around. Pisces nodded. He raised a cup and downed his drink as well before standing.

“I believe Liscor would lack the books required. But Pallass may well have the tomes you want, Olesm. Why don’t we visit the city and come back to study Erin’s games?”

The [Strategist] paused.

“You want to come with me, Pisces?”

The [Necromancer] pretended to inspect his robes.

“I imagine you’d want to craft a suitably encompassing reply to your detractors. And I personally think a few scathing remarks would not go amiss to the more asinine complaints. A proper, cited essay isn’t easy to do either. You would do far worse than Wistram’s top student in drafting a proper dissertation.”

“Former top student.”

Ceria whispered. Pisces ignored her. Erin blinked. And then she remembered that Pisces and Olesm did hang out together from time to time. The [Strategist] sniffed again.

“Thanks, Pisces.”

The [Necromancer] smiled, and looked uncomfortable at the genuine emotion. He conjured a sneer to hide it.

“Lead on, friend Olesm. And don’t drip on me. Miss Solstice, we will be borrowing the door to Pallass. If you don’t object?”

He raised his brows as he steered Olesm towards the door. Erin opened her mouth. Then she paused.

“Nope. Go ahead.”

Pisces opened the door and Pallass’ streets appeared for a second. Then he and Olesm walked through and the door went dead. Erin winced, but then she grinned.

“You big softie.”

“That’s certainly new.”

Ceria started at the door. She blinked at Yvlon, who blinked back.

“Who knew Pisces would actually volunteer to help anyone. Well, I’d better recharge that door. Damn. I’ll get it up and running, but those two might have to stay in Pallass the night.”

Grumbling, she went over to the door. But Erin caught the pleased look on her face. The [Innkeeper] looked at the letters, and swept the ones on the table into a pile.

“Well, I think I’ll wait and see if they can find a way back. I’m always free to talk about chess. And Go…I think I can remember a few good games. Hold on. Do we have a good Go board? I should get one made.”

She got up. The inn’s guests sighed. The show was over. And as if on cue, Numbtongue wandered down the stairs, yawning and scratching at a few recently-healed bites on his legs. He stopped when he saw the crowd.

“Morning. What’s that?”

He pointed at the blue fruit juice. Erin beamed.

“Blue fruit juice! Want some?”

The Hobgoblin looked dubious, but he accepted the drink and downed some of it. Instantly his eyes brightened. He had another cup as Erin explained where she’d gotten it and gave him a summary of what had just happened. The [Bard] didn’t seem disappointed to have missed Olesm, but after a few second’s thought, he grabbed some of the letters to read himself. No one stopped him.

Lyonette was counting the coin from her recent sales. She looked around, and then came to a second decision.

“Ishkr—no, actually, Numbtongue, can you do me a favor?”

The Goblin and Gnoll looked up. Lyonette gestured towards the magic door that Ceria was recharging.

“The door’s got only a bit of energy left, but it should recharge in an hour. And it’s got enough for a few teleportations. So…Numbtongue, can you bring a door out to the orchard and find a place for it? That way we’ll spare the trip and danger collecting the fruits from now on.”

Erin’s eyes brightened with delight.

“Ooh. A door right next to the orchard? That would make everything so much easier! But why Numbtongue and not Ishkr?”

“Numbtongue can call down lightning bolts. Ishkr, set the door to his stone just in case. Numbtongue, do you mind?”

The [Bard] eyed his drink and shook his head.

“Easy. I’ll do it.”

The Hobgoblin grabbed his guitar and a blue fruit on the way out. Lyonette followed him, pointing the orchard’s direction out for Numbtongue.

“Just use your emergency door for now. I’ll order a…door from Liscor or Celum.”

He nodded and ambled out. Erin smiled. That was another thing. Numbtongue was so casual. He talked, he did his thing—and he belonged here. And Lyonette certainly didn’t hesitate to ask him to lift something or help her out.

Erin got out a Go board and the stones and put them on a table. She remembered her magical chessboard and inspected it.

“No moves since last time. But that’s okay. We don’t play too often. I wonder if my opponent’s bored? I’m not. Just busy.”

Despite having more time on her hands, Erin just didn’t play chess as much as she had at some points in her life. There was an entire Walled City to see. And besides, a few games every other day was good enough. It wasn’t like she was obsessed. But for Olesm’s newsletter, Erin was only too happy to begin recreating some devilishly hard Go games and chess matches.

Ironically, it was that which killed almost all interest in her. The inn patrons returned to watching the play, while Ksmvr and two of the guests who liked chess watched Erin with pure fascination. She was happily explaining a game to them when the door opened and Numbtongue strolled through. He wiped his feet on the rug and tossed a blue fruit at Lyonette.

“Done.”

“Wow! That was fast!”

Erin looked up. Numbtongue gave Erin a long look.

“It’s been thirty minutes.”

“It has?”

Mrsha was asleep in the seat next to her. Erin looked at the chess board.

“Huh.”

Then she went back to explaining chess to her small audience. Lyonette treated Numbtongue to a bowl of chewy pretzels and mayonnaise as a thank-you, and Ceria yawned, mana spent and tired. Yvlon got up as the Players of Celum began a run-through of Macbeth.

“I’m going to do some training in the Adventurer’s Guild. Ksmvr, will you join me?”

“I am being fascinated, Yvlon. I fear I must decline.”

Ksmvr waved a hand at Yvlon. She nodded and ambled through the door to Celum. Erin stayed where she was, smiling. She had some blue fruit juice, she was playing chess, and she had just seen the pawn on the magic chessboard move experimentally.

The crisis with Olesm was over. She had blue fruits, acid flies might be on the way, and Erin had games to play, and a cake to bake. Pisces and Olesm might come back tonight and in that case Erin would have fun teaching them some more strategy and seeing what they’d wrote.

That was her day. And it was a fine day. It would have happened almost just like that too, but for a strange thing. Five minutes after Yvlon had left, she thrust the door open.

“Hey. There’s a huge crowd in Liscor. It looks like some kind of protest! Anyone know what it’s about? It looks like Krshia’s leading it!”

She said it to the room, but her eyes went straight to Erin at her table. The young woman paused in moving a spectral chess piece and looked up.

“Who, me? I didn’t do it.”

Ceria, Mrsha, Lyonette, and Ishkr all turned to look at Erin. Numbtongue poked his head down the stairwell with his bowl of pretzels in one hand. The Players of Celum and other guests turned to stare. Erin raised her hands.

“It wasn’t me! Honest!”

She hesitated and rolled her eyes up for a second.

“I…think.”

And in fact, for once the event had nothing to do with Erin. It had been started by people who had no intention of involving her, and nothing in her inn or any of her actions had started it, in any direct sense of the world. It was happening outside of Erin’s inn and outside of her ability to influence the situation greatly.

It was a novel situation.

—-

In Liscor, the name of The Wandering Inn was as famous as that of the Tailless Thief. It was a place that almost everyone had heard of. Most people could point it out, even if they called it an eyesore or a ‘festering hotspot of trouble’. Of course, there were people who spoke only praise of it. And those who didn’t care.

But love it, hate it, the inn had become part of Liscor. It was known. And the young woman who ran it, Erin Solstice, was just as infamous. People recognized her on the street. That insane, loon of a Human. The girl who protected Goblins. The [Innkeeper] who’d helped destroy Skinner. Friend of the Antinium. Foe of the Raskghar. That crazy human.

And her life was full of event. So here was someone in Liscor who did not have an eventful life. He was a Drake. And his name was Stales Greenscale. He had green scales.

Nothing about Stales’ life was that extraordinary. Nor was he an extraordinary figure. Oh, he has some qualities which were out of the ordinary, but only in a mundane sense. He was not one of the Oldblood, although his great, great aunt had been gifted with vestigial wings. A source of much pride in the Greenscale family.

Stales himself though had no defining features. His scales were an olive green. He wasn’t particularly tall, although his tail was half an inch stouter than the average. Stales was proud of that fact, and worried about the slight bleaching of color in his neck spines over the years. He was in his middle ages and often dressed in less contrasting clothing to accentuate the color of his scales and spines. Because he wasn’t married. He’d always waited for the right Drake to come along (or Gnoll, you couldn’t be picky, although the fur was something to think about), but he’d never just…clicked with anyone.

So Stales was looking, but not too hard. And honestly, wasn’t he a catch? If you were into ordinary fish, he was…a trout? A good one, though. Stales was a [Merchant], the current head of Liscor’s Merchant’s Guild. And he was a wealthy Drake, at least in Liscor. That made him slightly unordinary, even influential. But unlike the more ambitious breed of [Merchant], Stales was content to make money, save it, and not put his tail on the line to earn a vast amount.

He was happy. Or at least, he thought so. Stales’ one goal in life was to find Miss Greenscale, or Greenfur, again, as the case might be. Not Greenflesh, thanks. Stales had gotten over his weird years and a body covered in skin just didn’t do it. He knew it was only a matter of time. He was a desirable candidate, after all! He was head of the Merchant’s Guild, fairly wealthy, and he was even part of Liscor’s Council.

Sometimes Stales forgot that himself. It wasn’t as if it was a brilliant job. A Councilmember earned a small stipend from the city, met once every week or more if need be, and generally made decisions that would keep Liscor running. Usually this just meant following the advice of Liscor’s [Strategist] and the army, which sent regular suggestions back.

Sometimes the Watch Captain brought forwards an issue, and the Council had to debate on what course of action was best. They always had options, and deciding between those options could get heated at times—sometimes there were even quills thrown about! But it was seldom arduous.

Until recently of course. The events of the last few months had given Stales more grey scales than he could count. The Council had been meeting almost every day near the end, and always to little gain. The Watch Captain wanted her orders and of course something had to be done. But was the Council the body to really do it?

None of them were [Politicians] or [Leaders]. It was frankly a waste of levels, which was why the Council was always made up of Guildmaster or other prominent members of Liscor’s society who rotated on a bi-yearly basis. Usually Liscor ran itself, with occasional input from the army or its Watch Captain and [Strategist]. But recently?

At least Zel Shivertail had been around. And Wall Lord Ilvriss. Stales shuddered as he sat at an outdoor restaurant and had some perfectly ordinary salad—to watch his figure. If Wall Lord Ilvriss hadn’t kindly stepped in and given his aid to the Council, who knows what might have happened? There was just no precedent for any of the disasters that had hit Liscor, from the dungeon to the Raskghar. And the Council wasn’t about to steer the boat that was the city itself, thank-you.

Stales was looking forwards to getting out of his job. He’d helped Liscor survive the worst and even potential war with the Humans and he could pat himself on the back for that. He’d appoint a successor as was the custom of the Council and the poor Drake he nominated would be in charge for two years.

Stales was already looking at his second in the Merchant’s Guild, a really outstanding young Drake who was only in his thirties. Solid, sharp. It never crossed Stale’s mind to nominate anyone outside of his Guild. The Merchant’s Guild, which was almost solely comprised of Drakes, needed a voice on the Council. Just in case. It wouldn’t do to go somewhere else and rock the boat, would it?

This was Stales Greenscale. You could sum up his life in less than a thousand words, and even that would probably be too many. He sat at a restaurant eating salad, even though greens gave him gas. And he was not prepared for anything interesting to happen to him. Unfortunately, interesting spotted him on the street, strolled over with a brisk, ‘excuse me!’ and sat down at his table.

Stales looked up, fork in his right claw as a Drake slid into the seat across from him. This Drake was interesting. He had an eye patch. His scales were a sharp viridian and he was imposing, physically and in demeanor. When he spoke, his voice was more of a bark; it had that quality that made every sentence sound like a statement.

“You there. You’re Stales Greenscale, aren’t you? I’ve been looking for you. Mind if I have a word? Regisav Sixtails. [Butcher].”

He held out a claw. Stales stared at him, but then saw the invitation for a handshake. He hesitated, but it would have been rude to refuse, so Stales shook the proffered hand.

“Er, how do you do? I’m pleased to meet you. Stales, as you know. Head of the Merchant’s Guild and [Merchant] myself.”

“Pleased. So tell me. What’s this about Liscor not funding the City Watch?”

“…Huh?”

Stales stared at Regisav. The [Butcher] leaned further over the table.

“I said, the City Watch. I hear we’re not giving Watch Captain Zevara all the funds she asked for. She plans to double the Watch. I say that’s a good idea. We need more boots on the wall. The damn army’s not here to pick up the slack. I get that—they’re earning us coin in Oteslia, but with that dungeon, we need defenders, right? Can’t let the Antinium do all the job. So why’s the Council not giving her the funds?”

He stared expectantly at Stales. The [Merchant] blinked and fumbled for his words, completely off-guard.

“I—where did you hear that? That’s confidential information!”

His mind raced as he wondered how this Drake had found out about the Council’s latest vote. It would be public knowledge, but—drat Watch Captain Zevara! Was she causing trouble because they’d turned down her request? It was just like those young, hot blooded female Drakes. He ground his teeth. The Council would have having words with her. He composed his face and smiled insincerely at Regisav.

“I’m sorry, Butcher Regisav, was it? I’m not at liberty to discuss the Council’s decisions myself.”

That sounded good and official. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. The viridian Drake’s brows shot up and he raised his voice.

“Oh, so you won’t discuss why the City Watch isn’t being properly funded with me? Is there some kind of big secret? It’s just a question!”

Heads began turning at the restaurant and on the street. Stales winced as he saw a couple of Drakes pause and stare.

“It’s not that! It’s just that I uh, I can’t speak for the entire Council.”

“But you all made the decision. What’s there to hide? Is it lack of money? Will the army be sending more soldiers? It’s got to be something. Come on, just tell me.”

Regisav prodded Stales. The [Merchant] was sweating.

“It’s—look, it’s a complicated issue. I could pull up all the necessary reports, but some of them are classified and it’s just not something I can get into. Here. While I’m eating?”

He tried not to sound hopeful. Regisav frowned, but to Stales’ great relief, he reluctantly nodded.

“I suppose that’s fair.”

Stales sighed. Too quickly as it turned out. Regisav edged his chair closer to the table.

“Alright then. Why aren’t you thinking about taxing Liscor’s dungeon? And why aren’t there any Gnolls on the Council?”

“What? Tax, I—who’s telling you all this!”

Stales saw to his horror that the Drakes on the street were listening close, as were some of the diners at the table. He looked around for the [Waitress], but she didn’t appear inclined to come over for the bill. Regisav pointed a thumb-claw over his shoulder.

“I heard some Gnolls talking about it. Said the Council doesn’t ever accept Gnolls or new ideas. Why aren’t we putting an entry tax on the dungeon? And why isn’t the Council doing something about rent?”

“Wait, what tax on the dungeon? We’re not taxing the adventurers?”

Someone broke in from another table. The [Butcher] turned around.

“Apparently not. And we could. That’s the thing. Blew me away when I heard it too. We’re not taxing the adventurers, even though they’re bringing in gold from the dungeon. And there’s no plans to deal with rent.”

“No plans? My [Landlady] charged me an entire silver piece more than she did last month!”

Someone on the street strode over to the table, tail lashing furiously. Stales leaned back as a young Drake practically hissed at him. Suddenly he was at the center of attention and he didn’t like it one bit. Regisav, who was now speaking for a crowd, leaned even further over the table.

“So about this tax.”

“I haven’t heard about any tax! Not one thing! Who proposed it?”

“Krshia Silverfang.”

“Who’s that?”

The [Butcher] shrugged.

“A [Shopkeeper]. I know her from Market Street. She’s pretty famous. Runs a clean shop. Good prices. I sell my meat to her—”

“Why would I know about some [Shopkeeper]’s ideas?”

Stales was outraged. That outrage stopped cold when some [Butcher] gave him a glare over the table. Regisav tapped the table with one claw.

“Because she’s been trying to get the Council to consider her suggestion for weeks! Apparently she’s tried everything. And the Council just hasn’t listened. And it’s a damn fine idea, taxing the adventurers! Not to mention it could pay for the Watch—or expanding the Adventurer’s Guild! But that Krshia, she brought up another good point. Why are no Gnolls on Liscor’s Council? It’s all Drakes, and all Guild Leaders too. [Merchants] and so on. What about a [Butcher]? We don’t have a Guild, but our class has never had a seat on the Council. Ever.”

He looked meaningfully at Stales. And the Drake might have been an ordinary person, but he was still a [Merchant]. He could process fast and he knew a bad situation from his days as a [Trader]. He stood up abruptly, fishing for coins in his money pouch.

“I’m sorry, sir. But I can’t just sit here and tell you about the Council’s decisions on request! If there is a request, we’ll consider it as long as it comes through proper channels.”

“Which are?”

“What?”

Regisav looked impatient.

“What are the proper channels?”

Stales hesitated. ‘I don’t know’ was not a good answer here.

“—Talk to Strategist Olesm! Or Watch Captain Zevara! As for Gnolls, the Council selects its own members. The lack of a Gnoll on the Council is just…”

He trailed off. There were six Gnolls watching now. They stared at him with their big, brown eyes, unblinking. One of them, a male Gnoll, or a very burly female one, folded his arms.

“Go on. What is it just? Why aren’t we on the Council? Does the Council just never pick Gnolls?”

“Of course not. Don’t be silly.”

“Then why not let us pick the next Council? With a public vote?”

The question threw Stales. He stared at the Gnoll, along with a lot of the Drakes. But more than one face looked interested. Stales was just horrified.

“What, like some kind of election? Are you mad?”

“It’s just a suggestion. That’s what I heard too. You come from Market Street?”

Regisav turned to the Gnoll. The Gnoll nodded and bared his teeth.

“We could vote on the next Council. Why not? We could elect the best representatives. Gnolls, Drakes—male or female. Only, I was told that the Council wouldn’t even hear Honored Krshia’s request, or any of her suggestions.”

The [Butcher] grunted.

“I’m just worried about the City Watch. We need more funds for our [Guardsmen]! If this Council won’t do it, how do we know they won’t pick another Council that’ll just do the same. And not answer any of my questions.”

He looked pointedly at Stales. The [Merchant] spluttered as he backed away from the table. But he bumped into someone behind him who didn’t move.

“This is all ridiculous. The Council chooses the best members to replace us as we see fit. We make the best decisions for Liscor. The lack of money going to the City Watch is regrettable.”

“Ah, so it was unavoidable, then? Is the city out of money?”

Stales’ jaw worked for a second as his mind clamped down on any words out of sheer self-preservation.

“I can’t comment. Excuse me, I have to go. I don’t have time to talk about elections or whatnot.”

“So you’re just going to avoid the issue? You won’t even tell us why you won’t allow it?”

The Gnolls looked outraged. Stales tried to back away again and failed.

“I’m not avoiding it! I’m just very busy! The Council will decide. Later! You—you can’t just walk up to a Councilmember on the street and ask questions, you know!”

No one budged. The angry Gnoll folded his arms.

“Why not? You are a member of the Council, yes? Why can you not defend the Council’s decisions? You made them, did you not?”

The walls were closing in. And the walls were made of bodies, of scales and fur. Stales looked around wildly for any sign of escape. He found one and jumped for it.

“Ask—ask Watch Captain Zevara! Yes, she’s the Watch Captain of the City. She can field any requests.”

The crowd looked at each other. Regisav shook his head sadly. He hadn’t gotten up from his seat.

“She’s put out a public announcement that the Watch has no part in the Council’s decisions beyond enforcement. She’s also said that she’d support and help enforce an election. Even for her own position. You didn’t hear?”

He had not. Stales closed his eyes. He was going to kill Watch Captain Zevara. If he ever got back to the Council, he’d—he’d—put forwards some kind of motion for censure! What was the precedent for disciplining Watch Captains? Well, Stales was going to do some research and find out for once. He snapped at last.

“I’m not—look, we have a meeting every week. I’m not the one responsible for all of the decisions! It’s a collective decision! A vote! It’s out of my claws, get it? Now, please, I have to be going.”

He turned around. Drakes stared at him. Stales put his hands out to push and thought better. One of the Drakes tapped a claw to her chin. She was the [Waitress].

“But the Council’s what, eight people? See here, you have a vote. You’re one eighth of the Council. Would you support an election? Or put the idea before the Council yourself? That’s all I want to know.”

Stales hesitated.

“I can’t decide that. It’s got to be a majority decision. I can’t just give—”

He looked around, hunted. The [Waitress] propped her claws on her hips.

“Why not? All we want to know is what you, personally, would do. Not what the Council does.”

“I—I—”

This had never happened. Stales was hyperventilating. When the previous Councilmember, the former head of the Merchant’s Guild had told him about the position, he’d described it as just a series of boring meetings. He’d never hinted to Stales that he’d ever be surrounded and asked these sorts of questions! He was a Council member! He shouldn’t be subjected to this!

“What’s your opinion? Yes or no on elections? No Gnolls in the Council? Yes?”

Regisav was pushing Stales. The others were watching, calling out questions. The [Merchant] spun, and a desperate sentence escaped his lips.

“Of course! Of course I’d support Gnolls on the Council. Elections! Why not? We could try it.”

The mood of the crowd instantly…relaxed. They started murmuring, and Stales saw his chance to escape. He began to push through the crowd, taking advantage of the lull. Right up until he heard the voice from the Gnoll.

“You hear that? He supports it! That’s one fifth of the votes right there for a majority! Let’s tell Honored Krshia! Spread the word, Councilman Stales says yes to elections!”

“Wait, you can’t do that!”

Stales spun around. He began to panic, but it was too late. Already someone was calling it out.

“Councilman Stales says he would allow an election for the Council seats! That’s at least one vote right there! What do the other Councilmembers have to say?”

“Wait, wait! Don’t shout that! I haven’t decided! Not entirely!”

Stales screamed desperately. The crowd twisted back on him. Regisav the [Butcher] looked incredulous.

“But you just said yes! Wait, were you lying?”

“No, no…”

Stales the [Merchant] waved his claws frantically. He hadn’t been lying! Well, not entirely. He would have brought it up before the Council. Maybe. And they probably would have entertained the idea for a few seconds. He’d just said that to get the crowd off his back. But having to commit to that exact idea?

Only, now the crowd was staring at Stales. And they had heard his words and worse, were taking them at face value. There was no comfortable, closed city hall meeting room where Stales could debate with the other seven Councilmembers whom he all knew, and look for the best and easiest option, or ask Olesm or Zevara for their opinions. There was no Wall Lord Ilvriss to take charge, or orders from the army. Zel Shivertail was dead.

And all Stales had were his own opinions and words in this crowd of Liscor’s people. And he would be accountable for everything he said. The Drake looked around wildly, realized there was no way out, and screamed once before fainting. Unfortunately, they were all there when he woke up.

—-

The crowd that had gathered in Market Street was no riot. It wasn’t an angry mob, or even an audience to a tragedy of spectacle that usually occurred when Erin was present. It was just a crowd, filled with listening citizens. Because the center of attention wasn’t Erin Solstice for once.

It was Krshia Silverfang. She stood on her stall’s counter, almost as if she were hawking her goods to passersby. But her stage was much larger this time, the audience more crucial. And her words had more impact than any goods she could have sold. Because this time Krshia was selling an idea.

“It’s very simple, yes? Liscor’s Council needs to be changed!”

The Gnoll was speaking to the crowd. It was the third crowd she’d addressed this morning, and it was the largest one yet. People slip in and out, some having heard what Krshia had to say, others bringing friends to listen. Liscor was, after all, a small city in the large scheme of things. And Krshia was a known face. She had a simple message too, which helped.

“The Council should be replaced. It will be replaced, yes? This is the year when the Council changes! But do we want them to choose their replacements? Do we trust the Council to make good decisions? Have they made good decisions before, I wonder?”

The crowd muttered. No one exactly leapt to the Council’s defense. Krshia nodded and went on.

“What did they do when the Raskghar attacked? Or when Liscor was under siege? It seems to me Watch Captain Zevara handled all of the work! And perhaps that is well, for a Watch Captain is in charge of a city’s security. But why then were more funds not allocated to the Watch? Why didn’t the Council begin implementing new regulations on the dungeons? Why has rent doubled, yes, doubled in some parts of the city without the Council addressing the issue?”

“Tell us, then! Why aren’t they doing anything?”

One of the Drakes called out impatiently in the crowd. Krshia gave him a bitter smile, one with lips.

“The answer, Mister Silkscale, is that the Council, this Council, does not act. It maintains. And a city that does not change becomes weak. The Council does not give more funds to Liscor’s City Watch. It does not pass new laws. It does not, in fact, do anything. Which is why many of us are fed up!”

Her words provoked a lot of nodding in the crowd. Not wild cheering; Drakes were hard to get to cheer and Gnolls even harder in many respects. But they were nodding with her. Krshia raised her voice to carry even further.

“We want a new Council. And we, the Gnolls of Liscor, want to be on it.”

She tapped her chest. This provoked a few howls, similar to cat calls but much deeper, in the crowd. The Drakes looked around, but Krshia didn’t sense a lot of distrust of the idea. Just curiosity.

“And how does that help the Council? We get Gnolls who do nothing, instead of just Drakes?”

Someone called out, and laughter followed. Krshia wondered if there was a [Heckler] class. Probably, yes. She grinned in the direction of the shouter.

“No. The Council should be made up of those who will pass laws. Who will change the city. So why should the Council replace itself? Would it not be better if, instead, the city chose its Council this year?”

She may have been too roundabout in her statement. The crowd digested what Krshia meant and then someone called out incredulously.

“An election? Like some kind of democracy? You have to be joking! We’re not those loons in Pallass!”

That provoked the most unified head-nodding yet. Krshia bared her teeth desperately. She’d had to sell them on this twice. And she was a good [Shopkeeper]. She could do it again!

“Would you want the army appointing the Council? Or the existing Council to replace itself? How else would you choose a Council?”

No one had an easy answer for that. Which was the point. Krshia waved a paw at them.

“Elections are strange, yes? But think of it. We could choose our own Council. We could choose eight of our best, rather than eight Drakes many of us have never heard of. Who here knows the name of a single Council member? Anyone?”

The crowd waited. And there was no response. Krshia, who knew the names of all eight, nodded slowly.

“You see? But if we elected a Council, we would know what they would vote for. Where they would stand. You would get a Council that acts, yes? And if some Gnolls were to be part of the Council, well, it would be because they were trusted by all. Is that not so?”

“So you want an election. To choose the next Council.”

Someone near the front raised their voice. Krshia bowed slightly to an older Drake.

“Yes, sir. A fair election. Gnolls and Drakes both compete for a seat on the Council. Nothing is gained that is not deserved. Is that not an idea worth considering?”

The people of Liscor looked at each other. And some were nodding. Krshia had a moment of hope as she saw a few more figures join near the back. And then, from behind her, she heard a mocking tone.

“Gnolls have lived in Liscor for about a decade. Your people were a tiny minority until then, Silverfang. Now you strut in and demand a voice when we Drakes built this city and have lived in it for centuries! How is that fair, Krshia?”

The slightly hissing, indignant voice was familiar. As was the glaring expression. The tight-lipped smile. And he was standing on his own stall too. Krshia glared.

“Lism.”

“You’re disrupting my business, Silverfang.”

The [Shopkeeper] glared at Krshia. She glared back. The feud between her and Lism was well-established. If there were two top salespeople on Market Street, it was Lism and Krshia. And they got along about as well as Drakes and Gnolls had historically done.

“Why should Gnolls be part of the Council, Lism? Why should they not? What is wrong with giving the option to anyone who the city trusts?”

“Only that our Council has led the city fine until your people came along. Now you want elections? Is this a blatant power grab, or just insurrection against the city, Krshia? What’s wrong with the Council’s decisions? Last I checked, Liscor was still standing. Or is defeating the Raskghar, beating back the Humans and Goblins and those damned moths not good enough for you?”

Lism studied his claws as he spoke, nonchalantly. But he look he gave Krshia was anything but. And he got some nods in the crowd. Not as many and not from any Gnolls, but some. Krshia gritted her teeth.

“I did not say the Council has done nothing—”

“That’s what you just said, Silverfang. They did nothing.”

“Well, perhaps it was the City Watch and adventurers who did the work while the Council made no changes!”

The Gnoll snapped back. Lism raised his brows.

“And what should they have done? They let the adventurers and the City Watch do their job. How is that a fault? Should the Council run about slaying Face-Eater Moths themselves?”

His words provoked chuckles. Krshia cursed Lism as she flushed and regained her footing. When she spoke, she ignored Lism’s question and stuck to her script.

“I say the Council has not done enough. That is what I am saying, Lism. And if I were on the Council, I would do more! I have put suggestions before them, tried to get their attention and been ignored! So! I am telling all you what I would do instead, since Liscor’s Council will not listen to me!”

Krshia turned her back on Lism and felt his scowl. She spread her paws, speaking and sincerely and as clearly as possible.

“If I were on the Council, I would put a tax on adventurers entering the dungeon and use the money to expand the Adventurer’s Guild. I would give more funds to the City Watch, to empower them to fight any foe that threatens Liscor in the future! The Council has not done either of these things, but if there were elections and I were elected, I would make that happen!”

Krshia watched the reactions of her audience. They perked their ears up, or looked at each other approvingly. But that was just the opening. Krshia took a breath.

“Not only that. One of the crucial issues is the soaring rent. You know it. I know it. We all pay more because Liscor is full. That is why, I say to you all now. If I was on the Council, I would solve this issue of rent. I would expand Liscor’s walls.”

A hush. And then a shout of incredulity from Lism and questions and noise from the crowd. Krshia raised her paws.

“Think on it. Liscor can hold less than a hundred thousand souls when bursting to capacity. And we are an important city, a gateway, but think of how small Liscor is! Have you not heard people of the Walled City calling Liscor a backwater? How long have these walls stayed the same? Liscor cannot grow larger than our walls. But we are not Rock Crabs, yes?”

She got several nods before Lism burst out. The [Shopkeeper] was furious as he pointed a claw at Krshia.

“You can’t expand the walls, you idiot! They’re enchanted! They’ve been here for centuries!”

“Why not? They are still just stone. Enchanted stone. But that can be built, surely?”

Lism opened his mouth furiously and hesitated. Krshia jumped in.

“Before the Second Antinium Wars, Liscor had many smaller villages around the Floodplains. Why not build more? And, I know this from the records, Liscor was not always this size! It too was built! The walls expanded twice before reaching this size! I say, why not expand them again? Why not build more walls, more houses? Why not?”

“Because—because of the cost! And because it’s not needed! We’ve had these walls for decades! At least!”

Lism faltered. But he hadn’t prepared for this debate and Krshia had. She grinned at him and felt the malice coming off him.

“So? It is just stone. And if you say we cannot afford to pay for it, Lism, I say, that is why I propose the tax on adventurers! And Liscor has its treasury. We have income from our army. We can build it cheaply.”

“Oh yes? And who can build an entire wall large enough to hold back the spring rains before next year?”

The Drake glared angrily at Krshia. She smiled. Thank you, Lism. She looked around, and the answer was on the tongue of half the people in the crowd.

“The Antinium can. And if I ask them, I think they would. They could build us a larger city. They are Liscor’s allies, are they not? And we could have a larger city. We could put a fair tax on the adventurers, expand the City Watch. But the current Council will not do it. But if we had an election—if, friends. If that were possible.”

Krshia looked across the faces, scales and fur. And she saw a Human one, peeking up and holding a white Gnoll at the back of the crowd. Krshia grinned at Mrsha and she bowed, ignoring the simmering Lism.

“I think it is possible. And this is our city. Shouldn’t we decide what we want it to be?”

And her people looked up at her. And they got the idea.

—-

Later that day, all eight of Liscor’s Councilmembers found themselves under siege. Not in the literal sense, but very much close to it. They were confronted at work, on the streets, and in their homes by insistent citizens, angry citizens with little regard for personal space. And like Stales, they found that Liscor’s people wanted direct answers.

Krshia’s message was spreading like wildfire. An election? Well, why not? It wasn’t as if they were going to turn into Pallass. And choosing your own Council? There was some idea to that! And why not Gnolls? They were part of the city, sure enough. And did you hear what Krshia would do? And if she could run…what about you?

It was one of those ideas that took hold. Well, why not? What did Liscor have to lose? And look at how much it had to gain. Like the debate over Goblins, the conversation invaded the streets, routing the indifferent and forcing people to take sides, figure out what they thought.

But one Drake didn’t need to think. He’d known exactly what he thought the moment he heard Krshia speaking.

“Outrageous.”

Lism the [Shopkeeper] strode through the streets, fuming. He’d been unable to keep standing on the stall with that—that Gnoll gleefully shouting at the crowd. Lism knew he couldn’t stop her, not alone, but she was completely wrong. He could stand her ideas about adventurers, even if he personally would kick them off. He might even agree with her ideas about the Watch. But the Antinium?

Never. And Krshia? Lism would soon as pull off his tail and eat it rather than see that sanctimonious, smug Gnoll on the Council seat. He stormed into the Mage’s Guild and up to the front desk. The [Receptionist] on duty stared at him. Lism snapped, almost too angry for words.

“Send a highest-priority [Message] to Liscor’s High Command at once. Tell them there is a situation in Liscor that requires their immediate attention.”

“A [Message], sir? High priority? You want instant delivery and straight to the [Mage] in the army? That’ll cost gold, sir. We can’t do that unless it’s an emergency. Are you sure?”

The young Drake looked uncomfortable. Lism drew up short. He glared at her.

“What? Yes, of course it’s an emergency! I want an immediate connection! Don’t worry about the cost; they’ll pay for everything! Tell them I must speak with them at once!”

She hesitated.

“Sir, I can’t just send a priority request. Let alone to the army. That’s a serious alert! I’d have to get the Watch Captain’s permission at least to do that. Or the Council’s. Or Strategist Olesm’s. Do you have their authorization?”

“I—the Council is indisposed, but I’m acting on their behalf! This concerns them!”

Lism pounded a clawed fist on the desk. The [Receptionist] stared at it. And then at him. She frowned slowly.

“Maybe I should call my boss. Sir. Please hold on.”

She backed up, making a not-so-convert gesture to one of the other [Receptionists]. Lism saw the Gnoll pull a tiny string that would ring an outside bell. For the Watch. He flushed and bellowed.

“There isn’t any time for this! I demand an instant [Message] to the High Command! They need to hear this! Don’t you dare pull that string again! Do you know who I am?”

They blinked at him. The Drake [Receptionist] opened her mouth, peered at Lism, and then shook her head slowly.

“…No.”

6.29

Klbkch sat in a small office inside the Hive of the Free Antinium of Liscor. He had a desk, a proper wooden one and a chair. Aside from that, his office didn’t resemble any other building by the name in this world or Erin’s. At least, Klbkch assumed this was the case. If there were any Humans who worked in what was essentially a hole in the ground that would have induced claustrophobia in most species, he would nod to efficiency of space optimization if nothing else.

Most offices had filing cabinets. Or lights. Or at the very least, bathrooms. But Klbkch’s office had none of these things. If need be, he could access the waste disposal areas the Antinium used. The Hive was literally five steps out a door which he did not, in fact, have. And he needed little of the supplies most [Secretaries] or [Receptionists] or [Clerks] needed.

Klbkch’s desk had a quill and ink pot among the few devices in place. He used that to write notes. But as mentioned, he seldom stored any writing. A truly important document, say, a map of Albez, would go to one of the Hive’s storage rooms specifically designated for reading materials.

But Klbkch’s personal correspondence or information he recycled, tossing organics into the vats tended to by Workers which made the Antinium’s edible paste. Paper and parchment and even most kinds of ink were actually more palatable than what went into those vats. Non-edibles were disposed of very sanitarily.

Klbkch kept almost nothing. He remembered what was important. And he never, ever forgot what was truly important. All else was dust.

At the moment, Klbkch sat straight in his chair, reading some notes. They were his daily briefing; the totality of information available to him as the Free Antinium’s Revalantor, which meant spymaster, head of security, vice-ruler, steward, strategist, engineer, diplomat…essentially everything and anything he needed to be. The Free Queen was of course in charge, but she listened to Klbkch’s opinions and he could overrule her if need be.

So this was his report. It was short compared to, say, the pages and pages of neatly written documents that Ressa received every morning, which had already been reviewed by Magnolia’s staff. And that was because Klbkch had few information sources compared to anyone.

The Antinium did not get [Criers], or written [Messages] from overseas. They did not have [Informants], although they did have ways of obtaining information. Nevertheless, it was sometimes difficult to get the most public of information.

An Antinium Listener, one of the rare subtypes of Antinium the Hive used, was a specialized version of their kind designed only to listen to sounds. They could pick up a conversation five miles away in a quiet room. But the Listeners couldn’t listen to everything, and they had short half-lives before their sensory organs experienced overload and they died. They died quick, even for Antinium. And while Klbkch had learned all kinds of interesting things over the years from the Antinium’s networks, he sometimes missed the mountain for the shiny pebbles on the road.

The scrawls of the Listeners recorded conversations in full. The marching of feet, in number and proximity to the Hive. Sounds—animals, magic, or sometimes the gurgle of water flowing underground. All of it had been transcribed, and interpreting it would be impossible to most. But Klbkch could scan through the pages of the day’s overheard sounds and dismiss most at once. Three times he noted down interesting details.

“Water is eroding the sewer system underneath the southeastern street…in Scaithi Walk. The sounds indicate crumbling stonework. I will report the issue to Watch Captain Zevara. A conversation in a bar between ‘you idiot’ and Resci—possible male Drake, or male Gnoll raised in Liscor—indicates an exchange of illegal goods. Follow through with Relc during work hours. Possible link to drugs? Lastly, Shield Spider mating and reproduction appear greatly heightened, most likely due to Face-Eater Moth and Goblin corpses feeding population.”

Klbkch tapped his quill’s tip lightly on the table. He had not written any of that down. All of it was committed to memory now. The verbal repetition was to process Klbkch’s thoughts as an audio cue he could easily recall. Because, obviously, conscious thought and inferences were stored in a different way than auditory memory. One was easier for Klbkch to file and draw upon than the other. He didn’t think it worked so conveniently for other species, which was their loss.

Well, that was typical of the Listener’s reports. Scattered information at best; usually random unless something made a very loud and repeated sound. Like the marching of an army. But they had limits to their range as well. They could tell Klbkch nothing about politics, or the world outside of Liscor. And he needed that information, so Klbkch studied a second piece of parchment. This was covered in his own handwriting.

Ironically, Klbkch’s best and most reliable news source for public information came from Relc and sitting in bars, listening to gossip. Because no one else talked to the Antinium. And while Relc was a very unreliable source, Klbkch was still able to glean the most-repeated facts and sift through the gossip. His notes from last night were only slightly smudged from some ale that Relc had spilled on his parchment. Klbkch read out loud, memorizing and thinking at the same time.

“An enduring war in Tiqr. The Mages of Wistram are selling scrying artifacts at an expensive profit. The sales alone coming through First Landing and Zeres are allegedly at least four hundred thousand gold pieces’ worth alone. In addition, the market value of such artifacts has risen suddenly and collapsed due to the sudden influx of manufactured artifacts coming from Wistram. Magnolia Reinhart and her peers were the subject of assassination attempts, all failed. The Drake city of Wicess was the subject of a large attack by hungry Griffins, unusual given their usual hunting territory…”

Klbkch read for eight minutes. He paused, digested everything he’d read, and discarded most of it. Instead, he focused on the news about Chandrar for a moment and sat back against the plain wooden back of his chair.

“The King of Destruction. What will he do? Tiqr is unlikely to last as more forces begin occupying its lands. Will the King of Destruction move? Could he in theory send out his vassals to roam as Gazi Pathseeker once did? His remaining war leaders are each capable of toppling nations in the right circumstances. It would be problematic if he fell and they were employed on Izril. Is that a possibility?”

Klbkch pondered. He distinctly recalled Gazi of Reim. As Named Adventurers went, she hadn’t been the most fearsome of the ones he had personally encountered or heard reports of during the Antinium Wars. But she was dangerous. And he had a small dossier on the rest of the King of Destruction’s Seven, which placed them all at Level 40. At least.

He had never met Flos of Reim. He had no idea what the King of Destruction’s war capabilities were. Nor had the Antinium ever done battle with the Titan of Baleros.

And yet, Klbkch was a Revalantor of the Hive, and it was his job to prepare for the worst scenario. He might only be part of the Free Antinium, but the fate of all the six remaining Hives concerned him. And he did not like the possibility of either individual ever coming to Izril.

“The odds of any of his vassals seeking employment on Rhir are remote. However, destabilization in Chandrar shifts attention towards that continent. The King of Destruction’s success and Tiqr’s survival is to be hoped for—so long as he himself does not regain his former strength. What will be, will be. This speculation is fruitless for now. Monetary aid would not change the situation, even if it were feasible.”

With that said, Klbkch dismissed Chandrar and the King of Destruction from his list of immediate worries. And with that, he was nearly done with his daily routine. The last number on his short docket was a list of short integers. They had no context because Klbkch did not need the context. He knew what they were.

Casualty reports. Tallies of wounded Antinium, Soldiers and Workers on duty. Income earned, money spent. Levels gained by Individual Antinium. New Antinium created in the Hive. Tunnels constructed. Tunnels collapsed…

Numbers. Klbkch also wished he had access to the statistics of the other five Hives, all located in southern Izril. But his Hive had been cut off, his Free Queen rejected by her peers. Until now. Now, Klbkch thought of Xrn’s proposal to him. And he did calculations that involved Antinium Soldiers, distance…

And boats. But that too was a far-off plan, one that required time to come to fruition. For now, Klbkch analyzed his Hive and judged it to be sound. He added two more notes to the day’s auditory recollections, not that he needed to remember. But they needed to be said out loud.

“I must speak to Wrymvr. And the tunnel linking Liscor to the Hives must be completed. And we must have more Queens.”

Simple tasks, impossible tasks. They were all the same to Klbkch. They had to be done. And so he would do them, or die. And even death was only an obstacle. Although it seemed with each death, it would be his final one…

Klbkch stood up after a second. The pieces of parchment covered with ink he carelessly tucked into his belt pouch for disposal. His table was now clean. And he was done with his duty. So it was back to work.

Last night he had completed a shift with Relc into late morning, a total of nine hours. He had slept for three hours. This morning he had conducted a sweep of the Hive, gone to the barracks for scheduled socializing for an hour and a half and to fill out paperwork, returned to the Hive to collected Listener reports and summarize his own notes here.

Now, Klbkch strode out of his office, ready to get back to work. He had do patrol with Relc again tonight, and there were his Revalantor duties to fulfill. And the first one appeared not eight steps out of Klbkch’s office. Klbkch stopped as the smaller figure approached him.

“Revalantor Klbkch. Am I interrupting you?”

“Anand. Speak.”

The Worker nodded deferentially. He and Klbkch stood outside the office; Klbkch didn’t normally have a chair for anyone but himself.

“I came to inform you that Pawn is still not eating a fully balanced intake of nutrition. He eats, but he does not speak often. He does tend to the Painted Soldiers. But he is—dispirited.”

The [Tactician] paused hesitantly. Klbkch studied the Worker and wondered if Anand was afraid to bring the topic up to Klbkch again. He spoke curtly.

“Since the siege at Liscor. This is not new information.”

“Yes, Revalantor Klbkch. I bring it up because it has been another week since my last report.”

Klbkch’s head ached for the first time this day. He closed his mandibles firmly and after a second’s thought, shook his head.

“Your report is received, Anand. So long as Pawn maintains some form of intake and he is able to respond and carries out his functions, that will be sufficient. If he is…unhappy, let him be so. I have spoken to Erin on the subject and she has expressed her philosophy. So long as Pawn eats and does not neglect the other Painted Antinium, he may be emotionally unfit as he wishes to be. I can do nothing for him. I am, apparently, not a nurturing figure. Even if I am a father one. According to Erin Solstice.”

“A father figure?”

“Apparently.”

Both Antinium stared at each other for a long moment. Anand’s mandibles opened and closed a few times.

“I see. I will inquire as to the meaning when I see Miss Solstice again. And I will continue monitoring Pawn.”

“Do so. Appraise me in a week unless a situation develops.”

Anand nodded, a bit reluctantly. Klbkch ignored that too. He would readily admit that both Anand and Belgrade had become instrumental in making the Hive more efficient, but they were still subordinates with personalities. And Klbkch wasn’t used to having other individual Antinium around him besides the Queen. He had functioned like this for a decade. And before that…

Alarm. Alarm. ALARM.

It wasn’t actually that word. But it was danger, an intense, alert, but not panicked feeling. And it came from above. Klbkch’s head snapped up immediately and Anand paused.

“Revalantor?”

“The Soldiers guarding the Hive’s city entrance report intruders.”

“An invasion?”

Anand shifted. Now he was ready to run. Klbkch shook his head. The nuance of the thoughts he’d picked up on from above weren’t as immediate as they would be if someone had actually attempted to breach the Hive. Klbkch would have sensed them fighting as well. He concentrated, sending his thoughts up to see exactly what the Soldiers saw as he stood still.

It was faint. Klbkch had to listen hard, to pick up on the signals being conveyed from the Soldiers on guard duty at the Hive’s entrance. Their thoughts were an open book to him of course, but a distant book, on a bookshelf fifteen feet away with that tiny writing that was so obnoxious.

“…No. No assault. Someone has sent a message through the Hive. They are requesting my presence. It is not an emergency.”

It was just that the Soldiers reacted to anything coming into the Hive with the utmost paranoia, as they should. Anand relaxed. Klbkch began walking.

“I will attend to it. Return to your duties.”

“Yes, Revalantor…”

Klbkch didn’t hear the rest. He walked down the tunnel, and then up a sloping intersection, past Workers and Soldiers who all paused and stood aside to let him through. The Hive moved like a machine, but Klbkch was an anomaly in the perfect, organized motion.

And yet, he was an integral part of the Hive too. He glanced from side to side, picking up the thoughts of all the Workers and Soldiers he passed. Their direction and actions were easy to read. And ensuring that he didn’t hear any stray thoughts, any hints of violence or…insanity, was his job. Klbkch ‘heard’ nothing out of the ordinary. And then—

The sky.

The thought paused Klbkch straight in his tracks. The image that flickered through his head was faint—one thought among hundreds nearby. But it was a burst of color, emotion, so vibrant among the other mechanical instructions that it was impossible to miss. Klbkch’s head turned and he found the sender.

A Painted Soldier. The Antinium was marching along, perhaps to consume nutrients, or to sleep. The Soldier was not walking with his unit, as Soldiers always did. He had little blue dots drawn all over his carapace, the armor of his body. Klbkch stared at him for a second. Then the Revalantor kept moving.

Painted Antinium. Their thoughts stood out from the others. Once, Klbkch would have followed that Soldier, taken him away from the other Antinium and beheaded him with a cut from one of his silvery blades he carried if the Soldier failed his test. And if he had not, Klbkch would still have watched that Soldier like a hawk, hoping that the Soldier was something else. Something new.

Emotion, thought—it was a sign of Aberration, or a hint of Individuality. Either one made the Soldier precious. Once, such a way of thinking would have made that Soldier rarer than diamond. Although that was a poor comparison, because diamonds were useless and worthless in the Hive. Klbkch had ordered the Workers to stop throwing them away or using them to pack the walls with stones, though; apparently they had value as commodities.

Yes, half a year ago that Painted Soldier would have consumed Klbkch’s thoughts and his day. Now, Klbkch just kept heading to the surface.

“Once.”

The Painted Soldier’s head turned as he heard Klbkch’s faint voice. He halted; the other Workers and Soldiers paused, heads straight, hesitating with indecision. Klbkch met the Painted Soldier’s gaze.

“Nothing. Carry on.”

The other Workers and Soldiers moved forwards smoothly, never looking back. The Painted Soldier hesitated. He gazed at Klbkch and then ducked his head. Shy? Afraid? Embarrassed? Klbkch didn’t bother reaching for the Painted Soldier’s thoughts. He didn’t care to know.

The Soldier with blue dots continued walking, and Klbkch watched him go. Even now, the Painted Soldier was valuable. More valuable than a hundred Soldiers like him. Because he was something new. An Individual. But he was not what Klbkch had hoped for.

Once. Once, he would have known what was happening above in detail as it happened. Once, Klbkch wouldn’t have had to strain to read the thoughts of the Antinium around him. He could have reached out and known what a Worker walking ten miles away from him was thinking, what the Antinium was seeing, sensing, whether it was injured or hungry—everything and anything, as if that Worker and Klbkch were the same. And the Workers and Soldiers would have known Klbkch’ thoughts. But those days were past. And they might never come again.

“More Antinium are coming. The Hives will reunite. There is hope. Especially if the other Queens will take inspiration. If more Individuals appear, then we will have an irregular force. Prognugator-level leaders. If nothing else.”

Klbkch spoke as he ascended through the maze of tunnels. The Painted Soldiers, the new Individual Workers and the leaders like Anand, Pawn, and the others were extremely valuable. Not what Klbkch or the Free Queen had envisioned, but valuable nonetheless. Change was coming to Liscor. It was just that he still remembered what had been, and if you had seen perfection, how could you ever admire anything short of that?

That was how Klbkch lived. How he lived almost every day, in fact. Caught between maintaining the Hive, remembering the past, thinking of the distant, possibly unobtainable future, and being surprised by how his Hive had changed almost without him knowing.

He did not dream of the future, and he seldom slept. He had a job to do and he did it, with every hour he spent awake. He was driven, a perfect example of what was Antinium surrounded by fake copies. Klbkch walked and remembered.

Once, they had been better.

—-

Selys Shivertail peered into the Hive and shivered, true to her last name. It was a full-body shiver that had nothing to do with cold; the dark tunnel leading downwards was purely ominous. And worse, Selys could see the half-hidden shapes of the Soldiers waiting in their alcoves. The Drake danced from foot to foot nervously, and then looked at the Drake beside her.

“I’m going to wet myself if one of them so much as moves. Can’t we stand further back?”

The Drake standing next to her with light blue scales, a very fit figure, and a more muscular, yet shorter and less curved tail than Selys’ turned her head. Watch Captain Zevara shook her head after a moment’s pause and resumed staring into the Hive.

“They won’t attack so long as we don’t go down into the tunnel. Even if you slip, you’ll be fine. And if you need to pee, do it over there.”

She shooed Selys over to the side. Selys bit her tongue at Zevara’s dismissive tone. But she was also embarrassed. The [Receptionist] turned [Heiress] squared her shoulders a touch indignantly.

“You’ve done this all the time then? It’s my first time looking into the Hive.”

“Really? I have to talk with Klbkch often. This is how we do it.”

Selys remembered Zevara walking a few feet into the Hive and calling out for Klbkch as the Soldiers moved to block the way. That had been a moment she was going to remember in her nightmares. Yes, the Soldiers were part of Liscor. And yes, Selys even knew some Antinium like Pawn and liked them. Still, the sight of a dozen huge shapes stepping out of the walls with all four fists raised, ready to kill—

“Uh—so. What do you do on your days off, Zevara? I’ve never really seen you outside of work. Not that I really see you around. Do you um, dance? In bars? There’s this really good one that I went to the other day. It’s this troupe at Wishdrinks. They play really well. Have you been to Wishdrinks…?”

The Watch Captain turned her head slightly and gave Selys a fish eye glance.

Shut up, Selys, you’re embarrassing yourself! The younger Drake closed her mouth. She was only a bit younger than Zevara, but she felt like a hatchling. After a second, Zevara shrugged slightly.

“I don’t do much off-duty. Watch Captains have to work all hours. You know that.”

“Right, right.”

Silence. After a second, Zevara checked her posture.

“…I tend to drink at bars where most of the City Watch goes when they’re off-duty. Other than that? I might read a book. Clean my apartment. Sometimes I pay for a mage-show, or go to an event with some of the Senior Guardsmen. Wishdrinks is out of my budget most of the time, though. I’d like to visit it sometime.”

“Oh! Me too. I mean, it was. Until I uh, earned some money. You should join me sometime. I’m sure my friends would be delighted to meet you.”

“Hm. Perhaps. I wouldn’t want to spoil the atmosphere. A Watch Captain tends to drag down a night’s entertainment.”

“Ah…”

More silence. The two Drakes looked at each other. Selys hesitated.

“Maybe with Erin?”

“The H—Erin Solstice?”

“She’s been visiting Pallass a lot, but she’s always interested in new experiences. And she’s impossible to bother, as far as I’ve seen. Maybe with her, Lyonette, Drassi—”

Zevara winced with each progressive name. Selys bit her tongue again. The Watch Captain eyed her again and sighed.

“Perhaps. It’s not that I mind her too much, you understand? But she causes trouble. Why not, though? Let me know and I’ll see if my schedule lines up. The er, thief girl’s actually pleasant to be around these days. And your chatterbox friend isn’t bad either.”

Selys blinked.

“You know Drassi?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“True. But she knows you?”

Zevara almost smiled. She uncrossed her folded arms, which appeared to be her default stance.

“I’ve met her on patrol. Even before I was Watch Captain. And she is one of Liscor’s finest [Gossips]. Even when she was a little brat—er, hatchling, running about the streets, she’d talk my ear off while I was on duty. I had to deal with eleven noise complaints involving her.”

“I had no idea.”

Tickled, Selys grinned. She saw a smile flash across Zevara’s face. The two Drakes looked at each other, and then caught themselves. Zevara cleared her throat and Selys coughed.

“We haven’t talked much.”

“No. We have not.”

It was an odd pairing. Selys was a [Receptionist], a no-name grunt in a standard job. Admittedly, her grandmother was head of the Adventurer’s Guild and Selys worked there, but Zevara was a Watch Captain. One of the most important people in Liscor outside of the army. Neither had crossed paths more than once before and certainly, Zevara hadn’t known Selys’ name until recently.

But here they were. Standing in front of the Hive. And they were also collaborators in a huge project that might change Liscor forever. Krshia, Selys, and Zevara were part of an alliance to force an election for Liscor’s council. But they needed help. And as if thinking that had summoned him, a shape appeared in the dark tunnel and marched up it.

For a moment Selys was uneasy. But she relaxed as soon as she saw the familiar, even friendly form of the one Antinium everyone in Liscor knew. Senior Guardsman Klbkch, the dependable partner of Relc and popular member of the Watch, appeared out of the Hive. And only when Selys looked at him in this context did she remember that he was also Revalantor Klbkch, the Slayer of the Antinium Wars. But Liscor had grown used to Klbkch’s face, and the Antinium’s precise voice was even pleasant to hear as he nodded to both Drakes.

“Ah. Watch Captain Zevara. Miss Selys. I apologize for the delay. I was at work. How may I help you?”

Zevara coughed, and a tiny plume of smoke escaped her mouth.

“Klbkch. Sorry to call you out before your shift starts. I was hoping I could speak with you with Selys here. I’m off-duty, but this matter concerns the Antinium. And the Watch.”

Klbkch’s head turned for a second to Selys. He paused and then nodded.

“Certainly. The Hive is not a suitable place for casual conversation. May I recommend a nearby bar?”

Both Drakes nodded, so Klbkch indicated the left street and they walked past the opening to the Hive. Drakes and Gnolls used this street; the Hive’s entrance, an area of excavated dirt, was an anomaly in the road. The area around it had been cleared of buildings, but the hustle and bustle of Liscor resumed barely a dozen feet from the entrance. Klbkch led Zevara into the first tavern he came to. Instantly, a Drake [Server] came up.

“Watch Captain Zevara? Senior Guardsman Klbkch? And…”

He frowned at Selys.

“Are you General Shivertail’s—no, Guildmistress Tekshia’s—”

He bit his tongue.

“Er, how can I help you all? Is this a Watch matter? The owner’s out, so if it is…”

He looked nervous, as well he might. Zevara coughed again and shook her head.

“Not Watch business. We’re all off-duty. Could we have a private table to talk?”

“Of course!”

Much relieved, the [Server] immediately ushered the party to a table closer to the back. Selys realized that her face along with Klbkch and Zevara’s attracted immediate attention from the patrons in the morning crowd. But Klbkch was received with neutrality at the worst—some people even waved to him. Selys got stares, which was new and possibly relating to her most recent Skill; it was only Zevara who made anyone with a guilty conscience hunch up.

“What’ll it be? We’ve got a Dwarven brandy on tap. Very strong stuff, although not as potent as good Drake spirits of course.”

“Of course.”

Selys and Zevara chorused with straight faces. Zevara shrugged.

“I’ll have that brandy for a taste. Get me a mug of water too to go with it. Selys?”

“Uh…yeah, that sounds good! Water too, please. Klbkch? Order anything you want. It’s on me.”

Lamely, Selys copied Zevara. Klbkch glanced up at the chalk writing on a board above the bar.

“I will have a mulled wine. Thank you.”

The [Server] disappeared and came back with three containers filled to the brim. Selys accepted her mug and sipped from the heady, sweet liquid. It was certainly strong and Selys was glad she’d gotten water with Zevara. She decided she liked it, and waved a claw.

“Do you have snacks?”

“Of course! We’ve got some nuts, some Gnoll uh, silkap, and french fries. Hot! With that katsup stuff.”

“Ketchup.”

The [Server] blinked. Then he eyed Selys.

“Right. You know that [Innkeeper] who made it. Ours is good! You want salt?”

“I’ll take the nuts, actually. Can we get two bowls?”

“Sure, sure. You wouldn’t happen to know how that white stuff is made?”

“Mayonnaise? No idea, sorry.”

“Well, I tried. Tell my boss that if he rips off my tail.”

The [Server] disappeared again. Selys looked at Klbkch. He was sipping from his drink and exchanging polite conversation with Zevara.

“And you stopped Relc from beating the [Thieves] into the ground? Thanks, Klbkch. I don’t mind the bruises, but we have to fix broken bones.”

“It is part of my job, Watch Captain. Moderate bodily harm is appropriate under our code of conduct.”

“Tell Relc that. If he weren’t so useful, I would have kicked him out of the Watch years ago. As it is, I think he can be put to better use. Although he does keep [Thieves] off the streets after he catches one for a few days…”

Zevara sighed. She leaned back, sipping her drink and popped a few walnuts into her mouth as they arrived in a bowl. She nodded, burped a small gout of flame, and to Selys’ delight, blushed.

“Sorry. Flame breath. Happens sometimes. Duck if I sneeze. Klbkch, mind if I cut to the chase?”

“I believe we have done an appropriate amount of socializing, yes, Watch Captain. What is the issue you would like to discuss with me?”

Selys edged closer to their booth table. Zevara leaned forwards as well and Selys studied Klbkch. He was someone she hadn’t really known before Erin either. Oh, she saw him around, but like Zevara, he wasn’t someone she’d ever imagined she would have been friends with, or talked to as an equal. A coconspirator. A…partner? She looked at Zevara and the Watch Captain nodded. They’d agreed to let her do the talking. Selys was just here to help with the negotiations. And Krshia?

She was hard at work selling the idea to Liscor. Zevara leaned forwards, bracing herself with an arm on the table.

“Alright, Klbkch. Here’s the details. You’re aware that the Council is changing seats this month? Well, Krshia and Selys approached me two days ago with a plan that involves changing how the Council forms itself…”

—-

The pitch was short. Zevara finished explaining the concept before her mug had half-emptied, with Selys adding in a few details. But its effect on Klbkch was anything but trivial.

The Antinium sat back at his table. The mulled wine in his cup he’d ordered to be sociable was untouched. Klbkch blinked down at it, realized he’d forgotten to drink, and downed the entire cup while he thought. Zevara and Selys stared at Klbkch as he calmly put down his empty cup. Alcohol had a limited effect on Antinium, as did most poisons.

“One Council member per district. I see. And your assumption is that Krshia Silverfang would win in her area?”

The two exchanged a look. And now Klbkch saw how they were clearly allied. Selys nodded.

“Yeah. That’s what we’re proposing. But we have to get the Council to allow an election to go forwards. But if it does—Krshia’s really popular among Gnolls. There’s nearly one Gnoll for every three Drakes were Krshia lives. That’s higher than most other districts of the city. If they all turn out to vote for her, she’s already got a huge lead.”

“And your proposal would strengthen the Adventurer’s Guild, City Watch, and provide much needed relief to a number of societal issues. Assuming the election takes place.”

That was the uncertain variable as Klbkch understood it. Zevara cleared her throat again and took a sip of water.

“Krshia’s tweaking the Council’s tails right now. We’re here to convince you to lend the Antinium’s support to this election proposal. Krshia’s plan is a good one. We get funding to all the areas that the current Council has failed to support. Only…”

She trailed off delicately. Klbkch nodded. He’d been doing internal calculations as Selys described all the way Liscor’s funds would be allocated. And Klbkch knew how much money Liscor was able to spend annually.

Even with her proposed tax, the city lacked enough the resources to double the City Watch’s budget, expand the walls, and retrofit the Adventurer’s Guild. Doubtless all three projects would bring money to Liscor, but how did you borrow money against the future? The Merchant’s Guild? They had a very punitive system of borrowing and lending as Klbkch understood it. And so…his mind flickered to the inevitable conclusion as Selys spoke.

“We’d like the Antinium’s support for Krshia’s idea. If you agreed to even offer us a discount on construction, Liscor would be able to afford everything. What do you say, Klbkch?”

The Antinium did not immediately reply. He paused, staring at Zevara and Selys.

“I understand these projects would be beneficial for Liscor. But what would the Antinium gain from spending the Hive’s resources for the city?”

It was not a malicious question. Klbkch suspected he knew the answer, but he had to feign ignorance. Zevara took another breath. She was nervous; he could see her claws gripping the table, even if her tail was still.

“Klbkch. I’m putting my position as Watch Captain on the line by opening up elections. The Council could well decide to replace me. But if, if Krshia wins, I keep my job. Which means more powers to the Watch. And with someone on the Council and in the Watch Captain’s office, they can renegotiate some of the terms of the Antinium’s deal with Liscor.”

She looked meaningfully at Klbkch. He nodded. Oh yes. But how much was she willing to allow?

“Go on, Watch Captain. What did you have in mind?”

“I’ll petition the Council to allow Antinium to serve as members of the Watch. We could bring as many as a hundred Soldiers onto the walls, or swear in those patrols as formal members of the City Watch. They’ll be full [Guardsmen]. Like you, Klbkch. That’s what I can offer.”

Zevara folded her claws together. She met Klbkch’s gaze. And he detected the nerves in Selys’ twitching tail as well. They wanted this.

“We can offer something else too, Klbkch. Not gold. But…we could give some Antinium formal citizenship. Like Pawn. He wouldn’t be allowed to travel to other Drake cities I’m sure, but it would be a first. Or we could…I don’t know. What do you think?”

Again, Klbkch didn’t immediately reply. He looked from face to face at the two female Drakes and paused. His mind was…not whirling. It was doing the exact opposite of whirl, in fact. Klbkch existed in a cold, calm place, and the thoughts that passed through his mind were unaffiliated with the chaos of emotion. But he did like what he thought.

A seat on the Council? Watch Captain Zevara was offering to expand the Antinium’s role in the City Watch? This was everything he had ever wanted. And more. Klbkch calmed himself.

No, he couldn’t offer too much. What was appropriate? Reluctantly, or rather, feigning the emotion, Klbkch opened his mandibles.

“I suppose the Hive could agree to a very lenient building contract with Liscor. The Antinium are certainly capable of mass construction, although sourcing the stone will be an issue. As will constructing such a huge area. The Hive’s Worker population may be unable to handle the entirety of the task themselves, you understand?”

The two nodded hurriedly. Klbkch nodded as well, though that was a barefaced lie. He could pull two thousand Workers out of the Hive to begin construction tomorrow if need be. And he would. Selys hurriedly spoke up.

“Stone can be quarried. We have the High Passes around here; there are some good sources of stone, or so Krshia claims. But the Antinium being willing to help pay for the costs is the thing. Would—your Queen be willing to do so?”

“I would need to consult with her. I believe she would be extremely reluctant to part with the Hive’s resources for the city, despite our mutual alliance. However—I am sure I could offer Liscor appropriate aid. Yes. If the Hive were to fund…twenty percent of all the costs of construction and offer our Workers at a largely discounted rate, would that be sufficient? I can also say with authority that the Hive could contribute t—two thousand gold pieces to additional funds for the City Watch and Adventurer’s Guild. Annually?”

Klbkch watched Selys and Zevara’s faces closely. Both of them gasped.

“Two thousand gold a year?”

“Twenty percent?”

Klbkch was relieved he hadn’t said twenty thousand gold pieces. He clicked his mandibles softly.

“Ah. The Hive does have a surplus of funds at the moment. We could of course offer something more. But I am afraid that the Hive’s expenditures have to be taken into account. If this is unacceptable…”

“No, no. It’s wonderful! If it were ten percent, and you only discounted the price of construction—Krshia is going to be ecstatic when she hears this!”

Selys beamed as she looked at Zevara. Klbkch nodded. Now, carefully, carefully…he held up a finger.

“There are a few conditions, however. I am afraid that my Queen would never accept the Antinium expanding their role in the City Watch as an equitable trade, even as allies.”

Zevara’s head swung back to Klbkch.

“She wouldn’t? I mean, why not?”

“She does not see my role as Senior Guardsman as particularly important to the Hive. I am in favor of expanding the Antinium’s role in the Watch, but I would have to convince my Queen of the necessity.”

Klbkch shrugged his shoulders delicately. He watched Selys’ face sink. Zevara on the other hand was sharper.

“Did you have something else in mind then, Klbkch? Krshia’s said she’s willing to offer the Antinium what she can. But what is it you’d like?”

“Hm. Would you allow me a moment’s thought?”

The two nodded. Klbkch pretended to think. Then, carefully, he spoke.

“If the city is to expand, then perhaps allowing the Hive to expand with the city would be appropriate? We are, currently, bound by a treaty to the size of our Hive’s dimensions, which must be largely constrained to the area under the city with auxiliary tunnels of course.”

Tunnels that extended all the way to Liscor’s dungeon. Zevara was nodding warily. Klbkch went on.

“Allowing the Hive to grow to match Liscor’s area of expansion would be beneficial. As we could use the new area for storage and water runoff tunnels. As would a few diplomatic rights in accordance to the ones Miss Selys proposed.”

Klbkch nodded to Selys. She blinked.

“What rights?”

The Antinium steepled his hands together delicately.

“I would like to allow more Antinium from other Hives to visit Liscor. In an official, diplomatic capacity.”

“What?”

Zevara half-rose from her chair. Selys’ jaw fell open. Klbkch glanced behind the two, but no one else seemed to have heard. He twitched his antennas and looked innocently at the other two.

“Is this an unacceptable term, Watch Captain Zevara? We have had Antinium visitors to Liscor from other Hives before.”

“Of course, but—well, you mean officially? On a regular basis?”

The Watch Captain ran a claw through her neck spines. Klbkch nodded again.

“Yes. Perhaps there might be a limit on the number of Antinium allowed to visit. Say, fifty at most? But they would be accorded free passage from Liscor and while about the city and its environs.”

“What for? To see the sights? Purchase gifts? I had no idea the Antinium travelled.”

Zevara looked at Klbkch. And he saw a flicker of suspicion cross her brow. She was, after all, a Watch Captain of her city. Klbkch was sure the Drake cities had a number of orders in place about his Hive. He thought quickly and put his hands flat on the table.

“If I may be blunt, Watch Captain Zevara? I will speak to you not as Senior Guardsman Klbkch, but in my role as Revalantor. In which I maintain a superior rank to you or any Watch Captain.”

The Drake opened her mouth and closed it, looking perplexed. Klbkch spoke over whatever she might have said.

“The other Hives do not possess the same level of understanding of Drake and Gnoll culture that the Free Antinium do. Nor do they wish to. Their attitude is…antagonistic. And they will go to war in time, given a sufficient opportunity. I am sure that Liscor and the other cities know this full well.”

Selys and Zevara fell silent. Zevara nodded tightly, as the casual attitude at the table disappeared. But Klbkch had calculated the risk. He went on.

“The Free Antinium’s split from the other Hives was in part due to our understanding that war was not necessary for mutual growth. My Queen and I did not desire a third Incursion War. Nor, I think, does Liscor. Hence our pact and our attempts to establish friendlier relations.”

“Really? It was that profound a difference?”

Zevara muttered, and then caught herself. She nodded slowly.

“We see eye-to-eye in that at least, Klbkch. Ever since the Second Antinium War when the Antinium helped fight the Necromancer off—so you’re saying the other Hives don’t share any of your Hive’s views? The Free Antinium, you said? As opposed to…?”

She was fishing. And even Selys could tell that, from the way she glanced sideways at her companion. But that was fine; Klbkch was willing to give any number of details away. He pretended it was an innocuous statement.

“As opposed to the Armored Antinium or the Silent Antinium, yes. Excuse me. I am aware your people do not differentiate between our Hives. Yes. The ideological rift between our Hives is somewhat considerable. Hence my proposal to allow other Antinium into the city. One group has already come to witness the benefits of mutual cooperation between the Hive and Drake cities.”

“Really.”

Zevara’s tail twitched. Klbkch had no doubt this was all going down into a report. He nodded, mixing fact with fiction. And mostly fact, to be honest.

“There will be Prognugators among those I invite to the cities. They are to the Hives what Watch Captains are to Drake Cities. These individuals alone may sway their Queens. They must come here and know that Drakes are not a single-minded enemy who will show the Antinium no quarter.”

This time the Watch Captain’s lips twitched.

“The Antinium think we’re a single-minded foe incapable of diplomacy?”

Zevara’s face told Klbkch she was unsure of whether or not to be proud. That was unexpected, but Klbkch capitalized on the emotion. He nodded slowly and deliberately.

“The Antinium learn slowly in some regards. And you must understand, Watch Captain, we did not sweep through Izril as planned. The Drakes are a formidable foe, as are the Gnolls. And our perspective is colored. Recall that before the Antinium ever came to Izril, our only contact with a surface species were the people of Rhir. We had…many, many years of conflict with them.”

“Trust the Blighted Kingdom to attack first and never try for diplomacy ever.”

The Watch Captain looked amused. Klbkch nodded.

“They are the more belligerent of the two peoples I mentioned, yes, Watch Captain. But you understand my point, I trust. The Antinium can learn. And allowing more representatives of other Hives into the city may lead to an alternative to war.”

“Yes. Yes. But…”

Zevara’s eyes were flickering rapidly. She glanced up, meeting Klbkch’s multi-faceted eyes for a while.

“So allowing Antinium visitors would benefit Liscor greatly, wouldn’t it, Klbkch? That’s generous of you.”

She was suspicious. Klbkch spread his hands on the table.

“It would facilitate a number of advantages for my Queen. Having the rights to allow Antinium visitors from other Hives would be a right she possessed that the other Queens lacked. This matters to the Antinium. I am unsure if I can explain the nuance.”

“No, I get it.”

Zevara grinned tightly. She drummed her claws on the table. Restlessly, she pushed back her chair a bit.

“So that’s the offer? Allow the Hive to expand past our original borders and give Antinium the right to enter the city? And allow more on the streets, I suppose? In exchange for Antinium construction aid and money for the Watch and Adventurer’s Guild.”

“It may be possible to negotiate some of the terms, but yes, Watch Captain. I think that is the least my Queen would take.”

Klbkch was lying. He would gladly take either offer and offer twice what he’d just given Zevara. Just to have Krshia Silverfang on the Council would be a boon worth twenty thousand gold pieces in itself. But he pretended to be conflicted.

Zevara didn’t need to pretend. She stood up and turned to Selys.

“I…need to think about this. Give me a moment?”

“Of course. Uh…we’ll be here. Klbkch, another drink?”

Selys smiled, baring her teeth uncertainly. Zevara nodded. She looked at Klbkch.

“I’m sorry. But I can’t be sure I can agree to any of this. I know you, Klbkch. But I am a Watch Captain and…give me five minutes? Ten?”

“Only naturally. I will have the brandy, Miss Selys. If that is acceptable?”

Klbkch reached for the nuts. He’d done the best he could. Selys was clearly nervous, but to her and Zevara, Klbkch appeared calm. But that was because neither of them had learned to read Antinium expressions, like Erin, Lyonette, and come to it, Relc. Klbkch was maintaining a good façade, but internally he was intent, urging Zevara to agree with every fiber of his being.

And more than that.  Klbkch watched as Zevara walked out of the tavern. Silently, he activated his Skill. Or rather, he activated it again.

There were a number of classes that Klbkch possessed that no one knew he had. Not even his Queen. [Guardsman], [Sword Slayer], these were only the ones everyone knew. But Klbkch possessed a number of tertiary classes. Unfortunately, he had come to understand that these classes were inhibiting him from leveling from his conversation with Ryoka. But they did come in useful, particularly one of his classes. [Diplomat].

The idea of an Antinium [Diplomat] was a joke anywhere in the world. What did the Antinium need to negotiate? And—everyone knew they barely leveled up. Why would they specialize in that? So those people thought and they were all fools. Because the best [Diplomat] was one you never saw coming. And Klbkch, Klbkch the Slayer, had that class.

He’d told Ryoka that. It might be a drain on his levels, but he was a Level 11 [Diplomat]. And he had one Skill from that class he used all the time. Every day in fact. He had used it on Erin Solstice. He was a master of it.

[Reassuring Presence]. That was all. A Level 10 Skill, and hardly a powerful one. But for Klbkch, it was a mighty Skill. Because what was an Antinium? An enemy. And he, Klbkch the Slayer, was a known villain to the Drakes. But with one Skill, he could influence those around him to give him a chance.

To reevaluate him. To give him a chance. And he had used that Skill for ten years. Perhaps all of his reputation in Liscor was the product of the Skill. Perhaps it had little effect other than smoothing his entry into the city. But Klbkch used it. And no one had any idea.

Of such secrets was the world made. Klbkch waited, talking a bit with Selys, but the female Drake was too nervous to make much conversation. Klbkch saw Zevara come back eight minutes later. The Watch Captain sat down and spoke abruptly.

“Okay. I agree.”

Selys let out a huge breath. Klbkch exhaled silently. But internally he was as happy as he had ever been.

Success. Zevara met Klbkch’s eyes squarely.

“I’m in, Klbkch. For what the Antinium are offering? Well, if you could increase the amount you’re giving to the city, especially the Watch—we’ll sort out the details. But I can try to get you both an expansion on your Hive’s limits and the right to allow other Antinium into the city. But I’m warning you, Klbkch. It’s going to be tricky. Even if Krshia could swing the Council, this is bigger than I am. Krshia will say the same thing. We can try to get you both deals, but neither she nor I can guarantee it, even if we win the election.”

If Krshia and Zevara won, Klbkch would consider that a victory in itself. He nodded calmly and took a sip from his new mug.

“Allowing the Antinium more autonomy aboveground and giving the Hive a construction project of this magnitude is a sufficient promise for now. If you promise to advocate for open borders with the Hives, I will take it on…faith, Captain Zevara. Miss Selys.”

And if Liscor refuses, the other Prognugators will simply have to keep their presence hidden in the Hive. They can be smuggled to Erin’s inn some other way. And Gnolls on the Council might well moderate their views. At the very least, Krshia Silverfang was friends with Erin Solstice. Any way you looked at it, a victory for Krshia meant that the Antinium won.

“I’ll tell Krshia at once. She’ll be ecstatic. She’s already outlining her proposal—with this, she can plan out even more! We could expand the city a huge amount! If the Council has the money. Ancestors, I’ll pay for a few streets if it means we can deal with the overcrowding and the rent!”

Selys excitedly got to her feet. Zevara did likewise. She hesitated and held out a claw.

“So it’s a deal, Klbkch?”

“The Antinium will support Krshia Silverfang, Watch Captain. To the utmost of our ability. This strengthens Liscor.”

Klbkch shook Zevara’ hand firmly. He paused as they headed to the door; Selys had left a two gold coin tip, which made the [Server]’s eyes pop.

“Watch Captain. It occurs to me there is another small concession I would like to request.”

Zevara turned at the door, again wary.

“Go on.”

“I would also like to formally request that the number of allowed Soldiers for my Hive be increased to, say, six hundred?”

The Antinium stared innocuously at Zevara. The Drake paused. Her lips twitched and she gave Klbkch a raised brow.

“Of course, I’ll take that into consideration.”

She left Klbkch there, with promises to have Krshia meet with him that very night. Klbkch looked forwards to it; he was already calculating how much gold he could be persuaded into giving Krshia’s cause. How much was suspicious or too much? Ten thousand? Eight thousand per year?

He would be circumspect. But the Hive would be generous, ‘unknowingly’ if need be. The Antinium were not thought to have a strong grasp of economics, a fact Klbkch had played up his first years working with Relc. The truth was that Klbkch agreed with everything Krshia had proposed. What strengthened Liscor strengthened the Free Antinium. And more.

Krshia Silverfang on the Council. Selys Shivertail and Zevara were helping her. It was a combination of individuals that Klbkch had never anticipated. But it came together because Krshia was important, at least among the Gnolls. Zevara was a Watch Captain, so that fit. And Selys had inherited…

The Heartflame Armor.  Yes, now it belonged to Selys. And Zel Shivertail was dead. So many developments in favor of the Antinium, not that Zel Shivertail’s death was necessarily one such. All thanks to one person? No. Thanks to another world.

Thanks to Erin Solstice. The Antinium of Liscor had been struggling until she had come here, trying to make Individuals and instead creating Aberrations. She had done so much for the Hive. Klbkch was sure that this latest development was in some way related to her, or simply an effect of her coming from her world.

Another world. What other effects might Erin and Ryoka be having on this world? What if there were more of their people? How would that affect the continents, the countless nations? The Antinium themselves?

That was impossible for Klbkch to imagine. But he would speculate with Xrn. She could be trusted. And perhaps his Queen, although Klbkch feared she could not be trusted. Not with this. She was brave, and she had risen to every occasion. But this was something only the First Queen would have been able to understand fully.

For now, this election. Klbkch walked through the streets. And now he was aboveground, he noticed the disciplined chaos in the city, something he would only have picked up on with his evening patrol duties with Relc. Klbkch watched. He listened to Krshia speaking on her stall and he saw Selys hurrying up to the Gnoll.

Yes. Krshia had to win the election. And the election had to occur. That was the new priority of the day. He walked back to the Hive. And on the way he noticed more things that gave him pause. Among them was Lism arguing in front of the Mage’s Guild. Screaming, rather. At Wing Commander Embria.

Klbkch walked back towards his Hive, thinking carefully. Now he was analyzing the situation, Zevara and Selys’ confidence in the surety of Krshia’s victory wasn’t something he shared. He was already anticipating what would follow. In his way, he understood more of Drake politics than either Zevara or Selys.

But that was fine. Klbkch stopped at the entrance of the Hive and descended slowly. The Soldiers waiting at the entrance let him past, their thoughts alert, watchful. Klbkch cast his own thoughts downwards and spoke. An auditory component helped reinforce the clarity of the signal, or so he’d found.

“My Queen. I have an opportunity for you. If you are ready.”

He listened for the response. And his mandibles rose in a smile. Yes. Krshia’s small party had come to him seeking a trade. But they were looking at it like a Drake. Or a Gnoll [Shopkeeper] might. They thought of things in give and take. The Antinium did not. What benefitted the Hive was all. Krshia was beneficial to the Hive. Zevara had promised something Klbkch wanted, and so he would put the full weight of the Free Antinium behind them. Or just one Antinium. Sometimes that was all you needed. Klbkch descended, speaking to his Queen.

“We await the right moment, then, my Queen. If you will prepare, I will signal the moment. Wait. This ‘election’ may be won without uncertainty, in which case there is no need. If not—is he able to move?”

Of course.

Klbkch smiled. And he thought of how this would change events above and below. Klbkch waited for the moment to change everything he could. And if Pawn didn’t cheer up after this, Klbkch would seriously consider dumping him at Erin’s inn and leaving him there.

…He wondered if Erin was selling acid flies yet.

—-

Deep in the Hive, Pawn knelt. He clasped his four arms together and prayed. It was a simple prayer.

“Please let my people stop suffering. Let there be peace. Let there be Heaven. And let us build it if none such exists. Only give us the chance. Give us any chance. And let there be peace. Amen.”

It was a poor prayer. One without the—the graciousness of words, the elegance that Pawn wished he could have. But it came from the heart. And that was all Pawn had. His heart, which beat painfully in his chest.

He rose. And in the darkness, hundreds of bodies rose with him. Painted Soldiers, their bodies dabbed with bright colors, stood. They looked at Pawn. And he looked across their heads.

Each one was different. Each one unique. Though their bodies were the same, they were individual as could be. Even other species were less unique. For what separated two Humans? A difference in height? Different bones, or skin color? The quality of their voice?

Those were uncertain variables. But this? This was different. Each Soldier’s carapace was decorated. They each bore a symbol of who they were, and they could reapply that proof whenever they needed to. They had chosen who they were.

The Painted Soldiers. The Individuals of the Hive. Pawn’s flock. That’s what Erin had called them. But if they were his flock, he was a poor [Shepherd]. And he was tired. And so, so very sad.

“Thank you.”

Pawn spoke simply. The large chamber in which he stood was both the Painted Soldier’s barracks for sleeping as well as their break hall. And home. And memorial. On the walls covered with the signs of fallen Soldiers were spaces dedicated to reading. Small, children’s picture books shared space next to boards that were extra-large to allow Soldiers to play chess or go together. There was a spot to sit on fluffy, comfy blankets and pillows, always in high demand. Even a spot to paint.

But the Soldiers had stopped their tasks to kneel or sit in front of Pawn. For his morning prayer. He offered two a day. Morning and night. Not all of the Soldiers could be present; even now some fought, or guarded parts of the Hive. But all who could come, came. And they listened. So Pawn tried to pray as best he could. He never repeated himself. And he tried to be short.

It was inadequate. But with so many expectant faces, Pawn could never do nothing. So now he raised the stick on which hung the censer and waved it. The fragrance of cinnamon hung in the air as Pawn walked past the Soldiers. He hadn’t lit it, but the censer still smelled of the wonderful sweet scent.

“Go in peace. Go, thinking of peace. You may go. Thank you. Thank you…”

The Soldiers waited until Pawn was past them to move. Slowly, they filed past him, returning to their lives. And they looked at Pawn as he walked slowly past him. He was an [Acolyte]. The only one of his kind. And he felt like a fraud. But he kept walking until he reached the end of the cavern. Then he let the Soldiers get back to work. And he sat.

It had been weeks since Yellow Splatters had died. Since the hundred fell at Liscor. Pawn knew he should do something. Erin had come to see him. And he had duties. But he couldn’t find the strength to do any of it.

They had died around him. Shielding him from the Goblin Lord’s magic. And they had died because he asked them to save her. And they had. Erin Solstice lived. And that was one of the reasons Pawn lived. But they had all died for her.

Yellow Splatters. Pawn bowed his head and wished an Antinium could weep. But he made no sound. Because the Soldiers were walking around, enjoying being alive. Enjoying their time off that they were given as Painted Soldiers. And looking at him. So Pawn sat. He made no sound, though he would have wailed. And he ate when it was time to eat, and slept when it was time to sleep. He prayed, and he spoke. Because he could not abandon these Soldiers to his despair as he had so selfishly before. They were all he had left.

Him. And Purple Smile. The [Sergeant] came over to Pawn and waved two of his arms. The peculiar Soldier raised his purple-colored mandibles in a smile. And Pawn tried to copy it.

“Hello Purple Smiles. Is it time to eat?”

The [Sergeant] shrugged. He stared at Pawn and then sat next to him. That was his way. As any Soldier, Purple Smiles couldn’t speak, but his hands did the talking. Thumbs-up, a walking hand, another thumb, a pointing finger—his crude, Soldier’s fingers on his four hands constructed a message.

“Thank you. It was a good prayer? And…I should go for a walk?”

Nod. Pawn looked at Purple Smile’s finger.

“The inn? Maybe later. I’m sure Erin’s busy.”

Purple Smiles stared at Pawn. Both Antinium knew he was lying, or rather, avoiding saying what he meant. It was not an Antinium thing. But Purple Smiles didn’t give up. Slowly, he urged Pawn up, taking the Worker’s arm as carefully as if he were clutching paper. And the Worker couldn’t very well refuse. Purple Smiles had given so much. He still fought against the monsters of the dungeon. And Pawn had asked so much of the Soldiers. If they asked him anything—

“Very well. Where should I walk?”

Around. Purple Smiles gestured. Pawn nodded. Slowly, he walked around the barracks. His body felt…tired. He’d been doing a lot of sitting. And remembering. Thinking, really. Thinking of how things had come to this.

Look. Look at the barracks now. It was incomparable to before. The barracks of the Painted Soldiers was now more of a wing; the tight, intersecting tunnels had been excavated as the barracks grew, becoming larger, with a more open design than any standard Antinium area. Something that reflected the architecture above, with a higher ceiling, the space to move without being cramped.

An echo of the sky. And the colors that shone from the walls were nowhere to be found in the Hive. If Pawn had not known what this was, he would have thought he had stumbled into a magical land here. Soldiers were free to rest. And they had things to occupy themselves. Fun. Games. Things no Antinium had ever dreamed of.

They had paid a bloody price for it. Once again. Only, this time it had cost Yellow Splatters. Cost a hundred Painted Soldiers. Was that the new equation? Was every step forward bathed in the blood of the Painted Antinium? Pawn feared it was.

Hence his despair. For what was right? It was good, beautiful that the Painted Antinium existed. But the cost—the cost they paid so willingly—Pawn wasn’t sure if his heart could bear it.

It was the argument he had had so many times in the past. And again, there would be no answer. But Pawn couldn’t avoid it. He walked past Soldiers. And then he remembered his duties and paused. He asked them what they were doing, spoke to them. And he saw that they were happy. One showed him a clay cup. Another a picture in a well-worn book. And that was all they had ever wanted. No—they had never wanted this because they had never known it existed.

And perhaps if he had been like them, he would have been happy despite the deaths. But Pawn had dreamed of heaven. And that glorious sight was too much for a mortal mind to bear. He had heard of salvation. And he craved it. So Pawn kept walking. Until he reached one of the entrances to the barracks. And an entering Antinium nearly ran into him.

It was a near miss. Unlike the usual order of the Hive, Workers and Painted Soldiers were free to move about as they pleased. So only in this place did collisions occur. And when they did—no one got hurt. Why would they? The Antinium’s bodies were covered in shells. It was just a funny peculiarity.

This time Pawn saw the Worker coming in a rush of other Workers. The others noticed Pawn, but this one failed to and nearly stepped into Pawn. He moved back of course. The Worker paused and looked up. He saw Pawn and the [Acolyte]’s censer stick.

“Excuse me.”

Pawn politely stepped aside and gestured, as he had been taught to do on Liscor’s streets as a humble Worker himself. But the Worker in front of him froze.

“This one apologizes, Individual Pawn. This one is deeply sorry.”

The Worker quivered. Pawn stopped and stared at him.

“It’s nothing.”

“This one was in your way. This one humbly moves. Apologies, apologies.”

The Worker scuttled back. The other Workers in his group looked at him. And like him, they wilted.

They were the same height as Pawn. But he felt like he was looking down on them. Certainly on the Worker in front of him; the Worker was hunched, much like Pawn remembered doing when he was miserable or feared having made a mistake. The sight hurt Pawn to see.

“It’s nothing. Please. It was my fault as well. Don’t be worried.”

Pawn unconsciously reached out and patted the Worker’s shoulders with two arms as if he were a Soldier. The Worker stared.

“T-thank you.”

It was such a timid reply. And yet—the words, the tone, made Pawn think he wasn’t speaking to a regular Worker. No, of course not; if the Worker were allowed into the barracks, it meant they weren’t a regular Worker. Pawn paused. He looked at the Worker.

“What is your name, Worker? If you have a name.”

Too late, he remembered. Some workers didn’t have names. They hadn’t chosen like him. And he tensed. But the Worker did not begin shaking. He did not behave as Pawn once had when Erin asked. Instead, the Worker ducked his head and replied timidly.

“This one is Archer B23.”

“Archer…B23? That is your name?”

“Yes, Individual Pawn. It was given to me by Revelator Klbkch. It is my name.”

Pawn stared. Then he started.

“Klbkch gave you that name? I mean, Revalantor Klbkch?”

“Yes, Individual Pawn. This one passed the test and was named. This—I am Archer B23. He gave me my name along with the other Workers in Archer Unit B.”

That at least was clear. Pawn looked at the other Workers in the group. Let’s see. Twenty four. Probably about right.

“Archer B23. Why did Klbkch give you that name?”

It was almost as bad as calling all the Workers…Workers. Archer B23 paused.

“This one does not know what Revalantor Klbkch thought. But Archer B23 is this one’s name. It is a functional name.”

Was there a touch of defiance at the skepticism in Pawn’s tone? The [Acolyte] stared at Archer B23.

“Of course it is. It’s a fine name. Forgive me. I am Pawn. You…know me?”

Archer B23 nodded. He looked up at Pawn.

“You are Individual Pawn. All the Autonomous Workers know of you.”

“Autonomous Workers?”

The title threw Pawn. Archer B23 looked around at his companions as if seeking help. Another spoke up.

“We—I—I—are Workers who have passed Revalantor Klbkch’s tests. We are Autonomous Workers, Individual Pawn. But we are not you.”

The other Workers nodded as once. They gathered around their two companions. And they looked the same. They even acted the same. But they could say ‘I’. They were…

Pawn remembered them. The other Workers playing chess in the break room back at the start. The Workers who had passed Klbkch’s tests. So this is what they had become?

They played chess. But they had never met Erin. Or if they had, it was a fleeting meeting. Not like her chess lessons. They were like Pawn had been at the start, with the other members of the chess club.

The [Acolyte] touched his chest, above his heart.

“I see. Autonomous Workers. Not Individuals. And you are all Archers?”

“Yes, Individual Pawn. I am Archer B25.”

“I am Archer B11.”

“I am Archer B3.”

“I am Archer B8.”

“I am…”

Pawn’s head turned to each Worker as they began to introduce themselves. They did it eagerly, never mind that even Mrsha would have caught onto the pattern after the eighth Worker. But Pawn listened to all twenty five, nodding as each spoke their name. Because it mattered to them.

It was their name. And suddenly, Pawn had so many questions.

“You are all on break?”

“Yes, Individual Pawn. We are relieved from duty.”

“I see. Then will you sit with me? Some of the fluff places are open.”

In fact, they all were. The Soldiers let the Workers sit with Pawn. The Workers carefully touched at the blankets and pillows, afraid to sit too heavily. Pawn sat on the ground, refusing the pillows.

“You’re [Archers]. And you…fight.”

“Yes, Individual Pawn. Revalantor Klbkch assigned us to an archery unit. We were the second one formed. We support the Soldiers. It is an experimental role. We are experimental.”

“No. You’re not.”

The Workers started. Pawn held up a hand.

“I’m sorry. I meant…you’re not experimental. You’re all very—vital. You help fight, don’t you? That is a function the Hive needs. You use bows. That’s brave.”

They stared at him, hungrily. And Pawn didn’t know why, until he remembered what it was like being them. Hungry for…

“Was it hard?”

“We fulfill our roles. We try not to fail. Sometimes we do. Our arrows miss.”

“Arrows miss. But you shoot at monsters coming straight at you. You do a good job. Have—have you ever been above?”

“Once.”

The whisper came from all of them. And they spoke in unison as much as apart. Pawn looked at them.

“Only once?”

“We were on a patrol. We saw the sky. We fought Shield Spiders. We did not eat food. The inn was closed. But we saw a dog. It barked at us.”

The Workers all nodded together. That was important. Pawn remembered being a [Builder] above. Yes, it was special if you saw anything other than the building you were ordered to construct, deconstruct, or repair. He nodded solemnly.

“That is very special.”

And inside, he felt a knife cutting his organs to pieces. Look at these Workers. They stared at Pawn as if they were staring at the Queen herself. And they had only been above once. The same for many Soldiers. Purple Smiles took patrols above of course, but—

“Let’s go above.”

The word came out of Pawn. It stunned the Workers. They hugged the pillows and blankets.

“Now?”

“Are we allowed? Is it permitted?”

“We have gone above once, though.”

“Some Workers have not. Archer Group F has not.”

“No? Then they should come too. Let’s get them. Where are they?”

Pawn stood up. He felt terrible, but in a different way all of a sudden. Look at these Workers! What was he doing? The Workers stood with him.

“Archer Group F is on the frontlines. Individual Anand has their group.”

“Let’s find them. You—come with me. Purple Smiles! I’m going to lead a patrol to the surface. That’s fine. I think.”

Pawn waved at Purple Smiles. The [Sergeant] smiled widely with his mandibles. Soldiers turned. Pawn pointed at a group waiting for their turn on the sparring circles.

“Are you free? Come with me. We’ll go to the surface.”

The Soldiers fell into line. The Workers followed Pawn, excited, as he strode down the tunnels. Nearly forty Antinium walked behind Pawn. It would be the biggest patrol ever allowed onto Liscor’s streets outside of a battle. Pawn didn’t care. He marched towards the front lines, where the dungeon met the Hive. The fortified sections of tunnel weren’t rushing with activity, which meant there was no fighting. And indeed, Anand was standing in a war room, speaking calmly.

“Shore up the first layer of Belgrade’s traps. Archer Group F will delegate ten members. Bring up five Painted Soldiers and send twenty regular Soldiers and fifteen Workers. In notation, this order will be: Shore 1st Layer. Reinforcements: archer F, 10. Painted 5, 20 S, 15 W. Execute. Are we clear on the details?”

“Yes, Individual Anand.”

A group of Workers chorused around Anand. Pawn stopped, surprised. Anand was standing around a map of the Hive. And the Workers around him were…the [Tactician] mumbled to himself, clicking his mandibles.

“The notation is flawed. Once we implement unit designations across all the Hive, it will be easier to specify exact numbers from exact groups. Until then, draw from the reserves first and then the nearest tunnel not bracing for action or engaged. I trust your judgment. One of you send the message. Now, I—Pawn?”

He looked up, surprised. One of the Workers hurried down the corridor. Pawn stepped forwards.

“Anand. Am I interrupting you?”

“No. There is no fighting. Belgrade’s traps—Pawn, it is good to see you moving. What is this? Reinforcements?”

“No. A patrol. I was hoping to get Archer Group F to bring them to the surface for the first time. What is this?”

The two Workers met, stepping past all the other silent Antinium. Pawn and Anand, two of the original members of Erin’s chess club. Anand opened his mouth in a smile and Pawn did likewise. They had both changed. But they were connected. Always.

“I am maintaining the defense of the Hive, Pawn. Belgrade is supervising the construction. I can pull Archer Group F and replace them if you want them. Someone go rescind the order. Order Archer Group C to fill their role. You…Steinitz.”

He pointed to a Worker. Pawn stared as the Worker sped off after the first Worker.

“Steinitz? That Worker is an Autonomous Worker too?”

“Yes. They aren’t Individual. But they have names and they passed Revalantor Klbkch’s test. All of them are now [Archers] or assisting me in my war room instead of regular Worker duties.”

Anand gestured to the group of Workers around him. Pawn stared.

“Why?”

“It was my idea, Pawn. Mine and Belgrade’s, on order of Revalantor Klbkch. These semi-Individual Workers aren’t like we were. You understand that after meeting them, don’t you?”

“Yes. But why—”

“To teach them. And so they level. Having regular Workers fill the role won’t level them much. But some of these Workers—Archer Group A has two of their members who are Level 7 [Archers] already! Imagine what will happen if they reach Level 10? Or Level 20?”

Pawn nodded slowly.

“They’re valuable. Like the Painted Soldiers.”

Anand caught the note in his voice. He turned back to Pawn, his antennae twitching apologetically.

“Strategist. I am a [Tactician], Pawn. But there’s someone I want to introduce you to. You, come forwards.”

He pointed to the Worker who’d been standing closest to Anand. The Worker approached. Anand gestured to him.

“Pawn. This is Bishop.”

Pawn jerked back. He stared at the Worker, who raised a tentative hand. He was holding a clipboard, which was really a nail board since the bit of parchment was held on place by a small nail.

“Hello, Individual Pawn. I am Bishop. Individual Anand has told me about you. I am—”

“That’s not Bishop.”

The Worker recoiled. Anand whirled.

“Pawn.”

Pawn was shaking. The Worker looked at the other two. His voice was trembling. Blooms of fury were rising in his chest.

“Bishop named himself in the battle for Liscor. He died there, Anand. That was his name. You should have known—no. That was his name. You have to take another.”

He looked at the fake Antinium. The Worker was trembling.

“I—I am sorry, Individual Pawn. This one didn’t know. This one—”

Anand put two arms out in front of Bishop.

“Enough. Pawn. I allowed him to take the name Bishop.”

“You allowed?”

Pawn looked at Anand, shocked. The [Tactician] nodded.

“Two Antinium may have the same name, Pawn. And Bishop would not have begrudged his name being used. He might even have liked it, if he had understood it.”

“But it was his name. If another Worker has it—”

Pawn couldn’t articulate the rest. How would they remember Bishop, the real Bishop? But Anand just shook his head.

“The name is both of theirs. And it will matter to both. What this Bishop becomes and the Bishop we knew—it is not one thing or the other. They are both Bishop. Pawn. He wanted that name. Look at him.”

He pointed to Bishop. The Worker was shuddering. Hunched, like Archer B23. Pawn instantly felt his anger subside. He reached out.

“I am sorry. I did not mean that. I am sorry. Bishop. Forgive me.”

“Forgive?”

The Worker looked up. Anand put a hand on his shoulder.

“Say yes, if you bear Pawn no ill will, Bishop. It is your decision. Your power. No one may force you to say yes.”

The Worker looked back at Anand. And the Workers in the room stared at Anand. Workers and Soldiers. The [Tactician] looked around. And Bishop stared at Pawn. He hesitated. And thought. And then he spoke.

“Yes. I bear you no ill will, Individual Pawn.”

“Thank you.”

Susurration. Pawn stood back. Anand let Bishop walk back to his peers. The two looked around, and at each other.

“We were still growing. We were barely Individual, then. Even you. Now we are truly Individual. But these are Autonomous Workers. Not like us. Bishop is the closest, I think, because I play chess with him and he helps me. But even he has a way to go. I am not sure about your Painted Soldiers, but I think all but Purple Smile and Yellow Splatters are closer to Autonomous than Individual.”

“That is the new metric? Did Klbkch come up with it?”

“Belgrade, actually. It helps differentiate them. And it makes sense.”

Pawn nodded slowly. He hesitated. Archer Group F arrived, walking into the room holding bows and arrows, both crude. But no less deadly.

“I confess, Anand. I did not understand the plight of the Workers until now. I was too focused on the Soldiers. I’ve ignored part of our Hive. Again.”

Anand shrugged. He leaned on a wall; the action was so spontaneous and natural that neither Worker noticed. But the other Workers and Soldiers stared; none of them would ever have done that. None had.

“You were busy with the Painted Soldiers, Pawn. You gave to them what the Workers could obtain with chess. You cannot be everywhere.”

“You’ve looked after these Workers, then. I thank you.”

Anand hesitated.

“To an extent. The ones in this room—excluding the Archer Groups—are mine. But the vast majority of the Workers I don’t interact with. This is my personal group. Belgrade has his.”

That shocked Pawn. He opened his mandibles wide and hissed at Anand.

“It is not fair to single out separate Workers, Anand! They all deserve the same amount of attention!”

The [Tactician] tilted his head thoughtfully to one side.

“Fair? Of course not. But it is more efficient, Pawn. We cannot be everywhere, Belgrade and I. And Garry and Bird have not as yet expressed the desire to speak to any Workers or Soldiers.”

“But if you rotated them—”

“This group is my group. They are all [Tacticians]. They have the aptitude. I don’t need [Archers] or Workers whose talents lie elsewhere, Pawn. I like this group. I know all their names.”

“But they’re all Workers, Anand. Autonomous Workers. And the other Workers, the ones who aren’t Autonomous—if you don’t spend time with them, I can’t do it alone! It would not be equal, not be fair!”

Pawn stared at his old friend. Anand was nodding, but then he shook his head abruptly.

“Why would that matter? Fairness? That is a wrong concept, I think. Some individuals within the Hive possess capabilities greater than others. And unique existences such as the Queen and Revalantor Klbkch are worth more than any number of Soldiers or Workers. Our value is not equal, Pawn. Mine is not the same as yours, let alone Revalantor Klbkch’s. Or Erin’s. If we are to die, better it be Belgrade or I first.”

He tapped his chest. Pawn stared at the spot. Anand went on.

“In the same way, these Workers matter more to me. Archer Group A matters most because I know them. I realize it is unfair. But I cannot be fair. To make this group strong, I must prioritize it over others. And if there is a danger I think will wipe out an Archer Group, I would not send Archer Group A. That would be the wrong move strategically, you understand?”

He’d said that in front of Archer Groups B and F. Pawn looked at them, horrified. But he saw the Workers nodding calmly in response to Anand’s words. They approved the logic.

“I can’t accept that. If we’re not equal, if one life has more value than the others, how can we understand each other? We were all Workers once, Anand.”

The [Tactician] paused as Pawn reached out to him. He grasped Pawn’s arm gently.

“That is true. That is very true.”

Pawn relaxed. Anand hesitated.

“And yet, I would say that has no bearing on how I conduct strategy or which Workers I select to be around me. Your line of thought interests me. It is not Antinium, Pawn. It comes from Erin, and Miss Ryoka who you spoke to. It comes from above, from other species. I do not say it is wrong. I only wish to tell you that it may not be practical.”

He spread his arms. And Pawn could not deny that. Logically, Anand was correct. But illogically, in his heart, Pawn hurt for the Workers that Anand would never meet.

“I must disagree with your philosophy then, Anand. Even while I admit that your strategy is sound.”

The words were bitter. Anand nodded, accepting them. Then he looked up.

“Good. And I hope you will not change how you act, Pawn.”

The [Acolyte] twitched his left antennae. The [Tactician] smiled.

“I do not think I am wrong. Nor do I think it is wrong of you to continue believing as you do, Pawn. But I will act as I can for the Hive while balancing what I understand with what you say. I hold your words in great esteem. I only wish I could fulfill your expectations of me.”

And to that, Pawn had nothing to say at all. Anand thoughtfully looked back at his map. And then he raised his head. A Worker rushed into the room.

“Contact on Breach 1, Individual Anand. Thirty Eggwalkers.”

“Ah. I must attend to this. Send fifteen Painted! 40 S! Archery Group D!”

The Worker strode back among his peers, shouting orders. Only, Anand wasn’t really one of the other Autonomous Workers. He did seem taller among them, more animated. Pawn walked back, and the Workers and Soldiers in his group followed him. Anand waved to Pawn at the door.

“It is good to see you are not unhappy, Pawn. We will speak later.”

Pawn nodded. He walked past the other Workers clustering around Anand. It was hard even for Pawn to tell them apart. But then he saw one of them turn.

“Individual Pawn? This one will try his best to become worthy of the name Bishop.”

Pawn stared at Bishop. He hesitated. Then he nodded.

“Thank you. Goodbye, Bishop.”

Then he turned and went to find Belgrade.

—-

“Anand has changed.”

Pawn spoke to Belgrade in front of a curious sight. Workers were constructing formations of dirt, terrain, even tunnels in a large cavern. It was a new addition to the Hive; it had replaced a storeroom and three access tunnels to be built. Presumably it was important if the Hive had shifted its structure to allow for it. Belgrade stood in front of the flurry of Workers and nodded slowly in response to Pawn’s statement.

“Yes. As have I. More dirt to this section. There. Now, trigger trap six.”

He pointed absently as Workers packed dirt on a long tunnel. Pawn watched as one of them pushed a pillar made of dirt and set off a chain reaction. The tunnel ahead of the Worker collapsed in a whumph of dirt. Belgrade looked up.

“Six seconds. The speed can be improved. And I am dissatisfied about the weight dumped. It would not be able to crush one of the suits of enchanted armor, don’t you agree, Pawn? Try tripling the weight. We may have to add boulders.”

The Workers swarmed over trap six. Pawn looked at Belgrade. The Worker was still as he stared down at some blueprints on a piece of parchment, but his instructions were precise. The patrol that Pawn had brought waited, content to watch the other Workers while the two Individuals talked.

“Pardon me for not taking time to speak with you fully, Pawn. But I want to complete my latest trap modifications for the kill zone in front of the dungeon by today. Lyonette has requested an Antinium team to begin construction on The Wandering Inn. I will be directing the Soldiers and Workers to that duty. Unless you would like to fulfill the objective yourself? Or will you visit the inn?”

“She has? I—I think she told me about that. No. I’ll be going above with a patrol today. I’m…I don’t wish to have the duty. I’m sorry, Belgrade.”

Pawn lamely looked at the [Tactician] who was hard at work. While Pawn had mainly sat about and led prayers with his Painted Soldiers. The [Tactician] looked unconcerned.

“Do not be. I enjoy it.”

“Really? This?”

The traps and attempts at creating a more sturdy foundation looked as boring to Pawn as anything he had seen. Belgrade was measuring how much one dirt load-bearing column could hold. And comparing that against a similar weight in rocks. The Worker shrugged.

“Anand is always better at free roaming tactics. Aggressive, evolving maneuvers of instinct. I have played chess, Shogi, and Go against him. I have lost more games than I win. Except when he plays a strategy I am familiar with. You see, I prefer to create scenarios in which I can triumph. Which is why I like traps. Traps are predictable.”

One of the load-bearing columns collapsed. Belgrade made a note on his plans.

“Dirt is cheap too. I have now constructed six miles of traps from here to the dungeon by which we are able to eliminate most monster types. Workers and Soldiers are still needed especially against Flesh Worms and the like, which can tunnel, but we are now slowly gaining in numbers, rather than maintaining an acceptable casualty rate. I wonder how the other Workers and Soldiers will be deployed? Perhaps to your unit?”

He glanced up at Pawn. The [Acolyte] hesitated.

“I do not know. Revalantor Klbkch has ordered me to expand, but slowly. I think that is wise. I hope the Soldiers and Workers have a chance to rest if they are not needed to fight.”

“Most likely Revalantor Klbkch will send them into the dungeon to curb the enemy’s numbers. Or use the Worker in more construction projects. They are useless idle. Have you seen the Archer Groups at work, Pawn? They are most efficient for their kill-to-death ratio. Pawn? Pawn?”

Belgrade kept working on his blueprints for a minute before he realized Pawn had gone silent. He looked up. Pawn’s voice trembled.

“How—how can you speak of Soldiers and Workers dying like that, Belgrade? They are us.”

Belgrade paused.

“They are not, Pawn. They are Autonomous. Or regular Soldiers and Workers. They are not you. I have grown used to losing them. I could not bear to lose you. So. Do not die, please.”

He looked down. Pawn stared at him. He swept the blueprints from the desk. Belgrade made a clicking sound.

“Pawn!”

“Look at me, Belgrade! How can you say that? How can you not care about their deaths?”

Pawn seized Belgrade with all four arms. The other Worker raised his, then paused. He stared into the depths of Pawn’s gaze. And what was reflected in Belgrade’s multi-faceted eyes was—

“I counted, Pawn. After my first engagement as [Tactician] on the front, I was deeply disturbed and did not maintain adequate sleep after the first Soldiers and Workers died.”

Pawn stopped shaking Belgrade. His friend’s voice was soft.

“After the first week, I stopped waking up. Perhaps I was too tired. But I maintained adequate sleep. For the most part. After the first thousand. I stopped thinking about them with my every waking thought. I have counted them, though.”

“Counted?”

The [Tactician] nodded.

“My failures. I have lost…six thousand, seven hundred, and twenty three Workers in engagements under my command. Is it a high number? Or is it lower than the Hive’s average? I do not know.”

He looked down at the blueprints lying on the ground. The Workers in the room beyond had stopped working. They stared at Pawn, along with the patrol. Belgrade’s voice was far away.

“They die when I fail. They die when I succeed. There is not a day where a Worker does not die under my command. And they look like me. They look like you. They look like us. But they are not us. They cannot be. Or else what am I doing?”

No one answered. Belgrade walked out of Pawn’s limp grip. He bent and picked up his plans, dusted it off.

“Traps. Traps are nice. They don’t kill Workers or Soldiers. Usually. But I will order them to their deaths if need be. If monsters breach my defenses, I will drown them in Antinium blood.”

He looked up abruptly at Pawn. The [Acolyte] couldn’t move.

“Facestealer killed four hundred Workers, Pawn. I just sent them into the tunnel until he left. I went there to see when he was gone. He took their heads, Pawn. Took them and left them. Lined them up. They stared at me. They looked like you. Like you and Anand and Garry and Bird and Manus and Bishop…like me. Are they me, Pawn? Me, before I met Erin?”

“Belgrade. I—”

Pawn reached out. Belgrade stepped back. He held his plans in his four hands. And his voice cracked. But he was no Aberration. He was just Belgrade. Trembling. Suddenly shaking, his stoic demeanor gone.

“Tell me. What am I now? Pawn?”

And there was no answer Pawn could give. But at the same time, he could have never been still. He threw all four arms around Belgrade. The two Workers shivered, and Pawn slowly dragged Belgrade back. Out of that room filled with traps. The other Autonomous Workers helped Pawn pull Belgrade up as the [Tactician] protested weakly. Out of the dark Hive, and into the light. Towards the inn, where Belgrade sat and shook and Pawn called for Erin. And the patrol sat in the sunlight and drank blue fruit juice. And that was special.

Pawn sat in the familiar inn, because he was special and he had been there more times than he could count. And he saw how Anand was wrong and right at the same time. Erin came out with Lyonette, and hugged Belgrade. And the [Tactician] stopped shaking. Pawn explained, and Erin’s face contorted with sadness. And that was a crime in itself.

But for the first time, as he explained Belgrade’s anguish, Pawn saw the uncertainty on her face. As if she had no idea how to comfort the [Tactician] who had counted every Antinium he’d ever lost. And he wondered if that expression had been on her face from the very start and he’d never noticed. Pawn wished he hadn’t seen it. But it was important that he had.

Everything changes.

—-

She might not have known what to do. But she found out. It was a warm cup of milk, a blanket, a dozen hugs. A gentle song as she rocked Belgrade. A flower from outside held up in a white Gnoll’s paw. And a pretty lie.

“It’s going to be alright, Belgrade. It’s alright.”

Erin held her old friend. And Belgrade calmed. And eventually, he looked at Erin timidly.

“Do you have time to play a game of Go, Erin? Anand and I have wished to play you for a long time.”

The [Innkeeper] laughed.

“Of course I can. Settle down over here; I’ll get a board. Who else wants to play? You? And you? Who are you?”

“This one is Archer B23.”

“Oh. Oh? That’s a good name!”

“Yes it is. Thank you.”

“And who are you?”

“Archer B1.”

“That’s a good name too! Alright, you sit here and I’ll show you how to play if you don’t know. Someone get more milk for these guys?”

Lyonette grabbed a pitcher of warm milk by the fire. She brought it over and whispered.

“Erin, they’re acting on stage.”

“Oh. Right, right! I’ll lower my voice. Everyone who wants to watch, sit over there. I’ll go over here and teach these guys. Be shush. Hey, Archer B23. Do you know Bird?”

Pawn smiled. He sat with Lyonette. The [Princess] sat next to him, watching the rest of the Soldiers and Workers taking tables closer to the stage. The Players of Celum, clearly pleased to have an audience not heckling them, decided it was time to put a full performance of Hamlet on.

“You haven’t been here lately, Pawn.”

“No. I’m sorry, Lyonette. But I’ve been—”

Her hand found his on the table.

“You don’t have to explain. I’m just glad you came up. With Belgrade.”

“Yes.”

And somehow, Lyonette’s silence was more comforting than anything Belgrade or Anand had said. It was a good silence. And Pawn sat with her as Mrsha crawled up onto a chair next to Lyonette and decided to nap on her other side. And he sat there for…he couldn’t have said how long. Watching the play. Until the door burst open and Ceria shouted into the inn.

“It’s a damn election!”

And then of course things were noisy. But Pawn felt the warmth on his hand even when Lyonette got up. He turned obligingly as Ceria, Pisces, and Yvlon all entered from Liscor’s door to shout about something with Erin and Lyonette in the corner. Another Antinium followed them. He was notable because he had three arms. And he was as different as Belgrade and Pawn. But…

“Ksmvr.”

“Hello Pawn.”

The former Prognugator stiffened a bit when he looked at Pawn. And Pawn felt the phantom pain racing down his arm. Ksmvr edged backwards. He looked smaller to Pawn. Less terrifying. Pawn wondered if he should shout something. But then he looked at Ksmvr’s missing arm and decided not to. The Prognugator looked around.

“I will get out of your way. Excuse me.”

“I…you don’t need to. That is your team. I am simply listening.”

Pawn walked past Ksmvr. The other Antinium stared at him. Then he ducked his head slowly and joined the group.

“An election? Really?”

“That’s right. And we just heard the latest. Uh—Pisces, explain it.”

The [Necromancer]’s sniff was very familiar to Pawn.

“The Antinium are funding Liscor’s expansion and giving money to the City Watch’s budget, among other things. If the election takes place, and I assume that offer is also contingent upon Krshia’s seat on the Council. Which, if I understand the districted voting system, almost ensures her victory.”

Yvlon nodded. Erin whistled softly, an action that made every Antinium in the room instantly turn to look at her. The [Innkeeper] glanced at Pawn.

“Whoa. That’s big. Pawn, did you know about this?”

The Worker shook his head. He didn’t really care, but he cared that everyone else cared. Then he thought about Workers getting a chance to work in the sunlight. Maybe Soldiers could guard them or help?

“I think this is a good idea. But I have no idea what it is about.”

“Krshia’s claiming that the Antinium will pay two thousand gold per year. Possibly more. Not bad, although I can see that not going too far in the case of the City Watch. Even steel’s expensive if you’re arming a thousand. But more? And helping pay for construction? That is a big incentive—I don’t know if the Council can deny an election with that on the table.”

Drassi, who’d also been sent to gather information was chattering to the others. She had the pulse of the crowds. News was spreading fast about the proposed election and the Antinium offer had just pushed public opinion hard. Lyonette nibbled a fingernail as she thought, frowning.

“Klbkch is offering a lot to Krshia, Selys, and Zevara. I’m surprised they’re the ones behind it. Erin, you’re sure you didn’t say anything to them?”

“No! I mean, not about this specifically. Why does everyone think this is my fault?”

Lyonette turned towards Pawn.

“Can the Antinium really fund all this, Pawn? Or even more?”

Belgrade looked up from his table where he was pondering his next set of moves. He hesitated and closed his mandibles without speaking. Erin absently placed a Go stone down as Archer B23 hopefully placed a black stone.

Pawn thought of the storage areas devoted only to holding the gold, copper, and silver. They had to be reinforced to account for the weight of all that metal. Then he thought of the artifact chambers, and other stockpiles in the Hive. He shrugged.

“The Hive can pay for it. It would not be hard.”

“Well then, I’m sold. Go election! Hey, can anyone run?”

Drassi threw up her claws in delight. Erin was smiling too.

“That’s so cool! Democracy! And I didn’t do anything! Honest! I think. Wait…no, I’m pretty sure! Hey, let’s go see what Krshia’s saying! How about it?”

She looked around. The others nodded. Pawn found himself following Erin through the door. She reassured him.

“Your Workers and Soldiers are fine. Belgrade’s there and he thinks he can plot out a victory while I’m gone. Hah! Although he’s a lot better. But I’ve been practicing Go. It’s nice to have a good opponent! Where’s—oh, wow!”

She’d come to Market Street, or rather, the crowd hanging out the back of it. Drakes and Gnolls let Erin’s group push into the crowd—mainly because they weren’t given any choice. Yvlon was polite—Drassi knew every third person, but Ceria and Pisces unapologetically pushed through.

The [Necromancer] tripped, cast minor cantrips, and elbowed without mercy. Drakes and Gnolls sprang aside, swearing at him as little jets of flame cooked their tails. Erin followed, smacking Pisces on the back of the head and apologizing. Which, Pawn realized, coincidentally brought her through the crowd as well. Ksmvr was taking notes.

Krshia was standing on her stall, but she was now speaking to a huge number of people. And many of them were chanting ‘election’ while others shouted questions at the Gnoll. She was fielding them, and pitching her election plan every few minutes to the crowd coming in and out.

“The Antinium have agreed to help expand Liscor! Yes! And contribute to the funding of the City Watch and Adventurer’s Guild! That is an opportunity we should not pass up! Think of it! We could expand Liscor and build an entirely new district! And with that space, we could build more than just apartments, yes? Let both Drakes, Gnolls, and yes, Humans immigrate to Liscor! We could construct forges for [Blacksmiths], perhaps even huge warehouses like those used in Pallass! Or—what about a forest, a park inside the city walls? One with trees?”

The citizens of Liscor stared at Krshia, caught by the ideas she was floating past them. Erin, who’d reached the crowd right in front of Krshia, paused, and Pawn heard someone else half-shouting.

“Tone it down, Krshia! Don’t promise too much!”

“Let her! It’s just an idea!”

Two Drakes were standing in front of a group of Gnolls. Pawn recognized Zevara and Selys. The Watch Captain was shaking her head, dismayed by Krshia’s rhetoric.

“This idea is getting too big. I mean, we didn’t even consider it! Inviting Humans to settle in Liscor? A huge park? Swimming pools? Who gave her those ideas?”

Both Drakes turned and stared at Erin. The [Innkeeper] shrugged innocently.

“Hey. Krshia just asked me for ideas the other day. And if the Antinium are going to build it, they can do it, right? I mean, I’ve seen some cool stuff in Pallass, but even they don’t have pools! And you could make walkways and add more floors to all the buildings! Build the walls even higher! Raise those walls! Raise those walls! Whoo!”

She raised her fist. The Gnolls turned around and the chant started spreading through the crowd. Erin laughed. Then she looked unaccountably guilty.

“Ooh. I don’t know if that’s a good one to shout. Oh well.”

Pawn looked around. He didn’t know what Erin meant, but the crowd seemed very pleased with Krshia’s ideas, as far as he could tell. Krshia was getting cheers, and the chant of ‘raise that wall’ was already being adopted. Zevara was addressing Erin when Pawn turned his attention back to them.

“You can help. Ancestors preserve me, but I’m okay with that. Especially if you can get Klbkch to promise more gold. But you have to promise me—no disasters!”

“Hey! I don’t try—okay, sometimes I do try—”

“No disasters! No one knocks down a wall or—or you somehow invite a group of Half-Giant [Architects] to the city! Got it?”

“Do half-Giant [Architects] exist? I wonder if Moore knows any.”

“Gah! Selys, do something about her!”

“Calm down, Zevara. Erin’s not doing anything. This is our idea. She can’t—”

“Raise those walls! Raise those walls!”

“Elections! Gnolls on the Council!”

“Vote for Krshia! How do we vote?”

“No more Antinium!”

The voice cut through the shouting. It was a strident shout, a piercing note of dissonance. The crowd quieted. Zevara closed her eyes. And Krshia’s head turned around. Her smiling face turned into a snarl.

Pawn looked left. Coming down the street was a group of Drakes. Some Gnolls, but mostly Drakes. And they were being led by someone being carried on his own stall. Pawn didn’t recognize him until Selys hissed his name.

“Lism. Oh, Creler eggs. What is he doing now?”

The [Shopkeeper] swayed as his counter crowd advanced down the street. He came to a stop, grabbing at the side of his stall and glared at Krshia. His voice was a shout.

“Let Humans in to Liscor? Do you not remember the army that was besieging our city not a month ago? Hello?”

The jubilant mood of the crowd was gone in a second. Pawn was quite impressed. He stared as Lism shook a fist at Krshia.

“And what’s this? Antinium paying for Liscor? Excuse me, but am I the only one who sees a problem with that?”

“Only you could find a way to object to free money, Lism!”

Krshia snapped back to a laugh from the crowd. Lism turned red, but Selys leaned over to Erin, looking worried.

“What is he doing here? Krshia chased him off once, but he’s got a crowd behind him. Is he trying to stop the election?”

Drassi snorted. She’d come up on Selys’ other side and leaned on her friend.

“He’s just a blowhard. Who’s going to argue against expanding the city if it’s cheap? And free money? We’ll take that from the Antinium, thanks!”

The Gnolls around her nodded. But Selys looked worried. So did Zevara. And Pawn, looking at Lism, saw the Drake sneer at Krshia.

“You think the Antinium do anything for free? You’re delusional, Silverfang. And what’s this about having them construct the city? Would you trust walls built by the Antinium? They’re the only thing that’s kept the Antinium from wiping us out!”

He pointed dramatically at the walls of Liscor in the distance. The crowd craned their necks to see. Krshia folded her arms and glared.

“You say that, but unless you can solve our housing issue—”

Lism bawled over her, cutting Krshia off with sheer force of volume!

“I don’t need to hear a bad idea to refute it! No Antinium walls! No Ant builders! No Humans taking our city!”

“No Humans! No more walls!”

The crowd chanted behind him. They weren’t larger than Krshia’s crowd, but this group was organized and united. Some of the listeners began looking towards Lism instead of Krshia. The Gnolls around Erin, Selys, and Pawn looked disgusted. Krshia growled.

“You’d do nothing, Lism? You’re as bad as the Council!”

“Hah! I’d do better than you, Silverfang! And I wouldn’t be a tool of the Antinium! People, don’t listen to this furball! If you want leadership, vote for me, Lism!”

The Drake struck a pose to cheers from the people around him. The Gnolls shouted in outrage.

“Furball!?”

“Not an hour ago you were against an election. Why the sudden change of heart?”

Krshia shouted back at Lism. The Drake laughed at her.

“If we do have an election, why not run? And what’s more, I can promise better than Antinium gold and Antinium favors!”

“Lies. Pure lies! You don’t have anything to offer!”

Krshia howled. Lism smirked.

“Oh, I don’t, do I? Everyone, please direct your attention that way! Wing Commander, please take your men forwards!”

There was a moment of silence as the crowd turned to look. Zevara, standing in front of Pawn, suddenly groaned.

“Wing Commander? Oh no—”

Pawn heard the first beat of the marching drum like a tingle on the back of his carapace. Then the ratatatattat of the drum sounded and trumpets began to blow a triumphal melody. Pawn looked up and saw the crowd parting.

They marched down the street four abreast, as precise as a unit of Antinium Soldiers. Their armor was polished. Their neck spines oiled; their fur combed. The [Soldiers] were Drakes and Gnolls, but their insignia marked them. Liscor’s sons and daughters.

The army of Liscor. They came down the street like thunder. One of the Drake [Captains] roared above the sound of the trumpets and beating drum.

“4th Company! Present arms!”

The Drakes and Gnolls unsheathed their blades and held them out. The crowd jumped back, but the 4th Company’s track was perfectly calculated. They walked forwards, their feet a solid pounding beat accompanying the drums. And at their head rode a Drake whose scales were as fiery as the blush on her cheeks.

“Citizens of Liscor, I give you the hero of the Battle for Liscor. Wing Commander Embria!”

Lism roared over the sound. Krshia stared. She pointed at Embria.

“What is she doing here? This is not a military affair! The army left Liscor in our darkest—”

“The army was here! They held the line! Or do you forget that the 4th Company fought and died outside our walls?”

Lism bawled at the crowd. The Drakes, even the Gnolls, looked ashamed for a moment. The 4th Company did indeed have conspicuous holes in the hundred that had first come to Liscor. Krshia tried to shout something, but Lism had the momentum. And perhaps a voice-enhancing spell, because his voice resounded even over the marching 4th Company.

“The army defended us! It was Drake [Soldiers] and Gnoll [Guardsmen] on that wall! More than the Antinium. Liscor defended itself! And the army was here. If they had known the Goblin Lord was assaulting Liscor, our army would have come back in force to smash both the Goblins and Tyrion Veltras to bits! But I agree with honored Krshia. We should have more than just one company! That’s why if I’m elected, I’ll call for three more companies to be stationed permanently in Liscor!”

The thump thump thump of the boots was a backdrop to Lism’s voice as well as the beat of the drums.

“I’ve spoken with our High Command and they’ve agreed to send permanent reinforcements to aid our heroic City Watch. We don’t need foreigners and Ants flooding our city. I hear the Antinium want to bring more of their kind in. The High Command has also approved to fund Liscor’s walls with honest money the army earned themselves! Vote for me, and we’ll bring our army back! Bring them back! Bring them back!”

The crowd howled the same words behind Lism.

“Bring them back! No more Ants! No more Humans! Bring them back!”

Lism stood on his platform and raised a hand. Embria had reached him. Reluctantly, the Wing Commander looked around from the back of her restless steed. Lism pointed at her, raising a claw clenched in triumph.

“Wing Commander Embria stands with me for a united Liscor! A hero of the Battle for Liscor supports Lism Swifttail! Remember that! Who will back Krshia Silverfang? Not one of our army’s finest! Vote for Lism! Market Street! A vote for Lism is a vote against Krshia! A vote for a sane Liscor!”

The crowd around him roared approval. Krshia’s supporters shouted back, but the crowd that had come to listen wasn’t full of diehard supporters and they were drowned out. Pawn, wondering if he could block out the discordant sound, heard Drassi exclaiming next to the others.

“Oh, dead gods. He lives around here too! Selys! Lism’s in the same district as Krshia! It’s him or her!”

Zevara stared up at Embria. The Drake wasn’t exactly meeting anyone’s eyes. But the entire 4th Company was standing there, and Lism was continuing to shout over Krshia. Selys and Zevara slowly turned around. Ceria was chewing her lip and Pisces was frowning. But then they turned. Slowly, everyone looked at Erin. So did Pawn.

The [Innkeeper] raised her hands.

“Uh oh. Uh—that’s not my fault either.”

She hesitated.

“I think. I’m pretty sure. I…I think?”

—-

The streets around Market Street in Liscor were in uproar. The chant, the beating drums, and Lism’s voice was an unrelenting beat. A march of sound. But beneath Liscor, the Hive was just as mechanical.

Mechanical and silent. Usually. For the sounds the Antinium made as they went about their duties lacked voices. It lacked intention. The sounds were byproducts of tasks being carried out and as such, usually gave the Hive a sense of quiet, even in the noisiest corridors. It was unfeeling sound.

Until it was broken. The noise receded. And something small, quavering and meandering crept through the tunnels. It halted Workers in their tracks. It echoed. And it journeyed from place to place, a strange bit of audio in a world unprepared for it.

It was a song. And it came from the chambers of the Free Queen. The song trailed off and started. It went fast and it slow. But it was music. And it was as magic as magic itself.

The Soldiers standing guard shifted. One almost turned to look before he turned straight, watching for threats. And the sound travelled further, through the tunnels. And those who heard it, Worker and Soldier alike, paused. The Listeners grew still and their quiet notation of what they heard above halted for a second. Their ink-stained appendages, so much like a quill, stopped transcribing. Because they had no idea how to write music.

At first it was glorious. Then it was playful. Serious. Meandering. And then just silly. Inside the chambers, a little Antinium rocked back and forth on his back. The stump of one regrowing hand waved the air as Bird sang.

“Bird that I am. Birds that I see. A bird flies down and calls to me. Birds of the land, birds of the sea. Oh, I wish I had a bird to eat.”

It was a nonsense song. A silly song, one the Worker made up on the spot. Those were half the songs he sang. The other half were songs the Free Queen had never heard before, with words that Bird sometimes sang from memory, other times inserted into the existing lyrics. Songs he had been taught by Erin Solstice.

But it was a song. The Free Queen listened. Bird rocked back and forth, singing happily. Then he trailed off. She looked at him.

“Is that it?”

“I have not made the rest of the song. Perhaps there is no rest of it.”

He stared up at her innocently. The Free Queen nodded. That was an answer she’d learned to expect from Bird.

“Then sing me another song, Bird. Another song.”

“Okay.”

Bird happily acquiesced. With no context, with no warning, the pitch of his song suddenly changed. He sang a staccato, high-pitched melody.

“There-is-a-nutcracker. Who-cracks-nuts. There-he-goes. Cracking-nuts. Crack-crack-crack-crack-crack.”

After the silly song, the sudden change in music was as discordant as someone smacking two rocks together. The Free Queen sighed.

“Little Bird.”

“Yes?”

The Free Queen bent. In her cavernous chamber, her massive form bent down, to the little Worker lying on his back. The Free Queen inspected him with one huge eye.

“I have heard that song before. The song is Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. From a…play called The Nutcracker.”

“Yes.”

“I have a question.”

“Okay.”

Bird waited. The Free Queen sighed again.

“There are no faeries or sugar in your song, Bird. Just a song about a nutcracker who cracks nuts and kills birds by using them as bait. Why?”

“I do not know. I made up the words myself.”

“Ah.”

The Free Queen stared down at Bird. He stared back up at her. The Free Queen’s mandibles opened.

“I have many questions.”

“I have no answers.”

“I see. You may stop singing. I have heard enough for now.”

“Okay.”

Bird happily rocked back and forth. The Free Queen stared at him. One of Bird’s legs was pushing him off the ground, rocking him on his beetle-shell back. His regrowing limbs waved happily. They were rapidly regrowing. And Bird was animated. Perhaps too much. The Free Queen sighed, but without any rancor. She turned and her thoughts grew pensive.

For she was the Free Queen. And while Bird’s music was a welcome distraction, Klbkch’s messages to her reminded her of her duty. She turned her head and raised her voice.

“Bird. Garry. Come here.”

From out of the private kitchen an Antinium Worker appeared. Garry the [Cook] in charge of the Free Queen’s meals scurried out, looking distressed.

“My Queen, I am afraid your snack is not ready—”

“It is fine. Leave it. Approach. You too, little Bird.”

Garry nodded and came forwards to halt, staring up at his Queen. Bird rolled over until he was lying in front of the Free Queen. She looked down at them.

“Bird. Garry. I am about to speak of a subject of utmost importance to the Hive. You two will respond to the best of your abilities.”

The two Workers looked up at her. Bird slowly stopped rocking. Garry stood straighter.

“Yes, my Queen.”

“Good. Then listen. Garry. Bird. I tested you, once before. To see if you were worthy of being True Antinium. You failed.”

Garry’s antennae quivered. Bird opened his mandibles.

“I remember that. Pawn was very sad.”

The Free Queen looked down blankly at him.

“Was he? It may be an appropriate reaction. But do you recall the nature of the test?”

“I…recall some of it, my Queen. But I do not remember all of it.”

Garry slowly took off the chef’s hat he had been allowed to buy. Bird wiggled his antennae.

“No.”

“I asked you what the purpose of the Antinium was. Recall your answers.”

Bird hesitated. He looked up at the Free Queen.

“Was it…something about birds?”

“Yes. And it was incorrect. Garry. Do you recall what Bird does not?”

The Free Queen looked at Garry. The Worker hesitated. Then he spoke in a clear voice, trembling slightly.

“I do, my Queen. We answered, each in turn. Belgrade answered that it was to defend and protect the Hive. Anand believed it was to level up and serve the Hive in that way. Pawn thought it was to…be better. That fewer would die. Bird thought it was to eat birds. I—I asked if it was to replicate and create more Hives. Is that the answer, my Queen?”

“No.”

The response was flat. Cold. Garry flinched under it. Bird just stared up. The Queen looked down on them. And the pleasant music that Bird had sung was a distant memory. Now she was pensive. Thinking deeply. And unhappy. Both Bird and Garry could see that in her.

“Bird. Garry. You both failed that test. Your answers were false. But I will test you a second time. So. Listen. And answer. What is the purpose of the Antinium?”

And the Free Queen waited, the answer in her mind, shouting. And she looked at the two Workers. At Bird especially. And she waited. The two Workers looked at each other. Garry was first.

“Is it to be happy?”

“No. Bird.”

The little Worker stared up at the Queen. She stared back and her antennae quivered. She had thought on this for weeks. And she had not dared test Bird, because of what it might mean. She was afraid. But duty was duty. She did not know if she wanted him to be wrong or right. Bird thought for a long while. Then he answered slowly, haltingly.

“Is it not to eat birds?”

The Free Queen exhaled. The wind ruffled both Worker’s antennae. Relieved, almost relaxed, the Free Queen reached down with one large feeler. Bird made a sound as she lifted him up, cradling him.

“No. You are incorrect. You have failed.”

Bird didn’t react in any particular way to the news. But the words staggered Garry like a blow. He looked down, and then up. He spread all four hands slowly towards the Free Queen.

“My Queen. You ask us a question with many answers but only one true one. May I ask…how should we know the correct answer? Is it something Revalantor Klbkch would know the answer to? He never told us, my Queen.”

“He was never meant to.”

“Then why ask? Is it something we should know?”

“Yes.”

The Free Queen rocked Bird. His mandibles opened in a smile. She half-turned from Garry. He spoke again, hesitantly.

“But how should we know? If we were not told—is it something we should have known from our creation, my Queen?”

The Free Queen hesitated. But the truth didn’t matter to the test. She turned her head back.

“The question does not matter. It is a different one each time. But the answer matters. It must be the same as mine. Do you understand, [Cook] Garry?”

He hesitated and shook his head.

“No, my Queen. I do not understand.”

“Ah. Then look at me, Garry.”

He did. A tiny Worker appeared in the Queen’s gaze. She stared down at him and held the answer in her mind.

“This is the nature of the test. I ask you a question. Any question. And you answer it. What number do I think of, Gary? That is the test. Now. Listen. I am telling you the answer. Can you hear it?”

The Worker listened. He looked up at the Free Queen’s closed mandibles. He looked at Bird. The Worker was staring up at the Free Queen. After a minute, Garry shook his head.

“I am sorry, my Queen. I hear nothing. But you said nothing. How was I supposed to hear it?”

“With this.”

The Free Queen lowered another feeler. Garry flinched as the feeler gently touched his antennae. Then, wonderingly, he reached up to touch it.

“My Queen? But you can hear my thoughts with it. And you can order me. Or—if I concentrated—”

“I can hear you, Garry. With effort. If you project your thoughts as you are ordered. I can even send my will to you. But you cannot hear me. I must be the one who sends to you. Do you understand that?”

Garry slowly nodded. Bird tilted his head.

“We can hear and speak. And you can hear and speak, Queen. But only one of us has a voice and ears?”

“Yes. That is…close, Bird. Garry. Do you understand?”

The Free Queen looked at him. The [Cook] hesitated.

“I think I do, my Queen. Forgive my ignorance.”

“It is a question. I answered. Now you understand why you failed.”

Wearily, relieved, the Free Queen waved a feeler. She looked at Garry. A month or two ago she would have never said more than a few words to him. Now, she spoke to him. On occasion. She knew his name. Because of the Worker gently humming below her. She put Bird down. She had hoped he would hear the answer. Feared it.

“You may go, Garry. Bring Bird a snack. An Ashfire Bee if one is left.”

“Or a bird.”

“Or a bird.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

Garry sketched a bow. Then he hesitated. He turned back and hesitantly looked at the Free Queen. She, sending a mental order, did not miss the gesture. She looked back.

“Soldiers. Escort. Garry. Speak.”

Two of the Soldiers stationed at the entrance to the chambers left at a trot. Garry looked up at the Free Queen. And then he spoke.

“My Queen. Forgive me. But will you tell me the answer to your question? What is the purpose of the Antinium?”

He waited. Then he flinched as the Queen looked down at him. Her huge head bent. And her voice was very quiet.

“Return to the blighted lands. Destroy the thing that lurks in the darkness. Return and bring death to the deathless one. Destroy all that lives on Rhir and render it to dust. Avenge, revenge the Antinium. For her. For her memory, and in her name. That is the purpose the Antinium have. The purpose that burns in the hearts of the Prognugators and the Queens. It should be your existence. But it is not.”

Garry stumbled back. The Free Queen looked at him.

“You cannot hear it. Though I roar the name in my mind, Garry the [Cook]. And though you do not mean it, you offend me.”

“I—I am sorry, my Queen.”

“For what? You were not created properly. You are a failure. The fault is not yours.”

The Free Queen straightened abruptly. Garry spoke again.

“That was what you told us.”

“That was why Pawn was sad.”

Bird spoke up. The Free Queen looked at them.

“It is the truth. You two are failures. For all you are Individual.”

“But I thought—aren’t we what the Free Antinium set out to create, my Queen? Individuals? That is what Revalantor Klbkch claims.”

The Free Queen mulled over the statement.

“Klbkch speaks a half-truth. We set out to create Individuals. But I would rather have created True Antinium. Because Individuals shape the Hive. But the True Antinium are all Antinium.”

“And what separates them from us? Hearing? Listening with the mind?”

Garry’s voice shook. As if the denial of his purpose had shaken him. Bird just rocked back and forth. Back and forth. The Queen’s voice was flat.

“Yes. There have always been Soldiers. Always Workers. They did not look like you. They were…far different. But they fulfilled the same tasks. And no matter how they looked, they were Antinium. Because they were part of the Hive. I had only to think, and that will would be carried out. The Antinium were not separate, but one mind. A Queen was but one part of a whole. A Soldier a limb. We were together. We never marched alone.”

“I am with Garry. We are not alone.”

Bird spoke up, almost defiantly. The Free Queen shook her head.

“Little Bird. You do not understand. Tell me. Do you think the Soldiers who guard this Hive are strong?”

The question made Bird and Garry look at each other. Both nodded. The Queen laughed and it was a hollow sound.

“Why? Because they have strength? Numbers? A thicker carapace? That is not strength. An army of Soldiers fights together. It is true. The Antinium have cohesion. But the True Antinium were beyond that. If you had seen them, you would understand. An army of True Antinium Soldiers moved as one being. They looked with a thousand eyes. Thought with a thousand minds. Thus linked, an army of Soldiers could outmaneuver most [Strategists], and fight with a unity no other force could match. Imagine it. A Soldier could dodge a blow from behind, or know a charge was coming without needing to hear. He would comprehend and react at the speed of thought!”

“Oh.”

Garry nodded. Bird opened his mandibles.

“But we all react at the speed of thought. Don’t we?”

Garry and the Free Queen looked down at him. Bird shrank.

“Don’t we? Am I wrong? I am wrong. Wrong…”

The Free Queen patted his stomach gently. Bird stop rocking.

“They thought with every mind present, Bird. That is the difference. Consider this. One of the abilities of the True Antinium was the power to coordinate flawlessly over long distances. Queens could work together in small groups or by the hundreds and amplify our connection. It was known as a Unitasis Network—we formed a similar bond during the First and Second Antinium Wars, the few of us that remained. But we had to route our connections through our Prognugators, and at distance we lost focus, cohesion. If we had armies of True Antinium, we would have not needed to strain so to make our voices heard. We would not have needed Prognugators.”

“Because we would have all been linked. One command would have reached us all.”

The Free Queen nodded. Garry understood. He looked up at her.

“Is that what we lost, my Queen? In our voyage across the sea?”

She looked down at him, startled. Dark memories swam across the Free Queen’s mind, but she chased them back. She bent down.

“What do you know of the crossing of the ocean, Garry?”

He shrank. The Free Queen forced herself to pull her head back.

“Only—only what Anand said, my Queen. He found a book. About the Antinium Wars. It said that we lost many ships leaving Rhir. Were we on Rhir?”

The question was both painful and offensive. The Free Queen recoiled from Garry and her body rose, almost convulsing. She raised her limbs furiously. And then paused. He did not know. It was not his fault. Garry flinched, looking up at his Queen. When she spoke, her voice was taut.

“You have never witnessed the True Antinium. You cannot imagine it, little Garry, little Bird. But the six remaining Queens of the Antinium remember. Xrn. Ksmvr. Wrymvr. The last of the Centenium. They remember. Yes. We were on Rhir. We may still be. And we left it. And we were glorious. Look around. Look around my chambers. Look upon me. Walk the length of our Hive. And understand this if nothing else, Garry, Bird. What you think is the Antinium is nothing less than a fraction of what we are. What we were.”

They looked up at her. And they had no reference, no frame to understand. But the Free Queen tried to make them understand. Suddenly, she was gripped by that horrible compulsion. She tried to project it to them as if they were Klbkchhezeim. But they were deaf and mute.

“You think this Hive is large? It is small. Insignificant. You think I am a proper Queen? I am weak. Compared to my predecessors, I am a fool. A fool, and pathetic.”

“But you are our Queen.”

Garry’s voice was small. The Free Queen paused. Then she shook her head.

“You were not there. You did not see them. The glories of a true Hive. The forms of true Antinium. As varied as the species that walk Izril. There were so many Queens. So many Prognugators and Centenium, yes Centenium like Klbkch. But he was different too. Our Hives stretched countless miles down into the earth. Our armies could have swept across Izril like a true tide. In our youth, we were mighty.”

They were just words. But still, they held Bird and Garry. The Free Queen went on, and her eyes saw glorious halls and sights that decades had failed to erase. A glimpse. Oh, a glimpse.

“We were so strong! We emerged from the ground and took all four walls of Rhir. We could have taken the capital, but we were fleeing. The kingdom was necessary to safeguard. So we left. Because our enemy was that strong. That terrible. That even the combined Hives of the True Antinium and our armies were helpless against it.”

The shadows grew long on the Free Queen’s chambers. She raised her feelers helplessly, as if she could conjure the scenes she spoke of with shadows instead of memory.

“We fled. Yes. But even in flight, in retreat, in decline, it was an age of glory that exceeds any of a species above ground. They wane. But we are a species younger than any other. We were created. And we created ourselves. You have seen Klbkchhezeim’s new form. I shaped that. But my work is clumsy. Slight. The Queens of old were capable of shaping chitin and flesh as easily as Garry shapes food. They created Antinium of every color and size and function to serve the Hive’s needs. And we had our champions.”

“Who were they?”

Bird’s voice was wondering. Garry simply stood, staring at his Queen as she spoke, more animated than he had ever seen her. The Free Queen struggled to even speak.

“How could I ever tell you if I could not show you? They were giants. War Queens, mighty and immune to harm. Shaper Queens, who spun new Antinium as easily as thought. And Hive Queens, who administrated our Hives, tended to supplies and security and expansion. And there were smaller Queens too. Junior Queens who assisted the older Queens in their duties. I—I was a Junior Queen.”

“You?”

“Oh yes. Barely created. I was one of the last generation to leave our home. And I was part of the fleet sent to cross the oceans. To take Terandria, a nation described to us as weakest of the four other continents. But we failed the voyage.”

“Because of the water.”

Both Workers shuddered. The Free Queen hesitated.

“No. Yes. Perhaps. It was a failing of parts. We had never been at sea. We knew water, but we had never dreamed of sailing across it. We underestimated the distance. The trials. But we might have made it better than we had. We had brought an army. But the army died without more than a fraction having fought.”

“How? Did the boats sink?”

The Free Queens’ voice darkened. The shadows cast on the wall writhed.

“Worse. They died asleep. The bulk of our force was sealed in the bottom of the ships. In stasis, to avoid the need to consume our own during the voyage. We left the mightiest of our Queens and the Centenium to guard the ships. We thought…the Grand Queen of the time must have thought it was enough. It was not.”

Her voice quivered. And then grew flat. As if emotion were something you could simply switch off.

“First it was pursuit. Warships sent by Rhir. They sank our ships with fire and magic. We were unprepared. The Antinium had not adapted to the water. We could not swim. They used that against us and sank our ships. But we destroyed them. Then came pirates. People of the waters. They clashed with us. We killed them. Overran their vessels and slaughtered them at sea. Monsters preyed on us. We hunted them. Soldiers leapt from the edges of the boats and died killing their foes. But we continued. Our fleet would have made it. Then the storms came.”

The darkness closed in as the two Workers looked up at the looming Free Queen. She whispered, reaching out. Rain and water fell from the skies, until it seemed as if the horizon, the ocean itself was all water.

“I have never seen such storms. Xrn says they were more than winter storms. They came from Wistram itself, from the [Mages] of every nation in the world. I do not know. I only know that the waves were fifty times as large as the tallest ships. They swallowed ships whole. And yet, we sailed through them. Xrn broke the waves in half with magic. The Queens sailed their ships through whirlpools and maelstroms. They had never crossed the ocean, but they dared the storms. And for every ship that broke, six survived. And we might have survived. But then it came.”

“What?”

Something with a hundred limbs reached out. The Free Queen looked around. One of the lead ships disappeared. A Queen called a warning in thought and mind. Below the ships, a dark shadow appeared in the churning waters. One miles long.

“I understand it to be called a Kraken. A devourer of fleets. This enemy brought the storm. Or perhaps the storm summoned it. It came to feast. And it brought all the horrors of the ocean with it. But the Antinium did not give in. We had nowhere to run. So we brought the fight to it. Our Queens dove from the railings. They cut it. Xrn brought down lightning. But it was not enough. One by one, they leapt. Into the waters.”

Galuc the Builder clung to a tentacle as it gripped a ship. The giant of the Antinium tore into flesh until the limb retreated to the waters. And blood turned the waters purple. But Galuc never returned. The Antinium were leaping, into a maw that split the sea. Fighting, dying, as the ships struggled to flee.

“Sixteen of the Centenium died there. Klbkchhezeim lost his true form. And our fleet sank, and with it, all the true Antinium were lost into the waters before they had a chance to fight. Sorcery could not damage the vessels our War Queens and Shaper Queens resided in. Even the Soldier’s containers were impregnable against ordinary steel wielded by faulty flesh. But water killed the Antinium of Rhir, where no other force in the world could. We have never suffered such a defeat save for when the First Queen fell.”

The roaring storm subsided. The howl of the Kraken faded into memory. The ships drifted as Xrn’s magics kept them together. Wrymvr flew, cutting a path in blood towards the shore, a distant speck. And the Free Queen looked around for someone. Anyone. But all that was left were children. Two hundred warships gone. Four, battered, sinking, all that remained.

Gone.

“We were less than twenty when we landed on Izril. We were all juniors. The oldest of us was an apprentice. And we had lost everything. All you see now, the works of decades, is a paltry fraction compared to what left Rhir. A disgrace.”

The Free Queen’s limbs trembled. The hole in her was opening, trying to swallow her again. She looked around reflexively, but there was nothing to eat. Two Workers stared up at her. So she finished the story, bitterly.

“I lost my mentor. She died before my eyes. I saw our Grand Queen’s ship go down. Our species died there, on the water. We were supposed to be the hope. In a decade we would have returned to Rhir bringing justice and retribution. Instead, we are locked in a struggle. Forced to a stalemate by a handful of species incapable of working together. That is the Antinium of now. But we were greater then. She was greater than I will ever be.”

“Who?”

Garry asked, but the Free Queen could not speak her name. She retreated, sinking down. And the word beat at her mind, a scream of longing, regret. Until she heard it.

“Bessachidia.”

The Free Queen thought she’d said it out loud. But the voice that spoke it was quiet. Male. She looked down. Bird stared up at her. He said the name again.

“Bessachidia. It is a pretty name.”

“How do you know that name?”

The Free Queen breathed slowly. Then not at all. She reached down. Bird tilted his head as she lifted him up, staring at him.

“I can hear it. Like a distant bird flapping. Very far away. Sometimes, it sounds like the other thoughts in my head. Or words. Is that what it is? Is that you, my Queen? I thought it was just me. Or something else.”

“You can hear me.”

“Maybe?”

Bird was uncertain. He looked at the Free Queen intently, like the birds he hunted. The Free Queen shook her head.

“You heard me. Then, at the battle with the Goblin Lord. You heard me and the Soldiers.”

“They were laughing. And sad. But laughing. Sometimes I hear things like that. You were very loud.”

“I was.”

“That was her name. A Queen had a name? Was—was she the Grand Queen?”

Garry’s voice was awed. The Free Queen laughed bitterly.

“She was not the Grand Queen. Bessachidia was my teacher. My mentor and one of the finest Queens ever to be created of the Hives. She was a Shaper Queen, a master of manipulating and creating the essence of which all Antinium are formed. She could weave forms as well as any but our First Queen. She might have even created something akin to one of the Centenium had she the resources and time.”

“Ooh.”

That was all Bird said. The Free Queen made a sound like laughter as she held him. And it was laughter; the True Antinium had known laughter, rare as it was. It was said the First Queen laughed before she died. But now the Free Queen thought of her mentor.

“Bessachidia. If she had lived, she could have brought all the war forms and images of our people to live on Izril, even alone. She could have created other Queens. And she could have fixed you in minutes, little one. I was meant to learn from her. Everything I have done now is based on the few lessons I learned. I, and the Silent Queen. But we were never Shaper Queens. We were just…”

Her voice trailed off. Birds looked up at her. Garry was trembling, overcome by too many emotions.

“Do you want to go back?”

“Where?”

“To Rhir. You said you’d go back. Was that a lie? Erin does not like it when I lie.”

The question paused the Free Queen. She stared at Bird. Then she nodded. Slowly.

“Yes. That is what we swore. And that is what the Grand Queen claims we will do, when Izril is ours. But I do not know if she believes. And the other Queens—I do not know if they believe.”

“Do you?”

“Yes. I still believe. I still work for that day, little Bird. The day we return and bring justice and vengeance to Rhir. So does Klbkch. But I have grown. I am…different now. Very different from the Queen I once was. I eat this—food. I cannot help it. I cannot stop. It hurts.”

She gestured towards Garry’s kitchen. And the [Cook] looked up at her, suddenly alarmed. Bird glanced at the kitchen.

“Does it hurt very muchly? Eating?”

“No. Living. Always, Bird. We destroyed our bodies birthing the first thousands of Antinium. And we were not meant for it; we had to modify ourselves during those first days in Izril. Experiment—some of us bore more of the cost than others. Silent Queen, the Flying Queen, and I were…lucky. We were youngest, our bodies frail, so we were not chosen for the first tests. The older Queens accepted it. Eight died. Of the first that survived were the Twisted Queen. The Armored Queen. The Grand Queen at the time was less affected. But we all suffer.”

“It sounds bad. I do not like it. Do you want a healing potion?”

Bird’s voice quivered. The Free Queen made a sound like a laugh.

“It is. And no healing potion can change how our bodies have altered, Bird. But we persevere. And I—I have found what I need. I was exiled from the other Hives. Cast out, because I tried to create an Individual. Or one of the True Antinium. One who could think as we originally did. I thought it was an impossible task at times. But Klbkchhezeim believed. And now. Now I have found a True Antinium.”

“Where?”

Bird looked around excitedly. The Free Queen made the same sound. Garry looked up.

“She means you, Bird.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

The Free Queen reached for Bird’s head. And she stopped. She looked at Bird and tried. Oh, she tried. But it was hard. Harder than words. It shouldn’t have been. Why did it have to be him?

“If it were my mentor, she could have found out what makes you different. But I am not her. I have none of her Skill. And even if I took you apart, I might not find out what it makes the True Antinium. But even a fragment of a chance is enough. If I could just kill you without regret. If you did not sing, little Bird. How easy it would be.”

And he looked at her. And the Free Queen saw he understood. Bird looked at her feelers. At her limbs. At her. And he spoke clearly.

“But I do not want to die.”

“I know.”

The Free Queen held him to her face. Her mandibles opened and closed.

“And yet, you can hear me. Barely. But it is enough. What makes you so, Bird? I must know. The True Antinium are what made us strong. If I was sure it would be so easy. And if I knew it would matter…to strike a blow at our enemy, I would kill you, dear Bird. I would tear myself apart bit by bit if it would help.”

“But I do not want to die.”

He looked at her. The Free Queen hesitated. She reached for him and Bird rocked. But the Free Queen did not touch him. Slowly, gently, she placed him on the ground. Garry ran to Bird and hugged him. Bird stared up. The Free Queen sat. And she felt old and tired. And it hurt.

“What should I do? We are waning, Bird. Waning. Even Klbkchhezeim, my Slayer, is faded.”

“Really? Klbkch is very scary. He has swords.”

This time the Free Queen did laugh. She thought of Klbkchhezeim and laughed, and laughed, a despairing, echoing sound.

“Once upon a time, he needed no blades. His body was a weapon. He walked in shadows and danced like death as he cut his enemies apart. We lost his form in the waves, and only the Silent Queen’s imitations even come close to what he was. He was Centenium. And we will never recreate that, not with a thousand years of trying.”

Garry and Bird looked up. Garry was holding Bird protectively. He dragged Bird backwards slowly, edging away from the Queen.

“My Queen, what are the Centenium?”

The Free Queen watched him.

“The Centenium were a hundred prototypes, Garry. Created by the First Queen, whose skill was unrivaled, even by Bessachidia or the other Shaper Queens who came after. Each one unique. We could copy their forms, but never their identity. And now there are three. Three, from a hundred. Can you imagine the loss?”

“Yes, my Queen. But what can be done?”

Garry was tugging Bird back. A few more steps and he’d be out of the Free Queen’s immediate reach. She spoke slowly.

“That is the question all the Queens ask. Each has another answer, hence our Hives. The other Queens believe it is numbers, or armaments, of a superior form that will save the Antinium. I say not. I say, war with the Drakes is fruitless. I say we are bound to return. And I say that we must have our Centenium. Our leaders. Our heroes.”

Garry stopped. Bird looked up.

“Heroes, my Queen?”

She nodded. And the Free Queen rose as she raised herself on old limbs. Garry began to retreat with Bird. But the cavern was suddenly so small.

“The Centenium were heroes. They were our greatest, Individuals. For we had Individuals. Prognugators, even among the True Antinium. They led us. And they were what we have not been able to replicate. Queens and heroes. That is why I came to Liscor. And that is why you, Garry, and you Bird are precious. Too precious to kill.”

She caught them. Garry stopped. He looked up at the Free Queen. Bird did too, on his back.

“I am good at killing things. But I am only Bird.”

“Yes. But you are an Individual. One of four true Individuals. And you are strong, little Bird. Klbkchhezeim told me you killed a Flesh Worm yourself in the dungeon.”

“…Maybe? Was it a bird?”

The Free Queen shrugged.

“It does not matter. You are precious. And you sing. If you did not, little Bird, I would never have cared. But you sing. Bessachidia sang. And you are Bird.”

“Yes. Will you kill me, my Queen?”

“No.”

The Free Queen sat. She raised a feeler and Garry turned to her. And both he and she were trembling.

“Garry. Take Bird before I change my mind. Bring him somewhere else. Far from me. And Bird, grow your legs. Grow your arms. And go back to your inn. Grow. Level. And never be injured. Never come back to me. When you die, I will take your body and find out what makes you True Antinium.”

Garry bowed. Bird looked up at the Free Queen.

“But I like you.”

“And I like you, little Bird. So fly away. Or else I will eat you.”

The Free Queen bent. And Bird reached up. She touched his hand. And Garry pulled him towards the door. The Soldiers stood there. Garry slowed. Her mandibles opened and he gasped. The Free Queen ignored him. She looked past Garry, past Bird. And she spoke to the Antinium gathered there, and to her faithful Prognugator above.

“Klbkchhezeim. Come back to the Hive. You say it is time? Very well. I am ready. Show these Drakes, then. And show the Free Antinium something akin to what you were. What Xrn is.”

She rose. And Garry and Bird stopped. The Antinium standing in the doorway paused and the Soldier retreated. The Free Queen spoke.

“You. I am tired. But you are my greatest work yet. You, who know why the Antinium struggle. Go. And show me something that can rival the true Antinium. Show me a new kind of Antinium.”

She received no reply. Garry looked back at the Free Queen and tugged Bird towards the door. The Worker, lying on his back, stared up as he passed by Soldiers. He blinked and his antennae waved. He spoke almost hesitantly.

“Hello. My name is Bird.”

“I know.”

—-

Two sides met and mingled in Market Street. But the debate, no, the argument had taken a life of its own across the city. Somehow, the debate had changed. It wasn’t ‘should we have an election’, it was ‘who will we choose?’ And the easy question became difficult.

“Let me ask you something, people of Liscor. Do we want more adventurers crowding our city? Do we need the Antinium to do the jobs of our [Builders], [Bricklayers], and [Masons]? And, with respect to ‘honored Krshia’, is she really the best person for the Council?”

Lism stood on his platform and shouted at the crowd. Drakes booed Krshia. Some Gnolls looked unhappy. The 4th Company of Liscor’s army marched, their breastplates gleaming in the sun. Lism pointed at them.

“For your consideration, citizens of Liscor! A hero of Liscor! And Wing Commander Embria does not trust the Antinium. Do you?”

On the other side, Krshia growled and her Gnolls howled insults and Drakes shouted insults at Lism’s crowd.

“The army sent back only a hundred soldiers in Liscor’s direst hour! Is that heroism? The Antinium fought for the city! They saved it from the Necromancer, no? Is that not worthy of trust?”

The crowd split and mingled. Lism bellowed, his scales flushed with rage.

“Who held the line in front of Liscor? Our army! Who kept the Goblins from the breach, who foiled Tyrion Veltras’ plans? Wing Commander Embria!”

“Hero of Liscor? You mean, Butcher of Liscor! It was Goblins who saved the city. An army of them, not a hundred or so [Soldiers]!”

Krshia bellowed back. But not everyone was with her, not even her own species. In the crowd, Erin looked up at Lism, fists clenched. Pawn was silent. Hurt. He wanted to leave the crowd, but Lyonette was holding his hand tightly. She glared up at Lism. Selys’ voice was tight.

“You get up there, Erin. Tell him to go walk into a Shield Spider nest.”

“No.”

“You’re more of a hero than Embria ever—”

“No.”

Drassi looked at Zevara and Selys.

“Not that I’m saying this is a good idea, but what about Numbtong—”

“No.”

Everyone around Drassi chorused that. A Goblin wasn’t the right person to call a hero at this moment. More than a few citizens around Lism were waving old banners, Drake banners with heraldry of Dragons, or Liscor’s symbol, a cut line bisecting the outline of Izril. The city that divided a continent.

And it was a divided crowd that Lism crowed to. He pointed at Krshia.

“Butcher? Harsh words for someone who fought! Wing Commander Embria held the line to defend our city. She had orders, and for Liscor, she would have died. She is a daughter of the city, and she does not trust the Antinium. Wing Commander?”

There was a shuffle. Wing Commander Embria got onto the podium, looking upset. But her voice was clear as she spoke.

“The Antinium cannot be trusted. Will you trust them with the walls of our city? Why not let honest Drakes and Gnolls build it with their own claws? Why not let us defend our home?”

She raised her spear and the 4th Company shouted in reply. The crowd looked at Krshia. And the Gnoll had no one to hold up.

The issue was dividing the crowd. Goblins and Antinium. Humans and open borders versus the Walled Cities and Liscor’s army. It wasn’t that Lism was making great points; it was just that whenever Krshia tried to poke holes in his words, he’d have the drums begin banging or shout over her.

“Do we even need an election? Why not let the army send their reinforcements? Why risk doing things like Pallass? Do we need to deal with this?”

Lism changed his stance a third time, appealing to the parts of the crowd that were sick of the argument on the streets. Krshia opened her mouth and shouted back at him.

“Are you afraid of Gnolls on the Council, Lism?”

“I’m not the one trying to strike a deal with the Antinium to steal a spot, Silverfang. Why do you feel entitled to a seat?”

Lism sneered back. Krshia glowered.

“Why not put it to a vote, then? An honest vote?”

“Oh, sure, sure! Let me see. Vote for the Gnoll who came here ten years ago or a Drake that’s lived in Liscor all his life? And who has the support of a hero of Liscor?”

Lism raised his arms to another cheer from his supporters. Selys ground her teeth together.

“That’s not even an argument! He’s just making noise! Krshia’s getting killed up there! Erin, come on, you can shout something at Lism.”

She grabbed Erin’s arm. But the young woman looked sick as she stared at Lism.

“I don’t want to.”

“Erin—of all the times—!”

“If she does not wish to speak, it would be a minor felony to force her to do so against her will, Miss Selys. This is a warning, although I am not currently on duty.”

A voice spoke up from behind Selys. Pawn turned. Watch Captain Zevara blinked.

“Klbkch?”

The Antinium had appeared out of the crowd. He calmly surveyed the scene.

“I seem to have arrived in time. And I understand this argument has gone against Shopkeeper Krshia? I see. Her ability to debate Shopkeeper Lism is impaired. She is using rational arguments. The trick is to employ words like swords. Something I had to learn from people who were not Antinium.”

“What?”

Everyone around Klbkch stared at him. But Pawn only looked at Klbkch and silently moved out of the way. Klbkch walked past him.

“If you would allow me, Watch Captain Zevara, I believe I can assist Miss Krshia at this moment.”

“If you think you can—be my guest!”

Klbkch nodded. He reached for a stone at his throat and clicked his mandibles.

Click.

The sound made the entire crowd wince. Lism swore at the same volume and looked around, clutching at his earholes.

“Who on—oh. One of them.”

He pointed at Klbkch with disgust. Some of the Drakes among his supporters made disgusted expressions, but most of the crowd, even those supporting Lism, turned to Klbkch with curiosity. The [Soldiers] in Embria’s 4th Company were among those who glared at Klbkch. The Antinium made a sound like clearing his throat.

“Good evening. Pardon my interruption. I would simply like to clarify a few details for the sake of accuracy. To begin with, the Antinium have no goal of sabotaging Liscor or its walls. Our offer to assist with the construction of Liscor’s walls and contribute funds to the city was made with goodwill. I deeply regret any misunderstandings that have occurred due to lack of clarification.”

He gazed steadily at Lism as he said that. The [Shopkeeper] flushed.

“Well, how can we trust—”

This time it was Klbkch who spoke over Lism.

“Furthermore, I would like to clarify a detail surrounding the battle for Liscor as it is being referred to, against the Goblin Lord’s army. For right or wrong, Liscor’s army did fight. But a fraction held the walls and took to the field. Statistically, Pallass’ army spilled twenty eight times more blood than Liscor’s army did on the field. They held the walls. And the Antinium took to the field before Wing Commander Embria.”

This time, there was silence. Erin leaned over to Pawn.

“Oh snap.”

The 4th Company of Liscor’s army was giving Klbkch a death-glare as was Wing Commander Embria. Lism’s face mottled.

“Are you—Senior Guardsman Klbkch—accusing Wing Commander Embria and the heroes, no martyrs who gave their lives of cowardice? How dare you. How—”

“I do not make any allegations of cowardice, Shopkeeper Lism. I only respectfully point out that if there is a debt in blood to be honored, it is to be shared with the Antinium and Goblins who died to the last to stop the Goblin Lord. For they did die. Goblins attacked Liscor. And Goblins saved it.”

“Lies! That was a Goblin civil war, not some grand act of goodness!”

Lism bellowed loud enough to make the shutters rattle on nearby apartments. Klbkch’s voice snapped back, calm and collected as the ice.

“Shopkeeper Lism. I am Senior Guardsman Klbkch. I do not lie. To do so would be a violation of my duty. And you are one of the people I am sworn to protect and serve, sir. That duty I will uphold until death and after it. Regardless of how I am perceived in your eyes. Goblins fought for Liscor. And they did so to save the city. That is the truth. I will swear it on a truth detection spell. Will you do the same?”

The Drake hesitated. Before he could reply, Klbkch turned. And his voice rose by another order of magnitude.

“Wing Commander Embria is a hero of Liscor. And so is Watch Captain Zevara. They held the walls and they held the breach. But they did not assail the Goblin Lord. They did not give their lives for the city. My Soldiers did. I would remind those listening that they died for this city. And the Antinium believe in Krshia Silverfang’s vision for Liscor. They believe it is something worth dying to protect.”

The Drakes and Gnolls quieted. They listened, and looked at Klbkch. And he stood alone, in a circle of people who were not his own.

“I regret that I am unable to bring forwards a company of the victorious Soldiers who fought against the Goblin Lord. But they perished in the line of their duties, unlike the 4th Company of Liscor. And yet, a hero of that battle does stand with us.”

His head turned. Pawn, standing a few feet away from him, had a terrible premonition and began to back away. Klbkch looked at him. And Pawn felt Selys grab his arm and look pleadingly at him. But the Worker was shaking his head frantically as more and more Drakes and Gnolls looked at him and remembered.

“I have heard that true heroes never die. This is true of the Antinium. If Wing Commander Embria stands here, it is only fair that a hero of the Antinium answer her.”

“No. No.”

Pawn resisted the clawed hands pushing him forwards. He was going to shout at Klbkch. He could not do this. But strangely, Klbkch was not looking at him. His head had turned past Pawn. And slowly, Pawn’s head turned too. And he heard it.

A shout. A cry that rent the air. Above the shouting of the crowd, Lism’s failing voice charm. Shouts. And then screams.

“The Antinium are invading! Sound the alarm!”

Someone cried that in the distance. Every head turned back to Klbkch. He did not reply. And the crowd laughed. Someone had probably seen that patrol of Antinium. Who was panicking? Idiots.

But it was an invasion. The laughter became gasps and even screams. A black army was flooding out of the Hive. Soldiers were rushing out of the Hive. Soldiers and Workers. They filled the streets, pouring forwards.

“Attack! It’s a coup! Flee for your lives! Soldiers, defend us!”

Lism panicked on his platform. The 4th Company formed a line and Embria grabbed her spear, staring. Then her eyes widened. Pawn, craning to see, desperately pushed through the crowd. The Drakes and Gnolls moved back, afraid of the black tide that flowed forth. But it was not towards the other Antinium that Pawn looked.

And the Free Antinium followed him. A single figure, striding out ahead of the rest. He was not like the Soldiers or Workers that followed him. Not in body. Nor in whom he was.

He was taller. Larger. The Soldiers, who were all the same were a head shorter than he was. And this Antinium’s body was enhanced beyond even that of the regular Soldiers. His four arms flexed, and his fully-realized digits stretched in the air. The sun shone down on his shoulders. And he walked in front of them, taller with each step. A colossus. A familiar soul.

He came to a stop as Pawn stumbled forwards. The Worker was shaking. Disbelieving. It couldn’t be. But it was. The giant looked down at Pawn. And he was taller than Pawn remembered. His body was changed. But the smile was the same. And the yellow glinting off the arm he offered Pawn was real.

The Antinium turned to the crowd. And he opened his mandibles and spoke.

“I am Yellow Splatters.”

His voice was deep. And commanding. Yellow Splatters stood in front of the people of Liscor. And his body was new. It had been built by a despairing Queen. It had been filled with a soul of a Soldier. A dying warrior. A son of Liscor. And though he had not been created with the genius of the Shaper Queens of old, the Free Queen of the Antinium could give him a voice. And voices were just sound. Easy to make. So she had given him the voice of a leader. A general.

A hero.

Yellow Splatters opened his mandibles and spoke. To the disbelieving citizens. To the 4th Company of Izril, who faced this giant among Antinium uneasily. To Erin Solstice, eyes full of tears. To the Antinium of his Hive. And to Pawn. And the Antinium could not weep. But they could listen.

“I am Yellow Splatters. I perished in battle against the Goblin Lord. My hundred Soldiers and I fought to the last for Liscor. I was brought back to life. I have heard what Krshia Silverfang has proposed. And the Free Antinium of Liscor supports her. For Liscor is worth dying for. This is what I have come here to say. The Antinium die for Liscor. Let us help build our home as well.”

That was all. Two of Yellow Splatter’s arms came up and he saluted along his left side. Then he turned and walked back. But that was all he needed to say. In the silence, no one could speak. Not even Lism. Well, not really.

“That’s clearly an impostor. They got another Soldier, put yellow paint on him—they all look alike. How could anyone fall for…”

He trailed off and stared at Yellow Splatter’s back. Someone whispered as Yellow Splatters passed by, followed by his people.

“It’s part of his body. Look.”

The bits of yellow on his body weren’t paint. They weren’t added on. The yellow color was part of the Antinium’s carapace. Irreversibly marking him. And where he walked, the people turned and stared. At a miracle. A truth too large to be a lie.

There he walked. And Pawn followed him, feet away. So close he could touch the broad back. A giant among Soldiers. Larger. Stronger. And he had a voice.

Yellow Splatters.

He stopped in front of the Hive. Amid a wave, a sea of Workers and Soldiers. They stared at him. There Yellow Splatters stood. And when he spoke next, it was just for them. To them.

“I have died. I have come back. I stand here to tell you all one thing. One truth I saw after I died with the others.”

He looked at Pawn. And the Worker trembled. He shook with guilt and regret. But Yellow Splatters gently took Pawn’s shoulders. He looked down into Pawn’s eyes.

“You were right. It is there.”

The Worker didn’t know what he meant. Then his legs grew weak.

“You saw it? Truly?”

The head nodded once.

“I saw it. Heaven. It exists. Believe. It exists.”

The Antinium stopped. The Hive looked up. Yellow Splatters gazed towards the sky and shook his head.

“It is not up. It is not down. And it is tiny. It is as fragile as this. As small as…”

He opened his hand and grasped at the air. He clenched his fist and met every eye.

“But it exists. And it is being built. It can be built. We must make it grow. So believe. Believe. And you will be saved.”

He looked around. Pawn fell to his knees. The Workers and Soldiers looked at Yellow Splatters.

They had all gone away. Soldiers and Workers. They had died for glory, ignobly, by ones and twos and by the thousands. But at last—after so long it had happened. Yellow Splatters had died, fighting for the Hive. He had sacrificed everything he had. But that was not what made him a hero. If that was so, all Antinium were heroes and none were. No. It was that Yellow Splatters had fought. He had gone to protect the Hive. And then he came back.

He came back.

That was all they had ever wanted. And Pawn knelt. He bowed. And he no longer needed to believe.

Because it was true.

[Acolyte Level 18!]

[Miracle – Heal Minor Wounds obtained!]

Interlude – Embria

(The Wandering Inn is on break until July 13th! 15th for public readers. The author must rest. See you then!)

Wing Commander Embria Grasstongue of Liscor got up like she normally did. For a minute, a good, nice, long minute she lay in bed as the dawn’s rays began tickling the scales on her face. Her crimson scales, as vibrantly red as could be, reflected the light, creating a small nimbus of color on the far wall of her room. Embria admired it. Then she raised her voice.

“4th Company, assemble!”

The shout went straight through the thin walls of Embria’s private quarters. She heard a thud from the room over, a groan, and more distant sounds still. The Wing Commander swung herself out of bed and reached for her folded clothes and armor. Then she checked herself and just took the clothes.

A minute later, Embria pushed out of her room. The Drakes and Gnolls in the officer’s quarters were still dressing. They looked up as Embria strode into the room.

“Inspection, then morning training. Hop to it.”

The two [Captains], five [Lieutenants], and eight [Sergeants] in the room groaned. Embria ignored them and headed straight for the main barracks that housed the regular [Soldiers]. It was larger, but not by much; the officers weren’t outnumbered by much when it came to the regular soldiers.

The first [Sergeants] followed her as the sleepy [Soldiers] rolled out of their bunks. Those who’d slept through Embria’s call and their fellows warning them to wake up got up as the [Sergeant] rolled them out of their mattresses onto the floor.

The thumps and curses were a backdrop to Embria’s voice. The Wing Commander bellowed into the barracks that the 4th Company of Liscor’s army was using in Liscor.

“Wake up, ladies! What are you complaining about? We’re waking up at dawn, not before! This is the height of luxury. Now, present your gear and so help me, anyone who isn’t ready for a scrap I will feed to Captain Vell for breakfast! Stand to attention!”

The [Soldiers] did. The [Sergeants] and [Lieutenants] proceeded down the bunks, checking gear and calling the Drakes and Gnolls out. The Drakes and Gnolls of Liscor’s regular army stood straight, wincing only when some aspect of their preparations was called out.

They were, as Embria had indicated, all female. The Wing Commander gave the female wing of the barracks five minutes of her presence, and then marched over to the male half, where the officers were already doing the same process.

“That’s enough. Captain Wikir, take the squads out and have them practice. Anyone with punishment detail will take it out of their vacation time. The rest of you, to the practice grounds on the double!”

Embria jogged out of the barracks, followed by her 4th Company. She ignored the muttered jokes and groans coming behind her; her men and women, none of whom were in fact actually Human, were right on her tail. And in the early morning, all ninety seven of Liscor’s 4th Company was running down the streets of Liscor.

They were headed to the sparring grounds. Usually they’d do it right outside their camps, but since they were quartered in Liscor, the 4th Company had arranged to use the Adventurer’s Guild’s large practice area. Embria didn’t expect to find many people there this early.

And indeed, only a few private citizens were there. They let the 4th Company form sparring sets and occupy eighty percent of the courts. Embria grabbed a practice spear and went through her morning routine alone. She barely thought about it until she came to sparring with one of her [Captains].

First Captain Wikir, the second-in-command to Embria, was her first victim. Then two more of his [Captains] took his place. Embria took a few hits during a sparring session with two-on-one, but the wincing officers walked away with twice the number she did.

“Alright. That’s an hour. Back to the barracks!”

Embria called a halt to the morning training as she checked the position of the sun. She led the way back down the streets which were still mostly empty and towards the barracks. The [Soldiers], who had been reluctant to abuse their bodies, brightened up and picked up the pace. They could smell food coming from the barracks and the [Mess Sergeants] on duty had readied the morning meals.

That was how Embria started her day. But in truth, that was almost all muscle memory. And muscle shouting. It was rote and routine. It was only during breakfast she remembered what day it was. Then she smiled.

—-

4th Company’s officers got their own, smaller mess hall to eat in. The [Captains], [Lieutenants], and a few [Sergeants] had the privilege of dining with their [Wing Commander], a rank roughly equivalent to [Major] in other military traditions. The [Commander] rank that Embria possessed meant she acted with autonomy and authority; the officer ranks below her possessed some of the privileges and abilities she did, but the [Wing Commander] class was a leadership role of note.

If [Leader], [Sergeant], [Mercenary Captain], and so on were all the most basic tier of leadership—from small groups to larger ones—then [Commander] was the middle tier. And [Generals], [Lords], and so on were the greatest of leaders. In 4th Company, Embria’s was the highest role.

It still meant she ate the same food as the regular soldiers. There being no dedicated [Chefs] attached to 4th Company at the moment, the [Mess Sergeants] had to take up the slack or Embria would have to hire a [Cook]. And she wasn’t about to do that. Not that anyone minded.

“Good food! Pass me a damn biscuit. I’m starving.”

The first female officer into the room was a Drake. She flopped into her seat, her scales beaded with perspiration. A Gnoll sat across from her and obligingly flicked a biscuit at her commanding officer. The Gnoll yawned. She reached for a steaming kettle.

“Hrr. I hope the tea’s strong this time. I’m nearly falling asleep on my paws.”

“Long night?”

Embria walked towards her head of the smaller table as some of the other officers took seats nearby. The Gnoll [Sergeant] shrugged. It was a relaxed formality in the officer’s mess.

“Hrr. I was up late. Drinking. This tea’s not strong enough for me. Got some more tea leaves?”

She peered into the pot. The Drake sitting across from her, [Captain] Vell, a sharp-tongued Drake with yellow scales, eyed the Gnoll under her command, Lieutenant Kesa.

“It’s good enough for me. But then, I like tea. You hate it, don’t you, Kesa? Wing Commander, biscuit?”

Embria raised a claw. Vell skimmed one across the table. A Gnoll [Captain] leaned back reflexively and scowled as he reached for his plate. Embria caught the biscuit without missing a beat. Kesa sighed through her nose.

“That’s right. I’d use stamina potions, but they taste awful, yes? And they do terrible things to the stomach if you have too many for too long. You have a better option, [Captain]?”

“Sure do. Hold on. Try some of these.”

Vell got up and reached for her belt pouch. She slapped a handful of hard, brown, objects onto Kesa’s plate. The other officers eyed the objects dubiously; Vell was known to pull a lot out of her belt pouches, and it was very rarely wise to eat what came out.

Kesa the Gnoll sniffed along with a few other Gnolls at the table. She wrinkled her nose, but picked up one of the little objects.

“What is this? It looks like a bean. Do I put it in my drink?”

“Hah. No. Just eat them. Grind them up and swallow. They’re a natural wake-up supplement. I bought them from Oteslia a while back and I use them sometimes when we’re out of tea or I need to wake up.”

Kesa blinked.

“What, from the Walled City? Really?”

“No, scales-for-brains. The other Oteslia. Not the one we’ve been fighting with and against for the last two years.”

The Gnoll sniffed.

“Hrr. No need to be rude. What kind of beans are so…hard? And small?”

Vell shrugged.

“They were actually green. See, they’re good for energy, but they were starting to rot. So I tossed them in a pan and fried them up. To get rid of the moldy spots.”

All of the [Soldiers] stared at Vell. She scowled.

“Don’t give me that! It works! Anyways, they work. Try it.”

She glared at Kesa. The Gnoll hesitated, but Vell was her superior. The things you did for rank. Embria watched sympatheticall as Kesa delicately popped three of the bean-things into her mouth and began to chew. Embria heard some loud crunching, and then Kesa made a face. She took a gulp of tea as Embria sipped hers.

Today’s breakfast included some pickled fish, preserved from the spring. It went really well with some roasted onions, a few greens, and all put together with a Gnollish sauce that had enough spice to really make the mouth water. The biscuit was a wonderful carrier for the concoction and Embria chewed, watching Kesa make a face.

“Eugh. Bitter. Almost as bad as stamina potions. How long does it take?”

“Few minutes. But you’ll wake up. Go on. Have the handful.”

Kesa did as she began to eat the rest of her breakfast. After a few minutes, she did indeed perk up.

“That is better than stamina potions, yes? Say, Captain, would you mind lending them to me?”

Vell nodded. She spilled more beams onto the table from a pouch dedicated to holding them.

“Take ‘em. I’ve got tons. Apparently they’re from some Balerosian plant that Oteslia imported. Those [Gardeners] grow all kinds of things and this stuff isn’t popular. Good travel pick-me-up, though.”

“You keep anything else you want to share in one of those pouches, Vell?”

Another [Captain] leaned over, looking interested. He was male, one of four [Captains] left in 4th Company since their battle at Liscor. Traditionally, that number of [Captains] would have demanded a huge regiment of [Soldiers], but Liscor’s army was somewhat unique. It relied on high-level officer classes and a very small army of sitting [Soldiers]. In fact, Liscor’s army was more of a force-multiplier. If it led a larger force of low-level [Soldiers], it was incredibly deadly.

Vell scowled and placed a hand over her belt.

“Nothing I’m offering you, Pielt. Only my squad gets to share my stuff. You want to get something? You should have gotten it at Oteslia before we crossed half the damn continent.”

“Aw, come on Vell. Not everyone saves their coin—”

“What are you, a [Soldier] with his first month of back pay? Pass me that gravy boat and I might give you something.”

“…The butter?”

“Yup. Out of my scales.”

The Drake sighed and raised a finger. Vell threw a biscuit at him. It bounced off of another Gnoll’s head and he glared around. Vell shrugged apologetically. Then she turned to Embria.

“Hey, Wing Commander. Any reason for today’s inspection?”

“Besides making sure you lot aren’t getting lazy? Be glad I didn’t check the officer’s gear myself. If we need to fight, I’m not having anyone claiming they left their sword at a [Sharpener]’s.”

Embria glanced up from her second helping. Vell nodded.

“Fair. Fair. I’m just asking because my squad’s getting antsy. They were telling me that they’re afraid they’ll be stuck here for another month before being recalled with no action. After the Goblin Lord was…”

She drew a claw across her neck.

“You know?”

Half the officers in the mess glanced at Vell. Embria could see the missing spots where some of her officers and friends should have been. Vell didn’t blink twice, though. After a beat, Embria replied.

“They think that, do they? Well, I can’t say how long we’ll be here, but we’re not sitting on our tails all this time. I suppose now’s a good time as any. Captain Wikir.”

The Gnoll sitting next to her glanced up. He twitched one tattered ear as he looked at Embria. Wikir was twenty years Embria’s senior and had dozens of scars hidden under his fur.

“Wing Commander?”

“Wikir, it’s Shield Spider breeding season. Word is it’s even worse this year given all they’ve had to eat. Which is why we’re helping out Liscor and the City Watch with this year’s culling. You know where I’m going with this?”

Several Drakes and Gnolls groaned. Wikir grinned.

“Vell gets her wish?”

“Exactly. Tomorrow, all the squads are sweeping the area around Liscor. Work your way down the road first, then sweep out from there. Each squad cleans at least four nests by the end of the day. Collect their shells and turn them in to the Adventurer’s Guild. The squad that does the best gets a night in Wishdrinks, on me. The squad that does the worst will also get a night of fun and relaxation—cleaning the barracks.”

That perked up the room, as intended. Embria didn’t mention that the squads would be doing this for at least two weeks, but Wikir got it. He nodded and flicked his ears at the [Lieutenants] and [Sergeants] under his direct command.

“Sounds like fun.”

“So says you. I’d rather fight Wyverns than Shield Spiders. Ever been covered by a hundred little spider babies?”

“No. And I don’t plan to. Burn the nest, Captain Pielt. If your group doesn’t have a strong [Mage] like mine…”

“Yes?”

Captain [Pielt] raised his brows. Wikir grinned.

“Enjoy picking baby spiders out of your earholes.”

“Go to hell.”

The other two [Captains] in the room, Vell and Igissi, laughed. Wikir grinned toothily and one of the Drakes under Pielt’s command covered her eyes with her claws. Sergeant Fika shook her head despairingly.

“My vacation’s in two days! If I start my days off with spiders laying eggs in my nostrils, I will kill myself.”

Pielt turned to his subordinate as the table laughed even harder. He glared at Wikir and Vell.

“Think of the opportunities, Sergeant. You invite a few lovely ladies to Wishdrinks and you won’t need to come back to a clean barracks tonight!”

Sergeant Fika glanced up.

“Lads, you fucking idiot. Sir. I’m no Turnscale.”

Embria glanced up. Pielt blinked, but then grinned. Vell stopped laughing abruptly, but no one save perhaps Embria and Lieutenant Kesa noticed.

“Sorry, Sergeant. Two lovely lads. Drakes or Gnolls for preferences?”

“As long as you can figure out which parts they’re supposed to have, I’ll settle for whatever you can get, sir. Just get our squad the most nests.”

More laughter. Pielt rolled his eyes, but good-naturedly. Wikir chuckled, then glanced back at Embria.

“Commander. Helping out the City Watch wouldn’t also be part of our attempt to make good with Liscor, would it? And help win an election?”

He looked innocently at Embria. She scowled and put down her butter knife. Ancestors take it, she’d forgotten the drama of yesterday for a second. That was really going to complicate today’s activities. Maybe.

“That’s right, Captain Wikir. And I’m afraid that you’re in charge of banging the drum and doing parade marches all today. It’s my day off. Try to reign in that Shopkeeper. Lism. But yes, we’re trying to convince people to vote him into the Council for that election. Just don’t say or do anything that’ll upset the civilians, got it?”

Wikir nodded. Vell stretched, looking annoyed.

“And here I’d nearly forgotten about that stupid election. Commander, you make it sound like that Lism Swifttail’s a problem. But he’s the one running against that Krshia Silverfang, right? What’s your problem with him?”

She glanced up the table. This time, Embria hesitated. She didn’t have to answer. But this was her command and they knew her. Better to answer than not.

She looked down at her cup of tea and grimaced. Then Embria glanced up and checked both doors leading into the officer’s mess. She tilted her head; Sergeant Tlik got up and closed one of the doors that was partly ajar. The other officers sat up a bit and leaned in.

“It’s not that I’m against this election thing. The High Command is, and they’re livid that it’s happening, but they’d be fine if we elected good, law-abiding citizens to the Council, I think. Doesn’t matter what the Council does so long as it keeps Liscor safe, right?”

The officers sitting on both tables around her nodded. Embria sighed.

“I’m not even saying we’re wrong to be against that Gnoll, Krshia and her proposals. Some of what she’s saying sounds good to me, but allowing the Antinium any concessions? No. Absolutely not.”

“Idiotic idea. I can’t believe Watch Captain Zevara’s going for it. I thought she had sense.”

Vell growled. Embria had her own opinion about Zevara that wasn’t germane to this conversation. She shook her head briskly.

“The terms are good. And I’ll speak with Watch Captain Zevara. But despite all that—and this is my opinion, not High Command’s—Lism is not our guy. He’s obnoxious, sycophantic, prejudiced against Gnolls as far as I can tell, and he’s going to lose. But the High Command trusts him and I haven’t been able to convince them to let me approach Krshia instead.”

The table was silent. Most of the officers carefully covered their reactions, although a few, like Wikir and Vell, nodded openly. Pielt’s tail lashed under his table.

“Captain, you make it sound like he’s as bad as that Krshia Silverfang. But as far as I’ve seen, he’s been for the 4th Company since we came to Liscor. He’s given my boys discounts when we visit his store and he’s the only person who’s stood up and told the truth about the Antinium.”

“True. Which is why we’re supporting him. But he’s not offering a good platform. Just one that says the Antinium are evil and everything’s fine. Which it isn’t. Have you seen the rent prices on rooms?”

“Double that of when I was here ten years back.”

One of the [Lieutenants] muttered into his tea. Embria nodded. Kesa popped another bean into her mouth and crunched it.

“Exactly. But we have orders to support him, and we have to. I wish we didn’t. Soldiers like Zel Shivertail never played politics. He said what was important. Stop the Antinium. Kill the Goblin Lord. Tying ourselves to someone else or meddling in this election is going to come back and bite all our tails. But we have to win.”

She looked around the table. The other officers sighed or muttered, but they all nodded. Vell leaned over, looking troubled, and poked Wikir.

“Hey, Wikir. That Gnoll [Shopkeeper]. She’s a big shot, yeah? What’re her odds on the Gnoll side of things. How many of them will see sense about the Antinium?”

Wikir coughed. He looked at Embria and shrugged.

“She’s honored Krshia, Commander. I can’t explain it too well and I’m not running with the civilian crowd yet. They don’t trust me. But I do know Krshia. She’s smart. Got lots of authority. When she howls, a lot of Gnolls will follow, no matter what deal with the Antinium is going down.”

“Then maybe we have to get her to reconsider her stance on the Antinium thing.”

“And fund all her shiny projects how?”

“Tax the adventurers more? I’m all for expanding Liscor if that’s possible. I have an aunt who told me about the prices yesterday. And if she’s hurting for coin—”

The breakfast table erupted into several arguments. Embria quietly drank the rest of her tea as she listened to the pulse of her officer’s opinions. At last she raised a claw and had silence.

“I’ll explore our options. Tomorrow. For now, keep an earhole open and wait for further orders from High Command. We’ll support this Lism and wait for more candidates to emerge. There are eight seats on the High Council unless anyone’s forgotten and these two are fighting for the same district under that plan Krshia rolled out. Someone get me a map of those districts too.”

The Drakes and Gnolls nodded. Fika shook her head as she scratched at a patch of scarred, burned skin on the side of her face where the scales had never regrown.

“What do you want to bet its eight Gnolls vs eight Drakes on either side? Ancestors, we might have more Gnolls than Drakes on this year’s Council.”

Wikir turned his head down the table like the slow wrath of the mace he used. Which wasn’t slow at all in battle.

“And would that be a bad thing, Sergeant?”

Fika’s cheeks colored.

“Nossir! Not unless it means I wake up sharing my bunk space with an Antinium!”

Another laugh. Pielt covered for Fika, who was part of his mainly Drake squad.

“You just worry about getting our squad that table at Wishdrinks, Sergeant. I’ll see to it we walk out with two lovely companions. Drakes or Gnolls.”

“You keep saying that, Pielt. But even if you got more nests than all the other squads—which you won’t—could you even get anyone to join you for a drink?”

Captain Vell smirked. Pielt glared at her.

“No problem, Vell. I’m as smooth on a tavern floor as I am on the battlefield.”

“Really? In that case, give me your best shot.”

Vell spread her arms, mockingly. The officers laughed and Pielt grinned. He pushed back his plate, then leaned one arm on the table and gave Vell a full-toothed grin.

“Hey there, sweet-scales. I saw you checking out my tail. I’ve got two. Want to see the other one?”

Embria saw Vell’s eyes bulge, and then heard her guffaw. The Wing Commander smiled as the female side of the mess hall laughed and some of Pielt’s male friends rolled their eyes.

“Dead gods, that’s your best, Pielt?”

“If it works, Vell…”

Pielt grinned around. Kesa snorted and leaned over to Vell. The Gnoll whispered loudly.

“He says that, but I’ve never seen a tail that short before.”

The table burst out into raucous laughter. Two of the male Drake [Captains] coughed as their morning tea went down the wrong tube. Pielt’s scales turned beet red. He opened his mouth to reply, and Embria decided it was time to cut short a potential argument. It was nearly time for her to go, anyways. She didn’t want to be late. So she put a snap into her tone as she stacked her cup on her plate.

“Lieutenant Kesa, stop impugning your commanding [Captain]’s authority. Captain Pielt, stop bringing up your failed attempts at romance. Find someone outside of the army or I’ll write you up for your inability to conduct interpersonal relationships.”

“Under what charge, Commander?”

The [Captain] looked hurt. Embria stared at him and replied, deadpan.

“Making me laugh my scales off.”

This time even Pielt joined in the laughter, and Embria considered it a job well done. She was standing back to bus her plates when Vell glanced up.

“You are one to talk, Commander.”

“What?”

Embria paused, one claw holding her plate. Captain Vell shrugged, looking apologetic.

“I’m just saying. I’ve heard your best, and Pielt’s a master [Seducer] compared to you. No offense to the class.”

“Oi, Vell. Commander Embria can’t be that bad.”

Another officer chortled. Vell only raised her brows. She looked teasingly at Embria and the Drake felt an ominous prickle on her back. She’d known Vell for years. Even so, she couldn’t just walk away after hearing that. Embria tossed her plate back on the table.

“My game’s better than Pielt. I can guarantee you that, Vell.”

“I’m wide open, Commander. Or Pielt is. Come on, give us your opening line. Say you spot someone handsome across the bar—not Pielt, for instance. What do you say/”

Suddenly it was Embria on the spot. And the Wing Commander couldn’t see a way out of it. Embarrassed, she cleared her throat. No problem. Casually, she walked over and put a hand on Pielt’s shoulder. She gave him a smile.

“Yo. Good looking. Are you part Selphid? Because I’d like you to get inside me tonight.”

Pielt stared up at her as if she were a Creler. Embria wavered. She looked around. The other officers weren’t laughing. They were just staring. Wikir reached for his cup and found it was empty. Mechanically, the Gnoll reached for a kettle and tried to fill his cup.

“You’d actually say that, Commander?”

“What’s wrong? Too forwards? Okay. Fine. How about this?”

Exasperated, Embria turned back to Pielt. He flinched as she leaned further down, treating him to another smile. Something charming, the kind of thing that would sweep him off his feet if Embria were interested in him.

“Hey there. Are you a Courier? Because you’ve been running through my mind ever since I laid eyes on you.”

She waited a beat. And then she winked. Pielt opened his mouth slightly. He gulped.

“I uh—wow, Commander. That’s…terrible.”

“What? No it’s not. ”

Embria looked around. No one else could meet her eyes, except Wikir. The tea cup he’d been filling from the kettle was slowly overflowing on the table. Embria stared at it.

“It’s not. Is it?”

Vell looked delighted. She gestured with a claw.

“One more. Come on, Commander.”

Embria hesitated. This time she abandoned the winking and just leaned on Pielt’s shoulder.

“You come from Salazsar? Because you’re a fine gem in my eyes.”

He froze. Just froze up in his seat. Embria searched his face for something, anything, then straightened. She glared around the room, daring anyone to say anything. They were silent.

“I’m going to take my day off. We’ll discuss this later, Captain Vell. The rest of you—you’ve got a job to do. Dismissed!”

She stalked out of the room, her tail twitching angrily. The officers watched her go. None of them, not even Vell had the heart to laugh this time. Pielt stared back at his fellow [Captains]. It took him a few more gulps to make the words come out.

“Ancestors. The smile, the timing, the way she looked at me—everything was wrong there. How is that even possible?”

Vell sighed. She finished her last mouthfuls of breakfast.

“You know those sad losers who hang out in taverns and bars and buy anything with a pulse and a tail a drink? I’ve seen Commander Embria scare them away when she’s trying to be encouraging.”

“Dead gods. I hope she doesn’t try that on her date today.”

Someone else mumbled under his breath. Vell turned her head.

“You think she’s on a date? She didn’t say.”

“Well, she’s not wearing her armor. And she usually dresses up. Did you notice she was only wearing her practice gear? Normally she’s in full armor. Who’d she land with those lines?”

“Oh. That? It’s not—”

“It’s not a date. It’s her father.”

Wikir cut in quietly. He mopped the table with a napkin. The other officers went quiet. Lieutenant Kesa growled.

“You mean she still visits him? That’s too good for that coward.”

“Lieutenant, show some respect. That Drake saved our Commander’s life. He’s a former [Sergeant], even if—”

“Even if he’s a coward? He gave us one retreat order, Captain. A coward’s a coward no matter what. I’m not licking his boots even if he was a big shot. And if the Commander wants to waste time on his sorry tail—as if we’d just let him waltz back in after abandoning—”

Kesa’s growling voice turned into a yelp of pain as Vell kicked her in the stomach across the table. It wasn’t a light kick either. The [Captain] stared at her subordinate and hissed.

“Stow that shit, Lieutenant. Unless you want to go for a twenty-lap run around the walls again? If the Commander hears you, you’ll be scrubbing the toilets with your tail.”

“I just—”

Vell jerked her head sideways. The younger Gnoll [Sergeant] followed her glance towards Captain Wikir. Kesa’s ears flattened on her head and she went quiet at once.

The oldest Gnoll at the table didn’t look at Kesa. Wikir calmly drank from his cup, and then spoke, as if reminiscing to the air in front of him.

“He got Garen Redfang, a former Gold-rank, even if he was a Goblin. He’s as good as I remember. And I was barely a [First Sergeant] when he retired. What Wing Commander Embria does is her business. You can’t choose your family. And if he’s a coward, then every single Drake in 4th Company will lose to a coward in a one-on-one duel.”

No one had a reply to that. After a long moment, Pielt bit into his fish.

“True that. My day off’s coming up. Birthday, actually. I almost wish it wasn’t. I’m going back to see my folks. My dad’s a Gnoll and he’ll try to get me playing catch. I want to tell him it’s not my thing, but his idea of fun’s throwing around a ball for hours.”

The mood at the tables relaxed. Wikir grinned sheepishly and the other Gnolls sighed, shaking their heads. Vell looked curious.

“You adopted, Pielt? You never said.”

“Nah. Fertility spell. One of those cross-species kinds. It works out well, but…you know? I think it hurts my old man when I don’t race after a ball. Just toss it to me. Don’t make me run for it.”

Pielt sighed. Sergeant Fika patted him on the back. Vell looked around; one of the youngest [Lieutenants], a Gnoll, looked frankly jealous of Pielt. She shrugged. What was there to say?

“I wonder what the Commander says to her father?”

Thoughtfully, Pielt stroked his chin with a claw, and shrugged.

“Whatever she has to, probably. Gotta make it work, Vell. Gotta make it work. Pass the butter?”

—-

Breakfast came and went in Liscor’s barracks. The 4th Company was having an easy time of it. At least compared to the quick meals that came and went during their time on campaign. They would be the first to describe their more relaxed schedules, frequent days off, and easy duties as luxurious. And that was because life was subjective affair. If the 4th Company’s breakfast was luxurious, what could you call breakfast at The Wandering Inn?

Sinful? Decadent? Hedonistic? The Wandering Inn was gaining a reputation as having some solid cooking. But that wasn’t what propelled the Drake [Guardsman] up the hill. He hadn’t even bothered to wait for the teleportation door to activate. Relc Grasstongue rubbed his claws as he pushed open the door.

“Oh boy. Oh boy. Ohboyohboyohboy—”

Relc’s partner, Klbkch, walked in through the magical door from Liscor a minute after Relc had arrived. The Antinium glanced around; Relc was already sitting at a table.

“Klb, get over here!”

Relc waved a claw excitedly. He was sitting at a table near the front of the inn. The Players of Celum were warming up on the stage, and some of the [Actors] and the regular guests were having their breakfast. Klbkch walked over to Relc and saw someone bustling out of the kitchen. Erin Solstice herself set down a big plate of pancakes on the table and a cup full of blue fruit juice in front of Relc.

“Here you go! Blue fruit juice, fresh! Hi, Klb! It’s great to see you! It’s been ages! Come in! What do you want to eat?”

“It is good to see you as well, Erin. I would like to inquire—are there any acid flies on your menu yet?”

Klb glanced at the cup Relc was lovingly caressing. Erin shook her head.

“Not yet. But we’ve laid traps and I’ll let you know at once when we have enough.”

“Ah. In that case, perhaps a fish-based dish? I had a quite enjoyable fillet last time.”

“You know what? I think I have that exact fillet still in a cupboard. Drassi! Get that fillet and some condiments for Klbkch! Blue fruit juice, Klbkch?”

“Thank you. And perhaps a pitcher?”

Klbkch indicated Relc. Erin turned to look and saw Relc tilting his cup up. The Drake licked his lips.

“Blue fruit juice! I’ve missed this so much!”

He was nearly crying as he gulped down the sweet cup of juice. Erin nodded and waved an arm at Drassi. She turned to Relc, smiling.

“As good as you remember?”

“Better. Better. This is amazing. I can’t believe I went a winter without it. Hey, can I buy a flask of it or something for work? I’ll have a pitcher. How much is—aw. You upped the prices? Fine.”

Relc spotted the sign above Erin’s bar. She made a face.

“Sorry. Lyonette controls the prices. I can definitely get you a flask, though.”

“You’re the best. And these pancakes are great! You’ve got to try one, Klb!”

Relc stuffed half a pancake onto one fork and swallowed all of it in one bite. Erin watched with fascination; Klbkch deliberately averted his gaze.

“I am allergic to wheat-based products, as you may not recall, Relc. Although…my Queen did mention she removed my gluten intolerance after my last body was developed. Or didn’t she? I would have to ask her.”

The Antinium paused to think. Relc eyed him.

“You don’t remember what your current body does? That’s weird.”

“I did not qualify that as important information. Eating pancakes is not high on my list of priorities.”

“Because you’ve never had these pancakes.”

“Hm. Would they then shift my entire perspective? Very well. I will try one.”

“Hey! These are mine! Get your own.”

Relc protectively covered his plate. Klbkch stared at him. Then he looked at Erin. She beamed at him.

“It’s so good you’re back. Both of you.”

“That is a highly subjective and generous opinion. Thank you.”

“Yeah.”

Relc reached for his cup, which Drassi had just refilled. He drank half of it, sighed, and then, suddenly, looked up. He looked around the inn slowly, and then focused on Erin. And to her surprise, to Klbkch’s surprise as well, Relc put down his fork and looked seriously at the young woman.

“Thanks for letting me come for breakfast, Erin. Seriously. I won’t stay long. So if you need me to go…”

He glanced at the stairs. Erin followed his gaze and line of thought, and she blinked. She looked at Relc, then at Klbkch, who silently shook his head, and gazed at Relc.

“What? No. It’s fine, Relc. You’re free to be here. If…anyone has a problem, he can just eat in his room. But he said it’s fine.”

“Well, thanks. I appreciate it. And I really missed your cooking. It’s good stuff, these pancakes. I wish I could make them. Klb misses this place too.”

Relc gestured around at the inn. Erin stared at him, then smiled. She looked at Klbkch. The Antinium was eying his partner as if Relc was some strange new species.

“That is correct. I do appreciate the ambiance and cooking. Although I have to point out that pancakes are not, by and large, considered high cuisine, Relc.”

“How would you know? You’ve never eaten them.”

Erin grinned. Klb’s antennae twitched.

“And you cannot cook them. Why is that?”

“Yeah, why? Pancakes are easy. I could teach you how to do them myself.”

The young woman looked at the Drake [Guardsman]. Relc grimaced as he filled his cup for the third time.

“I’m just no good, Erin. Believe me.”

“No one’s that bad, Relc. If I walk you through it—”

“I nearly burned down my kitchen last time I tried to make pancakes.”

Relc eyed Erin as he took a small sip from his cup. She blinked. Her eyes slid sideways to Klbkch. This time the Antinium nodded. Erin digested this fact.

“Okay, no cooking. How are you so bad at it?”

“I dunno. I don’t eat at home. Why are you so good at it? It’s all oil and fires and stuff the moment you light a stove. I nearly died when I tried to make pasta last week.”

“How did you—? You know what? Fire hazard or not, I’m willing to take this risk. We can make pasta in the kitchen right after this. You, me, a healing potion on standby…”

The smile on Erin’s face was infectious. Relc grinned and Klbkch smiled politely. But the Drake cast one eye towards the window and shook his head.

“I’d love to. Really, Erin. But I don’t think you want to build a new inn—although you’re sort of missing a third floor, so it wouldn’t be too bad. But I can’t either way. I have an appointment. Today’s actually the start of my days off. Klb and I just finished a night shift.”

He yawned as if to prove that fact. Erin raised her eyebrows.

“Wow. Maybe I should have served dinner. Fillet’s a dinner, though. What do you have planned after this, then?”

“Er…just hanging out with my kid. You know.”

Relc shifted in his chair. Erin gave him the blankest look possible until a light went off in her head.

“You mean, Wing Commander Embria? The Drake with the red scales? The one who’s really, really, angry?”

“Uh. Yeah. That’s her. You’ve met her before.”

“A few times. What’s she like?”

“Good. Good. I uh, well, we do this every week. Sometimes it’s hard to get the dates to line up, but it usually works out. She’s her own boss, at least of 4th Company so she can choose her days off. And I—well, I’m going to meet with her after this. All day.”

Relc slowly bit into the second-to-last pancake. Erin studied his expression.

“Sounds like fun.”

“Yeah. Of course. Why wouldn’t it be? Do you uh, want to come with?”

“Me? Or Klbkch?”

Relc hesitated.

“Both?”

The two looked at each other. Erin bit her lip. Klbkch was the first to respond.

“I believe that would be unwise. Your daughter has made her feelings about my presence very clear on fifteen different occasions.”

“Yeah. But she only says that. Come on, Klb, buddy. It’d be fun.”

“I believe that statement is incorrect on every level conceivable. And I do not believe Erin would have fun either. This is a prearranged time with you and your offspring, Relc.”

“Yeah. I don’t want to get in the way.”

“Right. She probably wouldn’t like that.”

Relc slumped into his seat and sighed. Erin looked from him to Klbkch. The Antinium was studying his partner. Erin coughed.

“So…I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’re her dad, right?”

“Yup.”

“Her actual dad.”

“Uh huh.”

“You’re her father and everything. You. Relc.”

“You keep saying that, Erin. Yes, she’s my kid.”

Relc looked up. Erin stared at him, unblinking, until the Drake looked down at his plate. He played with the scraps. Erin pondered Relc for a moment.

“So why are you trying to avoid her?”

The table fell silent. Relc silently ate the last of his pancake bits. He pushed back his plate and looked at the nearly empty pitcher of blue fruit juice. Erin stared at it, and then him. The Drake [Guardsman] stared ahead. Then he shrugged heavily. His huge shoulders slumped.

“There’s not much to talk about. Or rather, we talk about the same things, Erin. That’s all. It feels like a pain for her to do this every week. I don’t think she likes me that much, honestly. Can’t say I blame her.”

“Then why does she do it?”

“I don’t know. Duty? She’s big on duty. Which reminds me. I’d better not be late. Thanks for the juice.”

Relc stood up. He fished in his belt pouch and put down some coins. He pointed at the pitcher.

“Can I get a flask to go? Later? Sorry, but I should go. I’ll come back later for dinner if I’m free. Or pick it up after. Thanks for the meal, Erin. It was great.”

“Sure. Uh, good luck!”

Erin raised her voice. Relc was already heading towards the door. She stared at his back as he pulled open the magical door and vanished. Then she looked at Klbkch.

“That was weird. What’s that all about? Has he been like that every week?”

The Antinium nodded absently.

“Their ongoing arguments have featured heavily in Relc’s conversations with me. I gather that she wants him to rejoin Liscor’s army. He refuses to. Hence the quandary.”

“Oh. Do you think…”

Erin trailed off. She stared at the door through which Relc had gone. She half-rose, and then seemed to decide to sit. The table was quiet as Klbkch pushed back his empty plate. After a minute, he looked up seriously at Erin and opened his mandibles.

“After due consideration of the risks, I will have a pancake after all, Erin. What is the appropriate amount of syrup and butter?”

The young woman blinked. And then she beamed, Relc temporarily forgotten.

“Klbkch, you’re in for a treat. Drassi! Butter and syrup on the side! Pancake for Klbkch! Hey, wait. Do you know how to make pancakes?”

“The desire to create a pancake has never occurred within me in my entire life.”

“Today’s your lucky day.”

“Apparently?”

—-

Liscor in the morning, the real morning in which most people got up, not just the eternal early-risers, was busy. The city was in the midst of late spring. Life was blooming across the continent. And excitement abounded.

On the streets, Lism and Krshia’s supporters engaged in shouting matches in the early morning. The Drake [Shopkeeper], severely on the back foot after the drama of yesterday, tried to make his case to a city full of people. The 4th Company marched. But so did the Antinium. And the giant who led them attracted every eye.

There was something to see everywhere. In her inn, Erin tried to teach Klbkch and Mrsha how to make pancakes. In her inn, Lyonette stopped a fire. Three times. In her office, Zevara got some very irate [Messages] from a lot of cities. And the High Command. Olesm got back with Pisces from a night in Pallass and an adventure involving a [Librarian] to find out…everything…had changed. In her shop, Octavia paid the protection fee and sat under her counter. Her shop was closed.

And among it all, two Drakes met on a small street outside of an apartment. Theirs was not an important, exciting event. It was quiet. In fact, neither one said anything for a second when they met.

He was big. Not just tall; he had height, but the impression he gave was of musculature, not stature. His scales were light-green.

She was shorter than him, but only by a bit. And she had muscles, but she didn’t give off the same impression. If her posture and body indicated anything, it was her profession. He slouched; her back was straight as the spears that neither one carried at the moment. Her scales were crimson, vibrant.

Neither Drake looked particularly comfortable out of their gear and in casual clothing. And their idea of casual clothing was…Relc stared at his daughter’s cream-colored tunic and leggings. She eyed his slightly syrup-spotted front and worn clothes.

“Hey.”

“Good morning. You’re late.”

Relc started guiltily.

“Oh. Sorry. I uh, had breakfast. At The Wandering Inn. Uh, how was your day? Just get up?”

He smiled hopefully. Embria eyed him. Her lips did not feel the need to reciprocate the smile.

“I’ve been up for a while.”

“Really? Doing what?”

“Morning training. Or have you forgotten?”

“Uh…”

Relc scratched his neck-spines. Embria stared at him silently. When he didn’t respond, she jerked her head challengingly.

“Never mind. Let’s go. Do you have anywhere you want to go today?”

“I could go to a few spots. I have some shopping to do. What about you?”

Relc trailed after Embria. She shook her head and slowed down to accommodate his amble.

“I’m free. Where to?”

“Market—no, wait, that’s probably crowded. Let’s go to the [Trader]’s stalls.”

“Fine by me.”

The two proceeded along the street. It wasn’t anything like the quick march that Embria was used to, and she kept stepping too fast for Relc, whose leisurely stroll sped up for her. The two Drakes glanced at each other and both sought for conversation topics. Relc was first.

“So. Heck of a thing. These elections, huh?”

“They’re something. You aren’t for them, are you?”

The younger Drake eyed her father. Relc held up his claws.

“Hey. I’m staying out of it. I’m surprised Captain Z backed it, to be honest. She usually says the Watch should stay out of politics.”

“I’d like to know why she’s trying to push for the elections myself. I understand what she wants, but is this the way to do it?”

Relc gave a shrug that was the opposite of eloquent. He gazed at Embria.

“So…I heard you were marching for that Lism guy. The army’s not for the elections or Krshia, huh?”

Her regular pace faltered a beat, and then picked up.

“I had orders. From High Command. I’m carrying them out. You know how it is.”

“Sure. Sure.”

Embria coughed.

“…If I had the choice, I wouldn’t be involved at all. But I have to do my job. And Shopkeeper Lism’s right. I’m not saying I disagree with the idea to expand Liscor, but having Antinium aid…did your partner tell you about his Hive’s plans, by any chance?”

She glanced swiftly up and to the side. Relc smiled crookedly.

“Klb? He doesn’t tell me anything. Well, usually. These days he complains about his subordinates. Pawn and the others. But he doesn’t talk about stuff like that. Suits me.”

“And it doesn’t bother you? His proposal?”

“What? Paying for more buildings in exchange for making the Hive bigger? Works for me.”

“But they’ll expand the Hive.”

“And Captain Z will double the Watch. We could probably use both, after the siege. Right?”

Embria opened her mouth to respond. After a second she closed it and kept walking. The two walked down one street and then the next. They passed by arguing Drakes and Gnolls. Embria eyed them. She looked twice when one of the Drakes threw a punch and a Gnoll raised a fist.

“Shouldn’t you stop that?”

Relc picked at his teeth.

“Off duty. Besides, it’s just a fight. Long as there’s no blades, it should be good. It’s healthy to punch things. It was like this just a bit ago, remember? When that Numbtongue guy entered the city?”

“I remember.”

The tone in Embria’s voice passed Relc completely by, or he ignored it. He nodded. Then he brushed at a crumb on his front and brightened.

“I tell you though, it was good being back at the old inn. Ever since that thing with the Goblins, it’s been hard to visit. I think she’s forgiven me; she didn’t throw a knife at my head, anyways. Breakfast was good.”

He smacked his lips together absently. Embria just looked at him.

“You mean, during the siege?”

Relc paused. He looked at Embria and the two shared a long glance. After a second, he kept walking and shook his head.

“Oh. Well, that too. I meant the first thing with the Goblins. And the other thing with that small one. Rags or something.”

“What thing? Rags?”

“The first time I killed some Goblins. Cut their heads off. Erin really didn’t like that. The second time—I was sort of a jerk to a little Goblin who always came in. Erin kicked me out after that. I didn’t really go back until recently. Haven’t gotten into a fight this time, and I’m trying not to. They’ve got blue juice there now.”

The Wing Commander stared at her father. She opened her mouth, then closed it and sighed. The worst part was that she could decipher some of what Relc had just said from previous anecdotes.

“Why do you want to go there anyways? A Goblin-loving—what’s that inn got to offer that the Tailless Thief doesn’t?”

Relc looked surprised.

“Besides price? Besides the free plays, which are awesome and the really good food? That uh, Peslas guy who runs the Tailless Thief just serves Drake food. Erin serves new stuff, and really good stuff. I love it.”

He licked his lips. Embria smiled.

“You do like to eat. But why not cook it yourself? You could probably get the class.”

“I can’t cook, kid. You know that.”

“Still? How long has it been?”

Relc counted on his claws and then shrugged.

“I just can’t get a hang of it. But I do have hobbies.”

“Like…?”

“Well, here we are.”

They’d turned down another street during the course of their conversation. This one had a number of stalls, but it wasn’t as occupied by [Shopkeepers] as Market Street. If there was a place for [Merchants] to trade in their rich stores, [Traders] had their own spot to ply their wares. And this street was mercifully free of the arguments enveloping most of the city. Relc explained eagerly as he took Embria from stall to stall, clearly searching for one in particular.

“I tried gardening. Didn’t work out. But I’m into these puzzle-things. They’re—oh, look! There they are!”

He pointed excitedly. Embria saw one [Trader] had a display full of…she could only call them rejected [Blacksmith] pieces. Pieces of bent metal, odd shapes, some made of wood, some metal, a few decorative, but all very, very strange looking. They weren’t decorations. And as Relc showed her one excitedly, Embria saw they were meant to come apart. Only, it was the doing that would be the challenge.

“Take a look. I’ve got like six of these and I work on them during my patrols. And at night. And when I wake up. See? I know this one by heart.”

He had a tiny pair of what looked like bent, intertwined wires in his claws. It was two parts, joined at the center with a tiny little gap, but the two pieces of wire were twisted so that it seemed you’d never get them apart. But Relc confidently held the puzzle up by one claw. He flicked the little wire puzzle expertly and the connected pieces flew apart.

Embria blinked. Relc caught the piece before it could fly off and joined them together in a moment. He turned to the [Trader], a Gnoll with spectacles who looked approving.

“Not bad. You’ve done some beginner puzzles, hrm?”

“I’ve done advanced and even expert ones. Do you have any of the Wistram head-scratcher puzzles? The last female [Trader] who was in said sometimes you have the really complex ones.”

The Gnoll grinned as Embria picked up the pieces of wire, bemused.

“I’ve got a few very hard ones. Would you like to see?”

“Yes! Ooh. Oooh. How much is that one?”

As the Gnoll brought out some of the ‘special’ puzzles from below his counter, Embria gazed at her father and then the puzzle she was holding. She stared at the puzzle and tried to copy what Relc had done. But when she flicked it, the little wire pieces just spun around without separating.

Frowning, Embria tried to figure out how the two pieces were supposed to disconnect—the gap didn’t seem large enough, but maybe if she twisted it so the thin side was going through…no, that didn’t work…why had he flicked it?

She was so engrossed in the puzzle that she didn’t notice time flying by. Or the Drake who suddenly appeared behind her.

“Embria?”

The Wing Commander turned. She blinked down at a shorter Drake, around her age—no, slightly younger. She had bright yellow scales and a huge smile. The Drake beamed at her.

“I thought so! Only one Drake I know has scales like yours. Embria, hi! It’s me! Drassi! Remember me?”

“Um. Hello?”

Embria stared blankly at Drassi. The Drake wasn’t familiar to her, but she acted like she was. She peered at the puzzle Embria was holding.

“I didn’t know you were into those metal puzzles! They’re really hard. But there’s an entire group of people who love to solve them. Especially the magic ones. Apparently even Archmages get stumped with some! I’m not one for puzzles myself, but I hear [Thieves] like them too. Say, Embria, how has it been? I’ve seen you about, but you’ve always been on the job and we never had a chance to catch up!”

The words washed over Embria like rain. The Drake [Commander] opened her mouth for a word in edgewise, and had to wait for her moment.

“I’m sorry, Miss. But are you mistaking me? I don’t remember you, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t? But we were friends! At least, I thought so.”

Drassi looked heartbroken. She glanced over Embria’s shoulder at Relc and brightened.

“Hey Relc! It’s me, Drassi! I was just at the inn! You know me, and you know I used to know Embria, right?”

Relc turned. He had a flashing, half-ghostly puzzle in one claw and the [Trader] was showing him another one that was invisible—Embria could barely see the outlines as some dust or dirt covered it. Relc blinked.

“What? Drassi? Hey. You knew Embria? Wait…did you?”

He frowned. The [Gossip] looked crushed twice-over.

“I did! We haven’t seen each other for over a decade but—don’t you remember? When we were just kids? Embria, you came to Liscor with Relc back when he was just starting out as a [Guardsman], right? And you and I used to play in the streets! We got into tons of trouble! Heck, you and Selys used to know each other! Any of this ringing a bell?”

It was…vaguely familiar. Embria frowned. She could remember growing up in Liscor after Relc had left the army. Until she’s joined it. But it had only been for a handful of years. She didn’t remember Drassi. Although she did vaguely recall the same loudmouthed, cheerful voice the longer it went on.

“I—maybe I did? I’m sorry, but everything before I enlisted’s a bit of a blur. My apologies, Miss Drassi.”

The Drake laughed good-naturedly.

“It’s just Drassi! But I’d love to sit and talk, Embria. I just got off my shift. Do you have time? Hey, we could sit at The Wandering Inn and catch up! How about it?”

The offer was vaguely tempting. But—Embria glanced at her father. Relc was inspecting his puzzle while watching her out of the corner of one eye. She hesitated and shook her head after a moment.

“I’m sorry, Drassi. But I’m busy today. Maybe another time?”

She smiled apologetically at Drassi. The Drake didn’t look too put out.

“That’s totally fine. I’m actually shopping for some bug-killing traps myself. I have this infestation. Bad wood in my apartment. Know where I can get any charms?”

“My friend six stalls down has a number of charms.”

The Gnoll [Trader] leaned into the conversation. Drassi grinned.

“Really? Thanks! I’ll check him out. Embria, Relc, let’s talk again sometime, okay? Don’t be a stranger! And don’t forget me!”

Bemused, Embria waved a claw as Drassi headed off. Relc grunted to himself as he peered into one side of his puzzle.

“She’s cool. I talk to her on my patrols sometimes. Although I get in trouble if I talk for too long. You did use to know her, you know.”

“I sort of remember. But it’s ages ago now. I don’t know anyone in the city.”

“Huh.”

Embria watched Drassi disappear into the crowd. Then she turned back to the stall. The Gnoll was smiling as Relc cursed over the puzzle he was holding.

“Like it? Only two Archmages have completed it. Feor and Nailihuaile. Amerys doesn’t count; she blasted hers apart. You can try as long as you like. Solve it here and you can take it with you.”

“Hah! I can do that. Just give me a second. Hey, kid, do you uh, think this thing goes here?”

“Hm?”

Embria was still watching Drassi. Then she noticed a Gnoll mother walking from stall to stall with a young child. She watched the Gnoll grabbing his mother’s hand excitedly and pulling her past him to look at a display of colorful toys the next stall over.

“Damn! This one’s impossible! There’s no way to move this thing!”

Relc complained. The [Trader] laughed.

“You’ve barely even unlocked half of the functions, yes? There’s a lot more you need to do to even come close. How about it? I can show you some more if you’d like. All equally hard or harder! There’s one that not even Wistram’s mages have figured out how to open yet. But I’m told that the creator swears on a truth spell that it’s doable!”

“Really?”

Relc’s eyes lit up. Then he glanced to one side at his daughter. She noticed his stare at last and looked up. The [Guardsman] hesitated, then shook his head.

“Eh. I’ll get one later. This is boring. It’s boring, right, kid? Let’s go somewhere else.”

He jerked a thumb down the street. Embria started.

“What? No. Go on, try your puzzle.”

“You’re not into them, though. I won’t take up your time.”

“No, it’s fine…why not get one? For your patrols, at least.”

Embria smiled, and it wasn’t too forced. Relc stared at her, and then turned back to the [Trader].

“Alright. I can’t afford whatever that stupid magic one is. How about a good, expert-level one? I can spend…”

A few minutes later he counted out some gold and silver into the [Trader]’s paw and walked away with three small puzzles, all mechanical and magic-less. Relc seemed happy, although Embria was mystified.

“You had to have spent at least a few day’s pay on that. Maybe a week’s! How much do Senior Guardsman earn per week?”

“Eh…enough. Look, I like these things.”

Relc answered evasively. He walked down the street and both he and Embria heard Drassi’s cheerful voice as she talked to the [Trader] with charms on display. Relc paused as he watched Drassi.

“You really don’t remember Drassi?”

He looked at Embria. She shrugged, embarrassed.

“I don’t. I wish I did, but all I remember is the voice, and not even that.”

“Really? You kids used to get into all kinds of trouble. I remember that. I can’t believe I didn’t…well, you weren’t here long. Hey. Why don’t you catch up with her at the inn? I could sit and watch a play or something.”

Surprised, Embria blinked up at her father. He shrugged in answer to the question in her eyes.

“You don’t have to hang out with me. If you’re busy. I know being a Wing Commander’s hard work, and you only get so many days off…”

And for a second she wavered. Embria stared at Drassi’s wagging tail, then at Relc’s smile. Her expression firmed and she shook her head.

“It’s fine. Did you have anywhere else you wanted to go? I didn’t have a plan for today.”

“Well…”

—-

The second stop they came to was a shop that smelled like animal. Because it was in fact, inhabited by animals. Lots of them. Embria pushed open the door, sneezed, and then saw a cat glaring at her from its window perch in the sun. The Gnoll running the counter shouted he’d be out from the back and a number of dogs barked. That set off the birds. And a sheep. Embria stared around, and then at Relc. He grinned.

“I thought about getting a pet, too. That’d be cool, right? I could get a big dog and have it run down [Thieves] while we’re on the job. One of the Senior Guardsman has an attack dog he’s allowed to take on patrols. He never has to run.”

“You want a dog.”

Embria eyed the animals wandering the floor. They were either all amazingly well-trained or the owner cleaned up after them. Relc nodded.

“It would be cool, right? Dogs run. I can run. Dogs like food. I like food. It’d be this thing. Anyways, I’m just checking them out. But if you get a good impression—hey! Elirr! It’s me!”

Relc waved at the Gnoll who came out of a tattered curtain in the back. The Gnoll froze when he saw Relc. Then he groaned.

“For the last time, Senior Guardsman Relc. I will not sell you a trained attack sheep—”

He protectively moved in front of the one sheep in the room. Relc scratched the back of his neck, avoiding Embria’s pointed gaze.

“I’m not interested in sheep. I’m just looking for a dog. And I’ve got my uh, daughter here! This is Embria. Embria, Elirr’s a [Beast Master].”

“[Beast Trainer].”

“Yeah, that thing. Say, do you have a dog with really big teeth? And how fast do they run?”

The long-suffering sigh that Elirr emitted sounded almost familiar to Embria. She’d heard it from a number of Relc’s colleagues. But the Gnoll soon had a number of dogs wandering the floor, and she was impressed at how well they obeyed even Relc’s commands. The Drake bent to scratch ears and ask who liked the taste of [Thieves]—Embria stood back and watched.

“You are Senior Guardsman Relc’s daughter, Wing Commander? I recognize both of you, but I hardly put the pieces together until now.”

Elirr’s voice made Embria turn. She smiled at him, and the older Gnoll smiled back. He only smelled a bit like wet dog, and if you got to know Gnolls, you understood that was a distinct possibility anyways.

“That’s right. I’m back home on duty. I haven’t been back to the city in…years.”

The Gnoll’s gaze sharpened.

“Of course, the army hasn’t. But Liscor is pleased to have the army back defending us, yes? Your company saw fighting during the siege.”

Embria nodded, surprised. Not everyone gave them credit. But the Gnoll’s smile seemed genuine. He gestured to the menagerie. Relc was going from pet to pet, and he was popular with dogs. Not so much with the cats, who flipped their tails up at him.

“Do you wish to see the animals? You need not buy them; they enjoy a good scratching. And ah, is your father serious about a dog? I have had a number of odd questions from him, yes?”

The Drake smiled ruefully.

“Sorry about that. I don’t know if he’s serious. I like cats and dogs. My dad—my father prefers dogs, though. He doesn’t get along with cats.”

She pointed. Embria turned back to see Relc glowering at a cat perched at head-height. The cat was hissing at him. Relc hissed back.

“Bleh. You want some? Bring it.”

That was the wrong move, apparently. The cat leapt and slashed at Relc’s extended tongue. The Drake staggered back, howling. Elirr sighed. Embria covered her face.

“That cat slashed my tongue!”

Relc’s first reaction after a drop of healing potion had been used was outrage. Embria put her claws on her hips.

“What are you doing, picking a fight with a cat? And how did it injure you, anyways? You’ve got two defensive Skills for your scales alone!”

“My scales, not my tongue!”

Relc moaned. Elirr was apologetic.

“I’m afraid Miss Twekla is also a bit more dangerous than the average housecat. Which is already a bloodthirsty murderer. She’s trained to kill pests, and her claws are sharper than normal. Please don’t tease her.”

“Do you sell cats for stew?”

The Drake glared at the cat. Miss Twekla hissed at him and leapt out of Elirr’s arms. She disappeared among her friends. The Gnoll shook his head.

“No one eats my animals. Or dogs in Liscor. Or cats. Unless they poop outside the litter box.”

He eyed his charges. They looked innocently back at him and raised their backsides, as if for inspection. Embria had to laugh. Elirr shook his head.

“I wonder how much they do know—Guardsman Relc, do you want a dog? You’ve seen all the ones I have, although I could hold any puppies that are birthed. It is a chore training them, but they are lifelong friends, yes?”

He looked at Relc. The [Guardsman] looked like he was seriously considering it.

“Maybe. You know, it’s a big thing, but I could see myself having a dog.”

“Oh come on, dad.”

Embria was exasperated. She poked Relc in the side, eliciting a yelp. He looked at her and she folded her arms.

“You’ve never had a pet. And you’ll forget to feed the poor animal. You don’t need a dog anyways; you can barely spend one day out of the week with me.”

“That is a consideration. Hrr. I do ask that my pet owners be able to care for their animals. If you weren’t taking this dog with you on patrol, it would be an issue.”

Elirr bent to pet one of the war hounds that had wandered up. Relc bent to pet it too.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t going to leave it alone. I guess I have to ask Klbkch for his opinion. But he likes animals. I think. In theory. These are good dogs, though. Right? You hate cats, don’t you, pal?”

The dog panted in agreement. Embria had to smile. Relc cast her a side-ways glance.

“Why don’t you take one, kid? You could raise a dog yourself. Worth a shot?”

Elirr looked up hopefully. Embria blinked at the dog, who had rolled onto its back and revealed that it was a he.

“I do have good hounds trained in a number of roles, from tracking to combat, Wing Commander. Even cats who can pull their weight in adventuring teams, believe it or not. Birds…”

Embria cut him off with a polite, apologetic smile.

“I’m sure, Mister Elirr. But I’m afraid that we’re not allowed pets in the army.”

She saw her father frown. Relc leaned on a counter, accidentally pushing a cat off the side. He ignored the yowl of hatred.

“Commander-ranks are. Getting a cat would be weird, but you could get a war dog instead of me.”

“No. I really don’t think it’s a good idea.”

Embria straightened. She would have loved to pet the dog more, but she had a sense that Relc was about to be attacked by a bunch of cats if he stayed any longer. Elirr nodded, but Relc was insistent.

“Why not? They’re good company. You could get one that can bite legs off. One of those super-big ones, the size of wolves. Or a Carn Wolf. Can you train those, Elirr?”

“Not unless you’re willing to pay the food bills.”

The Gnoll muttered. He lifted up a small terrier and offered it to Embria. She hesitated. The Gnoll’s smile was welcoming. But then Embria closed her eyes.

“Animals die in battle first. I’m fine. Thank you, Mister Elirr, really. But I can’t.”

And that was that. Elirr nodded. He gestured to the shop.

“If you would like to stay, feel free. The animals do like company and I can’t be everywhere. Just, please. Don’t keep the doors open. The cats like to think they can come back whenever they please. They’re incorrigible.”

Much to Embria’s surprise, she did stay for half-an-hour longer, to inspect some birds with Relc and watch as a cat projectile-urinated on him from above. After Relc had sponged off the worst of it with some water, they left the shop. Two cats followed them out; Relc tossed them back inside. He grinned at Embria and she smiled back. Relc pointed down the street.

“Hey. You want to get lunch? My treat. I want to show you a cool drink.”

“Sure. But if it’s that blue fruit drink you’ve been harping about…”

“What? No, no. Yes. Come on. It’s great, I promise.”

Relc led the way down the street. Embria followed him, a step behind now. She saw Relc humming to himself, pleased as could be despite the dampness on one shoulder. She stared at his swinging arm, and then her own.

She looked at her claw. It twitched. Embria looked ahead at Relc’s claws. She reached out hesitantly. Then she lowered her arm.

And she followed him down the street without another word.

It was just a memory.

—-

The Wandering Inn had a lunch crowd. In fact, the lunch crowd was big. Apparently there had been a near-fire, but only the inn’s regulars were disappointed they’d missed that. The rest were here to debate the ongoing election issue. It seemed the Council would be forced to vote on it! And what if they voted no?

Embria and Relc sat removed from it all. They were having lunch, and Embria found herself enjoying it. The blue fruit drink was indeed blue, and such a vivid color that she was immediately uneasy about it. But the taste was as sweet as Relc had claimed, and Embria found herself drinking it with a will. Although she did water hers.

The two were having a slice of Erin’s pizza, another novel taste. Embria picked apart her first slice, then watched as Relc devoured two in quick succession. She had to admire the utilitarian nature of the slice, and even the Players of Celum performing in the back.

“They’re getting better. They’re not nearly as good as the original crew, but this new cast is doing all kinds of fun stuff. They even let you perform some of the roles as the lead while the others do a scene some nights! It’s great!”

Relc was clearly happy to watch the performers on stage. It was all Drathian to Embria, but she listened to him talk about a number of ‘plays’ that made no sense to her. He pointed at the blue fruit juice as she helped herself to another cup.

“You like it? It’s good, right?”

“I do like it. Thanks for dragging me here. It was your first good idea today.”

Embria slyly looked at Relc over the brim of her cup. He mock-bristled.

“Hey! I have plenty of good ideas! Just ask Klb! Not cooking was one of them. You see those burn marks?”

He jerked his thumb towards the kitchen. Embria had to agree.

“Okay. The puzzles were interesting. I had no idea you liked those. Honestly, though. A dog? How long would you keep one for before it died or ran off?”

Relc looked embarrassed.

“It was just a thought. I thought it would be a fun pal, you know? I wouldn’t mistreat it.”

That was…true. Embria had to admit, she couldn’t see Relc deliberately neglecting a dog, or even forgetting to feed it really. A fish? Definitely. A cat? Probably on purpose. But not a dog. She hesitated. Something about it did bug her, though.

“You don’t need a dog. I don’t need a dog or a cat. Or a pet. They’re a distraction for me, and if you got one, it would get in the way if—”

Too late. She bit her tongue. Relc’s convivial gaze sharpened.

“If what? If I…rejoin the army?”

Embria didn’t reply. She was gripping her leg with one claw under the table. She shouldn’t have said it. But it was too late now, and Relc was glowering.

“Yeah, I guess I wouldn’t be allowed a pet, being a lowly [Sergeant]. If I rejoined the army. Which I won’t. Although, now that you mention it—it sorta seems shitty, doesn’t it? No pets, no regular days off, fighting and dying without coming back to Liscor and forgetting all your old friends—hey, it’s almost like there’s more to life than fighting and nearly dying every week.”

He glared at his drink. Embria folded her arms, feeling a spark of indignation flare up in her chest.

“I didn’t bring it up once. That was an accident. You don’t need to bite my tail off.”

“Oh, sure it was. But you keep thinking it’s going to happen, don’t you? And I didn’t see you turning your tail up at all of my hobbies. What’s wrong with them? I’m retired, kid.”

“I didn’t say they were—Senior Guardsman is not retirement, father.”

A note of heat entered Embria’s tone. Relc’s was already as hot as the fireplace. It wasn’t that this was coming out of the blue. It was continuing a discussion—an argument—a quarrel, that they’d had week after week. Both knew what was coming. Both couldn’t stop it.

“It is for me. I’m never going back. Stop suggesting it. Why do you keep wanting me to, anyways? It’s not like I was ever more than a [Sergeant]. That’s nothing in our army.”

“You weren’t just a [Sergeant] and you know it. If you asked—”

“They’d welcome me with a huge banquet and give me a crown? Fat chance. You think it’s great being in the army? Who’s got you marching up and down for Lism, huh? Fun job, that.”

Relc slowly drained his cup. Embria pushed hers back.

“I won’t have you insulting my home. The Antinium deal is idiotic and you know it. Liscor needs to make the right choice—”

A claw cracked the pewter cup.

“What would you know about the right choice? You haven’t been back in years! The army doesn’t know what Liscor wants or needs! And you don’t know the Antinium!”

“I know more about the Antinium than anyone in this city! You’re mad if you think they can be trusted, and that includes your so-called partner!”

Embria raised her voice. No—it had been risen. Relc stood up amid the localized silence. He pushed his chair back, tossed the shards of the mug onto the table, and glanced to one side.

“Sorry about that, Erin. I’m going to the outhouse.”

He turned and walked out of the inn. Embria looked to one side and saw that everyone was staring at her and her father. Including the young woman sitting at another table, feeding a Gnoll bite-sized morsels of pizza. Embria colored. But Erin Solstice came over. She stared at the shards of the mug on the table.

“Huh. He drank everything before cracking the mug. Cool, cool. I can respect that. Uh…hi. Embria, right?”

“That’s right. You’re Erin Solstice. We’ve met.”

Embria recalled their first meeting. So did Erin. The [Innkeeper]’s mouth twisted slightly, but then she looked over at Relc’s place.

“Um…so. Relc’s your dad.”

Embria sighed. She was already predicting the flow of this conversation.

“That’s right. He is. I know he’s…young. Compared to how old I am, at least. He was young when he joined the army. And my mother—I’m sorry about the shouting.”

Erin waved a hand.

“Don’t worry. ‘S cool. There’s been a lot of shouting all day. And screaming. And fire. People are really upset about the election thing, right?”

“That’s only part of the issue.”

The Wing Commander was glad it was hard to tell when she was flushing. She picked at her last slice of pizza. Erin studied it.

“Yeah. I gathered. Well, I don’t know the whole thing about the army and so on, but I know Relc. So—my condolences. Want another pizza? Or a burger? On the house. We also have alcohol. Dark lager.”

She waggled her eyebrows. Embria looked up sharply.

“What do you mean, my condolences.”

Erin raised her palms innocently.

“Oh, nothing. Nothing…but he is Relc. He can sort of be a jerk without trying sometimes. And he’s a goof—he makes mistakes, he’s rude, unhygienic…I can see how it’s hard. Y’know?”

She gave Embria what might have been meant to be a commiserating look. It failed. Embria controlled her temper, which had sparked up in her gut. She fixed Erin with a stare.

“No matter what you might have heard, Miss Solstice, my father is a Senior Guardsman. I hope you give him the dignity of his rank? I’ll remind you that Sergeant Relc has served Liscor’s army and the city for over twenty years. He’s entitled to his faults, and I didn’t hear him pointing out yours just now.”

“Well, of course. I didn’t mean he was bad. He’s changed a lot! Improved! I just meant—”

Erin began to stammer as Embria got up. The [Commander] stepped back from the table and fished for money. She slapped down some coins and walked towards the door—at the precise moment Relc, looking annoyed but also relieved, walked back in. He stopped, staring at her.

“Where are you going?”

“Out. I’ve just insulted your [Innkeeper] friend. I don’t think I’m welcome here.”

Embria mumbled, wishing she could reduce the heat in her cheeks. Relc stared at her face, and then over Embria’s shoulder.

“What? You didn’t get along with Erin? Everyone likes Erin. What got under your tail? Besides me, I mean.”

“Nothing.”

Embria snapped back. Then she caught herself. She shook her head despairingly at the blank, exasperated look on Relc’s face.

“Nothing. I’m just done. Sorry I brought up your past, father. Have fun with the play.”

“Hey, I thought you wanted—”

Embria walked past Relc before she could say something she’d regret. She did anyways.

“We don’t need to keep this up, father. You’ve got your life. I’ve got mine. I’m going back to work. I’ll see you next week.”

With that, she walked out the door. Relc watched her go, as did Erin and half the inn’s guests, who were used to tableaus by now. The [Actors] on stage were taking notes. Erin wandered past the Horns of Hammerad, to Relc. She looked at him. He looked at her.

“Was that my fault?”

Relc sighed.

“No. I think it was mine. Don’t worry, Erin. It happens every week.”

“Every week?”

“Yeah. She always gets around to asking me to rejoin the army. And I always say no. We were having fun up until it this time, though. Well, even if we don’t do that, we argue about the High Command or something.”

The Drake felt at his shoulders, shaking his head. Erin looked at him. And then at the door. Embria had taken the door to the outside, which meant she’d be walking back in the mud and drying soil.

“It didn’t look like that to me.”

“Me either.”

Both Relc and Erin turned to look at the person standing behind them. Relc blinked.

“You’re…”

He hesitated. Then he snapped his fingers a few times.

“Uh, we’ve met. But I forget. Who are you again?”

—-

Wing Commander Embria was unhappy. And unlike her father, she had no hobbies to engage her. Or rather, none she could really pursue at this moment. She had no friends outside of her subordinates, and she was their [Commander]. So she was alone. And because she was alone, she did what she knew.

The training grounds attached to the Adventurer’s Guild were in use at this time of day, mainly by adventurers who weren’t currently at work. The City Watch must have had their own area, because Embria saw none of them there. She did recognize some teams—the Gold rank teams, the Wings of Pallass, and the Flamewardens looked to be coordinating team attacks together.

They were known even outside of their home Walled Cities of Pallass and of course Embria knew them as part of her job. Another time she might have introduced herself, but at the moment she was just angry. So she grabbed a training spear, eyed it, and then stalked back to her barracks and came back with her regular spear.

That alone earned her a small berth of space, although the grounds really weren’t that busy. Embria went through a basic attack drill, thrusting and pivoting, parrying invisible shapes, working out her muscles and trying to forget anything else. She was so caught up in the drill that she didn’t notice the figure standing in bright armor on the other end of her area until she was halfway down towards her. Embria instantly stopped; her enchanted spear was very dangerous to anyone carelessly walking in front of it. Not that anyone but an idiot did that in a practice area.

But the person wasn’t a foolish passerby, or even a member of the audience too close for their comfort. It was in fact, a woman, perhaps Embria’s age, with long, golden hair, fair skin that invited the word faire, and the complexion that would fit right at home on a damsel in distress in a similar, very specific era of Human society that had somehow still endured in Terandria and parts of Izril until this day.

The only difference was that this damsel was both [Knight] and maiden. Her armor was polished, if slightly mismatched, and clearly enchanted. She held a wooden longsword in two hands and nodded politely at Embria.

“Apologies. I was wondering if you’d like to spar?”

It was a common request and the courteous answer was yes. But Embria was in no mood. She planted the tip of her spear in the ground.

“Sorry. I’m not in the mood for a spar. One of us would get hurt.”

The [Knight] or adventurer shrugged.

“I’m willing to take a risk. I have armor on. And you’re quick with that spear. What do you say? Practice spear, though? I don’t want to take a hit from whatever that is.”

She indicated Embria’s enchanted spear. The Drake bared her teeth. But why not? She took her spear to one side and grabbed the training spear. Then she walked back.

“Don’t blame me if you get hurt. Call out any time if you want to stop.”

The [Warrior] nodded calmly and set herself. Embria didn’t bother with a count or formality; she set to with a series of rapid thrusts aimed straight at the woman’s chest. She didn’t intend to strike the unguarded face—that was begging to put out an eye or do serious damage—but a few sturdy hits against the breastplate would make Embria feel better.

Only, it turned out the woman was better than Embria had thought. She blocked and moved back with the longsword, calmly deflecting aggressive thrusts meant to hit her. More than a fair number got through; Embria was a Wing Commander and she had the advantage of reach and speed with her spear.

But the woman was quick and more adept with her longsword than most [Warriors]. Even better than the [Lieutenants] under Embria’s command. And yes, she took hits, but if she had a helmet on and Embria were trying to get through her armor? It would have been closer.

After a few minutes, Embria let the woman go on the offensive. And she found that the [Warrior] was just as aggressive as Embria herself. The Drake blocked a heavy two-handed strike and grunted; she pivoted and avoided a lancing thrust at her chest. To the Human woman’s clear frustration she didn’t get more than a single, glancing blow in on her entire offensive. She lowered her sword, panting, and Embria smiled.

“You’re not half bad, Miss Warrior.”

“The same to you. Although it’s more like false modesty in your case. I thought I’d touch you properly at least once. That was humbling.”

The woman planted her sword in the ground, looking disgusted with herself. Against her mood, Embria laughed. And she was feeling better.

“If you could hit me so easily, I’d be worried. You’re a Gold-rank adventurer, Miss?”

“Silver. But I’ve improved since my last ranking test. Not enough, apparently.”

Embria shrugged.

“A Wing Commander should be the equivalent of any Gold-rank adventurer. At least.”

“True. True enough. But you’re quicker with a spear than I thought. I’d hate to try that with my actual sword, enchantments or not. Yvlon Byres, at your service.”

The woman held out a hand. Embria blinked; normally you’d take off a gauntlet, but she shook the hand anyways. Yvlon rubbed at one forearm as she stepped back and Embria wondered if she’d taken an injury. She didn’t comment on it.

“Please. Wing Commander Embria Grasstongue. Are you here to challenge Liscor’s dungeon, Miss Byres?”

“Call me Yvlon. And I’ve had enough of that dungeon for two lifetimes.”

Yvlon’s smile was bitter. But she brushed that away in a second. She and Embria stood to one side, watching as Bevussa flew up in a mock sparring match with Keldrass.

“I have to admit, I sought you out myself, Commander Embria.”

“Just Embria. Have we met?”

Yvlon blinked.

“No. But you were just at The Wandering Inn. And I uh, saw part of what happened there.”

“Oh.”

The Drake’s mood soured at once again. Yvlon spoke quickly, eying her face.

“I don’t know about the uh, Drake. Relc. Your father? I meant about Erin. I heard what she said. And I wanted to clear the air. Erin can be tactless, but she counts Relc as a friend.”

“That’s something. But she didn’t get anything wrong. And you can probably guess our relationship at a glance.”

“I can.”

Yvlon’s quiet voice made Embria look up. The [Warrior] gripped on arm absently, then she met Embria’s eyes.

“He’s quite good. I saw him fighting during the siege. And against the Face-Eater Moths. The Raskghar too, come to think of it.”

“You were here for all of that?”

Embria was surprised. She’d heard of Liscor’s woes. To hear tell, the city had barely made it out of each encounter. Yvlon nodded.

“I took part. Not as the vanguard of any of the action. But your father was a good part of all of it. I think he took out one of the giant Face-Eater Moths? He certainly killed a number of Raskghar. Even one of their Awakened. And…Garen Redfang.”

Her expression grew still at that. But it only made Embria more curious.

“I haven’t been able to get anyone to give me a full account of what happened. Can you tell me more? Uh—would you like to sit?”

“I could stand or sit. It’s not like we’re that tired. By all means, let me fill you in. I can’t say I saw all of what Relc did, but as for the action—”

Yvlon began to tell Embria about all three encounters. Then, with a grimace, she went back and related the encounter with Skinner as well.

“I didn’t see any of that. Not—well, not Liscor’s side of things. But I heard that he helped chase off Skinner himself.”

“No one mentioned that. It doesn’t surprise me, though. He’s one of Liscor’s best—no, probably their best fighter, if not the highest-level [Guardsman].”

By this time Embria was sitting. The Wing Commander smiled to herself as she balanced her enchanted spear on her legs. Yvlon eyed the tip with interest; it had been given a very fine metal inlay that made it look like blue tracers of metal were forged into the spearhead.

“I have to admit, I was surprised at how good Relc was. I’ve known [Guardsman] and none, not even their Watch Captains, have come close. Not even in places like Invrisil. I know the Drakes value their law enforcement, but Relc’s as strong as a Gold-rank adventurer. Without more than his enchanted spear. And he was a war hero?”

The question in her voice was without judgment. Embria hesitated.

“You could say that. He was really just a soldier. One of Liscor’s finest. He was a [Sergeant]—I don’t suppose you know how Liscor’s army works? We have a lot of officer classes.”

Yvlon’s lips quirked.

“I have a friend who educates me on everything and anything. I do know a bit. [Sergeant]’s low, isn’t it?”

“It is. But my father wasn’t just an ordinary grunt. He had a nickname. The Gecko of Liscor. And he was an anti-officer fighter. He could charge into enemy lines, take out a commander, and retreat.”

“And he was only a [Sergeant]? Was it a ploy?”

Embria ducked her head.

“Yes and no. You see, he really wasn’t the kind of person who could lead an entire unit, let alone a wing or an army. He had the fighting skill. Leadership? Strategy? No. He was perfect for a [Sergeant], so the High Command decided he could be the best. And his class also interfered with him advancing. You see, he’s a [Spearmaster].”

Yvlon whistled softly. Embria nodded a few times.

“You get it?”

“They’re like [Fencers]. The ones with silver and gold bells, I mean. Not just anyone can get that class. Don’t you have to be trained for years to be a [Spearmaster]?”

“Or kill one in combat. The trouble is, there’s no class consolidation that combines [Sergeant] and [Spearmaster]. There is a [Spearmaster General], although that’s generic, and he might have gotten [Spear Captain], but…it just didn’t work out. So my dad’s a Level 30 plus [Spearmaster] and nearly as high level in [Sergeant].”

“And a [Guardsman]. No wonder he can fight with the best of them.”

“Right? He was a nightmare to face for low-level officers. The High Command even made an allowance to give him a [Commander]-grade artifact.”

It was no use, Embria couldn’t suppress the delighted smile on her face. Yvlon was smiling too as she balanced the practice sword on her knees.

“Like the one you use? I’ve got a good sword myself. The armor’s second-rate, but decent. But my sword? It’s a Sword of [Weight]. I’m trying not to let it do the fighting.”

Embria blinked. Her [Soldier]’s mind took over for a second.

“How heavy?”

“I haven’t measured. But maybe as much as thirty pounds? Higher?”

“That’s…powerful.”

“It is. But your spear looks just as deadly. May I ask what it’s enchantment is?”

Yvlon indicated the spear balanced across Embria’s legs. The Wing Commander looked down. She hesitated, but anyone who knew something of spears would be able to identify it.

“It’s an Evercut spear. Heard of it?”

The warrior nodded.

“I’ve heard of Evercut arrows. Same principle? One cut and you don’t stop bleeding?”

“Not with magic. And it halts regeneration. It also makes the bleeding worse since it takes far longer to clot. It’s a good spear. Not the best, but I’ve used it for years. His is better. My father’s, I mean. He’s got one enchanted with anti-magic. It’s nearly as strong as a blade made of Naq-Alrama steel. It’s a [Mage]-killer, or an officer-slayer.”

“That is good.”

Yvlon nodded appreciatively, as only one who knew something of combat could. She glanced at Embria as the Drake blushed, realizing she’d gone on about Relc for the last five minutes.

“Sorry. I just don’t get a chance to learn about my father that often. He doesn’t talk about his life. Much less his past with me.”

The Human woman shook her head. She sighed and sat back on the practice bench.

“No, it’s refreshing. And I’m glad I could tell you what’s happened. I have to say…I suppose I was wrong. You admire him. I guess that’s not like my father and I at all.”

Embria coughed.

“W-what? Well, he is my father.”

The armored woman nodded.

“I know. And I have a similar relationship to my father. I admire him too. But he’s not my hero.”

She looked at Embria. The Wing Commander froze. And what might have come out of her mouth next was anyone’s guess. Because she saw something similar in Yvlon’s gaze, a knowingness. And then she saw something else reflected in her vision. And she heard a voice, polite, friendly, clicking, from behind her.

“Hello, Yvlon. I am not interrupting you, am I?”

Embria spun. She saw two open mandibles, a black body. Multi-faceted eyes. Antennae. Three arms.

Antinium.

Reflexively, Embria rose, spear raised. Yvlon jumped to her feet, putting an arm out. The Antinium stepped back, studying Embria. He raised one hand in greeting.

“I am Ksmvr.”

“Back off.”

Embria snarled. Yvlon quickly interposed herself between Embria and the Antinium.

“Ksmvr, take a step back. Wing Commander, please calm down. Ksmvr is with me. He’s part of my team.”

“You?”

Embria stared at Yvlon. She felt like she’d been punched in the gut. She’d heard someone was crazy enough to have teamed up with an Antinium. But Yvlon? The [Warrior] nodded.

“Ksmvr’s from Liscor’s Hive. He was exiled. I know what Liscor’s army’s relationship is with the Antinium but—they’re not all monsters. Neither are all Goblins. It took me a while to realize that myself.”

“That is correct. I am not listed as a monster in the Adventurer’s Guild.”

“Not helping, Ksmvr.”

Embria was shaking her head. She took a step backwards, glaring at both Yvlon and Ksmvr, her body taut.

“I don’t care. I know my enemies, and Goblins and Antinium don’t get a pass for being different. They’re both species that have nearly wiped out Liscor and my people—you have no idea what that thing is capable of.”

“No?”

A touch of fire entered Yvlon’s yes. She held an arm blocking Embria. The Drake lowered her spear’s tip, but she still glared at Ksmvr.

“No.”

“No.”

Both females looked at Ksmvr. The Antinium adventurer nodded.

“Wing Commander Embria is quite correct. You do not know the full capacity of my abilities, Yvlon. I have been trying to educate you. But Wing Commander Embria’s hostility is quite understandable.”

“No, it’s not.”

Yvlon folded her arms, glaring between Ksmvr and Embria now. She turned to him.

“Your people may have invaded Izril, Ksmvr, but you killed no one. And the Antinium helped save Liscor. Surely that earns them a small pass? Humans and Gnolls have both been at war with the Drakes, and I didn’t see Commander Embria instantly threaten me when I approached. No Antinium has killed a Drake in a decade. Can’t we be civil?”

She looked pointedly at the Drake in question. Embria took a deep breath.

“No, we can not. You’re the one who doesn’t understand, Miss Byres. The Antinium are not another species on Izril who can be reasoned with. They are cold, insectile strangers. And I’ve killed Antinium before.”

The [Warrior] paused.

“How do you mean? From Liscor’s Hive?”

Embria laughed.

“We haven’t been here long enough. But Liscor’s army fights everywhere. You think we aren’t called to patrol the neutral border between the Hives? It’s not peaceful like you Humans think. The Antinium attack us, and we attack them. Clashes happen all the time on the border zone. And not with these Worker-types either. Liscor’s Antinium are tame compared to the ones I’ve seen. Flying bastards who pick off travelers on the roads. Armored Antinium. Invisible ones. And there are worse kinds, like the things that sometimes appear and kill entire villages. They don’t look like regular Antinium—until you cut them open and see the similarities. We are at war.”

The woman opened her mouth. But it was Ksmvr who jumped in.

“That is correct, broadly speaking, Wing Commander Embria. But I am no longer a member of my Hive. Therefore, I am no enemy of yours, Wing Commander Embria. I am an adventurer. That is all I have left.”

Embria filed away that information in case it was important. But she still held onto her spear. She lowered it to the ground and stepped back, but she couldn’t let go.

“That changes nothing. I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Byres. But I think it’s time I get back to my drills.”

She saluted with her spear. Yvlon looked annoyed and disgusted by turns. She moved Ksmvr back and spoke sharply.

“I’d have hoped that you could meet one member of a species without tarring the rest with the same brush. Or are all Drakes the same? All Gnolls? Either way, if you won’t accept the Antinium, at least you could rethink Goblins. One stays at Erin’s inn. And Goblins may have attacked Liscor at the behest of their Goblin Lord, but Goblins—”

“Saved it?”

It was a common refrain. Embria spat the words. She looked Yvlon in the eye and shook her head.

“You want me to be at peace with the Antinium? Fine. I’ll do that when we’re actually at peace. When I can trust that the Hive isn’t working to undermine Liscor.”

“That would be very difficult.”

“Shush, Ksmvr”

Embria ignored both. She tightened her grip on her spear.

“But Goblins? Make peace with Goblins? Never. Goblins killed my mother.”

—-

And then she was the angriest she’d been all day. For a moment. For ten minutes. For twenty. Twenty seven. And then she couldn’t be angry anymore. Because as deep the injustice, as true as the emotions were, they were old wounds. Embria couldn’t be angry. So she was just tired. And a bit sad as she practiced alone.

That was how he found her. She didn’t expect it, but when she turned her head there he was. Just standing there, watching her. He nearly made her lose her grip on her spear. In the end, Embria swung it onto one shoulder and glared at him. She wasn’t in the mood for half-hearted apologies.

“Did you send that Human? Yvlon Byres?”

Relc looked around. Yvlon was standing on the far end of the practice grounds, showing Ksmvr how to fight with sword and shield more effectively.

“Her? Nope. I got sort of mad at Erin when I found out she’d gone. But apparently it was all Yvlon.”

“Well. She’s best friends with an Antinium. Just like you’re now best friends with Erin and all her Goblins, right? Are you enjoying their company too, along with Senior Guardsman Klbkch?”

The words felt like acid coming out, as if Embria was Oldblood. Relc just stared at her, until she couldn’t meet his gaze. Shame rushed through her; the look in his eyes was—

“No. I don’t speak to that guy. And he doesn’t speak to me. But I don’t need to join the army and slaughter another thousand to avenge your mother.”

“So you’re fine with Goblins now? Is that it?”

Embria whirled on him. Relc’s shrugged. It was pained, contemptuous, and tired all at once.

“I didn’t say that. But tell me. How many more should I have killed? How long should I have stuck around to kill them? One killed her. And it could have been, Humans, Gnolls, Drakes, a damn Corusdeer—”

“They killed your parents. You told me.”

“I did. And they did. I never said I was okay with it. But Antinium got my buddies. Klb is my buddy. Let’s just say it’s like that.”

It was too much like what Yvlon had said. Embria turned her back.

“You don’t have to follow me about. We had our half a day. That’s better than normal.”

Relc sighed loudly.

“Why is it always like this? I thought you liked the pet store. And the pizza. Maybe even the puzzles.”

“I did. But that’s your life, father. Not mine.”

Relc paused.

“Yeah. So maybe I should visit where you work. What’s stopping you from saying where we’ll go one time?”

“If you went back to the barracks, half of my command would be lining up to have a ‘friendly’ sparring match with you. The other half would spit in your face.”

“Sounds about right. So it’s my crummy life, huh?”

“It wouldn’t bother me if you did anything useful with your time. But what am I supposed to do? Just watch you go about your business? Can’t you—do something I’d do?”

There was a pause. And then a sigh. Embria listened to it as she stared at Yvlon and Ksmvr, who were studiously ignoring them. Well, Yvlon was.

“I tried. But I guess my life just isn’t that interesting. Puzzles. Dogs. Blue fruit juice. I’m sorry. What would you like me to do? Go for a drink? Watch a performance or something?”

“I don’t know. No.”

“Then I’m out of ideas. What do we have in common?”

Embria spun. She walked over to Relc and poked at his chest.

“You’re my father. I’m your daughter. Isn’t that enough?”

He looked down at her sadly.

“I guess not, kid. Or I guess we’re too alike. Only, we’re on the wrong side of things. You’re in the army. I’m not. How do we deal with that?”

And she had no answer. If she had, she wouldn’t be here. They wouldn’t do this. And she wouldn’t have been a Wing Commander while he stayed in Liscor. And both of them knew it. So Embria turned around. She grabbed her spear and ran through one of her exercises. The spear cut the air. Embria did a basic spear dance, alone in her world. Waiting for him to leave.

He didn’t leave, though. Whenever she turned her head, there he was. And that was different too. She’d expected him to stalk off in a huff or just sneak away. Run away. But this time he stayed. He was watching her. Watching the arcs her spear traced in the air. Embria turned her head and kept practicing. And after three more forms, she heard his voice.

“You do that pretty well. I have a similar warm-up, you know.”

“Uh huh.”

She concentrated on her footwork. It was familiar. Comforting. But she was aware of his presence. It was aggravating and familiar. And…Embria tried to shut out the rest with the purity of her art. She transitioned. From basic thrusts and steps to advanced moves. Sweeping cuts, sudden feints and reverse-strikes. The sounds in the practice courts slowly died down as Embria cut and stepped, faster and faster, each strike striving for precision, the height of martial prowess that Skills alone could not achieve.

And then she turned—and he was gone. Gone from the place he’d been standing. Just like that. It hit Embria in the gut and she staggered for a second. But what had she expected? For him to wait forever. Angrily, Embria turned. She raised her spear to slash—

And there he was. Relc raised his spear above his head. And he was right there. His head turned to look at her. Embria faltered. Her spear nearly slipped. Then she realized. His arms. His posture.

It was a copy of hers. And as Relc brought his spear down, he completed the slash she’d been about to perform. Slowly, Embria cut downwards, in the same arc. She looked at her father. And he waited.

What came next? Embria’s body took over for her mind. She retreated, cutting across the first cut. And beside her, Relc copied the move.

No—he didn’t copy it. Because that would have put him a beat behind her. He had moved at the exact same time she did. He knew what was coming next. And of course he did. This was a spear technique. A move he had learned. Perhaps even the ones he had shown her growing up.

Of course they were the same. Slowly, Embria brought her spear up. It was her routine. Her warm up. But two spears rose. They fell as one. And daughter and father looked at each other. And then Embria took a deep breath. She spun her spear and Relc blinked and then mimicked her. And they began again.

—-

Yvlon saw the two figures moving in synch out of the corner of her eye at first. And at first she didn’t pay attention, coaching Ksmvr in traditional Byres swordplay. But then the movements were impossible to ignore. Because they were an anomaly. Just like something completely dissonant stood out, the unity of the two figures was also different. Yvlon turned and halted her practice session.

Her eyes widened. She saw Embria, sweat covering her crimson scales, turning. Her spear was lowered, tracing a circle in the dirt around her. And beside her, his spear held in the exact same way, at the same angle, was Relc. He flicked his spear up, and hers flew with it, a slight thrust that kicked up dirt. They jumped back, and the veil of dust billowed up. And two outlines moved together. Two shadows.

Step. Pivot. The spears cut a line through the cloud of dust. Yvlon watched the tips of the spears tracing silver lines in the air. They caught the light.

“Silver and steel.”

Yvlon breathed the words. The move was beautiful, but the technique of both Drakes was flawless. And she wasn’t the only one who’d seen. Across the sparring grounds and practice area, other people were lowering their weapons. Captain Bevussa and Keldrass halted in their practice to watch.

“Are you seeing this, Issa?”

“Yes, Captain.”

One of the Oldblood Drakes alighted on the ground. Her eyes caught a crescent cut. This time Embria and Relc advanced, and the half-moons cut patterns through the air. Bevussa glanced at her teammate.

“You use a spear. How good are they? Could you do that?”

“Good, Captain? I can’t tell. But I can’t do that. Not with a Skill. Look.”

It wasn’t just the way they cut, or the fact that they moved in tandem. Because a spear was not a single weapon like a sword you could only hold a limited number of ways. It could be long or short, and where you held it, where you stood, affected how you fought your opponent.

Stab. Cut upwards. Shift grip. The spears jabbed and then spun, from a lance to quarterstaff. The other practitioners in the courtyard looked up. The two Drakes struck, up, down, left, right, a never-ending flurry of blows. Then they changed their grips and swung.

“Watch out—”

The long end of the spear swung across the courts. And Relc and Embria were too close. They were going to strike each other across the torsos! Bevussa started forwards with two Drakes from her team. They were too slow.

And it didn’t matter. Embria’s torso twisted. Sideways, and down. She leaned under Relc’s swing and as she completed the sweeping slash he twisted back, letting her enchanted spear’s tip pass over his face. Neither Drake blinked. They kept moving, wielding their spears like longswords now, with even greater reach.

Yvlon watched silently. So did Ksmvr. Both used swords. But Yvlon was the daughter of a martial house. Ksmvr had been born a Prognugator. They understood the art of wielding a spear. To Yvlon, it was a lesson in watching basic forms executed flawlessly. And then both Drakes left her understanding of spear combat behind.

A flash of light. The spears touched the ground. And then dust billowed up. But the two Drakes didn’t appear from behind the dust cloud. They pivoted, and then used the blunt ends of their spears. And as casually as if they were walking, they swung themselves off the ground, landing, cutting. A backhanded strike cut the air behind Embria as Relc duplicated the feat, before the cloud had begun to drift downwards.

“What was that move?”

Bevussa wondered aloud. No one on the courts answered her at first. And then an old, crackling voice spoke up.

“Blinding moves. Repositioning. Fighting an opponent to your rear.”

Yvlon looked around. An old, female Drake stood behind her, in the back door to the Adventurer’s Guild. Tekshia Shivertail, Guildmistress of Liscor’s Adventuring Guild, watched as Relc and Embria turned. Their spears lashed out, cutting the air.

“They’re good, Guildmistress?”

Bevussa asked on behalf of the silent audience. Neither Embria nor Relc noticed. Tekshia shook her head. She watched Embria as the younger Drake’s scales flashed.

“If you have to ask, you know the answer. Watch.”

The spear dances had changed. Now more complex forms were appearing. Relc and Embria stepped back, walking backwards from an invisible foe. The spears flickered, front, back, jabbing with the tip and butt of the spear.

“Fighting off a two-pronged attack. Spinning technique to keep them off-guard.”

The two spears flickered as the Drakes spun then, and Yvlon lost track of where the spear tip was for a second as the two attacked two directions at once, repeating the confusing maneuver, halting the rotating of the spear to attack with the spearhead or lash out backwards.

Then the two Drakes paused. They looked at each other, and Relc gestured up. Embria nodded. Yvlon was confused. Then Embria and Relc took a run up. They leapt, using their poles to vault high, high into the air.

They should have fallen, no matter how long it took. But they stayed in the air. The butt of Embria’s spear struck the hard earth and the force launched her again as her body twisted sideways. She struck again, and the earth cracked. And then again, launching herself in midair before she could touch the ground. The impacts kept her moving through the air until she landed. Next to Relc, across the sparring courts. Thirty feet away.

Silently, the audience stared at Tekshia. The old [Guildmistress] folded her arms.

“That’s just showing off.”

As the two landed, they finished the routine. The final combination was just a series of thrusts.

Strike. Step. Strike. The spears shot forwards, finding an invisible target with each strike. As if there was no doubt they would ever miss. It was confident. And just when Yvlon thought the two would lower their spears, they turned. As smoothly as they had been in clockwork before, suddenly Embria was facing her father. And her enchanted spear lanced out like a serpent at his chest.

Clack.

He knocked it down. Undeterred, Embria swept her spear up. But the sound of wood meeting wood was the only sound in the world. She spun her spear, and Relc blocked the butt of the spear swinging to his thigh. The female Drake slashed again and it was blocked. But she continued. Faster, and faster.

Clack. Clack. Clack. Clackclackclackclackclack—

The sound became an endless stream of sound in Yvlon’s ears. Each slash was blocked or diverted, each blow parried. And then, suddenly, it was Embria on the defensive. First Relc attacked, his spear whirling from form to form—short stabs, long slashes, whirling the spear like a stave—and then Embria was advancing.

Back and forth. Advancing and retreating. They pressed each other hard, but not once did the spear’s tip touch the other, wood or enchanted metal. It put Yvlon’s bout with Embria to shame. If this was what the Drake was capable of, Yvlon wouldn’t have ever touched her.

The duel, the practice, lasted sometime between a heartbeat and an hour. Then Embria lowered her spear and wiped at her brow. And Relc propped his spear up on his shoulder and stretched. Yvlon exhaled, and Tekshia applauded.

Once. It was so quiet that Yvlon barely heard it. She saw Keldrass uncertainly raise his claws with some of the other watchers, but Tekshia had stopped before anyone else could join in. The Guildmistress shook her head once more. But her tone was far from dismissive.

“And they say we don’t have true skill at arms. Someone show those [Martial Artist] freaks at Pomle this sight.”

She hobbled forwards, using a cane that rather resembled a spear itself for a crutch. No—it was a short spear. Tekshia leaned on it. Yvlon followed her.

“That’s what a Wing Commander in your army can do?”

The old Drake snorted.

“That’s what Commander Grasstongue can do. Why do you think she made Wing Commander in just two decades?”

She shook her head. With her spear-cane, Tekshia indicated Relc. He was smiling. So was Embria.

“That was a [Spearmaster]’s routine. No [Spear Hunter] could do that just by practicing or leveling up.”

The look she gave the other adventurers in the sparring fields said they couldn’t do it either. Yvlon tried to remember if she’d ever seen Ylawes or anyone else perform a sword-dance nearly that advanced. Pisces…no, he had polished moves, but not nearly to this level.

Now Relc and Embria were talking. He wiped off sweat from his brow as he indicated at the spot where they’d literally flown across the ground for thirty feet.

“Where’d you learn my patented [Soaring Spearsman] trick?”

Embria grinned. Her tone sounded waspish, but her expression looked pleased to Yvlon.

“Don’t make up Skills. I watched you do that trick for years. It took me a decade to learn to copy it. And unlike you, I’ve actually used it in battles.”

“Hey! Wait, really?”

“Yes. I didn’t think you still practiced, though.”

“Well, you know. I keep up. The Captain would kill me if I didn’t practice. So I do. Say…I’m beat. Want to wash off and…get a drink?”

Embria paused. She looked at Relc and hesitated. At last, she shrugged.

“I could try that. We could.”

“Sure. Want to go to the bath house?”

“Nah. I’ll just grab a bucket of water and…get a change of clothes. You’re covered in sweat. What if we meet at your apartment in ten minutes?”

“Sure. I mean, great.”

Relc stood to one side. He watched, almost bemused, as his daughter left the courtyard, spear on one shoulder. He turned his head and stared at his spear—even the way he carried it was the same. He looked around and then noticed the audience at last.

“What’re you looking at?”

Tekshia poked Relc in the back with hear spear.

“You, fool. Where did that girl learn how to do that spear dance?”

“I don’t know. From the army?”

Relc ducked as Tekshia swung at his head. And she was quick too. She glared at him.

“Don’t be cute. You’re too ugly. She copied you. I’ve seen you practice that before. And you can’t learn that from sight alone, no matter what genius you are. You taught her.”

The big [Guardsman] hunched his shoulders.

“So maybe I did. I didn’t think she’d keep using that in the army. I taught her how to use a spear and nothing else. So what? That’s a terrible gift for a kid to get.”

Tekshia just shook her head. She looked around and then clicked her fingers.

“You. Keldrass. Grab a bucket of water. Fill it up from the wall.”

The Gold-rank Captain blinked. But another click of Tekshia’s claws sent him trotting off. She looked at Relc. He was leaning on his spear, sweat dripping down.

“Go wash up. And put something decent on. Don’t leave your daughter waiting. If you really feel that way, then your company is the least she deserves.”

Keldrass came back. Tekshia grabbed the bucket and hurled it on Relc. The Drake cursed, and then blinked at her through a waterfall of water dripping off him. He hadn’t dodged it. Tekshia snapped at him.

“Did you hear me? Get lost.”

Relc uncertainly looked around. Slowly, he put his spear away. Then he trotted down the street. Yvlon stared at the puddles of water he left. Tekshia sighed as she watched him go. Then she stared around.

“What are you waiting for? Do you think you’ll level up by watching? Get back to work!”

The adventurers started and took their spots, even if they’d been intending to get a nice long drink instead. Tekshia walked back into her guild. She paused to stare backwards at Relc’s disappearing from. Then she looked at the place where they’d been. She swishes her tail and shook her head a final time.

“Ridiculous. Liscor doesn’t need three [Spearmasters].”

But she was smiling when she said it.

—-

A father and a daughter met outside his apartments. As they do. As they did. They walked together through Liscor’s streets. It was both their days off. And as it had been noted, Liscor was full of things more interesting and exciting than them.

On his platform, Lism dueled Krshia with words. By his side was the esteemed, no, heroic Captain Wikir. The Gnoll stood in full breastplate and armor, saluting and looking bored and embarrassed to tears by halves. Embria paused to stare at him with Relc. She hesitated, and then pointed to the stage.

“You should be the one he calls out. Not me. All I did was follow orders. You slew that Goblin. Garen Redfang. I never thanked you for doing that.”

“Don’t.”

“But you’re Liscor’s war hero. If anyone was.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

Relc crossed his arms. He looked bleakly at the stage and shook his head. He looked at his daughter. This was the first thing they’d really said to each other since the sparring match. But it was honest. It didn’t dance about the subject. And it wasn’t the same conversation. She looked at him, hesitating.

“Why not? You stopped Garen Redfang. A Gold-rank traitor. And you commanded the 4th Company. You called the retreat when I didn’t. And they listened. Didn’t you feel anything?”

The former [Sergeant] hesitated. And he could have evaded or lied. But he didn’t.

“Of course. I went out there and for a second it was like being back in the ranks. But just for a second. I didn’t want to go out there swinging and fighting with the [Soldiers]. And I didn’t go down there for the 4th Company. I went there for you.”

He looked at his daughter. And his daughter looked back. Relc shook his head. He stared at Lism, and Captain Wikir. His voice was far-off.

“I didn’t do anything heroic. I killed a dead Goblin. And it still wasn’t me that got him. He just stopped. I’ve seen it before. What’s heroic about that? He killed the Goblin Lord. He went through an army—no, two armies and the 4th Company. And you think I stopped him? Besides…”

His voice trailed off. Embria waited for more, but a roar from the crowd drowned out whatever might be said preemptively. One of the candidates had shouted something inflammatory. Both sides pushed forwards, and Embria reached out.

“Let’s get out of here!”

“Right!”

Relc pushed through the crowd, single-handedly driving through the flow of people. He felt a grip on his hand, and when he won clear of the immediate crowd, he looked back and saw Embria was holding his hand. Relc swung his arm.

“Whew. Glad I’m not on duty. It’s going to be a pain breaking up the fights. Where to, kid? Uh, you can let go.”

Embria hesitated. But then she gripped Relc’s hand. He stared at her. She didn’t let go. Relc stared at her clawed hand. He opened his mouth. She jumped in.

“How about the inn?”

Relc closed his mouth on what he had been about to say. He nodded.

“Okay.”

And so they walked. Hand in hand. Embria’s cheeks were flaming with embarrassment, but you would hardly notice with her fiery scales as it was. And the hands? No one noticed as the two walked together at first. But the two whom it mattered to felt it.

“You’ve gotten a lot taller. When was the last time we did this?”

Relc looked down at Embria, mystified. She blinked up at him.

“It must have been around ten years ago. Eight at the least. Remember how I ran away when I was thirteen?”

His hand tightened on hers.

“Yeah. Yeah. I do remember that. And we never did this back in the army, did we? I just got back from the front or something. You were usually asleep.”

“That’s true.”

On they went. Embria took a deep breath as they walked down the street, past people whose lives didn’t matter to her right now.

“Is that why you left? Really? It wasn’t cowardice.”

“Nah. It was.”

She stopped.

“Dad. You don’t need to—”

“What? Lie? I don’t need to. I know what they say about me. I was one of them, remember?”

He looked at her. And he shrugged, looking a bit sad and guilty.

“It’s the truth. I just didn’t want to die. I thought I would. No, I knew I would. I had a nickname. And I was going into every battle with the front lines. I was afraid. Someday, someone was going to lay a trap. Or hire an [Assassin] and get me. I already had a dozen close calls. I didn’t want to die. And you were there. That’s true. So I quit. But it was about me, kid. It always was.”

It wasn’t what Embria wanted to hear. But the bitter pill wasn’t the poison she thought it would be.

“You know, I was serious about you coming back. There’s a bunch of your old friends who made it to the High Command. They’d call you in. You could be a [Captain]. It’s a possibility.”

And she hoped. Oh, she hoped, but she knew what he would say. For a glorious second he hesitated. Then Relc shook his head.

“I wouldn’t be happy there, k—Embria. I couldn’t go back, even if everyone welcomed me with open arms. I was afraid, yeah. But I wasn’t happy, near the end. That’s why I left. I could have died for the army, with my pals I guess. But I wasn’t happy. I didn’t say that either, did I? I’m sorry.”

He looked at Embria. And his grip was very gentle. And she looked up at him. And slowly, she nodded.

“Okay.”

It was the last time she would ever ask. Embria tried to blink tears out of her eyes, but there were none. Even so, Relc brushed a hand across her neck spines.

“Hey. It’s a good offer. If I ever lose my job, I’ll think about it, okay?”

And she laughed. Because that, more than any of his denials, was the truest refusal she’d ever heard. And on they walked. And in time, unbidden, Relc spoke. He looked at the inn on the hill as they walked out the gates, walking through mud and growing grass and plants.

“So I never got why Erin was upset. I thought Goblins were trash. Monsters. And I kept thinking that until I found myself hitting this little Goblin. Rags. Erin kicked me out of the inn. And then I realized ‘oh wow, she’s not kidding. She really likes Goblins.’ But I still didn’t get it until later. Really later, I mean.”

Embria waited. The inn was growing larger. The sun falling. And it was lit up. Relc swallowed, and then went on.

“The first time I came to the inn after the siege, Erin welcomed me in. She didn’t say a thing. And that Hob, Numbtongue, he didn’t attack me. Just gave me a look. I felt like I saw it in a mirror. I killed his dad, I guess. Goblins don’t have dads. But I heard that Redfang guy was his tribe’s Chieftain. Taught them all how to fight. But Numbtongue never went after me.”

“Why?”

Relc let go. He ran a claw down his neck and shook his head. Embria stopped to watch him. And the emotions flickering across his face were also realer than she had seen before.

“I asked him. Erin asked him, really. And he said it was because I didn’t kill him. Garen Redfang. His brother did. The Goblin Lord. Or Garen did. He chose where to die. I just held the spear. But you know what was familiar? Numbtongue, that guy. He didn’t forgive me. And I don’t think he will. And that’s fair. More than fair.”

That was all he said. Embria absorbed it quietly. She stood in the wet soil, inhaling the wet, musty scent in the air that was almost overpowering. And she had to ask. It wasn’t the same thing.

“So you’re okay with being here? With just being a Senior Guardsman and being a joke to some people?”

Relc hesitated. Then he smiled.

“They say that. But they made me Senior Guardsman. And Erin let me back into her inn. Klb’s my buddy. They say tons of stuff, but they’re my guys.”

Embria nodded. She swallowed a lump in her throat. Relc kept walking. He went on, staring at the sky.

“Everyone forgot about the Gecko of Liscor. Until recently, that was. No one remembers Sergeant Relc and that’s fine by me.”

A hand reached for his. Relc started, and then looked back. A little Drake looked up at him. And then an older one replaced her. Embria looked up at her father.

“I never forgot.”

For a while he looked at her. Startled. And then he smiled. They walked on, into the night and towards the inn sitting on the hill. And after a while, Relc spoke up. His thoughtful tone was gone, and a brasher, relaxed, note entered his tone. Bragging. And it was nostalgic.

“You know, I did use that trick where you keep jumping with the spear in battle. Didn’t I tell you about it?”

Embria rolled her eyes.

“Go on, Dad.”

Relc grinned.

“Well, when I was in the army, I was fighting an entire nest of Crelers. Babies. And the little bastards were swarming the ground, popping out of it. The [Mages] were going to hit the entire spot, so I…”

And he jumped ahead of her, demonstrating. Like a kid. But as Embria rolled her eyes, she realized this was the first time he’d talked about being in the army to her. And then she told him what her life had been like. And he listened.

—-

“And that’s how I killed my first Wyvern.”

Embria finished her tale and sipped from her cup. No blue fruit juice for her. Just a dark lager, which was in fact, light. Erin had gotten the barrels mixed up again. But it didn’t matter. Relc sat across from her, listening. And when Embria was done, he grinned and leaned over to nudge the girl sitting next to her.

“Hey Erin, hear that? My kid got her first Wyvern when she was eighteen. Not bad, Huh? You know, I was twenty eight when I killed mine. Not that we had to fight them that often. Obviously. But that’s something. Those bastards have sharp teeth and they dive fast.”

“Way too fast. You hear the shriek and it’s too late. Nightmarish.”

Embria agreed. Relc made a face.

“Damn High Command. Deploying us in Wyvern territory every two damn seconds.”

Embria nodded. This at least she could get behind. Relc grinned, caught by a sudden thought.

“But you know, we did figure out a way to deal with them. Poisoned dead cows. Or pigs. Didn’t old Scartail tell you to do that? He figured it out when I was in command.”

“I wish. We had a green Field Commander when I was deployed. Didn’t even get the horses under cover on the march.”

“Ancestor’s sack, what an idiot. But you got a Wyvern yourself. That’s something. Right, Erin? Embria’s almost as good as I am. And she’s a [Commander]. Right?”

Nudge, nudge. Erin nudged back out of irritation and lowered her mug.

“I get it Relc. She’s cool. Stop nudging me!”

“Sorry. Are we boring you?”

“Maybe? You’re been talking about this campaign or that mud pit you had to fight in for the last two hours. I’m not saying I’d rather listen to Pisces talk, but I might.”

Relc and Embria laughed. The Wing Commander spread her claws helplessly.

“Sorry, Miss Erin. I guess that’s what [Soldiers] do. Swap war stories. Even retired ones.”

“Well…okay. At least it’s acting hour in the inn. I get to watch people being booed off if I’m bored.”

Erin waved to the stage. The [Actors] were letting members of the crowd come up and try their hand at performing, usually with disastrous results in specific scenes. Then she brightened up.

“Hey! I should sell moldy produce to throw at them!”

“No you shouldn’t. We have to clean that up.”

Drassi passed by Erin with a refill for all three mugs. She winked at Embria, who waved at her. Relc harrumphed.

“Just you wait. I’m gonna have my turn and be excellent.”

“Sure, Dad. In the meantime, have you ever fought on the water? One of my fellow [Wing Commanders] said you never did, but two of my former superior officers claim you were with them on several naval campaigns.”

Relc looked indignant. He reached for a french fry and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing furiously.

“Have I fought on the…of course! I used to eat Drowned Sailors for breakfast. And that’s uh, not entirely a lie. There was this winter where—hold on. Is it my turn?”

He broke off, looked up, and shoot to his feet. The [Actors] on stage were beckoning to him. Relc raced forwards.

“My turn! Sorry, I’ll tell you later! Hey! I want to be Macbeth with the dagger!”

That left just Erin and Embria. Amused, the two young women watched as Relc clambered onto stage, already looking around for his costume. Erin cleared her throat as she looked at Embria.

“Sorry about earlier.”

“No. I should apologize. I bit your tail off over nothing.”

Embria waved a claw. Erin shook her head.

“It was my fault. I was a jerk. It was my Pisces moment. Everyone wants their dad to be a hero. Right?”

The Wing Commander hesitated, then she nodded. Ruefully, she looked at the stage.

“I just wish they could see what I saw. I’m sure Senior Guardsman Relc is well-loved. But I knew him back when he was the Gecko of Liscor. And it wasn’t just an insulting nickname either.”

“He was cool, huh?”

Erin watched Relc posing with an imaginary dagger in front of him. She blinked as Relc delivered Macbeth’s soliloquy without a flaw.

“Wow. He’s not half-bad. And he memorized half the play in a single day.”

“He gets into things. Just don’t let him act. Please. I don’t think I could bear him quoting that weird language to me all the time. And if someone insults him, he will jump off the stage and start a fight.”

“Gotcha. Don’t worry, I think he’s too busy anyways. Plus, he’s too muscly for most lead roles. Maybe Othello? We can make it part-time at best.”

Embria nodded. She had no idea what Erin meant, but she was happy enough to eat from her plate of lasagna and watch Relc enjoying his moment. Erin watched her.

“How’s the food? Good?”

“It’s not bad. I’ll probably copy this for the 4th Company back in the barracks. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

Embria tapped the layered lasagna. Erin stared at her.

“You can make lasagna? Really? No one I talked to knew how to make it, at least not Drakes or Gnolls.”

The red-scaled Drake shrugged.

“I’ve never made it. But it’s not hard, right? Layer of noodle here, noodle here, cheese, bake it probably—it’ll go good. And if the idiots on mess duty can’t copy me, I’ll make them eat whatever comes out.”

She smiled and Erin laughed.

“You have [Basic Cooking]? Or are you some kind of [Cook] as well?”

Embria waved her claw dismissively

“Some classes like [Mess Sergeant] get [Basic Cooking]. Myself, I never got anything like that. But cooking isn’t that hard, no matter what people think. You just need to learn what goes where and when and take calculated risks.”

“But how did you learn…?”

“Lots of practice.”

Embria pointed at Relc. He was coming down the stage, flushed with triumph to modest applause. Erin nodded slowly. Both turned to Relc as he strode up excitedly.

“Did you see? Line perfect! What you think—do I have a shot?”

“It wasn’t bad. Do you think you’ll become an [Actor], then? It would be a nice class to pick up for a few Skills, right?”

Embria raised her brows. Relc stroked his neck spines, looking smug.

“I mean, if I get the call. What do you think, Erin?”

“I think you should hope all four lead actors break a leg, Relc.”

“I can help with that.”

Embria smiled. Then she looked out the window at the moon.

“Unfortunately, I can’t help you with that. I think I have to go back. It’s going to be an early day tomorrow. And I can’t have anything more to drink. This was…fun. Same time next week, Dad?”

She looked back at him. Relc nodded.

“Sure. That would be fun.”

He looked surprised as he said it. Then he smiled. Embria agreed. She walked towards the door, her steps lighter than they’d been in a while. Erin, sitting at the table, saw Relc’s smile change, and then he half-rose, and called out after Embria.

“Hey. Have you ever thought of…quitting?”

She turned back. Elirr held her breath. Relc grubbed at his neck.

“It’s—I mean, just—have you? It’s not like [Guardsman] pays a lot, but Senior Guardsmen get more. And while it’s fun being here, no one can keep up with me. Not even Klb. It’s lonely, being the toughest and the greatest. So if this army thing never worked out…would you do it?”

He looked at her. And Embria looked back. Erin held her breath as she watched the Drake study her father, and then the inn. Embria glanced about, and then smiled ruefully.

“If you became Watch Captain, I’d think about it. Later.”

“Right. Later.”

Relc smiled. Embria walked out the inn’s door. Erin held her breath. She stared at Relc.

“Does that mean you’re going to run for Watch Captain?”

Relc shook his head. The [Guardsman] sat at his table, staring at the remains of his plate. Then he smiled wearily, and looked at her.

“She said no, Erin.”

“Oh.”

“It’s okay. I think—”

Relc abruptly got up. Embria, who was walking down the street, heard the door open behind her. Relc bellowed down the street of Liscor.

“Hey kid! What time is morning practice? Your [Captains] and officers aren’t nearly as good as they were when I was in the army. They could use a good example. When do you train in the morning?”

Embria’s heart skipped a beat. She turned, laughing.

“It hasn’t changed! It’s the same as always! Come on by whenever!”

“Sure!”

Relc grinned. The door closed, and he stepped back. Erin stood next to him. She stared up at him.

“You don’t remember what time it is.”

“Nope.”

—-

Wing Commander Embria walked back. Towards her barracks. Towards the only home she really knew. And she knew that tomorrow she’d have to deal with the High Command’s new orders. With Lism. With Shield Spider nests and perhaps the issue of a father who was too lazy to wake up in the morning. Or, conversely, a group of [Soldiers] who would not be happy to see him.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was a realization that Embria had. A strange feeling. Something had happened today. Something quiet, wonderful; something Embria hadn’t known could even happen.

Because she’d always had a father. Now? She had a friend.

6.30

Springtime in Liscor was disgusting. True, the initial rains had passed. And the muddy Floodplains were drying. A few valleys were still mudpits where the most stubborn amphibians and fish still clung to life, but the rest of the hills and valleys were now soil. And greenery.

The flowers were blooming. Little shoots of grass were poking up, the various species of grass—crab grass, bent grass, centipede grass, fescues, zoysias, Sage’s Grass, and more, all fighting for a war of supremacy over prime real estate. Some of it was lovely, lush grass that anyone would want to walk through barefoot. Other types would punish the bared sole, or even the improperly maintained boot. But that wasn’t what was disgusting.

The disgusting things were the wildlife. Nature was in bloom, and accordingly, nature was ready to reproduce. And unlike the Rock Crabs which conducted their clandestine affairs in secret under the water and laid deep, hidden caches of their eggs, the rest of the natural world was reproducing fast. Especially the spiders.

Of the many varieties of dangerous spiders in the world, the Shield Spiders were a problem for Liscor. For Izril in general, but Liscor in particular. Shield Spiders weren’t as aggressive as Spear Spiders, but they laid vast nests. Traps they used to ensnare victims.

And Shield Spiders laid a lot of eggs. And in the springtime, they hatched. The average Shield Spider could lay a few hundred eggs in a single egg sac. Larger, older spiders could lay thousands. And they didn’t stop at one egg sac.

The nests writhed with hundreds of thousands of baby spiders, crawling over each other. Eating each other. Covering their parents. Scuttling. And they descended on anything that fell into the nests. Corusdeer, rabbits, errant travellers…the spiders tore into flesh, crawled into openings, invaded organs, and already, began to reproduce again.

Monsters. And there were enough Shield Spider lairs to mean that their springtime reproduction might fully overrun the Flood Plains. Unless something was done.

In the closest Shield Spider lair, built not just two miles south of Liscor’s walls was a burgeoning nest. The walls were coated with sticky silk. And the ground above was cunningly concealed by a thin layer to look like grass. If anything heavier than a rat stepped on it, the artificial terrain would give way and drop it into the nest. And the hungry spiderlings were already devouring a Fortress Beaver that had fallen in.

Now the thin veil of spiderweb parted again. Sunlight shone into the nest as something big hit the ground. The adult Shield Spiders, some the size of wolves and growing ever larger, scuttled forwards, ready to tear the prey apart. But the intruder had landed on his feet.

“1st Squad!”

The Gnoll roared as he lifted the mace. He brought it down and smashed the first Shield Spider’s head in. The second met a boot to the pincers and reeled back. The other Shield Spiders, sensing the threat, scuttled forwards. But more shapes were breaking through the firmament above.

Soil and grass cascaded down as Drakes and Gnolls leapt down. Five Gnolls and three Drakes hit the ground. One stomped a Shield Spider into the earth. They swung as they landed, cutting others, bashing them into the ground. Above, seven more members of 1st Squad waited. Captain Wikir bashed in another Shield Spider’s abdomen with one contemptuous strike. He turned, stomped a smaller, raccoon-sized one into the ground and tore a finger-sized one as it climbed up his armor. He snarled.

“Kill the adults. Torches!”

The nest was still wet with morning dew. But webs were flammable. And as the 1st Squad cut down the biggest spiders and stomped, the smaller ones fled. Some crawled up the [Soldiers], biting frantically, but they were ignored or swatted. Torches came down and the unhatched egg sacks, the walls of the nest went up. Captain Wikir climbed out of the pit, shaking off tiny Shield Spiders and growling in disgust.

“One down.”

Sergeant Gna helped her Captain out of the pit. Wikir accepted her paw and saw eight tiny Shield Spiders scuttle from his paw onto her fur. Gna grimaced, but pulled him out before flicking the spiders out of her fur. Wikir cursed, began to shake himself, and decided against.

“Damn. Get clear, the rest of you. I’m shaking these things off.”

“Watch out that they don’t get in your ears. Or nose.”

Sergeant Gna watched, amused, as Wikir stomped back to the pit and shook himself. It was burning. And the [Mage] attached to their squad was adding to the flames with controlled bursts of magic. The female Gnoll raised her voice as the rest of the [Soldiers] who’d gone down to do the fighting tried to divest themselves of the tiny spiders in the same way.

“You could have let us set fire from above, Captain.”

“And let Pielt call me a coward?”

Wikir looked back. The oldest [Captain] in 4th Company grinned, baring his teeth in a predator’s grin. He gestured to the pit.

“I went in. And if I have to pick these little things out of my fur all day, it’s fine. His squad gets to do these all by hand and torch. The rest of these we burn from above, just as planned. The big Shield Spiders come to us.”

“Efficient.”

The younger Gnoll grinned as well. So did 1st Squad. They looked around and saw more squads of 4th Company doing what they’d done. Hunting down Shield Spider nests and destroying them. And they weren’t the only ones; the Floodplains had a lot of people covering it today. Drakes and Gnolls, nearly a thousand in total.

4th Company was helping with what was a tradition for Liscor’s City Watch. Culling the Shield Spider numbers before they could grow to a plague. It was a gesture of goodwill—and in practice, a good way to get on both the City Watch and Liscor’s good side. And that was important, especially today.

“Hope Watch Captain Zevara appreciates the work.”

Sergeant Gna remarked as she found a fine-toothed comb and approached her Captain. It was standard-issue; thorns and insect eggs were the least of what could get into a Gnoll’s fur. He grunted his thanks and let Gna comb his hair around his armor from behind. He was already working on one arm.

“Damn Pielt and his bets. 1st Squad! Keep moving! Find those nests! And don’t fall in; the last thing I want is wasted healing potions or broken bones! Get a move on—or do you want 3rd Squad to enjoy a night at Wishdrink’s?”

“No sir!”

The female and male [Soldiers] got back to work with alacrity. Their tools were simple—long sticks to check the ground for telltale pits. They moved fast. This was a contest. Wing Commander Embria had promised a night of fun at one of the best taverns in the city, Wishdrink’s, for whomever got the most nests.

Speaking of which…Gna and Wikir glanced left. They saw Wing Commander Embria, mounted on her warhorse, watching her company work. She wasn’t taking part, but she was hardly slouching on the job; her posture was military straight. Gna grinned.

“There’s our Wing Commander. And that’s why she’s a Wing Commander, eh, Captain? She’s not jumping into nests.”

“It. Was. A. Bet.”

Wikir bit out. He sighed and put away his comb, then stomped the mud and growing grass to kill the spiders he’d just toss off him.

“That’ll do. But we’re all getting checked and a visit to the bathhouses. The last thing I need is for one of those little things to lay eggs in your ear.”

“They do that?”

“Hah. When I was a rookie, I heard about someone who got a bunch of these worm eggs in his head. Began acting weirdly. And then the swelling started. By the time they hatched out of the head, they were was large as…”

The [Captain] was grinning, regaling his subordinate with a tale as his company searched for another nest. 2nd Squad, led by Captain Vell, was already on their third. A particularly large Shield Spider met a cluster of spears that sunk halfway into the thick, hard shell, until Captain Vell herself cut off a leg and the [Soldiers] took it apart from a distance. 4th Company was efficient.

The City Watch was slower, owing to lower levels and less motivation. But everyone was at work. The city was watching. The people of Liscor had taken to the walls to watch the annual spring culling with urbane amusement. And it was all going well. Embria cut a fine figure on her horse, her spear at the ready in case a giant Shield Spider emerged. Her crimson scales were a flash of color on the dull landscape of colors. And 4th Company was working hard, brave [Soldiers] aiding in the safety of their city.

“Hear that cheering?”

Captain Wikir grinned at his Wing Commander as she rode slowly down a hill towards them. Embria smiled slightly.

“Good sounds, aren’t they? Keep it up, Wikir. Nice show.”

“Anything for the city, Wing Commander. And these elections.”

Wikir flicked at his fur. Embria nodded. She scratched the spines on the back of her head. The cheering was indeed coming from the city, and it was a surprise, but one that made both her and Wikir smile with pleasure. The army seldom received accolades when it returned home, but that was understandable. There were often issues. But a smaller group, say, 4th Company? It seemed they’d finally won the trust of the city. They’d only had to fight in a siege to do it.

“We’re making good progress. Three nests for 3rd Company already. Don’t fall behind.”

“We won’t. And we’ll toast to you at Wishdrink’s tonight.”

Wikir grinned. Embria eyed him.

“I’ll take that. You have night duty again tonight. Three days of break after that. I’ll be—er, having a dinner.”

“With Sergeant—no, Senior Guardsman Relc?”

Embria hesitated. She nodded casually, looking past Wikir at the teams working down the Floodplains.

“Is that a problem?”

The Gnoll thought carefully, watching his squad blasting another pit with flames. Sergeant Gna kicked a Shield Spider into the pit.

“Not from me, or my squad, Wing Commander. There was some talk when he appeared for morning practice. But you can’t fault the fact that he’s the only one better than you on the courts. And it’s not like its private ground; the Adventurer’s Guild is anyone’s territory. So…”

Embria nodded.

“Just let me know if there’s real complaints. Lieutenant Kesa can run her mouth.”

“Will do. And it helps that Senior Guardsman Relc appeared early. Beat half the trainees to be up.”

The middle-aged Gnoll caught the smile on Embria’s lips before she schooled her face. But he liked the pleased look he’d seen. It had been too long.

“That’s my d—uh, Senior Guardsman Relc. He may have quit, but you never forget. Punctual as always.”

That didn’t actually sound like the Relc that Wikir knew. But he kept his mouth shut. The cheering picked up from the walls of the city. He half-turned to look, trying not to show Embria his wagging tail.

“Looks like the civilians really like seeing Shield Spiders getting taken out.”

Embria nodded, very pleased. She looked back towards the city.

“Everyone enjoys a bit of action, Wikir. Especially exterminating monsters. Why don’t we have the [Captains] and [Lieutenants] use some flashier Skills? We can—what’s that?”

Wikir’s head turned. For a second he didn’t spot what Embria was looking at. Then his eyes narrowed.

“Reinforcements? Wait—no—”

The Gnoll [Captain]’s curse was an echo of the oath that Embria shouted. The 4th Company and nearby City Watch [Guards] looked up. And they saw what Liscor’s citizens had already spotted from their walls. They turned.

It was a pounding in the ground that heralded them. As fast as a racing heartbeat. And there they came, out of the city gates, five abreast. Their shells gleaming. They ran forwards, accompanied by cheers from above. And their colors glowed in the morning light.

There they went. On the other side of the city, over the muddy hills, trampling newly growing grass shoots underfoot. Then, stopping. Pausing, to stare at the grass. At new life poking upwards, frantically growing. Staring at little insects and worms busily surviving in the mud. A passing bird. And of course, the sky.

Three hundred. Far fewer than the City Watch deployed en masse, and far larger than the 4th Company of Liscor. But the Soldiers were an army unto themselves. They poured into the Floodplains and up the first hill, an unstoppable wave. Not just regular Soldiers either; they all bore markings on their carapaces, on their bodies. Each one was unique, each one individual.

The Painted Soldiers. But that wasn’t what chilled Embria’s blood in her veins. It was the figure leading them. A giant among the Soldiers. Like the rest, his carapace was marked by color. But he stood out again. Because his body bore no paint. The yellow splatters of color splashed across his chest, arms, legs, even his neck stood out. He led them.

Yellow Splatters. The [Sergeant] stood out even from the other Soldiers. He led them at a charge up the next hill; the Antinium sprinted after him. They didn’t pace themselves; they just ran, their footfalls thundering in unison.

Ahead of them, the City Watch was moving back. They’d identified dozens of Shield Spider nests, but, Embria noticed only now, hadn’t actually begun destroying any of them. She watched, with equal parts loathing and apprehension as the Antinium ran to the unearthed pits, spreading out. Forming squads. Like her own.

The Painted Soldiers moved precisely, adopting squads, spreading out with an efficiency that put the 4th Company of Liscor’s army to shame. It was a connection facilitated by their Queen, by their nature. Soldiers were no True Antinium, but bereft of language, they had a connection that bordered on instinct. They could read body language, and like one multi-bodied organism, they could react to threats within moments, without needing vocal command.

And yet, the Painted Soldiers paused as they reached the first line of Shield Spider nests. And they turned their heads and bodies, looking up. At him, Yellow Splatters. And the [Sergeant] knew they were waiting for his order. So he raised one arm.

He did not have to open his mandibles. He could have nodded, or just tilted his head a fraction of a centimeter. The Soldiers could have known what to do in a hundred more efficient ways. But he stood straighter. And the Soldiers below him looked, waiting. They wanted to hear him say it. Because he could. So Yellow Splatters pointed. And his voice was quiet, but they heard it in their minds, bodies, and souls.

“Forwards.”

It was one command. But it triggered an avalanche. The Painted Soldiers poured forwards. They charged and Embria saw the first, a Soldier with white-blue paint covering his shell like snow, leap. He crashed into the first Shield Spider pit, and Embria saw a Shield Spider go flying out of the pit a second later.

More Soldiers crashed into the pits after the first. They fought in brutal symphony, crushing, breaking, tearing apart the spiders with their four arms and legs. And before Embria could blink, the first Soldiers were already climbing out of the first pit, their bodies stained with Shield Spider blood.

“Dead gods.”

Wikir breathed, his face slightly pale under his fur. Embria’s voice snapped as she turned to him.

“Get ahold of yourself, Wikir. They’re aiding in the cleanup too. Get your squads moving! All of 4th Company, stop slacking off! Do you want the damn Antinium to show you up!?”

Her voice roused the 4th Company. They set back to work with a will. But the Painted Soldiers were moving even faster. If Embria’s [Soldiers] were running, the Painted Soldiers were sprinting. One with pink stripes reached down and ripped a Shield Spider’s head off his body. Another lifted a spider as large as he was up, capturing four of the eight legs and another mercilessly pounded the spider’s exposed belly until it burst.

Embria had seen Antinium fight. She had killed them. But even she was taken aback by the ferocity of this group. She watched them destroy another nest in less than a minute. Then her eyes travelled to the logical source of this oddity.

Him. Yellow Splatters had paused on a hill, arms folded like Embria. But he leapt into motion as she watched.

A giant Shield Spider, a mother, a matriarch as large as two wagons had taken objection to the slaughter of her kin. She unearthed herself, clambering after a group of [Guards] that fled her and a swarm of her kin. The angry giant Shield Spider crawled after them. Embria swore.

“2nd Squad, with me! Captain Vell—”

She charged her horse down the hill, her spear ready. But she was too slow. The Antinium were already on the move. A squad of eighteen Painted Soldiers rammed into the Shield Spiders, scattering them like pins. The giant Shield Spider screeched in fury. She snapped her mandibles, taking a Soldier by the chest. He struggled as she lifted him. And Yellow Splatters struck the giant Shield Spider’s side.

The crash as the [Sergeant] hit the Shield Spider made Embria’s horse halt. Embria watched as Yellow Splatters punched, cracking the mother spider’s side, then reached up. He grabbed a huge leg, and pulled.

The leg came out of the body. Yellow Splatters ducked as the giant Shield Spider swung towards him, letting go of the Soldier she’d captured. The [Sergeant] punched away a huge mandible. He retreated, but only to use the leg like a club, bashing at the smaller Shield Spiders around him. And then the rest of the Painted Soldiers arrived. They leapt, grabbing at the giant spider, breaking her legs, hammering at her sides, killing the smaller ones.

In minutes the corpse had stopped twitching. The Soldiers moved past Embria and the silent [Captains] who’d answered her call. The Drakes and Gnolls watched as Yellow Splatters ran forwards. The Painted Soldiers streamed after him.

“Ancestors. Wing Commander. Is that what this new breed of Antinium can do? Some kind of improvement over regular ones?”

Captain Vell, unnaturally pale, breathed out slowly. She looked…uneasy. Embria couldn’t apply frightened to Vell. But Embria herself felt rattled.

“I’ll add more notes to my report. High Command is aware of this new type. But—damn them. They actually did it. That’s more than a Prognugator. That’s a leader.”

Embria glared at Yellow Splatters. She pointed at the [Sergeant]. Vell glanced at her, confused.

“There’s a difference?”

“Oh yes.”

The crimson-scaled Wing Commander bit out. She watched Yellow Splatters pointing and the Soldiers charging past him. They were too animated, even for Antinium Soldiers. She shook her head and then looked back at her officers.

“I never had the privilege of watching General Shivertail fight. Let alone General Sserys. But I heard that Zel Shivertail was no genius of strategy. And his army-wide Skills were few and far between. He was a monster in close combat and practically undefeatable there. But what made him terrifying was his skill as a leader. Not just a [Leader]. When he led, it was said that the Drake [Soldiers] who followed him turned into rampaging warbeasts, every last one of them. When he was fighting for home, no army from Baleros, Chandrar, the north, or anywhere else stood a chance. Because it was him.”

Vell’s eyes widened. Then her jaw dropped when she realized what Embria was implying. The Wing Commander shook her head.

“Maybe he’s low level. Or maybe he’s just hiding his true abilities. It doesn’t matter. He may not have a Skill, but when he starts getting some—some leaders are like that. Some [Squad Captains] too. But they’re a different breed from planners, or even regular [Generals]. I hear the Bannermare of Baleros and the King of Destruction are both nearly as good as General Shivertail was.”

“But Wing Commander—the Antinium don’t have morale.”

Captain Pielt protested. Wikir growled in disgust. He slapped Pielt across the back of the head with a paw.

“That’s what you see, Captain Vell? Pluck out your damn eyes, then.”

The others went silent. They looked at Embria. She followed Yellow Splatters with her eyes. The Painted Soldier was moving on, letting his Soldiers clear nest after nest at breakneck speed. He was a reflection of her, standing alone. And that bothered Embria most of all. She saw him turn his head. And for a moment their eyes met.

Then Embria turned away in disgust. Disgust and unease. Because she wasn’t sure if she had seen an anomaly, or a new type of Antinium, one far more terrifying than even the flying monsters or the color-changing assassins. She looked at the quiet 4th Company and snapped.

“Well? Do you want them to take all the credit? Back to work! Blast those nests! Officers, use your best Skills! The Antinium may be machines, but they don’t have magic or Skills!”

“Yet.”

Vell muttered as she trudged back to her squad. Embria paused. And that one word scared her more than anything else. She turned back to watch. With the people of Liscor. The Painted Antinium marched on.

Onwards, across the Floodplains. Bright colors on dark shells. And they were laughing. Because he led them.

And he had come back.

—-

“Wow. That’s something.”

Erin Solstice stood on the hill outside of her inn, watching the battle. Well, it was charitable to call it a battle. It looked to her like pest extermination. The Shield Spiders certainly had about as much of a chance as regular spiders against the City Watch, the 4th Company and the Painted Antinium.

Maybe if they’d been the giant behemoths that had assaulted Tyrion Veltras’ army they could have fought back. But Shield Spiders of the smaller variety were dangerous to individuals. Not armies.

Erin wasn’t participating in the culling of course; she was just watching. With a glass of lemonade in one hand, the most appropriate drink in the world. She glanced at it as she took another sip through a wooden straw.

“I had no idea that lemons were this plentiful on Izril.”

“Not Izril. They’re usually native to Baleros. But Oteslia, one of the Walled Cities, is famous for growing plants from across the world. They drive the cost down. Although it’s still going to be a lot pricier than, say, cider. But we can sell this well. I’m surprised I haven’t ever had anything like this.”

Lyonette stepped up to watch with Erin. She had a pitcher of fresh lemonade in one hand. She glanced at Erin.

“Something else from your world?”

“One of the most popular drinks in the world. Besides Coke. It’s a classic.”

Erin sipped her drink absently. Lyonette nodded. She poured a small cup and reached down. A furry paw reached up for it.

“That’s your second glass. You only get two, Mrsha. And don’t share with Apista.”

The Gnoll nodded seriously. Then she drew a smiley face and patted her stomach.

“Oh? Glad you like it, Mrsha. We’ll try it on our guests tonight. But it’s really great for hot weather, you know. Either way…give me another cup, Lyonette?”

The [Princess] nodded. She handed Erin her cup and then filled another from a table. There were tables outside on the grass, and chairs. And customers. It was a special Shield Spider viewing morning, with a special on breakfast. Lyonette’s idea.

“Thanks.”

Erin handed Lyonette back her drink, took the new one, and went to find some of her guests. She slipped down one hill, balancing her drinks.

“Whoop. Whoop! Slippery! No, Mrsha, don’t follow. Who—ah, darn. Got some on my hands.”

She tsked, climbing up another hill with a much less steep gradient, and found a group at the top. Erin smiled and raised her cup.

“Hey! Anyone want to try some lemonade?”

The figures on the hill looked up. Pawn, kneeling in a patch of grass and pressing two of his hands to a Soldier’s leg, looked up. The Soldier was sitting on the ground. He had an open wound from which green blood was oozing. Or—had been oozing. Erin blinked. His leg was healed. The Shield Spider bite he’d suffered was closed. As she watched, Pawn drew his hands back and the Soldier flexed his leg experimentally.

“Nice. Using some healing potions, huh, Pawn?”

The Worker jumped. He hesitated, then nodded judiciously.

“I have been doing healing, Erin. Thank you. Fortunately, few Soldiers are getting injured. The Shield Spiders are not really a threat and Yellow Splatters is leading the others.”

“So I saw.”

Erin stared at the Painted Soldiers, still killing nests. It had been four hours and they weren’t slowing down. Neither was 4th Company; the [Soldiers] seemed determined to win this competition, if it was one. The City Watch had decided it was not and started trudging back to the city. Erin anticipated guests to her inn. She decided Lyonette could handle it with the morning’s staff. She took another sip from her drink and smiled.

“Mm. Here. You want a lemonade, guys?”

She offered it to Pawn and the Soldier. The Soldier, who had bright green vines twining up his legs, looked at Pawn. The Worker hesitated.

“…What is it?”

“Sweet lemonade. That’s lemons plus water. And sugar.”

“Ah. We can consume that. Please give it to Twisted Vines. I will have some later, if there is more.”

“Sure. Hello, Twisted Vines! Want some?”

Erin offered the Soldier the cup. Reverentially, as if he were receiving the holy grail itself, the Soldier clumsily took the cup. He raised it to his mandibles and gently poured some of the liquid into his mouth. He paused. Erin and Pawn watched. Then, slowly, the Soldier poured a single drop of the lemonade into his mouth. He paused. For twenty seconds. Then he did it again.

“Uh—”

Pawn nodded. He looked at Erin.

“He is savoring it. He doesn’t wish to waste the lemonade, Erin. It is delicious to him.”

Twisted Vines raised one of his free hands and nodded. He ducked it, almost timidly at Erin. Embarrassed, the [Innkeeper] looked at her nearly empty cup.

“He can have more! That’s what refills are for!”

“Nevertheless. Thank you, Erin.”

Pawn said it so genuinely that Erin had to turn and go bright red for a second. There was something off-putting about how grateful Antinium could be for a cup of lemonade. Even though she was used to it, it could hurt. But it also made the world clearer. Erin nodded.

“You’re going to tend to the injured here? You can do it at my inn, Pawn.”

“I should be closer to them. Just in case.”

The [Acolyte] rubbed two of his hands together absently. He watched as the Soldiers moved towards them. Erin nodded. She sipped, found her cup was empty, and nodded.

“If you like. I’ll be at my inn, reevaluating my life and being grateful and stuff. Come on over when you’re done! Bring your Soldiers! Lyonette wants to sell them stuff.”

“I will. Thank you.”

Pawn watched Erin go. Then he turned to Twisted Vines. The Painted Soldier was still savoring the cup, drop by drop. Pawn hesitated. Twisted Vines glanced at him, then carefully put the cup down. He stood up.

“You may stay. Finish your cup before you leave. That’s…necessary for your full recovery.”

The Worker ordered Twisted Vines. The Soldier glanced at his comrades, but did sit and pick up the cup. He drank, but more swiftly now. And Pawn stared at his hands.

All four of them. Then he looked at Twisted Vine’s leg. Gone was the visible interior flesh that had been exposed by the Shield Spider’s sharp mandibles. Pawn noted the remnants of the blood.

“Your wound doesn’t hurt? Did you feel any undue pain when I was—healing it? Does it feel functional now?”

Twisted Vines paused. He regarded his leg, then looked up and shook his head. Then he hesitated, and carefully put a thumb up. Purple Smiles must have taught him that.

“Good. Inform me if it does hurt afterwards.”

Again, Twisted Vines nodded. He sat on the ground, finished his cup of lemonade, and then stood up. Pawn realized the Soldier had no idea what to do with the cup.

“I will take it back to Erin. You may go. If you must.”

Twisted Vines nodded. He handed the cup to Pawn, then turned and rejoined his brethren. Pawn sat on his hill and watched them fighting. He felt a desire to be below. But he knew he would struggle to keep up just with the Soldiers as they ran. And he had been assigned to this hill, to relative secrecy. Because Klbkch did not want many people seeing Pawn using his new Skill.

A new Skill. And Yellow Splatters. Pawn didn’t know which surprised him more. But he took both. Oh, he took what he had been given. And he had never felt more grateful.

He was back. Yellow Splatters. And part of Pawn’s internal hell, his damnation, had eased when he saw Yellow Splatters. But the [Sergeant] was…more than he had ever been. Far more. In body and in other ways. Pawn saw the Painted Antinium moving closer to the inn. And he realized they were done, at least for the moment.

Soldiers were streaming back across the Floodplains, many towards the city. Some were collecting the more edible Shield Spider corpses for processing. The rest were following Yellow Splatters. He directed them with efficient movements of his four hands, using the silent communication method of the Hive’s Soldiers. And in that he was familiar to Pawn. The Worker raised a hand as he walked down the hill towards him.

“Yellow Splatters.”

The [Sergeant] looked up at him. And then his mandibles opened in a smile. And he spoke.

“Pawn.”

And that word changed everything. Pawn halted for a moment. Yellow Splatters could speak. A Soldier could speak. But that wasn’t all. Yellow Splatters gestured to the Soldiers behind him with one hand as another pointed at the inn. Still two more were singling out Soldiers in the group behind him.

“I have two injured. Firestones, Azure Clouds, Pawn will tend to your wounds. The rest of you, proceed to The Wandering Inn. You will receive food there.”

The Soldiers obediently trooped ahead as two moved out of the ground. Pawn saw a bloody wrist on one of the four arms, and the second Soldier had a cut on one abdomen and cracks around his leg armor, perhaps from a bad fall. He reached out for them, even as he stared at Yellow Splatters, still with that awe.

He could speak. Fluently. Yellow Splatters had the natural intonation and speed of any natural speaker. He was better than Bird. And his voice was deep, commanding. Without hesitation. He was the same in many ways. But oh, so different.

“Let me heal you.”

Pawn directed his attention back to the two injured Soldiers. Firestones and Azure Clouds obediently let Pawn press his hands against their wounds. The Antinium Soldier with burning coals etched onto his body in paint didn’t move as Pawn put his hands over his cut wrist.

“Be healed.”

The words were simple. But the prayer Pawn gave for that very thing to happen were from the core of his heart. And part of what was in that prayer was doubt. Uncertainty. But also hope. And faith that his hope would be—Pawn took his hands back. And the wrist, though stained with blood, was whole. Firestones looked down at his wrist, and the Soldier’s antennae waved with amazement.

“You too, Azure Clouds.”

The other Soldier let Pawn put his hands on his legs and stomach. And when Pawn removed the hands, the wounds were healed. Just like that. A healing potion could have done the same, but Pawn felt the healing being done. As if some of him had gone into the two. He felt tired, but only slightly. And they were healed. Yellow Splatters nodded.

“Join the others. We will follow you.”

The two Soldiers nodded. They walked past Pawn. But Yellow Splatters stopped them with a hand on each shoulder as they passed him. The giant among Soldiers, barely more than a few inches taller than the two below him, looked at the two.

“You have done well. Eat and rest. It is earned.”

That was all. But the two Painted Soldiers walked with more pride back to the inn than Pawn had seen in them…ever. The Worker looked at Yellow Splatters as the [Sergeant] held a hand to help Pawn up.

“You are different.”

—-

The two walked up the hill of The Wandering Inn slowly, side by side. Their heights were different. Their bodies similarly contrasting. But they were both Antinium. And they both knew each other. But Pawn felt like a stranger. Perhaps Yellow Splatters did too, because he kept glancing at Pawn.

It was one of the first times they had been alone. Since Yellow Splatter’s reveal in the streets of Liscor, that was. True, a day had passed. But Klbkch had kept Yellow Splatters moving, repeating his message of support for Krshia. And then the [Sergeant] had been surrounded by the Painted Soldiers. Pawn didn’t begrudge that. But now, walking with Yellow Splatters, he didn’t know what to say. He had a thousand questions. Ten thousand words. But how to begin?

“I am different. But the same. I can speak. And say the many things I would have before my death.”

“What things?”

“Gratitude. Regret. Frustration—at not being able to say these things. Questions for you. Ideas. Things the Soldiers need. Questions. Thanks.”

The [Sergeant] looked at Pawn. The Worker shook his head.

“I didn’t do enough. I was—”

“Our salvation.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No, really—”

“Yes.”

Pawn looked up at Yellow Splatters. The [Sergeant] smiled. And they reached the inn bearing a silence more profound than any Pawn had shared with Yellow Splatters until now. And then Pawn saw the doors were wide open. And he heard a familiar voice.

“Pawn! Yellow Splatters! Come in! Lemonade for my guys!”

Erin swept over to them in an instant. The tables were filled with Painted Soldiers—forty nine of them to be exact. Each one had a bowl and was eating as they watched a performance on stage. Erin herself came to Pawn. She beamed as she grabbed some lemonade off a tray.

“Here. It’s fresh. Want some soup? I’ve got a big pot of this really great soup Lyonette came up with. Here, sit, sit! It’s so good to see you, Yellow Splatters. I mean, we said hi.”

“Yes.”

The [Sergeant] sat at a table offered by Erin. Pawn remembered Erin hugging Yellow Splatters after she’d found he’d returned. Even now she looked misty-eyed, but she was already waving for more soup.

“Here! It’s hot, fresh, and uh, probably not gluten!”

The bowl steamed as it appeared in front of Pawn. It was a clear broth with obvious bits of pork and what might have been yellats mixed in with some other greens. Pawn raised a spoon before he could help himself. Instantly, his mouth was flooded with flavor. It had been far, far too long since he’d come aboveground.

“It’s delicious, Erin.”

“Really? I’m glad. This is only like fifty of the Soldiers, though, right? Are you bringing more in? Lyonette’s making a huge batch!”

Erin pointed at the kitchen. Pawn hesitated. Both he and Yellow Splatters had been given the morning’s orders by Klbkch, but he’d said nothing about the Soldiers having food. Just that they would meet him here.

“I…believe only fifty are normally allowed aboveground except for formal operations. But these Soldiers can rotate with the others.”

“Gotcha. I’ll let Lyonette know. Oh! And we’ve got special spoons and bowls for them to eat with. I’ll get—”

Erin half-rose, glancing down at the table. Pawn looked down too and nearly dropped his spoon. He stared at Yellow Splatters.

“Your hands.”

Pawn hadn’t noticed it before, but even Yellow Splatter’s hands were different. Two of his four arms were a Soldier’s arms. Functional. Deadly. Capped by clumsy fingers more suited for making a deadly fist with than any other task. They could dig and fight and manipulate some things, but crudely. But the other two arms, the higher of the four, hand been changed.

The limbs were thick. Reinforced. Suited for combat. But the hands were hands. Five digits, like a Worker’s fingers had replaced Yellow Splatter’s previous hands. And they were gripping the spoon Erin had given him, meant for her regular clientele and Workers. As Erin and Pawn watched, he brought it up and transferred some soup into his mouth.

Delicately, carefully. As if he had always known how to use a spoon up till this moment. But he had never had a chance. Yellow Splatters looked up, noticing the stares.

“Thank you, Erin Solstice. It is good soup.”

Erin’s jaw dropped.

“You can speak. I mean, I know you can. But…wow. You can speak.”

“I can. And I will never be silent again.”

Yellow Splatters looked at the two of them and nodded once more. He tapped his chest with one finger even as another grabbed his cup and a third lifted the spoon towards his mouth again.

“Before, I had no words. That was me. And then I had words but no voice. And now I have more words. And they come from the same silent Soldier. And from heaven. From the voices of the many who have never had the chance to speak.”

Pawn was struck silent. Erin just looked at him, thoughtfully.

“I’m so glad. Listen—I want to talk to you two, but there’s a lot of guests. Just sit there and wave if you want anything. I’ve gotta actually do my job for a bit. Coming, Lyonette!”

She stood up and went for the kitchen where Lyonette had been waving at her urgently. Pawn looked back at Yellow Splatters. The [Sergeant] was silent as he ate his soup as greedily as any Soldier. Come to it—Pawn looked down and realized he was eating the delicious soup as well.

The Antinium’s meal was silent; they didn’t want to waste the food by talking, but it was interrupted near the end. A Drake and a Gnoll, regular guests, hesitantly came towards the table. The Drake nudged the Gnoll, and the Gnoll nudged back. They were both male, and at last, the Drake cleared his throat.

“Hell of a thing. The uh, Shield Spider culling that was. We saw it from the walls. You’re…Yellow Splatters, right? The Soldier? The…war hero?”

Skepticism was written all over his voice. Yellow Splatters nodded. He put down his spoon and stood up. The Drake and Gnoll stepped back fast and the nearby tables turned to look, but Yellow Splatter’s voice was calm and measured.

“I am Yellow Splatters. [Sergeant] of the Painted Antinium unit of the Free Antinium. Son of Liscor.”

“Oh? Wow. Uh, a pleasure. Sisl Taltail. And this is my friend, Wilr. We were just asking—are the Antinium really planning on funding an expansion to Liscor?”

The Drake was clearly nervous and he didn’t hold out his claw to shake hands, which Pawn understood as being customary. But he didn’t run screaming either. Yellow Splatters nodded.

“Senior Guardsman Klbkch would not lie.”

“Of course not! I just—so the Antinium are willing to give gold to Liscor? Just like that?”

The Drake glanced around. And Pawn saw some more non-Antinium customers lean in. Yellow Splatters nodded coolly.

“We are pledged to defend Liscor. That also means defending the interests of the city. We do not break our promises. Vote for Krshia Silverfang. And we will build your city. Workers to build and Soldiers to guard. It is our city too, after all.”

He looked around. Sisl opened his mouth for a second, and then nodded.

“Okay. Thank you.”

He backed off, staring at Yellow Splatters, but his Gnoll friend looked almost impressed. Yellow Splatters sat back down. Pawn stared at him as well.

“You speak with authority.”

“Yes. Should I not?”

The [Sergeant] looked blankly at Pawn. The Worker hesitated.

“But where does it come from?”

The Soldier pondered the question. Then he kept eating because the soup was going cold. He raised one cup, sipped from it, and answered.

“Heaven, perhaps.”

—-

Senior Guardsman Klbkch entered The Wandering Inn shortly after cleaning up some mud from his gear. He’d participated in the Shield Spider culling too, but the City Watch had vacated the field after the Painted Soldiers had proved so effective. Still, it was because of Relc’s tardiness that he and Relc reached the inn after the Painted Soldiers had been there for a good fifteen minutes. That irked Klbkch, slightly. He would have preferred to study Yellow Splatters in person. Because the [Sergeant], the unique Soldier among Soldiers was an enigma.

He had changed. Not that Klbkch had interacted much with the previous Yellow Splatters. But this new Soldier was different. Confident. Even outspoken. Had death changed him? Had a voice only unearthed what was there to begin with? Klbkch didn’t know. But today his mind was overfull with questions, speculations, and, perhaps, a bit of surprise.

Pawn and Yellow Splatters. One was predictable, at least in part. Klbkch had known about the Rite of Anastases being a success, even if he hadn’t been prepared for the personality of the [Sergeant]. But Pawn?

“A Skill unlike any other. The potential of that power is…or is it not? I must know what Xrn thinks.”

The Antinium sat himself down at a table at the back of the room, observing Yellow Splatters and Pawn. A yawn came from his left.

“What was that, Klb?”

“Nothing, Relc. And I am still irate at you. You are more slothful today than usual, which is an impressive event.”

“Thanks.”

“It is not a compliment.”

Relc sighed. He stretched out, and Klbkch leaned out of the way of an errant arm.

“Bite me. I’m tired, alright? I had to wake up super-early because of my kid—and she spars way too hard!”

“By that, do you mean she puts forth actual effort?”

“Bite me.”

“I will endeavor to do so if you continue irking me.”

“Yeah, yeah…hey! Close those mandibles!”

Relc sat up, groaning. He glanced at the stage and brightened.

“Ooh! New play! Awesome! Hey, mind if we get a closer seat?”

“I suppose it is not out of the question. I have to speak with my subordinates.”

Relc was already getting up, tail wagging as the Players of Celum began a play Klbkch didn’t recognize. He nodded absently.

“Cool, cool. Wow, it’s busy in here. Look at all these Soldiers. And jerks drinking my blue fruit juice. Which is yellow. Is that a new drink? Hey! Hey, I’ll have—damn. What do you want, Klbkch?”

“I will have an ale. And a bowl of the soup. Please order it for me.”

Relc raised a hand as he sauntered forwards. Klbkch walked towards the table with Pawn and Yellow Splatters. He sat across from them.

“Report.”

The two looked up, mildly startled. Klbkch stared at them. They were…it was so strange, looking at them. Not because of their bodies, but because of what they represented. An incalculable amount of worth each, where generations upon generations of Soldiers and Workers had died, sacrificed in the hopes of becoming exactly what they were.

But now Klbkch had them, he wasn’t certain what to do with them. He wasn’t certain he remembered…what it was like to have other thinking Individuals in his Hive. Could he trust them with the Antinium’s true purpose? Did his Queen? Klbkch didn’t know. But they were valuable.

And yet—Klbkch looked at them. And he felt little connection, little to emphasize or even sympathize with in them. They were so unlike the Antinium he had known.

He felt…old.

—-

“I see.”

Pawn still felt uneasy talking to Klbkch. Now that he had met so many people, even other Antinium, he could sense Klbkch’s reserve like a wall in front of him. The Revalantor of the Hive listened impatiently as both gave their reports. Yellow Splatter’s was shorter than Pawn’s; Klbkch listened intently as Pawn described healing four Soldiers.

“That aligns with both tests I had you perform. It appears your ability recharges itself after rest. Much like Skills in that category.”

“Yes, Klbkch.”

Pawn ducked his head. Klbkch stared at him. Then his gaze shifted to Yellow Splatters.

“Your combat ability is also improved, despite your loss of ten levels from resurrection. It is to be expected as well. The Free Queen had modified your body for improved musculature and performance.”

“Yes. Will all Soldiers become like me?”

Yellow Splatters looked at his hands. Klbkch shook his head instantly.

“Changing the…specific formulas of the Soldier’s creation is an intensive process. It is one thing to shape an Antinium as it is being formed. Another to make the process default, without the need for supervision. You are unique.”

“Then I will lead the Painted Soldiers. That is my duty.”

Again, Klbkch shook his head. The Revalantor’s voice was sharp, and Klbkch himself felt annoyed.

“Your duty is to survive. You are an investment in time and effort. Let other Soldiers die before you.”

He waited for Yellow Splatter’s affirmative, but the Soldier didn’t immediately give it. He stared at Klbkch, and the Revalantor felt a prickle on his carapace. If it had been any other Soldier before then, Klbkch would have taken that as a sign of potential Aberration or Individuality. Yellow Splatters folded two of his arms.

“I am unlike any other Soldier. I am their leader. That was why I was brought back. I lead them. So does Purple Smiles. We must lead because we do what they cannot. If we die leading from the front, that is inevitable.”

Pawn sucked in his breath. Klbkch just stared. It sounded like an echo of an argument he’d had once in the past. He hesitated. And something inside of him twisted. It was an unfamiliar, unpleasant feeling. Like when he had seen Erin hurt. But he felt it now?

“You have your orders.”

“But I am no Soldier. I am their [Sergeant]. I must show them courage.”

Klbkch sat back in his chair. Pawn was afraid, but Yellow Splatters didn’t look away. For a moment the Revelator just looked at Yellow Splatters and Pawn. And he felt the strange, pained, familiar tugging inside of him worsen. Like arrowheads, cutting into his heart.

At last he roused himself. Klbkch put thorns into his words this time. He stared at Yellow Splatters and opened his mandibles slowly.

“Courage? Courage is a value of heroes. Of champions, of other species. It is not an Antinium concept. We have had heroes. They are dead. And you cannot replace them, Yellow Splatters. You are not Galuc. He was Centenium. Taller than you. Stronger. You bear a flawed, incomplete copy of his body. You are weak. Weaker than I and far weaker than he. I know this. Because I am Centenium. You are a Soldier. So obey.”

He met Yellow Splatter’s gaze until the Soldier nodded. Klbkch turned to Pawn.

“And you. You can heal a smaller wound in moments. Six times in an hour. Any quality healing potion can do far better. This ability is unprecedented. Useful. But neither of you two have qualities invaluable to the Hive. Cultivating those abilities is your function.”

He felt a twinge of guilt at those words. Why? Klbkch forced it down and went on.

“Both of you are forbidden from discussing the nature of your classes or levels. Especially in Pawn’s case. Nor will you reveal any secrets of the Hive. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Revalantor Klbkch.”

“Yes.”

They said the words quietly. Meekly even. And Klbkch felt as if he were lecturing two rookie [Guards] in the City Watch. Only, he wouldn’t have used those words. There was need for empathy in the Watch. And Klbkch had a small attachment to some of the [Guards]. But Antinium weren’t the same. Soldiers and Workers were…

Disposable. But these two weren’t. Klbkch hesitated. He could see hurt in Pawn’s expression. And Yellow Splatters?

They waited. Klbkch opened and closed his mandibles a few times. And that roiling feeling in his stomach forced the next sentences out of his mandibles.

“Continue exceeding my expectations. A rotation of…fifty Soldiers may remain aboveground at all times under supervision as per our agreement with Liscor. They may stay at Erin’s inn during permissible work hours, or continue patrolling the city.”

The two Workers couldn’t blink, but they did move slightly in shock. Klbkch stood up briskly. Yellow Splatters raised a hand.

“Revalantor Klbkch. May I also request a stipend for the Soldiers? As a reward—as motivation for further growth and advancement?”

Pawn held his breath. Klbkch never granted him a larger budget. The Revalantor hesitated. Then, almost grudgingly, he turned back and nodded.

“Four silver coins and six copper per Soldier or Worker. You may withdraw a lesser bag of holding for usage.”

Abruptly, he walked away. Pawn gaped with his mandibles open at his back. Yellow Splatters lowered his hand slowly. They looked at each other until Erin Solstice came back out of the kitchen.

“Hey! Sorry, I had to help make some food real quick. Was Klbkch just here? Was he nice? I heard him talking to you when I passed.”

“He is our Revalantor. His job is not to comfort us, Erin. He was very instructive.”

Pawn answered diplomatically, staring at Klbkch’s back. Erin pursed her lips, unconvinced. She leaned over and shouted at Klbkch.

“Klbkch! You’re a bad dad!”

Pawn froze up at his table. He saw Klbkch turn around in his chair. The Senior Guardsman eyed Pawn and then addressed Erin.

“I am not their father in any sense of the word.”

“Says you! Relc’s a better dad!”

Relc looked up as he slurped from a bowl. He laughed and slapped Klbkch on the shoulder.

“Hah! Hear that, Klb?”

“Do not hit me.”

Klbkch jabbed Relc with an elbow. He looked almost irritated at Erin, certainly at Relc. He was expressive with them. Not with Pawn or Yellow Splatters. The Worker wasn’t sure—no, he was sure how he felt about that. Erin put her hands on her hips in disgust.

“That guy. I’m gonna give him what for when I get to his table. But for now—sorry. I forgot to do this! Here, Yellow Splatters, lean in?”

“Lean wh—”

The [Sergeant] looked up. He moved back and Erin surprised him and Pawn both by grabbing their shoulders. She hugged them both, a long, tight hug that warmed both Antinium from within. They stared at each other, and then at her. Pawn hesitantly reached a hand up. Yellow Splatters was still.

“I’m glad you’re back.”

That was all Erin said to Yellow Splatters. But her watery eyes said it all. She wiped at them.

“Thank you. I never got to say it, but thank you. When the Goblin Lord and—I saw your guys. And Pawn told me what you did. I’m so sorry—but thank you. I know it seems like they died for nothing. But you saved me. And I wish—”

She sniffed hard and wiped her eyes again. Pawn looked at Erin, aghast at her tears. He stood up.

“It was not in vain. They are in—”

A hand grabbed one of his. Yellow Splatters looked at Pawn and the Worker froze. Erin didn’t notice. She wiped her eyes again and smiled brightly.

“It wasn’t in vain. I know that. Definitely. And I want to do something—oh! Hold on. Let me get something for you.”

She hurried back into the kitchen, calling for Lyonette again. Pawn looked at Yellow Splatters. He sat.

“Why did you stop me?”

“It is not for her.”

“What? Heaven? I know that. But she can know they are there.”

Yellow Splatters shook his head after a moment’s pause.

“But it is not hers.”

The Worker looked at him. Pawn opened his mandibles, but he couldn’t conceive of arguing. Instead, he sat closer to the table. And some of the questions bubbling away at him poured out.

“What is it like? Are there gods there? Is it in the clouds? How many—how many of us are there? Is it really…heaven?”

His heart beat anxiously in his chest. And he believed, he tried to believe, he truly did. But the proof sat in front of him. And when Yellow Splatters met his eyes, Pawn felt hope and something as pure as faith blossom in his chest.

“Yes. It is there.”

Pawn exhaled. Slowly. The feeling he had was—

“How? Was it always there? What does it—”

Yellow Splatters was shaking his head.

“Only those who believed could find it. And it was…”

The [Sergeant] broke off. He reached up, his mandibles opening and closing, towards the ceiling.

“It looked like…felt…like…as…”

The words trailed off. At last, the Soldier sat back and shook his head. He met Pawn’s gaze.

“If there were words that could describe it, it could be built here. But there are not. It was…satisfying.”

“Satisfying?”

The Worker’s antennae waved in puzzlement. Yellow Splatters nodded slowly, mulling it over.

“More than that word. Yes. Satisfying. Peaceful. Warm. But fragile. It must be guarded and grown. By the Painted Antinium. They must know it exists, and fight for it. Fight to live so that death has worth.”

Each sentence struck Pawn like a blow. He wanted to fall to his knees. Instead, he gripped the table, overcome by wordless emotion. At last, he looked up. And his voice trembled.

“I am so sorry. I asked so much. I did not know the cost. If I could have, I would have died. But they all—all of them—”

It was what he’d wanted to say. Had to say. The words poured out.

“—should have stopped you. Or listened. Or done something better. The spells—I didn’t know. I had to do it for Erin. But I—I—”

He trembled like a leaf. Yellow Splatters looked at Pawn until the shaking words ran out and Pawn was just shaking. Then the [Sergeant] reached forwards with two hands. He rested them on Pawn’s shoulder, and two more found Pawn’s hands on the table. The Painted Soldier spoke.

“We forgive you.”

And if Antinium could but weep, Pawn would have. But he had not learned how. So he only sat, overcome, until Erin came back with something in her hands.

“Hey guuuuuuuys. Guess what I just got from our acid fly traps?”

The Worker and Soldier looked up. They’d had breakfast, but lunch appeared in front of Pawn. And this time—the Worker inhaled suddenly as Erin placed a cup and bowl in front of him.

“Blue fruit juice. Acid fly bowl, extra heaping. With an egg on top! Sunny side up!”

She spread her hands, beaming. Pawn stared down at the bowl in front of him and Yellow Splatters. Small, tiny black shapes, acid flies sans the acidic abdomens, were piled up in the bowl. A fried egg glistened on top of the black heap, just waiting for the yolky goodness to run down and flavor the acid flies.

“Acid flies?”

“It’s breeding season! And you know what that means! Lyonette just got a bunch. Sorry, we had to make sure Mrsha knew not to play around with them and Apista does not like them either. But yeah. This is the first bowl. Who’s my taker?”

Pawn stared at Yellow Splatters. Yellow Splatters stared at Pawn. They both answered at once.

“He is.”

Erin slapped her forehead.

“You two are too nice. Let me get another. And we’ll have some for all the Soldiers who come in today! Not huge portions; we’ve gotta build up a stock. But today?”

She looked at Yellow Splatters and put a hand on his shoulder, smiling.

“Free of charge. Until we run outta acid-flies and eggs. A back-from-the-dead special.”

The [Sergeant] looked up at her. And for the first time since coming to the inn, Pawn saw him smile. And that was so familiar, that he felt a warm feeling in his stomach. Erin beamed. Behind her, Lyonette sighed. But she didn’t object.

“Well then. Blue fruit juice for all! Acid flies on the house for anyone who asks! Not you, Relc. And I present to you a new play by the Players of Celum! Enjoy!”

Erin waved at the stage and the [Actors], flushed with excitement, took a pre-play bow. Another bowl and cup appeared in front of Pawn. He stared at the little bugs. Yellow Splatters looked uncertain.

“I have never had these. I think.”

“You must. They are the best things to eat. Ever.”

Pawn reassured him. Yellow Splatters reached for his spoon, then hesitated again.

“The other Soldiers are waiting. They should have sustenance. There may not be enough.”

This was true. Pawn put a hand on Yellow Splatter’s.

“Yes. But there will be food for all who come. And you lead them. You must enjoy yourself.”

The [Sergeant] paused, and then nodded. He reached for his cup with another hand and Pawn took his. They touched glasses, tentatively. And then both began to eat. On stage, the Players began their act. And Erin, pausing to argue with Klbkch, help serve food, came back to talk with them. And give another hug.

Pawn ate next to Yellow Splatters, deciding how long the Soldiers would get before they had to rotate out. He saw Lyonette overseeing the staff, radiant, and covered with a light sheen of sweat. A little white Gnoll crept up, sniffed his bowl once, and decided she wasn’t interested. And Pawn sat amid it all, in the inn where he had become him.

He had been happier before. Deliriously happy. Overjoyed. But this was deeper. Quieter. Perhaps even more filling. The word was…satisfying. And Pawn thought he knew what heaven might be like. Someday, he would find out. But right now?

He was just happy.

—-

The stream of Painted Soldiers entering and leaving Erin Solstice’s inn was obviously a good source of revenue. And the efforts of the Antinium in clearing the Floodplains had naturally aided in keeping the population of Shield Spiders down. And yes, true, the new play was sure to be of note to anyone who valued such things. But for Liscor, the happenings of The Wandering Inn were, for once, relatively unimportant. Because something big was happening to Liscor.

Elections. Democracy. The streets were abuzz with the idea of both. And that was the narrative which gripped the hearts and minds of Liscor. Because the world revolved around this issue. The story, the narrative of destiny depended on the outcome. It wasn’t about Antinium, or the inn. The main story was, obviously, Liscor’s story. How could it not be? And the Antinium and Yellow Splatter’s revival, for all they were significant, were just a part of the real narrative. Backdrop.

And the election for Liscor’s City Council was heating up. In the city for the third day running, traffic around Market Street came to a nearly complete standstill. But the street was hardly inactive.

Krshia Silverfang stood on a platform, created by a pair of [Carpenters] overnight. She didn’t cup her hands to shout this time; she used a small speaking amulet to amplify her voice. And she was not alone.

“If we want to build a better Liscor, it starts with a better Council, yes? Funding for the City Watch! A better Adventurer’s Guild! A larger city! Force the Council to hold an election! And we will get to work.”

The Gnoll woman waved at the people standing to her right and left. And the crowd of Drakes and Gnolls in equal numbers looked up and murmured at the other three figures on the platform.

Raekea, one of the finest smiths in the city and the best [Armorer] in truth. Elirr, a beloved [Beast Trainer]. Senior Guardswoman Beilmark, a veteran [Guardswoman] trusted by all. They waved at the crowd, and got cheers of support. Krshia raised her voice.

“You all know these Gnolls! Each one is respected! Each one would help change the city! Isn’t it better to know who is on the Council, rather than let them elect themselves? Why should we not have a voice? If you agree, find the Council members! Ask them why they are not allowing a vote! And remember—we can have a better Liscor!”

She raised her paws to a huge cheer. Because Krshia’s message was a simple message, and her plan was easy to grasp. You could articulate it after hearing it once. And the Gnoll’s speech had legs.

Selys Shivertail, sitting in the shade of one of the stalls on a stool, watched how many people were moving past or in and out of Market Street. It occurred to her that Krshia could use one of the city’s plazas, but here was the thing: you could avoid a plaza. It was hard to avoid one of the most frequently-used streets in the city. And Krshia was campaigning in this district. Assuming the election got passed. Assuming she won.

But they were good assumptions as far as Selys was concerned. She eyed a group of excited young teenagers hurrying away and shot a glance to her left.

“Looks like we’re getting more and more people coming here to listen to Krshia by word of mouth alone. And a lot of people already heard her. Think they’ll put pressure on the Council?”

“If the eight different requests for a detail of [Guardswomen] to escort the Council across the city isn’t an indication, I don’t know what is.”

Watch Captain Zevara smiled crookedly as she watched the crowd. Normally this was the kind of thing she would be worried about, but the energy of the crowd pleased her in a perverse way. Here she was, subverting the natural order of law in the city. It was an odd feeling.

As were her co-conspirators. Zevara glanced down at Selys. The [Receptionist] was checking off her notes for the day’s rally. And she did have notes. Zevara had thought all Selys was good for was the money, but she was a [Receptionist], after all. The Drake nodded to herself and then looked up.

“Oops. Looks like Krshia’s going to hand off the speaking stone to Raekea. Good thing too; we should really buy a tonic for her throat, not just a healing potion. Krshia! Hey, Krshia! Over here!”

Selys waved to Krshia. The Gnoll’s ears perked up as she descended from the stage. The crowd surged around her for a moment, but let up as the burly Gnoll woman, Raekea, began to speak. Krshia was smiling, waving as she tried to push through to Selys—Zevara eyed her as she finally got there, panting.

“Maybe I should assign a few of the City Watch to you to keep you clear of the crowds, Krshia. You and your four candidates.”

“No. It’s better this way, yes? I can talk to people.”

Krshia panted as she wiped sweat from her brow, despite it not being that warm in the morning at all. Selys offered her a flask of water and Krshia drank greedily. She shook her head, sending a droplet of sweat onto Zevara’s cheek.

“Sorry. I have been speaking all morning. Raekea will go next, then Elirr and Beilmark. They are the most popular, so I think they will be well-received. I have four more candidates, one for each district. We may not take them all, but we can try, yes?”

“We can do more than try. I think the Council will have to issue a vote. Six of them have said they’ll okay a vote. Maybe even by the end of the week? We have to keep the pressure up so they actually pass an election vote or they’ll definitely renege on their promise.”

Selys consulted her notes, frowning. Krshia and Zevara nodded in agreement. They both turned to look at Raekea. Krshia bared her teeth in a grin.

“She’s speaking well. And we’ll let her and Elirr hold this spot, yes? Beilmark has her duty, but she can answer questions on the job. And in the meantime—”

She pointed down the street. Selys nodded.

“We’ve got a crowd ready. And a stable platform for you to stand on. Need a stamina potion? A break?”

“Neither.”

The [Shopkeeper]’s eyes lit up fiercely. Selys smiled. She whistled, and when the heads of those nearby turned, a shift in the crowd revealed a group of Gnolls and Drakes breaking off from the rest. Krshia clambered on top of a platform held up by some of the strongest in the group—just in time. A ratatatat of drums and a loud, magically-enhanced voice heralded a new arrival. Lism and his supporters swept into Market Street with a squad of 4th Company marching at their head, trying to drown out Raekea’s speech.

But this time Krshia was organized. Her supporters were out in force, Gnolls and Drakes. And they outnumbered Lism’s side nearly two-to-one. Her crowd pushed forwards, forcing Lism’s back, and suddenly Raekea was calmly moving back as she continued her speech, carrying the curious crowd away from Lism while Krshia’s supporters and his clashed. The Drake [Shopkeeper] hissed as he saw a good number of his audience leave. He shouted at Krshia from his platform.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than blockade a street, Silverfang? Or is obstructing business really in everyone’s best interests?”

“I am simply speaking about a matter which concerns Liscor’s future, Lism. Why are you arguing against my plans? Is that in the city’s best interests?”

Krshia shot back. Lism rolled his eyes as he shouted at the crowd, some of which were already booing him.

“Don’t listen to this mad-Gnoll, people! Remember, she wants to have the Antinium’s help! Her plan about the walls is just inviting their trap. Don’t fall for it. We don’t need to even have an election, remember! She’s brought all this up, like some agitator, no, [Saboteur]!”

His words created a rumble from his crowd, but it was drowned out by the loud shouts of denial from Krshia’s side. She smirked at Lism as he colored.

“Don’t do this. Don’t do that. If you have better ideas, Lism, loudly shouting that you are, you should say them, yes? How would you fund new construction? Pay the City Watch? Expand the Adventurer’s Guild? Will the army pay for all of it? And did they have the coin all this time, if so, why did they wait until now to offer it?”

Lism hesitated, then ignored the question.

“We don’t need Antinium support. We’ll bring back three more companies—”

“Three hundred [Soldiers]? I’m sure that will stop every single threat that has assailed Liscor over the last year, yes? Giant Face-Eater Moths. Raskghar? An entire army? Two?”

“If I’m elected—”

“You just said we don’t need an election! Tell me, Lism, is it really an election you don’t want? Or is it that you want to bring our soldiers back? Which is it, hmm?”

Krshia smoothly interrupted Lism. The Drake choked and tried to shout over her, but his speaking stone was inferior to hers and she smoothly adjusted her volume to speak over his voice.

“I wouldn’t want to compromise our army’s ability to fight abroad, would you, Lism? I would rather our brave soldiers do the fighting without splitting their number. Wouldn’t bringing them back weaken our army? Four companies staying here—that is a fifth of our army’s strength, is it not? Would you weaken them so much? Where will we house them in the city? Oh. Wait. Perhaps we should build more walls?”

A roar of laughter drowned out Lism’s reply. And then a chant.

“Build more walls! Build more walls!”

Selys listened, smiling. She turned to Zevara.

“I like it. It’s catchy. I don’t know what bothers Erin about it.”

She looked back just in time to see Lism choking, waving for attention. The Drake’s voice was more than a little furious, and Selys heard the wobble in his tone.

“If—if you think—this is about the Antinium, people! Don’t forget that! You can’t trust them!”

“Oh? And I suppose the army is trustworthy? Where were they when the Raskghar attacked? The moths? What about the Goblin Lord? Where were they, Lism?”

And the [Shopkeeper] had no response. His eyes darted left and right as he struggled for an answer. And Krshia was already moving onto her next point. She caught Selys eye as she turned to the crowd and winked. Selys winked back.

Organization and strategy. There was a lot to be said for having a [Receptionist] on your side, and one of those things was planning out what you were going to say. This wasn’t a market-stall shouting match, and Lism really didn’t have a plan. This time Selys saw heads focusing on just Krshia, and even some of Lism’s supporters looked uneasy.

Because Krshia was right. They could either build Liscor out, expand the Watch, improve the Adventurer’s Guild…or do nothing. And who wanted to be on the side of nothing? There was always Lism’s plan of course, but it wasn’t solid. Selys turned to Zevara in delight.

“We’re winning. I’m pretty sure of that.”

The Drake nodded, smiling. She stepped over to speak to Selys when a group of Drakes pushed through the outer edge of the crowd. They made a beeline for Zevara and Selys. One of them, a Drake in his thirties, waved a claw urgently.

“Watch Captain Zevara. What do you think about this election? Are you really for it?”

Zevara turned smoothly and Selys settled back. It wasn’t the first time the Watch Captain had gotten this question. Zevara flashed a fake smile, which was her best attempt, and spoke to the lead Drake.

“Speaking solely as a personal citizen and not for the entire City Watch, I’m for Krshia’s proposal to expand our—er, the City Watch’s budgets. I approve of her spending plan and would welcome an election.”

“And this is really in the city’s best interests?”

The Drake demanded a touch incredulously. Zevara shrugged.

“I can tell you that the current Council has not approved any increase in the City Watch’s budget. Make of that what you will.”

The Drakes looked troubled. One of them, a woman, scratched her cheek scales.

“No increase? But that’s madness. If it’s that or doing this democracy thing—”

“It’s dangerous. I hear one minute you’re having a little vote, the next there are useless [Senators] and [Politicians] up to your earholes.”

“If it’s that or pull in more of the army—”

“Have them quartered here, full-time? Causing trouble? I’d rather have the Antinium myself. Did you see them smashing those Shield Spiders this morning?”

The group began arguing. Zevara and Selys exchanged a delighted glance. It was working. And Zevara hadn’t needed to check her script! The Watch Captain stepped back with Selys, poised to answer more questions. Selys rifled through her folder.

“You can bring up the potential of more trade if Liscor begins actually farming the dungeon as a commodity. And I can talk about the uses of monster parts. Why don’t you—”

Before she could finish, a Drake pushed through the crowd. He was wearing armor and the insignia of Liscor’s Watch on his uniform. He waved a hand at Zevara.

“Captain, a word? There’s a bit of trouble by the brewery.”

Instantly, Zevara’s gaze sharpened. She took a step and then turned to Selys.

“I’ve got to handle this. Mind covering for me?”

“Of course.”

Selys watched as the two left through the crowd. The Drakes and Gnolls protested as Lism and Krshia’s shouting match continued in the background, but the two members of the City Watch were on business now. So it was Selys’ turn. She shuffled her notes, and then called out in a bright voice.

“I can answer any questions in place of Watch Captain Zevara!”

The Drake in his thirties turned to blink at Selys. He hesitated, and then squinted at her face.

“Hold on. Aren’t you that [Receptionist] at the Adventurer’s Guild? General Shivertail’s…what do you know about all of this?”

The [Heiress] put on her best smile. She took a deep breath, and then remembered something.

Liscor didn’t have a brewery.

—-

Selys was right. Liscor did not have a brewery. It had inns, taverns, both of which would make their own beverages with fermented barrels and hops in some cases. Or it imported alcohol. But a dedicated brewery was considered unnecessary; beer wasn’t that popular. Or great. Now, distilleries on the other hand…

Zevara knew this of course. It was a classic code the City Watch used. She followed the [Guardsman] through the crowd and back towards the City Watch barracks at a quick trot.

“What’s the real issue, Guardsman Tells?”

“Not for me to say, Captain. Sorry. I was just told to bring you.”

Zevara frowned and her tail began to twitch faster.

“By who?”

For an answer, Tells pushed open the door to the barracks. Zevara walked inside and saw a crowd of twenty one Drakes. Three Gnolls. They were mostly off-duty, but she knew each one. And she recognized the Drake waiting at their head. Zevara paused, and her mind raced as she slowly looked around.

“Senior Guardsman Jeiss. Guardswomen. Guardsmen. How can I help you?”

The crowd of Liscor’s finest—and only—law enforcement shifted. It was Jeiss, Beilmark’s partner and one of the most respected Senior Guardsman pairs who answered.

“It’s this election thing, Watch Captain. We’ve been listening to the gossip, and it sounds like the Council will actually hold an election. Are you really for Krshia Silverfang?”

The group behind him shifted uneasily. Zevara folded her arms, but she wasn’t about to shout them down. This was different, and she knew that Jeiss calling her out was…well, she wasn’t going to shout. She chose her words carefully, working off of Selys’ script.

“I’m not for putting any one person in power if that’s what you’re asking, Jeiss. This is certainly not a coup or something if you’re worried. For one thing, we aren’t the army even if we are the City Watch. Krshia Silverfang wants a seat on the Council, and I’m giving her my aid. But it stops there. She’ll do what’s best for the city and I don’t expect to control the Council. I’ll swear that on a truth spell first off.”

The [Guards] in the room relaxed slightly on hearing that. Zevara made a note to do it even if they didn’t ask at the end of this. You had to prove what you said or they’d wonder. She went on.

“It’s my decision as an individual that we need funds. The City Council’s refused my proposals three times. I can’t expand our ranks or get better gear any other way. So, yes. I’m willing to push for elections even if it means accepting the Antinium’s support.”

There was a murmur at that. Jeiss bit his tongue and looked at the others.

“Okay, Watch Captain. But…turning this into an election? It just feels like we’re going against the laws of the city, like Shopkeeper Lism’s been saying. And I respect Senior Guardsman Klbkch. But you know, the Antinium…”

He looked at Zevara and shrugged. She bit her tongue. The crowd was mostly Drake, but she knew how they felt. And she agreed in part, especially about the Antinium. She sighed, scratching at her neck.

“Jeiss, if I thought there was another way, I’d take it. But you saw what we’re up against. Krshia offered me funding for the City Watch. The current Council won’t. They rejected my offer three times, citing ‘lack of funding’. If it meant getting the City Watch what we need, I’d back anyone in an election. Anyone except that crazy Human.”

A chuckle ran through the crowd. Jeiss smiled, but then it faded.

“And the Antinium?”

Zevara looked up.

“We let them expand their Hive with the city. We put more Soldiers on the walls, and let more into the city. If they wanted to stab us in the back, they could have done it any number of times over the last decade. That’s my perspective. You have a different one?”

She waited for Jeiss’ response. He bit his lip shook his head reluctantly, and then sighed.

“If you’re doing this, your job’s in jeopardy too, Captain.”

Zevara nodded slowly.

“I know that. The next Council could replace me. Or this one might if things go south and Krshia doesn’t get her vote. Either way, that’s my decision. The City Watch stays neutral. I’m just a private citizen. With a lot of influence. I won’t ask you to do anything to support Krshia or help me keep my job. Got it?”

There was a lot of nodding, which was encouraging. Zevara had seen City Watches turn against their Watch Captains and that wasn’t a pretty sight. Jeiss looked around. He collected some invisible census, and then briskly shook his head.

“No worries on the job, Watch Captain. We’ve got your tail. You’re the boss, not Wing Commander Embria or the army.”

She exhaled softly, trying not to show her relief. It meant a lot.

“If that’s all, we’ve got a job to do. Anything else?”

She looked around. No one else wanted to speak, but Jeiss held up one claw.

“If—if there were a better option, Watch Captain, would you take it?”

Zevara paused. She looked quizzically back at Jeiss.

“Such as?”

“Just a hypothetical question, Watch Captain. I’m just saying. Will you keep an open mind?”

He met her eyes. Zevara nodded slowly.

“An open mind. If you’ve got any better ideas, I’ll listen.”

She waited. Everyone looked around, but no one spoke up. Jeiss shrugged, grinning tiredly.

“Just asking.”

—-

“Turns out Lism can be shut up. You just need to get him mad enough to choke on his own spit.”

That night, Selys raised a glass and toasted Krshia and Zevara. The Gnoll was grinning, and her voice after a small gulp of a specialty healing tonic for the throat was back to normal.

“We got a message throughout the city. And Lism, that windbag, couldn’t stop me, even with two squads of the army marching.”

“And the Council is being hounded to act. They meet tomorrow morning by popular demand. If they don’t vote for an election, they’ll have to answer to a crowd. I suppose I should put some of the Watch on the scene just in case.”

Zevara drank from her cup, smiling faintly. Selys leaned back at her table, grinning hugely. She felt powerful. Or maybe motivated was the word. It felt like everything was coming together and relaxing at Erin’s inn after a hard day was excellent. As was the lemonade drink. And on cue, Erin came over with a pitcher for a refill herself, and tonight’s dinner.

“Congratulations! Krshia! Selys! Uh, Zevara! This is amazing!”

She set down three large, steaming plates of spaghetti and meatballs, a classic. Selys immediately reached for a fork and slurped up some noodles. Krshia picked up a meatball with her paws, popped it into her mouth, and chewed with her eyes closed. Zevara eyed Erin.

“Uh, thank you, Miss Solstice. This is good…lemonade, was it? I’ve had something like this. Not nearly as sweet, though.”

“You know us Humans! We love sugar.”

Erin smiled at the table. She put the pitcher down.

“I also have another drink for you to try. On the house! I’m supporting this election. Although I can’t vote. But I really want you to win, Krshia! And the other Gnolls too. Mrsha was really happy Elirr was running!”

She came back with a clear glass with a brown liquid at the bottom, and a blue one balanced on top. Selys eyed it with great interest, as did Zevara. Krshia was eating meatballs.

“What’s that?”

“Blue fruit juice mixed with rum. Try it. I’m going to show it to my friend in Pallass, Rufelt, later. Thoughts?”

“Nice presentation.”

Zevara took the glass, swirled it until the liquids mixed, and took a sip. Her brows shot up.

“Not bad. But it’s so sweet.”

“Some people like sweet. Like me. Erin, can I have one?”

“Of course. Krshia?”

“I could use a drink. Especially after dealing with Lism.”

The Gnoll stretched out. Erin nodded, smiling, and went for the bar. Selys reached for her fork, sipping from both sweet drinks. Zevara requested an ale. Selys bit into her spaghetti, and noticed a paw sneaking up to one of her meatballs on the side.

“Mrsha!”

The little Gnoll jumped, hit her head on the table, and raced away. Zevara jolted—Krshia just rolled her eyes. Her meatballs were safely in her stomach. Selys laughed and tempted Mrsha back with a meatball.

“What are you, a dog?”

“Gnoll cubs are sometimes indistinguishable from them. And often less well house-trained.”

Krshia muttered. Mrsha shot her a frown, stood up on both legs, and delicately bit off half of Selys’ meatball. She folded her arms, as if to say, ‘there! See?’ Krshia just blew air into Mrsha’s face teasingly.

“Don’t feed Mrsha more than that, Selys! She’s begged enough snacks already. I’m telling everyone to stop; she’s putting on weight! And for once, she doesn’t need it!”

Lyonette passed Selys’ table by, carrying a bowl filled with black flies to a table with some of the Painted Soldiers, still being rotated in from the Hive. It was night, but they were still eagerly coming in and watching the Players of Celum, who had rotated through their three acting teams throughout the day.

“You’re not fat, are you, Mrsha?”

Selys teased Mrsha. The Gnoll indignantly patted her stomach, glaring at Lyonette. She flashed her paws in a signal Selys didn’t understand, but Lyonette clearly did. The [Barmaid] frowned thunderously as she handed a Soldier a bowl.

“Say that again young miss, and you can kiss your own dessert goodbye. In fact, I don’t think a rude young lady deserves any. Do you?”

Mrsha’s face fell. She raced around Selys, hugging the Drake. Selys flicked her tail at Mrsha.

“I’m not protecting you from Lyonette. If you were rude, you were rude.”

The little Gnoll looked at Selys, betrayed, and then slunk to another table to Selys’ left. She poked her head up and surprised a half-Elf sitting there. Ceria rubbed Mrsha’s head.

“Mrsha! What are you doing now? Hiding from mean Lyonette? Sorry. My [Ice Walls] can’t stop her. Go say sorry.”

She ushered Mrsha out from the table. The Gnoll plucked at the woman sitting next to Ceria. Yvlon looked down and read something.

“A mistake? I don’t think so. Own up, Mrsha. Honesty is important.”

Selys wished she’d been at the inn longer to pick up on Mrsha’s new sign language. Guiltily, she looked over at the Horn’s table. Mrsha slunk back to Lyonette, ears down, and Selys cleared her throat.

“How’s it looking from your end? Think this election thing’s a good idea?”

They turned. Ksmvr, Ceria, Yvlon, Pisces—and Olesm. Both Pisces and Olesm had returned from Pallass yesterday, but this was their first full day experiencing the new climate. Ceria shrugged as she bit into her own spaghetti.

“I’m for it. Then again, I’ve never lived anywhere for long as a citizen. Adventurer’s Guilds let teams do their own thing. And Wistram was…well, confusing. This is nice and straightforward. Hope you win.”

Yvlon nodded.

“No disagreements there. And it seems like you three have the popular opinion on your side. What do you think, Pisces, Ksmvr?”

The two looked up from their plates. Both seemed intent on winning the award for most spaghetti consumed. Ksmvr opened his sauce-covered mandibles.

“I am no longer a member of Liscor in any sense of the word since I was expelled from the Hive. Therefore all my thoughts about Liscor’s election are voided.”

“…Fair enough. Pisces?”

The [Necromancer] looked up with a smirk.

“Ah, naturally the one expert on Drake politics and culture is addressed last, as usual.”

Ceria sighed. Selys rolled her eyes.

“Big talk for a Human with more sauce than lips.”

Pisces’ hand went up and touched his spaghetti-sauce covered lips. He blushed, scrubbed at his face with one arm of his robe, and cleared his throat. Yvlon gave Selys a thumbs-up which Pisces ignored. He sat back, steepling his fingers together.

“I for one quite enjoyed the spirited debate. I may have added in a few salient points of my own.”

“Hence you nearly getting into a fight three times?”

Ceria eyed Pisces over the rim of her cup. The [Necromancer] sniffed and adjusted his pristine white robes.

“Trifles. A good debater always has an exit strategy prepared in case simpletons unable to mount a coherent defense take objection. Isn’t that so, Olesm?”

He looked at his companion. The Drake [Strategist] didn’t immediately reply. Olesm looked up from his mostly-untouched plate of spaghetti.

“I can’t believe all this happened when I was gone. Is this really happening? An election? And—you’re all going for it? Krshia? Selys? Zevara?”

He looked at them from his table. Selys frowned and Krshia and Zevara looked up at Olesm’s tone.

“Yeah. Why? Isn’t it a great idea?”

“I—I suppose so? I mean, I’m for elections. In theory. I guess. I’m not against it. But this deal with the Antinium—and expanding the walls? Can we secure them by next spring against the flood waters? And what about getting them enchanted? If they aren’t, we’re potentially giving someone a foothold into the city.”

He looked at Zevara. The Watch Captain frowned and put down a napkin.

“I think we can do it. There’s a Wistram [Mage] scheduled to check our walls soon for the annual inspection anyways. And if not this, then what? What are your objections, Olesm?”

“The Antinium’s deal for one. Politically, if we allow Antinium from foreign Hives into the city—no, it’s the expanding Hive that bothers me. And allowing more Soldiers aboveground. Why didn’t anyone consult with me first? I am Liscor’s [Strategist]!”

The blue-scaled Drake looked upset. Guiltily, Selys sipped from her drink and shrugged. She didn’t really get his objection. Erin came back with more meatballs for Ceria and Krshia.

“Mrsha said sorry! So don’t let her beg more meatballs, anyone. What’s this about more Antinium being a bad idea?”

Olesm avoided Erin’s gaze. He mumbled as he forked up more spaghetti.

“Well, I meant the Hive in regards to the Free Queen, not the Painted Soldiers…er, I’m just saying, it’s a deal worth looking twice at.”

Pisces frowned, resting the point of his chin on his steepled fingers. Yvlon raised an eyebrow, but Ceria just sighed.

“You sound just like that Lism guy, Olesm.”

“So?”

He hunched his shoulders defensively. Selys remembered he and Ceria had been a thing briefly. Or had they? The half-Elf chewed, swallowed, and burped.

“Sorry. Well, that Drake’s clearly against non-Drakes. He’s anti-Human and frankly, I don’t see why anyone supports him. I’m only half-Human and I was offended listening him to rant about Humans and filthy Antinium and conniving Gnolls.”

The rest of the table nodded. Krshia nodded and Selys looked at her sympathetically. She called to Ceria.

“That’s Lism. Well-known Drake [Shopkeeper] on Market Street. Krshia has to deal with him all the time.”

“Oh? My condolences.”

Ceria raised her mug. Krshia nodded. Olesm protested weakly.

“Hey now.”

He was cut off by Erin, who leaned over the Horn’s table, dishing out more meatballs for Ksmvr—none for Pisces. The [Necromancer] obligingly stole them off Ksmvr’s plate instead.

“You’re talking about Lism? Let me tell you, that guy. Whatta jerk. He’s been mean ever since I came to Liscor. Someone should hit him with a wet fish or something. I really hope he gets into the election—and Krshia kicks his butt!”

She raised a tong over her head. Ceria laughed. Olesm looked upset.

“Aw, come on, Erin. I know he can be—but he’s my uncle.”

“Oh yeah. I forgot. Sorry, Olesm.”

Erin blinked at the Drake unapologetically. Then she headed to Selys’ table and offered her pot of meatballs. Krshia took six.

“But come on. Even if he is family, isn’t he a bad guy? He tried to scam me first time I met him! And he’s rude. And grouchy.”

“And his tail sucks.”

Selys added with a nod. Zevara’s lips quirked.

“Is it really that bad?”

“Ugly tail. Ugly personality. His has a crook in it—”

“Selys!”

Olesm cut Selys off from sketching the objectionable tail in question. He looked around, his shoulders hunched, his tail lashing the floor.

“I won’t deny he has his faults. But that’s not all he is. You don’t know him.”

“I know what I hear. And I see an angry Drake who’s attacked Ksmvr twice when he’s walked past him for no good reason. I’ve seen racists before, Olesm. That’s what he looks like to me.”

Yvlon calmly ate from her plate with a knife and fork. Olesm’s tail stopped for a moment.

“I know he doesn’t like Antinium. Or Humans. But he helped raise me. He can be kind. Stop it. Please.”

The Drake looked around and both tables went quiet for a moment. Krshia sighed.

“Lism is…Lism. Market Street would not be the same without him, this is true. And he has his points, which is why he is free to run against me. I just intend to win.”

The others looked at her and smiled. Ceria grabbed a mug.

“I’ll drink to that! Good luck, Krshia! Win this thing and get on the Council! Upgrade the Adventurer’s Guild too, please? That’s what we want.”

The mood around both tables regained its cheerfulness. Pisces raised a mug.

“To a flawless victory. May you overwhelm your opponents on all fronts.”

“More like drown them in votes. Lism’s the only opposition to Krshia and she’s got tons of support. We’re slated to get four seats at the moment—we could aim for eight, maybe!”

Selys tipped her mug up and drank her lemonade down. Krshia grinned. Erin laughed.

“Yeah! Beat that Lism jerk! Teach him a lesson for insulting Numbtongue.”

Zevara raised her eyebrows as she lifted her ale.

“I remember that. I heard someone tried to drown him afterwards.”

Ceria sighed.

“Wish they’d succeeded.”

“Shut up!”

Olesm’s claws slammed onto the table. The tables—no, the entire room went silent. The Drake looked up at the stage full of [Actors] across from him, the Painted Soldiers, regulars, Relc making a fist—he turned red.

“I’m sorry. Thanks for the drink. I’ve got to go. Zevara. Can I have a word?”

He grabbed for some coins abruptly and pushed his chair back. Erin opened her mouth, wavering.

“Olesm—”

“Watch Captain?”

Olesm shook his head. Zevara stood up. She looked at Krshia and Selys.

“I’ll be a moment.”

Quickly, she and Olesm walked out of the inn, through the door to Liscor. They didn’t even need help; the mana stones were now labeled on the dial. The door closed as the silent inn watched Olesm go. One of the [Actors] coughed on stage. Ceria turned guiltily to her team.

“Oops.”

Ksmvr raised a slow hand.

“In fairness, Captain Ceria, drowning is a very horrible way to die. I would prefer disembowelment over drowning myself.”

He looked around at the silent table.

“No? Just me? Strange.”

—-

Olesm walked swiftly down Liscor’s streets for a good thirty seconds before slowing. He turned back, the scales along his cheeks dark with color.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. We were being insensitive. I apologize.”

Zevara folded her arms, her heart skipping a beat. She’d mostly forgotten her burning desire to ask Olesm out, but sometimes it resurfaced in inopportune moments. She schooled her face, though. Olesm seemed serious. Watch Captain Zevara cleared her throat.

“Did you have something you wanted to talk to me about, Olesm? About the proposed deal with the Antinium?”

Olesm nodded curtly. He took a few breaths to steady himself, and then crossed his claws behind his back. When he looked at Zevara, it was seriously, his previous embarrassment and anger put aside.

“I heard what you agreed to. Allowing the Hive to expand? Increasing the limit of Soldiers permitted aboveground? Giving other Hives access to Liscor? Zevara, with respect, are you insane? That deal favors the Antinium in huge ways!”

Zevara’s stomach sank. She didn’t like the disapproval in Olesm’s eyes. Reflexively she crossed her arms.

“I’m aware of the implications, yes. But elaborate for me. Why is this in particular so egregious? The Free Antinium have been in Liscor for over a decade now. They’re already protected by the peace treaty. What’s wrong with letting in a few foreign Antinium?”

“Besides the fact that they could give the other Hives valuable information or force us to allow them to pass into our territory under diplomatic privileges? That’s not my biggest worry. It’s allowing their Hive to expand. It’s dangerous! Why would you allow any deal involving that?”

Olesm glared at Zevara. She glared back and pointed at the ground under their feet.

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s an easy concession to make! You and I both know that the current Hive has exceeded its boundaries, Olesm. And they maintain far more Soldiers in their Hive than the agreed-upon three hundred. These are paper promises.”

The Drake took a deep, frustrated breath.

“You don’t understand. We regularly use a [Geomancer] to send probes into the earth. We can tell—to a certain distance—whether there are tunnels belowground. The Hive can probably dig below the [Geomancer]’s range, and I’m certain they do. But it still impedes their overall capacity. But if the city expands and the Hive is allowed to expand with it, the danger they represent will exponentially increase.”

“As will the City Watch. We could potentially double our numbers! And Liscor itself will expand!”

“That’s not the point!”

Olesm clutched at his neck spines agitatedly. He stomped one foot on the ground, and then gestured to one of the houses on the street.

“The Antinium are far, far more efficient than Drakes, Humans, or any other species in the world in terms of space. If Liscor expands, the Antinium will gain two Workers or Soldiers for every new person we can house. And they are all potential combatants.”

That silenced Zevara for a second. She gnawed at her lip.

“Even so, we’ve always known the Hive was large. They’ve always outnumbered the City Watch. That’s why we have safeguards in place.”

“Safeguards that account for a certain number of Antinium and being able to hold parts of the city!”

Olesm’s raised voice made a shutter fly open. The two Drakes heard an aggrieved shout.

“Shut up down there! Stop talking about the election! I’m trying to sleep!”

They hurried back, keeping their voices low. Olesm hissed at Zevara, his tail lashing.

“The Antinium have always been able to overwhelm Liscor, Watch Captain. At any moment, if their Queen orders it, they could storm the city and I would give them the odds of winning. The only thing that saves us is that it is not advantageous for the Antinium to do so. And the fact that there is a chance, a decent chance, that any sudden attack would fail, due to the safeguards we have in place. If we give them more concessions, like having six hundred Soldiers aboveground at any moment…the odds begin to favor the Antinium more and more. If we give them an incentive, the Free Queen—no, the Grand Queen might decide—”

“I know.”

The Watch Captain cut Olesm off. He blinked.

“What?”

Zevara folded her arms. They’d come to a rest in an alleyway, completely sanguine about the dangers. A potential mugging would be welcome at this moment; Zevara’s tight throat and burning lungs made her want to spit fire at something. She contained more than a few wisps of smoke from leaving her mouth.

“I said, I know, Olesm. I haven’t been a Watch Captain the entire time the Antinium were here. But I’ve been briefed. I’ve had conversations with the High Command, the leaders of the other Walled Cities…I know what’s at stake. They may call Liscor a backwater border city, but we are the lynchpin between north and south. And more importantly, we are the experiment. I know how deadly an Antinium siege gets. Don’t you think I do?”

“Then why—”

“To fight the Goblin King, we allowed the Antinium into Liscor. That was the deal. But there was another reason. We wanted to learn about the Antinium. Study their weaknesses. But now, I think some of the original [Diplomats] in charge of the deal were still hoping, thinking it might lead to…peace.”

Zevara looked past Olesm. His jaw dropped.

“Peace? With the Antinium? With all due respect, Watch Captain, that’s insanity. We still have border conflicts. Deaths each week! The other Hives are not content to remain sedentary, and we’ve had Aberrations in the city, which we have never proven are an actual flaw among the Antinium—”

“I know all that, Olesm. Shut up for a second. That’s an order.”

Zevara waited for Olesm to be quiet. She went on, clenching a claw.

“I know. I know the risks. I know the Grand Queen. I’ve read the reports on the other Hives. But there’s something else I’ve learned. I know Senior Guardsman Klbkch.”

Olesm was quiet. Zevara went on, pacing back and forth.

“I remember when I first met him. Of course I knew the stories. And of course I watched him like a hawk. And he’s given me reason to watch him—but he’s also been honorable, hard-working—Ancestors, if he wasn’t an Antinium, I’d be worried he’d take my job! A lot of the city hated the Antinium when they first arrived. But thanks to one Antinium, one person, now not even Lism can attack Klbkch directly without losing most of his supporters. And Klbkch is a Prognugator—no, a Revalantor of the Hives. I have to trust that there’s more than just an opportunity for peace. And if one Hive might make peace with us, that’s one sixth of the Grand Queen’s armies. I trust Senior Guardsman Klbkch, Strategist Olesm.”

She met the shorter Drake’s eyes. Olesm’s blue scales shifted in the moonlight as he studied Zevara. He was breathing fast with agitation, and thinking too. At last, he shook his head.

“I know Senior Guardsman Klbkch too. But I don’t know Klbkch the Slayer. And I know this. To him, we are all dust.”

Zevara stared at Olesm.

“What?”

“His words, Watch Captain. I don’t agree. I understand your reasoning, but I think you’re wrong.”

The knife twisted in Zevara’s stomach. Coldly, she stepped back.

“Well, you’re free to that opinion. But I’ll remind you that I’m not using my authority to unduly shape the election. I am allowing Krshia Silverfang a chance, but I am supporting her as an individual, which is my right. The City Watch may vote to their conscience. As may you.”

Olesm looked up at Zevara. He narrowed his eyes.

“I think I’ll have to do that. I’m sorry, Watch Captain.”

He turned and walked away without another word. Zevara stared at his back and tail until they disappeared. Then she leaned against the alley wall. She sighed, slowly.

“…Great.”

—-

While Krshia and her small team were celebrating the day’s victory at The Wandering Inn, a similar committee was burning the midnight oil.  Literally. It was midnight, and the lantern was using cheap oil. It smelled, but none of them were [Mages] or even capable of casting the [Light] spell. Lism hissed as he rubbed one claw across his reddened eyes.

“Okay. Make an appointment with Wing Commander Embria. Request that two squads join us for our counter to Krshia down Market Street. And if she can spare a third, it would be best used marching wherever those other candidates go. Remind people of the real defenders of Liscor. Now, how in the hells do we figure out how to put a hole in that stupid Gnoll’s plans? Anyone?”

He looked around the table. A group of weary Drakes—and one Gnoll, stared back. All of them, mostly Lism’s age or older, shook their heads. A Drake with grey scales with only hints of speckled orange leaned on the table.

“She’s got the Council by their tails, Lism. They’re going to vote for an election. I can feel it in my scales. And if she runs with all those Gnolls—they could take the Council. Put all those laws through. You can’t argue her ideas don’t sound good.”

Lism’s brows darkened. His voice rose impetuously.

“Sound good? Oh, they sound good, I’ll grant you. But they’ll sell the city to the Ants and open us up to a hostile Human takeover. Did you hear her saying how she’d reach out to all the Human cities if she was elected today? As if they won’t bleed us dry! You all know her proposals are as rotten as ten-day-old fish. None of you would be here if you thought she was right.”

The table slowly nodded. But Lism didn’t like the exhaustion in the eyes of his fellow Drakes. And one Gnoll. He glared to his left.

“Shazzi! You know the Gnolls around your home. Can’t you talk sense into them?”

An old, fierce Drake clutching a cane even in her seat looked up. Shazzi, a retired [Seamstress] who could still sew like a monster, shook her head, pursing her lips.

“Not me. They’re all too afraid to cross Krshia Silverfang. She’s some big shot in her tribe and everyone who came with her supports her unconditionally. Plains Gnolls. And the rest won’t speak up.”

“Damn. Cellic. What about you? Can’t you rally more support for the army? What happened to patriotic Drakes waving the flag? Cellic? Cell—”

The Drake across from Lism woke with a start. He was far from the oldest Drake here—he was actually in his mid-thirties, but a large scar crossing the back of his head had left a divot in his skull. He looked up, befuddled.

“What? Did I—what’s that, Lism?”

The [Shopkeeper] hesitated. He eyed Cellic, and then looked out the window. Nothing but darkness greeted him. Lism looked around at the other faces and modulated his tone and put a smile on his face.

“Ah, nothing, Cellic. It’s clearly late. You should get some rest.”

“No, no. I’m fine. I’m here if you need me. Say the word, Lism.”

The retired [Soldier] protested mildly. He blinked and unconsciously reached for the scar at the back of his head.

“I’m just…”

He yawned and drifted for a second. Lism looked at him, and then around.

“Someone take Cellic back. Make sure he gets some sleep in his bed. On his front, mind! Anyone? Tess, will you…?”

“On it.”

A Drake in her twenties sighed and plucked at Cellic’s shoulder. He awoke with a violent start and for a second his claws opened. Then he caught himself.

“I’m…sorry. What’s going on?”

“A nap, Cellic. We’re all going to sleep. You’ll be the thing tomorrow. I’ll be counting on you.”

Lism jovially laid a shoulder on Cellic’s arm. The Drake looked at him and smiled.

“I’ll be there bright and early.”

He let Tess guide him from the room. Lism rubbed at his eyes and looked around. A morose team stared back. The old Drake with orange scales shook his head again.

“We could just petition the Council not to go ahead with the election. Point out exactly why it’s not necessary.”

“Can we stop half the city from following them around? Wait. Maybe. We could…form protective squads. Keep busybodies back. Maybe. I’ll think on it. But it’s late. You all need sleep. You’ve got your jobs, after all.”

The conference table looked at each other and reluctantly nodded. Lism clapped his claws together.

“Go, then. Thank you for your time. Anyone who can spare it, come here tomorrow. But if you’re hurting for coin—I’ll have a plan by the time you wake up.”

He smiled. Unconvincingly, he knew. But the others just murmured agreement and left, patting him on the shoulder, pledging to be here. Brave souls, fighting for what was right. Lism saw them off, and then went to sit back down.

His house was much, much quieter without the group sitting around his dining room table. The Drake sat in a chair, restlessly turning back and forth, getting up to pace.

“Maybe if I—no. Damn. And if I argue with her on—no. No! That won’t work either! If the High Command would only sign over enough money to match the Antinium! Can’t they see what will happen? And Wing Commander Embria’s not being cooperative. Her and those idiots blindly supporting—Silverfang!”

He uttered the name of his mortal enemy like a curse as he had so many times before. Only this time, Lism couldn’t see a way to beat her. He kicked over his chair with an oath.

“That damned furball—”

“Uncle!”

The sharp voice made him spin. Lism’s hand instinctively went for the knife at his belt, but the voice and the face instantly made him relax. A surprised smile crossed his face. He spread his arms.

“Olesm! My boy, it’s been too long!”

The surprised younger Drake with blue scales was enveloped in a hug. Lism clutched his nephew tightly, smiling fit to burst. Suddenly his problems seemed distant, at least for the moment.

“Come and sit! Don’t mind the mess. We’ve just had a late night planning out this election nonsense. Can I get you some tea? A snack? I’ve got some scraps—let me put a kettle on!”

He fussed around Olesm, but the younger Drake was reluctant to sit. He was restless, and his brilliant scales and handsome face—Lism saw the family resemblance. Handsome, regal even, and intelligent. All the marks of the Swifttail clan. He beamed at Olesm.

“It’s been over two weeks! But I imagine you’re beating ladies away with your tail. How is work? Liscor’s [Strategist]. And you’re not even thirty years old! You’ve got more levels than years! Wall Lord Ilvriss himself picked you out. If that’s not a sign of greatness, I don’t know what is. Has he reached out to you since returning to his city? Let me get you some tea.”

“He hasn’t. And I’m not fighting anyone off with my tail, Uncle. Stop fussing, please.”

Embarrassed, Olesm finally sat down. He looked up at Lism and frowned.

“And don’t use that word, please!”

“Word? I was just frustrated.”

Lism spread his claws innocently. Olesm folded his arms.

“You used it in public to address Krshia. Uncle!”

“I didn’t say furbag.”

Olesm ground his teeth together audibly and Lism sighed. The younger [Strategist] pushed his chair back.

“It’s still insensitive to the fact that we used to skin Gnolls during the old times. It’s as—as—it’s as bad as if I called you a Human-kissing Turnscale. No, far worse!”

“Alright, alright. It was my mistake. But that damn—Silverfang’s caused this mess in Liscor and I’m trying to sort it out. Give me some credit for stress!”

Lism sighed. He couldn’t deny his nephew anything. He doted on Olesm in fact, never mind that the boy sometimes hung around with that terrible Human girl and had moped for weeks after his fling with that half-Elven adventurer who’d nearly gotten him killed. But Lism’s heart swelled with fondness for Olesm. He was the family’s pride, after all. Never mind what anyone else had thought. Lism had known Olesm since he was a hatchling. And Olesm had never betrayed his hopes.

“I’m glad to see you, Olesm.”

“Me too, Uncle. Me too. I’m sorry I haven’t called on you. I’ve just been—busy.”

Olesm smiled, but he didn’t look happy to see Lism. He looked tired. Tired, worried, distraught—Lism felt like he was looking at a mirror. The [Shopkeeper] cast about his modest home and cleared his throat.

“We-ell, why don’t you tell me what’s been happening to you? I could use a break from this business with Silverfang. Don’t worry, I’ll stop her from ruining this city.”

“Oh, Uncle.”

“Not to worry! I can do it!”

The Drake waved a claw. He sat back, opening his mouth and eying his nephew. Then he coughed and shook his head.

“No, no. Don’t worry. I’ll figure something out. I haven’t sold copper pennies for silver pieces for years without picking up some tricks. And I know you’re friends with that stinking—with that insane—with that Human girl and Watch Captain Zevara is your superior. It’s fine.”

Olesm sighed, leaning forwards on his knees.

“Erin’s a wonderful person, Uncle. I told you already. If you hadn’t tried to swindle her—”

“Overcharge her. It’s not illegal!”

“She’s a really good person. The best chess player. In the world! I’ll swear she could beat the Titan himself. And Krshia’s a good person too.”

“She’s got you fooled, my boy. You can’t trust her. She’s as slippery as a greased eel and twice as treacherous as a Creler.”

“She’s trying to help the city, Uncle!”

The Drake paused.

“You think so too?”

For some reason, the thought of Olesm siding with Krshia stung more than any of the Gnoll’s damned barbed insults this morning. The blue-scaled Drake, a far cry from Lism’s purple-and-red scale colors, more like his mother than anyone else, shook his head.

“I’m not…all for her. But I know Krshia. I know her heart’s in the right place. So is Selys’ and Watch Captain Zevara’s…I just spoke with them, actually.”

“Did you now.”

Lism sat down heavily. For a second his mind flashed to Krshia’s arguments, seeking a hole in them. But the problem was…Olesm looked up at his uncle. The single oil-burning lamp flickered, wafting a bit of stink towards the two. Neither one moved.

“Uncle. I came here because I wanted to ask you about the elections. Krshia’s ideas. Her proposing them. You’re her biggest enemy. Tell me honestly. Please. Is this really just about you hating Krshia’s ideas? Or are you serious?”

Lism squirmed like a fish on a hook. He opened his mouth, looked over his shoulder, but he couldn’t escape his nephew’s gaze. Reluctantly, at last, he opened his mouth.

“I’m not saying she’s all wrong. She’s…right we need to expand Liscor. Rent’s up, and we’re all feeling the pinch. Just the other day, Mella, you know her, right? The old [Florist] on Salpik Avenue? She was turned out of her apartment without anywhere to go. After living in her spot for eighteen years, only now she can’t pay the rent because it’s nearly tripled from two years back.”

Olesm rubbed at his face, shocked and mildly horrified.

“Mella? She used to babysit me. What happened to her?”

Lism was indignant.

“The neighborhood association got to her is what it did. You think we’d let her freeze to death? We put her up with Miss Shazzi. They get along like cats—or two Drakes—in a bag, but it’s manageable. You can imagine the stories, though.”

Olesm laughed quietly.

“I can. I should visit her. Or see about that [Landlord]. Evicting someone from a house at Miss Mella’s age? That could be a death sentence. And triple the price? I’ll check on it tomorrow.”

Lism nodded, proud as any father. Prouder than Olesm’s, certainly.

“That’s the [Strategist] of Liscor for you. Never too large to notice the honest folk.”

“But it just proves Krshia’s right, doesn’t it, Uncle?”

Olesm looked up, fixing Lism with another stare. The [Shopkeeper] hesitated.

“Well…okay, she has a point. And maybe the Adventurer’s Guild could use some coin. And I won’t say I’m against the City Watch expanding—Ancestors, of course I’m for it! It’s just…”

The younger Drake folded his arms, waiting. Lism grabbed at his neck spines. At last the words exploded out of him.

“It’s just her! That Human-loving Gnoll thinks we can cozy up to any warm-blooded Human. She thinks we can rely on the Antinium for help—and she’ll toss out our entire system of government to do it! Just because she wants power. And she’s wrong. The Antinium aren’t our friends. Hah, we saw that during the First Antinium War, didn’t we? Even if a few can walk about without killing anything in sight—and those Humans! We had an army at our gates not a month back! Has everyone forgotten that?”

Olesm shook his head.

“No one has, Uncle. But I’ve heard you speaking. You talk about filthy fleshbag Humans. About Gnolls getting ‘out of their place’. About other species—Uncle, they’re not all evil. I’ve told you that. Not even all Goblins are bad.”

Lism was quiet. He leaned on his table, and then looked up.

“So? So what? Should I apologize? Change my views? They’re not all evil. But it’s not ‘all’ of them I’m worried about, Olesm. It’s the ones who rule. Tyrion Veltras. That [Lord] tried to take Liscor. He would have slaughtered—slaughtered the entire city and started a war. But for luck, he didn’t. Should I forget that? When? In a month? A year? A decade? What about what Humans have always done? We welcomed the Five Families when they first came. In return, they betrayed us, burned our Walled Cities, slaughtered us in the north and took half a continent away.”

His claws shook as he gripped the table, staring at Olesm. The [Strategist]’s face was bleak.

“I know. But that was millennia ago, Uncle.”

“Have they changed? Should we forget? I don’t like them. I don’t trust them. And I’ve always been honest about that. I don’t put on a fake smile and stab them in the backs. Why do I have to pretend to like them? Why do I have to like them at all? Why can’t I hate them for what they’ve done? What they do? Why do I have to say ‘oh, some of them are different?’”

Olesm bowed his head. He shook it a few times as Lism paced back and forth. The [Shopkeeper]’s voice shook.

“I can live with them. Isn’t that enough. Or will Krshia pass a bill forcing me to duck my tail and smile at every Gnoll and Human who passes my way? Why the Antinium? Why not—not let Drakes and Gnolls build the city? We used to have [Builders] once. Honest work for honest folk. And then the Antinium came with their damn workers and put hundreds out of a living.”

He paced up and down, airing old grievances, angry, despairing. And he felt guilty, because he knew Olesm didn’t agree. He didn’t want to see his nephew’s look, so Lism kept ranting. Right up until Olesm stood up.

“Uncle. Enough.”

And Lism was quiet. He turned to Olesm.

“I’m sorry, my boy. But I’m not going to stop fighting Krshia. And if I have to be the last one kicking and screaming, I’ll oppose her right up until she becomes a member of the Council. If I can just stop it…”

His tail thumped the floor helplessly.

“You know, lots of the Drakes in the city feel just like I do. More than half of the ones I spoke to were uneasy about an election, about messing with the system, the Antinium and Humans. It’s just that when that damn Gnoll sounds so convincing with her talk of free money, people lose their heads. We are Drakes, after all…”

Olesm looked at him, and then he half-smiled. Bitterly, tiredly.

“I disagree with a lot of what you said, Uncle. And if you keep saying it, I can’t—won’t help you. But you’re right about one thing. The Antinium. And if you’re willing to think about what’s good for the city…I’ll help you.”

Lism paused. He stared at Olesm. His nephew looked up at him. Lism didn’t hesitate. He spread his arms wide, beaming.

“For you? Olesm, my nephew? I’ll try. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Olesm sighed, closed his eyes. And then he pulled out a quill, inkpot, and began to speak.

—-

The next day, Selys hummed as she strolled down Market Street, getting ready for the big day. This was it. They’d push the Council to begin an immediate election, put out four more candidates for the Council, and then—win. She couldn’t wait. She was so excited, she was practically vibrating. She saw a crowd had already gathered next to a promenade. They were gathered around something. A council member? Were they having a debate? Selys slowed. And then she stared.

“Ancestors. What is that?”

Five minutes later, Krshia, Zevara, and the rest of the Gnoll candidates were standing in a group, looking up at the large poster made of parchment posted on a wall high up, for all to see. Zevara read it out loud, not even needing to squint to read the words.

“Jobs for Liscor. Build your city with your own claws/paws! What in the name of Dragons…?”

“Is this something you did, Krshia? Anyone else?”

Selys turned to the group. Beilmark, Elirr, Raekea, all of them shook their heads. Selys looked around, puzzled, and then she heard a familiar sound.

Ratatatat.

“Oh no. I thought we beat him yesterday!”

She groaned. Krshia uttered a few Gnoll curses and turned, calling for her crowd to form up. But to Selys’ surprise, this time Lism wasn’t heralded by a huge crowd. Instead, he was walking on his own two feet, followed by a gathering of onlookers—but not the vehement protesters that usually shouted insults at Krshia’s supporters. And the drummer was no [Soldier], but just a regular Gnoll [Drummer], banging a brisk beat on the drum.

“Vote for a better Liscor! Vote for walls! Vote for economy, independence! Vote for a Liscor you built yourself!”

Lism shouted, cupping his hands to amplify his voice even further with the aid of his amulet. Krshia, poised to ride the platform over the heads of the crowd, appeared with a large group of Gnolls. She stared down at Lism and looked around. It was almost comical without the huge crowds of yesterday. Krshia coughed, embarrassed, and called down at Lism.

“What are you doing, Lism? Causing more trouble? Is this your doing?”

She pointed at the huge flyer above the street. Lism smiled, shading his eyes to see.

“Ah. Like it, Krshia? Yes, it’s mine. Courtesy of a few [Scribes] I know! But I see they forgot to add my name to this particular one. It’s my campaign’s slogan. Like it?”

He gestured up at the flyer. The crowd looked at him, clearly confused. So did Krshia. She folded her arms.

“So you’re for an election suddenly? Are you flip-flopping on your word again?”

Lism gave her a huge smile.

“Only because I’ve had a change of heart! Yes! I am for an election! And we should build a new part of the city! By all means!”

He raised his hands. And the crowd behind him cheered. It was, after all, what Krshia had been saying all this time. Completely off-guard, Selys stared at Zevara, whose brows were completely raised. Krshia stared down at Lism. Then she realized where she was and awkwardly climbed off the podium.

“So you’re acknowledging mine is the good idea, yes?”

Lism studied one claw.

“It’s…a good idea. But I’d rather I take the Council seat. You see, I am running in your district, Krshia. And if I’m elected, I’ll ensure that we expand our city by one third, fund the Adventurer’s Guild and fund the City Watch! Build those walls! Build those walls!”

He raised his hands and the crowd cheered behind him. Krshia stared. Then she spluttered.

“What? You can’t say that? That’s—that is my promise, no?”

Lism smiled beatifically.

“Well, it’s my promise too. I’ll ensure that Liscor gets exactly what it needs, but unlike honored Krshia here, people, I’ll do it right! Lism for the City Council!”

He raised his arms again, but Elirr thrust his way forwards. The older Gnoll shouted at Lism.

“Do it right? You just stole Krshia’s idea!”

The Gnolls around him roared the same thing. Lism shouted back.

“Not at all! I improved it! You see, I won’t rely on Antinium to build the wall! I’ll hire honest Drakes and Gnolls to do it!”

The words stunned Elirr into silence. Lism waved a claw around.

“Yes, Krshia has the right idea. And expanding Liscor is the best way to combat this ludicrous rent! But why let the Antinium do it? Think about how many jobs a project like that would create! Thousands! And the money would go into your pockets, not back to the Antinium for such a huge building contract! And I have more—”

“Wait, but that’s—”

Selys was scrambling, tearing through her notes to figure out just what—but Lism was going on.

“Krshia would have us open the city to adventurers from the north. I say, look to our tails. The Bloodfields have always been a deterrent to trade coming north. But with that fabulous door, and our brave soldiers, couldn’t we seek a safer path through the hills around the Bloodfields? Cut a path to enable trade throughout the year? This is just one of the proposals, which I, Lism, would implement if I am elected to the Council. Fund the City Watch! And bring our soldiers back! They could keep our roads safe! Why stop where Krshia is content to coast? Vote for me and let’s get as much done as we can!”

This time the cheer was drowned out by Krshia’s howl of fury. She advanced on Lism, pointing an angry paw.

“You cannot say that! You stole my idea!”

“It’s just an idea, Silverfang! If you can’t improve on it, what’s the point?”

Lism crowed as he looked around. He got nods of agreement. Some people clearly disagreed, but Lism’s banner was waving above his head. Build your city with your own claws. Selys clearly heard a Drake lady remarking to a friend behind her.

“Why not hire Drakes and Gnolls? My son could use a job.”

“But how will you pay for the wall? Without the Antinium’s help?”

Krshia snarled at Lism, losing her composure. The Drake rubbed his claws on his tunic.

“Well, the army has pledged some money to Liscor. But—happily, three of the Walled Cities have already pledged to cover five percent of the costs rather than force the Antinium to pay. Each.”

Selys’ jaw dropped. Krshia took a step back, her fur paling.

“That is a lie. You cannot have—”

“Reached out to the Walled Cities? Let’s just say they’re concerned about the Antinium too. And they’re willing to help pay for an expanded City Watch—we may be able to fund the Adventurer’s Guild’s upgrade solely based on private donations!”

“Private—”

Krshia’s eyes bulged. Lism reached for something behind him. A Drake carrying a sheaf of…of papers handed a small stack to him. Lism pressed it into Krshia’s paws with a filthy smile.

“It’s just been printed. But the reaction is already spreading across the continent. I’m sure I have a few [Messages] waiting. But until then—Drakes and Gnolls, lend me your ears! Do you want to have the Antinium expand their Hive and build everything? Or would you rather build your city yourselves, and see the gold flowing into your pockets?”

He walked past Krshia, shouting at the crowd further down the street. The procession followed him and Selys saw to her horror that people were breaking off, talking to each other. Spreading the word. It was a twisted parody of yesterday. Selys rushed over to Krshia. They had to stop Lism! Think up a counter! But the Gnoll was staring at something in her paws. Her hands were shaking as Selys rushed up.

“Krshia, what—”

The Gnoll growled. Her eyes flashed as the papers crumpled in her grip. She thrust them at Selys.

“That dirty, rat-tailed—”

Selys stared at the papers. Slowly, she unfolded the crumpled paper, read the freshly-dried ink. It was in fact, a [Scribe]-written copy. A copy of a rather long introduction. The first thing Selys saw was the author’s name. Olesm Swifttail. With a sinking heart, she began to read.

To my remaining readers,

My name is Olesm Swifttail, [Strategist] for the City of Liscor. In my previous newsletter I made a series of suggestions and recommendations about a possible system that could be implemented along with an analysis of the events surrounding the Goblin Lord’s recent siege of Liscor. I understand it was received with much chagrin by a good number of my audience, not least for the idea of fostering peace with the Goblins. I would like to address that issue in brief:

To those I have offended, I sincerely apologize. My arguments were not backed up with historical fact, which do cite instances where Goblins have coexisted with other species—albeit a relationship fraught with tension. I have since educated myself, and hope this further, more coherent argument will better represent my opinion—and the inherent dangers I was suggesting.

I would like to delve into the realities of trying to work in harmony with species classified as monsters, such as Ogres, Trolls, Goblins, various ape species, Giants, (with the understanding that the remaining half-Giant tribes are of course, now fully recognized as a species with rights in all cases but those of the Demonfolk of Rhir), and so on.

But before that, I would like to bring up another issue troubling Liscor: that of an election. I consider it a fascinating case-study of politics and will be attaching my opinion over a troubling change in Liscor’s traditional system of governance that may, inadvertently, grant too much power to the Antinium Hive located beneath Liscor, known as the Free Antinium.

My attached summary and thoughts are below, and in this newsletter, I have tabulated the letter to clearly differentiate games of Chess, Go, my findings on the issue of interspecies politics and strategy, and the current situation in Liscor.

Please also note the final section, which contains a fascinating report by Liscor’s Adventurer’s Guild on the species known as Raskghar, an exceptionally savage, monstrous subrace that deviated from Gnolls and their biology, danger classification, and the situation which lead to a large tribe abducting Gnolls from Liscor itself for a ritualistic sacrifice which has many disturbing implications…

“Oh dead gods.”

Selys slowly raised her head from the paper. Zevara, looking bewildered, snatched at it.

“What is it? What does it say?”

“Olesm. He released another newsletter. And he not only talked about Goblins, but he’s talking about the Antinium in it. About the election. It probably went out to every city on the continent with a [Strategist] in it. And I bet they read his letter with that opening. He just told all of them what’s at stake!”

Elirr’s fur went pale. He read the cover letter over Zevara’s shoulder.

“Olesm? He’s siding with Lism?”

Selys opened her mouth. Then she covered it because she wanted to throw up. No wonder the Walled Cities had just gotten in touch with Lism! If Liscor’s [Strategist] pointed out that they could help fund Liscor’s expansion or let the Antinium get a number of concessions…

Lism’s voice was coming back this way. He was marching at the head of a crowd, and he wasn’t by himself this time. A Drake was marching on his left, another on his right. Lism raised his voice jubilantly.

“For your consideration, good folk of Liscor! Senior Guardsman Jeiss for a seat on Liscor’s Council! Alonna Swiftwing, our esteemed [Mage] and head of the Mage’s Guild for a seat on Liscor’s Council! Vote for them! Vote for me! Liscor, built by our own claws! Or paws!”

The Gnolls watched him march down the street. Zevara stared at Senior Guardsman Jeiss. He saluted her awkwardly. Beilmark, his partner, said not a word. Jeiss avoided her gaze. Selys watched as more Gnolls and Drakes turned to listen to Lism’s new message. And then she realized the worst part.

“Oh no. He’s making this an issue about the Antinium. Not about building more of the city. If he can offer what the Antinium can—then it’s about whether you trust Klbkch and his Hive or not.”

“And whether you want Antinium to build the city or…us.”

The group fell silent. Selys thought she would puke. And then, a Drake approached their group. He was the same one from yesterday. And like yesterday, he made a beeline for Zevara.

“Watch Captain. Are you supporting Miss Krshia here? Are you against Shopkeeper Lism? He says he’ll support tripling the City Watch’s budget if he can. And he says he’s all for you as Watch Captain. Are you against him?”

Every head slowly turned to Zevara. She cleared her throat once. Twice. Three times. Selys beseeched her silently, but Zevara wouldn’t meet her eyes. Eventually, she looked at the Drake.

“Well, if—if any Council member were to see fit to grant the City Watch an appropriate budget, I don’t know that I could categorically denounce Shopkeeper Lism’s proposals…”

“Zevara!”

“Sorry.”

The Watch Captain murmured. The Drakes looked at each other. One of them whistled.

“Well in that case…I mean, I’m supportive of the Antinium and all that, but I wasn’t too keen on having that many Gnolls on the Council. Maybe one? And I like more Drakes. Humans…”

“Exactly. Say what you will, but Lism’s right about Humans. And I mean, Klbkch is Klbkch, but historically, those Ants…”

They broke up, backing away from Krshia’s party. The same Drakes who’d cheered her yesterday. Selys desperately went after them.

“No, wait! That’s not fair! Let me talk to Zevara! Don’t spread that! Krshia—”

She turned to look at the Gnoll. Krshia’s shoulders were hunched. She was staring at Lism with her teeth bared. Selys slowly backed up.

“We can win this. Everyone just stay calm. We need to think up a rebuttal for Lism. Talk to Klbkch. Get Erin in on this—”

Elirr and Beilmark nodded. They grabbed Krshia before she could, say, pounce on Lism. Selys was trying to usher Krshia back from the smug Drake when she saw him, standing across from her on the other side of the crowd.

His head was ducked, and he was looking down. But his blue scales were telltale. And he had a sheaf of papers in one hand. Olesm Swifttail was flicking through them, nodding as he listened to Lism speak.

Oh, spin and spin. Sudden changes and betrayals and the fickle nature of the crowd. That was politics. Selys felt the world which seemed so solid, turn to jelly around her. And then she saw what Olesm was holding. The papers. His notes.

Selys saw them and the world went red. She didn’t know what possessed her to push through the crowd. And she didn’t catch herself until she was right in front of Olesm, throwing her detailed notes in his face and punching at him with a claw as he tried to block. But a dozen hands caught her, dragging her back, and Gnolls and Drakes yanked the people grabbing Selys off her.

And then both sides were shoving, jostling, shouting—and then someone threw a punch. And both sides erupted into a brawl and Selys and Olesm were caught in the middle of it. Zevara shouted for order and roared for her City Watch while Krshia and Lism looked on, shouting insults at each other. Selys threw punches and tried to push out of the sudden riot as Lism’s supporters clashed with Krshia’s.

But unfortunately, suddenly, it looked like it was an even fight.

—-

Liscor heaved. It turned. It fought amongst itself. And all the momentum Krshia Silverfang had worked for was snatched up, converted, and turned on her in an instant. A classic reversal in chess. Or perhaps Go was a more fitting metaphor?

Whatever the case, it was messy. And dirty. And when a despairing and scratched-up Selys walked into the inn, in tears, while Krshia shouted at Lism on the streets and Zevara sat in her office and thought, the scales were even. Or perhaps slanted in Lism’s favor. He had more than enough scales already.

And there they lay. Right up until the [Innkeeper], a young woman named Erin Solstice, came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands. She listened to Selys. She heard about Olesm. She dropped the towel. Slowly, Erin picked it up off the floor. She looked at Selys, around at her inn, her patrons. She thought of Krshia. Erin Solstice looked out at Liscor and made a fist.

“Oh, it is on.”

6.31

Erin Solstice woke up. She stared up at the wooden ceiling overhead and had a flash of panic. Things felt different. She twisted—and saw a pillow next to her. And then a drop.

She was lying in a bed. Her bed. And then Erin remembered. She was in her room, the first room by the stairs on the second floor of the inn. This was where she slept now.

Her bed in the kitchen was gone. And as Erin got up, she stretched and stared at the brightening landscape through a glass window. She still rose with the dawn, some days. Even though she didn’t have to. Old habits died hard.

And then Erin remembered last night and her lips compressed. She stared at Liscor, just a ten minute walk from her inn. And the [Innkeeper] made a fist and shook it at the inn.

“Olesm. You jerk.”

And that was all. Erin sighed. She closed her eyes and folded her arms. In her pajamas—thin cotton, breezy, and with a tail slit that Erin really didn’t need, the young woman thought. She shook her head.

“Nope. I’m still mad.”

Selys had been in tears yesterday after Olesm had shown up at Lism’s rally and essentially thrown a huge stone in Krshia’s campaign. Erin got why he’d done it—the Drake’s argument had been the talk of the inn. You can’t trust the Antinium. Build the city yourself. And if it were anyone other than Lism saying it, Erin might have understood.

But she was still mad. So Erin left her room. She paused in the hallway. Someone was already up. A green Hobgoblin paused, holding one of the simple toothbrushes Erin had given him. Guiltily he swallowed.

“Morning, Numbtongue. Are you eating toothpaste again? I told you, rinse, and spit!”

Erin gently glared at the taller Hobgoblin. The [Bard] hid the small tin of toothpaste behind his back.

“It tastes good.”

“Right, but I’m sure it’s bad for your stomach! It’s got chemicals and—”

Erin trailed off. She distinctly recalled seeing Numbtongue eat a rock once when he was bored. And he ate bugs. And leaves. She raised a finger.

“You know, Mrsha could see. And that’s a bad example.”

Numbtongue stared at her. Erin stared back.

“…Anyways, good morning.”

“Good morning.”

They headed downstairs together. Erin glanced at Numbtongue. He wasn’t wearing his leather armor. Or any armor today. That was a good sign; the Redfang warrior usually dressed as if he were about to go into combat even when he was lounging around. But today he only had a tank top on, leggings—he looked casual. He still carried the guitar on his back, which Erin supposed was some form of security; Numbtongue seemed to regard it as both club and musical instrument. But as he sat at a table, shifting his guitar out of the way, he looked casual.

It was what Erin wanted to see. But she wished—she closed her eyes. Oh, how she wished there were five Hobgoblins sitting there, not one. Six; a little Goblin among them, scowling like always. An army.

But that was how Erin felt every day. That was her regret. Her failure. And she had lived with that in her heart for enough time not to dwell on it. It was part of her. Sadness became memory. And she had bigger fish to fry. If she stopped, who would feed Numbtongue?

…Probably himself. He knew where the food was. But Erin went and got a fish anyways. She had a fresh one, preserved from the rainy season thanks to her [Field of Preservation] Skill. It was a hearty meal for breakfast, but Numbtongue ate like a Hobgoblin still. And he had virtually no fat! Then again, his idea of a relaxing day was mining for eight hours after picking a hundred blue fruits after breakfast to warm up. So Erin laid the fish on the counter and eyed it.

“Bones out! Watch the fingers—”

She flipped the fish over, eying it. The innards had been removed already; Erin knew enough about fish to understand that even preserved, a bunch of half-digested insects or whatever fish ate wasn’t pleasant to have sitting around. The fish was, essentially, hollow, and the head stared blankly up at her. Erin shrugged.

“Knife!”

So saying, she reached behind her, for the special kitchen knife she carried on her belt at all times. This one was carried in a custom-fitted leather sheathe, and the knife itself was—

Sharp. Erin could barely see the edge, even up close. And while it bore no inscription or fancy decoration, the plain steel shone, more beautiful than any of the other knives in her kitchen. And it was oh, so very deadly. Erin handled this knife with respect, more than the knife that had once cut open her palm. She sliced off the head along the gills, and absently checked herself before tossing it in the waste bin.

“Acid Fly stuff. Where is…? Ah.”

Erin spotted a row of huge glass jars, along one wall. They were probably intended for pickling or something, but these large vessels were perfect. She tossed the fish head in one; it already had more meat scraps. And when Ishkr set it up, it would be prime Acid Fly bait.

Back to the fish. Next, Erin cut along the belly, separating the fish in two. She did it along the fish’ ribcage. But the sharpness of her knife—Erin barely ran her blade along the fish before it separated in two. She eyed the knife’s edge and didn’t check it with her finger; she’d been told that was a good way to lose it.

“Wow. I cut through all the bones. Okay…in that case…”

She had to get another knife to actually separate the bones out of the fish. A few precise cuts and they came out. Erin tossed the scraps in the jar, then cut the fish with her first knife. Five cuts on both sides; a portion of ten. Erin smiled. She wiped her knife carefully with a cloth, grabbed a pan, and got to work.

A few minutes later, Erin walked out of the kitchen with breakfast. Numbtongue looked up and surreptitiously hid the tin of toothpaste under the table. Erin pretended not to notice him swallowing; she lifted the plate.

“Fish! Half of one. Salted, seasoned—and I’ve got some mayo and that Gnoll sauce on the side. I know you love it. And here’s breakfast for me.”

She indicated a half dozen boiled eggs and a single serving of the fish. Erin set her plate down and handed three eggs to Numbtongue along with his five-portion fish. He brightened and grabbed a fork.

“Looks good.”

“Right? Let me know if you want more.”

Erin sighed as she sat down. She regarded her plate and her stomach rumbled. Erin smiled as she grabbed a cup she’d brought out. It was filled with blue juice. Erin sipped it, sighed.

And then she got mad again. The joys of cooking had only distracted her from yesterday for so long. Erin made a fist.

“Olesm. And Lism! What’s wrong with Krshia’s plan, huh? Do they not trust Klbkch that much? I can see the Queen—she’s a jerk. But Klbkch? Really?”

Numbtongue eyed Erin as he stuffed the first portion of fish into his mouth. He shrugged, classically Goblin. Erin went on, chewing on her fish.

“And he put it in the newsletter! And basically stole Krshia’s plan! They can’t get away with it. No way. You hear me, Numbtongue?”

“Yep.”

“I’m going to do something. I’m gonna blow Olesm’s socks off.”

The Hobgoblin looked up as he ate one of the hard boiled eggs.

“How?”

Erin stared at Numbtongue. He was eating the egg without bothering to peel it. She hesitated.

“Don’t ask me hard questions.”

The two went back to breakfast. Erin glared at her food. She didn’t have a plan, actually. But something had to be done! Olesm’s betrayal was—okay, she felt bad about badmouthing Lism. Family was family. But still!

“Grr. Wow. These hard boiled goose eggs are good. Why have I eaten only chicken eggs all my life? Grr.”

Numbtongue nodded amiably. Erin growled into her plate. Selys and Krshia had both tried to come up with a solution, but Selys had been too upset and Krshia too furious to think rationally. Their team—Elirr, Raekea, the other Gnolls that Krshia had been hoping to put on the Council—had disbanded in low spirits yesterday. And Zevara hadn’t shown up.

“They gave her a good deal. So she’s not all on Selys’ side. Gotta think of something. But the Walled Cities are funding Lism. That Olesm. That’s smart. Jerk move, but smart.”

Numbtongue licked his plate. Erin tapped her hand on the table.

“You know what? We’re not done. Selys was planning on having Zevara wear the Heartflame Breastplate. Fat chance of that now. But there’s something…and it’s not like the Gnolls don’t have good candidates. People like Krshia. And Raekea, that [Armorer]. I didn’t know there were Gnoll [Blacksmiths], did you, Numbtongue?”

“Yes. They probably have fire-resistance Skills.”

The [Bard] strummed gently on his guitar, quietly to avoid waking the guests. Erin looked up at him.

“That’s a thing?”

“Mhm. Very nice Skills. Hard to get. Goblins like to have them. Especially in Garen’s tribe.”

“Why?”

“So we can lay traps with exploding fire or spells and not worry about it. A Goblin stands on a trap with lots of wood. And oil. Angry Gargoyles attack him. Or adventurers. The Goblin sets off the trap and gets away. No one else.”

“Oh. Cool?”

“Not very.”

Numbtongue’s teeth flashed. Erin blinked, and then laughed despite herself. He was telling jokes! Sometimes she forgot how good Numbtongue was with words. And not just for a Goblin; she supposed that was why he was a [Bard].

“Right. Well, I know I can do some things. But I want to make a huge impact, you know? I was fine with Krshia being on the Council, but now it’s personal. I have to help. I can get a lot of attention. But is that enough?”

“No?”

“Exactly. Thank you, Numbtongue. You’re always honest.”

“Got any more fish?”

“In the kitchen.”

Erin thought as the Goblin got up. She was restless, drumming her fingers on the table. It was unusual for her. Usually she was as placid as Numbtongue in the morning. But today? It felt like someone had poked her head from the inside. Now Erin was lighting up. She was mad.

“Erin.”

The young woman looked up as the Hobgoblin poked his head out of the kitchen. She focused on what he was holding. Numbtongue grinned hopefully.

“Cake?”

“How’d you find—no cake! I thought I hid that!”

Erin glared. Numbtongue sighed. He patted his stomach.

“I’m hungry.”

“And Mrsha’s coming downstairs in a minute. If you have it, she’ll want some. No cake.”

The Hobgoblin sighed. He put the cake back and came out with the rest of the fish on his plate. Erin went back to staring at her plate. Absently, she felt for the knife on her belt.

“Olesm. I could stab him. With my knife.”

Numbtongue looked at Erin. She raised her hands.

“Hey! I’m just brainstorming. No ideas are off the table. I’m just really mad at him. I know his heart’s in the right place. I wouldn’t stab him too hard. Lism, now…I suppose he’d spin that too.”

The Hobgoblin nodded. He watched with interest as Erin’s eyes unfocused. Numbtongue knew Erin. Or rather, he was understanding more about the strange Human who called him family. And unlike many of her guests and friends, the Hobgoblin was well aware of what Erin could do. Rather like a certain Wall Lord, actually. He waited, eating with interest. Learning. And Erin’s eyes lit up after three minutes of silence.

“Hold on. Selys. Heartflame Breastplate. Stabbing people with the kitchen knife…cake. Yeah. I can work with this.”

Numbtongue paused. He stared at Erin and tried to connect the pieces.

“What are you going to do?”

“You’ll see.”

Erin smiled as she got up. She walked back into the kitchen. The [Bard] stared at her back. He scratched his head, put down his guitar, and began doodling on the top of the table with a sharp claw.

“Cake. Plus knives and Heartflame Breastplate. And Selys. Stabbing people?”

He was working on it when Lyonette and Mrsha came downstairs. The [Princess] called a greeting to the Hobgoblin.

“Good morning, Numbtongue!”

He looked up. A white shape raced downstairs. A nose appeared and then two big eyes. Numbtongue waved as two paws appeared. Mrsha signed to Numbtongue, smiling.

Good morning. (Paw tracing a smile, two folded paws sideways, then rising to a forty five degree angle.)

“Good morning.”

The Hobgoblin smiled. He smiled at a Human and a Gnoll, and they smiled back. Miraculous. Mrsha sniffed Numbtongue’s plate. He picked off a piece of fish and offered it to her. She snatched it.

“Mrsha! Numbtongue! You eat off plates!”

Guiltily, both Gnoll and Hobgoblin hunched their shoulders. Lyonette put her hands on her hips, shaking her head. Then she glanced at the kitchen.

“Is Erin cooking?”

“Nope. Making plans.”

Lyonette hesitated.

“That’s…good. About the elections in Liscor, right? Did she say what she’s doing, Numbtongue?”

“Maybe something involving stabbing.”

The Hobgoblin frowned, still trying to work it out. Lyonette paused.

“Oh.”

Mrsha finished her piece of fish and scampered into the kitchen on all four paws. Lyonette and Numbtongue heard an exclamation, a delighted laugh, and not a second later, Mrsha was coming out proudly bearing a plate, cups, and silverware on two legs. She trundled over to their table and held them up. Numbtongue and Lyonette took the plate and set them on a table. The [Princess] smiled.

“Very good, Mrsha. Good morning, Erin!”

“Hey Lyonette! Today’s going to be a big day! How much cake and ice cream do we have? Oh—here’s some eggs and bacon. Numbtongue ate the rest of the fish.”

“Sorry.”

The Hobgoblin offered Lyonette a last piece of fish, but the [Princess] shook her head. Mrsha’s ears perked up at the words ‘cake’ and ‘ice cream’. The [Princess] sighed as she took the skillet Erin had come out of the kitchen with and doled out breakfast for both her and the Gnoll cub.

“We’ve got two cakes, unless Numbtongue or Mrsha’s eaten one when I haven’t been looking. And enough ice cream ingredients for eight guests. Or two Relcs. Why?”

“Well, we’re going to need about triple of both. You know how to make both, right? Can I ask you to whip up some more?”

“Better. Ishkr’s coming in just a few minutes. He can help make the ice cream. Unless—when do you need it? Because it melts, remember, Erin? And I’ll have to get him to buy some ice. Which is expensive. Even more than sugar.”

“Make Ceria do it. She’s free ice! And uh, maybe store it in the basement? Her magic stuff disappears after half an hour and I don’t know when we’ll need it. But we definitely need a bunch.”

“For a party?”

Lyonette sighed. Erin’s eyes were sparkling. As were Numbtongue and Mrsha’s, mainly at the prospect of that much sugar. The [Innkeeper] smiled.

“I have a plan to help with that election.”

“Oh, so you are going to interfere. Please tell me we’re going to sell all that food?”

“Most of it. Yeah, get ready for a lot of sales! And—we’re going to need more of all our food, Lyonette. Pizza, hamburgers—”

“Food from your world?”

“…Yes. Although lots of food in general is good. We’re going to have a party.”

The three diners at the table looked up. Lyonette glanced at Erin.

“You’re sure?”

The young woman paused. Erin’s eyes looked up, flickering from position to position. Seeing something in the distance.

“I think so, yeah. I’ve got this plan. It’s got a lot of moving parts. And it’s not quite together. But I’ve got something.”

Lyonette exchanged a glance with Numbtongue and nodded.

“Tell me what you need. Food—I can do food. I’ll send Drassi to shop for ingredients. It’ll take her a while; Krshia’s stall is closed, obviously.”

“Do that. And get someone to tell the Players of Celum that I want them to come in early. They’ll be performing Juliet and Romeo or Hamlet. Or Frozen. Not Much Ado About Nothing. Tell them to bring their best.”

“I’ll do that, then.”

Erin paced around, nodding absently. She glanced up with a frown.

“Thanks. Say, is Octavia bothering you? She wanted to talk to the Horns right when they got arrested, but I haven’t spoken to her since…”

“She hasn’t said anything to me. She’s been quiet, really. It’s almost a relief. Anything else?”

“Mm. One last thing. Send Drassi with a message for…Selys. Yeah. Just Selys. I’ll work out the rest as I go.”

“Go where? I’ll come.”

Numbtongue sat up. Erin smiled.

“Sorry, Numbtongue. You can’t. And it’s a solo mission for now, anyways. Tell Ceria and Pisces I need them to stay in the inn.”

“Got it.”

Lyonette watched Erin writing down her message on the parchment. Numbtongue stood up and went to read it. His brow furrowed further. He watched Erin fold it up, hand it to Lyonette, and then head to the magic door.

He was trying to understand. But as he watched Erin change the mana stones on the door, his brow suddenly cleared. He snapped his fingers.

“Ah.”

“I’ll be back!”

Erin turned and smiled at the room. Mrsha sat up, sniffing suddenly. And the inn was flooded with daylight. She shaded her eyes as the morning sky shone into the room for a moment—and then Erin was gone. Slowly, Lyonette looked at the closed door. And she got it too. She looked out a window, where the sun had yet to clear the mountains.

Numbtongue squatted by the door. He smiled, pleased. He’d figured some of it out. As for the rest? He went back to his guitar and strummed it softly, playing a quick, upbeat riff. He was looking forwards to when Erin got back. It was never boring around her. At her table, Lyonette watched Mrsha scarf her breakfast. The [Princess] sat back in her chair and cracked her fingers.

“Well, I guess it’s time to make some money. Numbtongue? Mind getting us some more blue fruits? Mrsha? Can you feed Apista?”

The Gnoll looked up and found the Ashfire Bee eating from the Faerie Flowers. She nodded and went to get her watering cup. Lyonette smiled.

“It’s time to make some money.”

Belatedly, she remembered something else. This was the day that Belgrade was supposed to come to the inn and begin construction! She sucked in her cheeks, but Erin was gone. And—Lyonette supposed it didn’t matter. She glanced up. You could almost feel it in the air. An excitement. A premonition.

The feeling was enough to drag even the slothful Pisces and Ceria out of their beds and down the stairs and Lyonette looked up. The quiet inn was coming alive. Because its owner was on the move. And The Wandering Inn got ready. For anything. Because if you knew Erin Solstice, anything was the least of what you should be ready for.

—-

And in Liscor, both Olesm Swifttail and Selys Shivertail learned what was going on at almost the same time. When Drassi hurried out of the inn, bursting with Lyonette’s message, the [Strategist] and [Receptionist] both heard her excited message. Selys because she was the intended target. Olesm after a young Gnoll repeated it word-for-word to him.

He glanced across the busy street in the morning hours at Selys and Drassi and got a scorching glare in return. The [Strategist] ducked his head and sighed. He fished in his money pouch and handed the Gnoll a few silver coins.

“Good work. Keep listening and following them about. Did you get a look at the paper?”

The Gnoll kid wagged his tail excitedly and shook his head.

“No, Strategist Olesm. But Miss Selys said—‘Oh? The armor? I can do that. But what’s she want?’”

He looked up at Olesm. The Drake made a face. He stared back at Selys and Drassi. They were camped on the other side of the street. Selys was having breakfast with Krshia and her cohort of mainly Gnolls and a few Drakes. On the other side, Lism and his band of Liscorites were eating breakfast, noisily laughing.

It was a standoff. Both sides had appeared down Market Street practically at dawn, ready to campaign. And it was a campaign now. A war in the streets. Olesm had no illusions. With his help, his uncle had thrown a few good hits into Krshia’s unprepared defenses, but the Gnoll [Shopkeeper] wasn’t about to back down. But it was an even fight. No—even weighted in Lism’s favor. He’d taken Krshia’s campaign and turned it on its head. Free money, more jobs, less Antinium. Olesm wished he could be proud about it, but he felt dirty. And yet—

“Nephew! How goes it?”

A jovial voice interrupted Olesm. The Gnoll informant waved a paw and disappeared in the direction of Selys and Drassi. Olesm turned.

“Uncle. Not bad, I guess. But I’m a bit worried. You’re ready with my notes?”

Lism patted the bundle of cards that Olesm had worked up, smiling from earhole to earhole.

“Don’t worry, I’ll send that arrogant Silverfang packing. She hasn’t got a leg to stand on and she knows it.”

“Don’t be overconfident. One of my informants said that she talked with Klbkch yesterday. The Antinium might have upped their offer.”

“So? It’s still Antinium money. Don’t worry, I’ll hammer her on that. And the Council has voted! The election’s going through! They haven’t said how or when—but they’ve agreed for, oh, what’s the phrase? ‘A referendum on the current Council which will be taken under advisory for the next appointment of members.’ That’s good, isn’t it?”

“….Could be. It sounds like they’re saying they might not count the votes. Or at least, they’re giving themselves a way out.”

Olesm frowned, working over the language in his mind. Lism bared his teeth, his tail wagging excitedly.

“They do that and they’ll have a riot on their hands. From both Gnolls and Drakes! I’m getting behind this election idea, Olesm. Honest Drakes on the Council, not snooty Merchant’s Guild heads! Watchmen, making decisions about their city! Senior Guardsman Jeiss will get the votes in.”

He looked delighted. Olesm was less so. The younger Drake shook his head.

“Just remember, Uncle. My worry is the Antinium. I’m not supporting you if you keep attacking Humans or Gnolls for that matter. I’m trying to protect Liscor.”

Lism’s expression softened. He laid a hand on Olesm’s shoulder.

“Ah, my boy. For you I’ll change anything you need. And we’ll safeguard Liscor. Together. Don’t look so worried! The city’s with us. Once we gave them an option that was as good as Silverfang’s, the support poured in. Even if the Antinium offer a bit more—and we’re getting in letters of support from all the cities, and even donations—we can persuade folks to do the right thing.”

Olesm hoped Lism was right. But even so, he cast an agonized glance at Selys again. She was ignoring him after she’d tried to punch his lights out yesterday. His tail drooped. Then he sighed.

“I think we can win this. My biggest worry right now though, is Erin.”

Lism’s face soured at once.

“Ah. The Human [Innkeeper]. What about her? She can’t vote.”

“No. But she can help Krshia’s campaign out a lot. I don’t know what she’s doing, but it looks like she’s getting Selys to use her Heartflame Breastplate for something. I thought they’d have Watch Captain Zevara wearing it—but she’s staying neutral it seems.”

“So? If they put a Drake in the armor, it’s the armor that matters, not the Drake. And if they put a Gnoll in it—they’re no Zel Shivertail. A bit of flash won’t change any minds.”

Olesm nodded. That was true. But still, he worried.

“I know. But Erin has a plan of some kind. That’s what Drassi said.”

Lism threw up his hands.

“And so what? You’re the [Strategist], my boy. What can this girl do?”

Olesm looked at his uncle with one eye and shook his head slowly.

“She’s Erin, uncle. Erin. I can’t predict what she’ll do. If there’s anyone who could—win the election by making fish fall out of the sky, it’s her.”

“You have too much faith in that Human girl. Just because she can play chess a bit better than you…fine! Watch for her by all means. But let’s not forget the facts. We have a better campaign than she does. How can she change the facts?”

The older Drake blustered. Olesm made no reply. He just watched Selys. And she was looking down the street, in the direction of The Wandering Inn. Selys looked up from a hamburger from one of the street stalls and met Olesm’s eyes at last. She bared her teeth and made a rude gesture as Krshia stood up. Lism stalked forwards and the two began shouting at each other almost at once.

But that wasn’t what their seconds were waiting for. Olesm was poised, antsy, nervous. Selys looked calmer, but every two seconds she was glancing eastwards, towards the inn. Both of them were waiting for their friend to make another move. And part of Olesm, no, all of him wanted to see it. Because it was Erin. And he felt as small and far from her as he ever had. He couldn’t touch her on the chess board, or in courage, daring. Kindness. But perhaps here?

He waited, and then ducked as Selys threw her half-eaten burger at his head. And they both waited. But the watchers Olesm had posted on the door to Erin’s inn from the city didn’t warn him that Erin was coming. The inn was quiet. And Olesm wondered why that was so. He wondered what Erin was waiting for. Then he wondered where Erin was. And by that time, it was far too late.

—-

And here was the truth. The little grain of it, tucked behind the expectation of all her friends. Krshia, the Horns, Lyonette, Numbtongue. Olesm. It was a simple fact. And it was that Erin didn’t know what she was doing.

She had no grand plan. She had…pieces. And they went together, in a halting, logical, twisting flow in her head. And from that Erin thought she could do something that would help Krshia, make Lism really mad. And do more, do good things. But it was just an inkling. A suspicion that if things went well, it could work.

She was no [Strategist]. She had no grand plans. Because Erin knew in her heart of heart that she couldn’t really be a [General]. She wasn’t that kind of person, who could manipulate events and people like fine machinery. But by the same token, Erin did have something. And it was this: she knew people. And that was all.

She had friends. From that simple truth Erin Solstice could bring a city down. And that was today. She stepped through the magic door and into the city.

Pallass. The morning had advanced enough to let a smattering of people onto the streets. Gnolls, Drakes. And yes, the Dullahans from Baleros and the Garuda of Chandrar. They were few and far between, but still more of a minority than Humans or any other species. Erin spotted an avian head in the crowd and saw a green and white feathered Garuda man with a shopping basket under one arm as she looked around the street. He looked like he was doing some morning shopping. And he was so normal, yawning, scratching under one wing. Erin smiled. People were people.

“List?”

A pointed voice to her left made her look over. A Drake [Guardsman] with a familiar irked expression stared at her. Erin blinked at him.

“What?”

“Are you on the list for today’s arrivals? Do you have a list?”

The aggrieved [Guardsman] stared at her. Erin slapped her forehead.

“I knew I forgot something. No list. But it’s cool, right? No one asked to come through. And I’ll just be walking about. I’ll be back before you know it. I do own this door. Hey, aren’t you the jerk that stopped me last time?”

The Drake glowered. He had his trusty spear and he was eying Erin as if he would have loved to give her a good tap with it.

“Watch Captain Venim informed you that anyone passing through the door needs to be authorized coming from Liscor to Pallass.”

Erin rolled her eyes.

“And I’m authorized. You let me in just two days ago. Kel, right? Where’s your friend?”

Guardsman Kel glowered.

“It was deemed safe to allow one [Guardsman] to watch the door. Despite the two unauthorized entries yesterday.”

“Who? Olesm and Pisces? Aw. You gave them a hard time too, didn’t you? That’s why they couldn’t come back until the next day, isn’t it?”

Kel folded his arms with a sneer.

“I just did my job, Miss. And I have to inform you that you are also entering without proper authorization.”

“Right. So? What are you going to do about it, exactly?”

Erin looked blankly at Kel. The [Guardsman] hesitated. Erin leaned forwards, smiling as she put her hand on the closed door.

“If you want, I can go bother Watch Captain Venim again. I know where he is. Or I can talk to whoever’s on duty. Again. Wanna do that? Because that makes it like the eighth time you and I have done this. And I can do it eight more times. Just say the word. They’ve got free tea, you know.”

“That’s tea reserved for members of the Watch!”

“Too bad! It’s really good! Nice talking to you, Kel. I’ve got to be on my way. I’ll be back, though, don’t worry! Save my spot!”

“You’re here illegally!”

The Drake bellowed at Erin’s back. She waved at him. That was Kel for you. Hot-tempered, couldn’t relax. But she’d gotten to know him a bit. The proof was in the fact that Kel let her go rather than trying to poke her in the guts with his spear. She was wearing him down.

Erin walked ahead, breathing in the fresh air. At this height, it felt cooler, crisper. Or maybe it was because the smells of a muddy Liscor didn’t have any bearing here. Pallass’ air was fresh; even better, it had no smog like the cities in Erin’s world. She caught the whiff of fresh bread, a perfume from a passing Dullahan lady, flowers being offered by a Gnoll [Florist]. And then, a sharper smell. Oil, cleaning materials. Not entirely unpleasant. Erin turned her head and heard a familiar voice.

“You. You want sharp knives. Everyone wants sharp knives.”

A Dullahan stood behind his counter, addressing a Gnoll man. The Gnoll pointed at himself uncertainly.

“Me?”

The Dullahan didn’t nod. But his head, resting on the little pillow in the basket on his counter opened his mouth while his armored body lowered his pointing finger.

“Yes, you. You need sharp knives. I have the sharpest knives. Come and see.”

“I uh—I have good knives. Thanks.”

The Gnoll glanced at Erin as she wandered over. The Dullahan glanced at her and then addressed the Gnoll.

“But are they sharp?”

“Pretty sharp. I’m fairly certain…thank you. But I have to be going, yes? Er—”

The Gnoll backed away. The Dullahan sighed. He picked up his head and adjusted it in the basket with his body. Erin leaned on the counter, beaming.

“Hello, Lorent. How’s business?”

“It could be better. Did you hear that Gnoll? He’s got good knives. And is he certain? Or is he so used to a dull blade that he’s taken it for granted?”

The Dullahan [Sharpener] pursed his lips. He tilted his head to look at Erin and the kitchen knife strapped to her side.

“How’s your knife? Any nicks? Blemishes? Dulling?”

“Nope! I cut a fish in half with it just this morning. It’s wicked. Thanks for getting it all ready for me. No complaints!”

Erin patted the kitchen knife at her side. It was the same knife that Maughin had given her after the competition with Pelt. Loren’s perpetual frown seemed to ease as he nodded at it.

“That was a good knife. Excellently made. It can hold a keener edge than half my stock, easily. I’m glad you respect the metal. But I could also do the same for the rest of your knives. Just bring them in and I’ll give you a discount. Or order some from Maughin.”

Erin smiled, relaxed as she leaned on the counter.

“I will, I will. But they are sharp. I tested them. And your knives are dangerously edged! I don’t want to lose a finger; my hands aren’t armored. Have you ever thought about selling gloves to your non-Dullahan customers?”

Lorent’s brows rose.

“I have not. You mean, like a chainmail glove? I could look into it. Although some of my knives could cut through even steel links fairly easily…”

“Maybe that’s a selling point. Anyways, I’m on business. Lorent, you wouldn’t happen to know if Maughin’s in his forge today, would you?”

The Dullahan paused. He scratched his head with his fingers absently.

“Hmm. He should be working there. You have an order for him?”

“Not exactly. But I do have something fun in mind. Hey, thanks. I’ll see you there. Keep an eye on this street, okay? I’m going to do something fun later.”

Erin winked at Lorent and pointed back towards her door. He nodded.

“I’ll be here. If you spot anyone in need of sharp knives…”

The young woman paused. And a light bulb went off in her brain. Her plan suddenly expanded. She smiled conspiratorially at Lorent.

“I may. Do you have to sharpen knives in your shop?”

“I can sharpen a knife anywhere if I bring my tools. Why?”

“Hm. I may have a lot of business for you soon. Keep an open mind, will you?”

“My mind is completely open to business.”

Lorent watched Erin go. She waved at him, grinning. And she saw a faint smile on the reserved Dullahan’s lips. He liked her, or so Erin thought. She thought he was cool, even if he really did speak only about knives. And her meeting with him had given her another idea.

By now, Erin was used to Pallass. At least, the general layout. She knew where the regularly spaced out elevators were on each floor and at least a few good spots. She hopped into an elevator with a Gnoll attendant and three other Gnolls. The Gnoll raised his brows, surprised to see a Human.

“What floor?”

“Ninth! Thanks!”

Erin answered with a smile. The Gnoll nodded and pulled a lever. The elevator shot up fast, but Erin and the Gnolls were ready for it. She hopped out on the ninth floor as the elevator came to a stop. And ahead of her was the floor reserved for the [Alchemists] and [Blacksmiths], two of the industries that the city was known for.

“Here goes.”

The young Human woman marched down the floor by the guardrails. On her right, the forges appeared, clanging infernos of heat and steel. Erin could see sparks flying, Drakes, Dullahans, a few Gnolls, no Garuda, hard at work. Hammering despite the early hour. Few noticed her, but she kept her eyes open. And by the largest of the forges she spotted a familiar Dullahan laboring in the back.

“Excuse me!”

Erin waved to one of the Drakes in the front. She had to call twice before the apprentice looked up. She trotted over after sticking a bar of metal into the forge to heat. Erin waved at her, maintaining a respectful distance from the forge; the [Smiths] had drawn a line in paint on the ground beyond which safety was not guaranteed.

“Sorry! Can I ask if Maughin’s in this morning? And Pelt?”

The Drake recognized Erin at once. Her eyes went to the knife at her belt, and she stepped forwards to shout.

“You’re that Human, right? The one who goes to Master Maughin’s tavern? And who got Mister Pelt to forge a knife?”

“Tails and Scales! That’s right! Where’s Maughin?”

“In the forge. Mister Pelt’s not here today. He’s probably got a hangover. I wouldn’t wait for him.”

The Drake grimaced. She pointed at an empty forge down the ways. Erin grimaced. Well, Pelt wasn’t her first choice. He was probably a bit of a disaster in fact.

“Maughin’s fine. Can I ask you to call him over? If he’s not super-busy. Tell him it’s me!”

The Drake nodded. She trotted into the forge and Erin waited patiently. She saw Maughin’s huge form turn and soon he was trotting towards her. She looked up at him. Not since Moore had she seen anyone so huge, and Maughin wore his light metal armor over his entire body! He was already covered in sweat, but she saw that he had a water canteen in the basket he carried his head in. And he was drinking from a straw.

“Maughin! Hey!”

“Miss Erin. It is good to see you.”

Maughin smiled slightly as Erin waved at him and stepped over the warning line to meet him. He bent slightly, and his face was largely neutral. If you didn’t know Dullahans, his reserve might have even come off as passively hostile. But Erin knew Dullahans now and the fact that he was smiling when he met her and that he used her first name meant he felt close enough to be informal.

Erin stopped and gave him a slight bow; Rufelt had told her it was customary for Dullahans to honor [Smiths] whom they held in high regard, even among friends. And Maughin’s pleased expression told Erin he noticed. He inclined his head back and formalities done, they stepped further away from the forge so they wouldn’t have to shout.

“It is a surprise to see you here this early. May I ask if you’re intending to visit Rufelt and Lasica? Their tavern isn’t open at this hour, but I saw them going for a walk together as I was setting up.”

Maughin pointed down two floors. He had good eyes; Erin squinted at the distant shapes below.

“No…although I might want to talk to them. I was actually here to see you!”

“On business? My forge is occupied, but I can certainly talk about an order.”

Erin shook her head.

“Not quite. Tell me, do you have a lot of work today? Could you clear your schedule, Maughin?”

The Dullahan gave her a large frown.

“If it was an emergency, or the project demanded my attention, yes. Why?”

Perfect. Erin spread her arms, smiling broadly.

“I was hoping you’d come with me! I know it’s sudden, but it would really help me out. Can you abandon your forge—leave the work to your other smiths and apprentices? If you can, I’d love for you to come to Liscor with me.”

Erin had the benefit of seeing Maughin blink at her twice. The Dullahan who towered over her head actually picked up his head and rubbed at his ears with his hands. He put his head on his shoulder and leaned down, cupping a hand to one ear.

“Excuse me? Did you say, go to Liscor, Miss Erin? Why would I do that?”

The young woman beamed and spread her arms out.

“Well, why not? Have you ever sold any uh, armor to Liscor? How’s the market for swords and stuff in Pallass?”

“There’s always a market. Not always the best one, but we export around the continent. To the rest of the world, even.”

The Dullahan frowned, rubbing his chin. Erin nodded.

“Right. You sell to [Merchants] and [Traders]. But what about selling directly to, I dunno, Celum? Isn’t it better to have multiple markets? To be competitive and stuff? You could check out the quality of their gear. And there’s this Gnoll [Armorer] in Liscor I’d like to you to meet.”

“Today?”

“Yup.”

Maughin looked around, frowning as if he suspected Erin of pulling some kind of prank.

“You mean, right now.”

“Uh huh.”

The [Armorer] stared down at Erin. She stared up, smiling hopefully. At last, Maughin shook his head.

“It’s an interesting offer, Miss Erin. But this is really too sudden. I have work. Perhaps I might have time in a week. Or a few days, but today? My apprentices need supervision, we’re working on a set of armor for a [Knight], and I have four glaive heads to manufacture by the end of the week—”

He shook his head, frowning. Erin nodded, as yet undeterred. Time to get serious. She casually glanced over her shoulder, looking apologetically at Maughin.

“Too bad. There’s this election happening in Liscor right now and it’s a big deal. I know Pallass is going to go through its elections, so I thought you could give my friends some tips. Oh, and one of my friends owns the Heartflame Breastplate and I was thinking you could maybe take a look at it. You know, Selys was wondering if she uncovered all of the functions. It sets itself on fire, very cool. And I made some cake I’d love for you to try…”

Maughin’s face had changed markedly during part of Erin’s little speech. He waved an urgent hand and bent even lower.

“Excuse me. Did you say the Heartflame Breastplate?”

Erin saw his Drake apprentice watching them from the forge out of the corner of her eye. She smiled innocently up at Maughin.

“What? Oh, yeah. And cake. But if you’re busy, I can totally understand.”

“Yes. I mean to say—no. I knew the Heartflame Breastplate was in Liscor. But you say your friend owns it? And I might be able to inspect it?”

Maughin cleared his throat a few times, looking uncharacteristically flustered.

“The Heartflame Breastplate? We are speaking about the same armor? This is not some—other breastplate?”

The young woman saw two of Maughin’s journeymen smiths, both Dullahans, glancing at their master from the forge. And another smith was eying her from a distance. She waved to the [Farrier], Bealt at a distance. Then she took a deep breath and looked back at Maughin.

“No, sorry. I said the Heartflame Breastplate. The legendary artifact!”

Erin shouted it across the forges. The rhythmic, background beating of hammers hitting metal faltered. Erin heard an oath two forges over as someone hit himself on the hand. Another [Smith] poked his head out of the forge to stare. Erin looked up at Maughin.

“Zel Shivertail used to stay at my inn. He was a good guy. Drake. And his niece is Selys Shivertail. She’s my best friend. Wanna see her armor? She won’t mind. It’s not like she wears it.”

She shrugged nonchalantly. Maughin turned his head on his shoulders a hundred and eighty degrees. Erin eyed that queasily, and saw him making a gesture behind his back. Whatever it meant, both of his journeymen Dullahan smiths took off their heads to nod very vigorously. And half a dozen [Smiths] were also drifting out of their forges. Maughin turned his head back and gave Erin a very casual look. He coughed once.

“Well. I…I would be delighted. I don’t think I need to work on all my pieces right at this moment. Why not?”

“Great! Then let’s take a stroll to Liscor! It’s on the eighth floor. Hey Bealt!”

“Miss Solstice! Did I just hear you say the Heartflame Breastplate?”

“Yeah! We’re going to look at it! Hey, I’ll catch you later, okay?”

Erin waved at the Gnoll. He opened his mouth. Apologetically, Erin cut him off.

“And—sorry! One [Blacksmith] is probably enough! You know about what they say about cooks and broth! It’s probably the same with smiths and armor!”

“What? But I—”

Bealt tried to climb over his anvil and nearly burned himself. Maughin looked at Erin as she waved apologetically at the other smiths. He eyed a Drake trying to get to them while taking off his apron.

“Ah, we should go. I’d hate to keep your friend waiting.”

“Sure, sure! Where’s the nearest elevator?”

The Dullahan pointed.

“The personal elevators are somewhat cramped. We may take the stairs. Follow me.”

He set off. Erin waved at the other smiths who were shouting questions, and hurried off. She was trying not to laugh. Maughin strode towards the nearest grand staircase until he realized his stride was leaving Erin behind. Then he hurried back to her.

“My apologies, Miss Erin. But you’re sure? This isn’t an issue? I would be allowed to inspect the breastplate at my leisure? No, a glance would suffice. But if I could test it with a hammer—”

“Sure! Sure! Selys isn’t using it. Grab a hammer!”

Erin waited as Maughin practically raced back. The Dullahan was huffing when he returned. He looked at her.

“And you know the owner of the Heartflame Breastplate?”

“Yup. She’s a [Receptionist]. We’re old friends. Well, not old, but she inherited it. Man. I was so sad when I heard Zel died.”

“A tragedy. Pallass was in mourning for weeks.”

Maughin nodded carefully. He led the way down the stairs. Even with Pallass’ many citizens, he stood out. As big as Moore. But apparently they could get even bigger. Erin imagined what one of the War Walkers—which were apparently super-huge Dullahans—would look like. She shook her head as she went down the stairs.

“Apologies. I don’t move around much from level to level. Aside from the larger elevators, I find it difficult.”

Maughin apologized as he navigated down the steps far slower than he’d walked. Erin didn’t mind; from the expressions of the pedestrians hurrying to get clear below Maughin, they weren’t keen on him tripping and falling either.

“No problem. Hey, I appreciate you taking the time. How’s business been? I haven’t really stopped to chat since that knife-making competition with Pelt and Bealt. I saw you in Tails and Scales of course, the other day.”

“Two days ago.”

Maughin nodded. His head wobbled and he put a hand up and secured it—Erin got the impression he was locking it into place.

“Yes, business has been fine. Ordinary. I haven’t completed any large projects. Pelt drinks too much as usual.”

“Is he—more depressed than normal? The knife he made is really awesome, but I feel bad about making him upset. I tried to talk to him twice, but every time I come up here he runs off.”

Maughin frowned. He gripped the edge of the large divider between the left and right sides of the stairs for support.

“No. I wouldn’t say that. He’s always drunk himself to oblivion. If anything, he’s working harder than usual. But I would say that he has strong feelings about your knife. And his past. I would not inquire. It would be impolite. And perhaps we caused some offence by finishing his knife. Still, I judge it acceptable; steel that fine cannot simply be wasted.”

Erin nodded. She wished Dawil were still here so she could introduce him to Pelt. Too bad, it was one of those things you took for granted. Then again, it wasn’t like they would know each other. Or get along. She sighed, hopped down the last eight steps, and waited for Maughin to catch up. As she waited, she heard another familiar voice.

“Up those steps! Are you [Mages] or limp-tailed [Scribes]? Pump those legs! This is the last stretch! That’s it!”

Erin peered down the steps. On cue, she saw a huge, muscular figure swarming up the stairs as pedestrians got out of the way. It was a Drake, dressed in robes, but with the body of a professional bodybuilder. And following him was a group of Drakes and one Gnoll, all gasping for air. The Drake summited the steps on the eighth floor and immediately turned to harangue his apprentices.

“You want to learn magic? You pay the price! If you can’t do three laps each morning, how can I expect you to cast a [Fireball] spell? Get those knees up! Faster! That’s right, that’s right…alright, you can rest.”

He waved a disgusted claw at his apprentices as they simply collapsed on the eighth floor. The Gnoll pulled out a water bottle and splashed it over her fur. A Drake pulled out a stamina potion. The [Mage] slapped it out of his hands in a moment.

“You fool! I told you time and again, potions are a shortcut! You want to build a body that’s strong? You don’t rely on potions! They’ll stunt your growth!”

He smashed the bottle on the ground and stomped on the glass shards, ignoring the questionable logic of that decision. The Drake moaned. The [Mage] opened his mouth for further shouting, and Erin waved her hands desperately.

“Ooh! Ooh! Hey! You’re Grimalkin, right? Remember me?”

Grimalkin turned. The muscular [Mage]’s eyes widened and he pointed a claw.

“I do! Your name is…”

“Erin Solstice?”

Erin stepped to one side to let Maughin move past her. Grimalkin bounded over, leaving his poor apprentices to hug the ground and sweat.

“Erin Solstice? Ah yes! The Human with guts! An honor! We didn’t get a chance to speak last time.”

He held out a hand. Erin shook it and her hand was immediately crushed by a huge hand. She beamed up at him. Well, wasn’t this a lucky surprise?

“It’s great to see you. Hey—this is a question out of the blue, but—do you want to visit Liscor?”

“What Liscor?”

“What?”

Behind Erin, Maughin turned his head. Erin turned to smile at him.

“Yeah! The more the merrier! I don’t know what there is for Grimalkin to see, but I’d love to have him. What about it? We’re going right now. Got any spare time?”

The [Mage] blinked, and then folded his arms. His biceps, triceps, and other ceps rippled with the motion. Grimalkin looked up at the sky, tapping one foot.

“Liscor. Liscor…why not? I just finished my morning run with these slugs and they need a moment. And I’d love to meet the Gecko of Liscor. You wouldn’t happen to know him, would you?”

“Relc? Of course! He’s one of my oldest clients! I can totally introduce you to him! Come on! We’ll go together! Grimalkin, this is Maughin. Do you two know each other?”

The Drake craned his thick neck up. Maughin blinked down at him. The Drake gnawed one lip.

“Hm. Yes I do. Not personally. Pleased. Grimalkin, [Mage].”

“Ah. A pleasure. Maughin. [Blacksmith].”

The two shook hands, blinking at each other. Erin grinned.

“Alright! And if we see Rufus and Lasica—no, wait, the door will probably shut down. I hope the Horns can charge it. Alright, with me!”

She waved the two onwards. Grimalkin paused to bark back at his apprentices.

“You get a reprieve! When we get back, we’ll keep studying!”

Erin saw one of the Drakes lying on the ground raise her head and give Erin a desperate look of gratitude. The [Innkeeper] waved a hand. Then she marched ahead, leading Maughin and Grimalkin behind her. The Dullahan was turning his head from both Erin to Grimalkin now. But Erin was talking to Grimalkin.

“We just met once. But are you really a muscle-mage? Or a [Mage] that uses the magic of…muscles?”

Grimalkin laughed. He had an energetic pace that matched Maughin’s longer legs; Erin was the one who had to jog to keep up.

“Muscle magic? I suppose that’s one word for it! I’m an expert on physical enhancement. It’s an underdeveloped school of magic. But it essentially allows me to enhance a body’s capacity.”

“Right, like casting strength enchantments on me or something?”

“Exactly. Although that’s a common spell. Still, it’s rare enough to see a [Mage] specializing in that. Why bother with enchanting someone to swing a sword harder when you can throw a [Fireball]? Hah. Well, I also believe a conditioned body is a key to a [Mage]’s success, both academically and in battle. Hence my rigorous training regimen.”

“I can see that. You’ve uh, got muscles everywhere. Even your tail is thick.”

Erin looked at Grimalkin’s tail. He laughed.

“Exactly! You know, most species consider our tails a hindrance in battle. But tails provide support, a means of catching your opponents off-guard—but listen to me talk on. Humans don’t have tails. I’m always amazed at your sense of balance without.”

“It does get hard. Speaking of which Maughin, Grimalkin, I hear the Assembly of Crafts is going to have elections soon. That’s what Rufelt and Lasica always tell me about when I visit their bar. How’s that going?”

Maughin, who’d been opening his mouth for a word edgewise for a while now, paused. He and Grimalkin looked at each other, and then both spoke at once.

“My apologies.”

Grimalkin cleared his throat.

“No, no. Go ahead, uh, Master Maughin.”

“Ah. Thank you. Well, as I understand it Miss Solstice, the elections are fierce. It’s between the Protectorate party and the Unitail group this year. They are the two major parties attempting to gain a majority. Last year, the Protectorate managed to form a ruling party coalition with one of the smaller groups—the Zeresian group.”

Grimalkin nodded vigorously. Erin raised her eyebrows.

“Zeresian group?”

The two paused and Maughin extended a palm. Grimalkin leapt in.

“They favor strong ties with Zeres, who have historically been Pallass’ closest allies. A breakoff from the Protectorate party which favors Pallassian independence. Whereas the Unitail group which I suppose Master Maughin and the craftspeople favor is in support of free trade and open borders between all cities. The Protectorate puts tariffs on the other Walled City’s goods, which in turns leads them to tax our alchemical goods and steel. Myself, I consider it all too political. The Assembly is always fighting for power.”

“You’re not in favor of open borders?”

Maughin rumbled from behind Grimalkin, looking disapproving. The [Mage] turned his head back.

“Oh, largely, I suppose. It’s just that I don’t see why we need to tie voting for open borders to this huge discussion about parties and whatnot. I’m tired of it all. Then again, I grew up here. It doesn’t matter to me who’s in charge so long as I can practice my craft in peace. Pallass doesn’t have as strong a mage community as, say Fissival, Miss Erin. We tend to stay out of the politics. Ironic, I know, but we’re not Wistram.”

He addressed Erin. She nodded. Maughin continued to look disapproving so she turned to him.

“You’re going to vote, Maughin? Are you a full citizen?”

He nodded stiffly.

“I have lived in Pallass for over six years, which is the requisite minimum to be considered a full citizen and accorded voting rights. That in itself is a recent development; the minimum duration required to be considered a citizen was lowered from ten years to six in an election three years back.”

Grimalkin snapped his clawed fingers absently.

“Ah, I remember that. I voted to lower the age restriction.”

“You did?”

Maughin looked mollified. Grimalkin nodded briskly.

“Six years, eight years—if you’ve lived in a city for at least two years, why not call yourself a citizen? You pay taxes either way.”

“I wouldn’t go far as two years. But if you’ll vote for lowering the age requirement, what about open borders and more protection for other cities? The Protectorate—”

Grimalkin made a disgusted sound and raised a claw.

“Agh! They don’t have my vote. Satisfied? I wasn’t a fan of how they handled the Liscor crisis. Not at all. I admit, I liked their stance when Salazsar was throwing its weight around and inflating the prices of gemstones five years back, but this is too far.”

“Exactly what Rufelt and Lasica have been saying.”

Maughin nodded contentedly. Grimalkin nodded and muttered out of the corner of his mouth to Erin.

“Dullahans never give up an argument. Word of advice, Miss Solstice. How did you come to know Maughin anyways?”

“He knew Rufelt and Lasica, who’re my friends. And I got this knife from a smithing competition.”

The muscle [Mage] blinked as Erin showed him the knife. He bent down while walking to inspect it.

“I do remember that! And you! That’s the second time—wonderful display. Form and physique on show for all to see. That Dwarf was especially good, but Maughin has a classic [Blacksmith]’s build.”

He and Erin both turned to look at the Dullahan. Maughin stopped.

“I do?”

The Drake nodded. He walked around the Dullahan, speaking rapidly and gesturing at his arms and legs.

“Good physique. A bit upper-body intensive, but I can respect that out of a [Blacksmith]. Still, you could do some leg exercises. You’re aware that Dullahans grow to fit your armor, I’m sure, but that strength is often underused. May I ask if you do any kind of curling exercises?”

“Curling? How?”

Grimalkin sighed. He adjusted his robes, and for a moment the fabric strained against his chest, revealing a row of rippling abdominal muscles. Erin oohed and Maughin looked impressed—then embarrassed. He averted his gaze.

“Abdominal muscles. It’s the—the foundation of every movement. Even trained warriors neglect their stomachs and backs. I’ve discovered that it’s criminally underused, however. I’m trying to raise awareness, but it’s hard to convince a [Warrior] that he needs to do sit-ups to improve his swing. I realize it’s not obvious at first glance, but the body is connected, you understand?”

The Drake patted his stomach disconsolately. Erin nodded rapidly.

“No, I totally get it! You’re talking about the core, right?”

Grimalkin turned his head and snapped his fingers.

“The core? Excellent name! Where did you come up with that?”

“Well, where I come from, people know about it—”

“They do? Tell me more! Wait, where do you come from?”

Erin’s tongue tangled in her mouth. She hesitated.

“W-well, I—the core’s just the core, right? And you do all kinds of stretches. Sorry, I’m not an expert, but I do know about dynamic stretching vs static.”

“Which is?”

“Well, you do this instead of…”

Erin began showing Grimalkin some stretches in the street, doing arm swings, rotating her body—Grimalkin walked around her nodding.

“I see. I see. That’s—well, I’ve found the same thing. Stationary stretching tires the muscles or so it feels, while this—but most [Soldiers] won’t do either before a battle. And I keep telling Pallass’ [Strategists], if an army took ten minutes to warm up before charging into the fray—”

Maughin took his head off and rubbed at his eyes. When the Dullahan put his head back on his shoulders, he cleared his throat gently. Erin and Grimalkin looked up. The Dullahan massaged his temple gently.

“I apologize for interrupting. But I must confess, Miss Erin. I am not certain why I’m here. Is this…why are we here?”

He gestured to Erin and Grimalkin. The young woman realized she was doing stretches in the middle of the street. She blushed; Grimalkin just looked around blankly as if nothing was out of the ordinary. She shrugged.

“Sorry, Maughin. We should get going if we want to get to Liscor.”

“I understand. But you’ve invited me and Magus Grimalkin. Why?”

“…Because I saw him?”

Erin gave Maughin a wide-eyed stare. He searched her face for anything, but clearly didn’t find it.

“So you invited him to go to Liscor? And me, because I was available?”

“Yep. That’s all there is to it. I was gonna get Rufelt and Lasica if you were busy. But this is great too. Grimalkin’s part of the plan.”

“I am? What plan?”

The [Mage] looked suspiciously at Erin as he tried out one of her stretches. Erin shrugged.

“Just something cool. Don’t worry. It’ll be fun! I promise. And you’ll get to see the armor, Maughin. And Relc.”

The two males looked unconvinced. Erin blew out her cheeks. This was why you didn’t tell people they were part of a plan. She threw her hands up.

“It’s just something that will help me out! Besides, do you have a reason not to follow me?”

Grimalkin and Maughin exchanged a glance. After a second Erin turned and walked down the street. They followed her. Grimalkin muttered out of the other corner of his mouth to Maughin.

“You do know her, right? Are we walking into some kind of ambush? I’m fine with it; I can handle myself. You?”

“I’ve met her a handful of times. I’m told she’s an [Innkeeper] of some sort. But I must confess, I have never actually witnessed her inn or at work—”

“I’m on holiday! Geeze!”

Erin stopped in front of her magical door. She glared back at Maughin and Grimalkin. The Dullahan looked abashed; Grimalkin didn’t. He put his hands on his hips, eying the door as Erin strolled up to Kel the [Guardsman]. The Drake was giving her much the same look as the two men.

“Hey Kel! Two to go through. There’s no fee, right?”

“What? Are you insane? You can’t just bring—that’s Maughin! Our top smith! And that’s Magus Grimalkin! He’s our combat [Mage]!”

Kel spluttered as he pointed at the Dullahan and Grimalkin. Maughin looked pleased and Grimalkin held out a hand to shake.

“Top smith? Well done.”

“It is a small exaggeration. The Dwarf, Pelt, puts out better quality goods than I can. But I suppose it’s a matter of reliability—”

“Nonsense. That’s an achievement for anyone, let alone someone working Pallass’ forges. I won’t ask your level, but you’re not, what, forty? You must have been a genius. Baleros-born?”

“Yes. I received some accolades, but I thought I wouldn’t grow competing with smiths from my home. So I journeyed to Pallass. I had assumed I’d run up against countless masters.”

“Well, since old Lassilt died of a stroke, I suppose the field is clearer. The other Walled Cities poached two smiths, damn them. And Pelt’s been here a while, but I suppose your work’s really kept us at the top.”

“It is an honor to hear you say so—”

Kel stared at the two. Erin ignored the conversation behind her. She leaned on the door.

“Yeah, I know it’s Maughin and Grimalkin. So what? They can go through and there’s no fee. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, but—you have no list and they’re—”

The Drake spluttered. Erin rolled right over him, speaking louder for the benefit of anyone passing by. Maughin and Grimalkin were certainly attracting looks on the street.

“Then what’s the problem? They’re free to go through. So am I. Move it! Shoo! Shoo!”

“You can’t!”

“I can! Grimalkin, can you give me a hand? Squash this guy’s head like a grape or something?”

Grimalkin strolled over. He ignored Erin who was pushing at Kel and investigated the door.

“I’ve seen this door before. Never gone through of course. So this is the artifact that everyone’s so eager to use, is it? Let’s see.”

He opened the door. Instantly, Erin’s inn appeared on the other side. Erin brightened up. Lyonette had kept it set it to Pallass! She waved at Maughin. The Dullahan was staring.

“See? It’s my door! Hey! Is Lyonette there? I’ve got guests!”

“Who is it? Erin?”

The young woman heard voices from the other side. Then Mrsha appeared. The white Gnoll galloped into view, blinked up at Maughin, and then fled. The Dullahan stared at her.

“Incredible. It truly is a magic door. I hadn’t seen it before.”

“Fascinating. This is clearly a portal spell. And it can transmit, what, hundreds of miles? I can’t imagine how powerful the enchantment on the door must be. It has to be worth at least ten thousand—no, possible a hundred thousand—of course, these spells were more common during certain eras of magical kingdoms. And we do have teleportation spells. But this is so convenient. And there’s no charge?”

Grimalkin rubbed his claws together. Kel tried to protest, but Erin hip-bumped him to one side and motioned Maughin up.

“Yeah! Come on through! Promise it’s not a trap. Hey Mrsha! Watch out! Maughin’s coming through.”

The Dullahan hesitated. He peered through the doorway, but, encouraged by Erin’s smile and very interested despite himself, stepped through the doorway. He blinked as his foot hit the floor of Erin’s inn. He turned around, blinking, then peered into the room.

“Incredible. Are we really—”

He turned to look at Erin and the door went dead. Kel swore. Erin just groaned.

“Aw. He was too big! Normally we can get three people through. Don’t worry! I heard Ceria on the other side. She can charge the door!”

Grimalkin looked surprised. He raised is brows.

“It ran out of mana? No wonder. But that’s a simple enough fix.”

So saying, he put a claw on the door and took a breath. Erin blinked at him.

“You can recharge it?”

“I am a [Mage]. Hm. This door drains mana like no one’s business. But no matter. Concentration! Huah!”

His shout made Kel, Erin, and the onlookers jump. The image of Erin’s inn immediately reappeared in the doorway, like a television turning on. Erin saw Maughin peering at the door anxiously a few steps back. Pisces blinked into the door and both he and Ceria recoiled.

“Wow! What was that?”

“Hi Ceria! Morning! Grimalkin just fixed the door. Thanks! How’d you do it so fast?”

Erin turned to Grimalkin. Pisces stared as Grimalkin flexed one arm and his entire body rippled. The Drake replied casually.

“A [Mage] can store mana in his body. I just released some. May I enter?”

“No—”

Erin elbowed Kel in the side.

“Please! Me next!”

Grimalkin stepped delicately through the doorway, and then Erin. She turned and saw Kel glaring at her from Pallass.

“Sorry Kel! They’ll be back later! Watch the door for me, alright?”

“Watch Captain Venim will hear about this, you—you—”

Erin shut the door on his face. She turned and beamed at Grimalkin. He was looking around her inn. So was Maughin. The Dullahan blinked up at the ceiling that even he could stand naturally under, and then the large room.

“This is quite spacious. Impressively so. No inn in Pallass has this much space.”

“It’s clearly the result of dimensional magic. Or a Skill. See how the room just repeats itself minus the windows after this point? Fascinating. And useful. So we’re in Liscor?”

Grimalkin strode over to a window. He looked out, exclaimed, and peered around excitedly. Maughin looked up.

“What is it?”

“Come and see! The entire landscape is changed! We’re right in the middle of the High Passes!”

The Dullahan’s jaw dropped. He strode over, avoiding a chair, and pulled off his head to see. Erin heard a faint sound; she turned and saw Ceria staring open-mouthed at the Dullahan.

“It’s—Erin, is that a War Walker?”

“Naw, just Maughin. He’s big, but not War Walker big. Hey Pisces.”

The [Necromancer] didn’t immediately respond. He was staring at Maughin and Grimalkin both. Then he looked at Erin.

“That Drake is a powerful [Mage].”

“Yup. He’s a [Sinew Magus] or something. His name is Grimalkin.”

“Grimalkin. You mean, the Grimalkin? The insane fool who thinks magic is tied to the body?”

“That would be me.”

Grimalkin’s claw fell on Pisces’ shoulder. The [Necromancer] paled. He turned. Grimalkin looked disapprovingly down at him.

“And you would be…a [Necromancer]. No, don’t bother answering. I can tell. Your aura screams death magic. And the half-Elf’s a [Cryomancer]. Poor form, both of you. You at least have some arm and leg muscle, boy, but you’re both completely unfit.”

“Excuse me?”

Ceria gaped up at Grimalkin. The Drake shook his head.

“What’s your backup when you run out of magic, miss? An enchanted dagger? Running away and hoping the rest of your team takes care of the fighting? I don’t want to be rude, but is that how you lost your hand? Have you ever considered learning how to use a sword as well as fighting? [Spellswords] get a bad rap, but in my experience, they live longer when things go south. Now, I can respect a [Fencer]’s build, but that rapier won’t go through anything like a Wyvern’s hide—”

Erin backed away as Ceria and Pisces tried to object—and then run away—and Grimalkin grabbed both their shoulders. She edged over to Maughin. He was staring out of a window, entranced. He turned his head to her.

“We have travelled hundreds of miles in a moment. This is truly powerful magic, Miss Solstice.”

“I know. Isn’t it great? I never thought I could do this myself. And this is my inn, Maughin! I told you I had one.”

Erin waved a hand around. Maughin turned his head to look. Erin saw a flash of white—Mrsha disappeared around the back of a table.

“Aw. Mrsha. It’s just Maughin. He’s a Dullahan. Don’t worry, he can put his head back. Come here.”

Erin went to find Mrsha. The Gnoll cub shrank as Erin pulled her out of the table. Maughin bowed his head slightly, then put it on his shoulders.

“Good evening, little one.”

He held out a finger to shake. Mrsha timidly shook it, then sniffed Maughin’s finger. She looked relieved and the Dullahan smiled. Then he looked alarmed and shielded his head.

“Miss Erin. There is a gigantic bug over there. Hold the child safe. I will squash it.”

“No! That’s Apista!”

Erin yelped. Maughin stared at her. Mrsha rushed over to protect the Ashfire Bee and Apista landed on her head. The Dullahan stared at Mrsha. At Apista. At Erin as she tried to explain. He had to sit on the floor.

“Okay! Everyone stop!”

Erin waved her hands. Grimalkin, Maughin, Mrsha, Apista, Pisces, and Ceria looked up. Erin turned around. She took a deep breath.

“Maughin, Grimalkin, this is my inn. And this is Mrsha—wave, Mrsha—and Apista. She’s the pet of one of my employees. That’s Pisces and Ceria—they’re Silver-rank adventurers. Everyone, this is Maughin and Grimalkin. Maughin’s a [Blacksmith], the best in Pallass! And Grimalkin’s a Muscle Mage. They’re here to visit.”

“Pleased to meet you all.”

Maughin took off his head to bow, looking a bit shell-shocked. Grimalkin bowed slightly. He eyed Mrsha, who eyed him as if she wasn’t sure he was actually a Drake. Erin smiled.

“Okay? Everyone cool?”

Pisces and Ceria nodded. Both edged a bit away from Grimalkin. Mrsha came over, with Apista in her paws. Grimalkin peered down at the Ashfire bee.

“I’m seen odd familiars. Even someone trying to raise Creler as a pet. But I have to admit—I’m somewhat thrown. Hello there. Mrsha?”

He gingerly offered Mrsha a claw. Apista showed her stinger; Grimalkin withdrew the claw. Erin looked around, beaming. Maughin was shaking his head.

“This is quite an experience. I was just at my forge. Now—I am fine. Thank you, Miss Erin. I have been discourteous.”

He rose and approached Pisces and Ceria. They shook his hands, staring up at him.

“A pleasure.”

“Uh, likewise. Master Maughin, is it?”

Ceria stammered. Pisces nodded. He shook Maughin’s hand.

“I am a humble servant of magic, Master Maughin. The day’s greetings with you. Please forgive our lax manners.”

Maughin blinked. He inclined his head.

“No offense taken. I am pleased to meet you. Magus Pisces?”

The [Necromancer] smiled effusively.

“You honor me. I am but a student compared to Magus Grimalkin, but my Captain and I—Captain Ceria Springwalker of the Horns of Hammerad—may one day hope to seek your services. I hope you keep us in mind in that eventuality.”

“Ah. Of course.”

Maughin’s face immediately clouded over. Ceria looked at Pisces, shook herself, and then elbowed him in the side.

“Ignore my companion. I’m pleased to meet you. You’re from Pallass? And their…top [Blacksmith]?”

Both she and Pisces shot Erin a sideways glance. The [Innkeeper] ignored it. She smiled at Grimalkin and Maughin. They both blinked at her. This was clearly not how they’d expected to start their days. And yet—Erin smiled.

“We’re just going for a walk in the city, Ceria. You know? Maybe to see Krshia and her lot?”

“Ah.”

Pisces snapped his fingers, looking amused. Ceria’s eyes widened. She nodded silently. Grimalkin cleared his throat.

“I suppose this is part of the plan you mentioned?”

“Maybe?”

“What plan?”

Maughin warily looked from Erin to Grimalkin. The young woman opened her mouth. And then Numbtongue walked into the inn, with a huge basket of blue fruits cradled in one arm. He paused, staring at Maughin. The Dullahan turned. His face turned pale.

“Hob—”

“Down!”

Grimalkin roared. He didn’t cast a spell, he just leapt forwards, one fist raised. Numbtongue recoiled and Erin shouted.

“No! He’s a friend!”

“A what?”

The Drake stopped. Numbtongue windmilled wildly, spilling blue fruits and catching the door’s edge for balance. Maughin stared at him, and then at Erin.

“I heard Goblins frequented your inn. But this?”

He pointed at Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin stared at Grimalkin. The [Mage] eyed him from head to toe. He opened his mouth, hesitated, and then patted Numbtongue on one shoulder.

“Good muscles.”

He turned to Erin. She grinned weakly.

“It’s Numbtongue. He’s a Goblin, yeah. But he’s my uh, employee? And friend. He stays here. He’s actually a [Bard].”

She pointed at Numbtongue. He edged past Grimalkin with the blue fruits’ basket in one arm. He paused and lifted his guitar, waved it once, and then put the basket on the nearest table. Erin coughed.

“So yeah. That’s Numbtongue.”

“Goblins working at an inn. Well, it’s your funeral, Miss Erin.”

Grimalkin shook his head, bemused. He looked over at Maughin. The Dullahan seemed petrified by the sight of Numbtongue. The [Bard], eying Maughin’s armor and huge form, was staying clear as well.

“He’s nice! Don’t worry, Numbtongue. Maughin’s a [Blacksmith]. He’s great! Really! And he can take his head off.”

Erin tried to soothe Numbtongue. Grimalkin folded his arms, looking from Numbtongue to Maughin. The Dullahan hesitated. He looked back at the magic door. Mrsha trotted over to it, clicked the dial, opened the door, and checked it. Celum and Octavia’s shop briefly appeared. Mrsha clicked the dial, again, and the stand of blue fruit trees appeared. The Dullahan groaned and sat back down again.

“This is all too much.”

“It’s fine. It really is. Numbtongue, say hi! Don’t shake your head at me! Maughin’s great! Grimalkin’s the one who could pull your head off. He’s a Muscle Mage.”

“I think that term isn’t quite appropriate—”

“We’re back. What did we—oh.”

Erin’s head turned. Maughin’s head turned. Grimalkin made a fist, caught himself, and stared. Ceria groaned slightly. Pisces grinned from ear to ear.

Yvlon and Ksmvr halted in the doorway as Liscor appeared behind them. The Human woman and Antinium stared at Maughin, then at Grimalkin. Erin glanced at Maughin too. The Dullahan had stopped breathing. She gingerly waved a hand.

“Hi Ksmvr. Yvlon.”

Yvlon looked at her. She stared at Maughin.

“Uh. Hi Erin. We were having our morning training. Who’re our guests?”

“This is Maughin. He’s a Dullahan. And this is Grimalkin. Uh, Maughin, Grimalkin, meet Yvlon and Ksmvr. They’re part of the Horns of Hammerad. Yvlon’s a [Warrior] and Ksmvr is—”

“Antinium.”

Maughin breathed the word. And for him, it was a note of horror. Horror, incredulity—both were written across his face. Ksmvr tilted his head, then approached cheerfully. He stuck out his right hand.

“An Antinium, in point of fact. And I am no longer affiliated with my Hive. Good morning. I am Ksmvr, adventurer for hire.”

The Dullahan recoiled. He looked at Erin with an expression of shock. She stared back innocently. Grimalkin broke the silence by stepping forwards. He peered at Ksmvr with narrowed eyelids. The Antinium turned towards him with an open hand. Grimalkin ignored it.

“Hm. Not bad. Not bad. I’ve seen corpses and fought a few, but even the Workers have a very efficient build. Of course; insect’s bodies are very efficient. No wasted fat. And four arms? Hm. I’ve often wondered if it’s inefficient.”

“I have wondered the same thing. But I am very sturdy. You may attempt to push me over if you wish. May I shake your hand?”

Grimalkin eyed Ksmvr. He shook his head abruptly.

“No. I fought in both the First and Second Antinium Wars. And I forgot Liscor had a Hive. Well, this day does get more and more interesting, doesn’t it, Maughin?”

He looked back at the Dullahan. Maughin stared palely at Ksmvr as the [Skirmisher] cheerfully turned to him. He looked at Erin. Then he gingerly reached out and shook the hand. Mainly to get Ksmvr to go away. But the Antinium just kept standing there after he was done. Maughin passed a hand over his pale face.

“I…am not certain why I’m here.”

Erin bit her lip. She looked from Grimalkin to Maughin, to Mrsha, who was happily sniffing Yvlon’s boots, to Pisces who had stuffed part of his robe into his mouth to cover his laughter, to Numbtongue, who was eating a blue fruit and eying Grimalkin. Ceria met Erin’s eyes. The two looked at each other and burst out laughing. It was Yvlon who sighed. And Ksmvr who brightly spread his arms.

“Welcome to The Wandering Inn. My name is Ksmvr.”

—-

Liscor’s streets were full of shouting. You could hear Lism’s voice eight streets down. Krshia’s growling shouts nine streets. But in this case at least, volume didn’t matter. The debate about the elections were hot on everyone’s tongues as they stood around and debated, or worked and chattered.

A Gnoll [Tailor] poked herself in the thumb as she debated with her assistants, both of whom were Drakes. A [Butcher] talked with his clients as he prepared a cut of meat.

“The Council’s voted. We’re having elections. A democracy. Like Pallass. Who would have thought?”

“I think it’s overdue. But who will you vote for?”

“Well, seeing as there’s two choices right now, I’ll have to vote for Raekea. She’s in my district.”

“Voting for your species? Come on now.”

“What’s wrong with that? What’s wrong with a Gnoll on the Council?”

“Nothing. If you’re not selling Liscor to do it. Can we trust the Antinium?”

“I saw you going to Senior Guardsman Klbkch just the other day.”

“That’s different. This is about security. And if we can make some jobs and guard our walls—Strategist Olesm is with Lism.”

“Lism’s a racist old bag of wind.”

“I think he makes sense myself.”

“When I was young, the Antinium weren’t here. And we got on fine ourselves.”

“It’s not just about the Antinium. If you’re not voting for a Gnoll, that’s racist.”

“Says who?”

Debate. Arguments. But it was hard, harder now to argue for Krshia. Because the Antinium Wars were on the mind. And, fair play, Lism had his objectionable qualities. But then again, Krshia was fielding only Gnoll candidates and Lism had now pushed forwards three Gnolls for his Council seats, all in Gnoll-heavy districts. How about that?

Market Street was abuzz with crowds listening to the debates. Selys was wincing as Lism hammered Krshia. He was pointing at the Gnoll, and waving an arm to the crowd.

“It’s a simple question! Let’s have the Free Queen or Klbkch answer it, why don’t we? Have the Antinium ever plotted to harm Liscor or its citizens in the last year? Does the Grand Queen intend to pursue war with Liscor? How many Soldiers does the Hive have? Any of these questions—any of them answered under truth spell! How about it, Silverfang? Can’t we at least ask our ‘allies’ if they’ve ever plotted to stab us in the back?”

“You and I know that the Free Antinium are not the same as the other Hives. And has Liscor not plotted to attack the Free Antinium if it comes to battle? Tell me we do not have spells and measures in place for that very day?”

Krshia’s voice was weary and furious. Lism made a scoffing sound, amplified by his voice charm.

“Safeguards, not plans of attack, Silverfang. And, might I add, who needs to prepare for an attack amongst allies? Hm? How much are the Antinium offering now?”

“Thirty percent of the construction. Better than the Walled Cities would do. And they’ll pay six thousand gold pieces per year—”

“All of which is useless when we’re lying with our throats slit in the streets. Or maybe it’s just those of us who don’t fall into line and wag our tails, is that it, Krshia? Tell me, did the Antinium buy your loyalty? And how much was it?”

The crowd howled with glee and outrage. Krshia snarled. Lism raised his claws, smiling unctuously at the crowd.

“It’s just a question, people! But for our peace of mind, will you swear it on a truth spell? Oh wait—I forgot. That’s not something we should be doing.”

“Tell me, do you really believe in your plan for the city? Or did you steal it from me and let your nephew, Olesm, take charge because you just couldn’t stand the idea of a Gnoll on the Council that badly, Lism?”

Krshia’s retort and Lism’s reply were lost by another set of jeering from the crowd. This time against Krshia. Selys, standing behind Krshia’s platform, winced. She looked around and met Elirr’s eyes.

“She’s getting slaughtered up there!”

The Gnoll [Beast Trainer] growled, visibly upset.

“She is. Where is Klbkch? Can he not answer any of these questions?”

“Do we want him to?”

Selys grabbed at her neck spines in frustration. She hated to admit it, but Lism had a point. A really good one that he was using to hammer Krshia with. They had to change the topic somehow! Lism, or rather, Olesm daring Klbkch to swear on truth spell that he didn’t have plans to attack Liscor was inspired. It was really bothering people, Selys included.

Of course the Antinium probably had plans to attack Liscor. But they were allies. Right? Everyone had a backup plan. But…why had Klbkch refused to take Olesm’s bait, then? Couldn’t he say something? Selys shook her head. Her claws trembled on her notes.

“I can’t do this. I’m no [Strategist]—I can’t figure out anything good to say back! That stupid, eel-faced Lism is going to win! And all because—where’s Erin?”

“We haven’t seen her.”

“She promised she’d do something.”

Elirr nodded gently.

“But what? She cannot perform miracles, no?”

“I know. But it’s Erin. If anyone can do something, it’s her.”

Despairingly, Selys turned her head. She knew it was unfair to pin so much on Erin. This wasn’t even her city. Not really. But she was Selys’ friend. Surely she could so something, right?

But what? The crowd erupted into more cheers and Selys looked up to see Lism raising his arms and Krshia grimacing. It said it all. The elections weren’t even happening yet—the Council had tentatively put them a week from today. And already it felt like it was over. Selys thought about confronting Olesm, asking him what it would take for Lism to back down—disavowing the Antinium maybe. But could they hijack Lism’s platform in return?

And then, Selys felt it. It was like a ripple through the crowd. She couldn’t hear it—Lism’s voice was drowning out sound. But she felt it. A sudden lapse in attention. A turning, shifting, as people, with that animalistic instinct, realized something was going on behind them. And Selys turned. She whirled and knew.

—-

Here she came. Three streets over, and strolling. Just walking along, chattering to the exceedingly buff Drake on her right. The giant, armored…Human? On her left. Maughin and Grimalkin. Erin was pointing at the street, speaking louder than normal because of the distant shouting.

“And this is a street. You like streets, don’t you? I’ll grant you, it’s not as nice as Pallass’ smooth stone walkways, but it’s a good street.”

“Rugged. Rounded cobblestones. They’ve been worn smooth, but some are going to come loose and leave potholes. Definitely not ideal. You could roll an ankle more easily. But it’s firm enough.”

Grimalkin glanced at the street dismissively. He didn’t really care, but it seemed like the Magus of Muscles had an opinion about everything. Erin smiled. On her left, the Dullahan lowered his head and peered at her and Grimalkin, looking aggrieved.

“Why are we talking about streets?”

“Don’t worry about it, Maughin. You wanna talk about clouds instead? Or Liscor’s election?”

“I’m still trying to figure out what happened.”

The Dullahan [Blacksmith]’s voice was plaintive. He twisted his head from side to side, looking at the Gnolls and Drakes staring at him. And oh, they were staring. Maughin put his head back on his shoulders and looked down at Erin and Grimalkin.

“One second I was at my forge. The next—I’m here. And I met an Antinium. An actual…it makes sense when I think about it, but it’s so abrupt.”

“You have to adapt. I’ve had this kind of experience—only in battle, not walking down the street. The suddenness of change. One second you’re marching with your friends, the next, someone’s cast an [Earthquake] spell and you’re clinging for dear life while a rock splits open your friend’s skull. Adaptability. I try to teach that too to my apprentices.”

Grimalkin nodded to himself. He eyed the streets full of people. Some of the Gnolls were sniffing as they passed. Erin smiled. Could they smell Pallass? She checked behind her and noticed the small crowd staring at their backs. She patted Maughin on the lower back.

“It’s alright. Sorry for dragging you through like that and surprising you with Numbtongue and Ksmvr. I forgot how weird they are to most people. They’re here every day.”

“Goblins and Antinium. I can’t fathom it. Actually, the Goblin I can understand. I did hear about the Goblin’s Lament Company. It was formed—and then declared invalid—before I ever came to Izril. But Antinium?”

“Ksmvr’s just like anyone else. Okay, he’s sort of different, but you shook his hand. He’s nice. They’re not all enemies, right Grimalkin?”

The [Sinew Magus] shook his head.

“I’m withholding judgment.”

Erin shrugged.

“Well, as long as you don’t punch anyone’s head off. And what’s wrong with walking down the street in Liscor? They have elections. Pallass has elections. Ours are going on right now, actually.”

Maughin nodded. He’d heard Lism shouting and some of the arguments on display. He adjusted his head, raising it to peek over a crowd of bodies ahead of him. A Drake saw that and fainted. Maughin put his head on his shoulders, looking embarrassed.

“It’s still surreal. One second we were in Pallass. The next? Here. This is grand magic. Beyond me. The idea that a door like this always existed in Pallass…why has no one used it?”

Erin smiled to herself. She led the two down the next street, hearing the shouting growing louder. As did the press of bodies. But Maughin and Grimalkin generated the bubble of space big, imposing fellows got.

“Probably because Liscor’s a nowhere border city, right? You could have always come through, right? You just didn’t.”

“I never had a reason to.”

“Nor I.”

Grimalkin and Maughin exchanged a thoughtful glance. Erin’s smile widened and she threw an arm around both. Well, Grimalkin’s lower chest and Maughin’s armored buttock.

“And now you’re here! It’s great! And here we are! Market Street, or Arguing Street, really. The two candidates for Liscor’s election are shouting down here. I think this is where we’ll find Selys and that Gnoll I want you to meet, Maughin. And maybe Relc if there’s a lot of fighting.”

She pointed through a wall of bodies. Maughin frowned.

“Will we make it through? I see two people on platforms, but there must be several hundred—”

“Don’t worry! Just follow me!”

Erin waved at Maughin. He reluctantly stepped after her. The back of the crowd, who had been watching Lism and Krshia argue, noticed the sudden shadow. They turned back. They could easily miss Erin, maybe even Grimalkin. But Maughin was head-and-shoulders taller than the tallest Gnoll. Erin heard a few screams and some shouts.

“What is that?”

“A Human? A half-Giant?”

“A Dullahan? Here?”

“Hey! It’s that Human! You know what that means—”

Erin ignored all of it, especially that last comment. She waved her hands, shouting cheerfully. And she channeled her best Robin Williams.

“Make way! Make way! We’re just having a walk! Excuse me! Don’t mind us!”

Maughin waved a hand, gently edging forwards. And as more Drakes and Gnolls turned their heads, hearing Erin shouting, they stared.

“Grimalkin, this way! Watch the muscles, ladies! He’s got a ten-pack. Muscle Mage, don’t you know? Excuse me! Some room for Maughin! He’s a [Blacksmith]! [Armorer]! It’s close! Don’t stare!”

For some reason, people weren’t listening to Erin’s pleas for anonymity. On the other hand, they were making good progress. The crowd parted, and the electric attention on Lism and Krshia began to fade. Accordingly, more people began to notice and turn. Erin and her two friends were halfway towards the two debaters on their platforms when they noticed. Lism turned his head, breaking off as he felt the eyes on him turning elsewhere.

“And as I was saying the—the Antinium can’t be—what is that?”

His voice, and the pointing claw pushed all the attention onto Maughin. The [Smith] flushed. Uncomfortably, he adjusted his head. Lism stared. And then the young woman’s voice rose. Erin’s [Loud Voice] Skill made her words echo across the crowd and adjoining streets.

“Hey! Rude! What’s with the pointing? Excuse me, yes, excuse me, we’re just passing through! Keep moving! You can get back to debating after we’re gone!”

“Erin.”

Krshia breathed the words. And there she appeared. Laughing, waving her hands, creating a path in people as easily as a [Hydromancer] shifting the waters of a lake.

“Make way for Maughin, fabulous he! Dullahan [Blacksmith], best in Pallass! He’s got a dozen apprentices! And Grimalkin, the famous muscle mage! Don’t worry, we’re just having a stroll! Nobody stare!”

She danced forwards.

“Don’t mind us. Haven’t you seen a Dullahan before? And a really muscly [Mage]?”

Erin laughed. Lism turned his head to stare behind him. And Olesm, standing in the street behind his uncle’s platform went pale. He signaled desperately, but Lism’s mouth was faster. He turned.

“Clearly some ploy, by Krshia and that Human, folks. Don’t mind him. What am I saying? Give him some room. Dullahans from Pallass? Ah yes. Well, the Dullahans. Traditional allies of the Drakes. Well, of course, we’re pleased to have you in our city, sir!”

He smiled and waved at Maughin. The Dullahan, already uncomfortable, raised his head and turned it to stare at Lism. The Drake turned pale. The [Armorer] shook his head, perplexed.

“Traditional allies? I’m sorry…sir. But our species have not historically been allies. We were great enemies during the time of Dragons.”

He frowned deeply. A murmur ran through the crowd at that. Erin sighed, but her eyes sparkled. And on her platform, Krshia bared her teeth. She called over at Lism, who’d gone red with embarrassment.

“Historical enemies, you say? But Dullahans are a welcome part of Pallass now. It makes you think—”

“Hush!”

To everyone’s surprise, it was Erin who interrupted Krshia. She frowned up at the Gnoll and made a zipping motion with her mouth. Krshia stared at her. But Erin was pushing forwards again.

“Excuse me. Is Selys here? I’m looking for Selys! My friend?”

“Here! I’m here Erin!”

A claw rose over the cloud and Selys eagerly pushed through the crowd. Lism spluttered from his platform, but Olesm had gotten to him and anxiously shushed his uncle to silence. Erin beamed at Selys as the crowd stopped, witness to her meeting with Selys. She gestured at Grimalkin and Maughin.

“Selys! Great to see you. I wanted to introduce you to two of my friends from Pallass. Remember how I told you about them? Grimalkin, this is Selys. She’s uh, Zel’s niece. My best friend and a [Receptionist] at the Adventurer’s Guild. Selys, this is Grimalkin. And Master Maughin!”

She pointed up. Bemused, Selys offered a hand. Maughin shook it, looking dazedly around at the staring faces. Selys stared at his giant hand. And then Grimalkin seized her claws and gave them a bone-crushing shake.

“Miss Shivertail, I met your uncle a handful of times. But there was a [General] I could respect. He understood something about the physical form. He would have made a wonderful [Mage] but I’m afraid he never took to it. Still, I’ve never met someone with manual dexterity like that. And his claws! Those were on par with a national treasure alone!”

“Oh. Oh? You knew Uncle Zel?”

“I did indeed. A truly impressive leader. May I ask if you take after him?”

Maughin jumped.

“Selys Shivertail? The owner of the Heartflame Breastplate?”

He bent down again, eyes wide. Selys looked up at him.

“Well—yes, I have it. But—”

“He just wants to see it, Selys. Nothing big. I promised he could look. That’s fine, right?”

“Of course. I mean, the City Watch has it in the vaults when no one’s wearing it. I leased it to Keldrass, but he doesn’t keep it when he’s not in the dungeon. Uh—”

“We may be historical enemies with Dullahans, but cooperation between all species is essential! And Pallass’ citizens coming to Liscor proves that ties between our cities is more important than ever! Remember, this is about the Antinium people!”

Lism bellowed over their heads. Erin shook her fist at him.

“Shut up! This is a private meeting! Stop eavesdropping, jerk!”

“Erin!”

Selys couldn’t bear it any further. She grabbed Erin as Lism spluttered. She could feel Olesm’s eyes on her, but she had no idea what was happening either. She whispered at Erin as the young woman obligingly bent an ear to listen.

“What are you doing? Drassi didn’t tell me what the plan was! What should Krshia say? Are we having the Dullahan speak? What is it?”

Erin looked blankly at Selys. Then she frowned.

“Plan? What you think I brought Maughin and Grimalkin, about the elections? That’s not why I brought them. Maughin wants to see your Heartflame Breastplate. Grimalkin wants to meet Relc. Oh! And we need to meet Raekea. Where is she?”

Selys gaped.

“Not on this street. She’s speaking in Dragondance Plaza, that way. But Erin—”

“Not on this street? Aw, man. Well, we’ll go see her. Can we see the armor? You can bring it by the inn. Please? Maughin will flip if he sees it. Not literally I hope.”

Erin glanced over her shoulder, her eyes twinkling. That stopped Selys from shaking her friend. She stood back, watching as Erin turned to address Grimalkin and Maughin. She was ready for Erin to make a speech, to somehow flip this on Lism. But all Erin did was shrug.

“Sorry! Wrong street! Raekea’s not here. Selys is going to get the armor, Maughin. Let’s go visit Raekea, shall we? Hey, Selys, do you know where Relc is?”

“N-no.”

Erin nodded. She cheerfully shouted, addressing Selys, Maughin and Grimalkin, and the crowd as a whole.

“We’ll stop by the Watch House, then. Follow me!”

And with that, Erin turned and began walking back down the street. It was so abrupt that everyone stared. Maughin turned, his face one permanent frown, Grimalkin walked after Erin, grinning and clearly enjoyed himself—Krshia stared at Erin’s back.

“You’re leaving? But Erin—”

The young woman turned back. She blinked back at Krshia. The Gnoll waved her arms wildly, much like Mrsha using sign language. Erin shrugged. And her expression was blank.

“Sorry. I’m just showing my friends around. You can get back to shouting, you guys! Maughin, Grimalkin, this way! Let’s go find Raekea! And Relc! Make way!”

And she left. Maughin trailed after Erin, turning his head to look around. And the wide-eyed crowd returned his gaze. They watched as Erin, the legendary crazy Human of Liscor left. Accompanied by a giant Dullahan [Blacksmith] and a…[Mage] who would have given Relc’s muscles a run for their money.

“Well. Well—that’s just—clearly a sign of—good to see support from Pallass.”

Lism’s voice trailed off weakly. A few heads turned to look at him. The Drake [Shopkeeper] cleared his throat.

“So. As I was saying…Krshia Silverfang, your refusal to look at the facts is just disgraceful! Even traitorous! I—hold on, where are you going?”

Lism’s head turned. The crowd was moving. Like a flock of fish—or sheep—or really interested dogs following a bone, they were suddenly trailing after Erin.

“Hold on! We’re not done debating!”

Lism called after the crowd. Krshia uncertainly looked at Erin’s back. But the crowd barely glanced back. Someone shouted up at Lism.

“I know, but I really want to know what she’s going to do with those two. We’ll be back!”

“Hold on! This is for the future of Liscor!”

The Drake howled, but the crowd didn’t listen. And that was the point. Suddenly, the street was nearly empty. Behind Lism, Olesm uttered a curse. And Selys felt a delighted smile cross her mouth. She looked up at Krshia. The Gnoll climbed down the platform. Elirr looked at both of them. Selys glanced at Olesm who was tearing at his neck spines. Then she leaned forwards.

“I’ll get my armor. Elirr, you help me bring it to the inn. Krshia, better get there too.”

The Gnoll grinned. And as Selys turned her head, she could still hear Erin in the distance.

“Nothing to see here! Move along! Really. Hey, why’s everyone following us?”

—-

Raekea the [Armorer] looked up from her platform and stared. She had been shouting, arguing against one of Lism’s candidates for City Council. And frankly, she had been miserable doing it. She was no [Orator], [Diplomat], or anything close to a speaker. Metal didn’t argue back, and Raekea generally didn’t have a crowd watching her sweat. So it was a relief to be interrupted.

But what an interruption. The young woman smiled up at her. And the Dullahan was only a bit shorter than Raekea on her speaking platform. Erin Solstice bowed, a delighted smile on her face.

“Maughin, may I present Raekea, the best [Armorer] in Liscor? This is Maughin, Raekea. He’s a blacksmith too. An [Armorer] to be precise. Just like you. The best in all of Pallass.”

“Miss Raekea? I am Maughin. I am gratified to meet your acquaintance at last.”

A huge hand rose. Raekea grasped it with her own tough paw.

“P-pleased. Master Maughin?”

“Among smiths, we are equals, are we not?”

The Dullahan inclined his head. Raekea nearly inhaled her tongue. Maughin? The same Dullahan who stamped his insignia on the finest Pallassian arms? In front of her? She looked at Erin. The young woman beamed.

“I wanted to introduce you to Maughin. So he can see what he’s up against in Liscor’s forges. And maybe you could talk to him about selling your stuff to Celum and Humans. You know?”

“I—I’d be honored. But my forge is humble. And I’m sure I haven’t the levels to compare to Master Maughin. Not by half. I can’t…this is very sudden, yes?”

Raekea felt faint. Lightheaded at the sudden, strange turn of events. She saw a look of sympathy cross Maughin’s face. He turned to Erin.

“We are imposing.”

“Nonsense! Okay, we are. But I think you two should chat! Can’t we all take a break from this election thing and have some fun just talking about how hard it is to hit stuff with hammers? I’m down for that.”

Erin protested, ignoring the huge crowd watching her every move. And Raekea saw it. That sparkle in Erin’s eyes. Slowly, she nodded, slipping down from her platform. She bowed again to Maughin.

“I would be delighted. And of course. The election can wait.”

“So there is an election in Liscor. It parallels our own. May I ask who’s running against each other?”

“Oh, that’s a bunch of Drakes. Lism, that shouty guy who thought you were traditional allies? He wants to build Liscor without using the Antinium’s help. Raekea’s with Krshia. They want Gnolls on the Council.”

Maughin nodded slowly. He’d absorbed some of the nuance of the politics. His brows drew together as he glanced around. And he wasn’t exactly shouting, but the crowd wasn’t exactly talking over him either.

“Ah. Gnolls have not been traditionally part of Liscor’s Council?”

“No.”

“It is an issue that has come into light in Pallass as well. Dullahans occupy two seats out of hundreds. Despite the fact that we are a growing minority. Garuda have no seats. I hope the Gnolls of Liscor can claim some seats on the Council. Not that I understand the details of your election.”

Raekea cleared her throat, trying not to glance at her opponent, Alonna Swiftwing, the poised Mage’s Guildmistress glaring at her from her podium.

“I would be pleased.”

“Great! And now we can go back to the inn. Come on, Raekea. I bet Selys has the armor by now.”

Erin cheerfully waved at her group. As if there was nothing out of the ordinary. Raekea blinked. Maughin looked resigned. The Gnoll woman saw another Drake folding his arms next to Erin. And he was…built. Raekea was married to a [Blacksmith], but she looked twice at this Drake’s body.

“Who is this?”

Erin slapped her forehead.

“Sorry. Raekea, meet Grimalkin. He’s a Muscle Mage from Pallass.”

“I keep telling you. That is not an appropriate term for my magic.”

The Drake unfolded one arm and gave Raekea’s paw a squeeze like a vice. The Gnoll shook her paw and stared at Grimalkin. Erin raised her hands.

“How am I supposed to know what you do? Muscle Mage. [Sinew Magus]. What does it mean? You store magic in your muscles. And?”

The question threw Grimalkin. He closed his eyes, began to look annoyed—and then caught himself. He cracked one eye open and glanced at Erin.

“Aha. You’re quite deceptive, Miss Erin.”

She grinned at him.

“And your brain is as muscly as your…legs. But I’m serious. Care to show us?”

The Drake thought it over.

“Well, since you’ve set the stage…I could always use new apprentices. And publicity. Why not? But let’s get one thing straight, Miss Solstice. I’m not the ‘Muscle Mage of Pallass’.”

“Oh really? What are you?”

Grimalkin threw his arms wide. He roared, surprising Maughin, Raekea, and the citizens of Liscor clustered around.

“Pallass’ greatest [Mage]! Grimalkin, the Fist Mage! Laugh! And they do laugh in Wistram. But I have dueled Archmages. And my magic is second to none! Look. They say Archmage Amerys can fly across the oceans. But can she do this?”

The Drake knelt. And then he sprang up. He leapt over Erin and Raekea’s heads. Up, into the sky. As if gravity had no hold on him. Erin’s jaw dropped as Grimalkin nimbly landed. On a rooftop fifty feet distant. The Drake turned. And Grimalkin’s voice roared over the plaza.

“True [Mages] are more than walking tanks of mana! True [Mages] can fight! If you run out of spells, stand and fight with your companions! Trust your body, not just your mind! Cowards hide behind their comrades! If you’re a [Mage]—fight! And this will be your reward!”

He leapt down like a falling anvil. The crowd scattered, but Grimalkin landed as lightly as a cat. Erin whistled. Grimalkin strode forwards, looking around.

“What can I lift? That wagon? No. It’ll break. A few Gnolls? Bah. No help for it. [Stone Shaping].”

He bent, and pulled part of the plaza up. A cubed block of stone with two grooves near the top rose out of the ground. Grimalkin waved a hand at the awed murmurs.

“That isn’t the magic. People of Liscor! This is what a body can do. Observe! This is without a single spell cast!”

So saying, he gripped the chunk of stone by the two handholds and with a grunt, hefted it up to chest-level. This time Erin gulped. If that stone was solid all the way though, it had to weigh hundreds of pounds. Grimalkin’s voice shook only slightly.

“Conditioning. Weight. Balance—and now—lift!”

He shifted his grip, and then the block rotated. The roar from the crowd was awed as the block swung overhead in a motion like a weightlifter doing a clean and press. The boulder rose into the air as Grimalkin roared. Erin watched as he lifted up over his head. The Drake roared, and his arms and voice shook.

“With muscle alone! And now, with magic!”

His arms shook. He closed his eyes and Erin feared that any moment the block would drop on him. Then Grimalkin’s eyes opened and he bellowed.

“[Lion’s Strength—]”

The shaking arms stopped. Grimalkin stood straight, holding the block of stone over his head with both arms. Then he tossed it up. Planted one claw under the center of the block. And the block landed. Erin heard, felt a thump of impact. And Grimalkin stood holding it with one arm over his head. The audience gasped. Grimalkin grinned around them. Then casually, he lowered his arm. And he hurled the boulder straight up.

“Oh my—”

Erin’s shout was one of a thousand voices crying out in panic. The boulder flew up, ten, twenty feet. And it started coming down, gently at first, but then with all the weight of a meteor falling to earth. Grimalkin stood where he was as the crowd, suddenly aware of the falling stone, ran for it, screaming. He pointed up as the boulder hurled down towards the ground in front of him.

“[Water Colossus’s Grasp]!”

A roaring tide of water rushed around Erin’s legs, drenching them in a second. She yelped, as the water swirled up into a gigantic hand, impossibly fast. It caught the stone cube as it fell, and the heavy weight sank into the watery arm. Grimalkin pointed, and the stone crunched down on the ground where he’d pulled it out of the earth. Liscor’s citizens turned to stare. Grimalkin leapt up nimbly and spread his arms. Then he flexed.

Every muscle on Grimalkin’s body stood out as the Drake struck a pose like one of the Grecian statues from Erin’s world. He held the pose as, with lungs of steel, he bellowed at the crowd.

“Strength! Adaptability! A [Mage] with a body like a [Soldier] has no weaknesses! Behold! I practice a magic like no other! Spellcraft and stamina! Muscle and magic! Fight on the front and cast spells with the authority of a true mage!”

He raised his arms and struck a herculean pose.

“Hm! And what do you say? Any takers?”

Grimalkin gazed around at his audience expectantly. The Drakes and Gnolls stared up at him. And then they burst into wild applause. Grimalkin sighed, then turned and waved at the crowd. He dismounted from the boulder, shaking hands and asking questions. Erin, dumbstruck, had to wait for nearly five minutes until Grimalkin won clear. To her surprise, the [Mage] was shaking his head when he approached them.

“No takers. Lots of applause, but there always is when I do this for the first time. A shame, really. But maybe I’ve set the seeds. It is an uphill battle. There’s your demonstration, Miss Erin. Shall we go?”

“Wh—but I—what was amazing!”

Erin burst out, waving her arms over her head. She pointed at the boulder and the rooftop Grimalkin had jumped too, almost too excited for words.

“How? That’s incredible! Pisces can [Flash Step], but that was like Superman! Over a building in a single bound!”

“Well, it’s only two-stories high. And [Flash Step] is a poor spell compared to physical enhancement spells. One is a set spell. The other one scales off of the body’s own prowess. I dare say only I could jump that far with a basic spell, but the principle applies to all [Mages] if they’d just get out there and do some pushups.”

Grimalkin modestly shook his head. He casually kicked the stone cube and it melted back into the earth. He noticed Erin, Maughin, and Raekea’s stare and shrugged, looking slightly pleased.

“I did say I was a [Mage], didn’t I? Then again, you wouldn’t be the first to assume my spell repertoire is limited. Hardly. I just believe in not wasting magic. Shall we go back to the inn?”

He began walking. Erin trailed after him. Grimalkin massaged his arms, looking a bit pained as he went. He nodded back at Erin as she followed him, mouth still ready to catch flies.

“Whew. I didn’t expect to do my traditional demonstration today. It takes a toll, even with experience. Was that what you wanted, Miss Erin? Part of the plan?”

“Better. You earned your cake!”

“Mm. I’m glad. And quite interested to see what you’ll do next. Say. You! You there!”

Grimalkin paused. He pointed at someone in the crowd. The Drake stopped, chewing on a stick of dried meat.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You have the makings of a real [Mage]. Give me ten years—no, half that, and I’ll turn you into a spellcaster as fine as any Wistram graduate. What do you say?”

Grimalkin eyed the other Drake’s body appreciatively. The Drake in question blushed.

“Me? I never thought about being a [Mage]. What do you think, Erin? I don’t like the robes, but I’m not bad myself, huh?”

Relc lifted one arm. Grimalkin nodded. Erin laughed.

“Relc! Grimalkin, this is the Gecko of Liscor himself!”

“Aw, Erin—you know I hate that name!”

The [Sergeant] looked disgruntled. Grimalkin’s eyes went up and down Relc.

“This is the Gecko? I thought he’d be far scrawnier. No wonder you made it through so many battles. Put it here. Grimalkin. [Sinew Magus]—and the Muscle Mage of Pallass, apparently. You my friend, are an inspiration.”

“I am?”

“How can you not be? Here’s a [Sergeant] mixed with a [Spearmaster] who, not with overpowering Skills or weapons, did in enemy after enemy with nothing but his muscles and speed!”

He gestured to Relc, who had turned bright red under his green scales. Grimalkin slapped Relc on the shoulder and roared the word Erin knew was coming.

“Testicles! If Pallass’ army had half the testicles you do, we wouldn’t have lost half the wars with the other Walled Cities! Can I get you to give a small demonstration of your abilities to my apprentices, sir? They could use the motivation.”

He looked expectantly at Relc. The [Guardsman] swallowed his bite of meat. He looked at Erin. She grinned at him. Relc leaned over.

“I really like this guy. Hey, I heard you were doing something weird. Looks like it. Who’s the War Walker?”

He nodded at Maughin. The Dullahan looked affronted and pleased. Erin laughed as she introduced him.

“Maughin, this is Relc! Don’t mind him. We’re all going to the inn, Relc. Want to come along? I’ve got lots of cake and ice cream.”

“Do I?”

The Drake looked delighted. His tail wagged as he fell into step with Maughin and Raekea. Erin turned to the crowd.

“Sorry for disrupting you, folks! We’ll be on our way! Back to The Wandering Inn! Feel free to listen to that Drake lady! She’s a [Mage] too! Grimalkin’s going to relax, though. Hey, we’ve got blue fruit juice too! Stop by if you want some! Cheap!”

Grimalkin snorted, amused. Relc raised his brows and even Maughin had caught on by this point. He glanced down at Erin and shook his head. But he followed Erin, lowering his head to speak with Raekea, who was in the middle of the processing stage still. Grimalkin strolled ahead, speaking to Erin and Relc.

“It is demoralizing sometimes, seeing how few people will step up to try my kind of magic. I feel like more of a [Performer] than [Mage] with that little act.”

“Hey, I’d pay money for it. Relc, by the way. Ooh! You’ve got a good handshake.”

The two Drakes grinned at each other. Erin pushed in between them, glancing up at Relc and Grimalkin.

“Why do you do it, then?”

“It draws a crowd. And it’s proof of my abilities. Can you name another [Mage] who could lift a boulder over his or her head? It’s fewer than you think. Telekinesis is twice as hard as lifting it is. And that’s hard enough. Ergh. I only wish there was an easier way of doing that bit. That boulder’s not even that large—barely wider than I am. And it’s hundreds of pounds. But can you convey that to the skeptics?”

Grimalkin grimaced. Relc nodded appreciatively. Erin hesitated.

“Well, why not use weights? Or is that not cool enough?”

“Weights?”

Relc and Grimalkin looked back at her. Erin nodded.

“Yeah. Weights on a bar. Like—bench pressing. You know?”

They did not. Grimalkin raised his brows and Relc looked excited.

“Oh boy. This is some new crazy thing you’ve come up, right?”

“What, weights? You totally have them. Right? Weights? On a bar? Weight rooms?”

Erin laughed, looking from face to face. Then she stopped, because both Drakes were looking blank. She inhaled.

“You don’t know. Oh wow. Well, what about this? Instead of lifting a rock or something, you get this metal bar. And you put two weights on each side, see? So they’re like—they’ll be round, so the weight’s perfectly distributed. And that way, you can lift it and work out. And if you want to add more, you just add more weight. Or take it off.”

“Weights on a bar. Of course! And did you say bench pressing?”

“Yup. You lie on your back and hold the bar and push it up. You can do like, I dunno, three hundred pounds of weight?”

“I bet I could do four hundred. Hey, do you have one of those bars, Erin? That sounds like a lot of fun.”

“Nope. And if you two exercise-dudes don’t know them, they might not exist er…here. But you know what? They’re really easy to make. It’s just metal. Iron for the weights, probably. Or lead. And I happen to know two [Smiths] who have time on their hands.”

Erin, Relc, and Grimalkin turned. Maughin and Raekea broke off from their conversation to look up. The Dullahan frowned at Erin.

“What? Forging? I could work in Master Raekea’s forge. Or my own. But it seems inconvenient. And unless I’m wrong, isn’t this crowd part of your plan? A forge is hardly a space for an audience.”

“Especially mine.”

Raekea put in, looking at Erin. The young woman just smiled. And her eyes lit up even further.

“I can fix that. With a little bit of help. Relc, Grimalkin, would you mind visiting Pallass for a second? I need you to help lift something.”

The two Drakes exchanged a glance. Relc grinned and flexed one arm. Grimalkin laughed.

“I suppose I’ve got more time. What did you have in mind?”

—-

“You can’t do this! Do you hear me? You can’t do this! Put it down!”

“Watch me! And watch your heads! Coming through! Whoo! This is like a roller coaster ride or something! Hey Relc, lift your end higher!”

Heads in Pallass turned. On the grand stairway, the people of Pallass looked up and saw a door coming at them. It was a magic door, true, held up by two extremely burly Drakes. But it was still a door. And open door. And in that doorway stood a Human, in a room, an inn in fact, staring out of the doorway.

You had to look twice after a scene like that. Especially because Erin Solstice wasn’t alone.  A crowd of other onlookers were staring out of the door, with as much fascination as Pallass’ citizens were staring into it. Relc called out as he hefted his end of the door higher over his head.

“Excuse me! City Watch coming through! Excuse me! Hey. Is that a Garuda? I thought that Bevussa chick was the only one in Pallass.”

“The Garuda population has been increasing over the last few years. There are a few hundred. Not many, but they’ve overtaken the Human population in the city.”

“No kidding? Wow.”

“You can’t do this! Put that down now! This is an order!”

“Onwards! Ignore Kel, guys. He’s just grumpy.”

Erin laughed as the doorway tilted to look back at Guardsman Kel, who was pursuing Grimalkin and Relc. She saw the furious Drake grabbing for the door, and then a clawed hand blocking him. Relc’s voice came through the door as Erin watched.

“Hey buddy, relax. Erin’s got authority to bring this door wherever. Trust me. I’m a Senior Guardsman. I outrank you or something.”

“You’re a Liscorian [Guardsman]!”

“Yeah. But I’m a Senior Liscorian Guardsman. Hey Erin! Where to?”

They’d reached the ninth floor. Erin pointed, the captain of her mobile door-ship.

“There! Straight to the forges! Make sure we get a good position so everyone can see!”

She stepped back so the crowd behind her could see. Gnolls and Drakes, all attracted from Liscor, crowded around the door. They gasped as the rows of forges and [Smiths] at work all came into view.

“The forges of Pallass. Dead gods.”

“Is that really what they look like? That city—this is Pallass?”

Erin looked around proudly. The Drakes and Gnolls fighting for a view were awed. She wondered how many of them had seen Pallass. And if they had—how long ago had it been? She nodded.

“That’s right! This is Pallass! And those forges belong to the best [Smiths]. And one of them is right there. Maughin! We’re here!”

Erin waved excitedly to someone in the door. The view tilted, and someone else came into view. The crowd pushed back and Erin waved excitedly.

“Maughin! It’s me! And I brought the door.”

“You brought—”

A huge Dullahan appeared in front of the door. The crowd oohed as Maughin, sweaty, his armor slightly sooty, stepped into view. And next to him was a smaller Gnoll, covered in an apron, holding a hammer. Raekea the [Armorer] stared back through the door at a sea of faces. She looked to one side as Relc, dusting his claws, stepped into view. He grinned at Erin.

“Made it! And there’s an entire crowd of people following us!”

“Oh really? I wonder why.”

Erin innocently blinked at Relc. She heard a rugged laugh from Grimalkin. The [Mage] had good-naturedly agreed to her request and helped her send Raekea and Maughin through first. Now he cracked his neck and glanced through the door.

“Quite a crowd.”

“Only a hundred people or so. Lyonette won’t let more in just yet. They’re all looking through the windows outside. Hey! Selys is here too.”

Erin reached into the crowd and pulled out her friend. Selys waved at Maughin and Raekea. The Gnoll looked around. She ran a paw through her fur.

“I can’t believe I’m here. I just walked through the door and—”

She glanced up at Maughin. The Dullahan laid a hand on her shoulder gravely.

“You do get used to it.”

Raekea looked awed in the face of Maughin’s forge, the rows of roaring furnaces. She gestured around Maughin’s forge, stepping back as the crowd in Liscor jostled for view. Erin saw some people from Pallass peeking into frame and shouts from Kel, warning them to keep back from the forge. Raekea ignored them both. She was gesturing at Maughin’s personal studio.

“My forge has half of your capacity at best. I’d heard that Pallass manufactured a good portion of Izril’s steel. But to see it in action—”

“I’m sure Liscor is well-served by your work as well, Master Raekea.”

The Dullahan [Armorer] smiled warmly at Raekea. A blush appeared on the Gnoll’s cheeks and she shook her head. She looked around and both Erin and Selys saw her catch her breath. Selys stared through the door silently as well. Erin nudged her.

“Well, what do you think? I told you Pallass is awesome! But you never wanted to go.”

“It is amazing, Erin. It’s—”

Selys struggled for words. She had watched the door pass near the edge of the eighth floor, stared down into the heart of Pallass. And she had seen the smooth streets, the beautiful sky, the magical lifts in the distance. She couldn’t put it into words.

“It’s—”

And there it was again. A moment of—hesitation from Liscor’s side of the door. Just like what was written on Raekea’s face. Selys spotted it because she herself felt it in her chest. A sinking sensation. If she had to give it a name, she’d call it a sense of inferiority. She’d known, of course, that Pallass was impressive. But it was one thing to see it in person.

A Walled City. A treasure of the Drakes. Real, in front of your eyes. And you looked at that and you compared it to the city you knew all your life. The city you thought was so grand and wonderful. And you found it was—

The silence among Liscor’s crowd reflected Selys’ feelings. Erin seemed to notice, because she nudged Selys, smiling gently. She stepped towards the door and peered at something Maughin was lifting up, checking with one practiced eye. And like that, the smiths of Pallass turned to her, and the [Innkeeper] of Liscor spoke and two cities danced on her words.

“Hey! Are those weights done? Amazing! How long did that take you? It looks exactly like what I said! Hey, Grimalkin, get over here!”

She pointed at the bar that Maughin was experimentally sliding an iron weight onto. The round ten pound weight was exactly like the ones from Erin’s world, albeit smoother, without any markings on it. The Dullahan turned back to Erin, shrugging.

“It was an easy thing to forge. You asked for a circle with a hole in the center and a long rod. The only trick is enough steel to forge-weld together. And my apprentices and I can do that in no time.”

“I wouldn’t even have enough crucible steel to make a bar this long.”

Raekea eyed the long weight bar in Maughin’s hand, solid and long. The Dullahan ducked his head slightly, and Erin noticed his eyes on Raekea.

“Ah. This is the product of Pallass’ forges. We do have the advantage of massive furnaces. The heat and capacity, especially with enchanted forges is unparalleled. I could give you a tour later if you would like. It would be my pleasure.”

“I would love to see them. It is an honor, Master Maughin, truly.”

“The pleasure is mine, Raekea. If I may use your name?”

The Dullahan glanced sideways at the Gnoll. Erin bit her lip. Uh oh. She leaned through the doorway. When Raekea turned to look at one of the smaller forges, she whispered up at him.

“Psst. Maughin. Raekea’s married.”

Maughin’s face fell. Erin patted him on the leg.

“Sorry. I should have said that earlier. Grimalkin! How’s the bar?”

“Let me see. I’ve got these two weights on. And if the bar’s, what, fifty pounds? This is sixty, seventy. And how do I do it?”

“Use a bench! Lie on your back, feet on the ground, press up—”

Erin watched as Grimalkin found a pair of stools and dragged them over. He pressed his back flat against the first stool and put his butt on the second. Lying flat in the air, he took the weight bar as Relc handed it to him. Grimalkin lowered it to his chest, pressed up experimentally, and grunted.

“Light.”

“Well, let’s get more weights and put them on!”

Relc energetically loaded one side of Grimalkin’s bar with four more of the round weights. Erin winced.

“Don’t do it like that! It’s unbalanced! And it’s slipping off, look!”

“Oops. How do you stop that?”

“You need a cap. Something to stop them from sliding too far in one direction. Shouldn’t be hard.”

That came from Bealt. The [Farrier] watched with fascination as Grimalkin tried to do a bench press with five times as much weight on one end. He shook his head.

“Let me go to my forge and knock one out. It’ll just be a tight little ring—”

“I can do it! My forge is hot and I’ve got some iron!”

One of the other [Smiths] called out. The Drake set a bar stock into forge fire. Half the [Smiths] on the ninth floor were gathered around the door and Grimalkin, and more were drifting over each second. Erin laughed in delight as Bealt grabbed a horseshoe stock from his forge and began folding a second cap into place.

“Awesome! You know, it also has a stand. Two little holders that hold the bar. That way, if it’s too heavy, you can have someone lift it into place and hold it.”

“I get it. And we challenge ourselves. This—this will definitely exercise my chest muscles. But I wonder, can I lift it other ways? Swordsmen swing weighted lead-filled blades around. Maybe I could do the same?”

Grimalkin swung the weights bar carelessly with one hand. Erin reflexively ducked with half the [Smiths] nearby. She shouted through the doorway.

“Don’t do that! Just do a uh, deadlift! Or a squat? Here’s I’ll show you! Take those weights off!”

She hopped through the door. Instantly, it went dark. A roar of protest went up from both Liscor and Pallass’ side. Grimalkin strode over to the door and laid a claw on it.

“Hup!”

He barked and the door flickered to life. The [Mage] grimaced and flexed one wrist.

“Mana-hungry, isn’t it?”

“I’m trying to fix that. Anyways. Here. Give me that. Wow. This is heavy.”

“It’s only fifty pounds. Weak. Weak!”

Relc stopped when Erin turned to glare at him. He and Grimalkin watched as Erin demonstrated a squat as best she knew how. Then a lunge, deadlift, and shoulder press. None of this was actually stuff Erin had done herself; until she’d gotten [Lesser Strength] she doubted she would have been able to lift the weight bar nearly as smoothly as she was doing now. But the exercises impressed her audience no end. Maughin stopped dejectedly showing Raekea around his furnace to watch.

“That’s an interesting routine. So these weights and this bar. It’s for people trying to exercise?”

“Yup. Build muscle and all that. I don’t know how popular it is—lots of people did it back at home. I never saw the point.”

“Never saw the point? This has to be far more efficient than most of the exercises we do. Sparring and practicing strikes is good for muscle, but this? This is perfect.”

Grimalkin looked like he was in love. He tried a squat, and then a lunge. Erin noticed his form was already perfect. Relc’s when he tried it was abysmal. The Drake laughed and swung the weight bar casually like a spear.

“This is so great. Hey! Can you guys make like a fifty-pound weight. Eight of them? I bet you I can lift four hundred pounds. And I bet Klb can’t.”

“Let me try. Think this will sell?”

One of the Drake [Blacksmiths] looked interested. So did the rest of Pallass’ smiths. They could smell business. Relc nodded.

“I’ll use it. Hey, how much does one of these cost?”

“A lot. We used good steel for the bar. Maybe we can get away with iron, but that much raw metal is going to cost, especially if we don’t want it to break.”

Maughin frowned, looking at his fellows. They nodded, and one of them got out a bit of parchment to scribble on. Relc sighed.

“Damn. Really?”

“And unless it has a purpose—what’s the point?”

“Well, there are barbells too. Smaller weights for the hands? You have stuff like that?”

Erin looked at the Drakes and Gnolls. They shook their heads, frowning. Bealt tapped one foot on the ground.

“I see the point that it builds muscle. But what’s the use for, say, a [Smith]? You’ll get all you need from swinging a hammer. Not much use for us, unless you do it for fun. Which I’ll grant you, it does look like a bit. Competitions and whatnot. But outside of that?”

He looked at Erin. She shrugged helplessly. Grimalkin made a disgusted sound.

“You don’t see the point? I do. And I guarantee you, when I recommend this to the Assembly of Crafts and Pallass’ [Generals], we will have at least a hundred orders of these for you within the week!”

Astonished, the crowd looked his way. Grimalkin looked around, drawing himself up. His robes strained to keep up with his frame.

“You don’t see the point? Dead gods! This is perfect for [Soldiers] and adventurers! Smaller weights, like these barbell things that Miss Solstice mentioned. Large ones. Benches like this to exercise—it’s the perfect way to train without sparring or hurting yourself. Someone can use one of these casually in the Adventurer’s Guild and work out a specific set of muscles! You want more arm muscle? You lift it like this. You want chest muscle? You do those bench presses. Erin! Is there a weight for your abdomen? Because I will pay you gold for a set of instructions on this.”

He turned to Erin. The [Smiths] excitedly murmured and several began drafting variants of the weight bar on their sheaves of parchment. Relc grunted as he piled every available weight onto the bar and lifted it up.

“Yeah. Where has this been all my life? Lift! Hah! Lift!”

He began doing shoulder-presses. Erin watched, laughing.

“Don’t hurt yourself! Seriously. You can hurt yourself bad doing that the wrong way, Grimalkin.”

“Better than [Soldiers] training with each other and putting out each other’s eyes or breaking bones.”

Grimalkin watched approvingly as Relc effortlessly completed a set and then handed it to Bealt. The Gnoll staggered and nearly fell under the weight. Erin grinned. This was not part of the plan. Right until it had been. But she was already improvising. And speaking of which—a flicker from the kitchen made her turn and look back at her inn. Lyonette waved at Erin and Erin nodded. The [Princess] came forwards with a tray. Erin took it, and beaming, turned to the [Smiths].

“Hey!”

They looked up from their deliberations. Erin walked back into the inn, lifted the tray, and the bowl of white stuff that was already melting from the heat of the distant forges. She looked around.

“You look really sweaty. All of you. Want a towel? Some water? How about some ice cream?”

Relc could have teleported to the door he was that fast. The smiths looked blank. Maughin walked over, mopping sweat from his brow.

“Refreshment would be welcome. But what is that? Ice? Cream?”

“Ice cream. It’s a delicacy up north, I guess. I dunno. I just make it. Hey Lyonette! Can we get eleven—no, thirty two bowls? And more vanilla ice cream! Vanilla’s special the first time you have it. Nevermore after that.”

She lifted up the bowl and took the first bowl she was handed. Relc reached for it through the door—Erin slapped his claw down.

“Here, Maughin. Try it!”

The Dullahan reached through the door. Erin wasn’t sure if that was taxing the door, but he took the bowl without it fizzling out and dipped his spoon into the cold bowl. His eyes widened as he lifted it up and sniffed it.

“I do know this. The pudding-gelatin that comes from Terandria. Lasica was attempting to obtain some for the bar, but she couldn’t. And you have it. Here?”

He looked at Erin. She smiled innocently.

“I happen to know how to make it. And if Tails and Scales wants some, I’m happy to give them the recipe.”

At the name of Pallass’ famous bar, more smiths abandoned the weight bar and came over. As did some other Drakes and Gnolls in the crowd who’d been watching. Erin passed bowls of ice cream through the door and watched them disappear in moments. Bealt, his fur matted with sweat, took one bite of ice cream and his eyes went round.

“Sweet! Oh, this is delicious! What is it?”

“Milk. Cream. And sugar. And stuff! It’s frozen, so watch out you don’t get brain freeze if you eat it fast. Grimalkin, a bowl?”

The [Mage] took one and eyed the ice cream dubiously. He bit into it and his expression changed to one of disgust.

“Is this pure sugar?”

“…Maybe?”

“I can’t. It’s not for me. I had enough sugar trying nali-sticks from Baleros, thanks.”

The Muscle [Mage] shuddered and shook his head. Relc licked his lips; his bowl of ice cream was already licked clean.

“Grimalkin, pal, if you don’t want it, I’ll take it off your claws.”

“I miss nali-sticks.”

Maughin quietly ate from his bowl. He closed his eyes, savoring the taste. Behind him, the [Smiths] were exclaiming over the ice cream and their apprentices, lured by the free food, started forming a line. Erin poked her head through the door and saw a crowd standing to the left. Someone called out.

“What’re you eating, Bealt?”

“Something delicious! Iced cream!”

The Gnoll shouted back, waving his empty bowl. He handed it back to Erin, his tail wagging hopefully.

“Are there seconds by any chance? I’ll pay for more.”

Erin looked back through the door. Lyonette was being mobbed as she tried to get more ice cream to Erin. Liscor’s residents knew ice cream as well.

“I’ll try and get you some. But I think it’s too hot here; we’re melting my stock! Hey Relc, Grimalkin! Can you drag the door back to the eighth floor?”

“You’re leaving?”

Maughin looked disappointed. So did the rests of the [Smiths]. They crowded around the door, waving diagrams and asking questions. Erin laughed and raised her hands.

“I don’t want to disrupt the smiths, so why don’t we drag it back to its spot? And anyone who wants to follow us…hey Maughin, have you ever tried cake?”

“Cake?”

Maughin frowned as Relc and Grimalkin bent for the door. They decided to pull instead of carry it. The Dullahan looked down at Erin and realized she was moving backwards. The door was slowly disappearing. Maughin walked after it, bowl in hand. He stared at Erin as she stood in the retreating doorway, blinking at her.

“I’ve had cakes before. But is yours somehow different?”

“Yup! I’ve got a secret recipe. Well, I have baking soda. So my cakes are very fluffy. And sugary! Sorry, Grimalkin. And frosted. Vanilla again—I can’t find chocolate. But I made a great lime frosting the other day.”

“Frosting? Er…this ice cream is very good. Very, very good. Sweet. But it is freezing my teeth.”

Maughin trotted after Erin. And behind him Bealt perked up his ears and promptly abandoned his forge. Erin watched a dozen other [Smiths] follow suit. Raekea was still investigating the forges. Erin hoped she’d find her way back. She turned to Ishkr, who’d popped up with more ice cream in a bowl.

“I can get you a drink. This is an inn. On the move! Blue fruit juice? Milk? Just water?”

“Blue fruit juice, please!”

“Drag the door first, Relc.”

“Blue fruit juice? Ah—a glass of water would be most welcome—”

Maughin nearly tripped on the first of the stairs. He called down after Erin as the door descended. She waved at him brightly.

“I’ll see you back in the usual spot! Oh, bring the bowls too! And come on through when you do. I want you to try pizza!”

“Pizza? What’s that?”

Maughin called out desperately, slowly trying to follow Erin down the stairs. The [Innkeeper] waved. The Dullahan took another step and then realized a crowd was rushing down the stairs in front of him. Pallass’ citizens followed, reaching for the bowls of ice cream Erin passed through the door, asking questions much like Maughin. The Dullahan watched as Erin’s magical door retreated, and the flood of Pallassians followed. He blinked at the dregs of ice cream in his bowl. And then he looked at the door.

“Was this all part of the plan?”

His only reply was Erin’s laughter. The Dullahan turned and looked back at his forge. At Raekea, the weight bar and Grimalkin doing a clean and press. He sighed and shook his head and despite the day, the promise of more sugar and business and the wonders of Erin’s inn, he sagged. The Dullahan kicked at a pebble on the ground disconsolately.

“They’re always married.”

6.32

The Walled City of Salazsar was silent at dawn. Silent, and cold. Frost touched the roofs and stone walkways near the top of the city. Even in the spring, it was so; the braziers that were always tended to with great attention were mundane, not magic for that very reason. They kept the frost from becoming treacherous sheets of black ice that might cause a fatal fall.

Perhaps it was a luxury. And indeed, the ever-burning flames that warmed Salazsar only provided their warmth to the highest floors of the city. The peaks, where, appropriately, only the richest denizens of Salazsar could afford to live. But it was hardly a small place. For Salazsar was the second-largest of the Walled Cities. Where Pallass was a fortress, and had been constructed to fend off attackers from any conceivable direction or even altitude, Salazsar was different.

The canny [Architects] who had laid plans and designs in countless years past had not trusted to the mere might of walls to protect the city. So they had trusted to something far older, stronger.

They had built Salazsar into the side of a mountain. There it sat, a mountain-fortress, like the capital of Hellios, or the few other famous cities which had chosen to use geography to their advantage. The home of the Dwarves in Terandria was one such location. But, tellingly, the Drakes of Izril were not content to make their homes subterranean. Salazsar was part of the mountain, yes, but it was built of it. As the mountain had vanished, stone by stone, Salazsar had emerged. The city was the mountain and when the mountain died, Salazsar would finally be complete.

That was the conceit of the city. And it was all conceit. As a lonely Drake made his way from the highest towers and down across crisscrossing bridges in the sky, he reflected that each Walled City was defined by more than just its economic strength. Each city had personality. If Pallass was the City of Innovation, with its limitless capacity for change and burning desire to improve—in politics, in industry, to change and adapt—then its counterpart might well be said to be Salazsar.

For tradition held the city. Tradition—the lineage of Wall Lords and Wall Ladies that had not been rendered obsolete by democracy as in Pallass. A profession—mining, gem cutting, and the wealth and contempt, the arrogance such that even other Drakes pointed to Salazsar as a hallmark of pride. And was that truly a fault? Or had the Walled City transformed a defect into a glowing gem, a city beyond all other Drake cities to aspire to? He knew what he believed. But then, he was a son of Salazsar. The City of Gems.

And it glowed in the light. The towers shone, their stained glass and gemstone windows illuminating the city below with wondrous light from above. The city was a marvel of stonework, of craft, if not engineering like Pallass. No ugly elevators marred its walkways, and indeed, the ramps and stairwells down were sometimes inconvenient to climb. Simply travelling from the top of Salazsar to the bottom would exhaust the lesser-abled. Let alone the reverse. But each section of the city could sustain you; you hardly had to walk far to find amenities at hand or claw or paw. Assuming you were in the correct section. Because of course, the higher you went, the richer everything was.

Statues passed the Drake by as he walked. Wall Lords captured in exquisite detail, stone busts gravely looking towards oblivion, even entire scenes carved out of stone and given color by gem or paint—or sometimes left bare, starkly reminding the viewer that the past could only be caught in mere stone for moments. And the windows danced their colors upon these pieces of art as well.

It was indeed art that shaped the highest levels of Salazsar, from tower to tower. And why not? The bottom of the city, the width of the city set against the base of the mountain was made of ancient walls. Already they were three hundred feet high; anything above that was impossible to strike at. Even a trebuchet would struggle to even graze the tallest of the towers. And Salazsar’s protections were such that no army had even taken the battle to those vaunted heights. Salazsar had fallen before, to treachery and even plague, but not to armies with sheer, destructive might. As the Drake peered over a railing he supposed that nothing could threaten Salazsar’s elite by air. Not even an entire migration of Wyverns, surely. But Dragons?

Perhaps Dragons. Yet, the ancestors of Drakes had long since passed from the earth. Perhaps all, or perhaps some remained. But they were not a threat as they had been in days of yore. So the Drake walked further down, descending into the main part of the city.

Salazsar was a vertical place. Unlike Pallass which had floors, Salazsar had towers, connected by walkways. Each one was huge, as large as any castle or citadel around the base and narrowing as they rose. Fingers rising to the sky, perhaps. And the Drake descended one of these towers, noting how the elegance shifted, became less pronounced. The statues and reliefs certainly grew sparser in number.

And yet, the majesty of the city never disappeared no matter how low you went. No dingy halls, or low-cut, rough ceilings for the Walled City’s folk, though. Ilvriss looked up at the ceiling, a product of masterful architecture. Yes, each generation of Salazsar built upon the city, trying to outdo itself. You could capture the construction techniques across a thousand years if you went for a stroll.

It was to the tower closest to the mountain—overshadowed by the retreating rock face that Ilvriss had journeyed today. The newest tower, being built upwards, was of a classic design. All sleek rock, smooth edges, minimalistic in the nods to, say, gargoyles or other protrusions. Ilvriss was mixed on how he felt about it. Still, it was his base of operations. And he was proud; it had been constructed in his generation. And when he died, it would be there. Standing as a memento to all those who had helped raise it.

That was the pride of this Walled city, beyond all the others. Salazsar grew. It absorbed the mountain into itself. From the stones, the city was built. From the earth, its treasures excavated. Because Salazsar sat on a mother lode of gems. The largest, most comprehensive and varied set of veins in the earth. From its mines you could find exports of diamonds, rubies, metals like silver, mithril, even adamantine—and rarer minerals still. That was what made Salazsar richest of the Walled Cities for thousands of years. A vein miles deep, seemingly without end.

Of course, one didn’t simply excavate all those treasures with sheer abandon. Ironically, the Drakes of Salazsar had learned first-hand how easy it was to render gold, gemstones, or any valuable commodity useless by having a glut of wealth stockpiled. So they carefully expended their trove of treasures, digging deeper with each passing year, keeping themselves rich, but not bankrupting themselves by excess.

And some day, yes, some day, the glorious treasures of the earth might run out. But by that point, the Walled City would be the mountain itself. And the keepers of this great city had laid vast stockpiles of wealth against such a time.

It was said that Salazsar’s streets ran with gold and gemstones. Which was a blatant lie; anyone who saw, say, a citrine gemstone lying on the ground would snap it up in a second. Who left money lying around? And Salazsar had its lower classes, Ilvriss was all too aware. It was not perfect. But it was richer than any other Walled City.

And its Walled Lords were richest of all. A match for the wealthiest of the Humans in the north, like the conceited Magnolia Reinhart. But they did things better in Salazsar, of course. Ilvriss walked up the newer tower and pushed open a door set into the stone. Instantly, the cold, even chill air of altitude vanished. And he walked into pomp. Possibly circumstance.

The interior of the latest tower was adorned in rich carpeting. Wood built into the stone made Ilvriss feel as if he were suddenly enveloped in warmth; the fire burning in the entryway certainly did that. He luxuriated in the warmth after his cold walk for a moment, then briskly strode towards the next door.

It opened into a large staircase, which branched off into smaller rooms. This high up of course, each room was meant for only a few occupants. But further down, as the spiraling staircase widened, you could reach entire mess halls, complexes of apartments, indoor courts for exercise—Ilvriss walked up instead of down. Not much further to go now.

Few people were up. Those who did see Ilvriss, sweeping along in his rich, dark clothing—silk, thank you, pleasant on the scales despite the cold of outside—bowed or nodded to him as was their wont. None exchanged words; they were all busy—until a young voice called out.

“Wall Lord! Wall Lord!”

Ilvriss turned his head. He saw a Drake child, scales as yellow as a flower’s, waving at him excitedly. He was tugging on the dress of a set-upon Drake, a [Tutor] perhaps, who was urging him into a doorway. The young Drake was dressed well; of course, he wouldn’t belong to this area if he wasn’t rich. Ilvriss strolled towards him, smiling.

“Young Felidel. Good morning to you.”

“You too! Wall Lord sir. They said you were back in the city! Did you kill lots of Goblins? They said you fought with General Shivertail himself. Before he died.”

Ilvriss’ smile slipped a bit. The Drake [Tutor] curtsied, her cheeks red.

“Apologies, Wall Lord. I’m to teach Felidel’s class, but he insisted on waiting for you.”

“Not at all, Miss…?”

“Hessa, Wall Lord.”

“Miss Hessa. And Felidel, I’m gratified to see you. You’ve grown since our last chat, but we mustn’t inconvenience our fellow citizens, correct?”

The Drake child shuffled his feet.

“But—”

He looked up and caught Ilvriss’ smile. The Wall Lord nodded to Felidel.

“I have been gone a substantial time. I would have worried, but I’m sure you’ve protected our city while I’ve been gone?”

The Drake’s face lit up.

“I have, Wall Lord Ilvriss!”

“I expected no less. And I trust you’ll learn your lessons and grow into a Drake who can serve Salazsar well. Miss Hessa, I leave Felidel in your claws.”

Ilvriss straightened. He held out a claw and Felidel shook it solemnly. The Wall Lord smiled. He nodded to the two Drakes, and then he was gone. There went Ilvriss. Purple-scaled, unaccountably handsome, regal even, one of the most respected Wall Lords in the city. A terror to Salazsar’s enemies, a champion of all Drakes.

Bereaved. Periss was dead. And few, too few knew or cared of her passing. Ilvriss walked slowly up the steps to a room near the top of the tower. There he paused, checked his clothing, and entered.

A Gnoll was waiting for Ilvriss, bending over a desk with a younger Drake and consulting a sheaf of papers. They had been sent up by a pulley and dumbwaiter; the Gnoll expertly rifled through them as the [Secretary] sent a reply written on neat, clean paper. The Gnoll, dressed in clothing almost as impeccable as Ilvriss, noticed the Wall Lord and turned. Ilvriss nodded to him.

“Alrric.”

“Wall Lord.”

Alrric nodded his head deferentially, but with only a touch of it. He was wearing a suit, a proper, tailored dress to Gnoll specifications, loose enough for movement and tailored to their form; not some ill-fitting suit. And he fit the part, despite suits being a Human conceit. His fur was short-cut, neatly trimmed and combed unlike the vast majority of Gnolls. It shone with a faint oil, and Alaric himself cut a dignified figure. Except for the black eye. Ilvriss eyed it as the [Secretary] bowed his head.

“I see the day has more than one surprise for me. Good morning, Josial. I’ll take the morning’s reports in my office. Alrric, if you’d care to join me?”

The Gnoll nodded. He pushed open the double doors and Ilvriss stepped through. Down one short corridor with a branching intersection; this series of rooms wasn’t much. It was just big enough to contain what Ilvriss and Alrric considered essential staff for the management of his estates; it was all reports and managing up here. Ilvriss strode down the hall to the next set of double doors and into his office.

You could spend time describing what Ilvriss kept in his office, but that mainly became a description of endless binders and bookshelves of paperwork. Ilvriss kept his office bare of most interesting things, preferring that to his personal rooms. His office was to work, and so his tools of the trade were sealing wax, ink, quills, magnifying glass, spectacles, geological maps, an abacus, and oh yes, a small bell.

And paperwork. A folder was already there, waiting to be perused. Ilvriss sat down with a sigh. Then he glanced up at Alrric. The Gnoll stood patiently with paws folded behind his back.

“A recent injury, Alrric? Or trophy?”

“I gained this last night. I thought I’d keep it for a day or two to remind everyone what it was for, Wall Lord.”

“Ah. I see. The regular dispute, then?”

Alrric smiled thinly.

“A few upset Gnolls I encountered while relaxing at a bar. They took issue with my appearance. I needn’t tell you what’s said.”

“Enlighten me?”

The Gnoll shrugged his shoulders.

“They call me a City Gnoll, sir. But worse, a pet. I’d use specific language, but I’m afraid I didn’t hear much after I took objection to their objection.”

“And then you challenged them to—what? Fisticuffs?”

Ilvriss smiled. Alrric grinned at the joke.

“I would not use that word to describe it, but something like that, yes. You know, they think I’m your [Butler], Ilvriss.”

The Wall Lord sat back in his chair. He tapped his claws together, eying Alrric. He shook his head dismissively.

“A common misconception they get from watching Humans. Did you explain to them the difference between your job and a Human’s before you took them to pieces?”

“I may have omitted that part.”

The Drake’s expression was wry.

“Perhaps it bears repeating for those who don’t know your class. I can see why they might object, though. Very few Drakes would suffer to be a permanent servant. And Gnolls likewise, Alrric. Could you do what the Humans do? Dress me each morning with your paws? Help me adjust the fit of my clothing? Powder my face?”

The Gnoll’s face said it all. Ilvriss imagined Alrric fussing over him each morning. Helping him bathe. The two shuddered as one.

“Humans. I can dress myself.”

“And I have my dignity, your Ancestors be praised. Will you review your holdings? We hit a vein of beryl the other day. Aquamarine, more’s the pity, but perhaps there’s some variation.”

Alrric gestured to the documents, and Ilvriss supposed the matter of the black eye was dropped. Gnolls did police themselves and if it wasn’t an incident Alrric was willing to speak on, he could handle it himself. He nodded absently, paging through the document.

“Don’t send word I’ll be along; call it a surprise inspection. Hm. Are the reports…?”

“Left side of the desk. You also have a guest waiting on your pleasure.”

The Wall Lord signed with gratitude and pulled the papers over.

“Ah, efficiency. I have missed it. In that case, I’ll review, touch bases with you on the holdings that have been underperforming in my absence—I think my Skills should improve efficiency just by my return, but we can review the [Manager]’s performances. And…did you say I had a guest?”

“Wall Lord Brilm. He’s waiting in the guest room. Not for long; I will send him in directly. It’s good to have you back, Ilvriss.”

“My pleasure, Alrric. I couldn’t leave my affairs out of place for too much longer either. I know you had it well in paw. Even so—it’s good to be home.”

The Gnoll smiled. He went for the door and opened it smartly. Ilvriss sighed. It was good. Managing his investments in his city, seeing to staff, enjoying his home—it had been too long. First a pointless campaign against an alliance of cities and fighting with Zel Shivertail in a bloody conflict, running up against the Goblin Lord, tracking down Ryoka Griffon in Liscor and staying there for—Ancestors, months—before returning home. It truly felt like years. Ilvriss was inspecting the first report in his pile when the door opened. Another Drake, pinkish-beige of scale and somewhat heavier than Ilvriss, but the same age, thrust his way into the room.

“Anyone home? Ilvriss!”

He spread his claws. Ilvriss got up. He walked out behind his desk and the two clasped claws.

“Brilm. A pleasure. To what do I owe this?”

The heavier Drake chuckled. To call him heavier really was mean; he wasn’t exactly overweight, just with a bit of extra flesh. And he cut a very dashing figure in his red-and-orange conflagration he called an outfit. Brilm was as energetic as Ilvriss reserved. He paced to Ilvriss’ desk and hurled himself into the chair.

“Visiting my friend after he’s been back for less than a week isn’t an occasion in itself? Ancestors, Ilvriss, but you haven’t called and I’ve been remiss. Can’t you take a break from all this for a day or two and savor being back? You’ve been on the road for ages! This must be the height of luxury compared to what you went through.”

“It was hardly me camping out with a handkerchief held over my head. I had my command.”

“True. But it can’t have been easy. And after losing Periss, your best subordinate—ah, I’m sorry.”

Ilvriss’ face froze for a second as he sat down. He cleared his throat.

“Thank you. I’ve spoken to her family, but it’s…a blow. Yes. I regret it.”

“Damn Zel and his army. We might have been at odds with his city, but he cut apart our army. No love for fellow Drakes, is there? No wonder he threw us over for the Humans at the end.”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“No? Tell me what it was like. Ah—never mind. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t speak ill of a war hero. And you were in the same spot as him, weren’t you? Tell me when I’m in a better mood.”

Ilvriss glanced up at Brilm’s sour face.

“Problem?”

“Only your Gnoll, Alrric. He showed me in without so much as an ounce of courtesy. Used my name and everything. I can’t fathom why you keep him around—it was hard enough dealing with him when you were gone. I know he’s efficient, but dead gods, there are limits to value, Ilvriss!”

The Wall Lord sighed. Suddenly, he remembered all the little issues that came with being home. Such as squabbles like this. He carefully avoided looking at his old childhood friend.

“He’s a busy fellow, Brilm. An [Administrator] cannot be expected to genuflect at every moment to a Wall Lord, can he? Let alone my [Gemstone Administrator] and executive director in command of all my affairs.”

The other Drake made a disgusted sound as he picked up Ilvriss’ monocle and stared through it.

“One step below a Wall Lord and you choose a Gnoll for your second-in-command. I’m not questioning you, Ilvriss. I just think it’s odd.”

Ilvriss leaned back in his chair, frowning.

“Really? Do you want to know how to light a fire under the tails of your Gnoll workers and have them try to outperform their Drake counterparts without actually lighting a fire, Brilm?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Make a Gnoll your top [Administrator]. And give anyone who works for the opportunity a chance to advance. I have six Gnoll [Head Miners] on my staff, each of them the best I could ask for. They came to me because they knew I’d give them the positions they earned. You might consider it yourself.”

“I employ many Gnolls.”

Brilm waved a claw, looking mildly offended. Ilvriss corrected the edge of his papers against the desk.

“How many working in your offices?”

Wall Lords controlled holdings, particular mining areas, or just enough wealth to finance the various sectors that kept Salazsar alive. They were, in truth, the hearts of the city. From their businesses, smaller shops, operations, and so forth flourished. And so each employed individual owed their allegiance to one particular Wall Lord. One…house of Salazsar. That was how the city operated, with efficiency unlike a democracy like Pallass. A Wall Lord had to actively manage his affairs or hire someone to do the job competently.

Brilm ignored the question. He eyed the reports Ilvriss was holding and abruptly changed the subject.

“Heard about the mining crew down on the old Creler-nest shaft? I hear they declined an offer to work for Wall Lady Tielma. Are you going to snap them up? I’ll make them an offer, but if you want another crew as good as they are—”

“I did make them an offer already.”

“Damn. How much? Mind trading me a [Foreman] or two?”

“I’m afraid you misunderstand. I was rejected. Flat out. I fear this team might try to finance themselves and work independent of any support. We might be seeing the growth of an independent mining operation soon, Brilm. Doesn’t that worry you?”

Brilm laughed incredulously.

“And how would they finance all their supplies? Tools? Guards against monsters? I hear rumblings like that every few years, Ilvriss. It’s nothing to worry about. To succeed in Salazsar you need a vast amount of wealth.”

“Or to strike a lucky vein.”

“True…”

The two fell silent. Mining was more expensive than a lot of people thought. Even if you dug up a lot of riches, processing and selling your goods was work. Protecting yourself against monsters who loved magical stones was a huge risk. And feeding miners, making sure they were well-equipped, defending against [Thieves] or the unscrupulous who might raid a mining site…it was why the Wall Lords were the founts of all industry. But Ilvriss had read of Drakes and Gnolls who’d created their own magnates from nothing in Salazsar’s history. He wasn’t as sanguine as Brilm.

“We’ll talk it over if it’s a problem later. At a dinner party. Mine this time. I’ll have my [Chef] put out a proper spread. Something to make you forget about any privations you may have had.”

The Drake smiled warmly. Ilvriss smiled as well, but he shook his head.

“It was hardly as arduous as you might think, Brilm. I was at Liscor when I wasn’t on campaign, and it’s no Salazsar, true, or even a Manus. But it has its strengths. For all its rustic qualities, I found myself enamored with the—the spirit of Liscor’s inhabitants. And there were a number of interesting diversions, for all it was trying at times.”

“Really? You’re saying this? Ilvriss? Ancestors, you have changed! I thought I’d hear nothing but a litany of complaints from you! I was prepared to hear you out and everything—I even brought a gift to cheer you up! I thought you didn’t tell us all about the horrid food and disgusting customs—not to mention the Antinium—because you were trying to spare us at your dinner party! Which was a hit, I might add!”

Brilm slapped the table. His rings struck the wood and he adjusted one absently as he spoke. Ilvriss smiled.

“I wouldn’t let polite company hold me back from my real objections. But you enjoyed the dinner party?”

Brilm blew a kiss with his claws into the air.

“Magnificent. New dishes, fascinating conversation, tales of a Goblin Lord’s defeat, Antinium to worry over, even you pulling out a Pallassian [Captain] into your service out of nowhere—brilliant stuff! And that—that condiment you served with those potato wedges! Wonderful stuff. What did you call it?”

“Mayonnaise. A Human invention, but my [Chef] managed to make it quite palatable. I only regret that I couldn’t bring back more souvenirs of the journey. Some of the things I encountered were quite valuable.”

“Ah. Yes. The magical door.”

Brilm nodded seriously. He looked at Ilvriss and shook his head.

“That’s a treasure. We could use it. Not least to transport our miners from the lower veins to the surface! Or facilitate trade; a shame you couldn’t steal it. But I suppose with those damned Pallass fools trying to obstruct your travel back home, it was hard enough getting back. Congratulations on giving them the slip by the way; we were leaning as hard as we could on them to let you through, but they weren’t budging. I was worried they’d sent their people after you.”

“I prepared for that. And the magic door did assist me in my escape.”

“It did? All the more reason to make a bid for it. But—later, later. And speaking of trinkets, I brought this to cheer you up. I might as well show you ahead of my dinner party; have look at this.”

So saying, Brilm put a small object on the table. Ilvriss eyed it. It was…a gemstone. Quartz; common, fairly worthless until he noticed the shimmer of pink inside the cut crystal. Then he identified it.

“Hm. Pure quartz. Clearly holding a spell. Not a powerful one, though. Some kind of single-use spell? A charm?”

“Charm? Do I look like I use charms? Please, Ilvriss. Give me some credit. No, this is a recording. Listen. It’s a song.”

So saying, Brilm rubbed the quartz and spoke a word. Ilvriss heard a garbled sound, and then a blast of beating drums and a loud, Human’s voice. She was singing—well, shouting something out of the stone. He covered his earholes reflexively.

“What is that racket?”

The sound cut off. Brilm looked offended.

“It’s music! Don’t scowl! Listen!”

“It’s horrendous is what it is. You call that music? Are you on some kind of drugs, Brilm?”

“You have no taste, Ilvriss.”

“I’ve listened to more forms of music than I can count, Brilm. And that is worse than Dullahan love songs. Or Garuda scream-songs.”

Ilvriss grimaced. Brilm glared at him and then, grumbling, reached into the bag of holding he’d pulled the first stone from.

“I should have known not everything would change. Picky, picky—okay, try this one.”

He pulled out another quartz, this one glowing faintly blue from within. Ilvriss ignored the color; that just told him the stone was slightly magical. He watched as Brilm whispered the activation message for the second stone. At once, a soft melody began playing. Ilvriss tried to place the instrument—and then he heard a voice.

It was the same voice as before. A female Human’s voice. Ilvriss braced for a cacophony, but the words that came out were slow, sonorous, spoken with a slow melancholy. And the song—

Brilm smirked as Ilvriss’ eyes widened. Then he looked at the quartz. And his own face softened, and his eyes closed. Ilvriss stared at the stone as the song played on. The music swelled, and horns and flutes accompanied the sad, slow song. But it wasn’t just pained. There was a triumph to it. A…passion that the female singer captured. And yet—the words could have been Ilvriss’ himself.

The female voice sang on, as soulful as if she were in the same room as the two Drakes. And the words spoke to Ilvriss, in a way few songs had before. Because this was no [Bard]’s melody, certainly no tavern song. And the instruments, the composition—Ilvriss was a studied connoisseur of music in many forms of art. But this was a new style to him. You could feel it in every line. And yet, the song was polished.

And when it ended, Ilvriss felt himself exhaling a breath he didn’t know he’d held. The last notes of the horns and stringed instruments faded out with the young woman’s voice, and Ilvriss stared at the crystal. It stopped playing music and he looked at Brilm. The Drake raised his brows silently.

“Hm. That’s…genuinely impressive. What’s the name of this song?”

“I believe it’s called My Way. Originally performed by…Frank Sinatra. I have no idea who that is. Look, it’s written here. But the song itself is being performed by the—the Queen of Pop.”

“Who?”

Brilm waved a claw.

“That’s what she calls herself. There’s no country called Pop—don’t bother looking for it. I already did. It’s a nickname. She’s known as the Baroness of the Beats. The Queen of Pop. The Siren of Songs. The [Singer] of Terandria.”

“All that for one Human?”

Ilvriss raised a skeptical eyebrow, but he was rattled despite himself. He looked back at the quartz. Brilm nodded.

“After listening to that song I’ll call her the Countess of Catchy Music. She’s growing in popularity. And these song-stones are hers. A [Merchant] brought some to me and I brought all three.”

“There are more?”

Ilvriss was interested. Brilm held his claw up, protecting his bag of holding.

“Not so fast! I have to show my guests something. You’ll like the last song. It’s good too. But I only have three of these crystals. They’re rare. Obviously; it’s a magical recording of a performance. I had to pay dearly for it. I gather it’s only really catching on around Terandria, where this Queen of Pop is based. But if she puts out more music like that—she’ll get my business.”

Ilvriss nodded absently. It might be good to look into. He eyed Brilm.

“You are a hawk for the newest trends, Human or not. You’re planning to back this Human financially, aren’t you?”

“You make your businesses prosper, Ilvriss. I respect that. I find new business and invest in it.”

The other Wall Lord studied his claws, looking pleased with himself. He gestured to the first crystal.

“Sure you don’t want to give the first song a try? I had the same reaction as you, but after a few more listens—I like it.”

“Have some taste.”

Ilvriss rolled his eyes good-naturedly as he reached for his reports. He skimmed through them as Brilm stowed the gemstones. And Ilvriss resolved to get a copy of the song if at all possible. It was why it was good to have Brilm as a close friend; if he invested in this [Singer], Ilvriss would be able to get any number of song-crystals from him.

It wasn’t a new concept, storing music in an artifact to be played later. Like the rat-catching flutes and so on. But storing it in a stone? That was somewhat novel. Could you record pictures in one? No—Ilvriss suspected that the quartz would lose the imprint of the music within a month. Even rocks forgot. He wondered if Brilm knew.

He was about to tell the Drake that when a report caught his eye. The [Secretary] had placed it near the top of the pile and Ilvriss saw why at once. Brilm looked up as Ilvriss laughed.

“Something catch your eye?”

“Ah. I don’t know if you know, but Liscor’s going through a democratic phase. They’re planning on having elections.”

“Hah. That is funny.”

Ilvriss shook his head.

“No. See here. One of the candidates, a Gnoll, is getting backed by the Antinium.”

“Less funny.”

Alarmed, Brilm sat up. He peered at the report.

“Hang on, this is a copy of a message. From that Olesm Swifttail my [Strategist] was ranting about the other day. Did you hear? He was apparently vouching for Goblins to be—”

“Brilm, just read.”

The Wall Lord fell silent for a second and skimmed Olesm’s introduction to his latest newsletter. Ilvriss laughed to himself as he read it upside down.

“You see? He’s apologizing. But—”

“The election in his city. I see. He’s warning us all. You know this Olesm Swifttail?”

Brilm slid the paper back, looking slightly respectful. Ilvriss nodded. He looked fondly at the letter, picturing Olesm in his mind.

“Clever lad. Bring up the Raskghar to make this an issue of security. And mix an apology with some astute commentary on the Antinium. Well done.”

“It’s more than astute. It’s essential! Dead gods, those idiots at Liscor—I knew they were touched to let Antinium build a Hive below their city, but they’ll let them expand their Hive? Allow more Antinium into the city? Madness! We have to back this Lism fellow.”

Brilm urgently flipped through the newsletter, his neck spines standing on end. Ilvriss frowned, reading another page himself.

“I see. It’s trickier than I thought. Gnolls vs Drakes. I can see why this Gnoll’s pushing for it. And at the same time, I’m certain that with young Swifttail at his back, this Lism could win any regular election. Especially given the campaign topic. But…”

He drummed his claws on the table. Brilm looked up. Ilvriss sighed. He thought of Liscor and wished he’d delayed his departure. If he’d known this would happen—but he had his own city to think of. Even so—he looked at Brilm.

“By all means, Salazsar will back such a proposal. Funding Liscor’s expansion and security is a matter the cities should be united upon. And I may, as a private individual, make a donation to young Swifttail’s cause. I imagine some of our peers might well do the same.”

The Drake pounded a fist on the table.

“Naturally! If it means keeping the Antinium from stealing more power, I’ll give that Drake a few hundred gold pieces myself. So long as it’s going to a good cause. Is that your worry? That this Olesm or Lism will pocket the gold?”

“Not at all. It’s simply that I don’t know if they’ll win.”

“What’s the problem? We fund Liscor’s expansion and the Antinium don’t have a leg to stand on. Surely Liscor’s citizens aren’t that far gone that they’d reject—”

“It’s not them. It’s her.”

“Who?”

Ilvriss stared out the window of his office. Gently, he traced his claws across the table and his claws went to one of his fingers. His…ring finger. And the groove of scales, slightly indented. Brilm looked down, noticing the gesture. And his eyes went round.

“Your ring—”

He grasped at a golden band on his own ring finger. Ilvriss looked up. He covered his hand discretely.

“It will find its way to me. And I gave it with purpose, Brilm.”

“You. Gave your ring. To who. Your future wife? Ancestors save me. Are you getting married?”

Ilvriss ignored the question. He looked thoughtfully at the report.

“Liscor is an interesting place, Brilm. You should visit it. And they need more security. More funding. And more space, by all means. All these things are pressing. But for donating to young Olesm’s campaign—I think I’ll wait. Until Liscor’s most dangerous Human makes her move.”

“Most dangerous Human. Liscor has Humans?”

“At least one. Erin Solstice. Say, Brilm, you wouldn’t happen to have more of those recorded songs, would you?”

The other Wall Lord smiled distractedly.

“I’ll put you on the list. But about this Human. What will she do? What can any Human do?”

“Well…”

—-

“Liscor! Meet Pallass!”

Erin spread her arms and shouted. Hundreds of faces stared up at her through the magical door. And from four hundred miles away, Liscor’s people stared into Pallass.

“Ancestors. Is this Pallass?”

Wonderingly, a Drake poked his head out of the door. He stared at the crowd gathered on the street near one of the four central staircases of Pallass’ city. Stout Dullahans in armor, bright-feathered Garuda flying up off the ground for a better look, Drakes in every color of scales, and Gnolls, their fur less colorful but shaded in patterns of grey, brown, dark red to blonde, black—but never white—staring and perking up their ears.

And beyond them? Pallass. City of Inventions. It might not have been Salazsar, but that did not mean it was any less of a wonder. The city lay below the staircase, floor upon floor of buildings, each floor the size of a smaller Drake city or larger, home to a hundred thousand souls. Pallass, a city of millions.

It was the first time Selys Shivertail had ever laid eyes on it. Really seen it, rather. She had been to Pallass before. But that had been when she’d been searching for information on the Heartflame Breastplate with Pisces. And he had almost trivialized the event. And Selys herself hadn’t taken it in. But now?

Grimalkin stood in an opening in the crowd, lifting a weights bar over his shoulders. He lifted the bar loaded with weights in a perfect shoulder press. Watching him was a giant of a Dullahan, a blacksmith. Maughin, the famed [Armorer] of Pallass. And a dozen other [Smiths] had descended from their ninth floor to join the crowd. They were debating weights as Grimalkin did another press. The [Mage] nodded in satisfaction and handed the bar off to a Drake nearly as burly. Relc.

“It’s too light for me. These weights you’ve added are ten pounds each, Maughin? Can you add something heftier?”

“Probably.”

The Dullahan frowned as he inspected the weights. He turned to Bealt, the Gnoll [Farrier].

“It shouldn’t be too hard to cast some iron weights. I can see twenty, even fifty pounds of iron going on this bar. It’s good steel.”

The Gnoll nodded.

“Not a problem. The only cost is in the actual iron—which is considerable. And while we can use weaker irons, the bar needs to be quality steel.”

“Exactly. But if Grimalkin’s correct and this is a business opportunity, the actual work is far simpler than, say, a breastplate. A single weight bar and rounded weights? We can do a sample set in a day.”

“Yeah! Give me three—no, four hundred pounds! Come on! I can take it!”

Relc roared happily as he did press ups with the bar. A pair of children, Garuda, and Gnoll, grabbed on to both ends as they descended. The weights bar wobbled, then Relc lifted it over his head to the delight of the shrieking children. He shouted, his muscles bulging.

“This is amazing! Lift! Lift! Hey, the rest of you runts grab on! I can—lift—it!”

He did another shoulder press as six more children latched onto the bar. The Drake had to work for the next shoulder press, but he managed it. His pectorals and biceps bulged and Grimalkin, watching, nodded approvingly.

“Simple. Safe. Efficient. So long as it’s done right. Maughin, forget the sample. I’ll take six sets. And here’s my gold deposit.”

He reached into his bag of holding and pulled out a handful of gold pieces and began counting them into the Dullahan’s hand. At that, the other [Smiths] crowded around, quoting prices.

“Hold on! I can do a weights bar for—eighteen gold pieces!”

“Eighteen? Hah! I’ll do it for fourteen!”

“You swindling—ignore him. I can do it for sixteen, pure steel, by evening! And I’ll throw in four of those weights.”

“The bar came from my forge! I’ll do a batch myself!”

Maughin elbowed the other [Smiths] back, shouting at them. Grimalkin looked around as Relc tried another shoulder press with eight kids handing on.

“Y-yeah! Yeah? No, wait, you’re too heavy! Let go! Let—”

And that was just the conversation with the [Smiths]. At the door, Erin stood as both crowds from Liscor and Pallass shouted questions at each other. The noise was chaotic at first, but after a few minutes, it began to resolve itself as they took turns shouting at each other.

“I saw this door! This was the one that the army went through! And where we saw those giant moths attacking the city! You can move it?”

A Gnoll demanded with an open-mouth, pointing at Erin’s inn through the door. He was one of the onlookers who’d noticed the door on Pallass’ side. On Liscor’s side, a veritable crowd of citizens, all poached from the election debate on the street, were staring back wonderingly. Erin laughed.

“Why not? It’s just a door! Hi! I’m Erin Solstice, [Innkeeper], and owner of The Wandering Inn! All of these people are from Liscor! Sorry—no entry—the door’ll run out of mana! But we can talk!”

“This is really Pallass?”

A Drake with pink-and-blue scales demanded on Liscor’s side, looking urgently at Erin. The young woman nodded, looking perplexed.

“Yup. It’s always been here. Did you hear?”

“I did. And I wanted to go through, maybe. Sometime. But—Ancestors. I’ve always dreamed of coming to a Walled City. But like this? I could just walk through and—”

She waved a claw at the door’s entrance and shuddered, looking pale. Erin’s face went blank. She didn’t get it. But Selys and Krshia and the other Liscorians, standing in the crowd, did.

Pallass. It was right in front of them. A Walled City, one of the six wonders of Izril, just like that. The Gnolls and Drakes stared, almost aghast by the sight. Selys was there, along with Krshia, Elirr, and the rest of the Gnolls on Krshia’s election campaign. But they’d forgotten their campaign for the moment—

“I’ve never seen it. The streets are beautiful.”

Someone whispered from Selys’ right. She looked down and saw an old Drake man blinking back tears. He pointed at the smooth blocks of stone that made up Pallass’ streets, so unlike the cobblestones of Liscor or Celum. Pallass’ citizens stared at their streets, looking nonplussed. One of them pointed at Erin.

“What was all this about you handing out that wet stuff? Ice cream?”

“Yup! We’re out for the moment—all the [Smiths] ate it. But we’re making more. Hey! You know you can come through, right? We can do like two people a day, but if you ask to go through, it’s free. It has been for ages.”

“Not in Pallass.”

One of the Dullahans folded her arms. Pallass’ citizens looked disgruntled. Liscor’s were still in a state of shock.

“I always wanted to visit all six Walled Cities. It was my dream.”

The old Drake murmured. Another Gnoll in his middle-ages shook his head.

“I didn’t. I always thought it was an exaggeration. When they told me stories about Pallass, I thought—their walls couldn’t really be that high. This is it?”

He looked down the grand staircase and blanched. The perspective of the door was unsettling. If you looked at it a certain way, it felt like you could fall down into the door and go flying into the heart of Pallass. Selys felt her stomach roiling at the thought. Erin looked exasperated.

“Well, why didn’t you ask to you through, sir? Or go earlier? You can travel.”

The old Drake looked at her as if she were mad.

“It’s not so easy to travel. I can’t just pack up my life like some [Wanderer]. I thought I’d never leave Liscor in my lifetime. It was my dream. This? This is too easy. And what would I do? Spend a fortune I don’t have on trinkets for my grandchildren? Pay for—for what?”

He waved a shaking claw at Pallass. Erin just shook her head. One of Pallass citizens laughed. A Garuda with a fiery red plume of feathers around her head that slowly shifted to orange raised her voice as she flew up a few feet, flapping her wings. The old Drake recoiled, staring.

“You needn’t spend money, sir! Pallass has any number of free places to visit. Our library, for instance! The Library of Pallass has tens of thousands of books! See?”

She pointed down at a lower floor. Liscor’s citizens craned their heads to see. Erin oohed—Selys stared down at the familiar building. She hadn’t been so blown away when she’d visited it, but then, she’d been with Pisces, and he was an expert at not seeming impressed by anything—she glanced over her shoulder. The Horns were at the back of the crowd, tiptoeing to see.

Pallass’ citizens agreed with the Garuda. More of them began calling out.

“By all means, visit! Even if you have only a few gold pieces, try the bazaar! First floor! Our markets on the first floor see hundreds of [Traders] and [Merchants] each day. We trade in countless thousands of goods.”

“Wow. Is that it?”

Erin pointed at a distant speck, far below. The crowd on Pallass’ side nodded.

“Or just ride a magical lift! Have any of you seen one?”

Agog, Liscor’s citizens shook their heads. The Garuda with the red feathers flew back and pointed a huge elevator out in the distance. Selys’ jaw dropped along with Krshia’s as she saw a small herd of cattle ascending at dizzying speeds thousands of feet away. One of the Drakes on Pallass’ side smirked in patriotic pride.

“Our main cargo lifts can carry goods across the city. That’s how we can have our forges on the ninth. And do you see the canals and water running up the sides of the walls? That would be our irrigation system. Note the water wheels? We’ve developed a system that can efficiently transport water up. We run a river through the entire city, from level to level. Anyone who wants drinking water can have it fresh.”

“You can make water run uphill? How? Magic?”

“Magic and engineering, sir. You see, it’s all about these water wheels one of our [Engineers] came up with. That, plus this system that allows us to convert magical energy into a pushing force that powers these gears—”

He launched into a technical explanation that Selys could only half-process. She was still staring. Then someone collided with her back and she nearly fell forwards.

“Whoops. Sorry. Can you move? I’m dying to see.”

An aggressive Gnoll pushed past Selys and stepped forwards. Too far—hands and claws pulled him back towards the semi-circle surrounding the magic door. Selys looked around. The crowd in Erin’s inn was hundred strong and growing by the second. She looked at Erin, who was beaming and nodding along with the explanation.

“Erin. Hey, Erin.”

The young woman looked up. She stepped back and Selys fought clear of the crowd. Panting, she joined up with Erin and looked back. Erin had moved her magical door to the side wall to allow as many people as possible to look through. But the inn was packed and Selys saw more people crowded by the door—and peeking through the windows! Erin looked miffed as she gazed at them.

“Oh, so now they want to check out Pallass. They didn’t all the other days it’s been here!”

“No one really took it seriously, I guess. I mean, walking through a door and going to Pallass? I didn’t know it was so huge. Even when I visited, we just took an elevator down. But this view—”

“Cool, isn’t it?”

Erin smiled. Selys gulped. That wasn’t her word for it. The sight was daunting. Terrifying. It made her feel insignificant. She had known Liscor all her life and thought of her home city as fairly big. But now—it would fit on one of the lower floors!

To distract herself, Selys pointed at the door as she looked at her friend.

“Erin, what’s all this? You said you’d help me with Krshia’s election! Is this part of your plan?”

“…Sort of?”

Erin narrowed her eyes. She frowned at the crowd and shrugged.

“It’s a work in progress. We’re still waiting on two more parts, but it’ll do.”

“How? This isn’t helping us. I mean, it’s a distraction from Lism which is what we need, but what can Pallass offer us? That’s more of Lism’s campaign—they’re promising to help pay for the expansion instead of the Antinium.”

“I know, I know. But—trust me, I think it’ll work out. I just need to get some stuff from the kitchen.”

Erin grabbed Selys’ claws, smiling reassuringly. She turned as a harried young woman appeared.

“Lyonette! What’s the word?”

“Erin! How did you attract half of Liscor to the inn?”

The [Princess] looked delighted and close to baldness as she yanked at her hair. Behind her, Ishkr, Drassi, and a dozen of the inn’s staff were rushing in and out of the kitchen and behind the bar. Erin smiled.

“Don’t worry about it. No one’s hungry—yet. Just get that ice cream ready and have the ovens working, okay?”

“We need four more ovens and twenty more hands!”

Lyonette bit her lip. Erin just shrugged. Both Lyonette and Drassi eyed her and both had an incredible urge to poke the smiling [Innkeeper], if only to get rid of that relaxed grin.

“You have a plan.”

Selys folded her arms. Erin nodded seriously.

“I do. And—wait for it, Lyonette. You’ll get a chance to sell stuff. But wait. Are the Players of Celum here?”

She looked at the stage. Lyonette stood on her tiptoes, and then found a chair and stood on it to look over the crowd. Selys was the tallest of the three so she could see by craning her head that there was a bunch of very nervous [Actors] on the stage at the far end.

“They arrived this morning like you wanted, Erin. But I don’t think they’re ready to perform in front of a crowd like this.”

“They know Juliet and Romeo. If they can put on a play, it’s fine. I’ll talk to them. What I need from you, Lyonette, is one of our pizzas. Hot and fresh.”

“I have six in our two ovens baking—”

“The old ones are good. Can you warm one up? I’ll talk to Temile. That’s all I need. Selys, you just wait. I think I know what’s going down. Tell Krshia not to worry—I’ve got this on lock! I think.”

The Drake stared as Erin pushed through the crowd, who parted almost unconsciously for her. The [Receptionist] looked back at Lyonette. The [Princess] gave her a harried look.

“She says she knows what she’s doing.”

“Right.”

They stared at each other. Lyonette sighed.

“I’ve got healing potions and if we sold to just a tenth of the people here, we’d make a small fortune! Selys, if you see Mrsha, please make sure she stays back from the crowd. I don’t want her getting trampled. I warned her, but—”

Selys looked around and spotted a flash of white balancing on one table. Mrsha and Apista craned to see over the crowd. She pointed mutely and Lyonette frowned.

“I suppose that’s fine. Pallass, huh?”

She looked at Selys. The Drake nodded.

“It’s something. Compared to Liscor.”

The [Princess] gave her a look.

“Compared to anywhere. My home kin—my home isn’t as impressive in a lot of ways. A Walled City is impressive. I should visit. I took it for granted too, really.”

“Yeah.”

Selys looked back at the doorway. But not just the doorway. At the soaring Garuda, the Dullahans. Species she’d only heard of before, never seen in any numbers. And Grimalkin. Selys remembered his performance, and Maughin. Even Relc looked small beside Grimalkin as the [Mage] reclaimed the weight bar. And that bothered Selys more than she could say.

“I’ll get that pizza.”

Lyonette hurried off. Selys drifted back to the crowd. She looked to Krshia, thinking to reassure her, but the Gnoll was entranced by the conversation happening at the door. Pallass’ citizens were no less curious than Liscor’s, and now that a dialogue had been established, the questions were turning to Liscor as much as Pallass.

“So your city’s the furthest north. What do all of you do? I know your army fights abroad—we had them oh, three years back on contract for a nasty campaign against some Gnoll tribes who were raiding our trade routes. But what do the rest of you do?”

A Pallassian citizen dressed in casual velvet—which was a contradiction in terms—looked interestedly through the door. She looked and felt richer than anyone Selys knew. Saving herself, perhaps. A Drake volunteered the answer, patting at his somewhat stained jerkin.

“Well, there are a lot of regular crafts folk, [Farmers] in some of our villages, artisans—you know how it is. [Miners] too, since we do have some deposits. Come spring and the rains, we’re all [Fishers] of course. But I’m a [Hunter] by trade. I’d say there are at least a hundred or two of us in the city. There’s a lot of good game on the Floodplains.”

“Really? Hunters?”

The rich Drake lady had a blank look on her face that said that she’d never picked up a bow, except of the ribbon variety. Some of Pallass’ Gnolls looked interested, as did some Garuda, though. A Pallassian Gnoll raised a paw and shouted to be heard.

“But I hear your city’s got lots of monsters about! How do you handle it? The area around Pallass is good for game and sport, but serious hunting?”

“Well, we do have Hollowstone Deceivers—”

“What?”

“Rock Crabs? Big, scuttling monsters. But you can scare them off with a bit of luck, or outrun them in most cases. They’re not exactly stealthy. Sometimes I have to abandon a kill, but the real problem is Shield Spiders. We’re lousy with them—it’s actually our annual culling season for them. Prevents them from digging too many pit traps.”

Pallass’ citizens looked appalled. The Drake woman spoke slowly as she nervously fondled a velvet sleeve.

“Shield Spiders? You have actual monsters living that close to your city?”

“Well, not in it—”

There was a tentative laugh from both sides. Selys wanted to, but she felt a constricting feeling around her chest. The curious Pallass Gnoll folded his arms.

“Lots of spiders, huh? I wouldn’t mind coming through to Liscor. Bag a big one for my mantle, maybe. It’d be a unique…experience. Right?”

He looked around. Some of the people in the crowd nodded with grins. Liscor’s people looked mildly offended. The Drake [Hunter] coughed.

“There’s plenty to see. Not just our monsters. True, we don’t have uh, as much space as Pallass, but we have a few wonderful spots.”

“Like what?”

“Well—we’ve got an indoor park. Terrific fun for the children. Enchanted of course by Wistram [Mages]. And we have public bathhouses—the best for a hundred miles! The Human cities like Esthelm and Wales don’t even have them. And we get [Merchants] from the north—”

“Really? We don’t see many Humans. A lot send goods by way of Zeres, but it’s generally Drakes or Gnolls who make the land route. And a public park? We just leave the city if we want to run around. There’s a lot of nice space to run.”

The Gnoll smiled. He gestured at the walls.

“It’s just a few minutes’ walk, tops. Our lifts are very efficient. As for bathhouses—well, Liscor might be the best in a hundred miles. You should come and try ours.”

“Thanks, but ours are fairly famous, you know?”

Another Drake chuckled in The Wandering Inn. The Gnoll on Pallass’ side just shook his head. He pointed down at a lower floor at a large, circular building.

“See that? That’s one of our bathhouses. We have five. Each one can hold thousands of people at any moment. We even have pools to swim in. Fed by our river.”

Pallass’ citizens nodded. On Liscor’s side, the Drakes and Gnolls fell uncomfortably silent. The Gnoll glanced over his shoulder.

“There’s the other one. They’re themed, you see. In the style of each continent? I personally like the Rhir architecture myself, and they’re all cheap—”

His pointing paw was blocked for a second by a flurry of movement in the air. Selys frowned. What was that?

“Are those birds?”

She pointed at a bunch of dark shapes, a flock or something, that had blocked the view for a second. The Gnoll glanced over his shoulder. The Drake in velvet laughed. She shook her head.

“Birds? No, no. Oldblood Drakes in training. We might not have Oteslia’s winged corps, but we do have hundreds of fliers in the city.”

“Hundreds? Wow.”

Someone muttered behind Selys. Selys felt the same sentiment. But she refrained from saying it out loud. One look at the Drake lady’s face said too much. She smiled—politely—and stared back through the door at Liscor’s crowd.

“What else does your city have?”

And there it was again. That same wavering in the stomach and heart that Selys had felt looking upon Pallass’ forges the first time. Liscor’s citizens drew back a step, unconsciously. And no one spoke. Of course their city had lots of wonders. Tons! The—the dungeon for instance? True, that wasn’t exactly a plus. And it had lots to see. Wishdrink’s, for example. Great bar. Or how about Market Street? It was always bustling?

Or—or Stonesong Boulevard? That was where all the aspiring [Singers] or [Bards] were exiled. Liscor didn’t have many high-level musicians, but it was a good place if you wanted to hear some nice music and a few duds.

It had plenty, thanks. Only, it was hard to say that to Pallass’ expectant, almost—no, definitely patronizing—crowd. With their stupid five bathhouses. So what? Liscor wasn’t as big.

And that was it. That was the thing. Liscor wasn’t as big. And if you lined them up like this, with an open door so you could see their city and yours, it hurt. It might have hurt more if they were on Liscor’s cobblestone streets, wonderful, but—narrower. Humbler. Selys looked around desperately. Wouldn’t someone say something?

“Well, I’d like to visit. Just once or twice. I didn’t see the need, especially with that five gold entry fee. But maybe a visit or two? But later—I think your side should come through and have a look. Shame that you can only do, what, two per day? But come on over, by all means! It’s a wonderful thing, this door. For both cities.”

The Pallassian Gnoll looked around, to murmurs of agreement from Pallass’ crowd. Selys opened her mouth, but no words came out. She felt in her bones that she had to defend her home! But what could she say? What could she point to? The citizens of Liscor looked on as Pallass’ citizens started to drift away, looking so smug—

And then a cheerful voice rang out. A familiar scent caught Selys’ attention. Erin Solstice walked through the crowd, and they parted for her. The young woman beamed, stepped through the door, and lifted what was on a large serving platter.

“Hey! Anyone want a pizza?”

Pallass’ citizens turned. They blinked at the strange, round object that Erin was holding. A pizza. Selys recognized it at once. Just a pizza. She must have eaten at least ten already, so it was no surprise to her. Big, round crusts, warm, melted cheese and slices of salami—it looked good. Even if Selys wasn’t hungry. But for some reason, it stopped Pallass’ crowd in their tracks. The [Smiths] arguing over weights looked up. So did Grimalkin.

“Pizza? What’s that?”

Erin innocently raised it over her head, waving at Maughin and Bealt and the [Smiths].

“I thought I’d bring some out. As a thank-you. Come on over and have a slice! You don’t need a plate, but I do have napkins.”

The [Smiths] looked bemused, but some of them who knew what was what by now pushed forwards, including Bealt. Maughin had to edge forwards slowly so he wouldn’t crush any toes, but Relc wasn’t so restrained. He dropped the weight bar at once and punched a fist up in delight.

“Aw yeah, pizza! Grimalkin, buddy, get over here. You have to try this.”

He towed the [Mage] forwards. Erin offered the platter and Relc pulled off a gooey slice, crowing in satisfaction. He lifted it up and took a bite.

“So good! Erin, I love you. This is free, right?”

“Free for my friends! Don’t you dare take another slice! Grimalkin, want one?”

The [Mage] looked bemused as she watched Relc holding his slice on his scaled palm.

“You don’t use a plate? Ah—like Lizardfolk walking foods. I had something like this on Baleros, but they were skewers.”

“I’ve got a napkin if you don’t like greasy palms. Here.”

Erin expertly flipped a bit of cloth onto Grimalkin’s hand and offered him a slice. He took it, bit into it, and his eyes widened.

“Hm! Better than that sugary stuff! Fascinating. And quite good!”

“Right? Can I have another slice, Erin? Please? Please?”

“I’ve got one pizza! No! Maughin, here.”

Erin lifted her platter off, fending Relc’s claws back with her free hand. The Dullahan delicately took a slice with one huge hand and lifted it up. Erin lowered it and offered the pizza to Bealt and the other [Smiths]. Three [Smiths] and an apprentice snatched the last four slices. There was a moment as everyone watched the eight chewing and Selys felt a rumble in her stomach. Then Maughin smiled.

“Hot. Good food. Too much cheese for me, but its novel.”

“I like it.”

Bealt was wagging his tail hard. So was Relc, and the other [Smiths] all gave silent thumbs-up. The crowd, eying the wagging tails, looked at the empty platter. Someone—the supercilious Gnoll—coughed.

“You wouldn’t happen to have another one of those, would you, Miss? Where is that from? I’ve never heard of it. Some kind of local dish?”

“Nah. It’s just new. I mean, I haven’t seen anyone else selling it. And sure! I’ve got at least three more in the inn. Want to try them? Say, eight copper a slice?”

“One silver’s easier! One silver!”

Lyonette hissed at Erin as she rushed three more pizzas out of the kitchen. Liscor’s crowd watched, bemused, as Erin grabbed the pizzas and began doling them out on handkerchiefs.

Selys bit her tongue. One silver for a pizza slice? But Pallass’ citizens didn’t even object. They pulled out silver coins and practically tossed them at Erin, even fighting to get the pizza slices before they were consumed. And after the lucky twenty four had gotten their slices, a call went up for more.

“What is it? Good? I’ve never seen anything like it. And I was in Oteslia just last week!”

The velvet Drake lady complained as she watched the Gnoll devouring his. He was biting it cautiously. His brows shot up as he took a bite of the tip, then he peeled back the cheese on the rest of the pizza and studied it with a practiced eye.

“I detect a bread-like base. Clearly a tomato sauce. And…cheese on top? With those slices of salami of course. Not hard to replicate.”

He looked expertly at the crowd. Selys sensed at once that he was a [Cook] or [Chef] or [Baker] of some kind. He sniffed the pizza, took a huge bite, and swallowed. Then he looked at Erin.

“Miss? I’ll have another slice, if you don’t mind? To go?”

He had a cunning expression on his face. Erin turned to him and raised her eyebrows.

“Sorry. I’m out. We have six more on the way, people!”

Lyonette nodded rapidly from inside the inn. Pallass’ citizens looked discontented, but the Gnoll, his expression and fur around his mouth both oily, shook his head.

“No need. I can make some of these myself.”

“You can?”

The velvet female Drake looked intrigued. The Gnoll puffed himself up. He grinned, pointing at the remains of his pizza slice in his hand.

“Yes. And it’s hardly a hard recipe to follow. We could get this to our restaurants within an hour with some experimentation. Even improve it. Say—you Liscor folk.”

He pointed through the doorway. Erin put her hands on her hips, smiling with a glint in her eye, but the Gnoll didn’t notice. He pointed at the Drake [Hunter], and waved the slice of pizza at him.

“Sir, how would you like to have one of these ‘pizzas’ at a lower cost? With better ingredients? I’m sure we could shave at least a few coppers off the price. Imagine it, a new dish, served in my restaurant, the Wyvern Steakhouse—”

He was surprised by the chorus of laughter from Liscor’s side. Selys, grinned openly as the Gnoll blinked at them. The [Hunter] from Liscor shook his head, looking highly amused.

“I’m sorry sir. No discredit to your Skills, but even the most superior pizza wouldn’t tempt me. I had one just the other day, and it’s not new to us over here. We’ve been eating pizzas for months, Mister [Chef]. And we’ve had all different types. Fish pizzas, mushroom pizzas, Yellat pizzas…”

The elderly Drake nodded.

“They do a really nice all-meat pizza. Have you been to that Gnoll [Baker] down Cherile Walk? She makes this pizza with eight different cuts of meat—goat, Corusdeer, beef—all crispy and tender.”

A few of the others in Liscor’s crowd smacked their lips. The [Hunter] turned to the elderly Drake, intrigued.

“Really? I have to visit sometime. Myself, I enjoy a good soup, but I enjoy the novelty of this kind of food. It doesn’t sit as well in my stomach, mind—”

Pallass’ citizens just stared. Crestfallen, the Gnoll [Chef] looked around.

“This isn’t new? But we haven’t heard of it.”

“Probably because it came from Liscor. Or at least, this inn. Maybe Pallass just hasn’t gotten the latest recipes? Ice cream—Erin knew how to make that too.”

Selys called out, laughing with delight. The red-feathered Garuda exclaimed in excitement.

“That was what it was? But I heard it was from Terandria! It’s rare even in First Landing!”

“It’s okay. Too sugary for me. We’ve had it as long as the pizza.”

The [Hunter] waved a claw, looking at the others with an expression of deep pride. Selys saw the expressions go slack on Pallass’ side. Erin smiled and winked through the doorway.

“It’s not for everyone. But I have more! Lyonette! How’s our ice cream?”

“I’m selling a bowl at four silver!”

“Four silver?”

Selys and the crowd on Liscor’s side looked aghast. Pallass’ citizens stared at each other. Then they tried to rush the doorway. Erin had to hold them back, blocking the entrance and shouting as Lyonette exchanged money and bowls at the door. Ishkr, a long-suffering look on his face, held a bowl steady as Drassi scooped out the ice cream into bowls that Mrsha was holding up. And Selys felt that knot in her chest easing almost without her noticing it.

Then she saw Erin turn. Someone shouted, and the crowd’s press around the door broke up. A group of yellow-armored [Guards] fought through and formed a curtain around the door. Pallass’ City Watch. Selys stared as an angry Drake strode forwards, shouting the crowd back. He whirled, and Erin smiled.

“Hi Watch Captain Venim! How’s it going?”

The Drake took one look at Erin, the door, the crowd beyond, and closed his eyes. When he opened them, Erin was still there. He looked at her, half-furious, half with the resigned look that Zevara wore whenever she saw Erin. Still, it was only his fourth or fifth time, so he mustered some genuine outrage.

“Miss Solstice. What is the meaning of this? You’ve caused a blockage on the southern stairwell and my Watchman on duty claims you strong-armed him, absconded with two of our most prominent citizens—”

He broke off, eying Grimalkin and Maughin. The Dullahan winced, but Grimalkin just folded his arms.

“Absconded, Watch Captain Venim? What am I, a kidnapping victim? Master Maughin and I went through that door of our own free will. As we are allowed to do? And the last I checked, public gatherings aren’t considered a crime.”

Venim backed up a step. He worked his jaw, and then spoke civilly to Grimalkin.

“My apologies, Magus Grimalkin. However, this is a disturbance. What is—what’s going on?”

He only now seemed to realize exactly how many people were standing in Erin’s inn. Watching him. It was a mark of his experience that Venim only paused for a second before smoothly turning to Erin and pretending the crowd didn’t exist. Erin smiled a bit guiltily. She looked over Venim’s shoulder at the [Guardsmen], the fuming Kel, and shrugged.

“I’m sorry. I know I’m causing a fuss. But—I’m just having a fun conversation! Selling some food out of my inn.”

Venim passed a claw over his face.

“Selling food. You mean, like a street vendor? Miss Solstice, you need a permit, and you’re not allowed to sell outside of designated areas—”

“Nope! Out of my inn. Which is right there.”

For proof, Erin pointed. Venim turned and caught a few hundred pairs of eyes again. He wavered.

“Even so, it looks like—”

“I can move! If it’s illegal. Or is it just inconvenient?”

The young woman gave Watch Captain Venim another innocent stare. He wavered.

“And the crowd?”

He looked at Liscor’s citizens. Lyonette silently circulated their ranks, passing out bowls of popcorn and receiving copper coins in return. Erin beamed.

“They want to see what your awesome city looks like! Is that illegal?”

“No. Of course. I mean—it is a crowd. In Liscor. We have loitering laws, you know. But if it’s Liscor—”

The Drake Watch Captain was clearly struggling to keep up. He glanced over his shoulder and decided there was no help for it. He saluted smartly.

“Citizens of Liscor, a…pleasure. But Miss Solstice, this is blocking a major stairwell.”

He looked at Erin as a pleading note entered his voice. Erin was at once instantly reasonable.

“Is it? You’re right! I’m so sorry. We can move back to the old spot! Hey Grimalkin, Relc! Mind shifting the door a bit?”

The two Drakes looked up. Grimalkin shrugged and Relc grinned. The [Guardsmen] hesitated as the two burly Drakes walked at them. They looked at their Watch Captain, but Grimalkin just pushed aside a Dullahan in Pallass’ uniform and casually lifted a corner of the door. Venim bit his tongue as Relc cheerfully scooted past two Gnolls who didn’t quite want to bar his way.

“City Watch, we’ll give the door an escort. And—and maintain a presence to enforce the peace. Miss Solstice?”

Erin cheerfully nodded. She pointed and the two Drakes lifted the door with a grunt. Inside the inn, Selys experienced vertigo and a sense of movement as she watched the door proceed down the street—despite her not moving her feet. Elirr, standing next to Krshia, murmured.

“How odd. But fascinating! I would pay money to have someone walk this door around the city, yes?”

Someone else nodded.

“Me too.”

On the other side of the door, Erin walked with Venim. And the crowd walked with the door. They were certainly not about to disperse when the fascinating doorway was leaving. Even Maughin was tromping after the door, holding the weights bar. Perhaps he smelled more opportunity for business in the air. Or perhaps, like Bealt and the other [Smiths], who’d doubled in number since Erin had last looked, they’d been caught.

All according to plan. Although—Erin looked around swiftly. She didn’t recognize the two faces she was really waiting for. Still, her plan was mostly going in the general direction she’d hoped for. And Venim was just a happy accident. She smiled at him and the Drake gave her a long-suffering look.

“What is this about, Miss Solstice?”

“I dunno. Just a bit of city-to-city sharing, Watch Captain. Say, can I offer you a bowl of ice cream? On the house? It’s that super-expensive stuff from Terandria, apparently.”

She proffered a melty bowl of ice cream. Venim opened his mouth and hesitated.

“Wh—ice—you know that bribing an officer is a cause for offense, Miss Solstice?”

“Who said anything about bribing? I just asked if you wanted ice cream. I’ll make you pay if you want. Four silver! No, wait, two silvers? Half-off for our boys in…yellow!”

Venim tried to object, but Erin thrust the bowl into his hands. He reluctantly took the wooden spoon, ate a bit of ice cream, and the rest was history. Erin watched the bowl disappear in moments—after an obligatory pause for brain freeze—and called into the inn.

“Lyonette! Ice cream or pizza for the [Guardsmen]! And two [Guardswomen]. Priority! And get me some hamburgers!”

She hadn’t missed the looks on the City Watch’s faces, especially the Gnolls. And as the [Princess] hurried back and the [Guards] dug at their pouches, Erin turned her head. She just had one more thing to do before Rufelt and Lasica arrived. She was interrupted from asking Venim if he liked the ice cream by the panting Gnoll [Chef]. He practically shoved Venim out of the way.

“Wait, what’s a hamburger?”

—-

Lorent the [Sharpener] was honing the edge of a nearly-pristine knife with a whetting stone and eying his next potential customer on the somewhat empty street. He was trying to find someone whom he’d never seen before, and who looked like they needed a good knife.

Of course, everyone needed knives, but Lorent had to admit that his business had been slow today. Not that it was ever necessarily brisk; he was resigned to that. He got a lot of his money in repeat customers, really. Still, more business would be nice. With a sigh, the Dullahan put down his blade and adjusted his head in the comfy basket he’d set up.

And then he heard the crowd. They swept down the street like a carnival in progress, only Lorent had never seen a carnival and had no idea what it was. To him, the crowd was like a mob at first, and he was grabbing his wares urgently when he saw a familiar Human waving at him.

“Here he is! Stop the door! Lorent! It’s me!”

Erin Solstice, the young woman who he’d sharpened a particularly fine kitchen knife for just last week stopped in the street next to a…Lorent stared. He’d seen the magical door to Liscor, but the sight of a huge crowd and the inn’s floor hovering in the air, as two Drakes supported it made the Dullahan’s stomach turn. Slowly, he picked up his head and rubbed his eyes.

“Erin Solstice?”

“That’s me! Hey! Hey everyone! Liscor especially! This is Lorent! He’s a cool dude. Lyonette, Selys, Krshia, I told you about him. Maughin, you know Lorent, right?”

Lorent blinked. He turned his head and saw Maughin walking behind the crowd. Maughin, who was practically the most important—Lorent was bowing his head hurriedly, flushing with embarrassment. How could he have missed the Dullahan, even in the crowd? Maughin nodded back, looking amused.

Lorent was speechless, but Erin was not. She turned and waved into the door filled with Drakes and Gnolls. A lot of them were seated near the door, munching on some food out of a bowl. The rest were standing and pointing, clearly enjoying the view.

“Lorent’s a [Sharpener]. Isn’t that’s so cool. This is what Pallass has. Libraries, bathhouses, [Sharpeners]. Amazing.”

Some of the people on Pallass’ side of the doorway sniggered. A Drake standing in the inn looked embarrassed. She called out, leaning down to address the young woman.

“We do have [Sharpeners], in Liscor, Erin. It’s not like we haven’t heard of them.”

“Oh. Well, Lorent’s the best. By far. Hey Lorent, do your thing! I told you I’d do something fun! Now’s your chance!”

Stunned, the Dullahan stared at her. But Lorent was too good at his job to miss an opportunity like this. He whipped out his best knife and his block of wood. He called out to the crowd.

“Lorent. Dullahan. You all need knives. Better knives than the ones you have in your city. You may think you have [Sharpeners], but can they do this?”

He raised the knife, tilted it so the edge was face-up, and dropped the wooden block on it. Lorent held his breath—this trick was risky even for his best work—but it worked. The knife split the block of wood in half as it fell. The crowd, Pallassian and Liscorian both gasped in surprise. And Lorent felt an inordinately pleased smile cross his face. He knew it was immodest to display that much emotion, but he couldn’t help it. And Erin’s beaming smile could have lit up Lorent’s shop for days.

“Anyone who wants a knife, grab ‘em and pass them through! Lorent, follow me! This door needs to go back, but you can move your shop, right?”

Lorent looked up. He took one look at the door, the Drakes and Gnolls eying his blade with the utmost appreciation, and sprinted back in his shop to grab his tools. He hurried out after Erin, part of her crowd. And it was still growing. And then one of the people Erin had been waiting for appeared. On Liscor’s side.

—-

The crowd that surrounded Erin’s inn was beginning to shrink a bit. Not because of lack of interest, but rather because frustrated people who wanted to see and hear what was going on inside were squeezing into the inn, taking seats further up the common room rather than waste time standing outside. Perhaps that was why few of them reacted to the new group that appeared out of the Floodplains. Few exclaimed to see the band of Antinium, sixty workers and half as many Soldiers, tromping this way. True, it was an unnerving amount of Antinium to see in any one spot usually. But Liscor’s citizens had bigger things to attract their attention. And anyone who looked at the Antinium who lived in Liscor would know what they were about.

The Workers were armed with hammers, saws, nails, picks, buckets, shovels, and more tools. The Soldiers were carrying huge beams of lumber on their shoulders, or rocks. They proceeded up the hill, led by a pair of Workers. One of them paused when he saw the inn. The other, Belgrade, assumed it was normal and calmly turned to his Workers.

“The inn is currently occupied by a higher ratio of guests than normal. Begin earthworks. I will direct you to the building site in time. Eight Painted Soldiers, adopt a perimeter.”

The Workers and Soldiers spread out, placing their burdens on the ground. Eight Painted Soldiers broke off to watch for monsters as the rest grabbed digging instruments and tromped over to a smaller hill next to the one The Wandering Inn stood on. There was no hesitation, no milling about—they transitioned from walking to work in a heartbeat. Belgrade turned to Pawn.

“Perhaps we should confer with Miss Erin first?”

Pawn nodded slowly, eying the crowd around the inn.

“I think that would be wise. Lyonette did say today was the day. But maybe Erin is doing something. Let’s find out.”

The Antinium marched up to the door and saw it was blocked. The door was open, and filled with Gnolls and Drakes peering inside at…something. Pawn hesitated. Belgrade, with a [Tactician]’s quick thinking, raised his voice.

“Excuse me. We are here on business. Please make way. Excuse me. We are on the business of the Hive of the Free Antinium. Please make way—”

His call made those closest to the door turn. A Drake spotted the two Workers, jumped, and grabbed at his friend. A Gnoll looked around, saw Pawn and Belgrade, and laughed at his friend.

“Let them through. Hey! Move on! And now—quick! Follow them in! That’s our ticket!”

The duo enterprisingly pushed at the crowd ahead of them and were promptly rebuffed. But Pawn and Belgrade moved forwards and the Drakes and Gnolls, seeing them, moved aside. They didn’t quite want to stand next to a Worker, but Pawn didn’t see half as many looks of disgust or horror he sometimes recalled seeing. Still, the Antinium made progress where no one else could. Pawn stared around at the packed room, somewhat dizzy from all the body heat and voices.

“What is going on? What is—”

“Ah. There.”

Belgrade grabbed his arm and pointed. Pawn saw a little Gnoll peering over one table, her tail wagging excitedly. Apista, perched on her head, took flight when Pawn and Belgrade approached and the Ashfire Bee, who had already been given her own bubble of space, further widened it as she flew around the Antinium.

“Hello Mrsha. We are looking for Lyonette. May we know where she is?”

Pawn greeted Mrsha. She peered at him, then pointed. Pawn saw a flash of red hair, and then, another familiar young woman. Erin. He pointed and Belgrade nodded. The two Antinium moved forwards again, towards Erin and Lyonette who stood at the magic door. They passed by the Horns of Hammerad, who were sitting at a table.

“Good morning, Ceria, Pisces, Yvlon. Ksmvr.”

Pawn stopped to greet them, and he barely stumbled on the last name. The Horns looked up. Yvlon waved. Ksmvr hesitantly nodded at Belgrade who paused, just looking at them. Ceria smiled.

“Hey Pawn. Some day, huh?”

“What is going on, Ceria?”

The half-Elf shrugged.

“Erin. She’s got the door open to Pallass and everyone’s coming to look. Something to do with the election? We’re just here in case something explodes with monsters or something amazing happens.”

“And to talk to that [Mage]. Grimalkin. You said he’s a big shot, didn’t you, Pisces?”

Yvlon looked pointedly at Pisces. The [Necromancer] sniffed and folded his arms.

“He is of some renown, but infamy is a closer descriptor for his level of fame. He might be an interesting personage to converse with—”

“I saw him throw a boulder twenty feet straight up. If he can teach you to cast that spell on me and Ksmvr, you’ll call him Sir Grimalkin and treat him like an Archmage.”

Yvlon jabbed a finger at Pisces. Ksmvr raised a hand.

“I will call him Sir Grimalkin for you, Comrade Pisces. However, it seems I am disliked by Grimalkin. If you would like, I will remove myself from this room, Captain Ceria, Yvlon.”

“No way. You’re part of the team, Ksmvr. And Pisces and I can play nice. Right, Pisces?”

Pawn heard a sigh as he and Belgrade proceeded. The crowd was especially thick around Erin and Lyonette, but the two Workers simply tapped people on the shoulder and waited for them to turn around. The sight of a Worker’s mandibles, even politely smiling—was enough to make most people step back hurriedly. It didn’t work on Krshia, but only because she was conferring with Elirr and Selys.

“I have no idea what Erin is up to, yes? This is welcome—Lism has barely anyone but his supporters to shout at in Liscor, but should I begin talking about the election now?”

Selys shook her head.

“Better not. It’s not the right mood and Erin’ll probably give you a signal. I have the you-know-what armor in my bag of holding and I’m not sure when I’ll show it to the [Smiths]. That Maughin guy? We just have to wait and see.”

Then she caught sight of Pawn and Belgrade. Selys paused, and then a smile came over her face. Elirr sniffed the air before he saw the Antinium. The [Beast Tamer] turned and grinned.

“I think I begin to see part of Miss Solstice’s plan, Krshia. Look.”

The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] turned around. Krshia paused. Then, silently, she pulled the Gnolls in front of her out of the way. Mystified, Pawn walked forwards. Belgrade just marched towards the door. Erin turned and saw them. She spread her arms, stepping around the door. Pawn stared, fascinated, through it. Was that Pallass on the other side? He’d never seen it. Erin walked in front of them and gave the two Workers a hug.

“Belgrade! Pawn! Just the Antinium I wanted to see!”

“Miss Erin. Miss Lyonette. We are here to begin construction on the inn and surrounding area as Revalantor Klbkch promised. However, the crowd around your inn will obstruct our building. We may even have to remove a substantial piece of the inn—the damage to the second floor is substantial, and the third floor likewise and we would like to remodel some key components of the structure—”

He got no further, because as he was turning and Erin stepped aside to let Lyonette come forwards and join the discussion, Pawn suddenly had an unobstructed view of Pallass and the crowd of people on the other side. And they had the same view of him. For a moment Pawn saw a bunch of curious faces, chatting, talking, sampling hamburgers, and for some reason, a Dullahan sharpening a bunch of knives on the ground—and then their faces all turned to horror.

“Antinium! Run for your lives!”

A Drake in a velvet dress recoiled and screamed. Half the crowd screamed with her. Several eyes rolled up in their heads and the Gnoll [Chef] fainted into Venim’s grasp. The rest of the crowd turned and tried to run. The Pallassian [Guardsmen] at the door whirled, spotted the Antinium, and grabbed their weapons. They formed a wall as Watch Captain Venim recoiled. But it was Erin who whirled, a gleam in her eye, and bellowed with her [Loud Voice] Skill.

“STOP!”

The word had more force behind it than just volume. As one, the crowd halted in their tracks, shaking loose the almost primal fear that had gripped them. Erin clenched her fist.

“[Crowd Control]—Venim, don’t let them run! They’ll get hurt!”

The Watch Captain had the same thought. He turned and bellowed, thrusting an arm in front of Kel, who was about to make a run at Pawn and Belgrade through the door.

“Order! No one move! The situation is under control! Guardsmen, do not advance! Hold your ground!”

The panicked crowd stopped, held by both Venim and Erin’s Skills and authority. The Pallassian City Watch held their ground, staring at the two Workers and clutching their weapons with white-knuckled grips. The only people not frozen in this tableau were Maughin, who looked only mildly alarmed, Grimalkin, who looked mildly disgusted, and Lorent, who had looked up once warily and then went back to sharpening his knives.

And of course, everyone on Liscor’s side of the door. Bemused, Krshia, Selys, Elirr, and hundreds of Liscor’s citizens watched as Venim kept shouting for order. They stared at the Workers. Someone—the Gnoll [Hunter]—laughed nervously.

“It’s just two Workers. It’s not like it’s an army of Soldiers, right?”

Everyone in earshot nodded, including Selys. Her eyes flicked to Erin. The young woman was standing in front of Pawn and Belgrade, and only from behind could you see Erin’s hand was on her kitchen knife. But the smile she gave Venim as he rounded on her was saccharine.

“What is the meaning of—”

“They’re Workers, Venim. Antinium Workers. Pawn and Belgrade. They’ve come to work on my inn. Rebuild it after the Goblin Lord—no, those Human jerks—blew up the top of my inn. It’s completely legal. They’re in Liscor. They’re not trying to cross into Pallass. They’re just here. There’s no problem, except if Pallass’ citizens panic.”

Venim stared at Erin. His arm tensed—he was gripping his sword hilt.

“The Antinium have been under a non-aggression pact with the Walled Cities for ten years. However, their presence in any lands controlled by Pallass is an act of hostility—”

“Not Pallass. Liscor. You don’t like it? Close the door.”

Erin met Venim’s gaze, and hers was suddenly electric. She glared across four hundred miles and the look in her eyes was suddenly direct. Challenging. And scornful. The Drake’s jaw tightened. He put his hand on the door to do just that. He began to swing it closed, never looking away from Erin’s gaze. And to stop him, she spoke two words.

“Scaredy cat.”

The door halted halfway. It opened and Venim’s eyes locked on Erin’s.

“What was that?”

Erin raised her hands, giving him a not-so-innocent roll of the eyes.

“Nothing. I just thought you were brave enough to look at a bunch of Antinium. They won’t cross through the door. But hey, if that’s too much for you, go ahead.”

If it were possible for Pallass’ City Watch to get even more hostile, they did. Venim’s claws tightened on the door’s edge. He clenched his teeth so hard that Erin could have sworn she heard a crack. He stared daggers at Pawn and Belgrade. Belgrade waved hesitantly. Venim glanced at Erin.

“If they so much as cross over the line—”

He was not prepared for the finger that came through the portal and grabbed the collar of his armor. Erin yanked and Venim stumbled forwards a step before he caught himself. She leaned forwards, glaring at him nose-to-nostrils.

“If they cross the line, it’s an accident. And if they do, you’d better think twice about stabbing them. Because until they do something wrong, they’re Liscor’s citizens. And if you stab them first, you’re breaking the law.”

She met Venim’s eyes, and then let go. He gaped at her as she pulled herself back. The crowd stared. The Drake to Venim’s left raised his spear.

“Assaulting a Watch Captain—”

“Shut up, Kel!”

Erin stepped back and folded her arms. She waited, daring Venim. But he didn’t take her up on it. He looked at the door, clearly regretting not slamming it, then whirled and marched back without another word. The [Guardsmen] looked at each other uncertainly. Erin glared.

“Step back.”

They did not. Erin’s glare only went so far. But the scene had stemmed the flight of Pallass’ crowd. And they did come back, although this time it was to stare in disgust as Pawn and Belgrade moved backwards. Lyonette whispered to Pawn and Belgrade.

“Go do your construction. Don’t worry about this. We’ll handle it.”

Both Workers nodded. They pushed back through the crowd as a Dullahan spat on the ground in front of the door. She coldly lifted her head, making eye contact with everyone around her to prove just how offended she was. She pointed at the backs of the Workers.

“You let Antinium into your inn? This inn is foul. Disgusting. I regret eating any of the food there.”

“Me too!”

One of the Drakes looked close to being sick. He gagged. On the other side of the door, Liscor’s citizens looked bemused. Even insulted. A Gnoll growled, shaking his head.

“Why are you panicking? There were two of them. There are hundreds of you. And us! They’re not even the scary Antinium, you know? Workers. And besides, the Free Antinium, they’re part of our city. You do know that, right?”

He peered at another Gnoll standing in the crowd. She sniffed the air and recoiled. She growled back.

“Well, of course we know that. It’s history, no? But—Ancestors, I’ve never seen one before.” She shuddered. The Drake lady wearing velvet nodded.

“I’m shaking.”

She held out a claw to demonstrate. Selys snorted at the slight tremor in her hands. She wasn’t alone. That needled the Pallassian Drake. She narrowed her eyes at Selys.

“How can you live with those things in your city? Are you all insane?”

That stung. The [Receptionist] lifted her head and retorted angrily.

“Just like you live with Gnolls—or Garuda or Dullahans! They’re not a threat!”

Her words provoked a ripple of incredulity, and outrage from the Garuda and Dullahans in the crowd. Someone actually shook a fist at Selys. The Gnoll [Chef], who’d been revived, got to his feet, shaking his head.

“Just as mad as I heard. Liscor. Really? Even those Drowned People that visit Zeres have to be better than Antinium. By far.”

“Madness. They’re touched in the head!”

Someone else agreed. Selys gasped. She looked around and saw Krshia had gone stiff. Elirr frowned, his normally-kind face turning dark. And they weren’t the only ones. Every Drake around Selys stiffened. And the Gnolls bared their teeth. And as one Liscor’s citizens they felt the same thing.

Outrage. A Drake with a scar on his chin leaned forwards, putting his head through the door to snap back.

“We’re mad? Says the lot who can’t tell a Worker apart from a Soldier and run screaming at the sight of two!”

“Who needs to tell them apart? Who would let them into a city? Or walk down the same street as one?”

“Anyone who has a Hive in theirs, that’s who! They don’t just attack people out of the blue! They’re our Antinium. And I’ll have you know that we haven’t had any incidents with ours in years. The last Aberration that appeared—”

“Aberration? Dead gods. What do they even do? Collect refuse? Dig?”

“They build.”

Selys snapped back. The Pallassians scoffed—Selys wanted to curse at them. She saw Belgrade moving back around the side of the crowd, and Lyonette hurrying over. The Worker bobbed his head deferentially.

“Excuse me, Miss Lyonette. We need to take down this wall to finish repairs on the side of the inn.”

“What? Really? Uh—”

“Do it!”

Erin shouted over the heads of the crowd. Belgrade nodded. He turned his head and signaled with three of his four arms—and the far wall came down. Two dozen Antinium Workers pulled the wall out as Soldiers positioned pillars of wood and scaffolding under the ceiling, which creaked but didn’t fall in. The move was so sudden that even Liscor’s citizens recoiled.

“Dead gods!”

Belgrade walked past the crowd as they drew back from the sudden opening. Selys blinked into the sunlight now shining into the building. Even Erin’s jaw dropped. But the Antinium didn’t hesitate. They took apart the far wall as if there was nothing to it. And of course—they’d built it. But it was incredible to see them just bring it down. But more Workers were already rushing forwards. Belgrade stood in front of the new construction area and raised his voice.

“Excuse me. Stand back, please. We are going to begin construction in this area. Anyone in this area may suffer the risk of death. Thank you.”

After one second to digest that, the Gnolls and Drakes on the perimeter moved back. Selys saw some of the people outside watching the Antinium work, or peering inside to finally get a glimpse of Pallass. And around the wall and inn, the Antinium began reconstructing the inn.

Temporary support beams were already in place, and the Antinium were swarming on the second and third floors. One of them was pulling up floorboards to get to a damaged beam with a few cracks in it, while another was already messing with the stone foundations of the inn below. And more—they were digging up earth in a huge flurry, Workers and Soldiers, and behind them, Antinium were laying stones down, creating a larger foundation.

Selys stared along with Krshia and Elirr. It was all so efficient. The Antinium had no concept of personal space, or the need to coordinate. They had Workers replacing floorboards, refitting a cracked windowpane, while below them their comrades began replacing parts of the ceiling of the common room, replacing a support beam.

And only when they needed to do the swap did the Antinium on the second floor disappear—and then only for a second while Soldiers held up the roof with temporary supports and their own strength and the Workers replaced the crucial pillar of the inn in a moment.

“It is just reconstruction of the existing inn template for now. We are performing foundational work, but the expansions you requested will not come until later. Revalantor Klbkch also mentioned the issue of payment in installations.”

Belgrade calmly informed Lyonette. She nodded, staring as a Worker emerged from a hole in the ground and another piled in with a crude cement and more stones. Selys saw the Antinium abandon the replaced support pillar and jumped.

“Ancestors. Are they building the wall back right there?”

Every head turned. The wall was going up piece by piece within seconds. The Antinium, having completed their work, were putting it back just as fast as it had gone down. Selys turned her head to stare through the door when she heard someone mutter an oath. The Gnoll [Chef] was staring in awe and fear at all the black and brown bodies.

“They can build that fast?”

The Liscorian [Hunter] snorted. He pointed at a Worker with a hammer striking nails into the wood with two or three strokes at most. Copper—Selys noted that with a frown.

“Of course. They’re our Antinium. Fastest builders in the world. I’ve seen them put a house up in the time it took me to have my lunch break. We have this plan you know, to expand Liscor. With Antinium Workers we could have a new section of the city done before next spring, and cheaply too!”

“What? You do?”

Selys jumped. She looked around and saw Krshia’s head turn fast enough to crick. The Drake nodded. A Gnoll by his side tapped him on the shoulder uncertainly. She coughed, and then growled, looking at the Antinium.

“That’s not all set in stone. If Lism wins, he’ll have us build the city ourselves. Jobs for everyone. And there’s what he’s said about the dangers of the Hive—”

The [Hunter] rolled his eyes. He pointed impatiently back at the wall, which was nearly completely whole again.

“Come on now. How many high-level [Builders] did we ever have in the city? How many does Pallass have? The Antinium are like thousands of Level 20 [Builders] who work for copper where most Drakes would charge silver. Look at that!”

The last part of the wall went into place and the Antinium Workers calmly walked out the door while more headed upstairs with boards of wood. A few people whistled—the Gnoll looked uncertain. Someone else in front of Selys leaned over and conferred to the Drake next to her.

“Makes you think, doesn’t it? But hey—I can tell this was planned. It doesn’t mean that Lism isn’t right—”

“Yeah, but look at them. You think we could get a crew of Gnolls and Drakes to build a bunch of houses that fast? The lazy slugs I work with? Not a chance. And I mean, they’ve been here in the city for ten years, right? When have they done anything, aside from the odd Aberration?”

“I’m just saying, I don’t trust the Grand Queen. They’re our Antinium, but—”

Heads turned back to Pallass. The velvet Drake was shaking her head.

“Appalling. Just appalling. Imagine living in a building built by one of them? I need to have a lie down.”

That was it. Selys opened her mouth to snap and someone beat her to it. The Drake with the chin scar.

“Aw, eat your tail. They’re better than any [Builders] you have, I’ll bet! And our Antinium work fast and cheap!”

“That’s right!”

Liscor’s citizens shouted agreement and insults through the door. Pallass’ people just looked incredulous, but Selys wasn’t the only one to proudly look over her shoulder at the Antinium. For the first time in her life, perhaps. But if there was any time to be proud, it was now. They might be Antinium. But they were Liscor’s Antinium, damn it!

Selys felt vindicated just watching the stunned looks on the faces of the Pallassians as three Soldiers carried a replacement support beam in and inserted it into place in less than a minute.

“Mad. Don’t keep talking to them, Miss Volpel, just leave them.”

The Gnoll [Chef] was urging those around him back. Already, the edges of the crowd were marching away, tails stiff with disgust. Selys welcomed that, but again, Erin slid in to the conversation from the side. She waved, smiling in that fake-innocent look she’d been putting on since this morning.

“See you! Come visit the inn if you want to! Don’t be strangers! Hey! Lorent! Why don’t you come into the inn to work on those knives? You can talk to your clients. And Maughin, Grimalkin, Relc, and Bealt! Get over here! I want you to watch one of our plays!”

Four heads turned in the crowd, against the flow of bodies away. And like stones in the way of a river, they halted the flow of traffic. Especially Maughin. He looked uncertainly at Erin. She waved at him.

“Come on! Hey, have you ever seen a play?”

“A…children’s game?”

The Dullahan [Armorer] frowned. Erin winked at Relc. The [Guardsman] was pulling Grimalkin forwards.

“No, a play. By the Players of Celum! Temile! You’re up! Go for it!”

Erin turned her head. And on stage, the Players of Celum, who had watched the drama while waiting for their own, sprang into action. It was Temile himself, dressed as Benvolio, who strutted out from behind the curtain and delivered the opening lines of an iconic play. One Selys had seen three times, incidentally. She could have recited the words by heart.

“Two households, both alike in dignity,

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,

From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,

Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean!”

Perhaps it was nerves, or perhaps it was Temile’s own burgeoning sense as an [Actor] that made him bellow the lines. But it worked. The crowd in Pallass looked back. You could hear the Shakespearian verse, the iambic pentameter in the air. You could practically see it. Maughin stepped forwards, frowning.

“What was that?”

“From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life;

Whose misadventured piteous overthrows

Do with their death bury their parents’ strife!”

Temile shouted the second sentence, face somehow conspiring to be both red and white as the Dullahan stared at him. He delivered the rest of the prologue and turned, walked straight off the stage, and then a very nervous Sampson and Gregory, both Drakes, entered from stage left. Erin just smiled up at Maughin.

“It’s a play. A story told on the stage with [Actors]. Haven’t you seen something like it?”

“On Baleros. We have something similar. Among Dullahans. But I’ve never seen anything like it in a Drake city. What did he say? The language is—”

Maughin wavered at the entrance. Grimalkin had already gone through. Grimacing, the [Mage] put a hand on the door and grunted—Relc clambered through along with Bealt. Behind Maughin, all of the Dullahans paused and turned their heads back to look. The Drake lady paused.

“What? What about the language? And what did that Human shout?”

“He’s blocking the view. What is he looking at?”

Curiosity killed the cat. Or Drakes. And perhaps just Pallassians in general. They were residents of the City of Invention after all; if they didn’t love new and interesting things, they’d be Salazsar’s folk. A Drake woman called out loudly, waving a claw around Maughin’s armored body.

“Oh, that. Just a play. We have them all the time in the inn. My nephew’s one of the [Actors] you know. He’s playing Mercutio. But I’ve seen Juliet and Romeo about a dozen times now.”

“Playing? [Actors]? Wait, explain this.”

“Coming?”

Erin teased Maughin. The Dullahan hesitated. He looked over at the crowd, who seemed to be wavering between staying or leaving as well. Erin pursed her lips, eyed them, and then grinned.

“It’s a great play. Promise. Oh. And Selys has the Heartflame Breastplate. You wanted to see it, right?”

Maughin froze. He stared down at Erin. She smiled at him, then glanced over her shoulder.

“Selys?”

The Drake jumped. She’d nearly forgotten her role! But now was the time, and what a time for it! Selys reached into her bag of holding, felt the warm metal, pulled it out, and there it was. The glow prompted a gasp from the people around her.

Maughin’s head fell off his shoulders. He caught it before it hit the ground, gaping. Erin laughed.

“Don’t be surprised! I told you that you could see it! And I didn’t lie! Selys owns it. And if you want to see it—the Heartflame Breastplate—come on through!”

Her voice was perfectly pitched to be heard all down Pallass’ streets. And if there was any line to pull them back, it was that. The Pallassians—Drakes especially—flooded back around the door in a moment.

“Wait, what?”

“Did she say—”

“Who’s that Drake? Does she know General Shivertail somehow? How would she have—”

“The Heartflame Breastplate.”

Someone pointed. Selys heard a gasp from the other side, and then a susurration. She held it up, her arms trembling with the weight of it. Maughin looked from side to size. Pallass’s City Watch still had their weapons ready. They gazed in awe at the armor, and then uncertainly at Maughin. The Dullahan bit his lip, but decided himself in an instant.

“Excuse me. I’m going through. I believe I was invited.”

He stepped through the doorway. Kel, the angry [Guardsman], half-tried to stop him, but no force on earth could have halted Maughin. And indeed, the glow of the legendary armor as Selys put it on a table was hypnotizing. Almost as much as the words rolling off the stage as the Players of Celum shouted their lines, vying for attention.

And Erin? She looked from Maughin, reverentially approaching the armor with his head under his arm, to the Pallassians, their objection about the Antinium forgotten for a second, and then to the people in the inn. She raised a hand and pointed.

“Hey! Can we move the door so they can see the play? If they want to, of course. Ishkr! Get some popcorn for the people of Pallass. Anyone who wants food? We’ve got food! We’ll put some chairs here so we can chat between Liscor and Pallass. And then—”

“Quiet offstage!”

Relc bellowed at Erin. She winced. He was sitting at the front with Grimalkin, pointing at the [Actors]. She lowered her voice and stage-whispered to Pallass.

“Well? Anyone leaving or staying? Did I mention we have blue fruit juice? And I could make a milkshake!”

And she had them cold. The Drakes stared at the armor of their people. The Gnolls sniffed the air hungrily and eyed the stage. The Dullahans looked to Maughin and the armor. The Garuda looked at the blue fruit drinks. The residents of Pallass looked at the Antinium workers. At the stage. At Maughin, and the brilliant, flame-gold armor that was the center of attention from Liscor’s own crowd. Then the Gnoll [Chef] raised a tentative paw. He gulped as every eye turned towards him, but met Erin’s gaze. He grinned weakly.

“Can I come through?”

—-

Half an hour had passed since someone got word to Rufelt that the young woman, the Human [Innkeeper] from Liscor was up to something. He didn’t get much from the Street Runner who’d been paid in silver to relay the gossip. Only that Erin had gone to Liscor with Maughin and Grimalkin, then returned, and she was causing a fuss.

Even with that heads up, it still took twenty minutes for Rufelt to grab his wife from her shopping the bazaar on the first floor and make the trip up to the eighth floor and the magic door. They took the elevators of course and Rufelt, mindful of what might be going on, urged Lasica into a run. But even then, the panting [Chef] and [Barkeep] duo were still far, far too late.

Or just in time. Because the furor around the door to Liscor hadn’t died down. If anything, it had grown larger. So large that it took five minutes just for the married couple to push into the crowd and see what was going on. And then? They stopped and listened awhile.

On a stage, a Gnoll dressed as Romeo stood with a Gnollish Mercutio. In the background, a fabled piece of armor was being inspected by a Dullahan who held it as carefully as a wounded dove. Gnolls and Drakes circulated the tables with food, all unknown even to Lasica. And some stopped by the door, exchanging it for coin with the audience. In the background, black-bodied Antinium occasionally trooped up and down the stairs, with tools in hand, or paused to stare at the play.

And in the center of it—Rufelt’s eyes found Erin Solstice at once. He could feel her, in an eddy of attention and emotion. She had caused this. He pointed her out to his wife. Lasica leaned on Rufelt’s shoulder, wondering.

“Is this really the same young woman we met, Rufelt?”

“She looks the same, dear. But she did this. I’ll bet my teeth on it.”

“By herself? No—look at that armor. Maughin, Grimalkin—I can see how, but even then—could you do this?”

“If I had to. But I would have to try hard. Look. She even has Watch Captain Venim eating at one table.”

“Incredible.”

Lasica shook her head as she saw Venim sitting at a table. He looked equal parts annoyed and confused, but he was there. Rufelt met his wife’s gaze. They both started for the door, but a spear blocked their path.

“No entry to the inn. The door’s nearly out of magic.”

A tired voice and surly Drake confronted them. Rufelt eyed Guardsman Kel, and instantly felt someone push at his back.

“Hey!”

He turned, annoyed. A shorter Drake glared up at him.

“Hey yourself! Move! We’re trying to watch the play!”

The crowd voiced their annoyed agreement. Rufelt hesitated. He saw Erin’s head turn, and the young woman locked eyes with him. Her face lit up.

“Rufelt! Lasica! Just the last two people I need for my pl—er, my best friends! Come on through! Kel, they’re with me.”

“What? You can’t just—”

“Can and do! My door! My guests! Sorry folks, they’re VIP’s.”

“What’s? Can you eat that?”

“Let me through! I’ll pay! I’ll—”

Rufelt took Erin’s hand and stepped through the door. Lasica followed and the door suddenly went dark behind them. Erin sighed. There was a murmur of protest from the seats around her. Rufelt saw a group of Drakes and Gnolls were sitting with drinks and foods, staring through the doorway with as much intensity as the Pallassian citizens had been. Erin waved a hand in apology.

“Sorry, folks. We’ll get a [Mage] to fix it! Rufelt, Lasica, this way—hey Grimalkin?”

“I have it.”

The [Sinew Magus] pushed himself up from a table and walked over. He slapped the door tiredly and it flickered back to life. Grimalkin winced. He rubbed at his back, looking uncharacteristically tired. Rufelt just blinked at him. He knew Grimalkin of course, but what was he doing here? Erin’s smile of gratitude was accompanied by a slap on the back.

“Thank you! Sorry about asking for it so much.”

“This is for the weights. I’m not doing this twice. I have my limits, you know. You still need to show me these barbells.”

Grimalkin sighed. Erin nodded rapidly as he went back to sit down next to Relc. Rufelt turned around and saw a bunch of Pallass’ citizens arguing with Kel on the other side. Watch Captain Venim got up from his table.

“Everything alright, Guardsman Kel?”

“Can’t you get someone to add more magic to this door, Watch Captain?”

A Garuda demanded as she flapped up from the crowd. She pointed at the door as the crowd voiced their agreement.

“You’re a Watch Captain. Aren’t we allowed free passage into that city? We have hundreds of [Mages] in the army and City Watch! Call some over here! It’s a public service!”

“The door is extremely mana-intensive—”

“Well, we’re missing the play! And food! Miss Innkeeper! Why haven’t we been allowed to use the door before now?”

She glared at Erin, snapping her beak. Erin shrugged.

“Hey, you know, it’s not my fault. I was totally for people coming through. But no one wanted to, from Liscor or Pallass. Weird. And I had no idea you had to pay fifty gold or something to go through. But that’s what your Assembly of Crafts came up with, right?”

“They did?”

Erin winked at Rufelt. He blinked, amazed. Lasica was still just looking around. Erin led them away from the door and towards the kitchen, which had a steady stream of people coming in and out. She turned to them, her expression radiant.

“I’m so glad you guys made it! I was thinking you wouldn’t notice!”

“It’s fairly hard to miss when a Human spirits away our best [Blacksmith]. This is fairly incredible, Erin. But what’s this all about?”

“Oh, just helping out a few friends. Hey Lasica! Welcome to my inn! First time, huh? Like it? The Antinium just rebuilt part of it. Sit down, sit down! Anything you want’s on the house, for all the times you invited me to your inn!”

“Erin.”

Lasica opened her mouth. She leaned back as Erin waved and a Gnoll scooted over with two bowls of…white, solidified cream? Rufelt took it and bit into it. His eyes went wide. Lasica took her bowl, put it down, and then looked at Erin.

“I take it back. You’re no magical innkeeper. You’re an expert on crowds. I feel silly treating you like an amateur. This is incredible.”

“Aw, Lasica! It’s good to see you too.”

Erin reached out to hug the [Chef]. Lasica blocked her with a claw. She looked at the bowl.

“And what is this?”

“Ice cream. Told you I could make it.”

Erin proudly puffed out her chest. Rufelt nearly choked on the sweets. Lasica just blinked.

“You made the dish from Terandria that we couldn’t get the recipe for? Just like that.”

“I told you I could.”

“And I didn’t believe you. Ancestors. Alright.”

Lasica blinked at the bowl, eyed the melted bit of ice cream at the bottom, then stuck a spoon into her mouth. She didn’t immediately scarf the sweet food down like Rufelt—he loved it and was trying not to lick his bowl clean. Lasica’s brows shot up with the clinical detachment of a food connoisseur.

“Geh. You Humans really do like sugar in everything. But it’s good. Yes. Hard to pair with most dishes, though. Definitely a desert. Rufelt?”

“I can put this with a drink. Or maybe in a drink.”

The Gnoll eyed Lasica’s bowl. Silently, she passed it over. He savored the next spoonful, but then grew thoughtful.

“It would make a fantastic mix-drink. With something spicy? No…something with some impact to counteract the powerful sweet and milk flavor. This is a milk product, right?”

“You two are so smart! And yeah! This would be a perfect root beer float! …Please tell me you have root beer.”

Erin beamed at Rufelt and Lasica. They caught themselves, looking at her. Rufelt let out a breath he felt like he’d been holding since he saw the inn through the door; Lasica blinked around and rubbed her eyes. Then they started over.

“Erin, this is simply incredible. Confusing, but incredible. You have to explain what happened. In order?”

“Well, I just decided I needed to help out my friend. So I thought—hey! If I grab Maughin and bring him to Liscor, something’s going to happen. I actually planned for you and Rufelt, but everything else is just me winging it.”

“Doing what exactly? And how can we help? You seem to have stirred up a huge amount of guests for your inn by yourself. Is that your bar? Mind if I have a look later?”

The Gnoll leaned over the table. Erin matched his grin.

“Be my guest! And I have some blue fruit juice I want you to take a look at! Lasica, you need to try my pizza, hamburger, uh, french fries…it’s not gourmet stuff like your cooking, but it’s good!”

“And you pulled in all these people with those plays you mentioned. And the Heartflame Breastplate. ”

Lasica looked at the radiant piece of armor that Maughin was still poring over with a crowd of [Smiths]. The young woman shrugged.

“I don’t do subtlety. I tossed everything I had—okay, nearly everything. Hey Lasica, want to try it on after Maughin looks at it?”

The [Chef] had been trying very hard not to be swept away. But this time her jaw dropped. Erin twinkled with delight. Rufelt looked at her, leaning back in his chair and got the definite impression this was payback for his first whirlwind tour of Pallass with her. He nudged Lasica.

“I’m sure she’d be delighted. But Erin, why is this happening? Don’t tell me this was a lark. I can feel your intention in this inn. From [Barkeeper] to [Innkeeper], what’s our place in this?”

He met Erin’s gaze over the tabletop. She paused. And then jerked her head.

“This way. I want you to listen to this.”

She led the Drake and Gnoll from their table at the back to the bar. It was overflowing with people along with the rest of the common room, but the crowd around the bar wasn’t one of the groups watching the play, the armor, or the door to Pallass. This group seemed intent on a cluster of Gnolls in the center. One of them, a female with a striking jawline, gave Rufelt the definite impression of command.

Joy. A Tribal Gnoll. Female too. Probably a local pack leader. Rufelt controlled his grimace and nudged Lasica, pointing out the speaking Gnoll. Lasica picked up on some of Rufelt’s unspoken commentary and turned her head to listen to the Gnoll as Erin led them through the crowd. The Gnoll’s voice reached them, half-shouting just to be heard over the background noise and the play.

“This is proof, yes? Proof that what Liscor has to offer is our bond with the Antinium! Do you really think anyone but them could build part of the city as quickly as we need it?”

“I hear you, Krshia, but I’m still not sure on the safety of the city. It seems like we’re making a lot of concessions to the Antinium we don’t need to. I admit, the sight of those Workers doing their job so well gave me something to think about. But don’t you feel bought and sold?”

A Drake was debating with Krshia at the bar. The Gnoll turned to him and Elirr jumped in, smooth as could be.

“Bought and sold, Mister Deik? How do you mean? The Antinium want something and we could use their gold. This is an exchange if anything. A transaction. And like any transaction, there is room to negotiate. What bothers you the most? Just the fact that the Antinium would get something for defending our city? Are we really exposing our city to that much danger by allowing a few guests in? Expanding the Hive? Allowing Painted Soldiers to serve on the Watch?”

“Huh. Well, I think expanding the Hive is my biggest problem—”

“If we curtailed their expansion to a few hundred feet, would that do? What’s the problem? The Antinium are willing to offer more for less. It’s good faith. Or is this just Lism’s paranoia we’re all believing here? What will satisfy? Or is it just fear that holds us back?”

Krshia looked around. The crowd murmured thoughtfully. There were just as many Drakes as Gnolls, but Rufelt, picking up on the dynamic, thought that the Gnolls were mainly on Krshia’s side. He saw her look up and bare her teeth at Erin as the young woman approached. Then she looked at him, sniffed, and lowered her head in an authoritative nod.

Definitely a Tribal Gnoll. Rufelt tried not to let that color his judgment. He waited as Erin introduced them.

“Krshia, these are two great people you have to meet. Rufelt and Lasica. They will want to hear what you’re saying.”

“Really? Oh, and pleased to meet you.”

Lasica raised her eyebrow at Erin as she held out a claw to shake. Krshia politely shook hers and then Rufelt’s.

“A pleasure. But these two are from Pallass unless my nose betrays me, Erin. What can I offer them?”

All three looked at Erin, perplexed. The [Innkeeper] shook her head as if were obvious.

“You’re all in the same boat, of course! Don’t you see? I figured it out when I was thinking of how to help you, Krshia. Think about it. Well, actually, I’ll explain. Lasica and Rufelt here are part of the uh, Unitail group. You know how Pallass has elections? They want to vote out the Protectorate and make Pallass more open and friendly.”

“Not necessarily friendly. But more open. We disagreed with how they handled the Siege of Liscor and they don’t support free trade. As businesspeople, we object to that.”

Lasica quickly clarified. Krshia nodded.

“I’m a [Shopkeeper] myself. I value goods sent Pallass’ way. But you two aren’t [Senators], are you?”

That made Rufelt and Lasica grin. He shook his head.

“Call us the people who back [Senators]. They get our support and we get them to vote the way we want. That’s how a democracy works.”

Erin nodded.

“And guess what Liscor’s going to have soon? An election for the Council.”

“What?”

That threw Rufelt. He blinked at Erin, and then his gaze narrowed.

“So you’re—”

“I suggested the elections, yes. And if I win, which is not so likely, I might be the first Gnoll on Liscor’s Council.”

Krshia bared her teeth. Lasica’s eyes widened. She looked from Rufelt to Krshia, and then to Erin. Then she snapped her claws.

“The first Gnoll? Democracy in Liscor? Why haven’t we heard of this?”

“Probably because news is just spreading today. You’d hear of it later. But Krshia’s been having a hard time because the Antinium are backing her and there’s this jerk who’s running against her. He’s a Drake.”

“Lism. If it weren’t for Olesm joining him, he would have no platform. And his arguments make sense, yet they play on fear! And we’re tied to the Antinium now. He stole my platform, my ideas—I have a plan to make the city expand! And that tailless—”

Krshia uttered the word like a curse. Erin hurried to speak over her before the Gnoll could begin a rant.

“Sure, sure. And Lism totally loves Humans, Dullahans, and Garuda. And Pallass. Liscor should build itself and all that! You know what? He’s probably like the Protectorate, isn’t he? He went to Pallass to ask for funds to build Liscor. So you’re paying for it.”

She eyed the owners of Tails and Scales meaningfully. Lasica folded her arms.

“I didn’t hear about that. Liscor’s getting our tax money? When the Antinium would give the money instead? That’s not going to be popular when word gets out. And oh, it will get out. Believe me. Tonight it’ll be shouted from the rooftops.”

She gave Rufelt a significant glance. He felt a huge smile spreading from ear to ear. Erin was nodding.

“But that’s not all. Since Pallass is having an election, and Liscor is too—I was thinking, why not bring up that Pallass is backing the non-Gnoll candidate? I’m sure that’ll go over really well. Especially with that jerk [Senator].”

“Errif Jealwind? That would bother his voters.”

Lasica drummed her claws on the table, thinking fast. Rufelt meanwhile was catching onto more of what Erin wanted. He eyed Krshia.

“And what if the Unitail faction were to propose a trade deal with Liscor? Closer ties? With, say, the provision that Krshia Silverfang were on Liscor’s Council? Is that what you want, Erin?”

“Maybe…look, I’m just an innocent [Innkeeper]. I don’t know about politics. But it just occurs to me that Krshia might get a lot of support from Gnolls in Pallass. And Pallass might benefit from allies in Liscor.”

“From liking Liscor, you mean. And Liscor would certainly value its Humans and Antinium if they see how valuable our one Human is, yes? With pizza, ice cream, plays, and so forth.”

Krshia folded her arms. She looked at Erin and shook her head.

“This was your plan? It is cunning beyond belief.”

“Hey! I just thought it’d be nice to open up Pallass. Impress them with Liscor. And I knew Maughin was cool. I met Grimalkin…I forgot Belgrade was going to upgrade the inn, and I knew Lorent…our cities should like each other, right?”

Erin spread her hands. Then she looked around.

“It’s like playing two chess boards at once. Except I’m taking pieces off one side to use on the other. Simple, right?”

She waggled her eyebrows. Rufelt looked at Krshia. The Gnoll gave him a slight shake of the head. Lasica just laughed. She glanced at her husband and they shared an unspoken question. Rufelt broke the gaze by nodding slightly. Lasica stood up.

“I’m for it. Krshia, let’s have a talk. Tell me exactly about this plan and I’ll tell you about the Unitail [Senators] we know. Maybe we can have you visit Pallass tonight? Or send a few [Messages] at least. I need to know about your campaign—ah, Ancestors—how are you managing this election? I’m no expert, but I know experts. We’ve been doing this in Pallass forever.”

“I’ll help over here. Listen—sway a few minds.”

Rufelt got to his feet. He looked at the crowd as Lasica stepped to a free table with Krshia, and slid behind the bar in a moment. He checked the alcohol, found a glass—Erin had a very small variety of liquor. None of it particularly good!

He made a note to have a word with her about her selection and eyed his crowd. He saw Elirr and another Gnoll who looked like a [Blacksmith] were talking to the crowd. They turned as Erin trotted over and blinked at Rufelt. He raised a paw, smiling.

“Let me get you all a drink. Erin, I’ll borrow your bar. Hm. Blue fruit juice, huh?”

Rufelt filled a mug with the sweet juice and tasted it. He frowned, grabbed another cup, and filled it. He splashed a shot of rum into the blue fruit juice and swirled the drink.

“Not bad. But let’s add something to it. What’s it like cold? [Chill Paws].”

The glass frosted over as he touched it. Erin whistled—Rufelt just eyed the slushy. It needed a straw in his professional opinion. Or a spoon. Too much sweet as well; he’d normally cut something bitter with the sweet. This would be good for anyone with a sweet tooth. But it would do. Rufelt looked up at the admiring crowd, who’d stopped to watch him work. He winked.

“Barkeep from Tails and Scales of Pallass. Rufelt. If you have a drink, shout it out! I can mix anything—provided Miss Erin’s got the liquor. This is on the house for…”

He paused, searching the crowd. Let’s see. Who needed a shot of the silver tongue? Ah, of course. Rufelt muttered a word. Then he flicked the drink. The frozen slurry shot across the bar at Elirr, who blinked as it landed in his open paw. The [Beast Tamer] raised the glass almost unconsciously and Rufelt nodded to Erin. She nodded back. He winked.

“Not a bad plan, Miss Solstice, not a bad plan at all.”

“It was just vague. And it came together with luck. But I like to think I know people. It’s not about the plan. It’s about tossing the right people together. If you do that—hey! You never know what’ll happen next.”

Erin laughed. Rufelt just shook his head in amazement. He mixed another drink, casually doing a trick where he kept two different liquids separate with the aid of a spoon. No Skill there. Then he snapped his fingers and lit the top of the drink on fire. That was for the show.

Heads turned and the [Barkeep] saw the flow of the inn divert towards him, another eddy in the swirl of attention. And if Erin saw the ‘right people’ and how to mix them, he was a [Barkeep] who saw thirsty people and the right drinks to serve them…at the right time. You could do a lot with a drink made right or made wrong.

The [Barkeep] smiled. And as his hands blurred and he fixed drink after drink, weighing, assessing, and talking, he saw a small, white shape crawl behind the bar next to him. Rufelt paused in the middle of searching for Erin’s drinks and stared down at a small Gnoll cub, staring up with wide eyes at one of his flaming drinks with awe. She sat on her hindquarters and waved at him. He blinked.

“A white Gnoll?”

She froze. And Rufelt remembered what Erin had mentioned to him once. So he bent, smiled, and offered Mrsha a cup. Water mixed with blue fruit juice.

“Hello. My name’s Rufelt. Want to help me mix drinks?”

She nodded eagerly. So Rufelt lifted her up. And he looked at Elirr. The Gnoll was speaking with twice as much eloquence as he had been a few seconds ago, and it wasn’t all liquid courage. The [Beast Tamer] paused for a breath as the crowd around him applauded, and Rufelt gestured at the Gnoll child blowing on the flaming drink.

“Something tells me that you know her. Mind telling a [Bartender] a story?”

Elirr looked at the white Gnoll. She looked at him, and then Rufelt. And the [Barkeep] thought of all the old sayings. But he was a City Gnoll. And he’d always wanted a child. He and Lasica were thinking of one. So Elirr nodded and leaned forwards. And Rufelt found out the Gnoll’s name was Mrsha. Of course, Erin had told him that already. But suddenly he wanted to know more. All he could about this strange inn. When he got a chance to talk with his dear wife, he was sure Lasica would agree:

They’d underestimated this place.

—-

Circumstance. Coincidence. And careful planning. These were the elements of Erin’s grand plan. Her improvised mess. But it had worked. She knew she could do it and she could.

Rufelt hadn’t called it a lucky event. He’d said it was because she had manipulated everything exactly as an [Innkeeper] did. As he could. Erin wasn’t sure if she believed that. Then again—she could sort of tell what he was talking about.

It wasn’t all intentional. It was just what she’d told him. People meeting people. That was all there was to it. When Erin had been mad at Olesm and searching for a way to kick his tailed behind and Lism’s, she hadn’t come up with one. But she’d had an inkling.

Maybe if Maughin were here, people might see that non-Drakes and non-Gnolls were cool. Grimalkin hadn’t been part of it, but Erin had wanted to meet him. And the weight-lifting? That was just being cool to a new friend. It tied in with Maughin too.

As for attracting attention in Pallass? Well, Erin had known they were snooty to Liscor for a while. So why not make Liscor look good? The real stroke had been getting Lasica and Rufelt here. And honestly, it was the least-involved bit of Erin’s plan.

She looked over and saw Krshia and Lasica still in conversation. Erin hadn’t had to do more than introduce them, make a few suggestions—it wasn’t nearly as hard as getting the people in Pallass to watch a play while Antinium worked in the background. But that was what would matter.

If Erin was only concerned with the election. But she wasn’t. If she could play two games of chess at once, well, she could also play three. The young woman smiled as she saw a green figure peering down the stairs. She beckoned, and Numbtongue hesitantly walked down into the crowded inn.

“Numbtongue! Great to see you. Don’t run off, please? I want you to meet Rufelt and Lasica at least.”

The Hobgoblin hesitated. But Erin grabbed his hand and towed him across the inn. Past Liscor’s citizens, who looked up at a Hobgoblin. Some recoiled, some didn’t. And Erin coincidentally passed by an open magical door and a huge crowd of people who broke out into a furor.

“Is that a Hobgoblin?”

“Dead gods, it’s—why is she holding its hand?”

“Hobgoblins in an inn? Bad as Antinium if you ask me.”

“What? Where? Move out of the way, I can’t see the play!”

“And do you have anything else to eat?”

Erin ignored the voices. She looked back at Numbtongue. He was peering at the door.

“Sorry. Just showing people my totally awesome Hobgoblin friend.”

She shouted back at the door. Numbtongue smiled. And that was all Erin wanted. She heard a clamoring from the door and pointed at a Gnoll rushing by.

“Popcorn! Ishkr, pass a bucket through. Anyone who wants it has to be okay with Hobgoblins.”

Lyonette grabbed a fresh bucket of buttery popcorn and shoved it through the door. The [Princess] shouted, practically beaming with how much gold she was making tonight.

“Two silver! Someone pay up!”

The Pallassian citizens looked appalled as Erin brought Numbtongue to Rufelt. The Gnoll nearly dropped his cup. Numbtongue eyed a flaming drink and reached for it.

“Disgusting. Is this really—”

“Shh! What’s going on stage now?”

One of the Dullahans on Pallass’ side refused to be budged. She folded her arms, glaring through the doorway at a few of Liscor’s citizens who were people-watching.

“So your city lets in Hobgoblins too, is that it?”

The citizens of Liscor looked at each other. They glanced at Numbtongue by the bar. And then at Erin. And the Antinium. And yes, at Grimalkin, chatting about weights with some interested Gnolls and Drakes. At Maughin, towering over the others. Lorent, selling his Skills. And back through the door to Pallass.

City of Inventions. A Walled City. And Liscor was tiny compared to it. But not inferior. Thanks to her.

This is what you have. And this is what we have. Who we have. So the Drakes and Gnolls smiled. One of them shrugged, toasted the group with a drink that seemed to appear in his claws at the right moment, and downed it.

“Hey, we’re open to fresh faces. What, you scared of a single Hobgoblin too?”

And for a second, they were proud of Numbtongue. Just for a second. And how was that for a day of work? Erin thought about it. And in her head, another few pieces clicked together.

—-

They were travelling down a forest road when the door opened. Noise and light spilled out. The sudden outpouring of sound and energy nearly gave Jelaqua a heart attack. She flailed as she woke up from her nap, rolled reflexively, and would have fallen off the wagon had Moore not caught her. Seborn jerked to wakefulness, grabbing at his daggers. He looked up and into a smiling face.

An old friend. But perhaps—not so old. Erin Solstice looked up at Moore, who had been guiding the mule-pulled wagon.

“Moore! Seborn! Jelaqua! Hey! It’s been too long!”

The Halfseekers stared at Erin. The young woman had to shout; it sounded like there was a wild party going on behind her. Jelaqua sat up, brushing dirt off her scales. She was wearing a female Drake body. She blinked blearily at Erin.

“Wha—Erin? What’s this about? Is there trouble?”

“Nope! I just wanted to say hi! I knew you had the door! How’s it going? Are you at Invrisil yet?”

Jelaqua frowned.

“Erin, we’re still nearly a hundred and fifty miles away yet. We don’t exactly run and we had this adventure that—are you having some kind of celebration?”

Was that a half-giant behind Erin? No—Jelaqua blinked.

“Wait. Is that a Dullahan behind you? Where did you meet a Dullahan? He’s half the size of a War Walker!”

Erin looked over her shoulder.

“Oh? That’s just Maughin. He’s an [Armorer]. And I know you’re not there yet. Buuuut—I am having a ton of festivities! Food, drinks—there’s this amazing [Barkeep] who’s helping me out, and a [Chef]! And there’s an election in Liscor. It’s this huge thing. Anyways, want to come through?”

“Wh—now?”

Jelaqua looked at her companions. Moore scratched at his chin.

“But we’re so far away. And we are on the road…we said our goodbyes. Wouldn’t it be premature to come back?”

He said that, but Jelaqua saw him craning his neck, looking for Mrsha. Erin looked blankly at him.

“So? What’s stopping you? I have all kinds of new things. And I miss you. Come back, just for a little bit. We’ve got tons of [Mages]. And I’ve got blue juice. And some acid jars I’d love to sell you.”

She looked at Seborn. The Drowned Man pulled some hay out of his clothing and looked at her.

“Acid what?”

“Acid jars, Seborn. Really nasty. Perfect for a [Rogue]! Tell you what, come on through, and the first two drinks are on me. Please? I can’t keep this door open too long or the guys in Pallass will kill Kel. And that’s probably a bad thing.”

She held out a hand. Seborn looked at it. Jelaqua looked at Moore. He wavered. Seborn chose for them. He grasped Erin’s hand and let her pull him up. He looked at his teammates.

“I’m tired of sleeping on carts. We can say goodbye twice.”

Erin beamed. Jelaqua laughed. And Moore was just as fast to put the door on the ground and clamber through—after responsibly hitching the mules to a tree. They walked into the inn and stared around. Erin changed the door back to Pallass to hear a roar of fury from the door.

“What was that?”

“Door change! Sorry!”

“We missed part of the play!”

“Well, you can watch the rest! Look!”

Erin pointed at the stage, exasperated. One of the Gnolls on the other sides of the door drew in a breath to howl, and then he broke off. He pointed with one paw at a new group standing by the door.

“Is that—the Flamewarden’s Captain, Keldrass?”

“Maybe? Hey! Keldrass!”

Erin wandered away from the door. She laughed as she saw the Oldblood Drake talking with a few more adventurers. He looked up and his jaw dropped as he saw the Halfseekers. He immediately grabbed Bevussa and towed her over.

“Jelaqua! I thought your team had left!”

“You know how it is! Magical doors! Bevussa! Erin just appeared and dragged us through! What’s this about an election? And why’re you here?”

“Erin called us over. To talk about acid flasks. Not that I would have missed this for anything. In fact, we’re lucky she called for us; there’s a line outside the inn and no one can enter!”

Bevussa pointed a claw at the door. Jelaqua looked outside and did a double-take. Erin rubbed her hands together, and gestured to the three adventurers. Seborn was already sitting at the bar and Moore was sneaking up on Mrsha, who was sniffing the air with wide eyes.

“Hey! The more the merrier! And I called you all here today to unveil my latest product. Which is really my oldest product. Hey Lyonette! Acid flask?”

“Coming!”

The [Princess] hurried over, albeit watching the green bottle in her hands very carefully. Erin took it from her and showed it to the adventurers.

“See this? Acid flasks. Or jars. We’re selling them at twelve silver coins a flask. Extremely cheap given what it can do. And the price is going up—”

“Wait, that’s all acid?”

Bevussa recoiled from the jar. Erin nodded.

“Pure, uncut, Acid fly juice. You know, the stuff they explode with when you swat them?”

“I’m not familiar. How corrosive is this? I’ve bought [Alchemist] acids before and I haven’t been too impressed. This stuff can’t be too potent or it would eat through the glass, right?”

Keldrass eyed the green liquid sloshing about inside. Lyonette smiled and took the bottle back from Bevussa, who was tossing it up and down experimentally in one claw.

“Well, I’m told one can kill a Ghoul in less than a minute. And Erin took down the boss of Liscor’s crypt with one. It melts through organic material in seconds. Not glass or metal. If you want me to demonstrate—”

Jelaqua recoiled when Lyonette dosed a sausage in it and the liquid practically melted the food. Lyonette turned a bit pale herself; Erin looked over and made a face.

“Ooh yeah. That’s as bad as I remember.”

“You let me toss that in the air? I could have killed myself!”

Bevussa was horrified and delighted. She looked at the melted remains of the sausage.

“That’s fast! You only have a few seconds to neutralize it before you’re dead, huh? Maybe water would stop it. But against a monster? One without hands? If my team had a dozen and threw them—”

“If you’re hit on the wing, you’re dead. Absolutely not.”

Keldrass was pale as he edged back from the acid. Jelaqua poked the sausage remains with one claw and frantically scrubbed it on her tunic. She eyed the damage to her claw and shrugged.

“Store it in a bag of holding and don’t drop it when you throw. Seborn! Look at this crap! You can stop moaning about your old acid dagger—this stuff is worth gold!”

Lyonette’s eyes gleamed. Erin laughed as she turned from the group to Rufelt at the bar. Seborn sighed and got up. As he passed Erin, she turned to him.

“You have to tell me all about your story, alright?”

“It’s not much of an adventure, but I’ll stop Jelaqua from exaggerating. Is there a room for us tonight? I’m sick of bugs eating me alive.”

“Sure! The third floor’s probably finished by now. I’ll get someone to make you a bed! And a bucket of water so you don’t get dehydrated!”

The Drowned Man smiled. Erin turned past him to Moore, who was hugging Mrsha very gently. Past him, Rufelt was serving drinks while talking to Lasica.

“…not sure about this Antinium thing, but definitely sounds better than this Lism fellow, yes? Why not? We can use tonight as proof that Liscor deserves our consideration. If we don’t have a few hundred people from Pallass clamoring for a visit—”

“Erin!”

A voice bellowed in Erin’s ear. She yelped and spun. Grimalkin grabbed Erin by the shoulder. He looked down at her and nodded.

“Outstanding! I didn’t get a chance to thank you. But this weight bar? Your ideas about the smaller weights? This will revolutionize Pallass’ training regimen. No—the world! I can’t believe I never thought of it! It just never occurred to me. Weights? We’ve had training weapons and lead-filled objects forever—but who would think to make something so useless in any context but this?”

“Um. Thanks?”

Erin smiled up at Grimalkin. The [Mage] shook his head.

“Thanks? Thanks? Give yourself more credit! This is the kind of tool that will go down in history. And you—you invented it. Or did you? You said it came from your homeland? Where in the world do you come from? I’ve never seen the like.”

“Uh—uh—well, you know. Terandria?”

“Where in Terandria? I’ve travelled across any number of kingdoms. And no one’s even breathed a word of this to me—and believe me, I would look! Is it something in your village? Some concept no one’s thought of in a military context?”

Erin panicked. Normally people left it alone when she hinted she was from Terandria, but Grimalkin was excited. And he had a death-grip on her shoulder. She looked around, searching for a lie.

“Well, my home town’s called Grand R—”

“Ah! Grimalkin. Just the Drake I was looking for.”

A smooth figure interposed himself between Erin and Grimalkin. The Drake let go as he turned to Pisces. The [Necromancer] gave Grimalkin an oily smile and Erin vowed to be nice to Pisces for at least a week. The muscular Drake raised one brow as he looked at Pisces.

“Ah. The [Necromancer]. Did you see my performance in Liscor?”

“I did indeed, sir. And I’d be delighted to learn the spell you cast. [Lion’s Strength]? I myself am something of a generalist [Mage] despite my main class being ah, [Necromancer]. If you’d care to exchange spells or perhaps I could offer you remuneration to learn that spell in particular—”

“Not interested.”

Grimalkin turned his back on Pisces with a snort. The [Necromancer]’s face fell.

“I assure you, I can fully compensate you for your time. I happen to be in possession of a large quantity of gold that—”

“I don’t train [Necromancers]. Or [Mages] I’m not personally training. If you were my apprentice, that would be another matter. How about it? I sign my students up for a year’s course. If you can meet my basic physical tests, I’ll teach you my basic repertoire of magics. As fine an education as you could find in Fissival, with an added physical core component!”

Grimalkin flexed one arm for proof. Pisces’ face fell.

“Ah, well, I happen to be a graduate of Wistram myself—”

“And? You think that qualifies you? I see a rapier at your hip, but can you use it?”

Grimalkin poked a claw at Pisces’ side. The [Necromancer] narrowed his eyes.

“I assure you, I was considered a very proficient dueler in the academy during my tenure there.”

The Drake rolled his eyes.

“Against other [Mages] with more body fat than bone? I don’t doubt it. But you don’t have a [Fencer]’s muscles. And believe me, a bit of skill won’t save you against anything with a stony hide. Muscle is the only thing that will pierce that! Or raw magical talent. Again, my classes train both.”

He folded his arms, and his disparaging gaze said it all. Pisces’ eyes flashed.

“And if I said that I had more magical talent in my left hand than all your muscles could possibly—”

“Okay! Pisces! My turn.”

A half-Elf slid into the [Necromancer], bumping him to one side. Ceria smiled up at Grimalkin as the rest of her team appeared. The Drake eyed Ksmvr, but didn’t comment—he was watching Erin slowly edge away with one eye. And worst, he was no idiot. Ceria offered her good hand, smiling nervously.

“Sorry about that. Pisces can be rude.”

“Arrogant is the word I’d use. The half-Elf [Cryomancer]. Want to join my school? You could both use the effort.”

Ceria wavered.

“Well—I was hoping we could just learn some spells from you. I’m not one for uh, physical exercise—”

“I noticed. You’re lucky that half-Elves have strong metabolisms or you’d weigh more than you do. It’s not often I see overweight half-Elves, but give it five years at the offset and you’ll notice a change.”

Grimalkin pointedly eyed her stomach. Ceria turned beet-red.

“I—we’re adventurers. We can’t spend the time training. My team, Yvlon and Ksmvr, can’t wait for a year or even months.”

“I see that too. Worker. Missing an arm—funny, I heard your people could regenerate limbs.”

“Not without the right substances. Hello, Sir Grimalkin.”

The Drake ignored Ksmvr. He looked at Yvlon and then dropped his arms. He bent and stared at her arms.

“What in the name of the Walls did you do to your arms? I sense—”

His head spun towards Pisces. The [Necromancer] gulped. Yvlon jumped in.

“My arms were damaged by a fire elemental. My bones are fused with metal.”

“Damn.”

The expletive made heads six tables over turn. Grimalkin struck his thigh, looking disgusted.

“That explains that. I’m sorry, Miss…?”

“Yvlon.”

“Miss Yvlon. No wonder. And no wonder you’re paired with…”

Grimalkin thoughtfully looked at Pisces, then he shook his head.

“You know what? I take it back. Perhaps there are good uses for [Necromancers] in this world after all. Not that I’ve met one that wasn’t half-weasel or necrophiliac.”

“Necro—”

Pisces’ outraged shout was stopped by Ceria’s hand. He tried to speak, but she gripped his mouth. His face turned slowly red as he tried to shout at Grimalkin. The Drake ignored him and went on.

“Still, I can see that my training won’t do you any good, Miss Yvlon. A shame. I was looking into bone-grafting and the like at one point, but I had no desire to be a [Flesh Mage] or dabble into real necromancy. That’s your best shot. I can help you regain your muscle mass if you were to find a way to regrow your bones—with these weights I’ll be able to do it twice as efficiently as ever! But I can’t help you until then.”

Yvlon smiled crookedly.

“That’s fine. Really. I’m searching for a cure, but I do have a backup until then. But about the spells. Are you certain you won’t think about teaching my companions one spell? We could pay you. I’m not sure what the going rate is, but a few thousand gold coins…?”

Grimalkin’s shake of the head was no less brisk.

“Truthfully, Miss Yvlon, that’s an insulting offer. [Lion’s Strength] is a Tier 4 spell, but it’s an enchantment, which you could call Tier 5 since it’s not as simple, as, say, [Grand Fireball]. If I were selling my knowledge of the spell and time it would take to train your companions—which I am not since I’m rich enough—I’d ask for at least nine thousand gold pieces. Minimum.”

“Nine thousand? For a spell? I could buy a good magic sword for that!”

Yvlon was aghast. Grimalkin just heaved his shoulders once.

“It’s a seller’s market. Spells that are rarer or harder to obtain deserve the cost. And my time is valuable. And your friends could tell you—most [Mages] burn through gold like a bonfire does wood. These weights are the most cost-efficient devices I’ve ever come across with. Non-magical. Just metal? Brilliant. I have my own inventions and concepts for training, but they’re not nearly so good.”

“Really? You dabble in magical theory yourself, Magus Grimalkin? I would have thought your pursuit of physical perfection consumes your time.”

Pisces, still flushed, sneered at Grimalkin. Ceria immediately slapped the back of his head. The [Sinew Magus] frowned down at Pisces.

“Wistram isn’t the sole bastion of magical knowledge. The last time I visited the academy, I presented a collaborative dimensional sphere—you’re aware of the ancient contained worlds, aren’t you? Wistram is technically one such area, albeit not portable… my fellow Drakes and I succeeded in creating a pocket dimension of fifteen feet by fifteen feet in a six-and-a-half foot sphere. Not ideal, but it was a prototype. If we just had access to the true magics of old, or we could call upon the world’s foremost experts in diverse fields like enchanting, dimensional magic, teleportation, and so on…”

Pisces and Ceria’s jaws dropped. Pisces, suddenly sounding much more respectful, stammered.

“You. Created a working sub-dimension artifact? In this era? Without relying on any sort of pre-existing blueprint or materials or relics of an older time…? Er, Sir Grimalkin?”

“For a training room. Why? Isn’t that what they teach you at Wistram? I could teach you. And if you take my class, I’ll waive your fees, boy! Now that I think about it, anyone who can mend all the broken bones my apprentices come down with would cut short their recovery time immensely! And ice is sovereign for bruises—healing potions just reverse muscle damage, which stunts muscle growth! Think on it—I’ll be sure to come back if only to talk to Miss Erin. Who has run off before she could answer me about her home town I see. Perhaps she’s…hm…”

Grimalkin looked around and spotted Erin. She’d made her escape and was being cornered by Keldrass and Bevussa. The Drake was distractedly addressing someone from Pallass.

“What? Support for Krshia Silverfang’s election? No!”

Heads turned to look at the Oldblood Drake. Keldrass hesitated.

“I mean, I’m not against it—I’m here to look into acid flasks. I uh, well, my team isn’t eligible to vote for Liscor’s new Council, obviously. But we do like the idea of an expanded Adventurer’s Guild. Which both candidates are offering as far as I understand.”

“Yeah! He’s just in my inn! To buy from me! A Human! Vote for Krshia! Lism’s a jerk!”

Erin cheered over Keldrass’ shoulder. The Drake bit his tongue and turned to her. Bevussa laughed.

“You walked into that, Keldrass! So Erin, how many acid flasks can we buy here? Lyonette says she only has forty three—can we have all forty three if we pay more per flask? What if I come out and endorse Krshia’s campaign?”

“Hold on, Bevussa, you can’t just take them all!”

Keldrass spluttered. Erin’s eyes went round.

“You want all of them?”

“It’s called storing up. Bags of holding don’t let most things go bad. And yeah, I want that acid stuff myself. Seborn will kill me. So—sorry guys, Erin and I go way back.”

Jelaqua elbowed in between the two captains. The Selphid smiled at Erin and the [Innkeeper] held up a hand.

“Hold on! I can’t give you all priority! I told Selys I’d sell them at the Adventurer’s Guild. I just wanted to advertise them here.”

“Aw, come on, Erin!”

“…What if I sold you all twelve?”

“I’ll take it!”

Jelaqua reached for her coin pouch at the same time as the other two Captains. Ceria, who’d missed the discussion entirely, only saw an acid jar as Erin began handing them over and practically froze her way across the room to get to Erin. Jelaqua was cackling as she stowed the jars in a bag.

“If this works well, Erin, you are going to be rich and I’m going to be one happy Selphid. Imagine using this on a Troll, guys?”

“I want to see if it works on Stone Starers myself.”

Bevussa nodded. Jelaqua grinned, turned her head towards Ceria to offer a teasing remark—although Erin had already set aside some of the jars for her friend—and froze. Her eyes locked on Grimalkin as Yvlon let him examine one arm. She fumbled with the acid jar and both Keldrass and Bevussa swore and leapt clear. Jelaqua caught the jar, absently put it in her bag of holding, and then grabbed Erin’s arm.

“That is the most muscular body I’ve ever seen in my life. Who is that? Erin, you have to introduce me.”

“To who? Grimalkin?”

“Is that his name? Please.”

Erin didn’t want to go back just yet, but Jelaqua practically towed her across the room. Grimalkin looked up from a cursory conversation with Pisces and blinked at Jelaqua.

“Hey Grimalkin! My friend really wants to meet you. She’s a—”

“Selphid. Of course. A pleasure to meet you, Miss.”

Grimalkin smiled and held out a hand. The Selphid shook it gently

“Hi. Jelaqua.”

Erin eyed her from the side. Was she—was she blushing? Jelaqua was staring at one of Grimalkin’s pectorals. The [Sinew Magus] sighed and whispered to Erin as he stepped back.

“I got a lot of stares on Baleros. And I have a number of bids for my body when I die. It’s flattering, I suppose.”

“Uh—”

“Can—can I touch your arms?”

“By all means.”

Grimalkin struck a pose. Jelaqua sighed. Erin looked at her face, edged back, and then waved her friends over.

“Grimalkin, meet Keldrass and Bevussa! Hey Seborn! Moore! Get over here!”

“I know you two. Keldrass. Oldblood elites. Didn’t I train your unit once? You’re an adventurer now?”

The muscular Drake looked at Keldrass, who seemed to have inhaled his tongue. Bevussa shook his hand, laughing. And then Seborn appeared and stared up at Grimalkin. He looked at Jelaqua and towed her away without another word. She was still staring. Grimalkin looked around—and then he saw Moore.

“I’m very pleased to meet you. I apologize for my captain. She—”

“Dead gods, man!”

Grimalkin roared, making Moore jump as the half-Giant held out a hand to shake. Mrsha, perched on his shoulders, leapt free in alarm. Bevussa caught her. Grimalkin stared up at Moore and then strode around him.

“You! Sir! You! Do you understand what you could be doing with that body of yours? You should be turning it into a work of art! This is a criminal waste of your potential!”

He pointed at one of Moore’s arms, which, while large, didn’t ripple with muscle like Grimalkin’s. The Drake clenched a fist and leaned in to Moore, speaking urgently as the half-Giant backed up in alarm.

“You could be the finest [Mage] I’ve ever taught. What do you say? Join me, Magus Moore, and by the time we’re through, you could punch a hole in a Wyvern and rip out its heart!”

“I’m not one for exercise. I’m large enough as it is. Thank you, but I’m really—”

“You have talent! Young—half-Giant, you could be a legend! I’m past my prime, but you’re barely, what, in your thirties? Come with me, and I’ll pit you against Feor himself and watch that old half-Elf crumple under a single blow! First the Gecko, now you—this city is a breeding ground for unused potential! At least hear me out! Listen—I’ll sponsor your training. You want to learn magic? I happen to know a variety of Tier 5 spells, even a Tier 6 spell! Stick with me—”

Moore tried to retreat. Grimalkin pursued him. Pisces, wide-eyed, followed them both.

“Tier 6 did you say? Moore, hear Sir Grimalkin out. I happen to have newfound appreciation for his philosophy…”

He disappeared into the crowd after them. Erin, laughing, leaned on Ceria for support. The half-Elf whispered urgently to her.

“Can I get some of those acid jars too, Erin?”

“Sure, sure! Just let me check on my guests. I’ll save Moore from Grimalkin in a bit. Or—Mrsha, you do it! Protect him so he doesn’t turn into Grimalkin!”

The little Gnoll nodded and raced into the crowd. Erin turned around.

“Let’s see. Where’s Maughin? I want him to get on this thing Rufelt and Lasica are discussing. Is he still with the armor? There he is! Maughin! Hey! Maughin!”

Erin waved at the Dullahan. He was sitting alone, drinking from a large tankard and watching Hamlet, which was now being shown on stage. There were still [Smiths] gathered around the Heartflame Breastplate, trying to activate it, but he seemed to be done for a moment. The Dullahan looked over as Erin walked towards him. Bevussa however, looked shocked. She grabbed Erin with one wing-arm and steered her backwards. The Garuda opened her beak and whispered into Erin’s ear.

“Erin! That’s Maughin! Our best [Armorer]! In all of Pallass! His work is so good that you can buy his stuff, take it to an [Enchanter] and have it enchanted with practically anything you want! His metal is good! How in the name of the Ancestors do you know him?”

“Eh. We met? Hey Maughin, how’s it going? Are you bored? Do you need anything? How’s the armor?”

The Dullahan stared down at Erin. He shook his head slowly, and looked around. He hesitated, then shook his head again.

“I’m—fine, Miss Solstice. Truly. The armor is exquisite. I can’t even tell what metal it is, but the detailing, the craft—it’s magic and metal, seamlessly blended. Beyond my craft. I wish that I had the gift for magic. But perhaps if I were Level 40, or Level 50—Pelt might know what was made of. I am not that much of a master yet.”

He laughed, hollowly for a second. Then he bowed his head.

“But I am grateful. Truly, for this opportunity. And these sights. This food…I am simply enjoying myself.”

“That’s great. And oh—this is Bevussa. She says she’s a big fan or yours.”

Erin introduced Bevussa. The Garuda colored—although with her feathers, it was impossible to really see.

“Master Maughin? An honor. I bought my blades from you, do you recall?”

“Of course. The Wings of Pallass are an illustrious team. We share a common friend. I will remember that.”

Maughin inclined his head. Erin beamed, missing the Dullahan’s polite nuance, and Bevussa bowed.

“I am honored, sir. I don’t want to interrupt you, so I will remove myself.”

She tugged at Erin’s arm tactfully and the [Innkeeper] caught the message and decided to introduce Rufelt and Lasica to Bevussa and Lyonette instead. Maughin sat alone at his table, watching them go. After a moment, a Selphid staggered by, downing two shots of whiskey in quick succession. She was following a shadow in the air, which eluded her. Maughin watched with curiosity.

“I wasn’t going to insult him! I just wanted to touch that body! Seborn! You—you jerk! Do you know how amazing a body like that is? Even Level 30 [Warriors] aren’t that incredible. That’s Level 40 or something. Beautiful—come back here!”

Jelaqua sighed; she’d lost Seborn. She looked around and saw Maughin’s table was one of the only empty ones. The Selphid sat down and raised an unsteady hand.

“Sorry. Sir. I just need to catch my breath. I was blown away by—and I think I had five or six shots in the last few minutes to steady my nerves.”

“It is fine. Take your time.”

Maughin ducked his head politely. He thought about taking it off, but someone might knock his head to the floor by accident. People were everywhere. Jelaqua swayed, and then glanced up at Maughin. Her eyes widened.

“Oh sh—sorry, for the interruption, Mister uh, Dullahan. I’m not trying to be rude.”

Blushing, she stood up. Maughin held up a hand and Jelaqua stopped.

“No offense taken. Truly. Tell me, are you a regular? I saw you speaking with Erin Solstice.”

Maughin felt comfortable enough to use her name. Jelaqua sat with a smile.

“Me? I know her. I stayed at this inn for a long while. Sorry. Adventurer. Jelaqua Ivirith, Captain of the Halfseekers. My team was trying Liscor’s dungeon until we decided to stop. We were on the road, but Erin’s magical door…”

She waved an unsteady hand at the doorway. Maughin nodded.

“So you know her well. Tell me. Is it like this here every night? Is it always so…busy?”

His head still spun from all of the events of this morning. He had been in his forge. And now he’d been to another city, had a bunch of new orders for weights, had gotten involved in Liscor’s politics, seen Antinium and a friendly Hobgoblin…

And Raekea was married. Maughin sighed. Jelaqua shrugged as she looked around the room.

“Nah, but this is an Erin classic. Like it? I know it’s crazy, but no one gets hurt at one of her parties. Much. Erin’s great at throwing them; the only time I’ve seen more people just fill a room was back home. Lizardfolk.”

Maughin smiled nostalgically.

“They do enjoy their parties. But theirs are spontaneous. I cannot help but feel this was entirely organized by Miss Erin herself.”

“True! She’s cunning. But I swear, she could make a Centaur get off his high horse and laugh!”

Jelaqua punctuated that sentence with a laugh of her own, and Maughin chuckled with her. Even though she was a stranger. Then his brow furrowed. He leaned forwards suddenly.

“…Excuse me. Did I hear you say you were from Baleros?”

“Who? Me? Yeah! I’m a Baleros native! Born and raised! I haven’t been home in ages! What about you?”

“I’m from the north. One of our—that is to say, my people’s—capitals.”

Jelaqua held up a hand. She squinted at Maughin.

“Don’t tell me. The biggest one? Invinctel? No? Cephalium?”

“Invinctel.”

“Of course! Your armor’s got that color pattern.”

Jelaqua drunkenly waved at Maughin’s armor, which did indeed look mostly white to the untrained eye. But it was the slight flashes of color on the armguards and parts of the armor that told you where to look. An old Dullahan tradition, so their warriors could hide in the snow. Maughin smiled.

“And you are? I didn’t think most Drakes came from Baleros.”

Jelaqua paused. She looked down at her body and laughed.

“That’s just because you see me like this! Sorry, scales hide the obvious.”

“Selphid. Of course.”

Maughin felt like a fool. In fairness, Jelaqua’s current body had dark, almost magenta scales. But if you looked at her eyes, the way she didn’t breathe as often as everyone else—he shook his head.

“My apologies, Miss Ivirith. It has been a while since I went home.”

“You and me both, Master…?”

“Maughin. Forgive me. That was an indiscretion.”

Now the Dullahan did turn red. Jelaqua just laughed good-naturedly.

“I insulted you by sitting down unwelcomed. We’ll call it even! And it’s great to meet another Balerosian! I suppose there are enough from Pallass—”

“Too few. Many lived in Pallass before I came here. We have a community. And those that came here didn’t live back home as long as I did. I spent nearly thirty years there, and not just in my city. Coming here I have made a life for myself for this last decade. But…”

“Home is home. Bugs and all.”

Jelaqua raised her empty glass. Maughin raised his half-filled tankard.

“From north to south, to frozen earth and humid soil. We call it home.”

They clinked glasses softly. Jelaqua laughed, but it was quieter, more pleasant. She leaned back in her chair, sobering a bit or perhaps just telling her liver to do some work. The orange flush in her cheeks died down a bit. She leaned forwards.

“Do you get much news from home? I’m starved myself.”

“A few [Messages]. Mainly politics from Invinctel and among my people. But the topic on every lip was Daquin. Did you hear about the latest game with the Titan?”

“Hear it? Dead gods, I would have paid a hundred gold pieces to see it! It had all the action you could want for, or so I heard. And Tulm the Mithril? The Iron Vanguard? Seriously? I couldn’t see a thing, but you bet I flipped every table in the inn when I heard it was being broadcast! Live of all things!”

Jelaqua slapped the table, groaning. Maughin smiled hugely.

“It was a sight to see. There were people of every species—Cameral of Lord Astoragon’s students, Yerranola—they teamed up together, you know. They might have won, but for Tulm the Mithril himself intervening at the last moment.”

“You mean the feint? What happened? Wait, how did you see?”

Agog, Jelaqua scooted forwards. Maughin took off his head so he could place it on the table and speak without having to lean all the way down.

“I have an acquaintance with a scrying orb. I was able to view all of it. Are you aware of how the game ended?”

“I heard it was a trick! And there were two winners!”

“Close. You see—actually, I think I could persuade my friend to lend you the scrying orb if you are in the area in the next few days. He bought a—a recording of the entire game. From Wistram. It was exceptionally expensive, but—”

“I could watch it? Really? I’ll pay you for that honor, Mister Maughin.”

“Maughin, please. But if you’re willing—”

“No, tell me more! I have to know. I’ll watch it again, hells, three times! Who won? And how? Hey—is that blue juice with rum? Two drinks for us! Don’t bother with shots. Just fill up that mug!”

Jelaqua turned and caught Ishkr as he hurried by. The Gnoll sighed and supplied both Selphid and Maughin with drinks. The Dullahan smiled and raised a mug. Then he leaned forwards to talk about the games at Daquin, which he’d been dying to talk to someone who really knew what it all meant in the context of home. Jelaqua grinned and they both felt a moment of elation. Pallass and Liscor weren’t the only places that had children who were proud of their homes.

—-

And the night wore on. In The Wandering Inn, it passed slowly, and in sudden jumps, leaping from moment to moment. But in Liscor, it passed at a more even pace, if uncomfortably for many. Those who wanted to know what had happened but refused to go to the inn out of principle or commitment.

A furious Lism and a sleepless Olesm, whose worst fears couldn’t quite keep up with Erin herself. And those who didn’t know quite what they were doing. Not anymore.

“It’s her. I heard what she did at the inn. She opened the door to Pallass and started getting people interested in visiting the Walled City.”

“Mm. One would assume that isn’t very hard.”

“Hah. No. But you’d be surprised—no one wanted to go. I think they were all waiting for someone to be the first. And then it slipped out of memory and…well, she did it. She was the first. But she didn’t just open Pallass to Liscor. She opened Liscor to Pallass.”

“I don’t follow.”

“…I mean, she made us look good to them. To a Walled City. We’re a small, border city. I get that. But she impressed the Pallassians. She showed them what Liscor has to offer. And that’s the catch.”

“I still fail to follow.”

“What Liscor has to be proud of is—her, I suppose. That’s what’s so funny. Pallass may have its marvels, but it does not have Erin Solstice. Her pizza, her crazy ideas, her magic door and plays…and she showed them that today. Ancestors, I saw two of Pallass’ legends walking my streets today. Grimalkin and Maughin. Know them? Well, they’re important personages. The kind any Watch Captain remembers.”

“In case of siege? As valuable assets?”

“Or potential traitors. People who could be enticed away by another city. People who can’t be allowed to die. Important people. Over Level 30. But—at least Grimalkin, I know he’s over Level 40. I’m almost positive. Not sure about Maughin, but he’s probably Level 35? At least. The top [Armorer] in all of Pallass.”

“Ah. And Erin brought them here? She knows them? How?”

“…Because she’s her. And she walked around with them. As equals. And she treated with Pallass as equals. Do you know how that feels?”

“Yes. It’s something my…people have wanted ourselves.”

“Right. Well, it’s a great stunt. And she did make the Antinium look good, or so it seems. And it puts a dent in Lism’s arguments against Humans. Because she’s our best Human. And worst. It’s a fair point she made. It’s just that it doesn’t fit in the actual debate. This is about Antinium versus non-Antinium aid for the city.”

“And the popularity of said Antinium is meaningless compared to the very real dangers they present.”

“Exactly. So what does this mean? Nothing.”

“Hmf. Or perhaps everything. This is a democracy. The hearts and minds of people are won by deeds as much as rational debate.”

“But it doesn’t matter. If the Grand Queen orders an attack on Liscor, how much we like the Antinium or they like is—it’s meaningless. We all die, or we fight them off. That’s the only thing that matters.”

“Wrong. It matters. Because she, Erin Solstice, is a friend to the Antinium. They laid down their lives for her. Would you discredit her faith in them? Their sacrifice? If you believe they would not kill her even if the Grand Queen willed it, you must consider that they may hold Liscor by the same values. It is an argument by example.”

“One example isn’t much to stake a city’s survival on.”

“Of course not. But again, this is about Erin Solstice. And she moves hearts as well as minds. In an election, that may be enough to win Krshia Silverfang her votes, even if this Lism has more logical an argument.”

“Really? You think that will win a crowd more than the facts? Well, I was never a debater.”

“I was. It is a custom among my people. We appreciate both the spirit of one’s argument, the emotion and delivery of words, as well as the logical reasoning and impeccable structure of rhetoric. Both have merit. And if Erin Solstice cannot argue to the surety of logic, she can speak to the hearts and minds of those she meets. That is what I see in her.”

“…I see. So Krshia’s got a chance, is that what you’re saying?”

“As long as she has Erin Solstice? Yes. I have been thinking. And she is the leader I should have aspired to be. Rather than the one I was. She does not force or control in the way you or I do, Watch Captain. She brings out the best in us. I knew her so briefly. But when I listen to Ceria or you, I wish that I had spoken to her longer.”

Zevara looked up at the ceiling. She stared at the silent, hunched silhouetted illuminated by the cage door’s field stretching across the floor in front of her.

“She doesn’t visit you, then?”

Calruz shook his head once.

“Never. She has not forgotten what I have done. The lives I took. Or perhaps she has simply forgotten me.”

“Maybe.”

Zevara saw him sitting there, out of the corner of one eye. Huge, somber, his one arm resting on his knees. He sat there, his back to her, and each sentence came slowly, deliberately.

“You’re not forgotten by your team, you know. At least not by Ceria Springwalker. She has come to my office at least twice a week since you’ve been imprisoned here. She visits you at least four times each week. It’s an annoyance.”

There was a smile in Calruz’s voice.

“Ceria was always good at that. And we do…talk.”

“About what?”

“Her team’s latest missions. Current events. What Erin Solstice has done. Little else.”

“Not about your execution?”

Calruz paused.

“I have you for that. But you do not speak of it either. Don’t spare my feelings. When?”

Zevara sat up. Her back pressed against the cold wall and her tail coiled in on itself. She ignored the pit in her stomach.

“It’s a complicated business. Liscor has no dedicated [Executioner]. I have to negotiate for one to arrive. Set a date. Choose the…method of your execution. That’s not simple, but I can do it. The real problem is the matter of your people. They’ve expressed an…interest in your fate.”

“Ah.”

One word. But it spoke volumes. Zevara turned her head.

“Ah?”

Calruz’ shoulders rose and fell.

“I can guess what they’ve said. They would prefer to try and execute me on Minos. It would be less dishonorable to my kin and people to make it a public display. However, somehow, I doubt I will reach my home.”

Was he smiling. What did it look like? Zevara craned her head, but she couldn’t see. She sat cross-legged. Bowed her head over her knees.

“It’s my choice when you’re executed. This current Council seems to have forgotten about you too.”

“Everyone has. It makes sense; these politics, the affairs above, they matter. My fate is sealed. But your duty is to carry out my sentence. So. Again. When?”

The Watch Captain closed her eyes. She did not want this. This, of all her duties, she did not want. Exile was usually how it went—criminals seldom returned to Liscor, knowing that if they were caught, they would die. And perhaps if it had been a common murderer, a [Thug], this would be easy. But this?

“My job is to protect Liscor. Part of that is understanding whether you were affected by some component of the dungeon. The water that makes people blind to parts of the dungeon—the way the monsters don’t attack each other. It could be linked to your madness. That’s why…”

“Why you’ve been speaking to me?”

“Yes. I’m trying to ascertain whether what Ceria claims is true. Whether this is an enchantment, a hex of some kind that damaged you, even a Skill someone used, or—”

“Me.”

“Yes.”

Silence. Calruz shifted. Zevara watched his one arm go up, disappear in the shadow on the floor.

“If it is an enchantment, I would be glad to know. But your [Mages] detected no magic on me or my possessions.”

“No. They did not. But Ceria claims to have seen you switch personalities. She believes something affected you in the dungeon. And you are…saner whenever I’ve talked to you.”

“I have had moments where I am not.”

“True. And you only vaguely remember them. And to me—you seem different.”

“Such is the nature of madness.”

“Or a spell. We haven’t detected it, but Springwalker claims that it could have been an artifact the Raskghar gave you. Or some function of the dungeon itself.”

“She has no proof. Without evidence, the logical conclusion points one way.”

“Well, say it was her emotional, continued pleas that swayed me. And I’m trusting the judgment of my own eyes. Calruz. Tell me again.”

There was a long pause. The Minotaur turned his head at last. Zevara searched his gaze for deceit. She clutched something in one claw. But all she saw was uncertainty, all she heard was his low voice.

“I…believe the me that was below is not who I am now. But I feel it, Watch Captain. Gnawing away inside of me. Calling me. Telling me to—to throw away pride and honor for glory. To seek the treasure at the heart of the dungeon.”

“Do you think this is all your madness? Do you think you yourself did all this? Abandoned your team? Hunted the Gnolls? Sacrificed them? Became the Raskghar Chieftain?”

Zevara waited. And Calruz rolled his eyes upwards. He closed them, clenched his one fist and seemed to struggle. But at last, the same answer came out again.

“No. But am I lying to myself?”

Zevara didn’t reply. She glanced down at her claw. Calruz stared past her.

“Even if it was not me, Watch Captain. What does it matter? I am going mad in this cell. Does anyone above remember me? Besides Ceria? I waste away.”

“I see you doing pushups and sit ups every time I come down here.”

“I am losing my mind.”

The Minotaur intoned the words with slow, steely calm. On the brink of snapping. He looked at her, and his eyes were clear, blue, deep.

Desperate.

“I may be innocent. But if I and you cannot prove it, so what? I still committed the crimes. Even if I were under a [Charm] spell, the blood remains. And besides. It is better to die than live like this forever.”

“Don’t tempt me. And don’t say that. I’m weighing my options. I’m not just stalling. You’re a waste of money. I have other options.”

“Such as?”

“Getting a proper [Mage] to check you out. Not just one from our Mage’s Guild. Wistram-certified. Or finding a [Healer] who knows something about these sorts of things. Give me…well, less than a week.”

The Minotaur nodded heavily.

“I can wait that long. Especially if you keep telling me of the events in the city.”

He paused, and then managed a small smile.

“And I must confess. I want to know who wins this election.”

“I’ll keep you informed. Just…well, thanks for listening to me. I still don’t know if Lism winning would be for the best. I was sure of Klbkch. But some days…”

“You never know who will be your enemy. Even a trusted friend can turn.”

Zevara grimaced.

“You’re the last person I want to hear tell me that. I’ve got to sign off.”

She stood up. Troubled. Calruz watched her go. Zevara walked slowly down the line of cells, ignoring the calls from the two drunks and [Pickpocket] currently awake. She waved at the [Guardswomen] on duty, and then stopped outside. The night was calm. Quiet. Unless you counted The Wandering Inn, probably ablaze from the battlements with noise and light. But right now?

Zevara looked down again at the thing she was holding. A smooth gem, bright blue. She eyed it, shook it. She checked the truth stone for cracks. It glowed blue, without a hint of even violet.

“Damn.”

The Watch Captain sighed. She looked back at the cell. He was uncertain. But she was certain that Ceria might just be right. And that was a certain uncertainty that had given her ulcers. If—if it was the dungeon. But if it wasn’t—

“Going mad in there. Every day in a box.”

Zevara shuddered. There were kinder fates, and those included slavery or death. Imagine living a year like that. He had been there for…she shook herself.

She still had to go to her office. Sign some papers. So Zevara did. She walked down the street, trying not to think of Calruz. But she did. And as she sat in her office, she thought about the fact that she was the only person in the city who really thought of him outside of Ceria and the guards who took him his food and emptied the waste bucket. The only one. Zevara drummed her claws on her desk.

If. She’d met murderers. She’d killed them, or watched them die by hanging or the axe. It wasn’t ever pleasant. But there had been a finality to those Gnolls and Drakes. A sense of guilt, even when they pleaded innocent or for leniency. The certainty, even over the hollow bitterness or vengeance that justice, in the letter of the law, had been carried out. But if Zevara watched Calruz dance on a hemp rope or lie down under the axe, she knew she wouldn’t feel that certainty.

She didn’t know. And how Zevara wished she could, one way or the other. Slowly, she looked around for the bottle of stout spirits she’d been given by Lism for ‘considering his platform’ just the other day. She’d been about to throw it away, but now she wanted it.

Zevara found the bottle. She eyed it, then cursed. She grabbed the bottle, stood up, and stormed back to the prison. There she uncorked it, took a drink, then checked the field of the cell. It was attuned to her. So she looked at the Minotaur sitting there, lifted the bottle, and rolled it into the cell. He stared at her. Zevara glared as she made herself comfortable on her seat.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Say Krshia does win. Am I throwing Liscor away? Tell me I’m not wrong to trust Klbkch. Or tell me I am. But if you don’t pass that bottle back in the next minute, I’ll call for a [Headsman] tomorrow. And I’ll make sure he has a rusty axe.”

She waited, impatient, uncertain. Terribly lonely. And the Minotaur smiled.

—-

Coincidence was a funny thing. Anything could happen if you put two people who might never meet in the same room. And to the weary [Innkeeper] who went to bed well into next morning, she considered it a job well done. But even she didn’t know everything of what she’d done.

Even so, it was about connections. Rufelt and Lasica, who both went to their beds, smiling, delighted, and remembering the name of a Gnoll in Liscor. Krshia Silverfang, who slept reassured that victory wasn’t a pipe dream. The hundreds and thousands of citizens in Pallass and Liscor who thought of Goblins and Antinium in perhaps, perhaps a different light. And thought of another city as close by rather than far away.

But the effects ran deeper still. To Relc, and Grimalkin, who had struck up a friendship, if only beginning. To Temile of the Players of Celum, whose performance had attracted a Walled City’s attention. To the [Smiths] of Pallass, who lifted weights in their dreams. And to Watch Captain Zevara, who woke up with a hangover sitting next to the furthest cell in her dungeon and found there were worse places to be.

And lastly, to a Selphid. Jelaqua woke up with a hangover the next day, when the sunlight blasted her true body through the nerves of her eyes. They were fresh and she was connected, so she groaned in agony. The one good thing about rotten bodies was not feeling a hangover. But the pleasures of a new body were the ability to get drunk, feel—and of course, feel awful.

Right until she disconnected the hangover sensations to the rest of her body. Jelaqua sighed and rotated her neck. Strange. She felt larger. And furrier. What body was she wearing? That had been some drinking—

And then the Selphid remembered last night. She looked down at the large, beyond [King]-sized bed she was lying in. She whistled softly and half-grinned.

“Wow. I felt that.”

Then she rolled over and saw a head looking at her. Maughin’s face stared at Jelaqua from the bedside table. The Dullahan’s body was lying on his back in his bed. Next to her. Jelaqua’s stifled oath made the Dullahan blink. Once.

“Grandmother’s tits, I—sorry, I forgot that I—”

Jelaqua tried to move her legs, but she, the inner she, was still drunk. And she belatedly realized she was wearing a Raskghar body. Female. Which, given what had gone on last night…

“I’m sorry. I mean, uh—last night—”

She stared at Maughin. He was clearly awake. His head stared back. His body seemed content to lie on its back.

“I enjoyed last night.”

“Oh? M-me too.”

The cold cheeks of the Raskghar warmed a bit, and the pale skin beneath the fur turned slightly orange as Jelaqua blushed. She looked around for some clothes. No—wait—did this Raskghar even have clothes? She spotted something that looked like a loincloth and grabbed it. It would do.

“I’ll get out of your hair! Just give me a second—where’s my belt and bag of holding? Don’t worry, I can get out through a window unless there’s a drop. I’m an expert at covert exits—”

Flustered, she grabbed for her possessions. Maughin blinked at her.

“Why?”

“Well, because—”

Jelaqua turned, a host of things on her tongue. Because she was a Selphid. Because it would really look bad if she went out his door and people put two and two together. Or even one and one. Because she knew alcohol did things, and she really appreciated him not expelling her once he came to his senses—

“Because, you know? This?”

She gestured at her dead body. Maughin stared at Jelaqua. He stared up. He stared down. He blinked.

“So?”

And Jelaqua stared. She looked back at Maughin, and then a huge smile spread across her face. And his lips moved slightly up in return. Jelaqua sat on the bed. This was a first. And then, well…

It was all about chance. People meeting people. You never knew what would happen next.

[Magical Innkeeper Level 38!]

[Skill – Inn: Partial Reconstruction obtained]

6.33 E

Day ?

Dawn struck the city of Manus, illuminating the tops of the buildings first and working its way down the Walled City. It took a while for the sun to reach the center, the secret center of the city where they gathered. And that was fitting; even light could not so easily find Manus’ heart.

And those that walked in the keep, one of the most secure places in the world, did not begrudge the lack of sunlight. They had artificial light of magic and fire; if they longed for the sun, the security of this place, this city, was a welcome trade.

For their city was Manus. It was no Salazsar with its simpering impractical architecture, or even Pallass’ unoriginal, boxed design. Oteslia? Waiting to be burned. Fissival? Weakest of the Walled Cities—practically a miracle it hadn’t been destroyed yet, hah! Zeres?

Zeres was pretty good. But the minds who’d designed Manus had been determined to build a city that would never fall. And, to be fair to them, it hadn’t, which was considerable in itself because Manus, perhaps as a product of destiny or bad luck (to their enemies), was based right on the border zone next to the five Hives and land claimed by the Antinium during the First Antinium War.

For proof of the architect’s determination, you had only to look to Manus as a city compared to other cities. Not Manus’ design—a many-sided star that allowed its walls to overlap and hit any threat—but the way the wall had been built unlike every Walled City still standing.

The wall itself was slanted a few degrees outward, so the tops of the wall put the bottom into shadow. Due to this unique miracle of engineering, it meant that anyone trying to slap a ladder against Manus’ outermost walls would have it fall on their heads by force of gravity alone.

And if they decided to hunker under the battlements, or try some other method of climbing up, the machicolations, the meurtrières—or as they were colloquially known, ‘murder holes’—built into the wall would allow the defenders to mercilessly assail those below with boiling oil, spells, arrows, or just a few rocks dropped from a height.

This overhang was a feature seldom seen in most architecture, let alone on this scale. It required exceptional engineering knowledge to pull off, or even describe. Overhang, machicolations, taluses, and so on—it was a language the defenders of Manus had inscribed into their lexicons. How else could you even describe a city like this?

Beyond the first wall was a glacis and a secondary, inner wall on top of the incline, ready to fire upon the helpless invaders who had finally taken the outer wall, only to find that they were now exposed and facing a second wave of defenses from a situation deliberately designed to place them at the most disadvantageous position possible.

The outer wall protected the first, lowest layer of the city, which could and would be sacrificed in time of attack. It was filled with buildings, of course, mostly residential; the valuable architecture and goods lay past the second wall, in the heart of the city. Should the enemy somehow take that wall, they would still not seize Manus as easily as Pallass, with its open floors. In other cities, an army forced to fight in the streets might have a home ground advantage, but they would be demoralized fighting with an opponent that had summited the one major defense of the city. Manus’ soldiers, on the other hand, would simply retreat to another level of fortifications: that of the inner city itself.

Slanted walkways, choke points, portcullises, plazas that allowed those seeking the inner city to trickle in reinforcements slowly while the defenders had three or even four ways to quickly block an army’s advance—the city was a fantastically fun place to be if you were a child or tourist, with its crazed architecture and unique landscape. Was it fun to live in? Well, Manus’ residents certainly numbered as many as any of the other Walled Cities. And the soldiers didn’t seem to mind it much either.

So, then. By ground, Manus was unassailable. By air, almost likewise. The architecture had been made by Drakes keenly aware of the nature of three-dimensional combat. So Manus incorporated towers, narrow passages that would stymie a flyer, and sacrificial heights that could be evacuated in case of aerial spells. Or Dragon’s fire. Archers could pepper an enemy in a game of cat-and-mouse, giving fliers little opportunity to maneuver.

But again, this was all architecture. What did Manus have besides extreme paranoia? The answer was its academy. The officer’s academy of Manus was to Izril—perhaps much of the world—what Wistram was to [Mages]. The sprawling complex in the inner city boasted a curriculum and facilities even the Titan would admit were impressive.

And if Manus didn’t have a [Strategist] who was Niers’ exact equal, you could argue their school turned out far more graduates and leaders than Niers’ smaller, private academy. Drakes from every city, and Gnolls too, came to Manus to learn the art of war. That was what Manus had to offer.

The largest army. The training schools that produced legends like General Sserys or Dalthson Forwing. The bastion of Drake might against the numberless Antinium. Manus did not export goods but sheer military might. This was the City of War.

It was also fairly poor, as Walled Cities went. Second-poorest, only defeated by Oteslia, in fact. A military juggernaut Manus might be, but the money that went to fuel its military industries and import fine Pallassian steel, Oteslian foods, and the best magics from Fissival along with the quality Drake and Gnoll recruits it so desired meant that it was weak to economic pressure or sanctions.

Yes, Manus had stockpiles of preserved food that could last it for potential decades in siege, but those were rations. It could and did experience food shortages or a lack of goods, which the other Walled Cities often did not. For who wanted to take their goods so close to the Antinium Hives? What could Manus really sell that, say, Zeres or Salazsar could not? Thus, Manus often found itself weaker in areas that did not involve swords.

Still, Manus was only a punching bag in diplomacy until the Walled City went to war. Then its coffers flowed with the spoils its soldiers looted. So other cities treaded carefully around Manus. It was needed.

Manus was a gateway of sorts. A bastion that held the land of Drakes and Gnolls from the Antinium. While it stood, the Antinium could never march forwards without exposing their backs. And the Walled City could be surrounded, but never taken. Not by the Ants. They had broken themselves twice on Manus’ walls without ever managing to take the city for themselves.

That alone had given Manus more value in the last few decades. A renewed importance beyond acting as a war leader in repelling foreign armies from Izril’s shores. It made Manus’ defenses all the more important to maintain. When the Third Antinium War occurred, it would be Manus that stood on the front lines again and dared the Grand Queen’s armies to assail them.

Anyways, that was Manus. The people were still people, and the [Soldiers] weren’t always at war. And in the center of the inner city, the keep, the heart of Manus was guarded at all hours. Walking down these halls now came the rulers and protectors of the city. There were many of them, but a select few, eight in number today, had been called to a council. They walked down into the most secure spot in the keep. Eight came, but the war rooms in the keep could have held dozens of their number. Hundreds in one.

Manus had Lords and Ladies of the Wall. But, unlike other Walled Cities like Salazsar, whose venerated ranks of aristocracy grew fewer with each century, or Pallass, whose nobility were almost unknown in the face of democracy, Manus’ Lords and Ladies of the Wall added to their ranks with each decade. They did not trust in heritage alone for worth. So Manus’ own added to their number, choosing the most valorous, high-level, and sound of judgment and elevated them to their peerage when they appeared.

Those were the Lords and Ladies of the Wall who came to answer the call now. They were [Generals] and [Captains], [Commanders] and [Strategists]. And they acted in conclave, under the lead of their ruler. Manus was an elective monarchy, and their leader ruled for two years with each election unto perpetuity if they did their job well. That meant that, with a host of poor leadership, Manus’ champion would be replaced often, but with a wise one, they could reign for decades unchallenged.

This was the room they stopped in. An angular table—a decagon—allowed for ten seats around itself, cut from one block of black marble. As the eight called to the room took their seats or greeted each other, the table flickered to life. The magical map depicted Izril in miniature.

The geography of the table was perfect, or it had been when the table had been made some two thousand years ago. Some parts of the geography had been corrected to match the present terrain, but clumsily. The [Mage] who had created the map table first had been an artist; those who had endeavored to alter it in centuries past had not had the same level of skill.

Still, it would do. And as the eight waited, the person who had called them here walked from her own tunnel down into the room. Her stance was heavy. Her wings folded. But her gaze was no less determined. Just more tired. She entered the room, and those seated stood at once and bowed to her. The Drake returned their bows with a short nod. She did not speak as she went to one of the chairs—they were all the same—and seated herself. But with perhaps one exception, she was above everyone else in the room.

She had ruled Manus for fourteen years. And she wore the trappings of her station, even in this secure room. A set of armor any Named Adventurer would envy. A helmet crafted to fit the Drake skull, the cold-blue metal emitting vapor even in the cool room. Armor made of wide, shimmering scales of every color, which flashed as they caught the light. Dragonscales.

On her clawed feet were boots whose soles never touched the ground, made of a leather from a hide no one could name. And lastly she carried a glaive, the air around it crackling with an unspent thunder of electricity at her side. Manus’ people knew it as the Fang of Manus, but those who were privileged to wield it as a symbol of authority knew it by its old name. The first name, given to it when Manus was still new.

Parentkiller.

It was said that it could damage Manus’ walls. All these things she carried, and they were heavy. The Drake set her glaive against the table, and the eyes of the eight went to it for a moment. But they had seen it and her armor a hundred thousand times, so they made no comment and focused on her instead. The Drake had blue scales, as blue and pale as the open sky, mixed with white and, a rarity, yellow. Three colors gave her scales a quality as exotic as any Lizardperson’s, although that was an unspeakable insult to her and thus the city.

Because she was Dragonspeaker of Manus. And beneath her armor of state, her clothing was white in mourning. The six Drakes and two Gnolls who filed into the room dared not speak at first as Dragonspeaker Luciva Skybreath settled herself in her seat. She looked around heavily, meeting each eye. Then she began without preamble.

“We are here to discuss the Siege of Liscor. The battle that followed at the Bloodfields. And the ambitions of Tyrion Veltras. We have held our conclave en masse with all our peers. Let us talk frankly now. Your thoughts?”

The Lords and Ladies of the Wall exchanged swift glances. Not of nerves; just waiting to see who had the most pressing opinion. That came from a Gnoll with half of his face damaged, his nose, cheek, and jaw along his left side all scar tissue. He enunciated carefully, and his eyes were sharp despite the damage to the rest of his face.

“If I may, Dragonspeaker. We came close to disaster at Liscor. Pallass’ Assembly was slow to act, and their idiocy could have cost us our gateway to the north. We have been complacent; that much has been discussed. In the coming days and weeks, we shall question how and why Pallass was so lax and, indeed, the circumstances under which the Humans obtained so many trebuchets. It bodes ill. But this has been discussed. I say we have averted disaster, though by no action of any Walled City but luck and Liscor’s own defenses. As for the battle at the Bloodfields, we were dealt a loss. But it was a small battle—”

He broke off, grimacing. His eyes flicked to Luciva’s and away. The table held its collective breath. Not a minute into the conversation and it had already been brought up tactlessly. The Gnoll Wall Lord spoke in a pained voice.

“I beg your apologies, Dragonspeaker. I misspoke.”

Luciva went still for a moment. But then she shook her head quietly.

“No. I agree with your assessment, Wall Lord Makhir. It was a small battle. Larger than the ones we have fought in recent years, but small considering the scope of the wars we have traditionally had with the Humans. In centuries past, in the battles that first formed the Blood Fields, our armies held humanity off by the barest of margins, and the dead lay in such profusion…it was a small battle. If one that I consider beyond all acceptable cost.”

A small exhalation came from all those present. The Gnoll, Makhir, bowed his head.

“I agree. And yet, the remark was insensitive.”

“I take no offense, Makhir. No one here is to blame.”

He nodded and fell silent. Luciva looked about, meeting every eye. And no one made comment. They did not need to. It hung in the air unspoken.

The history books as they were being written would record Tyrion Veltras’ battle at the Bloodfields after being unable to take Liscor as an act of spite—or perhaps calculated gains. The Humans in the North did take the lead in the battle, yet the losses were hardly substantial on either side in the grand scheme of things. But it had cost Dragonspeaker Luciva everything. The reinforcements from Manus had taken part in the battle. And that had resulted in…

Her daughter’s death. Luciva closed her eyes. Just for a moment. And she breathed out slowly. Heavily. In the dark room, illuminated mainly by the magic table’s glow, the Wall Lords and Ladies could see bright flashes from the small opening in Luciva’s mouth as she sighed. And they smelled something acrid.

Oxidization in the air, much like the sparks that the Fang of Manus sometimes gave off. It was one of the reasons why the inner war room was bare of carpets and why all of the other guests, save the youngest, touched the ground or the wall before touching anything metallic. Especially the Gnolls; you could get a damn good shock, and scorch marks in fur were hard to get rid of. On Luciva’s back, her furled wings stirred, but that was the only nod to her emotions she let slip.

Wings and breath. That marked her as Oldblood, but more than that—True Oldblood, the rarest of all those who bore their ancestors’ heritage. Manus was famous for that, too. The old bloodlines ran strong in the city, and the people respected that as much as military genius.

And speaking of old blood…another Drake leaned forwards, filling the silence Makhir’s comments had caused. Her scales were teal, but that was such a poor word to describe the color. The scales shone and flowed, more like water than a solid. And her wings, the yellow spines along her neck, all were sculpted. If Luciva was a shining example of the full extent of her heritage, this young Drake was the radiant sun itself. She was beautiful. And when she spoke, it was crisply, loudly, without a hint of awkwardness.

“A small battle. We lost tens of thousands of Drakes in total. So did the Humans. A small army’s worth, [Hunt Commander] Makhir, Dragonspeaker. It may be few in comparison to the population of Drakes as a species, but it is still a blow. One we must reply to. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? Let’s not waste time.”

The others nodded soberly. The fact that this Drake looked younger than any other Drake by at least a decade was unremarked upon. She was meant to be here. The next to speak was a Gnoll who had brought his spear to the table.

“Is this a prelude to war? Tyrion Veltras was halted from besieging the city, I remind you all, not only by luck, but by his peers. Magnolia Reinhart was instrumental to that. She threatened her own people to avert the battle.”

One of the two female Wall Ladies, General Milka, leaned in, her claws gripping the table. Her scales were prickling with a static charge as she sat next to Luciva, but she didn’t even acknowledge the jolts of static.

“Does that speak to her practicality, sense of honor, or simply a Reinhart scheme though, Spearmaster Lulv?”

Lulv frowned.

“I am uncertain. But I think her actions have attracted the goodwill of some of our peers. My informants—I submitted a report you may have all read—tell me a Courier bore a message straight from Oteslia’s city to her mansion.”

Another Wall Lord, Aldonss, shook his head, unmoved by the lightning, which seemed to actually congregate around one claw tapping on the table. Lightning powers and Manus had been associated with the leadership for generations.

“I saw the same report. Whoever is making an overture to her is not being subtle. Need we be concerned?”

“Not yet, I think. The north is in more turmoil. They’ve started a political war amongst themselves. I have no doubt it will develop further as the nobles return to their estates. If this is Magnolia Reinhart’s scheme to take advantage of this in a way that harms us, it is hard to see. Whether it benefits her in the north, though…”

Luciva raised her claw to prevent someone else replying. All eyes fastened on her again. The Dragonspeaker nodded.

“So. Back to my question. Is this a prelude to war?”

“Perhaps not against all the north. But Tyrion Veltras has made his position clear.”

Wall Lord Makhir growled, and the others nodded. So did Luciva.

“As have many peers of the north. Let us say Lady Magnolia Reinhart is averse to war. She and her faction do not represent the north. And it is humanity, once again, which has launched an assault that was unprovoked. Do we agree on this as well?”

“Hm. I do.”

“Barring the usual tensions? I do.”

“Sunken ship. Two murders of Human [Merchants] on the roads. Hm—we have not had a major war save for the Terandrian incursion four years back, and that was only backed by Izril’s nobility, which they disavowed quickly. This was unprovoked, I agree.”

Spearmaster Lulv drummed his paws on the table.

“Tyrion Veltras does have a reason. His wife.”

The table fell silent. After a moment, General Milka shook her head.

“That was nearly four years past. He may have cause, I grant, but those who followed him even when it became clear that Liscor was the target have no excuse. Unprovoked I say.”

The rest agreed. So did Luciva. She spread her claws on the table.

“So. Leaving out what must be done in Liscor, the fault with Pallass, Magnolia Reinhart as an individual, I ask this question: given the unprovoked assault on our people, should we reply?”

And then there was silence. The eight paused. After a moment, Lulv spoke up.

“I am against it. Let the north tear itself apart for months or a year. Our interference might unite them.”

Makhir clenched a paw into a fist.

“And if we do not reply? Will another Walled City? They must know we have teeth, or how else will they back away? These are not rational foes. They are like dogs, circling, testing. They must have blood drawn, or they will come back with less fear.”

General Milka nodded. Wall Lords Aldonss and Kishield dissented. The youngest female Drake, who had remained silent, flicked her claws at the map. Wall Lord Aldonss spoke as Luciva glanced at the youngest Drake, trying to read her reaction.

“I agree with Lulv. If we reply, we risk inciting a conflict. And we cannot risk it. Not with the Antinium.”

Aldonss looked around the suddenly quiet table. A few of his peers grudgingly nodded, but Luciva didn’t. She wanted another opinion. So, the Dragonspeaker looked to her left at the youngest Drake and nodded to her. “Rafaema. Your thoughts?”

The Drake was poking at the geography of the continent. She looked up, blinking, as the other members of the Security Council looked at her expectantly. Her tail swished—in embarrassment?—and she replied in the same, clear, definitive voice.

“If they attack us, we attack back. It’s as simple as that, isn’t it? Why are you all debating about it?”

Without hesitation. Manus’ High Command glanced at each other. And one by one, they nodded. All except Lulv and General Milka. The rest had been swayed though, and they turned to Luciva. They didn’t need to voice their opinions; she had eyes.

The Dragonspeaker nodded. She closed her own eyes, thinking for a long moment. Her wings and tail stirred. The others waited. After a minute, then two, Luciva silently opened her eyes.

“It is an action that cannot be ignored. The south must answer.”

A sigh, and that was all. It was done. Lulv grimaced, but beyond that, he listened as Luciva went on.

“We will take the lead in this. The other Walled Cities may know of it—and we may request the best fliers of their cities. The True Oldbloods are needed. Manus’ children need not bear the entirety of the risk alone.”

Rafaema’s tone was hesitant as she lifted a claw, for all her words had been the deciding factor.

“You intend to go forwards with our first plan of ruination?”

“It is the one we decided upon. There is no need to adjust it.”

“Which one is that? I forget.”

Rafaema’s question was answered by Lulv as he leaned over. Luciva ignored the whispering and went on, speaking names, which got nods. A few suggestions were made, more names floated along with the cities the Drakes hailed from. But the majority of the work had been done in the decision-making. The names and plan itself had already been meticulously thought-out and prepared for execution. Manus’ elite didn’t waste more frivolous time talking.

“Thank you for your counsel. I will give the order.”

Dragonspeaker Luciva paused for a moment, then marked a document with her signature, stamped the magical wax with her ring, and it was done. The file would be copied and indexed, and the plan would go into action. Results would take a while to appear. Yet she knew what had been done, and the small action felt heavy.

How personal was this decision? Luciva wondered. She had no answer, but she had gotten no pushback. Not from the Security Council, nor Manus’ most important resident, who sat in this very room.

Nor would the other cities do more than offer minor complaints; she expected only Oteslia to object, and only in words. The only other figure she could name who might interject had drawn these very plans up. The Cyclops had said nothing; it would be done.

So she cleared her throat and brought to docket the only other item worthy of the Security Council’s time.

“One last thing before we adjourn?”

——

Rafaema was already half out of her seat. Surprised, she sat. Even for smaller wars, the Security Council’s time was precious. What could merit this? Luciva gestured.

“Aldonss. Your report on the Noelictus rumors.”

Noelictus? Rafaema’s brow became a mass of confusion. That was a Terandrian nation; completely inconsequential to Manus’ politics. But a few members of the Security Council, like Milka and Makhir, sat forwards suddenly with apparent interest.

“Ah. I intended to save this for the next meeting. To be brief, Dragonspeaker—I have authenticated the reports from Noelictus.”

Lulv was clearly struggling to remember as well.

“What’s this one about? Is that the file flagged on some village and the upset there? War with Ailendamus?”

Luciva shook her head.

“Not Ailendamus. They’re far out of our radius of concern even if they invaded. Rather, it was one of our Grade 9 threats.”

Rafaema almost sent her stack of papers flying. Grade 9?

“We don’t have any of those anymore! Do we? The Immortal Tyrant’s dead. The Antiinium we’ve met aren’t that dangerous, and the rest of them are still on Rhir if they’re even alive…the Deathless are extinct—they were killed when I was young—Old Hungry? No, wait, Noelictus is inland.”

She rattled off the few, very few, threats that warranted Manus’ highest threat classification. ‘Old Hungry’ was the largest Kraken to ever exist. Luciva gave Rafaema a frown.

“None of them. This is about the…Witch.”

A susurration ran through the Security Council. Lulv had been closing his eyes, trying to recall the report. Now he cracked one eye open. General Milka put her claws together. Rafaema hesitated.

“Oh. Her. She hasn’t caused trouble for ages. Nothing major since before I was born.”

“That situation has changed.”

Wall Lord Aldonss informed the Council. His report was extensive, and Lulv and Rafaema made faces when they saw the length.

“I suggest you read it; the entire scheme is, in retrospect, difficult to fully appreciate. The matter is settled. The Witch is on the run, for once.”

Makhir was audibly disappointed.

“Not killed?”

Luciva murmured.

“No one kills that one. The fact that anyone bested her…so. [Witches].”

An unfamiliar class to most Drakes. An old one. Aldonss nodded.

“I recommend vigilance. Not just for her; the [Witches] of the north are apparently moving. Gathering. Whether in support or defense, it’s hard to say. News of Noelictus has not spread openly; the Court of Dusks and Landsreight seems to have tamped rumors down well. But I might suggest a clandestine anti-[Witch] operation if any try to move past Liscor…?”

Luciva frowned as the Security Council murmured. Makhir lifted a furry finger.

“I’m against. Wisdom says we don’t need to join in on that sort of thing.”

The Dragonspeaker agreed.

“Put a proposal together if you feel strongly, Aldonss. Tell me if there’s any credible reports of the Witch arriving on Izril. That’s all. Adjourned.”

Not once did any of them actually say the Witch’s name, which Rafaema thought was overkill. Then again, names had power. And the events of Noelictus were far away. So the Security Council rose to their feet, then strode back to their tasks.

Luciva bade them all farewell one by one. A few of High Command stopped to talk with her or exchange brief goodbyes among themselves; the rest filed out, returning to their homes and other duties quietly. This meeting had most certainly happened, but none of them would ever talk about it.

Only one Drake lingered in the room afterwards with Dragonspeaker Luciva. She was hunting for something she’d dropped. It turned out to be her personal bag of holding, under her chair. Luciva patiently let her fasten it to her belt, then nodded as the young Drake turned.

“What do you make of this, Rafaema? Was that a wise decision or not?”

Rafaema turned, surprised. After a moment, she shrugged slightly, and a bored, even tired expression crossed her face.

“It’s fairly normal to me. Humans have always been Humans. The Antinium bother me more. They’re new.”

She frowned. Luciva nodded seriously. The Antinium were a threat two decades old, but they marked a change in the balance that had existed for ages between Gnolls, Drakes, and Humans.

“Spearmaster Lulv and General Milka were correct in saying that a war with Humans would be disastrous. The Antinium would not be idle. We risk much by provoking them, even in reply.”

Luciva was stating the obvious. Rafaema nodded, tilting her head from side to side, regarding the magical map on the table. She considered Luciva’s statement, then turned around and shrugged again.

“Maybe. But then they would get away with it. And why would we ever allow that?”

And that was that. It was a pure answer, without second thoughts attached. Luciva nodded.

“Thank you for your time. No doubt my peers took your words to heart.”

“I just said what I felt. See you, Luciva. Um…sorry about Hedica.”

“Thank you.”

Rafaema left. That left just Luciva standing at the table. She looked back towards the passage that would lead her up to a place where she could give the orders that would set the plan in motion. But she didn’t go right away. Instead, she sat back down in her seat and leaned on the table, ignoring the magical geography her arms and head rested on. She didn’t know if she’d made the correct decision.

That was why she had called this meeting, to deliberate over one point. Had grief swayed her judgment? Had they been right to listen to Rafaema’s opinion? Luciva didn’t know, but she had made her choice, and she had learned not to second-guess herself. She rested her head on the table, taking some small relief in the fact that no one would intrude on her here, at least not for a bit.

The decision had been made. The plan would work. Manus, and the Drake cities, would have their vengeance for Tyrion Veltras’ aggression, at least in part. But today, all Luciva felt was grief.

Day 1 – Durene

She stood in front of the [Witch]wearing the pointed hat, swaying. The news of Laken’s disappearance, the loss from the battle, her yet-to-be-healed injury all made Durene’s head swim. The girl was tall, strong, with a [Farmer]’s muscles and a build that came from her heritage. Her skin was cracked, grey, and rough. She was taller than almost any Human, six foot eight. And she was strong. But right now, she could have been knocked over by a feather. Words were nearly doing the same trick.

“Where?”

The [Witch] frowned. She was young—although maybe older than Durene by a few years, three at most—and she was dressed in a long, dark-blue robe. Her hat was pointed, and but for a broom and a crooked nose and some warts, she could have been a young version of the [Witches] that Durene had heard about in children’s stories. But Wiskeria’s normally business-like manner, intelligent eyes, and spectacles were…not. Now, she looked worried as she avoided the question.

“Where what?”

“Where are they?”

Durene was in no mood for questions. She clenched her hands, and Wiskeria, mindful of being picked up and shaken like a rag doll again, backed up. At last, she answered, speaking quickly and eying Durene as the half-Troll girl swayed again.

“I don’t know exactly. Durene, you’re in no condition to move just yet. If you’re thinking of following them, forget it. They had Skills and horses. They were trying to catch Tyrion Veltras, I think. And if he’s where I think he is—”

“Just tell me where! In what direction did he go?”

Durene covered her face. She wanted to cry. Nothing was right in the world. She heard nothing for a moment, and then Wiskeria sat next to Durene. She put a hand on the half-Troll girl’s shoulder, and Durene felt it trembling. She looked up and saw the desolation in Wiskeria’s eyes too. They’d failed. The two sat together for a moment, and then Wiskeria spoke.

“South. They’ve all gone south.”

“South…?”

The news hit Durene like a wall. She looked around. She barely knew where she’d woken up. Her chest throbbed. It had been healed, right? It looked—red. Inflamed. Like a really bad cut. Durene touched it and made a sound.

“I don’t feel well. You used a healing potion, right? I think I need another.”

She tried to open her shirt to see the injury. It was being given air to breathe. The scar was bad. Red. Puffy around her grey, cracked skin. Wiskeria looked alarmed. She put a hand on Durene’s arm, trying to steer her towards the bed. But Durene was far too heavy for the [Witch] to move.

“Lie down, Durene. You’re still not healed. You’ve been sick. You need to rest, okay?”

“I need to go after Laken. I think…I’m healed, aren’t I?”

Durene sat automatically. She touched at her chest and winced. The blade had gone straight between her breasts. That Hobgoblin…it was hurting a lot more now. Wiskeria put a hand on Durene’s shoulder. Incredibly, when she pushed, Durene felt herself flop back. The bed groaned.

Durene’s head swam. Wiskeria appeared above her, worried.

“The healing potion worked. But it also caused complications. You have a good [Healer] tending to you. Just—rest. Let me get her. It’s good that you woke up. But you need to rest, Durene.”

“I have to find Laken.”

The world was fading out. Durene kept on blacking out. Red, hazy pain, and Wiskeria’s voice flickered in through her mind, filtering in through sleep as it pulled her down.

“Sleep. You’re going to be okay, Durene. Laken was worried. Just—sleep. And get better.”

“I thought I—”

Day 2 – Durene

It was a bad night and a worse day. It felt like forever. Durene slept and woke in bursts. Her chest was on fire. It burned with a deep, inner pain that tore her apart from the inside. It hadn’t hurt as badly when she was cut in battle. Now, it felt as though she were being burned. Her body was hot. And the pain—it went down inside her chest. Deeper, sickness turned to agony.

“It hurts. It hurts.”

Durene didn’t remember when she first called out for aid. She didn’t for a long time, until it was too much to bear. She’d never had anyone to look out for her. Not since she was thirteen. But she called out anyways.

And they were there. Voices soothed her. She felt cool hands, cloths mopping at her brow. Then—unkind swabbing at her chest, pain bursting there. She pushed away weakly, but the hands came back. And above her, swimming into focus and out of it, were faces. Voices. Some were familiar, others not.

One was Wiskeria’s, kind and worried. Another was stern, sometimes worried, sometimes not, but always filled with steely determination, snapping. Durene heard Mister Prost, Beniar, even Lady Rie, but never the voice she wanted to hear. They mixed together over the long night and the day until the conversation was one confusing blur.

“Not going…increasing…tell him another day.”

“Clearly—my brews and poultices—”

“My authority here. If you—”

“Complexion’s poor…what should I write…?”

“…asking about you, Durene.”

“Further south? Dead gods, what is Tyrion—”

“…here. Continue your conversation—”

“Not getting better? Maybe if…”

“…Another healing…you mad?”

“—No! Drop…and she will die. You…down now and leave my—!”

And then at last, a voice broke through the fevered mists.

“Durene. Laken’s doing well. He’s coming back as fast as he can.”

“Laken?”

Durene opened her eyes. She heard an exclamation. Wiskeria was looking over her. Durene blinked. The [Witch] bent hurriedly.

“How do you feel? Durene?”

“I’m okay. I just had a—nap. I’m hot.”

There was a strange look on the [Witch]’s face.

“You’ve had a fever.”

“Oh. Good I didn’t have a potion. That makes it worse.”

“Yes…you should rest. Laken will want to hear you’re awake. Healer Pirose? Hold on, Durene. Let me just call her.”

Durene put her head back. She shook it gently. Her chest hurt, and it was hot. Not as bad as the night, but her lips were parched.

“I don’t need a healer. Just a nap. I’ll get up tomorrow. Can I have some water?”

“Of course.”

Wiskeria grabbed a pitcher from the bed and offered Durene a cup. The girl drank thirstily and laid back.

“I’ll be fine. Tomorrow…I heal fast.”

“I know.”

Durene closed her eyes. The world swam. She licked her lips and raised her head.

“Can I have another cup of water?”

But Wiskeria was gone, so Durene lay back again. She was hot, then cold. The world swam, and the fever and the pain in her chest began to ebb. Too slowly. She licked her lips, wishing Wiskeria would return. She was a bit too—too weak to grab the pitcher herself. Which was rare. Durene murmured into the air as the night returned.

“Thirsty.”

Day 3 – Durene

The rain woke her up. Durene licked her cracked lips. She heard it pattering overhead. On a roof of some kind. Not hers; she knew the sound the rain made when it hit her thatch. This was different.

Slowly, Durene opened her eyes. She was hot all over. And…weak. The fever hadn’t broken yet. But she was oh so very thirsty. And someone had put a bandage on her chest. Durene frowned at it. She couldn’t ever remember having a cut that needed anything like that.

Normally, even the worst cuts she’d had closed in a few days. And were they tending to her with a [Healer]? She vaguely recalled Wiskeria saying that. That was…nonsense. All Durene needed was some broth, some time, and she’d be right as rain. The worst of the fever was over.

The patter of rain distracted Durene. She sat up unsteadily. The world swam, but she was very, very parched.

“Thirsty.”

She didn’t remember getting out of bed, but she did feel each step in the unfamiliar…room? Yes, it was a room. And here was a door. Durene pushed it open. The rain. She just had to find—

The room past her bedroom looked foreign. New. One of the houses in Riverfarm? Someone had set up a lot of strange equipment here. Clean linens, needles, glowing potions—even scissors and a thin saw for some reason. Strange. Durene stared at it all and then saw the door. It was so close.

Step. Step. Durene chanted to herself, grabbing at a passing chair for support. It groaned under her weight.

“Door. Thirsty. Step. Door—”

And there it was. Durene leaned on the handle, and it opened. She saw the rain coming down in sheets. The landscape was dark, and a bolt of lightning arced down in the distance. It threw the world into relief. Durene saw a row of houses opposite her. A familiar mountain in the distance. Yet the houses were foreign. But the rain was familiar, and when she stepped into it—

Durene sighed. It cooled her skin, soaked the bandage on her chest and her light clothing. She opened her mouth, letting the rain fall into it. How long she stood there, gulping down rain, she couldn’t have said. But then Durene heard a scream.

“Monster!”

Someone shouted it from afar. Durene’s eyes opened with a snap. She looked around. A monster? Instinctively, she looked for the long greatclub she’d been using. But it was gone. Durene’s hands curled into fists. They would do. She stepped forwards—

And saw a girl pointing at her down the street. The child was standing in the door of a house down the street, light at her back. Pointing at Durene. Slowly, Durene stopped. She saw someone rush to grab the girl, a man, and more doors flicker open. The call of ‘monster’ was taken up for a second by another voice, and then someone roared.

“Durene!”

Swaying, the half-Troll girl turned. Prost ran towards her, ignoring the rain that soaked his clothing. He grabbed at her as she leaned on the doorframe.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m thirsty.”

He stared at her. Durene blinked at him. Her chest felt worse than before. The dull pain was back, and the water wasn’t helping. He looked around.

“Get the [Healer]. And shut up whoever’s shouting that. You five, help me bring her inside.”

“I can walk.”

Weakly, Durene protested. Prost looked at her. Durene shook her head.

“I don’t need to be a bother, Mister Prost. I can walk back to my bed.”

“You’re sure?”

Durene smiled. The concern in Prost’s voice reminded her of…a long time ago.

“Yeah. I’ll just—”

She took a step and let go of the doorframe. The world spun.

Day 4 – Durene

The next time Durene woke up, it was in her bed. Her bed…no normal bed could fit her. Wrong house.

She stared up at the ceiling and realized the rain had stopped. This time, she felt much, much more awake. And finally, there was someone in the room. A woman with her back to Durene, dressed in green and yellow clothing, was mixing something in a bowl behind Durene. The girl blinked at the unfamiliar back and sat up.

“Um. Hello?”

The woman whirled about, jumping in shock. She had a stern face. Her eyes widened as Durene swung herself out of bed.

“You’re awake.”

“Yup. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

Durene didn’t know how they’d gotten her back into bed. But she felt better after another sleep. Not as thirsty. And much cooler. She got to her feet. The woman’s eyes widened.

“You shouldn’t be able to get up! We haven’t been able to treat your wound with healing potions, not since it was infected—lie back down!”

“I’m fine. It doesn’t feel bad. I don’t want to be a bother.”

Durene muttered as she looked around the room. She shook her head; her legs felt wobbly, but she felt sure she could make it back to her cottage at least. She walked around the bed, and the woman blocked her.

“Absolutely not. You’re finally getting better, but you’re far too weak.”

“I can walk. Really.”

Durene sat on the bed because the only other option was to pick the woman and put her to one side, and that was fairly rude. The woman—was she the [Healer]?—pursed her lips.

“You can talk and walk. That’s impressive, I’ll grant you. I wouldn’t expect even a Gold-rank adventurer to do that so soon.”

“It was just a fever.”

The half-Troll girl smiled uncertainly. The [Healer]’s brows shot up. Durene anxiously looked down at her chest. But the bandage on her chest had disappeared, and the red gash on her front was only a tiny bit enflamed. The [Healer] noticed the look and nodded.

“You’re pulling together faster than you have any right to. Conscious and able to get up?”

“I can walk if you want me to.”

Durene informed the woman calmly, a bit nettled by the strict tone. Maybe the [Healer] was used to patients other than [Farmers]. She was fine. Three days out of commission was bad enough. The [Healer] just shook her head.

“Lie back down.”

“But I—”

“No arguments. If you can get up tomorrow, I may let you move about. Your injury closed in two day’s span from what it was. That’s healing power. And if that’s so…one day of rest.”

“A day? In bed?”

The thought horrified Durene. She moved to get up again, but the [Healer] placed a hand on her shoulder.

“[Healer]’s orders. I insist.”

“I understand, Miss. But I can’t just sit here and—”

“[Order of the Samaritan]. Lie down.”

The woman’s eyes flashed. Durene found herself laying back and pulling the sheets over herself before she knew what she was doing. She blinked up at the woman. The [Healer] sighed.

“You used a Skill on me?”

“I’ll use more if I have to. I don’t intend to lose you, not after a battle that hard-fought.”

That seemed like a poor reason. Especially because Durene had lost that battle. So had the army. The half-Troll girl closed her eyes for a moment, remembering. That was why the woman was here.

“Fine. I’ll stay in bed. Don’t worry about me. You’re tending to the others, right?”

“Others?”

The woman looked blank as she reached for her poultice or whatever was in the bowl. Durene’s head rose a bit, and she frowned.

“The others from the battle. How’re they doing?”

The [Healer] had a very odd look on her face as she turned.

“Them? They’re fine. I’ve seen to them already.”

“Oh. Well, don’t let me keep you. I’m right as rain. Sorry I walked out yesterday.”

“Of course.”

Another frown. The woman felt at Durene’s brow. Then she shook her head.

“Your fever’s broken. Tomorrow, if you’re well, we’ll let you stand up. Please don’t get up. I’m tired of having to chase you down.”

“You’ve done it before?”

“Six times already. You don’t remember? You keep looking for your cottage. Or this [Emperor] of yours.”

The woman smiled drily. Durene blushed. She lay in bed as the woman checked her scar and then dabbed something cool from the bowl over it.

“I’m sorry. But I’m awake now.”

“Yes. You are. And since you’re still awake, I suppose you could do with some food.”

Durene considered that.

“I am hungry. Do I have to stay in bed for that too?”

“Yes. Although you may sit up.”

So saying, the [Healer] left the room. Durene sighed and sat up. After an interminable amount of time where Durene just stared vacantly at the weird mixtures and the mortar and pestle on the table across from the bed, she heard the footsteps and saw the [Healer] come into the room with a large bowl.

“A stew. Let’s see you keep this down.”

“That’s not much. I could eat three bowls. I’m ravenous.”

The woman blinked at Durene. The girl blushed. She ate a lot, but it wasn’t as if she gained weight—well, not fat. The [Healer] shook her head.

“No matter how you feel—here. Do you need a hand?”

Durene shook her head. She took the spoon, lifted the bowl up, and began to eat. There were bits of meat floating in the lentil stew. It was hot, good—she barely tasted it. The stew would have burned Laken’s tongue, but Durene had finished the bowl in under a minute. The [Healer] looked shocked. Durene smiled a touch smugly.

“Told you.”

“Can you keep it down?”

“Of course!”

The woman folded her arms.

“Give it fifteen minutes.”

“Can I stand up while I wait?”

“No.”

“Then can I do something? I’m bored.”

The woman considered this.

“Wait.”

She left the room and came back quicker this time. Silently, she handed Durene a book. The [Farmer] turned [Paladin] blinked at it.

“What’s this?”

“A book. If you need to entertain yourself, use this.”

Durene hesitantly stroked the cover. The book was bound expertly, and it wasn’t nearly as worn as the trio of books she’d seen on Miss Yesel’s shelf. She opened it and saw a lot of neat words arranged on the page. They blended together seamlessly on crisp paper. Durene’s eyes widened.

“This must be expensive!”

“Mildly. You may borrow it. I’ll take your bowl.”

The [Healer] did just that. She left the room and came back to see Durene paging through the book restlessly. The girl closed it, embarrassed, and the [Healer] frowned.

“Not to your taste?”

“No…but it’s just that it’s a lot of words. And I can’t—er—”

“Ah.”

The woman looked at Durene’s blush, then the book. She instantly understood what Durene was saying. Durene hung her head in shame. She couldn’t read it. She knew her basic letters and numbers, but a book wasn’t something she’d ever owned. She didn’t know if anyone in Riverfarm—the old Riverfarm—could read that well either. Mister Prost could, and a few others, but reading wasn’t a necessary skill. The [Healer] briskly took the book back from Durene.

“That’s fine. I suppose there’s no help for it. If you wish, I will read to you. Otherwise, I can ask and see if there’s something you can do with your hands. Knitting? Carving?”

“I wouldn’t mind knowing what the book was about. If it’s no bother, Miss.”

Durene blushed again. She had to admit she dearly wanted to know what the lovely tome contained. The front was a title—she could make out a few words, but the fancy calligraphy and the plain, pale-purple binding didn’t tell her much. The [Healer] nodded.

“Very well. It is something of a good story. I’m rather taken with it myself. This is a chronicle of an adventurer’s life. Not an adventurer, but…the tales of Thivian Stormless, the famous hero known as the Lightning Thief. Do you know of him?”

Wide-eyed, Durene nodded. That was an old name. An adventurer who’d passed away not too long ago. One of the names everyone knew, of course. He’d died when she was…eight?

“He has a book? I remember hearing about him dying. They said he died at sea, fighting a horde of sea serpents. And they said he could still steal lightning as it fell from the sky. Even Archmage Amerys’ lightning! Is that true?”

The [Healer] smiled.

“I think he died in his bed. But I do recall him as well, and I even had the privilege of seeing him at a banquet once. He was a talented [Thief]; he stole any number of hearts even in his late years.”

“You saw him? Really?”

The [Healer] coughed, a blush rising to her cheeks.

“It was what prompted me to get the book. I will read it if you’d like.”

“Please. But—can I have another bowl of soup?”

On cue, Durene’s stomach rumbled. The [Healer] blinked.

“You’re hungry still?”

Durene’s eyes darted to the bowl. It wasn’t a bowl meant for a single serving; you could fit half a pot in it. It was probably meant to hold salad, not soup. Durene was embarrassed, but nodded.

“I’m sure I can keep it down.”

“Well…let me get another bowl. I’ll read to you, and if you’re still hungry…”

The [Healer] took the bowl and left. Durene sighed and sat in her bed. She felt at her chest; her skin was still tender. The injury really had been bad; normally, her skin could shrug off even her kitchen knife when it slipped. That Hobgoblin with the axe…Durene closed her eyes. Then the door opened.

This time, the [Healer] was back with a bowl of soup and half of a rounded loaf of crusted bread. Durene’s stomach rumbled loudly, and she reached out. The [Healer] blinked as Durene tore into the bread. She kept the bowl and watched as Durene ate the loaf down.

“Eat slower. You’ll give your stomach a cramp.”

“I always eat like this. And I’m hungry.”

Durene complained. She reached out, and after a moment’s hesitation, the woman handed her the bowl. The soup went down slower this time, but still quick. Durene tasted it and savored the bites; the bowl was gone in a few minutes. The [Healer]’s eyes widened as Durene handed her the bowl back.

“You weren’t exaggerating, were you?”

“I said I was hungry. I could do a third bowl. Probably.”

The woman opened her mouth. Then she just shook her head.

“You’ll wait an hour this time. But if you’re still hungry then, I’ll get you more. Dead gods. Have I been underfeeding you this entire time?”

“Everyone thinks I eat less than I do. It’s fine.”

Durene sighed. She sat back, and the [Healer] sat across from her. The woman eyed her, then opened the book she carried.

“Well, you’re certainly the most lucid I’ve seen you. Incredible, really. Your fever broke yesterday, and you’re already able to stand.”

“That’s normal.”

“Not for someone who’s gone through what you have.”

Durene supposed that was true. An axe blow to the chest would put down most people, healing potion or not. She shrugged.

“I could really walk around. Honest.”

The woman pursed her lips.

“Tomorrow. As I said. You’re not to leave this bed except to use the bathroom.”

“Fine. But what will I do?”

“Listen. I’m going to read this book to you, unless you object?”

The woman’s brows raised. Durene yelped.

“What, for the rest of the day? Until I go to sleep?”

“That’s part of my job. And it’s why I’m here. I want to see how long you can stay up.”

“I can stay up all day, thanks. You’ll read that entire book and then some.”

The half-Troll girl folded her arms. The [Healer] just shook her head.

“That remains to be seen. Now, sit there until your stomach’s digested that food. Don’t lay back or it may come up.”

She opened the book. Durene settled against the headboard comfortably. She felt odd and couldn’t place why. Then she realized that not once had the [Healer] looked askance at her skin. And she looked completely normal around Durene. Well, she had been tending to her for three days. The [Healer] opened the book, licking one finger as she flicked to the first page.

“Very well. Let me know if you feel sick or ill at any moment. Ahem.”

Five days into the storm that raged across the sea, and the ships still sailed on. One ahead, five behind. The Bloodtear Pirates, one of the most feared and dangerous [Pirate] navies in the world, were in hot pursuit of the Waveblade, the stalwart vessel captained by Gallheart herself, a Drake with two scars across her face, one of the finest [Ship Captains] to ever leave Zeres’ harbor.

She stood on the bow of her ship where she had lashed herself to the wheel, and still she steered her ship onwards, though it had been five days since the storm began, and she had neither slept nor abandoned her post.

Durene’s eyes widened as the [Healer] turned a page. The woman’s voice was soft, and she was no natural reader, but the words and language were unlike any story Durene had ever heard told. It had form, structure—it wasn’t a fireside tale, but something as good as the travelling [Storyteller] had told. No, better. The [Healer] smiled as Durene sat up. She began the second page.

The storm blew even fiercer, threatening to drown the ships. Yet the Bloodtear Pirates did not relent. The Waveblade had a treasure they sought, and so even as the waves threatened to capsize the ships with each swell, they sailed through them. Gallheart took her ship through one wave, and then the next. But the third caught her unawares, and it bore down on them. She cursed as she looked up at the waters rushing down as one of the Bloodtear Pirate ships turned over, swept away by the water.

“Damn them and this mission,” she swore. “If this is the end…!”

And it was at that moment that the waters disappeared. The wave crashed down, but for a hundred feet, from bow to stern, the air was suddenly clear. Waveblade sailed through the wave as two more Bloodtear Pirate ships were broken by the massive wave. But someone had taken the waters that would have doomed Gallheart’s ship. She turned her head.

And there he stood. The [Thief] of legends. He stood on her decks, smiling, his eyes, one real, one enchanted, glittering. Thivian Stormless. He swept Gallheart a bow.

“Why the startled look, Captain Gallheart?” He laughed lightly. “Surely you didn’t forget the Lightning [Thief] was your guest of honor? If I can steal a bolt from the heavens, a wave is child’s play. Or didn’t you think the legends were true?”

“If I thought the legends were true, I’d have wondered how Thivian Stormless could have landed us in the worst storm this side of the century,” Gallheart snapped back. “Tell me this cargo’s worth it or I’ll throw you overboard now and damn our contract.”

“Once more, Captain Gallheart. The fate of Baleros may rest on it. If the Eye of Medusa is not returned, there might be war between the Gazers and the entire continent. Take us on. And you’ll be rewarded in not just gold, but glory.”

“Gold’s enough for me. Glory fills no holds. Just you keep your hands at the ready, Human. Because there are two ships on our back, and I have no doubt more seeking to block us. Once this storm ends, we’ll get our bearings…”

Durene listened as the [Healer] flipped from page to page. And the book unfolded, a tale of daring and wonders caught on page. The half-Troll girl had never heard the like. Her eyes were fixed on the book as she sat, forgetting about her desire to get up. And, true to both their words, the [Healer] read into the night and Durene listened, pausing only to use the bathroom thrice and eat a large dinner.

The book closed with Thivian Stormless’ last daring tale, and Durene felt her eyes flicker shut moments later in the darkness. The [Healer] regarded her and shook her head as she blew out the candle she had lit.

“Incredible.”

That was the last word Durene heard before she fell asleep.

Day 5 – Durene

Durene heard the same word the next day. She was on her feet this time before the [Healer], whose name was Pirose, even awoke. The older woman left her room to find Durene scarfing down a plateful of bread, salami, some hard cheese—all that Durene had found in the cupboards. The half-Troll girl paused guiltily, but Pirose just shook her head.

“Incredible.”

“What?”

Durene tried to hide the food behind her back. Pirose ignored that. She gestured to Durene on her feet.

“If I didn’t know you were half…well, I would have assumed you had some kind of healing Skill. Without healing potions, an infected injury that deep usually takes months to heal—if it even gets better. You’re a lucky young woman.”

“Well, it’s long for me. Four days is the longest I’ve ever been out. And I once cut my arm nearly to the bone. But I was back the next day. I heal quick.”

Proudly, Durene stuck out her chest then she remembered the scar. The [Healer] blinked at her and opened her mouth. She saw Durene checking her chest; the tip of the scar was just visible at the hem of Durene’s dress. The [Healer] frowned as Durene lifted a hand.

“Don’t touch it. And don’t lie on your chest when you sleep, obviously. It’s still yet to heal. You may recall that you were sick? The healing potions are too dangerous to use even now, so it’s had to heal on its own. You’ll still be weak for…at least a day if your healing continues to be this quick. And you’ll have a scar.”

“I know. Thank you for looking after me.”

Durene mumbled. She absently bit into her breakfast. Pirose shook her head.

“I’m just doing my job. I was sent by Lord Veltras to ensure that Riverfarm’s wounded were cared for. You were my last patient.”

“Lord Veltras sent you?”

Durene nearly choked on her next bite. Pirose smiled.

“Of course. He struck an alliance with your [Emperor]. Emperor Godart, isn’t it? Part of that was a [Healer] who could tend to the injured. Especially you. Lord Veltras is not a man to forswear himself. I am his best [Healer]. Until I came here, I was with the main war camp. I’ll be travelling north tomorrow, I think. I expected another week until I was sure you wouldn’t relapse, but this is astonishing.”

“I’m just good at healing. Thank you. Uh, Miss Pirose?”

Durene was suddenly shy, as if the two hadn’t spent last night gasping over Thivian’s exploits in the book. Pirose smiled, and her stern face warmed slightly.

“My job is reward enough when my patients live. As I said, it was a challenge this time. I know infections, but you did as much work as I. When I think of the state of your wound when I first arrived—idiots with healing potions should be hung.”

“You mean Beniar? What, did he pour a healing potion on me?”

“Three. Your people couldn’t tell that they were accelerating your illness with each potion. I can understand that as you were being carried off the battlefield, but your [Witch] friend should have known better. Then again, she was the one who stopped them from killing you. Idiots.”

Pirose sighed. She walked past Durene and found a kettle. She seemed used to the house they were in, enough to make tea without having to look for anything. Durene fidgeted. Were they in a village other than Riverfarm? This couldn’t be Pirose’s home; it was far too modest and newly built.

“I always thought it was weird how healing potions made people sick like that. They cure normal wounds right off. So why do sicknesses get worse? Sometimes, they’ll fix my cold right off. Other times, they get worse.”

Again, the [Healer] eyed Durene.

“They shouldn’t ever be used in times of sickness. And with respect, the healing potions you probably use shouldn’t have that effect either. Healing potions are essentially regenerative energy poured into the body. They let the body heal fast, to the point where it ‘remembers’ being before it was hurt. That’s why they work so well even with serious injuries. Of course, they can also hinder; you can’t build muscle since a potion will just revert any gains you make. And the same goes for illnesses.”

“It gives the sickness strength?”

Pirose pursed her lips as the kettle boiled on the small fire she’d lit. She poured the tea into a cup, caught herself, and poured Durene a cup too. She offered the girl a cup, and Durene tasted the liquid.

“Close. In theory, a good potion augments the body’s strength to fight off the sickness. And a master [Alchemist]’s potions will do that; they’ll allow the body to recover from the illness if it’s at all possible, doing the work of weeks or months in seconds. But in practice, most of the energy goes to the illness for some reason. So suddenly your small cold has more strength than your body, and it gets worse and turns into something potentially deadly. I can’t imagine how strong your body must be against disease. Well, I’ve seen it first-hand.”

“I’m tough.”

So saying, Durene gulped her tea. She knew the liquid was close to boiling, but it was only hot on her tongue. Pirose blew on her cup, eying her.

“Even so. Your infection was beyond bad. I’ve given your people a lecture on everything they did wrong. Again, your [Witch] friend saved your life. Her craft saved you in the time it took for me to arrive. You should thank her when you see her next.”

“It wasn’t that bad, was it? Me being sick?”

Shocked, Durene prodded at her chest. Pirose slapped her hand down and sipped her tea. Her silence spoke volumes. Durene looked around the cottage.

“Well, thank you. I owe you so much. Is—where am I? Are we in Riverfarm?”

Pirose’s eyebrows shot up.

“Of course. This is one of the new houses built. I’ve been staying here—with little to want, I might add. Except for new reading material. The [Steward], Mister Prost, has been very accommodating. As has Lady Valerund.”

“Rie? Prost? Where are they? Can I see them? I can walk today.”

Pirose nodded.

“I told them you were well yesterday. I think they’ll want to meet with you. But before I let you rush out that door—”

She held up a finger as Durene started for it. The girl turned. Pirose frowned.

“You’ll do some tests, and I’ll ask you some questions before I’m satisfied you’re well. Don’t lie. I have a truth stone for difficult patients.”

“I’m fine. Really. I feel great. A bit weak, but I can do anything you want.”

Durene patted one arm. Pirose put down her cup.

“You can prove it to me. Take a breath.”

She ran a series of quick tests, from listening to Durene’s lungs as the girl breathed in and out to making Durene stand on one leg and answer some questions about her childhood. Pirose didn’t seem convinced Durene was fully recovered; she asked about the color of Durene’s urine and even what her other leavings looked like this morning, and she forced Durene to strip.

Blushing fiercely, Durene let her inspect the scar with practiced fingers and answered truthfully that she could barely feel the fingers. Pirose might have kept asking questions but for the strength test; when she handed Durene a length of thin firewood and asked her to snap it, the half-Troll girl, exasperated, picked up a log and snapped it in half.

The spray of splinters shot across the room and into the fireplace. Pirose stared. Durene hadn’t even used her knee; she’d just flexed the wood, and it had split like that. She stared at the wood; it wasn’t even that dry. Durene abashedly dropped the wood pieces.

“Sorry about the mess.”

“Well, that proves that. You have a Skill? You must. Even for your size, that was impossible.”

“I do, um, have a Skill. [Enhanced Strength].”

Pirose’s eyes widened.

“On top of your natural body? Dead gods. One wonders how you were ever hurt to begin with. You could have killed a warrior in steel plate with your fists.”

“I fought the Goblin Chieftain. I think he was their leader. He had an enchanted axe. I nearly got him. But he got me.”

Durene frowned and sat down in a chair. Pirose silently regarded her and then the wood littering her floor.

“That’s a battle as I understand it. But you’ve satisfied me that your body’s well. If tomorrow I check and your scar’s nearly healed, I’ll consider you fit for anything.”

“Thank you. Again.”

Pirose smiled softly.

“It was my duty. No more, no less.”

She showed Durene where the broom was, and the two were finishing sweeping up the wood splinters when a sharp rapping came from the door. Someone opened it before either woman could answer, and a voice called out.

“Durene! You’re awake!”

The half-Troll girl turned. She saw a flash of dark red, a sweeping dress patterned with silver. Beautiful, costly fabric, something completely alien to Riverfarm. A face with skin not roughened by weather. Painted nails, lilac-touched lips, and two sparkling indigo irises. The mouth lifted into a delighted smile as Lady Rie Valerund walked, no, glided towards Durene. The girl froze up instinctively, but Rie threw her arms around Durene and hugged her.

“Rie?”

“It’s a delight to see you, Durene. No—a miracle. After your third fever, I thought—Miss Pirose, can she be on her feet so soon?”

Lady Rie turned to Pirose, looking mildly alarmed. The [Healer] inclined her stately head, combining a nod with a slight curtsey for Lady Rie.

“I judge her to be almost recovered, Lady Valerund. When the sickness was defeated, her strength came in a rush it seems. She went from barely lucid to being able to stay up nearly a day yesterday. This morning, she rose before me.”

“Amazing. Truly. We owe you a debt of gratitude, Miss Pirose. If there is anything I or the demesne of Riverfarm can do for you…His Majesty wishes it to be known that no reward is too large.”

Lady Rie bowed slightly. Pirose paused.

“The offer by His…Majesty is most gracious. But I am paid by Lord Veltras for my services. I executed my duty to the best of my abilities, as I do with any patient. I am only glad Durene is so healthy.”

“Just so. Durene, please sit. You look well, but why risk it? Here. Prost will be here shortly. He will be as delighted to see you as I, I’m sure. We’ve already spread the word that you’re on your feet; there are many waiting to greet you. But we shall take it slowly. You have so much to catch up on…”

Rie fussed over Durene, guiding her to one of the chairs in the small living room that was combined with the kitchen. Bemused, Durene sat, watching the [Lady] arrange her dress to sit in a humble chair herself.

This was not the Rie that Durene remembered. The woman Durene recalled was just as elegant and beautiful, but the girl distinctly recalled hating Rie’s guts. Not least because Durene was convinced Rie was attempting to become closer to Laken than she had any right to be with Durene at his side.

She was exquisite, that Durene had to admit. Compared to the plain, honest folk of Riverfarm, a [Lady] like Rie was a brilliant, rare creature, exotic and wonderful. And scheming. She often tried to talk with Laken privately, or flatter him. And while he had ignored most of her attempts, Durene hadn’t missed any of it. How could she? It was obvious.

How did you seduce a blind man? With soft hands and a soothing voice. And that was what Lady Rie had and Durene didn’t. The half-Troll girl had been paranoid that Rie would manage to trick Laken in some way, and she had hated Rie with all her heart—she’d had the feeling Rie regarded her as an obstacle, not as competition or a rival. So Durene was naturally cautious, remembering their history.

But today—all of Durene’s jealousy and worries not only seemed to be groundless, but her old emotions also felt far away. Durene found herself smiling at Rie. She was so grateful to see a familiar face, and the [Lady] felt completely genuine.

“What’s been going on, Rie? Why are you so upset? I’ve only been out…half a week?”

“Half a—”

The [Lady] didn’t even blink at Durene not addressing her by her title, but she inhaled sharply. She looked at Durene, and then at Pirose, who made a face and shrugged. Durene looked from woman to woman, and Rie was opening her mouth when the door opened.

“Durene? Are you—”

A weathered man stepped into the room. Prost was every bit as worn from his old class—[Farmer]—as any of the men and women Durene knew. But he was stalwart despite it all, and of late, he looked taller. More distinguished. And certainly kinder than the man Durene had known. Indeed, when he saw Durene, he strode over and hugged her as well!

“Durene! Girl. It’s a sight for sore eyes to see you on your feet. But should you be out of bed?”

“I’m fine, Mister Prost. Really! I feel as strong as ever. I’m sorry to have worried you!”

She must have been really badly hurt for all of them to be so anxious. Durene smiled, and the man stepped back, looking her up and down. His eyes fixed on the top of Durene’s scar, and she blushed. He looked away hurriedly. Pirose made a disapproving sound.

“We need to get you into proper clothing.”

Lady Rie nodded at the thin dress Durene wore. The girl nodded and only now wondered where the clothes had come from. They fit her well, and there hadn’t been anyone close to her height or build in Riverfarm. The [Lady] went on.

“I can have someone fetch your clothes. And we’ve kept your cottage maintained—as well as we can with that bird attacking anyone on sight. As for the rest, we’ll get you sorted, don’t worry, Durene. You can take it slow these next few days. Assuming Mistress Pirose thinks it’s wise?”

“I’m leaving tomorrow if Durene continues to heal at this rate.”

Pirose replied blandly. She sat at the opposite side of the table as Durene, Lady Rie, and Prost sat around the dining room. Prost still looked incredibly relieved to see Durene on her feet, but Rie’s eyes were now flickering to Durene’s face, and a cautionary frown was written on her features. Durene felt her own hint of reserve return as she looked at the [Lady].

“What is it, Rie?”

The woman pursed her lips and looked at Pirose.

“How much do you remember, Durene? Or should I say, has Miss Pirose told you what’s been going on?”

“Nothing. But I remember everything. I remember the battle. Us losing—the Goblins beating us back. And that Hobgoblin with the axe.”

Durene closed her eyes. The room went quiet. Slowly, the [Paladin] remembered the battle. It had all been going so well. She’d been leveling up, they’d been harrying the Goblins—until the Goblins reached the city and took it in an hour. Then Durene and the army that Wiskeria had called for had camped, anxious, waiting for a fight until the Goblins started hurling rocks at them. Wiskeria had been nervous, debating whether it was time to attack. Then she’d gotten the message, and they’d gone in. They’d been winning. Right up until—

“We lost. Right?”

Rie hesitated. It was Prost who nodded. His voice was low.

“We did. The Goblins overran our lines. We were retreating—we might have been wiped out but for Lord Veltras’ army. They saved us.”

“I remember. Wiskeria said. But was it really Tyrion Veltras? The Tyrion Veltras?”

Durene looked wide-eyed at Prost. He nodded, and his gaze reflected a touch of the awe she felt. Tyrion Veltras. He was a [Lord], perhaps the most important [Lord] in the north. A real war hero, a man who controlled a huge amount of land—he had sent his army to save Riverfarm?

“They pushed the Goblins back. And Lord Veltras himself rode to Riverfarm. He took out a group of Goblins that had tried to attack Emperor Laken. Well—it was more than that. But he showed up just in time, and no one can deny that. We’d have lost you, everyone fighting the Goblins, and perhaps Riverfarm and His Majesty himself but for Tyrion.”

“And then Laken went with him. Why?”

That question had plagued Durene since she woke up. Prost and Rie exchanged a glance.

“They struck a deal. Lord Veltras needed Riverfarm’s trebuchets. They’re invaluable. Or rather, they were. His Majesty, Tessia, the engineering team—they all left after building as many trebuchets as they could. They went with the army.”

“To fight the Goblins?”

“Um. In part.”

Again, both older Humans looked at each other. Pirose just grimaced into her teacup. Rie’s fingernails absently flicked delicately. She looked at Durene.

“What else do you remember, Durene? Anything after that?”

“I—had a conversation with Wiskeria. She told me I was out for a week and that I couldn’t go after Laken. I guess I got sick again because I had to sleep. I remember having a fever the next day. I heard you talking—you were all pretty worried. And then I woke up and went out into the rain. Sorry about that, Mister Prost.”

The man nodded, blinking. He looked at Rie, and she shook her head.

“Anything else?”

“Um—the next day I woke up, and I was feeling a lot better. I could get on my feet, but Miss Pirose had me sleep. We read a book. And today I felt just fine.”

Durene looked around. She had a sinking feeling that something was off. The looks Prost and Rie were giving each other and her told her something was amiss. Both looked back at Pirose. The [Healer] shrugged.

“Her sense of time’s off, but her memory is quite good. There’s nothing to worry about. But you should tell her now.”

“Tell me what? Is something wrong?”

Rie nodded. She smiled tightly and smoothed her dress.

“You’re largely correct, Durene. All that happened. But I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood how long you were sick. It wasn’t a handful of days you were lying abed.”

Durene could see that. She frowned.

“How long was it then? A week?”

Prost and Rie shook their heads. Durene whistled.

“Two weeks? No, three? It can’t be longer than three.”

She looked from face to face. But their expressions were grave. Prost shook his head slowly.

“It’s been far longer than that, Durene.”

“But I remember…”

Durene broke off. That first day had been a blur of voices and pain. And now that she thought of it, the sky had been all too clear after that night of rain where she’d gone outside. But it couldn’t have been longer than three weeks, surely? She looked around, growing restless. Rie hesitated. It was Pirose who stepped in. The woman spoke calmly, putting down her cup.

“I can’t tell you how long you were initially sick for, Miss Durene. It took me two days to reach Riverfarm from the main force with Lord Veltras. I haven’t his movement Skills, and I had to travel with an independent escort from his command. When I got here, the potions had accelerated the infection in your chest. It was into your lungs and almost down to the bone. I didn’t think I could save you, even with my Skills and techniques. But somehow, you recovered, and faster than anyone could have dreamed. Even so, that healing process…have you seen people taken sick by infection?”

“Once. Davimy got cut bad around his leg. He took weeks before they had to cut off his leg. Then he got sick and died two days later. And sometimes I know it takes weeks, but you see a [Healer] and use poultices. You can move about unless it’s real bad.”

Durene muttered. Illness and infection weren’t too common, even in Riverfarm, what with potions. And when it happened, it was bad. But…she looked up. At Rie.

“How long was I asleep? Just tell me.”

The [Lady] nodded and took a breath.

“Durene, you’ve been fighting your illness for fifty days. Today is the fifty-first day since the battle with the Goblins.”

The world spun. Durene put one hand on the table. Prost reached for her arm, but Durene stood up.

“That can’t be! Fifty-one days? I was only out for a few days! A week! I would have remembered that. I—”

“You had a fever for weeks. Three, in fact. Each one worse than the last. When Prost found you in the rain, the last one was breaking. But while you had them, we thought you might die. You didn’t wake up. And the infection was so deep—I saw it. And I’ve never seen anyone survive a wound like that.”

Rie shuddered. Prost nodded, looking pale. Durene looked wordlessly at Pirose. The [Healer] nodded.

“The healing potions closed the wound, but the disease took root. And when that idiot adventurer—”

“Beniar.”

“—when he decided you weren’t healing fast enough, he accelerated the infection rather than letting it heal naturally. If you’d just stayed and rested after the [Witch] who treated you gave you the first potion, you’d have been fine. As it was, you survived. But it has been fifty-one days.”

Durene stared. She looked around the table at Prost’s grave face, Rie’s anxious one. At last, the pieces fit. This house, Pirose being accustomed to living here—the houses she hadn’t recognized.

“What happened while I was gone? Tell me. Please?”

She whispered it, unsteady. Rie stood up. She laid a hand on Durene’s arm gently.

“More than I can say, Durene. Don’t worry; Riverfarm isn’t in danger from the Goblins anymore. And—you may need to sit. There’s a lot that’s gone on that you need to know about. Where to begin? The Goblin Lord’s dead, for one. But the siege—well, it’s been complicated.”

“Siege? What siege?”

Another round of glances. Durene felt as though she were meeting the strange folk that Laken had summoned. The fae. She raised her voice. She couldn’t help it.

“Where’s Laken? I want to see him. He’s back now, right?”

It had been fifty-one days. Surely he was back in Riverfarm from wherever he was gone? Why wasn’t he here? But the look in Prost’s eye—he shook his head.

“He’s still not back yet. Durene. He went down to Liscor. You know where that is?”

The name was only vaguely familiar. Durene’s heart sank.

“Isn’t that a Drake city?”

“The northernmost one. Right in the High Passes.”

“But that’s hundreds of miles away. He went there? Why? Did the Goblin Lord run that far? Why did Tyrion Veltras need trebuchets?”

Aghast, Durene looked around. Prost hesitated. Rie bit her colored lip.

“It was an entire event. And while I can assure you His Majesty is safe, Durene, it may be weeks before he returns still. And his prisoners will bring more trouble than I can imagine. As if we don’t have enough for him to deal with when he returns.”

“Prisoners?”

The world was shaking on its axis. Durene looked around, breathing faintly. She wanted to run, burst out of the door so Prost, Rie, Pirose, all of them would stop looking at her like this. Cautiously, as if she might explode from what they were keeping from her. Or lash out.

“Goblins. Hundreds of them.”

“Goblins?”

Durene’s incredulous, horrified look made Rie stand up again. She walked past Durene and poured herself some cold tea.

“We’ll explain everything. But before you leave, Durene, you must understand. Riverfarm’s changed. It’s larger. Much larger than you remember. And we have more problems to deal with. Emperor Laken Godart cannot return quick enough. So much is different. But Durene. It’s going to be alright.”

Rie laid a warm hand on Durene’s shoulder. The girl let it happen. She met Prost’s concerned gaze, and saw the reserve in Pirose’s eyes. And Durene held still. Laken was gone. He was gone. And she—she looked around, and everything was different. So very different.

When she had gone to war, Riverfarm had been a collection of nearly six hundred people, already bursting at the seams, the remnants of a few villages banding together.

Today? It was over two thousand.

6.34 E

Day 51 – Durene

Fifty-one days. At first, Durene couldn’t believe it. But when she stepped into Riverfarm and looked around, she had to accept it. The village she knew was gone.

Riverfarm had always been a village of a hundred people, sometimes more, sometimes less. A family moving out of the village was serious business. And while the avalanche had effectively cut Riverfarm’s population by a quarter even with Laken’s miraculous intervention, it had still felt small, even with Windrest and the other villages’ inhabitants joining it.

Durene had been inordinately proud of the first row of houses that had been freshly built by Riverfarm’s folk under Laken’s guidance. She had been there as he designed the village’s layout with Prost and Lady Rie. And hadn’t that been amazing? Designing how a village should be built rather than just letting folk build where they pleased?

But it had order, function. Laken had shown Durene how it was better to have organization, to allow for wells to be dug so water could be drawn to fight a fire or so old folk wouldn’t have to walk far for it. And Laken was perfect for the job because his [Emperor]’s Skill allowed him to ‘see’ the landscape and plot out the village even better than Prost could with maps or a vantage point.

The irony of a blind man being the one to understand how a village should work had been lost on no one. And yet, that had been the excitement of the future. At the time, Durene had vibrated with energy imagining how Riverfarm might one day look. But now? It lay before her.

The street of houses was neat. Swept of debris, but made of stone. The paving of the road would come later. First, houses had been essential. So these had gone up. One after another, all built the same, but spacious, each one able to fit a large family quite comfortably. They had no glass, and the materials the builders had access to were just wood and stone.

But they were comfortable. And each was still new, the newest having gone up yesterday. It wasn’t hard, even. As Prost led Durene down the street, the girl stared at a line of men and two women hauling materials to the next plot of land. The foundation was already laid; now they were placing their equipment just so, bringing in the sturdy beams from which the house would be supported.

“It’s not hard to do. I know it’s a sight—imagine [Builders] from Riverfarm being able to put up a house in less than a day. Or two or even three houses in a day! Well, we do have a very large crew, but even at the beginning, it was easy. After the first house, we just had to copy what we did and do it right. It became so smooth that it’s almost boring. Emperor Laken was right—teaching everyone how to do a part of the house makes it dead easy.”

Prost pointed as a pair of workers rolled over two window frames in a handcart.

“Someone does the window frames, or prepares the roof tiles, and so on, and someone else brings them here. All the [Builders] on the site have to do is put things together one after another. We can go even faster, I think, but we haven’t made everything perfect.”

“It looks fast enough to me!”

Durene stared. Prost grinned excitedly. He cupped his hands as the two [Laborers] hauled off the window frames from the cart with a grunt and carefully placed them in the collection site.

“Hey! What’s taking you so long? We want to get four houses done today! Or are you all asleep on your feet?”

A few good-natured curses answered Prost. Some of the men and women looked up and spotted Durene. They waved, a few cautiously, and Durene smiled, recognizing one of the men from Riverfarm. A few gave Durene a very long look, but their comrades whispered to them, and they relaxed. Someone, a woman with a bandanna over her head, spat out a nail and pointed at a beam.

“We’re waiting on ropes to pull that load-bearing beam up. Some of ours are getting frayed, and I’m not going to see if it snaps.”

Prost grimaced.

“Fair enough. You have enough hands?”

The female [Builder] grinned as she hammered a floorboard into place.

“Why? You want to help, Mister Steward?”

He laughed and strode forwards. So did Durene. She eyed the beam and saw it was indeed a chunk of wood. But…

“I reckon we could do this without any ropes, Mister Prost. A few hands and I can push this up myself.”

She casually flexed one arm. She still felt groggy, but this looked simple. The [Builder] dropped her hammer as Durene approached. Perhaps they’d mistaken her for a man at a distance, but up close, Durene’s skin and height were unmistakable. One of the unfamiliar men backed up as he saw Durene.

“Dead gods—”

He reached for his belt. But the Riverfarm man pushed past him, beaming.

“Durene! You’re awake! I thought you’d be abed forever! How’re you? Come here, girl.”

He reached out. Durene smiled.

“Hullo, Mister Ram.”

Ram, or Ramel, laughed as she gave him a light hug. He grunted, and Durene realized she was squeezing—but she’d always liked him. He’d been decent to her even before Laken, even if he seldom came to Riverfarm. The [Rancher], who also had a few [Carpenter] and [Hunter] levels, smiled up at her and then turned to the others.

“Come on! This is Durene, our Emperor’s, uh—fiancée? She’s a [Farmer] and a [Paladin], whatever that is. We don’t need to wait on ropes, Miss Beycalt. Three or four hands plus Durene should do it.”

He waved at the reluctant others. Some of the folk who clearly remembered Durene stepped up. The female [Builder] in charge, Beycalt, raised an eyebrow.

“You’re sure?”

“Never surer. Come on, you three. We’ll do it.”

Prost answered for Ram, and the two men stepped over. Durene saw the reserve in the other faces, so she kept the smile on her face and squatted next to the end of the beam. She put both hands under the end as Prost and Ram and three others did likewise. Durene counted.

“One, two, three—lift!”

She lifted upwards slowly. The men grunted, and the beam came up. It was probably the worst way to lift something like this, honestly—the other end of the beam was level, which meant the lifters would have to struggle as the end they were lifting grew higher. If they weren’t strong enough—or even tall enough—to get it up, it might fall. But that equation didn’t account for Durene.

Up the load-bearing beam went. Durene lifted it over her head, bracing her legs, pushing up. It was heavy, but she was strong. She was a [Farmer] with the [Enhanced Strength] Skill, which already made her very strong. And she was bigger than any man here. She kept lifting and realized that Prost and Ram were struggling to reach over their heads.

“Hold on! We’ll get around the bottom—”

Ram shouted. Durene just laughed.

“I have it!”

So saying, she pushed, and the beam went vertical. A gasp went up from the other builders, and Beycalt blinked. Durene caught the beam before it could overbalance.

“Where do you want it?”

“Here!”

Another man pointed to a spot where the wooden beam was ready to be driven deep into the earth. There was even scaffolding set up to let a man hammer it deep with a maul. Durene wrapped her arms around the beam in a bear-hug and lifted it. She saw two men grunting and lifting as well—it didn’t feel much different to her. Huffing, Durene shuffled it over.

“Dragons take me! Is she carrying that by herself?”

“Stand clear! Durene, put it in the hole. Nice and gentle—”

Durene obeyed Ram’s words and edged the bottom of the beam into the waiting foundation. The [Builders] moved around it, steadying it, tamping earth and making sure it was steady. Then a man with a mallet climbed up and began to drive it deeper, solidifying it until even the most powerful of impacts wouldn’t so much as budge it loose. Prost and Ram wiped their brows as they stepped back. They looked admiringly at Durene.

“I forgot how strong you were, girl. Hell on Rhir, you didn’t even need us, did you?”

Ram slapped Durene’s back cheerfully. She grinned.

“It was nice support, Mister Ram.”

He laughed and slapped her back again. Durene smiled and found the [Builder] woman was staring at her. She dusted off her hands, a bit embarrassed. It was a familiar look in Beycalt’s eyes. One of amazement—and fear. Durene supposed it would have taken all the people here to move that beam without her. Especially since they’d have to crowd about and get in each other’s way to lift it.

The woman hesitated, but then she put down her hammer and stood up. She walked over to Durene, hopped off the foundation of the house, and held out a hand.

“Did I hear Mister Prost right? You’re Durene?”

“That’s me.”

Durene lightly squeezed the woman’s hand. It was gloveless, but the woman’s calluses were nearly as tough as Durene’s own skin. The [Builder] gave her a firm handshake.

“Pleased. I’m Beycalt Newman. Only, without a man, and [Forewoman] of this lot. And I do recognize you, come to think of it. You were with the army at Lancrel.”

Durene’s smile slipped away. Around her, Ram, Prost, and the other [Builders] went quiet. One of them took off his wicker hat. Durene nodded.

“I was. I’m sorry.”

Beycalt frowned.

“For what? I saw you smash at least thirty Goblins before we got away. You’ve got my thanks.”

She nodded to Durene. Speechless, the girl looked at Prost. He cleared his throat.

“We all owe you thanks, Durene. You and the brave lads…and lasses that fought there. Heycin, you were there, right?”

One of the men in the back nodded soberly.

“[Archers]. We got out fine. It’s good to see you, Durene.”

“You too.”

Durene waved at him. She vaguely recalled his face. But somehow, suddenly, she felt like she knew him as well as Ram. He nodded respectfully to her. The others looked from Durene to Heycin. Prost again broke the silence.

“Durene’s just been on her feet this morning. She’ll be getting her strength back. We probably shouldn’t have tested it—but she might come back this way if she’s needed. Then you lot won’t have any excuse to slack off, heh?”

That got a laugh. The [Builders] split up, getting back to work, and Ram waved at Prost and Durene before trotting back to lay the floorboards down with Beycalt. Durene stepped back, feeling…odd. Like someone still dreaming, really. She walked back with Prost and distinctly heard some of the men whispering and eying her.

“She’s the fiancée of this blind [Emperor]? Are you sure this place is…”

“Some kind of—”

People forgot her ears were every bit as good as theirs. Durene turned her head, blushing, and Prost noticed. He frowned back at the men, who went quiet under his gaze. Prost led Durene back down the street.

“Ignore them. They’re new. Most of the folk who came to Riverfarm were forced out of their homes by the Goblin raids. When they sacked the city—remember? Most of them fled to their families in nearby towns or villages, but some came back with us.”

“Riverfarm’s huge now. This is one street?”

“That’s right. One of our residential districts, according to Laken’s plans. We prioritized those—along with pastures, which were dead easy to fence off, and farmland. Our [Farmers] are sowing as fast as they can. Once we have the houses, we can worry about putting buildings further out and all the other non-essentials.”

Durene and Prost both nodded at that with a [Farmer]’s appreciation for crops first. All you needed was a bed and some land. The rest could come later. She looked around. The streets were full of people. Some waved and called out to her, but many stared at Durene as if she were a monster. Prost briskly shouted at them, waving them on, pausing to greet some people—introducing them to Durene.

“Miss Xathy, is that the harvest from the [Foragers]? Good haul! Place it with our other foodstuffs in the warehouse; don’t let people pick at it or you’ll have nothing left! It’s not snacks, folks, it’s dinner! Mister Calic, I told you, you’re an [Artist] when we need one! Right now, we need a [Painter], so slap a coat on those houses and don’t talk about decorations or I’ll have you working as a [Laborer]! This is Durene. Our best fighter save for maybe Beniar. She just woke up—you remember the announcements?”

A crowd of women holding baskets had paused in the street to stare at Durene. They were about fourteen in number, and a man with a bucket and paintbrush, who’d been arguing with a [Builder], turned and jumped as Prost shouted at him. He opened his mouth, saw Durene, choked on his spit, and backed up. The women stared up at Durene as they paused. Prost opened his mouth and then snapped at someone behind the [Painter] and women.

“Jelov! What are you doing?”

He bellowed at an old [Carpenter]. The old man uneasily started and tried to hide behind the small crowd. When he realized he wasn’t able to, he crabbed over. Durene stepped beside Prost; she knew the [Carpenter], and he had a tendency to lubricate the air when he spoke.

“Doing? Just getting rid of a few try-pieces, Mister Prost. Er, Steward Prost. I’m having a little break—”

“—Selling miniature totems as good-luck charms? I told you, we need to replace those totems the Goblins burned. It’s been fifty days, and you still have fifteen to go!”

Prost’s frown was thunderous. Jelov groaned. He held out his hands imploringly.

“I can’t work on the large pieces all the time, Mister Prost! My mind wanders, so it does. And the little ones are so well-loved—they take me only a few minutes each!”

“And they net you a tidy sum. I told you that no one’s earning money in Riverfarm. Not yet; we’re pooling it and buying what we need. Do I need to shake what you have stashed away out? Turn it over, man!”

Prost growled. Jelov whined, but he reluctantly held out a pouch filled with bronze and copper coins. Disgusted, Prost emptied it into his money pouch.

“Prost! You’re hurting me! It’s just a bit of coin—half the folk who came here have their own money stored away! You’re not asking for their coin. And I work twice, no, four times worth what I’d charge for eating or sleeping!”

“Yet. And I’m not charging them for food or rent. They work, they eat. We don’t have the resources to let them buy everything. Or are you going to pay for the house you live in alone? Or the wood we buy you? The tools Mister Helm forged for you ahead of everyone else?”

The [Carpenter]’s eyes slid sideways as Prost raised his voice.

“Well—I do suppose—I should get back to work. I have lots of work to do! I suppose an old man can’t take his time, can he? No. And when he goes out, he’s yelled at. I can’t wait for His Majesty to return. He was understanding of old folks’ needs…good to see you, Miss Durene!”

He edged backwards. Prost let him go. He turned to Durene with a sigh. She waved at Jelov, then looked around. Miss Xathy was still staring, basket of greens in hand. The woman was short, rotund, with an apron on her front. Durene smiled at her and then at the small gaggle of women, all of whom bore baskets filled with edibles taken from the wilderness.

“Pleased to meet you.”

“Ah—you too.”

Miss Xathy bowed very nervously to Durene, and another woman thrust her basket behind her arm and nodded.

“Durene? A pleasure to see you. And about time you put Jelov in his place, Mister Prost. He’s been here every morning when you’re not in sight, selling his little ‘trinkets’. He’s got ten times what he gave you stashed away.”

Prost grimaced.

“I’ve no doubt, Miss Hecla. I’ll see to it. But we have more work to do. There’s time enough to make Jelov cough up what he’s taken.”

The sharp-nosed woman nodded.

“Indeed. And with that, let’s get this sorted and see what we can make of it, ladies! Durene, again, a pleasure.”

She turned, summoning the crowd with her. Durene stared at her as the woman, tall, straight-backed, wearing a new-looking dress with no embroidery, marched off. Short Miss Xathy gave Durene another long look before scurrying off.

“Do I know that lady? Miss Hecla?”

Prost paused. He stared at the women’s backs and nodded after a moment.

“She knows you. When the Goblins were attacking, I think your group was the one that saved her and her husband when they were fleeing on the road. They lost everything save for the clothes on their backs. She’s a right sort.”

“I don’t remember that either.”

The [Steward] looked up at Durene and shook his head.

“No wonder you don’t. Hundreds of people know you and Emperor Laken for what you did. Still more came here just hearing about a safe haven. More still don’t know you or His Majesty. But that’ll change. He’s coming back. Until then—I’m keeping them all busy. Not one person doesn’t do work here. Building, foraging, making goods to sell, sewing clothes—everyone contributes. Even idiots like that [Painter], Calic.”

Prost sighed. He looked tired as he rubbed his neck. He turned to Durene with a smile.

“It’s good you’re back. I don’t know where you’ll fit in, but we can use you, Durene. I’d think it over, but I have to keep moving. Your cottage is right where you left it—we haven’t been able to get near it. Not with Bismarck and Frostwing guarding it.”

“Bismarck? And Frostwing? Laken didn’t take them with him?”

The man paused and shook his head.

“He didn’t. I think he thought you’d be here. They’re alive. Healthy—that bird’s a menace now. But I haven’t been able to see to them. Ah, dead gods, Durene. There’s so much to do.”

He sighed. And as Durene looked at him, she wondered how hard it had been. Part of her felt sorry for Mister Prost. Another part remembered the man who used to watch as the children threw rocks at her. And who told her to keep away from Laken.

Perhaps Prost remembered that too. He looked tiredly up at Durene.

“Things have changed, haven’t they, Durene? You know, I never apologized after the avalanche. I used to think of you as…well, I remember you digging up snow and pulling people out. Now look at you. You were fighting for us against those Goblins.”

He gestured at Durene, and his eyes went to the visible section of scar on her chest. She raised a hand to cover it instinctively. Durene paused. Her throat worked for a second.

“Thanks, Mister Prost. But I lost that battle. I let everyone down.”

He looked surprised.

“Says who? That [Healer]? She saved lives, but she’s no—”

“No. She didn’t say it. I just know.”

Durene hung her head. Prost reached out, hesitated, and then grabbed Durene’s arm with a firm grip.

“No one thinks that. We all know you fought—hells, girl. When they brought you in, I was ashamed I wasn’t fighting myself. I always thought of you as invincible. We should have made you armor. Given you something other than a club to fight with! We thought our army was invincible because we beat the Goblins all those times before. I guess that was a wake up for everyone. His Majesty included.”

Durene nodded slowly. She felt a lump in her throat. And Laken was…

“What was that about, Mister Prost? Back there? Is he really bringing Goblins to Riverfarm? Why not kill them all?”

She clenched one fist. Prost hesitated and shook his head.

“I don’t know. But if Emperor Laken has his reasons, he has his reasons. And we’ll find out what they are when he arrives.”

“And you’re fine with that? After what they did? Why won’t Laken just get rid of them? You said he tried to make peace with that Goblin Chieftain! Why did he—are you really alright with this?”

Durene couldn’t understand. She waited and saw the older man hesitate. His jaw clench. But his voice remained level.

“I don’t know. And no, Durene. I’m not fond of the idea of Goblin prisoners. But if Emperor Laken says so, he says so.”

“Really? You’re not going to have words with him?”

Durene was, right when Laken got back. She was…angry at him. He should have been here! She had stepped forwards months in time, and she’d thought—she understood he had gone south, but if he could have been back? If he’d delayed to keep a bunch of Goblin prisoners? Again, Prost hesitated. But this time, he met Durene’s eyes.

“No. I’ll hear him out. That’s all.”

“Really?”

The [Steward] nodded once.

“He found my daughter in snow ten feet deep. Ten more seconds, another minute—and I’d never have heard her voice again. If His Majesty says jump, I’ll ask why because I’m his [Steward]. And then I’ll do it. If he wants Goblins prisoners? He has them. That’s all there is to it.”

He turned his head. And it was that simple. For him. Durene clenched her fists. She didn’t think it was so simple. But Laken wasn’t here. And she…

“What do I do now, Mister Prost?”

He looked back at her.

“I don’t know. If you need rest—”

“I don’t.”

“Then I could use you in dozens of places. Farming, cutting wood, hauling, building—anywhere you want to be. But maybe you should visit your cottage, Durene. Check on Laken’s animals. You don’t have to do everything today. You just woke up. And if you really need help, Lady Rie or I will be about.”

“Rie. She’s helping too? You trust her?”

Durene muttered resentfully. She knew it was petty, especially after the way Rie had greeted her with such relief. Again, Prost shrugged.

“I don’t know if she’s here for more reasons than wanting to become part of whatever this is. It’s hard to imagine a [Lady] living as she does. But she does. And I’ll say this, Durene. Lady Rie’s one of the reasons why Riverfarm’s still working. She’s been buying supplies, using her connections—and managing the half of the village I can’t. I’m grateful for her.”

He met Durene’s eyes, and she had to look away, embarrassed and ashamed of herself. At last, Prost checked the sky.

“I have to go. I need to organize more people to the farms. To feed two thousand…we have to plant and harvest as fast as we can. Durene, I’ll leave you. But maybe there is somewhere you need to go first.”

“Where?”

“The cemetery.”

Durene froze. Prost looked west.

“I say that. But it’s more like a memorial spot. Not many graves. Still, there’s markers…it’s that way. By the old village. Seemed like a good spot to place it.”

He pointed. Then he looked at Durene and walked off. And the half-Troll girl followed his gaze and began to walk. All the strangeness of waking, the bitterness and confusion of Laken being missing and doing strange things with Goblin prisoners—all of it became background.

She was there again. Walking side-by-side with men and women from Riverfarm and every village, city, and town in the region. A woman with a pointed hat aimed her wand at a ruined city. Durene saw the ranks of Humans moving faster. Then running. She heard a roar and echoed it. And from the city they came, thousands of green bodies, shrieking in their high-pitched war cries, fighting in the mud and gore. And Durene charged, swinging her club—and the dead fell. Goblins and people.

There they were. Buried in rows, in a place where a village had stood. Side-by-side. Neatly in death. Not how they had fallen. Durene halted as she left the neat, organized dirt roads of the village. Someone had cleared the spring growth from the ground in the immediate area, but sprouts still bloomed, poking through the soil.

Rows and rows of them. The grave makers had been planted. But Prost was right. Few had been dug. The markers were what mattered. And they were neatly tended to, the flowers still fresh. The grief hung in the air, and the cemetery itself was quiet. Durene walked forwards silently.

This was Riverfarm. The original Riverfarm. She remembered it. This used to be the southern end of the village. But it had been buried in snow after the avalanche. Only near the end had they recovered the deepest bodies. No one had wanted to rebuild here.

And now—the graves were quiet. Durene supposed they were visited, but Prost probably did keep everyone moving. So if the cemetery had visitors, it was later. She looked from gravestone to gravestone, reading the markings written in ash on wood, or in the cases of stone, carved there.

Names. Sometimes with a [Class] and levels attached. Other times just left so. Sometimes with a few words, written in memory of the deceased. Or that the person had said in life. Rows and rows. So few that Durene recognized. Too many that she did.

Nielfra Grassc. [Huntress]. Died fighting Goblins.

Thel Grassc. [Hunter]. Died fighting Goblins.

Inmki. Aged 41.

Sadil Prowli, beloved child.

Grimby, the Woodsman of Windrest.

Ellric Edsmund, died in the Battle for Lancrel.

Rachella—

Fin—

Vellima—

Haskel—

Aberal—

Tchronson—

Name after name. Each grave tended to. Some by family and marked with care. Others placed there with respect, if not love. Durene walked past marker after marker. And, horribly, she felt nothing for so many.

She had not seen them buried. She didn’t remember them. They weren’t of Riverfarm. And Durene hadn’t known them except for a passing face, a jest, a flash in the battle. But—she bit her lip until it nearly bled. They had answered Laken’s call. They had come to fight Goblins.

Then she saw a name she did recognize. Lamily, Daughter of Riverfarm. Died fighting Goblins. Durene paused. Lamily? She remembered a woman, always grumpy, nowhere near as pleasant as her name indicated. A widow, a [Farmer]. Skilled enough with a pitchfork to kill a Corusdeer that went on a rampage eight winters back.

Dead. Durene hadn’t even known she’d died in the battle. She bent, trying to imagine the woman’s lined, angry face. She’d been at the battle? Or had it been earlier? In the first battle for Riverfarm against the Goblin raiders?

Durene couldn’t remember. The deaths felt so long ago. And she felt—lost.

She was a stranger to Riverfarm. Some of the faces felt familiar. Prost did. Rie did. Ram—and yet, the village was bustling. It wasn’t even a village anymore, was it? Durene hadn’t seen more than a fraction of it. And yet, it had streets and hundreds of familiar faces.

Her home was gone. And it had gone in the days where she’d slept in fever and madness. And Laken was missing.

Durene slowly bent in front of Lamily’s grave. She felt so tired. And adrift. It felt like nothing was real. She wanted to lie down and sleep again, and if she slept long enough, perhaps, perhaps Laken would be back. Time would flow backwards, and she wouldn’t feel so lost. Durene bent to sit on the thin layer of grass. Then she saw something fluttering down out of the sky.

The half-Troll girl looked up. A bird flew out of the sky. Not a robin, though, or a forest bird she was used to. It was a crow. No—a raven. It flew down, cawing. And Durene saw it land on something in the graveyard.

A bit of blue poking up above one of the headstones. Durene frowned. The strange blue thing didn’t match the rest of the solemn place. The graves were stone or wood, grey and brown and sometimes even white stone, but never blue. And the brown earth, the green shoots of grass and occasional flowers—

Blue? Durene took a step towards it. Then she saw the patch of blue move. It rose and became a pointed cone. A hat. And the raven, pecking at it, flew up and alighted on a gravestone. Durene saw someone stand up from where she’d been kneeling. And she saw a pale face. Spectacles. She recognized the person who turned to look at the raven.

It was a [Witch]. Wiskeria. Seeing her, Durene felt a shock. Because Wiskeria, at least, hadn’t changed.

She was the same as Durene remembered seeing before the battle. The same, from her clothing to the spectacles on her face, an oddity in Riverfarm. The same, but her face was shadowed. Her expression clouded and upset. Her eyes red-rimmed. So she wasn’t the person Durene remembered. Nor was her voice as she shouted at the raven.

“Begone! I told you twice, no! Tell her no! Tell them all I said no!”

The raven cawed and flew up as Wiskeria pointed a trembling finger at it. It flew around her head, making loud, shrill sounds. It alighted on another headstone. And then, to Durene’s shock and horror, it spoke.

“Wiskeria. Come. Come!”

The voice sounded like a raven’s caw, but the words were undeniable. Durene froze, her eyes wide in horror. What kind of animal was this? Some kind of [Beast Tamer]’s special pet? Like Laken’s? But Wiskeria just shook her fist at it.

“No. And no again! I said no! I won’t go. I have duties here. I can’t leave! I don’t care what the others say. Tell them no!”

“Come!”

The raven was insistent. Wiskeria glowered. She grabbed a piece of soil from the ground. She hurled it, and a shower of dirt sent the raven flying.

“No! Begone and tell her no!”

This time, the bird took flight. Wiskeria glared as it flew off. Durene followed it with her eyes and then saw the [Witch] walking towards where the raven had been. Durene walked closer and saw Wiskeria was bending over, brushing at some dirt that had gotten on top of a grave. She was so engrossed she didn’t notice Durene at first. Then she looked up. Durene was hard to miss.

“Durene?”

Wiskeria’s pale face went paler. Durene looked down at her. The [Witch] was thin. Thinner than Durene remembered her. But still the same.

“Wiskeria. It’s me.”

Durene felt silly saying it out loud. But Wiskeria seemed as shocked to see Durene as the half-Troll girl was to see her. The [Witch] opened her mouth and hesitated. She looked at Durene’s tunic, and her eyes widened as she saw the scar on her chest.

“Your injury—”

Durene reflexively covered the wound. Then she stopped. Wiskeria had been the one to save her, according to Pirose.

“Yeah. I was asleep. Sick, apparently. I’ve been…asleep.”

“I know. I kept coming to see you. Do you remember?”

“No.”

“Oh. Well…it’s good to see you.”

Wiskeria tugged on the brim of her hat. She looked around almost unsteadily. Then back up at Durene.

“I’m so glad.”

She reached out and caught herself, withdrew the hand. Durene blinked. Wiskeria wasn’t like this. She remembered a confident, no-nonsense person. Not whoever this was.

“I’m glad to see you too. What was…that?”

She pointed vaguely in the direction of the raven. Wiskeria turned her head.

“That? Oh—a message. From a…friend.”

“Really?”

Durene had no idea you could train ravens to send messages. But then, Wiskeria was a [Witch]. Wasn’t that what they did? Durene knew of [Witches] as scary, mysterious people. Riverfarm had never had one around, but you heard rumors. But Wiskeria had been so normal when she’d shown up as part of the Celestial Trackers that Durene had hardly given it a second thought, what with everything else happening. Now?

“I’m glad.”

Wiskeria repeated herself. She wavered. And then she looked around.

“Sorry. It’s such a surprise. I’ve been…did you just wake up? Are you here to pay your respects?”

“I guess. I mean, I am.”

Embarrassed, Durene realized that must have been why Wiskeria was here. And the [Witch] seemed so solemn, so pained, so sad that Durene felt callous by comparison. Wiskeria nodded a few times.

“I’ve been here. Most days. Thinking about my—what happened. I try to do it now, when no one’s about. They come after sunset. The families, you know.”

“Are all these people who died in the battle?”

Durene gestured around the graveyard. Wiskeria shook her head.

“They’re also your folk who died before that. But most of them come from the battle. This isn’t all of them either. The rest were buried in their homes. If they still remained. I…I saw to that.”

She bit her lip and looked down. Durene stared at her. She looked around the cemetery again.

“What have you been doing? Besides this?”

“Besides…?”

Wiskeria looked blank. She stared around and shook her head.

“Laken’s gone. I haven’t gotten any orders from him. Well—Rie and Prost keep in contact. But he’s coming back. With Goblins. You heard about that?”

Durene gritted her teeth.

“I did. What do you think about it?”

The [Witch] shrugged her shoulders listlessly. She shook her head.

“I hope he comes back. Riverfarm’s growing. And it’s difficult now. There’s so many new people. Did you see…?”

“No. I just went down one street. Then Prost pointed me here. I had to get away from it all.”

Another nod.

“You’ll see it tomorrow. Or the next few days. It’s amazing. But Prost and Rie have everyone doing jobs. Farming—there’s nearly a hundred people working the fields. They’re huge. So big that we need people with bows shooting down birds and animals trying to get at the seeds. And [Woodcutters], people quarrying stone—it’s incredible. But problematic. There’s crime now. [Bandits] have started raiding the area with Laken gone. As well as [Thieves] in the village. Town.”

Durene’s eyes widened. Bandits? Laken had helped crush a few groups early on, but the Goblins had scared most of them away. She looked at Wiskeria.

“That’s awful. Are you having trouble finding them?”

“Me?”

The [Witch] looked blank for a moment. Durene nodded and frowned.

“You’re our [General]. What’s the army doing? Are we putting out traps or hunting for them or what?”

Wiskeria was just shaking her head.

“No. No. I’m not—I quit, Durene. I stepped down. I’m not in charge of anything anymore.”

“What? Why?”

Thunderstruck, Durene’s jaw fell open. The [Witch]’s face was covered by the brim of her hat. She looked at the graves, at the sky, and then shook her head again.

“I shouldn’t be leading. I was the one who got everyone killed during the battle. All these graves? They’re because of me. I feel terribly bad about it.”

Terribly bad. That was underselling…Durene felt a flash of anger, then wondered how she’d even say it. She saw Wiskeria lift her head—and then realized the [Witch] was crying.

Tears ran from Wiskeria’s eyes when Durene could barely weep. They trickled down her face, and Durene panicked.

“Wiskeria! Don’t cry. It wasn’t your fault. It was a bad order; Rie told me all about it. Laken didn’t want you to attack.”

That had been a shock too. Someone had betrayed Laken. Knocked out Nesor to send a [Message] telling Wiskeria to attack the Goblins. The [Witch] nodded, tears falling from her face. But her voice was oddly steady.

“I know. But I obeyed it. I made the wrong choice in the moment, and but for House Veltras, we would have been wiped out. Lord Tyrion saved us. This was a disgrace. All the dead—my fault.”

She gestured around at the graves. Durene swallowed.

“That wasn’t your fault, Wiskeria.”

The [Witch] paused. Tears kept falling, but her voice was still steady.

“That’s kind of you to say. Few people agree with you. It doesn’t matter either way; the army’s disbanded. The remainder is sticking close to Riverfarm. We have a mounted group—the adventurers and [Soldiers] patrol around Riverfarm. But there’s no need for an army.”

Durene snapped.

“There’s every need. Laken’s bringing back Goblins. Hundreds of them!”

Why was no one talking about that? Wiskeria just shook her head.

“He has his reasons. Whatever they are. When he comes back, he can appoint a new [General]. I’m just staying to make amends. There’s not one [Alchemist] among all the people of Riverfarm; they all were lured to other cities. There’s an [Herbalist], but she’s Level 9. I’m helping until Prost can find or train someone up. By the way, have I been crying too long?”

“What?”

Wiskeria touched at her eyes.

“I weep for the dead. I have been, since the battle. I did not when I was still acting as a [General] because you shouldn’t in a position of command. I can and do as a [Witch]. Too much? I suppose it is.”

And like that, the tears stopped. As if they were something you could just…begin and end when you pleased. Durene recoiled a bit as Wiskeria produced a handkerchief and wiped her face.

“How did you do that?”

“What, cry? I let out my grief. Well, tried. I don’t know how to mourn; I have never lost anyone under my command before. I failed as a [General], Durene. I was arrogant. I thought I could fill the role, and look what it cost. I’m…ashamed.”

She pulled down the brim of her hat and seemed to deflate a bit before Durene’s eyes. The half-Troll girl didn’t know what to say. Wiskeria seemed genuinely sad, but she was also—

Everyone surely expressed being sad differently. The [Witch] stared at Durene’s scar and then looked around.

“I’m going to clean up. Then gather some herbs. It’s good to see you, Durene.”

“You too?”

The [Witch] nodded, ignoring the question. She walked off. Durene let her go. She stared around the cemetery. And the sense of wrongness intensified. Durene hurried away, stepping carefully between the graves. Everything was so wrong. The village. Wiskeria. All of it. She didn’t head back to Riverfarm. Instead, she climbed, up, towards the forest. And her home. Her and Laken’s. On the way, she looked back once.

Riverfarm had been a group of farms by a river. Small enough to miss in the shadow of the mountain, and it was a small mountain compared to any of the High Passes. It had been a collection of spread out houses connected by a small street.

Now it was a town. Neat rows of carefully laid houses stretched down a main street, and the residential district was already nearly four hundred houses large. Massive warehouses had been formed in another district to hold food. Fires and lights burned in the town, and hundreds, thousands of shapes milled about, forming queues for supper.

Across the river, Durene saw farmland. Not the patches a single [Farmer] or family could tend to, but a vast swathe of converted farmland, enough to feed tens of thousands if it all came to seed. The landscape had changed. A forest had vanished to make way for the houses. The uneven meadows across the river were all tilled soil. Durene stared. And then she turned away and went home. It had to be the same. Let one thing be the same. One—

The cottage was as she’d left it. Durene nearly cried with relief at the sight of the humble hut. The thatched roof was still there, unlike the rooftop tiles used in Riverfarm’s houses. Her garden was there, messy, overgrown—it looked like animals had torn it apart. But the fencing was still there, broken in only one spot by something heavy. And her door, her shuttered windows—they were all there.

“Home.”

Durene’s eyes filled with tears as she stumbled towards her cottage. She just wanted to sleep there. She could think about Laken being gone tomorrow. She could face everything. But now—she reached for the handle. Then she heard a shriek. Something hurtled at her from the evening sky. Durene instinctively held a hand up. She felt something rake across her arm, stinging her skin.

Something screamed in her ears, then flapped up. Durene swung an arm, and the thing retreated. It darted forwards to peck again and then—abruptly—halted in midair. Durene stared. She saw a flash of vibrant blue feathers. Two staring, yellow eyes. And a shape she half-recognized. The half-Troll girl lowered her arm.

“Frostwing?”

The bird screamed. It was a familiar sound, the obnoxious complaint the bird always used to utter when it demanded food. But it was louder. And Frostwing was fully grown. A huge bird, nearly as large as an eagle, spread her wings and glared at Durene. There was a fierce, predatory look in her eyes. As Durene hesitantly reached out, Frostwing pecked.

“Ow! Frostwing, it’s me!”

The bird halted, baring its talons as it perched on Durene’s cottage. She seemed to know Durene, but she was hesitant. Durene was as much a stranger to Frostwing as the bird was to her. Slowly, Durene held out a hand.

“Frostwing? It’s me. Durene. I live with Laken. You remember him?”

The bird reacted to Laken’s name. It half-pecked at a finger, then slowly hopped forwards. Durene felt the bird latch onto her arm and winced, but only a bit. Frostwing’s talons were sharp. Slowly, carefully, Durene brought her close and raised a hand. Frostwing flinched, but Durene’s fingers were gentle as she stroked the bird’s head. It stared at her, trembling. And Durene felt her heart hurt.

“Have you been here while I’ve been asleep? Did no one look after you? How could Prost? How could they?”

The bird didn’t reply. Durene looked around. The cottage was tended. But why hadn’t anyone taken care of her garden? She’d planted during the winter. They could have looked after it. And there was a hole in her roof! Why hadn’t—

Then she heard the shuffling. Something grunted. Durene whirled, and Frostwing took off, screaming in alarm. Something was lurking around the side of her cottage. Durene hesitated. Her heart pounded in alarm—then she caught herself and made a fist. She strode forwards, ready to swing—

And paused. A large, green-furred bear blinked up at her. He was a giant, larger than any regular black bear and even brown bears. His fur was thick, the moss-green color that gave his species its name. The fur was dirty, and Durene could swear there was even a mushroom growing among the hairs.

But the bear seemed placid and content. He clearly recognized her because he came snuffling up to her, padding forwards with a tread heavier than even Durene’s. He leaned against her and sighed. Durene looked down.

“Bismarck?”

Day 52 – Durene

It was raining when Durene woke up. That didn’t bother her. The steady funnel of water pouring through the hole in her roof, on the other hand, definitely did. At first, Durene’s sleepiness conflated the water with her own bladder, and she got up to pee. And then she saw water soaking her floorboards and shouted in disgust.

A bird screamed. Frostwing took off, flying about the cottage in alarm as Durene, muddled, rushed about for a bucket to contain the water. But after she saw her warped floorboards, she realized it was no use. The hole had been here for weeks, and her floor was ruined.

“Damn, damn—Frostwing, shut up!”

Durene shouted at the bird. Mercifully, Frostwing shut up. She stared as Durene, swearing, found a dusty hammer in her toolbox. She didn’t bother looking for her scrap wood—she just yanked up a floorboard and stomped outside. Durene had a ladder she kept for repairs of her roof; that at least was in the right place. The problem was that someone was in the way.

Bismarck, the bear, was snoozing in a den around the cottage’s back. He’d apparently fallen in love with her woodshed. And her root cellar. The bear had torn the door off her cellar and combined it with the woodshed to accommodate his bulk. Durene was too annoyed to be impressed with the Mossbear’s intelligence. She prodded at him.

“Gawl.”

Bismarck’s annoyed growl was deep and rumbling. It was the kind of sound that would have scared the urine out of anyone who heard it and saw his huge eyes open and his mouth reveal a row of teeth. Bismarck growled in annoyance and then looked up into Durene’s wet face and her glare.

“Move.”

He blinked, got up, and shuffled out of the way. Durene scowled at the broken back of her ladder. But half of it was working, so she propped it up, climbed up four rungs, and started pounding nails into her roof.

“Lousy—stupid—Frostwing, be quiet!”

The bird was protesting its captivity. Durene hammered the last nail into place, decided that was enough, and stomped inside. A glaring bird assailed her with more shrieks. Durene nearly shrieked back.

“I’ll get you some food! Be quiet!”

And Frostwing was. The bird watched as Durene cast about the cottage only to realize that she did not, in fact, have any food. Anything she’d owned was long-since rotted. But Durene was saved from being screamed at by the sight of a basket filled with…food?

She peered inside. Dried meat, half-eaten, moldy potatoes, and fish bones peeked out at her. Durene recoiled from the smell, but Frostwing alighted on the basket and tore at it. Durene stared at it and then at the shutters that had clearly been opened to let it go through.

“So that’s how they fed you. Left it and ran? And what are the potatoes for? Bismarck?”

On cue, the Mossbear pushed open Durene’s cottage with his head. He trotted over to the basket and stuck his nose in. Frostwing, affronted, fluttered up and screamed at him. Bismarck made a galumphing sound and nosed in the basket for the potatoes. Frostwing landed on the other edge of the basket and began pecking at the meat after a moment.

Durene just stared. Then she caught hold of herself and snatched the basket. Bismarck and Frostwing both recoiled. The two animals turned to Durene. Bismarck made a confused growling noise. Frostwing shrieked—and received a tap on the beak.

“Stop. That.”

Durene frowned at the bird. Frostwing screamed, and Durene waved a bit of dried meat in her face. Abruptly, Frostwing went still. Her head darted for the meat—and Durene let her take it.

“Be quiet. Understand? Quiet. And I’ll feed you.”

The bird considered the deal. She hopped back onto the table, and Durene saw a large nest had been made out of a pillow and branches. It was covered in bird poop, bones, and scraps. Durene wrinkled her nose, but Frostwing sat in it. She opened her beak and screamed, but softly. And she made a begging motion, as if she were a chick.

“Okay.”

Durene handed her another bit of meat. Frostwing took it and swallowed, then begged again. The sight hurt Durene to see. Frostwing was nearly feral; apparently, the only way people had been able to feed her while Durene was asleep and Laken was gone was to leave meat out in the open and let her eat it. She wasn’t unhealthy—but she should have been with Laken. He must have thought she was with Durene until he found out she was sick.

“It shouldn’t have happened like this. None of it.”

Durene whispered. She felt her eyes stinging as water dripped down from the poorly patched hole. Then she felt a wet nose and jumped. Bismarck tried for the basket. Durene pushed his head back.

“No. Go back. Sit! Sit!”

She ordered him as if he were a dog. Laken had never really trained Bismarck, but the bear hadn’t needed it. Bismarck considered the instructions, then, to Durene’s great surprise, went over and sat. Stunned, the half-Troll girl stared at him and then took out a moldy potato. The bear devoured it and opened his mouth for more. On the table, Frostwing shrieked, demanding attention.

Caring for the two animals took nearly two hours. Not just to feed them; to make them comfortable around her. Durene alternated between stroking Frostwing’s head and combing Bismarck’s dirty fur with her comb. The bear and even the bird soon began to nuzzle her, leaning against her, as their wariness faded and memory of her returned.

It wasn’t so bad with Bismarck; he clearly regarded Durene as a friendly face. But Frostwing hurt. When the bird finally seemed to remember Durene, she leaned against the girl and shivered into her side. Durene closed her eyes. Why hadn’t Frostwing gone after Laken? She could clearly fly. But then—this was her home.

“You shouldn’t have stayed here. Prost should have gotten you. But maybe you were too scary for him. I’m sorry, Frostwing. I’m so sorry. I was asleep.”

The bird’s only response was to peck Durene on the cheek, but softly. Durene didn’t know if the bird understood her. But from the way Frostwing looked around and then at Durene, she realized she was looking for Laken now.

“He’s gone. I’m sorry. I don’t know when he’s coming back.”

The bird just stared at Durene. The girl couldn’t give any other answer than to stroke Frostwing’s head. In her ruined cottage, the girl sat. And she felt worse than she had yesterday.

For two hours. And then Durene had to get up. She looked outside as Frostwing perched on her arm and Bismarck trotted outside. It was still raining. Durene was used to the spring rains, and the downpour outside wasn’t too bad. In fact, one of Durene’s few [Farmer] Skills—[Weathersense]—told her that it wouldn’t be much longer before the downpour stopped.

It must have started in the night. And try as Durene might to hate the weather, she knew it was essential for the crops. Riverfarm needed water for the harvests. This was usual. It was just that Durene hadn’t been able to prepare herself. She looked at Frostwing, and her stomach rumbled. That startled the bird; Frostwing fanned her wings and nearly took off.

“I’m hungry. There’s no food for me.”

Durene looked at the empty basket. The two animals had handily devoured the scraps. Not that Durene would have eaten from it anyways. She looked out the window.

“I’ve gotta go to Riverfarm, I guess.”

Durene opened the door. Sure enough, the rain was becoming a sprinkle. She would have gone outside, but Frostwing panicked. The bird pulled at Durene’s tunic, trying to pull her inside the cottage.

“Frostwing! Ow! Stop! I’m not going to leave you!”

The girl protested, but the bird refused to calm down. Exasperated, heartbroken, Durene looked around. Laken had asked for a hawker’s glove to let Frostwing land on his arm. He’d made one for her, but she hadn’t used it. She found it under a bed and put it on. Durene held out her arm like she’d seen Laken do.

“You can come with me! But only if you behave. Understand? Behave.”

The bird quieted down. Slowly, she hopped onto Durene’s arm and braced. Durene stared at her. The bird stared back. Slowly, Durene looked about. Bismarck paused as he backed into his den around the cottage back.

“You’ll scare everyone. You stay here, okay?”

“Gaeghr.”

The Mossbear made a sleepy sound. Durene eyed him. She decided it was fine. Bismarck rolled over in his little outdoor den, and Durene wondered if this was what owning a dog was like. Probably not; all the dogs in Riverfarm used to hate her. They’d bark non-stop when she came near and even tried to bite her—until she’d thrown one that bit her arm into a tree. Then they just barked and ran away. Until the avalanche.

Slowly, balancing Frostwing on one arm until she got tired and the bird decided her shoulder was more fun, Durene descended into the village. It was even larger than last night. But Durene could see her old road slowly entering Riverfarm from the side, so she walked down into the village’s streets.

And she got lost. It seemed impossible, but even the few streets of Riverfarm were enough to throw Durene off. She stared at the flood of people walking about, some forming lines for food. There were multiple cooking stations, based out of buildings and awnings, serving food to people who grumbled and tried to stay out of the last of the rain. They stared back at Durene. Hundreds of faces as she trotted down the street. Frostwing uneasily fanned her wings, and the murmurs increased.

“Five Families. Is that…?”

“Half-Troll? I thought she was on death’s bed!”

“—Durene—I told you. She’s Emperor Laken’s—”

“A giant! Killed a dozen Hobs herself. I saw it all—”

“Monster. Should have gone to Muerfurt. Or Kingscell. Anywhere but this.”

That last voice made Durene look around sharply. But she didn’t see who it was. A girl ran up to Durene in the street.

“Durene? Durene!”

The half-Troll girl stared. She recognized this face. The long, red pigtails. The overalls. Prost’s daughter had inherited her hair from her mother, Miss Yesel, but she had something of his build, stocky for a girl. She was only…nine? No, ten. She waved at Durene and came to a halt, eying Frostwing. The bird glared back, and Durene raised a hand to sooth her.

“Chimmy?”

The girl nodded. She stared up at Durene.

“You’re alive! Da said you were, but you went home. He’s in His Majesty’s throne room. Do you want to meet him?”

“I—I need breakfast. And I should see him. I just…this is Frostwing. Frostwing, you remember Chimmy. Right?”

The bird glared down at the girl, clearly not sure if she did. Chimmy stared back and warily held out a hand. The blue bird pecked, and Durene blocked it—Chimmy withdrew her hand sharply. She regarded Durene.

“I can get you food. You want bread? Stew? We’ve got meat too.”

Durene’s stomach rumbled, and Frostwing nearly took off.

“That would be great. And, uh, maybe a bit of meat?”

She wasn’t sure if it was for Frostwing or for her. Chimmy nodded and dashed towards one of the cookhouses. She slipped through the lines, and Durene saw a [Cook] serving food frown and look up. She glanced out a window, did a double-take as she saw Durene petting Frostwing, and grabbed some food.

The folk waiting in line protested when they saw Chimmy coming out with a double-helping—again, until they saw Durene. Then they just stared as she wolfed down her breakfast in the street, and Chimmy offered a bit of meat, which Frostwing deigned to eat after three sniffs. Fortified, Durene nodded to Chimmy, and the girl showed her where to put the empty bowl and plate.

“Just there. We’ve got [Washers] and such who do all the dishes. I’m supposed to help them today, but helping you is more important.”

The girl informed Durene with the air of a child who had her alibi all sorted when she was inevitably asked. She led Durene down the street, chattering as the older girl followed her, mystified.

“All sorts of things happened when you were asleep, Durene. Riverfarm’s big now! There’s hundreds and hundreds of people. And they all listen to my dad. And Lady Rie. She makes them work, and anyone who argues has to stand in the pillory! We have a pillory now. Da says we shouldn’t ought to need them, but until Emperor Laken gets back, we need them. But most people work. There’s everything to do, and we need so much of everything. Wood, stone, nails—Mister Helm is making lots of metal, but he says we need to have our own mines. We have to buy our ore, which Lady Rie says is costly. And Da’s worried about how much coin we have, even though we all pool our wealth. He says we need to grow something worth coin, but he doesn’t know what. He’s gonna ask Emperor Laken with a [Message] spell. Do you know where he is, Durene?”

The girl looked up expectantly. Durene, caught off-guard by the stoppage of the flow of words, shook her head.

“South. With Goblins.”

“Why? I asked Da, but he won’t say.”

“I don’t know.”

“Alright then.”

Chimmy shrugged and skipped ahead. Durene followed her. The girl was so casual about Riverfarm as it was now. Durene envied her. But—Chimmy had survived the avalanche and even begun to smile within a week of the snows that had claimed her youngest brother. She was tough. She had to be, living out here.

So did Durene. She straightened her back, trying to process all of what Chimmy was saying.

“We’ve got smokehouses and a place for Mister Helm’s forge, only we’re going to change them because Mister Prost says in the ‘blue-prints’ that he and Emperor Laken came up with—they didn’t account for the winds. So we need to put them downwind or people complain. It’s all good, though. Everyone gets enough to eat, and we don’t need to buy food because some of the [Farmers] have [Fast Growth] Skills. One even has [One Day Bloom]!”

“Really?”

Durene’s eyes widened. That was good! Chimmy nodded proudly.

“It’s great, but he’s only one [Farmer]. So Da came up with a great plan. He has Mister Tepple sow all the seeds and the other [Farmers] till the earth and so on or water. That way, them with [Fast Growth] make the seeds come up, and the ones without growing Skills do other things. See? Da reckons we can be as good as any big farm if we work together! As good as any noble’s lands with lots of farmers on Terandria, Lady Rie says. And all because we’re all here serving under Emperor Laken!”

“That’s great.”

Durene muttered. Her head was still spinning as she stared around the streets and saw more people lined up. And more and more were getting to work! Four dozen men, all with axes, were proceeding down one street. A fellow on a wagon was loaded up and driving it down the street. Women were hauling dirty, muddy clothes in washbasins towards the river—and each basket was piled to the top! Across the street, Durene saw two old men carving a table with…squares and tiny little pieces out of wood. And the fellow with the wagon had more than one of those tables lashed to it. He was loading them up, talking to them.

“—Good sales on these things. I’ll bring back a board of Go so you can copy that too. It’s worth gold if they’re varnished and made all fancy, so long as people don’t realize I’ve got twelve more in the back.”

“Mind getting us more designs? Only so many ways we can make these pretty. We could do more if we had a few good [Artists] instead of that idiot who Prost has painting walls.”

One of the old men groused as Durene and Chimmy slowed down to watch. The [Trader] laughed as he adjusted his belt. A man with a hooded face bumped his shoulder, and the [Trader] frowned at him for a moment. The street was getting crowded, and the fellow pushed past the [Woodcutters], who cursed at him good-naturedly.

“I’ll see what I can do. It’s not on the list of things Lady Rie asked me to buy, but she’ll see the sense in it. And with the gold I can bring in with these things—those good-luck charms that Jelov makes aren’t bad either. People like the idea of them. Although they ask if they’re actually the product of a Skill, and I can’t answer that.”

“Say they’re blessed by His Majesty. That’s good enough for me. I have one right above my bed when I sleep.”

One of the old men smiled. The other nodded. The [Trader] grinned, and so did Durene. She thought she knew him. Either way, he was smiling as he adjusted his belt. He went back to the wagon to load the last chess set up with the [Wagon Driver], and then his eyes widened. His hand flew to his belt.

“My money! Someone stole my money bag!”

Every head turned as Frostwing, alarmed by the scream, took to the air, shrieking herself. Durene’s whipped around. She searched the crowd for the hooded figure who had bumped into the [Trader]. She spotted him, hurrying away.

“There!”

The [Trader] had seen him too. He pointed, and half the [Woodcutters] turned and began to give chase. The hooded man broke into a run. And he was quick—but Durene was already running after him.

“Hey, you, stop!”

Durene bellowed. The man ducked as her voice boomed at him. He turned his head, saw her, and his eyes went round. He turned and sprinted. Durene charged after him, but people were in the way, and even leaping aside, she was afraid she’d hit them. The man ducked left, trying to lose his pursuers around a house. Durene rounded it—and saw another street. People stared as she and the [Woodcutters] dashed out into the open.

“There was a man! He stole Trader Gellid’s gold! Where’d he go?”

One of the [Woodcutters] shouted. The people in the street looked around. Durene’s head swiveled, but the hooded man was gone.

“I thought I saw—but he’s nowhere.”

A woman looked around, wide-eyed. Durene cursed. Had the man vanished? Used a Skill? She turned desperately and saw Chimmy running after her with the breathless [Trader]. They stared around, horrified, at the crowd devoid of hooded figures. Durene clenched her fists helplessly—

And then a shriek tore the air. Everyone ducked as Frostwing, enraged, hurtled out of the air like a blue bolt of lightning. She landed, tearing, pecking, at the very same woman who’d seen the [Thief]!

“Frostwing! Stop!”

Durene shouted and began to run forwards. But before she could reach the bird, the woman ducked away, cursing. And her face, her entire body—blurred. The hooded figure ran backwards, shielding his head, cursing at Frostwing.

“That’s the [Thief]! Get him!”

The [Trader] howled. Now, the entire street grabbed for the [Thief], but he ran through them, shoving, ducking Frostwing, running faster than anyone could catch up. Durene swore as she ran after him. If she could throw something—he was nearing a break in the crowds, and she had a feeling he was going to make a break for it! He was too quick—

“Watch out! Make way!”

A voice roared to Durene’s left. She drew up as she saw a figure racing at her from the right. A mounted figure. The [Thief] spotted the armored shape rushing down the street on horseback too late. He turned, darting back towards Durene, but the horse galloped into him and tossed him to the ground like a sack of flour. He made a pained cry—the [Rider] turned, leapt from his saddle, and grabbed the [Thief] before he could get back up.

One hand thrust his face into the ground, the other raised a gauntleted fist. As Durene reached the pair, the armored man swung a fist down, and the [Thief], struggling, went limp.

“Got him! You bastard, we finally got you!”

The armored figure crowed as he hauled the man up. He yanked the hood off and then swore. Durene, staring, saw the armored helmet go up. A shock of black hair emerged, and a young face. Beniar, sweaty, hair-tangled, stared in surprise at the man’s face.

“You? You’re our [Thief]? You bastard!”

He shook the unconscious man. Then he looked up and saw Durene. His eyes widened. Beniar dropped the [Thief].

“Durene!”

“Beniar!”

She reached out. The Silver-rank adventurer strode past his snorting horse and grabbed her up in a hug as fierce as her own.

“Durene! Dead gods, it’s a relief to see you! I heard you were up, but I didn’t dare visit—that [Healer] swore she’d stab me if I got near you with a potion again! I’m so sorry! I thought—how are you?”

“I’m fine! Fine!”

Beniar eyed Durene’s chest.

“The infection? It went away? Wiskeria said I shouldn’t pour a potion on it, but I thought—dead gods, she nearly killed me. Everyone did!”

“It’s fine. You didn’t know. I would have done the same thing.”

Durene touched her chest. Beniar’s expression twisted, but then he looked down.

“And here you are! Catching the damn [Thief] who caused us so much trouble for weeks!”

“He did? I mean—I was just there. I saw him grab that [Trader]’s bag. Why are there thieves in Riverfarm? We have nothing to steal!”

Durene was shocked. The adventurer, no, the [Cataphract] just shook his head. He adjusted the full-body plate armor that was a symbol of his class; his steed was likewise enveloped in mail. He cut a fearsome sight, as did the [Riders] who only now caught up to them. Durene saw a band of fifteen riding down the street—seven the way Beniar had come, eight the other way. Clearly, this had been a trap.

“You got him, Beniar? Who’s that? Durene?”

One of the [Riders] called out. Then she slid off her horse. More of them exclaimed, and Durene saw familiar faces, adventurers and [Soldiers], coming off their horses. They surrounded Durene and then stared and swore as they saw the [Thief].

“Master Elmmet?”

“The very same. This bastard’s our [Thief]. I’m sure of it!”

Beniar scowled and kicked the comatose [Thief] in the stomach. Hard. The man groaned; Durene winced.

“What’d he do?”

“Only steal from anyone with coin for the last two weeks! Look—he’s got a face-changing Skill! I swore I saw a young man just a second ago.”

Beniar crouched down and showed Durene the man’s face. Durene saw dark brown hair and a beard. She frowned—she could have sworn the [Thief]’s face had been younger, clean-shaven, and light blonde!

“I saw a woman before Frostwing attacked him.”

“That’s how you ratted him out? I was just mounting up with the patrol when I heard the shouts. Lucky!”

Beniar whistled. He looked up as Frostwing, screaming, her beak bloody, swooped down. All the [Riders] ducked, and two horses reared; Durene caught Frostwing on one arm and reached out.

“Good girl. Good Frostwing. You were amazing. Stop screaming? Please?”

Miracle of miracles, Frostwing did. She inspected the [Thief], looking very pleased with herself as she cleaned her beak on her plumage. Beniar whistled.

“Frostwing. I haven’t seen her since…yesterday. Prost makes me leave the food out. Durene, did you see Bismarck? That huge bear’s camped out behind your cottage!”

“I was there last night. How come no one fed Frostwing? Why didn’t she go with Laken?”

“It was too dangerous, according to him. They were fighting Goblins. He thought you’d be on your feet in a week. But for me, you would have. And after that—I tried feeding her, but she tried to savage me! But for the armor, she’d have taken chunks out of me. You know she’s been hunting too? I saw her kill a fox just last week!”

Beniar reached out to Frostwing. She obligingly pecked at his face, and he backed off. Durene soothed the bird again.

“I just woke up, Beniar. This is so much to take in—you know this [Thief]?”

The adventurer, reminded, scowled and looked down.

“Know him? He’s a big shot from Lancrel. Ah—they’re one of the big groups that came to Riverfarm when you were asleep. Those bastards are always saying they should have more of a say. They want to vote a [Mayor] in place of Prost—they keep saying that as if we don’t have an [Emperor]! But they’ve never seen Laken. His Majesty. Apparently, this fellow was part of their leadership. Well, looks like he was just a dirty [Thief] again!”

He went to kick the man with a big windup, and one of the [Riders], an adventurer who’d been part of the Celestial Trackers, stopped him.

“Save it, Beniar! Let’s get this idiot tossed in the pillory or to Lady Rie or Mister Prost. They can sort it out. Elmmet’s one of Lancrel’s big leaders. [Thief] or not, they see you kicking him and there will be another fight.”

“So? We’re keeping order! They want a fight? Let them get some swords and we’ll have it out!”

Beniar snapped back, but his hot-temper cooled as he looked at Durene. He spat on Elmmet and shook his head.

“You’re right, Alvais. And we have to patrol. One—no, two of you take Elmmet straight to Prost. Anyone asks, you don’t answer! Don’t stop until he’s there and in chains! The rest of you, mount up! We need to sweep the road! I’ll get the gold back to Trader Gellid, but we need to check the roads before he takes them. Those [Bandits]…”

The other riders nodded. They began mounting their own horses as Beniar strode over to his. He paused, then turned back to Durene.

“Sorry, Durene. But we’ve got to ride. There’s a [Bandit] group hitting the roads, and without Laken, we need to escort everyone there. I’ll catch you tonight, yeah?”

“Of course. It’s great to see you, Beniar. But—[Bandits]? [Thieves]? What’s happened?”

Durene waved at the limp man being hoisted over a saddle horn. One of the [Riders] shouted for the crowd who’d gathered to watch to make way. Beniar glanced at the sea of faces, and Durene, turning, caught them as well. She jumped to see how many were just…watching. More people than Riverfarm had ever held were staring at her and Beniar. And the [Thief]. Frostwing flapped her wings uneasily. Beniar nodded at the crowd.

“That happened. It’s crazy. Once that Lord Veltras showed up, things quieted down. But people just kept pouring in. Without a home. And with Emperor Laken gone, everything’s a bit…off, you know?”

Durene nodded quietly. Beniar put his helmet back down and shook his head.

“When he gets back, everything’ll be alright. Until then—I’m glad you’re back. Talk to Prost and see if you can join up with us. We could use your strength, Durene.”

“Fighting? Wiskeria told me she resigned. Where’s the army?”

Beniar paused. He slid his visor up and looked soberly at Durene.

“Besides the militia? We’re all of it. We need Wiskeria back. I can’t do this alone. Tell her that, would you?”

He nodded at Durene. Then he turned and galloped away. Durene watched him go. Then she found Chimmy in the crowd. Beniar wheeled his mount and roared.

“Darksky Riders, with me!”

They galloped off. Silently, Durene let Chimmy lead her back, and the crowd, moving out of her way, decided to get to their jobs as well. The girl found her father seeing to the [Thief]. The two [Riders] were hauling him to a house, and Prost’s disgusted look turned to one of relief when he saw Durene and his daughter.

“Chimmy! Durene! I heard about the thief. It was Master Elmmet all this time? Disgusting. The man was a [Councilman]! That disgusting, Creler-sucking—and what’s worse, Lancrel’s folk are already saying he’s been set up!”

He swore, and Chimmy, listening, glowered just as fiercely as her father. Prost noticed her watching and turned red. He coughed.

“Chimmy, thank you for bringing Durene to me. Go back and help the [Cooks] now, or your mother and the [Washer] teams. There’s a good girl.”

“Aw, Da! But I could help Durene out! She doesn’t know where to go, and I—”

“Back to work, Chimmy!”

The girl went, sulkily, pausing to wave at Durene. Prost closed his eyes. He looked tired, and the sun was barely up. Durene looked in the direction of the [Thief].

“That was really a [Councilman]?”

“City folk. They don’t know their own neighbors.”

Prost sighed disgustedly. He ran a hand through his greying hair then looked at Durene.

“I heard you helped catch the [Thief]. Thank you, Durene. We don’t have much, but what we do have, that bastard took. He stole gold from people who had only that after losing everything, raided our stocks until we started putting locks up and guards…it’s a nightmare.”

He passed his hand across his face.

“At least this stops one of the problems. There are more [Thieves] than him—and fights. Dead gods. Someone died in a brawl a week back. It’s madness, Durene. But Beniar and his [Riders] keep the peace.”

“I met him. He said he’s all that’s left of the army. Is that true?”

Durene anxiously looked at Prost. He nodded.

“Did you hear? Wiskeria resigned from being a [General] after the battle. Not that I blame her—she stays out of Riverfarm for the most part. Most people understand she wasn’t to blame, what with whoever sent that [Message], but there’s a lot of folk who’ll throw stones just as soon as look at her.”

“We need an army. If we have [Bandits] and—and [Thieves], we need more people! I’ll help! I just need a weapon and my shield.”

Durene looked at Prost. He half-nodded, then switched it to a shake of the head.

“Wiskeria won’t budge. And we don’t need more [Soldiers], Durene. What we need—according to Lady Rie, that is—is [Guardsmen]. A proper City Watch, according to her.”

“Well, maybe I can help. If there are thieves stealing from your warehouses, point me to them. I can stand guard. Give me a club—I’ll just use a fist.”

Durene made one. Prost eyed it and shook his head again, brisk.

“They’re [Thieves], Durene. Not brigands or murderers. If you hit one of them—remember that fellow who was robbing houses around Riverfarm a while back? He tried your cottage, and you caught him.”

He looked at Durene, and her face went slack as she remembered.

“Four years ago. Yeah, I remember. I hit him.”

“More than once. He was half-dead when we found him. Broken bones in his face; even the [Healer] thought he might not make it. I know he was a [Thief], but dead gods, Durene, I was terrified of you back then. I wouldn’t want people to think of—well, with so many not knowing you—”

Prost stumbled over his words, looking at her carefully. The half-Troll girl just stared back. She touched her chest slowly.

“Scared of me? Back then—I was terrified, Mister Prost. It was a [Thief] with a dagger! He tried to stab me, and I was so scared I kept hitting him—maybe you thought I went too far, but I was so frightened! I cried for three days and didn’t leave my cottage once after he was taken away. And no one came by to tell me he was gone.”

“Oh.”

The [Steward] stared up at Durene. His jaw opened, and he worked it soundlessly. Closed it. His voice was strangled.

“That’s odd. I don’t remember that. We were so focused on whether he’d live or die that…”

He looked up at Durene, and an expression of shame flashed across his face.

“I’m sorry. Dead gods, I never thought of that. Back then…”

“You didn’t call for me unless you needed me to lift something. I get it.”

Durene crossed her arms. On her shoulder, Frostwing screamed softly. Prost hung his head.

“That’s the truth. But hear me, Durene: if we were unkind, it’s nothing compared to these city folk. They bother me, some of them. Lady Rie’s good at handling the Lancrel lot especially—they look up to her, but it only goes so far. We are in control. But until His Majesty gets back, neither Rie nor I want to upset this lot. The people who know His Majesty are about a third of Riverfarm now. And there are good people among the new ones. But…”

“I get it.”

The girl exhaled slowly. She’d seen the looks she’d been getting. Prost patted her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Durene. There’s plenty of need for your strength outside of keeping us safe from [Thieves]. I’ve got two dozen former [Sentries] and [Watchmen] and so on guarding what needs guarding. Shame more of them didn’t come to Riverfarm, but I suppose they thought there were no jobs for them here. Hah! That’ll change. But for now, we could use your help building houses or clearing new ground.”

Durene forced a smile onto her face.

“Sure. I’ll be glad to. Although I need some time to repair my cottage if I’m living there. It’s a mess. Water’s damaged my floor—and Frostwing and Bismarck have torn it apart.”

“Agh. I know we should have kept it up. But those two scared everyone away—it’s good to see you managed to get to Frostwing. Poor bird.”

Prost nodded at Frostwing. The ‘poor bird’ eyed the man, then casually raised one leg and evacuated her bowels onto Durene’s shoulder. Both girl and man stared at the bird. Frostwing rubbed her beak affectionately on Durene’s cheek. Durene threw up her arms.

——

Some things were new. Like a town full of staring people. Other things never changed. A cottage was a cottage. You fixed it up the same way. Prost was only too happy to direct Durene to whatever supplies she needed, and an ecstatic Chimmy was brought off dish-washing duty to help out. The [Steward] also showed Durene to some spots she could be helpful, like [Woodcutters] excavating stumps to make more farmland.

“Honestly, you’ll be useful in any spot you want to go, but I’ve no notion of ordering you about. You’re still waking up, and you’re…you. You do what needs doing. Cottage first, and then wherever you need to be.”

The [Steward] nodded deferentially to Durene. She felt odd, seeing the [Woodcutters] looking at her and appraising her. Everyone jumped when Prost gave the orders—he and Rie ran this place, but he wasn’t going to give her orders? Embarrassed, she pulled at a tree stump and yanked it and a mountain of dirt up. Of course, that made the [Woodcutters] just stare harder. It was a rare sort of girl who could pull up an entire root system one-handed.

Cottage first, with food, nails, a cart of wood, a replacement ladder, and broom. Durene spent six hours fixing up everything, giving Bismarck a permanent home, and relocating Frostwing’s nest, much to the bird’s displeasure. The Mossbear hadn’t moved much since Durene had left him there; indeed, he seemed content to just laze about and eat.

“I suppose that’s heaven for a bear. But you need to work. Do something!”

Exasperated, Durene stared at Bismarck. He just opened one eye and huffed. She could sense the contentment rolling off him. This was the life. Glowering, she poked him with the broom handle until he moved so she could sweep his pellets out of the way.

But mainly, Durene was just glad to be doing something. Her work on the cottage occupied most of her day, and only when evening fell did Durene realize she had nothing more she really needed to do here. She looked at her repaired home, shook her head, and then thought of Riverfarm. Immediately, the mountain of problems crashed down on her shoulders—and she knew that she didn’t know all of what ailed the town!

“It’s too much. How can I help? I can pull some stumps up or hit a [Thief]. But I’m not Rie. Or Prost. Or even Beniar.”

Durene sat outside, feeding Frostwing a snack. The bird shrieked happily, and Durene winced. She looked down at her hands, then thought about something.

“[Bandits]? Prost might be right about needing a City Watch. But [Bandits]? That’s too much. Beniar and his [Riders] can’t handle [Bandits] alone, can they?”

Maybe they could. Or maybe they couldn’t. But imagining him and his few dozen riders (had they expanded or lost members since the battle?) faced against another enemy like the Goblins gave Durene shudders. That decided her. Rather than go and help out, she put away her tools, let Frostwing hop on the cloth shoulder pad that was extremely washable, and set off in search of Wiskeria.

——

She found the [Witch] in the same place she’d found her yesterday: in the graveyard. This time, Wiskeria wasn’t alone. Black shapes had descended and landed on the gravestones all around her. Not ravens either. This time it was crows. A murder of them.

“Wiskeria. Come!”

Durene froze as she stepped into the cemetery. The voice issued from dozens of beaks, a cawing, calling sound. The only sound in that silent place. The crows’ beady eyes locked on the [Witch] dressed in the same blue robes and hat as yesterday. Wiskeria stood among them, her back straight.

“No. I told you, no. Tell your mistress that. Tell them! Mavika! I won’t go! I know you’re listening! Tell them! Please!”

The crows didn’t like that answer. They took wing and flew around Wiskeria in a tight circle.

“Wiskeria! COME!”

“No!”

She shouted at them, but that only enraged them more. A crow darted out. It snapped its beak, and Wiskeria ducked. Another struck her hat with talons. A third struck Wiskeria from behind, and she staggered. Durene, frozen, gasped; blood was running from the back of Wiskeria’s head. A crow darted again at Wiskeria’s cheek and drew blood; the [Witch] jerked. If she hadn’t, the beak might have struck her eye.

“You can’t force me! I know the rules! I have to make things right here!”

“COME! WISKERIA.”

This time, the cawing voices were blended. And the voice that spoke didn’t sound like a crow’s mockery of language. It sounded…different. Not Human. But not an animal’s sound either. A mix of the two.

The circling crows tightened around Wiskeria, biting, clawing. She shielded her face.

“I—refuse—”

She sank down as the claws dragged at her robes, and the murder of crows descended, landing, pecking. It was at that moment that Durene couldn’t hold back. She surged forwards, shouting and waving her arms.

“Hey! Get lost! Begone!”

The crows turned on her. It was so fast that Durene only saw them covering Wiskeria then flying at her face. She shielded her eyes reflexively and shouted as dozens of beaks began hammering at her skin. Her body was tougher than Wiskeria’s, but the screaming birds were terrifying. Birds didn’t act like this!

“Get off! Get—”

Durene flailed, but although she struck a few forms, the birds refused to abate. Wiskeria was shouting something. Durene felt a flash of heat, and a crow screamed. They turned on both girls. And then, above them, Frostwing shrieked and dove.

The press of bodies broke up at once. The crows fled as Frostwing, shrieking louder than Durene had heard her yet, smashed into a crow. They turned to mob her, but Frostwing was quick! She struck with talons and beak and flashed upwards, nearly as fast on the ascent as diving. The crows tried to follow, but Frostwing dove again, and the crack as she struck a second crow sent the bird crumpling on top of a grave, neck twisted.

That was enough. Or it would have been if birds were like people. Kill or hurt a few people in a gang of bullies and the rest might flee. But the flock—no, Durene remembered what they were called.

The murder of crows saw their second brethren fall and mobbed Frostwing. Then the younger bird was shrieking, dodging away from a sea of beaks and talons.

“Frostwing! Here! Here! Help—”

Durene was swatting at crows as the bird flew into her arms, and she shielded Frostwing from the merciless beaks. They were sharp! Durene shouted and closed her eyes, but her skin was too tough for the flock to get at. But they were landing on her, trying to kill Frostwing—Durene flailed one hand, knocking several off of her hard enough to break their bones, but these were insane—

She was about to break into a run when a voice snapped.

“Mavika! I said—enough! Upon my hat, send your crows away. Or a flock I’ll slaughter this very day.”

The voice was Wiskeria’s. And Durene heard a loud cracking sound—then another. She opened one eye open as the murder of crows suddenly became panicked cawing. What she saw was Wiskeria. No longer shielding her face, but brandishing a length of cloth.

And she was using it like a whip! Cracking the wet cloth so fast through the air it sent two crows to the ground, stunned—and Wiskeria put her foot on one’s body very lightly so she wouldn’t kill the thing.

“My friend doesn’t know your ways. Don’t make this personal.”

Wiskeria stared at the crow’s beady eyes—then lifted her foot. Whomever she was talking to, or maybe the flock itself, decided it had had enough.

The crows fled. Frostwing, victorious, screamed and tried to pursue them, like the idiot she was. Durene grabbed her, and Frostwing squirmed—then decided she wanted to savor her kills. She alighted, tearing at one of the two dead crows she’d savaged.

Shakily, Durene lowered her arms. Her skin was cut, but not even deep enough to draw blood. Wiskeria, shaking her head, was bloodied. Red ran down the back of her head, but she wound the bandage around it.

“Wiskeria—”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. I just need a bit of healing potion. Not even that. Sorry you were involved, Durene. That’s Mavika. She’s almost as bad as my mother.”

The [Witch] shakily readjusted her hat. She looked at the crows that Frostwing was tearing into and shook her head.

“I didn’t think she’d go that far. And two of her crows are dead. She’ll be furious.”

“Who will? What was that?”

Durene was still shaken from the attack. She stared at Wiskeria. The [Witch] inhaled, but to Durene’s disbelief, she didn’t seem shaken so much as upset.

Two similar emotions, but the fear, the surprise? It wasn’t there. Wiskeria. She nodded off to one side.

“Let’s clean up the feathers. And the birds. I don’t want them staying here if someone comes to look.”

A few minutes of picking up feathers later—Frostwing took the bodies—the two young women stood on the road to Durene’s cottage. Wiskeria was still breathing heavily. So was Durene for that matter. The [Witch] shook her head as she watched Frostwing cleaning her bloody beak.

“Dead gods. I knew that birds like Frostwing were hunters, but I didn’t know they could kill one of Mavika’s flock.”

She seemed very impressed. Durene was still on ‘shock’ and began to blurt out questions.

“Mavika? Who’s that? Does she own the birds?”

Wiskeria nodded.

“That’s right. She sent them to get me. Or threaten me, really. She’s not happy I’m not agreeing to join her. I know I should, but right now—I can’t. Something must have happened if she’s trying to form a coven. She’s a loner, you see. But she wants me because…well, I think she wants to mentor me. It’s not like I matter at the moment. Maybe it’s prestige? Either way, she doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“Coven?”

Durene was lost. But the word was…familiar. In a vague way. Wiskeria nodded. She took a breath.

“Durene. You know that I’m a [Witch]?”

“Of course.”

“Well. I’m supposed to be part of a coven. That’s a group of [Witches] that meets every few months. It’s…well, I suppose you could say it’s part of my class. I know most classes don’t have that, but we do.”

“A coven. I think I’ve heard of them. I’ve never actually met a [Witch] before you. And you’re not like—”

Durene closed her mouth. Wiskeria smiled shortly, eying her as she dabbed at the blood on the back of her neck with a wet handkerchief.

“What? Like all the stories?”

“I don’t know many.”

Durene lied. She knew a few, even though she didn’t go to Riverfarm. But they were all old stories, like the [Witch] who gave a hero an enchanted brew to help him fight the evil [Warlock]. Or the [Witch] who poisoned the fair [Damsel] until a [Knight] or [Prince] could wake her with a kiss. But she didn’t mention that. Nor did she need to. One quirk of Wiskeria’s lips said that she saw through Durene’s lie.

“Everyone has stories about [Witches]. I’m afraid we’re common in old stories.”

“Are they true?”

Durene blurted that out. And she saw Wiskeria hesitate.

“Most of them are. I can’t fly on a broom, for instance. At least, not the brooms in Riverfarm. I can do a number of things. Cast spells, like that fire I threw at the crows, brew things, and so on. But I’m afraid a lot of stories are exaggerated. Or about high-level [Witches]. I’m neither.”

“Oh.”

It was a bit rude to talk about levels. Embarrassed, Durene studied her feet. She wore nice, sturdy boots most of the time, but she only had one pair, so sandals were her other option. She could make them herself, and her feet’s soles were tough.

She didn’t want to make Wiskeria feel bad—not that Durene had many levels either! But Wiskeria was more matter-of-fact about it. She just looked regretful, so Durene pressed on, trying to be mindful of Wiskeria’s feelings.

“The crows. Do they belong to the [Witch]? Mavika? I heard of [Witches] owning black cats.”

“Some own other animals. It’s part of our class. Mavika’s a strong [Witch]. A great witch, some say. I don’t know if she’s there with the greats, but she’s certainly among the strongest of this era. And she can make her crows talk or carry messages or do things. It’s not like being a [Beast Tamer]. But she’s powerful. I don’t want to make her mad, but she’s insisting I join the coven, and I don’t want to. I also don’t have to, no matter what she thinks.”

Wiskeria answered slowly, and Durene opened her mouth. Wait, go back. ‘Not a great witch’, but also ‘strongest of this era’? It seemed like a contradiction in terms!

It occurred to Durene she knew less of Wiskeria than she thought. The [Witch] had been part of a Silver-rank team, though she hadn’t been a full-time adventurer, and she had made Laken’s acquaintance, and he’d made her a [General], a job Durene thought she’d done amazingly well for someone just given the class.

But Wiskeria’s nature as a witch? Durene pressed on, fumbling for information.

“Why do you need to go to a coven in the first place?”

That seemed to be the wrong question. Wiskeria looked a bit insulted and tugged on her hat’s brim.

“I am a [Witch], even if I’m low-level compared to most. Witches have to have a coven. It stands to reason.”

“What reason?”

Another shrug.

“A witch should not be alone. We’re too few. And our power isn’t in just casting spells like [Mages]. Or—or potions or animals or any one thing. We’re strongest in our coven. Besides, those are the old ways. And [Witches]—we’re all old ways. A witch who isn’t in a coven is surely a bad witch. The worst of the worst. And I don’t want to be that.”

Wiskeria murmured to herself. She seemed to be repeating something from memory. Durene just blinked at her. There was a faraway look in Wiskeria’s eyes. Then she shook herself.

“…But I don’t have to have one right now. Witches can wander, and you have to fit in. Mavika knows that, but she insists because she thinks I need it. Or it’s just her. She’s really into the old ways.”

“I saw that. But can’t you go? It’s not as if…well, it’s not as if you’re being a [General] here, are you?”

Durene hesitated before saying that, but she did say it. Wiskeria tensed up, but Durene didn’t look away. Wiskeria took a deep breath.

“I told you—”

“Beniar says he can’t handle everything alone. We need an army, Wiskeria. Remember the Goblins? What if they come again?”

The [Witch] tugged distractedly on her hat, then adjusted her spectacles.

“I know that. I know. But I just—I can’t do it. I thought I could, Durene, but I can’t act as a [General]. I guess you do need years of training. I was so overconfident I got people killed. I thought I had the talent to just pick up the job. If need be, I could step into the role, but only if need be.”

“If need be? You mean, you’re waiting for a disaster!”

Durene’s brows shot together. Wiskeria raised her palms defensively.

“I don’t want to! But I’m the only [General]. You’re right. But no one would trust me! Don’t you think I know that too? If I’m needed, I’ll do what I can. Until then—”

“You should take command now! We need you! Laken needs you! Prost could use someone to chase down [Bandits], to help—”

Wiskeria raised her voice.

“I can’t. Durene. I can’t do it. I tried my best, but I was too low-level. Too inexperienced. I’d repeat the same mistakes, and none of us want that. Here I thought I could do everything, just like a story from when I was a child. I’ve been thinking on my path forwards. What I did wrong. Whether I want to continue trying to even be a [General].”

The [Witch] sighed and hung her head. That made Durene angry.

Not just because of how self-defeating Wiskeria sounded, but because—and Durene had just realized this—it wasn’t guilt she was hearing. There was some, but mostly, Wiskeria sounded angry at herself. That she had failed to lead the army, make the right decisions.

The dead almost sounded like an afterthought. She had cried in front of Durene, but not wept. Her voice was steady—unnaturally so. Just like when she talked about her mistakes, and now, after surviving a crow attack, which had Durene rattled—Wiskeria’s voice was closer to matter-of-fact.

So Durene snapped at her.

“Well, what are you doing? Sitting in a graveyard, fighting with crows?”

“Well, if I go into the village, I get pelted with rocks, by that Rehanna woman most of all. Everyone’s filled up with sadness, but I don’t want to take it from them. I’d let them throw rocks to make themselves feel better, but I got tired after the fourth time, and I don’t want to put Mister Prost to trouble. Tensions are already high enough.”

Durene felt struck, as if she had felt the stones hitting her—and she had, hundreds of times. She knew exactly what that was like. Children, or even parents, hurling a rock at the ‘Troll’. And yet—Wiskeria didn’t look half as upset as Durene, who seized Wiskeria’s shoulders.

“Don’t let them throw rocks at you!”

“So I should break their arms? That wasn’t my first thought.”

Wiskeria eyed Durene dubiously, and the half-Troll girl spluttered.

“No! Shout at them! Get Prost to arrest them for a day or something! I’ll stop them! No one will throw stones at you, or I’ll—I’ll—”

She let go and clenched a fist, unable to articulate what she’d do. Then she worried about what might happen if she lost her temper. Then she decided she didn’t care.

But Wiskeria’s smile was just crooked, and again, not angry. She shrugged.

“Eh. They have bad aim. Again, I did get their family members and children killed. Some people deserve to have rocks thrown at them, Durene.”

“Not you or me.”

The Troll girl’s eyes were wide, and her throat was tight and burning. Wiskeria blinked, glanced at Durene, and her eyes softened.

“Oh, Durene. Not you. I meant me. I’ve done enough to deserve it, both now and in the past. I’d offer them my hand if I didn’t need it, or a pint of blood, but it doesn’t work like that. You don’t deserve stones. Don’t be so sad and ashamed. I deserve them.”

Her yellow-green eyes seemed to shine with such conviction and—sincerity that Durene hesitated. The bond she’d felt with Wiskeria changed. They were both strangers, but Wiskeria…Durene grabbed the [Witch]’s shoulders again. There it was, the dissonance.

“Wiskeria! Aren’t you sad? Why are you talking like that?”

Durene shook Wiskeria, and the [Witch] seemed genuinely upset.

“What? What? I did! Am I not sad enough? Do you need more tears?”

“No, it’s how you talk! You’re not even crying right—look, you’re doing it again!”

“I am crying!”

“Yes, but you’re not actually—”

Frostwing screamed, and both girls jumped. Durene realized she was shouting. Wiskeria had been too. Tears were running from her eyes, but she flushed now, and the [Witch] covered her face with her hat.

Durene felt at her red cheeks. But she stared at Wiskeria, and once more, the tears stopped. Wiskeria stood there, and Durene panted.

“Why aren’t you crying right?”

It was the strangest thing. Was Wiskeria even sad? The [Witch]’s cheeks turned redder, and she almost jerked her hat down to cover her face. Then she looked up and met Durene’s eyes.

An outcast [Witch]. A half-Troll girl. Strangely, they got along. Strangely, Wiskeria talked to Durene, and she spoke now, uncertainly, even shyly, as if confessing something.

“I’m sorry, Durene. I—I never learned how.”

“To what?”

“To cry. To mourn properly.”

“What are you talking about? It isn’t something you learn.”

Durene was annoyed by the response. But Wiskeria just looked at Durene sadly.

“Well, I suppose that’s the problem. My mother never taught me how to weep. I am sorry, you know.”

The [Paladin] stood there, unsure of how to even respond. So she awkwardly nodded her head and changed the subject.

“How long until the coven?”

She meant to ease Wiskeria out of the conversation, but Wiskeria took a shuddering breath—then switched to more casual conversation so fast Durene was left startled. Maybe it was just her way? It was unsettling, though, as Wiskeria replied with a tilt of the head.

“When the two moons are full. We meet then, so it’s not every month. But it’s easy to tell if you know the stars. This time it’s in—”

“Six days.”

Wiskeria broke off. She stared at Durene.

“That’s correct. How do you know that?”

“When the two moons are full, right? I’m a village girl. I know how the moons work.”

The half-Troll girl shrugged. Wiskeria nodded slowly.

“Then that’s when. Don’t worry. Mavika won’t force me again. Not after losing two of her crows. Some of the others might try, but I can say no.”

“If you say so.”

Uneasily, Durene looked back in the direction of the graveyard. Then back at Wiskeria.

“Are you sure you won’t…?”

“I’m sure. If I thought I could, I’d try. But I see how they looked at me. I promised Laken—Emperor Laken, that I’d be his [General]. But until he comes back and decides what to do with me, I’ll stay here. And…help.”

Unhappily, Wiskeria gestured around. Back at the graveyard. Durene realized that was why it was so clean. And she saw, in the distance, the first family walking into it, heads bowed. Mother, two sons, a man, perhaps an uncle or grandfather. But from the way they walked, no father. Wiskeria bowed her head silently. She looked so thin, so faded standing there. Durene couldn’t help it. She transferred Frostwing to her other arm and reached for Wiskeria.

“Do you want to eat at my cottage tonight?”

“What?”

The [Witch] looked up. Durene pointed.

“It’s just up the way. I don’t know what you eat. In the village? It must be harder.”

“I don’t eat there. I forage for myself. It’s not hard.”

Wiskeria muttered. Durene stared at her. She knew there were…roots and berries and such, but she doubted Wiskeria could land more than small game with so many people and [Hunters] about. No wonder she was so thin!

“Come with me. I’ve got food from Prost. We can eat there. And you can sleep in my cottage.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not? I’ve got…one bed. But I can sleep on the ground!”

“I have a tent.”

“Then put it up in my garden. Bismarck snores, but you—I can roll him over. Come on.”

Bullying, cajoling, and then switching back to bullying, Durene got Wiskeria to show her the small tent she’d pitched not far from here. Durene yanked up the pegs, grabbed the tent and Wiskeria, and practically carried both under her arms to her cottage.

There she made food. It wasn’t much; just a stew with some meat. Stews were big in Riverfarm, owing to how many people there were. But there was a loaf of fresh-baked bread that everyone, including Frostwing and Bismarck, wanted a piece of.

They didn’t talk about their fight or anything else for a while in pursuit of dinner. Wiskeria ate almost as hungrily as Durene, and the girl was glad to see some color enter Wiskeria’s pale cheeks. She refused Durene’s bed, which was just as well; the tent would only fit Wiskeria. The [Witch] went to bed silently as Durene washed up and Frostwing lay in her nest, pecking at one of the crows’ heads. Durene shuddered when she came back from letting Bismarck lick her pot clean.

“Frostwing, get rid of it. Come on. Be a good girl.”

The bird didn’t want to give up her prize. She pecked at Durene, and the half-Troll girl, grimacing, picked up the head. She carried it outside, ignoring Frostwing’s scream-crying. Durene walked away from Wiskeria’s tent, in which the [Witch] seemed already asleep, and pitched her arm back. The crow’s head was wet and slimy in her grasp. And as she aimed, she felt its beak move in her grip.

“Wiskeria. Come.”

Durene dropped the crow’s head and shouted in horror. The head landed on the ground. She saw the staring eye turn up at her. Something looked through the disemboweled head. The beak opened.

“Wiskeria! C—”

Durene’s sandal smashed the head into the ground. She stomped twice more, feeling the fragile bones and skull crunch. Durene didn’t care. She stomped again and again until, panting, she stared at the mess on the ground. The fragments of beak made no sound.

Shuddering, Durene backed up. Her skin crawled. She walked back into the cottage and grabbed a shovel. With it in hand, she went back and dug up some soil. When the hole was deep—four feet—Durene tossed the remains of the head inside and covered it, pressing the earth down. When that was done, she went back to the cottage.

“What was that shout?”

Wiskeria poked her head out of her tent. Her hat was off her head for once, and her expression was bleary. She must have woken back up. Durene eyed her face and opened her mouth.

“It’s n—”

She began to lie. Then she remembered that a disembodied crow’s head had come to life in her hands and talked to her. So Durene pointed back at the patch of soil.

“One of the crows’ heads—it came to life and said your name. In my hand. I smashed it.”

Wiskeria’s sleepy gaze sharpened. She stared at Durene. The girl shuddered and wiped her hand on her tunic. The [Witch] was silent.

“Well? Is that other [Witch] of yours—is she going to do anything?”

“I think that was it. She can probably still use crows when they’re dead. Or it was some other spell. Crows…well, some of us know necromancy too.”

“Necromancy? You mean you use the undead? Like the Necromancer? From the stories? Az—”

Durene recoiled in horror. Wiskeria shook her head rapidly, noting the shock on the half-Troll girl’s face.

“We’re not [Necromancers]! Absolutely not! No [Witch] I know has any levels in [Necromancer]! Don’t badmouth our craft!”

She pulled her head into her tent. Durene exhaled in relief. She got back to bed slowly, wiping her hands many times. Frostwing snoozed in her nest, and outside, Bismarck’s gentle snoring was even comforting. It was only after Durene was dozing off that she realized that Wiskeria hadn’t really answered her question at all.

Day 53 – Durene

The next day drizzled for a bit before Durene woke up, but the sky was clear when she got up. She knew it had rained from the smell in the air, though, and Wiskeria’s wet tent. It was waterproof, so the wan [Witch] had gotten her sleep. She met Durene in robes much like yesterday’s. Exactly like yesterday’s, in fact. Durene eyed them.

“Don’t you have other clothes?”

“I have another change. But I lost most of my things when we fled the Goblins. It’s fine. I cleaned the blood and the rest off with a cleaning charm.”

It was true, the robes were clean. But that didn’t disguise the fact that they smelled lived-in. That they had no holes was a frank miracle. Durene decided what Wiskeria needed was new clothes. The [Witch] disagreed.

“It’s how I dress! It’s how all [Witches] dress! My mother made this for me!”

“Okay, fine, no replacements, but they smell! And you need a bath! You don’t need to borrow my clothes! Just get some new ones! I’ll get them for you! I’ll even get more robes!”

Wiskeria eventually agreed when she realized Durene was close to stripping her and throwing her into her tub herself. But she was adamant on one point.

“Not my hat! My hat stays where it is! A [Witch] has to have her hat!”

Durene agreed to leave it. She helped Wiskeria fill the tub from a stream with cold water. Durene was about to suggest letting the water warm in the sun when Wiskeria poked her wand into the tub. Durene saw a flash of light, and the water became steaming. She narrowed her eyes at Wiskeria’s smug expression and thought of all the cold baths she’d had to endure.

Silently, Durene handed Wiskeria her soap and slapped Bismarck when he tried to eat it. The Mossbear, affronted, stared at the naked Wiskeria, who covered herself protectively, and at Durene. Seeing nothing of interest, he went back to sleep.

“I’ll get someone to clean your robes. And be back with new ones.”

“What? No, they really don’t need more than a wash. Durene? Durene!”

Wiskeria yelped and grabbed for Durene, but the girl was already trotting away. Durene turned and waved with her other hand as Frostwing decided to sip from Wiskeria’s tub rather than accompany her.

“If someone comes, uh, hide in Bismarck’s fur! Or dance around naked! Isn’t that what [Witches] do?”

“Stupid girls do that! No [Witch] I know will dance about naked anywhere! In a forest? Do you want insects biting you everywhere?”

The [Witch] shouted back. Durene, smiling, just headed into Riverfarm.

——

“Wash? I can wash this. But—ergh! I’ll have to put it in the men’s pile. It’s too foul to go with the good linens.”

Miss Yesel recoiled when she saw and smelled Wiskeria’s robe. It turned out that Wiskeria either couldn’t smell or didn’t know that her cleaning spell only got the outer side of the robe. Durene wrinkled her nose.

“That’ll be fine, Miss Yesel. Can I have some, uh, robes? I need them for Wiskeria.”

Mister Prost’s wife paused as she put the blue robes in a pile of strongly scented clothing. Some of the other [Washers] doing the ceaseless job of scrubbing the clothing by the river looked up. A shadow flickered over Miss Yesel’s face.

“Wiskeria? Of course I can get some robes. Is she staying at your cottage?”

“That’s right. Is that a problem?”

“No…”

Yesel drew the word out as she found some robes for Durene. And the look in her eye told Durene the answer was yes. She had much the same expression she used to have when she’d see Durene in the village. Come to think of it—the woman treated Durene with respect, but she hadn’t ever apologized like Prost had. Maybe for her there was nothing to apologize for. Either way, Durene didn’t feel as comfortable around the woman as Ram or Prost.

“It’s good that you did the delivery. Not that I’d turn anyone with such dirty clothing away, much less Wiskeria. But she isn’t much beloved in Riverfarm. Of course, a good number of those Lancrel troublemakers can’t stop running their mouths, but even Emperor Laken’s folk…”

She meant the original three villages that had come together under Laken’s banner. Durene nodded, but without any agreement.

“I understand that. But Wiskeria did her best. She was tricked! And it wasn’t her fault. We all fought. If we’d been—I’d been…”

Durene fell silent. Miss Yesel opened her mouth and cast a glance over her shoulder. Some of the [Washer] women were silent or as pale-faced as Wiskeria had been in the graveyard. She clapped her hands briskly.

“Time’s been enough for maybes and if onlys, Durene, my dear. You did your best, and no one faults you. Or Miss Wiskeria. It’s just as it is. Take some robes from that basket. We have enough, and I’ll settle the complaints.”

She helped Durene find some green robes that would probably clash with Wiskeria’s blue pointed hat. But Durene didn’t bother arguing. She was walking away from the river when she saw a woman in a dress sweeping towards her with a burly man at her side.

“Durene! I hoped to see you! Do you have a moment?”

It was Lady Rie. Durene hadn’t seen her for a long time. Two days, in fact. The [Lady] briskly walked over despite the dress she wore. Her shoes were fancy but built for walking, and the dress she wore was green and had some kind of cobweb pattern in white near the bottom. It suited her very well, and the envious looks the other women gave her was proof enough. Durene didn’t care. Laken liked her.

And it was a mark of the changing times that Durene’s first response wasn’t to stiffen when Rie appeared, but actually relax and want to speak with her. The half-Troll girl eyed the big man accompanying Rie. He was…

Rie noticed Durene’s look. She turned to the man.

“This is Geram, Durene. You remember? My captain of the guard in my estates. He’s escorting me as my…assistant at the moment. He’s quite good at commanding attention.”

Geram, big, brawny, and unfortunately bald, was certainly all that. A former [Fistfighter] of some renown, his scarred knuckles were a work of art in themselves. And a threat. The man eyed Durene at the same time as she appraised him. And he didn’t seem to like what he saw. He bowed slightly.

“Miss Durene.”

“Ah, Geram. I think Durene is quite safe enough for me to talk to. Go find Nesor and make sure he’s not being bombarded with requests for [Message] spells. I told him to keep up.”

The woman politely turned to Geram. He hesitated, but then inclined his head. He strode off. Durene turned to Rie.

“You’re worried about being attacked?”

Rie smiled. She had a lovely mouth, lips colored green to match her dress today. Durene wondered who she was making the effort for. Rie nodded in the direction Geram had gone.

“Not at all. But a [Lady] must be protected. And there was that incident with Master Elmmet the other day. Terrible business.”

She raised her voice slightly. Durene noticed some of the [Washer] women nodding, others hesitating visibly. Rie glanced at Durene and then pointed delicately further upstream.

“I wouldn’t want to trouble Miss Yesel and the women about their work, though, Durene. Would you like to chat?”

“Of course.”

Durene walked up the river a bit with Rie. This was an open spot; she could see [Farmers] in the distance, working with plow horses to cover more ground while other [Farmers] checked the crops. They were indeed already sprouting, and so quickly! Durene felt a flash of excitement. Rie just regarded the farms with a critical eye.

“Not bad. We’ve harvested once, and I hope to do it again. It’s eased the pressure of feeding everyone, but even with our current fields, I’d like to double what’s there.”

“Double it?”

Durene’s eyes widened. She imagined how much food the current acreage could produce. Enough to feed old Riverfarm for a year, probably! But Rie just sighed.

“This is probably enough to feed the current Riverfarm and have some left over, but what about later in the year? To sell? To stockpile? We need runes of preservation or some other storage system, or simply to acquire cats and weevil-proof a storehouse. But this is simply not enough any way you look at it. Unless you think a [Farmer] can make these fields twice as productive with the right Skills?”

“I—maybe. I wasn’t a good [Farmer]. I had good Skills, but I only had a small garden.”

Durene shook her head. Rie sighed.

“Well, Riverfarm is my responsibility, and Mister Prost, who knows a lot about farming, shares my opinion. And food is but one of the resources Riverfarm lacks. I can make up for whatever shortcomings there are in our resources with my estates’ income, but I will be glad of some assistance from His Majesty. When he finally returns.”

She pursed her lips, not bothering to conceal her displeasure. And Durene, unwillingly, felt a jolt of pleasure at Rie’s expression.

“You think him taking so long is bad too?”

“Taking Goblin prisoners? Not joining Lord Tyrion and the other nobility, who have already returned to their estates? If there were a map of the wrong decisions to make, I’d say Emperor Laken had charted us a splendid course on it. But he must have his reasons, not least because he’s abandoned you in your time of need.”

Rie looked directly at Durene. The half-Troll girl flushed, with pride or embarrassment she couldn’t say. Rie was so direct!

“I—you didn’t act like this before.”

“Before, I was content that things were going well. This is not the time for petty games. Or haven’t you noticed how perilous Riverfarm is? I’m sure Prost is aware, even if he downplays the situation.”

Rie’s voice was low. Unconsciously, Durene bent to address the considerably shorter woman.

“I, uh, did. Do you mean you lied about not needing a bodyguard?”

“Of course I did. Go around unescorted? When the first bands of people started arriving, I told Geram to watch me day and night. Many are simply desperate for a place to live. That is bad enough, but some are dangerous. You’ve heard there have been fights.”

“Prost…mentioned it. But I thought—”

“The folk of the city the Goblins sacked—Lancrel—regard their destroyed city as Emperor Laken’s fault. In his absence, several members of their ruling council seem to believe they deserve a voice in how Riverfarm is run. But for my presence and Mister Prost’s respect, I think they would try to replace him. By force.”

“What?”

Durene felt a chill. She looked back towards the village, as if she could see the Lancrel people. Then she remembered the ones who stared at her and called her a monster. Rie nodded tightly.

“Are you surprised? People who have lost power want it back. Desperately. And the only things holding them back from behaving…well, my position as [Lady], the unity of Riverfarm and the country folk, and the presence of Beniar and his Darksky Riders are keeping order. But one disaster can fan the flames…this business with Master Elmmet may be a problem in itself.”

“He’s a [Thief]. I saw him changing his appearance. I didn’t know he could even do that.”

Durene shuddered. Rie just scowled.

“Level 30 [Thief]. Probably [Master of Faces] as a Skill. The problem is that his people don’t want to admit he is the scum he’s proven himself to be. They dislike being forced to work with ‘common’ [Farmers]. At least, the former upper classes do.”

“So kick them out! They don’t want to work? They can leave!”

Durene’s sharp tone made Rie smile. She flicked a lock of gleaming, dark purple hair out of her eyes. That was another thing Laken had never noticed because Durene had never told him. She wasn’t sure if Rie dyed it or if it was one of those rare hair colors that was the byproduct of some magical accident or bloodline, but a sultry, smooth-skinned [Lady] with purple flowing hair and impeccable dress sense was too much for Durene.

“If only it were that simple, Durene. I’m afraid that even if a revolt didn’t start if we attempted to oust the dissidents, they would quickly turn into a hostile group. As bad as—no, worse than the [Bandits]. And I fear more Lancrel folk are flocking to Riverfarm, not least because many are already here, but because some see the opportunity this group does.”

“They want Riverfarm. That’s so—”

The [Lady] was nodding.

“It’s not all of them. Many are content to work here. It’s only a small core, a hundred, perhaps two, that are truly incorrigible.”

“In—what?”

“Impossible to work with. The rest are just frightened. They believe what the others say, that the Goblins were a ruse or manipulated by Laken to attack the city. Rumors of his ability to find monsters on the road have sadly been turned against him. Obviously, he didn’t protect cities who didn’t declare themselves for him, like Lancrel! And—there’s you. And Wiskeria, I’m afraid.”

“Because I’m half-Troll, and Wiskeria’s the one who lost the battle.”

Durene folded her arms, but she wasn’t mad. Rie was speaking the truth. And it was refreshing. The [Lady] nodded, tapping one foot. Geram had returned with the pale, nervous Nesor, and the two were patiently waiting by the [Washer] women, some of whom were admiring Geram or teasing Nesor.

“Prejudices. I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you. It doesn’t help that Wiskeria is also a [Witch]. Riverfarm has never had a [Witch], or so I understand. But they do crop up across the continent in remote villages for the most part. And their reputation—”

“Poisoned apples?”

Durene snorted. But she saw Rie’s gaze flicker in the direction of Durene’s cottage.

“That is the least of it. I’m sure Wiskeria is honorable. She was not the traitor. That—[Maid] of Magnolia Reinhart was. But her class is…well, I had reservations when I learned she was Emperor Laken’s [General]. I trust his judgment. But [Witches] in general…”

Durene opened her mouth, and then she thought of the crow’s head from yesterday. She closed her mouth. Rie flicked her eyes to her, then looked around.

“I don’t want to keep you too long. The washer ladies will be suspicious if we chat overmuch anyways. But I do wish to speak with you, Durene. If you could convince Wiskeria to take on her role as [General]—”

“You want her back?”

“Do I want an army? Yes. And I should very much like to arm you, Miss Durene. It may agitate some of the Lancrel folk, but they will think twice about anything when they see you fight. Moreover, it might discourage these [Bandits] who are raiding. They’re desperate—most likely hungry as opposed to avaricious—but they’re no less deadly.”

“I’ll see what I can do. But I need to talk to Mister Helm for armor and the like.”

Durene refused to ask what avaricious meant. She could guess. Rie smiled and laid a hand on Durene’s shoulder.

“It is good to see you awake. And I hope you can rise to your class in Emperor Laken’s absence. I will call on you later. Until then—I have to work against Lancrel by keeping them squabbling with each other. And busy.”

She swept off. Durene stared at Rie and rubbed her arm. Rie’s hands were soft. She must use oil on them or something. The half-Troll girl watched her rejoin her companions, and then realized she was still holding Wiskeria’s robes. Guiltily, Durene hurried back towards her cottage.

——

Rise to her class. She was a [Paladin], but she didn’t feel like one. Durene sighed as she strode up the cottage’s path. She wondered if, sometime soon, Riverfarm would put dozens of houses along the lonely walk. It certainly seemed like the village was expanding, and while they hadn’t gone up into the beginnings of the mountain’s foothills, there was only so far you wanted to expand across the flats and forests, right? Unless they were going to build walls to keep it all safe?

Laken would know. Laken would know so much. And without him here, Durene felt like she wasn’t doing anything of value. She was lost without him. And that fact bothered her. He had changed her life as easily as she had ripped that door out of the wall. Now that he was gone, Durene didn’t know what to do with herself.

“Something. I can help without him. I have to. Otherwise, Riverfarm might not be here before he gets back. I have to do something. But what? I’m a Level 16 [Paladin]—what can I do? Fight? Fight what?”

The girl stomped up the hill. Then she heard a shout from the cottage. A female voice, raised—and a male one. Durene stopped, and then she charged up the hill.

Wiskeria was shouting and Frostwing was screaming when Durene got to her cottage at a run. But the scene wasn’t what she expected. A young man wearing a Runner’s insignia was cowering in the door of her house, ducking behind the door as an enraged Frostwing besieged him. She couldn’t get past the door, but Bismarck was snuffling around it, looking peeved. The young man was shouting at Wiskeria.

“Please, Miss! I’m begging you, just send a response! Say yes, and I can go! If not—”

“My answer’s no!”

“Please! I can’t go back to her without an affirmative! Do you know what she’ll do to me if I don’t say yes? The last Runners who got on her bad side—”

He yelped as Bismarck nosed closer to the door and pulled it closer towards him. Wiskeria shouted back.

“Is it worse than being eaten by a Mossbear? Tell her no! I’m not going!”

The City Runner wavered. But he didn’t budge. His eyes were so fixed on Bismarck that he didn’t spot Durene. When he did, his face went pale.

“Oh, dead gods—”

“Hey! That’s my cottage! Frostwing, stop! Bismarck, get back!”

“Durene? Where are my clothes?”

Wiskeria bellowed from around the cottage. The City Runner peeked around the door.

“Please, Miss! I’m terribly sorry. But I’m a City Runner on delivery! I have to have this [Witch]’s response or—”

Durene vanished around the cottage’s side. A few seconds later, a dripping, scowling, but very clean Wiskeria stomped back around. She yanked the door open.

“I said no. And you can’t get another answer from me. Tell Witch Oliyaya that I will not be attending her coven’s meeting, either. And I’ve already told Mavika the same. If she threatens you, run away.”

“That won’t save me. You know what she’s like, don’t you?”

“Her hexes wear off. And she doesn’t hex people for doing their jobs. Just be polite.”

“Polite?”

The young man groaned. Wiskeria was unsympathetic.

“She won’t hex you. Now, get out of Durene’s cottage before she feeds you to her bird. Or her bear.”

The City Runner looked up at Durene. He stared at Bismarck and at Frostwing, perched on Durene’s shoulder. He gulped. Then got up and ran for it. Frostwing took off, and Durene called her back—after she’d dive-bombed the City Runner’s head.

After he was gone, the two stood alone at Durene’s cottage. Wiskeria adjusted her hat and smoothed her green robes, which didn’t clash that badly. She looked reproachfully at Durene. The half-Troll girl had the grace to look ashamed.

“I didn’t know someone would find you here! What did he want?”

“The same thing as Mavika’s crows. I told you, my fellow [Witches] can’t force me to do anything.”

Durene nodded, but she was still a bit wary. She glanced down the road.

“Is it really alright to say no? That City Runner looked—spooked. Are you sure this…Oliyaya won’t do something more serious?”

She was remembering the crow’s head from yesterday. Durene wiped her hand, and Wiskeria noticed. She shook her head.

“She’s not Mavika. She threatens and bullies, and that’s about it. She looks scarier than she is. He’ll be fine. And I’m clean. Thanks for the clothes. What took you?”

“Lady Rie wants you to be a [General] too. She said…”

Durene relayed the encounter. Wiskeria looked grim, but all she did was adjust her spectacles and tug her hat lower in response to Rie’s assessment of the situation.

“I…understand. And I agree. But I’ll just fan the flames if I return to my job. I’m trying to let people grieve. Not throw my failure into their faces. Maybe I can work with Beniar in private. Maybe. If you’re willing to get him to talk to me—if he’s around the village—I can try helping out a bit. But Durene, I’m a [General]. Level 12. That’s high for how fast I leveled, but I have two good Skills I can use in a battle. I’m no trainer of armies. All the stories I know are hard to implement in practice.”

“You’re still the only one good at tactics and other stuff. You helped kill the Goblins. Remember Laken’s poison traps?”

Wiskeria nodded slowly. She sighed.

“That was his idea. But I did make the cauldrons. It’s just—I’ll try, Durene. I’ll try.”

That was better than her attitude yesterday. Durene smiled encouragingly. Wiskeria almost smiled back. Then both girls heard pounding feet on the road behind them. Wiskeria scowled.

“I told you—”

But it wasn’t the City Runner. A young woman, perhaps a former Street Runner herself, pounded up the slope to Durene’s cottage. She stopped, panting, and waved at Durene.

“Miss Durene? Lady Rie’s calling for you!”

Durene frowned. So soon?

“What? Why? What’s the emergency?”

“It’s Emperor Laken, Miss Durene! He’s sent a [Message]!”

The girl froze. Wiskeria looked up at her. Both took off running so fast that the Street Runner was caught off-guard. She ducked as Frostwing dove past her. And even Bismarck roused himself. But that was only to pad eighteen steps down the slope, then decide to go back and have a nap.

——

There were four people who gathered in Mister Prost’s house. Wiskeria, Durene, Lady Rie, and Mister Prost. Wiskeria and Durene were the last to arrive. Durene had run all the way here, but even trying to hurry, they attracted a lot of attention. And the sight of Wiskeria entering the village had provoked even more hard stares than Durene herself.

She hadn’t been lying. But Durene didn’t care. She strode into Prost’s living room, which, under Miss Yesel’s influence, was already homelier than most of the bare rooms. Prost and Rie were reading something as Nesor trembled in a seat behind her.

“Well? What did he say? Is he coming back?”

“Durene. And Wiskeria. This is a pleasant—”

Rie broke off as Durene strode past her. Nesor leaned back as Durene turned to him and Mister Prost.

“Well? What did he say? Is he still talking?”

The [Lady] cleared her throat softly.

“Nesor is in contact with a [Mage] with Emperor Laken. Someone in a Mage’s Guild, in fact. He’s transcribed the message. If you’d care to—”

The slip of parchment made Durene hesitate.

“I—I can’t read that.”

She flushed. Prost cleared his throat, and Rie blinked.

“Of course. Then—allow me.”

She unfurled the slip and read in a clear voice.

“We have passed the town of Greenforge and are continuing north and west. Progress remains slow. The road is secure, and my companions maintain their escorts. We estimate two weeks remaining at most.”

She looked up. Durene and Wiskeria stared at her. Rie sighed.

“The issue is the prisoners. That’s what’s holding them back. The wagons break down, and their captives are not cooperating. Nor is Tyrion giving them any aid now the army has disbanded.”

“That’s it? That’s all he wrote?”

Durene demanded, incredulous. Rie looked down.

“Oh no. He also writes, The situation in Riverfarm is understood. Ask Wiskeria to resume her place if she is willing. I have faith in her. If the situation worsens, I trust in your judgment.”

She tsked.

“I wish he had more advice to give. But then—I suppose even his options are limited. Couldn’t he—no. If he could ride ahead, there would be no point. It’s a miracle that his allies are staying with him so long.”

“Allies?”

Durene felt a pain in her chest, a sinking, weighted feeling. She looked around dully, as if the answer would make this confusing, painful message make sense. Prost nodded.

“Lord Yitton Byres and Lord Gralton Radivaek. They’re riding with Emperor Laken. They’re his companions.”

He pronounced the names with some satisfaction, and even Rie smiled. Durene was just blank.

“They’re [Lords]? Are they important?”

“In the grand scheme of things? The Byres family is small, but notable. They have a silver business that has waned and waxed over the years, but Yitton Byres is as honorable and trustworthy as any [Knight]. More so, in fact. I would consider him a perfect ally, although he isn’t powerful per se. But the respect he garners is value enough. As for Lord Gralton…that shocks me.”

Rie tapped a finger to her lips.

“He’s mad. Eccentric? No. Just mad. More dog than man, according to some, but he’s not only powerful in wealth, but a fierce fighter. With his estates backing Laken—”

“They’re important. Fine. But what else does Laken say? Anything? Does he know about…me?”

The word felt almost plaintive as it forced itself out of Durene’s chest. Rie stopped smiling. Prost and Wiskeria turned to her.

“I…he was informed that you were on your feet. Yes. He writes this at the end. Ah…I am relieved Durene is well. Tell her I am coming home as soon as I can. I am sorry I wasn’t there sooner.”

Durene waited. But Lady Rie rolled up the parchment as if that answered that. The girl looked at her, and her heart hurt.

“That’s it?”

The [Lady] blinked.

“It’s quite a lot. He’s paying for each word at costly rates for such quick sending. Nesor is, of course, free, but Mage’s Guilds cost coin. As for the rest—yes, he doesn’t mention the details, but we have corresponded before. And I think he is being cautious. He may even be using a different location than the one he mentioned out of caution.”

“Caution?”

Wiskeria looked up, frowning underneath her hat. Prost nodded. He spread his weathered hands on the table.

“We don’t know if someone’s following Emperor Laken or might set a trap for him. Lady Rie’s worried about Magnolia Reinhart—”

“As we all should be. Laken is firmly against her, as are many peers of the realm. She is already acting. Riverfarm may not feel the immediate effects of her [Trade War], but she is hardly toothless in other areas. And there is still the issue of the saboteur. The one who knocked out my [Mage], Nesor, and gave the wrong orders to Wiskeria.”

Rie drummed her painted fingernails on the table. Durene looked from face to face. Prost was nodding, and Wiskeria looked grave.

“So that’s his message? Carry on until he returns?”

“It’s two weeks. I think we can manage that.”

Prost was cautious. Rie nodded.

“If we use that information to reassure people—no, he might be closer than that. Remember, he is speaking in an abundance of caution. If need be, I could see him riding closer to us. And if he gets even closer, Beniar and his riders can of course ride to meet him. We should plan on that, in fact. And in the meantime—”

Durene’s fist smashed down on the table. Nesor jumped out of his seat. Rie stopped. Prost and Wiskeria recoiled. Durene stared down at the splintered wood, then looked up.

“That’s it. That’s all he said?”

They stared at her. Durene took a shuddering breath.

“After I’ve been asleep for fifty days? After he was gone—gone!—capturing Goblins instead of killing them? When Riverfarm is falling apart and there are [Thieves] and—and—he can’t say anything to me? To me? And he can’t think of a way to save Riverfarm?”

The others were silent. Prost opened his mouth, but Durene glared at him, and he didn’t speak.

“He’s always had an idea! He’s always cared about Riverfarm? Who is this? Why isn’t he back? Why isn’t he telling us what to do? Carry on? Wait? You.”

She pointed at Nesor. He turned dead white and recoiled from her finger. Durene shouted at him.

“You—send a [Message] back to him! Tell him what I said! Tell him—tell him we’re not waiting! Tell him he should be back now and damn the Goblins! Tell him I’m here! Tell him to talk to me! I want him to say something! We’re in trouble, and we need help! What do we do? What do—”

She broke off, her chest heaving. The room was silent as Nesor, eyes wide, put a finger to his head. Durene’s eyes were bright, and she was blinking rapidly. Next to Rie, Prost coughed quietly into one hand.

“It’s not…that bad, Durene. The Lancrel folk are agitators, some of them, but it’s not got beyond a few fights between our folk and theirs. No one’s armed among them; Beniar’s Darksky Riders could rout a few hundred in moments.”

“At night, they’re practically unstoppable, especially in pitch blackness. I realize I warned you of the risks, but Laken’s aware of the dangers, and I’ve told him we can handle it.”

Rie’s quiet voice made Durene blush. But she kept looking at Nesor as he closed his eyes. She knew she was upset. But Laken’s reply had hurt her. It wasn’t just that she was far from him. It wasn’t just that he’d decided to take Goblin prisoners or that he’d left Frostwing and Bismarck. Or that he wasn’t here when she needed him to tell her it was alright, that losing the battle wasn’t her fault.

It was simply that she wanted to see him again. She missed him. Riverfarm, her world, wasn’t the same without him.

In the silence, as Durene snuffled and tried not to cry, Nesor opened his eyes. He spoke, his voice flat, without intonation, reciting the words one at a time as he caught them tens, perhaps over a hundred miles away.

“I’m sorry, Durene. I’ve made a lot of mistakes. The Goblins are not all evil. I’m afraid. Terribly afraid they’re people. In which case I’m more monster than they are.”

Durene’s eyes opened wide. She opened her mouth, but Rie silenced her.

“He can’t hear you.”

Nesor went on, blindly speaking word after halting word.

“And I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I am coming back. Protect Riverfarm while I’m gone. Please. I know it is dangerous. So watch your back. Wiskeria, I am relying on you. You. And Rie. And Prost.”

The three looked up, old man, [Lady], and [Witch]. Wiskeria looked down and fiddled with the brim of her hat. Prost nodded, straightening his shoulders. Rie just sighed. The voice paused and went on a final time.

“Perhaps there is a storm coming. I feel the danger. So. Durene. I am sending you the only aid I can. I hope it arrives. You will know it when you see it. I love you. And I will be back soon.”

Nesor closed his mouth. The spellbound gaze faded from his eyes, and he blinked rapidly. He looked up, and his nervous, warbling voice interjected into the silence.

“It—uh—the connection broke, Lady Rie. I think that was all of it.”

“Thank you, Nesor.”

Lady Rie looked at him with a reassuring smile and then at Durene. At Prost and Wiskeria. All of them were silent for a bit. Durene wiped at her eyes. And somehow, she felt better. The words had been in Nesor’s voice. And they had come from a long ways away. But she had heard him. He was coming back.

“Help. He said he was sending help? What did he sense? Trouble?”

Rie mused out loud, troubled. She turned to Durene and Prost.

“Emperor Laken said you’d know it, Durene. You and only you, it seems. What is it? Do you have any idea?”

Silently, Durene shook her head and shut her eyes.

“I have no clue.”

And she didn’t. Not one thing came to mind. But she knew it would solve everything. It had to. Laken was going to help save Riverfarm. Whatever aid he was sending would come, she was sure. And it would make all the difference.

If it didn’t? Durene opened her eyes with calm, clear resolution. She would protect Riverfarm. And this time, she wouldn’t fail. She clenched her fists and felt the storm coming. In the distance, the rains began to fall again.

——

And not too far north, and a bit to the east. The rains were already falling, already pouring down on the thick roof overhead. The [Message] spell had come in hot and heavy, and the person it was addressed to leaned on the desk, eying the contents of the message. And the reward. The [Receptionist] at the Runner’s Guild in Walta checked the authentication from the [Mage]’s Guild and nodded.

“The seal is backed by House Byres and House Radivaek. You may claim it upon receipt of…Lady Rie Valerund’s personal seal. We may subject you to truth spell as well. Will you take the delivery?”

The young woman with Asian features drummed her fingers on the table. Her black hair blew as the storm’s gusts hurled open an unlatched pair of shutters and blew cold rain and air into the guild. She shivered as the [Receptionist] waited patiently. And she considered the contents of the [Message]. The hidden meaning. Debts. And her own failures and sins.

Riverfarm.

Ryoka Griffin’s still, silent contemplation was interrupted by the clip-clop of hooves on the wooden floor. A Centauress walked past her and eyed the [Message]. She ignored the [Receptionist]’s scowl as the woman blocked the contents of the message. Charlay, the Centauress City Runner, munched on a stalk of celery and spoke with her mouth open while she chewed.

“Ooh. Is that your first personal delivery request? Lucky. Hey, are you going to throw up out of excitement again?”

“Shut up.”

Interlude – Numbtongue (Pt.1)

It was night when the traveller arrived in Celum. Mainly because he had been moving all night. He wasn’t tired, although he had beaten the sun’s rays to the gates of Celum. He’d gotten his sleep on the wagon, riding here, in pleasant company with a very amiable [Wagon Driver] with two fine horses. And he was a night person anyways.

If anything, the hard part was waiting for Celum’s gates to open. The Human cities of the north didn’t all have walls; some, like Invrisil, were without proper outer walls or had outgrown them, which had advantages and disadvantages. This far south and in proximity to Drake lands, though, the cities of the north tended to copy the Drake standard of boxing in their cities behind a sturdy wall. Not that this one was enchanted or even that high; the traveller thought he could have slipped into the city and past the sleepy patrolling [Watchmen] if he’d needed to.

It would have been easy. But it would have also been rude, so he politely waited for the gates to open in a small queue. Politeness was important. As was a proper appearance. So the Human man checked his travelling coat, made sure his boots were scraped clean, and that there wasn’t any hay on his hat. He was dusty, a bit travel-stained, but he looked very well-kept despite it all. Maybe it was the way he held himself, or perhaps it was his hat.

It was a fine hat the man wore. Comfortable, not stiff, and not necessarily that expensive either; you could find a richer hat on any [Merchant] or well-to-do citizen you wanted. But this hat was beloved. It was custom-stitched, kept safe from any harm—it was a hat to define a man. The traveller held it to his head as a weary [Guard] opened the gate.

“One atta time. Don’t bother giving me your details. I just gotta check your faces.”

The [Guardsman] grumbled as he let people in through the gates. He had a small list of illustrations of wanted faces, and he waved in the people one after another, not bothering to do a search of possessions or asking the incoming traveller’s purpose as he might if something was afoot. The traveller waited in line, patient as you please. And in fact, when he spotted a laboring woman, clearly pregnant, at the back of the line with her husband, he immediately stepped out.

“Excuse me, sir and ma’am? Might I give you my place?”

The man carefully waved at the married couple. The man, clearly weary and escorting his wife—from a nearby village perhaps—gave the traveller a suspicious look. So did the wife. But the traveller tipped his hat, and the smile he gave them was genuine. The couple hesitated, then stepped forwards. The people in line grumbled for a moment, but they stopped as the traveller walked out of line.

“Thank you.”

Puzzled by this common decency, the husband stopped the man. The traveller in his worn clothing just smiled and tipped his hat at the pregnant woman.

“My pleasure, sir. Your lady should be off her feet as soon as possible. A bit of common decency. Think nothing of it.”

“I appreciate it.”

The woman smiled. And that was that. The man with the nice hat stepped to the back of the line. Never mind that it would take a few more minutes; what was time to doing the right thing? Behaving the right way was its own reward.

And sometimes fate liked to reward a bit of decency too. That happened now. The man, standing at the back and watching the married couple go through the gates, spotted someone slipping into the queue ahead of him. Quite roughly too; a slim woman and a man elbowed into line. Or rather, the woman did; the dark figure beside her didn’t get a second glance. She pushed back the married couple.

The husband angrily opened his mouth, but one look from the woman made him shut up. She had an edge to her expression, and her clothes were close-cut. Revealing, even. The man with the hat didn’t look, but the husband did once—before his wife stepped on his foot. The elbowing woman stepped forwards to the tired [Guardsman] without another word, and the traveller with the hat identified her. And her companion.

The [Guardsman] didn’t recognize the [Nightstalker], nor did the people in line. But anyone with the knowing would see it. The thin blades concealed along the sleeves of her arms, the way she held herself, tightly poised—and her beauty.

Her clothes made the [Guardsman] wake up and leer a bit, but her expression made him pass her through the gate quick. Because the woman was attractive, oh my yes. She could and probably still did receive propositions when she walked down the street. That was a remnant of the first class she’d had: [Nightwalker]. But the class she had now was different from that origin. Oh, so very different.

The traveller didn’t speak as the woman passed through the gate, followed by her escort. The [Guardsman] didn’t even check the man. Or notice him. But the traveller did. And when he got to the gate, he saw the pair still walking down the street.

“You’re clear. Go on.”

The [Guard] gave the traveller’s face a quick look and checked the illustration of wanted faces. The man tipped his hat politely.

“Thank you, sir. And a good morning too.”

“Yeah? Get lost.”

The reply was abrupt, rude, and accompanied by a glare. Nevertheless, the traveller just nodded politely. He was polite, even if the man wasn’t. Which was lucky for the [Guardsman].

So came the traveller. And he had no name, at least, none that anyone in Celum needed to know. If anyone had to identify him here, it would be through his class.

[Enforcer]. And a high-level one at that. He strolled through Celum’s gates, past the weary, irritable [Guardsman] without getting a second glance. Because what kind of idiot got their face on a wanted poster? Real criminals, the kind that ran in cities far larger than Celum, would walk in and out as innocent as you pleased.

And the [Enforcer] was a criminal. He thought of himself as a professional instead of a lawbreaker, but he’d admit to the latter readily enough. What differentiated him from the common breed of scum, though, was how he behaved. He and his associates had standards. They were known, in certain circles. Perhaps not in Celum, but then again, the Brotherhood of Serendipitous Meetings had branches in unexpected places. Even here. Or rather, they’d had people in the area.

The [Nightstalker] and her companion were ahead of the [Enforcer], but he’d tagged them the moment he’d seen them. And they hadn’t seen him, so he took the time and identified her. He already suspected who she was, but the instant he saw a scar across one cheek, he was sure. You only got that ragged cut of a scar from a fight. And an improperly used healing potion. A woman of her beauty would normally find a way to remove it with tonic or spell, but one group prized their war scars.

The Sisters of Chell. That also explained the man next to her: apparently extra muscle. The [Enforcer] squinted, casually appraising the man who neither the visitors to Celum nor the [Guardsman] had seen. A man dressed from head to toe in ragged, wrapped bandages, dark, stained in a few places. Ah yes. [Blackguard]. Protector of the underworld. Lawful and lawless.

The [Enforcer] noticed this because he was looking, because he had a ring, and because they were in the same line of business. Most people probably didn’t even see the [Blackguard], hence him not being called out to by the [Hawkers] lined up around the city gates. But even if he was invisible until he attracted attention, people sensed his presence. And they didn’t block the blank-faced man’s path any more than they did the [Nightstalker]’s.

They were dangerous. But they were all in the same line of business, so the [Enforcer], after a quick calculation, stepped forwards. He caught the two unawares; the woman was speaking to the [Blackguard] without turning her head as she flipped off a [Hawker]. She whirled as the [Enforcer] strolled up beside her. The [Blackguard] had already seen him and just warily stepped between the two. But the [Enforcer] just tipped his hat genially to the two and smiled at the [Nightstalker].

“Good day to you, Miss. I hate to be a bother, but I’d be much obliged if we could speak for a moment? In the most sincere and respectful of ways, of course.”

She eyed him. Then the [Nightstalker] turned her head and spat. The [Hawker], who’d been approaching the much nicer-looking [Enforcer], recoiled in disgust as the spit hit him on the front. He backed away, cursing the woman. She ignored him and looked at the [Enforcer]. With a jerk of the head, she started walking down the street. The Brother of Serendipitous Meetings followed.

The [Enforcer] and [Nightstalker] did all the speaking as they walked. The [Blackguard] was a silent shadow, unheard but never forgotten by either. The two didn’t beat around the bush, for all of the [Enforcer]’s niceties. Nor did they ask names. They were both professionals, albeit with different styles. The Sister of Chell sneered at the Brother’s hat and dapper clothing.

“One of the Brotherhood? You’re alone.”

“It’s convenient for me. I spotted you two coming in with the morning. Thought I should give my regards.”

“Lucky for us. Why’re you here?”

The [Nightstalker]’s face said the opposite was true. The [Enforcer] smoothed his jacket.

“Fact-finding, Miss. Just the facts. I see you’re about the same task?”

“No, we’re here for the lovely Celum weather and eating a bucketful of dust to this useless city so far south.”

The woman snapped back. The Brother tipped his hat again.

“Apologies, but it helps to be certain.”

The Sister thought about spitting again, but there was no point. She and her organization knew the Brothers, and they were insufferably like this. She opted to glare instead.

“I’m finishing our investigation today. You want to get out of our way? I don’t need you interfering with our business.”

She gestured to the [Blackguard] with her head. The Brother just smiled politely.

“And here I was hoping we could work together.”

“Hah. We got in here first. And there’s two of us. We don’t trust you, and you probably don’t trust us—if you’re even here to investigate and not intercept us.”

The woman’s glare spoke of paranoia and deep suspicion. The [Enforcer] sighed. It was good he’d approached her without her noticing him tailing them. It might have been…complicated otherwise.

“I can assure you, Miss, our meeting was purely serend—”

“Don’t you fucking say it.”

The [Enforcer] stopped. The [Nightstalker] rounded on him and glared. Her hand inched towards one of the flat blades on her wrists.

“Leave off Celum for a day. Then you can poke around. Otherwise, bring back more of your brothers. We’re going this alone.”

The [Enforcer] sighed. Negotiations weren’t going well. He tugged on his hat a bit, vexed, but his voice was still polite.

“I’d hate to bother my associates. And I’d hate to be so rude as to say leaving you to do your investigating might mean we lose any evidence my associates are looking for. But the fact remains that we find it ve-ry suspicious about what went down and all.”

“Join the club! We don’t trust your word, and you sure as hell don’t trust ours. But you’re alone. You don’t even have the numbers to settle things with the Plague Mage if he’s responsible.”

The [Enforcer] sighed.

“I’m not sure if our middleman’s still in the area—if he’s not, one of my peers’ll find him to ask some questions. Not harsh, of course; just pressing. Unless the answers are that distressing. But I’m here to find out what went down, and I can’t delay my investigation. If I meet our middleman, I’ll have a word. As for our interests—can’t we agree to work together or, at least, alone in amiability? That’s preferable to me.”

“Eat shit. And get out of the city.”

The [Nightstalker] glared. She nodded to the [Blackguard], and the man reached for something concealed by his clothing. The air grew tense as the three stopped in the street. The [Enforcer] considered his options. He looked from the [Nightstalker], whose crossed arms meant she was ready to draw, and then at the [Blackguard] hovering over his shoulder, already holding his weapon.

The [Nightstalker] smiled arrogantly. She knew they had him dead to rights. Still, the [Enforcer] refused to budge. He sighed, and then slowly, deliberately, he reached up. And he took his hat off.

The two hadn’t expected that. The Sister of Chell’s eyes widened, and the [Blackguard] moved. His hand flashed—and he froze as the [Enforcer], hatless, turned and gave him a look. The Sister of Chell didn’t see the expression on the [Enforcer]’s face, but she saw her companion halt mid-strike. The Brother of Serendipitous Meetings slowly flicked at something on his cap, then placed it back on his head. The air, which had gone from tense to intense, relaxed just a hair. The Sister of Chell exhaled.

“Don’t you dare threaten—”

“Just a bit of dust, Miss.”

The [Enforcer] gave her a polite smile. But what was said and had been done spoke volumes. Rattled, the [Nightstalker] looked at the [Blackguard]. And the tiny shake of the head and his wide eyes told her she’d misjudged the level and nature of the [Enforcer]. Slowly, she let go of the hidden blades she carried and thought fast. At last, grudgingly, she jerked her head.

“Fine. We go together. That way we can watch you. Don’t get in our way. We work together until we find something. Deal?”

“A most amiable decision. Thank you for your consideration, Miss.”

The [Enforcer] tipped his hat. The [Nightstalker] just made a disgusted sound and walked off. He followed her, and the [Blackguard] trailed the two. An accord had been reached, and as difficult as the negotiations had been, they now had an agreement. So the air eased between the two, at least for the moment.

When you had a deal, you trusted the other party, especially when those present represented larger organizations. If one or the other were to break the accord, there might be ramifications that went far beyond them. So neither was inclined to do so. There was security in having more to fear from your own side than the other’s. It was what made the…lesser known side of cities run so smoothly.

Not that Celum was used to the trio that strolled down the street. The [Enforcer] and [Nightstalker] looked around the city, taking in the scenes, the sights—Celum probably held ten thousand people at most. It was small, quaint in the [Enforcer]’s lexicon of words. The [Nightstalker] would have used a different word to describe it.

“I must confess, I’m not at a firm place to start, Miss. Do you have a preference? I might grab a drink and scope out the scene first.”

The [Nightstalker] snorted.

“They sent you here without intel?”

“Mm. More like I would’ve met some of the chaps if they’d been about. Unfortunately…”

“Hah. Well, we have information. This way. We’re headed to an [Alchemist]’s shop.”

The [Nightstalker] moved down the street, clearly following a map in her head. The [Enforcer] nodded and followed. They made good time; dawn was still breaking. And they came to the little store down a side street quick enough. The [Enforcer] peered at the boarded-up front. He could see into the store through the glass door, but the twice-repaired front already told him an interesting story.

“Stitchworks? Fancy seeing one of the String-folk around here. She any good?”

“Don’t know. Don’t care. Take a look at that, though.”

The Sister of Chell nodded to a small sign attached to the front of the store. The Brother read it, frowning.

Potions half-off! No longer selling ‘matches’; please inquire at Alchemist Quelm’s.

He nodded.

“So that’s the game, is it?”

“Part of it. Come on. That’s who we’re finding next.”

“And this store?”

“Where both teams went in.”

The [Enforcer] paused and gave the shop a sharp glance. He could tell someone was inside; there was a light on. But the shop’s sign said ‘Closed’. For good reasons, no doubt. But…

“Really? The, ah, target was in there?”

“You mean the fucking door? Yes. Don’t ask me why. But it’s there. The access point is, anyways. The real thing’s still in Liscor.”

“Fascinating. So this other [Alchemist]. Quelm…”

“It’s a lead.”

The [Nightstalker] and the [Enforcer] both nodded. This was worth looking into. It might be coincidence, but the sign and the damaged frontage spoke to their area of expertise. And they had been sent to run down all leads, so the [Nightstalker] led the way down another street. She did have a map; the [Enforcer] saw her checking it covertly. He politely coughed.

“You wouldn’t happen to know what this Quelm business is? Just in the interest of sharing information.”

The woman looked sour, but in the end she nodded.

“Low-level racketeering. We’re not sure who’s leading them on the street front, but it’s a new gang. Brand new. Their backer’s Quelm. [Alchemist]. Level 20 to Level 25. Moderately successful. With his help, they’ve created a monopoly on this new item. Matches.”

“Matches?”

“Some new alchemist invention.”

“Wants to sell it all from his store, does he? Understandable. So this Quelm’s got muscle to keep the other [Alchemists] in line. And the gang’s being funded through…?”

“Protection payments.”

The [Nightstalker] grinned. The Brother only grimaced. It was understandable, typical even, but the Brotherhood didn’t deal in that area. The Sisters of Chell, on the other hand…

“Ah. What about the City Watch? Do they know?”

The Sister shrugged, clearly impatient as she picked up the pace.

“They know. But their new Watch Captain doesn’t want to risk blood, and he’s being bribed with potions. Apparently, the last one took off to be an…[Actor]? That answer all your damn questions?”

The [Enforcer] nodded absently. It did indeed. He might not know if this Quelm was connected to the incident he was investigating, but he understood this new gang and racketeering business. A gang had worked its way into Celum’s city. Not just a gang, but a Gang, the kind of criminal element that went beyond some local [Toughs] or [Thieves]. The beginning of proper organized crime, the kind both he and the [Nightstalker] were familiar with.

This was always how it started. To the [Enforcer], the [Nightstalker], and probably the silent [Blackguard], it was as obvious as the sun what was going down. It was like…if they were [Woodcutters], they were seeing a cut along a tree’s base. They could tell you exactly how the tree would fall if things went a certain way.

On the other hand, they could spot complications, oddities like maybe a strong wind that could randomize how the tree fell. But they had seen this a hundred times; they knew the broad strokes.

New Captain of the City Watch. A potential source of gold—these matches, whatever they were. Add in some displaced villagers, a few experienced underworld folk, or just a local [Bandit] group dying off and the stragglers entering a city and you had the beginnings of a gang.

The Sister of Chell broke the silence after two more blocks of walking.

“Why all the questions? You know the score. Are you looking to move back down here? If you are, you’re not dealing with me. I’m warning you, we want this city.”

She looked back, a bit agitated. She eyed the [Enforcer] and was clearly relieved when he shook his head.

“We’re not looking to expand south at the moment. They’re yours to conversate with when you want the pleasure.”

A grin crossed the [Nightstalker]’s face. She shrugged indolently and looked around Celum’s streets with contempt.

“We’ll wait until they actually earn more than a few gold pieces. Anyways. We’re here. Look.”

She pointed. The [Enforcer] saw they’d reached another [Alchemist] shop, clearly doing better than Stitchworks. Glass windows showed a variety of products, from low-level potions to a Tripvine bag. It wasn’t good by any of the standards of the three visitors, but the small bundle of matches, put pride of place in the glass window, caught the [Enforcer]’s eye.

“Interesting. I’d not mind a look at these things. Mind if we take a look? After you.”

He held the door open for the pair. The [Nightstalker] snorted, but walked in. A beaming [Shop Assistant] greeted them; the store already had a few guests this early. The young man gestured around the shop.

“Good morning! Welcome to Quelm’s Bazaar of Alchemies! Are you here for matches?”

“As a matter of fact, sir, I’d be delighted to buy some to test them out myself. May I ask what they are and what they do?”

The [Enforcer] tipped his hat to the [Assistant], and the young man’s face lit up. He quickly trotted behind the counter and got a matchbox and match. The [Nightstalker] watched with impatience as the [Shop Assistant] made his pitch.

“It’s the newest thing. Alchemist Quelm’s latest invention—matches! They came out in the city earlier, but Mister Quelm—excuse me, Alchemist Quelm—was working on them ahead of everyone else, and his designs were stolen. These are the best in the city, the only ones sold in the city these days, in fact! No one’ll buy the inferior designs, so we have all of them!”

“I’m sure.”

The [Nightstalker] smirked. Even sardonic, her smile could turn a man’s head. The [Enforcer] was unaffected; he’d met women with her type of Skills before, but the [Shop Assistant] had clearly never run into a woman like the Sister of Chell. He hesitated, and his eyes fixed on her still beautiful face and then cleavage for a moment. She glared at him, and he turned red. The [Enforcer]’s cough brought the young man back to his senses.

“I—uh, well, these are the matches! And they’re wonderful. Ever seen what they do?”

“That’s why we’re here.”

“Well…observe! You don’t need magic or tinder or anything else! You just strike the match against this box here, or even a rough surface, and—fire!”

The [Enforcer] blinked as the match head flared into flame. The Sister of Chell recoiled, and the [Blackguard] twitched. The [Assistant] noticed none of this as he held up the match, admiring the flame.

“You see? As simple as that! It’s all alchemy, no—”

“No magic.”

The Sister spoke flatly. The [Enforcer] reached into his jacket pocket and felt at a little orb he kept there.

“No magic. Mind if I try one, sir? Or need I buy this box?”

“Oh, no! You can try one for free. And a box’ll only be six silvers! For twenty matches? Very cheap!”

“Expensive is what it is! I used to be able to pay two silver for a box of twenty-four and then four for the same amount at Stitchworks! Why’s the price gone up?”

Another shopper complained as she browsed the shelves of boxes. Some were painted different colors and varying sizes of matches were on display. The [Shop Assistant] cleared his throat self-importantly.

“It’s about quality, Miss.”

“Expensive is what it is! I like these things, but they’re not better than a flint at these prices!”

“But it’s convenient, Miss—”

The [Enforcer] listened with half an ear to the discussion. He lit the match on the box the way he’d seen the young man do it. He lifted the match and watched the flame burn. The [Enforcer] wore gloves as a habit, so he didn’t bother tossing the match as it burned down. He noted how hot the flame was and handed the box to the Sister before nodding in approval.

“This is very nice. Very posh. Beats magic for me, and I love the feeling of it. I could see some of my associates being very interested. This will be a bit of gold—if another [Alchemist] doesn’t figure it out.”

The [Nightstalker] lit one match, dropped it before it could burn her, and then another. She ignored the [Shop Assistant]’s protests and eyed the second before tossing it on the floor. The young man hurriedly stomped it out. The [Nightstalker] flicked the box back at him and nodded.

“Not going to happen in Celum. But I like it too. No magic, just a stick. Easy to start fires with secretly. Give me five.”

“And me ten I suppose.”

The delighted young [Shop Assistant] brightened as the pair bought fifteen boxes all together. The other shoppers gaped at the gold being forked over so casually; the [Enforcer] and [Nightstalker] didn’t blink. Nor did the money in the store’s till vanish after it was handed over. Neither of them were [Thieves].

After that, the trio walked outside the shop and thought. The Sister lit a match, watched it burn with a smile, and nodded.

“I can see why it’s created a gang.”

“Me too. The problem is, where might we find said gang?”

“Around back? They’re new. They’ve gotta hang around their boss. Or we wait for one of the [Alchemists] to pay up. Bet you they get money every day too. Amateurs.”

The [Nightstalker] rolled her eyes. The [Enforcer] silently agreed. And as luck would have it, they found the very group they were looking for. Not behind Quelm’s shop, but a street over. The group was, as befitted their nature, idling with intent in an alleyway.

They were clearly ready for something; both the [Enforcer] and [Nightstalker] could sense it. A group of sixteen rough men and women glanced up sharply as the trio strolled into the alleyway. They didn’t notice the [Blackguard]. The Brother tipped his hat to them cheerfully.

“Hello, sirs and madams. Might I trouble you all for a bit of time? The pair of us have a few questions as it were.”

“Who’s asking?”

One of the biggest men, a [Thug], clearly, strolled out of the group. He had muscle, but a beer belly to go along with it. And he was drunk. The [Enforcer] smelled it on the man’s breath. He resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose and politely tipped his hat.

“G’day, sir. I’m just here by serendipity. And this here’s an acquaintance of mine. One of Chell’s girls. You know Chell?”

The words were innocuous. But they were carefully phrased. In Invrisil or any other city to the north, they would have attracted any group’s attention and respect, regardless of whether they were common street trash or…in the same line of business.

Unfortunately, Celum was just that far removed. Not a light flickered in the heavyset [Thug]’s face or the rest of the group’s faces, but a shrewish [Thief] skulking around the back of the group looked up suddenly in alarm. He opened his mouth, but the [Thug] just scowled.

“Never heard of her. Piss off.”

The [Enforcer] sighed. The [Nightstalker] frowned dangerously. The [Thief] who’d recognized their signals, on the other hand, pushed forwards nervously.

“Betram, listen. Those two are—”

“Shut up, Yapper. You. Clear off. We’re busy.”

The [Thug] pointed at the [Enforcer]’s chest. He eyed the [Nightstalker] and grinned.

“You’re free to stay, though. In fact, why don’t you leave this idiot and stay with us for a while, Miss?”

“Not interested, you ugly piece of crap. We’re not here to play games. Listen to your friend or we’ll get impatient.”

The Sister of Chell glared at the [Thug]. His face went red as some of his group laughed. His hand moved faster than the [Thief] trying to pull him back and whisper to him. He reached for the [Nightstalker] with an open slap. And his hand was knocked aside by the [Enforcer]’s.

“Excuse me, sir.”

The Brother politely blocked the [Thug]’s path, moving the hand out of the way. Lucky for the man too; the [Blackguard] would have stopped it far less kindly. But the action only enraged the [Thug]. He knocked back the [Thief].

“Betram, don’t! They’re—”

“Shut up, Yapper! You want to die, you bastard?”

He shoved the [Enforcer]. The man was braced, so the blow didn’t knock him back like the [Thug] had intended, but it did make him stumble. And that made his cap slip slightly, revealing some brown hair. The man caught the hat before it slid off his head. And when he looked up, the [Thug] hesitated as he raised a fist.

The Sister of Chell and [Blackguard] saw the [Enforcer] slowly adjusting his hat. The [Nightstalker] looked at her companion and made a rapid call. She tsked, shook her head at her bodyguard, and stepped past the [Enforcer].

“I’ll handle this. Move back.”

The [Enforcer] thought about this and did so. He adjusted his clothes as the [Nightstalker] eyed the taller [Thug] up and down. By now, the crew in the alley had realized the man and woman weren’t normal. They were checking their weapons, and the [Thug] was hesitating, clearly fighting with his ego over pushing things further with the [Enforcer] while his subconscious was trying to hold him back. It was too late either way. The [Nightstalker] eyed him and then, with a flash, drew one of the blades in her hand.

A stiletto. The edge was needle-sharp, and the hand holding it moved so fast that only the [Enforcer] and the [Blackguard] saw its path. Everyone saw where it ended, though. The [Thug] stared down in horror at the blade piercing his—even the [Enforcer] winced. Then the pain came, and the man’s eyes bulged, and he opened his mouth. But the [Blackguard], who’d slipped behind him, grabbed him.

The others in the alley jumped back in horror as he seemed to materialize and slapped a gloved hand over the [Thug]’s mouth. The [Nightstalker] just grinned. She lifted up the bloody stiletto as the [Thug]’s eyes bulged. Then she pointed at the [Blackguard].

“Hold him tight.”

The [Thug] tried to move, but the black bodyguard held him tight. The [Nightstalker] stabbed him twice more in the groin. The man screamed, but the hand covering his mouth let no sound out. Blood and urine ran to the floor as a stain spread in his clothing. He dropped as his mind mercifully rendered him unconscious. The [Blackguard] let go, wrinkling his nose, and walked behind the [Nightstalker].

The rest of the low-level criminals in the alley stared in horror at the big man. They were [Thugs] and [Thieves] and even [Bandits] and [Raiders] from the countryside, used to violence. But not as casual as that. Or as brutal. The man lying on the ground would probably live, but his genitals were mutilated. The [Nightstalker] wasn’t done, though. She kicked the man between the legs, and he doubled into a ball, even unconscious. The [Enforcer] just sighed. It wasn’t how he would have done it. But it had certainly gotten everyone’s attention.

The [Nightstalker] raised the bloody stiletto and looked around. The alleyway was silent. Now everyone was staring at her, aware without words of what she was, if not who. She looked at the trembling [Thief], Yapper.

“I’m not here to play games. I’m from the north. You heard about a job that went bad right before the damn battle at Liscor? One where my people all died? Well, I’m the one sent to find out what happened and why. The Sisters of Chell want answers. And we’ll have them.”

“The Sisters of Chell?”

One of the men standing behind his friend started, finally recognizing the name. He paled as the [Nightstalker] aimed her dagger at him.

“Shut up. Anyone else says something I don’t want to hear, and they’ll lose whatever swings between their legs. Or find something else sticking out there instead.”

She pointed at one of the female [Bandits] in the back of the crowd. The woman turned as white as the men. The [Nightstalker] eyed the group in disgust and turned to the [Thief] who’d recognized her and the [Enforcer] from the start.

“Start talking. I want to know three things. One. Who’s in charge of your gang?”

“Uh—I—milady—it’s Alchemist Quelm, Miss. He’s in charge.”

Yapper froze as the [Nightstalker] advanced. He shook as the stiletto poked his throat. The woman hissed at him.

“Not your backer, you idiot! Who runs the street? Who’s your boss?”

“It was—it was—”

Yapper looked over the woman’s shoulder at the comatose man. The [Nightstalker] looked over her shoulder and laughed incredulously.

“Him? So you’re actually taking orders from an [Alchemist]? You’re a shit gang. Fine. Question two. What do you know about the heist with the door in Stitchworks?”

Yapper’s eyes widened.

“That thing? Nothing. I swear! We heard some big players were coming south. And I knew a guy who said some of the Brothers from Remendia were coming, but I didn’t hear anything about it.”

“Really. Any of you know what went down? Anyone?”

The Sister swept her blade across the alley. The men and women shook their heads rapidly.

“Fine. How big’s your gang?”

“About…forty?”

“Really? So you’re just starting. What’s your angle? Protection money and helping that shit [Alchemist] steal all the business? That’s all you layabouts do?”

“Not much longer. Mister Quelm has plans. We’re going to pay a visit to the other [Alchemists] later.”

“And do what, exactly?”

The Sister of Chell listened impatiently as Yapper stammered. She shook her head.

“Fine. But what about the door?”

“He didn’t say nothing about that, Miss. Just said to leave it be. There’s a crazy [Innkeeper] on the other side. She’s got Gold-ranks staying at her inn. Mister Quelm says it’s too much work to deal with at the moment. He just wants that Octavia gone.”

“Huh.”

The [Enforcer] frowned. That was surprisingly restrained, even for a low-level gang. But if it was being run by an [Alchemist], the man probably still thought he could control his crime. Just muscle out his competition. Sooner or later, someone would take over who was a serious leader. Maybe even Betram, if he hadn’t just lost his leadership role and manhood. But it seemed like this really was just a coincidental thing to their real investigation.

The Sister of Chell clearly agreed. She wiped her dagger on Yapper’s front as the [Thief] stood, paralyzed, and sheathed it in disgust.

“Fine. We’re done here. If I find out you lied, I’m coming back and cutting all of your balls off. We don’t need anything from you lot. Stay out of our way. ”

She turned and walked out of the alleyway. The [Blackguard] followed, and the pale-faced group stared as the [Enforcer] tipped his hat. He looked apologetically, but without any hint of sympathy, at the silent Betram lying on the ground.

“I apologize for the rudeness that was done with. Sorry about the disturbance and shame on your friends, gentlemen, ladies. Good morning to you all.”

And then he followed the Sister of Chell out of the alley. The gang stared at his back and watched as the three disappeared into the street.

“So we’re back to square one, it seems.”

The Brother strolled up to the [Nightstalker]. She glared at him and nodded, annoyed by the entire ordeal.

“Useless cowards, that lot. They’re only a starting gang. Not even big enough to scare the Watch.”

“It all starts somewhere. Give them a few months or a year and there could be a hundred. Forty’s big.”

“Probably some [Bandits] got wiped, and the stragglers came here. Who cares? They don’t know anything. What’s next?”

She’d clearly been expecting the Quelm angle to yield fruit. But the [Enforcer] was used to coincidences that turned out to be nothing like this, so he just shrugged.

“There’s the door. Odds were always that something on the other side got our teams. And it being inconveniently a Drake city, my associates didn’t get any valuable information. I was thinking of travelling to Liscor and seeing what the scene was there.”

“And waste a day of travel?”

“You could always go through the door.”

The [Enforcer] raised his brows. The Sister of Chell spat.

“I don’t plan on walking through the same door that got an entire hand of my sisters dead.”

“Not exactly high on my list of activities to do either, I’m afraid. Well, why don’t we take a small break and figure out if anyone else knows something about this door? Who comes through to Celum?”

“Fine. You’re taking lead? That’s not our specialty.”

The [Nightstalker] jerked a head at the [Blackguard]. The [Enforcer] smiled.

“Just so and so. Then, while we happily gather information on this place for our mutual associates, might I offer to buy you a breakfast, Miss? It’d be my pleasure after seeing you resolve our spot of bother while I was so rudely still. Same goes for your friend.”

The [Nightstalker] rolled her eyes.

“Why not? I want to see what happens later today. Could be this Quelm knows more than he’s letting on.”

“My thoughts exactly. Then, let’s head back down to Stitchworks. I saw an outdoor restaurant down the street. If we’ve good eyes, we can spot anything that needs spotting.”

The Sister agreed with a tight, annoyed nod. Back they went. It was admittedly tedious to have to go back and forth like this, but the [Enforcer] knew it was necessary. You didn’t rush about; the Sisters of Chell knew that too, because the only overt action their agent had taken was with the [Thugs] in the alleyway. They would never go to the City Watch, and standards were standards. You took this slowly, carefully.

Patience. Prudence. And something else that started with ‘P’. The [Enforcer] found the restaurant he’d spotted, really just a fancy bakery with some outdoor tables. He sat down, and the server or maybe apprentice baker found them in a moment.

“Hello! Are you looking for some breakfast?”

“Yes, we are, Miss. Good morning to you, and might I ask what your fine establishment serves?”

“I dunno about fine, sir.”

The young woman blushed as the [Enforcer] gave her a charming smile and a tip of the hat. She had a lucky feeling he’d be one to tip her just for bringing food out to him. And she’d be right.

“Well, if you want, we’ve got a menu. Printed. Or I can tell you our best.”

“I can read it from here. And I think some of your spinach tarts would be a treat, Miss. May I have that and some refreshments?”

The [Enforcer] read the menu inside the front of the bakery from his seat, making the young [Baker] blink. But she nodded readily and went to get the meal. All three of Celum’s visitors did appreciate the hot food when it came out, despite their varying temperaments and goals. As the Sister of Chell dug into her food, the Brother of Serendipitous Meetings struck up the young [Baker] in conversation.

“I hear that there’s a miraculous door to Liscor, Miss. Magic, or so I hear. There wouldn’t be any truth to that rumor, would there?”

The young woman brightened with the chance to gossip and nodded.

“Oh? You’re new to the city and you heard about the door, have you? It’s true! The door goes all the way to Liscor! And you can go through for not even a bronze coin! I went there myself—it goes to an inn of all places! It’s nice, and the Players of Celum used to put on shows there every night—but most of the good ones like Wesle left.”

She sighed deeply and went on.

“But the door’s always there. Usually, you just have to wait while that [Alchemist] bothers you inside the shop. Lately, though, it’s hard to go through; my brother waited all day to go, but apparently people were going from Pallass to Liscor. Isn’t that amazing? Pallass is all the way south…”

She waved a hand vaguely, clearly not understanding the distance involved. The three at the table did understand the distance, though, and the [Nightstalker] sat up in her chair. The [Enforcer], whose back was already straight, felt a skip in his chest. That was a powerful door. And one his organization would love to get their hands on. But that wasn’t why he was here.

The [Enforcer] was indeed on a mission. He’d come all this way south, at considerable distance and inconvenience, for one reason. His investigation in Celum was, as he’d told the Sister of Chell, a fact-finding mission. Just like hers. A few months back, a few of their Brothers in the region had been contracted for a very expensive, very sudden mission.

That wasn’t unusual in this line of work, but the buyers had paid for top quality. And so the best in the area had been sent. And the best in the area had died. That too happened in this line of work, but it was never something to be brushed off lightly. When people in the [Enforcer]’s group died, their deaths were investigated. And if need be, avenged.

The duo sitting across from him were clearly here for the same reason, to find out what had happened. If they weren’t actually responsible for the deaths themselves. The [Enforcer] ruled nothing out, and neither did the Brotherhood, which was why he was here.

The Brothers of Serendipitous Meetings wanted to know what happened to their group just as badly as the Sisters of Chell, but they had a second motive that the other underworld groups had no notion of. A highly, highly lucrative offer from the Tallman of Baleros himself. And intriguing—the [Enforcer] wasn’t high enough to know all the details, but he kept his ear to doors in a figurative sense.

Intriguing indeed, and the money was considerable. You didn’t turn that down lightly. But you didn’t rush into deals like that either. Hence why his job was doubly important. So the [Enforcer] was content to wait to see what became of the poor [Alchemist] sitting in the store who owned the door. If it turned out she was only a bystander in this whole affair, he’d regretfully continue on his way to Liscor to find the truth. He had no intention of using that door until he was very sure of it, even if everyone in Celum had used it.

The [Enforcer] sat back, took a bite of his spinach tart, chewed, and swallowed. Then he smiled at the young [Baker].

“I’m amazed. This is a delicious tart. And that door’s not anything to sneeze at lightly either.”

“Oh, you’re too kind. Miss Ginla made those, but I helped with the crusts!”

The young woman blushed with pride. The [Enforcer] complimented her, ignoring the impatient look he was getting from the Sister of Chell. It was always good to be polite. Then he sat back, adjusting his hat and preparing for a long wait.

“I’d like to buy a few more from your counter if it’s all fresh. Throughout the day, like. If you’ll stay open? Ah, by the way, what’s this about Pallass, Miss?”

The young [Baker] beamed and hastened to explain. The [Nightstalker] sat lower at her table, scarfing her food and resigning herself to a long day. She glared, and the [Blackguard], sensing that this might be the start of a long day, decided it was time to eat. He ignored the tarts on the table, although he’d inspected them for poisons or other tricks like glass shards already. He unscrewed a flask from his side and raised it. The [Nightstalker] punched him in the side and lifted one of the cups of water the young woman had placed on the table.

The [Blackguard] silently poured her a drink from his flask, and she sipped it. She turned her head and her enhanced eyes to watch the shop, where she could see an [Alchemist] moving about, slowly, furtively, her eyes on the shop front. Stitchworks was still closed, but the [Nightstalker] could see a door propped up against the far wall. Her eyes narrowed, and she settled back, watching. Waiting.

And on the other side of the door? An inn sprang to life as dawn faded and the sun rose. A hundred miles away, Liscor, a city of Drakes, got about its day, and The Wandering Inn filled with guests from Liscor and farther south still. They all used the magic door in the inn. But the first person to use it had already used it before the dawn. He had left the inn, using the door to travel up into the mountains. Now he walked through the caves, playing a song. His name was Numbtongue.

And he was a Goblin.

——

Numbtongue started his day as he always had for the last few weeks. Alone. At least, when he felt like it. He walked in the caves of the High Passes, although barely at the foot of those towering peaks. Nevertheless, there were plenty of caves and passageways to explore, even in the foothills. So the Goblin walked through one dark cave now. And as he walked, he played his guitar.

Music flowed through the dark passageways, through the rocky ceilings, across moss and stone. A song plucked from the strings of the battered but functional guitar that the Hobgoblin carried. His claws strummed the guitar, playing with absent grace. And the song was simple. It halted and flowed as Numbtongue made it up on the spot. But it had components.

Melody and harmony. The fundamentals of music as Numbtongue understood them, although he had not known the words until recently. But they had meaning. Because a song needed both. Melody was the base. Harmony was different. Erin had explained the difference to Numbtongue, but she hadn’t taken music class in years, so the distinction was somewhat hard for the Hob to articulate.

But he thought he understood. You could have both in a song. And while harmony was easier, a melody could be achieved just by singing. That was all you had to do.

The reason why he was thinking of the distinction this morning was because he was trying to use two Skills at once. Numbtongue was a [Bard], and he had multiple Skills that involved music. Not many, since he had been a [Warrior] before becoming a [Bard], but the Skills he did have were powerful. At least, to him.

The first was [Peaceful Melody]. That was easy. The base of the song was that. As Numbtongue walked the cave floor, his wrapped feet avoiding the sharp stones, he sensed the shapes moving around him in the darkness. He didn’t have to look down to spot them, and they moved aside to allow his passage. Small, scuttling shapes, the denizens of this cave.

Rockmites. Dozens, possibly over a hundred of them. Not dangerous if Numbtongue didn’t agitate them, but possibly a deadly threat if he made a mistake. And they were territorial, protective against intruders even if they were largely peaceful. Numbtongue had found that out in a number of painful encounters that had made the swarm increasingly hostile towards him. But now they moved aside and gave the Hobgoblin no trouble.

Because of the music. It soothed them, calming the insects and granting Numbtongue passage. That was the base of his song. But Numbtongue was trying something more today. Something harder.

The harmony of the song he played was halting. Difficult to come up with. Numbtongue muttered to himself and decided to trying singing,

“Goblin wakes and Goblin eats. And Goblin mines and Goblin sleeps. This is a Goblin’s day. Isn’t that…neat?”

It was a poor song. When Numbtongue hesitated, the Rockmites stirred restlessly. The Goblin gave up on singing and instead strummed, creating a soothing harmony from his guitar. And when he gave up on forcing the music, when it came naturally, the melody appeared.

The Goblin’s crimson eyes saw the pitch-black cavern light up. The light that filled the cave was a gentle glow, summoned by the strumming of Numbtongue’s guitar. It wasn’t normal light either, or even a [Light] spell. It was a faint, gentle glow to match the song.

The light wasn’t one color either. The ambiance changed from note to note, blooms of brilliance softly lighting the cave. All in sequence too, all connected. As if the notes Numbtongue was playing were coming to life in shades of color. A beautiful sight, not harsh, soft and subtle against the stone walls. And the Rockmites, far from hating this unfamiliar brightness, instead seemed to dance, scuttling up and down the walls, waves of motion enjoying the light, the music.

Light and peace. Two Skills at once. Numbtongue smiled. He kept the guitar singing, trusting it to light his way and pacify the Rockmites. And it did. The Hobgoblin walked through the last section of the cave, and on his back was a pack filled with a jar of glowing magicore. A few rare gems. And his latest prize, secured from another cave system connecting to this one. Numbtongue had been mining since before dawn, and while his latest acquisition hadn’t actually come from hitting any veins but from theft, the Goblin felt good.

Rockmites scuttled after Numbtongue, but stopped when he reached the entrance of the cave. They had probably been lured by the music he was playing, but also possibly because they were attracted to the magical minerals in his pack. Especially the nugget of gold that Numbtongue had just stolen from one of their nests.

The Hobgoblin had known that Rockmites enjoyed all sorts of minerals and gravitated to magic as many monsters did, but he’d had no idea that they liked gold. But one look at the gold-plated Rockmites who’d been feasting on this nugget and what looked like a depleted vein of the stuff told the Hobgoblin that the mineral gave them some kind of benefit.

Or maybe it just tasted good. Either way, he’d raided the nest for the last bit of gold. Unfortunately, that had enraged the generally peaceful bugs, and he’d had to play the guitar to get out in one piece.

Even at the entrance of the cave, the bugs didn’t want to leave him alone. They scuttled into the light and then back into the shade, waving their little feet as they seemed to waver about going after the Hob. Experimentally, Numbtongue stopped playing as he stood warily by a wooden door. It was propped up next to the cave’s entrance, and it had a glowing mana stone embedded in the frame. The Rockmite swarm flickered as the music stopped, and they scuttled forwards in a mass. Then retreated as the rising sun struck them.

“Hah!”

The Hob laughed as he saw a group of the golden-shelled Rockmites retreating with the regular, brown ones into the cave. He waved as the bugs fled from the sunlight, deciding they couldn’t follow the Hobgoblin after all. He strummed a victorious tune.

“Goblin got gold! Goblin goes home! Goblin…this is a bad song.”

He sighed and put his guitar down. He wasn’t sure he liked singing. Erin kept encouraging him to sing, especially songs from her world, but he preferred just playing his guitar and letting her sing. He liked her voice. His he could take or leave. Usually leave. It was the guitar that made him smile.

The Hob thought about that. Then he picked up the guitar and played a short chord. Only, this time it wasn’t with the intention of peace and light. Sparks crackled down the strings of his guitar, shooting across his claws. The guitar took on a bass, echoing crackle. The Rockmites, already retreating, fled the static sound. And Numbtongue felt a potentiality gather in the air.

“[Lightning Melody].”

He whispered, and his guitar howled like one of the electric guitars that Erin had told him about. Only, his was electric. The jolts of lightning that ran from his guitar were only a herald of what he could summon. Numbtongue looked up at the clear skies and the morning.

“Lightning.”

He could call it down by playing music. Just by playing. If he played long and hard enough, he could direct a bolt of lightning down to earth where he pleased. It was a power on par with any spell. A miraculous, useful ability that would have made him beyond valuable in his tribe.

But it didn’t always work when Numbtongue wanted. For instance, though he was playing now, he didn’t feel the lightning forming in the air. He knew the air was more crackly, but only a bit. It felt…dull.

“Needs more clouds.”

The Hobgoblin sighed. That was the trick. If the air was already crackling with lightning or it was a storm, he could pull down lightning in a minute or less of playing. Otherwise, he had to play for minutes, maybe even half an hour, to call down even one measly bolt. It was inconvenient, but Numbtongue supposed it made sense. Erin had tried to explain why that was, but her explanations, her little ‘school lessons’, seldom made sense.

“Lightning is actually electricity. And electricity is a…charge of particles. Which are tiny things no one can see. And when the particles get really excited, they make electricity. It’s because tiny particles are like magnets, and electricity goes from positive to negative. Or something like that. That’s how lightning works, Numbtongue! It goes from a really charged place like clouds to the ground. I think.”

The Hobgoblin paused, shook his head, and tried to figure out what that meant again. Erin meant well, but she clearly didn’t understand the lessons she was trying to impart. Some things were very interesting, like her lessons about how diseases worked. Numbtongue had readily believed there were extremely tiny bugs that could make you sick. But he lost interest quickly when Erin didn’t know what she was talking about.

She tried. That was the thing. She made Numbtongue sit down every week with Mrsha and learn something new. Sometimes it was interesting, like facts from her world. History. Numbtongue particularly liked the stories of Humans killing each other over a few thousand years without anyone else to kill. Other times, they were just weird, like chess theory. Both Numbtongue and Mrsha slept through those, much to Erin’s indignation.

But she was…kind. And nice. It was just that today—Numbtongue sighed. He put down his guitar, and the charge in the air dissipated as he turned to the door. Glumly, Numbtongue opened it. He stared at the black rock face behind it and sighed again.

He waited for the portal to the inn to open. And waited. And waited some more. After ten minutes of waiting, Numbtongue sat down. After twenty, he stopped strumming tunes on his guitar and looked in his pack. He admired the gold nugget, a smooth lump worn away by the Rockmites’ snacking over years. It was heavy; it would make a good throwing stone if need be. Or a distraction. Numbtongue wondered if Erin would like it. If she ever remembered to open the door.

After thirty minutes, Numbtongue was about to walk down the mountain to the inn, never mind that it would take two hours. He was just getting up when the rock behind the door was replaced by a room filled with noise and people. Numbtongue jumped as two dozen conversations blasted out across the quiet rock face. He turned and saw Erin standing in the common room of her inn looking incredibly upset.

“Numbtongue! I’m so sorry! I forgot you were mining, and everyone in Pallass is using the door non-stop! Come in, quick!”

She waved at Numbtongue. The Hob got to his feet, picked up his pack and guitar, and strode through the doorway. Erin slammed the door shut and ushered him to one side. The Hob looked around at the crowd of people behind her. Half of them recoiled or frowned or reacted in some way; the rest just stared at Numbtongue. None of them ran, though. They were Drakes and Gnolls, some of which Numbtongue recognized. He looked over his shoulder at Erin as she fiddled with the dial on the door.

“Just a sec…the wood’s a bit sticky. I need to check Celum…anyone here?”

Erin threw the door open, and Octavia’s shop appeared for a moment. Erin stared around the empty shop, and Numbtongue smelled a bunch of strange, unpleasant odors. He saw a rack of colorful, glowing potions that made him long to snatch an armful and then a Stitch-girl sitting behind her counter. Octavia looked up sharply as Erin opened the door.

“Erin?”

“Hey, Octavia! Just checking for guests. Anyone?”

The [Alchemist] hesitated. Numbtongue eyed her face. She looked sleep-deprived. And less chatty than usual. She looked at Erin and the crowd in the inn and bit her lip.

“No, Erin. I…no. It’s fine.”

“Alright! Thanks! Let anyone know we’re checking in thirty minute intervals! Appreciate it!”

“I’ll—”

Whatever the [Alchemist] was about to say was cut off. Erin slammed the door, cheerfully adjusted the dial, and threw it open. Another city appeared as Numbtongue stared. Pallass and a crowd of people standing in a street suddenly appeared in the doorway. The Drakes, Gnolls, Dullahans, and Garuda standing there were all crowding forwards. But they recoiled as they saw Numbtongue.

“Hobgoblin!”

“Aw, shut up! It’s just Numbtongue! Door’s back! You lot chatter on! Remember, no one goes through or it goes dead!”

Erin shook a good-natured fist at the crowd. There was grumbling from Pallass’ side as Numbtongue stepped behind the door, out of view. Erin had moved it from the wall to a more central spot, so the people on both sides could chat and see what was going on with the inn.

“I can’t believe this. One door and it’s limited to, what, friends of the inn? That’s nepotism!”

“No, that’s favoritism. Nepotism’s for family.”

“Right. My mistake. Even so—hey! Move! Is that play still on?”

The people on Liscor’s side shuffled to one side. A few sitting closer leaned next to the door and whispered to some people standing right next to the door on Pallass’ side. A Drake nodded to a Garuda sitting on the other side.

“Sorry. Our [Innkeeper] had to let that Hobgoblin in. And check for guests from Celum. Where were we?”

The Pallassian Garuda smiled, keeping her voice low as the crowd, some of whom were now sitting on tall chairs, craned over her head, watching a play in the background. She whispered back to the Drake.

“I think we were talking about family. Do you have any relatives around here?”

“Well, I have an Aunt who lives in Lassil. Have you ever been there?”

“Lassil? No way! I was there just last—”

“Quiet in front! I’m watching the play!”

The Garuda turned her head and glared.

“Some of us are talking! You shut up!”

“Why can’t we go through? Just get a [Mage] already!”

“Shut up! I’m watching the play! And I’m on the list for tomorrow!”

“What? I have to wait three weeks—”

The crowds on both sides began arguing with each other while the aggrieved play-watcher demanded silence again and again. Numbtongue, watching from the side, was amazed neither group started jumping through the door to hit each other. Erin, watching with him, shook her head.

“Nuts, huh, Numbtongue? Everyone loves the other city suddenly. Sorry about forgetting to check on you; I’m really busy today!”

She waved around the crowded inn. Numbtongue nodded silently. He had been here yesterday and witnessed Erin introducing Liscor to Pallass and vice versa. Today, it seemed no less busy—and it was just past dawn! Erin glanced up at him and frowned.

“When did you go through the door anyways? Lyonette said she saw you off right when she woke up, but I got up an hour before dawn! How long have you been mining?”

The Hob shrugged.

“A while? I found something. Want to see?”

He shifted his pack, ready to show Erin. He had been looking forwards to her reaction, and the delighted smile on her face made him smile unconsciously. Erin looked at the pack.

“Really? More magicore? I know you have a few mana stones from…Pyrite’s stuff. But what else did you get? No, wait…sorry. I’ve got to take this.”

She grimaced. Someone was shouting her name from the door. Numbtongue lowered his pack and watched as she fought through the crowd.

“Alright, who is it? I told you, no one’s allowed through no matter how much they’re paying unless—oh! Hey, I remember you! Grimalkin! I need a door charge!”

Erin turned and bellowed across the room. Amid the roar of protests from the door crowd on both sides, a muscly Drake turned his head and grimaced. Grimalkin was sitting in the inn with Relc, doing some workouts with some barbells and other weights Erin had helped him come up with. He sighed but came over to the door as Relc took the barbells from him.

“I told you, I’m not your walking battery, Miss Erin.”

“Yeah, but—please? I helped with the weights. Maughin made a bunch, right, Maughin?”

Erin waved at a Dullahan who was sitting with a Selphid in a corner of her inn. The Dullahan jumped and looked up. He raised his head and looked around blankly.

“What? Am I needed?”

“Nah, it’s just Erin being Erin. Sit back down.”

Jelaqua laughed next to him. The Halfseekers were in the inn, having been derailed from their journey towards Invrisil for two days now. Moore got up and cautiously made his way towards the door with Grimalkin. The [Sinew Magus] was arguing with Erin as he leaned on it.

“It’s not that easy. We don’t regain all of our mana in a single night’s rest, Miss Solstice. And yes, I generate mine efficiently thanks to my muscles, and I have a larger mana supply than most, but this is taxing. I appreciate Mage Moore’s help, and the other [Mages] have pulled their weight, but you need a better system in place for this.”

“I know. But…one more person? Please? I helped you with the barbells! And I think I remember this weird bar with curves in it you could make!”

The Drake sighed. But he put his hand on the door.

“One charge then. Moore? I appreciate the help. No more than that, though, Erin. We have to send ourselves back, remember? Who’s coming through?”

“Him! Hey! No one else comes through! Kel, keep them back!”

Erin shouted into the doorway. Numbtongue watched her waving her hands as he silently came back downstairs. He’d taken his pack off, and now he had the nugget stuffed into one of his belt pouches.

He had only a few pieces of equipment, although he carried an adventurer’s compartmentalized belt. Two healing potions, a stamina potion, a Tripvine bag, a few carrying compartments…Numbtongue irritably shifted the belt to adjust for the weight of the gold nugget. He missed who came through, but Erin bounded over with a smile on her face and found the Hobgoblin.

“Sorry! Busy as usual. Say, Numbtongue, have you had breakfast?”

“No. Got any food?”

The Hobgoblin saw lots of people eating a late breakfast. He smacked his lips as Erin nodded rapidly.

“I’ve got some food—sorry, you missed breakfast! But I’ve got bits and pieces you can nobble on. Just one sec!”

“Nobble?”

The Hobgoblin stared at Erin. She entered the kitchen, bypassing the lines of her staff moving in and out, and came back with…two slices of pizza, one of her experimental crispy chicken wings, a bowl of eggs covered in ketchup, an entire carrot, and a fluffy bread roll filled with raisins. Numbtongue stared at the food, which Erin had all heaped in a bowl.

“Sorry, it’s a mess in there. Lyonette’s cooking, and Ishkr’s helping, but we really need a dedicated [Cook] at this rate! I’ll pop in there after I greet—”

“What’s nobble?”

Numbtongue selected a slice of pizza and began eating. He liked all the food Erin had given him and began chomping it all down. He was hungry enough to eat it all too. Erin shrugged.

“Nobble? Nibble and nosh. You know? Eating?”

She mimed what Numbtongue was doing. The Hob frowned, chewing with his cheeks full.

“Is it a word?”

“Well, it is now!“

Erin beamed at Numbtongue, purely unaware that the word ‘nobble’ was, in fact, taken and was the sort of thing the [Enforcer] in Celum might use in parlance with his job. Numbtongue just stared at her. Then he dug in his belt pouch.

“This is what I found. See?”

He offered the nugget to her. Erin’s eyes went wide.

“Ooh! Is that gold? Can I see?”

Numbtongue nodded, smiling. This at last was what he wanted. As he ate, he handed it to Erin. She marveled at the weight, examining the curiously smooth nugget.

“It’s so polished! Did you do that? No, wait, did you find it lying about somewhere? Is…is that really how gold’s mined? It’s heavier than I thought it’d be. And it’s not as shiny!”

She accusatorially held it up to the light. The sparkle and her repeated use of the word ‘gold’ attracted some heads. A passing Drake blinked at the sparkle and wandered over. He missed Numbtongue at first; his eyes were on the nugget Erin held.

“Where’d you get that? Are you handing out gold? Is that what the theme of today is? Ancestors, it is gold. Where’d you—dead gods!”

He spotted Numbtongue at last and recoiled in shock. The Hobgoblin paused in the middle of chowing down on the carrot. He hadn’t been doing anything, but the Drake still backed away before catching himself. He warily stared at Erin, who’d lowered the nugget with a frown.

“I, er, oh. That’s the Goblin. Uh—and that’s gold. Can I see it?”

“No. Numbtongue dug it up. Or…found it. Numbtongue, where’d you get it?”

“I found it—”

“Hey, is that gold?”

Another Drake spotted the nugget. A crowd immediately turned from the door to Pallass and stared at Erin. And at Numbtongue. She looked at him.

“Where? Oh, and no one touch! This is Numbtongue’s!”

She handed the nugget back to him. All eyes were on the sparkling bit of metal. Numbtongue opened his mouth to tell Erin and then noticed the stares. He looked around at all the faces. Half were staring at him, the other half at the nugget and at him. All had the same expressions. Wariness, caution, avarice…he dropped the half-eaten carrot in the bowl.

“Erin. Want the gold?”

“Uh…sure? I mean, maybe later. It’s, uh, a bit—”

Erin waved her hands as she looked up at him. Numbtongue nodded. The crowd sighed as he put the gold away in his belt where it sagged heavily. The Hobgoblin kept eating, but the Drakes and Gnolls didn’t exactly disperse. They just stared at him. So he crammed the rest of the food into his mouth and tapped Erin on the shoulder.

“I’m going.”

“Oh? Back to mine?”

“Where exactly? Er, I mean, this Goblin has a mine? Somewhere in the mountains?”

One of the Drakes leaned forwards interestedly. Erin glared at him, and he drew back, but his eyes flicked to the magic door. Numbtongue just sighed.

“No. Out.”

He pointed to Erin’s actual door to the inn. She nodded and followed him as he walked to the doorway. There were people coming in, making the short trek from Liscor to the inn. Like the others, they focused on him. Numbtongue stared around the busy inn. Liscor’s citizens and a few of Pallass’ filled it. Celum’s [Actors] were on stage—it was full to the brim. And it wasn’t even midmorning. He shook his head and turned to Erin.

“I’m going. Be back later.”

The young woman looked up at him. Her expression, which had been excited earlier and annoyed as she shooed back the crowd, became concerned. She grabbed Numbtongue as he went for the door.

“Hey.”

He turned back. Erin hesitated and pointed up at the stairs where a few Workers were trooping up with wood and nails.

“You…wanna have dinner tonight? The third floor’ll be fixed by then. I figure we can turn one of the rooms into a dining room for a day. Lyonette’s already talking about having private rooms. We can go up there and eat. You, me, Lyonette, and Mrsha?”

“Sure. Sounds good.”

Numbtongue nodded. Erin smiled and patted his arm. But she wavered as Numbtongue put a hand on the door.

“Numbtongue? Exactly where are you going?”

He paused, his back to her.

“…Out.”

“You mean, around the inn? Or the Floodplains? Or…you know we had a talk.”

“I know.”

Numbtongue didn’t look at Erin. He could sense her sidling to his left, watching his face.

“You’re just going out. You’re not going to go there, are you?”

“…No?”

“I know you want to. But look, I’m trying to get Zevara to agree. But until then, it is dangerous. I can’t let you get hurt. You know that, right, Numbtongue?”

“I know. I’m just going out.”

“Okay then.”

Erin was clearly unconvinced by Numbtongue’s lie. But she forced a smile onto her face.

“Dinner tonight. With the family. Alright! See you then!”

She patted Numbtongue’s arm, and he stepped out the door. He walked through the door past a pair of Gnolls, making them freeze, and out of the inn. A few stragglers coming up the hill pointed at him in shock. Numbtongue looked around and felt thoroughly miserable. Slowly, he descended the hill and walked towards Liscor.

Her inn was full. It held Gnolls and Drakes, Dullahans, Garuda, even a Selphid and half-Giant. But the one Goblin was going. He couldn’t stand it in there, and he didn’t like to think of another day with the inn full of…people.

He was glad for Erin, he really was. But he felt out of place in her inn when everyone was filling it and she was at the center of it all. Especially when half of them recoiled from the sight of him. It wasn’t just tiring, it annoyed him. He knew it was natural; his heart skipped a beat whenever he saw an adventurer he didn’t recognize. But he didn’t like it. Nor did he like being stared at all the time.

So he left. He walked down the hill from The Wandering Inn and towards the city in the distance. No one stopped him. As he neared Liscor, no one blew horns or raised the alarm. And that was…wonderful. A miracle. He could walk in the inn, even go near the city, without being hunted. Like a monster. It had been his dream since being a child.

When he was young, he used to dream of entering a city and walking around, seeing what Humans did when they weren’t hunting his kind. Greydath used to tell him stories of marvelous cities, of sights few Goblins had ever witnessed. So Numbtongue had dreamed of it.

Ironically, it had been Garen Redfang who had taken that chance; he could pass as Human while Numbtongue had been far too fat when he’d become a Hob. So Garen had been first and had learned so much more than Numbtongue ever could. Funny, when you thought of it, that they were both of the same generation, children during Velan’s war.

But Numbtongue had always felt older than Garen, if only by a few years and experience. Perhaps it was how they—Numbtongue blinked and missed a step. He slid down a hill, catching himself before pitching into the muddy sludge at the bottom. The valleys were still filled with water. Numbtongue cursed, dug his feet into the side of the hill, and climbed before he could take a bath in the mud. He stomped over the next hillock, pounding his forehead with the heel of his clawed hand.

Pyrite. It was Pyrite who had spoken to Greydath and dreamed of being in Human cities, not Numbtongue. He, Numbtongue, had grown up in a Human city in his youth. In the sewers, before the Humans had eradicated all Goblins living there.

They had both dreamed of walking a city’s streets in peace, though. Both dreamed of a day when they could see the cities that they could never approach in person. Human cities, full of wonders and lights. An enticing, deadly dream. And now it was true. Only, in reality, it was a Drake city that Numbtongue could walk near without dying. While they didn’t shoot him with arrows, their stares sometimes felt as painful.

For this privilege, Numbtongue knew, the price had been tens of thousands of Goblin lives. Over a hundred thousand. It had been his brothers and his Chieftain. A Goblin Lord and his people. All dead to win one Goblin the right to be stared at in peace. Numbtongue bowed his head as he walked, and he remembered a time when five Goblins had stayed at Erin’s inn. He liked to think he was happy, now. But he wanted to believe he had been even happier back then.

The memories. Sometimes they hurt. Pyrite’s or his. The Goldstone Chieftain’s memories didn’t hit Numbtongue as frequently as before, but they were always there, waiting to be tapped into. And sometimes Numbtongue felt so similar to Pyrite…the [Bard] shook his head. Pyrite’s memories weren’t the worst. He remembered his four friends. He thought of Headscratcher. Of Shorthilt, and he touched the steel sword at his side.

First had gone thirteen. Then six had remained. Then five. And then…was it three? Or one? Numbtongue didn’t know. But here he was alone. He remembered the fallen. Here, at Liscor, on the battlefield. Then against the Eater Goats. And then at Esthelm—his brow wrinkled in confusion for a moment.

Hold on. He remembered Headscratcher and Shorthilt vividly. And Bugear, who’d fallen fighting the Eater Goats, when they’d met Erin. And before that had fallen…

Grunter. Orangepoo…what were the other names? Rocksoup? Yes. Rocksoup, Leftstep, Bitefly, Patchhelm, Justrust.

Numbtongue breathed out, reassured. But for a moment, a terrible moment, he’d forgotten the nicknames of his comrades. If he’d forgotten—what would happen? How could he forget? Numbtongue bit his lip, remembering the names, hitting himself with them.

“Patchhelm. Justrust. Bugear. Grunter. Rocksoup…”

Each one hurt. Memory hurt. Because it hurt, because he couldn’t forget, because he was alone, Numbtongue walked. He walked across the muddy floodplains past valleys of sludge, past green grass and flowers blooming. Away from the inn. Towards the walls looming ever higher.

Towards Liscor. Towards the gates. And then his walk turned into a jog. Then a run.

——

The gates of Liscor stood open. The City Watch on duty were active, guarding all four cardinal entrances to the city. There was less traffic, at least from foreign travellers, at this time of year, but the [Guards] checked everyone exiting and entering with more zeal and attention than Celum’s sleepy City Watch.

With more efficiency too; outside of caravans led in by [Merchants] or travellers whose belongings amounted to more than a single pack or who had a bag of holding, the [Guardsmen] let through everyone with barely more than a cursory question or two in the case of foreigners.

Faces were checked against descriptions of criminals by the [Guards] manning the gates without the need for a scrum, and those with Skills singled out individuals to be questioned. It allowed for smooth travel, and while it kept the [Guards] on the northern gates hopping, the other three gates were quieter. Usually.

The southern and eastern gates usually saw traffic from a few villages or from the south, but with the Bloodfields active, only the locals would come through, which made it a cushy job. The western gate was even more infamous; the road going north led to the northern gate, which meant that very few people at all ever used the western gate.

Normally, it was a nice place to be, but recent events had made it the least-popular spot for [Guards] to be posted, even more so than north gate duty. Which was why Tkrn, Gnoll [Guardsman] and one of the four [Guards] posted on the ground, resented being put here for the fourth day in a row. He had to check all of the people going to The Wandering Inn and back to make sure they were locals, and worse, he couldn’t relax on the job with regular inspections and tests of the security at the gates.

Speaking of which…the Gnoll looked up as two of his fellow Gnolls on duty waved through more people heading to the inn. He sniffed the air, frowned, and then swore as he saw a green shape charging towards the gates.

“Aw! It’s him again!”

He bellowed at his fellow [Guardsmen]. They looked up, and the Drake [Guardsman] with them spotted the distant figure at the same time Tkrn did. He must have taken a different route because he was closing on the gates fast this time. The Drake bellowed up at the battlements.

“Hey! Close the gates! Close the—”

The huge, metal doors of Liscor, pure metal to contain water during the spring season, slammed downwards as Tkrn blocked the path of two alarmed Drake ladies. On the walls, he heard shouts—not exactly of alarm—and then a voice as one of the Drakes shouted down at the figure who’d stopped a couple dozen feet away from Liscor’s gates.

“Hey! You! We told you, you can’t come in!”

Tkrn listened to the Drake shouting angrily, a peeved note in his voice. The Gnoll growled and shook his head as he turned to the female Gnoll [Guardswoman] explaining to the frightened old Drakes what was going on.

“This is the third day in a row he’s done this. Doesn’t he get tired?”

She growled at him, vexed.

“Maybe it’s fun for him. Here. Escort these two to the Southern Gate, will you? And warn them the Goblin’s here again. He might try going to the other gates like last time.”

“Aw. Bersa—”

“I did it last time. Your turn.”

Tkrn sighed, but he gestured to the two elderly Drakes. One of them quavered as she stared wide-eyed at the gates and craned her neck at the shouting from above.

“What is it? An attack? Are we fighting Shield Spiders this time? Moths?”

“No, ma’am. It’s just a Goblin. The Goblin.”

“Oh. That Goblin?”

Tkrn sighed as he led the two away. Outside, Numbtongue stared up at the walls of Liscor. The gates were closed; they’d shut them faster this time. He hadn’t been able to even get close. A Drake poked his head over the battlements and shouted down at him.

“You can’t come in. Understand?”

“Why?”

Numbtongue folded his arms. He knew the answer, and the Drake sighed.

“We told you yesterday. And the day before that! No Goblins are allowed in Liscor. The Council voted on it! You’re a public threat.”

“I won’t hurt anyone. You can stab me if I try.”

“That’s not how it works. We can’t let in a security risk. And we have orders.”

“I’m not a threat.”

Numbtongue repeated himself slowly. He could see the Drake, a male with a helmet, looking exasperatedly to one side. Some other members of the City Watch were on the ramparts above the gates. The Drake nodded tiredly at Numbtongue.

“Sure, I believe you. But we’re [Guardsmen].”

“[Guardswoman] over here.”

“I’m a [Watchman].”

The Drake sighed.

“Right. All that. And we have orders. You can’t come in. It’s not our decision—it’s the law. Got it? Will you please go away? You know we’re not opening the gates. Please don’t make us close the others.”

He looked helplessly at Numbtongue. The Goblin reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a folded bit of parchment. He unfurled it and waved it at the Drake.

“Read this.”

The Drake hesitated.

“I can’t see it from here.”

“Come down and read it. It says I can come in.”

“I know what it says. You showed it to me yesterday. The answer’s still no.”

Numbtongue ground his teeth. He stared up at the tiny head dozens of feet above him. He pointed furiously at the parchment, as if the Drake could read one of the names signed on it.

“Your Watch Captain. She signed this. It gives me…permission. To enter this place. Understand? It says I am an adventurer.”

“I know. But I can’t read it.”

“So open the gates. Your Watch Captain—”

“I’m sorry, but Watch Captain Zevara gave the orders. You can’t enter.”

The Drake tiredly cut Numbtongue off. The [Bard] ground his teeth. He looked around.

“I’ll get Erin Solstice. She’ll make you open the gates.”

The [Guardsman] hesitated. He glanced towards the inn and shook his head, a touch wary.

“…She can’t make us open the gates. And she agrees with the Watch Captain. The magic door’s off-limits too. And if you do enter, we’re allowed to arrest you. So don’t try.”

Numbtongue knew that. The [Guardsman] clearly knew that was the case as well, which was why Numbtongue hadn’t tried the door. He’d had…conversations with Erin about this. He folded his arms.

“I want to go in.”

“Sorry, Mister, uh…Hobgoblin.”

“Numbtongue.”

“Right. Sorry. But you’ll be in danger if you enter the city.”

“I don’t care.”

The Drake sighed. He glanced at someone on the battlements and then looked down and shook his head.

“Well, believe it or not, I do. It’s my job if you get in, and that Human [Innkeeper] will probably gut me. If Captain Zevara doesn’t turn my face to ash first. You’re not getting in. And you can try the other gates, but they’ll just close too. And if you keep standing out here…”

“You’ll shoot me?”

“No. But we are authorized to call Erin Solstice.”

Numbtongue glared. The [Guard] gave him a tired look. The Hobgoblin paused. He looked back at the inn and clenched his fists.

“Goblins died for this city.”

The pause that this statement provoked was longest yet. The [Guard] on the walls hesitated. But at last, he shook his head.

“Right. I’m sorry.”

Numbtongue stared up at the Drake. He stared at the closed gates. He heard the whispering from above and looked up bitterly.

“For what?”

“Excuse me?”

The Drake on the walls frowned. Numbtongue gestured up at the city.

“We all died. But that doesn’t bother you. It’s a good thing. Less Goblins. Too bad one survived.”

He turned and stomped back the way he’d come. Numbtongue heard no reply from above, but after about fifty paces, he heard the gates slowly begin to rise. The Hobgoblin was tempted for a moment to run back and run for the entrance, but he knew they’d close the gates before he even got there. Staying in front of the gates wouldn’t work either. They’d get Erin. And she wouldn’t help. At least in this.

The Goblin walked back towards the inn, head bowed, feet padding through the dirt and growing grass. He was banned. From Liscor. After his first passage into the city, he’d tried going back again, but the City Watch had forced him back through the door after bare minutes. And, to Numbtongue’s shock and hurt, Erin had agreed with Watch Captain Zevara’s reasoning.

Numbtongue was in danger in the city. More than one member of Liscor had vowed to kill the Goblin if he entered again, people who’d lost relatives or loved ones during the Second Antinium War or to Goblins in general. More than that, though, it was the fact that Numbtongue’s arrival brought the city to a standstill, caused arguments, even fights.

Zevara had refused to let him back in, and Erin had backed her, if only because the City Watch had orders to halt Numbtongue entering their city, via door or by the gates, in any way short of killing him. If he went through the magic door again, Zevara had warned Erin, it would be removed from the city.

Numbtongue would have taken that risk if he didn’t know that it would inconvenience Erin. And he would have entered the city, danger or not. Even if he was attacked. It was his right. It was what Headscratcher, Shorthilt, Grunter, Justrust, Rocksoup, Butterfly, Orangepoo, Patchhelm, Lefstep, and Bugear had died for. They had died for Liscor. He had to enter it.

It was like a compulsion. No—a sickness. Numbtongue felt it. Ever since Erin had told him he was…family, his life had been overturned. When he was in the inn with her, having breakfast, he was deliriously happy. When he realized his four friends—no, twelve friends would never share that moment, he was crushed more than any blow could ever do to him. And when he stared at Liscor in the distance and knew he couldn’t enter it, even though he had a piece of paper signed that said he was a person—that he needed the paper at all—

Up and down. Happy and sad. It was the cycle to Numbtongue’s day. He mined, practiced with his sword, upheld Redfang tradition and tried to combine Pyrite’s memories with his, and grew stronger. He enjoyed being around Erin, Lyonette, Mrsha. Even Apista. He learned from her, ate, and lived every Goblin’s…it was beyond a dream. But he couldn’t be part of the rest, of anything else. So he went off by himself and remembered. When it got to be too much, he came here. To a city he wasn’t allowed to enter.

That was how it went. What could Numbtongue do besides all of that? He couldn’t wander far from Liscor. Adventurers, travellers, anyone who wasn’t immediately part of Liscor or in sight of the inn might kill him. The mountains were equally dangerous; Numbtongue was wary of going higher than the caves he’d entered, and Pyrite’s memories told him to take it slow.

The inn was…nice. But it was still too small these days. Numbtongue was restless there. Lyonette, Mrsha, Erin, they all had things to do. They couldn’t be with Numbtongue, who had every day free, all the time. So that often left him…

Alone. But that was only part of the time. Then he was with Erin with so much love he felt like his heart was bursting. And then to loneliness again. Staring at a city that wouldn’t even let him through the gates. If he could only be in there or—or if Shorthilt were here. Rabbiteater, Badarrow. Numbtongue.

“They’re alive. They weren’t there. They are alive. Somewhere.”

Numbtongue clutched at his head as he stopped. He looked back at the city. At Liscor. It was his dream. It was Pyrite’s dream. The city taunted him. He had walked its streets once. But once was never enough. Numbtongue stared at Liscor and then at the inn. For the first time, it felt like the inn was a cage. One made of kindness and good intentions. But a cage nonetheless.

Happy and sad. Together and alone. Numbtongue was sick of it. He wanted to enter Liscor even if it meant being hurt, even if it meant dying. He wanted people to see him and not stare when they visited the inn. He wanted to meet the people who tried to avoid him, who pretended he didn’t exist. He wanted to be there. Or he wanted to leave and give up on that dream. The worst thing was being caught in the middle of it. Of Erin giving him everything he wanted and Liscor holding it out of reach. Again and again.

It felt like a…pattern. A cycle. Numbtongue wished it would stop. Because otherwise, soon, either the cycle would break or he would. Slowly, he walked back to the inn. This was his life now.

He…hated it.

——

A lonely Goblin walked across the Floodplains back towards the inn he called home. And he realized he was miserable. In Celum, a trio of Humans who were accustomed to a different world than most knew finished off a quiche and waited for something to happen. An [Alchemist] sat in her shop and counted her coins. Pure misery awaited all and each in their own way. The quiche was off.

Yet it was all backdrop. These were the lives of the inconsequential. The small. They did not move the world, even in small ways. They were in the wrong place, the wrong time. But in The Wandering Inn, part of the world shook and moved and changed. In the inn and on the streets of Pallass, crowds were gathered as the morning progressed.

They were back. In fact, the inn was even more crowded than yesterday. Erin had opened Pallass and Liscor to each other. Now, the two cities couldn’t get enough of each other. Already, the ripples Erin had splashed were turning into waves.

Rufelt and Lasica were standing in the inn with a trio of Gnoll [Senators] from the Assembly of Crafts. Even Errif Jealwind, a member of the Protectorate group. But he was a Gnoll, and he looked very uncomfortable in the group consisting of the Gnolls from Liscor, the Pallassian Gnolls, and Lasica. He might have been a [Senator], but in the Gnoll hierarchy…

Across the inn, Jelaqua was practically glued to a certain Dullahan. And the implications of that had every Dullahan who’d seen them today spinning their heads on their shoulders. Moore and Seborn, stranded in the inn with their Captain suddenly on vacation, were a mix of happy and irritated. Mostly irritated after watching the two hold hands or talk to each other while ignoring everyone else.

The Players of Celum were performing their second play of the day. Temile, the [Stage Manager], was giving the new cast and crew the workout of their lives, and the new [Actor] Drakes and Gnolls and Humans were performing until their throats needed healing potions. But no one complained; this was their moment, and they all felt it. Eight of Pallass’ citizens were already on the roster to come through this week and learn from the cast up close, rather than having to watch through the crowded door. And what might that lead to?

Some things were predictable, like Grimalkin and Relc happily devising workouts with Erin’s new weights. Wing Commander Embria had joined them this morning, and Erin was tickled to see that she and Grimalkin were getting along like a house on fire. Possibly because Embria seemed to hold Grimalkin in some esteem, or because she was as enamored by the weights as they pertained to her soldiers as he was. The [Innkeeper] was about to circulate past them as she helped load some freshly baked pizzas onto plates with Drassi.

“Say what you will about pizza and how bad it is for you, but it’s fast food!”

Erin nodded to the crowd percolating the inn. Drassi only smiled. She was having a great time listening to the debates around the elections.

“It’s easy to serve! I’ll get the plates out, Erin. You have someone looking for you!”

She pointed. Erin sighed. Someone was always looking for her.

“Do I care? Who is it this time—”

She broke off. The person waving at her and making his careful way across the floor was someone on her list of people to care about. Erin beamed as a tall, older Gnoll approached.

“Xif! Hey! Thanks for coming!”

The Gnoll [Alchemist] paused in front of Erin and bowed slightly to her. He smiled around at her and then vaguely waved; Krshia and her group had spotted him and were coming over.

“A pleasure, Miss Erin. This is a sight!”

“Isn’t it? Sorry I didn’t get to talk to you right away!”

“No, no. I’m grateful enough that you let me through that door. I didn’t realize it was a matter of privilege—ah, Lasica. Rufelt. I came to see what all the fuss was about.”

The [Bartender] and [Chef] couple came over, smiling widely. Erin stepped back as the two introduced Krshia and the Liscorian Gnolls to Xif. She was tickled to see the Gnolls begin to sniff at Xif and recoil slightly. He nodded apologetically.

“I’m the proprietor of Cunning Crafts. I apologize about the smell. I can’t seem to shake it; it’s a byproduct of being an [Alchemist] and having fur. I’ve thought about shaving, but that’s no pretty sight. City Gnoll, Xif. [Alchemist]. A pleasure to meet you all.”

He extended a paw to shake like a Drake would, instead of sniffing. Looking very surprised, Krshia put a smile on her face and shook Xif’s paw.

“Ah. A pleasure. I was told I might make your acquaintance, Honored Xif.”

“Just Xif, please. I must confess, I’m not one for politics. But…I heard there was a great deal of interesting things to see here, and I had met Miss Solstice. So I’m delighted to come. Truly.”

Xif’s eyes flickered to the three [Senators], who were looking around the inn with interest and wariness. Then he smiled at Erin, who entered the almost all-Gnoll conversation as naturally as could be.

“Xif’s really cool, Krshia. He’s the best [Alchemist] in Pallass, right?”

She turned to Lasica, and the Drake nodded. Xif, on the other hand, frowned. He scratched his head, embarrassed.

“I’d never say that. Second-best? I’ll claim that, thank you. But best? No, no. I can’t say that at all. Granted, I might be the most diverse [Alchemist] for recipes, but in terms of specialization, there’s someone far, far better than I in the city.”

“Adventurers don’t count, Xif. And you sell your potions unlike how Saliss auctions them. If anyone deserves a voice to represent Pallass’ [Alchemists]—and Gnolls—it’s you. Come and chat with us. We’re discussing the elections.”

Lasica nodded firmly, and Rufelt grinned, motioning Xif over to the part of the bar where they’d been talking.

“I suppose so.”

Xif sighed, clearly reluctant. He looked at Erin, and she came to his rescue.

“Maybe in a bit, Lasica. But what if I showed Xif around for a moment or two? There’s a lot of cool things! Like the play!”

“If you have to. But bring him back soon, alright?”

Lasica frowned, clearly impatient. The party moved away, and Xif nodded gratefully at Erin.

“I appreciate that. I’m not one for inter-Gnoll politics. I really did just want to see what all this was about.”

“It’s totally cool. You can just listen, and I’ll pull you out if you want to. But first let me show you all the cool things! We have pizza, ice cream—I think we’re making a batch—the play, and you have to meet Mrsha!”

“Ah. The white Gnoll. Rufelt did tell me about that. I would like to meet her. I feel as though we may have done the Doombring—the white-furred a great disservice. Again, I’m not one of the Plains Gnolls, but I would like to meet her very much.”

Erin frowned as she peered around for Mrsha.

“That’s what Elirr said. She’s not cursed, you know. It’s just…white fur. She’s been nothing but good to the inn. Nothing bad—well—it wasn’t her fault.”

“So you say, Miss Erin. So you say. But tradition runs deep. I’d like to meet her, if only to assuage my own—what is that?”

Xif grabbed Erin suddenly. An anomaly had appeared out of the crowd of milling species. A single figure surrounded by a circle of space and silence. Erin spotted Numbtongue at the same time the Goblin spotted her. He seemed upset. Xif, on the other hand, was terrified.

He recoiled from Numbtongue, his paws instinctively going to a potion hanging from his wide belt. Erin grabbed his arm just in case, but the Gnoll caught himself.

“The—I heard there was one. But a Goblin?”

He stared at Numbtongue. The Hob’s crimson eyes narrowed. And his upset stare grew even more pronounced. He turned abruptly. Erin, distressed, looked at Numbtongue. He hadn’t seemed so unhappy when he’d left twenty minutes ago. Now—

“Numbtongue! What’s wrong? Did you go for a walk?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m going back outside. To practice with my sword.”

The Hobgoblin turned. Erin reached for him, but he was already striding back towards the door. She shouted at him.

“Aw, Numbtongue, hey! What if—”

Too many people. Or the Hobgoblin just didn’t want to listen. He pushed out the door, and Erin let her hand fall.

“Damn. What’s wrong with…”

She had an inkling, but before she could go after Numbtongue, there was Xif to reassure. The Gnoll was pale under his stained fur, and Erin found him a seat. The [Alchemist] gratefully accepted a cup of water that she found for him.

“I apologize. I heard from Lasica—but I didn’t realize he just…I apologize.”

“You can say it to him when he comes back, okay? And don’t freak out when you turn around or I’ll be actually mad this time.”

Erin stared at Xif and then someone behind him. The [Alchemist] froze and slowly turned his head. He didn’t quite squeak when he saw Pawn and the pair of Workers behind him, but he did twitch a bit.

“Erin. I am sorry to interrupt, but I just arrived. I see construction is already underway.”

“Hi, Pawn. Good morning! Yeah, Belgrade’s already at work. They’re nearly done with the third floor—Lyonette wants them to do more work on the foundations or something. She wants to expand the inn!”

Erin smiled weakly. Only now did she feel like she was too busy. She had to go after Numbtongue! But Pawn was looking around for Lyonette, and Erin had to flag down the [Princess]. And explain to Xif who Pawn was. Because that was important. First impressions were important. So was Numbtongue.

“This is Pawn, Xif. He’s a Worker, but he’s really nice. Really.”

“A…a pleasure.”

The [Alchemist] shook Pawn’s hand, which was good for most first impressions. Lyonette paused, tying back her sweat-soaked hair, and blinked as Pawn appeared. She had to meet Xif too. Then Erin had to remember the Worker standing next to Pawn.

“Archer…B23?”

“B19.”

Pawn quietly corrected Erin. She slapped her forehead.

“Duh. Of course. I, uh, well, I’m just scatterbrained. Hello, Archer B19!”

The Worker bowed to Erin.

“This one—I—I mean, I—am very gratified to meet you. Miss Erin. I have wished to convey my thanks. You gave me a bowl of soup. And you taught me how to play chess once. Before I became Individual. I have never forgotten it.”

You couldn’t ignore something like that. Erin paused and reached out to hug Archer B19. Xif looked on, amazed. And Pawn? He edged around to Lyonette and timidly but insistently stood by her side. She smiled at him.

“Good morning, Pawn. Are you supervising the construction?”

He hesitated.

“That is Belgrade’s job. I am here to assist. And let the Workers and Soldiers relax. But perhaps it would be wise to supervise the construction? We are only restoring the third floor, but there is a good vantage of our groundwork for your future plans. Perhaps we should take a look? Together?”

He looked at Erin. So did Lyonette. Erin looked up and didn’t think twice. She nodded.

“Go for it. We can hold down the fort, Lyonette. Take a break.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yup. Go for it! I’ll—handle anything that comes up.”

It was dangerous to say, but the way Pawn brightened was worth it. Lyonette smiled and reached out. She held his hand, and they walked upstairs to ‘supervise’ the ‘construction’. Which probably meant exactly that, but with hand holding. Archer B19 trundled after them after saying goodbye to Erin. The [Innkeeper] sighed, then turned to Xif, who was dumbstruck.

“Crazy kids, huh? Wanna nobble on something?”

Xif stared at Erin blankly.

“Nobble?”

She laughed and looked around for some food. She had to be a good host to the Gnoll and keep him from the politics until he wanted to talk to them—and then only for a bit. And she had to make sure the staff had food and could do their jobs while Lyonette was on break. And where was Mrsha?

So much to do. And yet, Numbtongue’s expression remained in Erin’s mind. She had to talk to him. But—could he wait? Just for an hour? Or two? Or four? Then she could listen to whatever was on his mind. She would. But she was so busy right now. Erin chewed her lip and then forgot about Numbtongue when she saw Mrsha trying to peek inside Maughin’s neck cavity. By the time she remembered the Hobgoblin and went to look for him, it was already too late.

——

This was what happened. Outside the inn, another force was moving across the Floodplains. The Antinium. Not the construction team working on Erin’s inn, but a second force. A larger one.

Painted Soldiers. They stormed across the Floodplains, invading Shield Spider nests, wiping them out with brutal efficiency. And their actions went completely unnoticed by the crowd in Erin’s inn. By all of Liscor, actually.

It was ironic. Not three days ago, the Painted Soldiers had been the talk of the town. People had been gathered on the walls to watch them. And yesterday and today they’d been doing their jobs, just like normal. It wasn’t as if spider-killing season ended just after a single day, after all. But apparently, no one but the Painted Soldiers cared anymore. The City Watch was leaving the duty to them, and 4th Company was busy raising support for Lism in the city or strategically lifting with Grimalkin.

No one cared about the Painted Soldiers anymore when all eyes had been on them yesterday. But that was okay. They cared about themselves. And they had a job to do.

Kill the spiders. They ran, a wall of black carapace mixed with paint, and a wall fell into the nests, pounding the eggs and spiders flat, moving over the hills and avoiding the valleys filled with muck. The Painted Soldiers were in tip-top form, but they pushed beyond even their regular limits.

Because of him. Yellow Splatters, the giant, their [Sergeant]. He had returned. He was leading them. He had a voice. Like their duty, the excitement and reaction his presence provoked among the Painted Soldiers didn’t fade after a single day either. So they ran, arms and legs pumping, racing to do their job. They were…happy.

One particular wall of Painted Soldiers was running up a hill about a mile away from The Wandering Inn. They had disposed of an especially large nest of Shield Spiders. They were not led by Yellow Splatters; he was actually six miles away. But he was on the same field. They had heard him give the order. That was enough. Now the five Painted Soldiers ran forwards, hunting for another nest.

The Soldier in the lead rushed up the hill and began to cross the top. The mud splashed around his feet as he ran, splattering across the blue-white paint delicately patterning his body. Falling Snow, he was named. As he ran, he spotted a deep valley ahead of him. The thick mud, a remnant of the rains, still covered the bottom quite deeply. That was fine, and it meant no Shield Spiders were making their nests in all that. Falling Snow turned to find another hill. And the Soldier behind him, Zebras, bumped into him.

It was a simple mistake. They were too excited. All five were going too fast. The Soldier tripped. He lost his footing. He struggled to regain it, but the hill was steep, the mud was slippery. As Zebras grabbed for him with three of his striped arms, Falling Snow overbalanced. And he fell into the mud.

It covered him at once. Thick, clinging, heavy mud. More solid than liquid, but deep enough, watery enough to ensnare the Painted Soldier like a…bug. In the mud. Falling Snow struggled, arms and legs grasping at something, anything, as Zebras and the three other Painted Soldiers skidded to a stop on the hill. But he couldn’t move. The mud dragged him down.

Suddenly, the excitement was gone from the air. Zebras stared down at the mud pit. At the flailing Soldier. He made to step forwards and slipped. The other three Soldiers dragged him back. The valley’s slopes were steep. The footing was treacherous. One wrong move and Zebras would tumble into the pit.

And that deep—Falling Snow was struggling. He’d managed to right himself, but he was sinking deeper. He was too far away from the pit’s edges to pull himself up. The mud was closing over his head. His mandibles snapped. They covered with mud. He couldn’t breathe.

The four Painted Soldiers stood helplessly on the edge. They thought. They looked at the ground. Zebras reached for the others, and they tried to make a chain. Two of the Soldiers went down, and the two tried to hold them. The mud footing slipped, and all four nearly cascaded down. They were too heavy. It would never work. Zebras began digging at the ground, but there was no time. They couldn’t excavate Falling Snow in the time. It would take to changing the geography of the entire valley.

By now, the distress of the five Painted Antinium was being broadcast across every level of communication they possessed. Other Painted Soldiers noticed the still group of four on the hill. They turned, and like a ripple, all the attention of the Painted Soldiers fixed on the spot. On the scene.

Six miles away, Yellow Splatters looked up from killing a Shield Spider. He saw the four, saw the other Painted Soldiers converging on the spot at a dead run. He ran too. But too late.

Too slow.

In the valley of mud, Falling Snow was drowning. Mud was closing around his head, and his four arms and legs were caught. The Soldier flailed, but he understood nothing of swimming. And he was too heavy. The mud was too deep and too thick. He…couldn’t…

His flailing was growing slower. Zebras and the Soldiers on the hill were digging. But it was no use. Slowly, one by one, the Painted Soldiers stopped. They looked down at their comrade. And Falling Snow felt his consciousness dwindling. His struggling grew weak. Sporadic. He stopped moving at last.

“No!”

The voice that shouted was five miles distant. Yellow Splatters was running, racing. But he was too slow. Too far. The Painted Soldiers on the hill looked down. And the Soldier in the mud looked up as the mud covered his eyes. He gazed at the blue sky. At his fellow Soldiers, watching him. He knew he would die. Falling Snow looked up and waited for heaven.

And a green angel dove from above. Numbtongue hit the mud, and it dragged him down. But the Hobgoblin reached. And he found the still Soldier in the darkness.

The Soldier was heavy. Too heavy. Numbtongue heaved, but Falling Snow was part of the mud trap. And Numbtongue felt himself sinking. Above him, the Painted Soldiers milled. The Hobgoblin gritted his teeth. He reached for his belt and pulled something loose. Numbtongue fumbled with the drawstrings and then pulled.

An explosion of vines engulfed him as the Tripvine Bag in his hands exploded. The impact, confined, blasted the vines into Numbtongue, making him inhale the mud. The vines twined around him and Falling Snow, shooting upwards. Growing, expanding. Reaching the Painted Soldiers around the pit. The Antinium stared at the vines. Then they grabbed them and heaved.

Two dozen Soldiers grabbed the muddy tangle of vines. Three dozen. They backed up and pulled. The vines had completely entangled the pit and the Hobgoblin and Soldier in it. The mud clung to the tangle, weighing it down. It had to be hundreds, no, thousands of pounds of weight. The Soldiers grabbed the vines and heaved. And the muddy tangle began to tear itself free of the pit.

Vines exploded with the weight, and Soldiers stumbled back before surging forwards to grab at more vines. One had four vines in each arm, and more Soldiers rushed forwards by the second, grabbing at vines, pulling, pulling—

The mud surged upwards, caught in the vines. It began to cascade over the edges of the hill. Then the huge tangle of vines. Mud slopped down as the Soldiers yanked the tangle up onto the hill. Then they tore at the sides, ripping mud and magical vines free. The Tripvines fell to the ground, and an arm emerged. Green. The Soldiers excavated it.

Numbtongue’s head came out of the tangle. The Hobgoblin vomited mud. Then he dragged at another figure. An Antinium, mud dripping from his body. The Soldiers grabbed at the mud, sloughing it off. Frantically, they uncovered Falling Snow’s mandibles, found his mouth blocked with mud. Numbtongue pushed his way forwards with a flask of water.

The mud washed away as Numbtongue scraped at the opening. The Soldier’s mandibles and inner mouth cleared of debris. He lay on the ground, his body still. The Painted Soldiers stood around him, and Numbtongue sat back, waiting. Listening. The Soldier’s chest was still. Then the silent audience heard it.

A faint whistling sound. Breath, intaken. Falling Snow inhaled. And then he sat up. He looked around, and his muddy body jerked. The Painted Soldiers surrounded him, wiping at his mud-covered eyes, antennae. Numbtongue lay down on the ground and breathed.

He was alive. Alive. If anyone had looked, if anyone had cared, they would have seen every Painted Soldier on the Floodplains converging on the spot. Gathering around Falling Snow, who was still just breathing, surrounded by the other Soldiers.

As the furthest-flung Soldiers arrived, they began digging at the valley, removing the deadly mud trap, giving the mud a place to flow out. Others joined the huddle, a quiet mass. But not one without emotion. Numbtongue saw it. He felt it, lying on his back with mud in his ears and hair. And he was relieved. He had made it in time.

That was all he thought for a while. Then a shadow blocked the light. Numbtongue looked up and saw a strange Antinium in the air above him. He was taller than the other Soldiers. Bigger. His body had a…familiar pattern, though. And when he looked down at Numbtongue, he spoke.

“Thank you.”

“…Uh?”

The Hobgoblin was so surprised he only stared for a second. The Soldier’s mandibles moved again. And it was words, distinctly words, that came out of his mouth.

“Thank you. Falling Snow will live. You saved him.”

Slowly, the Hobgoblin sat up. He gazed up at the strange Painted Soldier who was speaking to him. He was so familiar. But the voice? Numbtongue couldn’t place it. So he inspected the markings on the Soldier’s body. That was easy. Numbtongue had his own war paint. He understood the way the Painted Soldiers marked themselves. Each one was different. But this Soldier had a pattern Numbtongue had seen before. But that couldn’t be. He was—

The Hobgoblin blinked at Yellow Splatters. The [Sergeant] tilted his head as he regarded the Goblin. And both of them just continued staring.

“You’re alive.”

“You’re alive.”

Yellow Splatters spoke as slowly as Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin saw that this was Yellow Splatters. The body was different, but the way he held himself, the markings—they were familiar. And yet—

“I did not know any Goblins survived the battle.”

“You were dead.”

“I came back.”

Numbtongue’s eyes widened. The [Sergeant] raised one of his four arms, touched his body.

“I was brought back. It was my Queen’s will. That and the will of the other Soldiers. The Rite of Anastases gave me life. It is an Antinium secret.”

“Really?”

The crimson eyes widened. The Antinium head nodded once.

“Yes. My resurrection was revealed to the city of Liscor days ago. But I did not see you.”

“I’m not allowed in the city.”

A pause. Two antennae waved for a second. Goblin eyes blinked.

“That is why.”

The two looked at each other one last time. Numbtongue stared down at the mud and broken vines he sat in. Then up at Yellow Splatters. He remembered a broken body. A column of Soldiers charging. A spell that tore their ranks apart. And Yellow Splatters’ foreign gaze inspected Numbtongue. What he remembered, the Hobgoblin didn’t know. At last, he bent and extended two of his hands on his right side.

“It’s good to see you, Numbtongue.”

Slowly, ever so slowly, the Hobgoblin reached up. And when the cool insect’s hands touched his, he flinched. But the touch was real. Strong. Numbtongue felt himself being pulled up. Numbtongue rose and turned to Yellow Splatters. He searched for words.

“You too.”

——

The Goblin and the Antinium Soldier stood on the hill, gazing down across the Floodplains. The valley of mud was being torn down, and the thick, wet sludge was slowly spilling across the ground. The Painted Soldiers were getting back to work. But Yellow Splatters didn’t join them. He stood with Numbtongue.

The Hobgoblin saw the [Sergeant] watching Falling Snow. The Soldier was sitting on the ground, still muddy. Recovering. Numbtongue couldn’t be certain how well the Soldier was. So he asked.

“He will live. His mind does not seem affected. He was waiting for death, not out of air entirely. He will live. Thanks to you.”

“Mm. Good.”

The Hobgoblin nodded once. And that was all he said. At last, the [Bard] grunted.

“You can speak?”

The [Sergeant] nodded shortly.

“I can. I was reborn, my body remade by the Free Queen. I have a voice that I might lead my fellow Soldiers.”

“…Huh.”

Yellow Splatters waited for a question like the ones Erin had showered him with, or Pawn or Belgrade. But all Numbtongue did after that was grunt.

“Good.”

“What?”

The Painted Soldier looked over. Numbtongue shrugged a Goblin’s shrug.

“Good. Right? Feels good.”

“Yes. It…feels good.”

Yellow Splatters breathed in and out. He spoke the word again.

“Yes.”

Numbtongue smiled.

“Good. Better.”

That was all he said. The wind blew across the Floodplains, drying the mud on the Hobgoblin’s body, ruffling his hair. Yellow Splatters watched the Goblin pick some mud out of his ears. He spoke abruptly.

“You were there. With the five—with the Goblins.”

The [Bard] paused. His expression clouded for a moment. Then he looked up at Yellow Splatters, and it cleared. Not becoming happier. But easing, opening. He nodded to Yellow Splatters.

“We were there.”

The Painted Soldier paused. Then it was his turn to nod. He opened his mandibles, and a hundred things to say flashed across his mind.

“It was—”

He broke off. He glanced at Numbtongue.

“We—”

Another pause.

“When Pawn—”

Silence. Yellow Splatters, for the first time in his life, found himself at a loss for the words he had been given. Because they were all inadequate. But the [Bard], quietly and with simple words, said what Yellow Splatters struggled to find.

“Being the last one is hard.”

The [Sergeant] paused. He opened his mandibles, and his four hands clenched and unclenched. His antennae waved, searching. Then he looked at Numbtongue. And his explanations, his lies, his need to tell fell apart. Because there was nothing to say. The Goblin had been there. He understood.

“Yes. It is. Very hard.”

The two stood together. Just looking at each other. A dead Antinium and a lonely Goblin. And they remembered. Numbtongue remembered a Soldier who spoke with no words. Yellow Splatters remembered a Goblin much like the one he saw. But one of five. The two saw what had changed and what had not. And they remembered something else.

Numbtongue looked across the valley. At the Painted Soldiers, fighting, struggling against Shield Spiders, watching the valleys filled with mud carefully, excavating them in key spots to let the drainage begin. And he looked at Yellow Splatters. Suddenly, he felt thirsty. And dirty. And tired. So he pointed back across the Floodplains at a small building he called home.

“Want…want to get a drink? The inn has drinks. And food.”

Numbtongue had never said those words before, but they felt natural. Perfect for the moment. Yellow Splatters froze for a heartbeat. He looked at Numbtongue, and he read the Goblin. He understood him without having to speak. More than just words—he read Numbtongue’s face, his body language, almost tense, expectant.

Numbtongue looked at Yellow Splatters and saw the Soldier’s antennae flicker for a moment, his mandibles open, and his posture stiffen—and then relax. And the looseness of the way he lifted his mandibles, the opening and shutting of his hands—all of it was different, but familiar. The Soldier nodded at last.

“I would be grateful to do so. But I am tasked with a duty. I must clear the Shield Spiders another hour yet. I cannot abandon my post. Or my Soldiers.”

He looked at Numbtongue. And Yellow Splatters felt regret. The Hobgoblin nodded as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He eyed the Painted Soldiers, the destroyed Shield Spider nests, and then he turned to Yellow Splatters.

“Want help?”

And the Soldier hesitated, then smiled. He saw the green clawed hand extend. This time, the Antinium took the Goblin’s hand. The monster looked at the monster. For once, neither found they needed to explain. They were dissimilar, from the color of their bodies to their classes and their species and their purposes. One stood alone. The other had been made to be different.

And yet, the two had something. A connection. They had been there. They had seen the same battlefield. They had lost. They understood each other. They…understood each other.

It made the world feel like a different place.

Interlude – Numbtongue (Pt.2)

(Hey, I’ve got news! Volume 2 of The Wandering Inn might come out as an e-book soon! The Audiobook is scheduled for September 10th! Madness! Find out more details here!)

Later, at lunch time, The Wandering Inn was faced with an unusual sight. And that was by the standards of the inn, which meant it was very unusual. Even unexpected. The crowd of Pallassians and Liscorian citizens couldn’t help but stare. One of the many tables in Erin’s common room, enlarged by the [Grand Theatre] Skill, was occupied. That wasn’t the unusual bit. The unusual bit was who sat there still smelling of mud and Shield Spider fluids.

An Antinium Soldier and a Hobgoblin. They sat casually at the table next to each other, rather than across from each other. It was odd, perhaps, but the distance would have been stranger. And the two could watch more of each other’s body language like this. They spoke in bursts, in a private world in the public inn. The Soldier, Yellow Splatters, nodded as he glanced around the inn at the staring faces. Those he locked eyes with snapped away quickly, but the rest just stared.

“They do look. I knew it before, but now I see them more often.”

“Stare and stare some more. But if we stare, they run off.”

Numbtongue bared his teeth. Yellow Splatters looked about and met eyes with a Drake. Said Drake flinched. The Painted Soldier calmly held the gaze until the Drake looked away.

“Yes. This is true.”

Numbtongue nodded and shrugged. He looked down at the bowl in front of him and smiled. He’d just been served, as had Yellow Splatters. He showed the Soldier what was in his bowl and offered him his spoon.

“Have this. This is my best—no, favorite—food.”

The Painted Soldier stared into the bowl curiously. It was very…orange. He detected small, squiggly noodles in what seemed like some kind of sauce. The Soldier took the spoon, which Numbtongue had been licking, and dipped it into the bowl. He sampled a spoonful.

“What is it?”

“Mac and cheese. Which is…noodles and cheese. Erin says it’s from her home. It’s good for the stomach. Lots of energy.”

Numbtongue patted his. Then he frowned.

“Wait. Can you eat noodles?”

Yellow Splatters paused.

“Yes.”

The Goblin frowned.

“Erin said…”

He broke off, clearly trying to recall that pertinent bit of information. Yellow Splatters shrugged.

“My Soldiers and I can eat wheat. It is just…uncomfortable. Later. This is good. The cheese is good. Try mine.”

He slid his bowl to Numbtongue. The Goblin frowned at the black dots with wings.

“Acid Flies.”

He shrugged and took his spoon back from Yellow Splatters. The Antinium had been using his fingers. Numbtongue loaded his spoon and took a bite. He crunched for a second with a sound that made the nearby diners gag. Excepting the other Painted Soldiers, of course. Forty-nine of them were enjoying their own bowls of Acid Flies at nearby tables. Numbtongue chewed and swallowed.

“Hm. Crunchy.”

“You do not like it.”

Yellow Splatters turned to Numbtongue. The Hob shook his head.

“Okay. Good for travel. Not enough taste.”

“I see.”

The two stared at each other. Then, silently, Numbtongue offered his bowl to Yellow Splatters. The Soldier tipped Numbtongue’s bowl up and spooned the cheesy sauce out over the Acid Flies. He handed the first bowl back, and Numbtongue ladled some of the cheesy Acid Flies into his bowl of noodles, thus creating largely the same dish for both. The two began to eat. Numbtongue grunted after a second.

“Hm.”

“Good. Crunchy.”

“Yes. Flavorful.”

The two smiled. Mrsha, peeking over the edge of the table, gagged. Numbtongue grinned at her.

“This is Mrsha. You know her?”

He gestured, and the Painted Soldier peered at Mrsha, who shyly sat there, drumming her paws on the table. He stared at her white paws and remembered. The [Sergeant] nodded abruptly.

“We have met. Hello. I am Yellow Splatters. Do you remember me?”

The Gnoll cub sniffed at Yellow Splatters and frowned. But studied the pattern on his carapace and then nodded. Yellow Splatters hesitated, and Numbtongue nudged him. The slight nod the Hobgoblin gave was enough. The [Sergeant] held out his hand. Mrsha sniffed it, then carefully held out her own paw.

She cautiously shook the offered hand. She nodded at Yellow Splatters, took another sniff at his bowl, and hopped off the table. The [Sergeant] opened and closed his hand as Mrsha scampered away.

“Soft.”

Numbtongue nodded after a moment and went back to shovelling down more of his combination food. After a moment, Yellow Splatters returned to his meal. The Goblin considered the Antinium sitting next to him.

He didn’t understand the Soldiers’ reverence for everything. But he did connect with their love of good food. And more—he spotted a Gnoll passing by holding a bowl.

“Ishkr.”

The Gnoll [Waiter] stopped. Numbtongue reached for the bowl Ishkr was carrying. The Gnoll sighed, but let him have it. The Hobgoblin placed the large bowl in front of Yellow Splatters.

“Try this.”

The Painted Soldier did. His mandibles clicked softly with the first bite.

“Soft. Cold. Wet. And sweet. What is it?”

“Ice cream.”

“It is cold!”

“Yes. Good, right?”

Numbtongue grinned at Yellow Splatters. And he was rewarded by an Antinium smile: mandibles raised and opening. The Hob was pleased—until he heard a voice snap at him.

“Numbtongue! Did you take the entire bowl? Ceria just helped us make that!”

Lyonette had noticed the purloining. The Hob hunched, but she strode over, hands on her hips. He pointed at the bowl as the [Princess] glared down at him.

“Sorry. Can I have some?”

“You already did. You mean for Yellow Splatters? Fine.”

The young woman sighed. Numbtongue brightened.

“Okay. Yellow Splatters. Now try this.”

He scooped the ice cream into the [Sergeant]’s bowl, covered it with Acid Flies, and held it out to Yellow Splatters. Lyonette seemed queasy, but Yellow Splatters took the spoon and began to eat. His mandibles raised.

“Good! Cold and good.”

“Right?”

The Hobgoblin was so pleased Lyonette didn’t have the heart to voice her own opinion on the matter. She turned and saw another young woman making her way across the room. Erin did a double-take at the sight of Goblin and Antinium, then at the ice cream.

“Ooh! That’s like chocolate chip ice cream! Hey, Lyonette, how’d you make—oh. Ew. Those ain’t raisins.”

She paused at the table. Erin and blinked at Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters.

“Hi, Yellow Splatters. And…Numbtongue? You alright?”

“Yup.”

The Hobgoblin barely remembered why Erin would ask. She eyed his muddy, sweaty brow, the scratches on his right arm, and Yellow Splatters. She opened her mouth and then frowned.

“Is that our ice cream?”

The Hobgoblin nodded.

“All of it, yes.”

“And you just turned it into fly cream. Or—no, wait, that’s even worse. Iced flies? Ice fly cream. Ice cream with flies.”

Erin’s tone was, mockingly severe. He hunched his shoulders.

“…Yes? But it’s good.”

To prove it, he took a spoonful of the ice cream and dipped it in the flies. Erin closed her eyes rather than watch the rest. When she opened them, she looked at Numbtongue.

“Well. If you like it, fine. But don’t expect us to eat the crazy stuff you and Yellow Splatters eat. You two are so crazy—”

“We need the rest.”

Lyonette interjected. Numbtongue frowned. Yellow Splatters turned to his Painted Soldiers, who had noticed the strange dessert. Erin blinked at him, then saw Numbtongue silently meeting her eyes. There was a pleading gaze Erin hadn’t ever seen before. She met his eyes, nodded, and then turned to Lyonette.

“Give it to the Painted Soldiers, Lyonette. Let the Pallass group eat cake. Rufelt and Lasica know how to make ice cream anyways.”

“What? Erin!”

Lyonette protested. She met Erin’s eyes, saw the jerk of the head, and the [Princess] blew out her cheeks.

“I—oh, fine! We’ll make more.”

“Sorry.”

Numbtongue hesitated, because Lyonette did seem peeved. The [Princess] shook her head.

“Sorry, Numbtongue. It’s fine, really. And hello, um, Yellow Splatters.”

She waved at the [Sergeant] awkwardly. Erin smiled at the two and followed Lyonette. The Hobgoblin and Soldier clearly heard Erin whispering to Lyonette as they moved backwards.

“It’s just ice cream.”

“Worth six gold! We only have a narrow window to make money—they’re already copying the recipe in Pallass!”

“So? The Antinium can have it. Numbtongue just invented their favorite dessert! Don’t be mean. He’s made a friend!”

Erin glanced back at Numbtongue, and Lyonette relented. Numbtongue, sitting at his table, blinked. A friend? He looked to his side at Yellow Splatters. The Antinium carefully spooned more ice cream covered in flies into his mandibles.

“My visual and auditory senses were improved by my Queen for my new role. However, it usually does not matter. Others seem to forget the Antinium are capable of hearing.”

“Or Goblins.”

Numbtongue nodded. He stared at Yellow Splatters. Again. He’d been sneaking glances all throughout their conversation. No, before that, even. While they’d cleared the Shield Spider nests. Marching to the inn…he’d just been watching Yellow Splatters. And Numbtongue was sure the [Sergeant] was doing the same.

It was hard to tell; the Antinium had eyes like bugs, so all he had to do was turn his head. But they were watching each other, this Goblin and Antinium.

They had exchanged few words since their conversation on the hill. Verbally. But, talk? They’d talked, like about which nest to destroy next. And this chatter about favorite food had come up just before they’d come to the inn. That was the thing that threw Numbtongue every few seconds.

They were chatting. Just chatting about nonsensical things. Favorite food? Numbtongue hadn’t had a favorite food before a month or two ago. His favorite food had been the one he could eat without throwing up later. Any food when he was starving. But now…

He was chatting. Again, the Goblin felt an odd sense of imbalance, as if he’d turned around repeatedly and the world was spinning. Because this was not something that Goblins did. Not something he did.

Look at Mrsha. The Gnoll was experimentally sniffing one of the bowls covered in Acid Fly ice cream. Numbtongue offered her his spoon, and she licked at the ice cream, avoiding the bug bits. He didn’t talk to her. Numbtongue liked Mrsha. And he was, oh, so very grateful that she was willing to talk to him. Goblins had killed her tribe. But he couldn’t talk to her.

“Mrsha, don’t lick that! Numbtongue, don’t encourage her. She gets one dessert, and if she spoils herself, she doesn’t get anything else.”

Lyonette scolded both Goblin and Gnoll as she passed by, serving the precious ice cream to the Painted Soldiers. Both Hob and Gnoll child winced at their table, and Mrsha, making low, insulting growling sounds, made a sign with her paws that made Numbtongue laugh. Lyonette looked back sharply, and Mrsha disappeared as Numbtongue schooled his face to sobriety.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He didn’t chat with Lyonette either. He talked with her, although the [Princess] was very busy. But he did talk with her—Numbtongue had the impression Lyonette was still a bit wary of him. Well, he was wary of her. But they respected each other. And she was one of two people he ever conversed with. The other was—

“No ice cream! Sorry, we’re making more! Give us, uh, five, ten minutes!”

“What?”

Yellow Splatters and Numbtongue looked to the side. Erin was informing Pallass’ crowd of the delay. They were outraged, as were some of the Liscorites. Liscorians? They were giving the Antinium and Numbtongue the stink-eye. Numbtongue didn’t care. His eyes were on Erin. She was shaking her finger at an angry Garuda visible through the magic door.

The portal hurt Numbtongue’s eyes; if you walked to the side, it became two-dimensional until it nearly disappeared. From the back, the door was just…a door. Standing up with a crowd gathered around it. Weird. The portal only activated from the front.

Numbtongue shook his head. Erin. She was moving around the inn, talking to the odd Gnoll that smelled like a dozen potions, Grimalkin, Jelaqua, and the huge armored…Dullahan named Maughin. She was the person that Numbtongue spoke with most often.

No matter what, if she was busy or he was out of the inn all day, Erin always tried to find at least ten minutes, an hour, to talk with Numbtongue. Even if it was only having dinner in the same room like she’d offered tonight. She was kind. But Numbtongue couldn’t chat with Erin.

He talked with her. She was that kind of person. She’d listen to Numbtongue’s adventures seriously, his worries, and what he wanted. When he told her, Numbtongue was sure that Erin was listening. If he had told her about his struggles, about being unhappy in her inn, he was sure Erin would have made resolving his problems a priority of hers. His world became hers. But Numbtongue didn’t want that. He was afraid of Erin’s kindness as much as the hatred of others. He loved to talk with her. But it was talk.

And yet—Numbtongue’s eyes went back to Yellow Splatters. He jumped and realized the Soldier was staring at him. Had been for a while. The Painted Soldier put down his bowl and pushed it forwards. It was cleaned of all flies and melted ice cream completely. Which was impressive; Yellow Splatters couldn’t lick his bowl clean like Numbtongue. The [Sergeant] nodded again.

“They truly do not notice that we listen.”

“Who?”

Numbtongue frowned for a moment before he recalled what Erin had said. He looked around at her and Lyonette rushing back and forth.

“Oh. Friends.”

The [Sergeant] nodded. He delicately reached for a cup with one hand. Two of his other hands were resting on the table; the last was flicking a bit of food from his mandibles. Numbtongue watched, fascinated.

“I have much respect for Erin Solstice. She is…important to Pawn. And to the Painted Antinium. And me. But I believe she is wrong in this regard. We are not friends.”

He paused. Numbtongue blinked at him. The Hobgoblin shrugged.

“Goblins don’t have friends.”

The Antinium nodded.

“Indeed. The concept is foreign to Antinium. It is not a relationship that exists in the Hive.”

“Mhm. Same with Goblins. Goblins have a tribe. Or Goblins are in another tribe. Either way, Goblins are all Goblins. We don’t have friends.”

This time, both Goblin and Antinium nodded. They were on the same wavelength. Goblins didn’t have friends. They were all Goblins. Sometimes you attacked another tribe, but you were all Goblins when you got down to it; you were on the same side. Goblins had too many enemies to make distinctions. And your tribe…Numbtongue thought of his fellow Redfangs and swallowed, though he had nothing to eat. You were friends with everyone in your tribe, or no one.

Yellow Splatters was still nodding.

“We are not friends. We have not established any grounds for friendship as I understand the concept. Nor have we formally declared it. I am also unprepared for such a relationship. I have not studied the subject under Revalantor Klbkch. Thus, we cannot be friends. I apologize if this offends you, Numbtongue.”

The Goblin considered this for only a moment before waving a claw idly.

“I don’t care. I don’t have friends. Except for Erin?”

He and the Antinium considered the [Innkeeper]. Yellow Splatters frowned, which, on the Antinium’s face, was represented by his antennae drooping and mandibles drawing together and lowering.

“Would she qualify as a friend? By that standard, then, all of the Painted Soldiers….”

“Maybe? Maybe she’s not a ‘friend’. Maybe…Lyonette? No. She’s not my friend. Mrsha?”

The two looked around for the Gnoll. Yellow Splatters scratched at one antenna gently.

“I was informed by Revalantor Klbkch that making friends with members of the Antinium not considered fully grown was something of a social fault.”

“Hm. Maybe?”

Yellow Splatters leaned over the table.

“How does one become a friend, anyways? I have heard they exchange blood.”

“Um…Redfangs do that.”

“Really? Are you all friends, then?”

“…No. Wait. Let me think.”

The Hobgoblin sat back, thinking. There it was again. He was chatting with Yellow Splatters. Not talking about something huge and momentous or deeply personal like with Erin. Just…talking about mundane things. Unimportant things, like friendship or favorite foods. It was so novel.

Of course, Numbtongue had done the same with Headscratcher, with Badarrow and Rabbiteater and Shorthilt and the others. But they hadn’t done this. They’d been a team; they didn’t often waste time talking when they could read each other so well. That was why this was so novel.

“Redfangs aren’t friends. Garen would have said so. We’re brothers. Comrades. Warriors. F-family?”

Numbtongue pronounced the word awkwardly. It was one of the first times he’d used it. But Erin had taught him the meaning, and it was true of his old tribe. He looked down into his mug. Yellow Splatters gazed at him, and Numbtongue waited. But all the Antinium did was nod and drink from his own mug.

“Friends. Family. What…refreshing words.”

Numbtongue glanced up sharply.

“Yes. They are.”

The two regarded each other a second time. And there it was. Numbtongue had waited for Yellow Splatters to ask a question. Any question. About the Redfangs. About Numbtongue’s past. About what he was…feeling. And he hadn’t. He didn’t need to ask. What was amazing, what was special, was the way the two knew each other. More than just acquaintances who’d met once before.

They’d fought on the same battlefield. And more—their lives mirrored each other’s. They both understood something Numbtongue could never have explained to Erin or Lyonette. That mattered.

“I have thanked you for saving Falling Snow. I feel I should do so again, and for accompanying me while fulfilling my duties. And for sharing your food.”

Yellow Splatters was getting up from his table. Numbtongue felt a pang. He looked up as the Painted Soldiers noticed and immediately stood with their [Sergeant].

“You’re going?”

“I have no reason to stay. And my absence will allow a Painted Soldier to take my place. They will rotate into the inn so that all may enjoy the experience.”

“Oh.”

The Hobgoblin stared at the [Sergeant]. Yellow Splatters visibly hesitated and glanced around the inn. Back at Numbtongue.

“I could sit longer. I…would not wish to deprive another Soldier of their time above. But…”

He hesitated and looked over. The forty-nine other Soldiers gazed back, and Numbtongue saw them communicating, invisibly, as the Redfangs might. As any Goblins would. He envied them and hurt at the same time. Yellow Splatters turned back to Numbtongue after a moment.

“I will stay. To acquire more information. If you would agree to keep me company?”

He watched Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin smiled. And as Yellow Splatters sat back down and leaned over the table, Numbtongue realized something. He wasn’t feeling unhappy. It still hurt, but he wasn’t dissatisfied. He was…he lifted his mug and sipped it, then noticed it was empty. Numbtongue absently waved at Drassi for a refill. For him and Yellow Splatters. The [Sergeant] accepted a mug with a free hand.

“So. What have you been doing since the battle against the Goblin Lord? I was dead.”

——

At first, it was just a continuation to the thirty minutes they’d sat and talked. Then an hour. And then two. By two and a half hours, Numbtongue had to pee. He got up, wandered out of The Wandering Inn, and joined the queue for the outhouses. There were five now; apparently, two had just been dug. Even so, Gnolls and Drakes were standing in line, and Numbtongue was grateful for the distance between each outhouse. It made the sounds a bit less…pronounced.

One of the outhouses had been built to accommodate a half-Giant. It was that one Numbtongue was in line for; he liked the space. The door opened, and Maughin stepped out. Or rather, his body did. His head was still chatting with Jelaqua in the inn.

Numbtongue and the Drakes and Gnolls stepped out of the way, but the Dullahan’s body had some kind of instinctual awareness because he walked calmly back to the inn without any uncertainty.

“Ancestors, that’s creepy.”

One of the Drakes in line muttered. A Gnoll in front of him nodded and sniffed, then made a face.

“Ergh. That was a mistake.”

“You Gnolls have it rough around here, huh?”

The Drake seemed sympathetic. The Gnoll just grimaced.

“Well, we grow up smelling everything. This is hardly worse. But whatever that Dullahan ate—”

“Don’t talk to me about it. I just had lunch. I’ll tell you one thing, though, those forges Pallass has. If those Dullahans can work steel everyday like I saw them doing this morning—makes you think.”

“That Lism’s right? Or Krshia?”

“I don’t know! It just makes you think.”

The Drake grimaced. He glanced across another line at a nodding Drake and then turned his head.

“It’s weird. I know it’s because it’s the crazy Human doing it, but she is our crazy Human. What do you th—”

He stared at Numbtongue and froze. He must not have seen the Hobgoblin, or mistaken green skin for scales. The Gnoll jumped when he spotted Numbtongue as well. The [Bard] looked at them as they edged closer to the big outhouse and closed his mouth. He said nothing, and the line moved a lot faster. And no one got into line behind Numbtongue until he was done with his business and walking back to the inn.

That soured Numbtongue’s mood. It was still the same. So, when he sat down across from Yellow Splatters, he didn’t immediately speak. Which was fine; the Antinium was waxing eloquent after two hours of speaking.

“There you are. I was waiting for your return. Did you know that Erin Solstice is considering selling the Hive’s supply of Rxlvn?”

“What?”

“Our alcohol. It is…potent. I believe it is technically classified as a poison, but Miss Solstice has expressed interest in it. I was saying that I believed it would leave an impact.”

Numbtongue nodded restlessly.

“Maybe.”

He glanced at Yellow Splatters. The [Sergeant] was in a good mood, but Numbtongue was suddenly miserable again. Restlessly, the Goblin carved into the table with his claws, scratching the softer wood. He could feel eyes on him again. Of course, they’d been staring all this time. But his visit to the bathroom had refocused them on him and Yellow Splatters. The Antinium was getting looks, of course, but it was on Numbtongue, the Goblin, that they were harshest.

Some of the Drakes by the door to Pallass had seen Numbtongue pass by on his way in and out. They were speaking to the people on the other side, explaining. Justifying. Numbtongue could catch fragments of the conversation.

“…well, yes, but—you know, about the battle…?”

“—not saying that I would personally—not allowed in the city, of course not! There was an incident—”

“Never in Pallass. Well, it’s just one. There were others, an entire damn tribe. Thankfully—”

The Hobgoblin’s grip tightened on the table. Yellow Splatters noticed, and both turned to the doors and the speakers there. They shut up.

Drakes and Gnolls gazed across the inn at the duo. Some were just talking, enjoying themselves, watching the play. But too many went silent and still as they noticed the Goblin and Antinium looking. And silence was a plague. It spread.

As she circulated the room, Erin heard the sound die down. She frowned around and saw the source. She might not have known what had caused Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters to go silent, but she could see the tenseness. She began to push her way through the crowd. Too slowly; a Drake made uncomfortable by the staring Hobgoblin decided to make his voice heard. He stood up a touch unsteadily, and the alcohol slurred his tongue a bit.

“Hey! What’re you looking at, Goblin? And you—Antinium!”

The rest of the room fell silent. Temile, on stage with his cast, paused, and every head turned to the source of the shout. Numbtongue shrugged, a Goblin’s catch-all answer.

“Just looking.”

“Oh yeah? Look somewhere else. I can’t enjoy my drinks with a Goblin watching me.”

The Drake glared and tried to make a rude gesture. Erin pushed her way past a group of Gnolls.

“Hey! If you have a problem with Numbtongue, you can get out! Other people can take your place!”

“I’m not killing him. I read the sign. Just because I’m tolerating his presence doesn’t mean I have to put up with him staring. See? He’s still doing it!”

The Drake pointed angrily at Numbtongue. To be fair, the Hobgoblin was glaring. Erin hesitated. She looked at the Drake. He was drunk, and he had faded green scales mixed a bit with blue. Erin folded her arms.

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t say mean things. I bet that’s why he’s glaring.”

“Mean things? What, like the fact that it’s good that Goblins are banned from the city? Good. Pallass doesn’t let Goblins in. Why should Liscor? I’m fine with Dullahans and those bird-people, but Goblins? No. Never.”

The Drake took another drink, ignoring Erin’s glare. Worse, his words had a lot of silent support. Numbtongue looked around. He was tense. Erin just got mad. She thrust a finger at the Drake’s snout, and he recoiled.

“Hey, I’m drinking here!”

“Hey yourself, buddy! You say that one more time, and you’re out! In fact, I should kick you out! Numbtongue fought for Liscor! His friends died because he helped stop the Goblin Lord! Goblins attacked Liscor and—”

“Shut up!”

The Drake hurled his glass onto the ground. It smashed, and Erin leapt back. She opened her mouth furiously, and at another table, Relc stood up with a groan. He abandoned Grimalkin and Embria and stepped forwards at the same time as Ishkr.

“Alright, buddy. You’re drunk. Why don’t you pay up for the cup and liquid and leave?”

He raised his claws placatingly. The drunk Drake wavered. He might have gone without more than a fuss, but Erin was eying the broken glass and looking back at Numbtongue. She turned back and raised her voice.

“Yeah! Get out! We don’t need racist jerks here. Goblins aren’t all bad, you know!”

The Drake stopped as he fumbled for his coin pouch, swearing. Slowly, he gazed up at Erin. His drunk anger faded and became something soberer. Darker. He pointed at Erin as Relc barred his way.

“Not all bad? Goblins killed my sister.”

The room went silent. Erin’s furious mouth closed slowly. Relc hesitated. The drunk Drake glanced around.

“I’m being unreasonable? Me? I’m sitting in the same inn as that thing because I wanted to talk to my brother.”

He pointed unsteadily through the door.

“I didn’t come here to cause a fight. But that thing’s here. Staring at me. You know what Goblins did, Miss Human? They killed my sister. My best friend. They were just travelling from our village to the city. It was a two hour walk! You could see them from the walls. But a bunch of Goblins killed them. Stabbed them to death and tried to eat them. You monsters.”

He directed that last at Numbtongue, spitting in his general direction. All eyes fastened on the Goblin. Relc, looking around, made a judgment call.

“Alright, pal. We get it. That’s terrible. Really. But you’re drunk—”

“Get your claws off me!”

The Drake shoved at Relc but failed to make the [Guardsman] fall back. He swore as Relc manhandled him towards the door.

“You didn’t save her! The City Watch saw everything, and they didn’t stop it!”

“We can’t be everywhere. Keep walking.”

“Are Goblins supposed to be safe? Huh? I’m letting this one stay! Aren’t I the reasonable one? I’m not seeking vengeance. But why do I have to pretend that this thing isn’t dangerous? Goblins killed my sister! What do you have to say to that, Hob, huh?”

“Don’t answer that.”

Relc snapped at Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin ignored Relc. He stared at the struggling Drake and around at the silent room. The judging eyes. Slowly, Numbtongue stood up. He called across the room at the Drake.

“Humans killed my parents.”

The Drake paused. Relc swore under his breath. Now the conversation had two sides. The drunk Drake shouted at Numbtongue.

“Oh yeah? Join the club! I’m not a Human, though. So if you think that—”

“Drakes killed my tribe.”

Numbtongue interrupted the Drake. He slowly pointed at Relc. The [Guardsman] paused.

“That one killed my Chieftain.”

Numbtongue’s finger pointed right, towards Embria.

“That one killed thousands of my people. Because you didn’t open the gates after we stopped the Goblin Lord.”

Embria looked up. Unlike Relc, there was little guilt in her eyes. Numbtongue gazed around the room and then back at the angry Drake.

“I didn’t kill your…sister. Or friend. I didn’t know the Goblins who did. I’m not them. And your—people—killed more Goblins. Why should I tolerate you?”

He folded his arms almost triumphantly. Daring the Drake to come up with a response. He couldn’t, Numbtongue was sure. But that surety—after a second of hesitation, a sneer crossed the Drake’s face.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re monsters. You can pretend you’re not. You can even speak. But everyone knows what Goblin Kings and Goblin Lords do. A few of you can be tamed. But that’s all.”

Numbtongue’s eyes widened. He took a step forwards, and Erin blocked his way. She glared at the Drake and then around uneasily.

“Alright! That’s it! Relc, toss this guy out!”

“I need the magic door. He’ll just roll down the hill and come back up.”

Relc pointed to the open door as he restrained the struggling Drake. Erin nodded as Lyonette rushed over to change the setting. Relc didn’t budge as the Drake tried to elbow him and stomp on one foot. He had the drunk in a headlock. But the Drake could still shout. He cast one eye at Numbtongue.

“Go on! Kick me out! But everyone knows I’m right! Maybe Goblins can be safe! One or two. But no one’ll ever let a tribe stay around Liscor in peace! You know why? Because of the Goblin King! And it doesn’t matter how many of you die. Because Goblins—Goblins are animals. Get it? We’re Drakes. And Gnolls. And even damned Humans. We’re not animals, so we count. You don’t. Get it?”

Numbtongue opened his mouth. But he didn’t know what to say. He clenched his fists, and Erin grabbed him. The Drake just laughed at the Hobgoblin’s expression.

“I’m right! See? It can’t even respond. See? I—”

Relc adjusted his hold, and the Drake’s supply of wind cut off abruptly. He choked, and Lyonette raised her head as the portal in the magic door changed.

“Door’s open!”

“Finally.”

Relc grunted and heaved. The Drake flew through the door, scattering a crowd of potential guests. They stared into the inn as Relc glanced over his shoulder. Numbtongue was shaking. His mouth was still open, but he didn’t know what to say. He’d never had to argue like that before. And he’d—

“It’s just a drunk guy. I guess Goblins did kill his family. But he’s wrong.”

Erin looked around in the silence. She met everyone’s eye, but few were looking straight at her. A Gnoll from Liscor murmured as Lyonette silently let people into the inn.

“He might be. But he came to the inn peacefully, Miss Solstice. Didn’t do more than complain. Which he has a right to, no? He lost his sister and friend. That he came here, knowing a Goblin was present, shows he was on your side. And Krshia’s.”

“So he has the right to say that to Numbtongue?”

Erin snapped back. The Gnoll didn’t reply. He turned away from her. And he didn’t leave, but the silence in the room grew more pronounced. Numbtongue looked around. He stared at the faces, some calm, some judging. Others, like Grimalkin, weighing him on some imaginary scale. And he hated it. Most of all, though, he hated the ones standing at the back, in a group of their own.

Bevussa, Keldrass, Earlia of Gemhammer, and Nailren of Kelia’s Pride. More—the Horns of Hammerad. A few other Silver-rank teams. Adventurers. They said nothing. But their expressions told Numbtongue what they thought. Here was a ‘safe’ Goblin. One they wouldn’t kill.

One, and only one.

It was the same as yesterday. The same as the one time he’d gone to Liscor. Numbtongue clenched his fists, aware of every person who drew back when they saw that and his bared teeth. He searched for the right words. But he didn’t have them. He wished he could tell that Drake how wrong he was. Tell him of the Goblins he called animals. Numbtongue wished he could show him. But the others were dead and gone. And he…

The Hobgoblin moved. People jumped out of his way as Numbtongue stormed towards the stairs. Up them, towards his room. Erin ran after him, but no one else moved. They watched as he disappeared upstairs. And then Erin. And then the big Soldier got up and followed both. After a few more moments, someone told a joke, the inn laughed, and it got back to normal.

The Goblin was gone. But upstairs, the Goblin was always there. And he was always a Goblin.

——

Yellow Splatters stood behind Erin, listening. Just listening to Numbtongue and her talk. She was standing in the hallway outside his room. Numbtongue was standing in the doorway, Yellow Splatters closer to the stairs. The sounds of the merry common room drifted up. But above, the air was colder. More painful.

Numbtongue was upset as he stood in the doorway. He had just stood there when Erin and Yellow Splatters found him. He hadn’t slammed the door or hid in his room. That was a thing for Human children. A door couldn’t stop an adventurer with a crossbow or a spell. You had to stand and fight or run far away. And he had lost that fight. Yellow Splatters had seen his face.

Intriguing. The Soldier had never considered a fight could be won with words. But these ones had left invisible wounds. Erin was trying to mend them now, but it wasn’t working.

“It was just one Drake, Numbtongue. He won’t come back. I’ll make sure of it.”

“They all think that way.”

“Not all. Relc’s trying. You didn’t have to…I know what he did. But I think he’d even apologize if—”

“For Garen? He can say sorry to Garen, not me. If sorry brings back dead Goblins.”

Numbtongue sneered, his fists clenched. Erin fell silent. She looked at him helplessly, angry and upset for him. Yellow Splatters saw that too. That was what drove the Antinium to Erin. The fact that she would be angry or sad or happy with them. For them. But now it wasn’t helping.

“You don’t have to—no. I mean—I know it’s hard. If there’s anything I can…what can I do to help, Numbtongue?”

“Let me go to Liscor.”

The Goblin’s head rose with burning eyes. Erin wavered.

“You can’t. I’m sorry. I talked it over with Zevara, Numbtongue. You’ll be in danger.”

“Don’t care.”

“You can’t fight them. Any one of them could hit you with a stone or cast a spell or stab you—”

“I don’t care. I want to go.”

“Why? What’s Liscor got? I can get you anything, Numbtongue! What do you want?”

“I don’t know. I want to go there and find out.”

The Goblin turned his head and stared out his window at the city in the distance. Erin bit her lip hard. She didn’t know what to say. Numbtongue turned back and gazed past her at Yellow Splatters. The Soldier raised a hand.

“If I am intruding, I will remove myself.”

Erin jumped. She hadn’t realized he was here. Numbtongue just laughed, and a flicker of envy entered his eyes.

“You can go into Liscor. Do they stare at you there? Do they say things? Like…”

He gestured to the stairs. The Painted Soldier paused, his arms folded.

“They stare. But they stare everywhere. I have not been addressed like you are. I understand that you are banned from Liscor.”

“Yes. They close the gates before I can get in.”

The Hobgoblin clenched his fists, staring blackly ahead. Erin’s face fell.

“You went again? Why does it matter?”

“They died for Liscor. I can’t go in.”

Numbtongue’s claws dug into his flesh. Erin opened her mouth, but it was Yellow Splatters who tilted his head. The Soldier had been enjoying his conversation with Numbtongue. He felt a kinship to the Goblin. But this line of thought confused him.

“Why does it matter? Is the worth of Goblins—and their deaths—truly linked to your right to be in Liscor? Is that what they all died for?”

Erin gasped. Numbtongue’s eyes narrowed, and he tensed. But then he focused on Yellow Splatters and, slowly, relaxed. From anyone else, the question might have stung. But Yellow Splatters returned the gaze calmly. After a moment, Numbtongue blinked. The Hobgoblin exhaled and shook his head.

“It’s not about Liscor. We—the Redfangs, the Flooded Waters tribe didn’t fight for Liscor. We fought because the Goblin Lord was bad. Bad Goblin. And for you.”

He looked at Erin. Her face went pale. Numbtongue turned from her to Yellow Splatters. The Soldier nodded.

“We fought and died for Erin Solstice as well. As Pawn requested. This is a fact and what I understood of Goblins. So why does access to Liscor matter?”

The young woman looked from Goblin to Antinium. Suddenly she was unsteady on her feet. Numbtongue shook his head. He pointed at Liscor.

“So they do not forget. So they cannot forget.”

And the pieces clicked. For Yellow Splatters, they fit together in a moment. It took Erin longer.

“Oh.”

She softly uttered the word. Numbtongue looked at her.

“They say Drakes saved the city. Or…they fought off the Humans. They forget. But I am here. We were here! They stop talking about Goblins! About the Redfangs, the Flooded Waters tribe. They forget. The ones in the city, who never come here. They forget. Why can I not remind them? Why can I not go there when we all died—”

His voice trailed off. That was it. It wasn’t that he needed to be there. He probably didn’t even want to go. But it was that he couldn’t. To Yellow Splatters, it was like knowing there was sky. And never being able to go above again.

The [Sergeant] considered the Hobgoblin standing across from him. He didn’t know what to say. Numbtongue’s pain wasn’t his own. His cause wasn’t Yellow Splatters'. He did not matter to the Free Antinium. And still—the Soldier slowly uncrossed his arms.

“The Antinium fought the Goblin Lord for Liscor. So did the Goblins. To not say that is a lie. We died. And we were there.”

He touched his chest with one hand and pointed two. At Numbtongue and at Erin. Her face was white, but the Goblin only nodded. He met Yellow Splatters' gaze.

“They died. All of them. You. And me. My Chieftain. Headscratcher. Shorthilt. Spiderslicer. Noears. Reiss. Pyrite.”

“Glorious Sun. Grassleaves. Six and Five. Red and White Flowers. Cold Blue.”

Yellow Splatters nodded. The Soldiers’ colors, their symbols, flashed in his mind. Numbtongue looked at him. And the Hobgoblin’s wide eyes conveyed a message without words.

You were there. You understand. You remember. Yellow Splatters nodded. He reached out, and Numbtongue clasped his hand gently. Both of them heard a small sound and turned.

Erin was crying. She wiped at her eyes as water flowed from them. It was another strange sight. Yellow Splatters stared at Erin’s face. And—strangely—he felt uncomfortable. Pained. As if the tears were hurting him. It was like looking at a wounded Soldier or Worker. He touched his chest, averted his gaze. But the pain in his chest didn’t clear. And Erin kept crying.

“I’m sorry. I know I asked you, but I—I thought—I’m sorry—”

She hiccupped and then began crying and hiccupping. Numbtongue looked at her helplessly. He shook his head as Erin turned to him.

“That’s not—”

Numbtongue looked at Yellow Splatters. The Antinium saw his mouth working, and the words came into his mind first. He looked at Erin.

“It is not grief we seek, Erin Solstice. The cost was paid. Antinium and Goblins died. But if we were faced with the same choice, we would do it again. We won.”

Numbtongue closed his mouth. A flicker of something—a smile—tugged at his expression. He nodded. Erin shook her head. She was still crying.

“I—no. No. It was—”

She broke off and kept sobbing. But the tears didn’t last. Numbtongue awkwardly patted Erin on the back. She hugged him. Yellow Splatters looked at the Goblin’s face and gently copied Numbtongue, patting her on the back. And he met Numbtongue’s eyes.

That was what they couldn’t explain to Erin. The tears matched. But he and Numbtongue had something she didn’t understand. Pride. The dead had not died in vain. All of what followed—Yellow Splatters' resolve, Numbtongue’s desire for the dead to be remembered, to enter Liscor—stemmed from that.

They had not died in vain.

Yellow Splatters kept patting Erin until she let go of Numbtongue. The young woman dried her face. She looked helplessly at them and sniffed.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Numbtongue. I wasn’t thinking of how you felt.”

“It’s fine. Go lie down. Sleep.”

Numbtongue pointed to Erin’s room across from him. She wavered.

“No. I should get downstairs. Although—”

She noticed her wet apron and shirt. Numbtongue eyed her.

“Lyonette will be upset if you go down. Mrsha will howl.”

“Probably. And I guess everyone else will want to—maybe I’ll lie down. You’re sure you don’t want to talk?”

“Sure.”

The Hobgoblin smiled. Erin wavered, but he ushered her gently and insistently into the room. She eventually went, promising she’d be out in a little bit. The door closed, and Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters looked at each other. And again, they felt at ease. Yellow Splatters stepped into Numbtongue’s room, and the Goblin closed the door so they wouldn’t bother Erin.

“They can’t forget. Ever.”

He meant Liscor in the distance. It was different from Yellow Splatters. He shook his head.

“Memory matters little to the Antinium. We desire the expansion of our Hive. Revalantor Klbkch has a plan, and I am helping to carry that out. I deem it worthy. But that is not what concerns me. The Painted Soldiers. My unit. We were weak. We are weak, still. But I was given a chance to strive again. So I will—I must become stronger.”

He held Numbtongue’s gaze. The Hobgoblin clenched a fist, understanding at once.

“Strong enough for all to not die next time?”

Yellow Splatters nodded.

“Yes. That is it exactly. I have more to protect. My…people need me to be strong. So I must be strong.”

The Goblin [Bard] smiled for a second. A trace of bitterness flickered in his eyes.

“Good plan. Doesn’t work for me. Mine are dead. Or gone.”

“Then why do you stay? What keeps you moving? What reason do you have to be alive?”

The question had no rancor; it was just a question from one warrior to another. Numbtongue smiled. He pointed at the door.

“Someone has to stay. To protect…”

“Ah.”

That was the beauty. He didn’t have to explain why Erin had to live. Why her life could justify the countless dead. Yellow Splatters understood. He reached out and made a fist. Numbtongue stared at it, gently perplexed. The Soldier spoke calmly.

“It is good you remain here. You are strong. I have a strong body, gifted to me by the Free Queen. Thus, I am stronger than when I died. But I must level. That is what I intend to do. I lost all but six levels when I died. I have regained five already; I intend to reach Level 20 within the month.”

“To be strong. To be the strongest.”

Another nod. The Soldier kept his fist extended towards Numbtongue’s chest.

“I must be the strongest of them all. And make them stronger. But do it with…kindness. I failed once before. It will not happen again.”

“Good. Be strong.”

Numbtongue reached out. His own fist extended, and Yellow Splatters nodded. They bumped fists gently. Yellow Splatters regarded Numbtongue, his head tilting slightly back and forth.

“I understand now why you are here. But what will you do? Train? Level? If you wish it, it would be possible for you to fight against local threats and patrol with the Painted Antinium. Your company would be enjoyable.”

Numbtongue wavered. He was pleased at the offer, but he shook his head in the end.

“No good.”

“Why?”

Yellow Splatters was honestly confused. Numbtongue struggled to explain. The best he could do was talking about the images in his head. The inferiority he felt when he picked up a sword.

“I know a strong Goblin. The strongest. He fought the…Human. Lord Tyrion. He stopped him. He was stronger than me. And he died. How can I be that strong? I am a [Bard].”

Pyrite. Shorthilt. Headscratcher. Each had been stronger than Numbtongue. And each was dead. He wasn’t as gifted as they had been in combat. And his class…Numbtongue closed his eyes and shook his head. Yellow Splatters regarded him.

“But they are dead. You could surpass their levels in time. Does a [Bard] not become strong?”

“Not like a [Sergeant]. Or…[Warrior].”

“Really. What does your class do?”

The Hobgoblin shrugged.

“Lightning from the skies. But mostly—makes music. It helps a bit. Makes animals not bite. But it isn’t like…[Warmaster]. [Chieftain]. Or even [Savage Warrior]. Those are strong classes.”

“Really. They are not ones I am familiar with. But I do not know many classes.”

That surprised Numbtongue. He shook his head.

“I know lots. What do you have? [Sergeant]? Not a Goblin class. But could have…[Spear Soldier]. [First Sergeant]. [Captain]. At…Level 20? If you can upgrade. But [Warrior] classes are good. Sometimes better. [Sergeant] is officer. Good for leading, but sometimes weaker. Sometimes strong.”

“You know a lot about classes.”

“We had many. I was just a [Warrior]. But Garen knew many classes, and there were many in my tribe. The Redfangs wer—are strong.”

“Stronger than the Antinium. At least, individually.”

Another nod. It came from both sides. Yellow Splatters was under no illusions. He sat on Numbtongue’s chair while the Hobgoblin sat on the bed, cross-legged.

“The power of the Antinium lies in our numbers. We die by the hundreds to kill a single high-level foe. This tactic…works. But it is not acceptable. The Painted Antinium—no, all Antinium must live. And yet, how do we overcome this difficulty? The Antinium have no [Mages]. No capacity for fighting at range. At least, the Free Antinium do not. I envy your levels, Numbtongue. The Antinium are too low-level, too focused in one area. We have [Archers] now. But magic is…if we fight the Goblin Lord a second time, we will die by the hundreds or thousands to bring him down.”

That was the [Sergeant]’s nightmare. Even if they tunneled, the Goblin Lord might collapse their tunnels, use the same spells to blast apart their ranks. It terrified him. The Hobgoblin sat on his bed quietly, listening to Yellow Splatters' fears. At last, he shrugged slightly. Not out of indifference, though. He looked at Yellow Splatters.

“Do you have sneaky Antinium?”

“Sneaky Antinium?”

The [Bard] nodded.

“It’s how the Redfangs fought. We lost our [Shaman]. So we just used traps. Gold-rank Adventurers love teams with [Mages]. So we learn to attack them from one side. Ambush them—use big rocks or artifacts or sneaky Goblins to break their barriers. Then it’s easy. One arrow and—”

He mimed being struck in the chest. Yellow Splatters paused.

“I understand the Silent Antinium are a…Hive specializing in sneak attacks. But their forces are not part of the Free Antinium, or so Klbkch has explained to me. But you use traps? Belgrade makes traps. Tell me more. You are much more experienced than I.”

“Oh?”

Numbtongue was surprised. And pleased. He shrugged again, and then looked around. He went over to his desk. Erin had given him any number of things to occupy himself with. Snacks, a jar of cookies, parchment, ink, quills, a nail file—he grabbed the parchment and a quill and ink and brought it over. It was largely unused, although Yellow Splatters saw some lyrics on one sheet. Numbtongue unrolled the parchment and dipped his quill in the inkpot.

“Hm. This is how Redfangs attack [Mages]. Very easy? See? Pit trap here, archers here with cover, boulders here with slope, oh. Poison arrows. And Carn Wolf [Riders] here—and sometimes angry beehives. Or exploding things like Tripvine bags. Simple. Anyone can do. What do you want to know?”

Yellow Splatters stared at the trap. He hesitated, and then he raised three hands.

“Please explain everything.”

——

Life had its ups and downs. You didn’t win every fight. And sometimes you cried. But the trick was to keep moving. To pick yourself up again. That was why, after about forty minutes, Erin Solstice was able to leave her room and go downstairs with a smile on her face and reassure her friends. She’d had a few more tears, a handkerchief to blow her nose, and a nap. And really, it wasn’t her that she was worried about. It was Numbtongue.

She’d expected the Hobgoblin to be somewhere else. But to her surprise, he was in his room. He hadn’t even gone downstairs. Erin cautiously poked her head into the room, holding a tray with two mugs of tea.

“Heeeey, guys. How’s it going? Um—everyone okay? Sorry for going off like that. Anyone want a drink?”

Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters looked up. Erin blinked as she saw them sitting on his bed and chair. They’d dragged the table over and were gathered around it. The young woman smiled.

“Oh wow! You two are really getting along!”

“Hi.”

Numbtongue gave Erin a smile and accepted the tea. He seemed to be over his earlier frustration, and he’d clearly been absorbed by some kind of discussion with Yellow Splatters. Erin peered at the parchment as Yellow Splatters took a mug.

“Whatcha working on? Ooh, are those maps?”

“Tactics.”

Numbtongue tugged at one bit of parchment, looking slightly put upon as Erin peered around the table. She was clearly intruding. Erin made out a list of what looked like classes and Skills. And then she identified some of the drawings. Numbtongue wasn’t exactly an [Artist], and he was no [Tactician], so his picture of a Goblin stabbing an adventurer in the back was crude. But it got the point across.

Erin’s face fell a bit. She glanced up at the Goblin and Antinium.

“…You’re discussing fighting? Really? Nothing else?”

They looked at her blankly. What else would they talk about? Erin sighed, but she smiled.

“I’m glad. Hey, you could go downstairs. If you want! Or I can get you a snack.”

“I ate.”

“And I have imbibed adequate sustenance.”

“Right. Okay! Well, glad to see you two are making friends. Don’t let me bother you!”

Erin stepped back. Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters turned to look at her. After a second, Numbtongue coughed. Erin blinked.

“Oh my god. I’m my mom.”

Numbtongue blinked.

“What?”

“I have to go. Sorry. I’m cramping your style! Oh no…I’m a mom. Wait, does that mean Lyonette’s the dad? Or the bossy older sister? Am I the dad?”

Erin groaned and slapped her forehead. Completely lost, Yellow Splatters and Numbtongue exchanged a glance. But they were relieved when she was gone. It wasn’t that Erin wasn’t welcome—it was just that both were well aware of how distracting she could be. And this was serious business. They leaned over the table again. Yellow Splatters nodded.

“Back to our discussion. Survival rates among the Soldiers is typically low when encountering powerful monsters. Belgrade’s traps do work well—I will suggest the ones you use to him. We also have magical items, but I am certain Revalantor Klbkch will not allow their use.”

Numbtongue nodded.

“Can make slings, though. Slings are good.”

“Indeed. I am not sure if a Worker can swing four slings at once, but that is a viable experiment.”

Numbtongue laughed, trying to imagine that. Yellow Splatters politely smiled. They’d been discussing how to fight, and to Numbtongue’s surprise, it was actually…fun. Talking about Redfang tactics and survival strategies with someone who appreciated them. Right up until you realized they might all die in one of the scenarios they were laying out.

The Painted Antinium were certainly unlike any tribe Numbtongue had met. They could overwhelm a foe just like Goblins, but their Workers and Soldiers were all a lot stronger than the average Goblin. By the same token, though, they didn’t have strong Hobs or Chieftains, with the exception of Yellow Splatters. That complicated things, especially if your goal was to keep as many alive as possible.

Something occurred to Numbtongue as he looked at Yellow Splatters' description of the Painted Antinium’s forces. Bow unit, low-level [Soldiers]…he looked up sharply, realizing there was an obvious discrepancy besides a lack of magic users and more sneaky and ranged types.

“You know what you need?”

“What?”

Yellow Splatters leaned forwards again. He was more decisive than the Workers, but when he listened to Numbtongue, he was a very attentive student who asked a lot of questions. Numbtongue grinned and tapped his belt. Next to the small satchel holding his mined treasures was a vial. He pulled it out and showed Yellow Splatters.

“Potions. Potions are good. All your Soldiers should have potions. Redfangs use potions.”

“I am intrigued. Tell me more.”

Numbtongue gave him a blank look.

“Potions. You use them. You heal. Or get effects. Like…spitting fire. Potions are good.”

Yellow Splatters hesitated.

“The Antinium do not use potions. Ever.”

“Really? What if you get hurt?”

“We have a healing gel. That we seldom use. Soldiers have a recovery area. There they live or die.”

Numbtongue shook his head. That sounded like a poor Goblin tribe.

“Potions heal everything fast.”

“So I understand. And the Hive has a supply. A very…large supply, in fact. But Revalantor Klbkch has designated such stores off-limits except in case of war or emergency.”

“Okay. So get more.”

“How?”

“Steal? Kill adventurers? Or…buy?”

“Buy?”

The Hobgoblin nodded uncertainly. He wasn’t completely in on this concept either. But since the first two options weren’t viable around Liscor—

“Potions cost money. You have money, right?”

“I have a stipend allocated to me by Klbkch, yes.”

“Can you buy a potion with it?”

Yellow Splatters opened his mandibles slowly.

“…I have never purchased anything except for food from Miss Erin. Have you?”

“No…”

They stared at each other. Antinium and Goblins didn’t buy anything. But the thought was beguiling. And Numbtongue had seen Lyonette coming in with food that she’d bought with the shiny coins Erin gave to him. Yellow Splatters had seen the same while marching through the city.

“You have coins.”

“Yup. See?”

Numbtongue found some silver and two gold coins stuffed in his desk. Erin had paid him for guarding the inn along with the other Redfangs. They’d been keepsakes. Useless. Until now. Yellow Splatters produced his own money pouch. He poured the coins onto the table. Numbtongue stared at the bronze, silver, and gold. Yellow Splatters stared at the pile and him.

“…Is that enough for a potion?”

“Maybe? Maybe one.”

The Hobgoblin had no idea. He thought about asking Erin. Did she know how much a potion was worth? Maybe Ceria? Yellow Splatters opened his mandibles and clicked, clearing his throat.

“I could…attempt to look at some in Liscor. However, I do not know if the [Alchemists] there would allow me into their stores. Obtaining potions…that would be very useful. Very.”

Numbtongue nodded. Potions were every Goblin’s dream. You could save your life with one. Even the Redfangs, who were rich, had coveted every bottle they found. Speaking of which…Numbtongue frowned at his belt. He had two healing potions. And another stashed under his pillow. Erin had given them to him, but she’d gotten hers from—his eyes widened.

“Want to look at some? I know a place.”

“In Liscor? You are banned from the city.”

Numbtongue scowled and then suppressed it.

“No. But I think—we can go there. Follow me.”

Casually, he left his room and went downstairs. Yellow Splatters swept his and Numbtongue’s money into his pouch and followed. Erin was downstairs, serving guests. They looked at Numbtongue when he came down, but no one caused a scene this time.

“Erin. Can we go somewhere? With the door?”

Numbtongue innocently walked over to Erin. She looked around suspiciously, but when she heard what he wanted, she nodded after a moment.

“Sure. I mean, if you’re just visiting her. Don’t let her rip you off! Tell you what—the Pallass crowd’ll riot if I don’t keep the door open there. But I can let you two through and…check on you in ten minutes? Just tell Octavia that if she scams you, I’ll rip off her arm or something. Got it?”

Numbtongue nodded eagerly. He beckoned to Yellow Splatters, and Erin pushed her way towards the magic door. Lyonette looked anxious as Erin changed the door, let the Hobgoblin and Antinium through, and then came back.

“You’re sure that’s fine, Erin? Shouldn’t one of us go with them? Or at least one of the Horns?”

“It’s fine. It’s just Octavia. Numbtongue promised to stay in her shop. And I’ll head over as soon as I finish setting up the fondue. Relc’s gonna love this. Hey, Relc!”

Erin waved and turned. It was just five minutes. Ten or fifteen at most. She’d be over as soon as she finished melting the cheese in the big pot. Pisces was providing the flame, and Erin had already equipped Mrsha, Ceria, Yvlon, and Ksmvr with some long forks to dip sausage into the cheesy goodness. Relc was beaming as he rushed over with Embria following, and Erin was smiling too. She’d introduce the wonders of fondue to the inn, then pop over to Stitchworks and…deal with Octavia for a bit.

It never occurred to her to worry. Right up until her [Dangersense] started going off, that was.

——

It was past lunch in Celum. And Stitchworks, the [Alchemist]’s shop owned by Octavia Cotton, was not open. It was still closed despite the [Alchemist] being awake. She sat in her shop, and for once, she was too tired to make a sale.

She knew she had to. The day’s payment had been twelve silver. More than half a gold coin! For an [Alchemist], it was doable. But Octavia had to sell and sell well to get ahead of that. Let alone make money.

“But what’s the point? I might as well pack up rather than keep on here.”

Dully, Octavia stared at her racks of potions. The magical glow they gave off was usually enough to cheer her up. But today the colors just looked pale. Fake. Octavia was an [Alchemist]. She could see the low quality of her own potions.

She used to think she made up for quality with quantity, an affordable margin for both her customers and herself. She’d liked to imagine she was making her mark in Izril, despite the competition. Today? She wished she’d never left Chandrar.

Octavia stared at her potions. Then she stared out the boarded-up window of her shop. There were slits in the imperfect covering, but the pane of glass in her door also gave her a view of the street. She could see them out there. They were watching her.

The [Alchemist]’s eyes flicked to her shelves. To the door. Then to another door set in the back of her shop. It was a magic door. Or at least, the mana stone glittering in the doorframe was magic. But if Octavia opened the door, it would just reveal a wall. It wasn’t connected to Liscor at the moment. So she couldn’t just run through with all her gold and potions.

Even if she could, then what? Octavia shook her head. Assume she could get her gold, her equipment, and all her ingredients and wares through. She was still out the cost of her shop. Not to mention she’d have to set up in Liscor. If they even accepted String-people. And would Erin let Octavia stay? Or—if Octavia opened the door and asked, begged for help…

No. Octavia shook her head and slowly got up. She went over to her shop sign and slowly changed it. Erin wasn’t going to come to her rescue. She, Octavia, had given up on the thought. Why ask? Octavia hadn’t gotten anyone she knew to slow down and hear her out. Bad pitches, bad timing…it didn’t matter. She knew all the Gold-rank teams had left Erin’s inn anyways. And who would answer her call if she did ask? Erin? That small Gnoll, Mrsha? Lyonette? The Horns?

“Say they did take care of…”

Octavia peeked out her door again and counted. Then she shook her head. Even if they got all of them, Quelm had, what, two times that many lurking about. He’d gone mad. And it was Octavia’s fault. Well, he’d started it by stealing her designs. But…

“Can’t wriggle out of it this time, Octavia Cotton. It was a bad deal, and you knew it. You should have just let it lie. Now you’ve got to pay up. It’s just twelve silver. Every day.”

Octavia stared blankly at her shop.

“I have to move. To Remendia. Ocre. Or Esthelm. Yeah. Esthelm doesn’t have an [Alchemist], right? Or if they do, how good can they be? City gets sacked by the Goblin Lord—there’s bound to be plenty of business opportunities! I hold on, make a few preparations…Quelm’s not watching the gates, right?”

Her eyes flicked to the window, then to the magic door again. If only—

“Erin. Ten gold? I could manage that.”

It was all her savings. But if Erin swung it for her…Octavia hesitated. Ten gold wouldn’t buy enough Silver-rank teams for a fight with that many thugs. Not to mention the City Watch wasn’t getting involved. They were bought-off. Or something. Quelm had Octavia’s gold. And his sales from the matches. And…

She was sitting behind her counter. Octavia buried her head in her hands.

“I thought she liked me. A bit? I know I’m a bit pushy. But I thought Krshia—or the Horns—we have a business relationship. I’m still selling to Krshia. Surely—”

She stared down at her counter. It was swimming a bit.

“Did they all hate me that much?”

Nothing in her shop answered her. After a moment though, Octavia heard a jingle. She looked up. At least she had this. She put a smile on her face.

“Welcome to Stitchworks, friend! Can I interest you in my potions? Four silver off any first purchase and—ulp!”

She stared at the rough figure that had pushed open the door. Octavia slowly closed her mouth and sat down. The [Thug] grinned at her. He was rough-shaven and smelled of sweat.

“Morning, Miss Octavia.”

“Ah. H-hello. How’re things? Checking in on the shop? I paid today, you know. Promptly and on time! There’s no need for…”

Octavia could normally out-talk anyone she met. But the words dried up as the man looked around her shop. She could see the long knife at his belt. But that wasn’t what terrified her. String-people didn’t fear knives. It was fire she feared. Fire and those who caused it.

“Looks like you haven’t got much business. Alchemist Quelm’s concerned.”

“Is—is he? Well, you can assure him that I’ll get him his money.”

Esthelm. She could move tonight if she found a good [Wagon Driver]. And if they weren’t watching her shop. The [Thug] looked around and shrugged.

“So you say. But he’s concerned. And since he’s so worried, he sent me and some of the guys around to help you sell.”

For a second, Octavia was confused. Was Quelm mad? Did he think this would be a good [Shop Assistant]? She stared as the [Thug] went over to one of her shelves of potions.

“Help me sell? He really doesn’t need to—hey! Wait! What are you doing?”

The [Thug] was grabbing bottles off the shelf. Octavia rushed around her counter.

“No! Those are mine! Here, you want the next payment? I can make it! Tell Quelm—”

She grabbed at her money drawer and realized it was locked. The [Thug] just shook his head. He grinned at her, exposing bright, well-kept teeth. Octavia felt they should have been rotten or replaced by gold.

“Alchemist Quelm has decided there’s a new deal. You’ll be selling your potions through his store. You’ll get your cut—but everything goes through him, got it?”

He grabbed an armful of bottles. Octavia couldn’t take it.

“No! That’s my merchandise! If he takes that—”

Her income was liquid. Literally; more money was in the potions waiting to be sold than anywhere in her shop, even her safe. The [Thug] raised a fist as Octavia grabbed at him, and she flinched.

“Don’t. We’re taking all of these today. Damn, we’ll need a wheelbarrow or something. I’m not carrying them. You’ll get two-thirds—Alchemist Quelm gets a third. And he won’t even charge you a daily fee anymore. Isn’t that fair?”

“He—that—”

Octavia gulped for air. The world was swimming. If Quelm did that, she’d lose far more than twelve silver every day. A third of her profits? He’d be the only [Alchemist] selling in the city, and she’d be unable to run. Both she and Quelm and the [Thug] knew it. He gave her another pearly smile.

“You can’t do this. This is too far. Quelm—I know we had our grudges, but this is robbery. I’ll go to the City Watch if you take my potions. I’ll testify under truth spell! I have friends in Liscor too. I go through that door—”

Octavia’s voice shook. The [Thug] turned to her. His eyes narrowed. Suddenly, deliberately, he dropped his armful of potions.

“No—”

Too late. Octavia grabbed one bottle, but the rest smashed on the floor. Horrified, she stared as four stamina potions and three healing potions mixed on the floor. That was—at least three gold’s worth of—she looked up as a boot smashed the glass shards flat. The [Thug] drew his knife with a snarl.

“And what? You tell the Watch or you go through that door and your store won’t last till morning. Neither will you. We’re in charge now, not some [Guardsmen]. Or didn’t you hear what happened to Jeffil?”

Octavia froze, the last potion in her hands. She backed up.

“I heard. But—but—”

The [Thug] grinned unpleasantly.

“Too bad String-people can just replace their arms, right? Don’t make us make an example of you. Be smart. Mabel the ‘Magnificent’ is smart. She’s working for Alchemist Quelm. You’ve got one chance to make the right move. Either you agree right now or—”

He broke off. Octavia heard a sudden roar of sound and jumped. A familiar voice rang out in her shop!

“Okay! Ten minutes! Remember, stay inside!”

The [Thug] swore and ducked back. Octavia turned. The door to Erin’s inn was open! Her heart leapt, but the warning growl behind her made her tense up. And the door was closing as soon as it opened. Octavia opened her mouth—and then choked when she saw who was coming through the door. A Hobgoblin and—

“What the hell is that?”

The [Thug] hissed at Octavia. Frozen, the [Alchemist] stared at Yellow Splatters and then looked around.

“An Antinium Soldier. And that’s…Numbtongue.”

“That’s a Hob! A flipping Hobgoblin!”

The man seemed afraid, which pleased Octavia. She hesitated, looking at Numbtongue. He glanced at her and waved.

“We want to look at things.”

“Uh, okay! I mean, great! Pleased to have you here! And your friend! I’ll be over in a second!”

Octavia smiled nervously. Her eyes flicked to the [Thug]. He glared at her. Slowly, he edged back to her door and caught himself. He leaned over to Octavia and hissed.

“We’ll finish this later. Get them to go away.”

The Stitch-girl hesitated. The [Thug] caught her arm, squeezing it tight.

“Say anything and we’ve got fourteen people outside your shop. Don’t be stupid. I’ll be right here.”

He bared his teeth. Octavia’s heart sank. She saw him go to the door and wave his hand urgently. Damn. If there weren’t more—she hurried over to Numbtongue.

“Hey, Numbtongue, right? Good to see you!”

The Hobgoblin eyed the [Alchemist]’s smile warily. He sniffed the air and frowned. Then he leaned around her and spotted the puddle of potions. His eyes widened. Octavia glanced at him and then the [Thug].

“Oh, that? Don’t worry about it. Minor spill. What can I do for you? Is, uh, Erin—”

“In her inn. She’ll come later. We want to buy a potion. We have…money.”

Numbtongue waved vaguely at the Antinium Soldier. Octavia backed up a step as she saw the Soldier towering over her. Was it her or was this fellow big even for an Antinium?

“Uh—well, uh—a Soldier? I’m happy to sell to all customers, but how do I know what he wants? What you want? Does he have a name?”

Too late, Octavia remembered. You weren’t supposed to ask Antinium their names! She froze, but the Soldier nodded and opened his mandibles.

“Yellow Splatters. I was reborn and given a voice. I am looking to purchase as many potions as possible for this amount of money.”

He opened his money pouch. Octavia’s jaw dropped at the gold and silver glittering there. She could sell—her eyes darted to the [Thug].

“Great! I mean, wonderful! I—I can definitely sell you whatever you need. And hey, did you say Erin’s coming through?”

“In a bit. What’s this?”

Numbtongue replied absently. Octavia glanced at the potion he was indicating.

“Pepperspray Potion. Uh—listen, Numbtongue—”

“Miss Octavia! You’re gonna close up shop soon, right?”

The [Thug] called out from where he was standing. Octavia’s heart sank. He was eying her as he pretended to browse the shelves. And fingering the dagger on his belt. She looked at Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin had a frown on his face as he looked at the [Thug]. Octavia inhaled.

She could tell him. But what if he said no? If it was Ceria or Pisces or Yvlon—not Ksmvr—she might have risked it. But she could see more people slowly advancing down the street. And Numbtongue? The Hobgoblin? Weakly, Octavia realized that the [Thug] was going to make her chase out Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters. And Erin too.

Erin. Oh no. If she came by and started a fight, he’d knife her. This wasn’t any tough. They’d crippled Jeffil. And they were going to take her potions. How many did he say there were? Fifteen? Octavia looked at Numbtongue. The Soldier. Then she thought of Erin. If Erin got into a fight and they drew their weapons—

The sigh that escaped the [Alchemist]’s mouth was slow and long. She wiped her eyes across her stained sleeve once. That was all. Then she gave Numbtongue a big smile.

“Actually, you came here just in time, Numbtongue. I’m doing a clearance sale. Reorganizing my stock. Whatever you want—it’s half-off. Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it to you.”

The Hobgoblin did a double-take. So did the Soldier. Numbtongue looked at her suspiciously.

“Really? Is this a…trick?”

Octavia had to admit that she’d never done a sale like that without some kind of trick. But today she just spread her hands wide.

“Nope! Let me get you your potions. I think Erin’ll have to wait on coming through; let’s do business before she gets here. Okay?”

“Are you sure?”

The Hobgoblin’s response was so normal that Octavia wavered. She looked over her shoulder. And she tried to think of a code, something he could relay to Erin. But she was sure that the [Thug] would pick up on anything obvious like that.

“Just grand, Numbtongue. Just grand. What can I do for you?”

The Hobgoblin exchanged a glance with the Soldier. Octavia could have sworn she saw the Soldier’s antennae do some weird twitching. But it didn’t matter. She’d sell them everything she could just to spite Quelm. And then let the gang take her goods. Then leave Celum or…she looked at Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters. They looked strong. Stronger than the [Thug]. But there were a lot of thugs outside.

And she didn’t have anything to offer them. Even if she could warn them. It wasn’t a good deal for them. So Octavia bit her lip and smiled.

“Come on. Time’s money. What do you want?”

——

There was someone else watching Stitchworks. The [Enforcer]. The [Nightstalker], and her [Blackguard] escort. They sat in the little bakery café. It had been a few hours, but they’d bought enough snacks and drinks to keep the [Baker]’s assistant quite happy to let them stay as long as they wanted.

They’d been good for gossip too. The polite, well-mannered man with the hat who’d tipped well had asked any number of questions about Liscor and the magic door that the [Baker]-in-training had been only too happy to talk about.

Now they were watching the door as she reluctantly helped her master, who was actually a mistress, prepare dough in the kitchen. At the table, the [Nightstalker], who’d been sitting and slowly drinking the hours by while gnashing her teeth, suddenly swore and sat up.

“Fucking rotted Ghoul dicks. What the hell is that?”

Even surprised, she was too professional to point at the [Alchemist]’s shop. Nor did she need to. The [Enforcer] and the [Blackguard] had seen the same thing. The [Blackguard] checked his blades. The [Enforcer] just tipped up his cap and sat up.

“Well, that’s not something you see every day.”

“It’s fucking insanity. What the hell’s going on in Liscor? No—where does that damn door lead?”

The [Enforcer] winced at the [Nightstalker]’s language. But he didn’t take his eyes off the strange pair who’d entered the [Alchemist]’s shop. He stared at the green Goblin and the insect-man as they wandered about the shop.

“I believe it’s a Hobgoblin. And that other one is…an Antinium Soldier.”

The [Nightstalker] settled back in her chair, but only slightly. She was gripping the stilettos concealed in her dress.

“They came at the wrong time. That [Thug] was just about to wrap up that shop with his gang.”

The [Enforcer] nodded quietly. It hadn’t been too interesting to see. Predictably, this Alchemist Quelm had sent a gang in to make sure his competition didn’t fly the coop as it were. Taking their goods and selling them through his store was a classic move that hadn’t impressed the [Enforcer] or the [Nightstalker]. But now a wrinkle had entered the plan. A very big wrinkle with four arms and another one with green skin and glowing eyes.

“Hobs. Fucking Hobs walking about in daylight.”

“I heard there were some in Liscor.”

That didn’t come from the [Enforcer]. It was the first words the [Blackguard] had spoken. The man must have been rattled to break his silence. The [Nightstalker] glanced at the man and glared.

“It doesn’t change things. But maybe they’re our marks. Who knows? You see anything?”

She was clearly expecting the answer to be ‘no’. But the [Blackguard] leaned forwards.

“Yes. I do.”

“What?”

The woman sat forwards. Now her eyes were fixed on the two. She glanced at the [Enforcer] and leaned over to the [Blackguard]. He whispered urgently to her, and her eyes widened. She kept her voice low, shielding her mouth, but the [Enforcer] wasn’t looking at her. He was adjusting his cap and sniffing the air. A foul odor drifted towards him.

“Well, this is a right mess.”

He muttered to himself and reached for something concealed at his side. A bit of leather and lead, that was all. Inside the shop, the Hob and Soldier were wandering about, peering at bottles. The [Enforcer] could see them through the door and the boarded up window, moving about. The [Nightstalker] narrowed her eyes. She had a better vision Skill than he did; she could clearly see through the boards of wood.

“That idiot [Thug]’s still there with the Stitch-girl [Alchemist].”

“Probably to make sure she doesn’t run. Not that she’d abandon her shop. That’s her livelihood.”

The [Enforcer] commented. The [Nightstalker] nodded, her enmity with him forgotten. Her painted nails drummed on the table. She glanced down the street. More people were moving towards the shop. The [Enforcer] grimaced; he saw the gang he’d met that morning drifting towards Stitchworks, as subtle as a cow walking through a brothel. The [Nightstalker] bared her teeth.

“Look. The Hob’s noticed the gang outside. See the way he’s looking over the shelves? So’s that bug. What’re they going to do?”

“Interfere?”

The [Enforcer] frowned. He could see the [Alchemist] tagging along besides the Hob, clearly offering him a potion. Was she trying to get rid of him? From the way the [Thug] was glaring, he’d made a threat. Get rid of them so we can take your inventory. The [Enforcer] shook his head. Classless. Embarrassingly rude. Unconscionable, even. He itched to intervene. But he had a job, and that was to watch.

The [Nightstalker] was eying the dozen plus men and women now loitering about Stitchworks. They were clearing the street; the passersby could smell trouble. They’d probably already seen Quelm’s thugs shaking down the [Alchemist] before. She snorted.

“It’s not their fight. Two versus fifteen? And I saw a second gang close by. Looks like that Quelm has people looking for us after I stabbed that idiot. Would you take those odds?”

The [Enforcer] didn’t reply. But he knew even the [Nightstalker] and her [Blackguard] bodyguard would have hesitated if the fifteen had shown some teeth in the alleyway this morning. They might be low-level, but numbers were enough in a fight. A knife between the ribs was all it took, if you didn’t have the right Skills or magical equipment.

“They might have numbers, but it looks like they’re spooked by the Antinium and Hobgoblin.”

“Amateurs.”

The [Nightstalker] sneered. The gang was right outside the shop, giving the nervous [Thug] inside visible support. He looked relieved and began haranguing the [Alchemist] inside the shop. She stepped back to argue with him, pointing at the Hob and Soldier. The [Enforcer] cursed and craned his head to see.

The odd duo were talking, staring at a potion and occasionally looking at the [Thug] and at the gang outside. They were clearly aware of something, but how much the [Enforcer] couldn’t say. He’d known…well, Goblins were unpredictable sometimes. And he’d never met Antinium. The sight of that Soldier made his skin crawl. But then the [Enforcer] saw the [Thug] reach his breaking point.

Inside the shop, the [Alchemist] was arguing with the man. He, impatient with her, nervous of the two strange creatures, did what came naturally to a man like him. As Octavia Cotton pointed at the magic door, he lost his temper and struck her across the face. It was a light blow, but Octavia went stumbling back, clutching at her cheek.

The Hobgoblin and Soldier looked up. For a second, everyone, the gang outside, the [Thug], the [Enforcer], and the [Nightstalker] and [Blackguard] tensed. The Hob looked at Octavia, blinked, and then pointed at the bottle in his claws. The Soldier nodded, and they went back to talking. They didn’t move, and Octavia raised two placating hands as the [Thug] shouted something at her.

The [Nightstalker] snorted.

“They’re smart at least. Do we really have to watch this no-name [Alchemist] get shaken down, or can we—”

The [Nightstalker] broke off, eying the [Enforcer]’s face. The [Blackguard] turned in his chair to eye the Brother as well. The [Enforcer] slowly tugged the hat lower on his head.

“I’m going to stroll closer.”

He stood up. He’d already paid for his food, so he left the table and the Sister of Chell behind. Slowly, the [Enforcer] strolled down the street. Inside the shop, Octavia was placating the [Thug]. And it seemed the Hobgoblin and Soldier had made their decision. The Hobgoblin was showing a glowing, green and blue bottle to her, and she was nodding.

The [Thug] stepped back, practically trembling with adrenaline, as the Hob walked past him to the counter with the [Alchemist]. The Soldier stayed where he was, next to the door. The Hobgoblin turned as he passed the [Thug] and pointed to the bottle. The [Thug] recoiled and snapped something.

The [Enforcer] slowed as he saw the Hobgoblin raise the bottle and smile. It was a toothy, big smile that exposed his teeth. And his crimson eyes widened. He turned back to the counter as the [Thug] backed up. Then he whirled and smashed the glass bottle into the [Thug]’s face.

The sound of the glass breaking was audible from outside the shop. The [Thug] stumbled back, clawing at his face, as the potion ran into his cut flesh. The Hob inspected the man’s face. Then he grabbed the man by the collar.

The [Enforcer] saw a blur of motion. He cursed and accelerated, casually walking towards the group of low-level criminals outside. They were staring into the shop, looking at each other. The [Enforcer] heard a shout from inside.

“Numbtongue, wait—”

The next thing the [Enforcer] saw was the body of the [Thug] flying through the boarded up window. He landed on the ground in a shower of wood and splinters, face bleeding. His friends recoiled. The door to Stitchworks slowly opened, and the Hobgoblin walked out. He strode over to the [Thug], who was lying on the paving stones. The man tried to get up, gasping, his lungs and chest malfunctioning. The Hob regarded him. Then he waved at someone in the shop.

“You stay there.”

He turned and stomped on the man’s chest. The [Thug] screamed. His friends grabbed their weapons. And the Hobgoblin turned around. Fourteen Humans surrounded him. They had knives, clubs, a spiked mace, even a sword. He had his bare hands, two potions at his belt, and a small sack at his waist. No weapons. The [Enforcer] sniffed the air and smelled for death. He saw the Hobgoblin grin. After a second, so did the man.

——

There was no point to this fight. No benefit. Numbtongue raised his fists as the shouting Humans surrounded him. They were screaming, asking questions, making threats. As if they hadn’t seen him just throw their friend out Octavia’s window. They were clearly amateurs. When you saw an enemy, you didn’t shout at him. Numbtongue spun.

Instead, you did this. He lunged at the nearest Human, a man, and grabbed his arm. The fellow had a club and recoiled. He tried to yank away, but Numbtongue had his club arm. He raised his other hand to punch. Numbtongue was faster. He hit the man across the nose and heard something crunch. He stumbled back, screaming, and Numbtongue took careful aim with his knee.

The crunch was the sound of Numbtongue’s knee hitting the man’s groin. Perhaps the man had had some kind of protective leather cup there. Either way, it was now part of his genitalia. Numbtongue let go of him, and the man dropped, clutching at his privates.

“Dead gods! He got Blaikil!”

“Get him! It’s one Hob!”

The Humans were screaming at each other. Numbtongue swung around and saw the first one move. He dodged backwards as a knife swung at his stomach and grabbed the arm attached to it. His claws dug into the skin, and whoever was holding the knife screamed and dropped it. That was sloppy. Numbtongue belted the Human woman in the stomach and jumped back as she threw up. He looked for the knife—

And someone slammed into him from the side. The Hobgoblin went tumbling as a huge man struck him a blow across the face and kicked at him. Numbtongue rolled, sprang to his feet, and grabbed the leg as it hit him in the chest. He growled and twisted the leg until he heard something go pop.

The scream this time was rewarding. The man fell, clutching his leg. But another swung, and Numbtongue felt a spiked club tear across his chest. A tearing pain made him back up, shielding his face. The spikes tore at his arm, and the [Bandit] hollered.

“I’ve got him! Stab the monster! Stab him—”

His friends charged Numbtongue. Six on one. The Hobgoblin fell back, cursing. It wasn’t a good fight. They might be unprepared. They might be lower-level. But there were so many. Why take this fight? Why do it at all?

Octavia had nothing to offer Numbtongue. Nothing he couldn’t buy at another shop. And the trouble of saving her wasn’t worth it. Not to the [Alchemist]. Or the [Enforcer] or [Nightstalker] or gang. It didn’t make sense to them. But it did to Numbtongue.

Sometimes it wasn’t about what someone had to offer. Or about how useful a person was. It wasn’t about value or cost. If you thought like that, people became numbers. And if you gave people value, what value had Goblins? If that were so, Erin Solstice would never have given a Goblin food. Or asked a Worker’s name.

As the gang swarmed Numbtongue, the door to Stitchworks opened a second time. The men and women closest to the door looked up as it opened. They stared and screamed. The rest turned as a huge shape barreled out of the door.

It had taken Yellow Splatters eight seconds to walk around the shop without bumping into anything. Now the Antinium charged. His fist took the man with the spiked club in the face. The man spun—the other three fists lashed out, pummeling the Human. Yellow Splatters turned, and his hands grabbed a Human [Thief]. He lifted the screaming man overhead and threw him on the ground.

The gang stared at their friend as he fell. They listened to the sound he made as he landed. He didn’t move. Yellow Splatters looked around, and his mandibles opened wide. His deep voice boomed as Numbtongue set himself behind the Antinium.

“Flee. Or stand and suffer.”

The Humans wavered. They looked up at him. A giant, a black-brown insect from the nightmares of Rhir. A Soldier. And behind him, a monster that grinned with glowing red eyes.

Goblins and Antinium really didn’t count cost. Erin had never counted the cost of kindness. You did what you did. And that usually involved hitting things.

Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters charged with a roar that shook the street. Two against eleven. The Hobgoblin leapt and kicked a man in the chest, ignoring the sword that slashed at his side. His blood hit the street as he and the man fell. The Human reached for the sword—Numbtongue kicked him in the face as hard as he could. The man’s head snapped back and made a gurgling sound. But it wasn’t enough to kill. Numbtongue saw a confusion of legs as he rolled.

Up. He had to get—someone rammed into him from the side, a knife stabbing. Numbtongue felt it hit his gut twice. He sucked in, but the pain wasn’t even registering. To the woman’s horror, he caught the bloody knife with one claw, ignoring the way it cut his palm. He tightened his grip as she tried to pull away.

“Dull.”

Numbtongue informed her before he put a thumb in her eye. Screaming, the woman let go and Numbtongue tossed the knife aside. Any blade he could grab that hard without losing his fingers was dull. It had still gotten his stomach. The Hobgoblin reached for his belt and saw someone swinging at his chest. He raised an arm and felt the impact as a [Highwayman] hit him with a cudgel. The man gaped, and Numbtongue kicked him in the groin as he grabbed a potion. It was a winning tactic.

The Hobgoblin didn’t bother to uncork the vial. He tossed it into his mouth and chomped. Shards of glass splintered, cutting his mouth, but the cuts began to heal as the potion flowed down his throat. Carefully, looking around, Numbtongue held the shards with his tongue and spat them in the face of the next Human he saw.

This was a fight. This was a fight! The Humans were everywhere. And though they outnumbered Numbtongue, he was not alone. Behind him, Yellow Splatters had his back to Octavia’s shop. He looked around as six Humans came at him at once. A man stabbed at him with a long-handled knife, and the blade sunk into the [Sergeant]’s carapace. A few inches. Then the poor metal snapped.

Casually, Yellow Splatters backhanded the man with one of his four arms. Then he turned as another man charged him with a yell. The Soldier swung left with two arms into the man’s chest and stomach, and then right, hitting a woman across her scarred face and belly. Both Human’s bodies made dull, heavy sounds, and their feet left the ground. When they landed, they crumpled into heaps.

“[Power Strike]!”

Someone struck Yellow Splatters from behind. This time, the Soldier’s carapace cracked as a fellow with brass knuckles delivered two powerful blows into his back. But aside from a green trickle that began to run from the cracked spots, the Soldier barely staggered. The [Brawler] paled as Yellow Splatters turned.

“Five Families save—”

All four of Yellow Splatters' arms shot out. Two grabbed the [Brawler]’s fists. The other two began battering the man in the face and chest. After five seconds, Yellow Splatters let go. He turned around, and the other Humans backed up.

“Antinium.”

Someone whispered it. The Soldier nodded. He looked at the weapons the street gang held. They were deadly in Celum. A club with spikes, a sword, a few daggers—they were good against Humans. Drakes. Gnolls and Goblins even. But the Antinium had been built for war.

“Come or flee. It makes no difference to me.”

He raised his fists and advanced. The others pulled back. Numbtongue, seeing Yellow Splatters advance slowly, shouted a warning.

“Dodge!”

The Soldier glanced at him. Then he twisted. Too late—the vial exploded, and half of Yellow Splatters' body was aflame! The Soldier made no sound, but instantly dropped and rolled. But the vial had been sticky oil. The flames refused to go out, and the Humans swarmed the Antinium, kicking and beating at him.

“Off!”

Numbtongue leapt at the nearest one. The man turned and screamed as Numbtongue grabbed his arm, ready to break it. The Hobgoblin twisted and then felt an arm descend around his throat. He twisted—but too late. The man tightened his arm in a chokehold. Numbtongue gasped, staggering forwards, and the man shouted.

“I’ve got it! Stab it—stab—”

He shrieked, clutching at his arm and letting go of the chokehold. His friends stared at the huge chunk of flesh missing, gushing blood. Numbtongue spat the flesh and grinned with bloody teeth. He turned, head butted the man, and heard a nose break again. Then he punched.

One rib. Three. The man gurgled and fell down. Numbtongue looked around as he grabbed Yellow Splatters and hauled him to his feet. The Soldier came up, wiping at the liquid. He clicked, and Numbtongue grabbed for his other potion.

“Drink!”

The Antinium grabbed at the vial. Numbtongue whirled. There were…seven Humans left. They backed away as he bared his bloody teeth at them. They had wide eyes, and they were panting despite only having fought for—what, a minute? Less?

They could do this. Yellow Splatters and Numbtongue. Despite the numbers. The Humans weren’t ready for this fight! They might have killed once or twice, but they hadn’t fought in the battles Numbtongue had. They weren’t prepared for his ferocity or his willingness to do anything to win. Or Yellow Splatters’ strength, for that matter.

But they did outnumber the two. Only six or seven now, maybe, but Numbtongue knew how this fight worked—he’d been on the other side of it countless times before. One high-level adventurer versus dozens of Goblins. He might cut them down, but if one managed to land a blow, or if he fell, he was dead. He raised his fists, looking around. If they could retreat into Octavia’s shop—grab some more potions—

Then ten more masked Humans ran around the street corner. And they were holding bared blades and clubs. One stopped when he saw Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters, but the man who’d run to grab them screamed.

“That’s them! Get them! Backup’s on the way!”

Seventeen Humans advanced. Nervously, but in concert. Numbtongue growled, and Yellow Splatters, the flames on his carapace still burning, looked about.

“The alchemist’s fire—”

“Back. Backs to the shop.”

The Hobgoblin and Soldier backed up. The Humans chased them. Only two had what looked like throwing weapons. Numbtongue ducked, and Yellow Splatters blocked a throwing knife with one arm. It glanced off his armor, and another Human heaved a brick. It shattered on the Antinium’s other arm.

No more alchemist weapons. But some of the Humans were tending to their friends with potions! Numbtongue cursed.

“Them!”

He pointed. Yellow Splatters didn’t ask questions. The two charged, scattering the Humans before they could revive their friends. Numbtongue grabbed at a potion, twisted an arm out of its socket. Took a fist to the face. He snarled, kicked out, and hit a Human in the groin. It was a woman, so she didn’t fall down from that alone. A second kick to the same spot dislocated her hip.

Numbtongue whirled, dodging another knife. He grabbed the arm and swung his elbow as hard as he could into the face that followed when he yanked. He cursed as he looked for Yellow Splatters, twisting out of the way of another Human and throwing him into his friends. This wasn’t how Redfangs fought! They outnumbered their enemies! And Numbtongue hadn’t brought his sword or his guitar.

He felt two—three pairs of hands grab him from behind. Cursing, the Hobgoblin struck backwards, but they were holding him still. In front of him, a Human with a crossbow was aiming it. Real weapons. Numbtongue struggled as the man sighted, ignoring the peril to his comrades. He aimed at Numbtongue’s stomach—and a Human man standing next to him lifted the bolt out of the bow. The [Crossbowman] gaped—and the [Enforcer] stabbed the tip of the bolt into the [Crossbowman]’s chest and twisted.

The hands holding Numbtongue slackened for a moment in surprise. Numbtongue twisted, saw the first Human, leaned over, and bit. The screaming woman clutched at her shoulder. The other Humans started back too late. Numbtongue yanked a head down into his knee and turned around. The man who’d stabbed the [Crossbowman] stepped past the downed archer; the crossbow was busted, having been slammed into the man’s chest until both bones and frame broke. He tipped his cap to Numbtongue and smiled.

“Pardon me, sirs. Saw you were in a bit of a scrap. And I’m afraid my fellows wouldn’t forgive me letting this rude lot go.”

So saying, he drew the object at his side and turned. An outraged [Footpad] with a garroting wire staggered back, and Numbtongue saw his nose was broken. The [Enforcer] adjusted his cap and then stepped forwards smartly.

He was quick. And as ruthless as any Goblin. The man stomped, broke the screaming [Footpad]’s foot, and knocked him flat with a blow from the leather sap he carried. Numbtongue stared as the [Enforcer] turned around.

“Back.”

Numbtongue whirled, and his elbow caught a woman across the head. She went down in a moment. Absently, the Hob grabbed a man and put him in a chokehold, keeping him in front of the man’s buddies while he watched the mysterious Human set to the people around him. What was he carrying?

A sap. It was a bit of leather filled with something heavy, extending the [Enforcer]’s reach by only a hand’s length. It wasn’t a tool any Goblin would use. But here? On these streets? The [Enforcer]’s hands were almost too quick to see! He was striking people with the sap multiple times each second, elbow, arm, fingers, jaw—he stepped back as a burly man swung past him with a cleaver. The Brother raised his sap and stepped into the man with the cleaver’s guard.

“[Shatter Blows].”

His sap struck the helpless [Rogue] across the chest, the arm, the face. Numbtongue could hear bones breaking with each strike. The [Rogue] fell down. Numbtongue realized the Human he was holding was unconscious. He let go, ducked a swing, grabbed a leg, yanked up. It was easy to kick the Human on the ground.

Someone came at Numbtongue from behind, but they disappeared. Numbtongue whirled. And Yellow Splatters tossed the Human aside. Numbtongue looked up at the Soldier. He saw Yellow Splatters turn.

“Cover me.”

And Numbtongue did. The moments blurred together. He stood with his back to Yellow Splatters, shouting.

“Redfang!”

Then it was like how he remembered fighting. The Humans were everywhere. But his friend was at his back. Numbtongue spun, kicking, grabbing for a weapon. A club—he swung it, and the wooden club locked with a sword trying to take his chest.

More Humans! Numbtongue didn’t know where they’d come from. Suddenly, there were twenty around him! Yellow Splatters guarded with two arms, swinging with blows that lifted men and women off their feet and put them on the ground. But he was too big a target. Someone threw a bag, and vines showered him and Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin fought clear, and a mace caught him on the side of the head.

Reeling, he nearly tipped over. The [Brigand] tried to finish him off, and a potion exploded in his face. He clutched at his eyes as a Pepperspray potion detonated. More Humans scrambled clear, but there were even more of them as Numbtongue got up. Yellow Splatters moved back, guarding the shop as Octavia hurled potions out of her window. Numbtongue swung his club and hit something.

But they were losing? No. Yes. The [Enforcer] spun past him, dodging four people at once, his hat clean. But he’d taken a knife to the side. Numbtongue glanced around.

So many Humans. Where did they keep coming from? He looked down at the club in his hands and realized he was bleeding. He felt at his side. An arrow stood out.

“Ow.”

The [Bard] grinned weakly. The Humans were closing in. He looked back at the shop.

“Numbtongue!”

Yellow Splatters roared as he threw another Human. But he was cornered, his carapace bleeding. Three versus twenty had been done. Three versus thirty was possible. But forty?

Numbtongue was surrounded. A [Warrior] with a sword advanced, and Numbtongue saw four more Humans closing around from each side. The Redfang Warrior bared his teeth.

“It’s just one Hob. Kill it.”

Shakily, one of the Humans breathed. Numbtongue stared at him. But it was true. Numbtongue was just a Hob. Not Headscratcher. Not Shorthilt. If either had been wielding this club—Numbtongue blocked a slash from the [Warrior]. He staggered, slipping. Someone jumped in, stabbed Numbtongue along the shoulder, darted out. The Hobgoblin twisted his head, took a punch from a pair of brass knuckles.

If only I was Headscratcher. If only he were Pyrite. The other Goblin’s memories surged in his head. He’d fought Eater of Spears. He’d hurt Reiss! He’d stopped Tyrion Veltras. He could have won this fight. With fat. With strength. With skill. He would have seen them coming. The sword flashed at Numbtongue’s face.

Pyrite would have ducked forwards.

Numbtongue knew it. He ducked forwards, and the blade flashed over his head. But because he was moving, the Human [Warrior] actually ran into him. He tried to bring the sword down, but Numbtongue was under his arms. The Hobgoblin rose, staring at the sword.

Good sword. Pyrite would have taken it. How? Oh—

Another bite. This time down to the bone. Numbtongue felt a wrench as the [Warrior] yanked his arm free, screaming. But he’d loosened his grip on his sword. Numbtongue seized it. He eyed the blade.

Iron. Not too sharp. But decent. What would Pyrite say? Not good. But okay. The [Warrior] grabbed at a dagger. Someone charged Numbtongue. A dagger for his back. And Pyrite—

In the street, a Goblin turned. With one hand, he swung the iron sword in an arc. He brought it down, and the hand stabbing towards his back fell to the ground. The Human stared at his stump. Then he clutched at his arm and screamed.

In a dream, Numbtongue gazed with interest at the Human. He looked at the sword, impressed. That was a good cut. As good as any Shorthilt could have made. He didn’t know how to do that.

And yet—he did. The Hobgoblin turned, and both of his claws grasped the sword’s hilt. He took a stance. A proper one, not like the self-taught [Warrior]’s fighting style he’d learned as a Redfang. The [Warrior] with the dagger backed up too slow. The Hob slashed his chest, leapt back, twisted, and cut. A second Human lost her hand, this time at the elbow.

The street—slowed. The gang of Humans backed up. Yellow Splatters, shielding his face, bleeding from a dozen injuries as Octavia tried to heal him, saw a Goblin turn. Numbtongue’s face was dreamy. But his sword swung in patterns and arcs, measured, warding his back and sides. And fingers flew. Hands cut down to the bone. Iron sheared through arm. Until the Humans were running.

Numbtongue cast aside the ruined iron blade. The edge was deformed from the last sword strike. A final Human charged him, not realizing her friends were running. She had blood in her eyes—literally. But his memories, both his and Pyrite’s, told him she was a high-level [Fighter]. Her brass knuckles had spikes on them—she’d gotten the [Enforcer]. The Hobgoblin looked down at his torn left arm, exposing sinew. And him.

The [Bard] might have hesitated, grabbed at the sword. But part of him said look. Numbtongue looked. He saw the woman’s muscles moving along her arm and saw where she’d punch. Numbtongue stepped back, and the tips of the knuckles struck the side of his face. Then he stepped in.

His punch went through the gap in the woman’s guard. She stumbled back, and Numbtongue followed it with a left hook. Stumbling, the woman retreated. He advanced, swinging, kicking.

Don’t give her a second! Left hook, kick, elbow, punch, head butt, kick to the chest, punch, punch, punch—he swung a fist and missed. The Human was lying on the ground, her eyes rolled up in her head.

“Dead gods.”

Someone breathed it behind him. Numbtongue turned. The street was filled with bodies. The [Ruffian] dropped his shiv as Numbtongue looked at him. The Hobgoblin’s eyes burned. The man screamed and ran. Numbtongue caught him halfway down the street.

“Let me go! Let me go!”

The man was screaming, calling to his friends. Numbtongue turned the man to face him. The man grabbed at his side for something—he stopped when Numbtongue made a fist.

“Who sent them?”

He pointed down the street. The last of the gang was running as the [Enforcer] drank a potion. The [Ruffian]’s eyes were wide, the unkempt man’s face white.

“You can speak?”

Numbtongue shook the man so hard his bones rattled. The Hobgoblin spoke again impatiently.

“Who. Sent. You?”

“A-Alchemist Quelm! He sent us! He hired us! Go after him!”

“No.”

The [Ruffian] blinked, uncertain. Numbtongue made a fist.

“Tell him if he tries again, we will hurt him. That is a Goblin threat. Understand? See this?”

He waved the fist under the [Ruffian]’s nose. The man was nodding, relieved.

“I’ll tell him. I’ll t—”

Numbtongue aimed at the man’s jaw. He punched the man in the teeth and felt them cut into his fist—and felt six of them break. He shook out his clawed hand, grimacing. Then he picked up the man screaming into what remained of his teeth.

“Goblins don’t make threats. Run.”

He let go, and the man ran. Numbtongue looked around the street. Amazingly, no Humans had died in the fight. Some were dying thanks to the blood leaving their body from the stumps of their arms and hands, but no one was dead. Yet. There was a remarkable amount of screaming. Numbtongue wandered back to the shop. Yellow Splatters looked up at Numbtongue as the Hobgoblin walked over.

“Potion.”

“Who—oh, dead gods!”

Octavia poked her head out of the shop. She ran back inside and grabbed a bottle, threw it at Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin caught it, opened it vaguely, and drank.

“Thanks.”

He looked down and saw a dozen injuries on his body closing. It occurred to him he might have been close to dying of blood-loss. Looking at Yellow Splatters, the Hobgoblin saw the Soldier was in better shape. Well, sort of. Yellow Splatters had been burned, and it seemed like something had melted through his right shoulder’s armor. He was healing too; the cuts hadn’t gone through his carapace, and it was mostly cracked. The Soldier looked at Numbtongue.

“I called you back to the shop. You did not hear me.”

“Sorry. I got a sword.”

The Hobgoblin pointed vaguely at the iron sword laying in the street. The Soldier nodded.

“So I saw. You were impressive with it. A [Bard] is dangerous.”

“Not me. It was—”

The Hobgoblin wavered. He turned his head. Belatedly, nearly fifteen minutes after the fight had begun, he heard a shrill whistle and the marching of boots. Dozens of [Guardsmen] flooded the street, covered in chainmail and leather armor, shields raised, clearly apprehensive. They stopped in horror when they saw the bodies and the Antinium and Hobgoblin.

“Dead gods, it’s a massacre!”

One of the women cried out in horror. A flurry of [Guardsmen] aimed at Yellow Splatters and Numbtongue.

“Don’t move!”

One of the men with a plumed helmet screamed at Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters. The Antinium and Goblin looked at each other. Neither one moved.

It didn’t seem to reassure the [Guards]. They advanced slowly, screaming at the two. One of them took a look at some of the Humans lying on the ground clutching at their limbs and called for healing potions.

“A-arrest the two of them—”

The [Guardsman] with the helmet began uncertainly. Another one stared at Numbtongue and swore.

“Hell to that! Shoot them!”

The arrows tensed as the bowstrings drew back. The Watch Captain inhaled, and Numbtongue, seeing Yellow Splatters stiffen, reached for his belt. He said one word.

“Stop.”

No one did. They never did. The arrows aimed at Numbtongue, and the Watch Captain roared.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! There’s an Antinium, and by the Five Families, if there’s war—”

He froze as Numbtongue pulled a scroll out of his belt pouch. The Goblin unfurled it, muttering to himself, and tossed it at the Watch Captain. A bow twanged; an arrow flew, and Numbtongue ducked under it. He straightened, and the [Archer] went white as the Hobgoblin glared at him. Then Numbtongue turned to the Watch Captain.

“Read it.”

He waited, arms folded, as the Watch Captain shakily picked up the parchment and read it, keeping one eye on Numbtongue. Then he blinked, did a double-take, and began to read again. He looked up.

“That’s impossible.”

The Hobgoblin grinned toothily at him. He raised his voice so all the Humans on the street could hear.

“My name is Numbtongue. A member of the Redfang Goblins. I am a Bronze-rank adventurer. The Humans threatened me and attacked. I defended myself.”

The Humans stared at Numbtongue for a long second. Someone breathed out.

“Bullshit.”

Numbtongue shrugged.

“They hit my friend. In there.”

He pointed into Octavia’s shop vaguely. All eyes turned to Yellow Splatters. Octavia, breathless, poked her head out the window.

“Oh, stitches. Now you show up?”

The Watch Captain blinked around at her and the Humans on the ground, most of whom had passed out.

“I—this is—”

“Quelm did this! He sent his gang to attack the shop! Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters, er, defended me!”

The [Guardswoman]’s voice rose higher.

“Defended? That monster killed—there are limbs everywhere!”

“Only six.”

Numbtongue blinked at the [Guardswoman]. She gaped at him and pointed a trembling finger.

“Watch Captain! That thing speaks! It’s a Hobgoblin—a Goblin monster! Just shoot it and—”

Her eyes went to Yellow Splatters, and her throat worked soundlessly. The Watch Captain was made of sterner stuff though, if only just. He pointed at Numbtongue.

“You—Goblin. You’re a monster. In our city.”

Numbtongue folded his arms.

“I have a paper proving I’m a person. Where’s yours?”

The Watch Captain stared down at the scroll and hesitated.

“Wall Lord…Guildmistress…Gold-rank…Pisces?”

He looked at Numbtongue. Then, nervously, at Yellow Splatters.

“That thing’s an Antinium Soldier, though. It’s—this is war! Isn’t it? It’s under arrest.”

The [Guards] around the Watch Captain looked uneasy. One of them sidled over and whispered.

“Can we do that?”

“How’ll we cuff it?”

Yellow Splatters didn’t give them time to try it. He copied Numbtongue and folded all four arms.

“I am the Prognugator of the Free Antinium’s Hive. Will you try to arrest me?”

He loomed over the Watch Captain. And that was Yellow Splatters' skill, or Skill. He was able to loom in multiple dimensions, not just vertically, but horizontally as well. The Human [Guards] edged back as they stared up at him. The Watch Captain went white.

“Another Prognugator…?”

He glanced from Numbtongue to Yellow Splatters. Octavia had disappeared inside her shop. The Watch Captain hesitated, then looked at the bloody street. His expression firmed at last.

“You two. I don’t care if you’re Antinium Prognugators or backed by every Walled City in the world! You just attacked dozens of Celum’s citizens. You are under arrest. Come with us quietly or…we’ll be forced to take you down.”

The City Watch raised their weapons behind him. Numbtongue bared his teeth. He knew they’d die if they fought. Human criminals were one thing, but these ones had proper weapons, even if they looked like half of them would run away screaming. He looked at Yellow Splatters. The Antinium gazed at him. Slowly, the [Sergeant] uncrossed his arms and made four fists.

“You may try.”

Celum’s City Watch shuddered. But that was the thing about bluffs, even great ones. Sometimes they didn’t work. The Captain of the City Watch inhaled, his face going dead white. The arrows nocked on the strings—and Erin Solstice walked out of Stitchworks in front of a very nervous Octavia.

“Hey, Numbtongue! I’m here! Sorry it took so—oh my god, what happened?”

She stopped in the doorway. She looked at the blood on the cobblestones, the severed hand lying at Numbtongue’s feet, the City Watch, whose bows were now aimed at her chest. Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters moved to block them. The Captain of the Watch pointed at her.

“You—that Goblin—the Antinium, and Octavia Cotton are all under arrest.”

“Numbtongue. What happened?”

Erin ignored the man. She turned to Numbtongue, then narrowed her eyes. The Hobgoblin tried to look innocent. But while his injuries were healed, Erin could hardly miss the blood staining his clothing or the tears in said clothing. Erin inhaled and then bellowed.

“Alright! Who’s bullying Numbtongue?”

She glared around the Hobgoblin at the Captain. He bellowed back, face crimson.

“Your Goblin just killed two dozen of Celum’s citizens!”

At that, Octavia danced around Erin nervously. She shouted at the [Guardsmen]—and the people watching from down the street and the windows.

“They were thugs! Sent to destroy my shop by Quelm! A bunch of criminals! And the Watch didn’t do a thing to stop them!”

“What? No—we didn’t—be quiet!”

The Captain of the Guard roared at Octavia, his face turning from red to pale pink with horror. The [Alchemist] pointed a trembling finger at him.

“He’s taking money from Quelm! The City Watch is being bought out! They didn’t do a thing when those [Rogues] set fire to part of my shop! Or extorted me for money!”

“Be quiet! You’re under arrest! And you’re under arrest! You’re all under arrest!”

The Captain of the City Watch pointed from Numbtongue to Yellow Splatters to Octavia. He pointed a fourth time, looking for Erin. But she was missing. The Captain stared around, then heard Erin’s voice from the inn.

“Hey, Relc? Grimalkin? Uh—Maughin and Jelaqua? How do you feel about [Thugs]? Someone mind giving me some backup? I’ll take you too, Keldrass. Not you, Moore. There are a lot of arrows out there. But you’ll do, Senator Errif! Come on!”

The Captain of the Guard might not have known who most of those names were. But he knew trouble when he heard it. He quailed, and Numbtongue, looking at Yellow Splatters, saw Octavia sag in relief. The Hobgoblin looked around at the wounded Humans, the staring city, and grinned. It wasn’t Liscor. But it was a city. He looked back over his shoulder as Erin, protective mother with an army of friends, stomped back through the door. And the rest was her story.

——

Celum was in turmoil. The City Watch was under fire. Erin Solstice, Grimalkin, a [Senator] from Pallass—it was enough to drag Celum’s own [Mayor] out of his bed. While he would have loved to order his Captain of the Watch to arrest everyone present, especially since a Goblin and Antinium had incapacitated nearly twenty of Celum’s people, there were complications to giving that order.

Firstly, it was apparent that all those injured were some variety of [Thug], [Thief], [Brigand], or so on. Celum’s criminal underbelly, although it hadn’t had much of one until recently. Unfortunately, it had grown substantially bigger thanks to a certain [Alchemist] Quelm, who had, in fact, been threatening his rivals and using the gang to extort money from them.

That was bad. But what was worse was the fact that Celum’s own City Watch had clearly been ignoring or unaware of the gang’s activities, both of which did not look good. And there was no chance of sweeping this under the rug, because a very vocal [Alchemist] was shouting it from the rooftop of her shop.

And the last thing stopping the [Mayor] from arresting everyone was a [Innkeeper] who was leading Pallass’ most important [Blacksmith], a Drake [Mage] capable of wiping out Celum’s entire City Watch, a [Senator] from Pallass, a Gold-rank adventurer, and one of Liscor’s own [Guardsman]. The [Mayor] and Erin were having a screaming match in the street.

“You can’t bring Drake [Guardsmen] and adventurers into this city and start arresting our citizens!”

“Oh yeah? Oh yeah? Watch me! Your City Watch let these guys threaten Octavia, steal money—hey, Relc, if you find all that gang and this Quelm guy, I’ll give you free food for a week!”

“Awesome!”

The [Mayor] clutched at his hair.

“You can’t do this! There will be consequences!”

“I am the consequences!”

The rule of law in Celum was breaking down. But that was another story. For the Goblin and the Antinium Soldier relaxing in the street outside of Stitchworks, their role had ended. Numbtongue was checking himself for more injuries as Yellow Splatters pulled broken bits of metal out of his carapace.

“I will most likely level from this. But this encounter proves how weak I am.”

“Yeah?”

Numbtongue looked up. By his count, Yellow Splatters had downed at least twelve of the Humans here and injured a score more. The Soldier nodded.

“We were overwhelmed by low-level Humans. It is proof we are weak. We are all weak. I am told even Revalantor Klbkch died when fighting a score of small Goblins.”

Numbtongue shrugged. A knife in the belly was a knife in the belly.

“Not enough armor. Too slow. Redscar or Garen could beat all of the Humans. Or maybe Headscratcher with his enchanted axe. Actually, even Headscratcher would probably die alone. Fighting lots of anything is hard.”

“Yes. But we must improve.”

“You’ll level up.”

The Hobgoblin winced as he pulled a bit of wood out of his side. His flesh had healed around the splinter. He looked up as the [Mayor] stormed off, having lost the shouting match with Erin. Yellow Splatters looked too.

“It appears that Erin Solstice is attempting to resolve the situation on our behalf. That is very convenient.”

“She’s…family.”

The [Bard] looked at Erin. He shook his head. There would be consequences. There always were. But for a moment, with Erin shouting, she could turn a city on its head. He looked at Yellow Splatters after a moment.

“Are you really the Prognugator? Of the…Hive?”

The Soldier paused.

“That was a convenient fact.”

The [Bard] smiled.

“A lie.”

“Perhaps.”

They waited as Erin stomped back towards the shop. Octavia clambered down from her roof to look at the young woman. Erin seemed angry, upset—and frightened. She’d looked at Numbtongue with real fear when he’d been covered in blood. Now she rounded on Octavia.

“Thugs? This Quelm dude threatening you? Octavia, why didn’t you tell me this was happening?”

The Stitch-girl looked down at her hands. She tugged at a string and muttered.

“I—well, I tried, Erin. Remember when I tried to talk to you? But you were busy, and I thought the City Watch might handle it, but it all got out of hand too fast. I went to you, Lyonette, Krshia, Ceria at the start, but no one would listen. And after Ksmvr said no, one of those Humans came by and said that if I went through to your inn again or I tried to inform the Watch again, they’d burn down the shop. With me inside.”

“Oh.”

Erin stared at Octavia. The [Alchemist] grinned weakly.

“Don’t worry. I knew you’d do something if you found out, but those guys—they’re dangerous. There was another [Alchemist] who didn’t listen. Jeffil. They…broke his arms. Stabbed the [Watchman] he hired. I thought if I went to you and they got you…it all worked out, right?”

“Sure. I mean—yeah. I’ll make this right, Octavia. Those guys and this Quelm dude are going to pay. Relc’s on the case! He can beat them all up. I think Embria’s followed him. And Grimalkin.”

Erin waved at the street vaguely. Numbtongue exchanged a glance with Yellow Splatters. One against thirty? The Soldier whispered.

“Weak.”

Numbtongue just watched Erin. She was talking to Octavia, frustrated, angry—but there was another emotion running underneath it all. It was guilt. She turned to him after a moment.

“Hey, Numbtongue, I’m going to fix this. You stay here, okay?”

“Sure.”

The Hobgoblin nodded. The [Innkeeper] smiled at him and then turned and stomped back towards the [Mayor] for round two. He watched her for a second, then stood up. Yellow Splatters was already on his feet.

“Hey. That’s the Human.”

Numbtongue pointed. Yellow Splatters turned his head, and the Soldier started.

“Ah. The ally.”

The Goblin and Soldier walked over to the man standing down the street. He had cleaned the blood from the place he’d been stabbed, and he seemed in better condition than Numbtongue or Yellow Splatters. The [Enforcer], who to Numbtongue was just another Human with a hat, tipped his cap as they approached.

“Good scrap, sirs. Pardon the abrupt introduction. I hope I was of some help? I can’t abide uncivilized sorts. That young lady in the shop doing well?”

He nodded towards Stitchworks. Numbtongue stared blankly at him.

“Octavia? Fine.”

He noticed the [Enforcer] didn’t bat an eye at the way Numbtongue spoke. His eyes did widen a bit when Yellow Splatters turned to him.

“You rendered us assistance during the conflict. For that, you have my gratitude. I am Yellow Splatters. Who are you?”

The man shook Yellow Splatters' hand without a second’s thought. He tipped his hat to Numbtongue, who didn’t hold his hand out to shake. The [Enforcer]’s smile was genial. And reserved.

“You can call me a serendipitous friend. We don’t deal in names, us that work in this line of business.”

“What line?”

“The same as those poor fools you and I scrapped with.”

The man nodded to the street. Some of the Humans were still there, although the City Watch had put them in cuffs. For some it was a cuff too many; their limbs had healed, but the severed digits and hands were gone. A consequence of using a potion too early; they might have tried to reattach the limb, rare as it was to go well. Numbtongue frowned at the man.

“You’re a criminal.”

“A criminal?”

Yellow Splatters instantly loomed over the [Enforcer]. His fists clenched. The man looked up to Yellow Splatters, and his hat twitched on his head.

“I’ve committed no crimes in Celum, sir, and none that come with any bothersome bounties or crimes you’d know of, such as it were. I’m just a visitor to the city, like you good gents. In fact, I came here looking for answers to a spot of bother some of my associates had the other month.”

“…I do not understand.”

Yellow Splatters frowned, stepping back from the [Enforcer]. The twisted language made little sense to Numbtongue as well, but he understood vaguely what the man was hinting at.

“You’re looking for more friends. Who are also thieves.”

“Not for my…acquaintances, sir. I believe I know what became of them. Rather, I would like to know how they ended up that way. And I think you might be just the fellow I’m looking for.”

The [Enforcer] tipped his hat to Numbtongue politely. The action was…familiar. In a way that bothered the Goblin a lot. He frowned at the [Enforcer]. The sap was hidden as well, but that too triggered a memory now that Numbtongue was out of the battle.

“Why me? Who are your friends?”

“I don’t know that they gave names. But did you by any chance run into a…unpleasant meeting with some people, oh, a while back? During that business with the siege of Liscor. Before the Goblin Lord. Some men. Three. Humans. Like me. All with caps, unless the business truly got nasty in the end.”

Numbtongue paused. He’d met lots of Humans. But now he was certain. The [Enforcer] stared at him. And the slight smile on his face…

“Perhaps this might jog your memory.”

He began to hum. From his lips, Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters heard a faint tune. A quiet rhyme. A children’s song.

“The night’s been long and the bodies are wet,

But don’t you fret; be quick and ain’t not a guard who’ll be upset

The good folk are rising, and we’re off to our beds,

The smart thieves away with the loot and the slow ones are dead.”

And Numbtongue remembered. The man with the cudgel. The thieves who’d taken Erin’s door. The [Enforcer] winked.

“Jog a memory, perchance?”

“I…”

The Hobgoblin hesitated. This was something else unfamiliar to him. He looked for Erin, but she was still hollering in the middle of the street. When he looked back, the [Enforcer] had stepped close. Too close.

“I’ve just a question. Sir. How’d it happen that you should cross paths with my brothers? And what terrible twist led you to kill them?”

“Numbtongue?”

Yellow Splatters was staring at the [Enforcer] cautiously. But he was behind the man, and Numbtongue—the Hob’s hairs all stood up on end. Pyrite’s memories that had melded with his during the battle were screaming at him.

That sap can break all of your bones in a moment. His [Shatter Blows] Skill is probably recharged. The sap and his hands are so quick he’ll kill me in a moment. It’s something Humans developed for cities. On a battlefield, you could kill him. Here—do you lie or tell the truth?

Maybe the [Enforcer] sensed what was on Numbtongue’s mind. One hand tipped the cap. The other hovered on the hilt of the sap.

“In case you were wondering why I’m so insistent…I’ve a Skill. [Grudgescent Terrier], sir. I can see the deaths of my associates on you. So I’ve a question. No unpleasantness for now. Truth is its own reward. Do not lie. Please.”

Numbtongue wavered for only a moment. Then he nodded.

“I killed them…”

The [Enforcer] listened to the short description of the fight. His eyes flickered when Numbtongue talked about the last man’s salute and the nursery rhyme. But all he did when Numbtongue was done was sigh.

“So you had no idea this group was coming your way. You simply saw the boats—and the door that you knew they’d no right to—and made your call. Simply done, sir. Simply done. But it brings up more questions for me, sad to say.”

He stepped back, pondering, and Yellow Splatters moved next to Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin saw two more figures approaching them down the street. A woman and…no, was it just her? She was beautiful as Humans went he supposed, and the scar was very pretty. Any female Redfang would want that. But her eyes struck him as predatory. Dangerous. And she had two blades in her sleeves.

“So this is the one.”

“The gent says he ran into our groups on the way out of the Floodplains. He recognized the door, but how our teams ran into him and apparently an entire tribe of battle-ready Goblins is the real question.”

The [Enforcer] informed the [Nightstalker]. She bared her teeth.

“A Hob and some Goblins killed an entire group and your three?”

“Apparently he’s better in a scrap when he’s armed. And there were…a few hundred of his lot. Now, why weren’t our groups warned that some very expert Goblins were in the area, hm? I think that’s the real question.”

The [Enforcer] smiled, but when he lifted his hat, his eyes were bleak. Numbtongue looked at the [Nightstalker]. The woman eyed him and spat.

“Are you from one of the gangs, Hob?”

“Gangs?”

“He’s a tribe Goblin.”

The [Enforcer] replied drily. Numbtongue looked at him, and the [Nightstalker] growled.

“I wasn’t asking you. Step off.”

She made a dangerous motion. The [Enforcer] eyed her, but stepped back. The Sister of Chell advanced.

“You, Goblin. Answer my questions or you’re dead. Got it?”

Yellow Splatters lowered one of his hands. The Sister of Chell stopped, and her stilettos flicked into her hands. Numbtongue saw a man—he blinked, frowning. There was someone else here. He narrowed his eyes at…Yellow Splatters was also turning his head, but he addressed the woman succinctly.

“Attack this Goblin and you will die.”

“Really?”

The [Nightstalker] glared up at the Soldier, but warily. She looked at Numbtongue and then jabbed a finger at him past Yellow Splatters.

“Who hired you to take out the Sisters of Chell? Was it the Plague Mage? Someone else? Who told you about the heist?”

“Who? What’s a heist? I just saw Humans stealing the door. So I killed them.”

Numbtongue was regretting it a bit now. It was impulsive, but when he’d seen Liscor on alert and the Humans running off with Erin’s door, he was sure they’d been up to no good. The [Nightstalker] glared at him. She looked at the [Enforcer], and he spread his hands.

“The story checks out. The Hobgoblin’s innocent, Miss. As far as I’m concerned. The question is whether this was bad intelligence or deliberate.”

“It doesn’t matter either way. Someone’s paying for this. And that includes him.”

The stiletto jabbed at Numbtongue. Yellow Splatters had had enough. He grabbed the hand—

And suddenly the other stiletto was sticking out his chest. Numbtongue began to shout, but the [Enforcer] leapt forwards. He caught the black shadow of a man before he swept the shortsword towards Numbtongue’s head. The [Nightstalker] recoiled as another of Yellow Splatters' hands gripped her throat. She stared at the Antinium as the [Blackguard] held very still. He and the [Enforcer] had locked eyes, and Numbtongue was crouched, ready to attack.

“Easy, gentlemen. Lady. Let’s all back off. Slowly. The good folk aren’t more than a few dozen feet away. And I don’t think I’d like to outrun a Gold-rank adventurer and whoever else is in that group. Would you?”

The [Enforcer] addressed the [Nightstalker]. She hesitated. Yellow Splatters' hand was around her throat, but it could have been a scarf for all she cared. What really seemed to bother her was that the Antinium kept the hand there after ten more seconds had passed. Her eyes swiveled to Yellow Splatters. With one of his free hands, the Antinium slowly pulled the stiletto out of his chest.

“Poison is useless against the Antinium.”

The woman’s eyes widened. She looked at the [Enforcer] and nodded slowly.

“Fine. Let go of me and him and we’ll go. For now.”

The [Enforcer] considered the offer. Then he looked at Yellow Splatters and Numbtongue.

“Best you’re going to get I’m afraid, lads. And if you were thinking of making this unpleasant…the Sisters won’t look kindly on having one of their own die on investigation. Whatsoever the cause.”

Yellow Splatters considered this. He slowly let go, and the [Enforcer] did likewise. The woman and man stepped back, and Numbtongue narrowed his eyes as the man vanished from Numbtongue’s immediate perception of the area. But the Goblin was now marking his general location.

“This isn’t over.”

The [Nightstalker] warned Numbtongue and the [Enforcer]. The Human man sighed, as if disappointed.

“And after you gave your word? That’s hardly polite. I say, wait until you know more of the picture. Time to visit Liscor and ask about. There’s a scene there, even if it’s foreign. As for you, sir…”

He turned to Numbtongue and regarded him.

“I’d like to believe it was all chance on your end. In which case, the Brothers won’t hold much of a grudge. But there’s always debts to be settled, sir. I’ll make my report fair as I can.”

“Thanks?”

Numbtongue had no idea what was going on. He looked at the woman as she grabbed her other stiletto and walked backwards. She was easier to understand. She was going to try and kill him. She confirmed this by pointing at Numbtongue’s chest.

“The Sisters of Chell don’t play games of chivalry. You are marked.”

“The Antinium protect him. Remember that.”

Yellow Splatters raised all four arms. Numbtongue saw the invisible man warily stepping between him and the Sister of Chell. The two retreated, never taking their eyes off Numbtongue. The [Enforcer] just sighed.

“Time was it was easier to deal with situations. No Goblins, just good, old-fashioned backstabbing. Not that I blame you, sir. You answered me truthfully, or my Skills would have told me so.”

“You know Goblins. You said I’m a tribal Goblin. Are there Goblins in cities?”

Numbtongue couldn’t believe it. Goblins lived in cities? Garen had said he was the only one! The [Enforcer] hesitated.

“My…association doesn’t work with Goblins or non-Humans as a rule. But I’ve heard and seen it done. We even have a few lads in our ranks of that sort. Good fellows. Very good fellows, as it were.”

“There are Goblins? Working with you?”

Numbtongue said it again. The [Enforcer]’s smile was wide and secretive. He tapped his nose and then tugged his cap.

“There’s a world unseen, gents. In the cities of the north, there’s places no upstanding citizen knows of. And while we ain’t quite as dangerous as the Antinium or a Goblin Lord…well, we’ll be about. Some of our folk died, and we want to know why. Simple as that. You’re the one who killed them, sir. But it seems they were set up or they ran into you by chance. And I’m not sure I believe in chances.”

He nodded at Numbtongue. The Goblin nodded. Yellow Splatters stared at the [Enforcer].

“Who are you?”

“A serendipitous sort. A friend of the quiet folk. Never you mind, Antinium Soldier sir. It’s not the sort of thing a fine sort like you’d ever run across. At least, so I thought until now. If we meet again, let’s all have a drink. I’d hate to meet in less happy ways.”

The [Enforcer] tipped his hat. He stepped back and walked towards the crowd of people. Numbtongue followed him with his eyes as the man slipped into the milling Humans.

Like that, they were gone. And though Celum was overturned by any number of significant events, largely involving an [Innkeeper] upsetting the rule of law, the two, no, three individuals that Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters had met were nowhere to be seen.

——

That night, Erin gathered Numbtongue, Lyonette, and Mrsha to discuss what had happened. The common room of The Wandering Inn was still packed, and the magic door was connected to Pallass via portal. No one would stand to have it connected to Celum at the moment, which was why Octavia was standing with the four, looking nervous and withdrawn. Tired. She wasn’t as chatty as she had been, and Erin was being…kind to the [Alchemist].

“Celum’s hopping mad, guys. Mostly at the City Watch, but I guess sort of at Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters. At least, the City Watch is. But he’s an adventurer, and those were bad guys he, uh, dismembered.”

“You mean disarmed.”

Lyonette frowned. Numbtongue snorted into his cup, and Mrsha looked from Erin’s suddenly blank face to Numbtongue’s and Lyonette’s. There was a pause, and then Octavia burst out laughing, which made everyone else but Mrsha laugh as well. Erin called out.

“Lyonette! That’s terrible!”

“Sorry. I just thought—”

The [Princess] laughed, and Numbtongue, snorting out ale through his nose, coughed. When he had wiped it with a handkerchief, Erin signaled them all towards seriousness. Mrsha folded her arms, not amused at the adults’ hilarity.

“Seriously, though. Octavia’s shop is sort of, um…damaged. I mean, it already was, which was sort of my fault—but the thugs took money from her and did all sorts of stuff. And she used a lot of potions by throwing them during the fight. We need to pay her back.”

Erin nodded at Octavia. The Stitch-girl looked up at the word ‘pay’, but she shook her head when Erin finished.

“It’s okay. I had it coming. I did start it with Quelm. And I’ve learned my lesson. I’m…I guess goodwill’s more important than gold. If it wasn’t for Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters, I’d have lost everything.”

She smiled at Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin peered at her and looked at Erin. This was not the fast-talking [Alchemist] he remembered. She seemed deflated. Erin met his eyes and nodded, concerned.

“Everybody’s at fault. Maybe us more than anyone because we didn’t listen. Then again…Ceria says she’d have been in trouble with the Horns if they fought forty guys. How’d you survive that, Numbtongue?”

“Potions. Yellow Splatters. Good memories.”

And a dangerous man. But Numbtongue didn’t say that out loud. Erin nodded.

“We’ll make it right, Octavia. I promise. We’ve…I’ve been bad to you. Even if you do try to sell a lot. To make it up, Ksmvr’s volunteered to stand guard in the shop tonight with the door open. If anyone comes to make trouble from that old gang, he’ll call us. And you’ll sleep in the inn. Okay? Our third floor’s rebuilt.”

She pointed upstairs. Everyone else looked up. Numbtongue blinked.

“It is?”

“Yup! So, Octavia, sit down. Have a drink.”

Erin gently ushered Octavia to a seat. The [Alchemist] girl sat, and soon Erin was fussing over her as Lyonette, Mrsha, and Numbtongue watched.

“I feel awful. Octavia didn’t deserve that. Or rather, most of it. I think they really did threaten her. Maybe with fire. Stitch-people are terrified of burning.”

Lyonette confided in Numbtongue. He nodded, his eyes on the [Alchemist]. He understood the gang wanting to steal from her, at least. Her shop was so valuable. The potions Octavia had made had saved him and Yellow Splatters. He thought about how hard it was for a Goblin to get even a single potion.

Then Numbtongue heard a voice in the milling crowd. Mainly because it mentioned his name. He looked around and saw Keldrass, one of the Drakes, speaking to the adventurers around him. The Pallassian adventurer looked disgruntled as he argued with Bevussa, Jelaqua, and some of the others.

“I’m not saying it was wrong to destroy a gang. But how can Celum—or any city, Liscor or Celum or Pallass—allow a single Human to throw laws out the window as it pleases her?”

“You’re telling me you object to Erin storming in there and helping arrest that crooked [Alchemist], Keldrass? Really? It’s idiots like him that create monopolies on potions and make adventurers like us pay twice or three times what we have to along with everyone else! Or have you not been to any city besides Pallass?”

Jelaqua was arguing with Keldrass in a Raskghar’s body, much to the displeasure of most of the Gnolls in the room. She folded her arms below her breasts and looked down at Keldrass, much to his displeasure. The Drake hissed in frustration, his tail lashing.

“I’m not saying that. I’m saying the way she went about it was wrong. Or don’t you think she did that just to protect her pet Goblin and Antinium Soldier?”

Numbtongue’s eyed locked on Keldrass. The Drake glared around. Jelaqua opened her mouth to respond, and Bevussa saw Numbtongue incoming. The Hobgoblin walked towards the adventurers, and the Garuda groaned.

“Oh, Ancestors.”

The Hobgoblin strode towards Keldrass, and the adventurers went quiet. In accordance with silence-theory, so did a good portion of the inn. Erin turned around from Octavia and swore. She stood up, but Numbtongue was already confronting the Drake.

As before, now again. Keldrass shifted, one claw moving to his side, and Numbtongue saw the mace hanging there. Keldrass was wearing the armor one of the Raskghar had been using—a powerful magical set. And he could breathe fire. But it was words he spat at Numbtongue, sharp and cruel.

“What, Goblin? I’m speaking the truth. You walked into a sovereign city, a Human one, true, and massacred two dozen Humans with an Antinium Soldier. Explain to me why that’s acceptable.”

“I didn’t kill any of them. And they were criminals. If adventurers did it—”

Keldrass snorted a plume of fire.

“If adventurers did it, my team or a Human one, we’d be arrested! You were only spared thanks to one Human. Her. I’m not saying destroying organized crime was wrong. But I am against one Human subverting the rule of law! That is not how government works!”

He pointed angrily at Erin. She stuck her tongue out at him as she joined the standoff. Numbtongue clenched his fists, searching for the right words. It was hard! He didn’t know what to say. He was barely six years old. He was a warrior; he didn’t know how to talk to Keldrass or even understand the nuance of the Drake’s arguments for all he understood the words!

But perhaps someone did. In his head, Numbtongue reached for a second voice as he had in battle. It was not him. But it was. And the memories had been given for him to use. While he feared, resented, and was confused by them, a dead Goblin’s memories—he could do what Numbtongue could not.

Maybe only Erin, Lyonette, and Mrsha noticed the change. And Yellow Splatters. It was slight. A shift of posture. The difference in the intonation of voice. Numbtongue had always been erudite, if reluctant to show it. And he was no less so now. But the inflection was off. Still, you had to know him to recognize the difference. The [Bard] rumbled in his chest.

“Hm. And it works very well already? You have [Thugs]. Gangs. It’s good to have them because the law is there? Better to have laws than justice?”

Keldrass blinked, then flushed. Jelaqua looked delighted and gave Numbtongue a thumbs-up.

“That’s not what I meant. I’m just saying that Erin—she rescued you because you were connected to her! She cannot interfere and command other people above her rank just because of personal…attachments!”

Numbtongue folded his arms. He set himself with a wider stance, as if he’d suddenly gained weight and needed to brace himself.

“I see. Like the Gnolls and Raskghar? Terrible for her to interfere.”

A ripple of motion ran around the room. Bevussa smiled. Keldrass’ scales turned even redder.

“Don’t twist my words. Those were monsters!”

Numbtongue nodded heavily. He grunted.

“And those Humans were monsters. Your point?”

Erin looked up at the [Bard] in awe. Keldrass opened his mouth, saw Bevussa shaking her head at him, and turned around.

“I refuse to argue with a Goblin. I’m stating my opinion. I’m trying to support the system that keeps Drake society running!”

He appealed to his fellow Drakes, who nodded. Numbtongue eyed the room and waggled an ear. His cadence became even more broken up.

“Don’t want to argue with Goblins. Mm. Because Goblins are stupid? Smelly? Monsters? Animals? Or because you’ll lose?”

Keldrass whirled around. He took a deep breath and noticed Erin staring at him. Erin, who sold acid jars. And who controlled the door that connected his home city to hers. And Lasica and Rufelt, the famed duo who ran the very popular inn he might want to visit with his team. And Xif, the best [Alchemist] who sold potions in the city. And Maughin. He hesitated, and everyone could see him choosing his words carefully.

“Some Goblins are…friendly. I’ll grant you that. Even intelligent. But that Drake earlier wasn’t wrong. Goblins killed his family. Why shouldn’t he be wary? Goblins as a whole can’t be reasoned with. The Goblin King—I’ll grant you that you’re safe. Beneficial even. Yes, you were right to defend an [Alchemist]. Happy?”

He exhaled hard, his eye twitching as he glared at Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin just shook his head.

“I’m fine.”

“That’s right. I said you’re not a threat to people. What more do you want?”

Numbtongue fixed Keldrass with an old look. A deep one.

“To be treated like a person. Not an animal.”

The Drake opened his mouth. Numbtongue rolled on, his voice deeper, contemplative. With the words of a Goblin who used them seldom. But had thought over this argument the many years he’d been alive.

“You. Keldrass. You say this Goblin is good. This Goblin is safe. Because Erin Solstice…tamed him? Because this Goblin learned? But other Goblins, wild Goblins, you can’t trust them. You have to find good ones. Train them. Like animals. Like a pet.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Not directly. But you said it to my face. So did the last Drake. What makes you a person and me an animal? Red eyes? Teeth?”

Numbtongue smiled, and his teeth were sharp, pointed. But Keldrass’ scowl hid teeth no less sharp. Numbtongue looked around the inn. He turned. And a dead Goblin’s words came to life.

“What makes a Goblin a monster? That they kill? Gnolls kill Drakes. Drakes kill Gnolls. Humans kill both. That we make war? Drakes make war. That our King destroys? The King of Destruction destroys. What is the thing that makes Goblins monsters?”

“The fact that you have no civility. No laws! No order! You build nothing—you copy and destroy! That’s all Goblins have ever done! All they do!”

Keldrass snapped at Numbtongue. Pyrite stared at him, and the Gold-rank adventurer hesitated. There was a look in the crimson depths. Slowly, Pyrite reached into the satchel by his side. He felt around in it, speaking as he did.

“You say we are not civil. I say, good evening. Good night. Hello, Adventurer Keldrass. I am Pyr—Numbtongue. How do you do? By sword and bell, I raise my blade. By the walls, I salute you! On this grass I walk, I offer peace-bound friendship!”

Behind the Goblin, Pisces sat up in his chair. The Drakes from Pallass looked up, and jaws dropped. The Plains Gnolls’ eyes bulged. And the Hob went on. The bag clinked as he found what he was looking for and smiled.

“Goblins have no laws? We have the ones that matter. The Chieftain leads. Goblins should not kill Goblins. We have no books. And we have no [Guards]. We guard ourselves. Perhaps that is silly. But it works. We have order. It goes like this. One Goblin leads, and the others follow. As [Kings] rule, Goblins do too. But no one watches Goblins, so how would you know? And as for building…”

He paused and looked around. The inn was silent, watching, unsure. Pyrite shrugged.

“I do not build. But I find. I mine. Once, there was a Goblin who loved treasures. And he taught himself to find them in the mountain. For fun.”

Slowly, he withdrew the object he’d grasped. Keldrass gasped along with everyone around him. A gold nugget rested in Pyrite’s palm. He regarded it idly and glanced around. The glitter of the metal caught every eye. Gold. But Pyrite tossed it up and down. Jelaqua’s voice was strangled.

“Hold on. Numbtongue, where’d you get—”

“He—I—found it. Mined it from a mountain. From Rockmites and stone. Do you like it?”

“Um…yes?”

The Goblin smiled.

“Want it?”

He held the nugget out. Keldrass stared, and his claws twitched. So did Jelaqua’s; Pyrite had held it out between her, Bevussa, and the Drake. All three adventurers reached for it at once, and Pyrite pulled the nugget back. He spoke again, tossing the heavy orb up and down. Hypnotizing the crowd.

“Once. There was a Goblin. He liked shiny things. Gold. Gems. Mana stones. They glittered, and he found a way to mine them. They were his. He went into caves with monsters and got them. He mined them. If he was a Drake, they would say ‘that is his treasure’. But adventurers did not think so. They saw he had treasure, and they tried to kill him for it.”

He looked around.

“Was that fair? They did not mine it. They did not earn it. They tried to kill him for it. And they killed his tribe. They hunted him. They built nothing. They only destroyed. That was all they ever did.”

“That’s—different. They—we’re adventurers. We hunt monsters. If you had a hoard, they would target you.”

Keldrass sounded as though he wasn’t certain of himself. He stared at the gold as Pyrite tossed it up and down. The Hobgoblin shrugged.

“And if I was a person, I would call them [Thieves]. But a Goblin is a Goblin. A Goblin is a monster. An animal. It can be tamed. But it is still an animal. Right?”

He looked around the room. Some didn’t meet his eyes. Others did. Like Erin. She mouthed at Numbtongue.

Who are you?

The Goblin winked at her. Just for a moment. Then he offered the nugget again to Keldrass. The gold glinted in the fading light.

“Want it?”

The Drake hesitated. He looked around the room, warring with himself. But the gold was gold. And Drakes were the children of Dragons.

“Yes. Why? Is it a bribe? A gift? Proof you’re a person?”

His expression said he might say anything to have it and to be out of the spotlight. Pyrite just grinned a Goblin’s grin.

“Nothing. It’s yours. If you pick it up.”

He tossed the nugget on the floor. It was a decent toss; the nugget rolled a bit, but it was so heavy it actually dented the floorboards. Keldrass started. He looked at Pyrite and then around. Everyone watched him. The Drake considered how much it would cost his image to bend over and pick up the nugget. Then he stiffly walked over. Pyrite waited until the Drake was moving. Then, as Keldrass bent, he spoke one word.

“Fetch.”

The Drake—froze. And so did the room. Slowly, Keldrass turned. His face was flushed under his scales. He glared at Pyrite, but with a hint of triumph.

“Never.”

The Hobgoblin eyed him silently, then he smiled and shrugged. He looked around the room.

“It’s just gold. Worthless to a Goblin. But anyone who wants it may fetch.”

With that, he walked away. He sat down with a grunt and a sigh, reaching for a hamburger. He lifted it to his lips and bit once. He smiled with satisfaction—

And then Numbtongue was there. The [Bard] chewed, swallowed, and looked around the room. He indicated the nugget as Pyrite had done. And there was only silence.

No one moved. The adventurers were frozen. Keldrass, his arms folded, was flushed. He was deliberately not looking at the nugget of gold. Most people weren’t.

Of course, no one else was going to ‘fetch’ it. Pick it up and prove the Goblin’s point? Hah! Okay, he’d mined it. But he was giving it away. And if you thought about what he’d said about thieves…no. No, this was just about the gold. Every eye darted to it. It was definitely gold. If you knew anything about how heavy gold was and if you’d seen the real stuff…gold. But no one would pick it up. That was out of the question.

Maybe, if no one was looking, someone might stroll over to it and, by pure accident, nudge it with a shoe. And why not pick it up then? That damn Goblin wasn’t ordering them. It was just money, and who didn’t like that? If no one was watching. But Numbtongue was staring at all of them, with a sneer for a smile. Pisces would have been hard pressed to outdo him at this moment.

Slowly, everyone turned back to what they were doing, ignoring the gold on the ground. The Goblin was still there. Still watching. But so what? He’d give up and go away. In a few minutes. When he saw no one was going to pick it up. In an hour, even. They could wait hours to prove him wrong. They were people. And he was just…a talented miner. That was a useful Skill, wasn’t it? Did he have a class? Did he have more gold in that bag of his? No, no. That would be theft. From a monster?

He’d go away. When he did…‘accidents’ could happen, and no one would have to own up to it. Everyone was sure on that point. Completely sure. They’d just sit there and talk…one of the Drakes looked over at his companion, a Dullahan.

“So…how’s that pizza?”

The Dullahan quickly turned his head on his shoulders.

“Fine. It is good pizza.”

“Right, right.”

The inn murmured agreement. No one was watching the nugget. They were talking about proper people-things. And the Goblin was going to get bored. They relaxed, realizing everyone was on the same wavelength. Then everyone saw it.

A complication. She was small, furry, and white. She was also a Gnoll. Mrsha was padding along the edge of the room, having borne witness to Pyrite’s speech and his offer of free gold nuggets to anyone who picked it up. She was the one person moving in the tableau of a room. And suddenly, everyone was staring at her.

They all stared at Mrsha. The white Gnoll was innocently slinking from table to person to chair towards the lovely, shiny, and most of all, round nugget lying on the floor. She had an innocent look on her face that fooled no one, not even Pawn, Yellow Splatters, or Ksmvr. Mrsha had a target. She was a Gnoll of the Stone Spears tribe, and she knew the worth of a good mineral.

The future was open to the crowded room. They could all see it, as if they’d all become Gazers. If no one acted, Mrsha was going to grab the gold nugget and run off. It would be hers. And well…what a waste.

“That’s solid gold. Pure too, if I’m any guess. Might be worth ten gold pieces. More?”

The person to break the thoughtful silence was a Human. Earlia, captain of Gemhammer. She was a former [Miner], and she knew gold. She eyed the nugget, and everyone considered that number. It wasn’t a small amount. Okay, some in the room were rich. Others were not. Adventurers could always use more money. So could poor, hardworking [Senators]. And [Shopkeepers]. And a [Bartender] could buy a nice stool with ten gold pieces.

The gold had a luster of its own. The adventurer nodded slowly.

“It’d be a shame not to pick it up. Hey. Blaik, you go for it.”

Earlia turned to one of her team. The brawny Human adventurer hesitated.

“What, me? I’m not a pet.”

“No, you’re my subordinate. Go pick it up.”

“Why don’t you, Captain?”

“Well…”

Earlia hesitated. Some people in the inn were clearly less preoccupied with Numbtongue’s taunt than, say, the attraction of free gold. Pisces for one. He was slowly sliding towards the gold at roughly Mrsha’s pace. But now Earlia and the others saw the problem. Well, if they went for it, then the others would too. She casually took a sip from her empty mug.

“Maybe I might.”

Errif, not to be confused with Elirr, who was having a drink at the bar, gulped. The Head of Pallass’ [Merchant]’s guild spoke slowly.

“You know, I would wager that’s eight gold pieces’ worth of pure gold in that nugget…fourteen if you find a [Mage] or [Alchemist] in need of gold as a component. Just so we’re clear, yes?”

He looked around the room. Speculative eyes stared at the nugget. Mrsha, who’d been creeping up on it all this time, noticed the stares. She looked up, hesitated, and with uncanny intuition and restraint decided this was not, in fact, worth it. She slunk back to Erin. The [Innkeeper], laughing quietly, scooped her up. Erin looked around and then shouted.

“My precious!”

Fourteen Gnolls, half the Drakes in the room, Pisces, Ceria, Relc, and Lyonette all went for the nugget. The scramble was so intense that Erin ducked back as tables and chairs went flying. She hollered as she carried Mrsha to safety.

“I’m gonna have to test my new Skill now! Hey! No magic! I said, no magic!”

In the end, it was Earlia who emerged, panting, from the mess. She’d been fastest and was nursing a swollen lip and two bruises. She plonked the nugget on the table in front of the other adventurers. Jelaqua, who’d been too busy sitting with Maughin and Bevussa, who weren’t that desperate, looked up. The former [Miner] grinned.

“Woof.”

She sat down with the Gold-ranks. Across the inn, Numbtongue was happily sitting with Yellow Splatters and Mrsha and Erin and Octavia, his back straight and proud. He might not be allowed in Liscor or Celum, but he’d won something, and all the adventurers sensed it. Keldrass stomped over to the table and sat down. No one said a word. Earlia tapped the gold nugget with a spoon and listened to the sound it made. Then she looked up.

“Have you ever heard of it? The Golden Goblin?”

“What?”

The Pallassian adventurers sitting around the table gave her a blank look. Jelaqua, on the other hand, frowned. Earlia nodded to her.

“Maybe it’s only in the north. Come to think of it…well, just listen. It was an old urban legend around the Adventurer’s Guilds where I came from. North of Celum a ways, but all over, really. One of those myths adventurers tell, like seeing a Unicorn, you know? Or finding a Dragon’s scale? Anyways. There was a saying that there was a Goblin whose tribe was insanely rich somewhere around the High Passes. People thought the Goblin had uncovered a treasure hoard or maybe looted a bunch of caravans. Either way, that Numbtongue Goblin made me think of it.”

“The Golden Goblin?”

Keldrass snorted dismissively, but every eye flicked towards Numbtongue. Earlia nodded, resting her hand on her chin.

“Yeah. I thought it was a load too. But then…I’m a [Miner], or I was until my group ran into monsters in our shaft. We decided killing monsters was actually safer and more fun than mining. You can run into some nasty stuff down there. But with that said, we only mined in safe spots. Near towns. I hear that if you wander the High Passes, you can find hundreds, thousands of veins as rich as anything in Salazsar.”

“So you’re saying a Goblin could mine? And this Golden Goblin—why didn’t anyone catch him? It? If it had so much wealth.”

Earlia smiled around the table.

“Well, there’s the thing. All the teams who swore they’d met the Golden Goblin said they ‘nearly’ got him. They’d find him mining or catch his tribe’s trail. But here’s where it becomes a legend, right? Each time they’d nearly catch him, but the Goblin and his tribe would always get away. Rumor was he was loaded with treasure, so a lot of adventurers went after his tribe. But that stopped when they kept dying.”

“How?”

The other teams frowned around the table. Earlia shook her head. She tossed the nugget up and down, as Pyrite had done, eying it thoughtfully.

“He’d always drop some treasure and run off. And the adventurers would scramble to get it and miss the Goblin and his tribe. Sometimes it would be gemstones. Or rare ores, like gold. Always polished, right? And I mean, who wants to tangle with a Hob when you could pick up a gem? Sometimes, though, that would lead to adventurers fighting over the treasure. Even killing each other. Other times it led into traps.”

“Like what?”

Bevussa looked at Numbtongue. Earlia shrugged.

“One time I heard they found a bunch of treasure right below a cliff. It looked like a Goblin had fallen and dropped a ton of gemstones and gold nuggets. The two teams rushed to grab it. And guess what happened?”

“Avalanche?”

“Avalanche, pitfalls, even a bunch of diamonds at the bottom of a Creler’s nest. And it’s not like it happened often enough for people to say it was definitely one Goblin or even that it wasn’t just a team making up rumors. The Golden Goblin tale would pop up sixty miles north of Celum one day and then two hundred miles west in nine months. Eventually, the Golden Goblin rumors died out. Plenty of tribes get wiped each year. But no one ever found a hoard.”

The adventurers were silent. Earlia looked around and smiled. Her eyes locked on Numbtongue’s back. The Goblin was explaining something to Erin, who seemed amazed. And sad. And Mrsha seemed wondering.

“I’m just repeating a rumor. Anyways, this is good gold. Wonder where he found it. If our team had been this good at mining, we’d never have become adventurers.”

“It’s nothing special. He probably stole it from a monster’s nest.”

Keldrass muttered, slumped in his seat. Bevussa reached out and smacked his shoulder with one wing. She shook her wing arm, grimacing as the magical enchantment on the armor flared to life.

“Oh really? You want to fight Rockmites, Keldrass? Have a thousand of them crawling down your beak? Wander in caves looking for veins? Even with [Dangersense] and [Rock Scent], or some other Skill, that’s a brave Goblin.”

“It changes nothing.”

The Drake sulkily reached for his mug. Jelaqua sighed at last and raised her voice. The oldest adventurer present fixed Keldrass with one eye as all the adventurers looked at her and remembered who one of the Halfseekers had been.

“Keldrass. Whatever may have passed or not, you just met a Hobgoblin and had a conversation with him. In an inn, with dozens of people watching. Doesn’t that strike you as the least bit odd?”

The Drake hesitated. In the end, he said nothing. But it didn’t matter. The story wasn’t about him. As the night wore on, Numbtongue, who’d been smiling and looking happier than anyone could remember seeing him in a long time, stood up. He wandered to the stage in the back of the inn where the Players of Celum, exhausted after repeat performances, had vacated it. There he pulled up a chair and sat. And the inn watched as the [Bard] got his guitar out and slowly began to tune it.

Numbtongue sat on the stage and looked down at his crowd. They weren’t here for him. Some glared at him. Others shouted for him to get off until Erin threw stuff at them.

It was an unwilling audience. One that hated him, that watched out of morbid curiosity or fear. But so what? He wasn’t going anywhere. The Hobgoblin sat on the stage and searched for the right tune. The right words. They came to him. Despite him not liking singing, the urge rose.

So he began to play.

“Have you heard of the greatest Goblin warriors, the Redfang Tribe,

Who lived in the High Passes and ate Eater Goats and Gargoyles just to survive?”

Across the inn, guests looked up. That was the thing about music. Like it, hate it, it was hard to ignore. Numbtongue strummed and raised his voice.

“Our leader was Garen of the Redfang blade,

Who was an adventurer and his team betrayed

He made us and saved us and taught us how to fight,

A traitor maybe, but he did things that were right.”

Sitting at their table, Moore and Seborn looked up. Jelaqua drank from her mug and watched. Numbtongue went on, improvising, putting words together.

“This is the story of thirteen Redfangs he chose,

Who walked and travelled on no Goblin’s road

He sent us thirteen to kill an innkeeper,

But lost and confused, we didn’t know where to seek her!”

Erin spat out her drink onto Mrsha’s head. She gawped at Numbtongue. The Goblin stared off into the distance.

“This is the tale of the Goblins who roamed

The Goblins who fought and died until they found home.”

It was a ballad of rhymes. Rhymes were easy. Numbtongue barely had to think. All he had to do was remember. At first, there had been Esthelm. Quietly, he told the story of a chance encounter. A fight with the Silver Swords. And a girl. A skeleton.

“A [Florist] who was more Human than monster (who had impeccable taste)!

And so as not to let her sacrifice go to waste,

Thirteen Goblins fought at Esthelm that day

And only six walked away.”

No one knew that story here. No one had heard it told. But they had to hear it. Someone—anyone had to listen. Numbtongue recounted it, the deaths, the names. Grunter, Bitefly, Leftstep…

And on. Of Liscor. Of Bugear, who’d died before meeting Erin, but had died fighting for his brothers. Of the battles there. Face-Eater Moths. Raskghar. Face Stealer. And then the end. Not everyone was listening. But that one [Innkeeper] was, a few Drakes, a Gnoll child—and more listening with one ear, frowning, denying—it didn’t matter. They were listening.

Numbtongue shouted the last refrain.

“They are gone, but I remain!”

And he stood up. He didn’t expect applause. But he got it, scattered, a few hand claps. That was all, but that wasn’t the point. The point was the story. Their story. He sat down next to Erin, and she wiped her eyes. Pisces, who had been listening, cracked one eye open and looked at Ceria and Yvlon. The two female adventurers were quiet, introspective. He coughed.

“You couldn’t make a play about that.”

“Be quiet.”

Yvlon kicked him hard. He went silent. At their table, Erin turned to Numbtongue.

“What will you call it?”

The Hobgoblin shrugged.

“Needs work.”

And it did, but he had a title already in his head. A song.

The Ballad of the Redfangs.

Erin blew her nose.

“It’s good. But you know…”

“Yes?”

“You don’t have to surrender the stage after one song, Numbtongue. They can’t chase you off. And you don’t have to go. What if you played a song for us? Something we can sing to?”

The Hobgoblin looked at Erin. She smiled at him. And he looked over at Yellow Splatters. The Antinium had been staring at the [Bard]. The [Sergeant] spoke softly.

“The Antinium have no music. Bird sings. But that is all. If you have a song, I would like to hear it. And…sing?”

Numbtongue’s heart leapt. He stood up and walked back to the stage. Some of the audience groaned. Others shouted that they didn’t want to hear it. And a few looked at Numbtongue and turned their bodies and heads to listen. Only a few. The Goblin had never expected it to be easy.

But he’d remembered why he wanted to be a [Bard]. So he played. At first, a song Erin knew and could teach everyone the words to. Then a song he’d created. A riff, with lightning and thunderous chords. And then another song. And another.

Soon it wasn’t that a Goblin was singing a Goblin’s song, but just that he was there. A Goblin [Bard], reminding everyone of the past. Pyrite was in Numbtongue’s head. Not forgotten. And Headscratcher, Shorthilt, all the others, lived on in Numbtongue’s music. They wouldn’t be forgotten. Not yet.

They died. They left us. And we are alone. But we are not gone. Here we are. The guitar sang as Numbtongue stood alone, alone in front of a crowd. But he refused to run. He refused to hide. Here I am. Here we are. We made it. We remain. And we will never let you forget. Here we are. Look at us. See us.

Here we are.

——

Then it was done. Numbtongue sat in his room, dozing off with the sun. His claws hurt, and his throat was sore. But he wasn’t unhappy. He was tired. Oh, so tired. And the sun, usually a good incentive, couldn’t keep him awake. The Goblin nodded as he slowly put his guitar away, and then lay down on his bed. He’d probably wake up after nine hours. Six? Four if he needed to.

It might be hard when he woke up. Hard and unforgiving. But Numbtongue had something now. A friend. A reason to keep going, to stay at the inn. Memories. Today, they had helped him. Given him words he couldn’t have come up with himself. The skill to fight—they’d saved his life.

He would have traded all of it to have the Goblin who they belonged to sitting across from him, grunting and chewing on something as he always did. Numbtongue knew Pyrite now, though they had never spoken. He wished Pyrite had been alive to see him on that stage. To meet Erin. Him, Headscratcher, Shorthilt, and all the others. Numbtongue wished, and that was all. But he wasn’t unhappy. Just tired.

He closed his eyes.

[Conditions Met: Bard → Goblin Soulbard Class!]

[Goblin Soulbard Level 30!]

[Memory – Pyrite, Flooded Waters Tribe obtained!]

[Skill – A Minute, Reborn obtained!]

[Skill – Ballad of Bravery obtained!]

Slowly, Numbtongue opened his eyes.

——

A minute later, a Goblin sat in Numbtongue’s room. He felt tired. Physically, his body, at any rate. Intellectually, his mind was racing. And fresh! The Goblin looked around experimentally, blinking, and then felt at his body. He knew the body’s name. Its owner. That was Numbtongue. But he? He was different.

‘Pyrite’ scratched his stomach. He stopped, poked it experimentally, and wondered if a flat stomach and nimble body was better than fat in combat. Then he thought of who he was.

He could remember everything. He was Pyrite. And he was Numbtongue. The gaps between their personalities had disappeared, but also reformed. This wasn’t the confused jumble that Numbtongue had been forced to sort through when Pyrite had died.

This was different. Pyrite felt like himself, although that might be an illusion. More importantly, Pyrite could remember Numbtongue’s memories, but he was sure, in this moment, he was Pyrite. Only, one inclined to help Numbtongue. Well, that was fine. He would have done it anyways.

Wasn’t this confusing? Pyrite frowned and blew out his cheeks. He knew he didn’t have time to waste on puzzling out who was who, though. The Skill’s name had sounded explicit. [A Minute, Reborn]. Well, that was a time limit. And an inconvenient one, too.

One minute, so now probably thirty seconds. Pyrite hesitated, then decided he needed notes. He bent and, with Numbtongue’s finger, scribbled fast on the floorboards, cutting into them with his nail. Numbtongue didn’t know how to write because he’d never bothered, but he could read this note in case he forgot. There were so many thoughts bouncing around in Pyrite’s head, but he jotted down the most pressing ones as he spoke aloud.

“This class. Is it only for [Bards]? Why did you get it? Because of memory? Was that because so many Goblins died or because I tried? Is this memory here to stay, or does it fade?”

He paused, not too concerned by that. This was fascinating. Experimentally, he flexed one clawed hand and went back to writing.

“Do I remember this, or does Numbtongue remembering take over and I am new Pyrite with Numbtongue’s memories any time? Will I make him level up? Can I level up?”

Probably not. But Pyrite wrote it down just in case. He frowned. So many questions!

“Hm. Hmm. Greydath would know. Do I have Skills when I am reborn? Is it possible to make this longer? An hour? A day? Test me in the mountains or elsewhere. I have [Power Strike]—can’t use here. Lastly…”

Ten seconds. Pyrite could feel something tugging him. Yes. His time was coming to a close. And perhaps he could leave if need be. But he could also be called. When he was needed…his mind flashed from thought to thought, and then Pyrite’s eyes widened. With the last seconds, he wrote, scratching deep into the wooden floorboards.

Then he was gone. One second he was there, and then Numbtongue was staring down at his old thumb. He could sense what Pyrite had wanted to write, so he finished it. Then…Pyrite’s perspective, his intentions, faded away in Numbtongue’s mind like an old dream. The Hobgoblin shook. He could remember what Pyrite had done, even the vague intentions, but the exact reasoning and…personality were beyond him.

But the writing was clear. Numbtongue stared at it. Particularly the last lines. They burned so hot in him that his exhaustion disappeared in a moment. He stared down and read slowly, his voice shaking.

“The class is not new. The class is meant for you. Goblins have always had this power. When did we lose it? How?”

We have had this class. It is ours. [Goblin Soulbard]. Goblin. If Goblins have a class, do Humans? Do Drakes? What does it mean? Is it just memories? Is it a thing of [Chieftains]?

Those were Pyrite’s thoughts. But the words below them struck a chord deeper. They rocked Numbtongue to his core. Because they changed his purpose. The reason he was here. Trembling, he touched the scratches in the wood.

“Find the others if they remain. Find our King.”

He looked up. The inn was silent above him as a new day dawned. And the Goblin sat by himself. But he was no longer alone.

Slowly, the pieces of the world began to fall closer into place.

6.35

Day 54 – Ryoka

When the Wind Runner of Reizmelt woke up, she knew it would be another rainy day. Honestly, she was sick of them, but they were symptomatic of Izril in the spring. Wet.

And it was still better than Liscor, whose spring rain season was the thing of nightmares. Even so, as spring waned and became summer, the rains persisted. And yes, they were good for crops and all that. Ryoka was still tired of being wet.

She knew it would be a rainy day as soon as she woke to the drumming of rain on the roof above her room. But as Ryoka got up, she realized a few more things.

Firstly, she wasn’t in Reizmelt. She knew that because it was past dawn and Madain hadn’t been banging about, swearing and shouting for everyone to wake up!! Funny, but Ryoka almost missed that. And because her bed was freshly made, smelled of flowers, and the sheets had been washed by someone other than Ryoka.

She was in Walta, staying at the Rose’s Retreat, a very nice inn with a female [Innkeeper] who was accommodating and strict. Miss Iglesias Theroben had expressed a firm desire to Ryoka that her rooms not be sullied by impropriety or any untoward advances towards her all-female staff.

She obviously hadn’t been suspecting Ryoka of the latter, given how it seemed like most people in this world’s society didn’t acknowledge or even know about sexual orientations beyond being straight, but Ryoka was amused to know that the upstanding Miss Iglesias thought of Lady Bethal Walchaís as a paragon of virtue. She’d been too grateful for somewhere to sleep and for Miss Iglesias’ welcoming, if strictly proper, inn to shatter the woman’s beliefs.

That wasn’t her. And as Ryoka got up and dressed with the speed and efficiency that came to people who live in a hurry, she realized one last thing: it was going to be a bad day to run. She could still do it, but it would be a bad day.

Not a bad bad day, to be clear. A few days of rest had cleared the minor potion-sickness out of Ryoka’s veins and stomach and rejuvenated her after her now-famous run from Reizmelt to Walta, capital city of Lady Bethal’s lands. She felt good, today, in fact. Hungry. It was just that as soon as Ryoka had sensed then felt the wind outside howling in the rain, she’d known it was going to be a bad day.

The Rose’s Retreat was already bustling when the sleepy young woman exited her ground-floor room. Unlike other inns, the layout of this inn more closely resembled one of the cheap motels Ryoka had ‘run away’ to when she was sick of fighting with her father or trying to get her mother to agree to…anything. Like a good motel experience, breakfast was a buffet.

A very nice buffet. Ryoka saw the goat’s cheese being spread onto a bun first, then she smelled some cooked sausage and saw a delicate spread of garden-grown vegetables, fresh from Miss Iglesias’ own soil. Her stomach rumbled, but when she saw the somewhat portly, very gracious host, Ryoka stopped to greet her. There were such things as manners, and Ryoka wanted to mind hers.

“Ah, Miss Ryoka Griffin. A fair morning to you! I trust you weren’t awoken unduly early? The blessed rain woke me up earlier than I would have liked, but you Runners do keep early hours.”

The woman sighed as she turned to greet Ryoka, goat cheese and bun in hand. Ryoka eyed the bread and decided she was having that first with some of the roasted meat. Miss Iglesias’ inn might not have had the random excitement that was an attraction or a deterrent in Erin’s inn, or the dirt-cheap prices and unique…personality that was Madain’s inn. But it was arguably better than both.

Ryoka knew that was an insult to Erin, but did she have a dedicated [Cook] with [Advanced Cooking] and a host of other Skills like [Rising Dough] or [Two Hour Warmth]? Maybe her inn had changed, but Ryoka saw a [Maid]—not a [Barmaid], just a [Maid]—delicately arranging a gentle-smelling bouquet next to the dishes of warm, delicious food. Still warm, thanks to that Skill, and fresh as…

Ryoka’s mouth watered. Say what you will, and Erin did make a good pizza, but this was home-cooking and as much as you wanted of it.

Fresh and organic too, if that was your fancy. Ryoka would settle for delicious. She nodded politely to the smiling Miss Iglesias.

“Good morning to you too, Miss Iglesias. I’m not so sure it’ll be a fair one, though. The rain might clear up, but you shouldn’t count on hanging anything out; the wind will be blowing hard all day.”

Miss Iglesias glanced out of one of her glass windows with a frown.

“Really? My [Gardener] friend swore her [Weathersense] told her it would be only rainy tomorrow, but perfect for gardening later on if I wore boots. But if anyone would know, it would be you, wouldn’t it?”

Ryoka grimaced.

“I’m not an expert, Miss Iglesias, so don’t quote me on it. If I’m wrong, I’d be delighted. But…uh, this breakfast looks lovely.”

“Oh! I’m terribly sorry. Go on and enjoy yourself by all means. I imagine you’ll want to be up and about. Will you be staying another day?”

The woman stepped aside so Ryoka could fill a plate and chat at the same time. Biting into her first cheese-and-sausage roll—Miss Iglesias stood on no customs aside from the bit about hanky and panky and horrifically graphic displays of sex—she swallowed and then replied.

“I doubt it, Miss Iglesias. I have all my gear in my bag of holding here—I’m paid up, aren’t I?”

She patted the bag at her side. Miss Iglesias nodded.

“You’re free to leave, but I will keep your room open until tonight. If you wish to stay, you need only return. You have been a good guest.”

“Thank you.”

Ryoka smiled gratefully. Miss Iglesias was used to travellers, being one of the more popular inns for travellers to stop by. She had any number of rooms available, but keeping Ryoka’s open for a day was still generous.

Ryoka helped herself to a big breakfast—she might be eating rations on the road if she took the offer she’d gotten yesterday. She might have lingered to talk with Miss Iglesias, but a howl of wind against the windows made her, the innkeeper, and a few guests enjoying the early breakfast look up.

“What a storm. My garden will need no end of work after this.”

Exasperated, Miss Iglesias went to the window and peered outside. Ryoka grimaced, trying to imagine running in that, but—her internal sense told her the wind was upset. Yet that didn’t correlate to the rain. Indeed, it was just a light sprinkle now. Ryoka brightened; she could handle that. And the noise made her realize something else.

“Ah, Miss Iglesias, I might be taking off now. I’m very grateful for your hospitality…”

The woman turned and realized Ryoka was edging towards the door. She opened her mouth and then realized why Ryoka was in a hurry. So she smiled understandingly and reached out to shake Ryoka’s hand gently.

“Well, as I said, you’ve been very easy to look after. No messes, no blood or muck for my girls to tidy up—if you stop by Walta in the future, stay here by all means! I know you Runners, and I have no doubt I’ll see you again.”

Ryoka ducked her head, smiling.

“Thank you, Miss Iglesias. I’m normally around Reizmelt, but if I’m ever in the region for a delivery…”

She began to walk towards the door. But, too late, as Ryoka put one hand on the brass knob, she heard the sound she’d wanted to avoid. Clip-clop, clip-clop.

Ryoka cursed. Miss Iglesias sighed as she turned to greet another guest. Ryoka opened the door; there was still time to get away before—

“Good morning, Miss Iglesias! Ryoka! Hey, Ryoka, wait!”

A Centauress walked into the room. That wasn’t a euphemism. She trotted in, her shod hooves clattering on the floorboards as she navigated her way through the cozy inn. A Centaur.

Perhaps, if you had never met one, the idea of the half-human, half-horse species would be exotic. Fascinating. While that was certainly all true of the female Centaur, something else had to be pointed out. A Centaur was half-horse. And as such, the first consideration anyone in the nearby vicinity of a Centaur was—

Both Ryoka and Miss Iglesias stepped hurriedly out of the way as the Centauress clattered forwards. Her hooves touched the floor lightly, but the Centauress was still over seven feet in height, and she had to weigh…Ryoka thought about horses from her world. A ton?

At least. And this Centauress wasn’t even a big example of her species. Her horse parts didn’t resemble the huge draft horses, but rather a lighter riding horse. She had a tan hair coat with a few large, brown spots, pale brown skin, and blonde-gray hair, cut short, but styled—the Centauress trotted closer, and Ryoka leapt back again. She was barefoot, and she had no intention of having her foot broken by a stray hoof!

“Charlay, watch the hooves!”

The Centauress caught herself and checked her hoof placement. She tossed her head dismissively.

“What? I’m nowhere near your feet. Stop being such a foal, Ryoka. Hey, good thing I woke up, right? I nearly missed you. But for the rain and I would have slept in!”

She gestured outside at the clouds, which had decided to dump one last time before giving up. Ryoka eyed the Centauress. She had a light shirt on her upper half, concealing the place where her waist met the horse parts. Her lower half was bare today, although Ryoka had seen Charlay wearing a half-skirt or full dress that covered her horse bits. She eyed the street, but it was too late. Charlay smiled at the [Innkeeper], who gave her a polite smile of her own.

“Fair day to you as well, Charlay. How was your sleep?”

“Good. Thanks for the extra pillows. My legs were hurting from the ground yesterday. Ooh! Food’s already out?”

She eagerly trotted over to the buffet and inspected it.

“Just what I wanted. Ryoka, stick around. I want to eat first.”

The Asian girl groaned. Charlay never woke up this early. Both times before she’d been up in the late morning. But after a second of staring out of the inn, she closed the door and walked back to the buffet. Miss Iglesias gave Ryoka a sympathetic smile.

“Hey, Charlay. Good to see you. I’m probably leaving today—”

“That’s fine. I’ll run with you to the Guild. Hey, you want this?”

The Centauress waved a bowl, and Ryoka saw what she was eating for breakfast. It was a bowl of boiled, steaming…

Oats. As bland as licking wheat seasoned with white rice on top of unsalted porridge with a bit of whole-grain bread for that rare contrast in flavor. Ryoka and Miss Iglesias watched as Charlay happily filled a bowl with the stuff and added some grains of brown sugar and bits of pepper flakes.

Ryoka resigned herself to another helping and took about four times the pepper that Charlay had to add to a lovely browned sausage with some eggs. She liked the flavor, and the pepper wasn’t so much hot as sweet to her palate. But Charlay blew out her cheeks halfway through her bowl.

“Hot! This is spicy stuff, Miss Iglesias! You should warn people, or they might get indigestion!”

The Human woman raised her eyebrows, but only nodded and took Charlay’s suggestion ‘under advisement’. Ryoka waited as Charlay ate one bowl, then another, and coughed.

“I need to be going—”

“What’s the hurry? I’m done, I guess. Good food, Miss Iglesias. Thanks for putting it out for me.”

The Centauress craned her upper body to speak to the woman while her horse half shuffled around towards the door. Miss Iglesias pulled a chair out of the way; Ryoka just stood back. Charlay was bigger than Calruz, both in height and body. And in a building built for Humans, she was like an elephant. Or a horse.

“Not a problem, my dear. Will you want supper? Or lunch?”

Charlay shook her head impatiently.

“I’m done. And I’ve paid my room; I don’t know if I’ll be back, but I’m packed up. Let’s go, Ryoka.”

She trotted towards the door without even saying goodbye. Ryoka went back to Miss Iglesias and shook her hand again.

“Thank you again, Miss Iglesias.”

“Best of luck, Ryoka dear. And you too, Charlay.”

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks!”

The Centauress turned her upper half, nearly out of the door. Ryoka sighed and followed her. She found the Centauress outside, stretching.

“Good food, right? I like staying at the Rose’s Retreat. It doesn’t have stairs, and Miss Iglesias gets oats just for me. You liked it?”

“Yup. It was great.”

“Awesome. Stay away from me. I don’t need you throwing up on me again.”

Ryoka paused as she stretched out her own legs. The Centauress smirked at her. She worked in the region around Walta as a well-known City Runner. And she was good at her job; so good that Ryoka had given up trying to lose her. Now the Centauress pointed in the direction of the Runner’s Guild.

“Come on, let’s run to the Guild. The streets aren’t that wet, and the rain’s stopped. Last one there is a mule!”

So saying, she took off. Ryoka watched her go and kept stretching; after three dozen feet, the Centauress noticed Ryoka wasn’t following and galloped back. She scowled at the young woman.

“Slowpoke. Afraid to race me?”

“I’m stretching. And I’m not racing.”

“Afraid I’ll beat you again?”

Ryoka sighed.

“You’re a Centaur. I don’t race things with four legs.”

“That’s not what you said last time. Or the time before that. Come on, afraid I’ll beat you a third time?”

The young woman refused to rise to the bait. She took off running with a slow, contained pace, and after a moment, Charlay followed her. Then, at least, Ryoka had some peace. She ran down the streets of Walta, still slick with rain and deserted for the moment. The rains had kept everyone indoors, so the two female Runners proceeded down the street at a quick jog by Ryoka’s standards.

As they ran, Ryoka admired the city of Walta where she had been staying. She would be sorry to say goodbye to it. The streets were smoothed, and one-in-three buildings that Ryoka passed had glass instead of shutters. The city was lovely, like Amsterdam, but minus the canals and water. It was one of the most modern cities Ryoka had visited, aside from Invrisil, and the reason behind that was because Walta was about two or three times as rich as Reizmelt.

“You’re so slow.”

Charlay complained as her hooves clattered across the stones. Ryoka sighed. She couldn’t even admire the city in peace. Not that she was one for admiration anyways; two more seconds and she’d have gotten bored. She looked at Charlay as her arms pumped at her sides; the Centauress was folding her arms and eying Ryoka as her legs easily kept pace.

That was another thing Ryoka had learned about Centaurs recently; because they could run and do things independently with their horse and human halves, they loved to chat while running. It was harder for Ryoka, who was running with her entire body, but she could still respond.

“I just ate. You’re a horse.”

“Centauress. Don’t be rude.”

“Sorry, my mistake. You’re so different.”

Charlay bared her teeth, much like an angry horse would.

“We are! We’re intelligent, leveling creatures. Not like animals at all! Are you a monkey?”

“Fairly close. I’ll acknowledge the link and resemblance. You’re even closer. Half your body is horse. It’s pretty much the same thing.”

The Centauress turned scarlet. Ryoka grinned to herself—their relationship was already well established by this point too. Charlay was easy to annoy. The Centauress snorted angrily as she ran ahead of Ryoka.

“It is not the same thing. Do you think I’m like one of those things?”

She pointed down the street. Ryoka saw the rider and shifted left. Charlay made room, and the rider rode down the right side of the street. He was riding a roan, a quite energetic one. It whickered as the two Runners ran past; Charlay flipped it off. The rider looked affronted, so Charlay cupped her hands and shouted back at him.

“Not you, the horse!”

“What was that about?”

Ryoka stared at Charlay. The Centauress folded her arms.

“He was checking me out. Damn animals.”

“You understood that horse? And you’re seriously saying you’re that different from them?”

Charlay looked blank.

“Obviously I can understand them. They’re animals. It’s not hard. You can’t understand monkeys? That’s your problem. I’m pretty sure they can understand me.”

“I—haven’t actually met that many monkeys.”

“Huh. I guess Izril doesn’t have that many. I saw them all the time in parts of Baleros. Hey! What’re you looking at?”

The female Centaur snapped at another rider’s horse passing by. Ryoka just shook her head. The streets were filling, and a good number of riders were filling it. More than average; Walta was a horse-city, catering towards treatment of the animals, saddles, stables, training, breeding, and more. The horses Walta produced were of a superior stock than most; if you wanted to get a proper warhorse or even a good riding horse, you’d look for a Walta horse or come to the city itself.

Horses. In a world where automobiles and mass-transport were wagons, they were incredibly valuable. They’d made Walta and Lady Bethal rich. These were her lands, after all, and Ryoka had stayed in the city after making Bethal’s emergency delivery alerting her people of the rift between her and a number of factions in Izril. She was at war—in a political and, to some degree, real sense—but the city was peaceful still.

“Charlay, you know I work around Reizmelt normally. I might be going back there today.”

Ryoka decided to broach the subject at last. The Centauress snorted.

“You might. Or you might take that very lucrative delivery down south. Where was it again?”

“I thought personal deliveries were supposed to be personal. So what if I do? It’s none of your business. Why have you been dogging me for three days? Do you like me that much?”

“Hah! Don’t make me laugh. I’m just scoping out my competition. Everyone’s making a fuss about your little run from Reizmelt to Walta; I’m not impressed. You might have a few unique Skills, but let’s remember who the better Runner is here.”

“Me?”

“Me! Don’t get overconfident, Ryoka. I’m a well-known City Runner around here. I have a nickname! Dustrider Charlay. I earned it after running in this area for two years.”

“I have a nickname too—”

The Centauress glared at Ryoka as they turned left down a street.

“Shut up! See, that’s your problem, Ryoka. You’re infringing on my turf. And my theme.”

“Your theme.”

“That’s right. I was doing this first, so I have dibs on the dust theme. I don’t mind you being the Wind Runner, but if people call you Duststorm Ryoka—just because you can make a bigger cloud doesn’t mean you get to take my nickname! I’m the Dustrider! Dustrider Charlay!”

For emphasis, Charlay slapped her chest. Ryoka just stared at her. She could have sworn Charlay was her age, maybe a bit younger. But the way she acted…Ryoka thought about being the adult, but it was too tempting.

“I hear they call you Dusty Charlie.”

The Centauress’ face went scarlet. Ryoka had to laugh. She saw Charlay stiffen, then gallop ahead. If she had a horse’s ears, Ryoka was sure they would have been flat. Charlay widened the gap between her and Ryoka until she was right in front of the girl, and Ryoka wondered if she’d take off to the guild or just do that the entire rest of the way. Instead, the Centauress shouted.

“[Spray Hoof]!”

“No, don’t you d—”

Ryoka shouted in outrage, but it was too late. One of Charlay’s hooves kicked backwards, striking a handy clump of exposed earth on the street where a cobblestone had been uprooted. Normally, she’d kick up a cloud of dust, hence her name. This time, though, the result was a huge splatter of mud and water.

“Gah! Damn it, Charlay!”

The young Human woman stopped as the mud splattered her front and face. She wiped at it, and Charlay trotted back, looking smug.

“Don’t insult me, Pukey. You threw up on me, remember? As far as I’m concerned, this is the least you deserve.”

Ryoka gritted her teeth. Then her eyes widened. She pointed.

“Oh shit. Is that a snake on the ground?”

“Gyaaaaah!”

The Centauress jumped and ran screaming from what was, in fact, a line of horse crap. She turned to Ryoka, shaking.

“Don’t joke about that! Snakes aren’t funny!”

Ryoka chuckled as she wiped the worst of the muck off her face. Charlay glared, and Ryoka stepped back in case she tried to bite. The two regarded each other in the damp street. Ryoka sighed.

“Now I’m dirty. Truce?”

“Fine. Truce. Here.”

Charlay tossed something at Ryoka. The young woman blinked.

“What is it?”

“Drying stone. Use it on the mud. It’ll probably get all of it. Don’t worry if it runs out; they’re cheap.”

“Thanks.”

Ryoka did just that. The stone didn’t break or disintegrate, and she handed it back. The two ran on. Charlay huffed as she ran next to Ryoka.

“I can’t believe you’re so mean to me. All the time! And I was nice to you even though you were so rude at the start.”

“I’m an awful person. You should know that by now.”

Charlay hesitated.

“Well, you’re better than a lot of other Humans. No one else’ll talk to me, much less talk back. Half of you lot are too scared to talk! The other half just act like I’m an idiot or…weird.”

“I don’t think there are many Centaurs in Izril.”

“There aren’t. But it’s not like I’m rare. There are just too many Humans! We’re all over the place in Baleros, especially the middle. The south’s mostly Lizardfolk and Gazers in the jungles. And Humans. You lot get everywhere. And the north is too cold for anyone but Dullahans.”

“But not many in Izril, right?”

“Nope. And it’s a shame. Izril has these lovely flat places, especially in the north. If it wasn’t for the need to cross the ocean on boats, I think there would be tens of thousands of us here.”

The Centauress shuddered. Ryoka regarded her thoughtfully. Three days had taught Ryoka a lot about Charlay, if only because the Centauress had stuck to her like glue. She had a horse’s palate for bland foods; she couldn’t handle spices, and she went absolutely nuts for salty, savory stuff. She was afraid of snakes, had a temper, got seasick just staring at a bathtub—

Oh, and she held grudges.

“You know, if you didn’t keep insulting how fast I run and calling me the ‘Puke Runner’ or ‘Pukey’ or ‘Ryoka the Vomitter’, I’d be nicer to you.”

Charlay turned her head and glared.

“You threw up. On me. Where’s my apology?”

“Lying somewhere on the road with the last fourteen apologies I gave you. Will you give it a rest? Why are you really following me? It’s not for the fun. Don’t you have a job to do? You haven’t made one delivery since I got here.”

“I don’t have to take jobs all the time. I’m a successful City Runner. What, do you spend all your coin after each delivery in the taverns?”

“No…”

“Then what’s the problem? Jeeze, why are you so rude? You’re the rudest Human I’ve met, you know. And that includes a lot of my clients!”

Ryoka sighed. Walta’s Runner’s Guild appeared on the edge of the city at last. It was sprawling and had a stable attached—a lot of the local Runners used horses. It wasn’t economical for Runners in general, but the city was good for horses, and there was a lot of flatland around. Charlay trotted in first and didn’t hold the door open for Ryoka. To be fair, it would’ve been hard with her body shape, but she was at the [Receptionist]’s desk, pawing the floorboards, when Ryoka walked over.

“We’re here! Hey, Jilta! Ryoka’s here to take that personal request!”

Charlay called out loudly. Ryoka sighed as some of the Runners in the Guild looked up. She’d met a lot of them the last two days, and some waved at her in a friendly way. She waved and smiled back and was grateful for Charlay’s presence for the first time; but for her, the others might have come over to talk to her.

It was true that Ryoka’s run had been noted, if not by the entire world then by the local Runners and those interested in such things. Her run hadn’t been the fastest, but it had been for a [Lady] of renown, and Ryoka had beaten a number of groups aiming to intercept her. It hadn’t been easy; Ryoka had paid a price for using so many potions and calling on the wind. But she’d done it, and the fruit of her labor was the attention she gathered. And Charlay following her.

The [Receptionist] at the desk sighed as Ryoka stepped up. She gave Charlay a sharp look that the Centauress innocently returned.

“Charlay! You can’t announce things like that on Ryoka’s behalf, much less publicly! There are rules, you know!”

“I could do it in Baleros. They didn’t care there. Besides, everyone knows you can get information for free from the [Brokers].”

“Not in this Guild. If you’re not in line, step back. Runners get privacy.”

“What? But I—”

“Back, Charlay.”

The [Receptionist] pointed. Grumbling, Charlay did retreat until she probably couldn’t hear what was being said at the desk. The [Receptionist] watched her sharply, and the Centauress innocently turned her head. The woman at the counter had dealt with the Centauress before; that was clear from the long-suffering sigh she let out. She looked at Ryoka apologetically.

“I’m sorry, Miss Griffin. Is she still following you about?”

“It’s fine.”

The [Receptionist], Jilta, the same woman who’d helped Ryoka on the first day by making her puke the potions that were poisoning her and getting the Knights of the Petal, gave Ryoka a rueful smile.

“She’ll get bored in time. She just…fixates on other City Runners, especially female ones around her age and level. She’s very competitive. Now, can I help you? Are you going to take the request from yesterday? The sender is, ah, waiting on a reply.”

Jilta said it delicately, but Ryoka knew she was very interested. As interested as Charlay had been; the Centauress had bugged Ryoka all about it yesterday. A personal request? With money backed by two [Lords]? Asking Ryoka to deliver a handful of potions to Riverfarm?

It made no sense. But Ryoka, who knew who the real sender was, had thought hard over it last night. Laken Godart had asked her for help, and after thinking it over, there was only one real answer she could give. She slowly nodded.

“I…think I will.”

She had a lot to say to Laken, and he had a lot to explain, but visiting Riverfarm was essential in either case. Jilta nodded sharply and reached under the counter.

“Very well. It’s a priority delivery, although there’s no time frame on it; I have, er, six healing potions and three stamina potions here.”

She offered Ryoka a satchel. The Runner pulled out her bag of holding.

“I’ve got a bag.”

“Ah, well, place them inside—you’ll need to deliver them straight to Lady Rie Valerund. They’re…just generic potions we bought from the local [Alchemist]. The request did say to do that, but…”

Jilta looked at Ryoka, and only her professionalism kept her from asking the obvious. Who paid that much gold to get a bunch of potions you could get anywhere? The answer had to be that it was either something that had to be delivered personally—a message or secret item with the potions—or the Runner herself. Ryoka smiled and didn’t explain.

“I’ll get it there as fast as I can. Can I see a map?”

“Of course.”

The [Receptionist] pulled one out. Ryoka studied the route to Riverfarm; it was south of Walta and Bethal’s lands, southwest of Invrisil, a bit of land in the shadow of a small mountain not claimed by any noble house. The Valerund family, whose [Lady] was apparently in Riverfarm, had a small area of influence, but they were a day’s journey away from Riverfarm.

“Looks straight enough. I’ll be going through this marsh—I hate marshes. But aside from that, it’s straight. Thanks, I’ll head out right away.”

Ryoka nodded at Jilta. The [Receptionist] smiled.

“Of course. If you want to come back this way, I can do the confirmation. But of course, any large Runner’s Guild can handle it. Even so, we’d be happy to see you here again, Miss Griffin. You’ve been the talk of the Guild since your dramatic delivery.”

Ryoka felt her face heat up. Jilta was in her late twenties, a former Runner herself. Ryoka didn’t recall much of what had happened when she’d staggered into the Guild—she recalled throwing up on Charlay, and the Centauress reminded her of that every few seconds—but she also remembered Jilta helping her puke onto the floor. Ryoka cleared her throat.

“I’m really grateful for all the help. I was an imposition with the wind, the sand…”

Jilta waved that away.

“It was a request from Lady Walchaís. And this is my job. As I said, you’re welcome back here. And you’re easier to deal with than…”

She nodded at Charlay. Ryoka grinned and ducked her head.

“Thanks again.”

She turned to go and jumped. Someone else was waiting in line with Charlay. Only, this woman wasn’t a Runner. A woman in bright pink armor with a shock of grey in her black hair nodded to Ryoka as she tucked her helmet under one arm. Ryoka stared at the Knight of the Petal as Charlay blinked and stepped out of the way. The Runners in the Guild and Jilta looked up. There was a flurry of bows as the [Knight] strode forwards. The woman halted in front of Ryoka and offered her a slight formal bow.

“Miss Griffin. Good morning to you.”

“Dame Truvia. Uh—how can I help you?”

Ryoka recognized one of the senior Knights of the Petal, one of the protectors of Walta. Dame Truvia was a Knight of the Petal, like the others that Ryoka had met. Lady Bethal’s personal order of [Knights]. They garnered a lot of respect from Walta’s citizens, but also in general; the Knights of the Petal were a fairly powerful order of [Knights] for their size, or so Ryoka gathered. Truvia’s presence certainly had an effect on the rest of the guild. Jilta bowed again.

“Dame Truvia! I’m terribly sorry to keep you waiting. We’re just opening—how can I help you?”

She was poised, ready to attend to any of the [Knight]’s needs at once. Truvia smiled, her stern face warming slightly.

“I have no need of your assistance, Miss Griffin. Nor do I need to place an order, Miss Receptionist. I am simply here to check up on Miss Ryoka’s condition.”

“With me?”

Ryoka blinked. Charlay was staring behind her. Truvia nodded.

“Lady Bethal was most impressed with your run, especially the…spectacle of it. She ordered me to check up on you before you left.”

“That’s kind of her. Er, Lady Bethal was very generous. If she has any other requests, I would be happy to take them.”

Ryoka bowed awkwardly. Sending a [Knight] just to see if she was well was strange. But Bethal Walchaís defined the word. Ryoka distinctly recalled the woman. Passionate and strange barely described her. Truvia nodded, looking Ryoka up and down.

“I’m sure Lady Bethal will remember you. It is just a formality. Forgive me for imposing.”

She bowed to Ryoka and Jilta. There was something so graceful about her humility. Impressive too; the woman was almost everything Ryoka wanted to be at her age of around…forty? Fifty? Except for the pink.

“Not at all, Dame Truvia. It’s an honor to have you in the Guild. Can I offer you refreshments? Anything else…?”

Jilta was fussing over the woman, star-struck as if Truvia were a minor celebrity. Which…she was. Ryoka stepped back, and Charlay trotted forwards. Breathless, the Centauress held out a hand.

“Dame Truvia? Dustrider Charlay at your service. I’m the best Runner in Walta, and if you have any needs, any at all—”

Truvia turned politely to Charlay, barely blinking over the Centauress. Ryoka saw Jilta’s face color, and the [Receptionist] chased Charlay away. Charlay trotted back, looking hurt.

“I’m just making an impression. Sheesh! No one else in this Guild does it, but why not?”

Ryoka shrugged.

“I think that’s another thing they do in Baleros but not here.”

“Hah. Baleros is more open. Here’s too much about etiquette. I could talk to a Named Adventurer or famous leader of a Company in Baleros. Okay, maybe not Marian if I saw her, but that’s different.”

Charlay huffed as she watched Truvia speaking with Jilta and a few Runners who’d decided to follow Charlay forwards. She stared at the Rose Knight’s armor, clearly impressed. Then she bumped Ryoka with her hindquarters.

“One of Lady Bethal’s personal [Knights] here just to make sure you didn’t sprain an ankle. And you got to do a delivery for her! You got lucky. If I was there, I’d have done the run in half the time and with half as much puke!”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re not that much faster.”

Ryoka glared at Charlay. She hated to admit it, but the Centauress really was faster than her. Charlay refused to be placated though. She tossed her head again and stamped a hoof.

“Not that much faster? I’m twice as fast as you. Just check the rankings! Any [Broker] could tell you how good you are, if you’re important. I am. I suppose you are now. But I’m still better. You barely qualify for Courier rank, and you were out for two days recovering after that! I’m well faster.”

“I know the rankings.”

Ryoka folded her arms. She hadn’t known they’d existed until Fierre told her about them. And she’d seen the ones Jilta kept as a [Receptionist].

“It says your endurance needs work. And you have a lower combat ranking than me.”

“That’s just—”

The two were pleasantly bickering as Ryoka walked towards the door. Then the door opened and let another Runner in. At least, Ryoka assumed she was a Runner. A young woman with a shock of light blue hair walked into the Guild. That caught Ryoka’s eye first. The hair color. Then she took in the entire young woman and blinked.

The woman was in her late twenties, had blue hair, a hat, and robes. Her hat was slightly pointed, but angled, swooping off to a point behind her. And both her robes and hat were that of a [Mage]. But her body, the way she walked, all spoke to Ryoka of someone who was athletic. Her irises were a bright, pale pink.

She was striking. But there was one other reason Ryoka stared. She felt a strange tugging at her chest, almost like the sense that told her the wind wouldn’t obey any of her commands today unless Ryoka really pushed. It was odd, unfamiliar—

The young woman walked into the guild and noticed Ryoka and Charlay in her way. Rather than walk past them, she stopped and stared. There was nothing apologetic or furtive about the way she did it; she just stopped and looked both up and down.

“So you’re the Wind Runner, huh? Interesting. And here’s Charlay, already following you about. Hi, horse-girl. Anything interesting about?”

The introduction caught Ryoka off-guard. She winced, expecting Charlay to have a snappy response, but the Centauress froze.

“A—Alevica! I—I wasn’t doing anything. I was just talking with Ryoka.”

The strange new Runner eyed Charlay as the Centauress backed up and tried to hide behind Ryoka. She had a piercing stare, and when she smiled—Charlay grabbed Ryoka’s shoulder, and Ryoka felt the Centauress’ hands shaking slightly.

“Fine. Hey, you are the Wind Runner, right? You feel like the wind.”

Surprised, Ryoka turned back to the stranger. She’d assumed her face was known, but perhaps not.

“That’s me.”

“The name’s Alevica. City Runner, like you. I hear you’re good. Slow, but you conjured a storm. I saw it. Let’s get along.”

The hand was slim but strong when Ryoka grasped it, and Alevica’s smile seemed genuine. Although there was a reserve there…she wasn’t challenging or anything. Ryoka almost thought she’d like Alevica’s boldness and the clear way she gave no care to how others saw her. Charlay trembling behind Ryoka gave her pause.

“Of course. I’m on a job, but if I see you around, I’d love to talk.”

“Sure. Something like that.”

Alevica nodded. Then she looked at Charlay, grinned, tugged on her hat, and walked past the two.

“I’ll see both of you around. It’s a small continent.”

She strode up to the counter, past Truvia and the other Runners, all of whom drew back at the sight of her. Jilta looked up sharply, and Ryoka noted her wary expression as well. Ryoka pointed at Alevica’s back.

“Who’s that, Charlay?”

“Alevica. Don’t point! And don’t say anything bad about her!”

“Why? Is she some hotshot Runner?”

Ryoka didn’t see it. Alevica seemed fit, but her calves didn’t speak of a runner to her. But she did have good ears. She turned her head and grinned as Jilta fumbled with something at the desk. Charlay whispered as she tried to pull Ryoka further back.

“She’s really good. Really good.”

“Better than you, the best City Runner in Walta?”

At the desk, Alevica burst out laughing. It was loud and mocking. The other Runners looked uneasy. Charlay paled. She whispered in Ryoka’s ear.

“Don’t quote me! That was a boast! Are you stupid? She’s faster than you or me in short distance travel. And she has the levels and Skills to be a Courier. But there’s more to passing the Runner’s Guild’s tests than just speed. Obviously.”

Even scared, Charlay still managed to find a way to be insulting. Ryoka blinked. That good? And if Charlay said so—why was she so afraid? She whispered to the Centauress.

“What’s holding her back?”

Charlay stared at Ryoka.

“The fact that it’s Alevica? You really haven’t heard of her? She’s famous around all the local Guilds! Reizmelt has to know of her!”

“I don’t keep up on other Runners.”

“Well, remember her! Alevica’s one of the least-trusted Runners, even though she’s a good one. She opens mail, threatens other Runners—and she’ll throw away important packages rather than deliver them if the client insults her! She could be a low-tier Courier, but you have to be sponsored to become a Courier, and no Courier or any of the local Guildmasters will vouch for her.”

Ryoka whistled. That was exactly the kind of Runner she didn’t want to be. The ones with the lowest reputations almost never got personal requests, or if they did, the requests were shady and dangerous. On the other hand, you could make good money doing what Alevica apparently did—if you didn’t mind attracting the wrath of your clientele. But from the way Alevica turned and grinned at Charlay, she didn’t mind the rumors about her.

At the desk, Jilta was fumbling with a paper. She didn’t look happy, but she eventually nodded and pulled something out. Ryoka blinked as she recognized a metal box sealed with a magical lock. Jilta looked at Alevica.

“We do have one Steel-box delivery. It’s worth eighteen gold coins and seven silver if you manage it. The penalty is double, but—”

“I’ll take it.”

Alevica interrupted Jilta and casually reached into a pouch. She pulled out gold coins and began counting them onto the counter carelessly. Ryoka and Charlay stared. Ryoka muttered out of the corner of her mouth to Charlay.

“A Steel-box delivery?”

“I didn’t know we had one. I’m glad, though; I’m not paying that price! It must be a dangerous request!”

Ryoka nodded slowly. Steel-box deliveries were a form of request she’d been introduced to in the north. Sometimes someone wanted something delivered, but the cost of it being intercepted was too high, and they might be wary about Runners risking their wrath. So what any citizen could do was post a high price on a delivery, but require a Runner to put their own gold on the line by way of insurance. If Alevica failed this delivery, she’d have to pay double the fee for success.

Naturally, this was a high-stakes delivery, and the Runner’s Guilds usually demanded to know what was worth the risk. Steel-box deliveries weren’t often picked up and usually only confident or desperate City Runners or Couriers would take them. Alevica was clearly the former; she grabbed the box and headed for the door before Jilta had explained more than the destination.

“Wait, Alevica! The danger’s—”

“Don’t know, don’t care. Just have my gold when I get back.”

The City Runner tipped her hat and flashed Jilta a mocking smile. The [Receptionist] stopped, frowning, but she let Alevica go. Ryoka was impressed. She didn’t like the risk aspect of Steel-box deliveries. You put not only your reputation but your own money on the line. And any delivery for a Steel-box delivery was guaranteed to have some peril during it.

As if she could read Ryoka’s mind, Alevica stopped and turned to the City Runner. She tapped the metal box with one hand.

“If you’ve the guts, try taking on one of these. The pay’s good, and sometimes it’s worth more not to deliver. We’ll see with this, won’t we?”

“Runner Alevica! You’re obligated to obey the Runner’s Guild rules—”

Jilta’s voice fell on deaf ears. Alevica strode out the door with the box under one arm. Charlay stared from behind Ryoka until she was gone and then exhaled slowly.

“Wow. She’s the one person I didn’t want to meet today. Let’s get going before she decides to come back and cast a spell on us all or something.”

“Cast a spell…? Hold on, I’m going on my delivery. Sorry, Charlay, but this is where we part. It’ll take me days to get to my destination, and if I’m back in the area, we can meet again…”

Ryoka blinked and tried to walk towards the door. But the Centauress, suddenly bold and bothersome again, just snorted.

“What? No. I’m bored, so I’m coming with you. I’ll keep you company. Two Runners are better than one, right?”

She trotted towards the door to the Guild. Ryoka stared at her.

“You want to follow me?”

“Yup. I want to see you actually run. Come on, where’re we going? And for who? You can tell me when we’re on the way if Jilta—”

Charlay winced as the [Receptionist] strode around her desk. Jilta waved a finger as the Centauress danced backwards.

“Miss Charlay, you cannot follow another Runner on her request, especially not a personal delivery!”

“But Jilta—”

“You’ve bothered Ryoka Griffin enough. Your behavior reflects on Walta’s Guild, and if you follow her, I’ll issue you a penalty—”

“It’s fine.”

Ryoka’s voice made both Centaur and Human turn. Jilta blinked at Ryoka.

“Miss Griffin, you don’t have to accommodate Charlay. I don’t care how Baleros does things, but here—”

“No, it’s fine, Jilta. I don’t think my client will mind. And I’ll take some company for the road.”

Ryoka glanced at Charlay. The Centauress looked delighted, then instantly tilted her head up and looked superior.

“I’m only doing it because I want to see how good you are, Ryoka. And to prove that I can outrun you any day of the week.”

“I’m sure.”

The tone needled Ryoka, but she’d caught the look on Charlay’s face. So had Jilta. The [Receptionist] pursed her lips, but slowly nodded.

“If you’re fine with it, Miss Ryoka. But I’m warning you, Charlay. If Miss Ryoka complains or claims you interfered with her in any way—”

“I’m just running with her! It’ll be fine.”

The Centauress rolled her eyes. She trotted towards Ryoka, and the Runner nodded. They were heading towards the doors at last when a last person stopped them. Dame Truvia. She approached the two and put her helmet on.

“You’re leaving on a delivery, Miss Griffin? Allow me to accompany you.”

Charlay’s jaw dropped. Ryoka blinked up at the pink [Knight].

“Me? But why?”

The older [Knight] smiled as she raised the visor to her helmet.

“Lady Bethal also bade me to ride with you. She would not wish you to suffer injury on her lands.”

“But I—”

Ryoka stared at Truvia, thought of Bethal, and then gave up. This was overkill, but Ryoka didn’t want to waste any more time. Charlay trotted out, and the two saw that Truvia’s horse was already being led out of the stables. The horse had pink armor, like the rider. Charlay shook her head.

“You are so lucky. I’ve been trying to get a request from Lady Walchaís myself! Apparently, she tips really well—and now you get an escort?”

“Will you be riding with us all the way, Dame Truvia?”

Ryoka called to the [Knight]. Dame Truvia mounted up in one motion and nodded down at Ryoka. Her voice was slightly muffled, but entirely distinct.

“As far as the outskirts of Walchaís lands, or if an incident takes me. I am on patrol. Don’t trouble yourself, however; set whatever pace you please. I’ll keep up.”

The nonchalant air of the [Knight] as she sat on her horse in full armor made Ryoka raise her brows and Charlay snort. The Centaur and Human Runners looked at each other. A [Knight] was one thing, but this? This was their job. They grinned at each other.

“Nice and slow then, right, Charlay?”

“Sure. Hey, can you use your wind-thing? You can conjure a breeze, right?”

Ryoka hesitated. She looked up. The wind was still blowing hard. The rain had stopped, but Ryoka still felt it. It was angry, wild—why? Ryoka reached for it and finally understood.

Ah, that was it. Out there, somewhere, someone was trying to control the wind. And it was pissed.

“Nope. Feels like a [Weather Mage] or someone’s doing something to the wind. It’s out of my control today. Or rather, I wouldn’t risk it.”

She’d tried it once on a day like today. The wind had thrown her into a wagon. Charlay shrugged, her hair blowing in the strong gusts.

“Maybe it’s Alevica. She’s got a lot of weird abilities. Fine. Your legs still work without your wind?”

“All the time. We’re heading south. Dame Truvia, can you keep up?”

“After you.”

The [Knight] watched as Ryoka lowered herself into a Runner’s starting position. Charlay just tensed. The two took off like a shot, racing down the street, startling Truvia’s horse. She calmed it and laughed as the two Runners raced out of the city. Then she dug her heels into her horse’s side, and it raced after the two.

—–

Ryoka ran out of Walta with Charlay by her side. She raced across the outskirts, the suburbs that had sprung out around the city, and across wide, flat land devoted to farmland or pastures for the horses.

Walta, no, the lands of Lady Bethal Walchaís were rich. It reminded Ryoka of a true medieval world, only with less poverty and more Arthurian romance. A world, a time that had never truly existed in her world as far as Ryoka knew. But it existed here.

[Farmers] tending fields as prosperous—if not as scrumptious—as the corn fields tended to by Farmer Lupp looked up as Ryoka and Charlay raced down the road. They waved at the Runners, amused by the competition and Charlay heckling Ryoka as she maintained a horse’s length of lead on the Human girl. Then they bowed or cheered the Knight of the Petal, Dame Truvia, as she calmly followed the two Runners.

She was fast! Dame Truvia had a Skill that allowed her to keep pace with Charlay and Ryoka despite the armor. Or her horse was magical. Or simply a superior breed. Ryoka was the slowest of the three, and she slowed the breakneck run as soon as it became clear that she wasn’t about to lose Truvia. Charlay slipped into an even run beside Ryoka, and they just enjoyed running. It was what they did.

The lands of House Walchaís passed Ryoka by, green and verdant, growing from the spring rains. Ryoka saw people looking up and waving at her—not just at Charlay and Truvia. They recognized her.

“That’s the Wind Runner! Hey, you! Don’t blow any more dirt into my fields! And do something about this wind, will you?”

A [Farmer] raised her hoe as Ryoka passed by. The young woman raised a hand, slightly embarrassed, and Charlay waved with both arms as well. Ryoka had passed down this same road on her way to Walta—through a few fields too. At the time, she’d been so tired she hadn’t noticed, but she’d dragged a dust storm through any number of farms and down roads—even through a village! Part of the last few days had been coming out here and apologizing for the destruction, even offering payment.

She’d expected the people to be furious, and they were. But one line saved Ryoka from a lynch mob: it was for Lady Bethal. Suddenly, the people were all too happy to take Ryoka’s coin, even congratulate her on the run. It was incredible, but the [Lady] was beloved. As one furious [Shepherd] had said whilst his dusty herd of sheep had to be bathed and their wool combed, that changed things.

“If it’s Lady Walchaís, then it’s fine. House Walchaís has always been good to us folk. They paid for medicine with the Redvein Plague two decades back, fought for us during the Sacrifice of Roses—any bastards who’d smirch Lady Bethal’s name I’ll personally put an arrow through. Just let them try to attack her lands!”

And he’d meant it. The Knights of the Petal had gone to war for their [Lady]’s honor, and the people of Lady Bethal’s lands had immediately refused to do business with anyone who’d sent Bethal a rose. It was incredible, actually, for Ryoka to see that much loyalty. But Bethal was beloved for her flights of fancy as much as how she treated her folk.

Speaking of which…Ryoka and Charlay paused as they ran towards a more populated stretch of road. They didn’t need to run on the road, but Dame Truvia was clearing a path for them. Pedestrians and travellers moved over to let the [Knight] race after the Runners unimpeded.

Walchaís lands lay along one of the natural routes going north towards First Landing. If Reizmelt was a local hub, one of the crossroads near Walta was a major one, and the wide road had hundreds of people and wagons moving up it. Ryoka stared at the huge flow of traffic, but Charlay just pointed.

“We’ll cut across there and run south. Just don’t block anyone. It’s easy, see?”

There were five City Runners running up the road that Ryoka could see, one of whom turned towards Walta at the crossroads. Ryoka nodded—and then spotted something else.

A [Knight] in a golden suit of armor painted with silver was slowly riding up the highway. He’d stopped once to address a family in a wagon, and he had a shield and mace strapped to his side. Ryoka blinked and pointed out the armored man to Charlay. The two Runners slowed to stop and observe.

“What’s that?”

“Just a patrolling [Knight]. What, are there none around Reizmelt?”

“I’m from further south. Celum.”

“Oh, right. Well, you see them around here. They help get rid of [Thieves], patrol roads…they’re great if you get into trouble, unless the trouble gets them.”

Charlay shrugged. Ryoka hesitated. So they were like roaming police officers? This world’s version of a patrol car? She opened her mouth to ask another question and heard a voice from behind her.

“Ryoka Griffin.”

Ryoka turned. Dame Truvia was frowning at the [Knight] in gold. She lowered her visor, and her pink-clad horse pawed the ground. Truvia reached for a holstered lance and nodded to Ryoka.

“Ah. I fear this is as far as I take you, Runner Ryoka. I bid you a safe journey, but I cannot accompany you to the edge of Walchaís lands. That is a [Knight] in service to House Averin. I recognize the colors. I must address him.”

“Address…?”

Ryoka stared blankly at Truvia, and then she remembered. One of the black flowers had come from—

Truvia rode past Ryoka, picking up speed. Charlay chortled and trotted back to watch; Truvia rode straight at the [Knight], and the traffic on the road parted to give her a wide space. People leaned out of their wagons or stopped on the road, sensing what was about to happen.

“[Knight] of House Averin! Hold your ground!”

Dame Truvia roared across the highway. The gold-armored [Knight] looked up and raised a hand. He called back towards Truvia.

“What seems to be the matter, Lady Knight?”

His voice was conversational, friendly even. Ryoka winced. Like the Clairei Knights, this one hadn’t gotten the message about the flowers, or he hadn’t understood the import. Truvia’s voice was loud enough for everyone in a hundred paces to hear clearly.

“Your order has insulted and cast false accusations against the name of House Walchaís and Lady Bethal, whom I serve! This insult cannot stand! The Knights of the Petal ride to their lady’s honor, and until our grievance is met, House Averin is our sworn enemy!”

She pointed her lance with one hand at the startled [Knight]’s chest.

“Sir, I challenge you! Put up your shield or retreat!”

With that, she kicked her horse into a trot and then a gallop, picking up steam and surging behind her shield. Ryoka could see the Averin [Knight] do a double-take. He swung his horse around and raised a hand as he fumbled for his own equipment.

“Wait—what did you—wait, wait!”

Charlay danced in front of Ryoka, and the Runner swore.

“Charlay, I can’t see!”

She shoved at the Centaur, but Charlay was, again, over a thousand pounds, and all Ryoka managed to do was push herself back. She tried to step around the Centaur, but there was a lot of Charlay to manuver about. Then Ryoka heard Truvia hit the Averin [Knight] along with a roar from the spectators.

Ryoka heard a crash, a horse’s scream, and finally got around Charlay, who was dancing with excitement. She saw the Averin [Knight] lying on the ground as Dame Truvia strode towards him.

“Dead gods, are you mad? We’re both [Knights]! I have no quarrel with you!”

He screamed up at her. Dame Truvia grabbed her weapon; she didn’t carry a sword or shield but a spear to go with the lance.

“There is no excuse for dishonor! Draw your sword, ser!”

She charged, and the Averin [Knight] swore and grabbed his mace. Ryoka decided that was enough and started running, watching the battle as the two warriors, one dressed in gold and silver, the other pink, began dueling along the highway. Ryoka ran south, past the traffic jam and people calling out to ask what had happened up ahead. The clash echoing behind the two Runners made Ryoka wince. The Centauress just smiled.

“I like the people living around here. It reminds me of home.”

“It’s certainly…fun.”

Ryoka had to smile as they ran ahead. The two Runners passed further down the road, calling out what was going down to the people shouting warily to know if there was danger ahead. The wagons couldn’t move off the road, but any number of people hopped down or walked or rode ahead to see. The fight between the [Knights] was certainly something Ryoka wanted to see, but she had a job to do.

Riverfarm and Laken—Ryoka’s mood grew less exuberant. Yes, she had a debt to pay, but to whom and how, she had no idea. She just wanted to see the trouble Laken had hinted about. After that—

“Ryoka!”

Ahead of her, Charlay suddenly drew up, nearly rearing in alarm. Ryoka halted at once, and her hand went to her bag of holding. Then she saw what Charlay had seen and blinked.

“Are you serious?”

A familiar face was poking out of a carriage rolling past them. The vehicle wasn’t going that fast due to the traffic, but the amused face that met Ryoka’s eyes was familiar. Ryoka had just seen her.

Alevica, the strange City Runner that scared Charlay, was sitting in the carriage. She had hired it along with three other bored passengers. She was riding one of the travel-carriages that went from city to city. It was an expensive option, but quick and comfortable.

“Alevica?”

Ryoka stared. Charlay just froze. The young woman with the blue hair and hat nodded to Ryoka and Charlay.

“You’re heading this way too. Fancy that.”

“I—yeah. Are you taking the carriage?”

Alevica smiled.

“It’s safe, secure, and pretty quick. Why? Want a ride?”

She patted the seat next to her. Ryoka just shook her head. Alevica was a bad Runner. She wasn’t running, first of all. Ryoka supposed the payment for the carriage wasn’t much given how much she stood to earn, but she was putting everyone in that carriage at risk!

If someone wanted the Steel-box delivery she had, they’d attack the carriage. Ryoka opened her mouth to say so and saw Alevica looking at her. Just…looking. As if she knew exactly what Ryoka was going to say and just wanted to know if she’d say it.

Slowly, Ryoka closed her mouth. Alevica nodded to herself, and her smile grew a bit deeper.

“It’s not a bad way to travel. I’ll go my own way if I need to. But it really does save energy. You’re running barefoot? It’s a long journey for me. You too, I suspect. Why not ride with me? It’ll be free.”

She offered carelessly, ignoring the looks the other passengers and the driver gave her. Ryoka hesitated, and she looked at Charlay.

“Charlay won’t fit.”

“I didn’t offer her. If she wants, she can run alongside the carriage. She’s a Centaur. She could keep up.”

Alevica’s eyes didn’t change once as she turned to regard Charlay. The Centauress shuddered.

“I’ll—I’m—”

She looked at Ryoka. The Runner girl didn’t have to think twice.

“Thanks, but we like running, Alevica. Maybe some other time.”

The young woman shrugged.

“As you please. You’ll make better time than we will. Looks like that [Knight] duel is stopping us. See you around, Wind Runner, Charlay.”

She waved at the two, and Ryoka slowly kept on running. Charlay gratefully followed her. The two were silent as they ran further, and then Ryoka turned to Charlay.

“Okay, what is Alevica? A [Mage] with a temper? Some kind of criminal class? What?”

The Centauress shook her head and warily cast a glance back down the road at the stopped carriage. As she ran, she leaned down and whisper-shouted to Ryoka.

“She’s a [Witch]! We don’t have them in Baleros. Not really. We have different classes. But Ryoka—I’m glad you didn’t ride with her, but if she ever tells you to do something—do it. She’s powerful and dangerous.”

Ryoka nodded. Alevica gave her that impression. She was no Persua, who was a mean girl taken to the extreme of pushing someone into a wagon. Then try to murder you, yes, but Persua worked up to it.

Alevica looked like the kind of person you made enemies with and then tried to murder as fast as possible. Before she got you. She gave Ryoka goose bumps. Then Ryoka latched onto what Charlay had said, and her skin and that sense inside her tingled.

“A [Witch]? Are you serious?”

She turned her head. Alevica was out of sight, but that dress, the hat—yes! It wasn’t classic Harry Potter, but it all fit. Ryoka was just so used to [Mages] that she hadn’t noticed. Charlay nodded. She slowed to a trot, and Ryoka saw her breathing hard.

“What makes you so scared of her, Charlay?”

The Centauress hesitated. She glanced back, and Ryoka saw her shudder again. This time, when she spoke, there was no bravado, only fear.

“I just heard rumors. And one time I…I was in the guild, and she cut in line. So I said some things, and later on the road, she passed me. I think she cast a spell because the next thing I know, my tail caught on fire.”

She gestured at her tail with a shaking hand. Ryoka stared at the pale hair. It appeared alright to her, but there was something…she looked at the Centauress. There were tears in her eyes.

“I couldn’t put it out. I had to use four healing potions until the fire stopped, and my coat…”

Ryoka looked closer. Charlay pulled away, but Ryoka had seen the faint imprint around Charlay’s hindquarters and tail. Traces of a burn scar. She looked back sharply at Alevica’s carriage.

“Maybe I’ll go back. I don’t feel like running anymore.”

Charlay slowly pawed at the ground with one hoof, her upper body drooping. She looked unhappy. And Ryoka, watching her, was struck by a thought. Charlay had followed her for the last three days, bickering, insulting, but always waiting for Ryoka. Talking with her, running at her pace. It might be Charlay’s personality, but she hadn’t been unpleasant all the time. And not once had Ryoka ever seen one of Charlay’s friends looking for the Centaur.

Slowly, the young woman looked at Charlay.

“If you want to go back to Walta, no one’s stopping you. But…hey, I could really use someone to run with. Want to check out Riverfarm? That’s where I’m headed. You could do some deliveries on the way. And I wouldn’t mind the company, really.”

Charlay paused. She looked at Ryoka, and her miserable expression vanished. She visibly perked up. Then she hesitated. Ryoka saw the head toss coming and recognized it as what it was. Bravado.

“Well, I suppose if you insist. I don’t like you, Ryoka. You’re rude, slow, and you took my theme. But I suppose I could keep you company.”

She hesitated and peeked at Ryoka out of the corner of one eye. Ryoka folded her arms.

“Is that how you really think?”

“Yes. No. Okay, fine! I would like to come, happy?”

The Centauress stamped one hoof. She glared at Ryoka.

“Don’t take it personally! I know I made fun of you a bit. But I do that all the time with my Centaur friends. In…Baleros. I guess it’s different here.”

She hesitated. And Ryoka realized that Centaurs really were different. Like any other culture, really. She wondered if anyone else had realized that. Slowly, Ryoka smiled and shook her head, pretending not to notice Charlay’s anxious look.

“Hey, I don’t mind. Just don’t do it all the time. You know how thin-skinned we Humans are.”

“Yeah, and touchy. But insulting each other is what friends do. We are friends, aren’t we?”

Charlay’s question took Ryoka off guard. But then Ryoka nodded. And Charlay’s smile provoked one of Ryoka’s as well. Without a word, the Centauress trotted forwards and then into a run.

“Well, that was obvious. Why did you need to spell it out? Come on, Ryoka! Let’s go!”

She beckoned, and Ryoka followed. The young woman stared at Charlay’s back as the Centaur laughed, running with all four legs, and shook her head, mystified, happy—she turned her head up towards the sky.

“It’s so easy, Erin. Why didn’t you tell me that? Why didn’t I listen?”

And then she ran off, south. With a new friend. As they ran towards Riverfarm, Charlay’s voice echoed back towards her.

“…Hey! Do you know if we’re going the right way?”

——

If Ryoka Griffin’s first encounter with a [Witch] left her less than impressed with Alevica, well, like Charlay, there was more depth to the odd class than Ryoka first thought.

It seemed like [Witches] were on the mind, and not just hers. Charlay and Ryoka were stopping for directions—just so Ryoka could stop Charlay from asking—when they heard people talking about [Witches].

“Five with broken arms. Men and women no less! At least they burnt down that wretched place. [Witches].”

“Witches?”

Ryoka and Charlay turned to a knot of distressed men talking in a marketplace of the town they were in—Totiled. It wasn’t large, and Ryoka first thought they were discussing Alevica, given Charlay’s description of her. But instead—

Well, the first thing the cluster of townsfolk did was clam up, but when they were introduced to two City Runners, they relaxed. Charlay was certainly novel to them, and they stared up at her and asked questions of the Centaur, who clearly loved the attention.

“What’s this about [Witches]?”

“Psht. They’re all about, Miss Runner. Going here and there. Run out of villages. And good riddance, I say!”

One of the townsfolk who’d been listening to the other men spat, but the group who’d actually run into another objectionable [Witch] turned out to be from a village, not the town itself.

“It’s not all like that! We had a good [Witch]—in Ecedale, twenty miles yonder. But it’s all gone bad. Terribly so! First one [Witch] dies in the streets, the next, our [Witch] throws down, and then her schoolhouse burns down and she’s gone!”

What was this about? Schoolhouse? Ryoka had to get some clarity here, and the story, when deciphered, worked out like this. Charlay chewed on some flatbread as she listened.

“It all began…oh, I can’t say how long back. There was talk about, well, bad witches. That’s how it all began. You hear stories of ‘em.”

Everyone nodded, from townsfolk to villagers. Ryoka scratched her head.

“But you have one.”

The man from Ecedale protested.

“We had a good one! Very normal, she was! No warts or hexes; she kept a clean place, had a bunch of little ones in training—Miss Agratha, she was. But you hear stories about the bad ones, now and then. There was some business in Terandria…I don’t want to tell stories or run my mouth. I figure they’re bad enough not to spread.”

The villager actually took something from a pouch at his neck and tossed some over his shoulder. The others did likewise. The townsfolk looked amused at this quaint superstition, but the Ecedale folk went on.

“Miss Agratha was telling everyone it was pure nonsense. She’s well liked for the little magics she does. Not by all! But I never had anything but politeness from her, and she always paid for anything she bought.”

“Not like some folks.”

The dour mutter gave Ryoka an odd impression of ‘Witch Agratha’.

“So where’d the dead [Witch] come from?”

The men looked at each other nervously.

“Well, that’s just it. It happened one night: Miss Agratha was out travelling. Witches do that sort of thing, you know? A stranger comes pounding on our doors, shouting for help. Says she’s been chased! Hunted! Now, most folk were ready to take her in, but then they realized she was a [Witch]. Pointed hat? So they turned her away. They didn’t want trouble. Miss Agratha has a schoolhouse, and they pointed her there. The poor woman must’ve made it, but Agratha and her apprentices were all gone. We didn’t know it, but when someone went to check…she’d expired in the schoolhouse. Leg infected, worn to death. Poor woman.”

The street went silent as Ryoka swallowed hard, and Charlay lost her appetite. Poor woman indeed.

“Sounds like bad business. Who was after her?”

Even the townsfolk looked slightly shaken. The villagers’ spokesman spread his hands.

“No one knows. Perhaps she was a…bad witch. There was a vote that very evening on whether or not we should kick Miss Agratha out. You know, just in case? Obviously, most people were set against—until Agratha returned. When she found out one of her kin had died there, well, she caused havoc.”

Another man cut in, looking wide-eyed with respect as much as regret.

“She laid into the folk who wouldn’t open their doors! All of us! She has a tongue like—well, some of them who didn’t like her got a bit pushy and stroppy. The next thing you know, there’s a full brawl in the middle of town and she’s laying about with a club!”

“What? A club? I thought it’d be with witchcraft!”

Charlay burst out laughing, but the villagers gave her dark looks.

“Yeah, well, who needs magic when you can hit someone that hard? After all was said and done, it was a lot harder to vote for her, but it didn’t matter either way; someone burned her schoolhouse down in the night. The next thing you know, Agratha’s gone, and all her apprentices run off too. Even some of the children she was tutoring!”

“She’s kidnapped children?”

That brought the townsfolk against the [Witch], but from what Ryoka had heard, it was all a mess. The Wind Runner shook her head as the villagers clarified.

“It might be kidnapping—”

“She was tutoring the girls, two of whom had no proper parenting—”

“One family’s put a bounty on her—”

“Agratha’s the right sort. She set my leg when it was broken better than a [Healer]. If some idiot hadn’t torched her schoolhouse—”

The townsfolk of Totiled were a lot less sympathetic. One spat.

“Well, I’ve heard similar rumors about witches of late. I say, run them out everywhere. I’m glad this one’s gone! As for one running a schoolhouse, hah! Who needs that sort of thing?”

Ryoka stared at him for a while until she remembered [Teacher] wasn’t even a class on Izril, really. People did apprenticeships instead. She had never been the biggest proponent of education herself, growing up. But still…Charlay went back to eating and added a comment.

“Witches. Huh? Are they just a pain or are they useful?”

That provoked a long silence from all. One of the townsfolk answered airily.

“Oh, they’re useful sometimes, but you can’t trust a lot of them. Good for villages. Not a town or city. And there’s always a bad witch.”

“Ever met one?”

Ryoka got a glower from one of the townsfolk and shrugs from the villagers of Ecedale. No…not personally. But there was always one.

And it seemed like everyone had heard something about a ‘bad witch’ of late. Maybe it was something like the witch hunts of Salem, that paranoia that swept over people for a while. Or the inquisition. Or…Ryoka saw a few of the villagers touching the charm that Witch Agratha had apparently made for them. She heard a whisper.

“…Helpful Servants in Noelictus. I heard…”

But they fell silent when others looked at them and did not want to say it out loud. And Ryoka and Charlay had to be going. They were running down the road when Charlay pointed something out.

“I still think you don’t know where you’re going, Ryoka.”

The Wind Runner sighed.

6.36 E

(Hey, I’ve got news! Volume 2 of The Wandering Inn might come out as an e-book soon! The Audiobook is scheduled for September 10th! Madness! Find out more details here!)

Day 55 – Durene

Help was on the way. That was the thought that Durene held in her head when she woke in her cottage. It propelled her out of bed and had her rummaging through the pack of food that Prost had provided her with last night. It made eggs, fresh from Riverfarm’s chickens, fried new potatoes grown from Riverfarm’s fields, and, uh, got water from the creek that fed Riverfarm’s river.

Okay, it was just a good mood. But Durene welcomed it. She had spoken to Laken. Not face-to-face, and he was yet far away, doing things with Goblin prisoners, and she was not happy about that. But she’d missed him. It felt like, now, she knew that he remembered her. Was thinking of her.

It mattered a lot. Durene dumped a bucket of water in what was supposed to be her pig’s trough. It was her bucket, so it filled the trough halfway and woke the new occupant of her cottage’s fenced-in perimeter. Bismarck yawned, exposing rows of yellowed teeth, and padded over to the trough for a drink. Durene eyed him, and the Mossbear sniffed the air. He tried to proceed towards the cottage for breakfast—Durene caught him.

“No. That’s my breakfast, Bismarck. You can have these potatoes.”

She dumped a small pile on the ground, and the bear sniffed them. Then he sniffed the air and decided fried potatoes and eggs sounded a lot better. He padded towards the cottage—this time, Durene wrapped her arms around his midsection.

“I said no.”

The Mossbear, affronted and surprised, looked back at Durene. He made a gaoing sound and pulled. Durene, her feet slipping in the wet soil, pulled back. And both she and Bismarck had an unpleasant surprise.

He was strong! Durene had met few things in the world that could really bother her. Wagons, trees, even Hobgoblins had felt weaker than her. But Bismarck was a Mossbear, bigger than regular bears. And he—Durene slipped across the ground, then pulled back harder.

The bear was surprised too. He wasn’t used to anything being able to hold him in place or get in his way, come to that. He strained to go forwards, and Durene hauled him back.

“Stay. Bad Bismarck! Stay—”

That was when it began to rain. Again. Both the Mossbear and half-Troll girl looked up as the clouds opened up. A downpour instantly soaked both and the potatoes. Bismarck eyed Durene and the cottage and then the pile of wet potatoes on the ground. Durene bared her teeth. The Mossbear considered his chances of getting into the hut, then dejectedly padded over to his potatoes and began wolfing them down. Durene sighed.

It was the beginning of another day.

—–

Another day. But a better one. The last two days hadn’t been the worst, all things considered, and Durene was feeling optimistic. By the time Wiskeria entered the cottage, dripping with water, Frostwing was eating her raw meat, and Durene had food.

“Morning, Wiskeria.”

“Hello, Durene. It’s another rainy day.”

The [Witch] sighed as she shook water from her clothes and hat onto the floor. Durene was about to ask if she needed a towel when she noticed Wiskeria wasn’t actually wet. The water slid from her garments, leaving a dry, if hungry, [Witch] behind.

“Wow. Is that magic? Here. Want some eggs and potatoes?”

Wiskeria sat down at the table, smiling slightly. She accepted the food and ate ravenously; Durene joined her a moment later with a much larger plate of her own food. Frostwing pecked at her bowl of meat and balefully eyed the egg-eaters.

“It’s magic. Not magic robes; just a little charm against water. Good thing I put it on the tent, or I’d have been soaked this morning. I think it’s wearing off, though; I got a few drips.”

Wiskeria pointed out Durene’s window. The half-Troll [Farmer] glanced outside.

“Huh. Charms? Is that like regular spells? I don’t know much about magic.”

“It’s small magic. Spells are quick to cast and last…hours at best, usually. Charms require a bit more work. For a charm against water, I sprinkle some dust over the tent and make it deflect water. It lasts for a few days, so if I forget to apply it, I get soaked. Same for the hat and clothes.”

“That’s so handy.”

Not powerful, though. Just handy. Durene could be as happily dry as Wiskeria with a towel and a minute of work. The [Witch] nodded, eating fast.

“Small magics. I have a lot of them. It’s not as good as casting [Barrier of Air] or something like a [Mage], but it’s pretty good. That’s how my class does magic, anyways. We get other things in return.”

“You mean like bringing dead crow heads back to life?”

Durene stared across the table. Wiskeria paused with some potato stuffed into her mouth. She chewed, swallowed, and slowly looked outside.

“Uh…yes. If we want to. [Witches] learn a lot of disciplines. General magic, alchemy, hexes, charms, beast taming, even fighting Skills—”

“Necromancy.”

“I don’t know any spells to raise the dead.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I really don’t. Look, [Witches] aren’t all the same, Durene. We’re—it’s a wide class.”

Flustered, Wiskeria adjusted the hat on her head. She never took it off, even indoors. She wiped her spectacles on her robes, and Durene let the matter drop.

“So what’re you going to do today? Prost and Rie say they’re going to make an announcement this morning. In the village. Want to come?”

The [Witch] hesitated, and her good mood palpably faded a bit. Durene just stared at her. Wiskeria mumbled as she finished her plate.

“Maybe. I could…come by.”

“Laken asked you to.”

Another pause.

“Yes, he did. I’ll think about it.”

And there was another thing. Two days ago, Wiskeria’s answer would have been a flat rejection, Durene was sure. But she’d been in the room with Durene and heard Laken’s [Message]. He’d asked her to help, and the [Witch] looked bothered as she glanced out Durene’s window again. Because, as different as she was from Durene, with her quick wits, magic, and now deep guilt, she and Durene shared the same thing that bound them together in unlikely ways.

Loyalty. Durene had been glad to see it—surprised that she’d seen it in Rie’s face—and she was relieved herself. Something, someone was coming that would make things better. But just as importantly, Durene had realized what she needed to do while Laken was away: keep Riverfarm safe. With that in mind, she felt energized today. Durene got up and put both plates away. She looked at Wiskeria.

“If you’re coming, do it soon. I’m going into the village. With Frostwing. If she behaves herself.”

She reached for the bird, and Frostwing squawked, but slowly hopped onto Durene’s arm. The bird pecked at a loose thread on Durene’s clothing, but didn’t scream or protest this time as Durene picked up an oiled cloak and held it over the bird. She walked over to the door.

“See you later?”

“Yeah.”

Wiskeria smiled as Durene left the cottage. She watched as the door closed, and the sudden shower of rain began to let up a tiny bit. The [Witch] stared around the cottage, sighed, then stood up as well.

—–

This morning, the people of Riverfarm broke from their routine for a gathering in the one building large enough to hold them. The village’s center, the meeting hall that doubled as the throne room of sorts. The carved throne that sat on a small dais at the other end of the room was unoccupied. And it had been for nearly two months.

Even so, the people who came to listen to Prost speak stared at it with the same expectant stare they had on day one. They were Riverfarm’s original folk, Windrest’s, the people of the villages who’d first come here. Not all of them; there were six hundred ‘original’ people. Loyal to their [Emperor].

Many had duties that called them away even before this early hour, but it still felt good to Durene to see the rest here. She stood next to the throne, listening to Prost speak. The [Steward] was a simple public speaker, but an efficient one; he wasted no one’s time.

“His Majesty is but two weeks away. Maybe a bit more, maybe less—he’s still got all the [Engineer] teams with him. We just have to wait for him. He is being escorted by two [Lords] after all.”

The people in the meeting hall nodded reluctantly. They’d been hopeful, but not exactly unpleasantly surprised by the [Message] from Laken. Durene gathered that this update on his progress wasn’t new by now. Prost let the murmurs die down before turning to Durene.

“One last thing. Our Durene’s awake and fully recovered from her injury. You may have seen her on her feet these last few days—she can be hard to miss. She’ll be helping around Riverfarm as she might—and it’ll be a help, you can be sure! Three days ago, she and Beniar caught the [Thief] who’d been stealing for the last few weeks!”

That garnered a lot more interest. Everyone turned to Durene, and she blushed as a small cheer rose from the crowd. But then a man shouted from the crowd. It was Mister Ram, the [Rancher].

“We finally caught that bastard! When’re we giving him a beating, Prost? Or is it just exile? He deserves more than that if you ask me!”

There was a swell of agreement from the crowd. Prost grimaced as he raised a hand. Rie wasn’t here; Durene guessed she was tending to the rest of the village.

“There’s no beating being done, Mister Ram. Or exile—yet. We know who the [Thief] is, and he’s high-level, but figuring out the exact punishment will take a bit. He’s being confined in his house under watch, so I don’t want anyone doing anything until Lady Rie and I pass formal judgment. What’s important is that the thefts will stop; at least, from him.”

That didn’t sit well with the crowd. There was a lot of frowning, and then a woman called out.

“Why not? That man stole from our [Traders]—stole money we made for the village!”

“There’s complications, Miss Prise. The man’s from Lancrel—”

“So? They came to Riverfarm, they have to obey the laws, same as everyone else! What makes this [Thief] so different?”

Durene, watching, saw most of the villagers nodding. She nodded as well; there was only one recourse for a [Thief]. Either you taught them a lesson so they stopped for good or they had to leave the village. In a small community, you couldn’t have people like that. Prost just grimaced.

“It’s not that simple. The [Thief] that Durene helped catch? It’s Master Elmmet.”

There was a moment of stunned silence and then a roar of outrage from the crowd. Durene blinked as fury swept over the familiar faces. Ram shouted out, his face red.

“That snooty [Councilman]? And the Lancrel lot said the [Thief] wouldn’t ever be one of theirs! Just goes to show! Let’s tar and feather the bastard and run him out today! I’ll get the tar myself! Who’s with me?”

Half the men and women in the room shouted, and some seemed ready to do so right this instant. On the dais, Prost shouted for silence, then gave up. He put two fingers in his mouth and issued a piercing whistle. Everyone, Durene included, clapped their hands to their ears. Frostwing, who’d been content to perch on Durene’s shoulder, shrieked happily in accord.

“No one’s punishing Elmmet for anything, so get that out of your heads. Especially you, Ram. He’s under guard.”

“Put him in the pillory and let us throw some rocks! Under guard in his home? You’re not treating him special on account of him being from the city, are you, Prost?”

Ram’s glare bounced off Prost. The [Steward] frowned, and Ram, realizing he might have gone too far, hesitated. Prost’s voice shut down every murmur as he replied with iron in his tone.

“Not at all. But Lancrel’s folk are insisting their [Councilman] did nothing wrong. Never mind that he was caught by Beniar. They insist it was a setup—”

Another roar of outrage. Prost shouted over them.

“I know, I know! Shut up, all of you! We’ve got work to do—stop acting like wet-bottomed babes before I spank the lot of you!”

The affronted crowd shut up. Prost, breathing heavily, glared at them.

“That’s what Lancrel’s lot says. But they’re not in charge, and justice will be done, I promise you. What we’re doing is—we’re setting up a trial. With a truth stone. Lady Rie sent for one from her estates, and it’ll be here by the end of today. Tomorrow, we’ll be having a public trial for Master Elmmet to show everyone he is the [Thief]. His sentence will be handled then.”

The angry crowd quieted a bit. A woman shouted out as she lifted a girl up to see Prost from the back.

“What if Lancrel’s folk don’t want him punished? There’s more’ve them than us, Prost. Them and the other villagers who came here. They’ve been saying they deserve the best houses and more consideration—as if we weren’t here first!”

Durene saw more aggrieved nods. Prost sighed.

“They can say what they want. But justice will be done tomorrow. I’ll be handling the trial myself. You’re all free to watch. With that said—we have jobs to do! There might be rain, but I want more fields being plowed and sown! And we’re putting up more houses for our crafts folk! That means more of you all will be doing your primary class’ job soon enough! Think of that and don’t let me catch any of you starting a fight with Lancrel’s folk! They’ll be here right after you, and they’ll hear exactly what you said.”

“Us? Start fights?”

Ram looked innocently around. Prost glared.

“That’s all for now. Anyone who’s got a complaint? Find me when I’m checking in on you! Get to work!”

Grumbling, but good-naturedly, the villagers dispersed. Durene watched the back of the crowd begin to troop out of the room with no more than a few complaints. They were hardy folk, the [Farmers] and [Woodcutters] and so on. More than a few stopped to greet Durene. The first was a bald man with huge arms and an apron.

“Durene! Dead gods, girl, it’s good to see you.”

He spread his arms and gave Durene a hug. She grinned and hugged him back.

“Mister Helm!”

The [Blacksmith] beamed as he stepped back. He was one of the leaders of Windrest, a respected man and the highest-level [Blacksmith] in Riverfarm at the moment. He shook his head as a small crowd gathered around Durene.

“I didn’t think anything could keep you down more than a day, girl. When I heard your wound got infected—it’s a terrible thing. But you’re back, and in a day, you caught that damn [Thief]! And that slimy Elmmet no less! He’d have never been able to get away with it for so long if His Majesty were here.”

Durene nodded soberly. Laken would have sensed Elmmet stealing right off. Helm sighed, but then he adjusted his belt.

“Not long now until he gets back, though. I’m looking forwards to it—he can restore order. Not that Prost and Lady Rie don’t do a good enough job, but Emperor Laken—he’s the one who can get things moving. There’s always more houses that need putting up, and I’d like half a dozen more hands helping me churn out what Riverfarm needs—get us ore instead of having us having to smelt or buy the damn stuff ourselves—”

Someone elbowed Helm in the side and forced him back. Another woman stepped up, scowling at the [Blacksmith].

“Don’t monopolize Durene with your complaints, Helm! How are you, Miss Durene? Ignore Helm. He hasn’t changed from Windrest. When Emperor Laken comes back, kicking Helm into shape’ll be his hardest task, I have no doubt.”

“How dare you, Mallie! You think I haven’t been working from dawn till dusk?”

Helm spluttered at the [Washerwoman] as she shook Durene’s hand with two of her own, smiling. More of the villagers crowded around, and Durene, surprised and touched by the affection, shook hands and exchanged hugs, trying not to blush.

She failed. Durene liked Windrest’s folk. They didn’t have any baggage with her past, and they’d known her and Laken for months before the battle at Lancrel. She didn’t know them all, of course, and some of the villagers in this meeting were here just to meet Durene.

“I…saw you, didn’t I? When the army of his—er, Emperor Godart—sent them to fight the Goblins harassing our village. You were with them. I’m Miss Baker. A pleasure. Miss Durene?”

A small woman peered up at Durene, cautious, but managing a smile. Durene nodded.

“I’m a [Paladin], Miss Baker. I, uh, I fought with the army. I might be doing that again, but today I’ll be helping out.”

“Oh! A [Paladin]? I’ve never heard of that class. What is it about, please?”

The woman’s eyes widened respectfully. Durene felt a surge of pride, and a smile flashed around those in the know. Durene used the easiest explanation she knew.

“A [Paladin] is a special kind of [Knight] that serves [Emperors], Miss Baker. A bit more than that, but you could think of them as…a [Knight] among [Knights].”

“Amazing. And you’re…I mean, will we have [Knights] when His Majesty returns? There’s that dashing [Cataphract], and he’s as good as any [Knight]. Adventurer Beniar.”

Miss Baker’s eyes were shining at the prospect. Durene felt a flutter in her chest at the thought. Hadn’t Laken thought about that? No, wait—he’d complained that he’d given most of his titles, including knighthoods, to the Frost Faeries.

“I imagine Laken could knight a few people, Miss Baker. If they were deserving.”

“Amazing.”

The woman shook her head. The others nodded proudly or with the same amazement. [Steward], [Paladin]—no, they even had a [Lady] among them! It was more than any of them would dream of in their normal lives.

Durene was smiling and introducing herself to the last of the people as the crowd slowly filed out of the meeting hall when there was a pause, then a susurration through those still in the building. The people at the doors cleared a space. Walking through them came a young woman with a familiar blue hat.

Wiskeria. Durene looked up, and a silence fell over the room. The [Witch]’s face was pale, but she walked into the center, chin raised. Prost, talking to Helm and a few of the villagers with authority, turned, and his eyes widened. Wiskeria gulped and spoke.

“Hello, everyone.”

“Wiskeria.”

Durene breathed her name, and she wasn’t the only one. Every eye focused on the [Witch], and Durene, gazing across the crowd, saw a mix of emotions. Surprise, sadness, a flash of anger on a few faces—but, generally, just uncertainty. The [Witch] tugged on her hat, and then, slowly, took it off. She stared around the room as her dark hair fell slightly.

“I’m sorry for—I’m sorry I haven’t been more active of late. I’d like to change that, help where I may. I’m not reforming the army. Beniar will be handling things with his Darksky Riders until Emperor Laken returns. But I do want to help.”

Silence greeted her statement. Durene held her breath, inspecting the audience. To her, Wiskeria had nothing to apologize for. Nothing—but then Durene remembered the cemetery. And she couldn’t bring herself to be the first one to speak.

Nor could Prost, apparently. He hesitated, opening his mouth uncertainly. But before he could speak, someone else pushed her way through the crowd.

A girl. She was young, a village child from her trousers and general appearance. She marched right up to Wiskeria and stared up at her as the [Witch] put on her hat. Wiskeria stared back uncertainly. The girl looked Wiskeria up and down and then asked in a loud, carrying voice, as only a child could do.

“What’re you, Miss?”

Wiskeria blinked. The question wasn’t exactly rude, but it was a bit out of place.

“I’m a [Witch]. A [Witch] and a [General]. But mostly a [Witch]. My name is Wiskeria. What’s yours?”

The girl considered this.

“Agathy. Are you a bad [Witch], Miss? Mother says you’re not. But my brother, Randil, he followed you to kill the Goblins. And he never came back.”

There it was. Durene paused, and in the crowd around her, the folk at the doors, the good mood was swept away and replaced by silence. Outside, the rain blew in, drenching those at the doors. But they held still, looking back at Wiskeria. The [Witch] hesitated. She tugged her pointed hat lower over her brow and knelt, bending down towards Agathy.

“I’d…like to think I’m not a bad [Witch], Agathy. But I don’t think I’m a very good one. I let your brother down.”

“Ma says it weren’t your fault. Nor His Majesty’s. She said—but who’s to blame? Them Goblins?”

Agathy stared at Wiskeria. Her voice was loud, strident even. Bordering on accusatory. Wiskeria hesitated.

“I was the [General] in charge of the army. We were fighting Goblins, but I should have led better. I’m sorry.”

The little girl nodded. Durene was…surprised to see her not crying. But it had been fifty-five days since then. It felt like yesterday to Durene. She closed her eyes. Then Agathy’s voice became uncertain.

“Was he brave?”

A tremble entered her bold tone. A quaver. And the room waited on Wiskeria’s response. The [Witch] gazed up. Perhaps some of those in the room had fought on that battlefield. Durene recognized some faces. She had been there. But she didn’t remember Agathy’s brother’s face. She didn’t even recognize his name. Wiskeria paused, and then she closed her eyes. Then she smiled down at Agathy.

“Oh yes. The bravest. I promise you that.”

“He was a hero.”

The statement was no question, but it begged for an answer. Wiskeria nodded. Agathy went on, her large eyes filled with no tears. But the words poured out in a rush.

“He had a spear. A-and he practiced every day. He was a Level 14 [Warrior]. He killed a lot of Goblins, right?”

“Yes. And he helped the rest of us get away.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Agathy nodded. She stared up at Wiskeria. Then she looked lost.

“How did he—how did—”

She broke off and rubbed at one eye. At last, a woman came through the crowd. She had been wiping at her eyes. She pulled Agathy back. The girl protested, but quietly. The woman bowed to Wiskeria hesitantly. The [Witch] looked down, then forced herself to meet the woman’s eyes.

“I’m Agelica. Agathy’s mother. And Randil’s. Please forgive Agathy.”

“No, it’s perfectly…I’m sorry Miss Agelica.”

The woman shook her head, her eyes bright.

“We know you did your best, General. And you had the wrong orders. Emperor Laken didn’t order that charge. It was someone else. A traitor, isn’t that right?”

“Yes.”

The word came from Prost. He stood on the dais, watching Wiskeria. He met the eyes of every person as he slowly turned around the room.

“Emperor Laken didn’t order the attack. Someone else did. Knocked out Nesor. Wiskeria did the best with the information she had. But we’ll find that traitor. Wiskeria, it’s good to see you.”

She nodded to him. But when she turned to Miss Agelica, the [Witch] could only bow to her and her daughter.

“I’m sorry. Your son was a hero. If he hadn’t fought, more of us wouldn’t have escaped.”

Agelica nodded. With dignity, holding Agathy’s hand, she turned to go. Durene let out the sigh she’d been holding. Too quickly. Frostwing fluttered in alarm as someone stormed past her. Another woman, wearing a dress, pointed a finger at Wiskeria.

“Sorry? Sorry doesn’t bring back the dead!”

“Miss Rehanna.”

Prost called out sharply. Durene recognized her, although it took a second. She had been one of the villagers who’d refused to accept Laken’s rule when she’d come to Riverfarm. Durene had disliked the woman’s ingratitude then. And she hadn’t changed. The woman stormed up to Wiskeria as the [Witch] turned.

“You have some nerve showing your face here after what you did. You were the [General]. You should have won! Or—or retreated sooner! Instead, there were thousands dead! From Riverfarm and every village, city, and town that your [Emperor] levied troops from! How dare you come in here and—”

She flinched as Durene put a hand on her shoulder. The half-Troll girl glared down at her. Durene’s voice boomed around the hall.

“Wiskeria saved as many lives as she could, Miss. It wasn’t her fault someone lied to her. She fought the Goblins! You weren’t there—”

“Durene.”

Wiskeria looked at Durene warningly. Rehanna spun, her eyes flaring with hatred. Hatred and disgust.

“So what if I wasn’t? I can say what we’re all thinking. If it weren’t for her, our people might not have died at Lancrel! And for what? A bunch of city-folk who come here and steal our food while complaining all the while? If we’d had a proper leader in charge instead of this—”

The woman cut off as Durene clenched a fist. Durene made no other move, but it was a big fist. Rehanna backed up. Durene glared at her.

“Don’t you dare insult her. You weren’t fighting. You weren’t there! How can you insult Wiskeria?”

“Durene. Enough.”

Someone pulled at Durene’s shoulder. Prost. He couldn’t move her, but he interposed himself between her and Rehanna. He glanced up at Durene and shook his head.

“Wiskeria isn’t to blame, that’s right enough, Durene. But Miss Rehanna’s entitled to her grief. Her husband was among those that fought at Lancrel.”

“Oh.”

Suddenly, Durene’s righteous anger burnt out in her chest. She stared at Rehanna. The woman’s face was red as she glared at Durene. She pointed a shaking finger at Wiskeria.

“My husband followed that bitch into battle. For your [Emperor]. I warned him. I told him what would happen, but he didn’t listen. And he died.”

Without another word, she turned and stormed out of the room. No one spoke for a long while after that. At last, Wiskeria bowed her head.

“I’m sorry. I can’t make up for what happened. I did what I could. I know that’s not enough, but let me help, if you can accept it.”

Prost nodded tiredly. He looked about and clapped his hands.

“Everyone, back to work. We’ve wasted enough time as it is. Tell everyone who’s working in the village on the second shift to come by when the sun’s overhead.”

He marched towards the door, ordering the first wave of people to the fields and the early-morning work. But, tellingly, he didn’t stop a small crowd who lingered around Wiskeria. A man stepped towards the [Witch], taking off his wide farmer’s hat.

“I don’t know if you’ll remember her, Miss Wiskeria. But if you’ve a moment—do you remember my girl? Iglief? She was an [Archer]. Caught an arrow or so I heard. I…I’d like to know if that’s what happened.”

“Of course.”

Wiskeria turned and bowed to him. She looked up once at Durene. And the half-Troll girl silently stepped away. Wiskeria turned to the [Farmer], and the moment of hesitation was so quick that only Durene noticed it.

“Iglief? I remember her. She had—blonde hair, right?”

She looked at the man. He ran a hand through his dark blonde hair and nodded, relieved.

“That’s her. As fair as wheat. And a clear shot with a bow. She could kill a rat at a hundred paces with it.”

Wiskeria closed her eyes.

“Of course. She would’ve been with our archers. The Goblins overran the right. Before Lord Pellmia came, they had to fight and hold them back as we were retreating. Your daughter—”

She looked at the [Farmer]. Durene, walking towards the door with Frostwing, saw the man bow his head. Wiskeria reached out, and he took Wiskeria’s hand. Shook it. When he moved away, it was slowly, but he put on his hat and headed past Durene towards the doors, and there was a firmness in his step. The next person, an old woman, stepped up and urgently grabbed at the hem of Wiskeria’s robe. The [Witch] turned to her.

There she stood, surrounded by people who’d lost someone. All asking, wanting to know how the dead had fallen. And the [Witch] gave one answer: heroically.

It was a lie, and it was the truth. It was the only answer any decent person could give. And Wiskeria, as she adjusted her spectacles, tugged on her hat, bowed, and lied and told the truth, looked both relieved and in more pain than Durene could ever remember seeing someone. But she had stopped running. So Durene left her to it.

—–

The rest of the day, Durene worked. Not in bits or pieces, lending a hand here or catching a [Thief], but actually got down and worked. It wasn’t hard. There was no end of tasks to do, and Durene might be a [Paladin], but she was a [Farmer] too. Prost didn’t put her in any working group, so Durene did what she knew she could do best: lift things.

She was in the farms first. Or rather, the group clearing new land for fields. The [Woodcutters] had cleared a huge amount of land, but in their hurry to acquire lumber for the new houses going up, they’d neglected to remove the stumps and roots.

That meant the grumbling [Farmers] not assigned to sowing or tilling had to handle it. Durene had the chance to chat with some of them. They were all cut from the same cloth; [Farmers] who worked in the small villages weren’t high-level by and large, but they all dreamed of getting that rare Skill or having a few big harvests that helped them level up.

Many wouldn’t fulfill that dream, but they had more classes than just [Farmer]. You’d be a [Farmer] who specialized in a bit of [Blacksmithing] on the side for coin and to repair your tools, or one with a [Rancher] class, or perhaps a [Farmer] and a [Hunter].

They were hardy, and their grumbling was largely good-natured as they worked in the rain, uprooting stones and roots and hauling them off to wagons. The wood could be dried and used as firewood or bits for the [Carvers], and the stones were good for laying foundations or a cobblestone street, maybe. Durene knew it was a good sign that they were working with a will even in the rain.

“It ain’t nothing hard. In fact, I’d say I’m happier here than at my old farm, for all I miss it dearly. It’s a small place up north—but I’ll admit, it does my heart good seeing all those shoots coming up. I wish I had that Skill, but I’ll be content helping out until I level up.”

One old [Farmer], Rickmeld, chatted as Durene carefully dug around a large stump in the ground. He pulled some dirt back with a hoe, and Durene nodded.

“You like it here, Mister Rickmeld?”

“Compared to being ate by a Goblin for lunch? Yes I do! But there’s more’n that. I just need to work, and I don’t have to worry about food. I wasn’t a married man, but now instead of having to cook, I get someone with [Advanced Cooking] making my meals. And my bed! Feels like the softest cotton when I lie down. That’s spoiling me; I don’t know that I’d return, even if my farm magically rebuilt itself. If it weren’t for all these upstuck city folk, I’d be happy as my pigs. I can’t wait to meet this [Emperor] everyone’s telling me about.”

The [Farmer] sighed as he and Durene finally got under the stump. Durene nodded.

“Lancrel folk, huh? What’re they like?”

Rickmeld eyed Durene and sucked his teeth thoughtfully. He might have been wondering if she were a spy for Prost—Durene was not—but he answered anyways with a [Farmer]’s bluntness.

“Upstuck. Like I said. Can’t handle rain, complain about sleeping in the big storage rooms and barns—as if we didn’t all do that! Worst is the rich folks or the ones who were rich. They keep demanding to get houses first and saying that there should be privileges. What’re they offering? Some of ‘em are decent, but the worst are the [Mayors].”

“[Mayors]?”

He nodded.

“[Mayors], [Aides], [Councilwomen]—you know the sort. We didn’t have a [Mayor] in our village, just a [Headwoman], and she was alright. But a lot of the places that fled the Goblins had people whose class was in leadership. People of importance.”

He spat. Durene, about to bend over, eyed the spit on the stump and sighed. Rickmeld looked apologetic.

“Rain’ll get that. Anyways, they’ve banded together. Formed a ‘governing body’, only, we’ve got that in Prost and Lady Rie. Prost is all we need, if you ask me. He’s a right sort. Good [Farmer], knows his stuff. And Lady Rie! Why’d you need anyone to tell a [Lady] how to manage things?”

Durene thought about Lady Rie and grunted.

“This other group wants to, though?”

“They have suggestions. And they have a lot of folk who respect them or who’re displeased. I say let them leave, but I suppose it ain’t possible. Lancrel’s lot sticks together and listens to this body. And there’s a lot of them…”

Durene nodded. She saw the issue. There were two thousand people in Riverfarm and more stragglers incoming by the day. If there were more people like Rickmeld and Riverfarm’s own, they could tell the other groups where to shove it. But the group from Lancrel outnumbered the villagers two-to-one, never mind that the rural folk had started all this.

“Well, Laken will sort it out when he arrives. Until then, Rie can handle it. And Prost. And Beniar.”

“What about you? I hear you’re His Majesty’s, er, consort. What’s a [Paladin] do all day?”

Durene shrugged, embarrassed.

“Help out. But I’m nothing special, Mister Rickmeld.”

So saying, she crouched, put her hand under the base of the stump, and heaved. The [Farmer] shielded his face as the roots of the tree ripped up out of the dirt in a shower. He gaped as Durene lifted the stump and roots up with one hand and wiped some dirt from her face with a grimace.

“I…see. Nothing special?”

His voice was faint. Durene shrugged.

“I’m a [Farmer]. The [Paladin] bit I’m working on, but I don’t quite know what to do. Hey, should I dump this on the wagon?”

She waved the stump at the other farmers as Frostwing flapped her wings and issued a complaint over the dirt covering her brilliant plumage. That was the morning. After a wet opening, the rain poured so hard the [Farmers] decided to take a break. Durene trooped into the village with them for a hot, warming meal inside one of the buildings the [Cooks] used to make and serve food. The [Farmers] went back out when the storm began to die down to a drizzle, and Durene decided she’d pulled up most of the big stumps. So she went to find the [Builders].

One team was being led by Beycalt, the [Forewoman] whom Durene had met the other day. She was only too glad to have Durene help unload the heavy, wet wagons. It gave Beycalt a chance to address some of the grumbling [Builders] in her crew.

“Working in the rain? Building in it? We should all be indoors!”

One man was simply unable to handle the light rain. He was protesting to Beycalt, and the woman was having none of it. She pointed as Durene trooped past her with some fresh-cut boards.

“It’s just rain. It doesn’t affect houses. And we can put a temporary shelter up when we start adding floorboards. I don’t know how you did it in Lancrel, but you can raise a building in storm or sun, Mister Felp. Stop complaining and help unload those wagons. We can throw up this house in the hour with Durene’s help if you’d all stop whining and do half of her work.”

She pointed, and Durene paused on her way back to the wagon. The man, Mister Felp, stared up at her. He hesitated, and his face paled.

“Uh—uh, the Troll? She’s going to help with everything?”

Beycalt frowned. Durene just smiled and held out a hand.

“Half-Troll, sir. [Paladin]. I’m here to help defend Riverfarm in case it’s attacked.”

Felp stared at her, and Durene had the sinking feeling he was surprised she could speak. His handshake was timid and limp and quick—Durene already didn’t like him or most of the other Lancrel people who were working in Beycalt’s group. They were all unused to the rain and quicker to complain than the rural folk.

Still, some of them worked with a will, and as Durene helped them set up the frame, she got a chance to talk. A woman nodded at her, spitting nails into her gloved hand one by one and driving each one into the wood with a practiced swing. It was a neat Skill.

“Don’t mind Felp, Miss, uh, Durene. He’s just not used to the wet. I’d be concerned if we were leaving this wood out, but we can raise a house in hours. Amazingly quick. Not to say it isn’t hard…”

“Something wrong with Riverfarm, Miss [Builder]?”

Durene looked at the woman as she lifted the frame up, one-handed. The woman hesitated.

“It’s just hard moving from a city to here. We’re grateful, of course. Those damn Goblins that attacked the city, and there were few places to turn—”

“If they could’ve gotten our city back, I’d have been happier.”

One of the men working on Durene’s left groused, and then looked away when she stared at him. The female [Builder] snorted and nearly ate one of her nails.

“Return to that place? It’s more ruin than not. I’m just saying that—look, it’s not simple. I, er, listened to your [Steward] at lunch. That man Prost. He was saying…”

She trailed off. The other Lancrel [Builders] looked up and around warily. After a moment, the female [Builder] moved over and whispered to Durene while Beycalt was busy helping unload roof tiles.

“Elmmet. He’s a good [Councilman]. You didn’t really catch him stealing…people are saying there might have been a mix-up. The [Thief] could change faces. What if he set up Master Elmmet?”

“I saw him change his face. It wasn’t anyone else. Frostwing found him too—he was looking like a woman right until she started attacking him. It’s him. Beniar caught him, and no one got a chance to slip away.”

Durene frowned as she informed the group. The Lancrel folk looked at each other, frowning hard. One of the men shook his head and tried to raise his voice, but they were all talking over each other.

“If that’s so, he’s been stealing all along. Hey, we did have a bad [Thief] problem in Lancrel. If it was Elmmet all this time…”

“Don’t say that. Dead gods! How’d our Watch Captain not deal with him?”

“Maybe—”

“Nothing’s proven yet. We’ll see tomorrow. It’ll all be settled under truth spell, right?”

At this, uneasily, the Lancrel folk nodded. Durene watched the silent group as they got back to work and felt a twinge of her own uneasiness. She helped for another hour and left when the framework and everything heavy had been set up.

For the rest of the day, Durene just carried things. She was faster than the wagons that were getting stuck in the muddy streets, and she could lift a lot with just her two hands. A paved street was one of the things everyone she met agreed that Riverfarm needed next. It was just that laying paving stones was an arduous task, and there were more important things to do first, like making sure that Riverfarm wouldn’t starve.

“Even so, we could subdivide. Set, er, forty men on the task, and I guarantee they’ll make good progress each day. All we need is a few experienced [Builders], a [Digger] or two perhaps—it’d be an efficient use of time, wouldn’t it?”

A man wearing a fine cotton coat was taking a break with some other city folk under the eaves of a roof as Durene trotted past with a huge tub of water for the [Cooks]. Durene slowed down to listen as the man went on.

“It’s not hard. Why not spare some men? The answer is that Mister Prost and Lady Rie don’t think it’s necessary. But why not? They’re always rushing about so why not appoint a supervisor to deal with the roads? Come to that, why not organize the village with more officials? There’s no hierarchy here, just those two.”

“There’s more than that. They have [Foremen] and people in charge of each area.”

One of the women wiped some rain from her cloak. The man with the nice coat paused.

“Ye-es… but I’m talking people with authority. People used to managing—there are a few, but they’re all from the villages. What about us?”

“They were here first, Rodivek. We’re newcomers.”

“But we have the classes they don’t. What’s a [Headman] know of managing a few thousand people? I was a [Mayor] of my town. And Beatica was a [Councilwoman] for over two decades! Don’t you think it’s slightly unfair that so many of us have no say in how this place we’re building is developed?”

Durene watched as the crowd shifted. Some people didn’t seemed convinced by Rodivek’s little speech, but more than half were nodding uncertainly. She walked away quickly.

Rodivek and Beatica. Those were two names she’d heard more than once on the tongues of people who identified as city folk. She didn’t like the man. As for the woman—Durene met her that night as she took her dinner in one of the mess halls.

—–

“Frostwing, shush!”

Durene was tending to the bird as people ate their dinners or collected them for eating elsewhere at the queues in the cookhouses. Her bird had been much better behaved after a few days around Durene, but Frostwing was still somewhat feral. And when she was hungry, the bird was hard to control. She kept trying to peck at other people who hurried past, guarding their food. Durene eventually had to grip the bird against her chest and, ignoring Frostwing’s furious pecking, collect some meat and her dinner.

“Screech and you don’t get any meat, understand? Just sit here and be quiet.”

The half-Troll girl knew that Frostwing could understand her. After a glare, the bird meekly hopped onto Durene’s arm and began to gobble food. Durene sighed and tore into the hot, toasted bun filled with bits of fruit and some goat’s cheese. To her delight, there were bits of meat in her meal as well! It tasted like…game. Rabbit maybe, or some other small animal. It was hot, filling, and Durene realized her portion wasn’t nearly enough. With the bowl of onion soup, it might be for most folks, but Durene’s stomach was still growling.

“I need two more portions.”

A bit ashamed, Durene went back to the [Cook]. The man opened his mouth to protest, looked Durene up and down, and silently gave her two more sandwiches and filled her bowl. The half-Troll girl blushed at the looks from some of the other people around her, but was too hungry to complain. She was sitting at one of the tables in the building, letting Frostwing peck at one sandwich, when she heard a woman’s voice.

“I simply cannot understand why you won’t accept our modest proposals, Lady Rie. Nobility is one thing, but I would like to remind you that we are speaking for all of Lancrel. A city has a voice, you know.”

Durene looked up. She spotted Lady Rie immediately. The woman had for once decided not to wear a completely formal dress, but her clothing was still very elegant. A [Lady]’s riding dress perhaps, although white and yellow, as if that wouldn’t smudge instantly. She’d kept herself clean, though, and dry. She was also frowning, her colored yellow lips pursed as she faced a small group of women…Durene frowned as she spotted the woman in front.

Beatica was a woman in her early forties, but she certainly didn’t lack when it came to beauty herself. Her hair was styled, her clothes practical, but more expensive than anything anyone in Riverfarm would own. She had no jewelry save for a large and clearly expensive ring on one finger—oh, and she practically radiated confidence. Durene looked at Beatica, and when the woman smiled, Durene felt like standing up and following her.

At least, a part of her did. It was instantly quashed by another part of Durene, which stared at the woman and felt an uneasy sense of familiarity. Her presence, the way the people around her hung on her every word—it all reminded Durene of one person.

Laken. Only, if he were a beacon of inspiration, Beatica was a torch. It was still effective, and Durene felt her attention immediately going to the woman, fixing on her argument with Rie. Moreover, most of the people in the room turned to listen as well. Beatica flashed them all a smile, then focused on Rie.

“We’re proposing to help Riverfarm. We have come here and worked these last weeks, haven’t we? Don’t we deserve a chance to use our classes to their fullest extent? Give us a chance! I am a former [Councilwoman]—there are [Mayors] such as Rodivek from Hewlat—we can take over some of the tasks that have clearly left you and Mister Prost running ragged. Let us manage a few small groups. We are familiar with our citizens—we can take care of pressing issues, like paving the ground.”

She gestured outside to the muddy streets. Lady Rie did something like a smile with her face, but her voice was somewhat icy as she replied.

“While I understand your enthusiasm, Miss Beatica—”

“Councilwoman, please, Lady Rie. I didn’t give up my class when I left my city. And I consider myself in charge of my people, even though we have lost our home.”

The woman interrupted Rie smoothly, gesturing to the crowd behind her. But that wasn’t what made Durene sit up in amazement. The half-Troll girl saw Rie’s mouth open and close while she spoke, but no words had come out. Beatica had used a Skill! Lady Rie made a sound and then glared at Beatica.

“I would appreciate you not using your Skills on me, Miss Beatica. And while I appreciate your…zeal in taking care of your people, I remind you that you came here. This is Emperor Laken’s domain. Not Lancrel’s. He may appoint leaders among Lancrel’s population when he returns. Until then, I believe Riverfarm is adequately handled between Prost and I and the people we have chosen.”

A murmur of agreement rose from some of the rural crowd in the room. Beatica pursed her lips. She clearly didn’t like Rie’s response, so she turned and appealed to the people from Lancrel and the towns.

“You say that, Lady Rie, but you’ve been saying that for nearly two months now! This talent is going to waste lying unused! Don’t we have [Tailors] without work, [Secretaries] whose Skills could be used setting up businesses—”

“We have no need for business at this moment, Miss Beatica. The money Riverfarm earns goes to build Riverfarm. Private ventures can wait until everyone has a roof over their heads, don’t you agree?”

It was Rie’s turn to sweetly interrupt Beatica. The woman narrowed her eyes.

“How will we earn a living then, Lady Rie? So far, we have generously donated to Riverfarm’s construction, but many of us would like to earn money, would we not?”

That got a round of nods, mostly from the city dwellers again. Rie looked around and raised her voice.

“This is not his city. I remind you that this is the sovereign territory of [Emperor] Laken. His Majesty has allowed any number of Lancrel’s folk to come to Riverfarm, provided shelter and food despite having no obligation to—he even fought for Lancrel when the city’s own militia abandoned it, didn’t they?”

She looked pointedly at Beatica. The woman colored.

“The army failed to liberate Lancrel—”

She hesitated, and her eyes flicked around the room. Many of the villagers had folded their arms. Beatica switched sentences so fast Durene blinked.

“—and we appreciate their sacrifice of course! But there is such a thing as democracy, surely? Don’t we, as citizens of His Majesty Godart’s, ah, empire¸ deserve a voice? Or is his will the only one we are permitted to follow?”

Uneasiness followed her words. Rie’s brow twitched.

“Of course you will have a voice. But I invite you to wait for His Majesty to return, Miss Beatica. This is all quite forward of you. In fact, the fourth day in a row you’ve made this a public subject. I was discouraged to learn that you spent little time helping in your assigned task. One would almost imagine that you regarded the effort of washing clothes beneath you.”

All eyes swung back to Beatica. The woman hesitated and flushed.

“Not at all. I’m simply concerned with the wellbeing of—”

“Lancrel. Indeed. I would suggest you help clothe them, then. One cannot work with sullied garments. All of Riverfarm is working, Miss Beatica. Which reminds me, I must get back to my job. Enjoy your break.”

With that, Rie swept past the [Councilwoman]. Durene felt oddly pleased to see Beatica’s eyes flashing furiously as Rie and her bodyguard, the [Fistfighter] Geram, swept out of the mess hall.

“Wow. There are people even Rie has trouble with.”

Durene murmured to Frostwing. She was glad Rie had won, though, and fairly convincingly so if the nods from the people around her were anything to judge. Even so, there was a murmur among Lancrel’s lot as she left, and Beatica instantly turned to her crowd and addressed them, looking apologetic and slightly outraged. Durene didn’t listen to what was being said—she grabbed Frostwing and hurried towards the door, hoping to catch Rie.

On the way, Durene passed Beatica and the crowd of well-dressed folk. Durene did nothing but stride past them, but as the first heads turned and noticed her, a woman recoiled and cried out. The shrill shriek was echoed by exclamations from the crowd. Durene paused and turned.

“Something wrong?”

The Lancrel city folk stared up at Durene, faces pale. Councilwoman Beatica smiled, but she visibly placed her hands behind her back as everyone but her stepped back.

“Nothing at all. You’re Miss Durene, aren’t you? I apologize—my people have never met someone, ah, as notable as you.”

“You mean a half-Troll.”

“Ah. Of course.”

The woman hesitated. Durene turned to her.

“I’m a [Paladin]. One of Riverfarm’s protectors. I was at Lancrel fighting the Goblins. I’m glad to see so many people made it out alive. We paid a heavy price that day. How do you do?”

She held out a hand. The people behind Beatica murmured and looked at her. The woman hesitated. She looked at Durene’s hand and held out her own. When she shook Durene’s hand, it was very, very quickly, and her touch was so light—the woman withdrew her hand and gave Durene a charming smile. Durene wasn’t fooled. She’d felt the sweat on the palm.

“We are all grateful, of course. And I hope to meet His Majesty, Laken Godart, and convey my personal thanks. Ah—I notice you have a companion. What a radiant fellow.”

She indicated Frostwing. Durene looked at the bird, and Frostwing fluttered her wings. Some in the crowd admired the bird’s brilliant blue plumage.

“It’s a she.”

“How magnificent. I’ve never seen the species.”

Beatica reached out for Frostwing.

“I wouldn’t. She pecks.”

Frostwing lashed out, and Beatica withdrew her hand just in time. She eyed the bird and winced as Frostwing screeched.

“I—see. Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Durene. Do I understand that you’re, um, deeply acquainted with His Majesty?”

She looked Durene up and down. The half-Troll girl flushed.

“He and I are in a relationship.”

The murmur from the Humans behind Beatica this time went quiet as Durene looked at them. Beatica smiled thinly.

“How incredible. I do hope you’ll introduce me to His Majesty. Until then?”

Durene nodded. Without a word, she turned, and Beatica stepped back. Durene felt the woman’s eyes on her all the way to the door and out of it. And she began understanding just how worried Prost and Rie were.

Beatica reminded Durene of a weasel, and Lancrel’s folk were like anxious chickens who’d convinced themselves she was one of them. Frightened chickens, gathering together en masse. Only, if you’d ever seen chickens pecking one of their own to death, you understood why that was a problem.

—–

That night, Durene met Wiskeria at the cottage. She hadn’t seen the [Witch] all day, but Wiskeria’s exhausted face told her the [Witch] had been working hard in her own way. Durene made them tea as Frostwing huffily settled herself in her nest. Outside, Bismarck groaned at the door until Durene threw out some freshly grown produce to shut him up.

“How was your day?”

Wiskeria sipped from her drink and shrugged.

“It wasn’t great. Wasn’t bad either. I mainly—talked. With families. And survivors. There are a lot of us.”

“Are you—”

“No. No army.”

The [Witch] put down her cup with a grimace. She looked at Durene.

“I saw you for a bit. You pushed over a tree.”

“It was a small one. And it’s faster than cutting.”

Embarrassed, Durene felt at her hair. Wiskeria shook her head. She stared into her mug and then spoke pensively.

“You know what most of the [Soldiers] called me? The ones who fought? ‘General’ Wiskeria. As if I deserve the name.”

“You have the class.”

“I don’t deserve it. You remember what that woman, Rehanna, said to me?”

“She was just angry. She wasn’t right—”

Wiskeria shook her head. She adjusted the hat and looked down.

“I’m no [General]. That’s just something Laken gave me. It’s not my true nature. I was playing at being a [General]. When push came to shove—I collapsed. I should never have accepted his offer.”

Durene hesitated.

“But you gained the class. You led an army. You led me, Wiskeria. Or didn’t fighting all those Goblins mean anything?”

The [Witch] shook her head.

“It’s not the same as a real battle. I could do some things, but when I found a real enemy to fight—strategy, tactics, leadership—I could make a lot of people move in one direction, feed them, set a few traps with helpers. But in that battle, I was swallowed, Durene. I couldn’t lead, and that’s part of the reason we lost.”

Silently, Durene put down her cup. She took a slow breath.

“I’m a [Paladin], Wiskeria. Laken gave me that class.”

The [Witch] nodded.

“And I’m a [General]. Do I look like one to you?”

She touched her hat. Durene inhaled to protest, and then she studied her hands. Her grey skin. She gazed around at her cottage, hand-built, out her window at the garden that Bismarck had torn up searching for food, and then at Wiskeria. The young woman stared back.

A witch and a farmer girl. They held each other’s gazes a moment and then burst out laughing. They laughed as if it were the funniest joke in the world. The saddest. In the end, Durene caught herself before a laugh could turn into a sob. They sat together then as the light faded and a candle Durene lit flickered low on the table. It was dark. Frostwing tucked her head under one wing.

“I want to be a [Paladin], Wiskeria.”

“I know. And I think you can do it, Durene, I really do. But I don’t want to be a [General]. I can’t do that again. I can’t be responsible for all those lives.”

Durene nodded. Wiskeria was looking down at the table. At last, the [Witch] raised her head.

“What is a [Paladin], by the way? I never asked. It’s like a [Knight], but…is it some rare class variant like Beniar’s [Cataphract]?”

Durene shook her head. She played with her empty cup as she recalled asking Laken just that.

“Laken says they used to be just trusted military leaders in service to some [Emperor]. But apparently the word changed. It began to mean…well, a [Knight], but one dedicated to heroism and chivalry. Someone who does good deeds.”

“Isn’t that what knights are supposed to do?”

Durene smiled. She quoted Laken.

“A [Knight] is a retainer. A warrior pledged to a cause. A [Paladin] is someone who crusades. Who goes out and…helps people. Apparently, it’s perfect for me. I just want to help people. But I haven’t leveled for a while. I think I’m missing something.”

Wiskeria nodded. She stared at Durene and then took her hat off and looked at it.

“I’m a [Witch]. Do you…know much about my kind?”

“No. I hear stories, um…but Riverfarm never had a [Witch]. Other villages do.”

Durene bit her tongue before she went on. From the stories she’d been told before meeting Wiskeria, [Witches] weren’t to be trusted. They could make potions and do some magic. But they were shifty, dangerous even. Wiskeria smiled bitterly.

“I’m sure you’ve heard stories. And like I said this morning, [Witches] are complex. We do magic, but we have a wide variety of abilities. Alchemy, magic—even beast taming and gardening and more. But we’re not specialists, like, say, a [Beast Master].”

The half-Troll girl nodded, then she had a thought.

“Hey, Wiskeria. Can you make potions? I heard a [Witch] can make potions like an [Alchemist]. Mister Prost was saying that if we could get a good [Alchemist] here, we’d be able to heal all sorts of things without needing to buy potions. What if you made them? I’m sure everyone’d appreciate that!”

She looked at the [Witch] hopefully. Durene had always wanted to know how potions were made! That was real magic, as powerful as any spell. But Wiskeria shook her head.

“No, that’s a myth. Or an exaggeration of the truth, really. I made poison when Laken asked me to. Enough of it to poison the Goblin army. Healing…I can’t do potions. [Alchemists] do complicated reactions in bottles, and I don’t have the equipment or the knowledge.”

“Oh.”

Durene felt a bit let down by that confession. She had an image of a [Witch] hunched over a cauldron full of magic. Wiskeria hesitated. She touched her hat and thought for a second, then looked up.

“I can’t do potions. I can do a brew, though.”

Day 55 – Ryoka

Running was fun. Running was good for the body. Running relaxed Ryoka. It could also be boring, though. That was why, surprisingly, it was fun to have Charlay running with her as Ryoka headed south down the increasingly less-populated main roads towards Riverfarm.

She had a delivery. And she had a lot of money waiting for her when she got there. And a possible crisis. But unlike her run to Walta, Ryoka wasn’t pushing it. Nor could she, really; the wind had been unhappy yesterday, and it was upset today. Not that it mattered; Ryoka had run for eight hours yesterday and for nearly eight more today with a few breaks and she was still far from her destination.

It wasn’t one day’s journey, or even two. Ryoka thought they’d reach Riverfarm in another day at their pace. It was good enough for her; Laken had said he needed her there soon, but he wasn’t paying for a lightning-fast delivery. Charlay couldn’t resist complaining, though.

“I’m tired. When do we get another break?”

“When we find an inn or another village. Why? I thought you were the fastest runner in Walta.”

Ryoka teased the Centauress as they ran side-by-side down a deserted road. Riverfarm was far from a populated hub, so sometimes they could find themselves running with few to no travellers for hours at a time. Charlay glared at Ryoka as she folded her arms, trotting to keep up. She had sweat on her brow, and she looked displeased.

“I said fastest! I don’t normally trot everywhere, you know.”

Charlay was tired after eight hours. To be fair, Ryoka was too, but she’d only used one stamina potion on top of her breaks. Charlay had used two and might need a third, which was slightly dangerous. But she was genuinely tired, not just complaining.

She had the endurance of a horse, which meant that she could run much faster than Ryoka on flat terrain, but she tired faster too. And since she had to chain herself to Ryoka’s pace, it was ironically Charlay who struggled more.

“If I was doing my deliveries, I wouldn’t have to run at your slow pace. All my Skills are devoted to galloping fast or doing tricks, not long-distance! I wish I had [Lesser Endurance]. Or [Greater Endurance]. Or [Second Wind] or something. Hey, what Skills do you want to get? You never told me what level you are.”

Charlay’s complaints instantly switched back to chatter. Ryoka sighed.

“Sorry, trade secret.”

She ducked as Charlay tried to shove her with one arm. The Centauress galloped further to the side, away from Ryoka, affronted.

“What? I thought we could share Skills! Well, fine. I won’t tell you my class or my Skills either, then!”

She tossed her head, as she always did, but Ryoka saw she was genuinely hurt this time. Charlay was…Ryoka could best describe her as dramatic, like a caricature of a girl who took everything personally and never said what she was really feeling. But apparently it was typical of Centaurs, who were all about appearance.

Ryoka had figured that out, and Charlay was actually fairly sensitive underneath her bluster. The young woman sighed as she tried to figure out a possible excuse—or make up a bunch of Skills—when she spotted something on the road ahead of her.

“Hold up. Charlay, you see that?”

The Centauress was pouting, but she looked up at the tone in Ryoka’s voice. She slowed from her trot, and Ryoka went from a fast jog to a walk. She stared at the building up ahead of her. Or rather, what was left of it.

“Dead g—shit.”

A blackened ruin of a building lay just off the side of the road. A farmstead, destroyed and abandoned. The two Runners looked at each other and ran closer, but hesitantly. Ryoka felt at her bag of holding, and Charlay pawed the ground with one hoof, uneasy.

“[Raiders], do you think?”

“Maybe. Do we check for people?”

Ryoka eyed the buildings. They looked long abandoned, and she was reluctant to investigate. You never knew what might be lurking in places like that. Said [Raiders] or monsters. Charlay shook her head.

“If it was still smoking, maybe. But look—the field was burnt over there, see? It’s already started to regrow in places. This is abandoned.”

Ryoka noticed the field beyond the farmstead and nodded. Someone had set flame to the field beyond, but the blackened soil was already showing bits of green.

“Let’s go, then. Keep an eye out?”

Charlay nodded silently, her tiff with Ryoka forgotten. The two Runners moved on, now cautiously scanning the landscape. But they soon found that whatever had afflicted this one farm wasn’t a singular occurrence.

“Oats. What happened to this place?”

Charlay stared at the eighth ruin they passed by. Ryoka just shook her head. This road they were taking south wasn’t the only one, but it painted a horrible picture. Every single place they’d come to was like this. Lonely houses, even a village, all lying in ruin. Something had swept down this way, leaving only destruction in its wake.

Burned farmlands. Houses pillaged by fire. Ryoka didn’t know if it was [Bandits] or…she eyed a ruined mill and wondered how many [Bandits] could do this much damage. Surely villages and towns had militias. Or what about local cities? Adventurers would hunt [Bandits] just like monsters. What had caused this?

“This is Laken’s home? What the hell happened here?”

She muttered to herself as she ran. Charlay turned her head to stare down at Ryoka.

“Laken. That’s your client, right? The [Emperor]? Is he really an [Emperor]? And how does he know you?”

The young woman paused.

“It’s, uh, a long story. I was hired by him in Invrisil.”

“And is he really an [Emperor]?”

“…Maybe? How do you know about him?”

Charlay snorted and stamped a hoof. She ran ahead of Ryoka so she could twist at the waist and glare down at the young woman.

“Informants, of course! I can buy information just like everyone else. And everyone’s heard the rumors. An [Emperor] was with Tyrion Veltras—he’s claimed the lands around Riverfarm—but it’s in the middle of nowhere! An [Emperor] should have a huge amount of land! And a, you know, empire?”

“Well, he’s got one village. And he hired me because I met him once.”

“Really? To deliver a bunch of low-grade potions to a [Lady]?”

Charlay eyed Ryoka, arms folded. The Runner girl shrugged.

“Yup.”

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe I am. But you’re coming with me, so you can see what I’m doing.”

“You’re not going to tell me why you know this [Emperor] or he wants you? We’re friends, Ryoka.”

“And friends don’t pry into each other’s secrets, Charlay. You’ll find out soon enough. Don’t kick dirt at me or I’ll hit you.”

“You deserve it! I’m going with you out of the goodness of my heart, and you won’t even tell me why—”

Bickering, the two were climbing a slight rise when Ryoka saw movement below them. She took one look down at the shapes below them and held out a hand. Charlay nearly ran her over and reared.

“Don’t do that! I could have hurt—”

She shut up as Ryoka whirled.

“Get back!”

Charlay wheeled, and Ryoka sprinted back down the hill. The Centauress crouched, although she was still far bigger, and Ryoka turned her head, her heart suddenly racing.

“What? What’d you see?”

“Let me check again. Stay there.”

Ryoka flattened herself to the earth and crawled back up the slope. Charlay ran a bit down the rise, and Ryoka peeked over the edge. She came crawling back and then ran at a crouch to Charlay.

“Oh shit. [Bandits].”

The Centauress froze.

“You’re sure?”

Ryoka nodded. Down the hill was a straightaway and what looked like marshland up ahead. They’d have to cross through the edge of it, but what had caught Ryoka’s eye was a bunch of distant riders. Normally, Ryoka would have assumed it was a caravan, an adventuring group—but she’d seen the corpse on the ground before Charlay.

“I only saw a few people on horseback. You’re sure it was [Bandits]?”

“Either that person on the ground is napping or they just killed a traveller.”

Ryoka snapped back, checking her belt. She’d counted sixteen, and half of them mounted. Some local group? A wandering band using the marshes as a base? Charlay pranced nervously.

“One of them might have been injured—”

“He was napping in blood, Charlay.”

“Oh.”

The two City Runners looked at each other. Ryoka’s hands were shaking a bit. She’d run into [Bandits] on runs before, but this was the first time she’d seen them before they saw her. And this was a larger group than most.

“We can try going off the road and sneaking around them. Or going back and taking another route.”

“Maybe. They won’t stay there for long, though. They’ll hide, and then we won’t know where they are.”

Charlay peered uneasily at the group up ahead. Ryoka nodded.

“So what do we do? Try and break through? They’re on horses. If I could use the wind, I could try blinding them. Or using caltrops, but it’s risky—”

The Centauress was shocked.

“What? I was saying let’s go way around them! Miles away! Are you crazy? I’m not tangling with a [Bandit] group if I can help it.”

“Oh.”

Ryoka blushed. She looked at Charlay.

“But you do have some Skills, right? If they attack us, can’t you whip out a bow and fight them off?”

“I don’t use a bow! Do you think all Centaurs use a bow? That’s racist!”

“Excuse me. How do you fight back, then?”

“I…have my hooves? And two wands. And this!”

Charlay pulled out a dagger and waved it uncertainly at Ryoka. The young woman stared at it. Charlay turned red.

“It works! I outrun people, mostly. And I can knock someone off a horse with my wands. That’s usually all I need. And I can make a dust cloud.”

“Right. Dustrider Charlay.”

Ryoka sighed. She supposed that was all Charlay needed. She stared at the rise and shook her head.

“I’m no good without the wind. And I agree; I’m not fighting [Bandits]. We’ll have to go back, find a really long way around. Damn.”

“Better than having them chase us. Let’s go before they finish and come this way.”

Charlay pointed back down the road. Ryoka nodded. She felt…guilty leaving the [Bandits] there. And the person on the ground—were they alive? Ryoka bit her lip. She couldn’t dwell on it. She was no hero. And neither was she a killer. Sixteen [Bandits]?

She and Charlay might be able to break through if Ryoka was certain the wind would come to her. If she conjured a dust storm, she’d be pretty confident they could get away. But that still was only for getting away. City Runners didn’t take unnecessary risks, and running ten miles around that group was preferable to risking any kind of fighting.

Slowly, Ryoka began to jog down the road after Charlay. The Centaur was trying to trot as quietly as she could, which was not that quiet at all. She beckoned to Ryoka and then froze, pointed. Ryoka inhaled sharply.

Someone was coming down the road. The figure was far distant and moving at a brisk walk, but they were definitely headed this way. Ryoka and Charlay exchanged a glance.

“One of—”

“No. Just a traveller. Let’s warn them. Come on!”

Ryoka was instantly worried. Not for them, but for the traveller. She and Charlay were going to run to get out of the [Bandit]’s line of sight, but whomever this was might not be able to get away. And if the [Bandits] came over the rise and saw them—

Ryoka and Charlay raced towards the distant figure a few hundred feet away. As they neared, Charlay called out.

“Hey! Hey, you! Stop! There’s [Bandits] up—”

She halted in her tracks, staring. Ryoka, catching up, halted as well and stared in astonishment. Alevica tipped up her purple hat and regarded Ryoka and Charlay with a blink of surprise. Her bright pink eyes flicked from Ryoka’s face to Charlay’s.

“You two again. What a surprise.”

She smiled, a flick of sardonic amusement. The young woman, still older than both Ryoka and Charlay, looked at the two and then past them.

“What’s your rush?”

“Uh—”

Charlay backed away from Alevica, frightened. Ryoka glanced over her shoulder and spoke tersely.

“[Bandits]. They’re on the road ahead, just before the marsh.”

Alevica’s brows rose, but that was it.

“Really? You’re sure?”

“I think they killed someone. We’re heading back. You should too. There are sixteen of them.”

“Really now.”

The other City Runner put her hands on her hips and smiled slightly, looking at Ryoka. She shook her head.

“You’re running from the [Bandits]? I thought the Wind Runner was tougher than that. I’d expect this from Charlay, but you?”

The amusement hit a button marked ‘Anger’ in Ryoka’s chest. She gritted her teeth.

“I’m just being practical. There’s at least eight on horseback, and some could be [Mages]. I have no idea what level they are.”

Alevica looked around the deserted landscape.

“If this is where they’re hiding, I’d say it’s low. You can hide, but I’m heading this way. I’ve done my delivery, and I don’t feel like wasting time.”

So saying, she reached into the pouch at her side and began rummaging around in it. A bag of holding. Ryoka stared at that and then Alevica.

“Wait, you’re going to fight?”

“Sure am, Miss Wind Runner. You’re free to join me. Charlay, you can hide over there. There might be a bush large enough to hide you.”

Alevica pulled out something from the bag and shook it out. Ryoka stared as Alevica fastened it around her head. And then, with a start, Ryoka recognized what they were.

Goggles. Crude, compared to the modern, streamlined kind. Glass lenses set into leather. But goggles nonetheless. Alevica secured them and then reached into her bag of holding a second time.

“How about it, Ryoka? I’m sure you like [Bandits] as much as I do. Besides, it’s the job of [Witches] to clean up messes when we come across them. I don’t…except when it’s easy like [Bandits]. How about you, good little Miss Runner? Want to show me how good Reizmelt’s top runner is?”

“I—”

Ryoka looked at Charlay. The Centauress was shaking her head, her eyes wide. Ryoka looked at Alevica. The young woman paused. Then she pulled out a broom from her pouch. Ryoka’s eyes went wide.

“Well?”

Alevica tossed the broom on the ground. It was a broom, but it wasn’t at the same time. Ryoka was familiar with brooms, sweeping brooms, plastic-handled, with wide, flat bottoms from her world. This one wasn’t. The handle was wooden, long, and the end was thrush, tied together in a way that didn’t look at all appropriate for sweeping. But it did look like—

Ryoka looked up and met Alevica’s eyes. In her mind, something exploded. It couldn’t be—

“Well? Last chance.”

Alevica grinned as she put one foot on the handle of her broom as it lay in the dust. Ryoka hesitated. She glanced at Charlay and took a bit too long in replying. Alevica sighed.

“Too bad. I really expected more from you. I’ll do it myself, then. Up!”

So saying, the [Witch] placed her other foot on the broom’s handle. And it rose from the ground. Ryoka stumbled back, staring. Alevica, standing on the broom as if it were a skateboard, as if it were solid, winked down at Ryoka. She put one hand on her hat. And she flew.

The broom shot forwards like an arrow, carrying Alevica with it over the rise in the hill. As she flew, Alevica laughed, a wild, free sound. She shot over the hill, faster than Ryoka could sprint. Ryoka’s jaw stayed open. Charlay danced over to her.

“Ryoka! We have to go! The [Bandits] are going to—”

She halted as Ryoka whirled to her and pointed. The Human girl shouted, forgetting about the [Bandit].

“She can fly!?”

“She’s a [Witch]! What did you think she could do, lay eggs?”

“But—”

Ryoka stared at the air where Alevica had been. Yes! She knew Alevica was—but they could actually—Charlay was tugging at Ryoka.

“We have to go.”

“She just went right towards the [Bandits]!”

Ryoka protested. Charlay shook her head.

“It doesn’t matter! She’s fast on that broom! She could outrun them! But what if she sets them on us?”

“She wouldn’t do that. Would she?”

The two stared at each other. Charlay’s eyes were wide and frightened. Ryoka felt a lurch in her stomach.

That was when the screaming started. The two Runners jerked as a shrill scream split the air. Charlay bolted—Ryoka whirled, grabbing a handful of caltrops from her bag of holding. She called for the wind, but it only blew into her face.

“Ryoka!”

Charlay beckoned. But Ryoka, listening, heard a second scream split the air. It was a man’s voice. The first had been a woman’s. Neither sounded like Alevica. She looked back at Charlay.

“I have to see.”

“No—”

The Centauress’ eyes widened as Ryoka ran for the rise, caltrops in hand. She hesitated and then ran after Ryoka, pulling out a wand from her bag of holding. Ryoka was first to the top of the incline. She stared down as Charlay appeared next to her. The Centauress stared down.

“What—”

Her breath caught in her chest. Below them, on the road where the marshy forest began, the two saw the group of [Bandits]. They were scattering, running, horses galloping left and right. Some were shouting, waving swords or trying to take aim. But the rest were running. Dying.

A [Witch] on a broomstick was swooping down on the [Bandits], holding something. Ryoka saw a flicker, and one of the [Bandits] fell, screaming. Alevica’s broom swerved as a [Mage] aimed and shot a bolt of lightning at her. The lightning crackled through the air where she’d been, and the [Witch] threw something. Ryoka saw the vial break and a plume of smoke and a small explosion—the [Mage] disappeared in it, but she heard his voice, shrieking.

“Dead gods. She’s fighting all of them?”

Charlay breathed. Ryoka stared down the hill. The [Bandits] were fleeing this way, trying to regroup. Alevica dodged down, avoiding an arrow, and, laughing, shot something back at a woman, who dove to avoid it. The [Witch] was still standing on her broom, circling, diving, turning at a pace the [Bandits] couldn’t follow. Like a bird in the sky. A hunter.

But it was one against over a dozen. Or—was it? Ryoka looked down the hill at the [Bandits]. Something was wrong. They were turning, fighting something besides just Alevica. The ones with bows and magic were futilely shooting at her, but the rest—

“Look! Dead gods, Ryoka, look! Undead!”

Charlay saw them before Ryoka could make out the distant shapes. Ryoka saw a pair of skeletons slashing at the [Bandits] from the side, advancing with iron swords. And more were appearing, thrusting their way out of the earth.

A trio of skeletons were dragging one man down into the ground they’d emerged from, pulling him into the earth, tearing at his face with their fingers. The man was screaming, trying to fight them off as they tried to pull him into the ground. His friends fought the undead, but Alevica refused to let them save him. She dove lower and pointed something at a man trying to pull his friend up.

Thunk.

Ryoka and Charlay both recoiled at the distinctive sound and noise. The man stumbled back, and a feathered shaft of wood appeared in his chest, going straight through his leather armor. Alevica had fired it from point-blank—her broom accelerated, carrying her past the other [Bandits], who chased her before she took to the air again. Ryoka stared at what the [Witch] was holding.

A crossbow. And her other hand was reaching for her bag of holding. Alevica flew up, high, high overhead, angling her broom up. Her feet slid down the handle until she stopped, forty feet overhead. There she calmly reloaded the crossbow.

“Kill her!”

The roar from below came from a woman on horseback. She had a spear, but Alevica was far out of range. Two [Bandits] fired, and one pointed a wand. Alevica glanced down, and her broom casually carried her forwards. The arrows and ray of light missed. Alevica turned, sat side-saddle down on her broom, and pulled another thing out of her bag of holding. Ryoka saw a glint of glass. She saw the small smile.

The broom dove. Alevica shot down as the [Bandits] scattered. The woman with the spear, the [Bandit Leader], refused to move, though. She aimed and, as Alevica dove, threw her spear with a roar.

It was a good cast. Alevica blinked as the spear flew at her. Ryoka saw it happen in a moment. The [Witch] turned, flying around the spear, but the spear turned to catch her. Alevica’s eyes widened—

Then the broom twisted. Alevica, sitting upright, rotated underneath the spear and flashed back up as it passed her. The spear tried to twist again, but it had lost momentum. It struck the ground. And Alevica flew at the [Bandit Leader]. She fired, and the horse the woman was riding screamed. The woman grabbed at her reins. Alevica flashed past her. Alevica’s other hand lashed out, and she threw something in the woman’s face.

A vial. It broke, and Ryoka saw a flash of fire. The [Bandit Leader] screamed, clutching at her face as the fire erupted along her face, her arms and shoulders. She writhed on the ground, rolling, but the flames wouldn’t go out. Alevica laughed, mockingly, and the rest of the [Bandits] fled. One threw down her weapons. Alevica flew towards her, and Ryoka saw her lash out. The shortsword slashed through part of the [Bandit]’s neck, and she collapsed.

The rest, seeing the fate of the one who’d thrown down their weapons, turned. They fought and died.

The last man disappeared as the skeletons surrounded him, hacking with bloody weapons. They looked up as Alevica flew past them and stopped, their bones and blades red. She made a sign, and they collapsed, turning to…dust.

It was silent after that. The [Witch] landed and investigated the bodies. She went from each one, checking them, rolling them over. Taking something from each. She spent only a few minutes there, and then the broom flew over to her. With one foot, she stepped up and turned the broom. She aimed towards the marsh ahead of her, the road, and began to fly forwards. At the last moment, she stopped and looked back up towards the slight hill and the two figures who’d watched her the entire time.

She was too far away, then, for Ryoka to see. But she knew Alevica was grinning.

—–

Silence. After Alevica had gone, it took Ryoka and Charlay a long time to go down the hill. It wasn’t for fear of Alevica returning. It was just frightening in another way.

The [Bandits]—and they were [Bandits]—had died hard. Several had fallen to Alevica’s crossbow bolts, two to the vials she’d thrown. The [Mage], whose corpse was still emitting smoke, made Ryoka and Charlay keep a wide distance. The [Bandit Leader] had stopped burning, but her upper body was charred.

Ryoka stared around at the dead sixteen. Some had died to skeletons. The last few Alevica had chopped down herself with the shortsword. She stared at the woman who’d thrown down her sword and noticed something else.

“Money pouches.”

“What?”

Charlay was breathing hard, her face white. She looked over as Ryoka pointed down.

“She took their money pouches. Potions too, I think.”

“O-oh. Well, that’s normal.”

“It is?”

Ryoka glanced up. Charlay nodded.

“If you kill [Bandits], you might as well sell their stuff, right? Adventurers do it. So why not…I don’t know any City Runners who kill [Bandits], but I heard…”

She broke off. Stared around at the bodies. Ryoka peered at the Centauress.

“You knew Alevica could fly?”

“Everyone knows. She can’t do it forever. That’s why she takes the carriage. But everyone knows she’s a [Witch]. She can do witchy things. No one messes with her, even though she’s got a bad reputation. But I’ve never seen…”

Charlay stared at the burnt corpse and shuddered. Ryoka stared down the road at where Alevica had gone. Part of her wanted to be impressed. Alevica had taken out a [Bandit] group. Low-level perhaps, but one had known a lightning spell, and she’d beaten sixteen of them by herself! But Ryoka couldn’t be impressed. Alevica had cut the rest down mercilessly, even when they’d tried to surrender, to run. It was—cruel.

But she had flown. The wind stirred. Ryoka touched her chest and felt her heart racing. She had flown. She looked at Charlay and, after a beat, pointed.

“Come on. We’ve got to report this.”

The Centauress started and nodded uncertainly. Someone had to know this [Bandit] group was dead. They’d report it at the next Runner’s Guild they came to. Ryoka doubted Alevica would even mention it.

It was very quiet as the two ran on. Very, very quiet. They never caught up to Alevica, and that night, both stopped at the town they’d come to. They made a short report at the Runner’s Guild. And it turned out Alevica had reported the encounter. She’d asked about a bounty on the [Bandits]. There had been none.

Ryoka left the guild as the [Receptionist] confirmed her report. She and Charlay ate quietly and went to bed in the only inn without saying much. And Ryoka thought of her.

The Witch Runner, Alevica.

She wondered what Ivolethe would have made of her. Alevica’s laughter haunted Ryoka’s mind. But it wasn’t a cackle. In a way, Alevica was everything Ryoka had wanted to be. That thought kept Ryoka up late into the night.

The next day, she arrived in Riverfarm with Charlay.

Day 56 – Durene

Durene and Wiskeria ate breakfast together in her cottage. After tossing the crusts out and watching Bismarck trying to catch them, they grabbed a basket each and headed into the forest. It was just the day for it.

The morning was amazingly, refreshingly dry. The sky was clear with not a cloud to be seen. And the sun’s warmth was welcome after so much drizzling. In fact, it had warmed the forest floor enough that neither Wiskeria nor Durene needed boots. The two walked, talking lightly, chatting, as Wiskeria led them into the forest on a hunt.

Frostwing flew from branch to branch, sometimes shrieking and diving after something in the forest. The rest of the time, she was restless, but she did stay in the general area around Durene and Wiskeria. Bismarck just ambled along next to the two, snuffling around for anything edible.

“I think she’s smarter than he is by a bit. Frostwing misses Laken, I can tell. And she’s smart enough to know where I keep food, and she can follow orders. Even if she never wants to. Bismarck is simpler. He’s just a stomach with legs.”

Bismarck currently had a basket strapped to his back with a bit of twine, and he didn’t seem at all bothered by it. When he heard his name, he looked up hopefully, as if expecting food.

“Gaurgih.”

Wiskeria smiled. She walked ahead of Durene, scouting the forest path they were using.

“You’re sure you said I could find everything I said I needed? Especially the Sage’s Grass?”

Durene nodded.

“I think so. The forest’s got a lot of good stuff growing in it. And I’ve seen, er—what did you call it?”

“Sage’s Grass. It’s slightly magical, and it’s a great ingredient that’s easy to grow. It’s slightly red and green, and it grows so long—”

Wiskeria indicated, and Durene nodded.

“Yes, I’ve seen that! It grows in clumps in the forest. Meadows usually. It’s worth something, isn’t it? One of our [Farmers] tried to grow it to sell at one of the other towns. He had a great big field of it. Only, that didn’t go so well.”

“Ah, I’d have warned him if I heard about that. It’s not good to try and grow if you’re not prepared.”

Wiskeria smiled and tugged on her hat. Durene nodded.

“Well, it was going well at the start. He bought a lot of expensive seed and got it to sprout, but he was having to pour lots of soil on it, fertilizer and such. And water. When it did begin to grow…”

“I think I know what happened. A monster?”

Durene shook her head, then hesitated.

“Well, sort of. It was a pack of huge rats. Each one as big as a dog. They just appeared and ate everything in the field. And everywhere else as well! We had to burn the field and send for as many dogs as we could to hunt them down. But I still found two trying to eat my piglets the week after.”

She shuddered at the memory. Wiskeria shook her head, but she didn’t look surprised.

“It’s a risky business. I’m surprised that [Farmer] got the grass to grow at all. He must have had a Skill or gotten lucky; Sage’s Grass feeds on mana. It produces it too, but there’s the problem. Magic attracts monsters. And farms, let alone ones with Sage’s Grass, are a magnet for anything hungry. [Alchemists] love the stuff, though.”

“Does anyone grow it? I can’t think of anyone around here who would. Not after the rats.”

Durene was curious as a [Farmer]. Wiskeria pondered the question, her head on a swivel for said grass or anything else on her list.

“I think a lot of Sage Grass comes from some farms up north around…Reizmelt? There’s a swampland there. Oh, and some from Celum in the south. Apparently, some [Farmer] specializes in growing it. It makes him rich. A double handful is enough for us, though. It’s not the most magical thing, but I can make do.”

“And you’re sure this’ll work? With mushrooms and some magical grass and stuff?”

“Yes. And there are no mushrooms necessary, Durene. Although if you find some edible ones, we can toss them in there. For variety and taste.”

The half-Troll girl frowned. But Bismarck was the one who interrupted the two. Wiskeria stepped aside as the bear lumbered forwards, suddenly snuffling.

“What is it?”

The Mossbear instantly headed off the path towards several large trees. He wove around them, and Wiskeria and Durene, following, saw him rooting at something. It was a large stand of—Durene and Wiskeria identified it at the same time.

“Barley grass.”

The Mossbear was happily tearing up the grass and consuming it. Wiskeria bent and took out the sickle she carried. Bismarck gaughed as she swept some up. Durene pushed his head back as he tried to nibble at Wiskeria’s bundle.

“Back off, Bismarck. We need that, right, Wiskeria?”

“It’s a component. I’ll need to extract the juices, but yes. If we can find more and prevent Bismarck from eating it—”

Wiskeria tossed it into the basket on his back. The Mossbear immediately tried to get it, but Durene grabbed his head.

“No, Bismarck. Help us find more of what Wiskeria wants and you get a potato. Understand? Potato.”

She bribed the bear with one, and he bit the ripe potato and licked her hand. Durene wiped it on his fur with a sigh. It had been a good idea to bring the Mossbear; his senses were better than hers or Wiskeria’s. It was just hard to control him.

“What else do we need?”

“Sage’s Grass. Barley grass…Tindleflowers, maybe dandelions or Americ if they’re budding…we’re going to be here for a few hours. Don’t worry, though. It’s not an exact recipe. The basis is really Sage’s Grass plus some extras. And I have dried herbs.”

Wiskeria patted her pouches. Durene nodded, and they coaxed Bismarck back to the path and let him snuffle onwards. Frostwing screeched overhead; she’d caught a baby bunny. Durene sighed.

They were making a brew. As Wiskeria had told Durene last night, potions were out of her expertise., but [Witches] had a unique set of talents of their own.

“It’s between cooking and alchemy. Closer to alchemy, really, but I’ve met a few [Witches] who could make magical dishes. But mostly, it is just stuff in cauldrons. It’s easier with water and heat. That’s where that image of [Witches] comes from, you know?”

Wiskeria led Durene through the forest. The half-Troll girl grunted as she peeled off some bark from a tree. You could actually eat the bark—and Bismarck was trying to—but Wiskeria didn’t want much. She was investigating patches of plants, picking them up, comparing what she had in her pouches and basket, and tossing some, keeping others. The [Witch] was so business-like that Durene didn’t feel like they were doing magic, just preparing a forest soup. Which was close, apparently.

“[Alchemists] buy all kinds of expensive and highly magical ingredients to make their potions so powerful. [Witches] don’t often have that kind of money, so we make natural recipes. This is just a healthy, restorative brew. It doesn’t need to follow an exact recipe like a Stoneskin Potion or something.”

“And where do wild strawberries figure into it?”

Durene peeked at a few red fruits in the basket Wiskeria held. The [Witch] smiled.

“They’re tasty? Seriously, though, strawberries feature in some recipes I know. Not this one; there aren’t enough, and they’d ruin the taste. Don’t worry, Durene. I know what I’m doing.”

“I’m not worried. It just doesn’t feel like magic.”

The [Farmer] girl complained as she yanked the basket off Bismarck’s back. It was full after three hours of scavenging, and he was trying to take it off and couldn’t be bribed. She walked back to the cottage with Wiskeria. The [Witch] needed her biggest cauldron.

“Will mine do? It generally just holds spare vegetables.”

Durene anxiously washed it out and plopped the heavy iron pot down outside. Wiskeria frowned as she ground up some of what she’d brought, including the bark.

“It should. Okay, we need to fill this cauldron with about half water—and we need some milk.”

“Fresh?”

“Preferably. Oh, and some broth. I know there’s some in Riverfarm. Can you get it?”

Durene looked dubious.

“What kind of broth?”

“Uh—vegetable? Yellat or turnip would do, but I think even a mix will be fine. It’ll have to be enough to fill the rest of the cauldron so high. No meat.”

Durene stared at Wiskeria. The [Witch] stared back, hands busy grinding. She looked over—Bismarck went for her bowl, and she slapped him across the face. The Mossbear groaned and retreated.

“Hurry up, will you? I can’t keep Bismarck busy for long. Hey! Fetch this potato! Oh, we’ll need more potatoes, Durene. And carrots. Actually, I have a list here—”

The half-Troll girl hesitated, but she was too far in it to back out now. She took the list, did a double-take, and frowned at Wiskeria. But then Durene tromped down into the village. It was abuzz with activity. More than one person had abandoned their job; Durene found out why as she caught hold of Miss Yesel and Chimmy helping pass out food. Miss Yesel blinked at the list, but she had Chimmy help source the ingredients willingly enough.

“What’s going on, Miss Yesel?”

The woman frowned as Chimmy helped fill a handcart for Durene to go back with.

“The trial’s what’s going on, Durene. My Prost’s going to show everyone that so-called Master Elmmet’s nothing more than a [Thief]! But the Lancrel folk aren’t happy. They’re already saying he’s innocent—whereas everyone with sense wants him out of Riverfarm or flogged! Or both! But there was already a fight when Prost tried to put the [Thief] in the pillory!”

She glared. By ‘everyone’, she’d meant all of the villagers. Durene nodded, glancing out the window as Chimmy put a closed-lid pail on the handcart with a grunt.

“I think we need at least two more pails, Chimmy.”

Yesel put her hands on her hips.

“Goodness, what’s all this for?”

“Magic, I think. I’ll be back soon, Miss Yesel. Wiskeria’s making something, but I’ll come to Riverfarm before the trial. What’s it in, an hour?”

Yesel nodded, looking relieved.

“I don’t expect any trouble, but it’d be good to have you about, Durene. Just in case. Everyone’ll see that Elmmet’s a monster, but just in case. That everything Wiskeria wants?”

Durene nodded and scowled at her list. She had a deep suspicion—she stomped back up the way to her cottage, pushing the handcart and taking care not to spill anything. Wiskeria was mixing the ingredients in the cauldron when Durene came back, and the [Witch] had started a fire.

Durene smelled a few acrid hints from the pot, but the rest looked just like edible stuff. And the Sage’s Grass. She had to admit, the red-green herbs swirling around in the pot, with their slight glow that illuminated the water, made the soup look more properly magical.

Wiskeria didn’t look the part, though. Oh, she had a hat and robes, but she was stirring the pot with a long-handled spoon. When Durene set down the cart, the [Witch] brightened.

“Oh good, you’re here. I was worried I’d boil this all too long. Okay, we’re going to dice the potatoes and carrots and toss them in here. Along with the broth. Did you get the spices?”

“I did.”

Durene eyed the pot and folded her arms. Wiskeria nodded.

“We don’t have to peel the potatoes. Just wash them. We’ll bring the brew to a boil, let it simmer for about twenty minutes, then add the cream. And then—”

“Wiskeria!”

The [Witch] jumped as Durene stamped her foot. Bismarck, sneaking up with his mouth open to the handcart, backed off hurriedly. The half-Troll girl glared at the [Witch]. Wiskeria looked at Durene warily.

“What?”

“This isn’t a brew! This is potato soup!”

The half-Troll girl howled in outrage. There was nothing magical in the soup besides some edible plants and the Sage’s Grass! She’d made soup like this a hundred times! Wiskeria turned red.

“No, it’s a brew. It just looks like potato soup to you. And it’ll taste a bit like it. The milk’s what I normally add—”

“You’re just making food! That’s not magical! How am I supposed to believe it’ll do anything besides fill my stomach?”

“You haven’t seen the final step. Besides, we added Sage’s Grass. That’s important.”

Wiskeria weakly protested. Durene glared.

“If I’m not impressed, I’m going to dump the entire pot over you. This had better be magic, Wiskeria. People need magic. Not food.”

The [Witch] opened her mouth to protest, and then her gaze grew distant. She tugged her hat lower and adjusted her spectacles.

“Food’s important. But this will be magic, Durene. I swear it by my fingers. If I lie, you can feed them to Bismarck. I swear it by the dead. It may look like fun and games, but I swear there’s magic here, by a [Witch]’s name.”

And when she said that and looked at Durene, her eyes were suddenly, scarily serious. Durene hesitated.

“You don’t have to do that. I mean, I like a good soup…”

She smiled lamely, suddenly disconcerted by Wiskeria’s change of mood. After a second, the [Witch] smiled, and everything was normal.

“That’s part of it. Good food is good magic, or so one of the [Witches] who taught me used to say. But there’s more to witchcraft than everyone thinks. It’s not the kind of magic [Mages] understand…let’s put in that broth. Do you have a spare cutting knife? I hate using my dagger.”

It was a potato soup. From the way the two diced the carrots and potatoes—Wiskeria had forgotten celery—to adding in spices and letting the soup simmer and thicken. Wiskeria even offered Durene a taste, and the girl had to admit it was good. Not magical, though.

But the magic was coming. Wiskeria’s solemn oath was first. As the soup was boiling and she had Durene stirring in the creamy milk from the cows, the [Witch] walked around the cauldron. Six times clockwise, three times counterclockwise. She traced a perfect circle each time, her steps all the same width.

Durene, busy tasting the soup for consistency as she added milk, barely noticed at first. But then she noticed that with each circle, the flames of the fire at the bottom of the cauldron were jumping slightly. Higher and higher with each of Wiskeria’s circuits. Durene nearly dropped the ladle.

“Wait, are you doing magic? Am I in the way?”

Wiskeria didn’t answer at first. She completed the third circle counterclockwise and then turned to Durene. The Troll girl stared. She had never thought of it, but Wiskeria’s eyes were a faint, yellowish green, weren’t they? Only, they looked more yellow than green. And they seemed to have the faintest luminescence in the morning.

Morning. Durene looked around her cottage. Trees all about, and the road leading down to Riverfarm was normal. It was just that there were a few more shadows. As if it were evening all of a sudden. But the sun was rising in the sky when she glanced up. Bright…except when you looked down.

“Wiskeria? Is this the magic bit? Are you going to cast a spell?”

Durene tried to chuckle. To her relief, Wiskeria laughed lightly and smiled.

“Just a bit of preparatory stuff. It’s just a ritual, Durene. [Witch] magic is more like rituals. We cast a few spells like my [Fox Fire] spell, but that’s [Mage] magic. This is about patterns.”

“Potato soup.”

Neither one laughed at that this time. Wiskeria just smiled. She glanced at the simmering pot. The soup was turning an appetizing creamy color, spotted with the spices and bits of herbs and carrots Durene had tossed in. The smell made Durene’s stomach rumble.

“It’s about intent. Intent, bits of magic—but mostly…will.”

“Will?”

“Oh yes. Good will, bad will…I’m sorry, I can’t explain. What’s left?”

“Uh—nothing much. It’s pretty close to done. Hey, this is a good soup. But it’d be better for some bacon or something. You know, for taste? I could run down and get some—”

“No. No meat. No dead flesh.”

Wiskeria’s head snapped up. She stared at Durene. The half-Troll girl froze.

“Okay.”

“That’s not the intention here. This pot is made with goodwill. To heal. For regrowth. Meat would spoil it. And I can’t do it twice. Give me a second.”

Wiskeria knelt and began adding wood to the fire. Durene felt like the soup was hot enough; any hotter and they’d burn it. But she only watched as the fire grew, and the brew began to bubble.

“You couldn’t make it twice? Why not? There’s enough ingredients in the forest and in Riverfarm to make a hundred soups like this, I wager.”

Wiskeria glanced up. She stood up slowly, and the fire ate up the wood, greedily rising.

“I can’t make a second brew or soup. Just like I can’t cast a hex the same way twice. The emotions are wrong. The history makes the magic. The wrongs I’ve done are going into this brew.”

She pointed down into the pot. Durene peered in and chuckled nervously. She looked around. Were there shadows in the cottage? She glanced up at the sun for reassurance, but it felt paler.

“I didn’t see you throwing anything bad in there.”

“It’s not just about what goes into it. It’s what’s done. Where’s the knife?”

Durene paused. Wiskeria found it and nodded. She reached up and, without hesitating, cut a lock from her hair. Not much. She went back to the pot with it.

“Aw, Wiskeria—”

The [Witch] tossed the hair onto the fire. Durene closed her mouth, and the flames ate the hair greedily. The stench of burning hair filled the air—and then it vanished. Durene blinked. She felt at her nose. Suddenly, the smell of the soup was there, but not the hair smell. And it smelled better than before.

“Um. Wiskeria? Is this more magic?”

“Yes.”

The [Witch] turned back. Her eyes were glowing. She took a few breaths and blew over the pot’s surface. And the liquid inside moved as if she were stirring it.

“Nearly done. The magic’s there. The stew’s good. All that’s left is the incantation.”

The [Witch] murmured to herself. Durene hesitated. She wasn’t sure she liked this anymore. The shadows were longer, she was certain. And—suddenly, Durene realized she hadn’t seen Bismarck. The greedy Mossbear would love this soup. So why wasn’t he…?

She looked around. Bismarck was nowhere to be seen. Slowly, Durene fixed on Wiskeria. The [Witch] was walking around the pot, doing that perfect circle again. Murmuring under her breath.

Goosebumps raced up Durene’s arm. Quickly—just to make sure he wasn’t going to interfere—she went around the cottage. She found Bismarck huddled in his den. He stared at her as she paused in relief.

“There you are. You’re, uh, not going to eat the soup, right? It’s important you don’t.”

The Mossbear stared up at Durene. He didn’t seem bored or hungry like he always did. Rather, he looked—wary. She reached for him after a second.

“You want to eat some scraps?”

Bismarck resisted Durene’s pull. He growled and then snapped as she tried to pull him out with more force. She let go at once. The Mossbear huddled in his den.

“Okay then. I’ll leave you.”

Disconcerted, Durene backed away. The fire was hot under the cauldron. The smell of the soup filled the air. There was another feeling too, a sense of tension. Almost like the feeling before a storm, but different. Wiskeria was bent over the cauldron. Durene couldn’t see her face. The half-Troll girl looked around. She didn’t like this anymore.

“Frostwing?”

The bird was hiding in her nest inside Durene’s cottage. Her head was under her wing, and when Durene tried to bring her outside, she flew back. She didn’t scream; that was the thing. She was silent, but she fought Durene coming out. At last, Durene walked outside and saw Wiskeria standing there.

Watching her. Durene halted. The [Witch] stood in front of the cauldron, and her eyes were glowing. Yellow mixed with green. Wiskeria spoke slowly.

“Remember what I said about [Witches] being different, Durene?”

“Yes?”

Durene quavered. Then she straightened. This wasn’t something to be afraid of! It was just—Wiskeria had told her she wasn’t above Level 30 in her [Witch] class. It was just a spell. If Durene kicked over the cauldron—her eyes flicked to the pot.

Kick over the cauldron? She didn’t want to do that. That felt like a…bad idea. But Durene was unnerved.

“This isn’t like regular magic, Wiskeria.”

The [Witch] smiled slightly. She breathed in and out—she was sweating hard, Durene realized.

“No. This isn’t like a regular spell. It’s the best I can do. I need to finish it now. Don’t worry; it feels…bad. I know. But the worst thing I could do is stop. There’s a lot of guilt in the air. Guilt and regret.”

Durene nodded. She stared around the cottage. Wiskeria breathed in and out rhythmically.

“I gathered it. That’s a thing [Witches] do. That’s what’s making this brew powerful. Now I need to perform the incantation. Durene, this is the most important part. You can listen. But don’t speak.”

Durene opened her mouth for a flippant remark and closed it. Wiskeria nodded. She turned back to the cauldron. This time, she walked around it. Not in the perfect circle, but urgently, bending, investigating the liquid inside. The soup swirled, as if following Wiskeria. And then she spoke.

“For a drink to warm the heart and body both,

I offer this harvest, by [Witch]’s ways and humble host

Sage’s Grass, gathered without cold iron’s sting,

Mushrooms, plucked from a faerie’s ring

Herbs grown in garden plot and nature’s walk,

Eleven dried things from [Merchants] bought

To bind it all, a liquid draught of ritual wrought

Come together now, to cure from this humble pot.”

It was a slow chant. Rhythmic. And with each step, the fire beneath the cauldron flared up a bit. Durene watched, breathless. It felt like the shadows were gathering around Wiskeria and the pot. The smell was beautiful, enticing. Durene felt her stomach gurgle. But what was the unease in the air? Wiskeria pointed.

A red glow sprang from the soup. Durene jumped until she realized. The Sage’s Grass. It was glowing in the pot. The [Witch] stepped closer, and Durene saw she had a knife. The half-Troll girl’s stomach clenched in unconscious anticipation, and she opened her mouth before she caught herself. Wiskeria murmured.

“And grief. And regret. And despair and death. And hatred, I add all of thee. Be swallowed and changed by goodwill. For a [Witch]’s repentance. Mercy.”

She flicked, and something flew into the pot. Durene saw it go, or did she feel it? The hum in the air intensified. Now she saw it. Wiskeria was struggling with something, pushing the shadows into the pot. Her face twisted with guilt, anguish, like Durene had seen in the meeting hall when she’d spoken to the families of the dead. She raised the knife in her left hand.

“And for power. A sacrifice for blood lost. Come now, come hither! Mend wounds and give life, for those who died in winter’s frost!”

The knife flashed down. Durene saw it slash across Wiskeria’s wrist. She stared in horror as blood splattered the cauldron, the sides—but none fell into the soup. It ran down and into the fire. The fire flared up, roaring for a moment, engulfing the cauldron. Wiskeria stumbled.

“Wiskeria!”

Durene rushed forwards. She couldn’t hold it in anymore. Only the [Witch]’s hand stopped her. Wiskeria put one hand on the cauldron to steady herself, and Durene saw and heard her hand hiss on the metal. The [Witch]’s face contorted with pain, but she looked up at Durene, panting.

“I’m fine. It’s not done. Hold on.”

The fire had died down. The boiling soup was still. Durene, hesitating, realized the shadows in the cottage had returned to normal. But there was still something left. Wiskeria reached for the stirring spoon. With her good hand, the one not burned and cut, she lifted some of the broth to her lips.

It was a thick, creamy soup that Durene saw Wiskeria sipping from. But it seemed deeper, more complex, better than any soup Durene could remember smelling. Ever. Wiskeria gulped down the soup hungrily, then looked at her right hand, the cut and burn there. And Durene gasped.

The wounds were closing! Slowly, so slowly. But Durene could see the flesh knitting, the blood stopping. The burn disappeared as Wiskeria and Durene stared at it. When the [Witch] lowered her hand, her eyes were green and yellow, sparkling, and her cheeks flushed with pride. Pride and life. She turned to Durene and smiled, tired, jubilant.

“It’s done. Want a taste?”

Durene stared at Wiskeria, then the soup. She stared at the offered ladle, felt her stomach rumble, and threw her hands up in the air.

“What was that?”

—–

“Old ways.”

That was all Wiskeria said when Durene had calmed down. She was grimacing, trying to figure out how to load the cauldron onto a handcart to transport it to Riverfarm. It wasn’t going to be easy; the cauldron was full, but neither she nor Durene could countenance wasting a drop of it. And it needed to be eaten from the cauldron, apparently.

“It’s the vessel it was made in. You can’t just bottle it, Durene. Well, you could, but it’ll be weaker. And it’ll lose its power after the first day, most of it. People need to eat this fresh!”

“And it’ll cure them? What did you do? I’ve never heard someone chant like that. No [Mage] could do that! What was with the shadows? The fire?”

Wiskeria shrugged.

“It’s [Witch] stuff.”

She hesitated as Durene made a fist. Wiskeria sighed.

“I can’t tell you everything, Durene. Like I said, these are old ways. Witchcraft is all about ritual. Using power that’s not our own, you understand. We’re not walking mana batteries like [Mages] or able to mix, say, Unicorn hair and Kraken teeth like [Alchemists]. We have to get our power from other things.”

“Like what?”

The [Witch] paused for a moment.

“Emotions, for one. That’s what the shadows were about. I was gathering all the regrets I had. Some of the ill will, the pain from people who lost their families.”

“Oh. But why was it so—”

“Sinister? It wasn’t so bad. It just built up there. If I’d let it all out, it could have been nasty. But good will, bad—it’s all power. I burnt it up, don’t worry.”

“With your hair? And blood?”

Wiskeria shrugged, smiling a bit. She touched her healed hand and made a face.

“Everything requires a sacrifice. And because of what I offered, you helping me, I think this will be a good stew. It’ll heal wounds, energize people—make them feel better about what happened.”

“All that in this?”

Durene stared at the cauldron. She’d had a mouthful, and she didn’t feel different. Okay, she felt good and like she could plough a field with one hand—but stamina potions did the same. Only this felt better than the burst of frantic energy a stamina potion gave her. Wiskeria nodded when Durene said that.

“It’s magic, Durene. A magic soup. It’ll do a lot of things. It’s what I’m good at. Soups, brewing. That’s my specialty as a [Witch]—I’m not great, but I can do a bit. Poison doesn’t require as much. That’s just vapors and steam. But this is magic. Not as good as potions, I guess. Well, better than most you could buy as a Silver-rank adventurer. Maybe even Gold-rank, these days. Not the best, even so. But it’ll do.”

Again, her clarifications only demanded more questions. Durene did a hop—then leapt, almost laughing with delight at the energy coursing through her.

“You’re sure? It feels better than any stamina potion, Wiskeria! All that runs out—this isn’t going away!”

Wiskeria looked embarrassed.

“Well, I put a bit of the old incantations into it as well. You heard me chanting? It’s largely free-form, but the blood sacrifice—I guess that puts it above your average [Witch]’s brew, despite my level. Again, it’s not really special. It’s all I can do.”

“What’s really special, then?”

All this false modesty! Or not false, because Wiskeria wistfully stared at the glowing liquid.

“Oh, really special stuff? Something invigorating to mend and made of mercy and regrets? My mother could make a stew that’d mend shattered bone and have the oldest enemies hop into bed with each other. A great witch could set a stew between two armies and forge a peace.”

Now that was the stuff of legends, and Durene laughed heartily at the notion as she did laps around the pot, trying to burn up the amazing energy in her.

“Yeah, but that’s just stories! Like the Lightning Thief and such!”

“Every story’s based on something, even if it’s just imagination, Durene. And, in these two cases—truth only seems impossible until you witness it. Believe me. This isn’t much.”

The way Wiskeria spoke suddenly sounded weary and old. Durene stopped running and saw Wiskeria wistfully looking at the pot. She was still satisfied, but she was wistful. Durene blinked, then kept her voice light.

“It tastes better than any potion. I’d use this every day if I could.”

Wiskeria broke out of her introspection and nodded with a smile.

“It’s certainly good enough. Hey! Not you, you greedyguts.”

She pushed Bismarck’s head out of the way as the Mossbear went for the pot for the twelfth time. He and Frostwing had come out of hiding once the ceremony—ritual—Durene wasn’t sure what to call it—was done. And now he really wanted what was in the pot. Wiskeria ticked off points on her long fingers with a sigh.

“It is good, but it won’t last, you can’t transport it so easily, and potions are faster. Easier to make too, I guess. It’s too bad; there was a time when [Witches] were very valuable. Because [Alchemists] weren’t so good at what they did. We could earn a living this way. Now it’s only good for rare occasions.”

“That’s too bad.”

Durene mumbled. She felt humbled, at peace after seeing the ritual, despite the blood Wiskeria had shed. It felt a bit like forgiveness, if you could make that into a spell. Wiskeria nodded. She looked relaxed too.

“You think? You should hear the old [Witches] I’ve met complain about it. They’re all too young to remember, but they know all the stories, and they moan about the good old days—Mother just complains about Dragons. Do you think you can carry it?”

“I do. Just watch the front so it doesn’t spill out?”

Durene lifted the cauldron onto the handcart with a grunt. To her relief, the cart was well-built, but the cauldron was heavy. She and Wiskeria watched the cart anxiously, but it felt sturdy, so after a moment, Wiskeria nodded, and Durene proceeded carefully.

“I think I want to meet more [Witches] after this. Well, not that Mavika one. The crows were scary.”

“She’s not so bad. But she is one of the senior [Witches] of Izril. There’s no formal ranking, but she is one of the most important.”

“Really? And she seems—most of Izril has good [Witches], right? Like you?”

Wiskeria smiled slightly and shook her head as they walked. The sky was beautiful and dry. Durene was smiling, despite managing the wagon. A black bird flew overhead, and even it sounded welcoming.

“It’s full of [Witches], Durene. Good, bad, we band together. We’re most numerous in Izril and Terandria. Few, if any, live in Chandrar or Baleros.”

“Why? People don’t like [Witches]?”

“No…I just think few want to live in the desert or fight off snakes. And not all species take to [Witches]. I hear Humans make up most [Witch] covens. It’s a very specific class. We have a history.”

“Huh. So what’s a coven do anyways? Why haven’t I heard of them?”

Wiskeria smiled.

“We’re spread out. Covens can be very large—Mavika’s all the [Witches] in about, oh, three hundred miles. They’re actually a lot more pleasant than she is. The Marshlands Coven.”

“Marshlands? But there’s only a small one up north. Are there more far from here?”

“No. I think there was a lot more marsh in the past, though. The coven’s old, Durene. Members come in and out, but they’ve been here on Izril since Humans first came. Before that, maybe. [Witches] are—”

The two broke off from their chat as they entered Riverfarm. Durene saw a crowd of people walking down the street, many heading to—she looked up.

“Oh! Perfect! It’s lunch!”

Wiskeria looked up. It had taken all morning to make the cauldron of enchanted soup! She smiled, and Durene called out. The half-Troll girl’s voice echoed down the street, attracting attention.

“Hey! Everyone! Come over here! Wiskeria brewed a magic soup for you to try! Come on! It’s fantastic!”

Heads turned. Durene saw to her pleasure that it was mostly villagers, Riverfarm folk about here. She waved at them and spotted a girl skipping towards them. Chimmy. The girl gathered with Ram, Miss Yesel, and some of the other villagers, including an entire host of [Wood Cutters]. They stared at the cauldron as Durene carefully placed it on the ground. They were just outside one of the cookhouses, but even the [Cook] came outside when they smelled the pot.

It smelled marvelous. And magical; you couldn’t deny that magic was a scent when you inhaled the magical potato soup. It felt like there was more than just the ingredients inside, and as Durene proudly shouted, more and more people stopped.

“This is a magical soup, General—I mean, Miss Wiskeria?”

Ram looked into the cauldron, half-warily, but licking his lips. Wiskeria nodded. She addressed the curious crowd.

“It’s a brew. More like a soup than actual potions. It’ll accelerate healing in the body. Scratches, small cuts—they’ll disappear overnight or in hours of drinking. Even bigger injuries. Plus, there’s some stamina ingredients too. You can eat it with breakfast, and it’ll work all day. But this will go bad in two days, three at most.”

“What’s it for?”

Miss Yesel pushed Chimmy back as the girl tried to peer inside the pot. She looked interested too, but wary. Wiskeria was a [Witch]. Durene hurried out with some bowls and spoons as Wiskeria tugged on her hat’s brim.

“Goodwill, Miss Yesel. Call it goodwill and an apology. A bit of magic to help everyone today. That’s all.”

“I see.”

Miss Yesel looked dubious, but Chimmy, her eyes shining, reached for a bowl.

“It smells even better than your soup, Ma! Let me try?”

“Hush!”

Yesel looked scandalized, but that provoked a laugh from the crowd. More people drew over as Durene took the bowls and handed them around. Wiskeria smiled as she explained more to Ram and the others.

“It’s nothing much. But it is tiring to make. I can’t mass-produce anything like an [Alchemist] can.”

“And it’s safe? It’s just helpful?”

Ram hesitated as he took a bowl. Durene nodded.

“It’s good! I had some, don’t worry, Mister Ram! Your only complaint will be there’s not enough after you try it! Here, who wants to be first? Anyone want some?”

“Me, me!”

Chimmy waved her arm excitedly. Yesel stopped her, looking apologetic.

“Maybe if someone else tries it first?”

“Of course. I can have some, or Durene. But if anyone else wants to try…”

Wiskeria looked around. The street was crowded, but no one was moving. A crow alighted on the building opposite; a dog wandered forwards, sniffing. But no Humans. Durene impatiently eyed the crowd for volunteers and nudged Ram repeatedly. Once one person tried it—but the villagers hesitated. Then a quavering voice spoke up.

“I’ll—uh—I’ll have some, if you wouldn’t mind. That smells like a wonderful soup. And clearly magical. Not magic I know, though.”

Durene saw Nesor, the timid [Mage], appear in the crowd. He walked forwards and looked awkwardly at Wiskeria. He hesitated. Wiskeria bit her lip.

“Nesor. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I, uh—avoided you. Wiskeria. I’m sorry about—you know, it was me who was sending [Messages], so I’m sorry…”

The [Mage]’s stutter hadn’t improved. He hesitated and looked around, then shrank a bit as he lowered his head.

“I’m sorry about that.”

A moment of silence followed his words. Wiskeria nodded tiredly.

“I am too.”

The two looked at each other until Ram cleared his throat.

“It wasn’t your fault, Miss Wiskeria. Nor His Majesty’s. It was them Goblins. And whoever knocked out poor Nesor.”

Everyone nodded at that to Durene’s relief. Nesor nodded too. He couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Instead, he eyed the magical soup with a [Mage]’s interest.

“I’d gladly try the first bowl, Miss Wiskeria. I’ve always heard [Witches] make powerful concoctions, but I haven’t ever tried…would you allow me the honor?”

“Of course.”

Wiskeria smiled, and Durene offered her a ladle. Wiskeria poured the soup into a bowl, and Nesor took it. He sniffed the soup and smiled timidly. Then he took a spoon and, without hesitation, took a bite.

His face changed at once. It grew peaceful, content, and his eyes brightened. No one needed to know what the soup tasted like, but the crowd waited anyways as Nesor finished the bowl, eating quickly and hungrily. He looked up, realized everyone was staring, and blushed. But then he pointed at the cauldron.

“This is the finest soup I’ve ever had. And—powerful! I feel reinvigorated, as good as any [Alchemist]’s concoction. I urge you all to try it! Please!”

He waved a hand, and the crowd moved forwards. Durene, smiling and laughing, reached for the ladle, and Wiskeria’s smile was no less wide than Nesor’s. Chimmy hopped into place, bouncing for a bowl. Durene reached for the ladle, and the shout behind her nearly deafened her.

“You bitch!”

Rehanna ran forwards. The woman hiked up her dress, and before anyone could stop her, as Durene and Wiskeria were turning, she kicked at the cauldron. With a cry, Durene turned, but it was too late. The iron pot didn’t overbalance with Rehanna’s enraged kick—so she heaved against the metal until it went over. The heavy pot tipped, and gravity did the rest.

The liquid in the cauldron poured onto the street, mixing with the wet earth. The pleasant aroma in the air faded and turned sour. Wiskeria leapt back as the magical soup stained her feet. And the pleasant liquid was suddenly brown, mixed with the soil unpleasantly. Rehanna, panting, eyes alight with hatred, pointed in triumph at it.

“See? It was a trick! It wasn’t good at all! Poison, it looks like!”

“Rehanna!”

Mister Ram roared in fury. He threw his bowl down as the convivial, pleasant atmosphere turned just as hostile. Wiskeria was in shock, but the [Rancher] advanced on Rehanna furiously.

“You just kicked over enough food to feed everyone here! And the best smelling soup I’ve ever had! How dare you! Prost will put you in the pillory! You should be thrown out of Riverfarm on your ear for that! After Miss Wiskeria—”

“Don’t you fall for her lies! She’s a [Witch]! She was trying to buy you all with her fake magic! You think she can make you a stew and beg your forgiveness? Did you forget what she did?”

Rehanna bellowed back, her face red with fury. There were tears in her eyes. Ram recoiled, and Rehanna pointed at the foul-smelling liquid now staining the ground.

“You see that? Can’t you smell it? I knew it was a trick! The same trick that made everyone think she was a [General]! It’s just black magic!”

“It wasn’t bad magic.”

Nesor mumbled.

“How would you know, you half-rate [Mage]?”

Rehanna spun on him, and he flinched. But he raised his voice, gritting his teeth.

“I know just as certainly as I knew any magic from Wistram. Miss Rehanna. That was no poor spell. It was a [Witch]’s brew, not alchemical, but there was good magic there. I’m afraid you ruined it.”

He pointed at Rehanna. The woman’s face turned even deeper crimson, and there was a rumble from the villagers. She pointed at Wiskeria, and her voice was a screech of fury.

“Say what you will, but I know who killed my husband! It was her! Her and your mad [Emperor]! And if you had half the sense I do—that Lancrel’s people do, come to it—you’d see the truth.”

“You’re drunk, Rehanna. And you’ve been listening to those idiots from Lancrel’s Council.”

Miss Yesel looked disgusted. Durene realized not all of Rehanna’s flush was from anger. The half-Troll girl clenched her fists. How dare she?

And yet, more than one person was eying Wiskeria’s spoiled soup uneasily. The smell was foul. They looked at Wiskeria. She was standing, feet still in the wet soup, head bowed. The rest of the crowd rumbled ominously. Rehanna had insulted Laken too. But the woman just looked around with a sneer.

“You think I’m wrong? She’s a [Witch]! You know what they do! How would you ever trust a bloody [Witch]? A witch!”

No one replied. Disgusted, Ram turned and spat.

“Someone help me. We’re hauling you to Prost. He can deal with you—he’s taking care of that [Thief] right now. Or Lady Rie. Where is she?”

He reached for Rehanna. She tore herself away, stumbling back. She retreated as Ram and a few other men and women reached for her.

“Don’t touch me! I want Councilwoman Beatica! She’s smart enough to see through that bitch’s lies. And she knows what’s right about everything else! Don’t touch me! Riverfarm’s going to have proper laws. Proper laws and—”

She was backing away towards the cookhouse door. Rehanna reached for it, probably intending to barricade herself inside. Ram, growling, reached for her, but the woman seized the doorknob—and shrieked.

The sound split the air. It wasn’t like her scream of fury earlier. It wasn’t a Human sound, but animalistic. Pain. Pure pain. Rehanna’s shriek froze Ram and the others in their tracks. Durene saw the woman flail back from the door, clutching at her right hand, the one that had touched the knob. And then she held it up.

Red, burnt flesh and blood trickling down her hand. Scorched skin, part of her hand torn away—

The crowd stared in horror. Rehanna opened her mouth to say something, but another shriek tore its way out. She could only wave her hand and scream, looking around, begging them to do something. But everyone was frozen. Durene’s mind was locked up. What had just—

“I didn’t do it! I didn’t touch her!”

Ram was shaken, white-faced. He stared at Rehanna’s hand. Then someone behind him uttered a strangled oath.

“Ram! The door—”

The man looked and froze. Durene saw a bright light. She stared at the doorknob. It was ordinary brass. But something was wrong. The door knob was burning white with heat! Somehow, it had grown hot as metal in forge’s fire. And it had burned Rehanna’s hand when she’d put it on the doorknob.

Some of it was still there. Parts of her palm sizzled and cooked on the doorknob. Durene smelled the scent of cooked meat, but her stomach roiled as she saw Rehanna holding her mutilated hand. Someone behind her gagged—it was Miss Yesel.

“What on earth—how did this happen?”

Ram stared at Rehanna, and then he turned.

“Healing potion. We need a—”

Half the people felt at their belts. The rest stared in horror. But it was Nesor, face white, who ran for one. As Rehanna collapsed to her knees, unable to speak for agony, in the silence, heads turned.

“Who did this? Why?”

Ram whispered. Then he turned. He looked. He couldn’t help it. Neither could Durene. She stared at Wiskeria. The [Witch] was frozen in the street. She looked around, started.

“It wasn’t me. I didn’t—”

The shock on her face was apparent to everyone. But still, the eyes searched the street, then went back to her. If not her, who? Rehanna made another sound, a groaning, weeping scream. Miss Yesel clutched at Chimmy, who was white with fear.

“Miss Wiskeria?”

“I didn’t do it. That was not my spell.”

“Was it a spell?”

Ram looked at Wiskeria and then past her at Nesor, who’d rushed out of a building with three vials in his hand. Wiskeria hesitated.

“I—the magic—”

“It was not Wiskeria who cast that spell.”

Durene breathed in and out, trying to clear the smell from the door. The knob was turning red, cooling. But the damage was still done. Ram looked around, clearly disconcerted.

“If not Wiskeria, then who? Who—”

“Me.”

The voice came from above and behind. Durene spun. Ram, Yesel, Chimmy, Wiskeria, everyone, looked up. There they saw her.

A woman perched on the roof of the house opposite the cookhouse. At least, she looked vaguely like a woman. Her arms were thin, her posture hunched. She was dressed in grey rags, and she had a dark grey hat. Pointed and bespectacled with feathers. But the woman’s frame looked—wrong. Too long. And as she hunched there, in a crouch, Durene saw she was not alone.

A flock of crows were sitting next to the woman, as silent as could be. Durene hadn’t even noticed them arrive. Now they turned their heads, their beady eyes staring down at the crowd. More than one person shuddered. Not just for the crows. But for the woman. She looked like the crows. Her eyes, when they stared down, were piercing. And the irises were nearly black.

“I cast that spell, Master Ram. If you seek a [Witch] to blame, here I am. But such is consequence for rudeness done. That woman’s pain was justly won.”

“What—who are—”

Ram stuttered as he pointed up at the woman. Wiskeria had gone white. She looked up, and the woman—no, the [Witch] stood up. The villagers backed away as the crows took flight, circling the air, cawing. And the woman’s voice was loud as Rehanna screamed on the ground.

“Remember this well, people of Riverfarm: Those who scorn a [Witch]’s gift must pay the toll. Discourtesy shall be matched with discourtesy, and ill for ill. In equal measure do we reap kindness or misery each. Such is humanity’s will.”

The words came out like a chant, like a spell. The woman who was as much bird as person leapt down, and the murder of crows flew low overhead, cawing, and the people ducked or shouted. They backed away. But Wiskeria held still. She stared at the woman with the hat. The [Witch]. And she said only two words as her hand slowly reached up to tip her hat.

“Witch Mavika.”

The [Witch] bowed slightly as she touched her own black hat. A smile crossed her lips. Yellow teeth—Durene shuddered. Mavika looked at Wiskeria. And to her she said only this:

“I am the first.”

The rest followed soon after.

6.37 E

Day 56 – Beniar

This was how they came. A woman and a girl rode down towards the village in the distance. The woman was tall, thin, and her hat and dress were black. Properly so. Not midnight black or as black as sin, just black. She rode a horse. It wasn’t a racer or a brilliant stallion. It was, in fact, a mare and perfect for travel. Her voice was slightly snappish, but efficiently so.

“Keep up, Nanette. And sit properly; you’re riding the horse, not letting it bear you to market. Don’t make a poor impression. First ones are the only ones you get.”

“Yes, Miss Califor.”

The meek response didn’t appease the woman. She glanced to one side and eyed her companion.

“Remember your manners. It goes without saying that this is important business, or else we would not be here. Some of the others will expect proper courtesy.”

“I know, Miss Califor. I’ll do my best not to embarrass you.”

The woman pursed her lips.

“Embarrassment lasts as long as I care to remember it, Nanette. That isn’t what you should be concerned about. Some of the others are older. Which means proper courtesy is required. Eloise would consider it mannerly. And the others would be offended without.”

“L-like who?”

The chatter in the young voice made the woman named Califor pause. The fear wasn’t born of nothing, nor was the seriousness with which she gave the matter thought. Her mare plodded forwards as the woman thought, then nodded to herself and replied sharply.

“Mavika above all others. The rest wouldn’t stand on it, but Mavika would. Mavika and…we shall see who else attends. Be polite to Witch Mavika, Nanette. She is the old ways.”

The girl nodded rapidly, and her pony, snorting, decided its rider wasn’t in control. It stopped to nibble at a weed growing by the road. Miss Califor, noticing the pause, glared at the pony. The pony looked up, noticed the glare, and quickly trotted forwards so the two were side-by-side again. The girl blushed and gripped the reins more tightly; Miss Califor just sighed again.

“Don’t be worried, Nanette. You are accompanying me. Just remember your manners.”

She waited for the nod from the girl at her side. The slight smile the older woman gave reassured the girl. If she minded her manners, all would be well. That was all Nanette had to do; and all Miss Califor had to do was be…Miss Califor.

So the two rode. The landscape was lush, fed on rainwater, and full of growth. Wild grass and wheat escaped from farms bordered by forestland not yet cleared by Humans. The woman and girl watched as they rode, seeing how far some of the tree lines stretched. You could still find places like this out here. Riverfarm was rural, but there were parts of the continent yet desolate, where Humans—or people of any kind—had yet to leave any memory of their passing.

The woman’s back was straight, her posture correct. The girl tried to emulate her, but she was young. The girl also had a hat, but it was dark blue, fresh while the woman’s was worn. And she was timid where the woman was—not so much bold, but decisive. She decided what was done, and that was that.

It was thus something of a surprise when the [Bandits] poured out of a forest not fifteen miles from Riverfarm and surrounded the two. They were a rough lot, desperados as hungry as they were greedy. Their leader had an axe and a large horse, and he pointed it at the two, bellowing as they stopped at the unexpected hitch near the end of their journey.

“Don’t move! You move and you’re dead! Get out your coin and jewelry! Now!”

The woman looked affronted; the girl squeaked in horror and scrabbled for a wand at her side. She’d just managed to raise it when the woman slapped her arm down.

“Don’t point your wand if you don’t intend to use it, Nanette.”

“Smart.”

The [Bandit Leader] growled. He’d tensed with the others when the wand came out, never mind that it was held by a girl. He held out one hand.

“Let’s make this quick, alright? Hand over your money pouches and don’t delay! And off the horses or you’ll be two corpses.”

He might have actually been more civilized compared to the [Bandits] whom Ryoka had seen outright killing travellers on the road. Then again, the close proximity to Riverfarm and the now-infamous Darksky Riders had the [Bandits] sweating. But there was money to be made if you were quick! They spread out around the woman and girl.

The older woman with the black hat pursed her lips, looking more annoyed than anything. She glanced around at the group of armed men and women, then up for a second, and her frown intensified. The others watched her warily but confidently; she might be a [Mage], but they had the drop on her, and if she so much as twitched her hands or uttered the beginning of a spell, they’d cut her to pieces. They’d killed [Mages] before.

Slowly, Miss Califor got off her horse and shoved past a rough man with a sword. He blinked, and the [Bandit Leader] looked down at her as she stood on his left. The woman turned her head and called at her ward.

“Don’t get off that horse, Nanette. This doesn’t require any great spell. Just consideration. Now, you. Just what do you think you’re doing? I advise you to leave us be.”

So saying, she pointed a finger up at the [Bandit Leader]. He blinked at the tone in the woman’s voice.

“What? Give us the money, old woman, or die. One second. Otherwise I swing.”

The woman folded her arms and adjusted her hat, not impressed. One of the [Bandits], looking to his right at her, was impressed. She wasn’t flinching, and the axe was ready to fall. He shuffled left, and the woman did likewise.

“Don’t move!”

The [Bandit Leader] looked left. The group tensed—was this woman about to fight? You never knew—but the woman just shook her head.

“I don’t intend to fight, and I don’t intend to be robbed. I am offering you a choice. You have had many choices in your life that carried you here. Tell me. Did they make you happy? This one is clearly marked. Choose wisely.”

One could say much of Witch Califor. Her worn riding cloak sometimes swirled like a moving shadow, and the walking staff she carried might leave behind patches of vibrant grass. Her eyes, when wrathful, could flash like a bolt of lightning no matter how clear the skies.

But it was her voice that could not be escaped. She did not sound like an old grandmother, nor a stern lecturer. When she spoke, the [Bandits] stopped a second. Califor’s voice was…urgent. Almost worried without being explicitly so.

Not for her. For them. She spoke as if watching someone about to make a terrible mistake, and even the [Bandit Leader] hesitated. As if to reassure himself, he looked the woman up and down. Tall, gaunt, and not visibly dangerous. So he raised his axe and tried to growl as if to drown out her warning.

“You want to die? Money and horse. The girl too. Or I’ll cut you down and take it myself. Think I won’t?”

Miss Califor sighed. She gazed up at the [Bandit Leader] and shook her head. The note of concern vanished, and her voice became quiet.

“I think you will. More’s the pity. They money and the girl? Swing hard, man. Or else—”

The axe buried itself in her skull. She jerked, and the [Bandit Leader] roared as he yanked the bloody axe blade away. It came up, dripping with blood and brains. Nanette screamed.

“Miss Calif—”

The [Bandit Leader] bellowed at the [Bandits] on his right.

“Fucking woman! Get the girl—”

Then he paused. And the [Bandits] stared in horror. Because it wasn’t an old woman’s body lying on the ground, her head and hat cleaved in two. It was one of their own. The [Bandit] the woman had bumped into, who’d been on the [Bandit Leader]’s left—

Silently, the big man with the axe stared at the corpse. A woman with a bow lowered it, looking in horror at her leader.

“Jek! You killed Tobil!”

“I didn’t mean—I was aiming at the woman!”

“She was on your right! You were looking right at her! But you swung at Tobil!”

“No! I—”

The [Bandit Leader] stared around at his group. Then his head snapped up. The woman with the black hat stared at him from horseback. She addressed the pale-faced girl next to her.

“You see, Nanette? A small spell works better than obvious magic. What we see and show is more important. You are not a [Mage]. Remember that.”

“Yes, Miss Califor.”

The girl replied a touch breathlessly. Jek, the [Bandit Leader], stared at them as the woman nodded. She lifted her travelling cloak and whirled it across the air, blocking the two from sight. Her voice snapped.

“Good. Now—ride.”

The two on horseback wavered and then vanished. Jek and the [Bandits] spun. They saw two distant figures on horseback racing towards Riverfarm and only now heard the hoofbeats. Jek pointed, trembling with fury.

“Get them!”

The [Bandits] stormed after the pair, those without horses running to catch up. Ahead of them, Miss Califor considered their lead and the approaching village with narrowed eyes. Her apprentice, Nanette, clutched her horse’s reins, white-faced.

“Miss Califor, they’re catching up!”

“Stay calm, Nanette.”

Califor rode low to her horse, hair whipping behind her. She was gazing ahead, then she glanced back, eying the first [Bandits] catching up to them. The arrows that landed close enough for Nanette’s horse to flinch were meant for the two [Witches].

—But no matter how hard the [Archers] tried, they couldn’t seem to land a shot. However, the other riders were closing in, and Nanette’s voice rose in terror.

“Miss Califor!”

The [Bandit Leader], Jek, had a Skill. He was riding twice as fast at the two [Witches]. And his axe was dripping blood. Miss Califor turned in her saddle. She eyed Jek balefully and looked ahead. And up. As he drew level with her, the man raised his axe. Califor said only this:

“I warned you.”

Jek hesitated. And that was enough. He glanced to the side and spotted the armored figure riding towards him too late. He turned and swung. To be fair, he hit the armored rider. But his steel axe bounced off the armor. And the [Cataphract] swung his sword and cut across Jek’s face.

The [Bandits] halted. They saw Beniar ride past Jek and watched the man fall. Then they heard the shouts. The Darksky Riders charged, riding down on the [Bandits] with roars of fury. The [Bandits] scattered, screaming.

“The Darksky Riders!”

“That’s right! You bastards thought you could hide this close to Riverfarm!?”

Beniar roared as he galloped after another [Bandit], sword drawn. Nanette, shaking, let her horse slow, and Miss Califor, lips pursed, regarded the [Bandits] and [Riders].

She sheltered the shaking girl, her apprentice, with her cloak, head swiveling. Only when it was clear the [Bandits] were routed did she lower her arm.

“Remember, Nanette. Keep your head even in the worst moments. If you panic, you cannot help yourself.”

“Y-yes, Miss Califor.”

The girl was pale beneath her hat. She focused on the woman, the [Witch]. Califor shook her head briskly.

“Breathe in and out, Nanette. Deep breaths. You survived your first [Bandits] well. Remember, in moments like this, you may trust me, but you must rely on yourself.”

The girl was still shaking. She was round-cheeked and young, twelve, but at Califor’s words, she tried to collect herself. Fear made words spill out.

“I knew you could do it, Miss Califor! B-but what if I’d been too slow? Or if they’d seen through your illusion? Or if the adventurers hadn’t caught up—or if—”

“Breathe, Nanette.”

The [Witch] sighed. She adjusted her hat and looked up sternly.

“We were never in any danger. Even if we had been, calmness allows us to choose the best course of action. I knew Riverfarm had adventurers, and I would not have left you behind.”

“But if they were too slow—”

“We would have been fine. Tell me, what is my eighth rule, Nanette?”

The girl gulped. She hesitated and then, as her lips moved and her brow scrunched up, she recalled it.

“Rule eight. A smart woman looks up now and then—”

She looked up at last. Then, overhead, she saw her. Alevica, her broom high above, swooped down. Nanette nearly fell out of her saddle. Alevica tipped her hat to Califor, and the older [Witch] touched her brim.

“Wotcha, Nanette! And Califor! There’s [Bandits] all about today!”

The young woman grinned at the suddenly star-struck Nanette. Califor just sighed.

“Evidently. Thank you for your assistance, Witch Alevica, although I would have preferred a more direct approach.”

“You were fine. And that patrol was nearby. I didn’t want to waste more crossbow bolts or potions. Anyways, we’re all fine. Am I late?”

Califor considered the question as Alevica hopped onto the ground, and the broom returned to the laws of gravity. Alevica tossed it over her shoulder. She looked at Nanette, who was still staring, wide-eyed.

“Didn’t see me, Nanette? How long’s it been? Two years? Three?”

“Three. Nanette, your manners.”

The girl started, and her still-round cheeks went red again.

“Oh! I—I greet you, Witch Alevica! I tip my hat—”

She fumbled, and Alevica laughed. The young woman strode next to Califor’s horse and Nanette’s mare and waved a lazy hand.

“You don’t have to do that with me, Nanette. I don’t stand on the old ways. Do that to Mavika. Sorry about the scare!”

Califor’s silence was pointed, and Alevica shuffled her feet a bit.

“Er…I could have shot a few [Bandits]. You won’t tell Oliyaya about that, will you? I just wanted to see you take those bandits apart, Witch Califor! How’d you swerve all those arrows?”

Then Nanette was staring wide-eyed at Califor, who gave Alevica a peeved look. She handed something to Alevica, who stared at…a handful of twigs.

“Toss them left and right with a bit of sympathy attached. It is something Oliyaya knows quite well. Even if I had the situation in hand, Nanette’s fright was unnecessary, Witch Alevica. Where is your mentor? I did not expect to see you without her.”

The rebuke made Alevica stop and flush. The younger woman pursed her lips, but uncharacteristically, especially from what Nanette knew and had heard of her, she did stop and tip her hat grudgingly to Califor and then Nanette.

“I tip my hat to you and I apologize, Miss Califor. And to you, Nanette. No harm done, though, eh?”

She looked hopeful—and nervous—until Miss Califor sighed and inclined her head and tipped her hat gently.

“I tip my hat to you, Alevica. And I suppose not. Oliyaya?”

“Oh—she can’t make it. That’s why she sent me. She’s busy cleaning up messes in her domain. You know, witches getting attacked?”

Califor’s brows drew together.

“So she sent you. I attended this meeting in person.”

“Hey! She thought I’d be more impressive and less—you know. Warty? Plus, I’m a City Runner these days. See?”

Alevica showed the two her Runner’s Seal, and Califor considered all of this and gave Alevica a tight nod.

“We shall see who else attends. I have hopes Agratha can make it. Shall we?”

Then the two were walking, and Alevica, wincing slightly, flew alongside the other two, chatting as Nanette listened in, wonderingly staring at Alevica’s broom. She hoped she’d be allowed a ride this time.

“Er, Agratha might not make it, Witch Califor. There was a dead [Witch]—and she lost her schoolhouse.”

“Dead gods. Why?”

“Oh, you know, idiots. The poor [Witch] was being hunted. Same cause. Um—uh—where have you two been? Ah! Witch Oliyaya sends her regards, and the Glokhen Coven has some gifts…”

Califor answered calmly as they rode ahead. When she accepted Oliyaya’s letter and a wrapped parcel, Alevica exhaled and flew back a step, clearly relieved. Then she twisted and, far more casually, gave Nanette a smile and wink.

Nanette, who of course knew Alevica by name if not face, and reputation, hurriedly tipped her hat and bowed in the saddle. Alevica tipped hers with a grin that made the girl blush, and Califor clicked her tongue. Her mare walked forwards.

In the distance, Beniar turned, and his Darksky Riders began to ride back. He, of course, had a lot of questions, but the [Witches] were already nearing Riverfarm.

“Dismount. These things should be done properly.”

At Califor’s words, the two [Witches] dismounted, and the animals walked alongside the three without the need for reins. Califor glanced at Alevica.

“How was your journey, Witch Alevica? The sixteen [Bandits] you killed—was it poverty or the summer’s heat that drove them to their terrible end? Next time, you would do well to at least burn the bodies.”

Alevica blinked; she hadn’t brought up the [Bandits]. She stuttered.

“Er—I don’t know why they were here. And I was in a hurry to make it, so… I…”

They headed into Riverfarm down the main street. Beniar, chasing after them, drew up when he realized they had no intention of waiting for him. He returned to the Darksky Riders, who were checking the [Bandits]. One of the [Riders] looked up.

“What’s with the flying woman, Beniar? The two travellers safe?”

The young man grunted sourly.

“I think so. I’ll head back once we’re sure we got all the [Bandits]. Do a sweep nearby; I’ll take four that way. Then I’ll ask about those three. Some people have no manners.”

He scratched at his chin as he turned his horse. Then again…what was the oldest woman’s name? Califor? She’d been very composed despite nearly getting killed by [Bandits]. Califor…

Why did that name ring a bell?

Day 56 – Prost

Mister Prost was not a happy man. He was a [Steward], a class that was, by and large, not generally happy. He accepted that. And Prost had found he was often content if not happy. But right now he was neither content nor happy. He stood in the middle of a square in front of a pair of pillories. There was a man in said pillory.

Master Elmmet. The man didn’t look as pompous as he normally did, strutting about and sneering at Riverfarm’s people. But, incredibly, he still managed to look down on Prost with both hands and head sticking out of the pillory and his ass facing the world. And quite a lot of world was watching.

“This is a sham, Mister Prost. I’m innocent. Framed! I may have been caught by that adventurer, Beniar, but only as I was attempting to catch the [Thief] myself! This is an indignity!”

Elmmet shouted at the crowd of people who’d gathered around the pillories to listen to the trial. At his words, there was a chorus of boos and shouts of outrage, but the people of Lancrel shouted at the villagers and non-Lancrel folk. Prost stared down at Elmmet and tried to contain his temper. The man in the pillory had the gall to return his look with an outraged one of his own.

“I don’t have time for lies, Master Elmmet. I’m only asking you one question. With all to see. Are you the [Thief] who’s been stealing from Riverfarm all this time?”

“I’d love to give you a straight answer, but I’m afraid to be denounced by that false truth stone you’re holding.”

The man sneered back, and with one hand, he pointed at the white quartz in Prost’s hand. The [Steward] grimaced as the stone flickered from red to blue too rapidly for anyone to see. It was a truth stone, but a cheap one. And it had two settings: red for false, blue for truth. The problem was getting Master Elmmet to speak something that wasn’t a half-lie. If he didn’t say anything that could be a ‘yes or no answer’, the truth stone wouldn’t work entirely properly, and both he and Prost knew it.

“This is a genuine truth stone, Mister Elmmet. Anyone who wants can test it out, and we have.”

“Such things can be faked! People of Lancrel, listen to me! I was framed! Do I look like a young man or the woman that people were calling a [Thief] in the street? I was set up as I pursued that very [Thief], and Mister Prost—along with his hired adventurers—decided to frame me!”

Elmmet protested, wide-eyed and innocent, to the crowd. Even Prost had to admit he didn’t look like either description. Elmmet had white hair, and he was hardly spry. But Prost knew Beniar was telling the truth.

“Any [Thief] can gain a Skill which allows him to change his face. Apparently, there’s one called [Master of Faces]. Do you have that Skill?”

The stone flickered from red to mostly blue as Prost held it closer to Elmmet. The man was sweating, for all his bravado. He licked his lips and replied hoarsely.

“If I were to answer, I believe the stone would lie.”

Red, then a flicker of blue. The stone couldn’t process the statement. Elmmet sighed, and Prost ground his teeth. He raised his voice, speaking to the crowd.

“You see your man Elmmet. He refuses to answer one question! Is he the [Thief]? He could free himself from the pillory this moment if he answered. If he continues to refuse, I will find him guilty for the dozens of thefts that have plagued Riverfarm. All of them.”

Lancrel’s folk stared back uncertainly. Many looked at Elmmet with distrust, and Prost was relieved to see some were clear thinkers. But too many listened to the [Thief] as he hoarsely shouted.

“Don’t believe this man! This is a conspiracy! He can control the truth stone! I demand a proper trial! An impartial judge!”

“I am the [Steward] of Riverfarm. This is your one trial, Elmmet!”

Prost lost his temper and bellowed at the man. The [Thief] flinched, but he still had that desperate confidence in his eyes. As if he thought he was really going to get out of this. Prost had already decided he was not. No matter what anyone said—if Prost couldn’t get the man to admit his crimes, it didn’t matter. He was a [Thief], and Prost would make sure he was jailed. Laken could deal with him. Prost was sure driving out Elmmet would just see him reappear as the [Thief] and cause more trouble, and as for anything else—

“Mister Prost, I have to object on my Councilman’s behalf. Can we be sure that this truth stone is really as valid as you claim? Is there no possibility that Elmmet was wrongly accused?”

A polite voice called out behind Prost. The former-[Farmer] gritted his teeth as he turned. If he could, he would have thrown the smiling woman addressing him into the pillory next to Elmmet.

“Councilwoman Beatica. This truth stone is accurate. Or are you claiming that this is all a conspiracy as Mister Elmmet says? I warn you, that is a lie I will not have repeated. Beniar has sworn on a truth stone his account is accurate, and his report is backed up by Durene, the Darksky Riders, and a dozen other witnesses. Are you suggesting everyone who claims to have seen Master Elmmet is lying?”

If she was, she was claiming there was no real authority that could be trusted in Riverfarm except her own. Prost held the woman’s gaze and saw Beatica hesitate. She smiled and spread her arms, turning to address the crowd of city folk behind her. Not the villagers.

“Of course not! I believe everyone present saw exactly what they claimed. But magic—Skills—they can fake a man’s face, can’t they? What if the [Thief] used his [Master of Faces] Skill to impersonate Elmmet? Mister Prost, can we be certain beyond any shadow of a doubt that this is our [Thief] and not a wrongly accused man?”

The Lancrel crowd nodded. Prost stared at Beatica’s smile and then noticed the flickering truth stone in his hand. And he realized that if he answered her, the stone might turn red.

“No one can be certain of anything, Councilwoman. Which is why your question has no answer.”

Beatica’s lips pursed for a second, and Prost sensed her disappointment in not luring him into her trap. She kept going, though. She probably didn’t even care for Elmmet, Prost suspected, but if the damn [Thief] was found guilty, it would throw her authority into question. Beatica spoke like a [Town Crier] and with the eloquence of a [Bard], gently persuading those undecided in the crowd.

“But doesn’t that mean that the same logic applies to Councilman Elmmet’s situation? If we cannot be certain of his guilt—”

“Are you mad, woman?”

A barking voice interrupted Beatica at last. Prost had been trying, but the woman’s [Uninterrupted Monologue] Skill had been silencing him. Not Mister Helm, though. The [Blacksmith] roared behind Beatica, slamming one fist into his palm.

“Don’t you dare try to spin it like that bastard’s innocent! He’s been weaseling out of an honest reply, and there’s only one answer to why that is! Why deliberate? Why bother to ask? He’s only told lies—but me and everyone else saw him stealing with our own two eyes! We saw him get nabbed, and there wasn’t any conspiracy or someone switching faces! Isn’t that good enough? If you want the truth, use that stone on me!”

He pointed at Prost’s stone, which had stayed mostly blue during Helm’s speech. The crowd murmured agreement, and Beatica’s eyes flashed. But that damn smile—

“Mister Helm, I realize you’re upset, but eyes can be tricked—”

“Shut up!”

The [Blacksmith] bellowed straight at Beatica. The [Councilwoman] froze, unprepared for that. Prost grinned. She might be a [Politician], but she wasn’t used to someone like Helm, who was used to saying what needed saying over the roar of a forge. The man strode forwards, pointing a finger.

“Stop twisting your words, woman! That man’s a [Thief], and he deserves exile, a noose, or just a few broken bones! He’s guilty, and you Lancrel lot are just protecting him because he’s your big [Councilman]! As corrupt as all of you city-dwelling—”

A roar of outrage swallowed the rest of what Helm was shouting as the crowd, most of whom were city people or townsfolk, yelled at Helm. The villagers present bellowed back, and Prost’s heart sank. He saw Beatica stumbling back, looking wounded—and noticed the sly, foxlike smile too late. Of course, she wanted this. He shouted and then used a Skill.

“Silence!”

[Crowd Control]. Prost had to push to force everyone silent, but they fell quiet. Beatica looked uncertain as she noticed Prost using the Skill; the [Steward] was breathing hard with the effort. He looked around and wished Laken were here. But he was trusting Prost, so the man straightened his back and did what he could.

“Master Elmmet. Swear on this truth stone you aren’t the [Thief]. Or I will consider you as such. If you believe the truth stone to be a lie, say it anyways, and we’ll test this stone for all to see. But swear on it!”

He thrust the stone at the man’s face. Elmmet’s eyes darted left and right as he opened his mouth. There was silence, and into it, he croaked.

“I—I—ask my wife and daughter! They’ll vouch that I’m no [Thief]! Ask them!”

Prost made a sound of disgust and lowered the stone. But Elmmet’s words provoked more shouting, and a woman and daughter were thrust forwards. The woman, Elmmet’s wife, looked as untrustworthy as he did. And the girl? Terrified as she stared at the crowd. And her father.

Prost had seen families like that before. Maybe he and the wife deserved each other, but what daughter stared at her father like that? He looked over his shoulder and saw Elmmet smiling desperately. Prost ached to bash the man’s teeth in. But one wrong move and Lancrel’s people might turn on him. Where was Rie? Then again, what could she do? Prost turned, thinking desperately. If he passed judgment now—

Councilwoman Beatica was drawing breath for another plea to her masses. Helm was about to make things worse, and Prost saw someone—a city person or villager, he wasn’t sure—draw back a fist. In that moment, he saw the future, and the future was a fight where the situation would be muddled, explode with all the wrong things, and engulf Elmmet’s actual crime with too much drama to make sentencing him easy.

It was a trap. But before it was sprung, a woman pushed her way through the crowd, and her voice boomed like a falling tree.

“What’s all this fuss about? If the man’s guilty, let’s find out the easiest way!”

Her voice cut off Beatica’s speech. It interrupted the fight. It drew every eye, including Prost’s. He stared at the woman, and he was sure he’d never seen her before. You’d remember a woman like this.

Long ago, Humans had been hardier folk. Before they’d built cities, they lived in villages, hunted, provided for themselves with tools and techniques and sinew rather than buying it with gold. The early Humans, men and women, had been strong, tough enough to face monsters on the edge of civilization.

It was from their cloth this woman had been cut, and what cloth! She was a giant of a figure, her hair full and brown, her arms as thick as Helm’s. She was tall, bold—and she had a voice that would have made her a star among opera singers in another world. But in this one, she was dressed in travelling clothes, stained but clean. And her wide, brown hat was perfect for travelling.

She also had a presence, different from Prost’s or Beatica’s. She stepped forwards, and Prost only now realized she carried an axe. Was she a new arrival? One of the [Woodcutters]?

No. The woman gestured around at the crowd, and her voice reached every ear. There was no Skill in it, just volume.

“I see a lot of bother over a simple matter! You say this man’s a [Thief]? You want to know what crime he deserves? Well, I say, call on a [Guardsman]! Or failing that, call on me! I’ve seen the bad and good sort long enough. And I’ve a Skill to put all questions to rest.”

So saying, she strode forwards. Beatica opened her mouth, but Prost beat her to it.

“This trial needs to be just. If you have a Skill, can you swear it’ll bring justice? And who are you, Miss?”

The huge woman smiled down at Prost. She adjusted her hat and the axe propped carefully on one shoulder. It was iron, huge, and nicked, not exactly a woodcutter’s axe. She grabbed Prost’s arm and raised it for all to see.

“They call me Hedag, Mister [Steward]! And I solve problems of this sort! You can rest assured; my Skill only reveals the truth of criminals.”

The stone turned blue as she held it up. Incredibly, it didn’t flicker red once, even with an unintentional lie. Miss Hedag let go of Prost; he stared at her. She had a grip like Helm’s!

“What say you, Steward? Shall I use it? We’ll see this man’s crimes, right enough. If he’s innocent, he’s little to fear. Then again, I’ve yet to meet an innocent man!”

She pointed down at Elmmet, who’d broken into a colder sweat than before. The crowd murmured. Hedag’s words had persuaded them. Beatica broke in nervously.

“Hold on, Steward Prost. You’re not seriously considering letting an outsider—”

“Shut up!”

Helm shouted in Beatica’s ear, silencing and deafening her. He stared past her at Hedag. And his eyes narrowed.

“Hedag. I’ve heard the name.”

So had Prost, but he couldn’t recall it for some reason. It was an old name, or one he’d heard…he realized the woman was looking at him and came to a quick decision.

“If you’ll show us the truth, I see no reason to object, Miss Hedag. But you have to understand, we must see the truth of it for ourselves.”

“A right answer! That’s the way we’ve always done it in villages and lonely places! We have to see to believe! And so the truth you’ll see! All will see!”

Hedag laughed merrily. Without further ado, she reached out and grasped Elmmet’s head in the pillory. The man shouted, but Hedag held him for only a second. She bellowed across the crowd.

“[Revelation of Sin]!”

Then she pulled something out of Elmmet. Prost recoiled as Hedag yanked out something black, a shadowy thing, and hurled it on the ground. The crowd leapt back uncertainly, but Hedag just stepped back.

“What did you—”

“Watch.”

Hedag’s one word caught Prost’s eye and turned them on the shadow. Everyone stared as, slowly, the black thing she’d pulled out of Elmmet rose upwards. A black mass rose and formed…into a man. Elmmet. Prost stared at the man in the pillory, then at the shadow.

It had no contrast. It was one color. But the shadow was, unmistakably, undeniably, Elmmet. You could see his face, even his smirking expression. The shadow turned and, with a careless jaunt, strolled ahead.

Prost stared. Another shadow appeared, and Prost saw a woman standing with her back to Elmmet. Real—he could see the lines in her face as she turned—and yet a shadow. The shadow Elmmet strolled up to her and, without hesitation, reached out and plucked the money pouch from her hip. Then he strolled past her, smiling, without a care in the world.

“Ah.”

The strangled noise Prost made was the only sound in the world. Elmmet, white-faced, stared at his shadow as it turned a corner. Now the shadow’s face was different. A woman’s face, the very one he’d stolen from. He snuck up to another man, yanked his purse away, and as the man turned and shouted, soundlessly, bounded away. The crowd backed up as the Elmmet disguised as the woman ran at them.

Only when he was far away did Elmmet’s face change back to normal. And it was a gleeful face as he poured shadowy coins into one palm and pocketed them. Prost stared. But then the man was changing faces, this time to deceive a fellow and rob him as he slept—

“Lies. That’s—these are lies. A false magic.”

From his pillory, Elmmet croaked weakly. Prost and some others looked at him, but the rest were focused on the shadow. It was…undeniable. Perhaps it was the Skill or just the woman, Hedag, but Prost believed that Elmmet had done the very crimes he was reenacting. Stealing from a sleeping man, breaking into a house, and then the image blurred and he was slapping his wife, drunk, snarling. Prost turned his head. Elmmet’s wife had gone pale.

“Miss Hedag. What is this?”

Prost spoke quietly into the silence. The woman adjusted her hat and spoke loudly, watching the shadows shift from crime to crime.

“Why, it’s the man’s sins, Mister Steward. All laid out for us to see. Every crime he’s done. From back to front. It marks him as [Thief] and wife beater. And more, I’ll wager. Can’t you feel the truth of it? Will anyone say it’s not so? I dare you, for my Skill tells all truths, and it cannot be swayed by magic nor lies!”

She looked around, spreading her arms. Behind her, Beatica choked, but even she couldn’t figure out a way to use words to reclaim the situation. Hedag had pulled truth out from Elmmet, and the hypnotized crowd watched him. Stealing from a [Merchant]. Stealing from a traveller. Changing faces. And then—

“All crimes?”

Prost heard a whisper. He glanced over and saw Elmmet had suddenly gone white. The [Steward] looked back sharply and saw the shadow Elmmet and his new victim had changed. A girl shrank down, screaming silently, and the man reached out with an open hand. The man was Elmmet. And the girl—

Every head turned to the girl standing by Elmmet’s wife. The child stared with wide eyes at herself as the shadows told a story. A snarling figure reached out and beat at a shadow of a girl. On the real girl, if you looked closely, you could see, around her neck and shoulder—

“How long ago was this?”

Prost’s hands were itching. He didn’t look at Elmmet. Hedag did. She shook her head.

“Every crime, Steward. Each one in order. Incredibly, this man has done more sinning in a day than some manage in a year. This might’ve been a week ago. Or but a few days. But the truth of it is there to see.”

She pointed. The shadowy man was still hitting the girl, curled up. Prost thought of Chimmy, and he had to force himself to hold still. Elmmet was very still as the men and women—and children—looked at him. They had seen the truth.

Into that silence, Hedag spoke. Her voice was jovial, booming. And as cold as stone.

“A poor man steals from honest folk. Poorer still beats his own child and wife.”

She pointed at Elmmet’s wife. The woman started, and her face was as pale as her husband’s, but her eyes were locked on Hedag. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Hedag nodded.

“Both deserve a Hedag’s presence to come when they call. Not blame nor guilt. But what of the one who raised the hand and downed the blow?”

“Death.”

Someone muttered that behind Prost. A hard line, and it came from Beycalt, a [Forewoman] who stared at the [Thief] with disgust. Elmmet’s head jerked up, and some of Lancrel’s folk paled. Hedag only sighed.

“Some’d say so, Miss. But it’s harder to say. The old laws change from village to village. Some would string up a man who beat his daughter half as hard. Others look the other way. But a [Thief]? There’s a penalty for a [Thief], sure enough. And it’s this.”

She strolled over to Elmmet in the pillory. Prost saw her lift the axe. Everyone saw it. And they knew, with the clairvoyance everyone shared, what she was about to do. But the stupid parts of their minds, the parts that lied and thought reality should be a certain way, convinced them it wasn’t going to happen. She wasn’t really going to—

The axe came down and flashed past the wooden pillory with a thunk of sound. Prost stared down at the hand as it landed on the ground. A long-fingered hand with no hair on it. Good for a [Thief]. But not so much severed. Elmmet stared at his stump of a hand in shock. Blood pooled and then ran from the stump, dribbling down the pillory. The man stared at the stump, pulled it out of the pillory, put it back in. Only then did he scream.

“Potion! Get a potion!”

Prost shouted as the crowd erupted into screams. More than half of the city folk were panicking. Even the villagers, used to beheading chickens and killing animals, stared. The violence was so sudden, so quick. But Hedag just swung her axe up and bellowed.

“Quiet!”

And it was. The woman with the hat and terrible axe reached down and grabbed the stump of Elmmet’s arm. The man flailed, screaming as tendons appeared in his neck. Hedag squeezed, and suddenly, the bleeding stopped. That didn’t stop the screaming, though. A blow from one hammer of a hand did that.

Elmmet’s head lolled back in the pillory, and his entire body jerked. Prost sucked in his breath; he’d felt that punch! The crowd flinched, but Hedag just let the man’s arm drop.

“So that’s for a child beaten. The hand’s for a [Thief].”

“You can’t do that!”

The scream came from Beatica. The [Councilwoman] pointed a shaking finger at Hedag, and there was genuine fear and hysteria in her voice.

“You—cut off his hand!”

“And? It’s a punishment as old as time. Drakes do it in their cities. And in some cities around here it’s done. A hand for a [Thief]. A blow for a child-beater.”

Hedag replied as calmly as could be. Beatica just screamed at her. Elmmet was waking up, flailing around, disoriented, as Beatica kept shouting.

“He was a [Councilman]! You cannot do that! You had no right! You’re no [Watchman]! There are laws—”

“Right? I have every right!”

Hedag’s voice cut Beatica’s shriek off. The woman turned and raised her brown hat. The axe dripped blood onto her shoulder as she raised it. The crowd, horrified and silent, watched as Hedag turned. And she was in charge. The woman spoke to Beatica, to Prost, to Elmmet, and to everyone.

“This is no city, for all you folk have come here. This is a village, and what wrong’s been done is plain to see. No one appointed me, Miss Councilwoman, it’s true. But there are times, bad times, when no one’ll do what’s needed. When folk have need of me and the truth I bring. A harsh truth, and with laws far older than I am. But it is justice, as just as any law you could name. And I will not be stopped, by you or anyone else. You called for proper justice, and here it is. The oldest kind.”

She swung her axe down, and some blood struck the ground, Prost’s leg, and the pillory. Prost stared at Hedag. Then he saw her head turn.

“And what’s been said and done is only part of it yet. Look.”

She pointed. The crowd turned. The shadowy Elmmet wasn’t done. Not by far. He had been a poor man, Elmmet. Prost had suspected it of him. But now, for all to see, his sins revealed themselves one at a time. And they were worse than just striking a helpless child, incredible as that was. Oh, far worse.

“Every sin comes to life. Every misdeed, small or large. It’s a harsh thing. And I judge with such mercy as I might. But I do judge.”

Hedag’s voice was quiet in the silence as she stared at the shadows. They were enacting something far worse now. The beginning of it, at least. Prost looked around at the women, the men—the children should not see this. Least of all the girl he saw reflected twice.

Prost tried to look away, but the truth burned him, forced him to see. Perhaps that was the nature of the Skill. The crowd tried to move, to avoid it, but it was a revelation. Inescapable. Only Hedag stared with an unmoving gaze. She looked down at Elmmet. The man was struggling, weeping, trying to say something as his sins played out.

“If I were you, Mister Elmmet, I’d hope that this were the worst of it. The worst by far. But I don’t think a man like you deserves hope. Show me what you’ve done.”

And he did. Prost felt his stomach roil, and the shadows danced. Elmmet’s dancing shadow began to chase another. A younger female silhouette who fled—and he chased and chased until—

There was no mercy in the retelling, no way to hide what came next. It played out without sound or color, but without the mercy to hide any detail either.

Someone in the crowd made a terrible, groaning sound, and a man gagged, vomited. It was appropriate. Hedag watched as Prost turned away. She watched with eyes as old as she was, but made older by what she’d seen. And Prost remembered her name at last. A woman who travelled the further villages, who performed that oldest task where there was no jail, no watchman, no law in sight but her.

Hedag the [Executioner]. The woman nodded at last as the shadows stopped for one moment. Her eyes were opened wide, and the pupils sat like vast monoliths. Her voice sounded like old rules set forth before paper and ink had writ them down. And now, without mercy or regrets, Hedag spoke two words.

“I see.”

The axe swung down, gleaming dully in the midmorning light.

Day 56 – Lady Rie

Lady Rie took a long time dressing, as was her wont. In fact, it was one of her only wants and vices. In Riverfarm, few amenities were available to her, and the comforts of fashion were a luxury Rie couldn’t do without.

Even then, it was a concession. She didn’t have half as many of her cosmetics, and many of her dresses and fine clothing had been carefully, discreetly sold to finance Riverfarm’s needs. Most of her jewelry had gone that way, and Rie feared her current wardrobe would be worn, not to mention outdated, in less than a month.

“And yet, it is necessary.”

The woman sighed to herself. She stared in the hand-mirror she carried and carefully applied a lipstick. Red, traditionally so, to fit her mood. She was not looking forwards to this morning. She suspected Prost’s trial with Master Elmmet would not be as smooth as she wanted, and she would gladly have given up all her dresses to see that man and Beatica and half of Lancrel’s elite banished for good.

“We should not have allowed things to reach this point.”

Rie sighed as she inspected her face for flaws her makeup had missed. But what could they have done? She had to admit it; Beatica might have been a poor leader in the sense of keeping her city free from Goblin attacks, but she was a magnificent manipulator. She’d turned Lancrel’s people against Riverfarm, exacerbated the already-deep rifts between urban and rural peoples. And the tensions of refugees fleeing their city and coming to live in, admittedly, close to poverty.

“And yet, Riverfarm is more than that fool of a woman can understand. Riverfarm is a jewel, uncut. Or—a potato. Made of gold. Growing in the earth.”

Rie sighed. Even her metaphors were becoming farmer-like. Which was appropriate. Perhaps, if she stayed here long enough, she’d even be fine with her less-than-perfect appearance. And what did it matter? The man she wanted to impress couldn’t see her face. He could see any number of things, but physical appearance was beyond him. It was just one of the reasons why Laken Godart fascinated and attracted Rie.

And frustrated her. She had no idea what the young [Emperor] was thinking. Oh, she could guess, but the Goblins? Madness. Lord Yitton and Lord Gralton being in his company? Masterful. Durene? Incomprehensible to Rie at first. Prost? Incredibly sound despite Rie’s misgivings.

It felt like half of Laken’s achievements were down to luck or the impetuousness of youth and the other half a product of deep thought. Either way, Rie had recognized Riverfarm and his presence for what it was: an opportunity that only came once in a lifetime. Riverfarm could be great. Unique, in fact, in Izril’s history. Or it could implode. Right now, Rie feared greatly the latter would come to pass.

“Hold the village together. Easier said than done!”

She swept out of her small house, and a man who’d been leaning against the wall silently joined her. Geram, the [Fistfighter] and former captain of her personal guard, nodded at his [Lady], and she greeted him. Manners were important, no matter how she felt. Rie smoothed her sensible, comfortable red clothing and silently wished she had a bevy of [Assassins] to kill her enemies with.

But she was a poor [Lady], monetarily that was. She had power, but it was subtle. Geram was her strongest physical asset, and while the man was loyal and capable, he wasn’t exactly a Gold-rank adventurer. Although he was good.

“Where to, Lady Rie?”

“Oh, where else? The trial, Geram. When’s it starting?”

“Midday, Lady Rie. You have time.”

The bald man nodded at the sun. Rie pursed her lips. So she did. But that wasn’t a problem. She swept forwards, and within fourteen steps, she had work.

“Lady Rie! Good morning to you! Can I bring you breakfast?”

“Lady Rie, will you eat with us? Our small circle is quite eager to talk with you—we represent some of Lancrel’s interests—”

“Lady Rie, a pot’s got a hole, and the [Chef]’s said he needs a new one. Only, Mister Helm’s not warmed his forge yet. Should we—”

A dozen people surrounded Rie in a moment, clamoring for her attention. Geram, a practiced [Bouncer], kept them back, and Rie, sighing internally and smiling externally, sorted them out one by one. The key to good leadership was delegation. Failing that, not getting bogged down in any one complaint.

Requests for dining were easy to sort out. Rie could easily say she’d taken breakfast alone—which she had—and soothe any ruffled feathers from the women who fancied themselves fit to dine with a [Lady]. Rie wouldn’t have foisted them on Durene, who was, in fact, a very careful eater. Pots just needed replacing.

As for the rest…Rie walked, speaking to the flood of people who gravitated towards her. And this at least wasn’t unusual. The volume was taxing, but Rie had been a [Lady], and thus a leader, for all her life. This was more personal than when she ruled her estates, but it could be done.

The problem was that Riverfarm lacked its heart and soul: Laken. Without him, the people who usually could manage and think independently grew dependent on Rie. She hated to admit it, but the [Emperor], who was surely lower-level than she was, could inspire his people where she could not.

That hurt Rie’s pride, but again, she swallowed the feelings and only let a polite, kind, caring exterior show. She had to be beloved. The people of Riverfarm had to trust her and not see her as another impartial [Lady], aloof and unconnected. Until Laken came back, their loyalty and trust had to be in her.

Riverfarm was a village, for all it now held enough people to be called a town. It was poor, despite its potential. Rie knew it. Her estates were far richer than Riverfarm, many times over. They were only a day’s ride away, and yes, they were small. The Valerund fortunes had declined over the last decade with the death of the family save for Rie. But even with her home town decimated by the Goblins…

Rie’s stomach clenched at the memory and all the faces she’d never see. She forced it down as she smiled at a girl offering her a flower.

“Very pretty. I thank you, Miss…Agathy, is it?”

“Yes, Lady Rie! Do you like it?”

“I’m so sorry, Lady Rie. She wanted to give you a flower ever so much. I don’t want to be a bother…”

The beaming girl’s mother apologized profusely, which was far more tiring than the flower. Rie put it behind her ear, a move that instantly won her the adoration of everyone watching. She smiled at Agathy, and that was genuine.

“I’m delighted, Agathy, and it’s no bother at all. But why not give a flower to more people than me? I’m sure they’d be delighted as well.”

Even with her home town gone, Riverfarm was poorer than Rie’s mansion. But Rie was willing to sell what was in the mansion to back Laken Godart. Purely because he was an [Emperor] and because Riverfarm was growing so fast. He could be great. He already had ideas and poise beyond his age. And his Skills were no less impressive. The simple bed Rie was using was as luxurious as the custom-built one she’d had in her mansion.

But he still had to come back. Rie’s teeth gritted as Agathy and her mother bade her farewell. Automatically, Rie went from the dining hall to the river outside the village, checking on people at their tasks. There was always something to do, some minor problem to solve. It was all so trivial.

What Riverfarm needed was a grand plan, more than just housing everyone! Prost could take care of that. The man was solid, a capable steward, Rie fully acknowledged. But he could only enforce Laken’s ideals. Laken needed to be here! Durene was right, drat the girl. They needed Laken, and not just his mysterious ‘help’, whatever that was. They needed him now! What if she sent Beniar to find him—no, that was too dangerous—

“Excuse me, milady. But you’re looking rather taxed. Would you care to have a seat with us?”

A voice interrupted Rie’s flurry of thoughts. It was old, warm, and as Rie turned, the owner smiled up at her.

An old woman was sitting at a table on the side of the street. A wooden table—one of the very ones that usually lay inside the identical houses. But that wasn’t what stopped Rie. It was the scene.

An old woman gently lifted a tea pot and filled a worn, thin, but terribly beautiful cup of porcelain. A travelling cup, perhaps, but an heirloom of one, sitting on a small saucer. The tea was a light green color, clear and inviting. Steam rose from the pot and the cup—and the ones held by the three other women sitting at the table next to the old woman.

They were sitting in wooden chairs, the dining chairs that the [Carpenters] worked so hard on for all the houses. Just sitting in the shade of a house in the street, drinking tea with the morning. It was a scene you’d see in a café or restaurant in a city, but it was the first time Rie had seen the like in Riverfarm. Everyone was too busy. But this old woman, who had a grey travelling hat festooned with fresh flowers, smiled and waved a hand gently at Rie.

“Some tea, young woman? I’m new in town, but I’ve made a delightful cup, and I’d love to sit and chat with a lovely young lady like yourself. Join us?”

“I—”

Bemused, Rie stared at the three women sitting around the table. One of them blinked; Rie recognized her as one of said [Carpenters]. Another was a woman—one of the hated Lancrel [Councilwomen]. The third was a mother from one of the towns. All three blinked up at her, bemused, but they sipped from their tea cups as if them being together was the most natural thing in the world.

Rie realized she was staring. Her eyes fell on the old woman who was holding a cup up with one hand. Rie started and took it reflexively, then inhaled the aroma. A delicate green tea’s scent. An exquisite blend; Rie would have bet all her dresses. Brewed just right! And hot—how long had it been since she’d had a cup like this? Not since her mansion. She nearly sipped and then caught herself a second time. She smiled down at the old woman.

“Excuse me. I apologize, but have we met, Miss?”

The woman smiled and patted an open chair next to her.

“Not at all. I’ve just arrived in Riverfarm. This morning, in fact. And I happened to have met these lovely young women by chance. Well, there was nothing for it but to put some tea on, and the people here were most obliging. I’m told they all have work, but I wanted to chat for a moment. You look quite busy yourself, young miss. Why don’t you sit for a spell? I have some biscuits here, and they are quite fresh.”

The wooden table was bare of tablecloth or decorations, and the chair, well-made though it was, was still simple. But it called to Rie. So did the sweet-smelling biscuits that appeared out of the woman’s travelling backpack. The other women blinked and then reached for one. Rie sipped from her cup, and the tea made her smile.

“I—really shouldn’t. I am busy—my apologies. My name is Rie Valerund. I am a [Lady] in service to His Majesty, Emperor Laken. And you are?”

The woman’s brows raised, and she peered up at Rie when she heard the woman’s class. But then she smiled, and Rie was reminded of her own grandmother. There had been a kind woman, and this one was every bit her match.

“My! A [Lady], here? My apologies, my dear. Let me greet you properly.”

“Oh no, you don’t need to—”

Rie began, but the woman got up and curtseyed quite formally, bending her knees and moving with surprising agility for someone as old as she looked. Rie smiled and returned the courtesy. The old woman sat and nodded, patting the seat again.

“My name is Eloise. I’m a travelling trader of sorts. I specialize in teas, flowers, herbs. I heard there was an opportunity in Riverfarm, and so I made the trip. Sit, please, young lady.”

It was odd to be called ‘young lady’, but Eloise was certainly old enough to call all four women it. Rie blinked with some concern at Eloise.

“All on your own? That’s a perilous journey of late, Miss Eloise.”

“I was just saying, Lady Rie. There are [Bandits] about. And an old woman isn’t immune to monsters, even if [Bandits] have some decency.”

The [Carpenter] leaned one strong forearm on the table as she sipped from her cup. She seemed pleased, although the bitter, refreshing tea wasn’t for everyone. Rie nodded along with the mother and [Councilwoman]. Eloise just laughed, and her laughter was as refreshing as the tea.

“An old woman can’t be afraid of monsters or men, ladies! I’ve seen enough of both over my years; don’t you worry. And it’s moving about that keeps me alive!”

The [Councilwoman] from Lancrel took a bite of a biscuit and patted her lips with a handkerchief. The [Carpenter] just used her hand. Normally, that would cause some tutting on the Lancrel woman’s side and prompt an eye roll from the [Carpenter], but at the moment, the two seemed so peaceful together. Friendly, even. The Lancrel woman glanced around, smiling slightly, and looked at Eloise with concern.

“Yes, but surely there is a time to settle down, Miss Eloise? You say you’re a travelling seller. But shouldn’t your family take care of you? Your relatives? I don’t mean to be rude, but even staying in a village where you can have some help…”

Eloise chuckled.

“I have a village of my own, Miss Safey. No children or relatives who’d care to look after me, I’m sure, but my village is enough. As I said, I’m travelling here for a spell. Young man, why don’t you sit? You look like you could use a biscuit yourself. Don’t let your [Lady] here take them all.”

She waved at Geram. Rie turned her head and stared up at the [Fistfighter]. Then she realized half the tea was gone from her cup, she had a half-eaten biscuit on her saucer, and she was sitting down. She glanced back at Eloise, then turned to Geram.

“These are wonderful biscuits, Geram. Try one, at least.”

The other women murmured agreement. Geram hesitated. He looked uneasy at being the only man present, but he eventually took a biscuit. He refused a teacup, though. Rie regarded hers as Eloise went around with the kettle. The tea was still steaming! And Rie couldn’t help but fill her cup and keep chatting. During a small break, she had to comment on the tea itself.

“This is a marvelous blend of tea, Miss Eloise. And your cups are finer than the ones in my estate. I don’t know if there’s much call for tea in Riverfarm—then again, for yours I’d happily discuss buying whatever stocks you have. But you must stay here. We can arrange a place for you to sleep and have you escorted when you choose to leave.”

The other women nodded. The mother gestured to the house behind her.

“My family and I would love to offer you a bed, Miss Eloise. There are the barns, but that’s no place for someone your age.”

“You’re too kind. But I wouldn’t want to put you out of a bed with two little ones and another on the way. I’m quite happy to sleep where I may, and a barn is fine enough. Come, let’s not talk about me. Tell me more about Riverfarm and this [Emperor] of yours.”

Eloise smiled and laughed again. Rie hesitated as the others at the table nodded. She glanced up at the blue sky and, with effort, stood.

“I’d love to partake in this conversation, Miss Eloise. But I’m afraid I truly am busy. Your tea and biscuits were lovely, and I’m sure I will find you again. But with apologies—”

The older woman sighed, but nodded.

“There should be time for tea every day. But I quite understand. I should be delighted, Lady Rie. But take another biscuit before you go? You look like you could use one.”

Rie shook her head. But she was smiling as she stood and bade farewell to the impromptu tea circle. The [Carpenter], the [Councilwoman], and mother seemed content to sit and talk about what had brought them to Riverfarm with Eloise, and Rie couldn’t bear to order them back to work. She stepped away from the table before she was sucked back in.

She resumed her walk, blinking as she noticed a good fifteen minutes must have passed. The sun had moved noticeably in the sky! She shook her head, bemused.

“What a lovely woman, Geram.”

Geram, chewing his biscuit, choked on his reply. Rie shook her head. She even felt better after that little break. She wasn’t so flustered or worried. A few Skills, it had to be. Or just really good tea. Either way, Eloise was a name to remember.

Now there was someone Rie was glad to have in Riverfarm, never mind her age. Then again…too many old folk would be a problem. But were they going to turn away people who came to Riverfarm based on their qualifications? As Rie walked on, she shook her head, trying to get herself back in the proper state of mind, which was anxious.

In the end, she had to trust Laken wasn’t making a mistake. But he had better get here now, and those Goblins had better be worth the delay. Or else Rie did fear for the future.

Magnolia Reinhart would not sit idly forever. This trade war was only the smallest of things in her arsenal. She might be a beneficent ruler today, but Rie had seen what the Reinharts could do. And they would drag the bodies of their foes through the streets and feed them to the dogs before yielding in anything.

She’d lost time talking to Eloise. Not just fifteen minutes either. Thirty? Rie didn’t know, but somehow she’d completely missed an event around the main gates of Riverfarm. Like everything else, they were a work in progress, not least because they had to keep being rebuilt further and further out. But the village or town or even city would need walls, and the blood-stained [Riders] trotting back down the street proved just that.

“Beniar!”

Rie’s pulse quickened in alarm as she saw the blood, but the [Cataphract] and former adventurer rode up to her with a smile on his face. He saluted her and dismounted in one move. Rie stared at the Darksky Riders, who were tending to their horses, and then the three women with hats, one old, one young, and one still a child, who were looking around the village, oblivious to the crowd, the riders, or Rie.

“What happened?”

Beniar chuckled as he jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

“What happened? Lady Rie, we got that [Bandit] group we thought was waylaying people nearby! At least one of them. They were waylaying travellers on the road—those two on horses. We wouldn’t have known or gotten to them in time, but that other one—she flew to Riverfarm and told us what was happening! On a broom!”

“A broom?”

Rie stared at the young woman that Beniar was pointing to. That jogged her memory, but before she could fix on that, the three were striding towards her. The old woman, who was wearing all black, adjusted her pointed hat and looked around.

“Excuse me. Are you the woman in charge around here?”

The question took Rie aback. It suggested that the answer was ‘no’ and that the woman asking it knew that fact, but she was asking for formality’s sake. Frowning, Rie regarded her and the young girl following close behind.

“I am Lady Rie Valerund, in service to His Majesty, Laken Godart. I understand you were attacked on the road, Miss. I hope you haven’t come to any harm?”

The woman frowned at ‘His Majesty’ and narrowed her eyes, but only slightly. She turned to look at Beniar, who gave her a charming grin.

“Pleasure to be of service, Miss.”

So the woman touched her hat, lifted it a fraction, and nodded to Beniar and Lady Rie. Just that; no bow for the [Lady], nothing else.

“Witch Califor. Thank you, Rider. Your response was truly quick. Though I had heard Riverfarm was safe from [Bandits] of any kind. I suppose that was too much to hope for?”

Her question took the wind right out of Beniar’s sails. Rie hesitated, but responded quickly.

“We are—normally. However, the, ah—ah—method we have to detect them isn’t working as it usually does, and this group had been avoiding Beniar and his [Riders] for weeks. I do regret the close call!”

“I see. I thought I felt a roving eye, but it is just one eye, then. Now, may I ask if your [Emperor] is present? I should like to meet him at his earliest convenience.”

Now, Lady Rie was annoyed at this imperious stranger, and she realized she was correcting her posture, trying to seem her best. Who was this woman? She reminded Rie of the formidable Lady Zanthia, but she was certainly no noblewoman!

“What? Emperor Godart is absent. And if he was here—if you have business in Riverfarm, I suggest you present it to me. May I ask who your companions are?”

Instead of being embarrassed by the rebuke, Miss Califor only raised one eyebrow.

“You may. This is Nanette, my student. And this is Witch Alevica.”

“Nice to meet you! I’m Witch Alevica. You might have heard of me.”

The young woman next to Califor waved a lazy hand. She looked friendly, but she was far too informal! The girl named Nanette started, stared at Lady Rie with proper awe, and began to curtsey. Right up until Miss Califor stopped her with one hand.

“Witches do not curtsey, Nanette.”

So the little girl shyly touched the brim of her hat and tipped it up. She almost tried to bow, but after a peek at Califor, who touched her hat as well, the two did nothing else.

This brief encounter was quickly reversing all the goodwill and calm of Rie’s encounter with Eloise. The [Lady]’s eyes flashed, and she drew herself up, glaring at Califor as Beniar snuck past Geram.

“Excuse me, Miss Califor. I remind you that I am a [Lady], and you are in my presence.”

“Yes. These are the facts. So you know, it is considered polite to address me as Witch Califor, Lady Valerund.”

Rie’s mouth dropped open. She saw the girl, Nanette, cover her mouth and try not to giggle, and Geram bristled—but Califor walked past her without a second word and beckoned to the girl.

“Come along, Nanette. Let’s find a place for the horses and the others. There are at least two more here. One yet to come.”

“What? How dare—come back here!”

Rie spluttered as the two walked past her with the horses, yet even Nanette didn’t turn, but hurried after Miss Califor. Rie stared at their backs until the last of the new arrivals, the young woman named Alevica, coughed.

“Hey, is there a pub around here? Or a Runner’s Guild?”

Rie, Geram, and Beniar stared at her. Alevica looked around, her smile not bothering at all to hide her amusement.

“No? I’ll be on my way then. See you in a bit.”

“Hold on.”

At last, Rie caught herself and looked at Geram. The man moved to block Alevica’s path, and the young woman stopped. Not warily, just with a frown. And her pale pink eyes narrowed as they flicked from Geram to Rie.

“Something you want?”

“Just introductions. Did Beniar say you flew into Riverfarm? You wouldn’t happen to be Alevica, the Witch Runner?”

Beniar started at the name. Alevica just grimaced.

“I prefer, ‘the only damn Runner who can fly north of Pallass.’ But sure. That’s me. I warned your militia here that there were [Bandits] attacking Miss Califor and her apprentice. No need to thank me.”

With that, she began to walk around Geram. He tried to block her a second time, but when Alevica paused, she put a hand on a knife in her belt.

“I don’t appreciate being stopped, bald man.”

Rie paused. She’d heard about Alevica, and she dearly wished she was near a city where she could pay for information about Alevica to refresh her memory. Geram looked down warily at Alevica and stepped back after glancing at Rie for confirmation. The [Lady] chose her words carefully.

“That is Geram. My bodyguard. I apologize for his insistence, but I would greatly like to speak with you, Miss Alevica.”

Laken could use a good Runner, even one with her reputation. But Alevica just grinned.

“I’m sure. But you have to wait. Don’t worry, we’ll see each other. Soon, I think.”

Her eyes flicked down the way Califor had gone, and then she turned her head over her shoulder. Rie stared. Alevica turned back to look at her, then nodded.

“See ya.”

She strolled off past Geram. The [Fist Fighter] hesitated and walked over to Rie.

“Lady Rie, should I stop…?”

“No. No, let her go.”

Rie quietly fumed as she watched Alevica strolling down the street, a hand in one pocket, scratching at windblown hair. Now she understood some of the tales about Alevica. The Witch Runner indeed. And that Califor! Rie turned balefully to Beniar, but he was already back with his Darksky Riders, regaling the crowd with exploits of what had just happened.

“I’m rather peeved at the moment, Geram. But I think I’d better find Prost and make sure the trial is going well.”

After a moment, Rie decided that was her only course of action. Geram nodded, and Rie swept down the street. Just in time to hear the screaming begin. She paused, stared down the street towards the public square and pillories, and broke into a run. Behind her, Geram swore and pounded past her.

“Lady Valerund! Let me—”

He shouted, but Rie didn’t stop. If something had gone wrong, if a riot had broken out, they’d need Beniar and his [Riders]. What had happened? Had Elmmet tricked the truth stone somehow? That shouldn’t be possible at his level. Or had that Beatica managed to stir up the crowd—

A rush of people came down the street, mainly Lancrel’s people, but villagers and townsfolk as well. Most of the ones in front were women, mothers, holding white-faced children. But families, single men, townsfolk, all of them were pouring away from the square in a rush. Rie halted, and Geram moved to block the crowd.

“Stop! What is going on?”

Rie shouted at the crowd, but she didn’t have a Skill to halt a crowd. And she hadn’t learned an aura Skill. She had other Skills, but for situations like this, all she had was her presence. And it wasn’t enough to halt the crush of people fighting to get away from—something.

Geram was, though. The big man halted those closest to him with his body alone, and when they noticed Rie through their panic, she was instantly surrounded by frightened people and screaming children.

“What is going on? Is someone hurt?”

Rie looked around, bewildered. There weren’t any marks of violence, but then a woman from Lancrel screamed out.

“He’s dead! Master Elmmet’s dead!”

Rie’s blood froze. Elmmet? Dead? Prost hadn’t lost his temper, had he? Or—what if he’d been lynched? But the crowd would have turned. These ones just looked horrified.

“How? What happened?”

“She just murdered a man in the street! Cut off his head just like that! With children to see!”

A man shouted, his face white. Rie recoiled. A public execution? She hadn’t ever seen one. But—

“Who? A woman? Not Prost?”

The crowd nodded. One of them pointed shakily.

“She called herself Hedag! And she had an axe! And she used a Skill—”

“It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.”

One of the women who looked like she was from Lancrel murmured through pale lips. Another man just shook his head. He looked like he’d been sick.

“It was real. Dead gods, but it was. He deserved a hundred times worse.”

Many of the people nodded. But the woman shook her head repeatedly, and her eyes were wide, wild.

“No! I knew him! He can’t have—it was a lie. It cannot be true! Cannot! It was murder all the same!”

“What we saw—”

A man began, and then there was silence. A child started screaming. Someone had to sit down, shaking. Rie realized that no one was going to make sense in the hubbub. She looked at Geram.

“I need Prost. Clear me a path. Please! Let me through!”

Geram nodded, and with Rie’s calls, he forced a path through the crowd of people all rushing away from the square. Rie stepped quickly, ignoring the people trying to get her attention.

To her relief, she found Prost at the back of the crowd, shouting and restoring order. The man had a grim look in his eyes, but he wasn’t harmed either. He was shouting at the crowd, ordering them not to shove—he turned as Rie rushed towards him.

“Prost! What happened?”

The [Steward] turned to Lady Rie, and he paused. His face was pale, sweaty, but not nearly as bad as the city folk, some of whom looked like they were close to fainting.

“Elmmet’s dead, Rie.”

“How?”

Prost inhaled slowly, grimacing. Rie stared at him, her heart beating wildly, but the [Steward] was slow to reply. Prost spoke quietly, half-turning back towards the square.

“It was a woman. Hedag the [Executioner]. She appeared in the trial when Beatica and Elmmet were stirring up trouble, claiming the truth stone was false. She—she used a Skill. Revealed Elmmet’s crimes. Then she cut off his head.”

“She murdered him?”

Rie was horrified. The [Steward] shook his head.

“That wasn’t murder. That was justice.”

He spat twice to get rid of the taste in his mouth. Rie stared at him uncomprehendingly. Her eyes shifted to the blood on Prost’s pant leg, then past him towards the square. She couldn’t see the body, which was just as well; Prost knew the axe flashing down would haunt his dreams for weeks to come.

“Tell me what happened. From the start.”

Prost nodded. He and Rie turned, and with Geram’s help, they managed to calm the crowd, who really had just wanted to get away from the grisly sight. Everyone was shocked, and the children? Sick or incoherent with panic.

Again, it was the difference between city folk and villagers; the children who’d seen a butchering or lived on a farm had seen that level of blood. Just not on a Human body.

“An [Executioner]? They’re exceptionally rare! Even most cities prefer to hire someone to do it. It hardly requires someone for that one job! And she just turned up? You’re sure she wasn’t planted by Beatica?”

Prost shook his head.

“She most definitely was not. And her Skill—”

“You’re sure it revealed Elmmet’s crimes?”

“I saw the shadow him doing all of it. It was him. I’m certain. And even Beatica would say it was the truth. What that man did deserved the axe. It was just that Hedag did it then and there, after the hand.”

The [Steward] was shaking as he remembered what he had seen. Rie stared at him, uncomprehending.

“Where is she now? Did you arrest her?”

“Arrest her? For what?”

“Killing a man in—”

The [Lady] had to stop and take a breath. Prost was clearly shaken himself. He shook his head.

“The crowd bolted, and I had to keep them from trampling each other. I’ve no idea where she is. I think she might be in the square still.”

“In that case, we need to arrest her.”

“For what? Show me a man or woman there who’ll say it was wrong. His wife won’t. His daughter?”

Prost spat again.

“If Hedag hadn’t done it, he wouldn’t have left that square alive after what I saw.”

“That’s not the point. People are panicking, and rumors will spread. Beatica will twist this, no matter what the people there saw. There must be a proper inquiry and an announcement—Geram, find Beniar.”

“I can arrest this woman myself.”

The [Fist Fighter] looked back down the street. Rie shook her head.

“Absolutely not. She has an axe; get Beniar and some of his [Riders] to back you up. Bring her to—to the throne room. And then we’ll call an assembly of everyone we can and—”

She was fumbling, looking around, trying to figure out what they’d do exactly when the second shriek split the air. Prost’s head jerked up. He and Rie looked at each other. This time, neither one wasted time asking questions. They just ran in the direction of the sound.

This was how they gathered, staring at the cauldron of ruined soup on the ground. With a murder of crows spiraling in the air. With a woman, Rehanna, lying on the ground, clutching her ruined hand as Nesor tried to heal her. Rie and Prost burst out of the crowd, which had doubled in size, and took in the moment at once. They looked at Durene, Wiskeria, Rehanna, and then up.

A…woman perched on the neatly thatched roof of the house. She had to be a woman. She had the right figure. The correct face, thin and angular, but still with its own beauty. And dark skin.

She perched like a raven. Or one of the crows circling the street overhead. And she just smiled as she looked down at Rehanna, who was screaming and clutching at her hand. Lady Rie looked at the bleeding, charred mess of her hand and then at the doorknob with blackened flesh hanging on the knob. Her stomach turned, but she kept control of it.

“It was a curse! She did it!”

One of the women pointed unsteadily up at the woman on the roof. The crowd, already uneasy, turned to panic as news of what had happened in the trial spread. And then the panic turned to fear. Hostility. Rie felt it gathering around her. She stared up at the woman and stepped forwards.

“Enough!”

Rie’s shout calmed everyone for a second. They looked at her, Riverfarm folk, Lancrel’s refugees, Prost, Durene, Wiskeria, and the woman on the rooftop. Rehanna had mercifully fainted as the potion healed her hand. In the silence, Rie pointed a finger.

“Who are you? How dare you attack one of Riverfarm’s people? This village is under the protection of Emperor Laken Godart—”

“I know.”

The woman stared down at Lady Rie. Rie hesitated.

“Why did you attack Rehanna?”

“‘Twas a rudeness done. An ill for goodwill. I just repaid her in kind.”

The woman answered as naturally as if Rie had asked why the sky was blue. She leapt down onto the street, landing lightly, and the crowd backed up. But it was to Wiskeria the woman turned. She nodded and reached up to her hat.

“Wiskeria. I greet thee.”

“Mavika. Why are you here? I told you I wasn’t coming.”

Wiskeria stared at Mavika, her face pale. Rie turned to stare at her.

“You know her? Wiskeria?”

“She’s a [Witch].”

The word repeated itself through the crowd, from person to person. [Witch]? [Witch]!

Witch. And Rie focused on the pointed hat on both womens’ heads. Then she had a terrible premonition. A thought. But it was nothing to the look on Wiskeria’s face. Slowly, the young woman looked around. She met Durene’s gaze, then Mavika’s.

“Mavika. Did the coven come with you? This is my ground. You weren’t invited! Why are you here?”

The bird-like [Witch] smiled. Bitterly, knowingly. With a crow’s mocking laughter hidden in her eyes. And a raven flew down among the crows and landed on her arm. Mavika reached up to stroke its head. She said only this:

“It is not my coven, Wiskeria. There are six. The seventh is coming.”

She pointed, and every head turned. Silently, the folk of Riverfarm looked down the streets towards the gates. And the last [Witch] arrived silently and without fuss. She was the most terrifying of them all.

Day 56 – Ryoka

After three days of running, Ryoka was relieved to see Riverfarm in the distance. She assumed it was the same village; it looked nothing like she remembered. Far too large and…but it was the right place, she was sure.

It had been a taxing run. So Ryoka smiled as she saw the village. Charlay was even more ecstatic. The Centauress let out a whoop of pleasure as she pointed at Riverfarm in the distance.

“Hah! We made it at last! I’ll race you to the gates! Last one there’s a stinky Selphid!”

She took off, racing ahead at full-speed. Ryoka blinked at her and then cursed.

“Hey! Charlay, damn it, wait—”

She charged after Charlay, but the Centauress was a horse. Ryoka couldn’t catch up with her! The City Runner slowed. She wasn’t going to charge into the village huffing and panting. She needed a plan.

She’d come here to help Laken. And to find out what he’d done with Riverfarm and who he’d become since she’d parted ways with him. Apparently, he was a ways from the village, but Ryoka had to deliver the potions to a ‘Lady Rie’. Who was a real noble, apparently. Failing that, a Mister Prost. Ryoka remembered Prost’s name, but a [Lady]? She had to tread carefully. Figure out how she could introduce herself and help. If help was what she should do.

“I have to play it cool. Charlay will help with that. I’m just a Runner—unless they’re expecting me. What did Laken tell them?”

Ryoka murmured as she ran past a forest encroaching towards the road. She hadn’t thought this through enough. She couldn’t be old Ryoka. Then again, what was new Ryoka’s game? What could she do?

Suddenly, Ryoka stopped in the road. She didn’t know why. Only that the wind at her back had gone still. It had been blowing gently behind her. But all of a sudden it died. And the young woman felt a cold chill run down her spine.

There was no reason for it. One moment she was running, the next, her legs had stopped on her. Ryoka reached for the wind, but it was gone. Not rebellious, not refusing to listen to her.

Gone.

And the Runner girl realized she was no longer alone. It was a prickling of her thumbs, a tingling on the back of her neck. As she turned, she saw them.

Dead bodies. Lying in the shadows of the trees. Men and women, hacked to pieces. Blood had run and dried, but the ground was still wet in places. And the forest held them.

It was a lovely, blue, clear, dry day. Ryoka stared at the dead bodies. A dozen had died, at least. She took a step back. She’d missed them, but there they lay. Bandits? Travellers? She looked around and felt it again.

Something was out there. The young woman reached for her belt and stopped. Her head turned. The dirt road was blank. Riverfarm seemed very far away in the distance. There was no one here.

But there was. The shadows seemed longer across the ground. The forest grew in the distance, and the branches of nearby trees reached for Ryoka. She looked around, and her skin crawled, and the hairs on her body rose. Something was watching her.

Her missing fingers ached. Slowly, carefully, Ryoka let go of her belt knife and reached for something in her bag of holding. Her fingers came out holding a caltrop. Pure, cold iron. Ryoka tossed it to her other hand and reached back into her bag of holding. She came out with a cross, the tip sharpened like a stake.

It didn’t make her feel better. Something was out there, and Ryoka felt terribly, terribly cold. Too late, she remembered the run on the Winter Solstice. Not when she’d come to Riverfarm, but when she’d left it.

She had been in a forest then. Ryoka’s head slowly turned. The dead faces lying amongst the trees stared at her. She backed away, her heart pounding. She shouldn’t have come here. It was a trap.

Ryoka turned to run. Then she saw her. She was standing on the road in front of Ryoka, not a dozen paces away. She was so obvious that Ryoka didn’t know how she had missed her.

A tall woman straightened from one of the bodies. Blue, but so dark in color as to appear black. Long and draping; a robe tattered by a hundred thousand cuts and frays in it. Rich cloth torn to shreds.

No—wait—Ryoka blinked, and the cloth was whole and plain. It was so long as to almost pool behind the woman and simple. A traveller’s robes—

Blink.

—Ancient fabric covered with delicate ornamentation. Tiny skulls and fields of wheat blending and melding together into the seam of her robes. So tiny Ryoka shouldn’t have seen them from here, but perfectly magnified. A sweeping march of the crests of kingdoms, and a thousand banners, each bearing a different crest, rising up over old fabric that shone like magic itself.

Then the robes were just robes, and Ryoka saw the woman’s head turn. She had black hair, which ran down to her waist, and she was tall. Seven feet tall? She cast a vast shadow that stretched before her. Not just from her mere height; the hat on her head was wide enough to cast her entire body into shade. Its wide brim was ungainly but for how she wore it. And it was pointed.

Ryoka took a step back. Her hands were shaking. This was no specter or dream. This woman was real. But Ryoka felt it. The same feeling she sometimes got from Ivolethe. The feeling of the Solstice. From Teriarch. Her fingers hurt.

The woman hadn’t seen her. She had been inspecting the dead, her fingers touching the red stains on the ground. When she stood—

Her robes rustled, and she cast her eyes towards the horizon. The air rustled around the woman. Fled, carrying cobwebs off around her.

Strands of thread, like a storm. Filaments of gossamer web that became a sea of vanishing particles. The woman opened her hand, as if to catch them, and for a second—her eyes followed the webs as they vanished.

Then she was utterly still. Eyes fixed on something Ryoka couldn’t see; Ryoka could not take her eyes away from the stranger. Only after a second did those eyes roll—following the wind as it gusted away, whirling around the frozen City Runner. Then they focused on Ryoka.

The woman had seen her.

She walked beneath the shade, abandoning the stain of red. Her stride was slow, unhurried. As she approached, Ryoka saw her face beneath the hat.

There was no expression on the woman’s face. Neither surprise nor curiosity. Nor anger, not sadness. Just a blank stare. And her eyes—her eyes! Ryoka stared into them. They weren’t a normal person’s eyes.

The woman’s pupils were all wrong. She had not one, but multiple irises, each one smaller and smaller, disappearing into the center of her eyes. And in each iris, the color of her eyes was orange. A pumpkin’s color, the color of fire, carrots. Tiger’s stripes, rust. Black rings dividing her eyes into ever-smaller irises.

Orange glowing beneath the hat with more light than the sun had to offer. It seemed as if Ryoka could fall into those eyes.

Ryoka felt her breath coming in quick bursts. The caltrop was digging into her hand, the points drawing blood. The stake was slippery in her other hand. The woman stopped in front of her, and Ryoka realized the woman was taller than her. Not thin, not wide. But she seemed to block out the sun. She looked down at Ryoka. And then she bent forwards.

Down—Ryoka had never met a woman who had to stoop to get eye to eye with her. The head tilted left. Right. Then the woman sniffed.

At this, Ryoka did flinch backwards. The woman inhaled—narrowed her eyes, then stared at Ryoka. The Wind Runner, reflexively, jogged back a few steps. The woman remained still, stooped in that odd posture, staring. Her eyes followed Ryoka as the Wind Runner edged back.

She didn't move. Ryoka edged back another step, saw those eyes shift slightly—then stare ahead. They flicked from Ryoka to Riverfarm, as if noticing something. Then to Ryoka—then there was that sniffing again.

What was she staring at—? Ryoka looked around, wondering if it was—

The woman was right in front of her. There was no way she could have moved, but she was right there, the same posture, but she had bridged the distance until she and Ryoka were almost nose-to-nose.

“Gah!”

Ryoka leapt back in terror, now, well and true fright. But the woman just tilted her head one last time. Then she straightened.

Tall, face impassive, she stood there for…minutes. How long, Ryoka couldn’t say, but like someone cornered by a strange beast, she just stood there. The City’s Runner’s legs were shaking until the woman’s eyes boring into her head blinked. She blinked—spoke.

“Hello. A fine day it is, traveller.”

Her voice was deep. Quiet. And it had a reverberation, a subtle echo to it. But the words were normal. Ryoka started. She felt sweat running down her back. The woman stared down at her. After a moment, she looked up and gestured at the sky. She wore black gloves. No—black wrappings, a thin cloth wrapped around each finger and hand. Only the skin on her face was visible. The woman went on, staring up at the sky.

“A fine day to travel upon any road. Dry. Although it should be raining. Thundering. But the skies are clear. It bodes ill.”

She looked down at Ryoka. Her tone was trying to be conversational, but there was nothing normal about her. Behind her, the bodies lay in death. The shadows seemed to slowly be moving. The woman stared at Ryoka. She glanced once at the caltrop and stake-cross. Then at Ryoka’s face as if they didn’t exist.

“I seek sanctuary. I have been invited and name myself Great Witch of Terandria. By my hat, I claim entry to these lands and the hospitality of the realm. Allow it me, I pray you.”

“Wha—who—?”

Nothing about this made sense. But the words snapped Ryoka out of her paralysis. Uncertainly, she lowered her hands. She let go of neither weapon, though. The woman was asking for sanctuary? Ryoka glanced past the woman at the dead people on the road.

“The bodies—”

The woman blinked slowly. Then her head turned. She regarded the bodies as if she’d forgotten they existed. She turned back to Ryoka and nodded.

“Yes. Death.”

Her tone was completely disinterested. As if the dead were leaves or branches. Ryoka licked her lips.

“Did you cause that? I mean—did you see what happened?”

It seemed to her that if the woman had done it, she would seem guilty or at least—invested. For answer, the woman thought about the question, then replied slowly.

“I saw neither murder nor ghost. I am seeking Riverfarm. Do you know where it lies?”

The woman looked at Ryoka. The City Runner hesitated.

“It’s behind you. Down the road.”

The woman’s head turned again. She regarded the village in the distance.

“I see. It was not here the last time I visited.”

That was all she said. There was no embarrassment, no pointing out it was in plain view. The woman turned to Ryoka.

“I thank you for your help, messenger. I must continue my journey. I am late. A fair morning to you. A pleasure to meet someone on the road.”

Normal words. But those eyes. The feeling in her bones—Ryoka shuddered. The woman was just staring at her after saying her goodbyes. And Ryoka was sure she was something beyond just Human. Something like—Az’kerash?

Part of her wanted to run. But the rest had to ask. Ryoka took a shaky breath.

“I—uh—no problem. I’m—my name is—Ryoka Griffin. What’s yours?”

She wondered if that was a mistake. But the woman didn’t react to Ryoka’s name. She just waited and then replied.

“I am called Belavierr.”

“Nice to meet you.”

A pause.

“A fair day’s greetings, yes.”

The two regarded each other. Ryoka warily, Belavierr as if…Ryoka were a perplexing obstacle. She didn’t seem to need to blink except when she chose. Ryoka took another breath.

“I, uh—you have business in Riverfarm? Would you like to travel together, Mis—Belavierr?”

“I do not believe that would be wise. My mount does not tolerate strangers.”

“Mount?”

Ryoka stared at Belavierr. The woman nodded once. Her voice dropped, and she stood there again, wistfully, raising one hand towards the sun itself, as if in regret.

“Though I had no cause to ride him for an age.”

She turned and gestured. Only then did Ryoka notice the horse. It was standing in the forest, pawing the ground and snorting quietly. It was a giant of an animal. Ryoka gaped. How had she missed it? Belavierr turned and walked towards it. The animal had no saddle, but she hoisted herself up without missing a beat.

The stallion was black and huge, a beast of an animal that could put a warhorse to shame for sheer size. But the woman was tall enough herself, and with that hat, she cut a dramatic figure riding on it.

“I thank thee for your help, friend of winds.”

Belavierr looked flatly at Ryoka and spoke without emotion or inflection. So saying, she turned, and the horse began to walk ahead down the road towards Riverfarm. Ryoka thought that was it. But the woman remained turned in her seat.

Staring at Ryoka. Her ringed eyes never left Ryoka’s face. And the young woman was held by the gaze. The horse walked forwards, but Belavierr kept staring. For a minute, three, seven—until she was a distant shape heading towards Riverfarm. Only then, far, far in the distance, did she turn.

Ryoka felt the moment the woman’s eyes left her. She shuddered, and only then did the wind return, blowing against her back. She heard a buzzing sound, dodged backwards reflexively, and saw a large insect with too many legs flying towards the bodies. She smelled the scent of iron in the air and death. Ryoka gagged, then peered down the road.

A distant horse and rider were heading towards the village. Ryoka stared at Belavierr’s back. At the dead people. Then she looked down the road. She could run. She could leave. But—Charlay was in Riverfarm. She’d taken the request. And Belavierr wasn’t the three strangers in the forest. She wasn’t Az’kerash. Or Teriarch. Or Ivolethe.

But she was something. Ryoka didn’t know what, but she had a guess. She fixed on her hands. Blood ran from where the caltrop had dug into her palm.

“‘By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.’ Fuck. Laken, what have you done?”

Then she ran towards Riverfarm. When she arrived, it was in time to see Belavierr walking down the main street. As Ryoka drew close to the scene, she felt the same presence. The same feeling that the shadows were moving around her.

Rehanna, lying on the ground, her burnt flesh on the doorknob. The blood of Elmmet running down the main square of Riverfarm. A crowd staring at the overturned cauldron. Prost, Rie, Durene, and Wiskeria confronting the woman as crows circled overhead. This was the tableau. Only, it wasn’t a quiet stage. The people were beginning to scream at the [Witch], Mavika. Some were calling for Beniar, and he was riding forwards, escorting a giant of a woman. Multiple events coming into confluence.

But it was Mavika’s pointing finger that drew the attention to her. The lone figure on horseback. She walked down the street calmly, sedately. But her presence drew all that had followed before her into silence.

Clop. Clip. Clop. She rode into the center of Riverfarm, down the street in the center of all of it. Belavierr rode straight for the crowd, and the people parted nervously. But the woman, against expectations, stopped. She dismounted from her horse and patted it. With everyone watching, the woman whispered in the horse’s ear, and it trotted back the way it had come to graze on some grass outside the village. Then, she turned and looked around.

Her eyes glowed beneath the hat. The people shuddered. But Belavierr took no notice. She stared through them, and her gaze focused on only one person.

Wiskeria. The young woman stood in the crowd, and her face went pale. She turned away from Mavika. Durene, standing next to her, heard her whisper.

“It can’t be. Why is she here?”

“Who?”

Durene, bewildered, looked at Wiskeria. But the [Witch] didn’t answer. Mavika, however, did.

“So that is the seventh.”

The bird-like woman seemed to hesitate, but then she strode forwards as the raven landed on her shoulder. Mavika walked past Wiskeria, past Rie and Prost and the crowd. They sprang away from her as the crows flew low, following their mistress. Belavierr paused. And then another person stepped out of the frozen world.

Hedag walked past Beniar and Geram. A young woman strolled down the street. She joined the three, making them four.

Witch Alevica was glancing from face to face, first at Mavika, paling and touching her hat in awe, then Hedag, whispering to a little girl who was staring at Mavika in terror, Eloise who Alevica seemed least impressed by, the tall woman, Califor, with a look of incredulity…

Hedag, Alevica accorded vague respect, and Belavierr she stared at without any comprehension at all. Alevica’s voice was loud enough to hear.

“By my hat! That’s Witch Mavika herself. Be polite, Nanette. And the Hedag? The Eloise is here, and the Califor herself? I mean, that’s your master, but mine should be here, not me! Wait. Who’s…?”

She didn’t know the tallest of the lot, Belavierr. But when she saw the others walking together, Alevica hurried forwards.

A pair followed them. An older woman and a child, who raised her pointed hat to Mavika and received the same. But they stopped when they saw the tall woman.

“Of course.”

Califor sighed, and Nanette tipped her hat to the tall woman, who had not acknowledged the others. Hedag winked at Nanette, but her eyes, Mavika’s, and Califor’s fixed on the woman called Belavierr.

“Should we call an end to this here and now? Good to see you, Califor. I tip my hat to thee.”

Hedag’s voice was merry, and the blood on her axe was still wet. Califor pursed her lips.

“Too late to stop. Who else?”

Her head turned, and an old woman approached, greeting the other six with a warm smile. Eloise tipped her hat to the others. Then her eyes stole to the tall woman.

“So that is why Agratha claimed she was not invited. We might have expected this—”

Whatever she might have said was cut short by Mavika’s harsh voice.

“Silence. There are words for after. Now matters, no matter who and why we came.”

At this, Eloise ducked her head, and the women were silent. Then, all of them looked back down the street.

When they walked, it was together.

A young woman—no, a girl who might have been twelve wearing a dark blue hat with a wrinkle near the tip. Leading her, a stern-faced woman, her hat properly black, but a lighter shade of it, as were her robes, made for riding and travel, walking forwards without regard to whoever was in the way.

The short, smiling, elderly woman who’d been sipping at tea. Her hat appeared on her grey locks, decorated with still-fresh sunflower heads, a friendly grey hat bestrewn with color. She strolled along, her face wrinkled, pleasant, her gait quicker to keep up with the others.

The hunched figure who’d cast a curse. A flock of black birds circled overhead as she walked. Her hat was as black as shade, bearing a crow that cawed as it fluttered its wings, dislodging a feather.

A young woman with pale, pink eyes strode forwards. She wore a purple, professionally tailored hat, narrower and sloped to prevent it leaving her head at speed. She carried a broom on one shoulder, and her steps were light.

Next to her strode a giant of a woman, nearly as tall as Durene, and with arms heavy with muscle. Her smile was like sunshine, warm and glowing, but with harsh brilliance hidden beneath. Her hat was brown and worn, a travelling companion. Stained with dark liquid in places.

In the middle of them, the woman who did not belong, who made the shadows twitch. Her hat was wide, blue as the depths of the ocean, so unfathomably dark as to be close to black, and as old as she was. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes never left Wiskeria’s.

Seven of them. They walked down the street, small and tall, old and young, smiling and silent. Shoulder-to-shoulder. And their pointed hats marked them.

Witches.

They stopped in the street, ignoring the folk of Riverfarm, Rie, Prost, even Durene. It was Wiskeria who they looked at. Each [Witch] stepped forwards, one after another from…youngest to oldest? The girl was first.

Nanette. She trembled, aware of the eyes on her as she raised her hat and bowed at the same time.

“W-Witch Wiskeria? I tip my hat to thee.”

Alevica winked and simply raised her hat an inch, grinning with amusement at Wiskeria.

“Heya, Wis, I tip my hat to you.”

Next, Miss Califor, whose delivery was as smooth and precise as Nanette’s had been stuttering.

“Witch Wiskeria, I tip my hat to thee.”

After her, Hedag. The woman boomed as she swept her hat off, revealing her hair.

“Young Wiskeria! I tip my hat.”

Eloise was next. The old woman bowed as she tipped her hat, her voice kind.

“Wiskeria, a pleasure. I tip my hat to you, child.”

Second-last was Mavika. Her gaze was familiar, and she raised her hat silently, dislodging the crow.

“Wiskeria, to thee my hat I tip.”

Then it was Belavierr’s turn. She stepped forwards, and all but Wiskeria stepped back. Her face was expressionless. It had not changed one whit this entire time, not in greeting the others or before. But Ryoka, panting, standing next to Charlay in the back, saw something happen as Belavierr raised her hat. Her features changed ever so slightly. She—smiled.

“Daughter, I tip my hat to thee.”

Ryoka thought it was a smile. It was awkward on her face and gone in a flash. But she had seen it. So had Wiskeria. The [Witch] faced the seven as Belavierr stepped back. And she hesitated. Her hand rose to her hat. Then it stopped.

“What are you all doing here?”

The [Witches] paused. Mavika frowned darkly, and Eloise looked rueful. Hedag just shook her head. Miss Califor’s disapproval was written on hers. Nanette was terrified. Alevica just grinned wider. Wiskeria looked from face to face. Belavierr’s was the last she focused on.

“Mavika? Why are you here? Let alone Witch Eloise and Hedag! How far did you come? You—you must be Califor. And you!”

Her head swung from face to face as the older women, Mavika, Eloise, Hedag, and Califor, regarded her. But it was the oldest woman that Wiskeria pointed at angrily, aggressively. Even Mavika seemed shocked as Wiskeria raised her voice.

“This is not your ground, Mother. And this isn’t your coven! This is my land—begone!”

It did nothing to Belavierr’s blank expression. The tallest [Witch]’s voice was calm.

“I claim hospitality, Daughter. My home is but embers. My great work has been ruined by song and flame. Will you not smile for me?”

Belavierr answered Wiskeria, and the [Witch] just stared at her. Her eyes flashed.

“I don’t care. We have parted ways, and I deny you. I am not your daughter any longer, but a [Witch] in my own right. By my craft and on my hat, I claim this place. Leave or be a witch who honors no tradition or vow among our kind!”

Belavierr did not move. Mavika hissed.

“She is here by invitation. By pact and promise. A coven was convened. Seven—Nanette is the apprentice. You are the last.”

Wiskeria turned red. She raised her voice to the point of shouting, glaring at each [Witch] in turn.

“A coven? Who convened it? Not me! I wasn’t consulted, and you, Mavika? You attacked a member of Riverfarm! And Hedag—! Where’s Oliyaya? Why would she allow this?”

Eloise exchanged a glance with Mavika, and the bird-[Witch]’s expression was dark. It was Miss Califor who spoke in a clear, carrying tone.

“Witch Wiskeria. I greet you twice. I hear your objections, but we are [Witches] from across this continent and, indeed, world. We have travelled far and at inconvenience to be here. Your shock I well understand. Your ties with your mother I shall not interfere in.”

Belavierr’s eyes flicked sideways to Califor, and Wiskeria turned to the other [Witch], hesitating. Califor went on.

“As to the rest, I regret to say it is here we must stay, your greeting or not. Witch Oliyaya could not attend, but seven witches were called for, and seven have arrived. No matter who—”

She glanced at Belavierr, then at Alevica, who clearly felt like she was the odd one out, staring wide-eyed at the others—

“We must stay. I ask for your blessing and friendship. I would hate to quarrel amongst our own.”

“What? Why?”

For answer, all the [Witches] present looked to Belavierr. Alevica’s grin faded. Hedag lowered the axe on her shoulder to the ground and leaned on it. Eloise lowered her hat’s brim.

And Belavierr? She lifted something up. She had not been holding it a second before, but now her hands were full. What she held was a hat.

It was pointed. Green, forest green. A smaller hat than the one she wore, classically pointed, tied with a yellow ribbon around the base. Wiskeria’s eyes widened when she saw it.

“That’s—Witch Mamie’s—”

She looked up, her face suddenly pale. Belavierr met her daughter’s eyes. Slowly, she turned the hat. And Wiskeria saw the hole around the brim of the hat. The faded, dried blood.

The street was still. Ryoka, staring at the hat in Belavierr’s hands, understood what it meant. Everyone did. A [Witch]’s hat. Wiskeria took it as her mother offered it to her, her hands shaking. She stared at the hole, then at Mavika.

“How—why wasn’t I told? When did it happen? Who did this?”

Her voice broke on the last words. The bird-[Witch] didn’t reply. Slowly, Mavika looked up. A crow swooped down. And dropped something into her hands.

The second hat fell slowly, and it was small. A red hat, too vibrant and stylish to be immediately a [Witch]’s—save for the pointed tip. Red, fancy. Torn across the brim twice. Mavika caught it and held it out. Wiskeria stared at it, face now completely bloodless.

“Witch Tillica?”

She jerked as Hedag reached into the pack she carried and brought something out. A yellow hat, or at least, it had been, stained by many years and time. And at the end, blood. By her side, Alevica reached into her bag of holding and brought out another hat. Eloise, Califor, even Nanette, her hands shaking. It wasn’t just one. Belavierr lifted a second hat. And then a third. She placed them on the ground; Wiskeria was frozen.

Hat after hat. Pointed, rounded, old and new. Twenty of them in the end. They sat on the ground, torn, broken, bloody. Some were in pieces, barely recognizable. Others could have been store-bought. A bit further away, Ryoka stared at the line of hats neatly lined up, and small bumps raced up her arms.

“What happened?”

Wiskeria’s lips were bloodless. Mavika was the one she turned to first and then, slowly, to Belavierr. Only her mother’s face hadn’t changed as the hats were placed on the ground. Alevica had bitten her lip hard enough to draw blood, and Califor had drawn a shaking Nanette to her. The other [Witches] waited as Califor spoke.

“A fortnight past, the Marshlands Coven was called upon by strangers. Without Witch Mavika, they met and were made an offer. They refused. And they died. Witch Mavika found those responsible and delivered vengeance on those who bloodied their blades. Not the ones who made the offer. Witches are being hunted once again.”

For some reason, Califor’s eyes swung to Belavierr, but the tall [Witch] ignored her. Wiskeria’s eyes narrowed as she met her mother’s gaze, but she turned to Califor. Califor indicated Mavika, whose head was bowed.

“Each hat of the dead coven was taken and a ritual cast. To six [Witches] a hat was sent by wind or person, by chance or fate. Six—to form a new coven here that the plight of [Witches] be addressed.”

Eloise took over. The shortest [Witch] save Nanette raised her voice, speaking in an official tone.

“We call upon Witch Wiskeria to join us in a coven. And we claim the rights of travellers to stay in Riverfarm. We claim sanctuary. We shall remain here until His Majesty, Emperor Laken, may meet with us. We have matters of importance to discuss. An offer. A bargain to be made. While we wait, we shall offer our services.”

At her words, Belavierr smiled, as if something had occurred to her suddenly. She raised one hand, and a needle appeared. It was made of bone, polished and worn, and Ryoka shuddered to see it. The other [Witches] nodded, Hedag with her axe, Mavika holding a bird on one arm. Miss Califor and Nanette stood together. Eloise sighed and adjusted her hat filled with flowers. Alevica winked at Ryoka in the crowd.

And Wiskeria, holding the hat, looked around, lost, and then at her mother. Ryoka saw a familiar look on Wiskeria’s face too, though she had never met the [Witch] before. But Ryoka understood the look on the daughter’s face as she gazed up at her mother. Dislike, confusion, anger—

Ah, family. Hedag boomed as she looked down at Wiskeria.

“Will you offer us your greeting, Witch Wiskeria? We would not have come if we were not needed. We call for you, witch.”

Mavika nodded.

“A witch you are. A witch we need.”

Wiskeria was lost for words. The bloody hats swayed her, shocked her, and yet—her eyes swung upwards. To the woman claiming to be her mother. She stood there, in silence, as Nanette held onto Califor’s hand, and Alevica looked around, hunching her shoulders. At last, Wiskeria exhaled.

“I greet you, sisters. I apologize. And I do tip my hat to you all. Welcome. I accept this dire coven and join you.”

She touched the brim of her hat, tipping it up, and the other [Witches] relaxed. As if something tense had suddenly been relieved. Hedag smiled, Mavika nodded, and Eloise gave Wiskeria a nod. Califor’s features didn’t change. She watched as Wiskeria turned two bright eyes upwards, and her features contorted into a scowl.

“—to all but you.”

She looked Belavierr in the eyes, and the [Witch] spoke.

“I claim right of hospitality, Daughter. I must.”

Wiskeria jabbed a finger at the taller woman.

“I can’t stop you. But you are unwelcome, Mother. Unwelcome, unwanted, and unloved. Know that—the rest of you, welcome to Riverfarm.”

She turned away. Alevica began to whistle, fell silent, and Nanette looked shocked by this response. So did Durene and everyone else who knew the mild-mannered Wiskeria. The Coven stood there, clearly not having received the greetings they expected.

And the unexpected witch? The one rejected by her very daughter?

Belavierr’s eyes slowly drifted away from her daughter’s stare as Wiskeria stormed away. She straightened and stood there, like a statue. Slowly, her head rotated, taking in the village, the people, and everyone waited for the witch known as Belavierr to do something. Say something.

When the [Witch] spoke, her lips moved upwards and she held them there, as if that was all a smile was. She said:

“A fair morning to you all.”

6.38

The sun was rising on another peaceful day in Liscor. The birds were singing, the flowers growing. Although, it had to be said, the native population of Ashfire Bees that normally pollinated the entire Floodplains area was trapped in a cavern, and thus the reproduction rate of Liscor’s ambient flora might well halve itself in the near future with the loss of a keystone species.

And the only reason the birds were alive was because a certain Antinium Worker wasn’t perched in his tower, happily sniping down anything with wings. In that sense, the peaceful day actually lacked the pleasant birdsong followed by the thwap of a bowstring and a terrible squawk for it to be completely regular.

But it was peaceful. If things were different, well, they were the same in some areas. A single Ashfire Bee greeted the day as she buzzed from flower to flower inside The Wandering Inn, pollinating and getting happily high off the nectar. And there was a Worker on the roof of the inn. He had a hammer, a tin filled with nails, and a purpose.

He was laying down a roof on the rebuilt third floor of the inn. The frame had been created, the floor laid, but the roof had yet to be finished. So this Worker had been assigned to his duties at dawn by Belgrade; he had clambered onto the roof with a large supply of roof tiles, copper nails, and begun hammering them into place.

The Worker had no safety belt or gloves. Or anyone to spot him. And he was three stories up, balancing on the thin frames while he used all four hands to laboriously bring tiles over from the roofed section of the inn, balance them on a crossbeam, hammer them into place, and not tumble to his death if he so much as took a step backwards.

All things considered, this was one of the safer jobs he could have been asked to do in service of his Hive, and the Worker was content. He was no Individual or even Autonomous, the new class below Individual. He hammered in his last roof tile, carefully overlapping it with the last one so water would flow down unimpeded when it rained with no chance to leak into the building below. He was working hard and precisely. Water could not be allowed inside the inn. That was a bad thing. That was all the Worker thought about.

Aside from the fact that he needed new tiles. The Worker looked up and saw them in a large basket balanced a dozen feet to the left. He would have to get up, transport more over, and begin hammering again. It was inconvenient and slow, but the Worker was alone, and a job was a job. So he got up, balancing carefully so as to not tip over the edge of the roof and die—

And a roof tile soared out of the basket, through the air, and landed right on top of the next spot in front of the Worker. He stared at it, then looked around. The roof tile had flown! And it was right in the next spot where he needed to put the next roof tile. Just like that. The Worker stared at the tile. He stared at the basket.

Normal [Builders], or rather, non-Antinium, would have stopped to ask questions. They would have searched for a [Mage], maybe stopped working to check if they had company. At the very least, they would have made a verbal comment. But this Worker wasn’t about to panic or ask questions. He was a [Roofer]. He saw a tile? He hammered nails into it.

The Worker positioned a nail, and another hand swung while his last two steadied himself on the roof and the tile in place. One, two, three—the nail went in. The Worker hammered four more nails in and looked up in time to see another tile flying into place right above the tile he’d just affixed to the roof. He stared at it. Then he raised his hammer.

More nails, each hammered quickly into place. This time, the Worker looked up and saw the next tile flying towards him. He edged out of the way, and it moved into place. Without missing a beat, he grabbed more nails in his lower-left hand and got to work. Now this was easy!

One tile. Two. Three…they flew into place, just waiting for the nails! The Worker had a rhythm going. Then he saw the tiles flying and the nails with it! It slapped itself into place and the nails drove themselves in. The Worker stared. The next five tiles affixed themselves to the roof as he watched. Whatever magic or…whatever was doing it was far more efficient than the Worker and as precise as he could ever be. The tiles flew, landed and then, after the tenth one—

Stopped. The Worker stared at his basket. There were still more tiles and more nails in his tin. But the tiles had stopped moving. The Worker hopefully made his way over to the basket and picked one up. He tossed it up gently into the air. It obeyed the laws of gravity, and he caught it before it landed.

The Worker stared at the tile. His antennae drooped slightly, and he slowly got back to work the slow, mundane way. Below him, Erin, Lyonette, and Mrsha stared up at the roof and looked at each other. Erin breathed out as she lowered her hand. Mrsha’s eyes were shining, and Lyonette was biting her lip. Erin grinned at her handiwork.

“That’s so cool.”

—–

“[Partial Reconstruction]!”

In the very early morning in her quiet inn, Erin shouted the word and pointed. Ceria, nursing a hangover, winced. But she watched along with the others as the broken chair, a mess of splinters and wood pieces, quickly rebuilt itself. The wood fused as the half-Elf stared, and in less than ten seconds, a completely intact chair sat across from her. The half-Elf whistled softly.

“Now that’s a powerful Skill.”

“It’s amazing! Did you see that? Seborn, hey, Seborn—did you see—”

Erin grinned and looked around. Her inn was quiet and sparsely populated, but only by comparison with the last few days. It did, in fact, have nearly thirty people in it; the Players of Celum, setting up on stage, the Horns of Hammerad—except for Pisces, who was still asleep—Lyonette, Mrsha, Drassi, Ishkr, three [Barmaids], two [Servers], Apista, Relc, and…the Halfseekers.

Two of them, at least. Seborn and Moore were sitting at a table. The Drowned Man looked up and nodded briefly. He didn’t seem happy, but then, he never did. He was largely expressionless by nature, and he regarded the chair with less amazement than the others.

“I saw. Useful Skill.”

“Aw, come on. It’s amazing! Isn’t it?”

“Amazing.”

The Drowned Man dutifully replied. He sipped from his mug of water and didn’t exactly scowl. Erin pouted, then looked around.

“What about you, Relc? It’s cool, right?”

“Cool? It’s great! Hey, can I try to break another chair?”

The [Guardsman] excitedly grabbed a chair, and Mrsha nodded vigorously. He was here early on a day off, and he’d gotten to witness Erin testing out her new Skill. Erin nodded, and he grabbed a second chair.

“Alright! Stand back, Mrsha! Fix—this!”

He smashed the chair into the floorboards, and Ceria winced. The wood splinters flew everywhere, and the half-Elf raised a hand to shield her face. Mrsha, who’d obediently scooted back behind a table, ducked. But a large arm and hand gently protected her from the flying debris. Moore gave Relc a reproachful look as he savored his porridge. The Drake was too excited to notice.

“Alright, fix that, Erin!”

“You got it!”

Erin pointed, and the broken chair and floorboards reassembled themselves in moments. Relc crowed as he raised his fists.

“That is so cool! Not even magic can do that!”

“Magic can totally do that. I mean, I could do some of that if I knew [Repair]. And there’s [Reconstruct]. I bet most veteran [Mages] from Wistram could do that.”

Ceria grumbled. Relc ignored her as he turned to Erin, eyes shining.

“What level was that Skill, Erin? Level 30? Are you Level 30 already? It’s gotta be a high-level Skill, right?”

Erin blushed and waved a hand as everyone looked at her.

“Aw, well, you know…it’s really good, isn’t it?”

“It’s fantastic. That’s a proper [Innkeeper] Skill right there. Hey, can I try something bigger? Like a table?”

The young woman nodded eagerly.

“Go ahead! I wanna see what I can do! Heck, maybe I’ll rebuild the entire roof!”

“Hold on, let’s not go overboard.”

Lyonette cautioned the two, but it was too late. Relc raced over to an unoccupied table and, with considerable experience, leapt and gave it a flying elbow. The [Princess] sighed as the table cracked, and Mrsha and Erin cheered.

“Awesome! [Partial Reconstruction]! Do another, Relc!”

“Yeah, can I?”

“Go for it!”

The background crash and reassembly got boring after the third break for everyone but Erin and Relc and Mrsha. Lyonette sighed and went to fill drinks. Ceria sipped from a glass of milk and ate a plateful of spaghetti and meatballs. Yvlon, sitting across from her, wrinkled her nose.

“Ceria, don’t you think there’s better things to eat in the morning?”

The half-Elf considered this as she chewed and swallowed.

“Nope. What’s the point of having an inn where I can have any dish I want, fresh, and not having something like this?”

Yvlon opened her mouth to reply, then turned her head and stared left at Ksmvr. He looked up from his plate. He was eating porridge with Acid Flies sprinkled into it. Yvlon stared at her teammates, sighed, and shook her head.

“Why is it that I suddenly wish Pisces were here? I must be coming down with something.”

She pushed back her empty bowl just in time for Relc to hurtle past her and body slam a chair. He looked up.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

Erin pointed at the chair and mended its broken back. Relc grabbed two more chairs and jumped on a table. He smashed one on the ground.

“Yeah!?”

“Yea—oh wait, hold on. I think it’s stopped working.”

Erin said that too late. The crash this time made the Players of Celum look up from across the long room. They stared at Relc as he slowly got up from his pile of splinters where he’d done a flying body slam. Erin stared at the splinters of the table and three chairs on the floor. She pointed hopefully.

“Uh, [Partial Reconstruction]?”

Nothing happened. In truth, Erin had felt that too. She’d run out of her Skill. Relc hesitated as he got up, brushing bits of wood off his scales.

“Oops.”

Mrsha paused in trying to break a chair leg and innocently hid it behind her back. Lyonette covered her face and groaned. Moore picked a large wooden splinter out of his bowl of porridge. Seborn stared at the chairs, then went back to his drink. At his table, Ksmvr raised two hands.

“Excuse me, may I have more Acid Flies?”

It was the beginning of another day at The Wandering Inn. The fact that no one even looked surprised was a sign of how far the madness had spread.

—–

Ten minutes later, a shamefaced Erin, Mrsha, and Relc had swept the wreckage of the furniture into a corner of the inn. Lyonette propped her hands on her hips.

“What have we learned?”

Erin raised a hand.

“So I can do about three tables, uh, ten roof tiles, and five chairs in one go. After that, my Skill stops working.”

“Yup. Pretty awesome. And I can break a table with my stomach.”

Relc scratched his neck, grinning. Mrsha nodded until Lyonette stared at her. The [Princess] sighed. Erin grinned sheepishly.

“Aw, come on, Lyonette. At least we know my Skill has limits! And hey! I’ll fix the table and chairs when my Skill comes back to life!”

Lyonette gave her a reproving glance and gentle head-nod to Mrsha. Don’t encourage her! But she relented with a slight smile in the end.

“It’ll save a lot of money if we just save the broken parts and let you rebuild them later. Not to mention broken windows, mugs—can it do stains too?”

“Maybe? Let’s check after this. But I bet not. It’s reconstruction, not, uh, stain-removal.”

“Good to know we still have a job, right?”

Drassi commented as she swept by with a broom, getting the last splinters. Erin laughed. Relc nodded, satisfied. Then he glanced at Erin.

“Hey, are you going to open the door to Pallass yet? Grimalkin said he had all those weights you mentioned, and I want to try them out.”

“In a bit. I want a peaceful morning. Which is why the door stays closed! Until around late morning?”

Erin looked at Lyonette for confirmation. The [Princess] nodded.

“We need to replenish our food stocks. Which means you’re cooking, Erin. Mrsha and I will go to the park in Liscor. And the Players of Celum want practice. More importantly, we can’t handle so many people all at once. So the door to Liscor stays closed. No crowds unless they come here on foot. And they’re not allowed into Pallass either—not until the sun’s three quarters of the way up!”

She pointed at Temile on stage with his [Actors] and then at the window. Erin nodded and sighed. She wanted to open the door right now, but Lyonette had a point. Two full days of the door being open to Pallass had made a small fortune for The Wandering Inn, but also a lot of work. Relc looked disappointed, but the day-staff, including Ishkr and Drassi, looked relieved at Lyonette’s pronouncement.

“You’re the boss, Lyonette. For now.”

Erin tried to look threatening. Mrsha just raced around her. The Gnoll was excited and signaled as much with her paws.

Pat chest, smile, running motion with closed paws. Then—one arm crossed, two paws folded against head to show napping. Lyonette and Erin interpreted this.

“You like being busy, but…it’s tiring?”

Mrsha nodded happily and made a thumbs-up. Erin laughed with delight.

“I understood that too! I agree, Mrsha. It’s hectic, what with the election in Liscor and Pallass and stuff. But The Wandering Inn’s never been more crowded! Which means we’re making money, right, Lyonette?”

The [Princess] had to smile at that.

“We are. And I think we can actually afford some big changes. As well as buying Mrsha some new toys. And maybe some clothes?”

The Gnoll looked excited at the former, annoyed at the latter. Erin regarded Mrsha.

“She is naked, right?”

“Gnolls don’t really care, especially in the wild, but I think Mrsha should learn to wear something. So I’ll buy her some clothes today before we get back. If that’s okay? It shouldn’t be more than a few gold coins at most.”

Lyonette looked at Erin. The [Innkeeper] nodded. Mrsha signed from below that she wasn’t interested in clothes, but the two adults ignored her. Erin ruffled her hair.

“Come on, Mrsha. Clothes are nice! You used to steal bras, remember? And t-shirts. And shoes. Don’t worry, you can get your clothes shopping done and then help out here, okay? We’re doing really well with the inn. But you know what? It can be even better.”

Mrsha and Lyonette both looked up at that. The [Princess] raised one brow, and Erin explained with a smile.

“Opening Pallass was just the first step. Now we’re really going to improve things.”

She rubbed her hands together.

“I’ve got plans. Oh yeah. Heh. Heheheheheheh.”

Her chuckle just made Mrsha laugh silently and point at Erin’s face. Lyonette covered a smile, and Erin stopped, affronted. Then she sighed.

“I can’t do a scary laugh. You know who’s great at scary laughing? Ryoka—oh. Sorry, Mrsha.”

The Gnoll cub’s face immediately fell. So did Erin’s. Lyonette gave her a reproachful glower, and the [Innkeeper] guiltily knelt. She hugged Mrsha and lifted her upright with a small grunt.

“You’re getting heavier. Hey, sorry, Mrsha. But I’m sure Ryoka’s fine. Wherever she is. We’ll find her. Soon, Mrsha. When the Halfseekers get to Invrisil, I’ll look into it, I promise. But for today? We’re going to help our friends here. Okay? Just watch a master.”

She smiled, and Mrsha’s head rose. Her tail began to wag, and Lyonette frowned at Erin suspiciously.

“I’d prefer to just make more money, Erin. If your next plan has anything like drama in it…”

“No, not like that! I’m just leveraging…assets! When we open the doors, let me know when Grimalkin comes in, okay? Or Xif. Or Rufelt and Lasica or—anyone important, okay?”

Erin’s eyes twinkled. Lyonette sighed, but smiled. Erin Solstice had a plan. And of such things was The Wandering Inn’s reputation built. So the three split up, preparing for another day full of Erin-related shenanigans. In the inn, sitting at his table, Seborn looked up, drained half his mug of water, and cursed.

“She’s late.”

“Come on, Seborn. Don’t be so angry.”

The half-Giant carefully smiled at his friend. Seborn just glared ahead as Drassi came by with a pitcher of water.

“She’s late. And this is the third day she’s been distracted.”

“Yes, but…”

Seborn glanced up at Moore. The half-Giant shrugged helplessly.

“It’s not like she doesn’t have a reason.”

“I know. But she said—”

“It’s love, Seborn.”

“It’s infatuation. She’s so busy getting wrapped up with that Dullahan that she’s forgotten about us—”

Moore’s brows drew together.

“Why are you mad? You should be happy for our friend. And it’s not like we’re sitting in squalor here. I like this inn. Don’t you?”

“We’ve been here for months, Moore. We need to get to work. Or what are we? We’re adventurers, and our Captain’s missing.”

“But if she likes him—”

The half-Giant’s voice was gentle, sympathetic, as was his nature. Seborn, on the other hand, was clearly impatient as he shook his head.

“You and I both know she can’t have that relationship forever. He’s a [Blacksmith] in Pallass. She’s going to be working in the north. At least until we reach Invrisil. And besides which, we’re on missions for weeks away. All she’s doing is having a fling, and if she really does like him—I told you. If you two want to have sex so badly, let’s find a port city. There are brothels that cater to any species.”

It was the most the Drowned Man had said in one go for a long time, and even then, only among his group. Moore blinked, but then looked slightly affronted.

“You know she actually likes him, Seborn. How long did she say it was since she last met anyone?”

“Six years. And that was a Selphid in a port-city bar. I know. I was there, and she wouldn’t shut up for three months. So what?”

The Drowned Man crossed his arms. Moore hesitated. Seborn had been in the Halfseekers with Jelaqua from the start. Even though the half-Giant had journeyed with them for years, he forgot how long the two had been in a team.

“Well, isn’t it good, then? We should be supporting her.”

“And let her get her heart broken?”

“Maughin won’t break her heart. He’s the most open-minded Dullahan I’ve met.”

Seborn hesitated.

“Even if he is, so what? They can’t be together.”

“Why not?”

Moore gave him a deep frown over his bowl. Seborn grumbled under his breath.

“It’s a distraction. We should be working.”

“We earned a lot of money. Doesn’t Jelaqua deserve happiness? This is the first non-Selphid who’s ever really been serious about her. You know how rare that is. Especially for someone from Baleros! He’s from her home, Seborn. This is special.”

“It’s asinine. Every time she gets back here, she talks about sex, holding hands in public, or how nice he is. They’re lovebirds. He’s forging her plate armor. It’s disgusting.”

“I think it’s beautiful. I…I wish I had that.”

Moore looked dreamy, but the longing tone in his voice rang clear to his friend. Seborn grunted. It was a mark of his friendship with Moore that he bit his tongue on the first six replies. After a moment, he just looked at Moore again.

“I keep telling you to visit a brothel. They have Selphids. Or sturdy women. Or Skills. They know what they’re about. You’re not going to hurt anyone.”

“I know. You’ve said. But I mean, how many people like me are…”

Moore’s normally open face closed up. The Drowned Man sighed.

“They’re used to all sorts of customers. Me. Jelaqua. Even half-Giants. No one’s going to make fun of you. And it’ll stop you moping. Come to think of it, it would’ve stopped Jelaqua from being obsessed with this Dullahan. Just do what you need to do and stop focusing on it.”

“It’s not like that. I want to find someone I can like. Or love. I don’t want to pay for that, Seborn.”

The half-Giant [Green Mage] looked reproachfully at his friend. Seborn rolled his eyes.

“You wouldn’t say that if you’d actually done it. This is why we need new teammates. You, Jelaqua, Halassia—you were all romantics.”

The mention of their old friend made Moore blink. But then he smiled. Sadly, yes, but without the tension there had used to be. They could talk about the past now. The half-Giant shrugged, a bit defensive.

“So what if we are? Isn’t that why the Halfseekers were founded? We’re chasing a dream, Seborn. Let Jelaqua have her time with Maughin. He’s giving her gifts. They’re walking together. Talking. Maybe they’ll have to split when we go to Invrisil. Or maybe they’ll meet each other. Erin does have her door. And—who knows?”

The half-Giant looked towards the closed door, his eyes gentle. Seborn shook his head. Moore was romantic. Seborn was not. But it seemed to him—he looked up at Moore and thought his friend was hiding his true feelings well. Underneath his support of Jelaqua, there was more than a little envy. Jealousy, even. Seborn leaned across the table and poked Moore.

“I know you don’t like the idea. But you’re, what, thirty-one? I’m not having you sulk on the road if Jelaqua comes back smiling. Why do you keep waiting for someone to fall in love with you? There was that girl in Wales. That woman in Invrisil. That [Mage] from Wistram—just end it already. What’s the matter with buying—”

He stopped, because Moore seemed truly hurt. The half-Giant shuffled and turned away from Seborn, embarrassed.

“It matters to me, Seborn.”

That was that. The Drowned Man exhaled slowly and shook his head. He thought of Jelaqua last night, clinging to Maughin like a girl with her first love—which was what this was in some ways. And Moore, too afraid to smile at the women he fell in love with, to take a plunge. The Drowned Man sighed. The Halfseekers. Gold-rank adventurers and veterans in combat and rookie [Sailors] on the seas of romance. He stood up after a second.

“Come on. Let’s walk with that damn wagon for today. The donkeys are still hitched to it, but it’s only a matter of time before a [Thief] or monster sniffs around them.”

Moore considered this, and he relaxed slightly.

“Okay. Maybe we can find a stable for them. And come back tonight? I do want to have dinner with Mrsha.”

Seborn nodded without comment. The half-Giant doted on the Gnoll child. The Drowned Man walked towards the door, looking for Erin so they could warn her they were about to drain the mana from it. He sighed.

“At least we don’t have to listen to Jelaqua or wait for her to come back. I don’t need to hear Jelaqua talking about having sex or sitting on that Dullahan’s lap if they come back.”

Moore chuckled a bit.

“I’ll admit, she is graphic. Uh—Seborn?”

“Yes?”

“Is what she does—is that entirely—normal?”

The half-Giant blushed fiercely. Seborn looked up at him and wished he were miles away. On a boat. Fighting giant squid at sea was easier than this.

“No. Don’t listen to what she talks about. And don’t try it. Ever. Jelaqua’s a Selphid. Bodies are disposable. And this is probably tame for her. You don’t want to know what two Selphids do for fun.”

Moore nodded, his face and ears bright red. He and Seborn headed for the door, and the Drowned Man sighed. It was long-suffering, and for some reason, when Yvlon, sitting at her table, heard it, she felt a strange sense of kinship. Seborn adjusted the door, put his hand on it, and then heard Moore’s voice as the half-Giant leaned down and whispered.

“…So what do they do?”

—–

Four hundred miles south of the inn, Jelaqua Ivirith was humming as she tried to make breakfast. The large room and kitchen she was working in were strangely oversized for her, and indeed, the building was one of the more expensive buildings on the ninth floor. But then, the owner needed the space, and he was the best or second-best [Blacksmith] in Pallass, so it had been customized for him.

The apartment was decorated in the Dullahan style with the typical mix of refined station, showing your rank without being ostentatious about it. And since Maughin was of very high rank in the Dullahan community and a [Blacksmith] himself—they were prized in Dullahan culture—he could flaunt like no one’s business.

He had two tapestries from Baleros on the walls, one showing the Iron Vanguard in a pitched sea battle, the other of some magnificent view from Baleros. It made Jelaqua ache for home. There was a marble plinth with a carved statuette of Xol of Ingrilt, appropriate given Maughin’s own size—far larger than the average Dullahan but shorter than a typical War Walker; a custom-forged battleaxe; a shelf full of books, made twice as large for him to read; a gloriously artistic platform showcasing the Dullahan’s pottery collection—the apartment was rich.

Jelaqua, looking into the pantries, saw that each one was enchanted with a preservation spell. She whisked together some eggs, poured them into a pan over a stove which had a magical fire spell that Erin would have loved to have, and added some bacon. Her taste buds, still fresh in this particular corpse, watered at the thought of the omelette. But that was only half of what Jelaqua was working on. She was also making a sandwich.

Just a sandwich. The Selphid was well aware of her cooking Skills, but some of the omelette was going to go between some very fine fresh bread, some cheese—uh, what else did you put into sandwiches? She panicked a bit as she tried to remember. Adventurers usually went for sustenance over taste, and Jelaqua often had a body incapable of tasting anything. For a second, she thought about going to Erin’s inn for help, but she caught herself.

“No, no. I’ve got this. You put…meat into sandwiches. Meat. Does he have bananas? Bananas are tasty. And hey—if he doesn’t like it—”

She hesitated. Jelaqua looked around Maughin’s apartment and stared at her hands. She was wearing a Drake’s body. And she was…well, she wasn’t not about to go and deliver a lunch to Maughin, who was working at the forge. And maybe stick around with him. And when he finished early, they’d, oh, go to Erin’s inn maybe. Or he’d show her more of Pallass.

“This is a thing, right? This is happening?”

Jelaqua pinched herself. She felt nothing, which meant she wasn’t dreaming. The Selphid looked around, then craned her neck to see the ruffled bed sheets. She remembered last night and blushed orange.

“This is really happening?”

The Selphid touched her warm cheeks. She was so giddy she didn’t realize the eggs were burning. Then she yelped and began scraping the pan.

A few minutes later, Jelaqua nervously ate her eggs, staring at the vases. She was muttering to herself.

“Vases. He’s got good taste in them. I like pottery. I can like pottery. And we have lots in common. Tons! He’s from Baleros, I’m from Baleros—and we’re both into weapons…he really likes my personality. Aha.”

She laughed and blushed again. Happily, her tail wagging in her Drake body, the Selphid went back to preparing a lunch for Maughin. In the distance, she could hear the distant ringing of hammers through an open window. The forges weren’t far from Maughin’s home for convenience, and as the Selphid sighed and leaned on the window, she imagined it was Maughin’s hammer she was hearing.

She was not wrong. In his forge, Maughin was bending steel with his hammer, working faster and harder than his apprentices or fellow [Smiths] had seen him work in a long time. To say he was motivated didn’t capture the smile on the Dullahan’s lips or the way his head hummed as his body worked independent of it. Two of his Dullahan apprentices traded looks as they worked under his supervision.

Of course, it was a scandal in the Dullahan community. A Selphid and a Dullahan? It was only because this was Pallass and not Baleros that this could happen. Normally, a higher-ranking Dullahan would be called in to address the situation with Maughin, and this would all be settled. Or if not, there would be trouble.

But in Pallass, who would call Maughin out? The Dullahan community was small enough as it was, and there were Dullahans who’d had relationships with Gnolls and Drakes, and that had been an issue in years past. So no one brought it up. Besides, Jelaqua was a Gold-rank adventurer. That counted for something.

It was still disgusting. Bealt, the [Farrier], two Drake [Smiths], and Pelt all glowered when Jelaqua appeared, practically skipping over to Maughin with a lunch ready and made for him. And the other smiths, glowering in their forges, watched as Maughin stopped work to flirt with the Selphid. Disgusting! Completely inappropriate for this hour.

Even married [Smiths] seldom got a fresh lunch hand-delivered. Let alone had a dreamy-eyed girl—or boy in the case of female [Smiths]—watching and keeping his head company at work.

That was only the first few hours of the day. The repulsive flirting would go on, but that wasn’t really the point of the day. It was just worth mentioning that not until nine hours later would Jelaqua even recall her teammates. And when she guiltily returned to the inn, she would thank the stars that she had decided to come to the city of Liscor and stayed at The Wandering Inn. Because it had delivered her happiness. Short-lived or long, she was holding onto it.

—–

And then there was Numbtongue. He got up late for once. Late enough that Lyonette had come back with Mrsha from her morning trip. The Hobgoblin walked downstairs, and, to his surprise, found the inn had yet to be filled with more than a smattering of guests. He found out why when he poked his head into the kitchen and found Erin hard at work.

“We’re preparing for a rush! Tons of stuff to sell! And I’m going to totally work some magic! In a metaphorical sense. Hey, are the Horns still here?”

Numbtongue checked. He saw Ceria and Pisces, both of whom looked hung over. Yvlon and Ksmvr were gone. That meant they were between jobs at Liscor’s or Celum’s guilds, and the two [Warriors] were working out while the [Mages] studied magic or, as Numbtongue saw it, lazed about. He nodded.

“Yup.”

“Great.”

Erin grinned what Numbtongue now thought of as her calculating grin. She was tossing a pizza, but she stopped long enough to pull some food out for him.

“What do you want for breakfast, Numbtongue? A steak? Uh—what’s this? Ooh! Is that pickled fish? Um, spaghetti and meatballs?”

Numbtongue’s mouth watered. Part of him wanted to say ‘everything’, but he thought about it and pointed.

“Fish.”

“You like fish, huh?”

The [Bard] nodded. He let Erin serve him some wet slices of fish into a bowl. She wrinkled her nose at the breakfast, but Numbtongue happily began eating with his fingers until Erin slapped at them.

“Get a fork! And eat at a table! Drassi can get you a drink. She’s on bar duty.”

The Hobgoblin nodded and wandered out into the common room. He got a drink himself at the bar, sat down, and began to eat. After a second, he stared at his bowl.

“Yesterday, I leveled up.”

He stared at his claws and remembered the events of last night. They hit him again. [Goblin Soulbard]. He reached for a forearm and made to pinch himself, then closed his hand. Lyonette, lugging in groceries with Mrsha, opened the door just in time to see Numbtongue make a fist and wallop himself as hard as he could in the face.

“Numbtongue! What are you doing?”

Mrsha abandoned her bag to dash over. She stared at Numbtongue as he picked himself off the floor. Numbtongue rubbed at his bruised cheek and shrugged.

“Just making sure. Hi, Lyonette. Morning, Mrsha.”

Mrsha waved at him. The Hobgoblin nodded and sat back down. Lyonette stared at him, opened her mouth, and then pointed.

“Okay, let’s bring the food to the kitchen! Come on, Mrsha!”

As they went, Numbtongue stared at his claws again. They clenched into fists as he closed his eyes.

[Soulbard]. That was a purpose in itself. But more than that. More, oh so much more. It was—it wasn’t justice. It wasn’t enough for all the dead. But for one Goblin? He thought about his new Skill.

[A Minute, Reborn]. It was a Skill with serious limitations. But the utility! The use! Numbtongue knew he should be running tests to see how many times he could use it per day. Or figure out how best to use it. In the mines, perhaps? Could Pyrite locate more gemstones with his Skills? Could he use Skills?

But in this moment, there was only one thought Numbtongue had. He stared down at the bowl of half-eaten fish as Mrsha reappeared out of the kitchen and padded over to him. It was cold fish and without any other preparation. But it was good. It was tasty. Right now, all that was in Numbtongue’s heart was this. He closed his eyes.

—–

Mrsha, who had been padding over to check on Numbtongue and maybe filch some of his breakfast, saw the Hobgoblin change. No one else noticed, but Mrsha had known Numbtongue for a while. And she had keen eyes, a sensitive nose. She saw his posture change, his head snap up and look around. From body language to the look in his eyes—even his voice was suddenly, strangely, different. The Gnoll froze in alarm as the Hobgoblin glanced up, looked at his bowl, and grunted.

“Hrm.”

Then he began to eat. With one clawed hand, he picked out a piece of fish and ate it, bones and all. Mrsha heard him casually grinding the bones down, chomping through them without any problem. He grunted in satisfaction as, with his other hand, he fished around in a pouch by his side. Curiously, not so much afraid as wary, Mrsha crept closer. She had seen Numbtongue do this yesterday. And he had explained it. Even told Erin what, who this was. He’d called the strange Goblin—

Pyrite. As Mrsha slunk up to the table, one of the Hobgoblin’s eyes swung down towards her. She froze. She’d been using her [Natural Concealment] Skill, which normally fooled even Numbtongue until she was closer! But this Hob saw her at once. He blinked at her, then smiled. With one hand, he kept eating. And with the other, he pulled something out of his pouch and placed it on the table.

“Hm. Good fish. Not enough time to go mining. Go later.”

That was all he said. Mrsha, emboldened, leapt onto a chair and stared at the Hob. He nodded at her.

“Mrsha.”

She bobbed her head cautiously and pointed at him. Pyrite smiled back amiably. As he ate another piece of fish, he gestured at something on the table. Mrsha stared at the lump he’d placed there. She stared and then recognized the slightly transparent rock.

“Quartz. Smokey.”

The Hobgoblin nodded judiciously. His nod quality seemed higher than Mrsha’s, and she tried to copy how he was doing it. It was a lump of quartz, the kind that you could find all over the Floodplains or near the High Passes. Not too valuable; Mrsha liked the look of the stone with the lattice caught in it that gave it the dark brown appearance, but she knew it wasn’t worth much. To a low-level jeweler, maybe. But not to [Mages], who valued pure quartz for its magic-holding properties as a weak enchantment material.

The Stone Spears tribe wouldn’t mine this unless they had nothing better. That was Mrsha’s expert opinion as a Gnoll of her tribe. But Pyrite, about twenty seconds into his minute, had other plans. The Hobgoblin put another piece of fish into his mouth, grunting with satisfaction. Chewing, he reached for the quartz. He didn’t use a tool or do anything special; his claws just dug into the rock and began slicing pieces off it as if it were soft butter!

Mrsha’s eyes widened in amazement. Pieces of rock flew and dust drifted down as the Hobgoblin’s claws blurred against the quartz, breaking it down, molding it, then smoothing the stone, carving it until it was one smooth sphere. In less than thirty seconds, he’d created a sphere. A perfect little marble, showcasing the quartz, transparent brown and grey, a beautiful bauble. Pyrite winked as Mrsha’s eyes went round. He swallowed his mouthful and spoke.

“Good food. Tell Numbtongue thanks. Here.”

He dipped the marble in the cup and withdrew the gleaming orb of stone. Then, casually, he rolled it towards Mrsha. The Gnoll clasped her paws around the beautiful marble and lifted it up, admiring it. She heard a sigh and looked up. When she did, Numbtongue was sitting in his chair, blinking at Mrsha, a piece of fish in his claw.

The Gnoll and Hobgoblin looked at each other in silence. Mrsha stared at Numbtongue as he blinked and then burped fishily. Hesitantly, she offered the marble to him. The Hobgoblin paused and took it. He stared at the smooth surface and at the crumbs of quartz on the table. He whistled.

“[Rock Polishing]. And [Miner’s Claws].”

He offered it back to Mrsha. The Gnoll took the bauble carefully. Numbtongue smiled, and it was bitter and sad and happy at the same time.

“He liked the fish.”

Mrsha nodded. The two sat together like that until Lyonette came out of her kitchen, dusting her hands. She eyed the rock dust on the table with a frown as she came over.

“Are you making a mess, Numbtongue? Or is it Mrsha? You know, someone has to clean—what is that?”

She blinked as Mrsha rolled the quartz marble on the floor. The [Princess] stared at the shiny little plaything, and Numbtongue and Mrsha exchanged a glance. Both turned to Lyonette and shrugged. Numbtongue pointed at the quartz dust on the table.

“Not me. Pyrite did it.”

“Who?”

The Hobgoblin’s smile was wide. Because Pyrite was dead. But at least—yes, at least, Numbtongue could still treat him to a meal. And he’d liked meeting Mrsha too.

—–

A budding relationship. A Goblin with a class. And an [Innkeeper] with a new Skill. Erin rubbed her hands together gleefully, ignorant of some of the events in her inn, but aware of more than she let on. Relc was happily chatting to her as her staff readied the inn for the influx from Pallass. It was already filling with people from Liscor. Not Krshia, Elirr, Raekea, or any of the Gnolls on the campaign trail, but Selys was here and practically aglow with triumph.

“Your inn’s really making an impact, Erin. Those Pallassian [Senators] are giving Krshia their backing—and not Lism! He still has Pallass’ support, but there are actually important Gnolls coming to talk on Krshia’s behalf, and they’re brilliant at speaking! Of course, they have the class. And Krshia can just point to you when Lism tries to rant about Humans and foreigners being bad for Liscor. You did it!”

“Hey, I just got people together. They did the rest. Thank Rufelt and Lasica—they’ll be here to lend some support tonight. And this is good for Pallass’ election too!”

Erin replied modestly, but she felt a surge of pride seeing Selys’ face. Not to mention the people of Liscor who’d come here to talk with people from Pallass or just see what her inn was doing next. She looked around for Lyonette. And today she was going to make it even better for her other friends!

“Hey, Lyonette! Let’s open the door to Pallass already!”

Lyonette looked up. She had been playing a game of rolling a little marble on the ground with Mrsha. The shiny stone caught Erin’s eye, and she frowned—where had Mrsha gotten that?—but Lyonette nodded, and Erin focused on the door. Time to go to work. She swung it open, and a roar of noise enveloped her.

“Hey! Can I get a pizza with cheese in the crusts? And extra salami on top? No one’s copied that yet!”

“Where’s the play? Stop pushing! Is there a new one on? Hey, will those [Actors] come to Pallass?”

“Make way, people! [Senator] coming through!”

“I’m on the list to go to Liscor! Hey! Let me through! I’m on today’s list! I have proof and everything!”

A chorus of voices, angry, happy, expectant, rushed over Selys and Erin. The Drake recoiled. Erin beamed. She saw [Guardsman] Kel holding a crowd back with two other members of Pallass’ Watch as those on the short list for entry trooped through the doorway.

There was even a [Mage] to recharge the door. Two, in fact. Grimalkin strode through the door, bypassing a [Senator] and Xif. Erin waved at him as he entered.

“Grimalkin! Hey! Great to see you! Good morning! Can I get you anything to eat? To drink?”

“Miss Erin.”

The [Sinew Magus] nodded formally at Erin and gazed around the inn. His eyes focused on Relc like a laser beam. The Drake [Guardsman] was already getting up.

“Yo, Grimalkin! Are the weights done?”

Grimalkin grinned with genuine pleasure as he reached out. He and Relc clasped forearms, and Selys and Erin, standing back, saw their muscles tense as they exchanged the kind of greeting only two exceptionally muscular people could. Relc laughed, and Grimalkin nodded.

“I got the last weights done yesterday. Barbells, weight bars—even the new one Miss Erin mentioned to me.”

“Ooh! The squiggle bar?”

Erin’s eyes widened. Grimalkin nodded and reached for a bag of holding. He produced a shorter bar than the customary bench press bar that Erin was familiar with. But she recognized the EZ-bar from the customary, unique bend in the frame that meant you were holding it at an angle as you lifted. Relc chortled as he examined it.

“That’s weird. I like it! Hey, how many weights do you have?”

“Plenty. Any number of pounds—and I ordered fifty-pound weights made of lead. The [Smiths] should be finishing them any time now—actually, I see them now. Apprentice Ferkr! Don’t lollygag over there!”

Grimalkin turned and roared into the doorway to Pallass. He strode back into the crowd and emerged half-carrying a smaller Gnoll. Erin blinked. It was a female Gnoll! She was a bit shorter than Grimalkin, but she seemed a lot smaller because she was nowhere near as muscly. With that said, she probably had twice as much muscle definition as Erin. It was just that even Relc looked less huge next to Grimalkin.

“Sorry about that. Ferkr, the weights?”

Grimalkin deposited the Gnoll on the ground. Ferkr jumped. Nervously, the Gnoll held up a bag of holding. Grimalkin took it, pulled out some huge rounded weights with one hand, and tossed them at Relc. The [Guardsman], not to be outdone, caught them and slotted them onto the bar until it was two hundred pounds heavier. Then he began lifting it up and down.

“Oh yeah! This feels different! Hey, Erin, these things are great! Tons of fun!”

He tried lifting the bar one-handed, but that was too much even for Relc. Swearing, Relc caught the bar, and Erin and Selys decided to step back. Ferkr just stared around at the inn, then jumped as Grimalkin addressed her.

“Ferkr, are the other apprentices training?”

“Uh, yes, Magus Grimalkin! They’re doing six laps as you ordered.”

Grimalkin grunted in disgust.

“And doing it slow, no doubt. Well, I’ll put them on the weights soon enough. Sergeant Relc! Don’t twist your arms like that! You could injure yourself. That’s two hundred and some pounds you’re swinging around; proper posture is key!”

He turned to Relc, who was trying to swing the entire weights bar like a bat. Relc paused, and Erin, eying the weights and Relc, decided to step in.

“Why don’t you two do your weights stuff over there, Grimalkin? And hey! Who’s this? One of your apprentices?”

She looked at Ferkr. The female Gnoll jumped and bowed.

“That’s right, Miss Human. I’m—uh—”

Grimalkin grabbed the EZ-bar from Relc and held it out to Ferkr.

“This is Ferkr, Miss Erin. One of my apprentices. The only Gnoll apprentice I’ve ever had, in fact. She’s attempting to become a [Mage]. Which I commend! But she’s far too nervous. Ferkr, take this. Careful—it’s two hundred pounds.”

He waited until the female Gnoll had a grip on it before letting go. Erin winced, expecting Ferkr to stumble or drop the bar under the weight, but to her amazement, the Gnoll only grunted and the bar dipped a fraction before she held it at a resting position. Grimalkin nodded, and Erin stared.

“Wait, that’s way too heavy for her!”

“A hundred pounds too heavy, perhaps. Although with magic she could manage a hundred and fifty. How does it feel, Ferkr?”

“Heavy, sir!”

The Gnoll’s voice was strained, but she was keeping the bar up. Grimalkin nodded. He pulled fifty pounds off each end.

“Give it a try now. Try—three lifts.”

Slowly, exhaling hard, the younger Gnoll did just that. Erin’s and Selys’ jaws dropped as they saw her furry forearms strain and then lift. Once, twice—she was struggling on the third one. Grimalkin barked.

“Push, Ferkr! I want those arms to come up! Yes, yes—”

The third curl came with a growl from Ferkr as her arms shook. Grimalkin plucked the bar off her and slapped her on the back. She staggered and nearly fell over.

“Excellent! That’s what I want to see! And you can feel the muscles working, can’t you, Ferkr? That’s what Miss Solstice calls a maximum repetition. A few of those push your limit while working at lower weights is safer and builds the muscle you want. I imagine these bars can support enough weight to test anyone but Sergeant Relc and I.”

“Yeah. That bar’s harder than the straight one.”

Relc grinned as he pointed at the EZ-bar. Erin just gaped at Grimalkin. Then she looked at Ferkr.

“You’re strong! Wow, are all your apprentices like that? Hi, I’m Erin, by the way.”

She held out a hand, and Ferkr timidly shook it. Grimalkin just snorted.

“Gnolls are stronger than Humans. No—there’s less gender imbalance for their species when it comes to musculature. Historically, female Gnolls led hunting packs. And Ferkr is my apprentice—of course, she’s stronger than normal! As I said, my first Gnoll [Mage] apprentice. I have high expectations of her, but she has to grow some testicles! Perhaps meeting you will help in that regard, Miss Erin.”

He looked sternly at Ferkr, and the Gnoll blushed under her fur. Erin smiled sympathetically at the Gnoll girl, but Selys, who’d been listening in to the conversation while waiting for the last of the Gnolls to come in, blinked.

“Wait a second. I thought Gnolls couldn’t be [Mages]. Isn’t that what they say at Wistram?”

“Yeah. Hold on, that’s what I heard too.”

Relc eyed Ferkr, confused. Ferkr looked up, and her mouth opened, but Grimalkin spoke first.

“Hah! I don’t know how that narrative spread, but it’s completely false. Unfortunately, it’s so widespread that Gnolls don’t become [Mages]! Can you imagine? There are countless precedents in history of Gnoll [Mages]—true, their race tends towards [Shamanism], but that’s just proof they can handle magic! Somehow some idiot started the rumor at Wistram, and now Gnolls don’t believe they can become [Mages]—so many don’t! It’s one of those popular narratives that impedes an entire race’s magical potential. Disgraceful!”

He barked the word right over Ferkr’s ear, and she winced. So did Erin—Grimalkin delivered everything at a shout or roar. She looked over her shoulder at Temile on stage, and the [Stage Manager] waved his arms at her in a ‘go away, please’ kind of signal.

“Uh, yeah. About that—why don’t we take this outside? Grimalkin, I love that you’re here, and I want to talk with you. But there’s other people coming through. Ooh—Selys! Your guests are all here!”

“I see that. Talk to you later, Erin!”

Selys slipped away and trotted towards the Gnolls ready to help Krshia. Grimalkin looked around and then at Ferkr and Relc. Some of the guests at the nearby tables glared at the muscle [Mage] as they held their hands over their ears. Grimalkin returned the glares with an impervious glance, but he did nod.

“Hm. This is crowded. Let’s take this outside. Sergeant Relc, Ferkr, I want to do some tests so I can see what the right posture is for all of this. I have a bench in my bag of holding, and Miss Solstice can show us some grips.”

“Awesome. And hey—good luck, Miss Ferkr! I hope you can get that [Mage] class!”

Relc rubbed his claws together as he started for the doors. Grimalkin raised his eyebrows.

“Hope? What do you mean? She’s already a [Mage]. Level 6.”

Relc stopped in his tracks. He stared at Grimalkin, then at Ferkr. The Gnoll was smiling.

“What? No. Really?”

“That’s r—”

“That’s right. A Level 6 [Mage]. I told you it was just a myth. She’s got a long way to go to pass my classes, but she works harder than half my Drake and Dullahan slackers. I have every hope that she’ll head to this Meeting of the Tribes the Gnolls are having and put an end to this nonsense. I could use more Gnoll apprentices. They have a foundation of muscle and exercise in the plains that many Drakes lack.”

Grimalkin nodded. He strode past Relc, holding the weights bar. The [Guardsman] gaped at Ferkr. She just smiled and followed her master out the door. So went the Muscle Mage of Pallass. And Erin, waving in Xif and Rufelt and Lasica, who’d come early, narrowed her eyes and tried to chuckle evilly. She failed.

—–

The inn was crowded. People were coming in, including the best [Alchemist] in the city, Xif. Rufelt and Lasica, a power couple, even Watch Captain Venim was hanging around the door on Pallass’ side, keeping order. It was as busy as yesterday! But Erin was content to let the chaos be chaos. She had a purpose, so she headed right back to Grimalkin, who was outdoors. Only one thing stopped her.

Octavia. Erin found the [Alchemist] sitting at a table in the corner, nursing a drink and staring around at the filled inn with wide eyes. Erin stopped at her table guiltily. She’d forgotten Octavia was here. The [Alchemist] hadn’t come down for breakfast; it had only been a day since Erin had marshaled Grimalkin, Relc, and the others to help her after Numbtongue and Yellow Splatters had beaten down the [Thugs] extorting her. She’d put Octavia up in one of her rooms, but in all the fuss, she’d forgotten the Stitch-girl existed.

Until now. Erin made her way to Octavia and smiled.

“Hey, Octavia—how’s it going? Sorry I didn’t check in on you this morning. You, uh, got breakfast?”

The [Alchemist] jumped. She looked up at Erin and smiled as she pushed a dreadlock back. Her dark skin was still pale, and she was…subdued. Normal Octavia was a chatterbox and a sales magnet. This Octavia was just quiet.

“No problem, Erin. I appreciate you putting me up. Really. Your inn’s…full. It’s open to Pallass? That’s amazing!”

“Yup! We’re selling a lot! And there are tons of people! Hey! We could get some of them to check out your shop later! But don’t go around making deals right now!”

Erin laughed. Octavia didn’t. She shook her head.

“I won’t. I learned my lesson already. Don’t worry about me, Erin.”

The [Innkeeper]’s face fell. That really wasn’t normal Octavia at all. She hesitated and then scanned the room for someone. She spotted Xif watching a play. Good, he was here and interested in the [Actors]. She’d have had to get him otherwise.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Look, I feel awful about what happened. We’ll get your shop up and running and see about guarding it or something—just give me a little bit! You sit back and have something to eat and drink! On the house! There’s a play on—I’ll be back soon, okay?”

Octavia just nodded quietly. Erin frowned, worried, and pushed Octavia up her to-help list. But right now, she had only one target in mind. And she found him outside pumping iron and steel.

“Grimalkin!”

The Drake was watching Relc lift the weights bar, having him adjust his hands and comment on how hard it was. To the side, Ferkr was doing curl-ups with the barbells Grimalkin had ordered. Erin saw Ferkr was doing it from various postures. She stopped, impressed. Grimalkin looked exactly like a gym instructor, albeit even huger than they were. And while Relc had poor posture—he just seemed to enjoy the fun of weight lifting—Grimalkin and Ferkr both had perfect form.

“Ah, Miss Solstice. You’re here. Good. Can you tell me what the proper technique is for these weights? I think we have the standard down, but any unique positions or lifts would be appreciated. I was interested to see those squats and lunges you showed me. Anything you could add would be appreciated; I’m making a routine. I want to be able to use these weights to train every muscle group possible. Arms, legs, and the core you mentioned.”

Grimalkin turned immediately to Erin, as serious as could be. Erin blinked, but she nodded.

“Sure! I don’t know everything…or much, because I didn’t really work out, but I remember some things. Uh, a lunge—can I use the bar without weights? Thanks. A lunge looks like this, I think. And I saw a dude put a weight on his chest and do sit-ups with it once—”

The muscle [Mage] snapped his claws.

“Of course! Keep going, keep going.”

He watched as Erin clumsily showed him all the lifts she knew, then took the bar, added some weights, and executed flawless versions of her clumsy demonstrations before letting Relc and Ferkr try.

The [Sinew Magus] seemed to know what muscles each workout affected almost instinctively. Erin supposed that was appropriate given his class, but she was very impressed nonetheless. After nearly half an hour of running through exercises, Erin wiped off sweat from her brow and grinned at Grimalkin.

“Hey! That was a workout! And I was just showing you how to do stuff! This’ll be great for your classes, huh?”

“My classes and Pallass’ army if I have my way.”

Grimalkin gave Erin an authoritative nod, which bothered her a tiny bit. She coughed.

“Well, yeah. But you don’t have to do that with the entire army, right? I mean, you’re just going to propose it—”

Ferkr looked up, blinking in surprise as she did a deadlift with Relc watching. Grimalkin’s brows shot up as well.

“Propose it? Miss Erin, I don’t think you understand. I just have to come up with a proper regimen and put in the proper paperwork. Then the [Soldiers] will be working out with these weights.”

Erin blinked.

“Wait—but isn’t that for, like, [Generals] to decide? Or [Strategists]?”

“Perhaps in other cities. But I’ve established myself as the expert in the field of fitness and training. If a Pallassian [General] wants to argue with me, I’ll happily slap sense into their skull. I know my business, and I do have a formal rank.”

Grimalkin folded his arms. Erin gaped at him, but Relc chortled.

“What’s the surprise, Erin? Grimalkin’s Pallass’ best [Mage]! Right? I bet he’s fought in the army—they’ve definitely tried to conscript him. If he’s not on bad terms with the army, they’ll give him a rank. Otherwise, he has to take orders from every two-copper [Lieutenant]. That’s how Drakes do these things.”

“Exactly.”

The [Sinew Magus] nodded. Erin gulped. Introducing weights to an entire Walled City’s army? Okay, that wasn’t part of the plan, but…she grinned weakly at Grimalkin.

“Well, that’s just great. I, uh, I’m glad I could help out!”

“Of course. And I’m delighted for the aid you’ve given me, Miss Erin. Truly. I’ll repay you for all this information—no, for revolutionizing fitness in Pallass!—as soon as I can ascertain how much this is all worth. I will repay my dues. But I’ve taken three days out of my schedule, and I think it’s time to get down to the business of trialing these weights on my students. Ferkr, pack up. We’re heading back to Pallass. Sergeant Relc, thank you for your help.”

“Aw, you’re packing up already? And it’s Relc, not Sergeant. I quit the army. Can I keep a barbell at least?”

Relc whined as Ferkr obediently began packing the weights into her bag of holding. Grimalkin smiled.

“I’m afraid not. But I’ll invite you to the first weights…room? Weights arena? Ah, what did you call it, Miss Erin? Gymnasium. I’ll certainly invite you over. And to give a demonstration of real strength to my apprentices!”

He shook Relc’s hand briskly and tossed one of the heavier weights into his own bag of holding. Erin stared at him in horror.

“You’re going back? Already?”

“That’s right. We’ve gotten the exercises down—unless you’ve recalled some more? I must leave a message at the [Mage]’s Guild. Miss Solstice, if you have any more details on the weights or new techniques, send me a [Message] and I will pay for sending and receiving!”

Grimalkin turned eagerly back to Erin. She hesitated.

“No…but hold on! The day’s just getting started! Why don’t you come in? Have a drink? I have fresh pizza, milkshakes—the play’s on! Your apprentice should really see it!”

Ferkr perked up her ears at all the new and exciting words, but Grimalkin just grimaced.

“I suppose I could look around. What did you say you made? A milk…?”

Erin smiled in relief and rushed back into the inn. She grabbed a milkshake that Ishkr was bringing around on trays and rushed it over to Grimalkin.

“And they’re doing Pygmalion on stage! Look! They’re singing and—”

“Shh!”

A furious crowd shushed her. Erin lowered her voice and meekly stepped to the back of the room. Grimalkin sniffed the milkshake and tasted it with a forked tongue.

“Sugar and milk. Cold. I can see this being used to build fat if I was emaciated. But otherwise? Don’t drink it, Ferkr.”

He shook his head, and Ferkr drooped as she sniffed hers. Relc looked delighted.

“Ooh, if you don’t want it, I’ll take it!”

Grimalkin silently passed his drink to Relc, and the [Sergeant] took a gulp and savored his. Erin hesitated as well. Grimalkin was staring at the play, listening to the Drake actress—being lectured by a furious Dr. Higgins played by a Gnoll—try to imitate a British accent. That alone was hilarious on a number of levels, but Grimalkin just nodded once.

“I see. I see.”

“Numbtongue’s also going to perform later. And, uh, there’s Liscor as well! The Antinium are building the inn—I can get you pizza, drinks—look, Rufelt’s helping with the bar! Come on, take a seat!”

Erin was looking at the door to Pallass. She needed to turn it to Celum for a tiny bit, and she was dreading the fight, but getting Grimalkin relaxed came first. But the [Sinew Magus] just kept looking around, and then—he shook his head.

“Mhm. Fascinating. Plays. Food. Unhealthy food. Hobgoblin. I can see dismantling organized crime in Celum. That was entertaining. As for the rest—do you have any more weights to show me?”

He turned brusquely to Erin. The [Innkeeper] wavered, caught off-guard. She looked around her inn.

“N-no?”

“Excellent. Then I’m done here. Goodbye.”

Grimalkin strode towards the door, beckoning Ferkr, who was entranced by the display. Erin ran after him, panicked. This wasn’t part of the plan!

“Wait! Wait, wait—you can’t leave! Stay and relax a bit!”

Grimalkin paused, sighed, and turned back to Erin. He wasn’t unfriendly—just as straightforward as ever. He didn’t mince words as he gestured at the door to Pallass.

“It was quite fun to visit your inn these last few days, Miss Erin. I won’t deny that. But I have work to do. You’ve given me the chance to redefine how [Soldiers] and [Warriors] across the Walled Cities—perhaps even the world—will train. I’d prefer to get to that.”

“Argh—okay, but—stay for just half an hour! No, ten minutes! Your apprentice deserves a break, doesn’t she?”

Erin pleaded with Grimalkin. The Drake hesitated and looked at Erin, then at Ferkr, who looked pleadingly at him, and sighed.

“I suppose ten minutes wouldn’t be undue. Ferkr, by all means, enjoy yourself. And we can take one of those…pizzas back with us. A single slice wouldn’t hurt. But that grease!”

He shuddered. Erin breathed out in relief.

“Great. I’ll just—uh, I just remembered I had to do something. In the door. Don’t go anywhere!”

She rushed past Grimalkin. He frowned after her as Erin ran to the door to Pallas and, to the watching crowd’s outrage, slammed it and turned it to Celum. She opened the door and shouted.

“Lyonette! Check in ten minutes! I need to go to the Runner’s Guild! Oh, please be there, please be there—”

She rushed out, and a moment later, the door opened and a roar of fury from Pallass echoed in the inn. The [Actors] on stage dutifully recreated the scene, and all was placid. Grimalkin watched the play with Relc commentating next to him. It wasn’t that he wasn’t interested in the performance—it was just that he had better things to do. Ferkr meanwhile was grabbing and eating as much food as possible, savoring Erin’s free food.

Ten minutes later, Lyonette checked the door to Celum, prompting another brief intermission, and a panting Erin was back. Grimalkin glanced up as Erin and a second Human entered the inn. No—two additional Humans. A young man and a young woman. The young man was clearly a Runner, and the young woman…Grimalkin’s head turned back.

“Nice muscle definition. Hm. That’s…”

He was half-interested in that, half in the play, and mostly on leaving. Grimalkin was looking for his apprentice, who seemed to have wandered off in hopes of prolonging her stay, when an exclamation from the trio drew his eyes back. The young woman who’d come in with Erin had caught sight of Numbtongue, who was wandering past, eating pizza.

“Hobgoblin! [Quick Kick]!”

She reflexively recoiled and then lashed out with a kick. Grimalkin saw Numbtongue whirl, try to dodge—but the kick was too fast. It caught him on the chest and knocked him backwards. There was power in that blow! Numbtongue flew backwards, hit a table where a pair of Gnolls were sitting, rolled over it, and landed in a crouch. The inn erupted into shouts as the Goblin made two fists, but Erin, waving her hands desperately, put herself between the Human and Hobgoblin.

“No! Garia! It’s Numbtongue! Didn’t you know I had Goblins at—have you never seen—does no one read my signs?”

Chaos. But quickly dispersed. Erin, panting, quickly explained, and Grimalkin saw the young woman called Garia, blushing, introduce herself to the annoyed Hobgoblin along with the other Runner. The [Sinew Magus] watched as Erin slowly placated Numbtongue and then made a beeline over to him with the Runners.

“Hey, Grimalkin! Sorry about the fuss—”

“I wasn’t part of it. It was a splendid kick, though. Excellent form. But I really should be going, Miss Solstice.”

The Drake replied calmly. He saw the young woman behind Erin blush. Out of politeness and curiosity, Grimalkin turned to her and the Runner. He held out a claw.

“How do you do? Grimalkin, [Sinew Magus]. You have an impressive display of muscles, young lady. Compressed, though. Clearly the work of a Skill. Also the bearing of…someone who’s lost weight. Your balance is slightly off, but that’s a [Martial Artist]’s kick if ever I saw one. Nice to see some have become Runners at last. It’s a compatible profession.”

The young woman blinked at him.

“I—thank you! I’m Garia. Garia Strongheart. Are you a [Martial Artist] by any chance?”

She grasped Grimalkin’s claw and shook it. He grunted. [Enhanced Strength]? She was strong! What a treasure! At her age, she had the potential to be a real [Mage]. He was about to say so when Erin slid into the conversation.

“Grimalkin’s not a [Martial Artist], Garia. But he’s a [Sinew Magus]! He does magic—with his muscles! Or something like that. Hey! Do you know martial arts, Grimalkin? Oh—this is Fals, by the way. He’s a Runner too. They’re both from Celum.”

She indicated the young man. He grinned weakly up at Grimalkin, staring at a bicep.

“A pleasure, Mister Grimalkin? I run with Garia. You’re from Pallass? The Pallass?”

He looked dumbstruck as he stared around the inn. Grimalkin nodded.

“I’ve dabbled in martial arts. Not my forte. But I’ve travelled the world. Visited [Knights] training in Terandria, bald-headed Humans with fists like iron, Drathians, Chandrar’s population in Pomle—you should see Selphid [Martial Artists]; absolutely deadly. I didn’t know there were any in Izril.”

“I wasn’t taught by one. At least—I don’t think Ryoka was very high level. But I’m dying to learn more techniques, and Ryoka’s in the far north! I’ve been leveling up like crazy—I want to see how strong I can be!”

The young woman flexed a thin arm, and Grimalkin narrowed his eyes. She’d definitely changed her body structure recently. He could almost extrapolate how she’d looked before now. But it was Garia’s words that lit a fire in his heart. He spoke carefully, trying not to shout.

“Young woman. You would be wasting your talents if you were just a [Martial Artist]. No—I will admit, they’re a fearsome class. But I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you to become a [Mage]. Like me! You clearly have a powerful foundation. [Enhanced Strength], am I right? And I assume—[Weight Control]?”

Fals and Erin blinked, but Garia’s eyes widened. She hesitated and almost reflexively covered her stomach.

“How did you know?”

“It’s obvious to me. But please—hear me out. I’d be delighted to talk about [Martial Artist] techniques with you, but you must join one of my classes and see my curriculum. I’ve studied strength, and there’s more to a powerful swing than just the muscle in your arm. If you’ll allow me, I’d like you to listen. [Martial Artist] or [Mage], you owe it to yourself to rebuild your body.”

Grimalkin held his breath. Normally, here was where most people started edging away, but he had a good feeling about Garia. And the way the young woman’s eyes lit up was everything he wanted to see. Garia looked at Fals and Erin before nodding.

“I do. Tell me everything, please! About martial arts and…”

The [Sinew Magus] exhaled. It was moments like these he lived for. He smiled and tried to come up with the most concise summary of his life’s work possible. And Erin Solstice had given him the terminology as well.

“Ah! Well, let me tell you, it’s all about the…core. Yes, the core. And I’ve made it my life’s work to develop a regimen that creates a strong body in as short a time as possible. Now, you may stop excreting during the first few weeks of training, and I have had it compared to torture, but the results are so immediate that the elite regiments of Pallass’ soldiers come to me for a basic fitness regimen…”

—–

Grimalkin and Garia stood in a corner of Erin’s inn discussing everything muscle-related with such avidness that Erin couldn’t keep up. But that didn’t matter. Her job was done.

The two were so engrossed that they didn’t notice as Erin and Fals drew back. Erin was smiling, but Fals, for some reason, was not. He shook his head as he looked back at Grimalkin and Garia, and a worried frown creased his brow.

“She’s changed, Erin. I don’t know if I know Garia anymore. Remember the old Garia? She was timid. Very kind, but—now she’s ten times as bold. And our best Runner! Frankly, I’m worried she’ll surpass me soon, if she hasn’t already. It’s amazing how much this place has changed too.”

Fals smiled tiredly at Erin. She grinned at him.

“I know! I couldn’t believe it was Garia at first! Hey—thanks for coming to the inn. I appreciate it.”

Fals chortled. He gestured around the room, his brows raised.

“And miss all this? This is incredible! I was meaning to pay a visit, but I’ve been busy. Not that it’s exciting around here since the Goblin Lord business. Dead gods, Erin! The Players of Celum, people from Pallass? Can you tell me what’s happened?”

“Of course!”

Erin beamed and led Fals off into a wonderland of fast food, acting, and talking about all that had changed. But she kept an eye on Grimalkin and Garia. They took nearly half an hour to speak, and Garia looked like she was taking notes. Erin had Fals happily conversing with a Drake when she spotted the two breaking up. Quickly, Erin slid back towards Grimalkin.

“I’ll be waiting for your visit. Martial arts, magic—contact me!”

The Drake called out to Garia. She was nodding eagerly as she went over to Fals, clearly delighted. Erin rubbed her hands together, but stopped when Grimalkin turned to her. The Drake was shaking his head.

“Amazing. That might be one of my finest pupils yet. A [Farmer] background and a [Martial Artist] class? Although she has compunctions about gaining too much muscle—well, I suppose that’s a Runner’s concern. Ah, Miss Solstice. What a fantastic meeting!”

The [Sinew Magus] was clearly delighted. Erin beamed as well.

“Wasn’t it? Aren’t you glad you stayed? Say, while you’re here, why don’t you wait a bit longer? You could show Garia some moves, maybe! I know she’d love that. And you know, I have two friends who are [Mages]. Can you do that display of magic again, maybe? What about in Celum? Maybe you could show Pisces and Ceria a trick or two?”

For a second, she thought the Drake hadn’t heard her. Grimalkin was still staring at Garia, his brows raised. He smiled, clearly impressed—and then did a double-take and stared back at Erin. His eyes narrowed as he registered their conversation.

“Show them—wait a second.”

He looked at Garia. He stared at the door, now open to Pallass, and then at Erin. The [Innkeeper] hesitated as Grimalkin’s brows snapped together. She didn’t like the way his expression changed. Slowly, the [Sinew Magus] pointed at Garia.

“You did that on purpose. Do it again.”

“What?”

Erin grinned, and a butterfly appeared in her confident stomach. Grimalkin folded his arms.

“Not forty minutes ago, I was prepared to leave. Then you convinced me to stay and ran to get that Runner. Coincidentally, she ran into a Hobgoblin and kicked him. I suppose that was chance, but you led her straight to me. You know she wanted to learn about martial arts. Or was it magic? You set that up.”

“No…what makes you say that?”

The inn was already hot, but Erin began to sweat. Grimalkin eyed her.

“What was it you just asked? You wanted me to show magic to—ah! That adventuring team. The one that wanted me to teach them [Lion’s Strength]. And I was about to acquiesce!”

“No, hold on, that was all coincidence! I mean, it was sort of me knowing what Garia was like, but—”

Erin began to panic. She didn’t know why—it was all aboveboard! It was just people meeting people! But having the trick exposed felt risky. Grimalkin’s narrowed eyes confirmed that.

“I noticed the same thing with Maughin and my visit to Liscor. Coincidences turn into beneficial meetings for you. Pallass intercedes in Liscor’s election. I just happen to draw a crowd with a demonstration that helps your inn. This was calculated, wasn’t it?”

“No…okay, maybe. But hey! I—look, Grimalkin, I’m not saying you have to help Ceria and Pisces. But it’d be nice if you did? Maybe?”

Erin’s heart sank in her chest. Grimalkin was just staring at her. And there was a keen analysis running there that not many people gave Erin. She gave him her most wide-eyed look. It didn’t work. He shook his head slowly.

“Incredible. And I didn’t notice it—or I paid it little mind until now. That’s not a Skill…or is it? You remind me of a [Senator], only highly effective at low-level dealings. Or one of the people who like to play shadow games, only on a smaller scale. Archmage Feor. Terandrian monarchs. I haven’t met Magnolia Reinhart, but she’s an apt comparison on Izril.”

That stung. Erin sucked in her breath.

“Um, thank you?”

“It’s not a compliment. I suppose it’s obvious in hindsight. Rufelt and Lasica do the same thing. But they’re experts at making money and being liked by all. And their manipulation is up-front. Honest. I see. Well, I congratulate you on the trick. Do it again.”

Grimalkin stared at Erin. She hesitated.

“Uh—what?”

He shook his head slowly.

“Unless I’m wrong, the entire purpose of me arriving here was to teach Miss Strongheart martial arts. Or was she bait? Let’s say that she was. Were you hoping to persuade me to teach your two [Mage] friends magic?”

“M-maybe?”

Erin looked to one side, flushing a bit. Her plan had been a bit more nebulous than that. But…Grimalkin frowned, then nodded.

“Very well. I’ll do it.”

“Really?”

Relieved, smiling, Erin looked up. Only to see Grimalkin extend a claw and flex it slightly.

“So do it again. Show me something I want.”

“Wait, what?”

The young woman frowned. Grimalkin eclipsed her frown with his own.

“I’m not in the habit of lending my abilities or expertise out for free, Miss Solstice. I realize that’s what friends do, but I consider you an acquaintance. So. You showed me a potential student. And you’ve delivered me a bunch of fascinating, unique training methods. Weights. What else do you have to offer me?”

“Hey! I gave you that all out of good will! I was being helpful!”

Erin spluttered, red in the face. Grimalkin nodded.

“I’m quite aware. And it helped you a bit. I’m not accusing you of lying to me, Miss Solstice. If anything, I owe you a great deal. But let’s just say I’m open to the possibility that you’re holding something back that I might like. So. Do it again.”

He pointed at Garia. Erin wavered. She held up a finger. Opened her mouth to protest—and Grimalkin stared at her. The two locked gazes, unblinking.

Erin buckled first. She hesitated, then scuffed at the floorboards, scowling. She’d meant to use this as a prod anyways. But subtly.

“Okay. Okay, there was this one thing…I saw this guy using like this rubber—er, elastic band. Like…two cords like this, see? And he stretches it across his chest or pulls while rotating like this—”

She began describing a resistance band to Grimalkin. The [Sinew Magus]’ eyes widened.

“Fascinating. Using elasticity as…you know, I saw String-people doing something like that when I looked into how they built themselves. Of course! And that’s far more portable than—”

He caught himself and narrowed his eyes again.

“And you just recalled that. Just now.”

Erin grinned sheepishly at Grimalkin and shrugged. He eyed her, then smiled.

“A pleasure doing business with you, Miss Solstice. A training session it is! One. For those two [Mages]? I’ll gladly teach Miss Strongheart some techniques free of charge. She cannot be allowed to go to waste.”

He gestured at the Horns and Garia with one claw. Erin spluttered.

“One? But Ceria said she’d have to learn from you for at least a week to learn a Tier 4 or Tier 5 spell—”

“Who said anything about spells? I’ll check on their fitness, their aptitude, recommend how they should progress—it’s actually quite effective. I am an expert [Mage], after all. If those two have any holes, I will fix them. [Necromancer] or [Cryomancer]. Of course, teaching them spells will require more time, and if they have any significant flaws, I’ll need to remedy them.”

“But you said one training session—”

“Well, until you come up with another splendid idea for me to work on. I’ll take them in advance. Resistance bands indeed. Any more training techniques? Other weights?”

Grimalkin peered down at Erin. She could only splutter in reply. After a second, he nodded.

“Well then, one session it is. More to come, on condition, of course. And if you have any more requests, feel free to seek me out with appropriate payment. I take ideas, artifacts, chance encounters, or whatever else you can manufacture.”

He waited. Erin stared at him and then, flustered, looked around.

“L-Lyonette? Get me the Faerie Flowers and a mug of ale!”

The [Princess] came over as Erin rushed over to the windowsill. Xif, watching the end of Pygmalion, looked up with interest as the two fussed over a mug and came back to Grimalkin. He watched, arms folded, never taking his eyes off Erin. She offered him the mug, grinning weakly.

“Uh, want a Faerie Flower drink?”

“What’s it do?”

The Drake eyed the mug. Erin bit her lip and looked at Lyonette. The [Princess] had caught wind of what had gone down and seemed amused. Erin weakly shrugged.

“If you have a horrible trauma, it might help? It’s, uh, one-of-a-kind, I think. Sorta.”

Grimalkin considered the mug.

“No thanks. My traumas aren’t that significant. Anything else?”

“Nothing I can think of.”

Erin locked gazes with Grimalkin. After a second, the Drake nodded. He smiled at her.

“Well, then, one session it is. I’ll do my best, of course. I’d love to jog your memory.”

He nodded at Lyonette and strode through the crowd, avoiding touching everyone with ease. Erin bit her lip, and Lyonette laughed.

“Someone actually figured out you were manipulating them behind the scenes, Erin?”

The [Innkeeper] shrugged ruefully. She wasn’t so much upset at being found out as embarrassed. Grimalkin had treated her like some kind of calculating manipulator! Which she wasn’t. Okay, sort of, but—

“He’s smart. Damn. And he wants me to give him more ideas and stuff—or introduce him to people, or he won’t train Ceria and Pisces! I really wasn’t going to manipulate him into helping them—”

“Sure, Erin.”

“I wasn’t! I was just, you know, going to make them all get along? He was interested in Yvlon’s arms, and I thought—gah! Never mind! Now he wants me to pay him!”

Erin waved her arms, still red in the face. Lyonette stopped smirking long enough to look interested.

“Do you have anything to bribe him with?”

Erin covered her face with one hand, thinking.

“I dunno, treadmills, I guess? Gravity weight training? I saw that in an anime. Uh…I really didn’t have much else. No, parkour-ish stuff. Yoga? Oh! Yoga! Maybe. If I remember any of my yoga class. Now I have to think! Why was he the one who saw through me?”

She stared at Grimalkin’s back, then, to her surprise, saw the Drake’s form waver and vanish. Ishkr, carrying a tray past him, nearly dropped it in alarm. A voice spoke right next to Erin and Lyonette.

“I work out my brain as well as everything else, Miss Erin. What’s this about treadmills? I’m familiar with gravity training, by the way. Parkour and yoga. Are they martial arts forms? No? Fascinating.”

The two young women spun around. Grimalkin was standing behind them, arms folded. He nodded as Erin pointed at the place where his illusion had been and at him, jaw working furiously. He raised both brows.

“Have you never met anyone properly high-level before, Miss Solstice? You shouldn’t underestimate Pallass. Or didn’t you notice that we have as many talents as you?”

He nodded past her. Erin spun again and saw Xif was peering at the bed of Faerie Flowers. He was sniffing the air and eying the small yellow blossoms in their bed. She could hear him muttering out loud in a break as the [Actors] on stage changed plays.

“Hmm, hm. Fascinating. Blue fruits? Shield Spider materials. And this flower…”

“Damnit!”

Erin cursed. Or was this an opportunity? She looked back, and Grimalkin nodded to her. His smile wasn’t smug, but it was superior.

“You’re among equals, Miss Solstice. Well, at the very least. I’ll be on with that lesson now. Please be as specific as you can when you tell me about these treadmills and so on. Tread. Mills. Huh. Actually, I think I understood that one without need for help. Well, I’ll wait for your actual explanation. As I said, I’m happy to spend time training these adventurers. A pleasure to be manipulated by you.”

He nodded at Erin and walked past her. Erin opened her mouth, then, for once, closed it. She turned bright red and said not a word for a whole minute. Lyonette stared at Grimalkin in awe. He winked at her as he strolled over to the Horns of Hammerad.

—–

Xif the [Alchemist] still smelled of nose-searingly strong chemicals and ingredients when Erin found him looking over her box of Faerie Flowers. The bright, small, yellow flowers were much like short dandelions, although the flower petals were much more exotic. And Erin had quite a number of boxes of them! With Mrsha’s help and daily watering, the few flowers she’d had now filled eight planter boxes.

Honestly, Erin hadn’t made use of them for a long time—the Faerie Flower drink was powerful, but she’d been worried after seeing its effect on Halrac and Ilvriss. And her [Wondrous Fare] Skill wasn’t something Erin had really needed or wanted to focus on. Magical dishes were cool, but with all the turns and twists in her life, they weren’t something she could devote time to.

Yet, someone was focusing very hard on her flowers, and it wasn’t Apista for once. The Ashfire Bee was lazily clinging to the ceiling, but Xif was peering very hard at each flower, sniffing heavily and even going so far as to try and taste the nectar—that was when Erin caught him.

“Xif! Hi! Don’t lick the nectar or eat the flowers. They do, uh, weird things to your head. Hey! Can I introduce you to a friend? Octavia? She’s a bit down—did you hear about the Celum stuff yesterday?”

Erin smiled desperately as the [Alchemist] paused with one paw extended towards his tongue. Xif blinked at her, and his usually befuddled look focused as he blinked two brown eyes at her.

“Octavia? Hm. Oh yes, the young [Alchemist]. I was there for that. But, ah—perhaps in a moment. I’m truly more interested in these flowers, Miss Solstice. I caught you making—was that a drink?”

“Oh, that? The Faerie Flower drink! Good for making you think about what ails you! I’m working on the tagline. Uh, yeah, I’m thinking about selling it, but it’s sort of strong! The flowers are strong too, really. Actually, they have a few uses! But I wouldn’t want you to get hurt or something.”

Erin shuddered as she recalled trying the nectar and having her Alice in Wonderland freak-out. Xif raised his brows.

“Really? Multiple uses? Well, I’d love to experience each one. Unless it makes your fur fall out? Hah! But that’d be an improvement in my case, wouldn’t it?”

He grinned, and Erin smiled despite herself. Still, she couldn’t help but feel slightly possessive over the flowers. They had been a reward, of sorts, for her Frost Faerie banquet. That had been real magic. Her magic.

Of course, Lyonette had urged Erin to sell the flowers to Xif if he wanted them. The [Princess] had gold coins for eyes these days. Erin sighed.

“They don’t make your fur fall out. They do do weird things to you, like, uh, make you see things or go to sleep—then again—the Faerie Flower drink might be my thing. I have a Skill.”

She frowned at the flowers. That was a good point. Had she ever let anyone else try making the Faerie Flower drink? Erin had [Wondrous Fare]. What would happen if Lyonette copied her? Would it be like Octavia? Now she had questions. So did Xif. His eyes lit up as Erin described the flowers.

“Really? Multiple effects without combining with a magical base or other ingredients? You just added that into the alcohol—these flowers are fairly powerfully magical then! I thought so! Amazing! What species are they? Where did you get them from? I’ve never seen the like! Has Miss Octavia tried using them?”

“No, I—they’re from far away. Gifts! They were a gift. And I haven’t let Octavia try to use them.”

Guiltily, Erin realized that was something the [Alchemist] could have used. But—these were special flowers. Not even of this world. Xif frowned.

“I see. They’re special. Hmm. But with what you’ve said—Miss Solstice, I must buy them from you. New, highly magical ingredients? I’d shave off all my fur and walk around naked like Saliss before I turned up an opportunity like this! Come to it, he’d put on clothes for a month for these! How much for one planter box?”

He eagerly pointed to one of the boxes of flowers. Erin hesitated and saw Lyonette’s head whip around. The [Princess] hurried over.

“If you want a box, we have plenty! We could sell maybe—”

“No.”

Erin brought Lyonette up short. The [Princess] opened her mouth, but Erin overrode her and Xif. She smiled at the Gnoll [Alchemist], but firmly shook her head.

“I’m sorry, Xif, but these aren’t for sale. They were a very important gift, and—well, I’m not selling them.”

Lyonette stared at Erin, horrified. Xif was appalled too.

“Miss Solstice, these could be a wonderful boon to [Alchemists] everywhere. A powerful antidote, a life-saving reagent in a potion—they could be the next Eir Gel!”

“Exactly! And we don’t use many now that the Ashfire Bees are gone. Let alone your drinks…Erin, can I speak with you for one second?”

Lyonette tugged on Erin’s arm, frowning hard. But Erin was unmoved. She thought of Grimalkin and his announcement that Pallass’ army would be using weights. That was one thing. But this? She hesitated. Life-changing medicine? But some selfish part of her, childish, made her shake her head again.

“No. I’m sorry, but no. Lyonette, that’s final.”

She put her foot down. It was hers. Her magic, however small. Xif looked crestfallen. Lyonette looked like she was going to have a heart attack. Erin relented a touch.

“What if I sold you the petals and nectar and stuff? I’d be okay with that.”

Xif frowned and scratched the hair on his chin, but the Gnoll shook his head. He bent down and eyed a flower sprouting from a bulb.

“As tempting as it would be—I think I would rather have the flower, Miss Solstice. An entire flower, rather. You see, it’s not just about the ingredients. Call it the [Alchemist] in me, but these are too…how long have you grown these flowers?”

Erin shrugged.

“A few months. Since winter.”

“I see. And these have germinated like this?”

Xif indicated the short flowers. Erin nodded proudly.

“That’s right! We replanted them as they kept growing. I only had a handful, but they multiplied, and Mrsha looked after them with Lyonette…why?”

The Gnoll mumbled to himself. He peered at each flower, then nodded slowly.

“They’re all the same.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, they don’t have any characteristics of full-grown plants. No reproductive elements.”

He looked up at Lyonette’s and Erin’s blank faces.

“Haven’t you seen dandelions turn into the white fuzzy seedpods? Or witnessed grass growing seeds? These are similar to grass and dandelions. Short, unmatured. That they can still reproduce is no surprise; many plants can do that. But they’re not fully developed. And if it’s been months, there may be another trigger.”

So saying, he straightened and tapped the planter box in front of him. Xif turned seriously to Erin.

“I don’t believe they’re fully grown, Miss Solstice. In fact, I’d stake my best potions on that. I’d like to ship these to a friend in Oteslia. Their [Gardeners] are the best in the world. If anyone could ascertain the exact nature of this plant, it would be them. Your price?”

Erin’s jaw dropped. Not fully grown? She looked at the flowers, but—come to think of it, Xif was right. Erin did know what he was talking about. The Faerie Flowers could just be flowers, but they were just stalks with blooms on the end. They had no root system. No ovules.

Xif was right. And yet, Erin still hesitated.

“Maybe. But I want to keep my flowers, thanks.”

She didn’t know why it mattered so much to her. In fact, she was beginning to regret her stubbornness, except for the idea in her head. She could try growing the flowers herself. And when she found out if they evolved or something, sell them to Xif. Octavia could corner the market! She’d give some to Octavia to make up for ignoring her.

Xif frowned, as if reading Erin’s thoughts. He sighed, looking at the flowers, and then looked sternly at Erin.

“I understand your desire to keep what’s yours, Miss Solstice. Drakes are very much like that. But you realize these flowers are invaluable as a new discovery to me? And if they are as valuable as I think, I’m afraid I’ll have to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

Erin felt a chill down her spine. She took a step back from Xif as Lyonette stiffened. Erin’s hand instantly went for her belt.

“You’re threatening me?”

She couldn’t believe it! And neither could Xif! He looked horrified as she placed a hand on the kitchen knife Pelt had made.

“What? Threatening you? I’m no [Thug] of an [Alchemist]! I just said I’d use a Skill.”

“Oh, a Skill!”

Lyonette looked relieved. Erin just looked blank. Xif tutted.

“Dear me, the expressions you Humans come up with. I put my tail in my mouth all the time, though. Better just to do it now. Miss Solstice, I invoke [The Avid Collector]. Name your price for a single flower.”

Erin blinked. He was pointing at a flower. She wasn’t going to—

“Twenty—two hundred and twenty gold pieces for a flower.”

The words popped out of her mouth before Erin realized she was speaking. Lyonette’s eyes popped. Xif just smiled.

“Done!”

He reached out and offered Erin a paw. She shook it, realized what she was doing, and pulled her hand back.

“Damn!”

“Too late!”

Xif smiled happily and ruefully at Erin. As surely as she knew her inn, Erin realized that one of the flowers in the box belonged to him. And two hundred and twenty gold pieces belonged to her. Lyonette looked like she was going to swallow her tongue as Xif pulled out his bag of holding and began setting gold coins on a table. He had them in stacks of ten. Erin just stared at Xif for a moment.

“You can’t—that wasn’t—that’s not fair!”

But it was at the same time. She had felt the deal go through as she shook his paw. Erin looked around, Xif was smiling apologetically at her. But she wanted—

“Venim!”

The Watch Captain winced as he stood on Pallass’ side of the door. Erin stomped through the door and confronted him, ignoring the upset crowd who wanted to watch the play. The Drake wearily looked at Erin.

“Yes, Miss Solstice?”

“Xif just used a Skill on me! He made me sell one of my flowers to him!”

“Really?”

The Watch Captain’s eyes sharpened as Erin relayed the transaction to him. But when she came to him using his Skill, his eyes brightened.

“He bought a flower for how much?”

A large number of heads turned, and Erin hesitated.

“Well—that’s not important! But he made me sell the flowers, and I can’t take it back! You have to force him to stop it!”

She felt embarrassed saying it, really. It was way more gold than the flowers were worth! And yet, she was outraged because she’d been forced to make the deal. But Venim only chewed his lip for one second before shaking his head.

“It’s legal. You can’t name a price you won’t sell for. He just forced a sale. Pallassian law accepts that, Miss Solstice.”

Venim looked delighted to be able to say that. Erin stared at his face. Behind her, Kel the [Guardsman] grinned triumphantly. Venim’s lips were twitching too. Erin glared around.

“How is that fair? What if he wanted me to sell a precious heirloom or something?”

Venim shrugged.

“The fact is he did not, Miss Solstice. He forced you into a deal you were willing to take. It’s not always pleasant, but Skill-based sales are acknowledged as a legal tool across the world. If it was unethical, you could appeal it—like how I hear [Slave Traders] can force someone to sell themselves into slavery. But I doubt it’ll win given your supply of plants.”

He looked pointedly back into Erin’s inn. She looked back glumly and saw Xif was going from flower to flower, followed by Lyonette, who had helpfully dug out a spoon and cup to transport the precious bloom in. The Gnoll hummed happily as he picked his small flower out of the box and carefully replanted it in a mug.

“I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to, Miss Solstice. But I’m afraid you must abide by it. Unless you have a better Skill.”

Venim smiled politely and triumphantly at Erin. She stared at him.

“Maybe I do.”

Without another word, she hurried back into her inn and found a Drake in the crowd. Selys had heard the commotion, of course, and when Erin explained what had happened, the newly-made [Heiress] gladly accompanied her over to Xif. Erin smiled sweetly at the [Alchemist], who coughed politely.

“I’m sorry about that, Miss Solstice. But it is one flower. And I meant what I said; it could save lives. At the very least, it could make a profit. And I’m nothing if not eager for that. In either case, you stand to gain greatly.”

Erin smiled sweetly at Xif.

“I know. And I know you’re being nice, but I don’t like being made to do anything. So…hey, Xif! This is my friend Selys.”

The Drake shook Xif’s hand. She peered at Xif and the flower he had chosen that Lyonette was carefully excavating. It did have roots, small ones, but it was a plant.

“[The Avid Collector], huh? That’s a Skill that probably lets you complete your inventory as an [Alchemist]. Neat trick. I can do that too. [Everything Has A Price]. Hey, Xif, how much for Erin’s plant?”

The nearby Drakes and Gnolls oohed. They were, of course, listening in. Erin was entertainment, even if it was, in this case, unwilling. Xif blinked and raised his brows. He stared at Selys. And then smiled.

“Mm. Two thousand gold pieces, yes?”

The Drake’s jaw dropped. So did Erin’s. Xif chortled at their expressions. He patted Selys gently on the shoulder with a toothy smile.

“If I only have one chance to take a flower like this, I’m hardly likely to sell it for less than what I bought it for, yes? Nice try, Miss Selys. But I’m good at appraising goods. And I deal with rich [Merchants] on occasion. Still, you have a wonderfully useful Skill, young lady. Much better than mine.”

Selys flushed, and Erin looked at Xif and realized she’d lost. He smiled apologetically at her, and she began to get angry. Then she looked at the pile of gold coins and just felt defeated.

—–

“Lasica! Xif is bullying me!”

Erin slumped on the counter next to the [Chef]. Lasica paused in drinking from a bubbling concoction her husband had just served her from behind the bar. She eyed Xif, looked at Erin, and smiled.

“I heard. He forced you to sell those pretty flowers, didn’t he?”

“I mean…yes? And it’s a lot of gold! But he made me do it! And Grimalkin—”

Erin turned red as she remembered that exchange. Lasica raised one brow, and Erin couldn’t help it.

“He saw through my clever ploy! Grimalkin, I mean.”

“What, by figuring out you were luring him here along with everyone else? Please, Erin. Rufelt, Xif, and I—even love-struck Maughin probably figured it out. Not that anyone’s complaining.”

“Wait, you knew I set all this up?”

Lasica laughed at the look on Erin’s face. She reached over and tapped Erin on the nose.

“Not at first. But it was obvious soon enough. Like Rufelt said—you’re a special type of [Innkeeper]. But did you really think we couldn’t tell we were being led to go along with your flow? What’s the Skill you’re using? [Crowd Control]? Something on top of that? Your inn just lights up with energy when you want it to.”

Erin bit her lip and flushed a bit. Lasica and Rufelt knew too? The Drake laughed again, but gently.

“I guess I was using some Skills unconsciously. But—I wasn’t trying to trick you all. It’s just that I knew if you came here and Krshia and people from Liscor met you—it wasn’t a big plan! Sort of. I just wanted my friends to be happy.”

She mumbled into the counter. Lasica laughed and patted Erin affectionately on the head.

“I know. And I think Grimalkin knows. And he must like you—he doesn’t listen to anyone he doesn’t like. Much less teach students besides his own? Erin! That’s a huge honor! Grimalkin’s students are among the best the Walled Cities have to offer!”

“Really?”

Erin perked up a bit. Grimalkin had disappeared outside with the Horns a bit ago. Lasica nodded seriously.

“Oh yes. They might get teased because the ‘Muscle Mage’ of Pallass was their teacher, but not to their face. A graduate of Grimalkin’s is considered a rank above your average Wistram graduate. Not least because he teaches his students how to fight. They could be promoted to the equivalent of [Captain] in most Drake armies just by having his graduation certificate.”

“Wow. Well—look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m not trying to be sneaky about it. And you’re all friends to me! You and Rufelt were really nice, Lasica. Really.”

Now Erin wanted Lasica to be sure Erin wasn’t a jerk. She looked seriously at the Drake.

“You two were really nice to help me out. And after you let me come to your bar all those times! I have to repay you. Let’s go to the kitchen when you have a moment. I want to teach you all my recipes. Because we’re friends. Not just because you’re helping me, okay?”

The [Chef] waved an idle claw.

“Oh, that’s fine, Erin. Don’t worry about it. I already know all of them.”

“…Huh?”

Nonplussed, Erin stared at Lasica. The [Chef] twirled a claw in her drink and licked it.

“I saw all your food as it was coming out. It’s not very complex to create, any of it. And there are similar foods from across the world. You have some interesting ones, I’ll grant you! But it’s nothing on magical cooking or dishes made with monster parts, like Wyvern meat or slimes.”

She gestured to Ishkr passing by with ketchup and mayonnaise and a lot of fries. Erin spluttered.

“But—what—even the mayonnaise?”

Lasica gave her a reproving look.

“I am a [Chef]. Eggs, vinegar, salt, and oil processed for a long time? I’d add some lemon maybe, or even a bit of mustard. But that’s my taste.”

Erin stared at Lasica. Then she slowly covered her face with her hands.

“I give up! I’m outmatched!”

Lasica chortled again. She patted Erin on the back.

“Don’t worry about it. We came here because we liked you and want to help a young [Innkeeper] succeed. Let Rufelt make you a drink. Do you need help in the kitchen? Rufelt, come over and help poor Erin out. And maybe you can teach her some of your drinks. You really need better alcohol, Erin.”

Grinning, she waved her husband over, and he did make her a drink that took most of the embarrassment out of Erin’s chest. Most, but not all. As husband and wife surrounded Erin and Xif came over to apologize again, she felt it in the air. A small message from Pallass’ finest to her.

Gently, teasingly, and yes, kindly, they were telling her that she might have been getting arrogant. When she realized that, Erin put down her head on the bar and turned so red that Mrsha put an ice cube on her ear to watch it melt.

—–

One last encounter found Erin in her inn. She’d lost most of her motivation to rush around playing chance-encounter matchmaker. In fact, she was sitting at a table playing chess with herself—the magical chessboard was silent today; her opponent must have been too busy for their usual semi-daily games—when Watch Captain Venim found her. He was leading another, elderly Drake, and he cleared his throat meaningfully.

“Miss Solstice. May we have a word?”

“No.”

The Watch Captain frowned. Erin looked up briefly as she rearranged her pieces.

“I’m not doing whatever you want. It’s ‘take-Erin-down-a-peg day’ today. I know what’s up. I’m just gonna play chess here. Don’t bother me. I’m sulking.”

She went back to her chess game. Venim looked askance and nervously checked the old Drake at his side. The Drake had very grey scales with only a hint of yellow in them.

“Miss Solstice, my guest—”

“Shush, young Drake. If the girl wants to sulk, let her sulk. Get me a snack, would you? Some of those ‘cookies’ look good. And some rum! Rufelt knows what I like.”

The old Drake hobbled past Venim and pulled a chair out opposite Erin. He sat down without being invited. Affronted, Erin looked up. The Drake peered at the chessboard and poked a piece.

“Hm. White or black?”

“Wh—black.”

The response came out of Erin before she caught herself. She frowned as the old Drake began putting the rest of the white pieces in order.

“Hold on, I’m not in the mood to play, Mister…?”

“Chaldion.”

The old Drake inspected the pieces, then, without hesitation, moved his knight to F3. Erin glared, annoyed, but her chess instincts took over. She moved a pawn to D5 without hesitation.

“Hm. Good. Most of Pallass’ young [Strategists] ponder for minutes over their next moves. At least this time I won’t be bored.”

Chaldion smiled. He was missing some teeth, but they were very white. With one claw, he picked up a pawn and moved it to C4. Erin blinked. She stared at the board and then slowly moved her pawn to E6. The old Drake considered it, nodded, and moved his pawn to D5, taking her pawn there. Erin blinked.

Agincourt Defense. They were fancy names, but it was really just a short back and forth. But there was a confidence in the Drake’s placement that made part of her sit up.

“Sir!”

Venim was back with a handful of cookies and a large glass of rum mixed with blue fruit juice. Chaldion accepted both happily.

“What’s this, what’s this? Some new drink Rufelt’s made?”

“I told him your regular, sir. If you don’t like it—”

“That’s for me to decide! Hands off! And if Rufelt made it, I’ll like it. Don’t bother me. I’m playing. And keep those pesky [Tactician] and [Strategist] brats out of my spines for a bit!”

Chaldion grumpily shooed Venim away. Venim hesitated, then saluted and beat a hasty retreat. Then Erin looked at Chaldion. Really looked at him.

The old Drake was nearly completely grey, as old as anyone Erin had ever met in this world. As old as Tekshia, but like her, he seemed like steel, tough inside. Unlike her, he had an eye patch over his right eye and several scars on his face. He grinned at her when she met his eyes.

“Finally noticing me, young woman? Your move.”

He pointed, and Erin realized he’d moved a piece. This time, she considered it. Pawn to D5. He’d taken her pawn. She thought and moved up a pawn to threaten his. Chaldion nodded patiently and placed his pawn ahead, out of the threat.

“Who’re you? I thought Watch Captain Venim was important.”

“Watch Captains are. But age is a rank of its own. And Pallass has multiple Watch Captains. At least one per floor. Anyways, I outrank them. Wonderful like that. I’d love to meet that young [Strategist], but apparently he’s not welcome in this inn, is that it? Well, I’m just here for food and a game.”

Chaldion chuckled. Erin frowned as she took one of his pieces. He was playing…well. She narrowed her eyes.

“So who’re you? I’m Erin. An [Innkeeper]. This is my inn.”

Chaldion took a tip from his glass and brightened.

“Sweet! Just the thing for brain food. Wonderful sweets you have here. Who am I? Chaldion. A humble old Drake too stubborn to retire.”

He grinned mockingly at Erin. She just raised a brow.

“Really?”

“Ah, you’re no fun. My history’s boring. I’m just a [Veteran Strategist] from Pallass here to play a game of chess. Are you playing or not?”

He tapped the board. Nettled, Erin began to move and realized he’d set a trap four moves ahead. She moved out of the way and took another piece. He laughed.

“And one assumes you’re the person that Olesm Swifttail has been sourcing for those excellent chess games, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Erin folded her arms. The game was going quickly in the opening, but they were slowing down as the complexity ramped up. She already had a feel for Chaldion. He was good. Not as good as her mystery chess opponent maybe, but second-best. Better than anyone else Erin had played.

Suddenly, Erin realized this was the fourth of the trials sent to humble her. Probably. Maybe. But in chess? She gritted her teeth. Not in chess. This was her game. She began playing her best. Chaldion frowned and drank deeper from his glass.

“You are good.”

In silence, the two traded blows, moving their pieces, aiming at each other’s weak spots. To Erin, it felt like a tipping point around twenty minutes into this game. And move twenty. Both she and Chaldion had slowed down a lot.

If Erin was a lower-level chess player, or playing another sort of game, like teaching Mrsha or against a weaker opponent, she could see a much longer game taking place. But against her mystery chess opponent—no, against anyone who knew the game—a chess game took only a certain number of moves before a winner was obvious.

You could play it out, but most games between professionals ended with an agreed draw—or one side conceding. She didn’t know if Chaldion would insist on playing to the end, but she felt the tipping point coming. And she had the upper hand.

He knew it too. The [Strategist] paused as he eyed the board and Erin’s advantage in pieces and position. Then he reached up, and one claw grasped his teal eye patch. Erin stared as Chaldion flipped it up, and she saw that there was another eye there. But it wasn’t like a regular eye. The old Drake had lost his and replaced it with a sapphire—

A bright, blue light flashed from the carved eyeball. Erin recoiled, but Chaldion flipped the eye patch down. He took a nibble from a cookie and nodded.

“[Truesight]. You’re not using a trick. This is just skill, isn’t it?”

“Wh—yeah. Hey! You thought I was cheating?”

Erin was outraged. Chaldion just smiled.

“I wanted to see if you were using magic or a Skill. Neither, it seems. Well, time to get serious. Shall we?”

Suddenly, his eyes sharpened. Erin didn’t know why, but the next move Chaldion made was quick and decisive. She saw him take a pawn, far away from his threatened bishop, and hesitated. What was…?

The next six moves were disastrous. Erin took a bishop, a pawn—and lost her queen. It was a split attack she hadn’t seen coming that opened her up. And it was so graceful that when she realized her position, it was too late. Chaldion took the queen and regarded the board.

“Mine, I believe. Unless you want to play it out?”

“No. I lost. How’d you—that was perfect.”

Erin stared at the board. It was beyond perfect. Computers could play perfect games, but Chaldion had tricked her into that loss. She looked up and saw him smiling. The Drake slowly tapped his chessboard.

“[Path to Victory]. It’s simpler with easy games. You wouldn’t happen to be able to show me this ‘Go’ game or ‘Shogi’, would you?”

Erin stared. And then shot out from her seat.

“You cheated?”

Chaldion shrugged.

“I used a Skill to win. It’s a strategic decision. What? Haven’t you had someone use a Skill on you while playing?”

He offered her a gap-toothed grin. Erin inhaled in outrage—and then she stared at the board. Ruefully, she sat back down.

“Only once.”

“Really? Maybe young Swifttail doesn’t have any to use. He does come here, doesn’t he? Well, I play games like I fight wars: everything goes. Too bad you don’t have a few Skills to use on me; that’d make for a fun match.”

Chaldion grinned. Erin sniffed.

“Yeah. All I can do is poison your cookies.”

He choked, then began to laugh. Erin pulled the chessboard out of the spray and then found herself laughing too. She looked at Chaldion and then at her board. She’d lost. And he’d done it so elegantly too, Skill or not. He’d handed her a defeat, right in her inn, face-to-face. For once, she had underestimated him and not the other way around.

No one in this world had done that. Not until this very moment. She smiled, and the genuine joy in it was reflected in the Drake’s eyes. He chortled as Erin looked around and shouted.

“Ishkr? Get me that Shogi set!”

As Ishkr came over, and Erin and Chaldion began discussing Shogi rules, Rufelt and Lasica watched from their bar. Rufelt eyed Venim and a few Drakes and a Gnoll who’d come through and were staring intently at the board.

“Chaldion himself? That’s something you don’t see every day. He doesn’t even visit Tails and Scales that often. Erin really is special, isn’t she, love?”

Lasica smiled.

“She’s not bad.”

The two of them looked over. Lyonette was sitting at the bar as Mrsha sipped from a goat’s milk drink on her lap. The [Princess] looked at them, a bit wide-eyed.

“You’re treating her like, well, another person. Erin.”

Rufelt chuckled, and Lasica rolled her eyes. She sipped from her drink and munched on a few bar nuts they’d brought from their establishment.

“Of course. We’re a Walled City. Did you think she was completely unique? She’s special, I’ll grant you, but we have at least a few dozen people as strange as her. I think it’s a good experience, to be honest. She’s a bright young girl, but she’s been ‘special’ for too long. That’s what I think. Rufelt?”

The [Barkeep] nodded. He looked at Erin and, with the expertise of someone who could tell what drink someone needed and if they needed words, silence, or to be knocked into oblivion by alcohol, nodded.

“I think she needs to be a girl without the weight of the world on her shoulders for a little bit. So let’s let Chaldion kick her around.”

“You think she can’t beat him more than he beats her? Chaldion may be ruthless and crafty, but as a fellow female, I have to say Erin will surprise him. Or don’t you agree, my dear?”

Lasica raised her brows. Rufelt grinned.

“Well, if we’re taking bets on it—”

He looked down the bar. And Relc, Maughin, Jelaqua, a disgruntled Seborn, Bevussa, Selys, and all the other friends and guests dug in their money pouches. After all, it was entertainment.

—–

That was Erin’s tale. But while she was being humbled and being normal, a second story, or rather, an anecdote, played just outside her inn. But because it was Grimalkin, it was upgraded into a full narrative of its own. The Drake stretched his arms out as the Horns of Hammerad faced him.

“You’re really going to teach us magic?”

“That’s what I said. Should I repeat myself?”

Grimalkin sighed. He looked at the Horns. Ceria and Pisces exchanged a glance.

“Why?”

“Miss Solstice offered me her assistance. So I’ll correct any bad habits Wistram’s drummed into you. If you have flaws in your combat style, I will fix them and teach you a few spells. If Miss Solstice comes through on her end. For now, I want to see what your capabilities are.”

“How generous.”

Pisces sneered back at Grimalkin. He’d gone back to contempt after their first encounter. The [Necromancer] flicked a hand, and bones began to flow out of his bag of holding, arranging themselves into a Bone Horror.

“While I appreciate your superior magical abilities for now, Magus Grimalkin, what makes you think we’re not capable of teaching ourselves? Ceria and I have both made considerable progress in our personal studies.”

“Yeah. Considerable.”

Ceria flushed. Pisces had progressed with his ever-improving Bone Golems and late nights recreating them into deadlier forms. She…usually drank and relaxed with a bit of spellbook reading after a mission from the Adventurer’s Guild. Grimalkin didn’t look impressed as he eyed the Bone Golem, however. It was turning into the classic double-headed war bear. He pointed at it and spoke.

“If that’s supposed to impress me, it’s failing. I’ve seen [Necromancers], and you’re far from Az’kerash, Pisces. That may work for Silver-rank threats, but any decent [Mage] will just say ‘[Dispel Magic]’.”

The Bone Horror, which had been building upwards, fell to pieces. Pisces and Ceria gaped at the bones lying on the ground. Yvlon and Ksmvr looked up. The [Wounded Warrior] bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

“Pisces?”

“That was—I was in the middle of animating that! You wouldn’t be able to do that if I finished the spell!”

Pisces spluttered, face red. Grimalkin raised his brows.

“Which is why I cast it before you finished. Your animation time is slow. Do you really think an opponent would give you that space in battle? Or was that meant to be intimidating? I told you two. Show me your magic.”

He gestured at Ceria and Pisces. The two looked at each other. Yvlon and Ksmvr watched as the two put their heads together. Yvlon casually unsheathed her sword.

“Are we fighting too?”

“If you like. This is just an appraisal. But I might as well study your teamwork. Use the sword, by all means.”

“It’s got a fairly powerful enchantment of [Weight] on it.”

Yvlon warned Grimalkin. Ksmvr had armed himself with his shortsword and Forceshield. Grimalkin nodded, absently watching Pisces pulling the bones back into his bag of holding. Ceria had drawn her wand and was swishing it back and forth with her skeletal hand.

“A sword’s only good if it touches me. Which it won’t.”

Yvlon sucked in her breath. Grimalkin fixed her with one eye.

“I’m no adventurer. But I am Pallass’ greatest [Mage]. I’ll defend that title to anyone who challenges me—I don’t see the rest of the [Mages] lining up to try. Miss Byres, right? Swing as hard as you want. I’ll praise your gonads at least.”

There was no response to that. Yvlon just pulled out her helmet and fastened it to her armor grimly. Pisces and Ceria were also gearing up. The [Necromancer] flexed one hand as Ceria lined up.

“Standard formation, guys. I’ll do my thing—Ksmvr, flank while Yvlon attacks. But give Pisces enough time to summon his Bone Horror, and we’ll all go in.”

The other two nodded. Grimalkin sighed. He looked at Pisces.

“You’re not summoning your undead ahead of time?”

“If this were an ambush, I would have plenty of faith in the speed of my animation.”

Pisces sniffed. Grimalkin just studied the sky. He eventually looked back down when Ceria coughed.

“What? Begin when you’re ready.”

With that, he kept looking up. Ceria glanced at Yvlon and Pisces. He glowered, and Yvlon nodded. Ceria nodded back and then raised her wand and shouted.

“[Ice Wall]!”

A thick wall of ice shot upwards, blocking him from the Horns. It was wide and tall—Ceria gritted her teeth as the wall came up, thickening, growing from one foot to two feet. Pisces instantly pointed, and bones flowed out of his bag.

“Those who have died, heed my call, rise twice to bring to my enemies—”

It was a chant, hastening the speed at which the bones assembled into the Bone Horror, three times as fast as before. Grimalkin stared as Yvlon set herself, and Ksmvr readied his shield. Ceria grinned. The wall was three feet thick now, solid ice! She’d practiced with that spell. She called out to Grimalkin.

“See? Buying time. It’s our basic strategy. Not bad, right? It can at least contain most enemies. In fact, we killed a bunch of Crelers, baby ones, using this—”

She was ready for him to try to jump over the wall or go around. If he did, Ceria would freeze him in midair or create another wall and stymie him. That was the trick Pisces had come up with. When he made the first move, the Horns would scatter, use mobility against him as Yvlon took him on. He was strong, but ice spells were perfect in group fights.

But Grimalkin didn’t dash or jump or even take a step. He just regarded Ceria’s wall as it grew thicker and thicker. Then he sighed, lifted one arm, and made a fist.

A terrible foreboding crossed Ceria’s mind. And her [Dangersense] went off. As well as a certain memory. She watched as Grimalkin took a single stride forwards and raised a fist. Time slowed, and Ceria saw the fist plunge towards her. Exactly like—she turned left and saw Pisces’ eyes go round. Grimalkin reached out—

And he punched straight through the four-foot-thick wall. The thick ice exploded outwards, and Grimalkin’s fist knocked Yvlon off her feet down the hill. With the same motion, he flicked his wrist and swatted Ceria off her feet. The explosion of ice made Ksmvr shield himself from the larger chunks with his Forceshield. He lowered it, ready to attack—and then looked around and realized he was the last person on his feet.

Ksmvr checked Pisces. The [Necromancer] was doubled over. A piece of ice half the size of his torso had hit him in the groin. Grimalkin withdrew his fist and stared down at him through the gaping hole in the ice wall.

The [Sinew Magus] walked through the hole in the wall and towards Ksmvr as Yvlon, swearing and shouting, finally crashed down at the bottom of the hill, and Ceria, unconscious, rolled on top of her. Grimalkin looked down at Ksmvr. The Antinium stared up at him and regarded his shortsword.

Ksmvr considered his options and then slowly raised his free hand.

“Um. Is this war?”

6.39

There was a feeling Yvlon had now and then. One of comprehension. It wasn’t something she could put into words. But if she had to try, it was of her body, the instinctual part of the back of her mind that took over in fights, trying to communicate with the rest of her brain.

It said things like: you can win this if she were eying a monster before they engaged. Or—don’t get overconfident if, say, she were measuring herself against Embria on the practice courts. Sometimes it was a simple warning like duck before someone threw a mug at her head and a brawl started. But sometimes, the subconscious part of Yvlon did appraisals. And she could see someone more clearly than she had a few months ago.

Like her brother, Ylawes. He had always been a [Squire] as long as Yvlon could remember. Then a [Knight]. And always better than her in training, to the point where she couldn’t even judge how skillful he was—only that he was far better than she could dream of being at that moment.

But recently, Yvlon had had the feeling in the back of her mind that she could almost judge him in regards to her own Skills. He had powerful defensive Skills, and he was a Gold-rank adventurer, but he wasn’t an enigma. If they fought, she could land a few blows, maybe even surprise him. It was a welcome realization. And yet—sometimes Yvlon’s mind told her nothing about her opponent other than that they were too far beyond her.

She remembered each instance. First had been Skinner and the sheer terror of an army of undead bearing down on her. Next had come the Fire Elemental and not knowing what it could do. After that? The mysterious Human [Mage] who’d dropped by to kick her entire team about with Tier 1 and Tier 0 spells. The last instance had been Regrika Blackpaw, the traitorous Named Adventurer. There had been others, but those had been the only ones Yvlon couldn’t understand.

Bevussa. Jelaqua. Relc. Seborn. Embria. Halrac. Any one you wanted to name, Yvlon understood they were better than her, but she could understand their strength relative to hers. So she understood that she and her team were far stronger than the Silver Spears had ever been. The Horns might not be Gold-rank yet…! But they were the best of the Silver-ranks, no question. On the cusp of the next level. It was only a matter of time. So they could be a little bit cocky, value themselves a tiny bit. Right?

Right?

“Ksmvr, left!”

Yvlon swung with a shout. Her enchanted sword cut the air as she swung two-handed at Grimalkin’s left. He glanced at her as Ksmvr dashed left. The Antinium was moving incredibly fast! The newly-leveled [Skirmisher] ran like a blur thanks to his [Quick Movement] Skill, and when he struck with his shortsword, he uttered a Skill.

“[Quick Slash].”

His shortsword lanced out towards Grimalkin from the left as Yvlon struck from the right. And the [Sinew Magus] saw her, Yvlon knew. But he only glanced at the trajectory of her sword.

The three met in a clash that took a second to happen, but far longer for Yvlon to process. As she lay on her back, she recalled what had happened. She’d swung, Grimalkin had stepped left, blocked Ksmvr’s shortsword with one arm, and then turned back and hit—

She sat up and looked down at her chest plate. It had cushioned the blow, but Yvlon still felt bruised. Had he sent her flying? With a punch? She was wearing plate armor!

But that was Grimalkin. Yvlon got up, teeth gritted, and saw him. He was letting Ksmvr attack him from the side, blocking the shortsword with one claw while the other was held back in a fist at his side. Ksmvr’s rapid attack with his shortsword slowed, and Grimalkin punched. Yvlon saw Ksmvr block and heard a sound like thunder. The Forceshield the Antinium held rippled as the magical protection resisted the blow, and he skidded back.

“I am unable to harm Grimalkin. Switching to Flamecoat Dagger and arrow. Fleeing in cowardice!”

The Antinium shouted as he turned and ran away, sheathing his shortsword. Grimalkin barked a peal of laughter. He turned as Yvlon rushed at him from behind. Two-handed, the [Wounded Warrior] swung, lashing at Grimalkin’s body, going for speed, not strength. He twisted back, his feet moving across the grass, watching her blade and arms.

Casually. He was so relaxed! Not dismissive; he never took his eyes off her as Yvlon cursed and advanced, slashing faster. But that little part in her head was screaming at her. It was telling Yvlon two things.

One. She could understand Grimalkin a bit. She could judge his strength, even if he was still in a realm above hers. Because she could, she knew how outclassed she was.

Someone as big as he was had no right to move that quick! But he did, and as he leaned out of the way of another slash, he jumped in and gave her a punch to her midsection that sent her stumbling back. Again, her armor caught the blow—

“Weak enchantment. If I hit it too hard, it’ll dent.”

The Drake’s comment made Yvlon pause. She lowered her sword too slowly; he kicked her, and she went stumbling backwards. And then she realized she was on the edge of the muddy hill.

Down she tumbled. Yvlon rolled, feeling her arms take the force of the fall. Something creaked—but Pisces’ bone reinforcement held. And she couldn’t feel her arms. The rest of her—hurt. But it was humiliation. As Yvlon charged back up the hill, she saw something else. Ice fragments. A shower of ice.

Yvlon held up her gauntlets, covering her helmet. An unlucky splinter could put an eye out! Only when the sound had faded did she look and see Ceria was running from Grimalkin, firing [Ice Spikes] at him. He was blocking them with a barrier spell of some kind; Yvlon could see the distorted air. Ksmvr was firing arrows at the back of Grimalkin’s head, and he was ignoring them too.

“Ceria! Let me!”

The Human woman bellowed as she charged Grimalkin again. This time, he pointed at her, and she, realizing what was coming, tried to run sideways. The ray of frost hit her right shoulder; Yvlon swore as her right side went numb and heavy. But she ran on.

“This—”

Her swing hit Grimalkin’s barrier, and she felt pressure, then her sword cutting through. The magic exploded with a pop of sound, and Grimalkin stepped back. Ceria fired an [Ice Spike] at his chest. Ksmvr loosed an arrow from behind.

“Good! [Steel Hide]!”

The ice shattered on his front. The arrow snapped on his back. Yvlon looked up, raised her sword, and felt a hand grab the hilt. She struggled, but Grimalkin had both hands in one steely claw. He raised a fist, and she braced.

“I’ve seen enough. Byres! Out! Antinium! Out! Alright, [Necromancer], Springwalker, show me what you two can do alone.”

He let go. Yvlon stumbled back and saw Ksmvr lower his bow and walk to one side. As Yvlon lowered her sword, panting, she saw a blur of white. Pisces stepped in, his [Flash Step] spell carrying him towards Grimalkin’s chest. He slashed with his flaming rapier, and the Drake blinked. The tip of the blade skidded across Grimalkin’s chest.

Pisces stared at the Drake. He disappeared backwards and then, as Yvlon hurried out of the way, stabbed from the side. This time, the [Necromancer] stared at the tip of his blade. It was wedged between a pair of scales on Grimalkin’s hand. The Muscle Mage lowered his blocking hand and regarded Pisces.

“Is that your best? Show me—”

Grimalkin looked up and raised one arm. The Warbear Bone Horror slammed both claws down with a silent roar, and Yvlon saw Grimalkin stagger. Pisces stepped backwards as a trio of [Ice Spikes] hit Grimalkin on the tail, back, and shoulder. The young man flicked his fingers and shot a stream of fire from them. Grimalkin was engulfed! Yvlon stirred uneasily.

“Pisces—!”

Powerful or not, Grimalkin was a [Mage], and he didn’t have enchanted robes or armor as far as Yvlon could tell. That had to still hurt! She saw the Bone Horror snapping, straining against Grimalkin as he held it off him, but it was unable to crush him. And then—

“—Strength].”

Yvlon caught the last part of the spell. But she saw Grimalkin step back, hit the Bone Horror, and spray half of its head across the hilltop. The audience watching the training session from the windows and outside the inn ducked. Grimalkin exhaled. His scales were smoking, but he looked annoyed more than anything else. Pisces stared and flicked more fire at him.

“[Snow Flume].”

A blast of snow extinguished the flames, and Pisces blurred out of the way. He stared at Grimalkin. The [Sinew Magus] stared back grimly.

“That’s really your best? Don’t hold back. Where’s your [Fireb—”

An ice spike twice as large as the last two shattered on the back of Grimalkin’s head, and he growled. Ceria was peeking around one of her [Ice Walls] as Grimalkin pointed a finger towards her.

“[Fast Fireball]!”

“Oh shi—”

The explosion was smaller than a regular fireball, but it still cracked the [Ice Walls]. The half-Elf standing behind them was caught in the impact and went flying. Grimalkin shook his head.

“I’ve seen enough from you, Ceria Springwalker. [Necromancer].”

He turned his head and bent backwards. Pisces missed the tip of Grimalkin’s face with his flaming rapier. He pointed with his free hand.

“[Stone Spray]! [Shock Volt]! [Summon Bone Horror—]”

“[Gazelle’s Dexterity].”

Yvlon saw Grimalkin twist, and his claws blocked the lightning. He punched out with one fist, and Pisces blurred left. But Grimalkin leapt forwards, and then he and Pisces were dodging, punching, while the [Necromancer] slashed desperately with his rapier, trying to gain distance—but Grimalkin blocked with his claws, and he was just as fast! The two went back and forth, flicking across the grass for five seconds, ten—

And then Pisces jumped back and vanished. Grimalkin paused, looked around, and saw the Bone Horror behind him rising. It was reconfiguring into the strange, tall creature with whip arms. Grimalkin snorted.

“[Dispel Magic].”

He pointed, and the Bone Horror fell to pieces. Yvlon heard a quiet curse. She held still as Grimalkin peered around. He sighed, folded his arms, and regarded his audience. A wincing Ceria climbed up the hill; Ksmvr and Yvlon stood in front of a crowd of Drakes, Gnolls, and adventurers who’d come out to see Grimalkin testing them. The [Sinew Magus] nodded.

“That was your best spell yet. I’ve cast [See Invisibility] by the way. It’s good to see you’re able to cast incantationless magic. And you are—there.”

He pointed straight at Yvlon. She didn’t hear anything, but she could still feel Pisces about. She blushed a bit; everyone was staring at her, and she had the distinct feeling that Pisces was trying to hide behind her back.

“Stop hiding.”

Grimalkin folded his arms. Yvlon jumped as Pisces appeared behind her, looking sour. The [Necromancer]’s voice had a note of complaint in it.

“How did you see me? I was quite sure that even with a spell, I would be invisible—”

“I saw the grass move. What do you expect me to do when you turn invisible? You should have used a jumping spell right away or lost me first. Or both.”

Grimalkin pointed down. Yvlon and everyone else stared at the grass around The Wandering Inn. Pisces turned red.

“Oh.”

He gazed at Grimalkin. The [Sinew Magus] rubbed the back of his neck where Ceria had hit him, sighing. He folded his arms and regarded the Horns of Hammerad. Somewhat shamefaced, they looked at him. Yvlon had mud and grass all over her armor, a slight dent around her stomach, and bruises. She wasn’t sure about her arms, but she felt like the skin might be torn and bleeding under her armor.

She looked left and saw Ksmvr was mainly undamaged. Grimalkin hadn’t hit him, but the Antinium’s antennae were twitching with what Yvlon now understood as shame. Pisces was panting a bit, but he seemed embarrassed more than anything.

And Ceria? She looked at Yvlon and bit her lip. She was slightly battered, and her cheek was swollen. She’d tried to use her [Ice Armor] spell in the first sparring session—right before Grimalkin had punched her.

Grimalkin was unharmed. He smelled like smoke, and he had a bit of wood tangled in his neck spines, but all the Horns had managed to put on him was his irked expression. He looked at them, and Yvlon, flushing, waited for him to say something cutting. But all he did was nod.

“Good. You’re better than you look. Yvlon Byres, passed. Antinium?”

“I am Ksmvr—”

“Passed. I don’t need to do much to either of you. Ten more levels and/or the right gear and you’d both give me trouble.”

“Really?”

Yvlon exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Ksmvr. Grimalkin nodded.

“As [Warriors] go, you’re fine for your levels and equipment. I’ll address that. But my concern is with the [Necromancer]. Pisces, is it?”

He regarded Pisces with an unfriendly look, which Pisces returned. But Grimalkin eventually sighed.

“It’s a single Tier 4 spell, which is good. And I’d be satisfied, by and large. There’s always room for improvement, but that’s far better than Erin Solstice had me thinking. And I don’t know necromancy, so there’s that. No…that’s not what I saw.”

Pisces stared. Grimalkin ignored him as he turned his head. He pointed at the last member of their group.

“Yes. You’re the problem, aren’t you?”

Every eye turned to Ceria. She blinked.

“Me?”

—–

“There has to be some mistake, Magus Grimalkin.”

Yvlon protested as the Horns gathered around Grimalkin and the audience filed back indoors. The four adventurers stood with the [Mage] just outside The Wandering Inn, talking in privacy.

Well—moderate privacy—the line for the outhouses was still there, although the Antinium had added in two more spaces, so five regular people and one Moore-sized guest could go at once with comfortable space in between. Naturally, all five were standing well upwind and far from the outhouses. Grimalkin sighed as he dug the tip of one claw in an earhole.

“Didn’t you hear me, Miss Byres? I’m not accustomed to repeating myself! I said your weak link, your poorest team member is your Captain. Ceria Springwalker.”

He raised his voice a few decibels, and Yvlon winced. She looked at Ceria. The half-Elf was stunned. And embarrassed. Yvlon frowned at Grimalkin.

“Magus Grimalkin. Er—that’s how I should be addressing you, correct?”

“As you wish.”

The Drake waved a claw as he stood impatiently on the balls of his feet. Yvlon nodded. Even standing still, Grimalkin managed to convey both energy and impatience.

“I appreciate you agreeing to help train our team—”

He held up a claw.

“Consult. That’s a better word for it. I have no interest in training your team, but Erin Solstice has expressed a desire for me to help you in her roundabout way. So as long as she provides me with the information I want, I will put aside some of my time to help your team out.”

“How generous of you.”

Pisces sneered as he stood furthest away from Grimalkin. He still looked peeved—no, almost competitive as he stared at Grimalkin. Yvlon assumed his ego was hurt after the beating Grimalkin had just given her team. She shot him a glare, and he sullenly looked away. She wasn’t happy either, but this was an experienced [Mage]! The best in Pallass, if you believed Grimalkin’s words.

“Were you born with that tone of voice, or do you always sound like a sulking child?”

Grimalkin glanced at Pisces, and the [Necromancer] turned red. He opened his mouth, and Grimalkin spoke over him.

“I’m just referring to your—”

“Do you think this is free? Or that I should be less than stingy with my time? How valuable do you think my time is that I can take a few hours out of my day to train any adventuring team? Did you think, when I referred to myself as the ‘greatest [Mage] in Pallass’, I was being hyperbolic? I would be grateful to Miss Solstice for interceding. I would also shut up if I were you, Necromancer Pisces. Because I tolerate snide comments like I tolerate rats in my home.”

Pisces flushed again, but the reply on the tip of his tongue went unsaid. Grimalkin eyed him and went on.

“Good. Now, Yvlon Byres. I’m giving you my frank and professional opinion as someone who regularly consults with and trains [Mages], the elite units of Pallass’ army, and who’s fought on the front lines in six wars over the course of his life. If you have objections to my credentials or my abilities that you witnessed first-hand, feel free to voice them.”

He looked at Yvlon. She hesitated.

“It’s just that—Ceria’s our weakest link?”

She looked at Ceria. The half-Elf nodded hesitantly.

“I know we can all improve, and I know I’m not the best, but I thought that at my level—”

“You misunderstand me. I am saying that at your level, you are by far the weakest of you four. I’m not evaluating you on the merits of your levels or overall current ability, but your potential at this moment. If I was basing my judgment on pure fighting ability, it would go the [Necromancer], you, Miss Byres, then the Antinium.”

“Ksmvr.”

Said Antinium interjected helpfully. It was now Yvlon’s turn to blush at the frank appraisal. Ceria hesitated.

“But you don’t even know our levels. Unless Erin—she doesn’t know them exactly. So how do you?”

“I don’t need to know them to make correct assumptions. You. [Necromancer]. Level 30 plus. Ceria, [Cryomancer]. Below Level 30. Upper mid-twenties I’ll guess. Yvlon Byres, same level range. [Warrior], most likely generic. Antinium…”

“Ksmvr.”

Grimalkin gave Ksmvr a long and distasteful look.

“[Skirmisher]. Level 20.”

“That is very accurate. How did you know?”

Yvlon nodded, impressed despite herself. That was close! She was a Level 28 [Wounded Warrior], having leveled up once during training with Ksmvr and fighting low-level monsters over the last month. Grimalkin shrugged.

“Your Skills. You fight well, Miss Byres, but you lack any of the powerful moves that one associates with a Level 30 class. That truly is a breakpoint in terms of power; many [Warriors] gain lower-level attack Skills like your footwork Skill, [Lesser Strength], what I assume was a Skill that lightens your armor—you felt lighter when I hit you than you should have been—and was that a cutting Skill?”

“[Keener Edge]. Yes. That’s right—”

“Exactly! If you were Level 30, I would expect you to be a specialized class with a very distinct ability. Such as a [Shieldbreaker Axeman], which develops around level…30 to 35, I think, and has a [Shield Destroyer] Skill. Failing that, you would have at least one passive ability of note. The Antinium is easy as well; he has [Quick Movement] and [Quick Slash], but little else. The [Necromancer] has to be above Level 30 if he can summon Bone Horrors, but he’s a lower-level [Mage]. His spell list includes only one Tier 4 spell. And Miss Springwalker knows only a couple higher-Tier ice spells. It’s all very basic when you’ve seen as many classes as I have.”

Grimalkin looked around at the Horns. Yvlon wiped at her helmet with a cloth, and looked around. She got a begrudging nod from Pisces, an awkward smile from Ceria, and a wave from Ksmvr. They glanced at each other, impressed. She turned back to Grimalkin.

“Okay then. You’re clearly an expert. But why is Ceria so much worse than the rest of us? She could tie both Ksmvr and me up with her [Ice Wall] spell if she needed to, and her [Ice Spikes] are accurate! We have our holes, but we’re close to Gold-rank.”

Grimalkin sighed.

“From a certain point of view? Yes. Magical items make a team, and you have two—no, three good ones. That enchanted sword, Miss Byres, already qualifies you. The Forceshield is splendid. The Ring of Jumping that Antinium uses is solid. But your [Mages] need work. Springwalker! Front and center!”

“Me? Why—”

Ceria didn’t get a chance to object. Grimalkin grabbed her and yanked her over to stand in front of him. He spoke in a half-bellow.

“You were the weakest member of your team in that mock battle by far! Even the Antinium managed to aim for my eyes! You relied too much on your spells and hunkering behind your [Ice Walls]! And why? Because you’re out of shape!”

He poked her in the stomach. Ceria turned red as Yvlon peered at her stomach.

“I’m not—”

“Your leg muscles are atrophied! You think you can sit on your fattening ass and cast spells? Your [Ice Wall] is weaker than my toilet paper, and you have no dexterity on your feet! Move and cast! That’s what my apprentices learn once they pass my basic physical baselines! The rest of your team can move, but you hunker down like my grandmother on her deathbed and rely on your magic to protect you. That. Is. Naïve!”

He shouted in Ceria’s face. The half-Elf blinked up at him and silently wiped spit from her face. Grimalkin poked at her chest.

“You lack firepower! I could have stood in front of you and let you hit me with [Ice Spikes] until my enchantment wore off. What can you do besides raise ice walls and cover yourself in ice? Sneeze at me?”

“I—uh—well, I can cast [Fireball]. With a wand.”

Ceria waved her wand weakly. Grimalkin’s eyes popped.

“Then do it! What, are you too good for fire spells? Or is your [Fireball] as weak as your arms?”

“It’s not the greatest around, but—”

“You need stronger magic! Otherwise, you’re filling no role against a stronger enemy other than bait and being a nuisance! Low-level enemies might be stymied by those [Ice Walls], but anything that can smash through them isn’t going to be slowed by an [Ice Spike]! Your team has one [Skirmisher], and he has an enchanted dagger, a Ring of Jumping, and the luxury of being Level 20! What’s your excuse?”

“I, uh—well, I don’t have the spellbooks just yet—I’ve been looking into them and—”

“And? I see rapid weight gain here. Here. And here. You smell like alcohol, and I saw you drinking and eating twice what I would have fed my apprentices, and its lunch. You’re lazy. How many spells did you learn this month? Last month?”

“W-well…”

Ceria turned beet red. Yvlon looked at her and remembered. Ceria’s usual routine in The Wandering Inn was to eat, read her spellbook while having a drink or a snack, and usually stop reading and socialize with Erin or the team until she staggered up to her room, very drunk. Even Pisces, for all he was bound to his bouts of laziness, went to his room earlier than everyone else, and Yvlon suspected he did a lot of [Necromancer] things in there. Ceria wavered.

“Well, not any spells—I did learn [Ice Armor]!”

“From a spellbook?”

“No…but hold on! Pisces hasn’t learned any spells recently! Right?”

Ceria looked at Pisces. The [Necromancer] avoided her gaze. Grimalkin snorted.

“He’s probably playing with his undead. [Necromancers] don’t need to learn as many spells. They create monsters. And I don’t have to look twice to see that both Bone Horrors he made were optimized. Disgusting, but improved in economy of motion and bone.”

Pisces looked startled, then embarrassed and pleased.

“You saw that? I have been improving them, and my primary Bone Horror is twenty percent more eff—”

“Shut up. You are slothful! Miss Byres and the Antinium Ksmvr thing both show evidence of training. You see her face? A lot less baby fat than yours! [Mages] burn energy like [Warriors]—the fact that you’re gaining a paunch tells me you’re slacking. You need to get your head back in shape, stop stuffing your face, and learn some magic!”

When Grimalkin had finished, Ceria finally stopped blocking her ears with the heels of her palms. She was very embarrassed, and as Yvlon unplugged her ears, a guilty silence stole over the Horns. When you put it like that—she couldn’t quite look at her team leader. Grimalkin had hit a nail on the head with all the tact of a hammer. Only Ksmvr was pleased.

“You remembered my name. I had thought you had trouble remembering.”

Grimalkin glared at him. Then he looked at Ceria and sighed.

“Well then. That’s my reprimand concluded. I hope you take this to heart. I could have been harsher, but you’re not a [Soldier] or one of my apprentices. Now then, shall we discuss how you can improve? Inside the inn, I think. Is the second floor open? I dislike standing outside. Far too humid, and it looks like it will rain soon.”

He waved at an errant Acid Fly glowing and buzzing past him and the cloudy skies. The Horns looked at each other. Yvlon blinked.

“Harsher?”

—–

It was tough…love. Or just toughness and a good deal of instructorly concern. Because Grimalkin did remind Yvlon of the [Trainer] her father had hired to teach both her and her brother how to fight. He didn’t mince words, and upstairs, in Yvlon’s room, he addressed Ceria again, pacing back and forth restlessly, tail swishing on the floorboards behind him.

“With that said, your spells are colder than most [Ice Mages] I’ve met. Or killed. Fast freezing too. Your aim is excellent. Combat-wise, you’re still a cut above most Wistram graduates.”

“Really? Well, we did graduate from Wistram.”

Ceria perked up at that. She was still a bit red around the tips of her pointed ears. Grimalkin paused and looked at her.

“You graduated?”

“That’s right.”

He frowned.

“From what program? Are they allowing students to pay to graduate these days?”

Ceria choked on some tea Yvlon had gotten from below. The [Wounded Warrior] glared at Ceria; she was sitting on Yvlon’s bed! Ceria wiped at her mouth.

“No! Pisces and I both graduated. It’s the truth!”

Grimalkin shook his head.

“Wrong. Wistram doesn’t allow their [Mages] to graduate at your level of spellcraft. You could probably fool non-Wistram [Mages], but it’s obvious to me.”

“We did graduate, Magus Grimalkin. You may cast [Detect Lies] if you wish. But it is true. There were extenuating circumstances, but I trust you’ll take us at our word.”

Pisces frowned at Grimalkin. He’d switched back to politeness as he balanced a teacup on four fingers. Grimalkin frowned at him.

“Really? Fine then, I’ll take you at your word, but my point stands. Most [Mages] Wistram churns out know multiple Tier 4 spells after they graduate. At least three to five. Not always combat spells, but I would expect that from you two. With that said, they’re terrible fighters, so you still pass in terms of experience.”

“Really?”

Ceria and Pisces looked pleased at that. Yvlon just frowned. She began to ask—but Ksmvr was already raising his hand. Grimalkin stared at him.

“Speak.”

“Excuse me, Magus Grimalkin. What makes Wistram’s Mages inferior despite their advanced spellcasting, which is apparently superior to Comrade Pisces’ and Captain Ceria’s?”

Grimalkin grunted as Pisces and Ceria shot Ksmvr a dirty look.

“Like I said. Experience. Just…experience. And common sense in battle. Oh, they may be fully-accredited [Mages] with over half a decade’s worth of studying, but that amounts to little field experience in most cases. Sometimes when we have to clash with Humans in the north or fight off a Terandrian fleet, I meet Wistram graduates fresh off the boats. They can cast [Grand Fireball] and link spells in practice, but in an actual battle?”

He scratched absently at his chin.

“The ones who don’t freeze up at the sight of someone having their spine torn out don’t have any awareness. Generally, I wait until they try and cast a huge spell and throw a rock at them from the side. Idiots don’t even use encompassing barrier spells. Or if they do, a second rock does it. That always raises tensions when I visit the academy, of course.”

Yvlon gaped at Grimalkin and burnt her tongue on her tea.

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Well, it’s easier than fighting a veteran [Mage]. This is just comparing Ceria and Pisces to freshly-graduated Wistram [Mages], which they’re around the age of. You are around sixty, aren’t you, Miss Springwalker? Half-Elf bodies get difficult to place after around a hundred years.”

Grimalkin didn’t bother to wait for an answer. He went on, filling a tea cup and sipping it himself as he spoke.

“Wistram may be the premier academy of mages, but they’ve lost all their true craft and magic to the Golems. They’ve neutered themselves for fresh bed sheets, clean-swept floors, and predictability. I told your Archmages that, but none of them besides Amerys and Viltach gave me the passing time of day.”

Pisces looked delighted at the [Sinew Magus]’ words. Ceria just looked shocked. The [Necromancer] leaned forwards eagerly.

“So you agree that Wistram is a shadow of itself, Magus Grimalkin?”

“Of course! Or haven’t you ever visited another academy of magic? Wistram still leads, but the gap is far, far narrower than it used to be. Take my school of learning: Fissival. Our Walled City may not have the illustrious history of the Isle of Mages, but we never lost our artifacts of old or our spellbooks. We train [Mages] for war or academia, and in battle, ours tend to survive longer than most Wistram graduates. Although I will admit that academic [Mages] are common wherever you go. At least Fissival allows for [Scholars] and non-spellcasters. But I wasn’t ever a researcher.”

The Drake trailed off again, sighing. Then he looked around sharply and pointed at Ceria. She jumped and slopped more tea onto Yvlon’s bed.

“So. Why are you so half-done? Your foundation is excellent. But you don’t even know [Icy Spear]. If you graduated from Wistram, why did they let you leave? Or—didn’t you have a master? I’ve heard how brutal the academy is on some students. Don’t tell me they made you take basic courses all six years?”

Ceria swallowed hard and paled. She looked at Pisces and shook her head. Yvlon, knowing what was coming, sat back a bit in her chair.

“No. No, we were expelled. By Wistram’s Council of Mages. But we were allowed to graduate because, um, Cognita, the Golem, declared us graduates. But…”

She trailed off. Pisces lowered his cup and glanced at Ceria and then quietly closed his eyes. The Drake [Mage] glanced quizzically at him as Pisces spoke.

“It was my fault. I committed an error in judgment. However, I was always planning on leaving. I was…revealed as a [Necromancer]. But to be brief, the entirety of the tale is this. Ceria’s master was—”

“Illphres. Illphres, the [Ice Mage].”

Ceria breathed the words. And the look in her eyes was sad and cold. Grimalkin frowned. He listened, and so did Yvlon. The tale of the days the two had spent in Wistram was one she’d heard from them once on the ride back from Celum to Liscor. Hearing the abbreviated version again didn’t make it any less tragic.

An academy managed by Golems. Cognita, the Truestone Golem, and the test to reach the higher floors. Pisces, the young, popular talent exposed as a [Necromancer]. Illphres, the expert [Ice Mage] who’d taken Ceria in. The test that had claimed the lives of Illphres and four other senior [Mages]. Pisces animating their corpses to rob the grave of Archmage Nekhret. Death. Judgment. Expulsion.

“Montressa. Beatrice—our friends. And Calvaron. He died there too.”

Ceria shook her head, her expression bleak. It was the past. And yet, Yvlon knew all too well, the past could cut you in the present with a knife as sharp as memory. Grimalkin stared at her and Pisces, and his impatient expression flickered.

“You two were the students at the heart of that incident? The one with the Specters?”

Ceria and Pisces looked up.

“You’ve heard of us? Wait—you know about that day? The Council and Archmage Feor told people?”

Grimalkin snorted.

“Know about it? It was the talk of Fissival and the [Mage] community for nearly a year afterwards! An Archmage’s guardian undead killing twelve students and faculty and leaving fifty-three injured? Do you really expect Wistram of all places to be able to keep that secret?”

Ceria bit her lip. Yvlon remembered her talking about the currency of secrets that the academy used.

“Probably not. What did you hear, Mage Grimalkin?”

“Just the basics. I was fascinated—specter-type undead that even the current Archmages struggled against? It was as bad as fighting Ghosts that Az’kerash summoned. Of course, my interest was just theoretical; I wanted to be sure Pallass could stand up against an attack from that kind of threat. But you two were…now I see.”

Grimalkin trailed off. He looked at Ceria’s miserable expression and Pisces’ haunted one. Then he nodded. He sucked in his breath.

“TESTICLES!”

—–

Downstairs, Erin heard the shout through the ceiling and jumped. The Shogi piece she was holding went flying, and Chaldion winced. The old Drake grumbled as the entire inn looked up.

“That annoying muscle-head is at it again. You set him on that adventuring team, did you? You must either love or hate them, girl.”

Erin winced. She could hear Grimalkin thumping around upstairs, and his voice was loud enough to be heard through the floorboards.

“Is he always like this?”

Chaldion gave Erin a long look. He sourly picked up the piece she’d dropped and placed it back on the board.

“Guess.”

—–

Ceria’s ears were ringing. Grimalkin’s shout had actually made the windows rattle. He strode down the length of Yvlon’s room and then turned back and pointed at her.

“Testicles! Gonads! Wait, Human females don’t actually have them, do they? I don’t focus on reproductive organs, just muscle. Anyways. Ceria Springwalker! Your master was one of the few [Mages] to take on the so-called ‘test’ Archmage Zelkyr left behind, wasn’t she? I applaud her. She was brave. Truly brave! But foolish. I wish she hadn’t thrown away her life. If she hadn’t, you’d be twice the [Cryomancer] you are today. And she would be alive. But the testicles she must have had—I wish I’d known her.”

“Wh—but—she wasn’t a fool!”

Ceria felt both pleased and angry at Grimalkin’s comments at once. The [Sinew Magus] shook his head.

“She was. Brave! As brave as any [Mage] I’ve met to take on the test! But she was a poor master.”

“Take that back!”

The half-Elf flushed in true anger this time, not embarrassment. She’d take Grimalkin insulting her all day—he was right, which was why it hurt so much—but badmouthing Illphres? She stood up, hand and skeletal hand clenched. Grimalkin didn’t bat an eye.

“I won’t. She was a fool. Or else, why would she have left her apprentice behind without so much as a spellbook? Any decent master would have arranged for you to get something or have someone else teach you. She did neither.”

Ceria turned pale.

“She—I wasn’t her apprentice long. She probably forgot, and we were expelled before I could ask about her things. But she was a great master! Illphres was—”

“A fool. And I don’t blame Wistram’s [Mages] for not trying the upper levels, even though I think it’s destroyed their potential.”

Grimalkin sighed and pulled a spare chair up. Ceria clenched her fists, but Pisces spoke up.

“I’d hope that you had more respect for the dead, Magus Grimalkin. Illphres and her comrades were trying to restore true magic to the halls of Wistram. Isn’t that a noble deed?”

Ceria breathed out. She looked at Pisces and saw his eyes were sharp on Grimalkin’s face. Not angry, just—observant. Grimalkin nodded.

“The cause is noble. The attempt is suicidal. Let’s be honest, you two former Wistram graduates. I’ve been to Wistram. I visit it every few years. And I’m familiar with Cognita. Moreover, I took a look at the ‘test’ Archmage Zelkyr left behind. Have you?”

He looked pointedly at Ceria. She hesitated and nodded silently. Her stomach was tearing itself into knots. Yvlon looked over from her seat and carefully rested a hand on Ceria’s shoulder. The half-Elf nodded gratefully to her. Grimalkin nodded as well, and his expression was dark.

“The test of Archmage Zelkyr. Defeat his guardians and pass. Four Golems plus your famous Cognita. The Armor Golem isn’t much, although it is exquisitely made. I could take that one down, in theory, with the right preparations and some artifacts. But the magma creation? That thing made of metal? That invisible flesh-monster?”

He shook his head. Ceria started, recalling each in turn. Yvlon and Ksmvr just looked silently at her and Pisces, and the [Necromancer] shuddered. Grimalkin kept going.

“I’ve seen advanced Golems fight, like the War Golems the Terlands still use. Have you seen them? They can shoot beams of light, cast spells—no. You know, I thought about challenging the test myself when I was younger and I thought it would make me a hero.”

“You did?”

Ceria looked up. Grimalkin nodded, smiling ruefully.

“Doesn’t every [Mage] who hears about it? Of course I did. And no disrespect to your master, but I imagine I have at least a few levels on her. If I did it, I thought, I’d bring the best team. One with the greatest [Mages] the world had to offer. From Fissival as well as Wistram. But even if I took the best six [Mages] I know, I’d only give us a one-in-three chance of victory. And that includes Archmage Amerys and Viltach.”

Ceria swallowed hard. Archmage Amerys? She remembered her as well. And Illphres had said Amerys had more levels…she bit her lip, remembering Illphres’ last words. The way she smiled.

“Someone had to try. Someone—it wasn’t in vain.”

The look in Grimalkin’s eyes softened just a bit. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“No. But as long as that monster guards Wistram, no [Mage] will pass that test. I guarantee it. The other Golems you could handle, at risk and at cost. But Cognita? She’s stronger than all four of the others put together.”

“You know Cognita, then, Magus Grimalkin?”

Pisces’ voice was quiet. Grimalkin nodded, baring his teeth.

“Why wouldn’t I know her? Cognita, the Truestone Golem. She was made by a Drake. By one of our Archmages less than two hundred years ago. Archmage Zelkyr was a genius who transformed the world, and his creations live on to this day. Historically, Cognita walked Pallass’ walls. She fought against the Five Families—helped crush the foothold they established on our shores, and killed two other Archmages in battle herself. You should look up her history. We have libraries, you know.”

He looked at Pisces and Ceria. The half-Elf shook her head. She didn’t want to think of Cognita. Pisces’ eyes were alight with interest.

“I’m aware of her history, Magus Grimalkin. But I also know that many artifacts belong to the Walled Cities and in the vaults of the current Archmages. Two Archmages and yourself and you wouldn’t try? Ever? Was it just a matter of logistics or the others refusing?”

“No. I decided not to. Because of Cognita. Let me repeat myself. She killed. Two. Archmages. In battle. Back when Zelkyr walked the earth and [Archmage] was a class, not a title. No disrespect to your former master, Miss Springwalker, but I don’t blame any [Mage] for refusing to fight her. If I took every Gold-rank adventurer in your inn and threw them at her, she would probably finish the fight in less than five minutes.”

Fortunately, they weren’t in the common room where everyone could hear. Grimalkin ignored the incredulous look Yvlon was giving him.

“Gold-rank’s nowhere near the level you need to be to hurt something like her. Even Saliss of Lights, our Named Adventurer—well, if he prepped, he might actually do her some damage. But once she caught him, he’d be dead too. I’m just surprised Wistram’s [Mages] are so comfortable walking around with a superior being judging their every move and their petty squabbling for the scraps of power she lets them have.”

Pisces’ eyes lit up. Ksmvr leaned forwards too, excited.

“Really? Is this Saliss truly that powerful? More so than you, Magus Grimalkin, by comparison?”

The huge Drake paused and, for a moment, looked uncomfortable.

“Well, he’s a Named Adventurer for a reason. And he possesses one of the highest, if limited, combat potentials in the world. He is on my list of people who could kill me—if he took me off-guard. In a fair fight, I’d be prepared, of course. But he’s still…”

He broke off, grumbling, as he folded his arms. Yvlon frowned.

“You have a list of people who can kill you in a fight?”

“Of course I have a list of everyone who can kill me in combat. Any such individual is a threat to the Walled Cities!”

The Horns exchanged a glance. Ceria knew they were way off-topic, but she couldn’t help but ask.

“Who’s on it? Elia Arcsinger?”

“Hah!”

Grimalkin laughed as he took a sip of tea. Then he frowned.

“Wait, were you serious?”

He eyed Ceria and then shrugged.

“Never mind. We’re missing the point. I see now why you two lack some magical knowledge. Nothing to be done about it. Your master’s dead, and you don’t have a master.”

He pointed at Pisces. The [Necromancer] nodded stiffly. Ceria sat up as Grimalkin got up and paced once more.

“As I said, it shows. In Ceria most of all. You lack spells! The rest of your team is solid.”

“I don’t feel solid. I realized how far I have to go. I never touched you in that sparring session! Honestly, aren’t I a big weak link?”

Yvlon shook her head. Grimalkin just laughed.

“You? Miss Byres, if I see a sword enchanted like yours, I avoid it! Moreover, you’re not at Level 30. [Warriors] like you tend to gain a powerful Skill along with a class then—and often in a specific direction. Offensive Skills. Defensive. Or utility, like mobility. Each one has its strengths. Given your fighting style, I’d guess you’ll gain something offensive or mobility-based, but who knows?”

Yvlon blinked as he thrust a claw at her. Ceria looked at her. A Level 30 Skill? Ceria had been dreaming of what she’d get, but Yvlon? The Muscle Mage went on.

“Either way, if you gained, say, [Hundred-Foot Lunge] or [Whirlwind Cleave], you’d solve your issue of reaching the enemy neatly. Most foes can’t dodge like I can; your sword puts you at Gold-rank, and if you gain a decent Skill at Level 30, I’ll certify you as Gold-rank on the spot. The Antinium needs levels and gear, but for his level he’s the most effective of you. As for you two—”

He pointed at Pisces and Ceria and paused. Reluctantly, frowning, he stared at Pisces.

“Low-level spells. Fast casting with your bare hands. [Fencer]’s footwork and a [Fencer]’s Skills. Your technique…you lack Skills, but [Flash Step] makes up for your agility. Huh.”

He tapped one foot impatiently on the floorboards. Pisces looked somewhat pleased and wary. After a moment, Grimalkin nodded reluctantly.

“[Fireball]. [Lightning Bolt]. [Acid Orb]. [Ice Spear]—well, your half-Elf companion would learn that. What’s the [Necromancer] equivalent? Ah, yes. [Deathbolt]. But that’s a poorer spell. Hm. Fine. [Fireball], [Lightning Bolt], [Acid Orb], and—[Stone Spear]. Take your pick.”

“What?”

Pisces blinked. Ceria sat up on the tea-spattered bed. Grimalkin sighed.

“Take your pick. I’ll give you a scroll with the spell. They’re Tier 3; if you can master [Invisibility], they shouldn’t take more than a few weeks at most for you. And they’re simple enough that I have copies. I’ll charge Miss Solstice’s account.”

“What?”

The other Horns sat up. Grimalkin nodded reluctantly at Pisces.

“You pass. Your dodging ability is superior to my apprentices, you have a melee weapon, and you’re practicing fast-casting in the modern style. If you weren’t a [Necromancer], I’d bring you back to have my students learn from your style.”

He paused. Pisces looked delighted, and Ceria was sure his ego was expanding like a toad. Grimalkin shook his head.

“As it is, you’re a disgusting waste of potential. Your [Necromancer] class is designed for raising armies of undead. These specialized Bone Horrors are useful as walls, but [Necromancers] specialize in overwhelming their opponents with minions. You need to keep…three high-grade mana potions on your person at all times and triple the amount of bones you have stockpiled. Then you can raise a small army of skeletons for any given battle. Animal bones? Good. I’d have to hit you if they were Drake, Gnoll, or Human.”

He sighed louder.

“You pass. But either upgrade that rapier and learn more duelist spells or stop using it. It won’t cut my scales; good luck fighting a Wyvern or anything with a tough hide.”

Pisces preened. Yvlon rolled her eyes in disgust as he adjusted his robes and sat up, smiling contentedly.

“I’ll keep that in mind. But, ah, Magus Grimalkin, you’re referring to Miss Byres as close to Gold-rank—Ksmvr obviously simply has too few levels—but what did you mean about ‘certifying us’? You mean, giving us a Gold-rank status as adventurers? I assumed that was a matter for Adventurer’s Guilds to take on…”

Grimalkin looked affronted.

“Of course I can certify someone as Gold-rank. I recommended two of my apprentices to the Adventurer’s Guild in Pallass when they graduated from my training. One for Gold-rank, the other for Silver. She hit Gold-rank in four months. Human Adventurer’s Guilds don’t take recommendations? Haven’t you gotten one from a Gold-rank team?”

The Horns went uncomfortably silent. Grimalkin smiled.

“They probably agreed with me. Now, onto Ceria Springwalker.”

He pointed at Ceria, and her heart sank. She raised her flesh and skeletal hand, smiling weakly.

“I get it. Stop eating, start learning from my spellbook…I can do that.”

She noticed Pisces, Yvlon, and Ksmvr all looking at her skeptically. Even Ksmvr, which hurt.

“I can! Honestly! It’s just that I don’t have any more ice spells in that spellbook of Warmage Thresk’s. But I taught myself how to use [Frozen Armor] in the Raskghar den, remember? I just need to put my back to the wall and…we can buy a spellbook, right?”

“Hm. I may be able to help with spellbooks. I have a few duplicates. But your issue is that you need to practice magic. The [Necromancer] can fiddle about with bones, but you need to practice magic. And not just aiming spells or quickening your incantation. Your [Ice Walls] need to be strengthened. You need to improve your mastery of frost; that’s what [Elementalists] do. They specialize.”

Grimalkin drummed his claws on one arm absently. Ceria looked at him blankly.

“How am I supposed to do that? Gain more Skills? I already have [Weak Frost Resistance], [Ice Magic Affinity], and [Frozen Quickshape], but…”

She jumped as Grimalkin thumped his thigh. The [Sinew Magus] glared at her.

“Dead gods! Do you think magic is all about Skills? I’m talking about practice! Honest work! You need a regimen. Structure! And this is what I specialize in!”

He snapped his fingers, and the pop of sound made the Horns jump. Grimalkin got up in one movement and strode over to Ceria. She found herself standing as he nodded, practically vibrating with energy.

“I’m no [Cryomancer]. I know a few dozen spells involving ice magic, but it’s not my specialty. But I do know how they train. We’re going to have you work on your fundamentals, Springwalker! It’ll be intense! Possibly life-threatening! But. That. Is. Why. It. Works!”

He jabbed her in the chest. Ceria rocked back on her feet with each impact and opened her mouth. He couldn’t mean—she turned red again.

“Hold on! I know what my master talked about having me do, but that’s a bit extreme, right? I can’t even…”

She hesitated. Grimalkin paused as he paced over to the door and came back. Pisces and Yvlon looked interestedly at her.

“Do what?”

Ceria hesitated and turned red. She coughed.

“Uh. W-well. She said that when she learned ice magic, she, er, went to Terandria and walked in the worst blizzards she could find. Naked.”

Ksmvr stared blankly at Ceria. Pisces, on the other hand, let out a cackle, and Yvlon covered her face. Grimalkin just looked nonplussed. He shook his head.

“Walking around in a blizzard naked? Why would that help? You’re in your element. No. That’s idiotic. What I have planned is much more efficient. And you can do it without needing inclement weather. I just need one thing…”

He paused. The Horns of Hammerad looked at him expectantly. Grimalkin looked around, frowning, and then he leaned over to Ceria.

“…This inn wouldn’t happen to have a bathtub, would it? I need to borrow it.”

—–

“Aaah! Aaah! It hurts!”

Erin Solstice heard Ceria screaming outside. She stared at Chaldion—they were playing Go at this point to break up the Shogi games. He was new to them, but he’d won three games out of eight. Erin was enjoying herself so much she really didn’t want to look. But after four minutes of Ceria screaming, she got up and, with a sigh, went outside.

She found Ceria standing in the bathtub. Or rather—lying down in it. It was a nice, round, wooden tub, big enough to hold even Relc if he lay down and submerged in it. Not that he’d ever used it. Erin herself didn’t use it much; Liscor’s bathhouses were much nicer. And it was a pain to fill.

But the bathtub was filled now. With water. In fact, with boiling water. And Ceria was lying in it. Grimalkin had set up a raging fire around the bottom of the tub and, heedless of the way it kept on scorching the sides, was stoking it mercilessly. The only thing that was keeping the tub from burning itself was the water Ceria kept splashing over the sides as she thrashed. But Ksmvr was helping to fill the tub with a bucket. Yvlon and Pisces were just watching.

“What on earth? Ceria!”

Erin was horrified. The half-Elf was going to cook her brains! At the very least scald her skin off! Already, the half-Elf’s arms were red and cooked, but Erin realized the tub was blazing with heat! It wasn’t just scald-yourself hot, it was you’ll-actually-die-it’s-that-hot! She looked at Grimalkin in horror. The [Sinew Magus] looked up cheerfully.

“More heat! Come on, [Necromancer], help me with these flames. We’ll probably need a copper tub if this thing keeps burning. Feel the burn, Springwalker! That’s how you know you’re alive!”

He flexed, raising his arms up and roaring encouragement. Ceria just screamed.

“I’m burning alive, you monster! It’s too hot! It’s too hot!”

“She’s going to die! Grimalkin, what are you doing!”

Erin had to walk around the fire towards Grimalkin. The Muscle Mage looked at her, beaming.

“Not if she does what she has to! Ah, Erin Solstice, admiring my custom-made course? I told you I’d deliver! Fancy talking about parkour? I could try working up something for the [Necromancer], but Miss Springwalker was the one I thought was really—whoops, sorry, it’s getting too cool. Hold on a moment.”

He pointed and shot a bunch of blue flames into the fire. Ceria screamed, and Erin panicked.

“Put it out! Why’s she in there? What kind of training needs this?”

She looked around and grabbed a spare bucket, but Grimalkin held her back.

“Ice magic training, of course! Miss Springwalker’s lowering the heat in the water! Or how else would she be alive? This is training her core! Her magical core!”

He pointed, and Erin saw that he was right! Ceria was flailing about and screaming curses at her team, but she wasn’t looking nearly as bad as the fierce heat suggested. She stared at Grimalkin.

“Wh—really? [Mages] have a core too?”

He hesitated.

“Well, not really. It’s a good analogy, though. She’s really training her ability to freeze things. The faster and more intense she can do it, the stronger her ice spells will be. Especially the higher-level spells. This is a precursor to her learning more advanced ice magics, and it’ll strengthen her [Ice Wall] and [Ice Spear] spell—when she learns it. I’m going to have Ferkr check if I have the spell in my collection. You haven’t seen her around, have you?”

Erin stared at Grimalkin. Then she heard Ceria shout from the tub.

“I can’t do it anymore! Put the fire out! Put it out or I’ll die!”

“Nonsense! You’ve only been in there…eight minutes! Keep going! And you, Pisces, more heat! You need to work, Springwalker, or you’ll never improve! Push those limits! Look at Miss Solstice here. She fought a Goblin Lord—”

“I’m going to kill you!”

“If you have the spare magic for that, I’d welcome the attempt!”

Grimalkin waited. Ceria just stared at him through the steam and started uttering profanities. Erin saw Mrsha, who was padding out to look at what all the fuss was about, promptly be pulled back in by a motherly Lyonette. Grimalkin turned to Erin.

“Anyways, we’ll see what Springwalker’s limit is with this test. I have a few others, but this is actually a very good method to force her to improve. She’s acknowledged she’s become complacent, and her team’s very willing to help her improve. I admire that. Team spirit can force people even further past their limits!”

He gestured at Pisces, Yvlon, and Ksmvr. It looked to Erin like they were placing bets on how long Ceria would last as she cursed them. But—Pisces leaned over and said something to Ceria that made her splash boiling water at him. He retreated, howling, but Yvlon was there, and Ksmvr happily waved as he splashed water into Ceria’s tub.

It was madness, but it was their kind of madness. Erin laughed. Then she looked at the tub.

“Huh. Hot tubs.”

She thought about it, and then her eyes widened. Erin turned to Grimalkin, who was inspecting the heat and muttering about it being ‘only as hot as a cook fire’.

“Hot tubs! That’s it! Grimalkin, you’re a genius!”

“What?”

The [Sinew Magus] looked up blankly. Erin danced about excitedly.

“Oh my god. Hey, Lyonette! Pawn! Belgrade! Get out here! We need hot tubs for the inn! Can we build…”

She rushed back inside before Grimalkin could blink. He straightened, looking at Erin as the door slammed shut. Ceria, boiling, glared at him from her bath. She was still wearing her robes. Grimalkin pointed at the door.

“Is she always like that?”

“I hate you.”

The Muscle Mage met Ceria’s gaze and shrugged.

“Well, keep freezing. You’re clearly out of practice from when your master trained you. Freeze the hot water! Or do you think you’ll be allowed to skip fighting in the summer? [Cryomancers] generate their own cold, or they switch to water magic! But we do need to hydrate you. Drink the water in the tub! Or you’ll sweat to death! Come on, Springwalker! This is barely hot enough to boil my tea in. Do you want to improve, or do you want to improve?”

A strangled scream was his only reply. But Grimalkin saw Ceria thrust herself deeper into the boiling water, and he smiled. She had spirit, that half-Elf. Then Grimalkin saw Ksmvr sidling over. The Antinium splashed Ceria with water and conspiratorially leaned over to Grimalkin.

“Magus Grimalkin, I believe there is one more glaring weakness I possess that I would like you to address if you have the time. It is a crucial flaw in my team’s makeup, and I believe it is just as pressing as Captain Ceria’s weakness in magic, if not more so.”

The [Mage] regarded Ksmvr with distrust, but also a bit of interest. He folded his arms.

“Go on…”

Ksmvr took a deep breath. He looked at Ceria boiling in her bathtub, then at Grimalkin, then at Ceria and came out with it in a rush.

“You see, I have a fear of drowning in water…”

“Because you can’t swim?”

Ksmvr nodded repeatedly.

“Yes. Antinium are incapable of swimming. But I was hoping you could help me.”

Grimalkin paused.

“Get over your fear of drowning in water when you’ll die if you enter it.”

“Yes. Exactly.”

Ksmvr waited. Grimalkin stared at him, looked him up and down, and shook his head.

“In your case, I’d stay afraid, Antinium.”

He walked away. Ksmvr stared down at the dregs of water in the bucket he held and nodded. He whispered at the bucket as he solemnly emptied the rest into Ceria’s tub.

“I knew it.”

—–

While Ceria practiced her ice magic outside with Grimalkin, Erin’s attempts to convince Lyonette to install a hot spring in the new inn’s plans were derailed when she saw a familiar, quiet figure sitting in her inn. She stared and then slapped her head and ran over to a Gnoll happily inspecting a flower in a cup at the bar.

Xif the [Alchemist] looked up warily but, after a moment, went over to speak with Octavia. Because Erin had asked him to, up front. He coughed as Octavia doodled on the table with one finger; she’d taken it off her hand by undoing the stitching. She looked up blankly as Xif smiled politely.

“Ah, Miss Octavia. Might I have a word? My name is Xif, and Miss Solstice invited me to chat with you. I understand you’ve had some trouble in your shop? I’d be glad to discuss the matter with you for a few minutes.”

Octavia jumped and blinked up at Xif. And then her eyes were round. She felt at her eyes, pulled one out, and then put it back in and stared at the Gnoll. She stuttered.

“X-x-x-Xif? As in, Xif the [Alchemist], the one who developed the modern cure-all basic antidote formula?”

He smiled kindly at her.

“I wouldn’t go that far. I just improved the formula. It was quite well-received, though. May I sit?”

“Of course! Please! Take my chair! Take his chair too!”

Octavia shot to her feet and began offering Xif every chair in reach. Numbtongue growled as she reached for a chair at his table, but Xif, chuckling, sat down and beckoned her to sit with him. Octavia did, staring at Xif wide-eyed over her empty cup and plate. She hesitated and then burst out.

“I would love to exchange notes. Formulas? Apprentice myself to you and cook and clean up after you? Please?”

The Gnoll paused only for a moment before shaking his head.

“I’m afraid not, Miss Octavia. You know how we are with secret formulas and recipes. I don’t take apprentices, and if I did—it would have to be someone with a Skillset outside of mine. If you do have any unique Skills, I’d be willing to discuss it. Ah—for reference, I’m specialized in plant work. [Poison Immunity] and [Perfect Reduction] would be some of my focused Skills. And you?”

Octavia hesitated. She lost her sudden burst of energy and looked down at the table, flushing behind her dark, stitched skin.

“[M-Magic-Water Solvent]. And…[Mineral Distillation].”

Numbtongue, listening with one ear to the conversation as he ate an entire plate of macaroni and cheese, heard the embarrassment in her voice. Were they bad Skills for an [Alchemist]? He turned his head and saw Xif smile again. Not condescendingly, but with a knowing look that told Numbtongue his guess was right.

“Ah, of course. Celum’s farm. Rocks and magical liquid. It’s a fine start, Miss Cotton, but I’m afraid it’s not worth my time to teach you. There’s no malice; I hope you understand? Erin Solstice herself couldn’t persuade me to take on an apprentice, not even if she sold me half her flowers. If she has two rare ingredients, though…”

“No, I understand. I’m sorry, I just—I’d offer anything to study under a master. I…uh, has Erin talked about my matches? I’m also studying this Haste Potion—I could show it to you—”

Octavia’s hands were fumbling nervously under the table. For a second time, Xif smiled apologetically and shook his furry head.

“I did see them. Fascinating. I’m afraid most [Alchemists] will be able to copy them once they arrive in Pallass, Miss Octavia. I’m…going to be quite busy with this flower, so I’ll forget I saw them for a bit. But—and I do apologize—I don’t wish to owe you a favor. A Haste Potion, you said? I have seen Potions of Quickness before. Haste would be…but are you sure of the effects?”

“I—I think I am. I’m sorry, I’m not trying to push—”

Octavia’s voice was far meeker than Numbtongue remembered too. But Xif was kindly, even if Numbtongue felt like turning around and kicking him in the back. He’d seen everything the Gnoll had done with Erin. He’d taken her flower! Never mind that he left all that gold there—for the Hobgoblin, theft was theft. If Xif took a single mug from Erin’s inn, he, Numbtongue, would happily beat him to death with it. And then get a new mug. That was how Goblins did things. You didn’t steal. Okay, Goblins had few possessions, but it was like if Numbtongue had taken Shorthilt’s sword—

The Hobgoblin looked down at the steel sword hanging from his side. He only paid attention to the conversation between the two [Alchemists] when he heard Octavia stuttering.

“I—it was my fault, really. I started it—”

“Ah, that sounds like the Chandrarian way. Throwing potions at each other? Insults in public? I miss that. Do they still have alchemy duels between competing shops in public and huge feuds? They must!”

Xif was laughing. Then he grew serious.

“But really, Miss Cotton. You might have been improper as far as the law’s concerned, but hiring a gang to vandalize your shop? Extorting money? We [Alchemists] in Pallass have our fights, but they never go to that extreme. I would say this Mister Quelm is receiving his just rewards. And with his absence, the remaining [Alchemists] in Celum have less competition, yes?”

He nodded, and Octavia nodded as well. She fiddled with a fork nervously.

“There’s only Mabel now that Jeffil’s out of the game. But…my name’s mud with Celum’s City Watch. And that gang could still be hanging around.”

Xif nodded again, his eyes alert, considering. He leaned forwards as Drassi brought over a tray with some drinks.

“Now, as I said, I can’t help your shop with recipes or training, Miss Cotton. I don’t know what Miss Solstice had in mind, but I do take Grimalkin’s position. You know what secrets are to [Alchemists]; we’re always stealing each other’s best products.”

Octavia nodded miserably, and Xif held up one furry finger.

“However, I’m quite content to talk about how I run my business. And I do remember starting up in a small city—I have travelled abroad, and I understand customers. The agony of pricing that accursed stamina potion as well! As humble as it may be, I think I know price points in cities even as far north as Celum—I have a number of [Merchants] who make the journey north of Pallass during the winter. I could recommend your matches to a few and discuss what I know of the business? If that suits you?”

He looked at Octavia. Numbtongue peeked at her face and saw it turn hopeful.

“I’d—I’d appreciate that very much, Alchemist Xif. Would you mind if I, er, took notes?”

“Xif, please. By all means. Let me lend you my quill. It’s magical.”

The two began a heated discussion that Numbtongue stopped following after it began diving into the economics of potions and how much copper you could get away with charging. Lighting? Presentation? The Hobgoblin contented himself with ordering another plate of noodles.

Briefly, yes, briefly, he felt guilty that he wasn’t sharing this with Pyrite. But Numbtongue had a sense that it took…at least eight hours to reuse his Skill to bring Pyrite back. And it was completely different from using Pyrite’s memories too. The other Hobgoblin was there with his Skills and personality. It was amazing. Incredible.

Painful. Numbtongue resolved that, if he could, he’d ‘treat’ Pyrite to at least one meal a day. The Hobgoblin really loved fish; most Goblins did. But Numbtongue was sure he’d love meatloaf. And what might he say to Erin? What might he do? Numbtongue couldn’t wait—but as he was finishing his second plate, he realized Xif had finished with Octavia. Now the [Alchemist] was coming over to his table!

Numbtongue looked up warily. Xif smiled and nodded.

“Er, Numbtongue is it? May I sit?”

Numbtongue thought about it.

“No.”

Xif hesitated. He was halfway sitting, but he stood up after a moment and his smile became forced. He looked at Numbtongue, and the Hobgoblin remembered the way he’d recoiled from him when they first met. Of course, most people did that. That young woman named Garia had kicked him. Numbtongue was more embarrassed than anything else about that. But Xif…the Hobgoblin waited.

“I’d, ah, like to make you an offer, Numbtongue. You are the first Goblin I’ve encountered, let alone Hobgoblin…forgive me, but would you be willing to part with some nail clippings? I notice yours are quite long, and I’d be willing to pay for them.”

Xif indicated Numbtongue’s hands. Reflexively, the Goblin hid his hands and stared.

“What?”

“Your fingernails. I’d like to buy them. Toenails too. I know some of my peers have looked into it, but I thought I’d ask since today seems to be a day of windfalls. Would you consider it?”

Xif smiled at Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin thought he looked wary. If he shouted, would Xif run or throw a potion in his face? The Hobgoblin decided to just sit back and fold his arms. Xif sighed.

“I really would like to use them. For potions? It would earn you money as well. How much would you take for them?”

“One million gold pieces.”

Xif blinked. Numbtongue didn’t know if he’d used his Skill or not, but the Gnoll’s face instantly turned rueful. He regarded Numbtongue and then looked knowingly towards the flowers in the beds on the far wall.

“I see. Well, I would be willing to pay a few gold pieces for your clippings if I could regularly acquire them. Do let me know if you change your mind.”

“Sure.”

Numbtongue sneered. Xif hesitated, but in the end, clearly disappointed, he moved away from the table. He sighed, then brightened.

“Ah! Now where is that Mrsha child? White fur—is it magical, different from Gnoll fur, or just cosmetic? These are the questions.”

Numbtongue watched him hurry off, head turning. The Hobgoblin glared at his back and stuck out his tongue as Erin sometimes did. It made Numbtongue feel better. He turned in his seat and realized Octavia was staring at him. The Hobgoblin jumped. She jumped too.

“Numbtongue, right?”

He nodded warily. Octavia gulped. She looked at him. Not afraid—how long had she known him? Since all five Redfangs had been here, that’s how long. Numbtongue felt a pang. The [Alchemist] looked like she had pain of her own. Her hands tightened over a few pages of messy, inky notes.

“I, uh—I wanted to say thanks—”

“For what?”

Numbtongue looked blank. Octavia hesitated.

“Saving my shop? Chasing off those [Thugs]?”

“Oh.”

Numbtongue thought about it. Then he hesitated. What were you supposed to say? He remembered at last.

“You’re…welcome.”

He stared at Octavia. She stared back. Numbtongue realized that was the first time someone besides Erin or Lyonette had ever thanked him for anything. The sensation felt…odd. But good. Octavia smiled weakly.

“Hey, come to my shop and I’ll treat you to a few potions. On the house. Not that I have much of a career. Lots of…trouble. But I’ll pull myself up. I’m really grateful to Erin. I—”

She broke off. Numbtongue and Octavia looked around as someone started screaming outside. Numbtongue grabbed his sword, but then he relaxed. It was just Ceria, still enduring her bath. Some people went to the windows and laughed. On the basis of that, the Hobgoblin relaxed a bit. So did the [Alchemist].

“Always something in Erin’s inn.”

“Mhm.”

Numbtongue nodded absently. He looked at Octavia and then pointed at Xif. The [Alchemist] was bending over, talking to Mrsha.

“Who’s that?”

“Xif? He’s an [Alchemist]. Really high-level. One of the best in…the world? Pallass is known for its alchemy. His potions are leagues beyond anything I could come up with.”

Octavia looked jealously at the Gnoll’s back. Numbtongue grunted.

“I don’t like him.”

He crossed his arms. Octavia glanced at him.

“Why? Because he made Erin sell him a flower? There are a lot of nastier ways he could have done it. And he offered you gold for your nails. Why not take it?”

“Because they’re my nails.”

“You know he could get Hobgoblin nails from…”

“Yes.”

Octavia trailed off. She cleared her throat.

“Sorry.”

Numbtongue shrugged.

“For what?”

The [Alchemist] didn’t have anything to say to that. Silently, she and Numbtongue watched as Xif solemnly shook Mrsha’s paw and handed over several gold pieces. Her look was envious. Numbtongue still was fuzzy on the money thing—mainly because he didn’t really care—but he knew that Xif was a lot wealthier than Octavia. More successful. Numbtongue knew how that must feel.

“I should go back to my shop. I won’t get anywhere if I keep running.”

Octavia muttered. She was staring at the notes. Numbtongue nodded. That seemed like a correct statement. He saw the [Alchemist] getting up, staring nervously at the open door to Pallass. Numbtongue had a thought and remembered what she just said. Casually, abandoning the two licked-clean plates, he stood up too. Just in time for Erin to hurry over.

“Hey, guys! I’m going to have Pawn and Belgrade build a big hot tub! Want to get in? The water’s fine! Hot, but not as hot as Ceria’s!”

She beamed at them. Numbtongue blinked.

“Hot…tubs?”

Erin nodded. She had to explain the idea to him, then she turned to Octavia.

“What about it? You’re both invited! Bathing suits, of course; no skinny dipping! Want to come, Octavia? Numbtongue?”

“No, I—I might go to my room. Upstairs. I’m thinking about visiting my shop later tonight. If that’s not a bother, Erin?”

Octavia mumbled. Erin shook her head.

“Of course not! Just say when—but we’ll have the Horns or someone go with you! Just in case those jerks come back! You’re sure you and Numbtongue don’t want to try…?”

Erin hesitated as she realized who her audience was. Octavia was a Stitch-girl, made out of fabric, which was flammable and probably didn’t like getting wet. Even if it looked like skin. Numbtongue was a Hobgoblin, and there were a lot of people outside. Erin nodded.

“Okay, we can work it out later. Hey! Xif! You need a bath!”

She wandered off. Numbtongue and Octavia watched her pull the [Alchemist] towards the door, then Chaldion, who gladly came with a large tumbler of alcohol, and she closed the door. After a moment, Numbtongue looked at Octavia. She smiled weakly.

“That’s Erin! I, um, I’m going upstairs. Nice talking to you?”

She looked at Numbtongue. He blinked at her and then pointed at the magical door.

“Want to go?”

“What—to Celum? No, I wouldn’t want to trouble Erin. And the door has to be switched…”

“It’s not hard. I can do it.”

Numbtongue puffed out his chest proudly. Octavia hesitated. She looked around the busy inn.

“But the Horns are outside, and I wouldn’t want to trouble anyone. If the [Thugs] are there—”

“That’s fine. I’ll go.”

Numbtongue poked his chest with a thumb. Octavia blinked.

“You? But—”

She halted as she looked Numbtongue up and down. He had his guitar strapped to his back and the steel sword at his side. And that was more than he’d had yesterday by far. After a moment, she nodded.

“Thank you. If you’re okay with it, we can ask Lyonette. Uh—or wait for the play to end?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Numbtongue shrugged. Inwardly delighted, he shepherded Octavia over to the door. The citizens of Pallass and Liscor stared at Numbtongue and edged back. The Hobgoblin had a huge smile on his face. He looked around—and then reached out and slammed the door. Instantly, there was a roar of protest from the crowd in the inn and, Numbtongue liked to imagine, an even louder one on Pallass’ side.

“Numbtongue! What’re you doing?”

Lyonette hurried over in alarm. The Hobgoblin scratched under one armpit casually.

“Going to Celum. With her.”

He pointed at Octavia. Lyonette hesitated. Octavia waved weakly, looking at the outraged faces.

“With her? But—”

Whatever Lyonette was about to say was drowned out by the people demanding the door be reopened. She looked around and grimaced.

“Okay! You have your guitar? And sword? I’ll check in five minutes!”

Numbtongue nodded. He adjusted the dial, opened the door, and walked through, head swiveling. Octavia hurried after him, and the door closed after a pause and went dark. Numbtongue stared around Octavia’s shop. It was dark, empty, the boarded-up windows leaking light, but he hadn’t spotted anyone. Octavia looked around and breathed out slowly.

“Thank you.”

“Sure.”

Numbtongue sat down, still looking around the shop. No matter how many times he saw it, the inner Redfang in him wanted to loot the precious potions off the shelves. They were so valuable! Erin had called Octavia’s potions ‘third-rate’, but to a Goblin, they were a priceless treasure. He pulled his guitar off his back and tuned it absently before glancing outside. The street was empty. But come to think of it, yesterday…

Numbtongue’s eyes narrowed. But he saw no one aside from a few pedestrians. Pyrite did have a thought, though, and Numbtongue agreed. He made a little plan and was so engrossed in it and strumming a tune that he didn’t realize Octavia was doing something until he heard the clink of glassware behind him. The Hobgoblin turned his head.

Octavia paused as she set up some kind of apparatus behind Numbtongue. She smiled guiltily.

“Sorry.”

Numbtongue eyed the glowing jelly, the red-green herbs in liquid, powder, herbs, and all the other stuff she was setting up. He pointed.

“What’re you doing?”

Octavia shrugged self-consciously.

“Just—just making a healing potion. Something low-grade. It’s nothing. Not worth anything compared to what Alchemist Xif makes. Sorry. I’ll go back if you’re bored. Do you think Erin would let me bring some of this into her inn?”

Numbtongue shrugged. But his eyes were locked on Octavia’s equipment. She kept setting up, after a moment, but she was clearly conscious of the stare. After a second, she coughed.

“Sorry. I’m not used to guests while I work. I had Erin—but she mainly melted holes in my kitchen pot. I, er, you heard what Xif said? About [Alchemists] not sharing recipes?”

Numbtongue nodded. Octavia sighed.

“Cloth moths to that. I know it’s all the thing in most continents, but back home we used to share recipes. I mean, everyone had their secret recipe, but I could at least swap tips. I guess Xif really is the top [Alchemist], of course. But back home, any [Alchemist] would stop by to check out my Haste Potion sample, top-tier or not! I hoped—but I got some tips from him. That’s something. Sorry. Anyways, I’m just going to make the potion. Don’t mind the lights. Or smell.”

She lit a burner with a match. It was some kind of magical burner, although Numbtongue saw it was running on coals—heating them up and igniting them. Octavia grinned weakly.

“Magical burner. I paid for it. Helps with the process. Not necessary; I could make healing potions with a few pots and a kitchen fire.”

“How?”

Numbtongue couldn’t help but ask. Octavia shrugged.

“What? Healing potions? It’s just a small formula. A few Skills. Nothing interesting. I mean—unless you’re actually interested?”

She looked up and blinked. Numbtongue was nodding rapidly. Octavia seemed perplexed.

“Really? Most people don’t like [Alchemy]. It stinks, and it can be, uh, messy. Do Goblins like alchemy? Are there…Goblin [Alchemists]?”

Numbtongue shook his head.

“Goblins don’t make potions. Goblins steal potions. No Goblin knows how to make potions. Not even [Shamans].”

“Really? Do your [Shamans] have special recipes?”

Octavia looked hopeful. Numbtongue considered that.

“Healing paste. You put herbs in mouth and chew. Then spit.”

“Oh. How useful is it?”

“Stops bleeding. Heals a tiny bit.”

Both the Stitch-girl and Hobgoblin grimaced. Octavia hesitated. She looked thoughtfully at the ingredients.

“Well, I’m just a low-level [Alchemist]. Little better than a [Mixer], really. That’s an apprentice, by the way. Kids get that class. But if you want—”

“Hey! Anyone bullying Numbtongue?”

The door blasted open as Erin appeared. Numbtongue fell out of his chair, and Octavia’s jump nearly sent her ingredients flying. Erin looked around and paused, frying pan in hand.

“Oh. Never mind. Hey, Numbtongue, Octavia, you want to come back? Just say when!”

She stared at them. They stared back. Numbtongue slowly shook his head.

“Okay! Cool! Check in thirty minutes?”

Another nod. The door slammed shut. Octavia caught her breath after Erin was gone. She turned to Numbtongue, and he met her eyes with his wide ones. Then, suddenly, they both started laughing. And that was a connection. After that, Octavia set up, and Numbtongue scooted a stool over and learned how to make a potion.

—–

“It’s really very simple. A Goblin could definitely make a potion if he had a few containers. Something clean; cleanliness is very important for alchemy. You never know what’ll react, so a bit of soot or dirt could have explosive effects. Especially with some of the more potent ingredients. That’s why you clean everything. With soap, and then you clean the soap out.”

Octavia explained as Numbtongue sat watching her set up on one of her counters. The Hobgoblin nodded, committing everything to memory. Octavia was a little put off by the Hobgoblin’s intensity, to be honest. She loved alchemy, despite it all. Gold was a second love to the sheer joy you could have, but Goblins? And yet, Numbtongue took this more seriously than she did. He watched as she set up her ingredients and equipment with long experience and pointed.

“What’s that?”

“A triangle flask. I use it to boil stuff. It’s glass.”

“Why’s it look like a triangle?”

Octavia smiled.

“I used to ask my teacher that every day. You know what he told me? To come up with the answer on my own. It took me two years—you want to know what I eventually figured out?”

The Hobgoblin paused. His eyes flickered, then widened.

“The…steam comes out less from the small opening.”

Octavia nearly dropped the flask on the floor.

“How did—”

She saw Numbtongue grinning, pleased at his answer. Octavia had to smile herself.

“I was six! But yeah, that’s the reason. Also, because the wide base allows more heat to affect the mixture, see? You can also balance ingredients in some of the glassware—never mind. Here’s the foundation to any healing potion made in the modern day. Memorize it. Love it. Don’t touch it bare-handed unless you’re me and you can take your hand off.”

She placed something on the counter. Numbtongue peered at the jar full of glowing, orange-yellow gel. It had some fragments caught inside. Seeds or bits of something. He stared. This time, Octavia didn’t have to be prompted. She placed one hand on the jar proudly.

“This is Eir Gel. It’s a primary component of healing potions. Well, I say primary, but you can substitute it with a few other things. But Eir Gel’s very effective. And cheap! Older potions, hah, well, they used all kinds of stuff, but modern formulas work fast based on this stuff. It’s also extremely cost-efficient.”

“What’s that mean? Cost-efficient?”

Numbtongue scratched his head. Octavia frowned. He knew almost every word she said, but stuff like that stumped him.

“It means…you can make a lot of healing potion with comparatively little. Good for selling. You see, a single island off of Baleros practically supplies the entire world with what they need—and there’s such a surplus since it’s so cost-efficient that you can get it even in Celum. Although it’s a lot more expensive since [Merchants] have to bring it inland—but look!”

She pointed. Numbtongue saw she was dabbing only a little into a jar full of water. Octavia had a measuring spoon, and she put in one solid spoonful.

“That’s all?

“For the effect? Yes. I just mix it with water, and I have a mixture. We do need to strain to get rid of the kelp and seeds. Poison needles, if they’re in there too. But this is the essential stuff. It’s a base.”

“Base.”

Numbtongue savored the word. Octavia nodded.

“Yes. You see? Potion making works like this, at least at low levels. First, you take a substance that has an effect you want. Like Eir Gel. It helps flesh regenerate quickly. But it’s not nearly as strong as a potion, it has to be applied on a wound to take effect, and it makes some people break out into a rash. It takes days for Eir Gel to work, so the key is making it faster, more effective, and less rashy, right?”

“Right.”

Numbtongue watched as Octavia pulled out a fine-meshed strainer and began sieving the liquid. It was thicker, thanks to the jelly mixed with the water, and she carefully removed all the flecks until it was a pure orange-yellow color. It still glowed, but it was only noticeable because Stitchworks was so dark. Octavia nodded, checking it for impurities.

“The water’s there just to help me remove the non-Gel. We’re not keeping it this way. Now we put it over the burner—”

“But it’s the wrong glass thing. See?”

Numbtongue objected. Octavia was using a cylinder-type beaker, not the narrow-mouthed one with the wide base. She grinned.

“Right! But what if I want it to all evaporate fast?”

The Hobgoblin gave Octavia a very wary look. Why?

For an answer, Octavia lit the burner, grabbed a tool of the trade—a glass tube bent in a very specific arc downwards—and delicately inserted it into a lid, which she placed on top of the cylinder. Then, swiftly, she put the other end of the tube into a second cup as the Eir Gel base began to boil. She explained to a mystified Numbtongue what it was all about.

“We’re distilling it. The base. See the condensation—er, steam—rising? It becomes a gas, which becomes a liquid that goes through the tube and ends up…”

She pointed at the second cup. Sure enough, a drop of very bright liquid, paler yellow than orange now, was dripping into the cup. Numbtongue stared. Octavia went on, tapping the boiling cylinder.

“The gas becomes a liquid. What’s not boiled away—that powdery stuff—is also a component. I don’t use it for healing potions—but you see, we’ve separated two parts.”

She pointed to the first cylinder, which was indeed developing a layer of powder while all the liquid was transferring to the second cup. Octavia watched the mixture boil like a hawk and, at the right moment, she took the burner away—before the precious powder could start to burn. Now she had the powder, which she put away for later, and a very distilled version of the base.

“Why burn it?”

“Boil. It’s a process to make the Eir Gel—look, it changes the mixture a bit. Makes it easier to work with. And also you can get sick from Eir Gel as it is. Burning—I mean, boiling substances is often very important. You can cold-mix potions, but those can get tricky. Believe me. Anyways, look at this.”

Octavia swirled the yellow liquid as Numbtongue stared at it. The cup wasn’t that large compared to the cylinder she’d filled, but the liquid was potent. It also had a smell that made Numbtongue wrinkle his nose.

“Stinks a bit like burnt kelp, doesn’t it? You get used to it. And this is valuable stuff, Numbtongue! This liquid is the base of our healing potion. But to make a proper potion, we need to enhance its effects.”

The Stitch-girl happily sloshed the liquid a bit and put it down. She grabbed a few ingredients next and began tossing them into a much, much larger vessel. Numbtongue blinked and asked what each one was. Octavia dutifully answered as she worked.

“Those? Minerals. I don’t know my exact list; I keep them sorted. I’ll show you later, but this is my variety. The important stuff is this.”

Numbtongue stared at the golden syrup Octavia was coating the mixture with. He sniffed, then exclaimed.

“Ashfire Bee honey?”

“Counters the allergic reaction. You see? It’s a simple formula. Base effect plus boosting agent and extras to counter side effects or add more qualities. The trick is knowing what reacts with what.”

“So this—”

Numbtongue waved aimlessly at the second vessel as Octavia mixed the Eir Gel base with it. She nodded.

“Yup. It’s just to keep you from breaking out into itchy bumps. Also, the honey makes it taste better. I used, uh, dried leeches and some other stuff instead before Erin sold me all the honey. Anyways, I’ve countered the allergic stuff and added a few tricks that keep the potion lasting longer—they do go bad, you know. Especially if air gets in.”

The Hobgoblin’s brow darkened.

“I know. Very bad.”

Octavia nodded solemnly.

“Well, that’s all preparatory work. You want to know the real magic behind a potion besides the Eir Gel? It’s your booster.”

“Booster. Base.”

Numbtongue looked at Octavia for confirmation. She nodded.

“Booster, Base, Reactor—I don’t use those or anything else on healing potions. Those are simple. Reactors are mixtures you combine with something—to give it a completely new effect. Those are, uh, the things that tend to explode. But Eir Gel is so good at healing already, all we need to do is give it more power.”

“Ah.”

Numbtongue’s sigh was one of comprehension. Octavia wondered if he really did understand. He was sharp. But she’d never heard of a Goblin [Alchemist]. Then again…how many got the chance? She nodded, and a smile played over her lips.

“This is where most [Alchemists] have their own recipe. Eir Gel’s common, you see? But potions, even basic healing potions, are all different. Because everyone has their best recipe. What’s most cost-efficient, what’s cheapest to buy or easiest—or has the best effect. I bet Xif uses only the most powerful boosters, but this—this is what I can afford.”

So saying, she pulled out the jar of water with the red-green herbs in it. Numbtongue peered at the plant floating in the water. He thought he recognized it vaguely, something he’d seen growing somewhere. So did Pyrite. The red-green herb was long, grass-like. And it was glowing—no, the water itself had a faint luminescence! Octavia smiled proudly.

“This booster is low-grade. It’s cheap—you just need a few ingredients. Sage’s Grass, which is just a slightly magical grass some [Farmers] cultivate in huge amounts—a local [Farmer] guy sells a huge harvest to Celum—sugar water, demi-Newt skins dried and powdered, and, er, roach shells. I use roach shells a lot. That’s my formula, at any rate.”

“And what does it do? The mixture.”

The [Bard] pointed at the jar. Octavia blinked.

“Do? Nothing. It just feeds the Sage’s Grass. The Sage’s Grass is magical already, you see? And if I soak it in this water for a week or a month—”

“The water gets magic.”

“Exactly. Sugar feeds the Sage’s Grass in the jar. So do the roach shells. The demi-Newts are slightly magical and don’t contribute much in the way of reaction. So it’s a cheap booster to make. And guess what? This stuff might be cheap today, but there was a time when it would have been worth its weight in sapphires. Even a low-grade healing potion would have been golden.”

Octavia sighed. Numbtongue blinked.

“Really? Why?”

“Oh—back in the day, potions weren’t so easy to make. That’s the thing about alchemy. Even if a…super high-level [Alchemist] dies and no one can make Potions of Great Regeneration anymore, they leave behind notes. Often in code, but more importantly, ingredients. It’s why [Mage] empires collapse and all the artifacts can’t be replicated but why alchemy’s gotten to the point where cheap potions can close a big wound.”

She swirled the jar of magical water as she brought it over to the mixing station.

“Take Sage’s Grass for instance. It was super-rare, worth more than gemstones, and the most powerful ingredient in the world, say, five thousand years back. I don’t actually know. Ten thousand years back, it didn’t exist. That’s because a [Sage], a really powerful one, bred the plant. Hence the name. He died, and [Alchemists] all over the world rejoiced. Because this is cheap, magical, and no one has to kill a Unicorn or milk a magic cow for it.”

She began pouring the magical water into the vessel. Numbtongue, at this point, had graduated to assistant, and he carefully stirred the honey, minerals, Eir Gel base, and magical water together, watching it mix and gently glow.

“And that’s it? You mix and…?”

“There’s a bit more. But yes. I have an easier time than you will. Careful—I do need to boil it again to help it all come together. It’s, uh, yeah, it’s my recipe. But like I said, everyone has a different one. That’s why no potion looks the same.”

“Is it because no one shares?”

Octavia smiled as she worked, stirring the liquid, checking the heat, making sure it was looking how it was supposed to.

“Not just that. Look…alchemy is a very specific thing. It’s not like being a [Warrior] and hitting things with sticks. For a [Warrior], it’s all about flavor, right? I have [Enhanced Strength]! Or I have [Quick Movement]! Either way, you still hit things in the end. But in alchemy, if you have just one thing missing or one thing extra, the result changes. Take this formula, for instance. You probably can’t replicate it even if you copied me. You could get the same result eventually, but not exactly the same.”

Octavia pointed down at the glowing, yellow potion taking shape before Numbtongue’s eyes.

“Skills affect an [Alchemist]’s career greatly. What we have or don’t have allows us to make different potions, creations. That’s why Xif asked if I had Skills he didn’t. Each one can help me out a lot. For instance. This simple potion?”

She paused and raised four fingers.

“[Low-Grade Synthesis], [Cleansing Heat], [Mineral Distillation], and [Magic-Water Solvent]. Those are the Skills that went into this recipe as well as the ingredients. Without any one of them, this wouldn’t work.”

“I see.”

Numbtongue was disappointed. But also elated that alchemy wasn’t that simple. And you could still learn the end result! His eyes focused on the Eir Gel. Maybe a Goblin couldn’t get their hands on that. But the theory of alchemy? A Goblin could do that. Octavia kept chattering as Numbtongue sat next to her.

“[Alchemists] rely on figuring out specific combinations of ingredients, processes, and Skills more than any other class. We create workarounds—like my Sage’s Grass water. It’s cheap around Celum because this Wailant fellow grows it, but it’s harder to get elsewhere, so [Alchemists] have to invent other types of boosters.”

She paused. Octavia had been smiling, energetic near the end of making the potions. Now, as she looked into the bubbling liquid and slowly turned the burner off, she paused, and Numbtongue saw her droop.

“That’s why we spend so much time and money getting new ingredients, tools. Why we need money to invent new things or find out our way of doing what other people do. So if I always seem like I’m trying to get as much money as possible—”

She paused and rubbed at one eye. Then she turned her head away from the liquid below. Numbtongue heard her voice catch.

“I—I’m not a good [Alchemist]. Low-level, really. The matches were my big success, and Erin’s baking soda, I guess. Does she even use it? I guess in bread. No [Baker] wanted to try it. I leveled both times, faster than I have in…but I’m not nearly as good as one of the Pallassian [Alchemists]. Let alone Xif.”

She sniffed. Numbtongue saw her brush at her face and then saw her wipe a bit of liquid. She stepped back before it could foul her potion. Octavia’s voice came out painfully now.

“I just want to be better. To improve. But it’s so hard. Sands and silks, I moved from Chandrar to Izril because I thought there’d be less competition. But here I am. In a city with four [Alchemists]. Well, two now. Jeffil’s arms are broken, and Quelm’ll be in jail if he’s lucky. So it’s Mabel the Magnificent and I. I guess that’ll make things easier?”

Her voice was desperate and forlorn. And—lonely. Numbtongue sat on his stool staring at the glowing liquid. He had no answer for Octavia. He couldn’t relate to most of it. Shops, business. Moving from a continent. But he could say something that was honest, that he understood.

“It’s hard not being strong. And getting stronger is hard. Leveling up is hard. Muscles only get so big.”

He thought of Grimalkin.

“Mostly they stop getting big. But it’s hard. Being weaker.”

“Yeah.”

Octavia sniffed. She plucked out an eye and wiped at the other one furiously. Numbtongue gazed at the cloth eye. It was damp with tears. He stared at Octavia. She was very strange. Foreign. If you looked at her wrong, you’d call her a monster.

“Is it…is it good to have rare things? Rocks? Shiny rocks? Glowing rocks? Mana stones?”

He ventured a guess. Octavia laughed as she put her eye back into the socket and it became flesh and blood again.

“Mana stones? Of course! They’re the foundation of powerful potions! It used to be [Alchemists] used only them in potions since it was so hard to find other magical ingredients.”

“So…you use them?”

Numbtongue felt at his side. Octavia shook her head despairingly.

“You think I have the coin to buy mana stones? Well, if I’d kept my control over the matches, maybe.”

“Hm. What about…emeralds? Gold? Ooh, silver.”

Octavia smiled again, not looking at Numbtongue. She checked the healing potion, cutting a tiny part of her wrist and using the potion to heal it.

“Yeah, all of that. I’d rather sell it, but if I had enough money—you can use gold in some potions. Silver—it’s all about reactions. Finding a way to distill ingredients into other forms, mix them. Water mixed with gold dust is just water and gold dust in the end. But there’s a way to meld the two together. And with that liquid…it doesn’t matter. Too rich for my blood.”

“But you could make a powerful potion.”

“The very best. Or maybe just another weak one. We don’t know. Rare ingredients are rare for that reason. But I’m willing to bet some of them, with the right boosters and combinations? They could make something no one’s seen before.”

Octavia looked longingly at the plain, glowing potion in front of her. With a sigh, she added three drops of coloring and swirled it. The potion became orange and blue, spiraling, an enchanted mixture. The Stitch-girl caught Numbtongue’s eye and smiled weakly.

“For the appeal. I’m a fraud. Honestly, Numbtongue, if you want a good potion, find a way to get it from Xif. Heck, if Erin sells those Faerie Flowers to him, he might cut her an exclusive deal. And then I’m sure I won’t be needed at the inn.”

“Maybe.”

The Hobgoblin thought Octavia was right. Xif was clearly better. Experienced. And many other things. But in that moment, as Numbtongue looked at the potion that Octavia had walked him through step-by-step, he thought of Xif and the look on the Gnoll’s face when he saw Numbtongue.

Maybe the Gnoll was nice and Numbtongue hadn’t seen his good side. He’d apologized. But Numbtongue also remembered the [Guards] posted on the door to Pallass. He couldn’t walk around the Walled City. He could barely walk around Liscor. As for Celum…

He looked around Octavia’s shop. Her shop, where she had trusted him to protect her if there were [Thugs]. And then he looked at his pouch and the shiny and, to a Goblin, fairly worthless objects inside.

Octavia was pouring the potion into jars, stoppering them up, when she heard the clacking. She turned around. And stared.

“What is—where did you get that?”

Numbtongue paused as he put down a bit of silver next to some mana stones, an emerald, and other pieces of his collection from the mountain. Some were his. Others had been mined by Pyrite.

“Shiny rocks.”

“Shiny—do you know what those are? How did you find them? Did you take them from—”

Numbtongue shook his head as she glanced up at him, suddenly worried.

“They’re not hard to get. I—another Goblin used to find them all the time. Mining.”

“You can find these? Mining?”

“Sure. Here. This one makes a good potion, right?”

Numbtongue found a glowing red stone with pink-red fire. Octavia’s eyes nearly popped back out of her head. She reached for it with a trembling hand, then stopped.

“But—but—what do you want in return? Money? Gold? I can’t offer you nearly what this is—”

She trailed off, staring at it. For a second, Numbtongue saw her eyes flicker to him, calculating, assessing. Octavia opened her mouth, reaching for the stone—and then let her hand go limp.

“I can’t pay you what this is worth. But if I could offer you anything in trade? Anything?”

She looked at him hopefully. Numbtongue considered it. He smacked his lips together thoughtfully and nodded.

“Mm. Potions.”

“How many?”

The Hobgoblin thought. The [Alchemist] was tense.

“Two of those?”

He pointed to the bottled healing potions. Octavia stared. Numbtongue frowned.

“Four?”

He waited.

“…Eight?”

The [Alchemist] shook her head.

“You don’t know how valuable these stones are, do you? And my potions are crap compared to—it’s not fair. You know that. You do know that, right?”

She looked up. And Numbtongue’s smile was knowing. He nodded, shrugging casually. A Goblin’s shrug.

“Sure I do. But I want potions. So. Show me how to make them. And make good ones. From these.”

He tapped the mana stone.

“Ones that explode or do good things. Like invisibility. Those are good potions. And give some to me.”

“But the cost—”

“I don’t use shiny rocks. I just throw them at adventurers. To play fetch.”

Numbtongue laughed. Octavia didn’t get the joke. He went on.

“Only other thing is—I eat stones.”

“Mana stones?”

“Yup. Other Goblin did that too. Tasted good too. But sharp. Potions are better. Probably. I tasted good potion once. Invisibility. So you make them. I drink them. Good deal, right?”

Numbtongue smacked his lips, remembering that. Octavia stared at him. Then her eyes welled up with tears.

“You’re just giving them to me? After all I—do you know how much I’d have to fight or bargain for—giving them to me?”

“Mhm.”

The Hobgoblin was prepared for tears. And the shock. But not the hug. Octavia cried, and then she grabbed the stones, talking about finding out what each one did—then she ran around her shop grabbing potions and offering them to Numbtongue. He couldn’t fit them on his belt and said so. After a while, Erin opened the door, and of course, that never made things quiet.

But it was okay. Numbtongue sat in Stitchworks as Octavia calmed down and looked around. It was very quiet here. Not noisy like Erin’s inn was at all hours. You know—he wanted to try copying what Octavia had done. That wouldn’t end badly, right?

Thoughtfully, the Goblin considered the [Thugs]. And other things. And then he looked at Octavia and Erin, who was wondering if you could make an Eir Gel sandwich.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to up my [Wondrous Fare] game. Hey, Numbtongue, you really okay with giving Octavia all the shiny stuff?”

He waved a claw at her. He was lost in his own thoughts. His and Pyrite’s. Imagine if Goblins could be [Alchemists]? Imagine if the Redfangs could have made their own potions instead of hoarding the ones they took from adventurers and raids? Imagine what they might have become?

It was true, what he’d said to Octavia. Numbtongue understood their worth, but shiny stones were shiny stones. But potions? He held up one of the fresh healing potions Octavia had made. It glowed in his claws. This was worth everything. If he could learn this…

After a while, he looked up. He had another thought, and Erin was willing to hear it. She was shocked—so was Octavia at first—and protested. But then she agreed. Because Numbtongue was smiling.

And so, that night, as Erin’s customers learned the pleasures of hot-tub drinking and a very irate Ceria stared at her boiled, pruney fingers while eating greens and Erin played more board games with some of Pallass’ [Strategists] and Chaldion, Numbtongue was not there at the inn. He was, in fact, a hundred miles north. Sitting in an [Alchemist]’s shop, guitar in hands, strumming, while Octavia snored in her room in The Wandering Inn.

The Hobgoblin’s crimson eyes glowed in the darkness. And the sparks that shot from his claws as he played earthed themselves well away from any of Octavia’s goods. He had a bed. A sleeping bag, really, but the Goblin liked it, and Erin vouched for sleeping in the kitchen, where it was installed. Breakfast was at her inn, anyways. He was just here as an employee. Being paid and everything.

Outside, it was raining. The clouds obscured the sky, but if someone were to stand outside Octavia’s boarded-up shop, they’d see a new sign installed there, the paint freshly-dried and varnished. It read this:

Stitchworks is under the protection of the Redfang Goblins!*

*(Bronze-rank team. Attack the Goblin and he’s allowed to hit you. He can also talk, listen, and see. If you throw rocks, he’ll throw them back.)

That was all. It wouldn’t stop stones or stares, but Numbtongue was good at catching and throwing, and he could stare right back. And there he was. A Hobgoblin in a city. It wasn’t Liscor. But it was pretty good.

As the Hobgoblin played, quietly, sitting in the dark of the night, the person, or rather, people who were in a position to read the sign crept closer. And one of them, a man, drew a long, curved knife coated in a dark orange substance. He crept towards the shop and paused. Just in time to hear the faint music playing. Then there was a flash.

A bolt of lightning shot down from the sky. It landed in the city, blasting a hole in the street, waking up Celum’s residents in fear and panic—until they looked to their windows and saw nothing was burning or collapsed and they relaxed. Their gazes missed the black body lying on the cobblestones.

The strike had flung the [Blackguard] across the street. He lay there as the [Nightstalker] stared at his body in horror and then turned back to the shop. She saw two crimson eyes blinking at her, then a grin. The Sister of Chell backed away towards her fallen companion.

Numbtongue was a bit miffed that the [Blackguard] was still breathing. His clothing was smoking, and the amulet on his chest was glowing white-hot—but he was alive. And even conscious enough to scramble to his feet after a moment. He looked around for his knife as the rain pelted him, then stared towards Numbtongue. He looked at his companion as she halted, her own blades pointed warily towards the shop.

The pair focused on the boarded-up front and the two flickers of red light. They looked up as thunder rumbled in the sky. A charge was building in the sky.

Goblins did not make threats. The two stared at the shop and then ran into the night.

One last person disturbed the night and Numbtongue’s vigil. But he wasn’t nearly as bad as the first two. He strolled down the street, his hat slanted against the rain, humming a little tune under his breath.

A children’s song.

The man paused before the shop as the Hobgoblin stopped playing, and the two regarded each other for a moment. And then the man tipped his hat ever-so-politely and went on his way.

Numbtongue smiled. Living in a city wasn’t so hard after all. When the dawn came, he got up, stretched, went into the inn, and called on Pyrite. And here they’d both been ready to fight to the death. A shame.

Breakfast was meatloaf, special. And Numbtongue put the glowing, pink-red mana stone on Octavia’s counter. Then he went back to the kitchen while Octavia was puttering about, muttering about new prices and experiments. Numbtongue sighed, stretched out on the sleeping bag—

And he went to sleep.

6.40 E

Day 56 – Ryoka

“…A fair morning to you all.”

Belavierr’s words echoed across the street. Such innocuous words, delivered politely by a blank face. Luminescent orange eyes with ringed pupils. And the [Witch] herself, tall, dressed like she had walked out of a story.

Not just her either. Seven [Witches]. No—eight. Alevica, Califor, Nanette, Hedag, Mavika, Eloise, Belavierr. And—Wiskeria. She looked up at Belavierr. She’d called her mother.

Ryoka’s head spun. She looked around the crowded street and heard a strangled shout. A woman with a pale face, snappy, fancy clothes compared to many of Riverfarm’s people, stepped forwards.

“Are you quite serious? What is this?”

There was a note of hysteria in the woman’s voice as she pointed. At the [Witches]. At the one called Hedag. Her axe was still bloody. Ryoka’s eyes were drawn to it. The woman, a giant, smiled as the shouting woman’s voice rose.

“She killed Councilman Elmmet! With everyone to see!”

“He deserved it!”

Another man roared that. This one Ryoka vaguely recognized. A huge, balding man—a [Blacksmith] to judge by his clothes—pushed forwards. His face was pale as well, but he pointed furiously at the woman.

“You were there! You saw it, Councilwoman Beatica! I say it was just! Pah! Dead gods, if what we saw was true—”

He spat, looking ill. The Councilwoman, or whomever she was, stared at the man and then shook her head. She stared past the [Witches] at a woman lying on the ground.

“Miss Rehanna as well? They’ve attacked two people of Lancrel—no, of Riverfarm! Sovereign citizens! Steward Prost, I demand you arrest them at once!”

Eight pointed hats turned, and Beatica’s finger quavered. The looks from some of the [Witches]—the hunched Mavika, Califor’s gaze, Belavierr’s—Ryoka edged back from Beatica, as did a lot of the crowd. Beatica’s finger slid sideways out of self-preservation, pointing at a weathered man. Again, Ryoka recognized him.

“That’s Prost!”

She muttered to herself. He was a [Steward] now? No—had he been when she last met him? She had no idea.

“Who?”

A figure bent down and whispered to Ryoka. The Runner girl jumped and looked up. Charlay was half-crouched, staring over the heads of the crowd. The Centauress was getting a few odd looks, but, amazingly in this all-Human crowd, she was still far from the most notable thing at the moment. Ryoka hesitated.

“Prost. I know him.”

She stared at Mister Prost. She had been to Riverfarm before. Once. But it was completely different from what she knew! It was four times again as large, and the people! The street was filled, and this was only a fraction of those present. Ryoka could see more coming this way, some at a run. She stared around. This was Laken’s empire? What had gone on since she’d left? And what was going on now?

The man that Councilwoman Beatica had addressed looked like he was adjusting to all of the events as well. He glanced at a well-dressed [Lady] on his left. Ryoka blinked and realized she had to be Lady Rie Valerund, Ryoka’s target for her delivery. The giant, grey-skinned girl on the right was immediately recognizable to Ryoka as well. Durene towered over all but Belavierr, Hedag, and Charlay. Half-Troll. Laken’s…girlfriend. She looked uncertainly at Prost, then at the Witch named Wiskeria. The hats lying on the ground.

“Murderer!”

Someone in the crowd hurled that at Hedag. Another pointed at Mavika.

“I saw her! She cursed Rehanna! Burnt the flesh right off her hand!”

Every eye fixed on Rehanna. The woman was passed out. Tears, her contorted face—the smell of burnt flesh still hung in the air, appetizing and nauseating at once. Her hand was whole, though. The speaker hesitated.

“She did do it! It was healed—but that [Witch] cursed her!”

“Only after she kicked over Wiskeria’s brew! She made a potion—right magical it was! The best thing I’d smelled in my life! And Rehanna kicked over the whole pot!”

Another man shouted back. He furiously gestured to an overturned cauldron and brown, foul-smelling liquid drying on the ground. Ryoka eyed the stew. Prost looked over, a frown on his face. He raised his hand and forestalled more shouting.

“Is this true, Ram? Tell me what happened here.”

The man named Ram nodded.

“What happened was—see, Wiskeria and Durene came into the village with a stew. Something magical! She was all set to share it out, and Lady Rie’s man, Nesor, he said it was the best stew he’d had! We were getting in line when Rehanna rushed over, and the idiot kicked the entire thing over! Started calling our Wiskeria a [Witch] and all sorts of things—she was running away when she grabbed the doorknob and that [Witch]…”

He pointed uncertainly at Mavika and trailed off. Every eye turned to Mavika. Two crows sat on her arms and shoulders. They peered around, unafraid of the crowd. The [Witch] only smiled as Prost turned to her.

“Is this true, Miss?”

“An ill for an ill. That is what I did. The woman called Rehanna repaid goodwill with bad. So she in turn reaped hers. Do you object, [Steward] of this land?”

There was a rhythmic, odd cadence to Mavika’s words. It would have been clichéd to call it ‘cawing’; Ryoka was rather reminded of a witch right out of Macbeth. Mavika could have won first casting if she’d been an actor. Hell, she could walk onto a stage right now.

But she was the real thing as well. Ryoka’s skin crawled as the witch’s words provoked a cawing from overhead. The flock of crows circled the houses, making the obnoxious, shrill birdcalls Ryoka knew from home. But again—the crowd shivered as it looked up. There was something different about this cawing than the obnoxious bird flocks that sometimes crossed in the thousands from Ryoka’s world. These crows’ voices sounded too knowing. Mocking, even.

A murder of crows. Ryoka shivered. How fitting for a [Witch]. Why were they here? To meet Laken? Mavika’s words produced a hush until the Councilwoman, Beatica, spoke up again.

“An ill for an ill? That was nothing more than—than assault!”

She licked her lips as Mavika stared at her. But Beatica went on, her voice strident. She had a presence about her that called attention to her, lent weight to her words. Ryoka’s eyes narrowed. So this was what Laken’s note had mentioned. She was beginning to see, but she stared quietly. Charlay pawed the ground nervously as Beatica went on.

“Mister Prost! Will you allow these [Witches] to simply stride into Riverfarm? They’ve attacked two people in the village within minutes of arriving! That woman is a murderer!”

She pointed at the tall [Witch], the one with the axe. But the [Witch], with her brown hat, didn’t look bothered by the accusation. She just laughed, a great, booming sound without guilt.

“They call me Hedag, Miss. Hedag the [Executioner]. Sometimes Hedag the [Witch]! And I delivered what justice I had with me in my axe. In a swing for a man who deserved no more and no less. Or did you not see me reveal his sins? Do you say it was ill-done? That he deserved better? You saw what he did.”

She faced Beatica, and the [Councilwoman] froze a second. Those who hadn’t seen, Ryoka included, stared at the woman. But those who had looked uneasy. Sick. Children clung to their parents, and the parents looked as though they wanted to do the same to each other.

“I—know what I saw. Nevertheless! Mister Prost! What is to be done? We demand justice! Lancrel—”

“It isn’t Lancrel that makes the decisions around here!”

The [Blacksmith] roared at Councilwoman Beatica. Looking relieved—Ryoka thought she’d baited his response—the woman turned to him and snapped back.

“Nor is it Riverfarm’s folk, Mister Helm! The responsibility lies solely with Emperor Laken Godart, who we have not seen since arriving in Riverfarm. In his absence, I believe Lancrel’s people deserve a say. Mister Prost—!”

Her words were summoning the crowd’s ire, even in the face of the [Witches]. Ryoka could see it. And now she had a clearer picture. Riverfarm much larger? Check. These Lancrel folk—city dwellers, if their clothes were any match—check. They outnumbered the villagers Ryoka remembered by far. Throw in a few [Witches], a demagogue like Beatica, and no wonder Laken had called for Ryoka.

But the question was: what could Ryoka do? She didn’t think she had the ability to just jump into this conversation. Ryoka tensed warily, wondering what was coming next. Beatica might be a skilled orator, or skilled, but Ryoka thought she was making a mistake. The seven new [Witches] were eying the woman and the crowd, but only the young one, Nanette, looked afraid as she half-hid behind the one named Califor. Her teacher and the others were regarding Beatica like an annoying bug.

And Ryoka didn’t want to know what the one called Belavierr would do if she was provoked. She was just…staring blankly over the heads of the crowd. Then her eyes flicked to Ryoka. The Runner felt Belavierr stepping on her grave…and it wasn’t even dug yet. Her skin prickled. Then Prost spoke. As Beatica was drawing breath, the [Steward] broke off, stepped away from Lady Rie, who was whispering urgently in his ears, and drew breath.

“Very well! Silence! I’ve made my decision!”

The crowd went still again. Ryoka felt the second pressure coming from Prost much like the effect Beatica had had. It quelled tongues, brought eyes onto the man. Another Skill? Prost looked around, then nodded. He raised a hand and began ticking points off on his fingers.

“As I see it, there are three things to address here and now. The arrival of [Witches] into this village. The curse placed on Miss Rehanna. And the death of Councilman Elmmet. I’ve given thought to all three. And this is what I have to say. Elmmet first.”

He took a breath. The crowd of hundreds waited. Prost looked around, and then he bellowed.

“I say it was just! And if that man stood before me again and I held an axe, I would swing it twice!”

Silence. And then a roar of outrage, shock. Not from those who had seen. Ryoka blinked, but Prost’s words shouted over the crowd again. He rounded on the woman with the axe, raised a glowing stone that flickered between blue and red.

“Hedag the [Executioner]. Do you swear before all here present and on your class and under His Majesty Laken Godart’s name that your Skill revealed Elmmet Patterson’s sins and crimes? Do you swear what we witnessed was the truth, unaltered by any magic or trickery?”

He held it up. Ryoka recognized the truth stone. And the [Witch], the [Executioner], grinned. She planted the axe and leaned on it.

“I swear. It was done justly. And what you saw were that man’s sins laid out for all to see.”

The stone remained blue as she spoke. An uneasy murmur ran through the crowd. Someone from Lancrel shouted.

“But she murdered Elmmet? He was accused of theft! And it wasn’t proved—”

Prost spun around so fast the man choked on his next words.

“He did more than steal. And we saw his sins thanks to the Skill [Witch] Hedag used. It was a proper Skill! One that revealed crimes. Like a [Guardsman] would use. I was there. I saw it all. Now, pay heed!”

Prost looked around, and his eyes had their own affixing quality. Ryoka saw his gaze pass over her and then go back to her for a second. But then Prost kept moving, and his gaze was haunted, direct. Without doubt.

“Justice was done. I was there at Master Elmmet’s trial, and his crimes were revealed. Not just to me, but everyone present! I won’t hide his guilt! If anyone wishes to ask, I will tell you what I saw. Or you may ask those who were there. I cannot imagine they’d forget. But Elmmet’s crimes went beyond thievery, and the young shouldn’t hear of what he did. Or anyone who wishes to sleep and think of the man as anything but a monster wearing Human skin. That alone tells you it was just.”

The crowd muttered uneasily. A few voices were raised—

“But surely—”

“A Skill? But she’s a [Witch]—”

“With an axe?”

Then a voice hurled from another man. Ryoka didn’t recognize the [Mayor], Rodivek, but she immediately placed him in Beatica’s camp. The man gestured at Prost, red-faced.

“Nevertheless, Prost! Elmmet was a [Councilman]! You’d hang him without a trial?”

“That was his trial!”

Prost thundered back. Rodivek hesitated. Prost turned around furiously.

“Maybe you didn’t hear me right the first time. I judged the sentence Hedag passed down as just myself! If she hadn’t killed him, I imagine half the folk in the square would have done the same the next minute. I know what I saw.”

He looked at Helm, and the man nodded. Prost’s voice was steady as he gazed at the crowd.

“And I have every right to sentence Elmmet to death. Nor would I hesitate to, even if Emperor Godart were in this village. If he were but five minutes away as I saw what I did, [Farmer] Ram, I’d have called for a rope and strung him up first and then presented myself to His Majesty for judgment without a doubt in my heart that justice had been done. That was the nature of the crime. The only thing to cry about was how fast the sentencing was done. Too slowly by half and far too late, say I.”

He paused. And no one had anything to say to that. Not even Beatica. Ryoka wanted to know what Elmmet had done and she didn’t want to know at the same time. But she didn’t doubt Prost. Nor, it seemed, could much of the crowd. Those who might have wanted to speak up were silenced as Prost turned back to the women standing in the center of the street.

“Now to the next point. Miss Rehanna’s injury. I hear from Mister Ram, who I trust, that she gave offense and destroyed something of value. Wiskeria is our [General]. A trusted member of Riverfarm. I’ll ask for more testimonies, but if she did destroy this…magical soup, she will be punished. But hear me, [Witch] Mavika. You will pay a fine for injuring Riverfarm’s citizen. And that same fine will go to Miss Rehanna, and she will pay part or all of it for destroying Wiskeria’s work! That’s all!”

Another murmur, but subdued. Mavika stared at Prost, unblinking. Credit to Prost, he didn’t look away or flinch. He met Mavika’s gaze and glanced at the others. Only Belavierr gave him trouble; his eyes jerked away from her. But Prost gazed at them and then around at the crowd.

“[Witches]. You are His Majesty’s guests. People of Lancrel, you are his subjects. You came to his lands seeking protection and aid, and it was offered freely. And I know there is discontent. Trouble! But I will remind everyone here present of this: you are subject to his rule on this land.”

Prost pointed down at the street. He glared about.

“His Majesty is returning! And until he does, I am in charge. I, the [Steward] of Emperor Godart, and until he returns, my authority rules! Not any Councilwoman, any mob, or any [Witch]! Is that clear?”

He bellowed, and there was silence from all corners for a moment. Ryoka whistled very quietly.

“Damn. Prost took a few levels in [Badass] since I last met him.”

“I like him. He shouts a lot.”

Charlay looked approving. Beatica, Rodivek, both were crushed in some way Ryoka understood to be a battle of classes as Prost glared at them. They folded their arms, harrumphed, but didn’t dare speak up. It was Mavika who acted first. A crow cawed on her arm, and when Prost looked at her, the hunched [Witch] spoke.

“You speak of laws. Of your right to rule, as if you own land and hearts. Perhaps you claim it of these people. But we are [Witches], Emperor’s man. We cannot be anything else. And where we go, we practice our craft. Will you stop us from that? Bind us with laws? Because we will not be held.”

“Mavika.”

One of the other [Witches], Eloise, sighed. The short grandmother of a woman stepped forwards and adjusted her hat. She smiled at Prost. Eloise looked kindly, which, contrasted with Mavika or Belavierr, made one suspect she had darker secrets still. Prost folded his arms.

“You are guests, Witch Mavika. Are you threatening to curse more people? Or unleash your flock?”

Eloise sighed as Mavika looked at her.

“Neither. Allow me to explain. We are [Witches], Steward Prost. And we have come here to speak with your [Emperor]. But while we wait, we all have services to offer. I, for instance, sell tea.”

“Tea?”

Prost stared at Eloise. So did much of the crowd. The woman smiled, completely at ease with the incredulous looks.

“Teas, tonics, and treatments for what ails a body. Come to me if you seek a [Healer]’s remedies. For tooth rot or just company. I do enjoy chatting. My fellow [Witches] offer different things. Mavika wishes to be assured that she will have the right to offer her abilities to others.”

“Which are?”

Prost looked at Mavika. The [Witch] grinned.

“My flock will clear your fields, [Steward]. Or eliminate pests. I can call fortune or misery. But I must be paid. Worth for work fairly done. Will you gainsay it?”

The man chewed this over and then shook his head.

“No. But remember this. Steal, harm, or threaten others in Riverfarm and the surrounding area, and you will answer to me. The same as anyone else. You may practice your business so long as it is fairly done. As long as it does not harm anyone else. Or you will leave or be dealt with. Is that clear?”

Mavika eyed him. The crows cawed and flapped their wings. But at last, Mavika dipped her head once.

“Very well. I am agreed until a further pact is struck.”

Prost nodded as well. Ryoka thought that was the end of it, but one last woman stepped forwards. Hedag. She boomed as Prost turned to look at her, vexed.

“Mister Steward! You call on us not to harm a hair on another soul’s head. But it is my business to harm and help. I fear I’ll break your laws and do it again and again! So, I call on the rights of my other class. [Executioner].”

An uneasy stir ran back through the crowd. Prost frowned.

“Meaning? You aren’t going to execute—”

A booming laugh interrupted him. Hedag slapped her chest as she guffawed.

“Of course not! Dead gods, but it’s been long since I walked places so near to civilization. Is Riverfarm so close you’ve forgotten my role? The axe is a last resort. But I call on my other duties! Judge and arbiter. Where there are crimes, I find them. Do you know me, Mister Steward?”

“I know your name. And your reputation.”

The [Witch] nodded proudly.

“Just so, then. I am Hedag alone. And you have your laws, and I bring mine. Will you let me work here? I will cut no man or woman down. But I will not promise to leave those that need my craft unscathed.”

She gestured around. Ryoka didn’t know what that meant, but Prost did. So did some of the villagers. They looked at each other a touch uneasily, Ryoka thought, but most glanced at Hedag, mouthed her name, and their resolve firmed.

Who was she? What were her other tasks? Ryoka didn’t know, but Prost nodded after only a beat.

“I grant you leave, then. But whatever you do, Miss Hedag, it will be alone.”

“Fairly said.”

The [Witch] swept her hat off and bowed once. Beatica spluttered at this.

“Steward Prost! You can’t just let that woman—”

“Councilwoman Beatica, silence!”

Prost snapped back. The woman shut up, affronted. Prost shook his head.

“I know who Hedag is. And if she has a rank, it is that of Watch Captain. You may not know of her, but I do. As do many from villages like Riverfarm, I’ll wager. If I were you, Councilwoman Beatica, I would educate yourself about how we do things in villages far from your rule of law. Now, that’s all! This gathering is adjourned. Back to your tasks if you have them! I need men to take care of the body at the pillories. We’ll sort out the rest, and you’ll hear what happens over your supper! Clear the street! Wiskeria, Lady Rie, Durene, with me please. Ram! Helm! Beycalt! Get your folks to work! Now!”

His words broke up the scene at last. Ryoka saw people start and glance around uneasily, but Prost was already striding forwards, chivvying them off, reminding them that they had places to be, jobs to do. He was decisive! The [Witches] gathered around Wiskeria as she pointed at the hats, still clearly distressed. And Ryoka hesitated. Someone poked her in the side, and she yelped.

“Gah—Charlay!”

The Centauress looked delighted at Ryoka’s reaction. She tried to poke again, and Ryoka slapped her hand down. The Centauress gestured at the village.

“This is so weird. I’ve never been to a place like this! Have you ever seen so many [Witches]? I just know Alevica…um, are you going to talk to them?”

“Probably.”

Ryoka glanced at the coven. Charlay pawed the ground uneasily.

“We’re just here to deliver your package, right?”

Ryoka sighed.

“Sort of. Look, I need to talk to—”

“Dead gods, is that a Centaur?”

Someone finally noticed Charlay. The Centauress’ head swung around.

“That’s right! And it’s a Centauress! Who’s asking?”

Some heads turned to stare. Ryoka sighed, but then she saw Prost heading her way. He’d noticed her. Durene spotted Ryoka at last, and her eyes widened.

“Ryoka? Ryoka Griffin?”

“Who’s that? Someone you know, Durene?”

The [Lady] peered at Ryoka as the three came her way. Durene seemed stunned.

“Yes! Ryoka met Laken back in Invrisil. But I didn’t think—wait, did Laken send you, Ryoka?”

Her eyes widened. Heads turned, and Ryoka saw some other villagers turn and point.

“That’s her! The Runner who came during the winter—”

Durene, Rie, and Prost came to a stop in front of Ryoka and Charlay. The Asian girl coughed, feeling embarrassed by the attention. She smiled weakly at Prost. He was surprised to see her too.

“Hi. Mister Prost. Uh, hi, Durene?”

“Miss Ryoka. It’s a pleasure to meet you. But what brings you here? Did His Majesty—”

Prost’s eyes flicked towards Ryoka, then Charlay. Ryoka nodded. She fished in her pouch for the potions.

“That’s right. I have a delivery and, uh—”

Prost halted her with a hand. He glanced at Rie, and she nodded. The man turned back.

“Later. We have to hear what His Majesty sent with you. Or…why you’re here. Lady Rie, we should meet in the throne room in a few minutes. Once the crowd has cleared—”

“Of course. This way, Miss Ryoka. And…is your friend with you?”

Rie looked at Charlay uncertainly. Ryoka hesitated and then nodded.

“Sure. Yes.”

She gazed at Durene. The half-Troll girl was staring. Ryoka uncertainly followed Lady Rie, and Durene looked around. Wiskeria was still just holding the hats. Belavierr bent.

“Daughter. My great work was undone in moments. I was nibbled upon as I slept. At long last, my death once again walks this world, and it—he—burns.”

Witch Wiskeria barely looked up at the incredible address. She lifted a bloodstained hat, grim and sad.

“That’s nice, Mother. I knew these [Witches]. I grieve for them all. Which great work was it? The Helpful Servants? I never liked them.”

“Yes. And more. My craft itself was devoured. My very soul was defiled by strange mice. Nibbling as I dreamed.”

The other [Witches] turned abruptly and fell silent. Ryoka rubbed at her ears. This [Witch] was an aberration among already strange women. When she spoke—

Ryoka felt as though great things had come to pass, not all good. Yet Wiskeria didn’t trivialize them so much as…she looked up and frowned.

“Are you talking about literal mice? Or metaphorical ones.”

The tall [Witch]’s face never moved, never shifted. But she did pause a second and then murmured.

“Metaphorical. Naught one I caught, though I cast a thousand nets of curse and spell and ward. Beyond even ghosts, who returned to walk Noelictus.”

Wiskeria blinked, and she half-turned, then looked down at the bloody hats again.

“Real ghosts? Mother—this is all fascinating. I’m sorry you’re mortal again, but let me grieve for the dead.”

Wiskeria’s eyes were filled with tears as she held one of the pointed hats. Belavierr paused.

“I searched for you when you left, Daughter.”

“Not very hard or you would have found me. Don’t pretend this is just for me, Mother. I heard you claiming sanctuary. Leave Riverfarm out of it.”

Ryoka couldn’t tell if—it was the strangest conversation between mother and daughter she’d ever heard. Familiar, and yet they were so distant in a way that it hurt. Wiskeria was running her fingers over a hole in one of the hats, and Belavierr kept talking.

“I take it you are well? You appear to be well.”

Ryoka saw Wiskeria’s head snap up, her eyes flashing.

“I’m fine. How’s Ostevien?”

Another name Ryoka didn’t know, but Wiskeria spat that word out with such intensity…Eloise twitched slightly, and each [Witch] save Alevica and Nanette reacted visibly to the name. Califor with a deep frown, Eloise with an indrawn breath, Hedag with a grimace, and Mavika with a bright stare for both [Witches].

And Belavierr said:

“…Who?”

Her face was completely blank. Wiskeria whirled, face filled with fury.

“That’s what I thought. Begone, Mother! Once, I banish you, for you did not come here for me. Twice, I banish you, because you do not even know his name. Thrice, I banish you, because I am busy and we have naught to say. Leave.”

Then she lifted the brim of her hat, and Ryoka saw magic. Not a flash of light or incantation, but the simplest of things.

Wiskeria tipped up her hat, squared her shoulders, and gave Belavierr a damn strong shove. Despite their huge difference in sizes, Belavierr stumbled backwards a step. She took one step back—then another—then caught herself, oddly strained, as if holding herself in place.

“You have improved your craft, Daughter.”

“Oh, please.”

Wiskeria rolled her eyes. She looked disgusted, annoyed, and even embarrassed and angry by Belavierr’s presence. The taller [Witch] stood there a second, and only then did Ryoka see how she was now angled forwards, as if a great wind were blowing her back.

People stared; Belavierr shouldn’t have been able to lean forwards like that in the air, as if braced, without something pushing her. But there was no wind, no pressure…then Ryoka saw the woman’s boots skidding slightly on the street.

Something was pushing her back, but the great [Witch] barely acknowledged it. She took in her daughter—then turned, slowly, and began to walk away.

One of the [Witches], the short Eloise, broke the silence as Belavierr retreated, striding away through Riverfarm.

“Hundred Kings of Terandria, I cannot believe that worked. I thought she was unbanishable.”

Witch Califor nodded, eyes on the distant figure.

“She allowed it. Even she must obey laws. Most of the time. A quite effective banishment, Witch Wiskeria. Old and direct. May we speak?”

At this, Witch Wiskeria turned and, remembering the other [Witches], doffed her hat and bowed.

“Witches Califor, Hedag, Mavika, Eloise, Alevica, and Nanette—I am truly sorry. I did not mean to be so rude when you approached me. I thought I was being inducted into Mavika’s coven and did not know the circumstances.”

Her head turned, and Wiskeria gazed blankly at the hats. Hedag bowed her head, her smile vanishing.

“A mess it is, and let all be forgiven that can be! Your mother and the hunting of [Witches]. Poor girl. Come here, Witch Wiskeria.”

She swept the younger woman up in a hug. Wiskeria yelped, and Durene saw Califor sigh.

“We may speak later. My concern is where we will be sleeping. It would be preferable to rent a house in the village; if not, we shall camp. Let us organize that, then—”

The [Witches] marched straight towards Prost. He was busy arguing with Rodivek and Beatica, sending people back to work, organizing a burial for Elmmet—and Durene stood there. She stared around. Then at the young woman. This was Laken’s help?

“Ryoka?”

—–

Later that day, Ryoka sat in Durene’s cottage. She blinked around the small hut, stared at the bed Durene had given her. And at the Centauress trying to lie down on it.

“It’s big enough for me, but it’s not comfy. Hey, do you have any more blankets, Ryoka? We should get some more from the village. Ooh! Wait a second! Suddenly it feels soft! Is this a Skill? A magic bed?”

The delighted Centauress was wriggling on the wide bed. Ryoka looked at her own smaller cot set up next to it. It did feel ludicrously soft for what was a sleeping bag on a hardwood floor. Durene paused as she fed Frostwing.

“That’s Laken’s Skill. [Blessing of the Hearth]. You’ll sleep like babies even on hay. Want another blanket? Sorry it’s so cramped.”

“Nope! I like it! This is better than most inns! The bed feels amazing! Hey, Ryoka, does your bedding feel like that?”

Ryoka glanced up at Charlay. She blinked twice, then nodded.

“Yup. Feels nice. Charlay, why are you taking Durene’s bed?”

The Centauress paused.

“Because she offered it? She said she’s okay with sleeping on the floor! Why? You want to gamble for it? I could toss a coin. Best three out of five?”

She reached for her money pouch. Ryoka shook her head.

“Why are you here? I told you, I’m staying.”

The Centauress paused.

“Right. You did say that. Well—it seemed interesting. So I’m staying too!”

She grinned at Ryoka. The young woman shook her head. But she couldn’t argue. It had been an interesting meeting. Not exactly reassuring on any side, but interesting—

—–

The throne room had an actual throne. Ryoka stared at it while she waited for Rie and Durene and Prost to come back. It was carved, wooden, yes, but it was ornate. Someone had worked hard on it. An actual damn throne. She had forgotten, but Laken was an [Emperor]. And the people here believed it.

Charlay whistled as she trotted up to the throne and inspected it.

“Wow. An [Emperor]. I heard rumors, but I didn’t believe it! And you know this Human, Ryoka?”

“Sort of. It’s a long story.”

“Really? Well, tell it to me! This is all very interesting. Hey, do you think I’ll fit on this thing?”

Charlay looked at Ryoka as she turned around and backed up. Ryoka bit her tongue, trying not to laugh as the Centauress maneuvered her behind towards the throne.

“Don’t you dare. They’ll kill us. And you’ll never fit!”

“Hah! Watch me—”

That was how Rie, Prost, and Durene found the two. Ryoka trying to persuade Charlay to get off Laken’s throne. As first impressions went—well, she’d had hers with Prost and Durene already.

After a short explanation, Rie was on the same page. The [Lady] stared at Ryoka. They’d relocated to her home by now, and an embarrassed Charlay was being made to sit on the ground. She was so embarrassed at being caught she didn’t object for once.

“So. Emperor Godart’s help that Durene requested showed up in the form of a few low-grade potions. Which was mainly to prompt your arrival.”

She gestured at the small collection of bottles and vials on the table in front of her. Ryoka nodded.

“That’s right. I got a message asking me to come to Riverfarm because there was…trouble. Laken didn’t say, but he implied it.”

He’d actually used some pithy German amid the contents of the message. Ryoka wasn’t sure exactly what he’d said, but she recognized some of the words and had gotten the gist. He was worried, and he had sent her. Only, she hadn’t known what to expect, and the others certainly hadn’t expected her. Rie stared at Ryoka, drumming her painted nails on the table, heedless of the damage to them.

“He sent you.”

“Uh, yeah.”

Ryoka scratched her head. After the [Witches], she had to admit, she wasn’t much. Prost, on the other hand, seemed reassured. He spread his callused palms on the table.

“I think it was the right move.”

“You do?”

Durene blinked. She had been watching Ryoka from the start. Ryoka vaguely remembered her from her encounter in Invrisil. Only, she remembered a very protective Durene, who had seemed jealous of Ryoka even getting near Laken. This Durene was quieter. And she had a scar, a thick, deep one half-concealed by her sleeveless working tunic. But Prost, the [Steward] was decisive. He was certainly far different from the cold man grateful for food in his ruined village. He nodded to Durene and Rie.

“Miss Ryoka brought Riverfarm food when the village was starving for it. She ran through the winter, through one of the worst blizzards I’ve ever seen, to bring it here, and I’d trust her with any delivery.”

He looked at Ryoka, and she squirmed, embarrassed. Then she remembered. It had been Ivolethe and the other Frost Faeries who’d helped her on that run. Prost noted the way Ryoka sobered and nodded.

“Did His Majesty send you with anything else? Any messages, Miss Griffin?”

“No. Just a request to help. And I will if I can.”

“How, exactly? Are you some kind of [Steward] yourself? A manager of people? You’re a City Runner, yes? Not a Courier? No offense, Miss Griffin, but I cannot understand what His Majesty was thinking.”

Rie looked exasperated as she put one finger to her lips, staring at Ryoka. The young woman returned the gaze. Rie was striking. Ryoka had no idea how Laken had met her, but the woman’s careful makeup, her dress, and her bearing didn’t fit in Riverfarm. But she seemed to be all aboard Team Laken, so Ryoka weighed her response before replying carefully.

“I’m…an acquaintance of Laken’s. Personally.”

Durene knew that. But Prost and Rie exchanged a quick glance. Rie’s eyes widened a bit, and she sat forwards. Now, Ryoka felt the [Lady]’s attention fix on her like a spotlight.

“I see. From his nation? His, ah, homeland? In…Chandrar?”

The question was probing. Ryoka smiled at Durene and shook her head warningly.

“I’m an acquaintance of Laken’s. I helped him out once. And you’re one of his vassals?”

The woman pursed her lips.

“I am Lady Rie Valerund, yes. Last of the Valerund house. I owe His Majesty a great debt after he saved me from a Goblin attack on my mansion.”

Ryoka nodded amiably.

“In that case, I’ll let, uh, Emperor Laken explain it to you. If he thinks you should know. As for what I’ll be doing—I have no idea. But as I said, I’ll help however I can. If you’ll let me.”

She saw Rie’s affronted look at the shut-down response. Durene just smiled happily. Prost nodded.

“Of course. And you’re welcome to stay as long as you want. More than welcome. We’ll put you up in a house. We’re already arranging some for the [Witches]—”

“She can stay at my cottage. I have room. And I can sleep on the floor.”

Durene interjected quickly. Ryoka blinked at her. That was unusually friendly. Rie threw up her hands in disgust.

“Fine! By all means, let us include Miss Ryoka in our proceedings. I have to think the [Witches] matter more. Miss Ryoka, please share anything you have to offer.”

She sighed. Then she seemed to remember the Centauress sipping tea and munching on some bread and cheese. Rie stared at Charlay along with Prost and Durene.

“And who are you, Miss?”

The Centauress waved her hand.

“I’m Charlay, known as the Dustrider. City Runner, one of the best. Hi.”

“She’s following me. Uh—she’s not related to Laken.”

“I see.”

Rie had to sit back and massage her temples. She looked helplessly at Prost.

“We need to discuss the ramifications of these—[Witches]. And whether it’s really wise to let them stay unchecked until His Majesty returns? Let alone what Miss Griffin can offer…but Wiskeria is still absent. Talking with those—with her coven. Should we wait for her? I think it would be wise. But what does it all mean, Mister Prost? I can’t fathom it.”

“Me neither. But we’ll do that. For now, let’s just get folks settled. I’m going to go round talking with anyone who wants to know about Elmmet. Reassure them about the [Witches]. Durene, get Miss Ryoka and Miss Charlay settled in your cottage. We’ll meet tonight, if Wiskeria’s able. Tomorrow at earliest, if not.”

“Okay.”

Durene seemed relieved and nodded energetically. Ryoka admired Prost’s decisiveness. Rie was clearly overwhelmed, but the [Steward] was a former [Farmer]. He had a [Farmer]’s practicality. So she got up, followed Durene as Charlay grabbed some more bread and cheese—

—–

And now they were here. Durene gestured around the cottage, clearly embarrassed by the space. It wasn’t actually that cramped with three people in it; Durene had built it for herself, and she needed more room than most. Still, she was sleeping in the kitchen while Ryoka and Charlay occupied the actual bedroom. And there was a tent outside where Wiskeria was sleeping!

“So…what have you been doing since I last saw you? A lot’s happened.”

Durene sat on one of her kitchen chairs. Staring at Ryoka. The young woman sat up on the bed.

“A lot.”

“Right. A lot’s happened over here. Goblins and a war and…Laken’s gone. He’s coming back. With Goblin prisoners, but he was at Liscor.”

“I heard about that.”

Charlay, laying on the bed, swiveled her head from Ryoka to Durene. The young woman stared at Durene. She didn’t know her that well, and Durene clearly felt it. She looked—awkward.

“Um. Last time we met, I remember being a bit—”

“Don’t worry about it. I was pretty bad myself. A lot’s changed. Do you—want to talk about it?”

“Yes. Uh—why don’t we have a drink? I can make some tea. I have a kettle—move out of the way, Frostwing!”

She shooed the brilliantly blue bird, and Ryoka heard a screech. She stared at Frostwing. So did Charlay.

“That’s a big, blue bird.”

“Yup.”

Durene waved a hand airily.

“That’s Frostwing. You remember her, right, Ryoka?”

“I do. She was a lot…smaller back then. But I do remember her.”

Ryoka accepted a cup of hot, somewhat weak tea from Durene. She handed it to Charlay, took the second one, and sat down. Durene sat opposite her. There was a murmur of thanks, sipping, silence.

“So about what happened here. Well, we had Goblins—uh, do you know about the mountain raids? Well, what we had—”

“Oh, yeah! And I, uh, well, I was running a lot after I left Riverfarm. And, uh, I’m still running, basically. I work around Reizmelt. Ever heard of it? No? Well, they call me the, uh, Wind Runner—”

“I’m Charlay.”

The conversation started and stopped. One side talked, the other side listened. Ryoka heard Durene talk about Riverfarm and the battle and watched the half-Troll girl’s face. Durene did the same to her.

It was awkward. They really weren’t friends. And Ryoka, for all her best efforts, couldn’t figure out what to really say to Durene. By the time they were on their third cups of tea and feeling it, they had nothing more to say. Durene stared at Ryoka.

“So Laken sent you. And you really don’t have any plan? He didn’t tell you anything? Maybe there was a clue in what he wrote.”

Ryoka shook her head.

“I don’t think there was. At least—I looked for it, but I think he just wanted me to come here. I have no idea what to do. But it seems like I got here just in time.”

“Right. Well—I’m sure Rie and Mister Prost will want your help. And, uh, if you think of anything, let us know! Wiskeria’s going to tell us what her coven’s here for. Tomorrow. I haven’t seen her; she must be talking with them still. I’ll introduce her. She’s a [Witch] and the [General] of Riverfarm’s army, like I said.”

“Got it. I’ll do my best.”

That was it. Durene nodded, then excused herself to use her outhouse. Charlay and Ryoka exchanged a glance. The Centauress put her cup down.

“That was awkward.”

“Yup.”

Charlay peered at Ryoka and shook her head.

“You have no idea what you’re doing here, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Great. You Humans are so weird.”

The Centauress snorted. Ryoka couldn’t really argue that point at the moment. She lay back in her sleeping bag and stared up at the ceiling. What a mess. What could she do? Why was Charlay still here? Her mind was whirling. And then Charlay spoke up.

“…Hey, is that a bear in the window or is that just me?”

Ryoka glanced over and then recoiled in alarm. Bismarck stared at the two and paused in sticking his tongue towards a basket of food Durene had brought from the village. The two stared at the Mossbear in horror until Durene came back in. She eyed them, spotted Bismarck, and slapped the bear gently before pushing him out.

“Bismarck! That’s our food! Get back to your den! I already fed you! Sorry, that’s Bismarck, you two. He’s Laken’s other pet. Mossbear.”

Charlay and Ryoka gaped at each other. Silently, and in unison, they decided to go to bed. Ryoka rolled up and found that her sleeping bag really was the most comfortable thing in existence. She almost immediately began to drift off, but her mind was still racing.

[Witches], a [Lady], a [Farmer] turned into a [Steward]. A Troll-girl with a giant bear for a pet and a blue bird, and a village. A missing [Emperor].

Ryoka nodded to herself. Yup, that about summed it up. Welcome to Riverfarm. She lay back and closed her eyes. After a moment, she realized something else.

Charlay was a loud snorer. So was Durene.

Night 56 – Wiskeria

They didn’t gather in secret. The moons were not gibbous or full in any particularly significant combination. And nor was this a time of ritual, of significance. Well—[Witches] had died, but it was too far away for this coven to make use of their deaths. If they had even that inclination.

So it wasn’t a particularly notable gathering. Yet it was. Oh, it was. Wiskeria could feel it in the air as she stood in the simple home that had been afforded to Miss Califor and Nanette.

The first thing the [Witches] had done was actually secure lodgings. Prost had been willing to give them some of the newer houses without payment for the moment, and the [Witches] had moved into their lodgings, checked out the village, and settled themselves before proper conversation was had. It was just common sense.

Eloise and Hedag had their own house despite one being large enough for all seven in theory. Mavika and Alevica shared another, although Wiskeria was fairly certain Mavika would not be sleeping in the village.

And Belavierr? A house unto herself. Wiskeria wondered if her mother would make much use of it either. She did sleep. But Wiskeria had known her all her life. And Belavierr made Mavika look mundane.

Covens drew power from many things. The cycles of the moon. Significance. And yes, death. It should not have been a powerful gathering. But the six [Witches] in the room besides Wiskeria positively reeked of power. (Nanette was already in bed since it was late.)

They had gathered close to midnight. Wiskeria could feel the hum of magic in the air. And—purpose. Each [Witch] was powerful and famous in her way such that Wiskeria knew them even if she’d never met most personally. Only Nanette and Alevica didn’t fit; Wiskeria knew Alevica’s master, the Witch Oliyaya, though.

So what was the purpose of this meeting? What did they do? They sat at Califor’s table and sipped Eloise’s tea. There were also biscuits, as freshly baked as one wanted. The sight of Mavika perching on a chair, nibbling a biscuit, was only matched by Alevica sitting with a cup of tea and biscuit in hand, trying to look pleasant. It was funny—until you remembered what they could do. Wiskeria didn’t smile.

She had been weeping. It felt appropriate this time, and she had not had to try for the tears.

[Witches] were dead. Ones she’d known and liked, friends, were dead.

Wiskeria had held Tillica’s hat. The motherly [Witch] who had welcomed Wiskeria to Izril was dead, like the others Wiskeria had shared friendships and conversations with over eight years.

Dead, just like that, but for Mavika. Wiskeria might have mourned as long as she felt was needed, but she could not take the time to weep now. Vengeance could not wait. And she had to know why the others were here.

——

What did the other [Witches] see when they regarded Wiskeria around the table? They were all present, save for two. Nanette was sleeping upstairs. Belavierr was not present.

She had not been invited. She was still, technically, banished, though how long she would allow it was uncertain.

So, it was Mavika, gaunt and seemingly-frail until you saw the sinew, sipping from the teacup.

Eloise, a contrast, the very image of a lovely grandmotherly woman, hat covered with flowers, with an elegance to her movements as she poured tea.

Hedag, blunt, but not unrefined in her way. Travel-worn, but dignified, largest of the lot, smiling around, authority in her words and laughter.

Alevica, youngest of the lot, full of vinegar and her own confidence—yet eying each face and finding all of them imposing, save for perhaps Wiskeria.

And that was the biggest mistake, for Wiskeria, blue-haired, bespectacled, with her plain robes, seemed much less a witch than the others. But Wiskeria was Belavierr’s daughter, and even if that was only infamy by proxy—no one should underestimate that.

The last witch was, of course, Califor, whose mental image of herself was a straight-backed woman in her chair, less graceful than Eloise, perhaps—it was hard to match her in such moments—but, Califor hoped, dignified nonetheless. Alevica kept sneaking looks at Califor as if expecting the other witch to burst into proclamations or cast a spell.

That was the problem with reputations. Califor’s own clothing and staff were hardly more pristine than Hedag’s. Her image of herself was of a woman in her, oh, thirties, still striding around figuring things out. When she eyed herself in the reflection of her tea, she disliked the natural grey, even if it added to one’s supposed gravitas.

Six witches. Not seven. Numbers didn’t matter that much for conversation. The first thing to do was ensure everyone understood what was going on.

“They called themselves the Circle of Thorns. A secret name, one we have heard times before.”

Mavika spoke first. She scattered crumbs as she spoke, chewing, eating. Her eyes were dark like the birds she could summon. The others nodded. Only Wiskeria looked around quizzically.

“The Circle of Thorns. Who are they?”

Hedag leaned on the table. Her expression was grim. Flinty. She nodded to Califor.

“An old group. Or young! Depending on how you look at it. They were before my time, but Mavika remembers them. Perhaps Witch Belavierr might as well. A group of nobles. I suppose they style themselves as secretive, but the name’s plenty to remember.”

“Would you remember anything like that, Wiskeria, my dear?”

Eloise filled Wiskeria’s cup, and Califor watched Wiskeria smile politely. But guarded. Wiskeria sipped, frowned, and then exhaled.

“This is excellent tea, Witch Eloise. My mother? No…but she never told me stories of every would-be cult or secret society. If I don’t know them, they probably weren’t very dangerous. Or she just didn’t mention them.”

“Great, so you have no idea. Got it.”

Alevica sardonically added a splash of whiskey into her cup, earning her a frown from Eloise—Hedag held out her cup instantly, and Alevica, grimacing, gave her a tot. Eloise sighed.

“Any knowledge is valuable. We might ask Witch Belavierr…should we move onto her? I confess, I thought Agratha would be here.”

“Dead gods, spare me from the Teacher Witch herself. At least this Belavierr’s a truly great witch, right?”

Alevica muttered. Hedag laughed merrily—then realized Alevica was serious. Eloise shot Califor a quick glance, and Mavika peered at Alevica over her cup’s rim.

She must think Belavierr’s the same as us. The thought was entirely amusing—and alarming. For Alevica’s sake, Califor replied directly.

“Belavierr is the [Witch], Alevica. Bar none living. You may not recall your mentor’s stories of witches. Ask Witch Oliyaya who Belavierr is. Be respectful around her. More than you would be to Mavika or Witch Oliyaya herself. Or myself, for that matter. Throw tea at me, but treat Witch Belavierr with every old custom.”

Alevica’s mouth opened. She stared at Califor, whose stories she did seem to know, and then at Wiskeria.

Califor wished Oliyaya had felt able to come, but if Agratha had been here, the stakes would have been significantly lower, and the two would have fought like Wyvern and Griffin. So, this had been a calculated, diplomatic move in a game of cards…right up until someone had kicked the table over and started rolling dice on the floor.

Mavika continued the conversation as if no one had interrupted.

“I do not know why Tillica summoned the coven. Perhaps she was forced. Perhaps she erred, for I was not present. Without me, this ‘Circle’ committed dark deeds by moonlight. I came too late and repaid only blood with blood. Yet the offer I do know; I took it from my sister’s dying lips and the screams of fools before they died.”

Grim. Califor had no doubt those who had slaughtered the Marshlands Coven had died painfully. Alevica looked excited and intimidated by turns. Wiskeria just nodded, unmoved in satisfaction or grief.

The contrast between the two was marked. Mavika went on.

“The demands were simple and direr still. They called for a curse upon Magnolia Reinhart and her kin. A spell so powerful and so foul that she would die screaming, boiled by her very skin.”

Mavika looked unconcerned by the spell. Wiskeria shuddered.

“Are they stupid? Dead gods, the amount of effort that would take—could they even do that, even with you, Mavika? No wonder the Marshlands Coven refused. Even if they succeeded, then what?”

Califor nodded, replying in a clipped tone.

“It would be war against [Witches] as in times past. But it seems it was war either way. This Circle’s actions come during a rash of reprisals against witches. Many have been chased from their homes or even killed.”

Wiskeria’s eyes narrowed.

“Why?”

Hedag chuckled.

“Ah, Wiskeria. That’s the rotten peach in the middle of our pies. Why? It might be partly this Circle or the changing of times. But most of it—dare I say almost all!—is due to stories come from the north this past winter and spring. The deeds of one of us reflect on all. And in this case…”

Wiskeria shut her eyes tight.

“Mother. She didn’t say, but it had to be truly terrible for her to leave her domain. She never left Terandria if she could help it when she was raising me. What did she do?”

“More appropriately, the question is how was she bested.”

Eloise murmured. Alevica’s head was swinging blankly from face to face, clearly not keeping up, but Wiskeria just laughed.

“No one bests my mother. She’d eat them. Did the Hero of Zethe come back to life and fight her? I haven’t heard of a nation collapsing; how did anyone stop her?”

Her mirth faded as the other witches remained silent. So that was how Wiskeria thought of Belavierr? It was not entirely inaccurate to rely on stories.

Califor had never met Belavierr before. So her sense of caution increased tenfold, especially because Mavika, quick to call out anything she saw as a lie or even untruth, was ominously silent as Wiskeria chuckled.

Still, the younger [Witch] did not have all the facts, and she gazed around as Califor cleared her throat.

“That is something I would dearly like to know myself. Hearing the story from Witch Belavierr would be enlightening. What I do know is that a nation did not fall to send her fleeing—but it was close. She was defeated, a village laid to ruin, and those ‘Helpful Servants’ disbanded as an organization entirely. More than that, I will not gossip, except to say that while only rumors have reached Izril’s shores…rumors are enough to remind folk of the past.”

“Ignorant idiots talking about ‘evil witches’. Most just need a hex to remind them to watch their tongues.”

Alevica snorted into her cup. Hedag gave her a friendly buffet with one hand, and Alevica cursed, almost went for a dagger—and stopped under Califor’s reproving glare. Eloise gave Hedag a firm look, and the Hedag was unmoved.

Different personalities. Califor lifted a hand for peace, and the [Witches] relaxed as Eloise passed over a handkerchief.

“Memory is an interesting thing, Witch Alevica. Remembering the ill deeds of our predecessors is fair. The hysteria? The hunting? Perhaps not. But it was Belavierr who was the catalyst…”

“…and my mother deserves every story about her. Each and every one. Oh no. What did she do?”

Wiskeria buried her head in her hands. Now she saw the problem. The very same origin of the problems facing the [Witches] of Izril had just come here.

“Our presence was meant to alleviate the issues facing the witches of Izril, Wiskeria. It seems we must now reckon with our goals—and Witch Belavierr. We would greatly appreciate your aid, with the former if not the latter.”

Eloise broke in, and Wiskeria’s head rose. Now her gaze was focused, and she gave the others a wary stare.

“Why do you want to meet Laken? He is an [Emperor], you know.”

She was protective! Califor raised her brows as Mavika reached for another biscuit. Who could inspire Belavierr’s daughter to a kindly word? Mavika didn’t seem to care and croaked at Wiskeria.

“We know. And that authority is his to claim. We care not for it, only what it may offer. All that passes comes again. It matters not what nations rise or fall. Only that [Witches] do not meet their end.”

“So why—”

“Sanctuary.”

And then she was there! Califor had hold of her walking staff and Hedag had her axe before they could stop themselves.

Belavierr, the one they called the Witch of Webs, who had many names besides—was standing in the dining room, a teacup in hand, black porcelain with golden symbols on it, face blank, but mimicking the postures of the others.

She hadn’t come through the door that Califor had sensed; it hadn’t been a shadow-leaping Skill or spell. One second she wasn’t there, the next—

Alevica crashed backwards with an oath, and Eloise jerked backwards, staring at Belavierr. She had entered Eloise’s craft without a single problem, even gotten ahold of Eloise’s tea!

Wiskeria jumped a second, then scowled at her mother.

“I thought I banished you.”

“So you did, Daughter. I have been banished. Now I return. We seek sanctuary, do we not? This is the pact to be struck; this coven is united in purpose. Sanctuary for [Witches]. Now we seven meet. Under midnight’s auspices. I have sacrificed no blood this night nor hung around my neck goat’s feet. So small deeds shall be wrought before we sleep.”

Belavierr’s orange eyes flashed as Califor forced herself to sit down.

“Unless, of course, my coven demands. Then let the hours be long and shadows further deep.”

Style, of a kind. Old words, far older than Califor, the kind witches these days would say and chuckle over. But Belavierr meant them. Wiskeria rolled her eyes and muttered.

“You’re showing off.”

The other [Witches] were silent until Califor nodded at Belavierr and adjusted her hat.

“Welcome, Witch Belavierr. You are of course right, and the coven’s task is purely that. Sanctuary.”

Belavierr’s eyes flicked to Califor, and she inclined her head.

“As you say, Witch. Do you lead this coven?”

“I do. I am Witch Califor.”

“As you say, Witch Califor. I have come, so I accede. How shall it be done?”

The others watched as Belavierr put down her cup and picked up a biscuit. The tea was untouched. Belavierr stared at the tea cup and biscuit as if she had never known thirst nor hunger. Her gaze towards Califor was as indifferent as it was towards the wall.

Only when it came to Wiskeria did that gaze shift ever-so-slightly. Wiskeria returned that glowing stare. She truly was Belavierr’s daughter. The one, the only one there ever had been in the entire lifetime of the Stitch Witch herself.

And that lifetime had been…

Califor was tempted to ask questions, but Belavierr did not waste words.

“That is why we have come. To call on this [Emperor] for sanctuary for all [Witches] on his lands.”

Wiskeria blinked.

“Wh—all [Witches]? Not just you, Mother?”

Now she saw it. Califor sat back as Hedag laughed gently.

“Not just her. Belavierr means sanctuary and protection, Wiskeria, child. That might apply to me, although I’d be content to roam. No, it just means that, if need be, we can flee here. Rally, knowing there’s an army at our backs. It might be a small army, to look at this village!”

“Not just an army, but the protection of his name.”

Eloise swirled the tea in her cup gently. She nodded to Wiskeria, smiling.

“It is a risk, but this [Emperor] may gain more power. And if he needs us, if we strike a deal, it would be the first noble or city to openly ally with our kind in an age, Wiskeria, my dear. That’s what brings this coven to you.”

“So you want me to intercede with him. Why all come yourselves, then? I could do that myself if you sent a letter.”

Wiskeria breathed out. Califor replied evenly.

“Because we represent what Emperor Godart stands to gain, Wiskeria. We must prove our value. Besides, one [Witch]’s word has weight, but we represent the interest of all our covens. Witch Wiskeria, this is not the decision of just some of the [Witches] of Izril.”

Wiskeria’s eyes widened.

“Wait—you mean all of them?”

The seven nodded slowly. Wiskeria shivered suddenly and felt at the goosebumps on her arms.

“That can’t be! Laken could…with that kind of…how dangerous is the Circle of Thorns?”

All eyes turned to Mavika and Belavierr. Mavika shrugged, hunched.

“I remember them once. Two generations hence, when they slew members of the Five Families. Old blood, old feuds spilling onto the earth. A time of shadows and death. Unless Witch Belavierr remembers more?”

She peered at Belavierr. Wiskeria’s mother was still staring at Wiskeria. Slowly, she turned her head to Mavika’s. And blinked.

“Do I…know you?”

It was a complete non-sequitur. Mavika herself gave Belavierr a huge stare that was actually hurt. But suddenly, Belavierr tilted her head.

“You are the crow. Witch Mavika. We have met before.”

“Twice.”

“Yes. I know of you.”

You could probably bottle Belavierr saying that and sell it for credibility among other [Witches]. Mavika nodded, shuffling in her perch, and Belavierr kept staring—then sat back.

“The Circle of Thorns. I remember them thrice. They come again and again. And twice, they culled more than their enemies. [Witches] died. War came to Izril from north and south.”

The coven waited. Belavierr paused. She reached down, picked up the tea cup, and sipped from it. Then she began eating the biscuit. Eloise and Hedag traded a glance. Alevica seemed about to laugh, then caught Mavika’s eye and went still. Califor exhaled through her nose and glanced at Wiskeria. Here, at least, Wiskeria needed no prompting. With a tired sigh, she reached out and nudged her mother.

“Mother, how bad was the war? How many [Witches] died?”

Belavierr paused, as if surprised anyone had follow-up questions. She looked up and replied calmly.

“Three thousand, three hundred, and twelve. The war lasted thirty-four years.”

Then there was silence. Belavierr could be vague. But sometimes you asked and wished she didn’t answer. Eloise murmured, counting.

“A war between north and south. It must have been—the Ironbreaker conflict? Zelkyr’s War? Or before it—the Gloaning Foothills invasion? No, that was when Terandria invaded. Too early.”

She gave Califor a curious stare; Eloise had known Califor for as long as Mavika. But she hadn’t seen Califor in, oh…years upon years. Maybe over a decade.

Califor had never had an apprentice until now. Famously so. Nanette was an exception to Califor’s rule; the other [Witch] kept her face impassive, and Eloise went on.

“We may research which war Witch Belavierr mentioned later. It only matters that the Circle of Thorns may endanger [Witches] again. It matters that we not die from any hands. We are fewer than we were in the past. And our magic is weaker.”

“The old ways pass.”

Hedag murmured. She sighed, and the coven sighed too. Wiskeria was familiar with this as well. She saw Alevica rolling her eyes. Mavika noticed that.

“You have something to say, Witch Alevica?”

“Not me, Mavika. Certainly not about the old ways passing, less rituals, or spells being harder to perform. I’m all for dancing around a pot and making a brew.”

Alevica’s impudent tone made Califor scowl and Eloise sigh. Hedag laughed loud enough to wake Nanette. Mavika just stared until Alevica stopped grinning.

“Our magic fades. The Gnolls call this the Waning World. Do you seek to make light of it, Alevica? In times past, [Witches] summoned beings far greater than your skeletons to make good or ill. Our covens stretched from north to south, but those times do not last. Now, [Witches] may breathe our last. Do you make light of it, Witch Alevica?”

Mavika snapped, and in her room, Wiskeria heard Nanette gasp and hide behind the door she was peeking out of. The air around the coven constricted, and Wiskeria felt the air leave her lungs. It was suddenly stifling. Choking—as if feathers were crammed down her throat!

Alevica felt it too. The [Witch] raised a hand—and then glared at Mavika. She didn’t back down, and furious sparks raced down her arms, crackling towards Mavika. In her room, Nanette choked like Wiskeria.

The other [Witches] at the table reacted to the fight in the same moments. Hedag leaned back, grimacing. She just breathed, in, out, in, out, slowly. Eloise did likewise, grimacing, but doing so with far less effort.

Belavierr didn’t even seem to notice. She was staring at Wiskeria. Only when she noticed her daughter’s expression did she glance sideways. Then her fingers twisted. She grasped something, and a bit of thread—Wiskeria felt the pressure on her disappear at once.

And Califor? She was glaring between Alevica and Mavika, put out by the quarrel. Until she glanced up and heard her apprentice choking in her bedroom. Then she stood. She raised her hand and slapped it down on the table.

“Enough.”

The room shook. The gathering power slammed Alevica back against the wall she was leaning against, and Mavika rocked backwards in her chair. At once, the air resumed its normal quality. The two [Witches] stared at Califor. Alevica had a nosebleed from her left nostril. Mavika recoiled and was about to hiss—when she saw Califor staring at her.

There were snapped feathers scattered across the table; Califor swept them onto the floor. Voice milder now, she spoke towards a little shadow shivering at the top of the stairs, breathing in and out frantically.

“Enough. Nanette, go back to sleep.”

Nanette squeaked and fled to her bed at once. Califor whispered and flicked fingers across her eyes. Instantly, she felt her mouth force a yawn out; her target, Nanette, would feel the effects just as strongly, if not more so.

Then Califor fixed on Alevica and Mavika.

“Witch Mavika. You are overzealous in chastising Witch Alevica. She is young, but an equal part of this coven as Oliyaya’s representative and apprentice. Witch Alevica, you were warned. I lead this coven, for now, and I will not gainsay either of your crafts. Mine, however, is to peace and my apprentice’s wellbeing. Conduct your magic elsewhere or I will hold you to account.”

Silently, the two considered Califor and bowed their heads. Eloise put down her cup and nodded.

“I think we are done for now. It is enough that we’ve gathered. And we are not decided yet. We must see if Riverfarm suits us. I suggest we all practice our crafts as we may, take in the strength of this demesne. I sense this [Emperor]’s power. Especially in those totems I passed. But whether it is for [Witches] or not remains to be seen. But we shall discuss it later. For now, let us sleep. Unless anyone objects?”

——

After the brief altercation between Alevica and Mavika, the coven didn’t object to a break.

Wiskeria exhaled slowly, relieved, as the [Witches] stood.

So this was her first real coven, eh? It had all the drama and issues she’d expected of one. For a second she’d thought Alevica would try to fight Mavika—which would have been a mistake. Eloise was the voice of reason they needed in times like this. Every coven had to have someone like that or risk fights and feuds. Mavika, though—Mavika was old. If Alevica had drawn blood, it would have gotten ugly fast. And it had been a minor squabble; Mavika was capable of much more.

Then again, Alevica did seem strong for her age. Strong enough to fly, which few [Witches] could do. And Califor? Wiskeria kept eying Califor as she rose and helped Eloise pack up her cups.

She’d dispelled Mavika’s craft in a single move! True, it was in her house, but even so—Wiskeria’s mother herself had glanced at Califor when she did that.

At any rate, the coven quickly headed to bed. Hedag sighed as she stood, the first to leave. She reached out and held Wiskeria’s shoulder.

“We do bother you, Wiskeria. I apologize for that, but I hope you let us practice our craft on your land.”

The others paused and looked at her. Wiskeria shrugged uncomfortably.

“Of course. So long as you obey Prost’s rules.”

The others nodded, to lesser or greater satisfaction. They walked out one by one. Califor went to check on Nanette, and Wiskeria realized they were leaving her alone with Belavierr. The others in the coven had to know of their relationship, even if some, like Hedag and Eloise, Wiskeria had never met before. But they would know Belavierr and thus Wiskeria. However [Witches], being who they were, wouldn’t meddle. This wasn’t something for a coven. It was…personal.

The two sat alone for a while after the others had left. Wiskeria knew Califor wasn’t listening—but she was probably expecting to sleep sometime tonight. Which meant Wiskeria had to be the first to talk. Belavierr might sit for hours without speaking, just watching Wiskeria over the table. But to her surprise, as she was trying to break the silence, Belavierr spoke.

“Daughter.”

“Mother.”

The two stared at each other. Belavierr nodded.

“…You appear to be well.”

Wiskeria sighed. That was her mother.

“I am well. Why are you here, Mother?”

“Sanctuary. I have told you.”

“I know. But why are you…here, Mother? You could hide in a thousand places. You came for sanctuary and me. I told you I didn’t want to talk to you again.”

Belavierr paused. She looked at Wiskeria, unblinking.

“I care for [Witches]. And for your fate.”

Wiskeria just folded her arms in disgust. She knew Belavierr remembered their last conversation. Her mother paused again.

“You have continued practicing your craft? You should learn while the coven remains here. I could teach you.”

Her daughter’s brow wrinkled in disgust.

“Teach—! Teach me what, exactly? How to become like you? Should I go off and find a Djinni to devour their heart over an altar with a hundred thousand people watching? You don’t practice magic like I do, Mother. Mountains don’t teach gnats magic. And I don’t want to be like you.”

Silence. Belavierr looked Wiskeria up and down. Wiskeria flushed, and Belavierr lifted a finger.

“You are a [Witch] now. But you have no craft. No true passion that defines you. Even the child upstairs has one.”

Another flush. It was true, but Wiskeria snapped back.

“Well, I have you to thank for that. You made me the [Witch] I am.”

So saying, Wiskeria tipped her hat and gave Belavierr her most insulting smile. She hoped it would produce something, but the cutting words didn’t seem to affect her mother in the slightest. They never did. Belavierr frowned.

“I would like you to be a better [Witch]. You still have much to learn. If not from Mavika then…the others.”

“Califor, you mean. The Witch Califor.”

Wiskeria cast a glance upstairs. Belavierr paused.

“Yes.”

“You don’t know who she is.”

“Should I?”

“I’ll bet you every other [Witch] alive knows her name.”

“I am not every other [Witch] alive.”

Belavierr’s tone was so…matter-of-fact. Wiskeria hated it. She’d used to love the way Belavierr spoke in truths and words that made the rest of the world seem too fast, too inconsistent. Yet now, she disliked that slow, almost monotonous tone.

“You’re not even really here, are you? You’re still wrapped up in all your protections.”

At this, Belavierr grimaced. Which did alarm, even frighten Wiskeria. Grimace? By the time Wiskeria had left, Belavierr hadn’t even remembered how to smile.

“They are…destroyed. Burnt and torn and eaten, Daughter.”

Wiskeria sat back down slowly.

“Wait, really? All of them?”

“…Most.”

“You really lost everything?”

Belavierr stared at her black cup, which had the symbols of the Kingdom of Nerrhavia’s Fallen on it. No…wait…it was older than that, probably, a diplomatic incident if anyone knew what they meant. She oozed power; Wiskeria was older now and sensed it from Belavierr, but for all that, she had never been frailer before Wiskeria.

“I was wounded greatly, Daughter. Plans unmade. I have declared one woman my foe. And another pursues me, deathsworn to end my life.”

Wiskeria wondered who was mad enough to have angered her mother. She wavered, trying to smile victoriously, but she only managed the words.

“Well, you deserve the second part of it.”

“Perhaps.”

Wiskeria scowled and dropped the subject for now. It was late, she was tired, and while she had been told she could be annoyingly calm and level—she got only a fraction of that from her mother. She changed subjects, trying to get a rise out of Belavierr.

“I’m a [General] now. What do you think of that?”

“You are a [Witch].”

That was that. The two sat in silence, one glaring, the other just staring. Wiskeria balled her hands into fists.

“I’m warning you, Mother. The coven can stay. That’s fine. I know what they’re like. And I suppose since all [Witches] might die on this continent, you can stay too. But this is my land. Don’t do—anything in this village. I like it here. Don’t be—can you not—”

She trailed off, frustrated. And Belavierr just shook her head. As Wiskeria knew she would.

“I am what I am, Daughter. I cannot change that.”

Wiskeria knew that too. Bitterly, the daughter stared at the mother. And the mother paused, rolled her eyes upwards. At last, she seemed to recall something.

“Do you want anything? Three years have passed since we last met. Do you have a wish? I will grant it if it is within my power.”

“Nothing from you, Mother. Nothing from you.”

And that was it. Belavierr nodded and stood up.

“Then I bid you good night, Witch Wiskeria. I ask you speak well of us to this [Emperor], for we bear the fate of all [Witches] on Izril.”

She tipped her hat and walked out of the house. Wiskeria stayed a moment longer. She was grateful that Miss Califor tactfully remained in Nanette’s room so Wiskeria could wipe away her tears.

Day 57 – Durene

“They’re the best [Witches] on the continent. Maybe the world.”

That was how Wiskeria explained it. She sat in Lady Rie’s house with Prost, Ryoka, Charlay, Rie, and Durene. Technically, Charlay didn’t have to be here, but the Centauress seemed delighted to be included in the conversation.

As Wiskeria stood in front of the table, she looked from Prost to Rie to Durene to Ryoka. Her eyes lingered on the City Runner longest, but she had accepted the explanation about Ryoka very quickly. It was probably the least of the surprises she had experienced of late.

There was a moment of silence as everyone digested Wiskeria’s statement. Then Prost carefully raised a hand.

“By best, Wiskeria, do you mean…”

“I mean they are the best, the highest-leveled, the most dangerous, or just the best, Mister Prost. Each one is a legend. They’re all legends. Except Nanette. She’s Miss Califor’s student, which means she’ll probably be the next Califor. So a legend-in-training since that’s never happened that I can remember. Alevica’s more like a short story as well, I suppose. But her mentor, Witch Oliyaya, fits in with the others.”

Wiskeria sighed as she adjusted her hat. Durene stared at her. The best? The highest-leveled in their class? It was hard to believe. Durene had met…well, she’d heard of some high-level [Farmers], but they were only good locally. The best in the world?

“And they came because of this Circle of Thorns. Because of the…threat to [Witches].”

Rie’s eyes fixed on Wiskeria. The [Witch] nodded, fiddling with her spectacles.

“Among other things. But it’s the pact with Laken that concerns them. They think he has potential. I think they’re united in that, although they might want other things. I’m sure Mavika does. She might want…well, she wants something other than what Califor wants, I’m certain of that.”

That made no sense to Durene, and she was opening her mouth to say so. But then Ryoka leaned in. The young woman had strange skin and features, and she was quite tall—well, for a woman. Durene towered over her still, but she envied Ryoka’s grace. She’d envied a lot of things about her when they first met, come to that. Like her connection with Laken.

They came from another world. Laken had told her. But he had confessed that he didn’t know Ryoka herself that well. Still, she had come when he asked. So Durene listened as Wiskeria turned to face Ryoka.

“Witch Wiskeria, right?”

“You can call me Wiskeria. Witch Wiskeria is only for formality. You should address Califor and Mavika like that. The rest won’t care as much.”

Ryoka nodded, and Durene saw her processing that as her eyes flickered. She looked at Wiskeria thoughtfully.

“Can you explain what [Witches] are in general, Wiskeria? As well as what each of the [Witches] in your coven does? I think that would help us all.”

“Of course. Sorry, I forget it’s not common knowledge. [Witches] are…”

Wiskeria sighed and took off her hat. She inspected it, then put it back on.

“[Witches] are loners. By and large. You know all the basics, I’m sure. We cast spells, we can have familiars—pets—and we can do magic other than [Mage] spells. Magic brews, summonings, séances; our abilities are far more varied than your average [Mage]. But…weaker. Or as Miss Califor would put it, different. Which means weaker in the sense that we can’t throw [Fireballs]. At least, most of us can’t. Alevica probably can.”

Ryoka and Charlay nodded at that. The Centauress mouthed at Durene: I’ve seen it. Wiskeria went on.

“Generally, a [Witch] just…is a [Witch]. She does her business, pursues her passion—which we call her craft—and meets her coven a few times a month at most to exchange news, warnings, trade, and so on. Some of us are even adventurers, like I was. Some can live in towns—it’s rare that any go to cities like Alevica, but it can happen. There’s no rules that say we can’t do much of anything. But there are nuances, I suppose.”

“Such as?”

Ryoka sat forwards, the most interested. Wiskeria frowned.

“Well—[Witches] derive a lot of power from different magic. Uh—grudges. Death. Or life! We need passion for what we do. That’s how we become [Witches]—I don’t think I can explain all of it now…but it means we can be different from each other. Very different.”

Uncomfortably, she shifted her hat again.

“Let me put it like this. If you want to break it down to the most basic element—there are good witches and bad ones. Or maybe it’s better to think of them as ‘selfish’ or ‘generous’.”

“Really?”

Durene saw Ryoka’s eyes narrow. But Durene remembered Chimmy asking Wiskeria if she was a good [Witch] or a bad one. Wiskeria clearly remembered the same thing, because she looked at Durene. Rie coughed delicately.

“And, ah, which would you be, Miss Wiskeria?”

“I suppose I’m a good [Witch], if you want to break it down. What I mean by that is—look, some [Witches] follow rules. They try to help people as much as themselves. That ties into their craft and passion. Other [Witches] don’t. They might help people, but they’ll sometimes do as much harm as good.”

Ryoka scratched her head. Drat. It was never simple.

“So, which are which?”

Prost had a resigned look like he knew what was coming. Wiskeria’s pause this time was telling. She cleared her throat a few times.

“If you want to be simple about it, then the ‘good’ [Witches] are Hedag and Eloise. And Nanette, but she’s young. The ‘bad’ ones, or at least the selfish ones, are Mavika and Alevica and Belavierr.”

Durene looked around. No one was surprised by that, although Prost and Rie were grimacing. Charlay nodded several times when she heard Alevica’s name.

“And Miss Califor?”

“In between. Mostly good, but you hear stories sometimes. She helps those who help themselves. And she has no patience for fools. She’s something of a terror even among other [Witches], actually. She’ll come around if she thinks you’re not behaving properly and sort you out.”

“Ah. So she’s a teacher? A mentor to other [Witches]? What do each of the [Witches] do?”

Wiskeria looked at Ryoka. The two appraised each other, and Wiskeria shrugged.

“You’ve probably guessed some of it. Califor’s good at everything she does. Illusions to charms to basic magic and non-magical things—she’s a teacher, and she sorts problems out. Mavika is her exact opposite. She hates people, but she has control over all kinds of animals. Crows primarily, but she can control rats and snakes too. And I think she can turn into a bird.”

“She can what?”

Prost and Rie shot up in their seats. So did Durene. The half-Troll girl gaped around. Charlay and Ryoka didn’t look surprised. The Centauress shrugged.

“Like a Lizardfolk, I guess.”

Wiskeria shook her head.

“Not exactly. She can turn back.”

Ryoka nodded. She wasn’t shocked at all, and Wiskeria and Durene saw that.

“She’s dangerous?”

“Oh yes. But she’s a traditionalist. Remember what she said about ill for ill? She doesn’t attack people. But, uh, don’t insult her. Hedag’s actually more likely to hit you. Her magic’s not that strong, but she’s a law unto herself in villages.”

Prost lifted a hand.

“I know of her. Hedag’s a family name, isn’t it?”

Wiskeria looked surprised.

“That’s right. She comes from a line of [Executioners]. Family trade. Her [Witch] side ties into that. Her passion is her craft.”

Ryoka was still missing something. Craft?

“Which is…?”

“Being the law.”

Prost didn’t elaborate. Wiskeria nodded.

“Her magic’s probably the weakest of all the [Witches], but she has Skills to make up for that. Eloise, on the other hand, is very skillful in herbal magics and…tea. She lives in one village and generally just helps people out.”

Another hand from Ryoka.

“You say that, but does she have any, uh, secrets? Like, I’m sure I shouldn’t cross Mavika or Alevica. I do know about her. The Witch Runner. She can fly and use necromancy, right?”

“Among other things. She’s a genius at fighting. Not so much traditional magic, but her being able to fly means she’s one of the best [Witches]. I don’t know of any of the others in the coven who fly with a broom either. Mavika definitely can, but most would prefer to walk.”

“Imagine that Hedag riding a broom.”

Charlay laughed. Durene snorted with amusement. Wiskeria did not. Neither did Ryoka.

“So don’t cross Alevica and Mavika. What about the others? You said Eloise is a ‘good’ witch. But does she have a…secret? Anything that we should know about?”

Durene’s skin crawled. That was right. Now that Ryoka mentioned it, compared to the others, Eloise stood out. Califor could be dangerous, Hedag had an axe and killed people for all she smiled—what was Eloise’s secret?

“Her secret? She doesn’t have one. She’s just nice. We’re not all dangerous, you know.”

Wiskeria gave Ryoka a blank look. The City Runner paused.

“Oh.”

“Anyways, that’s all of them. Except Belavierr.”

“Your mother.”

Rie looked at Wiskeria. The [Witch]’s expression froze. She tugged her hat lower, hiding her eyes.

“Yes. She is. I haven’t seen her in…at least thirteen years.”

“What about her? She’s a…bad witch?”

“Oh yes. The very worst in that respect. She’s not dangerous like Mavika or Alevica. It’s hard to cross her. But she’s dangerous. She’s…don’t talk to her. Don’t interact with her. Don’t make her any promises, and don’t take any offers she makes. She’s harmless if you ignore her. Probably.”

What an endorsement. Wiskeria fiddled with her hat, clearly unwilling to say much more, but Rie pressed her, frowning hugely.

“What does she do? I feel like I know that name…but my parents…I lost them quite young. Perhaps they met her?”

Wiskeria’s gaze darkened.

“I hope not for their sakes. But they probably knew of her. Many people do. As for what my mother does. Her magic, her craft is…stitch magic.”

The room waited. Wiskeria looked up. She shrugged at their blank faces.

“She stitches things. She’s a [Stitch Witch]. Don’t ever talk with her if I’m not there. Okay?”

She looked around, and her gaze was deadly serious. Durene looked about uncertainly as well. She saw Ryoka meet Wiskeria’s eyes, Charlay’s uncertain grin, and Rie looking at Wiskeria. The [Lady] pursed her lips, then glanced at Ryoka and nodded.

“In that case, I think we had better see what these [Witches] are doing. Durene, why don’t you accompany Miss Ryoka?”

The half-Troll girl nodded.

“Of course.”

Day 57 – Ryoka

It was an odd experience, starting her day in Riverfarm. Not bad—just odd. Ryoka had abandoned being a City Runner for a second to be, well, a guest. She’d woken up at dawn with Charlay. They were used to an earlier schedule, so they’d tiptoed—well, Ryoka had tiptoed—around Durene and made breakfast. Some odd meat with eggs, corn, and potatoes had been in the bag.

Then when the half-Troll girl had woken up and eaten as well, they’d headed down to the village. Then they’d met first thing to hear Wiskeria’s report on what her coven wanted, and now they were just walking around Riverfarm. Charlay stretched in the morning air, yawning.

“That was some great sleep I had! And you don’t cook half bad, Ryoka! I think you underdid the meat, though.”

“You’re the one who wanted to throw it in the pan.”

“Hey! I covered you from that evil bird while we made it!”

Durene chuckled. The half-Troll girl walked along the two, listening to their banter. Ryoka felt somewhat easier around Durene after a night, although it was nothing like the strange and friendly bickering she had with Charlay.

“Sorry about that. It’s Frostwing. She can be evil.”

“She’s very beautiful. But also vicious. So this is Riverfarm?”

Ryoka stared around at the streets and the people bustling about. It was amazing. Durene nodded proudly.

“That’s right. We built all this since you last came by, Ryoka! And we’re working on new houses every day!”

“It’s incredible progress. When I was here last, the village was still snowed in. From the avalanche…sorry.”

Durene’s face had clouded over. The half-Troll girl shook her head and smiled brightly.

“It’s fine. It feels like ages ago, really.”

It did. Ryoka nodded, remembering those times. Frost Faeries. Magic and snow and dead things around a fire. And it would be summer, autumn, and then winter before they arrived. The spring wasn’t even over! She frowned up at the sky. Seasons were longer in this world. It meant they hung around too long for her taste.

“At least it’s a nice day. Very bright. Too bright. Hey, is there anywhere to drink? I need water.”

Charlay grumbled as she clip-clopped along. Many people were stopping to stare at a Centaur in their midst. Durene looked almost pleased to not be the center of attention.

“Of course! This is Riverfarm after all. You can see the river that way! And beyond it are the fields—hey, wait!”

Charlay took off excitedly. Durene jogged after her, but she couldn’t have caught Charlay in a thousand years. She turned back to Ryoka,

“She’s really fast!”

“And excitable. Sorry for foisting her on you.”

Durene hesitated at the word ‘foist’. Then she nodded, smiling. She looked around, then edged closer. Ryoka resisted the urge to hop back; she had bare feet, and Durene’s feet could easily smash one of hers.

“Um, Ryoka, I know Rie and Prost wanted me to follow you. But if you have any ideas, you know, from yours and Laken’s world—”

Ryoka winced. Damn, so Durene had remembered. She hissed back up at her.

“Don’t talk about that, please. Anyone could be listening.”

Especially a [Witch]. Ryoka wasn’t sure if they could be trusted—no, she was pretty sure at least one of them spelled trouble for Riverfarm. This entire scenario smelled fishy to her. A Circle of Thorns? This traitor who’d manipulated Laken into attacking the Goblins? Durene had told Ryoka about that last night, and Ryoka was already trying to figure out who it was. It had to be—

“Hey, you two! What’s the hold up?”

Charlay came galloping back, wiping water from her mouth. She glared at Ryoka and Durene and then grabbed at her horse half.

“Ooh! My stomach! I think I’ve got colic! I shouldn’t have drank that water so quickly!”

“Don’t joke about that.”

Ryoka sighed at Charlay. The Centauress laughed. Durene blinked.

“You mean, like horses? Can a Centauress get that?”

“Hey! Anyone can get colic! Don’t be racist! Speciesist!”

Charlay glared at Durene. Abashed, the half-Troll girl turned red. Ryoka glared and kicked Charlay gently on one leg. The Centauress raised one of hers, and Ryoka backed up. She hesitated and saw Durene’s face.

“I didn’t mean you’re super-racist. It’s fine! It’s fine! Besides, we’re both non-Human, right? Humans are the really racist ones. We should be pals!”

She trotted over and slapped Durene on the shoulder. Then she squinted at Durene.

“I didn’t ask, but you’re—are you a Troll? I’ve seen some as mercenaries on Baleros. You know, in monstrous regiments?”

Durene stared at Charlay, open-mouthed. Ryoka coughed.

“Charlay.”

“What? Oh, am I being ‘insensitive’ again, Ryoka? Wait, am I?”

Charlay rolled her eyes and then glanced anxiously back at Durene. The girl shook her head.

“I’m—half-Troll.”

“Oh. Hey! I haven’t seen any of those—I mean, people like you. But that’s cool. Half-Troll. Half-Troll. Does that mean a Troll and—”

“You say you knew Trolls in Baleros, Charlay?”

Ryoka interrupted quickly. The Centauress nodded casually.

“Yup. Monster regiments. They don’t level, and a lot of them are really stup—I mean, they don’t level up, but sometimes tribes ally with mercenary companies or enlist. It’s rare, and Goblins are banned from that kind of thing, but it used to happen. Of course, usually we go to war with them. Hey, do you know Fleethoof? She’s a famous Centauress, and she fought a bunch of Ogres and nasty Cyclopes and, um…”

She stared at Durene. The girl stared back. Charlay looked around, and Ryoka massaged her eyes. The Centauress turned around.

“Hey! Let’s look at those fields, huh?”

She took off. Ryoka glared at her galloping figure as she raced away and turned to Durene.

“Sorry. Charlay’s insensitive.”

“It’s fine. I didn’t know Trolls could live anywhere with people in peace. I thought they just attacked everything on sight.”

Durene looked wistfully after Charlay. Ryoka cleared her throat.

“So. Uh—Riverfarm. I see it’s busy building. Lots of new people. What do you do all day?”

The half-Troll girl started. She kept walking with Ryoka and shrugged.

“Me? I just woke up a little bit ago. I help out, but ever since the army was pretty much disbanded…I don’t know. I wish I did. I wish Laken were here.”

Ryoka nodded absently.

“Aren’t you a [Paladin], though? Laken said he made you into one.”

“Yup.”

Ryoka hesitated and eyed Durene.

“So…don’t you have an urge to do [Paladin] things? Go on crusades? Fight evil?”

“No? Where would I find any? And I’m not a [Knight]!”

Durene laughed at the idea. Ryoka hesitated.

“Yes, but…”

She broke off as they reached the river and fields. Ryoka blinked, then stared. Durene pointed proudly at the developing farmland that stretched far as Ryoka could see across the other bank.

“You see? We’re all combining our Skills on the other side. The [Farmers], I mean. We’re growing as fast as we can since there are so many people to feed; we’ve harvested three times already from some parts! And Prost wants this to be twice as big when we’re done! We’re going to grow potatoes, corn, carrots—all kinds of stuff!”

“That’s incredible.”

Ryoka stared across the farmland. It was a substantial amount of work, and that would be if Riverfarm’s folk had access to tractors and combine harvesters! But they’d done this themselves. She saw dozens, no, over a hundred men and women working the fields and more in the distance, clearing land for use. Durene nodded proudly.

“It’s great. The only trouble is pests.”

“Pests? What’s this about pests?”

Charlay was back. She excitedly waved the two over to a small bridge someone had built over part of the river. Ryoka had to pause to admire it too; it wasn’t much more than a sloping bridge, but the fact that someone had engineered it—complete with a keystone construction, only with wood blocks—told her that there was some serious talent here. The fields and new houses—Ryoka decided that Riverfarm might be poor, but perhaps not for long. Durene strode over to the other side and pointed at some wheat already ready to harvest.

“It’s rats. And birds. And other animals. It happens with most fields, but even scarecrows don’t keep them away with this much food. We have night patrols, but without Laken, it’s hard to handle stuff like rats.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, because we keep growing stuff. And the rats make these burrows and only come out at night mostly—Laken could find them the instant they arrived, but we have to keep searching!”

Durene pounded a fist into her hand, looking frustrated. It was a [Farmer]’s dilemma. Ryoka nodded absently. Charlay did too.

“That sounds awful. I hate rats. But this wheat looks nice. Let me try some! And there’s a lot of lovely grass around here!”

So saying, she reached down and plucked a stalk of wheat and began to nibble at it. Ryoka and Durene stared at Charlay. Ryoka frowned.

“Do you eat grass, Charlay?”

The Centauress jumped and blushed.

“No! I mean, not unless I’m really hungry. Grass is too hard, let alone hay. There’s some nice grasses that you can get in Baleros, though. Very soft. Why? Hey! Are you being racist again?”

“Not me. But why don’t you stop eating the wheat? That’s Riverfarm’s food.”

“Aw, but it tastes good. And it’s one stalk. You’ve got tons, right, Durene?”

The Centauress grabbed another. Durene hesitated. But someone else ran up, shouting in outrage.

“Hey! That’s our crop! Begone, you—uh—”

Mister Ram paused as he stared at Charlay. She pranced away, looking offended.

“I just wanted a bit. You’ve got tons!”

“That’s our crop! And we’ve having enough trouble keeping birds and rodents away as it is. Not to mention the damned bugs! Durene, we’ve got grasshoppers now. Northeastern fields. Can you believe it?”

Durene groaned. Ryoka made a face. Bugs, rodents, and birds. She didn’t envy Riverfarm’s [Farmers] their job. The half-Troll girl grimaced.

“We have to get rid of them fast! Otherwise they’ll eat half the fields! Let me lend a hand, and I’ll tell Prost we need everyone to get over and help get rid of them. Ryoka, is there some way we can get rid of grasshoppers quick?”

She looked expectantly at Ryoka. The City Runner froze. Ram blinked, then swung around to her.

“What? Me? I have no idea. Unless—a pesticide? Water and soap, maybe? I really don’t know.”

Ryoka backed up a bit. She had a lot of useless knowledge like how to make a bomb (purely for anarchistic reasons of a rebellious child), but she’d never looked into stuff like pesticides. But she could try. Maybe this was what Laken meant. Durene brightened at the word.

“Pesti-what? You mean, like an [Alchemist] draught? I heard some sell stuff to [Farmers].”

“That’s right! Are you an [Alchemist], Miss? No. Wait. You’re that City Runner people were talking about, right? Well, maybe we can send for some potions! But the cost—”

Ram looked excited and then worried. Ryoka bit her lip, thinking hard. She could experiment, but she didn’t actually know if soap and water would kill most insects. It probably didn’t have much staying power. And rats? Birds? She was hesitating, wishing she hadn’t blurted that out without time to think, when there was a sound.

Flapping. The skies darkened, and Ryoka heard a cawing of dozens, no, hundreds of birds. Ram looked up and swore.

“Fecking wormrot. What is that?”

That was a murder of crows. And Mavika. She walked across the river towards the fields as the [Farmers] put down their tools and turned. Above her head swirled a mass of crows, driving off the other birds in the area, their voices shrill. Silently, the [Witch] approached Ram, Durene, and Ryoka. Charlay had decided she wanted to inspect the corn.

“Farmer, farmers, gather around and give me your ears. For I have a bargain for all to hear.”

It sounded like a spell, but from Mavika’s mouth and by the smile on her lips, it was mockery. Ram glared as more [Farmers] approached, looking wary and holding hoes or scythes not quite as weapons. Ryoka, for her part, had seen Birds by Alfred Hitchcock and had decided that if things went south, she was going to jump in the water and hold her breath.

“What do you want? Mister Prost told you not to interfere with us, didn’t he? If those things land in our fields and try to eat our produce, he’ll sort you out!”

Ram shook a fist at Mavika. The [Witch] regarded him with black eyes, then turned. Prost was striding towards them at speed.

“What’s this about? Witch Mavika?”

“I’ve come to offer my craft. And strike a deal. That was the terms you gave, [Steward] of this land. I’ve yet to make my offer. Refuse it or let it stand. But my offer must be made before it can be rejected. Or is it offense you want to give?”

The [Witch] peered around, her eyes flicking from face to face. Ryoka saw her smile with yellowed teeth as the crows jeered. But—she didn’t shudder with revulsion as many of the other people did. She looked at Durene. And then at Mavika. What Ryoka felt was…a memory.

She looked at Mavika and saw pride. Pride and contempt. She was daring Prost and the [Farmers]. Expecting them to react with insults. She reminded Ryoka of the fae. And Ryoka, looking at Prost, saw the man was about to snap back. That would be a mistake, because Mavika was the kind of person who didn’t deescalate in front of threats.

So Ryoka stepped in front of Prost. She caught his eye, and he paused. Silently, Ryoka met his gaze. Then she turned to Mavika and bowed. The [Witch] hadn’t expected that. Nor did she expect the smile Ryoka gave her. The City Runner answered her, pitching her voice to be heard by the [Farmers] and crows alike.

“Witch Mavika, I’ll speak for the [Farmers] and those gathered here. You’ve come to offer a deal fairly, and for that, we’ll hear you out. We can’t promise a deal will be struck. But a bargain made in faith should be answered with faith. What does the Marshland’s [Witch] offer Riverfarm?”

It wasn’t as poetic as Ryoka would have liked. But it was simple and to the point. And as she said it, Ryoka bowed slightly again. She looked up and saw Mavika regarding her. The [Witch] seemed to be looking for sarcasm or mockery in Ryoka’s voice or posture. But there was none. Somewhat mollified, she beckoned.

The murder of crows came down and landed. In the wheat, on the ground—hundreds of birds. The [Farmers] backed up uneasily, but the birds just stood there, flapping a wing, opening their beaks, but silent. And they all looked at Ryoka and Prost. The City Runner wavered. Okay. That was more creepy than she would have liked. But Mavika grinned then.

“Respect for a [Witch] is rare indeed. So I will make my offer plain and fair, City Runner. Give my flock a field of food. A hundred paces by a hundred paces from there to there. Of your best corn, freshly grown. And for one week, my crows will call Riverfarm their home.”

She pointed to a patch of corn with the ripest and biggest corn, almost as nice as Farmer Lupp’s crop. Ryoka looked around as the [Farmers] began to protest. Ram looked outraged.

“Give our corn? But that’s our best crop! And for what—”

“Ram. Shut up.”

Prost elbowed the man. Ryoka looked at Mavika. She was grinning again.

“By ‘call it their home’, what do you mean, Witch Mavika? It sounds like the [Farmers] would be giving away their food for nothing.”

The [Witch]’s eyes glinted.

“Not for nothing, wind’s child. For not a single blade or seed will my flock eat. And instead this bargain shall they meet: every rodent buried in your fields they’ll kill, and no bird shall feast from your fields at will. My flock will devour the insects who plague your fields. For but a portion of your yields.”

She really liked to rhyme. But everyone who heard her understood what she meant. Ram looked up.

“Both birds and rodents? The damn grasshoppers too?”

“If she could do that—but for our fresh corn? How do we know the crows won’t eat more?”

A female [Farmer] protested. Ryoka saw Mavika’s glare and turned hurriedly.

“Mister Prost, I don’t think Mavika would allow her crows to eat more than what was offered. They’ll probably have enough with all the pests. That’s the deal she offered; I don’t know how fair it is.”

“A hundred paces by a hundred paces. And that’s good corn. Enough to feed a lot of mouths. Or one flock. We need to think about it. Give us a second?”

Prost grimaced as he considered it. He stepped back as Ryoka nodded, and Ram and a few senior [Farmers] huddled around him. Ryoka watched as they discussed, clearly doing a [Farmer]’s calculations and glancing at Mavika. Wondering if they could trust her, no doubt.

Ryoka didn’t worry about that. Rather, she kept her eyes on Mavika because she didn’t really want to turn her back on all those staring crows. Or the [Witch] herself. Mavika seemed content to wait with all eyes on her. She had the kind of poise Ryoka dreamed of. After a second or two of desperate smiling, Ryoka cleared her throat. Several crows near her flapped their wings.

“Um. I’m—Ryoka. Ryoka Griffin, Witch Mavika. I’m honored to meet—”

“I know who you are, wind’s child. Belavierr pointed you out to me.”

“She did? I mean—did she say—I’m delighted to—”

Mavika cut Ryoka off.

“It matters not. I am not here to be friends with you, wind’s child. Nor these [Farmers]. Look for Eloise if you seek that. Only seek me if you have something to offer and something to take. Now step aside. Now I will see if the path that brought me here was one that was worth the effort to take.”

She gestured, and Ryoka saw Prost approaching her with Ram and two [Farmers] at his back. The [Steward] looked determined.

“Witch Mavika. If you agree your flock will take not one plant more than that section there—we’ll agree to your terms. One week of keeping our fields clear. Is it agreed?”

“You swear to leave my flock safe in the skies? No [Hunter] will shoot arrows at them or traps bring them down? If one crow dies, I claim the forfeit of our deal and three times as many fields our prize.”

Mavika pointed at her flock. There was another mutter, but Prost silenced it with a look.

“Spread the word. You know it’s a good deal. We have an infestation in our fields. How much wheat and crops do you think we’d lose? I say it’s a deal, Witch Mavika. Do we shake on it or sign—?”

He jumped backwards as the murder of crows took off into the sky. Mavika threw back her head and laughed.

“A word is good enough until broken! Let my flock work, Steward Prost! And you, wind’s child, play no games with the wind! Now, crows of Mavika’s flock, fly!”

And they did. The crows took wing, cawing, and dove into the fields. Ryoka saw the [Farmers] exclaim in horror as they aimed straight at one wheat field, but the crows weren’t aiming at the wheat. True to Mavika’s claim, they avoided the plants and began tearing at the ground, at tiny shapes. Ryoka saw a flurry of movement and saw hundreds of grasshoppers shoot up, fleeing the crows. But the birds were already after them, landing, tearing up the soil to eat the bugs as they hid.

“Dead gods!”

Durene exclaimed as she and the other [Farmers] watched the crows flying about. They were efficient! And coordinated; the bugs fled at random, but the crows boxed them in. That was only a portion of the flock. Some took to the air, circling, jeering at other birds. Some landed on the corn they’d been given, pecking already and fighting with their brethren. But the last group circled around Mavika. She had walked into one field of potatoes and was studying it.

“You say there are rodents in the ground? Rats and moles and mice or larger things?”

Her voice was almost conversational, now. Businesslike, as she talked to Prost. He nodded, and Ram hurried over.

“In this field and a few more. At least, we think it’s them. We’ve raked the spots and brought in dogs, but they keep coming—”

He paused as a bird landed and cawed at Mavika. The [Witch] seemed to listen to it and nodded.

“Yes. Rats.”

“Can you find them? We could turn up the fields if your crows work like terriers. Even our dogs are stymied by so many fresh burrows…”

Prost’s question was answered by a shake of Mavika’s head. She smiled again and pointed up.

“My flock have the [Eyes of Many]. They will find whatever hides. But keep back and let them work. It will not be long; they have hunted far larger than rats in times far past. Hunts of vermin storied in song.”

Sure enough, no sooner had she spoken then the group of crows circling overhead was broken up by another bird. Ryoka squinted up and saw a different black shape among the crows. A solitary raven, far larger than the rest. The crows made way warily as the raven landed on a patch of dirt. And then shrieked. Ryoka whispered.

“Nevermore.”

“What was that?”

Mavika looked around. Ryoka coughed.

“Nothing. Sorry.”

The raven was digging at the dirt with its claws. It was large, even for a raven. And its efforts were rewarded in less than a minute. There was a flurry, and then something burst from the ground. A huge rat, nearly four feet long, erupted from the ground. The [Farmers] roared, and the raven took off as the rat lunged at it.

“Dead gods, it’s Colony Rats! That’s a mother if I saw one! We’ve got to kill it—”

Ram rushed forwards with a hoe, but Mavika’s glare stopped him. The [Witch] pointed as the rat chased after the raven. It was biting, snapping, and the raven was seemingly outmatched on the ground. The [Witch] pointed her fingers at the raven.

“Sephraic. [Ancient Form].”

She snapped her fingers. The raven disappeared behind a stand of corn as the rat mother pursued it. Ryoka heard a shriek, then a rat’s scream. It came back out, fur bloody and torn. And a bird from hell pursued it.

There was no biological history for a raven like this in Ryoka and Laken’s world. But perhaps, in the lost world of this one, there had been. A time when ravens needed to be dangerous. Deadly. How else could you explain the raven that came out, striding across the ground with huge clawed feet, its beak pecking at the rat, descending on it with a flurry of wings, slashing claws?

There was no fight. Just the rat mother’s flight and a quick, painful death. The raven looked up, its beak bloody. The Humans stared at the bird and backed away. Ryoka gulped. If that thing came at her—hell, a pack of those aggressive geese that liked to pick fights with picnickers would take one look at this thing and fly away.

The raven cawed, and the crows descended. They began digging at the same spot where it had driven the rat mother from as the raven began to devour the rat. None of them got anywhere close to the enchanted bird. But they were unearthing the rat warrens. And Mavika’s second finger made all the [Farmers] step back.

“As promised, Steward. [Primal Fear].”

Out came the rats. They fled into the waiting talons, too maddened with fright to hide. Not just in that field either; more crows descended, claws snatching, cawing. They swooped down, pecked at the writhing shapes, bore them up—

And then Ryoka saw bits of animals falling from the sky. The [Farmers] looked up and groaned as the birds dropped blood and flesh. Ram whirled.

“Prost—”

The [Steward] was already addressing the [Witch].

“Witch Mavika. Can’t you persuade your flock to eat the—rats elsewhere?”

Mavika’s grin was unpleasant to see.

“That was part of no deal of ours, Steward Prost. The bones and flesh will nourish the ground. Is this not what you asked for?”

She gestured at the fields. Ryoka stared at the black army of crows and saw one pursuing a robin. The bird was flying away—right until the chase carried it into a second crow’s talons. The birds ripped the robin to shreds, and the head fell into a field of corn. Along with dead grasshoppers, rats, a rabbit—it was turning into a scene of carnage. But the fields were intact.

“Gross.”

Charlay gagged. And the [Farmers] looked no happier. They began muttering amongst themselves.

“Lookit the parts. We’ll be picking rat bones out of our crops!”

“Bah. Better than weevils and grasshoppers out of our teeth! Think the crows’ll get the little things?”

“Doesn’t matter. Bad deal to make with a [Witch] if it is. I don’t care what Prost says about giving them a chance.”

“Do you want to fight those grasshoppers? Or the rats? Half our dogs won’t go after one four feet long! And it saves us the trouble of finding them. And they’ll watch the fields.”

“So what? I had a dog from Radivaek lands. You know, the Dog Lord’s domain? Best ratters in the world. She kept my land clean of pests. If I’d had her longer, I would’ve bred a litter. What can crows do better than a good pack?”

“Eat bugs.”

“Ryoka?”

The City Runner broke off from listening to the [Farmers]. She saw Durene approaching with Prost. The [Steward] was shaking his head as Mavika continued directing her flock. Ryoka glanced at the man, a bit anxious.

“Did I step in too much, Mister Prost?”

“No, no. I’m grateful for the help, Miss Griffin.”

“And the birds? Was that a good deal?”

The man hesitated.

“It’s alright. It’s a blow to give up the corn, but it’s better than what we’d’ve gotten if we had to fight the pests. And I think that [Witch] knows it.”

He gestured to Mavika. Ryoka nodded slowly.

“Except for them raining parts over your fields. And—crapping too.”

Prost groaned. Ryoka grinned weakly.

“That’s a proper [Witch]’s deal for you, I guess. But it’ll keep your plants safe?”

“That it will. Let’s just hope the crows let our [Farmers] work. I’ll keep them from complaining too loudly, don’t you worry.”

Prost waved a hand. Ryoka nodded and looked for Durene. She was still watching the crowd with Charlay. The half-Troll girl pointed at the large raven. It still hadn’t changed back.

“So this is what a [Witch] can do.”

“Guess so.”

Ryoka trotted over. She eyed the bird as it kept devouring the rat’s corpse. It was not a sight for the squeamish. And Ryoka’s own stomach was hurting a bit. From nausea or Charlay’s colic? She looked away.

“Are they all like that, do you think?”

Charlay glanced at Ryoka. The Runner Girl shrugged. Slowly, the three began to walk back towards Riverfarm. And behind them, the crows cawed, claiming the fields as their own.

Day 57 – Rie

To the [Lady]’s relief, the issue of the [Witches]’ presence in Riverfarm seemed to have settled itself by the time she began her day. More or less. Or at least, with Mavika occupied in the fields, the worst objections were dealt with. The matter of Rehanna had been settled, to everyone’s surprise, by Alevica.

Prost had levied a fine on Mavika of two gold coins. Privately, Rie thought that might be too much for what had been a rather grave insult, but it was too little for some of the people who had seen the burning spell cast on the doorknob. And it was paid promptly by Alevica.

“Mavika owes me for this.”

The Witch Runner grumbled as she passed over two gold coins in front of a small audience. Rie took them gracefully and passed them to Nesor, who had control of her personal bag of holding. Rie thanked Alevica, got a sardonic grin, and the crowd was assured Rehanna would see some of the money as compensation for her pain, and that was that.

Privately, Rie was determined not to give Rehanna more than a few copper’s worth of the money, but the woman had heard about the fine and sought Rie out in moments. She spluttered when Rie handed her eight silver coins.

“I was told it was two gold coins!”

“And you destroyed a magical brew that was probably worth at least ten.”

Rie coolly informed Rehanna as the woman turned red with outrage. She didn’t know what Wiskeria’s soup was actually worth, but she was tired of Rehanna. The woman was spiteful, bitter towards Wiskeria and [Witches] in general, and a pawn of Beatica and Rodivek’s manipulations. Rehanna glared at Rie.

“This is unfair! I was injured! My hand was nearly burnt off!”

“And my [Mage], Nesor, healed you on the spot. Miss Rehanna, the cost of the healing potion alone was nearly worth the fine we posed. I would not continue arguing your point.”

Rie’s imperiously tilted chin made Rehanna remember who she was addressing. Geram looming over her shoulder also helped. The woman backed up.

“This is unfair! Those [Witches] killed a man! And they’re being allowed to go free?”

“Justice was served. You may dispute it, but I would ask anyone who was present. Or do you not know what Elmmet did, Miss Rehanna? I won’t sully my tongue with that filth.”

Rie’s voice was as cold as ice. She had heard from Prost what Elmmet had done, and as far as she was concerned, he had died too quickly. Abusing a child like that—Rie felt her stomach churning. Rehanna just stared at Rie, and then her expression twisted.

“But they’re [Witches]. They—”

She looked around, realized no one was coming to her support, and turned and stormed off. Rie tsked, the only expression of anger she could let herself show.

“Dreadful woman.”

She said as much to Eloise later that day. The [Witch] was hosting a tea party again, and this time, Rie let herself be sucked into the circle of women—and men!—relaxing with her. The [Witch], or perhaps [Tea Witch], had a Skill. But since it was clearly being used to calm and relax and build relationships between the disparate folk sitting around her, Rie was only too keen to encourage it. She smiled at Eloise. The woman was serving a sweeter tea today, one perfect for the children bouncing on laps. She had snacks, tea—where had she gotten it all from?

“A [Witch] does have her ways, Miss Rie.”

Eloise reached out and tapped Rie’s hand with a smile when Rie asked. It wasn’t even offensive or patronizing, that was the thing. She was so…non-[Witch]-like that you couldn’t help but relax around her.

Part of Rie wondered if Ryoka Griffin was right and Eloise had a dark secret. She couldn’t imagine it looking at the woman adjusting her flowery hat. Rie was no stranger to people with secrets, and Eloise struck her as genuine. If she had any hidden depths, they weren’t the ones that would come out and bite someone.

“Miss Eloise, you are a delight. Truly. I must say, this is such a pleasant experience. And after I thought—well, with those other [Witches]—but you’re so unlike them!”

A former [Shopkeeper] confessed as she ate hungrily from the plate of scones that Eloise was offering around. Rie knew what she meant, even if it was delivered with all the tact of a hammer to the hand. Eloise was sociable, kind, and generous. Totally unlike the others. She’d even invited Rehanna to the tea party. Rie was relieved the woman had declined and only snatched a few of the delicious scones.

“You’re too harsh on my fellow [Witches], Miss Velmir. And you, Miss Rie. Too harsh on Miss Rehanna, I think. We all benefit from considering others with kindness. My current coven is indeed full of [Witches] unlike me. But what they offer, they offer freely. You may always refuse them. Take Hedag for example. She is at work, and she is quite kind. Hers is a helping hand for those who need it. In her way, she is far better a [Witch] than I.”

Eloise gestured across the street towards Hedag. Rie turned in her seat, frowning. The [Executioner] had garnered a huge berth this morning, and Rie had expected no one—save for perhaps angry folk from Lancrel—to go near her. She’d been expecting trouble, but to her surprise, Hedag had a number of children about her. And women.

Perhaps it was her booming laugh or the way she was willing to toss children up or listen to them talk. She sat listening to a girl solemnly show her a flower. She—Rie’s eyes focused on the girl’s face and narrowed.

“That’s Elmmet’s child.”

The tea circle went silent. Eloise nodded.

“Yes.”

“But she killed—”

Miss Velmir lowered her voice hurriedly. Eloise nodded again and sipped from her cup, as calm as could be.

“After what was done to the girl, who else in this world do you think she would trust? Not her mother. But perhaps Hedag. But you’ll see the rest of her craft tonight. Look.”

She pointed, and Rie saw Hedag laughing and waving her hand over the flower. Once, twice, three times, as if casting a spell. The little daffodil perked up a bit, and the girl, delighted as the flower turned a bit brighter, clutched it and ran off to show the other children. Another boy replaced her, holding up a leather ball and demanding Hedag do the same. The [Witch] paused and said something, and he nodded solemnly.

“Cantrips?”

That was all Rie could imagine at the moment. She looked at Eloise. The woman had a knowing look that Rie didn’t like. There was something about Hedag that Prost hadn’t told Rie. He’d assured her that she was lawful, but that word clearly had a meaning to the villagers that they had refused to explain outright to Rie or anyone from the cities. Thoughtfully, Rie took another sip from her cup.

“I see. Well, I do agree that Miss Hedag is kind at the moment. But what of the rest of your…coven, Witch Eloise? I believe I saw the one called Alevica napping on a roof.”

“That sounds like her. I don’t believe she wishes to practice her craft. There’s not much for her to do at the moment. As for Califor and Nanette, they’re practicing magic, no doubt. Their craft does not affect the village much either. But you see? We may keep to ourselves and have our own ways, but they are not so different from me, are they?”

Eloise chuckled ruefully. There was a murmur of protest, and a young man from Lancrel raised his voice. He was off-duty as a [Woodcutter], but he had been a [Clerk] at the Merchant’s Guild. He was sitting with a giggling girl at the edge of the conversation.

“But you’re so much better than they are, Miss! But for the hat and you’d be like my grandmother, but nicer!”

“Ah, but I am a [Witch], young man. And the hat must remain, or else you’d think just that of me.”

Eloise’s kind response provoked relaxed laughter. But the young girl, giggling and taking her cue from the young [Clerk], spoke up. Rie eyed her. She was probably seventeen, but she acted like she was four years younger.

“But Miss Eloise, we’d all love you more without the hat! What’s wrong with taking it off? Otherwise you remind us of those horrid other [Witches], like the horrible lady with birds!”

Rie inhaled slightly. This was crossing from banter into rudeness. But Eloise’s smile didn’t waver. It only deepened. She paused as the other tea-drinkers looked at her uncertainly.

“Young lady. What if I said I’d love you more and be more at ease if you took off your shirt? Or that young man his pants? What would you say then?”

The said young lady blushed and stammered a reply, but the young man, drunk on bravado, stood up.

“I’ll do that!”

So saying, he yanked his pants down. There was a peal of laughter from the young women, and Rie sighed and averted her eyes from some underwear that was thankfully in place. Pale legs—the rest of the tea circle groaned or laughed, and a man snapped.

“Put your pants back on, Delgriff! You’re among ladies!”

The young man, flushing, began to do that. But Eloise’s voice interrupted him.

“What are you doing, Mister Delgriff?”

He stopped, flushing as more laughter passed around the table.

“Uh—putting my pants back on?”

“But you asked me to take my hat off. And you offered to take your pants off. Shouldn’t you keep them off as long as we’re sitting?”

More raucous laughter. Even Rie couldn’t help but smile. The young man flushed, and Miss Velmir leaned over knowingly.

“I see. So his pants are like your hat?”

Eloise blinked.

“Not at all. Pants and hats are quite different, Miss Velmir. I don’t imagine I’d provoke such notice if I took my hat off. But there is something similar.”

“Which is?”

The tea circle looked at her as Delgriff, flushing, got his pants back up. Eloise nodded to him, smiling.

“Mister Delgriff has reclaimed his pants, and perhaps they shall never come off in our presence again. One may only hope. But we shall ever remember you without, Mister Delgriff, no matter how long and how many times you come to us with pants on. So. My hat stays on. Because I am a [Witch]. And I do not change. You may love me or hate me, but you must remember: a [Witch] I remain.”

Her words this time left only a thoughtful silence. After a bit, when Lady Rie had regretfully excused herself, she looked at Geram. The [Fistfighter] was brushing crumbs off his front. Rie looked back at Eloise, who was letting a new circle of people come to sit with her. Those leaving seemed invigorated, and many were holding tea packets they’d purchased from her. Lady Rie smiled.

“I believe I love that old lady, Geram.”

“She reminds me of the grandmother I never had, Lady Valerund.”

The man wistfully agreed. Rie sighed and shook her head.

“What was she saying about Rehanna, though? That dreadful woman?”

“She lost her husband during the battle for Lancrel.”

Geram reminded his mistress. Lady Rie paused, and a moment of guilt flashed across her face.

“Oh yes. I had forgotten. Even so…well, she is allowed her grief, but not spitefulness.”

Geram nodded, but he glanced back at the tea circle.

“There might be more. The [Witch]—Miss Eloise—was asking about Rehanna before you sat with them. Some of the people there looked fairly serious when they replied. Should I ask what was said?”

Lady Rie hesitated.

“No. I don’t think it matters. For now. Tell me. I’ve accounted for Eloise, Califor, Nanette…the Witch Runner, I forget her name already—Alevica, yes—Mavika, Hedag. But where is the one called…Belavierr?”

Geram paused. He looked around with a frown.

“I…haven’t seen her.”

“You normally keep an eye on everyone you consider dangerous.”

“I do. And I don’t remember seeing her this morning.”

“Is she still abed?”

Lady Rie glanced around. She saw Rehanna standing apart from the tea circle, looking on with a mixture of jealousy and anger. And Eloise, clearly beckoning her. Rie smoothed her skirts and then walked back to Eloise.

“Miss Eloise. May I ask if you know where your…fellow [Witch], Belavierr, is? Is she still resting at this hour?”

The table went quiet. The name of the seventh [Witch] could do that, even at Eloise’s merry gathering. And the [Witch] sitting there tugged on her hat, and her smile flickered.

“No. But I don’t believe you’d find her easily, Lady Rie. With that said, I wish you hadn’t spoken her name.”

“I beg your pardon. Is there a quarrel between the two of you? She is a member of your coven, isn’t she?”

Fascinated, Rie prodded carefully. Eloise’s look told her plainly that the [Witch] knew what she was doing. With a sigh, Eloise shook her head and stood up.

“No. But there is a philosophical difference between she and I. To put it plainly, if Belavierr stands on one side, I stand on the other. We respect each other, but we do not get along.”

“Because she’s a bad witch?”

Someone suggested that from the back of the circle. Eloise turned, and the laughter faded uneasily. The [Witch] looked around and nodded.

“Yes. And no. She offers trinkets, charms, and she can be very good. Helpful, even. If she sells her trinkets, I would advise you to buy them no matter the cost. But if she seeks you out, I would not take any deal she offers you. And I fear, Miss Rie, that she is seeking to practice her craft today.”

She walked past the circle of people sitting around her table. Rie followed her.

“And how do you know that, Miss Eloise?”

“Because I know what she looks for. Which is why I am here, Lady Rie Valerund. Just like how Hedag sits with the children and worried wives. We know who seeks us. And I am seeking the same person Belavierr looks for. Will you convince her to sit with me?”

The [Witch] pointed ahead. Lady Rie saw the woman she was indicating.

“Rehanna? Why her?”

The woman was sitting by herself now, on the ground. Her hand was healed, but she was holding it as if it were still burned. And her face was bitter, angry—and miserable. She sat alone, and neither Riverfarm’s folk nor Lancrel’s people were with her. She was a villager, but she had scorned Wiskeria’s gift, and she wasn’t one of the city dwellers who joined together to sneer at what made Riverfarm’s people so enduring. Eloise looked at Rehanna.

“I asked, and she was one woman of many Belavierr would look for. But, I think, she would be the first Belavierr sought. Her grief is fresh. And she is lacking friends. I realize she is not pleasant, Lady Rie. But she has a reason to her grief.”

Rie frowned. There was a puzzle here, and her mind realized she was missing something.

“You don’t mean her husband. She was recently bereaved—”

“Half. That is half the reason. Do you know why she came to Riverfarm with her husband, Miss Rie?”

“She…was fleeing the Goblins. I think she was part of Mister Helm’s village. Windrest.”

“Yes. She had a husband there. A home. And a child.”

“Oh. I didn’t know.”

Rie stared at Rehanna. So she’d had a child before she fled. Which meant the Goblins had killed her. Him. Was it a baby? A miscarriage? Or a young child?

It changed nothing, surely. Rehanna was still the woman who’d kicked over Wiskeria’s pot and who had tried to overturn Laken’s authority. But knowing that one fact changed a lot. It made her look like a different woman, sitting there. Rie looked at Eloise, ashamed. And the [Witch] nodded. She adjusted her hat.

“Kindness asks questions, Lady Rie Valerund. And it is kindness I seek to spread. That is my craft, my reason for existing, and my root of magic. It is not Belavierr’s. So hope that I succeed. I have not faced a challenge like this since I was young. Or perhaps since it is her…ever.”

Eloise strode forwards towards Rehanna. Rie watched, uncomprehending, but now she felt it. On the very edges of her senses. Not the senses she had as a [Lady], but something more primal. A tickling on the back of her neck. A little tapping at her mind telling her to look.

She turned around slowly. For a second, she didn’t see Belavierr. But the [Witch]’s presence had silenced the merry tea party on the street. Every head turned until they were all looking in the same direction.

Then you saw her. Standing in the shadow of two houses, tall and still as a statue. Her wide hat was raised, her glowing eyes staring. Across the street, Eloise looked up as Rehanna spat at her. She bent down and offered the woman a hand. Rehanna slapped it away. And Belavierr began to walk.

“This way, children.”

Hedag’s voice was the sole sound on the street. The children who had been playing moved at her voice and ran sideways as she walked out of Belavierr’s path. They hid behind Hedag, whose smile reflected the sun. But Belavierr’s presence was a shadow. She kept moving, and Rie realized her path was as straight as an arrow towards Rehanna. And her eyes were fixed on the woman.

“Miss Rehanna, sit with me.”

Eloise’s voice was patient, but strained ever-so-slightly with urgency. Rehanna spat at her.

“I don’t want your tea or biscuits. [Witch]! [Witch]! And I’m not afraid of her either!”

She pointed a trembling finger at Belavierr. She really wasn’t afraid, Rie realized. Astounding as that was, she looked at Belavierr with only anger. The [Witch] was approaching. Eloise was trying to persuade Rehanna—the woman shoved Eloise back. She rounded to face Belavierr, clenching her fists. What would happen if she struck the [Witch]? Belavierr was giving her no reason to, but she was striding forwards, and Rehanna had planted herself in the way. She was daring a collision.

But what was Rie missing? The answer, part of it, presented itself as someone broke the silent street’s quiet. Wiskeria skidded around the corner, panting, her robes and hat askew. She ran forwards and shouted.

“Mother! Stop!”

Belavierr’s head turned, but her pace didn’t slow. Neither did it increase, though, and Wiskeria ran forwards. The three met in the street, Rehanna, Wiskeria, and Belavierr. Wiskeria threw an arm between Belavierr and Rehanna, and the woman spat.

“What do you want?”

“Rehanna, don’t listen to her. Belavierr is my mother and a [Witch]—but she doesn’t make deals you want to accept. Listen to me—”

She reached for Rehanna, and something snapped in the woman. Rie saw it. She turned on Wiskeria and screamed.

“I don’t want to hear it! You let my husband die at Lancrel! Do you remember his name? Do you even know who he was?”

She raised a hand and struck Wiskeria, punching her face and knocking her spectacles aside. Wiskeria grabbed for them and stumbled back. Rie hissed.

“Geram, go arrest Rehanna. Place her in a pillory—no, just confine her to her house. Maybe that will solve—”

Before the man could move, Rehanna lashed out again. Wiskeria was grabbing for the spectacles, which had fallen but not shattered on the ground. Rehanna kicked at the [Witch], and Wiskeria yelped. Rehanna raised a hand to slap—

And Belavierr caught it. It was so fast Rie blinked. Geram halted uncertainly. Rehanna spun.

“How dare you—”

She punched Belavierr in the face. Rie saw the impact, saw Belavierr’s head snap back a bit. The entire street went quiet. Rehanna hit Belavierr in the face. In the chest, struck her leg, kicking—Belavierr didn’t blink.

Then it was quiet. Rehanna paused, panting, and stared as Belavierr slowly let go. Wiskeria got up and opened her mouth. Belavierr twitched a finger, and Wiskeria’s mouth closed. She regarded her daughter for one moment and then turned to Rehanna. She paused. Looked up.

“It appears to be a fair morning.”

Everyone stared up at the sky. It was indeed a clear day. No clouds in sight. The sun was actually fairly bright, a pleasantness after all the rain. Belavierr nodded.

“Quite pleasant. Although, I expected rain. Still, one is not always right, it seems.”

The words were so out of place that all Rehanna, Rie, and everyone else could do was stare. Rie heard a strangled laugh from behind her. It was hilarious to hear Belavierr say something that didn’t match the scene. At first. Then…terrifying when you looked at her and understood. Belavierr went on after a pause.

“Good morning to you, Mistress. My name is Belavierr.”

There it was again. The words came out cautiously, slowly. Rie listened, saw Belavierr choosing each one. It wasn’t that she was out of sync with the world. It was something that bothered Rie far, far more. It sounded with each word like Belavierr was feeling for what should be said.

Like, someone…pretending to be Human but who had forgotten how it went. She didn’t look around. She didn’t blink. The blows Rehanna had given her could have been an illusion.

“What do you want? I’m not scared of you.”

Rehanna was breathing hard, her eyes flashing with rage and even tears of fury. Or grief? Rie watched Belavierr inspect her face. Whatever was in there—the [Witch] nodded.

“I have business with you, Miss Rehanna Salesmith. You have something I want. And I have something to offer you.”

“I want nothing you [Witches] could ever offer me!”

Rehanna screamed back in Belavierr’s face. She whirled, but Belavierr’s fingers twisted. A bit of thread tangled, and Rehanna stopped. She turned back, her face red.

“What did you—”

“Listen. This is what I have to offer.”

Belavierr’s head bent. Rehanna glared, her face red and white with sudden fear. Wiskeria groaned. She was held too. Rie looked around. And Eloise moved. The small [Witch] strode forwards.

“Miss Rehanna, a word. I think tea would be—”

Belavierr caught her hand as she reached for Rehanna. The two [Witches] locked gazes for a moment. Then—it was too late. Belavierr spoke in Rehanna’s ear.

The woman’s face went white. Rie had seen men hit with spells and arrows die before her eyes in battle. The Sacrifice of Roses. It looked very much like the same had happened to Rehanna. She stumbled, fell backwards onto the street, and stared up at Belavierr. The [Witch] straightened, and Eloise let out a long, pained sigh as she stepped back. Something had been done.

“That is what I offer. Would you like to see it?”

Rehanna stared at her, her face still bloodless. Then she got up. She shook so hard that Rie thought she was having some kind of seizure. She stared at Belavierr, then turned and ran. Ran so fast that she was gone before anyone could blink. Rie peered at the empty street and then at Belavierr.

The [Witch] had paused. She held still where she stood, but her head was turning. Tracking someone through the houses, turning slowly, ever so slowly—and stopping. She looked straight into a wall as she stood in the street. There she stood. Silent. Immobile as Wiskeria got up and tried to talk to her, as Eloise walked back and disbanded the tea circle. It certainly could not stay.

And there the [Witch] stood. For minutes, and then nearly an hour, as Lady Rie shakily got back to work. As Ryoka found a reason for being in Riverfarm. As Durene heard a warning about [Witches], delivered too late. Belavierr stood and waited, perfectly still, until something changed. She tilted her head and nodded.

“I see.”

Somewhere, there had been an answer. A reply, wrenched from a pain-filled soul. An answer to a bargain only Belavierr and Rehanna had been privy to. Lady Rie Valerund did not know what the deal entailed. She did not know the cost or the result yet. She did not know what the reply had been.

But she feared, greatly, deeply, and with all her heart, that the answer had been ‘yes’.

6.41 E

Day 57 – Ryoka

After seeing Mavika at work, Ryoka found herself coming back to Riverfarm. And she knew three things.

Firstly, [Witches] were as cool and scary as they came, especially Mavika. Also, her stomach was still hurting. In fact, it was getting worse since this morning. And finally…she didn’t like Durene.

It wasn’t that she didn’t understand the half-Troll girl walking back with her, and it wasn’t as if Ryoka didn’t feel for her. But there was something about Durene’s personality that irked Ryoka. If she had to sum it up, it was hesitancy.

Charlay had decided to go for a quick trot in case that settled her stomach. Ryoka wished she could join her, but it would have been rude to run off and leave Durene. Old Ryoka would have done it in a heartbeat, and honestly, new Ryoka was tempted too. Instead, she walked and talked with Durene.

“That was terrifying. All those crows and that huge raven—! Hiring Mavika to help with the fields is good, right? You thought so, otherwise you wouldn’t have negotiated for Prost, right?”

“I don’t know. I think it’ll be fine, but Prost will have to watch Mavika. I did what I thought was best; offending her would be a bad idea.”

That was Ryoka’s honest opinion. Durene didn’t seem reassured by it. She glanced sideways at Ryoka, bit one cracked lip, and glanced around conspiratorially.

“So have you had any more ideas?”

Ryoka sighed.

“Nope. I just got here, Durene.”

She didn’t like the expectant look in Durene’s eye or the disappointment that followed after Ryoka’s reply. The half-Troll girl scuffed at the ground.

“Well—maybe helping with stuff like Mavika was what Laken wanted. You could show Prost those ‘pestithings’ you were talking about. He was worried about the layout of Riverfarm with Laken missing. Maybe you could look it over? Because you’re both from…”

“Yeah. Maybe. Only, I’m not an [Architect]. I don’t know how Laken did it. I’ll try.”

It was the same tone Ryoka used when someone asked her to do something she really didn’t want. ‘I’ll try’ was code for ‘only if you make me, and I will give this the most minimum effort possible’. But Durene was nodding happily.

“Prost will appreciate the help. Or Lady Rie! Or me. I was thinking you could explain more about [Paladins]. Laken said he wanted me to level up in my class. I wanted to, but since he’s been gone…”

She waved an arm vaguely as if to say ‘that was that’. Ryoka frowned.

“[Paladins] are a fighting class. Not just fighting. They do good deeds. And they might be able to use…uh, magic. Faith being what it is…”

“What?”

Ryoka shook her head as she walked back towards the village.

“Hasn’t training helped you level? Or…what kind of stuff have you been doing to help people? If you’re Level 16, it’ll probably be a bit harder to level. Are you sure it’s not working?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t been training. And I help out, but doing construction work or lifting stuff doesn’t sound [Paladin]-like to me.”

“Okay. Then—what about training again? You could do that, right?”

Durene shrugged self-consciously.

“I can’t. The army’s disbanded. We used to have daily sparring and exercise, but Beniar says his [Riders] need to rest since they patrol all day. When Laken comes back—”

“He’ll see about reforming the army. Right.”

Ryoka shook her head. Durene did remind her of some people she’d met in her world. She tried again.

“What about sparring? Or practice by yourself?”

“Who would I spar with? And I can’t practice; I know how to hit things, but I’m not an expert. I don’t have a Skill, and I didn’t train that long.”

“So why not try and reform the army before Laken gets back?”

Durene exhaled exasperatedly and nodded, missing the look on Ryoka’s face.

“That’s what I keep saying. But Wiskeria won’t do it. She’s our [General], remember?”

“Right. And without a [General], reforming the army is a hopeless task. We should give up on it completely.”

Durene frowned.

“Well, I’m working on Wiskeria. She’ll come around, or Laken will persuade her.”

“Probably.”

Ryoka sighed again, louder. She stared at the village. It was bustling. She saw a team of woodcutters marching back with wagons full of lumber pulled by a pair of mules. They had to wait to get in; more work was being done at the edges of the village. The [Builders] could put up a house in hours. And the fields were vast; Ryoka had seen how much was being grown and had peeked in the store houses.

Hell, they’d need to make a grain silo soon just to store the produce! At the same time, Riverfarm lacked a lot of basic amenities. It was trying to complete itself, take in the excess population flooding it, and tend to security, social problems like Lancrel’s troublemakers, and the [Witches] all at once.

What the village needed wasn’t a bright idea, but a leader who could manage it all. It needed Laken. Since Ryoka wasn’t him, she felt like adding anything would make the precarious balance break. Still, he’d asked for her help. Grimacing, she pointed back at the field.

“Durene, do you know what a grain silo is?”

She hated the way the [Farmer]’s eyes lit up, and Durene stopped.

“No. What is it? Did you have an idea?”

“No. Well—this is what it is. It’s just an upright building, like a tower. And you pour grain inside…”

Ryoka explained, and Durene frowned.

“You mean like a warehouse.”

“Yup.”

“Why do we need one of those?”

“It’s…efficient? Good for bulk storage? Things don’t rot or decay fast in them, I think. Then again, you’d need a grain elevator—you know what? Forget it.”

“Well, if it’s as good as a [Preservation] spell, that’d be great. Why don’t you talk to Prost about it?”

“No, no—it was just a thought.”

“But it could be a good idea! Laken said you had some really great ones. What if you shared the other ones he wanted?”

Ryoka could barely remember all the things she’d suggested to him. Crop rotation? Efficient hand-plows? Had she talked about windmill-based power? She shook her head.

“My ‘ideas’. Yeah. Tell me again about the Goblins. The second group. Not the raiders. Especially the part where you attacked them first.”

“We didn’t do it first. Goblins were raiding us all over the place! This was the biggest army yet, and Laken said he sensed them attacking another city’s army. So he laid a trap!”

Durene corrected Ryoka severely. The City Runner frowned. She’d missed that part in Durene’s last catch up.

“They destroyed an army?”

“That’s what Laken said. What does it matter? They started attacking us afterwards. They destroyed Lancrel, and the raids that burned down half the area around Riverfarm were that tribe’s doing!”

The [Farmer] clenched her fists angrily. Ryoka eyed Durene’s hands and shook her head. She spoke carefully, clenching her right hand and unclenching it as she spoke.

“I know they’re dangerous. I met that Goblin Lord. He wiped out a Gnoll tribe for no reason. Or maybe it was just because I…”

She shook her head. Durene stared at her. Gnolls? She’d never met one, only heard of the furry, tribal people that lived among the Drakes. Ryoka’s expression was bleak. She looked down at her right hand and curled her three fingers.

“I know they’re dangerous. But I’ve also met ones that didn’t kill everything in sight. They’re a people. And Laken decided to attack this tribe and keep fighting when their Chieftain sued for peace.”

The criticism in her voice finally reached Durene, and she got what Ryoka was driving at. The half-Troll girl folded her arms. She was younger than Ryoka.

“Yeah. But they destroyed—”

“And Laken used poison gas. In his surprise attacks.”

“That’s what I said. It worked too! If we’d have gotten more of them, we wouldn’t have lost at Lancrel.”

Ryoka stared at Durene. There wasn’t a bit of guilt or hesitation in her tone. Ryoka shook her head. That was a conversation to be had with Laken. She sighed.

“I’m not going to comment. Hell, I’d probably try that if I had an army of Goblins coming at me. But he took those trebuchets and attacked Liscor. A Drake city.”

She walked on, stomping towards Riverfarm. The city needed walls too. No wonder the Goblins had attacked it so easily. Durene strode after Ryoka, worried.

“Rie and Prost said that Lord Tyrion Veltras was only—”

Ryoka spun around and stomped back towards her, and Durene stopped. Ryoka glared at Durene. She opened her mouth and caught herself. It was hard not to shout.

“Do you not…make opinions of your own? And do you believe everything Laken says? Just like that?”

“Yes. So what? He explained why he did what he did. I was there when he made all his plans. So was Prost and Rie. I mean, I have opinions. But I agree with Laken. What’s the problem?”

Durene looked challengingly at Ryoka. The City Runner inhaled furiously. As she did, a searing pain erupted in her abdomen. She doubled over as Durene stared in confusion at her.

“You—I think your problem is—hold on. Gah!”

“Ryoka? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

The half-Troll girl bent anxiously. Ryoka clutched at her stomach. Uh oh. There was a familiar rumbling pain there. She gritted her teeth.

“It’s my stomach. Do you have an outhouse around here? I might need to throw up or use it. I’m not sure yet.”

“Yup. We have some there and there—”

“Where’s the closest?”

“This way.”

Ryoka turned and immediately began striding the way Durene had pointed. She was afraid to run. But she heard a bunch of hoof beats and turned to see Charlay making her way towards them. The Centauress looked just as pale as Ryoka all of a sudden as she returned from her walk.

“Ooh. Ooh. Ryoka, Durene, where’s the toilets? I’ll even take a latrine! Moving only made my stomach worse.”

“This way.”

The two hurried towards the row of outhouses in the distance. Durene followed, worried.

“Was it something you ate? Last night? I don’t feel anything, but I don’t get sick that much; I’ve never gotten food poisoning.”

Ryoka was in no mood to compliment her on her superior stomach due to her ancestry. She gritted her teeth as she tried to speed up. Charlay was holding her horse half. Was that where her stomach—? Ryoka groaned.

“I think it was the meat. Charlay and I had omelettes before you woke up. Do you know—what was it? Maybe it spoiled? It looked fresh, and I thought if I fried it, everything would be fine.”

The Centaur echoed Ryoka’s groan, loader.

“I thought it looked fresh! Did you cook it?”

“Of course I did, I’m asking Durene—”

“What meat?”

The two Runners looked back. Durene was staring at them. She shook her head.

“Ryoka, I didn’t bring any meat back with me from Riverfarm last night.”

Ryoka paused and looked suspiciously at Charlay.

“But you gave me a handful of meat to make with those omelettes. What the hell did we eat, then?”

Charlay frowned. Then Durene made a sound.

“Oh.”

“What?”

Ryoka turned around. Durene hesitated.

“Well, maybe it was Frostwing’s food? She was really angry when I woke up this morning, remember? I usually leave out some scraps in case she gets hungry at night.”

The City Runner felt a sinking in her stomach. Slowly, Ryoka looked at Charlay. The Centauress was avoiding her eye contact. Ryoka swallowed hard.

“…What kind of meat does Frostwing eat?”

“Uh—”

The pregnant pause told Ryoka all she wanted to know. Even so, the stupid part of her had to listen. Durene pointed in the direction of the fields.

“Rat meat? We feed it to the cats and Frostwing and Bismarck since they’ll eat it. It’s probably not rotten, but—”

She got no farther. Ryoka and Charlay raced towards the outhouses. There was, in fact, a small queue, despite the large number of smelling stalls. Riverfarm’s population was huge. The villagers and city folk looked up as Ryoka and Charlay raced towards them. Charlay screamed.

“Move it! I need an outhouse!”

Ryoka leapt into the first stall. She heard Charlay racing around and shouting, still in distress, as Ryoka tried to yank off her pants.

“They’re all too small! Where are the large ones?”

“That’s the largest we have.”

Someone replied outside, bemused. Charlay shrieked.

“Dead gods, don’t you have ones for Centaurs? What’s wrong with you people? Ryoka! Ryoka!”

She hammered on Ryoka’s stall. Ryoka was sitting and deciding whether or not to make herself puke as her insides started a revolution.

“I’m busy, Charlay! Go find a bush!”

“What? That’s barbaric—”

“Get lost!”

There was a moment of hesitation and then rapid hoof beats.

“This isn’t faaaaaaaair—”

Charlay’s wail fled into the distance with her galloping hooves. Ryoka stared at the wooden toilet. Then she felt her stomach. Rat meat. She swore.

“I’m going to kill that horse!”

And then, well, the next ten minutes or so saw Ryoka regretting ever existing. She was also deeply, extremely unhappy to realize that her toilet was not a contained box. In that the other people doing their business could probably hear a lot of what was going on. But the less said about it the better.

Eventually, Ryoka was relieved to know Riverfarm did have a form of toilet paper. Only, it was apparently a corn cob. She stared at it. There was some sense; after all, it was cheap. But corn cobs in a bucket? Really? She decided to use the pricey toilet paper she’d bought in Walta. That was a justifiable expense as far as she was concerned.

Ryoka left the outhouse at last. Her stomach still sort of hurt, but the worst was behind her. Hopefully. She was looking for a place to wash her hands and realizing that basic hygiene was not something Laken had fully implemented in Riverfarm yet. That was when she heard a voice.

“Bad day, Miss Griffin?”

Ryoka turned red. She saw a man coming out of an outhouse, buttoning his trousers. Mister Ram laughed as he held out a hand.

“We didn’t get to talk before. But I remembered you, and Prost and the other Riverfarm folk were telling me about how you delivered all that food to them during the winter. Wonderful thing. You’re a City Runner, right? I’m Ram Shackl, [Rancher] mostly, but a [Farmer] for now.”

“Uh—pleased!”

Ryoka hesitated, but the hand was out and both hers and Ram’s looked clean. Even if they weren’t. Gingerly, Ryoka shook hands. The foremost question in her mind was, ‘did he wipe?’ But Ryoka was also trying to hold a conversation. More people were coming in and out of the stalls. This was not the place, but Ram didn’t seem to mind.

“It’s a delight to meet Runners who’ll make the trip this far out without giving lip or treating the letters like trash. Let alone a big City Runner. It used to be hellish getting any letters delivered to my farm—I can’t pay silver for a delivery, or gold! And there’s no Runners about Riverfarm. Some former Street Runners, like Beycalt, but that was years ago! All of Lancrel’s Runners just found work elsewhere. Lucky them; they’re in demand.”

“That’s Runners for you.”

Ryoka smiled weakly. A woman walked out of another stall, a [Hunter] by the bow she’d left propped up by the door. She grabbed the unstrung bow and walked over.

“Miss Griffin? I’m Califfy, one of Riverfarm’s [Hunters]. I’d like to say hello too and thank you! I heard you talking with Ram.”

“Um, hi—”

Ryoka realized more and more people were looking over and recognizing her. What was worse, they apparently had time to come over and shake hands, whether or not they were about to use the restroom or just had. Ryoka tried to smile, touch hands as lightly as possible, and endure the backslapping.

“It’s really great you’re here. I don’t want to trouble you—Prost said you’re about His Majesty’s business and weren’t to be bothered. But if you could make a few deliveries on the way back…? You see, I have this cousin abouts, and I haven’t heard from him in…well, not since I left Windrest. Unless you’re busy?”

Ram was talking to Ryoka. Durene was watching from a distance upwind. Ryoka frowned.

“I am a City Runner. I can totally do that. Uh—where did you say he was?”

The [Rancher] brightened.

“Oh, about thirteen miles thataway. I can find him on a map if you have one. Otherwise, I could tell you the way—er, but I’m afraid I can’t afford to pay much. I gave what I had to Prost to buy what was needed for Riverfarm. But I could find a few copper—er—silver—”

He looked embarrassed as he patted at his belt. Ryoka hesitated.

“I don’t need to be paid. Durene’s putting me up in her cottage, and your, uh, [Emperor] did give me a lot of money to come here. To help. I’ll check on your cousin, no problem. If you write a letter, I could even deliver it today. It’s only thirteen miles.”

“Really? Then—would you check on someone I know, Miss Griffin? I don’t need a letter, but there’s a family I know just a bit up that way.”

The [Hunter] named Califfy grabbed Ryoka’s shoulder urgently. Ryoka turned and nodded.

“Of course! I’d be happy to. Uh—”

She looked around and realized what she was getting into. A lot of villagers waiting to use the toilets were looking hopeful. Ryoka hesitated, then nodded, making a split-second decision.

“I can’t go too far, but if you all make letters and tell me who’s in, say, a twenty-mile radius of Riverfarm? I’ll go for a run and check in on everyone I can. Free of charge.”

The crowd let out an exclamation and then a cheer of approval. More pushed forwards, and Ryoka found herself shaking hands, being introduced—all while more people came out of the outhouses. A woman, Miss Yesel herself, Prost’s wife, was talking to Ryoka, placing one of her hands on Ryoka’s arm.

“I still remember it. We were worried about having enough before His Majesty got back—not that we didn’t trust him to come! But those snows were terrible. And then you showed up—with presents for the little ones, no less! We’re all planning on remembering that day. Christmas, you called it?”

Ryoka stared at the woman’s smiling face. She looked down at the arm on her hand. Then she snapped. She stepped back, raised her hands, and shouted at the eager crowd.

“I’m sorry, but excuse me. Do you have any soap?”

The villagers blinked, then guffawed. Come to that, the townspeople and city folk laughed too. They laughed and then laughed harder when Ryoka got out her personal travel-pack and insisted they all wash hands first.

Ryoka sighed as she emptied a pail of soapy water into one of the outhouses. Now she was committed to delivering letters. Which was fine. It was a good deed, and the people of Riverfarm were legitimately worried for their friends and relatives. But…

The Asian girl looked up as Durene finally came over, worried.

“Ryoka? Are you okay? That’s a lot of deliveries everyone was asking you about. I can tell Prost to talk to them if—”

“That’s it!”

The City Runner shot out of the outhouse. Durene blinked as Ryoka tossed the bucket and turned to her, grinning. Her eyes had lit up.

“I’m a genius. Durene, I figured out what I can do to help! Two things, actually.”

“Really? That’s wonderful, Ryoka! What can I do?”

Durene breathed a sigh of relief. She looked eagerly at Ryoka. The City Runner hesitated.

“You? Well…nothing. I need to talk to Lady Rie. It’s not that big, but it will help. Especially moving forwards. I just need to speak to her.”

“Oh. Okay. I can find her. Let’s go into the village.”

The half-Troll girl looked disappointed, but pointed immediately back towards Riverfarm proper. Ryoka nodded seriously. Then she looked around.

“Thanks, Durene. Uh—have you seen Charlay? We’ll need her too.”

“Charlay? I think she’s still out, uh, finding a bathroom. She ran out that way.”

Durene pointed down one road. Ryoka groaned. Of course, Charlay was still gone. She was the most Erin-like person Ryoka had ever met. Only, without Erin’s charm and with an extra set of hooves. It did not make her more endearing. But Ryoka had to admit, she liked the Centauress. A bit.

“Well, let me know when she comes back.”

She just wished Charlay didn’t have such a knack for causing her headaches. Shaking her head, Ryoka went into Riverfarm to find Lady Rie and talk about her ideas. And hand washing. That made three things.

—–

He found her because he had been waiting for a meeting like this. Waiting for a while, really. That was his purpose for the moment. Waiting and talking. It wasn’t glamorous work, but the wanderer had a mission. He strode towards the Centauress he’d spotted galloping into the brush and raised his voice. He didn’t want to spook her. He wasn’t here to harm at the moment, just talk.

“Hoi there, Miss! Can I have a word?”

For a second, he heard nothing from the brushes. Then Charlay shouted back.

“Go away! I’m busy!”

The traveller tugged at the large, dark hat on his head.

“I don’t want to disturb you, Miss! But I’ve been on the road, and I have to ask—is this Riverfarm?”

“Yes! That’s Riverfarm over there! Don’t come any closer!”

The female Centaur’s voice was snappy and preoccupied. The traveller shook his head.

“Then this is the domain of the [Emperor]? The one I heard about with Lord Tyrion Veltras’ army?”

“That’s right! Please shoo! I’m very busy!”

“I just want to ask a few questions if I may. Miss—”

“I ate something bad, alright? Go away while I do my business!”

The man with the hat realized there was a smell in the air coming from the bushes. He sniffed, recoiled, and backed away.

“Ah. I’ll wait until you’re done.”

That took a while. When the Centauress finally emerged from the underbrush, she looked quite unhappy. She stared at the Human wearing a pack and travel-worn clothing and glared.

“Yes, that’s Riverfarm. Good for you. You have eyes. What do you want? Do you just find people doing their business and bother them?”

The man hesitated, but then gave Charlay an apologetic smile. It was an odd one, toothy. A wide smile that Centaurs usually interpreted as being very aggressive. It was still friendly, but Charlay immediately didn’t like it. She folded her arms as the ancient animal senses in her head saw the teeth and prepared to fight or run.

“What do you want? And you have a creepy smile, Mister.”

The traveller looked abashed.

“My apologies, Miss. I get that a lot. I’m just a man on the road. I’d like to enter Riverfarm, but I’ve heard you have guests. The kind no one likes to meet. So long as they’re here, I think I’ll keep my distance. And warn anyone I can.”

“Guests? You mean the [Witches]?”

The stranger nodded cautiously. He tugged at his long hat.

“You could call me a concerned traveller. But I’d like to warn you, Miss Centaur, that staying in Riverfarm would be dangerous. Have you heard what [Witches] do? Particularly those [Witches]?”

He pointed at the village. Charlay tossed her head impatiently.

“Nope. I know one of them, and she’s a jerk. So what? You’re the suspicious one. You’re just wandering about. Warning people there are dangerous [Witches] here for no reason? That’s not suspicious at all.”

She pawed the ground as she peered at the traveller. He didn’t look particularly dangerous, and Charlay was sure one good kick would do him in. The traveller might have sensed her thoughts, because he stepped back, lifting his hands and smiling apologetically.

“I’m just doing a thankless job, Miss Centaur. I’m staying in this region for a bit. The [Witches] are a problem, and I’d like to make people aware of how dangerous they are.”

“Really? What’re they going to do, curse us all?”

The man shook his head, pursing his lips, vexed.

“Have you studied history, Miss? [Witches] used to fight in wars with the north. When the Five Families first invaded, some of them helped topple the Drake cities and drive the Gnolls south. Of course, that was many thousands of years ago. These days, they keep to their covens. But they’re still dangerous. The tall one? The one with the black horse? Have you heard the rumors from Noelictus? What she did up there?”

Charlay scratched at her head.

“Belavierr? Nope! Not at all. I don’t listen to gossip. Now, if you’re quite done saying suspicious things, I’m going. You can come to Riverfarm if you want. But if you bother me again, I’m kicking you.”

Charlay turned around and showed the man her back hooves. He stepped back with a sigh.

“Not for the moment, Miss. But you’ll see what I mean soon enough. Trouble’s coming. I’m just trying to warn you all. If you’re wise, you won’t stay around those [Witches]. They bring it.”

“I’ll bear that in mind.”

The Centauress shot over her shoulder. She trotted back to Riverfarm, glancing back at the traveller. She didn’t like him being behind her. But after a moment, he began walking back the way he’d come. She frowned and trotted faster towards Riverfarm. First [Witches], now suspicious men on the road. She shook her head.

“This place is weird.”

Then she broke into a gallop and went to find Ryoka.

—–

“This is where he was?”

Five minutes later, Ryoka was at the spot where Charlay had been. She stared at the scuffed ground and at what might have been a footprint on the packed soil. Or just random dust. Charlay nodded, glancing around.

“He was really suspicious. And he wanted to know if this was where that [Emperor] guy lived. But he was most interested in the [Witches]. He tried to warn me about them.”

“What did he say?”

“I didn’t really listen. Just suspicious stuff. Don’t trust them. They bring bad stuff. You know, suspicious stuff.”

Ryoka glanced up and sighed. Charlay had run to find her, and Ryoka had come right back to see what was up. She looked backwards and saw Durene jogging towards them. Slowly. The City Runner stood up, and Charlay began to jog with her back towards Riverfarm.

“He’s gone now anyways, and I don’t want to follow. What else did you notice, Charlay? What did he look like?”

“Um, he had…a hat? Dark clothes? Weird smile. And a backpack.”

Ryoka shot Charlay an aggrieved look. The Centaur spread her hands innocently.

“He wasn’t that noticeable. But what do you think he wanted?”

“I don’t know. But I intend to find out. Durene! Let’s find Lady Rie!”

It didn’t take long to find the [Lady]. Rie was distracted as she strode to meet Durene, Ryoka, and Charlay. But she heard them out, and instantly, her brows knitted together.

“A suspicious man on the road talking to you about [Witches]? I wish you’d been able to bring him into Riverfarm, Charlay. That man’s been spotted three times by other people, and that’s what I’ve heard today alone. Each time, he asked about Riverfarm and the presence of the [Witches].”

“Suspicious. See! I told you!”

“But what does he want?”

Ryoka frowned. She looked at Lady Rie. The woman raised two delicate eyebrows.

“It could be he was simply trying to cause trouble. Or he’s after one of the [Witches]. Maybe this Circle of Thorns? I somehow doubt they’d be that obvious.”

“Me too. But I think there’s a definite connection with the [Witches]. Damn. It sounds like he was trying to make sure they were in the village. And if that’s so—Charlay. What did this guy say exactly?”

“I can’t remember! I was sort of busy through half the conversation.”

The Centauress stamped one hoof. Ryoka sighed and massaged her forehead. She had a sudden, worrying thought.

“Okay, fine. But try to recall any specific details. Did he say anything about an inquisition?”

“Nope.”

“Then was his hair silvery and grey and did he have two swords? Did he say anything about a [Witcher]?”

“Not a thing about his class. What’s a [Witcher]?”

“Just a class. I suppose he’s not a [Judge]. If someone here was named ‘John Proctor’ I’d be really worried. Then again, this is a rural farm…”

Ryoka scrubbed at her face as Rie and Durene looked at her oddly. Great. It could just be a coincidence, but she didn’t like the timing. If you wanted to go Occam’s Razor, it was probably someone from Lancrel spreading rumors or an actual traveller who knew about one of the [Witches]. Like Belavierr or Mavika. Lady Rie pursed her lips.

“It seems trouble is brewing. I’d suggest we table this until the man can be found. I will let Beniar know to apprehend him if he’s spotted again. But for now, let’s focus on other matters. Durene said you had something to speak to me about, Miss Griffin?”

“What? That’s right. Yes! I know what I can do to help Riverfarm, at least.”

“Really?”

Lady Rie’s eyes sharpened. Durene looked hopeful as she hopped from foot to foot eagerly.

“What is it? What’s your idea, Ryoka?”

The young woman took a breath. She looked around and indicated herself and Charlay.

“We’re going to start a Runner’s Guild in Riverfarm.”

For a moment, all three women blinked at her. Then Charlay’s hand shot up.

“Dibs on Guildmistress!”

—–

The plan was simple. A bit audacious, but only a bit. Truthfully, it was simple, easy to execute, and it mattered. Lady Rie didn’t see it at first, but she got it after a little bit. Durene was the one who had no frame of reference.

“Why would a Runner’s Guild matter? We don’t have Runners in Riverfarm; we don’t really need ‘em.”

“True. But that was when Riverfarm was a small village. If Laken wants an empire, he needs a Runner’s Guild. And he needs one today, not tomorrow or in a few months. Because if you have Runners, you have communication. Not many people can afford [Message] spells, and you need a [Mage] to receive them. But Runners are cheap, and we go everywhere. As it stands, this entire region is pretty much isolated from, say, Invrisil or anywhere else. But if Runners start visiting here, even a handful, and you train your own, Riverfarm becomes a destination.”

Charlay was nodding as Ryoka laid out the plan. The Centauress took over, leaning over one of the maps the City Runners both carried in their packs.

“You know Runners won’t visit this place normally, right? Not more than once a week at least. It’s not worth the run. But if there’s a Runner’s Guild here and you have your own Runners or you steal some from another town…”

Rie sighed.

“We build a network. Of course. It’s completely logical. Where Runners go, trade and travel tend to follow. And it would certainly allow us to keep in touch with local settlements. I do think we could set up the beginnings of one, at least before Emperor Godart arrives. Yes, it’s not hard to set up a guild in theory.”

Durene looked astonished.

“Really? Doesn’t it need a building? And—and [Receptionists] and all kinds of organization? The Runner’s Guild we visited in Invrisil was huge.”

“Yes. But you can run a Guild out of a root cellar. In theory, you only need some Runner’s Seals, something to write down requests and store letters. And money to pay Runners, of course. But a Runner’s Guild takes a cut of deliveries. And most importantly—”

Ryoka was watching Rie’s face. The woman was sharp. She completed the sentence for Ryoka.

“—Miss Griffin and Miss Charlay can both advertise the fact that Riverfarm has a Runner’s Guild in the interim. Of course.”

The [Lady] nodded at Ryoka appreciatively. Ryoka smiled. It was a publicity stunt, like the one Laken had pulled at the Merchant’s Guild in Invrisil, as well as a smart investment in the future. She was proud of the idea. So was Charlay.

“Can I be listed as Riverfarm’s top Runner? It’s between me and Ryoka, and I’ll win that competition.”

Ryoka scowled at the Centauress.

“You could be Guildmistress if you wanted to retire.”

“How much does it pay?”

“Absolutely nothing. But they’ll give you all the wheat you want to munch on.”

Charlay looked like she was actually considering it for a moment.

“Hm. Pass. But it’s a good idea, right?”

Rie spoke tersely.

“I’ll make preparations at once. We can convert a new warehouse and set up a guild. Come to that, we might as well plan a commercial district. Which is what you’re suggesting next, Miss Griffin, isn’t it?”

The Asian girl nodded thoughtfully.

“Merchant’s Guild, Mage’s Guild—those are the basics. You could make an inn and a few shops too while you’re at it. I don’t imagine you get many [Traders], but if Riverfarm has any drop by, you could tempt them with some of your fresh produce. Until you get an actual product of some kind, that is.”

Rie coughed delicately.

“We do have some marketable items, in fact. Chess boards, carved items; but you are correct, Miss Griffin. Establishing shops would also give our artisans time to work. Some, like the [Potters], have been clamoring to use the clay deposits around Riverfarm. But a Runner’s Guild is a fine first step.”

She smiled, and Ryoka returned it. She saw Durene shaking her head slightly behind Rie. Ryoka understood; it wasn’t an earth-shattering idea. But it was smart, and it was based on things Riverfarm could do rather than making, say, a waterwheel.

Lady Rie went on.

“I think Emperor Godart would have implemented much the same idea as you’re proposing, Miss Griffin. Prost and I have been so busy trying to carry out his plans and dealing with the issue of sustaining the village and housing, we haven’t tried to develop Riverfarm further. However, if you’re willing to help us by doing some of the local deliveries, I will write a letter to the Runner’s Guild in Filk. Would you be able to make it there and back?”

Ryoka frowned.

“I’ll definitely do the deliveries. I might have to wait until tomorrow for the letters to be written and plan out my run. Filk. I don’t know the town. How far’s the run?”

“Thirty-two miles there and back.”

Ryoka scowled out the window.

“Oof. That’s hard. It’s already past midday. I could try it tomorrow. There’s something else I want to do there. Unless—”

She looked sideways. So did Rie and Durene. Charlay paused.

“What? Aha! So you admit I’m the better Runner?”

She looked triumphant, and then the Centauress frowned.

“But—hold on! There are [Bandits] about! Why do I have to risk my neck and run thirty-two miles?”

Ryoka sighed.

“Because you’re the gracious Centauress Dustrider Charlay? And because—”

She leaned over and whispered in Charlay’s ear as Durene and Rie frowned. The Centauress blinked.

“Hey! That’s a good idea! But what if I can’t find one? Okay. Okay, really? Huh. I don’t have a contact. But I still have to run there and back! That’s a lot of work!”

She stamped a foot, annoyed. Ryoka sighed.

“Please, Charlay?”

“Oh, okay. Just because you asked. I want to know too.”

The Centauress acquiesced at last. Ryoka sighed in relief; she didn’t want to do a thirty-mile run out of the blue either, stamina potions or not. They took a few more minutes to finalize things, and Lady Rie found some stationary and wrote a quick letter. And then Charlay was out the door, muttering about unpaid work. Ryoka saw her off with Durene. The [Farmer] girl looked mystified as Charlay galloped off.

“So we’re getting a Runner’s Guild? Is that your big idea?”

She looked at Ryoka. The young woman sighed.

“Partly. Charlay’s also going to dig up some information on the [Witches] if she can. Look, it’s a good idea. Riverfarm needs to do business if you want it to become a town or even city.”

Durene gnawed on one lip, dissatisfied.

“I guess—but it’s just not anything big. Don’t you have some other ideas?”

Ryoka did. She just refused to say. And she was getting tired of the questions.

“Not at the moment. Look, Durene. I’m just running blind here. Laken didn’t exactly give me a plan.”

“But he thought you could help.”

That apparently meant Ryoka should know exactly what she was doing. Exasperated, Ryoka looked over Durene’s shoulder at Lady Rie. The [Lady] gave her a slight nod and twitch of her lips. Ryoka shook her head.

“I’ll try, Durene. And I think I can help with the [Witches]. I want to know more about them, at least. Actually, aside from Mavika, the others seem relatively stable. Maybe they’ll just wait for Laken in peace—”

She saw Rie’s expression and stopped. Ryoka hesitated.

“Something wrong, Lady Rie?”

Durene turned and frowned. Ryoka frowned too. Lady Rie was biting one painted lip, a sure sign of stress because it was smudging her lipstick. She hesitated, then replied cautiously.

“Perhaps. While you were attending to Witch Mavika, there was an…incident. With Rehanna, one of our troublemakers. And the [Witch] known as…Belavierr?”

She relayed this morning’s incident to Ryoka. The City Runner felt a slight chill when she heard about Belavierr’s offer to Rehanna. She lost a husband and a child. What would a [Witch]…?

There were a lot of things Ryoka could think of, none of them pretty. And Belavierr might not be a [Necromancer], but Ryoka knew Alevica could summon skeletons. How strong did a [Witch] have to be to copy what, say, Pisces could do? Or more? She looked at Lady Rie.

“I think I’d better find some of the other [Witches]. Or even Belavierr. I wanted to talk to her.”

She felt a skip in her stomach just thinking about it. Durene looked uneasy.

“Are you sure, Ryoka?”

Lady Rie had a similar expression on her face.

“I don’t know if Miss—if Witch Belavierr is the most able conversationalist, Miss Ryoka. Or…stable. There might be some risk. Wiskeria seemed to imply as much. As did Miss Eloise.”

That was probably true. Even Mavika had given Ryoka strong fae vibes. As in, one misstep might have landed her with her eyes being pecked out by a murder of crows. But—damn it, she also wanted to know. Why did she like scary immortal monsters so much? Right, because they were cool.

Ryoka smiled weakly.

“Let’s just say I have some experience with people like her, Lady Rie.”

The [Lady]’s brows rose slightly.

“Really? Well, I believe Miss Eloise has relocated her tea circle. And you may find Wiskeria there as well. Belavierr might still be standing in the street. Or she may have moved.”

“I’ll—uh—I’ll—go feed Frostwing.”

Durene decided not to follow Ryoka for once, much to the City Runner’s relief. Ryoka grinned, nodded, and with some apprehension, went to find the [Witches].

It wasn’t hard. Indeed, Ryoka found Eloise sitting outside Riverfarm by the banks of the river. She was having tea again. Only this time—Ryoka paused.

The [Witches] were there. At least, five of them. Eloise was sitting on the grass, having spread a travel blanket to cushion a tea kettle and some snacks. And sitting with her was the strict [Witch], Miss Califor, and her apprentice, Nanette. Wiskeria was also sipping tea with them, and all four [Witches] looked like they were there purely by chance, because it was a lovely day and a nice place to sit. Not because they were watching the fifth [Witch] who sat under a tree. Not at all.

Belavierr was resting under a tree doing something with a thread and needle. She sat, her large, pointed hat bowed, consumed by her work. You could’ve missed her if you looked past her. Until you saw how the shadows of the tree seemed too long and how nothing, not birds nor insects, seemed to be making sound anywhere near her.

Ryoka wondered what you had to do to generate your own permanent creepy field around you. She headed towards the four picnicking [Witches] first. Wiskeria saw her coming and got up. Ryoka stopped in front of the tea circle awkwardly. Califor and Eloise regarded her, one with a piercing look, the other a kind smile. Nanette was eating a scone.

“Hi, uh, Wiskeria, right? I was hoping I could chat. Am I interrupting anything? Sorry, I’m Ryoka Griffin.”

Wiskeria nodded, adjusting her spectacles.

“Oh, yes. We met earlier. The one Laken sent. I haven’t had time to introduce myself properly. I’m pleased to meet you. And if I can help you, let me know. Emperor Laken did call for you.”

She held out a hand, and Ryoka shook it. The City Runner smiled and got a polite one of her own. Well, this was going swimmingly. Unlike other recent encounters, Ryoka hadn’t had to introduce herself by outing Wiskeria as a vampire, and she hadn’t needed to save Wiskeria from a magical monster just to say hi. If she could avoid punching her within the first ten minutes of meeting her, Ryoka was golden.

And yet—there was something about Wiskeria that made Ryoka suspect she was another Fierre. Not least Belavierr; a quality about Wiskeria made Ryoka’s shoulders itch. She couldn’t place her finger on it just yet.

“Sorry. Again. I know it’s odd that Laken sent me out of the blue. We’re, uh, acquaintances.”

Wiskeria nodded and didn’t ask any questions, which Ryoka appreciated. Her eyes flickered as she looked Ryoka up and down. She took in Ryoka’s features, missing fingers, and bare feet all at once; that was pretty good. Most people fixated on one or the other, but Wiskeria was as sharp as Durene had said. Then the [Witch] smiled and adjusted her pointed hat.

“I try not to be surprised by anything Laken does. But what brings you here? Is there anything I can help with? Is Mavika…?”

“Oh, no. She was at the fields, but we sorted it out.”

“Really? Did she make an offer? She doesn’t do modern Merchant’s Guild-type contracts. I can help her reword…”

Wiskeria looked instantly worried. Ryoka grinned.

“We sorted it. I helped Prost negotiate, and Mavika’s flock gets some of the corn in exchange for killing all the pests. They’re at work now.”

Wiskeria glanced towards the fields, and Ryoka saw a few birds in the distance. The [Witch] exhaled.

“That’s a relief. And that’s a standard contract Mavika offers, don’t worry. You helped Prost agree? Was there trouble?”

“Not really. The [Farmers] didn’t want to accept. I just talked them into it.”

Wiskeria looked surprised, and then she smiled.

“Thank you. Mavika really doesn’t have any ill will. She’s just hard to deal with. Even for other [Witches].”

“I’m familiar with the sort.”

Ryoka’s rueful look was one Wiskeria clearly understood. The [Witch] chuckled, and Ryoka laughed.

Oh, that’s what it is. Ryoka hesitated mid-laugh, glanced at Wiskeria, and saw the [Witch] break off laughing and give her another smile.

She’s faking her smile and laughter. It wasn’t like Persua, who did it blatantly and to hide how annoyed or spiteful or evil she was. Wiskeria was just…faking it. She seemed genuinely friendly, but it was strange.

Even so, Ryoka relaxed, and Wiskeria gestured at the [Witches]. Califor was speaking to Nanette, and the young [Witch] was nodding, pointing her wand at a scone. Ryoka realized she was trying to make it levitate, and both Califor and Eloise were coaching her!

“So, did you want one of us for anything?”

“Nope. I’m just here out of curiosity. It’s an interesting class. [Witch], I mean. I was hoping you could explain more of it to me. I don’t know if it’ll help, but—”

Wiskeria was nodding.

“Of course. I can answer any questions you have. Although I’m afraid you might be misunderstanding things. Being a [Witch] isn’t half as interesting as you might think. At my level, it’s closer to being a [Hedge Witch]—that’s a name for a self-taught female spellcaster. I’m afraid I’m just a glorified adventurer with a few odd tricks. Real witchcraft is hard to pull off. This coven’s probably your best example of that. I can’t do much to keep them in line. But I can put out any fires, with luck.”

She nodded to her mother for that. Interesting. Wiskeria wasn’t half as broken as Durene had made her out to be. Maybe she’d come around, but Ryoka thought the [Witch] seemed pretty put together. The Runner girl nodded and couldn’t help herself.

“Preventing them from turning people into frogs and stuff like that? Sorry, I know that’s stereotypical—”

Wiskeria’s genuine laughter made Nanette look up. The wobbling scone dropped out of the air. Ryoka smiled and then hesitated and gestured at Belavierr under the tree. Wiskeria’s mother hadn’t even twitched at Wiskeria’s laughter. Nor had she moved or changed positions once. Her hands and the needle and thread were the only things moving in her world.

“Um. I know it’s a hard sell for you to talk about this if it’s secret, but I’d also like to know more about some of the [Witches]. Especially your mother…? I heard she did something this morning. Can you talk about it? Or could I talk to her? Ask questions?”

Wiskeria’s smile cut off. She hesitated and tugged her hat a bit lower.

“I can try. Eloise was working on the woman—Rehanna—but my mother got to her first. She offered Rehanna…something. I don’t know what it is. I could guess, but there are a number of things my mother would offer. Few of them good. Still, if you want her aid, I can get her to give it.”

Ryoka’s eyebrows rose.

“Really?”

Wiskeria nodded casually.

“I’m her daughter. I don’t like taking her help for—anything. But that’s my choice. I could introduce you now if you want. Just remember she will give you what you want…at great cost.”

Ryoka hesitated. She did want that, but experience had taught her caution. She looked at Wiskeria.

“I’d love to ask her some questions. But, uh, is there any etiquette I should use? A way I can address her? Would she be offended if I just made conversation? What are the consequences of a mistake? That’s a better question, actually.”

The [Witch] blinked at the barrage of questions. She gave Ryoka a strange look and shook her head.

“The worst that will happen is she’ll just ignore you. Actually, that’s very likely without me around. Or she might make you a deal. But—”

She looked Ryoka up and down, and the young woman got the feeling she was being inspected in more ways than just visual.

“—I don’t think you have what she wants. There’s a bit, but not much.”

“A bit of what?”

The [Witch] winced.

“Sorry. That was rude. The answer’s pain. Or regrets. Or—well, you’re not in despair or desperate at the moment. There’s a bit of that. Sorry, it’s a [Witch] thing. I can explain. Why don’t we have a seat first? Eloise has tea out, and she can help explain.”

So saying, she led Ryoka over to the blanket. Eloise brushed a strand of white hair out of her eyes and smiled. Ryoka sat down and found herself with a cup and scone in hand in moments. Ryoka felt like she was speaking to her grandmot—wait a second, her grandmother hated her. A therapist, then.

Ryoka knew it was a Skill, and part of her mind pushed back on it. But since Eloise was all genuine, at least as far as Ryoka could tell, the hospitality still put her at ease.

“Good evening to you, young woman. Ryoka Griffin, am I right? I’m delighted to meet you. This is Califor and Nanette.”

“A pleasure.”

Witch Califor tipped her hat and regarded Ryoka with one piercing gaze before sipping from her cup. Ryoka awkwardly introduced herself. Both Eloise and Califor seemed to know who she was already. The elderly [Witch] smiled.

“Of course we do, dear. You’re the one Belavierr pointed out to us.”

Ryoka choked on a scone. Califor and Wiskeria leaned out of the way as Ryoka coughed crumbs onto the grass.

“She did? That’s what Mavika—er, what did she say?”

Califor frowned. She reached out and plucked a wobbling scone out of the air as Nanette managed to get it to eye-level. The [Witch] took a bite and nodded, chewing briskly.

“That you feel like the wind. That’s unusual enough. But I agree. There’s an odd affinity with the wind about you, but you’re no [Mage]. How did you come by that gift, young woman? It’s not an artifact either.”

“I…learned it from a friend.”

Ryoka’s evasive answer got her another piercing stare. Califor swallowed, opened her mouth, and received a gentle but firm look from Eloise.

“Witch Califor, I do believe you meant to press my guest at tea. With respect to your famous nosiness, this is my place.”

“I do believe I intended only a few questions, Eloise.”

The older witch waggled a finger, tsking.

“Gently, Califor. I insist you not rush.”

“I cannot help but stride, Witch Eloise. But if you insist—”

What an odd dynamic. Califor sat back, taking her ease, and Ryoka wondered if she’d been about to be given the third-degree. It sort of made her warier of Eloise, but the tea-serving [Witch] continued the conversation, smiling.

“Then what brings you here?”

“I—I’d like to know about [Witches].”

Nanette sat up. Wiskeria and Eloise smiled. And Califor raised her brows.

“If your goal is to fly like Witch Alevica, Miss Griffin, I would forget about it. She is a prodigy, and it took her six years to learn how to fly. Moreover, none of our coven is looking to take on apprentices. I’m afraid I only have time to teach Nanette. And Wiskeria if she wishes it.”

She nodded at Wiskeria as she pointed at something upstream. Ryoka leaned over as Wiskeria frowned and didn’t reply to Miss Califor’s comment. Was that a hat floating downriver? No. It was Alevica. She was swimming in the river! And she was stripped down to her undergarments. Except for her hat. Nanette giggled at the sight and sat up straight when Califor glanced at her.

“I…don’t want to fly, Miss Califor. I just want to know about [Witches].”

The older [Witch] stared at Ryoka, seeing right through the lie. Ryoka sighed.

“Okay, I’d like to know how to fly. But I don’t think I could be a [Witch]. And I don’t intend to be one.”

“You could be. You have a bit of what it takes. But let’s let that lie. You want to know about [Witches], Miss Griffin? What do you know about us already?”

Eloise tapped the cooling tea pot with a finger, and Ryoka saw a trail of steam rise from the tea the [Witch] poured into her cup. The City Runner thought and answered slowly.

“I think I understand a bit. Durene described Wiskeria making her brew. It sounds like [Witches] rely on rituals as opposed to [Mages] who cast direct spells they memorize. Chanting, more, uh, traditional spellcasting and the ability to tame familiars, perform alchemy—it makes [Witches] a broader class than most spellcasters. But there’s something else to it, right? Durene mentioned Wiskeria was gathering emotions.”

She looked around. Eloise smiled approvingly, and Califor’s eyebrows shot up. She nodded slowly with the hint of a smile. Ryoka felt like she’d earned a rare gold star. Eloise nodded.

“You’re quite observant, Miss Ryoka. And you’re also entirely correct. [Witches] use emotions and feelings in our spells. Well, it’s wrong to say just emotions. We use regrets, grudges, as well as places of power.”

“Places of death. Or life. The nature changes, but power is power. What matters is how a [Witch] uses it and to what end. They must take care they are not consumed by what they try to wield. Remember that, Nanette. And wipe your mouth.”

“Yes, Miss Califor.”

Califor struck Ryoka as someone with a lesson for every situation. Ryoka hesitated, trying to process what she’d just heard. So [Witches] used emotions to fuel their spells?

“Is that confidential? If it is, I can keep a secret.”

Califor snorted, and Eloise laughed so gently that Ryoka blushed. Wiskeria settled back, letting the two older women talk as she showed Nanette how to levitate a scone with her own wand. Califor continued.

“None of this is a grand secret. It’s simply that no one asks. And that [Witches] prefer to keep their methods private. We don’t gossip about our talents. But this is a time of unusual circumstance, and you are unusual yourself. So yes, [Witches] use feelings like power. We gather it. And ritual, incantation, that is all a way to harness that power. It is not as obvious or loud as a [Mage]’s spell. And it lacks the force of that magic. But it can do what regular spells cannot. It is not greater or worse. Just different.”

Eloise nodded and put down her cup.

“Like each [Witch]. You may have noticed this, Miss Griffin, but [Witch] is as wide a class as [Mage]. We all have our talents. Mine, as you may have noticed, is tea. Tea, sociability, medicines—I put my magic into that. Take this for example. This is my tea I’ve sold to some of Riverfarm’s villagers.”

She produced a packet of dried tea and offered it to Ryoka. The Runner Girl took it, opened it, and frowned. Califor nodded.

“It’s just a basic root tea. What makes it special is her magic. Try it. Here. Nanette, fill this kettle and then warm it up.”

She gestured to Nanette, and the apprentice dutifully got up, filled the pot from the stream, and put it on the ground. She looked hesitantly at Miss Califor.

“With a spell?”

“Yes. [Hot Hands]. It’s a basic Tier 0 spell. You do need regular spells as much as incantations. But use it to burn the kindling. Here.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to heat up the water by holding it?”

Nanette looked wistfully at the pot. Califor sighed.

“It would. Igniting a stick requires focusing the heat of your spell into a hand or finger. It requires concentration, but it means your control over a basic spell will be much greater. [Hot Hands] is useless if all you can do is make a kettle steam. If you can ignite a fire, however, it means the spell has utility. And what does a [Witch] value?”

“Good boots?”

Nanette blushed as Wiskeria and Ryoka burst out into laughter. Eloise smiled, and Miss Califor’s stare sent Nanette fumbling to ignite the sticks. Only when Nanette was fussing over the sticks did Califor smile slightly.

Eloise nudged Califor, and the other [Witch] lifted her eyes skywards. Eloise rolled her eyes expressively—then they all watched Nanette trying to cast the fire spell.

It took her eight tries, in which time Eloise had prepared a second pot. All she had to do was touch it; Califor pointed that out as an exemplary use of the same spell.

“Now, these are two identical mixtures, Miss Griffin. The difference is that I’ve put my magic into one. It’s a simple process, and it’s not much magic. But it’s different from enchanting it. I put my craft into it.”

Ryoka eyed the two identical, dark teas. She looked up.

“By craft you mean…”

“She means the particular magic she desires. Each [Witch] is different, Miss Griffin. Eloise looks for different things than I do. You’ve seen her tea parties. That is not a simple charity. Nor is what Hedag does. Or Alevica. Our craft is what we seek, what defines us as [Witches]. What does Eloise do when she sits with others and offers them tea and advice? Nanette?”

The apprentice jumped and stuttered.

“S-she helps them by making them feel better? And, um, making them feel nice?”

“And what does she gain from doing that?”

“She takes…she takes…”

The apprentice panicked. Wiskeria spoke quietly as she brushed crumbs off her dress.

“She takes a bit of their happiness. Their goodwill and cheer. Not all of it; just a bit.”

Califor nodded. She didn’t seem half as strict as Nanette’s reactions indicated; it was more the girl was trying to keep up and impress Califor and fumbled around her. Which meant Califor was probably pretty important too.

“Correct.”

“Really?”

Ryoka sat up and looked at Eloise. The older [Witch] closed one eye as she poured a cup.

“As Miss Califor says. I’m sure Nanette knew that, but identifying exactly what I take is difficult. I like to think I’m quite subtle. But yes. I make people feel better, and in exchange, I take some of that good feeling. Just a bit. But—here. This is a cup of tea. What do you think?”

She offered it to Ryoka. The young woman sipped. She tried not to let her face change. Well…it was a tea. Eloise smiled knowingly.

“Well?”

“Hmm. Rooty. Tastes a bit like dirt. But yeah, it’s tea-like.”

“It’s from local roots and herbs. Very inexpensive. Free, in fact. But it does lack for taste. Now try this cup.”

The second cup made Ryoka pause and sniff it suspiciously. She’d looked at both packets, and they’d been identical. But this tea smelled completely different! And when she tasted it—

“Take my money.”

Ryoka slapped a few silver coins down on the cloth, and Nanette giggled with delight. Eloise laughed as Ryoka drank from the cup. It was amazing! The taste was there, but it was as if you’d taken it and improved it in every way possible. Instead of dirt, the taste was earthen, deep. The older [Witch] waved away Ryoka’s coins.

“I’ll sell you some of my teas. Only one or two, though. I’m afraid it won’t do you any good to keep them for more than a few days, Miss Griffin. I could sell you some longer-lasting teas, but even if you tried to use a [Preservation] spell, it wouldn’t do you any good. Bags of holding don’t work either.”

“Really? Why? Wait—is it—?”

The City Runner blinked down at her cup. Nanette sat up eagerly, but Ryoka’s mind raced towards the connection. She looked up, and her eyes shone.

“Of course. It’s goodwill. It runs out quick.”

This time, Eloise’s laughter made Alevica, floating past them, raise her hat and stare at the group. Califor chuckled; Nanette goggled at that, and Wiskeria looked impressed herself. Then Witch Califor sighed.

“You could be a good [Witch], young lady. If only you’d been called earlier. You still could be, of course, but—”

“Hey! Is that Ryoka Griffin over there?”

Alevica called out and then swam over. She walked over to them, shedding water. Ryoka saw her flick her hands, and her clothes flew from a nearby tree branch towards her. She dressed herself as the water steamed off her body. Califor rolled her eyes at the display. Ryoka was intensely jealous.

“It is you. I knew you were interesting when I met you. Eloise, pass me a cup of whatever’s in that, will you? What’re we talking about? I’m so bored here I feel like flying off and killing some of the [Bandits].”

The Witch Runner sprawled out. Eloise poured her a cup as Califor eyed Alevica severely. Ryoka looked at Alevica’s cocksure grin.

“I’m asking about [Witches].”

“Oh? Well in that case, why didn’t you ask me? You’d probably be most similar to me anyways. What, did Eloise explain her magic to you? That’s right. She uses goodwill. Now, here’s the real trick. What do I use?”

Alevica shot Ryoka a challenging grin. She reminded Ryoka…of Ryoka. Only, more confident than Ryoka could ever remember being. More dangerous too. Ryoka remembered Alevica laughing as she killed the [Bandits]. The young woman thought for a moment. Alevica. She hadn’t seen her harvesting any emotions from the brief time she’d met her.

Or had she? Ryoka looked up and met Wiskeria’s eyes. She recalled Charlay’s fear of Alevica. Ryoka glanced at the [Witch] Runner’s smirk.

“You’re taking their fear. And hatred.”

Alevica’s brows rose. She looked at the others.

“She’s good.”

She turned back to Ryoka.

“That’s right. Fear, hatred, loathing, envy, I take it all. I don’t need to pretend to like people or listen to their sad, sordid little lives. I do what I want, and that makes me powerful. What I take lasts far longer than any goodwill.”

She winked at Eloise. The older [Witch] gave her a resigned smile. Ryoka looked at Alevica.

“So does that make you a ‘bad witch’?”

Alevica sprayed tea across Nanette and Califor as she laughed. Nanette flung up her arms, and Califor scowled. Not a drop of tea landed on either.

“Alevica. Mind your manners.”

“Sorry. Sorry! ‘Bad witches’? Yeah, I’m a bad [Witch]. I guess that’s how some people look at it. I just think of it as looking after myself. Why do I owe people anything?”

“Oh, perhaps only because they deserve respect. Or that their efforts create the world which you can enjoy. A [Baker] bakes her goods and works hard.”

“And I pay her, Eloise. And if someone wrongs me, I get even. I don’t owe people for anything. Hey, Nanette, remember that. A [Witch] can do as she likes. That’s my craft.”

Alevica drained her cup and looked around arrogantly. Nanette seemed equally nervous and awestruck by Alevica. Califor frowned.

“Tell me, Alevica. Does your brand of witchcraft improve this world in any way? Or is it self-indulgent? You rely on others more than any of us, only you expect their hatred. What you have will not last. Every [Witch] falls. When you do, will it be alone?”

The Witch Runner paused. She tossed her cup down and sat up. Ryoka felt something pass by her as the two [Witches] locked gazes. Wiskeria muttered.

“Oh, not again.”

But whatever contest was in the air, Alevica clearly wasn’t in the mood for it. The air turned hot for just a second before she looked away. Annoyed, Alevica rose to her feet.

“I’m sure that’s what these wonderful covens are for, Califor. I’m being a good little [Witch] and helping [Witches] everywhere, aren’t I? Don’t lecture me about magic. Not all of us have to hold hands and sing songs. I was watching you teach Nanette the absolute basics. Where’s the Witch Califor who did real magic? I guess Mavika’s the genuine article. Later.”

She turned. Her broom shot towards her, and Alevica hopped up. Her feet landed on the broom, and she disappeared, shooting across the ground, just a few feet into the air. Ryoka watched her go enviously. Califor just shook her head.

“That would be an example of a [Witch] whose craft is both powerful and self-indulgent, Miss Griffin. Alevica is the most gifted [Witch] of her generation at her age. But her magic is self-destructive. [Witches] like that often end up in early graves.”

There was silence after that pronouncement for a bit. Ryoka sipped from her cup. Alevica had come and gone like a storm. But she had reminded Ryoka of Mavika.

“Wiskeria said Mavika was like Alevica. A bad…I mean, selfish to some degree. What craft does she use?”

She looked at Wiskeria. The [Witch] frowned.

“Crows.”

“Crows?”

“Not all [Witches] need just emotions. The strength of her flock is probably part of her power. I’m sure she uses some stuff. Fear, loathing, uh…superstition?”

She looked at Califor and Eloise for confirmation. Califor nodded.

“It’s an old way. Too cumbersome for my taste.”

“And imagine feeding all the crows. But Mavika is old. And quite powerful.”

Eloise sighed and shook her head. Ryoka nodded. She forbore asking who was most powerful; it seemed like Alevica was lower on that totem pole than Califor, at any rate. Ryoka glanced around and jumped. She’d nearly forgotten about the shadowed [Witch] under the tree. She hesitated, then plunged into it.

“Okay. Then…do you mind me asking what Belavierr uses?”

The picnic went silent. Nanette edged closer to Califor, and the older [Witch] lowered her cup. She and Eloise looked at each other. Eloise murmured.

“Loss. Among other things.”

“I see. Is she—different from the rest of you?”

“Only in the sense of age. Any [Witch] might become as powerful as her. In time.”

Califor sniffed, but it was quietly. Eloise shook her head.

“Any [Witch] might. But you could regard her as the most powerful [Witch] present by some margin, Miss Griffin. And Belavierr is extraordinary. Let us leave it at that.”

Ryoka wanted to. But she had promised Laken, damn it. Exactly what she had promised and how much she owed him was up for debate, but Belavierr spoke to Ryoka of every movie cliché and old story possible. If there ever was a big, bad [Witch] who was going to cause trouble, it was her.

“Sorry, Eloise. But I do have to know. What did she offer Rehanna? Why were you two fighting over her?”

Eloise paused. She put down the packet of herbs and looked up slowly. She didn’t scowl, not exactly, but Ryoka felt the pleasant air go still for a moment. Eloise’s voice was sharper as she glanced at Belavierr.

“Both she and I have different philosophies towards what should be done with Rehanna. We both offer resolution of a kind. In this instance, Belavierr got to Rehanna first. I wish it hadn’t been so. I don’t know what she offered.”

But she could guess. Wiskeria, Califor, Eloise—none of them wanted to say. Ryoka glanced at Nanette. The girl just looked slightly frightened as she glanced at Belavierr, and awed.

“I take it she’s a legend among [Witches]? A Weatherwax, if you will?”

“What kind of name is that?”

Califor frowned and shook her head. Ryoka recalled what Wiskeria had said. They were all legends. But then, did that make Belavierr a myth? Ryoka hesitated.

“I’d like to ask her some questions. If I could. Wiskeria?”

“What? I can help you with that. It’s fine.”

Wiskeria said that as much to Ryoka as the other [Witches]. Califor and Eloise traded a glance and nodded. Reluctantly. Ryoka saw that and grew considerably more apprehensive as Wiskeria got up. But the daughter walked over to Belavierr as casually as could be. Ryoka, following her, felt the shadows seem to grow as she approached Belavierr’s tree.

It was…dark here. Darker, despite the shining sun and clear skies not a foot away. The shadows of the tree made Ryoka’s skin break out into goosebumps as she walked under them. It was quiet. Extremely so. She saw Belavierr sitting, the hat hiding her face. And the [Witch]’s hands were moving.

A pale needle flashed between long fingers. A pale, flesh-colored thread was moving as the needle stitched. The [Witch]’s hands were so fast that Ryoka couldn’t follow them. The needle moved in, out, changing, a hypnotic dance. It made Ryoka uneasy. The rest of Belavierr was so still. Part of Ryoka told her not to approach.

But Wiskeria was there. The [Witch] looked down at her mother and frowned. She was unaffected by the nervousness that touched Ryoka. She glanced back at Ryoka. The young woman gulped. Her mouth was suddenly dry. She coughed.

“Belavierr? Um. Witch Belavierr. I’d like to speak with you. If I may?”

There was no response. That was the scariest part of all. Belavierr kept stitching, only her arms moving, without reaction. It was like she hadn’t heard a thing. Ryoka tried again.

“Witch Belavierr? I seek an audience. Witch Belavierr? I’d like to talk…”

It was very dark. And Belavierr’s hands kept moving. Ryoka took a step back uneasily. There it was again. That feeling in the air. Like she got with Fierre or the fae. Or Teriarch, come to that. A sense of timelessness. Belavierr had that quality. But also what she’d sensed from the things around the fire. Az’kerash.

Another layer of wrongness. That was it. It wasn’t as…strong as the things around the fire. Az’kerash had been terrifying in another way. But Ryoka sensed that she did not want to see what Belavierr was doing. She looked at Wiskeria. The [Witch] was staring down. She didn’t feel it?

But Belavierr was her mother. The daughter turned to Ryoka, realized Belavierr was still stitching, and bent.

“Mother. Mother.”

No response. Wiskeria grabbed Belavierr’s shoulder and, to Ryoka’s horror, shook her slightly. The [Witch] moved, but kept stitching.

“I think she’s busy—”

“She’s just not paying attention. I hate when she does—hold on.”

Wiskeria made a disgusted sound. She looked reluctantly at her mother and then glanced at Ryoka. Then she coughed.

“Um. Mother, I need your help.”

Ryoka had privately been thinking that if Belavierr suddenly looked up or started crawling towards her like some Japanese horror movie, she’d soil herself and run away. When Belavierr’s head suddenly snapped up, Ryoka got close. She stepped back as the [Witch]’s ringed eyes fixed on Wiskeria.

“Yes, Daughter?”

“Hi, Mother.”

Wiskeria looked like she was sucking on pieces of glass. She glanced at Ryoka.

“I have someone here who wants to ask you questions.”

The head slowly turned, and the eyes fixed on Ryoka. The City Runner froze. How could Belavierr be scarier than Fierre and her entire family put together just by turning her head?

“I—I—uh, greetings, Witch Belavierr. We meet again?”

“Hello.”

The [Witch] stared at Ryoka with a completely blank expression. She had no idea who Ryoka was. However, then she tilted her head, stood in one fluid motion, and did something odd.

Again, like their first encounter, Belavierr leaned forwards and sniffed Ryoka. The Wind Runner froze up, and even Wiskeria looked surprised. And scandalized.

“Mother!”

Belavierr paced around Ryoka, sniffing lightly, staring at her as Ryoka froze. It was like a tiger had suddenly begun pacing around her. She tried to move—but suddenly, the Stitch Witch’s eyes were locked on her. And it was terrifying.

“You…smell like my nemesis. Vaguely. You smell like the mice I have sworn to kill. Vaguely. Who…are you?”

Belavierr whispered in Ryoka’s ear. She stepped back, and Wiskeria was there, blocking Ryoka.

“Ryoka, Mother. Ryoka Griffin, and she is a guest of the [Emperor] here, and you are sworn by the coven’s will not to disrupt our plans. So behave and listen. I need a favor of you.”

Belavierr blinked. She stepped back and stopped peering at Ryoka so hard. She sat back down, cross-legged. After a moment, her eyes met Ryoka’s, but ‘lightly’, without the same intensity. Just…the same eerie rings pulling Ryoka in.

“My daughter asks me a favor. Something I have not heard in years. You have questions. Ask and I will answer.”

Ryoka had to stare at Belavierr’s boots to even get a reply out. She stuttered.

“W-well, I’m just curious about your, uh, craft. Your coven is, uh, surprising. Since it’s here in Riverfarm, I mean. I, uh—could I ask why you’re—I mean, I know why you’re here. So, um…”

The glowing, orange stare was going right through Ryoka. Belavierr didn’t look away, and she didn’t blink. Ryoka realized she was waiting for a question. Ryoka fumbled for the first one she could think of.

“What—what’s your craft, Witch Belavierr? What do you…do?”

At last, the [Witch] blinked. She raised one hand, and Ryoka saw her holding the needle.

“I stitch. Thread. Cloth. My craft is stitching. Sewing. Connection and binding. It is important for a [Witch] to know her craft.”

“Of course. Of course. Uh—”

Ryoka was sweating. She wiped at it. Cold as ice.

“What can you do with stitch magic? I mean, it sounds great. Amazing. But, uh, I met Eloise, and she makes tea—which is great, but I sort of thought that a [Witch] of her level would have more powerful magic. No offense to Eloise. But what’s her end result? I mean, say she’s Level 80. Does she make tea that can kill a Dragon or something?”

She was blabbering. Wiskeria shot her a glance and stared at Ryoka’s pale expression. She whispered.

“Come on, don’t be bothered. I know she’s odd, but she won’t hurt you.”

Odd? Ryoka was about to wet herself in terror, and Wiskeria thought her mother was just a bit off? This was beyond supernatural. But Wiskeria was treating her mother as if she were just a bit eccentric.

Belavierr’s eyes flicked to her daughter. Then she shook her head slowly. Her gaze went to Eloise at her tea party.

“What is simple is not weak. Tea is a part of a whole. When Eloise brews tea, her magic is one thing. It could be many things. Poison and medicine are two halves. Tea is a medicine or food or aspect of society. Her magic may destroy. In time, it may create.”

“Create? Like tea golems?”

Ryoka tried to laugh. It sounded a bit hysterical. Belavierr shook her head.

“I doubt Eloise wishes to create life. She may create happiness. Something to induce love or sadness. Fear or regret. If she wished it, she could create something like life through herbs. It would not be wise. Such was the arrogance of those that created the first true Cloth Golems with thought. String-people.”

“String-people?”

Ryoka and Wiskeria both stared at Belavierr’s face. When did they get to String-people? And had Belavierr just implied…? The [Witch] blinked. Once.

“The first Cloth Golems that became String-people were made by masters of the craft. [Golem Artificers], [Weavers], [High Mages]. And [Witches]. That is a part of my craft. But the act is creation. Connection. It is one part. They did not control what they made, for it was beyond each component part. Does that answer your question?”

The young woman gaped at Belavierr. At last, she managed a response.

“Yes?”

“Very well.”

Belavierr nodded. She looked at her daughter, then seemed to recall something. She looked at Ryoka.

“I am pleased to meet you, Ryoka Griffin. I hope you will take care of my daughter.”

It sounded like she’d memorized that line. Coming from her, it didn’t sound like a threat. But the words fit Belavierr not at all. Ryoka nodded quickly.

“Of course. Rather, it’s her taking care of me. And Riverfarm. I’m just a City Runner! Wiskeria’s the [General]—er—[Witch].”

“Yes. Both paths lead towards danger. One is not hers. It was given. The other she chose. And in both, she has not yet walked.”

Belavierr frowned. She turned away from Ryoka and looked at Wiskeria. For the first time, she really seemed to focus on Wiskeria’s face. That timeless tone seemed to vanish, and Belavierr…woke up? Ryoka stared, fascinated, as the [Witch] looked at her daughter, who was fiddling with her hat.

“Daughter. You should continue your training. Develop your craft. You are no [General], but a [Witch]. You have yet to make use of your power.”

Wiskeria shook her head, exasperated.

“I’m fine, Mother. I’m an adventurer. That’s good enough for me. And I chose to be a [General]. Laken just gave me the class.”

She looked away from Belavierr, at Ryoka. As if the mile-long stare didn’t work on her at all. Belavierr whispered.

“I could have made you a [General] of countless armies had you asked me.”

Wiskeria’s head snapped back around.

“Yes? Well, I didn’t ask you, Mother. I wanted to find my place myself! The one time I asked you for a true favor, I regretted it all my life. I still do. So forgive me for doing things my way.”

Belavierr stopped, and Ryoka’s eyes swung to Wiskeria’s taut expression. Okay, things were making sense. Ryoka understood this, at least, and despite her ancient eyes, her unsettling presence—something about Belavierr’s tone was just the tiniest bit of irked motherhood.

“You do it so inefficiently, Daughter mine. As for your regrets, I do not recall when I have ever failed you. Was it the name you mentioned? I almost recall…Ostevien.”

Wiskeria’s eyes flashed.

“Fail me? Mother—you never fail. That’s the problem. If you can’t remember, fine. I’ll do it for you.”

She turned, as Belavierr frowned hugely, and talked to Ryoka as if Belavierr had ceased to exist.

“Well, Ryoka, you got your answer. Any more questions? Actually, we can ask later. Good to see you, Mother. Is your death here yet?”

“I may not die for—”

“Good! Let me know if it changes.”

Without waiting for a response, she took a step back. And stopped. Belavierr had stepped around her, blocking her path. It was so fast Ryoka jumped. The [Witch] bent down, intent on Wiskeria.

“You will die without a craft, Daughter. You have potential. But you refuse to fully become what makes you a [Witch]. We have discussed this.”

“Mother. I’m fine.”

Wiskeria turned away. Ryoka realized she was watching a mother-daughter argument, albeit the scariest one she’d ever seen. She jumped as Wiskeria pointed at her.

“Ryoka’s not putting me in any danger. And I’m fine in Riverfarm. I’ve been fine since I left. I don’t need your help. If I get into trouble, I get into trouble.”

“A [Witch] is incomplete without her craft. I am concerned, Daughter. I would not wish your death.”

So saying, Belavierr reached out and adjusted Wiskeria’s hat with the hand that held the needle. Her daughter flinched away. She stared at her mother, vexed.

“Mother! I don’t want to learn from you.”

Belavierr replied steadily.

“I did not suggest myself. As I said. You are a poor [Witch], half-formed. If you do anything, I would have you do it well.”

“I’m fine. I’ll decide what I want to be. Not you. Mother.”

Wiskeria glared. Belavierr stared. The two only broke away when they noticed Ryoka edging back. She stopped as both looked at her.

“I’m just—uh, I’ll leave you to it.”

“No, I’m done. Mother, you can continue your work. If Ryoka has questions, she’ll come back and ask. Okay?”

Wiskeria walked away from Belavierr. The other [Witch] didn’t reach out to stop her or move. But her eyes fixed on Wiskeria as she hurried with Ryoka away from the tree. Belavierr kept staring long after Ryoka had hurried back into the warm, glorious bright day. But she was still there, standing and staring.

Eventually, she went back to sitting down. When Ryoka wasn’t watching, of course. One second she was standing and staring, the next second Ryoka looked, she was sewing again in the shadows of the tree, as if she’d never stood.

Not creepy at all. Ryoka shuddered as she sat with Wiskeria. The [Witch] looked embarrassed. She tugged her hat over her reddish cheeks as she sat back down.

“Sorry. I don’t have a good relationship with her. We’re…we have differences of opinion.”

Ryoka stared at Wiskeria. That was what she thought Ryoka was bothered by? Then again—that conversation had been pretty bad if you ignored Belavierr being Belavierr.

And here Ryoka thought her relationship with her mother was bad. From the outset, it looked almost similar. Almost. Angry daughter versus distant, if caring, mother. Okay, Ryoka’s had more been ‘angry daughter and distant mother’ without even the caring bit. In this case…Ryoka looked at Belavierr and suspected Wiskeria had a good reason for not wanting her mother’s help.

Even so, that had been one intense conversation. Ryoka was cursing herself for not thinking of something important to ask. But—her eyes widened as she looked at Wiskeria. Eloise was sipping tea, and Califor had been teaching Nanette how to perform Alevica’s trick. They looked up as Ryoka pointed back at Belavierr.

“Did your mother just say the first String-people were Cloth Golems, Wiskeria?”

Wiskeria paused.

“I…think she did.”

She stared back towards the tree. Ryoka gaped at her. Wiskeria blinked a few times, and Nanette’s jaw dropped. Ryoka looked around at the other [Witches].

“Hey. Hey, isn’t that kind of a big thing?”

Eloise’s brows rose. Califor frowned. She tossed the water cupped in her palm back into the stream.

“It is an old story. One largely ignored by Stitch-folk for the shame of it. I imagine the String-people of Chandrar know most of what Belavierr could tell. Or at least, some of them would. The full tale might be valuable indeed if she was there and saw it all.”

“That is Belavierr for you. She can be very casual with information and secrets. I’ll try to find a book. Perhaps it is a well-guarded secret. Or just secret. Or simply history everyone has forgotten.”

The [Tea Witch] nodded to Califor. Ryoka spluttered.

“But—but how does she know that?”

Califor frowned as Nanette created some steam from her palmful of water.

“From other [Witches], perhaps. Or it may simply be something she learned. She is a master of needle magic. Hmf. She might have been there herself, even.”

It sounded like a joke, so Ryoka laughed.

“She’s not that old. Right?”

Eloise and Califor paused uncertainly. After a second, Califor coughed and shook her head briskly.

“No, of course she isn’t. Did you find the answers to the questions you sought?”

“I…didn’t have a good one to ask. And I froze when I was talking to her.”

Ryoka put her head in her hands. Wiskeria shrugged, looking annoyed.

“We can go back and ask. Do you have anything you want to know?”

She made it sound so casual. Ryoka didn’t know. Put like that, she had a hundred and one questions. What could you ask an immortal [Witch] with creepy eyes who might have been around when Octavia’s entire species had been created? Ryoka’s mind obligingly coughed up a list with a few hundred entries.

What kinds of foods do Dragons like? How do you bribe them? Know of any good treasure buried nearby? Do you have a magical wand I can buy for, like, fifty gold pieces that’s worth two thousand times the price? How do you fly—

How do you bring back a dead friend from the land of the fae? Do they truly die?

Sitting on the grass, the young woman looked up. And the [Witches] sitting around her glanced up sharply. Four, young and old. Ryoka didn’t notice. She gazed up at the blue sky. And she reached into her pocket and felt something cold. Slowly, she shook her head.

“No. No. I think—it’s fine. Sorry. I’ve got to go. I, uh—have some deliveries to do. It was really nice to meet you all.”

She touched her heart and got up. Ryoka turned away and walked back towards Riverfarm. Then away from the village. Suddenly, she wanted to be alone for a bit. She walked past a tree where Alevica was stretched out, using her floating broomstick as a footrest. Away. Her heart filled with memories that snatched her away from the present.

The [Witches] saw it on her. They were sympathetic or indifferent or kind as each wished to be. But none of them stopped Ryoka, although Eloise looked wistfully at the cup she’d been about to offer Ryoka.

That was that for the day. The [Witches] began to pack up the small gathering. They had work to do in Riverfarm, or they simply didn’t need to stay here. They left soon after. But one [Witch] remained. She was stitching. Working on something with cloth and thread, the rest of her unmoving. Until she paused. Then Belavierr glanced up.

She turned her head and watched Ryoka as the Runner girl ran away. And Ryoka had a bad day. But that was nothing new.

—–

Later that evening, the small Runner’s Guild in Filk had a visitor. A Centaur trotted through the open doors, much to the amazement of the [Receptionist] on duty. He stuttered as she walked up to the desk.

“Uh—how can I help you Miss…? Are you here for a delivery?”

“Nope! Doing one! I just came here from Riverfarm. I mean, Riverfarm’s Runner’s Guild. I’m their top Runner. I’m Charlay the Dustrider, by the way. Famous City Runner. You may have heard of me?”

Charlay grinned at the expression on the young man’s face. After a few seconds of frantically whispering with the [Receptionist] next to him, he shook his head.

“Excuse me, Miss Charlay, but Riverfarm doesn’t have a Runner’s Guild. We’re one of the only ones around for miles since Lancrel fell!”

He said that with a bit of pride. Charlay just fixed him with one eye.

“Well, we’re a Runner’s Guild. They just made one. So give me some seals and stuff for the Guild! Lady Rie’ll pay for all of it.”

She slapped a letter down on the counter. The [Receptionist] spluttered, but Charlay was the best Centaur for this job. Mainly because she refused to go away until he gave her what she wanted. Then she happily trotted out of the Runner’s Guild as he spread the news. And wasn’t that big news? Someone had made a Runner’s Guild in Riverfarm? Why? Was something there? You heard about that [Emperor]. Hold on—

And news travelled. But Charlay wasn’t in a place to see the effects. In fact, her next stop in Filk came after she halted three Street Runners, the third of whom pointed her in the direction she wanted to go. As Ryoka had learned in Reizmelt, Runners needed certain services. One of those services came in a very small room with a greasy man who arrogantly put his feet up on his desk and wasn’t at all impressed by Charlay. She glared at him as she folded her arms.

“Well? Can you do it?”

The man sneered across his desk.

“Of course I can. I’m Filk’s best [Fence] and [Broker].”

“Yeah, and that means what, exactly?”

He twitched a bit at that. The man was a Runner’s Opener, and he dealt in letters, but he also had ties to what little of Filk’s criminal underworld there was, and he didn’t like Charlay’s tone. But she also looked ready to kick something in his office, so he weighed his options and replied in an annoyed tone.

“You’re asking for information, but how do I know you’re good for it? You’re not local. You could be with the Watch or trying to rat me out to the Runner’s Guild!”

He was just being annoying, and both he and Charlay knew it. If he thought she was what he’d claimed, she wouldn’t have found him. Charlay stamped one hoof on the old floorboards.

“I’m cool! And it’s not my request. Check your stupid list. This is from Ryoka Griffin, and Fierre of Reizmelt vouches for her. That good for you?”

The man sucked his teeth irritably, but nodded.

“Fierre of Reizmelt. Yeah, I know her. Let me check.”

He was actually a decent [Broker], because he had a file of Runners. Ryoka was a recent addition Charlay noted as she craned her neck to see. The man looked up, covered the sheets of paper, and glared.

“Back off!”

“Can’t. Your room’s too small.”

He looked ready to curse her out. Instead, the man decided to up his price. Gold soothed hurt pride. He nodded grudgingly.

“Ryoka Griffin? Your recommendation’s good. But I want payment in advance! No telling how many people I’ll have to ask for information on Rhir-cursed [Witches].”

“How much?”

“Five big ones.”

“Go eat your tail. One.”

“Don’t be a mule. Three.”

“Take it back!”

“Three’s my final—”

“Take it back or I kick you!”

It was not an idle threat. After a few minutes, the haggling was done. Charlay passed over three gold coins. Mainly because there was a broken floorboard that needed fixing now. The [Broker] leaned back as he accepted the coins and glared.

“Come back in four days. You or Ryoka Griffin. And bring more gold, got it?”

“This had better be good. If it’s not, Ryoka will kick your face in—”

“It’s good! And if it’s not, we’ll talk about fees. Now get out of my office before you kick down a wall!”

Charlay stuck a tongue out at the man as she left. She grumbled as she trotted down the stupid stairs and prepared for a long run back to Riverfarm. Three gold coins? Highway robbery! But it was a down payment, and Ryoka might get a lot of information on the [Witches] or none at all, depending on what the [Broker] could find. She could negotiate with him next time.

The Centauress, peeved, began her long run back to Riverfarm. All the things she put up with. And for what? She shook her head, sighing.

“Ryoka’s lucky to have a friend like me.”

Day 58 – Ryoka

The next day, Ryoka Griffin ran. She had avoided Durene all of yesterday except for when Charlay had come back that night. Then Ryoka had distracted the conversation from more ‘ideas’ by thanking Charlay and buttering her up. And today, she’d set out early on the deliveries Ram and the other villagers had wanted her to make.

She still felt bad after yesterday. It wasn’t right, Ryoka knew. But sometimes, thinking of Ivolethe could just send her in a spiral. She was dead. Ryoka thought she was dead. Maybe she wasn’t. That was the hope Ryoka sometimes clung to. The fae were immortals. Although even gods could die.

But either way, she was gone. When Ryoka thought of her, she thought of her mistakes. In a way, she identified with Wiskeria. How could you make up for so many?

So Ryoka ran to keep her mind off how she felt. It wasn’t a hard run; the dirt roads were deserted. Charlay ran with Ryoka, yawning and complaining, but soon split up to do some of the deliveries. Then Ryoka ran alone. She ran through empty stretches of forest, flat land, up hills, down them.

Rarely did she see settlements. Usually, they were small. Sometimes it was a single home, a cottage made by someone who wanted to live alone. Other times it was a small village. Usually, it was a few houses. A lonely farmstead.

The first home she came to was a [Fisher]’s hut. He lived on the edge of the marshlands. When he opened the door it was warily. Ryoka thought she saw the flash of a knife as he tucked it back into his belt; she’d been on edge after passing a burnt field and had put one hand on a Tripvine Bag. But the man was welcoming enough. And he was very surprised by the letter.

“From Riverfarm? Ram? He can afford a City Runner to just send letters about?”

He incredulously read the letter, sounding some of the words out. It was a short message from Ram, mainly checking on how he was. Ryoka nodded.

“It’s a service for, uh, His Majesty, Emperor Laken Godart. If you want, I’ll take any letters you write on my way back. In a few hours at the latest.”

“Really? Well, I’d better write a response! That’s just grand of you, Miss Griffin. Not many Runner’d do that. And I’d like to write something. Could—could you maybe help me with some of the words?”

Ryoka did just that. The [Fisher] was only too happy to send a lengthy, rambling response. He finished with an invitation for Ram to drop by at some point.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen anyone around here. Not that I mind, you understand? Only, well, I go into this nearby village to sell some of my fish sometimes, see. Windrest. Only now it’s…gone.”

The young woman looked up.

“Some of Windrest’s people are at Riverfarm.”

“Oh, I know that. But they’re gone and ain’t coming back. And a lot of my neighbors are gone too. This bloke eight miles thataway—I hated the bastard, but now I miss him. Funny.”

The [Fisher] squatted by his rack of dried fish as Ryoka paused, looking the way he pointed. The man spat close to one of his fish.

“Goblins. At first it was the raids from that Great Chieftain what got killed. You heard of him? Tremborag. What kinda world is this where Goblin Chieftains have names? Let alone an army that large!”

“So everyone fled them?”

“Yup. Them Goblin raiders. They burnt and pillaged the area. I stayed because I’ve got my fishing spear and I ain’t about to run, but I can’t blame the others. I saw some of them, you know. Goblins riding wolves. Hundreds of ‘em! Even with an army fighting them—two armies when Lord Veltras arrived!”

“Did they attack your home?”

The man shook his head darkly.

“Not me. It’s hard to find, see? But lots of places aren’t so lucky. And even though the Goblins are gone—there’s less folk about. That’s dangerous. For me and anyone living hereabouts. Hey, would you mind checking in on some I know?”

Ryoka reluctantly nodded.

“I could. But what’s the problem? If the Goblins didn’t get them, they can keep going on as normal, right? Unless it’s the [Bandits].”

“Not just [Bandits], Miss. There’s always some lowlifes about. But if there’s less folk, we can’t group up if there’s a need. You understand what I’m saying? In the past, we’d have run a local [Bandit] group off. But if there’s fewer of us left…”

The young woman thought about what the man meant.

“Less people for a militia, you mean.”

“Exactly. If something big arrives, we come together and fight it. Time was, there were always enough folks with a few Skills like [Long Range Shot] and a good bow, or someone who’d been a [Guard] or a [Warrior]. But less people means more danger. And what with all the places the Goblins burned, there are [Bandits] now, too. Bad times, Miss. Bad times. I worry, but I’ll stay here. I always have. Here. I can’t offer you pay, but take this for the road and share ‘em if you see anyone I know, will you?”

Discontented, the [Fisher] selected three of his fish and offered them to Ryoka. She took the fish and nodded. The [Fisher] was well enough, even if he reminded her of Lupp, intentionally isolated. But he was an outlier.

The second place Ryoka visited was in a tiny settlement, barely more than thirty people, which translated into around twelve buildings, not all of them actual homes. This time, she halted on approach; the arrow that blew by her cheek froze her in place.

“Not a step closer or I loose! Back off and turn around! There’s nothing for you here!”

An [Archer] standing on a crude watchtower shouted at Ryoka. She threw up her hands and shouted back.

“City Runner! I’m a City Runner!”

There was a pause.

“Prove it!”

Ryoka had trouble doing that because the bowman didn’t want her to throw her Runner’s Seal or come closer. Eventually she managed to persuade him by divesting herself of her bag of holding and belt items, and he confirmed her seal at a distance. Then he let her collect her things and approach.

“Sorry, Miss Runner. But none of us expect a Runner in these times. It’s dangerous, you should know. Not worth risking your life over for silver coins.”

“[Bandits]?”

The man lowered the longbow, looking embarrassed, but not ashamed. The [Archer] nodded.

“There’s a bad group led by a [Pyromancer]. Some bastard who throws [Fireballs] with a staff. If you see them, I’d surrender. We’ve been safe because we take turns watching, and half of us can hit anything in range with bows.”

He pointed around the flat land this small settlement had chosen to build in the center of. Ryoka nodded appreciatively.

“I’ve got some letters. You can send a reply if you want. Tell me, how is it around here? I met a [Fisher] who said it was getting dicey?”

“Dicey? Oh—my wife’ll want to read this. Can you take a letter back? I can pay you a bit—”

“No charge.”

“You’re too kind. But step inside and I can give you something to drink. And yes, it’s bad. But we keep on. We always have, so long as we watch out. In a bit, the [Bandits]’ll move on. There’s not much for them; I don’t know why they’re here to begin with. I was a [Watchman] in a big city before I moved here, and I know most [Bandits] like valuable targets, not what they can scavenge. And this group’s nasty. It’s absorbed all the desperate folks. That damn [Mage]—”

Ryoka wondered what the Pithfire Hound’s Captain, Levil, would have made of the rogue [Mage]. She found herself missing those adventurers. She was far from home. What was she doing here? But then, when the [Archer] led her into the small settlement and people came out to meet her, Ryoka felt ashamed.

They were welcoming, offering a drink and asking for the news as the [Archer] resumed his post. Ryoka got to ask one question as they scrambled to send replies back to people they knew in Riverfarm.

“Have you ever thought of moving? Getting away if it’s so dangerous?”

“And how would we do that with the roads occupied by [Bandits], Miss? We’d be a huge target. We’d be homeless. Besides, my great grandfather built this place. We’ll be fine. But I appreciate it. You come right back, and I’ll give you a hot lunch or dinner, you hear? Just wave or my man’ll put an arrow between your eyes. Although he might recognize you, as distinctive as you look! Such lovely hair.”

The wife of the [Archer] pinched Ryoka’s cheek as the other occupants of the houses cursed and looked for their inkpots and something to write a reply with. It was a pleasant experience, and Ryoka ran on.

The third place she visited wasn’t so uplifting. It was burnt. Ryoka slowed warily in front of the large home that could have held a family and a half. Fire had consumed it. She couldn’t tell how old it was, but she did notice a fragment of cloth when she steeled herself to walk inside and look for bodies. It was attached to a beam where someone had carved a deep message and planted it—after the fire.

Going to Melon’s. Look for us in Filk if not there.

Ryoka didn’t know who ‘Melon’ was. But the next two homes saw her to a wary [Herbalist] living by herself and an abandoned home, respectively. The third was Melon’s farm, and he greeted her with a pitchfork at the door.

Say what you wanted about [Farmers] and the dangers of monsters preying on them, but Ryoka pitied the fools who’d try their luck against Melon, the [Farmer] who grew his namesake. His Skills turned the simple pitchfork into something that could go right through a barn door. He happily showed it to Ryoka before telling her the missing family was here. Then his face crumpled up into his bushy brown beard.

“This letter’s from Helm? If it’s Helm—tell him I’ve got three families under my roof. My stores can’t handle the burden—if he can spare anything, coin, wood, food—”

He gestured back at his farm home. It was large, but filled to bursting with his family alone. Apparently three more had come seeking refuge at the doughty [Farmer]’s when trouble had started. What was worse, he couldn’t support them all; his melons were a luxury. Already, the adults had left to make ends meet.

“Half the folks are working in or around Filk, but we’re afraid to try and send the others that way. There are too many folk on the roads. They burnt down Kayla’s two weeks back. Tell Helm.”

“The [Pyromancer]?”

Ryoka frowned. Melon shrugged.

“Don’t know. They haven’t come this way, thank the stars. But I saw smoke Kayla’s way.”

He pointed. Ryoka hesitated.

“Did this Kayla make it out? Her family?”

Melon planted the pitchfork on the ground and shook his head slowly.

“It was just her. And she did not. We found a zombie wandering about and put her back to sleep, properly. Tell me—is that [Emperor] back in Riverfarm? I remember seeing a bunch of [Riders] who were hunting down the Goblins. Where’d he go?”

“He’s not back yet.”

“Damn. Well, I hope to all hells he gets here. There’ve been worse times, believe me. We once had Crelers here. An adult if you can believe it. We had to get a Named Adventurer to come this way, but he turned up fast given the emergency. But who wants to fight [Bandits]? Gah. If it goes on, we’ll have to have a whip round and see if we can muster the gold to hire a Silver-rank team to take the [Bandits] on. But I’d settle for that [Emperor].”

He shook his head. Ryoka stared at Melon. So Laken was wanted. At least by one man. The [Farmer] trooped back to the house, waving at the frightened faces peeking out at him and Ryoka.

“Now, let me write a reply. Can I offer you a melon? Helm can have one. I owe him for this pitchfork anyways. Uh…just say I forgot to give him his money when you were here. Slipped my mind.”

The man’s words stayed with Ryoka throughout the day. And his words were only reinforced by the other places she visited. There were four more wrecks. One fresh. Ryoka saw a body only once. When she did, she ran; the ash looked fresh. She marked each spot and all the people she’d met. Two hadn’t let her get close, and five more had asked for help if it could be spared. She went back, collecting letters and messages. And all the while, she thought.

“This isn’t good.”

Riverfarm was rural, one of those unsettled places on the continent. If they were further north, there might be more bigger towns or cities nearby, more populated land. But Humans had spread more slowly to the south; wars with the Drakes had erased some cities and towns over time, and frankly, there was just more space here still.

“Sort of like the wild west of the United States, I suppose. Too much land for anyone to settle. Not like home right now. But they have to worry about more than wild animals, starvation, and criminals in this world.”

And they did. Oh, they did. The spirit of the [Fisher] living alone by himself with his spear told Ryoka what those early settlers must have been like. Some people took to isolation. You could live happily here. But sometimes calamity happened. And the Goblins had been just that.

An [Emperor] was needed. Or maybe an [Emperor] was just…helpful. Like it would be if someone killed the [Bandits]. The people could live here even if no one helped. Or rather—some would live. Maybe the area would be vacated by all but the most hardy and slowly repopulate, but people would return, barring some kind of major disaster. But that said nothing of the lives Ryoka had met. She thought of Melon’s farm and the [Archer] and his family and realized they were faces she wouldn’t easily forget.

“This is really depressing. And we’re not getting paid.”

Charlay summed up the experience at the end of the day as she and Ryoka ran back. The City Runner glared at her.

“I wouldn’t put it exactly like that, Charlay.”

“Well, I would. All these people were whining to me about how dangerous it is or asking me to carry back supplies. I’m not a pack horse!”

Charlay was indignant. Ryoka sighed and nodded. It was true. There was no profit for them as City Runners to use their talents here. That was why Riverfarm needed a Runner’s Guild so badly, with local Runners who would run for cheap. Hell, it needed patrols. And a damn army, or at least, ten times as many Darksky Riders to keep the place safe. Or a Laken. She ran with Charlay, and after a few minutes, the Centauress looked over.

“Don’t get me wrong. It’s okay to help now and then. I’m fine with not earning money for now. I’ve got lots. Well, compared to these people. But we can’t do anything. We just deliver stuff.”

“Right.”

—–

The two City Runners returned to Riverfarm. Durene and Wiskeria joined them for a dinner in the cottage. Wiskeria informed them that the [Witches] hadn’t caused any trouble. Today, at least.

“It’s not really in their nature to make trouble, besides. They mainly just practiced their craft again today. Eloise, Hedag, Mavika, and my mother, that is. Califor’s teaching Nanette, Alevica’s bored. I guess that’s all we can ask for.”

“Think they’ll hold until Laken gets here?”

Ryoka looked up hopefully. Riverfarm seemed to be decent. Then again, Durene reported that Councilwoman Beatica was trying to get people upset about the [Witches]. But it felt stable. Ryoka wondered if she could just…leave. Laken was still practically two weeks away. Did she have to stay here the entire time? She didn’t want to.

What could she do? Durene kept staring at her. Ryoka thought the answer was nothing. She changed the subject to Hedag, the only [Witch] she hadn’t really met. Ryoka had heard about the infamous head-chopping, of course, but the woman herself was a mystery. Durene frowned.

“I saw Hedag performing tricks for the children. She sold a few trinkets to the women, but is that enough?”

Wiskeria shrugged.

“It’s her craft. She’s not in it to make money. All the [Witches] have other things to sell, though. They’ll do it if they feel like it.”

Ryoka looked up as she sipped from a very filling stew. Charlay was trying to keep hers away from Bismarck.

“I understand Eloise gathered goodwill, and Mavika fed her flock. Belavierr, Califor, and Nanette aren’t gathering today, right? But Hedag. What did she gather from the children?”

It seemed like a pertinent question. Wiskeria paused.

“Nothing. Not yet. But believe me, you’ll know when she does.”

That was appropriately ominous. Ryoka was about to press Wiskeria when Durene interrupted.

“So Ryoka—”

“No, I do not have a magical idea to fix Riverfarm!”

Ryoka shouted at the half-Troll girl. Bismarck, Frostwing, Wiskeria, Charlay, and Durene all stared at her. Durene looked hurt. Ryoka groaned internally.

“I’m sorry, Durene. But I don’t. I shouldn’t have shouted. It’s just that I’m having a bad day. I get them now and then. Actually, that’s an excuse. I just don’t know what to do.”

She stood up. The small cottage watched her as Ryoka turned around, frustrated.

“I don’t even think I’m needed. Okay, there’s a lot that could go wrong here, but you have Lady Rie and Prost. Hell, Miss Califor will probably kick any problems into next Sunday. And you have Beniar and his [Riders]. Even if Councilwoman Beatica riots, so what? You’ve got warriors on your side. What can I do?”

She looked around, shrugging. Durene frowned.

“But Laken sent you when I asked for help.”

Ryoka groaned. She sat back down heavily.

“I don’t think he knows what to do either.”

“Don’t be stupid. Of course he does.”

Durene looked shaken at the thought. That was the problem, wasn’t it? Ryoka didn’t, couldn’t, reply. The dinner ended like that, and they went to sleep silently. Ryoka alternated between kicking herself at lashing out at Durene—even if she felt like the half-Troll girl sort of deserved it—and thinking over her day’s run.

“The people.”

They remained in her memory long after that. Frightened faces. The desperate set of [Farmer] Melon’s jaw. [Bandits] on the road.

This was not her village. Not her place. But she was here, wasn’t she? Ryoka tossed and turned until Charlay threatened to kick her. Her conscience was pricking her. But she had established one fact long ago. She was no fighter. She was no killer. Erin was more likely to wipe out the [Bandits] than Ryoka was. And she was no Erin, no leader.

She had given Laken trebuchets. What would happen if she tried that again? Ballistae? Ryoka would rather eat more rat meat. What was the point of a water wheel? She couldn’t kill [Bandits]. What would Laken do? What was best for Riverfarm? What could she do?

She was spiraling. She wanted to help. But what Ryoka really wanted was to not be here. She was no leader. She knew she was no hero.

But she still cared for everyone she’d met. When had that happened?

Day 59 – Ryoka

The next day, Ryoka went for a longer walk with Nanette and Wiskeria before she embarked on more deliveries with Charlay. It was a spontaneous thing; she encountered the two younger [Witches] picking herbs outside Durene’s hut on her way to Riverfarm. Apparently, Nanette had been assigned to gather a certain amount of herbs by Miss Califor as homework, and Wiskeria was helping her out.

“Hello, Nanette. Wiskeria.”

Ryoka was still down in the dumps. Part of her just wanted to pull the plug and run off into the sunset and forget Riverfarm existed. But she knew she’d regret that too. So instead she walked with the two younger [Witches]. At least the [Witches] were fascinating.

“Um, hello, Miss Ryoka.”

Nanette greeted Ryoka quietly at first, and Ryoka bent to shake the girl’s hand. Nanette was twelve or so and clearly used to life on the road. But her hat and robes fit perfectly, and her hair was combed. Come to that, she was fresher than both Ryoka or Wiskeria, who hadn’t bathed in a day or two.

“I hope I’m not bothering you. I can take off if you want to—I’m just trying to clear my head.”

“Oh, no! I wouldn’t want to be rude. And, uhm—Miss Wiskeria was just saying how three eyes were better than one! Three pairs, I mean.”

The young girl shot a glance at Wiskeria, and the older [Witch] confirmed the lie without blinking. Both looked sideways at Ryoka, and she realized they could probably sense her funk. That only made her feel more depressed. Especially when Nanette solemnly tried to cheer her up by talking to her about all the herbs Miss Califor had ordered her to fetch.

She had the youth of a girl her age, which translated, in her case, into shyness and then a forthright earnestness that both Wiskeria and Ryoka envied. But the [Witch] aspect also showed itself to Ryoka; the girl occasionally had flashes of maturity far beyond her age. Young and old at the same time. But mostly young.

“She seems sort of imposing.”

Ryoka watched as Nanette expertly harvested with a razor-sharp sickle. Not exactly the tool Ryoka would be comfortable handing a girl her age, but Nanette looked quite competent with it. The girl looked up, smiling.

“She wants me to be a good [Witch]. And she’s very kind! I just don’t want to mess up. Because I’m her first apprentice. Her only one.”

Her cheeks turned red with pride, but also, Ryoka thought, nervousness. Ryoka shot Wiskeria a glance, and the [Witch] silently raised her brows, then nodded.

That big, huh? Ryoka turned to Wiskeria.

“What’s it like, being a [Witch]? Do you travel a lot? Or is it all variable?”

Ryoka was curious. Wiskeria shrugged.

“It depends on the [Witch]. Some of us have permanent homes like Eloise. But a lot travel. I think only Eloise has a village. Well, Mavika has her usual haunts. But I hear Miss Califor goes where she’s needed. Isn’t that right, Nanette?”

“That’s right! She used to stay in one place when I was small. But ever since I was…eight? She took me with her. All over the place! One time, she helped kill a nest of Shield Spiders. Hundreds of ‘em! And another time there was a dam that broke, and she helped the local [Witch] relocate the villagers. Miss Califor goes where she’s needed, or so she says.”

“Is that part of her craft?”

Nanette paused as she hunted around a tree and discovered a white toadstool.

“No…she says she takes whatever she wants. Goodwill, anger, all kinds. She’s so good she doesn’t need one emotion or other!”

“Really? And you like being with her?”

Ryoka’s brows shot up. Wiskeria made a face and mouthed the word ‘legend’ at her. She pointed at the white mushroom.

“Deathcap. Remember to wash your hands later. And check for spores and mold before you pick it up.”

“I know!”

Diligently, Nanette did just that and came up with the mushroom twenty seconds later. She put it into the sack and then looked at Ryoka.

“I do like it. Being a [Witch] is fun! Hard work sometimes, but it’s all I’ve ever wanted. Miss Califor raised me since I was a baby, you see—”

She broke off, looking awkward. Ryoka glanced at Nanette. Ah, so she wasn’t a student who’d come to Califor to learn. Wiskeria had said that Miss Califor had never had a student who followed her about. She looked at Wiskeria. The [Witch] tugged at her hat and cleared her throat.

“Well, you met my mother. It’s not common, but it happens. There are cases of [Witches] either adopting a child who was lost or even buying them from [Slavers]. Striking deals for a child—that’s old stuff. Sometimes a [Witch] even has a baby, but most of those cases are young. Old [Witches] rarely take in kids either way.”

Wiskeria adjusted her hat, uncomfortable, and Nanette looked down. Ryoka sensed it was a touchy subject and immediately steered to port.

“Miss Califor once took on a nest of Shield Spiders? That’s impressive. Was it by herself?”

“Almost. She had some [Hunters] and a few villagers with pitchforks, but they said she did all the work. I was too small, but they said it was all her!”

Nanette’s chest puffed out hugely in pride. It was like a girl bragging about her parents. Endearing, but it could get old. Ryoka played along as best she could.

“Then she’s got to be pretty impressive. Heck, this entire coven is. They all feel like they could take on half a dozen Gargoyles and walk out fine.”

“Maybe! Although…Miss Califor says that a good [Witch] never tries to solve things with force the first time around. We’re not as strong as regular classes, at least, not directly. But Miss Califor can do anything!”

Nanette dutifully recited the lesson she’d clearly been taught, but tacked on her own opinion at the end. Ryoka stifled a smirk. She really did like her mentor, huh? Wiskeria rolled her eyes, but gently. She pulled out a wand and tapped it.

“We rely on tools a lot. Like [Wizards]. They’re our counterparts in a sense. Take Alevica for instance. She’s good at magic, and she can summon undead, throw spells, but I think [Lightning Bolt] is her best offensive spell. In exchange for that, she can use poisons, her crossbow, a shortsword, not to mention fly—”

“She’s amazing. Isn’t she? I heard she was the kind of [Witch] you get once in a hundred years—”

The young girl breathed, then realized Wiskeria was making a face. She went on, blushing.

“Not that you’re not amazing too, Wiskeria! I didn’t mean that! And Miss Califor’s the best, obviously.”

At this, Ryoka decided she had to tease the little girl if only to stop more Miss Califor stories. As far as she’d seen, the older witch was polite, a good leader, but like Eloise, just not nearly as…imposing as Hedag, Mavika, or Belavierr.

“I’m sure Witch Califor is an amazing witch, Nanette. Buuuut…if we were comparing the best [Witches], aren’t they all impressive? It’d go…Belavierr, then Mavika, then maybe Califor or Hedag or Alevica, then Eloise, right, Wiskeria?”

Ryoka turned to Wiskeria for confirmation, and Nanette looked outraged. Her cute cheeks puffed out.

“Miss Califor is better than all of them!”

“Including Belavierr?”

Nanette hesitated. She didn’t know Belavierr like the others, so she only stuttered a bit in the face of everything she’d seen.

“Y-yes!”

“I dunno. She’s done like zero magic, hasn’t she?”

“She fought off the bandits!”

“I didn’t see it.”

Child bullying was one of Ryoka’s few talents. The Wind Runner put her hands behind her head, looking innocently helpless.

“Sorry, Nanette. Isn’t it fine if she’s like third? Fourth?”

“Fourth? She’s Witch Calfior! You’ve just never seen other [Witches] talking to her! They take off their hats to her! Don’t say bad things of Miss Califor!”

For such a sweet girl, amazingly, Nanette got incredibly mad. She balled up her fists, stamping her feet, and looked like she might try to fight Ryoka there and then. Wiskeria looked largely amused, but she was eying Ryoka, and the Wind Runner couldn’t help it.

“I just haven’t seen anything, Nanette…”

“A great witch doesn’t need to show anything!”

Here, a note of alarm entered Nanette’s tone, and Ryoka wondered how much fantastic magic Nanette had actually witnessed with her own two eyes. She hesitated.

“She’s—she’s got tons of tales! Like talking down a rampaging Cyclops! Or out-staring a Gazer! She’s made peace between Drakes and Gnolls, and—and she even has magical relics!”

Wait, what? Ryoka blinked, and Wiskeria herself looked interested.

“Really? Which ones?”

Nanette plucked at her own travelling cloak self-importantly.

“Did you see her cloak? It’s a Cloak of Balshadow, a magical artifact that can turn you as invisible as the night! And her staff comes from one of the Great Forests! The same trees that once made Dryads and Treants!”

“Really…?”

Ryoka was skeptical. She didn’t remember anything that impressive from seeing Califor. Even Wiskeria rested her chin in a hand.

“If she was wearing that, she’s either got it well hidden or I’m not good at picking that kind of thing out. Of all the things my mother taught me, I would have noticed that…”

“Still not great magic.”

“She’s amazing! You don’t even know! She’s the best [Witch] ever! None of the others are even close!”

Nanette went storming ahead, and Ryoka decided she’d pushed the girl too far. She hurried over to cajole and apologize to Nanette, and Wiskeria strode alongside the Wind Runner.

“You know, they do tell those kinds of stories about her. My mother might not have known her, but she doesn’t remember anything.”

Ryoka hesitated. Wait, really?

——

A few minutes later, Nanette had cooled down enough to apologize to Wiskeria. She looked very embarrassed, which made Ryoka look like a bully. Nanette’s apology included belittling Wiskeria’s own magic in comparison to Alevica, but Wiskeria waved this off.

“You don’t need to make me feel better, Nanette. I’m sure Miss Califor has a lesson about being realistic. I know I’m average. My mother tells me I need to improve all the time.”

So why don’t you? The question hung in the air unasked. Wiskeria tugged on her hat and answered slowly.

“It’s hard to use my craft. You see, a [Witch] does what she is compelled to do. Her craft is her purpose, in a sense. She draws strength from it. That’s also how a [Witch] is made.”

“How you’re made? And how’s that? You don’t just get the class?”

“Oh no. You have to have a moment that defines you as a [Witch]. A moment of…passion. It’s a calling. You also need a talent for magic or to want to be a [Witch], but some of us are called to it. Others just become [Mages]. But we’ve all had one. I was surprised Nanette was a [Witch] so young.”

“I got my class when I was six.”

“Six?”

Wiskeria was astonished. Nanette nodded cheerfully. Wiskeria tugged on her hat.

“I was fourteen. Of course, I wanted to be a [Witch]. But I never got the class. And when I did—well—”

She trailed off. Nanette pretended to be busy peeling bark off a tree. Ryoka hesitated. Now this was the heart of what was Wiskeria’s problem with Belavierr. She waited a beat, then asked.

“What made you become a [Witch], Wiskeria? If that’s not too personal?”

“It always is. But it’s fine. It’s no secret among [Witches]. Nanette could tell you.”

The girl squeaked and began to deny it shiftily. Wiskeria shook her head. She turned to face Ryoka.

“You know my mother’s Belavierr. And you know she’s…extraordinary. Even among other [Witches]. I always thought it was, well, not normal, but she was my mother growing up. But she’s old. The oldest, perhaps the strongest. I’m not joking, Ryoka.”

Nanette opened her mouth, perhaps to once again claim Califor-based dominion, but one look at Wiskeria’s grave expression and she fell silent.

“I know. Even I can tell that.”

“Well then. I always thought I’d be like her. I learned—you can learn magic, you know, even if you don’t have a class. Not many people know that. I was a [Mage] and a [Sewer], but I wasn’t a [Witch]. Mother always told me it would come. And I wanted it. And when it happened—well, that’s when I left. My mother taught me many secrets, but I haven’t been a [Witch] and used much of my craft yet. You could say I’m incomplete as a [Witch]. Certainly for the daughter of Belavierr, the Stitch Witch.”

The words were spilling out of her. Wiskeria took a shuddering breath, her normally calm façade gone. Ryoka waited as Nanette stared wide-eyed at the older [Witch] in the forest.

“What made you into a [Witch]?”

Wiskeria looked around. She closed her eyes.

“Seeing my mother for who she truly was.”

No one spoke after that. Wiskeria looked at them, and Ryoka silently helped her and Nanette peel more bark. Ryoka felt guilty for asking. What did she expect? After another long moment, another confession burst from Wiskeria’s mouth.

“She’s not my mother either. She found me and took me in. No one could believe it, apparently. She doesn’t…show kindness to children. But she took me in, and she says I’m her true daughter. I wish I could believe that with all my heart. But I’ve known my mother, and I’ve never met anything in this world she loves.”

Except for you? Ryoka thought of Belavierr focusing on Wiskeria. But she bit her tongue. Because part of her didn’t know if she believed it either. Nanette looked between Wiskeria and Ryoka. She was so nervous she cut her arm as she harvested a bit of Sage’s Grass.

“Nanette!”

Ryoka fumbled for a healing potion at the same time as Wiskeria. Nanette looked at the deep, deep slash on her arm and fainted. When she came around, she sat up, protesting weakly.

“I’m fine! I’m fine! I just—don’t tell Miss Califor, please? A [Witch] should never faint. Other people do the fainting, but we have to be awake or who else will?”

Wiskeria and Ryoka shared a shaky laugh. Ryoka pointed down at the girl’s healed arm. Not a scar was left, but Nanette’s eyes widened as she saw the dried blood.

“I think we should tell her. You’re healed, but that was dangerous.”

“No! She won’t trust me with herb gathering again!”

Nanette looked horrified. Wiskeria hesitated.

“Nanette—”

“I don’t want to disappoint her. She let me use a sickle just last year.”

The girl was close to tears. Ryoka scrubbed a hand through her hair. Wiskeria hesitated.

“That’s unusual. Califor believes in learning by experience. I sliced my hand to the bone, and she just told me to practice a mending brew on it. I guess she’s careful because you’re young, Nanette. But really—”

“No!”

“Come on, we’ll tell her it was our fault. But she should know. She’s your teacher. What’s the worst that’ll happen? She’ll turn us into frogs while cackling? It’s fine, Nanette. But you should tell her.”

Ryoka gently teased the girl. Wiskeria caught on.

“Exactly. She’s not going to punish you, Nanette. Maybe scold a bit. But she’ll hardly get on a broom and race about with a black cat casting hexes.”

“Oh? You’re familiar with the [Witches] I know? Don’t forget enchanted scarecrows and dancing around naked by moonlight. Hey, Wiskeria, give me an evil cackle.”

The City Runner grinned at Wiskeria. The [Witch] laughed, and Nanette calmed down a bit. Chuckling, Wiskeria helped her clean off her arm.

“I don’t know any [Witch] that cackles, Ryoka. I’m sure my mother could do a splendid one, but I’ve heard her laugh exactly twice in my entire life. Hedag’s got a great laugh.”

“And a booming voice. That’s a great laugh; you’re right. But I can’t imagine her cackling. I could imagine Mavika cackling, though.”

“You think so? I haven’t heard her do it. Mind you, when she gets angry, she will screech and scream. You don’t want to see her cast a hex. And believe me, she can do a nasty one.”

“I heard Miss Califor cackle once.”

“Really?”

The two young women looked at Nanette. She nodded.

“She only did it once. She was embarrassed afterwards. She says it plays into, uh—uh—stereotypes about [Witches].”

“That it does. But I think she’ll be fine when you explain about the cut.”

Ryoka smiled, and Nanette reluctantly nodded. Ryoka straightened up. It was fun being together with Nanette and Wiskeria. Fun! They resumed gathering, and Nanette announced that she was nearly done with her collecting! As soon as she did, Ryoka realized she’d have to face Durene and her questions. And Riverfarm. Her good mood sank through her bare feet and into the ground.

“Gah.”

Wiskeria snapped her fingers.

“And you were cheering up. What’s wrong, Ryoka? Was it yesterday, meeting all those people? Or is it Durene? I know she’s insistent, but she trusts you. She thinks since Laken sent you, you can make things right. She really misses him. I’m sorry she’s so…”

She waved one hand. Ryoka nodded. Durene was persistent, stubborn, and clingy. Which made sense if you remembered that she was a half-Troll girl who’d lived her entire life as a social outcast. Laken had clearly been the first person to see her as a person, and Ryoka remembered the way he’d been protective of her as much as she was of him in Invrisil. But even so. She shook her head as she walked back with Nanette and Wiskeria through the forest.

“I just don’t know how to help her, Wiskeria. Or Riverfarm. I’d like to do something. But I don’t know what. I’m no [Emperor]. And I can’t give Riverfarm a grand idea. I just…”

She thought of the people. Damn it. Why did she have to care? Charlay cared, but in a sympathetic way. But Ryoka?

Ryoka was a girl from Earth. A girl who read stories about dying people, crises of humanity in Darfur, or monsters pretending to be men. Dying people. People in need. And greed and indifference in her home. She was angry. Had been angry. An angry girl. At herself, her father, at injustice. Part of her still was. But what could you do?

Nothing. Everything. But she was no [Emperor]. Ryoka stopped, closing her eyes. Into that silence, Nanette hesitantly spoke. The young [Witch] adjusted her hat and spoke up in a clear, carrying voice.

“It’s fine just to do what you want. So long as it’s something you won’t regret. You only live once. And I won’t die with any more regrets on my hat. Uh—that’s what Miss Califor says. Not me.”

The bright voice went right through Ryoka, like an arrow. She felt the words sink into her, but without barbs. I won’t die with any more regrets.

Mrsha and Ivolethe. The Horns and the Pithfire Hounds. You couldn’t go back. But you could go forwards. Without regrets? Ryoka had many. But she didn’t want to leave Riverfarm with another. She bent, and a smile crossed her face. It was rueful, because Ryoka knew it was a stupid idea she’d had. But it was hers. And this was something of her world. Why not? She straightened and looked at Nanette. The girl was watching her cautiously.

“Miss Califor says that? She’s a great [Witch], isn’t she?”

“The best in the world.”

Nanette shot Wiskeria a daring glance. The older [Witch] only smiled and tugged on her hat. Ryoka stared down at Nanette. She wondered if she’d ever been like this. And Wiskeria—Ryoka could have been looking into a mirror. But for the paler skin, yellow-green eyes, shorter height, and glasses. A mirror.

Ryoka shook her head. When did she start seeing so much of herself in the women and girls she met? No—in so many people? She straightened, took a breath, and smiled.

“I’ve got to go. Thanks, Nanette. Wiskeria. This really helped me.”

“Anytime. But where are you going, Ryoka?”

“Back to Durene’s cottage. And then into Riverfarm. I have to find Lady Rie and Prost. Catch up soon—you might want to be part of this! Got to run! Thank you! Again!”

The two [Witches] watched as Ryoka took off, running at full-speed through the forest. And they felt it, radiating off her. Where Ryoka had been dark, depressed, the clouds had lifted. Much like the blue skies overhead. But now something else poured from her. It was—

Wiskeria nudged Nanette, and the girl started. She looked up hesitantly.

“Can I—?”

“Go for it. She won’t feel it, and she won’t mind, I’m sure. You can tell her later.”

The young [Witch] nodded, then she turned and stared at Ryoka’s rapidly disappearing back. She hesitated, then she cupped her hands, pulled, and Wiskeria felt her tug a bit of the emotion from Ryoka.

It wasn’t something you could see. One second, Nanette pulled, and then she had it. It rested in her hands in a metaphorical sense. Wiskeria could sense it. A bit of…happiness.

Pure happiness. Wiskeria almost couldn’t look directly at it. And it was no emotion she’d ever use. What [Witch] would try to base her craft around something like that? Happiness? As fleeting and hard to grasp as a butterfly in a tornado. And surely useless! Who could make something out of that? How would it last?

Nanette held it and smiled, with ease. With grace. And in her hands, it pulsed, a burning, bright feeling from Ryoka. It didn’t flicker out. Because happiness lasted longer in her hands. Because it was her.

In that moment, Wiskeria envied Nanette more than she could say. She carefully cleared her throat.

“What will you make of it?”

“I don’t know. I have a few charms, but I think I’ll ask Miss Califor. I’ll put it here.”

So saying, Nanette reached up and lifted her hat. She tipped the little bit of happiness under her hat and smiled. Wiskeria sighed. But then she gestured, and they walked on through the forest. Two [Witches]. But of the two, one was growing, leveling. The other had stopped leveling years ago.

Day 59 – Durene

“You want to send food and supplies to the people in the outlying farms and villages you met. Food. Supplies. Wood.”

“That’s right. As much as Riverfarm can spare. And not just that. I want to take as many people back to Riverfarm as I can. Anyone who wants to come. Beniar and his [Riders] will need to provide us with an escort in case the [Bandits] are about.”

Lady Rie and Prost stared at Ryoka as she outlined her plan, pointing to a map of the area. So did Durene. Ryoka had raced into her cottage all excited. Durene had thought she’d come up with a good idea after yesterday. But no—Ryoka had told her to come to the village, gotten the two leaders, and now she wanted…

“And what exactly does Riverfarm get out of this? Out of giving…how much food and other materials away? I could see us taking in more people, but are we asking for coin for all this or what? Because I know these folks, and they won’t have much.”

Mister Prost was frowning at the map. Ryoka spread her hands on the table.

“No. We don’t ask for anything. This isn’t a give or take. It’s all give. If they need food, they get food. If they want to come back—and we should try persuading them—they can. But anyone who asks for help gets it.”

“Charity. You’re telling us to give away Riverfarm’s resources.”

Rie massaged her eyes with two painted fingernails. Ryoka nodded.

“Yes.”

The four listeners in the room paused. Durene looked incredulously at Ryoka. This was the big idea that she’d come up with? It was terrible! Alright, it would help people out. Durene understood they were in trouble. But…she clenched one fist and looked to one side.

Rie and Prost traded looks. Rie shook her head, and Prost sighed. Even Charlay was looking uncertainly at Ryoka. But she was standing by her friend. The [Steward] addressed Ryoka curtly.

“Miss Griffin, I feel for the folks who’re caught outside Riverfarm. I do. But it’s their choice to stay where they are. Some, now, some might want to come to Riverfarm, and I could say yes to seeing whoever wants to join the village. We could use more hands, although we’ll have to build a home for them. But see here, giving food away—it’s a noble thought—”

He looked at Lady Rie. She nodded and took over.

“Exactly. It is a noble’s thought. Something one of my peers might come up with. And few enough of them. It’s giving away gold or the equivalent needlessly. The point of charity, Miss Griffin, is laudable. But it’s a well-known fact that people level in times of adversity. And harsh as it may be, one cannot hold the hands of others. They must survive on their own. Generosity is acceptable, but this? This is madness.”

Ryoka listened to Rie calmly. But all she did after the [Lady] was done was shake her head.

“I get that. And I understand the reasoning that goes into that. Especially with levels. But Lady Rie. Do you know who you remind me of when you say that? Magnolia Reinhart.”

Lady Rie gasped. Her eyes flashed. Durene looked nervously at Ryoka. The young woman didn’t blink as she met Rie’s furious gaze.

“I know it’s not practical. I know people level under stress. And I know many would. But guess what? For every person that manages to level up, to survive this, people will die. That’s reality.”

“Yes. But we can’t save everyone, Miss Griffin. I understand your point. But I’ve been a [Farmer] for decades. And I know about lending a hand to a neighbor in need. But sometimes, in a cold winter, there’s not enough to give. Not if you want you and your own to live. Those are the hard choices we make sometimes.”

[Steward] Prost looked at Ryoka. She nodded heavily.

“That’s true too. But is this winter, Mister Prost? I’ve seen your fields. You could pay Mavika’s fee. You have [Farmers] with plenty of Skills. Is wood an issue? Will Riverfarm starve if it emptied its storehouses tomorrow?”

“Maybe not today. But what of this winter? What of the future, the guilds you suggested building? Would you destroy all of Riverfarm’s potential by giving it away?”

Rie snapped, her eyes flashing. Ryoka met Rie’s eyes and shook her head.

“No. But if you can give. Give. If you could save a life by reaching out, wouldn’t you? Prost, Rie. Durene. I know this doesn’t make sense to you. And it won’t help Riverfarm. But it’s something I have to do.”

She looked around. Ryoka’s eyes were bright. She looked more animated than Durene could remember seeing her. Not just that. She was smiling slightly. She spread her hands.

“It’s what’s right. And it’s what I know. If you have a problem with it, talk to Laken. I hope he’d agree with me. But I’ll do it myself if I must. I’ll buy your produce. But some of those people won’t survive if they don’t come here. I’m not saying to empty all the storehouses. Yet if you can do something, do it.”

“What if they come back next month, begging for more? If they rely on us? If we give and that makes them targets. Or we give and it’s not enough? If we give a third of our field’s harvests to them?”

“Mister Prost. You’re speaking in hypotheticals. I’m not telling you to do this forever. If they become leeches, that’s a problem you deal with. If Riverfarm is in trouble, you should absolutely make sure the people here are safe. But this is a crisis. And you’re in a position to help. Aren’t you doing it already with Beniar and his patrols? If the Goblins were back, ravaging the landscape, wouldn’t you try to get those people to safety?”

Ryoka looked around. Charlay smiled and gave her two thumbs-up. Rie was shaking her head. Prost was troubled, silent. Durene felt she had to speak. Part of her wanted to believe in Ryoka. But it wasn’t practical.

“Ryoka. I think it makes sense to bring people back here if they want to come. But giving food away? That’s asking for trouble. What’ll happen if the [Bandits] hear we can just give out stuff? Or—if we have a disaster—”

She fumbled. Her tongue felt heavy. It was hard to argue against. And Ryoka met her eyes. Two calm, brown eyes in Durene’s face. The Runner girl shook her head.

“Durene. I know. It doesn’t make sense. And it is hard. But where I come from. In my home and Laken’s, people say the same things. Some days it feels like there’s an emergency every other moment. And how do you deal with that? Crime. People in far off-countries. People you’ll never see. But we could help.”

She gazed far away, past Durene.

“We could. And it could be glorious. It’s never easy. Sometimes, it costs you. Sometimes, you fail.”

She raised her right hand and stared at it. Durene glanced at the place where two fingers should have been. Ryoka closed her eyes and her hand.

“But. I’d rather try than regret it. It’s called giving aid. Because people need it. Because you can. I don’t have any argument stronger than that. And it reminds me of a village I heard about, once. A place that was in the middle of nowhere. It didn’t have much. And—hell—it got buried by an avalanche.”

Durene and Prost froze. Ryoka looked up.

“Then it lost all of its winter stores. There was no reason for anyone to help that village. None at all. But someone did. He found people in the snow. And he asked me to deliver them food in a blizzard. Because he cared for people when no one else would. If he were here, what do you think he’d do?”

She smiled slightly. Lady Rie bit her lip as she glanced at Prost’s face.

“I’ll—I can have Nesor send a [Message].”

“No, Rie. I think I know what His Majesty will say.”

Prost sighed. He studied the map filled with tiny dots. Durene looked down. They were so small. But they were people’s homes. People like her. She scrubbed at her eyes. Why did Ryoka have to make so much sense?

“We can spare some wagons. And Beniar. It’ll be just food and wood, mainly. But—arrows? We can send a few bows as well. I’ll see what we can spare.”

Prost strode out of the room before Rie could object. Ryoka smiled, relieved, and Charlay patted her on the shoulder. Rie sighed loudly, but she followed him without a word. Ryoka turned.

“Durene.”

“It makes sense. But it’s going to be costly. I know it’s what Laken would do. I guess—is this something a [Paladin] would do?”

Durene looked at Ryoka, hoping the answer was yes. But Ryoka just shook her head.

“I can’t answer that. And I have to tell you something, Durene.”

She took a deep breath.

“I don’t have a brilliant idea for you. I gave up on trying those after Laken used his trebuchets to attack a Drake city. But I do know what’s right and what’s wrong. And I want to do what’s right. But I have to tell you—I can’t help you, Durene.”

The words stung. But Durene had expected as much after Ryoka had shouted at her yesterday. The half-Troll girl looked down.

“That’s fine. So long as you stick around for Riverfarm…”

“No, I mean, I can’t help you, Durene. You need to do that to yourself. That’s what I’ve been meaning to tell you. I didn’t get it at first. But that’s your problem.”

Ryoka walked around the desk to look up at Durene. Her face was concerned. Durene blinked at her.

“What do you mean? Help myself? I do plenty for myself. It’s just that I don’t know what to do for everyone else.”

The shorter Human girl shook her head slowly.

“I don’t think that’s the problem. Listen to how you speak, Durene. I have. ‘Laken says this. Prost and Rie say that. Wiskeria won’t make an army, so that’s that.’ You don’t make decisions for yourself.”

“I do! All the time! It’s just that I trust Laken. And he has better ideas than I do!”

Durene recoiled, stung. Ryoka sighed.

“But he doesn’t. That’s the problem. You think he does, but Durene—he’s just a guy.”

The half-Troll girl felt a spark of fury in her breast. How dare Ryoka? She didn’t understand Laken at all.

“He’s an [Emperor].”

“And what was he when he arrived in Riverfarm?”

Durene hesitated.

“But—he just didn’t have the class. He was always—”

Ryoka put a hand on Durene’s shoulder. Or rather, tried to. She settled for Durene’s arm and squeezed gently. Durene started at the contact. People didn’t really touch her on purpose. Laken did, but—Ryoka looked up at her.

“Durene. I’m not saying Laken’s all wrong. But—the person who’ll tell you what to do? The person you’re waiting for. It’s not me. And it’s not Laken! Neither of us are perfect role models. Or even good ones!”

She spread her arms helplessly.

“You can’t rely on him to tell you what to do. I know. He helped you when no one else would, right? He gave you a class. Gave you…a purpose. Worth. But he can’t give you everything. And if he comes back, you’re the one leaning on him. If you can’t make your own decisions, your own choices, if you’re not you without Laken, you can’t give him anything.”

Durene rocked back. This hurt. More than any insult could. She clenched a hand, realized what she was doing, and unclenched it.

“But—I’m his protector. I can do that for him! What am I supposed to be if not that? I’m not good with words, Ryoka. I can’t do what you do. See? And I can’t be smart like you or Lady Rie.”

“I’m not asking you to, Durene. I’m just asking you to decide what you want by yourself. You can ask for help. Everyone needs help. But I can’t carry you. Like Prost said. What I can do is reach out if you’re drowning. But you have to learn to swim.”

The half-Troll girl bent down. She felt crushed by Ryoka’s words in a way nothing had hit her before. Not even that Hob. She had to sit on the ground. Hug her knees. Ryoka’s words made sense. But—it was so hard. She didn’t know what to say. Ryoka wasn’t leaving; Durene could still feel her arm on her shoulder, patting awkwardly.

“Durene. I know it’s hard—but you’re the toughest girl I’ve met. Literally. You can wrestle Bismarck. Not just that. You’re kind. You helped Wiskeria where no one else would. You took Laken in. You’re not a brute. And you’re not a monster. You can be a [Paladin]. You can be a [Farmer]. But you do have to choose.”

The half-Troll girl didn’t respond. Ryoka paused, then went on.

“Durene—”

“I can swim.”

“Huh?”

Durene didn’t look up. She muttered.

“I can swim. I taught myself. Riverfarm has a river. I can swim.”

Unseen by her, Ryoka smiled.

“There you go. And look—I don’t mean I’m going to just shut you out. I’ve been rude to you. But I can help. Not tell you what to do.”

“But who am I supposed to be?”

Durene didn’t like the petulant note in her voice. She looked up, ashamed by the stinging in her eyes.

“I wasn’t anyone before I met Laken, Ryoka. Just some girl no one liked. And I’m strong, but is that it?”

“No—no. You could be—”

Ryoka hesitated. Durene shouted.

“Aha! See? What am I besides the half-Troll girl?”

“I—”

“Well, you are one. Half-Troll, that is.”

The voice came from behind Ryoka. The City Runner looked around. Charlay waved a hand.

“Hi. I’m still here. You forgot about me, didn’t you?”

The two girls paused. They had. Charlay trotted forwards a few steps. She pointed at Durene.

“You’re half-Troll.”

“Charlay, this isn’t helping—”

“Shush, Ryoka. Let me finish. Durene. Listen. I know what your problem is.”

“You do?”

The Centauress nodded with complete certainty.

“Absolutely. You’re thinking like a Human. They do this all the time. Ryoka doesn’t, but no one told you because you live among Humans. Typical.”

“Charlay.”

“Shush. Durene. You’re half-Troll. I’m a Centaur! Look at me!”

Charlay spread her arms, gesturing towards her horse-half. Durene looked at her. Charlay was as unique as she was. No—more so. The Centauress was different in one respect, though: she was proud. She poked a finger into her chest and then jabbed Ryoka in the side. The Human girl yelped.

“You know what Humans do? They always say ‘you have to be like me’. All the time. And anyone who’s better than them is weird. I hear it in the Runner’s Guilds. ‘Ooh, look at Charlay! She’s a horse! That’s why she runs so fast! Well, that’s all she can do. Because she’s a stupid horse.’ Yeah! And so what?”

She stamped one hoof angrily.

“I’m a Centaur! What, do you think I’m good at scratching my butt with my hands? That’s disgusting! And that’s why I have a tail! I’m good at running, and I’m half-horse. That’s what I am. What’s the problem? Yes, I’m better at running fast! Horse! Humans have different talents. They can’t run fast as I can. I can’t do stairs well. What’s the problem?”

She pointed at Durene. The half-Troll girl gulped.

“But I’m part Troll. Isn’t that—”

“What? What? Bad because you have skin like a rock and you can punch a hole through Ryoka’s head without trying? Because you’re one in, like, a million? I’ve seen Trolls in Baleros. They don’t get sad when people insult them. They mush their brains, then go off and do Troll things, and they’re fine with that! I’m fine with being me, too, even though all these Humans keep pointing at me as if I’m the weird one. You know who’s weird in Baleros? Humans.”

Charlay tossed her head. She pointed down at Durene.

“Ryoka’s right. You need to do your own thing. And if that involves hitting things because you’re good at it, hit things! I’m good at running, so I came to Izril to be the best Runner on the continent. And that’s fine. I’ve never been sad about being me. You have problems. You should fix that.”

She jabbed a finger at Durene. Then she turned.

“Come on, Ryoka. Let’s go deliver food to some Humans. Nice speech, by the way. That was really cool. I knew I hung out with you for a reason.”

She trotted out the door. Ryoka and Durene stared after her, and then Ryoka got up. She looked at Durene and smiled ruefully.

“And just when I thought I knew her. I knew I hung out with that Centauress for a reason. Durene—I’ve got to run. But I could use some help. If you want to give it. And if not—you know who you could watch for inspiration?”

“Who?”

“The coven. They’re [Witches], yeah. And their class is different than yours or mine. But look—they know themselves. They’re women. And they’re not ashamed to be themselves. Neither am I. You shouldn’t be either.”

Ryoka patted Durene on the shoulder. Then she was gone. The half-Troll girl sat on the floor of Rie’s home for a while. She looked down at the floorboards. At the open door. She thought about what Ryoka had said. Charlay. Then, slowly, she got up.

It seemed like the thing to do.

—–

Durene was slightly late to Riverfarm. By the time she arrived, a crowd had gathered to watch a bunch of wagons being loaded. Or rather, argue about the loading.

The wagons were supposed to be filled with goods. Food, wood, nails—anything that might be urgently needed. Even seeds for planting. It was Riverfarm’s hard work being prepared to be sent away, and many people weren’t happy about it.

“Why should our hard work go to feed people who will give Riverfarm nothing?”

Councilwoman Beatica was on the attack. But Ryoka faced her down. She was trying to come up with a list for the villages.

“Councilwoman, why should Riverfarm have taken you in when it was their people who died at Lancrel and their village, homes, and food you needed? Why was it an [Emperor] who came to Riverfarm’s aid? Perhaps because it was the right thing to do.”

The [Councilwoman] bit her tongue. Some of Lancrel’s people voiced their dissent as well. But for every person scowling at the waste, more people were listening sympathetically. Especially Riverfarm’s own—but most were just standing by, watching. [Mayor] Rodivek shouted after a second.

“You don’t have the authority to do this. We should wait for Emperor Laken. If we’re short of supplies or food because of you, that’s on your head!”

“If!”

Ryoka was arguing fiercely with the two and trying to chivvy along the people loading the wagons, but she was working from both ends.

Durene stared at Ryoka as the Wind Runner strode back and forth. She was animated, moving from place to place in front of the wagons, talking with Prost, addressing the crowd, planning the route with Beniar. She was…shining. In a different way than Laken. But Durene felt like shading her eyes, as if Ryoka were giving off a light.

She wasn’t the only person to see it. The coven had gathered. Not Belavierr, but the rest. They saw the same thing more concretely than Durene. Eloise was smiling. Alevica shook her head as she eyed Ryoka.

“You know, she’s like this, apparently.”

“Who? Miss Griffin?”

Nanette was smiling as she held onto her hat. She cupped more of Ryoka’s emotions, and Califor nodded approvingly. Alevica shrugged.

“Yup. She saved a Gnoll kid from the Goblin Lord’s army, apparently. Does emergency runs for adventuring teams; that’s a suicidal decision if ever I saw one. And this? She’s an odd one.”

Hedag laughed. The huge [Witch] tipped her hat up, regarding Ryoka with a big smile.

“You’d do that if you cared about whether people live or die. There goes a girl who’d put her life on the line for copper pennies because she weighs lives like gold, Alevica.”

The Witch Runner scowled. She jerked her head at Ryoka.

“She has her up days and down days, clearly.”

Eloise nodded thoughtfully.

“Yes. I’ll sell her some teas later. But it’s a wonderful up, isn’t it?”

Durene heard no more, because she was pushing through the crowd. Ryoka spotted her; of course she did. She swung herself down from a wagon and looked expectantly at Durene. The half-Troll girl took a breath.

“I’m coming. If that’s alright. I mean, I’m going whether you like it or not.”

She had a walking staff, and she’d brought a lunch. Ryoka’s smile made Durene smile in turn. Ryoka nodded.

When Durene took Ryoka’s side, the [Mayor] and [Councilwoman] and the crowd stepped back. Not just for Durene’s height, or so she hoped, but because it meant Laken was on Ryoka’s side. Laken would have believed in Ryoka’s plan.

And as it so happened—someone else did too. A pointed hat came marching through the crowd as Mayor Rodivek drew breath for a second shouting match.

“If you think we’ll risk our lives for no gain—”

“Ah, so you’re riding with Miss Griffin? Well done, man. Onto the wagons you go. We could use another hauler or driver.”

A voice spoke loudly in Rodivek’s ear, and he jumped—saw Witch Califor standing behind him, and nearly leapt into Beatica.

Witch Califor and Nanette, shyly waving at Ryoka, had appeared like a storm. And like a storm—she’d brought more than just herself with her.

Ryoka had barely a dozen helpers besieged by angry Lancrel people not quite actually blocking them. Now, she saw Califor and dozens of Riverfarm people, arms loaded with goods and boxes, heading towards the wagon.

“Witch Califor?”

“Well done.”

That was all the woman said. She strode forwards and deposited something onto the wagons. When she turned, she offered Ryoka a slight smile of approval.

“A wagon does more than a single Runner with a bag of holding. When Nanette came to tell me what you were doing, I decided I should merge my craft with yours.”

Her…craft? Wait, that was right! Califor hadn’t done any great magics. And yet…she was here right now, and Ryoka heard Rodivek shouting.

“Now you’re letting a [Witch] give away our goods? Miss Yesel! Is this cleared with His Majesty? What about—”

He kept shouting, but somehow, though his voice didn’t dim in volume, it suddenly became less important. Califor finished wiggling a finger around in one ear, then gave Durene a faint wink.

More magic? It was always subtle—but from the way Ryoka jumped and felt at her ears, she’d felt it too! Durene’s eyes were wide.

“You, uh—you had the same thought?”

Ryoka spoke somewhat oddly to Califor, as if not sure what her angle was. But the Witch was all business.

“This is my craft, Miss Griffin.”

“Aid work?”

“No. Being a busybody. A lesson for you: men and women like that are best ignored. Often, if you pay them no mind, you sway more heads by silence alone.”

It was true. Completely ignored, even the Lancrel people were staring at the wagons and the two representatives and hesitating. Were they really blocking people from getting food to starving villages?

Califor was inspecting the contents of one wagon. She nodded as she saw the nails and wood.

“I think I have most of what is needed here, too.”

What had she brought? Well—spare clothing. Blankets, all courtesy of Miss Yesel. Not just that! Soap! Califor was rattling off a list as if she’d memorized it.

“Nanette? Take note. We’re missing…lantern oil. Toilet paper. Hm. Does Riverfarm have any toys?”

“Toys?”

Califor glanced at Ryoka.

“For children. Nothing cheers one up like a single toy. Now, I see three wagons. Is that for your group?”

Ryoka hesitated. She looked around, and a man hurried over, looking gratified as he saw a lot of the work had already been done.

“Mister Prost? I think the wagons are almost set. We’re just getting lantern oil and a few things. Are we allowed to go?”

He nodded.

“We have the wagons loaded, and Beniar says we can make the trip in a day and have you all back tonight so long as you keep moving. The problem is animals. We’re two short, and I don’t know if we can spare more. Can you manage with three wagons?”

Ryoka grimaced. Prost looked apologetic.

“We have few enough draft animals as it is. The Darksky Riders have our best horses, and the rest are needed for plough work and the like. I can give you exactly four wagons, but the last one can’t be pulled. You’ll have to fit the rest into what you can carry.”

“I’ll load my [Riders] up with a bit in the saddlebags. If we had an animal or two, we could get more on the wagons…”

Beniar offered that while glancing sideways at Califor, who did have a horse along with Nanette. The Witch gave Beniar a polite smile and tipped her hat.

“Well thought out, Captain Beniar. But I fear my horses will have to carry Nanette and I.”

“Oh, will you be riding with us?”

“No. We shall ride towards another village. With that cart.”

So saying, Califor pointed, and Ryoka saw a ridiculously small cart attached to a harness and Nanette’s pony. It was about big enough to fit a single Nanette, who was striding back importantly with Miss Yesel and the lantern oil.

Everyone stared at the cart, and Beniar turned a laugh into a cough.

“Uh—are you going to a few houses, Miss Califor? That’s not a bad idea…”

“I think I shall visit as many villages as I can. Don’t fear about the cart. But do watch out for bandits on the road, Miss Griffin.”

Califor adjusted her hat, and this time, Ryoka stared at her, but didn’t instantly snigger. She peered at the cart. It was really too small to hold more than two sacks of grain. Califor looked serious. If anything, she seemed focused. Approving of Ryoka.

“These are the things [Witches] do that matter. Nanette! Don’t hurt yourself putting the oil in the wagon. Prepare for a long ride.”

“Yes, Miss Califor!”

Nanette hollered, and Ryoka saw she had a crate of cheap oil. Canola or something; it left a residue, but it burned well, and it was perfect if someone didn’t have [Light] spells. It was a fairly heavy crate, and her face turned red until Durene walked over and put it in the cart.

The wagons already had a box each, and the oil filled up a good part of the cart. Ryoka began to ask Califor how much she planned on delivering when she frowned.

No, wait. There was enough barley for a good few meals. Califor had piled up six bags until the cart was almost overflowing. Of course, that was only enough for a few households to live on. Which was why she’d put two more bags of Yellats and even dried meat next to the bags. Oh, and firewood!

Firewood mattered, so there were eighteen bundles, so high they formed a tower in the cart. Ryoka frowned, and Durene rubbed her eyes. But all the firewood wasn’t falling over because it was sandwiched by entire sacks of…flour…

At this point, even Alevica noticed the oddity and began counting how many sacks of Yellats there were.

“One, two, three, four…that cart can’t fit more than four sacks. There are twenty—”

Her head rose, and she gave Califor a narrow-eyed stare. Then, and only then, did Ryoka and Durene step back and realize…the cart was holding way too much.

Yet if they didn’t pay attention to it…it just looked like a tiny cart! Certainly, the pony seemed to think it was light as could be and was actually pulling it forwards a bit as it waited to go. Nanette herself goggled at the cart as she noticed the improbable dimensions.

A cart that acted like a bag of holding? No, it wasn’t quite the same—Califor cleared her throat meaningfully, and everyone stopped staring to look at her.

“I would appreciate it if you didn’t stare. The cart doesn’t know how much it’s carrying. I should like to keep it that way.”

Keep it that…Ryoka’s mouth fell open, and Witch Califor…winked. Alevica gasped.

“You fit all of that in there? But—you’re not—Oliyaya never talked about that! You didn’t do a ritual or—or—can you do that with sympathy magic?”

“Witch Alevica. We all have our strengths. I prefer not to show off. Nanette, stop staring!”

So saying, Califor mounted up with as many supplies as the ones Durene and Ryoka had just packed. Then, and only then, Ryoka Griffin stared at the grey-haired woman and saw Alevica gasping for words. Nanette’s smug smile—and Mister Prost took off his hat.

“Witch Califor…did you happen to be the woman who ran Yellats the length and breadth of the north after the 2nd Antinium War? She’d have had brown hair, though, like little Nanette, and they never said ‘Witch’.”

Califor paused a moment, looking amused.

“And if I was, Mister Prost? Would it change a single thing?”

She tipped her cap at him, and he bowed slightly. Califor mounted up and nodded to Ryoka, then to Durene. The half-Troll girl hesitated, but Califor met her eyes.

“Capable women must do what we can. That isn’t just the job of [Witches]. I see Riverfarm had an abundance.”

Her eyes took in Durene, Charlay, Ryoka, Wiskeria—and Durene flushed with embarrassment. And a longing for that kind of praise.

Nanette scrambled into her saddle, and Califor was about to ride forwards, and the wind itself blew behind her a second, but Ryoka—had to know. So she called out as Wiskeria’s head turned from their own wagons.

“Miss Califor. Is your cloak magical? Or your—staff?”

Witch Califor turned, almost theatrically, as Nanette’s head swivelled. Every eye fixed on the worn cloak and the riding staff Califor had stowed. It looked like plain, old wood, and the cloak was dusty and worn.

“Oh, this? I bought this cloak at a flea market. A quite good bargain. And the staff was a gift from a [Shaman] I helped once. Think nothing of them. If Nanette has been telling tales—remember, they are just stories.”

Califor lifted one fold of her cloak and touched the walking staff. Ryoka hesitated, clearly disappointed, and Califor began to ride away.

Wiskeria muttered something under her breath. It sounded like an incantation. Durene, about to walk over to the wagons, looked back.

For just one second—she thought she saw the staff grow vibrant and the plain, polished wood change to something leafy and growing, as if it refused to die even when cut from the tree. For a second, the cloak swirled like a moving shadow as Witch Califor turned her head and sighed.

Then she was gone. And Ryoka turned back to her mission of mercy and had to stop and think for a second.

“I—we—well, that’s one area taken care of, it seems. Since we can’t do a cart, I have a bag of holding, and Charlay does too. We’ll run ahead, coordinate who’s coming back if any, and the wood and food can keep going. We’ll run back to resupply.”

She was trying to fix their transportation issue. Durene objected as she considered the final wagon. Califor’s words had motivated her as well.

“Are you sure we can’t get anyone to pull the last wagon, Mister Prost? It’s not that heavily loaded.”

Prost shook his head.

“It’s too heavy, and Beniar needs all his [Riders] mounted. What with the [Bandits].”

“Yeah, but just one donkey? We could even help push it. It’s heavy, but—see?”

The half-Troll girl set herself and pushed. Ryoka, Beniar, and Prost stared as the wagon rolled a bit. They gaped at Durene. Charlay raised two thumbs. Durene smiled at her, and then her eyes widened as she had a thought.

“I have an idea for a horse!”

Ryoka blinked. Then her eyes widened too. She looked over her shoulder. Charlay’s eyes narrowed.

“Who—wait a second. It better not be me. No way. No way—”

—–

Charlay stared as the wagons rolled down the road. She looked at the giant, green, miffed bear and blinked.

“Oh. That’s much better than what I thought you were going to say.”

Ryoka stared at Bismarck. The Mossbear gaoed as it tried to reach the potato on a string in front of him. He padded forwards, growling slightly, and the wagon obligingly rolled after him. Charlay frowned at the harness.

“Can a bear pull a wagon? By himself? Really?”

Ryoka tried to calculate it. It certainly looked like it.

“Well, Bismarck weighs more than one. And he’s like a grizzly and…no, twice…? Three times the size of a black bear? He’s massive. So long as the straps don’t bother him and you can get him to move, I think it’ll work.”

“Leave it to me. If he looks tired, I’ll let you know.”

A voice called from the front of the wagon. Wiskeria tipped her pointed hat and grinned. Ryoka smiled, and Durene nodded. The [Witch] had decided to come with them on their relief-giving mission. And her presence was welcome. Beniar laughed as he rode towards them. He saluted Wiskeria on her wagon.

“General Wiskeria! Your orders, ma’am?”

“Shut up, Beniar. Just ride ahead and make sure there’s no [Bandits]. Move in groups; you don’t want to get picked off. You’ll stay around the wagons with a few [Scouts] going ahead. Ryoka and Charlay will alert the settlements and figure out if we’re delivering aid or getting them to come back with us.”

“Yes, ma’am! You heard her! Darksky Riders, move out!”

Beniar rode forwards with a whoop of excitement, and the [Riders] followed him. Durene couldn’t remember him looking this excited in a while. But maybe it was because Wiskeria was giving the orders. The [Witch] nodded at her and Ryoka. The City Runner peered up at Wiskeria.

“I thought you weren’t being a [General] for a while. What changed your mind?”

“Miss Califor’s always right.”

Ryoka laughed. The wagons set off, and Durene strode with them. On a mission of mercy.

—–

This was how it went. A young woman ran across the grass, waving her arms. In his tower, an [Archer] drew an arrow reflexively, but he untensed when he heard her voice.

“Excuse me! Hey! It’s me! Don’t shoot!”

Ryoka Griffin ran into the settlement as the people came out of their houses. The [Archer] blinked at her.

“You’re back? What is it? Another delivery?”

“No. It’s aid. From Riverfarm. And if you need it—we have an escort waiting to take you back to the village!”

“What? Aid?”

The people were confused. The [Archer] was even outraged.

“Do you think we’re in need of handouts? We can manage ourselves.”

Ryoka faced him seriously.

“It’s not just for you. I toured everywhere from Riverfarm almost up to Filk yesterday. There are burned out houses and people in trouble all the way there. If you don’t need help, we’ll move on. But if you need food, wood, nails—we can deliver it.”

“In exchange for what?”

The suspicious question came from a woman armed with another bow. Ryoka shook her head.

“Nothing. This is a crisis. Look, I’d prefer if you didn’t need anything. That way we can get it to whoever’s in trouble most. But if you need something that you’ll be in trouble without—ask. Otherwise, consider moving to Riverfarm. I came to you all first because I know you’re some of the best-off. We’ll be transporting families and as much as we can back to Riverfarm soon. They’ll be safe there.”

The people exchanged a glance. The [Archer] leaned on his bow thoughtfully.

“And the village will take them in?”

“It took in a lot of people from Lancrel. It can take more. It’s your choice. But we’re doing this because Riverfarm’s in a position to help. And the [Emperor]—no, the people of Riverfarm believe in helping people in need. With a bit of encouragement.”

Ryoka looked around. The [Archer] hesitated. And they conferred. At last, he shook his head.

“We don’t need anything. And we’re safe enough here. Thanks for the offer, Miss Griffin. But we’re fine. With that said—we might come to Riverfarm to trade. And we appreciate the offer. Do you have room on those wagons you mentioned for some bows? We can spare a few, and arrows; we have a stock. If Riverfarm’s in need or if we have a scrape—maybe we can help out.”

He reached out, and Ryoka clasped his hand, smiling. She ran on after taking five bows and arrows.

——

“Riverfarm?”

Farmer Melon’s eyes widened. The wagon rolling towards him halted, and the people poured out to stare at the contents. Wiskeria nodded as she halted. Bismarck chewed on the potato, oblivious to the stares.

“That’s right, sir. Anyone who needs to can come back with us. You’ll be able to work in Riverfarm, and I guarantee you’ll be fed and have a good place to sleep. His Majesty Emperor Godart guarantees it. Otherwise, we’ll spare what we can. To get you as far as you need and get these families sorted. I can’t promise we’ll come by twice.”

“Move to Riverfarm? But what about the others? They’re in Filk!”

Wiskeria raised her voice.

“We’ll get them too. And we can send word. But if anyone’s worried about [Bandits]—anyone in the area—we can accommodate you at Riverfarm!”

Farmer Melon chewed on his beard as he stared at the wagon. It was loaded with enough supplies to keep his and the three other families supplied, even build more rooms. Plant a field. He looked at the others and the uncertainty on their faces. Then at the [Witch]. She was a [Witch]; you could tell by the hat. And at the Mossbear, the half-Troll girl.

“It’s a lot to consider.”

“I know, sir. And I don’t want to rush you. We can stop for half an hour or come back on a return trip. But you must decide quickly. Either way—we do want to help.”

So said the [Witch]. In the end, the families at Melon’s farm had to discuss it. The wives, one husband, two of the oldest children, and Melon and his wife talked it over in conference, arguing, debating options.

But Melon kept remembering the wagon. If Riverfarm could spare that—he looked at his farm, which he’d built himself. But you could rebuild a farm. Grow more melons. He looked towards the burned cottage and grave he’d dug and swore.

“Damn. I’m going to have to pay Helm for that pitchfork after all. Hey! Grab what you can and pack up! We’re moving!”

—–

Ryoka saw the first wagon riding back from Melon’s farm as she jogged down the road. Beniar and a group of eight [Riders] were accompanying them to the delight of the children, who stared at the [Cataphract]. Melon waved at Ryoka as she passed. And he wasn’t the only one.

More and more wagons were coming down the road. Not all the ones Riverfarm had sent either. Over half of the settlements that the relief teams visited decided to pack up and move rather than stay. There was something more to it than just a desire for safety with [Bandits] and in light of the Goblin raids.

It was Laken. His reputation. His name. People had heard there was an [Emperor]. They’d seen the totem poles, seen Beniar and the patrols and heard who’d been fighting the Goblins. And had failed. But Laken had been there when before the Goblins would have rampaged until a local city or noble or adventurers drove them off. So they came.

Ryoka ran. From house to house. Her legs tired. She drank potions. And the wagons rumbled after her. First it was three hours. Then six. Ryoka stopped for a break at the [Fisher]’s hut and found he was packed.

“What’re you doing? I thought you said you were fine here!”

She exclaimed. The old man grinned at her as he hefted his spear.

“Right. But Riverfarm has fish, don’t it? And truth be told, everyone’s leaving, and I think I’ll miss the company. You have room on those wagons for me?”

They did, but Ryoka had to flag one as it came this way. It was the one being led by Wiskeria. Bismarck growled unhappily as the [Witch] halted him. Durene jogged to keep up; she was still going. She’d helped load the wagons, reassure people—Ryoka remembered her bellowing at a frightened group that had shot arrows at Ryoka without letting her come near.

“I know it’s your farm. But it’s not safe out here! Come to Riverfarm and we can come back and gather whatever you need. Bring your valuables, but don’t stay! We can take you in! I swear we’re not [Bandits]! She’s a Runner, and I’m a [Paladin]! Honest!”

Surprisingly, that had worked. Now, Durene smiled as Wiskeria pointed.

“That way?”

“That’s right. Just down the marsh. I’ve got half the guy’s stuff in his bag of holding. We’ll meet you there.”

“Alright. Come on Bismarck. Let’s—aw, no!”

Ryoka heard a thump and a shout from the passengers. Wiskeria looked down, askance. She’d driven right into a pothole. Bismarck growled and strained, but the wagon was heavier, and he gave up, panting. Ryoka swore.

“Damn it. Okay, let’s get everyone off. Beniar’s nearby, maybe he can help—”

“Don’t worry! I’ve got it!”

Durene cheerfully waved a hand. She stepped around to the back and bent down. Ryoka saw the wagon lift, people and cargo and all. Durene growled as she heaved it out of the pothole.

“Bismarck, pull!”

The surprised Mossbear did. Ryoka saw the wagon move down the road out of the pothole. Durene, panting, massaged her back.

“Wow! That was really heavy!”

“You moved—”

“Yup.”

The half-Troll girl grinned at Ryoka. The City Runner closed her mouth. After a moment, she nodded.

“Well then! Onwards!”

That was the third trip back to Riverfarm. The sun was setting fast, and Ryoka found that even the two stamina potions she’d used weren’t helping. She had to heal her bruised feet, but even then, she was yawning as she and Wiskeria escorted the last group of people back towards Riverfarm.

Charlay was dozing as she trotted forwards, and even Bismarck looked worn down as he pulled the wagon. But still, Durene was right behind him. She was pushing the wagon, helping the weary Mossbear. Without complaint. And she’d kept up with the wagons all day. On foot. Now she was doing most of Bismarck’s work.

Just silently pushing it forwards into the night.

Ryoka turned back and smiled. Durene gave her a silent thumbs-up. She looked more relaxed than Ryoka had seen her as well. Perhaps—well, Ryoka wondered if she’d been wrong. Durene had been indecisive. But perhaps Durene really did just need to put her talents to use. To find a challenge worthy of her. Either way, Ryoka smiled as Durene yawned.

The half-Troll girl was tired, despite what Ryoka thought. She was sleepy as she leaned against the wagon, pushing it. So tired in fact that she kept drifting off, accounting for their slow progress back to Riverfarm. They were the last wagon. But they weren’t more than—

Durene yawned. She leaned against the wagon. Just for a second.

[Paladin Level 17!]

[Skill – Iron Skin obtained!]

“Huh?”

She opened her eyes. Ahead of her, Wiskeria, yawning, stood up and peered under her hat’s brim. She had a ball of [Light], and she raised it with one hand.

“Durene? You okay? We’ve stopped moving.”

The half-Troll girl yawned and stood up straighter. She smiled up at Wiskeria and saw the [Witch] smile too.

“I’m awake! Sorry, Wiskeria. I just drifted off. But guess what? I just leveled!”

“You did? That’s gr—”

“[Fast Fireball!]”

Durene heard the voice, but she didn’t understand it at first. Then there was a bright light. Wiskeria spun. She held up a hand—

And the fireball exploded, blowing her off the wagon. Durene threw up her hands, and her ears rang. She stumbled backwards as a blast of heat washed over her.

“Wiskeria!”

Night 59 – Ryoka

Ryoka heard the voice. She saw the [Fireball] hit the wagon and explode. The passengers in front disappeared. So did Wiskeria. Bismarck roared as his fur caught fire. He rolled, and pieces of wood rained down from the sky. The City Runner just stared.

“Wiskeria?”

“Ryoka!”

Someone grabbed her. Charlay. The Centauress was pointing. Ryoka turned. She saw another fiery ball of light. Her body moved faster than her mind. She and Charlay ran before the [Fireball] exploded five paces from where they’d been. Ryoka felt the heat.

And out of the night, they came. [Bandits]. They rode down on the City Runners and the destroyed wagons, loosing arrows, and the [Pyromancer] holding the staff shot a stream of flames that nearly cooked Ryoka. The wind saved her; it blew the flames up as Ryoka and Charlay split.

Over the ringing in her ears, Ryoka could hear the [Mage] shouting.

“Get the [Witch]! Get her hat! The hat’s worth gold! Kill the others!”

“Ryoka, run!”

Charlay shouted. There were [Riders] bearing down on her. She turned, wide-eyed, as one lifted a sword. The Centauress bolted left. The [Pyromancer] saw and raised his staff.

“Charlay! Behind you!”

“Gyaaaah! [Spray Hoof]!”

A spray of dirt hit the [Pyromancer]. He swore, and his spell missed. Fire flashed over Charlay’s head as half the [Bandits] went after her. There were—twelve? Not many. But the [Pyromancer]—

Ryoka saw Charlay racing away. She heard the Centauress’ voice.

“[Lightning Gallop]! [Duststorm Kick]!”

She took off. The [Bandits] following her ran into a dust storm. They halted, coughing. And the [Pyromancer] shook his staff.

“Ignore the horse! Get the wagon—”

Something flew at his head. He ducked, and the Tripvine Bag exploded. The vines nearly knocked him from the saddle. He turned, snarling. The caltrop hit him in one eye.

“Durene!”

Ryoka screamed the words over the [Pyromancer]’s howl. She spun. The wind was shrieking. Dust and flying caltrops blew through the air. The [Bandits] riding down on her cursed as their horses reared and screamed.

The Runner screamed back. This could not be happening. Wiskeria! The passengers! Smoke was everywhere, but the front of the wagon was gone. Someone was screaming, caught in the flames. Ryoka couldn’t save them. The [Bandits] were on her.

“Kill the Runner!”

One swung at her. Wind blew him from the saddle. Charlay and Ryoka’s dust clouds were whipping the air, throwing the [Bandits] off. But Ryoka was alone, and there were twelve, the [Pyromancer] and men and women with weapons, riding at her, fighting their horses. Twelve. And Durene was—no, wait. Eleven?

Something moved in the cloud. Ryoka saw a man jerk and fly off his horse. He hit the ground, and Ryoka saw what had knocked him from the saddle.

A quarterstaff. As the man lay winded, the hands holding the quarterstaff withdrew. He sat up, and Durene’s foot came down. The man screamed before Durene stomped. The other [Bandits] looked up.

“Dead gods, what is that?”

They hadn’t seen Durene behind the wagon. The [Pyromancer] turned in alarm and pointed his staff.

“[Fast Fireball]—”

“Durene!”

The half-Troll girl raised her arms. The second explosion engulfed her. Ryoka screamed. No! She ran forwards, saw a woman swinging on her from the right. Ryoka tried to dodge. A blade clipped her back, laying it open. The pain made Ryoka scream, but she ran. The [Bandit] followed her. She raised her sword for another strike—

And someone roared. Ryoka jerked, dodged left. A huge shape crashed into the horse. The animal and rider went down. The [Bandit] turned and saw a huge mouth snapping at her. It was her turn to scream.

It was the last sound she made. Bismarck bit, worried the corpse, tossed it, and turned. The other [Bandits] descending on Ryoka noticed the Mossbear through the dust too late. The Mossbear tore a man from his saddle and dropped on him. The paw hit the man’s chest with a dull crunch.

“It’s a damned bear! I told you!”

“Kill it! Kill it! Mafial!”

“Move clear, you idiots!”

The [Pyromancer] bellowed. He shot a thin stream, and Bismarck roared, flinching away from the fire. The [Pyromancer] lifted his burning staff as the other [Bandits] rode clear.

“[Fireb—]”

A huge hand grabbed his horse. The [Mage] jerked and looked down. Durene howled as she tossed the man from the saddle. The man flew, and Durene swung her staff. A man riding towards her caught the blow. He was wearing chainmail, but the metal did nothing as his ribs snapped. He fell screaming, choking.

Ryoka stared. Durene lifted the staff and swung it, still screaming in pain. She was half-blinded by the [Fireball], but it hadn’t brought her down. In fact—her staff caught another [Rider], and he tumbled.

“Shoot her—”

A bolt hit Durene in the chest. She staggered, and the [Bandit] holding the crossbow lowered it, dumbfounded. The bolt had stuck in Durene’s skin, barely two inches deep. She howled, and the man on the ground raised his shield. He had a shield. Armor. And all she had was a staff.

But it was thick. A walking staff. A quarterstaff. It came down with all of Durene’s strength. The thud as it struck the man’s helmet stayed with Ryoka as she stumbled forwards. She flung a caltrop, called the wind.

The [Pyromancer] was alive. He was winded, but he got up as Ryoka tried to bombard him with grit and caltrops. He snarled, pointing his staff at her as his bloody eye and good one focused on her. Ryoka leapt sideways.

The two faced each other as the [Bandits] circled, fighting Bismarck and Durene. Ryoka grabbed for another Tripvine bag, her caltrops—the [Pyromancer] raised his staff, and she knew she was too close. She tensed—and her eyes widened.

“Wiskeria?”

The [Pyromancer]’s head turned. Someone was walking out of the destroyed wagon’s front. It was…a [Witch].

Ryoka could tell by the hat. But nothing else. Oh, and the wand. Wiskeria stomped and raised it. She was completely naked except for her hat. But she was also unharmed. There wasn’t even soot on her. Ryoka stopped. The [Pyromancer] turned and stared. His eyes bulged.

“What the f—”

“[Fox Fire]. [Icy Shard].”

The first spell tossed blue fire into the [Pyromancer]’s face. He clawed at it, screaming. The shard of ice hit him in the cheek, and he screamed louder. Ryoka leapt forwards and kicked him in the back. Wiskeria drew a knife and jumped on the man as he raised his staff.

The Runner ducked as fire blasted past her. Then she looked up. Wiskeria stabbed the man twice more in the chest. But he was already dead. She stared at Wiskeria. The [Witch] slashed across his throat, stepped back, and exhaled. She was sooty, but she was alive.

“How—”

A shout made Ryoka look up. The [Bandits] were fleeing. Durene was swinging her staff, and there were six bodies around her. Bismarck had killed another. Then Ryoka heard the furious voice.

“Riverfarm! Riverfarm and Laken!”

Beniar and four of his [Riders] thundered forwards. Just in time to catch the last of the fleeing [Bandits]. The [Cataphract] got one himself. He whirled, and Ryoka saw Charlay racing after the last with three [Riders]. Beniar looked around, blinded by the dust, if not the darkness.

“Dead gods! No, no—Wiskeria! Durene! Is anyone—”

He caught sight of Durene, panting and leaning on her staff. Beniar leapt to the ground. And then he saw Ryoka and Wiskeria.

“Wiskeria?”

“I’m fine. Damn it, I knew I shouldn’t have worn the spare clothing Durene gave me. Have we lost anyone?”

Wiskeria sounded exasperated, not shocked. She stood there, as if forgetting she was completely naked, head swivelling to survey the wagons. Ryoka had to give Beniar this: he only stared for a second, and then he turned his head.

“What happened? We were just a minute ahead! We thought they’d never dare attack—”

Ryoka panted.

“They were after Wiskeria. After a [Witch]. Here—anyone got a blanket?”

“The passengers—”

“I pulled one out. The rest didn’t make it.”

Wiskeria shook her head. Ryoka opened her mouth and heard a wail.

“Ryoka! Where are you? Tell me you ran away! You slowpoke! Where are you?”

“Charlay! Over here!”

The Centauress galloped towards Ryoka.

“Ryoka! Thank goodness you’re—Wiskeria? You’re alive? And naked?”

The rest of the Darksky Riders converged. There was a minute—then six—of panic, which resolved itself. The [Trapper] who’d been riding on the wagon was badly burnt, as were Durene and Bismarck.

Wiskeria took care of that. She had potions distributed, made sure the dead [Bandits] were actually dead, and did it all while naked. Only when Beniar offered her a blanket did she cut a hole for her head and wear it like a poncho. Tough as nails. She didn’t even seem to care about the blood of the dead man on her arms and cheeks.

By contrast, Charlay was babbling.

“I’ve never seen anything like it. She was dead. I saw the [Fireball] heading at her, and she couldn’t dodge. Then she takes her hat off and blocks it with her hat! With her hat—! I couldn’t pay for a charm that does that. That’s like a Gold-rank charm right there—”

“How’d you do it, Wis? A spell?”

Beniar stared at Wiskeria. She shook her head, waving said hat as everyone turned to stare at it.

“Nope. It’s my mother’s work. She made this hat; I’ve never tried to block a [Fireball] with it. It might have still cooked me, but I diverted the rest of the blast. I’m only sorry I couldn’t protect anyone else. Or my clothing.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Your mother’s hat tanked a point-blank [Fireball]?”

That wasn’t just insane; Ryoka literally didn’t believe it. However, Wiskeria just shrugged.

“If you don’t believe it, try to cut it up. Beniar, you’ve got a magic sword, right?”

Gingerly, not wanting to hurt her hat, Beniar produced his sword and sawed at the hat. But even when he began using a lot of force…the fabric would deform, then spring back into shape. Ryoka stared as Beniar, to prove his sword was sharp, lopped off a piece of burnt wagon in a single cut. The [Cataphract] handed Wiskeria’s hat back to her and she put it back on, then he burst out.

“Your mother made this? Dead gods, Wis, that’s a Gold-rank artifact, disappearing clothes or not! Do you think she’d sell it to us?”

Beniar’s eyes went round. Wiskeria shrugged, looking uncomfortable.

“I…again, I have robes. Durene got me some new ones because she thought I needed them. Clothes for you? Yes. Maybe. If I asked her to. It never crossed my mind. She doesn’t usually sell stuff like this. But yes—yes, I’ll definitely ask her to.”

“I guess that’s a caring mother to make clothing like that.”

Ryoka spoke slowly. The adrenaline rushing through her body had faded. Now she felt sick at the death. Tired. But amazed. Wiskeria paused and nodded again.

“I suppose that is a sign of caring. I just thought she made it so she didn’t have to worry about patching me up. But…yes. It is extraordinary, isn’t it?”

She seemed almost mystified as she took off her hat and stared at it.

Invincible clothing, or at least, powerful clothing. A mother’s love?Wiskeria looked at her, as if not sure that was what it was. Ryoka stared at her and nodded. She wanted to smile, but the power of that hat…and Wiskeria’s troubled expression that couldn’t even smile in gratitude? It was something. It was familiar to Ryoka.

It reminded her of her mother. Oh, not that her mother could even sew a hole in a shirt; she’d just buy Ryoka a new one. New clothes, new car…was that love? Surely not. But Wiskeria’s expression was the same for a handmade artifact as Ryoka’s for her mother’s absent, lavish affections.

The two girls broke off from their look of connection as Ryoka thought of someone who needed actual concern. The Wind Runner turned.

“Durene?”

The [Paladin] looked up. She’d survived her own [Fireball], albeit at a far greater cost than Wiskeria. If it hadn’t been for her new Skill, she probably would have died. As it was—the healing potion had only healed some of the burns. Durene’s voice was raspy.

“I’m okay, Ryoka.”

“Sure you are. We’re going to get you back to Riverfarm. You got the [Bandits], Durene.”

“Yeah. I wish I could’ve saved the others.”

Ryoka shook her head. She stared at the six [Bandits] Durene had killed. Her hands shook a bit. She’d been trying to kill the [Pyromancer]. But Durene had squashed the others like flies with her quarterstaff. It was still bloody.

“Does it—does it bother you?”

Durene looked confused. She glanced at the bodies and blinked before shaking her head.

“They’re [Bandits]. I don’t feel bad about killing them.”

That was all. Ryoka nodded. Slowly, painfully, she walked back towards Beniar. He was seeing to the wounded [Trapper].

“We’re close to Riverfarm. Damn—this guy needs a [Healer]. I don’t think the burns all healed, and I don’t want to try another. There could be an infection. I’ll ride him back, and you all wait here.”

“We can walk.”

Durene got up. Beniar opened his mouth to protest and saw Bismarck lumber forwards. The bear’s fur along his back was burnt away. And while he was healed, he was growling. His teeth were still bloody. The [Cataphract] nodded.

“I’ll ride back and send everyone in case there are more [Bandits]!”

He took off into the night. The last three [Riders] joined Ryoka and the others. The City Runner walked forwards, then turned to stare at the wagon. It was gone. Some of the goods could be salvaged, but not right now. Charlay looked at Ryoka, then Wiskeria. She sighed.

“Climb on, Wiskeria. I’ll carry you back. Come on, Ryoka. Let’s go.”

Wiskeria blinked, but didn’t object. Charlay trotted past Ryoka. Durene and Bismarck followed, and Ryoka brought up the rear. She kept looking at the place where the first [Fireball] had gone off.

That was true magic. True magic. A hat had done what magic shields might struggle to do! Ryoka began to understand what Belavierr could do. She wanted to talk to the [Witch] again. Thank her. And perhaps her daughter did too. Wiskeria kept pinching herself as Charlay bore her back.

The weary procession returned to Riverfarm quietly. Wondering, but mourning the death and low after the heady adrenaline of battle. Ryoka headed straight into Riverfarm, seeing the lights in a few windows. But the village was mostly dark without magic or electricity.

Ryoka expected a huge crowd that had heard about the battle. And there was one. But it was not for her or Durene or the riders. She stopped as she saw the turned backs. The silent, staring faces.

They were not looking at her. Nor were they making any sound. The people of Riverfarm were quiet. Deathly so. They stood together, so close as to touch. As if to remind themselves they weren’t alone.

They filled the street as the procession halted. Ryoka stepped forwards uncertainly. Wiskeria rode forwards, craning her neck. The street was motionless. The people voiceless.

But it was not quiet. There was a rhythmic sound in the air. Quiet. Then louder. Insistent.

It was a faint, plaintive cry. A wailing sound every person knew. A baby’s cry. Ryoka heard it, but it didn’t connect with the faces around her. The haunted looks.

“What’s…what’s going on?”

No one responded to Charlay’s uneasy question. Wiskeria looked up. Silently, slowly, she slipped off Charlay’s back. The villagers looked back. Saw her. They parted. Ryoka saw Wiskeria move forwards. And the young woman felt a sense of trepidation.

They stood in the center of the gathering. Four [Witches]. Hedag. Eloise. Alevica. Mavika. No Califor or Nanette. Watching silently.

Hedag’s expression was a mirthless smile, harsh and pained. Eloise had closed her eyes. Alevica was pale-faced with fear. As close to fear as Ryoka had ever seen. And Mavika? The [Witch] looked at Wiskeria and Ryoka. And she nodded.

Closer still. Ryoka pushed forwards with Wiskeria. Prost and Rie stood in the inner circle. Their faces were white. They had lost their voices too. They turned as Wiskeria moved forwards towards the center. The crying was louder, insistent. There was a voice now. Someone whispering. Cooing sweetly. Trying to soothe the baby she held—

Ryoka saw Rehanna in the center of the silent crowd, and for a moment, she felt relieved. Because there was nothing wrong. The woman was sitting on the ground, rocking an infant in her arms. It was a normal scene. Ordinary.

For a moment, Ryoka could believe it. Then she looked up at the tall figure standing like a shadow behind Rehanna. As tall as a nightmare, her hat wide, pointed. And her eyes, the rings of orange glowing in the twilight. The illusion broke as Ryoka saw what Belavierr had done.

“Hush, my child, don’t make a sound. Your mother’s here, and treats abound…”

Rehanna sang as she held the child to her breast. The infant wailed, and Ryoka saw it at last. It was right in all the right ways. It was the same size. It had the same color. And it made sound. It moved. It looked like an infant.

But it was not. It was not alive. It was no baby. The thing wriggled, writhed, opened its mouth and exposed black insides.

It opened its eyes and raised a hand. Ryoka saw stitched cloth waving. Or was it flesh? Moving fingers, wriggling.

A mockery of life. A thing. It was not alive. But Rehanna bent her head, and a tiny cloth hand clasped her finger.

“Yes, little one, go to sleep. Don’t wake or cry or you’ll make your mother weep…”

She sang to it. Ryoka couldn’t take her eyes off the thing Rehanna held. It was all wrong. It was too close to reality. The cloth had been sewn, given magic. But it was no baby. But its eyes. Ryoka saw no life there, but it was realer than any mannequin. She tasted bile. Ahead of her, Wiskeria was frozen. She stared at the woman, her face drained of color.

“Rehanna?”

“Wiskeria?”

The woman looked up. She spotted Wiskeria and stood. Her face beamed with happiness. She stumbled towards Wiskeria, holding the thing proudly. But carefully as any mother.

“Wiskeria! She did it! I didn’t believe her, but she did it! Your mother, Lady Belavierr! Look. Look! She brought him back. See?”

She held out the not-child, and Wiskeria recoiled. Rehanna stopped, hurt.

“What’s wrong? He’s as healthy as can be. Look—touch him. Don’t cry, little one—”

Another wail. Ryoka stared at Rehanna. She had seen the woman once, lying on the ground, clutching at her ruined hand. Rehanna was not the same woman as then.

Her hair was faded. Her hands pale. But she was smiling. Laughing with tears in her eyes as she turned to Wiskeria. The young [Witch] was shaking.

“She brought my baby back. He won’t ever leave. He won’t die. She brought him back.”

Wiskeria looked up slowly. Rehanna laughed and turned, gesturing to the tall figure. And the orange eyes found Wiskeria.

Belavierr walked forwards, and the world drew back. Rehanna returned to rocking her child, soothing it. And the thing’s voice faded as Belavierr stepped towards her daughter. She stopped there and stooped. Wiskeria looked up at her mother. Ryoka saw her eyes.

They were the eyes of a daughter who had seen who her mother truly was. Belavierr looked into Wiskeria’s eyes. After a moment, the Stitch Witch smiled. Awkwardly. Perhaps even tenderly. She looked Wiskeria up and down and then glanced at Ryoka. She paused, seemed to think, and then spoke.

“Daughter. Did you have a good journey? You appear to be naked.”

Wiskeria did not reply. In the silence of that dark night, as Ryoka looked upon another piece of true magic, the only sound came from a woman. A broken woman. Bereaved. Torn by grief and loss. Perhaps a cruel woman. Spiteful. But broken. And now—mended. With thread. Holding something that sounded and looked like a child.

Rehanna rocked it, standing in the street. She was overjoyed. She smiled and laughed. Oblivious to the world. Holding her baby.

Lost.

—–

A dark dream walked Riverfarm. But elsewhere, the world turned on, unaware of the ways where nightmares and waking merged. Other concerns kept people’s hearts. Even if the hearts were cold.

Fierre, the Vampire who acted as a broker to Runners in Reizmelt, was standing in a place few people knew of. It was a spot where people whose faces were wanted—or anyone who needed to send a [Message] in private—could hire a [Mage]. She spoke curtly, her sharp nails digging into her palms.

“Tell him that if he so much as breathes word she’s there, I will come down to Filk myself and rip out his throat. You hear me?”

The [Mage] shuddered. He thought he knew Fierre. But he had never seen the look in her eyes. He nodded, relaying the [Message]. Fierre stared down at the parchment she held. It held a [Message], or rather, a report she’d obtained for Ryoka. The [Broker] in Filk had one too. And he knew where the [Witches] were. But that wasn’t the problem.

“Leave a [Message] for Ryoka at Filk’s Runner’s Guild. Mark it as priority. I’ll pay you. Got it?”

She was too panicked to care. The rattled [Mage] sent the [Message], and Fierre stormed out of the room. She hesitated after she slammed the door, but there was nothing more she could do. Short of trying to run to Filk herself. And it was too late for that. All she could do was lean on the man in Filk. And pray Ryoka ran for it as soon as she got the [Message].

Fierre hurried back to The Huntress’ Haven, her home away from home. Madain looked up from his usually empty inn and grinned.

“You sort out that thing with Ryoka yet? Where is that idiot Runner?”

“In Riverfarm.”

“Where the hell’s that?”

Fierre was too rattled to respond. She only pulled out the report.

“I got this—”

Madain’s eyebrows rose. He knew of her profession, of course. Anyone who wanted to could find out. He sauntered over carelessly.

“Got herself into some trouble, has she? What’s that, then? Hey! [Fist Fighter], look at this.”

Alber looked up from his cold meal. He thought about it, then got up. Fierre held out the parchment shakily.

“It’s someone in Riverfarm. A [Witch]. Ryoka wanted to find her record. This is it.”

“Ooh. A criminal? Scary. You know, I have a bounty.”

“Not like this one.”

Fierre promised Madain. The former adventurer laughed contemptuously.

“Hah! How bad could it be? What’s Ryoka gotten herself tangled up—oh.”

His laughter cut off abruptly. Alber frowned as he came over to see. He looked at Fierre and then peered over Madain’s shoulder. His eyes widened. Fierre slowly took the parchment back from Madain. He stared at her along with Alber.

“Is that real?”

“Oh yes.”

It hadn’t even been hard to get. It was, after all, a public record. If she knew—Fierre didn’t know how Ryoka had met the [Witch], and she didn’t care. She just wanted Ryoka to run. Before it was too late.

“The Stitch Witch, Belavierr. Wanted in Terandria. Currently being pursued by the Guild of Hunters and the Order of Seasons. Believed to be in Izril. Current bounty…eighteen thousand total gold pieces. In Terandria. Twenty thousand pieces. From the Slavers of Roshal. Three thousand gold by Wistram…”

Murder. Kidnapping. Torture. Injury of a royal. Unlawful use of dark magic. Theft. Murder of a child. Extortion. Murder of a [Knight]. Murder of a [Guardsman]. Destruction of a city. Mass murder. Mutilation. Murder of a [Prince]. Freeing imprisoned slaves. Murder of a [Slaver]. Murder of a [Mage]. Seduction of a [Prince] (unconfirmed). Destruction of a village (unconfirmed) and mass murder via hanging. Summoning of an Old One; mass deaths by Old One. Creation of monsters. Bribery—

The list of crimes ran on and on.

Interlude – Two Rats

(The Wandering Inn’s audiobook is available for preorder here! It comes out September 10th!)

Tell of it to those who would marvel at tragedy, their fates. Those who would understand mercy and rage and the redemption of sin. Of honor, of family, and all things which are worthy—tell their story.

Not of the [Innkeeper], who had by now created an inn whose fame spread for hundreds of miles, who had come from another world and endured death and seized triumph by kindness and friendship. And yes, whose inn yet endured despite destruction and the threat of war.

For to understand her, to understand the [Princess] far from home or the last child of the Stone Spears tribe, the fate of the Minotaur who had betrayed both his team and honor in madness and the darkness of below, think only of their story:

That of two rats who crawl across the ground. The two rats as fair as snow and as grey as slate, the pair alone. Let dead gods and fallen nations lie. For on a day when the wind blew cool and the smell of spring lay fragrant upon the earth, in an inn, known to some as The Wandering Inn, the two rats began their story.

They had been born and lived in the darkness. And it was the darkness they called home. Dark, but not absolute. By the sounds above them and the cracks of light in the ceiling of their world they lived, in fear, in debauchery, in plenty—for there was always food—and sometimes, yes, in competition with other rats. But the pair were brother and sister, and perhaps it was that which kept them from gnawing on each other as prey.

So sing of the rats. And do not weep for tales untold, of the Necromancer who plotted and made monsters out of flesh and bone and the ichor of legends. Nor weep for the fate of a [King] or a land imperiled by darkness, Rhir, the cursed, blighted lands. Such tales would be told, and yet, it was two rats who deserved the songs of muses this day.

For they were rats! The passing of [Kings] meant nothing to them. Yet, would they call their fates any less than a Human [Emperor], a sovereign Selphid ruler of old? No! They were rats, and their quest to find something to nibble on matched that of a Dragon’s fate.

They scurried across the floor, sniffing. They searched for food, although food was to be had in plenty. But a rat, in the way [Philosophers] and [Sages] were never content with the limits of their knowledge, continually searched for more food.

Perhaps it was a longer plan, an understanding of the tenuous game of life and death that was the fate of all animals and people that drove them to this; a planning against the future that was the basis of conscious thought. Maybe they were just tired of eating grains. Either way, they searched.

One was white. The other grey. They bumped into each other and squeaked quietly. One, the white, twitched his whiskers at his sister, the grey. She vaguely moved to one side. They sniffed at each other. Then they went back to the bag.

The fount of life sprang forth there. Accordingly, the numbers of the rats had multiplied once, then again and again! With each generation swelling, and so they endured. The chosen rats of the dark place, who were surely blessed above all other rodents. They swarmed the bag, nibbling at the coarse exterior, fighting for the fat grains that spilled forth. The two rats joined the conflagration and ate. And then they were full and so wandered off to rest.

This was the tale of two rats. They dozed, full to bursting with food. In time, perhaps they would seek a mate; they were young, even for rats. Perhaps they might consummate their lineage with incest in full tradition of Grecian tragedy. Or maybe they would seek mates further flung; the People of the Grain Sack were descended of only a few rats, so it was all frankly somewhat incestuous.

But such was fate. Either way, the two rats slept, growing fatter. When they woke, they might excrete or eat again. Or—search once more for another tantalizing morsel in the darkness. That was their existence.

…And that was about it.

—–

Enough of rats! In her inn, a young Gnoll with white fur awoke. She yawned, stretched, and smiled. Her name was Mrsha, and she was very happy with herself. She woke from her nap and rolled over. On her back, she stared up at her paws.

She’d done it. She’d leveled up again. She was the best, most clever Gnoll child in the world. For who could match her? The Gnoll sat up and remembered.

Level 4 [Druid]. That was right. She was level four. And she was only…Mrsha had to count. Six. Or was it seven? Plains Gnolls didn’t generally count birthdays by exact dates, only the passing of years by the winter. By that standard, Mrsha had already become seven, but she decided she was still six. Because Erin had promised she’d have a party on her birthday. With cake.

The thought of cake made Mrsha’s tail wag. But since it was already wagging, that only amplified the motion. Because she’d done more than just level! Or rather, there had been a reason for her to reach Level 4.

She’d learned a spell. A whole new spell. It had been very hard work, and Mrsha had learned it just this morning. It hadn’t been from the special spellbook Krshia let her read when she visited the [Shopkeeper]’s house. Oh no. It had been from her special teacher.

Mrsha looked around for him. Normally, he was easy to spot, but Moore must have moved while she took a little nap in the sun of one window. Mrsha got up and sniffed. Where was he?

In the outhouse. Of course. Mrsha’s nose was as sensitive as they came. Her ears too. She was a Plains Gnoll after all, and she could track a rabbit through the grass with her eyes closed. Moore, by contrast, was easy. She raced over to the door, hearing heavy footsteps outside. When the door opened, there he was.

“Oh, hello, Mrsha. Did you have a good nap?”

The half-Giant blinked down at Mrsha as he came in from outside. His hands were still wet from washing in the trough Erin had installed with complimentary (mandatory) soap outside. Mrsha waved excitedly up at him and then did something new. She put her paws over her mouth and then spread them wide with a huge smile.

It was a special word. A sign, a language Mrsha was developing on her own that her special people knew. Erin, Lyonette, Numbtongue, and Moore as well as a handful of others. The gesture Mrsha had used was a special hello for when she was happy. It meant ‘I love you, hello!’

And Moore knew it. The half-Giant’s face lit up. He bent, his huge expression beaming with the pleasure of Mrsha’s compliment. She smiled too, because Moore was one of her special people. He was big, strong, nice—he always gave her bits of his food—and he had saved her from the Raskghar. He could be scary. But never to her.

“Thank you for the lovely greeting, Mrsha. But what’s made you so happy? Your nap? If only everyone could do that. Seborn, for instance.”

The half-Giant chuckled. He blinked as someone coughed behind him.

“Excuse me.”

“Oh, pardon me.”

Moore and Mrsha realized he was still standing in the door to the inn. Embarrassed, Moore shuffled to one side, and a Drake walked past him, sighing. Moore flushed and carefully motioned Mrsha to walk back inside. She stared with narrowed eyes at the Drake and then sighed. Silently.

She followed Moore back towards his table, which she’d been napping on. And as she did, she navigated around a pair of Dullahans standing and discussing politics, a Garuda (not Bevussa) heading for the outhouses, tables full of guests, Ishkr making the rounds with a platter full of drinks, and a spilled puddle of ale.

The inn was still full. Since it was her inn—or rather, she thought of it as her inn, her place—Mrsha was a bit aggrieved by it all. It had been fun the last few days, but now it was almost claustrophobic.

Guests from Liscor and Pallass circulated the tables, talking, chatting, watching a play in the background—all while the staff tended to them, exchanging alcohol and food for money. Which was all very well and good, but it got in Mrsha’s way. And the noise had been really hard to get to sleep in. Mrsha had had to come up with her own solution to that. Which was…

“Now what’s this?”

Moore exclaimed on reaching the table. He stared at a patch of magical grass blooming from the wood. Mrsha leapt up, put her head back in the soft grass, and felt some of the ambient noise die out. She’d conjured it herself. With her magic. Because yes, Mrsha was a [Mage]. Or [Druid], rather. She was magical.

“Well, that’s something. But Mrsha, you shouldn’t do that to Erin’s tables.”

The half-Giant gently scolded Mrsha. She exhaled through her nose dismissively. It was just magical grass! It would disappear soon. And it was soft and made a nice pillow. She looked up at Moore, and the half-Giant couldn’t find it in his heart to lecture her. He sat down in one of the extra-large chairs Erin had bought just for people like him (and Maughin) and sighed.

“Ah. I’m getting a bit spoiled staying here. Not that I mind, you understand? I think we deserve it after the dungeon, and it’s hardly expensive staying here! But Seborn wants to get on the road, and Jelaqua’s, um, involved with Maughin. But it will be hard going back to the road or sleeping in a barn after this.”

He sighed, and Mrsha sniffed sadly. She didn’t want him to go. He’d left once, and that had been dreadfully sad. The half-Giant avoided her gaze.

“I have to, Mrsha. In time. Not today, of course. And I promise I’ll be back. Now, er, what had you so excited?”

He looked at her. Mrsha looked up, excited again. That was right! Her new spell and her level! She had to tell Moore. Only—she paused. This would be tricky.

This was what Mrsha did. She waved for Moore’s attention, then solemnly put her paw on her chest. Then she raised one paw while the other pointed a furry finger at her head. And she pointed with two paws to the side—one flat, the other sideways as if gesturing to something—and ended it with one finger moving in a circle from the bottom to top and ending with a flick. Moore stared at her blankly.

The entire message was: I-level-because-spell. Each series of gestures had their meaning, and Mrsha had worked very hard to make her own words! Unfortunately…Moore hadn’t been around when she’d labored over them with Erin and Lyonette gently helping and encouraging. His forehead wrinkled.

“I…something…something…something? I’m sorry, Mrsha. Can you explain to me?”

Mrsha sighed again. But she patiently reenacted each part. The worst was ‘because’, the two paws pointing like an explanation. Moore couldn’t get that. Or the first part.

“You’re pointing at your head. You think? You…raising something. You want to raise something? You want me to lift something up. No?”

He looked apologetic as Mrsha lost patience and switched to the last bit. The finger swishing was shorthand for ‘spell’. But Moore eventually got it when Mrsha pulled out her wand and performed the same motion.

“Oh! You learnt the spell! Yes, you did. You’re very smart, Mrsha. A genius!”

He beamed and patted Mrsha gently on the head, his hand very, very light. Mrsha sighed a last time. Close enough. She nodded, and Moore beamed.

“Can you show me again? Just like I taught you. Focus…”

Mrsha ignored the rest because she’d already learned the spell. It was so much easier than trying to learn from Krshia’s spellbook. Maybe it was because Moore was a [Green Mage] himself, but she’d copied his spell after only two days of teaching! And without getting nosebleeds or headaches that made Krshia ban Mrsha from reading from the book. Now Mrsha concentrated, remembering what Moore had shown her. She raised her paw—

And a huge thorn sprouted from the pad on her paw. Moore applauded, and Mrsha beamed, sweating with success.

“Well done, Mrsha! [Thorn Hand]! Or rather, [Thorn Paw] for you! That’s exactly right. Can you grow another?”

Mrsha did after a moment of concentration. Now two pointy thorns protruded from her paw, one from her palm, the other from the back of her paw. It was ungainly and a bit heavy; she poked a thorn into the table experimentally. The wood of the table gave as the thorn gouged a bit into it. Moore nodded as Mrsha touched the thorn and found it wasn’t sharp—to her.

“That’s right. You made the thorns like I showed you, so they won’t cut you. That’s an important lesson for [Green Mages]. And [Druids]. That’s why I taught you it first.”

He winked conspiratorially as he whispered Mrsha’s class. She beamed up at him. It was important! The thorn was just dull and hard, but when she waved her paw—Moore leaned back hurriedly.

“Careful, Mrsha! I told you, you must be very careful with that. You can cut someone badly with those thorns. Remember your promise?”

He looked as stern as he ever did with her. Mrsha nodded solemnly. The half-Giant nodded slowly. Then his face turned a bit despondent. He reached for his mug of fresh cow’s milk and drank what would be the equivalent of an entire cup for Mrsha in a single gulp.

“I don’t know if it’s wise to teach you a combat spell. But this is the kind of reality we face. And you’ve seen worse. But promise me you’ll be careful.”

Mrsha nodded again. Moore exhaled and smiled. He wiped at his mouth.

“I know you will be. And remember, that spell is a gateway to grander spells. It’s technically Tier 0, but much harder than [Grow Grass]. In time, you can cast [Thorny Fist] or even [Armor of Thorns]. [Barrier of Thorns]. [Thorn Spray]…you’ve seen me use those spells, right?”

The little Gnoll nodded eagerly, her eyes shining. She’d seen the Halfseekers covered by the [Armor of Thorns] spell. Moore saw her signal for a story: opening her paws like a book, and he smiled.

“A story? Oh, about the spells? You want to know how they’re used? Well, you saw my [Mass Armor of Thorns] spell, didn’t you? Jelaqua and Seborn and I get covered by them. They don’t restrict movement much if I use them, and they cut anything we run into. It’s good extra armor; we used it one time fighting Ogres and—”

“Moore! Hey, Moore! Get over here!”

The half-Giant cut off as a voice interrupted him. He looked up, and Mrsha saw a pale hand waving. There sat Jelaqua, who changed bodies like other people changed clothes. A Human woman today, waving from her seat next to a Dullahan as large as Moore. A Drowned Man sat at the table, his arms folded, looking characteristically grumpy.

Moore hesitated and broke off from his tale. He glanced at Mrsha and sighed.

“Coming, Jelaqua! Sorry, Mrsha. She wants me to talk with Maughin. I’ll tell you the story later, alright? Why don’t you come with me?”

He beckoned, smiling. Mrsha hesitated and peered at Jelaqua and Maughin. Her eyes narrowed. They were sitting next to each other, and Jelaqua was leaning down to smile at the Dullahan’s head resting on the table. They smelled of sex and looked like any young Gnoll couple back in the Stone Spears tribe.

Mrsha was, after all, a Gnoll, and not many things were secret when you lived in a small tribe with ears better than most dogs. She got the same vibe from Jelaqua and Maughin. They were going to be like young Gnoll couples. The kind that no one liked in a tribe, who had to use the furthest-away tents because they were so noisy at night. And who constantly looked at each other and never played with Mrsha. She turned up her nose, and Moore sighed.

“No? I’d like it.”

Even then. Mrsha turned her head and waved her paws, shooing Moore away. He got up with a groan.

“I don’t blame you. Coming, Jelaqua! Don’t throw things! Stupid lovesick couples…”

He took on a bit of Seborn’s grumpiness as he left Mrsha by herself. A bit put out, despite having made what she considered the wise decision, Mrsha grumpily yanked up her magical grass and watched it begin to dissipate. She looked around the crowded inn.

Normally, she’d enjoy such a sight. But sometimes, yes, sometimes, Mrsha liked the quiet of the inn. Because that meant Drassi had time to play with her, or Ishkr would let her help in the kitchen. She could roam from table to table in the huge [Grand Theatre], play tag with Apista. It also meant Erin and Lyonette had time for her.

Numbtongue too. He was nice. Even if the other Goblin, the one named Pyrite, was in him too. But Numbtongue, like Mrsha, didn’t like the crowded inn, so he was in Celum with Octavia. Mrsha would have gone with them, but she was banned from the [Alchemist]’s shop. As if she’d knock over potions by accident! Mrsha just wanted to learn alchemy. But no…

Grumpily, Mrsha crawled off the table and slunk to the floor. It was immediately occupied by a pair of Dullahans. They stared at her as they removed their heads. She stared up at them and walked on all fours.

This was no good. No, not at all. Too crowded! As she thought that, Mrsha glanced up and saw the sun shining through some of the windows. Look at that. It was a lovely spring day, and Mrsha could smell the outdoors each time someone went outside. She glanced at the bright skies and came to an immediate decision.

It was time to go outside. Yes! Of course! Why hadn’t she thought of that? It was far too nice to stay indoors any longer. And Mrsha, no, Mrsha the Adventurer knew exactly what she could do outside.

Memory stirred. And Mrsha, Mrsha the Brave, recalled another time when she’d gone outdoors. There had been trials then. Trials and tribulations when she got back and was punished. But it had been an adventure. The best kind. She had been a hero. She had gone out with her trusty companion, Apista, and defeated Crelers. With her allies.

The wind blew. Inside, Mrsha jumped up onto another empty table and stared out the window. Her blood began to boil—metaphorically—as she recalled those glory days.

Once, Crelers had threatened the land guarded by Mrsha the Wise and Magnificent. They had made an incursion into a cave. Laid waste to the lands. Killed the inhabitants and thrown the realm into peril while evil Poo Slimes had terrorized innocent Healing Slimes. Against those odds, who could triumph?

Mrsha. But it had not been just Mrsha. A brave alliance, a desperate fellowship had been formed. Mrsha, Apista, the Healing Slime, and the doughty Fortress Beavers of the cave had teamed up with the ambivalently evil Shield Spiders of the pits to drive the Crelers back. What had become of them? Mrsha stared out a window, ignoring a Garuda asking if she could move.

How had the truce between Fortress Beavers and Shield Spiders fared? Had the brave and glorious defenders kept their ancient, desperate alliance or fallen into treachery and decay over the past…months of peace? Yes, perhaps they had. For the memories of spiders and beavers were short. The Guardians of the Cave, as they were surely known, may have forsaken their charge, passed into complacency and forgotten the lessons of old.

But Mrsha the Great and Terrible had been there. Mrsha the White with her wand of magic. And if evil threatened, surely it was up to her to rally the species. Slime, beaver, and spider. So Mrsha turned. Excited, filled with the call to adventure, she leapt off the table where the Garuda was sitting, staring at her.

The Gnoll cub padded towards the door. As she did, she waved to Apista. Her sworn companion and defender! The Ashfire Bee flapped one wing.

She didn’t move, hopped up on Faerie Flowers. Mrsha glared. Reluctantly, Apista abandoned the flower boxes and flew over and landed on Mrsha’s head.

That was better. Mrsha the Tamer of Bees reached for her wand and proudly removed it from the secret holster on her side. She waved it over her head and thought about her new spell. Yes, it was time for an adventure! She was not the [Mage] she used to be, but a powerful [Druid]. One ready to face an even greater threat! Like Rock Crabs?

…Okay, not Rock Crabs. Mrsha the Prudent walked unsteadily towards the door on two feet as a Drake opened it, adjusting his trousers. Then she gave up and put the wand in her mouth and bounded forwards. The sun-filled Floodplains called to her. It was time for the second adventure of Mrsha the Brave and Glorio—

“Oh no you don’t, young Miss!”

A pair of clawed hands snatched Mrsha. Alarmed, she twisted and saw a foe! Drassi! Drassi the Talkative! The [Barmaid] and [Gossip] frowned at Mrsha, looking uncharacteristically strict.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Mrsha squirmed, trying to wriggle free. She couldn’t be held here! Adventures called! She went limp, but Drassi, growling, managed to secure Mrsha. She swatted at Apista as the bee lazily flew around her head.

“Mrsha! Don’t be uncooperative! You know you’re not allowed outside without a minder. Remember the Raskghar? The Creler eggs? No way.”

Flee! Mrsha pushed at the hands. Drassi nearly lost Mrsha, but she was too strong! And then she turned, and Mrsha heard her call out.

“Excuse me, Lyonette!”

Uh oh. Mrsha went still. She looked up innocently as a fair, red-headed girl turned. Lyonette spotted Drassi holding Mrsha back from the open doorway and made a beeline towards them. Mrsha gave the [Princess] her most loving smile. Lyonette frowned and looked at Drassi.

“What’s Mrsha done this time?”

“She tried to leave the inn. Unsupervised. I don’t want to put her down or she’ll bolt for it.”

Both Drake and Human turned a severe eye towards Mrsha. The Gnoll cub immediately changed plans. She looked up as Drassi let her down and sat. She turned her back towards the invitingly open door and looked up innocently. Lyonette folded her arms.

“I see. Well, it seems like someone’s in need of some lessons. I had them planned for this evening, but I can take a break. Drassi, let Erin know I’m taking over.”

“I can’t. She’s in Liscor with Krshia! The debates are still happening, remember?”

“Of course. Well—Drassi, take over and give me a short break. I’m going to have a word with Mrsha here.”

So saying, Lyonette carried Mrsha upstairs. The Gnoll child wriggled until she was in Lyonette’s room. Then the [Princess] put her down and placed her hands on her hips. Mrsha sighed as she looked up.

“I know you want to go out, Mrsha. But you promised to stay here. Don’t you recall?”

Mrsha avoided Lyonette’s gaze. Well, yes, she did recall that promise in a vague sense. But she’d made that ages ago! And today was so nice…she would’ve just gone a little bit away. A mile at most. Maybe two.

The [Princess] sighed, seeing Mrsha turn her head somewhat sulkily.

“Mrsha, the inn’s been busy. I’m sorry about that, but we’ve been making lots of money. And we’ll put it to good use! You’ve seen my designs for the new inn, right? And the Antinium at work?”

The Gnoll nodded reluctantly. Lyonette nodded.

“Well then, it won’t be forever. I’m sure it’ll die down soon; we’re already getting fewer crowds over on Pallass’ side. Can you be a good girl and wait? Inside? Without causing as much trouble as Erin?”

Mrsha considered it. She could. But…she was bored! She signaled that to Lyonette. The [Princess] frowned.

“I…am…oh, Mrsha, I know you’re bored. And I promise, we’ll have some fun tonight! We can even skip the lessons today. Alright? Why don’t you sit with…Moore? Or watch a play?”

But she’d seen all of them. Mrsha grumpily folded her arms and looked at her paws. She felt like she was back with the Stone Spears tribe. Only, there’d been other Gnolls there. And Urksh always had something useful for her to do. Here, Mrsha wasn’t allowed to roam. Or even go to the city! She pointed that out—by pointing out Lyonette’s window. The [Princess] nodded.

“I know, you can’t go to the city either. Because of the crowds and Krshia being busy. But in a few days, this election nonsense will be over! And then—”

She frowned as Mrsha swiveled the entire way around to stare at the wall. A few days? That was forever. Lyonette sighed, raked at her sweaty hair with her hands, and groaned as she heard something crash downstairs.

“Mrsha, I’m so sorry. But you can sit with anyone inside—or if you promise, you can go outside and only watch Ceria being boiled.”

Mrsha sniffed disparagingly. Listening to Ceria scream insults as her team boiled her in her tub was only interesting for the first twenty minutes. Lyonette didn’t understand. Mrsha had to run about! She didn’t get it because she was old. Because she had red hair. Because she was a [Princess]. Because she was Human?

But of course, Mrsha couldn’t convey any of that yet. All she could do was look fed up and fold her arms. Which she did. Lyonette sighed.

“Okay, okay. How about this? You stay inside, and if you don’t cause any trouble, we’ll go into Liscor tomorrow and buy you a new toy. How about it? I’ll ask Erin to manage the inn, and we can go for a walk in Celum. Or even outside the city!”

Mrsha perked up. That did sound nice! She nodded, and Lyonette stuck out her hand and extended a pinkie.

“Promise?”

Mrsha lacked the length of her fingers and a Human’s dexterity, but she managed to do the pinkie promise that Erin had taught the two in the end. She looked up at Lyonette, still a bit woebegone, and the [Princess] had to hug her.

“I know, sweetie. But I’ll hire more staff. And—and like I said, this inn’s going to change! I’ll make sure of that. And I promise you, you’ll get to go outside! I just need to get some things from Zevara. If I had my family’s cloak, I’d be happier with letting you roam close to the inn. Just be good today, alright? Someday soon…”

She paused, her voice trailing off. Lyonette stared at Mrsha, then turned to look out the window.

“Someday. Someday…”

She didn’t complete the sentence. Lyonette only blinked when Mrsha jumped into her lap. She yelped and scolded Mrsha, but gently. And Mrsha occupied her so Lyonette wouldn’t be lost in thought again. Or say that word.

Someday. The word scared Mrsha more than any dreams of Raskghar or monsters or even Goblin Lords. Because it lay ahead. Because one of the great secrets Mrsha had been told was that Lyonette was a [Princess]. A true [Princess] of a kingdom far, far away. And she did not belong in this inn.

Someday, she would leave. Just like Ryoka. Even though Lyonette was better than a real mother. But she was a [Princess]. Mrsha didn’t want to think of that. So she let Lyonette scoop her up and hug her tight.

“You are my sweetest little Mrsha. Yes, you are. And I’ll never let you go. Now, be good and find something to do, okay? If you want, I’ll get you something nice to eat. Like a little salad?”

Those were just leaves. Mrsha wrinkled her nose. Lyonette let her down, chuckling, and Mrsha reluctantly went downstairs. She had promised, so she kept her word, even though she cast three longing glances at the door. Lyonette was keeping an eye on her, though, even as she supervised an accident involving a bunch of broken tankards at the bar.

Eventually, she stopped watching, and Mrsha wandered around the room. Moore was there. And Jelaqua and Seborn and the big Dullahan named Maughin. So were some Gnolls that Mrsha knew. Among them was Raekea the [Armorer], taking a break from arguing in Liscor.

Mrsha wished Xif were here; maybe she could sell him more fur! Or—or he could show her how to make a potion. She was just debating going over to Seborn and seeing if she could steal a dagger from the sheath at his side when she heard it.

A tiny squeak amid all the noise. Mrsha’s eyes went round. Then she smiled in delight.

—–

The light shone down, breaking up the world of the People of the Grain Sack. It was a harsh light, unfamiliar in the darkness. And the people fled, fearing the noise and light from above. But the two rats, white and grey, were yet new to the world. In their incaution, they wandered closer to that bright place and the tantalizing smells from above.

It sealed their doom. For no sooner did they scurry forwards, brother and sister, then a harbinger of the end fell from above. Down she came, leaping down the cliffs of wood. And the two froze and then fled.

Alas. They had paused too long. Moved too slowly. In a single bound, she was on them, and they turned, squeaking in alarm. For pity. For salvation. But the People of the Grain Sack, the rats, were cowardly and hid. And the two were lifted up, up, and caught in a paw almost as large as they were. They wriggled, trying to break free, but a vise stronger than steel surrounded them, carried them away through the air.

Oh, what cruel fate! What tyranny! The rats wriggled and squeaked, expecting their demise at the paws of the white-furred titan, the giant monster. They bared their teeth in defiance before their descent into hell—

—–

Mrsha plonked the rats on the ground and happily pinned one with a foot as she inspected the other, holding it up by the tail. They squeaked and wriggled, and she grinned. Look what she’d found! She glanced about and saw more scurrying. But since she only had two paws, Mrsha decided these two were enough.

They were lovely rats. Young, but fat and very active! Her eyes lit up as she shook them and saw them try to scamper away despite being pressed down. Now this was entertainment! She loosened her grip, and one of the rats, the grey, shot away. Mrsha leapt after her and nearly dropped the other.

Whoops! They were quick! And Mrsha was well aware that, if they ran, they’d probably disappear. She considered the problem, and then her eyes lit up as she remembered something from her old tribe. It didn’t hurt to remember them as much. And this was something she’d used to…Mrsha bent over her captured prizes, and they writhed and protested as she grabbed their tails.

—–

It was a small knot. But it was all that was needed. As soon as the titan let go, the two rats felt and saw what had happened. Where one’s tail ended, the other began. A knot captured the two. Yet, in that same instant, the constraining paws let go! They could flee!

But hubris and the mortal tale of self-interest was the truer captor. The two rats fled—in opposite directions. And they both felt the sting, the pulling pain, and stopped. They were trapped by their own tails. Trapped by each other! They turned, snarling. How quickly did the bonds of siblings fall away? And the giant scooped them up.

What savage playacting at godhood. What contempt for mortal foibles! The two rats looked up and realized they were bound. Captive. They raced about, intertwined, two separate things made into one dysfunctional whole. The giant smiled.

—–

This was really fun. Mrsha watched as the two rats tried to escape and kept pulling at each other. She prodded one, and it recoiled, bumping into the grey rat. They tried to scurry off in tandem; Mrsha snagged the linked tails. They weren’t nearly as fast, tied together! She put them down on the steps and watched one trying to pull the other down.

Fun, fun, fun! She had new pets! Mrsha wanted to show everyone. Moore and Lyonette and Drassi and—she looked up and scampered with the two rats in her paws. She looked around the crowded inn when she returned to the light and kicked the trapdoor shut. The rats were still in her paws; they were quivering. Mrsha gazed down at one and realized it had pooed in her paws! Annoyed, she wiped her paw on the rat and looked about.

Now, Lyonette wasn’t here…probably in the kitchens, and Drassi was busy. Moore was over there, but there was where Jelaqua was. And Maughin. Mrsha frowned impatiently. She wanted to show someone else! Who—

Then Mrsha saw her. Sitting at a table with a Drake. She hurried over and tugged at a furry leg. Raekea, the best [Armorer] in Liscor, looked down and blinked at Mrsha. The little Gnoll hesitated, but Raekea’s smile lit up her face.

“Little Mrsha, yes? Hello! And what’s that you have?”

Mrsha brightened. Some Gnolls were still scared of her. In both Liscor and Pallass; you could smell it. Even the nice Rufelt had been a bit uneasy. Xif hadn’t been, and Krshia and Elirr and a lot of the others weren’t, but some still looked at her white fur and whispered the word. Doombringer. Mrsha didn’t like that. She hated it, and it made her feel awful.

But Raekea just smiled, and she smelled only of coal and smoke and iron. She and the Drake sitting next to her looked down as Mrsha jumped onto a chair and placed her prize on the table. The Drake paused, stared at the two rats tied together scampering about on the table, and dropped his fork with an exclamation. Raekea just chuckled.

“Hah! Two rats! Now where did you find those? Wait—you’ve tied them together by the tails?”

“Eurgh! Are there rats in this inn?”

The Drake looked horrified. He was eating a steak and hurriedly pulled his plate back as the grey rat dragged her brother towards it. He was trying to make a flying leap off the table. Raekea wasn’t bothered at all. She looked at Mrsha’s hesitant face and slapped the Drake on the shoulder casually.

“Jekss, hush! They’re just rats. Tiny ones! They couldn’t hurt you even if they bit through your scales.”

“Why are they tied together?”

“Hmm. Because it’s funny to watch them try to run about? I used to do the same thing when I was a cub, Mrsha. Did you only find two? When I came to Liscor, when I was young, I would get as many as I could and tie them all together! They call them rat kings. Did you ever do that?”

She looked at Mrsha as the Gnoll shook her head, delighted. She hadn’t! But then, she’d only found a few rats in the wilderness, and they were a lot faster and harder to catch. Raekea laughed.

“Ah, well, it is easy in cities, yes?”

“Rats. Can they not be on the table?”

The Drake groaned. He was fairly slim, although his arms had lots of muscle. Raekea gave him a reproving look.

“Don’t be rude. Little Mrsha is showing us her prize! It’s what Gnoll children do. You should say how good it was of her to catch them! I was a Plains Gnoll, you know. Don’t be stifling.”

The Drake opened his mouth, saw the glint in Raekea’s eye, and heaved a big sigh. He eyed the rats and Mrsha, who was looking at him expectantly.

“Er, good job, Miss Mrsha. Nice rats. Now…Raeky, treasure of my hoard, I’m eating. I don’t want to have to look at those rats, fond recollections or not.”

He looked at Raekea, and she rolled her eyes, but affectionately. He was Raekea’s husband, and so she winked at Mrsha, and the Gnoll took them off the table. The rats quivered in her lap as she grinned up at the big Gnoll.

“There. Nasty rats are gone.”

“They’re still there. I know they are. I’m almost off my lunch. Almost, I said. Don’t touch my steak.”

Jekss grumbled. He speared a bit of cut steak, and Raekea plucked a morsel off his plate. He sighed as she took another and offered it to Mrsha, who joyfully accepted it. He balked when the third piece went to the two rats.

“Oh come on, Raekea! That’s my lunch! I came here to support you, not feed rats!”

The [Armorer] snorted and flicked her husband’s neck spines with one paw affectionately.

“You came here because I told you they sold steaks at any hour, made well, yes? Don’t lie. And if it bothers you so, I can take little Mrsha into the city. Honored Krshia wanted me to anyways. This inn’s too crowded for a Gnoll child. She should run free for a bit, right?”

She winked at Mrsha. The Gnoll nodded rapidly. Someone understood! She wagged her tail as the two rats squeaked. Raekea smiled at Mrsha again.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to Krshia about this. I know she lets little Mrsha come to her apartment, but we should let her visit more of us. Would you like that, Mrsha? You are a Gnoll after all. And it is not good to be apart from your true people. Ishkr and the others are fine, but you are also a Plains Gnoll, born and true. Some of us in Liscor are such, and you should be with us more often.”

She held out a paw, and Mrsha, beaming, took it. Both [Armorer]’s and [Druid]’s tails wagged, because it was true. They were both Plains Gnolls. Raekea saw Mrsha nod excitedly, and she stood up.

“Well then, why not now? I’ll head to Liscor with Mrsha, husband dearest, to spare you from fear of rats. Better hide them too, Mrsha. Or else Miss Lyonette might kick up a fuss! Humans and Drakes are weird about rodents. But they don’t mind rabbits.”

She laughed, and Mrsha laughed silently too. She ran to get her belt pouch, overjoyed. She’d get to go to Liscor! Raekea bent down and kissed her husband on the cheek. He smiled at her, but then called out as they left his table.

“It’s not just me being picky about rats, Raeky! It’s you Gnolls being weird! It’s not—”

He looked around for confirmation. Unfortunately, he met the eyes of the red Garuda who was enjoying a hamburger at the next table. She shrugged.

“Hey, I like rats, Mister. Don’t know what your problem is.”

The Drake [Blacksmith] sighed. And Mrsha, after some debate, held Raekea’s hand as she hid the two squirming rats in her special belt pouch. Lyonette sighed, but nodded.

“You can go, Mrsha. But don’t make trouble for Miss Raekea!”

She turned to the female Gnoll.

“I do appreciate it. I’d take Mrsha myself, but…”

Lyonette indicated the busy inn. Raekea bared her teeth in the big Gnoll grin. Drakes did it too; only Humans got nervous when they saw all those teeth. She nodded as Mrsha held her paw.

“Of course. Mrsha will be fine, I promise. And we will be among our own kind. I will let her play in the park.”

Our own kind. How long had it been since she’d been accepted by other Gnolls? Not since her fur turned white. Mrsha’s heart leapt, and she smiled proudly at Raekea. The [Armorer] winked as Lyonette nodded distractedly.

“Sounds great! I’ve got to run. Tell Erin I need her help, if she’s not busy! If she’s causing a scene, don’t tell her I said that!”

—–

In the city, Mrsha walked with Raekea, carefully holding her squirming belt pouch with one paw, Raekea’s paw with the other. She walked on two legs as the older Gnoll gently led her through crowded streets. Raekea chatted to her as only a Gnoll could.

“It will be a grand thing for you, Mrsha child. This Meeting of the Tribes. Not only will you come, you will be the honored guest of the Silverfang Tribe. Ours. I think I will go, if I can. Krshia will, of course, and some others from the city. But you will be with us. You must!”

Mrsha looked up anxiously. Among so many other Gnolls? Raekea just smiled and squeezed gently. Her paws were rougher from swinging a hammer, but her smile was very kind.

“Of course. You know magic.”

She whispered the word so quietly not even other Gnolls walking down the street could have heard. And the [Armorer]’s eyes shone.

“It is a thing we thought Gnolls were cursed by. But not only you; I hear this Ferkr of Pallass has gained it. Two [Mages]! Perhaps—perhaps it may take away from the worth of our gift. But the spellbook speaks for itself. And we have more to offer. Things we learned from your Miss Erin and, hopefully, the worth of Krshia Silverfang being part of Liscor’s Council! That would be hugely valuable in itself.”

Mrsha nodded seriously. But her heart still fluttered at the idea. In Liscor, people had feared her as one with white fur, the sole survivor of a tribe, marked as a Doombringer, a cursed one. And those were City Gnolls. Those who lived in tribes, the Plains Gnolls, would be even…but Raekea was holding Mrsha’s hand tightly and reassuring her.

“It will be fine. Perhaps Krshia might even ask our Chieftain, her sister, to name you as one of our tribe. Not to forget the Stone Spears, of course. But what she plans is to show the others that white fur is not cursed! The Raskghar prove that. You saved our people. Come to that, we will bring some of the dead bodies. Proof of our hated foes. That too is great worth. Although it is not something to be proud of.”

She shuddered, and Mrsha did too. She had been there. Raekea paused and bent to nuzzle Mrsha with her furry cheeks. It was such a Gnollish thing to do—Mrsha couldn’t remember when that had happened last. With Urksh? She clung to Raekea, and the [Armorer] whispered.

“I’m sorry. I should not have brought that up, no. You still have nightmares? Elirr tells me he does. But they are defeated. And if they should return—no—we will erase them from this dungeon and wherever they hide. The Pride of Kelia, they have sworn to Krshia to hunt down the Raskghar, yes? The adventurers will find the last of them in the dungeon and destroy them.”

That made Mrsha feel better. But she did still dream of the Raskghar. Of Nokha and the ritual. And yes, sometimes she woke up in fear, thrashing, until Lyonette held her. It was almost as comforting to see Raekea’s face. Because they spoke as Gnoll to Gnoll. Raekea paused, then pointed at Mrsha’s belt pouch.

“Your little rats might be suffocating. Take them out, yes? No one will mind.”

Mrsha did just that. The two rats came out, blinking in the daylight. She poked one, and it squeaked. The look on its face and the timing made both Gnolls giggle, Mrsha silently.

—–

Air! The sweet rush of it filled the rats’ lungs. And daylight! A foreign land lay before them, one made of light and giants! Had they reached some land of titans? The two tried to flee, but their captor held them tight.

What irony! That they should find a land beyond which they had ever dreamt of, with sights and places unimaginable to go! Yet they were captive. Prisoner. Above them, the largest titan chuckled as the small one tossed the rats up and down.

“Now, let us find the one we seek. For we may be Plains Gnolls, but we do battle as City Gnolls here, Mrsha. And with words, we must take a place on the Council. It is power and respect and, yes, benefit to the city that drives us. Not vanity alone.”

The white Gnoll nodded, and the two walked until the drifting people of the city of Liscor became thick as flies, then a living, breathing mass. A crowd, listening in a place where four streets met. And in that place, two sides argued, one Gnoll and one Drake.

So spoke the Drake, with fury and ire.

“The Antinium cannot be trusted! Don’t you see the lies in the web they weave? The insects would take your city and drown you in with gold and pretty gestures. Let us build a city alone!”

More than one person in the crowd listened and was troubled by his words because they made sense. Not long past were the Antinium Wars. But standing opposite him, a Gnoll replied in words no less eloquent.

“So you say alone, Lism. But who can be alone? We are Gnolls and Drakes. And here has come Pallass, flooding into our city to acknowledge it! Not because of any one Drake or Gnoll. But because of a Human! The very ones you rail against. Antinium held our walls. Antinium died for us. But it is all species I say Liscor should accept! And I say you would drive all but Drakes out!”

Those words stuck in the Drake’s throat, and he choked, and the crowd murmured. But thus went the debates. As Raekea paused with Mrsha on the edge of the crowd, she whispered to Mrsha.

“It seems to be deadlocked. No, in our favor. It is your [Innkeeper] who tilts the scales. And a truer friend to Gnolls we have yet to find.”

So she pointed, and Mrsha saw Erin Solstice standing in the front. Lism ignored her, and as his nephew, Olesm, for whom Mrsha saw as both good and evil, whispered to him, he replied. Or at least, tried.

“You are deflecting from the point with each statement, Krshia Silverfang. It’s not about other cities or even Humans—”

“That’s me! Hi, Lism! Remember me?”

“—Humans, as I was saying—it’s about one thing alone. Antinium. And I say again: have Klbkch, Klbkch the Slayer, swear that the Antinium offer Liscor no threat. I’m all for other species—”

“Except me! Do you remember how we met? You ripped me off! I paid a gold coin for a cloth bag!”

At that point, Lism closed his eyes and gnashed his teeth, and Mrsha and Raekea both laughed in delight, for Erin was being Erin and had a [Loud Voice]. The Drake went on, huffily, but losing momentum with each word.

“And if you think the Antinium won’t turn on the city when it suits them—”

“Do you remember trying to rip me off after that? By making Olesm play chess with me? Hi, Olesm!”

“Shut up! This is not about you, Human! So be quiet while we debate the real threat!”

Perhaps the spittle that flew struck even eight rows of the people standing closest; it sprayed those in front. But it did not stop the [Innkeeper], who replied to the outraged Drake without missing a beat.

“You say it’s all about Antinium. But all you’re doing is painting them in a bad light. There are bad ones and good ones. So maybe Klbkch won’t swear he never thought of doing Liscor wrong. But can you tell me Liscor has no plans to destroy the Antinium Hive? Seems to me you’re a hypocrite, Lism. And a really bad guy.”

On his stage, the Drake spluttered, and some of the crowd laughed. The white Gnoll laughed in silence, the [Armorer] with her voice. But the [Strategist] who stood at his uncle’s side only sighed. Olesm Swifttail stepped up and, in a quiet voice, delivered his counterstroke. Whispered words that made Lism’s eyes light up and announce as loud as could be.

“Miss Erin, it seems to me you have affection for the Antinium you call friends. But they are a handful, a few, a fraction of a larger whole. And the Grand Queen is no Human’s ally, nor Drake nor Gnoll’s. Can you call Antinium anything but slaves who will obey when she points them to war? Can you claim they will not obey her when she speaks?”

The crowd swung back and forth. But Erin spoke again, and Krshia next, and they swung closer towards her than the Drake’s side. Because the crazed Human [Innkeeper] stood there with Pallass’ [Senators] and Gnolls, and that was plain to see. So the Drake, in desperation, promised more and more. And offered less and less.

“I’ll build the walls twice as high!”

The Gnoll laughed and shook her head.

“With what budget? Don’t make promises that you can’t keep.”

“In that case, I’ll call for even more companies from Liscor! Bring our army back!”

“To do what? Guard our sheep? Where were they months gone past? They sent a hundred when we needed all and more!”

The Drake ground his teeth. Mrsha, restless in the crowd, looked up at Raekea and tugged on her hand because she was sure Erin would win and wanted to run and play. And turning, with the two rats in hand, she heard the Drake’s last, desperate pitch.

“In that case, I’ll execute the damned Minotaur as soon as I’m elected! No—I’ll have him drawn and quartered! Vote Lism for justice and a horrible death! Vote Lism and I’ll see justice to every Gnoll who was wronged by him!”

The rats gasped with the Gnoll as she squeezed them tight. And turning back, Mrsha looked up. And her eyes were round with memory and fright.

—–

“Execution.”

The word came from Krshia. Quietly. Mrsha looked up at her and remembered.

A bloodstained altar. Gnolls being dragged by Raskghar. A bloody rock. A Minotaur, eyes red with madness. A half-Elf pleading.

Calruz.

And the thought of him filled her with true fear. Because his was another face of her nightmares. Raekea turned too, and Lism, sensing the break in the deadlock, leapt onto it.

“Of course! He’s been sitting in our prisons for months! Too long! What’s the hold up? What’s the delay? Let’s execute him already! I think I speak for all of us that it’s overdue; vote for me and I’ll execute him by drawing and quartering! No, by fire!”

He looked around, raising his claws, and there were shouts of agreement from the crowd. Just shouts. But no one looked ready to object. Krshia just sneered.

“Paltry promises, Lism. That…Minotaur will face justice for his crimes. It’s not a matter of how, but when.”

“You think so, Silverfang? Then why isn’t he already dead? He should have been strung up the moment we got him! Along with any Raskghar—if we’d taken those beasts alive! I’ve heard he’s being kept because our Watch Captain needs proof he wasn’t enchanted or some nonsense. Phsaw!”

Lism spat. Someone in the crowd shouted in disgust. He paused.

“Sorry about that. Anyways, I say let there be justice—now! No waiting! Only a monster could do what that Minotaur did. Not only was his team one of the ones that released the undead from the crypts, he sent the Raskghar to attack our citizens. So I say—let’s kill him and make it something that would give even those beasts nightmares! Kill that Minotaur! Kill that Minotaur!”

His supporters took up the chant. On stage, Krshia folded her arms, looking annoyed. And in the crowd, Mrsha saw Raekea bare her teeth.

“There’s something I could agree with. What’s taking Watch Captain Zevara so long? Shut up that Drake, Krshia.”

The [Shopkeeper] clearly intended to. Mrsha saw Krshia waving for silence. She also saw Erin waving her arms in the crowd and making her way to the platform. Krshia didn’t see as she snapped at Lism.

“You’re quick to change your tune, Lism! I thought this was ‘about the Antinium’. You’re just throwing anything you can out in hopes you can distract from the real argument! But if you like, I’ll personally guarantee that if I take office, I’ll have that Minotaur executed as he should be. Are you satisfied with—”

She broke off, frowning. Mrsha heard the voice, quieter, but distinct. Erin. She was shouting up at Krshia on her platform. And Mrsha saw Erin’s wide eyes and the look on her face. Krshia bent. Her expression told Mrsha many things.

“What’s that, Silverfang? Lost your tongue?”

Krshia didn’t reply. She’d turned off the magical enhancement to her voice. But Mrsha and Raekea—all of the Gnolls in the crowd could hear what Erin and Krshia were saying. Mrsha paused. Raekea stared.

“Let him live? What on earth is your Human saying? Mrsha—”

She looked down. The white Gnoll was trembling, holding onto her rats. And Krshia was snapping at Erin. But the [Innkeeper] was raising her arms, making an ‘x’. The look on her face was set. Krshia straightened and stared blankly for a second.

“Well?”

Lism was crowing. Because Olesm had seen the back-and-forth. And he’d stepped forwards to whisper in his uncle’s ear. Because he could see it. No—Mrsha could see it. The rats could see it.

A flaw. There stood Erin. On her face was written one thing. And all of the things she’d brought—the Pallassian [Senators], the door to the Walled City itself, her support of Krshia—it all teetered. The Gnoll stared down at Erin.

“I must discuss this. Excuse me, everyone. I will not be long.”

She muttered with her enchanted voice and then turned it off and leapt from the stage. Lism and his four cohorts crowed in exultation, and the crowd murmured. The Gnolls especially. Mrsha just stared as Krshia grabbed Erin, and the two began to argue fiercely as Selys hurried over.

It couldn’t be. But Mrsha knew Erin. She knew Ceria. Sometimes, the half-Elf came back, smelling of Calruz. But it could not be.

“Let him live? Was that what she said?”

Raekea’s growl of fury made even some other Gnolls shrink back. The [Armorer]’s arms tensed, and Mrsha saw heads turning to Lism. He certainly wasn’t about to give Krshia a break. On stage, he began shouting, free from interruption.

“You heard it, folks! Honorable Krshia would let that Minotaur remain in jail, free as a damned bird, for killing our citizens! No—worse! Have you heard what he did? Would any of you let that monster walk free another second? I say let’s kill him, but make the execution fit the crime! Get some oil, boil it, and boil him, one inch at a time for a day!”

“That’s right! Justice for Liscor’s Gnolls!”

One of the Drakes standing besides Lism howled, and it was Gnolls and Drakes who shouted with him. Not one Gnoll in the crowd would argue against that. Mrsha was trembling. She stared at Erin.

No. But yes. Erin was shaking her head. Krshia was tearing at her fur. Selys looked conflicted. And Watch Captain Zevara—every head turned towards her as she climbed onto Krshia’s vacated stage.

“Shopkeeper Lism! What did you just say you’d do to my prisoner?”

She bellowed straight into a speaking gem she’d snatched from Elirr. The crowd winced because Zevara barely needed the gem to begin with. Lism hesitated, but, like him or hate him, he didn’t back down even with the Watch Captain shouting at him.

“Watch Captain Zevara, I admire your restraint! But this is a matter of public decency! Of justice! That Minotaur—”

“Shopkeeper Lism! I don’t recall seeing your face in my damn mirror this morning!”

Zevara’s bellow cut Lism off. She was actually better than Krshia at rendering the Drake speechless. Zevara went on; her scales flushed darker as she shouted.

“For your information, the Silver-rank Adventurer known as Calruz has not been held to justice for one simple reason: we are not certain he was in control of himself when he committed the crimes he was imprisoned for!”

A murmur ran through the crowd, but a discontented one. Lism frowned and shouted back.

“Even so, Watch Captain. That doesn’t excuse any of what he did. That Minotaur is a criminal!”

Again, Mrsha felt a leap in her chest. She agreed with the nasty Drake! But Watch Captain Zevara just glared at Lism.

“This is not a matter for the election. Nor is it a matter for the Council to decide. I am Watch Captain, and unless you’d like to relieve me of my post, the fate of Calruz the Minotaur is my jurisdiction!”

She threw the speaking stone at Elirr and stormed off the stage. But she’d gotten no further than ten steps when Lism spoke.

“Well then, people of Liscor. That was our Watch Captain, and a finer arm of the law we couldn’t ask for. But there’s law and there’s justice, and I think her tail is tied by the former. Therefore, if I’m elected, my first action as a member of Liscor’s Council would be to order the Minotaur’s execution. What say you, Krshia Silverfang?”

Zevara whirled, her eyes flashing with fury. But Lism, on stage, gave her a look as solid as stone. And she hesitated. So did Krshia. The Gnoll looked up, glared at Erin with fury and—Mrsha saw with disbelief—disgust, and turned away. Lism nodded slowly, and victory lit up his gaze.

“There you have it. It’s not just about Antinium. It’s not just about other races. It’s about justice. Vote for Team Lism, and we’ll make sure that Minotaur dies screaming!”

The roar that followed his words was the loudest yet. The crowd had heard every facet of the debates. The back and forth. But that was argument over minutiae. The rights of Goblins. The presence of Antinium. This was a calling for blood. And the Gnolls who shouted had forgotten who they were cheering for.

The Minotaur. Mrsha felt her insides trembling with fear. But hate was breaking the frozen flow. Hatred, beating with fear in her veins. She looked up as the rats froze, trembling. And Raekea’s teeth were bared. Then the [Armorer] caught herself.

“This isn’t good. What is Krshia thinking? Say she’ll kill the Minotaur too! Unless—is it really Erin Solstice? She’d protect him?”

She looked disbelieving, shaking her head. But Mrsha remembered. Ceria, the Horns of Hammerad, were a guest of Erin’s inn. Calruz had been one too. If Erin had a flaw, it was that she loved people. She was too nice.

But not him. Never him. Mrsha let go of Raekea as dark thoughts overwhelmed her. She was in the cage! The Raskghar were there, snarling, in the darkness. Facestealer was there. Calruz reached for her as Nokha laughed. Mrsha trembled, holding the rats as they squirmed. And Lism was shouting words. Words she wanted to hear.

“Can I have any suggestions? We don’t have a [Headsman], but we can always find a dull axe! Boiling in oil! Burning at a stake? Drawing and quartering, a classic! What about death by exposure? Long, but I hear it’s agonizing towards the end!”

“Toss him to the Shield Spiders!”

One of the Drake candidates was shouting encouragement. He turned, caught up in the moment as he raised his arms. Lism glared, taken out of the spotlight as the Drake went on.

“No—let’s do more than that! I say, let’s chop him up piece by piece and make sure he remembers it! Or find a few zombies and let them gnaw on him! Or—I’ve got it! Let’s eat him!”

The crowd, which had been roaring their approval, fell silent. Lism stared at the Drake standing next to him. The Drake lowered his arms.

“Uh—okay, maybe that was going a bit too far.”

“What kind of lame-brained—get off the stage, you idiot! Sorry about that, folks. Ahem. But spread the word! This is about justice! And I, Lism, guarantee—”

Mrsha could hear no more. She backed away from the crowd, shaking. She didn’t know which was worse: Erin clearly pleading with Krshia or the fact that Lism was saying what she wanted to hear. She wanted Calruz, the Minotaur, dead. Him and all the Raskghar. He’d killed Gnolls. He’d sacrificed them, and the Raskghar had laughed and laughed and—

“Out of the way! Guards! Keep this crowd under control! If Shopkeeper Lism tries to incite a riot, arrest him! I want a doubled guard on the prison! I’m going to yank that idiot’s tail off—”

A voice snapped, and Mrsha saw the crowd parting. Watch Captain Zevara strode past her, her scales pale with fury. A few [Guards] trailed after her, Drakes and Gnolls both. The rest stayed in the crowd. Even they looked like they’d taken Lism’s side. Mrsha heard one of them, a Gnoll, growling at her companion, a Drake.

“The Captain’s out of her mind.”

“Shut up. Don’t let her hear that.”

“But why are we keeping that thing alive in the cells? We have to empty his cage, feed him—I agree with Lism! And I never thought I’d say that.”

The Drake sighed. She looked no happier, although her Gnoll companion looked far more furious. Of course she did. It had been Gnolls the Raskghar attacked. The Drake answered after a pause.

“You heard her. It’s about figuring out whether he was enchanted.”

“And if he was? You think he was ‘magically’ mind controlled and did all that? I wouldn’t believe that if you got an [Archmage] here to say it! No matter what, he deserves to—”

“You’re not arguing with me! Stop snapping! Just don’t let Watch Captain Zevara hear you say that! You know what she’s like about rules. She’s principled.”

“I heard she goes and talks with him. She thinks he’s innocent! Her and that half-Elf.”

“Stop. Snapping. At. Me!”

The Drake and Gnoll glared at each other. At last, the Gnoll [Guardswoman] subsided. The Drake nodded.

“I know it’s personal, Merka. But—hells, at least this way if Shopkeeper Lism wins, you get your justice. The Council could probably force Captain Z to execute the Minotaur.”

“Don’t call her ‘Captain Z’. What are you, Relc?”

The Gnoll growled, but she was mollified a bit. She cast around and nodded.

“And if he doesn’t win? If Krshia wins and that Human makes her keep the Minotaur alive?”

The Drake sighed.

“Well, I guess he stays alive. Does it look fun being cooped up in that cell? Come on, let’s patrol a few streets over so we don’t have to listen to this. I’ll buy you a snack, so calm down, okay?”

The two [Guardswomen] walked out of the crowd. Mrsha, listening, saw the other [Guards] on the street talking as well. One of them she recognized. It was Tkrn. He was standing with a group of three Gnolls and a Drake. And all of them looked even angrier.

With Lism shouting in the background and the angry discussions in the crowd—all of which had the same content as the one between the two [Guardswomen]—it was hard for even Mrsha’s ears to pick out any one phrase. But the Gnolls and Drake were talking. She heard…

“…exactly. If Honored Krshia wins…”

“…matter…we’ll make sure that Minotaur suffers…”

“…that Minotaur what he deserves…”

“Come on. Let’s go.”

The last came from the tallest Gnoll, who had a pale stripe across one ear and down to his chin across his tan fur. He gestured, and the [Guardsmen] and two [Guardswomen] followed him in the same direction as Zevara. Mrsha stared. Then she saw Tkrn’s face, the bared teeth. And she, curious, trembling with pain and fear and smelling their intentions, followed.

Raekea didn’t notice. The [Armorer] was pushing her way towards Krshia, trying to weigh in on the debate between Erin and Krshia. The [Innkeeper] was shouting in Krshia’s face.

“No! No, no, no! Ceria says—”

“This is justice!”

Krshia shouted back. The [Shopkeeper]’s eyes were wide with fury, her paws clenched. Erin glared back.

“And if you’re wrong? What if you’re wrong? Ceria says it wasn’t the same Calruz she knew, and I believe her! If there’s a chance, it’s murder!”

“He’s been tested for magic!”

“What if it’s not magic?”

“You mean, what if it’s him? Erin! Lism could win on this issue alone! Would you really destroy all we’ve worked for? For this?”

Raekea pushed her way forwards, past Elirr. Erin took a deep breath. She looked at the Pallassian [Senators], at Krshia, at Selys and around. And she slowly nodded.

“You want my help, Krshia? Let Zevara decide if Calruz dies. Let there be law. Not him being tortured to death! Let’s talk to her. Otherwise, you can go try and beat Lism by saying you’ll do the most horrible things to Calruz. And when you do, I’ll walk back to my inn and slam the door to Pallass. And if you think—”

She cut off as Raekea thrust an arm out and grabbed her. Selys’ eyes went round in alarm, and Krshia turned.

“Raekea—”

“How dare you! That Minotaur killed my people! He sacrificed them and worked with the Raskghar!”

The [Armorer] howled. Erin glared.

“I know. I haven’t forgiven him—”

“Forgiven? He can’t be forgiven! He can only be killed! How dare you argue otherwise? In front of the Mrsha child no less—”

Raekea’s furious paw pointed down at her side. Erin blinked and stared. So did the other Gnolls. Elirr, Krshia, Selys—they all stared at the blank bit of street. Raekea paused. She looked down. Then behind her. Then amid the milling crowd.

“Mrsha? Mrsha? Where did you—”

She stared at Erin. Let go of her. Then Raekea panicked.

—–

There he sat. There he stood. As time passed, he knew the cell of his world. And a small world it was. The magical field that held him pulsed. The cell was small. Large enough for him to pace in, even exercise.

Small for a world. Smaller still with months spent here. So small it wore him into pieces. Until death was welcome. And if death could erase dishonor, he would have taken it.

So he waited. When the Drake stormed into the prison, he looked up. And she told him of his doom.

“They will kill you. Slowly, by the masses. And they will do it if Lism wins.”

And the Minotaur smiled without rancor. Without fear. He spoke with thought, forethought, afterthought, with the measure of a prisoner for whom time had different meaning.

“Well and so. It would be fair.”

The Watch Captain paced in front of the cell. Smoke hung in the air, her fiery passion.

“The City Watch and the law aren’t tools for politicians to use. Nor are lives of prisoners. And if Erin has her way and I mine, this will never be so.”

“And if I am guilty? If the [Mages] find nothing wrong with me?”

“Then I will consider your crime. But I am the law. And I judge. And I do not see the monster you would die as.”

The words were fire. They warmed even the Minotaur’s heart. But he put one palm on the magical wall of his cell. His one arm, straining against ensorcelled air. And he longed to see the sky.

“I would rather die. Let them have their vengeance.”

“Never. Not so long as I remain.”

The Drake bared her teeth. And the Minotaur bowed his head.

“But a prisoner I stay. And I would rather die than sit here another day.”

To that, there was nothing she could say.

—–

At last, Zevara stopped pacing. She leaned against the wall of the cell. Calruz waited. His eyes were fixed on her. He stood as still as a statue. And when she looked at him, Zevara saw a Minotaur.

Just a Minotaur. Haunted by what he had done. But she did not see the monster who had led the Raskghar. She had seen him when Erin had brought the battle to the Raskghar far below. And she remembered a monster.

That was not the person who pleaded for death. Though Calruz’s words chilled Zevara, she could not answer his request.

“This goes beyond what you want, Calruz. This is a matter of a threat to Liscor. If something in that dungeon got you, I want to know what it was. If it wasn’t your fault—you deserve to clear your name.”

Was it a lie at this point, or the truth? Zevara was afraid, very afraid, that she was letting her feelings cloud her judgment. Because she liked the Minotaur in the cell, damn it! He understood what it was like to be her. When he spoke of honor, she understood. What honor was to him was law to her.

But Calruz just shook his head.

“No one has suffered my fate. No one. No magic was found on me.”

“But you didn’t see some of the monsters in the dungeon. There was something in the water.”

“A spell. It doesn’t matter. The adventurers are still clearing the dungeon. Have any of them gone mad?”

Zevara didn’t answer. She turned away.

“I’m not debating this with you, Calruz. I just wanted you to know what was happening.”

She turned to go rather than face arguing with the Minotaur. Calruz spoke as Zevara was leaving.

“Why do you fight so hard for me? I don’t deserve it, either way.”

Zevara hesitated. She walked back to the cell, the magical barrier. She had no fear of it breaking despite Calruz leaning on it. It had been made to hold Gold-rank prisoners. He could strike it even with a magical weapon as hard as he liked, and she doubted it would break. Although she wouldn’t risk that. She hesitated—and then reached through the barrier and touched his arm.

The cell could be configured, so Calruz could pass through the waste bucket or receive food. If he tried to grab her, on the other hand, she wouldn’t budge. He started at her touch.

“Maybe you are guilty. Maybe you’re innocent. I cannot tell. But I know this: letting Lism lead a mob to rip you apart is not how the law works, Calruz. And I will be certain before you die.”

He breathed in and out.

“Then I will abide. My confinement is no more than I deserve. Rather, I suppose it’s a fitting punishment until my fate. But, Watch Captain Zevara. Remember what I have done. No excuse will change that. Even if I was truly ensorcelled.”

That was true too. Zevara nodded and stepped back.

“I know. But I just can’t put an honorable person to death. If I did, I think I’d lose my class.”

That made Calruz smile bitterly.

“I see. So we’re both bound by our honor. I cannot be sure it was me that was the monster, entirely sure, so I am not allowed to seek my death. And you cannot give it for the same reason. It’s harder than I thought when I was younger.”

“What is?”

“Honor.”

And there was nothing Zevara could say to that. She moved back. She knew she had to return. To tell Krshia—something.

“I’ll check back on you. And I’m doubling the guard on the prison in case Lism stirs up trouble. No—when he does.”

“Very well.”

The Minotaur watched as Zevara strode away. Then hurry back. He looked expectantly at her. Zevara snapped.

“What kind of Skills does a [Prisoner] get? It had better not be lock picking Skills or…”

“Nothing like that. The first Skill I gained was called [Peaceful Rest]. It helps with the stone floor. And then [Efficient Metabolism].”

“What in the name of the Ancestors is a metabolism?”

“I don’t know. But I get hungry less.”

“Huh.”

Zevara considered it. Then she stalked off. Calruz watched her go. He whispered.

“And then I gained [Recall Guilt]. And I remembered half. But the rest was a dream. So maybe you are right. But half of it is enough. Too heavy by far.”

He leaned on the cell’s wall, and Watch Captain Zevara did not hear the last. She strode out of the prison, snapping at the [Guards] on duty.

“Keep an eye on the cells.”

“Yes, Watch Captain.”

They watched her go. If their eyes lingered on her back and tail, she didn’t notice. The Drake left the prison, hurrying back down the streets. She didn’t notice the other Gnolls and two Drakes filing into the prison after she’d left. And they were so busy keeping an eye on her, they never noticed the little Gnoll creeping after them.

—–

“Hey. What was she doing in there?”

“Same as always. Talking with him.”

“About what?”

“I didn’t listen. Look, you want to do this, I’m staying out.”

It was seven. Five Gnolls, two Drakes. Tkrn among them. Mrsha watched Tkrn shift as the Gnoll with the stripe conferred with the [Guards].

One of them folded his arms. He was a Drake and looked…uncomfortable. Mrsha didn’t know what they were discussing, but of the three [Guards] on duty, one was ‘in’, one wasn’t, and the last, another Gnoll, was undecided. She looked from the Gnolls to the two Drakes, and her expression firmed.

“I’m in too. Tkrn?”

“I don’t know. If Watch Captain Zevara finds out, it’ll be our tails—”

Tkrn fidgeted nervously. Mrsha could smell his anxiety. Her paws held her rats as they squirmed in her belt pouch. She could smell the prison. It stank. But she could also smell him in there. And she hated and feared that smell.

Hate was all she smelled from the Gnoll with the stripe. Hate and fury. It reeked from all of them. Mrsha wanted to scrub her nose. But she held still, listening. The Gnoll with the stripe was glaring at Tkrn and the Drake who wasn’t ‘in’.

“If she finds out, it’s because one of us let on. You don’t like it? You keep watch. Or leave. Take a walk; we can cover for you. Lassil. Are you going to turn on us?”

He stared at the Drake. Lassil glared back.

“No. But I’m not sticking around for this either. Nothing’s coming from me. But I don’t want to hear anything.”

He stalked out of the prison. The others watched him go silently. The Gnoll with the stripe nodded. He pointed at Tkrn.

“You staying or leaving?”

“I—”

“Then keep watch. You smell Zevara coming or anyone else, signal us! Now move; we don’t have all day before the Watch Captain checks on us. Or one of the Senior Guardsmen. Especially Klbkch.”

The others nodded. Tkrn took up his post outside the prison, and the rest went in. Mrsha couldn’t hear or see what they were doing. But she had to know. So she crept forwards. Tkrn was muttering to himself under his breath. He seemed conflicted. He barely smelled Mrsha until she was right up on him. Then he jumped.

“Who—Mrsha?”

He stared down at her. The little Gnoll looked wide-eyed up at him. Tkrn stared. Then he looked at the prison.

“How did you get—did you hear—go away. Go back to Krshia. Or the inn! Shoo!”

He motioned her back with the butt of his spear. But Mrsha was close now. The door to the prison was iron, but she could hear sounds coming from within; it wasn’t fully closed. The sounds of voices. Something hitting something else. She narrowed her eyes. Tkrn hesitated.

“I’m warning—”

Too late. Mrsha jumped forwards on all fours. She raced through the door, pushing it open. Tkrn cursed and grabbed, but he was cumbersome in his armor. Mrsha ran into the prison. Rows of silent cells, mostly empty, greeted her. Two prisoners stared out. A Gnoll and a Drake. The Gnoll was baring his teeth. The Drake was listening in silence.

At the far end was his cell. And him. Mrsha stopped as the Drake and Gnolls turned. She saw one of them lower the butt of their spear, whirl.

“Tkrn! I told you—”

The Gnoll snarled. Then he saw Mrsha and stopped. He took a step back with two of the Gnolls.

“Doombringer?”

“It’s just Mrsha! She slipped by me—”

Tkrn raced after Mrsha, panting. He caught her, but the Drake made an agonized sound.

“You idiot, Tkrn! Just a kid? She’s seen us!”

Mrsha did see. She saw a Minotaur pulling himself upright. His broad nose was bloody. His fur dislodged. And he was being struck.

By the spears. A pair of [Guards] held them. They were jabbing them into the cell, using the blunt ends. There wasn’t much Calruz could have done to stop them if he’d tried. But he hadn’t. He’d been standing still. Now they lowered the spears. Tkrn turned pale.

“I’ll take her out. Mrsha, you can’t tell anyone. You didn’t see this. Understand?”

He tried to pull Mrsha back. But one of the Gnolls, the one with the stripe holding the spear, stopped her. He looked down.

“Wait. She was there.”

The others looked at Mrsha. She stared at the Gnoll [Guardsman]. Then at the Minotaur. She shrank back. But the Gnoll just raised his spear and jabbed it into the cell. Reflexively, Calruz twisted, but the spear struck him in the chest. He barely moved. Just grunted. But Mrsha knew it had to hurt.

“See?”

The Gnoll turned to her, his teeth bared. He gestured. Mrsha saw the Drake turn. She was panting. Her eyes were locked on Calruz’s. And she smelled of hate. The Gnoll looked down at Mrsha.

“We’re punishing him. We should have done it long ago. Only, the Watch Captain keeps visiting. But we’ve had enough. Lism is right. Election or not, we’ll make sure this thing doesn’t sit happily in here, eating and shitting while we clean up after him. He’ll pay. My brother was one of the ones the Raskghar sacrificed. Everyone here knows someone who was taken. And you were there.”

Tkrn was frozen. And the worried Drake looked at him.

“Ulkel! Don’t tell her—”

“Shut up, Paiss. She gets it. She was there. You think I’m right, don’t you?”

The Gnoll squatted down. Mrsha backed up. But then she turned her head. Calruz stood in his cell. He stared at her, his blue eyes calm. Unwavering. She recognized him at the same time he recognized her.

His eyes widened. She shook. The memories hit Mrsha. The smell. The fear. She bared her teeth, and little thorns grew from her paws. The Gnoll nodded. He held the spear out.

“Here. You want to try?”

It was too large, too heavy for her. Mrsha hesitated and grabbed at it. She tried to lift it. The prison was silent. Her arms shook; she stumbled. She was too weak to lift it and stand on two feet. Tkrn muttered.

“Ulkel. She’s a kid.”

“So? If she can’t do it, she knows what we’re doing. And she won’t tell. Right?”

The Gnoll looked at Mrsha. She met his eyes, and then she looked at Calruz. Hate. Hate, hate, hate—she bared her teeth and shook her head. The Gnoll nodded.

“Anyone got a dagger?”

At that, Calruz stirred. He broke off from staring at Mrsha. He looked up. And his voice was low. It was familiar.

“Keep the child out of this. She does not need to see my face ag—”

He grunted, and his head snapped back as the butt of the spear struck him. The Drake lowered it and spat.

“Shut up. Tkrn, take the kid out of here. And shut the damned door, you idiot!”

“Come on, Mrsha.”

Tkrn muttered as he bent down and grabbed Mrsha. She didn’t protest as he pulled her out. But neither did she take her eyes off the far end of the prison. The Drake and Gnolls were taking turns striking with the spears. And Mrsha wanted to see it. She trembled. She hated the Minotaur in the cell.

The last thing she heard was the Gnoll pulling a potion from his belt. He was talking to the Drake.

“Make sure to splash the healing potion on him afterwards. And mark me, Minotaur, you’re going to earn every drop.”

Then the door closed. Mrsha felt two paws put her on the ground. Tkrn waved a paw in her face. She looked up at last. And he stared down at her. His eyes were bigger. Worried.

“Mrsha. About that. It was—we’re just—it’s Captain Zevara.”

She didn’t respond. Tkrn went on, clearing his throat.

“She’s a good Watch Captain. One of the best. But she doesn’t understand. She’s not one of us. Don’t tell her. Don’t tell Krshia. Or anyone else. This is—justice.”

He hunched over his spear. And she smelled his fury too. Tkrn held her gaze. Mrsha nodded slowly. He relaxed.

“We’ll make him pay. For you and Honored Elirr and everyone else. Don’t tell. Now go before someone comes looking.”

Mrsha went. Slowly. Gazing back at the prison. She kept remembering the sight. Part of her was afraid. Still afraid, even with the Minotaur in the cell. The rest of her wished she’d been strong enough to lift the spear, that Ulkel had given her a dagger. She shivered with hate.

That was how Raekea found her with Erin. They scolded her, worried, and Mrsha was whisked back to the inn in disgrace. She didn’t care. She had seen a monster. And she had seen him being punished.

It still wasn’t enough. But it was a start.

—–

This was still the tale of two rats tied up in Erin’s inn. They found themselves there, freed from the captivity of a place darker and smaller than any they had known. A place where they couldn’t breathe, where they were trapped.

And even in the light, in the air, a captive they remained. Tethered by their tails. By hope, perhaps. For one might have gnawed off their tail and saved the other. But neither brother nor sister had the will. The daring. They hoped, and so they remained wandering around on the floor, pulling one, then the other.

Captives of the child. And she stared at them. All the fun was gone.

She had been scolded and reprimanded. Brought back in disgrace. But that was not what consumed her heart. It was memory and agony. It was vengeance.

Vengeance. The paw came down, and the grey rat skittered away, fearful of the wrath that would have laid low mountains. She tugged, and her brother squeaked and scrabbled over to bite her. Oh, how they turned. While, above them, the child pondered.

—–

In her head, Mrsha saw the Minotaur in his cell. Alive. Whole. While the dead Gnolls, her kin, lay in the darkness. On the altar. The [Guards] did what was right. What Mrsha would have done.

They jabbed him, struck him again and again.

Part of her wished she’d held the spear. Part of her wished they’d used the other end. Mrsha’s paw landed with fury and grief, and a rat squeaked. The sound was funny, and it almost made Mrsha smile. She paused and did it again.

—–

A hammer fell. The blow crushed the grey rat to the floor. She wailed, but such agony she felt only came out in air, in a sound. And above her, the child laughed. Her brother scurried away, faithless, afraid. And the sister felt her breath explode as the paw shook her.

Oh, tragedy. Oh, wrath. What had they done to deserve this? The two longed for the darkness. For their kin, the People of the Grain Sack. The paw, the dreaded thing, lifted them up, and they beheld two brown eyes.

Tyrant! Fiend! At last, they realized this was not some impartial architect, but a thing! No rat. The not-Rat was giant, but mortal still! It could be felled! So they set to with tooth and fang, striking a blow against their captor. Though they might fall, it was worth it to fight back against the instrument of their fate—

—–

Mrsha stared at the wriggling, squeaking rats as she held them up by their connected tails. They rotated, lashing out with their tiny claws. She giggled, forgetting about the Minotaur for a moment. Then she heard an exclamation.

“Mrsha! What is that?”

It was a horrified female voice. Guiltily, Mrsha tried to hide the rats behind her back. But too late. Lyonette stared at the wriggling rats in horror.

“Rats?”

Her exclamation made a number of the inn’s patrons look around. Lyonette hesitated, then bent over.

“Throw them out at once! Wait—what have you done to—Mrsha!”

She looked horrified, mainly by the knot in the tails. Mrsha looked up, suddenly afraid. She didn’t want to be scolded! She looked around and then raced over to a group of Gnolls. Raekea looked up from her furious discussion with a group of Gnolls who were all set on arguing with Erin. The [Innkeeper] herself was talking with Rufelt and Lasica at the bar.

“Mrsha, come back here right now, young Miss!”

Lyonette stormed after her as Mrsha hid behind Raekea. The [Armorer] looked up.

“What’s going on?”

“She has two—”

Lyonette hesitated and lowered her voice.

“Two rats in her paws! It’s filthy! I don’t know where she got them—Mrsha, give me—no, put them outside! And why are their tails in a knot?”

Raekea looked down at Mrsha, who was peering around her legs, wide-eyed. She laughed and patted Mrsha reassuringly on the head. Emboldened, Mrsha crept out and held the rats up. Lyonette recoiled. But Raekea just snorted, and some of the Gnolls did too.

“Miss Lyonette, they’re just rats. And the tails are a common thing. Have you not heard of rat kings?”

“I’ve heard of rats. And I know [Kings]. What’s this about a rat king?”

“Ah, it’s a childhood thing! Do Drakes and Humans not…? Well, when I was a child…”

Lyonette listened to Raekea fondly reminisce about doing what Mrsha had done in disbelief. One of the other Gnolls smiled fondly as well.

“Ah, that brings me back! I used to do the exact same.”

“I kept them and fed them to my dog.”

“Bah! The trick was to find as many as you could. What was your record? I got sixteen, but then—”

The Gnolls happily broke out into a debate. They laughed and patted Mrsha’s head, flicking their paws and sending the two rats scurrying across the table, bumping into each other. Lyonette shook her head at last.

“That may be so, but in this inn, those rats don’t belong. They’re filthy, and they could bite. Mrsha, remember Erin’s lesson about hygiene? Throw them out at once!”

She pointed. Mrsha looked up, her mouth and eyes widened in silent protest. But she wanted to keep them! They were funny, and they didn’t fly off like Apista. She patted a rat to demonstrate, and it went squeak!

The Gnolls laughed heartily, enjoying the distraction. Raekea turned to Lyonette, smiling.

“Miss Lyonette, rats aren’t nearly as filthy as you might think. If these haven’t been living in a sewer, why not let little Mrsha keep them? She’s a Plains Gnoll, and I’m sure she did this in her tribe. Come to that, she deserves to run about! That’s probably why she got them to begin with.”

Mrsha nodded rapidly up at Lyonette. The [Princess] frowned. She opened her mouth, hesitated, and put her foot down in both senses of the word.

“Not in my inn. And Mrsha’s my responsibility, thank you, Miss Raekea. I’ll decide what she can and can’t do.”

The Gnoll [Armorer] frowned. She glanced at Mrsha. The Gnoll sulkily held the rats to her chest. They were trying to bite and scratch her fur. The older Gnoll turned back to the young Human woman.

“Miss Lyonette. I understand you take care of Mrsha. But she is a Gnoll. There are some things she should do differently. We are her people; we understand. Let her keep the rats. She’ll tire of them, but she should be free to do things as we did. She is a Gnoll.”

She emphasized the word again, and the Gnolls around her nodded. Lyonette hesitated. She glanced at Mrsha and bit her lip.

“I—”

And that was it. Into that gap, all the Gnolls spoke at once, stories about when they were young, things Mrsha should be allowed to do. Raekea winked at Mrsha, and the little Gnoll beamed at her. She clutched the rats and hurried off. Lyonette nearly followed her, but the Gnolls held her back, arguing, cajoling.

In another corner of the inn, Mrsha lowered the rats when she felt a tug at her fur. The grey rat was biting a tuft of her fur. Mrsha, amused, pulled at it, but the rat refused to let go. She frowned as the other rat dangled and pulled.

Ow! The rat had her hair and was chewing at it. Mrsha fumbled with her paws, trying to remove the tiny mouth. As she pulled, the grey rat suddenly let go. She twisted and, before Mrsha could catch hold of her, bit Mrsha on the paw.

It hurt! Mrsha dropped the pair of rats with a silent cry. It drew the attention of few people, but one [Innkeeper] broke off from her conversation with Rufelt and Lasica and looked up blankly for a second. In her corner, Mrsha felt at the small bite and saw it had drawn blood!

Just a little. But it hurt. And Mrsha was suddenly furious. Bad rats! She raised a paw and smacked the grey rat. It tried to pull its brother away. She smacked it again. Bad things deserved punishment! Like the Minotaur. She smacked the rat and then the other one as he tried to bite her paw.

This was discipline! She swatted at them, hearing them squeak. Again and again—

Until the [Innkeeper] called her name.

—–

So fell the blows. From above. Light taps from a child. The rats squeaked with each impact. And it was a cute sound, the noise to amuse. To make Gnolls laugh. And in the Gnolls’ story, it was just a cute sound, a little rat’s bite.

But in their story, the rats screamed. Far from home, desperate, they writhed. Their tails were agony. And they screamed as the blows crushed them to the ground, pounding their organs, grinding their bones. They cried out, but they had no language. No words for mercy. There was only now. And now was pain.

No one cared. The Gnolls saw only toys. Lyonette saw only pests. And the rats were rats, tied, screaming. Until the girl known as Erin Solstice came. She looked down and saw what Mrsha held. So paused Erin, and her expression was caught betwixt horror and confusion.

“Mrsha! What are you doing? What have you done?”

Of course, the Gnoll had no words to explain. But she had signs and a voice without. But neither she used. For she was wroth. And her fury came out in a look. The reproach in the child’s eyes that said more than any words. And Erin bent.

“Oh, you heard. I have my reasons, Mrsha. And they are good and right. Even if I am conflicted. Can you understand?”

The child did not want to understand. She swatted a rat, and it screamed in a voice that was comical. But Erin looked down and heard it. She caught the paw before it fell again.

“What are you doing? Why are you doing this? Can’t you see they suffer? They hurt?”

Mrsha looked up blankly. For rats were rats. Why did they have feelings? Erin squatted down, staring at the rats. At the tails. And she shook her head, greatly disturbed.

“But this is wrong, Mrsha, don’t you see? These rats don’t deserve such a fate. Set them free! And untie them first! Animals deserve kindness, the same as people. You should know this.”

Her words stung and bit. The Gnoll child hated to hear them. She would speak for rats, but not Gnollkind. She would save even a Minotaur. For she was too kind. So Mrsha defiantly put a paw on a rat.

“Stop that.”

The young woman’s voice was as sharp as her knife. Mrsha paused, for she had not heard a tone like that. But she looked up and down, and the rats squirmed. They were hers, Raekea had said. So that was that. She lifted the rats up by the tails. It was a simple thing. But she had not considered what it would feel like if someone were to do that to her or a Drake.

The two squirmed. All they knew was pain. The Gnoll who held them yanked defiantly again, and the [Innkeeper] heard the rats scream. Erin’s eyes widened, and she reached. But back Mrsha scampered.

“Mrsha!”

Mrsha lifted the rats triumphantly, in hubris, in vengeance misplaced. And they screamed, a pitiful sound. Mrsha dared Erin. She hated her. She hated the Minotaur. She raised the rats high, squeezing hard because she wanted to hurt him. She wanted to hurt them.

And stopped. Because Erin was staring right at her. And the inn shook.

—–

The [Actors] on stage paused. On the bar, Rufelt’s drinks shook in their tumblers. The guests of the inn looked up. And the weight that pressed down was smothering. The air was hot.

“Put. Them. Down.”

Erin’s voice ran through the inn. It was thunder. It was a shout. Mrsha froze. And her arms lowered. She put the rats down, and they clung to each other, shaking. But no more than Mrsha. Erin stared at the little Gnoll. And her face—Mrsha shook.

One second the pressure was crushing, the next, gone. Erin blinked. She reached out.

“Mrsha—”

The Gnoll fled. She raced upstairs and slammed the door to her room, then pushed a chair in front of the door under the knob. Then she fled under the bed, crying. Afraid. Because she knew Erin was coming. She heard nothing as she hid in a corner, quivering. Nothing from outside. Mrsha heard someone rattle the knob.

“Mrsha? Mrsha, open the door.”

It was Lyonette’s voice. Mrsha didn’t move. She knew she was in trouble. Big trouble. But she was too afraid to open the door. She hid, curling up and trembling. The door knob turned and rattled, and someone pushed. But the door remained closed.

A minute passed. Then two. Mrsha hid. She’d stay here forever. Even if she got hungry. She’d stay and stay, and maybe if she stayed here long enough, Erin wouldn’t be so mad. She stared at the door, trembling.

And then—Erin climbed through the window. She looked around and spotted Mrsha. The Gnoll went still with fear. Then she tried to run for it.

“Stop right there.”

The voice was quiet. Mrsha halted. She couldn’t help it. She turned, shaking, as Erin walked over towards her. She could read nothing on the young woman’s face. Erin paused, standing in front of Mrsha. Her eyes were very terrible. Disappointed. And sad.

Mrsha trembled, expecting a blow. Krshia would spank her. Lyonette had once, too. Erin reached down, and Mrsha flinched. The young woman paused.

“I would never spank you, Mrsha. I could never.”

Then what? Mrsha looked up. She was already crying. And she saw that Erin was angry. As angry as she ever saw. Angry and disappointed and sad. The [Innkeeper] spoke softly as she sat down cross legged.

“That was a bad thing you did, Mrsha. You hurt the rats. Why’d you do it?”

She waited. But Mrsha just looked away. She was crying. And it was frustrating because she didn’t feel bad! They were just rats! But there was Calruz and—and Erin wasn’t going to kill him. Somehow, the [Innkeeper] sensed it all. She moved to look at Mrsha, and the Gnoll turned around again, shaking and sniffing and crying.

“Mrsha. Rats feel pain. They hurt. When you smack them, they hurt. I know they’re pests. And I know what Gnolls do. Raekea told me. And I understand that you didn’t mean any harm. But if I’d seen it earlier, I’d have told you to stop. I’m not angry about that. I’m sad that you started hitting them.”

Mrsha defiantly looked at Erin. So what? They were rats. She was still crying. She wished she wasn’t. But she was sad. Sad and mad. She pointed furiously at Erin, signaling. Erin didn’t understand until Mrsha made a pair of cow horns.

“Oh. Calruz. Mrsha—”

The Gnoll spat. She bared her teeth. Erin waited as Mrsha’s mouth opened and closed. She waited. Then she spoke as Mrsha was panting, shouting without a voice.

“I know. I haven’t forgiven him either.”

Mrsha paused. Erin stood up. She sat on the bed. She looked at Mrsha, and her eyes were sad. And bleak. She smelled of anger.

“I haven’t forgiven him. I know he took you. I know he took Elirr and he killed the others. I know. I remember. I haven’t visited. I haven’t forgiven him. But he might be innocent. It might not be his fault. That’s what Ceria says. But she could be wrong.”

She paused.

“And if she is, he’ll die. But it will be quick. That’s how the law works here. Back home, we’d keep him in prison until he died. Multiple life sentences perhaps. But that’s home. I don’t know which is meaner. But that’s Calruz. Those rats are different. And the same.”

They were not. Mrsha rubbed at her wet eyes. She shook her head. Erin looked down at her.

“Mrsha—Mrsha—listen to me—”

Mrsha just shook her head. She didn’t want to hear. She went to a corner and sat in it, still crying. Erin sighed. She looked at the little Gnoll curled up. And she stood up and approached Mrsha. She paused there. Then she bent.

And she hugged Mrsha. She grasped the Gnoll child softly and lifted her up. Mrsha tensed. But all Erin did was hug her softly.

“I’m sorry.”

She hugged Mrsha. That hurt more than any spanking Krshia had ever given her. When Mrsha looked up and saw the tears in Erin’s eyes, it was all the worse.

“I know you’re sad. And mad. Listen to me. I’m sad too. The rats are one thing. Calruz the other. But listen, Mrsha. One is like the other. Because both are weak. I know Calruz did horrible things. But he’s in a cage. And the rats are small. They can’t do anything. If you hurt them, if you tie their tails together, that’s bad. I know you didn’t know. But I’m telling you. It’s not okay.”

Mrsha pushed at Erin’s chest weakly. She didn’t want to hear it. Erin went on, holding her.

“You’re a good girl. I know that. And I know it’s different for Gnolls. I know that in this world, you don’t see animals like that. But listen. What would you say if you heard a dog make that sound? Can a dog feel? Can a dog cry?”

Mrsha buried her head in Erin’s shirt. She knew a dog could yelp and cry. But rats were different. Erin held her.

“What’s the difference between a dog and a rat? Between you and me? They hurt, Mrsha. They hurt. A Goblin hurts. I hurt. It wasn’t good to do that. Okay?”

But they were rats. And he was a Minotaur. Mrsha couldn’t say either. She clung to Erin’s shirt, wiping her eyes and nose on it. And Erin hugged Mrsha. She looked so sad. She was crying too, and it hurt Mrsha like a knife. Sometimes she shone too brightly and with such goodness that it hurt.

—–

When she came below, a dozen Gnolls were ready to argue Mrsha’s case. They were mad at Erin for shouting, and Lyonette was angry too. But Erin met them all with Mrsha in her arms. And she said the same thing.

“A rat feels pain. And to hurt it is a shame.”

The Gnolls scoffed and laughed or disputed the case. But they fell silent when Elirr the [Beast Trainer] showed his face. The Gnoll listened and looked at the little rats lying on the ground. They squeaked in terror and fled when he reached down.

The others laughed. But the Gnoll lifted the two, and they looked up in fear and pain. When he opened his eyes and stared about, there was anger plain. He spoke like this to the others as he gently held the rats. And they looked up and felt his connection with them as he gently untied them and fed them a snack.

“Who says rats have no feelings? Who laughs? I have seen children throw a rat. And they laugh when it goes splat. But I’ll tell you this for a fact. Rats are animals, and they’re all the same. They have wills and feelings, if not thought like us. Yet the largest dog is still a pet. And be it dog or cat or rat, they deserve respect and dignity. Until you learn that, you and all the others are banned from my shop, Mrsha who is dear to me.”

He looked sternly at the child who clung to the [Innkeeper] and cried. But it was the [Princess] who took her and glared into the [Beast Trainer]’s eyes.

“She had no idea. Don’t you dare lecture her! She did not know. And they’re just rats. I’d kill them and go.”

She pointed at the rats, and Erin argued and Elirr snapped and the Gnolls snapped back. Below, on the table, the two looked up, grey rat and white. They waggled their tails and then took flight. Erin shouted.

“After them! Don’t let them get away! They’re going to the—basement?”

And just like that, a rat dove through a crack. And when the trapdoor opened and they descended below, the Humans and Gnolls recoiled. For the People of the Grain Sack were caught in the light. The [Innkeeper] and guests saw nearly a hundred rats having a snack. From a bunch of stored foodstuffs, perfectly preserved.

So Erin stood in the basement with a hammer, and Lyonette with a bag. They looked at each other, one queasy, one pale. But both could agree: the rats had to die.

“Er. Okay, they’re rats. And they’re a pest. So…let’s smack them with a hammer?”

“By ourselves? Didn’t you say rats deserved our respect?”

The [Princess] was horrified and amused by turns. The Gnoll cub stared around and folded her arms. And Erin threw up her hands.

“I said that! But a pest’s a pest! Now help me kill this stupid nest! They’re eating my stuff! What I said applies. They’re alive. So…kill them quickly so it doesn’t hurt?”

So saying, she tried to raise the hammer and chase a rat. But when it came to splatting one, she couldn’t. So the hammer went to Lyonette, who looked queasy and upset. And Erin turned and looked snide.

“I thought you were on the ‘squish the rats’ side?”

“Well, yes, but it’s one thing to hammer them flat! Why do I have to do it myself?”

“Because they’re just pests. And if they didn’t feel a thing, why do you feel bad? Because it’s gross? Or because you think that when they scream, they scream?”

The two began to quarrel as Mrsha sat on the ground and sobbed. Lyonette glared and pointed at the rats.

“And if rats could speak, would you save them from the world? If rats could weep, would you say they were like Goblins?”

Erin had no answer to that. And so the [Princess] threw down her hammer, and a rat went splat. The two stared at it, and they heard a rat scream. It wailed and shrieked, and they both turned green. And there was a great wailing and gnashing of teeth, none of which Mrsha took part in. Until a Hobgoblin came down the basement steps. He stared at the two young women crying over the dead corpse of a rat and the bloody hammer. Numbtongue paused. Then he pointed and asked.

“Are you making rat soup?”

The Hobgoblin listened as Erin told him rats could feel pain. And Lyonette and the Gnolls disputed that they should feel shame. In the end, Numbtongue pointed at the rat. It was screaming, and the Goblin snapped its neck with one foot. He looked up and at Elirr.

“It feels pain, just like you or me. But it is not like you or me.”

He looked at Erin and Lyonette and Mrsha too. And she asked him if a Goblin was like a rat. The Hobgoblin paused and stared down at the ground. He shrugged.

“Rats are not Human or Goblin or anything but rats. When one talks, I’ll think about it. But I know this: when you kill something, you kill it fast. And here’s a plague.”

He pointed. All said that was true. The People of the Grain Sack poked their heads out of every space, and Erin shuddered. She looked at the hammer and then at Lyonette. Then she poked her head out of the basement and shouted.

“Ishkr! My favorite employee!”

The Gnoll with prescience instantly looked up and shook his head. Drassi hid, but Ishkr just spoke with a common-Gnoll’s wisdom.

“No. Miss Erin, you have money. Use that and not us. For if we scramble and swear and run about, the rats will escape, and we will all be upset. But now, in Liscor, the city, there are plenty of ways. [Exterminators] and [Hunters], and do you know what else? Honored Elirr trains the best ratters, both dogs and cats.”

And all eyes turned to Elirr, and the old [Beast Trainer] sighed. But they were pests. So he went and called for his dogs as Erin picked up the white rat and grey rat that Mrsha held in her paws. She stared at them, and Numbtongue lifted the hammer. But Erin protested, and so the two were saved.

From tragedy to grief. The two shuddered at the blood. And the People of the Grain Sack saw their kindred being taken upstairs, into the light, by the titans. They did not protest and instead hid, thinking themselves safe. Until they heard the barking, meows, and the click of ivory on wood.

Then the People of the Grain Sack knew the last age had come, and they took to flight. But down poured a multitude of beasts, led by a Gnoll who spoke of peace. And he meant every word. To kill a rat was one thing. To torture it, sheer cruelty. The People of the Grain Sack screamed and fled either way.

And lo, there was great lamentation and terror. Beasts of fang and tooth, made larger or smarter by a [Beast Trainer]’s craft, fell upon the basement, pouncing, biting, and tearing. The People of the Grain Sack fled into every cranny and hole. To no avail.

Not one of four generations survived. They died in the basement, and Erin poked her head in and decided it needed a wash. Poor Ishkr got that job. For overtime pay and triple the hour. He sighed and got to work as the ratters washed their whiskers and gleefully filled their bellies.

The Goblin watched it all. Did he think of his kindred in that moment? Or of the death of Goblins played out a hundred ways in a hundred times? Did he see kinship between the rats and he as they fled from the predators that toyed and killed indiscriminately?

No. They were rats. But privately, the Hobgoblin thought it would have been kinder to use a hammer and make them go splat rather than use a bunch of dogs and cats.

—–

So ended a people. In terror and fear. And the last of the rats quivered in Mrsha’s paws. The Gnoll stared down and felt them shake. And they were an echo of her. It made her fear Erin was right.

It couldn’t be. But it was. The [Druid] saw Elirr’s face. The Gnoll wasn't bothered by the death of all the rats in the basement. He’d been angrier when he saw the two rats tied together. Now he just seemed miffed as a cat tried to crawl up one leg. He shooed it off.

“You stupid cats! That hurts! Climb somewhere else!”

Half the cats licking their bloody paws looked up. And all of them decided to flip their tails up and show their butts to the [Beast Trainer]. He glared.

“I hate training cats.”

But that was a lie, wasn’t it? One of the ones adults told. Mrsha turned to Elirr. And he gazed down at her. She sniveled. Her nose was still running. He bent down. Lyonette was giving him a death’s glare. The Gnoll ignored it as he bent down to the Gnoll cub.

“Oh, little Mrsha. I know I was harsh. But I mean it. You can feel them, can’t you? You know they hurt. It’s unkind. But Plains Gnolls are often unkind. That’s how we have to be. We kill Corusdeer or cows or even, yes, cats! You hear that, you fleabags?”

He shouted at the cats, and they scattered, yowling, as Ishkr glumly mopped up the bloody basement and rat corpses. Elirr spoke to Mrsha.

“The difference is that, if we have any decency, we do it quick. Have you ever seen a [Hunter] letting an animal bleed out? Or stabbing an animal and letting it die slow? Those are monsters.”

Mrsha shivered. She could picture that. She tearfully stared down at the rats. Did that make her one? Elirr shook his head.

“No. No. You didn’t know. But remember it, child. I do. And perhaps other Gnolls should too.”

He glanced around sternly, and Erin nodded. Raekea and some of the Gnolls from Liscor glared back. One threw up his paws.

“They’re rats, Elirr. Dead gods! Rats! All of you are making a big fuss over rats when it was the Minotaur who—”

He paused. Elirr’s eyes glinted.

“Yes. Tell me all about what the Minotaur did. I haven’t heard that one. And surely I do not know good from evil, yes? Tell me, Kelc. Tell me all about the Minotaur.”

The Gnoll fell silent. Elirr straightened, rubbing his back. One of his huge war dogs trotted over and dropped a rat at his feet. The Gnoll blinked down at it and bent to rub the dog’s ears. In her paws, Mrsha saw the rats wriggling in agitation, squeaking, no, screaming in their language.

And Mrsha, the [Druid], wondered what it was like for them. To see their entire family, their tribe, slaughtered in front of them. If they were Gnolls…

The world swam. The little Gnoll listened to the rats as they shrieked. If they were Gnolls—the white one was biting at her. And she saw a little Gnoll biting at a Runner. On a field of falling snow.

Mrsha dropped the rats. Elirr snatched the dog’s collar before it could grab them. Numbtongue bent and snatched the rats up casually before they could escape.

“Mrsha!”

Erin was scolding. But she stopped when she saw Mrsha’s face. The little Gnoll put her hands on her stomach and threw up. Then she began crying again.

—–

That night, the Minotaur looked up. He saw the [Guards]. More than just them. Gnolls and Drakes. More Gnolls than Drakes, but both of each species.

They did not hold the blunt end of spears this time. This time, they carried pokers. The kind you’d use to tend to a fireplace. Long blades. And coals.

“Are you afraid, monster?”

The Gnoll with the pale stripe across his face held up a glowing poker. One of the Drakes was a [Mage]. Calruz looked at it. Then he closed his eyes. When he opened them, he addressed the crowd.

“Remember your honor. Do what you will with me. But remember your honor.”

They hissed and growled at that. They would have roared, but they were not supposed to be here. So instead their hatred made them quiet. When the first burning poker came through the cell’s walls, Calruz stared at it. He did not move.

And he tried. He tried, with a [Warrior]’s discipline, with all his strength, to make no sound. His flesh burnt. But when it began to turn black, he groaned. That only encouraged them. They crowded around his cell, faces twisted, egging each other on. Shouting. Forgetting to be quiet.

The Minotaur held still. Until he couldn’t help himself and retreated. But they hounded him, attaching the pokers to long poles, hurling spells.

He began to bellow in agony. Then scream. And the little Gnoll covered her ears as she listened outside the dungeon. She looked up at Tkrn, and the Gnoll’s face was pale. She waited for him to call it ‘justice’, but he couldn’t.

So Mrsha fled, for there was no justice there. Only bad deeds and hate.

—–

Mrsha did not sleep that night. Even after she snuck back into Lyonette’s room where the exhausted [Princess] was passed out. She could not shake the memory of the Minotaur’s screams out of her head. And when she looked at the little cage and the two rats, she began shaking.

It was not right. Perhaps some part of her had known that. Or maybe it was Erin telling her. But it was not right. If she could go back, Mrsha would have used her [Thorn Paw] spell and cut Calruz apart. If she were in the dungeon. If the Raskghar were there.

But now? She looked into the cage, and the two rats fled from her, squeaking. Crying. And Mrsha felt like they were Calruz. What had Erin said? It wasn’t right. Because they could cry. Because they could scream.

But who could she tell? Krshia? Elirr? Lyonette? Erin? Mrsha thought about each one as she sat in front of the cage. Which ones would get the Gnolls and Drakes in trouble most? Least? Because there was something else at stake.

They were her people. Raekea had said it. Mrsha was a Gnoll. She had called Mrsha one of her own. The Silverfang Tribe might take her in. But would she if Mrsha told? If she—Mrsha stared down at the two rats. Their tails were still bent, even though Erin had given them a drop of healing potion each.

Somewhere out there, a Minotaur was screaming. And it had been bad when they started. It would be worse before the night ended. Mrsha shook in place. She looked at Lyonette sleeping in her bed. Some part of her was still in the prison. And it knew the Gnolls and Drakes hadn’t come there to stop. They were going to do a bad thing. Trembling, Mrsha bent over the cage.

—–

Watch Captain Zevara sat in her office, too furious to work but too annoyed to stop. She was trying to go over the inventory for the City Watch, calculating her budget. But she was still furious over the day’s deliberations. She’d argued with Krshia until she was coughing smoke. And the Gnoll had barely, barely agreed not to call for Calruz’s death.

It made sense. But Zevara was still furious. Lism had whipped up a mob. Zevara had half a mind to check on the Minotaur, but she’d already done that and doubled the guard. The prison had been silent when she’d walked past it this evening. No people loitering about outside.

So the Drake sat. She stared at her quill until the ink was dried. Then she dipped it again. And stared. She was staring at the place to initial the document, knowing she hadn’t actually read it, when she heard the scuffling and the shout from downstairs.

“Hey! What’re you—”

Zevara looked up. She heard light padding and reached for her sword reflexively. Then something rattled the doorknob, pulled rather than pushed; Zevara heard pounding boots coming up the stairs. She inhaled as whoever was behind the door pushed at last—

And a little Gnoll tumbled into the room. Zevara paused as the fire in her lungs built. She stared at Mrsha as the white Gnoll got up. Zevara’s head swiveled—she turned, grabbed the window, and exhaled. A plume of fire lit up the sky as she spat it out of the window. Then she whirled as the [Guardswoman] on desk duty burst into the office.

“I’m sorry, Watch Captain. I couldn’t stop—”

“It’s fine. But what the hell—”

Zevara began to snap and caught herself. She stared down at the white Gnoll and began to grow alarmed. The little Gnoll was panting, and her eyes were wide. She’d run here. Zevara’s mind instantly ran to her worst fears.

“Something’s happened at the inn. Sound the alarm! Get Relc, Klbkch, put every [Guardsman] on the walls and get me a squad—”

She paused. The Gnoll cub was shaking her head rapidly. Part of the alarm faded. Zevara stared, and the [Guardswoman] hesitated.

“Should I—?”

“Is there a problem at the inn? Err—Mrsha, isn’t it?”

Zevara looked down, trying to remember the little Gnoll’s name. Her fur was beautifully white. She shook her head rapidly. But her wide eyes told Zevara something was wrong. But she didn’t say what it was. Instead, she began making a bunch of strange signs with her paws.

“What? What? What’s the problem? Come out with it already!”

The Watch Captain snapped as she tried to make sense of the signs. The [Guardswoman] stared too, but she knew a bit more than her Captain.

“It’s, uh, I think she’s mute, Watch Captain.”

“She is? Damn. I forgot—okay. What’s the problem. Is it the inn?”

Zevara stared at Mrsha. The Gnoll shook her head. She pointed; Zevara saw her bridge her arms like a wall. Then two arms up? Poking? A contorted face? Two paws over her head? The Gnoll kept doing that symbol.

“I have no idea what you mean. Someone’s hurt? Where? Who? Damn it—can you write? Here—”

“She’s only a child, Watch Captain.”

“I know that! Go stand watch and tell someone to check the inn for fire or monsters or something!”

Zevara snapped at the [Guardswoman]. She stared. Mrsha was running about, frantic. She kept making the same symbol. Two paws, curved over her ears. Zevara frowned. There was something familiar about—

Horns. The Drake’s eyes widened. She looked at Mrsha’s desperate expression. And her mind leapt to the worst conclusion, the right one, at once.

“Calruz? What’s happening?”

She watched the pantomime. Then she charged past Mrsha, leapt down the stairs, and shouted the alarm.

—–

At some point, he’d stopped feeling pain. He could still see it. Still feel the prodding. And then the retort, the snap of an arrow. They’d progressed from burning. He was only glad the child hadn’t been here to see it.

He laughed as they killed him. Bit by bit. Slowly. It only made them angrier. More vicious. He would have stopped it if he could. Ended it himself. But he wasn’t sure. What was worse, far worse, was seeing the look in their eyes.

It reminded him of the Raskghar. A vicious glee. No—on some it was just pure hatred. He deserved that. But some hadn’t come for vengeance. Or if they had, it had turned too vicarious. Too…he saw them aiming, arguing.

“Too far! Enough!”

A Gnoll [Guardsman] and some of them were arguing with the Gnoll with the stripe. They were split as they pointed to Calruz. He was lying down by now. They’d healed him four times, but—he could have told them that a healing potion couldn’t heal forever. Eventually, the body broke first.

“Enough? Enough?”

The Gnoll was shouting. He had a spear, and Calruz knew it was meant for him. The Gnoll had never intended to leave him alive. The instant he’d walked into the prison, Calruz had been sure today would be his last. He was only glad the child wasn’t there.

This was how he died. Without honor. Not in battle or surrounded by friends or family. In a dark cell. It was fitting. But bitter. The Minotaur waited as the Gnolls fought. Then the spear was raised. He sat up; a Minotaur should die on his feet, but they’d stopped working. He saw the [Guardsman] raise the spear—and then turn.

Sound was gone. But Calruz saw him react. Turn, snarling. Then—a flash of white. A little Gnoll cub tackled him, and a thorn protruding from her paw stabbed into his leg. He howled—then flames ripped down the prison. The white Gnoll child fled, and the Drakes and Gnolls fled, some rolling to extinguish the flames.

Calruz sighed as he saw the Drake stalk forwards, full of honor, as the Gnoll whirled to face her, snarling. Because he knew he wouldn’t die yet.

—–

She saluted them as she walked. Flames coated her every word. Fire of justice. Fire of rage. The other criminals drew back, but the Gnoll stayed. Blood ran from the wound and coated his fur. But he spat fury back.

“Leave us be, Watch Captain! Leave us to justice! Leave me to vengeance! Turn away!”

The little Gnoll saw the Drake pause. And her sword extended, glowing with heat as she shook her head.

“Drop your spear, Guardsman Ulkel. For assaulting a prisoner, I am placing you and everyone present under arrest. Come quietly or I will use force. You have one warning.”

“You love that monster more than your people.”

The Drake shook her head.

“I love the law most of all. So drop your weapon.”

He never would. And the Drakes and Gnolls in the prison were split. Mrsha quivered as Zevara turned to guard her. A Gnoll moved, and Zevara turned. But it was Tkrn. He saluted her with his spear as he moved to guard Mrsha. And they held a moment.

Traitor. [Guardsman]. Regret and shame and honor grasped at the last moment. So stood child and Gnoll and Watch Captain. She nodded and spun as Ulkel lunged.

No poet would sing of that battle. Brief and short and filled with dishonor. Nor would anyone call it bravery as Mrsha hid behind Tkrn. But perhaps they might spare a word for the Watch Captain.

In the moments before the rest of the Watch arrived, before Lyonette found Mrsha with Erin and the city descended to witness, the Watch Captain fought. She parried a spear thrust, put herself between the Minotaur’s cell and a score. And she slashed and dodged and wove. Faster, more agile than any.

A dozen blades came at her, half-hearted, aimed past her. Each one was knocked down. She even cut an arrow, breathing flame to set the [Archer] alight. She whirled and kicked Ulkel’s legs out from under him. And her sword aimed at his throat.

“[Lawbreaker’s Enemy]. You aren’t [Guards] any longer. Throw down your weapons before I cut you down.”

A dozen blades fell. Gnolls and Drakes wept. And as he lay on the ground, Ulkel’s voice rasped fury. He stared at Zevara. At Calruz. And at the Gnoll cub hiding behind Tkrn. He said only one word.

“Doombringer.”

A curse. A condemnation. Her nature. And the child wept. As the prison filled, as they were led away, the Gnolls looked at her. Traitor to their own. Doombringer. Only the Watch Captain paused. She walked through the Minotaur’s cell as he gasped, the potion healing what could be healed. And she looked at Mrsha.

“Don’t listen to them…kid. They brought this on themselves. No justice was done here. But the law is merciful. But there will be law. So long as I remain.”

The irony was she’d forgotten Mrsha’s name. But it didn’t matter for soon it was shouted and whispered and said in reproach and regret. Gnolls ran into the prison. Krshia and Elirr and Raekea and more. Lyonette and Erin followed, breathless. And the Horns and all but a Hob who stared at a ring of [Guards] who’d arrested him five steps into the city and glared.

“Watch Captain! This is not fair! These Gnolls and Drakes acted out of passion’s sake! For justice, out of respect for their grief, I ask you give them a light sentence! Relief!”

The Gnolls cried for justice and stared at the Minotaur in hate. They argued with voices like thunder and snarls like lightning, coming, going. Mrsha crouched, and her eyes filled with tears. Betrayal.

“Mrsha should have come to us. We could have handled it. This was a tragedy that could have been avoided.”

So said Raekea. Until Lyonette snapped. Lyonette shouted louder than the quarreling voices.

“She did what was right! What was just! What I taught her to do!”

“She is a Gnoll! She is one of us!”

The Gnoll and Human glared at each other. [Armorer] and [Princess]. Lyonette swept up Mrsha in her arms. And it was a hug like no other, warm and fierce.

“She is not yours! How dare you claim her? Where were you when she first came here, when she was lost and afraid? When you judged her by her fur?”

And the Gnolls had no answer. But they looked at Zevara and the Gnolls and Drakes who would fill the very same cells. The [Princess] did not care. She held Mrsha to her and turned.

“Don’t you dare call her yours. Or Plains Gnoll. Or think you can tell me what she is. Because she is mine! My child, and I am her mother! Mine! My daughter!”

She held Mrsha, and the child held her. The prison was silent. But the [Princess] didn’t care. And the little Gnoll looked up. Of course, she knew it was true. Silently, in her heart, it had always been so. But sometimes it needed to be said now and then. That night, the [Princess] said it again and again.

“My daughter, no matter what comes to pass. My daughter, no Gnoll’s child but mine. Mine, no matter your past.”

And that was enough. Enough to make a bittersweet end of it all. In triumph, in tragedy, the Gnoll held her mother.

—–

This was the end of it. As Lyonette carried away Mrsha, who clung to her as if she’d never let go, she glared daggers at Raekea and the other Gnolls. They watched her. Until she’d left, bearing away the Gnoll who was brave. Who was brave enough to do what was right.

Erin stood and looked down at the Minotaur. He was healing. But the marks of—torture—remained. You couldn’t paint over that with fancy words. Burnt skin. Holes in him, poked by spears and blade. She felt sick.

The young woman gazed at the Gnolls. And they were full of hate. At Watch Captain Zevara, her face grim, speaking smoke. At Tkrn, who’d surrendered his spear to Relc.

“Disaster. Disastrous. This could all have been avoided. Look at it! Honest Drakes and Gnolls. And imprisonment? Stripped of their duties for doing what they saw as right? How can we call this justice?”

That came from a Drake sighing and clucking over the entire mess. As if it weren’t his fault. Erin whirled, and Lism glanced away. And it was Olesm’s face she met. Disappointed. Haunted. But not ashamed, per se. Erin ground her teeth together. Yet it was Watch Captain Zevara who paused and looked Lism’s way.

“Shopkeeper Lism. One more word and I will arrest you for this entire ordeal. This was caused by your provocation. Your words.”

Lism opened his mouth to protest. Zevara spat smoke.

“One word.”

He eyed her and closed his mouth. Raekea spat. She still hadn’t had enough. From fury at Mrsha not telling Krshia first to hatred over Calruz, she smoldered with it.

“That doesn’t change what he’s done. Krshia! Are you really going to support keeping him alive?”

“I think I must. Although I see no goodness and rather much foolishness in it.”

The [Shopkeeper] glared at Erin. And Erin glared back. She glared at her friend, who was right and also wrong. If. If there was a chance—

But it was the same argument. The same old dance. Into that conversation, into the silence, stepped a Minotaur. He stood up in his cell. And his fur was burnt away. His blood still fresh.

“I won’t deny my guilt. Kill me and be done with it all. It seems I bring dishonor to everyone I meet.”

The Gnolls jerked, and Lism turned a disbelieving head. Calruz looked around. And his gaze passed from Gnoll to Drake. From hatred to disgust. Then to Erin. And she shuddered. Because she had not visited him either. She could not. Calruz only nodded at her.

He stood then, proudly, the Minotaur in a cage facing Gnolls, Drakes, a half-Elf, and a few Humans.

“I will not run from my crimes. I say execute me and don’t look back. I understand this election is about my guilt. So. Let me say that I will embrace that fate. Do as you will.”

He spread his arm. And all of them, Gnolls, Drakes, Erin, and Zevara, all looked at him. Because they had not expected this. Calruz went on, his eyes burning

“But let me die as a Minotaur dies. Give me a weapon. Any weapon! And give me an honorable death. I will cut my way through the heart of the city in the dungeon or die fighting one of those Rock Crabs. Or—”

He paused. Ceria was there, of course, standing near the back. As soon as she’d heard Calruz’s name, in fact. He looked at her and bowed.

“It would be an honor to die fighting a friend willing to look me in the eye.”

She couldn’t. Not then and there. Yvlon could, and her gaze was stony. Pisces’ was almost sympathetic. Ksmvr was scratching his antennae. The Gnolls growled. Elirr, who had been on Mrsha’s side, had no love for Calruz. He nearly howled as he turned on Calruz, snarling.

“You speak of honor? You? The thing I met leading the Raskghar had none. How dare you demand the way you die now?”

Calruz faced him. And Elirr’s fury washed over the Minotaur’s calm face. His voice. And that quieted Elirr. No—it quieted everyone who was present, Erin included. Because she had been there the day they’d fought the Raskghar. The Minotaur of now was not the savage, wild war chief of the Raskghar of then. Calruz dipped his head.

“I do not demand it, sir. I only ask for it. I am aware it is not my right. But I will say this: the Gnolls and Drakes that sought to kill me this night abandoned their honor. For vengeance, they did it. But if there is one thing I have learned, it is that there is no excuse for anything less than honor. I ask for it now. Not for my sake, but yours.”

His gaze swept the crowd. Lism spat on the ground.

“Then tell me, Minotaur. Do you claim that you didn’t commit those crimes? Lead the Raskghar? Slaughter innocent Gnolls and attack your own team? Because if you’re innocent, why not plead for your life? If you’re guilty, you could do us all a favor and bash your head in against a wall.”

Calruz paused. He replied slowly.

“I remember. And I do not. But I know enough. Sir Drake, I only know how I wish to die. If the city wills it, bring the [Executioner]. Bring a noose. Or simply fill a pit with me inside. Feed me to Shield Spiders. If that would give you peace, do it. Otherwise, let us both remember honor. I forgot mine down there. I will never forget it again.”

He paused. And Lism opened his mouth, closed it, glared. Because Calruz’s words were an echo of his own. Only, the Minotaur said them with an unwavering gaze.

“It doesn’t matter. If magic doesn’t find him guilty, how long do we keep him here? A month? A year? Ten years? How long is enough?”

Raekea snapped at Zevara, and the Watch Captain glared. Erin stepped into that. She turned on the [Armorer].

“Until we’re certain, Raekea. Or is it okay to kill someone if there’s even a sliver of doubt they might be innocent?”

“Even if we know he’s committed the crimes?”

“If someone cast a spell on you, or used a Skill, would it be your fault?”

Ceria snapped back. Raekea inhaled, and Zevara bellowed.

“Enough!”

She looked around the prison. The Watch Captain shook her head.

“It’s late. I’ve heard this debate a thousand times. And I am not certain Calruz is guilty. Until that moment comes, magic or not, public opinion or not, Council or not, I will decide what to do with him. And in this cell he stays. Is that clear?”

She pointed at Lism and Krshia. Both glared in unison. Calruz only sighed.

“I meant what I said. It would be easier for all if I died, Watch Captain.”

He put one hand on the cell. And Erin looked at him. He stared back and shook his head.

“You’d like me to live? After all I’ve done?”

“That’s right. I guess. Hi, Calruz. Long time no see.”

She shoved her hands into her pockets. The Minotaur blinked at her. Then he shook his head again.

“How can I make amends, Erin Solstice? For that depravity? For that horror? If I were to hunt down every Raskghar in existence, single-handedly open the dungeon, donate a fortune and a half to those who I murdered—it would not be enough.”

Somewhere behind them, Relc sniggered as he pushed Tkrn into a cell.

“Single-handedly. Good one.”

Klbkch elbowed him hard. No one else laughed. Erin gazed at Calruz. What a mess. What a day. Mrsha, the rats, people torturing Calruz—she turned to Krshia and Lism and shook her head.

“You’re right, Calruz. It isn’t enough. And it won’t be enough, no matter what you do. You—you nearly killed Mrsha. And you killed good people. I haven’t forgiven you.”

He nodded.

“In that case—”

“Shush.”

Erin closed her eyes. She waited, listening to the beating of her own heart. Then she opened her eyes and looked around. At the Gnolls. At her friends. At Lism and Olesm and the others.

“Do you know what I’m going to tell Mrsha when I get back? I’m going to tell her she did a really good job. Really. I don’t care what you say. Any of you. She saw bad things happening to Calruz. And she stopped it. Because a Minotaur is like…a bunch of rats with their tails tied together.”

Calruz stared. His lips moved silently. Zevara, Lism, Olesm—all looked at Erin strangely. The Gnolls growled. They got it. Erin went on.

“He might be evil. He might be innocent. But hurting him because he can’t fight back in a cell is wrong. Sometimes you kill Raskghar. But you don’t torture them or you are the Raskghar. And you know what? Yeah, maybe Mrsha could have gone to Krshia sooner. But guess who didn’t? Tkrn! Ulkel! All the others! And it was the hardest for Mrsha to do. But she did it.”

She glared at Raekea. The Gnoll glared back.

“Do you know what being good is? It’s not doing something you’re supposed to do because it’s easy. It’s doing something you have to do because it’s right. So you know what, Calruz?”

She turned on the Minotaur. He waited. Erin pointed at him, breathing hard.

“There’s no way you’d ever repay your debts, Calruz. Not in life. Or in death. But I think that if you ran away, if you let yourself be killed without trying your whole life to repay people for what you’ve done, that would be the most cowardly thing you ever did. And I think that if people line up to watch you die horribly—that makes them no better than the Raskghar and their sacrifice.”

And that was Erin Solstice. Love her, hate her, as the Minotaur’s eyes widened and he straightened with anger and shame, as the Gnolls turned to stare at her wide-eyed with fury, you had to admit it. Erin knew people.

—–

This was how the tale ended. The important tale, that was. It was with a half-Elf. A day later. The Minotaur still felt his healed wounds. He still bore the marks. Yet neither one talked about it.

“Well, the election’s today.”

“Really?”

Calruz looked up. He had been staring at a basket, a book, and a strange, symmetrical bar and round thing lying on the ground. It was made of metal and heavy when he picked it up. Ceria had pushed them through. The half-Elf shrugged self-consciously.

“Yup.”

“I thought it was later. Or rather, I had the impression it was an ongoing issue.”

“Nope. It was only a week, remember? I guess this was the last big day.”

“And so my fate is part of the election.”

The Minotaur carefully inspected the basket. It was…moving. Ceria smiled, her face pale.

“Maybe. You know, Lism dropped the line about executing you horribly. But he’s shouting about all the rest. So’s Krshia. She told Erin in private that she’d let you live if she was elected.”

“Hm. What’s this object for, Ceria? And the book?”

“Oh. I bought it in the market. It wasn’t much. I think it’s battle tactics or something.”

“The Conquests of Tulm the Mithril, a History. Hrm. It must be new. I haven’t read about him. I know the name, of course. You got it from Pallass.”

The Minotaur picked up the book and opened it awkwardly with his one arm. Ceria smiled faintly.

“I did. I can’t believe I didn’t think to bring them before. Uh—Krshia said—”

“I heard you. What made her change her mind? I cannot imagine the Gnolls would want me to live. Isn’t she taking a risk?”

“Well, yes. She’s betting on Erin’s support. Wild, isn’t it? But I think something else convinced the Gnolls to pass on demanding your execution as part of her winning.”

Calruz looked up from the book and put it down next to his cot. He eyed the basket again.

“Really? Which is?”

“You saying how much you’d rather die than stay in the cell. Uh—the Gnolls thought it would be better to let you live in that case. Some of them, anyways. Fancy that?”

The half-Elf smiled. Calruz stared at her. Then he guffawed.

“That’s what they said?”

He laughed until his still-healing lungs wheezed, and he sat down. He shook his head as Ceria stared at him.

“Alright. What’s this heavy thing?”

“A dumbell.”

“A what?”

“It’s a weight. Something you lift to build muscle. There’s also a bar with weights—Erin said you need two hands for that, though. She asked me to bring it here.”

“Why? I’m…grateful. It’s an interesting idea. But why?”

Ceria shrugged.

“I don’t know. She didn’t want to come, but she said it was cruel to leave you without anything to do. And apparently, uh, the weights fit a prison? That’s Erin’s logic. Don’t ask me to explain it.”

“Very well. And what’s this?”

At last, the Minotaur shifted his attention to the basket. He opened the lid and recoiled. Ceria grinned at his expression.

“That’s a…problem from the inn. Lyonette decided they weren’t allowed there, and we had no idea what to do. If we threw them out, they’d probably come back to the inn. So it was Mrsha—”

“The Gnoll child?”

Calruz glanced up, and an expression of pain crossed his face. Ceria nodded, losing her smile.

“Yeah. Her. She wanted to give them to you.”

“Me?”

The Minotaur stared down at the two little rats moving around the padded basket. One nibbled at a bit of cheese. The other looked up and inspected him warily. What new fate was this? What hell of tortures, what odyssey of strange lands?

Nothing, for once. The Minotaur spoke a bit more with the half-Elf casually. Awaiting his fate if it came to pass. Then he looked down. And the rats stared up at him, and he stared back. They flinched as he moved. But the hand that had caused so much grief, the hand which had lost and then grabbed for honor, the hand scarred and worn and gentle, reached down.

And the rats nibbled at it, then climbed up it as it didn’t move. Calruz lifted them up. One white, one grey. The lonely Minotaur breathed out. He stared at his companions and nodded. With a slow, careful touch, he stroked each’s head with a finger and pointed at the white one first.

“You shall be Haldagaz, Vanquisher of Foes. And you will be Rhata, Trident-Guardian of the Harbor of Hammerad.”

That was all. The Minotaur lay back. And he smiled.

—–

Erin Solstice lay back too. As she waited for the results of her election, she lay on the floor of Bird’s tower. It was empty. In the distance, Liscor voted. Below, a little Gnoll followed her mother around. And that was a good thing.

But the rest wasn’t. Erin thought of rats.

“That was Mrsha growing up.”

She thought of Calruz.

“If Lism wins, what do I do?”

And then she thought of Mrsha running to Zevara. Instead of running to her. And risking her neck. No—learning a spell from Moore. Erin frowned up at the sky.

“How many times is it so far? She just…gets into trouble. What can we do? Get Numbtongue to guard her every hour of the day? Lock her in the inn?”

The sky didn’t answer. A Razorbeak flew overhead, cementing Erin’s point. She stared at the giant bird. And she thought of Goblins.

“Someday, it’ll happen again. There’ll be Rags. Or another Headscratcher. Or…they’ll die. The Raskghar might return.”

The sky made no response. Erin rolled over. She poked her inn.

“You know, I’m close. I can feel it. I’ve had a full inn every day. And this is my inn. So…this is my problem. I want a better door, alright? So it can teleport whenever! But Mrsha—keeping her safe’s more important. Her and everyone else.”

There was no response. Erin frowned. She tried again, speaking, really speaking. To the inn? Herself?

“Hey. Inn. On my next level up, I want you to do something to protect them, alright? Mrsha. Goblins. Me too, I guess. Give me the power to save them from anything bad. Can you do that?”

No response. Erin drowsily stared up at the sky.

“Yeah. Next time…”

She yawned. Closed her eyes as Liscor decided its fate. And Erin’s head lolled back. And she slept—

[Magical Innkeeper Level 39!]

She waited.

“…And? And? And?”

Erin sat up. She yawned, glared around blearily, and then smacked the floorboards.

“Level 40, then. But it had better be good. Time to grind some exp!”

She made to get up and lay back on the floor. Erin stared up at the blue sky. And in a place with no sky and little light, a pair of rats crawled around their new home. They were as happy as could be.

Interlude – Rufelt

Embarrassingly, after two shots, Rufelt lost his balance and nearly toppled over behind the bar. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened, but the black, faintly savory alcohol was so potent that even his intense tolerance to alcohol couldn’t keep up. And while he could have turned his [Immunity: Alcohol] Skill on, what self-respecting [Bartender] would do that for a drink?

It still knocked him completely off-balance. Rufelt stumbled, and she caught him. He looked at the Drake, Lasica. His wife. She laughed.

“Rufelt! You’re falling over after two shots? And you call yourself a high-level [Bartender]?”

“I—hey. It’s strong.”

He weakly mumbled. But that wasn’t really an excuse. Lasica rested her head against his shoulder. He leaned against her while the world spun.

“Mm. Thank you.”

She only smiled.

“I haven’t seen you do that in years. Not since we went to your father’s funeral.”

He smiled bitterly, remembering that day. The Gnoll rubbed at his dark fur, mussing up the neatly-combed appearance he normally kept while tending to his bar. Then he looked at Lasica and smiled.

“And you caught me then as well. You have a knack for that.”

“Well, that’s why I married you. Steady. Do you have your feet?”

He nodded. But the two leaned on each other for a moment longer. There was nothing more comfortable in this world, after all. They only separated after hearing the quiet, precise cough at the bar. Then Rufelt looked up, grinning. He nodded at the Antinium, and his hair only rose a bit as Klbkch the Slayer glanced at him.

But a [Bartender] didn’t show their emotions. And his Skills gave Rufelt an amiable façade he could hide behind. No—more than that, the Antinium were fascinating. Even if this one was a legend, a nightmare for anyone who’d lived in a Walled City and remembered the Antinium Wars.

But see—he spoke. He acted so normal. So polite and reserved, in fact. Klbkch the Slayer nodded and opened his mandibles as Rufelt eyed the dark, foamy liquid in the shot glass.

“What is your verdict, [Bartender] Rufelt? I take it the potency of the brew is to your satisfaction?”

“I don’t know if I’d say that. Rather, it’s alarmingly strong. Too strong, perhaps.”

Rufelt cautiously felt at the top of his mouth with his tongue. It had gone slightly numb. Klbkch tilted his head.

“I see. I adjusted the formula based on the last feedback I received. It is still too strong?”

“Still…? You mean, it was stronger than that?”

Lasica’s brows shot up as she leaned against the bar. Rufelt wondered who’d died in the first trial run. He sighed as he tapped the liquid in the glass.

“What did you call this? Rxlvn? Frankly, it’s too strong for me to use in many drinks. The purpose of alcohol is to be enjoyed; rarely do I mix something to completely knock someone out. And this is closer to poison than actual alcohol. Uh—is there actual poison in here?”

“Hm. I was under the impression most alcohols were an impairment of some kind. The Workers did add some paralytic elements.”

Rufelt paused as he reached for some water to steady himself.

“…What kind of elements?”

“Mushrooms. Serpent venom. A small dose of Shield Spider venom.”

Lasica looked worried. Rufelt just considered this.

“Maybe ease off the serpent venom. That’s probably why I feel like passing out under the bar. But I could see selling the actual drink. It’s quite savory, actually.”

“That was the intent. Along with the addition of other unique elements in order to create a drink unlike any other. I will see to removing the venom and reducing the strength again. Now, how would you price such a drink?”

“Well…given that the Antinium made it, I somehow doubt it’ll sell well. But if I were putting it out as a curio, I could see…”

Rufelt leaned on his bar as the world slowly stopped trying to turn upside down and carry him with it. Klbkch sat across from him, nodding, taking notes. The Wandering Inn bustled around the two as Lasica took two sips from the Rxlvn and promptly decided that was enough.

“I’ll keep it with my other alcohols today. But I can’t promise I’ll sell much of it. Or any. I will let you know how I do, Guardsman Klbkch.”

The Antinium nodded as Rufelt carefully placed the…container of Rxlvn on the shelf behind him. Rufelt had set up this morning, and the bright and colorful jars and containers were attracting a lot of attention from the inn’s guests. Klbkch stepped back.

“I appreciate your feedback, [Bartender] Rufelt. I must return to my duties, but I will attempt to return by sundown for your opinions. Farewell.”

He walked out of the inn, and Lasica let out the small breath she’d been holding.

“Ancestors, he makes my tail twitch. Klbkch the Slayer. Can you imagine it?”

“I don’t need to.”

Rufelt busied himself behind the bar. It was early for drinks, but he had a feeling he’d be in business soon. Lasica blinked at the door, then shifted her attention to him. She frowned as he put his specialized mugs and cups and various glasses—from shot glasses to specialized drinking vessels designed for smoky drinks, or ones on fire—in a row behind him. She sighed.

“Did you bring half the bar with you? You know we’re giving Erin too much help. Especially you, Rufelt.”

The Gnoll grinned apologetically as he ran his paw across the counter.

“I can’t help it. I see a bar counter, and I have to do something. Especially with a crowd like this! Humor me? Besides, Erin’s given us all the profits I make.”

Lasica rolled her eyes, but she gave in without much fuss. She knew her husband, after all.

“Oh, very well. Just remember you’re putting more people in her seats. Don’t work too hard! We have to open tomorrow.”

“I know. Don’t worry, love. Have fun with Erin in the kitchens! Please don’t tease her too much. Or tire yourself.”

She snorted gently and patted Rufelt’s arm before walking across the bar. Like that, Rufelt got to work. He was, after all, a [Bartender]. And in his bar, or The Wandering Inn, he could ply his trade.

It was simple. Simple and complex. Because a [Bartender] served drinks, and that was one thing. People could ask for something simple, like a mug of ale, and he could fill and pass out a tankard almost before the thirsty Drake had finished talking.

But sometimes a [Bartender] was there to listen or deal with a tricky customer. Of course, sometimes they were just drink-machines, and Rufelt certainly did pour thirty-eight drinks, mostly ales, to the inn’s patrons. A few wines, one stronger spirit too. And then his first notable customer sniffed and leaned on the bar counter.

“Excuse me, [Bartender]. But am I to understand you are a high-level member of your class? The co-owner of the famous Pallassian bar, Tails and Scales, if I am not misinformed.”

Rufelt blinked at the young man in a white robe with an arch expression. He felt like he’d seen him around.

“That would be me. Rufelt, [Bartender]. Reasonably high-level, I suppose. Can I help you, sir?”

“Perhaps. I would like to inquire—among your beverages, do you have anything truly exemplary? I ask only as a connoisseur of good taste.”

The Gnoll took a moment to process this.

“I have any number of drinks. I can find something for you, but do you have a preference? I warn you, some of the drinks can get expensive. Although I’m sure you’re good for it.”

In fact, Rufelt knew that the young man was. That was another [Bartender] trick. The young man sniffed again, and Rufelt remembered. Erin had warned him about a sniffing [Necromancer]. He’d been picturing a Gnoll. Warily, Rufelt eyed Pisces, but again, the mask of friendliness was in place.

“Money is, of course, no object. I’m merely inquiring as to your purview of drinks. I have had a number of supposedly excellent beverages that amounted to no more than a cheap trick. Whilst I wouldn’t object to considered and tasteful entertainment, I’m sure you’d agree that the substance of a libation is more important than presentation, would you not?”

Sometimes you got customers like this. Rufelt took his time in replying as he polished a glass, which was mainly a tic he liked to do for fun because it made him look busy.

“I happen to agree. And as I said, I have a number of drinks available. Would you like a list or for me to select one?”

Pisces paused, frowning. Before he could reply, a Drake with light green scales took a seat next to him. She rolled her eyes.

“Pisces, stop bothering the [Bartender] and just ask for a drink. Dead gods, but you can’t go anywhere without bothering someone, can you? Just admit you don’t know what drink you want. I’m sure the [Bartender] can figure out what you want.”

The [Necromancer] colored and turned. Rufelt was amused to see the young Drake get under the Human’s skin so fast. He remembered her too; she’d been with Krshia. Her name was…

“Selys, I’m quite aware of any number of drinks. I am simply trying to make conversation with, ah, Master Rufelt about the best sort of drink he has to offer. Is it not lazy to ask the [Bartender]’s choice? Educating oneself about the selection of liquor is a mark of culture.”

“Or being pretentious. [Bartender] Rufelt, is it? What’ve you got? And do you do tricks? Hi, I’m Selys. I think we met. I’m a [Receptionist]—er, I mean [Heiress].”

The Drake waved at Rufelt. He smiled and nodded to the selection behind him.

“It’s quite simple, Miss Selys, Mister Pisces. If you want a good drink, I can make you a good drink. If you want tricks—I can give you a flaming drink, make one that floats—but I’m not pouring ten drinks at once while hopping on one foot and playing a trumpet. Aside from that, fancy presentation, substance over style—it depends on what you order, but I can guess for you. I’m fairly good at that.”

The Drake and Human exchanged a glance. Pisces shrugged.

“Well then, by all means, what would you recommend for me? I am in the mood for some considered drinking, but of course, the hour is early—”

He paused as Rufelt immediately turned around and got to work. The other trick with people like the self-styled connoisseur of a [Necromancer] was to give them what they wanted, not what they asked for. Which was why the deep amber drink was at first plain—until Rufelt added in a swirling, palely fluorescent green drink and mixed the rest with a large, fresh leaf of mint.

The drink swirled as both Drake and Human blinked at it. Rufelt smiled as he slid it across the counter with a flourish.

“Here. Try this.”

Pisces did. At first, the strong drink had him frowning, ready to critique, but as the swirling motes of green liquid mixed into his sip, his expression became approving. He lowered the glass.

“A magical draught?”

Rufelt nodded.

“It’s meant to give you energy. I worked with Xif to use the basis of a stamina potion and added some pick-me-up elements. This is a variant of that recipe for [Mages].”

“So I note. Hm.”

Pisces flicked his fingers, and a shower of multicolored sparks landed and bounced off the bar counter. Rufelt sighed. [Mages]. They loved to damage the woodwork. But Pisces was nodding, and Selys, clearly impressed, leaned forwards.

“Let me have a sip, Pisces. I’ll have what you recommend too, Mister Rufelt!”

She took the glass and sipped, ignoring Pisces’ objections. She didn’t like Pisces’ drink as much as Pisces, but he could have told her that. Her drink was more sweet, and the pale pink color was mostly clear, but he’d mixed in a few colorless drops that Pisces noted.

Selys didn’t, and when she took her drink and sipped it, she was at first pleased, then very pleased. She sat back, laughing in delight, beaming.

“Whoo! That feels nice! As good as—but what did you put in this?”

She caught herself, sipping greedily. Pisces reached for the drink, and Selys slapped his hand away. She only gave him a sip after two more gulps. Rufelt waited until she’d put down the cup before replying.

“Hanging flesh-eater caterpillar venom.”

Selys choked. Pisces paused, mid-sip. He looked at Rufelt.

“Are they unnamed, or is that the actual name of the creature in question?”

The Gnoll shrugged.

“I don’t know the exact name, but that’s what they are. Apparently, the venom makes their prey so relaxed they don’t notice the caterpillars dropping on them and eating them. Don’t worry; there’s only a mild dose in that drink.”

Selys looked uneasy, but after Pisces handed the drink back, she took a small sip and smiled.

“Hey! It’s good! I wish you hadn’t told me what was in it, but I asked. Thanks for the drink. How much do I owe you? And, uh—do you have any suggestions for what to eat with it?”

“I like a few slices of cheese myself. I don’t know why, but most people do. It might be the venom.”

“Huh. You know, I want cheese too. Hey! Ishkr!”

Selys turned as she fumbled with her belt pouch. She lingered at the bar as she was served some local cheese on a plate. Pisces levitated a piece over to him, and Selys jabbed him with a claw as Rufelt went to pass some less expensive drinks out to a crowd of Garuda who’d come from Pallass.

Now, Garuda were lightweights. They liked fruit drinks mostly—birds—but some, like Bevussa, loved the more potent Drake favorites, having been raised in Pallass by Drakes herself. You had to know your guests. When Rufelt came back, he found Pisces and Selys were chatting. It was an unusual pairing, but the [Bartender] had seen far stranger. Pisces sniffed as he chewed on a piece of cheese.

“I have noticed your enduring campaign. I simply haven’t taken an active role. I am, after all, an outsider to Liscor’s politics.”

“Yes, but you could have helped. In fact, you did help Olesm! I heard you went into Pallass to help him write that stupid chess letter! Do you know how much that affected Lism’s campaign?”

The [Necromancer] looked apologetic.

“In my defense, I was unaware of Olesm’s intent to involve himself in the election. That was a wholly unrelated issue.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t see you helping Krshia. Or me. Where was the handy, know-it-all [Necromancer] when I could have used someone arguing against Olesm and Lism?”

Selys glowered. Pisces pretended to be fascinated with the play going on stage. At last, he coughed and turned back to Selys.

“I apologize, Selys. I didn’t think my involvement would be that—welcome, given the Gnoll campaign. If it matters, I would imagine Miss Silverfang has a good chance of seizing victory. And I do believe at least two of your candidates will win in other districts. Based on pure observation, it seems incredibly doubtful that Elirr or [Armorer] Raekea would lose.”

“You think so?”

Selys looked up eagerly. So did Rufelt—he had a paw in this election after all. Pisces nodded, sipping from his drink and straightening in his chair.

“I did survey the streets discreetly—”

“You mean invisibly.”

“—discreetly the last few days. Given the general distributions of the districts in the election, both Elirr and Miss Raekea occupy Gnoll-heavy districts. And they are substantially popular among Drakes as well; it leads me to be quite certain of their victory. Of course, ironically, Miss Krshia herself has a lower chance in her district. I cannot think what she was intending when she drew up the divisions for each area.”

“She wanted it to be fair. She could have let herself win, but this way each member of the Council will represent a part of the city.”

“Hm. Fair, I suppose. But she could have, ah, excluded the Servail Street and removed, oh, about four hundred Drake voters for instance…”

“But that’s cheating, Pisces.”

“Call it being strategic. For instance, if Miss Krshia had done that, she could have foisted the Drake voters on a district she would have lost—”

“Cheating.”

“But if she had—it’s just a matter of adjusting limits. Surely you’d agree that your presence and funding affected the campaign.”

“Well, the Walled Cities and every Drake with half a gold coin were giving Lism help—”

“My point stands. If you wanted a fair election, the presence of money in any form wouldn’t be germane to conducting a fair election. As it stands, I’m just offering a suggestion that if taken…”

“[Barkeep]! Can I get some wine?”

Rufelt looked up, passed some high-quality wine from his stocks to the Gnoll waving at him, and then had to do a bunch of refills as the first drinkers came back for something stronger. When he returned, he found the two sitting and discussing something else.

“I haven’t had any reports. And your little Bone Horror rats have killed a number of nests. Not that the current Council asked. But I imagine Olesm would pay you to keep it up another month.”

“Ah yes, they have killed quite a few nests. I understand they ran into difficulties at two points; I recalled them and noticed some battle damage. I believe they ran into Acid Fly nests, but the current iteration of Bone Horrors you suggested are quite nimble.”

Rufelt stared. Bone Horrors? Selys was nodding as if it weren’t even an issue, though. She paused as she sipped at her half-finished drink.

“So they’re doing well. And I hear you sit in your room all day. While this morning I heard Ceria was being boiled in a bathtub to train. So. Out with it. I know you’re dying to tell someone.”

“Ah. Well, if you insist, I could talk about some of my experimentation. It hasn’t all been on Bone Horrors, you know. I’ve more or less solidified their designs. The, ah, Warbear form is most effective. At the moment, I’m experimenting with a hypothetical skeleton soldier build.”

Pisces looked pleased as he attempted to gesture and began to draw in the air. Rufelt stared at the illustrations. Selys just raised a brow.

“Right. You remember what my grandmother told you about using bones of people, right? She’ll stab you.”

The [Necromancer] paused defensively.

“Hypothetical. Although Ksmvr did acquire quite a number of, ah, bodies. They were [Bandits]—I have no intention of summoning them anywhere around Liscor. But given the material, it would be a shame to…”

He broke off as Selys rolled her eyes.

“You know, you could just get to the point without trying to make excuses. You’ve got bodies. Fine. I get it. I’m not going to tell my grandmother unless you bring them into the city. But these ‘hypothetical skeleton soldiers’. What makes them special? Any decent Bronze-rank adventurer can knock down a skeleton in a one-on-one fight.”

“Ah, but not mine. You see, I’m attempting to create a formation of bone—rearrange the ribcage for instance—such that the skeletons would have an inner mechanism they could deploy. Their ribs could shoot outwards for instance, catching an unwary foe unawares.”

“So you get close and they explode at you like some kind of spike trap?”

Selys didn’t look impressed. Rufelt, on the other hand, nearly poured ale all over his paw as he listened with one ear. That sounded horrific. Pisces sounded smug.

“Well, yes. The trick is to inflict the most damage. And I have created quite the efficient design if I say so myself—”

“Hah!”

“I beg your pardon?”

Rufelt eyed Pisces and Selys as he poured a drink for Maughin and Jelaqua each. He handed them to the Dullahan’s body, and it turned around and brought the drinks to the table where Maughin’s head and Jelaqua were sitting. Pisces frowned. Selys just laughed. She waved one claw.

“Oh, Pisces. Really? That’s your best? You did this last time. You have a good idea, but—are all [Necromancers] so lazy?”

“Lazy? I will have you know that this design is inspired. Classic [Necromancers] don’t even think to innovate in this way!”

The Drake rolled her eyes gently and snorted as she took another sip.

“That’s them. I know you. And you can do better. I’m just a humble [Receptionist], but even I know that having trapped skeletons is lazy. It’s just a gimmick.”

“Explain.”

Pisces folded his arms, looking peeved. Selys frowned and began doodling on the bar counter since she couldn’t do what Pisces had done with magic.

“Okay. You surprise a Silver-rank adventurer, and they’re dead. Good for you! The rest of her team will just back up and throw a [Fireball] or use shields. I thought you were trying to get an edge. At Gold-rank, anything you fight will probably just walk away even if your skeletons landed a clean shot. And then they know all the rest are trapped.”

“But I would injure one adventurer—even kill them—”

“One. And if she uses a healing potion, then what? If all your skeletons are the same, Pisces, a surprise attack works once and then never again. Why can’t you make all the skeletons different?”

Pisces sighed.

“The problem is standardizing a design that can be quickly animated in battle. Of course, if I kept a standing army—which I remind you I do not—I could freely innovate at will.”

“I hear you complaining, but all I hear are excuses.”

“Then what would you do? Enlighten me, oh fount of necromantic knowledge.”

The two began bickering as they waved at Rufelt. Selys glared as he slid a drink towards Pisces. She grabbed it, took a swallow, and handed it to him. He looked askance as she stopped her drink with a claw.

“I don’t know. Give them crossbows! Stop being so cheap.”

“Cheap?”

“That’s right! Bone traps in the skeletons? Just buy them armor! That’s what scares even Gold-rank adventurers. Not Draug, but Draug with plate mail. I realize that’s not a [Necromancer]’s solution because it means spending money, but it’d work. Crossbows—do you know how much more dangerous Skeleton Archers are compared to Skeleton Warriors?”

Pisces frowned.

“I take your point. But what if I built a crossbow into the skeletons—”

“You’re so cheap! Is that a requirement for the [Necromancer] class?”

The young man shook his head indignantly, but his eyes had lit up with interest.

“It’s just innovating with material instead of having to spend money on a finite resource—see here, Selys. I do believe you are onto something. If I sacrificed an arm, for instance, or modified my ribcage design to create a propulsion system and used a bone arrow…”

“How? They don’t have sinews. Crossbows need bowstrings and, uh, bending parts. Right?”

“Well, yes. But I could create a projectile weapon—”

“Amazing. Five minutes of talking with me and you have a better idea than you came up with in, what, four weeks of work?”

“One week, and I will have you know that I have been diligently experimenting in other areas. The spike trap was simply one hypothetical—”

“Like what? Don’t be vague or I won’t believe a thing you say. Do you know how many adventurers I have to deal with who talk just like that?”

Pisces turned beet red. Selys stared at him. He took a huge gulp of his drink and snapped.

“Regenerating bone warriors with the ability to jump and run—”

“So, essentially faster skeleton warriors? Fancy.”

Rufelt had to turn his head and stifle a laugh. Selys laughed out loud. She patted Pisces on the shoulder.

“Hey, I’m kidding. Stop pouting! See, that’s practical. Do you know how scary running zombies are to Bronze-rank adventurers? How does that happen, by the way? I thought a [Necromancer] had to be present for that to happen, but you hear stories…”

The [Necromancer] sighed as he adjusted his robes. He looked up and nodded. For all his posturing, he was clearly interested in his subject. Even if it was undead.

“Running zombies? Ah, yes. That would occur in a charged zone. High levels of ambient mana tend to augment the undead and create more dangerous varieties. However, a zombie is still fundamentally weak compared to, say, a Ghoul. If Bronze-rank adventurers are so afraid, they could simply set up a rope at ankle-height and stymie most zombies that way, running or not.”

Selys blinked, impressed. She snapped her claws and looked around for some parchment to scribble on.

“Hey, that’s a good idea. Do you have any tips for fighting Ghouls? Because there are some in the dungeon, and they’re nightmares for lower-level Silver-rank teams to deal with…”

The two stood up and wandered over to a table with the other Horns of Hammerad, still talking. Rufelt watched them go. Undead? That was definitely Erin’s inn. He got back to serving drinks. The inn was gaining in customers now, and he reckoned he’d been at his job for an hour and a half.

The sun was reversing its climb in the sky when a small, white shape wound her way through the crowd. She peered up at Rufelt’s bar as he paused. Of course, he’d heard about yesterday. He blinked down at Mrsha as she stared up at the drinks on display. She climbed onto the stool and looked expectantly up at Rufelt.

Now this was a challenge. But Rufelt had had children in the bar from time to time, and after a moment’s thought, he pulled out a rarely used bottle of liquid and uncorked it. Mrsha sniffed and recoiled a bit as he poured the orange juice—that was not orange juice—into a clear cup.

“Hm. How about a little carrot juice? With a bit of sugar for taste.”

It had absolutely no alcohol. But Mrsha didn’t know that. She sniffed the drink as Rufelt sprinkled some grains of coarse sugar in, and he offered her a small bit of sugar she licked up excitedly. He offered her a stirring rod, and she stirred the drink herself, sniffed again, and took a cautious sip.

Mrsha made a disgusted face. Rufelt grinned. The carrot juice tasted like…carrots. And he could count on one paw the number of people who’d enjoy drinking carrots. But the little Gnoll’s disgusted look was followed by her taking another determined sip. She looked at him, and he nodded.

“Rather tough, isn’t it? I could add more sugar—”

The little Gnoll shook her head. She raised an authoritative paw, and he left her there. She kept sipping determinedly. And she had a satisfied look on her face. This was properly adult, wasn’t it?

She was so concerned with the drink, she didn’t notice Rufelt watching her. Because the [Bartender] was conflicted. Neither said anything about yesterday. Not that Mrsha could. But two Gnolls occupied the bar together. And Rufelt wanted to say something. But…

He knew how to cheer up someone who was worn out by a hard day. He’d helped up ten thousand drunks, salved a hundred thousand broken hearts, soothed a bitter soul, a violent rage—countless ailments and more. But bars had few children in them. He didn’t know what to say, and Mrsha could tell him nothing. He could only guess as the Gnoll girl quietly sipped from her cup.

Mrsha had left Lyonette because the young woman was busy, but Rufelt could see her glancing at Mrsha. If she’d looked up, Lyonette would have been there, or Drassi, Ishkr, Erin, or…but she didn’t. After a while, two more customers came up at the same time.

“Do you have anything that smells good?”

“A carrot juice. Thanks.”

Elirr and Hawk paused they looked at each other, then down at Mrsha. Rufelt raised his brows.

“Hawk. A pleasure. I forgot you lived here.”

“I didn’t expect to see you.”

The Courier leaned one muscled arm over the counter as Rufelt passed him the Rabbit Beastkin’s favorite drink. Carrot juice, seasoned with a shot of rum. For Elirr, Rufelt worked on a very herbal cream liqueur that tempered the rather strong base taste with the cream and added complexity with a bit of nutmeg, some mint…Elirr took the glass and sniffed, sighing.

“Ah, thank you. What do I owe you?”

“My pleasure, sir. It’s on the house.”

The [Beast Trainer] didn’t object. Rufelt had a soft spot for old Gnolls, especially ones like Elirr. And ones that had survived damn Raskghar. Hawk looked up hopefully at Rufelt.

“Not a chance. Pay up.”

The Courier sighed. Then he looked sideways and saw what Mrsha was drinking. The Gnoll cub was sniffing at him; he smelled of a dozen places. The Courier nodded down to her with a friendly smile, oblivious to the white fur that gave pause to every Gnoll who saw her.

“Good taste, kid.”

He saluted her with his drink. Mrsha stared as he downed half and sighed contentedly. Elirr sniffed his bouquet and smiled. Rufelt smiled to himself as Mrsha watched Hawk go. He might have given Hawk the drink free just for that unintentional kindness. Then again—the Courier was loaded.

But it was Elirr who lingered. Like Rufelt, he said not a word. But in his case—Mrsha glanced up at him, anxious at first. Rufelt had heard little of how Elirr figured into yesterday, but he had some connection with the little Gnoll. He just sat, drinking slowly. Sitting next to Mrsha.

After a while, he patted her head gently. And she leaned against him, and he wiped her eyes with a gentle paw. Rufelt polished the mugs gently and refilled Mrsha’s cup with milk and Elirr’s after ten minutes. He envied the older Gnoll and wished he could have done that.

You were always evolving. Always. It reminded Rufelt of how far he had to go as a [Bartender]. He busied himself at the other end of the counter, giving the two space and drawing traffic down to that end. Another interesting guest stopped by then, and Rufelt couldn’t help but begin a conversation on his own terms. Sometimes you had to. Especially when a Drowned Man, half-man, half-crab, stopped by and spoke.

“Narwhal’s Knife. Make it a double.”

It was a brisk order, and Rufelt automatically behaved as if he were in a room where the order fit. The drink plonked down on the table in seconds. First a clear cup. Then—a thick, dark liquor, blue and gray. To that, Rufelt added a shot—and it was a shot from the metal straw in the small container—of an alcohol so potent that it made the eyes sting.

The blue-gray alcohol was thick enough that the clear liquid was caught in the drink. It was like a clear spear of liquid shooting down towards the bottom of the glass. Exactly like a spear, in fact, or a horn. The thick outer liquid didn’t let the clear spear dissipate and didn’t change markedly, even when Seborn picked it up. The Drowned Man took a drink of the potent stuff and nodded.

“Thanks.”

“I hope it lives up to the reputation. It’s been a while since I made a Narwhal’s Knife.”

Rufelt glanced at the Drowned Man, casually leading into the conversation. He caught a half-smile from the [Rogue]. Seborn nodded.

“Tastes just like something I’d get in a port-city bar. Better, actually. The glass is clean.”

“True enough.”

That made Rufelt smile. He and Seborn glanced at each other, appraising.

“You’ve worked in port cities, then.”

“And you’re familiar with them.”

Seborn shrugged.

“Not a hard guess.”

“I don’t mean to assume. If you’re a sea dweller, were you an independent sort? Or…?”

Now here was a question with only three answers. One was ‘yes’. The other was [Sailor]. And the third…Seborn shook his head.

“[Pirate]. Retired. I’m surprised anyone would ask that question in Pallass. Have you served many sea folk before?”

“I did a few years in Zeres, but that’s about it.”

“Huh. Not many [Pirates] there, I bet.”

“Some, but not as many, it’s true. Still, those who pay off their bounty are allowed in. Drake laws.”

“Sure. I remember. Zeres, City of Waves. Not the kind of place most [Pirates] prefer to venture near. One of the places to avoid, in fact. Top…five worst.”

“There are worse places to be? Forgive me, but I’ve always been curious.”

Rufelt polished the bar, watching Elirr leave with Mrsha to join a table where Erin Solstice herself sat staring at a chess board with glowing pieces. She looked up, smiling, and Mrsha happily slapped a bunch of pieces off the other side of the board and watched them fly back into position. Rufelt had offered Erin a drink, but she’d declined, wanting to be at her ‘best’ for…chess?

Seborn nodded. The Drowned Man looked pleased. But of course, he was far from home, and no one looked like him. Mrsha, for all her white fur, was more at home here. The [Rogue] took another sip and looked appreciative as Rufelt poured him a huge tankard of water. Drowned People needed to hydrate, doubly so when they drank.

“Thanks. Yes. There are worse places. The Iron Vanguard’s port cities. No one wants to fight their navies. Wistram, although they can be neutral. If you’re at odds with them, Roshal or the Siren’s territories, perhaps. Although Zeres is probably worse. The Isles of Minos. Drathian waters. And of course, the Lord of the Dance’s waters if he thinks you’re a threat. Those are all nations, though. If you want to talk about just dangerous spots, Zeres isn’t even in the top fifty.”

“Really?”

Seborn’s smile was crooked, at least, the half of his face that would move.

“I left the sea because I was sick of it. Land monsters aren’t bad by comparison to whales that can eat ships whole. Except for Crelers. They’re as bad on land as in the water.”

“Crelers in water? Dead gods, that’s a nightmare.”

“Tell me about it. Oh. One extra-large ale if you have a tankard big enough. Or three for my friend.”

“The half-Giant? Coming right up.”

Rufelt wished he could have chatted longer with the [Rogue], but that was how it went. He was working while socializing, not the other way around. And Rufelt liked his job. Person after person came over. Old or young, friendly or unpleasant.

It didn’t matter. The [Bartender] fulfilled every wish, unless the wish would hurt the customer. If he was a bad [Bartender], Rufelt wouldn’t have cared. But he wasn’t, so he did. He watched. And he came to a realization in the back of his mind. It was Lasica who articulated it. As early evening began, she stopped at his bar.

She’d been working in the kitchen to help Erin, and she paused as he served her a cool fruit drink. No alcohol. She sipped from it gratefully. Then she looked at her husband.

“Rufelt. Have you noticed? They’re so young.”

The Gnoll looked up and peered around the inn. He didn’t see what Lasica meant for a second and glanced back at his wife, his eyebrows raised.

“What, are you saying we’re old? Or are you talking about little Mrsha?”

She shook her head, sighing.

“No. Look at Lyonette, Erin’s head [Barmaid] or whatever she is. She’s a mother. If we had a Drake daughter her age, I’d be trying to keep her from flirting with every boy her age.”

Rufelt glanced around again. Now he got what Lasica meant. He looked—not at the guests of the inn—but at the people who lived there. The adventurers. Staff. Erin’s friends. Erin herself.

Erin, Ceria, Pisces, Lyonette, Selys, Yvlon, and Ksmvr. No—even Krshia, Jelaqua, Moore, and Seborn. Some were older, but if you looked at them, you noticed something. Friends. Teams. But no loved ones.

No couples. Jelaqua and Maughin. But Erin? Lyonette? No one. Not even a Gnoll or Drake or Human they were making eyes at. Rufelt nodded slowly. He looked at Lasica. If they had a Drake girl their age…it wasn’t exactly foreign. But what an odd thought to compare it to the children here. But that was Lasica’s point. He paused.

“And if we had a proud Gnoll son?”

She snorted.

“You’d get to talk with him about hanging out with so many Gnolls and subscribing to that tribal nonsense and pack mentality while I worried about how many little Gnoll pups I’d be grandmother to.”

“Hey! Why are our children both sex-starved maniacs in these scenarios?”

Rufelt mock-glared at Lasica. She smiled a bit wistfully.

“Because that’s young. And stupid. It’s what I’d expect of someone that age in Pallass. But Liscor’s out in the High Passes. Dead gods, little Mrsha just confronted a gang of Gnolls and Drakes torturing a prisoner. They could have killed her, and look at her now.”

She pointed. Mrsha was happily waving a wand, growing flowers at the table where Moore sat. As if she were a child. But she had white fur. And Rufelt remembered her sitting at his bar, sipping the bitter carrot juice. Pretending to be…

Lasica went on.

“They survived undead attacks, a Goblin Lord, the Face-Eater Moths—can you imagine anyone their age in Pallass doing that?”

“[Soldiers], perhaps. If they enlisted at fourteen, they’d have seen that.”

“Hah! Maybe, but Pallass is safe. We’ve got crime, but we don’t have monsters a mile from the city. We’re not Liscor. And Erin? Lyonette? They’re not [Soldiers], Rufelt. Not Erin, nor anyone else in her inn. They’re adventurers. Antinium. Little Gnolls.”

“Children. You’re right.”

Rufelt looked around. And he felt old. Suddenly, though the grey had just started to appear in his black fur. But this wasn’t something a dye from Xif could hide. He turned back to Lasica. And she looked older. More beautiful, somehow. Both at the same time. She nodded at another table where a familiar, huge Dullahan sat.

“Even Miss Ivirith. Her team fits in this inn. I’m almost jealous; maybe it’s an [Innkeeper] thing, but Erin’s found her people. Her team feels like the rest of the guests she has. They don’t fit.”

“The Halfseekers. No, I agree. Look at her with Maughin. Come to that, our resident [Blacksmith] probably doesn’t have much more experience in love.”

Lasica chuckled. Then she sobered.

“But more than her. It’s striking. It’s so young here. But I guess that’s the point. People who’re old wouldn’t make an inn out here. If they were old, they’d stay in the city. They wouldn’t be…”

She looked at Erin. Rufelt nodded. If Erin was married, even to someone like her, would she run her inn like this? That was the feeling in the air. Youth. A bright, spontaneous energy. The kind of unpredictability that had captured Pallass for a moment. He looked at Lasica, and he didn’t have anything to say. So he just leaned on the counter. She sat there. And they watched.

After a moment, the introspection was broken as a Drake with light blue scales walked up to the bar. He spoke quietly.

“Something strong, please. Not so strong I’ll fall over, but something fortifying.”

Rufelt looked up. The request was familiar. So was the unhappy look in the Drake’s eye. Rufelt thought he recognized him too. But he silently mixed a drink that did exactly what the Drake wanted. The [Strategist] nodded, paid, and drained the mug in two gulps. He exhaled, shook his head, and paused there.

He didn’t want to turn. The [Bartender] wondered if he should step in. But—no. The Drake was working up his courage. He muttered to himself.

“I’ve done what I thought was right. But what’s right isn’t—sometimes you pay for what’s right. Because what’s right isn’t fair to your friends. You know?”

He looked up helplessly at Rufelt. The Gnoll nodded. Lasica smiled, but she let Rufelt reply.

“If it’s about right and fairness, it feels like a good way to live would to try to be both.”

“If only I could.”

The Drake muttered. He shook his head.

“I’m trying to protect them. But I’ve earned—thanks.”

He reached into his belt pouch, put a silver coin as a tip, and turned. Rufelt watched him go. He watched the Drake, but he didn’t watch what came next. Because he didn’t need to know. It was at his wife he looked. She nodded.

“Young. Remember that?”

Rufelt did. Not in the same way, but in a similar, parallel one. A hundred times. He winced as the slap echoed and looked back. Which one had done that? Again, it didn’t matter.

“Well, what should we do about it, Lasica? Or is it fine as it is?”

“I don’t know. But I feel sorry for them. A bit lonely.”

“Lonely?”

Rufelt walked out behind the bar. He looked at the Drake, and she glanced at him.

“Well, for them. Rufelt, I do think Erin’s inn is amazing. For her age—for what she’s made. But it’s missing something. I like to think our place is better.”

“Me too. But I don’t feel like rubbing it in her face.”

“Well, I’m not going to either. But sometimes we can show her what she’s missing. Can’t we?”

The inn was unaccountably quieting as the two talked at their position behind the bar.

“Of course. Are you thinking…?”

Erin Solstice glanced up from her game of chess, frowning. Rufelt nodded and then peeked at the door to Pallass.

“Yes. But where would we find our lovely Dullahan [Cellist]?”

Lasica smiled. The note that rose above the quiet conversations was played by a cello. But there was no player. Lasica raised her brows.

“We don’t need her.”

“No.”

The conversations stopped as the Drake took the Gnoll’s extended paw. Heads turned, back, looking for something that the people knew was there.

Forwards they came. A Gnoll and a Drake. A [Bartender] and a [Chef]. Lasica and Rufelt. Before them, people looked around and realized what was going on. The cello began to play, and the tables moved back. Chairs scooted, moving, The Drake and Gnoll saw a space clearing in the inn. They walked out onto it. And then they began to dance. It was as simple and as quick, as magical as that.

—–

Erin Solstice looked up. She felt the shift in the inn before the music began to play. But it was the music that made her realize what they’d done. It wasn’t melancholy, but nor was it jolly. It was simply…passionate. The kind of passion that invited the slow, intimate dance between the two. The kind of music that demanded nothing as complex as a waltz.

It was free-form, inviting, intoxicating in a way alcohol could never be. And it suited the two who danced with all to see.

She had seen it with Jelaqua and Maughin, holding hands, talking together, forgetting everyone else even when they were at the same table. It was the self-absorbed selfishness that young couples had. But what was so despised among youth hadn’t disappeared with age. It had only changed form. Now it was on display.

It invited. It was not a wall, but a path. Illumination, and it drew more and more people, like moths into the light. Couples first, and then people. Individuals becoming duos. Erin looked around as the people in her inn looked at each other.

See. A nervous invitation or a confident one. A surprise or something long coming. A Drake bowing to a young Dullahan woman. A Gnoll turning down her suitors and plucking a Garuda from where he sat. Because he had been watching her out of the corner of his eye. Old and young.

Lasica and Rufelt danced among it all. It wasn’t slow, the way they had danced in their bar. In fact, as the invisible cellist picked up, they moved faster, and the inn came alive. Erin heard laughter, but there was a silence between the two.

Two, dancing like one person. Erin looked at them, smiling. Longing. But content to watch. So did Lyonette until Pawn nervously approached. Then Lyonette looked at Mrsha, and the little Gnoll waved her on. Mrsha sat on Moore’s lap as he watched, truly, gently, envious.

“I would like to understand that before I die.”

Ksmvr spoke softly from where he sat with his team. It startled the others. But the Antinium was just watching the dancing. Yvlon looked up. She paused and nodded quietly.

“Me too. But someday. Perhaps. It’s hard with how we live.”

She felt at her arms, still encased in steel, though she’d taken off the rest of her armor. Neither one looked at Ceria, but the half-Elf still felt their attention. She cleared her throat.

“I—well, I’ve got time. Half-Elves don’t worry about that until we’re in our eighties. At least, if we’re born in a traditional village. Falene’s more likely to be looking about. And I’m aiming to succeed as an adventurer. Right?”

Ceria’s ears twitched a bit as she avoided the question. She self-consciously looked to her right. Pisces was sitting there, his drink mostly empty. The [Necromancer] watched Rufelt and Lasica. Selys had grabbed a Drake she knew; Drassi was dancing with Ishkr. And he shrugged, his face outwardly impassive.

“I am content with being alone. I, like many, have made my choice. If I truly thought love were essential to my happiness, I would be miserable.”

His team looked at him. Yvlon shook her head.

“You could have decided not to be a [Necromancer].”

Pisces smirked, but quietly. There was no bite to his reply, but there was certainty.

“But would I have been true to myself or living a lie? I would rather seek truer love.”

Yvlon paused, frowning.

“How? You’re not exactly throwing yourself out there. Or making a good impression.”

“If I were to find someone, it would be someone who accepts what I am. But again, I am not seeking it.”

Sometimes, Ceria wanted to punch Pisces for always having a response. But right now, she just envied the certainty he could project, real or fake. If it was a lie…she looked sideways at him, and she realized he was tracking Rufelt and Lasica now. As attentively as Ksmvr. Pisces spoke slowly.

“It is a glorious spectacle for those who find it. Rare as it may be.”

The Horns of Hammerad could only nod at that. Ceria looked at the dancing pairs. She muttered into her drink.

“…Show-offs.”

“True.”

Yvlon laughed. Then she got up and held out a hand. Ksmvr stared blankly at Yvlon until Pisces kicked him.

“Me?”

“You wanted to learn it before you die, Ksmvr. Come on. I’ll teach you to dance.”

“But I am not married. I would not like to be perceived as immodest.”

“Ksmvr—”

Yvlon laughed. She pulled the Antinium up. Ceria blinked. She looked at Pisces. And realized he was gone. He was getting up, walking towards the stairs. He never made it. Ceria stared and then realized she was alone. She glanced around. At a blue Drake sitting by himself. But she ended up sitting, even when Moore and Mrsha joined the floor. And sometimes that happened too.

—–

They stopped dancing when they were done. Not because the bar demanded it. Rufelt would happily burn the bar if it was that or Lasica. Especially because it wasn’t his bar in this inn. But he went back because they were done. And he served drinks with a [Bartender]’s smile while his own hid inside his head.

He was busy, of course. It was evening and passing later with each minute. The elections were coming to a close. In the streets of Liscor, the City Watch guarded boxes where the votes were stored. Voters answered under truth spell before voting, and their votes went to each district and the candidates running in each area. Of course, each area had at least two candidates running—sometimes three or four. But the hottest debate was over a simple split.

Lism and Krshia. Accordingly, almost all Drake and almost all Gnoll candidates on each side. Who would win? Who would lose? Surely there would be riots in either case. Or perhaps not.

The mood of the guests flooding into The Wandering Inn was actually fairly calm. No—not calm, but not shouting or rowdy in most cases. It surprised Erin, but not Rufelt. He just watched. And listened.

The guests came in from the city. They had participated; it seemed everyone in the city had voted. Krshia, Lism, whether they’d voted for them or another candidate in another district, it didn’t matter. They were all coming here.

Hot rivalry, fierce debate—it was giving rise to another emotion. Uncertainty. It was done. They’d voted, and tomorrow, Liscor would be a different place. So it was no wonder the inn—every inn and bar and tavern in the city—was filling. It was important that Rufelt was there. Because such people needed drinks. They needed to be able to talk.

And more than that, there needed to be someone who could wield alcohol with authority. In Erin’s case, she was the [Innkeeper], but Rufelt’s touch was more experienced. Subtler.

A crimson Drake was already drinking with her father when a squad of Drakes and Gnolls entered the inn. The Drake [Captain] marched right up to her and saluted, ignoring Relc.

“Wing Commander! Reporting!”

“Captain Vell. You’re not on duty.”

Wing Commander Embria’s voice was lost as Rufelt passed out drinks. But he was keeping an eye on the squad. They were making no attempt to be quiet—not that the inn was soundless. But they had an edge that he could feel on his fur. They were staring at all the Antinium in the inn. And then the female [Captain] marched up to the bar. She slapped silver onto it and loudly announced to the room.

“A round for the 4th Company of Liscor! And the right candidate winning this election!”

There could be no doubt who that was. The cautious talk instantly grew polarized, as if the [Captain] were a magnet. And she was, in a way. Rufelt could feel it, and the [Bartender] growled internally. But all he did was smile.

“And what will it be, [Captain]?”

“A proper Drake’s drink, of course! Firebreath Whiskey!”

Rufelt rolled his eyes mentally. He looked at Captain Vell and made a quick calculation. The way you handled this—well, you could do multiple things depending on how bad the fire was. Sometimes you let it rage or you snuffed it or fought it yourself—or let someone else do it. If the fire was bad enough, you didn’t even bother with that, but grabbed the money, the most expensive bottles, and plotted your exit, preferably through the back door. Or you could drown it.

The [Captain] and her squad blinked as Rufelt casually plonked the bottle of black liquid on the table and poured a foaming shot. He smiled at her.

“Of course, Captain. But could I tempt you with a new drink? On the house. I wanted to get the opinion of some strong drinkers.”

“What the hell’s that?”

Vell reached for the shot glass without hesitation. But Rufelt’s next words stopped her claw midway towards her mouth.

“Rxlvn. Antinium-made, actually. It’s rather strong, but it’s new. Actually, I’m considering taking it off the bar, but I imagine [Soldiers] have had stronger.”

One of the Gnoll [Soldiers] spat. The rest looked disgusted. Vell wavered.

“Antinium-made? Like hell I’ll drink…”

She eyed the black liquid. Rufelt shrugged innocently.

“I have to warn you, it’s got more of a kick than Firebreath Whiskey. But just as you like…”

Vell snatched her claw back as he reached for it. Her eyes narrowed, and she stared at Pawn as he sat with Lyonette.

“I can take anything the Antinium can handle. Let’s see what they think is strong. Give us all a shot!”

Rufelt did just that. He watched the table of [Soldiers] throw down a shot each, sneering at the Antinium.

Ten seconds later, Rufelt watched them trying not to pass out at the table. He regarded the black alcohol thoughtfully. Now here was a [Bartender]’s aid. As good as the trusty friend you kept in the form of a club or wand or pair of knuckles under the bar. And you could serve this in shot glasses.

So it went. A good [Bartender]’s job was never done until the last customer left, but this wasn’t Rufelt’s place, so he stopped as the sun entered its final descent. Lasica was beckoning to him, and he sensed she was tired. He was too after a day of work. So he abandoned the bar to Drassi, who was all too eager to fill his position with less variety of alcohol, but more talking and quantity.

Rufelt walked to Lasica. And they shared the far end of the bar for a moment. But for a hooded Drake, they were alone. Rufelt leaned on the counter, and Lasica sighed.

“Done, love? We can head back now; I’m sure Erin won’t mind.”

“In a moment. Rufelt. I…”

The female Drake looked around the room. She paused, then looked at him.

“Rufelt? Let’s visit the bazaar tomorrow.”

“Okay. For what?”

“Fertility spells.”

Rufelt paused mid-scratch on his back. He stared at Lasica.

“What brought this on?”

“I don’t know. Seeing this. Isn’t it time? You’re not getting any younger.”

“Hey.”

But that was an automatic response. The Gnoll’s mind was racing, but it wasn’t blown away. Part of him wanted to ask if ‘fertility spells’ couldn’t have been repackaged in more traditional terms, but Lasica was pragmatic. He nodded.

“We can look at them. And discuss this. When you haven’t had four drinks.”

He always counted. Lasica smiled.

“Of course. Lots of talking.”

The two stared at each other, thinking and knowing each other were thinking and imagining—until they were interrupted. The Drake on their right leaned over.

“You two should consider adopting a child instead.”

Surprised, then almost affronted, Rufelt looked up. He frowned.

“Excuse me?”

The Drake peered at the two and shrugged slightly, dislodging the hood a bit.

“There are children living in Liscor who need homes. Some go to relatives. Others…others disappear. Or they go from home to home. Strangers. I have to imagine a Walled City has that problem a hundred times worse. Those children deserve homes. Gnoll, Drake, Garuda, Dullahan.”

Rufelt blinked at the Drake. So did Lasica, but she had a reply.

“I wasn’t aware it was an issue, sir. We have [Alchemists] in Pallass, and there are magical items too.”

“Not everyone buys a potion to deal with that. Or they give children away after they’re born. It’s just a thought for you two to consider. Don’t mind me. I apologize for interrupting. But you should consider it, at least.”

The Drake shrugged and went back to his drink. Rufelt remembered serving it. A mulled wine. He studied the Drake. Then his eyes narrowed.

“You’re Lism, aren’t you? The Drake I’ve heard so much about.”

Lasica blinked, but Rufelt’s nose remembered more than his eyes. The [Shopkeeper] turned his head warily. But no one else had heard. He shrugged.

“I thought I’d see what this place my nephew talks about so much is like.”

“Really.”

Rufelt wondered what would happen if the crowd found out he was here. Or—just Erin. Lism seemed not to want to find out either. He tugged the hood further over his head, which did make him rather suspicious—then again, it was crowded.

“Tomorrow, I’ll be running Liscor or sitting in my shop. Either way, I’d better know the people I want to lead. And I wanted to see her.”

He stared past Rufelt and Lasica at the young woman offering cake around, smiling. Rufelt watched the Drake’s eyes. He saw Lism narrow his gaze. But there wasn’t malice. Just…Lism sighed.

“If I become a Councilmember tomorrow, I’ll do what’s right for Liscor. I always have. I just disagree with Silverfang about what that is. And part of that is letting this place be…this place.”

Neither wife nor husband replied. Lism finished his cup and pushed it back. He stood up and looked around.

“If I do become Councilmember, I’m going to tax this inn, though. Ancestors know it’s deserved. Thank you for the drink.”

He nodded to Rufelt and Lasica and walked towards the door. Lasica frowned at his back. She looked quickly at Rufelt. He was studying Lism’s back as the Drake disappeared out the front door.

“What do you think?”

The Gnoll didn’t reply for a moment. He was thinking over what the Drake had said. Adoption? Then he remembered Lasica’s question and turned to her. Rufelt glanced around for the blue Drake, but he was gone too.

“I think he has a child. So perhaps he’s older than Miss Krshia in a sense. She has a tribe. But he sounded like a father for a moment.”

Lasica paused, then nodded. Without another word, the two went to find Erin. Then they headed for the door. Rufelt had his equipment and alcohols stored in his bag of holding. And as they joined a queue to Pallass, they heard a weary [Mage]’s voice from the other side.

“Anyone to return to Pallass? Last call! We are not recharging the door again! Tomorrow, access is cut off to two visitors per day! There will be no [Mages] available unless they are paid for by the [Innkeeper] or guests!”

Rufelt grunted.

“Looks like Erin will have to solve that herself.”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll see her soon, love. I’d bet on it.”

“Good luck finding someone willing to take that bet.”

Rufelt laughed, and Lasica joined in. They stepped out of the inn and back into their city. And then they were back. Gnolls, Drakes, Garuda, Dullahans, all walked back through the inn and down the street. They mingled, walked past each other, a hundred thousand, millions of souls in the Walled City.

And amid them stood a Drake and Gnoll. They didn’t look particularly special among them all, certainly not with the giant Dullahan who bent towards a tearful Selphid on the other side of the door, or a Garuda who flew back towards her house dead drunk and hit a roof. But the world stopped, and time itself paused as they looked at each other. At least, that was how it felt.

They kissed in a street full of people as the setting sun painted the street in shadows and orange and fading gold. The cool wind blew past them, through the City of Invention, blown from far away. New and fresh and familiar and perfect.

Rufelt inhaled as he stepped back from Lasica. He looked at her, and he nodded down the street as he reached out. She smiled as she took his hand. Rufelt smiled.

“Lasica, let’s go home.”

And so they did.

6.42 E

(Volume 1 on Audible is out! Please consider using an Audible credit to buy it and leave a review! That would really help!)

It was a nightmare that woke him. An urgent dream. But it wasn’t one with pictures. He didn’t ever dream of something he had never had.

And yet, the dream had sound. The laughter of [Witches], high and cackling, borne out of imagination, movies. A skittering of a large spider. A baby’s wail.

Sensation. Cobwebs giving way to burning heat. Fire racing around him, crackling. Frightening, elusive. Smell—smoke. But where was it coming from? In his dream, the young man was reaching for it. But the fire was racing, growing, eluding him.

In the background, he could hear more laughter. Was it a woman’s voice? A man’s? He couldn’t tell anymore. And then the heat was everywhere. Consuming. Burning. Fire.

Then Laken Godart woke up. He sat up with a start and gasped and heard someone jerk. There was a pause as the world became real and solid, and Laken heard a voice.

“Your Majesty?”

“Gamel. I’m fine. I was just dozing.”

With an effort, Laken focused. He felt the rumble of movement in the carriage. Heard Gamel shifting. Laken shook his head. It was the same dream. But compounded with the news of yesterday. He turned his head restlessly, searching with his hearing rather than his eyes.

“Stop the carriage, Gamel. I’m going to ride in the supply wagon.”

Gamel paused. He knew what that meant. But he didn’t object.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Laken heard Gamel rap on the window leading to the driver’s seat. He murmured to the driver, and the carriage obligingly stopped. After a moment, Gamel opened the door.

“Sire…?”

Laken reached out, and Gamel helped him descend without tumbling from the seat of the carriage. Fresher air hit Laken. And wet. He grimaced as he realized he’d tuned out the sound of rainfall.

“Still raining? What is this, the eighth day in a row?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I’ll bring the umbrella—”

“No need. The supply wagon has a covering. Let’s get there.”

Gamel hesitated. But it wasn’t pouring yet, and both knew the skies could open up any moment. Carefully, Laken walked across the soggy dirt ground. Hard-packed, but very muddy. He could smell the waterlogged soil in the air. It felt like it was still day. But he could only take Gamel’s word for it. Laken could feel no sunlight on his skin.

“Halt the caravan! Make way!”

Someone was shouting. Laken listened. The entire caravan was halting, wagons behind his carriage stopping so he could move from the carriage to the supply wagon—which had been suspiciously vacant of actual supplies the last three times he’d used it. Part of him could only grimace, but internally. This was what an [Emperor] was. A heavy weight. Ponderous. But capable of change.

Like hand-held umbrellas. It was amazing that aside from a few parasols, no one had really invented a basic umbrella. Then again, magic worked as well as an oiled rain cloak. People didn’t really need an umbrella; it was a pedestrian’s tool. But it had been a nice curio to develop, especially in light of all this rain.

Still, an umbrella didn’t really matter compared to covered wagons, did it? And the awning of what might be oiled cloth or some animal hide protected the next wagon. It was curved, but had an open back.

Laken let Gamel clamber up and then offer him a hand and pull him into the wagon and find a seat for two reasons. Firstly, because he wouldn’t doze off in the wagon as opposed to the carriage. And secondly, because the open back faced the back end of the caravan.

“Your Majesty? Shall I fetch you a blanket? Something to drink?”

“No, Gamel. I’ll just sit here. Take your ease, by all means. I will call if I need you.”

Laken was aware there was a blanket waiting for him in the corner of the wagon. And Gamel hesitated only for a moment before hopping out of the wagon. Probably to snack or talk with his fiancée, Tessia. Or just walk near the wagon.

It was fine. Laken sat, hearing the call go forwards.

“Move the wagons! Watch the road! Potholes ahead!”

Potholes and mud. But Laken said not a word. He shifted on the hard wood, feeling the back of the wagon, slightly damp from where water had inevitably leaked in. And he held still. They wouldn’t notice him at first.

He sat there a while. Listening. And from behind the wagon, at the end of the caravan, he heard a foreign language, the sound of movement. Murmurs, laughter. Conversation. Arguments. Crying.

None of it sounded like monsters. As the wagon rolled on, bumping, uncomfortably navigating the muddy roads west and north back to Riverfarm, Laken knew the other wagons were being pulled. Here at least was a convention of this world, although the wagons had had to be built. But the iron bars, the cage-like wagons—those were a [Slaver]’s legacy. It was darkly appropriate to the people they held.

How else would you keep them from escaping or trying to attack the guards that rode in number with them? And just as crucially, protect them? It was still an injustice, but a necessary one. Something Laken couldn’t apologize for.

There weren’t enough words in any language to apologize. And Laken had tried. Until he’d realized how worthless words were. So he listened. Soon, they knew he was there. Then…the noise stopped.

Day 60 – Laken

I know they’re there. But they’re so silent I could be alone but for the sound of the wagons, the horses. Because they know I can’t see. So they make no sound. Not a clue to give me a sign they’re alive.

They can probably see me. I’ve had Gamel describe what it’s like in this strange caravan more than once. The wagons don’t ride in a single line; that’s stupid, and the road’s large enough to carry them three or even four abreast. At least, if there’s no traffic flowing the other way.

We’re travelling down a regular highway. Made of dirt, true, but it beats trying to travel cross-country. Roads are very necessary for wheels not to break on rocks, or struggle going down sharp inclines or getting trapped in divots in the ground, etcetera. You learn something new every day.

So the prisoners’ carts, the wagons filled with Goblins, are rolling just behind my wagon. No—to the left and right occasionally. Following the riders in front and my carriage. The Goblins are at the back of the caravan, which is obviously not where you want to put anything valuable.

It’s the first spot to be abandoned or attacked. Which is why the Goblins are there. I didn’t choose it; the [Caravan Master] refused to have the Goblins’ carts in the lead. Which is also a dangerous spot, but there’s the symbology of having Goblins in the back. They can’t ‘lead’ or be seen to be ahead of good Humans. Plus, they throw their poop and stones at the riders.

And that’s fine. If there’s anything I’ve learned after, god, what is it, two months now? It’s that I can’t win every battle. I shouldn’t even try. What’s valuable is winning the battles that need to be won. And getting around three hundred Goblins back to Riverfarm alive is a trial in itself.

Having Riverfarm standing would be good too. But I have a choice, and I’m making it. We’re close to home. If it weren’t for these rains, we’d be closer. As it stands, I could lose the Goblins if I rode ahead. So here I sit.

Silence. They definitely know I’m here. It’s actually quite surreal. Because if I asked Gamel, he could tell me. Hundreds of Goblins. Crimson eyes, staring at me. I don’t understand what ‘crimson’ is, or really get the fact that their eyes glow in the dark. But it makes Gamel wary.

As for me—I listen. I can hear the animals pulling the wagons making sounds. Hear conversation from the drivers, but not much. They don’t like having to drive the wagons with the Goblins. There’s a rotation system so they can drive the other wagons or the carriage, and apparently they’ve even taken to gambling for who has to drive the Goblin wagons every day.

Good, I guess. It means they’re resigned to it. If the drivers do spit at the Goblins or hurl insults, they’re not doing it now. Because I’m there. And I’m…listening.

“Gamel.”

He jumps; he thinks I didn’t notice that he’d pretended to leave. I sigh. I’m blind. Not deaf. If he’d left, I wouldn’t still hear him splashing alongside. He wavers.

“Your Majesty?”

“Take my phone.”

So saying, I reach into my pocket and pull it out. I hear a breath, almost awed. Gamel accepts it. I nod to the wagon.

“There’s a bunch of Goblins riding in that wagon right behind us, isn’t there?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Toss the phone. Try not to hit the driver.”

I hear a pause and an unvoiced objection. But again, we’ve done this dance before. How many days is it? I count.

Around fifty-four days since we really began moving. Forty since the Goblins were treated like animals and not like prisoners. Thirty-seven since I could sit anywhere near them without being in danger of being hit by something. Twenty-one since the wagon drivers learned the lesson about tormenting them. Eight since the rains began, slowing our progress to a halt. It’s so bad it reminds me of Liscor. I thought spring was ending.

Oh, and eighteen days since I gave Gamel the order the first time to throw the phone. After eighteen days, he doesn’t even try arguing. He just sighs.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you. Hey.”

I turn. I can hear silence, but I know they’re there. I nod towards where I think Gamel is and speak to the Goblins.

“Catch.”

Gamel throws the phone. I don’t know what he aims at. But I never hear it hit the ground. It doesn’t bounce off a wagon driver’s head—I’d hear the swearing. And it doesn’t hit the bars. I hear Gamel settle back, watching.

Well? But I don’t ask. If they think Gamel’s telling me what they’re doing, the Goblins will just stop doing it. In their way, they’re tenacious; they can sit in silence, motionless, for hours until I give up. Even the children. So I don’t ask. I wait. And I hear them shuffling around. Then I can’t help it. I turn my head.

“Gamel, a blanket. And tell me what they’re doing.”

“A Hob has it, Your Majesty. One of the…Redfangs.”

“Ah.”

I can picture him in my head. There’s only two Hobs in the caravan from the Redfang tribe, who are apparently famed for their skill in battle. It was a Redfang Goblin that killed the Goblin Lord. Garen Redfang, their Chieftain. And another slew a high-ranking [Knight], Sir Vumat. And of those Hobs, only one is male.

I’ve asked Gamel to describe him. So I imagine the Hob, young—they all look rather young. But older than the rest, in his late twenties perhaps appearance-wise. Squatting or sitting, his loincloth and belt worn. Bare-chested, covered in the faded war paint they wear.

The remaining Redfangs apparently have more stripes than exposed skin. I don’t know how they make anything like a dye, even with blood, but apparently that [Shaman] has something to do with it.

Gamel fusses over the blanket with me as he continues describing the Hobgoblin’s actions. And I listen. When we return to my lands, I want to see how close my image of these Goblins is to reality. I’ve learned about them. But only as an outsider. I know things, but I don’t know what they mean. And they refuse to talk to me. That’s fine.

“He’s using your phone, sire.”

“Of course he is.”

Here’s where my imagination really has to strain since I turned my screen reader app off. But there’s this…Goblin. Sitting, while the other Goblins cluster around him, peering at the glowing screen. And I’m told they can use it as adeptly as I can. Scrolling from screen to screen with a delicate flick, handling the iPhone with the utmost care, despite the fact that you can just [Repair] it and charge the battery and fix the screen in one go.

For a few minutes, the Hob does just that. Then he makes a decision, and it takes the Hobgoblin only a second to open the app he wants. Hah—it took the Goblin children less than ten minutes to start taking movies of each other, apparently.

It shouldn’t surprise me, honestly. I’m told there’s a video of a monkey of some kind figuring out how to use an app on a smartphone. And if a primate could do it, Goblins should understand it—better than Humans, actually. Gralton and Yitton both freaked out when I took a picture of them (off center), and they both treat it as if it’s made of diamonds.

Which it is, I suppose. But it’s worth something here. No—more than anywhere else. In that sense, my iPhone holds a treasure from another world. Which is what the Hob listens to now. He doesn’t use headphones; that would mean he’s the only one listening to it. There’s a start—a strain of music. Then even the wagon drivers stop grumbling. Because they know what’s coming.

A song.

I can hear it. It begins with a violin and an accordion, both instruments that few in this world could play. And a man’s voice begins to sing. By my side, Gamel sighs. Because he recognizes it too.

The music’s distant, but familiar; the Goblins make no sounds as the wagons carry them. They listen to a German singer. Irony of ironies, it’s a song I’ve played in this world.

Viertel vor Sieben.

There’s no way they can know what the song means. Yet, I think they do. It’s the Hob’s favorite song. He’s played it fifty-three times. And yes, I count. There’s little to do on this caravan besides talk and listen. Less for a blind man; I can’t ride or practice swordplay or hunt like Gralton or Yitton. So I think. Appropriate, for an [Emperor].

The German music plays, a gentle, sad song. Nostalgic. And I can’t even fathom what the Goblins must look like. But they all listen. The Humans riding, the Goblins in the wagon. Listening to a song from another world.

At least in this, I can say Earth is unmatched. The songs and music and stories written as our society progressed and technology allowed more people to become songwriters or experiment is something this world lacks. We may not be better people. I’m proof of that. But we have this.

Music. The song lasts for just over five minutes, and it makes the time go faster, it really does. The rain begins to pour again, and the people grumble. The wagons roll on, and the animals are unhappy. But the Goblins listen. The next song is quite unlike the first. The Hobgoblin starts six different songs before a short argument in Goblin occurs. I hear a smack, a whining sound. And then a second song.

“Oh. I know this one.”

The beat to this song makes Gamel stir. I can just imagine other riders ahead pulling back. Because you couldn’t copy this kind of music. At least, I haven’t heard anyone playing the guitar. And the song’s in English. It makes me smile a bit.

Seven Nation Army by White Stripes. It’s not my music. But when my parents helped me set up the iPhone, my father got a hold of it. He inflicted his music on me by putting his favorite songs on the iPhone. Make no mistake, I’m grateful for the variety now. But—I pause.

“Odd. I haven’t thought of my father in…”

A wailing guitar solo interrupts me. I hear an animal protest, then the Goblins. They’re stomping or striking the bars or floor of the wagon to the beat. I smile, turning my head so they don’t see.

That’s when I hear footsteps. I hear him jump into the wagon a second before he lands; he surprises the hell out of me. Gamel sees him and announces his name, as if I couldn’t tell from his scent.

“Lord Gralton.”

“Laken.”

The [Dog Lord] throws himself into a seat opposite me. He smells like his wet hounds and a lot of rain and mud. Gamel politely moves back to give us room. I nod at Gralton.

“Did you get anything on your hunt?”

He laughs. He sounds as rough as he apparently looks. But I’m not fooled; he’s intelligent. He just likes dogs.

“We got a doe. Regular, not Corus. I saved you a cut. We’ll eat it tonight.”

I incline my head.

“Well done.”

He grunts dismissively.

“Not much challenge in a dozen warhounds bringing down a deer. A herd now—or a bear, that’s different. I’ll treat you to bear once we get to this Riverfarm of yours.”

“Not my bear.”

“Hah! You have to show me that one. A Mossbear for a pet? And they call me a savage. You gave the Goblins your phone-thing again, didn’t you?”

He sounds…not disapproving. That would be Yitton. But there’s an edge, and I sense him shifting. To look at the Goblins? I pause. Interesting.

“Something bothering you? You don’t like the song?”

That would be odd. Gralton’s into music like this, or even more intense stuff. Gralton growls softly, like a dog.

“I like the music. Not as much as the other ones you’ve shown me. But this one makes me uneasy because those Goblins like it. What’s it called?”

“Seven Nation Army. Why?”

I hear Gralton pause. The wood creaks as he leans on it, perhaps grasping it with his huge hands.

“They seem to have adopted it as one of their favorite songs. Probably because of the words.”

“The lyrics? What about them?”

“I don’t know if they count. But in the last battle, Velan the Kind was brought down by about seven separate armies.”

“Oh.”

The song’s on replay. The Goblins echo the beat. And it gives the music a new meaning.

The Goblin King. Velan the Kind. This Goblin Lord. Thousands of years—tens of thousands even—of Goblins being monsters. Goblin Lords and Kings causing destruction while Goblin Chieftains lead tribes, surviving despite being labeled a threat by practically every nation in the world. Gralton’s words only remind me how much of an outsider I am.

“Well, it wasn’t written about Velan.”

Gralton snorts.

“Someone else beat a seven-nation army?”

“Oh, something like that.”

The [Lord] waits. But I don’t give him anything more. He has to have his suspicions. I don’t know if he or anyone would make the logical leap. But he has to suspect. If I wasn’t sure of him, I’d be worried. Yet sixty days is a lot of time. It’s enough time for Goblins to master an iPhone enough to make a playlist full of their favorite songs. And shuffle the location of all my damn apps. And it’s enough time for me to get to know two men.

The second approaches after Gralton. And he requests entry to the wagon before climbing up. He smells like rain and metal. Not much else; Yitton Byres keeps himself clean. And he’s far different from Gralton’s relaxed nature.

“You shouldn’t give it to them, Your Majesty.”

“It’s Laken, Yitton. We’ve been in each other’s company for a month.”

I can picture the man sitting with his back straight against the wagon. Gamel’s described him for me; unlike Gralton’s usual stubble, Yitton has a maintained beard. His dark brown hair is turning to grey, and he moves with the weight and gravitas of his class in his mind. As if being a [Lord] is something to be equal to, rather than Gralton, who wears it as he pleases.

“I—apologize, Laken. It’s a first for me to be on close terms with royalty of any kind.”

“Well, among friends, I’d insist on it. Otherwise, an [Emperor] is quite lonely. And unapproachable. That makes a tyrant, I imagine.”

Gralton grunts.

“Is this another lecture about dictators, Emperor Godart? Because if it is, I’d rather listen to the Goblins.”

He makes another sound then, and I’m pretty sure Yitton just elbowed him hard in the side. The two are surprisingly chummy for such different men. Enough so that Yitton will actually do that, or so I’m guessing. I’ll have to ask Gamel later. I just smile.

“No lectures, Gralton. I’m just listening. And if you two are so inclined…unless you have anything to talk about?”

“Not I.”

“Nope.”

Well then. I sit back, and all three of us—and Gamel—just listen as the Goblins play more songs. It’s funny, but the music from the iPhone probably attracted the two [Lords]. Because as entertainment goes, it’s still the most novel thing in the world for them. And really, there’s nothing else to do. We’ve talked, argued, debated, and taught each other. We’ve been on this road a long time.

It’s been a month and a half. Of delays, escape attempts. Death and guilt and grief. And somehow, still too little being done. I’ve left my empire. And I could have ridden ahead, using Skills and switching horses or hiring a carriage.

The consequence would have been the deaths of the Goblins here. Because from the moment I demanded their capture as prisoners instead of execution on that battlefield, they’ve been under threat of death. If I left them with the guards—even under Gralton’s command or Yitton’s—I have no doubt there would be an ‘escape attempt’ where all the Goblins died. The same as if I let them go.

They would be hunted, tracked down. So I stay. And I don’t try to force people to be nice to the Goblins. Not anymore. That’s a mistake. I just let them keep their distance. Slowly, time does what even an [Emperor] cannot.

A month and a half means the people, Lord Gralton and Yitton, Gamel—everyone—is used to the Goblins by now. It means that even if they hate the Goblins, I’ve argued them into acceptance. Unlike the very vocal groups who wanted to execute the Goblins, children and all, on the spot. That’s…progress. That’s the benefit of time.

I only have to accept that it’s an investment of time that I have to give. A gamble. If Riverfarm falls to dissent or the [Witches] or…anything while I’m gone, it’s not worth the cost. And if I get back with a bunch of Goblins? I’ll have more problems.

I’ve thought about what to do. I have just one plan. It might work. Or it might fail. But it’s surely better than doing what the logic of this world says is the only course.

An hour passes. Just like that. I know because I can count it in the songs that are played. And reluctant as I am, I know the battery’s getting low. And I need that phone; it’s useful. Not least because I can store notes on it or use it to record sounds. Because it’s mine. And the Goblins are surprisingly respectful of that fact.

They could have snapped it in two, and I’m pretty sure the [Mage] riding with us couldn’t repair that. They could have deleted my music or apps, and I wouldn’t get them back. But aside from recording some very unpleasant noises and messing with my configurations—like turning off the voice help so I can’t navigate with it—they haven’t done anything else. That is something. So I turn and raise my voice.

“Excuse me.”

The iPhone goes quiet instantly. The Goblins, who’d make some sounds while listening, go silent. I nod, smiling.

“May I have my phone back?”

A pause. I can hear some distant shuffling. And then—Gralton catches the iPhone in front of my face; I can feel the wind and hear the impact in his palm. I try not to jerk back in alarm, but it’s instinctual. I hear tittering Goblin laughter. But I like to think they wouldn’t throw it like that if they knew Gralton wouldn’t catch it. I don’t test that theory. I just nod.

“Thank you.”

I don’t hear a response. But I have my iPhone back. They had their music, for a moment. They still won’t talk to me.

We have an understanding. And they will never forget what role I played. But I want to believe I’ve shown them I’m trying. To… to do something.

“Lord Gralton, Yitton, will you join me for a walk?”

Yitton murmurs.

“Gladly.”

Gralton.

“Yes.”

We leave the covered wagon. The rain’s slowed again. But Gamel hops off and shields me with an umbrella as I walk with the two [Lords]. Gralton swears as he splashes in some mud.

“Rain. This is uncanny. Has someone been fucking with the weather? Because if this is Magnolia pulling rain towards her fields or some idiot—”

I interject.

“You think it’s unseasonable?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t care. I just want to be out of it.”

“I have to echo Gralton’s sentiments, Your M—Laken. So much rain is unusual, although not unheard of. Byres lands don’t get as much, but we’re based in the foothills. What about Radivaek lands, Gralton?”

“I have no idea, Byres. I don’t count how much rain I get. Is it this bad in Riverfarm, Laken? Because if it is, I’ll ride ahead to my lands until the summer.”

I frown, thoughtful.

“I don’t know. I haven’t asked. There was good rainfall, but Prost hasn’t mentioned that.”

“Ah. Because of the news about the…[Witches].”

“Yes.”

The two go silent. Gralton spits after a second. Which sounds disgusting.

“Witches. I ran one off my lands once.”

Intriguing. I keep my voice light.

“Really? You never said.”

“I didn’t remember.”

Yitton sighs loudly. Gralton scratches, grunting.

“I forgot, alright? It’s nothing like what’s happening in Riverfarm, anyways.”

Time to press him.

“For my sake, Gralton, what did happen?”

“Nothing. Some villagers started complaining to me and they wouldn’t shut up. Said a [Witch] was cursing their farms. Doing black magic. I sent some people over, and they said she probably hexed a farm. There was some business about debts the village owed her. I didn’t care. I told my people to make the villagers and [Witch] swear under truth spell what had happened was what happened. Turns out it was all true. They paid her to take care of some nasty illness, and they didn’t want to pay the entire thing. So she hexed their fields, and half their crop died, and they had an infestation of bugs.”

“And what did you do to restore order?”

The [Dog Lord]’s pause was telling.

“We ran off the [Witch].”

“You didn’t force the village to pay her what they owed?”

I imagine Gralton shrugged during the next pause.

“She hexed them. So I decided she could get lost.”

“And?”

“She cursed the village. Either that or they lost too much from the fields. Place was deserted in two years.”

Silence. Lord Yitton makes a sound, and I just think. Curses. Broken promises. And [Messages] from Riverfarm. Increasingly worrying messages. I was so relieved to hear Durene woke up. But after that?

The rain pours down, unceasing. I have to wonder if these [Witches] are like the ones in the stories from my home. Again, I don’t know, but I have to trust that Ryoka won’t make any deals with them. With that said, I won’t treat them like monsters. Like Goblins.

“Emperor Laken. You had a [Message] from Riverfarm last night. An urgent one. May I ask what it was about?”

Yitton breaks in quietly. Very politely too, because it’s his and Gralton’s—okay, mostly Gralton’s—money that’s paying for these [Messages], the escort, food, and so much else. I nod.

“I did. And I’ve been pondering my response. It’s still…early morning?”

“That’s right. As far as I can tell. What happened?”

I tell them.

A simple story. Rehanna, a woman twice bereaved. A changeling made of cloth. A bargain struck. Of course, they know about the coven. But this? Gralton makes a noise. Yitton’s just deathly silent.

“Your thoughts, gentlemen?”

I ask.

“Get rid of the [Witch].”

“You tried that, Gralton. And look what it brought you. Your Majesty, I have to counsel intervention, but of another kind. That…[Witch] is clearly a powerful one. At least Level 40 if she can create something like that. I have to imagine even higher. Belavierr. Why do I know that name? My household has lists of dangerous enemies we’ve fought against. Though I feel like my wife mentioned…no.”

Yitton’s voice is greatly troubled. I wish I had access to those records. Lady Rie, Gralton, Yitton…I need more information sources. Yitton goes on.

“I would request aid. We have been cut off from news and socialization too long, Emperor Godart. If she is a threat, prevail upon the Five Families for aid.”

“From Magnolia Reinhart or Tyrion Veltras.”

I frown. It’s the same advice both gave me when the coven appeared. But both ideas sound like bad ones, especially from what I know. Then again, accepting any deal…the [Witches] are waiting for me. And they’ve claimed one victim. But she made the choice.

Rehanna. Yitton is silent, waiting. Gralton’s clearly nervous. I shake my head.

“I’ve thought about both suggestions. But I’d rather be there and appraise these [Witches] myself, Gralton, Yitton. If you’ll stick with me, we could at least counter a coven.”

Or so I hope. Both men agree. We’re allies. Of convenience, yes; our lands are close enough that it’s practical. But fate’s made us friends. I only hope I’m not leading them into trouble. But I am grateful for their company. I pause as I stare north and west. I know that’s where Riverfarm is. I can sense it. And something else.

“I won’t deny, it bothers me. I wish I was there. I don’t feel like Riverfarm is safe. It feels…hot. Like something hot is coming. On the wind.”

“I could do with some sun. But you’re talking about your lands, aren’t you?”

Gralton’s voice is measured. When I nod, he speaks. For all he’s impetuous, thoughtless at times, he’s higher-level than Yitton or I. And he doesn’t scoff at my dreams or feelings.

“Premonition. I’ve had that too, vaguely. When a bunch of damn Crelers set up a huge nest in my lands. A feeling like something was creeping up on me from behind. I was walking around my estates, looking for rats or insects, for three weeks until it was nearly too late. I had to hire three Gold-rank teams and Baudin the Brass.”

I nod. Two stories from Gralton in a day. That’s how he tends to give advice, through the lens of his failures. Yitton is more contemplative.

“In the past, the Byres house has clashed with [Witches] as well as other monsters. We were vampire slayers in another age, the first [Knights] who rode with the Five Families before that. They believed any threat could be defeated with silver and steel. But they armed themselves for each threat in turn. And many of the Byres line have perished in battle.”

So would silver be enough to defeat a [Witch]? That’s Yitton for you. Cautious advice rooted in history. I consider both points. In truth, my answer is simple. It’s…all I can give. We’re moving as fast as we can in the rain. And I am blind outside of my lands. Far still from home.

“Thank you for your advice, you two. I don’t know if we’ll make it. But in light of this—I’d like to adjust our course. Towards Radivaek lands. If we take a northern route, we’ll stick to the main roads.”

The two men confer, and Gralton pulls out a small map.

“It’s still two days’ fast ride to my lands from where we’d split to Riverfarm. And that’s if I left the caravan and rode as fast as I could. Call it seven to eight if I set out now. And I’d have to leave my dogs behind.”

There’s a note of expectancy in his voice. I nod.

“I’d prefer your company, Gralton. But if things get worse, I’d ask that you ride ahead towards your lands.”

In case he needs to bring back his army. Gralton agrees quietly. Yitton moves; I can hear the chainmail as he adjusts it and his belt.

“In that case, I will accompany you, Laken. Byres lands lie past Riverfarm.”

That’s him too. As if he’s not accompanying me and slowing his return for my sake. I smile.

“I’m lucky to have such companions. That’s the plan, then. Gamel?”

“Sire?”

I take a breath. [Witches]. Ryoka. I turn to Gamel. I can’t leave the Goblins. Yitton and Gralton couldn’t stop the guards from attacking the Goblins, or the other villages, cities, and towns we’ve passed. I can. We’re too far. But I can only hope. So I give my order.

“Send a [Message] back as follows: ‘Let no one strike a deal with Witch Belavierr. But do not try her yet. Collect evidence for a trial, which I will preside over. If this coven is to be trusted, see what they do when no bargains are struck. And give Rehanna every kindness. Do not take the…baby away. Leave her be.’ Tell them to wait. Wait for me.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Gamel hesitates, and then Yitton takes the umbrella. He hurries away, splashing, as the rain falls. And I listen. And I wait. And I curse the rain. We’re not moving fast enough.

Something is coming. Something is already there. [Witches]. And I smell smoke before I feel the fire.

Day 61 – Fierre

It was days like today that made Fierre the Vampire hate being…well, her. Just a bit. Hate the fact that she was Fierre the Vampire, not Fierre the [Broker] or Fierre the [Opener]. Sometimes, often, she was proud and knew she was one of the few of her kind. Other times, she wondered if she could have been something else.

Because a Vampire gained no levels. A Vampire was like an animal or one of the sub-races, like Ogres or the true Giants of old. But even Goblins leveled.

You could argue it was there to give balance. If a Vampire could level, surely they would be [Warriors] without peer or [Mages] with access to magics beyond normal spellcasters. Vampires had many powers, and old Bamer had told her stories of the Vampires of old and how they’d tapped into blood magic, shape shifting—even though her father forbade those stories most of the time.

Well, her mother liked to tell those stories as well. Grand castles and balls, elegant and deadly rulers of the night. Whereas in reality, Fierre’s father, Himilt, told her that it was better to be what they were. People in hiding. Because Vampires had once ruled part of Izril. And they had fallen. Died to [Knights] and silver and magic and fire.

So why couldn’t they give it up? Fierre’s family lived in a crumbling castle, herding sheep. Caught between the present and the past. If they could leave, perhaps they’d be happier. Ordinary people who just had to stay away from the sun.

And who were sick. Fierre coughed into one sleeve as she paced the small room she operated as one of Reizmelt’s few Openers. One of three, in fact. The class [Opener] was a specific, stylistic one; it was more common to have an [Informant], [Fence], [Broker], or some other class fulfill the same role. Fierre would have liked any class, though. Because she knew what Skills such people got.

“If I was an [Informant], I could use [Source Information] and find someone. Or even [Thousand Mile Conversation] if I was really high level.”

She bit her lip hard, feeling her pointed canines sinking into her flesh. It didn’t really hurt; Fierre was hard to hurt, and she healed fast. Another benefit of being a Vampire. But she’d been on the other end of [Thousand Mile Conversation] just once. Someone could talk to you a thousand miles away as if they were standing right next to you.

Fierre vividly recalled that, fumbling for information for the broker about a deal gone south, hearing them harangue her as she dashed out to verify what they wanted in person.

That was the power of a Skill. True, a Level 30 Skill or maybe even Level 40, but a Skill nonetheless. Fierre was willing to lay down twenty gold pieces that the [Informant] who had that Skill could probably use it once per day. Imagine that! How could a Vampire compete?

Well, with the ability to regenerate from being stabbed in the stomach, the ability to rip the iron door in Fierre’s room off its hinges, and so on. But still, Vampires had lost a great deal of their powers. If Fierre had been like Himilt’s great grandfather, she could have flown to Riverfarm like a bat. But she couldn’t shape shift. Or turn into mist.

So she paced. After three more laps of the tiny room, Fierre heard a knock at the door. She froze, listening. There was a certain pattern to the knock she was listening for. If the person on the other side got it wrong, she was gone.

She waited. The rapping was three raps, pause, a rap, and then someone kicked the door. Good enough. Fierre still checked through the metal slot. She recognized the person on the other end and opened the door immediately.

Which meant three locks. It made it all the harder for a [Thief] to get in. Ironically, Fierre was most concerned about [Thieves]. She had to be; an Opener’s office contained as many valuables as a Merchant’s Guild. Information, secrets, items of certain value. Her stock and trade.

“Took you long enough.”

It didn’t earn respect, though. The raggedy [Mage] who stumped into Fierre’s office looked sour. Fierre bit back a response or the urge to slap his perpetually flushed, drunk face off his head. He was a poor [Mage], not brave enough to be an adventurer, a drunk, in fact. But he made his living by casting and receiving the [Message] spell for the criminal underworld in Reizmelt. And unfortunately, Reizmelt didn’t have much of a shady underworld. It was more like a ten-foot-deep pit.

This [Mage], Gailt, was Fierre’s regular contact. She knew of two other [Mages] who might cast [Message], but there was such a thing as loyalty among associates. And Gailt was cheap and somewhat reliable. He knew the cost of betrayal, at least.

“What’ve you got, Gailt?”

Fierre yanked the one chair in the room out for him. The [Mage] stumbled into it, unsteady. Fierre’s sensitive nose told her he was already two drinks into his day. And it was basically dawn. But that was the beauty of Gailt’s job. He could be drunk all day, and so long as he received [Message] spells and passed them on quickly, he could earn a living. Again—Gailt was professional in his own way. So he didn’t waste time.

“Got a message back from Filk at last. That [Broker] you lit up two days ago with all those threats?”

“[Fence]. His primary class is [Fence]. What’d he say? Did you get the [Message] to Ryoka? Did she respond?”

“One thing at a time! Yeah! I got it to her. I confirmed it with that stuttering bastard in Riverfarm. Idiot can’t even receive well.”

Gailt grimaced as he rubbed one ear. He unsteadily sat upright, closing his eyes for a moment. Fierre waited, trying not to break the edge of the desk she was holding in frustration. The man opened his eyes at last.

“First things. Your Runner got the message. That’s what the [Mage] in Riverfarm says. ‘pparently, she didn’t know she could get ahold of you through me. So her [Message] is straight to you. It’s—‘Fierre, thanks about Belavierr. She’s as dangerous as you said. Please let me know if someone’s asking. She made a cloth baby. Not alive?’ There’s a question mark there, by the way. Uh—‘I have to stay. Not in danger. I think.’”

“She thinks? Did she not get my [Message]? Did she not hear that bounty? Or the rumors from Noelictus I copied to her?”

Fierre stared at Gailt in disbelief. It was rhetorical, but the [Mage], in the way of his kind, seemed to take it as a personal question only he could answer.

“Well, she’s not saying why she’s there. My guess is that it’s got something to do with that coven. Or that delivery for that [Emperor] bloke. Either way, your friend’s in it deep. Too bad she didn’t give you more details.”

“Yes.”

The Vampire girl closed her eyes, annoyed. She was trying to think. If—

“Aha! I bet she thinks you’re getting charged by the word, like what the [Mage]’s Guild does. She doesn’t know I’m being paid different. Not that I’d mind being paid by the word.”

“Gailt. I’m trying to think.”

Fierre growled at him. The [Mage] didn’t look impressed.

“I’m just trying to help. At least this Runner girl knows you’re on her side. She said ‘please’ and everything. Why’re you starting a fight with the [Fence] in Filk for, anyways?”

“That’s right! The [Fence]! What did he say?”

The girl turned to Gailt. He grinned lopsidedly at her.

“You want it word for word or the summary?”

Fierre frowned.

“You mean…?”

“I think he told you to go stuff your, uh—unmentionables into some other stuff. And do all kinds of things that I don’t think you’d like! Short of it is that he says piss off. He’ll sell information on that Stitch Witch and coven to anyone he likes.”

The Vampire girl stared at Gailt. Then she began cursing. He grinned, lolling back in his chair, as she tried not to overturn the desk and smash it in half. She eventually sat and yanked out a drawer. It was neatly filed with pieces of information on…well, everything.

Fierre was an Opener. Even if she didn’t have the class, she opened letters, paid Runners for their secrets, and negotiated the sale of information. That meant she’d dipped her toes into the part of the world that the official law of the cities wouldn’t tangle in. It also meant that Fierre’s worth was contained in what she knew.

And as stated, a [Thief] would love to get their hands on that information to sell to a Watch Captain, [Lord] or [Lady], another [Broker], or any number of organizations. Yet, it was a dangerous game to play. Information was money and power. But it could also be danger. Which was why Fierre trusted Gailt, for all he was a drunkard. If he sold the [Messages] that he handled, or if people thought he was filing away what he relayed, he’d be dead very, very quickly. It was Fierre who had the power in the relationship. In connections, coin, and, yes, information.

“That bastard wants to ignore me? Does he think because he’s the top [Fence] in Filk he’s anything like an [Opener] in a city like Reizmelt? Filk doesn’t even have a damn Thieves’ Guild! Fine! Gailt! Send a [Message] to—”

She consulted her parchment, breathing angrily. Gailt sighed as he put a finger to his head.

“—Daufica Longshel. Wait, is that right?”

“Nope! I know her. Beautiful lady, or so I want to believe. Beautiful mental voice.”

Fierre glanced up.

“She’s sixty years old.”

She was rewarded by Gailt’s look of distress and a single digit. He closed his eyes.

“Go to Rhir and die, Fierre. What do I say?”

“Tell her I want a message sent to Ratwhisperer. Make it painful and thorough. I’m also paying her eight big ones—light up his office.”

Gailt blinked.

“Send a message—oh. Eight gold for—are you sure?”

He looked a bit rattled and more sober than a moment ago. Just like two nights ago. Fierre’s eyes flashed dangerously, but she kept them from turning red.

“Do I look like I’m joking, Gailt?”

She saw his mouth pop open and then decide to close. The man closed his eyes, and Fierre sat back. She clenched her fists. This was unlike her. If you decoded what she’d just said, she’d just paid Daufica, a [Mage] who also doubled as a [Fixer]. Unlike Fierre, she dealt in very real things. And Fierre had hired her to send a few people to the [Fence]’s office and beat him. Perhaps with broken bones. And then burn it down.

Some might call that an extreme reaction. It was certainly nothing light. Fierre was pretty certain she could get away with it. The ‘Ratwhisperer’ as he called himself (his real name was Jenkil Thert), didn’t have the clout to fight back. If he tried, Fierre had a secure iron door, Reizmelt’s top gang thought she was useful, and she was a Vampire. Hiring a group of people to beat her up was a fatal mistake.

Even so, it was dangerous. Fierre didn’t know why she was doing it. Maybe because Ryoka was her friend. She was one of the few people who knew who Fierre was who wasn’t a Vampire. And she was…different.

Fierre’s mother, Colfa, hadn’t been able to control her. Himilt, Fierre’s father, had told Fierre to her face that Ryoka was someone to watch. Although, he’d meant that as a warning.

All of this was simply background, though. Fierre just wanted Ryoka to live. And unfortunately, Ryoka didn’t know enough about the way people like the Ratwhisperer worked. Or she’d have never sent—Fierre squinted at her notes.

“Charlay the Dustrider. Nicknamed Dusty Charlay, one of two Centaur City Runners in this region. As good as Ryoka—better for short trips. Why’s she following Ryoka about?”

“That a question I’m asking?”

“No. Shut up and send the [Message].”

Fierre sighed. She massaged her temples, trying to figure it out. What was Belavierr the Stitch Witch doing in the middle of nowhere? It had to be connected to the [Emperor]. Although that was something even the biggest names in the criminal underworld were marking as an unsubstantiated fact.

Part of that might be genuine embarrassment, though. An [Emperor] appearing out of nowhere that not even the best [Informants] and [Brokers] had heard of? It made them all look like fools. It couldn’t be true. And yet, Tyrion Veltras had summoned this [Emperor] himself. And he had trebuchets.

“Either way, that’s why the coven’s there. So how does Ryoka—right. She delivered a package for this [Emperor] in Invrisil last winter. The pieces are there. But—she delivered a bunch of healing potions and stamina potions, all low-grade, to Lady Rie Valerund. With Charlay the Dustrider. At the same time the coven shows up.”

The Vampire girl was used to conspiracies and plots. But this was enough to make her head genuinely explode. It couldn’t be coincidence! Could it? But she couldn’t see through the pattern. All she knew, again, was that Ryoka had erred.

The Ratwhisperer had probably known the coven was in Riverfarm’s area, but Ryoka had inadvertently confirmed them being there. When he’d heard about Belavierr’s presence, he’d immediately seen the same thing Fierre had: an opportunity to earn a lot of gold.

“Where’s my bounty list?”

Fierre hunted around her desk. Gailt didn’t look up or open his eyes.

“Third drawer.”

Fierre checked it. It was the wrong drawer. She looked up, scowling. The [Mage] shrugged.

“Whoops.”

The right drawer held a list of bounties. Some alive, some dead. But also rewards for information. Fierre paged through it. Yup. There wasn’t a reward; there seldom was, but the Ratwhisperer could earn a tidy sum by telling any of the groups out for Belavierr that she was present in Riverfarm.

That was probably what he was doing right now. Reaching out and nudging, say, Wistram. He’d inquire if they were interested in Belavierr’s location, and if they said ‘yes’, they’d begin negotiations for coin. If the Ratwhisperer got what he wanted, he’d tell them. Or go to another name on the list.

Like Roshal. Roshal had a huge information network and gold to burn. If they didn’t pay, there was the Order of Seasons. Or he could just sell the information to other [Brokers] for cheap, waste the monetary value of the information that way.

“Either way, Ryoka gets hurt.”

Fierre stared down at Belavierr’s sheet with her lips compressed tightly. If word went out that someone with that kind of bounty was there, every [Bandit] and desperate [Mercenary] or adventurer in the region would go after Belavierr. Never mind that it was probably suicide to go up against someone with that kind of bounty. They’d try it.

Or if someone like Wistram or Roshal got ahold of the information and had anyone in the area—they practically defined the idea of collateral damage. And who knew what Belavierr would do if angered.

“She hung an entire village.”

“Who?”

Fierre stared at her report.

“The Stitch Witch. She hung them all. Men. Women. Children. In Terandria. Not recently. Not what went down in…but that’s one of her crimes. One.”

The [Mage] looked up. Even he and Fierre, jaded though they were from stories, had to pause.

“Why? Do you know?”

“No. No one does. But she’s a [Witch]. It was probably a deal someone made.”

Gailt shuddered and sat up.

“I don’t get paid to hear that kind of shit. I just send [Messages]. And I sent yours. That old hag in Filk says she’ll get it done. Tonight. You, uh, want confirmation?”

“Yes. Tell me the instant it happens.”

The [Mage] sighed, but he didn’t protest much. He made his way out of the room, and Fierre locked the door after him. Then she sat and put her head in her hands.

“Ryoka…”

If it was anyone but her, Fierre would be selling the information and trying to do it before the Ratwhisperer sold his. It was worth gold, and a lot of it. Fierre had money, but she wasn’t exactly the top player in the region. Thirty gold pieces, or even fifty, would be huge. Instead, she’d spent eight gold to earn her an enemy.

And Fierre couldn’t even feel that bad about it. Gloomily, she began to secure her desk, locking each drawer with a magical key that would keep the files safe. She left the small room, locking up.

She couldn’t work right now. She was too bothered. Frankly, not in the right headspace to be cautious in opening a letter or dealing in some underhanded information trade. She decided she needed to drink some blood and maybe consult with someone. But she really couldn’t do more for Ryoka. Even if she wanted to.

The Vampire girl pulled her hood up as soon as she stepped out of the alleyway. The sun was a painful brightness on her skin. If she stayed out in it exposed, her skin would quickly grow sunburnt or begin peeling. And even with layers on, Fierre hurried through the street and the morning light to get back to the Huntress’ Haven before she began suffering.

At least that was one thing. As Fierre slipped in through the doors—Madain hadn’t left on his daily hunting trip yet—she flitted up to her room and unlocked another chest with a second magical key. She pulled out a glass bottle and saw some of the blood had dried. Annoyed, Fierre uncorked it and drank. She had to scrape the bottle to get it all out, and the blood wasn’t the best.

“Sheep.”

Fierre glowered as she drank. It made her feel better, but she hated sheep. Pig tasted better, but she’d have to go back home to refill her stash. That, or eat a lot of bloody meat, and the [Butchers] got suspicious if you asked for that too often.

“In the old times, we drank the blood of Humans and Gnolls and Drakes. We ruled Izril in the shadows, just as our kin ruled Terandria and even parts of Baleros. Few of us ever went to Chandrar, but we walked in twilight and darkness, even in Wistram’s halls. We were aristocrats and mages, kings and queens. Heroes and legend.”

Bitterly, the Vampire girl quoted old Bamer’s stories. She made a face as she uncorked a water bottle and got the rest of the blood out by adding some water. That tasted horribly, well, watery, but every drop counted. It wasn’t as if Fierre could prey on a stray dog or harass some poor [Farmer] around Reizmelt. If one person saw her, she’d be dead.

She tossed the empty glass jar back into the chest and locked it. Then Fierre lay on her rough bed and stared up at the ceiling. She could hear Madain moving about below, smell him too. Unwashed, hung over—but the smell of his blood ran in Fierre’s nose as well. It smelled sweet.

“Ignore it. You’re full. You’re full.”

Fierre chanted to herself. She wasn’t a baby any longer. She had self-control. That was why her parents had let her move to Reizmelt. But all Vampires longed for that sweet flavor. Real people’s blood. It wouldn’t be hard, would it? If Fierre went downstairs when Madain was blackout drunk. He wouldn’t feel a thing.

“And if he did wake up, he’d squash your skull, Fierre, Vampire or not. He’s Gold-rank. And he could throw a javelin through the entire inn. You’d be dead.”

The girl scolded herself. It didn’t stop the longing. The worst part was that Fierre knew what real blood tasted like.

That was the dirty secret all Vampires probably shared. From Fierre to her older brother—she knew Rivel had done it—to Bamer. And Fierre knew her father had drank blood; it was how her mother had become a Vampire. Fierre shifted uncomfortably at that thought. Ew.

But also—yes. Blood! It was true Vampires of this modern day lived on animal blood. It was safe that way. But they’d all tried real blood. Oh yes, they’d tried it.

Sometimes, it was just a nip if they had a Human friend, like the few trusted communities that lived among Vampires. Or else it was blood obtained covertly, at night, or some other way. Fierre had bribed a girl to give her and Rivel blood; the girl had thought it was for an illicit alchemy potion. And Fierre and Rivel had drank it down, awash with guilty pleasure.

Fierre could still taste it and the two other times she’d had blood until her parents had found out. It was so much better. Not sweet, savory, or any one flavor. Blood differed after all. But it was so much more satisfying than animal blood. It was what Fierre wanted. What she craved.

And yet, it hadn’t changed things. It hadn’t given Fierre the powers of old Vampires or cured her cough. She coughed now, wetly, hearing it rattle in her lungs. She was sick. She was always sick. Her father was sick. Colfa had a rash that hadn’t gone away for two months. Bamer…Bamer was dying. Vampires were all sick. And the Human blood hadn’t helped.

“It never does, Ryoka.”

Fierre imagined Ryoka was sitting across from her, listening in one of their late-night chats. She hadn’t told Ryoka this. She’d seen Ryoka pausing, listening to her talking about being sick. And yes—Fierre had come to the same conclusion Ryoka hadn’t voiced. All Vampires did.

What if them being sick was because they drank animal blood? It was logical! Surely, it was just them having bad food that was weakening them, making them so ill. So over the centuries since they had begun succumbing to illness, there had been experiments. Vampires had tried living only on Human blood, or Drake, or a mix of Drake, Gnoll, Human—all kinds of blood.

They’d tried the purest blood, virginal, attempted to fix their diets. It didn’t stop the sickness. So they had concluded that it wasn’t just the quality of blood. They were just…sick. It wasn’t the type of blood that was throwing Vampires into decline. They were simply losing their powers, weakening for another reason.

“But I thought it would be me. So did Rivel. You should have seen us, Ryoka. The day after we drank blood, we were trying to fly and shape change. Just like Vampires. But the blood only tasted good. Maybe we had a bit more energy, but it doesn’t help. We’re just losing our powers. We have some. Mother can use her eyes. And Bamer can shape change, although he’s old. But no one knows why we’re like this. It’s not the blood.”

She closed her eyes. In her head, Ryoka said something indistinct. Fierre missed her. And she knew that she wanted her friend to live. Because she was Fierre’s friend. Her first, real Human friend.

—–

After a while, Fierre rolled over and got up. She had a few cards left to play. She hadn’t worked this job for nearly four years in Reizmelt and other cities before this for nothing. And now she had something to spend all those little favors and reputation on. She left the inn, hopping out the window into the alleyway since Madain had locked the front door and left.

This was how the underworld worked. At least, in Human cities. Fierre had no idea how Drake cities functioned; apparently, the law was a lot more dangerous. But in the north, the local Watch usually understood there was some space for a criminal element. Organized crime was better than no crime, and so if someone crossed a line, they were nabbed, but the Watch didn’t try to exterminate most gangs.

But it did depend on the gang. And it was gangs and the Rogue’s Law that dominated how the underworld worked from city to city. There was a jargon to it. Fierre knew it by heart. She headed into a pub despite the early morning, keeping to the shadows, in order to make contact with Reizmelt’s top gang.

Call them organizations, associations, loose alliances. But in the end, they were a gang. A group like the Sisters of Chell, who had control over a street, a city, or spanned multiple cities like the Sisters. Some were infamous, others dangerous to cross. Reizmelt’s was local. But dangerous. Still, Fierre regarded this gang as somewhat civilized and intellectual for a gang; they were mostly [Rogues] and [Thieves] as opposed to [Thugs] who’d run protection rackets. This gang just used thievery, eschewing regular conflicts with the law. And they had an actual system in place.

Fierre tapped into it as she went to the [Bartender] in charge of the day-and-night bar, The Blasted Pyromancer. It was a nice bar, and she’d been here often. The [Bartender] saw her coming, and Fierre sat down on the fourth-furthest seat and ordered an ale.

That was it. She’d requested a meeting. How had she done it? Was it the fourth seat? Ordering a light ale? No. It was her giving the [Barman] a look as she sat down. You didn’t need to be stupidly complex. He could read facial expressions. So he smiled and filled a mug from his keg.

“Rough day, Miss Fierre? You’re normally not one for day drinking.”

“Everyone has a bad day, William. And I’m not working as a [Laborer] today. Or helping Miss Kelysta with her alchemy stuff.”

William the [Bartender] raised his brows. Fierre had seen him signaling to the man in the back as he’d filled the keg; they had a false wall. This was the hideout of Reizmelt’s gang. They didn’t really have a name. They were just ‘Reizmelt’s Gang’.

If they started giving themselves names, Fierre would bet they were hoping to expand their territory. And that might mean some serious fighting in back alleys; there were smaller gangs in the city and neighboring cities who might object to a bigger power.

“Well, we’re all entitled to our days off, Miss Fierre. Enjoy the drink. Can I get you something to eat? We’ve got some nice snacking foods. Walnuts, harvested fresh.”

“No thanks.”

Fierre sipped her ale, ignoring it, really. It was hard for her to get drunk. She waited until she saw the man step out of the back and signal her. She followed him into the back as William calmly attended to his bar. Simple, effective.

“What do you want?”

The [Rogue] sitting in the back of the bar might have been the contact on duty, who was something like Fierre for his gang. Or he might have been the leader himself; Fierre hadn’t inquired into the gang’s inner workings. Knowing too much about them might make them paranoid of her if they found out. She sat down with her drink at the table in the back. She eyed the man’s closed book and bowl of cracked walnuts. Then she looked at him.

“I just called for a group to deal with a [Broker] in Filk. They’re going to get him and burn his office down. If he escalates, I’d like my place to be safe. Because I’ll escalate right back.”

The [Rogue] blinked. He looked at Fierre and then sat back. His fingers absently began to twiddle, and he stopped himself. Fierre could even sense his heartbeat this close; it was elevated, but only a bit. He was more curious than anything, but his face didn’t show it.

“Fierre, right? We know your reputation. What’s the big quarrel between you and someone in Filk?”

“He has a secret. And I have a secret. He’s not cooperating. That’s all you need to know.”

He let that go.

“So he gets a lesson. Say it doesn’t work—he has protection.”

Fierre snorted. The Ratwhisperer couldn’t afford that. She doubted he even had an iron door. The [Rogue] nodded.

“Say he does, though, or gets lucky. The Watch shows up, and he doesn’t get the hint. What’s your aim?”

“I’ll settle it. First time’s a warning. Second time he’s gone.”

This time, the man blinked. He looked Fierre up and down.

“How much trouble are we expecting?”

“He’d make an offer. I doubt he can afford more than ten gold either way. Twenty if he’s desperate?”

The [Rogue] thought about this.

“We can handle that. No one’ll come knocking. But you owe us a tenth of what the bounty was.”

“Good. Thank you.”

Negotiations were done. Fierre stood up. If anyone accepted the bounty, the gold would be poorly spent. Reizmelt’s gang would make it clear those hired had to forfeit the gold—or they could settle things. Either way, Fierre was protected.

There were harsh, binding oaths that might obligate someone to fulfill their promise at the cost of their lives—blood promises or vows made by the Rogue’s Law. But the Ratwhisperer wouldn’t be able to get anyone to make that kind of agreement. Fierre would lean on him until he gave in. Or she’d stop him cold.

It was what she could do for Ryoka. As for Belavierr—Fierre hesitated. She looked at the [Rogue] sitting there. He glanced up at her.

“Anything else?”

What would the price be to take out Belavierr, the Stitch Witch? Fierre didn’t ask because the price would be more than she could afford if she sold every bit of information she owned. Yes, the criminals of the north had specialized groups. From the Assassin’s Guild to gangs or individuals who could take out people for a price.

But if Fierre had to come up with a list of gangs who’d take that kind of request, it was a short, short list. And none of them, from the Gentlemen Callers, who were part of the Brotherhood of Serendipitous Meetings, to the might of the Blackrock Collective in First Landing, or the Vanishers, were based around Filk. She couldn’t help Ryoka that way.

Unless someone who was hunting her went after the [Witch]. But if it was Roshal or Wistram—no. And who else could do that? Fierre shook her head, realizing the [Rogue] was waiting.

“Nothing. Thanks.”

She left the room, the bar, and then had to go back and return the mug to William. He gave her a concerned look, but Fierre was too preoccupied to notice. She spent the rest of the day in her office, listlessly opening two letters and exchanging a secret about a [Clerk] in Reizmelt planning on leaving the city with her employer’s gold to have a romantic getaway with her significant other.

She really shouldn’t have put that in writing—or at least, paid a City Runner for an urgent delivery. They tended to want to know why most of the time. Fierre sold that tidbit to the employer in question via the Merchant’s Guild, who was only too happy to protect their people and offer Fierre a nice little bounty.

But she was really waiting. Waiting for a response from Daufica. Impatiently—but Fierre knew better than to prod the woman. Still, Fierre was counting the hours. How long until the Ratwhisperer would conclude negotiations with Wistram or whoever he was trying to sell the information to? She could just imagine him trying to get the best deal; even if he was rushing, it would take him a while. It would for her.

But maybe he would leap at the first offer? She should have asked Daufica to check if he’d sold anything or contacted the Ratwhisperer’s [Mage]. But that would tip them off that there was something valuable he possessed—

It was night, and Fierre stomped back to the Huntress’ Haven without hearing from Gailt. Mad Madain and Alber took one look at Fierre’s face and didn’t say anything as she ate a bloody steak. She didn’t linger on it and went up to her bed. And lay there, restlessly, for two hours until she heard someone throw a rock at her shutters.

“Fierre. Psst. Fierre.”

Gailt took a step back as Fierre threw open the windows and then jumped down onto the street. He stared wide-eyed at her, but Fierre was too caught up to come up with an excuse. Ryoka could do it, why not her?

“What? Did Daufica do it? What took her so long?”

The [Mage] scrubbed at his hair unsteadily. He was still drunk. But his voice was uncharacteristically serious.

“She didn’t do it, Fierre. I mean…the Ratwhisperer’s, uh, dead.”

“What? How? Did they go too far?”

Fierre’s stomach lurched. Had Daufica’s people killed the [Fence]? She hadn’t wanted to do that. She’d been prepared to, but—no, maybe this was a good thing. The cold part of her, the part she thought of as really Vampire, told her that it was for the best. Yes, if he was dead, he couldn’t tell. But she stopped as she saw Gailt shake his head.

“It wasn’t her people. They never got a chance. The Watch was already there, and two of Daufica’s [Thugs] were caught. She’s not charging you. But you’re not getting your gold back—”

“I don’t care about that!”

Fierre did, but it was a lesser concern. She hissed at Gailt, looking down the alleyway.

“Who killed him, then?”

The [Mage] gulped.

“They think it was magic. A curse.”

The Vampire girl paused. Only now did she see Gailt fully in the moonlight. He was pale. Sweating. He smelled afraid, even through the alcohol. He went on, stumbling over the words.

“His tongue was sewn to the roof of his mouth. Blocked his throat. His nose was also sewn shut. He choked to death.”

Fierre felt a cold chill run through her body. And Vampires were already cold. She hesitated, her tongue touching her canines uneasily.

“Did they—did the Watch—maybe it was someone else?”

Gailt shook his head.

“He was in a locked room. And the [Mage] they brought in said there was serious magic. Serious. Fierre, that’s a curse. I’d know it anywhere. The kind the big gangs use. If it was Bela—”

He choked on the words. Changed them.

“The Stitch Witch, maybe she put a curse on…?”

On anyone trying to rat her out? Oh yes. Fierre felt another chill. She’d heard of curses like that. But that was serious magic. But this was a serious [Witch]. Gailt was licking his teeth.

“I’m—this is deep, Fierre. Daufica was telling me about it. You could see the Ratwhisperer’s face. Everyone in Filk is talking about it. Look, I’m not being paid to—”

“I want you to send a [Message].”

“To Daufica? I don’t know if she’ll pick up. She’s really upset—”

“To Ryoka. Tell her what happened. Send a spell to the [Mage] in Riverfarm and ask her for a reply.”

Fierre saw Gailt gulp.

“But that’s where she is. I—I don’t think—”

“Gailt. There’s no curse that would work on you telling her how the [Fence] died. Don’t even mention B—her name. There’s no way you’ll be affected. Magic isn’t that broad.”

Fierre said that, but she watched Gailt send the spell nervously. And he was so uneasy that she eventually had to offer to buy him a drink. They made their way to The Blasted Pyromancer, and he proceeded to drink himself nearly into oblivion. But he managed to receive the [Message] that came back.

He wrote it down; ironically, he could write it even when he slurred his words beyond comprehension. Fierre stared at the [Message] as Gailt passed out on the table. She stood up, reading it.

Everything’s fine. She’s dangerous, but I think it’s safe for us. I’ll be here a bit longer. Don’t cross her, Fierre. And don’t worry about me. I have to do this. Thanks for the help.

–Ryoka

Fierre pondered over the message several times in her room. Us. Ryoka thought it was safe after hearing that? Why did she have to do it? What did this [Emperor] want from her? It was maddening, and Fierre was close to biting a hole in her pillow over it. But she eventually passed off into an uneasy sleep because she’d done what she could. Ratwhisperer was dead. And the Stitch Witch’s spell had killed him.

Only one thought woke Fierre, as thoughts did, slamming into her with the weight of sudden realization. She sat up in the middle of the night.

“So who was Ratwhisperer talking to when he died?”

She stared into other darkness, as bright as day for her. And she wondered. But the Vampire girl could only lay back in bed, eyes wide open. She was too far away. She didn’t know what was happening in Riverfarm. And there were things that made even Vampires uneasy. If that was so, there was another truism.

Everyone had their enemies. And everything could die.

Day 62 – Talia

Her full name and title was Lady-Dame Talia Kallinad, Knight of the Summer. But in practice, she was Dame Talia or just Talia among friends. Before she’d left Baleros, she’d been pleasantly surprised to hear her younger brother, the [Strategist] and current pride of the Kallinad house, Wil, call her ‘Tal’, as if they were children.

But that was nearly a week and a half ago, and Talia had been stuck with ‘Dame Talia’ or ‘your Knightship’ by the mocking [Sailors]/[Pirates] on the long trip back to Terandria. She missed her brother already, but she was still aglow with pride. All of her family was; the household was still buzzing with talk of the Titan’s game at Daquin and the events therein.

No one was talking about Liscor’s election, or even Pallass’ upcoming election. Izril was totally off the map in terms of popular discourse among the social circles of Terandria. The talk of the day was still on Chandrar and the war between Tiqr and the alliance of nations that had declared war on the Empress of Beasts.

Day by day, more provinces were being seized, and the question was if the Empress would fight to the death or surrender, or if Flos, the King of Destruction, would make his move. Twice now, his forces had clashed on the border of Nerrhavia’s Fall in ‘accidental skirmishes’, but the gigantic kingdom had repulsed Flos both times, even if they’d gotten the worst of the skirmishes.

Some had argued that invalidated his claim to peace, but no one could say who’d started each skirmish. And the fact that he hadn’t declared war as Tiqr was slowly consumed was an argument that he was keeping his vow.

But that was global politics. You could also point to a very nasty incident between House Kallinad and another rival house, a minor war between two kingdoms in Terandria, or news of a Gold-rank team slaying a Manticore—the kind of thing Terandrians talked about. But the biggest event everyone was firm on was Daquin’s game. Talia smiled every time they talked about it because she had been there. And it had been a member of House Kallinad that had won!

Okay, not ‘won’. It was that scrawny Lizardgirl covered in sewer waste who’d technically won. But anyone with an eye had seen that it was Wil’s daring strategy, bringing four warships from another continent to challenge the Iron Vanguard, that had provided her with an opportunity to win!

Talia couldn’t help but brag about it to everyone she met. He had challenged Tulm the Mithril, legend of the Iron Vanguard, and held his own! For his deeds, the Titan of Baleros had acknowledged the feat and granted Wil the victor’s prize along with the Lizardgirl: the right to ask any one question he wanted.

That was worth the cost of sending so many [Soldiers] abroad. It was even worth the cost of prevailing on so many [Knights] to take part in the war game as well. House Kallinad stood to gain far more than they had spent, in fame and prestige alone, but also by a good question if Wil asked it.

Talia knew her father had high hopes for Wil. She did too. But as she strode through the bright courtyard that was her true home, not the ancestral Kallinad residence, Talia wondered if her Order saw things the same way.

The bright, vivid courtyard gave Talia the impression she was walking through fire, though she’d walked this spot hundreds of times. The courtyard of the Season of Summer was scrupulously maintained, and the color scheme designed to reflect yellows and reds and oranges, the color of fire, of summer.

It was beautiful walking on the colorful flagstones or stopping between the huge, everburning braziers that meant this part of the Order’s fortress-grounds would never be dark. Talia walked on into the center of the vast keep. She passed by frescos decorated with heroes of old, ceremonial armor, some pierced where their wearers had died or decorated in outdated fashions, passed a garden in full bloom, property of the Season of Spring, and then one of the general courtyards.

Talia stopped to watch the dozens of [Knights] and [Squires] training there, dueling with sword and shield or mace or two-handed weapons under the wary eye of instructors. She smiled.

“Home.”

Some of the [Knights] walking with Talia chuckled. They walked on, their armor glinting with various shades. Many wore identical colors, the bright green and yellow and blue of the [Spring Knights], or the reds and purples and silver of the Season of Autumn.

A few had Talia’s colors, although she had personalized her armor. Still, she wore the gold and orange and hints of white proudly. She was a [Summer Knight], twenty-eight, and a full member of her Order. She looked around as her fellow [Knights] walked on. It had been a long journey, and they had just arrived in their order’s stronghold after disembarking in Kallinad harbors.

They were no doubt eager to rest and return, but Talia lingered a while, taking it all in. The sprawling fortress-keep was made of four quarters, each to one season, and the center was neutral ground. And it was as iconic in its way as any of Terandria’s venerated treasures for its legacy and the history of the warriors who called it home.

This was the Order of Seasons. Of the many [Knight] orders of Terandria, famed for their ancient traditions and lineages, the Order of Seasons was still one of the most iconic. They were a [Knighthood] of four distinct factions, one to each season, and their ranks were vast and their deeds famous in history. They were long allies with a number of nations and noble houses. Enough so that over a hundred had answered House Kallinad’s call for aid. Well, there were practical reasons too.

“Admiring your return, Dame Talia? Just remember that our Knight-Commander will want to see you.”

An older man spoke behind Talia. She turned and saw Sir Kelm, helmetless but wearing his armor, nodding towards her. She smiled.

“Of course, Sir Kelm. I only hope he’ll judge our expedition worthy. We brought back no trophies, but I like to think we won acclaim for our Order!”

The older [Knight] smiled, but a touch ruefully.

“For House Kallinad, certainly. I only wish there weren’t so many of these…magical reproductions of our [Knights] toppling from their horses. The Iron Vanguard can certainly boast that its ranks can stand up against our Order.”

That stung Talia’s pride. She swept at her brown hair, vexed, before touching the sword at her side.

“Only because we weren’t using lances and we couldn’t charge as hard as if we were on the battlefield, Sir Kelm!”

Patiently, the older [Knight] shook his head.

“And if we had? The Iron Vanguard didn’t employ its weapons either. I’m afraid we underestimated the games at Daquin. Certainly, we can claim a victory, but I imagine our Commander might object to the perceived failings of our order.”

Talia bit her lip. It was a fair point and calmly made. She looked at Sir Kelm and flushed, knowing he’d bear the brunt of that objection if it came. He’d backed her request when she made it, and he was the highest-level and most senior [Knight] who’d led the Order of Seasons in Daquin.

Sir Kelm was a Knight of the Autumn, or a Fall Knight. Or an [Autumn Knight] if you wanted to be precise, but ‘Fall Knight’ was a joke the younger members of the Order sometimes used to refer to the lower level of skill in combat the Knights of the Autumn possessed. They were scholars or [Knights] who pursued projects or simply took to magic more than most [Knights].

But there was nothing scholarly about Sir Kelm’s build. He was a fine member of his Season; it was only some of the junior members who tended to lose every competition based on physical strength. Still, more than half of the [Knights] in Daquin had been from his order, and he nodded, a chagrined smile on his face.

“I will make my report to Knight-Commander Calirn, of course, but he requested you first.”

Talia cleared her throat, embarrassed.

“Sir Kelm, had it not been for you volunteering your Season’s [Knights], we surely wouldn’t have been able to push the Iron Vanguard and allow Wil to claim his victory. If there was any fault, it was only that we underestimated Tulm the Mithril himself.”

She was relieved when the [Autumn Knight] laughed and shook his head. He was graying, but his class and levels made him spry as he walked with her further into the keep.

“It’s kindly said, Talia. But I won’t make excuses. I thought the daring of our arrival would be enough, but I should have asked for more of your Season rather than trusted to the Autumn Knights. It is a lesson we will take to heart. And hopefully watching our Season being unhorsed again and again by Dullahans will convince my Season to spend as much time in the practice courts or on the grounds as in the libraries.”

Talia nodded, smiling slightly. There was no real enmity between the four Seasons, but each one had their strengths and weaknesses. They were strongest united, but it was true that a force of [Autumn Knights] had been a mistake. Knights of the Summer or Spring would have been ideal, with a few Knights of the Winter mixed in, even.

“Once again, though, Sir Kelm, House Kallinad owes the Order and your Season a debt. We’ll surely repay it.”

Sir Kelm waved that away as he stopped at an intersection. The Season of Autumn’s grounds lay beyond, and Talia saw tinted glass, costly but beautiful, creating shadows and a quieter, fall ambiance in the corridor beyond. Sir Kelm smiled as he turned to her.

“Our alliance is an old one. Just ask a proper question of the Titan. And tell us what the answer was!”

“If possible, Sir Kelm.”

Talia bowed, wondering if she could. Wil had been told to ask something for House Kallinad. Talia had argued that the Order deserved part of the question’s benefit, but she’d been overruled by her father. Sir Kelm smiled and departed. That left Talia to find the Knight-Commander of the Order of Seasons.

You could write a book about the Order of Seasons. In fact, there were several in the libraries that the [Autumn Knights] liked to frequent. But in general, the Order of Seasons was comprised thusly: four Seasons operated from their headquarters in Terandria, east and south on the continent, near Kallinad lands, who occupied a small southeastern coastal area famed for its wealth in shipping.

Between the vast forests that were owned by the order, which stretched to the untamed cavernous hills that sometimes produced Goblins or other monsters, and the rockier terrain that led to the coastal cliffs, which provided parts of Terandria with natural defenses, the Order of Seasons had built its home in the heart of the forest where once a half-Elven empire had risen, countless ages ago. Noble houses and even sometimes royalty sent aspiring [Knights] or children to become members of the Order of Seasons, along with the gifted applicants from across the continent.

There were at least two thousand Seasonal [Knights] in the headquarters at any given time, and far more were abroad, fighting in armies, crusading, or fulfilling functions across Terandria and the world. It was a famous order, and each Season wielded considerable power. And each had their own Grandmaster. Talia answered to hers, the Summer’s Champion, but she could also be commanded by senior members of other Seasons at need. In the stronghold of the Order, another figure could command even the Grandmasters, as a first among equals.

He was Knight-Commander Calirn. Talia normally expected him to be fulfilling some duty of command, which was often pressing, such as speaking with a monarch or seeing to an argument between the Seasons. But as she strode into the center of the keep, she heard a clamor.

Talia saw an [Autumn Knight], dressed in robes rather than armor, sprinting past her. And Talia, born to action, took off, following. Because the other woman was running straight into the heart of the cathedral that was the domain of the Knight-Commander.

“Where is the Knight-Commander? I have a [Message] for him!”

“In the War Room!”

A [Servant] answered, wide-eyed as the [Autumn Knight] shouted at her. The young woman ran left, and Talia overtook her. She knew the location by heart and burst into one of the central war rooms at the same time as the [Autumn Knight]. She blinked as she threw open the grand double doors and felt the freezing around her. She exhaled and saw a cloud of vapor—and a man, standing in cold, grey and pale blue clothing next to a pair of shivering [Servants]. He turned and looked up.

“Dame Talia?”

The [Autumn Knight] instantly bowed.

“Knight-Commander Calirn!”

The [Autumn Knight] stopped and shivered. Calirn blinked and seemed to notice the cold in the room. He did nothing, but Talia felt the air warming. She was unaffected; her armor was still warm despite the cold, but the two [Servants] and [Autumn Knight] relaxed at once. Calirn nodded to Talia and then promptly ignored her.

“You have another report, Dame Wera?”

The Fall Knight nodded, breathless.

“I have, Knight-Commander. The [Message] came to our Order through our general receiver, not—”

She gestured to one of the [Servants], who was holding a magical scroll that could be used to facilitate communications more smoothly. Calirn frowned.

“Why? We were in communication with the [Broker] directly. What has changed?”

“[Broker]?”

Talia blinked. The Order of Season was speaking with a [Broker]? But she listened as the [Autumn Knight] shook her head and searched for words.

“Dead, Knight-Commander Calirn. He’s dead.”

The Knight-Commander’s pale grey eyes focused on the [Autumn Knight]. And the chill that emanated from him was biting. Intense. Talia had known Knight-Commander Calirn for years, if not personally. She had seldom seen him like this. He was a Knight of the Winter, of course. He spoke one word.

“How?”

“A curse, Knight-Commander. Apparently, the man was found with his tongue stitched—to the roof of his mouth. His nose was sewn shut, and he died—”

One of the [Servants] made a faint sound. Talia put her hand on her sword uneasily. What was this? Calirn’s expression darkened.

“Then it may well be her. Or one of her ruses to distract the hunters on her trail. Was there anything else?”

The [Autumn Knight] shook her head.

“No, Knight-Commander. Just a request for gold. It was one of his associates that sent the message—”

“Did they say where the Stitch Witch was? Did they confirm the rumor?”

“No. They didn’t.”

The woman shook her head again. Calirn said nothing, but his expression was thunderous. And Talia started.

The Stitch Witch? The name was familiar. Then Calirn spoke.

“Belavierr. This has her magic about it. But if no one can confirm it was actually her, then it could be another one of her thousand misdirections. We are chasing shadows, and I refuse to contact Ser Raim with so little evidence.”

Then it hit Talia. She looked at Calirn as wide-eyed as the [Autumn Knight]. The female [Knight] reached up for her spectacles that had fallen off her nose in her run here.

“The Stitch Witch herself. Belavierr. The witch of legends—the one they said was in Noelictus, Knight-Commander? Her?”

“Perhaps.”

That was all Calirn said. Talia couldn’t hold it in anymore. She burst out, looking from Calirn to the [Autumn Knight].

“Knight-Commander! Is it really Belavierr? The Spider? The enemy of our Order?”

If there were a list of infamous names of enemies of the Order of Seasons, only a few were names and not entire organizations. Of them—Belavierr. People didn’t even tell children’s stories about her in Terandria. They were too terrifying. The [Autumn Knight] nodded, excited rather than scared.

“The one who cursed the Griffin Prince, Ostevien? The murderess who destroyed the city of Halen overnight? The—”

“I see you recall her infamy, Dame Talia, Dame Wera. Yes. That is Belavierr.”

The censure in Calirn’s voice made Talia blush. She realized she was passing into rudeness and bowed.

“I apologize, Knight-Commander! I didn’t mean to intrude, but I saw Dame Wera running, and you had summoned me upon our return. I come from Daquin, where we struck a victory for our Order!”

She looked up hopefully. Calirn stared at her.

“Daquin?”

She paused. [Knight] Wera and the two [Servants] were giving her wide-eyed looks. They’d probably seen the broadcast, but Calirn just looked blank. Talia coughed lightly.

“The…game at Daquin, Knight-Commander? The one organized by the Titan?”

He paused and nodded.

“Of course. The game. Congratulations, Dame Talia. I understand the Summer’s Champion is quite pleased. The Fall’s Sentinel has reservations as to the outcome. As do I. I would speak with you about the expedition, but later. I must attend to this.”

He abruptly turned to one of the [Servants].

“If the [Broker] in Filk is dead, the information must be confirmed. Find me a list of [Informants] across Izril. Prepare a [Message] requesting confirmation of the Stitch Witch. One that can be verified by truth spell.”

The [Servant] nodded and rushed out of the room. Talia was taken aback, but not by much. The brusqueness and attitude were emblematic of Calirn’s order. He was a [Winter Knight], one of the few who stayed for any length in the Order’s headquarters.

Knights of the Winter were solitary, independent. Even if their talents led them to take command of armies, they were by nature alone. For in the cruelest colds, in the desolation of the deepest winters, these few moved alone. Accordingly, they were often the most senior, [Knights] who had passed through all four seasons or abandoned their old season as they aged.

True, some [Knights] were freshly inducted into that branch of the order due to personality or becoming squires or aides to senior members, but it was still the smallest of the four seasons. Some said they were the most powerful, and perhaps they were, individually. But no [Knight] was beyond any other full member, even the Knight-Commander, so Talia spoke up.

“By your leave, Knight-Commander, if it is Belavierr the Stitch Witch, give me leave to assemble a lance immediately! We can prepare a vessel and ride for Kallinad’s harbors at once! The [Captain] that brought us from Baleros is likely still in port. If we [Messaged] them, we could be landing on any part of Izril in—”

“Dame Talia. This is not a matter for junior members of the Order of Seasons. The Witch of Webs has already been pursued and put to flight. This is not your battle.”

Calirn’s voice was cold and flat. Talia paused. Calirn turned to Dame Wera.

“Summon the Grandmasters.”

The [Autumn Knight] had been dancing with the same eagerness as Talia, about to ask her own questions. At Calirn’s words, she went pale. She looked at the Knight-Commander, then turned and ran. Talia stared. It was one person! The four Grandmasters weren’t summoned like this except for emergencies! But the Stitch Witch had killed more [Knights] of the Order of Seasons than…Calirn was looking at her.

“Knight-Commander? Surely we should put a lance on alert if there is even a chance of this rumor being true? Or any active-duty members near this city of Filk?”

It occurred to Talia she didn’t know where that was. She tried to study the maps on the war room out of the corner of her eye. Where was it on Izril? Calirn’s voice was brisk.

“A ship would not catch the Stitch Witch, Dame Talia. No matter how fast the [Captain]. Reaching Izril, thousands of miles away, is simply untenable given the time frame. More importantly, I will not send an entire lance to their deaths, Summer Knight Talia. Or you.”

Crimson flared in her cheeks at the implication.

“Ser Calirn! You believe a lance of Spring and Summer Knights would fail to dispatch a single [Witch]?”

Knights of the Spring and Summer were rightly regarded as the true might of the Order of Seasons. The Knights of the Spring were most plentiful, being comprised of new [Knights]; those who fought en masse in wars or were simply green as their season.

Some were veterans, of course, but theirs was a youthful Season full of energy and drive. And it was a logical step for experienced Knights of the Spring who had gone through a few years of actual combat to become Knights of the Summer. They were the pinnacle of martial might. They brought battle to evil where it was found. The Summer Knights crusaded to other continents or slew terrible monsters in their lairs.

Knight-Commander Calirn surely knew all this. But was he calling for a small team of [Winter Knights]? He shook his head.

“I would not pit a full lance of my brethren of the winter against her. The Stitch Witch is no foe that can be defeated by sheer numbers. She would consume any number of Knights of the Spring. And the Autumnal Season has pitted their magic against her and lost in times past. Only one member of our order has ever wounded her in any way.”

That drew Talia up. And made her uneasy for the first time so far. The way Calirn talked about Belavierr was too familiar. She was just one of those legends for Talia. But—she suddenly realized there was frost on the walls. It was so cold that even she shivered.

Then the door blew open. The frost melted as a man dressed in gold blasted into the room. The Summer’s Champion, the Grandmaster of Talia’s Season, strode over to Calirn. His hair was as fiery as his temperament. He was the youngest of all four Grandmasters, ironically, and that meant he was in his late forties. He spoke curtly, ignoring Talia, his eyes locked on Calirn.

“Is it true? The Stitch Witch has been sighted?”

“Yes.”

That was all. The Summer’s Champion spoke an oath, and the temperature in the room shot up. Calirn stared at him, and the Summer’s Champion recalled himself. Both controlled their auras, and Talia stepped back.

“Grandmaster—”

“Dame Talia? You’ve returned?”

The Grandmaster of Summer turned to her, surprised. Then he glanced at Calirn.

“Congratulations will have to wait, Dame Talia. We must attend to this. The Stitch Witch—”

“Are you sure it’s her? I thought once she was driven from that village we wouldn’t see her for another thousand years. Should we contact Ailendamus? Noelictus?”

A woman walked into the room. She was the Spring’s Warden, and somehow she seemed younger than her fifty years of age. She still looked vibrant, a flower blooming. Calirn looked up as the Spring’s Warden responded.

“The other two are hurrying here, but they will be at least ten minutes each. The Winter’s Watcher is three miles distant.”

The Knight-Commander nodded.

“I see. Then we begin. Dame Talia—remain if you wish. But remain silent. No, I don’t believe it is time to alarm either nation yet…”

He didn’t send her away, which surprised only Talia. The two Grandmasters stepped forwards. They embodied their titles as some of the highest-level [Knights] of their classes. They listened as Calirn spoke.

“…This is what we know. A [Broker] contacted the Order of Seasons claiming to have credible knowledge of where the Stitch Witch was present. He swore under truth spell he could identify her location beyond reasonable doubt; he had sent someone to verify her description.”

The Summer’s Champion crossed his arms skeptically.

“And he was sure?”

“Beyond reasonable doubt. He could still try to cheat the truth spell.”

The Spring’s Warden frowned. Calirn waved their objections aside.

“The agent the [Broker] sent was sure. And if it was her—it would not be hard to tell.”

The two Grandmasters paused, then nodded. Talia looked from face to face. The Spring’s Warden was distant, troubled, but the Summer’s Champion burned. And Knight-Commander Calirn’s face—they had met her, it seemed. Talia remembered another tale of Belavierr. But they were tales. This was a frightening reality.

The Summer’s Champion turned, restlessly regarding the maps on the walls.

“Where is Ser Raim? He and the Hunter’s Guild have been searching. This is his battle, though we should have armies at his back again. He almost had her, and we thought her fled, in hiding. How is she in Izril so fast? What ship did she take?”

The Knight-Commander’s voice was soft.

“She wouldn’t need a ship.”

The Spring’s Warden nodded.

“An entire continent away. And yet, if it is true… damnation. Who could we call upon? House Veltras? All the Five Families? Would they even understand the urgency of the task?”

The [Servant] that Calirn had sent to send the [Messages] returned, breathless. He stopped still when he saw two of the Grandmasters in the room. Calirn looked at him.

“Send word to the Fall’s Sentinel to prepare his Season for a grand ritual spell. I do not know when or if it must be cast. Inform the Academy of Wistram that we may need their assistance. And tell Ser Raim to return to the Order in all haste. Request the Hunter’s Guild to send their highest-level experts with Ser Raim. We cannot muster an army if she is moving quickly. We must trust Raim to finish this with a small group. But I will give him that chance.”

“You’re serious about this?”

Calirn ignored the Summer’s Champion’s incredulous look. He kept giving orders as the [Servant]’s eyes flickered, memorizing each word.

“Have the [Informants] information on the Stitch Witch?”

“All the replies we have collected claim ignorance, Knight-Commander.”

Calirn nodded.

“In that case, get in contact with this [Fence]’s acquaintances. Anyone who might be able to verify the Stitch Witch’s whereabouts. Offer a bounty. A substantial one.”

The [Servant] nodded, waited, and then raced off. Talia looked around. And the two Grandmasters exchanged a glance. A grand ritual spell? Recalling the active hunters for Belavierr? It could only mean one thing.

He thought it was her. Greysten mused out loud, trying to second-guess a trick.

“It could be a ruse. She’s done the same before to throw us off.”

“Yes. But her curses kill those who attempt to betray her whereabouts. And Izril—it fits one other piece of information I was given by the [Broker]. There is a coven there. Seeking to bargain with an [Emperor].”

Greysten laughed incredulously.

“An [Emperor]? Why would one be in Izril—”

The Spring’s Warden impatiently spoke over him.

“If it is her, how can we confirm it? Using a grand ritual would be a waste of resources if we err—”

Calirn interrupted the two.

“We must hope that one of the [Informants] has the means to communicate her whereabouts or confirm her presence despite the curse. But every effort must be taken or else she will slip through the Order’s fingers again. We prepare but do not act unless we are certain.”

He looked pointedly at the Spring’s Warden. She nodded after a moment. Talia was almost spellbound. But she couldn’t help it. She burst out, and all three [Knights] turned to her.

“Ser Calirn, do you believe Ser Raim is up to the task if it is the Stitch Witch herself? Alone?”

She knew he was of her Season, but like many [Knights], she had never met him personally. And Calirn had refused to send a lance! The Summer’s Champion made an incredulous sound.

“Dame Talia, you’ve not met Ser Raim, have you?”

“I have not, Grandmaster.”

Talia bit her tongue. The Summer’s Champion looked at Calirn, and the Knight-Commander answered for him.

“Ser Raim has exceeded Level 50 and is thus one of the finest members of the order. You, Lady Talia, are over twenty levels below him. There is no comparison. Moreover, he has the Skill to put an end to the Stitch Witch himself. And the will. He injured her once this winter. She fled his flame.”

Level 50? Talia was awestruck. But she didn’t even know if the heads of each season had reached that level! Ser Greysten had been over Level 40 and therefore one of the best [Knights] in the Order of Seasons. This should have made Ser Raim a legend to all, a candidate for honorary positions like the Thousand Lances. Was this recent?

She wanted to ask, but Talia had embarrassed herself enough. The Spring’s Warden was nodding. There was no malice as she explained to Talia, as if the [Knight] were still in the Season of Spring.

“Dame Talia, the Stitch Witch is a foe our Order has faced before. Sporadically, yes, over the decades.”

“Centuries.”

She nodded.

“Even so. We have experience in dealing with her, and we know a few of her weaknesses and how she preys on others. One aspect we are certain of is that her command of fabric and thread is unmatched. If we sent a full lance against her, even were they all veterans over Level 30, she could choke many to death purely with the threads in their garb. She is unassailable by low-level [Knights]. The team hunting her, which includes Ser Raim as our representative, have all taken precautions against her.”

“The Hunter’s Guild seeks her as well. Their classes are specialized. In truth, our Order keeps only one member on her trail; she is elusive to the point that it bleeds resources attempting to find her.”

The Summer’s Champion explained. Talia nodded.

“Then what drives Ser Raim to follow the Stitch Witch?”

Both Grandmasters quieted. The Summer’s Champion folded his arms. And the Spring’s Warden replied.

“She slew his fiancée, Knight of the Autumn Dame Fale. Years ago. Almost a decade, in fact.”

It was all that needed to be said. Calirn turned. He had been plotting the distance from the Order’s headquarters to Filk on a map.

“So. She is no foe to be underestimated. And the distance is vast. The information uncertain. Perhaps this is one of her many games or illusions. But if it is not—the Stitch Witch has blighted Terandria. Aside from the Necromancer, she is one of the few ancient foes of our era. It is a debt older than you or I that our Order owes her. I would see it settled.”

All the [Knights] nodded at that. It was Talia who felt a stirring of apprehension. To say it like that put Belavierr on the same level as Az’kerash, the monster who had died during the Second Antinium War. And he had killed just as many of the Order’s [Knights]. The Season of Summer had lost nearly two hundred [Knights] to him. And they would send one if Belavierr was really there? She looked at Knight-Commander Calirn.

“Can it be done, then? If it’s her—”

His face was grave. Bitter. Focused. Then Calirn looked up. He saw Talia’s face. Suddenly—he smiled. Talia stopped, and Calirn straightened. The Knight-Commander nodded once.

“Yes, Dame Talia Kallinad. It can be done. Our Order has slain Dragons and brought low beasts of every ilk. We have ended worse monsters than Belavierr the Stitch Witch. But we are not all-powerful, or even foremost. We are one of many, which is why we temper our strength of arms with humility. Forge alliances with other Knight-Orders and noble houses and kingdoms. It is why we would dedicate multiple lances of [Knights] to a competition in Baleros.”

Talia saw the Spring’s Warden smile and heard the Summer’s Champion laugh. Calirn was calmer. Cooler, like frost. But not without passion. The [Servant] came rushing into the room, followed hot on his heels by two more, all calling out [Messages] from Ser Raim, the Hunter’s Guild, queries, replies—Ser Calirn ignored them as the other two Grandmasters snapped replies. He looked at Talia, speaking as one [Knight] to another.

“We are not all-powerful. So you rightly ask if one [Knight] can defeat her alone when many would fail. I say yes. Because it is this [Knight]. And his will would burn even a monster of aeons. He has the strength. He was a burnt coal of a man a year ago. I spoke to him after his victory this winter, and his fury was a tempest no winter could stand against.”

Talia could only bow her head in reply. Her earlier excitement was gone, put out by the [Winter Knight]. But she felt a colder resolve, the kind that came from his Season. For once, she thought it might be right to become a [Winter Knight] in time. She had thought she would burn forever, but there was an ageless certainty to Calirn’s face. A cold eternity of resolve.

Talia retreated as the Grandmasters and Knight-Commander turned to preparing for a battle that might not come. An if. A chance to slay a nightmare, a dark legend.

“Dame Talia.”

She turned at the doors. Knight-Commander Calirn regarded her gravely. He raised a finger and pointed to a map of the Order’s stronghold and the nearby area, tracing a long journey to the north and east.

“If you wish it, ride out to meet Ser Raim. Otherwise, you will wait in reserve. For make no mistake: if she is there, we will strike.

Calirn paused, and his face was heavy.

“The Witch of Webs, the Spider—our foe of many names seldom gives a chance to give her battle, let alone on equal grounds. If I could, I would prevail on the other foes who have a right to her. Noelictus’ armies, Ailendamus’ forces, the entire Hunter’s Guild, and [Knights] far and wide. But if we can only send one, it will be Ser Raim. If you doubt my judgment, look him in the eyes, then face me, and I will grant your request in fullness.”

The words chilled Talia and sent her running for the stables. She took the first horse she could find and headed for the roads.

The headquarters of all four seasons were coming to life with the news. But Talia rode past [Knights] coming back and asking what was going on.

Filled with Knight-Commander Calirn’s words, Talia urged her horse onwards, covering distance as fast as she could. Hours of riding to meet this man who could do what a company of [Knights] could not.

And still, she made little distance compared to the party that raced towards the Order of Seasons. They covered ground like lightning. No…

Talia paused as she neared the pass that led out of the Order of Seasons’ territory and down into the Kingdom of Pheislant. She had thought, impulsively, to ride out for days to meet this party, spend time in the company of Ser Raim and whatever Hunters of Noelictus he’d brought.

Then she realized Calirn had been warning her to take this chance for any time at all. For she saw the hunters of the Witch of Webs. From above, they looked like a shiver running through the forests, which produced another down her spine.

Below, she could see something moving, leaving tree branches swaying, so fast that birds were flying into the distance, miles upon miles away. Something raced through the very forests at a speed beyond comprehension.

“Summer fades.”

A group burst from the edges of the forest nearest the Order of Season’s keep. From above, Talia couldn’t count their number; they were tiny. She would have missed them but for that lightning-quick passage. And…even from above, her eyes strayed to a single mote of orange and yellow. Colors of the summer.

That man, the single bright figure among black-clad [Hunters], burned. His aura looked to set the forests aflame. Like a burning torch. Like wrath and the setting sun; Talia shaded her eyes and had to look away. Even when she turned back, wiping at streaming eyes, the brightness was only growing.

Heading her way. Slower now, Talia rode down the pass towards those swift-moving pursuers of a dark legend. She focused on the others; the strange Hunters of Noelictus with crossbows, leather armor, even one who carried swords like scissors, grim-faced and intent, riding hard.

It was easier to look at than the man who rode in their center, so bright that she was dumbstruck regular people couldn’t see his aura. He recognized her, of course, but did not slow as she called out to him and begged to ride in their company back to the keep until they were certain where their quarry was.

That was how she met Ser Raim. And she understood why he had been chosen. Because he alone could burn like the sun.

Day 63 – Fierre

She didn’t hear from Ryoka. But something was happening. Of that, Fierre was certain. She’d reached out to an [Informant] in Filk, then one in the smaller town of Mafalt that had one [Mage] capable of slinging a [Message] spell. Both reported the same thing.

[Bandits]. Wagons going out, giving away free food? Flocks of crows. Not enough rainfall. Rumors of [Witches]. No—a confirmed coven. A missing [Emperor].

Rumors and gossip. Which was what Fierre was used to. But no one would confirm Belavierr’s presence. Word had spread. And yet—Fierre had that. From Ryoka of all people. It bothered the Vampire girl. She was sitting in her office, trying to figure out why Ryoka was spared.

“She didn’t really confirm it. She sent Charlay to ask for information. But in terms of intent, a curse might not hit her because she wasn’t trying to tell me or the Ratwhisperer. Does that make sense?”

She looked up at Gailt. The [Mage] was sitting in her office, hung over and annoyed. They were conducting the day’s business—that of selling the information Fierre received. He paused in sending his latest [Message] and shrugged.

“Sure. I don’t know curses well, but magic’s got limits. It’s about intent and wording—gah! Why’re you so hung up on it? Oh, right—”

He completed the sentence at the same time as Fierre.

“Because Ryoka’s there. Dead gods, it’s not like she’s the only City Runner. She must be some friend. You don’t hang out with your other clients. Or anyone else.”

“Well, Ryoka’s different.”

“Huh. I’ll say. She looks Drathian. But she said she’s fine. So?”

“So, she has a habit of putting herself into danger. Do you know she did a delivery to the High Passes?”

“What, the High Passes? She is crazy. But what can you do, Miss Fierre? Bribe the [Witches] to not turn her into stew?”

Fierre didn’t answer that. She was afraid that a Vampire wouldn’t be much use against a seriously high-level [Witch]. But she could do something, even if it was only dragging Ryoka back with her. Gailt shrugged as he scratched at his side.

“Shame you don’t have that magic door in Liscor, right? The one that got everyone all stirred up? I heard the Brotherhood and the Sisters both wanted to know how the heist failed. I pity the idiots who got on both their bad sides.”

Fierre rolled her eyes impatiently.

“There are ways of travelling a long distance besides that door, Gailt. Fissival can teleport. They do it all the time. So can Wistram. There are dozens of cities capable of it! And other ways besides.”

“So why’s the door so good?”

“It’s because the door’s cheap. And it doesn’t require a spell circle or [Mages] to operate. Any gang would love to get their hands on it because it’s cheaper than what exists. Not because it’s unique. Now, shut up. I want you to send the contents of this message to Yale in Invrisil.”

She slid a bit of parchment she’d been writing on over the desk. Gailt read the message.

“There’s going to be a raid on the [Merchant] caravan taking a bunch of clothes south past Invrisil? Ooh, I’d better go buy all the fancy silk up before the price skyrockets.”

“Gailt. I’m not in the mood.”

Fierre crossed her arms. The [Mage] sighed, but sent the [Message]. He was yawning as Fierre scribbled another [Message], and she could see him about to ask for a drinks break he wouldn’t get. Then he sat bolt upright.

“Message from Filk! It’s loud and confidential! Mage’s Guild!”

Fierre looked up in alarm. Someone was going through official channels? And paying a lot? She waited. Gailt looked around, opened his mouth, and then his lips compressed. He reached out and grabbed her quill and a bit of parchment and began to write. Fierre could see his eyes staring blankly ahead as his quill danced; even he wasn’t actively reading the message, just relaying it. He mechanically folded the parchment, then handed it to her. Only then did his eyes clear.

“Dead gods damnit, I hate doing that! That’s why I quit working at the Mage’s Guild! What does it say?”

Fierre ignored him. She was staring down at the message on the parchment. And her heart, which beat slower in her cold body, nevertheless skipped a beat.

The Stitch Witch has a daughter. Thirty gold to alert the Order of Seasons immediately.

“Another [Message].”

Fierre’s head snapped up. This time, Gailt’s eyes didn’t unfocus. He grimaced and rubbed at his head.

“It’s from Daufica. Someone just paid her to send a [Message] to you. They want to say that the [Message] you just got is verified by truth spell—Daufica’s saying she can see the confirmation. Stamped and signed and all. And he’s telling you that the Order of Seasons—”

“—is paying money to confirm the Stitch Witch is near Filk. They want her exact location. They’re offering gold too.”

Fierre completed the sentence. She’d heard the exact same thing. But like the other [Informants], she’d decided staying alive was more important than any number of gold coins. But who was sending the [Messages]?

“Gailt, who was—”

“That’s it. Sorry, fellow’s gone.”

What? Fierre snapped at Gailt as he lowered his hand.

“Who were they? Who sent that [Message]? Ask Daufica, now!”

“Fierre! I can’t do that. She’s a [Fixer]. That’s confidentiality—”

Fierre slammed one hand on the table. Gailt jumped.

“What did he look like? Tell Daufica this isn’t negotiable! Whoever it is wants me to take on the same curse that killed the Ratwhisperer! Who was it?”

The [Mage] hesitated, then put a hand to his brow. Fierre couldn’t hear the invisible argument that lasted for eight minutes, but eventually he lowered his hand, sweating. He looked up at her. Shrugged.

“Hat. Dark clothes. Big smile. That’s it. Human. Pale skin. He was also armed. But he was talking about [Witches].”

“That’s it? She didn’t get anything else?”

Fierre sagged in her chair. The Vampire girl stared at the ceiling, frustrated. Then Gailt spoke slowly.

“She thinks he was a [Witch Hunter].”

Fierre blinked. She sat up. And she looked at Gailt. He stared back at her. That changed a lot. She stared at the [Message] from the Order of Seasons asking for information. At the message from Filk.

How did you keep Ryoka safe? Make sure the [Witch] was dead. Especially one like this. Ryoka said she was fine. Was she? Fierre wanted to ask. But either way…

The Order of Seasons was a [Knight] Order. Terandria. Fierre consulted her notes on them. She had a dossier about most major organizations. They didn’t kill innocent people. And they had a reason to hate Belavierr. She could tell them and earn a very sizeable salary.

But there was a curse. Fierre didn’t want to cross that. If she asked Ryoka—or would Belavierr know? Would that trigger the curse? Because now Fierre was tempted. Gailt was watching her very nervously. The Vampire girl stared at the blank parchment she used.

Her fingers drummed restlessly on the table next to the quill and ink. Gailt nervously edged towards the door.

Day 65 – Fierre

She didn’t write a message to the Order of Seasons. Not when she was asked, and not for two days after. Fierre had a few good reasons why she should: they could chase off or defeat Belavierr; they were a decent Order who didn’t cast mass-destruction spells and they paid well. But she had a few other good reasons not to take the offer.

She didn’t trust the [Witch Hunter]. He could be aware of the curse and hoping she’d die trying or that she had the ability to survive it. Fierre could see buying some powerful magical protections—but she still didn’t trust the motive. Also, Ryoka had said Belavierr was fine. Maybe the Stitch Witch was helping Ryoka? Her daughter was in Riverfarm. She had a daughter?

But the main reason, the crucial one, was that Fierre really didn’t want to die. And she knew there was a curse. The lowliest [Informants] knew there was a curse. Twice now, the Order of Seasons had upped its bounty. They were offering four hundred gold coins for someone to verify Belavierr was there beyond reasonable doubt.

Fierre had that. Oh, yes she did. But she also knew three people had died trying to inform the Order of Seasons. One had been strangled by her collar. Another had been pulled in front of a wagon and run over despite having ample time to roll away. Their clothes had stitched themselves into the ground. The last—Fierre hadn’t even been able to get a good description.

The curse was alive and well. So Fierre refused to try even though her fingers itched to write the message. Part of her was simply vexed the Order of Seasons was hesitating. Four dead [Informants] didn’t paint you a picture? But then again—Belavierr had a reputation for doing stuff like this. Fierre had asked for more information on her, and it had been—cautiously—relayed.

Stuffed dolls that looked like her and turned violent. People with faces she’d stitched to look like hers. Blood debts and pacts signed, which made people turn on each other to protect her or let her get away. People swearing they saw her, only for it to be revealed that it was a mass-illusion. A delusion. Magic cast on a tapestry. Rumors.

That was the ability of a high-level [Witch]. Part of Fierre wanted to doubt Belavierr was even in Riverfarm. But Ryoka had asked by name and provided a brief description. Fierre shuddered. Orange ringed eyes. That was some kind of magical effect if you ever heard of one.

And she had a daughter. How much was that information worth? Fierre sat in her office near midmorning, absently playing with a quill. After a moment, she shook her head. She’d been doing this for nearly two days straight. Always coming to the same conclusion.

“No. Nope. It’s too risky. Ryoka says it’s fine. It’s too risky.”

She put down the quill. Stared at it. Pushed it to the edge of her desk. Then she flicked it off. With a sigh of relief, Fierre sat back. She put her feet up on the desk. Stared at them, sat back up and brushed the bits of dirt off. She sighed.

“I have to get back to work. Be safe, not greedy. Greedy gets you killed.”

She shook her head, sighing deeper. Fierre put her head down on her desk, then decided to do some paperwork. Absently, she began sorting her notes, adjusting them. She was creating a portfolio of the world, storing old details, information. Anything could be useful. She decided to add a note about Riverfarm to her files. She already had a substantial one on Ryoka. She also had a great filing system she’d come up with herself. It even made it easy to append notes. Absently, Fierre mumbled as she wrote.

“Riverfarm possess a force of [Riders]. Known as Darksky Riders. Cross-check with [Emperor] Skills? Current population est. 2,000+. Notable inhabitants: Lady Rie Valerund. [Steward] Prost. Former Farmer? Uh…”

She bit her lip.

“Visited—visiting Coven. Mavika, alias Mavika the Raven. Outstanding bounty. Eloise. Former [Lady] of Terandria. Wiskeria, Silver-rank Adventurer, the Celestial Trackers. Hedag the [Executioner] (also [Witch]), outstanding bounty. Alevica the Witch Runner. Outstanding bounty. Nanette, apprentice of Califor. Califor…no known alias or bounty. Uh—one, two, three…”

She paused. Yawned. Too many sleepless nights over the stupid Belavierr thing. Even a Vampire needed rest, and she was a night person. She counted. Seven? That wasn’t right. She frowned. Then slapped her forehead and rolled her eyes.

“Oh, right. Belavierr. The Stitch Witch. Mother of Wiskeria. Outstanding boun—”

The quill froze as Fierre reached for the inkpot. She stared down at the parchment where Riverfarm was listed. Her eyes fixed on Belavierr’s name.

“Oh no. No, no, nononono—that doesn’t count!”

She sat up. Looked around wildly. Every muscle in Fierre’s body tensed as her stomach lurched. Nothing in the small office moved. Fierre held still, then relaxed. She laughed shakily.

And then she heard the scream.

—–

This is the tale of a [Tailor]. He was sewing with a steel needle, carefully stitching a line in a dress he was adjusting. He lifted the needle, and it tore through his finger. The [Tailor] stared at the hole in his flesh. Blood began welling in the ragged wound.

Then he began to scream. His apprentices looked up and saw the needle flash past them. Then more needles tearing loose of the needle books and cases. They flashed out of the shop. One apprentice was too slow to jump out of the way. The needles went straight through her.

—–

Another shop was a [Shopkeeper]’s store. The needles on display shot out of the glass, flying in a swarm, tiny flashing shapes that shot down the street, curving, joining more that flew from a [Blacksmith]’s forge off the anvil, out of a home. Through a [Guardsman] and his armor. They flew towards a small back alley. An iron door.

Fierre heard the screams. She looked up and edged to the back of the room, staring at both doors leading into the small chamber.

The doors to her room were solid iron. Not enchanted, but a sturdy barrier against any usual threat or [Guardsman] if there were a raid. Fierre had a trap door that led to the basement where she could flee, or she could go through the shop entrance. She looked at the trap door, then the locked doors. She hesitated a moment too long.

The needles hit the door like sharp rain. Fierre jerked back in horror as a dozen glittering tips appeared in the door. They’d gone through the solid iron! But there they lodged. Outside, people were screaming, calling the alarm in the streets of Reizmelt. But the deadly rain had stopped.

Fierre stared at the glittering needles lodged halfway through the door vibrating. She laughed hysterically, seeing them straining. But the metal held them. Fierre edged towards the second iron door, fumbling for her key. The needles twisted to follow her. She froze. Then she heard a scream of tortured metal. The door began to bend. The needles began sliding towards her.

The Vampire girl’s breath caught. She stared at the needles. Then she screamed as the first one tore its way loose. She flung up her arms.

“No—”

—–

It took five minutes for the Watch to find the two dead bodies. [Guards] raced towards the scene, weapons raised, following the trail the needles had taken. They’d gone through everything. People followed against common instinct. They came to a spot familiar to a few in the crowd, [Guards] included. An Opener’s workspace.

The door was torn open. Everything was silent inside. The crowd halted, afraid to look closer. The [Guards] hesitated, then shouted for people to keep back. Inside, the room was silent.

Shredded. The parchment on the desk, the desk—even the magically protected drawers were destroyed. The needles had ripped everything to incomprehensible shreds. The room was still. A body was lying on the floor, the needles still.

And then the body sat up. What looked like a very young woman moved. Her clothes were tattered. Needles covered her. But the holes were already closing.

Her pupils were red, her eyes bloodshot. Her fingers clawed, teeth biting. Fierre spat a needle and yanked three out of her throat. She stared at them, then began pulling out more sewing needles. They fell to the ground.

Some were wood. Others iron. Or steel. But there was no silver. There was a very angry Fierre. She stomped out of her ruined office, through the back door, ignoring the gathering crowd, pulling her hood to cover her features. She found Gailt in his usual watering hole. He took one look at the blood and her shredded clothes and dropped his drink.

“Fierre! What—”

She thrust a bit of parchment into his face.

“Send this to the Order of Seasons. And collect the bounty.”

Fierre’s voice rasped. Gailt read the [Message] and went pale. He began shaking his head, and Fierre grabbed him.

“Send. It.”

“No! Not on your life! I’ll die!”

“I just tripped the curse. Send it now or I’ll take this needle and show you what happened to me.”

The grip that held the [Mage] was terrifyingly strong. And there was a resonance to Fierre’s voice that terrified the man. He thought of the curse. Then he realized he couldn’t breathe. He choked. Fierre held him and stared at his face. The [Mage] looked at the parchment, at her face. He tried to breathe. And then slowly jerked. Nodded.

She let go of him. Gailt collapsed onto the table. Shakily, he put his finger towards his temple, cringing, eyes darting. Fierre stood over him, swaying. Both looked around. Waiting.

Nothing happened. No needles flew. The curse was burnt. Gailt collapsed on the table, trembling, as the force of the reply from Terandria rocked him back in his seat. He began muttering.

“Yes! Confirm! Yes! We’ll do a truth—yes!”

He shuddered, and his eyes crossed. Then he blinked. He looked up and nodded.

“It’s done.”

“It is?”

The girl stared at him. Gailt nodded, trembling. Fierre blinked. Then she sighed and let go of Gailt. He stared at her. He opened his mouth to scream at her. Then he saw Fierre reach up. She pulled at a needle in the side of her head, where it had been buried up to the point. She drew it out as he turned white and passed out. Then her eyes rolled up, and she collapsed on the ground.

Across the world, Knight-Commander Calirn shouted a word like an avalanche. And a [Knight] and a group of [Hunters] looked up.

Day 65 – Laken

We’re riding together, talking. The horse is moving under me, and I’m resting my hands on the saddle horn. Trying not to look like I’m clinging to the saddle.

I hate riding. I can’t control a horse, and I’m fairly certain they know I’m blind. To be frank, a blind man leading a horse is enshrined in the hall of bad ideas. But I put up with it because the horse I’m riding is content to follow Gralton and Yitton. And they’re good riders. And because we’re chatting.

About Riverfarm, of course. But their lands as well. Since Belavierr’s incident with Rehanna, I’ve gotten daily updates and nevermind the cost.

It’s not been that…bad. Troubling, yes. But nothing worse has happened with Belavierr, so I consider that a boon. There have been more incidents, of course. But Mavika was predictable and minor given what could have happened. And Hedag?

“No. It’s not an issue, Yitton.”

I patiently turn my head. The [Lord]’s been objecting to what went down for the last thirty minutes. I shake my head as Yitton replies in a strained voice.

“I don’t deny that the outcome was beneficial, Emperor Laken. But the question is one of law.”

“I’d do the same thing in her place. In fact, I will do it. There is nothing wrong with what this [Witch] Hedag did, Yitton. Unless you disagree, Gralton?”

Yitton bites his tongue and makes a sound. No one would disagree. And Gralton’s uncharacteristically silent. Sarcastically, fed up with the debate, I go on.

“What she did was undeniably good.”

“She violated the law.”

“I would never fault her for it.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. But it is the principle of the thing. The law must apply to all, or it is not law.”

“Well then, I’ll change the law to allow it.”

“Your Majesty! The people of your empire have rights!”

“Not to that, Yitton!”

I take a deep breath. I calm down a bit, hearing silence.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re making a reasoned point. But I don’t think it’s wrong. And if Lancrel’s people object or this Councilwoman Beatica or that [Mayor] I’ve heard so much about complain, I will deal with it. But I’m not ordering her punished. When I get back, I’ll sort it out. As far as I’m concerned, that’s proof of [Witches] being a good thing.”

“I’m afraid I must disagree, Your Majesty.”

There’s a tone in Yitton’s voice that makes me grind my teeth. He can be more stubborn than Gralton and I put together! Sixty…five days is more than enough time to find out what you don’t like in someone. But he has a point. I sigh.

“I’m sure there’s time for reasoned debate. In fact, I’d love to introduce you to Ryoka. She seems to have hit the issue on the same points as you. We’ll address it when we get there. Let’s change the subject. Gralton? What news of your lands? Is it raining there? I hope Riverfarm likes all this rain we’re bringing them.”

Sourly, I glance up. It’s raining on my oiled cloak. No umbrellas while riding, thanks. Gralton pauses.

“I do have news. My people are telling me there’s a bunch of sick bastards on my land. So I told ‘em to quarantine them like you said, Laken. That will help?”

I blink.

“You actually remembered our discussion about the Black Death? Wait—sickness?”

The man grunts.

“Shouldn’t I? You don’t forget something like that. And I have lots of dogs. And people. There’s always something. Doesn’t sound too bad. I’ll hire some [Healers]. Always helps. Not as bad as [Witches]. Byres?”

“Nothing from my lands, or so my wife claims.”

The [Lord]’s voice is a bit short. I haven’t heard the last from him. I sigh and rub my head. I’m out of sorts. I haven’t been sleeping well. And the rain’s falling on my head. Despite it, my cloak feels hot. I shrug at it irritably.

Then I hear pounding hoofbeats in the mud. I turn my head and hear a voice.

“Your Majesty! A [Message]! Urgent!”

“Gamel? What is it? Riverfarm?”

I twist, suddenly worried, and Gralton halts my horse. Gamel pulls up, panting. I hear a horse, his urgent tone, something rustling.

“No, sire! It’s from Terandria! The Order of Seasons is sending you a [Message]—”

“The Order of Seasons? What does it say?”

Gralton leans over. I hear Gamel exclaim. The [Dog Lord] frowns. The rain’s falling, but I’m shrugging off my cloak. It’s hot. I hear him muttering, reading out loud.

“They’re coming—no, they’re notifying you they’re sending—what in the name of—”

Impatiently, I turn my head.

“Yitton, can you read it out loud? Gralton, hand it to—”

And then I feel it. One second it’s gone, and then it’s blazing in my head. I shout, and the horse rears. I can’t grab at the reins. I can feel myself falling, hear a bellow from Gralton. And Yitton catches me halfway down. But that’s not what makes me shout. I can’t hear Gamel shouting at me, Yitton’s voice.

It’s in my head! No! My eyes! It’s so—I push at my eyes.

“What’s—god! What’s happening—”

“Laken! What is it?”

I flail wildly. It’s right there! What is—I’ve never—

And then I realize. It’s light.

Light. In my head. A beacon. Blazing. I can feel it. Coming north. And west. From Riverfarm. I sit up, shaking. It’s burning. I twist as the others swing from the saddles.

Yitton calls out.

“Your Majesty, what’s happening?”

“Are we under attack? Is it Riverfarm?”

Gralton draws a sword. Yitton’s supporting me. I shake my head. Croak.

“Gralton, ride.”

He pauses. Then gets what I mean. I hear an intake of breath. All I can do is feel the beacon in my head. They’re there. Intruders! A fiery blaze. And she’s there too. I can feel them. Gralton whistles. I hear a horse trotting.

“It’ll take me three days to get to my estates! I can bring an army to Riverfarm in two days!”

“Do it.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, but takes off, roaring for the caravan and his guards. I stand up, shaking. Gamel’s chasing a horse. Yitton supports me.

“What is it?”

“The Order of Seasons sent someone. Belavierr’s there too. They’re—trouble, Yitton. Something is happening in Riverfarm. And I’m not there.”

Five days. I try to shut my eyes, but the light’s still there. I should have sent Gralton the instant the coven arrived.

“I can’t leave the Goblins. If I do—”

Can I? I leave, and what does Yitton do? The [Guards]—I hesitate. Yitton makes the decision for me. He snaps as people gallop towards us, shouting urgent questions.

“We push on. Fastest speed. Tell the [Mages] to prepare [Light] spells for night riding. We’re pushing on through the night! We will be at Riverfarm in exactly five days!”

He overrides the objections, snapping orders with uncharacteristic force. The people withdraw. I’m still standing. Yitton speaks urgently to me.

“Laken. If you ride now, there is no guarantee you’ll be able to stop whatever’s there. Wait for Gralton to bring an army to bear. He can muster thousands. More if need be. This could be targeted at you. A magic-user can easily attack you with a small escort. You cannot risk your life.”

I know. I know that. But I stand there. Listening to Yitton talk about five days. Riverfarm holding out. And I think of a [Witch] that could hang a village in a night, according to Ryoka. A blazing [Knight]. Fire and conspiracy and death.

Durene’s there. Prost, Rie. Ryoka, Frostwing, Bismarck. I turn my head north and west. And I climb in the carriage as it rolls forwards as the caravan doubles its pace and Gralton and his escort race ahead.

I know in my marrow, in the burning in my eyes, that we will be too late.

6.43 E

(Volume 2 of The Wandering Inn is available on Amazon! If you can, please leave a review or tell people it’s out! Buying is not necessarily necessary. Thanks so much for the support!)

Day 60 – Ryoka

“She knows it’s not alive.”

Wiskeria spoke softly. Her eyes were shadowed by her pointed hat. Her face was pale. She stood in the light, a flickering candle’s illumination in a lantern aided by the embers in a fireplace. They cast long, dancing shadows. But no one was suggesting using the [Light] spell. The silent gathering did not want to see magic.

“She knows it’s fake? You’re sure?”

Prost leaned over the table. The former [Farmer]’s face was pale. He had fought Goblins, lived for decades in Riverfarm. But this had shaken him. Wiskeria looked up. Her yellow-green eyes reflected the lantern’s light. She nodded once.

“She has to. I know the deal she took. At least, in part. It would be hard, very hard, to make something that fooled her against her will. Too much work. Moreover, what would be the point?”

“To trick her?”

Lady Rie sat at the table, flanked by her bodyguard, Geram, and Nesor. She looked up at Nesor, but the young [Mage] was silent. This magic was beyond him. Wiskeria, the sole [Witch] in the room, shook her head.

“It didn’t feel like that. I can see her magic. My…mother’s. I can’t see all of it. But it looks fair.”

“Fair?”

The word was incredulity. It came from more than one person. Charlay. Durene. Not Ryoka. But from others. Wiskeria tugged her hat lower, hiding her eyes.

“Yes. In a sense. It was fair in that Rehanna gave something and she got something. That…doll is casting a spell on her. It looks like a baby. If you let it, it would probably seem like a baby to you.”

“Why don’t we see it that way, then?”

Wiskeria shook her head.

“Because you don’t want to, Lady Rie. You don’t want to. The magic works on you if you’re willing. Like I said, it’s an easier illusion. But Rehanna wants the doll to be her son. So it is. That’s the nature of the deal. The baby—the doll is hers. And my mother has what she wants.”

And what was that? The listeners exchanged silent looks. In truth, they didn’t need Wiskeria to say. They had seen Rehanna. The woman was aged. In a single day, she had developed grey in her hair. Her body was older. And all of the vitriol, the anger, and the hatred she had had towards Wiskeria, towards Riverfarm and Laken and the world, all of it was gone. Rie murmured.

“So. Is it a threat?”

“No. It’s just a baby. It can’t do anything other than cry.”

“Can it eat? Will it grow?”

The words made Prost’s heart jump. They came from Ryoka. And they were the first she’d uttered since the emergency meeting had been convened. Wiskeria glanced at the City Runner.

“No. It’s not alive. Not like a String-person. It’s just well-sewn.”

That statement made no one relax. The air felt unsettled. Clammy with nerves. Durene shook her head and then coughed. She was weak. Woozy, in fact. The healing burns were still fresh; her body still smelled of smoke. Come to that, Wiskeria was wearing a borrowed tunic and leggings. She’d been literally naked but for a blanket less than ten minutes ago. Ryoka shook her head wearily, feeling her sore feet and tired body from a day of exercise. She hadn’t slept since yesterday morning.

It was late. So late the sun was rising into the next day, casting long shadows out of the night. But no one was abed or even thought of it. Tired as she was, Ryoka feared sleep. She feared the sight of that infant, the piercing, familiar wail. But it was not alive. She shivered with fear. But at least she had seen things more terrible.

Most of those standing around the table had not. Ryoka looked at them and saw the horror. For Wiskeria? Disgust. Regret. Anger?

She had none of it. She had looked at that crying infant made of cloth, Rehanna’s aged features, her mother’s craft—and it moved her not at all.

She too had seen worse, and Wiskeria gave Ryoka a little nod. There was only one emotion that Ryoka could read there. Just disappointment. As if she had hoped for something else. But her mother would never change.

Mothers, in Ryoka’s experience, were like that. Now, Wiskeria was left to explain, so she did, like a girl having to tell people why her mother had stumbled downstairs, unable to even stand for the drink. It was a tired, practiced explanation of half-truths, and there was a girl there, trying to defend something she knew was wrong.

Ryoka found herself trembling as Wiskeria’s tone became more matter-of-fact, soothing. She wasn’t shaking for the reason the others were.

“It was a bargain. There was no malice in it. Not from my mother at any rate. Sometimes, she makes deals you could call unfair. She’s on her best behavior right now.”

Prost fixed Wiskeria with a searching eye, but his voice cracked.

“This is her best behavior? She didn’t seek Rehanna out because the woman destroyed your brew, Wiskeria? You’re sure?”

The [Witch] barely hesitated.

“No. My mother doesn’t mix business with vengeance. Believe me, when she goes for vengeance, it’s very clear. If she was angry at Rehanna, she would have killed her or done something far worse. I know what we saw. But it only concerns Rehanna. If…”

She hesitated.

“If there were anything to worry about, it would be if she makes a second deal. Someone should watch Rehanna. And anyone else with something to lose.”

Then the silence deepened, and a shiver ran through Riverfarm, as if the winter had never left and this summer were an illusion. Ryoka stared at Rehanna, and Rie’s voice rose shrilly.

“Someone else? Who would look at that and think they wanted—”

“Lady Rie.”

Wiskeria cut in, voice polite.

“I am not giving you the reasons. I am telling you what I know from experience. The best thing to do would be to watch Rehanna. Not to take the child from her, and to tell everyone to stay away from Belavierr. The contract cannot be undone.”

Lady Rie looked at Wiskeria, both with a strangled fury and now…her eyes darted to Ryoka and then a scroll of parchment Ryoka had received via [Message]. Nesor had just finished copying it, and Fierre had signed it herself.

“Is this what the woman did on Terandria? Belavierr. I know that name, now. Not her name, but—the Temptress of Izril. What did she do in Noelictus?”

Wiskeria’s shoulders hunched further.

“I don’t know. Ryoka?”

Bad news often came too late. Ryoka stared down at the…list of Belavierr’s crimes. Her stomach lurched. It was long. Long, disturbing, even hilarious in parts. Then just horrifying because it was probably true.

“It doesn’t even say. The bounty’s too long to—mass-murder of a city. Is that even possible? Seduction of a [Prince]?”

“Allegedly.”

Charlay unhelpfully pointed that out. The entire room glared at her, and she quailed.

“What? It says that there.”

“That’s probably a lie.”

Wiskeria looked uncomfortable. But she hadn’t been surprised by the list of crimes either. On the other side of the table, Rie and Prost were greatly disturbed. Prost muttered to himself.

“This goes beyond regular crime. If even a tenth of what’s written here is true, let alone the bounty, Belavierr is a monster on the same level as…why was she allowed in here? Wiskeria, you didn’t tell us to—”

Wiskeria’s voice rose.

“I tried to banish her. No one can just get rid of her. It would take three [Kings] to even remove her without a good cause—and she took a position in the coven. She’s here for me. This is, again, her best behavior. You don’t want to make her mad. Believe me. Please.”

That drew the man up short. Prost looked at Rie. She paused, her face pale, and nodded.

“Another question then: why is her name not known the world over?”

Wiskeria gave Rie a sardonic look.

“Isn’t it? You know her. The [Ladies] and [Lords] of Izril do. She’s not as well-known as Az’kerash. Perhaps because she doesn’t kill armies…often. She comes and goes. She’s most dangerous when people try to attack her or stop her. I know what my mother is capable of. But believe me, she didn’t come to harm Riverfarm. I know how she thinks. For her, this is business. And her coming with the coven is because they need to deal with Laken. Because of me.”

Wiskeria looked around the table. No one could immediately respond. They had known she was unsettling from the start, but not what they had welcomed into their village, however reluctantly. Now? Ryoka did understand. If a tornado touched down in Riverfarm, she would be astonished if it left no casualties. Belavierr was that, unto [Witches]. This? This was the first sign of who Belavierr was.

Ryoka recalled the thing in Rehanna’s arms. It had been skillfully done. Everything was right. In fact, it was far, far more realistic than any mannequin baby from her world. Plastic could not take the shape cloth had.

It was not alive. But it moved and cried. Ryoka’s skin crawled, and she felt her stomach heave, trying to eject reality.

However, she had seen worse. Worse, and better. More glorious magic, more tragedy. She had seen a Dragon. Things sitting around a fire, reaching for the light. So it was Ryoka who stirred as the first rays of dawn crept into Rie’s home. She raised her hand as the light struck her face. Her two missing fingers made the beams blind Ryoka anyways. The young Asian woman sighed, then stood.

“Well, we’ve sent a message to Laken. And everyone’s inside, if not asleep. Rehanna’s being watched. So I think I’ll talk with the coven tomorrow. I mean, later today. Maybe I’ll take a nap before that. Unless anyone has anything else to say?”

She squinted at the brightening window. Ryoka stared at the rising sun and wondered if four hours would allow her to function. Maybe with a stamina potion. She’d trade someone else’s left leg for coffee. Then she realized everyone was looking at her.

“What?”

“We can’t just go back to work. We haven’t resolved this issue, Miss Griffin!”

Lady Rie was quietly horrified. She rose, smoothing her dress.

“Emperor Laken is sure to respond, but we must make some announcement or preparations—”

“About what? Belavierr? Wiskeria said she made an honest deal. We can watch Rehanna, and I’ll ask the [Witches] like I said, but what else can we do? Make plans against Belavierr? I tell you what, you can muster an army of a thousand. Ten thousand and ambush her as she sleeps. I’ll watch. Would that even work, Wiskeria?”

The Wind Runner turned to Wiskeria, and the [Witch] bit her lip to stop from laughing. Ryoka raised her hands, looking around.

“If you want to do that, feel free, Lady Rie. But I’m not going to. Belavierr’s not a threat right now. And I’d like to keep her that way.”

Lady Rie pursed her lips, gazing out the window.

“But if she were to endanger us—”

“We’ll do what? What plans could we make? If she attacks us, how many of us even get away? Will Riverfarm still stand?”

The City Runner stared around the room. Lady Rie went pale, and Geram, the [Fistfighter], shifted. He looked uneasily at one arm, as if trying to imagine stopping Belavierr with that.

There it was. A terror of the unknown. Fear of dangerous women. Or just women. From these things, Ryoka knew how witch hunts arose. It might have spread like a contagion out of this room, but Ryoka clung to something else.

“There’s one thing we can count on, though. And I think Prost will back me on this.”

The [Steward] had been grasping the edges of the table so hard his knuckles were white. He stared up at her, and Ryoka thought of the other [Witch].

“Califor. The rest of the coven. If we’ve got one…bad witch. Don’t you think we should rely on the others to reign her in? Or is Califor not someone famous, Prost? Trust in her.”

Califor had not yet returned from her own mission, but her name broke the tension in the air. Not completely, but Prost inhaled as if he’d forgotten she existed and turned to Wiskeria.

“That’s right. I knew I’d heard of her. There’s a—a good witch to balance an ill.”

“I don’t see much balancing going on.”

Geram muttered, but the tension eased. Rie looked exasperated.

“Witch Califor I don’t know, Mister Prost.”

“I heard of her, but never by name. Maybe you don’t know her by Witch Califor, Lady Rie. Would the woman who broke the Wellfar’s dam at Lake Roisemead ring a bell? The one that was set to flood out a dozen villages and dry out dozens more so they’d have an inland port?”

Ryoka’s ears perked up, and she made a note to ask Fierre about Califor. Rie’s eyes flickered.

“—That’s an older story. I, of course, remember the incident. It almost looked like it would be a battle. That was…eighteen years ago when my family—”

She broke off. Swallowed hard as Geram looked at her.

“Of course I know…Califor was the woman who did that? Wellfar is still hunting for the perpetrator!”

“Which is why she travels. She’s been to Baleros, Chandrar, Terandria—maybe even further. I know of her. I thought she’d hunt me down after I ran away from my mother. In the end, Mavika just found me. I thought, at the time, it was the better of the two.”

Wiskeria muttered. Califor sounded like some kind of wandering detective or problem-solver to Ryoka. Whatever the case was, her name was like a balm against Belavierr’s ominous presence. Ryoka nodded.

“Don’t forget Eloise, or even Hedag or Mavika. They might be dangerous in their own ways, those two, but Hedag would protect a child to the death, I’ll bet.”

She glanced at Wiskeria for another nod, then pushed herself away from the table.

“I don’t feel like making useless plans. Especially when we’re all tired. We have a lot of new arrivals in Riverfarm thanks to the aid mission. Mister Prost, they all have homes, but I’ll bet they’re reconsidering their choices. We should put them to work, even if everyone’s tired.”

The [Steward] started. He looked up and nodded.

“I can do that. We’ll all be sleeping in late, but—yes. We should get some sleep. All of us.”

He stood up. Lady Rie looked at him.

“Prost—!”

“Miss Griffin’s right, Lady Rie. There’s no sense in letting the fields go to waste or standing about. Work will keep folk’s mind off it. But I will tell Beniar to keep his [Riders] close to the village. The [Bandits] aside—”

He glanced at Wiskeria. Her walking out of a [Fireball] unscathed was small potatoes compared to the rest of tonight’s events, but it did merit some attention.

“—we’ll get back to work. Miss Griffin, talk to the [Witches] by all means. I’ll deal with what I can and wait for His Majesty’s orders.”

He nodded to the others. Lady Rie protested, but that was that. In truth, everyone was too tired to think. They just left the house. But sleep was hard to find, even exhausted. No one could forget the baby.

—–

The baby. Ryoka woke up in Durene’s cottage seven hours later. It was already late morning, so she got up cautiously, only to find Charlay staring right at her. The Centauress’ eyes were sunken.

“I dreamt about screaming babies.”

“You did?”

“Mhm.”

Charlay knelt on her horse legs as Ryoka got up. The City Runner stared at Durene’s kitchen and decided she didn’t have the strength to make a hot meal. It wasn’t that kind of day. Some days you didn’t want food to make you feel good because it couldn’t. She dug in her pack and pulled out some nuts and a couple dried fruits. Charlay copied her and came up with some dried oats and nuts.

They ate quietly. It felt like a wake to Ryoka. It was almost a relief when Frostwing dove from her perch and tried to steal all of Ryoka’s nuts. That woke Durene up. She joined them, and after tossing potatoes out at the Mossbear lying in the remains of Durene’s garden, they found Wiskeria.

She was lying in her tent. Awake. She crawled out and stared at them. Like Charlay, her eyes were worn by exhaustion. Perhaps not from nightmares; she looked worn by memory. Another familiar thing. Ryoka offered her a hand, and Wiskeria stared at her. At Durene. Charlay.

Ryoka could see the looks on her companions’ faces. They were remembering the baby. But that wasn’t Wiskeria’s fault. In no way had she condoned or helped that occur. It was only that Belavierr was her mother. And that she was a [Witch]. Ryoka looked down at Wiskeria’s face. To Wiskeria, it seemed, both meant she was partly guilty.

“Uh. Morning. Want some nuts? Charlay’s got oats if you’re interested.”

Wiskeria blinked as Ryoka offered her the travel rations. The comment Ryoka made was incredibly stupid, but it helped break the gravitas of the day. Durene snorted a bit, and Charlay eyed Ryoka.

“I thought you hated my oats.”

“I do. Maybe Wiskeria’s allergic to nuts, though.”

“Um. Thanks.”

The [Witch] slowly got up. She faced Ryoka. The City Runner gave her a half-smile.

“Shall we?”

—–

The strange mood filled the village. Not exactly horror, not in the light of the day. And not grieving; no one had died. But a strange, quiet mood. Like that after some huge tragedy too large to encompass. Unease, that was it. Ryoka looked at the quiet faces, the way no one, not even children, made loud sounds.

As if it were against the rules. As if they were all dreaming. But in time, people began waking up. Someone made a loud sound as she slapped two pots together, and everyone jumped. Someone else made an inane joke about oats and Humans, and no one laughed, but the world became normal. Ryoka and Charlay gave each other high-fives, and Chimmy was able to run up. Like that, Riverfarm became normal.

Ryoka realized she was actually hungry for food instead of a handful of nuts and fruit. She joined the queue in front of one of the cooking halls where food was being passed out. Today’s was, almost predictably, a stew. They were easy to make, but someone—Prost—had decided to let the [Cooks] add a generous helping of lard and some of the meat, and there was some really nice bread.

It wasn’t quite as well-risen as something from Ryoka’s world—she blamed a lack of baking powder—but it was just as tasty. And hot! She ate greedily and found Charlay stuffing her face as well.

“Charlay, can you eat all kinds of meat?”

“Don’t be racist, Ryoka. Of course I can. But I don’t eat too much; it goes straight to my lower belly.”

Ryoka eyed the Centauress’ lower half. She couldn’t argue with that. She saw people standing around, talking, until men and women began walking through the crowd with authority, shouting.

“Alright! Enough time stuffing faces! We need to get those fields tilled, or do you think our seeds will sprout in fresh air? [Farmers], with me! You new folk, anyone who’s got a farming class, come with me until Prost sorts you out!”

“Building team! Muster up!”

“Ladies and children, we’ll be setting up those drying racks. And washing clothes and seeing to the rest of our tasks! It’s a fine day to dry what needs drying, so we will be cleaning and letting the air do our work—”

Ryoka had another reason to admire Prost, then. The unsure crowd began to move with a purpose. From her seat, she watched a group of [Farmers] get up. Her hermit-friend, the spear fisher, was good-naturedly hefting his spear and arguing with Beycalt, who was clearly not about to let him wander off and pursue his passion and calling. A group of farmers, including Mister Ram, trooped past Ryoka, groaning.

“We’re going to have to water the fields, aren’t we? It’s too damn bright, and we need rain! At least the river’s nearby.”

“Stop complaining. We’ve any number of hands. And some of us have [Water-Retaining Soil]. But would you rather wait for rain with nary a cloud in sight?”

“It’ll be half a day of watering! We’ll have to do it all by hand!”

One of the female [Farmers] slapped a man on the back.

“Well, you were complaining about the rain right before this. Make up your mind, man!”

He groaned.

“Can’t [Witches] conjure rain?”

Everyone in earshot paused at that. The other [Farmers] scowled at the loudmouth, and half of them smacked or elbowed him. The woman [Farmer] glowered.

“Yeah. How much of your soul do you think they want for a shower? Forget it. Let’s get some buckets. We do need a canal or two, though…”

They moved out of the mess hall. Ryoka sighed. The village was still mostly in shock. She was certain that would change. She got up and bussed her and Charlay’s dishes.

Yes, shock. You could see that on most faces. With the daylight hitting them and the dark night behind, it was easy for people to laugh off what they’d seen. Or pretend it wasn’t as real. Just a doll, perhaps. Some trickery of magic. Not…

It was a bad memory. Until you heard a baby’s wail and looked about wildly for it. Twice, it happened, and both times everyone in earshot froze, then laughed. But no one laughed when they went past the house where Rehanna lived.

Rehanna had her own home. Of course she did; she had once had a family.

A family.

You would think, on this day, she would be cloistered away in her home with no one to see. Like, Ryoka had imagined, someone in a care facility in a padded room to protect herself. But when Ryoka saw the woman—she understood why the village was so unsettled.

“Time to work. Someone give me a hand with these linens? They need darning, all of them.”

A woman was trying to lift a basket of damaged clothing up onto a table as she sat outside her home. There was a crowd of people watching that Prost was trying to chivvy to work. But they could not help it. People passing in the streets slowed.

They stared at a woman, hair white, hands covered with liver spots and older—far older than she had been a day ago—trying to lift a basket. After a second, another woman hurried over and helped Rehanna put it on the table.

“Take care of your strength, Rehanna.”

“I…I used to be able to do that. My. How will I pull my weight? Thank you…Miss Eloise? Witch Eloise?”

Rehanna turned, and she seemed older, now, than the [Witch] with the flowery hat. Rehanna was still taller, but Eloise was the more—lively of the two. The woman rested on the table, clearly fatigued from that one exertion, then felt around for a needle. Thread.

A wail rose, then, and Ryoka felt her blood chill, and the crowd shivered. It was a baby’s wail. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“Oh, there he goes again. One moment. Mihka. Mihka, hush—”

And Rehanna hurried over to a basket and hamper. She bent over, looking, of all things, slightly harried, annoyed, like a mother at work would be to have to constantly attend to—

She lifted something up, and tiny fingers grasped for her as she adjusted her blouse, offering the wailing infant made of cloth a breast. Then the crying stopped, and someone retched quietly. But Rehanna just hummed and stood there until she placed the—her child down.

“I hope I’ll survive teething. I…I never thought I’d be so happy. Now, where’s the linens? Miss Yesel said I needn’t worry, but someone has to darn them. And I am a [Mother]. I levelled up last night, you know, Miss Eloise.”

Eloise. The Tea Witch slowly sat there as Rehanna sat back in a rocking chair and pulled the first piece of cloth over to her. She began to sew in a practiced manner, and Eloise watched.

The [Witch]’s face was very…very kind. And very old, Ryoka saw. Eloise patted Rehanna on the knee.

“That’s quite wonderful, Rehanna. I hope you don’t mind the staring. I will have something to restore your strength. You must take care of your body now, you understand?”

Rehanna’s head lifted, and her aged features swept the crowd. It was not, Ryoka realized, as if she hadn’t seen them. She gave her audience a tremulous smile and lifted a hand. When they flinched—she lowered it.

“I quite understand, Witch Eloise. I should just like everyone to know that I’m happy. I apologize for all the trouble I’ve been. I’m happy. So—”

Her eyes flickered.

“So please. Let me be happy?”

Her eyes stole to the basket, and Ryoka heard a slight gurgle from it in the silence. When Rehanna looked up, no one could meet her eyes. But it seemed as if Eloise, for all her own quiet grief, sat like a sentinel.

Only then did Prost raise his voice and order everyone to work. He shouted everyone along, then stood there in the street. Ryoka saw him take several huge breaths, square his shoulders—then march over to smile and take Rehanna’s hand and ask her how she was this morning.

That took a bravery Ryoka didn’t have this morning. She herself hurried away. Away from the smiling woman. Away from the infant made of cloth.

The mood was quiet in Riverfarm due to that, for all Rehanna tried to call greetings. But Ryoka was certain it wouldn’t last.

Shock would be replaced by other emotions, soon. People might avoid Rehanna’s house and the woman, but for how long? They could try to ignore her or pretend this was all a trick, but the thing about magic, real magic, was that it didn’t tarnish in daylight.

They would see and have to deal with it again, and then all the chickens would come home to roost.

Or crows. The streets were absolutely deserted around the houses as Ryoka and Wiskeria approached. And even the [Witches] looked—

Hesitant. Mavika, Hedag, and Alevica sat together, speaking quietly. They too looked uneasy. This magic was clearly not something they were used to, either.

The most…normal was Mavika. She was snapping at Alevica. She just looked unhappy, and when Ryoka trotted over, Mavika’s expression only grew more annoyed. Ryoka lifted a hand.

“Uh…”

“Go away, wind’s child. We aren’t in the mood to speak of what your eyes and ears can see. No more are we here to comfort thee.”

Mavika was feeding half her breakfast to the raven perched on her shoulder. She cast Ryoka a black-eyed glance, and Ryoka hesitated. But then she sat down at the table. Affronted, Mavika’s eyes narrowed, and Wiskeria hastily came up behind Ryoka.

“Ryoka has a few questions, Witch Mavika. On behalf of Riverfarm. They need some assurance.”

“Of what? The doll? It was—”

“—a deal fairly struck. So Wiskeria’s said, Witch Mavika. A good morning to you, by the way.”

Ryoka spoke tactfully. Mavika eyed her and clicked her tongue.

“Then why do you ask?”

Alevica grinned, or tried to, as Hedag grabbed the last heel of bread. They listened as Ryoka responded.

“To be sure it was fair. No offense to Witch Wiskeria, but Belavierr is a powerful magic-user. And I know some stories about [Witches]. Very few of them have fair endings.”

The trio of [Witches] fell silent. Mavika broke off some bread and ate it. She replied, chewing, as her raven snatched the last of the bread.

“And do you hold these tales to be true of all [Witches], wind’s child?”

“No. But I haven’t met any [Witches] before all of you. And Belavierr is unique.”

Not even Mavika could contest that. She sat back, annoyed, and Ryoka took that as acceptance. She looked around.

“The baby. I get that Belavierr traded it to Rehanna. Can you all tell me why? And how she struck the deal?”

The [Witches] looked at Ryoka. Then Alevica leaned over to Hedag.

“And here I thought she was halfway smart.”

Hedag boomed with laughter. She slapped the table, making all the cups jump, and leaned forwards.

“Don’t insult the girl, Alevica! Miss Runner! You want to know what bargain was struck? Can’t you see what it was? Or do you ask if there’s some other trick to it? If so, I’ll tell you what any [Witch] would: there’s not, and it was honestly done!”

She eyed Ryoka, her huge face smiling beneath her brown hat. Of all the [Witches], Ryoka had spoken to Hedag the least. Not at all, in fact; she’d been playing with the children all of yesterday. She looked at Ryoka, eyes bright beneath the huge grin.

“Califor said you understood our craft. So you tell me, Miss Runner Ryoka, what was the nature of the bargain? It should be plain to see.”

Ryoka thought for a moment.

“It looks like Belavierr made the doll for Rehanna because the woman missed her child. In exchange for part of Rehanna’s life. Or her lifespan. But—it’s not that simple, is it?”

“Why not?”

Hedag’s smile was challenging. Ryoka turned to look at Wiskeria and got a nod. That was what Wiskeria had said, but…Ryoka frowned.

“But it’s just a doll. What makes it worth…forty years of her life?”

“It looks like her child. Sounds like it too.”

The Wind Runner blinked. That made sense. But…it did feel too simple. She raised her eyebrows, meeting Hedag’s gaze.

“So it’s not going to disappear or fall apart or…suck the life out of her?”

“Do you believe the Stitch Witch is of so little skill? Did you not see her daughter’s clothing? Nothing Belavierr makes will come undone with age, for better or ill.”

That retort came from Mavika. The [Witch] looked peeved at Ryoka’s questions. The City Runner shook her head.

“But it’s just a doll. It’s not worth…does it eat? Will it grow up?”

The [Witches] shrugged, but they turned as a fourth figure joined their number. Eloise had returned from Rehanna’s side. She looked tired, and she did not greet Ryoka as she spoke.

“It will be a baby forever. It may even eat. I don’t care to know. I have studied the doll as much as I could. Rehanna did let me touch it. I had Prost set two of her friends to watch her.”

“Sensible. A fool might take that doll from her. What did you see, Eloise?”

Hedag leaned over. Eloise cast a glance at Ryoka, but was too distraught to obfuscate.

“I’m not a tenth of Belavierr’s skill, and needlework is not my exact specialty—but it is simple. Simple and damned elegant! It is a pure vessel, and it will take Rehanna’s grief. For her, it is her baby, and perhaps she might even dream her husband is just around the corner, laughing, as she holds it. It is…just that. Just that, but too much nevertheless. Just a spell. A Cloth Golem that eats grief. And provides a dream of happiness.”

She breathed, in and out, and it was Mavika who glanced around.

“Perhaps we should have…tea? I offer you my hospitality, Witch Eloise.”

Awkwardly, she produced a handful of what turned out to be broken acorns and what might have passed for the world’s first tea bag ever made. Eloise looked at Mavika, and Ryoka realized the Crow Witch was trying to be…nice?

Mavika’s glare said Ryoka wasn’t invited, but Eloise made a pot with Mavika’s dubious tea bag. It seemed to calm Eloise, or the ritual did. But her words were blunt.

“Sisters. I have failed. Let it be a lesson to you as well, Miss Ryoka. I strove against Belavierr, set myself against her, and I don’t believe I even had a chance.”

Set herself against…Ryoka remembered Eloise trying to talk to Rehanna, offering her tea and sympathy. Oh.

“You were trying to stop her from taking Belavierr’s offer.”

“Yes. Subtly. With small things to let her process her grief. A kind ear, a warm cup of tea, a snack—it feels like tossing crumbs into a storm. I have failed. Now, a woman has lost twenty—no, forty years of her life.”

Eloise’s lips were pressed tightly. Hedag slurped noisily and grunted.

“You hadn’t a chance, Eloise. That’s the honest truth. Perhaps if Califor hadn’t gone off to that village—”

“It is my domain, Hedag. My responsibility. Belavierr is practicing her craft; she is clearly wounded and has lost her magic, but she’s taken some of it back. How much forty years is, to her, is anyone’s guess.”

Forty years. Rehanna had obviously aged overnight, and Ryoka made an educated guess.

“So she’s using Rehanna’s age to fuel her…craft? I have that right? That’s what Belavierr gets out of this?”

The [Witches] nodded as one. Alevica joked, grinning, or trying to.

“Forty years sounds like a hell of a thing to me. I’d take it and be young for that long.”

Mavika stared at Alevica, and the Witch Runner glared at her.

“You could not use forty years if you had it, Witch Alevica. It is not something you can merely take and eat or wear like a pretty thing. Only the Witch of Webs can use what she harvests. Nor will she stop at one.”

That was…not good. Ryoka licked her lips as Alevica opened her mouth to argue—then sat back. For all her bravado, Alevica was clearly shaken. She muttered, directing her words at Ryoka.

“—Just so you know, the doll isn’t that amazing. I could probably do it in a few months. My master could probably make one that good. It’s just—doing it that fast. And taking age. I’ve never seen anyone take time like that. And it’s generating happiness, Eloise?”

The older [Witch] nodded grudgingly.

“Rehanna is happy. And, I hope, she will continue to be. The doll will help with that, I think. It will make tragic days hurt less. It is not all-powerful. But she will give it strength. Until she decides she has no need of it.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

“Then it will be her child, sweet and there for her to love, until the day she dies. Or it is taken from her.”

Eloise sat her cup down. She looked at Ryoka, her face tired. Her eyes direct.

“There is no trickery in the doll. No function in it to steal Rehanna’s life or emotions. She already gave Belavierr her price. Belavierr has no need to siphon her life away. Again—it was a bargain struck between the two. And things given willingly are worth far more than what can be stolen.”

“But—”

Ryoka struggled for words. She had seen worse, but this bothered her. Because this was no majestic Dragon and his hoard that could be bargained for, where even his smallest trinkets were things of incredible worth. And it was no Necromancer, who committed terrible evils because he could.

It was so…small. A petty magic in one sense. The doll wasn’t real. But it would make Rehanna happy forever. In that sense, it was grand. Petty and grand and—a [Witch]’s magic. Ryoka sat back, conflicted. She sipped the tea automatically, then looked up.

“Okay. Thank you for explaining it to me. I have only one last question. Was it a good deal for Rehanna? It seemed like Belavierr made the doll quickly. So did she pay too much? Was it fair? Was there a better deal she could have struck?”

The coven looked at her. Old and young. Even Wiskeria. For one moment, they were united. All seven smiled or laughed or shrugged. And they replied in different words, but with the same message.

“It depends on her.”

—–

[Witches]. They were about bargains and emotion. No—give and take. As Ryoka went for a run on the dry, warm day, she thought about Rehanna. It was too bright outside. The skies were too blue. It felt like summer had come, even though according to Prost’s internal calendar they still had time yet.

Either way, it was all too easy to run and forget about yesterday. At least for a moment. But the baby—Ryoka didn’t want to avoid it. After her meeting with Eloise, she had decided there was only one logical step. To psyche herself up for it, Ryoka went on a brisk run.

There was nothing eventful about the run itself. Just a big lap around Riverfarm, avoiding rocks or patches of nettle-like plants. What was interesting was the man she met who stepped out from behind a tree about two miles south of Riverfarm. Ryoka saw him, jerked in surprise, and doubled left as she reached for a potion at her belt.

The wind blew fiercely and then died. It was acting up here. At the worst moment. Ryoka was tensed—but the man held up two hands.

“Peace, Miss Runner! I come in peace, on my honor! Might I have a word?”

He smiled with all his teeth, and Ryoka instantly recognized him. The strange man that Charlay had met three days ago. The same one Rie had said was lurking around Riverfarm. She grabbed a Tripvine bag and held it, but didn’t yank it loose and throw it. She halted, panting.

“Can I help you, sir? I’m a City Runner, but I’m not looking for any deliveries—”

“Nothing of the sort, Miss! I’m just a wanderer, looking to speak to someone. Might I have a word?”

He stepped forwards, and Ryoka took his full measure now. Including his clothes. Instantly, Ryoka’s eyes widened. Because she recognized the style of the garb he wore. It was so easy for Charlay or anyone else to mistake. And their descriptions were all generic because describing clothing was hard unless you had the background and terminology.

The man had a hat, yes. Dark clothes. But the style was…Ryoka fixed on the long-sleeved, trench coat-like design. The gloved hands and what might have been armor concealed underneath the cloth. But light armor, nothing heavy. And the hat! That gave him away too.

It was a capotain, cylindrical and tall, complete with a buckle. It didn’t need to be a buckle. It could have been an insignia. Or left blank. But the hat, the style of it, was as iconic as if the man had owned two swords and possessed cat-eyes.

The dress was a costume. A symbol. The hat alone—it probably wasn’t totally real to what pilgrims might have looked like in the 1600s. And it wasn’t a style that existed in Ryoka’s world except as an icon, a particular style as old as…[Witches]. But it told her something in silent words.

To her it said [Witch Hunter]. The man stepped forwards, smiling that strange smile. And Ryoka hesitated. Because his presence put pieces together in her head.

Bounty on Belavierr. The [Bandits] targeting Wiskeria, a [Witch]. The stranger asking questions about Riverfarm. The Circle of Thorns?

Pieces. But she wasn’t sure. So Ryoka warily rested on the balls of her feet, ready to move. She couldn’t see if the man was armed. His hands were spread away from his body. He was trying to be…friendly. He nodded to her, his eyes flicking to her belt.

“Good day to you, Miss Runner. I hear you’re having a bit of trouble with [Witches]. May I ask what they’re up to in Riverfarm? I’ve got my head against the ground so to speak, but rumor is hard to sort from fact sometimes.”

“Who are you?”

“Just a traveller—”

“Really? Because you look like a [Witch Hunter].”

Ryoka circled the man. He turned with her, raising his brows. And she detected a hint of wariness. The wind blew cautiously around Ryoka’s shoulders.

“That’s a bold assumption and claim to make upon seeing someone, Miss City Runner.”

“What about a man who’s been spotted around Riverfarm asking questions about [Witches]? Agitating people? And who dresses like half the [Witch Hunters] I’ve ever seen?”

Only if you counted movies and other media from her world. But it was a gamble Ryoka was willing to take. The way the man’s eyes flickered was a dead giveaway. He lowered his hands, sighing.

“Ah. You’ve caught me out, Miss. Are you from the north? Terandria, perhaps? Izril has few of my kind, I’m sorry to say, although we’ve been present in greater numbers in times past.”

Ryoka refused to nod or shake her head.

“Let’s just say I’m familiar with your look. Mind walking back with me to Riverfarm? The [Lady] in charge of this region would like to meet you. And have a chat with a real [Witch Hunter].”

The man glanced over Ryoka’s shoulder back towards Riverfarm. He shook his head, still slightly smiling.

“I’d prefer not to get closer. [Witches] tend to see right through me, and I think I’d be at odds with them. Which I’d rather not be, given which ones are about. I’m just concerned for the wellbeing of folks here.”

“So you’re after them? On the hunt?”

A slight pause, then that smile again.

“I prefer not to say, Miss. I’m just a traveller asking questions. If you take umbrage with me, I’ll gladly depart. But for your safety, it might be better to avoid that lot. I can’t say what I’m about yet, but I swear by my own hat.”

He tapped it, and Ryoka realized the buckle she’d seen on the hat was actually a badge. It looked like…three arrows? That was the symbol of some kind of guild. She just bet it was the Hunter’s Guild. For a [Witch Hunter].

Ryoka folded her arms, suspicious.

“So you’re a [Hunter]?”

“Again, Miss—”

“Is Noelictus or whatever kingdom hired you doing this? This isn’t their land!”

There was only one Hunter’s Guild in the world—at least, these days—and Ryoka didn’t know if they actually had the same system as an Adventurer’s Guild. But she bet they did!

The man paused a second.

“I cannot confirm who I am or my purpose, Miss Runner.”

“Oh? Then you’re unlawfully hanging about asking questions and stirring up trouble with the [Witches]. Would you start telling me what Belavierr’s done or the crimes of the other [Witches]?”

“Do you know what they are? It’s ghastly stuff, Miss Griffin. Heard of…Helpful Servants? Another thing Belavierr has done. Far less pleasant than even the baby.”

The way he said it made Ryoka pause a second—but she shook off her shiver.

“Well, you know about the baby. Sounds like you’ve been talking to a lot of people. Who are you? Also, you just said my name.”

The smiling man had been gesturing expressively, speaking quickly and fluently. But he had the slightest pause—and at this, his eyes flickered, and Ryoka saw him grimace.

“Ah. Well, everyone knows the Wind Runner of Reizmelt. I’ve done my research.”

“Bullshit. You’ve got two seconds to tell me what you’re actually doing, or I’m calling Laken to—”

The man sighed as Ryoka raised her voice. Ryoka was ready to dash back to Riverfarm; it wasn’t far at all. What she wasn’t expecting was to see a flicker from the tree—and for a woman wearing [Hunter]’s clothing to step out from behind a tree and shoot Ryoka through the chest.

The second [Hunter] lowered a wand as the first lowered his hands, cursed, and sighed. Ryoka landed on her back, a scream caught in her mouth—

Not bleeding. Not dead. A wand had struck her. Hit her and…paralyzed her?

Not killed her? The first was speaking to the second.

“That’s torn it. She’s an associate of the local [Emperor].”

“Yes, well, we couldn’t have her warn the [Witches], could we? What’s the call? Interrogation or disposal?”

Help! Help! Ryoka was trying to move, but her entire body was locked up; she could only breathe and roll her eyes around. Then she saw a third figure riding their way with two more horses.

“Orders, sir?”

There were more of them! The first [Hunter] looked annoyed. He glanced at Ryoka.

“[Witches] have tracking Skills, and I don’t like the rumors about the [Emperor]. Disposal. Make it look like birds pecked her to death. No, wait. Hang her by string as well.”

They were going to frame the [Witches]? Wind began to blow around Ryoka, but she couldn’t see the [Hunters] fully, and one of them sounded amused.

“I think she’s using her wind powers on us.”

“Be more professional. Get it done.”

“Sorry, sir.”

The third one aimed a crossbow at her without a word and fired.

Thunk.

The pull of the crossbow was loud. The [Hunter] with the strange smile glanced over and frowned. The crossbow bolt had landed wide of Ryoka’s head by an inch. He addressed the third member of his group.

“Skill?”

“No. The wind yanked my crossbow left.”

“Interesting.”

The second [Hunter] casually lifted her crossbow. The wind yanked her hand as her finger tightened on the trigger, and she steadied it. Ryoka stared at the woman. Something was off with all three of them. Her smile? Why her sm—

The woman pulled the trigger, and her crossbow exploded. The string holding the bolt snapped across her arm, so hard it tore at the leather, and she recoiled with an oath. There was a loud pinging sound, and the woman cursed.

“Another Skill? Her dossier says she doesn’t have any—”

“No. That was a curse. Finish the Runner and take evasive action! Regroup at rally point!”

Their leader shouted. He was staring at something hanging from his wrist; a glowing oval of stone. He whirled, lifting a crossbow.

This one exploded as well. And with it, something wet splashed over Ryoka.

Suddenly, Ryoka realized she could move. She tried to get up and saw one of the fake [Hunters] charging at her with a sword.

“Ryoka!”

A high-pitched, young voice screamed. Ryoka recognized it. Was that—Nanette? She saw the [Hunter] open his mouth, glance sideways—and a quarterstaff clipped him so hard he went sprawling.

Witch Califor rode past the man, staff in one hand, and a handful of leaves of all things in the other. She tossed the leaves into the air as she snapped at Ryoka.

“Run to Nanette!”

Ryoka scrambled to her feet as the trio of fake [Hunters] dove out of the way of Califor. She rode in a tight circle, striking left and right with the staff.

“Witch! Kill the Runner and—”

Their crossbows had all snapped to pieces, but the three were armed with swords, and they had another trick up their sleeves. One charged at Ryoka, slashing, as Ryoka saw Nanette waving her arms frantically. Ryoka ran backwards, and the cursing [Hunter] was slower than her. But the woman raised her wand instead of the crossbow and—

Shot fire?

A scorching jet of flames escaped the wand and nearly cooked Ryoka. The Wind Runner threw herself sideways, screaming as flames burnt her back, grabbing for a healing potion. Another [Hunter] shot fumes of green-black gas at Califor, who rode away from it instantly.

Poison? What the hell! They were using wands! Was that standard equipment? The female [Hunter] went to track Ryoka—then she coughed and gagged. The flames went out.

As she the [Hunter] had gone to inhale…a leaf had flown into her mouth and gone straight down her windpipe.

That wasn’t an accident. The air was suddenly full of leaves. They were blowing from the dry trees, a storm of thousands, obscuring vision and giving Ryoka a chance to run for it.

“Miss Ryoka! Miss Ryoka! Are you alright?”

Nanette rode towards her as Ryoka got out of the leaf-storm Califor had conjured. Ryoka turned back. Nanette had returned! She was on her pony, travel-worn and terrified. Ryoka spun.

“Califor! Get out of there! Nanette! We have to get Beniar!”

It was three against one, and they were three dangerous fake [Hunters] too. Califor’s leafstorm and charge had startled them, but they had too many strange abilities.

The flailing figures avoiding the [Witch] jumped onto horseback and scattered.

Two shot flames from their wands at Califor riding at them, and the last shot another cloud of gas—then pulled out an object and chucked it down.

Ryoka had seen flasks made by [Alchemists] that exploded—but the detonation of whatever this fake [Hunter] had thrown created a fiery orb of destruction fifteen feet wide.

“Califor!”

Ryoka shouted in horror. Nanette screamed—and the [Witch] emerged from the explosion mid-detonation. Her horse was screaming and trailing smoke, but Califor was just grim-faced. She had a knife in her hand, and as Ryoka watched, she cut the flames in half.

“Holy fuck!”

Ryoka scrambled for a weapon as the three [Hunters] recoiled. They were clearly wavering between retreat or attack; it was Ryoka they wanted. One tossed something at Ryoka, and a glint became a glass orb filled with a very bright, yellow liquid—

Ryoka grabbed Nanette and tried to drag her behind the girl’s pony. Califor shouted.

“Nanette, Ryoka—stay there!”

The [Witch] came to a halt as Ryoka slammed into the ground and covered Nanette’s head. The girl was shielding her own face, but the explosion or whatever that orb did never came. When they peeked up—Califor was holding the glass orb, inspecting the contents. At this, the fake [Hunters] clearly decided they were outmatched. They broke, each riding in a separate direction. Ryoka saw Califor glance at Nanette. Then, when she turned, Ryoka covered Nanette’s eyes.

She hadn’t seen Witch Califor angry before. The [Witch] leapt from her saddle, landed on the ground, planted the staff in the earth and let go of it. The staff remained fully upright, and Califor spoke to it.

“Grow a second.”

She plucked something from the ground as she stooped. Califor produced a piece of string, wound it to the glass orb, and flicked it.

“Return.”

Finally, she clapped her hands. Three quick gestures—Ryoka stared at Califor as the [Witch]’s head rose to regard the three fleeing figures.

Each one was heading in a different direction. One was riding into the forest bordering Riverfarm, already vanishing from sight, another shooting north, and the last heading south along Riverfarm proper.

The one going through the forest juked left as something shot out of the foliage and tried to hit them. They twisted right—and a tree, an actual tree, exploded around the rider and horse.

The growth of the tree was so fast and violent Ryoka could only imagine it was like being punched by a hundred branches at once. The figure went down; the second, speeding north, was also juking wildly. But the glass orb—Ryoka saw a flash, then an explosion that blinded her for a second.

As for the last? The figure riding southwards suffered neither the returning orb nor the wrath of trees. They just kept going until something hit them.

The wind. Ryoka felt the thunderclap of air blast the final figure, and they dropped like a stone off their horse, who ran for it. The Wind Runner stared at Califor as the [Witch] lifted her staff, ripping it out of the ground, and saw it had begun growing roots!

“Nanette. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Witch Califor! What happened?”

Nanette fought Ryoka’s hands off, and the Wind Runner stood. Califor was in the center of a sea of fallen leaves, leaning on her staff, grimacing. As if nothing had happened. Nanette stared about.

“Where did the [Hunters] go? Miss Griffin! Are you alright?”

She turned to Ryoka, and the Wind Runner caught Califor’s warning gaze. The [Witch] glanced towards Riverfarm.

“First, we reach the village. Then we investigate. To the horses, now.”

——

They lost about six minutes riding to Riverfarm, where Ryoka’s shouting had Beniar and his [Riders] in their saddles and chasing after them. Califor deposited Nanette almost on top of Eloise and Hedag.

“Keep her safe. Mavika, there are three of them. [Hunters], it seemed, but ones ready to kill rather than talk. There’s one in the forest that way. Beniar, take your riders north; I am after the one that might still be alive.”

The one she’d windclapped. Ryoka actually raced after Califor, but when they reached the spot where the third [Hunter] had been, all they found was…

——

“Hmm. Ash. We took too long.”

Not just the one Califor had incinerated with the orb; the second [Hunter] was nothing but ash when Califor found the body. Or rather, the remains.

“What? But you just hit him off his horse.”

Ryoka wiped at her brow, feeling at her knee and praying the potion had reversed the damage. Califor bent over a scattering of black soot; all the evidence of the [Hunter].

“Yes. I meant to take this one alive. He fell—here. Then he must have realized I would catch him. My guess is that he killed himself to avoid being taken prisoner. Odd, for a Hunter of Noelictus to do, but if he didn’t wish to be traced back to Noelictus…”

She trailed off, tapping her foot and frowning. Ryoka was still in shock.

“You saved my life. You came back just in time!”

“Or too late. I heard from one of Mavika’s crows about Rehanna and cut short my trip with Nanette. Too late for Rehanna. Too late to take one of these strangers alive. And the last is…fled.”

One of Mavika’s crows was circling the air, and Ryoka heard the screaming.

“Got away! Got away! No body! Hunting!”

Califor sighed.

“That must have been their leader. Higher-level. I thought I’d broken every bone in his body. I only wonder…”

“Wonder what?”

Ryoka was shaken from the experience, but Califor looked troubled almost as much. The [Witch] responded absently.

“[Witch Hunters], [Undead Hunters], and [Demon Hunters] make up three of the kinds of Hunter that Noelictus produces. But they hunt more regular monsters than my kind. It’s rare they’d be so aggressive or attack bystanders like you. These ones carried a lot of magic. Perhaps too much, but then again, if they were sent to deal with us or her…I can only wonder what Belavierr did to Noelictus. Many [Hunters] I have met were downright reasonable.”

“These weren’t. They were going to kill me!”

Califor nodded, checking Ryoka over. The Wind Runner was profusely thanking her when Ryoka saw a dust cloud as Beniar’s [Riders] headed their way. Explanations would be needed, and Califor was glancing at Ryoka and the village. But for this one moment…Ryoka felt like she’d found another piece of a puzzle.

A [Witch Hunter]. Trying to rabble-rouse or tell people about Belavierr. Also gathering information. Why? To stir up trouble?

Or because he was waiting for something? That certainty bothered Ryoka. What was he waiting for? She had almost died, but she was grateful for Witch Califor’s return. Ryoka only hoped that it spelled better news for the village. Rehanna, the fake [Hunters]—

It felt like a kind of chaos even Ryoka didn’t always bring. Swirling around the actions of one person who’d drawn all this trouble here.

Belavierr.

Day 60 – Durene

Telling Laken about all the trouble in Riverfarm, from Rehanna to the strangers Ryoka had met, made Durene feel better. But he didn’t have a magical solution to everything. The reply from Laken was simple. Durene squinted at it over Prost’s shoulder, trying to put the words he was reading to the page.

…Regarding Ryoka’s attackers, I could not find these ‘[Witch Hunters]’ anywhere. Continue patrols, but they may have evaded my sight. Keep vigilant.

Let no one strike a deal with Witch Belavierr. But do not try her yet. Collect evidence for a trial, which I will preside over. If this coven is to be trusted, see what they do when no bargains are struck. And give Rehanna every kindness. Do not take the baby away. Leave her be.

–[Emperor] Laken Godart

Just that. And it didn’t exactly fill Durene with confidence. But it was something. And Prost set out to fulfill Laken’s orders the instant he received them.

“Witch Belavierr!”

A group of men and women, Beycalt, Ram, and Beniar and his [Riders] among them, followed Prost as he confronted the [Witch] in the street. Belavierr was walking. Slowly walking down the street.

It was an ordinary thing, and obviously everyone did it. But Durene shuddered to see Belavierr even do that as she stood behind Prost. After last night, she couldn’t help but suspect even that innocuous action of some dark meaning. Belavierr didn’t turn as Prost strode towards her. The [Steward] called out again.

“Witch Belavierr! By order of His Majesty, Laken Godart, no one in Riverfarm is to strike a deal with you! Until His Majesty arrives, you are to refrain from attempting to bargain with anyone in the Unseen Empire! Is that clear?”

He hurled the last words at full-volume at Belavierr, barely ten feet from her. Not once did the [Witch] turn her head.

“Witch Belavierr! Do you hear me?”

She walked right past him. Prost’s voice gave out for a second. He faltered, staring as she continued down the street. Then he whirled.

Two of the [Witches] were gathered, inspecting a chess board. Eloise and Alevica. The older [Witch] and the Witch Runner were playing, much to [Carpenter] Jelov’s displeasure. But he’d retreated into his open-air studio rather than confront the two. Prost strode over, and Eloise looked up. She regarded him and the small crowd of Riverfarm’s authority behind him.

“Witch Eloise. I have a message from Emperor Godart—”

“I heard, Steward Prost.”

“Witch Belavierr does not appear to have heard me. Will she heed Emperor Laken’s request? If she refuses, we shall have to…”

Prost’s voice trailed off. And Durene wasn’t certain herself of what Prost would do. She’d been eying Belavierr. The woman was tall, but Durene was still taller and a lot bigger. She could surely grab Belavierr and restrain her. But somehow, Durene’s image of that scene never quite seemed to work in her head. Eloise shook her head in reply to Prost’s question.

“She may not have heard you, Steward Prost. But we shall attempt to remind her if she attempts to practice her craft again. That I may promise you.”

“Didn’t hear—”

Ram made a strangled noise. Eloise looked at him and adjusted her hat.

“That is who she is, I’m afraid. And I thank your [Emperor] for his considered response. We will attempt to honor his request.”

Attempt to honor. Even Durene knew that wasn’t a promise. But what could be done?

It was beyond clear that there hadn’t been a real hope of controlling Belavierr via this coven. She had arrived. The fact that she had arrived was an unexpected development for the coven’s plans, for Riverfarm…the other [Witches] were like leaves trying to stop a storm.

Yet for points Belavierr lost, and it was an avalanche of them, the other [Witches] did make up some with their actions. Califor had won praise for apparently reaching three other settlements in her ride before coming back here.

Her defense of Ryoka? Less praise. Few people would admit to having met the ‘[Witch Hunters]’, or that they’d believed what they said about [Witches] in general and Belavierr specifically. There was the faintest suspicion, even after Ryoka’s account, that Califor had attacked innocent people. Or, since there were no bodies, she’d made the entire thing up.

What was clear was that the coven was no closer to their goal of winning Riverfarm over than they had been. Laken? Well, only he could say how he felt.

Annoyed, Prost dismissed the crowd. Which left Durene to look for her house-guests as the sun set.

She’d been watering the fields all day. Some of the [Farmers] had been used to irrigation, but the newly-planted fields didn’t have that yet. It wasn’t too hard to draw water from the river, and in truth, the crops would have survived longer without rain—it was just that to grow them quickly, you wanted a lot of water. Which meant even Durene’s arms hurt from hauling wheelbarrows of water from the river.

That was what she had occupied herself with, and Charlay had actually pitched in! The Centauress had dragged water over to the [Farmers] and only stolen a few handfuls of wheat to snack on. On the other hand, Wiskeria and Ryoka had refrained from helping and instead gone off on their own ways. Durene had no idea what they’d done all day. But she found both at her cottage when she returned with food for a meal.

Ryoka was sitting in Durene’s cottage, staring at a wall. Frostwing was pecking at a handful of nuts. Wiskeria was in her tent. Durene hesitated, but decided to see Ryoka first.

“Ahem. Hi. I brought dinner.”

Durene hefted the basket as she came in. Ryoka turned. Durene was alone; Charlay had stayed in Riverfarm to eat food before coming back to the cottage for a second dinner. Ryoka blinked at the half-Troll girl.

“Durene.”

“Ryoka.”

The two regarded each other. After their last conversation where Ryoka had told Durene she couldn’t help Durene, the two hadn’t really spoken. But, strangely, after the [Bandits] and the not-baby, all their earlier tension had vanished. A large crisis was a wonderful unifier. Durene began unpacking her bag, and after a second, Ryoka got up and tried to help.

Tried, because Durene really knew her kitchen better than Ryoka. But the other young woman was determined, and she could peel potatoes—even if her first reaction was to throw away the skins.

“You can eat those, you know.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

The two worked in silence for a moment. Durene was making a cheesy scallop dish, which was really exorbitant, but the first cheeses had been finished, and Prost had given Durene some to take back with some milk. It was going to be a lovely feast, and one Durene felt was needed. She was concentrating on that, but she knew Ryoka was deep in thought. The City Runner was absently working, her brows drawn. After a while, she spoke.

“Laken told you about my world, didn’t he?”

Durene jumped and sliced her hand with her kitchen knife. Ryoka hissed, but Durene waved her hand.

“It’s alright! Didn’t even get through the first layer of skin!”

“Oh. Right. [Iron Skin], huh? That’s a great Skill.”

“Um. No. Even before I had the Skill, I never cut myself.”

“Really?”

Ryoka looked impressed. Durene smiled. She clenched her hand absently as she got back to work. She could still remember the thump as she hit the [Bandits]. Strange, to be making food now. After a moment, she recalled what Ryoka had said.

“Your world?”

“That’s right. You know about it, right? Laken told you everything?”

Ryoka glanced up. Her brown eyes were searching. Durene paused. Ryoka had hated talking about anything from her world, especially possible inventions. The half-Troll girl nodded at last.

“A bit. Well, he told me lots of stories. I can’t believe most of it, but I know…about airplanes? Cars? Um…electricity and the internet? Guns?”

“Huh. Those are the basics, I guess.”

“Well, he talked about more, but yeah. Why?”

The City Runner was silent as she chopped a potato.

“I went to see Rehanna.”

Durene looked up, missed her potato, and brought the blade down on her fingers. Ryoka stared again. Abashed, Durene cleared her throat.

“Oh. Is she—”

“She’s okay. Actually, she’s pretty good. She was asking for work to do, so I…helped her find more things to do. She’s a [Seamstress]. Did you know that?”

“I didn’t.”

“Well, she’s making clothes. For the…baby.”

“The doll?”

“Her baby. And she’s going to make more for infants and newborns. Which is a good idea, to be honest. They need special clothing. So I got her what she needed.”

“Huh. That’s sort of ironic, her being a [Seamstress] and Belavierr—”

“Yes.”

Silence. Durene kept cutting, although it seemed like Ryoka was edging her hands away from Durene’s knife. After a bit, Ryoka continued.

“So. My world. Has Laken told you about modern medicine?”

“A bit. Just like…you can reattach hands. Or make these medicines—drugs—which aren’t potions, but can cure all kinds of things. But you don’t have potions, so you’re behind in a lot of ways.”

The comment made Ryoka smile, just like it had Laken. She put a few potato slices in the pan as Durene got some firewood out for her stone stove.

“Hm. Yeah, I suppose you could say that. But has he talked about how we deal with sickness other than, uh, physical?”

“No…”

Ryoka nodded. She watched as Durene began to strike her flint and tinder on the kindling. She crouched absently.

“I was thinking about the deal Rehanna made. And the effects.”

“She looks older. Is she going to die soon?”

“What? No. I think she’s about…fifty. And she was in her thirties, maybe. Maybe she’s lost more time, but she should have anywhere from a decade or more. But she will die earlier.”

“Yeah.”

“Even so. Was it a good deal?”

Durene paused as she put her milk and cheese-covered scalloped potatoes over the growing fire.

“What? That doll’s awful! Did you see it?”

Ryoka met her eyes and nodded.

“Yes. I did. And that’s why I’m thinking. Uh, your hand’s in the fire, by the way.”

“Oops.”

Durene put the pan over the hot fire. She’d have to watch the potatoes to make sure the part over the fire didn’t get too hot and burn. She tended to her dish as Ryoka went on.

“We don’t make things like that…doll. But we do prescribe medication for ill people. There are a lot of parallels between what we do in my world and what the [Witches] do. I think that’s what Eloise does, in a way. She’s a therapist. And a pharmacist, if her teas are magical.”

“I have no idea what those are. Are they like [Doctors]? Laken says your world has [Doctors] instead of [Healers].”

“Specialized [Doctors], yeah. But that’s my point. Belavierr—she’s a different sort. She took Rehanna’s life, yes. And her hate. But she gave her…in my world, we have medicines that really change you. Even our painkillers just…take away pain. Morphine. And we prescribe medicine for depression. Not for loss—unless we diagnose it as needing treatment. But medicine, therapy—magic’s different, yet similar, right?”

Durene didn’t know where Ryoka was going with this. But she nodded as she watched the fire and Ryoka out of the corner of her eye. The young woman was pacing.

“You could argue that Belavierr’s just a—a—she’s giving Rehanna a vision of her baby. Is there anything wrong with that?”

“Yep. It’s not real.”

“No—that’s not the problem, Durene. It’s what Rehanna paid. She gave up part of her life. That’s the real problem. Otherwise, what’s the problem with the baby if it had been given freely?”

Durene opened her mouth to protest that the baby was creepy, had given her nightmares—but Ryoka was right. It hadn’t done anything to anyone. Except Rehanna.

“Isn’t what it’s doing to Rehanna bad?”

“What? Making her happy? I was thinking about that. It’s a mental crutch. She’s dependent on that, and anyone could tell you that’s unhealthy. But—”

She shook her head.

“The main problem is what Belavierr took from Rehanna. She thought it was fair. But she wasn’t in her right mind when she made that deal. Again, not everyone is. If we fault Rehanna for making a deal while she’s grieving, what about someone who…drinks when they’re depressed, or if they’ve just lost a friend? A wife? They have a right to do what they want to themselves. If they endanger themselves, that’s another thing, but is this wrong? Rehanna’s harmed herself. But then again—”

Ryoka had never talked this much in Durene’s presence. Ever. The half-Troll girl said as much as she carefully checked her baking scallops, all without gloves. Ryoka smiled bitterly.

“I’m a regular chatterbox when it comes to debates or issues like this. Moral ones, I mean. I’m just trying to work out whether it’s right or not. Objectively. Is the baby good for Rehanna if you take out the cost of the deal?”

“It looks wrong, Ryoka. How can you look at that and be okay?”

Durene objected as she found a spoon. She directed Ryoka to a cupboard with plates. Ryoka sighed as she set four. She looked back.

“Have you looked at Rehanna’s face, Durene? Today, I mean.”

“No. I didn’t even see her once.”

“Not everyone did. But they’re not locking her up in her house. I visited her, Durene. She’s smiling. She’s happy. Genuinely. This isn’t her being high on a drug or delusional. She got mad when I annoyed her, and she’s not delirious. But she is happy. How is that wrong?”

Durene had no answer. Silently, she put the scallops on a table. Charlay was trotting towards the cottage, but she’d stopped to get Wiskeria out of her tent. Bismarck was staring through the kitchen window as Frostwing choked on a nut and then spat it out. Ryoka sighed.

“I don’t think it was a good decision, what Rehanna did. If I were in her place, I would never do it. But I’m not a mother. I haven’t lost a husband. Part of me—most of me—says that regardless of what she thinks, that there’s a cost beyond Rehanna cutting her life by twenty years or in half or whatever she did. But what if there’s not? What if it really is fair? In that case, why not take it?”

She leaned on the table, staring at the scallops as if they were a gateway to the soul. Durene silently checked to see if she had any alcohol. She did not. Ryoka sighed.

“I want to believe we can’t run away from our problems, can’t rely on things or use magic to…escape. Back home, I relied on coffee to get up. I needed my medication, or I had a bad day. I…relied on my parents’ money. On the government and laws that surrounded me. I leaned on all these things. If I could have something that made me happy—would I pay ten years of my life? Twenty? What about just one?”

“Hey, Ryoka! Hey, Durene! Ooh! Are those cheesy potatoes! I’m not a fan of cheese.”

Charlay trotted into the cottage, practically dragging in Wiskeria behind her. Ryoka didn’t look up from the table.

“If you could be happy whenever you wanted, Durene, would you give up ten minutes of your lifespan? If the answer’s yes, isn’t giving up more for less or anything else just…haggling? Do we have a right to condemn Rehanna for her decision to choose happiness? If she were permanently sick and decided to trade half her lifespan for being well for the rest of her shorter life, would we fault her? Can we blame her for wanting to see her child again? What right do we have to choose for her? Or judge her?”

They stared at her, Centaur, half-Troll, [Witch], Mossbear, and blue bird. Charlay silently opened the door and trotted out.

“Bathroom! Tell me when she’s normal.”

“I don’t think there are good answers, Ryoka. Nice potatoes, Durene. But I know that I can’t forgive my mother for what she does. Maybe Rehanna’s happy. But my mother still stole her life. She does that.”

Wiskeria answered as she sat down quietly. Ryoka glanced at her. And then she sat down across from Wiskeria. She shook her head, and Durene closed the door in Bismarck’s face.

“Your mother preyed on Rehanna in a moment of weakness, Wiskeria. That’s true. But she also gave Rehanna something. If she asked for one year, could you live with that?”

Wiskeria had been relaxing; now, she clenched a fork in one hand and spoke slowly. A note of real vexation entered her tone as she met Ryoka’s gaze.

“You don’t know what she does. This is the least of what she’s capable of. I appreciate your philosophy, Ryoka. I don’t think it’s needed right now.”

She stared at Ryoka, her eyes flashing. The City Runner did not look away.

“I’m just asking if, in this case, it was at all reasonable from her perspective—”

“Reasonable?”

Wiskeria slammed one hand on the table. Durene nervously tried to put a plate down.

“Um—let’s have some potatoes, everyone. Ryoka, we can talk about this later—”

Too late. The [Witch] was on her feet in a rare show of anger, and Ryoka was raising her hands.

“I’m not saying it’s good—”

“You think you can moralize with my mother? With the Witch of Webs? ‘Reasonable, says the louse to the spider!’ You’ve seen one of her smallest works, that took her five seconds to make, and you just found some grand, philosophical argument to resolve? She gave Rehanna’s deal less attention than you would to scratch an itch! Enough.”

Ryoka colored as Wiskeria sneered at her.

“But she did help Rehanna. Wiskeria, I’m just trying to figure her out.”

“She made a deal. No more, no less. I know you like to think you know all, Ryoka—don’t try to figure my mother out. You don’t know her. You don’t know her stories.”

Wiskeria whirled away to help Durene with the cooking, and Ryoka snapped back. She’d recently been nearly killed by those [Witch Hunters], and she had a temper, Durene knew.

“Oh, and you’re so sure she’s completely crazy and unchangeable? Have you actually, seriously talked to her? Because I haven’t seen you talk to your mother!”

“We have nothing to talk about.”

“What about Rehanna?”

The blue-haired [Witch] closed her eyes.

“Why would I talk to the end product of something I have seen too many times? Talk to my mother. Hello, table. How are you doing?”

Wiskeria stared sarcastically down at the table. She stood there as Durene nervously put the potatoes on a plate. The steaming scalloped potatoes grew colder. Wiskeria’s glare could have burnt them to a crisp. Ryoka cleared her throat after a few seconds.

“Listen, I know it’s pers—”

“Shut up! If I speak to this table long enough, it will probably answer, even if it takes an age for it to regrow into a tree, then a Dryad. I will enjoy that. More than my mother.”

“I’m trying to help, Wiskeria. I just think you’re being unreasonable. And I can tell; I’m often unreasonable too.”

“Yes. You are.”

Wiskeria met Ryoka’s eyes, and the Wind Runner exhaled, then glowered over the table at her.

The door cracked open, and Charlay peeked in.

“Um. Everything okay?”

“Yes.”

Ryoka and Wiskeria glared at the Centauress. Durene decided to start ladling food out before someone threw a dish.

The dinner was silent. Wiskeria, not exactly happy beforehand, looked angry and distraught. Ryoka was still thinking. Twice, she tried to keep talking, and Durene interjected with a loud joke, or Charlay decided to regale everyone with one of her famous runs. Wiskeria and Ryoka just stared at each other.

It wasn’t even as if Ryoka had been angry at Wiskeria. But—who was right and who was wrong? As Durene let Frostwing and Bismarck finish off the scraps of scallops, the half-Troll girl had to think that was Ryoka summed up. Someone had to be right and wrong. And Ryoka was thinking about Rehanna. She had visited her. Where the others shuddered and drew away, Ryoka looked at the crying child made of cloth. And at Belavierr. She did not draw away.

That night, Durene was exhausted. She still hadn’t caught up on sleep since the…baby. So she retired early, and everyone was tired enough to join her. Wiskeria left the cottage, and Ryoka and Charlay bedded down with Durene.

The three bodies made the cottage smaller and warm. But it was still comfortable. Durene lay in her kitchen, staring at the ceiling. She was ready to drop off and get some good sleep. Tomorrow would…well, tomorrow would be different. Hopefully. But as she was closing her eyes, wondering if she’d level as a [Farmer], Durene heard Ryoka’s voice.

“If you could give up a toe, an arm, fingers, or years of your life, gold—anything, Durene. If you could give it up and be Human or change how you looked. Who you were. Would you do it? Is that worse than Rehanna?”

Durene’s eyes shot open. She stared at the ceiling. Then she sat up. Ryoka was sitting up in bed, head in her hands. The half-Troll stared at her. Then she reached behind her. She threw her pillow at Ryoka as hard as she could and lay back down.

Ryoka did too after a moment. She had never known that feathers could hurt that much.

Night 60 – Wiskeria

The [Witch] did not go back to her tent immediately. She stared at the cottage for a long time. And her stomach churned despite Durene’s cooking actually being good. But Wiskeria hadn’t tasted much of it. Ryoka’s words had bothered her too much.

The pretentiousness of someone to lecture Wiskeria on talking to her mother! The worst part was that it stuck a bit because there was truth in the statement. Even if it was an idiot’s point…it was a point.

It felt, to Wiskeria, like when she had observed someone locked out of their home in a city, trying the doorknob as they felt for their pockets, looking for a key, figuring out what to do. They kept rattling the doorknob as if expecting it to unlock. Hoping it might.

Now…she understood how they felt.

So Wiskeria walked into Riverfarm. The journey from Durene’s cottage was silent. Few people were about on the streets. Two of the Darksky Riders passed her, doing sweeps, but they saw her clearly in the darkness and only greeted her quietly.

Wiskeria knew where Rehanna’s house was. A light still burned in the window. And another Darksky Rider had been posted outside the door. The man let Wiskeria in after a moment’s conversation. She had been a [General].

But it was a [Witch] and a daughter who went to see Rehanna. Wiskeria paused when she came in through the doorway.

The woman was…working. Quietly, humming to herself. She had some cloth spread out on the table, and she was neatly pinning sections together, ready for sewing. She was making something small. Very carefully creating…Wiskeria’s heart twisted.

“Baby clothes?”

Rehanna looked up. Wiskeria braced, but the woman’s face lit up. She stood.

“Miss Wiskeria! What brings you here?”

She curtseyed. That was the worst part. Part of Wiskeria wanted to run. Just seeing Rehanna’s graying hair, the way she was slightly stiff as she tried to offer Wiskeria a chair—all of it hurt. She shouldn’t have come here, no matter what Ryoka had said.

Then Rehanna surprised her. The woman smiled as she pointed back towards her room.

“I would offer you tea, but he’s sleeping. How can I help you? Or are you checking up on me like the rest?”

She smiled as she went back to pinning the clothes together. Wiskeria stared at them, at the needles and thread. Then she looked at the woman.

“The—your baby’s sleeping?”

She’d meant to say the doll, because that was what it was. But she couldn’t. Not in front of Rehanna. The woman nodded.

“Mihka. That’s a name my husband and I came up with together. He’s Mihka. The very same. I don’t know how Lady Belavierr did it.”

She used your memories. Wove them like a thread into the baby. You’re making him as much as her magic. Wiskeria bit her lip. She paused.

“I—I just came to see you, Rehanna.”

“I’m glad you did. I wanted to apologize for how I have behaved.”

“No—you have every reason.”

The woman paused.

“I might. I was angry at you for being a [General]. For not being punished. But I still attacked you for doing what you did. I regret it now, because it was senseless. I ruined friendships. I hope I can mend them. And I am so grateful to your mother.”

“Don’t say that. Please.”

The [Witch]’s head sank. She tugged her hat lower, as if it could hide reality. Rehanna looked surprised.

“But she’s done me such a favor. I only wish you could see it. You, Mister Prost, and the others. I understand you fear Mihka, but he’s no threat to anyone. You mustn’t take him. I couldn’t bear it again, Miss Wiskeria. Tell the others. Please.”

She looked at Wiskeria, and there was a bright sincerity, a pleading in her eyes. The [Witch] hesitated. She looked at the table, at the cloth, the baby’s clothes.

“Are you happy, Rehanna? After making the deal?”

“Can’t you tell? I actually want to work. And I’m happy. Actually happy. I didn’t think I’d ever be happy again. Not after Mihka—and then the news from Lancrel.”

The woman smiled. She was teary-eyed. Wiskeria clenched her hands.

“But Rehanna. I—no, I have to say this. The baby. Your Mihka. He won’t ever grow up. You understand that, right? He’ll always be a baby. And your life—”

Rehanna took Wiskeria’s clenched fist and put her own hands on it. She was frail, now. The vigor of a younger woman—and she had been younger, still with decades to go before this point—

It was gone. Wiskeria saw time pressing down on Rehanna, so hard that the woman had to feel it and suffer. But even now? Her smile was so bright it was painful. Happiness…Wiskeria saw it in Rehanna, painful, paid for at a great price, but there. To Rehanna, purely genuine.

“My life’s shorter now. I know that. I know that too. She told me all of it. Mihka won’t grow, and I’m close to my grave, if sickness or accidents or monsters don’t take me first. And that’s fine. I’m still eternally grateful for what she did.”

Rehanna looked at Wiskeria. The [Witch] paused.

“Then—why the clothing? He’ll never wear it!”

The clothing Rehanna was making was too large. It was for an older child, one that needed more than swaddling. Rehanna shook her head, smiling.

“It’s not for Mihka. It’s for another child. I don’t know who. But more than a few women are pregnant, and children will need clothing. I can make that for them. That’s what I can do. I think I’ll be happy. No—I am happy already.”

“But it’s an illusion. A spell. It’s not real, Rehanna. That baby isn’t—”

Rehanna stopped her. The woman shook her head. Now, her bright eyes started to overflow.

“I know that. Do you think I don’t? Lady Belavierr showed me what she would make. But I said yes. Because when I held him, he turned into Mihka. The same baby from my dreams. The exact same. And I think my man—I couldn’t pay the second price. I wouldn’t. But sometimes I can hear him, or I feel him. Lady Belavierr did that for me. And more. The baby’s more than just a…fake thing, Wiskeria.”

Tears ran down her cheeks. Rehanna placed a hand on her chest.

“Wiskeria. It doesn’t hurt anymore. Don’t you understand? Do you know how angry I was? How sad and angry and—have you ever felt that way? So much so that you could die?”

Of course. Wiskeria nodded.

“Your mother took that pain away. It won’t come back. For that, I’d have paid almost anything. And I did. She told me she wanted a fair deal. And it was fair. For me, more than fair. I know you might think of me as a fool. But I am happy. Please. Let me be happy.”

“And you will be?”

The woman gave her a tearful smile as she dabbed at her eyes.

“I think I will be. I made a choice, and Mihka will help me no matter what comes. It’s better this way, Wiskeria. It truly is. Thank you for coming, but I must be abed if I want to work tomorrow.”

She politely but firmly showed Wiskeria to the door. It was only after she’d closed and bolted it that Wiskeria realized Rehanna had kicked her out. The [Witch] stared at the closed door.

There was some of Rehanna there. Even happy as she was. But how much? How much was there, and how much had Belavierr torn away? There was no answer. But the second question Ryoka had asked Wiskeria burned in her mind. So she turned as the light in Rehanna’s house winked out.

Wiskeria stomped into the street, foul of mood. She began to curse as she walked ahead. Few people were even awake this late at night, but one group, having been drinking late after working ‘hard’ all day, saw Wiskeria as she stalked away from Rehanna’s house.

“Damn you, Ryoka Griffin. Damn your fickle words and philosophy half-baked for a scene you saw play out, as if it were the truth to every piece of her and me.”

Councilwoman Beatica was never one to run from a fight, you had to give it to her. She and a gaggle of her Lancrel cronies spotted Wiskeria and were about to accost her…until they heard Wiskeria’s ranting. Well, almost a chant now.

“A curse on you, Griffin, who sees a pebble and says she knows the mountain whole. I curse you by moon-filled nights, twice over by each moon, thrice by fake [Hunters] and ill-deeds and iller-conceived plans. I curse your false pretenses, as Lesegoth before the fall. I curse your haughty attitude and arrogance.”

Wiskeria hadn’t cursed like this since she was small, before she knew what it meant to curse someone. She hadn’t done a blood sacrifice or invoked a name of power; she wasn’t even in a ritual place. Councilwoman Beatica opened her mouth—then saw shadows twisting around Wiskeria’s boots.

Bile dripping from Wiskeria’s mouth. Beatica pressed herself against a house, eyes wide, as Wiskeria continued.

“—curse you from the Kingdom of Shades and grave soil and each and every grief my mother’s caused. I curse you by her victims, you feckless, windblown shit. I curse you to rue the day you take your knowledge as gospel and curse you to regret your arrogance in preaching your pathetic truth. One day, you shall defend monsters like and kin to my mother, if any could ever be worse than she. Let there be no peace between you and others till you humble yourself off your highest horse or it kicks you into the dirt.”

She savagely kicked a piece of dirt to end her cursing. It was, perhaps, the least-effective curse the world had ever seen, but it made Wiskeria feel better. Ryoka Griffin had no idea, none, why Wiskeria had cut ties with her mother. She thought Rehanna was debatable? Maybe it was.

Maybe it was. If all Belavierr did was steal age for pained happiness, she would be a fine mother. The best. Wiskeria closed her eyes.

At least Rehanna was happy. How many others could say that after they got what Belavierr offered? Ryoka had no idea, which was only partially her fault.

Wiskeria could have told her the entire story, but why should she? The [Witch] stood there, thinking back to the girl who had once thought much like Ryoka. Then she wearily decided to try the doorknob one more time.

Partly so she could just rub it in Ryoka’s face.

—–

Wiskeria didn’t know where her mother was. Or if she even had a house to sleep in. Wiskeria doubted it, but she didn’t need to ask. All she had to do was lift her hat off her head and toss it.

It was a dark blue hat. Not as dark as Belavierr’s own clothing, which could be black if you had no eye for the color. But dark blue. A simple hat, meant for a [Witch], with minimal flair. And that was what Wiskeria had wanted. But the hands that had sewn it had not been simple. They had mimicked unoriginality so well that sometimes Wiskeria forgot.

But the [Fireball] that had nearly killed her had reminded her. Where her clothes had burnt away to protect her as part of Belavierr’s charm, the hat had remained.

And it had one other trick. One other element, besides the fact that it had grown with Wiskeria since she was six to always fit her head. A long time ago, a humble [Stitch Witch] who worked across no-name villages in Terandria had sewn something for her daughter. For the tearful child who was afraid of being lost and not finding her mother, who could be forgetful. Ever since that day, Wiskeria had never been lost again.

So for the first time in eight years, Wiskeria lifted her hat and tossed it up. And the hat flew. It caught a breeze, and Wiskeria cursed and chased after it as it was blown across the street. She ran after it, her replacement robe catching the same dry wind.

The hat tumbled down onto the street and around a corner. Wiskeria ran after it, her legs burning, cursing as the hat eluded her time and time again, blown by the infuriating breeze. At last it stopped, and the [Witch] snatched at it, picked it up, and glared at it. Then she put it on her head and looked around.

The street was gone. So was Riverfarm. Wiskeria’s legs hurt, and she was breathless. She realized—in that way memory has of catching up—that she’d been running for seventeen minutes, almost. Quite some distance. But she was where she needed to be, because here was a slight hill. Beyond it, the two moons rose, one waxing, the other waning. Sitting under a tree, her wide hat lowered, her knees partially stretched out, was Belavierr.

Wiskeria caught her breath as she saw her mother. Belavierr’s clothing was as dark as the night. Her head bowed. Her huge hat covered all but the bottom of her face. But one hand was extended. It held something. And the midnight stallion, a giant of his kind, bent and ate from the palm.

Even this was uncanny. Because the stallion made no sound. Nor was what he ate food. Wiskeria was almost certain he was the same horse that had used to carry her about. The same one that had never been bothered when she’d pulled at his ears and had carried her and her mother about the village. And hadn’t it been a surprise when Wiskeria had ridden her first horse who objected to ear-pulling instead of taking it as a sign of affection?

This one was dark. Larger than the horse in her memory as a child, but her mother could have altered him. Wiskeria was almost positive the horse was a thing of cloth. Or if it had been alive, she had stitched him together. He didn’t look up as Wiskeria walked forwards. Nor did Belavierr. Few things could attract Belavierr’s attention.

Even at the end, when the mob had chased them away, Wiskeria remembered it. Screaming for her mother to run, reaching back from the horse’s back, looking behind at the villagers burning their cottage, the child Belavierr had made as the father shouted and strained in the arms of the people who held them—even then, Belavierr’s gaze had been distant, absent as she walked away. She had only looked up when she heard Wiskeria cry and seen the tears. And then—

“Belavierr. Witch Belavierr.”

The hat didn’t rise. The hand didn’t move. Belavierr was still, like a statue—no, a tapestry. Because the wind still moved her dress. The horse still pretended to breathe. It was a scene. And as Wiskeria drew closer, she saw what Belavierr was doing.

As she gave her horse the loose thread it was eating like a snack, her other hand was held out, dangling something in front of Belavierr’s bowed head. She was inspecting something. A bit of thread, tied up in a complex fashion, but still just a single unbroken thread.

Wiskeria recognized it. One of her mother’s ward-spells. She had no idea how powerful it could be. Normally, she’d want to make a spell or ward out of strong emotion and magic. Conventional artifacts of great power, for instance, were never made of pot metal or clay because those were weak materials. Of course, you could make a very specifically powerful wooden enchanted sword, but material mattered.

Unfortunately, Belavierr’s craft was such that logic stopped applying to her abilities. Grand magic could turn even weak thread into powerful tools. It was probably a thread made from a Griffin’s mane or something, anyways.

It was also trembling. Wiskeria paused. That usually meant the magic was being used. She didn’t know what this ward spell did. Perhaps it had stopped some bird droppings from landing on her mother’s hat? Or…it had done something else.

It was just more of the same. Wiskeria squared her shoulders. She had come here for a reason. And she should have done this long ago. Ryoka was infuriating, but she was also right.

“Mother.”

The head rose, and Wiskeria felt a bitter pleasure. She had loved, in that long ago, that only one word and one voice could ever make Belavierr react consistently. But now she looked down and saw that ringed gaze, the orange, luminescent eyes, and she saw…

“Daughter. Do you need something of me?”

Belavierr stood in one motion. She looked down at her daughter, and Wiskeria stared up at her. And just like that…it was like she was a child again.

Without hesitation, despite her task or work—Belavierr stopped and put aside her craft for only one being ever. Her daughter.

It used to make Wiskeria feel so special. Even now, she understood what it meant.

Do you need something of me? Ask and you shall receive. Wiskeria was tempted to ask for a fish or to see the moon and show Ryoka what such requests meant.

But she didn’t.

She sat, regarding the charm, and Belavierr sat too.

“You’re making a ward.”

“Yes. Many of my magics were shattered. Lost. Burnt away or ripped to shreds. You see?”

Belavierr lifted an arm, and Wiskeria saw it. The same strands of broken fiber, like a spiderweb but infinitely more thin and vast, trailed behind her. Wiskeria’s breath caught.

“So it’s true. How many is…? What did that? An Elder Creler?”

“No. That would not be enough. See, Daughter? I have not been so weak in mortal ages. It will take aeons to rebuild. But I begin with thread by thread. As we must.”

Belavierr went back to working, and Wiskeria could admire that. Kick over a sandcastle and Belavierr would rebuild it grain by grain. If it mattered.

“Who did this? What did? What happened in Noelictus, Mother?”

The Stitch Witch’s lips pursed.

“It is a long story. I do not wish to tell my part of it completely. I shall, if you ask.”

“Is…someone going to tell a famous tale about it? A [Bard]?”

Wiskeria would actually prefer to hear it like that than from her mother, who told complex stories, much like the thread she wove. Belavierr stared at her thread, and Wiskeria saw an actual glower.

“Perhaps. But not in song. I would be displeased by a song.”

Now that…that was interesting. Wiskeria raised her brows.

“Someone bested you with a song?”

Dead silence. Wiskeria crossed her legs. She refused to give Ryoka any credit, but seeing her mother so upset gave her a kind of schadenfreude.

“Mother, I ask you tell me the story in its entirety.”

And because she asked—Belavierr did. The Stitch Witch looked up, sighed as she wove her anger and annoyance into the charm, and began to speak.

“It began when I sensed ghosts.”

“In Noelictus?”

“Yes.”

“What…actual ghosts? You couldn’t ever summon them for me; you said they were hiding from you and something else. You found actual—”

“Daughter. I am trying to explain. It began with ghosts.”

“When was this? Give me a date.”

“After you left.”

“Everything is after I left, Mother. Years? Months? A decade?”

“…After you left, I noticed ghosts.”

“How many?”

——

It was hard to say who grew more exhausted from listening to a story from Belavierr. Wiskeria interrupted constantly, but she had to.

Belavierr had no sense of time, distance, or even…people. When she said ‘I went there’, did she mean she walked a thousand miles, projected herself, or something else? When she said ‘there’, she might mean palaces or forsaken bogs.

Plus, she didn’t know the minutiae, the drama of the Kingdom of Shades, and had mentioned an entire war…and had no details on what had actually happened. Wiskeria was sure there was a better version of the story out there, but she got pieces.

“Alright, so there were ghosts, a [Singer], a lot of angry [Knights] and [Hunters], a war…and they ruined your big plan. The one you were working on when I was a kid. Those stupid Helpful Servants.”

Belavierr paused as Wiskeria summed up what had taken hours in this place away from places to retell.

“My great work.”

“Your stupid Helpful Servants. I never liked them. Even less when I learned who they were. There was a reason you never showed them to me until I was older, Mother.”

Belavierr didn’t dignify this with an answer. She sat, the loop of thread she’d begun now so complex it resembled a creature of its own, which flexed and moved with each new loop. Perhaps it would be alive; Wiskeria could imagine this ward protecting Belavierr from…well, anything.

“And they beat you. I can’t understand how.”

“It was not they who did it. A few were dangerous. But when I strove against them, my magic was shambles, Daughter. I told you: the tale of the others matters little. It was what ate my magic as I worked.”

“As you were distracted. Mice, you called them?”

“Yes.”

Belavierr’s eyes were wrathful. Mice. Something had stolen away with her mother’s power. Whoever they were—Wiskeria didn’t envy them. She got up and paced around.

“So something took a lot of your power, and it allowed your plans to fall to dust. Now, you’re on the run from them, and you chose to come here and bring all this trouble down on the Witches of Izril. And me! And Riverfarm!”

“I wished to see you, Daughter. I have grown more…awake with my protections ruined. I lost much, and I wished to see you.”

Wiskeria turned away. Belavierr might mean it. Or might think she meant it. It didn’t matter. Wiskeria took a huge breath. This was—hard. Hard, but it had been her idea, and so she turned back. There was no point beating around the bush; her mother didn’t care.

“Mother. I need a favor of you. A big one.”

“Of course. Name it, and I will do it if it is within my power.”

Wiskeria nodded. She looked into Belavierr’s eyes, and they were familiar. She didn’t know why people shuddered. If you stared long enough, you could see what was in the ever-smaller rings. Deeper and deeper. Wiskeria hesitated. And then she spoke.

“Mother. Please stop using your stitch-magic. Please throw away your creations of thread. I—I beg you, as your daughter. Stop using your charms and curses of needles and cloth. Don’t use any of it.”

It was hard to say. Harder than Wiskeria had thought. But it was a relief to come out with it, even if Wiskeria knew the answer. She lowered her head. Belavierr paused. But then she nodded.

“Very well, Daughter. For how long?”

Wiskeria’s head snapped up. She gaped at Belavierr.

“What? You’ll do it?”

She hadn’t expected that! But if Belavierr said it, it was true. That—that would change everything! Laken, Riverfarm, the hostility against [Witches]—for a second, she grew excited, and she searched her mother’s eyes for a hint of a lie.

The bright gaze never wavered. Belavierr inclined her head slightly.

“Of course. For you, Daughter. How long do you ask this of me?”

Oh. Of course. Wiskeria closed her eyes. But—could she live with that? She looked up, biting her lip.

“Two hundred years. Can you do that, Mother?”

“Of course. If you wish it, for two hundred years I will use no spell of stitching, no cloth artifacts or magic of thread and needle. Does this satisfy you?”

Belavierr said it as if it were the lightest thing in the world. Even her daughter had to stare. But then Wiskeria nodded. She even smiled.

“Yes! Yes! Of course! Thank you, Mother.”

For a moment, she envisioned throwing her arms around her mother, like she’d seen other children do. But Belavierr’s face didn’t change one whit. Wiskeria hesitated, and the moment was gone.

Belavierr bent forwards and regarded her daughter. She paused again.

“It is what you wish, Daughter. But why do you ask it of me?”

“Because I don’t want you to take lives, like you did to Rehanna, Mother. So—you will do it? For two hundred years, you won’t steal life or trade curses? You’ll be better. Maybe I could learn from you or help you. Without all that, I could be proud of…”

“Ah.”

That one sound pierced Wiskeria’s heart. Belavierr straightened. And then slowly, she shook her head.

“No. I’m afraid you misunderstand me, Daughter. I will not do that. I will give up my stitch-spells and pacts of thread. But the deal I made with the woman Rehanna I will continue to make. Else I would die.”

“But—you promised!”

Wiskeria stared up at her mother, shocked. Belavierr never lied. Yet the Stitch Witch didn’t appear guilty.

“I promised to give up my magic. My spells and lore. For you, Daughter, I would give it away and seal my knowledge for two hundred years. But what you ask is different. You ask that I would change my craft. The very essence of what I am.”

“Yes! Will you do it? I will never ask you for anything again, Mother! Please?”

“No.”

The word echoed. And the face that delivered it never changed.

Then Wiskeria felt something hurting in her chest and cursed Ryoka. If she hadn’t tried…Belavierr gently drew out Wiskeria’s pain and regret and, yes, damned love and wove it into her charm.

“I do not understand why you are sad, Daughter. Is this not what you wish? I could capture another fish for you. Would you like another dress? These are easier things to do, instead. I cannot change my nature.”

That was what was the worst of Belavierr. Not her magic or her deeds. It was the way she moved through life, uncaring. Uninterested. It hurt to argue with her. Wiskeria clenched her hands, her nails digging into her flesh.

“But that is all I want. All I want from you, Mother. I would be happy if you did this.”

“It is my craft.”

“It hurts people. You take their lives, Mother. You take their emotions. You take. And you hurt people. Sometimes, you kill—because someone asks it of you.”

“Yes. Because we make a fair deal.”

Fair. Wiskeria’s head snapped up, and then she raged at her mother. She stood, shaking.

“Don’t talk to me of fairness! Don’t talk like Ryoka, who’s grown half a brain and thinks she can talk about good and evil! Fair? What about Ostevien? You don’t even remember him, but do you think that was fair?”

Belavierr paused in her sewing and seemed to check something in the air. A thread only she could see.

“Ah. Now we come to the heart of it, Daughter. Though which heart and why, I know not. You are angry. I do not know why. You speak a name, and I…remember it?”

She raised a hand to her head, concentrating.

“There was a boy.”

“He and I grew up together. He was my only friend!”

“Ah. Yes.”

She didn’t care. Or maybe she did care, but only for Wiskeria. Belavierr shrugged.

“He pleased you.”

“He was brave, honest, and the only person who was willing to trust you—and me! His mother, his entire damn kingdom offered you—me—the chance of a lifetime.”

“Of their lifetimes, yes. It was a bargain for them. Did I not save his life when we first met?”

Wiskeria was fuming, but she knew she had to explain—again—the past so her mother would even understand why she was upset. She stabbed a finger into her palm.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Mother. Yes. You saved his life when you met him because he fell off a Griffin. And the entire Kingdom of Kaliv was in your debt! But Oste trusted you. He liked me. When he offered me friendship, not just a bargain, it was the happiest time of my life.”

“I recall taking a bargain to protect Kaliv. For you, Daughter. That was my love. It was unprofitable, save where you were happy. Thus, I balanced the scales.”

That was her love. Wiskeria closed her eyes.

“Yes, and I still thank you for it, Mother. Because that, of all things, made me a person. Oste and I had so much fun.”

“I see. This is good. Why do you hold it against me?”

“Because of how it ended.”

The Stitch Witch stopped sewing and looked up. She held a needle in her hand that looked like it had been cut from the moon itself, a sliver of reality. If she willed it, she could have pulled down the moon like a balloon and attached it to a string.

Or so Wiskeria believed. So a child had believed, and who knew? It might have been true. But the one thing Belavierr could not do was understand her daughter.

This troubled her so much that, again, the Stitch Witch put aside her work and rested her chin upon her hand.

“I shall think on the matter.”

Wiskeria waited, pacing back and forth, as Belavierr mused out loud.

“It ended in flight. Hunted as a thousand Griffins bearing riders took to the skies. To fly against me in violation of their treaty and die. But I killed them not, for my daughter begged—”

“No. Before that.”

Belavierr sat there, puzzled. Then her eyes whirled, and she stared back through time as though it were a looking glass.

“Upon her throne, the Griffin Queen, Novakya, wept. She exiled her only son.”

“Why, Mother? What did you do?”

The Stitch Witch sat there, and at last, her eyes brightened. She looked up and, with a smile, answered Wiskeria’s crime.

“My beloved Daughter came to me with a request. So I fulfilled it. As I have always done. Ostevien was the boy’s name. I offered him a pact of old, a great pact, at no cost, which endures to this day. Only for you.”

She looked at Wiskeria, and the younger [Witch] wept. Tears fell from her eyes; the tears she had only learned to cry on that day. First in her life, a young woman of sixteen. The day she became a [Witch].

“Daughter. Why do you cry? I still do not understand.”

Belavierr lifted a finger as if to stem the flow of tears. Wiskeria answered in a choked voice.

“Because I ruined his life. Because you did, Mother.”

“The opposite is true.”

“No. No. He did not know what he asked for. I didn’t either. That day, I beheld your cruelty. Ryoka can talk all she wants about the good and ill you do—the Helpful Servants? Is that fairness?”

“It is a pact they agreed to, Daughter. If you are sad, I would undo my promise with the boy. However. It was sealed in the old ways. For you? I could try?”

“Would it destroy him?”

“Perhaps.”

Wiskeria turned away. She couldn’t do this. Once, she had thought she understood her mother, and it had been perfect and fine what Belavierr did. Trades that you could not regret for they were fair.

Now? She knew she was still Belavierr’s daughter, but she could not forgive. Either herself or her mother.

“There is no kindness, mercy, nor equality in what you do, Mother.”

“Of course not. It is an exchange. When one wishes, another’s wishes are destroyed. That is how all things are done, Daughter.”

She paused. Belavierr glanced up, and a slight frown crossed her features.

“We have had this conversation before.”

“Yes. We have. And I still can’t accept it, Mother.”

Wiskeria was crying. But she refused to sob or scream. Belavierr would not understand. She tried one last time.

“Mother. I want you to change. I want you to stop killing because you’re asked. Stop stealing life and—and offering these deals. Stop your craft. Practice other magic. No—keep using your stitch-magic. But don’t—take like you do. Can you do that? For me?”

Belavierr paused. For a moment, for one wonderful, frightening moment, Wiskeria thought she might agree. But at last, she shook her head.

“No, Daughter. You ask for more than I can give.”

“But why—”

“Because I would fight for you, Daughter. I would take lives for you. I would use my magic. Defend. Protect. Seek what you desire. But you ask me to change my craft. To change who I am. If I did so, I would not be Belavierr. I would not be your mother.”

She gazed down. Wiskeria saw Belavierr’s lips move. She saw, but it took her minutes to understand. When she did, her eyes did fill with more tears.

“Oh.”

Belavierr was trying to smile. But she had forgotten how. Wiskeria’s eyes ran, and wetness trickled down her cheeks. Belavierr’s smile vanished. She reached down.

“Daughter. You are crying again.”

“I know, Mother.”

“Why are you crying? Are you hurt? Do you need something?”

“No. No, I—”

Wiskeria brushed away the hand. She gulped, then looked up. It had been like this once. And then, Wiskeria had left, gone so far she’d hoped she’d never see Belavierr again. But that had been running away. This—she wished she’d done this.

“Mother. Let me say this so you understand it. I…”

She searched for words. Belavierr waited, patiently, standing impassively as her horse stood by the tree. And the night shone down on the two. Wiskeria sighed. She took her hat off and was a girl again, standing before her mother.

“It was good to be your daughter growing up. When we lived in the village, before Kaliv, I thought you were the most wonderful mother ever. I wanted to be like you. I thought the other [Witches] who told me how grand and terrible you could be all admired you, even if you could be scary. I saw the darkness in your craft, but also the good. You helped people. And yes, you were…distant. You could be thoughtless or unkind. But I was happy to be your daughter.”

Belavierr tilted her head sideways. Her hat moved with her, and Wiskeria couldn’t help but smile at the uncomprehending look on her face. She went on.

“But, Mother. One day, I saw you for what you were. When you made a daughter for a father out of thread. Something—horrible. Something with no life that looked like what he wanted. And I realized. I asked, and I found out what made you—you. The dead you took life from over the years. The deals you made for your power. The dead, Mother. The dead you left hanging because they opposed you! The threats you made! The people you killed! How old are you?”

“I do not recall, Daughter.”

“That’s not the point!”

Wiskeria stamped her foot and screamed. The night took the scream. Belavierr looked down at her, and the horse shook its head.

“Then what is the point, Daughter? You know what I am. Sometimes, I believe I do not know what you are. But you are my daughter and I, your mother. Is that not enough?”

Wiskeria put her hand over her heart. She closed her eyes. When she looked up, her eyes were clear. It still hurt to say. More than any words. But she said them.

“No, Mother. I wish it could be. But it’s not. Because what I never told you when I saw what you are is this: I hate it. And Mother, I hate you.”

The glowing gaze widened. The wind died. All things paused. There was only Wiskeria and Belavierr. And the [Witch] looked up at the [Witch]. Her words continued.

“I hate you, Mother. I hate what you do. And because you will not change, because what you do sickens me to my core, because I cannot ignore what you do and what you have done, I hate you.”

Belavierr stood stock-still. She didn’t move. But her eyes were wide, wider than Wiskeria could ever remember. And she looked—Wiskeria would have rejoiced if it didn’t hurt. She turned away.

“I’m sorry. But I hate that I’m your daughter. And if I could stop you, I would. If I can, I will.”

She reached for her side as she stumbled away back towards the quiet village far from the hill. And she turned back with wand in hand. Wiskeria’s hand shook as she pointed it at Belavierr. But that was all. She couldn’t, so she lowered it and turned away. She walked, then ran away. Leaving her mother standing on the hill.

If Wiskeria had looked back, she would have seen no horse. Nothing save for her mother standing stock-still. Staring at her back. As still as a statue. But there was nothing blank, nothing timeless about Belavierr’s stare. She watched her daughter disappear. Then Belavierr blinked.

“What?”

After a moment, she touched herself, two fingers on one hand resting on her cheek. Belavierr’s voice was…hesitant.

“Me?”

Day 61 – Ryoka

Ryoka had no idea how everyone else had fared last night. She herself had been up far, far later than she would have liked trying to figure out whether what had happened to Rehanna was…but when she woke up, she felt a certain schadenfreude in seeing that Wiskeria looked as tired as she did.

Everyone else was more rested, purely by virtue of being so tired that they’d slept like rocks. And that had the secondary effect of giving them the time and energy to process Rehanna’s deal with Belavierr. The result? When Ryoka, Charlay, Durene, and Wiskeria went into Riverfarm, they found the mood in the town was distinctly changed.

Towards the [Witches]. No one had forgotten two days ago, of course. But now—people were visiting Rehanna. They were talking, not just numbly shocked. And they had heard Laken’s pronouncement, seen Belavierr’s uncaring face. You could find that unsettling—or you could hate the impassiveness.

That is who she is. Eloise’s words were another double-edged sword. Belavierr’s actions reflected on the others as well. If that was whom she was, what were the other [Witches]? They all occupied their own bubbles of space that day. Even Eloise; few people stopped to have tea with her, and then only quickly, furtively.

You could feel it in the air. A word unspoken. It wasn’t about classes, but a superstition across worlds. A word. Condemnation. Fear and loathing.

Witch.

However, what it changed was actually very little. The eight [Witches], even Wiskeria, went about their business as usual. Despite the lack of visitors, Eloise brewed her tea and chatted with anyone who wanted to talk. Hedag spoke to children and occasionally some parents, laughing when no one was about. Alevica went flying, ignoring the muttering. Mavika sat on a rooftop for an hour while her flock patrolled the fields, then she vanished. Califor and Nanette took their lessons—none of the [Witches] reacted to the hostile looks.

It was something Ryoka didn’t know about [Witches], but which she should have understood. A fundamental quality of their natures and class. When they were pushed, [Witches] did not give in or change. They doubled down.

And that went for more than just outside hostility. Because the most notable thing Ryoka saw that day was at midmorning. She saw Wiskeria striding down the street, peeved. But that was one thing. Seeing Belavierr following her daughter, matching Wiskeria’s two strides for every one of hers, made Ryoka choke on her lunch. Wiskeria glared up at her mother.

“I told you, Mother. I hate you. Stop bothering me!”

“Why?”

Belavierr followed Wiskeria, tall, silent but for that one word. Wiskeria rounded on her.

“I told you.”

“But my nature is who I am, Daughter.”

“Well then, maybe I hate your nature, Mother!”

Belavierr blinked. She was more immediate, more in this world than Ryoka had ever seen her. She seemed genuinely confused as she regarded her daughter. Ryoka was edging closer. Her and a number of people, including a crowd of Lancrel’s folk that Ryoka was vaguely uneasy about. But Belavierr only had eyes for Wiskeria.

“But—why? You did not hate it growing up.”

“Because I did not know who you were, Mother. As I said. Now leave me alone. I don’t want to talk with you!”

Wiskeria stormed off. Belavierr made to follow, but perhaps even she sensed how futile that would be because she stopped. Ryoka stared at her back. Belavierr seemed bothered. No—Ryoka turned to Wiskeria as the younger [Witch] hurried off. She would have given gold to know what Wiskeria had said to Belavierr!

Then Ryoka heard a voice.

“Excuse me! Miss [Witch]! We must have words!”

“Uh oh.”

Ryoka turned around. A familiar woman was striding forwards followed by at least two hundred of Lancrel’s people. It was a sizeable crowd, but how Councilwoman Beatica had thought it was a good idea to lead them against Belavierr was beyond Ryoka. Maybe she was just deliberately suppressing her sensible instincts. Either way, the woman came striding up just as Belavierr was watching Wiskeria’s back.

Normally, Ryoka expected Belavierr to walk off without another word. But as Ryoka had noticed, Belavierr was in the world of reality. Her head turned as Councilwoman Beatica snapped at her.

“Your behavior has been unacceptable! You have assaulted one of Riverfarm’s citizens! For this, you must issue an apology and forthwith cancel the mag—”

Beatica got that far when her tongue gave up in her head. Ryoka, who’d been looking around to find Beniar, Prost, Rie, or Durene, froze. Her head turned back to Belavierr. Because something was different about the [Witch].

An intensity. A shift in her posture. Her gaze swept across the crowd, and the angry people from Lancrel froze. Ryoka felt her stomach drop. Because there was no blank stare. The glowing eyes had force behind them. It was simple but terrifying when Ryoka realized the reason behind it.

Belavierr was angry.

No. Vexed. It wasn’t true anger. Ryoka couldn’t even imagine what that would be. But vexation—annoyance? Yes. Belavierr’s eyes, immortal, magical, and ageless, still held that familiar emotion. And Ryoka, the mob, and Charlay, who’d trotted over to see what was happening, all paused.

Unfortunately, Beatica wasn’t able to back out and save face so easily. Her mouth dried up, and she backed up. But her plan—which might have been hurling insults at Belavierr while being safely ignored—was suddenly derailed. All she could do was plough ahead.

“Miss Belavierr. I said that your—your behavior has been unacceptable. We, the citizens of Lancrel, are censuring you. You—you must issue a formal apology. Or else we will find you…”

She trailed off. Belavierr was staring at Beatica. And she was seeming more annoyed with each word. She peered at the crowd behind Beatica. Their anger turned quickly into a terror that made them still, rather than flee in fear.

“No.”

“I warn you—”

Beatica’s high-pitched voice broke off in a small scream as Belavierr lifted a hand. The [Witch] crooked a finger. Then she turned and strode off. Ryoka, who’d ducked along with Charlay at the gesture, breathed a sigh of relief. She straightened, and Beatica, looking pale and relieved, stood taller. She glanced around, then turned to give a speech as Ryoka prepared to run after Belavierr.

At that moment, every stitch in a three hundred foot radius suddenly unraveled. It was abrupt, and so fast that all the clothes just dropped off the crowd, Ryoka, and Charlay. Bits of fabric fell to the ground in its component parts as the stitching neatly fell into spools of thread as well. Ryoka blinked as her clothes fell off her body. It was actually sort of nice for a moment; the day was sunny, and the skin could breathe in the mild wind that followed her about. Then her eyes went wide, and everyone processed what had happened.

“Dead gods!”

“What the f—”

“My clothes!”

It was probably telling what the first action of each person was. Whether they covered themselves, gawked—and who they gawked at and where—or immediately tried to show off, like one muscular [Blacksmith]—it was all pandemonium.

Ryoka, for her part, glanced around just to make sure everyone was similarly undressed as she grabbed at her clothes and tried to cover the essentials. Charlay wailed as she grabbed at her shirt. Then her belt! Even it had fallen to pieces!

“Don’t look at me! I’m naked!”

The Centauress wailed as she raced off, clutching what remained of her shirt to her chest. Ryoka stared after her.

“You’re naked? What about me?”

She screamed, but Charlay was already running. The crowd was in chaos. People were bending over to pick up clothes on the street, then realizing that was a very exposed situation. There were red faces, tears—Ryoka saw Councilwoman Beatica running into the nearest house. Ryoka looked around, then realized something.

“Oh. Bag of holding.”

She pulled out a change of clothes and breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever Belavierr had done, it hadn’t hit the bag of holding or the stitches in the magical bag itself. That was a relief. Ryoka hopped into some pants, forgoing underwear, tossed on a shirt, and then ran like hell as more people came to see what was happening and stare. She was laughing. Right up until she made her mistake.

—–

Belavierr was standing in the same spot where Ryoka had visited the picnicking [Witches] a few days ago. Right in front of the tree where she’d been resting, close to the river. Only, she was standing. And she seemed annoyed. Her back was also turned, so Ryoka was too hesitant to walk up and tap Belavierr on the shoulder. She elected to call out instead.

“Um—excuse me!”

The figure was silent. Tall. Her shadows seemed too long. When she turned her head, the orange eyes glowed beneath the brim of her hat. Belavierr’s voice was cold.

“I do not wish to speak to you.”

Ryoka halted, her bare feet in the grass. She felt a leap of apprehension, but Belavierr was gazing at her. Talking to her. So she smiled. She had met immortals after all, befriended a Vampire. She had to try.

“I understand that. And I beg your pardon, Witch Belavierr. But I’d like to speak to you. You might remember—”

“Leave me.”

The words made Ryoka stumble over hers. She tried again, more desperate.

“I know Wiskeria. And I can talk to her. I know you two had an argument. I asked Wiskeria about it. She’s angry at you. And I think I can—”

“Now.”

Belavierr’s eyes were very bright. Ryoka took a step back. But then she gritted her teeth. She had bargained with a Dragon. She studied Belavierr. Try. If she didn’t respect Ryoka, acknowledge her, there was nothing Ryoka could do.

“Witch Belavierr, I can help. Listen, about Wiskeria not liking you—”

Belavierr moved. Ryoka blinked. She tried to continue, say something. But her lips were glued together. She looked down, but she couldn’t feel anything. Then she felt pain. And she raised her fingers to her mouth and felt something thin and hard.

Stitches.

“—!”

The scream was muffled. Ryoka’s lips were sewn so tightly together that she couldn’t even move them. And the pain—it had been so fast—but Belavierr was standing in front of Ryoka. In one hand, she held a bloody needle.

She’d sewn Ryoka’s lips shut.

Ryoka tried to scream again. The needle had gone through her lips! It had been so fast—but now she felt the pain and gathering blood from the places where the needle had pierced her skin. She stumbled back, clawing frantically at her mouth, then her belt.

Blood was dripping into her mouth from the perforations. And the thread—Ryoka desperately sawed at it with a knife. It didn’t break. Not even when she cut hard.

Belavierr watched it all impassively. Ryoka was breathing desperately through her nose. Her eyes were wide, her mouth filling with blood. She tried to open her mouth a crack, and the thread pulled at the holes in her lips. She screamed again, muffled.

The [Witch] bent. She met Ryoka’s eyes. The City Runner stared up at her. Belavierr’s whisper echoed.

“Leave me.”

Ryoka ran.

—–

The coven of three [Witches] was Alevica, Mavika, and Wiskeria. They were cheering up Wiskeria. Or just entertaining her presence. Either way, they were first to see Ryoka running towards them. Blood was trickling from Ryoka’s mouth. The red thread—even Mavika paused.

“Dead gods! What happened, Ryoka—”

Wiskeria caught herself as she shot up. She stared at Ryoka, then cursed.

“Belavierr.”

“Wow.”

Alevica blinked. Mavika stared at Ryoka as the Runner frantically gestured at her face. The [Witch] peered at the red stitches. The bloody holes. She nodded to herself.

“You must have truly angered her. She’s put a small working on the thread. You won’t be able to cut it without a magical blade. A decent one. It is not my craft. A pity; you should not have scorned Belavierr’s wrath.”

“Mavika!”

Wiskeria snapped at the other [Witch].

“I’ll find my mother and have her undo it. Just wait—”

“What? Now? She’s peeved at you already, Wis. And Ryoka must have annoyed her. She might sew Griffin’s eyes shut if you word it wrong. Here. Don’t bother. I’ll do it.”

Alevica stood up, yawning and stretching. She walked over to Ryoka. The City Runner was waving her hands and making small sounds. Alevica saw why and winced.

“Ouch. Those are pulling your flesh. That has to hurt. Well, I can cut it. I think. Give me a second.”

She pulled a knife from her belt. Then she clenched her shortsword.

“Hm. Better steel in the knife. Alright. Here goes. Ryoka, don’t move or squirm. I might slice a lip off.”

So saying, she laid the knife on her arm. Ryoka watched, trying not to choke on the blood running from her wounds. She was half-mad with needing to open her mouth, the shock—but she still stiffened as Alevica chanted, her voice harsh but triumphant.

“Grudge, fester. Knife, cut. Anger, grow. Envy, grate. Slice sharper. Prick harder. Hate. And the honed edge—make.”

The knife didn’t move or flash or do anything else on her arm. But with each sentence, the edge seemed harder to find, thinner.

Sharper. But the chant was quick. Alevica plucked the knife from her arm and grinned at Wiskeria and Mavika. Wiskeria looked somewhat impressed. Mavika did not.

“A simple chant for a simple working.”

“And a simple task, Mavika. We don’t all need to write poetry in verse. Now, hold still, Ryoka.”

Alevica turned back to Ryoka. She raised the knife, and Ryoka froze. She felt the blade working at the tight thread, and Alevica cursed.

“This is enchanted! But that’s some thread—I have no leverage. Hold on—I think it’s giving—”

Alevica kept sawing away. Then she stared at her knife.

“Uh…hold on.”

She adjusted her angle, and Ryoka, who had tears in her eyes, made an articulate sound of pain. Alevica was pushing at the threads. It hurt! The Witch Runner cursed.

“It’s not—what’s going on? This could cut Mithril.”

“It isn’t, Alevica. I warned you, Ryoka.”

Wiskeria’s voice was too satisfied for Ryoka’s liking. Alevica swore.

“There’s no way she can make a thread I can’t cut! Even Oliyaya’s best charms I could—hold on. Little knife, little—”

She bent over the knife, then produced a flame and whetstone. Twice more, she tried to re-charm her knife to cut, and each time, it failed. In the end, Alevica hurled the knife down with an oath, and it went straight into the floor and vanished from sight.

“You have angered the Witch of Webs. But she seldom has such spite.”

Mavika observed, looking between Wiskeria and Ryoka. Wiskeria just sighed.

“She’s angry because of me. I can make her undo it.”

“That is not needed; this magic I shall undo. A favor from me, and a punishment to you. And you.”

Mavika replied. Alevica broke off from trying to fish her knife out from the hole in the floor.

“What? Think you can make a better knife than I?”

“I do not contest, Witch Alevica. Now watch. Griffin? Will you take my cure?”

Mavika hopped closer to Ryoka, and the desperate Wind Runner nodded. So, Mavika tapped her on the brow and produced something. A feather…and a piece of what looked like chewed up cardboard.

A huge feather, brown and dandruffy. Mavika stuck it onto Ryoka’s head and whispered.

“Griffin in name, Griffin thou art! Fierce of body, and fierce of heart! Fight pain with all your might!”

Another rhyming-charm. This one did something weird to Ryoka. She didn’t turn into a literal Griffin; she just felt—

Fiercer. Just like Mavika had said; suddenly, the pain was vexing, but not all-consuming. Ryoka sagged in relief. Mavika nodded in satisfaction as Ryoka gave her a thumbs up.

“Now, we come to it. Alevica, your knife.”

Alevica handed over the sharp knife, and Mavika held Ryoka’s mouth carefully. Ryoka waited for another sp—

Mavika sliced Ryoka’s mouth vertically, then made two more cuts, and one of the strings snapped out of the holes in Ryoka’s flesh, and the Crow Witch pulled the rest of the strings out.

It hurt. Not as bad as it could have, thanks to Mavika’s charm and Alevica’s sharp blade, but only Mavika’s hand like steel kept Ryoka’s face from jerking.

“Oooh! Dead gods!”

Even Alevica covered her face. Wiskeria just nodded.

“Yep, that’s what I would have done.”

My mouth! My mouth—Mavika pocketed the bloody string and then offered something. It turned out to be Ryoka’s own healing potion.

“Drink. The string I take as payment for my services. You did not even need a sharp knife, Witch Alevica.”

Healing potion spilled from Ryoka’s cut lips before they began to heal. Alevica was spluttering as Mavika strode away. Ryoka tried to focus.

I’ve had worse. I’ve had…

The Frost Faeries tormenting her? Things around a fire?

My lips just got sewn together then cut apart! This might have been one of the worst things in her entire life! And that included the leg smashing! Ryoka stood there, shaking, until Wiskeria spoke.

“So would you say, despite my mother’s magic, on the whole, it was a good thing for you, Ryoka?”

Her sardonic look would have gotten her punched if Ryoka could make a fist. Alevica strode back into the house, swearing.

“That damn Mavika. She’s—she’s—she’s almost as good as my mentor. Oliyaya will love that tale. Hey, Windy Girl. Oh, your lips aren’t messed up. Cool.”

She was twirling the knife she’d gotten back from Mavika. The Witch Runner clapped Ryoka on the shoulders.

“Don’t thank me. I’m only too happy to help a fellow Runner. And now you owe me a favor. Remember it, Ryoka. Because I’ll call it in.”

“What favor? You didn’t do anything.”

Alevica shrugged.

“But I tried. My magic doesn’t come free. Favor from me—you’re lucky Mavika didn’t ask for something. She just wanted to one-up me. Remind me not to cross her. Or Belavierr.”

With that, she left. Ryoka was speechless. In outrage, shock—when she turned to the last person left, Wiskeria, the [Witch] managed a bit of sympathy.

“Listen, I did warn you. I guess my mother is upset. She never does that normally; it’s a waste of good thread. What did you need to speak to my mother for? Why did you try without me?”

“I—thought I could get her to listen to me. I wanted to talk to her about you. Try to patch things up between you. Or convince her to help…I thought I could reason with her. I’ve done it before.”

Ryoka muttered, tasting more blood. She got a water flask and spat out bloody water. Wiskeria paused. She closed her eyes, then looked around. She began to pick up one of the regular kitchen knives in Alevica’s shared house, then sighed and tossed it down.

“What’s that for? I don’t have more thread in my face, do I?”

Ryoka needed a mirror. She saw her features were all correct—or so she thought—when Wiskeria flopped down in a chair across from her.

“No, I was going to stab you. But I suppose that would just add to the trouble Riverfarm’s facing. Say that again? And if I don’t like what I hear, I will break a knee.”

“What? What did I do?”

Wiskeria stared at Ryoka, expression hardening.

“Why are you so determined to force me and my mother to talk? What gives you the right to interfere in our lives? Say she’s an ambivalent person who makes fair deals again. Say it.”

Her hand was twitching for the knife. Part of Ryoka, the part that challenged Minotaurs to fistfights, wanted to say it. The rest of her dragged that part back, locked it in solitary confinement, and tried to answer Wiskeria honestly.

“I—look, I was wrong.”

“Thank you for saying that. Go on?”

Ryoka edged back an inch in her chair. Wiskeria inched forwards and put her hand around the knife.

She’s not really going to stab me or break a knee if she doesn’t like what she hears, right?

She’s a [General] and Belavierr’s daughter. And a [Witch].

Nothing would save Ryoka but honesty, so she blurted it out, turning red-faced with embarrassment.

“I—look. It’s not just me wanting to know right from wrong, okay? I just see you and Belavierr—and believe me, Belavierr is not the same—but it reminds me of my mother.”

Wiskeria’s arm relaxed. She stopped leaning forwards, unhooked one foot she’d snaked around Ryoka’s chair leg, and stared at Ryoka.

“…What?”

Ryoka turned red. This was almost a hundredth as bad as having your lips sewn together. But since she’d just had that happen—this was almost easy. Almost. She spoke, trying to say what she’d been trying not to say.

“Look…I don’t like my mom. You’ve never met her. Heck, no one—I mean, no one I know around here has ever met her.”

Because she’s in another world. Ryoka never talked about her family. It didn’t mean she didn’t think of them, and she did, especially now. She looked at Wiskeria.

“My mom—well, my parents are both wealthy. My dad’s a business tycoon—”

“What’s that?”

“Uh…a super [Merchant]. He’s into politics, too. Likes to put his thumb or a damn weight on the scales. He talks to slimeballs like Mayor Whatshisface and that Councilwoman Beatica. My parents are wealthy. My mom? He married her when he was abroad. She’s kind of a trophy wife, but she’s also rich in her own right.”

“Thank you for explaining. What does this have to do with me?”

Wiskeria seemed genuinely interested as she watched Ryoka’s face. She had her mother’s blankness, Ryoka realized. Ryoka had…well, she had a lot of things from her parents. Hair color, eyes.

Alcoholism she wasn’t sure about, but there was always time. Certainly other things. She lowered her head.

“Listen, my life story’s probably boring compared to yours. But the long and short of it is that my mother…sucks. It’s not all her fault. I realized that later. Part of it is just—well, if we talk about my dad, we’ll be here till fall. But the point is that she’s like Belavierr.”

Wiskeria raised her brows, and Ryoka clarified.

“She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand me. I hated her guts, of course, most of my life, but I’d try and help. Sometimes, I’d get in trouble for covering for her mistakes, and I just wished, sometimes, she could be—better. You know?”

Ryoka’s eyes stung unaccountably, and Wiskeria’s semi-hostile look softened. Ryoka shook her head.

“It’s stupid. But when I saw you and your mother—I sort of felt like there was the same thing. If I could meet my mother and make peace, even if we didn’t like each other—or better yet, change her? I guess I projected too much. I’m sorry.”

She hung her head. Belavierr was definitely not Ryoka’s mother. But now she said it out loud, she realized how much she’d projected onto Wiskeria. Her own hopes and regrets—and denial, probably. Certainly, Wiskeria adjusted her hat and sighed.

“You’re right. You’re completely wrong about my mother, and you stuck your nose into our business, and you had no right.”

Ryoka hunched her shoulders, and Wiskeria paused.

“…But you are right that we’re a bit alike in how we wish things were different. I just wish you’d led with that.”

The Wind Runner glanced up, and Wiskeria offered her a handkerchief.

“For your face. It’s covered with blood. Listen, Ryoka. My mother is purely dangerous. Don’t bother her. But—thank you. I guess I can respect that kind of attitude.”

“Thanks.”

Ryoka took the handkerchief, and after a second, Wiskeria sat back and smiled as if she’d thought of something funny. When Ryoka glanced at her quizzically, she spoke.

“Oh, nothing. I just thought you were only the second person who ever bothered my mother that much for my sake.”

Ryoka grinned, hiding her embarrassment. Then she saw Wiskeria’s eyes grow serious.

“Just be sure you don’t end up like Ostevien.”

“W-what happened to him?”

Wiskeria leaned forwards.

“That’s a long story. The end of it is ongoing. They call him the Griffin Prince of Kaliv. The Cursed Prince. The exile.”

Ryoka’s heart leapt. An actual—she leaned forwards.

“What’s the curse? Belavierr did it?”

This explained everything. Wiskeria exhaled and, with infinite regret, whispered in Ryoka’s ear.

“Simple. He will never die.”

She stared at Ryoka until the Wind Runner’s smile vanished. Then Ryoka got up in the dead silence, walked to the door—stared at Wiskeria—and left.

——

Ryoka was wandering around Riverfarm, trying to think, when she saw Nesor hurrying towards her, waving a bit of parchment.

“Miss Griffin! Miss Griffin! There’s a message for you! A [Fence]! He’s dead! It—”

“The [Fence]? In Filk?”

And Ryoka heard of the dead Ratwhisperer, his mouth and nose sewn shut. Her own mouth throbbed and burned. To her credit, even Alevica looked uneasy.

“Don’t let your [Opener] friend talk about Belavierr, Griffin. That’s a curse Belavierr’s used. And I don’t think many people could dodge that. Even if they’re [Mages].”

Ryoka agreed. She looked at Nesor and sent a swift reply.

Everything’s fine. She’s dangerous, but I think it’s safe for us. I’ll be here a bit longer. Don’t cross her, Fierre. And don’t worry about me. I have to do this. Thanks for the help.

A lie. Because Ryoka wasn’t fine. That night, she kept opening her mouth, running her teeth along her healed lips. Shuddering. And she stayed away from Riverfarm, using Durene’s cottage to sleep. Refused to go near the village. Or the [Witch] with the glowing eyes and wide-brimmed hat. If she hadn’t run—Ryoka’s dreams were filled with a man she’d never met, mouth and nose sewn shut. Staring into oblivion as blood ran down his throat. And Belavierr’s blank, impatient stare watching as he died.

Day 63 – Ryoka

For two days, Ryoka ducked at every passing person wearing clothes that were even remotely black. A pointed hat and she fled the other way. The worst part was that no one, not even Charlay, called her silly for doing that. In fact, everyone took the time to tell Ryoka how stupid she had been for crossing Belavierr.

They were right. Right and wrong. Because Belavierr might be—probably was—a monster. But one who obeyed her own laws. She was like the fae. Or Teriarch. A mix between him and Az’kerash, perhaps. So what anyone with sense would do was avoid her until Laken returned. Let him handle her and not provoke her wrath.

Yet Ryoka had never been accused of having sense. And the issue of the [Witches] was greater than just Belavierr. That was what Prost didn’t understand, or Rie, or anyone else. They had come to Riverfarm, this coven, to ask Laken to grant [Witches] sanctuary. And if Emperor Godart was anything like the Laken she remembered, Ryoka expected him to honor that vow.

The problem was whether it would be safe. Half of the [Witches] seemed fine. Califor, Eloise, Nanette, even Alevica could behave. But Mavika? Hedag? Belavierr? It was a quandary. And the only person who could solve it wasn’t Ryoka.

It was Wiskeria, Belavierr’s daughter. But the irony was that the daughter wanted nothing to do with her mother. She hated her mother. And—thanks to Ryoka—she had said it at last. That bothered Belavierr.

She followed Wiskeria until her daughter told her to leave her alone. Asked questions as Wiskeria shouted at her. Listened. Until that glacial face hardened and became angry. Frustrated. Uncomprehending.

“She hates Belavierr for who she is. But Belavierr won’t change her craft. It’s like watching two trees hit each other.”

Charlay summed up the conflict as Ryoka hid behind her on the third day after a one-sided shouting match. Wiskeria stormed off, and Charlay, Ryoka, and everyone who’d stopped to watch fled as well. Because Belavierr was angry. She stood in the street, her head bowed, gazing at Wiskeria’s back. And undone clothes were the least of what Ryoka feared from her now.

There was something else that was brewing in Riverfarm as a consequence of these fights. No—of Rehanna. The woman sometimes went outside, holding her baby. And that was a terrible sight, in daylight or at night. Belavierr’s encounter with Councilwoman Beatica had also caused trouble. The woman had shown more sense than Ryoka and refused to engage with Belavierr directly, but bad will towards Belavierr and [Witches] in general had spread across the village.

Into that confused tangle of events, a mother and a daughter’s war, and the hot days without a hint of rain that continued to roll on, the dark looks and trouble brewing, there was Hedag. Ryoka had paused from a day of trying to talk with Wiskeria and hiding from Belavierr as people trudged back from the fields.

No one was happy. It was hot, and the river that fed the village was now being used to partially irrigate the fields. But hand-watering still had to be done, and it was hot. The [Witches] had kept to themselves today, mercifully, and Eloise had even relegated her tea service in lieu of helping Califor teach Nanette how to make some bread that may or may not have been magical.

Mavika and Alevica were nowhere to be found as dusk settled, then night. Ryoka ate a meal with Durene and Charlay, on the lookout for Wiskeria and Belavierr. That’s when she saw her.

Hedag. The woman was sitting at a table, laughing, drinking, and eating with [Forewoman] Beycalt and a few other laborers. Completely at ease. She ignored the looks she was getting as she poured a generous drink from her flask into each cup. Despite the volume of the flask, she filled each polished wooden cup to the brim. Ryoka didn’t have to see the way Beycalt brightened or how the others lifted the cups to know it was alcohol.

“To your [Emperor], then! And a hard day’s work!”

Hedag laughed, and her voice boomed through the mess hall. She lifted the flask and drank with the others. Ryoka blinked. She glanced around.

“What’s Hedag been up to all day, Durene? Charlay?”

The Centauress shrugged. But Durene leaned over.

“Haven’t you seen her? She’s been helping build houses.”

“What, with magic?”

Ryoka turned back to Hedag. The woman’s plain brown hat and travel-worn clothing made her seem the most normal of all the [Witches]. She was a big woman, bigger than Beycalt, and she looked strong. And she had chopped off a man’s head with her axe. Yet here she was jovial, smiling. Durene shook her head.

“Nope. No magic at all. She just helped. She’s good with a hammer, and she knows how to put up a house.”

“Huh. Interesting.”

Ryoka watched Hedag drinking with the other villagers. She had an infectious laugh and an openness about her that was the exact opposite of what Ryoka was used to. She reminded the City Runner of Erin, actually. Only, an Erin of a different sort.

And yet, she was a [Witch]. No one had forgotten how she’d walked into Riverfarm and pronounced judgment. Many of the people stared and murmured, and few would drink with Hedag, despite the free liquor. If the [Witch] noticed—and she surely did—she paid no mind. In fact, she noticed more than Ryoka thought, because though she never turned her head, after the second round, she raised her voice.

“Share a drink with me, Runner-Girl?”

Ryoka jumped. Hedag turned and waved a hand. Ryoka felt a stab of embarrassment as everyone glanced over at her. But there was nothing for it. She stood up and walked over.

“I didn’t mean to stare.”

“Ah, what a kind lie. But you don’t fool me! Come, sit. And perhaps you won’t be as wary of Hedag as you are of my coven!”

Hedag’s slap nearly catapulted Ryoka into her seat. Ryoka blinked as the woman grabbed a cup from the table behind her. Someone had used the cup, but Hedag sloshed in a bunch of pungent…rum? Ryoka inhaled it. Certainly not just an ale or mead.

“That’s a hard worker’s drink there. Hard to get and expensive! For us at least. But a reward best used, not hoarded. Stand a round?”

Hedag grinned. Ryoka was surprised, but she wasn’t about to refuse. She raised the cup and downed half with the other drinkers. After some of the coughing and laughter, Ryoka lowered her cup.

“That burns! What is that, a magical flask?”

“This? Naught but a little trick. It’s wider than it seems. I don’t do grand magics, if that’s what you’re asking, Miss Ryoka. And if you’ve been wondering whether I’m a threat to your village, have no fear. A Hedag is justice, not aught else. I don’t use my craft for myself like young Alevica, or in spite as Mavika does. Nor am I Belavierr. But I am a [Witch].”

Hedag casually drank from her flask again, her eyes twinkling beneath her hat. Ryoka studied her, embarrassed.

“I’m sure you’re not. I’ve only—”

“Been asking? And talking with your [Emperor], haven’t you? What a slow lad! I thought he’d be here days ago! Tell him to hurry up!”

Hedag laughed, ignoring the askance looks some of the other villagers were giving her. She spread her arms, sloshing some of her drink. She was actually drunk, Ryoka was sure of it! But the [Witch] wasn’t ashamed.

“What’s the point of holding a drink if there’s no fun in it, Runner-Girl? I work hard, I sweat, and then I drink and sleep! Occasionally, I eat, and I’ll own to a few other things. But I don’t want for anything else. I am a [Witch], but I’ll work for coin when my craft doesn’t call.”

“But what is your craft? Justice?”

Ryoka tried to press Hedag. But the [Witch] only smiled and filled Ryoka’s cup.

“It calls me sometimes often. Sometimes once a month or even a year. And what it is is justice.”

Beyond that, she wouldn’t say. And Ryoka realized after the third cup that Hedag was just as crafty as Eloise in her way. She’d bought goodwill with her strong drink. And she was content to just let people drink and insult each other and…be people, unlike Eloise. She was amid them, challenging Beycalt to an arm-wrestling competition or laughing uproariously at a bawdy joke. But what did she do?

Ryoka had to excuse herself from the table to sit back and think. She was sure she was holding her liquor well—until Charlay pointed out Ryoka was about to fall out of her chair. The young woman sat up and tried to think.

She had seen Mavika selling crow’s feather charms to a few brave people. Eloise sold her tea. Alevica was a Runner, and Califor seemed content to teach Nanette. Belavierr and Wiskeria were their own thing.

But Hedag had been the real mystery. Day after day, she’d been talking with children. Letting them show her a ball or a doll, playing with them by pulling up a stone so they could scream at the bugs, or giving one a ride on her shoulders. The parents had been uneasy, but Hedag had just been kind. Then she’d stopped and begun helping out in the village.

“Why? Is she collecting fun? Goodwill, like Eloise?”

Ryoka muttered as she inspected Hedag with one bleary eye. Charlay shrugged.

“I have no idea. But she’s fun to be around.”

That was true. Hedag’s laugh filled the hall into the night. And she drank like an alcoholic and laughed without guile. Not once did Ryoka see anything ‘witchy’ about her.

Because there wasn’t. She was looking in the wrong place, at the wrong person. It wasn’t Hedag Ryoka should have been watching. So she only saw the end of it when the fire in the mess hall was low and most had taken to their beds. Hedag sat, smiling, pleasantly drunk, at her table, occasionally belching.

She was waiting. That night, her craft did call. It was no large thing. Rather, it was a young boy Ryoka had never met. She had never seen him. To her, he was a face, one of Riverfarm’s many families displaced. She couldn’t have seen anything unique about him. Her eyes were on the [Witches]. She did not know the young boy, who had shown a leather ball to Hedag and heard her promise. Ryoka did not even know his name. His story.

But here it was. The young boy had had a fulfilling day. He’d been corralled into a work force of boys all bursting with energy around his age, too young to take up a task that involved anything bladed, but too old to stay with the young children. He’d been sent, under the eye of a pair of [Hunters], to the forest near Riverfarm to gather some edibles.

Of course, the boy had played with his friends, but they’d all come back with some edibles or bits of bark and kindling to appease Prost and the supervisor in charge of them. But responsibility wasn’t something the boy had a grasp of yet. He was a city’s child, and he’d laughed at the diligent villager-children who refused to so much as try and catch a rabbit barehanded and gathered most of the day.

And then he’d come back and eaten a hot meal, which he liked. He missed his home in Lancrel. Terribly. The fascination of a new village, the relief of fleeing the Goblins was worn off. Riverfarm was boring where Lancrel had been huge and exciting, a proper city. In his way, the young boy had been contemptuous of Riverfarm’s villagers.

The only exciting thing was the visitors. The Centauress, the strange-looking City Runner. And the [Witches]. They were terrifying and exciting to someone his age, and he’d tried following around the young [Witch] until the old one snapped at him. Or the Witch Runner until she’d conjured a swarm of stinging bugs and scared him and his friends off. The young boy had gotten into a fight twice with the villager boys and a girl named Chimmy. And he’d been told off and slapped hard for each.

Misery. Fun. Boredom and joy. That was his life in the day. But at night—on this night in particular, the young boy sat in his newly-made bed and listened. He shook, because he heard a man’s voice. Familiar, rough. And yes, drunk.

It was a story Ryoka didn’t know, but that she knew.

The young boy listened. He had a mother and father. She was often impatient with his father. The boy’s father had expectations and didn’t like being here in Riverfarm. The father was a [Jeweler] by class, and he didn’t take well to the work he had to do since he couldn’t pursue his class.

So he was impatient. Annoyed. And that night, drink provided by Councilwoman Beatica at the Lancrel gatherings, fueled a long-burning fire. An old problem. The boy listened as the voices murmured, then grew loud. And he was afraid.

Dark thoughts. A temper. Bitter words, perhaps over losing his home, his family moving here. Grievances at work. Councilwoman Beatica’s words. The lack of rain. [Witches].

The first shout made the young boy’s heart jump. He prayed he wouldn’t hear another. But he had no one to pray to, and he didn’t even know how to pray. It mattered not either way. He heard a quarrel. Another raised voice. And then a slap. A cry.

Heart racing. Hands clenching the sweaty sheets. The boy got up and searched his bed desperately. He found what few things he owned. A leather ball he’d won from a friend. A bit of quartz he’d tried to polish. Three copper coins. He grabbed the ball and squeezed it. But then he heard more fighting. And another cry.

Now he was standing. Shaking. But he knew what was going to happen. It was a pattern. Not the first time, either. The young boy stared at the light through the door. And he was afraid. He’d been out there before. Tried to block the man, his father. Fight back. Last time, he’d lost a tooth. He was afraid.

Because the wrath would turn towards him soon. Already, his mother was sobbing. The boy, desperate, wanted to hide under the bed. Or go out the window. But to where? This was home. So he shuddered.

And he remembered something. A smile. A huge face. A booming voice and a promise. A [Witch]’s promise. She’d sworn on her hat. And she had told him if, if he needed her, to call her name. And she would come. She’d touched the ball, and he’d seen no magic. But she had promised.

In that dark night, the boy had no one to turn to. His father was passing from drunk into a dark temper. Beyond just fury, in fact. The brooding, bitter rage that wouldn’t end in slaps or tears or even blood. So the boy hesitated. He grabbed the ball and clenched his fists. He had to be a man. A man wouldn’t let his mother cry out like that.

But he was small. Afraid. So the boy grabbed the ball. He hesitated and then raised his prized possession and cried out. His father heard and tore towards him. The boy heard the furious pounding on the door and hid under the bed. Praying without words. But there was no one in his house besides him, his father, and his mother. His neighbors were quiet, asleep or silent. There was no one to hear him.

Except the [Witch]. In the mess hall, nodding off, Ryoka saw Hedag’s silent form move. The hat, which had partially slipped off Hedag’s head, rose. And the [Witch], who had fallen asleep, looked up. There was no laughter. No smile.

Hedag was on her feet in a second. She ran. Ryoka jerked upright. She was quick, but Hedag was out of the doors, tables and chairs still tumbling aside as she charged outside. Ryoka stumbled after her, the alcohol in her veins disappearing. What? She hadn’t heard a thing!

The [Witch] was outside, head turning. She looked left down a street of houses with few lights flickering behind the shutters. Then she ran. Ryoka shouted.

“Hedag! What is it?”

The woman didn’t respond. She kept running, and Ryoka chased her. But Hedag was fast. She ran without form, holding her hat on her head, pounding down the dirt street. But she was still faster than Ryoka. She ran until she stopped. Ryoka nearly missed her. Hedag stormed up to a house with a faint light flickering behind the door. Ryoka heard a few sounds from inside, a raised voice, a pounding sound.

“What—”

Hedag’s fist struck the door. The [Witch] bellowed into the night. And her voice was like thunder.

“You inside! Touch not that child! Step away from that door!”

Ryoka heard an oath from inside, and then a muffled voice. Hedag’s fist slammed into the door.

“Step away, man. And leave him be. Open this door or I will open it myself!”

She roared the words, heedless of the doors opening, the people stirring. Ryoka stared. She did not know what was happening. But then she saw Hedag lower her shoulder and slam into the door.

The wood was solid. The frame was sturdy. It had been made by good [Builders] out of strong wood, and it was fresh. It held, but Ryoka heard the creak. Hedag didn’t stop. She backed up and struck the door again, hurling her entire weight against it. The door cracked.

“—off! This is my house!”

A man’s voice was audible now. He was shouting in a fury. And Ryoka heard a woman’s voice. She understood. But Hedag didn’t stop. She rammed the door a third time. Then she raised her foot, kicked, and the door broke. Ryoka heard an oath and exclamation. Hedag strode into the house, knocking the broken parts of the door aside.

“Step away from the child and woman.”

There was a shout. Ryoka saw a flicker of movement as she ran for the doorframe. She watched Hedag step back, move—the man was swinging at her. The [Witch] blocked the blow and struck back. Ryoka heard a cry—and then a thump. And then another one.

“Listen to me, you poor excuse for a man. You’ll never touch her or him again. Do you hear me?”

“Let go of me! I’m—”

Ryoka heard a slurred voice and then another blow, so loud her own teeth clenched at it. A cry of pain. Hedag sounded like thunder still, rolling and distant.

“Never again. This is a lesson. So pay heed: never again.”

A giant wearing a hat stood in the kitchen. Tall, taller than the mortal man she held. She raised her hand, and the man screamed. Ryoka saw a woman grabbing Hedag, pleading. A boy—perhaps eleven—standing and watching, wide-eyed. Watching his father’s pain. Ryoka grabbed at Hedag’s arm as the woman raised it. And the backhand that struck Ryoka sent her stumbling into a wall.

“Don’t interfere, Runner-Girl. Nor you, wife. This is my craft. My business. And this man will not touch you or his son so again. Or the next time I return, I will break his bones. And he will remember it. A Hedag’s promise is never broken. So remember this. What you were going to do to a boy less than half your size. Remember this.”

Ryoka stumbled upright. She saw Hedag standing over the man. There was a terrible light in her eyes that scared Ryoka. Hedag moved, grabbing the father as he tried to run. And the next blow doubled him over.

“Hedag! That’s enough!”

Ryoka called out. But the [Witch] did not stop. The father tore away from her with animal strength and ran out the door. Hedag caught him in the street.

A crowd had gathered. Most in their night clothes. They stared at Hedag as she caught him and delivered another blow. The father gasped.

“Help—”

And he was struck again. He made a wild sound, and that moved the crowd. Some of them stepped forwards, but stopped when Hedag looked at them.

“Here now! What’s he done? You have no right to attack a man in his house—”

“Silence.”

Hedag barked the word. It stopped Ryoka behind her. The crowd. Prost, approaching with Beniar. Hedag glanced around, and the [Witch]’s eyes were wide under her hat. She spoke, her words tearing the illusion of the peaceful night apart.

“I am Hedag! And I am teaching a man who would beat his wife and child a lesson. He will suffer for it. He will not die of it. But he will suffer. And no one will stop me. I am Hedag, and this is my right. This is justice. Will any woman or man gainsay it?”

She stood, holding the whimpering man in a grip of steel. The crowd protested. But it was at Prost the Hedag was looking. The [Witch]’s eyes met his. And the [Steward] stopped. He gazed at Hedag.

“Hedag the [Executioner]. Do you say this is just?”

“Just?”

The exclamation came from a dozen voices, outraged. But Hedag just nodded. She glanced around. The outraged people hesitated.

“Should I show you the wife’s bruises? The cuts? Or should I show you the way he beat her? Should I reveal his sins? I will, if you wish it, and you will see what sort of man you call neighbor and friend.”

No one spoke at that. Hedag’s eyes blazed as she lifted the man. He made a sound between terror and pain.

“I don’t need to. And better left, those sins are. Each one has their own. But this one I do not stand. Come, you gathered folk. If you didn’t know what a Hedag’s justice was, you know now. It is this. No man or woman will beat a child. No crime will be done that is not punished. And the punishment is this.”

She raised a hand and struck the man across the face. Ryoka saw a spray of blood and heard a mortal groan. It might have come from Ryoka. Hedag dropped the man. He was alive. But the suffering—she stood over him, and the crowd flinched from her gaze. Hedag continued calmly, her voice ringing in the night.

“Time was, a village wouldn’t sit by to see such things done. When worst came to worst, they’d gather. Go in and see justice done themselves. But they say civilization and progress put an end to those times. Now people wait and pretend not to see bruises or a blackened eye. Tears or torment. But Hedag sees. And wheresoever Hedag walks, she carries the old ways right here.”

She touched her chest and hat. The [Witch] looked around. And Ryoka understood. It wasn’t a story she knew. But it was a universal story. Hedag had seen it a thousand, ten thousand, a hundred thousand times.

She ignored the protests. She left the man where he lay. Her lesson was done. And it wasn’t him she’d ever cared about. It was the young boy in tears Hedag walked to. The [Witch] was not guilty or remorseful, and she grabbed him where he might have struck at her and talked.

“It was a harsh thing, young lad. But better your father learned it. And it was bravery to call me. If you ever need help, call my name. And listen, because I tell you this plain: your father was wrong. The poorest of people beat their kin, let alone a child. And also know this. You will be safe. I swear by my hat on it.”

That was all. Prost stood over the man, and the city folk saw what the oldest justice was. What a Hedag was. [Executioner], yes. But also judge. Protector. Some shouted it was not right. Or just. But Ryoka looked at the wife, who was bleeding and bruised. And then at the man Hedag had left on the ground.

This was Hedag’s craft. She talked to the boy. And he hit her, then cried, and he listened as she held him and told him it was going to be alright. No one was asking him to grow up yet. But he’d been a man tonight. And—Ryoka saw—he was years and centuries older than the boy he’d been yesterday. Then Hedag talked to the wife, and the woman was just as conflicted.

That was what Hedag took. That was what she offered. As she left the house, Ryoka saw hundreds of years on her. Men. Women. Children. All of whom saw and heard her promise.

“Call my name. And I will be there.”

That was this [Witch]’s craft. She took gratitude, pure and simple. Simple gratitude. Innocence lost. Pain and fear and regret too, though. But part of it was gratitude. For being there.

And yet, what a cruel justice. Ryoka stared at the man. He wasn’t broken. But he was bloody. No one had healed him with a potion. Even if they did, he would feel the blows she’d dealt him. He would remember. Ryoka stared at the man as he made faint sounds. And then she went after Hedag.

The [Witch] sat alone, calmly drinking in the mess hall. She glanced up as Ryoka hesitated behind her.

“A Hedag has eyes in the back of her head, Ryoka-Girl. Literally. It’s a Skill, not magic. Useful, too. Sit.”

Slowly, Ryoka did. Hedag gazed at her. Ryoka hesitated. Then she pointed towards the door, the commotion growing. Another night of peace turned to unrest. But this one of a different kind.

Justice? The City Runner spoke, meeting Hedag’s gaze.

“You know they’ll turn on you. That husband you beat down. He’ll do it again as soon as you’re gone, if his wife doesn’t divorce him. Even if she does. And he has friends. They could come after you.”

The [Witch] laughed. It was coarse, almost mocking. But then gentle. She tipped the flask up, and it was empty. She sighed and tossed it on the table.

“Of course I know. I’ve been doing this for decades, Runner-Girl. But what’s the better way? To stand here and listen to a big, strong fellow beat his wife bloody? Is that just? While I’m here, folks will think twice about doing what he just did. And by the time I leave, he will know better than to touch a child. Because I will only leave when I am certain he will not. Elsewise, I will come back again and again. And every village hereabouts will know the same. That’s my craft. What do you think of it?”

Ryoka paused.

“I—I think it’s—you didn’t have to beat that man so badly.”

The [Witch]’s eyes glinted.

“Wrong. I did.”

“You could have stopped him.”

“And what would that do, Miss City Runner? Would that have stopped him from trying again? Would he think twice if I’d have paddled his rear and given him naught but a warning? No. Now, he will think many times.”

The young woman saw the logic. But she shook her head.

“You just made him angrier. Violence begets violence. He’ll take it out on the kid if he can.”

“And if he does, I will break his arm.”

“But that won’t change—”

Hedag’s fist slammed on the table.

“Change? It won’t change him. But who said I must be the one to change him? I will stop him, and stop him cold! My craft is not to coddle, Ryoka Griffin. It is not to show mercy to those who do wrong. If that man strikes a child, I strike him. If he kills a neighbor, I will judge him. And if a man or woman commits a crime as warrants it, I fetch my axe. That is justice. It is my craft. Not change.”

Ryoka paused. She studied Hedag. The woman had abandoned her first flask. She was rummaging around. And she pulled out a second flask and began drinking from it.

“So that’s a Hedag.”

“That is my name. My purpose. There have been Hedags before me. And perhaps there will be some after. But perhaps I am the last. I think every Hedag has always said that, though.”

The [Witch] drank. Ryoka hesitated.

“I understand. You’re the law in far-off villages. That’s what Prost said. A Hedag. A wandering [Executioner] and…but what gives you the right? If you weren’t as principled as you were—”

“What? You mean, if I wasn’t as ‘principled’ I’d do what? Ignore a child’s cry? Punish a man harder than I ought to? Say, ask for those who might pay me and protect only them?”

Hedag’s eyes flashed. Ryoka nodded.

“Yes.”

She waited. Hedag gulped down her mouthful, then lowered the flask. She reached out and grabbed Ryoka’s shoulder before the young woman could dodge. Hedag’s grip was steel. Her voice a rumble.

“In that case, I would be a monster. Some call me that anyways. But I carry my justice here. And here. And in my axe.”

She tapped her hat and heart and then let go of Ryoka. The young woman felt at her shoulder.

“I understand that, Hedag. But you still went into that man’s house and beat him. If—Riverfarm has laws. The boy could have called for help. The man could have been locked up. We have laws for a reason. They prohibit abuse. Prost would, if he’d been there. Why not trust him?”

She didn’t know why she was arguing. But she had to, to understand. Hedag snorted. She poured herself a third drink from a third flask. It was water. She gulped it down, looking at Ryoka. Shaking her head.

“You speak of the law as if it were some grand thing, Runner-Girl. But to me, the law is a man or woman with a stick or sword. They wield it, and if you cross them wrong, they beat you. In cities, it’s a pack of folk. Humans, Drakes, never mind if an [Emperor] lays down the law or a [Mayor]. It’s all the same. What’s so different with what I do? In your cities, the law is a uniform and a book. Out here, it is one woman. And she calls herself Hedag.”

“But we have law in Riverfarm. That man—”

“Would be punished after. If his neighbors had the heart to stop him or call out. Or if your [Steward] saw the woman’s bruises. Or heard of the boy’s broken arm. But that would be after, Miss Griffin. You say the law protects. But that is not what I hear of your cities.”

Hedag tossed down the water.

“Your [Guards] patrol the streets. [Watchmen] man your walls. And you say if there is crime, there will be punishment. But where is the law on a dark night when a man has been drinking? Where is the law when the girl hides under the bed and the father stumbles in, full of wrath? The law waits. But if that girl calls my name, I am there.”

She stared at Ryoka with such a piercing look that Ryoka had trouble meeting it. But then Ryoka looked up.

“In my…home, we have a system. If a child is in trouble, she can call. And our law will save her.”

“And if she is too bruised to speak? Too terrified to call? Or perhaps she just loves the father when he doesn’t hit her. What then?”

“We…have people who investigate. Or a neighbor can call. Anyone who sees it.”

“And if they do not see? Or they do not look?”

Ryoka didn’t reply. No system was perfect. Hedag nodded.

“That is better. Better than most villages and cities have. But, Ryoka-Girl, it is not enough. Because your system waits. I do not wait. I am Hedag, and I have been that girl. My craft made me a [Witch]. So where I go, I do not just wait. I go to villages, large and small. Far and wide. And I look at every child, every wife and husband. I stare into their faces. And I bring my justice. That is my purpose. That is what I can offer your [Emperor]. That is what he must accept. What say you?”

She watched the City Runner, and Hedag smelled of alcohol and sweat. Blood and dirt. And she was just a woman with a pointed hat. A drunk. A laugh louder than reality. And sometimes, a giant in the night. Someone who could hear the voices no one else could. Ryoka gazed back at her.

“I won’t try to stop you again. I just wish you didn’t have to exist.”

The [Witch] stared at Ryoka, and then she laughed. She slapped the table and howled with laughter. Ryoka listened, waiting, for minutes until Hedag had stopped. Then the woman pulled herself up, adjusted her hat, and grinned.

“I cannot argue with that. Nor can I say I’m perfect, Miss Griffin-Girl. After all, there have been poor Hedags. And I will not be here forever. I am no Belavierr. Someday, I will batter down a door and find a knife in my gut. Or a few folk will gather around to end me. I know that. But this is my craft. And Riverfarm has need of me. It is the biggest place I’ve had to ply my craft yet. I only hope I’ve the strength to do it.”

She poured herself another drink and raised it. Ryoka watched Hedag drink. Content. Tired. So this was what she was. And she thought of all the other [Witches]. Ryoka realized she understood Hedag the most, because she was simplest.

So Ryoka got up. Hedag watched her calmly. Ryoka hesitated. And then she bowed to the [Witch] and heard her laugh. She bowed and wished there were a thousand Hedags. A million, the world over, dispensing their flawed justice. Or none at all.

The old ways.

Day 64 – Wiskeria

“Call it what you will. But it is the old justice. And I have granted Hedag her right. It is old. Older than cities. Until His Majesty returns, she is free to enact her justice. No man died today. And no child was beaten. His Majesty has been told of it, and he will rule on it as well as Belavierr when he returns. But I say it is justice.”

That was all Prost said to Beatica. For once, the Councilwoman’s indignation and protests fell on deaf ears. Because it was a balance. If Belavierr was one thing, Hedag was another. You could protest she was a law unto herself. Because she was. You could worry about corruption or bias, but the [Witch] had the support from every side. From children and adults who had grown up wishing for a Hedag. For those who cried out.

The coven could be proud of her. They might be different in nature, but Ryoka spotted Eloise helping patch a hole in Hedag’s clothing the next day, and Califor herself nodded to Hedag, who smiled at her as they sat together. Nanette was in shy awe.

Mavika wasn’t as impressed. She gave Hedag the same look, as if Hedag had brewed a cup of tea. It was part and parcel to her. And Alevica wasn’t as moved either as she explained to Ryoka.

“Hedag’s a legend, yes, yes. She goes around beating evil parents and killing murderers. She’s not my kind of [Witch]. I get along with her because she’s free with alcohol. I don’t kiss her shoes like you do, Ryoka.”

The City Runner glared at Alevica. It was custom, now, for Ryoka to try to have a lunch with any [Witches] willing to suffer her. Today, Wiskeria had cooled down enough to have a civil conversation with Ryoka. But they were still at odds. Ryoka regretted how she’d brought up Belavierr to Wiskeria, but she had hope that Hedag’s moment had given them an opportunity to mend the gap. But Wiskeria didn’t seem as impressed as Ryoka either.

“I have to agree with Alevica, Ryoka. Hedag’s practicing her craft. It’s not as noble as you think. She does it because she needs the power she derives from it.”

“But she uses that to help people. Children!”

Wiskeria shrugged.

“And helping children is her selfish choice. Don’t let’s talk about morality or I’ll stab you. I told you, [Witches] are inherently selfish. Good [Witches] obey the law, or they make them, like Hedag. But she could just as easily be called a bad [Witch] because she imposes her craft on people.”

“Like me. We’re not so different, Hedag and I. The only difference is that I only bother [Bandits] with my evil craft, and people who annoy me. Hedag’s a tyrant in a hat.”

Alevica winked at Ryoka. The young Asian woman didn’t wink back.

“I disagree. I understand she’s flawed, but what she does is…”

Ryoka grasped for words. It spoke to her. It wasn’t acceptable, not in the society where she’d grown up. Hedag would be jailed in a moment on Earth. But it was what should be right.

That was how Ryoka felt, even if she couldn’t articulate it. Wiskeria and Alevica exchanged a glance. The Witch Runner rolled her eyes.

“Well, looks like Hedag’s got another follower. I can’t fault her for being popular. Although, you know she has a bigger bounty than mine.”

“Really?”

Ryoka looked up. Alevica grinned as she summoned her broomstick.

“Of course. Do you think villages are happy to see her? She’s not just some amazing crusader who stops wife-beaters, Ryoka. She’s left dead in the villages she passes. People who won’t change. Or who committed old crimes. She’s an [Executioner]. She’s got a bounty. Only about three hundred gold pieces. Poor folk can’t afford more. But think about that. Wipe the awe out of your eyes, Ryoka. If Hedag judges someone, she’ll kill them. Her law doesn’t bend. Belavierr’s not the only person who needs an [Emperor] to protect them. ‘Specially because Hedag’s slow. Me? I just fly off when I’m in trouble. Like so.”

Before Ryoka could reply, the [Witch] flew off, laughing merrily. Ryoka clenched her fists and turned to Wiskeria. The other [Witch] shrugged, a bit embarrassed.

“She’s right, you know, Ryoka. Hedag’s just a good [Witch] with good principles. But it’s—”

“Selfish. I get it.”

She was biased, Ryoka realized. But she couldn’t help it. Wiskeria eyed Ryoka’s expression, but she didn’t say anything. The two watched each other in silence. The Wind Runner cleared her throat.

“If you were willing to talk with Belavierr about—”

“Talk to her about what? Noelictus? She told me the entire story. She messed up, now she’s here.”

“You don’t want to ask her to make amends? Or—or—try to show more willingness to help Riverfarm?”

Wiskeria laughed shortly.

“Ryoka, from what I understand, the only ‘amends’ would be a crossbow bolt through her head. As for willingness—you saw Rehanna. She’s making deals to regain what she’s lost. I tried to forbid her from doing any more. That failed.”

“So you’re giving up on her?”

Wiskeria glanced under the table as if to see where to kick Ryoka.

“You’re implying I haven’t done this a hundred thousand times before. Don’t be dense. You said it was like your mother. How are you doing with her?”

“I—I just think maybe—”

“You think you can fix the problem in one go?”

Ryoka was saved from a kneecapping when a quavering, timid voice interrupted the staring contest.

“Please don’t fight. You two are friends, aren’t you?”

Both Ryoka and Wiskeria paused. They turned and saw a young [Witch]. They’d completely forgotten about Nanette. The youngest [Witch] looked wide-eyed at the young women. Abashed, both sat back. Miss Califor, who had been silently eating at the table, cleared her throat.

“Nanette.”

“Yes, Miss Califor?”

The [Witch] broke off eating a jam-covered biscuit that Eloise had made. Ryoka waited for a grain of wisdom from Miss Califor. The [Witch] paused, eying her and Wiskeria.

“You have jam on your face. Eat more carefully.”

Ryoka blinked. Nanette felt at her face and squeaked. Miss Califor produced a handkerchief and cleaned the jam off Nanette’s cheek.

Abashed, embarrassed—they’d forgotten Califor was there too—Ryoka and Wiskeria settled back. Ryoka thought Califor was another mystery. She’d saved Ryoka’s life and shown off some amazing magic, but she did everything sort of…low-key.

As if she were trying not to be impressive. Plus, she had no side work in Riverfarm, unlike even Belavierr. Califor was focused on Nanette almost to the point of exclusion. Teaching the girl everything from how to bake to casting spells was Califor’s obsession and craft, it seemed. And cleaning jam off Nanette’s face.

Even so, it wasn’t a completely harmonious relationship. Nanette was a growing girl, and sometimes it seemed like Califor’s mentorship chafed at her. On the other hand…Ryoka also saw that she respected Miss Califor and hung on the woman’s words. Nanette always had a truism of Califor’s to repeat. And she valued the older [Witch]’s approval more than anything else.

Sometimes, that could result in tears, especially today. It was an inadvertent slip up as Ryoka and Wiskeria tried to be civil.

“I guess I have been a bit annoying about Belavierr. I just don’t want to make a mistake. I feel like I have to address her. Or what’s the point of me being here?”

The City Runner muttered into her tea cup. Wiskeria hesitated and tugged her hat down.

“And—I could talk about my mother without threatening to injure you. It’s just that it’s hard, you understand? I’m sorry for snapping, Nanette.”

Miss Califor nodded approvingly. Nanette seemed happy to see the two making an effort. She smiled as she reached for another biscuit.

“I’m so glad. You two were ever so nice when we were on our walk. Miss Califor, Ryoka even healed my hand when I—”

Nanette’s face went pale. Miss Califor’s brows snapped together.

“When you what, Nanette? Did you injure yourself so badly you needed a healing potion? And you did not inform me?”

Ryoka felt like every teacher in the world was giving her the death glare. And that was nothing to the way Nanette stammered and tried to lie. Ineffectually, of course. Nanette was hiding under her hat as Califor prised the truth out, and Ryoka took a quick bathroom break, following Charlay’s example.

When Califor finally found out about Nanette slicing her palm open with the sickle by accident, she did just what Nanette feared. She took the sickle away. Ryoka returned to the table a few minutes later to find Nanette sobbing at the scolding she’d received. She wasn’t being punished beyond having the sickle confiscated, but Miss Califor’s disappointment was enough.

Wiskeria gave Ryoka a look that said she’d hex Ryoka into oblivion if the City Runner left her alone. So Ryoka sat back down as Miss Califor left to put the sickle in a safe place until Nanette was older and ‘knew how to respect it’.

They had to comfort Nanette, of course. Although, Ryoka had to point out that neither of them had actually told Califor (mainly because they’d forgotten to), and Nanette had let it slip. Wiskeria glared and kicked Ryoka under the table. Ryoka considered that she’d deserved that.

“Look, I know Califor can be harsh, Nanette, but she’s just looking out for you. It’s actually touching, really. Parents are strict because they love you. Generally. I mean, I know Califor’s just your teacher, but—”

Ryoka lamely attempted to comfort Nanette. The young [Witch] gulped as Wiskeria kicked Ryoka under the table again. Wiskeria nodded.

“Califor’s like every [Witch]’s mother. I know I wanted to make her proud of me. She taught me, Nanette. She’s not mad. In fact, she’s pretty caring of you, like I said.”

“I just don’t want to disappoint her.”

Nanette gulped, her eyes watery. Ryoka patted her on the back.

“You didn’t do that. Sickles are dangerous. One time, I nearly cut my hand to the bone when I was trying to cook by myself. And Durene—you should see her handle a knife!”

Nanette smiled, but she shook her head again as Wiskeria poured more of Eloise’s fine tea.

“I know. I know, but…I think I’m Miss Califor’s worst apprentice. I’m always causing her trouble, and she’s always having to help me or fix my mistakes. And she always does! I’m afraid she won’t keep me around.”

The two young women blinked and looked at each other. Ryoka hesitated.

“Nanette. Aren’t you her only apprentice?”

“Yes! And I’m the worst one! All the other [Witches] say I ought to be talented, but Califor says to ignore them. But wh-what if she decides someone else had better teach me? Like Witch Agratha? I like Witch Agratha, but Califor’s my teacher!”

“She’s not going to get rid of you for the sickle, Nanette.”

Wiskeria encouraged the girl, but Nanette was sobbing again.

“But she might! Everyone says Witch Califor doesn’t do grand things because she has to mind me! Some of them call her a coward!”

“Coward? She rode down three killers for me—”

“But she used to be so much more amazing, Miss Griffin! You know her stories, right, Witch Wiskeria?”

Nanette turned, and Ryoka gazed at Wiskeria. The [Witch] coughed, but to cheer Nanette up, she dutifully reported some of the tales.

“Oh, you know. That she’s tougher than nails. She could eat nails and teach an Ogre manners. Cross her and you’d better put the noose around your neck and jump. Once Califor decides to deal with you, you should deal with yourself just to save yourself the misery. She’s the most powerful [Witch] in generations…”

“Does that count Mavika or Belavierr?”

“Generations, I said.”

“Oh.”

“But she’s nice! She’s as good—better than any mother! I can prove it!”

Nanette banged her hands on the table. Ryoka and Wiskeria turned back to her, embarrassed again. Red-faced, the [Witch] girl took a deep breath. Then she looked abashed.

“This is a private story, alright? You mustn’t tell. But it’s about Miss Califor. She raised me since I was very small. In a cottage, in fact! I learned from her, and she was strict—but also kind. Back then, before she travelled and took me as her apprentice, she had a cottage by the High Passes. She did some work from there, and she had goats. I had a special one named Belfaus who watched over me.”

Wiskeria blinked as she mouthed at Ryoka over Nanette’s head as the girl went on. Califor owned goats? Ryoka was busy listening to Nanette. The girl closed her eyes solemnly.

“When I was small, I made a bad mistake. The worst I ever made. I don’t know how old I was. But one day, I was very bored, and Miss Califor had to see to someone who’d broken both legs in a fall. So…I left the cottage with Belfaus. I thought it would be fun to go exploring, but I forgot to tell Miss Califor. And I went far. So far I couldn’t find my way back.”

She looked up, and Nanette’s face was very pale. Wiskeria and Ryoka stopped and started paying more attention at the look on Nanette’s face.

“Miss Califor always said the land around the cottage was warded, so I shouldn’t wander too far without her. But that day I did. And Belfaus didn’t know better. I kept looking for the way back, but I’d forgotten it. And I went further and further—and I went into the High Passes. Because we lived right near the mountains, you see.”

Ryoka inhaled sharply. Wiskeria glanced at her. Nanette’s voice was lost.

“They said it was a pack of Gargoyles. One of them snatched Belfaus. And the other grabbed me. They—they must have been hungry, because one of them ate—ate Belfaus—but they took me to a cave. And—and I was in the cave for ever so long—and there were so many Gargoyles.”

“How many?”

“Many. Dozens.”

Nanette’s voice sank to a whisper. And her eyes were wide, her hands clasped together. Ryoka remembered the giant stone creatures, the monsters of the High Passes. The girl’s voice went on, conjuring a story until Ryoka could see the huge shapes, snapping, devouring Eater Goats and Belfaus, saving her for later.

“I thought I was going to die. Because even Gold-rank teams won’t enter the High Passes. And there were so many Gargoyles. But I called out. I begged Miss Califor to find me. Save me. And she did.”

Children were poor storytellers. Ryoka and Wiskeria stared at Nanette. Ryoka blinked.

“Just like that? She did? How?”

Nanette looked up and shook her head.

“I don’t know. I was in the dark cave and was trying to hide beneath a rock. And then I saw the light. And I heard terrible fighting. And then Miss Califor was there. She picked me up and scolded me. Then she brought me back, and we buried Belfaus. And that’s when she taught me to use magic to defend myself. But I never knew how she did it. I asked everyone, but no one said they knew. Only that Miss Califor tore up half the mountainside looking for me. And she found me.”

“How? How’d she beat that many Gargoyles? A decent Gold-rank team could only get—three. How’d she do it? Scare them off? Is that—could Mavika do that?”

Ryoka demanded incredulously. She looked to Wiskeria for confirmation, but Wiskeria seemed surprised herself.

“That’s powerful magic if she literally just beat them in a fight. Any [Witch] can trick monsters, but if that story’s true, she’s definitely one of the best. Any clues, Nanette?”

Nanette shook her head, eyes wide and earnest.

“She never told me how she got rid of them all. But everyone says that it was a grand feat, even for Miss Califor. And it wasn’t easy. She still has a scar from that day. Right here.”

She pointed at a spot just above her hip. Ryoka gazed at Nanette. The little [Witch] concluded, folding her hands on the table and looking at them earnestly.

“I never forgot. And Miss Califor’s always been there. She’s the best. I want to be like her when I grow up. I don’t want to disappoint her. I’m sure Witch Belavierr cares about you just as much—almost as much—as Miss Califor cares about me, Wiskeria. And your mother too, Ryoka.”

She couldn’t have known how those words went through Wiskeria and Ryoka. Or why they looked at each other, and for a moment, each wished they had a story they could tell like that. Something so pure, so simple. And why it hurt that Nanette could tell that tale of Califor with such sincerity.

Ryoka thought of her own mother. She tried to imagine her mother—she had disappointed her parents greatly. But they had also disappointed her. Even Ryoka the adult wished they had been more, even if they’d been people, not perfect paragons. And she saw something similar in Wiskeria’s gaze. Similar, but different. But there they were. They got along and annoyed each other because there was something similar.

Of course, Nanette had no idea why Wiskeria and Ryoka started crying. Neither Ryoka or Wiskeria could explain the pure, contemptible jealousy in their hearts. And Nanette eventually began sobbing in sympathy.

That was how Miss Califor found them. The old [Witch] stared down at the three crying girls at the tea table. And she sighed.

“Up, the three of you. We have business.”

Nanette scrambled up, remembering her fear. But all Califor did was take Nanette to Eloise’s house, and to her delight, the [Tea Witch] had something freshly-baked.

“Shortbread slices with a dash of forgiveness for girls like you.”

It was a treat! Nanette took a piece and looked up at Califor, and the [Witch] patted Nanette on the head.

“You’ll get your sickle back in time, Nanette.”

All was forgiven, and the little girl hugged Califor and promised to be more careful. Ryoka and Wiskeria snuck pieces of the bread, and it was delicious.

——

“You know, Witch Califor, I thought you’d hunt me down.”

“Truly? Why?”

Witch Califor was walking down the streets of Riverfarm with Nanette tipping her hat and waving to the villagers of Riverfarm with Ryoka and Wiskeria. The little witch would greet people by name, and they would wave back, wary.

It was hard to be on-guard around Nanette. Every other [Witch]? Yes. But the little twelve-year-old girl had happiness under her hat. She was innocent, and Califor herself?

Some people eyed Califor, but she just walked sedately along, and Wiskeria seemed to be reconciling her reputation to the woman herself.

“I…well, when I first came here, I was worried people would take offense. Because I am my mother’s daughter. I thought you might come to deal with me. When Mavika found me, I thought it was all agreed upon.”

Califor shook her head, looking faintly amused.

“You think too much of our schemes. We [Witches] squabble. If I recall right, Mavika expressed to me that she would seek out Belavierr’s daughter and see who she was.”

“So you did talk about me!”

“When we knew you existed. But not to control. In my experience, for what little it’s worth, guidance matters more than control. We are [Witches]; we try not to meddle in each other’s business. We thought you needed help. Mavika has offered to teach you, hasn’t she?”

Wiskeria made a face as Ryoka listened.

“And put me in her coven. She’s pushy.”

“But she does not force you?”

“No…”

“Then your decision stood. I imagined that if you had the need, you would seek me out. But I would have been a poor teacher even if circumstances threw us together. As you can see, Nanette fills my attention.”

Califor gestured, and Nanette was following a cat around, grinning in delight as it noticed her. Wiskeria shook her head.

“The great Witch Califor raising a single apprentice.”

“A great witch should be able to do that, if anyone can. We shall see if I have the right to that title.”

Califor’s neutral response made Wiskeria flush. Ryoka eyed Califor, wavering between saying anything, but Califor just glanced at Ryoka.

“Miss Griffin, I would caution you to stay clear of Belavierr. But since that would be wasting my breath, I will just ask where you hail from?”

“Me? Oh, Reizmelt.”

“And before that?”

Ryoka grew a bit tongue-tied as Califor began to press her about her origins. As it turned out, Califor was mostly interested in how Ryoka had met Laken, but the [Witch] seemed altogether too knowing.

“Liscor? I have heard Liscor has some oddities of note. I might go there after Riverfarm—if I could find a place and community fit for Nanette. She doesn’t wish to part from me.”

Wiskeria and Ryoka, mindful of their conversation with Nanette, exchanged glances, and Califor noticed.

“I simply cannot take her into danger. If I had known this was the situation at Riverfarm, I would never have brought her. My own peril is one thing. My apprentice’s—unacceptable.”

That was so responsible a position Ryoka was surprised it came from a [Witch]. But then again—she glanced at Califor.

“Do you think you can convince Riverfarm to let you stay, Witch Califor?”

“That depends on who Emperor Godart is. I am taking a measure of him as well as Riverfarm. We shall see.”

Califor’s tone was neutral. Wiskeria looked around at the people staring at them.

“I think my mother’s jeopardizing those chances, for all she swore to be part of the coven, Witch Califor.”

Here, Califor did pause.

“Yes…she’s every bit the Belavierr of legends. I thought she might be different, but her very presence meant it would never be anything normal. However, we do what we can. It is good that the people and the [Emperor] see who [Witches] are. An honest pact will rest on nothing less.”

That was one way of looking at it. Ryoka hesitated.

“So are you doing anything to win over Riverfarm or show who you are, Witch Califor? Besides delivering aid and saving me. Thank you for that, by the way.”

Califor raised her brows, amused once more.

“Of course. We’re doing it right now.”

The two women looked around, and Wiskeria actually peered at Califor’s hat before Califor nodded to Nanette.

“Taking the air. Walking through Riverfarm. Helping if we see someone who needs a pair of hands. That is witchcraft, and for that, I am glad Nanette is here. We have too many great [Witches] and not a single one who is like most [Witches]. Agratha would have been perfect here.”

Wait, was that what she was doing? Ryoka glanced at Nanette and realized—it might be working. There was nothing to make you think a [Witch] could be innocent like cute, little Nanette. And Califor wasn’t beating someone down with her bare fists or summoning flocks of crows.

“[Witches] are sometimes normal as well, Miss Griffin. Belavierr is still a mother. And she can still be petty. Extraordinarily so, according to story.”

Califor’s voice made Ryoka jump and blush. Wiskeria glanced at Califor, tugging at her hat, as if about to ask something.

“Witch Califor…about my craft. I don’t have one, but you’re said to not have one either. Do you think we could be alike?”

She looked wistfully at Califor, and the older [Witch] raised her brows.

“I do have one, Wiskeria. Or rather, I’ve had several. I used to wear happiness, like Nanette. Then I went to passion, great deeds; it’s more that I’ve shifted focuses over the years. These days, you could say much of my craft is Nanette and teaching. I think your issue would be finding one to begin with. You are allowed to change. But it must be earnest.”

Oh. Was that why she didn’t do great magic anymore? It wasn’t what Wiskeria wanted to hear, clearly. Witch Califor looked at the two, as if thinking. Whatever she might have said as advice never came out, though.

Califor slowed as she saw Nanette standing in place on the road. The girl had the cat she’d been following in her arms, which was surprising. But maybe cats liked Nanette just like people?

…Or maybe the cat had climbed into Nanette’s arms to escape the [Witch] standing like an obelisk of cloth, hand outstretched to a man on his hands and knees in the center of the street.

Belavierr.

“Oh no. Mother!”

Ryoka’s good mood vanished instantly. Belavierr was there. And she was standing in front of a man who had collapsed in front of her. Almost in a sick pantomime of a kindly woman helping someone who had fallen up.

But there was nothing kind nor natural about Belavierr’s half-smile, all fakeness, nor her swirling robes. And the man? The man looked up, shaking, unable to stand. With a terror in him that was all the worse for how strong Ryoka knew he could be.

Mister Prost. His eyes were wide with terror and—desperation as he stared up at Belavierr. Oh no.

No, no, no. Ryoka saw another woman covering her face as she stared, flinching away. Miss Yesel. They were in the street, cowering away from Belavierr. Why?

Mister Prost lost children in the avalanche in Riverfarm. Ryoka felt the pieces of a puzzle fall into place like thunder as she started forwards. Someone grabbed her arm. Califor.

Wiskeria had no such arm to block her path. Califor moved Ryoka back, bending down to shield Nanette, as Belavierr spoke.

“Let me show you more, Prost Surehand.”

“Leave. Leave—don’t show me that. Stop.”

Prost couldn’t stand. The same man who’d shouted at Belavierr to her face couldn’t push himself up. All his anger and authority—

Replaced by a terror of something Belavierr was holding. Ryoka couldn’t see it. Was it a baby? A…?

“Mother!”

A picture frame. Belavierr turned, and Ryoka caught sight of a simple, framed picture in glass as Belavierr looked at Wiskeria. Just a picture.

Of a boy. Hands pressed to the glass of the picture. Waving at Mister…Prost…

The picture was moving. And Ryoka would just bet it had a face she had never seen before. Belavierr lifted her hand, and the picture vanished.

“Anything can be done at any price. Mister Pr—”

“Mother, stop! You swore! Laken has ordered you to make no more bargains!”

Wiskeria ran forward, interposing herself between Belavierr and Prost, and tried to get the man on his feet. But he couldn’t move, and Yesel was sinking downwards.

“I must continue to rebuild what I have lost, Daughter.”

“No! I forbid it! Mother, don’t do this!”

Belavierr hesitated. But when she shook her head—she moved Wiskeria aside gently.

“Even for you, Daughter, I must be who I must be. As I said. Take my hand, Prost. There is no cost to seeing what I offer.”

No cost—but the man’s haunted eyes that were both filled with horror and longing. Ryoka was paralyzed. The memory of having her lips sewn shut wasn’t the only thing rooting her in place.

She’d wondered what a deal with the devil looked like. Prost was staring at his wife. He couldn’t want to take a deal. Not for something like Rehanna’s baby. But Belavierr crooked a finger.

“A picture is so very, very inexpensive. A speaking stone? For you, servant of an [Emperor], I will offer something better.”

“No. No…”

Prost groaned, and Wiskeria seized her mother’s arm, but Belavierr just kept moving, slowly reaching into her robes, as if Wiskeria were lighter than a feather. That was when Ryoka felt anger.

Poor Mister Prost, who had worked for Riverfarm. Kneeling there with grief, an old wound—surely not healed, but at least older—reopened. Tormented by what might be.

That was Belavierr. That, Ryoka realized, was the Witch of Webs. That contempt, not even conscious, for someone else? Ryoka balled up her hands. She wasn’t sure what the consequences would be for leaping in—

Ryoka took a step and nearly tripped as someone grabbed both legs. She flailed, and Nanette hauled her back.

“You can’t, Miss Ryoka!”

“Nanette! Let go!”

The girl had grabbed Ryoka’s legs! She’d lost her hat, and her pigtails shook with her head.

“You can’t! Miss Califor told me to hold you!”

“Let go! Let—”

Ryoka took a step as a red-faced Nanette tried to hold the much bigger young woman back. Ryoka stopped—and realized Califor was gone.

And so was Nanette’s hat. Ryoka’s head swiveled around, and there she was. Striding down the street, her apprentice’s hat in her hand. Califor reached into the hat, then flung it back towards Nanette.

The girl jumped up, caught the hat, and she and Ryoka saw Califor gesturing. Wiskeria let go of Belavierr, backing up to Ryoka and Nanette, and the Stitch Witch paid no attention to Prost. She was bending down, smiling, paying the rest of the world no heed.

—Until she heard a voice.

“Father!”

A girl’s voice. No, two girls and a boy raced forwards. The girls were both over ten, the eldest fifteen, and the boy was younger than Nanette. He might have been only six.

They ran down the street, and Prost looked up. His sightless gaze of horror fixed on his children, the three of them, and Califor came to a halt, her black hat blowing in the wind.

“Finnon. Margery—”

Prost’s voice broke. He stood unsteadily, and they grabbed him—then flinched back from Belavierr. The Stitch Witch was no longer smiling. She glanced at the children—then at Califor.

“What are you doing, Witch?”

“Preventing you from striking a pact. As the [Emperor] of this land has requested, Witch Belavierr.”

Califor tipped her hat gently to the woman. One of her hands was clenched, and Ryoka saw Nanette holding up her hat and inspecting it. Belavierr’s voice was cold, impartial.

“I was negotiating with the [Steward] on that very subject.”

“You were. As head of the coven you joined, I say it is against the spirit of the request. Nor does it serve our cause in Riverfarm. A cause you swore to uphold, Witch Belavierr.”

Califor’s voice was polite and crisp, but Belavierr’s orange eyes seemed to glow under her shadowy hat. A shadow…that Ryoka saw was deepening, concealing her features, spreading down the street. People backed away, and Ryoka realized as Wiskeria retreated, eyes wide—

Belavierr was not happy about having someone interrupt her deal. Ryoka almost went to support Califor with the power of her bare feet—but they wouldn’t move.

Even from afar, her legs were shaking. Belavierr’s eyes seemed larger now, beyond vexed, hidden under the brim of her hat.

“Out of my way, Witch. My magic has been lost. Replacing it serves myself, and thus the coven.”

“I find that argument pedantic, Witch Belavierr. Will you not heed me? I say again: I lead this coven. I did not interfere with your business with Rehanna, for a witch is a witch, and we should not meddle in each other’s business. Now, I have cause. Perhaps [Witches] should have done so before, for I have heard grave things of Noelictus. I would speak to you of both this and your actions in Terandria.”

Califor’s voice was polite, clipped, and Ryoka saw the rest of the [Witches] walking in a line down the street. They halted where Nanette and Wiskeria stood, facing Belavierr; Alevica was licking dry lips. Mavika was just eying Belavierr as Hedag rolled one shoulder. Eloise’s eyes were flicking from Belavierr to Wiskeria—but Belavierr ignored them all.

“My affairs on Terandria are my own. Witches do not meddle in each other’s affairs, woman.”

“Largely. Unless we find what other witches do to be distasteful. Or beyond condoning. I confess—we did not know where you were or if you even existed until recently.”

Califor cast a glance to Wiskeria. It seemed to be an admission of fault, and Belavierr laughed. An unpleasant laugh that dug beneath the skin and squirmed there.

“My affairs. If you could not even tell if I was alive, you had no right to interfere with my affairs.”

She sneered at Califor, and the other [Witch] nodded.

“True. I now know, or suspect, you are alive. Your business is now that of the Witches of Izril. Desist, Witch Belavierr. You are not a [Witch] alone.”

Her voice rose, and despite herself, Ryoka wanted to whistle. Belavierr just turned away from Califor and addressed the people in the street.

“I am Belavierr. I offer you who gather here a boon like no other. I am the Witch of Webs, the Spider of Terandria. You may know my name. My tales. They are true.”

The people stared at her as she swung her cloak, and a shadow lengthened across the street. Belavierr, already towering, seemed to grow even taller as she turned.

“I offer you a boon. For a price. Have you ever known loss? Have you lost love, friendship, a child? I can restore all things. Do you wish for a potion to besot the heart? Mine shall never run dry. Do you wish a cure for your eyes? I can mend bone, make beauty out of stone. Simply speak my name, whisper it in vanity or shame. And I shall offer you what Djinnis cannot. At a price. Speak your wishes to me. This is the one chance you will have in a lifetime.”

Her eyes were hypnotic, and when they passed over Ryoka, even she felt a whisper in the back of her mind.

…could fix those fingers. New ones, ones that no one can ever bite off or hand back to you again. Love? You could walk into any room and have anyone, man or woman, with the right trinket. You could run faster than anyone in the world.

For a price. For a terrible price. Ryoka tried to put her hands over her ears. But the entire village was surely hearing Belavierr; she was growing taller, taller than houses, and her voice was in every ear.

How many people might take her offer? Who wanted new looks or a reminder of a friend? A piece of magic? If you could buy it for one year of your life, what would you trade?

Ryoka was cowering, and she heard a moan from Prost again. Belavierr’s voice rang in her ears like chanting—and a single [Witch] stood in the shadow of the Witch of Webs and looked up.

Witch Califor stared up past Belavierr at the sky. It was dark; a shadow had fallen across the very summer sky, but Califor took her hat off her head and fanned her face.

“It’s a hot day. Blazing, until now. It should have been drizzling, I think. Someone’s dried the air out.”

The Stitch Witch, Belavierr, heard the comment and paused as she turned. Her eyes met Califor’s.

“Yes. And?”

It was the one and only unguarded statement Ryoka had ever heard Belavierr make. A note of surprise in immortal tones, as if Belavierr was shocked Califor had noticed.

For answer, Califor gently opened her closed hand. She tossed something straight up.

“Let it be.”

Something glowing flew upwards past Belavierr’s face, slowly at first, weaving past the [Stitch Witch] as she snatched for it. A glowing, shimmering bit of…

It flashed up, and the black sky cracked. Pieces of shadow fell, and one part hit Ryoka in the face. She recoiled with a cry, flailing. Then she realized it wasn’t shadows but…

Rain?

A drop of rain hit Ryoka in the face. A little speck of water. Ryoka blinked as it ran onto one palm.

“Orange?”

An orange drop of rain in her hand. Then another bounced off of Nanette’s hat, and a blue teardrop landed in her hands. A green patter of raindrops rained off one of the houses’ roofs—and Belavierr stared as multi-colored drops of rain began to fall.

They landed in the pooling shadows, interrupted the whispers in Ryoka’s ears. Rain…just a drizzle. But on this hot day, the people of Riverfarm looked up and felt a refreshing downpour on their skin.

Just for a moment. But that was all it took. Belavierr swished her cloak and began to raise her voice. Then she whirled, and Califor was standing there. A satisfied half-smile on her face.

“She just—called a rainstorm? Wait, is this her big craft? Really?”

Alevica looked up, shielding her face from the colorful raindrops. However—Hedag just nudged her.

“It’s working. Look.”

Like people waking from a nightmare, Riverfarm’s folk stopped cowering from Belavierr and blinked. Prost, holding his children for dear life, was hit by a shower of red droplets and spluttered.

“My clothes! Your clothes, Prost! They’ll all stain!”

Yesel shouted reflexively—then looked at the man. Of all the things to care about with Witch Belavierr looming over them—Prost turned to Belavierr. Then looked at Yesel. The tears in his eyes were invisible with the falling rain.

“Look! Look! Rain! Hey! It tastes like colors too!”

His son ran around gleefully. Prost blinked at him—then a bewildered laugh escaped Prost’s lips. Rain.

It washed away more than just Belavierr’s voice and the shadows. It felt like…Ryoka closed her eyes a second, wondering why it was so familiar. Then she turned to Nanette, and Wiskeria mumbled.

“She did all that with just Ryoka’s happiness?”

My—Ryoka blinked. She stared down the street, and Witch Califor lifted her hat and nodded to Nanette. Nanette, from whom she’d borrowed some of her craft.

Then Califor whirled a hand, and the drizzle spiraled down in a gust of wind, and the skies cleared. The people gasped and shouted—and the sky was bright and clear.

“Well, that was shorter than I’d like. It seems it really is unnaturally dry. A refreshing shower, though.”

Califor stood there, and Belavierr glanced left and right—and people stared at her and backed away. But her voice, her offer? It was like a memory from last night, and she turned, frustrated.

Then glanced down at Califor’s hand. The other [Witch] had hold of Belavierr’s arm.

“I would stop there if I were you, Witch Belavierr. It would not do for you to be thought of as a woman who breaks her word.”

The rest of the coven approached, and Belavierr stared from face to face. Alevica tried to hide behind Eloise, but Belavierr only exhaled.

“Who are you, Witch?”

“I’m sure it doesn’t matter.”

Witch Califor smiled. Wiskeria shot her a wide-eyed look of delight and hid a smile. Belavierr glanced back at her daughter’s face—then whirled away. Without a word, she stalked out of Riverfarm. The people waited until Belavierr was gone before they began cheering.

“They cheer as if this weren’t our mess to clean up. Nanette. Why are you applauding?”

Califor shook her head, and Wiskeria stood there, demanding to know how she’d done that with Alevica. And Ryoka?

——

Califor came over to apologize to Mister Prost, who thanked her. The brief shower of colored rain wasn’t staining clothing; it was just water, but it had refreshed the village and cleared troubled faces.

“That Belavierr—”

“I believe she will stop. If not, I will oppose her with the coven. My word on it, Mister Prost. I can only apologize for what she put you through.”

“I’ll trust that, Witch Califor. No harm done from you. Thank you.”

Prost shook her hand a few times, and Wiskeria whispered to Ryoka.

“I’ve never seen anyone best Mother! Mavika apparently knew her, but she’s old. She never—did you see Califor do that? No wonder they tell stories about her!”

“I just hope Laken can deal with Belavierr.”

Ryoka was relieved, but worried now about how Laken would do. Wiskeria waved this off, which Ryoka found odd.

“He’s an [Emperor].”

“He’s from my w—he’s just like you and me, Wiskeria.”

The [Witch] gave Ryoka such an arch look that Ryoka got annoyed.

“He’s an expert, Ryoka. At least, in dealing with unnatural things.”

“Wh—Laken is the expert?”

That stung so much Ryoka instantly called bullshit. But Wiskeria gave Ryoka a deadpan nod as the Wind Runner stared at her.

“I actually think he might be able to persuade Mother when he gets here. You see, he’s done this before. I heard tales about it, but once, just once, I saw him greet these…people. His [Lords] and [Ladies]. Visitors. But they were like us, but not.”

Wiskeria leaned forwards. And Ryoka felt a jolt of adrenaline run through her. Laken had offered Ivolethe—

“Wait. What visitors? You mean, they came here? In the winter?”

“No, the spring. They were these strange, dangerous folk—”

“The fair folk? Wait? Are they here? What did they do? They came here in the spring?”

Her hands were suddenly gripping Wiskeria hard enough to bruise. The [Witch], alarmed, tried to pull away. But Ryoka was staring at her. The [Witch] felt it from her. The strongest emotion she’d ever sensed from Ryoka.

The desperate longing. Hope. She stammered as Ryoka asked—practically shouted questions. Ryoka let go and stood up.

“They’re here. Laken can summon them? Or—they have ties to this place?”

Her eyes flickered. She reached into a belt pouch and grasped something. Wiskeria, coughing, saw Ryoka murmuring to herself.

“Maybe a ritual? A faerie mound? No. The Summer Solstice. If it’s here—”

She turned. And Wiskeria felt a surge of hope and desperation bordering on madness. She coughed.

“Ryoka.”

“I’m going.”

Absently, Ryoka walked off. Wiskeria tried to go after her, but Ryoka broke into a run. The City Runner was filled with maddening thoughts. Hopes. A single one. And suddenly, she had every reason to talk to Laken.

But before that came her. Belavierr stood alone far outside the village. She looked annoyed. Angry. She turned, and her eyes fixed on Ryoka. The City Runner slowed.

“Begone.”

Ryoka hesitated. She was afraid. But she clutched the bit of frozen water, and it gave her strength. A hot wind blew around her. She had to try. And she raised her voice.

“Hi. I’m Ryoka Griffin. A friend of Wiskeria’s, or at least, I hope.”

Belavierr paused. She stared at Ryoka, fingers twisted as if to do something. Ryoka went on, speaking clearly, meeting the [Witch]’s eyes.

“She isn’t certain you love her, you know. And you drive her away every time you seal yourself.”

The [Witch] said nothing. Ryoka went on, trying to speak from the heart.

“You have to change. So does she. But neither of you can do it alone. And the other can’t do it without you trying. That’s all I have to say. And if I can help you two, I will. Please don’t kill me.”

Belavierr peered at Ryoka. The City Runner braced. After a second, Belavierr lifted a finger. She pointed up. Ryoka felt her clothes move.

“Wait—wait! I only—”

Belavierr ignored her. She stared at Ryoka. She flicked her fingers, and the clothes hurled Ryoka through the air.

About four hundred feet away, Mister Ram and some [Farmers] were working the fields, grumbling about dry soil. They looked up as they saw a big shape flying towards them. Ram stared up and swore as he heard a screaming voice.

“Ohgodohgodohgod—”

Ryoka didn’t die when she hit the river. Her fall wasn’t at terminal velocity. But she still sank to the bottom and swam out, gasping at the cold shock. She looked around wildly as Ram and everyone who’d seen her flying rushed over. Ryoka clambered out as Ram reached for her.

“Dead gods! Miss Griffin! What happened?”

“Belavierr.”

Someone uttered it like a curse. But Ryoka just nodded. She gazed at a distant figure. Belavierr was still standing there. Ryoka felt at her wet body. Then she crawled onto the bank and lay on the grass. She looked up at Ram, wide-eyed.

“I’m not dead. That probably means progress.”

He gaped at her, and she smiled. Then put her head down on the grass and passed out.

Day 65 – Ryoka

Waking. Explaining what had happened to Prost. Talking with Wiskeria, who marched off to shout at her mother. Sleeping and waking in a cold sweat. The next day, Ryoka still shuddered. But she thought she’d made progress. She still wasn’t sure if the wind had saved her, blowing her into the river, or if Belavierr had aimed for that.

But it was something. Ryoka had hope. Because the day was clear, if too hot. And she could try again, this time with Wiskeria. A mother-daughter talk with her acting as intermediary, for what it was worth.

And she had no idea what was happening. Because in Reizmelt, a Vampire girl wrote down Belavierr’s name and was attacked by sewing needles. Across the ocean, the Order of Seasons waited, and a group of [Hunters] and a [Knight] stood, hoping for confirmation. A single name.

On that day stood a [Witch]. Belavierr. She might have slept. She might have woken. But how she lived was a mystery to most. It made sense to her, though. Her actions had purpose. Her magic was connected, a product of thread and skill and power.

This is what she saw. The [Witch] held up a ward. A needle tied with a thread. The needle tied with thread vibrated and twisted and turned as she held it. Moving despite the absence of wind. Belavierr watched as it stabbed. And Fierre screamed. The Stitch Witch waited. But the stabbing needle kept moving. Desperately.

Then it stopped. The magic was gone. And Belavierr saw the needle snap. She stared at it.

“Hm. Four. The last is failed.”

Her head turned. The wide brim moved towards the sun. Belavierr, staring straight into it.

“Death is hunting me. Flame, this time.”

That was intuition. But the Stitch Witch had certainty as well. She abandoned the failed ward and reached into her sleeves. From somewhere, she brought out something.

It was a tapestry. A small woven scene on a fabric. Silk, or something just as fine. Belavierr looked at it.

She had not woven it. It had woven itself. What it showed her was a burning figure. And fire. Fire, a burning figure. She touched it, and the very fabric was hot.

“So. Two deaths.”

To Belavierr, it was clear as could be. And the Stitch Witch did not question. She knew, and so she acted. She walked, and a thread in her mind, in reality, a bit of magic, led her straight to a [Witch] taking breakfast with Ryoka. Belavierr’s attention was on her daughter. She only vaguely recognized Ryoka; she had forgotten all but the other [Witches]. And she spoke.

“Daughter. I am leaving. There is danger following me.”

That was all. And it was a clear message. But her daughter, the one thing in the world Belavierr couldn’t understand—tried to understand but was incomprehensible—spluttered and asked questions. Belavierr only said what she knew.

“It is too dangerous for me. I will return for you. And the pact with this [Emperor] if there is time.”

“Mother! You can’t just run off! Hold on! Wait! I want to speak with you!”

Belavierr was already leaving. But she paused. Because of Wiskeria. Only for her, despite the danger. The tapestry was smoking. Burning. In Reizmelt, Fierre stomped into the tavern and grabbed the [Mage].

“Daughter. I must go.”

“Mother—what have you done?”

“Nothing?”

Belavierr had no idea. She did not ask the origin, only sought the nature of the threat. She showed Wiskeria the tapestry. Her daughter was uncomprehending.

“I don’t understand.”

“It is a warning. Like other wards, but prophecy. You would know this if you had continued studying your craft, Daughter.”

Belavierr frowned. And she was distracted. Wiskeria glared up at her mother. Someone else spoke urgently by her shoulder.

“Witch Belavierr? What kind of threat is it? Can you tell us if it’s aimed at us? Or just you?”

Belavierr’s eyes swung to Ryoka. In annoyance. The City Runner froze, but Wiskeria blocked Belavierr.

“Don’t glare, Mother! This is Ryoka. My friend. I want you to listen to her, understand?”

“I understand. But, Daughter. I must leave. The death follows me. It may affect you—”

Across the world, the Knight-Commander spoke an order. The [Autumn Knights] called on their grand ritual.

Belavierr’s head snapped up. Across Riverfarm, seven [Witches] looked up. Wiskeria. Nanette. Califor. Hedag. Eloise. Alevica. Mavika. Even Nesor felt it.

So did Ryoka. She gazed up. The wind had changed. It blew, suddenly a gale. Belavierr sighed and turned.

“Daughter. I must go.”

“What is that?”

Wiskeria was gaping. The air was shaking. Ryoka heard a voice. A thunder, like the cracking of the sky. Her hair was standing on end. Prost and Rie gazed up and called the alarm.

They all felt it. And then they saw it. The sky and ground were merging. Outside of Riverfarm, the air warped. Ryoka, turning, saw them.

Ranks of armored Humans. [Knights], hundreds of them, standing in line. Some were dressed like the spring, in green. Others blazed. Still more were dressed in robes or wearing the russet colors of fall. And few stood like ice. One of them was closest, standing on a dais. He pointed, his sword aimed straight through the disturbance in the air. His eyes found Ryoka and moved past her. They widened with hatred. And Belavierr blinked.

Ryoka saw a band of seven in the center of the disturbance. Seven figures, all on foot. Six wore dark clothing, the same capotain style hats on two. Set faces. Each carried weapons. A pair of crossbows. A golden axe. A wand and rapier. A longbow, already nocked with a shimmering arrow. A hammer and shield.

The last was a [Knight]. He walked forwards. He was at the very edge of his forties or the end of his thirties. And his armor was yellow and orange and gold. It shone. But brighter still, the burning in his gaze, as if fire itself flickered in his pupils. He walked first, and the six [Hunters] were behind him.

Through that disturbance in the air where magic itself was affecting reality. Behind him, the Order of Seasons roared. Ryoka froze.

“What’s happening? Dead gods, what’s happening?”

Someone was shouting that. Riverfarm’s people couldn’t have ignored the magical disturbance. They flooded towards the rift, staring. Mister Prost, Beniar and his [Riders]. Lady Rie.

And the coven. The [Witches] came forwards. Even Mavika and Califor stared. Alevica’s jaw dropped. Ryoka’s head spun. She gaped at Wiskeria. The [Witch]’s face was white.

“What kind of magic is this? A Tier 7 spell? Tier 8?”

Ryoka turned back to the rift. Then she glanced around. Her eyes found Belavierr. The Stitch Witch was staring into the rift, at the band slowly walking towards her. The [Summer Knight]’s gaze was blazing, the [Hunters]’ intent. They never looked away from her as they crossed that divide. Nor did Knight-Commander Calirn. He stood with three of the four Grandmasters of the Order of Seasons. And the ranks of the [Knights] beheld her. Belavierr.

“Why is this happening?”

There were many answers. Ryoka thought of a [Witch Hunter]. If she had known more, she might have thought of Fierre. Or Belavierr’s ward spells. And perhaps she might have seen the larger picture if it was explained.

But she didn’t. Because Mavika’s words came back, echoing.

This is not your story.

“Belavierr. This day has been ages coming. Stand and face your fate!”

Knight-Commander Calirn bellowed across the rift. The [Hunters] and [Knight] were closing on her, stepping into Riverfarm. One held a scrying orb. And even as the grand ritual’s magic began to fail, the rift began to close, the [Hunter] lifted the orb. She tossed it, and it paused in the air. The Order of Seasons was reflected there.

The [Hunters] and [Knight] stopped on the grass. The magic vanished from the air. Ryoka staggered back. They had crossed from that other place over to here in less than a minute! She could still feel the shuddering in the air. And now—they were here.

Silence. Nobody could speak. Ryoka’s eyes were wide. How could this be happening? But she was a bystander. And this was not her final act. The [Knight] had no eyes for her. He drew his sword. A greatsword, two-handed. And he spoke.

“Belavierr the Stitch Witch.”

There she stood. Tall as midnight. Dark as shadows. Her glowing eyes fixed on the man as the [Hunters] spread out. And there was a flicker of recognition.

“Do I…know you?”

The [Summer Knight] didn’t blink. He only smiled. And his eyes blazed.

“Belavierr, the Witch of Webs. The Hunter’s Guild of Noelictus and the Order of Seasons ordain your death. Come to execute this duty are six [Witch Hunters] from Terandria. And myself. I am Ser Raim, [Summer Knight] of the Order of Seasons. Today, for the dead, for those who still suffer from your deception and malice, I will bring you to justice.”

He lifted his sword and saluted her. Ryoka was frozen along with the coven. Wiskeria looked at her mother, but she too was transfixed. It was all happening too fast. And it was not her tale.

Belavierr paused for a moment after Sir Raim delivered his vow. She stared at him. And then the six [Witch Hunters]. They were spread out in a semi-circle, flanking her. Four women, two men. One of them looked up. The sun was at her back. And she lifted her weapons in both hands.

A pair of crossbows, bolts tipped with silver. The string was metal, the weapons shining with magic. She aimed at Belavierr as the [Witch] considered.

“I have no quarrel with the Order of Seasons.”

That was what she said. The [Witch Hunter] called out.

“[Magicslayer’s Shot]. [Seven-League Bolts].”

Ryoka saw her pull the triggers at a distance. She never saw the bolts fly. But she saw Belavierr stagger. Wiskeria cried out as Belavierr stumbled back. Two bolts were lodged in her chest. She stared down as the [Witch Hunter] flicked her crossbows.

“[Automatic Reload].”

The crossbows drew back, cocking themselves. Two new bolts appeared in the grooves. The [Witch Hunter] raised the crossbows again. Belavierr stared at the bolts in her chest. Slowly, she touched the liquid running down one bolt.

Red blood. The Stitch Witch looked up and spoke normally. As if the crossbow bolts weren’t there.

“I possess the life of the [Prince] of Kaliv—”

The second pair of bolts struck her right arm. Belavierr stumbled back. She stared at her arm. Tried again.

“His fate is—”

Her hand rose. Two more bolts appeared halfway through her hand. They would have struck her face. Belavierr gazed at them. At blood, which spattered as her arm jerked with the impact. Wiskeria made a sound. Belavierr frowned as the [Witch Hunter] with the crossbows paused.

And then the [Witch] twisted her fingers and flicked a needle.

Where had she pulled it from? Ryoka had no idea. But one needle suddenly shot across the ground at the [Witch Hunter]. Then it multiplied. A hundred. A thousand shot across the ground at the woman, like hail. She cursed.

“[Perfect D—]”

“[Shield of Valor]!”

The [Hunter] with the hammer and shield slammed his shield down in front of her. Ryoka saw a barrier of light. Heard and saw the needles snap as they struck the shield in the air. Belavierr paused.

“Tagil! Attack in tandem! Watch her threads!”

Another [Hunter], the one with the axe, called out. She advanced as the two other [Hunters] aimed. One with a bow, the other with a wand. The [Summer Knight] was still as Belavierr turned. She pulled a bolt out of her chest easily. And then she flicked her hand.

More needles. This time, ten times as many. They sprayed outwards, striking at all the [Hunters] and Ser Raim. The six [Hunters] shouted, but they were equal to it. They dodged or blocked. One simply took the hits; the needles stood out on her leather armor as she blocked the ones aimed at her face. She ignored the metal lodged deep into her armor.

Advancing. The silvery needles flew, trying to shred the hunters. But there stood Ser Raim. He wore no helmet. As the sewing needles shot at him, he spoke.

“[Aura of Righteous Fire].”

And he burned. The air ignited. The area around Ser Raim turned to flame. The metal needles melted before they touched him. The [Summer Knight] walked forwards. His steps lit a trail of fire. His armor burned with it. For twenty feet, fire burned. And it walked with him as he advanced on Belavierr.

Seven. They came forwards. Belavierr abandoned the needles. Frowned. Then she inspected Ser Raim again. Recognition flickered in her eyes.

“Have we met before? I almost remember…no. Nevermind.”

She shook her head. As Ryoka watched, breathless, waiting to see what she would do, Belavierr turned. And began to walk away.

“Belavierr! Hold!”

The [Hunters] advanced faster. One of them, the one with the longbow, raised it and aimed at her back.

“[Hunter’s Quarry]!”

The arrow sped towards Belavierr from behind. It never struck her. It did hit a face that pulled itself out of the earth. A huge, misshapen face. Staring button eyes. A golem of cloth. The [Hunters] charged, but two more golems rose out of the ground. And more needles flashed through the air. One as thick as Ryoka’s arm, a javelin of a needle—

“Halt! Belavierr!”

The [Summer Knight] was charging. But the Stitch Witch was just walking away. Calmly as you please as her creations screened her. But each step seemed to carry her far farther than they should have. She was walking towards a black horse who galloped to her, a giant of a stallion. Ryoka saw she was going to mount it. And ride away.

“Give me a clear shot! I have to mark her!”

The [Hunter] with the longbow was screaming. The other [Witch Hunters] were carving down the cloth golems. Ser Raim swung his sword; the golem blocking him burned, and his sword cleaved the thing in two. But Belavierr was far away. So far, she was a speck. In moments! He charged after her. But it was too late.

Too late—until a voice rang out. A [Hunter] had fought clear of her golem. She saw Belavierr departing. And she changed targets. Instead of running at Belavierr, she ran straight at Ryoka. Ryoka and Wiskeria. The City Runner jerked back, but it wasn’t her the [Witch Hunter] was aiming at. The woman swung her axe.

“Belavierr! Hold! Hold or your daughter dies!”

And the black speck paused. Wiskeria froze, eyes wide. The [Witch Hunter] panted, a needle buried in her cheek. She spoke, her eyes dispassionate, locked on Belavierr’s distant form.

“We know you have a daughter. So hold, and return to face us. Or she dies.”

“[Hunter] Gaile! Enough!”

Ser Raim whirled. His eyes blazed with fury. He lifted his greatsword, but Gaile pressed her axe into Wiskeria’s neck. The blade dug into Wiskeria’s skin, parting it without effort.

“Don’t move, Ser Raim. You can’t stop my blade. No one here can.”

“Lower your axe, [Hunter]. Should Witch Wiskeria die, you will ere my crows fly.”

Mavika hissed at the [Hunter]. Alevica lifted her wand, and Califor turned, her gaze flashing. The coven of [Witches] faced the hunters and [Knight]. But Gaile didn’t move.

“Our quarry isn’t you, Mavika the Crow.”

“Nor is it the child! Leave her, Gaile!”

A [Huntress] called out, shifting her bow to aim at Gaile. The [Witch Hunter] just shook her head. She spoke. To the crowd. To her comrades. To the coven. And to the distant [Witch].

“This goes against your pride, Ser Raim. Your honor. But I am tired of this chase. If I swing, I die. But I will swing before any of you can stop me, even the Stitch Witch. This is our chance. If she refuses to do battle, she flees again. As she always has. But this time, I will take her daughter from her. That, at least, I can do.”

She looked at the blazing [Summer Knight], unafraid. And then at Wiskeria. The [Witch] was frozen, her eyes wide. Gaile’s gaze was distant. As distant as Belavierr’s.

“I’m sorry, girl. You did not choose your mother. But for her, I would break my honor. Because of her, I buried my own daughter.”

That was all. There she stood. And Ryoka, who had been part of this play, stumbled. She might have gone forwards, but the [Witch Hunter] was looking at her.

“Move closer and I cut. Step back.”

Ryoka hesitated. But Wiskeria was bleeding. Blood ran down her throat, soaking her robes. So Ryoka stumbled back. She glanced around. The [Witch Hunters] were paused. Two were aiming at Gaile. But the rest were staring past Ser Raim, who’d turned back.

Watching the distant speck that was Belavierr.

She had not moved. Nor had she come closer. And Wiskeria’s eyes shifted. Her head moved, cutting into the axe slightly. Looking at her mother.

“Belavierr.”

Ryoka didn’t know when she started running. But she was. She ran after Belavierr. Would Belavierr run? She wouldn’t leave?

But Ryoka felt it. A terrible feeling in the air. Belavierr had fled. She had sensed the danger. The [Hunters] and [Knight] had been sent for her. What was more—

They were all watching. Ryoka had to fight free of the crowd. Run past them for Belavierr. Everyone was there, an audience of thousands. And more. She bumped into a figure, heard a curse.

“Watch it, ye daft cunt. We’re trying to see!”

“Sorry, I—”

Ryoka turned her head. And then there they were. Standing. Sitting on the roofs of houses. A gathering of bright figures. Individuals who had no place in this world. But they had come. The young woman stopped, and her heart paused.

The fae looked down at her. Then up. They watched the [Summer Knight] and the lone figure. Belavierr. And Ryoka understood. They had come to see something even the fae deemed worthy. A story.

Perhaps only Ryoka saw them. Only she could see the watchers gathered invisibly among the others. But then—someone else saw. As Ryoka tore herself away, running, she saw a black figure. And two ringed eyes, glowing orange.

Belavierr looked past Ryoka. At the watching fae. She saw, and she knew. For a moment, she hesitated. The fair folk looked to her, waiting. And Ryoka, panting, saw the Stitch Witch hesitate.

Was that fear in her eyes? She looked back at her daughter, at the [Witch Hunter] holding her hostage. Ser Raim called out.

“Belavierr! If it is in my power, I will not let your daughter come to harm! But I cannot stop my companion. Should she strike, I will cut her down. I cannot save your daughter where I stand.”

He planted his sword in the ground, burning. And the world waited. Ryoka looked up at Belavierr. The Stitch Witch sighed. She gazed back at Ser Raim.

“Your word on it?”

“I swear. Return and she lives.”

Gaile called out. Belavierr peered at her. Then she dismounted from the horse. Ryoka’s breath caught in her chest. The [Witch Hunters] paused, incredulous. But Ser Raim nodded. He looked at Gaile.

“Gaile.”

“No. End it, Raim. While she lives, the axe stays. And if Belavierr flees, her daughter dies. If she lives, I’ll lower my axe and submit myself to justice.”

The [Witch Hunter] gritted her teeth. Ser Raim bowed his head. Then he turned. Belavierr was walking back towards them. Slowly. But she seemed to grow with every step. Her shadow grew longer despite the day.

Four [Hunters] and a [Knight] barred her way, blocking Wiskeria and Gaile. To the side watched Riverfarm’s people, the coven. Ryoka and the fae. Behind the [Hunters], an orb floated in the air, and there watched the Order of Seasons, Wistram. But no others.

Ser Raim stepped forwards. He blazed brightly. But Belavierr’s every step called darkness. The ground shook. And Ryoka saw him smile wistfully.

He was not her match. None of them were. But they didn’t flee. The [Witch Hunters]’ faces were set. And then Ser Raim gazed up. He pulled his greatsword out of the ground. The flames around him, his very aura, were flickering out as the shadows seemed to eat at the fire around him. He called out though, smiling.

“The sun is bright today. Glorious. Look—the sun shines!”

The [Summer Knight] pointed up. He spread his arms, as if embracing the sky. Then he glanced around. At his comrades, half a world away. His audience. And the fae stirred. Ser Raim looked back at Belavierr. His voice rang, building.

“I am a small flame. My worth is but kindling before the darkness I face. But even the smallest fire may blaze bright. So, to face this foe, let me offer a sacrifice worthy of the deed!”

He raised his sword. And the fire around him faded. And then a brilliant flame slowly engulfed his armor. Incomparable to the fire before. It burned brighter than the sun’s light.

“I carry the last torch of Paladin Arteis—hallowed by her name. For this act, I offer time. I offer my life! [Lifeburning Flames]! Come, [Witch]! Watch, fate! Let me burn the Stitch Witch until nothing remains!”

And there was fire. Pure essence of flame. It burned everything by sight alone. Ryoka felt it scorch her. The fae stirred. Hundreds of miles away, a Dragon woke. In Reizmelt, Levil the [Pyromancer] turned and felt the heat.

“Flame.”

It burned the crowd. Mavika shrieked, her crows screaming and fleeing the flames. Alevica stumbled away, her robes and hat smoking, crying out. Some in the crowd fell. Others burned and fled.

And Belavierr? She shaded her eyes. Ser Raim advanced. He looked up at her, she down at him.

“Is that all?”

“No. I offer everything.”

The [Summer Knight] raised his sword.

“[My Life, be Thou My Fire].”

Then the flames were all-consuming. They burned the shadows themselves. Spreading. Ser Raim charged, and Belavierr flung up her arms. He struck at her, struck at her body, the invisible threads running from her through the sky. The flames consumed both.

And she screamed. The thread burnt. The shadows fled. Belavierr screamed, and the shriek was the sound of immortality dying. She struck back at Ser Raim, and he struggled. The air shifted. Threads reached down, claws of fabric.

The [Witch Hunters] attacked and advanced, battling monsters that stepped sideways out of the world. A screaming apparition tore open the sky, and a [Witch Hunter] shot at it. Another battled a giant as tall as a hill made of cloth.

In the center of it stood Ser Raim and Belavierr. They struck each other, one burning, the other aflame. They tore at each other with spell, with Skill and steel and rage. And Belavierr burned.

She could have run. She could have fled. But her daughter stood hostage, so the mother refused to flee. She walked through fire as the [Knight] burned her. And her blood was red. Belavierr fought and burned.

The fire met thread.

6.44 E

(Volume 2 of The Wandering Inn is available on Amazon! If you can, please leave a review or tell people it’s out! Buying is not necessarily necessary. Thanks so much for the support!)

Day 65

A woman sat in a web made by a spider. She was sewing, stitching together a soul out of pieces. The fabric was worn and old, tattered and stained by sins. It was made of flesh and sacrifice. Stolen years and desperate deeds.

Blood? A single skein of thread could contain oceans. The needle that pieced each part of this soul together was black, like the empty eyes of the dead.

The woman had heard the silent scream of a soul leaving the body a million million times. She had stolen the souls and the lives of so many she could no longer remember. Whispering to them for secrets and offering them halflife for prices only she could name. Leaving behind pain and regret and anguish and death upon death upon death.

The spider’s web was vast—or had been. Now, it floated, free-form, strands of identity, memory, and power hanging around her. A tapestry of eons of making to rival Dragons or the greatest [Archmages] and legends—destroyed.

Mice. Naughty, wretched mice had eaten it away. Exposed holes. Weaknesses. For however filthy any part was—a ransomed life, an eye plucked from a socket in trade, a sacrifice in scarlet—what she had made of it had been beautiful.

Her web. The woman could well be called the Spider, then. The Last Weaver. Witch of Webs. Temptress. So many names.

How had it been ruined so? The pieces had been nibbled at without her knowledge, power stolen away until entire fragments of her being were disconnected. Into that gap came weakness.

Even now, the woman looked around and saw the damage to her web. Not just to her village; her eyes roamed and saw shattered threads. Ruined. So much work ruined by song and flame.

Unacceptable. Her lips would have curled if she was capable of that much emotion. Instead, the woman just bent back to work, and her furious work to mend and salvage what could be salvaged consumed her.

The tapestry of her soul was only about her. Her…and a single child holding her hand. Her deaths circled the weaving, unable to pierce the manifold layers to the heart of her. Rings of immortality bargained for, stolen, obtained in profane ways.

Bind your soul by magic against spell and blade and Skill.

Murder the last of the ancient Phoenixes and eat its heart raw.

Strike a deal with a [Necromancer] of old for the secret to his eternal body and life.

Write a pact to send your death to another woman before it came to you. A hundred women. A thousand.

She had not striven for one method, but rather, all. It was her life’s work, and it had all been undone because she had grown careless. She had fallen asleep, lonely from her daughter’s absence, sated on her latest project—and they had wormed their way in.

This new tapestry would be foolproof, even against the dead. Then she would find the mice and hang them from their naughty tails and find out how to exact vengeance for each and every thing they had taken from her with interest.

This was right. This was proper and in the old way of things. The woman sat there, fingers constantly moving.

She was not old. Or rather, not as old as the tapestry around her. She had made the first layer to hide herself from time long, long ago. Then other layers to seal away things like her heart that it might never bleed, hide her soul that no one could judge it.

Too much, perhaps. In time, it had become a cocoon, suffocating her from the outside world. Now that the layers thinned, the woman was more herself.

Belavierr, they called her.

Belavierr.

She had a daughter.

She had a nemesis who sang.

She had a death who blazed. Two deaths, it seemed.

These things were true and mattered; all else would change. The woman kept sewing, watching the world twist around her, a haze through her veil of being. The tapestry of her soul reflected a battle.

Needles made of every material in creation, from wood to silver to bone to stone, lancing through the air. A cartwheeling figure firing two bolts at her chest.

She twisted a finger, and the fletching should have snapped—but it did not. Each fiber was charmed against her, and the figure had found a way to pierce magic.

Bolts struck home; the woman watched, idly, as blood pooled. Not on her chest, but at the very edges of the tapestry. A body woven out of cunning cloth stumbled and bled.

That it even touched the tapestry was annoying. A sign of weakness. The woman corrected the stitching, removing the bolts with a flick of her hand. Sewed the gaps closed; reinforced the weave.

Vengeance, then. Old as she was, she did it well. Spilling blood into one hand, the Witch of Webs flung the droplets wide, and they bloomed like strange flowers she had seen once. Each edge as sharp as could be.

Shadows dodged around her, shouting. But the woman, the [Witch], simply kept sewing. She was being hunted.

Why?

I remember them. She studied the shattered tapestry of her memories. Oh. Yes.

They were there. She barely recalled faces, but she recalled it now. [Hunters] meddling in her task. The Kingdom of Shades. Ghosts…

An axe struck her tapestry hard enough to make the outer edges shake; it could not pierce the outermost layer. Once more, the woman simply removed the axe, dealt the [Hunter] a blow to shake his bones, and went back to sewing.

They were less than mice. Not a single one had reached the first step of power. They had no age; their weapons were well made, though. Yet the woman paid them no heed. She sat, sewed, and knew not how long she worked, for her task was all-consuming.

Then?

Suddenly, there was flame. A burning man approached her, and the woman threw up a hand, and her eyes dilated in the sudden brightness that pierced the layers of her manifold soul.

What was this? Someone else? A [Knight]?

Yes. She knew him. A burning man, eyes open wide, blazing with a fire carried from thousands of years ago. She saw its very source: the wrath of a long-dead [Paladin]. Flames of faith. Flames of hatred.

Flames born of sacrifice. Such a conflagration that it was burning him alive each second he existed. The man was strong. Insignificant compared to those she had clashed against, but he had reached the first step of greatness.

—And he had turned his achievement into a single vow, a single purpose: her death. The burning man walked towards her, and a sword dug into her tapestry and lit it ablaze.

It pierced the first layer and the second, and the woman reached to pluck the sword out—and the flames burnt her. The fires ate away at her work, and alarmed, she tried to quench the fire with threads made of blood. With wards made of ancient Dragonscale for this very purpose.

He was only a flame. Yet—and yet—

Ser Raim burned. His flames should not have reached her, but they did, racing through holes in the safeguards around her being. Like a torch set to worm-riddled wood, he ignited layer after layer of her web.

Then—the woman felt alarm change to fear. For the first time in an age, she gazed at the man and saw her death coming for her. A true death that refused to catch on her nets or turn away.

“Stop. It will be your end. Have I quarreled with you?”

She whispered, and the man’s eyes only raged hotter. She…did not remember him, but he had the look and likeness of so many. An old bargain or deed, perhaps. It mattered not. Thus, he came.

And the woman called Belavierr began to struggle, now, fighting the flames. For the closer he got—

The more she remembered pain. Now, quick, the Spider scurried. To do battle. A little ember was burning her web. It should not have even been able to catch a spark, but she scrabbled for the scraps of her power. Threw them at her foes, for she did know how to escape and live.

But for her daughter and it would have been easy to flee.

‘But fear not’, whispered the Spider, ‘I know well this killing game.’

——

The air was dark and heavy, but the light that raged in the center of it all was all the brighter, like a bonfire in perfect midnight. Tangled voices, shouting, screams, and the snap of strings faded unnaturally fast, as if all were muffled by a sea of cotton. It smelled like a dry summer’s day, hot, and like charcoal and smoke.

The air even tasted wrong. Old and dusty, like a cough never released for a thousand years. Or longer? A shuffling filled the air as the crackling roar intensified.

“—support Raim! My arrows aren’t even hurting—”

“She’s burning! Back, back! ‘Ware the shadows! I see—”

A woman reached out, and figures shambled out of the darkness. Not from real reality, but from somewhere else. The shadows of her cloak? Another dimension? Their aimless walking slowly became purposeful, as if they had been wandering so long and finally—saw light and purpose.

Who were they? Hundreds, now, marching, now running, metal clattering, trailing broken cloth and thread, mouths agape as the [Hunters] whirled, calling out alarms. One fired a silver arrow straight into the head of one of the shadows, but it kept running forwards until all could see who they were:

Puppets.

Thousands of years ago, they had been given form. Their forms cut from silk, carefully stitched into shapes and connected. And something else had been added. Magic. A half-life that could animate their bodies of cloth and give them purpose.

They looked like soldiers, these puppets. Not like people. They were no Stitch-people with proper anatomy and faces—and souls. These puppets had dead eyes, stern, warlike features, or sometimes even blank faces and crude sockets carved out of wood or painted onto canvas.

Huge arms, long legs—and very real weapons. A [Hunter] with a scissor-sword snipped the arm off one running at him with a spear, and the thing only bled stuffing; he whirled his sword, took its head off, and it kept stabbing until the [Witch Hunter] bisected it again at the waist. Then the legs just fell, kicking.

More puppets rushed after the first, attacking wildly, a perfect little army for some war or other purpose. What purpose that had been perhaps even their creator had forgotten. So the puppets eventually lost their purpose, were stored away. But they remained. Because the one who had stitched them together always had need of things.

She stood as the [Hunters] formed a ring around a blazing man trying to drive his sword deeper into her chest.

The witch’s hands were locked around the burning sword, ignoring it charring her flesh, trying to pull it out of her. Now there was a grimace of pain on her face, but only slightly, as if she had felt a pinprick for the first time in eons.

Yet that was enough to make her eyes open wide, wide. If you looked into those eyes through the interconnecting rings bathed in orange, you might fall into that infinite gaze.

Deeper. Deeper. Into the very depths of her soul. There, you would see her.

She had been a mortal woman once. But such was her skill at thread and needle that she had grasped a truth of her art. All things were connected. And the art of sewing life and fate and magic was only a different technique than physical materials.

Over centuries, she had added to those layers, creating something beyond any spider’s ability. Some of those old wards had failed. Many had stood strong in the face of harm. But for all she had touched immortality, Belavierr had always known of her death. For it was the one thread she could never cut. It was woven into her being.

And now she knew one other truth: nothing was permanent. Dragons fell. Gods died. And now her death had come for her.

Belavierr burned. And as she screamed, her creations charged the [Knight]. They tried to stab him, shoot him with arrows—but the [Witch Hunters], six of them, forced a circle of steel and flesh.

“[We Make a Stand: Fight or Fall]! [Blademaster’s Slash]! Sylind—Phoenixfire arrow! Now!”

The leader of the [Witch Hunters] carved down two dozen puppets with a cut that tore through wood and armor alike, and the half-Elf with a bow plucked a burning arrow from her quiver. She loosed it with a shout.

“[Triple Shot]! Take c—”

The detonations of the three copied arrows erased hundreds of the puppets. The explosions sent mounds of earth and stone fountaining up into the air, and the shockwave itself tossed the puppets around like leaves. Only the [Hunters] held their ground.

“[Dwarven Defence: Granite Formation]. They’re coming.”

The largest one gritted out, holding his battleaxe at the ready. The puppets had no brains to concuss or bones to break. Even if their legs were shattered, they dragged themselves forwards onto the [Hunters]’ blades. But they were so many—one slashed at a [Hunter]’s armor, slowly marking the enchanted leather. Another stumbled past the [Hunters] towards the [Knight]. A crude hatchet made of blood-red crystal raised…

Before any [Hunter] could bring it down, the wooden puppet’s body burst into flame. It tried to swing the crystal hatchet, but it stumbled, turning to ash so quickly that the hand holding the axe fell—and then even the crystal was melting around the man’s feet.

Ser Raim never noticed. He had yanked his sword back and cut at Belavierr’s arm as she deflected the sword with a staff of her own. His sword met the dark ash of her staff and ignited it; two more swift blows and he cleaved through an artifact, unleashing a screaming howl of magic—and then stabbed once more into Belavierr’s chest. With a faint grimace, she yanked the greatsword out and tossed him back a step. Her puppets ran at Ser Raim, and he whirled his sword, cleaving through a puppet made of pale, yellow cloth that refused to burn.

“Keep them off him! Target the dangerous ones!”

A [Witch Hunter] tackled the golem as it staggered, barely cut, and began to knife it repeatedly, and Ser Raim checked himself before facing the [Witch] again. The [Hunters] used his aura as a shield; they drew in closer, letting him burn the weaker puppets by his very presence.

His aura. Ser Raim’s fire was like a beacon in the darkness. The flames that consumed the puppets were burning at the shadows themselves. It seemed anything he deemed a foe was caught in an inferno beyond any ordinary temperature. Steel melted. Magic burned. And when he drove his sword a third time into her stomach—

The [Witch] screamed.

There he was. Standing in the web of her soul, cutting at her protections. The thread burned. He was cutting it all away. The [Knight] burned, his very life the fuel of the flames. He could hurt her. She was dying.

But she didn’t flee. Because the [Witch] was looking ahead. At a single [Hunter] who hadn’t joined the fighting.

Her axe cut a red line into Wiskeria’s throat as the [Hunter] stood there, watching her, eyes blazing with hatred and victory. But she did not pay attention to the [Hunter].

Belavierr did not even remember why she hated her.

Wiskeria was all Belavierr cared for. Belavierr took another step, then turned. She raised a hand and produced a needle of her own, long, like a rapier—and swung it fast.

Ser Raim went to block, but the blow caught him off-guard. His feet left the ground, and his armor and flames caught the blow—it nevertheless tossed him like a fly. Fifty feet.

“Raim!”

The [Hunters] shouted as his aura left them beset on all sides. Belavierr aimed the gigantic needle like a lance to throw as the man tumbled, but the half-Elf snapped.

“I’ve got him—[Recalling Shot]!”

She fired an arrow a second before Belavierr threw. Her arrow struck Ser Raim in the breastplate—and she yanked him back towards them. He came to his feet with a shout of gratitude as the needle buried itself in the ground.

At this, Belavierr’s eyes flicked to the half-Elf, but her swipe through the air missed her target as Ser Raim brought his sword down on her arm.

Rather than cutting it off, he merely knocked it down, and Belavierr grimaced—before stepping back out of the way of another slash.

She was faster than she looked, and Ser Raim’s sword, which should have already mortally wounded her half a dozen times over, only seemed to hurt. But by the same token—Belavierr’s dodge merely carried her into the second slash. The [Knight] smoothly pivoted and cut her across one leg, before slashing her arm.

Swordmaster she was not. Belavierr staggered, then tried to step past Raim. Towards her daughter.

“Keep her back.”

Gaile’s voice was steady as she yanked Wiskeria backwards. Now, the [Witch Hunters] redeployed, screening Gaile and Wiskeria. Belavierr’s daughter was stock-still, staring at Gaile.

She wasn’t breathing hard; she certainly felt the blade at her throat, but she was calm. Possessed when it came to her own life. But when Wiskeria looked at her mother, it was with—disbelief.

As if she didn’t believe Ser Raim’s sword was actually hurting her.

One of the [Hunters] with crossbows shot again and again, downing the stitch-creations that came charging out of the shadows. The sky had turned black. Some of his bolts hit Belavierr, but she ignored them. They cut, but not deeply at her thread. The flame was what burned her.

Another had a hammer and shield. He turned as Belavierr pointed, this time at Gaile.

“She’s summoning bigger ones! What’s—”

This time, a giant puppet came hurtling out of nowhere, and the [Hunter] shouted as an eighteen-foot-tall monstrosity of wood, half-grown branches with dead leaves and glowing amber eyes, hurtled at him.

“[Shield of Defiance]! [Sin of Wrath]. Give—me—strength!”

His feet skidded backwards, but he heaved—and the deadwood giant went stumbling back instead.

Another [Hunter] was firing a hand-crossbow at the giant, blowing chunks out of its face with explosive bolts, when she looked up.

“Tombs of Menorome—spirits! Ghosts! She’s got her own ghosts!”

All the [Hunters] looked up. Now, there were spectral figures, screaming faces and disturbed air, reaching hands—and even a skeletal, corporeal figure holding a scythe.

“We can’t hold back this many! The entire damn Guild couldn’t—”

“Shut up. Truegold!”

The [Witch Hunter] with the scissor-blades stowed his sword, and the one who’d spoken drew a rapier made of bright gold—and stabbed through the first spirit. The thing shrieked, and the gold flashed brilliant ocre where it met the spirit’s ‘body’—and the thing vanished.

“A gift from Ailendamus!”

For all their bravado, the six [Hunters] fell back again. They would have been dead in heartbeats if they were the target of this army. Yet like the puppets—

The spirits feared the blazing [Knight]. Each creation that Belavierr summoned burnt or perished, most before even reaching the man.

Belavierr’s face was a grimace now, one masked by her own blood. She threw another storm of needles at Raim; saw them melt. Next came loping beasts made of stuffed hide, mimicking what they had once been.

A Wyvern with red scales bit at Ser Raim, ignoring his flames for a time, but even the Fire Wyvern began to smolder—one of the [Hunters] shot gaps in its hide, and the stuffing within ignited it like a [Fireball].

That sword kept cutting into her. Belavierr staggered—then her eyes locked on Wiskeria’s face. She ceased summoning puppets. And she began to stride.

“Keep her from Gaile! Keep her back!”

Tagil, the leader of the [Witch Hunters], roared. But his sword failed to deflect one of the puppets, and when the [Hunter] with the hammer tackled Belavierr, trying to slow her, she tossed him aside. Raim drove his sword into her back, deep, and Belavierr threw her head back and howled—

And she stared at her daughter. Then at the [Hunter] holding Wiskeria’s life.

Gaile tightened her grip on Wiskeria. She tried to drag Wiskeria back, then cursed and looked down. Black threads had wound themselves around her boots. Gaile stared at Wiskeria, and her grip tightened.

“Hunter Gaile!”

Raim had seen, and Gaile stared him in the eyes, teeth bared, as Belavierr stalked towards her.

“Wound her, Raim!”

He drove his sword deeper, trying to literally saw Belavierr in half, and the [Witch] kept advancing. She reached out—and Gaile glanced at Wiskeria’s face.

Then the [Hunter] shoved Wiskeria aside and raised her axe.

“This is your end, Witch!”

The [Huntress] struck as Belavierr swung an arm down. On Gaile’s lips was a Skill. She drove the axe lightly into Belavierr’s chest, barely parting the cloth of her robes—

Belavierr’s hand crushed through the woman’s neck, her ribs, and drove Gaile’s body down until it was a crumpled thing of blood and flesh. She reached for her daughter—and Ser Raim’s sword carved a second time through her chest.

Then, Belavierr did shriek once more and whirl away from her daughter. She was wounded. With each second—it seemed as if the shadows around her were parting. As if she were more real, and each blow hurt a bit more. She was…dying.

So was Ser Raim. He was dying too as her immortality burnt away with him. For a mortal could best even that which was immortal, if he had the strength, the will, and the chance. He could slay forever.

—–

They watched. The Order of Seasons in distant Terandria, from the Knight-Commander to the Grandmasters to Dame Talia, her fingers white on her sword. In Riverfarm, the people of the Unseen Empire watched, witnessing the battle of giants. From their isle, the [Mages] of Wistram covertly observed.

The coven of [Witches] watched. So did the fae. From their perches, they watched an old story unfold. All eyes were on Belavierr as she tried to flee, and her daughter watched her mother. Smelled smoke and burning. Heard her mother scream.

One person turned away. She ran as the shadows caught fire. Searching the ranks of the otherworldly host. Ryoka shouted, but her voice was lost by the roar of battle. And no matter how far she ran, she couldn’t approach the watchers. They were here, but not here.

And they looked down, eyes staring past her. On Belavierr, alight with flame, Ser Raim, the [Witch Hunters]. The fae watched with curiously grave expressions, without the glee or amusement Ryoka would have expected. They were bearing witness. Their chatter was audible to only one person desperate enough to hear it.

“Twill she die, I wonder? Look, he cuts her protections deeper with every blow.”

“Aye, but she has more lives to burn. He’s but a man.”

“He’ll take her life because he’s but one man.”

“Aye, aye.”

The maddening talk above her was all focused on Ser Raim. But Ryoka had to know—she shouted.

“Ivolethe!”

The young woman cried out, but her voice was too quiet. This was not her moment. And the watching fae paid her no notice. She ran towards one, begging. Pleading.

“Ivolethe! Is she here? Is she alive?”

Ryoka Griffin called out for her friend. At last, one of the fae looked down at her. A strange person with sharp teeth grinned. And her?—his?—eyes were suddenly gleeful.

“You again. You want to know?”

“Yes! Please!”

Every fiber in Ryoka wanted to turn. It was screaming at her that she had to see. For better or worse, see what became of Belavierr. But what kept her begging, searching for a hint of blue and ice, was friendship. Her lost friend. She pleaded with the fae, and it laughed.

“Tell me. Why should I tell you? Now, begone. We are trying to see.”

He flicked a finger. Ryoka could only stumble away. She kept pleading. But they didn’t listen. When Ryoka heard the last shriek, she had to turn.

Gaile was dead. The [Hunter] lay on the ground, crumpled and broken. The other [Hunters] cried out in fury, continuing to fight. But Belavierr’s voice rose above them, a sound no Human could have made.

She was on fire. They all were. The [Hunters] burned from their proximity to Ser Raim. And they screamed with it too. But they fought. Ryoka saw one drinking a potion as he reloaded. He shot both crossbows, and the silver bolts struck a cloth-Wyvern dropping out of the skies. The bolts blew holes in the Wyvern, exploding with fire. He whirled.

“She’s running! Sylind! Mark her!”

The [Hunter] with the bow and arrow turned. She aimed at Belavierr. The [Witch] was fleeing, striding away as Ser Raim pursued her. Again, each of Belavierr’s steps seemed to take her dozens of feet away. But the fire was still burning her. She looked—Ryoka’s breath caught.

Mortal. As if some of the unearthly nature had burnt away. Even her steps were unsteady as she fled. She turned, her hand flickering, and she raised a cloth shield.

“[Chain Lightning].”

The [Witch Hunter] with the wand aimed it. Ryoka saw a flash—the bolt was caught on the cloth shield—Ser Raim’s blade stopped as it struck the shield. Then it began to burn as his blade drew back. Belavierr struggled, stepping backwards. And the [Huntress] spoke.

“[The Eternal Hunt].”

The arrow flew. Belavierr dropped the burning shield, and dozens of threads as thick as cables tried to ensnare Ser Raim and the [Witch Hunter] with the hammer. The man with the hammer cursed as the threads tried to snare him, and he clutched an amulet, and for a second, he was intangible, walking through the thread. Ser Raim swung, cutting through. Belavierr whirled, and the black horse rode towards her, faster than any horse should move.

The arrow struck Belavierr in the shoulder as she pulled herself up onto the bare horse’s back. She turned, staring back at the [Hunter] with the bow. But the one with the crossbows loosed again, and Belavierr’s fingers twisted. The crossbow bolts snapped on her clothes, which were suddenly harder than stone. She rode, outdistancing her pursuers in a moment, with each second passing hundreds of feet. But the [Hunter] kept firing, aiming at her back even when she was a distant speck.

And then? Ryoka, her eyes wide, saw Belavierr’s head turn. Though the [Witch] was a speck, Ryoka felt the single emotion from her. Fear. Pure, mortal, fear.

She fled, and the others abandoned their pursuit. Ser Raim slowed, and the brilliant, white flames around him vanished. The other two [Hunters] slowed as well. The man with the hammer gasped, his face cut, his armor torn twice.

“Did it take? Did it take, Sylind?”

The half-Elf was checking her bow.

“It—did! The Skill worked! Raim must have burnt her bad enough—I know where she is! We have her!”

She whirled, and the others looked astonished—then the [Witch Hunter] with the wand snapped.

“It’s not a trick?”

“I swear it’s not. We can bring her down. Gaile—”

They turned and fell silent a moment. One of them, the one called Tagil, touched the brim of his hat.

“She bought Raim the time to hurt her. Truly hurt her. A Hunter to her last. Do we pursue now?”

The woman with the rapier stared at the place where Belavierr had disappeared in the distance. She cursed.

“We’re wounded, and Gaile’s fallen. If we lose her now—”

Sylind shook her head.

“I will never lose her again. I told you, she’s marked. We could call for reinforcements. Bring an army or continue pursuit—”

The one with the crossbows tapped Sylind in the chest.

“So long as you live. Right, your life is as precious as Raim’s, Sylind. If we need to, we’ll send you to—where can’t she find you? Samal?”

Sylind pushed the hand away.

“Forget about me, Coroise. Raim. How much of his life did he burn away?”

The others turned and saw the [Knight] kneeling now, flames extinguished, smoke rising from his armor, visibly exhausted after the battle.

The [Summer Knight] was bent as Ryoka approached with Prost, Rie, and the others. Prost called out, and the group turned. Ryoka saw the [Knight] turn to face them and froze.

His armor blazed with the colors of his season. Gold and red and orange. His sword still burned. But the man was different. He had been changed.

“Who are you people?”

Prost demanded. The [Witch Hunters] looked at him. The one with the scissor-blades bowed.

“I apologize, sir, for the danger we have placed you in. I am Foreign Hunter Tagil, leading the other Hunters of Noelictus. We are on a mission of utmost importance on the business of the Crown of Noelictus itself.”

Prost stared at the unfamiliar titles and address.

“The what? Noelictus?”

“Terandria. They’re very well respected. This is an international affair, Prost.”

Lady Rie murmured the words. Her eyes were wide. The [Hunters] besides Tagil barely paid attention to the onlookers. One went to Raim’s side. The [Knight] was bent over. Another ran for the orb on the ground. Ran, not walked. The half-Elf with the bow, Sylind, turned, scanning the distance. The one with the crossbows spoke tersely.

“We are hunting the Stitch Witch, Belavierr. A monster among monsters. If I were you, I’d either get to your homes or just run for the hills. We can’t promise you’ll be safe if she returns.”

“We know. That is—her coven—”

At this, the [Hunter] instantly raised her crossbows and stared at the other [Witches].

“Coven? She has a coven now?”

Tagil snapped.

“Bows down, Coroise. They must be new. Peace, [Witches]! We have no quarrel with you!”

Despite that, he put his hand on the scissor-blades at his side. The [Witches] halted; Mavika’s shoulders were tensed, and she looked exceptionally wary. Her face was filled with wrath, but Tagil glanced at Prost.

“Are you the [Headman] here?”

“No. [Steward] to Emperor Godart.”

Hunter Tagil blinked with genuine astonishment.

“Well, I’d ask you and that [Emperor] to clear the area, sir. We mean you no harm, and this woman might well destroy your homes if she’s left to ruin another place.”

Prost crossed his arms, less impressed with Hunter Tagil’s reputation than Rie.

“We may do that, sir, and I see a noble [Knight] with you. But if you go after Miss Ryoka or any folk here, we’ll be forced to fight, and we have an army.”

Hunter Tagil paused as the other Hunters of Noelictus glanced over at the threat.

“Who?”

Ryoka tensed, looking from face to face, but now she whispered.

“Prost, they’re not the same…”

“Miss Ryoka was attacked by a trio of your lot not a few days back. You don't know about that?”

Tagil half-tuned, and one of the [Hunters] with a hammer actually put up his weapon, swearing.

“Amateurs? Do you think one of the guilds outside of Menorome put Dedicated Hunters on the Stitch Witch?”

“If they did, there will be hell from us to pay. They attacked you?”

Their leader looked at Ryoka, and when she confirmed it, he stood there, then shook his head.

“That wasn’t us. It sounds like another group—we will have our guild look into this. Or it could be independent [Witch Hunters]. It’s not like we’re the only ones with the class. Maybe…”

Maybe someone else had hired them? Ryoka saw Tagil’s look of uncertainty, but before they could dive into the subject, Tagil’s head turned; his eyes flicked to the horizon. Ryoka felt it too. Then she saw movement. The half-Elf murmured.

“Tagil—”

“I see it. Whoever you are, all of you, get your people into that village. We’ll cover you. The Stitch Witch is hurt. But she’s desperate. And she knows we can find her.”

“Raim! I see movement! She’s sending more puppet-things! Lots of them.”

Sylind called out nervously. The [Knight] was moving towards them, supported by the man with the hammer. The [Summer Knight]’s voice was beyond weary.

“The Order. We have her. I can finish her. I cut away her immortality. But—”

“We see it.”

The scrying orb was speaking. Ryoka saw a huge conference table, staring faces. [Knights] gathered in the circular reflection. Ser Raim nodded. Then he pointed. Prost, Rie, Ryoka, all looked up.

“She can die. But she has sent her minions against us. We must track her down.”

Coroise called out.

“Protect Sylind. If she dies, Belavierr escapes.”

The half-Elf glanced sideways.

“Forget me. Watch the daughter. Both of us are keeping her here.”

Hunter Coroise glanced at Wiskeria, and Ryoka felt a shiver run down her spine. But the woman just lifted her crossbows and fired straight ahead at the distant forest. At first, Ryoka didn’t see what the woman aimed at. Then, as both crossbows reloaded and Coroise shot again, Ryoka saw them.

A legion of warriors made of cloth. Not one or a thousand, but tens of thousands. Taxidermy monsters, indistinguishable from their real counterparts. A patchwork giant, as misshapen as a Snow Golem, lurching forwards. And then—Ryoka’s heart stopped.

A Dragon, crawling towards them. But the scales were purple cloth. The creature was fake. But the threat was real. In the sky came howling faces. Half-real things that flickered and made Ryoka want to tear at her ears. The others paled, but the [Hunters] set themselves.

“Looks like bound wraiths. An entire army of cloth monsters. Brace.”

The crossbows shot. Ser Raim gasped for air. He turned, and Ryoka saw that he had burnt himself away. But the ember flickered.

Belavierr’s death coughed. Then he straightened.

“Knight-Commander. A word.”

—–

At the same time as Ser Raim spoke, a woman sat on a throne. Hers was made of wood, but hardly as humble as that of the [Emperor] of Riverfarm. Hers was enchanted wood, yet the paint still chipped in places, because centuries meant even magic began to fail, let alone millennia. But that was not the point.

The throne marked her. And she belonged to it. Her people, who stood in the throne room that was open to the elements on one side of the room leading to a huge balcony, respected the symbol of the throne more than the appearance.

They did not dress like courtiers of a typical kingdom, for their garb was thick, appropriate for the winter, even. But fitting because the open-air throne room was chilly, cold, even in the last days of spring. The altitude was freezing, and snow was not unknown even in the hottest days of summer. This was the court of Kaliv’s kingdom, and it was the nation of Kaliv whose people lived among the highest altitudes. And they were Humans, predominantly.

To the south lay the Eternal Land of Calanfer and Gaiil-Drome, one of the forest-kingdoms who lived in uneasy peace with half-Elf populations, and the north was occupied by the powerful nation of Ailendamus, whose breadth and span was thrice that of all three other nations.

But though all three had been tested, the alliance between Calanfer, Gaiil-Drome, and Kaliv had held back even Ailendamus and six other nations in the last war, Petril’s Folly, which had been twenty-eight years hence. Because Kaliv had settled the high plateaus and a mountain itself. Poor in arable land it might be, but like the Dwarves of Terandria, they had endured any foe who might assail them.

Because of the beasts that were Kaliv’s treasure, export, strength, and weakness. That demanded food, yet they made the nation famous. Griffins. And their counterparts on the ground, giant goats that could be ridden to battle, far unlike their insane cousins, the Eater Goats of the High Passes. Such was their history that their ruler was always known as the Griffin King of Kaliv. Or in this case, the Griffin Queen.

It was not to the Griffins she looked today, but to the latest arrival, who had been borne by Griffins, yes, but unusually, had been carried into the throne room. She stood, ignoring the protests, her protectors and her daughter who had barred the sudden arrivals with blades. The Griffin Queen, Novakya, shouted so her voice might be heard in the cavernous room.

“Let him through.”

He did not approach. But the four men and women bearing him did. The Griffin Queen saw with a start that it was him. She looked down upon her son as they bore him across the throne room. The man was young—in his late twenties.

He was, in his way, the most famous of the royal line of Kaliv. Firstborn of her line, yes, but also for another reason. He was Kaliv’s famous disgrace. An exile in all but name.

The Griffin Prince, Ostevien.

He had not returned to this throne room for years. Not since he had been banished. Now, they bore him in on a sheet of cloth, straight from Griffin-back. Novakya recognized it, the crimson cloth akin to the plainer stretchers that the [Griffin Riders] used to transport the wounded or supplies. But why had they used…? Then she realized the cloth was plain, but the blood had dyed it red.

“What has happened?”

She spoke to the man who accompanied the [Prince]. He stuttered, his eyes wide with panic.

“Queen, he collapsed not ten minutes ago. On patrol. He’s bleeding. We can’t stop it, even with potions. The—we’ve seen this once before. It’s—”

“Move aside! Lay him down—gently!”

The words were shouted by the [Royal Healer], who ran across the throne room. The men and women did, and the Griffin Prince was lowered to the floor. The blood began spreading. His mother looked down.

He was supposed to be banished, never to set foot in here again. But no one would challenge the Griffin Queen’s will. Even so, murmurs rose, and people backed away from the sight of the prince. They all knew why he was banished even if the tale was forbidden to be told to anyone, especially outsiders. But the sight of that blood…

What had gone wrong?

Ostevien was choking, bleeding from his clothing and onto the stone floor. The Griffin Prince could barely move, but he still looked up. And his face was deathly pale as he reached up. The Griffin Queen, Novakya, looked down and reached for her boy, a man grown. But the [Healer] stopped her.

“Potions don’t work?”

“They heal him, but the wounds—”

The [Griffin Rider] pointed, his face pale. Then Novakya saw it. All present drew back save her. The Griffin Queen saw her son bleeding from his limbs. From the stitches that held his arms to his shoulders, his torso, even his neck.

Yet he was Human, not Stitch-person. And Novakya knew. She looked up. The [Healer] had frozen. Then she grasped for her potions.

“The same as eight years ago.”

The Griffin Queen nodded silently as the [Healer] knelt. She said nothing. Her daughter spat as the open throne room echoed with the Griffins’ shrieks as they scented the blood.

“The Stitch Witch. She’s finally decided she has no use for him.”

“Why now? She has never broken an oath.”

Novakya’s daughter opened her mouth, and her mother snapped at her.

“Not once! For all the ill she wreaks, she does not forswear herself. She twists and manipulates, but she keeps her word. Why now?”

The Griffin Prince was choking, coughing on his blood. Spitting it up. Novakya could not look away. No one had an answer. But one revealed itself as the [Healer] desperately brought out her own needle and thread, trying to stem the bleeding from the separating limbs.

She cried out as the thread twisted as she tried to thread it through the needle. It fell to the floor, black, curling. The [Royal Guard] tried to stop their [Queen], but she pushed them aside. And she saw the thread writhing in the blood.

The thread moved, forming into a pattern on the floor. A crest of four parts, so distinctive that Novakya recognized them at once.

“The Order of Seasons.”

“They must have her. They’ve cornered the Spider at last, and she’s desperate. Mother—”

The Griffin Princess looked both triumphant and disgusted. She spared no emotion for her brother lying on the ground. But his mother—the Griffin Prince’s eyes opened. And he spoke in a pained voice as the [Healer] shakily tried to sew his limbs back in place.

“My Queen.”

She jerked. The [Prince] tried to raise his head. The [Healer] snapped at him.

“Don’t! Move and you could lose your head.”

He stopped. But his eyes rolled. The Griffin Queen stepped closer. And his eyes focused on her. He spoke hoarsely.

“My—mother. This is my punishment. For ever trusting her. Don’t give in to Belavierr. If she is using my life, she’s truly backed into a corner. She wants you to assail the Order to save me.”

Novakya’s daughter made a disgusted sound. She drew her sword, stepping into the blood.

“Of course she does. Brother. Say the word and I will end it now. Just as I promised you then! Let her not leave her claws in our kingdom.”

And there was silence. The Griffin Prince breathed laboriously. The [Healer] paused, and the court waited. And the Griffin Queen waited. Her hands were clenched as he inhaled and looked up, his grey-blue eyes wild. He closed his eyes after a second.

“I—can’t. I may yet live. And I wish to live. If Belavierr dies, I will be free. But, Mother. Leave me. Tell Wiskeria I am free at—”

His sister made a sound of disgust and turned. She hurled her sword across the throne room as she stalked away. Her mother just stood there. Thinking. But not thinking. Just watching his blood run across the throne room’s floor. And he looked at her pleadingly. They had not spoken in six years. And then, only for a moment. Not like this.

“My Queen. Mother. Let me die, if it is my time. I have brought you only grief. Do not let her ensnare you too.”

Her disgrace. The fool of a [Prince]. Her son. Novakya knew this was Belavierr’s game. She knew. And still, she reached for him, and again, the [Healer] stopped her.

“Your Majesty, he is falling apart. We are holding him together with potion and thread.”

The Griffin Queen stepped back. The [Healer] was calling for more potions, her assistants. And her son lay there, pleading silently. Not a man or woman in this room didn’t know his story. But none dared say a word, not even the Griffin Princess. They all waited. And Novakya closed her eyes.

How long and how wide was her web? The Stitch Witch, Belavierr. The Spider of Lives. Novakya raised her head. And, oh, how bitterly she admired the way the threads had ensnared her. But she would never choose otherwise. That was what Belavierr had known. Damn her.

Then the Griffin Queen turned. Her cloak swirled, and her breath appeared in the cold air. A storm was coming. She snapped at the nearest [Royal Guard].

“Send a [Message] to the Order of Seasons. By order of the Griffin Queen, I demand them cease their quest for Belavierr’s head.”

The man paused only a moment. The Griffin Queen walked past him. She shouted for her [General]. He was already ready, mounted on the Imperial Griffin. She pointed at him.

“Summon eight hundred Griffin Riders. We fly upon the Order of Seasons’ stronghold. Arm them for battle. Now.”

“Mother.”

The Griffin Prince called her back. His voice was desperate. Novakya stopped and peered at him. Her shoes were standing in his blood. She looked down at him, and her face was distant. Harsh.

“You are a disgrace to Kaliv. But you are also the Griffin Prince. You may not die yet.”

That was what she said. But that was not what he heard. The Griffin Prince sighed. His mother turned, and she called as the storm swept down across the mountains. She swung herself up into her personal Griffin’s saddle. She had known this day would come. And she had known the choice she would make. She looked ahead and swore that would not be the last sight she saw of him.

The Griffin Queen pointed.

“Fly.”

—–

He had seen great battles won. Fought against armies; even dueled Knights of the Thousand Lances and won. Yet, Knight-Commander Calirn had never seen a battle rage so hot so fast.

It had been a true ambush, and against this foe, he didn’t care if they’d caught her sleeping. The Stitch Witch had not been ready for Raim or to face foes who had prepared for her.

That was her arrogance; they’d beaten her once, and Calirn had used a grand ritual to give them the edge this time. So many things could have gone wrong, but still—!

“He wounded her. He actually wounded her.”

The Spring’s Warden sounded disbelieving, for all she had been told it had been done once before. Nothing had harmed Belavierr, none of the other [Hunters]’ artifacts or Skills. And each one was over Level 40.

But Raim? Raim had done it. The cost to his own body worried Calirn, though.

Knight-Commander Calirn stared into the orb. Ser Raim stood there. And he had already changed. He had given himself to the flame as the champions of his class had time and time again. Already—Calirn closed his eyes.

He was dying. Closer to death. But Calirn had also seen Belavierr flee. He had heard her scream. And now—

“She can die. Knight-Commander, she has fled. But we have marked her.”

“How certain are you that you can locate her again, Ser Raim?”

The [Summer Knight]’s voice rasped. Behind him, the five remaining [Witch Hunters] were setting up. Two were already loosing arrows and crossbow bolts. Knight-Commander Calirn knew time was of the essence. Ser Raim’s eyes flickered past him, staring at something Calirn couldn’t see.

“Completely. Sylind has [The Eternal Hunt]. She will never lose her quarry once marked. The Skill didn’t touch her last time; the fact that it worked means I have weakened her protections. Greatly! With each blow, I felt her mortality surfacing. I cannot explain how we strove; I saw a woman within a great web of horrors, but I was slowly cutting towards her. Burning her out of her cage.”

He coughed, and Calirn saw Raim’s eyes flicker. He wasn’t hurt badly; Belavierr had only hit him once, truly, but he looked—well, he had aged years. Maybe even decades.

“Knight-Commander, we can hold against the waves Belavierr has summoned. But we must pursue Belavierr. This village will be destroyed if we do not protect it. I request reinforcements to hold the ground while we advance.”

“There is a legion of cloth golems bearing down on them.”

The Spring’s Warden spoke quietly, her eyes staring past Ser Raim’s head. Calirn nodded. He saw one of the [Hunters] turn and snap.

“Raim. More are coming.”

The [Summer Knight] nodded. He looked back at the orb.

“Knight-Commander.”

“I will consider your request, Ser Raim. A moment.”

The Knight-Commander was a [Winter Knight]. He spoke the harsh words impartially. Emotion could not affect his judgment. He could see the Summer’s Champion, the opposite of his Season, look up, eyes flashing. But Ser Raim only nodded. He drew his sword and advanced past the orb, taking up a position with the [Hunters]. Calirn saw a huge shadow and one of the [Hunters], the one with the bow, Sylind, aiming up—

“Fall’s Sentinel. Do you believe that Skill will locate the Stitch Witch, despite her abilities?”

Calirn looked over at the Grandmaster of the Season of Fall. The Fall’s Sentinel glanced up. The war room held three of the Grandmasters and Calirn as well as two servants. By protocol, the Winter’s Watcher was elsewhere, should they all fall. The Fall’s Sentinel paused and nodded.

“[The Eternal Hunt]. With that Skill, [Hunters] of old could track even Dragons. Getting to them was more difficult, but no magic could protect them.”

“And she is wounded.”

The Fall’s Sentinel nodded, but the Summer’s Champion smashed a fist down on the table they were watching from. The image shook.

“Calirn! Would you leave Raim alone? He has the Witch of Webs wounded! Now is the time to call armies! Signal House Veltras! Send us all—”

Calirn stared at the Summer’s Champion until the furious man broke off. He was raging with fire, echoing Ser Raim’s amazing display. Calirn, though, refused to get riled up.

“Calm yourself, Ser Greysten. Until I saw and heard a lesser Skill working on her, it was my belief Ser Raim might well fail to do enough damage to the Witch of Webs. Now I see he has wounded her? Of course we shall send reinforcements.”

Ser Greysten looked relieved. Calirn rubbed at his beard.

“The only issue is who could reinforce them. We sacrificed any aid we might have from Noelictus or Ailendamus, or her many foes. If we had time—”

“Could we prevail on Ailendamus? They are not friendly towards us.”

The Spring’s Warden muttered. The Fall’s Sentinel raised his brows.

“For the Stitch Witch? Call for one of Ailendamus’ Great Generals! And every Veteran Hunter of Menorome!”

“We have no time. If she escapes—perhaps. But we are to work with what we have.”

Calirn regretted not giving Raim more credit. They should have had more than a brief overview of the terrain. The man should have a legion at his back! However…the longer they gave the Stitch Witch, the more the odds turned against them.

The recent [Messages] addressed to him—and Pheislant’s [King] were proof of that!

Calirn turned. The wide-eyed [Servants] were still panting, holding up scrolls blazing with urgency. Knight-Commander Calirn looked at them. Then at the Spring’s Warden. Her gaze met his. Calirn clenched his fist.

“Kaliv. And the shining kingdom of Taimaguros. I knew of the Griffin Prince. But what hold does the Stitch Witch have on Taimaguros’ [King]? Both have ordered us in no uncertain terms to release or halt our pursuit of the Stitch Witch.”

The Fall’s Sentinel shook his head.

“Anything. Perhaps she gave him life. Or maybe some charm? We should be lucky the Blighted King himself isn’t threatening war.”

Calirn nodded. He looked at the [Servants].

“Any updates?”

One had a scroll. She checked it, and the servant shook her head rapidly. She gulped, looking afraid.

“No, Knight-Commander. Both nations continue to demand the Order abandon its pursuit of Belavierr at once, Knight-Commander. And both…both have roused a large force.”

“How many?”

“Eight hundred Griffins from Kaliv, sir. Thirteen thousand by horse from Taimaguros. Both have set out at once. Towards the Order.”

The Summer’s Champion uttered an oath.

“Eight hundred [Griffin Riders]? Does Kaliv mean war?”

Calirn shook his head. He calmly assessed the numbers. But even his heart was beating faster.

“They would have sent three times that number and a ground force if they intended war. Even so, the Griffin Queen means to assail our order directly. If we do battle, it will be war.”

“For her son.”

“Yes.”

The Grandmasters paused. Calirn studied a map.

“Fall’s Sentinel. Your appraisal? How fast will Kaliv reach us?”

“Three day’s flight from Kaliv’s borders. Or—if the Griffin Queen herself leads, a day’s flight. But she will not reach the order until tomorrow at dawn at the earliest, even if she uses speed-boosting Skills and calls wind-magic to her aid. Taimaguros will be six days even with the best Skills.”

Calirn nodded absently.

“Then we have no time to raise an army, even if one could be sent. Not from Terandria, nor Izril. It truly was the best measure to send so few. Yet Raim is in need.”

Then he glanced over. The Summer’s Champion’s aura was driving the temperature of the room up. The man met Calirn’s gaze.

“It just proves Ser Raim is right. She is desperate, Knight-Commander. Belavierr throws everything she can against the hunters. Ser Raim has cut the thread of her immortality. Give me leave to assemble five lances. I will lead them myself. We can end this.”

The Knight-Commander shook his head.

“You are compromised, Summer’s Champion. As am I. She would turn you against your own comrades.”

The Summer’s Champion looked bitter.

“Not I, then. But the Spring’s Warden or the Winter’s Watcher, then. And every [Knight] over Level 30 we can spare—!”

The Spring’s Warden raised her hand.

“Greysten, Calirn. You have met the woman. Speak to me honestly: can Ser Raim and his party even survive her onslaught? Within moments of being attacked, she summoned enough puppets to overwhelm a hundred [Knights]. I know the Stitch Witch’s legends. What might she bear against Raim before he can reach her?”

That was Calirn’s fear as well. Even if she had been bested once and Raim had weakened her…he stared at the orb. The Griffin Queen promised war. As did Taimaguros’ [King]. But Belavierr—he weighed the costs, the odds of her death. Then, Calirn nodded.

“Prepare the grand ritual a second time! Summon the Order of Spring and Order of Summer! Move!”

The Grandmasters raced from the room. The Fall’s Sentinel was protesting, but he sprinted with Calirn to one of the oldest parts of the Order of Seasons’ stronghold. So old, in fact, it predated the Order of Seasons.

It was a relic of the half-Elven empire that had once called this area home. The room was a giant spell circle, designed for several ritual spells that even Wistram would have trouble emulating. And perhaps more that were yet unknown. One—the ability to walk across a world in moments—was one of the Order of Seasons’ trump cards. And yet—

“Knight-Commander! The cost is too high! We have exhausted over half of my Season performing the ritual once! We cannot do it again so easily!”

The Fall’s Sentinel snapped as Calirn burst into the grand ritual chamber. Calirn saw he was right. The last ritual’s components were still assembled on the floor.

Raw magicore, mana potions—even artifacts and enchanted weapons, scrolls, wands—all lay on the design on the floor. And the magicore was already turning to simple stone. The scrolls were just parchment.

All were spent. The [Autumn Knights] who had fueled the magic were drained, unsteady. Many were drinking mana potions, but they rose as Calirn strode into the room. Racing [Knights] poured into the room, but the Fall’s Sentinel’s voice snapped above them all.

“Gather all the magical items below relic status! Prioritize components and replaceable items first! Knight-Commander—”

“I hear you, Fall’s Sentinel. But the cost I am willing to pay. Even if we must sacrifice a lesser relic.”

The Fall’s Sentinel inhaled sharply, but then he shook his head.

“The cost would be too high. Our order is exhausted, and it is from them that much of the mana is produced. Moreover, you know we cannot move an army, Knight-Commander! The [Witch Hunters] and their gear were bad enough, as was Ser Raim!”

He gestured to the spell circle.

“Moving that much magic across the world took every bit of magic the Season of Autumn could muster, Knight-Commander! It is not a matter of weight—in the confines of this ritual, magic is the true weight! If we had another type of spell—no army. No magical armor! And the Stitch Witch will rip apart any [Knight] not bearing enchanted gear!”

Calirn paused.

“How many with simple steel armor and unenchanted weapons?”

“Calirn—”

The Knight-Commander glared at his old comrade.

“How many, Grandmaster?”

The Fall’s Sentinel hesitated.

“…Thirty-two, Knight-Commander. No one with a powerful aura or whose body is affected by their Skills. No Autumn Knights. That is the only margin we can account for. Any more or anyone with more magic and we will run out of mana. They will fall short of Riverfarm.”

“What of a few individuals who…?”

“No. I could calculate it out, but not on the fly.”

The Fall’s Sentinel folded his arms. Calirn looked back. A [Servant] had the scrying orb. Battle was already being joined. He made another decision and turned. The Seasons of Spring and Summer had flooded the room. They stood to attention, young and old, eyes locked on the combat across the world reflected in the scrying orb. Calirn called out.

“Summer’s Champion. Choose sixteen of your best who fit those parameters! Spring’s Warden—I seek sixteen of your most talented. Let only those who are ready for death volunteer.”

He paused and made a further calculation.

“…Half. Half of each, so eight of Summer and eight of Spring. Each one over Level 30. They will reinforce Ser Raim and hold the ground before bringing the fight to Belavierr. They are to take steel and silver only.”

The Fall’s Sentinel closed his eyes. Sixteen veterans and sixteen young? That many [Knights] would be overkill against a nest of Hydras. For the Stitch Witch—armed with steel alone?

Was this glorious or damned? Only the Knight-Commander could decide, and decide he had.

The Summer’s Champion and the Spring’s Warden only hesitated a moment. Then they began calling names. Calirn turned. Cold decisions. He looked at one of his brethren, a [Winter Knight].

“Send word to the Winter’s Watcher. Lock down the Order. Prepare for combat against aerial foes. Make ready to seal all the entrances for a siege.”

“You mean to defy Kaliv, Knight-Commander?”

“Until war is inevitable, yes. The scrying orb.”

Calirn beckoned. The Fall’s Sentinel turned, and artifacts and magical items flooded the room as thirty-two of the Order of Seasons lined up. Dame Talia stood proudly among her sisters and brothers, tossing her magical gear aside and being armed with plain steel and silver.

Calirn paused. But she was a [Summer Knight], noble blood or not. He spoke into the scrying orb. The [Hunters] were already battling. One had deployed an artifact that was throwing up walls of stone; another was throwing chained lightning from her wand.

“Ser Raim!”

The man turned. Calirn shouted towards him.

“Ser Raim. Reinforcements are on the way! You must claim the Stitch Witch’s head as quickly as you can. You have three days! The Order is about to be assailed by Kaliv. The Stitch Witch has forced their hand!”

The [Knight] stumbled towards Calirn. He was burning, but not from his life-consuming Skills. Calirn repeated the order. Ser Raim’s face was pale. He paused, panting.

“Reinforcements? We accept. We will pursue—the Stitch Witch—I am pledged to—”

He wavered. His face was deathly pale. Calirn’s eyes widened as he saw a huge clothed foot smash one of the stone walls.

“Ser Raim! Behind you! Ser Raim!”

The [Summer Knight] whirled. He saw the cloth giant and raised his greatsword. Then—suddenly—he paused. Calirn bellowed his name, but it was no use. Ser Raim fell without a sound, the greatsword slipping from his hands. The cloth giant turned as a thrown hammer struck it, and the impact sent it reeling back. But it advanced. Ser Raim had fallen. Calirn whirled.

“Fall’s Sentinel! Send them now!”

But the ritual needed time. Calirn turned back. Ser Raim was lying on the ground. Spent. He had used his Skill—he needed rest! He had to finish it! But the cloth giant was bending down, ignoring the spells and arrows blasting holes in its face. It bent—as Calirn watched helplessly, freezing the ground around him—

And a grey hand grabbed Ser Raim. At first, Calirn thought it was a monster. But the giant of a girl was holding a shield and crude leather armor. No—her shield was just a converted wooden door. But she pulled the [Knight] back behind her. She grabbed the greatsword in one hand and lifted her shield—a door of wood—in the other. The cloth giant brought its hand down like a hammer.

The half-Troll girl blocked it. The impact drove her down, with a cry, but her knees held. She forced the arm up and swung. The enchanted greatsword cleaved into the cloth golem, set it alight. The [Hunters] finally severed its head at range, and the girl held her ground. She roared and swung her greatsword, catching a bounding Ghoul and bisecting it. Calirn stared.

“Who is that?”

—–

Durene stood over Ser Raim. The line of [Hunters] had broken with the cloth giant. They reformed it, shouting, as she swung the greatsword one-handed. She blocked a pair of cloth-warriors circling her right with her shield. The sword was light. It sheared through everything with a single cut.

She swung. The flaming greatsword burned in her hands, but the fire did not hurt her. Nor had Ser Raim’s flames. And her eyes held a trace of that same fire. The [Paladin] bellowed, holding the line, while the [Hunters] raced past her.

“Guard Raim! Set up a perimeter! [Hail of Bolts]!”

Hunter Coroise yelled at her comrades as she raised her crossbows. The self-loading magical crossbows raised as he aimed at the purple cloth-dragon charging at them.

Thunkthunkthunkthunkthunkthunk—the crossbows reloaded and shot, the mechanism blurring too fast for Durene to see. The bolts streaked across the ground, exploding and blowing parts of the gigantic dragon to bits. It collapsed before it got within range, but more cloth-warriors were advancing.

There were so many! And they were armed—Durene cried out as one slashed across her side. The blade was ancient steel, but it cut through her armor. Her skin was tougher, and the blade only slashed lightly. Durene twisted, and a hammer crushed the cloth head, smashing the entire creation into the ground. The man with the hammer raised it.

“[Circle of Protection]. Fortress wall strength.”

Durene saw a racing line of bright green—and felt a reassuring presence. The first rank of Belavierr’s creations charging at them ran into a wall and began hammering at it. Undeterred, the man with the hammer swung into them, and Durene did the same.

“It won’t last! Stone walls, there and there!”

Another [Hunter] was raising stone walls with a wand, funneling the enemies. The one with the bow was shooting down flying targets. But there were so many!

“[Quake Blow]!”

The man with the hammer swung and knocked a score of enemies flying. Then he looked up and swore.

“Ghosts! Incoming!”

Durene glanced up. She saw a laughing face, twisted with insanity, a flicker in the unnaturally dark sky—and then something went through her. It passed through her shield, her armor—she cried out as her insides froze. Then she heard an explosion.

The [Archer] with the bow had shot at the spirit. Durene heard a scream as it retreated, but more were flying out of the sky.

“What are they?”

“Spirits. Those are spirits. Not even like the ghosts we’ve seen. Mundane weapons won’t even work on them unless they’re made of silver or a purifying substance like Truegold. Back up!”

The [Hunters] retreated. They began aiming up as Durene swung at the airborne apparitions with her greatsword. They avoided that, but they went through her shield. Durene abandoned it to pick up Ser Raim. She ran back towards Riverfarm, the [Witch Hunters] covering her.

“How many creations does she have?”

“Keep fighting!”

The [Hunter] with the crossbows snapped. She drew a potion, threw it. The explosion of light drove half the specters away. But more were coming. And beyond them—

“Another giant. Dead gods.”

Hunter Sylind lowered her bow. The [Witch Hunters] exchanged a glance. The hammer-wielder bared his teeth.

“No retreat. We’re too close. That village is at our backs! Hold! Hold, damn you all!”

“She’ll come after us when we’re exhausted, Faigen! Raim’s out, and Gaile’s dead. We need to pull back! So long as Sylind lives—”

The [Mage Hunter] snapped as she pointed her wand and shot lightning into the sky. Durene, panting, looked up. Riverfarm was filled with screams. Prost had mobilized Beniar and the [Riders] to hold the entrance to the village. But where was that galloping coming from?

She turned. And then the first [Summer Knight] raced past her. Dame Talia lowered her visor and pointed her sword ahead.

“For the Order of Seasons! House Kallinad and the summer! Charge!”

More riders thundered after her. Knights dressed in the bright of spring, the radiance of summer. They filled the gaps, hacking down the cloth golems as four of the [Summer Knights] charged the cloth giant. Durene caught her breath. She gazed at the unconscious [Knight] on her shoulder. The [Hunters] turned to her.

“Miss! Into the village! Do you have anywhere we can use? We can set up a warding spot until Raim wakes up!”

One of the [Hunters] snapped at her. Durene blinked.

“I—yes! This way!”

She led them at a run towards the newest houses. Behind them, the Order of Seasons was holding Belavierr’s army back. The physical ones, at least. Durene glanced up as someone screamed. More spirits were flying lower. And they looked like faces, caught in some madness of grief or rage or insanity—

“Down!”

The [Archer] raised her bow. But the spirits were flying lower, assailing the fleeing Riverfarm people in the street. They dove as the [Hunter] cursed, trying to place her shot. They flew past an old woman with a pointed hat, chasing a child. The [Witch] raised her hand and slapped the spirit.

“[Deft Hand].”

The spirit had no body. But something smacked it into the air. The [Archer] loosed, and the arrow exploded with light. The spirit vanished with a scream. And the [Witch Hunters] looked down.

Eloise straightened her hat as one of the [Summer Knights] thundered back into Riverfarm. Dame Talia’s eyes were blazing. She spotted Eloise, then did a double-take.

“Another [Witch]?”

“She’s not a target! Hold!”

The [Witch Hunter] with the crossbows halted Talia before she could lower her lance. He turned. But warily. The man studied Eloise. The grandmotherly [Witch] wasn’t smiling as she regarded the battle outside Riverfarm. Or Ser Raim.

“Lady Eloise du Havin. Where is the Stitch Witch?”

Tagil addressed the [Witch] politely. Eloise watched him.

“Gone, young man. And I am [Witch] Eloise. I haven’t used that other name in years.”

The [Hunters] tensed. The man with the crossbows paused.

“I see. Does your coven intend to stand with the Stitch Witch, then?”

Eloise paused. She glanced around, meeting Durene’s eyes a moment. Then she shook her head.

“My coven will decide whether they stand with her or not. I have already given my answer, but the others have not. Now, let us protect this village. Put the [Knight] in a safe place. He’ll wake soon. He’s just tired. If he means to end Belavierr, he had better do it soon. She will try to kill the [Hunter] who marked her by any means necessary.”

“And if they choose to fight? This coven of yours? What then?”

Talia snapped, still blazing with battle-fever. Eloise glanced up at her. And then she looked at Ser Raim.

“If they do, you had better bring ten times as many of your sisters, Miss Knight.”

Her eyes glinted under her hat. Dame Talia almost lowered her lance until she realized how small the [Witch] was, and how elderly. Nonetheless—

[Knights]. It was a small force, but sixteen of them were veterans, and it showed; one was pointing a finger.

“[Aura Fireball]. Dame Erreid?”

“Younger [Knights], to me! We will hold them before the village. [The Hurricane Begins].”

Another [Knight] pointed, and Ryoka’s head whipped around as the wind began blowing against the army of puppets coming their way. But most of the [Knights] not setting themselves for battle were just around Raim, guarding him with shields raised.

“There’s a curse coming. I have it. [Shield of Valor]—”

One of the [Knight] pivoted, as if trying to block something headed towards Ser Raim with his shield. He had an amulet around his neck made of gold and jade, like an egg held in delicate chains of Truegold.

Something rippled through the air. The [Summer Knight]’s amulet turned black—melted—and a hole opened in the ground. Faster than anyone could react, a hand, black and clawed, reached up—grabbed the [Knight]—and pulled him down.

He screamed once. The other [Knights] recoiled, and Talia went pale.

“Ser Johnsten? He—he was over Level 35!”

“He’s dead. Those curse spells will chew through any artifact you have. Sylind, we need the Hunter’s Haven up now.”

Tagil snapped, and the [Hunters] abandoned their fighting. Talia was staring.

“Ser Johnsten?”

One of the senior Summer Knights elbowed her aside, eyes intent on Tagil.

“Hunter Tagil, I am Ser Turric, and I place the lives of my company under your command and Ser Raim’s. What are your orders?”

“If another curse comes—block it. We have a safe spot, and it’s likely the Stitch Witch is only coming after Raim and Sylind. Sylind’s your second priority. She can track the Witch of Webs—ensure neither one is harmed.”

Tagil snapped, and Turric nodded. Sylind broke in.

“And the daughter. Where is she?”

At this, the [Hunters] and [Knights] turned, and Coroise, the [Witch Hunter] with the crossbows, looked around and snapped.

“You! Halt!”

Her crossbows rose, and Wiskeria, striding towards the forest, glanced around. Tagil swore, and Coroise fired her crossbow.

A bolt sprouted from the ground in front of Wiskeria. The [Witch] hesitated—took another step—

“Take her legs out.”

Sylind had drawn an arrow. Tagil snapped as he yanked her bow down.

“Are you insane? That’s our one hold over the Witch of Webs—”

“So don’t let her get away. There’s no time to be nice!”

Coroise nodded. The [Knights] hesitated, but when they glanced at where one of their number had been, Ser Turric went thundering at Wiskeria. Coroise aimed her crossbows, and Wiskeria tensed. She dove—

A string snapped on one of Coroise’s crossbows, but the [Hunter] fired the other one instantly. Wiskeria flinched.

Califor caught the bolt bare-handed. She blocked Wiskeria off, saw Turric riding down on her, and whistled.

Instantly, Turric’s warhorse whirled about and galloped the other way. The cursing [Knight] tried to order his steed about—then leapt from the saddle.

“Don’t move!”

Sylind and Coroise both trained their weapons on Califor now, and the other [Witch Hunters] whirled. Tagil drew his scissor-sword.

“Witch. I don’t know what hold Belavierr has on you—”

“None, thank you. But she is part of my coven. And you are threatening one of my fellow witches. Lower your weapons.”

The [Knights] and [Hunters] saw the coven—at least, Hedag, Eloise, and Mavika—behind Wiskeria. Alevica and Nanette were with Riverfarm’s people.

Four [Witches] didn’t intimidate the [Knights]. Nor the [Hunters]. Sylind shouted.

“By the Hunter’s Guild of Noelictus, we are after an enemy of nations! Don’t force us to kill you. This is not a hunt where we’ll take chances.”

Califor’s reply was level, like steel.

“Then I suggest you lower your bow, Miss Hunter. Leave Witch Wiskeria out of this.”

“She’s one of our only ties to Witch Belavierr.”

Tagil muttered. Talia nodded and hand-signaled the [Knights] from her order. Califor exhaled.

“I know exactly who Belavierr is. Her fate is one thing. You are endangering this village, [Knights] of the Order of Seasons, Hunters of Noelictus. If you are true to your class, do not put innocent blood on the line.”

That drew them up short. Ser Turric hesitated, and Tagil swore.

“Who is that [Witch]? Coroise, easy, easy—”

Another [Hunter] muttered.

“One of them is the Witch of Flocks. Mavika. Watch out—if they take her side—”

One of the [Knights] called out towards the coven.

“We won’t harm the daughter. Give her to us, Witch, by order of Pheislant. This matter concerns a true monster.”

Califor’s voice snapped.

“Then leave her daughter out of it. I will not warn you twice.”

The standoff between the [Knights] and [Hunters], with the forest erupting with Belavierr’s minions, was ludicrous. A waste of time. The [Hunters] glanced at each other. They had no time for this.

So Sylind and Coroise fired, and a third [Hunter] waved her wand.

“[Ray of Paralysis]—”

The [Knights] charged on foot since their mounts wouldn’t listen. Califor grabbed Wiskeria, tossed her to Hedag, and the other [Witch] shielded Wiskeria in her arms.

It was fast. A crossbow bolt, an arrow, and a ray of magic went straight for Califor’s chest. All three failed to touch her.

Three crows flew, and three crows fell. Two dead; one paralyzed. Mavika screeched, and Ser Turric, running at Wiskeria, looked up—

A clawed foot smashed into his chest. He drove a sword into the claw but froze as the giant beak of a primordial bird snatched up another [Knight] and held the squirming figure. Mavika, transformed, did not bite—but two red eyes stared at the other [Knights].

One of the [Hunters], the one with the hammer, had run at Wiskeria. Califor had intercepted him mid-stride.

“[Sin of Wrath]. Strength!”

His charge could knock over a giant. Califor grabbed one arm as he went to knock her aside—and tossed him.

It looked as though he were lighter than air as he went over a rooftop. Sylind nocked another arrow, then cursed; her hat was over her face!

Eloise had her own hat over her eyes. A spell glanced off Sylind’s armor; blind, she dodged two of Alevica’s shots as the Witch Runner sprayed magic—the [Knights] blocked it with their shields.

Califor pivoted as a [Spring Knight] charged her. She raised her staff, struck the man’s shield—and all of Riverfarm heard a sound like a gong.

The reverberation was deep and old—and the [Knight] was pressed down by the blow, buried up to his waist in the earth. The trees wavered in the distance, and Tagil stopped as Califor pointed her staff at him.

“Hunters. Knights. We are not your enemies. Do not force this battle. Touch Witch Wiskeria and I swear I will wake the river. You cannot best this coven and the Witch of Webs. We will not get in the way of your vengeance. But I swear this: harm this village or the other [Witches] and I will be your enemy. I am Witch Califor, if that name means anything to you. Do not make a mistake.”

A silence fell as Tagil halted, and the struggling [Knights] or ones eying the massive bird-Mavika halted. They looked around for orders, and Tagil glanced at Wiskeria—then lifted his hands.

“Back up.”

“Ser Tagil—”

Ser Turric protested as if he weren’t currently being crushed by a giant bird. Tagil snapped.

“Sylind’s got the mark. Do you want to fight multiple [Witches] over Level 40? Back up. We don’t have the time for this.”

Slowly, the [Hunters] lowered their weapons, and Mavika spat out the [Knight], who landed with a loud clatter. The huge bird turned and appeared as a limping [Witch], scowling, who had blood on one foot.

Califor nodded to Mavika, breathing hard, but motioning to Wiskeria. She addressed the [Knights].

“I mean what I say. Riverfarm is innocent of this quarrel.”

Dame Talia was furious; her horse had refused to move for her throughout the entire fight, but red-faced, she pointed at Witch Califor.

“If you aid Witch Belavierr, know you will be marked by every kingdom of Terandria, Witch!”

Califor barely glanced at her.

“Save your energy for the Witch of Webs, Dame Knight. She is going to unleash everything upon you. I will give her the same terms as I gave you. Keep Riverfarm out of this.”

She whirled, and the coven backed away as the [Hunters] looked at each other. Tagil strode back to Ser Raim.

“Get the Hunter’s Haven up. We’re lucky she didn’t curse us all to death. What’s—”

He looked up, and Sylind spun and began shooting arrows.

“Belavierr’s shooting comets at us! Black comets!”

The fighting resumed as the [Knights] dragged Ser Raim away. Durene was trying to cover their retreat. And throughout all of this—

Ryoka Griffin ran after the fae.

——

She couldn’t catch them. Not the fae. No matter how hard she ran. They didn’t even seem to move. But they were distant. With each step, she was further from them. The wind wouldn’t carry her. She couldn’t run like the wind. So she called out to them.

“Wait. Please?”

They laughed at her. But their eyes didn’t linger on the mortal girl. They turned. Following another gathering.

The coven, minus Nanette, found Belavierr sitting under a lonely tree. Wiskeria picked up her hat and stared at Ryoka. Somehow, the City Runner was there first. Despite the cloth warriors that marched on Riverfarm, attacking everything they saw. The [Witches] had been forced to fight past them, all but Wiskeria.

When they saw Ryoka, even Califor looked taken aback that the Wind Runner was here. But Wiskeria had only a glance for her. All of her attention was fixed on the huddled shape at the base of the tree.

Belavierr. Smoke still rose from the [Witch]’s clothes. And her dress was still ragged, torn from battle. She was sitting. And she breathed. The air rasped through her lungs. Wiskeria uttered a word.

“Mother—”

Califor stopped her. The senior [Witch] stared at what Belavierr held, and she shook her head.

“No closer. She has a jar of spirits. She’s unleashing them. Witch Belavierr, a word? Now.”

Now, Wiskeria saw the flickering around Belavierr. Faces. Shadows despite the day. She heard faint voices. Some called her name.

“A what? Spirits? That’s old magic. They don’t exist anymore.”

Alevica shivered and tried to grin. But the flickering, half-real shapes flew towards her, and she raised her wand. The things avoided her spell. No—the ray of burning fire passed through them. And they flew at the coven.

Dragging. Calling Wiskeria’s name. They pulled at her, freezing her body, trying to force the dagger out of its sheath. They circled Alevica as she swung at them, taunting, laughing at her magic. Mavika they avoided. Hedag they swarmed around, screaming her sins. Califor raised her wand, and the light blossomed—

Light. It was the first of spells. But the [Witch] shaped it. She conjured a sword out of it and swung. And the ghosts fled, screaming. Califor raised her wand. And the light shone bright.

Belavierr looked up. The ghosts abandoned her, Ryoka, and the coven. The Stitch Witch pointed, and they fled past them. Towards Riverfarm. Gasping, her insides cold, Wiskeria took her hand off her belt. She saw Alevica jerk. The [Witch] had been aiming her shortsword at her own neck. Hedag breathed slowly, loosening her grip on her axe.

Even Mavika seemed disturbed. Califor put one hand out. She spoke as if Nanette were here, but seemed to be confirming something herself. Shaken, but her voice was still steady.

“In ages past, [Witches] consorted with such things. Now, they are far fewer. So few that even bound ghosts are rare. The afterlife is empty. Thus [Witches], [Shamans], [Summoners], and all of our kind suffer for it. I should have known you of all women could summon some, Witch Belavierr.”

For the first time, Belavierr seemed to remember Califor. Her voice was a rasped wheeze.

“They…are old. Not true ghosts. The deadlands empty. You. Have you come to aid me? Fellow [Witch]. Daughter?”

Her eyes lingered on Wiskeria’s throat. The [Witch] still felt the cold axe digging into her flesh. She raised her hand to the healed wound. But it had been magical. So a scar remained. The potion hadn’t healed it.

“Mother. Who are those [Hunters]? Who is that [Knight]? Why are they hunting you?”

She knew. She didn’t know the exact details, but she knew. And she waited for her mother to give her a non-answer. For that vacant expression. That timeless expression that Wiskeria loved and hated. But Belavierr’s eyes were steady. Present.

“Enemies, Daughter. I had many when my plans fell to ash. These are more, seeking to finish their task. You must flee. I do battle here.”

She raised her hand, and Wiskeria felt her calling more magic. It ran through the ground, pulled at the shadows. Magic far beyond her, so much of it that Wiskeria felt sick. She had never seen Belavierr using this many spells.

The ground near Belavierr’s feet began to move. Alevica eyed it and stepped back. Califor did not. She ignored the hand that rose as it unearthed itself, clawing its way out of the soil. She stomped on the rising Draugr’s hand. Her voice was sharp and direct.

“To my knowledge, the [Hunters] and [Knights] pursue you for the crimes you have committed, Witch Belavierr. Do you deny why they seek vengeance?”

“I am hunted. It happens time and again. I do not remember why. The burning man I recognize. He was at…at…the village. Where is the [Singer]? I will kill her and rip her throat out too.”

Belavierr hissed. Califor ground her foot down as the earth tried to rise up.

“Witch Belavierr, you are endangering Riverfarm. Take your battle elsewhere.”

Belavierr ignored her. Wiskeria was just staring at the huddled [Witch]. She reached out, hesitantly, and there was a hiss. Eloise grabbed Wiskeria’s fingers.

“Burnt. Almost down to the bone. She’s still burning like an ember.”

Wiskeria grabbed her hand, face pale, as Alevica fumbled for a potion. Califor kept speaking.

“Witch Belavierr, do you hear me?”

Belavierr had gone back to summoning. More gigantic figures broke the earth. Ryoka stared at vast undead, super-zombies, but Wiskeria had no attention for the undead, spells, or anything else. Just her mother.

“She’s—she’s actually hurt. They can’t kill her, can they? Nothing can kill her.”

It was the most ludicrous thing to say. And yet—Wiskeria didn’t seem to believe Belavierr was hurt. Mavika’s eyes swung to her.

“Any witch can bleed or die.”

“Not her. Not—Mother? It’s just a death, isn’t it?”

The Stitch Witch blinked. More corpses dug themselves out of the earth. Belavierr had a needle in hand, and she was stitching them together. Now she paused and looked back at Wiskeria.

“Daughter. This death burns through my tapestry of self. The mice nibbled too greatly…it will be death or I, as ever. As always. I am not without…means.”

She tried to rise, fell backwards, and then seemed to remember Califor again.

“You, Witch. You are of passing skill. And you…”

She looked at Mavika.

“Aid me and I will grant a great boon. Witch to witch.”

Mavika hesitated, but Califor leaned forwards.

“You did not hear me, Witch Belavierr. I said: this is not our quarrel. I will not judge your deeds in Noelictus since I was not there. Tell me honestly and swear it on your hat: do these men and women have no cause to hunt you?”

“All have a cause that is just to them. Always. Even the lowliest rat.”

Belavierr sneered, sounding annoyed for all her voice rasped in pain. Califor shook her head.

“Then I will not aid you. I warn you a third time: endanger Riverfarm and we will be at odds.”

Belavierr stared blankly at her daughter until the words seemed to permeate through to her. Then she looked up with an expression of actual anger and incredulity on her face.

“You? You are threatening me?”

Hedag leaned on her axe.

“Not just her. Keep your creations away from the villagers, Belavierr. Or I will be forced to fight against you. I am Hedag, and they are under my protection.”

The Witch of Webs didn’t even look at Hedag as she locked eyes with Califor.

“Begone, witch of one name. I have met a thousand Hedags. I have butchered Hedag for getting in my way.”

“Then you know I mean it.”

Hedag’s voice was soft. Califor inclined her head.

“Do not endanger them, Belavierr. I say this for your daughter’s safety as well as your designs.”

The two [Witches] stared at each other. Hedag raised her axe slowly, resting it on her shoulder. In the end, Belavierr’s roaming gaze jerked away from Califor.

“Daughter. Daughter…I remember pain. I am closer now. With each layer unraveled, I miss you more. Strange.”

Belavierr turned back to Wiskeria, and the younger [Witch] looked at her, lost for words. Then stammered.

“You—you came back for me.”

“Yes. Your life was in danger.”

It was a simple equation to her. But it filled Wiskeria’s eyes with tears. And Belavierr saw. She reached out and paused. Staring. Then a finger reached out and did not touch Wiskeria’s cheek for fear of burning it, but captured one of the tears. Belavierr inspected the puff of steam and Wiskeria’s face. And then she glanced around.

Mavika. Ryoka. Wiskeria. The fae and the rising dead. Belavierr lingered on Ryoka for a moment, and then turned back to Wiskeria. She hesitated for a second. And she seemed so tired.

“My daughter. There is little time. I must do battle. I am hunted. But I ask one question of you. Would you see me dead? Do you wish it?”

The question hurt Wiskeria. She clutched her hat, her tears running down her face.

“No, Mother. I don’t. I don’t—!”

Despite it all, not like this. Let it not happen this way. Wiskeria shook. And then she saw Belavierr straighten. She smiled, and the great hat rose. The Stitch Witch looked past her daughter, towards her death. And she relaxed.

“That is well. Then go, my daughter. I will escape this death as I have others. Go.”

“I can’t leave you—”

But the black horse was already riding towards Wiskeria. She felt her clothes tugging her towards it. Belavierr gestured, and Wiskeria flew. As gently as if she were a child, settling onto the horse’s back. She clutched at her hat, shouting.

“Mother! Let me stay!”

Yet she was already being carried away. Wiskeria wept as the tall figure disappeared. And then she rode past giants. Creations of old cloth. And she realized she hadn’t known her mother well. If Wiskeria had her craft—she wept.

And then Belavierr turned. To the young woman who had seen it all.

“Ryoka Griffin. Tell me of my daughter’s heart. Does she…know of my love for her now?”

“I think so.”

Ryoka peered into those ringed eyes. And she saw a mortal woman there. Just a flicker. Belavierr nodded. And Mavika stepped forwards. Her flock of crows and the single raven flew high overhead. The [Witch] regarded Belavierr. And the Stitch Witch looked at Mavika, questioning. The Crow Witch spoke.

“You are being burnt away. That [Knight] has the means to burn your magic itself. All your protections and wards are useless before his fire. He will turn himself and you to ash. And they have marked you.”

“Yes.”

Belavierr sighed. Mavika paused.

“If you ask it, my flock and I will give you half a day to flee.”

All eyes swung towards Mavika, and Califor opened her mouth as if to object, but then closed it. The coven waited as the Stitch Witch wavered. She was tempted. But her eyes swung back to Ryoka. And they flickered.

“ If I do flee, they will come after my daughter. Mavika, is that so?”

The Crow Witch paused.

“She is of our coven. She was of my coven. We would protect her. But she may be a hostage or be forced to flee herself. This [Emperor] is not here, and this order of [Knights] is powerful.”

“I see.”

“Your answer, then?”

Belavierr’s head turned. She stared across the moving land. Past the undead that walked, the spirits screaming through the dark skies. Towards a young woman riding back towards her village. Still gazing back at her. Belavierr sighed.

“For her, I would give it up. My magic. What I possess. Even life. Not my craft, but I would gladly face my death.”

Mavika looked up. And she nodded once.

“I see your true nature, Belavierr the Witch. May you meet fire with craft and stitch.”

She turned and disappeared, flying past the dark shapes. Hedag, Califor, and Alevica retreated as well.

That left only Ryoka. She watched Belavierr. And then fled. The Stitch Witch stood alone. And she kept watching her daughter until Wiskeria was out of sight.

Then Belavierr turned. She felt pain. She knew her death waited. But not yet. She called on her magic, summoning them to her aid. But it would not be enough. So she cast one last spell, whispering into the night.

And that night deepened into a war at Riverfarm’s boundaries.

—–

Ryoka Griffin was the observer. She had a thought, briefly, to help someone. Whom? Belavierr?

She didn’t know the crime for which the Witch of Webs was hunted. Nor did she know whether the [Knights] or [Hunters] were the good guys.

If anyone was. All Ryoka knew was that she wished it were not—this.

Blood and fire. [Knights] riding around a strange, slanted house a thousand paces out from Riverfarm.

“They set it up too close.”

Califor snapped when she returned. Nanette was with Durene, and the half-Troll girl had been fighting. Durene panted.

“They said they couldn’t get too close to the forest. Miss Califor—it’s like the end of the world!”

Her eyes were round, and Califor paused.

“This is what happens when a Great Witch dies. For better or worse, she’s the last one of old. What has she sent?”

Nanette replied as Durene just opened and closed her mouth.

“Curses—until they put up that house. It must be a relic, Miss Califor! And—and undead by the thousands! And puppets! And spells! There were comets raining down, and a giant snake made of magic—”

“There are barely thirty [Knights] out there. Spells picked a few off, and the Hunters. I’ll grant you, the [Hunters] are all strong. Each one might be Named-rank level. But how are they surviving that? Califor, I’ve never seen fighting so fierce, and I’ve seen great [Mages].”

Even Eloise seemed uncertain. Califor just strode to the drapes.

“[Witch Hunters] are specialists. They’re armed with top-grade artifacts, and some of it looked closer to Relic-class. Where did they get Truegold?”

Eloise’s hand moved, as if snatching at the air.

“[Tea Gossip]. They said they worked with Ailendamus. A great spellcaster…”

“Hrm. As for the onslaught, the Order of Seasons is supporting their [Knights]. Belavierr’s magic is a mess; the flames might have destroyed many of her better weapons. Despite that—look.”

Califor pointed, and Ryoka saw an advancing line of puppets approaching ten [Knights]. Even if two were tossing fireballs, they were outnumbered hundreds to one. However—as they watched, red lights flickered over the row of puppets.

“What’s that—”

“[Mark Target]. The Hunter’s Guild of Noelictus. Their Guildmaster must be sending support.”

Crossbow bolts began raining down, many of them exploding and sending the puppets flying. Same for the larger monsters; a cloth-Wyvern went down as more crossbow bolts struck it, launched from distant Noelictus. Alevica whistled.

“They truly want her dead. What did she do?”

Califor had no answer, and Wiskeria just sat there.

“But she’s not going to die.”

The coven looked at her. Wiskeria gazed around and, for the first time, seemed uncertain, lost.

“She truly won’t. She’s my mother. She…I’ve never even seen her hurt. I wanted her to die when she—I’ve thought of it and even dreamed of how to do it. It’s impossible.”

“And now the hour comes, do you wish it?”

Witch Hedag knelt, and Wiskeria’s mouth opened and closed. Nanette hugged her fiercely.

“No one should want their mother to die! Miss Califor, is Witch Belavierr that awful? Can’t we talk to the [Hunters]? Does she really deserve…”

She looked up at her mentor, and Califor’s voice was calm.

“Yes.”

Nanette looked up at her, eyes big and staring. Wiskeria’s head rose, and Ryoka saw Califor wearily adjust her cloak and staff.

“Yes, Nanette, she is. No, I doubt words could work. Each man and woman who came here lost something to her. Does she deserve it? Does anyone deserve anything? I will tell you this, Nanette: if I were not raising you, if I had known she yet lived and if her crimes in Noelictus were as heinous as I suspect, I would have gone there myself to put an end to it. If I even had a chance of besting her.”

Califor looked around the room and at Wiskeria.

“It would be folly for you to interfere, Witch Wiskeria. If you do, I cannot protect you.”

Ryoka waited, but Califor gave no further instructions. If—Wiskeria sat there. Paralyzed, Ryoka thought, with fear. Uncertainty.

And outside—her mother sent worse still.

——

Ser Raim was awake when Ryoka returned. The undead didn’t touch her. Nor did the warriors made out of cloth, armed with ancient weapons. They fought and broke on the [Knights] who held the field outside of Riverfarm.

The Order of Seasons charged and held, some of the unhorsed [Knights] fighting on foot. They wouldn’t have held alone. But the [Hunters] fought too. Ryoka saw magical explosions tearing up ranks of advancing cloth warriors, the [Archer] loosing and bringing down the spirits in the sky.

It felt like a dream. Neither side bothered with Ryoka as she approached the strange house, a slanted, almost deliberately lopsided structure, like a tall hunting lodge, standing in the middle of the grass. Apparently, the Hunters of Noelictus had summoned it.

Slowly, the Order of Seasons drove back the cloth creations. Until their ranks dwindled. Then came zombies. Undead. But fewer. The [Knights] drank potions, and the [Witch Hunters] fortified their position.

With magic and Skill. And the house was the most impervious thing of all; Ryoka saw a bolt of crimson lightning zap down from the heavens, hit the house, and fizzle out of existence.

Riverfarm was a lot less confident about their walls. The entire village was boarded up behind Ryoka. Shutters closed. Riverfarm was silent, afraid. But the house the [Hunters] had created was safe. Needles lay around it, so many that Ryoka had to cover her feet to even approach the door. As she did, more needles, some as large as javelins, flew out of the dark evening. They struck the house, bouncing off the sides. Cloth ropes like snakes twined closer—lost their magic. Failed.

The young woman entered the house through the front door. It was unlocked. She heard a voice, saw a gathering. The [Witch Hunters] were there. They had taken their fallen comrade. Ser Raim was on his feet, and so were Prost and Rie. Ryoka heard a low voice.

“This is a Hunter’s Haven. A portable place to fight from. Warded against any foe. Even Belavierr’s magic would fail here. She is trying, hunting Sylind. Keep all of your people indoors. If you have any needles, any sewing equipment—throw it outside! Those needle storms are aimed at us.”

One of the [Hunters] was addressing Prost and Rie. His crossbows hung at his sides. He looked up as Ryoka entered—the crossbow was in his hands in a flash. He paused as he saw her.

“Who are you?”

“Ryoka!”

Lady Rie exclaimed. The [Hunter] lowered his crossbow a bit. Ryoka glanced around. She tried to answer the [Hunter]’s suspicious questions. Rie and Prost’s urgent queries. But her eyes were on him.

A female [Knight] had joined Ser Raim and the [Hunters]. Her armor was scratched, the colored steel deformed. But she was alight with passion.

Ser Raim was not. He stood over Gaile. The female [Huntress] who had wielded the axe and threatened Wiskeria’s life lay on a long table. Her arms had been folded. Her eyes were closed. Belavierr had crushed her, but her friends had done as much possible to make her presentable.

Ser Raim looked upon her and bowed his head.

“She threw away her honor to strike a blow against Belavierr. And I believe she would have forsworn herself had the Stitch Witch fled. For one of the Foreign Hunters of the Hunter’s Guild of Terandria, she disgraced her status and legacy.”

He stared down at the woman’s face. Gaile’s expression was still set in death. Ser Raim bent, exhausted. Someone offered him a chair, but he stood.

“And yet, I knew Gaile. Gaile the [Beastslayer]. Gaile, who became [Witch Hunter] for vengeance. For six years, we have sought Belavierr. And were it not for her actions, we might have lost her again.”

“Was it justice, then, Ser Raim?”

The female [Knight] was confused. Ser Raim glanced up at her and shook his head.

“Neither, Dame Talia. She did wrong. She threw away her honor, and I would have cut her down if I had to. But. She was my friend. And she had every right to her fury.”

He bowed his head. And he spoke to Gaile.

“Your death will not be in vain, Gaile. I swear, I will bring her down.”

Then he straightened and staggered. Hands reached for him. Durene’s. Talia’s. Raim caught himself and shook his head.

“I’m fine. Just exhausted.”

“You’ve burnt your life away. The backlash will continue. The Summer’s Champion and your Season agrees—you must rest before doing battle again.”

A voice spoke from a glowing orb to the side. Ser Raim turned, and Ryoka saw a man dressed like winter in the glass. Ser Raim nodded once.

“I understand, Knight-Commander. But Belavierr is assailing our position.”

“Let your brethren handle it, Ser Raim. Rest. You must end Belavierr. And soon. If you lack the strength—”

“No. I have at least twenty more years to burn. So long as we can find her, she will not escape the second time.”

Ser Raim sat. And Ryoka, drawing forwards, saw how he had changed. He was aged. He might have been in his thirties before the battle. But now—his hair was grey. His body was still hale, but now it was lined, as was his face. Ryoka saw him sitting up, brushing off one of the other [Knights] trying to treat him.

Thirty years. It seemed like he had burned thirty years away in less than thirty minutes. The man in the orb, the Knight-Commander, spoke directly.

“If you should fall—”

“I will not. I will cut away the last of Belavierr’s protections. I saw them, Knight-Commander. A dark web. I will lead the other [Hunters] against her. They have the means to end her. Together, we can defeat her.”

“Bring the reinforcements we have sent you. They will hold tonight, but at least the [Summer Knights] will be able to give battle on the morrow. They stand ready to aid you, Ser Raim. With their aid, you may still keep a decade or two—”

“No.”

Ser Raim’s voice was flat. He looked up, and his gaze still burned.

“If I sought to live, Knight-Commander, I would not have volunteered to hunt Belavierr. I will end her tomorrow, even if I must burn away. All the [Hunters] and I are resolute. My brethren may battle the Stitch Witch’s minions, but we must end her. They are not specialized for combat against her, and none bear magical weapons.”

“Ser Raim! I am a [Summer Knight] like you. I may not be able to conjure your fire, but I can enchant my weapon to flame, plain steel or not!”

Talia protested. The other [Witch Hunters] snorted as they glanced up from their quiet preparations. Ser Raim shook his head.

“Dame Talia, you misunderstand. It is not about fire. It is about piercing Belavierr’s defenses. I have cut half away. But she is still half-immortal. While she is such, every blow we deal her is useless. The [Witch Hunters] with me can cut her threads, and I will burn the rest. But if you stand against her without the right precautions, she would turn you into a puppet and use you against us.”

“I—”

Calirn spoke coldly.

“Dame Talia, enough.”

Talia bit her lip. Knight-Commander Calirn studied Ser Raim. His eyes flickered past Raim.

“The Stitch Witch continues her attempts to stop us in Terandria. You are certain this…haven will stand?”

“Certain, Knight-Commander. The [Witch Hunters] employ it against enemies capable of magic. So long as the Order continues repelling the undead Belavierr is conjuring, we will be safe from her magic within these walls.”

“Can you bring the battle to her now? After a few hour’s rest?”

Ser Raim hesitated. It was one of the Hunters, the one with the wands, who shook her head. The woman was checking her arsenal of wands and snapped a reply.

“Night is the worst time to hunt a [Witch]. She can use illusions or summon spirits if there are any about. Raim is also exhausted. We wait for dawn. Is that a problem?”

“…No. Act as you deem most fit, Huntress Erashelle. But are you certain you can both locate and trap Belavierr tomorrow?”

The [Witch Hunters] paused. The man with the hammer nodded.

“She’s wounded. She can attempt to flee, but we have her location. While we are on the hunt, even her speed will fail her. She cannot escape Sylind’s Skill.”

Sylind nodded. She was checking her bow.

“I can feel her. Not six miles distant.”

“Six miles? We could ride against her now—!”

Talia shut up as Ser Raim glanced at her.

“Unless a [Hunter] leads, she could outrun you, Dame Talia. Again, it will not be easy. I must gather my strength. So long as I burn, her magic fails around me. Paladin Arteis gave me this chance; I will wound her mortally this time. It was like piercing an armor of sludge. Now that I have removed most of it, I can see her naked heart. The [Hunters] will end it if I cannot and support me. We will work alone. As a team. You must guard our rest.”

“I understand. Forgive me, Ser Raim. Leave the field to us. We are armed, and Riverfarm supports us.”

Dame Talia’s cheeks were red. She looked questioningly at Durene. The half-Troll girl nodded.

“I’ll help. Beniar and his [Riders] are taking out anything that gets past you. Except for those giant things, we can beat all those undead.”

“She’s weakening already. Those first legions were ancient. Now she’s summoning undead. Still, if we hadn’t had Raim burning half of them away, she might have overwhelmed us just with those.”

One of the [Hunters] murmured. The others nodded. Everyone stopped and glanced up. Ryoka felt a thump. Talia strode towards the window. She swore and charged out the door. Ryoka saw a huge shape in the darkness. Then a bloom of fire. Durene barreled out the door as well. Rie paled.

“What is that?”

The [Hunter] with the crossbows glanced up. She took a step towards the door, and Sylind stopped her.

“Coroise. Save your bolts. The Order of Seasons has it.”

Hunter Coroise nodded and sat back down. She began disassembling and cleaning her weapons, placing one crossbow on the table and checking the enchanted parts piece by piece.

“Undead. She’s sewn together Flesh Abominations and raised Ghouls. I saw a Rotfield Giant, but our Guildmaster is raining down bolts from home.”

Sylind grunted.

“The first good use of all that money wasted on indulgences and…”

She broke off, bowed her head.

“This one is for all the [Hunters] who died for her. Each damn one, Tagil. We’re actually here. I only wish the [Singer] was with us.”

Tagil clasped her arm, wordlessly, and bowed his head too. He hesitated as he turned back to the others, and his eyes were remorseful. Ryoka saw him flick back to focus after a second—but she wondered what they had done to get here.

“—Even so, be prepared. Belavierr has more creations still.”

Rie paled. But Prost just nodded. He gazed warily towards the windows.

“The magic she’s throwing against you all. Will it truly not get in?”

Tagil’s smile was bleak, but his tone was reassuring.

“Hostile magic fails in this place. Even Ser Raim’s fire is hard to use here. This is a place for [Hunters]. We know our craft, Steward. Raim, you should get some rest upstairs.”

He gestured, and Raim nodded. However, at this, Sylind, the lone half-Elf [Hunter], protested.

“We’re a doubly large target with me and Raim here, Tagil. Can we move him to a warded room in Riverfarm?”

“What?”

Prost and Rie were horrified, and Tagil hesitated before shaking his head.

“The Hunter’s Haven is the most secure building we have, Sylind. Better to stick together and have Raim under one roof.”

“Or—we can ward a house. Let’s grab Raim’s hair and a bit of blood and fake his presence. The Stitch Witch can attack this place all night. If it falls—Raim will still be able to fight. If he’s here and she takes it—”

Tagil was shaking his head, adamant.

“The moment Raim sets foot outside that door—what if she sets her minions on him and we can’t reach him?”

Sylind snorted.

“If she’s weak enough for my Skills to work on her, I don’t think she’s perfect, Tagil. She didn’t kill Raim; she’s sent a few killer curses, but she can’t pierce the Hunter’s Haven. We can ward him just as well.”

Erashelle sat upright as the other [Witch Hunters] gathered. They knew their trade well.

“She’s right. If we set up all our charms—hey, who’s got one of those artifacts we got from Ailendamus? Let’s arm Raim to the teeth. He might burn up his life tomorrow, but all we need is to get to tomorrow.”

The rest of the [Hunters] thought it was a good idea to split Raim off—if they could find a home.

“I cannot endanger Riverfarm, [Hunters]—”

Prost began to object, but Rie cut in.

“What about Durene’s cottage? She wanted to help, and even if she can’t fight—it’s not the best made.”

Sylind shook her head.

“If it’s got a roof, we’ll turn it into a castle with magic. Tagil, this is perfect.”

“No. Raim, I think it’s best we stick together. I can’t force you, but—”

Tagil addressed Raim. The [Knight] looked up wearily.

“With respect, Tagil, I don’t think I can sleep with all the sounds of fighting here. And even if you all need to distract her, if some [Knights] could act in your stead?”

Calirn spoke quickly from the scrying orb, having listened to the entire argument.

“Indeed. Two [Summer Knights] will guard your rest. Dame Talia—”

“—has gone to join the battle. I will leave her to it.”

Calirn’s voice snapped.

“Absolutely not. Fall’s Sentinel, contact Talia. Have her return at once! She is to stand guard and—”

Ser Raim got up slowly, ignoring the rest of the discussion. Tagil was still trying to talk him out of it urgently, but the [Knight] was grey-faced with exhaustion. He walked towards the door, hesitating, and Ryoka opened it. She held out an arm.

“Here. I’ve got you. I can take you to Durene’s house.”

Raim frowned at Ryoka as Tagil reached out to stop them—then gave up with a huge sigh. The [Knight] murmured.

“I thank you, Miss. Who—who are you?”

Rie murmured Ryoka’s name for Raim’s benefit. Ser Raim paused. He stared at Ryoka. Then he nodded.

“Directions would be welcome, Miss Runner.”

He tried not to lean on her, but Ryoka ended up supporting a lot of his weight until they got to a horse. In the distance, more fire bloomed, and [Knights] rode to battle. But Ser Raim rode away from it, towards Durene’s cottage. Ryoka was braced. She didn’t know if Belavierr would assail them. If she did—Ryoka was ready. But nothing attacked them.

It seemed the [Witch Hunters]’ charms—well, high-grade artifacts, really—did work. Raim smiled weakly at Ryoka.

“You needn’t worry. If I needed to, I could burn away any weak spells. I’m tired. But my aura is strong as ever. And we have the resources and preparations from hunting her in Terandria. Noelictus. Great allies have given much for this day.”

Ser Raim reassured Ryoka as they rode—well, he rode and she jogged—towards the cottage. He frowned vaguely at her.

“Tagil mentioned you’d been attacked.”

“Not by your comrades. Someone else. Maybe the Circle of…they weren’t nearly as dangerous as your friends.”

Ryoka didn’t suspect Raim or the Hunters here were part of the group who’d nearly killed her. Their vibe was entirely different: focused, like an arrow. Raim simply bowed his head.

“I am sorry to hear it, either way. My friends will do whatever it takes to complete the hunt, as you saw…but you are not the Stitch Witch’s daughter. That some would attack you—I can swear by my Order these are unknown [Hunters] to me. The ones with me are the finest Hunters one could find in this entire world. Even among the Veteran Hunters of Menorome, they stand out. If there are…miscreants claiming their authority or misbehaving, they will track them down. After this is done.”

That might be something. Ryoka didn’t envy the kidnapping Hunter running into this group, if he was even alive. She felt like pointing out taking Wiskeria hostage was very close to trying to off her, but she decided against it. The facts seemed to be that there were at least two [Hunter] groups wandering about—and this one was the most dangerous by far.

Conversation lapsed until they got to Durene’s place.

Someone had let Durene know Raim needed to sleep there. The half-Troll girl hurried out with Bismark and Frostwing; Raim barely blinked at the bear and blue bird.

Ryoka couldn’t take her eyes away from his grey hair and lined features. He was so old now. He glanced at her as she led him towards Durene’s house. Entered it as two [Summer Knights] rode towards them. Ser Raim waved them away. He sat down inside.

“I have a few artifacts they told me to set up. My bag of holding. Would you help me with…?”

He handed Ryoka a stack of talismans. Like Japanese ofuda talismans. Then what looked like bright orbs of glass. They hung around the room, swaying. Flickering.

“Bad magic?”

“Her spells. Those charms are Drathian. You don’t need to worry about my safety. A [Witch] like Belavierr is powerful. But she must have my hair or some possession of mine to curse me. And even then, these wards work. Her magic is not all-powerful. It is ancient. But not—”

Ser Raim coughed. Ryoka found herself making tea. He sat, sipping it. He sighed. Then he gazed at her again.

“You know the Stitch Witch. And you’re here to argue for her life.”

Ryoka froze. But the [Summer Knight] didn’t reach for his blade. She hesitated.

“I—want to. I’m not here to attack you. Just—I’ve met Belavierr. Talked to her. She didn’t offer me any deals, but I’ve…seen her.”

“Strange. She rarely talks to anyone that she does not want something from. I’ve searched for her for years, and she rarely talks to anyone. Save for her victims. Then again, she was different when we cornered her last. Weakened before we even attacked. A heartening sign; it means she’s vulnerable.”

Ser Raim coughed. Ryoka nodded once.

“I’m—different. Wiskeria’s also here.”

“Her daughter?”

“Yes. Your friend took her hostage.”

“Gaile. But for that, Belavierr might have fled.”

“Yeah.”

The two sat in silence. Ser Raim waited. Ryoka burst out at last.

“I haven’t seen her commit any terrible crimes while she’s here. I’m sure she has. But Belavierr doesn’t seem evil to me. Just amoral.”

She paused, flushing.

“I’m sorry. I know this is stupid to argue with you—”

What was she doing? But Ser Raim didn’t bristle. He just sat back and sighed. When he spoke, it was quiet.

“Do you know what she did in Noelictus?”

He set the tea cup down quietly on the table and watched Ryoka. The Wind Runner swallowed.

“No. There are rumors flying everywhere in Izril, apparently. Witches have been attacked, but no one knows what happened. Not even her daughter or Califor.”

Raim’s brows rose.

“Really? It should have been covered up. Someone has been talking for news like that to reach…I was there. I did not see all of it, but enough. Do you…this is far from Terandria. Izril. I can scarce believe it. Do you know what ‘Helpful Servants’ are?”

“No.”

“Ah. Then I must explain. In Noelictus…in the nations thereabout, there was a growing trend of these—‘Helpful Servants’. Men, women, who would sign up for this unique class and job. For a day, a week, you could rent one. They would cook, clean—servants for rental, you see? Always pleasant, always hard working. Always. Extraordinarily cheap. Ever smiling.”

Ryoka felt a chill. Wait, that sounded so incredibly suspicious and—and—

“Belavierr did that? Wait, how did no one sense anything was off?”

Ser Raim coughed again and sipped more tea. Color returned to his cheeks, and Ryoka realized Eloise had given her the tea. Was Eloise against Belavierr? Ryoka remembered the conversation about Rehanna and grew more conflicted.

“Oh, some did. But Belavierr had allies and ways to protect herself. Most never noticed the incongruities. Magic of her level does that. I will not sully your ears with the whole tale; I am tired, and it is not mine to tell. There was a [Princess], a very strange [Singer], ghosts…”

His eyes closed wearily, and he almost smiled.

“I was a rather broken man until one gave me a spark. But I did witness what she did. Those Helpful Servants were prisoners in their own minds. Helpless, bound by a contract they signed.”

“But—but they agreed to it willingly. It was a deal.”

Raim’s eyes opened bitterly.

“Oh, they agreed to it. I doubt any knew what they would be subjected to. I have seen the likes of that bad contract by unscrupulous [Merchants] or in black market deals. A contract can be fair under the law and cause maximal suffering, Miss Griffin. Believe me—they suffered. We liberated many, but the harm she caused was the work of centuries. She killed scores, scores before we drove her from there. That is the woman you would like to defend.”

He looked at Ryoka, and she wanted to disbelieve him. Yet Raim’s tone was entirely knowing, and he continued.

“I am sure you have seen some…good she does. Especially if she cares for her daughter. However. She does evil as well. Half of our number have lost someone to her. I lost my heart, my fiancée. Gaile her daughter. Coroise has lost three fellow [Hunters] to Belavierr. The rest bear her no love. Some are in the hunt for the glory of it, like Faigen, who wields the hammer. Or because they see Belavierr’s crimes as unforgivable, like Sylind, the [Archer]. The [Mage Hunter], Erashelle, is of that mind, although she may also desire Belavierr’s artifacts. Tagil does. But he would use them for the good of his family, and in truth, the reason matters not. We have hunted her for decades, and those six were all who remained. Now? I will finish it.”

He paused. And the lights flickered from the ward-spells. Raim looked at Ryoka and shook his head.

“—So please, save your breath. I am committed to her death, and I have paid almost all the price. I hope you will watch her die, and you may think me a fool or a monster of my own for killing her. I shall be entirely grateful if you never have cause to understand why I came here.”

Ryoka had no answer to that. She could only hang her head.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know she did—all that. I wish I had seen. Not that I want to have been there, but so I could judge. I just feel like she’s something old and ancient and, yes, terrible. But seeing that die…she’s Wiskeria’s mother.”

Ryoka thought of Teriarch, closer to Belavierr in his way than Ryoka was to the Witch of Webs. She tried to get this all to the [Knight] without going into details, and Ser Raim did look at her kindly, but that deep flame in his eyes never wavered. His voice grew stronger as he put down the empty cup, beginning to stretch; it seemed he intended to sleep in his armor.

“I understand your reverence for history, Ryoka Griffin. I mourned the loss of immortals of another kind in Noelictus. I shall also readily admit: in the past, my Order slew Dragons. They followed their natures, like Belavierr. But some burned and killed, and we deemed them a threat. It matters not. Tomorrow, I will burn, Ryoka Griffin. Burn with all the enmity I bear Belavierr. My grief, my love for my lost heart—all of it, I will deliver her. Nothing can stop me.”

And that was true. Ryoka had nothing else to say. Exhausted as he was, tired, she saw Raim’s eyes flash. He burned still. And the last ember was waiting. Waiting to flare and die.

To slay Belavierr. Ryoka could not tell him it was wrong. She could not argue for Belavierr. So she stood. She bowed to Ser Raim.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could wish you luck. I only—”

She couldn’t finish her sentence. Ser Raim smiled.

“Thank you.”

She left the house. Quietly. And Ryoka gazed up as the night grew quieter. Even the undead attacks on Riverfarm were slowing. She searched for the fae. But they had vanished. Powerless, Ryoka left the two [Summer Knights] standing guard. She walked through the streets, lost.

“Ivolethe.”

She looked for them. But the fae did not reply. Nor could Ryoka find them. Because they did not hang about Ser Raim as he wearily rested. They were too busy watching the battle.

—–

The pitch-black night and the war between Spring, Summer, and the Stitch Witch’s minions left sleep for no one but Ser Raim.

The lone Hunter’s Haven was a besieged castle, and the puppets and undead pressed forward in waves, despite the support from the Hunter’s Guild and Order of Seasons.

Step by step, the [Knights] gave ground. Fighting. Dying.

One of the [Spring Knights] fell, fighting a giant made of cloth who crushed their armor. Another created a vast bonfire that only went out when a comet as black as night’s sand struck it.

Was Belavierr winning? The Hunter’s Haven let the [Hunters] fearlessly fight from its sanctuary, but the shrinking circle of [Knights] forced them to dismount, fight amidst the walls of magic.

Did the Witch of Webs deserve this?

Yes. If any story of her was true, she had earned this death. If anything, should the other [Witches] have joined hands to kill her?

Mavika had offered to help Belavierr escape. In the end…

“A [Witch] is selfish. You are the greatest of the living [Witches]. The one who lived where legends fell, Belavierr. Not the most deserving or the best. But the one who would not die.”

Witch Califor wished she could have had a proper conversation with the Witch of Webs. But she supposed all ants looked the same to the woman.

You lost perspective the more powerful you got. Califor knew that. She looked down and saw a cluster of the rookie [Knights], led by Dame Talia, trying to fight a single Draugr on foot. The massive hulking undead was sending them flying, battering forward to slam against the Hunter’s Haven.

And more undead were spilling forwards. Not just the controlled puppets, who fought with asymmetrical grace, but undead. Mindless. Unled. Belavierr was a fine [Necromancer], but the undead were trying to kill everything living.

Talia Kallinad fell on her back as the Draugr stomped on her, trying to cave in her armor. Califor watched.

Young men and women, who fought like they were invincible until the day they learned they were not. Easy foes for one like Belavierr, who had broken youth and will against her true power.

—But Califor liked to think she had never forgotten how much that mattered. She had warned the [Hunters] and [Knights] not to put her against them.

Now, she wished they had asked her to join them. She had her apprentice. But she also had her principles.

The undead. Califor watched from above as the Draugr was knocked back a step from a bolt. The [Knight] scrambled to put her back to the door to the Hunter’s Haven as her comrades fought around her. And the Draugr?

The Draugr stared blankly at the Hunter’s Haven, crossbow bolts sticking out of its face, huge gashes in its side. Then the undead turned and regarded the village behind it.

A village of countless souls. Far more valuable to an undead, which lived only to kill, than a handful of [Hunters].

The undead began to lumber towards Riverfarm proper. Califor, watching from the top of one of the houses, saw an arrow strike it in the head. Then she heard screams of alarm, and Beniar and his [Riders] set themselves behind impromptu barricades in the village.

There was the brave girl, Durene. And Hedag. They saw more undead shifting their way.

Beniar, a brave man, was no [Knight]. He was not near the levels of the Order of Seasons, and the undead were shifting towards the village. Hundreds. Too many for a single Hedag to best. Califor shook her head.

Below her, she knew, Nanette was probably peeking out the windows, terrified—but brave enough to have her wand ready. The Wind Runner, Durene—would Wiskeria fight her mother’s puppets to defend this place?

“I warned you, Belavierr.”

The Stitch Witch didn’t even remember her name. Witch Califor sensed her attention elsewhere, on some other scheme. So Califor straightened her back, rolling her shoulders down, keeping her neck aligned with her spine.

Good posture. Enunciate your words, Nanette. Now—look up.

Califor’s faded cloak swirled around her as she lifted it. The wind was blowing across Riverfarm, and it carried her voice as she raised it.

“I have worn you a thousand days.

Each time you were my relief

From rain, from fog

From prying eyes and wretched blade

Oh, friend. One last favor I crave.

One last time—remind them of your name.”

The battered cloak around her shoulders caught the wind, and Califor caught it and drew it across the air like one would close a curtain.

It was…heavy. The fabric was worn; even magic could wear until the stitches were so faded that they were soft and fragile. The patterns had long since been lost, but sometimes, it still looked like a shadow slithering softly through the world.

Nanette loved to brag about it, but it was a riding cloak, a comfortable one, ninety-nine days out a hundred. And sometimes?

The Cloak of Balshadow strained in the night air. It warped, and Califor whispered to it as a little girl poked her head out of the windows. As the Wind Runner looked up, Hedag lifted her hat, and the villagers cried out in fear.

“I’m sorry. And thank you.”

Then—the force pulling at the cloak was too much. It tore away in the air, leaving Califor with only a fragment. She reeled backwards, caught herself—and looked down.

—The undead streaming towards the village of Riverfarm halted. The onslaught of bolts from above, as the eyes of the Order of Seasons and Hunter’s Guild watched, slowed a second, and alarm shot through those distant watchers.

Even the [Knights] and [Hunters] halted a moment. Their foes, puppets and undead alike, milled around, suddenly aimless, easy prey. The ones headed to Riverfarm stopped, looked around, and saw…

Nothing. To the folk of Riverfarm, gazing around, and even all but the best [Hunters], it was as if a…shadow had fallen across the landscape. A veil that swallowed the houses, people, and held them in a soft cloak of night.

Califor let the last scrap of the cloak fall from her hands and stumbled, weary. She almost fell—but an anxious Nanette tried to climb out to catch her.

Witches Alevica and Mavika had to rescue both, and Califor slid down the roof and climbed back through the window. Outside—the armies of the dead were flailing, trying to get at the Hunter’s Haven, and Belavierr’s gaze swung back towards Riverfarm in sudden wrath.

I warned you. Califor closed her eyes, exhausted.

“Nanette. Stop fussing. It was a beautiful cloak. I told you not to brag about it.”

“But—how did you—the entire village?”

Alevica spluttered. Califor opened one eye, then winked it at Alevica.

“It’s just sympathy. Let it be worth something.”

Perhaps it only meant one or two silly [Knights] would live. Perhaps it had changed everything. Califor closed her eyes. She wondered what outcome Wiskeria was hoping for.

Thus, Ser Raim slept, and though more minions appeared, the [Knights] regained their ground until the [Hunters] themselves elected to rest, guarded by both shadow and their Hunter’s Haven.

Still, the fae watched. They were not watching Ser Raim that night, nor the Order of Seasons who did battle. They waited elsewhere. Watching something else.

One of the oldest stories. And they wept, then.

——

Night had fallen. Ser Raim slept, guarded. Outside, the onslaught against Riverfarm had slowed. But the Order of Seasons remained vigilant, patrolling in every direction, cutting down Belavierr’s minions. And the Hunters rested in their house.

There were five left. Sylind, the [Archer] who had marked Belavierr. Coroise, with her crossbows. Tagil and his scissor-swords. Faigen, with hammer and shield. And Erashelle, their magic user. As night passed deeper and deeper, they grew more watchful.

They might have slept. But they were alert. Each time the ward-charms flickered, they looked up. But they were guarded well. Even so, all knew that if Belavierr struck, it would be now. Now, or the next day, as they drove their quarry into a corner. So they stayed alert. Vigilant as they partly rested. Each had been on longer hunts, so they guarded their strength. Tended to their arms.

They did not speak of Gaile. Or of Ser Raim’s fate. They were resolved. After a while, Sylind went upstairs to the second floor of the slanted house. There were few rooms, but she sat upstairs to meditate and check her arrows. After a while, one of their number, Tagil, joined her.

Sylind glanced up as he stepped into the room and sat across from her. She said nothing for a while. Neither did he. At last, Sylind spoke.

“You don’t have to watch over me. I’ll shout if I see anything. Her magic won’t work here.”

“Perhaps. But I have seen our havens broken. She could penetrate the wards.”

The female [Archer] raised her brows.

“If she does? I have all my gear on. What magic could bypass our wards and have the strength to kill me?”

“A powerful blood spell. I’ve seen it done before.”

Tagil crouched. His gear was simple, but Sylind saw the dozens of concealed, magical pockets in his armor. Her eyes even saw his equipment, a fortune’s worth. It made him one of the best [Hunters] in the Hunter’s Guild. And he was specialized for his task. As was she, but he was her senior. She shifted uncomfortably.

“Don’t get sentimental near the end of the hunt, Tagil. You’re twice the veteran I am. We won the greater battle on Terandria. If we fail now…there’s no excuse.”

It was unlike Tagil. But the [Hunter] had to be feeling the same nerves she did. Belavierr had fled. They had hoped to take her. Sylind felt like the Stitch Witch was watching her. But she would not fall. So long as Ser Raim stood against Belavierr, they could bring her down. Tagil shook his head absently.

“Those [Witches] were monsters. But Belavierr is older than all of them. Age is strength for [Witches]. And her web is widest of all. She puts her hooks into everyone. Everyone from the Griffin Prince of Kaliv to the Knight-Commander of the Order of Seasons.”

“You heard what the Knight-Commander said? Are they really going to assail the Order of Seasons? Can Belavierr really threaten them? The Knight-Commander himself and the Grandmasters? How can she do that?”

Tagil shrugged.

“She has the hair of one of their loved ones, perhaps. If they came against her, she would kill them. Perhaps she is trying, but failing. The Griffin Prince is different. He made a pact with her.”

“Really?”

She had heard the rumors. But Belavierr was made of rumors. Tagil nodded. He was watching as Sylind unstrung her bow. They were different, he and she. She used a longbow, and she had trained for over two decades to obtain her ability and Skills.

Tagil had practiced as well, but most [Hunters] used a crossbow; Veteran Hunters had ones enchanted to reload automatically. Sylind was placing her arrows on the table to organize them for tomorrow’s battle.

Different skill sets, both geared towards the same job. But she was a [Deepforest Huntress], adapted to hunting all kinds. He had one quarry. And his unrest bothered Sylind. What did Tagil sense? The [Hunter] shifted. After another break, he spoke again.

“The share of the bounty. Do you know what I’ll do with it?”

Sylind looked up from inspecting her magical arrows with a frown.

“It goes to your daughter, won’t it? If you’re worried, Tagil, we swore an oath. Gaile’s money will go to her relatives. If she has any. Regardless. Even if we fail—your share goes to your daughter. The Order of Seasons will make sure of that.”

Tagil didn’t say anything. Sylind paused.

“She’s sick, right? Not even the best [Healers] could cure her.”

“Yes. They can delay the sickness. But not cure it. She’s…tomorrow, if we bring Belavierr, that could change things.”

Sylind nodded. She wondered if Tagil had tried the Healer of Tenbault, a local celebrity. Yet if they defeated the Witch of Webs, even more doors might open. Belavierr was worth more than gold. Wistram had promised treasures to the one who slew her. So had Roshal. The Order of Seasons, the Hunter’s Guild…she could respect Tagil’s motivations.

Then Sylind had a thought. She checked a stone set in her bracer and spoke casually.

“I know the Hunter’s Guild investigated this. But…was your daughter’s sickness magical? Did Belavierr curse her somehow? You’d never have been allowed on this team if so, obviously—”

Her hand lingered near her bow. Tagil didn’t seem to notice. But of course, he did. He paused.

“No. Her sickness isn’t magical. Or if it is, Belavierr had no hand in it. That I’m sure of.”

The stone flickered. Sylind sighed and relaxed. Abashed, she attached the bow to her back and spread her collection of magical arrows on the floor, inspecting them.

“Sorry. Just jumpy.”

Tagil’s eyes flickered. He was silent for a long moment, and Sylind thought he had taken offense. But then he sighed. He looked up at her.

“You’re right, Sylind. Belavierr never touched my family. But I met her once during the attack on her village. Remember when I cornered her? I didn’t escape; she captured me. And she made me an offer then.”

Sylind froze. The bow dug against her holster. But now it was behind her. Tagil sat still. And his eyes locked on hers. The [Huntress] hesitated.

“You turned her down, of course.”

Tagil didn’t reply. His sword hung at his side. Sylind’s heartbeat quickened. Her hand slowly crept forwards towards her arrows. Tagil watched her. He spoke. Haltingly.

“I thought she was going to threaten…she saw right through me in a second, Sylind. She could have threatened me. Maybe it would have worked, but she didn’t have to. My daughter is very sick, Sylind. Even if she’s cured, the sickness has worn her away. Even the Healer of Tenbault couldn’t cure that. I actually got her a meeting and—the spell failed. I’d given up hope, and I was ready to die. Then Belavierr looked me in the eyes and made me an offer.”

“Tagil.”

“I wish I could believe she was lying. But she’s the Witch of Webs. She can do almost anything. If the deal is fair. Believe me, I hesitated. Believe me.”

“Tagil. Don’t do this. You turned the offer down, didn’t you?”

Sylind’s hand paused. Tagil watched her. And his eyes were full of grief. He shook his head slightly. Neither Hunter moved. But now her eyes were on Tagil’s side, where his iconic scissor-swords hung. He’d commissioned them to fight Belavierr.

“The offer was never for then, Sylind. It was for now.”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I know.”

Sylind paused, her body untensed, deliberately relaxed, sitting across from Tagil, but her eyes were on his face. Just searching him. Lost, suddenly.

“Did it even matter? Going home? Searching for years and years? Teaching those rookies like Haeight and the others? Actually—this is the only chance anyone might get in thousands of years. I get it, I do. I’ll help with your daughter. We do this, and [Kings] and [Queens] will be in our debt. Is it worth it? Tagi—”

He moved, and she twisted, reaching for her bow, lashing out with a foot to stop him drawing his sword—

The crossbow bolt struck her in the chest. Her protective charms exploded. Even so, the half-Elf’s arm rose, and she fired a single arrow past him—he fired the crossbow again at her face.

Slowly, her body slumped to the floor. Tagil lowered the crossbow and stared blankly at Sylind. He was a sword-expert; she’d expected the blade. He’d kept this crossbow hidden for this moment.

“I’m sorry.”

Coroise was in another room upstairs, woken from sleep. She’d heard the sound but looked to him for confirmation.

“Tagil. Did something get—”

His sword went through her chest, and she began to move with the strength of the damned—he flicked the blade straight up. Then Tagil headed downstairs. Fast. The last two would be…

Erashelle and Faigen peered up from where they sat. Faigen raised his hammer. He was treating it with a compound of silver dust. He frowned.

“Tagil, what was that s—”

The [Hunter] raised his crossbow and one he’d taken from Coroise’s body. The two [Hunters] dove. Tagil fired twice. Faigen howled as the bolt caught him in the throat. Erashelle screamed. Tagil dodged as she pointed her wand. Faigen was charging, breathless, blood running down his chest.

“[Hail of Bolts].”

The crossbow fired again and again. Faigen jerked as the bolts hit him. Again and again. But he kept coming. Even after they found his heart. Tagil backed up. Faigen collapsed, falling onto him. Tagil stepped to one side. Then rolled. He aimed his crossbows. Fired once. Twice.

Erashelle was still alive. The first bolt had gone through her ribs, but it had missed her heart. Both of her hands were nailed to the wall. She kept trying to cast a spell as Tagil walked towards her. He aimed the crossbows. But she was already dying. She spat blood, the bolts blocking her magic.

“You—traitor. Damn you.”

“I’m sorry.”

Tagil’s eyes burned. He looked at her. She spat. Her lung was filling. She coughed, choking the last words out.

“I hope you suffer forever. If there’s anything—hope you—”

Then she died. Tagil stared at her corpse. Then at Faigen. His hands shook. He dropped the crossbows. The [Hunter] fell to his knees as bile filled his throat. His tears lasted as long as Erashelle’s blood kept dripping to the floor. And he screamed his damnation.

Then the man stood, and his eyes were empty. But one last purpose moved him onwards. He left the house, left his crossbows. Walked through silent Riverfarm. Past the [Knights] whom he placated with lies. He walked onwards. Out of Riverfarm, slowly following a thread that called him.

She was waiting for him there. At a tree far enough from the village it hadn’t been cut, on a small hill.

Belavierr. The man gazed up at her.

“It’s done.”

She nodded. And her eyes shone with orange light. He stared at her with hatred. Regret.

“Raim lives. I’ve done my part. Now. Will she…?”

“Yes. Do you want me to repeat our pact? I have sworn it.”

Belavierr’s voice was cold. Tagil shuddered. He walked up the hill.

“No. Keep your oath, [Witch].”

She had left something for him there. And she helped him stand on the stool. Tagil stared at her. He spat into her face. She never blinked.

“I will keep my promise. It will be fulfilled in the hour after your death. Regardless of my fate.”

“I hope Raim burns you away.”

“He may.”

But that was not his business. Tagil closed his eyes. The hemp rope hung around his neck.

“Will you tell him I’m sorry? Will you tell her what I did?”

“I did not promise that.”

“Then I curse you, Belavierr the Witch. I curse you. But save my daughter. I did it for her.”

Tagil took a deep breath. And he stepped off the stool. The noose tugged. His throat constricted, but his neck would not snap from such a short height. It took a long time to die like this, he knew.

——

At first, it had been a glorious morning. Trumpeting horns from the [Knights], who had fought and fallen to give the [Hunters] and Ser Raim their moment. A weary [Knight] beginning to blaze like a sun.

Then—someone had gone to the Hunter’s Haven, which had been blocked from the inside and never entered, found the door locked, and the [Knights] had knocked again and again, then called out and demanded entry.

Like a bad dream. The [Witches], Ryoka, the people of Riverfarm had seen Ser Raim’s head turn, and the confidence and wrath blazing in him had faltered. Like a shard of ice entering into unshakeable will.

When the door opened—they had found the dead [Hunters]. And the cries of shock and horror and failure—

Even then, the [Knight] had not wavered. Only stood there, his flame of resolve becoming deeper. Death could not break Raim of the Summer.

—But when they had laid the bodies out and they had found one was missing—then Raim knew. And his fire flickered, and he had demanded they find Belavierr.

Her daughter was still here. Surely…

It was easy to follow Tagil’s trail. A single [Spring Knight] with tracking skills led them to that tree. To the long branch where he hung. And to the one thing that could break a burning resolve.

That was how they found him. As dawn broke, as the four bodies were found inside the warded house by Ryoka Griffin, and the [Knights] found they had battled only puppets that collapsed as the sun rose.

He hung there. On the hilltop. From the longest limb of the tree.

Ser Raim’s scream still echoed. His despair. Betrayal. The [Hunter] stared sightlessly at the [Summer Knight].

And there she stood. As tall as the hanging body. Her eyes glowing in the light of the rising sun, and her smile curved to the very edges of her face. Raim stared up at Belavierr.

“What did you offer him? What did you give him? His daughter? Was it you?”

His hands shook. His face was ashen. Belavierr gazed down at him.

“No. But I offered him her life. A charm to protect her. It is already sent.”

“A charm? He betrayed all for a charm?”

Raim choked. Belavierr nodded. Her eyes were distant. She smelled of smoke and fire.

“The charm was woven from heartstring and bowstring and the string of the noose. His daughter will receive it, and it will protect her from sickness and harm. It will be cursed with a traitor’s sins. But blessed by a father’s love. She will live a hundred years longer, and her gifts will overflow until the day of her death.”

She paused.

“And now, my death, you will no longer find me.”

She turned. Raim uttered a wordless cry. Behind him, Talia raised her sword.

“The Order of Seasons will hunt you down! We know your weakness, Belavierr! We know your daughter—”

She wavered as Belavierr turned back. The Stitch Witch stared down at Talia. At the orb from which Knight-Commander Calirn and the Grandmasters of the Order of Seasons watched. And her eyes widened.

“My daughter. You would use her against me? Very well. Try. For if I am chased, I will flee. If my daughter is held, I will find who takes her and kill them. If she is slain, I will find who slew her. And they will never die.”

She pointed down at Talia. At the Order, as the body swung behind her. Belavierr’s words echoed and shook the air.

“If the Order of Seasons kills my daughter, I will break their stronghold and slay their families one by one. I will kill their sons and daughters generation upon generation and bring ruin to their lands. I will disappear and bring ruin to Terandria if it takes me all of eternity. I vow the same to anyone who would harm her.”

No one present could meet her eyes but Ser Raim. Knight-Commander Calirn spoke hoarsely.

“This will not go unpunished, Belavierr.”

“Unpunished. Then tell me, little [Knight].”

Belavierr stepped down the hill. Her eyes fixed on Calirn’s as she bent over the scrying orb. She spread her arms.

“Are we enemies? I have never considered the Order of Seasons my foes. If we are, let there be war and ruin. Until my final hour, I will hound your Order from the shadows and by my craft. Do you wish it, [Knight]? If you wish it, I will show you how I treat my enemies.”

Calirn gazed at her. Ser Raim was gathering himself.

“Ser Raim. Can you end it?”

“I cannot follow her if she flees.”

“Her daughter.”

Belavierr waited. Calirn hesitated. He looked at the young [Witch] and felt his oaths holding his tongue from what he might suggest. And then a piercing shriek sounded, and he turned. On his side of the scrying orb—suddenly, the Order of Seasons was under attack. Raim closed his eyes bitterly.

——

He had been so focused on the Witch of Webs, Calirn had missed the forces of Kaliv arriving—a day early.

From the skies, he heard a ringing voice. And he saw them flying down upon his order. The Griffin Queen screamed.

“Stay your [Knights], Knight-Commander! Or I will bring war to the Order of Seasons!”

They would have landed amidst the startled [Knights], who hesitated, bowstrings nocked, unwilling to shed blood—but for a wave of ice that appeared.

The Winter’s Watcher. The last Grandmaster of the Order of Seasons drew a sword, and the Griffins banked, flying around the figure, who seemed prepared to take them all on alone.

The rest of the order stood within the keep, encased by stone and magic. Novakya landed her Griffin. Her eyes blazed as she lowered the lance.

“If she dies, my son, the Griffin Prince, dies.”

The Spring’s Warden called out from her position.

“Griffin Queen, he is one life. The Spider can be ended once and for all! She can be killed. Your son might survive her death! Is one life not worth risking?”

“He is my son. That is your answer.”

The Spring’s Warden bowed her head.

“So be it.”

The Winter’s Watcher’s sword met the first Griffin’s talons, and the forces of Kaliv dove. Griffins fell, striking at the Order’s stronghold.

Calirn felt cold. It was all coming together. He spoke a hoarse word.

“Ser Raim. The Order does not call Belavierr our enemy this day. We will not risk it. Nor can we hold the Stitch Witch’s daughter responsible for her crimes.”

“Knight-Commander. I understand.”

Calirn saw Ser Raim slowly draw his sword and walk forwards. So, despite the chill in his bones—despite the death of kindred Terandrians in his very keep, despite treachery and the Witch’s smile—

The sun still shone.

——

There was a rhythm to the end. It was in his voice as he looked to Wiskeria, who stared at him as he lifted his blade. At Califor, who raised her staff—but even she hesitated when she saw his burning gaze. Ser Raim turned to Belavierr and forswore his honor.

His friends lay dead. He had reached the end of his time. And her smile—said she knew all that he had lost.

Still, he burned. And Ser Raim’s voice was steady as he spoke.

“Belavierr. I am a [Summer Knight] of my Order no longer. But for what you have wrought. Then and now—! You will not flee. Stand. Or I will slay your daughter.”

Belavierr’s tone was mocking, even gleeful, as she loomed over him.

“You swore an oath. You are [Knight] no longer.”

Raim nodded.

“I did. You have taken everything from me. Even my honor. Stand, Belavierr. And let us end this.”

The Stitch Witch paused. She looked at her daughter. And she nodded, once. She walked past Raim and turned to face him.

“Come, my death.”

The [Summer Knight] followed her. He paused just once. Talia’s eyes burned and ran with tears. He put a hand out, touching her shoulder gently.

“If I should fall, none of you are to pursue her. Return to the Order. That is an order, Dame Talia.”

“Ser Raim—”

He peered into her eyes and walked on. The [Knight] paused and turned his head.

“Knight-Commander. Grandmasters. It has been my honor.”

“Raim! Don’t do this!”

A voice came from the orb. But the [Summer Knight] walked on. He passed by Ryoka, and she studied him. His face was set. And his footsteps became fire. He walked towards Belavierr as those gathered watched him go. They shouted. Called his name.

A monster waited for the knight. He stepped towards her. And behind him, the Order of Seasons stood and unsheathed their blades. They raised their swords and saluted him, shouting, weeping.

In Terandria and Riverfarm, the Order of Seasons watched him pass. They were not the only ones. The people of Riverfarm screamed. All those who claimed mortality cheered on the [Knight] as he moved forwards. They had seen her evil, so they called to him. End her. End the nightmare. A roar that shook the skies, from a thousand throats. The man raised his sword high, his armor shining, his back straight.

Glory.

There the immortal stood, her back to the dawn. She nodded once, and he advanced, lifting his greatsword as it burned. As he burned. And Ryoka thought she saw Raim smile for just a moment. Then the fire was all-consuming.

She was crying as she watched him go. And the fair folk bowed their heads as he charged. The [Knight] met the [Witch].

This time, he screamed first. A wordless cry with all the rage and fire in his soul. And he struck her. Cutting away the threads that bound. Cutting into her very soul. And she screamed and struck him. He was alone. But he burned. Bright. Brighter, with a fire that struck the shadows. That burned the Stitch Witch away.

They fought. One tore at the other. They staggered. She struck Raim, bending his armor with her bare hands, boiling his flesh behind metal.

Yet Raim was flame incarnate. He drove his sword into her, then gave up and simply seized her and began to blaze through Belavierr’s being. Her scream was high and unending, and they could almost see her now.

A woman being revealed from eons of protections. Burning as the flame came for her. Her death.

Yet—

The flame burned with hatred, vengeance, and rage. It burned on a man’s life with the will to kill a monster far greater than he. It was a conflagration that could have killed any mortal man—and even her.

A day ago, it could have. Today? The flame consumed Belavierr. Ate her web. Left her shrieking in agony—and yet it was lacking.

For the [Knight] had lost his honor. He had lost his comrades and seen faith shattered. The kindling of his soul that provided the flame had no more hope.

Perhaps it was the smallest of differences, for he had his will and vengeance. Or perhaps it was all the difference. For the [Witch] began to laugh as the two were linked, a burning man and a dying woman.

She laughed and laughed and laughed and stopped striking him and stood there. Just stood as he drove towards her end and tried to deliver her promised death.

Belavierr fell, a smoking, charred woman without feature—then a [Witch] again—then a cinder of ash—choking. Vulnerable.

He tried to finish it—but there was nothing left.

A [Knight] stopped where he stood. He sank down, trying to stand. But a mortal man had burnt away.

Ser Raim took a step, then another, trying to lift a greatsword that had all but melted. He struggled to fix on her as her blackened teeth gaped up at him. Still laughing.

Raim whispered a name. His love. He tried to lift his sword, tried to conjure a single spark—and the last light left his eyes. He fell, silently, as smoke rose around him.

Gone.

Then there was only the woman, who lay there, flesh re-knitting, in an agony beyond anything she remembered—still laughing. Mocking her death despite all it had cost her.

She was alive. However, her eyes no longer glowed. The shadows had left her. The [Witch] rose, gasping, her lungs burning.

Mortal. But alive. Belavierr stood and turned. The Order of Seasons watched her. And Knight-Commander Calirn lowered his head. He turned away.

Triumphant, Belavierr smiled. She gazed across the faces of Riverfarm’s folk. The [Knights]. She ignored their horror and wrath. She looked past them at her coven.

They regarded her steadily, with awe, envy, terror, abhorrence, and even pity. She scorned their glances. She only cared for one opinion.

Her daughter stood there. Wiskeria?

Relief flickered across the younger [Witch]’s face, and Belavierr drank that in. Relief—but when Belavierr reached for her hand, Wiskeria recoiled. The [Witch]’s fingers stopped, as if feeling the edges of another tapestry, one unknown to her.

Relief—and regret. And sadness. Wiskeria’s eyes lingered on Ser Raim’s corpse as long as her mother’s face. When she looked up, she saw Belavierr truly.

The Spider’s smile vanished. She reached for her daughter again as Wiskeria backed away, and Belavierr’s gaze was confused. Her triumph faded, and she stood there, as if she had suddenly forgotten why it even mattered. When she looked down:

She did not remember her death’s name.

Slowly, the woman began to knit once more. Remake even more of herself, for she had lost almost everything. Everything except her life. Thus, she was triumphant.

Then Belavierr paused. Her death lay before her, spent. Belavierr frowned at him, then turned away. Her head rose upwards. Towards the clear sky. She shaded her eyes.

“It’s bright. My second death awaits.”

Somewhere, somewhere, the man with the wide, uncanny smile was laughing.

6.45 E

Belavierr could sense the threads drawing together.

Could you feel it? She did. She had never met the man with the strange smile who laughed at the death of Ser Raim and the [Hunters]. She did not know him any more than she understood his motives. But she could still feel it.

Reason and purpose, intersecting. Chance and plans. Malice, directed at her. But she was just a piece in someone else’s trap. That knowledge bothered the [Witch]. She looked up, blinking at the bright sky. And she realized she’d been tricked. But she did not know who had done the tricking, or why. She could not see the web that ensnared her. But she felt it.

The [Witch] gazed back down at her daughter. The trap did not matter. Her daughter did. And surely, whoever had laid it had known or guessed. Belavierr looked at her daughter. And she felt the second of the two deaths closing in. But that did not matter.

So the [Witch] waited, her immortality burnt away, her protections gone. Her magic weaker.

A woman sat in a nest made of ash and embers. Death she had cast down, but death remained. Two, she had foretold, and so still, she waited to see how her death came.

For her daughter, she would face it. But her daughter—Belavierr closed her eyes. She heard that distant laughter as the trap closed.

Day 66 – Ullim

Tyrion Veltras’ return to his estates had not been triumphant. It had been quiet. The armies he had gathered for his elaborate, grand scheme had dispersed. And with them goodwill. Say what you would of Magnolia Reinhart, and many would—she had made grave enemies with her actions.

But when you got down to it, Tyrion Veltras’ grand scheme, which had cost many peers of the realm countless thousands of gold pieces in time and energy spent, had fallen apart. He had brought a force capable of taking Liscor, of altering the map and potentially securing a lynchpin of Drake defenses. And he had failed.

That was all there was to it. So Lord Veltras returned in fury and ire, so much so that no one dared mince words with him. Politically, he might have been disgraced or have lost capital in the currency of opinions, but on his lands, the ancestral Veltras estates that Drakes and Gnolls both would point out that they’d owned in ages past, he still reigned supreme. If he wasn’t welcome at certain balls or gatherings—he seldom attended them anyways.

In his keep, he kept to himself, moodily occupied in his rooms, only stalking out to train or ride about. His sons naturally had questions, and he spent time with them, but he was no fit company, so he let Ullim and Jericha mind the boys as they had always done.

Tyrion Veltras was much like a wolf to people who knew nothing of wolves. He was aloof, fierce, a leader when he needed to be, but solitary. His home, which was more of a keep than a mansion, held only a few of his most loyal retainers, servants, and his two sons.

For all that, he was not a poor [Lord], just specialized. He could lead an army and fight with the best of opponents. But he took little to the managerial side of his class, and it showed.

Veltras lands occupied the western flank of Izril, stretching from the huge Vale Forest—a [Hunter]’s dream, abundant with wildlife—all the way up to the famous landmark, the ‘tail’ of Izril’s northern half, a long coastal stretch. It meant Veltras lands were abundant in forests due to the heavy rainfalls that could come off the High Passes to the south, the economy fed by trade with ports and steady business, but in places, still very much unsettled.

Of course, to the north, where the Veltrases had first settled, there were booming cities, but none quite so famous as Invrisil. If anything, Veltras lands were known more for the family that protected them. A reluctant leader he might be, but Tyrion Veltras’ aptitude for war meant that few monsters or raiders troubled his lands overlong.

It was the economic issues that annoyed the [Lord], which meant he left most of the work to his family’s steward, Ullim. Unfortunately, large events still required Tyrion’s attention, which was how the luckless Ullim found himself putting issues before his temperamental master as rain beat at the study windows outside.

“—Reinhart’s [Trade War] continues to affect commerce in a huge radius, Lord Veltras. It isn’t just Invrisil blocking trade, although that certainly has affected the southern half of the continent. But Reinhart holdings spread across Izril, and we have been running into shortages in our own markets. The [Merchants] are unwilling to cross Lady Reinhart, you see. I suspect some of the nobility will take action, or perhaps Lady Reinhart will herself relent; her markets will feel a pinch soon, but until then, we lack for a number of products including rye grains, some of our wheat imports, a number of fruit orchards’ produce—”

The glower cut the [Majordomo] off. Tyrion Veltras sat straight-backed in his chair, and annoyance was written large on his face. He snapped as he stared at the map on his desk.

“We can live without rye, Ullim. I have no interest in dealing with Reinhart’s trade war. If we lack for some goods, the people can adapt.”

Ullim hesitated.

“One wishes that were so, Lord Veltras. But as I was saying, the traditional, ah, trade routes for salt and oil are also blocked, Lord Veltras. Lady Pryde’s industries, of course, include the Chalen salt mines, and importing it from the coast has increased the price significantly. As well, oil and butter products are generally sourced through Invrisil or trade routes, thus—”

He stopped again as Tyrion cursed. You could live without rye, but salt and oil were different. Tyrion drummed his fingers on the table.

“Go to the coastal ports along Izril’s Tail. Send word that I require trade vessels and caravans in number. We can import goods for a while.”

“At a steep price, sir. It would be cheaper to buy from Terandria with Drake tariffs, and that will cost…”

Ullim calculated out the number on an abacus. Tyrion’s teeth audibly ground together. The [Majordomo] winced. Tyrion got up to pace. Of course, the [Trade War] was a direct byproduct of Magnolia interfering with the siege of Liscor and the ensuing insult to her and her allies.

Although…Ullim distinctly recalled the Veltras family not sending a black rose. His master had his sense of honor, prickly though it was. He would damn a Drake city to oblivion, but insult a peer who had fought at the Sacrifice of Roses?

Never. Still, Tyrion’s lands were west of Invrisil, and the trade war was hitting [Merchants] headed their way. The Merchant’s Guild probably also correctly recalled Magnolia and Tyrion’s longstanding feud and wouldn’t risk the journey with a [Trade War] in any case, regardless if Magnolia was specifically targeting Tyrion.

At last, Tyrion’s furious pacing stopped. Like a caged animal, he whirled.

“Ullim. Your opinion?”

“I fear you’re correct, Lord Veltras. We must import, and everyone must tighten their belts in certain regards.”

Tyrion just glared. After a moment, he stalked back to the desk and stared at the map. Ullim could see the [Lord] fighting with the map, but Tyrion hated the dance of economics as much as he loved war. They were not the same.

“Salt comes from the ocean. We can at least source it from the ports, can’t we?”

“Of course, sir. Sea salt will do just as well as Lady Pryde’s exports. I will add it to the list.”

Tyrion nodded. Ullim sighed with relief as he saw the [Lord] relax. Part of Ullim wished Tyrion took more of an interest in the other sides of his class. Ullim was old, and he had known Tyrion growing up. He hoped he had the energy to raise the next generation of the Veltras family’s main line—Hethon and Sammial. They were young, but growing and lacked for a mother. A father too, at times. Tyrion tried, but like managing his lands, he had to know what was right first.

And his other half, who had been so good at explaining it to Tyrion—was dead. But for her, he might have been a better [Lord]. But it had been…dead gods, four years? Ullim felt like it was a lifetime ago, sometimes. Now, Lord Veltras was distant, ever on campaign, and his sons, especially Sammial, grew apart. If Lady Salva had been alive, she could have been Tyrion’s other half.

She had not been perfect, of course, but without her, Tyrion would attack the problem of the trade war relentlessly, trying to outmaneuver an opponent who’d breathed it since she’d been born. Ullim remembered that too. What Tyrion was to military and combat, Magnolia was to infrastructure and diplomacy. They were complete opposites of each other in a way; the only thing they ever agreed on was their disdain for each other.

“It’s still raining.”

Tyrion’s voice drew Ullim out of the past. The elderly man roused himself and looked to where Tyrion’s attention was focused next. Rain pounded on the panes of the window. Ullim sighed again.

Lord Tyrion Veltras did not do well indoors. While he was content to train or move about in the rain, he didn’t suffer the same for his mounts or his soldiers. It was only one more reason for his enduringly bad mood.

“It has been unnaturally wet, Lord Veltras. One expects the end of the rainy season would have come, but there is no predicting the weather with complete certainty. Even the [Weather Mages] make errors.”

Not that House Veltras’ main family employed any. They had dozens of war mages they could call on, but not one could clear a cloud from the sky beyond shooting fireballs at it. Tyrion only made a discontented sound.

“Too long. It’s been eight days. No lightning. Just rain. The clouds should be spitting lightning, and the rain should be passing. This isn’t natural.”

Ullim nodded.

“It may be someone else tampering with the weather, Lord Veltras. You do recall the time we had gale winds blowing for nearly two weeks? Not to mention the hurricane…?”

“I recall that. But why here? What of the lands south of us?”

They were largely unoccupied and certainly unclaimed. Humans had yet to fully colonize the vast expanse of northern Izril, and the lack of nobility caused by the last Antinium War meant there were fewer holdings under the protection of [Lords] or [Ladies]. Ullim had to consult his notes. He frowned.

“Temperate, Lord Veltras. But normal.”

“To our west, then?”

“Izril’s Tail…well, there was a grand storm, but I have no reports of the port-cities experiencing bad weather.”

“Hm.”

Tyrion glared at the rain. Undeterred, the water kept falling. Ullim went on, shuffling his notes.

“Let’s see. Well, other nobles have been raising the weather issue as well. Lady Ieka’s lands are unseasonably dry, for instance. A pity for her harvests…”

“So something’s affecting the weather.”

“At least in part, Lord Veltras.”

The [Lord] made a disgusted sound.

“Find a [Weather Mage], then. Have them stop the rains today.”

Ullim hesitated.

“We would have to send for one, Lord Veltras. I do not know if there are many to be found—the rains may subside in the time it would take—”

“A [Weatherchange] scroll, then! Buy one and use it!”

Tyrion snapped. Again, Ullim hesitated.

“May I quote you a price, Lord Veltras?”

“Do it.”

“Two thousand gold pieces at least for a scroll that could affect the radius of your holdings. If we wanted to change the weather patterns, we might need to spend as much as four thousand, or even six…”

Again, Ullim saw Tyrion grimace. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t pay the sum, but it was a lot of money to deal with rain. Most cities would be able to afford one scroll or [Weather Mage] in times of need; a [Farmer] could always pay for a shower, of course, but a sustained spell capable of changing weather in a huge radius?

Veltras was rich. Rich enough to finance a truly powerful standing army. But though they were one of the Five Families, that didn’t mean they were all-powerful. Just look at some of the other families.

The houses of Veltras, El, Reinhart, Terland, and Wellfar. They were legends that had settled Izril, taking it from the Drakes and Gnolls thousands of years ago. Of course, they hadn’t been the only noble houses to sail from Terandria. The ones that had perished or fallen over the years had been forgotten by all but a few.

Now, the Five Families remained. But some, like the El families, had fallen far from their lofty past heights. Others, like the Wellfar and Terland families, had retained much of their strength, although the Antinium Wars had slain some of the scions of these houses…Veltras was strong, but they didn’t have huge stockpiles of magical goods. Their strength lay in military might, and their coffers could stand to be deeper.

The Reinharts, on the other hand, had at least kept most of their artifacts—no, even expanded their wealth over the generations thanks to Regis Reinhart. And under Magnolia Reinhart, they were richer still. They could hardly call on all their artifacts of old with that old ghost hoarding their treasures, but it was just another disparity. Ullim could see his lord thinking of all of this as he drummed his fingers on the table. At last, Tyrion nodded.

“Buy a scroll. Use it. Hire a Courier if need be. I want the rain gone tonight.”

“At once, sire.”

Ullim breathed out. It was a cost, but one the Veltras family could afford. And he’d be glad to see the end of this rain too. Sammial was practically bouncing off the walls with his desire to be running about. Veltras nodded as Ullim reached for a list of reputable Couriers.

“I’m going to ride south. I’ll return by nightfall.”

“In this rain, Lord Veltras?”

“Rain brings out monsters, Ullim. I will send a [Message] if I’m delayed returning.”

Tyrion nodded and strode for the doors. At least he’d be happy if he slew a monster, Ullim reflected. The [Lord] paused at the door and wrinkled his nose. He looked around and snapped.

“Ullim. Send some servants into the cellars and storerooms. I believe we have rats.”

The [Majordomo] frowned. But—

They had terriers aplenty. House Veltras was connected well with nature. Still—he went to get a lantern to check.

Day 66 – Ryoka

“She cannot stay here. She must leave.”

That was all Lady Rie said as she watched Belavierr. The [Witch] stood alone. Ryoka wondered if even her coven was afraid to speak with her. And Ryoka didn’t argue the point.

She couldn’t. She still felt tears unshed when she thought of Ser Raim. She had not agreed with him. Ryoka had wanted to find some peace, because part of her liked Belavierr. And another had looked at Raim and seen a hero.

Did that make Belavierr a villain? Perhaps. Perhaps. Or perhaps she was just…a [Witch]. But all of Ryoka abhorred the death of the [Witch Hunters].

There was no answer the young woman had. She had tried to use logic, tried to apply a morality to what she saw. All she now knew was that she was a guest in Riverfarm. Trying to steer a rudder away from destruction. And now—had she succeeded?

The Order of Seasons were leaving. Ryoka had not witnessed the battle between Belavierr’s minions and the [Knights]. She had missed the conflict that tore the earth. But today, she saw what remained.

Cloth, really. Torn silk, so precious that some of Riverfarm’s people had picked it up until they remembered who it belonged to. Broken creatures, some so lifelike that Ryoka could only stare at a severed Wyvern’s head until she walked around it and saw it was filled with stuffing. A few rotting corpses, yes, from the undead. But mainly broken cloth.

And weapons. A treasure trove of ancient steel, even what looked to be magical items. No one touched those either. Even the most light-fingered person thought twice about it.

Cloth. Undead corpses. And the bodies of the fallen [Knights]. All wore green or orange, the colors of their…Order? Season.

The living had closed their eyes, folded their arms, and prepared them for burial—delivery to their homelands. Almost all of the dead were older, senior members of the Order.

The survivors were Knights of the Spring and Summer, and Ryoka saw how young they were. More than half were younger than she was.

In fact, their leader was a Dame Talia, who had assumed command after each one of her seniors had fallen or been too badly wounded to even stand. Some had been veterans, but they had died, lacking magical armor, fighting to keep Ser Raim and the [Hunters] safe. The [Hunters] had fallen to treachery, and Raim had burnt away before he could end Belavierr.

“—Unable to ride. I shall take the bodies of our brethren via Pheislant. Escort me to a major city and the care of a [Healer], Dame Talia. I charge you with the return of our younger [Knights].”

One of the older Spring Knights could barely whisper to Talia, a bandage wrapped around a black wound in her stomach that refused to heal, caused by a cursed weapon. The Summer Knight clasped her hand, bowed her head.

“By your leave, Dame Captain. There are still nigh a dozen of us fit to ride and fight—”

Her words made the able-bodied [Knights] hesitate. Several placed hands on their swords and glanced towards the [Witch]. Their trains of thought were obvious.

Perhaps they still could finish her. Ryoka saw that too. Each of the [Knights] looked at the [Witch], measuring her, seeing her hunch and tend to her burns or wince at the bright light. They were such mortal actions that Ryoka herself felt like she could kill Belavierr just by walking up and stabbing her in the back.

But then the [Witch] would turn. And not even the [Summer Knights] could meet her eyes.

“We will not forget this day. Nor will we forget Ser Raim’s sacrifice. Had it not been for the weakness of one man’s heart, he would have triumphed. I will return his possessions to my order. Miss Durene, you have my thanks. And you, Sir Beniar.”

Dame Talia, a woman with auburn hair, turned and walked past Belavierr, and bowed to the folks of Riverfarm. Ryoka saw her glance at Belavierr more than once, but her orders were clear. The Order of Seasons would not make the Stitch Witch their enemy.

Apparently, they were still at an uneasy standoff with some…Griffin Riders? Ryoka wasn’t sure she’d even heard that right.

Regardless, Dame Talia bid farewell to Durene and Beniar, both of whom had fought with them. It was strange to see her clasp hands with Durene, and the half-Troll girl seemed just as surprised. But they had fought while Ryoka had chased the fae. Talia said not a word to Ryoka as she bore the ashes and Ser Raim’s greatsword away. She had no time for a City Runner.

Talia’s hands were clenched so hard as she stared at Belavierr that Ryoka swore she saw blood leaking from the gauntlets. Another [Knight] was being held back by his friends.

“Markus, don’t do it. She’ll kill you—”

“We’re to turn and leave?”

The man’s voice rose, but they dragged him back.

“The Spring’s Warden and Knight-Commander call it folly. Don’t be mad, Markus. There will be another battle. Someday.”

Hollow the words might have rung, but what could they do? The [Knights] retreated, filled with such emotion that even Ryoka could sense them; she saw more than one [Witch] grasping for the [Knights]’ feelings and placing them under their hats.

And then? There was only the village of Riverfarm left. Prost oversaw the burial of the [Witch Hunter], Tagil. The Order was returning their artifacts to the Hunter’s Guild of Terandria. And they carried the ashes of Sylind, Erashelle, Faigen, Coroise, and Gaile with them. No one had asked for Tagil’s remains.

So the villagers dug a hole for him. The sound the shovel made as it broke the earth was soft, despite all the ash. Ryoka thought it should have been louder. But the sound stayed with her for hours. And they buried him where he fell. No one said a word. It was a traitor’s death.

And that left only Belavierr. No one would go near her. But she was there. As Lady Rie said—she couldn’t stay. Whatever pact the coven hoped to achieve with Riverfarm, she could not be part of it. Everyone had seen what she’d done. They’d seen the body.

“Who will persuade her to leave? His Majesty? A knighthood order couldn’t do it. Leave her alone. All of what’s come to pass has been because people went after her. Leave her alone, Lady Rie.”

Ryoka snapped at the [Lady]. Prost was still wiping his hands.

“We will do just that. But there’s the matter of all this…cloth on the ground. Those weapons—”

“You could outfit a company on Baleros with all of them. It’s worth a fortune. The silk’s valuable too, even if it’s old.”

Charlay blinked as Ryoka elbowed her in her horse half, right below her Human belly. She smacked Ryoka back on the shoulder. Prost shook his head.

“No one touches a thing. We’ll leave it be. If anyone thinks to touch it—I’ll make an announcement.”

“Saying what? Anyone who touches it, be it man, woman, or child, is dead? That this [Witch] can do whatever she pleases without consequence?”

Rie’s lips were pale. Ryoka looked around.

“Yeah, that sounds about right. I’ll talk to her.”

“Ryoka! Are you mad?”

Charlay tried to drag Ryoka back. But the City Runner was adamant. The two engaged in a tug of war, which the Centauress fairly easily won at first—until she realized that Belavierr was staring at them. Then she ran away.

Perhaps Ryoka was stupid. She was properly terrified of Belavierr. Terrified and regretting ever speaking against Ser Raim. But the one man who could have killed her was dead. Now—Ryoka’s eyes went to Wiskeria, standing alone.

Now it was about a mother and a daughter. And Ryoka, at least, felt like she understood that.

Ryoka found Belavierr sitting next to the tree where they had found Tagil. The dry grass had caught fire—a huge swath of scorched earth radiated around her. Naught was left of the tree itself, or Hunter Tagil; only an ashy stump of charred wood remained.

Smoke still stung the air, but the flames had been so intense the landscape wasn’t as burnt as Ryoka had expected. The fire had been meant to cleanse.

It had failed—and left a burnt [Witch] in its wake. Yet already Belavierr proved she was that old legend. At first, she had seemed like a burn victim, ruined, charred flesh covering every bit of her body, with third degree burns—Ryoka didn’t know. Did burns go up higher?

Hair burnt away, eye sockets exposed, flesh worn to reveal cauterized internal organs—

By the time the [Knights] had left, Belavierr was just…Belavierr again. Her dress, immaculate and dark, her hair and face restored to their proper shape. However, there were still clues of her weakness.

For one, she smelled of that incendiary conflict, still. And she sat as though it pained her to even raise her head.

“I have survived my death. But I have another.”

She was talking to Mavika. The coven had joined Belavierr at last. All save for Eloise and Wiskeria. The crow [Witch] cocked her head; Ryoka noticed only her pet raven on her shoulders. Even the crows had fled Belavierr’s general vicinity.

“You foresaw two deaths, Witch Belavierr?”

“Yes. Two. The second comes on the heels of the first. I do not know how. Or where. But it will be by fire. I would flee it, but I have lost my protections. And my daughter remains. So I shall stay. Until the deal with this [Emperor] is struck.”

Belavierr’s eyes were still ringed. But the glow had faded from them. She even blinked. Seldom. And she spoke…like a person. She even turned her head as Ryoka approached. That was unnerving. Alevica shifted from foot to foot, eying Belavierr. The Witch Runner jumped when Belavierr turned to look at her.

“Uh—Bela—Witch Belavierr. You’ve lost your protections?”

“Yes. They were burnt away. I can be killed. I may die. With age or blade. The spells of centuries that would have taken a blow are gone. It is strange.”

The [Witch] raised her head. She stared straight up at the sun and blinked.

“Bright. And I feel…”

She gazed back down at Ryoka. The City Runner paused. Belavierr went on.

“…alive. More aware. Before, I was a function of my craft. My nature displaced. Distant. It has been centuries since I last felt this way. Passing strange.”

She glanced around again. Her eyes found Hedag.

“Hedag. I remember your predecessors, now, each one a face more than a name.”

“Ah. And fine Hedags they were. Fine bastards, or so I hear. How many did you kill?”

The [Executioner] grinned. Belavierr paused.

“…There were more of you. Hedag was a name spread across Izril. ‘For any man or woman may take up the axe and dispense justice. They are the Hedags of villages.’ And you are the last.”

Hedag nodded. Her grin flashed wide across her face, as wide as the strange man Ryoka had met outside the village. It was not necessarily friendly, especially on Hedag’s face. And this time, Belavierr noticed. She was aware. She peered at Hedag, then looked around. This time at Mavika.

“We have spoken before, Mavika. Last…when we ordained the Witch of Molten Stone as a [Witch] unquestioned. A small event of discussion to many who were shocked. Not you nor I.”

“Yes.”

Mavika looked shocked Belavierr recalled it, but the Witch of Webs nodded. And then she turned to Alevica. The Witch Runner tried to copy Hedag’s grin. It slipped away.

“Alevica. It has been long since [Witches] flew through the sky. And your magic is weak.”

“I, uh—I’m improving, Witch Belavierr.”

The Witch Runner flushed, gripping the edge of her hat. Belavierr nodded.

“Grudges and envy are too weak to sustain powerful spells. You incur ire, but you are neither feared nor hated enough to call on true magic. You fly by virtue of talent. And you are weak. Someone should have told you.”

“I’m—”

Alevica shut up as Belavierr stared down at her. Then the Stitch Witch whispered.

“If they should fear you, take their eye and let them see you crush theirs between your teeth. Take their lovers. If you would fly like that—make a necklace of fingers.”

“I—I don’t think that’s something I need to do. That’s a bit extreme?”

Alevica’s voice quavered. The Stitch Witch peered at Alevica, and her eyes turned scornful.

“Yes. That is why you are weak.”

So saying, she turned her head.

“Witch Califor, thou art.”

“Witch Belavierr.”

The [Witch] held her ground as Nanette hid behind Califor. Belavierr tilted her head and then stopped, turning sideways. Nanette squeaked, terrified. And Califor turned to shield her. Now, Belavierr met Califor’s gaze. The two [Witches] locked gazes. Belavierr spoke absently.

“You hid the village. Witches of old did that. I do not know your tales. I recognize your craft.”

Califor’s voice was exceedingly polite.

“I warned you. The old ways still linger. Nanette, introduce yourself to Witch Belavierr.”

“I—I raise my hat to you. Witch Belavierr?”

The [Witch] girl stuttered, white with fright. Belavierr tilted her head, eying Nanette. For a second, she stared at Califor, then turned her head away.

“I remember when Wiskeria was as small as you. I would that I had taught her more. You study from a great [Witch] of our era. A lesson, Witch Nanette. Immortality is not as simple as taking life. To endure the passage of time, we who are mortal must give something away. To hide my soul away from harm, I pushed my soul away. But the cost was exactly what I gave. Remember that.”

“Yes, Miss Belavierr.”

Satisfied, the Stitch Witch sat back and sighed, and Ryoka jumped as the eyes latched onto her. Belavierr was changed. Her eyes were focused, not distant as they always had been except when talking to Wiskeria. And she was remembering names. Faces.

She spoke like someone giving her last rites and benedictions. That was what Ryoka realized. The [Witches] gathered around were polite, even the ones who had opposed Belavierr. Eloise refused to go near Belavierr, but the rest? Belavierr’s voice was weak.

“Ryoka Griffin. You saw the guests. The wind knows you. I saw that. But I did not ask. Who are you? Where did you blow from, strange-scented girl?”

Ryoka shuddered. The full attention of Belavierr was like a lighthouse’s beam blasting her. She gritted her teeth.

“I—I, uh—are you going to clean up all those weapons and cloth?”

Belavierr blinked. She paused, stared at Ryoka, and then turned her head. She regarded the cut, burnt, dirty cloth. The weapons lying on the ground. And she sighed.

“Ah.”

“Your possessions are destroyed. What have you left of your craft? What can you remake?”

Mavika watched as her raven darted from her shoulder and swept up a bright piece of red silk. Belavierr eyed the raven, and it took flight. She swept her hand. All the cloth began to move. Ryoka heard exclamations and saw people run towards the village—the cloth was slithering across the ground towards Belavierr.

The Stitch Witch held up one loose arm of her robes. And the cloth somehow slithered up and up into her dress. Only—it was going somewhere else. In moments, it was gone. Leaving only the metal weapons. Belavierr eyed them. Then she walked over and picked one up. She stared at a steel sword and tossed it back on the burnt ground.

“My creations took decades to make. My wards far longer. I can bind time, create lesser magics. But the workings that hid my very heart away—those were made out of power that was burnt away. I must find more. I have lost all but a few years. Rehanna’s among others. I will be weak.”

“The weapons—”

Ryoka choked. The cloth was gone! Belavierr looked blankly at the scattered weapons and armor.

“Metal. I cannot pick it up so easily. I will conjure something to gather it tonight. Now. You did not answer my question. Who are you?”

She gazed back at Ryoka. The young woman hesitated.

“Just…a City Runner.”

Belavierr stared at her.

“Even were I immortal, I would know that as a lie.”

She paused.

“It matters not. What matters is that my second death comes. And my daughter is wroth with me. She was pleased I lived. Yet…hates me equally well.”

The words came slowly. Ryoka nodded.

“I think she does, yeah.”

Belavierr’s lips moved.

“I do not remember my own mother. Why does Wiskeria feel so? Because of who I am? Because of what I do? How strange. When did she think so? I can remember when she grew angry with me. Back then I had no understanding of it. Now—I understand. But she is a [Witch]. And she lacks a true craft. She is a [General] serving an [Emperor]. How has she strayed from her path? And she hates me. Why?”

Belavierr mused to herself. She seemed…confused. The other [Witches] exchanged glances. At last, Belavierr looked up.

“I must find Wiskeria.”

She walked away. At least there, she was the same. Ryoka watched her vanish in moments, striding with unnatural speed across the ground. Ryoka let out her breath and looked around, wide-eyed. She wasn’t the only one. Even Mavika and Califor were blinking more than usual. Alevica was practically tearing her hat in two.

“What the hell was that?”

Mavika’s eyes focused on the distant Belavierr.

“She has come back to herself. That was Belavierr of old. In the times since I have met her, she has grown more distant. Now, her soul hidden behind her web now burned away. Whether that [Knight] did her a gift unknowing, who can say?”

Califor just exhaled hard.

“Watch her, Nanette. She has become ten times more dangerous, for all she is a hundred thousand times weaker. That is the price of immortality that she mentioned. Everything has its cost. Now, she is burnt beyond belief.”

Hedag laughed. She leaned on her axe.

“She hides it well though, eh? But what a change in her! Perhaps we’d best get any answers we want out of her now! But will it help her with Wiskeria? Or our plans with this man-[Emperor]?”

Califor shook her head, pursing her lips.

“I do not imagine so. And Eloise is at odds with Belavierr. Our coven squabbles, and our members have caused the deaths of others on this [Emperor]’s lands. A fine mess this is when we are bargaining on behalf of [Witches] across Izril. And the sky remains clear.”

Her glare took in everyone. Ryoka paused, her head still spinning.

“Wait, what was that about clear skies?”

Alevica rolled her eyes.

“Oh, nothing. Just the fact that it hasn’t rained and I haven’t seen a cloud for over a week now. That strike you as strange, Griffin?”

She pointed up at the clear skies. Ryoka felt sweat beading on her forehead. It was hot. She’d assumed it was just an early summer heat. But…she paused. And she really looked around.

Not at the weapons on the ground. Or the burnt places where Ser Raim’s fire had ignited the earth, or the torn places where the battle’s scars remained. At the village itself. The surrounding forest.

It was all…dry. Alevica and Califor were right. It hadn’t rained in, what, over a week? Even longer? Ryoka couldn’t remember. She recalled hating the rain right up until about when the [Witches] had arrived, but she hadn’t noticed the dryness except to complain about it.

But today, the heat and Alevica pointing it out made Ryoka notice how dry the grass was. It was yellowed, practically dead. The earth was equally parched underfoot. Only the [Farmers]’ fields were at all green, and that was because of Riverfarm’s river and the watering the villagers were doing.

It was dry. Unnaturally dry. Ryoka turned to Miss Califor.

“I thought it was just odd weather. Is there something magical about this, Miss Califor?”

The [Witch] nodded once. Her severe expression was tinged with annoyance.

“Someone has cast a working on the sky. Someone informed the Order of Seasons of Belavierr’s whereabouts. And someone slew Mavika’s coven. These events may be linked, or they may not. I came here to speak to this [Emperor], not to endanger Nanette. I would not have brought her had I known. It seems there is something afoot. And I will find out what it is.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. Ryoka hesitated. She felt for whoever got on the receiving end of Califor’s wrath. But she had no idea…

Ryoka paused. She frowned. No, wait. She had a few hints. Clues. She gazed at Miss Califor, then surreptitiously checked the expressions of the rest of the coven present.

Alevica was frowning up at the sky and muttering about Belavierr—but very quietly. Nanette was staring up at Miss Califor, worried. Hedag was picking at her teeth. And Mavika and Califor were looking straight at Ryoka. She hesitated. And then she backed away. As she headed back to Riverfarm at a run, she felt it too.

Suspicion in the air. If all of this were the result of someone’s doing. Then who? And why?

And—what would Wiskeria make of her mother now? Ryoka got five steps into the village when she got the answer to that question, at least. Wiskeria’s scream rang through the air, and then Belavierr came walking past Ryoka. She seemed miffed, a new expression on her face. Purple flames burned on her dark clothing and then extinguished themselves. Ryoka stared at Belavierr. The [Witch] stared back.

“Weak magic. My daughter has yet to find her craft.”

Coming from her, it sounded like the only problem in the world.

Day 67 – Durene

“Is it wrong I wanted her to live? When I realized she might actually die—when I saw that [Knight], I thought—‘oh. He might actually do it.’ And I was terrified, Durene. I didn’t want to lose her. Then—I did. Both. I’m so inconsistent. I always thought people who didn’t know themselves were fools. Now look at me.”

Wiskeria sat in Durene’s cottage. Tears ran from her eyes. Real tears, Durene realized, not ones Wiskeria had produced for the moment.

Durene sat with her. Charlay had run away. And Ryoka was talking with Prost. But really, they had both run away. Wiskeria’s eyes were red. Her nose ran despite Durene’s handkerchief, which had done its best. She seemed nothing like a [Witch]. She looked like, well, a young woman.

For once, the composed Wiskeria wept. Durene was the worst person here and just kept patting her hand. She didn’t know what to say.

Durene had never had a fight with her mother. She’d never had a mother she knew. She envied Wiskeria, in a way. Envied and understood. Because she knew what it was like to have a monster for a parent. But one that was living?

The half-Troll girl had seen what Belavierr had done. She had seen Ser Raim die. And she had seen evil. Evil smiled as a man swayed from a tree branch. Evil threatened to murder families and children. And that was Belavierr. Durene had never feared anything as much as her. Because she had no idea what to do. Belavierr couldn’t be stopped. She couldn’t be reasoned with. She was…

A monster. But one who cared for her daughter. Yet her daughter clearly wished that were the opposite.

“It would be so much easier if she didn’t care for me. But I am the one person she would ever do a favor for without a price. She has stories of bargaining with the Immortal Tyrant, fleecing Dragons, but for me, she stayed when she might die.”

“That’s, um—a good thing, isn’t it?”

“A brave man lies dead for that. Not just him. Dozens of [Knights]—dead. And war between Kaliv and Pheislant’s Order of Seasons? Ostevien! She used him to manipulate the Griffin Queen to war.”

Durene had no idea where all these places were, but to Wiskeria, it was obvious.

“My fault, Durene. Even when she does me a favor, it twists for her. She lays traps and plans for every contingency. That’s why I thought she could never die. And now someone nearly did it? I don’t recognize her. Was that my mother, before? Who is this? What is she? She talks. She’s different!”

“What’re you going to do?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know. But I can’t let her do this anymore. I can’t—I became a [Witch] because of her. But I am not a full [Witch] because I am always in her shadow. I ran away to find who I was without her. And she has found me, and I am her daughter again, bringing grief because of her affection.”

Wiskeria looked at her hands. She was crying. Durene reached out and patted Wiskeria on the shoulder. But the tears, like everything else, had run out. And Wiskeria’s sobs soon turned dry. Then, she just sat and bowed her head. The terrible look in her eyes scared Durene far more than Wiskeria’s wrath or sadness.

“Why don’t we find Eloise? Or—Ryoka? She said we have a problem.”

Durene offered the suggestion as an alternative to sitting in silence. Wiskeria glanced up after a moment and nodded. She got up and stared at the mess of a handkerchief. Durene winced.

“I can wash that—”

“Here.”

Wiskeria shook it and handed it back. Durene gingerly took it—and then realized the handkerchief was dry. Empty, too. Relieved, she smiled.

“Hey! That’s a great trick! You know a lot of tricks for a [Witch]! Even if you don’t, um, do the big things…”

The young woman’s face turned into a bitter smile. She looked up at Durene. And something of the dead [Hunter], Tagil’s, last expression was there.

“Yeah. You know, I think the other [Witches] always expected more of me, Durene. Because of my mother. But a [Witch] is limited by her craft. And I don’t have one. I know my mother’s secrets, some of them. I could have struck a bargain with the moon or committed dark deeds by midnight for power.”

Her eyes were serious, and Durene shivered. Wiskeria shook her head.

“—But I never did. Because that would have made me too much like her. I was always afraid of who I might become, I think. So I tried to be a—a normal [Witch]. A normal person. I became an adventurer. And Odveig, my best friend, turned out to be an imposter. I haven’t been that much happier by running away.”

“I didn’t mean that.”

Durene looked down. Wiskeria smiled.

“I know. Come on.”

They left the cottage. Wiskeria strode down the dry dirt road. Durene followed warily. But Wiskeria wasn’t about to be stopped.

Riverfarm was quiet. People worked, then rested in the shade. The air was hot and dry. But what exhausted the body was the atmosphere. It was tense. Stifling. Fights broke out for no reason. Arguments began and halted as people saw the pointed hat. But the fear—the fear was the root. Durene was no [Witch], but she could feel it.

“You see? Mother’s everything that makes [Witches] hated.”

Wiskeria whispered as she gazed around. Durene walked with her through the village, searching for Ryoka. The [Witch] went on.

“And yet, it doesn’t have to be this way. Eloise. Hedag. Even Mavika, in a way. People don’t hate them. Some of them saw the good. I can feel it. They’re an inch from turning on us. If they weren’t terrified of Mother, they would. But they liked us. It’s still there. Buried.”

“You can show them again. Riverfarm has good people in it. Even the folks from Lancrel can see.”

Durene saw Wiskeria shake her head.

“No. So long as she’s here, she’ll always remind them of what we can be at our worst. She is the most powerful [Witch] I know. And the darkest.”

——

They found Ryoka in Rie’s cottage. The young woman was panting. And Charlay was drinking greedily from a flask of water. Durene glared at both, but the two Runner girls had uncharacteristically grave expressions. Rie was tracing a finger across a map.

“So, that appears to be, what? A fifty mile radius?”

“At least. Charlay made it way farther than I did. We both took about an hour and some to go out there, and we saw dry grass ahead. So yeah, fifty miles at least.”

Charlay pawed the ground as she splashed some water on her face and the floor and Ryoka.

“I thought I spied some green at the end of my run. But Ryoka’s right. It’s dry. All the streams have dried up.”

Prost leaned over the table, his brow knotted with worry as it always seemed to be these days.

“Why didn’t we notice it before?”

“It seemed natural to me after all that rain. This felt like an early summer heat wave. And it’s not like we didn’t have enough to worry about. It’s just these last few days that have been hot—”

Ryoka glanced up as Wiskeria and Durene stopped in the doorway. Her expression was grave. Durene opened her mouth. Wiskeria beat her.

“What has my mother done this time?”

“Nothing. We have a new problem. It’s still not rained.”

Ryoka outlined the issue succinctly. There wasn’t much to say. Durene had noticed the lack of water, of course. She’d been working the farm rotation, helping water the crops. Because Riverfarm was fed by the river, they’d been able to keep growing what they wanted. But outside the village, everything was drying up. According to Ryoka, it wasn’t natural.

“The [Witches] say it might be magic causing the drought. Califor’s certain. Which makes me certain it is something. The question is—is it one of them? The Circle of Thorns? The Order of Seasons? Someone else?”

“What makes you think the Order of Seasons had anything to do with this? They targeted Belavierr. And they are an extremely honorable order.”

Lady Rie seemed insulted. Ryoka raised her eyebrows.

“They’re called the ‘Order of Seasons’. I imagine they could do something like that.”

“Maybe it’s my mother. It sounds like something she’d do.”

Wiskeria’s expression was still bleak. Ryoka paused. Everyone in the room looked at Wiskeria. Their expressions ranged from sympathy to quiet appraisal. Ryoka paused.

“Could she do that?”

“Weather magic. Stitch magic. My mother could probably do it if she wanted to. Maybe someone paid her.”

Ryoka paused for a second and then shook her head.

“She might. I’ll…ask her. And the coven, to see if they know anything. But what could affect the weather for so many days? Anyone? Even the wind feels slack.”

She paused and bit her lip. Wiskeria and Lady Rie both glanced at each other. Wiskeria frowned.

“A few things can change weather. [Witches], for one. We know rituals. Also, [Weather Mages]. Some artifacts, although they’re rare. Magical scrolls, of course, but they’re too expensive for regular people to use. You’d have to use a bunch to keep the weather straight for days on end. And…maybe [Druids]? Those are the ones I can think of. I guess you could be a [Water Mage] and shoot water into the air or something.”

Rie nodded.

“Scrolls are out of the question for most individuals. I myself couldn’t afford to use more than one or two in times of emergency. If I thought this drought was natural, I might still give it four more days before I called for a [Weather Mage] or scroll.”

“Surely it’s not that expensive? I’ve known bad years before, and once Riverfarm pitched in to call on a [Weather Mage]. It did cost the earth, but we could afford it.”

Prost protested gently. Rie shook her head.

“Mister Prost, the difference is forcing a change and temporary relief or encouraging nature to be…nature, as I understand it. Calling for a sudden shower is simple, if taxing. Changing the weather to, say, start the rainy season early is more difficult, but again, possible. But outright halting the fall of rain? Halting this amount of rain over such an area? That would require a great deal of magic from one [Mage]. Or a simply exorbitant number of scrolls.”

Wiskeria rubbed at her chin.

“Or a [Witch] casting the right ritual. Or hex.”

Everyone was silent then. Ryoka looked up. The City Runner paused.

“Well, we don’t know who it is. But I think we should begin making plans and investigating the issue. I’ll ask Fierre—I also want to know how the Order of Seasons knew Belavierr was here.”

“Very well. I will see to collecting some water. We can fashion some barrels, store them…”

Rie and Prost focused on the issue of storing water as if it were some huge problem. But Durene didn’t see it. As the others left, she turned to Ryoka.

“What’s the problem? I understand it’s dry, but it doesn’t affect Riverfarm, right? We have a river, Ryoka.”

The young Asian woman gave Durene a frown.

“Yeah. But it’s not infinite. Riverfarm could run out of a river.”

“What? No, it’s a river…”

Durene chuckled. Then she saw the look on Ryoka’s face.

“What?”

“The river’s not infinite, Durene. It’s being fed by tributaries and groundwater. Haven’t you seen how low it is?”

Durene hadn’t. Nor had anyone ever explained the concept of how rivers came to be to her. Riverfarm’s river had always been there; it never occurred to Durene that the river could disappear if it stopped being fed by rain. They went to the river, and she gasped when she saw how low it was. Ryoka nodded and knelt, peering at the banks.

“Your river’s sunk three feet. What happens when it runs dry? The crops die for one. And for another…we could be in serious trouble.”

“No one can keep the weather dry forever, though. Not even the most powerful spells can hold back the natural weather.”

Wiskeria’s voice was quiet. Ryoka nodded.

“True, but we stand at risk for fires. Well—not with the river, yeah. But we’ll store some river water. Maybe we should keep some at strategic places in case a fire breaks out. I’ll—”

Then she paused. She glanced up at the same time Durene felt the tingle on her neck. Belavierr strode towards them. She didn’t appear. She just walked. And her eyes were fixed on Wiskeria. A change in the air. She still smelled of smoke. And she could die. But she felt like power.

“Daughter.”

“Mother.”

Wiskeria turned. Ryoka, Charlay, and Durene backed up. Belavierr stopped and gazed down at Wiskeria. Yesterday, Wiskeria had shot magic at her mother until she left. Today, Belavierr stood at a slight remove. Her voice was cool.

“Have you calmed, Daughter? I would speak to you of your craft. Your future. I understand you are wroth with me.”

“I’m beyond angry, Mother. Not for killing that [Knight]. For everything.”

Wiskeria shook her head. She looked at her mother. And Durene saw more than a few people from the village had followed. They were staring at Belavierr. At Wiskeria. And their faces—Belavierr paid them no mind. She glanced at Ryoka once. Charlay and Durene she ignored.

“I have lost my protections. Been torn back to mortality. I hunger and thirst and breathe. But I still do not understand your fury, Daughter. You are a [Witch]. You know what it is to be one of us. All that I have done has been to protect myself. I made no unfair deals with Rehanna.”

“But you threatened a [Prince]’s life. My friend, Ostevien. You convinced a man to kill his friends and hang himself.”

Belavierr’s eyes never changed. Nor did her voice.

“Of course. I made such deals to protect myself. The Griffin Prince accepted my bargain, even if he found it not to his liking. If I perished, he would too. I have asked nothing of him for years and asked nothing of the Griffin Queen. Merely told her who hunted me. Tagil the [Witch Hunter] chose his daughter’s life over his own. They were all free to choose.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

Wiskeria’s voice was bitter. She looked at her mother and shook her head. Belavierr sighed.

“Does death bother you? Why? I never raised you to fear it.”

“You didn’t. It took me ages to understand how other people saw such things. How to admire a man like Ser Raim. He had every right to his vengeance. You are a criminal, a murderer, and a lawbreaker, mother.”

Wiskeria shot back. Belavierr gave her daughter a blank frown, then sounded…exasperated.

“Law. That is a concept of cities. I have taught you of law. A great…friend of mine made thousands of laws. Each one more twisted than the last, each one more elegant. A law is a rod that can be walked around, ignored, bent, or broken. We are [Witches]. We act according to our craft. Our desires. You know this.”

Wiskeria exhaled.

“I do. I don’t admire what you are, Mother. I admire that dead man’s resolve. I understand every reason he tried to kill you, and I wish he had—and I am glad he didn’t. The difference is, I feel guilty about my relief. Do you understand?”

It was the same argument Durene had heard before. The one Wiskeria had wept over. She saw Ryoka’s face, sharply listening. Waiting, mouth opening, as if to break in. But she couldn’t. Belavierr sighed.

“So you say. We walk in a circle. Daughter. Nothing I do is your fault. You are not responsible for my actions. And you are my daughter. Can we not be mother and daughter?”

She reached out, and Wiskeria flinched. She held up a hand. And then she cried out to all listening.

“You don’t understand. I can’t forget what you’ve done! I can’t look away and pretend you aren’t wrong! If I could, I would be happy. But I can’t. Because I still love you, Mother! So now I am guilty, because I am two contradictory things. Because I could stop you.”

Tears unshed. And Belavierr sighed. She sighed, and Durene waited for what would come next. They were at odds, the two. Neither one changing. But today, Wiskeria’s face was pale. Her eyes were horrified. Belavierr spread her arms, welcoming, entreating. And her smile was gentle, loving perhaps—

—But also greatly amused.

“My daughter. My beloved daughter. I would do anything in my power for you. But I will not change who I am. And you cannot stop me.”

“I could try.”

Wiskeria aimed her wand at Belavierr’s back. Durene heard Belavierr sigh and turn.

“Daughter.”

“By my blood, I draw this knife. An oath cut to, an oath of strife—”

Wiskeria whispered and drew a dagger from her side. She went to cut her arm, drawing blood, which pooled around the knife’s edge. Belavierr watched, sighing, as Wiskeria flicked the knife up, holding it lightly—

“A simple charm, Daughter. As poor as Witch Alevica against me. A single sonnet against a library of high-chant, even now.”

Wiskeria jabbed—and Belavierr caught the knife-hand, twisted it, and Wiskeria grimaced, tried to draw her wand—Belavierr idly let go, and Wiskeria stumbled back.

“—Daughter. My clothes alone could ward off that blade.”

“I know.”

Wiskeria stabbed for Belavierr’s cheek, and Durene gasped in horror. Belavierr turned her head and closed her jaw as the knife went through one cheek.

No blood pooled from her face as someone shouted in horror. Wiskeria’s arm jarred, and Belavierr removed Wiskeria’s knife, opened her mouth, pulled the blade out—

Her skin stuck to the blade—but left no blood. She handed Wiskeria the knife back.

“I will teach you a better cutting charm, Daughter. Are you done throwing a tantrum? You could not stop me. Even now. My daughter, you could do so much more.”

Wiskeria backed up, eyes flashing.

“I owe my lack of craft to you, Mother. I’ve seen what it turns you into.”

That hurt more than the knife, clearly. Belavierr frowned, and Wiskeria began to chant, waving her wand.

“Cut the air and strike the skies! Enough of my mother’s lies! Strike the murderess between the eyes!”

This time, it was air. Durene saw something shift. She saw an almost invisible blade fly at Belavierr. The Stitch Witch glared.

“Enough.”

She raised a hand and slashed. Durene saw a flash of silver; Wiskeria gasped and stumbled backwards. The blade of air severed, exploded in a burst. And Belavierr lowered the needle. Her voice was coldly disappointed.

“You chant in the old way to make up for your lack of power. Even armed with knowledge of old—the [Witches] of this coven exceed you, each and every one. Including the child, Nanette. Daughter, you could be greater. But you lack a craft. You lack a source of strength!”

“I don’t need one!”

“You are nothing without a power to draw upon. I have failed to teach you. Your coven has failed you. A [Witch] who has no craft is weaker than anything else. A [Hedge Witch] has more strength. Come. You will learn from your coven if not I.”

So saying, Belavierr reached out. Wiskeria raised her wand. The Stitch Witch crooked a finger, and Wiskeria’s robes gripped her. Durene saw the cloth pulling her arm down.

“Stop!”

Wiskeria struggled, but the cloth constrained her movements. Belavierr pointed, and Wiskeria began moving sideways. Her clothes were pulling her.

“Must I treat you like a child, Daughter?”

Belavierr seemed annoyed. But she paused as an arm barred her way. Durene glanced at Ryoka. And then she realized it was her arm. The half-Troll inhaled as Belavierr gazed at her.

“Stop. She doesn’t want to go.”

They were nearly of a height. The Stitch Witch stared at Durene. And the half-Troll girl felt a lump of cold fear in her stomach.

“Move, Troll’s child.”

“No. Wiskeria doesn’t want to go with you. Let her go.”

Belavierr’s eyes flashed. Durene flinched, and Ryoka took a step forward.

“Belavierr—”

“Be silent. I give you one last warning, half-girl. Move.”

This time, the word made Durene’s heart freeze in terror. But she refused. She thought of Ser Raim. And her hands balled into fists.

“No. Make me.”

“Mother, don’t—”

The Stitch Witch ignored her daughter. She reached towards Durene. The half-Troll raised a fist.

Thunk.

An arrow sprouted out of Belavierr’s chest. She staggered. Durene jerked back. Wiskeria stumbled as the clothes let her go. She stood up, turned.

“Mother!”

Belavierr stared down at the arrow in her chest. She reached for it. And then coughed. She stumbled; that saved her from the second arrow. It hit the ground, and Durene looked around wildly. Who was shooting?

“Stop!”

Ryoka shouted, and air blasted around them. The City Runner was glancing around as Charlay dashed to one side. The Centauress had the most wits about her; she kicked the ground, whipping up dust, and screamed as she zig-zagged into it.

“Move, you idiots! Get behind cover!”

“Mother—”

Wiskeria had rushed to Belavierr’s side. She looked around desperately for the archer, but they were nowhere in sight. Belavierr was coughing. Choking. Then her eyes focused. She raised a trembling hand, the same one that held the needle. She flicked it, spitting out a word.

“Seek. Kill.”

She flung the needle. With her other hand, she pulled the arrow out of her chest, grimacing.

Someone screamed, and there was a panic as Belavierr sank to one knee. Yet she was just inspecting the hole in her chest, deep, red, and bloody.

However, she stood back up in a moment and spoke as if she’d just pricked her finger on a pin rather than been shot through the chest. Wiskeria had lunged forwards, but hesitated.

“Mother? Are you alright?”

“I am fine, Daughter. But I must heal. Anti-magic. Evercut Arrow. Whomever shot this meant me to die. Alas…I am still I.”

Her smile was victorious, and Wiskeria’s expression of worry turned to anger. Then disappointment with herself. She turned half away, folding her arms.

“You actually got hurt?”

“The flesh remains cut by magic. But this, still, I defy.”

Wiskeria stared blankly at her mother. Belavierr’s chest was leaking blood, but she seemed to think of it more as an annoyance than anything else. After a second, Wiskeria jerked her head.

“Would a potion help?”

The Stitch Witch shook her head.

“Most of mine are burnt away. A Potion of Regeneration is a waste; this wound shall stay. It will heal in a week or so.”

So saying, she produced a thread and needle, and Durene realized Belavierr intended to stitch the wound closed! However, the [Witch] stopped as Wiskeria grabbed one from her belt. Belavierr frowned.

“Daughter—”

“Drink.”

Belavierr did. She blinked. Durene didn’t see the wound close, but the grimace of pain vanished from Belavierr’s face. She rose, feeling at her chest.

“Strange. Potions were not so powerful the last time I remember using them.”

“And when was that, Mother?”

The Stitch Witch blinked. She looked at her daughter. Then she smiled ruefully.

“Long enough ago that I could remember Sage’s Grass being a thing I hoarded for the power of it. I traded a perfect Cloth-Warrior made of silk and satin to a noble [Sheik] for three seeds.”

“Oh, Mother. You were always bad with money.”

The two stared at each other. Then they laughed. Belavierr quietly, and Wiskeria with a note of relieved hysteria. But they did laugh. For a moment, they seemed like a mother and daughter. Then Durene heard the scream again. And the moment vanished. But as she turned and ran, she saw Ryoka’s face. And the young woman looked as though she wished it had lasted forever.

—–

The [Archer] was dead. He was a former [Soldier], one of Lancrel’s people. And he had been hiding behind one of the roofs in the village. He’d shot well; he was over a hundred and fifty feet distant. And he’d taken cover. But Belavierr’s needle had found him even so.

It had gone through his head. Straight through bone and brain. Belavierr didn’t retrieve the needle. Nor did she glance twice at the man. She only grimaced.

“Cloth fails before Skill. I must recreate my wards. Better that it struck me than you, Daughter. The arrow would have passed straight through your clothes. It was well made. For this era and time.”

She watched her daughter. Wiskeria just stared down at the man. Riverfarm’s folk stood far back, save for Durene, Charlay, and Wiskeria. But their eyes fixed on Belavierr. Durene didn’t doubt that many of them wished the [Archer] had succeeded. But when Belavierr looked up, they ran. Wiskeria knelt, not turning to her mother. Her voice was broken again.

“You killed him.”

“I was defending myself.”

“You didn’t have to kill him, Mother! What about interrogation? This might be a clue to why [Witches] are hunted! At the very least you could ask which group is trying to kill you! Maybe it’s the Circle of Thorns? Did you ever think to be helpful?”

Wiskeria’s eyes flashed. Belavierr’s voice was cool. She turned away from the man.

“Should I have let him live to try again, Daughter? He made his choice and I mine. Now, as I was saying. You must find your craft—”

She paused. Wiskeria was just facing away from her. Belavierr stared at her. She peered at Ryoka, Charlay, and Durene. Awkwardly, she bent over and tried to pull Wiskeria around to face her.

“Daugh—”

“Go away!”

The Stitch Witch hesitated. But Wiskeria’s tears did what magic, an arrow, and Durene hadn’t. After a moment, Belavierr went. Wiskeria wiped her eyes. She knelt by the body as people finally dared to return. Ryoka looked around.

“Who sent this man? Councilwoman Beatica? Or did he do this himself?”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s dead. And my mother won’t die so easily. You saw it. She can stop herself from bleeding.”

“It looked close to me.”

“It was. I think it scared her.”

Ryoka paused. She peered down at Wiskeria.

“You still care for her.”

The [Witch] nodded.

“But I can’t stop her. Look at all the people she’s killed, Ryoka. Another body on her toll of today. Yesterday, a man hung himself for her. What will tomorrow bring?”

The Wind Runner stood there, inhaling and exhaling, and Durene wondered what Ryoka might say. Ryoka said this:

“She did it for you. She loves you. I wish I knew my mother was like that. She faced down her death for you.”

Wiskeria nodded, and she gave Ryoka a smile as if the City Runner understood.

“Yes. Isn’t it terrible?”

“It must make things so much harder.”

Ryoka put her hands in her pockets, awkward. Wiskeria wiped tears from her eyes.

And that was how Durene understood Wiskeria’s relationship with her mother. Anger, quarreling. Unchanging natures. Disappointment on both sides. Grief. And love.

Despite it all, Durene still envied Wiskeria.

Day 68 – Ullim

It was raining again. Ullim saw his [Lord]’s eyes flashing as Tyrion strode across the room.

“Magic.”

“Someone must have reversed the [Weatherchange] scroll, Lord Veltras.”

“Who?”

There was no answer Ullim could give. He could only speculate.

“It may be the work of another spell in another province. Weather magic does have wide-ranging effects. If the rain is being diverted—”

“Ullim. I don’t want speculation. I want answers. Who is causing this? Give me a list of people who could have caused it.”

Tyrion coldly dismissed his [Majordomo]. Which left Ullim scrambling to ask questions where he didn’t know where to start. However, he was able to come back two hours later with a bunch of [Messages].

“Lord Veltras, we may know who caused the rain.”

“Go on.”

The [Lord] frowned as his personal [Mage], Jericha, looked up from her own spellbooks. Ullim cleared his throat.

“A [Witch] passed through your lands some time ago, Lord Veltras. Around the same time the rains began. The villages distinctly recalled her passing—she was known as Eloise, or the, ah, ‘Tea Witch’. She seems to be highly regarded by some. But hers was a notable passing. No one can recall if she was given offense, but many believe she may have cursed the region for some slight.”

“A [Witch]? I asked for answers, Ullim. Not superstition.”

Tyrion frowned darkly. Ullim coughed.

“I understand, Lord Veltras. But there are no other notable events I could find. And [Witches] can change the weather…”

“Not for this long. At least, not without considerable magic. Lord Veltras, I wouldn’t lay too much faith in this being a [Witch]’s doing. There is magic in the weather we’re experiencing. But I can’t lift it, and I doubt a [Witch] would be inclined to use this much magic for a slight.”

Jericha frowned. Ullim raised a finger.

“Ah. However, I discovered one more thing of note. A discreet inquiry revealed that this [Witch] is in fact a former [Lady].”

“What?”

Both Tyrion and Jericha started. Ullim nodded. It had been worth paying for that tidbit.

“Lady Eloise of House Havin. She hails from Terandria. She left her house and was considered dead to her family over three decades ago. But she is apparently the very same [Lady].”

“A [Lady] becoming a [Witch]? And she’s known as the Tea Witch?”

Jericha seemed appalled at the thought. But Lord Tyrion’s brows just snapped together. He came to the same conclusion that had crossed Ullim’s mind in a moment.

“Reinhart.”

Ullim nodded, darkly satisfied. It was just a hypothesis, but one [Lady] was known to have ties to countless nobles. And Magnolia Reinhart loved tea, albeit with enough sugar to classify it as something else entirely. She was also, Ullim knew, greatly fond of using agents to achieve her ends.

“Lord Veltras. After some investigation, I have noted that Lord Erill, Lady Ieka, Lord Pellmia, and a number of other notable peers of the realm are all suffering from some kind of disturbance in their weather. And Invrisil is not. Furthermore—Lord Pellmia’s [Manservant], Kilmet, reported the presence of another [Witch] passing through his lands. A figure of note. A Hedag. Or Hedag the [Executioner]. I’m not clear on whether it is a name or title.”

Ullim was rewarded by his lord’s furious expression. Tyrion Veltras strode over to a map, plotting Lord Pellmia’s lands.

“[Witches]. And Reinhart’s lands are unaffected?”

Jericha fiddled with her glasses.

“She may have hired these [Witches] in conjunction with the trade war, sire. I can investigate. If a [Witch] did perform a ritual, they would have had to anchor the spell. We might discover it.”

“Do it, Jericha. Ullim, send word to Pellmia. Ask him about his [Witch]. Send word to each village that this [Witch] passed through. I will send an escort. I want them here tonight to testify to what occurred. And check whether Bethal, Pryde, Wuvren—any of their lands are affected by this weather.”

“Of course, Lord Veltras. And if they are not?”

Ullim held his breath as Tyrion turned his head. Lord Tyrion Veltras’ voice was quiet.

“If they are not, then I will consider Reinhart’s interference at Liscor and this latest an insult that demands my immediate attention. And I will call on every noble affected to bring that complaint to her.”

Outside, the rain drummed on the windows. But the flash of lightning that would have really made the scene appropriate never came.

Day 68 – Alevica

Two days after Ser Raim had fought and died, Alevica, known as the Witch Runner, was bored. She’d been bored ever since she came to Riverfarm.

Okay, not by Belavierr or the [Witches], but it was more like moments of amazement, terror, and so on between lots of boredom. One might think, after two days, she would still be shaking with what she’d seen Belavierr do.

The Riverfarm people might do that, but two days was a long time, and Alevica had gotten over it, mostly, on day one.

By today, she was restless. Annoyed too; with both the lack of things for herself to do and her own limited magic. Belavierr’s critiques rankled Alevica, and the Witch Runner didn’t know how the older [Witches] just sat around and waited for an [Emperor] to drag his behind here. Obviously, this was the place to be to observe powerful witchcraft…but Alevica would have gladly left to make some actual money if she could. Come back for the highlights then leave.

The problem was that she was a [Witch]. Even the most independent and solitary of [Witches] had to answer to their coven. And hers had sent her here. Along with a bunch of other ‘legends’ who weren’t much in person. Eloise was sweet, but faded. Hedag was fun, but hardly more than a drunk old woman with a strong right arm. Neither was a powerful [Witch] by Alevica’s standards. Wiskeria was weak. Nanette was just a kid.

Of course, then, Alevica had to grudgingly admit that Mavika was truly powerful. As was Califor. In fact, but for those two and Alevica wouldn’t have come. But she didn’t cross either one lightly. Alevica might still have refused or left—but then there was Belavierr.

She scared the Witch Runner. That was something Alevica would never admit out loud. Yet there it was. Belavierr was terrifying. Even after she’d been burnt, set on fire, shot full of arrows, and been cut with a flaming greatsword—all that had done was make her Human again. She was still alive, and she’d just killed a man yesterday with a needle.

“A needle. She killed a man by throwing a needle at him. Who needs arrows when you can throw a few hundred needles? Huh?”

Alevica grinned around the dining room table where she was sitting, her chair rocked back and feet propped up. Half the [Witches] sitting around the table glanced up. No one answered. Califor spared a glare for Alevica’s feet, but said not a word. Discontented, Alevica folded her arms.

Old [Witches] and kids. This was why she hated most covens. Ryoka Griffin seemed fun at least, but she was always hanging about the older [Witches]. Alevica rocked back further in her chair, watching and listening.

Wiskeria was moaning to the coven. They’d all gathered save for Belavierr to comfort her and pat her tears away. Alevica rolled her eyes.

“I don’t understand how you can look the other way. Any of you. Didn’t you see the man she killed yesterday? What about Ser Raim?”

“We see. Some of us do not condone it, Witch Wiskeria. But we see and acknowledge it as Belavierr’s business. You have a right to speak of it by blood. But we are not Belavierr’s masters. She answers not to us. Would you have us rule her? That is not a coven’s function.”

Mavika perched on her chair like the birds she enjoyed hanging out with. Pretentious speech aside, what she meant was the unwritten rule of [Witches]. Don’t interfere with other [Witches]’ business. Alevica sighed. Loudly. No one looked at her.

“But none of you aided the [Knights]! If you had—Witch Califor, she actually called your craft impressive. If you’d been with the [Hunters]—”

Califor replied levelly.

“He might have killed me as well as the others. A warrior like Hunter Tagil is far more dangerous than a [Witch] at what he does, and that was to kill, Wiskeria. As to why I did not oppose Belavierr with Ser Raim? I am not inclined to endanger Riverfarm or Nanette. Believe me: it would have endangered everyone. When we are done, I will consider Belavierr’s deeds, but this entire coven is not the right one to hold her to account.”

“So we’re just going to let her continue to ruin lives?”

Wiskeria blazed. Alevica could see her righteous fury. A bit of sadness. And love. Oh, yes. Alevica hated looking at it. The other [Witches] were sympathetic, especially Nanette. Hedag just grinned. Now she was hard to read. Alevica knew Hedag had poor magical abilities, but she couldn’t read Hedag’s emotions. Well, none of the older witches gave much away, aside from Mavika when she was pissed. That bothered Alevica a bit.

It was Eloise who replied. The tea [Witch] sipped from her cup, but slowly. She hadn’t been pleased about Belavierr either, but she was defending the other [Witch]. That had to stick in her craw.

“Selfishness is in our nature, Witch Wiskeria. We act according to our natures. And we do not judge each other. Well, we try not to push our judgements on each other. We hesitate to interfere with other [Witches]. And Belavierr has kept from endangering the village. Except in this latest case where Califor did step in.”

“Except that she’s putting the coven’s deal with Riverfarm in jeopardy.”

The other [Witches] paused. Well, yes. There was that. Wiskeria went on as Alevica dug in one ear.

“I’ve heard this before. ‘[Witches] act according to our natures. We obey no laws. That’s why we’re [Witches].’ But we don’t have to be lawless! We can live in society and obey rules! Eloise, you do that! And Hedag—”

She broke off as the [Executioner] laughed. Hedag shook her head.

“Ah, Wiskeria. We’re different. Eloise may live within the law, but she’s one of us. The rest, from Mavika to Califor to your mother, obey their own laws. And I? I’m the biggest lawbreaker of all, according to some!”

“But Hedag, you’re a law bringer yourself—”

Wiskeria protested weakly. Hedag’s laugh cut her off.

“But my laws are my own, Wiskeria. I bear justice as I see it. Miss Califor gives aid as she sees fit. We are halves of Mavika and Alevica, who act in their interests. But we are all the same. Your mother is just more [Witch] than we!”

“But she’s a murderer.”

“And she’s good at it! Get that in your head, Wiskeria!”

Alevica cupped her hands and shouted it at Wiskeria impatiently. She was rewarded with a glare from Wiskeria. Califor sniffed, and Alevica gritted her teeth, but shut up. Mavika nodded after giving Alevica a birdish look.

“Yes. We are proud of her. For her crimes, she is hunted. But she is ours, Witch Wiskeria. And she speaks the truth. You lack craft. You lack power. I say it to you too. Why do you not accept it?”

She prodded Wiskeria with a taloned finger. Wiskeria glared.

“You’re proud, Mavika?”

The crow [Witch] nodded.

“Proud. Yes. Why shouldn’t we be? She is ours. Witch Wiskeria, she is the legend of [Witches]. A dark one. And there are those of us who are outcast. But we are [Witches] still. We have been hunted and shunned. Who will stand for [Witches] if not other [Witches]? We cannot always stand alone.”

“But—”

“A [Witch] has always broken laws. We all live apart. We are not city dwellers, Witch Wiskeria. We do not operate under laws. Because law has always sought to exterminate our kind. That is why we seek to bargain with this [Emperor], to keep our rights. To live without fear. But he must accept that we practice our craft. We cannot be beholden.”

Califor snapped in a rare display of annoyance, out of patience with Wiskeria. The younger [Witch] looked up. Alevica was impressed; she didn’t flinch from Califor’s glare or the force in the old woman’s eyes.

“That’s fine for you to say, Miss Califor. But I don’t want to be a [Witch] like that.”

“You want to bow and scrape and obey laws? Why’d you take the [Witch] class then, Wiskeria? Be a [Mage].”

Alevica laughed incredulously. This time, no one shushed her. Mavika frowned dangerously.

“You speak of the end of [Witches], Wiskeria. We cannot be tamed. We will not be shackled. When law stretches across this world and the wilderness dies—so too will the last [Witch].”

“Maybe. Or maybe we’ll change. Maybe we should change. Mavika. I respect you. But I could never be you. And I can’t be my mother. No matter what she wants of me. I want to have a craft. But my mother’s deeds hang over me. She—I’m guilty because of her. Do you understand?”

“We do. But Wiskeria, she has been herself for thousands of years. Possibly longer. She will not change. And she is a [Witch]. Darker than many, but a [Witch] true. If anyone has yet to fully become a [Witch]—it is you.”

Eloise spoke softly. And Wiskeria’s face crumpled. Alevica glanced away.

She’d had worse coven meetings. In truth, many of them were like this. Younger [Witches] whining about trouble, or older ones complaining. Yes, sometimes you met and did real magic, the kind that made it all worthwhile, like trying to summon a spirit and bind it—or casting a powerful hex or warding spell. But other times it was just an informal gathering and support session.

Alevica was looking for an opportunity to leave when she saw Nanette dutifully hand something to her teacher. The kid had been working on it all this time. What was…?

And then Alevica saw it. It was a few houses crudely shaped out of clay. Six, to be precise. Nanette dutifully placed the last house next to the others. Alevica nodded silently. The other [Witches] watched out of the corner of their eyes as they comforted Wiskeria. So did Alevica.

Califor was doing a working. You could feel her drawing on her power. Now, on the clean wooden table, Califor produced a handful of soil. She must have gathered it from outside. The dry earth sprinkled in a circle around the clay village. Alevica watched as Califor drew a circle around the small clay village and then reached for her flask. The [Witch] sprinkled some water from her flask on the model village. The [Witch] paused, frowned, and then sprinkled more water on top.

Alevica leaned out the window. She felt the magic go out—but the sky didn’t so much as change. She peered at Califor, smirking. Right up until the [Witch] glanced up, peeved. Then Alevica pretended to be studying the ceiling.

“No luck? I tried a little water spell by the river. Had nothing.”

Hedag leaned over, inspecting the village. Eloise pursed her lips silently as Califor glared at the clay village, as if willing it to explode. Nanette was nervous as she shifted by her teacher. Alevica had to admit, it was something. She’d never seen nor heard of Califor failing at any basic spell like this.

“Something is working against my magic.”

“Mine too.”

Hedag nodded. So did Eloise. And then Mavika. Everyone stared at her. The crow [Witch] seemed annoyed.

“My flock has created a crow-sign for rain. It failed. Something is at work here.”

“Or someone.”

Every [Witch] looked at the other speculatively. No one said it. But Alevica could think of a few reasons why these small workings had failed. Either someone was using some powerful magic to alter the weather—or one of them had created a serious working.

It wasn’t as if covens didn’t have [Witches] working towards their own ends. Califor snapped into the sudden silence.

“I trust that everyone understands that this deal with the [Emperor] supersedes all other commitments. This coven gathered to address the attack on [Witches]. To strike a deal for sanctuary. And to deal with Witch Wiskeria’s relationship to Witch Belavierr. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

“Of course.”

Eloise nodded. So did the others. Alevica just grinned. She yawned openly as she got up. The other [Witches] turned to her. Mavika frowned.

“Witch Alevica. Where are you going?”

“Out. It’s been fun, fellow [Witches]. But I’m tired of cheering Wiskeria up and making daggers at each other. If someone’s messing with the weather, isn’t that their right as a [Witch]? …Or whoever’s doing it.”

Alevica smiled cheerily at the others. Califor’s brows snapped together.

“Witch Alevica, if you know something, speak. This endangers all of Riverfarm and the coven’s—”

Alevica theatrically put her hands to her ears, grimacing.

“Dead gods. Are you really Witch Califor? Half the time you’re her, the other half you’re some old woman. I know this is important. Oliyaya talked my ear off when she sent me here. But how much work are we doing for this stupid village?”

Alevica kicked over her chair. Califor looked flatly at her.

“The [Emperor] is the one we’re about, Alevica.”

“Well, pull the river up and make it rain! Can’t you do that? I heard you threaten to wake him up!”

Alevica pointed at Califor, exasperated. The older [Witch] hesitated, and every eye swung towards her. Wiskeria tensed for reasons Alevica didn’t get, and Alevica hated that—that knowing look in Wiskeria. Wiskeria, who refused to have a craft but was Belavierr’s daughter.

Califor’s voice was quiet.

“That was a threat, Alevica. Waking the river would be…very dangerous, if it could even be done. And the river is low, regardless.”

“But you could try.”

“I would not wish to make that my first resort. Or even my last, depending on the circumstances. Alevica, we are a coven. This is a trial fit for your mentor, and if you can help—”

Alevica slammed her hands down on the table and regretted it. She shook out her ringing hands and spat.

“I shouldn’t need to help. You’re Witch Califor! That’s Belavierr, the Spider, and each [Witch] in this room is supposed to be one of the greatest living! What’s wrong with you? I heard stories that you’d become a coward, but I never believed it.”

Her voice was too high-pitched, and she knew, knew they could read her betrayal and the upset feelings in her. Alevica hated that, so she spun towards the door. But she looked back at Califor, daring, hoping she’d say…

Witch Califor had perfect control over her emotions. She sat there, straight-backed, and touched the brim of her hat. Nanette looked ready to fight Alevica, but Califor put out a hand as she replied.

“If that is what you believe, Alevica, I won’t try to change your mind. I apologize for letting down the stories about me.”

Alevica yanked the door open and spat.

“See that, Wiskeria? Don’t listen to these old women. Eloise barely makes her tea, Hedag gets her strength from little children—you want to know why your mom has all her power? It’s because she does what she wants and scares the daylights out of people. That’s what being a [Witch] is. That’s power. Can you match that?”

Alevica grinned mockingly at Wiskeria, aiming all her vitriol at the one person she felt deserved it wholeheartedly. She was rewarded with Wiskeria’s glare and flushed cheeks. Wiskeria paused, then snapped back.

“No. And neither can you. Even you can’t take misery and grief like she can, Alevica. That’s why she called you weak.”

The Witch Runner’s cheeks went crimson. She clenched a hand, then glared at Wiskeria. She made a sign that made Nanette gasp and stormed out of the house.

—–

Alevica went flying. She was still fuming, but soaring through the sky above Riverfarm made her feel better. Up high, everything was better. People were little dots, and she stared down at them. The trouble was that, even flying, Alevica couldn’t shake Wiskeria’s and her mother’s words.

“Weak? I’ll show you who’s weak! You can’t even do a major working! I can!”

The Witch Runner shouted as she flew faster and faster. She could fly! Wiskeria was as weak as Nanette! But—Alevica could also feel herself burning her magic. She couldn’t fly long. And she was furious because she knew Belavierr was right. Grudges and envy and anger had some magic, but it wasn’t strong. Alevica found that seeping the enjoyment from her as she flew.

And it was hot. The sun beat down overhead. Alevica glared up at it. Someone was affecting the weather, she was certain. It wasn’t her. But it could have been any of the [Witches]. Or—someone else. When she thought of that, Alevica decided to go on a hunt.

The thing about flying was that she could travel faster than even Charlay for a while. And being this high up meant that Alevica could potentially spot a working if one of the [Witches] had hidden it. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but Alevica could see magical power just as well as any [Mage]. And she bet she could recognize a working if someone like Hedag or Eloise had laid it. Califor or Belavierr…? Well, it was worth looking.

Alevica crisscrossed the skies, seeking out places of power. You could follow old ley lines in the ground, places where magic was stronger. That would be a likely spot. Not that there were any old gravesites or magical ponds about. Mavika was right, in her way. As civilization progressed, people took the magic out of the world.

The old [Witches] in Alevica’s real coven loved to yammer on about how you couldn’t go two miles without tripping over a magical cairn or something. Alevica wished she’d been born in those days. When there was power waiting to be tapped instead of weak emotions—

“Hello. Who’s that?”

The [Witch] spotted something on her third flight over the area. She swooped down and spotted him. A…man. But there was power about him. Magic? He was hiding in a stand of trees, as dried as the earth. And he saw her at the same time as she saw him.

There was no running. He didn’t even try. The man with the odd hat walked towards her. Smiling. It was an uncanny smile. Too wide with too many teeth. Actually, it was the same kind of smile Alevica liked to give. A predator’s grin.

“Hello there. You must be that [Witch Hunter] Ryoka was talking about.”

Alevica casually reached for her crossbow and shortsword as she alighted on the ground. She was running out of mana after so much flying. But she’d found the man, and she had Skills for fighting too. The man eyed her as Alevica alighted.

“Well, I’m delighted to be so popular. Good evening, Miss…Witch?”

“What gave it away?”

Alevica grinned. She eyed the man up and down. Yup. Hat, clothing—all of it matched the former [Witch Hunters]. Another one? Alevica felt a twinge of danger. But she was dangerous too. She pointed at him.

“And who’re you?”

“Just a traveller—”

“Yeah?”

Alevica drew her crossbow. The man paused.

“You wouldn’t shoot an unarmed traveller, Miss?”

“I don’t see anyone watching us.”

Alevica bluffed. She was watching the man carefully. He had lots of power about him. Strange—she was having a hard time reading him. He was far too calm. He wasn’t a [Mage]—but—

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re hanging around, causing trouble for my kind? And if you try to run, I’ll shoot you and see what I can find on your body.”

That threat should have done something to his emotions, but the man was cool. He just grinned at her. And Alevica began to get uneasy herself. He shrugged, his hands lowering a touch towards his own belt. He had a bag of holding there.

“Just call me a scout, Miss Witch. Or a hunter who deals in fire and retribution to those who deserve it. One of many. But I’d rather not fight with you. What say we go our own ways?”

“And let a [Witch Hunter] go free? You put that [Knight] on Belavierr, didn’t you?”

“Maybe. Could you fault me for that? You [Witches] tend to cause trouble.”

“Yeah. We kill people we don’t like. Who are you? Last question! Answer me!”

Alevica gritted out. She didn’t like the way the man was watching her anymore. She’d identified the emotion coming off him. And it wasn’t fear or even wariness. He was going to try to kill her. It was an almost intangible, cold certainty. He’d been ready to kill her the instant he saw her. She wished she’d stayed on her broom. She warily gripped her sword’s handle. And the man just smiled.

“Miss Witch, I’d fly away. I really would. I have no quarrel with you specifically. But if you want to make this an issue, I’d much rather—”

Alevica fired her crossbow and drew her sword. As she did, she chanted an incantation in her mind.

Sword, cut and bite! Bolt, truest flight!

She saw the bolt curve towards the man. He staggered as he leapt sideways. The bolt stuck out of his side. Alevica charged him. She saw him reach for his belt. His hands flashed as she slashed at his head—

The spear went into her stomach. Alevica realized that after she screamed. She stared at the sword on the ground. The man raised his spear. It was bloody. Her blood. Alevica screamed as she felt the burning again. Desperately, she reached for a potion. Drank it.

It did nothing. Something was burning her insides. Poison. The [Witch] stared up as the man casually kicked her blade away.

“Poor luck, Miss Witch. You should have hit me with that bolt somewhere it mattered.”

He lifted the spear, then reconsidered.

“[Witches] cast curses with their dying breath. Or so the textbooks say. I can’t risk one now. Curse me and I’ll finish you off. Otherwise—you can hope someone finds you.”

He walked away. Alevica tried to shout after him. Swear that if he didn’t give her the antidote, she would curse him. But all she could do was scream.

The pain was burning. The poison—Alevica realized she was bleeding. Dying. The Witch Runner whispered. Magic. She had to call on her magic.

“Poison bites and tears away. But—but life, hold and stay! Blood, thicken and stop! Stop! Call help and give aid! Before this [Witch]’s life fades—”

She tried to pour her magic into the spell. But she couldn’t focus. She was slowing the bleeding. But she couldn’t pour energy into a working. Alevica lay there, clutching at her stomach. The poison was eating her up. The blood…trickled…away…

It was hot. Alevica screamed for help. And then her voice gave out. She lay there, the world fading. Her magic fading. Until she heard galloping hooves and an urgent voice.

“She’s here! She’s here! Ryoka! She’s hurt!”

Alevica heard someone racing towards her. She felt something huge kneel. A huge body. Not a Human’s. As hard to read as that man. Alevica couldn’t do non-Humans well—

“Alevica! It’s me!”

Charlay? The Centauress grabbed Alevica. Then she saw the blood.

“You need a potion! Ryoka! Ryoka!”

“I’m here! I—”

Someone. Blurry shapes. Alevica looked up. She felt a cool hand on her. Babbling voices.

“—stabbed her. Help me get—”

“Who? Nearby?”

“—matter. Potion?”

“No.”

Alevica could groan the words. She spoke desperately.

“No potion. Poison.”

“Poison?”

The two voices babbled. And then someone picked Alevica up. She screamed and cursed, but the hands pushed her up. Then someone was holding her as she was bounced. Each bounce took more blood away. Someone was babbling at her to stay awake. Stay awake—

“Emperor Laken’s close by, Alevica. Close enough for him to locate you when you didn’t come back. Hold on. We’ll get you to Riverfarm. Charlay, run. She’s not going to make it—”

“I’m trying. Just hold her! [Lightning Gallop]—”

“Eloise. Eloise.”

Alevica begged. She didn’t know what was happening anymore. Someone was slapping her. And then she was flying. Flying and falling. Into the darkness. Until she felt the power and the [Witch] who held it.

—–

“She’s dying. She’s lost too much blood. The potions don’t work with the poison in her. She needs a transfusion—”

Ryoka was babbling. She was still trying to apply pressure. Eloise stared down at Alevica’s pale face, the tinge of green in the wound.

“She will not die. My coven, hold Alevica here while I work. I’m familiar with poisons as well as teas and herbs. I can counter it. Give me a moment.”

The old [Witch] spread her herbs on the table next to Alevica. The [Witch] was so pale and still. Even the blood had stopped oozing. But maybe that was because of the [Witches] who stood around her.

All of them were there. Wiskeria, Hedag, Califor, Nanette, Mavika, even Belavierr. And they gazed down on Alevica. It was dusk. The light cast long shadows on their faces. But their eyes had a luminescence of their own.

“Hold her. Give her strength.”

Eloise ordered the others. And Alevica’s chest seemed to rise and fall only by virtue of the [Witches]’ stares. Nanette’s face was pale. Califor’s eyes focused on Alevica’s face. Hedag leaned on her axe, her eyes blazing.

“Mother. Can you save her?”

Wiskeria never looked away from Belavierr. The Stitch Witch paused. And her voice was heavy with power.

“—My magic is scattered and burnt low. Witch Eloise surpasses me in this moment. Hold her.”

“We cannot. She is dying.”

The raven on Mavika’s shoulder called once, echoing the [Witch]’s words. Eloise was mixing something, spreading it on Alevica’s stomach. Wiskeria clenched her hands.

“No! No! She can’t die!”

“She is fading. She has lost too much blood.”

“It isn’t right.”

“If we’d been faster—”

Ryoka clutched at her head. She was trying to figure out how to transfuse blood. Tubes? No! She couldn’t cut Alevica. She glanced around desperately. A funnel. But she needed to test Alevica’s blood type—

They hadn’t noticed Alevica was gone until into the evening. And then the coven had grown concerned. The older [Witches] had felt…something. Laken’s [Message] had come at the right moment. He’d found her. But—

“She can’t die. She can’t! We need more power!”

Wiskeria looked around desperately. Belavierr’s eyes began to glow, then stopped.

“I have not enough. We are holding her on the edge of life. We need more to pull her back.”

She looked up. Wordlessly, at Ryoka. The City Runner shouted. She saw people crowded around the house, staring in. So Ryoka called out.

“Take it from me!”

“And me!”

Charlay called from the door. The Centauress’ eyes were wide. Wiskeria gazed at them. Mavika hissed.

“Then give me your passion! Give us feelings! Strong as can be!”

Ryoka peered at Alevica. She was rude, arrogant, she’d burned Charlay’s tail, but she didn’t deserve this—

“I take your desperation.”

“I take your grief.”

“I take your rage.”

Mavika, Belavierr, and Hedag spoke as one. Ryoka felt it go out of her. She stared at Alevica, suddenly blank. A bit empty. The [Witch]’s eyes flickered. Mavika whispered.

“Not enough. More.”

The [Witches] turned to the crowd. And the people shuddered. But Wiskeria shouted towards them.

“She’s dying! Someone’s stabbed her! Don’t you feel a thing? Feel something! We’re trying to save her!”

The people heard. Some—some felt what Ryoka had felt and it was taken. But too many just stared. And Ryoka heard the word, unspoken.

[Witch].

They did not care for her. They did not care, truly care, if Alevica died. What the crowd saw, what they experienced, was…

Helplessness. Just as when they had seen Belavierr facing Ser Raim. Desperation—hope—longing—anger—fear—it wasn’t strong enough. No one emotion. What could sum up the death? The loss? It wasn’t right. But they did not know Alevica. She was a [Witch], and they did not know her. But someone had killed her—

Ryoka could see the [Witches] trying to pull power from the crowd. But they weren’t any one thing. They weren’t afraid. They weren’t angry enough either. It was just horror and pain and loss—but numbed after what they had seen. Wiskeria screamed.

“It’s not enough. Can’t you feel anything? This isn’t right! This isn’t right! Why don’t you care?”

And they looked at her. Belavierr’s daughter. And at Alevica. The reaching [Witches] took nothing. They closed their eyes as Alevica’s breathing slowed. Wiskeria peered around desperately. Then she felt something. She pulled, and the crowd gasped. Ryoka’s eyes went wide. It went out of her too as she grasped Alevica’s hand. That emotion. That—

And the power went into the [Witch], and she opened her eyes. Ryoka saw Eloise press the poultice to her and speak.

“Pull!”

Each of the [Witches] reached down. They grasped a part of Alevica. Ryoka, holding Alevica, felt a jolt of something more alive than electricity hit her. She jerked back. Alevica jerked. She sat upright, head smacking into Nanette’s, and screamed.

“No!”

The poultice fell away, black and wet. Alevica’s stomach was raw, bloody. Eloise splashed a potion on Alevica as the [Witch] flailed. And then she was alive. Wiskeria staggered back into her mother’s arms. Nanette cradled her head as Califor drew her back. The [Witch] slapped Alevica on the back of the head as the Witch Runner flailed, slashing with a sword she didn’t have. Alevica stopped. She blinked down at her stomach as it began to heal.

“What—what—”

Nanette called out urgently.

“Alevica! What happened?”

The [Witch]’s face was deathly pale. She jerked, staring around.

“Which one of you—the power—”

All of the [Witches] were watching Wiskeria. They looked back at Alevica as she jerked again, still in shock. The words came out in a rush.

“The bastard had a spear. And—artifacts. Lots of ‘em. I sensed them on him. I didn’t think he’d be that fast—he had poison on it!”

“Who?”

Ryoka leaned over the table urgently. Alevica gazed at her. Her mouth worked.

“The man with the smile.”

—–

Hours later, Ryoka was standing in conference with several [Witches], Rie, Prost, and her own dark thoughts. She had heard everything from Alevica before the Witch Runner had passed out. And Charlay had repeated her encounter with the man—as had Ryoka. It wasn’t conclusive. But he had just bumped himself up on the list of people Ryoka suspected of…something.

The drought? Or just the attack on Belavierr? Either way, he’d tried to kill Alevica. But who was he? No one knew. Worse still, he’d vanished. Mavika was the last to return. Her crows landed, cawing loudly, and the [Witch] herself walked into the home. She looked…angry. Only, angry didn’t describe the hunched, elongated form. The nails that resembled talons. For a moment, as the [Witch] stepped out of the night, she looked like something else. Something that hunted and screamed in the darkness of mankind’s dreams.

The Humans shuddered and drew back. Ryoka waited as Mavika seemed to shrink. The [Witch] spoke curtly.

“This [Hunter] of yours moves quick. My crows could not find him. And they flew wide. Even with a horse, he was fast to outrun wings.”

“You lost him?”

“We searched miles. Either he hid with powerful spell, or he raced so fast as to be a bird himself.”

The [Witch] glared. The conference room was silent. Ryoka drummed her fingers on the table. Lady Rie spoke briskly.

“Laken’s nearby enough that we can ask him to locate the [Witch Hunter]. He can sense everything on his lands, and we replaced all his totems.”

The others nodded. Ryoka bit her lip as Nesor sent a [Message]. The reply came back slowly as Nesor scribbled it line by line on a piece of parchment with agonizing slowness. Ryoka read it with the others, crowding to see.

Ryoka, Durene—all—I am searching for the [Witch Hunter] you described. I cannot find him. The [Witches] I can sense. Belavierr is…different. Not Human? I also sensed a Centauress? Ryoka’s friend Charlay? Among others? A number of non-Humans on my lands! I am closing in on Riverfarm. Do not kill the Goblins hiding in the forest, please. I will aid as best I can as soon as I get there. News about lack of rain troubles me. It is still raining where we are. Why? Circle of Thorns?

“So. Is this my death?”

Belavierr whispered into the silence that followed. Everyone stared at her. The Stitch Witch looked back. Wiskeria was still staring at her hands. She had been ever since Alevica had been saved. And her mother—Belavierr’s eyes flickered upwards. As if tracing a thread only she could see.

No one had any answers. Alevica was sleeping under Eloise’s watchful gaze. Hedag was walking the perimeter of Riverfarm, and Califor was attending to Nanette. The other [Witches] kept their own council. Belavierr shared none of her thoughts. Ryoka made hers clear to Durene, Rie, Prost, and Charlay.

“What do we know? That man seems incredibly suspicious. But is he responsible for the lack of rain? I got in touch with Fierre, and she said that a man with his description paid her to alert the Order of Seasons. But who is he?”

Rie tapped on her lips.

“A [Witch Hunter] trying to kill Belavierr?”

“Or a member of this Circle of Thorns. Does it matter, Ryoka? Laken can find him. He can sense everything on his lands. He’ll get him and tell us, and we’ll find him and make him talk.”

Durene pounded a fist into one hand. Ryoka nodded dubiously. It couldn’t be that easy? Could it? She waited, with Nesor, in the room as it slowly emptied. The [Mage] was uncomfortable. But no matter how long Ryoka waited, until she was yawning with fatigue, no reply from Laken came.

They were sleeping, dozing, when Ryoka took to Durene’s cottage for sleep. She told herself Laken would send a [Message] tomorrow. But she had only slept an hour before someone hammered at Durene’s door.

“Ryoka, wake up!”

It was Beniar. The [Cataphract] hadn’t news from Laken, though. He practically dragged Ryoka towards the village.

“What is it?”

The former adventurer’s face was serious. He pointed towards Riverfarm, where some torches blazed.

“There’s a group of people outside Riverfarm. My [Riders] stopped them. They say they know you. They’re asking to be let in.”

Day 69 – Ryoka

“Fire.”

Ryoka looked at the [Archer]. She remembered the man. Only, she had known him only by the bow he carried. His had been the first settlement she’d come to. The one guarded by the independent group of people with bows who’d refused to move to Riverfarm.

They were here now. And they carried only a few possessions. One bow. Half had burns. The others were white with exhaustion. Fear. Loss. Ryoka stared at the man’s face. She hadn’t even known his name. It was Nale. He held his wife and looked at her.

She could feel it. All the pieces were falling into place. An invisible pattern making itself known. And it made itself known through tragedy. Nale’s face was pale. Still covered in soot. His wife clung to his side. The group had come straight from their settlement. It was still dark. And the fires were still burning.

“The entire barn went up in seconds. We tried to fight it—but it was too dry. We barely got out.”

Nale’s voice cracked. His wife wept into his shoulder. The [Archer] peered helplessly at Ryoka.

“It was too fast. Too fast, and our wells were too low. The drought—”

“We lost everything. Everything. The animals went up. Dead gods, we couldn’t get them.”

Another woman leaned on a wall. She was too shocked to even sit. Prost seemed deeply disturbed. Ryoka just stared at Nale. And then she got up. She hesitated. And then she reached out and put an arm on his shoulder.

She didn’t know if it was the right thing to do. The man stiffened. But it was all Ryoka could do. Then he relaxed. And he began to shake. Ryoka didn’t know him. But they stood together, two people. And she looked at his wife as she rested a hand on the woman’s arm. Looked into her eyes.

“You can stay here. Riverfarm needs people like you. There’s room for you. And everyone.”

She glanced past them at Prost. The [Steward] nodded.

“Of course. We’d be delighted to have the folks of Tabeil here.”

The group’s eyes filled with relief. They relaxed, and more tears were shed. Ryoka stayed with them. But she had to go. She had to excuse herself. Because her mind was racing.

“Fire. We have an arsonist. Or maybe it’s just the drought. Either way, we need to take precautions now.”

She gathered Prost, Rie, and the coven. Rie nodded, eyes wide, as voices rose, talking over each other.

“The water. We can put in barrels around the village.”

“This entire place is made of wood. It’ll go up like a bonfire if a fire isn’t caught.”

“Patrols, then. No one sets a fire here. Day and night we check for that bastard. If he is causing fires—”

“It could just be coincidence. Hell, one bit of heat lightning would start a fire. We need more precautions.”

Ryoka regarded the [Witches]. Hedag exchanged a glance with Califor. The [Witches] nodded. Hedag turned back to Ryoka. The [Executioner] nodded.

“In that case, we’ll do as all folks do in face of a fire. Dig a ditch. A firebreak. Here and here—far enough away from the village that flames won’t jump it. We’ll also remove brush. Tinder—anything that goes up easy.”

She pointed, indicating areas outside the village proper. Ryoka blinked. Califor nodded.

“Of course. Clear a space and a fire has nothing to feed on. You. [Steward]. Put all of your people to this task. We will clear a wide enough space that no sparks may jump across the break.”

She marched past Prost and began ordering people into teams as Hedag described how deep the firebreak should be. Ryoka stared, blinking. Trust [Witches] to have sensible solutions instead of magic. But Ryoka would have really preferred actual magical solutions to this drought. When she asked, though, Eloise only shook her head, seeming troubled.

“We’ve been trying. All of us have cast charms. But short of a powerful working, we cannot change this weather.”

“Can you do one, then? A working?”

The [Witch] pursed her lips.

“Perhaps. But we would rather do it on a full moon, at the height of our strength. We have used much saving Alevica. She is still healing, so our coven is incomplete. And Belavierr—we could attempt one tonight. But Miss Ryoka, I fear we lack the power to shift whatever is affecting this weather. None of us specialize in weather magic.”

She looked directly at Ryoka, then at Belavierr. The Stitch Witch’s silence seemed to indicate she was too weak to help at the moment. As for Ryoka? The City Runner hesitated. She nodded at last.

“Please try, then. Tonight.”

Eloise nodded. That left Ryoka with Charlay and Durene. The City Runner paced.

“The [Witches] might manage to lift the spell. Unless they’re behind it.”

“Or that [Witch Hunter] is actually a [Weather Mage] of some sort.”

Charlay pawed the ground nervously. Durene restlessly clenched and unclenched her fists. They could feel it too. Something—Ryoka looked around. The wind was so silent. Something was controlling it too. She sat down at the table. And she tried to force a connection.

“What do we know? Either it’s a mysterious hunter who’s been lurking about, someone we haven’t seen, or a [Witch]. And the motive’s clearly to hurt Riverfarm. Maybe even start some fires. Who knows? But more importantly, who gains from this?”

Charlay frowned. Ryoka went on, thumping the heels of her hands into her forehead.

“Who wins if Riverfarm collapses? If Belavierr dies as well? The Circle of Thorns, right? Or…”

She looked up.

“Magnolia Reinhart. She’s not a fan of Laken. And I bet she doesn’t want someone like Belavierr around.”

“Magnolia Reinhart?”

Durene seemed astonished and worried. Charlay started, but Ryoka was already pulling back from the idea as soon as she voiced it.

“No. No—this isn’t her style. She doesn’t kill innocent people. I think. The Circle of Thorns, then.”

But she had no proof. No proof of anything. Ryoka rested her head in her hands. She sat there, her mind running in circles, slamming into invisible walls. She was missing something. She couldn’t see what the angle was. She had no proof.

She only moved when she heard the voice. It rang from rooftop to rooftop in Riverfarm. It was a shout. A call. A challenge. It broke through Ryoka’s stupor. Wiskeria’s voice.

“Mother!”

There she stood. A [Witch] wearing a dark blue hat. She stood in the middle of the street. And a [Witch] wearing a wide hat with ringed eyes and a dress as dark as her sins walked to meet her. Ryoka stumbled out of the house. And Riverfarm gathered.

Furtively. Hanging back. They feared her. But they came anyways. For spectacle, perhaps. Out of fear of what new event might befall them. But perhaps—perhaps also because of hope. Because on one side stood a monster. The Stitch Witch. On the other, her daughter. And the people of Riverfarm knew Wiskeria.

She held her wand. And another hand held her hat. The [Witch] faced her mother. And Belavierr walked towards her. She ignored the looks. She had eyes only for her daughter.

“Daughter. Have you found your craft? Do you hate me still?”

“Yes. And yes, Mother. I have told you once and again. I cannot forgive what you do.”

Belavierr sighed. But her eyes were focused on Wiskeria.

“Daughter. I am a [Witch]. You know what this means. If you cannot accept me, how can you accept any of our kind? Shall I tell you of Mavika’s sins? She has done black deeds and fair. What is the difference between she and I?”

Mavika stood in the crowd, waiting. Califor and Nanette walked to join them. Hedag and Eloise waited, faces expectant. Alevica slept. Wiskeria shook her head. And she looked past Belavierr at Mavika.

“I know what Mavika has done. Or I can guess. But, Mother—it may be selfish. But I only care about you. You alone I cannot forgive. Because I see what you do. So. I’m telling you here and now that I will stop you. I believe there are laws that [Witches] should obey. I believe we should obey them. My coven tells me that [Witches] cannot exist in cities. And I have been a [Witch], and I have walked through cities as an adventurer. I say—we can be [Witches] even under law. And I will be that [Witch].”

She spoke the words, focusing on her mother’s eyes. And Belavierr sighed. The expectant light faded from her.

“Daughter. Laws bind us. Laws constrain us. To be a [Witch] is to follow our passions. What passion, what craft have you that could exist in a city?”

“My passion, Mother, is born out of my disgust for you! Don’t you see? You are what I want to stop!”

Wiskeria cried out, and Belavierr’s eyes flickered. She stood taller, and the shadows rose around her.

“And what could such a [Witch] take? Goodwill from those you help? Fleeting gratitude? Anger from those you oppose? Daughter, what is your craft?”

She gazed at the faces of the people around her. And the Stitch Witch’s eyes showed only contempt. Riverfarm’s people shouted at her. But their anger burnt away before her stare. Their hope turned to ash in their mouths. She took their fear and hatred. Leaving Wiskeria with…

Nothing? No. Ryoka felt it in her chest too. Even as Belavierr’s eyes filled her with fear. Something—a longing that even Belavierr’s horror couldn’t touch. Ser Raim had given it fire. And Wiskeria pulled it from Ryoka. She raised her wand. And the wind blew. Ryoka looked up. Belavierr’s eyes widened. And the [Witches] stared. Wiskeria pointed up and closed her eyes. She spoke a word.

“Justice.”

A bolt of lightning fell from the skies. It flashed down and struck Belavierr.

The world rocked. Stray jolts of electricity arced onto the ground, igniting pieces of wood, the street—the force of the explosion cratered the ground. A killing spell for all but its target.

Witch Belavierr? She was knocked backwards, onto the ground, and lay on her back, staring up at the sky. Uninjured.

Of course she was. Yet even if she wore a bitter smile—Wiskeria caught the lightning as it tried to flee in every direction. She held it for a second. And it shone in her hands. Then she aimed it back up into the sky. The bolt split the heavens.

Belavierr stared up at her daughter from where she had been flung to the ground. And Wiskeria swept her hat from her head and bowed. Mockingly. Challengingly. And Riverfarm screamed her name.

“I will never be a [Witch] like you. I will be something else. Something better. And I swear I will stop you. Even if it takes me my entire life, I will become a [Witch] who can end what you do! That is my craft! And this is my magic!”

She pointed at Belavierr and turned away. The Stitch Witch lay there. And Wiskeria’s coven watched their [Witch]. All of them slowly raised their hats and tipped them. Hedag was laughing. Eloise smiled with pure delight. Califor nodded, and Mavika smiled for a moment. Nanette’s eyes were shining.

And Belavierr? She lay on her back as Riverfarm’s people dispersed. A black shadow on the ground. Ryoka went over to her. And she looked down as Belavierr stared up at the sky. The Stitch Witch’s face was expressionless. And then—

She beamed. Ryoka jumped back. Around her, people were stomping on the stray sparks, applauding Wiskeria or following her—Nanette was slapping at a burning ember with her hat.

Belavierr spoke upwards, a smile on her face, as Ryoka stared at her.

“My daughter has a purpose.”

She sat up in one motion. And she stood in another. She regarded Ryoka, delighted. Ecstatic. Ryoka stared at her.

“But she hates you.”

Belavierr paused. Something like sorrow flickered in her gaze. And something else.

“If it is hating me, I will be her hate. That is my love for her. But let her be a better [Witch] than I. But let her live. Ryoka Griffin, the threads draw closer. Can you see whence my death comes?”

“No. I’m missing something. I don’t know what. I can’t figure out what this is all about!”

The City Runner shook her head. Her heart was pounding. Belavierr leaned forwards.

“You lack a thread. Then see it. This is what you seek. I see it. Tell me my death.”

She pointed. And Ryoka saw Nesor running towards her. The [Mage] had a bit of parchment in his hands.

“A [Message] from Laken! Miss Ryoka—”

The City Runner snatched the parchment from his hands. Belavierr turned away. She smiled as she left. And Ryoka read. She blinked. And read again.

Ryoka. I scanned every part of my lands for a guy with a hat like you mentioned lurking about. No one. I missed the fire, but it wasn’t [Bandits]. Beniar rode down the last of them yesterday. Only travellers on the road look like a few Runners, some travellers including those refugees, and a…lizard-person [Merchant]? Drake? No [Hunter] either way.

“No hunter? But—”

Ryoka’s mind whirled. Could he have escaped? But Laken’s vision as [Emperor] was perfect. Could you cheat it? She looked at Nesor. The young [Mage]’s face was pale. Ryoka turned.

“You said it was the last clue. But how—”

Belavierr was gone. Ryoka stared after her. And then she slowly peered down at the parchment.

A man. A [Witch Hunter]. Or so she’d thought.

‘Izril has few of my kind, I’m sorry to say, although we’ve been present in greater numbers in times past.’

A stranger who appeared on the roads. Who never got too close. He’d never said who he was.

‘[Witches] tend to see right through me, and I think I’d be at odds with them.’

The fake [Witch Hunters] had done their utmost to escape Califor rather than have her inspect them. He’d tried to kill Alevica when he’d had the chance, but he’d stayed far away from the older [Witches].

He’d told Alevica he was a…scout. A hunter who dealt in retribution in fire. Ryoka’s pulse began to accelerate.

That smile. That huge, grinning, toothy smile. The kind that made Humans uneasy. Because people didn’t smile like that. It was a sign of aggression. But Ryoka remembered a city where people smiled like that. Every. Single. Day. Two species smiled like that.

And one of them could fly. A few of them. There used to be more. Ryoka looked down at the parchment. Laken had said ‘non-Humans’ the first time. And this time—no one had ever mentioned a Drake [Merchant].

“Nesor. Send a [Message] back to Laken. Ask him what this Drake looks like.”

The [Mage] paused. Slowly, he put his fingers on his temples. He spoke the response.

“He has scrolls, Ryoka. Lots of scrolls. And wings.”

You could change the weather with scrolls. They were really expensive, though. But why? Ryoka didn’t know why. But she was certain. And before she could ask a second question, Nesor spoke urgently.

“Ryoka. He’s breathing fire. I saw it. He just set a village on fire. Eighteen miles northeast, down the northern road heading left at the crossroads. He has a camp in a stand of trees. Hurry!”

Ryoka’s blood ran cold in a mortal terror.

“Mavika! Get—get Mavika! And Califor! I know who he is! We have to stop him—now!”

Ryoka spun. She screamed a name. Mavika looked up. Ryoka ran. And now the pieces fit. All but one.

—–

She understood who he was. What he was doing. But not why. If she thought about it, she would understand. But it wasn’t something that tied him to Riverfarm. He had never come here before. And he bore this place no great hatred. It was just a place.

But an [Emperor] called it home. That was enough. The man looked up as the crows flew towards him. He sighed as they sped towards him, a murder seeking his death. Then the man grinned. That toothy grin that was the only flaw in a perfect disguise. He shed the illusion spell.

“It seems my time is up.”

The bronze-scaled Drake flexed his wings. The crows paused, wheeling, and then dove. The Drake didn’t fly. He just inhaled as the crows dove through the foliage he was hiding in. And he exhaled.

Fire blasted upwards. Fire, bright and glorious. The flock of crows diving towards the Oldblood Drake screamed and burned. The rest fled, and the [Witch] screamed her wrath, miles distant. The Drake laughed and walked out of the fire.

He didn’t fear the heat. Far hotter heat burned in his veins. He was a child of Dragons. And his blood had thrown truest. He spread his wings. And he did fly then. The Drake mused as he took wing. How had they found him? Had the [Witch] he’d spared identified him?

It didn’t really matter. The preparations were done. The Drake reached for one of the scrolls he carried. He had any number of artifacts. For disguise. To change the weather. A fortune in expendable items. More than any casual Wall Lord could finance. But a Walled City?

Oh yes. A Walled City could stockpile such valuable items. And spend them in times of need. Now, the Drake took a [Message] scroll and wrote a simple line in it. He watched the ink vanish. The note was sent. His cover was blown first. So it was time.

“A day or two sooner than I’d like.”

Another day, and maybe he could have caught the [Emperor] in the plan as well. But the plan still held. No matter.

The Drake mused as he flew across the dry landscape. He beat his wings. Stared down at the scattered villages, lonely houses. They didn’t know why he was doing this. They might never know. And perhaps, they hadn’t had a choice. This new [Emperor] might have forced them to war.

It didn’t really matter. The Humans had come to Liscor to take it. They had brought war. And the Drake had his orders. So he flew down. And he exhaled a plume of fire.

Just one. But that was all it took, wasn’t it? Fire was a terrifying thing. The Drake watched the flames lick into a forest. A dry forest, one made far too dry by the weather changing spells. And the brush caught. The fire began to consume dry bark, leaves. It began to grow. The Drake flew up, satisfied. He caught the thermals. Flew towards the second patch of fuel he’d marked.

He hadn’t known the [Witches] were here. But he and the other [Infiltrators] had been ordered to adapt. It didn’t matter how it had turned out. Win or lose, [Witch] or [Knight], he hadn’t really cared. He’d paid the [Bandits] to attack the [Witches] because they were a hindrance if they spotted him. But either way, Humans had died.

And Terandria? A high-level [Summer Knight] had perished. A [Witch]—one of the old enemies of his people—had been brought low. The fires might still consume her. Both were victories for Drakes, who warred with Terandria and northern Izril. The Drake smiled as he found another forest. He breathed flame. And the tinder caught.

The dry forests began to burn. The grasslands started to blaze. The Drake fanned the flames with his wings, lighting more strategic parts..

Drakes understood fire. They understood how it could move. How fast it could travel. And grow. If the circumstances were right—a single Drake could do more damage than an army. The Drake dispassionately exhaled in the final location. Now, to fan the flames.

“Time for wind. [Weatherchange].”

He raised a scroll. And the wind began blowing. It added air to the growing fires. Began to carry sparks and embers. The Drake laughed to see it. He flew upwards, watching. Waiting. The fire would take longer to grow. But they were one of many.

He was one of many.

Across Izril, the Drakes flew. Oldblood Drakes, each gifted with a breath. A target. Some had set their stages with weather. Others with poison and rot. Still more had simply attacked targets of opportunity. They knew their targets well. The lands of the nobles who had besieged Liscor.

The first bolts of lightning began falling from the skies, striking the Veltras estates. In his manor, Lord Gralton raced into the kennels. Saw the dead and dying dogs. Sick. Poisoned. A Drake spat acid into the water supply as Gralton roared his fury. Another spewed dark fog into the skies before she unsheathed her blades, hunting Pellmia’s lands in the blackness.

Flame. Lightning. Acid. Cloud. Frost. Oldblood Drakes flew, bringing vengeance. And the one who had watched Riverfarm flew.

“Fire for Manus. Fire for Liscor!”

The fire burned and blazed. Spreading. Growing. First an acre of blazing land. Then two spots. Ten. Dozens. And then it was a line of fire a mile long. Two miles. The Drake added to the fire, directing it. Blowing it towards a village. And Ryoka Griffin stared at the sky. Laken paused as he rode towards his home and cried out as his dream became reality.

The [Witches] looked up, and Belavierr saw her death.

There it was. Larger than any mortal threat. More terrifying than an army. Spreading. Growing. Joining together and blazing, fanned by fierce winds, spreading embers through the sky. Feasting on dry ground, a spring’s worth of fuel. Moving towards a village. Burning brighter and racing like—

Wildfire.

6.46 E

Day 69

Fire. Fire for Manus. Fire from the skies. Fire, lightning, acid, fog, ice—the elements of the Dragons. And their children, flying through the skies, bringing death to Human lands. It had come to Riverfarm.

Laken could see it. The Drake was lighting up the entire countryside. This wasn’t undirected arson. There was a strategy to it. The [Emperor] spoke, his throat constricted.

“He’s—igniting every patch of forest in thirty miles. Not just around Riverfarm. Anywhere there’s a settlement. Cities, towns—some of the villages are already in the path of the flames.”

Laken couldn’t see into the villages he didn’t own. But he could see everywhere else. For now. Once again, his map of the landscape was burning. Totems made of wood burned like everything else.

It was too dry. The grass, the forests—everything—was fuel ready to go up without a drop of water in over a week. But that was by design as well.

“Your village must flee, Laken. Now.”

Yitton Byres snapped. The caravan heading towards Riverfarm was stopped, and the [Lord] stood, communicating with the [Mage] frantically sending spells. Laken shook his head.

“Where? And how, Yitton?”

“Towards us. Or towards Gralton’s lands. Anywhere out of the flame’s path!”

“But he’s still moving, Yitton. And he’s cutting them off.”

The [Lord] looked up.

“Who?”

The villagers. One group tried to flee as the flames sprung up near their home. Laken could see them fleeing their village, belongings on their backs, some with wagons hitched to frightened animals. They’d moved fast and left their village quickly, within less than ten minutes of the flames burning towards them.

But the Drake had seen them too. He simply flew down the road and set a fire in the direction of the fleeing villagers. Laken clenched his fists.

“That monster.”

There was a beautiful simplicity to it. Laken Godart didn’t see it, but the Oldblood Drake did. He flew up again, letting the fire do the work that would have taken dozens of Drakes. The villagers would run into the fire. Some might escape if they found a path through the flames or if they were lucky, had Skills; their homes would be gone either way. And so would their livelihoods, the value of the region.

And it had taken only one Drake to do it. One Drake, a few weather-changing scrolls, something to dry the land out, and the right timing. Not only that, he’d engineered the conflict with the Order of Seasons. Weakened the only spellcasters able to do something about this situation—and cast doubt on their actions. Now, the [Witches] were right in the path of the fire. The wind blew towards Riverfarm, fanning the blaze.

It had been less than twenty minutes since it had begun. Already, the fires were linking. Growing bigger and bigger. Laken had heard stories of wildfires before. Australian bushfires. Californian wildfires. But he had never been able to picture them. Now he saw them.

“There’s no way they’ll get through the flames. The fire’s already a hundred feet wide. The villagers aren’t going to make it. They’re turning left—”

But the smoke. The burning embers. Laken shook his head. And it was coming for Riverfarm. He forced himself to turn his attention back to the present. The caravan was staring at him. Goblins, Humans. The [Emperor] looked around.

“Yitton. We’re too far away. We won’t make it. Send word to every city and town in the region. Tell them to prepare for fires headed their way. Evacuate the ones I’m going to name.”

He began reciting names from memory, directing Yitton to find others based on their geography. Trying to find the safest routes away from the blaze. All the while, that damned Drake flew. He was still setting more areas alight.

And he wasn’t the only one.

—–

Tyrion Veltras’ ears rang. The lightning striking his family keep kept falling. The enchanted stones shook. The wards began to give way. The entire building was trembling, but the [Lord] ran.

“Ullim! Sammial! Hethon!”

He bellowed the names of his [Majordomo], his two sons. He found Ullim in his sons’ room. They were hiding under their beds, as if this were an earthquake. Lord Tyrion stared at them.

“Lord Veltras! What’s happening?”

Ullim’s shouts were half-lost in the roar of falling lightning. The room kept lighting up with blinding light. Tyrion bellowed.

“We are under attack! Get my sons into the safe rooms! Move!”

“Father!”

One of his sons shouted, panicked. But Tyrion was already whirling. He ran, shouting, as his servants and guards raced through the keep.

“Jericha! To me!”

The [Mage] raced towards Tyrion, half-dressed, a wand in hand. Tyrion pointed at the windows.

“Drakes!”

He didn’t need to see them hidden in the cloud to know what was causing the lightning. Besides a [Mage] as powerful as Archmage Amerys, only one species could fly and command that much lightning. Jericha nodded.

“There are at least four, Lord Veltras! They’re hitting a city and villages as well! There are two above—I will rally a force of [Archers] and hold the battlements!”

“No. They’ll destroy you. They’re using the storm. Get me the Banner of House Veltras! And my shield! Gather every [Mage] and prepare to sortie!”

Tyrion snapped. Jericha nodded, and both raced through the keep. Lord Tyrion himself strode to the armory where a portion of his house’s treasures were kept. The Banner of House Veltras could shield him from lightning. With it, he and his retainers could hold the keep.

But when the [Lord] strode onto the battlements armed for war, the lightning had already ceased. The Drake Oldbloods had failed to destroy the keep and the enchantments. So the lightning was already falling elsewhere. Tyrion stared across his countryside. And he saw the lightning falling, hitting fields, buildings. People—he raised his sword as Jericha hoisted the glowing banner.

“Warn every city in a hundred miles! There are Drake fliers in the air!”

“We can’t see them or catch them! Lord Veltras—”

Tyrion was already calling for his horse. But he could feel it too in the pit of his stomach. It was a trap. And he realized, as more frantic [Messages] came in, that he wasn’t the only one being targeted.

—–

“Lord Erill’s lands are beset by flame. Lady Ieka’s are suffering from lightning—as is House Veltras! Lord Erill is reporting multiple deaths—Tyrion Veltras is confirming it’s a Drake attack!”

Yitton read the [Messages] being transcribed with shaking fingers. He looked up, pale-faced.

“My home.”

“Does your wife report anything?”

“Nothing. She’s checked the weather, and my guards are on alert—”

“Then House Byres wasn’t considered important enough. Focus, Yitton! They went after me and Gralton instead of you! Can he send any [Riders]? Anyone who can fight a blaze like this?”

Laken snapped at Yitton. The [Lord] looked up. He reached for a message.

“Gralton—the plague. He hasn’t responded, Laken. We received word his kennels were filled with sick dogs—the Drakes must have—”

“Damn his dogs! People are dying!”

The [Emperor] shouted. He whirled. He could see Riverfarm coming alive. They had gotten his messages. But they were so slow. Fire moved too fast. Faster than people could run. Laken turned, his closed eyes seeking Yitton’s voice.

“The Drakes. Tell them to call the attack off. I know it’s them. Tyrion can’t prove it. I can. Tell them it’s the Drakes.”

The [Emperor] saw nothing with his eyes. He heard an intake of breath, Yitton’s voice issuing quick orders. In his head, he watched the flames moving. Saw the [Witches] gathering. Ryoka, Durene, Prost, Rie—his heart—and his people gathering.

Laken Godart waited. But he learned the same thing Ryoka had: it was not just his story. The purpose of [Witches], a pair of City Runners’ journey, the crusade of the Order of Seasons, the return of an [Emperor] and the fate of Goblins—and yes, even the vengeance of Drakes—was all part of a whole. Try as he might, he couldn’t change it all. He was only an actor.

After an agonizing wait that might have taken minutes or hours, measured only by Laken’s furiously beating heart, Yitton replied.

“A—an accusation has been leveled. But the Walled Cities claim ignorance. They reject the idea that Drakes are causing these incidents. Manus suggests this might be unusual Wyvern migrations combined with freak weather—”

Laken whirled away. He clenched his hands. And then he slumped.

“We can’t do anything, then. Just watch. Yitton.”

“Laken?”

“Get the caravan moving. Towards Riverfarm.”

“But the fire—”

The [Emperor] ignored the [Lord]. He turned his head back towards his empire, his home. His people. He shook his head.

“By the time we get there, the fire will be gone. Can’t you see? It’s everywhere. And there’s nowhere to run. Get the caravan moving. And tell Prost—retreat to the fields. The mountain’s no good. That Drake’s setting fire to the forest. The fields. Tell Durene I love her. To stay alive. And ask the [Witches] for help. It all depends on them now.”

—–

At first, the people in Riverfarm refused to believe Ryoka’s warning. They listened to the picture she had put together at last and laughed skeptically, uneasily. But even if they agreed with her—so what? They didn’t understand. After all, how many had even seen a Drake? They couldn’t imagine what Ryoka could, what Laken’s [Message] had made her realize what the [Infiltrator]’s plan was.

But then Mavika screamed as her crows burned, and the smiles left the skeptical faces. Riverfarm and Lancrel’s people looked up as Rie ran into the village, shouting for Prost and calling the alarm with Nesor hot on her heels. Then they saw the smoke in the distance. And above it, the huge, ominous cloud that filled the clear sky.

“Pyrocumulonimbus cloud. That’s what it’s called.”

Ryoka panted as she and Charlay ran towards the closest plume of smoke. Riverfarm was in a growing panic, and Prost was corresponding with Laken. But Ryoka had to see it herself. The Centauress stared at her. Charlay frowned.

“What?”

“The cloud. That’s what it’s called. It’s a cloud made of all the fire.”

It was the most useless piece of information Ryoka could think of in this situation. But her mind wasn’t being sensible. She was panicking. Because she could see the smoke. It was already in the air blowing towards Riverfarm. Ryoka wasn’t controlling it. Something else was. That Drake and his scrolls. Charlay coughed. The whites of her eyes were showing.

“Yeah? How’s that help us?”

“Doesn’t. The fire—”

Ryoka didn’t see it. There was too much smoke coming this way. Charlay groaned, and Ryoka crouched lower, as if that would help. The wind was blowing it straight at Riverfarm.

“That’s a big fire. Ryoka. That’s…really big. As bad as the jungle fires in Baleros. We have to get out of here!”

The Centauress was terrified. She began pawing at the ground, looking around frantically. Ryoka felt it too. Humans had used fire, but some animal part of her was terrified. It could sense the flames. Worse—the rational part of her agreed.

“It’s—there’s too many spots. Damn it, the fire’s everywhere!”

Ryoka pointed. The flames weren’t coming in any one direction. There was smoke directly ahead of them. And another patch to the left, a third far to the right—was that a fourth plume of smoke behind it? The young woman coughed as she turned back to Riverfarm.

It made so much sense. Normal fires didn’t happen like this. Wildfires happened in her world, but even arson was limited. Fire had been used in war, but this was different. That Drake could breathe fire and fly. Moreover, he was changing the wind to amplify the flames. The lack of rain had prepared this area for a truly deadly fire. This was beyond anything from her home.

“It’s coming.”

The two Runner girls felt the smoke intensify. Coughing, Ryoka turned.

“We have to go. Charlay? Charlay!”

The Centauress was frozen. Then she turned and galloped past Ryoka. But not before Ryoka had seen her head turning wildly, trying to find a path of escape. That was the problem. The fire had engulfed the north and was spreading east. But more fires were popping up. If they ran south—

The Drake was still out there. Ryoka could see it clearly. He wanted them to run. He could set a fire anywhere he wanted. If they stayed, they died. If they ran, they died.

But Riverfarm was innocent! She wanted to scream it at him. Riverfarm’s people hadn’t participated in the attack on Liscor! But Laken had. Riverfarm’s [Engineers] had made the trebuchets. And did it even matter? The Drakes wanted to hurt the Humans. What was easier than destroying villages, farms, cities? Destroying the infrastructure of the north with a single Drake?

They had to stop it. Ryoka ran back into Riverfarm with Charlay, coughing and panting. Now, a crowd had gathered and was staring at the horizon. Ryoka panted as Rie rushed out of the house, a slip of parchment in her hands.

“Is it…?”

“Fire. It’s everywhere. North, east—and more’s coming.”

Ryoka pointed to a smoke plume to the west. Encirclement. Lady Rie looked uneasily down the south road. Ryoka stared west. The mountain that had once buried Riverfarm lay that way. But to get to it, they’d have to go straight through a forest. And she wondered if the fire was already growing there.

It reminded Ryoka of the wildfires that would torch California back home. Prost was giving rapid orders, but Riverfarm’s people were trying to grab valuables, thinking of their village.

If they were not out of the reach of the flames now, they were dead. At the moment, the blazes might be small enough to avoid, but soon they would become a vision of real hell, a storm that would leave only embers in its wake.

How fast would the fires move? Ryoka had no idea how far away they were, but she feared the worst. This wasn’t an accidental fire; this was arson, and more and more patches of flame kept appearing.

“What did Laken say? Rie, is there any way for us to take?”

Ryoka looked desperately at Lady Rie. Laken could see the countryside! If they could make a break for it—there were thousands of people in Riverfarm. They’d lose everything. But…stay? Riverfarm was made out of wood.

Rie’s face was pale. She looked around. The crowd was pushing forwards. Someone screamed.

“What’s going on? We demand answers!”

Councilwoman Beatica looked as terrified as the rest. Ryoka spun. Beniar and the Darksky Riders were dismounted, keeping people back. Rie looked at Ryoka.

“The [Witches].”

“What?”

“His Majesty says flight is unlikely to succeed. He is calling upon the coven to stop the fires if they can. Can they?”

She gaped at Ryoka. And the young woman only gulped because she didn’t know. She turned with Lady Rie.

“Where are they?”

Then Ryoka really looked around. She realized the [Witches], always so noticeable with their pointed hats, were nowhere to be seen. And Riverfarm’s people, many of which would have given anything to see the end of the [Witches], realized that at the moment they were needed—they’d disappeared.

Fear began to turn into panic. And the flames came onward as the sky turned black and red.

—–

The coven was, by universal consensus, one of the worst covens to have ever formed in the history of [Witches]. No one would debate that. Mother and daughter? [Witches] at odds with each other? Having to meet to discuss crises instead of gathering for a monthly or bimonthly meeting at most? That was not the function a coven should occupy.

But sometimes, a coven handled disasters. And so they met. Eight [Witches]. Alevica had to be helped into a chair; the Witch Runner was still pale and weak. Even Belavierr looked focused. The [Witches] sat down, murmuring.

“Tea, anyone?”

“Just a cup.”

“Got anything to eat?”

“Stale jerky.”

“Pass it over.”

Rustling. Chomping sounds from Hedag and Mavika. Silence. And then a voice.

“Well, this is a mess, isn’t it?”

Wiskeria looked at Hedag. The [Executioner] leaned against the table, and her smile was bitter.

“Looks like it’s a mess of a war, then. The Drakes and Humans fighting. Messy business.”

“Not what we came for. But what we are needed for, clearly.”

Califor’s cup was steady in her hands, but she was glancing at Nanette. Belavierr just sat there, unmoved by the warring of species. Her eyes were focused on something else.

Her promised death—and her daughter, who refused to meet Belavierr’s eyes. Wiskeria glanced out the window. All the [Witches] could feel it. The fire was a distant power, growing in strength. Wiskeria shuddered. Alevica looked pale and weak as she met Wiskeria’s eyes. Nanette was frightened. The older [Witches] glanced at each other. Eloise put down her cup.

“The odds we could stop something like that?”

Mavika hissed.

“I cannot conjure rain. And that blaze the Drake sets would devour my flock. Him, I mark and blame. But I can do nothing of the flame.”

Hedag nodded.

“If it were a regular forest fire, I’d trust to fire breaks and the river. But the wind blows ill. I’ve seen it blow like this twice before, and both times the villages were lost in front of that fire. It will travel across rivers and consume before rains take it. And not a moment before. Califor? Could you wake the river?”

The [Witch] tapped a finger on the table as the others looked to her. Her voice was…cautious, which said a lot about the risks if a forest fire was bearing down on them.

“He’s slept long and deep, and the water’s low. Waking him might do little at all; the river might well flee. I would rather summon rain. A grand working.”

At this, the coven stirred. Alevica burst out, nervous.

“Wait, a real working? Oliyaya’s only ever taken me to one, and that was with two full moons and a place of power! We have none of these things, and it’s not even our land! Do we have the magic for it? Is this even our fight?”

The question went around the circle. The other [Witches] shrugged or frowned. Wiskeria held her breath. Califor’s gaze focused on Alevica.

“We have the need, Witch Alevica, and that must be enough. There is time yet to stop this—if the wildfires keep growing, it will become a force no [Witch] can stop. Before that moment—we will try.”

Her words about the wildfire becoming unstoppable earned a faint scoffing sound—from Belavierr. However, when Califor stared hard at her, the Witch of Webs simply nodded her head.

“Your plan is sound…if the goal were to save this village, Witch Califor. The coven came to entreat an [Emperor] on behalf of [Witches]. In face of this Circle of Thorns and old threats returning. But if there is no empire, our purpose is gone. Is the magic worth the cost?”

It was the most pragmatic thing anyone had ever heard from her—and at the worst time.

“Witch Belavierr! We cannot leave this village in front of the flames.”

Eloise snapped as she put down her cup. Califor faced down Belavierr.

“Better we attempt to stop the fires to save ourselves, Witch Belavierr. Or do you believe we ourselves could escape this fire unhindered? It has the width and breadth of wildfire.”

“I could. I can.”

Belavierr looked unconcerned. However, it was Wiskeria who snapped back.

“Then leave, Mother. Run away again. But I’ll tell you this—I will stay with Riverfarm’s people. I’ll throw all my magic and craft into that working and face the fire alone, if I must.”

The Witch of Webs’ eyes shifted sideways to Wiskeria, and her look of impartiality faded. Slowly, she exhaled.

“Ah. And thus my death remains. Very well, Witch Califor, a grand working. It can be done, even with my reduced power. If there are enough catalysts; string and needle are my crafts. Fire I have never been proficient at. And that man who burned me…”

She grimaced, and for a second, everyone remembered the burnt effigy of a woman hidden by Belavierr’s magic. Califor nodded.

“One attempt. Let us attempt it—quickly. Mister Prost should continue preparing to evacuate the village. Witch Alevica, I have a job for you.”

“Who, me? I don’t have that much magic—”

“No. You are to take Nanette to Witch…Agratha would be the closest. Failing her, Oliyaya.”

The youngest [Witch], who had been listening to all this discussion, sat up, and Alevica blinked.

“What if that Drake tries to get me in the sky?”

“Outrun him. I will cover your escape with Mavika.”

The Crow Witch blinked and nodded, but Nanette protested.

“No, Miss Califor! I want to stay and help! You need me for the grand ritual! Eight is better than six! Six isn’t even a powerful number!”

On this, Califor was adamant.

“Fire moves fast, Nanette! It can outrun people on horseback if the wind is right. And this Drake has plotted his vengeance against this Emperor Godart and his people. If he is backed by a Walled City, it explains the magic that we were unable to move. With a ritual, we might defeat his control over the weather. But by that time, flight will be even more difficult. I will not risk your life or this coven’s should we fail to halt it. You are my apprentice—”

“No! I won’t go! This matters, and I won’t abandon Riverfarm!”

Nanette stubbornly dug her heels in, literally, when Califor tried to drag her towards the horses. Alevica hesitated. Califor’s voice was a snap.

“Nanette, do not argue with me when every second counts!”

“You told me a [Witch] has to be brave. And help people when it matters! I won’t let the villagers die, like Mister Prost’s family—or Durene or Ryoka—”

Nanette was begging to stay. She looked up tearfully at Miss Califor. The older [Witch] hesitated. Alevica made a clubbing gesture behind Nanette, and Califor’s glower made the Witch Runner back up.

For the first time, Nanette tore away from Califor’s grip. She held her hat tightly as she faced the other [Witches]. Belavierr’s stare might have been the first time she ever looked at Nanette, and the girl flinched. But she raised her chin and spoke, earnestly and nervously, vibrating with young courage. Even Wiskeria looked at her and remembered what it had been like to be…

Young. That was it. Pure earnesty shone from Nanette’s voice.

“I like it here. The people aren’t always good. But there are good people among them. They have been kind to us [Witches]. And—and if we could try, surely we should? I ask the coven to hear my request. To use everything to save Riverfarm! Please!”

“Nanette…”

Wiskeria breathed. But then she looked around. The other [Witches] exchanged glances. Belavierr paused and regarded her daughter. And Califor studied Nanette’s face and sighed. She stopped trying to pull Nanette away.

“I taught you too well.”

Nanette beamed at her and looked at the other [Witches]. One by one, they nodded. Mavika tipped her hat.

“By your request, Witch Nanette, and Witch Wiskeria’s, this coven will try. The fire builds with each passing second. So the ritual must be done within the hour.”

“If we must do it, we will need a place. A focus. And a purpose.”

Eloise spoke briskly. Califor was nodding impatiently. She sighed as Nanette beamed in relief.

“Hold on, what if we’re for leaving? I could, uh, get Agratha—”

Alevica’s protest was met by seven cold stares. The Witch Runner gazed around.

“Damn it. Fine. What about the river?”

“Sympathy. I agree. We have no place of power, so it will do. Even if we don’t wake the river, we’ll draw on its strength. The purpose should be to call rain, obviously. We don’t have the moons or anything else for a great working. And the focus? My staff may well do; it was made of a tree from one of the Great Forests.”

Califor looked around, hefting the staff. Hedag sighed and reached for her bag.

“I have something. I traded for this a time ago. It’s yet to be polished, but it might do if no one else has better to offer. ‘Tis no ordinary stone. A [Merchant] had it with thousands from Salazsar. This one alone had magic in it. The weight of time and power.”

She produced a small aquamarine, uncut and unpolished, but sparkling. A glow in the stone that drew Mavika’s eye greedily. Califor nodded. Belavierr peered at the stone, as if it were a curio, but produced something as well.

“In that case, I will add a binding of thread, a weather-pattern charm, to both. Flame Wyvern’s heartstring. Give me vessel and focus.”

Eloise produced a carved cup, large enough to be held in two hands.

“Sacrifice this. It was a gift from the Kingdom of Keys; a half-Giant’s cup. Weighty in value and age. Best used to save lives.”

Another piece of power. Mavika hesitated—then reluctantly produced something long and ragged, a piece of dirty orange-red. Yet when she said what it was, Nanette gasped.

“This is a Phoenix King’s feather. No more do they fly. For this, an appropriate sacrifice I give. For a [Witch]’s request, that the unworthy might live.”

She turned to Alevica, and the Witch Runner, red-faced, dug in her pouch.

“Argh! Fine! Here’s a stone filled with all my mana. It’s not that great.”

She slammed down a lesser piece of quartz, and Wiskeria produced all she had—

“A pristine piece of Ember Salamander skin. I have nothing else related to fire to use.”

Belavierr inspected each piece, before arranging them in the cup.

“It will do. Seven. Eight…”

She looked at Nanette, and the little [Witch] hesitated. She had no real possessions or old craft. So she produced a knife and sawed at one of her braids.

“If—if I can’t do anything else, will my hair do?”

“That or blood—”

Belavierr fell silent as her daughter glared, and Nanette’s hair went into the bowl. Hedag handed over the aquamarine. Belavierr produced a needle and, using Nanette’s hair as thread, wove a loop around the blue gemstone before beginning a complex pattern that tied it to the wooden vessel. To that, she added each gift until the brimming cup seemed to be one object, of mismatched parts, and kept sewing.

…Until it almost looked like the piece of quartz were part of the cup and the salamander skin was melding with the feather to create something brighter. The [Witches] watched for a second, then stood up.

“Thank you.”

Wiskeria said it to the others. Eloise smiled. Hedag laughed.

“I have given my word to protect the children here. And it is a Hedag’s word as well as a [Witch]’s. While Belavierr prepares the ritual, let us do what we can.”

Califor was urgent as she rose to her feet.

“I will prepare the site. It must be done quick; Witch Belavierr has our sacrifice. Nanette, pack your things. Then come and find me. Witch Mavika, if you would join me?”

“Yes.”

The two [Witches] headed out the door. Eloise, Nanette, and Wiskeria followed. Alevica hesitated until she realized Belavierr was staring at Alevica unblinkingly as she worked. She got up and hastily went after the two.

Panic in the streets greeted the [Witches]. Prost was shouting, trying to organize people to expand the firebreak while others tried to pack their things. But where would you go? Wiskeria saw smoke in every direction but the mountain and forest that bordered Riverfarm. And she had a feeling that fire was already building unseen there as well.

“Wiskeria!”

Ryoka and Rie found her. Califor and Mavika strode past them. Ryoka halted.

“Look—Laken’s asking your coven for a favor. Wiskeria, he knows it’s a lot to ask, but if you agree—”

“We’re performing a ritual. Don’t worry, Ryoka. We’ll fight the fire together. No one’s leaving.”

The City Runner sagged with relief. Eloise raised one finger, eying Lady Rie.

“Yet. However, I would not place all your hopes in this ritual, Miss Griffin, Lady Rie.”

“It could fail?”

Lady Rie looked sharply at Eloise. Wiskeria did too, heart pounding. She’d seen rituals go wrong. But they had so many powerful [Witches]. Her mother was on their side.

But it wasn’t the full moon, and they didn’t have a place of power…Eloise was clearly thinking the same things. The [Witch] shook her head.

“Wiskeria and Nanette have convinced some of the [Witches] to stay. And I have agreed to give the ritual an attempt. But should that fail, we must all flee or attempt to stand. And this fire would consume us all, I fear.”

“Laken’s told Prost to put everyone in the fields. He says that’s the safest space—cleared grounds.”

Eloise paused.

“Perhaps. Certainly, it has the river to its back. But the smoke the fires are giving off and the wind—I think many would die either way. In either case, if this ritual fails, the coven will leave. And we will only have the power to shield ourselves.”

The thought made Wiskeria cold inside. Lady Rie paused, licking her colored lips.

“Could you—take a group with you? If you left earlier?”

“If we had decided to leave now? Yes. But the fire is growing. And I cannot walk through flame unhindered. Belavierr might. Califor could ride through it, and Mavika fly. But Hedag and I will have to run or ride. We will try if it comes to that. But we must use every option. Have you any left? Hedag is going to clear more space at the firebreak.”

“She is? Durene’s there with some people. They’re trying to give us more space—”

Ryoka pointed towards the fields. She looked around. Then she slapped her forehead.

“Of course! Let’s call for help! What if we got a [Weather Mage] here?”

Wiskeria shook her head.

“They’d have to be present to call rains, Ryoka. And it’s not possible. Unless they could move like a Courier—”

“It’s possible! And there’s someone else who could extinguish the blaze!”

Ryoka suddenly seemed hopeful. She whirled to Lady Rie.

“Magnolia Reinhart.”

“Reinhart?”

Lady Rie recoiled, but Ryoka grabbed her shoulder.

“She can do it! She’s got a magical carriage! She could send it to Invrisil! Lady Rie, tell Nesor to send her a [Message]! Don’t argue—Nesor! Nesor!”

Wiskeria saw Ryoka race off, dragging Lady Rie with her. The [Witch] looked around. Nanette hesitated.

“I have to pack my things. And saddle the horses. I’ll—I’ll go help Miss Califor after that. We won’t need the horses, right?”

She glanced from [Witch] to [Witch]. Neither Eloise nor Wiskeria could find the words for reassurance. Nanette hurried off after a second. Eloise regarded Wiskeria. She seemed old. And worried. Wiskeria looked around. People were rushing down the streets, but some had stopped to stare desperately at them.

“What should we do, Eloise? Help Califor and Mavika? Or Hedag?”

Eloise pursed her lips. She shook her head after a moment.

“I’m not one for picking up sticks or digging, Wiskeria. And Califor and Mavika have the preparations well in hand. As does your mother. No, I think our purpose is to keep Riverfarm from falling apart. The people are split. Some would flee. They would die. The fire is too thick and moving too fast. We must keep them here. And calm. Draw on your craft.”

“I—I don’t know. I’ve never soothed a group, let alone so many people—and I don’t have magic to call on, Eloise.”

Wiskeria wavered. Eloise studied her.

“I cannot do it alone. And you have your craft. Or was earlier today a fluke?”

Wiskeria blinked. And then she remembered. Slowly, she looked around. The people were desperate. But the ones watching her—she spotted Jelov. And Chimmy.

“Miss Wiskeria? Miss Wiskeria, we ain’t going to have to flee, are we?”

Chimmy’s eyes were wide with fright. She looked up as Wiskeria strode over to her. The [Witch] hesitated. Then she knelt.

“We might, Chimmy. But my coven and I are doing our best to keep Riverfarm safe. Trust in that. And keep a calm head. Jelov, what are you doing?”

The [Carpenter] sucked at his teeth.

“Waiting, Miss Wiskeria. Not like I can pack up and move a second time. Emperor Laken made me his best [Carpenter], didn’t he? Reckon I’ll trust to him to get us out of this. Got all my stuff here, and it burns easy. Hey, what should we be doing?”

They looked at her. And Wiskeria felt something in them. Justice. Unity. She pulled on it, taking some of it. And she spun it, used it in her voice. In her craft.

“Help me keep people calm. Stop them from packing! We need people expanding the firebreak or gathering supplies under Prost’s direction! We don’t need valuables like clothes—we need barricades the fire can’t move past! Walls of dirt, even! You—Ram! Stop!”

She shouted, and Mister Ram stopped from trying to grab people and forcibly tow them towards the fields. And her voice was the voice of command. More people stopped, and Wiskeria shouted. Her pointed hat stood out. It marked her as [Witch]. And that wasn’t always a bad thing.

“People of Riverfarm! Stay calm! Don’t pack your belongings; there’s no time to waste! Help dig the firebreaks or follow Mister Prost and help evacuate what needs evacuating to the fields!”

“Stay calm. Follow us.”

Eloise’s voice was no less loud, but it had a confidence in it like steel. The [Witch] swept down the street, and people halted, their panic subsiding. It was a [Lady]’s presence and a [Lady]’s Skill mixed with a [Witch]’s craft. Wiskeria followed, shouting.

Some refused to go. People who were suspicious of [Witches] or too out of their minds with fear to listen. But more and more people stopped racing about, controlled by fear. Prost found Wiskeria and Eloise, and his expression was written with relief. He pointed as they came towards him.

“To the fields! Children, anyone who can’t grab something there first! The rest of you—we’re hauling barrels of water there! If you have a shovel, get to work on a wall or just clear away the brush over there!”

He pointed towards the hundreds of people feverishly trying to build a safe space around the fields. The watered and tilled grounds and crops were the safest place to be. Wiskeria saw the logic in that. And already, people were building a wall to keep the fire and smoke from hitting them. The firebreak, already wide, was spreading out.

In any regular fire, it would have worked. No—the firebreak around Riverfarm would have been enough with a vigilant firefighting team watching for embers. But the wind! Wiskeria felt it whipping hot air into her face. The ritual had to work. It had to.

An hour seemed to pass in minutes. Wiskeria was busy shouting at people, trying to use the emotions she was taking from them, suppressing fear. She only looked up when she saw her mother striding towards her.

Belavierr was holding the vessel of wood. The aquamarine hung in a web of threads, a magical design. Just in time; Wiskeria could see Califor striding towards them.

“I call upon this coven!”

And her voice summoned every [Witch]. From Alevica, surreptitiously holding her broom, to Nanette, leading two horses whose eyes were wide with the scent of fire. Mavika stood in front of the ritual place as Wiskeria walked with Eloise and Belavierr. And the people of Riverfarm watched, desperate. Wiskeria felt their hope.

She wished she shared it. None of the other [Witches] seemed as hopeful as the people watching them. Because—Wiskeria could see the others thinking it. [Witches] didn’t trust everything to magic. Against things like fire, they much preferred to trust to a bucket of water, a firebreak. Nature wasn’t something you could just order around.

But they had to try. Wiskeria stopped when she saw Ryoka standing close to the ritual spot. The City Runner’s face was pale.

“Ryoka. Is Magnolia Reinhart—”

The other [Witches] regarded the City Runner. Ryoka shook her head.

“She’s too far away by carriage. She says her [Weather Mages] will try to send rain. And the person I asked for—I think he’s asleep.”

“Then wake him up!”

Alevica snapped. But Ryoka’s expression was her only reply. The [Witches] paused. Califor glanced around, and her tone snapped.

“The ritual awaits. Take your positions.”

It was a simple working Wiskeria saw. Califor and Mavika had placed river stones in a diagram, laying out an eight-sided star on the ground with radial lines connecting to the center. In that center, Califor placed the vessel with the aquamarine and thread. She had filled it with river water. Then she planted her staff in the ground, like a lightning rod, and stepped back.

“That’s it?”

Wiskeria heard an uneasy voice behind her. It sounded like Charlay. The [Witch] bit her lip. She could feel the doubt. But this was all the coven could have prepared. And it was all they needed. She told herself that as the [Witches] took their spots around the octagram.

The ritual began as a hot wind whipped towards them. Smoke made some of the audience cough. But the [Witches] stood silent. Their pointed hats didn’t move in the wind. And their gazes were distant.

Their shadows deepened. They seemed to twist towards the circle if you stared at them long enough. And a silence fell. The coven breathed in. Breathed out.

Ryoka saw they were all breathing the same. Nanette to Belavierr. They blinked as one. Ryoka’s hair stood on end despite the desperation and fear of the moment. She felt a charge rising in the air, but not of static. Of intent.

Then a [Witch] spoke. Belavierr. Her ringed eyes were wide as she spoke, raising a cloth-bound hand.

“Someone tries to bring fire and flame to those without blame.

Whose malice brings death and grief without end.”

Two [Witches] spoke. Wiskeria and Nanette.

“Let crying earth mend

Let nature’s wrath end!”

The [Witches]’ gazes were fixed on the aquamarine stone. And it glowed. The water in the cup moved, restlessly, obeying neither the wind nor physics. Califor continued with Alevica.

“Magic bows before nature’s will

Let not it be used further ill.”

Hedag and Eloise chanted the next lines in tandem.

“And give us your blessing, by river’s flow

As from the sky we ask for the same, by a coven’s will, an [Emperor]’s name.”

Mavika raised her hands. Her voice hissed and called, like the birds flying overhead.

“So come water, come relief and rain!

Here to end Riverfarm’s pain!”

And all eight [Witches] drew a blade. Nanette, Califor, Hedag, Eloise, Alevica, Mavika, Wiskeria, and Belavierr. Ryoka knew what was coming.

All eight [Witches] cut themselves across the wrist. They sprinkled blood on the river stones. Belavierr continued.

“By blood we call water.”

“By river we summon rain.”

Who was speaking now? Ryoka couldn’t tell.

Now, the [Witches]’ lips moved as one.

“We call.”

“We implore.”

“We beg.”

Belavierr whispered with all their voices as a refrain.

“We demand.”

A second cut. So deep that Ryoka felt ill seeing the blood run down Wiskeria’s arm. Nanette stumbled. But she spoke with the rest.

“Rain.”

And the aquamarine shone. The water in the wooden vessel trembled. Ryoka looked up. She felt the winds pause. The hot, angry, controlled air shivered.

In the sky, the pyrocumulonimbus cloud formed by the smoke slowly changed. Ryoka saw the distant cloud begin to darken. And in the distance, moisture gathered. Days of unspent rain began to gather. The air grew thick with humidity.

It was so fast that it looked like an illusion. It didn’t seem real. The wind blew faintly, and Ryoka’s skin chilled as a vast cloud, dark but oh so merciful, filled the skies.

It was, she realized, coming from the cup. A near-invisible something—vapor—was billowing up, marshaled by the [Witches] into the air. Spreading out until it covered all of Riverfarm and was growing wider.

Miles wide. Filling the sky. Alevica’s eyes were wide, and even the older [Witches] seemed to be silent with the knowledge of what they were doing.

Changing the weather. Until their great working had the mountain in shadow. Ryoka looked at the people of Riverfarm, and many had their mouths open like her.

This was great witchcraft. Wild and wondrous. Then, Ryoka heard a rumble from the skies. A crackle of sound—something wet struck her on the shoulder, and she flinched.

A drop fell from that dark sky. One, then a dozen pelting down. The rumble came again, vast, as the cloud continued to expand.

It began to rain. Riverfarm’s people turned. In the distance, sprinkles of rain began to fall from the saturated sky. Ryoka heard a whoop of delight, then wild cheers. She turned, beaming. And saw the [Witches] had frozen. They were staring at the gemstone. The trembling water. And then Ryoka saw them each raise a hand as one and point.

“Rain.”

They spoke as one, continuing the chant. And the gemstone began to pulse. Ryoka turned. Something—

—–

The Oldblood Drake saw the rain begin to fall. He whirled, snarled with fury. He grabbed at a scroll from his belt, desperately unfurled it.

“Oh no you don’t. [Weatherchange]!”

The rain’s fall began to slacken. But the cloud formed by the smoke wanted to rain. And there were days of rain waiting to fall. But not now! Not now!

The [Infiltrator] dropped the scroll as the magic went out of it. Those damn [Witches] were casting a spell! But he had more scrolls. Manus had predicted interference with the weather. The Drake pulled them out, reading from the burning magical inscriptions, calling upon the magic contained within. [Witches] would not stop this fire! They couldn’t!

“[Weatherchange]! [Weatherchange]!”

The scrolls flashed and fell from his claws as they used up their magic. In Riverfarm, the [Witches] began to chant. And the rain stopped falling. Started.

“They can’t do this! They can’t!”

The Drake cursed as he battled the coven. With each scroll, the rain stopped, but the [Witches] were pushing. He could feel it, feel the cloud above him trying to disgorge its contents. But the scrolls were holding them off.

And yet—there was a limit to how many he had. The [Infiltrator] cursed as he reached for the last of his scrolls as the [Witches] silently battled him, pulling at the sky. He raised it desperately and pulled something out. A speaking stone reserved for emergencies.

“Requesting magical support. I need a dozen [Weatherchange] spells on my position—now! Hang the cost!”

He heard a terse affirmative. But even as he burned through his scrolls, a fortune from the City of War—the flickering air refused to change. The cursing Drake spat flames, howling as he saw the fires beginning to wane.

It couldn’t end, not after all this work! They almost had the damn [Emperor]’s lands and the Spider herself!

——

The first few spells they fought off, like someone shoving at them, hard and heavy—but unskilled. Eight [Witches] in unison could repel the magic of a scroll, even if it came again and again.

But then more spells began to activate, distant, yet fast, like a flurry of blows—and Wiskeria felt the strain. She tried to resist, fighting for minutes as the rain continued to intensify, but now every [Witch] was fighting.

So much magic! Far too much for any one individual to cast. Someone was unleashing spell after spell on them. If it weren’t for her mother, the coven would have failed then and there. Belavierr’s magic and craft was a deep web, even now, and she deflected spells trying to wrest control of the air from them.

This was not their land, but they had the river before them and drew on it, their will and unity. The river groaned and, Wiskeria thought, woke up a bit. The sky rained, and the [Witches] fought—straining—

“Hold fast and we will win! They cannot best us with mage’s magic alone.”

Eloise called out. Nanette was trembling with effort, her cut braids levitating with the force of the magic around her.

They could do this! The onslaught was slackening, but something was wrong. A whining sound filled the air, and at first, Wiskeria didn’t know why. Then, she looked up from her trance and gasped. The other [Witches] broke from their spell. Wiskeria pointed.

“No—”

Strain. The pressure of the conflicting magic, one to erase the rain, the other to bring it on, was pressing at each [Witch], but their will refused to break. However—the rest of their grand ritual was not as strong as they were. A weak point began to shiver in the cup in the middle of the octagram:

Hedag’s aquamarine gemstone. It hadn’t been cut. And perhaps it had a fault or it was simply that Hedag’s focus wasn’t strong enough to contain the magical battle. The aquamarine ensnared in the vessel of water cracked. The web of string binding it snapped apart. The [Witches] went flying as the magical backlash boomed and threw them from the circle into the river.

Wiskeria pulled herself out, screaming.

“No!”

She tried to get back, but it was too late. The octagram was shattered, and above—

The cloud began to fragment and dissolve away. The rain stopped falling.

——

In the sky, the Oldblood Drake went flying as well, the scroll bursting with the backlash. He was falling! He flapped desperately, righting himself before he crashed on the ground—and then gazed up and crowed triumphantly.

“Agent? Successful casting after 34 burnouts of scrolls. Confirm!”

“Confirmed! We did it! Going dark and—”

The gleeful Drake began to respond when he saw the fragmenting cloud above him. The raincloud had begun to dissolve in patches as fast as it had come. Literally breaking apart. His smile froze on his face.

“No. Wait—”

In horror, he saw a patch of cloud fading away stop—shiver—and halt. Then it joined the patch it had left as a strand of black laced through the sky. Almost like—

His eyes lowered to Riverfarm. And there she stood.

The Witch of Webs reached up—and began to stitch the cloud together.

——

They called her the Spider. Temptress. The Eater of Threads. The Witch of Calamity. Mistress of Strands.

She had many names, but she had never shown them any of it. Even when Ser Raim had come to kill her, the armies and monsters she had summoned had been defensive.

Not once had Belavierr worked her great magic a-purpose. So even the other [Witches] could be forgiven for forgetting her talent.

Only her daughter had seen Belavierr work. Now—the [Witch] stood on top of the river’s waters. She balanced on the surface, as if the roiling water were simply an uneven piece of ground. And her head was turned skywards.

Her eyes were aglow with wrath. Anger. The ritual was shattered, their raincloud dissolving. No one bested her.

So Belavierr reached up, and with a thread made of air and wind, something even Ryoka could barely comprehend, she began to reknit the sky, gathering the rain and clouds back together again.

Even the other [Witches] seemed unable to believe what they were seeing. Hedag, Eloise, Alevica…only Califor and Mavika traded significant glances.

“Rain. Come now, harder, to drown the land. Remember my name. I call you down. Pour harder, a storm for the ages. Harder, this witch calls! A maelstrom rages!”

Belavierr’s arms were thrown wide. She spun slowly, and the sky began to swirl like the beginnings of a hurricane.

Someone was laughing. Wiskeria realized—it was her. She looked up, and her mother was there, like the mother that Wiskeria had loved, who had called the moon and caught gigantic fish by the sea.

All for her. Belavierr’s eyes flicked sideways as Wiskeria stood there, laughing, hat raised. Then, for one good moment, the mother saw the daughter was proud of her, and the daughter could be so unabashedly.

The sky began to truly bring a torrent down, and smoke was rising in every direction as Riverfarm’s folk cheered wildly. The wildfires were going out! The dry land was begging for the rain, and Belavierr smiled at her daughter, beckoning.

“Come join me, Daughter, and I will show you how to command the sky.”

Wiskeria hesitated at the edge of the river and began to step onto it. Magic was flickering in the air; that damn Drake and his city were still trying to kill the rain, but they were up against Belavierr’s magic.

What could they do? Strike at her? Califor glanced up and seized her staff.

“Magic attacks.”

“Too far and too few. Guard me, coven. With me, Daughter.”

A bolt of lightning flashed down, and Califor tossed her staff like a spear; the bolt of lightning followed the staff as it landed a hundred paces away and struck it. Two more hit the staff like a lightning rod, and Belavierr smirked at the skies. Eloise lifted a hand.

“Valmira’s Comets, now. Oh my. I can do one…[Deft Hand].”

She was far less showy than Belavierr, but one of the two comets moved, and its trajectory carried it into the forest.

“Argh, a Hedag I am, not some [Battlemage]! Still—this one I can take.”

Hedag was more direct—she just picked up a crate filled with someone’s possessions, dumped the clothing and goods to the ground, then hurled the crate skywards. It hit the falling comet, detonated—

Belavierr, laughing, saw the last feeble attack coming her way. Mavika called upwards.

“[Flamestrike]. Guard her, flock.”

It seemed as though a cloak of feathers whirled across the air; birds by the hundred. They blocked a glowing jet of flames coming down and dissipated it high above. The birds circled, cawing victory, and Wiskeria began to cackle now, joining her mother’s voice.

All of this, and they couldn’t match a [Witch]’s might! The air was filled with rain and flame—she felt the unnatural fires in the distance, struggling, as Belavierr forced them to die. Water in the sky—triumph in her mother’s eyes.

Dying fire in the skies. The [Flamestrike]’s magic was just mage-magic; once defeated by Mavika’s magic, it became aimless fire magic, rapidly vanishing. Whorls of random fire drifting down amidst the rain.

A single spark drifted down as Wiskeria raised her eyes. A fading, dying ember. Just like Ser Raim’s eyes.

Wiskeria’s triumphant laughter halted. Why had she remembered that man’s face? Wiskeria looked up and then at her mother, and suddenly, her joy in her mother’s craft was bittersweet.

The spark fell down, then another, seeming to condense out of the air. Nothing like the spell itself…a tiny bit of light smothered by the rain.

But not going out. Belavierr was too busy luxuriating in her triumph, the power of the storm above, and her daughter’s delight. Yet Wiskeria’s eyes tracked a third falling spark, and her time as an adventurer told her something.

Strange. That magic shouldn’t do this. The sparks showered down—more, now—and Califor, watching for another attack, noticed.

“That’s not a spell. Witch Belavierr—”

She called out, but Belavierr didn’t hear. Wiskeria stumbled on the moving river; she couldn’t walk it like her mother so easily.

“Mother—”

Belavierr heard that, as ever, and saw Wiskeria point up. At a falling spark. She looked annoyed, at first, by the tiny thing and flicked her hand. The dying ember fizzed as rain struck it…spiraling downwards.

Straight at the Witch of Webs. Then Belavierr’s face grew puzzled. Her ringed gaze focused on the tiny fragment, and she stared at the burning spark for a second. Then her expression changed to one Ryoka had seen only once before.

Fear.

Horror.

Wiskeria remembered Ser Raim driving his sword into the Spider’s heart. A purifying flame. A burning torch, an inferno of her magic and tapestry of power, turning it all to ash.

Two deaths, Belavierr had said. The [Witch] tried to take a step back. She flung out an arm, and the needles shot forwards, trying to stab the tiny fragment out of the air. But the burning spark landed on her dress like a fragment of Ser Raim’s flame.

Like a match—

Belavierr burst into flames. It was as if she were made of oil; one second, she was recoiling, eyes wide, mouth open—the next?

Burning, like the moments before Ser Raim had died. Engulfed in horrific flames.

She stumbled and suddenly lost her footing. Belavierr splashed into the river, and Wiskeria, losing her mother’s aid, landed in the water.

“Mother!”

Above her, the clouds suddenly unknitted, and Califor shouted.

“No!”

She reached up, straining, trying to keep the rainclouds together, but they broke apart. And below? Wiskeria, treading water, thought her mother would rise, the flames gone out. Then she looked into the turgid waters and saw—

A burning woman flailing in the water itself. The river heaved—Belavierr stumbled out of it, pouring water and steam.

The flames refused to die. Then she was writhing on the ground, shrieking.

“She’s on fire! Help, put it out!”

Wiskeria was swimming for shore as Ryoka said the unnecessary, but the Wind Runner tried to help smother the flames—and recoiled from an insane heat. She looked around, grabbed a blanket someone had been meaning to use to carry their possessions, and tossed it, wet, onto Belavierr.

The blanket caught flame. And Belavierr’s scream was growing higher and higher pitched now.

“W-water! Get—”

The river water was useless and burnt into steam the moment it touched Belavierr. Wiskeria was trying to pull the flame off her mother with magic, but it was the same. The exact same.

An echo of Ser Raim’s flame. Her mother was still—

She was still burnt. And a single spark had the same effect as an ember to a vat of oil. Wiskeria was about to leap forwards and use her very body to try and smother the fire when someone shoved her aside.

“Move!”

Eloise tossed what turned out to be a full pot of tea over Belavierr. It was a good toss; the tea extinguished much of the flames, and Belavierr ripped at her dress, tossing the fragments away. She was burnt; not badly, but burnt, and she leapt away, unnaturally quick.

“His flame—”

Califor strode forwards to grind her boots over the burning dress. She snapped at Belavierr.

“Get back!”

The Witch of Webs did just that. She backed away—and Ryoka saw the same thing happen again. A spark, multiple sparks, burning from the dress flickered into the air. And instead of going out—

They homed in on Belavierr. Hedag grabbed one with her bare hand, grimacing, and Eloise trapped another in her pot—

The rest of them set Belavierr aflame. Once more, the [Witch] was screaming. And now—she was running.

Not back towards the river. Towards Riverfarm, through the village. Wiskeria ran after her, calling for Belavierr to come back, but her mother was fleeing. As if trying to outrun the fire itself clinging to her.

Running through the village, and as she passed by abandoned houses, Wiskeria saw a lantern in a window flicker as she passed. A fire from one of the kitchens blazed—

Anything, a candle, an oven’s fire—jumped to her and added to the [Witch]’s agony. Belavierr left the village, fell to the ground, and began to roll—then stopped.

Burning as the rain stopped, the skies cleared, and a Drake shrieked triumph—

Her daughter halted in horror as Belavierr lay there, burning, burning, eyes wide, mouth open in incredible agony until slowly, slowly, the fire died. She lay, smoking, skin charred black, eyes too-white in a body filled with ash. No magic to cloak her injuries this time. Belavierr lay there, then flinched as she stared at the sky.

Smoke was rising again, and now? She reached for the sky, and her arm fell back, limp. She lay there, and Wiskeria spoke.

“Mother?”

“Ah. I see my death remains. So that was how it came.”

That was all Belavierr said. So this was her second death. She looked up towards the skies and waited. The fires resumed burning. Her eyes stole to her daughter, and she lay there, now, seeing it.

Fire. Flames she would have laughed at a week ago—now, each spark a mortal conflagration. Death for the Witch of Webs. Death for Riverfarm.

Here it came.

——

The disappearance of the stormcloud seemed like a trick, at first. However, as the minutes grew, the flames that had almost been smothered regrew. Some had gone out entirely, but the embers had lingered under peat or other burnable fuels.

It would have taken more than a brief shower to end this. Yet it almost had ended—the Drake didn’t understand what had happened. He put it down to providence as he relit flames and watched them grow. If this was some trick of the [Witches]—no, he doubted they were willing to let the fires rage. Something had taken out the Witch of Webs.

The sky was dark with smoke, but no rain fell. The Drake breathed out, and he unsteadily glared at Riverfarm. Then he unfurled the last two scrolls and nodded. His expression was dark as he watched Riverfarm, no longer confident. Wary.

He bared his teeth as he flew, searching for the final spot to finish his mission. Almost…then it would be over. Ancestors, he was weary, but he murmured a promise.

“Time to end this.”

—–

“She has been marked for death by flame. It has burnt away every protection Belavierr had, made her weaker to it. A single spark carries a dead man’s vengeance. Should the fires reach her, even she would not remain.”

It was Mavika who diagnosed what had happened hours later. Belavierr, the Witch of Webs, sat in the house allotted to her.

In a bed.

Ryoka had never actually seen Belavierr lying down. It had felt like she didn’t need to sleep, and in truth, she was not really sleeping. She was staring blankly ahead, fingers twitching, so badly burnt that they hadn’t even been able to undress her; her clothing had fused with her skin.

She looked…horrible. Like she had after fighting Ser Raim, but the difference was that this time, she didn’t disguise her ruined flesh. The fires had burnt Belavierr badly. Worse, in a way, than Ser Raim.

No, this was all his doing. It was clear Belavierr was now weak to flame in an extraordinary way; a single spark would actually follow after her and try to set her on fire.

If that wasn’t vengeance, Ryoka didn’t know what was. It was odd to think the [Knight] had cursed Belavierr in a way that even Mavika found impressive. As it was, the Crow Witch’s voice was flat.

Grim.

“Each flame saps her power; if it were mere flesh, she would endure.”

“Is this—is this permanent?”

Poor Wiskeria. Ryoka was here to observe and report back to Riverfarm. All the hope and jubilation of the ritual succeeding had turned back to fear. The [Witches] had called the rain; the Drake had broken their magic. They might have bought time with the brief rainfall, but not much.

And now Belavierr, their trump card, if a deadly one, was almost comatose. Mavika hissed a reply.

“I doubt it is. Your mother can remake any ward, repair any damage, from flame to sword. But that takes time she does not have.”

Time none of them had. Wiskeria took a breath and nodded.

“You’re—you’re right, Mavika. She’s mentioned being cursed like this before. Of all the times—!”

The irony was that Raim’s vengeance had come at the one moment when Belavierr was doing something good. And now—Ryoka got it.

Belavierr’s second death was more dangerous than the first. She would have laughed at the wildfire before this. Now? It was the most deadly thing imaginable.

We’re screwed. No—Ryoka was determined to do something. She cleared her throat, looking around.

Almost all the [Witches] were here. However, Hedag and Califor weren’t present. Hedag had gone to help with Riverfarm’s folk, now digging desperately along the riverbank, and Califor was outside, though for what, Ryoka didn’t know.

Perhaps they had seen Belavierr’s injuries and just didn’t…care. Wiskeria did, and she bent over the bed.

“Mother? Can you hear me? How dangerous is the fire to you? Mother?”

Belavierr didn’t answer. She might not have been able to; her face was barely a face, save for the eyes staring out of burnt-off eyelids. Her fingers, though, were moving despite the trail of ash and blood they left.

She was still moving, though this time, she was…stitching? Sewing something together. A bunch of failed tries lay around her, and as Ryoka watched, a promising bundle of thread that moved like an odd, twisting symbol of magic—fell apart.

“Her flame wards are failing. I doubt she can mend her weakness easily. It will take weeks, perhaps months.”

Eloise observed, not without a bit of satisfaction. Wiskeria’s head rose, and she snapped.

“Well, now she’s unable to give us aid when it matters most! Mother! The wildfires are coming. Can you help stop them? Califor’s trying, I think.”

Belavierr’s vague gaze turned Wiskeria’s way, but for once, she was silent. The burnt witch simply stared at her daughter, and Wiskeria’s hand hesitated. She was holding onto Belavierr’s shoulder, burnt cloth and skin, and the woman flinched.

“Mother, you have to have some artifact or relic in—”

“Wiskeria. You’re hurting her.”

“Hurting?”

Wiskeria saw her mother’s flinching and suddenly let go. She stared at her hand, her mother, and backed up a step.

“Witch Wiskeria, you will do no good here. Leave her.”

Mavika advised Wiskeria. Alevica was just shaking her head as Belavierr tried another ward, a knot, and it just…fell apart. The charred Witch of Webs stared at the mess on her lap.

Fear, defeat, mortality. All things not usual to Belavierr clung to her. Ryoka gave her this: no normal woman could be that badly burned and, without painkillers, just sit there and look a bit upset.

But Wiskeria looked completely torn apart, and only the reminder of Riverfarm’s danger—and now the threat to her mother—got her out of the house.

“This isn’t going to end well. It’s all gone bad. We should get out of here…”

Alevica muttered. She cast around the dark house—all flames had obviously been banned—then hurried out, hunching her shoulders.

Ryoka was tempted to say something to Belavierr in this moment. Perhaps something unneeded, but maybe something about mothers and daughters. One look at Belavierr’s features, which became a grimace of agony, and she decided to leave.

The Witch of Webs actually glanced at Ryoka as the Wind Runner backed up. And her gaze seemed to invite…what? Pity? Ryoka wasn’t sure she could manage pity. Even now, she remembered how Raim and Tagil had died.

If only you had been able to do a good thing. Now you’re in it, with it. That was the kind of—of feeling some of the [Witches] and even Ryoka had. Only one person actually seemed to have pity for Belavierr. Even Wiskeria had only shock.

“U-um, Miss Belavierr? I’m awfully sorry about how hurt you were. You tried to make it rain. T-thank you.”

Nanette approached the bed cautiously, and Ryoka hesitated. Belavierr’s gaze swung to Nanette; she was stitching again, painfully trying to make something, anything. The smallest [Witch] tipped her hat, eyes wide.

Nanette was tough too—she didn’t flee shrieking at the sight of Belavierr. But her eyes had tears in them.

“You got hurt trying to save Riverfarm. I—I tip my hat to you. And this is from me. It’s not much, but Miss Califor made it for me. A cream for burns.”

She offered a tiny, half-empty jar of something herbal to Belavierr. It was probably like putting a bandaid on a cut artery…but it seemed to move Belavierr. At the very least, her fingers stopped desperately dancing, and she stared at Nanette, looking her over.

Slowly, very slowly, Belavierr accepted the jar. Then she patted Nanette on the head. The girl flinched, but Ryoka saw Belavierr hesitate…then produce something and twist it together. She beckoned and offered Nanette something.

It was…a ribbon. Brown, the same color as Nanette’s hair; the Witch of Webs had seen Nanette’s hair, lopsided from Nanette’s sacrifice, and motioned.

“Oh. For me? I, um—”

Nanette hesitated, but then she turned, and Belavierr gingerly, but with some expertise, wove the ribbon into Nanette’s braids. She did it fast, undoing and redoing Nanette’s hair like, well, another type of thread.

When she was done, it was almost invisible, but it had restored Nanette’s braids, so her hair looked as if it hadn’t even been shorn. It was so well done that only if you stared really closely would you see the braid.

“My hair! Thank you, Miss Belavierr!”

Nanette seemed touched by the gesture. She curtsied, remembered to raise her hat, and Belavierr sat back. She held the jar of ointment in her hand and stared out the window, no longer trying to sew wards.

Somehow…that made Ryoka realize how desperate things were. The Wind Runner beckoned, and she and Nanette left the house silently. Belavierr sat there as her death came for them all.

Fire and flame.

Was she afraid? Ryoka glanced back once, and the witch was staring at her and Nanette. Even now…she was a bit terrifying. But Ryoka thought—yes.

She was afraid. But one thing occurred to Ryoka.

Belavierr hadn’t left.

She was still facing this for her daughter.

——

The fires were spreading across the land. Merging. Becoming a single blaze surrounding Riverfarm. Oh, they spread in every other direction too, but the wind was being used to send the fire one way.

It might have hit Riverfarm that very night, but the rainstorm and one other factor kept the wildfires back. The flames slowed in gathering ground over the briefly-wet terrain, and so Riverfarm dug like mad.

No magic, but just what the [Witches], villagers, and Ryoka knew. Fire breaks. Cleared terrain that would hopefully keep a fire back.

…Unless the heat and wind just murdered everyone standing downwind of the fire, even if they were thousands of feet or a mile away. The smoke might kill them, but the hour had passed for anyone to run.

Groups had gone out, desperate, and many had come back, including Councilwoman Beatica, finding fires in the ways they had hoped to flee. As if someone—that bastard in the skies—was igniting any escape route.

Three times now, the orange glow of one of the wildfires itself had been spotted. Twice in the forest, once rolling down from the northern road. Riverfarm had been given time to lug their possessions away to continue clearing land by the other factor holding the fire back.

Witch Califor. She had taken a position in an ironic or perhaps fitting place.

The hill where Ser Raim had died. It gave her a larger view of the area, and the [Witch] stood there, staff in hand. When the third blaze appeared, she thrust the staff down into the ground.

“You, who knew the great forests. You, the last fragment who remains. This is not your land. These are not your people. But I ask you in mercy’s name—burn. And spare them all this flame.”

She lifted her quarterstaff up. When Califor drove it down, for a second, you could see the forest it had once been part of. A vast land untouched by any buildings of wood or metal. The power of that ancient earth coursed through the wood of the staff, and it flexed and burnt as flames scorched the ancient wood.

A relic of old. A memory—the ash had consumed two-thirds of its length. The third time Califor performed this spell, the fires engulfed the quarterstaff entirely. She held it as it crumbled to ash and looked up.

Sweat was pouring down her face, matting her grey hair. Her hat was lopsided, but Califor’s gaze was triumphant—and regretful. And despairing.

The fire had gone out. In the distance, the patch of burnt land smoldered, but Riverfarm was spared. A third time.

—There were too many blazes. Califor could sense them coming. Her staff had eaten three great fires away. Now, she bent, picking up some of the ash and scattering a handful in the air. The rest she put in a pouch of her belt.

“I am sorry. I should have carried you a hundred more years, found a way to regrow you. Forgive me.”

She said that, then looked around.

“Forgive me.”

The second time, she said it to the land, to Riverfarm. And perhaps…to the young woman who halted there.

Ryoka Griffin had wanted to speak to Witch Califor for a while. When she stopped, wide-eyed, Califor sat down.

“That was all I had left. My staff is gone. My cloak frayed. Too many fires remain.”

“You—you just erased the fire?”

Califor didn’t respond. Ryoka had seen the flames, thousands of feet wide—just disappear. She stood there looking at Witch Califor. The Witch Califor, Alevica had said.

“We have failed Riverfarm. At least, I have. I do not see a solution, Ryoka Griffin. Without Belavierr—we have been bested. Bested by the Drakes, the Walled Cities. Unless the Wind Runner of Reizmelt has an idea. Great magic cannot solve every issue.”

Califor sat with her back to the burnt tree as Ryoka opened and closed her mouth. Then squeaked.

“Me?”

Witch Califor was rubbing at her face, leaving trails of soot on her skin. She was distracted, clearly, exhausted.

“Where’s Nanette? I…I should return.”

She tried to get up, and Ryoka bent to offer her a hand. Califor was lighter than she looked, and Ryoka stuttered.

“I—I was checking on Belavierr. Nanette’s fine. She’s helping dig. I wanted to find you to ask…isn’t there something else?”

“She does what she can. No, Ryoka Griffin. I am out of magic. All I have left is…me. Tricks. Enough to kill that Drake, perhaps. Not halt nature itself. That is the hardest thing for [Witches]: to halt what should happen.”

“But that bastard started the fires! This isn’t nature!”

“Fire is nature. The hand that started it might well have done so for selfish, cruel reasons. Fire does not care. The dry wood that yearns to burn will do so for whatever task it is about. Be it to burn an innocent woman or boil water. It is hard to oppose fire. True, the storm that we conjured was sent away. It might be back with a vengeance. But not today.”

Califor was so tired she was rhyming a bit, like Mavika. She looked at Ryoka.

“Belavierr is wounded; the flames shall be her end. Mavika is the least-suited of all of us to oppose a natural disaster with her flocks. Eloise and Hedag are powerful [Witches], but not in grand scales. That role falls to me. And I have failed.”

She sounded so bitter about it Ryoka hesitated.

“M-maybe I could help? I’m—you know my name?”

“Wind Runner of Reizmelt. Yes, you’re the wind’s friend. Perhaps…though a wind will stoke most flames. And that Drake has control of it with spells. Can you best him?”

“I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Ryoka had tried to free the angry wind under his command. Califor’s voice rasped.

“Not your fault. Though I would have asked where the power came from. It’s not witchcraft nor the magic of druids nor a Skill nor regular spell. You’re an odd woman, Ryoka Griffin. I meant to ask where you came from. But it was never the right time. Now?”

“I…could tell you. We have time, a bit.”

As if to defy Ryoka’s words, the dark sky grew with another glow. Califor’s head rose, and Ryoka saw another fire, smaller but no less deadly, creeping through the forest.

“Fuck.”

“I am curious. But no…I think it has to wait. I do not know you, and you do not know me, Ryoka. If I could—ah, well. What about this?”

Califor suddenly seemed to have a thought. She produced something and handed it to Ryoka. It was a tiny finger…saucer? Yes, just a dimple of beautiful porcelain.

“What’s this?”

It looked vaguely familiar to Ryoka. Without a word, Califor produced something and poured it into a copy she held balanced on two fingers. Then into Ryoka’s.

“A thought. You don’t recognize it?”

Her glance at Ryoka was quick, and Ryoka stared, and the almost odorless smell…her tongue tasted the liquid in the tiny bowl on her fingertips.

“Wait, is this…sake?”

Califor looked amused.

“Ah, I don’t know that word in Drathian, but you recognize the custom.”

Ryoka did a double-take. She stared at the way Califor held the saucer towards her—then took a sip.

“I’m not from Drath. Not exactly—”

“No. You don’t have the accent. But you recognize this. You’re a strange woman. If I had time, I would ask you all of it. Right now? You’re clumsy, like Nanette. But you’re good-hearted and brave. The wind sings your name. You would have made a good [Witch], Ryoka. Though I say that of most women I’ve ever met.”

Witch Califor sipped, and Ryoka took a gulp of the liquid, which was actually fairly mellow. It warmed her up, and she glanced at Califor.

The moment of weakness was gone. Califor stood there, merely regretful as she studied the blaze.

“They turned to me, you know. Prost, those who heard my story. Hoped that Califor could save them. As if I were the better [Witch]. Belavierr has a thousand stories for every tall tale about me. I never relied on my reputation because I couldn’t answer it.”

Califor glanced at the trees near them for some reason, and Ryoka glanced at the shadows, but sensed no lurking Drake. She took another sip as Califor refilled their tiny cups.

“I’m—but you have done great things?”

She was hopeful, and Califor looked at Ryoka.

“Say, rather, I am capable of it. As are you.”

The Wind Runner flushed, both in embarrassment and gratification, and scuffed her foot on the ground.

“I haven’t done much great with the wind. I—I was trying to think of something I could do.”

Her eyes rose towards the flames now consuming the forest in the distance. Wind. Fire. Usually complementary forces, unfortunately. She couldn’t create a void, and failing that, wind only turned regular fires into hellstorms. Like fire tornados. She’d seen one of those on the news once…

Her mind was racing with ideas, a helpless desire to answer all the witchcraft and effort she’d seen.

Califor looked at Ryoka, and her eyes softened.

“You are a brave girl. I wish I had the time to have actually taught you anything. If you have an idea—do it.”

Ryoka hung her head, embarrassed at even suggesting it.

“I can’t. I don’t know how. It’s not like something I can just…push and achieve. And even if I could, I’m not strong enough.”

The [Witch] exhaled.

“I know the feeling. Witchcraft is not strong, Ryoka.”

At the Wind Runner’s incredulous look, Califor clarified.

“Not strong like [Mages]. Compared to an Archmage? One of them could snap their fingers, produce rain, and all of this would be over. A lot of my magic revolves around sympathy. One thing affects another. Like my staff. I made it burn in the place of the forest. Sacrifice is part of witchcraft. Emotion, too; ritual.”

“You do a lot with that, though. Heck, you hid all of Riverfarm! Isn’t that powerful sympathy?”

Ryoka protested, and Califor smiled.

“I have Skills. And experience. But yes…where I come in is providing the answer to that gap between a single staff and a wildfire. It is not enough. Yet if I may—”

Her head turned, and she lifted the cup to her lips, sipping. Looked Ryoka in the eyes.

“—The secret to success in my magic, and perhaps yours, is to take the tiniest of things. A bit of leeway. A chance in a million. Then you grab it and twist until you do what you must. However hard it must be.”

The Wind Runner stared at Califor, and her eyes flickered.

“…I—I can try. If it comes to it.”

“That’s all a woman can do.”

Again, Califor glanced sideways, then at the flames, and Ryoka knew she should go. To practice or…Califor exhaled, dropped the little saucer, stumbled, and Ryoka reached for her. But the [Witch] just caught herself, held up a hand, and Ryoka stopped.

“I truly have let Alevica down. She knew stories of me. In my experience, Miss Ryoka, it isn’t wise to walk about claiming you’re a woman who does great things. Or else everyone expects it of you.”

“Right. I get that.”

Ryoka thought about reputations. And it made sense. Califor was murmuring, hand on the tree for support. She had the little bottle of alcohol in her hand, and she stared down at the delicate piece of porcelain from the Empire of Drath.

“…I also don’t want to give Nanette the wrong idea. I am not that strong or wise or good. The secret, though?”

She pushed herself upright and exhaled. Her chin rose, and she touched the brim of her hat. Her eyes, like a grey storm, glittered in the darkness. Califor Weishart lifted her hat, and her voice sounded resonant.

“The secret is being able to do great things. Then you seldom have to.”

The Wind Runner looked her in the eyes, and the [Witch] smiled. Then she raised her foot—and shattered the beautiful bowl into pieces on the grass. It made a soft cracking sound, and Ryoka stared.

Califor tilted her hand—and the bottle of spirits from another land poured onto the pieces on the grass—and behind her, the sky bloomed.

Ryoka whirled. The fourth fire coming her way suddenly roared into the air. Terrifying Riverfarm. A blast, a pillar of heat and sound—burning high, high—

As if someone had just poured something flammable on it. Califor lifted her hands, as if compressing something, and Ryoka saw the fire burning a hundred times stronger halt—

Raging fire. Incinerating wood, turning it to charcoal—burning out even the embers. Until Califor released her grip, and the wood was smoking—burnt black—

The fire extinguished by its own volatility. Witch Califor leaned back against the tree. In the silence, the Wind Runner offered her the remainder of her drink, and Califor took a sip from the saucer.

“The fires will reach Riverfarm soon. What time, I cannot say. I will find Nanette in a moment. Will you have her meet me at our cottage?”

“O-of course. Thank you, Witch Califor. For the advice and—”

Ryoka stared wordlessly at the woman. Califor simply tipped her hat to her.

“Don’t thank me, Miss Griffin. All I bought was time. Tomorrow—”

Her eyes were faraway.

“—I will let you down.”

——

The Wind Runner had nothing to say to that. So Witch Califor leaned against the tree until Ryoka had gone, a breeze flowing with her. Then, Califor slowly slid down the trunk and onto the burnt soil.

Showing off to younger women. She would have chuckled if it were not so dire nor things so weary. Califor waited as the second person trudged up the hill to find her.

“Witch Califor. I didn’t want to interrupt. That was splendid magic.”

“Your mother could do better.”

Wiskeria bowed her head, not denying that, as she sat down. Califor wearily opened her eyes. At this moment, the wariness between the two was gone, any gap closed.

“I neither helped nor hindered her greatly when the Order of Seasons sought to end her. Had I done either, we might not have come to this.”

Wiskeria shook her head, shamefaced.

“I should have been more honest with you. I should have—done more with my mother when Ser Raim appeared. I just didn’t believe she could ever lose. Witch Califor, I’m sorry. I know you must disapprove of me, being such a poor [Witch] despite my mother being—and not stopping her.”

Califor’s head rose slightly, and she gave Wiskeria a startled look.

“I don’t disapprove of you, Witch Wiskeria.”

“Really? But I thought…”

Wiskeria trailed off. Califor shook her head, sitting more upright.

“You did what you felt was right. Few children could find it in their hearts to oppose Witch Belavierr, and she was your mother. You saw her; you regretted what had been done. Could you have done something later or as she came here? Perhaps. But no one in the coven, be it Mavika or Eloise, will judge you. Least of all me. I am a selfish witch, as we all are.”

Wiskeria protested.

“You? You’re the least selfish. You’ve been doing nothing but helping Riverfarm! That’s why I came to—to—ask if you’d teach me magic. My craft. Make me your apprentice.”

Witch Califor blinked. She turned to Wiskeria, actually surprised, and Wiskeria blushed.

“I know this isn’t the right moment, but I—you’re the only [Witch] I’d want to teach me a craft.”

“I am honored. But Witch Wiskeria—”

The rejection in Califor’s gaze was faster than Wiskeria had anticipated, but they were [Witches]. They didn’t like prevaricating, and Wiskeria hung her head.

“It is nothing to do with your mother. Or even you.”

Califor clarified, and Wiskeria glanced up.

“Then it’s because Nanette’s better?”

Her look was annoyed, competitive, and Califor clarified with a smile.

“Nanette is my greatest and only apprentice. If you and I had met before her, for you, I might have reconsidered my policy on apprentices. But as I said: I am a selfish witch. Tomorrow, you shall see that, Wiskeria.”

The younger [Witch] tilted her head, but she didn’t try to gainsay Califor like Ryoka. At last, she looked at Califor. Staff gone. Cloak gone. These were just things, but Wiskeria knew she was greatly spent.

…She had not bled for Riverfarm, though. Merely wearied herself in its defense. That was selfishness. For Mavika, or even Eloise, it was understandable, but the Califor of stories should have done more.

“Ask.”

Califor whispered, and because Wiskeria was a good [Witch], however young, she asked the right question.

“Is—is it talent, Witch Califor? The reason Nanette’s your only apprentice?”

At this, Califor laughed. She laughed so ruefully, with such amusement, that Wiskeria stared, then began to bristle in Nanette’s defense. But there was nothing unkind about it. Califor shook her head, chuckling.

“No. It is the most obvious accident and reason in itself, Wiskeria. Your mother might understand. Nanette is my apprentice…and you will be a great [Witch]. I am sorry you did not meet the Witch Califor. I am indeed a coward.”

With that, she rose and bowed to Wiskeria. The younger [Witch] looked up, eyes flickering, and Califor wondered if Wiskeria understood. When she rose, she tipped her hat to Califor.

“I’m grateful. I have admired [Witches] since meeting you all.”

That hurt most of all, but Califor embraced the pain and bowed.

“May it continue.”

Then the night fell, and she turned her head towards the smoky landscape. By the time dawn rose the next day, the pale summer’s light caught on vibrant orange and flaring red, on murky ash and carmine and crimson oblivion.

Then the landscape caught flame.

Day 70

When dawn came and they saw the fires that Califor had delayed on the horizon, the people of Riverfarm digging along the riverbank put down their shovels. They gathered in the village with their belongings taken from the houses.

Some people had found horses and were prepared to ride again rather than stay. Mister Prost did not gainsay anyone, save for people trying to loot what didn’t belong to them.

Yet his eyes were on the [Witches]. So were many of the villagers’.

It was so close, hope and hatred. Distrust became desperation—and they had seen Belavierr almost stop the fires. But while Belavierr had regained her feet—

She was hunched, hat hiding half-fixed features. Good skin seemed to sag and reveal the burnt flesh beneath, and she was hiding, huddling away from the oncoming flames.

At least she had solved her immediate burning issue: the few sparks did not ignite her. They swerved towards her, then extinguished themselves on her clothing. But it was clear she was still a match ready to go up.

—Besides, it was not her that Prost and others looked at, but Witch Califor. She stood there as morning dawned, reading each and every fire from the smoke they sent up, vast trails through the sky. Nanette was coughing as a wet handkerchief covered her face; Ryoka herself had woken up choking on the smog.

Califor looked around, meeting Prost’s eyes, the gazes of children, folk of Riverfarm, the rest of the coven, who watched her curiously, or in Eloise’s case—a kind of calm, smiling resignation.

Last of all, Wiskeria’s and Ryoka’s gazes. Then Califor’s gaze travelled lower. Her apprentice looked up with wide, worried, trusting eyes. Califor gently bent over, and her grip tightened on Nanette’s shoulder.

When her eyes rose, they were filled with grim resolve.

“I am leaving, Steward Prost. I regret that I could not do anything more. Nanette, mount up.”

Her apprentice’s mouth fell open in horror, Califor glanced at her hair with a frown. But the little girl’s eyes were wide with shock—then she saw the pony and horse trotting towards them, saddlebags made up. Ryoka couldn’t believe it. Neither could Nanette.

“What? Miss Califor! But the flames—”

“Nanette. We are going. We can do nothing more here.”

Prost lowered his head. He looked at Califor, and the woman’s face was impassive. Nanette tore away from Califor.

“You can! We might not be able to do another ritual! But we can use smaller spells! Hold the fire back! If we raise the wall higher, we could hold the flames away, conjure enough cool air to outlast the fire—Miss Califor, please!”

Wiskeria pleaded with the older [Witch]. Califor hesitated again. Wiskeria held her breath. So that was what she’d meant last night.

Was she just leaving? Alevica was incredulous. Even Mavika looked shocked. This was Califor. Hadn’t she heard stories of the [Witch] pulling off feats just as grand? Surely—

But then Califor shook her head. It was at Nanette she gazed. And she shook her head as she addressed Wiskeria.

“I am sorry. But Nanette comes first. In that, I understand your mother. You should go with her.”

She pointed. Belavierr was walking towards Wiskeria. And her face wasn’t expressionless. It was intent. Wiskeria gazed at her.

“Mother.”

“Wiskeria. It is time for me to leave. I cannot halt the fire any more than my death. Come. I will bear you out of this place. I have the strength for that.”

Califor’s decision had, it seemed, helped Belavierr come to a decision. A low moan rose from the people of Riverfarm. They had no horses or magic. Belavierr ignored them. she reached for Wiskeria. The [Witch] drew back, horrified.

“We can’t just go!”

“You must. Or you will die. The chance of surviving this is slim to none. Wiskeria, listen to Witch Belavierr. She speaks with your interests at heart.”

Califor snapped as she crooked a finger.

“No arguments, Nanette. I will not risk your life.”

“But I want to stay! They’ll die! Miss Califor, please!”

“No.”

Nanette sobbed, then began to kick and struggle, but Califor picked her up and put her on the horse. The other [Witch] mounted and glanced down. Wiskeria looked up helplessly at her.

“There’s a chance.”

“There is. But part of raising a life is putting that life first. Witch Wiskeria, you may hate your mother. You may disagree with her. But she has ever put your life above her own. She has tried to protect you. And I cannot fault that. I would fault the rest of Belavierr. But never that.”

Califor studied Wiskeria and met Belavierr’s eyes. The Stitch Witch dipped her head slightly. Califor raised her hat.

“I am sorry. But this day, I am a coward first. I cannot let Nanette risk her life. Goodbye. I hope you all survive.”

“Miss Califor!”

The plea came from the [Witch] girl. Nanette made to jump off the horse, and Califor reached out to snatch her back, but Prost interrupted.

“Go on, Miss Nanette. I can’t fault Miss Califor her decision.”

The rest of Rivefarm clearly could, but Prost had something in his eyes. He nodded to both Califor and Belavierr for some reason. Nanette hesitated, and Ryoka called out.

“Go, Nanette.”

She didn’t get it, not right now, but she couldn’t bear the little [Witch] getting hurt. Nanette hesitated, and Mavika spoke.

“Go, child. Do not argue with your master!”

“But—”

Nanette whispered, and Califor ignored her. She steadied Nanette, then pointed and whistled, and the horse and pony took off. They shot past the crowd, out of the village, and Califor didn’t look back.

Ryoka respected that, at least.

——

Califor raced south with Nanette following. Nanette shot one agonized glance backwards. And then they were moving south between two plumes of smoke. And Belavierr’s gaze followed them.

“She is right, you know. She understands what it is to be a mother more than I. Daughter, come with me. I can protect you. You and perhaps a few others. Is that not enough?”

She reached out to Wiskeria. But her daughter recoiled. Wiskeria still couldn’t take her mother’s hand. Too much lay between them. And she gazed around and saw the desperate faces.

Stories. Once, Wiskeria had watched an army die. They had called her their [General]. And she had seen them buried. She had come to Riverfarm and protected it. And she had once loved her mother. For this and so many other reasons, she couldn’t. So Wiskeria begged.

“Mother, please stay! Please! For me?”

Belavierr hesitated. She looked into Wiskeria’s face. And she hesitated. The immortal, distant gaze was gone. A far more mortal one was there. Uncertain. She looked at Wiskeria and stepped away.

“I see it now. You are my death as surely as the fire. If I…no. Daughter, come. You have done all you can here. Come with me and take other lives to save. They will certainly live. If you stay, you risk everything.”

Wiskeria knew it was true. But she clung to hope. And she glanced around. At Chimmy. At Prost, Ram, Durene, Rie, Nesor—and she knew what her answer was. Had to be. She regarded her mother, tears in her eyes.

“I can’t. I can’t abandon them. We can still stop the fire. The fields—”

She couldn’t finish. A chance. She reached, but Belavierr stepped back. The Stitch Witch hesitated. And then she turned away. She looked back just once as she began to stride away.

“I must go. Daughter, please come with me.”

Wiskeria shook her head.

“No. I have to try.”

Belavierr paused. She almost smiled. Strangely. Awkwardly. But she just seemed…sad.

“I never did understand you. But D—Wiskeria. My beloved daughter. I do not want to end. Even for you.”

For a moment, she hesitated, and Wiskeria looked at her. Belavierr, who had faced down Raim and the [Witch Hunters], who had remained and worked great magic for her daughter—surely she would stay. Surely…

The Witch of Webs turned away. Just like that, as if Wiskeria were suddenly, like Raim, a lost memory. She ignored her daughter’s call, her cloak whirling, her burnt features set.

Then she was gone, walking away towards a black horse that rode towards her. She mounted it and rode away like Califor did.

And then it did feel like the…end. Ryoka Griffin looked around. The villagers stared after Belavierr. Their panic turned into a cold certainty. They looked at each other. And they began to flee.

“If you run, you’ll burn! With me! Everyone, dig, with a spade—with your hands if you have to! We need that wall and fire break to be as long as possible! Move!”

Prost roared, trying to regain control, but now it was a panic of people, many fleeing in every direction. Some of Lancrel’s folk and the outsiders stayed, like Jelov, and almost all of Riverfarm ran towards the river. They listened to Prost and believed this was safest. But others just ran.

The coven—the coven was breaking. Alevica was next. Ryoka saw her call her broom towards her. The Witch Runner grinned shakily. She was still pale and clutching her stomach where she’d been stabbed.

“Alevica.”

“Wotcha, Ryoka. Hey, listen. It’s been great, really. But it’s time to go. Catch you later if you make it out, okay?”

The [Witch] stopped as Ryoka grabbed her shoulder. She spoke urgently, trying weakly to prize Ryoka’s hands off her.

“Look, our debt’s settled. Me helping you with the charm? All settled! I owe you, even! But—I’m not staying. Not for this. Not if you paid me two thousand gold pieces. I—I don’t want to die, Ryoka.”

She tried to take off. Ryoka let go of her. Alevica flew upwards. And then her broomstick wobbled.

“No—no!”

The [Witch] crashed down to earth. Alevica rolled, tried to get up. She cursed. Eloise walked over towards her. The old [Witch]’s face was grave.

“You’re out of power. You spent it in the ritual. And your wound’s taken the rest.”

“No! I can do this! I just need a potion!”

Alevica stumbled unsteadily to her feet. Eloise shook her head. She slapped Alevica across the face. The Witch Runner stared at her.

“Alevica. If you fly, you will die. That Drake will pick you off. They’re trained in air combat, and you’ll run out of mana, even with potions. Come with us. Mavika has agreed to fly with us.”

She pointed. Hedag stood with Mavika. The [Executioner] was speaking with Miss Yesel. The woman’s face was white. She was pushing a screaming Chimmy towards her. More parents were clustered around Mavika, Hedag. Holding children. Ryoka’s mind went still when she saw that. Alevica looked up, desperate, relieved.

“You won’t leave me?”

Eloise shook her head. She pointed south, the way the other [Witches] had gone.

“Califor can ride through the fire as it hasn’t fully spread yet. But it will be far harder for us. I propose fire-resistance charms. We move in a group. We can take children, some villagers perhaps. No more.”

“Eloise—!”

Wiskeria’s voice was pleading. The [Lady] turned [Witch] peered at her and shook her head. She walked back towards Hedag. Mechanically, Wiskeria and Ryoka followed.

“We cannot take all the children.”

Mavika hissed impatiently. Hedag cradled an infant in her arms. Her eyes were unblinking. And there was that same terrible light in them as when she had swung her axe.

“No. But your crows might lift some. Some might fall and die. ‘Tis up for the parents to decide. Those that can run will come with us. No more than fifty.”

Mavika paused and nodded. Eloise’s gaze was distant. She bowed her head.

“Very well. We can try to part the flames for that many. But there are more that will follow. They’ll try to stop us.”

“Let them try. My flock will chase those who follow away.”

Mavika’s eyes were dark. Wiskeria glanced around. The hope and panic had turned dark. People were watching. Listening to the [Witches]. More were congregated around the river. Some had gone back to the village, returning with hammers, wood.

Galloping hooves. Ryoka spun. Charlay stopped in front of her. The Centauress gulped, coughed. The sky was orange. The flames had turned the sky glowing. In the distance, everything was smoke and fire.

“Ryoka. I’m going. Are you coming?”

“Charlay?”

Ryoka looked up at her. And then she looked around. Wiskeria was watching her. Ryoka hesitated.

“Charlay, the fire’s everywhere. I’m staying. The [Witches] might not give you safe passage. If you helped carry them, maybe—”

“No. I’m going. I can run faster than anyone else. If you wanted to come with me—”

Ryoka hesitated. She felt it too. Fear. She was afraid. But—it was already too late. She shook her head.

“The fire’s already surrounding us. The safest thing is to go with the [Witches] if they’d let us, Charlay. And that’s…we could survive here. I’ll try to blow the fire away when it gets close. With the river, there’s a chance—stay here!”

But the Centauress shook her head.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to die either.”

She turned. Ryoka shouted desperately.

“Charlay! Don’t! No matter how fast you run, the smoke will kill you!”

There was no way the Centauress could break through that much fire. Charlay glanced back once.

“I’m sorry!”

Then she ran. Ryoka wavered. And then she ran, shouting.

“Charlay! Don’t! It’s—”

Seeing Ryoka run after Charlay was the last straw. Wiskeria saw the last group of people not frantically working with Prost run to the river. But why there? The [Witch] saw as she spotted a group of makeshift boats. And leading them, at the head of a group of Lancrel’s folk, was Councilwoman Beatica. The woman was shouting at Lady Rie, who was arguing with her.

“You will not make it down the river, Councilwoman! Listen to me, all of you!”

Lady Rie was shouting to make herself heard. But no one was listening. Panicked, they grabbed for the overladen, crude boats. That was what Lancrel’s people had been doing rather than working on the firebreaks. Wiskeria felt a surge of fury. And then she heard Beatica’s high, panicked voice.

“We are leaving! We’ll go down the river in boats! The water will give us safety!”

“You’ll die! Do you think the river will protect you? The water will boil you if you swim, and if you go in boats, you’ll die to the heat and smoke! The wind is blowing—”

Lady Rie’s voice fell on deaf ears. Beatica screamed, and the first boat shoved off. A huge crowd of people followed it into the water, grabbing at the other boats. Several capsized; the rest shoved down the river, overladen. More people followed, swimming, trusting to the water. Wiskeria looked up and saw Lady Rie’s pale face.

“They could make it.”

“No. I spoke to Laken. The fire engulfs the river on both sides. The smoke is too thick. Some may survive. But they will be far too few. We may have to retreat to the river ourselves. But—”

Rie turned away. She slowly walked back towards the field. There was fire on the breeze now. Fire and ash. Eloise, Hedag, Mavika, and Alevica stood with a group of children and a few parents, all laden. They watched her.

Wiskeria wavered. She searched for Ryoka. For Durene and Prost, still desperately working. Frostwing was screaming as she flew in a circle overhead. Even Bismarck was pushing dirt towards the wall the villagers were trying to build.

Then someone cried out. Ram turned and pointed. And everyone looked up. Wiskeria didn’t see it at first, lost amid the lurid orange glow on the horizon. And then she saw the movement in the skies. Hope finally extinguished itself in her.

It came out of the storm cloud fueled by smoke. A shifting at first. And then a clear, moving, black and red shape. Everyone turned to watch. [Witches]. Villagers. Wiskeria. Ram’s face was white as he stared up at the writhing pillar of wind and fire.

“Dead gods. What is that?”

“A twister. One made of flames.”

Eloise spoke quietly. The old [Witch] gazed up. It was coming straight at Riverfarm. So fast that Wiskeria could see it travelling across the ground. The flames were coming with it. Embers flying through the sky. And the Drake was laughing as the last scrolls fell from his claws. The [Witches] glanced at each other. Mavika spread her arms, feathers emerging from her robes.

“I am sorry. But I cannot shield you from that.”

Eloise nodded.

“I understand. Go.”

The Crow [Witch] hesitated. Her crows were flying off, led by her raven, fleeing the approaching tornado. Wiskeria looked at Mavika. And then she felt her mother’s name on her lips. Eloise and Hedag were gazing at her.

“Wiskeria!”

A voice bellowed her name. Wiskeria turned. She saw Durene. Durene and Ryoka. The half-Troll girl was carrying a limp shape. Charlay. Wiskeria ran over to her.

“What happened?”

“She tried to go south. The wind is throwing embers at us. The smoke—she passed out.”

Ryoka was burned across her shirt and face. She peered at Wiskeria. And then back at the twister. Wiskeria’s voice was numb.

“I can try to get you out. And Charlay, if she wakes up. Maybe my mother can hear me still. But I don’t think she can stop that.”

The City Runner nodded.

“Do what you have to do. But I still think there’s a chance.”

Wiskeria laughed. The laughter was high, hysterical. As close to cackling as she’d ever come.

“How? How can anyone flee that?”

The young woman didn’t answer. She was looking at the twister. And Mavika hadn’t fled. She was watching Ryoka. Dreamily, Ryoka got up. She glanced at Durene. Charlay. Prost, who had gone to his family. Rie, the [Witches], and then at Wiskeria.

“Stay here. The land’s cleared. The fire can’t spread. It’ll throw embers and smoke, but you might be able to make it, like Laken said. Stay low to the ground. The smoke goes up. Get in the water, maybe, although it could boil. Either way, there’s a chance. If you can make oxygen, air, do it. Shield everyone here.”

She pointed around. More than half of Riverfarm hadn’t fled. Perhaps because there was nowhere to go. Perhaps because they still believed in an [Emperor]’s words. Ryoka took another breath. Coughed. She was shaking. She looked at Eloise, Hedag, and Mavika. Alevica was sitting on the ground, her head in her hands.

“You—[Witches]. If you stay, could you protect them?”

“We might. We could try calling air and redirecting the fire. But we could also run.”

Hedag leaned on her axe, eying the flames to the south. She was watching Ryoka too. So was Eloise. And even Alevica looked up. Because Wiskeria felt it too. Ryoka’s fear had subsided. A calm resolve was in her. She was still terrified. But she was calm. Ryoka nodded. She addressed Hedag, gesturing the way Califor had gone.

“The fire’s too wide to break through. If you could fly, you might make it. You’ll never do it on foot. Califor? Maybe. You’re on foot. And the horses will panic. This is safest. You know wildfires.”

Hedag’s eyes glinted.

“Aye, I do, Runner-Girl. There’s sense in what you say. Stay. But that whirlwind of flame will be our end either way.”

“Not if I stop it.”

Ryoka gazed up. And her expression was bleak. But she smiled. Wiskeria looked at her, disbelieving.

“Stop it? You?”

“Wind’s child.”

Mavika murmured. Ryoka nodded. She stood up, remembering what Califor had said, and suddenly she was as light as a feather. Relaxed.

She was going to fail.

But she had to try. Ryoka spoke to the witches, to everyone.

“I came here for a reason. It might have just been because Laken asked me. Maybe it was curiosity. Or maybe it was this. I’ll try. The wind listens to me. If I can’t change the direction the tornado’s coming, go down the river. And tell Erin—tell Laken—I did my best.”

She turned. Wiskeria shouted at her back. But Ryoka was already running. Running straight ahead. And the wind blew faintly at her back. As the tornado raged and came towards her.

—–

“You will never thank me for this, Nanette. Nor will I be proud, but perhaps, someday, you will understand why I did it.”

That was all Witch Califor said as she drew a blade. She swung it and cut through a wall of fire and parted the inferno for her rearing horse. Then dismounted to drag both her horse and Nanette’s pony through the ash.

Behind them, the fires advanced, and Nanette felt the wildfire raging. The tornado had come to earth. And the witches and Riverfarm were trapped.

Nanette was crying. The burning fire dried her tears. But the flames never touched her. She rode, clutching Miss Califor’s dress. The [Witch] rode the stallion through the flames. Behind them, Nanette’s horse had fallen.

But they were free of the fire. They broke through the fire and burning skies into ash and clearer skies. Califor was breathing hard. But as she slowed the dark horse, she was untouched. She gazed down at Nanette.

“Nanette.”

The [Witch] girl’s eyes and nose ran. She looked back at the fire. She could see how far it stretched. And in the distance, the whirlwind of flame.

“They’re going to die. All of them.”

She’d thought Califor could save them. Do anything. Now, Nanette knew how Wiskeria felt, and it was too painful.

Califor didn’t reply. She just leaned on her horse, panting. And she seemed tired. The two glanced around the ash and smoldering landscape. They had made it. Califor had ridden through the flames, refused to let them take her.

But how many had her magic? Who else could run away? Nanette looked back desperately. But no one else broke through the wall of fire. Califor dismounted and gripped the horse’ reins.

“Stay on the saddle, Nanette. We must keep moving. And keep an eye on the skies for that Drake.”

The [Witch] cautioned Nanette, and she urged the horse forwards. Nanette was still crying. She didn’t respond. The two cut out of the fire as Califor slashed a hole onto a cleared section of burnt road. No one would be able to follow; it was too deadly.

However, someone was ahead of them, standing on the road.

Belavierr halted next to her dark horse, who stood there, stock-still, not even pawing the ground despite the flames being so close. Nanette blinked incredulously.

She’d made it! No—she looked burnt; getting through the flames had to be dangerous, but the Stitch Witch would live if she fled.

But her daughter was in Riverfarm. Nanette gave Belavierr a betrayed glance, almost as much as her feelings towards Califor.

—Until she saw Belavierr’s face. The Stitch Witch had halted in the burnt road, her eyes cast backwards. A flaming tapestry was burning on the ground away from her, and the beautiful piece of magic…a twisting girl was caught in the flames. Then, a woman.

Belavierr didn’t move. She stood there and watched them. Califor and Nanette halted.

“Belavierr. Your daughter wouldn’t come?”

“No. I escaped, but she would not run. She will die there, wind or not. For the lives of the villagers. I foresee it. Witch Califor—you had the strength to escape the fire.”

“The others might, if they stick together.”

Belavierr raised her hat, giving Califor a lost stare.

Nanette saw Miss Califor grip the reins tighter. The horse Nanette rode snorted, eyes wide. It was as wary of Belavierr’s beast as the fire. Nanette froze. But the Stitch Witch didn’t say anything more. She just sat astride her horse, regarding them. And then she spoke.

“Witch Califor. The fire is vast. A blaze without magic. But in its way, more terrible than a [Knight]’s fire. Few Archmages I remember could defeat such a blaze alone.”

“Perhaps you remember them. But fewer still could put out a fire today.”

Califor’s voice was sharp. Tired. Belavierr paused, then nodded.

“My daughter remains. She refused to leave. I cannot save her. Not without facing—”

She stared at the flames and shivered. They seemed to reach for her, even as they advanced, and Belavierr’s gaze swung to the tapestry. Her death.

Nanette’s breath caught. She looked at Miss Califor. The older [Witch] bowed her head.

“Stubborn girl. She made her choice. We are all selfish witches in the end.”

Belavierr’s gaze didn’t waver.

“Yes. She is a fool, but my daughter. Ever my daughter. I have never counted the cost of her to me. We are one thing.”

Almost, she turned back, but the flames were licking higher, and in the distance, a tornado rose. Belavierr shrank from the flames.

“Tell me, Witch Califor. Do you know of a way to stem the fire? I can think of only one way.”

Miss Califor paused and nodded.

“I know of the same way myself. But the cost is not one I would pay. Nor do I think you wish to pay it. But it is possible.”

“Yes.”

Belavierr whispered the words. She looked back, and Nanette saw she was afraid. Her eyes turned back, and Nanette stared into that ringed, orange gaze. Belavierr paused.

“She is my daughter. But the choice is mine. I do not wish to pay it.”

Califor’s voice was sharp. She sat on her horse, wand raised, in, Nanette realized, a standoff. The smoke was choking the air, and Nanette reached up and felt at her burnt, messy braids. They itched and seemed to rustle as Belavierr glanced at Nanette, then Califor. Califor put her own hand out, shielding Nanette.

“That is every [Witch]’s decision. I would not fault you either way. To protect Nanette, I abandoned the coven. I would do it again.”

Miss Califor’s voice was quiet. Belavierr nodded. She paused—then reached out—and Califor caught her hand. Belavierr had taken a step forwards, a dozen feet—and Witch Califor had rode forwards as well. Passed eight feet in a single horse’s hoof—caught Belavierr, and rebuffed her, so the other [Witch] rocked on her feet.

“Let us part ways now, Witch Belavierr. Fire surrounds us. Not your element. We have seen too much loss. Do not push it further.”

Califor’s eyes were warning, her voice overly loud. Nanette saw Belavierr staring at her, and the Stitch Witch’s eyes swung to Califor.

Califor twisted Belavierr’s arm, and Belavierr grimaced. She backed up.

“I merely wished to ask—”

“I decline to talk. Nanette, don’t let her touch you.”

Now, the two were circling, eyeing Nanette, but the flames were making Belavierr flinch. Nanette didn’t know what to do, so she lifted her hat.

“I—I bid thee farewell, Witch Belavierr. If I should meet other [Witches], I will speak your name.”

A traditional farewell. But it came out of her throat hard. She felt a cold shiver, like something running down the back of her neck, as she saw Belavierr’s eyes on her. So desperate, now.

So very afraid. Belavierr’s eyes flicked to the fire, her daughter’s burning tapestry. Nanette’s face.

“Once, Wiskeria was as small as you. I remember those days.”

She waited as Nanette put her hat on her head. And then she turned. She seemed old and tired as she sat on the saddle. But she straightened. And the Stitch Witch, Belavierr, looked back at the fire. It blazed behind the three [Witches]. Belavierr sighed. And she turned and nodded at Miss Califor.

“For my daughter, Witch Califor. I might do anything.”

Califor only nodded in reply and gripped her wand tighter. Belavierr tipped her hat, then bent over the tapestry. A burning Wiskeria stood there, and Belavierr reached for the dying flame.

All will die. None will remain. Nanette was weeping again.

Witch Califor had no time to watch Belavierr hesitating. She jerked her head urgently.

“Move, Nanette.”

She led her apprentice past the Stitch Witch, watching Belavierr, but the Stitch Witch just raised her head and looked at Califor, defeated. And now Califor was urging Nanette to gallop, carrying Nanette across the burned land to safety. Miss Califor kept her gaze ahead as her apprentice kept crying.

“Miss Calif—”

Nanette’s voice cut off. The girl made a strangled noise and scrabbled at her neck. Califor halted.  Califor, heart pounding, stared at the little, brown ribbon and fumbled for a knife.

When she looked up, a woman stood behind Nanette, tipping her hat.

—–

Ryoka saw it burning ahead of her. So much fire that it didn’t seem real. It looked like the entire world was on fire. It was like staring at hell. A vision of it.

She was afraid. Terrified. The wind wasn’t coming to her aid. It was shackled. Forced to blow against its will. But fire and pressure had created that tornado. And now it raged, hurtling towards Riverfarm. Ryoka had struggled to stop strong breezes. How could she stop this?

The City Runner ran on. Coughing, choking as the smoke grew heavier. She tried to keep low, but beyond this point had been when Charlay passed out. She tried to call the wind—ran on.

Past a hill with a burnt stump and ruined grass. A bit of unmarked soil marked a traitor’s grave. A [Witch] with a huge hat sat at the base of the hill. Her clothes were dark. Her eyes orange and ringed. She glanced up as Ryoka passed by.

“Oh, hello. Terrible weather, isn’t it?”

The City Runner stopped. She stared wide-eyed at Belavierr. The Stitch Witch was just sitting there. She nodded ahead at the burning oblivion and tornado growing in the distance.

“Miss Ryoka Griffin. Would you like to speak for a moment? Or is now a bad time?”

Ryoka nearly laughed. It was the same Belavierr. The same—but different. She still didn’t know what to say. She still guessed at being normal. But she was Human. And she looked weary as Ryoka halted.

“I can stop for a moment. But I’ve got a date with the fire.”

“As do we all. You run towards it.”

“Yeah. I guess I think I can do something about it. Why’re you here? I thought you left.”

“I have not decided yet. My death comes. But my daughter stays. So I wait. I am wondering. If.”

“If?”

Belavierr’s eyes glinted.

“If I should take her by force. If I can avoid my death.”

Ryoka glanced at the tornado. It hadn’t grown larger. So she hesitated. Gestured back towards Riverfarm.

“You seem certain. Aren’t there a lot of ways you survive?”

Belavierr shook her head.

“No. My death is fairly certain. I have seen it. I wove the tapestry with a [String of Fate] that I might see my deaths. And I saw the [Knight] and fire. This is the second of my deaths.”

“Yeah, but you could leave—you don’t have to stay for Wiskeria’s sake. Or abduct her.”

The [Witch] sighed. Loudly. She glanced up at Ryoka again.

“If it was that easily avoided, it would not be my death. I know myself, Ryoka Griffin. So long as my daughter remains, I do too. I only wonder if my death would save her. Or if there is a way to escape it. The last time took the death of a man. A traitor’s choice. And my immortality. This time, I have neither to give.”

She stared at the fire in the distance. Ryoka watched it. But—she still had time. So she walked over to Belavierr. She looked at the Stitch Witch. Belavierr glanced at her. She was holding threads in her fingers. Was she playing some…convoluted game of cat’s cradle? It seemed like it, with threads as thin as hair. She noticed Ryoka staring at it, and the threads vanished into one sleeve. Belavierr paused, peering at the City Runner.

“Tell me something. Once, before, you called yourself my daughter’s friend. And you proposed to help us reconcile. How did you intend to do that, Ryoka Griffin? Or was that a lie?”

Ryoka shrugged her eyes on the fire. It had slowed down, definitely.

“I had a plan. I was going to get you to do some magic with Wiskeria. Something positive. Like—making more charms. She’d have to help you and maybe learn something. And you’d show her you could do good. I thought that was worth a try. I mean, I know I’m not an expert. But no one else was trying to help.”

“Hm. Strange.”

“What is?”

“You. Few people wish to aid me. My daughter has told me she hates me. What makes you wish to help me?”

The young woman hesitated. She sat down across from Belavierr, keeping one eye on the fire.

“I don’t agree with Wiskeria. I don’t think you’re good or evil. And I think…it’s good you survived. I just wish Ser Raim didn’t die. And the [Hunters]…”

She paused. Embarrassed. Ashamed. But that was her thing. She liked immortals. Despite herself, she still liked Belavierr. Vampires, Dragons, the fae—there should be a place for them in this world. Even for the [Witch] who sat there.

“All you do is offer deals. And it’s the people who take them that suffer. There’s a justice in that.”

Belavierr half-smiled.

“I’m capable of offering poor deals, Ryoka Griffin. Of making threats. I sewed your lips together, as you recall.”

Ryoka ran a tongue over her lips.

“True. Do you do that often?”

“No. My craft demands I am fair. Things taken by force have less value. But my daughter does not lie when she calls me a monster. I think.”

“Right. But I can’t help…respecting what makes you not fit in my world. My best friend was like you, in a way.”

“Hmm. Strange. You are much like my daughter, Ryoka Griffin.”

“How so?”

Belavierr looked up. She shrugged.

“I do not understand you. Nor my daughter. I do not understand her. Despite losing my immortality. But I would rather she lived, especially now that she has found her purpose. I was…happy to learn of it.”

“What? Her craft? You mean when she hit you with lightning? And she used justice against you? You liked that?”

Ryoka had her own opinion of that moment. The idea of calling on a collective will like that made her feel uneasy. It spoke to her of lynch mobs and public will. But she was hardly about to debate that with the tornado—Ryoka cast a quick glance ahead. It hadn’t moved? Or had it barely crept closer? What was going on?

Belavierr just smiled, though.

“Justice? Oh, that. Well, Wiskeria is free to make mistakes.”

“You think it’s not her craft.”

Ryoka blinked at her. The [Stitch Witch] nodded back the way Ryoka had come.

“Justice is a fickle, untrustworthy thing. It twists and bites, and it is a harsh ruler. It can consume everything or ignore half-wrongs. It is a stupid choice for a [Witch]. But that is not what gives me joy, Ryoka Griffin. It is my daughter discovering she could take it.”

“I don’t follow.”

The Stitch Witch paused. She glanced up and shook her head.

“When she took it from the villagers, she did what no [Witch] could. Not one of us. She became a new [Witch] in that moment. A [Witch] for the new era. One who can harness the power that belongs to law. The power of order and rules. That is Wiskeria’s true craft. It will make her strong. Perhaps—stronger than the old ways ever could. And most importantly—I know what drives her.”

Slowly, she tapped her chest.

“Me. Her hate for me let her find her craft. And it was what made her a [Witch]. And what stopped her from finding her path before now.”

“But that’s…”

Ryoka held her tongue. Belavierr glanced at her.

“What?”

“It’s so…isn’t it painful?”

The Stitch Witch paused. For a second, something like that flitted over her face. Then she just shook her head.

“Better that I am the source of her strength. Far better that I know it. I…have given her nothing. My daughter. From the day I found her and took her as my own, I tried to give her many things. I have given her food. Shelter. What I knew of…love. But poorly. I know that now. And I have given her nothing since we parted. If I could—if she asked—I would give her what she desired.”

“What, exactly?”

Belavierr stretched her hands out.

“Gold. Fame. Power. If my daughter asked, I would find it and give it to her. Whatever the cost. Because she is my daughter. But she does not ask. And she never will.”

Ryoka paused. She sat across from Belavierr. She studied the Stitch Witch.

“Can I have—”

“No.”

“What about a little charm? Like the one you put on Wiskeria…?”

“No. I offer nothing for nothing. My daughter is the one exception.”

Ryoka sighed, staring at the distant fire. Time hung still around the two of them. At last, Belavierr seemed to notice Ryoka’s worry.

“Do you wait for the fire?”

“Yup. I’ve got to do something before it gets to Riverfarm. But it’s not moving closer. Are…are you doing that? Or is that Drake out of wind? It’s still blowing. So why…?”

Ryoka frowned, licking her finger and feeling the air. Belavierr smiled.

“You need not worry. We sit together in an [Immortal Moment].”

Ryoka jumped.

“A—?”

“A useful Skill. I learned it the last time I leveled up. Recently.”

Ryoka hesitated, then bit her tongue nearly hard enough to break the skin. Belavierr turned her head.

“What?”

“Nothing. Uh…Wiskeria doesn’t want gold. Treasure? Power? She never asks for any of it? Not even once?”

The [Witch] stared at Ryoka. And then she shook her head slowly.

“When she was young, she asked it of me. Toys. Small things. I gave them to her. And then—she asked a favor of me. On behalf of a boy she knew. On the day she became a [Witch].”

“Will you tell me what happened? Since we have time?”

Belavierr nodded. She gazed up at the burning sky.

“It was a different time. We had fled the village where she grew up. My craft had enraged the villagers. Perhaps she hated me then? But she never said it. And I found a second home. One in a city. I believe she struggled then, because of me. But for her, I used my craft for gold. And I attracted attention. I cared not for it, but for her I worked my spells. And she made friends. One of them was a boy. I do not remember his name. But one day, my daughter came to me with a request.”

Ryoka waited. Belavierr’s eyes were lost. She spoke on dispassionately. Her face unchanged as it glowed in distant fire’s light.

“She wanted me to grant his request. For he was a [Prince]. The prince of his nation. The Griffin Prince? That was it. The new one. And she called him a dear friend. So I agreed. And the boy told me he wanted to be proof against blades that he might be the mightiest [Prince] his kingdom had ever seen. A worthy [King].”

She paused. Her face changed not one whit. Ryoka spoke.

“And? What did you do?”

Belavierr looked at her oddly.

“I did it, of course. I gave him his protection against blades. To do it, I cut him apart, piece by piece. And I wove him of my magic again. So long as my craft endures, he will be proof against blades. I did that for my daughter, but she fled me. And she cursed my name. That was the day she told me she hated me, Ryoka Griffin. That was the day…she became a [Witch]. And she left my side thereafter. Then, I did not understand why. I am trying to remember why it could be now.”

She paused, frowning. Ryoka just stared at her and felt cold. Here sat a monster. Or if not a monster…someone else. Mortal, yes. But…she cleared her throat, coughed.

“Was he screaming when you cut him apart and…sewed him together?”

“Who?”

Another blank expression. Ryoka paused.

“The Griffin Prince.”

Belavierr stared at Ryoka. And then she blinked and sighed.

“Oh. That was why she hated it.”

She shook her head. Ryoka was silent. Belavierr looked at her hands, mystified, and then tired.

“It has been a long time since I took my first life. So long that I cannot even remember who it was or how. Or why. But—I still remember a young woman who swore she would never forget that day. Yet that day itself? I am old. Too old to have been a mother to my daughter.”

“Why did you do it, then?”

Ryoka was endlessly curious. But she felt the moment coming to a close. The fire tornado was moving again, ever so slowly. But she and Belavierr clung to this conversation. Both feared the future. Belavierr shook her head.

“I don’t know. But there she lay. And she looked up at me. And she would have died had I not picked her up. So I did. Because it filled something in me.”

That was it. A monster. Immortal. Unfeeling. Distant. A [Witch]. But it was her, Wiskeria, alone who grounded Belavierr. Ryoka just didn’t understand why. So she asked.

“Why? Why are you going to die for her? Why can’t you leave her or let her die and not care like so many others? Belavierr the Stitch Witch, why does Wiskeria matter to you?”

The Stitch Witch peered at her. And she took a long time in replying.

“In any sewing, there is a first stitch and a last stitch. And there must be a knot. An ending, or else what is made must unravel.”

Ryoka nodded.

“So is Wiskeria the first or last stitch?”

Another look.

“She is my daughter, not a thread. I am making a comparison. We each are a tapestry, a weaving. And she was not the first or last thread in mine. I am my own work. And yet, somehow, though my first stitch was sewn long before hers, her threads and mine are interwoven. We are tangled together. But separate.”

Belavierr wove her fingers together, staring at them. She went on quietly.

“And yet, somehow, despite my daughter’s youth, despite that she and I share no blood save for the original blood of humanity, she matters to my tapestry. She is bright color on darkest cloth. Without her, night is the same as day. Without her, contrast fails. And I would have no meaning.”

She looked up, seeming slightly…

“It is how I can explain it. Does that answer your question, Ryoka Griffin?”

“Yeah.”

The City Runner glanced away. And she stood up. She avoided Belavierr’s eyes as the [Witch] looked questioningly at her. Then Ryoka turned and nodded.

“I wish my mother had said she loved me like that. So that’s why it’s your death.”

Belavierr nodded. There she sat. And the moment passed. Ahead of her, the tornado burned. Ryoka gazed ahead. Belavierr spoke.

“I would like to be loved. I am afraid of death. My daughter must live. But I fear death. So I search for an alternative. Perhaps there is one. But a mother’s love holds me here. But you. You have no child. Why do you run to your death? You fear it too, don’t you?”

“Oh yes.”

Ryoka looked ahead. And the fire howled. The wind blew hot on her face, and she shivered. She was afraid.

“Then why do you run to yours?”

The young woman turned. And she smiled at Belavierr. At the curious face. Ryoka breathed in. And she sighed. She reached for her belt and touched a bit of frozen courage. A bit of friendship.

“Because I have a choice. And I’m afraid of who I would be if I left. I’d like to be a good person.”

“How strange.”

Ryoka laughed. Then she began to run. She left the [Witch] where she sat. And she ran forwards, trotting, jogging, and then running. Ahead of her, a twister of ash and flame bore down on her.

“Wind. Come on. I know you’re more than a tool for someone to use. You’re free. Come on. Run with me.”

Ryoka whispered. She shouted. And the wind blew around her, clearing the ash. It was all fire. Embers blew past Ryoka, smoke and sparks mixing. The ground burned. Ryoka’s soles blistered as she came close to the blaze. But she looked up. The tornado was blowing waves of heat at her. She raised her arm. And she shouted.

“I am the Wind Runner! And I call the wind! Be free!”

She turned. And she began to run. Fast. Faster than she had ever run. The wind howled behind her. And the tornado raged. It blew towards Riverfarm, caught by the wind that pushed at its back. Until it sensed the second breeze. And the young woman who called it.

The whirlwind of fire turned. It began to blow after Ryoka. And she laughed. She ran, trying to outrun the pillar of flames that swerved after her. She had never known the wind could turn to fire! She ran, and the ice in her hand froze her as the fire burned behind her. Chasing her.

Once, Ivolethe had told her that she didn’t understand the wind. And Ryoka still didn’t. She could not fly. She could not run with the wind. But she could lead it. And she did.

She ran. The tornado of fire raced after her over barren grass, turning away from Riverfarm. Chasing the young woman who dared it. She ran on, laughing, screaming as it burned her. Carrying it as far as she could with every step. Faster and faster until she ran with the racing fire. Across scorched ground. Through ash and embers.

Faster. The wind howled at her back. And the fire caught her. It touched her and embraced her, but she did not let it consume her. And she ran with fire. Until the fire was spent and flickering, far from its fuel. Then the young woman stopped. She glanced back and saw the trail she had run. And the fiery winds had nothing left to burn. Ryoka Griffin spread her arms, laughing. She looked at her charred body and fell.

“Impossible.”

Overhead, the Oldblood Drake stared as the whirlwind of fire changed course. He stared as the young Human woman ran and it followed. She should have died in that first hundred feet. But she ran on. And the tornado blew after her. It lost the fire that gave it strength and heat. The winds refused to blow to Riverfarm! The Drake screamed his fury. He watched the City Runner fall. And he contemplated her death. But she was already burnt.

The Drake turned his gaze towards the village. The wind now blew where it pleased. And the tornado was gone. But the fire was still advancing, devouring the dry landscape. He whispered as he flew lower. He had long since used his fire breath past its limit. But he had a mission to finish.

“It will still happen. The village will still burn. And so will they. If I have to finish it myself.”

So the Drake dove. He breathed, and the fire raged. It raced over the fire break, fanned by his breath, which set the very earth alight. Until it met the five [Witches] who stood against it.

—–

“Hold it back. Hold. It. Back.”

Wiskeria stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Hedag, Eloise, Mavika, and Alevica. The [Witches] faced the flames as they raced across the edges of the fire break. Wiskeria’s palm was raised. And all of her force was directed towards the fire.

Embers burned as they flew towards the villagers. Sparks and smoke parted as the [Witches] held their ground. The people of Riverfarm were gasping, falling back towards the river. They were surrounded by fire. On the other side, the fire was licking at the village’s wooden buildings. When they went up, the inferno would trap them on both sides.

It was hot. Wiskeria was trying to hold back heat and ember and smoke. She could feel the blood vessels bursting in her eyes, her nose. She staggered. The four other [Witches] stood with her, combining their power. They wavered, and the fire advanced.

Durene was still trying to fight the fire with dirt and a shovel. The others had fled backwards towards the center of the fields. A shrinking circle of people huddled together as the smoke and heat drove more and more towards unconsciousness. Wiskeria gritted her teeth. Just a bit longer. A bit longer and the flames might extinguish themselves! Run out of fuel!

Then a spark of light made her turn. She looked across the river and saw it. Bright flames. Burning brighter for what they consumed. A low groan escaped her lips. Riverfarm was on fire.

But the fire could not spread by the wind. Ryoka had set it free. Wiskeria watched the village begin to burn. Then she turned her attention ahead. The fire had halted. The fields gave it so little to consume, and the firebreak had stopped it. Wiskeria held her ground. And she held it. They could do this. They could!

Then her death fell from the skies on copper wings. The Drake breathed fire, and his breath ignited the earth itself. The [Witches] glanced up and scattered. And the fire, unblocked, raced forwards.

“Burn! All of you!”

The Drake roared his fury. Wiskeria fell to one knee as the other [Witches] dodged. She saw Eloise raise her hand. Together, they tried to stop the flames. And the fire’s backlash set Eloise aflame. The old [Witch] screamed.

Wiskeria saw the fire racing forwards, burning and adding to the Drake’s flames. They went straight for Riverfarm’s folk, who cried out in fear and despair. The Drake laughed. Wiskeria lay on the ground, spent. She looked up as the fire touched her and began to burn her.

“I tried.”

She tried to cry. But it was too hot. She lay there, burning. And the scream bubbled at her lips. Her people were screaming behind her, catching flame as the Drake burned them, as the fire burned them all.

Riverfarm.

People.

[Witches].

——

The flames were covering the people, the [Witch], and embers fell from the sky like a mockery of rain. An inferno that would kill even if the fire didn’t burn; the very air was impossible to breathe.

An [Emperor] was screaming, unable to do a thing. A Drake was laughing as he looked down at enemies he had never met before this month.

Fire. It could not be stopped, but perhaps—

Perhaps it did not have to kill all.

Wiskeria, burning, saw a figure riding towards her across the river. The river was almost gone, yet the horse leapt across the gap, and a woman lifted her glowing gaze. The inferno did not touch her. The horse she rode was black. And she sat on it, her hat pointed. Her eyes flashing. Her voice was like thunder.

“Halt, fire! You race and burn everything away! But I? I have a life I must save! So burn and follow me!”

Choking. Flames covering her, searing her with an agony—Wiskeria’s eyes were blurring. She could barely hear; her hair was on fire. She whispered.

“Mom?”

The [Witch] rode forwards. Her voice called the flames.

They halted, across the river, as they licked at Riverfarm’s houses, and the tornado caught the Wind Runner. The flames on Wiskeria stopped burning and—turned.

Towards the [Witch]. She lifted her hand, beckoning them, spreading her arms wide, welcoming them, and the fire ran. It leapt off Wiskeria. She felt her agony cease, saw Prost, shielding his family with his arms, turn as flames jumped off his back.

Such a cry of relief. Of life. Wiskeria’s voice was the same until she saw where they headed. Then she grabbed at them.

The [Witch] was riding past Wiskeria. Her back was straight, her blue dress fluttering, the only color in a world of opposites. Red and black, streams of orange and yellow, flashing around her. Then it was as if the entire world followed after her.

A stream of blue and her ringing voice and the hoofbeats sweeping through all the death, drawing it away from the others. Now, she was riding, fast, racing ahead—but the fire was faster.

It caught the [Witch] in a moment. Raced up her horse, and the stallion caught fire. Then the flames touched the woman and covered her in burning light.

The [Witch] screamed. Wiskeria was screaming too, running after her, reaching for her. But it was too late.

The flames on her had gone out. The [Witch] rode on, and the fire leapt from the people. It abandoned the ground and raced after her. She clutched her hat to her head as she galloped, a fireball.

“Come, flame, I offer my magic and craft. I offer a [Witch]’s bones, a mother’s love! I offer my life to turn your wrath! So come and burn away. That my daughter might live one more day.”

“Mother!”

Wiskeria shouted, but the [Witch] didn’t look at her. She was riding away, now, towards the open fields with nothing left to burn but her.

The flames burning the forest, the village—the entire region ablaze followed after like a stream of destruction. Bound in a single woman’s wake. Still, the [Witch] rode on, though the horse was stumbling, and her skin was immolating, turning molten. She was pulling, now.

Pulling the flames—all of them—after her. They roared across the ground, leaving the village, leaving the [Witches]. Burning her.

And still, her back was so straight. Her head rose, despite the agony, and she sat, dignified. Proud.

A [Witch] of legends. Wiskeria’s eyes were blurring with tears, but she had to see. The [Witch] rode ablaze with light, slower, now, the horse stumbling through that empty field. And she laughed. She cackled. With triumph and regret and all her craft. Wiskeria sobbed.

“Mother. Mother!”

The tears ran down her cheeks, and she screamed. Far ahead, the rider was slowing. The horse was failing. And the woman slumped in the saddle. But on they went. A blazing pair, their steps slowing as the flames found nothing left to take. They burned the [Witch]. Devoured her down to her bones, now. And there she stopped. Still sitting upright in that saddle, a skeleton holding onto a burning hat.

Wiskeria ran towards her mother, weeping.

“No. No.”

The Drake flew downwards, screaming. He was spent, coughing. But he had his spear. He dove. And Alevica’s crossbow bolt struck him in the chest. The Drake twisted, and the [Witch] slashed at him, cutting his arm. He snarled and slashed at her, and she flew backwards.

A shriek pierced the black sky. Mavika dove, a monster of wings, and the Drake screamed and struck at her. She ignored the jabbing spear and tore at him.

To earth he fell, snarling. He stood, bleeding, and drank from a bottle. He charged with his spear raised at the old [Witch] who he saw first. And the [Executioner]’s axe caught him across the neck.

“[Headman’s Last Cut].”

The [Infiltrator] jerked. The Oldblood Drake, the smiling man, twisted. He looked into Hedag’s eyes as the axe cut into his neck and shoulder. He jerked away, stumbling. His life’s blood spattered to the ground. Hedag lifted her axe for a second strike, but the Drake spat one last plume of fire, warding her off.

“Healing potion. Healing…”

He reached for it. And he drank it. Splashed it on the wound. But it refused to close. The Drake gazed up into Hedag’s eyes. And she smiled like the sun.

The Drake searched around. The [Witches] stood around him. He reached for his spear. But his arms were out of strength. He gasped, trying to slow the blood with one claw.

“I am one. Just one. Someday, Humans. We will bring you all to justice. Every last one.”

The [Witches] said nothing. They watched as the Drake slowly sat down. He gazed at the blood on his claws. Faintly, slowly, the [Infiltrator] looked up.

“I’m cold.”

He stared up at the sky and died. The [Witches] watched. Then they turned as Wiskeria wept and the last of the fire went out. They bowed their heads and removed their hats.

Rain began to fall.

—–

Charlay found Ryoka. The Centauress was weeping, running from burnt logs to felled trees, calling Ryoka’s name. She found the young woman lying on the ground. Her potions had been destroyed by the fire. Her clothes were barely intact, more fused to her charred flesh than anything.

But she was alive. Charlay hugged her and gave her potions, her hands slipping. It was wet. The rain was falling on the charred landscape. A light drizzle. It hurt Ryoka until the potions did their work. Gently, Charlay carried her back to the others. Ryoka muzzily kept asking whether the others were okay.

Some had died. Two-thirds of the people who had tried the river had perished. Mayor Rodivek had died along with many of Lancrel’s folk. Somehow, Councilwoman Beatica had survived. As if to prove that the fire had taken lives without discrimination.

Those who had fled by ground had perished almost down to the last person. The fire had been too much for anyone on foot or even horseback to outrace. Only Riverfarm remained.

What there was of it. For the fire had eaten away at a number of houses on the edge of the village of Riverfarm, but it hadn’t consumed the village. Nor had it touched the people who’d sheltered in the field. Between the [Witches] and the…end…Ryoka found most alive. Many were burned, but there were healing potions and bandages.

She saw the corpse and rider and the gathering as Charlay brought her through the crowd. Durene helped Ryoka off Charlay’s back and carried her. Ryoka asked to be put down, though she had to lean on her friends. She had to see. She stumbled forwards as the people parted. And her sigh was the only sound in the world.

“Belavierr.”

The fire had burnt her away. Her and the horse. It had made her thinner, burnt at her flesh, reduced the horse into barely…but still she sat there. There was no orange glow in her sockets. No clothing left. Just a body. She and the horse still stood upright. Two charred figures fused into one.

The [Witch] had died mid-laugh, her head thrown up to the sky. Ryoka wondered what Belavierr’s last expression had been. Happy?

People were kneeling around her, staring up at the woman. Not a single person had been spared the flames—but she had taken their death. Ripped it from them. Saved them all.

A bad witch? Ryoka had never seen a better one. She had saved Ryoka, too. The Wind Runner whispered numbly.

“I thought I could stop it.”

One of those gathered around the body glanced up. Wiskeria was kneeling by her mother’s corpse, unmoving. Mavika looked at Ryoka. She bled, but the poison had been tended to. Her expression was sad. Nothing more. She nodded at Ryoka as the other [Witches] gathered around her. Eloise was speaking to Wiskeria, her eyes on the corpse disbelieving—but her words resolute.

“You could not prevent her death. But without you she might have died in vain. She made her choice. And she died a true [Witch].”

Ryoka regarded what remained of Belavierr. It was true. It had been a truly epic magic to end it all. She had contained a wildfire’s inferno in her body and carried it away from Riverfarm. All of it. The fire that had spread for miles had gone out with the [Witch].

And she was dead. Ryoka didn’t know what to say. Searching around, no one did. The people of Riverfarm silently looked on as Wiskeria wept for her mother. They had hated and feared her in life. She had killed Ser Raim, turned Tagil against his companions and to his death. She had manipulated, stolen life, and she had committed atrocities Ryoka couldn’t even imagine. But she had died for her daughter.

Her coven stood around her. Mavika watched in silence, her crows circling, her raven perched, watching. Eloise gazed at Belavierr, mystified, her hat resting in her hands. Hedag leaned on her axe, seeming old and tired and full of grief. Alevica was just sitting, staring up at the [Witch].

Wiskeria wept until there were no more tears, and she just lay there. At last, Prost spoke. He jerked his eyes away from the corpse.

“She deserves to be put to rest. We’ll cremate her? Or should we bury…?”

He looked around. Ryoka stared at him, and the man regarded her blankly.

“She deserves a proper funeral.”

Wiskeria raised her head at that. Her eyes were swollen, but she had finished weeping. At least for now. She stood, Mavika and Eloise supporting her.

“Fire is fine. She won’t mind. It’s only her…body. Besides, it was her death. She wouldn’t care.”

The villagers looked at each other. And slowly, they found wood. Still—glowing embers. They took the remains of houses. Built a pyre larger than any Ryoka had ever seen. It surrounded the [Witch], still mounted. And Wiskeria herself lit it. She had no words to say beyond a whispered goodbye. No one else could say anything.

“Goodbye, Mother.”

Ryoka watched the fire burning upwards, licking at the wood that refused to burn in the light rain. The fire slowly, reluctantly, built.

A pyre for a great witch. One last painful flame…and as they were about to light it, one last time, the last of the coven appeared in the distance.

A woman on horseback and a short figure on a pony. Ryoka had hoped—expected that if anyone had survived, it would be these two.

It gave her a slight smile, and she raised her hand. Riverfarm’s people murmured, without surprise, and Ryoka wondered how Witch Califor would arrive. Ashamed? Unapologetic for riding away?

Ryoka could not blame her. The two rode forwards, the girl on the pony riding hard. The older [Witch] rode slowly, a strange languid motion to her passage, and Ryoka’s lips moved to shout.

“Nanette! Calif—”

A sudden hiss from beside her made Ryoka pause. Mavika, eyes shaded, had stared at the two distant figures. Her crow-eyes had seen something Ryoka had not, and as the Wind Runner turned back, she saw Eloise blanch.

“No. She didn’t—”

The [Witches] looked ahead, then behind, and Ryoka, like a silly girl, stared at their faces. Then the racing girl, riding on horseback, leaving the [Witch] behind. Then—Ryoka heard a shout from Nanette, who rode, crying something out.

A horrified, weeping shout from a daughter. A desperate scream.

“Mother!”

The fire was rising around the burnt [Witch]. As Nanette rode towards Riverfarm, she saw the blaze rising higher. But she almost threw herself onto the flames. Ryoka stared at her until Hedag seized the girl, and the pony reared, screaming, and fled from the flames. But Nanette kicked and tried to leap onto the pyre. Hands outstretched, tears in her eyes.

“Mother! Mother! Mommy!”

The sound broke the silence. It twisted the solemnity, turned it to confusion and discord. Ryoka raised her head. She saw Nanette struggling, tears running down her face.

Wiskeria stared at Nanette. She looked at the burning corpse. Her mother.

“Mother? Nanette, that’s Belavierr. Wait, was she your…?”

No, that couldn’t be right. Belavierr, Nanette’s mother? Wiskeria stared at Nanette without comprehension. There was nothing to support…

Ryoka turned slowly. She felt it. The coven gazed up. Wiskeria held Nanette as the blood drained from her face. Slowly, Ryoka looked to Hedag, who had let go of Nanette and stepped back. And Hedag’s eyes were fixed on the woman riding towards them in the distance.

“Miss Califor?”

She was so distant, yet. Unhurriedly returning after it was all over, sitting tall on her stallion. A tall, imposing woman. Robes so dark as to be almost midnight, but blue, with a splendidly large hat.

Witch Calif—Ryoka’s head swung back to the burnt figure on horseback, to Nanette, screaming as she reached for the dead [Witch]. Then back to ‘Califor’.

And her treacherous eyes revealed the truth: it was not Witch Califor, a tall woman, but not that tall. Face calm as she surveyed the devastation and death.

Relaxed, even triumphant. Regarding the ash-filled sky and mourning people as if they were amusements she were passing by.

Then, Ryoka understood and lost the ability to speak or even think.

Belavierr rode back into Riverfarm as the people looking for Miss Califor turned and saw not the woman who had saved so many, but the Spider, the Witch of Webs. They fell back in shock, turned to statues themselves. Looked up and met her callous eyes. And she?

She smiled in the best of moods and tipped her hat, and they flinched and fled. Stumbling away from her like scattering leaves.

Wiskeria’s eyes were locked on her mother’s face. The coven turned to the burning witch—and now Ryoka saw Nanette’s face. Filled with tears and grief and guilt. And her throat—

A brown choker, a ribbon, tight around Nanette’s neck. As Belavierr dismounted and lifted a hand, it unravelled, and Ryoka recognized it. The ribbon Belavierr had given Nanette.

Hidden in her hair. Then—Ryoka was sick enough to vomit, and only the horror kept it in. Belavierr walked forwards as the ribbon slithered away from Nanette and towards her. She tucked it into her cloak.

When she halted, she just stood there. In front of the coven. Surrounded by Riverfarm. Facing the burning [Witch]. A monster dressed in darkness, the greatest smile of satisfaction on her face.

Belavierr spread her arms wide, wide, and her beaming grin grew. She turned to Wiskeria, the folds of her robes fluttering in the breeze. With ash and death drifting from the folds of her dress. With damnation falling with each word from her mouth.

“My beloved daughter.”

The mourners looked up. Then they turned to the burned [Witch]. And they understood. Ryoka stared into Belavierr’s eyes, and she saw Belavierr’s true heart. The Stitch Witch’s spread arms beckoned Wiskeria, a mother inviting her daughter to leap to her arms.

“I found a way to live and save you, Daughter. Come to my arms.”

Wiskeria stood there, looking back at the real Miss Califor. The burnt witch. At Nanette, who had begun to scream until she had no voice—and then at her mother.

Her mother who had done what she always did: trade.

In this case, a life for a life. Nanette’s…the brown ribbon…for Wiskeria and all of Riverfarm’s. And Belavierr’s.

A glorious bargain. She looked so satisfied with herself. So pleased—

Belavierr didn’t react to Ryoka until the Wind Runner was almost on top of her. Then her gaze flicked sideways, and Ryoka, screaming, punched Belavierr in the chest. She drew something—a knife—and stabbed Belavierr in the side.

Or tried to. Her blade skidded off Belavierr’s dress. Ryoka punched Belavierr in the face, in the chest, and her fist nearly broke. Belavierr tilted her head.

“Ah, Ryoka Griffin. What a fine day it is, isn’t it?”

The Wind Runner tried to murder her—and Belavierr stared at Ryoka and flicked her aside with one hand. Then she looked up.

“Hello, my coven.”

The [Witches] looked at her. A [Witch]. A fellow [Witch]. They had not judged her, not before this. Now?

Alevica drew a wand and sword. Mavika’s claws were talons. Eloise drew a wand, and Hedag lifted her axe.

Mavika slashed across Belavierr’s face. Eloise fired a glowing, pink spell into Belavierr’s side, and Hedag brought her axe down as Alevica fired two shots from her wand at Belavierr’s leg.

The Witch of Webs did not react. She tilted her head as Mavika slashed through her features, claws rending her nose, tearing apart her face and eyes—

And in the next second, Belavierr’s features were whole. The three spells struck her robes and did nothing. Hedag brought her axe down—and it bit deep. Belavierr lifted a hand and caught the axe as Hedag tried to drive it deeper through her shoulder to cleave her in half.

She gently removed the axe and tossed it aside.

“Ah, a coven no longer, I see. I grant you those blows, sisters, as proof of the friendship we shared. But I tell you it was the best deal I struck. For Riverfarm, for me, and for thee. Now, begone, little women. I wish to speak to my daughter.”

They kept attacking her, and Ryoka, sobbing, tried to tackle Belavierr, grab a leg—move her. She could not. Belavierr’s head swung down towards Ryoka, and she gently picked Ryoka Griffin up. Put her on her feet.

Even patted her on the head, and a finger lifted Ryoka’s chin. Belavierr whispered, a smile on her face.

“Do not make me angry, girl. You are alive, and I am in the finest of moods. Step back, be silent. Or I shall make a new pact.”

She caught Mavika’s hand as the crow-witch began to grow.

“The same to you, sisters. In this place, at this time? You have everything to lose. I swore to let Califor’s daughter live in exchange for one great deed. Nothing else.”

Belavierr pointed a finger at Nanette, who didn’t move, reaching toward her mother’s corpse. The [Witches] hesitated.

“Belavierr. You will pay for this. No [Witch] in the world will give you shelter or aid, I swear it by my hat. You have a witch’s grudge—you wretched thing. You worthless pile of shit.”

Eloise was trembling with fury, her voice ringing like someone else—and Belavierr glanced at her dismissively.

“From Mavika that might be a threat, but she knows better than to earn my grudge. The only other woman who could make it well is dead. Begone, broken [Lady] and humbled, little witch. Now see, my daughter, what I have wrought? I am my old self, as you never knew. Do you see? I did it all for you.”

Belavierr swung one arm out, and her smile was a terrible thing. She walked forwards and bent towards her daughter. She reached out, and Wiskeria raised a shaking hand. It had a knife, but Wiskeria was shaking so badly that she could barely hold it. Belavierr captured Wiskeria’s hand, ignoring the blade. Her voice was soft, delighted, as she stroked her daughter’s head. Gently. So lovingly.

“My beloved daughter. You will remember this day forever. You have found your craft, and you will be the first [Witch] of a new era. One of law. Of order. And you will be the greatest [Witch] of us all. This is my love for you, Wiskeria. This is what I can give you. I will be your craft. Stop me. Hunt me.”

Belavierr bent. She kissed her daughter on the forehead. Then she held Wiskeria’s face in her hands, turning it right and left, as if memorizing it. Belavierr’s hands tightened a second—and for a second, she seemed to hesitate, as if about to do something else. Twist? Then she let go.

“What a strange weakness you are, my daughter. I do not hate it. I have enjoyed being a mother. I will watch you grow and delight in your every stride. Until the day I die, we are mother and daughter, Wiskeria. Until the day I die.”

And then she turned and walked away. She looked back once at Wiskeria, waved, and then she was gone.

6.47 E

Day 71

The next day, Laken returned home.

He returned on a quiet day. The rains that had poured from the sky after the days of fire had flooded the barren ground. So much so that the banks of Riverfarm’s river were overflowing. The water was actually a danger to the landscape; it was eroding the soil, which wasn’t prepared for this much stored rain. There was a potential now for the fields of scorched plants to drown.

Another aspect of the Drakes’ plans, if they’d thought so far ahead. But the heavy downpour had stopped in the morning, leaving only intermittent showers.

Ryoka stood by Riverfarm’s entrance with the others. Waiting. They knew he was coming. So they waited. [Witches]. Villagers. Her, Charlay. Silently.

They could have been working. The fields were half-ruined by fire. Parts of Riverfarm had been evacuated due to the fire damage. There were a hundred things to do. But all the people of Riverfarm had done yesterday was cremate and bury the dead, or rather, what remained of those they’d found.

No one had the spirit for anything else. Even the [Witches] were silent. Their hats still dripped with rainwater. They were motionless.

Five of them. Hedag. Eloise. Mavika. Alevica. Wiskeria. The one missing was Nanette. But no one had forced her to come outside. After yesterday, after the revelation that it had been Califor who had stopped the fire at the cost of her life, she hadn’t moved. Belavierr had fled. And Nanette was…gone.

Broken. Ryoka didn’t want to think of it like that. But that was what it looked like. Someone had taken Nanette’s heart, had taken that smiling, cheerful little [Witch] and removed her happiness. Belavierr had killed Califor, had forced her to her death. And Califor had been Nanette’s mother. Her true mother, by blood as well as parenthood. And she was dead.

There wasn’t anything else to say. Ryoka couldn’t even cry. She hated herself. Hated herself for ever believing Belavierr was more than a monster. Hated herself for trying to give her a chance. And she hated the Drake who had died.

She didn’t even know his name. But he had engineered this pointless death, spread the fire that had taken so many lives. He had done it so casually, too. Without even knowing Riverfarm. He was an agent of a foreign power. And he had killed hundreds, perhaps thousands of people in this region for a war that few had taken part in.

Ryoka had never felt more like she was home than today. It was the same world, deep down. The same people, even if they wore different bodies. She hated it. But she couldn’t even be angry. So she stood there.

And there Laken came. Just before midmorning, the silence of the crowd was broken. A bright, blue bird took wing. She flew up, and Frostwing’s piercing scream made the people below start. The bird had sensed the grief in the air perhaps, but she was a simpler creature. And she had picked up on something before the others. She flew east, flapping her wings rapidly. Then she dove out of the skies, a blue bolt of feathers, shrieking.

On the ground, a Mossbear got up from where he had been napping besides Durene. Bismarck, his fur singed, looked up and roared. He lumbered forwards, people scattering around him. He raced after Frostwing, moving faster than Ryoka could remember seeing him. Ryoka stood taller, craning her neck with the others to see. It was Durene who exclaimed and pointed first.

Then Ryoka saw him. A distant figure riding slowly towards them, one of two on the road. He didn’t lead the way. He was following another man, who was guiding both his horse and the young man’s. But the [Emperor]’s head was craning, following Frostwing as she flew down towards him. He raised an arm, and she landed there, pecking and shrieking at him.

“Is that…?”

Eloise murmured. Durene ran forwards a few steps.

“It’s him.”

She was certain, even as far away as she was. Durene hesitated, then began to trot, then run. Prost watched her. And then he followed at a jog. Chimmy, Miss Yesel, and the rest of his family followed as well.

“It’s His Majesty!”

Jelov the [Carpenter] shouted, spraying people around him with spit. He crab-ran after the others. And then Riverfarm’s villagers were running, calling out his name. The others, who had never met Laken, watched. Startled. But then they followed, first at a quick walk, then faster. Ryoka ran past them. Charlay galloped on her right.

“Why are we running? Why are we running?”

Ryoka had no answer. But everyone in Riverfarm was racing towards him. And he sensed them. He dismounted from the horse as the other rider stopped. He jumped back, shouting, laughing, as Bismarck nearly knocked him flat. And he hugged the Mossbear. His head rose. And his closed eyes turned. He urged Frostwing onto Bismarck’s back. And he turned as Durene thundered at him.

“You—you—you’ve been gone so—”

Laken Godart stood there as Durene skidded to a stop in front of him. Ryoka was third, Charlay second. She looked at the [Emperor]. He stood in front of his horse. And he seemed larger than she remembered. He filled the air, for all he was shorter than both her and Durene. He turned his head, his eyes still closed. Towards Ryoka. But it was to Durene he turned back to.

“I know. My dear Durene. I know. I’m sorry.”

He walked towards her. The half-Troll girl hesitated. And she moved forwards timidly. The two stopped in front of each other awkwardly. Laken tilted his head up, as if to see her face. Durene hesitantly raised a hand.

They reached out. Laken straightened, and Durene’s head bent. And—she didn’t expect it, but he had intended it—they kissed there. Riverfarm’s folk stopped, panting. And waited. After a second, Laken turned towards them. The man on the horse slowly dismounted.

“Your Majesty.”

Mister Prost spoke slowly. Lady Rie panted as she caught up, having to push through the crowds. Laken turned his head. He didn’t speak at first. He just turned his head, his closed eyes passing over the faces in the crowd. Laken paused. And then he nodded.

“Mister Prost. My people. I’ve missed you so dearly. You and Riverfarm. I have been gone too long. At last, I have returned. Hear me. I am your [Emperor]. And I have come back.”

And he smiled slightly. Prost and the villagers of Riverfarm bowed their heads. Then they took a knee. In the muddy road. Lady Rie curtsied, ignoring the same muck. The people behind them hesitated. Lancrel’s folk, townsfolk, and villagers from further off wavered. But something compelled them. Perhaps it was the way he stood. Or the way he fit in this place. Like a missing part of the village. Perhaps it was only his class, but Ryoka felt it too.

Slowly, they knelt. Men, women, children. Only Ryoka remained standing. Ryoka, Charlay, who wavered and then locked her legs. And the [Witches]. The man behind Laken seemed disapproving. Laken himself just smiled.

“Thank you. You still find me worthy, then, Prost?”

“I have never doubted you for a moment, sire. Not since the day you found my family in the snow.”

Prost spoke, his head bowed. Laken nodded.

“Then I will answer that faith. Rise, my [Steward]. I am back. And though much grief has passed, I intend to begin mending my errors. Rise. And look: I did not return alone.”

He pointed. Ryoka saw, behind him, another procession travelling on foot. A few were mounted, but the majority of the [Engineers] and [Builders] walked. They too broke into a run when they saw the gathering. And one of the mounted men, Gamel, raced towards the crowd with Tessia riding behind him.

“Gamel! Tessia!”

“It’s the [Engineers]! They’ve all returned!”

Some of the villagers exclaimed excitedly. Laken nodded, and those who knew the people running towards them broke out of the crowd and met them. The delighted laughter and exclamations felt odd to Ryoka’s ears. Unfamiliar after so long without hearing them. But, oh, so welcome.

The young man on horseback, Gamel, dismounted. He bowed precisely towards Laken.

“Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Gamel. Tessia, your parents are over that way.”

Laken pointed to his left. Tessia cried out and ran to an older couple fighting their way through the crowd. Gamel smiled. Laken turned his head.

“Do you have anyone you would like to see, Gamel?”

“No one not buried, Your Majesty. And they can wait. Your orders?”

The [Emperor] paused. And then he nodded.

“Very well, Gamel, with me. Mister Prost, Lady Rie, Durene, and Lord Yitton, would you all walk with me?”

Laken turned his head. And Ryoka saw him nod once towards her. But then he set off with the five people trailing after him. The crowd parted as Laken walked forwards. The [Emperor] turned his head.

“Lady Rie, a delight to hear your voice.”

“You flatter me, Your Majesty. Was your return uneventful?”

“Besides witnessing the devastation? Quite. However, my delayed return has given me time to assess the damage. We have much to do.”

“Yes, sire. Only—”

Prost hesitated. Laken turned towards him.

“Yes, Mister Prost?”

The [Steward] wavered. Their conversation was being followed by everyone present. And the moment of Laken’s arrival was passing. Ryoka could see the others appraising him. Waiting on his words. Prost raked a hand through his greying hair.

“I don’t know where to begin. The fire that…Drake caused didn’t damage Riverfarm much. But there was a [Witch].”

“Belavierr. Yes. I understand most of what transpired from Lady Rie’s [Message].”

Laken’s words caused a shudder to run through those around him. The [Emperor] paused. And he looked around.

“Mister Prost, I understand. Riverfarm has been through so much. But, surely you haven’t reached the limits of your stamina the moment I return? Or am I overestimating you [Farmers] and village folk?”

He smiled at the slight flush on Prost’s face. Laken shook his head, forestalling the man’s reply.

“I know. Yet, we have been through worse, Prost. I remember a village covered in snow. A time when we fought in the streets of Riverfarm. We have seen times just as dark. And each time, Riverfarm rebuilt itself. This time, mercifully, there is more left. And I will replace the rest piece by piece. But I can’t do it alone. May I lean on you for help?”

“Of course. Of course, Your Majesty.”

Prost’s voice cleared. And he looked around, assessing, a spark back in his eyes. Laken nodded.

“This is still a home. And it has weathered both ice and fire. And I am finally back. So, let us get to work! And then break open the stores and toast and mourn! Miss Yesel! Chimmy!”

He reached out, addressing the girl and woman in the crowd. Others gathered around. Laken turned, addressing people by their names. Smiling. Prost had to eventually shout for order and help Laken extricate himself from the crowd. Laughing, the [Emperor] continued onwards.

“Very well, Mister Prost. I see that Riverfarm’s folk are hale and hearty. But the village is quite a bit bigger than I remember. Will you introduce me to the newcomers?”

He turned and faced the other folk. They shifted, a bit disconcerted by the stare that was not a stare with Laken’s closed eyes. Prost nodded.

“These are folk from other towns and villages, Your Majesty. Some from small places like Fendele, others larger places like Tulntown. Most are from Lancrel, though.”

“Ah, yes. Lancrel.”

Laken murmured. A shadow crossed his brow. He nodded, turning his head to regard the crowd.

“I welcome you all. I regret that I was not here earlier. And I thank you for your efforts in building Riverfarm. I am Laken Godart. Riverfarm’s [Emperor]. I will meet with all of you in time and learn who each of you are. Today, though, we have work to do. Riverfarm has endured a great disaster. But it stands. And it will become greater still.”

Murmuring. The people watched Laken, some wary, others disbelieving. Many hopeful. Others, doubting because he was blind. But Laken was confident. He didn’t hesitate. He was turning back to Prost when a voice rang out.

“Excuse me! Excuse me! Make way!”

Ryoka, listening, winced as she saw a familiar face pushing through the crowd. And Councilwoman Beatica did have to push. Her metaphorical stocks were in the dumps after the disaster that had left her with some magically-healed burns and countless others dead in the river. But she still faced Laken, breathless.

“Pardon me. Your…Majesty.”

“Yes? Can I help you, Miss?”

Laken paused, turning back to Councilwoman Beatica with a bemused expression on his face. Surely he had to know who she was—but his brows rose. Lady Rie glared and urgently whispered in his ear, but the [Emperor] stepped forwards.

Everyone was watching this too. Councilwoman Beatica smoothed her dress, straightened, and spoke with every shred of authority she had. She smiled ingratiatingly—until it occurred to her that was pointless on Laken.

“I am Councilwoman Beatica, your—Your Majesty. And I am pleased to welcome you on behalf of—”

She got no further. Laken, with impeccable timing, raised his brows and exclaimed.

“A [Councilwoman]?”

He whirled, cutting off Beatica’s flow, and frowned at Lady Rie.

“I didn’t know Riverfarm had elected a council. Nor that my people were intending to replace my [Steward], Mister Prost. What is the meaning of this, Lady Rie?”

For a moment, the [Lady] looked as surprised as anyone else. Then she smiled.

“Your pardon, Emperor Godart, but I’m afraid you misheard Councilwoman Beatica. She was not referring to Riverfarm’s council.”

“Not referring to…?”

Laken’s frown made the smile on Beatica’s face waver. She licked her lips.

“I am of Lancrel, Your Majesty, but as I was saying—”

“Ah, Lancrel. Of course.”

Laken lightly tapped the heel of his palm on his forehead. He smiled and nodded. Then, suddenly, he focused on Councilwoman Beatica.

“This is Riverfarm, Miss Beatica. You are aware of that?”

The woman spluttered.

“Yes, but—”

The [Emperor] nodded happily. Then he walked right past her.

“I am delighted to meet you, Miss Beatica. However, I must attend to Riverfarm’s pressing needs at the moment. I look forwards to meeting you with the rest of my new subjects when time permits.”

“But—”

“If you have an issue, you may address it to one of my subordinates if they have time for you, Miss Beatica. However, your former station does not grant you any authority here. Lancrel’s folk are welcome here—as citizens of the Unseen Empire.”

Ryoka enjoyed seeing the woman’s face go slack. She opened her mouth, but Laken was already ignoring her. He addressed the rest of the crowd, who had seen Councilwoman Beatica’s power evaporate like, well, an idea.

“If you have come here, you are my people. No less regardless of whence you came, but no more than that either. Any of you might be a leader. And you will have chances to rise to the occasion. But right now, in this moment, my [Steward] is Mister Prost. Lady Rie is his counterpart. The man who stands next to me is Gamel, my aide and [Knight]. Lord Yitton Byres has come to visit Riverfarm. Durene is my consort and [Paladin]. And I will rely on each of them to manage Riverfarm. Now, let us begin.”

Laken clapped his hands, and the air was suddenly brisk. He strode back to Riverfarm, and the five adjutants followed him. And everyone else thereafter. Laken spoke briskly, turning his head to Mister Prost.

“There are three main issues that need attending to now. Firstly, the fires and aftermath. I sense no remaining embers after the rain. The sacrifice of the…[Witch] must have caused that.”

He paused and turned his head towards the five [Witches] watching him. Laken nodded and went on.

“However, there is much to do. Mister Prost, I am placing you in charge of the repair work. A number of buildings on the western and southern edges of Riverfarm are damaged. Begin pulling down any that can’t be repaired. Next, I want teams of sweepers removing all this ash and dust before we breathe it in. Wash it down the street with buckets if you have to.”

“At once, sire.”

Prost beamed. He looked ten years younger as Laken smiled. The [Emperor] nodded towards the distant river and the fields beyond it.

“Lastly, I want [Farmers] to begin replanting fields and every [Hunter] and [Archer] you can spare in another team. There’s a herd of deer—regular deer—who fled the fires. They’re north of us, about eight miles. Have wagons ready to bring back the carcasses.”

“Hunting, Your Majesty?”

Prost exclaimed, but in the next moment, he was nodding.

“Absolutely. It will be done, sire. Let me get—”

He began searching around, but Laken held up a hand.

“No need to deal with all of it yourself, Mister Prost. That does remind me. Before you set to work—excuse me, you, sir, and you, Miss, with the hammer in the belt. Step forwards please.”

Laken turned and unerringly pointed to two people in the crowd. There was a start, but the two he’d indicated came forwards slowly. Ryoka recognized both. Laken nodded to the man and the woman.

“Ram, isn’t it? And [Forewoman] Beycalt. I’ve heard of both of you.”

“You have? I mean, Your Majesty?”

Beycalt stammered. Ram looked delighted.

“You remember me, Emperor Laken?”

“I do indeed. Ram from Windrest. How could I forget? And you, Miss Beycalt, I’ve heard good things of. Both of you.”

Both man and woman bowed their heads, flushing. Laken went on, speaking in a loud, carrying voice as he turned back to Mister Prost.

“Mister Prost, you’ve done a splendid job as [Steward], as has Lady Rie. But no man or woman can handle an entire village alone, let alone one of Riverfarm’s size. Thus, I am naming Mister Ram my [Head Farmer] and Forewoman Beycalt my [Construction Supervisor]. Both will be in charge of their respective fields and have the authority to issue orders and promote people below them to jobs such as [Foreman]. Or [Forewoman].”

“Promoted?”

Ram exclaimed. Beycalt’s eyes bulged.

“[Supervisor]?”

“Of course. A [Forewoman] can’t handle Riverfarm’s construction, can she? Nor can Mister Prost manage everything himself. You’ve both held your positions of authority under him. I am simply confirming it. With a class change. Let me know if you don’t level up.”

Laken turned, smiling slightly. Then his voice sharpened again.

“Mister Prost, Supervisor Beycalt, Headman Ram, please take whomever you need! Mister Prost will confer with you.”

The [Steward] nodded and, beaming, clapped Ram on the shoulder. The former [Rancher] pointed at Laken. So did Beycalt.

“But he just—a [Supervisor]?”

“To work, Beycalt! And you, Ram! It’s nothing you can’t handle, or His Majesty wouldn’t have chosen you. All you have to do is pick folks you know can do the job. Just like before. Beycalt, you know who can swing a hammer! We’ll start with the edges first, and Ram, how many hands do you need to replant and expand?”

“Well—”

The confused expression faded from both their faces. They glanced back at Laken, and he nodded. He looked sideways and addressed the young man walking beside him.

“Gamel. Please introduce Tessia and our [Engineers] to Supervisor Beycalt. They’ll be helpful in setting up those houses. And get me a big piece of parchment as well. Riverfarm’s layout is good, but I want to update it. I’ll need—”

“Drawing charcoal, sire; I will have it in a minute. [Engineers], with me!”

Gamel’s call stirred the crowd. He turned and marched back towards Tessia and the others. And then Prost, Ram, and Beycalt were calling names, and men and women, realizing they’d be called on, were halting. Meanwhile, the procession was continuing, heading into the village. Laken was glancing up at the sky, or rather, tilting his head up since he didn’t need to see.

“I feel like I’m going to be hit in the head with a raindrop any second. Let’s get ready for rain. And get some food ready! Have people had a filling meal, Lady Rie?”

“Some food, yes, Emperor Godart. I wouldn’t call it filling.”

“Then let’s have a rolling lunch. [Cooks] to their stations! We have a number of cookhouses now, don’t we? We’ll run food out to the [Farmers], if it’s not pouring. But that’s a smaller task. Now—the second issue. Beniar! Why are you hanging back there?”

He waved at the crowd. At his words, the armored [Cataphract] pushed his way forwards, beaming.

“Your Majesty! I didn’t want to presume!”

“And here I was expecting you to ride me down and hug me in that uncomfortable armor. Get over here! You’re needed! The Darksky Riders have been Riverfarm’s shield and sword—I’m going to have to expand your ranks as well as honor the lot of you!”

There was a whoop from behind Beniar. He strode forwards as Laken turned, taking the course around the village. He gestured at Lady Rie and Beniar next. Ryoka, hurrying to watch him, saw Lord Yitton watching with approval and fascination—Durene with pride.

“Lady Rie. I count seventeen groups on the road. Find me a map and take Beniar and his Darksky Riders. Once I’ve located them for you, send the [Riders] to them and invite them to join Riverfarm. Few villages remain standing. Two towns were half-destroyed. Send the [Riders] to those towns as well.”

“So many?”

Lady Rie looked worried. Laken’s face sobered.

“Yes. And too many were caught by the fire. But those who did make it are by and large homeless. I intend to do what Ryoka did and offer them Riverfarm’s security.”

He nodded in Ryoka’s direction. The City Runner jumped as every head swung towards her for a moment. That was another thing. In Invrisil, Laken had just been…blind. But here, it was like he had eyes in the back of his head as well as everywhere else! It was adding to the impression he made as he spoke. Lady Rie frowned.

“What if they decline, Your Majesty?”

Laken shook his head.

“It is an offer they may refuse. Riverfarm can feed and house them, but it is a choice, Lady Rie. Which is why we need to bring in food now. Which reminds me…”

He snapped his fingers, vexed. Then he turned as Gamel hurried back towards him.

“Gamel! I also have a list of bodies of water with fish in them! Anyone who knows how to fish will need to be transported to and from those spots—but not overharvest any one location! Get me two maps, one for Lady Rie, another for Prost! And that parchment!”

“Yes, Your Majesty—”

Laken turned back to Lady Rie, nodding.

“Food, as I said. And if the groups do agree to enter Riverfarm, they must be found places to sleep, heads counted, and lists of their classes and useful Skills accounted for. Negotiations are in order as well; we will need to work with every town and city nearby to repair so much damage. Lady Rie, I am entrusting that role to you and whomever you would like to appoint. Perhaps you have a list of some of our more diplomatic members of Riverfarm?”

Lady Rie inhaled. And somewhere in the crowd, Beatica looked up eagerly. Laken’s smile was all too knowing.

“We may need managers to distribute goods, Lady Rie. To coordinate cooking, supplies—any number of roles! I will entrust their appointment to you, Lady Rie. They are under your authority, of course. Send whomever you please on horseback at once. And while you’re at it, about fifty-eight totems have been burned. Jelov will need to replace them.”

The [Lady] could not have looked more pleased if Laken had told her she could hit Beatica with a broom. Her head turned, and the [Councilwoman] paled as Lady Rie smiled ghoulishly at her. Ryoka guessed that the most distant city or town would soon be getting a newly-appointed diplomat visiting them. Probably riding the most ill-tempered mule Rie could find. The [Lady] curtseyed.

“At once, Your Majesty. I will see to everything that needs doing. And confer with you as to the location of these groups in…thirty minutes? Very good, Your Majesty. Oh, Miss Yesel? A word, if you would. And you too, Mister Tharei. I suppose you as well, Miss Beatica. Come along now!”

She strode off, taking more people with her. That was the trick to it, Ryoka realized. Laken was still moving. He hadn’t even paused when Rie took her leave. He was speaking to Jelov next. The [Carpenter] had somehow managed to get between Durene and Yitton and was now beam-spitting at Laken.

“Your Majesty, so glad to see you! Knew you’d be back, and hope you whooped those Goblins a second arse! You need new totems? Of course! They burned, didn’t they? Fire does that, ‘least, if we carve it of plain wood. We could make some out of fireproof stuff, but that costs the earth and’s hard to work, so it is! But you need more? Can do! Me and a few of the other, heh, [Carpenters]’ll be glad to do it! Of course, I’d be glad to lead them…”

He waggled his eyebrows in a way that made Ryoka vaguely nauseated, but Laken’s lack of sight meant he didn’t even pause. He smiled and patted Jelov on the shoulder as he wiped his face with a sleeve.

“Good work, Jelov. But I haven’t decided on a [Royal Carpenter] yet. I’d prefer you, of course, but I understand Prost’s had words with you about selling trinkets. Please do something about the coins in the floorboard under your bed. It’s distracting me. Now, onto the third issue at hand.”

As the [Carpenter] choked on his own tongue, Laken turned to face the group still following him. More and more people were being called away, but a great number still watched Laken. Among them were the [Witches], who had made their way to the front. As well as Ryoka and Charlay. The Centauress was tugging on Ryoka’s arm.

“That’s Riverfarm’s [Emperor]! But he’s blind! And he can see everything? Is it a Skill! He’s pretty cool! Hey, you know him, Ryoka?”

“The last issue. Shut up, Charlay.”

Ryoka muttered back. She watched as the [Witches] straightened expectantly. Laken paused. Then he walked right past the [Witches] and stopped in front of Charlay and Ryoka. He looked up at them as all five [Witches] turned, seeming peeved under their pointed hats. Laken nodded absently.

“The third task is Gralton. But first—Ryoka Griffin. It’s been a while.”

“Hi, Laken.”

Ryoka didn’t know whether to smile or frown at Laken. Since it wouldn’t matter, she did neither. Laken paused. The two stood together, unsaid words spilling in the air. Laken nodded.

“I owe you a debt, Ryoka. And we have much to discuss. But later.”

“Right.”

“We are here as well, [Emperor] of men. Do not ignore us.”

A voice spoke menacingly from behind Laken. He paused, then turned around. The [Witch] who had spoken, Mavika, received a blank not-a-stare.

“That was hardly my intention, Miss [Witch]. Ryoka Griffin is a friend of the throne. And you, my guests of whom I have heard so much. I greet you and hope the hospitality you have been offered has suited you. To whom am I speaking?”

It was well done. Mavika paused. And it was Eloise who replied with a curtsey as formal as Lady Rie’s.

“Your Majesty, Emperor Godart. I am Witch Eloise, and this is Witch Mavika. We are [Witches] who have come to request an audience on behalf of the [Witches] of Izril. We five are part of a coven, and we ask that you hear our petition when time may allow. We formally greet you and thank you for your hospitality—as well as forbearance for any incidents our number may have caused you during our stay.”

She tipped her hat and stepped on Mavika’s foot while elbowing Hedag. The other [Witches] bowed or nodded. Mavika just glared before jerking her head. Laken tilted his head in reply.

“I greet you, [Witches] of Riverfarm’s Coven. I am aware of the great debt I owe you and the [Witch] known as Miss Califor especially. Your actions have saved Riverfarm, and I will not forget that.”

The other [Witches] nodded approvingly. Laken went on with a slight frown.

“However, I understand that one of your number has brought death and strife to Riverfarm. She has slain a [Knight] and [Hunters] from Terandria’s guild on my lands, taken the life out of one of my subjects and—coerced others to their deaths. Tell me. Do you claim the Stitch Witch, Belavierr, as one of your own?”

The question went straight back towards Mavika. All the [Witches], Ryoka, and everyone else, paused to hear her response. Mavika bared her teeth.

“No. She has taken the life of one of her fellow [Witches] without cause. This coven has found her wanting. She is welcome among neither [Witches] nor men.”

“Very well. In that case, I bid you all welcome. Avail yourselves of my hospitality until we have the opportunity to meet. But as I mentioned, it is Lord Gralton that needs must attend to. Yitton, have we heard anything more from him?”

The man that had been accompanying Laken stepped forwards. Ryoka saw an older man’s face, lined and stern, but quite well-kept. European, like the landed nobility of Izril’s Human population, turning grey from dark blond. It was also somewhat familiar. Ryoka narrowed her eyes. Wait did Laken say Byres earlier?

Yitton nodded.

“Nothing yet, Your Majesty.”

“Then it’s safe to say Gralton’s situation is unchanged. And he is in need.”

“Who’s Gralton, Laken?”

Durene whispered and then turned red when everyone stared at her. Laken patted her arm reassuringly.

“Gralton is one of two [Lords] who accompanied me back, Durene. Remember, I wrote of them?”

“Oh, right. Where is he?”

“In his estates. Which is the problem. His lands were hit by a mysterious plague around the same time as Riverfarm was.”

“Drakes.”

Someone cursed. Laken nodded gravely.

“Exactly. But his ailment was sickness. It’s in his kennels. He’s falling apart over it. Which brings me to my issue.”

He turned back to the coven, who were all watching him like hawks save for Mavika, who had a crowish glare. Laken nodded.

“Ladies, [Witches], first, how may I address you?”

Hedag laughed. She leaned on her axe, speaking at Laken from under her wide, brown hat.

“Call us [Witches], you who call yourself [Emperor]. For that is what we are. And you.”

Laken nodded, turning his head left and right as if to catch Hedag’s voice and memorize it. He paused, then went on.

“Very well. [Witches], I have a request for you as [Emperor] of Riverfarm and the Unseen Empire. At this moment, a friend of mine, a [Lord], is struck by disaster. The same Drakes who set fire to Riverfarm have engineered a plague in his lands. Or perhaps it is poison, a combination of both. As we speak, his dogs and people lie dying. Gralton’s [Healers] are stymied by the sickness. But [Witches] might have better luck. Have any of you the craft to heal Gralton’s sick?”

The request caught the entire coven off-guard. Ryoka saw them exchange glances, and then all turned to stare at Eloise. The tea [Witch] pursed her lips and answered after a moment.

“I may. It is a sudden request, Your Majesty. But—several of us know the craft of poison or remedies thereof to some extent. Are you requesting us to come to this Lord Gralton’s aid?”

“If I asked it, would you agree? I would consider it a boon that would not go unrewarded.”

The coven paused. Mavika glared and replied waspishly.

“A boon to be repaid with words or deeds, [Emperor] of men? If you would seek to ask for our deeds, do you have aught to offer or do you simply make a request?”

Laken raised an eyebrow.

“Witch Mavika, is it? I poorly phrased my statement. Of course, I offer payment for services rendered. But the question I wished to ask was whether you would consider doing it at all.”

“That depends on the offer.”

“Mavika!”

Eloise hissed. Mavika ignored her. Laken smiled, though. It almost seemed like he was enjoying himself. But his tone was courteous as he nodded.

“Of course. Then, to cure Gralton’s lands, I offer you coin and an [Emperor]’s gratitude. Witch Eloise, do you desire gold?”

“It is always welcome, Your Majesty.”

The [Witch] replied smoothly. Laken nodded thoughtfully.

“In that case—four hundred gold coins to each [Witch] who has the skill to heal Gralton’s ill.”

“I’ll do it!”

Alevica’s hand shot up before Laken had finished speaking. All the coven looked at her. Alevica was still pale, but the light of avarice had given her new energy. Eloise hesitated.

“I as well. As a favor to both His Majesty and for those in need. We shall set out at once, then. We may require horses. I may, at any rate, if Alevica is well enough to fly.”

“Excellent. I will provide you with directions and transport. Are there any among you who can cure poisons? Wiskeria?”

The [Witch] hesitated and then shook her head.

“Not me, Laken. I can do some, but Eloise and Alevica can do far more than I can. But maybe…”

She glanced at Hedag. The [Executioner] shook her head.

“Not I. And little Nanette—no. But Mavika might.”

Everyone regarded Mavika. The crow [Witch] folded her arms. Some of her crows were circling overhead, cawing. Frostwing flew through them, screaming, and they scattered.

“I have knowledge of poison and ills. But gold does not motivate this [Witch]’s will.”

She sounded like she was just being stubborn, if the look on Eloise’s face was anything to go by. But Laken was equal to the challenge. He bowed, very politely, which surprised Ryoka until she remembered. German folklore meant he was probably aware of the dangers of insulting as much as she. Or he just understood what Mavika was like.

“Witch Mavika, if gold does not suit you, what about food? Four gold coin’s worth of food for your flocks, whenever you ask it. Meat or grain. So long, of course, as you do all in your power to come to Gralton’s aide.”

In fact, he really understood her. Laken must have memorized the descriptions of each [Witch]. Mavika blinked. And the crow perched on a roof overhead cawed hungrily. She wavered, then nodded grudgingly.

“Done.”

“Excellent. Then I, Laken Godart, do swear to pay your price due if you swear to work to your utmost within the spirit of your vow and reason to bring aid to Gralton’s land.”

Laken held out his hand, and Mavika shook it. He turned, nodding, and looked at the young man hurrying up towards him with his arms full.

“We may need to borrow a house. The throne room doesn’t have tables, as I recall, Gamel. Lady Rie is that way—we’ll convene with her. I require a larger map to show these [Witches] where Gralton’s lands are.”

“I will see to it at once, sire!”

Gamel wheezed. Laken led the way towards Lady Rie’s house as Gamel hurried inside. The [Emperor] was muttering to Yitton, and Ryoka edged forwards with Charlay to listen.

“Yitton, tell Gralton he’s going to have to put up the gold when they arrive. Eight hundred pieces. I think he’ll call that cheap for his dogs, don’t you?”

“I do indeed.”

Then the two City Runners jumped as Laken turned to them. Laken was smiling again.

“Ryoka, would you introduce me to your friend? Dustrider Charlay, I presume?”

He paused as Charlay drew up, suddenly nervous.

“I—that’s right! You know my nickname?”

Charlay was thunderstruck. Laken charming.

“Of course. Dustrider Charlay, I must thank you for aiding Ryoka as well as coming to Riverfarm’s aid in its time of crisis. I will not forget it, but at this moment, I have a request. Tell me, would you consent to a delivery? I would like to send a [Witch] straight to Lord Gralton’s lands. And a letter, from me, explaining the situation.”

The Centauress seemed pleased, then alarmed.

“I can do it! But—wait a second. I have to carry someone? On my back?”

He only smiled. Ryoka nearly did. But she was watching him. Hesitating. At last, Charlay nodded.

“Well—if it’s Eloise, sure! If it’s Alevica, forget about it!”

“Up yours, horse. I can fly!”

Laken ignored Alevica. He nodded.

“In that case, I would prevail on you to transport Witch Eloise and a letter. For a delivery fee of…twenty-five gold pieces?”

Charlay hesitated. Ryoka nearly whistled, but in the face of the price he’d offered the two [Witches], it wasn’t that much. It was good for a delivery that would probably be safe, just fast, but…Charlay gave Ryoka a side-long glance.

“Well…I could definitely do it. If I, uh, was paid a bit more? You’re paying the [Witches] um…twelve times what you’re paying me!”

“Sixteen, Charlay.”

“Sixteen!”

She looked hopeful as her tail swished back and forth. Laken frowned.

“Can you cure an entire province of poisoned dogs?”

“No…but I can run really fast.”

Charlay pouted. Laken paused.

“The distance is three days for someone on horseback without Skills. If you can make it in two, I’ll triple your fee.”

“Alright! In that case, get on, Eloise! I’ll get you to this Gralton’s place in no time! Which way!”

Charlay reared, and Laken dodged back, looking vaguely alarmed. He turned his head towards Ryoka and made a bemused face. Then Lady Rie was hurrying out with a map. The [Witches] crowded around. Mavika nodded.

“My flock and I can make the journey in two days as well. One, if the winds fly behind us.”

“I can make it in two days. Probably.”

Alevica gritted her teeth, poking her stomach. Laken glanced around.

“Do so at all speed, please. Time is of the essence. Gralton’s dogs aren’t all dead, but many are dying by the hour. As are his people, to a lesser extent. I will send him a [Message] informing him you are arriving. He will give you all the aid you require. However, do you need anything prepared in advance?”

The [Witches] conferred briefly. Mavika looked up.

“If it is plague, Feverwort. If it is poison—easier. Eloise’s teas purge the body. I have other ways. Sage’s Grass if it is poison. Sage’s Grass, pure charcoal, and the venoms of many creatures. Preferably the Drake who spat poison if it lives.”

“I’m told Gralton’s surviving dogs ripped it apart. But I’ll send a [Message] at once. Nesor!”

Laken called, and the young man standing at the table behind him jumped. Ryoka watched as Laken conferred, began working on a map with Lady Rie—and then Mister Prost entered the room to receive his own copy of a map with fishing spots. Ryoka’s hermit-fisher friend was one of the people he sent to collect the bounty. And Ryoka—just watched.

He needed Prost, Rie, and the others. Laken had a plan, one borne of time on the road and his [Emperor]’s sight, but he needed people he could trust to implement his plans. What he had was an edge—the ability to see where animals were, or fish, pinpoint people exactly—and that was a huge advantage. But what he was really giving the people of Riverfarm was purpose. Prost had tried, but he wasn’t a leader in that way. Laken was. He had a vision, and the moment he’d returned, Riverfarm had begun moving and shaping itself around that vision.

In a way, he was like a [Witch]. But one who had made an empire his craft. And Ryoka saw, evaluated, and compared it to the Laken she had met in Invrisil and the one she had heard about who had led Goblins to a siege at Liscor. This third Laken and the other two mixed and mingled. And she thought until Durene burst through the doors with a panicked shout.

“Laken! There’s a caravan coming this way! A lot of wagons with bars! They’re filled with Goblins.”

Everyone in the room froze. And Ryoka glanced up. Laken calmly raised his head.

“Yes. Yes they are. I told you I was bringing them back.”

“But—they’re coming here! Into the village!”

Laken paused. He frowned.

“That could be dangerous. I agree. Durene, with me. Prost, Rie, I won’t be long.”

He strode out of the room. Ryoka followed, her heart beating faster. Goblins? Could one of them be…?

The wagons were huge and packed with Goblins. It was a huge procession of them! Dozens of wagons, all with bars, lurching slowly towards Riverfarm. The people had seen them and were crying out in shock. Laken walked towards the caravan, which had an escort of…it had to be at least a hundred [Guards]. Perhaps three times that many Goblins, or more.

Ryoka felt sick watching them crammed together, staring out. Durene just shuddered with hatred, but Ryoka was scanning each face for a familiar Goblin. She didn’t see Rags. And she could sense the hostility behind her.

“Everyone, back to your work! Emperor Laken has this in hand! Back to work, I say!”

Prost had followed Laken outside. He stood with the [Emperor], and Ryoka distinctly heard him and Laken exchanging some words.

“…will find a place later. [Guards], yes, but not one is to be—”

Laken broke off and raised a hand. A relieved-looking man was riding towards him, a sword at his side. Laken called out.

“[Caravan Master] Dintal! Thank you for your tireless work. I will commend your name to the Merchant’s Guild and issue you and your men a bonus for your efforts.”

“It’s a relief to be here, Your Majesty! Where do you want these Goblins?”

The man called out, pulling to a stop before Laken. The [Emperor] smiled thinly, clearly aware of the stares he was getting.

“I have a spot picked out, Dintal. However, I have one last task for you. Move the caravan south along the river. Until I give you the word, guard the Goblins. Anyone, and I mean anyone, who attacks them, you will stop. Without killing, preferably. But if any Goblin dies, I will regretfully withhold both your bonus and commendation. Thank you.”

And with that, Laken turned his back and kept speaking to Mister Prost. Dintal stared, but then he looked resigned. Ryoka saw him turn and whistle.

“You heard Emperor Godart! Move the Goblins! And stay clear of the wagons, everyone! These bastards’ll throw their shit at you! Throw a stone and don’t be surprised if they throw it back! Come on, move it!”

The caravan moved, turning down the road. Ryoka saw the exclamations and fear and hatred on the people’s faces—but she was more curious about the resigned expressions on the faces of the [Guards]. Not malice. And the Goblins just stared. They were watching Laken, looking around. Not with hostility, necessarily. But a keen intelligence. And Laken was watching them.

“I’ll have Gamel instruct Dintal. And I’ll need some of Beniar’s people and folk you can trust watching the wagons, Prost. No—I’ll make Dintal’s men stay another night. I’ll have to pay them well, too. But keep Riverfarm’s folk moving, and they won’t be able to interfere until I settle matters with the Goblins.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Prost didn’t seem happy as he kept staring at the wagons, but he did obey. That was a sign of loyalty alright. But Ryoka just stared at Laken. His head was still following the Goblin carts. And he eventually looked back at her. Laken didn’t smile this time. He just looked weary.

“Part of the road home, Ryoka. And there’s no road to redemption or forgiveness. But I have to do this.”

She didn’t reply. After a moment, Laken nodded back towards Riverfarm.

“Back to work. The Goblins will have to wait. They’ve waited for over two months; I’ll subject them to another day.”

He walked back towards the village. Ryoka saw him enter Lady Rie’s house, but she didn’t follow him. The City Runner glanced around.

Riverfarm was in full bustle. And the three [Witches] had already left, along with Charlay. Only Wiskeria and Hedag remained. The [Executioner] was leaning on her axe, her eyes alight with interest as she watched people moving with a renewed sense of purpose.

“Some [Emperor] this is. I’d heard stories, and I’ve met a [King], but this is a man like few others! Is it his class that does it, or him?”

She laughed. Ryoka would have liked to know that too. Wiskeria shook her head. She seemed relieved. Relieved and still heartbroken.

“He’s back. Finally.”

She made no move to follow Laken. Nor had he called for her among his advisors. But it was Hedag who pushed Wiskeria gently towards the house. She looked at the older [Witch].

“But I—”

“You’re the one who stayed here and forced us to come to you, Wiskeria-Girl. Go and do what you must. I’ll stay with Nanette.”

The [Witches] exchanged a glance. And then Wiskeria nodded, squared her shoulders, and walked into Lady Rie’s house. Ryoka regarded Hedag. And the [Executioner] grinned.

“And where do you fit into this village now, Ryoka-Girl?”

The City runner searched around. She looked at the hopeful faces, at the scorched land, at Hedag, and listened for Laken’s voice. Then she shook her head.

“Nowhere.”

Hedag laughed. She slapped Ryoka on the back.

“You’d have made a fine [Witch], girl. A fine [Witch].”

—–

Night fell. Laken Godart worked into it. Riverfarm had so much that needed doing, and he was finally back. He only stopped when Lady Rie and Mister Prost both stopped taking his orders. Then Laken realized he was exhausted and needed some sleep.

“There’s always tomorrow. I’ll sleep, I’ll sleep, Prost! Don’t threaten me with Yesel.”

Laken yawned. He looked around, intending to tell Gamel to prepare a bed. And then he stopped. Slowly, his head turned.

“Oh. I’m back, aren’t I?”

It was alone that Laken came to Durene’s cottage. Well, not alone; Gamel had walked him the entire way there, and the [Knight] was hovering by the gates. Laken had to throw rocks in his vague direction until the young man finally left him. And then Laken took a few minutes before he knocked on the door.

He didn’t know why he did that. Frostwing was already screeching inside, and Laken was pushing Bismarck’s head away from licking him when Durene opened the door. The [Paladin] stared at Laken. He stared back.

“It’s good to see you, Durene. May I…come in?”

“Oh. Sure. I mean, we saw each other just—”

“Yeah.”

“…Come in! Of course! It’s your…”

Laken walked inside. The house wasn’t exactly like he remembered, but he’d known that as soon as he focused on it. Durene was sleeping in the kitchen, and someone had occupied her bed. It was messier with more work needed on the roof and some unwashed dishes on the counter—Frostwing’s nest was bigger, and Bismarck had made his own den around back—but it was familiar.

And not. So was Durene. Laken awkwardly stood with her for a bit before they sat down at the kitchen table. Neither one knew where to begin, and when they did—

“You brought Goblins back. And you took months doing it.”

“I had to, Durene. I explained it. Goblins are people—”

“Hah!”

“I thought you of all people would understand.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Durene, you’re half Troll. Goblins are—”

“Trolls aren’t the same as Goblins!”

“No. But they’re both considered monsters. And neither are. Durene, Goblins—”

“Killed my friends! They killed the army, and they burned and killed and hurt a bunch of people! You were there, Laken! Remember fighting them at Riverfarm?”

“I’d never forget. But—”

“But what? But what?”

“Listen to me! But they’re not all alike! Or are all Humans alike?”

“They’re evil. All of ‘em.”

“How can you say that?”

“How can you say there are good ones? Has anyone ever met a good Goblin? No one has!”

“Maybe because no one’s given them a chance. How many good Trolls can you name?”

“Don’t you dare—”

“If I let them die, the army would have hacked them to pieces. Goblins who’d surrendered. Goblins who couldn’t fight. Children.”

“…”

“Don’t give me that look.”

“I’m not giving you any look. You can’t even see it.”

“I can tell you’re giving me a look, Durene. I have an [Emperor]’s senses.”

“Well, why didn’t you sense how I felt about this!”

“Because it’s not about you, Durene.”

“How is it not about me when the Goblins killed my friends?”

“I—I’m sorry. You’re right, it affects you. But Durene—those Goblins are people. And if I killed them, or let them die, knowing what I do now, I’d never forgive myself. And I wouldn’t be an [Emperor]. Or at least, not one you’d like.”

“…”

“The Goblins stay, Durene. And they’ll be protected, given the same rights as anyone else. If they kill someone, they’ll be punished. If they steal, they’ll be punished. And if someone kills a Goblin, I will treat them like a murderer.”

“No one’s going to like it. And I bet you anything that people like Ram’ll go after the Goblins. If they don’t attack us in our sleep. Are you at least watching them?”

“I have a guard on them now. To protect them from Humans, among other things. It doesn’t matter if you don’t like them, Durene. In fact, it’s fine that way. I’ve got a plan. It may work. But it doesn’t matter if people hate the Goblins’ guts. I will show them…”

Laken trailed off. Their first fight hadn’t been the worst. No one had broken anything. But Laken was more upset by this than anything else today. He stroked Frostwing’s head as the bird huddled in his lap. He could tell Durene was looking at him. At last, she burst out with it. The Goblins were only part.

“What happened? Laken, what happened when you left? Why was it so long? Why did…what happened?”

And he had no answer for that. He had a plan, an answer for everything else. But not that. Laken hung his head and shook it slowly.

“I made a huge mistake, Durene. And everything—all of this—is a result of it. I made a mistake. I’m so sorry it took me so long to return home.”

She didn’t reply. After a while, she got up and sat beside him. Laken turned his head. He could feel Durene there. But she didn’t embrace him. They just sat together. After a while, Durene wiped at her eyes.

“I thought it would be easier when you came back. I waited and waited.”

“I’m sorry.”

He reached for her hand. Durene pulled it away.

“Ryoka had to tell me you’re not perfect. That you make mistakes. I had to…I need to be a [Paladin], Laken. Or I need you to take it away. I can’t be half of it, though. I want to fight. And if you’re wrong about Goblins, maybe you were wrong about me.”

“I’m not.”

Laken whispered, but the half-Troll girl didn’t respond. So they sat there. Familiar strangers sitting together in the cottage. Until the door opened.

Laken started. He heard a gasp, then Ryoka’s voice.

“I’ll just, uh, sleep outside. In the village, actually.”

“Ryoka? Oh—”

The [Emperor] belatedly remembered the two other cots. Durene stood up hastily.

“Ryoka—”

“No, no! Go back to whatever you were doing!”

“We weren’t—”

The two began, but Ryoka had already shut the door. Laken could hear her retreating, then a distant voice.

“Hey, Wiskeria! You don’t want to go in there—”

Laken and Durene sat in silence after that. They paused, and then one of them began laughing, and the other joined in. Somehow, that had helped. In the end, they sat on Durene’s bed. She listened as he told her of what had passed, of what he had done. Trying to explain, or maybe justify. And then it was her turn.

“So much happened after I woke up. I can’t even explain…”

“Tell me. Tell me from the start. From the fever.”

And she did. Laken sat, listening to that familiar voice, willing himself not to interject too much, to listen. To understand. Durene sat there, so close it hurt. After a while, he found himself holding her hand. And she looked at him and tried to remember if it had felt like that before he’d left. They slept apart that night. Somehow…it just ended up that way.

[Emperor Level 20!]

[Skill – Group: Surge of Inspiration obtained!]

[Skill – Empire: Fields of Bounty obtained!]

Day 72

Ryoka saw Laken’s new Skills the next day. The [Emperor] was up at dawn, raring to get to work. And Riverfarm was up with him. She caught him using the Skill on a group of [Woodcutters] who’d volunteered to see what the Skill was about.

“[Surge of Inspiration].”

The group jumped as one and then patted their bodies and each other, laughing. One of them raised his axe and uttered a loud yell.

“Dead gods, but I feel awake! I could chop down half a forest myself!”

“Well, it’s just burnt roots and stumps! Come on, let’s get to work! Your Majesty, that’s one Skill I wouldn’t mind you using on us every day! We’ll let you know how long it lasts!”

The leader laughed as he hefted the axe. The group moved off, practically jogging. Laken looked bemused.

“The instant I got back, I leveled up. It’s probably the world’s way of telling me I should never have left. And that Skill! That would have been so useful on the ride back. And the [Fields of Bounty] will allow me to feed all the people coming here.”

He nodded to Ram. The [Head Farmer] was practically bursting with delight, both from his new class that had replaced his [Rancher] class—it was apparently an upgrade—and Laken’s Skills. He indicated the fields, which were being expanded again, as he spoke to Laken.

“I reckon I can see some of the crops growing, Sire! What with all the Skills us [Farmers] have plus yours—even the grown plants look twice as good as they did yesterday! What do you think, Miss Griffin?”

Ryoka paused. She’d been offered some of the newest crop—corn—and was chewing on it. She gulped and nodded.

“Nice corn. Almost as good as Farmer Lupp’s. Well, half as good.”

Ram seemed insulted. Laken just smiled.

“I’m sure that’s a compliment, Mister Ram. Or maybe encouragement. Keep up the good work! I need to attend to the Goblin situation and the refugees coming in. You’ll be fine?”

“Oh, uh, yes, Your Majesty! I won’t let you down! Me and the [Farmers]’ll have your storehouses bursting in no time! Just so long as those filthy Goblins don’t slit our throats! But you have a plan for that! We’ll use them as monster bait or workers, right? Something only an [Emperor]’d think up!”

“Something like…well, nothing like that. But you’ll see, Mister Ram. Don’t worry about the Goblins. And keep people from thinking about going after them.”

Laken waved Ram off. Then he turned to Ryoka. Gamel was already waiting with a small horde of people who wanted Laken’s attention.

“Ryoka, I know I promised to talk, but I’m still in the middle of a thousand minor crises. Can you wait? I could use your help with Lady Rie and sending messages if you need something to do.”

Ryoka looked up, startled, and then shook her head.

“What? No. I’m fine. I’m just going to…sit here. If that’s alright.”

“Of course.”

Laken nodded and vanished into a crowd. Ryoka barely noticed him go. Then she stood up and went to a house on the edge of Riverfarm. More houses were being built, of course, and other buildings too. Laken was creating more than just houses and remodeling some that could become storefronts, other buildings. Even inns.

But the house Ryoka stopped at was just a house. Quiet. So quiet it hurt. And inside were two [Witches]. One was Hedag. The other was Nanette.

“Hey.”

“Miss Runner-Girl. Miss Ryoka Griffin. How do you feel?”

Hedag greeted Ryoka. The City Runner paused, then realized Hedag was indicating her slightly tender-footed gait. Ryoka shrugged.

“No calluses. I burned my feet off on that run. I still smell smoke.”

“Ah, when you led a tornado made of flame. You never said how you did it.”

Hedag’s eyes glinted as she sat next to Nanette. The [Witch] girl was sitting on the ground. Just sitting there, her expression distant. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t…Ryoka forced herself to answer Hedag.

“How’d I know it would follow me? I didn’t. It’s the wind. It didn’t like being held. And tornados—well, I was pretty sure that it would move after me if I gave it a headwind. I mean, I know that sounds dodgy, but I had help. Califor gave me some tips.”

Califor. No one was invoking her name, but Ryoka felt she had to. The girl felt a lump in her throat. Yet Hedag’s cheerful voice made Ryoka flinch.

“Ah, if she did, then you had better odds than not. Well, however it was done, you have a Hedag’s thanks. And a village’s no doubt. Even Califor would have struggled to end that whirlwind and the rest of the fire. Perhaps she might have failed. And then, what a waste, eh?”

And Califor’s name made her look at Nanette. The girl had stirred once in reply to the name. But Hedag didn’t seem guilty at saying it out loud. The [Executioner] was tender as she combed Nanette’s hair. But she had made the girl eat and drink this morning when she’d refused to. In her way, Hedag was crueler than Mavika. She refused to let Nanette alone.

“I’m sorry. I never should have trusted her.”

That was all Ryoka could say to Nanette. She sat down, looking and not looking at the girl. Hedag watched the two as Ryoka sat there, hating herself more than any other day in her life.

Nanette didn’t respond. She lay there, motionless. Like a doll with its strings cut. Hedag drank. Ryoka spoke haltingly. Nanette said nothing.

They had made it through the fire, Califor and Nanette. That was the story Wiskeria and the rest of the coven had heard from Nanette before shattering grief had given way to this. The path of events that had led Califor to return to put out the fire at the cost of her life was simple.

They had met Belavierr. And in that meeting, she had stolen a bit of Nanette’s hair. Just a strand or two. But that was enough. Belavierr hadn’t ever lied. She’d told the truth; she couldn’t stop the wildfire with her craft. She might have if she used all her magic and her life, but she hadn’t wanted to die. And what she could do was kill Nanette. So she’d made Califor an offer: her daughter or her life.

And to save her daughter from the Stitch Witch, Califor, a legendary [Witch] in her own right, had ridden back and stopped the fire. She’d saved Wiskeria. And Belavierr had cheated her death again.

It was such a simple story. All of Belavierr’s stories of her evil were the same. Ryoka felt sick. But this had crossed a line. This hadn’t been a deal or self-defense. This had been evil. As Nanette sat next to her, Hedag honed her axe.

“This blade’s never ended a [Witch]. Hedags don’t go after [Witches] much. And this Hedag is a [Witch], so there’s less point. In our covens, we look the other way from the sins a [Witch] does so long as it brings no grief upon our kind. We’ve little enough allies to peck each other apart. But when a [Witch] kills another [Witch]—then they are hunted. By other [Witches]. And if ever I meet Belavierr, I owe her a Hedag’s justice.”

Ryoka couldn’t care about that. Belavierr was gone. She had killed Califor. Killed her and left Nanette with nothing. That was what mattered. She had to ask.

“Was she…Nanette’s…”

“Mother? Califor?”

Hedag’s voice was too loud. Ryoka and Nanette flinched. Hedag nodded.

“She was Nanette’s mother. If she pretended otherwise, it was to spare Nanette the attention she might have had otherwise. Or else other [Witches] would have looked to her like Wiskeria. Judged. You know how we are.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Ryoka said it again. Hedag snorted. She delicately moved the axe across the whetstone. And her gaze was merciless as she gazed at Ryoka.

“Sorrys and regrets have never salved a wound, Wind-Girl. Go. And do what good you may elsewhere. Leave Nanette to herself. And say her name. Califor.”

“But Nanette’s—”

Ryoka looked at the girl. She was crying, crying without moving. Hedag’s voice was implacable.

“She was Nanette’s mother. And she was named Califor. Don’t pretend she never existed. And you, Nanette, let it hurt. Let it hurt or the wound will never heal.”

The girl wept. And Ryoka looked at her and Hedag. And she didn’t have the courage to stay.

Day 73

It took Laken two days to deal with the Goblins. And when he did, Ryoka was there. She had to be. She didn’t know what Laken intended, but she was ready for…anything. She still had yet to talk to him. Riverfarm was still growing as more shell-shocked folks made their way here, speaking of the fire. Laken was reorganizing, dealing with the problems of city folk versus villagers, people wanting special treatment because of their class, even petty thefts.

And the thing was, he was dealing with the problems, not patching them up for later. [Thieves] were evicted after a lashing or time in the pillories. People were told to live with their neighbors or politely informed they could leave. And two [Bandit] groups were smashed by Beniar and his [Riders] in night raids almost before they’d been formed.

The [Emperor] was back. Most people couldn’t be happier. But even the happiest, even people like Prost and Durene, feared the Goblins. Twice, people had come after the prisoners in their wagons, for vengeance or out of fear.

Both times, Laken had spotted the trouble coming, but the Goblins? Ryoka knew that Laken couldn’t have turned them loose along his trip without them being hunted down or potentially terrorizing some area, but she couldn’t imagine how he’d handle them now.

She didn’t have to wait any longer. The Goblins were being unloaded out of the wagons. They formed a huge mass, warily eying the caravan guards and the militia that Laken had recreated. The Humans were armed and roughly equal in number to the Goblins; only a few were Hobs. Even so, it felt like the Humans were more terrified than the Goblins at this moment.

They were wary. Oh yes, Ryoka could see some of them looking around, clearly seeking lines of escape. But the place Laken had put them—next to a river curving south from Riverfarm and too far away from a forest and a mountain to the west—wasn’t a good place for running. It was relatively flat, here at least. So the Goblins stayed put. At least, for the moment.

They were strange to Ryoka. She was no Goblin expert, but she could at least tell that they were from different…tribes. Some even had grey skin! Others, a few, were marked with red paint—practically covered with it. One even wore a chef’s hat. It was dirty and had lost some of its floof, but the little Goblin had it on her head as she hid behind another Hobgoblin who was definitely female. Her entire body was covered in exotic paint, and she looked around warily, watching, listening.

“Well, so this is what you all look like. And you.”

Laken waited until the last Goblin left the carts. Then he addressed them. He didn’t get any closer, but he was speaking to one of the Hobgoblins who wore red paint. The Hobgoblin stared at Laken, but didn’t respond. In fact, the Goblins were eerily quiet and still. Laken sighed. He pointedly turned his head across the Goblins’ ranks.

“I know you can understand me. And I know you’re there. I can’t imagine what you must feel. But we’ve arrived at our destination. And you must know what comes next.”

There was a susurration among the Humans. A slow tensing among the Goblins. Laken nodded.

“A choice. Now, listen to me. And watch.”

He walked forwards. Gamel started, and the Humans with weapons wavered, but Laken stopped a good two dozen paces short of the Goblins. He frowned at the ground and then stuck one shoe in the wet earth. It was barren, devoid of grass, but some new shoots were already blooming. Life even after fire. Laken ignored the burgeoning green and dragged his foot along the ground. Everyone stared as the [Emperor] drew a line straight from the river past the Goblins. He stopped, kicked some mud off the tip of his shoe, and pointed at the line.

“You see this line? Beyond this line is my land. The land of Riverfarm. The Unseen Empire.”

He was addressing the Hobgoblin with the stripes. Laken stepped back. The Redfang Hob walked forwards and investigated the line. He eyed it, then pointed at the land across the line. Laken nodded.

“My territory.”

The Goblin instantly stepped over the line. Ryoka, Beniar—all of the Humans tensed. Laken just chuckled. The Hobgoblin watched, expectant. Laken nodded.

“Well now, you’re on my land. So that means my laws apply. Steal, harm, or break the laws of Riverfarm and you will face the consequences. And I will tell you each of the laws if you ask. While you are on my land, you will be treated like people. If someone harms you, I will know. And I will punish the guilty. But I cannot promise you will be safe.”

The Hobgoblin stared at him. He peered at the other side of the line. Walked across it. Then he kicked some dirt over the line as if to say ‘so what’? Laken nodded patiently.

“Beyond this line are Goblin lands. Your territory. And your rules. Perhaps someone will have need to cross this line. If, for instance, some Goblins took something that belonged to Humans. Someone shot a deer and it ran across this line. Sometimes, Humans may need to cross this line. But whether and how we do is up to you. How you act.”

He waited. The Goblins waited. Some of them began picking their noses. Laken continued, undeterred.

“The line isn’t just here. It continues. From here straight up to that mountain. I also warn you that I control much of the land to your south. But if you go south and west too far, you will run into lands claimed by Humans. This immediate area is my territory for at least twenty miles south of here. And my people will patrol my borders while not stepping onto Goblin lands. You see? Along the river is how far it goes. We will put people down the river and catch those who might try to hurt you if we can. But again—you know us Humans.”

The Goblins stirred. So did Ryoka. Laken wasn’t promising them much. You know Humans. It was practically a warning. But Laken was saying…Ryoka’s eyes narrowed. The [Emperor] continued, and both Humans and Goblins were listening, trying to figure out what his game was.

“I can see what happens on my land, by the way. I can see what you do. You can try taking vengeance. Or you can run off. I’ll stop you if you attack Humans. I won’t stop you if you run off, or protect you. And this is the only thing I will ever give you. This line. Oh—and this.”

He pointed casually to something behind the Goblins. They turned around and stared at the pile of objects and opened crates. One of them stared inside. A little Goblin poked his hand in and pulled something out. Laken nodded.

“Hammers. Nails. Hoes. Shovels. Etcetera. And food to last you a week, if you manage it. That’s all. Do with it as you will. And remember—my line. My territory. That’s yours.”

He turned and began to walk away. The Goblins stared at his back. Beniar’s jaw was practically falling off his face. Ryoka could feel the disbelief in the air from both sides. That was it? But Laken only stopped once.

“Oh, and one more thing.”

Hundreds of stomachs and butts instinctively clenched. This was it. The [Emperor] pointed back towards the crate.

“It’s right on top of the pillows. Try not to break it.”

The Goblins stared at the crates. The [Emperor] smiled once.

“See you.”

Then he walked away. Slowly, the Humans followed. Some of them were already arguing with the [Emperor].

“Your Majesty! We have to set a guard!”

“Then set one.”

“They have weapons!”

“Well, if they use them, I’ll know. This is what an army’s for, Beniar. Speaking of which, we need to begin recruitment and training.”

“But—”

“What else do you want, Beniar? I’ll let you have it. But no killing Goblins. Anything else I’m fine with.”

And then their voices trailed off. The female Human with bare feet stared at the Goblins a while longer before running off. And the Goblins of four tribes—the tribe of Tremborag, the Great Chieftain of the Mountain, the Redfang Warriors, the Flooded Waters tribe Goblins, and the Solstice Goblins, who had once been Cave Goblins—all stared at each other.

Ulvama was muttering to herself. Some of the Hobs were looking at each other. They had no chieftain. The chieftains might all be dead. Did they form a new tribe? What about the strange, blind Human’s words?

It was one of the Redfangs who made the first move. She was a Hob and a Redfang, and she had her priorities straight. The first thing the Redfang Hob did was grab the shovel and lift it. She checked it for faults and swung it once. Nodded.

Sharp. It was no sword, but she could kill something with it. The other Redfang Hobgoblin nodded. He checked the crates, looking at saws, nails, all kinds of things you could make useful weapons from. Or fortifications. He grunted, and two of the smaller Redfang Warriors began arming themselves, debating on how to get ahold of some armor.

And then the Redfang Hob paused. He remembered the [Emperor]’s words. Slowly, suspiciously, he looked for the crate filled with pillows, which some Goblins were already tearing apart for feathers, which were good for all kinds of stuff, like toilet paper or arrow fletching. And the Redfang Hob stopped.

The other Goblins saw his posture, saw the shock. Not alarm, so they crowded closer. And they all stopped, staring down into the crate. At the other thing the [Emperor] had left.

They stared at it. Ulvama blinked. Pebblesnatch came from behind her. The little Cave Goblin’s eyes were wide, because she recognized it too. They all did.

It was the iPhone.

Day 74

“Emperor Laken wishes to see you, Miss Griffin.”

Three days after he’d arrived, Ryoka finally got the call to meet Laken. She couldn’t blame him, not really. He’d been fielding [Messages] left and right yesterday. Among housing thousands, designing a new village, gathering food and supplies and working out what was essentially a bureaucracy in the making, Laken had also had to deal with the Drakes.

Or rather, one Drake, whose body had been preserved in a coffin. Not out of respect, but necessity. Ryoka could only listen to a few reports, but it appeared that the Drakes’ attack on other lands had gone off with mixed success. In places, they’d just done damage and left, like Lord Veltras’ estates. In others, they’d gone in personally and caused damage, like Lord Erill’s home where the Drakes had cut down notable figures before retreating—or dying.

However, there were few bodies. Fewer signs of proof. The Drakes had magical objects on them, but most had preferred to destroy their gear before dying. And none had anything that connected them to a city or organization.

It was a mess. But Laken was communicating with the other nobles who’d been affected. Tellingly, they were all wealthy or powerful individuals that had taken part in the siege of Liscor. Smaller [Lords] like Yitton Byres hadn’t been hit, only the big ones. And Laken.

“Laken? Are you here?”

Ryoka pushed open the door. Gamel glared at the impropriety, but Laken looked up from the table. He’d converted one of the houses into a meeting room so people would stop borrowing Rie’s or Prost’s homes. Another thing the [Emperor] could do that stuck.

“Yes, come in, have a seat. Can Gamel get you anything?”

“Nope.”

“Then that will be all, Gamel. Give us some room. And keep people away unless it’s an emergency.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

The door closed. Gamel cast one curious glance at Ryoka before the door closed. Laken sighed, sat back, and then spoke in a much more conversational tone of voice.

“I’m sorry it took so long to arrange a meeting. But I’ve been swamped—”

“So I see. It’s no problem. How’re things?”

Ryoka stretched out at the table, watching Laken closely. He didn’t turn his head to look at her. He was aware of where she was, of course, but he didn’t react to her like someone with eyes would, and that was disconcerting. He was surer than she was of the locations of things around him, actually. Case in point, Laken reached to one side and lifted a cup without turning his head.

“They’ve been there a day. The [Witches], I mean. Your Centauress friend really did get there in two days. And apparently, the [Witches] managed to figure out an antidote in record time.”

“According to who?”

Laken paused, and then he laughed.

“Ah, well, it was quick. Puts the [Healers] to shame, really. But apparently that [Witch]. Mavika? She’s experienced with Drake poisons and their venom. Apparently, one of them was spitting it into the water supply and increasing the dosage.”

“Nasty. So the dogs are alright?”

The conversation was moving faster than the [Emperor] had expected, but he just exhaled and shook his head, weary.

“More or less. Lots of them died. And some people too, but Gralton cares more about dogs than…the rest are recovering. The [Witches] are headed back now. I’ll need to prepare Mavika’s reward if she wants it all at once. But you don’t need to hear about my issues.”

“Nope. We’re here to chat. Come on, take a load off.”

Ryoka gestured at the table. Laken smiled.

“Can I get you anything to eat? We’ve got snacks.”

“Huh. Well, maybe. Let me check. Oh—”

Ryoka got up and went to the cupboard. She frowned at what was inside. Then she motioned to Laken.

“Hey, uh, it’s not a snack, but—”

“What? Something wrong with the walnuts?”

Laken looked up with a frown. Ryoka motioned to him, and he got up.

“I don’t know if you can see it with your [Emperor] vision. Come here.”

He walked over, past a chair, and straight into Ryoka’s fist. She hit him in the stomach as hard as she could—she didn’t feel like breaking a finger on his jaw.

Laken doubled over. He didn’t groan, and he didn’t retch—he just fell over, clutching his stomach. Ryoka watched him double over on the floor in silent agony for a minute. She debated a kick, but thought better. After another minute, she heard a sound.

He was swearing in German. Ryoka listened a bit and stared at her hand. No good. She’d hoped it would feel different, but she still felt like she’d just sucker-punched a blind man. Not a great feeling.

Ryoka walked over and took a seat at the table again. Well, she did feel better now she’d gotten that out into the open. She addressed Laken on the floor.

“I hope you know why I did that.”

“—scheißkerl—I was wondering why you sounded off. I’m going to throw up.”

Laken tried to pull himself up onto his chair. He winced and decided to lie still for a second longer. Ryoka raised one eyebrow.

“You’re not going to call for Gamel and have me executed?”

“Gods damn it, Ryoka—go ahead and start kicking me if you want, but don’t hit me in the stomach or I’ll puke.”

Laken was still curled up, despite trying to stand. Ryoka folded her arms.

“I’m not going to beat you up. You deserved one. And I gave you one.”

“Yes, well, I can’t stop you.”

“You’re not actually blind. I mean—”

Ryoka hesitated as Laken’s closed eyes turned towards her incredulously. She flushed, despite knowing he couldn’t see it.

“You deserved that.”

“I think—it hurts—I think if you hit me for the reason I’m thinking about, I deserve far worse. Are you going to punch me every time you and I are alone?”

Laken pulled himself up. He sat, doubled over, and his entire face was one grimace. Now, Ryoka was getting angrily defensive.

“You deserve it. Don’t prevaricate with me.”

“I’m going to prevaricate on the floor. No one’s ever given me a punch like that. How does Beniar do his fighting thing? Is there a bucket?”

Ryoka wavered, then grabbed one. She slammed it down, and Laken recoiled, then dragged himself back to the table where he sat and held the bucket with clear fear it would be used.

“Want to talk seriously instead of being Mister Emperor?”

Laken put his head down on the table. After a second, he raised a hand.

“Don’t hit me again. May I ask one question?”

“I’m not going to hit you. Again. What is it?”

“Is the punch for neglecting Durene, Riverfarm? Califor dying? Not sensing the Drake saboteur? Or is it about the Goblins?”

Ryoka hesitated.

“…The Goblins. But I guess the rest of that counts too. For sieging Liscor, jackass.”

Laken’s face was a full wince.

“Can I ask you to hit me in the leg for the rest of it? I really do feel like I’m—”

“Shut up. Do you even know what you did?”

Ryoka glared at him. She raised a fist, and Laken flinched. Since that made her feel like the bad person, Ryoka slowly put her hands back on the table.

“I owed you a punch. And if you met my friend, she’d probably give you ten times that. If she didn’t try to stab you first. What the hell were you thinking?”

“Is this the part where I explain like I was going to?”

Ryoka’s growled.

“You nearly wiped out a city of innocent Drakes and Gnolls!”

Laken’s face was sweaty as he glowered in her general direction.

“Firstly. I didn’t know we were attacking Liscor. Do you not remember there was a Goblin Lord? He attacked Riverfarm! When Tyrion Veltras came by, a Goblin army had just been fighting mine. When he told me Liscor was the target, I wasn’t in a position to refuse.”

Ryoka hesitated. In her gut-punching decision, she’d largely been focused on how to execute it without Gamel trying to murder her. She had forgotten…

“You could have backed out.”

“Oh, absolutely. A blind [Emperor] with a few hundred followers arguing with the head of House Veltras. After he took the trebuchets from me, what would have changed? That would be the most idiotic political move I can think of. I did what I could. Just so you know, I told the trebuchets to stop firing when I could. It wasn’t much.”

“…How many people died?”

Laken had enough energy to sit up by now. He grimaced.

“Tens of thousands.”

“Dead gods. I’m going to kill you! No one said—”

Ryoka almost went for his throat, and Laken recoiled.

“I know, I know. They were massacred, but I didn’t even think we were killing people! Just—monsters. It was mostly both tribes. Then Tyrion tried to wipe them all out. I know it was heinous.”

His grimace drew Ryoka up short. She hesitated.

“Wait. You’re talking about Goblins.”

It was Laken’s turn to actually crack one eye open as if he could see.

“Yes.”

“I mean Liscorians.”

“Well, you said people. Wait, were you punching me because I sieged Liscor?”

Laken’s voice rose, a touch indignant, and Ryoka hesitated.

“No, I owed you that for the Goblins too—”

She just hadn’t thought about the Goblins so much as Erin’s city and Erin herself. But now the [Emperor] was scowling in her direction.

“I thought the punch was for the Goblins, which I admit, I deserve! You care about the city? Damn the city. No one even got hurt! We hit it a few times with rocks!”

“I heard Antinium died—”

“Goblins were wiped out by the tens of thousands. Tribes. I held one’s hand, and he told me his brothers were dead. I—I have been thinking of that. Dreaming of that, Ryoka.”

The Wind Runner paused. Suddenly, she was on the defensive.

“—That’s terrible. I haven’t met many Goblins aside from the ones Erin had. But all of it was—”

The [Emperor] took a deep breath, almost retched, then faced her.

“Hit me again.”

“What? Are you crazy?”

Laken bared his stomach, looking apprehensive.

“Hit me again. You clearly meant that first punch about Liscor.”

“I’m not going to hit you so you can throw up on me.”

“No, I insist on behalf of Goblins. Hold on, I can go find them. I’m sure they’ll do the job.”

The Wind Runner stared at the [Emperor]—then gave him a light punch to the stomach. He punched her back.

“Motherf—”

Ryoka swore. Laken swung, a bit wildly, as she leaned back.

“That’s your ‘I killed all the Goblins punch’?”

“Fuck you, I’ll kick you so hard you and Durene won’t ever have fun again. Stop flailing. You deserved that punch for Liscor and the Goblins, alright?”

Somehow, her ability to lecture him from a place of moral outrage had faded. Laken crossed his legs, and then he spoke slowly, measuring his words.

“Let’s start over. Before I got to Liscor—let’s talk about Goblins. The first time I met Goblins, they were trying to kill everyone in Riverfarm. Perhaps I should have realized they weren’t all like that. But I was told monsters were monsters. That was my mistake. That and giving Tyrion Veltras weapons to use against the Drakes. But I didn’t foresee—hah—the end result of what was happening. The entire time, I thought I was defending Riverfarm from monsters, then helping a decent man. When I realized what I was doing? That was when I tried to stop it. Too late, each time. I regret it.”

Ryoka paused. As explanations went, that was pretty good.

“So you know they’re not monsters, right? They’re pretty intelligent.”

Laken rubbed at his face.

“—I talked to one. I’m wondering if you know how much of a people they are, Ryoka. Listening to them scream at Liscor would have been enough. But I met a Goblin Chieftain the day my army attacked theirs at Lancrel. Yes, I know.”

The young woman sat there, taking this in.

“—All of this mess in Riverfarm was a result of sieging Liscor, you know. Those Drakes were sent here to take revenge. I’ll bet anything. Eloise says they probably come from Manus, their, um, City of War.”

Laken grimaced.

“Story checks out. It’s a mess. And everyone’s telling me what monsters Drakes are. What awful things they’ve done. But—let me know if they’re any different than Goblins.”

“Nope. Bit scalier. Hot tempered. Stubborn. Pretty damn Human, really.”

“That’s what I thought. Gnolls?”

“Furry Humans. Pretty decent people. Don’t blow up their shops.”

Laken sighed. He massaged his stomach, then put his head down on the table.

“I am in so much pain.”

After a beat, Ryoka coughed.

“…Maybe you didn’t deserve me hitting you that hard. So you, uh, took your time getting back because you wanted to save some Goblins, right? I get that.”

Laken kicked her so hard under the table that Ryoka doubled over in pain. The [Emperor]’s face was too triumphant when he looked up.

“That makes us even. I’ve never had a fistfight before. I almost want to have one.”

“I could oblige that.”

Ryoka raised her fists, and Laken shook his head. Then his face fell.

“—I did what I could, Ryoka, to make amends for Goblins. In doing so, Riverfarm was devastated. Gralton’s dogs paid for it with their lives. And so did Riverfarm’s people, but most of all—Witch Califor. Who, I am told, was a great [Witch]. No matter what I do, someone suffers.”

The urge to fight went out of her. Ryoka sat, ignoring the pain in her stinging shin. She bowed her head.

“Yeah. And that’s…a huge loss. Believe me. I wish you could have met her. The other [Witches] are great. But I liked her the most.”

Laken nodded, silently.

“My fault.”

“No. Belavierr’s. The Drake’s.”

“Who was here because I sieged Liscor. As you said.”

“Tyrion Veltras sieged Liscor. Listen—”

“You can’t un-punch me, Ryoka. Give me some credit for all of this. Not all of it. But I am responsible.”

Ryoka glowered at Laken, who, again, was immune to most stares.

“Now you’re doing the opposite of what I—you did the best you could. I get it. If you had let go of the Goblins? They would have been hunted down. The cages are a bad look—”

“They weren’t happy, but they survived. Again, if there were a better option—”

“Not all your fault.”

“Well, how much of it is my fault? Because I feel very responsible, Ryoka. This isn’t something I can just wash my hands of. I feel guilty, and I would very much rather feel guilty than not. It seems to me I would be a [Tyrant] rather than an [Emperor] if I felt nothing was wrong.”

Laken snapped at Ryoka, and she had to admit this was true. Ryoka thought for a second.

“Let’s say…you’re one punch’s worth of guilty. How about that?”

The two sat there, and Laken’s mouth worked—then he began laughing. She laughed too until Laken seized the bucket. Then…

Then they were calmer. And Ryoka felt like instead of the foreign [Emperor] who had done so many terrible things, she had once again encountered the young, blind man with the best of intentions in Invrisil.

“Okay. This actually went better than I thought it might.”

Laken sighed, and Ryoka had to wonder what he’d thought she would do. She had to agree.

“I guess me too. I thought I might be running out of here with Beniar hunting me down. Okay. Sorry for hitting you…sort of. Can I ask what you’re doing now that you're back?”

Laken raised an eyebrow.

“You saw what I was doing.”

“Rebuilding. What comes after that?”

The [Emperor] shrugged. He sat up, grabbed his cup, and drank.

“I have a few ideas. Mainly, it will be turning Riverfarm into an actual place. One that has goods to export, has a reason for people to pay attention to it. Besides the trebuchets. Deal with the [Witches]. Forge an alliance between Riverfarm and Gralton’s and Yitton’s lands. Basic stuff like that.”

“Fair enough. So you don’t have a grand plan?”

“I have multiple plans. Whether they’re grand is debatable. You want me to get into detail?”

“Please. But first, talk to me about the Goblins. What the hell was that yesterday? Are you just going to let them form a tribe? Or what? What’s your angle with them?”

Laken frowned.

“They haven’t all run off, if that’s what you mean. But I didn’t lie to them. I will leave them alone. I have hopes for them. But it depends on what they do.”

“Tell me.”

Ryoka leaned forwards. Laken hesitated, and she waited. She wanted to trust him. But every conscious part of her pulled herself back. Trust had been given too freely of late. At last, Laken sighed.

“Well, for one thing, they’re occupying the only good mining spot on my lands. And they have my iPhone until it runs out of charge. And to judge from what I’m seeing—they’re preparing to be attacked. They’re building a base. And here’s what I predict happening if I tweak things right…”

He leaned forwards. Ryoka listened. She blinked.

“That might work. Historically, I mean, there are parallels.”

Laken rolled his closed eyes.

“Oh, lecture me on the parallels. Parallels? I had no idea there were historical parallels in what I was doing. Go ahead, tell me all about the history of the world.”

Ryoka coughed, embarrassed.

“Sorry. I just meant—that could work. Okay. I believe you. It’s a good plan, at least. But it does depend on the Goblins.”

“They’re people. They might not do what I expect them to. But I’ve given them a chance. That’s all I can do.”

The two sat in silence after that. Ryoka hesitated. She bit her lip. Laken faced ahead. And then he raised his head.

“—Same for the [Witches]. I will repay whatever debt I can. Especially to…Nanette? I promise. I have a lot of debts and—oh. Huh. I completely forgot about them. Ah, right, I was going to tell you.”

“Oh? What?”

Ryoka wasn’t sure what he might have to bring up specifically to her. If it was a residency offer, she felt like she’d ruined that with the gut punch. But to her surprise, Laken was suddenly intent on her. And as he spoke—she felt a chill run down her back.

The [Emperor] hesitated. He bit his lip and looked rueful. And then focused on Ryoka.

“I…forgot, Ryoka. In the early spring, I summoned the fae. And I met one of them. She called herself Ivolethe. She wanted you to know she’s alive.”

Ryoka stared at Laken. He waited. She was frozen in place. After a minute, he coughed.

“Ryoka?”

She didn’t respond. She’d turned into a statue. Worried, Laken reached out.

“Ry—”

“Ivolethe’s alive?”

Ryoka leapt to her feet. She stared at Laken, white-faced, although he couldn’t have known that. He leaned back.

“Yes—”

He got no further because Ryoka let out a shout that made Gamel open the door. He saw Ryoka dancing around inside, laughing hysterically. Laken shooed Gamel away, and the door closed. Ryoka didn’t notice. She laughed and began to sob, then lost her balance.

Laken waited, surprised. Ryoka was laughing and crying on the floor. She didn’t stop. Her laughter was relieved, wild, hysterical. Eventually, Laken began to laugh as well.

It took a long while for them to stop. At last, Ryoka returned to her seat. Her throat was raw. But she reached out and grabbed Laken’s hands, to his surprise. And he sensed the tears in her voice and eyes.

“You know, I’d forgive you for almost anything for telling me that. Thank you. Thank you. She’s…”

He wished he could see her face. Because every line of her he sensed—Ryoka sat down in the chair again.

Redemption. He didn’t know what had happened between her and Ivolethe. But the City Runner wiped tears from her eyes. So it hurt Laken to deliver the next part of the message.

“She’ll never see you in this world. It’s her punishment or something.”

Ryoka froze. But after a moment, she replied, quietly unsurprised.

“That’s okay. Maybe I’ll see her in my next life. Or when I die. But at least she’s…alive.”

She sat there with him. Laken waited, but nothing more came from Ryoka. After a while, he began to chuckle again. When Ryoka made an inquiring sound, he shook his head.

“When did it all go so wrong, eh?”

“Yeah. What happened to the Laken I met? The guy who seemed more upbeat and less—world-weary? You looked like you had the world on your shoulders, in the meeting with the coven.”

The [Emperor] paused.

“Well, this Laken has a lot more mistakes he doesn’t want to make again. The old Laken you met back then was just a kid playing at being [Emperor]. Well-intentioned, but this time, I know what the cost of failure is. This Ryoka is a bit more impressive.”

“What? You barely remember the old me.”

“Well, this one apparently controls tornadoes instead of just running through blizzards.”

Ryoka hung her head.

“I barely did anything. I was just the observer, and when it counted…”

Laken’s voice was gentle, but gentle as opposed to redemptive.

“You saved what you could. Not enough. I left my people alone for too long. We can both do better. I need to regain their trust. Durene’s…everyone’s…where will we begin?”

Then they were just tired. Ryoka rubbed at her face, and she glanced at Laken.

“You could start by paying me.”

Laken chuckled. Ryoka didn’t.

“I’m serious. I have expenses.”

“I know. I’ll get the money to you. I’m not hurting for coin. Call it my first Skill or just luck; Gralton, one of my new allies, is one of the richer [Lords] in the area. And Yitton Byres has his silver mines, although he’s not hugely wealthy. I can borrow from them until I get Riverfarm an actual economy. That’s actually easier than the Goblins, by the way.”

“Really? In that case, a thousand gold coins—”

“Don’t be greedy.”

“I outran a tornado made of fire to save your damn village. And the [Witches]—”

He had been chuckling until she brought up Califor. The two fell silent again. Ryoka scrubbed at her face.

“You never met her. But Miss Califor was a hero, Laken. You owe them. I don’t know exactly what they’ll ask, but you owe them something large. As large as a life.”

“I know. Tell me just one thing, Ryoka. What was the other one like? Belavierr?”

Ryoka paused. She took a long, long time to reply.

“Like…a nightmare, Laken. A nightmare, at first. But a classic one. One you think you know. So it’s scary, but you expect it, in a way. Horrifying as it may be. And then you wake up. And you think it was just a dream. You think you know reality. But then you realize you’re still dreaming. That’s her.”

Laken shuddered. The two sat in silence for a while longer. At last, he cleared his throat.

“I don’t expect you to stay. I’d like you to. If you wanted it, I could find you a role in Riverfarm. For you and your friends. But I doubt you trust me that much.”

“Nope. And I’m a Runner. Born to run.”

Laken smiled.

“Will you keep in touch?”

“You bet I’ll check in now and again.”

Ryoka nodded. She stood up and, after a moment, hesitated.

“The traitor. The one who ordered the attack on the Goblins at Lancrel. I told you about my suspicions, didn’t I?”

Laken paused. Ryoka had, by [Message]. He spoke slowly.

“Tyrion Veltras was as good as his word back then. He asked every single noble under truth spell if they had committed the crime. His subordinate, Jericha, did it. And the traitor never showed up.”

“You can fool a [Detect Truth] spell. Not just with the wording. You can literally just ignore it if you have the right artifact. Or spell.”

Ryoka watched Laken’s expression. He swore under his breath.

“Alright. Who’s your guess?”

She told him and watched his face change. Laken got up to pace. Ryoka quietly spread her arms.

“It’s only a guess.”

Laken nodded distractedly, but she saw how rattled he was.

“In storytelling logic, your first guess is always wrong. And it’s always the last person you expect. Like Durene, I suppose. Or Frostwing.”

“If we were in a story. How many of them have Goblins that aren’t monsters?”

Laken paused at that. Then he sat back down.

“I’ll check it out. Even if you’re right, finding proof will be hard. Especially because everyone knows about my [Emperor] senses. Still. Lady Rie?”

“Yup.”

“Damn. I’ll…she was loyal the entire time I was gone, Ryoka.”

“If she’s one of the Circle of Thorns’ members, she might want to turn you against Magnolia.”

Ryoka pointed out. Laken scrubbed his face.

“If she is. If she is, I’ll make my decision. Let’s…talk about something else. I’ll watch her, Ryoka. If you’re right, I’ll find out eventually.”

The young woman nodded. She sat in silence with Laken for a bit and then thought of a topic.

“What are you going to do about the [Witches]?”

“I have a few thoughts. Would you like to talk about it?”

Laken smiled bleakly. Ryoka smiled too. The two sat across from each other, wary, trying to understand each other. Trying to be…friends. Ryoka laughed, forcing it a bit.

“Sure. But if you ask me how to make a ballista, I’m going to hit you again.”

Laken chuckled.

“Don’t worry. I’m pretty sure I could work one out myself.”

This time, Ryoka’s laughter was genuine. She reached out and punched Laken. In the shoulder. He replied with a sharp punch, and she swore.

“Ow!”

“Sorry, I always thought you hit each other harder when people told me about doing it…”

And they sat there and talked until Gamel brought dinner. They might have become friends. Or they might have already been friends. Ryoka didn’t know.

She left that night. Before the other [Witches] returned. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to know what happened next. It was just that Ryoka had a fairly good idea of what Laken would do. And this was not her empire. Strangely, unsettlingly, and rightly, it was his. He belonged here. And she—

She had to go. She had friends in Reizmelt. She had a friend in Charlay. She would come back to see what he’d done. But Riverfarm—she’d done all she could here. So she left. And the [Emperor] sat and thought of all she’d talked to him about over that night.

He wished she’d stayed.

Day 76

The coven met outside of the [Emperor]’s throne room and talked quietly. They had come back. And they had been summoned not an hour after Eloise had flown back, riding on Alevica’s broom. Neither [Witch] had enjoyed the journey, but they gathered nonetheless. Mavika spoke, peering at the others in turn.

“He paid his promises due. I counsel caution, but remember that he has kept his words true.”

Eloise was next. Good advice came in threes, and the three oldest [Witches] gave it in turn.

“I counsel caution as well. [Emperors] have many tricks and Skills.”

“I counsel trust, then. For his people love him, and the children too. And they have eyes that see through what adults do. Besides. We have paid too much in Califor’s life not to see this through. There’s a rhyme for you, Mavika. Good enough?”

Hedag laughed. The other [Witches] nodded. All but Nanette. She followed like a ghost. She had to be there or the coven wouldn’t be whole. But it was already broken. Califor was gone. And Belavierr…

Wiskeria’s stomach clenched as she entered the throne room. She had spoken to Laken about the events that had unfolded, but not in detail. And he had not told her how he felt about the other [Witches]. Nor could she promise the coven that they’d get what they wanted. But—here they were. After all that had happened, Wiskeria stood with her fellow [Witches].

She could do nothing less.

“His Majesty, Emperor Godart, Protector of Durene’s Cottage, Ruler of Riverfarm and the surrounding area, and sovereign lord of the Unseen Empire!”

Gamel cried the address as the [Witches] approached the throne. Alevica snorted. Hedag laughed. Wiskeria thought that Laken had intended it that way, but Eloise’s silent elbows made the other [Witches] bow slightly. And Laken nodded in reply.

“Approach and speak freely.”

The coven did. They lined up, six [Witches] standing together. Wiskeria, Hedag, Mavika, Nanette, Alevica, Eloise. And they felt the absence of the other two. Laken stared down at them from his carved, wooden throne. And his voice was neither harsh nor welcoming.

“So. A coven comes before me. A coven whose members have wrought great ill and good for my lands and that of my allies. And a coven comes to me today to strike a bargain.”

Wiskeria paused. Laken’s voice was distant and impartial. It wasn’t like the Laken she knew. Sitting on that throne, he looked like an [Emperor], though he had no crown and his garments were plain. It was Eloise who spoke for the others.

“Your Majesty, we speak for all [Witches] across Izril. And we make you a simple offer. Consider what you have seen us do. Consider our craft that you have witnessed or heard of. We are [Witches], and we bring good. Sometimes ill, yes, but often good. We provide magic, charms, our expertise. What we ask—all we ask—is that we be given freedom to practice our arts on your lands, free of persecution.”

“Sheltered by my empire.”

Eloise paused.

“If you would say it like that, yes, Your Majesty. We would like you to guarantee that bounties on [Witches] be invalidated on your lands unless there was ample reason given. It is not a crime to be a [Witch].”

“But some [Witches] commit crimes, true?”

Eloise paused. Wiskeria stared up at the [Emperor]. What was he doing? The coven shifted restlessly.

“Some do, Your Majesty. But some [Carpenters] are monsters. Some are good workers. Often, a [Witch] is blamed for things she has not done. Or spells, bargains, undertook on behalf of another.”

“Such as…?”

“Cursing a cheating husband, Your Majesty. Casting a hex that makes a well scream his name and the woman he slept with. Giving someone a boil. Petty crimes like that are things [Witches] do. It’s a service, like a [Mercenary].”

Wiskeria broke in desperately. Laken stared at her.

“Or a [Thug] beating a man after being paid. Those are hostile magics, Witch Wiskeria.”

Eloise spoke quickly.

“They are not what all [Witches] do. Many do not cast such magics, Your Majesty. In fact, many bring a positive change. Such as Witch Mavika, who eradicated pests from your fields.”

Laken frowned.

“Yes, I have heard that from Prost. But that does not change the point, Witch Eloise. Under your pact, [Witches] would be free to practice their craft in my lands. Free from prejudice or their crimes of old. And part of that craft might harm my citizens.”

The coven paused and shuffled their feet. Well, if he wanted to get technical about it—Wiskeria’s heart was pounding. No one could deny that. But think of all the good they’d done! And then she thought of her mother, and her heart sank.

Eloise was trying to choose her next words carefully. But it was Alevica who stepped up next. She spoke in her most charming voice possible. So charming that Wiskeria was positive she’d used some of her craft.

“It is true that [Witches] cannot be bound, Your Majesty. But we are no group of criminals like [Bandits] or [Raiders]. We are a calling and a class. Some of us do great evil. Others great good. We only ask that we not be treated as enemies without judgment.”

Wiskeria held her breath. Eloise was glaring—as was Mavika. They’d agreed not to use magic on Laken! If it went wrong—

The [Emperor] shook his head, then replied sharply.

“You ask for more than that. You want this to become a gathering of [Witches]. A haven in case the rest of Izril turns against you. How many [Witches] would come here if they knew they could practice most of their craft without interference or judgment?”

“Er—”

Alevica floundered. She glanced around. And it was Hedag who replied with a broad smile.

“We would always be judged, [Emperor]-Fellow. Here is just a place where many of us would like to pause. Or practice our craft without hired [Mercenaries] seeking our life. But that depends on the [Emperor]. Do you see a need for a Hedag? Or do you think the Hedag belongs beneath the axe she’s swung?”

Laken paused, and Wiskeria winced. But it was the right direction. Because Laken nodded and relaxed on his throne.

“You, Witch Hedag, I see a need for. Because I would do the very same if I feared a man were abusing his child. Prost has told me of the man you executed. And I do not fault you for that either. I thank you.”

The coven relaxed. Laken went on.

“But if I were to catch a [Lord] or someone of similar power who had committed murder or worse, would you stride into my prison and behead him then and there?”

Every eye turned to Hedag. Wiskeria willed the old [Witch] to respond diplomatically, but Hedag just shrugged and drank from her flask.

“I suppose that’d lie in the justice I saw such as him receive, wouldn’t it? If it did not satisfy, then the old ways would come out as surely as I stand here.”

The coven glared. Hedag was unmoved. Laken murmured on his throne.

“Old ways are not always the best ways.”

It was an echo of what Califor had said. Nanette jerked and looked up with lost eyes, stared around, before realizing and hanging her head. It silently broke the hearts of all who saw it. But Laken’s eyes were closed. He went on, debating with himself as much as the room.

“If I let Witch Hedag practice her craft and punish parents who abused children, spouses, and criminals, should I forbid [Witches] from casting curses? Making deals like Belavierr did with Rehanna?”

No one replied. Laken eventually paused. When he looked down at the [Witches], he did look. His eyes opened a bit, as if he wanted to see them. And Wiskeria saw his faded eyes and wavered.

“There are no good answers. [Witches]. You may do what is best for Riverfarm. Or you may do ill, and perhaps I could judge you individually and treat you like the people you are. Perhaps there is a place for [Witches] here, despite the potential for strife. If you agreed to hold the most basic rules of hospitality—to kill no one, cheat no one, and offer deals that the other side can clearly understand—perhaps I could allow your presence.”

He waved his arm, gesturing above.

“I have made a court of far stranger folk my vassals, and I considered that a fine deal. For the service one of your own has done Riverfarm, I acknowledge that this may be the least of the ways I can repay it.”

The coven waited. Everyone could hear the ‘but’. It came out differently from the [Emperor].

“However, answer me one thing. If there are good among you, and those who do ill, who can hold [Witches] to account? Who will know when they commit a crime? I alone? There is a saying where I come from, [Witches]. Who watches the watchers? In this case, who watches the [Witches] to see what they do? Who will hold them accountable if another Belavierr appears? Who will judge them, if I am unable?”

The coven paused. And each [Witch] looked at the other, seeking who had the best response. It was Mavika who spoke, forestalling the others. Wiskeria heard a laugh, high and mocking. And Mavika spoke for the first time in the throne room. She pointed a finger up at Laken as Wiskeria closed her eyes and tried to imagine how she was going to explain this to any angry [Witches] who came calling. But Mavika’s eyes never wavered as she met Laken’s.

“Haven’t you noticed, young man? Everyone watches us. We watch each other, as wise folk do. You ask whether we can hold each other to account? The greatest [Witch] living, Belavierr, has come to your lands, and the dead lie in her wake, it is true. To balance that, Witch Califor, the Witch Califor saved your village. Weigh that on your scales of judgment, [Emperor]. For you do not know who witches, nay, the world lost. We do. And still, we came to you.”

Wiskeria waited. They all waited as Mavika’s heavy address filled the room. Laken paused. And then he exhaled. Slowly, he nodded, and he leaned forwards, as if there was nothing more he could say. No weighty proclamation; as if there hadn’t been an option but—yes.

“Very well then. We will hammer out this agreement. [Witches] should not be allowed to cast…permanent hexes. Perhaps there is a place to let them punish wrongdoers. But there must be limits. There must be accountability. And we will see how far I will stretch and how far you will. But…”

The coven held its breath. Laken nodded.

“[Witches] may roam Riverfarm. They may practice their craft. And they may come here safe from persecution unwarranted. I must obey the laws of hospitality. More importantly—if Goblins are people, then [Witches] are too. In the name of Witch Califor, who saved Riverfarm, they will be welcomed. Better to have great good and great evil than neither of either at all.”

He nodded down at the coven. At one [Witch]. And she didn’t look up at him. But Wiskeria realized that it was Nanette who had swayed Laken all along. The girl stood there, blank to the world. But as the [Witches] and the [Emperor] spoke and argued, Nanette slowly gazed up. At the rising moons. Because there was one last thing left.

Day 77

It was done. The coven had made a deal with the [Emperor] of Riverfarm. And it had been hard-won, too hard-won. It had come at far too high a price. But the cost of it hadn’t come from just Laken. It had come from the plots of Drakes, an order of [Knights]. And a [Witch] who had forsworn herself for her daughter.

Someday, Belavierr would face her punishment. Wiskeria had sworn it. She would never cease hunting her mother. And she would become stronger. She would put an end to her mother herself.

But tonight wasn’t about Belavierr. It had been seven days since the fire. Seven days since Miss Califor had died. And on this day, the coven of Riverfarm gathered for one last purpose.

The story of Califor had ended. Her thread had been cut, perhaps untimely short. The Stitch Witch had plucked it to trick her own death. And there the story ended for most. But [Witches] had always known a secret about stories. There was always the ending. And then there was what came after.

Six of them gathered. It was a hexagram that they drew on the dark earth where her ashes had been buried. The ground was covered with flowers. And someone had spoken of raising a monument. But in the dark of the night, past midnight, the [Witch]’s hour made the plucked flowers look pale and strange. The two risen moons were close to full.

And the coven had a purpose to fulfill. They had argued over it. Eloise had almost refused to take part. Hedag had been wary. But Mavika insisted. And so had Nanette. Now, Mavika finished the hexagram and placed a catalyst in the center. A handkerchief.

Miss Califor’s. All her clothing had burnt away. Her possessions, such as they were, had mostly gone with her. But Nanette had her mother’s handkerchief. She sacrificed it now. And she cut herself—she called by blood.

The cut was deep. And the blood that trickled from Nanette’s hand made the girl’s face even paler. Her eyes were huge in her head. She shouldn’t have been here. But she had wanted it. She shouldn’t have known about the ritual. Eloise’s fury with Mavika had been frightening. But the crow [Witch] was unmoved.

“It has not been done successfully in years. Few ghosts remain. Few spirits to harness or summon or make deals with. But she was the most powerful in generations. And she died with a grudge. She surely remains. For answers, for your sake, we summon her. But be wary.”

That was all Mavika said. She led the coven. And her low chant echoed across the scorched earth. The [Witches] walked clockwise, then counter-clockwise. Their steps traced a perfect circle. They stamped, and the light flickered.

The only light came from the moons. Everything else was dark. Wiskeria could feel the power. In the ground, in the air, in the time and place and other [Witches]. But they weren’t calling on any of these things.

They were calling on her. The bloody handkerchief shone in the faint moonlight. The blood seeped from Nanette’s hand onto the ground. It ran. It joined. It flowed.

And something was watching them. Something else was there. Wiskeria could feel it. It was gathering in the center of the circle. Mavika ordered the coven back.

“Do not cross the circle.”

It was the one they had walked. Wiskeria could feel it. They’d traced a barrier in the earth. And beyond that point reality had begun to melt. Slough away. Something else lay on the other side. You could fall into it.

But they were calling. As the [Witches] waited, in silence, Wiskeria realized she couldn’t hear anything in the distance. No animals. Not even the rustle of wind. The silence grew and grew. Until it was so quiet that the heartbeat of all the [Witches] was deafening. And then that sound stopped. And something else spoke.

Whispered.

“Nanette.”

The child looked up. She grew pale. She raised her bloody hand. Something was in the center of the hexagram. Something had appeared. It wasn’t made of smoke or even magic. It was something even paler than moonlight. Almost invisible. But taking form. Wiskeria stared.

It did not look like Califor, but the voice was familiar. Nanette stumbled forwards.

“Mother? Mother?”

She was caught by Mavika and Eloise. The young [Witch] fought, but Mavika dragged her back. The older [Witch] was triumphant and alarmed.

“Stay outside of the circle!”

They pulled Nanette back. The girl twisted, crying, and then shouted again.

“Mother! Miss Califor! Are you there?”

“It is me.”

There she stood. It was Califor. Twisted, tattered. She looked—Wiskeria shuddered and felt Alevica shudder beside her. She was burned. Her form was partially destroyed. Twisted. But it was her. The face, the silhouette—or was it?

The coven looked to Mavika. The crow [Witch] paused. She glanced up. A raven flew overhead. Mavika stared at the thing in the circle. And she slowly nodded.

“Califor Weishart. Your coven calls you. Your daughter beseeches you. She wishes to see your face. Do you know her name?”

“Nanette Weishart. My daughter.”

Even in death, Califor’s voice sounded a bit impatient. Mavika nodded. She and Eloise let go of Nanette a bit, and the girl rushed forwards. They held her from the edge of the circle, though. Nanette wept.

“Mother! I’m sorry! It’s my fault!”

“No. I curse the Stitch Witch. Belavierr. Blame no one but her, Daughter.”

Her voice didn’t echo. And it was distinct, snappish, familiar in every syllable. But it was far away. Not distant in volume, but in…Wiskeria closed her eyes as tears sprang to them. Califor’s figure bent, her fingers reaching for her daughter.

“My daughter. You have lost your craft. You have lost your way. And you have lost me. I would give any of these back to you. But I am dead.”

“Come back! Please! I’ll be good! I’ll do anything!”

Nanette begged the ghost. She reached out, and Eloise snatched her hand back. Slowly, regretfully, Califor stood.

“No. I cannot. You must be a [Witch], Nanette. That is my last lesson to you. In the end, we all must walk alone.”

“No! I want to go with you!”

Nanette struggled, screaming. This time, Hedag helped hold her back. Wiskeria’s heart was breaking. Nanette should not have been here. But Mavika was speaking. She held up a pure crystal jar, beautifully carved. And the [Witch]’s eyes flashed.

“Come, Califor. Become your daughter’s strength. Return to the world of the living for a day. A year. Return and be bound.”

Wiskeria held her breath. Not for years had a spirit been summoned. Let alone—she looked at Nanette. But this was wrong. Wiskeria wanted to protest. Not like this. But Califor was shaking her head.

“No. Not for my daughter. I cannot.”

“Why? You hold to the world with your grudge! Why do you not wish to return? What do you see, Califor? For centuries, [Witches] have lost what lies beyond! What has gone wrong?”

Mavika beseeched Califor. And the ghost’s voice was quiet.

“What do I see? Nothing. It is empty. Terribly empty. There is nothing here. They are all gone, hiding. Gathering? I will not stay either. I will not be eaten.”

“Eaten?”

Wiskeria heard the faint voice come from Alevica. The Witch Runner was shivering. And Wiskeria felt it too. Something was leaking from the other side. A cold. A feeling that pulled at Wiskeria. She wanted to walk forwards, and it terrified her.

Califor turned. She stared past Nanette.

“Something walks this ground, sisters. Something older than us all. Something hungers. And it has devoured the land of death. It comes for you, the living. And it is strongest here. On these lands. Some things—I know them. We all do, in the marrow of our class and souls. But they are nameless. He, the one who pursues me among them, is nameless. It must be so. They must never return. I have seen the past in these figures. And yet I fear the future.”

She turned. Mavika was speechless. The crow [Witch] backed up as Califor stepped past her. The dead [Witch]’s eyes moved past her. Searching. And they found Wiskeria. Califor reached out to the limits of the circle, entreating.

“Wiskeria, daughter of Belavierr, who was my death. I crave a boon.”

“Don’t go, Wis. Don’t go. Remember the rules.”

Alevica’s teeth chattered. The ghost paused. And she became more firm. Realer. Her voice closer.

“I call you by your debt. Wiskeria. Come.”

“The ritual has gone on too long. We have made her an offer. Return her! Mavika!”

Eloise snapped. Mavika nodded. But then her head snapped up. Wiskeria was moving.

“Witch Wiskeria! Do not—”

“I have to.”

Wiskeria stared at Califor. The [Witch] was dead. Because of her. Alevica grabbed for her.

“No! Wiskeria, it’s a trick—”

But it was too late. Califor was realer by the second. The lines in her face, her eyes—the other side called to Wiskeria. She stepped forwards, dreamlike, as Califor beckoned to her.

Her foot went through the circle. Mavika hissed, but it was too late. Califor smiled. And then she reached out and seized Wiskeria. Suddenly, her form changed to fire.

Fire. The same fire that had burned her as she died. Her hands were living flame. They grabbed Wiskeria. And suddenly, the flame was real. Wiskeria felt the burning pain. She started to scream. The [Witches] struck at the hexagram, erasing it. Hedag kicked the ground and cursed as Nanette fought to get to her mother. And Califor’s voice echoed in Wiskeria’s ears as she grabbed the [Witch]’s arms.

“Wiskeria. For you, I have died. I curse your mother. I curse her. And I charge you. Keep my daughter safe. Swear it on your life!”

“I swear! I swear!”

Wiskeria screamed. She would have sworn anything to stop the pain! Califor didn’t relent. Her grip tightened. She drew Wiskeria closer. Mavika was shouting something, but Califor’s voice filled Wiskeria’s ears. The ghost sounded almost gentle over Wiskeria’s screams.

“Keep her safe, and beware. Beware what walks in death’s land.”

“Wh—w—”

The ghost paused. And she looked through Wiskeria. Even in death, Wiskeria saw Miss Califor was afraid.

“His name should end and never be spoken. But it will be spoken. So I say it and damn the world for my daughter. Just as Belavierr damned me. And when you hear his name, flee. And take Nanette far, far away. He is our enemy. [Witches] have sworn his death. We were there. We must honor our vows.”

“Who?”

Wiskeria screamed. Califor didn’t reply. Her grip squeezed, and Wiskeria howled. Her flesh caught on fire.

“The ritual’s broken! Seize her!”

Eloise cried. The hexagram was snuffed out. And the portal was closing. Califor was drawn back into the center of the circle. The other [Witches] leapt forwards, pulling Wiskeria back.

But Califor held on. And her lips whispered a word into Wiskeria’s ear. One word that burned into Wiskeria’s mind like the flames that seared her arms. And then the flames vanished. The presence disappeared.

Califor was gone.

Wiskeria lay on the ground, shuddering, screaming in pain as the word and burns marked her. The potion Alevica poured on her didn’t remove the raw handprints on her arm. Nor did Eloise’s charm. Nothing did. As the coven bent around Wiskeria, the last [Witch] stood in front of the circle.

“Miss—?”

Nanette glanced around. But her mother had said nothing more. Not to her, her daughter. She hadn’t even looked at her. Nanette tore off her hat. She sank to her knees, weeping. She lay there, curled up. Until, so quietly that she thought she’d imagined it, she heard a voice.

The girl looked up. And then she saw it. Something lying on the ground. In the center of the circle. It was a little burned. Charred near the tip. But it rested there where it had burnt away to ash before. The other [Witches] turned and stared.

“Nanette—”

Eloise raised a hand. But the girl ignored her. She crawled forwards, eyes wide, disbelieving. And she reached out with a shaking hand. Slowly, the girl took Califor’s hat from the altar and hugged it to her. Tears ran down her cheeks.

“Mommy.”

She whispered the word. And then she screamed it. She sobbed and wept fully. And she sat there as the coven stood, shaken, as the marks on Wiskeria’s arms refused to heal. The name burned in her mind. But it was Nanette who cried a name aloud. Who held her mother’s hat. Desperately, searching for a sign.

But nothing replied. The afterlife was full of nothing. Not even [Witches].

—–

It was not so dark where Ryoka was. Stars shone overhead, and they, combined with the moon, gave her enough illumination to run by. And it was late, she knew. But she was close to her destination. So Ryoka Griffin risked the night run.

She ran north towards Lord Gralton’s lands. Charlay was there, waiting. She hadn’t returned with the [Witches]—apparently, she’d cracked a hoof on the run north. Ryoka was wondering what kind of joke she should tell—unless Charlay was really upset.

North, and then further still. Ryoka was going back to Reizmelt. She had gold, an [Emperor]’s favor for what it was worth, and she had more regrets. More sorrow. But part of her was forging it all into something which gave her the strength to continue.

Determination. Ryoka thought of her friends. Fierre, Levil, Erin.

Mrsha.

She had to go back. And she had to run forwards. So she did. Ryoka Griffin ran down a forest road, alert for any sounds or light. And she was so focused on noticing one or the other it was only after a moment she realized there was neither.

Slowly, the City Runner stopped in the shadow of the trees. It was fitting. So when she turned, she knew who it was before the [Witch] was visible in the shadows.

“You. How dare you?”

“Good night to you, Ryoka Griffin. I have business with you.”

Belavierr stood, her hat wide, her robes darker than the shadows around her. Her eyes did not glow. But the orange eyes and black rings still terrified under the moonlight. She was no immortal. Not anymore.

But she was still Belavierr. Ryoka reached for the bag of holding at her side. The Stitch Witch didn’t reply. Ryoka drew a weapon, then another. She shouted at the [Witch].

“I thought you were just—just different! Not evil. Not a monster. I’ve met immortals. And you’re the worst of them.”

“Indeed? Worse than Perril Chandler?”

“Who the hell is—”

Ryoka’s words died in her mouth. Belavierr smiled. She gestured to Ryoka’s face.

“You have met with him. I see the magic on your tongue. Faded. He is still alive. Good. He owes me a favor.”

The young woman paused. She stared at Belavierr. And then she shook her head.

“She will never forgive you. Wiskeria will hate you forever.”

The words were meant to hurt. But Belavierr’s smile just drank them in.

“Good.”

“Good? I thought you loved her! I thought she was your daughter?”

Ryoka howled at Belavierr. The Stitch Witch slowly shook her head. She watched as Ryoka circled her, tense. Belavierr replied calmly.

“I give my daughter purpose. I give her something.”

The City Runner spat.

“So that’s it. That’s all you want, isn’t it? Give your daughter something. And because she hates you—you can be whomever you want. Because you know your daughter cares.”

“Perhaps.”

Ryoka didn’t waste any more words. She just attacked. She threw the silver knife and lunged with the cross-stake made of wood. Belavierr took one small step and went around Ryoka. The knife missed, and Ryoka stumbled.

She whirled. Belavierr stood there, staring down at her. Ryoka raised the stake. And then she looked at Belavierr. She shook her head and walked past the Stitch Witch. She picked up the knife, stowed it and the cross. And she glanced over her shoulder.

“I can’t kill you. Not even the wind wants to pick a fight with you. So forget it. Go fuck yourself. I’m out.”

Ryoka raised two fingers and began to back up. She turned—and Belavierr was standing in front of her.

“You—”

This time, Ryoka’s fist hit Belavierr in the chest. But it felt like she’d broken it. Ryoka bent over. The Stitch Witch’s robes were as hard as steel! Belavierr calmly waited. Ryoka looked up, sweating, pale.

“How do you do that?”

“I am a master of stitchcraft. Once, I made Seven League Boots. Shoes aren’t much harder.”

The Stitch Witch’s matter-of-fact voice made Ryoka stare at her. The City Runner backed up.

“What do you want?”

Belavierr didn’t reply. She just stared at Ryoka. And then she smiled again.

“Would you like to know how to meet your friend?”

“Wh—”

This time, Ryoka’s breath caught. Belavierr’s smile widened.

“I heard you as he burned me. And you saw them. The strangers.”

Ryoka backed up. The fae. She’d heard her? She stammered.

“She’s gone. She’s been banished, and she’ll never, ever see me again. Ever. There’s no way she can defy her ruler.”

Belavierr tilted her head, still smiling.

“Even they have laws. Even they have a price. There is a way. And I know of it. Would you like to meet her again?”

See her again? Ryoka jerked her head, shook it rapidly.

“No. No, no, no—I won’t give you my life. Go away! Leave me alone!”

She turned to run. But there Belavierr stood. And the Stitch Witch stood over her. Her voice was inescapable. It whispered in Ryoka’s ear, ran through the forest.

“I don’t want your life. You are my daughter’s…friend. All I ask is something small. A little thing. Easy to pay.”

Ryoka knew she shouldn’t ask. She shouldn’t. But Belavierr wouldn’t let her go. So Ryoka asked.

“What is it?”

Belavierr told her. Ryoka went still.

“Just that?”

“Just that.”

“It won’t harm anyone?”

Belavierr only smiled. Ryoka gazed at her. It was so simple. But it could hurt people. She was sure of it. Somehow. Some way.

“But just think. You could see her again. Maybe even take her with you. They have rules. You will never see her again but for my help.”

Ryoka wavered. And she looked up into that terrible, knowing smile. And she looked at Belavierr as she raised her arm. Ryoka knew.

A [Witch]’s deal. It was funny. Everyone knew what the right answer was. Everyone knew, even in those old days. But that was the thing. The thing people forgot. When the devil reached out, he always offered the most important thing to you in the world. Nothing less.

Ivolethe.

Ryoka gazed up and wondered if this was how Tagil and Califor had felt. Standing before her, the Stitch Witch smiled. Her lips curved up, and if Ryoka looked closely, between the rings in Belavierr’s eyes, she could see damnation laughing at her.

Belavierr slowly held out one hand. Ryoka stared at it, and she thought of her dearest friend. Slowly, trembling, she raised her right hand and stared at the missing fingers. She peered into Belavierr’s eyes.

And she sighed.

6.48 T

“Toren? Toren. Where have you gone, you silly skeleton?”

A young woman called out cheerfully in an old inn. She stood by a table, turning left and then right aimlessly. She had a blank, vacuous look on her face. But her voice was clear.

“Toren! Get over here!”

At her words, a skeleton obediently trotted over. He was wearing a ragged apron, and he had a sword at his side. The young woman ignored both. She turned and the skeleton obediently sidled over.

“There’s some dirt over there. Someone made a mess. Maybe me. Clean it up, will you?”

The skeleton stared at her. Then he grudgingly walked over to a broom leaning against a table. Erin Solstice turned her back again and bumped into one of the few tables in the room as Toren went over to the tiny amount of dust and dirt and began sweeping it with the crude broom towards the entrance. Erin’s voice continued.

“And here’s another mess! Toren! I told you to keep the inn clean! Sweep this up too! And is that blood?”

She was indicating another splotch on the floor. The skeleton looked up, spotted the other messes, and redoubled his efforts. He swept the first patch of dirt out of the door and scurried over to the next. Erin wasn’t satisfied, though.

“You’re so slow. Honestly! This is why I hired Lyonette. I mean, even though all she does is complain and steal stuff. But to be fair, she never blew up my inn.”

She turned back to the table and bumped into it again. Toren’s shoulders hunched and he paused in cleaning up the dirt. The action wasn’t missed by Erin, even though her back was turned.

“Hey! Get back to work, lazy bones! Clean up the mess! That’s what you’re good for! That’s all you’re good for.”

The skeleton’s head slowly rotated around on his shoulders. Two purple flames stared at Erin through the eye sockets of his skull. Erin, undeterred, kept speaking.

“What’s your problem? I’ve got places to be! Chop, chop! Clean up the mess!”

The skeleton threw down the broom and stepped on it. He snapped the thin handle and heard Erin gasp.

“How dare you! Toren! Clean that up right now and fix that broom!”

He ignored her. Toren advanced on Erin. She turned left, stared blankly at a wall. The furious skeleton circled around her, but Erin wouldn’t look right at him.

“Toren! I said, clean up the—”

The sword cleaved Erin’s head open. Toren raised the blade, wrenched it out of Erin’s head as she jerked, and tore it free. Then he stabbed her through the chest.

Erin stumbled. But she didn’t fall. At last, her eyes focused on him.

“Toren? What—”

Toren yanked the blade free. He ran Erin through a second time. She still didn’t fall. And—she made no sound as he stabbed her. He did it again and again, piercing the pallid, rotting skin of her chest. And she was silent.

At last, Erin fell to the ground. Toren stood over her, silently staring at her open eyes, her gaping mouth. He wasn’t panting; skeletons had no lungs. And Toren was a skeleton. An undead creature brought back to life by necromancy. But he wasn’t mindless. And in his head he was…relieved.

He’d done it. Erin’s stupid voice and her stupid orders were done with. Forever. He’d killed her. Silenced her at last, as he’d fantasized about doing. She was dead.

Again.

Toren stared at Erin’s body. And then suddenly, he stumbled back. He dropped the sword, clutched his skull of a head in his hands. What had he done? He’d killed her. He’d—

Erin jerked back upright with a groan. She didn’t get up like normal people did; her feet found the ground and she flopped upright without pushing herself up. It was an unnatural display of midriff strength few Humans could hope to equal.

Oh, and she also had half a dozen stab wounds through her chest. But she wasn’t bleeding. Her mouth gaped blankly at Toren and her unfocused eyes stared right through him. She groaned. But it was more of an unconscious sound; zombies didn’t speak, no matter how hard Toren tried to make them.

Toren stared at ‘Erin’ as the zombie of the young woman lurched upright unsteadily. A few maggots squirmed in her open mouth. The zombie lurched past Toren, blankly, but Erin’s voice still rang in Toren’s head.

“Toren! You stabbed me! Rude! Now, go pick up that broom and fix it. And get rid of all this dirt! Did you hear me? I said—”

The skeleton warrior shook his head. He walked away from Erin, picking up his sword, and sat down at a table. The zombie Erin bumped into a table again and the momentum carried her into it. Toren heard a crash as the flimsy wood broke. Zombie and table collapsed onto the ground. Toren whirled—

And the illusion fell apart. He stared around at the crude tables made of bits of wood held together with string or primitive nails. At the few chairs, which could barely support his weight, let alone an actual person’s. At the bar—a slab of wood on top of some rocks. At the ‘kitchen’, a metal door at the back, and the three doors that he’d created that led into this room. The stone walls.

This was not The Wandering Inn. And the zombie flailing uselessly on the ground wasn’t Erin. Toren was in the dungeon. Erin Solstice was dead. Months dead. He’d killed her. Left her alone in the snow outside a city far from her inn. And he was trapped in the dungeon. The skeleton buried his head in his hands. And he heard it closing in on him.

Madness.

—-

It was just one small room in hundreds, thousands of others. A single spot in the labyrinth, the maze of Liscor’s dungeon. It was a tiny place, barely fortified by some crude doors. The inn had some tables, some chairs, a few bowls, and a barrel or two of ‘food’. And a skeleton and a zombie.

The zombie was just a zombie. It was a young woman’s zombie, and she had dirty and bloodied hair that might have been brownish, once. She was—had been—Human, and fairly young. She wandered about aimlessly, occasionally groaning, bumping into tables, chairs, walls, and the doors, looking for a way out.

The skeleton was different. He was not aimless. Everything he did had a purpose. And he could use doors. Sometimes he left the inn. Sometimes he came back. Always, always, he kept the three doors that lead out from the inn closed, lest the zombie escape and fulfill her vocation of trying to kill anything alive. And he seldom opened the fourth door that led into the back of the inn. The sturdy, metal door that led to the…kitchen.

There were a lot of sounds coming from behind the metal door. But the skeleton ignored them. He had a job to do. With one hand he held a crude dustpan, which looked like a bit of iron armor flattened out into a funnel of sorts. Which it was. And in the other hand he held the head of a broom.

Toren swept the stone floor, found a dustrag and a bucket of water and polished the floor, despite the water having tiny particles in it that made keeping everything perfectly clean impossible, and fixed up the broken table. The zombie lurched past Toren, groaning, doing that thing with the arms that was so trendy among zombies.

Toren ignored her.

He swept the floor, diligently.

He polished the bar.

He didn’t open the door to the kitchen.

He stood blankly in a corner of the inn.

He stabbed zombie-Erin repeatedly.

He banged his head against the wall until his skull cracked and began to magically mend itself.

He lay on the ground.

He stabbed the giant fly-thing that tried to force its way into the room.

He cleaned up the blood.

He chopped up the fly thing and added it to the barrel of food. There were lots of maggots inside.

He swept the floor again.

And through it all, he wished, oh, how he wished, that he could go back in time. Because Toren was miserable. He was empty.

Erin was dead. And he was lost.

Not lost in a physical sense. Or even in terms of the dungeon. Toren didn’t know how long he’d been down here. He lost track, sometimes. The dungeon felt like a home to him, in a way. He knew the layout; he could navigate the threats of the dungeon and he could navigate most areas without needing to see. Literally; the skeleton’s memory was flawless. But Toren seldom went out of the inn he’d built here. There was no point. All he wanted, the source of his misery and regret, was right here.

Well, sort of. Zombie-Erin lurched past Toren and he stared at her. It wasn’t Erin’s body. He knew that. It was just some Human’s body he’d found among all the dead corpses. This one looked most like Erin. Well, she had. Now she had a bunch of holes in her chest and half of her head was sheared off. Toren might need to find another ‘Erin’ soon. But this one was good.

The skeleton waved a hand and felt a perverse sense of delight as the zombie obediently lurched over to him and halted in front of the table he was cleaning. That was one of his abilities. Commanding the undead. He could make the zombie-Erin run, hit things, lie down, or even pick things up, albeit clumsily. But he couldn’t make the zombie speak. Or think. Or—be Erin for him.

The zombie halted in place, staring aimlessly past Toren. Her mouth was open and Toren saw something wriggling inside. He absently picked out the squirming worms out of the fake Erin’s mouth, tossed them into one of the snack bowls, and patted her on the head. A few hairs came out and the zombie made an ‘urghfshh’ sound that was half-voice, half gas and liquid escaping from her deflated lungs.

“I’m sorry, Toren. I’d never get rid of you. I like you. You’re my favorite worker. Not like that jerk, Lyonette.”

Erin’s voice echoed in Toren’s head. He stared at her and pointed at a chair. Zombie-Erin sat, with Toren’s help, and wobbled unsteadily in her chair. It creaked, but held. Toren stared at her. At Erin.

Slowly, tentatively, he sat next to Erin. He could hear her voice in his head. As bright and cheerful as always. A perfect replica of how the real Erin had talked. That was the problem with Toren’s memory. It was too perfect. He could remember Erin too well. It never faded.

It. Never. Faded.

Toren realized he was slamming his head against the table. He looked up. Erin stared at him, a look of concern on her face. A maggot wriggled in her cheek.

“I really need you to keep it together, Toren. I rely on you for all kinds of stuff.”

Toren nodded. Sorry. He was just having a bad moment. He was always having a bad moment, now. He edged closer. Slowly, tentatively, Toren leaned against Erin.

The zombie tried to lurch away. Toren grabbed its hand and patted his skull with it. It was something he had seen her do to Mrsha. And the little Gnoll had smiled. The skeleton sat there, patting his own head with Erin’s hand. Then he gingerly hugged Erin.

The skeleton smiled, but not by choice. And his purple eyes dimmed slightly. The purple fire grew weaker. He didn’t feel better. He felt worse. The zombie moved, unconsciously trying to seek something to kill. Toren ordered it to hold still and it did. But he knew it wasn’t really Erin.

And then he heard her voice again, whispering in the confines of his skull.

“You blew up my inn, Toren. You blew it up! You maniac! And you killed me. You killed me and I’m dead and you will never leave this dungeon ever again.”

Toren jerked. He leapt away from the table and zombie-Erin fell to the ground as the chair holding her collapsed. Shaken, the skeleton stared at the zombie as she picked herself up. She hadn’t said anything.

It was all in his head. All in his head. Toren smacked his skull with his bony hands. And he felt terrible. Because after months, after so long, he could finally admit it: he wanted to go home. But he couldn’t. The dungeon was his prison.

Toren lacked a living person supplying him with mana. Without it, he couldn’t go above without running out of magical energy in minutes. And without magic, the spells giving him life would wither and he would die. Anything short of that Toren could survive; in the mana-heavy environment of the dungeon, he was very, very hard to kill because his body would automatically repair itself over time.

Those were the facts. Toren had lost his old home, The Wandering Inn. His master, Erin, was dead. He’d killed her. Well, not directly, but he’d left her in the snow, far, far, from home. So it was his fault.

Around and around, the thoughts went. Toren couldn’t avoid them. He’d tried. He’d tried to replace Erin, remake the inn, even find a clientele in the dungeon. None of it had worked. Toren tried to cheer himself up by killing things with his sword, but he’d given that up oh, about two zombie-Erins ago. What was the point?

He’d gotten tired of killing things for no reason. And that was the most shocking thing Toren could ever imagine in the world. But there it was. If you didn’t have a reason, killing things got boring after twenty thousand six hundred and fifty one times.

Toren mechanically got back to work after a while of beating his skull with his hands. He bent down and fixed up the broken chair. The stupid furniture was always breaking. Unfortunately, Toren didn’t have much in the way of stuff to fix it with.

The current chairs and table were held together with bits of twine, strips of monster hide or sinew, and nails fashioned out of bits of metal. Toren was wrapping a bit of antennae or something around the chair, hoping it would keep the fragmented wood together, when he heard a sound.

A voice. The skeleton froze, and his hand darted to his sword. Another hand grasped at something at his side. A mask. The hand tried to place the mask on his face, but Toren forced it down. He waited, listening. Where…?

It wasn’t coming from one of the three ramshackle doors leading out of the inn. Toren relaxed. It wasn’t adventurers. Or Raskghar. Or Cave Goblins. Or those annoying little monsters that pretended to be children. In fact, it was coming from the metal door.

The kitchen. Toren paused. But curiosity slowly propelled him towards the door. He hesitated, listening. There were definitely voices coming from the other side. More than before. The [Skeleton Knight] paused as he reached for the door. There was a bar on this door. He slowly touched it, and then looked around.

Zombie-Erin was nearby. Toren looked at her, and then hurried her into a far corner of the inn. Then he came back over, unbarred the metal door, and opened it. Quickly, Toren went through and shut the door behind him.

It was dark in the ‘kitchen’. It wasn’t a kitchen. It was really just a large room, empty when Toren had found it. Now it was full. Of corpses.

Four thousand bodies. Well, four and a few hundred if you wanted to be precise. Raskghar. Human. Goblin. Drake. Gnoll. All of them were piled up, some practically to the ceiling in places. Rotting. Decomposing. And now—wandering about.

Toren stared around the room. His fellow undead had moved at the sudden influx of light, and lurched towards the door, but now it was shut, they began wandering again. It was nearly pitch-black in the room. There was no light, safe from the countless eyes, staring, shining with undead malice. No light. But there were voices.

“Doombringer.”

Toren jumped. Someone was talking in the darkness. He stared around and saw a huge, hulking, distended figure. A monster twice as tall as he was, with bones for teeth, eyes staring out of the mouth, black liquid dripping from its gaping maw. Huge ‘hands’. Legs, made of other body parts.

A Crypt Lord. One of the more powerful breeds of undead. It moved more purposefully than the zombies and ghouls around it. But it hadn’t made the sound. Toren peered around it. The Crypt Lord held its ground, staring past Toren at the door. There was something like intelligence in the way it stood, but not too much intelligence. Toren impatiently raised his hands to push it out of the way, and then thought better. He meekly edged around the Crypt Lord and listened.

“…it be an end to all of us!”

A voice screamed. Toren jumped a foot in the air and bumped into a Ghoul. The undead staggered and Toren sheepishly edged back. None of the other undead seemed to notice the voice. Toren moved forwards. And then he saw the speaker.

It was a Gnoll. He lay on his stomach, his head twisted up to stare blankly past Toren. He was dead; someone had broken his ribs, torn out his heart. But the Gnoll spoke. His lungs moved and his voice was only slightly distorted by rot and death.

“Cursed Raskghar.”

Toren stared at the Gnoll. Then he stared at the thing that the Gnoll was connected to. Where the Gnoll’s legs should have been, Toren only saw a squirming mass of limbs. Fur. Elongated flesh. Heads. Hands, grasping. Legs. Faces. And more voices.

“Damn you.”

“Lord Veltras! The Goblins are—”

“Redfang!”

“Who are—”

“Not a Raskghar—”

A babble of voices, now, from the heads, the bodies twined together. Toren stared. There were hundreds of faces, all woven together in a…he eyed the thing. A mount of bodies. No, more like a tree. The ‘roots’ or ‘legs’ were torsos, like the dead Gnoll. The thing had limbs, made of people. And in the center of it, rising up, was a pillar of flesh. Of heads. They were all parts of a whole, and they spoke.

Goblins. Humans. Gnolls. Drakes. Ooh! And A Raskghar. It just snarled, growling incoherently. But then, all the voices were nonsensical. Toren shook his head, listening. The Gnoll was speaking again.

“Doombringer. Doombringer.”

Who was he talking to? Toren wondered. They were words from his life, no doubt. The Gnoll tried to drag itself forwards and all the hands and bodies nearby did the same. Toren jumped; the thing was moving. It was thousands upon thousands of pounds of rotting flesh, joined together, but the sum of the parts allowed it to crawl forwards across the ground.

Toren stared at the…thing. Hundreds of elongated corpses tangled together, hands grasping, heads moving. Staring at him. Uttering fragments like the Gnoll babbling his last words. He stepped back and behind the mount of flesh, the entire creation as a whole. The undead collective. Toren turned his head. Next to it, another Crypt Lord had risen, and it was tearing at a lesser zombie, ‘eating’ it and absorbing the bones and flesh into its own makeup. Toren paused and then shook his head.

This was a complete failure. He sighed, stepped back as the flesh-pit tried to crawl forwards again, and scuffed backwards. He tried to order the mass of bodies not to crawl over him, but it ignored his commands. Just like the Crypt Lords. There were eight of them in the room—five more than last time. Hundreds of zombies, already. Not any skeletons; all the bodies Toren had found were fresh, but a good number of Ghouls, too.

Toren pointed at one of them, a more agile, alert version of the zombie. It obediently bounded over to him; a corpse of a Raskghar, but before Toren could give it another order he felt something else impose its will. The Ghoul paused, turned, and bounded back to the nearest Crypt Lord. Toren stamped his foot and glared at the undead commander. The Crypt Lord stared at Toren and he felt a tug. It wanted him to follow it. Toren ignored the command and clattered his jaw furiously.

Failure! Another failure! He’d had such hopes for his room of undead! And he’d worked so hard to gather all the bodies! But instead of creating what he’d wanted—an army of undead he could control and maybe even some high-level undead for him to use—he’d created, well, high undead.

Crypt Lords. And whatever that flesh-pit thing was. They not only ignored Toren’s orders, but were capable of giving other undead orders. Case in point; each Crypt Lord had a retinue over dozens of zombies and Ghouls, which followed them around. Try as he might, Toren couldn’t ‘steal’ any of the undead; the Crypt Lords had more authority than he did. And worse, if he tried to poach a few bodies…

The Level 27 [Skeleton Knight] paused. He hadn’t leveled up much in that class; Toren didn’t do much killing these days. But he had another class. The purple flames in the skeleton’s eyes glowed brightly for a moment. He pointed, and one of the corpses lying in a small mound jerked and began to move. Toren saw it rise, saw the ghastly light appear in its eyes. A zombie Hobgoblin rose and Toren clapped his hands delightedly.

Level 12 [Undead Leader]. [Command Lesser Undead]. That was another class he possessed, and a Skill that allowed him to give orders to zombies and Ghouls and skeletons. But also—

[Raise Corpse]. The zombie lurched forwards. Toren beckoned to it urgently, before one of the stupid Crypt Lords could steal his zombie. The zombie obediently stumbled forwards, and Toren motioned it to the door. He reached for the handle—

And the flesh-pit moved. A mass of hands rose, grabbing, and yanked the Hobgoblin zombie off its feet. Toren froze as he saw the zombie struggling, and then go limp. The mass of corpses was drawing it in!

The flesh-pit picked up the zombie and pulled in into the writhing mass of bodies. Toren felt the zombie’s individual presence vanish. And the squirming pile of bodies was suddenly a bit larger. Toren stared at it. He heard a myriad of voices. A wail of dead bodies, echoing their life.

Toren scuffed at the ground with one bony foot. Jerk. It kept doing that. All Toren wanted was his army of zombies. But could he get even one? No…he could barely replace his zombie-Erin! There were all these…

The Crypt Lords were aimlessly walking the room, searching for a way out. Toren noticed one coming up behind him too late. He turned, and it reached for him with one huge hand. The skeleton tried to jerk away, but the Crypt Lord caught him. It raised Toren up as the skeleton struggled. And the many eyes in the thing’s mouth focused on Toren’s burning purple flames.

The skeleton froze. He felt the Crypt Lord’s mind pressing in on his. And from that mind Toren felt…an instinct. A thought, magnified so loud it drowned out Toren’s sense of being. The Crypt Lord’s thoughts blasted through Toren’s skull.

DEATH.

It dropped him. Toren collapsed to the ground, stunned, the command still vibrating through his entire being. The Crypt Lord lurched past him, ignoring the skeleton in a moment. It grabbed a Ghoul, lifted it up, made eye-contact, dropped it. The Ghoul bounded into place in its retinue. Toren kept lying on the ground. He didn’t feel like following the Crypt Lord around. Still, that had rattled him.

Toren got up after a bit. It was too crowded here. He glared at the Crypt Lord who’d picked him up. He knew it was probably a bad idea, but he was Toren! The strongest skeleton in the world! How dare the Crypt Lord pick him up like—like—like a common Ghoul?

The purple light in Toren’s eye sockets grew a bit brighter. He casually sidled past the undead following the Crypt Lord about. The undead commander was searching for another member of its army when Toren tapped it on the…back. The Crypt Lord turned, black blood dripping between its bone-teeth.

Toren plunged his sword in to the Crypt Lord’s chest. The undead recoiled! Toren laughed silently. Hah! Take th—

The Crypt Lord smashed Toren into the ground with one massive hand. The zombies and Ghouls leapt on Toren, tearing his bones apart and smashing him flat. For about five seconds the skeleton flailed with his sword—and then he was torn apart. The bones went flying as the Crypt Lord kept smashing same spot, and then stopped. It paused, and then then went about its business.

The skeleton’s bones lay there for a while and the Crypt Lord moved past him, wandering aimlessly around the enclosed room. After a few more minutes, the bones began rolling towards the door. Toren furtively reassembled himself next to the door and crept back to pick up his sword. The Crypt Lord he’d stabbed ignored him. Toren lifted the sword, looked at the undead’s back, and thought better about it.

He hurried back to the door and pushed it open. The Crypt Lords turned as one and the wailing from the flesh-pit grew louder. All the undead lurched for the door and the nearest Crypt Lord reached out, trying to fit itself through the opening. It saw a skeleton in the way and ordered it to move aside.

Toren slammed the door in the Crypt Lord’s face and was rewarded with a satisfying thwack. The skeleton grinned and did a little dance in place. Idiots! So what if they could command more undead than he could and beat him in a fight? They couldn’t open doors.

He absently pushed the door closed all the way and slammed the bar down. Then he kicked it for good measure. The door made a satisfactory ringing sound and Toren slapped one shin-bone, grinning. His good mood lasted all of eight seconds. Then he stared at the door and gloomily went back to the table. He sat down as zombie-Erin lurched past him.

Yep. That was a failure. Stupid undead. All Toren wanted were some Draug, not…bosses. And besides which…Toren sprawled out at the table like he’d seen Erin do.

So that was what other undead were like, was it? The Crypt Lord’s order still resonated in Toren’s soul. The skeleton thought about it. And he shook his head.

There was nothing there. Toren had seen a glimpse of the future in the Crypt Lord’s mind—a future it would bring about, what all undead would bring about given their natural instincts and time. And the world they would create was empty. An oblivion where the undead were all that remained. That was its purpose. And Toren, understanding that, came to another conclusion.

Undead were idiots. All except for him. The skeleton looked at zombie-Erin. He paused, and then threw one of the snack bowls at her. It bounced off her head and she staggered.

Yup. Idiots. All they wanted was to kill the living? What was the point in that? Toren paused. Well, obviously for fun, but all life? Every living thing, until the world was silent and empty and nothing, not even insects, could reproduce? That was the stupidest idea he, Toren, had ever heard of. And he’d taken orders from Erin Solstice.

Death was boring. He should know. Life, now…Toren paused. He looked at zombie-Erin.

This was what Toren realized. It hit him like a snack bowl. Killing things was sometimes a bad idea. The skeleton’s jaw dropped off his skull. He had to pick it up and reattach it. But—he looked at the kitchen door. At zombie-Erin.

There could be no other explanation. He regretted killing Erin. He missed her. He wished she were back. Even though she was stupid. Even though she did things he didn’t like.

That was the thing. He didn’t know how he felt about her. Erin. She—had—made him angry. Given him orders he didn’t like. But Toren missed her. More than that he needed her. He…wanted her not to be dead. Because she was annoying and stupid and he had to obey her.

But sometimes. Ah, sometimes. Sometimes she sang and the music still haunted him. Sometimes she said ‘thank you’, or ‘good job, Toren’. And sometimes she came up with things to do that were…fun. She had given him meaning and in a way, life.

Protect Erin Solstice. Obey her. Be used in less-optimal tasks. Of all the people and animals and monsters and things in the world, Toren regretted killing only her. And he realized the scope of his blunder, his error now. She was gone. And death was timeless. The undead came for all things, and they were eternal, or close to it. Which made living things, finite things, more precious.

Or maybe just Erin. Toren was still hazy on whether other living things mattered. But Erin did. Because there had only been one of her.

These were the things Toren didn’t do. He didn’t bury his head in his hands. He didn’t weep. Or scream. Or hit the tables or himself, or curl into a ball or shake or shudder in pain. Because those were biological reactions. They didn’t help him. So he just sat. And hurt.

This was what Toren knew, too late. You couldn’t get something back when you lost it. It was a revelation for him, just the same way it was for anyone who loses something precious the first time.

The skeleton sat and was sad. Insanity gnawed at his head. Madness and sadness. And as it got too much for him to handle, as he sank lower and lower, his hand moved. Toren tried to stop it. But he was too weak. And the mask, the mask hanging by his side came up. It covered his face and he—

Was she. Toren sighed and relaxed and shook her head. She looked around, realized she was naked, and stomped over to a pile of rags in the corner of the inn. Zombie-Erin watched blankly as Toren dressed herself. When she was done, she looked like…a person. You could mistake her for a thin, female Human wearing a mask. Female Toren adjusted the cloth padding one arm, and shook her head.

Too long since she’d last been in charge. He liked moping around his inn too much. But she didn’t agonize like he did. She had something Toren lacked. Purpose. She left the bar behind, contemptuously stalking out of the illusion of the inn. She was so annoyed with him that she didn’t even bother closing the door. It would serve Toren right if something came along and ate his fake-Erin. And he’d probably go on a murderous rampage again or sit in a corner. But that was his time. She had other plans.

The skeleton disappeared from the inn. Zombie-Erin lurched around, not quite picking up on the fact that she could leave the inn yet. She wandered about, occasionally groaning.

After a few minutes, the door to the ‘kitchen’ opened slowly. The Crypt Lord pushing it open stared at the drop-bar that usually kept the room sealed. It hadn’t landed in the crude metal holster. The door opened wider and the Crypt Lord stumbled forwards. The lone zombie in the inn looked up as whispering voices filled the inn. Voices and movement.

And suddenly, there were a lot of…things coming out of the corpse room. Not just Crypt Lords, zombies, Ghouls, and flesh-pits, either. Something crawled down, made of many bones. Toren would have been shocked to know they were in the room. Because Toren, in the way skeletons and people often lack spatial awareness, had never once decided to look up.

—–

Anith, the Jackal Beastkin of Vuliel Drae had never once in his entire life thought to question what kind of stone Liscor’s dungeon was made from. It was not on his list of things to worry about, and as team leader of his eclectic group, he had any number of concerns.

“Granite?”

He politely stared at the Human woman holding the hammer and the pointed nail of metal in one hand. It looked like a nail—only about a hundred times bigger. She was angling it towards the slab of the floor, tapping it and frowning. Earlia, the Silver-rank Captain of the Gemhammer, looked up and nodded.

“That’s right. Got to be. You can see just by the way it looks, obviously, but who’s going to make a dungeon out of anything less? What did you think it was?”

Anith blinked at Earlia. The Jackal [Mage] closed the spellbook he’d been studying and coughed.

“I must confess, I’ve never given it any thought. If you were to ask me, I would have assumed it was a…limestone?”

“Limestone?”

Earlia burst into laughter. She sat back on her haunches, away from the trap mechanism that was only three feet in front of her. Anith’s fur tried to stand up on end; he wasn’t so sanguine about their proximity to the trap. But Earlia kept laughing.

“Limestone. Hey, Timgal, Anith here thinks this dungeon’s made of limestone!”

Anith heard a guffaw from further down the room. The Jackal sighed.

“I only assumed—”

“What, that whoever built this dungeon wants it to wash away with the first rainstorm that hits it?”

Earlia snorted. She grabbed the nail of metal and hammer and leaned forwards again. She pressed the tip into the ground and began smacking the top with the hammer, trying to drive it into the stone. Anith, embarrassed, watched in silence. Earlia was hitting the wedge hard, without fear of smacking her gloved hand, but the pick didn’t seem to be penetrating the dungeon’s floor. With a sigh, Earlia growled and tossed the hammer behind her.

“It’s no good! Boys, we have to crack the enchantment before we can break the stone! Where’s my sledgehammer?”

She stood up and the rest of her team, five more heavily armed and armored adventurers, walked forwards. Anith backed up politely against one wall of the passage to make room for them and the weapons they carried. They were all armed with picks, sledgehammers, or mauls, weapons that required a lot of brawn to swing. And the men and women had that in supply. Earlia nodded as she grabbed a sledgehammer.

“Alright. Me first. Anith, you step back. Watch your faces!”

The rest of her team stepped back, shielding their eyes and averting their heads. Anith copied them, not knowing why, and Earlia raised her sledgehammer.

“[Hammer Blow]!”

The first impact made a sound like thunder as metal hit stone. Anith clapped a hand over his sensitive ears and recoiled. The other adventurers, seemingly used to the sound, just waited. Earlia studied the patch of floor and scowled.

“Next!”

“My turn.”

The huge fellow named Timgal stepped forwards. He held a miner’s pick, and he swung it up and down, aiming for the same spot Earlia had hit.

“[Piercing Blow].”

His strike was less thunderous, but the crack was still sharp enough to keep Anith’s hands over his ears. He kept watching as Timgal stepped back, grunting and eyeing the spot to let another man step forwards with a maul. Anith watched the maul go up—

“[Power Strike]—”

“Watch your eyes, idiot!”

A hand blocked Anith’s vision right before he heard the crack of impact. This time there was more than just the collision; he heard the stones breaking and felt something ping off the wall beside him. He jerked back as Earlia lowered her hand.

“What was—”

“Shrapnel. Hey! Keep a hand over your eyes and step back! All of you! Dead gods, haven’t any of you lot ever been around a mining operation?”

Earlia snapped at Anith and the adventurers crowding around behind her team. Anith turned. The rest of his team, Vuliel Drae, stared at Earlia and sheepishly shook their heads. So did he. Earlia sighed.

“Hands over eyes. Got it? We have helmets or we cover ours. You do not want to be hit by a bit of flying rock when we break the dungeon’s floor. That’s how you lose eyes, healing potions or not. Step back! Next! Fea, break open those tiles with your pickaxe! Blaik after her!”

The rest of Gemhammer took turns using their Skills. The sound of breaking stone was accompanied by a spray of fragments that kept Vuliel Drae covering their eyes until Earlia announced a break.

“Alright! Fifteen minutes, everyone! Then Blaik’s up with his [Power Strike]. Back to the other room—let’s keep working on that trap!”

The rest of her team trooped backwards, laughing good-naturedly and picking up the hand-wedges—the oversized nails of steel—and the smaller hammers. Vuliel Drae watched, bemused and confused.

“Wait, you’re giving up?”

Insill, the Drake [Rogue], stared at the patch of broken stone, perplexed. Earlia shook her head.

“Not at all. But we’re out of usable Skills. The rest of my team only has one, like Blaik’s [Power Strike]. We need to keep using them; we’ll never break the stones just by swinging our hammers.”

“Oh. I mean, of course. Sorry.”

The Drake nodded understandingly. Earlia smiled and jerked a thumb behind her.

“And while we do that, we’ll keep breaking down these trap-pillars. We already got the warding enchantment down; all we have to do is carefully remove the actual blades.”

She was pointing to the room behind them. Anith turned and looked at the trap-pillars. There were two in the room, and they were designed such that anyone carelessly entering the room would be instantly diced by the rows of curved blades that would spring from hidden compartments on each pillar. However, the activation mechanism in this particular trap room had been disabled, and now Gemhammer was methodically breaking down the granite stone to get at the trap.

“We’ll split our time between working with hand tools and using our Skills. Once we break the warding enchantment we can use physical force. But we’ll still be at work for a few hours. At least. It’s a day-job, really.”

Earlia sighed as she grabbed her own hand wedge and hammer. Anith nodded, impressed. He wasn’t the only one. Another member of his team, Dasha, the half-Dwarven woman, spoke up.

“That’s proper mining technique alright. Which I know about because of my ancestry. Your team’s not bad at manipulating stone, Miss Earlia. For Humans, of course.”

She stroked her beard self-importantly, ignoring the eye-rolling of the rest of her teammates. Anith sighed, but Earlia just laughed.

“We were [Miners], you know. It’s just that adventuring pays better and it’s about the same level of danger. Anyways, if your team wants to watch…”

She looked at Anith meaningfully and he nodded.

“Of course. Insill, Dasha, watch our way in. Pekona, Larr…”

“On guard.”

The Gnoll [Archer] and [Sword Dancer] Human, Pekona, both nodded and moved to cover the other entrance. Insill and Dasha walked past Gemhammer. They took up a casual guard so that both entrances were watched. Earlia nodded.

“Thanks, Anith.”

“Of course. You are paying us.”

The Jackal coughed again, a bit embarrassed. It was the first time his team had ever been hired to guard another adventuring team, but Earlia had asked and he had agreed out of curiosity and a sense of obligation. The Captain of Gemhammer gave him a grin.

“I know it’s not much, but my team and I wanted someone to guard us for the first few times, just to see what kind of attention we attract. We’re loud and we’ll have our hands full without posting a guard. Best case is that you pocket some silver and all you have to do is stand about for a few hours. Worst case…”

She looked at Larr and Pekona, leaning against their walls and keeping an eye out, and Dasha and Insill, probably arguing about her dubious claim to Dwarven knowledge. Anith sighed.

“Don’t worry. Despite how they look, my team is relatively alert. Larr and Insill will spot anything coming. But can we help in any way with ah…”

He waved a hand at the traps Gemhammer was working on. They were in the trapped rooms, the first layer of Liscor’s dungeon. But unlike every other team that had tried to pass through this area, Gemhammer hadn’t been interested in advancing or clearing more trapped rooms. Instead, they’d insisted on finding rooms already de-trapped by other teams, like this one. Anith still wasn’t entirely sure what they were doing.

Earlia shrugged.

“If your team’s got anyone with [Power Strike] and a sturdy weapon, we could use you. Dasha’s the only one by the looks of it and her axe is a bit…fragile. Don’t worry about it. We just need time and we’ll start breaking the walls and floor. Clearly, we’re working with a dungeon-wide enchantment here. The big stuff. No room-by-room enchantment or mundane materials here.”

Her comment made one of the other adventurers look up. Blaik wiped a bit of grime from his brow as he hammered the spike of metal into the stone pillar.

“What d’you reckon’s holding the place together? Dungeon-wide enchantment worked into the stones? That’s high-grade stuff, which is what I’d expect. Or does it have a locus of some kind?”

“What, like a dungeon heart? Hah!”

“As bad as limestone?”

Anith politely inquired. The rest of the former [Miners] snorted. It was Earlia who replied, shaking her head.

“If it is, it’s worse than limestone. Dungeon hearts or dungeon cores are terrible dungeon design. All one adventurer has to do is charge into the center and break whatever’s powering all the enchantments. Then the entire dungeon implodes or falls apart.”

“Ah.”

Anith had no idea that was a problem. But then—he wasn’t an expert on dungeons. And he was regretting it now. Earlia’s team had clearly done their research, and they were talking as they hammered at the trap. One of the women, Fea, was nodding knowingly.

“It’s not actually that bad to use limestone in a dungeon, Mister Anith. I mean, limestone’s soft, almost as bad as marble, but so long as it’s enchanted, that’s the trick. You can’t make many dungeons out of regular stone. It breaks down too fast—and if you get Crelers, Rock Mites, or half a dozen other monsters infesting your dungeon? Inside of a decade and it’ll be more porous than a sponge!”

She tsked, shaking her head over poor dungeon quality management. The rest of the [Miners] nodded. They were wearing gloves and several had helmets on to shield their faces. Earlia’s voice was muffled as she put on a helmet and got to work beside her team.

“Don’t mind my team, Anith. We’re good at dungeons and rock-related stuff and nothing else. A new dungeon’s a great opportunity for us, especially now all this insanity with the Raskghar and so on’s died down. Still, no one’s taking chances.”

“Which is why you reached out to my team. May I ask why you wish to dismantle this room, though? I assumed it was already safe.”

Anith glanced at the trap pillar. One of the adventurers was carefully working a concealed metal blade out of the wall. Earlia chuckled.

“What? You mean you don’t know what we’re doing? There’s gold to be made—safely—by removing these traps. That’s what our team’s here for and that’s how we’re going to make a fortune.”

“By removing…”

And then Anith saw Blaik pull out of one of the metal trap blades out of the wall. The man grunted, very carefully keeping his fingers away from the edge.

“Captain. Got one!”

“Good work, Blaik!”

Earlia chortled and raised her visor for a better look. She motioned Anith over and he examined the blade. The [Mage] could tell there was an enchantment on the metal, but Anith’s understanding of magic wasn’t specialized in that area. He was certainly not about to touch it, though. Neither was Earlia. She grinned at the blade, looking delighted.

“Beautiful. See? Gold. Just lying here! I can’t believe the other teams aren’t trying to compete with us. Let alone the teams that actually did the de-trapping! I asked Halrac before he left, but he said we were free to have at it. Either he’s an idiot, or the rumors are true and he came away with a huge score.”

Anith’s paw tightened on his spellbook. Halrac, Captain of Griffon Hunt. And one of the people who knew Vuliel Drae’s disgrace. He bowed his head, but then moved on.

“Perhaps. I had heard that he ran into some good fortune. Well-deserved, I think if so. But why would he be interested in…?”

He indicated the metal blade. Earlia gave him a strange look.

“It’s enchanted, Anith. You’re telling me you don’t think we could sell this?”

The Jackal Beastkin paused.

“Oh. Of course. But who would buy…?”

Earlia shook her head, tapping the metal.

“Enchanted metal, nice quality, very fine edge—I’d say forty gold pieces per blade? Unless it’s enchanted with some really keen enchantment, in which case it could be worth ten times that. We’ll have to see—hey! Anyone got something to cut with this thing?”

“I have a mutton leg. Let me eat it.”

One of the other adventurers fished out a snack. After carefully stripping the meat from the bone, he handed it to Earlia. She lifted the bone and chopped at it with the blade. Both she and Anith whistled; the trap blade had gone straight through the bone and marrow. Earlia nodded, satisfied.

“Yup. That sliced through the bone like that. I’d say we can get at least six-fifty on each blade.”

“Six—”

Anith inhaled sharply. Larr turned his head, blinking. Earlia grinned at the expression on Anith’s face.

“Six hundred and fifty gold pieces. That’s right.”

“For just one of those?”

Incredulously, Anith pointed at the second trap blade Fea was working out of the pillar. Earlia nodded.

“Well, we’re reselling them, not melting them down or repurposing them, right? If it was magical glyphs or something, the dust or inscriptions are worth a lot less. But magical blades are magical blades. Hells, you could even put this on a polearm and have yourself, what, a Gold-rank weapon? Nah, but a good Silver-rank one. See why we’re so interested in these traps?”

Anith did. He gulped and hesitated.

“Is it wise to tell us this? And who would you sell these blades to? A [Blacksmith]?”

“Just a regular [Merchant] who deals in this kind of stuff. You’d be surprised how many people are willing to pay for dungeon-grade traps. Anyways, it’s not like we’re going to hide what we’re doing. If any other teams want to take a crack at removing the traps, feel free. But it’s dangerous and difficult. Not sure how well your team would do.”

Earlia nodded to Vuliel Drae without rancor. Anith sighed. It was true. His team was specialized for a fight, or maybe defusing traps, but not breaking through stone and enchantments to get at them. But if they could hire a [Miner]…he eyed Earlia’s team and sagged. That was why there was an entire team of former [Miners], wasn’t there?

“Don’t take it too hard. You can make your fortune by finding treasure and collecting monster parts. Each to their own.”

Earlia grinned and patted Anith on the back. He looked somewhat dourly at her beaming face, but relented.

“As long as you’re paying us for guard duty. I’m tripling our fee next time.”

“Bastard.”

The Human woman laughed. Anith smiled, and stepped back as another blade joined the first in a pile. Earlia went back to her pillar and began hammering at the stone, breaking pieces loose.

“We got the idea from the Horns of Hammerad and Miss Erin, actually. If a door they found in a dungeon can transport people a hundred miles, how much would all this be worth? Hey you idiots don’t fool around with those blades! You drop it on your hand and you’ll lose the hand!”

She snapped at her team and turned to Anith.

“So Anith, how’s your team doing? Don’t tell me you’re that jealous of us; your team was the first to find treasure in the dungeon after all. You made out like [Bandits], right?”

Earlia’s comment took in the rest of Vuliel Drae standing watch. Anith paused, and looked around. Insill, Larr, Pekona, and Dasha all looked back at him with expressions ranging from guilt to wariness. Earlia didn’t see; she was still working. After a moment, Insill coughed.

“We uh, we’re doing alright. Yeah, we got really lucky. We found that mace on the first Raskghar. Gold-rank gear. Sold for a lot. And after that…”

Vuliel Drae glumly looked at each other. Oh yes. After that. Their career as adventurers workings around Liscor had been meteoric at first. They’d found treasure in Liscor’s dungeon—a Gold-rank weapon worth thousands of gold coins! And they’d encountered a mysterious adventurer who’d given them her aid. Confident, overconfident, Vuliel Drae had kept exploring and inadvertently been the cause of the Face-Eater Moth attack on Liscor.

It was a fact few people knew. The Gold-rank teams, the Halfseekers and Griffon Hunt who’d uncovered the truth had decided it was best no one but Liscor’s Guildmistress and a few others know. Not out of sympathy for Vuliel Drae, but to prevent the outcry against adventurers and to keep the Silver-rank team from being lynched.

But Vuliel Drae had paid for their mistakes. From drudge work assigned to them by Tekshia Shivertail to a permanent warning on all of their records in the Adventurer’s Guilds’ private files—Anith had no idea that was even a function of the guilds—their team was still haunted by their mistake.

Justly so, in Anith’s opinion. The Jackal Beastkin had a strong sense of justice that came from his tribe, and he considered their disgrace the least of the debt they owed society. However, the topic was still touchy, and the silence from the rest of his team lingered long enough that Earlia looked up.

“What, the mace you got wasn’t worth as much as you hoped? Or did you sell it to the wrong [Merchant]?”

“Neither.”

Larr folded his arms. The taciturn Gnoll glared at nothing in particular, his ears lowered. Pekona, the dour woman from the Drath Archipelago, just looked down, scowling. Anith cleared his throat hurriedly.

“We sold it by way of Invrisil. The money finally got to us by way of Courier, along with some of the equipment we ordered.”

“We could have done Pallass—”

Insill grumbled under his breath. The lone Drake in the group had voted for that. Dasha rolled her eyes. Earlia looked up.

“You got your goods via Courier? Isn’t that a waste of gold?”

“Not at all. Apparently, if you’re rich, the [Merchants] will send you a…what did they call it, Anith?”

“A catalogue, Dasha. They even paid for the Courier’s fees.”

“For what we spent, of course they did!”

Earlia whistled.

“They must have heard you had money to burn! That’s fancy. Free Courier deliveries? That explains your gear.”

She nodded to Vuliel Drae. Anith smiled a bit. He was wearing new robes. Not the best money could buy, but better than the common cloth enchanted with a weak stain-resistance spell. And Dasha had upgraded her axe to a mithril-alloyed metal she swore was ten times better. Larr had a few enchanted arrows, Pekona had a scroll at her belt and Insill had enchanted armor and weapons. It wasn’t a huge upgrade, but it had moved them up the Silver-rank hierarchy a bit. Earlia nodded.

“How much do you have left, if you don’t mind sharing?”

And there it was again, Vuliel Drae paused and Insill piped up nervously.

“We donated some of it. It uh—the thing is—”

He hesitated, guilt written across his face and Dasha elbowed him.

“Shut up!”

She hissed at the Drake. Anith coughed.

“We donated some of the money to the victims of the Face-Eater Moth attack.”

“Oh? That’s generous of you. I mean, yeah. I suppose we owe Liscor something. Huh. I don’t know if my team would be down for that.”

Earlia frowned absently, glancing at her teammates. Anith took that moment to give Insill a warning look. Both Pekona and Larr did the same and the Drake [Rogue] bit his lip. His tail thrashed guiltily, but he said nothing more.

Secrets and guilt. It wasn’t what Anith wanted. This wasn’t why he’d left his home in Chandrar. But it was what fate had brought to his team, so he could only steer them with dignity and integrity from here on out. And while Anith had wrestled with his shared guilt, he had concluded that telling other people what his team had done would cause nothing but harm. So he signaled to Dasha to drag Insill further down the hallway and let the conversation die out.

It was boring work, watching Gemhammer slowly dismantle the trap and occasionally use their Skills to begin breaking down the next room. Anith didn’t even understand why they were interested in the next room—it was designed to cremate anyone alive, a ‘classic’ trap made more sinister by the fact that the spell didn’t shoot flames or slowly warm the room—it would explode in a fireball of air instantly. That was, until he saw Gemhammer carefully removing the actual spell-trigger.

“You see, to write magic runes, people have to use some kind of dust or paint or whatnot. We can scrape it off if no one wants to buy the runes. It can be worth a bit or a lot, again, depending on if we can sell it wholesale without scrapping it for the dust. But the real treasure in a trap room like this is—aha! Magicore!”

Earlia crowed as her team cracked one of the walls and exposed a thin tube of oozing liquid. The [Miners] scrambled for jars, scraping the precious, fiery molten stone into jars. Anith could feel the heat of the stuff from here.

“Fire-elemental magicore. No wonder the trap room heats up so fast! Do you have any idea how much we can sell this for?”

Earlia crowed in delight. Vuliel Drae glumly watched as the exuberant [Miners] began talking about potential buyers. Earlia waved a hand, shushing the lot.

“Stop yakking and get to work! This is great, but also bad. The instant we start selling this stuff, we’re going to have competition. More teams are going to make a beeline for this dungeon to strip the traps, so every hour we have on them is more gold we pocket! Less talking, more mining! Anith, can I convince your team to keep this all secret for a bit of gold…?”

“Sorry, Captain Earlia. But you’ll have competition soon enough. I’m not certain we can compete with a [Miner]’s team as efficiently, but with the door open to Pallass, you can bet we’re hiring our own specialists.”

A feathery Garuda appeared in the far hallway. Earlia jumped and Anith whirled. Insill and Dasha waved at him as Bevussa Slenderscale, the Gold-rank Captain of the Wings of Pallass, strode into the room. Technically she was just a Gold-rank adventurer, but it was an open secret that she was the defacto leader of her team among the adventurers in Liscor. But Captain or not, it was her Gold-rank status that had both Vuliel Drae and Gemhammer turning to respectfully greet her.

“Miss Bevussa. What brings you here?”

Anith bowed respectfully towards Bevussa. The Garuda smiled at him, and nodded back. She walked lightly, eying the [Miners] trying to hide the fiery magicore behind their backs and swearing as it burned their gloved hands.

“Captain Bevussa, we were just—”

“Stripping the dungeon? I’m not trying to intrude. It’s no one’s territory since the original teams are gone. Don’t worry.”

The Garuda opened her beak, amusement in her voice. Earlia relaxed a bit, looking embarrassed.

“Sorry. Sometimes in other dungeons—”

“It’s no problem. And you won’t have to worry; there’s a system for claiming areas you’re working on. It’s still first to eat the worm, but Gold-rank teams can’t order you to abandon this spot. Am I intruding?”

“Not at all. We were just finishing—hey! Start packing that magicore! Bags of holding—one jar apiece! What can we do for you, Captain?”

The Garuda nodded at Anith and Earlia.

“I wanted to find you two. I’m letting all the Silver-rank teams and Gold-ranks know that we’re doing a coordinated push into the dungeon again today.”

“Again? That’s the third time this week!”

Earlia looked startled. Anith just nodded slowly. Bevussa shrugged.

“It’s just for teams who have the energy. My team does, and Keldrass’. The more teams who go in, the safer. Usually. Let us know if you’re coming; it’s in three hours and we’re hoping to push into that Bagrhaven area. There’s a buyer for their feathers in Pallass.”

“Oh! Well, if it’s Bagrhavens—no thanks. Our team will stick right here. Anith, we can manage without you and pull back to a spot near the entrance. What do you say?”

The Jackal rubbed at his finely-furred chin. He looked at his team, taking in their opinions in a glance, then nodded.

“If Earlia won’t object, I’d be pleased to take a position in the push, Captain Bevussa. We’d like to do something active today.”

The Garuda nodded.

“We’ll put you on the list, then. Oh, and you’re paying a fee to the Lifwail Blades. They’re holding the back lines and acting as emergency backup in case of Raskghar or that Facestealer thing strikes again.”

All the adventurers present shuddered. Liscor’s dungeon had been purged of some of the main threats, including the Face-Eater Moths and Raskghar, but there was always something else. Over a dozen adventurers had already been found headless, killed by the last guardian of the dungeon.

Anith knew the team on standby was good, able to fight at range contrary to their names, but the thought of running into Facestealer was horrifying, even if Anith only had his imagination and Calruz and Ceria’s words to go by.

Still, you could earn a lot of gold from a single day in the dungeon. And if you found a truly great treasure haul? You’d be set for life. That was the calculation every adventurer made.

Bevussa’s voice was brisk as she looked at Anith. If she was afraid of Facestealer, she gave no sign of it.

“Remember, three horn blasts and you run for the exit. That means Shield Spiders are coming in waves. One long blast—”

“Facestealer. We remember. Do you think we can trap him, Captain Bevussa?”

The Garuda frowned.

“Maybe? He’s never taken the bait so far, but that thing doesn’t strike often, according to…the Minotaur. And we’ve got Gold-rank teams. If we run into him, we’ll pin him down and melt him at range. That’s the plan, but I’d rather stick to monsters I know are down there. See you in three hours.”

She nodded to Anith and Earlia. Then she nodded to the Jackal and he followed her back down the tunnel. Insill and Dasha stepped back and the two had a quiet conversation.

“One more thing, Anith. Since Halrac’s gone and we assumed the Halfseekers were leaving, I was informed along with Keldrass about the Face-Eater Moth incident…”

Anith’s heart began beating faster. He opened his mouth, and Bevussa put a wing-hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t say anything. Guildmistress Tekshia informed us. It’s important to have some Gold-rank teams in the field who know about any…problems. I’m honestly not worried. You make a mistake, you pay the price. You’re not going to try destroying any nests again without contacting us, right?”

“Of course not, Captain Bevussa.”

The Garuda nodded briskly.

“I don’t have a problem with that. What I do want to know is if you have a way to contact the other adventurer. You know? The Masked Warrior?”

Anith started.

“She’s still been seen below? My team hasn’t been in the dungeon proper for a while. We assumed…”

Bevussa nodded.

“A few teams see her now and then. Human, wears a mask? Lends a hand to teams that get attacked? Never says a word? The Guildmistress wants to talk to her. So do our teams. I know the Face-Eater thing was an accident, but anyone who’s survived that long would be valuable to know. And it’s also risky having someone wandering about who might trigger an attack. We sealed the Shield Spider nest again, but…”

She trailed off meaningfully. Anith nodded.

“We do not have a way to contact her, but she has found our team most of the times we entered the dungeon. If we see her, we’ll let you know, Captain Slenderscale.”

“Just call me Bevussa. Thanks, Anith.”

The Garuda smiled. She left, and Anith watched her go, a bit breathless. Now there was a Gold-rank Captain that he aspired to be. The Wings of Pallass were a good team, and Bevussa felt reassuring to him. He looked over as Insill and Dasha approached.

“What did she want, Anith?”

“Hm. Well, she knew about the moths…Larr. Pekona!”

Anith signaled them and Vuliel Drae converged for a quick meeting. Larr had of course, heard it all, and the Gnoll was fretful. The rest of the team was nervous.

“Wait, how many people know what we did?”

Insill looked panicked. Dasha slapped him on the shoulder.

“Everyone you told, idiot! I said we should keep it secret. And now that masked woman’s in trouble? Good! I say she deserves a lot of the blame!”

“She didn’t know any more than we did. We thought we were getting rid of a nest—”

Insill protested hotly, blushing a bit. The half-Dwarf woman rolled her eyes.

“You’re just saying that because you want to get in her pants!”

“I never said—”

Pekona frowned at Dasha.

“If it wasn’t for her, we wouldn’t have survived the first time in the dungeon! We owe our lives to her! Be respectful.”

She glared, the accented words coming out slowly. Dasha folded her arms. Larr growled.

“If she made a mistake, she made a mistake, yes? The other teams should be curious of her. If it is just talking, let them. I am curious of her as well. She always smells of so much blood. She must be killing monsters constantly to survive. That is a strange person, no?”

“Some adventurers are like that. She saved our lives—”

“If she doesn’t have a beard, she’s untrustworthy!”

“Shut up, Dasha!”

Anith raised a paw for silence. His team looked at him.

“No one’s asking us to turn her in. Our…friend has been the source of much of our luck. And some of our misfortune, it is true. But we owe her our lives. If we see her, let us try to honor Captain Bevussa’s wishes. But most of all, let us be careful.”

Vuliel Drae nodded. They looked at each other, annoyed, disagreeing—but a team. Not the best team in the dungeon. But not the worst. And they’d be better. They checked their gear and prepared to go into the dungeon, to risk their lives for fame and wealth and power. That was the adventurer’s calling.

And then they glumly watched Gemhammer making easy money for three more hours. Some teams had all the luck.

—-

This was what the skeleton saw. Toren wandered the dungeon, a skeleton in the darkness, a shadow in the night. Or maybe it was day? It didn’t matter. She was in charge. And Toren was a lot more proactive than he was.

She asked the questions he never did. Why was there a dungeon here? What was it hiding? What secrets were there yet to uncover? All he did was think of Erin. But that was their duality. She enjoyed seeking the answer to the question more than the answer itself would bring her. So she flitted from space to space, sword in hand, gilding across the floor, avoiding traps.

Rarely fighting monsters. That was the thing. Toren was a skeleton. As such, half the monsters she encountered didn’t attack her because there wasn’t anything they wanted. Bones weren’t very nutritious and she didn’t smell of succulent flesh or blood. And the other half didn’t even seem to see her. They walked past Toren, as if she wasn’t there.

Of course, Toren could choose to fight them, but she preferred to save her energy for the battles that mattered. Thus, the skeleton spent most of her time investigating new parts of the dungeon. She would carefully investigate a corridor, following trails left by monsters, eying suspiciously clean parts of the dungeon. Occasionally she’d step on a trap and have to reassemble herself, but mostly she explored.

See—here came a Flesh Worm. A sinuous, crimson worm, as tall as…Toren stared up and up and backed away as the gargantuan worm-monster swept down the dungeon. It had two long, ‘arms’ with palps that could snatch flesh off a body. And like the Crypt Lords, it had a trail of undead. Toren eyed the escort of zombies and decided here was an opportunity.

She meekly fell into line behind the trialing undead. Some of the zombies paused, but Toren’s appearance didn’t matter. She was a skeleton and they were zombies, so they made little reaction to her. The Flesh Worm never noticed as it slithered forwards. Toren followed it down the corridor.

She was careful not to attract the Flesh Worm’s attention. They couldn’t control her any more than the Goblin [Shaman] could. Not anymore. But even so, Toren didn’t like them trying to impose their will on her. Worse still, if the Flesh Worms failed, they would immediately attack her with the rest of the undead following them.

And where were they going? Let’s see. The four ‘nest silos’ full of monsters led up to the teleporting trap rooms. And from the nests the labyrinth worked its way inwards, past designated habitats for monsters, natural springs of water that held aquatic things—Toren wasn’t willing to try diving again in case she was dragged down and stuck forever—leading ever inwards, past those odd places where all the food was.

The same food he was so obsessed with getting to stock his fake inn with. He’d gotten them crushed and ‘killed’ eight times trying to fight monsters for the food that appeared in designated rooms, only to learn that it disappeared after a few hours!

Anyways. Toren huffed along, and realized the Flesh Worm was moving inwards, towards the center of the labyrinth. The skeleton paused as she heard the clank of metal ahead. She peered past the Flesh Worm as it turned and saw it.

A suit of armor. The enchanted metal warrior walked past the Flesh Worm, ignoring it and the undead. The Flesh Worm contemptuously slithered past it. Toren stared. This was further than she often went.

This was enchanted armor territory. They occupied the inner part of the dungeon, mostly, guarding the city filled with the…people. The ones with holes in them and no skin. That was the most dangerous area; the traps got worse and worse the closer in you got, and the patrols of enchanted armor and Flesh Worms and other monsters were nastier and more frequent around there.

The inner city was relatively fine by comparison; it had no traps or monsters. The only real problem was that that the horde of those Infested people would tear anything apart and Toren had no desire to recollect her bones over the period of a week again after being scattered nearly a mile wide.

The Flesh Worm was moving straight through the armor’s territory without fear, though. Toren wondered if the creature was insane. But Flesh Worms were intelligent. Dangerously so. If it thought it was safe…Toren turned, looking around. These corridors were taller! And the fortifications—she saw suits of armor standing guard, and the Flesh Worm had to slither between defensive lines. Some of the enchanted suits of armor carried bows! They were prepared for a war!

This was a part of the dungeon Toren had never seen. She’d never been close enough; the armor would smash her to bits. No wonder no one had ever taken the inner part of the dungeon, Raskghar or not—fighting the armor on their home ground was suicide. There were constant patrols of them. Toren kept right behind the Flesh Worm with the undead. And it kept going further into their territory!

Now there was clanging. A glow in the darkness. Toren paused, and then hurried after a zombie. She tripped it up so the line of undead behind her would slow and stared at what lay beyond.

Forges. Battered suits of armor were slowly being repaired, the dents hammered out, steel patched onto steel. An armory of weapons and armor, the latter enchanted with life. They stood in rows, silent, some moving off into patrols or war bands. But the rest ominously still. Silent. Rows upon rows of them. Toren stared until a zombie bumped into her from behind. Then she jumped.

The Flesh Worm turned. It hissed in displeasure as it saw the undead following it hadn’t kept up. It swung one tail—Toren saw it shear through a zombie’s neck. She edged backwards as the Flesh Worm continued onwards and moved to the back of the line. Just in time to see the nearest suit of armor pause with hammer in hand as it repaired its brethren.

The suit of armor stared at her. Toren froze, and then put her arms out. She walked forwards, trying to open her mouth and groan. Then she remembered she didn’t have any flesh. The suit of armor stared at her, masked, wearing clothes, and the nearest zombie.

The enchanted automaton had nothing like actual intelligence. Even so, it processed Toren for a few more seconds before slowly walking past her. It must have sensed her undead presence, or else it had fallen for her act. Toren followed after the train of undead and Flesh Worm, metaphorically sweating.

And then she saw it. Standing at the head of the legion of armor on a pedestal of its own. So still, so unmoving that spiders had built cobwebs that appeared to anchor it to the ground. But the creation’s eyes burned. It still had presence. It waited sword and shield in hand. And as the Flesh Worm and the entourage of undead moved through the grand assembly room, the general of the legion of enchanted armor slowly looked up. Its head turned and Toren saw a flash of something like intelligence from the burning lights in its helm.

A guardian of the dungeon. Toren froze. She stared at the General of Armor or whatever it might be. It stared at her, and then the Flesh Worm. Slowly, it moved. Spiders fled and the cobwebs broke as it raised a sword and pointed at her. Without words, without life, in truth. But with ancient duty.

And as one, the legion of enchanted suits of armor turned. Toren froze. The Flesh Worm paused, and then whipped around. It stared at Toren. She looked at it. She looked at the Armor General on his pedestal. She waved a hand. And then she ran for it.

Arrows flew. Enchanted armor charged at her, and the Flesh Worm shrieked as it and the undead raced after Toren. She fled, waving her arms and clattering her jaw indignantly. It wasn’t like she was trying to—

A hammer smashed her skull in and the skeleton collapsed. Her bones rolled onto the floor and the enchanted armor smashed them to powder. Toren held very still as the alarm ended. After a while, the magic in her bones slowly returned her form. The cracks sealed, the powder reformed. Toren got up, adjusted her clothes, and stomped off in a huff.

That was how she spent her time in the dungeon. She was different than he was. He lacked something she did. Well, she lacked it too, but she knew it was lacking. It was the same thing, only there was a trace of it in her still. A distant memory. Sometimes it was faded and she, like he, only understood death. Killing. Leveling. A mindless pursuit. But other times she saw something. And that part of her woke up.

See.

The Antinium sent an army into the dungeon sometimes. A few hundred, or sometimes thousands, to cut down as many monsters as possible, or—Toren suspected—to map parts of the dungeon they didn’t know. They did it by sacrificing dozens of Antinium for each step. The monsters would pour out from every corridor and the Antinium would charge on, through traps and ambushes until there were none left.

Toren didn’t know what the purpose of this outpouring was. She only knew it when she saw it and felt it. She heard the thrumming of thousands of feet, heard the sounds of violence. And she felt the dungeon moving, changing, reacting to the threat.

Flesh Worms slithered down the corridors. Dens of monsters, agitated, poured out. Traps exploded and unleashed their wrath. The armored legions poured forwards, as unending as the Antinium. Toren hurried down the corridors, ignored by the monsters, peeking around corners.

She saw them. The Black Tide, sweeping forwards. Fighting. Dying. Soldiers and Workers, grappling with monsters, tearing them apart. Nameless Soldiers. Those without paint.

But people, still.

Toren paused. Why had she thought that? She stared at the Antinium. They were fighting, dying. And Toren, both Torens, were amazed by the battle. The Soldiers refused to die easily. They dragged their opponents down with them. If it took a hundred Soldiers to bring one Flesh Worm down, or hundreds, they paid that price. They were grouped up, fighting in narrow corridors, unable to surround their opponents.

But they did not yield. They advanced. And he reveled in the slaughter. He laughed at the death, the spectacle of it. She? She saw something else. Something more that she tried to show him.

Look at how they died.

The thousands fell away. The corridors were filled with blood. The Soldier’s green. The Workers retreating, dragging bodies back to the Antinium Hive. But the Soldiers continued on. They had no home to return to. They had only one last order.

From thousands, they were hundreds. She watched them fighting, bringing down nearly a dozen Flesh Worms, a score of undead, battling through exploding larvae, until the Shield Spiders poured through the tunnels, destroying everything in their wake. Toren and the last Antinium fled. And she watched them fall.

Twenty three. And then sixteen. Nine. Five. And then, two. The last two Soldiers ran, fleeing the Shield Spiders that stopped to drag the corpses of their brethren back to their nest. The other monsters halted their pursuit as well. They had much to eat, or wounds to nurse. Even the enchanted armor seemed fed up with the slaughter. They marched back towards their garrisons.

Leaving the two Soldiers alone. There they stood. Worn. Bleeding. Dying. The dungeon surrounded them. They would never return. They could not. They had been sent to die, to strike a blow at the dungeon. So the Soldiers had been dead the moment they charged.

In the silent corridor, the two Soldiers stopped. The Soldiers stood, bleeding green, looking around wildly. But they had a reprieve. The spiders had fled. Something else was coming, summoned by the massive incursion into the dungeon.

The Soldiers paused. They turned to look at each other and lowered their fists. They stopped. And one of them made a clicking sound. The skeleton watched, her eyes seeing all. And what she saw next spoke to that spark in her.

One Soldier opened his mandibles. Closed them. He made a click. And it was soft. The other Soldier paused. And then it went click. What they said—if they were even words—Toren had no idea. But then the Soldiers stepped forwards each other.

They grasped each other, clumsily. All four arms of one, and three arms and a stump of the other. Toren thought they were trying to kill each other. But then she saw one step. Slowly, his hands on the other Soldier’s shoulders and waist. And the other stepped with him. In perfect synch.

They moved slowly, in a halting, rhythmic pattern. A swaying tracery on the floor. Turning, pausing. Twirling.

And Toren saw, amid the faint glow and death, the way they moved had a purpose. And she realized it was a dance. The Soldiers held each other, the last two in their world. And they moved. Not with the desperate last energy of the dead, but with dignity. With grace.

They waltzed, dancing in the dark corridor in the elegant style of a Terandrian ballroom. And Toren saw it all.

He didn’t want to see. He didn’t understand. But she saw. And it called to her. Toren turned her head. The dungeon had gone silent.

It was coming. So the skeleton stood from where she was crouched. She drew her sword and advanced slowly.

The two Soldiers stopped dancing as soon as they noticed Toren. They whirled, bringing up their fists. Toren held up her sword, her palm open, pleading. They stared at her, wavering. And then Toren felt it.

She turned her head. And there it was. A staring head poking around the corridor on a stick. Toren whirled. She pointed. The two Antinium Soldiers hesitated as she turned and lifted her sword. She pointed again.

Go.

They hesitated. And then they ran. Toren charged. And Facestealer was there. It looked down at her. The bag of heads it carried trailing behind. The heads on sticks clutched in one hand, a grotesque collection. Toren raised her sword and leapt forwards. Not for victory; she knew that all too well. But for something else. For—

…

It took her a long time to come back from having her skull and bones crushed into powder. At last, Toren got up. Her mask was broken. Her clothing torn. She found some dead spiders nearby and managed to fix the mask, at least. Her sword was lying on the ground, for all the good it had done. Then the skeleton looked around. She was afraid of what she would find. But she did look.

She found them two corridors over. The two Soldiers lay where they had died. Their heads were missing. The skeleton knelt next to them for a very long time. She bowed her head. And she felt…as terrible as he did when he thought of Erin.

And then Toren noticed one thing. The two corpses on the ground were identical. Not in every way of course; both had different wounds. But both were missing heads. And both had four arms.

One of the Soldiers had been missing a hand. Toren looked up. She looked around. She searched. But she never found another pair of Soldiers, or one with a missing hand. Maybe the monsters had gotten them. Or maybe…

The skeleton smiled. And she had a winning grin. She stood up and stretched. She twirled amid the death and laughed silently. They both sought it, each in their own way. He, and she. And she found it in this.

And in battle. That was true. But one Toren killed to kill. She—did it for a reason. The skeleton drew her sword. And she went hunting. She had only one quarry in the dungeon worth doing battle with. He and she could agree on that, at least. They were a nuisance. And they had killed Toren countless times before. Now the shoe was on the skeleton’s foot.

She found the Raskghar camp after nine hours of searching. They had hidden well. But not well enough to escape a skeleton with all the time in the world. They smelled her, of course. And she was used to their howls.

The Raskghar were already waiting for her. Especially the special one. Toren halted in front of their camp. She adjusted her mask. And she moved forwards slowly, as gracefully as the two Soldiers. She was a [Sword Dancer], Level 13. It might not be enough today. It hadn’t the last twenty three times.

But she could try again. The Raskghar could not. And they knew her. Oh, yes. They remembered. The one standing guard snarled. Her voice was guttural. Desperate, rasping—that was new—and hateful.

“You. Thing.”

The Raskghar coughed. Nokha bared her teeth, the glowing blade in her hand held up warily. Toren paused. She lifted the blade in her hand and tapped it with one finger.

A new sword. Nokha had destroyed the last one in their last encounter. The skeleton smiled behind her mask. Nokha warily held her ground. Behind her, the other warriors backed up, howling quietly at the camp already preparing to flee. There were less of them, now. Far less than when the Minotaur had led them. Far less camps too. Toren had played a part in that.

“Leave. Leave now. We surrender. Tell magic-Human. Surrender. Surrender.”

The Raskghar was speaking nonsense. Interesting nonsense, but nonsense nonetheless. Toren tilted her head. And then she advanced. Nokha raised the magic sword Toren wanted so much with a snarl of rage. The two waited.

Nokha coughed again, unable to suppress it. Toren leapt. And the Raskghar snarled and screamed. Toren swept towards her, blade slashing up in a two-handed arc. Nokha swung straight. She was faster and stronger. But Toren had anticipated the cut. She let it slash through her ribs and struck Nokha along the arm. The Raskghar howled in pain. Toren grinned. She could recover. She rolled, trying to get away to attack again later—

Too slow. Nokha stomped, crushing Toren’s bones, smashing her skull with her foot over and over. Then she fled, coughing, howling a pained call to the other Raskghar. They fled with her. Toren lay on the ground, her body rebuilding.

Darn. Well, it was worth a shot. And next time, maybe the Raskghar’s arm wouldn’t have healed. She was annoyingly intelligent, though. Still, that cough…

As Toren rebuilt herself, she decided she needed a bow. A bow and arrows might really help. But it was hard finding good weapons that didn’t get smashed with her body. And could she even shoot a bow and arrow? The skeleton picked up her skull and had to fix her mask. Again. She sighed, but it was busy work.

This was what the skeleton saw and did. But what she was really doing was waiting. And then, at last, the skeleton heard it. Distantly, in the way the monsters moved, the dungeon shuddered and adjusted. She turned her head. And she knew they were there.

Adventurers. She smiled and ran towards them. Because she liked people. And they were always worth seeing. Protecting. And maybe her team would be there. The ones she liked.

Her…

Friends? She liked that thought, even if she didn’t understand the concept entirely. But that’s what the Drake had called her. He hated the idea. Hated it and them. But he wasn’t in charge. And they were both lonely. So she kept the mask on. They could always sit in the inn later.

—-

A skeleton sat in a tiny bubble in the ground. A hollow depression of dirt, barely large enough to hold her. A coffin would have been more spacious. In fact, the crushing weight of the dirt trying to settle on her would have killed any living creature. The lack of oxygen certainly would have.

But Ijvani, the greatest skeleton in the world and obviously, the only one with actual intelligence, was too depressed to care. Her magical robes were puddled around her, filthy and unwashed. An earthworm digging through the soil went straight through her ribcage.

Ijvani didn’t move. She didn’t react, or move. She could have been an actual skeleton, the dead kind, save for the two dimly golden flames burning in her eye sockets. And her bones.

They were black. Black and glossy—coated with a dark metal. They were part of what made Ijvani special. Unique, in fact. But she didn’t feel special. She was a sad skeleton. Because she was alone. Abandoned. Or worse—would it be worse?—forgotten.

It had been ninety six days. Ninety six days since her last communication with her master, her creator, Az’kerash. Ninety six days since he had reached out to her and she had felt his presence.

He had forgotten her. That was the plain truth of it. Ijvani knew it to be true. Why else had he left her, his Chosen, and not called her back since? He had forgotten her, or replaced her. She didn’t matter.

So. How had she ended up in a hole in the ground rather than proudly serving her master? Ijvani knew the answer. In fact, since she could neither sleep nor forget, she dwelled upon it every moment of her existence, without any biological functions interrupting her grief. Skeletons were unparalleled at having pity parties. And Ijvani could name all the reasons for her despair.

Firstly, she was inferior. She had failed her master, the glorious Az’kerash. The Necromancer. The most brilliant, most powerful [Necromancer] in the history of the world. She had failed him by failing to kill Zel Shivertail with her brothers and sisters. Not only had he survived and forced her master to take to the field himself, he had wounded Az’kerash. And he had damaged all the other Chosen—destroyed one of their number beyond repair, Oom.

Secondly, Ijvani had witnessed a horror worse than her own inferiority. She had seen…her master…the great and powerful Az’kerash whose wisdom and intellect was unmatched by all the Archmages of Wistram…lose a game of chess.

Yes. Lose a game of chess. Ijvani groaned in her pit in the earth. How could it happen? It shouldn’t have happened. But it had. He had lost a game. She had failed him. And now, thirdly, to top it all off, he had forgotten about her.

She had already been in despair about points one and two. Ijvani recalled it so clearly. Her master had killed Zel Shivertail, albeit at cost. And he had retreated, calling on the remaining Chosen to teleport back with the Scrolls of Greater Teleportation that he had spent so lavishly to kill his hated foe. But he had been one short. So he had looked around and—

“Ijvani, you will make your way back with an invisibility spell; there are no more scrolls of teleportation.”

The black skeleton [Mage] shuddered. Oh! The pain of it! The horror! Her master had looked around and named the least worthy of his Chosen to return on foot. The most expendable. He, in his infinite knowledge, had looked among his Chosen and found her the least worthy after measured thought and consideration.

Thus, Ijvani knew: she was a failure. Even more so than Venitra, who had failed to capture both the Human Runner, Ryoka Griffin, and been defeated by Zel Shivertail. But Ijvani was somehow worse.

Even so, that might not have been so bad. Ijvani would have walked through molten magma for her master after all. She had slowly made her way back towards his castle south of the Blood Fields. And then…then had come her error.

It wasn’t disobedience. Ijvani cringed internally. Not really. At first, she just hadn’t heard her creator’s voice in a week, and she had been tired of travelling south, hiding behind illusion spells and moving at night to avoid being spotted. She’d decided, well, to stop.

Not to disobey her master! But just so that he might contact her, to demand what had slowed her down. Because…because that would prove empirically that she still had worth to him. Of course! It had been such a simple plan. He would contact her and no doubt be furious. But he would contact her and then Ijvani could return without fear of going back to him and being…worthless.

So the skeleton had stopped. She’d slowed her pace to a crawl. And the first week had been a grand, butterfly-inducing game of disobedience! Ijvani had hid herself, burying herself in the earth under the pretext—if her master asked—that she had been swallowed by a sinkhole. Buried miles deep, so she’d been faithfully digging her way out!

That was a logical explanation, wasn’t it? She would never have dared to trick her master before, but he had lost a game of chess. So perhaps he might not be perfect in every other way?

It was just a test. Just a little test! To make sure of what she had been sure of—that she still mattered to her master. That, in time, she could regain her grace with him. So Ijvani had waited. She knew that her master knew how long it would take her to return. So after, say, two weeks, he would begin to wonder, if not sooner! After all, she could be very swift when stealth wasn’t a hindrance.

That knowledge had kept Ijvani waiting for the first week. And then the second week. He’d contact her and demand to know where she was tomorrow. And then tomorrow had come and she had heard nothing. But, surely, it would be the next day. Sometimes he spent weeks working on a project, but even then, he could still devote some of his incredible intellect to managing his Chosen, giving them orders.

He would contact her tomorrow. He was just busy today. Venitra had probably done something stupid again. It was a month before it had dawned on Ijvani how long it had been. And then she’d been in denial the second month. Waiting, day after day, to hear him reach out for her. Then she’d been afraid. Something had happened! One of his enemies had laid siege to him in the castle! But—Ijvani realized that would have made her master call her even sooner. Unless she was so useless that even an attack by the Dragon wouldn’t necessitate her presence.

So that led her to today. And Ijvani now realized the truth: she was unloved. She was forgotten. So the skeleton sat. She could not weep. She didn’t even really understand the action. In Az’kerash’s castle, there were no tears. The undead did not laugh or weep. Nor did their master. So Ijvani was sad without knowing how to be sad.

In the darkness of the ground, she whispered to herself. Ijvani’s voice was a ghastly whisper, an echo from beyond. And a bit petulant.

“I am superior. Master loves me. I am unique. Master will call for me. He remembers me. I am…”

Weak. Ijvani remembered Oom dying. Again and again. She saw the Drake crushing his mana core, breaking Oom’s center like glass. She had thought she was so much stronger than Zel Shivertail! He was just a [Warrior]! A mortal of flesh and blood! But he had torn through the Chosen like…

Oom was gone. Not just broken, able to be fixed, but gone. That meant Ijvani could be…gone…too. The skeleton shuddered, confronted by her own mortality. What would it mean, now that the Chosen were one less? How were the others reacting to Oom’s demise?

Not with satisfaction. Yes, the Chosen vied to be the one most loved by their creator, but the loss of one was a blow to their master. And that was a terrible thing. Moreover, Ijvani had liked Oom. More than Kerash or Venitra, at any rate. What would Bea, the lovely creature of plague, do with him gone?

Bea was the one who liked Oom most. They had been created at the same time, after all. Oom had been the second-oldest, Bea third by only a day or two. Ijvani next. And then Venitra. Kerash had been there from the beginning and he was special in a different way. Nevertheless, they were five of Az’kerash’s Chosen, his special creations. But now they were four.

Or was it three? Ijvani shuddered. Was she no longer one of the Chosen? Forgotten as she was, was she like…Viltraid? She remembered him. He had been…not one of the Chosen. But more than a regular undead. And she remembered how he had been removed.

At the time, Ijvani had rejoiced in his demise, because he had been a pest in her eyes, inferior to her. But now she wondered. He hadn’t been one of the Chosen. But her master had created him. And could it be that he had once been one of the Chosen who had…?

Kerash claimed he could remember…more. More who had once been…Chosen. And had somehow failed. Was that what Ijvani was?

“No. No. I am not a failure. I am still one of the Chosen! I am—”

The black skeleton shuddered. She was a special creation! She had a nigh-indestructible body, the ability to match any Gold-rank [Mage] in magical combat! But…

She couldn’t stay here any longer. But—she was afraid to return and have her fears proven. Even so, Ijvani was tired of the dirt. Water kept tricking down every time it rained and the worms were getting on her nerves. She’d find somewhere else. And keep thinking. Her master might not not hate her, after all.

So Ijvani stood up. Her head was immediately engulfed in soft, earthy loam, but she barely paid it any mind. She put her hands up and began excavating the ceiling. Dirt swallowed her, but Ijvani kept digging, climbing upwards.

A strange sight greeted anyone who might be strolling along the ground of Liscor’s Floodplains. In a small valley, a skeleton’s head suddenly popped out of the ground in a shower of dirt. Ijvani dug herself out of the ground and quickly swiveled her skeletal head three hundred and sixty degrees.

Of course, she was using [Invisibility], [Suppressed Aura], and [Muffle], but Ijvani was well aware that she could be detected by the right Skill or Spells. [Greater Invisibility] was still…beyond her, so she checked the surrounding area for any possible watchers. No one was there. Ijvani pulled herself out of the ground. Then she looked around.

“Where should I wait for master to call me?”

She stared around blankly. Everywhere looked as equally pointless as her hole in the ground. At last, the skeleton began walking towards a nearby cave. It was as good as any a place to wait. Because her master would call her. Definitely.

Tomorrow.

—-

In the Floodplains of Liscor were many unique sights of nature. The ecological marvel and nightmare that was Rock Crabs, for instance, or the surprising survivability of Ashfire Bees trapped in a cave with a limited supply of honey in their hive. Not to mention the wonders of the nature in the higher reaches of the High Passes.

However, the most astonishing thing in the entire Floodplains from a researcher’s perspective might be located in a humble cave and valley just outside of it. Because there, in the cave, lived a colony of Fortress Beavers, the oversized cousin of the regular beaver capable of creating massive dams as large as any castle. And just outside the cave, cleverly hidden in the grass, was a nest of Shield Spiders, the dangerous and numerous spiders who could grow to gargantuan sizes given enough time.

Neither species was unique to Liscor. In fact, both were downright common. But what was fascinating to the inner [Arachnologist] and [Mammalogist] inside every person was that both species were living in more or less harmony. This was an unheard of arrangement, given that both species generally tried to exterminate each other given the slightest provocation. And yet, both species were living in more or less symbiosis!

Well, technically you could call it a non-aggression pact born out of a mutual war with a hated foe that had turned into a surprisingly profitable defensive alliance and trade agreement between species. And it had endured, which was even more surprising.

Once, there had been a grave threat to the cave. A foe more terrible than any regular animal. Crelers. And they had infested the cave, as they had so many parts of the world and devoured both spider and beaver alike, preparing to unleash a massive brood in time that would eradicate all life from the Floodplains if left unchecked. But they had been stopped. Not by adventurers, but by a desperate alliance of beavers, slime, spiders, and a Gnoll with a wand. Once, a glorious battle had been waged in this very place.

But such stories were old. And much time had passed since then. Anyone would expect the animals to revert back to their natures and resent each other’s proximity. But that strange alliance had endured.

Here was how it worked. The Fortress Beavers would helpfully (or perhaps, lazily) toss out all the scraps they had no use for in their caves into the Shield Spider’s nest. And that included rats, foxes, other scavengers unprepared to tangle with Fortress Beavers, and once, even a wolf. The Shield Spiders happily devoured the lot and in turn kept the cave clear from larger predators—mainly by trapping them in their concealed nest.

It could have been a clever arrangement that tested the limits of animal and arachnid intelligence by creating a symbiotic relationship that might irrevocably shift the natures and cognition of both species over time if the right circumstances endured.

Or it might be dumb luck. But the sacred bond forged in the Battle of the Cave had endured, albeit with cracks over the long months since. For in the absence of the Crelers, both species were reproducing with the bountiful spring, and cracks had already begun to form in the treaty forged between both species.

The Shield Spiders and Fortress Beavers had both reaped the benefits of the era of fish and rains that had filled the Floodplains. The Fortress Beavers by happily fishing, the Shield Spiders by consuming the fish as the waters receded, leaving the more foolish members of the species trapped. And accordingly, both populations had entered into a massive population boom that meant they were encroaching into each other’s territory.

Several young Fortress Beavers had been eaten—some by wandering into the Shield Spider nest, others by straying too close to it when the Shield Spiders were hungry—and more than a few intrepid Shield Spiders had been smacked to death when they’d crawled into the Fortress Beaver’s cave. Faced with mounting provocations from both sides, both sides could naturally be assumed to go back to war. However, that never occurred mainly due to the one mediating presence that travelled from both cave to pit.

The healing slime. And if a…slimenologist were to happen across this marvel of magical biology, they would probably be at a loss for words. Because the little slime that zipped around the cave possessed not only the ability to move at incredibly rapid speed, but to heal. It was a small blob, barely two feet high, whose inner body glowed and shimmered with magical colors.

It could heal. And because of that, both Fortress Beavers and Shield Spiders tolerated its presence. In fact, both species had begun to rely on the slime. Fortress Beavers wounded by combat with other animals would slink back to the caves and emerge healed in moments. Shield Spiders damaged while at war with other nests of Shield Spiders or animals would wait patiently for the healing slime to roll on by. And while the slime frequented both areas, peace reigned.

It was a marvel. A peace unlike any other. Ijvani stared at the healing slime rolling happily out of the Shield Spider pit. And then she grabbed it.

The slime made no sound. But every color in its translucent body instantly turned to purple and orange. It tried to speed away, but Ijvani held it up in the air and the slime whirled in place. The black skeleton held it up and stared at it. She eyed the mana stone inside the slime.

“What a strange slime. You are not naturally-made. Did some [Alchemist] throw out their potions? But…how curious.”

The slime quivered in terror. And it’s fright—and the presence of the black skeleton—awakened the Shield Spider nest. They swarmed out of the opening. But they didn’t see Ijvani. They only saw the slime, hovering in midair, clearly under duress. So they swarmed towards Ijvani and ran into her.

Of course, they bit her. The black skeleton stared down at the spiders as the swarmed up her robes and bit at them, and her black bones. The largest spider’s mandibles locked onto a femur and hung on. Its crushing mandibles did exactly nothing to her bones. Ijvani went back to staring at the healing slime.

“You are strange. As odd as Oom.”

She paused. Then she hung her head.

“Oom is gone.”

Depressed, Ijvani put the healing slime under one arm. She didn’t let it go. Or squash the slime’s core. She couldn’t do that to a slime, even if it wasn’t Oom. And she didn’t feel like letting it go. She missed Oom.

“This is a good place to be forgotten by master. I guess.”

Glumly, Ijvani wandered into the cave. She stared at the colony of Fortress Beavers and the wall of packed mud, grass, and bits of wood they’d turned into a fortress. The Fortress Beavers stopped patting at the wall with their tails and looked up in alarm at the mass of Shield Spiders attacking the…thing in the cave. They saw the healing slime’s distress and lumbered forwards.

Ijvani stared blankly at the Fortress Beavers and noticed she was covered in spiders. She sighed.

“Oh. Right. Invisibility.”

She dispelled the magic and appeared as she was. A metallic skeleton. The Fortress Beavers froze. The Shield Spiders scurried off Ijvani in terror. There was more than a bit of unnatural power in Ijvani. More than a regular skeleton. The Fortress Beavers, who would and did crush errant undead that attacked them, backed up. The Shield Spiders scurried back.

Ijvani didn’t care. She looked around. Then she collapsed onto the ground, staring up at the cave ceiling. She hugged the healing slime to her, much like she remembered Oom doing.

“Master. You remember I exist, right?”

The animals and spiders stared at the quivering healing slime and the motionless black skeleton. The healing slime tried to roll away. Ijvani held on tighter. It stopped moving as she reached into its body and gripped the mana core that was its life source. Then it just trembled.

“Master, I am here. Your faithful servant. Do you remember me?”

Ijvani stared at the ceiling of the cave. She didn’t move. In fact, she was so still that it was unnerving. But there Ijvani stayed, as the Fortress Beavers and Shield Spiders warily moved around her, considering, weighing what their instincts told them against the evidence of their eyes.

An hour Ijvani lay there. Two hours. Three hours. Then eight. Fortress Beavers realized they could edge around her. Shield Spiders scurried in a large circle around the skeleton and she didn’t move. The healing slime stayed where it was, quivering; the mana core was still in Ijvani’s hand. She enjoyed its presence.

It was to the credit of the Shield Spiders and Fortress Beavers that it took nine hours before one Shield Spider finally decided to overrule the warning bells in its head and scuttle forwards. It opened its mandibles, preparing to bite the skeleton in the face. It was how the Shield Spider reacted to every threat, so it thought the action had a chance here.

The Shield Spider never got to Ijvani’s head. As it got within four feet of the skeleton, it saw one finger rise and point at it. Ijvani spoke a word as she stared up at the ceiling.

“[Searing Flash].”

There was heat. A popping sound—the spider exploded so fast it didn’t have time to make a sound—steam, a patter of falling parts, light, and the sound of many things fleeing as fast as they could. And then blissful silence again. Ijvani sighed.

“Master. I’m here. Can you hear me? Master?”

But that wasn’t how it worked. If she contacted him, how would she know he loved her? That was the quandary. So Ijvani lay on her back and sulked.

There she remained. And the defenders of the caves, the doughty Fortress Beavers and fearless Shield Spiders fled as their ancient ally, the Healing Slime, was held captive. They might have dared an army of baby Crelers. But this?

No. None could oppose the horrifying, unnatural skeleton who wielded magic. It was a threat far beyond even the Crelers. Despair filled the Defenders of the Cave, and they wailed lamentations to the sky. In a metaphorical way.

Who could save them? Who could bring justice back to the cave? Only a wizard. Or perhaps, a [Druid]. So the people cried out, calling the heroine who had once brought salvation to these lands.

And far, far away, in lands most distant, Mrsha the Great and Terrible looked up at the table she sat at. Her ears twitched and her head turned. The wise and brave [Druid]’s head rose and her hair stood on end. Mrsha stood up, not knowing why, only that she was needed—

“Mrsha! Where are you going? Just wait one more second—the Election Day Pancakes are ready to eat!”

The Gnoll paused and looked over. Erin walked out of the kitchen with a huge stack of fluffy pancakes. Mrsha’s eyes went round and her tail began to wag. She sat back down and made a happy signal with her paws. And she completely forgot what she’d been thinking about a few seconds ago.

So the skeleton lay on the ground. And she continued laying there. Ijvani was unhappy. Sometimes, she had to admit, even if she was a Chosen of Az’kerash, sometimes it was really hard being the only sentient skeleton in existence. Venitra didn’t count, obviously.

—-

Bevussa Slenderscale leapt forwards and slashed with her enchanted shortsword. The blade cut into the first Bagrhaven’s chest and the screaming monster retreated. The harpy-like creature flew backwards, talons raised, but Bevussa kept advancing. She had no fear of the other monsters swooping around her; her team was in the air and they had the Bagrhavens on the run.

“Push them into the trap! [Gale Wings]!”

Bevussa twisted and her wings flapped once. The Bagrhaven swooping at her screamed as a blast of wind suddenly sent it and three of its companions flying. Bevussa’s team of Oldblood Drakes flew after them, capitalizing on the moment.

The monster harpy-women weren’t idiots. They could sense when the tables were turned against them and the Wings of Pallass had come into their lair ready for a fight. The Drakes and Bevussa might have been outnumbered, but they carried magical armor the Bagrhavens couldn’t easily claw or bite through, and their magical blades hurt. So the Bagrhavens fled, flying down the corridor, intending to lose the fliers behind them.

“Keldrass! Coming your way!”

Bevussa shouted. She heard a shout from ahead. The Bagrhavens tried to slow down, hearing and seeing the armored shapes, but too late. Keldrass and his team threw the nets up and snared the Bagrhavens in the lower-ceilinged corridor. The monsters dropped and the Drakes charged in.

“Cut them down! Bevussa, two are getting—”

“I see them! Wings, after me!”

The Garuda led her team after the last two Bagrhavens who had avoided the nets. She flew through the narrow corridors, faster than her team. The monsters, realizing that they couldn’t escape her, turned. Bevussa slashed at one, striking while flying backwards and kicking off the walls, the ceiling.

The Bagrhaven screeched, trying to bite her, claw her. It fell at last, not from any one decisive strike, but blood loss. Bevussa stared down at the dozen wounds on its body as her team pinned the other to the ground and finally ran it through.

“Captain, congratulations!”

“It was just a Bagrhaven.”

Bevussa modestly wiped her blade before sheathing it. In truth, she was a bit embarrassed. The Flamewardens had already dealt with the other eight Bagrhavens in half the time it took her team. But Keldrass was beaming as he cleaned blood from his axe.

“Good job, Bevussa. We apologize for letting the others get away. We should have aimed more carefully. Injuries?”

The Oldblood Drake was gifted with the power of fire breath unlike Bevussa’s team, who were capable of flight. However, as often happened, the power of Keldrass’ flames were hard to control, such that even the Gold-rank adventurer had to speak in shorter bursts, to avoid accidentally discharging his fiery breath. He also avoided looking straight at Bevussa, turning his mouth to one side as he spoke.

Neither feature bothered the Garuda. She knew Keldrass, and so she only smiled.

“None, Keldrass. No problem on the nets. Bagrhaven are quick. I wish my team and I had your staying power, though. We’d never have taken this nest without injuries. I can barely take one and your team got…”

She indicated the Bagrhavens on the floor, who’d been neatly killed while in nets. Keldrass laughed and a bit of blue flame exited his mouth.

“Nets aren’t very sporting. And we carry heavy armor.”

He indicated the plate armor his team wore, and their weaponry. Bevussa knew that was true.

“Still, if you wanted to, you could fry them in one blast, couldn’t you? I can’t help but feel my team’s lacking compared to yours.”

“Captain!”

One of Bevussa’s teammates, Issa, cried out, sounding hurt. The Garuda rolled her eyes.

“I’m just saying, Issa. We can fly. We’re not exactly great dungeon-divers.”

“Yeah, but we can fly.”

Zassil demonstrated, flexing his wings and grinning at the other Drakes. The Flamewardens on Keldrass’ team grunted or spat flame dismissively. Bevussa sighed. Oldblood Drakes. The ones who could fly always argued with the ones who could spit lightning or fire or acid about who was best. And the ones who could do both were insufferable.

“I just mean I wish I could carry something heavier than a shortsword.”

“Why don’t you?”

Keldrass looked up. He was squatting by a Bagrhaven, plucking the glossy black feathers loose from the creature’s wings. Bevussa squatted next to him. That was their haul today; Bagrhaven feathers were worth good money, and this nest was one she’d be glad to see the last of.

“Oh, you know. Too heavy and I can’t fly right. I’m all hollow bones anyways; armor’s no good, so I have to dodge or die. That’s what they teach you at Pallass’ flying academy. Dodge and strike. Wear your opponent down. Never go for a frontal assault.”

“Huh. I never knew that. Isn’t military doctrine…?”

Bevussa smiled.

“We have Garuda instructors. We’ve changed how Drakes view aerial combat. You know our [Generals] love frontal assaults. Well, that’s not how you fight in the air.”

“Good to know. The brass understands that?”

“They’d better, or they’ll have a lot more casualties than we need. But we’re not in the army anymore, Keldrass. And I’m not about to reenlist and shake things up.”

“No aspirations to be the first Garuda [General]? In Pallassian history? You know, Gold-rank teams can instantly receive…the [Captain] rank if we join back up. And promotions are fast. If you know the right people.”

“Yeah, but is it fun, Keldrass? Why’d you quit that fancy elite unit with your team if it was so great?”

“Well…”

The two Captains chatted as they stripped the monster corpses with their team. Bevussa slid the last blood-covered feathers into her bag of holding and sighed.

“That’s some good money right there. Not as much as we’ll get from those trap rooms. We need to hire some [Miners] or something from Pallass. That Gemhammer team is already stripping the rooms.”

“Huh. Really? How much gold’s…up there?”

Keldrass frowned, pausing to exhale some smoke. Bevussa shrugged.

“Before they noticed me eavesdropping? Few thousand gold in one room.”

“Really?”

“Let’s investigate it. I had no idea it was worth so much, but Earlia sounded serious.”

“Definitely. I’ll send a [Message]. To Pallass’ Guild. Get some insight.”

Bevussa nodded. She straightened, looked at her team, and jerked her head.

“Alright! Everyone got all the feathers? Back to the safe zones!”

Both teams moved in tandem, marching back down the dungeon corridors. Bevussa watched the markings on each wall, checking for outlined traps, navigating back towards the hole in the dungeon that the adventuring teams had climbed down. She and Keldrass kept an eye out, only relaxing when they were in areas cleared of monsters.

They knew it was clear because the first thing they saw was a wall. A palisade, rather. It was made of metal and blocking a tunnel. It was one of dozens the adventuring teams had set up in the dungeon. This one was designed to let adventurers fleeing a threat bail over the top if need be; Keldrass and his team clambered over while Bevussa’s team just flew. But Bevussa knew that before they left the dungeon, unless they were in full retreat, the teams would seal the tunnel completely.

“Classic dungeon tactics. Seal areas one by one. Create safe zones. Deplete monster reserves.”

Keldrass rolled over the top of the palisade and landed on the ground with a crash of metal. He got back up and Bevussa saw his armor flicker a dozen colors. She grunted as she helped pull him up.

“Nice armor. You got that from the Raskghar?”

Her voice was envious; she hadn’t gotten anything nearly as good in the lottery. Keldrass grinned.

“Magical. I could walk through a [Fireball] and not blink.”

“Yeah, yeah. It doesn’t make you any more agile. Come on, let’s seal this palisade and see how the other teams are going. We cleared two corridors today. There’s about eight thousand more to go, but that Minotaur’s map says there’s one of those unopened treasure rooms eight corridors further than where we went. I don’t trust his word at all, but if there’s a chance…”

Keldrass frowned at Bevussa as he helped the rest of his team over the palisade.

“You don’t trust him?”

“What, a traitor that allied with monsters?”

Bevussa folded her wing arms. Keldrass paused, sniffing the air.

“Phew, reeks in here. Those Bagrhavens stink. I usually don’t smell anything but smoke. Anyways, Bevussa. Good soldiers snap. I’ve seen it in the army. You too.”

Bevussa had to agree. About the smell. She waved a wing in front of her face, scowling.

“That’s different. This was—”

The Garuda broke off. So did Keldrass. Issa was waving at Bevussa urgently.

“Captain! I just got a [Message]!”

She unrolled a scroll. Bevussa leapt over to her.

“What is it? Facestealer?”

Instantly, both teams were on alert. Keldrass looked up, his posture tense. Issa shook her head as Bevussa snatched the scroll and read.

“No. It’s from that Silver-rank team. Vuliel Drae. It’s her.”

“The Mask Warrior?”

One of Keldrass’ teammates exclaimed excitedly. Bevussa frowned. She noted the coordinates.

“So the mysterious adventurer’s here, is she? Keldrass, you want to meet this mystery adventurer?”

“The one who helps other adventuring teams?”

The Drake raised a brow. Bevussa scowled.

“Yeah. I want to convince her to come to the guild. Or at least identify her. We still have no idea who she is. And from what I heard, she had something to do with the Face-Eater Moth attack on Liscor—”

“She’s an adventurer. We don’t pry. Besides, she could be Named.”

Keldrass grunted. Bevussa shook her head.

“Hah. Named Adventurer? I’ll eat my tail if that’s the case. Er, wings. I’m going to catch her before she runs off. You in?”

The Drake swished his armored tail for a moment before nodding.

“Go. We’ll catch up. We have to seal this tunnel first.”

“Got it. Don’t be slow!”

Bevussa took wing, calling for her team. They flew after her, disappearing down the corridor in seconds. Keldrass heard a snort from another Drake.

“Don’t be slow. Lizard-faced hatchlings. What, do they not see our armor?”

“Shut it. Let’s get this wall up.”

Keldrass exhaled a plume of smoke wearily. He looked around for the other half of the palisade so they could anchor the wall and seal any monsters that might creep through. Then Keldrass frowned. He looked up.

The ceiling was fairly high overhead. And it was dark, but Keldrass didn’t remember seeing any murals on the dark stone when they’d passed through last time. Only now, there was a pale ivory and yellow…thing…

The Drake’s eyes widened. The crawling bone-thing stared down at him, its face a mask of yellowed bone hung with scraps of rotten flesh. He opened his mouth, the fire building in his lungs.

“Abov—”

The Ceiling Crawler dropped on him. Four more launched themselves down at the Flamewardens, biting and tearing with their limbs of sharpened bone.

—-

“It’s really good to see you again, um, Miss Warrior?”

Toren smiled. Of course, she was already smiling, but now she traced a smiley face on her mask. Insill smiled back. The Drake [Rogue] edged closer, eying the two dead Ghouls. One had been shot neatly in the head by Larr’s arrow and struck in the chest by several arrows Anith had conjured. The second had been beheaded by Toren’s blade.

“You always seem to appear when you’re needed. I mean, the dungeon’s sort of your home, isn’t it? We’re really grateful. Again.”

“Not that we needed her! I had it all under control! Right, Pekona?”

Dasha called out loudly as she swung her axe into the skull of the last crawling zombie. Pekona made a snorting sound as she cleaned her curved blade; she and Dasha had hacked through the group of zombies following the Ghoul. Anith just sighed. And Toren smiled.

Vuliel Drae had been surprised by the undead attack. Not too surprised; they’d cut through the group with Toren’s timely arrival with no issue. But Toren had been slightly surprised to see so many undead. So had Anith. He knelt by one body, frowning at the loose armor it wore.

“Hm. A [Soldier]’s gear. And undead? The last expeditions ran into very few undead. I thought we had exterminated most of them already.”

“Maybe some fell into the dungeon. Hah! Anyways, they’re just fodder! Although—hey, Insill! Check the bodies! See if any of them are carrying anything valuable! I’ll pull the armor off this lot. We can probably sell it for some good—hey! Pekona!”

Dasha protested as Pekona pulled her back by the hair. The part-Dwarf woman spun around. Pekona’s expression was disapproving as Anith’s.

“We don’t loot the dead.”

“Since when? We used to do it all the time! Zombie corpses have chainmail? That’s free chainmail!”

Anith coughed, looking at Toren and then at Dasha.

“I believe since we were able to earn enough to outfit ourselves, Dasha. It is about respect. It may be permissible to search their belongings, but at least leave them their clothes.”

The Dwarf’s face fell.

“What, all of them? At least take the armor and swords…”

“And why do I have to search the bodies? I’m talking with Miss Warrior here!”

Insill complained, looking back from Toren to his team. Larr sighed.

“You’re the [Rogue].”

“So? What does that have to do with anything?”

Pekona, Anith, Dasha, and Larr all looked at Insill. He wavered.

“Well? I don’t like searching bodies.”

“But you are the [Rogue]. There.”

Pekona folded her arms. Insill spluttered.

“But that’s…”

Toren patted him on the shoulder. Insill looked around and Toren squatted next to a body. She turned it over and rummaged around. She offered Insill a handkerchief. He hesitated.

“Um. Well, I guess that’s useful, but not exactly what…”

The Drake glanced over his shoulder. Dasha tapped the side of her head and mouthed ‘crazy’ until Pekona slapped her hand down. Anith shook his head.

“Miss Warrior, thank you again. But some ah, other adventurers have been asking about you. If you’d consent to stay so they can speak with you, we’d be grateful.”

Toren looked up, alarmed and intrigued. Adventurers wanted to speak with her? She adjusted the mask uneasily. Was her cover blown? Maybe she should…

She began edging away from Vuliel Drae. Flustered, Insill raised his claws.

“No, wait! They just want to talk! We’re not trying to accuse you of anything! Or blame you for…”

He bit his tongue. Toren looked at him. Blame her? Had she done something wrong?

“Insill, you idiot. You have the biggest mouth of any Drake I’ve ever met!”

Dasha cursed. Insill flushed.

“I just meant.”

“If you’ll let me explain.”

Anith stepped forwards, bowing apologetically. Toren looked around. She heard flapping wings. And in the distance, what sounded like whispering…

“Aha! Hold it right there!”

A giant bird-woman flew down the tunnel. Toren stared, lifted her sword, and prepared to slash. She halted as Insill darted forwards.

“No, wait! That’s Captain Bevussa! The Wings of Pallass!”

Toren froze. The Garuda landed in front of her, staring.

“Well, well. So this is the mysterious Masked Warrior all the teams are talking about. Hello. Bevussa Slenderscale. Wings of Pallass. Gold-rank team. Before you run off, mind if I have a word?”

Toren paused. She stared at Bevussa. A Gold-rank adventurer? She didn’t look like much. The skeleton saw a few magical items at her belt, some enchanted leather armor, a magical shortsword…she nodded slowly, eying the other Drakes who alighted behind Bevussa.

The Garuda smiled. But she was watching Toren carefully. Vuliel Drae hesitated, but Bevussa was a Gold-rank Captain. The Garuda spoke briskly, peering at Toren’s mask, her clothed body.

“Sorry to bother you, but we’d heard there was a solo adventurer in this dungeon. One that refused to leave the dungeon. I couldn’t believe it myself. Someone surviving this long alone? But I suppose anything’s possible. The thing is—you wouldn’t happen to be able to speak, would you?”

Toren paused. She considered this, and then shook her head. Bevussa nodded slowly.

“Mute? Vow of silence? Cursed?”

The skeleton shrugged unhelpfully. She didn’t like all these questions. Nor did she like Bevussa’s tone. She liked Vuliel Drae and the little Drake standing nervously by her side. Not the Garuda. Bevussa sighed. She folded her wings and looked at Toren.

“Miss. Miss…Warrior? I know we’re both adventurers, but let me be honest. Liscor’s Adventurer Guild’s Guildmistress would like to speak with you about some incidents in the dungeon. The Face-Eater Moth attack on Liscor, for one. We’re not saying it was your fault! But you had a role in how it happened. And frankly, after this situation with the Minotaur, we want to treat anyone staying in the dungeon with care. Do you…are you aware about the situation with the Raskghar? The Minotaur?”

She looked at Toren. The skeleton gave her a blank look and turned her head to Insill. The Drake hesitated.

“Well, what happened was…”

“You can tell her all about it. Above. Miss Warrior, it won’t be for more than a few hours, but we need to talk with you. You can write, can’t you? Let’s go to Liscor and you’ll be free to come back here…or we could find you a team. It can’t be easy staying below. Come on, come with us, please?”

Bevussa tried a smile and held out one claw-hand. But Toren was instantly alarmed. What had she just said? Go above? For hours? That would be death. She slowly stepped back, shaking her head.

“What? No? Why not? I mean, what’s wrong?”

Toren just kept shaking her head. Bevussa paused. She looked at Vuliel Drae.

“What’s wrong?”

“No idea. But she never wants to go above. She does that all the time. Annoying, ain’t it?”

Dasha answered unhelpfully. Bevussa exhaled slowly. She looked at her team, but they were waiting for her.

“Where’s Keldrass when you need him? Excuse me, Miss Warrior—”

Toren hopped backwards. Bevussa paused, and then she did frown.

“I have to insist.”

Shake, shake. Toren crossed her arms for further emphasis. No going above. No way. Bevussa paused.

“Captain Slenderscale, it is her choice. She’s a fellow adventurer…”

Anith murmured to Bevussa. She scowled at him and the Jackal [Mage] hesitated.

“I’m aware, Anith. But if I don’t get her to come with me, Guildmistress Tekshia will have my feathers…Miss! Can you at least identify yourself?”

Toren paused and thought about that. She shrugged and then shook her head again. Bevussa snapped her beak.

“Alright. Well. In that case, if you won’t go up, and can’t tell us who you are…take off your mask, please.”

The skeleton froze. So did Insill, who peeked at her masked face. Bevussa walked forwards.

“Or tell me who you are. I’ve had enough surprises from adventurers in this dungeon.”

Toren backed up. And now she had a hand on the hilt of her sword. He was in her head, laughing at the situation and telling her to stab the Garuda. But Toren didn’t want to. And yet—she couldn’t take her mask off. She couldn’t go out of the dungeon. And she wasn’t sure she knew how to write.

All these things made her back away. But now Bevussa had a look of deep suspicion in her eyes. She advanced, only to be slowed by Insill and Anith.

“Miss Bevussa! Wait! She’s saved our team dozens of times!”

Dasha coughed.

“I wouldn’t say dozens…”

“Hey! That’s our Captain, normalblood. Gold-rank. Claws off!”

Issa snapped at Insill. He hesitated, but Anith backed him up, firmly barring Bevussa’s way.

“Captain Bevussa, adventurers are entitled to their anonymity…”

“She can have that. But there’s the situation with the Minotaur—with Calruz, remember? I just want proof she’s not some half-insane person as mad as he is! Or…or a Raskghar or something!”

Bevussa protested. Everyone looked at Toren and her thin frame. The Garuda sighed.

“Okay, not a Raskghar. But you know what I mean.”

She pointed at Toren.

“What reason does she have to be down here? Why not go above? It’s too suspicious. There’s insanity in challenging a dungeon alone, and then there’s this. Why are you down here, Miss? Why can’t you speak? Who are you?”

Toren had no answer. Well, she had tons of answers, but not ones she could give. And not ones that would deescalate the situation. She tried tracing a smile on her mask. Bevussa glared.

“Are you mocking me?”

“Captain Slenderscale, I’m sure she…”

Anith broke off. Toren was nodding her head happily. It was sort of fun.

Insill choked. Dasha guffawed. Bevussa snapped.

“Alright, that’s it. Mask comes off. Miss, take it off or—”

She paused as Toren drew her sword. Bevussa stepped back.

“Lower it.”

Toren shook her head and lifted her sword. Bevussa’s eyes narrowed. She reached for the hilt of her shortsword.

“Captain Slenderscale!”

Anith protested, but the other Wings of Pallass moved forwards, suddenly tense. Bevussa looked around. She exhaled, annoyed and frustrated. She did not want to do this, but Keldrass wasn’t here being reasonable and she was out of patience. She tried one last time.

“If you won’t so much as answer one of my questions, I have no choice but to—”

She stopped. The masked warrior was looking around, cocking her head. Bevussa scowled.

“Hey! Are you listening to me? I said…”

Then she stopped. Because the mysterious adventurer had held up a finger to her mask where her mouth should be. She was looking about, and looking wary. She turned, blade in hand. And then suddenly, Bevussa felt a tingle of danger too. Not from [Dangersense] or any Skill, but just long-honed instinct. She cleared her throat.

“Something’s…”

She looked around. And then she saw the masked warrior pause. Slowly, ever so slowly, prodded by the sense that there were more undead really close nearby, Toren looked up. And so did Bevussa. She shouted.

“Up—”

The Ceiling Crawler leapt. But Toren was faster. She kicked Bevussa backwards and the Ceiling Crawler landed on her. The undead instantly tried to squirm off Toren—she wasn’t a living thing—but Toren furiously stabbed at it and the undead, sensing the threat, began to fight back. Bevussa flew backwards and Dasha shouted in horror.

“Dead gods! Undead crawling on the ceiling!”

“Wings of Pallass! At them!”

Issa shouted, panicked, and the team began to take wing. Bevussa unsheathed her shortsword.

“No! Stay on the ground! They’ll hit you in midair! They’re jumping!”

“Help Miss Warrior!”

Insill shouted desperately. He swung his daggers, stabbing at the skeletal Ceiling Crawler’s back, but it was all bone! Bevussa hacked with her shortsword. The enchanted blade struck pieces of ivory away as Toren stabbed at the thing from below. It was biting her, sinking its claws and teeth into her cloth ‘body’. Anith, Insill, and Bevussa were all trying to get it off her, crying in horror, but Toren mostly just felt tickled.

At last, the three adventurers tore the Ceiling Crawler off Toren and it flipped, trying to snare Insill. He dodged out of the way and it crawled backwards, unnaturally fast. It was bigger than even Larr, and there were three more of them, leaping from wall to ceiling, trying to pin down and savage the adventurers!

“Gah! What are these things! Pekona! Help!”

Dasha screamed as one leapt at her. Pekona leapt forwards and slashed.

“[Flash Cut]!”

Her blade went through the thing’s arm and the bones clattered to the floor. The Ceiling Crawler recoiled and Dasha smashed it on the bony, gnashing face, shouting. The Wings of Pallass were fighting back-to-back, not at home on the ground.

“Retreat! We’re fighting the wrong type of monster! Retreat!”

Bevussa shouted at her team and Vuliel Drae’s. Larr loosed an arrow and watched it bounce off one of the skeletal monster’s heads. Anith raised his spellbook and pointed.

“[Repulsion Barrier]! Go, go!”

The wall of force threw back the Ceiling Crawlers for a moment. All the adventurers turned and ran. Toren bounded after them, feeling distinctly miffed. What kind of undead were these? And why did she sense a lot more ahead of them?

She got her answer as the adventurers streamed back towards the entrance and came face to face with another Silver-rank team. Nailren and the Pride of Kelia. The Gnoll adventurers, most armed with bows, were retreating as well. The Gnoll howled at Bevussa.

“We’re under attack! There are Crypt Lords! And something else! All adventurer teams, pull back! They’ve smashed one wall!”

“Where’s Keldrass? We need his team!”

Bevussa shouted. Nailren drew breath as his team began loosing arrows—Toren peered past them. Those were Crypt Lords! The same ones in his kitchen! She slapped her skull, vexed. Of all the—

And then all the adventurers heard it. Three loud, desperate blasts. They looked up. Bevussa shouted.

“That’s the retreat! Shield Spiders?”

“Or just too many undead! Come on!”

“Not without Keldrass! Wings, we have to find—oh, Ancestors. What is that?”

Toren turned. And then he heard it. Faint whispers growing louder. Voices. A chorus of the damned.

“Doombringer. Bring us doom…”

“Lord Tyrion! The Goblins are—”

“Redfang.”

“Who are you? You’re not a Gnoll. You’re—”

“It’s cold.”

Dozens of voices. The adventurers froze. Toren stared at the writing mass of hands and bodies, pulling the entire assembly towards him. The flesh-pit writhed, calling out to the living. Dasha paled. Pekona stumbled backwards, eyes wide. Toren wondered how it had gotten out of the inn. It better not have smashed any tables!

“Greater undead. Back to the entrance. Wings of Pallass, throw your alchemical weapons! Issa! Wand of Lightning! Now!”

Bevussa reached for her belt. She grabbed a potion, threw it, and ducked backwards. Toren stared as the other adventurers took cover. What was—

The whumph sent the skeleton flying. She landed on her head, which was fine, and got up. There was a flash—lightning blasted past the adventurers, catching a Ceiling Crawler as it leapt. The Wings of Pallass were using their magical items with abandon. Bevussa yanked an acid potion from her belt.

“Acid potions, on that thing! Withdraw! We’re making a stand at the entrance! Zassil, fly back and find the other teams! Rally on me! On me!”

Anith was chanting, throwing magical arrows of light. Vuliel Drae held their ground as Larr shot zombies and Ghouls through their heads. Pekona leapt forwards, slashing at a Crypt Lord and dodging backwards as it spat black blood and swung at her. Toren wondered if this was somehow her fault.

Probably. She looked around, seeing more battle, flashes of light from behind them. The adventurers were putting on a really good fight. The undead, for all that several Crypt Lords were leading them, weren’t actually that much of a threat to this many teams. Toren didn’t see a reason to panic.

The fact that the many dead bodies of the flesh-pit were screaming at the living, calling out to them, didn’t really strike Toren as an issue. The Gnolls crying out to the Pride of Kelia, the Human faces beseeching Pekona, the Drakes screaming at their comrades in the Wings of Pallass—Toren scratched her head. Now where could she do the most good? Or—maybe she could slip away? That angry bird-adventurer got on her nerves.

Toren was just deciding to quietly leg it when she spotted something lurching forwards next to the flesh pit. She froze in place. And she looked back across the battleground at the lurching form. No. At her.

It was Erin. No—the zombie. Toren felt a hand creeping up towards her mask. She seized it, staring at the hand. No! Not now! But it was her! The zombie-Erin had gotten loose, and it was advancing on the adventurers! But it was moving past the flesh-pit, and the desperate undead abomination, looking for something to replenish the bodies melting under the acid and combined firepower of the magical adventurers, suddenly seized zombie-Erin with dozens on hands.

No! He was suddenly wrestling with Toren, trying to remove the mask. She grabbed the hand reaching for the mask with her own. He was trying to take over! Not now! She stared at zombie-Erin, flailing vacantly at Bevussa. It was just a zombie! It wasn’t even the real Erin!

But it was real to him. And Toren felt her feet carrying her forwards. She looked around. The adventurers were stumbling back. But Insill, darting forwards to hamstring the undead, had been caught by one of the hands of the flesh pit. He was screaming, sinking into the abomination as hands tried to drag him into the center of the fleshy mass. Dasha was running towards him with Pekona, but a Crypt Lord barred their way.

Insill. The funny Drake. Toren froze. She looked at him. And then at zombie-Erin, absently waving an arm and groaning. And Toren, both Torens, realized something. They looked ahead. And then at their hands. Slowly, the hand grasping Toren’s mask let go. And it reached instead to the right. Nailren jerked and turned.

“What are you—”

Toren’s hand slapped him on the face and snagged the buckler on his side. The skeleton raised the shield. He and she ran forwards, past the adventurers who shouted at her to come back. For him to stop. But neither Toren listened. For the first time, they began working together.

There were zombies in the way, Ghouls leaping forwards. Toren barreled into them, shield raised. [Daring Charge]! He smashed a zombie aside, ducked as the undead turned their wrath on him. A Ghoul leapt, jaw gaping. Toren blurred out of the way and his sword ran it through the stomach.

[Mirage Cut]. Toren tore the blade loose and ran past the Ghoul as Larr’s arrow caught it in the chest, keeping it from rising. He saw a wall of zombies and hesitated.

Attack? No! [Hi-Jump]. Toren leapt into the air and kicked off a wall. She saw a Crypt Lord turn and swing at her. She slashed down, cutting across the undead’s body, but it kept swinging. Toren flung herself sideways.

[Perfect Dodge]—she braced on the ground and lunged. Her sword slashed through the Crypt Lord’s leg. [Sharpened Edge]. It fell and Toren stopped. The kick to the Crypt Lord’s face came from both of them.

Closer. Insill was sinking into the flesh-pit, screaming in pain as the bodies inside clawed and bit at him. Toren leapt forwards. He brought his buckler down. [Shield Bash]. Toren heard a satisfying crunch, and one of the arms snaring Insill fell away, broken. Toren sawed at the other. Insill, one of his arms free, cut at the other arms, sobbing.

“Thank you, thank you—”

“Insill! This way!”

Dasha was shouting. She and the other warriors with weapons had opened a hole for them to retreat. Insill leapt forwards.

“Come on! Miss Warrior! The Flamewardens are here! Miss Warrior?”

He turned. Toren was still hacking at the flesh pit. He turned.

“Miss Warrior—”

The masked face turned. She looked at Insill, and then shoved him. He stumbled backwards. Pekona darted forwards, hauling him away.

“No! Wait! She’s—”

Insill shouted, but Toren was surrounded by the undead. Bevussa caught her breath. The undead were being cut down on all sides, but the flesh-monstrosity was coming straight at the adventurers. And it was trying to pull them in like Insill.

“We can burn it down!”

Keldrass rasped. He was spitting smoke, his armor still littered with bones from the Ceiling Crawler ambush. He pointed.

“Flamewardens, prepare to breathe! One, two—”

“No! She’s still in the line of fire! Hold it! Keldrass, there’s an adventurer there!”

Bevussa yanked at Keldrass. The Drake stopped.

“What?”

“What’s she doing?”

Another Gold-rank team Captain, Lifwail Blades, lowered her wand and shouted incredulously. Bevussa didn’t know. The masked adventurer had gotten the Drake [Rogue] to safety, but she was still hacking at the flesh-pit. Trying to pull…Bevussa’s eyes narrowed.

“Is she trying to rescue a zombie?”

“What?”

Keldrass stared. Bevussa hesitated. The masked warrior was trying to save the zombie, heedless of the hands trying to pull her into the undead mass. Bevussa cursed.

“Archers! Protect that adventurer! Keldrass, wait! Take out the undead on the flanks! Pull back! Don’t let her get sucked in!”

Toren heard none of it. Nor did he see the arrows that flew, covering him. All he could see was Erin. He began hacking at the mass of moving bodies, heedless of the hands trying to drag him in. He could see the Erin-zombie—Toren grabbed at her, dropping his shield and pulled as he slashed wildly. She came away rotten flesh tearing, light fading from her undead eyes. Toren staggered back. Erin? Erin? He lowered her to the ground. Staring at her.

“Flamewardens! Breathe!”

Fire blasted past him. Toren didn’t see it, didn’t see the other adventurers throwing the jars of acid that seemed so familiar, or the monstrosity of corpses burning, melting. He heard a voice as he held Erin. The zombie was weakly trying to bite his arm.

Right. She was just a zombie. But she was his zombie. She represented…Toren stared at it. It was no good. She was fading. Too damaged by the flesh-pit and the battle.

Damn it. Damn it all. He was going to have to get a new one.

“A second time! Inhale—now!”

This time the fire drowned out the voices of the dead. Toren heard a crackling sound, explosions of fat catching fire. He felt the heat and then hands gently pulling him back. He stayed where he was, cradling the dead Erin in his arms. He’d worked so hard on the clothes. And the hair! It was so hard to find an zombie with the right color hair! Not to mention the same species!

The adventurers slowly regrouped, counting injuries. Not losses, thankfully. The undead assault had been quick, but not deadly. Keldrass’ team was mainly to thank for that. The furious Oldbloods had burnt half the undead themselves, and Bevussa’s holding of the line had ensured the undead hadn’t even overrun them. Even so, they were all shaken.

“Dead gods. What kind of undead was that?”

Bevussa pointed at the remains of the monstrous flesh-pit that had been made of hundreds of bodies. She could still hear the voices, calling out to her. She shuddered; some of the greener adventurers were throwing up. The other veteran Captains looked at each other.

“I think it was a Wailing Pit. You get them in mass graves. I don’t know. I didn’t think they could move.”

“Dead gods, I didn’t know undead could speak—”

“How did so many corpses get in one place?”

“Maybe they fell into the dungeon after the battle with the Goblins. Could be anything, but dead gods, I thought I recognized someone…”

“No recognizing anyone now. Almost all ash. Still—anyone got more acid jars? Let’s melt the rest.”

“What I want to know is why that crazed adventuress stuck around. She got Insill out, but why…?”

And then everyone was staring at the masked warrior. Some of the other teams pointed, recognizing her. Keldrass and Bevussa stared at the enigmatic warrior. Keldrass cleared his throat. Bevussa closed her eyes.

“Oh. Oh, that’s why…”

It was a simple picture, really. A tableau. There was the masked adventurer, nameless, a shadow in the dungeon. And she was cradling someone. A zombie. Yes. A zombie, but one she had risked her life to preserve. And sometimes you forgot that zombies had been people.

Erin. Well, sort of. Toren held the motionless zombie in her arms and bowed her head over the corpse. It was going to be such a pain to find another one. He didn’t notice the adventurers watching him.

“Well, now I feel like a complete Lizardperson.”

Bevussa whispered to her team. She shook her head, ashamed of her suspicion. Keldrass looked at the masked adventurer, a pained look on his face. Slowly, he off his helmet. After a moment, the rest of his team followed suit.

“You hate to see it. Think she lost her friend in the dungeon or in one of the battles?”

Issa leaned on Zassil, tears in her eyes. The other Drakes looked at each other.

“Fellow adventurer, maybe? A duo?”

“Could be one of the monster attacks.”

“Argh. And no wonder she’s not leaving. But it’s not healthy to stay—”

“You can’t talk sense to them. She nearly drew a sword when Captain Slenderscale tried to get her to leave. It’s the shock.”

Bevussa reddened under her feathers as Keldrass looked at her reproachfully.

“I didn’t know. I thought—”

The Drake paused. And then he slowly walked over to the masked woman. He bent down. Slowly, his voice rasping after breathing so much fire, he coughed and addressed her.

“Miss? Miss. Let’s bury your friend. You can’t do anything more for her. You found her—you did it.”

The masked woman looked up, almost surprised. She let go of the body. Keldrass caught her, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry. We’ve all experienced it. Was she—were you old comrades?”

He waited. Toren stared at him and then the zombie. Keldrass shook his head.

“You don’t have to say anything. But we can’t leave the body. Burial might be—once a zombie—we could cremate her. With respect. An adventurer’s burial.”

Toren had no idea what they were talking about. But she obligingly let them burn the body. All the adventurers made a big deal about it, solemnly standing around and saying a few words. For some reason they expected her to collect the ashes. They even gave her a bag for it. And the bird-woman kept patting her on the back.

“I know it’s hard. But you can’t throw away your life. You understand? Just—come with us for a bit.”

Toren kept shaking her head. She was prepared to run, but Bevussa didn’t seem intent on taking her mask anymore. Toren saw some of the other adventurers whispering and looking at her.

“We can’t force her. You know how unstable—”

“—be worse to let her as she is. Staying down here?”

“The Minotaur did it. Look, let’s get a [Healer]’s opinion on this. One used to dealing with adventurers? She’s survived this long—I knew a team that tried to force it. Turned ugly.”

“I’m really sorry. Again. But if there’s any way…”

Bevussa sighed as Toren backed up. The Garuda shook her head and looked at Keldrass. He grimaced, but tilted his head towards the ropes. Some adventurer teams were already ascending. Bevussa gave it one last try.

“At least let’s say we owe you a drink. Any…anytime you want, we’ll buy you a drink. Hell, we’ll buy you ten! You want to come above, you can find us in Liscor’s Guild, alright? Just send a [Message] and someone will get word to us. We’ll take you to the best inn we know. Alright?”

She waited. And at last, the masked woman slowly nodded. Bevussa smiled. She held out a claw.

“Then—friends? I’ll look for you again when we return. You’ll be there. Promise?”

The masked adventurer wavered. But she came forwards. And after staring at Bevussa’s claw, she took it.

Slowly, the skeleton shook the Garuda’s hand. And Toren—both Toren’s—felt a flash of…warmth. No. Not warmth; they were dead after all and there was no biology to react. But a memory of it. Bevussa smiled and Toren traced a smile on her mask.

He watched them preparing to leave. In the end, Vuliel Drae and the Wings of Pallass and the Flamewardens were last. They’d stayed to try and convince Toren, but now they were going. And in the end…the skeleton wavered.

She would miss them. And he had never understood why. But today, they’d been…fun. They’d killed the stupid Crypt Lords that kept stealing his undead, and the flesh-pit. So, maybe she was right. Maybe…Toren looked at the adventurers and decided they weren’t so bad.

“Dead gods, but I do need a drink. And I’ll buy a round for everyone. My treat.”

Bevussa was talking to the others, glancing back at Toren now and then. She wished she could join Bevussa. But outside was…Toren turned away, sighing inwardly. Bevussa sighed too, watching her leave. She shook her head. Each adventurer made their choice. She only hoped she’d see that brave soul again. By her side, Zassil looked up at his Captain.

“What is the best inn in Liscor, Keldrass? Or bar? Wishdrink’s? I know you’re not thinking of the Tailless Thief, Bevussa—”

“Hey! I like that inn.”

Bevussa rolled her eyes at Keldrass as he protested mildly.

“Because you’re a Drake, Keldrass. That [Innkeeper] treats you like royalty and anyone who’s not a Drake like dirt. Please, there’s only one inn I’m thinking of—”

“Oh come on. She doesn’t even have a good selection of alcohols.”

Keldrass protested. Bevussa snorted and turned to him.

“It’s The Wandering Inn for sure. Sure, it’s not the best cooking, but Miss Solstice’s got all those new foods. Sure, the variety’s less than what you can get at some other inns, but there’s the plays and the magic door and the fact that there’s always something interesting going on…”

She turned back to the tunnel. But the masked woman was gone. She’d vanished while Bevussa had been speaking. Damn. Bevussa had been hoping to lure her with the promise of a hot meal, but the masked woman was truly…the Garuda shook her head as she turned sadly back to Keldrass.

“Gah. I hate to see it. We have to do something for her. Carefully. Let’s get that drink, Keldrass, figure something out.”

“You can’t save them all, Bevussa.”

Keldrass patted her on the wing-arm. Together they left the dungeon. The adventurers left, abandoning the horrors of below for recuperation.

And in the dungeon, Toren lay on his back. He jerked—looked around. Why was he lying down?

Oh. He’d fainted. He’d heard ‘The Wandering Inn’. And then he’d heard…the skeleton stared up at the ceiling. He’d heard that wrong. Hadn’t he?

Solstice?

…Erin?

6.49

It was a fact unbeknownst to anyone in the world that Liscor had a population of two intelligent skeletons living in the region. However, as facts went, those weren’t the ones that demanded the attention of the people of Liscor. Even if someone were to tell a pedestrian on the street that a skeleton named Ijvani had occupied a cave in the Floodplains, they would probably ask if it could wait until tomorrow.

Of course, if they were aware that Ijvani were a minion of Az’kerash, said pedestrian would probably have a lot more questions to ask and bump up the priority of undead dispatch on their list of priorities, but that was obviously extraneous detail to the example. Only one fact occupied the minds of Liscor’s inhabitants. And that was that it was election day.

And the election had come and gone. The polls, which were really just guarded booths where each citizen could, after swearing under truth spell, deposit a vote for a candidate of their choice in a box, were closed. The day had been full of note, from a certain [Innkeeper] organizing a group of Pallassian Garuda to fly a banner over Liscor to numerous fights over the candidates in the city.

It was all anyone could talk about. Krshia and her Gnoll candidates for a more open Liscor! How could you argue that the crazy Human and her inn hadn’t been good for the city? That the Antinium weren’t allies, especially the painted ones? What kind of close-minded scales-for-brains would say the city needed more army interferences, needed to close its walls?

At the same time, who could trust the Antinium, really trust them? Or Goblins? Or that crazy Human, who, let’s be fair, was behind half of the disturbances to the city? And why not kill that damned Minotaur in the prison? Those were the stakes, and they had divided Liscor—until today. The arguments, strife, and in one case an assault with a spatula, had been resolved. Some people were in jail. Some people had concussions. Some people were just rather upset.

The tense, nervous energy of the day had given way to a quiet sort of hush. Everyone was waiting. No one knew what the future held and as the Watch took the guarded bins of votes into city hall, a seldom-remembered spot except in times of crisis, everyone waited.

The [Scribes] would be counting, tallying up the votes. And soon, the current Council would announce who had won. Who had it been? Krshia? Lism? They had fought over one district. Would she win, but face a Council full of Drakes? Or would he take the victory? Would any Gnoll win? …Would they all win?

The people had no idea. So a crowd gathered, waiting outside the building in more or less silence. A line of [Guards] had been deployed outside the building to keep anyone from interfering. And so, everyone waited. First for an hour. And then two. They were restless. How long could it take to count all the votes? Then again—it was a big city. And everyone whom everyone asked said they’d voted. So…how long? What would the results be? The people waited, breathless, wondering what the future held and wondering, in the back of their minds, if they’d made the right choice.

Inside the city hall, the building was mostly quiet. It was not, as those outside imagined, a feverish mess of [Scribes] sorting through an imagined mountain of ballot votes. In fact, the [Scribes] were having a drink while they waited for the announcement. If there was any feverishness, it was in the meeting room of Liscor’s Council.

Liscor’s Council. An oft-overlooked body of leaders. Few people in the city could name even one of the Council members until the last month. That was because by and large, the Council kept Liscor running. It did not shake the boat. In fact, it didn’t even really pilot the boat. Liscor had a High Command in the form of the army. The Watch Captain secured the city.

Sometimes a crisis reared its head, but you had a [Strategist] for that. The Council’s modus operandi had been ‘don’t fix what isn’t broken’, or perhaps, ‘if it still sort of works, let’s just not bother fixing it.’ And it had worked. So the people inside the room were a bit peeved that no one seemed to appreciate the hard work they hadn’t done.

The eight Drakes sitting around the meeting room were reclining on their comfy chairs, scowling at each other. They were all rich. One of them, Stales Greenscale, was the current head of the Merchant’s Guild. The others were in the same sphere of affluence. That was who comprised Liscor’s Council, and each time they changed positions, the current Council traditionally nominated their replacements.

Again, until today. The outcry of the public had forced an election. And astoundingly, not one of Liscor’s damned, the ungrateful, er, wonderfully active citizenry had thought to consult the current Council on whether they thought this was a good idea, thank-you-very-much. But here they were.

“Elections. What has this city come to?”

Councilmember Yalla spat as she took a gulp of the fortified wine. She stared blankly around the table; the other Drakes were giving her more or less the same looks. One of them, Stales, cleared his throat. Someone had to say it. The Drake [Scribe] had been standing there for three minutes. He turned to her.

“The votes have been recounted?”

“Three times, Councilmember.”

The [Scribe] gave him a very put-upon look. It stopped Stales from suggesting another recount. He hesitated.

“And you’re sure…?”

“My [Scribes] and I were checked and the [Guards] who watched everyone put the votes in were checked. And the voters were checked. We all passed truth spells, Councilmembers. These are the results.”

The female Drake pointed to the list that lay in front of all of Liscor’s Council. Stales looked down at the neat tallies and winced. Clear as day. Every vote accounted for. Winners, losers—how many each candidate had got and who had won each district. He nodded slowly.

“Hm. Thank you, Miss. We’ll send word of the…results shortly. Have someone come back in—ten minutes?”

It was too short. Some of the Council stirred and looked at Stales. He slowly sipped at his cup and wished he had a puffer—one of those nice ones you could light up and smoke. It was all the rage in the south, especially if you could light it with magic or your own fire breath. Too expensive for him to import regularly though, especially at the Council meetings. Then everyone would have to have a few.

Not that that would be a problem now. He was out. Stales smiled bitterly. But this! He looked up and met the eyes of his fellow Council. Stales cleared his throat.

“Well. It’s not…bad. Two of our own won.”

The other Drakes nodded after a moment. By ‘our own’ they meant people that they thought of more or less like themselves. Councilmember Yalla tapped the list.

“Tismel and Zalaiss. I wouldn’t have made Tismel my first choice—the fellow’s a bit indecisive. But he’s a proper Guildmaster, has been for three years. There are worse picks. And Zalaiss is one of my [Merchants]. She can keep the helm steady.”

Another Drake grunted sourly.

“She’d need to. Look at this. They won two of the eight districts and these…others won the rest!”

“To be fair, there are two other Drakes that won. Er, this Jeiss fellow and Alonna.”

“I know him. A Senior Guardsman. A bit unconventional, but it wouldn’t be so bad if they were like him. He’s a decent fellow. I was one of the people who approved his nomination for Senior Guardsman, come to that.”

“Me as well. No, no problems here. Alonna…well, she is a Guildmistress in the end. That’s something.”

“Guildmistress? But you said—”

“Mage’s Guild.”

“Oh. I see.”

Another bout of silence. Obviously, [Mages] were a bit…different. A bit odd, a bit unconventional. And Stales happened to know that Alonna was new to her position. Still, they could have happily accepted her, or even Jeiss, for all the oddity of his position but for the other four new members of the Council. He stared at the list. Someone else cleared his throat.

“Four Gnolls on the Council? Not bad at all. Just…”

He trailed off. And what was not said spoke volumes. The other Drakes nodded. Yes, not bad! Not bad, but—and there it was. No one had a problem with Gnolls! Certainly not! My son married a lovely one—I have tea with so and so every other week! They add a bit of complexity to the city! Be tiring to look at scales all day. Lovely people. A bit annoying when they shed.

But this was Liscor. Their home. And Gnolls, having an equal distribution of power in the new Council? Not to mention…Stales looked at the list and sighed.

“Senior Guardswoman. [Armorer]. [Shopkeeper]. And [Beast Tamer].”

Not one a Guild leader. Although Stales was conveniently forgetting that exactly two Gnolls in the entire city held a rank equivalent to Guildmaster. The other Drakes were nodding. One sighed louder.

“They took four districts. How? I thought that other fellow, the…er, whatshisname, ran a good campaign. I voted for him. Or rather, his candidate. I was in Tismel’s district.”

She looked around, daring the others not to nod in agreement. In fact, they’d all been in Tismel’s district, which, come to that, was probably why they’d won. Stales buried his head in one claw as he saw why the districts had led to four Gnoll candidates winning. He muttered a reply.

“The Drake who lost was…Lism. Lism Swifttail. A [Shopkeeper], yes, but he’d be the one we wanted as opposed to this Krshia Silverfang and her lot. But he lost.”

The others fell silent.

“If he had won—”

Yalla leaned over towards Stales. She’d crumpled her bit of paper up, never mind it was a waste of good paper.

“How much did he lose by?”

“Not much. But he lost, Yalla.”

Stales snapped, shoving the paper at her. Yalla raised her brows.

“So?”

“So—”

Stales hesitated. Yalla looked around the table. The rest of Liscor’s Council sat up. Yalla narrowed her eyes.

“It’s just a number. And who knows who won, really? Just us and a few others?”

Silence. Liscor’s Council had not been looking forwards to posting the results of the election. They’d let it happen because they hadn’t figured out a way to stop it without getting in trouble. And they’d delayed their announcement because, well, they were unhappy with the results. Until now, they’d been doing what the Council did best: avoiding the problem. But now that they’d run into it, a few desperate minds started churning away.

Another Councilmember leaned back. He didn’t quite steeple his claws or give the others a conspiratorial look, but that was mostly due to inexperience. He slowly put out the thought everyone was thinking.

“How many [Scribes] did the counting?”

“Not many. But I’ll bet they all know the result.”

Stales nodded. He spoke, trying to feel out his thoughts verbally.

“We could…insist this was a Council affair. Persuade them to keep quiet.”

“Under threat?”

Silence. Everyone was trying to look at everyone now, for signs of doubt. No one was particularly adverse to the concept, it seemed. The plot began to thicken. Stales frowned.

“Right. But what are we threatening them with, exactly? The Watch?”

—And then it fell apart. The Councilmembers paused. They looked at each other, coughed. Somehow, getting Watch Captain Zevara to go along with threatening the [Scribes] didn’t quite…gel.

“If we made it a general threat…I mean, the Merchant’s Guild has guards, Stales.”

“Wait, my guards? But they voted!”

“Well, what if they were all Drakes who voted er, for the right candidates?”

“Okay, But what if the [Scribes] talk anyways?”

“We deny it. Obviously! And we burn the votes and these lists! Look, I have a match—”

“Careful where you wave that thing! I accidentally set my desk on fire with them!”

“Nifty, aren’t they! Shame they run out. But as I was saying, deny it! Simple!”

“What if they ask us to swear under truth spell?”

The Council paused. One of them coughed after a moment.

“…They wouldn’t do that. Would they?”

The Drakes thought about it for a second. Gloom immediately set in. They would absolutely do that. The losing party would howl it from the rooftops if the Council didn’t do it—purely as a formality—to ensure the truth had been upheld. The Council looked at each other and the half-burgeoned plot, barely formed, fell apart.

They were too late. If they wanted to meddle, they should have done it earlier. They should have been better at it. But they weren’t [Politicians]. This was a side job! It was just—Stales sighed.

“Four Gnolls? Two would have been fine. Really, even three…”

Gloomily, he stared at the list. You could even see who the most popular candidates were by numbers of votes. Krshia Silverfang had won, handily, but honestly, if you just looked at the numbers, there were more Drakes than…he caught his breath.

“I suppose we make the announcement. Soonest done, soonest over. We’ll convene the Council tomorrow. Try to get it into their heads how it works. And then? Out of our claws, really. And that’s a relief! This year has done havoc to my scales with all the stress…”

Yalla was standing up with the others, resigned. Stales waved a claw urgently and they all looked at him.

“Hold on! Hold on! I have a solution. Look at this. If you look at the list—”

“We can’t lie, Stales. They’ll find us out!”

The Merchant’s Guild’s leader shook his head rapidly, a bubble of delight forming in his chest. It wasn’t perfect, but it would work. He looked up, grinning at the other’s blank expressions.

“Who said anything about lying? This is perfectly legal! Look! Check the number of votes each candidate received. Do you see? Do you see?”

They scrambled for the lists. And they did see. There was murmuring, a hint of dissent. Stales overruled it.

“We said we’d consider the election. We didn’t say we’d do it. Did we?”

The Council looked up. Yalla hesitated, although Stales was sure she’d agree.

“We’d have to explain the decision somehow. If it goes ugly…if the losers object—it could be bad.”

The Council fell silent. The worst case scenario popped helpfully into Stales’ mind. What would happen if the people objected to this idea?

Riots in the streets. He gulped. The Drake wavered. He looked at the list, trying to decide.

“Four Gnolls on the Council. We could live with that. It’s not a majority.”

“But it’s half. And they could push through a lot of votes, especially since it’d be down to Zevara…”

“Two would be perfect.”

“It’s risky…”

Yalla looked around the table.

“If we did it this way…what is it this time?”

“Three.”

“Three’s good. And it works! No one’s going to riot. And we never promised.”

“Exactly. So, all in favor?”

The Council of Liscor looked up. And they cast their last vote. It was unanimous. And they only felt a little guilty doing it.

—-

It was late evening in Liscor. Election day. There was a crowd outside city hall. Thousands of Drakes and Gnolls, filling the plaza and going all the way up to the steps. A line of [Guards] kept anyone from entering. Erin Solstice stood near the front, peering on her tiptoes while Lyonette held Mrsha in her arms.

“You’re heavy, sweetie. If I’d have known it would take this long, I’d have brought a chair. Climb up and hold on, would you?”

Lyonette groaned to Mrsha. The Gnoll cub obligingly held onto Lyonette’s shoulders, taking the burden off the [Princess]’s arms. Erin glanced sideways at Lyonette. She was antsy with anticipation and nerves.

“Why not let Mrsha down?”

“And let her be stepped on?”

Lyonette looked reproving. The crowd was thick with bodies. Erin hesitated.

“Right. Well, I can hold her—”

“No, I have her. It’s good training for my arms, anyways. Although Mrsha’s a lot heavier than a sword.”

Erin blinked.

“You still practice?”

“Every day. Some days I forget, but I do try! Yvlon’s mentoring me.”

“Huh. How come I never notice this?”

“I do it in Liscor. Anyone can use the Adventurer’s Guild’s training courts.”

“Oh. That’s why you take so long to buy eggs.”

It was idle chatter. And their voices were one in thousands of conversations. Mrsha sighed and rubbed her face against Lyonette’s shirt, making an inarticulate sound of protest. Lyonette patted her on the head.

“Just a bit longer, honey. I promise. If they don’t finish in…twenty minutes, I’ll buy you a snack. Promise! But it’s a big day.”

Mrsha nodded. And Erin nodded. And everyone in earshot nodded. It was worth waiting for. Because everyone was here, or waiting for the news. Street Runners were poised to earn some tips delivering the message. Voters were ready to celebrate or maybe, riot.

Erin cast her gaze towards city hall’s steps. There they were at the head of the crowd. The main actors in this drama.

Krshia, Senior Guardswoman Beilmark, Elirr the [Beast Trainer], Raekea the [Armorer], and the other four Gnolls stood together in an anxious knot at the head of the crowd. Selys stood behind them, anxiously hopping up and down to see past the taller Gnolls.

Across from them, alternating between staring at the double doors and glaring daggers at Krshia’s side were Lism, Senior Guardsman Jeiss, Alonna the Guildmistress of the Mage’s Guild, and two Drakes and three Gnolls. Olesm stood next to his uncle, not a candidate, but a part of it all. Erin glared at the back of his head and he winced, as if feeling her stare.

“If that jerk Lism wins, I swear, Olesm’s banned from the inn.”

She wasn’t sure if she was serious. And she wasn’t sure what she would feel if Krshia lost. Erin clenched her sweaty hands. And then, just when she was turning to Lyonette to suggest getting Mrsha a snack—the doors opened.

The murmuring crowd went so quiet, it was as if someone had cast a [Silence] spell over them. It caught the eight Drakes off-guard. They paused, staring at the sea of faces.

It was, perhaps, one of the few times Liscor’s Council had ever been at the center of so much attention. Nervously, they came out, stopping just behind the line of [Guards] who obligingly made way for them. Then reformed as the Councilmembers hurriedly waved them back into place. Erin heard a voice, murmuring, and then someone cast a spell.

The voice that boomed across the plaza came from Stales Greenscale. Not that even a third of the crowd knew his name. He coughed, heard the echo and winced, and spoke.

“Excuse me. Good evening. Liscor’s Council has tallied the votes for this year’s election which will replace the current Council with a…democratically elected group of eight for the next two years. The votes have been checked and verified by magical spell, so I am pleased to announce total authenticity of the results!”

He waited. If it was for applause, it never came. Stales hesitated and then went on, tripping over his words.

“So, therefore, I’m pleased…again…to announce the results of the election!”

Another pause. There was some half-hearted applause. Someone shouted.

“Get on with it!”

Liscor’s Council turned and glared at Relc. The [Guardsman] pretended to be scanning the crowd for the shouter. Grudgingly, feeling as if there should have been…drums…yes, perhaps drums, or trumpets, Stales went on.

“Ahem. People of Liscor! By popular vote, we are pleased to announce the new Council is…”

In the crowd, Lyonette’s head rose and she narrowed her eyes with the senses of a [Princess] sensing a trap. Erin just looked blank.

“Popular—? Why’d he say—”

But then the words came, overriding the confusion.

“Raekea Silversmith, Elirr Fultpar, Krshia Silverfang—”

The roar of sound deafened Erin and made the Council flinch backwards. Gnolls were leaping for joy, literally! The Drakes in Lism’s camp were shouting—he was sagging against his nephew, and Selys was punching the air. Krshia was laughing, beaming as the other Gnolls hugged each other—

“—and Lism Swifttail, Alonna Swiftwing, Jeiss Sielmark, Tismel Lischscale, and Zalaiss Holmfyre!”

The noise of the celebrating crowd suddenly went still. Heads turned back to the stairs. Erin blinked.

“What? What did he say?”

Her words were echoed through the crowd. People were murmuring, staring.

“What? But some of them were running in the same district!”

“Lism and Krshia? What?”

Stales spoke up, his voice carrying across the plaza. The [Merchant] beamed at the staring crowd, sweating as he clasped his claws behind his back.

“The Council has decided to choose the most popular candidates to take the Council seats! No official backing was ever given to the proposed districts! Thus, this was deemed the fairest and most equitable distribution of seats! Based on the popular vote! Congratulations to the new Council!”

No one applauded. No one even moved. Stales’ smile faded. He hesitated. Councilmember Yalla stepped forwards.

“Thank you! You may disperse!”

Obviously, no one did. Okay, some of the Antinium Workers and Painted Soldiers gathered around Yellow Splatters to one side where he and Klbkch were watching began to walk off, but he called them back. And everyone else was still. Liscor’s Council held their breath. Erin exhaled hers. She looked at Lyonette, indignant.

“They can’t do that! That’s cheating!”

“They just did. It’s clever. And the only move they could make. It might be bad, though. Let’s get to the inn, Erin.”

Lyonette looked around. Erin was blank.

“Why? What’s…”

And then she sensed it. [Innkeepers] might not have been [Princesses], who had a healthy fear of mobs and an understanding of mob mentality, but the class was similar enough. Erin could sense and hear the confusion of the people around her. Silently, she pointed and she and Lyonette tried to move through the crowd, Mrsha clinging to Lyonette. And around her, people began muttering.

“Krshia and Lism?”

“Three Gnolls.”

“Not by district? Then—who won each district?”

“Three versus five.”

“Who’s this Tismel guy?”

“Northwest side. Silvershine street and that area. Lots of [Merchants] living there.”

“Oh.”

“Popular vote? But the election was by district!”

The crowd murmured. They weren’t sure how to feel. Was this a good thing or a bad thing? However, some of the people in the crowd, those who had voted for candidates who’d lost, like Beilmark, knew exactly how they felt. And like magnets in a sea of iron, they began polarizing everyone.

“Hey! I bet Gnolls took more than three districts! That’s why the Council made it a popular vote!”

“What? You’re insane.”

“Oh yeah? Why did Lism win and Krshia?”

“Maybe because he was the better candidate, you egg-sucking lizard!”

“Who said that? Who said that?”

Confusion turned to anger. The Council took one look at the crowd and retreated further behind the line of worried [Guards]. Relc started cracking his knuckles, looking happy.

“Everyone stay calm! Disperse! This is an order!”

And Councilwoman Yalla was only fanning the flames. Drakes and Gnolls began shouting questions at the Council. Some began picking fights in the crowd, doing the traditional foreplay to the actual fight in getting angry enough to take a swing at each other.

The audience was turning into a powder keg. Krshia looked around. Lism was already shouting at his supporters not to do anything rash—just yet! But into that moment anything could trigger the detonation. And that one thing came from the Human who would have been voted most likely to do just that. But she was also fairly good at what she did.

“We won!”

A voice exploded from the crowd. Erin shouted it, her [Loud Voice] skill drowning out an order from Councilwoman Yalla for the [Guards] to disperse the crowd. The [Innkeeper] waved her arms, shouting for attention.

“We did it! Krshia! Hey, Krshia! We won!”

Erin smiled around, beaming as if she couldn’t see the angry faces. She threw up her hands and did a little dance with Lyonette and Mrsha next to her.

“We did it! Lyonette, Mrsha! Selys! You won! We did it! Huzzah!”

She ran around in a circle, forcing people back. And then Erin turned. She tried to do a cartwheel and fell over.

“Ow! Lyonette, you do a cartwheel! Mrsha! Aren’t you proud! There are Gnolls on the Council!”

She grabbed Mrsha and tossed the Gnoll cub up. Mrsha stared at her. But then—she smiled. The Gnoll nodded. Erin caught her and looked around.

“We did it. Krshia won! And so did Raekea and Elirr! Mr. Cat-Gnoll Guy is on the Council!”

“Mister Cat Gnoll Guy?”

It was hard to throw a punch after hearing a line like that. And some people began to smile. Gnolls were nodding as Erin put Mrsha down. Yes. They had done it, hadn’t they? Forget numbers. There was a Gnoll, no, Gnolls on the Council.

And in the space she’d made, Erin smiled. Genuinely, shaking hands with Gnolls around her, and Drakes. Asking who they’d voted for.

“Did your guy win? No? Sorry! But hey, you voted! And that’s what counts! Who’d you vote for? Krshia? No way! Me? I can’t vote. Hey Mrsha, do a cartwheel!”

Laughing, she helped Mrsha do one, holding her stomach. And someone else did one, an older Gnoll, laughing with delight. Erin blinked at the woman, but then Gnolls were laughing, bounding forwards with commendable agility despite their age. And the Drakes began smiling too.

The tension in the crowd dissipated like static grounding itself amid genuine relief, happiness. It was over. You could cry foul, but was that a mature thing to do? People began shaking hands, smiling. The Gnoll who called one Drake an ‘egg-sucking lizard’ got punched in the face. But by and large, the anger was fading.

Erin breathed a sigh of relief. So did Liscor’s now-former Council. Relc just sighed and stared at his fist. Erin looked around and saw a group making their way towards her.

“Krshia!”

Everyone turned. Erin raised a hand and was engulfed in a huge hug. Krshia growled with delight, crushing Erin and laughing. Elirr swept Mrsha up and Lyonette smiled as Selys appeared, ruffling Mrsha’s fur. Erin was released finally and gasped for air, laughing. She looked up and Krshia was smiling at her.

“Miss Erin, you have helped us do it. We have won.”

“Yeah. Yeah! I mean…”

Erin’s face fell. She looked at the Council, tiptoeing back through the doors of city hall. Krshia smiled, and there was some reserve there.

“Yes. It seems it was not all it could have been, yes? But you said what was true. We won.”

Erin nodded. She wasn’t as happy as she’d acted; like Krshia, she felt stung by the ending. Even so—she waved at the crowd.

“I wasn’t about to let them start punching each other. Mrsha’s here. So. What happens now?”

The Gnoll [Shopkeeper] blinked at her. Then she looked around. Everyone was staring at her. Selys, Elirr, Raekea, Beilmark—and Krshia’s look of surprise told Erin she had no idea. But it only lasted a moment. Then she turned and beamed at Erin.

“We have a party at your inn, of course! We have some gold remaining from the funds—let us celebrate! And tomorrow—tomorrow, we shall see what being on the Council is.”

“Yeah.”

Erin smiled. Then she turned and waved.

“Alright! Celebration at my inn! First drink’s free!”

And the cheer to that came from everyone but Lyonette. People began leaving the plaza, exclaiming, hurrying to tell the news, upset or vindicated or looking for that drink. It didn’t matter. The results were the results and no one was going to burn down the city hall looking to change it. History had been made and the winners—

Krshia. Elirr. Raekea. The Gnoll [Armorer] looked dumbfounded by her position.

“Me. A Councilmember. I can’t believe it. I hammer metal. What will happen to my business?”

Elirr laughed, his grey fur blowing in a faint breeze as he carried Mrsha back towards the inn.

“You should have thought of that when you ran, Raekea!”

“Yes, but I didn’t really think I’d…I mean, I hoped, but—a Councilmember?”

The Gnoll smiled with delight and amazement, shaking her head. On the other side of the square, Olesm turned to his uncle. Lism was smiling, albeit with the same reserve Krshia had had. Olesm paused.

“Congratulations, Uncle.”

“Thank you, my boy. I think…no, thank you. We couldn’t have done it without you. I’m a Councilmember. I never thought I’d see the day. Me. A [Shopkeeper] on Liscor’s…”

Lism trailed off. Olesm blinked. There were tears in Lism’s eyes. The Drake turned and looked back at city hall. Then he wiped the tears away, turned back briskly to Olesm.

“Ancestors! We need to celebrate! Everyone, to the Tailless Thief! Peslas will have to open his stores for all of us! Where’s Wing Commander Embria? We have to talk! And—Jeiss! Alonna! Where are the other Councilmembers? We need to make a speech to all these people who helped us get this far! And—dead gods, I’ll have to share the Council with Silverfang?”

Lism uttered an oath. Olesm hesitated. He forbore pointing out that but for the Council, it was likely that Lism wouldn’t have been elected at all. His emotions were too mixed to let him celebrate. But he relaxed as he saw his uncle’s happiness.

The Drakes were celebrating, not as exuberantly as the Gnolls—it was hardly a landmark victory for them—but with good cheer nonetheless. Especially the ones who’d voted for Senior Guardsman Jeiss. The Drake was in the center of backslaps, handshakes, and a few unsolicited hugs. He was turning, smiling, when a furry paw reached out and people paused.

“Congratulations, Jeiss.”

Senior Guardswoman Beilmark, his partner and opponent—if not by district, then by party, looked at Jeiss. He froze.

“Beilmark. I…”

The two partners regarded each other for a moment. Jeiss bit his tongue. But it was Beilmark who smiled and shrugged slightly.

“You won, and I didn’t. I’m partners with a Councilmember now. Which means I’ll let you do all the paperwork, yes?”

Jeiss paused. And then he laughed. He reached out and they shook hands. The crowd sighed, and the two nodded to each other. If they had more they wanted to say, well, they’d do it later. Like adults.

—-

“We won! We won! Celebration! Get the cake! Get the ice cream! Party!”

In her inn, Erin Solstice jumped on a table and the room erupted into cheers. Drassi was besieged at her bar, and the staff were taking orders like there was no tomorrow. The inn was heaving, Erin was beaming as she turned to Klbkch, who had come in with Yellow Splatters and Pawn—

But the story wasn’t about her. Tonight’s story was about the victors. Krshia could hardly drink but for all the people coming up to her, whom she thanked, or who wanted to ask when she’d do what she’d promised on the Council, or perhaps would she consider…? Elirr was similarly besieged, although Moore and Mrsha were keeping the worst at bay, Moore by his presence shielding the Gnoll, Mrsha by waving a fork when the crowd got too thick.

Raekea had disappeared with her husband, and the other Gnolls who hadn’t won were either getting drunk or joining the celebration, dancing, eating, or just talking. It was a night to remember. Which made it somewhat ironic that Erin found Selys sitting alone by the bar. The Drake had won, and she’d been an instrumental part of the victory. But it was the Gnoll’s night.

“Hey good looking! Mind if I buy you a drink?”

Erin slid into the seat next to Selys. The Drake stared at her.

“That’s the worst—no, wait, Hawk and Relc are worse. But that’s pretty bad, Erin.”

The young woman grinned and Selys edged her stool over. The two sat together and Drassi slid Erin a drink, Rufelt-style across the bar. She missed. Erin sighed. But the shattered cup reformed itself on the ground! The drink did not, and a shamefaced Drassi went over to refill it.

“Sorry.”

Erin looked at Selys, smiling. The Drake shrugged.

“Hey, work on it.”

“I mean, sorry that the Council were jerks. Do you think the Gnolls won more than three seats?”

“Honestly, Erin? I’d bet every gold piece on it. They’re all Drakes and…well, let’s just say I don’t think they wanted to help Krshia’s side. Maybe we took four seats. Or…five? Either way, it’s done. Krshia can argue against it, but the Council does get to choose! I guess. Maybe if there’d been a riot—”

“Sorry. But Mrsha was there.”

“Yeah. No, I think it’s fine. I mean, I wasn’t running. I’m just worried…”

“…That you don’t have enough seats?”

Erin looked worried. Selys nodded. She gestured at Krshia, who was toasting with a group of Gnolls.

“Krshia will obviously have to figure it out, but it’s three to five if you’re just going by species. And all the Drakes who were elected were in Lism’s camp. Well, more or less.”

“Which means they’ll vote against letting the Antinium help?”

Erin’s face fell. Selys paused.

“Probably. Maybe? I don’t know this Tismel and Zalaiss too well. They’re both wealthy, though; safe picks in their districts which is probably why they won their votes. Tismel’s head of the Cobbler’s Guild, and Zalaiss is a [Merchant] in the guild. Safe picks. But they’re both in Lism’s party. Jeiss and Alonna are actual friends of his, though. Either way, they’ll probably be against some of Krshia’s ideas. It’s—I don’t know, Erin. She’ll have to figure it out. I’m just a bit worried.”

The [Receptionist] sighed. Erin nodded. Then she paused as Drassi came back with her drink.

“[Cobblers] have a guild?”

“Of course they do, Erin. With two different species’ worth of feet in Liscor? I bet he doesn’t even make shoes anymore. He’s probably rich. And see, that’s the problem. There’s no way Tismel will be on Krshia’s side, right? So if Lism just overrules her, what was the point of all this? Did the Council steal a seat? Two seats?”

The Drake gripped her glass tightly, frustrated. Erin hesitated.

“But you did win, Selys. Be happy about that.”

She gestured at the inn. Selys just shook her head. Then she turned to look Erin in the eye.

“I don’t know. Did we win? Can we win if it’s not complete, Erin? If it’s just a little victory? How can I feel good about it when I know—we deserved more? We did, and they cheated.”

She had tears in her eyes from the pure frustration of it. Erin paused. And she took a long drink from her mug before replying slowly. She looked around the inn, at all the faces, at Numbtongue poking his head down the stairs and deciding to go back to his room, at Ceria making ice cubes, Yellow Splatters heading up with a small keg Erin had given him from the bar, Ishkr smiling as he went round the tables—and she smiled too.

“It wasn’t fair. And you can be mad. But tonight, Selys? Be happy. Because there wasn’t a Gnoll on Liscor’s Council yesterday. Tomorrow, there will be.”

She looked at the Drake. The [Heiress] paused. Then she looked up. She slowly raised her class and clinked it against Erin’s. And then Selys smiled.

“You’re right about that.”

She drank her cup down, ordered a Firebreath Whiskey, drank it, and kept smiling. Then she went to go cuddle Mrsha. Erin sighed. She took a sip of her drink at the bar and let the alcohol sting her mouth for a moment. Then she turned off her [Immunity: Alcohol] Skill.  She sighed as she flushed with a bit of heat, and then raised her cup. She beamed at Lyonette, who’d come over.

“To victory! Now, let’s go tell everyone in Pallass the good news!”

The [Princess] smiled.

“Okay, Erin. You get to break the news. But then?”

“Yeah?”

Erin twinkled at her. Lyonette beamed back.

“You’re getting in the kitchen. We need more food.”

“Aw. But—but it’s a celebration.”

“Yup. Now, get cooking.”

The [Innkeeper]’s face fell. She sighed, looked around, and muttered as she finished her drink.

“I really need to hire a [Cook]. I wonder if Garry’s free?”

—-

The party that engulfed Liscor that night was an event in itself. From Erin’s inn outside the city to the rest of it, there was drinking and delight, mayhem, a bit of madness, and happiness and sadness. Triumph and defeat, however fairly done.

But it was done. You could argue about the ethics of it all you wanted, but the legalese of it was that Liscor’s Council had made their decision and since no law actually decided the election process outside of their nomination of the candidates, it was all within the boundary of the law.

And it would be a fight uphill and downhill with a Rock Crab on your back to get the new Council to declare itself invalid. Especially because they were the only body who could do so, short of the High Command appearing outside of Liscor’s gates or a mob essentially overturning the government. Best to take the victory where you could and save your energy for another battle.

That was what Krshia and her supporters had reluctantly decided last night, and the former Council had heaved a sigh of relief when they heard it. The next day, everyone had a late day of it. People got back to work. Market Street finally unclogged of the persistent rallies and people got back to work. After all, the elections were done. And that day, the new Council met in Liscor’s city hall.

With the old one. It was a strange gathering, with eight Drakes sitting in chairs around the rounded conference table where the new Council sat. Especially because of how at odds they had been just a day ago.

There they sat, three Gnolls on one quadrant, Krshia, Elirr, and Raekea, and Lism exactly opposite Krshia, flanked by Jeiss and Alonna, with Tismel and Zalaiss occupying a safety wall between them. Krshia and Lism kept avoiding each other’s gaze—and then giving each other death-glares.

The former Council found it all quite amusing. Half of them were still somewhat drunk, Stales included. He felt a huge weight off his shoulders! He was done! And yes, the new Council wasn’t ideal, but they had to deal with dungeons and headaches about monsters and a war with the Humans! He felt ten years younger. The first thing he’d do now—

But there was one last thing to do. Reluctantly, the Drake pulled himself upright and coughed. Everyone in the room looked at him and Stales smiled cheerfully.

“Good morning everyone! I’m please, delighted, to welcome you all to your new positions!”

“We’re honored, Councilmember—erm, I mean, Guildmaster Greenscale.”

Tismel immediately ducked his head quite deferentially, and the Gnolls and Drakes all nodded. Stales grinned happily. Yes, this wasn’t so bad, was it? He’d feared the worse, but it had all worked out for the best. They might be Gnolls and Drakes now, but this Council would work just as well as the old one.

“Delighted, delighted, thank you, Guildmaster—no, pardon me, Councilmember Tismel. I’m sure you’re all ecstatic over winning the election. Now, I think you won’t see the rest of us, the former Council, unless you’ve need of advice—but it’s customary for the old Council to sit in on the new Council’s first meeting. Sometimes second or third if things have difficulty starting up.”

Stales was rewarded by a look of apprehension among the new Council. Yes, there they all were. New to the job and wet behind the…earholes. He remembered what it was like. And the old Council had seemed so wise! He suppressed a smirk as he looked at Yalla and the others and saw the same knowing expression on their faces. Lism coughed. He’d been staring around the rich room in between glaring at Krshia.

“Now we’re here. It feels rather…odd. We won the election. But the process of leading a city—”

He hesitated. Krshia made a sound in her throat and fidgeted in her chair. Elirr scratched at one arm. Raekea patted the belt buckle her husband had fashioned for her. Jeiss leaned back in his chair and Alonna rubbed her claws together, generating a magical spark. Tismel and Zalaiss looked at the old Council apprehensively.

Yes, that was the thing. They’d spent so long campaigning that none of them had ever stopped to think about how to run a city! Stales tsked internally. It wasn’t all fun and games, was it? He decided to show a bit of mercy and smiled.

“First things first! Please, direct your attention to the most important thing you’ll encounter today!”

He pointed to the far wall. Apprehensively, the Drakes and Gnolls turned. Stales beamed as he got up and strode over to the table. There was a pause. Jeiss frowned.

“Are those…?”

“Snacks! Please, help yourself. They’re very fine. They come by way of Invrisil. A Council meeting cannot run without snacks. We always have some sent up, although you’ll have to find your own sources. Candied nuts, anyone? I broke out the last of our stash.”

“Ooh, Stales. You [Rogue]! You’ve been holding out on us!”

Yalla exclaimed. She and the old Council got up and immediately began circulating the table, quarreling good-naturedly over the treats, which ranged from candied snacks to delicate little deviled eggs—goose, thank you, not chicken—filled with a poignant filling. The properly rich stuff; Stales wanted to treat the new Council. He noticed they weren’t getting up. Ah, yes, first-day jitters. He waved them over then decided they’d eat when they relaxed. After a bit, Jeiss got up and snagged a few items, along with Tismel and Zalaiss. When they were all seated, Stales went on.

“Now that’s settled. I suppose, we’d better get to the actual work of the day.”

The rest of the old Council groaned good-naturedly, but they put on a good face as former Councilmember Yalla rang the bell. All the Gnoll’s ears perked up and they looked towards the door exactly as it opened. Handy, that. Stales saw the Drake who’d been waiting on standby bustle into the room.

Olesm Swifttail’s first view of the room as he hurried in with his scrolls of parchment and stack of reports was eerily familiar. He’d forgotten the old Council would be there, so twice as many people in the room gave him a moment’s pause. But he’d done this for the last Council, so he bowed once, and then his eyes went to Lism’s face. The Drake [Shopkeeper] looked astonished, and then delighted.

“Councilmembers, good day to you. I am Olesm Swifttail. You may have met me before, but in this moment I’m acting in my capacity as [Strategist] of Liscor. I welcome you to your positions—”

“Young Swifttail is our [Strategist]. He delivers all our information and gives the morning briefing. He’s also the one who you’ll see the most of; I imagine Watch Captain Zevara might be here later as well, but Olesm is the one who handles most affairs.”

With dreadful timing and a poor whisper, Stales leaned over to confide in Lism. Olesm paused and Lism harrumphed proudly.

“Of course! A [Strategist] to the Council. He never told me he gives daily reports!”

“Told you? My word, you’re his uncle, aren’t you? I’d forgotten! And it’s hardly daily—it’s whenever we meet.”

Yalla leaned over, smiling at Lism. The [Shopkeeper] looked proudly at Olesm and the [Strategist] groaned. This could be terribly awkward. He cleared his throat, trying not to meet Krshia’s gaze. Or any of the Gnolls’. Oh yes, this could be a lot worse than he’d imagined.

“May I continue, Councilmembers?”

“Oh, very wel—”

Stales’ familiar, tired wave was cut off by Lism sitting upright in his chair. The [Shopkeeper] smiled widely.

“Of course! Go on, Nephew, er—I mean, [Strategist] Olesm.”

Lism beamed at Olesm. The [Strategist] cringed inwardly for only a moment before adopting his friendly, helpful expression and tone. He circulated the table, relieved that he always brought a number of copies so he could divide the reports among both former and new Council.

The old Council glanced over the reports and almost instantly passed it to the new Council, who began reading as they listened attentively. Stales smiled as he listened to Olesm, and then observing the new Council’s feverish attention. Hadn’t he been like that? Oh yes, they’d learn all right.

Olesm began with his rehearsed speech, the one he’d given to two Councils before this one. Well, one and a half since he’d taken over halfway through.

“Councilmembers, I traditionally begin each meeting with a small briefing if necessary. I’ll proceed as if the old Council were in session, ah, with your permission?”

“Go ahead! What’s the latest gossip this time?”

One of the old Councilmembers called out. Olesm hesitated, but went on as the new Council hesitated.

“Well then, my first piece of news is that it is more or less confirmed that Manus’ covert operation against the north has been a success. I have the report summarized in front of you, but the damages to Human lands are estimated at—”

“Wait. Manus did what?”

Raekea yelped as she finally caught up to Olesm. She stared at the parchment in horror. The old Council chuckled knowingly as Lism and the new Council sat up.

“There’s been an attack on the north, Olesm? When? Where?”

Krshia’s eyes flickered across the parchment. Olesm raised is claws hurriedly.

“Not an attack? Or rather, it’s not an act of direct war. I’m sorry, I should have prefaced this. Manus ordered dozens of its [Infiltrators] and [Saboteurs] to head north and cause havoc among Human lands. They started fires, engaged in covert assassinations of high-level targets, spread illnesses or simply sowed dissent—”

“I never heard of this! When was this?”

Guildmistress Alonna looked up sharply. The Drake [Mage] stared at Olesm. He winced.

“About one week ago was when I heard rumors of it, Councilmember. And I received confirmation—of sorts—only today. Please understand, all the information you hear here is classified. Not to be repeated as gossip.”

He looked pointedly at Stales and the old Council, who avoided his gaze. Yalla leaned over conspiratorially.

“You can be sure it’s accurate, too. Strategist Olesm is quite informative at these little updates. I will miss them.”

“How do you know this happened? I have people I talk to, but they do not mention an attack. There was talk of a drought and unseasonable weather, but an attack?”

Krshia demanded, looking up at Olesm sharply. He coughed, a bit proud at how astonished she looked.

“Your sources might relay that it was an attack, Krsh—Councilmember, or they might not. Think of me as a fact-checker with a bit more insight into current events. I have access to several lines of communication that allow me to make inferences, and I’m well-versed in Drake strategy. No doubt a lot of the attacks will be news or gossip, although it may be downplayed. Some of the events were quite large.”

“Wildfires. Lightning attacks. A Drake assassinating Humans on their land? How can this be rumor and gossip?”

Elirr’s fur stood up as he read the report. He looked up. Olesm shrugged.

“I don’t think the nobility will want to disclose the findings. But let me explain from the beginning. This is what I’ve put together, and the report isn’t wholly accurate, but—”

“It is reliable?”

Lism looked up quietly. He was reading the report, tracing each line with a claw. Olesm nodded solemnly.

“All the Drake cities get news updates from the other cities and any [Strategist] has their…sources, Uncle—I mean, Councilmember Lism! I’m not in touch with all the minutiae of what’s happening, but I do pick up on the big things. So, from the start.”

He took a deep breath. This time both old and new Councilmembers listened attentively.

“There’s been a lot of public chatter on the subject. The long of it is that Manus has launched several attacks on lands owned by the [Lords] and [Ladies] who participated in the siege of Liscor. Lord Tyrion Veltras, Lady Ieka Imarris, Lord Pellmia, Lord Gralton Radivaek…I have a list in front of you as well as estimated damages.”

“A heavy toll. Serves them right!”

Stales remarked with deep satisfaction. Krshia gave Raekea and Elirr a disturbed look. Lism was biting one lip. Jeiss raised a claw.

“How do you know it was Manus, Olesm? Er, Strategist?”

Olesm paused.

“Well, firstly, the nobles managed to fight off the attack and kill or wound some of the assailants. When they demanded an explanation from the Walled Cities, Manus, ah, replied to the allegations by claiming that the reports of Drakes were probably ‘unusually active Wyverns migrating north’. That’s a code. That means they sent True Oldbloods to launch the attacks. My estimates are that most returned safely, but there were about one in six casualties.”

There was a good-natured groan from the old Council. The new one just looked shocked.

“And they did all this without anyone knowing? Those are powerful nobles they attacked! Why were they not spotted?”

Alonna demanded. Olesm shrugged.

“Manus has a number of agents, Councilmember Alonna. They’re quite skilled and the Walled City can supply them with artifacts. If they’d tried to enter a populated city through the gates, they’d have been caught, but they worked from a distance. As it was, some of the nobles managed to fight off the attacks. As did the rumored [Emperor]…”

“[Emperor]? You mean, that’s not just rumors?”

Olesm took a deep breath. He’d forgotten how it worked. The new Council always had questions. He patiently explained the rumors about Laken Godart, and then gave everyone a summary of the factions supporting Tyrion Veltras—and the split between him and Magnolia Reinhart during the siege. He’d forgotten they hadn’t listened to the reports the old Council had. And the new Council was refreshingly serious; the old one kept eating, rolling their eyes at the explanations Olesm had hammered into their heads.

“All of this, and for what? Liscor? They never even got to the city in time, but they’re launching an attack that might have repercussions for us. Were we even consulted?”

Lism muttered angrily. Krshia was frowning too, looking worried. Olesm could only shrug, but Stales waved a claw.

“The Walled Cities take their own action, Councilmember Lism. Don’t worry. The main thing to ask is this. Strategist Olesm. Will it affect Liscor?”

“Well…no. Not immediately. I predict that the Humans will take offense and maybe seek to retaliate via sanctions or covert action of their own. Maybe hire [Pirates] or mercenaries or so on. But after Magnolia Reinhart’s schism with the other nobility, there’s not enough political consensus or will to launch a second attack, much less unprovoked.”

The new Council sighed in relief. The old one sat back, unconcerned.

“There. You see? It’s just news. No need to worry. This is usually just good for gossip—”

Stales hesitated as Olesm glared at him.

“—among family and personal friends. Highly confidential, of course.”

“I…see. Go on, then, Olesm.”

Krshia exchanged a glance with Elirr as Lism waved his nephew on. Her mind was already spinning. She’d had some idea that Liscor’s Council was well-informed, but this? She was wondering if she really had what it took to be on this Council. Let alone run a city. She listened as Olesm went on, trying to suppress the butterflies in her stomach.

“Let’s see…the army has concluded its defense contract with Oteslia and is moving west. They may be looking for work around Fissival—there’s a standing dispute between the cities of Grailhess and Veish that they might want to seek out, although both cities have fairly powerful armies, so the High Command may prefer work fighting against the Gnoll tribes in the plains. There has been a number of incidents between Gnoll tribes and Drake cities of late—”

“One tribe.”

Raekea muttered that. Olesm paused.

“Excuse me? Um, Councilmember Raekea?”

The Gnoll [Armorer] glanced up. Raekea hesitated, but Krshia and Elirr were nodding. Elirr broke in, growling softly.

“It’s the Woven Bladegrass tribe. Not tribes. Their new Chieftain is young and she’s fought against Drakes before. Her tribe is good at fighting too.”

Everyone blinked at the Gnolls. Krshia looked around, eyebrows raised.

“That is common knowledge, yes? Among Gnolls.”

She looked at Olesm for confirmation. He half-nodded and glanced at his parchment.

“I had no idea. I mean, yes, the incidents would make sense if it was a single tribe. Woven Bladegrass? Let me make a note…ah, ahem. I bring it up as a matter of security. Obviously some of this doesn’t affect Liscor, but it could lead to a larger conflict.”

“It might.”

Raekea looked darkly at Krshia. The Gnoll nodded, but raised a furry finger. Now wasn’t the time for Gnollish politics. Olesm continued, a bit off-kilter.

“Well, aside from the war with Tiqr, I have no notable news of immediate concern for the Council. As I’m sure you’ve heard, several nations from Chandrar have launched an attack on the King of Destruction’s allies, including the nation of Tiqr. The fighting has gone on for weeks now, and Tiqr has been forced back and back. They’ve held on well, but my estimate is that they’ll fall within the week if the King of Destruction doesn’t act in some way, which would violate his pledge not to do so. Er, that’s about it.”

He looked at Stales. The former Councilman nodded.

“The daily briefing is always about issues that concern Liscor as a whole. Apparently the King of Destruction is always pertinent news, which makes sense, I suppose. But the wretched fellow hasn’t done anything but conquer, one, two kingdoms? He’s hardly the threat he was. Still, better safe than sorry. That’s our [Strategist]. After that, we generally move to some conversation and the day’s decisions. Of course, the table is yours now…”

He chuckled and gestured towards the Council. They hesitated, but the time for hesitation was gone. Krshia nodded to herself. She’d fought for this seat. She had to earn it. She opened her mouth—and Lism beat her to the punch.

“Of course, we’ve a number of issues to discuss.”

He smirked at Krshia. She glared at him. There was going to be an unfortunate confrontation soon, and she’d readied herself for it. Lism went on, glancing at the old Council.

“However, I don’t know the uh, protocol for such things. So what do you do first?”

The old Council looked mildly surprised. One of the older Drakes rubbed his neck spines and chuckled.

“Oh yes, those issues. Well, Strategist Olesm usually has a list! We go through them and then leave. Olesm! What’s on today’s list?”

He waved a claw. Olesm sighed as he unfurled the rather long scroll of parchment. The old Council sighed and the new ones sat up.

“Well, Councilmembers, I do generally keep track of the Council’s issues by request. And I’ll note any future concerns. However, today’s list is substantial. The new Council must of course approve a budget for the Watch and issue an announcement to the city and so forth, but there are new concerns for this Council. Among them are the proposed changes to the city each er, party, has campaigned on.”

“Of course. Well, this is the heart of it.”

Stales sighed as he turned and looked around the room. He waved at Olesm.

“Strategist Swifttail will bring us an issue and we’ll debate it. Sometimes it’s as easy as voting to do something. Show of claws—excuse me, claws and paws—and we agree or not. Other times, we have to do some math. Agree on a budget—don’t worry, Swifttail will have the numbers. But there are a lot of new proposals you lot have campaigned on, haven’t you?”

He gave the Gnolls and Drakes a somewhat superior look.

“Well, we can discuss the issue now, but I think you’ll find it’s more complicated than just shelling out gold!”

“We?”

Krshia’s ears perked up. She turned to stare around at the old Council. Elirr and Raekea looked up. And so did Lism. Stales waved an airy claw.

“Just a bit of advice from the old Council! Perspective. After all, we know the ins and outs of running the city. You agree?”

He looked around. Krshia nodded reluctantly. That was true. She hesitated, and then coughed.

“Well, it seems we must talk about the deal to expand the city—”

“Without Antinium help. As my campaign pledged.”

Lism finished the sentence and sat back, satisfied. Krshia stared at him. And then polite civility broke down.

“You mean, your campaign stole from mine, you thief, Lism, you!”

“Hah! I knew it! You couldn’t wait one hour before you had to accuse my campaign of improving on your ideas!”

“I was the one who suggested expanding the city! What did your campaign come up with?”

Krshia snarled across the table. Stales looked wide-eyed at Lism, who laughed loudly back at her.

“Removing the Antinium element of course! And the city voted our party into power.”

“Because you stole our seats!”

Krshia howled back at him. Lism raised his claws.

“By popular vote—”

“Councilmembers!”

Stales didn’t manage to outshout either Drake or Gnoll, but he did silence them. He looked around, flustered.

“Please! Councilmembers, this is not a street argument! This is a civilized discussion! And any issues can be discussed! Frankly, I don’t think this debate will get us anywhere, because as I was saying, the reality of Liscor’s financial situation is that we might not be able to pay for any expansions to the walls!”

Silence fell over the new Council. Stales sat back, and another Councilmember chortled.

“Don’t you wish you’d talked to us, first?”

Lism stared at Stales. So did Krshia. Did they know something the public didn’t? Krshia felt a pit in her stomach and saw Elirr looking at her, alarmed. Lism spoke up into the silence.

“What do you mean, Councilmembers? We have a proposal. Expand the walls. It will generate new jobs, new commerce—”

“Yes, Councilmember Lism, but who will pay for the walls?”

“Well, we could increase the taxes on the dungeon and—”

Yalla cut in, not-very-apologetically.

“I’m afraid, what Stales means is that we can’t just…move around some numbers and come up with gold we don’t have, Councilmember Lism. Perhaps we could raise revenues here, but that doesn’t create gold. Our yearly budget is comprised of a number of sources including revenue from the guilds, taxes, trade, and so on, but it mainly comes from—”

“The army.”

Yalla broke off. Krshia blinked at her.

“I am sorry. Was that not what you meant to say?”

The Drake narrowed her eyes and Krshia felt a bit better. She didn’t like the condescending tone Yalla or the old Council had. Yalla cleared her throat.

“What I mean to say was that yes, Liscor’s army does send back a good deal of funds in exchange for the support we give them. We tend to use it up on necessary products, because the money from the rest of our taxes and so on is…limited. It’s always been a fact of living around Liscor. This is not a rich city like Salazar or even Pallass.”

She shrugged. Lism frowned.

“Poor? But Liscor is the keystone city between north and south!”

Krshia rolled her eyes.

“Again, Lism? When the Council is saying to your face, that Liscor is not rich? Go travelling and you will understand! It is what I have been saying for years. Liscor is important. But not for the reasons you think. It is not economically strong!”

“Well, speaking as the Merchant’s Guild’s Guildmaster—”

“Be quiet, Silverfang. Liscor does have wealth! We export a vast amount of fish and fish-based products each spring. More than any other city, Human or Drake in a thousand miles!”

“That’s because they’re all landlocked. You idiot you, you wouldn’t know reality if someone hit you with a fish!”

Olesm watched in mild horror as Krshia stood up and leaned over the table and Elirr and Raekea dragged her back. Jeiss managed to do the same job on Lism’s end as Alonna shook her head. The rest of the Council looked horrified. But really, it was like watching Lism and Krshia got at it in the market. Their voices did echo a lot more in this room, though.

“Councilmember Lism! Councilmember Krshia! We do not shout! We debate issues.”

Stales held up his claws. Lism sat down with bad grace.

“I’m simply making the point to this Gnoll that Liscor has more sources of revenue than the army. Which she finds delight in deriding—”

“But how would you increase Liscor’s funds, Shopkeeper—er, Councilmember Lism? After all, we do have to fund the projects the city undertakes, and money is always tight. Please, some snacks will settle your mood. Pass the nuts, Stales? Oh, would you like some?”

Bowls of the sugar-coated nuts were passed around the table quickly. Olesm made a face at the rich food. Lism stared at the bowl and so did the Gnolls as they appeared in front of them. He glanced at Stales with a bit of irritation. This was the new Council after all. But he answered with forced politeness.

“Shield Spider silk, Councilwoman Yalla.”

He took a few nuts and popped them into his mouth. Instantly his expression changed for the worse. Olesm groaned. Lism hated sugary things.

“Shield Spider silk?”

The rest of the Council looked blank, except for Stales, who frowned. A bit worriedly. Krshia noticed that, as did Olesm. Lism exhaled as he crunched on some of the saccharine nuts. He frowned and spat his mouthful into the waste basket. Krshia lowered her nose directly over the bowl, gave it one deep sniff, and pushed it to one side. The other two Gnolls, Elirr and Raekea, did the same. The former Council watched in horror.

“Gah. Sorry. Too much sugar. Almost as bad as that Human makes in her inn. Anyways, where was I? Ah, right. Shield Spider silk. Liscor’s Floodplains are infested with Shield Spider nests. You can’t swing a dead rat for five seconds outside the walls without a spider climbing out of the ground and trying to eat you and it. And they’re worth money to the Adventurer’s Guild. Do you know how much you can get for a single Shield Spider corpse?”

Everyone except for Stales and Krshia shook their heads. Lism spread his claws.

“Eleven silver pieces for a fully-grown adult’s corpse if it’s unscratched and unmarked! Of course, that covers the hazard bounty on them, but it wouldn’t be that high if the corpse itself didn’t have value!”

“It wouldn’t?”

Tismel gave Lism a very curious look. The [Cobbler] winced as Lism raised his voice. The [Shopkeeper] struck the table, as if he were railing against the injustices of the world in his stall. He had an outside voice. But for once, it wasn’t annoying Krshia because she saw his point and grudgingly, agreed with it.

“Of course not! You can use the body of a Shield Spider for any number of things! Silk and armor! They’re not called ‘Shield Spiders’ because they’re soft! Their hide—”

“Chitin.”

“—whatever is so tough you can use it as armor! But no one trades Shield Spider components in Liscor. It’s not worth the effort. Processing the damn silk takes classes and an industry we don’t have. But I’ve noticed that Shield Spider silk can make anything from thread to decent clothing if you can dye and weave it right. And Shield Spider chitin can be used to make a number of objects. About, oh, three decades back, I remember seeing Silver-rank adventurers wearing lamellar armor made out of chitin. What happened to that? Now it’s all iron, steel, and leather. So where do the Shield Spiders go?”

“Well, the Adventurer’s Guild sell to the [Merchants]. At a very reasonable price at our end.”

Stales replied carefully. Lism turned to frown at him.

“But how much of a markup do [Merchants] and [Traders] make when they take the cargo to, say, Invrisil? Even if you paid a gold coin per Shield Spider body, how much would that much chitin and armor be worth if you brought it in one piece?”

“Er—I don’t have the numbers in front of me.”

The Drake was hedging. Lism shook his head, ignoring Stales.

“The money goes straight to the [Merchants]. And the Adventurer’s Guild takes their cut since they ‘allow’ us to have a guild in their city. But where’s Liscor’s cut? We increase the price by one silver coin per Shield Spider body and that’s…how many Shield Spiders are killed in just the annual culling?”

“Oh, come now—”

“On average? About three or four thousand Shield Spiders. Not all adults of course, but I could estimate at least a two thousand and a half. This year it was about double that.”

Olesm piped up. Stales and the old Councilmembers gave him a glare, but Lism snapped his claws.

“There you have it. Raise the price by one silver coin—and that’s not even asking for a fair margin from either Adventurer’s Guild or [Merchants] and we’re up five thousand gold pieces after the culling alone. There. Five thousand shovels for the walls. How’s that?”

“You can’t just—”

Krshia spoke over the hot voice raised behind her.

“Or five thousand Workers, who can build without needing to hire [Builders].”

She and Lism stared daggers again, but Stales was coughing and trying to interrupt as he choked on a nut.

“See here, Councilmember Lism! You can’t just place a tariff on goods like that! It could damage trade! Shield Spider parts are one of the few things that keep a lot of [Merchants] coming this way! If you raise prices—”

“What will they do? Go elsewhere for their Shield Spiders? The last I heard, we were the only city with an enduring plague of the things.”

Lism folded his arms. Stales hesitated. He raised a single claw.

“As head of the Merchant’s Guild, I must warn you of the consequences. You may trigger a boycott of Liscor’s goods.”

“By whom? Wouldn’t they have to get the Guildmaster to agree to that?”

Jeiss leaned over the table. The room went silent as every eye fell on Stales. He wavered.

“Well—I er, the [Merchants] who trade with Liscor are exceptionally powerful. Some of them. I’d try to talk them out of it, but I can only do so much—”

He caught part of Lism’s stare and broke off. Stales had been a decently successful [Merchant] before he’d become a Guildmaster and employed people to do his job, and he remembered negotiating with lower-level [Traders], [Shopkeepers] and so on. Some of them were easy to bowl over, but sometimes you ran into one that had Lism’s look. You learned to avoid them or you had to fight like one of Rhir’s Demons to get anything like a good deal. He tried to lean out of the way of the stare.

Krshia broke into the silence with a thoughtful ‘hrm’. She looked around and nodded.

“As I have been saying from the beginning, the issue is one of space, yes? Tariffs are all very well, but Liscor needs more space. A city with walls is always held by the walls. More space will allow more business to flourish. And it will cut down on the rent that makes poorer families suffer.”

“Well, hold on now. That’s a bold claim to make.”

Yalla protested hotly, but Lism, Jeiss, Elirr, Raekea, and Alonna were all nodding. The old Council was frowning, but Lism tapped the table with one claw.

“That was second on my list, Silverfang. But if you want to jump from topic to topic, fine. Let’s talk about reducing the rent.”

“Another issue which I’m afraid we wanted to talk to you about.”

One of the old Councilmembers cut in. This time he received a glare from the new Council, Gnolls and the two Drakes sitting next to Lism. Tismel and Zalaiss were very quiet, glancing from old to new as if trying to figure out where the wind was blowing. Lism folded his arms.

“I don’t see what the issue is. Rent is too high. I can’t count how many families have been evicted or run out of their homes because they can’t pay to stay in the same homes they used to. All these new Humans and adventurers are crowding honest Drakes—and Gnolls—out of their homes! We lower the rent.”

“On that, we can agree, Lism. But it’s Drakes who own the land and apartments.”

Krshia growled at him. Yalla banged her bowl of candied nuts for attention. Her face was crimson with fury.

“Excuse me! You cannot force our landowners to adjust their prices! That is interference in business, which goes against the very heart of Drake traditions! We have a very amiable arrangement with the [Landowners] and guilds managing rent in the city.”

“Which is?”

Lism stared at her. Yalla hesitated.

“The [Landowners] contribute an annual fund to Liscor’s funds, above what we owe in taxes.”

“How much?”

“What do you mean, how m—”

“Nine thousand, six hundred, and twelve gold pieces last year. Rounded up.”

The Drake turned with fury to look at Olesm. He smiled politely back at Yalla. He saw Lism look at him and went on.

“Yalla Aldrake, [Landlady]. You paid four hundred and eight gold pieces to the, ah, Land-Fund, which is an agreed-upon tax on the owners of real estate.”

“Interesting. But I happen to know you own at least four streets. And the prices on one of those streets was six silver coins and five copper per month.”

Lism stared at Yalla. She opened her mouth.

“That was due to—”

“Six silver and five copper per month is seventy eight silver pieces per year. If you multiply that by the number of people per apartment, that’s eight times that. At least. Which is…nephew?”

Olesm’s lips moved as he did a quick summation on his parchment.

“Six hundred and twenty four silver, Un—Councilmember. And converted to gold, that’s thirty one gold and four silver. If my math holds.”

Lism nodded.

“And that’s per house. In the poorest district of the city. Multiply that by what, eight houses on one street? Twenty? Thirty? And multiply that again because streets have two sides?”

Silence. Yalla’s face was pale. Jeiss was doing the math, a deep frown on his face. Olesm came up with the answer at last.

“If you assume sixteen houses per street—and it’s actually closer to twenty six—one street would earn around five hundred gold pieces per year. And uh, not all apartments have only eight rooms.”

“And that’s the poorest district! With widowers, old Drakes who can’t tie down a full job anymore and people who need a home! Where do they go if they can’t afford the rent?”

The [Shopkeeper]’s voice was too loud. Yalla winced.

“How should I know?”

It was the wrong answer, and the wrong indignant tone to take. Lism exploded as his fist came down and sent the bowl of nuts flying.

“They go to live with their families or friends or they sleep on the street! Six silver coins and five copper for a room on Welcaissel Street!? I’d be ashamed to rent that room to Humans!”

“How dare you! What I do with my apartments is my business!”

Yalla shouted back at Lism. He was not to be outdone, and she had made a mistake shouting at someone whose entire job was shouting.

“Really? In that case, you can explain to me what an old lady is supposed to do when she’s turned out onto the streets without two coppers to rub together and nowhere to go!”

“Councilmember Lism! Please stop shouting!”

One of the Drakes begged. Lism’s voice was echoing in the meeting room. All three Gnolls had covered their ears, but Elirr looked approving. So did Jeiss. Stales, shaken, looked around. The Drake, older, one of the old Council, pointed shakily at Lism.

“This is not the place for shouting. We have measured debates, not these—attacks on Councilmembers!”

He looked around for support. The old Council nodded. Stales broke in hurriedly.

“I agree! We’ve gotten completely off-track from our original discussion. Funding Liscor’s expansion might be possible if the Walled Cities and the Antinium are willing to contribute to Liscor’s funds, but suddenly levying fines or controlling the way business is done is not the purpose of this Council! I wish to make this very clear! As a Councilmember and Head of the Merchant’s Guild—”

Stales paused. Because only half of that sentence was true. He went on.

“I think we should take a recess for some further clarification of how things are done. We can all split up into pairs, old and new, and then get back to—”

He stopped, because at that moment Krshia Silverfang stood up. She didn’t do anything else. But it was the kind of movement that attracted attention. It wasn’t fast. But it was slow. And when she was done, she looked down at Stales.

She was the tallest person in the room, just a bit taller than Elirr. And she looked down at Stales very coolly. Somehow, the words froze in Stales’ mouth. Krshia looked at the old Council, from face to face. And then she looked around at the new Council. At Elirr and Raekea, and then Jeiss and Alonna, both of whom were frowning. Tismel and Zalaiss she ignored completely.

“I think we have learned much from the old Council. And I agree with former Councilmember Stales, yes? There is much this new Council does not do like the old one. We lack order. And Liscor’s Council must have order. Pointless shouting does little. We should be focused on what matters.”

She looked around, and then at last, met Lism’s eyes. The [Shopkeeper] didn’t look away and he and Krshia stopped, staring at each other. They began to glare. And then, suddenly, stopped. Olesm held his breath. Then, slowly, Lism looked sideways. And nodded.

“As much as I hate to admit it, Councilmember Silverfang, I have to agree.”

Stales exhaled. The former Councilmember issued a tentative smile. At last, they could get things back on track. The Gnolls were good for something after all! He clapped his claws briskly and looked around.

“Good. In that case, let’s all take a break.”

Lism nodded.

“Good idea. Feel free to take it outside. Councilmembers?”

He stood up. Jeiss, Alonna, Raekea, and Elirr all got up too. The old Council blinked. The next thing they knew, the eight Drakes found themselves outside the meeting room, balancing the snack platters in their claws. They turned as Lism pushed the last former Councilmember out and shoved the waste basket into her arms.

“You can’t do this! We haven’t finished telling you how things work! Don’t you dare—if you so much as try to enforce any rule on our class, we’ll—”

Yalla shouted at Lism. He smiled at her without an ounce of sincerity.

“Miss Yalla. I am a Councilmember. You are not. And the Council will decide on what’s appropriate for this city. If the Head of the Merchant’s Guild or the [Landlady] of Welcaissel have a complaint, you can write it down.”

He paused. After a moment, Yalla retorted.

“And?”

Lism slammed the door in her face.

—-

The Council of Liscor met for the first time, really, for the first time in a room covered with crushed candied nuts worked into the rich carpet. With an angry Drake [Landlady] pounding on the door until Olesm helped remove her. And they took stock of each other a second time then.

You had Krshia, Elirr, and Raekea on one side. Gnolls united by a common purpose. And Olesm, as he came back in wincing at a scratch on his arm—Yalla had sharp claws—looked at the Drakes. You might assume they were all the same, but they weren’t. Lism, Jeiss, and Alonna were all quite firmly together.

Tismel and Zalaiss on the other hand were in the same bed as the old Council. They looked appalled at the way the Drakes had been bundled out of the room and were staring at Lism and Krshia as the two sat back.

“Odious person, that. I should have known. [Landlady]. Pah. She inherited those apartments. They certainly haven’t been maintained since she was born. I doubt she’s even stepped into one.”

Lism was grumbling to himself. Krshia was murmuring to Raekea, who looked nervous. And Elirr? Elirr seemed calm. He was turning his head left and right, regarding the room in much the same way Olesm was. And then he caught the [Strategist]’s eye and smiled.

Almost secretively. As if Elirr had suddenly come across a good joke. Which told Olesm that the older Gnoll had seen something.

And then Olesm looked at the room. Really looked. And he saw something that Liscor’s Council had failed to notice until this very moment. The election for Liscor had been framed as a matter of Drakes vs Gnolls, old vs new, trust in the Antinium and non-Drakes and non-Gnolls versus the traditions of Liscor. But what the old Council really should have been worried about, what they’d failed to notice was this:

The new Council wasn’t rich. In fact, aside from the aforementioned Tismel and Zalaiss, they were all from working occupations. [Guardsman]. [Shopkeeper]. [Armorer]. [Mage]. Olesm knew for a fact that Alonna hadn’t inherited anything that had catapulted her into the Mage’s Guild’s leadership role. And he knew his uncle. And Krshia.

Suddenly, he felt better about this new Council. He hadn’t liked the old one. He hadn’t hated them, but they’d been rather like the Council before them. And the one before that. But this one?

This one was new. Lism finished brushing bits of nuts off his side of the table. He looked around and gestured at the now-empty snacks tray. Jeiss tossed his uneaten deviled eggs into the waste basket with a grimace.

“Not good. Too rich for my blood.”

Lism nodded. He reached for his belt and took out a water flask and drank.

“Next time I’ll bring some decent snacks from my stocks.”

That broke the ice. Krshia looked up from her conversation with Raekea and nodded.

“I know a [Cook] who does very fine work at catering to crowds, yes? He could put a small spread on the table for the cost of one of those other dishes. I could ask him to cater for us.”

Lism turned his head.

“I take it your friend’s a Gnoll?”

The [Shopkeeper] bristled.

“And if he is?”

“Oh, nothing. But will he be catering all our meals? Why not let some Drake [Cooks] provide the meals?”

“Why not? You may suggest a name. I did not hear any from you.”

“I have five.”

Lism snapped back. Raekea looked up as Krshia and Lism began to snap at each other. She caught Jeiss’ eye across the table. They gave each other a nod. Jeiss put a hand on Lism’s shoulder and the [Shopkeeper] paused. Raekea poked Krshia in the side. The Gnoll yelped and glared. But then she relaxed.

“I was simply saying, that if food was desired—”

“Maybe if you alternated species in who’s providing meals for the Council?”

Olesm broke in desperately to avoid another fight. Krshia and Lism stared at him. The [Shopkeeper] nodded.

“Well, obviously. I was just making the point that—never mind.”

He eyed Krshia warily. She looked at him for a second and then Raekea poked her. Olesm cleared his throat. Well, at least this was classic.

“If anyone has a further motion to pass regarding providing sustenance for Council meetings? That was actually on the docket, but we can move it up the timetable.”

The table stared at him. Krshia frowned.

“What did you say, Olesm? That is on today’s list of important topics? Snacks?”

The [Strategist] sighed as he consulted his notes.

“The former Council likes to sort out these matters right away. In years past, it can be a matter of…contention.”

Lism stared at his nephew, aghast. He cast a look towards the door.

“They quibble about—it’s just food for Ancestor’s sakes! We don’t need to discuss it! Do we?”

He looked around the table. Jeiss raised his brows.

“I don’t have an issue with what I eat so long as I’m not going to puke it out on patrol. Or have half the Gnoll kids ask me what I ate.”

“Did the Council actually debate over snacks, Olesm? And for how long? Are they always like…?”

Alonna waved a claw to indicate the show the old Council had been. Olesm hesitated. But that was the old Council. And if they got word that he was telling tales they might…never speak to him again.

“Well—there was a number of heated debates halfway through their first year. I think they devoted two sessions to arguing about nuts. The uh, deviled eggs were a compromise that went on for about four months. The old Drake, Councilmember—er, Mister Saish—really liked eggs.”

He looked around the room. There was just silence from Lism and Krshia’s camps. Again, Krshia and Lism traded glances. Lism raised one claw.

“All in favor of alternating food duties between members, if we need to eat at all? I’ll start.”

Krshia instantly raised her paw. Raekea thought about it for as long as it took to give the idea proper, measured thought. She was only a beat behind Krshia. Elirr’s paw was already in the air along with Jeiss’. Alonna waved a claw.

“I don’t do well with cilantro. That’s all from me.”

“Wait, are we voting?”

Tismel looked dismayed. Lism stared at him, and then at Zalaiss.

“What’s it look like we’re doing? That’s what the old Council said we do, right? Unless we have to do some kind of ceremony?”

“One of the Councilmembers liked to bang a little rock to call the vote. But no.”

“I see. Do we need to write anything down, Nephew?”

“…Not for an informal agreement on bringing food to the meetings, no. I shouldn’t think so.”

Lism nodded.

“Okay then. Vote.”

He glared at Tismel and Zalaiss. They hesitated, and then their claws came up. Lism nodded.

“Everyone’s in favor. So we’re agreed. Is that how it works?”

He looked at Olesm again. The [Strategist] coughed.

“Um. Yes.”

“Good! Cross that off your list, Olesm. What’s next?”

Olesm blinked.

“Well, you were debating—”

“Not that. Let’s get the least important things out of the way first. Then onto the actual debates. Right?”

Lism looked across the table. Krshia cracked her knuckles.

“Of course.”

Disconcerted at the sudden harmony between the two, Olesm looked at his list.

“There’s…the announcement you put out around the city. You see, traditionally—”

“We know what the announcement is. Alright, we have to say something. Thoughts?”

Elirr raised a paw. Lism stared at him.

“Well, spit it out!”

The Gnoll looked affronted.

“I thought we raised paws. No? Very well. For the announcement, just say what is needed. ‘There is no issue. We are all alive’. Simple, yes?”

“Hah! I like that!”

Jeiss snorted. Alonna looked dismayed.

“Perhaps something less direct, Elirr? I think Liscor’s citizens would prefer something with some…what’s the word? Ornamentation. What’d they write last year?”

Lism waved a claw.

“The new Council has assumed its role as leadership of Liscor, etc. etc…copy that and have someone shout it a few times.”

“Wait, but wouldn’t that be lazy?”

It was Zalaiss who raised her claw timidly. Lism’s eyes popped.

“Who cares if it is? And who cares what the Council has to say?”

“Well…”

She looked uncomfortable and glanced around. Jeiss was rubbing at one ear. Alonna shrugged. The Gnolls looked blank. They didn’t see the point either. Lism drawled.

“Next? Or do we vote on it? This isn’t important.”

“On that we agree.”

Krshia folded her arms. Helplessly, Zalaiss fell silent. Olesm went down the list. It would have taken the old Council ages to come up with a worded message. Wasn’t it important? Then he hesitated. Wait, who would listen to the announcement anyways? Not many people. How many would remember it was the same as the last one? He looked at his uncle. Lism had never had time for superfluous work.

“Another issue is when the Council meets.”

Raekea nodded. The [Armorer] was looking more reassured now the old Council was gone. This she could understand.

“Meeting times? What’s the tradition?”

“Once a week on a day chosen by the Council, unless a member convenes the Council due to an emergency or a situation of crisis demands meetings at more regular intervals.”

The Gnoll paused. She frowned.

“Once a week?”

There was a snort from Lism.

“That’s not work. That’s a vacation!“

Krshia nodded.

“Let’s do three days a week at least. Try for five. That would work for me.”

Jeiss groaned. Lism looked at him, but the Senior Guardsman only held up a claw.

“Dawn? It’s the only time that would work for me. I want to see my family nights. I’ll change my schedule with the Watch.”

Lism nodded. Alonna yawned.

“Works for me. This isn’t far from the Guild anyways.”

“All in favor?”

“Er, do you mean right at dawn or…”

Zalaiss trailed off as the other five Council members stared at her. Lism blinked slowly.

“We do have to work, you know. Dawn’s simple. I’m up before it every day.”

Krshia nodded.

“As am I.”

Raekea raised a paw.

“Me too.”

“Sometimes I work through the night. On patrols. Dawn would actually give me a chance to get regular patrol times.”

“I can get up early.”

“My cats wake me up.”

Tismel didn’t say anything. He meekly raised his hand as the Council voted unanimously again. Olesm found himself crossing out item after item on the list. Meeting times? Check. Contact information? They would be here at these times. Just hire a Street Runner! Redecoration? Lism’s glare made Olesm’s quill cross that off the list, never mind the nutty carpet.

“Any more trivial decisions or can we debate the real issues? I see four. Or something. Antinium, walls, Minotaur, funding. Close enough.”

Lism looked around the table. He was met only with silence except from a slow stare from Krshia. Raekea sat up and Elirr leaned forwards. Jeiss took a deep breath and Alonna cricked her neck, looking at Lism. He nodded.

“Alright. Let’s get down to the real issue. All in favor of executing the Minotaur? Let’s get this done.”

“Lism!”

Krshia snapped. Lism just looked at her.

“What? You know we’re all thinking it. That’s what I ran on. Let’s just see a show of claws!”

“You can’t just use a majority vote!”

“That’s how it works.”

“Wait, who are we voting to…execute? The Minotaur? You mean, the one in the dungeon?”

Tismel looked queasy. Jeiss frowned and then raised his hand. Alonna held up hers.

“I’m not voting yes. I just want to know why we have to kill him.”

“We don’t. We should, though. He led the Raskghar to attack Liscor. He’s responsible for deaths. Gnoll deaths as well as Drake.”

Lism looked pointedly at Krshia. She folded her arms. Raekea hesitated and her arm moved for a second. Then she looked at Krshia. Elirr coughed.

“We agreed not to. That is a fundamental issue we promised, Raekea.”

She sighed. Lism looked around. Alonna put her hand down.

“Alonna!”

“Oh, fine.”

She raised her hand. It was three against three. That left Tismel and Zalaiss undecided. The Drake [Cobbler] wavered.

“I just don’t know. This is a sudden commitment!”

“That’s what I promised people, or do you not recall?”

“But deciding it now? Can’t we debate the issue?”

“And waste time like that previous idiot Council did? Ancestors, I want to get things done today, people!”

Lism raised his voice, but Krshia’s growl made him stop. She looked at him across the table, arms folded.

“As do I. However, a life is not something you should casually dismiss. Let alone with a vote.”

The Drake stabbed the tabletop with one claw.

“We’ve been over this, Silverfang. You might have said a lot to get that Human on your side, but I meant every word. That monster killed people. He betrayed his team and put Liscor in danger. He might be crazy or he might not be. Either way, he should be killed.”

“And if he was under—”

“He isn’t under a spell. Alonna or another [Mage] would have detected it.”

“What if it’s something else?”

“Tell me what it is!”

Lism smacked one claw on the table. Olesm held his breath, wavering. Krshia and the Gnolls refused to raise their paws. Tismel raised his claw, lowered it. It was Zalaiss who raised hers.

“I vote for it.”

“Tismel?”

Lism’s voice was dangerous, but the [Cobbler]’s conscience had a hold of him. He hesitated.

“I’m not convinced that just executing a Minotaur—I mean, it’s my vote! That’s a lot to ask of me on the first day! Let me at least consider it—anyways, what if we’re split? There are eight Councilmembers; we could tie. What then?”

The Drake looked disgusted.

“You’re right. That is a tie.”

“Which means we don’t kill him.”

“That’s not how a tie works, Silverfang! A tie? Eight people on the Council? Who choose that number? We could deadlock any number of times! What happens then?”

“I break the vote. Not that it matters in this case.”

The doors swung open. Watch Captain Zevara strode into the room with perfect timing. She’d probably been listening at the door, to be fair, but it still turned every head. Olesm blinked as the Watch Captain strode towards the table. She stopped and placed her claws on the hardwood. She nodded to everyone, pausing for a moment on Krshia and Jeiss.

“Councilmembers. My apologies for the delay. I had to help escort the previous Council from the building. Watch Captain Zevara, reporting before Liscor’s Council.”

She straightened and gave them a perfect salute. Olesm was tickled by the performance, but it had always worked on the old Council. This new one was more relaxed. Lism just scowled at Zevara.

“Why doesn’t the vote of the Council matter where the Minotaur is concerned, Watch Captain?”

She returned his look unflappably.

“As part of my duties as Watch Captain, it is my job to inform this Council about certain laws that govern Liscor and all Drake cities. As a new Council, you have the authority to oversee a number of aspects of the Watch. You may give Watch orders, but I may choose not to obey a Council’s orders if I deem it necessary for the safety of the city. Similarly, the budget is in your control, as is my position.”

“You didn’t answer the—”

Zevara spoke over Lism. The trick was in not hesitating; he fell silent, glowering as she went on in a loud voice.

“Part of that decision is choosing a new Watch Captain. The Council is free to replace their Watch Captain, but the City Watch’s Senior Guards can oppose that decision and nominate a new candidate from within their ranks. In either case, a Watch Captain’s orders have precedence in times of military emergency and she or he has jurisdiction in Watch affairs. Prisoners are under my authority. I thought I made that clear during the election.”

She paused. Lism glared.

“And if we disagree?”

The Watch Captain returned his gaze steadily.

“You can overrule me. In which case you’ll need to select a new Watch Captain as well.”

And there it was. Jeiss whistled and sat back. He shook his head as Alonna, Tismel, and Zalaiss looked at him. Raekea was shaking her head too. Elirr smiled. So did Krshia.

“I consider the issue tabled, unless you wish to vote to replace Watch Captain Zevara, Lism?”

“No. I do not.”

Lism ground out. He looked frustrated. And then, surprisingly, he sighed.

“Fine. Second order of business. Funding the wall. Expanding Liscor. We won’t be taking Antinium money or aid—”

“We will, because it makes sense and you will debate this with me for all present to hear, Lism—”

“Furthermore, in my capacity as Watch Captain of Liscor, I have a second and crucial duty to impart to you!”

Zevara bellowed over Krshia and Lism. Olesm clapped a hand to his earholes. Zevara paused.

“I understand this Council plans to enact a number of changes to Liscor. I’m all for that, and the Watch will fully support your endeavors. Including, I hope, approving my budget requests for this year’s Watch. I don’t know how you’ll get the funds. That’s not my job. But this is. And it will inform your decision regarding the Antinium. Strategist Olesm, it’s time for the presentation.”

She looked coolly at Olesm. He hesitated.

“Now? But we usually wait for the first week before we give it to them—”

“I think they can handle it.”

Olesm hesitated. He saw Krshia perking up her ears, but ignored the quizzical look Elirr gave him. He nodded, and hurried out of the room and into his office. He took nearly five minutes getting back, because he had to use a magical key and then find the requisite files—he didn’t use them that much. When he did, Zevara was midway through her lecture.

Olesm knew it by heart. He’d given it to the other Councils, and the look of apprehension on the faces of the current Council was only compounded as he pulled out paper documents and began passing them around. Zevara tapped her piece of paper as Olesm handed her a copy.

“These are the real numbers we’ve projected for Liscor’s Hive. At any given moment, I estimate that they have at least nine thousand Soldiers and twenty four thousand Workers they could bring to bear on the city. The numbers fluctuate, but that puts their Hive at around thirty thousand fighting soldiers at any given time, with the understanding that Workers will fight if ordered to do so…”

“Dead gods, they could overrun us at any time!”

Tismel clutched the paper, staring at the projections of the Hive’s numbers. Olesm sighed. The Drake had a wide-eyed look in his face. And judging by the way even Krshia was on the edge of her seat, Zevara had begun the hardest part of any Councilmember’s job—realizing just how dangerous the Antinium were.

“Not so, Councilmember Tismel.”

Olesm hurried to reassure the Drake. He hoped Zevara hadn’t started recapping the Antinium Wars just yet. Or describing how dangerous a Soldier was in combat. Councilmembers had outright fainted or gone into panic attacks, and this wasn’t even the worst of it. He cleared his throat nervously. Zevara nodded at him and he took on his role.

“As Watch Captain Zevara has no doubt told you, Liscor considered the Hive of the Free Antinium a very valid threat. Not only do the Antinium have a reason for attacking Liscor, they have far more numbers than their allotted standing garrisons of six thousand Workers and three hundred Soldiers as agreed by the treaty. We are not saying they are likely to attack at this given moment! But our contingency plans extend to any scenario. And we have extensively prepared, so that even if their army currently outnumbers our Watch by a ratio of…”

Olesm hesitated and looked at Jeiss shaking his head past Tismel’s white scales.

“…er, by a significant ratio, we have any number of fallbacks designed to even the odds.”

“Enchantments no one knows about.”

Krshia said that as a fact, not a question. Zevara nodded.

“As Councilmembers, you are sworn to secrecy. But the nature and location of the traps is confidential even for Councilmembers. In case of…interrogation.”

Tismel shuddered. Lism just narrowed his eyes. Olesm winced.

“We’ve placed a number of enchantments on areas where the Antinium could invade from. Back when Liscor’s Council signed the deal with the Hives, we laid as many spells into the ground and city as we could. We cannot go into details, but some of the traps will render tunnels inhabitable, or seal parts of Liscor from being burrowed under. It would effectively—hopefully—damage the nest with the Soldiers and Workers in it. Possibly even wipe them out if all the traps work.”

He bit his tongue, remembering all the key-spells he had access to. It had kept him up for months when he’d first become [Strategist]. A select few could trigger the spells, including him. Lism stared down at the list of non-descriptive spell effects and locations.

“How did Liscor afford all this?”

“It didn’t. The Walled Cities all paid for extensive protective spells. And Wistram itself sent some of its best mages to do the work while giving us a discount. No one was taking the Antinium Hives lightly after the Second Antinium War. Rest assured, we don’t either, but you must understand, even with the spells, conflict with Liscor’s Hive is not something we want to risk.”

Zevara clasped her claws behind her back. Elirr frowned as he stroked his chin.

“If Liscor has so many emergency spells, why did we never use them when a Goblin Lord’s army was knocking at our door? Or when the moths attacked? It seems like those would be worthwhile emergencies, even if they must be remade or it tips our cards, yes?”

Zevara shook her head.

“Most of these spells are focused inwards, Councilmember Elirr. We can’t dismantle them or change where they’re aimed and, I think, neither can the Antinium. They’ve tried on some, or so we suspect. But we can circle back for questions. Strategist Olesm? The next papers.”

“Here you are, Councilmember Alonna.”

“What’s this?”

The Guildmistress leaned back and handed the papers to Lism as she stared at the dates and numbers. Olesm cleared his throat.

“Understanding the Hive also means understanding some of the subtleties of the Antinium, Councilmember. This is a short summary of the phenomenon known as Aberrations. You may be familiar with them?”

“The crazy ones? When you ask them their names?”

Lism looked up sharply. Zevara paused.

“Close. Aberrations are, as we understand them, some aspect of the Antinium gone wrong. Either they rebel or simply go…insane. They attack friend and foe until killed. The Antinium execute their own, but over time, some have gotten loose into the city and caused injuries or deaths. This is a list of all the casualties due to Aberrations over the years.”

“Damn. I remember this one. I killed that Worker. Nearly took my head off.”

Jeiss whistled as he ran his claw down the list. Olesm nodded.

“It’s not a substantial number, and I think most Aberrations occur within the Hive and are…disposed of there. But you can see a trend.”

Krshia looked up, her brows knitted together.

“They increase in number year by year. Until this year when…they stop.”

Zevara nodded and gave Olesm a significant look.

“That’s correct. And that’s also when the phenomenon known as the Painted Soldiers occurred. We don’t have a dossier on them yet, but Olesm and I are putting them at a Level 20 threat ranking as opposed to regular Soldiers, who are around as dangerous as a Level 15 threat. Don’t let the numbers fool you; that is a substantial upgrade in our appraisal of their combat abilities. On par with the other specialists the Antinium Hives can produce. This is the threat Liscor’s Hive presents apart from simply taking Liscor. The fact that they are—and now are successfully—creating their own specialists.”

She let that sink in. Olesm muttered as he found the next papers.

“Which is why trusting them—ow!”

He sidled away from Zevara. Olesm fell silent. He and Zevara hadn’t talked on this issue, but they clearly had different opinions. Like Erin. Why couldn’t they see the danger? Maybe they did, but it wasn’t what Olesm saw. If he thought about it some nights, he didn’t sleep at all.

“Excuse me, uh, Watch Captain. You said…other Antinium specialists?”

Tismel was breathing hard as he raised a claw again. Zevara nodded. She took the papers from Olesm and handed them out. This time everyone at the table recoiled from the image sketched there.

“What in the name of the Ancestors is this, Watch Captain?”

Lism held the parchment back from him. The hair had gone up on Raekea’s body and Krshia’s. Elirr just stared at the image grimly. Zevara tapped the dark, almost transparent form and angled body. Scythe-like limbs. Olesm shuddered.

“This is a sketch of the Silent Antinium’s covert spy-assassin. You may have heard rumors of them during the First and Second Antinium wars. Well, they exist, and one of the six Hives produces them. Not in number, thank the Ancestors, but Manus estimates they have six times the numbers they fielded during the last war. This is what we refer to as the specialized units the Antinium field. Until recently, we had classified five types. Armored Antinium—very similar to regular Soldiers but with armor, Twisted Antinium, radically different in size and shape, the assassin-type Silent Antinium, and the Flying Antinium’s…fliers. Here are [Artist]’s sketches of each. This is what the Antinium can field against us, and why keeping Liscor’s Hive in check is vital towards a possible future war.”

“Can we win it?”

Alonna looked up, her claws nervously moving back the pictures of the Twisted Antinium. Some of those would give you nightmares on the sleepless nights. All of the Council, Drakes and Gnolls, looked at Zevara. She paused.

“The Walled Cities have their own precautions, Councilmembers. However, this briefing is standard for every leadership position in a Drake city, and mandatory for Liscor’s Council. It’s not to frighten you, but to impress on you the seriousness of your duty.”

It was actually to frighten them, a bit. Olesm knew it was important for the Council to actually think on matters regarding the Antinium. He was just surprised Zevara was springing it on them now given how she’d tried to support the Antinium’s cause during the election. Lism threw down his sketch and looked around.

“Look at this. Do you see why trusting the Antinium is a fool’s game, Silverfang?”

Krshia was staring at her sketch. Slowly, she looked up.

“I see it. But I do not see much of Liscor’s Hive that alarms me. Everyone, even the most foolish cub, knew that the Antinium had more than three hundred Soldiers, yes? And they have fought for Liscor, sacrificed for the city. From Skinner to the moths to the siege with the Humans, their Soldiers have died fighting for us. Is that not so, Strategist Olesm?”

“I…have some reports archived in my office. I could bring them here if you’d like.”

“Please.”

Olesm went to get them. When he came back next, Zevara was speaking again, outlining evacuation protocols in case of emergencies. This Council was paying attention. The Gnolls were alert, and his Uncle was asking questions. Senior Guardsman Jeiss wasn’t paying as much attention—but that was because he probably knew the answers to each question given his role. They looked up as Olesm began passing around archived reports he’d written himself.

The contents were illuminating to the Council. They showed a side of the Antinium they’d only heard about, or heard about in gossip. Here it was confirmed; Olesm had done analysis after analysis of the Hive and written it all down. It made him feel good knowing someone was reading it. Of course, he sent the reports off to the Walled Cities too, but he never got a reply to those letters.

“Huh. So they were actually fighting during the Face-Eater Moth attacks?”

“They took at least a thousand casualties during that battle. Getting any other estimates is virtually impossible, but I saw how many Face-Eater Moth mothers they brought up. I have reason to believe that the Antinium…do endure the brunt of the assaults from the dungeon without us knowing a thing.”

Zevara nodded. Olesm shifted uncomfortably. This was painting the Antinium in a good light again. He tried edging the Twisted Antinium’s sketch to the top of the pile until Zevara glared at him.

“What about the undead attack with that…Skinner thing? The Antinium showed up at the last moment. What’s the reason for that?”

Alonna frowned at another report. Zevara sighed.

“A change in leadership, Councilmember. You may recall that Senior Guardsman Klbkch was thought dead during that time. His replacement elected to prioritize the Hive’s safety. When Klbkch was…returned, he immediately led the counterassault. Frankly, that situation was caused by the [Terror] effect by the Skinner guardian. If the Watch hadn’t fled the walls rather than raising the alarm or closing the gates, we would have held the undead attack off easily without them.”

“Why don’t we have enchantments or something to protect the [Guardsmen] on the walls from magical effects like that? There’s got to be amulets or something that stop that, right?”

Raekea frowned. Zevara’s bitter smile spoke volumes, as did Olesm’s.

“On my proposed budget list, Councilmember Raekea. It was rejected by the last Council, but I’m sure you can understand the necessity.”

“I can. And I’ll be damned if I’m facing that thing without gear this time around.”

Jeiss looked up with a toothy grin. Zevara’s lips quirked and she nodded to him. He gave her a tight nod back, and Olesm felt better. At least the Watch would be funded this year regardless of what else was decided today.

No one asked if it was a conflict of interest. As far as Drakes were concerned, everything was their interest, and Gnolls shared the opinion.

“So they’ve been protecting Liscor all this time? Is that what we’re to understand here?”

Lism looked up, unconvinced by the reports. Olesm hastily interjected, shooting a quick glance at Zevara.

“A counterpoint, Councilmember. It’s my opinion that they were hoping to claim the dungeon for themselves all this time and thus expand their Hive into it without our knowledge. However, due to years of failure, they elected to reveal the dungeon to reduce the damage to their own Hive.”

“Exactly. You see, Silverfang? They’re only in it for them. All these warnings, these types of Antinium—they’re preparing for war! We can’t aid them. Not one inch. And you, Watch Captain! How can you argue for giving the Antinium a lease on expanding their Hive if you knew all of this?”

Lism hurled one of the papers at Zevara. It floated past her and she snatched it out of the air and slapped it back on the pile on the table. The sound made everyone look at her.

“Because, Councilmember Lism, I have considered the facts as well as everything I personally know and believe about the Antinium. They may be warlike. And dangerous. And I will fully admit that the Grand Queen and the other Hives are a deadly threat to the safety of all of Izril. However, I know one of my [Guardsmen]. Senior Guardsman Klbkch. And we knew him only as Klbkch the Slayer.”

Olesm turned his head. Zevara walked back and forth in front of the Council.

“When he came to Liscor, he was every bit the impartial monster we thought of all Antinium as. But he’s changed. And when he tells me there is a chance that Liscor might not be swallowed by a war with the Hive under our feet, that we could change the Antinium by working with them—I believe it.”

She stopped and turned to face them.

“I believe in giving the Council all the facts before they make their decision. My opinion is that the Free Antinium of Liscor can be trusted more than the other Hives. It’s a gamble to give them aid or allow them more freedoms. But as it stands, they are already positioned to strike Liscor. It may be, however, that the existence of the Painted Antinium, of these new Antinium like Yellow Splatters or Pawn, might be able to change the Hive as a whole. Or throw the entire network into chaos.”

Her words were greeted with silence. Jeiss spoke up after a moment.

“You believe that, Watch Captain? The Ants seem pretty unified to me.”

“Antinium, Jeiss. And that’s because they’re one species even if they looked different. But Aberrations? Painted Soldiers? They’re different. And somehow, I don’t think the other Queens like different things.”

The Watch Captain smiled. And Olesm sighed inside. Because it was a good argument. Watch Captain Zevara saluted, Olesm gathered up the secret documents, and they left.

“Nice job swaying them with the mandatory explanation.”

He spoke to her as they walked down the hallway. Zevara glanced at him.

“You disagree?”

“I know Senior Guardsman Klbkch too. And he thinks of us…”

“…As expendable? So what?”

Zevara stopped by the bannister staircase looking down. Olesm stared at her.

“So what? That doesn’t frighten you? You don’t think he’d kill us all if the Grand Queen ordered it?”

Zevara paused. She looked past Olesm, straight through him, and then met his eyes as serious as he’d ever seen her.

“Of course it frightens me. And maybe he’d kill me, Olesm. And you. And this entire city. But you know the thing about traitors? It’s not all the times they obey that makes them a traitor. It’s the one time they disobey that does it. And I’m willing to bet on one. How about you?”

The [Strategist] opened his mouth, but never replied as Zevara strode down the staircase. And that, Olesm realized, was as close as Zevara would ever come to praising Erin Solstice. It made him really think as he put away the documents and locked them. When he came back to the Council room, the real debate had begun.

“Do you really think you can expand Liscor and rebuilt the walls higher without the Antinium, Lism? Liscor has not the [Builders] or [Architects] to do such a thing. Nor does it have the money to hire such workers in the numbers they would be needed.”

Krshia was arguing with Lism about the key thing that separated them. Raekea and Elirr were nodding along, but Lism was being backed by Jeiss and Alonna and to a lesser extent, Tismel and Zalaiss. The [Shopkeeper] snapped back.

“There is no way I’ll allow the Antinium to expand their Hive.”

“Well, it is what we promised. Antinium gold and Antinium aid! We must honor that vow!”

“You three must. But there are three of you. We have the majority.”

Lism pointed at the other Drakes sitting around the table. Jeiss winced a bit guiltily and Alonna sighed, but neither objected. Krshia opened her mouth. And then she smiled cunningly. And she glanced sideways.

At Tismel. And then at Zalaiss. Lism looked up.

“They won’t vote for an Antinium Hive expansion. There’s no use trying to sway them.”

“I must agree with Shopkeeper—er, with Councilmember Lism.”

Tismel nodded, still looking pale. Olesm saw Zalaiss inclining her head as well. But Krshia shook her head. She wagged a finger at Lism.

“In that case, we will vote against your proposals, yes? I do not believe you have the majority to enforce rules reducing the cost of rent without us.”

Krshia glanced pointedly at the two mercantile members of the Council. The Cobbler’s Guild’s Guildmaster looked up and Zalaiss paused.

“Hold on. The old Council told us—”

“What? That’s a separate issue from the Antinium and the walls, Silverfang! Don’t you dare pull innocent people’s lives into this!”

Lism barked at Krshia. The Gnoll just folded her arms and looked grim.

“Nothing for nothing, Lism. We get nothing, you get nothing. Liscor suffers either way.”

“Wait—wait. I’m sorry, Councilmembers, but changing the prices of rent really isn’t on the table to begin with. I’m friends with a number of the Council—not to mention I own a bit of land!”

Tismel’s protest went unheard. Lism cursed as he looked at Jeiss. The Senior Guardsman paused.

“Krshia, that’s not fair. The rent—”

“What’s wrong with hiring Antinium to build the walls, Jeiss? Give a bit and we give back. Let’s negotiate.”

Raekea retorted. Jeiss considered this and looked at Alonna and Lism. Alonna nodded.

“Sounds good. Lism, listen to Krshia. She’s serious.”

“About the rent—”

Tismel’s voice grew louder and more urgent. Lism looked sideways at him.

“I heard you.”

“Oh, thank you!”

Tismel smiled in relief. Zalaiss, who was a [Merchant] and at least knew when not to trust someone at their immediate word, looked sharply at Lism. But she had seen the same thing he, Krshia, and Olesm—well, the entire Council had by this point. Lism raked his claws through his neck spines, thinking. Jeiss leaned over.

“It’s not actually that bad. Believe me—if you take out the part about the Hive—”

Alonna was nodding. Lism listened, and then growled.

“Fine! Fine!”

He looked at Krshia. The Gnoll raised an eyebrow and Lism glowered. He looked like he was pulling a tooth, but eventually he opened his mouth.

“Alright. Let’s bargain. No Antinium Hive expansion. I’ll trade diplomatic rights and increased Soldiers on the walls. They can also help build the city.”

Elirr whistled softly. He looked at Krshia. She was drumming her paws on the table.

“Hm. Klbkch might accept that. Would you allow—”

“No expansion.”

“Six hundred square feet?”

“That’s a lot of tunnel networks and barracks! The Antinium can burrow deep, Councilmember!”

Olesm had to protest. Krshia raised a brow.

“Four hundred then. Two hundred.”

“No, and no.”

“Fine then. My answer is no and no.”

“You can’t be serious! These are lives we’re talking about, Krshia!”

“I know. But give me something. Say, if Klbkch does not accept what you agreed on. Four hundred feet?”

“One hundred.”

“Two hundred.”

“Fine. But we’re all negotiating with him! And believe me, we’ll be very precise about the deal we make.”

Krshia smiled.

“Done!”

She reached out. Lism glared, and then slapped her paw with his claw. Raekea beamed and Elirr patted Krshia on the back, murmuring something too quiet for Olesm to hear. She relaxed, sighing.

Only Tismel didn’t seem to know what had happened. Lism was glowering as Jeiss patted him on the shoulder. Then the [Shopkeeper] looked up.

“Alright. Rent! First on our list.”

“Councilmember!”

“What? Tismel, I hear you, what?”

“You just said—”

“I said, I hear you. And I’m ignoring you now. Let’s just agree on this now, Krshia. Are we on the same page?”

“Like a book, Lism. And for once I think I will enjoy this.”

Krshia gave Lism a predatory smile. And he almost smiled back. He steepled his claws.

“Very well. I motion to limit the rent prices on Liscor’s citizens.”

“Councilmember Lism, I object! That is not acceptable to me!”

And there Zalaiss stood. She might not have been the best [Merchant], or a Gnoll like Krshia Silverfang, but she still had a presence. Tismel was nodding frantically. But again, Zalaiss had underestimated her audience. She looked around. Raekea and Elirr stared up at her blankly. Jeiss sighed. Alonna shook her head. Krshia smiled. And Lism continued.

“As I was saying, a vote to agree to limit—”

“Councilmember Lism, we are all of the same rank here. I have a right to be heard!”

Zalaiss snapped at Lism. He glanced up at her. And there was a dispassionate look in his eyes. Dispassionate, until you saw the satisfaction lurking there. Slowly, Lism nodded.

“Councilwoman Zalaiss, I fully understand that you have a right to be heard. I only wonder if it will do you any good.”

“Excuse me? I think the Council should decide as a whole—”

“I think the Council has.”

Lism cut Zalaiss off. She froze. And he turned around to look at the Drakes across from him.

“Councilmember Jeiss. Councilmember Alonna. Your thoughts?”

The two Drakes regarded Lism. Jeiss, who had risen through the ranks to become a Senior Guardsman and who had lived in apartments in Liscor all his life. Alonna, who had been a [Mage] paying rent as well. They looked at him, smiling slightly.

“No objections, Councilmember Lism.”

“None on my end either. Let’s hear what you have to say.”

“Very good. And my…fellow Councilmembers. Councilmember Elirr?”

The elderly Gnoll beamed at Lism. After all, Elirr had family, friends in Liscor. Gnolls were not wealthy.

“Councilmember Raekea?”

Raekea nodded. She might have been Liscor’s best [Armorer] but she wasn’t…Zalaiss paled. The [Merchant] looked at Tismel, the Guildmaster, and then at Krshia. Honored Krshia. Krshia the [Shopkeeper]. The Gnoll inclined her head. And she almost purred as she spoke.

“Councilmember Lism, I believe you have yet to ask for my opinion.”

“Don’t ruin the moment, Krshia Silverfang.”

Lism sighed. But then he looked at her.

“Your thoughts?”

Krshia took her time in replying. When she did speak, it was cheerfully.

“It’s always been interesting to me, yes? How majorities work. Gnolls do not have such things. We have our [Chieftains], and we respect authority in age and deed and in other ways. In the Gnollmoot, yes, we also gather and the [Chieftains] must debate of course, but even there, it is not simply a majority wins. This way is much simpler. One could overrule all other voices if they had, mm, five votes, yes? Let alone six. Then two voices do not matter. That is much like a…hrm. Tyranny. Which is not a Gnollish thing. Some might call it dangerous, yes?”

Zalaiss went dead white. Tismel caught on and choked. Lism looked up at the ceiling and then reconsidered. He stared down at the candied nuts embedded in the carpet and smiled.

“Perhaps it is. But [Kings] seem to do it well enough. Maybe it’s wrong for a democracy. But it strikes me that Liscor hasn’t been one. The old Council used to elect the new Council. So one turn is fair to me.”

He spread his claws on the table and nodded around.

“I motion to amend how the Council decides on issues. Later. So. As I was saying, the Antinium can have their visitors to the city. Under watch. And more Soldiers aboveground since they apparently have an army of them under our feet. No expansion of the Hive and I say we test to make sure they’re not expanding six times a year at minimum. In exchange, we hire them to do some of the rebuilding process. But to expand the city, we need funds. The third problem which we brought up at the start of that meeting.”

The others nodded. Zalaiss was making a faint noise in the back of her throat. Olesm was waiting with bated breath. This was better than a play because it was real. And it was happening. Krshia nodded, playing her role out with a broad smile.

“The Antinium will pay for a good deal of this, yes? They could begin work without a need for a down payment. And they have a good deal of materials, or so Senior Guardsman Klbkch has informed me. Quality stone, taken from the dungeon.”

“Yes, yes. We’ll also have funds from the army and the Walled Cities. They have pledged to aid Liscor.”

“But we’re striking a deal with the Antinium.”

Alonna pointed out, amused. Lism raised a claw.

“Only because that damned Krshia insists! We’re not allowing them to expand the Hive! Much! If at all. Otherwise we’d be forced to accept full Antinium aid. If the Walled Cities won’t pay. I believe that’s called ‘nothing for nothing’.”

He looked at Krshia. She smiled. Lism went on.

“But money has to come from somewhere. And we have to consider extra budgets for the Watch, upgrades to the Adventurer’s Guilds, and so on. I move to make a number of changes including prices on Shield Spider components. But given the current and severe population crisis in the city, I also move to reduce rents and raise a higher tax on [Landlords], which—”

“No!”

Zalaiss shouted. Lism shouted over her, cheerfully bellowing.

“Two silver coins per month in lower-income districts! That’s as much as some families can afford to pay. Middle-income…as a cap, ten silver? Or one gold piece? Maybe a gold piece!”

Elirr choked on his cup of wine.

“A gold piece per month?”

“That’s the upper limit, obviously. We’re not going to regulate the prices. Too much. But—”

“Two silver coins per month? You can’t do that!”

Tismel was aghast. Lism looked around.

“I think we can. We have six votes. For everything I’ve just discussed, all in favor?”

“Stop!”

Six hands went up. Zalaiss looked around, and then tried to yank Jeiss’ arm down. He kept it up. Tismel went over to Raekea to do the same and she made a fist. Lism grinned.

“Excellent! And we’ll review how every Guild is paying their dues to the city! Starting with the Merchant’s Guild, especially if they try to boycott! The Watch can enforce the issue of rent. Anyone who objects to the new prices can sit in the prison! With the Minotaur! With a fine!”

“This is a mutiny! A rebellion! Treachery! I’ll tell the Council!”

The [Merchant] shouted at the room.

“This is democracy! Tell the Council! They’re not in charge!”

Lism was on his feet. The Drake leapt onto the table and Zalaiss, turning, staring in horror, saw him point at her. The [Shopkeeper] laughed wildly.

“Run! Run and tell them!”

She stared up at him, stumbled for the door, and fled. Tismel was hot on her heels. Lism laughed wildly, and collapsed back into his chair as he got off of the table. Everyone was staring. Olesm’s uncle chuckled, and then he guffawed. And then he just sat there, chortling a bit.

It was Krshia who eventually got them back on track. The Gnoll cleared her throat, and Lism sat up, glaring at her. But strangely, then he nodded. As if all the enmity between them had dissipated for a moment. They nodded at each other. And Olesm remembered a proverb about Drakes.

If the end of the world came and only two Drakes were left, they’d fight over the dust that was left. But there was nothing that united two Drakes, even two mortal enemies…like a third Drake with more wealth than the other two combined. Jeiss chortled as he picked up a quill and ink.

“Two silver coins for the lowest-income districts. I can make a list. Wait, should I make a list?”

“Might as well. Or they’ll try claiming every district’s middle-income or higher. Right, back to work. Now, as I was saying about the Shield Spider parts—I think we want to insist on a cut of what’s being sold, don’t you?”

“A silver piece or two? The Merchant’s Guild has profited, but how would we know the numbers of what is sold or not?”

Alonna demurred as she and the others edged closer to the table. Elirr stroked his chin.

“Perhaps we could ask some Gnoll [Merchants]? There are few who go north, but they might tell us.”

“No need. Let’s just check the records. The Merchant’s Guild keeps them, after all.”

Lism snorted. Krshia frowned.

“Can we do that? They might defend it and it is Guild-rights.”

“Okay, fine. That might be going too far. In that case, let’s just say they owe us two silver pieces per Shield Spider corpse. They’ll figure out how to make a profit or they’ll eat the losses.”

“And if they don’t report the numbers?”

“That’s a job for Watch Captain Zevara and truth spells. Can we make it retroactive?”

Jeiss grinned.

“You’d scare away every [Merchant] in a thousand miles, Lism. The law doesn’t work like that, believe me. Just stick to two silver pieces. What else?”

There was a pause. And then the Council began speaking all at once. It was chaos as Olesm tried to keep up, listening to Krshia and Lism arguing, Jeiss talking law, Alonna offering magical solutions and Raekea and Elirr bringing in Gnollish ideas to a room that had only known Drakes. It was chaos, and probably inefficient. But it was also fresh and new. Olesm had to keep turning his head because if he kept it in one place too long, his smile would make one of the Councilmembers look up and ask what was so funny. And it wasn’t funny. It was wonderful.

—-

The outraged former Council of Liscor took twenty minutes to convene back on the city hall like a swarm of bees. Slow bees, who had to pant because they’d run all the way back. But they’d brought reinforcements. Last year’s Council, plus Zalaiss and Tismel, plus the previous Council! And the Council before them! There weren’t actually twenty six of them—only twenty two—because some of them had served dual offices.

But they certainly outnumbered the six upstarts in that office! The Councilmembers stormed up the steps, ready to put an end to this madness by force if necessary. They got to the room where the current Council was meeting. But got no further because someone was blocking the way.

Just…someone. Not someones. But you only needed one. Relc looked up from where he was sitting on a stool. Of course, the Councilmembers recognized him. That pestilential, rude—er, large, very helpful Senior Guardsman. He looked larger than they remembered him. And when he stood up, you couldn’t help but notice he was in fine shape for his age and semi-retirement.

“Move aside! We demand to see the Council!”

Someone from the back of the mob shouted. After all, there were twenty tw—nineteen of them. Eighteen, now. Relc cracked his knuckles. Then his arms. Then his neck. And then his spine.

“Ooh! Bad posture. Hello everyone! Councilmember Zalaiss, Councilmember Tismel, you’re free to go back and listen if you promise not to interrupt too much. Everyone else, this is city hall.”

“…So?”

“You’re not the Council.”

Relc looked at them as if they were idiots. The Drakes hesitated, and then one of the group of fifteen blustered.

“We are all former Councilmembers! So if you know what’s good for you—”

She stopped as Relc held up a clawed hand.

“Damnit! Sorry, sorry. I made a mistake. Let me try again.”

He took a breath, and then he smiled and held up a hand. He slowly clenched it into a fist.

“Hi! I’m Relc. No one but the current Council goes through, got it? I’m allowed to hit you if you disagree. Please disagree.”

And strangely, no one disagreed. The Council hesitated, and thought about bodyguards and mercenaries and shady people. Then they looked at Relc’s fist. The Gecko of Liscor gave them a bright smile.

And that was that. The Council worked on ignorant of what was going outside. They were talking, debating. And it wasn’t just Krshia and Lism. They had held the floor to begin with; it had been their parties, their ideas. But after the first agreements had been struck, it was anyone’s floor. And contrary to what they’d expected—everyone had something to bring to the conversation.

“Can we agree to pass Watch Captain Zevara’s budget?”

Jeiss tapped a claw on the table, getting the attention away from a discussion of guild fees to the city. Olesm had circulated the proposed budget and Krshia took a moment to wince at the number underlined at the bottom. She hesitated.

“It’s a lot of gold. Gold we will have to ration between all the projects.”

Lism nodded sourly. They were doing calculations of how much they’d need for every project and Zevara’s wasn’t the biggest stone in the basket, but it certainly was large. Jeiss, however, was adamant.

“I am a Senior Guardsman and I know Watch business. I can tell all of you honestly that we could use all the gold we can get—and then some. If you want to defend against the dungeon, the Antinium, or anything else, we need the gold. Consider this an inescapable expense. No reducing the budget. No ‘cuts’ to make it work. That’s how we lost our [Mage] unit twenty four years back. And we could have used them against the Necromancer.”

The Council nodded reluctantly. But how did you make money out of nothing? Sometimes you shook it out of people who’d been hoarding it, but that didn’t work for everything. It was Raekea who raised her arm and grinned around her slightly sooty fur.

“I have an idea that came to me recently. Pallass has [Blacksmiths]. The best I’ve seen. Maughin alone could put all of Liscor’s best out of work, and as one of them, I must admit that.”

She grimaced. The admission hurt, but she went on.

“However, Pallass needs one thing as much as Liscor. Ore. They have mines they control and they import goods, but cheap and good-quality ore is always welcome. More than that, I think some of their smiths might come to Liscor, or teach us their tricks if there was a profit in it.”

“All I hear is how we’re spending more money. And we certainly don’t have any ore mines. We used to, but finding new ones would require [Prospectors]—another expense we don’t have gold for yet!”

Lism frowned. Alonna gave him a reproving look. Raekea rolled her eyes and went on.

“We don’t have ore. But there is a city nearby who does.”

Krshia’s eyes lit up.

“Esthelm? They have mines?”

“Hrm. Yes. I import what I need from them. Cheap. But there aren’t any areas to smelt on a large scale so all of Liscor’s [Smiths] cannot buy what Esthelm produces. However, Pallass…if we could export ore to them and import smelted goods cheaply—”

“On the list! Put it on the list, Olesm!”

Lism waved at his nephew frantically. And Olesm waved at one of the [Scribes] whom he’d brought in because his claw was really starting to hurt from all the writing. She dutifully wrote it down and it was Elirr’s turn. He cleared his throat when it came to the subject of the Adventurer’s Guild.

“I understand pets. Animals. Not much else. But…hrm. I think setting prices on monster parts from the Adventurer’s Guild is a good thing. Lism is correct, yes? Shield Spider parts have uses, but we do not earn much of a profit from them while [Merchants] do. And the adventurers, for all they do harvest monsters for their goods, do not use all of the monster they could because they do not know, yes? Just the other day, I heard that they had killed a nest of Blankipillers and left them to rot!”

“Blanki—what?”

Even Olesm looked blankly at Elirr. The Gnoll huffed.

“Have you never heard of them? Blankipillars. Giant caterpillars. They grow up into…hrm, well, good that they do not grow up. But they have sacs in them, yes? They are very numbing. They can kill in large doses, but [Healers] and [Alchemists] would pay much for them!”

“That’s what Selys has been saying all along. The Adventurer’s Guild can collect monster ingredients. But it will need a storehouse. More facilities.”

“Spend money to earn money! How does that help us now?”

Elirr gave Lism a reproving look.

“If we have a surplus of goods, we simply store them, yes? The city must own at least one warehouse with Runes of Preservation. Let us give one to the Adventurer’s Guild that we might start putting bounties on the monster parts and selling them at once. Pallass will surely demand rare ingredients.”

Alonna nodded excitedly.

“I could ask the [Mage]’s Guilds in other cities to go over the lists of monsters. Wistram Academy and Fissival’s College might pay for some parts if the creatures are rare. Is there a list of monsters discovered so far?”

“Selys would surely keep one, would she not?”

Lism nodded, drumming his claws excitedly on the table. Krshia was already going over how much the city would take from the Adventurer’s Guild’s as a fee. If [Shopkeepers] had one talent, it was shaving every copper penny they could out of a deal.

“Yes, let’s send for a list! And have it duplicated and sent out, by all means, Alonna. Ore as well, by all means! If we can see we’ll pull in more money, we could allocate Watch Captain Zevara her funds today and fund the rest as we go.”

“I’ll send a Street Runner, Uncle. I mean, Lism. Councilmember. It may take them a while especially if Selys is off-duty. But I’m sure they’ll be here within the hour at most! Will you be breaking before then?”

Flustered and excited, Olesm stumbled over his words. He saw the Council look at him.

“What? Breaking?”

“For lunch. Or adjourning for the day? The Council rarely—”

Lism smacked the table with one claw.

“What are you talking about? We’re staying in session until we see those rents lowered. And get construction underway! Or at least get someone with an [Architect] class working on it! Nephew—er, Strategist Olesm, who’s the best [Architect] in the world?”

“That would be Drevish the Architect. Er, no. Wait. He’s dead. Then it’s…”

“We’re not paying for a world-class [Architect]! What a waste of money, Lism! We don’t need fancy designs either! Hire someone from Pallass!”

Alonna was aghast. Lism shook his head adamantly.

“There are all sorts of things that go into city construction. Not just defensive placements, but sewer management. Aesthetics! It needs to be world-class! Pay for the best, especially if it comes to design. That’s how I do business.”

“What? I thought it was ‘undercut your competition by selling cheap products mixed in with your overpriced goods’, yes? Anyways, I have a better suggestion.”

Lism glared at Krshia. They kept sniping at each other, but neither broke flow. In fact, they were more trying to outdo each other rather than tear each other down. Lism gritted his teeth.

“Well?”

Krshia smirked.

“As a matter of fact, there is someone I found when I was researching how much it would cost. They are willing to work—for a good price!—and can deliver the blueprints within the week! Moreover, they are excited by the idea and they are a specialist in cities that deal with water, such as ours.”

“Really?”

The Council looked at her. Lism frowned.

“And why, if this is so big, did you not shout it from the rooftops?”

Krshia paused.

“Besides the fact that you’d copy my idea? Er, the [Architect] is ah…”

She took a breath. Raekea paused and Elirr sighed, remembering the issue in question that had put even Selys against it. Krshia came out with it in a rush.

“Hexel Quithail, one of the best [Architects] in all of Baleros, perhaps the world! He designed a new palace in Terandria, a city for the Iron Vanguard, and three cities himself!”

She paused. Lism took a moment to digest this. Then he shouted.

“A Lizardperson?”

“Lamia, technically, Uncle. They’re one of the smarter evolutions of their kind—”

“Never! You’ve gone too far this time, Silverfang!”

Olesm winced. Jeiss and Alonna both glared at Krshia. The Gnoll sighed.

“He is the best you will get for such a price!”

“Live in a city designed by one of those egg-headed idiots?”

The argument became a furious debate. Olesm was actually on Krshia’s side in this one, much to his uncle’s horror. Raekea paused and leaned over to Elirr. Very quietly she whispered to him.

“I never understood why Drakes hated Lizardpeople. Aren’t they…?”

“It’s the similarity, I think. Similarity among the differences.”

“Hrm. Yes.”

It took Krshia nearly an hour, and everyone had to stop for tea to soothe hoarse throats. But at last, Lism agreed with a look of disgust. He checked the list they’d made as the [Scribe] shook out her writing hand.

The list had ideas, numbers, concepts, and laws ready to go into effect yesterday. That should have gone into effect years ago. But the Drakes and Gnolls hit on a problem as they stared at the paper. Elirr cleared his throat as he looked around the meeting room.

“So. How do we get it all started?”

The Council looked at each other. Then they turned to Olesm. He looked up.

“What? Oh! Well, I can handle some of it. I suggest sending a Runner to Watch Captain Zevara. She’ll need to be consulted on some of this. And Guildmistress Tekshia as well. It would be polite to request her presence at her convenience. For the rest—you have [Secretaries], [Scribes],  [Negotiators], and more at your disposal, Councilmembers. Just send word you need someone! We might need to expand the staff, actually. You’ll need to approve the budget!”

The Council paused as they took this in. Jeiss groaned as he imagined another budget. Raekea just blinked at Olesm.

“We have [Negotiators]?”

Olesm nodded.

“Three. Would you…do you need one?”

He hesitated. Krshia looked at Lism who looked at Alonna who looked at Jeiss who looked at Elirr who didn’t bother looking at Raekea. The Gnoll just smiled.

—-

The Drake who strode into the Council’s meeting room had black, glossy scales patterned with spots of yellow leading up from his tail. He was slim, thin, and he had a smile all charm and delight. He spread his arms and gave Olesm a hug.

“Olesm! Pal! And what a beautiful new Council! Councilmembers, a delight.”

He bowed to the bemused Council, sweeping a fancy bow to them. Bemused the Council watched him straighten.

“Teliv Witherscale, at your service. I’m a part-time [Host] working at Wishdrink’s—let me know, anytime, and I’ll be happy to work for any crowd, group, or smaller party! I do dinner-parties too, and I can even liven up a birthday or level-up party! I don’t do funerals.”

“Teliv.”

Olesm sighed, resigned. His old friend winked at him. Olesm hadn’t seen Teliv in a while, but the Drake hadn’t changed. He looked around, irrepressibly cheerful as ever.

“To what do I owe the honor? Actually, scratch that. I’m delighted to meet the new Council! But if there’s anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask!”

“Mister…Teliv, we actually summoned you because we need a [Negotiator] to perform a variety of tasks. We have several Guildleaders who need to understand a variety of rules we’re about to put in place, a neighboring city we need to er, negotiate with for their trade goods, and more. Is that what your class does? Have you done this for the Council?”

Lism frowned at Teliv, glancing at Olesm. He vaguely remembered the younger Drake, but he didn’t remember someone so ostentatious. Teliv’s eyes widened.

“You have work for me? Actual work?”

“You didn’t aid the previous Council in your official capacity often?”

Nothing would have surprised Alonna anymore, but she managed to sound even more disapproving. No one had seen Tismel or Zalaiss so far, or the rest of the old Council. They were no doubt trying to figure something out, but Relc’s fist had kept everyone away so far. Teliv laughed until he realized she was serious.

“Well, yes. I’m part of Liscor’s very small, very underfunded diplomatic office. Normally, the Council just needs its Watch Captain, Olesm to boss about all the scribes and make sure all those tidy laws get enforced, and a few [Runners] to make sure the system keeps moving. But sometimes, very rarely, once in five blue moons, they need someone to negotiate a deal with the [Merchants], or talk over things with another city. Then they call for me! Or Mavei. Or Aless. Don’t call them. I’m the best.”

The Council looked at Olesm. Raekea coughed.

“Is he?”

“Well…probably. Teliv’s the highest-level I think, and he’s good at his job, despite how he acts.”

The [Strategist] ignored Teliv’s hurt look.

“What? Olesm, that hurts! We’re old friends!”

“How do you know my nephew?”

“Uncle!”

Lism narrowed his eyes, but Teliv’s laugh made even the [Shopkeeper] relax.

“We met in Manus’ academies. Olesm was the studious one. I decided being a [Tactician] wasn’t for me! Manus trains [Diplomats] too. I uh, haven’t made it to that class, but if you’ve got work for me, maybe I’ll finally level up!”

“Why would Manus need to train [Diplomats]? Wouldn’t Fissival be better?”

“Oh, Fissival only trains [Scholars]. We [Diplomats] have to be a bit sterner! There are threats that come with the class! Assassination, poisoning, assault, intimidation, blackmail…”

Teliv trailed off as he saw the blank looks on the faces of the other Councilmembers.

“It’s more of a problem between other Drake cities. Liscor didn’t have anyone to talk to until recently. Except for the Humans. And do we talk to them? No, seriously, am I talking to them?”

Krshia smiled. She approved of Teliv’s attitude. She looked at Lism and held a thumbs up. He scowled as Jeiss, grinning, did the same. Alonna shrugged, Raekea nodded, Elirr scratched his head—it was only after looking at Olesm that Lism sighed.

“Very well, you’ll be present when we negotiate. First with Guardsman Klbkch—then we’ll send you to the Guildmasters. Then to Esthelm. Here’s what you need to know. We’re trying to strike a deal—”

Teliv’s face fell. He backed up slightly at Klbkch’s name.

“Antinium? I uh, don’t do Antinium. Now, Mavei…”

He turned to go. Olesm shut the door. Teliv looked at him and then patted him on the shoulder.

“So, how’s the new Council?”

Olesm grinned.

“What do you think?”

Teliv looked behind him and saw three Drakes and three Gnolls staring at him. He hesitated, and then checked himself.

“If you’ll allow me, Councilmembers. I think I need to get my suit. And a protective amulet.”

—-

Erin Solstice stopped and stared. For once, it was her stopping and staring at something else. And for once, the people gathered around City Hall weren’t there because of something they had done.

And they were gathered. It wasn’t that they were waiting for the Council or an election. It was just that the charge in the air was here. The excitement. And on the winds, the smell of change.

It was coming out of the Council with every Street Runner dashing to deliver a message. In bursts of gossip—and then pieces of parchment being distributed to sections of the city. Erin saw it hitting places like the Adventurer’s Guilds first. The adventuring teams looked up, crowded around the board of bounties and then exclaimed.

“They’re paying how much for a Blankipillar’s venom sac? Dead gods! Wings of Pallass, we’re getting right back in that dungeon! There’s a fortune rotting away down there! On me!”

Bevussa flew out of the mob and raced out of the door, faster than any of the other teams. Keldrass charged after her as Selys and another [Receptionist] tried to gather her scattered notes.

In the street, Drassi was gossiping with a bunch of Gnolls as she somehow had the latest news before anyone else.

“A mysterious [Architect] of note has agreed to design the expansion to the city? Does that mean they hired someone cheap or it’s a secret?”

“Hey, can I have some of those bulletin-things? You can put them up in my inn?”

Erin waylaid one of the Street Runners and got an armful of scrolls, the ink still drying. She hurried back to her inn and realized she didn’t have a board to put them on. So she stuck them to a wall with bits of sticky dough and the Horns of Hammerad got up from their table to read.

“Wanted. Adventurers to open a route around the Bloodfields. [Builders], [Miners], and other helpful classes also encouraged to apply. Pay is guaranteed per day and per monster slain?”

Ceria blinked as she soothed hot-tub burns on her back. Yvlon looked at Pisces. He frowned.

“Intriguing.”

“Yes. I am intrigued.”

Ksmvr imitated Pisces, glancing sideways at him. Erin laughed. There was a freshness in the air she could feel. From the unhappy [Landlords] in the streets to those cheering the new jobs, the possibilities opening up, or just the fur now present in city hall.

It was also in the Watch. Zevara stared down at the letter hand-delivered by the Street Runner from the Merchant’s Guild. She held her breath as she unfurled the scroll. The new Council didn’t even bother stamping it with wax. And they’d finished a budget in the first day? They were fast, she had to give it to them. But was it—

The Watch Captain sighed and sat back down at her desk as she read. She reviewed the sums, looked at the final number, and clenched her claw into a fist and exhaled a plume of smoke.

“Yes!”

It wasn’t everything she’d asked for. It never was. But it was a lot. Almost everything.

“You want to send a reply? Let me know and I’ll run it back!”

The Street Runner bounced on her feet, grinning. The young Gnoll was as excited as Zevara. The Watch Captain sat up and reached for her own parchment. She began writing. Then she thrust the note at the Gnoll girl.

“Send a [Message] to the Watch Captains on the list of cities I’ve written down here. Non-priority. Copy the contents to each one. Here. A tip.”

She fished out a silver piece and tossed it at the girl. She disappeared with a pleased yip. Zevara heard her thundering down the stairs. Then she sighed.

Watch Captain Zevara sat back in her chair. There was a lot you could do if you had an actual budget and more importantly, a way to get past the Bloodfields to other Drake cities. She’d dreamed of this before, but it had always been too far. But now? She glanced out one window, east, towards an inn she couldn’t see, but knew was there.

You could buy and sell between cities. Poach other promising recruits. Trade gold for needed supplies or weapons. Or lend aid where aid was needed. It was one of those archaic rules only people like Zevara ever read. In practice, it meant you could gather and call in favors. And oh, what favors…

Zevara heard something walking down the hallway. She poked her head out of her office and saw one of the senior officers. She nodded to the Gnoll.

“Beilmark. Off-duty?”

The Senior Guardswoman smiled slightly.

“Jeiss is still at work. We’ll have to find another schedule around his job. I’m taking rookies on patrol.”

She looked…well, not exactly happy. But not bad either. Zevara nodded, an acknowledgement from one [Guard] to another. Beilmark returned the gesture. Zevara paused, and then snapped her claws.

“I’m going to talk to the prisoner. Do me a favor and stop by city hall at some point? This is for them. I forgot to send it with the Street Runner.”

She disappeared into her office and scribbled frantically. Beilmark came in and found Zevara reaching into a little cupboard behind her. The Gnoll’s brows rose as she saw Zevara pull out a slightly dusty bottle.

“Have you heard that they want to set up a permanent route along the Bloodfields? That will be a challenge and a half. But it’ll mean trade all year. If they can manage it. What’s the note say?”

“Read it. It’s just about the prisoner. I’m planning on putting him to use. That’s my notice for the Council. I don’t have to ask them, only notify them.”

Beilmark read the note. Her brows shot up.

“Well, I don’t think they’ll object to any of that.”

“I don’t either. Join me for a drink? I’m off-duty starting now.”

The Gnoll hesitated. But then she shook her head.

“I’ve got to work. Watch Captain.”

She saluted and left. Zevara returned to her desk. She sat on the edge for a moment, and then regarded the bottle as she found a glass. Aged Permere Wine, a vintage made of a magical flower along with an excellent grape. The wine was so pure and clear that it almost hurt the eyes to look at. Even the clean wine glass looked dirty as it held the liquid.

Zevara was planning to share the drink with a certain someone. He might be miserable—although he had those new pets—but her news would cheer him up. It might earn her criticism but right now Zevara was floating on clouds. She looked for another glass but then she couldn’t help it. The wine was a special treat, as rare as the smile on her face. She took a drink and felt a few dead scales fall off of her arm where she’d missed them. She spat out a bit of plaque and inhaled. The world felt new. Then she lifted her glass.

“Here’s to the future.”

And she laughed.

—-

Erin Solstice stood in her inn, smiling. In the distance, Liscor stood. And it was the same old place. But it was changing. She could feel it. And that was almost upsetting. But also, wonderful.

Speaking of which…she looked around her inn. Workers trooped past her, holding buckets of copper nails and wood. Lyonette was shepherding them gently with Pawn.

“Erin, any problems with us getting to work?”

“Nope! You do that building thing, Lyonette!”

Erin gave Lyonette a thumbs-up. The [Princess] smiled and turned back to Pawn. After a moment, she came over to Erin.

“How are things?”

“Good! I mean, everyone’s super busy. But I bet Krshia and Selys will tell me about it tonight.”

“And Olesm? How about him and his uncle?”

Erin paused. She wavered, and then shrugged.

“Eh, I’ll wait until he comes crawling to me to make peace. I still think he’s a jerk for going after Calruz and Klbkch. But he’s still a friend. I’m gonna beat him at chess a lot, though!”

“Fair enough. Oh—someone’s calling you. I’ll get back to work. We’re going to build those hot tubs you mentioned! And a new wing of the inn! Pawn! Where did you go?”

Lyonette hurried off. Erin watched her leave the inn, and then turned. Someone was indeed calling her name. She saw a Drake hurry over, a wooden clipboard and bit of parchment neatly held in place at both ends.

“Excuse me, Miss. Are you Miss Erin Solstice?”

“That’s me! Hey! Are you from the new Council?”

Erin beamed at the Drake. He adjusted the clipboard and quill. He had a few splotches of ink on his pale orange scales. He nodded.

“I am! Geillsten. At your service.”

“How can I help you, Geillsten? If you’re looking for Klbkch—”

“No, Miss Solstice. You are just the person I’ve been looking for! I have a message from the Council.”

“Ooh! From Krshia? Or Lism.”

The Drake coughed reprovingly.

“All of the Council, Miss Solstice. They have enacted a number of reforms lately. Among them, they’ve seen fit to bestow upon you some honors for your efforts in aiding Liscor!”

“Wh—really? Well, about time!”

Erin beamed. Geillsten just gave her a slow nod.

“Yes. And for your efforts, and due to your inn’s proximity to the city of Liscor, they have decided that your inn, and you are defacto inhabitants of the city. As such, you are entitled to the rights and responsibilities of a citizen of Liscor and the protections of the Watch, as they note you have enjoyed since your initial stay at Liscor.”

The young woman slapped her forehead, scowling.

“What? I’m a citizen? Just like that? Couldn’t they have done it yesterday? And—”

Then the wording of the Drake’s message caught up with her. Erin paused.

“Wait, since the beginning? The rights and…”

“Responsibilities, yes. You aren’t in trouble, Miss Solstice. But I am here to ah, ensure your civic duty is carried out.”

Erin stared at the Drake.

“Say, Geillsten? What’s your class?”

“[Tax Collector], Miss Solstice.”

The penny dropped. Erin looked around, but Geillsten was standing neatly in front of her. And she couldn’t kill him and melt his body with acid fly juice! She’d sold all of it yesterday! She hesitated and scuffed one foot on the floorboards.

“I uh, haven’t been keeping a record of how much I make. And to be fair, I didn’t know I should, so…”

She looked hopefully at him. The Drake gave her an encouraging smile.

“Not to worry, Miss Solstice. Happily, as a [Tax Collector], I have a Skill which allows me to calculate exactly how much you owe. You can be sure that the number I produce is accurate and fair—I am routinely checked by the Watch under truth spell, and you may pay a nominal fee to ensure the accuracy yourself if you so choose!”

“Oh. Oh, that’s—er, do I have to do anything?”

“Not at all, Miss Solstice. If you’ll just wait here? I will conduct my inspection.”

“Sure…”

Erin looked around for Lyonette. But it was no good. The Drake began walking around her, peering at her or through her at something. He began writing furiously on the parchment.

“Hmm…oh my. Well, there are a number of sources of income that the city does not count as viable taxation, so let me just note that all down here…and here…and here…er, did you really sell a flower for…pardon me, I shouldn’t ask…very well. With those incomes subtracted—please pardon me, the Council wishes to see a copy of this report—here is your owed tax, Miss Solstice!”

He finished and showed Erin a notation at the bottom of the parchment. Then he neatly tore the number off, handed it to her, and gave her an embarrassed smile.

“I am sorry. It is my job, and I do see that you can pay the indicated sum.”

“Buh.”

“If you would require time, there are repayment options I can go over with you—”

“Huh.”

Geillsten hesitated. He coughed again and cleared his throat. His was a thankless job.

“The Council also wished to inform you that they will be sending a delegation to negotiate with Esthelm, and given your previous aid to the city, they would consider it a personal favor if you aided the [Negotiator] in his task. I believed they phrased it as a ‘civic duty’, Miss Solstice.”

Erin jerked out of her stupor. Lyonette was going to kill her. As soon as she killed Krshia! How could she? Erin narrowed her eyes at the Drake.

“What? My ‘civic’—is that some kind of shady threat?”

The Drake looked appalled.

“Oh, you’re free to decline! However, the Council would also agree to discount your taxes by…this much if you accept. And put you in for a citizenship, along with your wards, Miss Lyonette and Miss Mrsha! And perhaps a provisional entry permit for your ah, employee? Mister Numbtongue?”

He showed Erin another number. Erin bit her tongue and stared at him. The Drake gave her a smile full of chagrin. She sighed.

“You’re really good at your job, Geillsten. Do people ever get mad at you?”

“More than one wishes, Miss Solstice. But it is a knack. And a Skill. The Council would like a reply by tonight—you may send a Street Runner to them free of charge or apply for a meeting in person, although I understand there is a queue—thank you for your time. And not throwing stones at me.”

He bowed and was gone. Erin watched him go. She thought of the new Council, full of vim, vigor, and cheap but filling sandwiches. She thought of change, and what Liscor could be.

Because that was what it was about. You could stay the same forever. Or you could…Erin looked around her inn. She looked out, at the city of Liscor in the distance.

Then she stared at the number on the parchment. Erin sighed.

“I hate progress.”

6.50 I

Erin Solstice’s inn was now an establishment. Not just a curio, an attraction, or simply a locus of unusual events. It was a home, a gathering spot. A place that people had made their habit to visit, for food, entertainment, and in that way, it became part of their lives. Like a local diner, or a library, or park, The Wandering Inn’s worth had taken on a value you couldn’t sum up in an arbitrary number.

Well, you could if you were paying taxes. Erin sat in her inn the next morning, feeling a bit grouchy. She’d paid the taxes. Since it wasn’t a small amount, the friendly tax-Drake, Geillsten, had even arranged for two ordinary [Guards] to pick the gold up in a bag of holding. And how polite they’d been, too!

She’d paid. But Erin had not had a good yesterday of it. First, Lyonette had scolded her for ten minutes and then gone off to see if she could renegotiate the terms. After all, it wasn’t fair! You couldn’t tax someone for before they were a citizen, right?

Well, the [Princess] had found out that you could and Liscor would do just that. Geillsten had referred her to the Council’s notes, which had pointed out that Erin had received the City Watch’s help on numerous occasions—an officer had even died protecting Erin’s inn. Klbkch.

Never mind the fact he had come back or that he and Relc had been helping her as friends. The fact was that Erin’s inn had benefited from the City Watch patrolling around Liscor to remove the majority of monster threats, the healing potion Klbkch had given her that was City Watch equipment, and the numerous occasions the City Watch had helped resolve crises threatening Erin’s inn.

“And to be clear, Miss Lyonette, the Council’s position on this is that a tax should be paid. And they have allowed Miss Solstice to claim a number of discounts, including a sizable one for aiding in the negotiations with Esthelm.”

And that was that. Lyonette had glumly returned to the inn empty-handed. Because, when you got down to it, Liscor’s new democracy only extended to electing the Council. In their seat of authority, the Council could enact whichever laws they pleased.

“It’s like a monarchy. Only, [Kings] are often balanced by a lot of forces. Their advisors, the nobility, public unrest—but some of them can simply order someone to be jailed or someone to pay more taxes. It’s all about having the right kind of power, Mrsha. Knowing how to use it and incur the least amount of pushback or mitigating it.”

Lyonette had balanced Mrsha on one knee as she explained why Erin was counting gold coins. The [Innkeeper] wasn’t sure that was a suitable lesson for Mrsha, but she didn’t have much to say. So she’d paid up the next day and now she glumly regarded the contents of her safe.

It was still quite a bit. But Lyonette’s not-quite-a-glare as she put out today’s breakfast for the inn’s morning crowd told Erin it wasn’t good.

“We’ve still got enough to pay the staff and buy food and stuff! Plenty! We could go for like, a month on this alone!”

Erin weakly pointed at the coins with a smile. Lyonette pursed her lips. As she passed by with a huge, fluffy roll of bread and a bread knife, she pointedly looked at four table’s worth of Antinium Soldiers and Workers.

“That money was supposed to be used for refurbishing the inn, Erin. I’ll have to talk with Klbkch about delaying the first payments. And I’ll need you to make more ice cream. That’s one of our best sellers. In those…”

“Cones. They’re good, right?”

Lyonette sighed. But she nodded. Erin’s latest little innovation had been recreating the hard-batter cones that made ice cream a thousand times better than eating them in bowls. Plus you could walk around with them!

“I’ll need as much as you can make. Ishkr will buy the ingredients if you need more. No buts! You’re in the kitchen at least for three hours! Then you can go to Pallass.”

“But—”

Lyonette glared. Erin weakly smiled.

“But Lyonette, I have to go to Esthelm today! You know, to negotiate and stuff?”

The [Princess]’s brows crossed.

“Today?”

“Yup. For the discount?”

The [Innkeeper] watched as Lyonette tossed the fresh loaf of the bread on the table in disgust. Lyonette ground her teeth, and then nodded.

“Fine, I’ll get Ishkr to make the ice cream and have—how long will you be?”

“Um…”

At another table, the Horns of Hammerad were eating. Pisces, Ceria, Ksmvr, and Yvlon were having a rather nice meal of cereal grains flavored with a bit of sugar. Just a bit; the days of cheap honey were gone with the Ashfire Bee nest, which Ceria deeply regretted. Still—the food was really good. She noticed Ksmvr bouncing in his seat and watching Erin and Lyonette.

“What’s wrong, Ksmvr?”

“I am waiting for my sustenance, Captain Ceria.”

The half-Elf eyed Ksmvr. He alone wasn’t eating cereal.

“What, the bread? Is that all you’re eating for breakfast?”

The Antinium paused.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Um…”

Ceria had no idea. She suspected it was, but Ksmvr couldn’t get enough of gluten after discovering the Amulet of Food Poison Resistance or whatever it was. It turned out lots of Antinium liked gluten—they were just hugely intolerant to it.

“Just eat your bugs for dinner or something.”

The [Ice Mage] finished lamely. She heard a snort, but Yvlon and Pisces’ faces were completely neutral when she looked over. After a moment, Yvlon glanced over.

“You might have to go and get the bread yourself, Ksmvr. Lyonette’s not looking too happy.”

“I will acquire my breakfast now, then, Yvlon. I must not be the weakest link. Miss Erin has informed me of the perils of being one.”

Ksmvr got up. Ceria blinked for a few seconds, and then decided it wasn’t worth commenting on. She looked at the rest of her team, and then at the diners the next table over.

“Hey, Bevussa, what’s your team doing today? You interested in the new missions being offered by Liscor’s Council?”

The Garuda sitting at the next table with her team looked up. She was having breakfast at the inn. Some of her team looked a bit annoyed at the question;  Ceria was still Silver-rank. But Bevussa just smiled and shrugged.

“It’s interesting. They want to chew a regular trade route towards Pallass? It’s been tried before.”

“Really?”

Ceria frowned. Among the latest developments in Liscor, the decision to build a trade route to Pallass had been of most interest to her team. Bevussa nodded.

“Liscor had one, I think. Before the second Antinium War. Then—you know, the Necromancer—the city lost a lot of outlying villages in the Floodplains and trade stopped with the Antinium Hive. Not that it was doing well after the First Antinium War…”

“Wars tend to do that.”

One of the other Oldblood Drakes offered helpfully. Bevussa stared at him.

“Yeah. I guess they do, Zassil. Imagine that?”

“I’m just saying. Wars. Bad for the economy.”

“We get it, Zassil. That was Bevussa being sarcastic. This is me being mad.”

Issa, another Drake, snapped. Zassil looked hurt. Ceria bit her lip to keep from laughing.

“I’m just trying to contribute to the conversation.”

“How? What does that statement have to offer? Why would you even say that? Wars are bad for trade? Hey, you know what? When I flap my wings, I sometimes fly.”

“Not for much longer with how much you’re eating.”

Bevussa ignored her squabbling teammates. She turned back to Ceria and shook her head in response to the first question.

“Interesting, yeah. But not for us. We’re sticking with the dungeon. That’s where the real gold is.”

Her last teammate, the silent Kin, looked up and nodded, brushing crumbs off his—her?—scales as Zassil and Issa threw bread pieces at each other. Ceria made a face. The bounties on monster parts were now being made into a very attractive list in the Adventurer’s Guild. You could get two gold coins for an adult Blankipillar’s venom sac, intact.

It was going to drive even more interest to Liscor as adventurers came in looking for safe monster-hunting work as opposed to dungeon exploration which was far riskier and didn’t guarantee pay. But…she shook her head and nodded to her team.

“We have a thing about the dungeon. The Bloodfields sounds like good work until the door gets to Invrisil. Safer than the dungeon, too.”

Bevussa nodded understandingly. Then she frowned.

“Just remember, the Bloodfields aren’t much safer than the dungeon. If it was winter, well, that’s different. But the summer? Just stay clear of it, got it? Even the border! And watch out—even regular monsters might steer clear of the Bloodfields, but nasty types sometimes still hang about the area.”

The Horns of Hammerad nodded seriously. Ksmvr was trying to figure out how to eat his half of the loaf. Ceria bit her lip, and nodded.

“Hopefully we never get close. It’s to make a safe route around; but we’ll be careful.”

“So when’s the work start?”

Ceria had no idea. She looked at Yvlon, who’d signed them up at the Adventurer’s Guild. The [Wounded Warrior] raised her shoulders.

“In a day or two. It’s still being organized. We’re just recruiting teams today. The Council’s offering us a headhunter fee for every team in Celum we can get to work on the request. So we’re going to reach out to some teams we know. Hopefully they’ll listen.”

“Huh, what’s the fee?”

“Just a few silver—”

Everyone winced as someone dropped a plate with a crash of pottery. Ceria looked over and saw a white shape on the ground and a broken plate full of eggs. Mrsha got up and stared at the plate of breakfast she’d been trying to bring to Numbtongue’s table. She stared at it and her eyes filled up.

“Oh, Mrsha! Are you alright? Come here. It’s okay, it’s okay! Are you cut? Let me see.”

Erin, Lyonette, and several others immediately converged on the Gnoll. So did Numbtongue. He squatted down and investigated the plate of eggs mixed with shards. Mrsha wasn’t hurt; she’d just tripped. But she was staring at the broken plate and food and crying. Numbtongue watched as Lyonette and Erin cuddled Mrsha and tried to reassure her. He reached for the eggs and began to munch on them.

“Numbtongue! Stop that! You could swallow some shards! It’s all right, Mrsha. Eggs are cheap. I used to find them all the time. Those Dino Birds lay them in the ground. Here. Ishkr! Broom! And we’ll get new eggs…”

This was morning in The Wandering Inn. Everyone watched out of the corner of their eyes as Mrsha went into the kitchen with Erin and Lyonette and came back with another plate of eggs in a moment. She put it on the table in front of Numbtongue. He nodded, smiled, and began to eat. And Mrsha sat with him, wagging her tail as Erin and Lyonette helped Ishkr and the two Gnolls on morning duty pass out the rest of the food.

“Erin! Hey, Erin! Is my thing ready?”

A pale, scaly hand and unfamiliar voice waved at Erin as she passed by Numbtongue’s table. She looked over and recognized Jelaqua. Different body, same grin. Erin blinked.

“Not yet! Give them like, five minutes, Jelaqua?”

“Got it. Hey! All these adventurers in the inn, huh? Feels like a second Adventurer’s Guild!”

The Selphid grinned at the other teams eating around her. Bevussa called over to the Selphid.

“Jelaqua, is your team interested in the Bloodfields mission? I thought you were still going to Invrisil.”

“Yeah, well, the thing is…we’re getting there! A few miles a day. Sometimes more. I’m uh, on vacation. You know. With Maughin?”

Jelaqua grinned a bit nervously. Ceria exchanged glances with her team. Bevussa nodded slowly.

“Right.”

“Now that’s news. Wonder what it’s like in Pallass. A Dullahan and a Selphid? I wish I could hear the gossip.”

Zassil commented under his breath. Issa kicked him.

“Don’t be a lizard. It’s sweet!”

“I’m just saying. Maughin? Master Maughin? And…”

“It takes all kinds, Zassil.”

“Yeah, but how many kinds? And how many bodies? I mean, that’s a nice one. Objectively, right? If it was just that one, awesome, but what if—stop kicking me!”

Jelaqua was talking, oblivious to the side conversation.

“So I’m out. And my uh, team, is sort of on vacation too. At least, they’re either doing that or moving the door. I gotta make it up to them a bit.”

She grinned a bit wanly. Bevussa looked around, although Moore’s absence was conspicuous.

“Right. Where are they today?”

“Seborn and Moore? They’re in Pallass. Moore’s been getting depressed lately. Female company, you know? A lack of it. So Seborn finally got him to…er…”

Jelaqua caught Mrsha’s eye. She and Lyonette were both giving the Selphid expectant looks at the next table. So was Erin. Numbtongue, frowning and listening as he ate breakfast, paused, and then his expression cleared as Pyrite told him the answer.

Jelaqua coughed.

“Well, they’re just going to look.”

“Look at what?”

“Well—hey, Erin! Are those cookies done?”

“Let me check. Uh…yep! One sec! Hey, is there a bag anywhere?”

“I’ve got one! Bag of holding. Right here!”

The Selphid hurried into the kitchen. Ceria saw her coming out, patting a bag. Erin had a smaller platter of the rest of the cookies.

“And I made a double batch! Who wants—”

Half the hands in the inn shot up. Lyonette cleared her throat.

“That’s extra, not breakfast.”

Only three hands went down. Mrsha waved hers eagerly. Pisces, who had hitherto been preoccupied with his cereal and reading a book at the table, flicked a finger. Erin yelped as a cookie tried to float off her plate. Then another.

“Hey! Whoever’s doing that, stop!”

Pisces, Ceria, and Kin all paused guiltily. Erin snatched the floating cookies back and counted.

“There’s enough for all of you! Now, Lyonette, here’s the cookies. You can make them pay. Jelaqua, that good?”

The Selphid was counting her custom-ordered cookies. She patted the bag again, and then looked at Erin. She smiled.

“I think so. Thanks for doing this, Erin. Really.”

“No problem! You could actually make them yourself, you know. Gonna share them with a certain, uh…Maughin?”

The Selphid blushed in an interesting way. Her cheeks stayed pale, but a lattice of what Ceria took to be her actual form appeared under the pale scales, faintly orange. It was even more distinctive when she wore a Human’s body. She waved a claw awkwardly.

“I don’t want to mess it up. Besides, I don’t even have [Basic Cooking]. I mean, I know I don’t need it, but I can’t make everything perfectly. And—dead hands, you know? Well, claws today.”

She was still a bit orange. Erin nodded, noticing how nervous the normally-cheerful Selphid was. She edged over with Jelaqua towards the magic door. It was currently open to Celum and you could see Octavia’s shop inside. Octavia too; the [Alchemist] had had a quick breakfast but she was working on something. She still glanced occasionally back towards Erin’s inn every now and then.

“So, what’re the cookies for? A date today?”

Erin teased Jelaqua, smiling. The Selphid hesitated.

“Well, nothing grand. But Maughin’s not working, so he invited me to visit some of Pallass’ attractions. They have this amazing display of these…interlockers is what they call them, I think. The things they use to make the elevators? Maughin’s made some parts, so the [Engineers] invited him for a new display.”

“Ooh! Sounds cool. I should visit Pallass more often myself. There’s so much I haven’t seen! I bet you’ve got lots to do, right? Have you visited Pallass before?”

“Oh, yeah. Nine years back? When the Halfseekers worked in the south. But…well, there’s not as much for a Selphid to do. Massages, bathhouses—no real good. I can adjust my body myself, and I need a really fresh one to enjoy a massage. And it creeps out anyone who’s not used to Selphids. And bathhouses? I’m just glad there’s other stuff to do.”

Jelaqua shook her head. Erin studied her.

“You’ve gone on a lotta dates. I think you’re serious about this.”

The Selphid squirmed.

“I am. At least, it’s been the first time in like, eight years since I met anyone I hit it off with this well. Hey, Erin. Between us. Maughin and me. Do you…think it’s a good fit?”

Erin took the question seriously. She nodded.

“I think he likes you. Maybe even more than hitting things with a hammer. And I think you’ll be fine. He likes you. And you like him. And you know that he likes you. And he knows that you like him. And you know that he knows that you know that…well, it’s good! Don’t worry! I’m sure he’ll like the cookies.”

The Selphid smiled at Erin, relieved.

“Thanks, Erin. You’re the best! Okay, I’m off! Mind changing the door…?”

“Oh, sure. Octavia! Just letting Jelaqua through to Pallass! Say, are you on the list? Hey guys! Jelaqua’s not on the list! Sorry!”

The door opened and closed after Erin argued with the Drakes on the other side for a bit. The rest of the inn’s breakfasters began finishing up. Ceria got up with a sigh.

“Time to head to Celum. Let’s talk to Crossbow Stan first. He’ll listen to us most. Yvlon and I will do the talking, Ksmvr. No asserting dominance.”

“I shall be meekly subordinate, Captain.”

“And I will study. I have been far too remiss as it is in keeping up my magical practice.”

The [Necromancer] sitting at the table didn’t move as Yvlon got up. Ceria snapped at him.

“Pisces!”

He just looked up and raised his brows sardonically.

“My presence is surely not needed negotiating with Celum’s adventuring teams, is it? In fact, I would consider it a hindrance. Wouldn’t you, oh glorious Captain?”

That was a good point. Pisces’ absence would be helpful. But—Ceria hesitated. Yvlon took over and slapped Pisces on the back. He winced and she frowned at him.

“You really have to stop making all your good points as obnoxiously as possible, Pisces. Fine. Stay. Right, Ceria?”

She looked at Ceria and the half-Elf reluctantly nodded.

“I suppose it’s for the best. But you’re not weaseling out of work, Pisces!”

“Perish the thought. I’m preparing myself for that very moment.”

Pisces looked up and nodded. He even seemed serious. Then he turned back to his breakfast, flipping open his personal spellbook and checking his notes. He reminded Ceria of his days as student, in fact. She paused, and then gave up and went towards the door.

“Mind if you send us to Liscor, Erin? I’d fly, but my stomach’s first.”

Bevussa was first in line. Erin shut the door, obligingly changed it, and sent the teams out to Liscor, and then the Horns to Celum.

The visitor arrived just after the flow of traffic ended. And he came through the actual, ordinary door which was a surprise. Erin turned as a Drake with black scales spotted with yellow swept into the room. Teliv Witherscale looked around warily, and then put a beaming smile on his face as soon as he saw Erin.

“Hello, hello! Are you by any chance the Erin Solstice? Teliv Witherscale, at your service! I’m the [Negotiator] in charge of the Esthelm diplomatic trip. We’re all ready to depart; the wagons are just rolling north with their escort! But we can catch up to them in an hour without issue if you need to wait!”

He strode over to Erin and she found herself shaking his claw. And it was the perfect handshake—firm, but not too strong—the kind that made you feel like you weren’t failing at the opening greeting. She liked Teliv instantly, and wasn’t sure if it was a Skill or just the Drake’s personality.

“Hi! I’m Erin! Sorry, did you say the wagons are going now? Am I late? That tax guy just said someone would pick me up!”

“Not late at all, not at all! The main convoy’s just moving at a different pace. There’s a Watch escort and not all the [Wagon Drivers] have movement Skills. I have one ready to go that can easily catch up—or, if you can ride, we can take horses! But where are my manners?”

So saying, he produced a bright green flower and offered it to Erin. She was tickled pink.

“Flowers?”

Teliv winked at her.

“I know it’s antiquated. Although they do teach us to give flowers at the academy! But it is a delight to meet the iconic, no, legendary owner of The Wandering Inn! Olesm has told me such tales—when he deigns to visit me. I’ll admit, we run in different circles these days, but I envy his company!”

“You know Olesm?”

Erin blinked. Teliv smiled.

“Why, of course I do! He’s never mentioned me? Not once? His handsome, charming friend?”

“Maybe—but why have I never seen you with Olesm, then? Or at my inn?”

Erin propped her hands on her hips. Teliv smiled apologetically.

“My dear Miss Solstice, I’m afraid that’s because I have a healthy regard for my life. I’m positively allergic to death or situations that cause it. Or trouble, for that matter. Hence my reluctant aversion to your inn!”

The Drake sighed. He turned, spreading the smile to Lyonette and Mrsha, who’d both come to stare at him. Erin was impressed; when Teliv saw Numbtongue he only froze up for a microsecond. Then he just smiled at the Hobgoblin. He was pretty good.

“I also spend altogether too much time in such establishments as it is. I work at Wishdrink’s, if you didn’t know. I also work as a [Host] and if you’d like to offer me competitive rates at your inn…”

“Uh—[Host]? And [Negotiator]? I didn’t know Liscor had either. Well, we can talk about it. I mean, we’ll be travelling for a day, right? Hey, we can take the magic door to Esthelm in back! We could even let the other people take it there! Lyonette, where are the extra mana stones? Or maybe I should go with you. To set it up properly.”

And to avoid making ice cream for four hours. Teliv blinked, but he let Erin lead him to the door and explain how it worked.

“I’d heard about this, Miss Solstice. Teleportation magic. Er, it’s completely safe?”

“Yeah, probably. Why?”

“No reason, no reason! It’s just that I’m familiar with Fissival’s network and ah, well, I suppose it would help. Not to mention, a door would definitely improve our negotiations! Bring it or those little stones, by all means! But please, Miss Solstice, the Council has asked me to tell you that this is a sensitive mission. Your presence is necessary due to the goodwill Esthelm’s people feel towards you, but I would appreciate it if you left the bargaining to me.”

Teliv eyed Erin. She put her hands on her hips, a bit miffed.

“So I’m just there as, what, entertainment? Goodwill? Krshia’s got a lotta nerve telling me to do this and do that! All the power’s gotten to her head! Or Lism has! Power corrupts! Anyways, if I’m so unpredictable and you’re so afraid of death, why are you going with me to Esthelm?”

The Drake sighed again.

“Duty calls, Miss Solstice. And to be fair, being paid to stick my tail into danger is quite different from seeking it out. Now, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to debate the Council and all manner of interesting topics on the road! But let’s keep things in order. I’d like to be on the road in twenty minutes just so we can stay with the wagons.”

He was brisk, for all he laid on the likeability! Erin nodded, waving at Lyonette who was bringing the extra mana stones over.

“Okay. I guess we can make a door at Esthelm to get back. So…I’ve got my knife, um—I’ll get a healing potion or two? Anything else I should bring?”

“Not much to defend yourself, I should think. It’s not far and we won’t be passing through any unpredictable wilderness. But if you have anything that would smooth our introduction to Esthelm—well, I was saving this for the road, but let me brief you on the mission.”

Teliv walked with Erin as she went into the kitchen, and then he was speaking rapidly, in a business-like tone that did remind Erin of Olesm a bit.

“Esthelm’s hit a poor patch of late. Of course, you helped repair their walls, but the city’s population was decimated. They’re poor, to put it frankly, and not a little traumatized from the Goblin Lord’s attack. A delicate touch is needed, hence our gift of dried fish from the spring’s harvest and your presence. Even so, I would appreciate it if you didn’t…do anything too extreme. Unless it helps the cause. And refraining from mentioning that Liscor is positively swimming with Gold-rank adventurers and so on might help. We are just two cities on the border trying to help each other, not a rich city looking down on a poor one.”

“Got it.”

Erin nodded as she rummaged through her cupboards. She thought for a second and then found her special wing of the pantry marked ‘NOT FOR COOKING’ in huge letters.

“In that case, maybe I should bring some acid jars along. To give to them. And some chess sets? Everyone likes chess! And I should have made a third batch of cookies! Oh well. Here’s the jars…darn, I really should have a bag of holding for stuff like this! But it’s expensive, or so Selys says! What if I borrowed hers? Hey, Teliv, hold these?”

The Drake found himself holding two glass jars of green liquid. He stared at them and then recalled one of his notes on Erin Solstice. Gingerly, he backed out of the kitchen and put the jars on a table. He caught Lyonette pulling Mrsha well clear of the jars.

“Don’t let her drop those anywhere near you.”

The [Princess] pointed at the acid jars. Teliv shuddered as Erin came out with two more. To her credit, she was holding them very carefully herself.

“Maybe refrain from displays of wealth, Miss Solstice? We’ll stow your jars on the wagons without the bag of holding. Far from us.”

Erin nodded. She placed the jars on the table and looked around. Anything else? Nothing off the top of her head. Besides, she was just helping out. Then she studied her dress. She took her apron off after a second’s thought and regarded her attire.

“Huh. Okay. I’m not dressed too badly. But—oh! Should I take my ring off?”

“What ring?”

Lyonette, keeping Mrsha back from the acid jars, looked up. Teliv, Pisces, still at his table, and even Mrsha and Numbtongue looked around. Erin waved her right hand.

“This—”

Erin went to point to the ring on her finger. The golden ring that Ilvriss had given her. Then she realized what she was doing and hesitated, but it was too late.

“—ring. I wear it sometimes. It’s cool, huh?”

Lamely, she twisted it a bit so the golden letters weren’t visible. Lyonette frowned as she walked over. She stared at the ring on Erin’s finger, mystified.

“I have never seen you wear that ring in my life, Erin.”

“What? No, I wore it yesterday.”

Erin protested, blinking at Lyonette. The [Princess] raised her brows.

“Oh? Well, maybe. I must have forgotten it. Where’d you get it? You could buy something far nicer at the marketplace. That’s sort of…”

She looked around, hesitating, then went for it.

“Plain?”

Erin frowned, hurt. And then she really frowned as she stared at the ring on her finger.

“What? I mean, it’s not full of jewels, but it is gold, right?”

Lyonette stared at the ring.

“That’s not gold, Erin.”

This time the [Innkeeper] really hesitated. She frowned at Lyonette, expecting a joke, but Lyonette didn’t do jokes that much. Slowly, Erin regarded the ring that bore the single word, ‘Salazsar’, on it. And on a hunch, she interjected a bit of incredulity into her voice.

“It’s not golden to you?”

Lyonette raised her eyebrows, surprised. She looked at the ring and shook her head. Mrsha did the same. Erin showed the ring to Teliv and he shrugged.

“Doesn’t look like gold to me, but I’m no expert.”

“I am. Show me.”

Pisces leaned over and narrowed his eyes as Erin took the ring off her ringer. He stared at Ilvriss’ ring in Erin’s palm dismissively for a second and shook his head.

“Copper.”

Lyonette nodded, agreeing with a sigh.

“Polished well. Erin, you know what gold coins look like. You didn’t pay for it as if it were gold, did you? Never mind, I don’t want to know. If you like it’s that’s great.”

Erin looked at her. Then at the plain, copper ring on her hand. She put it on and stared again. Then she looked up with a guileless smile that was in fact, full of guile. But well-hidden.

“Oh. Well, right. I wear it sometimes. Don’t be jerks about it! I like copper.”

She put the ring back on her finger before anyone could see the faint indentation of flesh. And she looked at the ring thoughtfully for another second. But then Teliv was politely urging her towards the waiting wagon, and Erin had an adventure to attend to in Esthelm! Not a huge one if Teliv had his way, but Erin wanted to see how the city had fared since she’d helped it. So, it turned out, did Numbtongue.

Of course, that was a bad idea, at least, according to Teliv. But soon Erin was on the road and busy. She was always busy, but sometimes she remembered how quiet her inn had been. And all the old guests who had left or…gone.

Her old Antinium chess players. Halrac and his team. The original Horns of Hammerad. Once, Brunkr. Ryoka. And…Erin sat on the wagon, and looked at the ring on her finger. Sometimes she forgot it was there. It was comfortable; if she didn’t think of it, it felt like part of her finger. And no one remembered her wearing it? Come to that—Erin narrowed her eyes and then fished out a gold coin. She stared at it and at the ring.

“Huh.”

She wanted to know what it meant, but Teliv wasn’t the person to ask. Like the special coin in her safe, it was something to ponder and ask the right people. And it did remind Erin of a certain jerk who hadn’t been completely a jerk. Sometimes she even missed him.

She wondered what he was doing now.

—-

Wall Lord Ilvriss of Salazsar was home. He had returned to his Walled City, the City of Gems, Salazsar, located in the mountainous eastern region of Izril. And had Erin Solstice wished it, she could have found out his whereabouts and what he was up to quite easily.

Anyone could. It was a fact of this world that thanks to [Message] spells and the changing nature of politics, information was power. And Ilvriss was a name. One of many, true. But a Wall Lord still merited enough attention that his actions were the talk of Salazsar.

They said he’d gone after Zel Shivertail even though a truce had been called between the Trisstal Alliance and Salazsar. Even though the Goblin Lord had been attacking Drake and Human cities, Ilvriss hadn’t let go of the grudge and dueled Zel Shivertail. The injuries of that duel had led to General Shivertail’s demise at the Goblin Lord’s claws.

No, it wasn’t vengeance. Wall Lord Ilvriss had gone with General Shivertail to raise another army! He’d balked at working with the Humans, obviously, but he’d been holding the walls while the Humans assailed Liscor.

Actually—and let’s be clear here—it was neither. If you wanted to know the real details of Ilvriss’ mysterious sojourn abroad, it was all to do with the rumored lover he had. He’d met her in Liscor and all the other incidents he’d been involved in were a result of that getaway! But they’d broken up, hence his abrupt return.

Those were the three biggest theories, and there were some other rumors, with everything from Ilvriss trying to become Liscor’s next Wall Lord, or that he’d taken some serious injury in the battle with Zel Shivertail or their following clash with the Goblin Lord and been forced to recover.

Rumors of a liaison with a Gnoll, or even more scandalous, a Human were never founded. But then again, no one who understood the significance of it took the absence of the plain, golden ring on Ilvriss’ claws lightly.

The sheer fact was that Ilvriss had everyone’s on him in the weeks after his return. And what had he done? Well—partied.

But in a refined way. What he’d done since returning home was throw a series of the most exquisite soirees and dinner parties that had Salazsar’s elites toasting him nightly. Of course, what else was a son of Salazsar to do when they’d been away from their home and thus, culture, for so long?

However, ironically, those actions were positively mundane compared to the aura of mystery Ilvriss had cultivated while abroad. So the well-received parties soon became of no interest to anyone but those invited and possibly an envious mention in passing. And that was just how Ilvriss intended it.

It was in fact, morning in Salazsar, albeit a cold and frosty one in the highest reaches of the towers of the Walled City. Of course, the nobility could pay for as much magical heating as they liked, and so it didn’t touch Ilvriss as he stood on a balcony and walkway leading to the private routes the Wall Lords and Ladies could use.

Like the rest of Salazsar, the towers and reaching structures of the Walled City were connected by walkways. The lower parts of the city were the most densely populated; wealth stood above. In fact, Ilvriss’s family owned this particular spire, from top to bottom. And his personal estates—more vertical than sprawling—occupied the top of the tower.

The Wall Lord suppressed the urge to yawn as he heard the door open behind him. He’d had a late night of refined debauchery. And the Drake responsible for about sixty percent of said debauchery was stumbling out, shrugging off the help of the few attendants Ilvriss employed.

It wasn’t Brilm. Or Hesalief. Or the six other Drakes who’d attended the private little party in Ilvriss’ estates. No, only one Drake could and would keep drinking even when the sun had come back up. And he came stumbling out of the door helped by the Drake [Housekeeper].

[Housekeeper]. It was an important distinction. Ilvriss employed a [Chef], [Cleaners], [Waiters]—no [Servants]. True, you could argue that [Housekeeper] was just a higher-ranking servant, but in the context of Drake society, a [Housekeeper], like a [Cleaner], was someone you employed. Not someone you were better than; and indeed, if you threw dirty clothes on the floor in front of a Drake [Housekeeper], they’d probably throw it right back.

Drakes believed in military discipline and ranks, but not servitude. So there was no [Butler] or [Manservant] to haul the Wall Lord who came stumbling out to stand next to Ilvriss to a waiting carriage and speed him back to his estates. You couldn’t fit a carriage on the walkways this high up anyways, and horses had a thing about heights. He’d have to walk, or failing that, stumble home.

“Tasilt.”

Ilvriss winced at the sound of his own voice. He reached into a pocket of his robes and withdrew a small vial. He uncorked it and drank the hangover potion as Tasilt grinned blearily at him.

“What’s that? Hangover potion already? You’ve lost your step, Ilvriss.”

“And you’re taking far too many. For yourself?”

Ilvriss offered the vial to Tasilt. He normally didn’t drink that much, but Tasilt was a bad influence. The rest of the Wall Lords that Ilvriss had invited to the dinner that had turned into drinking had all needed one. But Tasilt just waved a claw vaguely.

“I’m still pleasantly, no, happily drunk. That was a fine repast! And the drinks afterwards! Just…”

He tried to blow a kiss with his claws.

“Now that is the Ilvriss Gemscale I know. A Drake of taste. Sophistication! And—and—”

“Fine wine?”

Ilvriss raised his brows drily. Tasilt took two steps left, stumbling unsteadily. He had to lean on the balcony as he nodded.

“Exceedingly! Although, I will own, at some point it’s lost on me since I feel the point is to be happily drunk, not classily tipsy. A waste of a good vintage!”

“Some wines are meant to be shared. Or else why bother hoarding at all? It was only a Laile.”

“True! True! But generous, nevertheless. I’ve half a dozen bottles I’m terrified to open, do you know? They’re in my vaults under Preservation Runes along with everything else. I’d love to taste just one, but my heirs would kill me. As would my dear beloved. It’s inheritance.”

Tasilt heaved a huge sigh. He squinted out at the brightening skyline.

“Ancestors, it is dawn already, isn’t it? I should have been home ages. And I’m due a meeting with these [Merchants] in four hours! Dead gods, I wish we were young again, Ilvriss. Free of work!”

“We’ve certainly acted like it these last few days, haven’t we?”

Ilvriss smiled a bit. He stood very tall, not showing the effects of drinking. Tasilt on the other hand—well, he wore his drinks and some of his excesses.

Then again, he was the more cheerful of the two Drakes. Ilvriss had long considered that, and the fact that Tasilt, for all he’d never seemed to grow up like Ilvriss had, was still quite successful as a Wall Lord himself. And beloved; if Ilvriss was the model Drake in both bearing and appearance, a symbol of Salazsar’s elite, Tasilt was quite fondly regarded despite being a failure in those regards.

Now Ilvriss’ old friend was sighing. He still didn’t take the vial and instead straightened his clothing.

“No help for it. I’ll take a stamina potion, don’t worry, Ilvriss. And I’ll explain myself at home. Rhelika will understand. You’ve been away for so long and she did enjoy that dinner party. Just invite us all for a private meal next week, would you? That’ll unruffle her fur and I can bring the children over.”

“Very well. Give her my greetings.”

“Naturally! And er, I’ll convey your regrets for the late hour. Completely unavoidable. Old friends need to catch up.”

“Of course.”

Ilvriss kept his face straight as Tasilt checked his breath. The Drake was still drunk, though. Ilvriss coughed.

“If a hangover potion isn’t enough, I can have someone fetch a sobering…”

Tasilt caught him with a claw, grinning toothily.

“No, no, let me enjoy this, Ilvriss. Or the wine will have been sacrificed for nothing! I’ll be fine. This is why handrails were invented. Rhelika won’t mind.”

“And the [Merchants]?”

Tasilt just laughed.

“Simple! I’ll provide them with suitable refreshments! That’s the trick of it, Ilvriss. Don’t rise; bring them down to your level! You’d be surprised at how many upper-class [Merchants] have forgotten how to barter while drunk! Just give me a second. Ah, what a sight, eh?”

Ilvriss nodded. He could feel the cold breeze on his scales, but the heat rising from the balcony’s tiles made the experience bracing, pleasant. And Salazsar by dawn was beautiful. The light caught the towers one by one, illuminating millennia of craft, wrought stone. Carved gems angled to split the light cast colorful reflections.

Salazsar was a jewel. And Ilvriss loved it as much as the first day he’d seen it from above. He glanced to one side and saw Tasilt’s eyes shining. Different they may be, but they were still sons of Salazsar.

And Tasilt? Ilvriss paused another moment, regarding his old friend. He was unlike Brilm, who was always on the cutting edge of the latest ‘thing’. And if Brilm was a traditionalist, even painfully so when it came to how he employed Gnolls, Tasilt was his opposite.

Everything the Drake did was new. Experimental. Three quarters of his enterprises tended to fail, but the remaining quarter made up for his failures. Everything from trying to use water to blast holes in mines to how he had married.

He was the only Wall Lord—or Lady—in forty six years to have married a non-Drake. And only one of eight in as many centuries. By now, it had been…what, seventeen years? Ilvriss felt it was only yesterday that Tasilt had been rowing with his friends and father about the very idea of marrying his Gnoll wife, Rhelika. And Ilvriss remembered vividly the way he’d acted back then.

It was the only time Tasilt had ever hit Ilvriss. Now of course, that day was over a decade past and Ilvriss and Tasilt were old friends who’d gotten back together for a night of relaxation after his long absence.

Ilvriss thought more of moments like that these days. And he looked at Tasilt differently. Of course, he’d never been Brilm, who still held Tasilt at a reserve, but Ilvriss had always regarded Tasilt’s decision as…odd. Now, though? Ilvriss wondered how difficult it had been for Rhelika. And he had never considered that before. Not once. But if it was difficult for a…Human, living just outside a Drake city. If a Goblin could be an adventurer—

Ilvriss shook his head. He looked at everything differently than when he’d left, come to that. It felt like the world hadn’t changed. But he had. And it was an uncomfortable feeling. Things that had mattered in the past didn’t now. While other things mattered more.

After a moment, the Drake cleared his throat. Ilvriss’ purples scales stood out next to Tasilt’s fair green mixed with brown.

“How are the children, Tasilt? I didn’t have the opportunity to ask.”

The other Wall Lord looked up, deeply surprised. He paused, and Ilvriss noticed Tasilt’s eyes flicking to his face for a moment. Tasilt visibly sobered a bit and replied, smiling a bit and staring over the balcony.

“What, the twins? Just grand. You’d never know they were different species. Both of them run about on all fours. Cecilla’s normal—she’s in her hoarding phase. We’re working with her on that. Not a problem there.”

“Ah, of course. And…is it Feldir?”

“It is.”

Tasilt heaved a sigh. He glanced at Ilvriss again, and then leaned over the balcony. And this time his voice was lower. Genuine concern flickered through his eyes.

“He’s unruly—you know? Won’t listen, always disappearing—and I have to watch that he doesn’t take anything from home! You know, the other day I found out he’d taken a Potion of Greater Invisibility out of our family vaults?”

“Really? And he used it?”

Ilvriss looked greatly concerned. Wall Lords had their inheritances of old. Some had squandered it of course, but Tasilt and Ilvriss’ families both possessed some treasures, even if the majority of it was just the wealth they owned. Tasilt was the one with legitimate heirlooms in his family, and that potion was one of them. Tasilt nodded.

“Just like that! I had to tell the guards not to let him in! And the damn potion. You know how he used it? Well, let’s just say Tielma was not happy about where she found her daughter, her daughter’s friends, Feldir, and half a dozen of his mates. I can’t imagine how it must have been. Obviously she saw nothing, but the sounds…”

He shuddered. Ilvriss stared at him and then he laughed. Tasilt stared at him. His lips quirked, and his tail swayed on the warm stone tiles.

“Don’t laugh! It was a disaster!”

“I’m sorry. But that really is a story that would only come from you, Tasilt.”

Ilvriss chuckled, shaking his head. He looked at his old friend.

“By all means, bring over your family next week, Tasilt. I’ll send the invitation. I should like to meet Feldir and the others. He sounds like a spitting image of you at your age.”

The other Wall Lord blinked. Then he grinned ruefully.

“Ancestors, I hope not! Otherwise he’ll be…”

He paused and then suddenly frowned.

“Damn it. He has been asking for more money. If he’s at those…I’d better send a Runner down to The Scarlet Tail and inquire tactfully…no, better if I go myself. Dead gods. I can’t have grandchildren running around yet! Well, Ancestors. I have to run. Ilvriss, this was a pleasure.”

He turned and held out a claw. Ilvriss took it, smiling.

“I quite enjoyed it, Tasilt. And we must talk later.”

“Oh, I’ll look forwards to it.”

Tasilt smiled, genuinely pleased. Then he adjusted his clothes a final time, walked out of the balcony and down the walkway across Salazar. Ilvriss watched him go. Then he turned and went inside.

The private sitting room wasn’t too messy. Not as if, say, Tasilt’s rebellious Gnoll son, Feldir and his friends had been drinking late here. It was mainly just empty cups and bottles. Ilvriss walked around them and sat in a chair by the fireplace. He rubbed at his temples. Now he was feeling tired. He’d need a stamina potion to function today as well. Absently, Ilvriss reached for something to drink and came up with a nearly empty bottle of fine wine. He stared at it, and then, carefully, put the bottle down.

“Salisa.”

Ilvriss left the sitting room and found one of his family’s staff waiting for him in the hall. The old Drake looked expectantly at him.

“I’m in need of some water. And a stamina potion.”

“I’ll have it to you at once, Wall Lord.”

Salisa nodded. The Wall Lord nodded and retired to the study. After a minute, a Drake returned with some water and a shot of a strong stamina potion in a glass. He took both and let them begin cleaning the room. The water and potion cleared his mind and Ilvriss sat back.

He felt guilty about drinking. But it had served its purpose and now he was back to non-alcoholic beverages again, just like in Liscor after…

Lost in thought, Ilvriss glanced up and saw Saliss returning. He looked up and she nodded towards the door. She wasn’t a servant, was she? But what else could you call her? She’d been employed by his family just like her father and mother for generations. But she wasn’t a ‘servant’. But that was just splitting hairs.

He hated thinking like this. But he couldn’t stop it. Ilvriss stood up and Saliss paused. She didn’t bow or curtsy or whatever Human servants did, but the rest of it was the same.

“Wall Lord. Wardmistress Geyasa awaits you in the dawn study.”

“I’ll see her at once. Thank you, Salisa.”

Ilvriss nodded. And then he strode towards the study facing the northeast. It was already illuminated by the rising sun, and Ilvriss saw that the waiting [Mage] was well attended to. She rose from a small meal and dabbed at her mouth.

“Wall Lord Ilvriss. Thank you for making time for me. I hope I’m not intruding?”

“Not at all, Wardmistress Geyasa. I just saw the last of my guests off today. May I ask how your work has gone?”

The Drake inclined her head.

“My team and I have swept your mansion and your properties, Wall Lord. We did uncover a few minor spells, but nothing of note. Nothing in your estate—your wards held.”

Ilvriss sighed, affecting relief. Internally he was skeptical, but the Drake standing in front of him was one of the best in all of Izril at her job. He nodded.

“Thank you for your understanding, Wardmistress, as well as the need for discretion and haste.”

The [Wardmistress] bowed her head slightly.

“Of course, Wall Lord. Rest assured, my team was thorough. Your friend’s impetuousness has thankfully not cost the security of your estate as far as we can discern. Nevertheless, we have updated all the wards and installed a more powerful enchantment at your request. Even an Archmage of Wistram would have great difficulty cracking these wards, and the enchantments I have installed will alert me the moment they are broken.”

She looked somewhat disapproving. Not at Ilvriss, but at his friend, the one who had been behind the drastic need for her arrival to begin with. She glanced at Ilvriss.

“Do you by any chance still have the offending object, Wall Lord? I could attempt to trace who placed the spying spell, or my colleagues at Fissival could undertake the task.”

Ilvriss smiled ruefully.

“I regret to say I disposed of it as soon as I was aware that it was at fault. Rest assured, I’ve informed Wall Lord Brilm of his mistake. It will not happen again.”

“Only prudent, Wall Lord.”

Wardmistress Geyasa nodded understandingly. Ilvriss felt a pang of guilt as she flashed a glare out of his study window, as if trying to find the culprit.

My apologies, Brilm.

His friend’s indiscretions were well known. No one who heard the tale would doubt that Brilm had inadvertently brought an object enchanted with some spying spell into Ilvriss’ home after being duped. And if Brilm himself heard the tale, he might well believe it himself. It had happened before. Thinking of that, Ilvriss went to his bag of holding and pulled out an apple-sized object and held it out to Geyasa.

“Would you check this bauble? A recording spell on quartz unless I miss my guess. Simple, but I would like to be certain.”

“It would be no issue. One moment.”

The Drake took the quartz sound recording and turned it over. Ilvriss waited, and she nodded after half a minute.

“It seems perfectly fine. The complexity of the sound contained within is somewhat above average, but for a conversation in numerous parts or music, I would expect it to be. Will there be anything else?”

“Nothing. You have my sincerest gratitude.”

Ilvriss nodded and Geyasa bowed.

“Our pleasure, Wall Lord. On behalf of Fissival’s Scholarium, we thank you for choosing our institution above all others.”

She smiled a bit smugly. Ilvriss smiled too, nodded, and forbade mentioning that she was the second [Mage] he’d hired to inspect his home.

“Only naturally. Drakes must work with other Drakes. Please tender my regards to Fissival’s Three when you return. May I offer you an escort…?”

“I will politely decline, Wall Lord. If you would be so good, though? My team’s equipment is somewhat cumbersome and affects our bags of holding as well as teleportation…”

“I will have it returned to Fissival at all haste.”

Ilvriss reassured the [Mage]. She nodded and excused herself. He made a note to send a gratuity fee; she had travelled through the night and it must have been a chore to transport the magical objects via wagon and not the customary methods.

Geyasa was of the nearest Walled City to Salazsar, the City of Magic, Fissival. It was known for its [Mage] presence, and the academy that had once rivaled Wistram in power. The City of Magic possessed its own unique traits as well, among them, well, teleportation.

There had been a reason why Ilvriss hadn’t been dying to get his hands on Erin Solstice’s door. It was valuable, but hardly unique. The world over, [Mages] could teleport small objects long-distance. It was larger objects across increasingly distant spans that posed the real problem. But some magical artifacts and technologies still existed.

Fissival’s teleportation network exceeded the magical door in Erin’s inn by several magnitudes. And yet, it was incredibly limited at the same time. They could move a thousand ton’s worth of goods in a day if need be, and regularly did between the cities linked to Fissival.

On the other hand, no one dared use the grid for transporting people anymore. There had been…incidents. And one in forty thousand deliveries went astray. Sometimes in a minor or amusing way. Sometimes never to be seen again. There was a reason only cheap, expendable goods were ever risked these days.

The past glories weighed on Ilvriss whenever he walked the towers of Salazar and saw what had passed before. And when he strode through his own home. He stood in the dawn study when Geyasa had left. It was only then that he realized she hadn’t finished the meal she’d been brought. Absently, he left the study and told Salisa it was there.

“Inquire if Wardmistress Geyasa or her team require refreshments before they leave. I will be in my personal study.”

It was a mark of how rich Ilvriss was that he had a personal study, as well as multiple other ones in case he wanted a change of pace. He retired to his room and sat in the chair, its rich fabric worn from years of use. But the wood was still beautiful. And there the Wall Lord reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of quartz. The contained music. And he put it on the desk and tapped it once.

There was music. Ilvriss listened to a young woman singing. The first song made him frown. But he listened to it. There wasn’t an option to skip. The second song made him pause. Ilvriss listened, frowning. Because the music struck him more than the first time he had heard it. This time, he focused on one part of the song and realized something.

“That instrument. What is it?”

He had never heard a piano before. And he had no idea what it was. But then, the third song contained on the crystal began to play. And Ilvriss settled back, listening to it.

The music was by the ‘Queen of Pop’, the Singer of Terandria. The rising sensation of the continent, apparently. Ilvriss wasn’t sure who she was, but Brilm had bought a number of these…recordings of her music. And he had gifted one to Ilvriss after realizing how fond the Wall Lord was of this particular song.

Now Ilvriss listened. It was a song he’d played countless times already. He understood the author was…what was the name, again? Definitely Human. Ah, yes.

Frank Sinatra. And the song was called ‘My Way’. Ilvriss, listening to it, was sure at last of one thing. It was no song that had ever been made in this era. Perhaps in one long past, now rediscovered. Or…

Part of Ilvriss just wanted to listen. But hearing it again, he couldn’t help but wonder. That was the thing. Ilvriss was a Wall Lord. He had been educated in swordplay, tactics, knowledge of economy, warfare—a hundred different aspects of life. And one of those things he had picked up was music.

He understood music, even if certain styles didn’t appeal to him. And the composition of the music, the style, it was all unique in a way that shook him.

The song could not exist, in a way. That wasn’t how music worked. Yes, a culture could produce something like this. But Ilvriss would expect to see experimental pieces that began the process of understanding the medium before such a polished piece appeared. But this was finished. Perfect.

The young woman’s voice that echoed in his sitting room understood the song she was covering. She understood the emotion. It was impossible that he, let alone Tasilt, had not heard this kind of music before.

So where had it come from? Not Terandria’s halls. And not any other continent Ilvriss could name. A magical experimenter, a [Songwriter] or [Singer] of surpassing talent? This Sinatra…but no.

Ilvriss thought of Erin Solstice. And he felt certain there was a connection. But it slipped away from him. Some…leap of logic that Ilvriss couldn’t make.

He didn’t have wings. It didn’t matter. The Drake leaned back and listened. He still had time before he had to work. And the music flowed on. Ilvriss listened, in the privacy of his room. And when the music was done, he tapped the crystal again and it replayed the music obligingly. A song he didn’t care for, one he didn’t mind. And the song that spoke to him.

The fourth time he was playing the music, the door opened. Ilvriss sat up, opening his mouth furiously. But then he saw who was slowly walking in and sat back. And the old Drake, his scales grey, his steps slow, walked forwards. As if the music had summoned him. He looked around, and then focused on the music crystal. And when the music had stopped, he looked at Ilvriss. The Wall Lord stood up.

“Father. Is something wrong?”

Wall Lord Zail looked at his son for a moment. And then he saw the chair that Ilvriss was placing in front of his desk. Zail sat down slowly.

“No. No. Ilvriss. I was wondering—what was that song?”

“Music, father. From Terandria.”

“Really? It’s changed a lot since when I was younger. Better. Not all those flutes and…better.”

Zail sat back, murmuring to himself. He was very old. Drakes didn’t live past seventy or eighty years on average. Well, most who lived or battled monsters died far earlier. But most Drakes wouldn’t reach past those years. Still, with magic, one could live far longer. As long as a hundred and twenty years. Ilvriss had heard of Drakes reaching a hundred and forty, albeit by consuming numerous potions and using artifacts. But his father was simply eighty three. And tired. He sat in the chair, looking aimless. Blank.

“Father. Is something wrong? Have you lost something? Salisa can help you find it. Are you hungry?”

“I’m not hungry. I’m bored. There’s nothing for me to do. That damn Gnoll is managing everything and since I retired, there’s nothing to…do. Just read, pay social calls—and visit my son. When he returns from his jaunts abroad.”

The old Drake snapped back. Ilvriss sighed. So it was a social call. Zail must have slipped his attendants. They were probably worried, but an old Drake still kept all his levels and Skills.

It wasn’t too hard for his father to manage either. His quarters were right above Ilvriss’. The peak of the tower, as they always had been. Now he looked, well, confused.

“Where did you go this time? There was a mess with the Trisstal Alliance. Was that it? Someone mentioned…a Goblin?”

He looked worried for a moment. Ilvriss delicately avoided the subject.

“My duties take me far from home, father. I was in Liscor among other places. I visited Pallass—”

“Whatever brought you there?”

Zail looked affronted. Ilvriss sighed again. But he explained.

“It was unavoidable. I had to return by way of Liscor.”

“Oh. Its summer, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It is.”

Zail nodded a few times. He looked at Ilvriss and paused.

“There’s little for me to do these days. Boredom is worse than taking a lightning bolt to the chest. Your mother, now, she keeps herself busy. I should have done that. Never should have quit managing the mines. They’re in good shape?“

“Yes, father. As well as they ever have been. Would you like to see the reports…?”

Better than they ever had, actually. Zail shook his head. He looked at Ilvriss. And then he was lost again.

“Ilvriss?”

“Yes?”

His son waited. He could see the scar on Zail’s chest, past his loose robes where he had been struck by lightning. And—a slight indentation along the Drake’s scull. The scales were almost gone there. Wall Lord Zail had sacrificed much for the city he loved. At last, Zail looked around.

“I came to ask you something. What was it? My…my tower. Is it finished?”

Ilvriss exhaled slowly.

“Yes. A decade past—”

He caught himself. Nodded slowly.

“Yes, father. Would you like to see it?”

The old Drake nodded. Slowly, he got up. Ilvriss escorted him out of the study. Back to the room he had spoken to Geyasa in. He waved away Salisa and the anxious Drakes who hurried towards him. Zail caught his breath as he stepped towards the window. He looked at the newest tower, one that Gemscale funds had helped build. Ilvriss watched, his eyes on Zail’s face. Once, the Drake had been taller. A towering presence. Zail murmured softly.

“Oh. Oh, it is beautiful. When I die, my ashes should be scattered from the tower. That’s the way of it, you know.”

“I know.”

Zail paused. Then he turned his head. Ilvriss was expecting him to ask for his promise again. But the old Drake frowned. His eyes focused on Ilvriss’ hand.

“I heard you gave your ring away. You did. Who are you marrying?”

Ilvriss jumped. Reflexively, he covered his claw, but Zail had seen its absence. The old Drake straightened, looking more awake suddenly.

“I do hear about it. The ring’s gone. So. Who is it? Some Gnoll? That’s what my people tell me. Or a Human? Some…Pallass? Dullahan? Garuda? Tell me if it’s going to happen. I might as well know now.”

“None of those! I’m not marrying, father!”

Ilvriss snapped. This was the last thing he’d expected his father to pester him about! His sister, perhaps! But those damn rumors—it didn’t help that he’d spread this one himself! He growled.

“It’s not a sign of marriage. You know that.”

“I know exactly what that ring means. I gave it to you. Trust. Who do you trust enough to give that ring away?”

Wall Lord Zail snapped back. Ilvriss sighed. He felt the ring’s absence. But he didn’t need it. And he had…he paused.

“I gave it to someone who did me a great service. Who…is unique. In her own way. Who may need it more than I. It was a gesture of respect.”

“Aha! Her?”

“Father! It’s none of your concern.”

Ilvriss glared at the old Drake. Zail walked around him. He looked at Ilvriss, looking him up and down as he had a thousand times before.

“They say you left your duty to play in a border city for months. Or that you lost your head. Chased someone and lost your ring. Tell me that’s not true.”

“It’s not true.”

Ilvriss held his gaze. Zail’s eyes narrowed.

“So you didn’t flee the Goblin Lord out of cowardice? You haven’t lost your way? General Shivertail died. You were there. Where were you?”

“I didn’t think he would die. I thought he would live.”

Ilvriss gritted his teeth. Zail shook his head.

“I don’t believe you. Tell me. Say it. Swear it.”

He twisted a ring. Truth spell. Ilvriss gritted his teeth. He was angry. Zail could rally that emotion in him. The two Drakes stalked each other in a slow circle, tails lashing the carpet. Ilvriss’ voice was low.

“I am a Lord of the Wall and a son of Salazsar. The walls of my city be my oath; my loyalty has never wavered! For Salazsar, I would bleed every drop of my blood dry! The walls stand!”

The stone glowed blue. Zail saw its light. Slowly, he relaxed. His voice echoed Ilvriss’, a shout.

“The walls stand! Forevermore.”

Then it was done. He slowly relaxed and looked around. He noticed the platter and wandered over to it.

“Breakfast. Hm. Looks good. Proper meat, not what they feed me up there. Damn [Healers] and their prescribed nonsense.”

He began plucking bits of meat off the tray. Ilvriss sighed. Wall Lord Zail loved testing him.

“Father. The [Healers] recommend their diet for your health.”

“Hah! They want me to live forever.”

“Yes. And?”

Zail glanced back at his son and shook his head. He chewed as Ilvriss rubbed at his temples. He was going to be late for his meeting. He was looking at the door when Zail spoke up.

“Ilvriss. When will you bring a wife worthy of our line? There must be one, in all the cities.”

Ilvriss froze. He turned, his hand on the door to the study. And he wavered. But the truth stone was still shining on Zail’s claw. So he turned. And his back was straight. He looked past Zail, at the rising sun.

“There was, father. But I couldn’t even bury her.”

Wall Lord Zail stopped chewing. His head rose. He looked back at Ilvriss. And his expression changed.

“Did you avenge her?”

“Not yet.”

Ilvriss strode out of the room. He nodded to Salisa, waved away the apologies of Zail’s minders.

“Get me Captain Shieldscale.”

He strode towards his personal study, leaving his father behind. The sound stone went into Ilvriss’ bag of holding. He had work to do.

—-

“Captain Asrira Shieldscale reporting, Wall Lord Ilvriss!”

The Drake with bright, almost unnaturally blue scales stopped in the center of Ilvriss’ study and saluted. The Wall Lord glanced up from the piece of paper he was writing on.

“Salisa, we’re not to be disturbed. Even by my father.”

“Yes, Wall Lord.”

The Drake [Housekeeper] nodded and shut the door. Ilvriss stood up.

“Lock it, Captain Shieldscale. Magical lock on the top.”

The Drake did so. She was an Oldblood Drake, a True Oldblood. That meant she could fly and spit acid. She locked the door, turning the key in the lock. And then the second key in the glowing lock. She heard a faint buzz of sound, just below the level of hearing.

“We’re secure, sir.”

“Good. Take a seat, Captain Blackwing.”

The Drake turned. And Asrira Shieldscale was suddenly Osthia Blackwing, [Captain] in service to Pallass’ army. Niece of the late Thrissiam Blackwing, famed [General] of Pallass. She had yellow scales underneath the dye Ilvriss had provided her. And she had been captive of the Goblin Lord, Reiss, before escaping during the hour of his death. She sat down in the chair and Wall Lord Ilvriss sat opposite her.

“I trust you’ve acclimated to Salazsar, Captain Osthia?”

“Yes, Wall Lord. It’s been exceedingly pleasant. I have nothing to want for here. I’m equally gratified for the lodgings in your personal estate.”

Osthia replied awkwardly. She was still in awe of Ilvriss. He was a Wall Lord, the nobility of the Drakes! Normally he’d command an army or huge division and she’d be far below his rank. But circumstances had thrown them together. For one thing, he and she both knew one thing that put them both in danger.

Az’kerash, the Necromancer, was alive. Osthia had seen him take over his minion, the Goblin Lord, Reiss. Ilvriss had learned from Zel Shivertail and Ryoka Griffin that Az’kerash was alive. The Necromancer had killed his soldiers, including his love, Periss, during a battle thanks to the inadvertent interference of Ryoka Griffin.

Ilvriss had found Osthia as she escaped the Goblin Lord, caught her before she could warn the Walled Cities. He had persuaded her to stay silent, to adopt a disguise and return with him to Salazsar. Osthia still wasn’t sure if she should have refused and spread word Az’kerash was alive. But here she was.

“It’s the least I can do. You are being awarded the lesser guest quarters, as befits my bodyguard. If it’s uncomfortable in any way…”

“Not at all, Wall Lord. The staff and Miss Salisa are exceedingly polite. But with respect, that isn’t a high concern of mine. The…”

Osthia glanced towards the doors. Ilvriss waved a claw.

“We’re clear. The wards have been reinforced and checked. Twice. Speak freely.”

Osthia nodded and relaxed.

“The Necromancer is my only worry, Wall Lord. I could sleep on rocks so long as it meant doing something. With respect, I’d like to know your plan of action. It’s been weeks.”

“It has. And I appreciate your forbearance, Captain Blackwing. But as I stated, I had to be sure. I’ve completed my deception as well as I can. As far as the city knows, I’ve finally returned home and embraced my former lifestyle. Banquets, socialization—and so forth. In that time, I’ve also ensured my home is not under any surveillance, physical or otherwise. That includes you.”

The [Captain] nodded, appreciatively. She’d been terrified to even say the word ‘necromancer’ lest Az’kerash catch on that she was alive. Ilvriss hadn’t even used her real name until this moment.

“We’re secure, then. But what is the plan, sir? Alert the ruling bodies of the Walled Cities? Rally an army and march on the Necromancer?”

Osthia was practically vibrating with the desire for vengeance. She remembered the Necromancer’s voice, the moment before he had conjured an army of undead to slay her uncle’s army to the last Drake and Gnoll. All but for her. She would personally lead the charge on his lair, even if it meant her death.

But Wall Lord Ilvriss just shook his head.  He sat back in his chair and tapped his claws together.

“I’ve given the matter much thought, Captain Blackwing. And I’ve come to three conclusions. Hear me out before you reply.”

He raised one claw. Osthia sat back, listening. He was a Wall Lord, but she’d had poor [Commanders]. What had convinced her to listen was the fact that Ilvriss had a reputation for sharpness, even if he had been traditionally opposed to Pallass back when they’d both been part of their Walled Cities.

“Firstly, I am certain of this: Az’kerash, the Necromancer, the foe who brought war to Liscor and sent his armies ravaging south of Izril. That monster who plagued us during the Second Antinium War until he was brought death by Zel Shivertail. Is. Alive.”

Osthia nodded and clenched her claws into fists. There was no doubting it. He had made a puppet of the Goblin Lord, Reiss. He had turned a Goblin into a Goblin Lord as an experiment. She shuddered. Ilvriss went on.

“The second thing I know is this. He is as great a threat in his own way as the Antinium.”

This time, Osthia blinked.

“Sir?”

Ilvriss stood up and walked over to a set of books in a shelf at the far side of the room. Few people could own a library, but Ilvriss had that, and extra copies for his study. He plucked a book from the shelves and tossed it at Osthia. She caught it and read the title: The Antinium Wars (Pt. 2), by Krsysl Wordsmith. She didn’t open it; it was standard reading in the academy. Ilvriss nodded at it.

“If one reads the history of Az’kerash only as it pertains to his end during the Second Antinium War, he was a lesser force. Between the Antinium and the Goblins, his presence was most keenly felt around Liscor. While his undead hordes did strike into the heart of Izril, they were but one of the plagues that assailed us. By that standard, he might be seen as weak. However, the opposite is true.”

Another book. This one—Necromancy, Its Rise and Fall, by Sir Hilten, [Autumn Knight] of the Order of Seasons. She hadn’t read it. Ilvriss went on.

“The history Drakes aren’t taught is Az’kerash’s legacy before he fell. Once, he was an Archmage of Terandria, a contemporary of Archmage Zelkyr, even. After he was deemed a monster and hunted, he turned on his homeland. For over a century he plagued Terandria and despite the best efforts of the [Knights], kingdoms, and other forces present on the continent, he escaped them every time. One could argue that he in fact won each conflict because no matter how many times his undead minions were slain and he was forced to flee, he himself was always alive, and came back stronger after biding his time.”

“I see.”

Osthia had found some books on Az’kerash, but she resolved to read this one as soon as possible. Ilvriss nodded and sat back down.

“So, my conclusion. Where the Antinium and even Goblins had their King and Goblin Lords, and the Antinium their Prognugators and Hives, Az’kerash is a force of one. And in that sense, he is most certainly far above the level of most beings on this planet. He may be the highest-level threat to Izril at this moment. And a handful of people know that he still lives.”

Osthia felt a chill. She got what Ilvriss was saying at. They had no idea about Az’kerash’s levels. In fact, he might have leveled up since the Second Antinium Wars. No—he surely had.

He’d killed Zel Shivertail, the same Drake who’d killed him during the first war. Who would stop him now? Osthia? Ilvriss? The Wall Lord saw Osthia’s pale face and nodded.

“We could stop him. But it would take an army. And the third thing I know is that Az’kerash is not alone. He has minions. Thinking, capable beings that can use magic to disguise themselves and walk among us. Worse still, there are traitors within Drake ranks. Highly-placed traitors at that.”

That was even more chilling than Ilvriss’ last statement. Osthia looked up, her claws sweaty.

“You’re sure?”

Ilvriss nodded darkly. He reached for the papers on the desk and pulled a file out. It wasn’t large, but it was…Osthia blinked. A report on a Named Adventurer? She read as Ilvriss talked.

“Regrika Blackpaw. A Named Adventurer who was a minion of Az’kerash. I fought her and her escort. I did not witness…what…she was, but I put together the clues afterwards. Zel Shivertail informed me that she was sent after the runner, Ryoka Griffin, to silence her after she met the Necromancer.”

“I can’t believe it.”

Osthia stared at the hand-drawn illustration of the Gnoll. She glanced up.

“Was it an undead?”

“That, or some other puppet. The very fact she was able to use that cover means someone falsified documents certifying her rank, created the illusion of her accomplishments or at the very least, her origin. It may be a Guildmaster of the Adventurer’s Guild aided the Necromancer. Or someone of higher rank.”

Ilvriss drummed his claws on the table. He went on. He had another piece of paper, a list. He was so…organized. And the fact that he could find the information? Terrifying. The Wall Lord pointed down at the next list. Names. Dates. Levels.

“In many cities that Regrika visited, high-profile Drakes met with accidents, before or after their visit. [Mages]. Retired adventurers. [Scholars]. More. How many Drakes have been killed and their deaths disguised as accidents by his minions? How many of them are there? How many traitors does he command?”

Osthia could only shake her head. This was far deeper than she’d thought. Now she understood why Ilvriss had held her back.

“So we might be sabotaged by our own ranks? By fellow Drakes? It’s unbelievable. But if—Wall Lord, if we assail him, we’ll see who they are, surely. If we reveal Az’kerash lives, we can assail him; no one would deny that!”

Ilvriss was just shaking his head.

“I considered that, Captain. But I believe that it would be too dangerous to risk.”

“How?”

Ilvriss sighed. He placed two lists of names in front of Osthia. One was short. It held her name, his, and a handful of others. All of them were Ilvriss’ personal staff, the ones that had accompanied him back from Liscor. Ilvriss tapped it with one claw.

“This is a list of people I regard as trustworthy beyond doubt. They alone are not puppets of Az’kerash, willingly or unwillingly. I hope to add to it from this list.”

The second list had names Osthia knew. Big names. Like the Dragonspeaker of Manus, Luciva Skybreath. Ilvriss nodded.

“This is a list of people I wish to alert by any means necessary if we can be sure they are true. I would have their aid in defeating the Necromancer because they possess some means of opposing him. But until I am sure, sure that they are not under the Necromancer’s control or one of his puppets in disguise, I will treat all of the names on this list as possible enemies that might turn on us if the Necromancer’s hand is forced.”

“But you don’t have anyone on the first list. Not even your fellow Wall Lords? Your family?”

Osthia was shocked. Ilvriss just looked at her.

“I do not trust my father, Captain Blackwing. There is no one I can be certain of. No one besides you, Zel Shivertail, and the young woman named Ryoka Griffin. And by now she may be compromised herself. I don’t believe you understand just how dangerous Az’kerash is.”

“I saw him wipe out an army—”

The Oldblood Drake protested hotly. Ilvriss held up a claw.

“I am not talking about his military abilities. I am talking about his ability to make puppets out of corpses as real as if they were alive. He has done so in the past. In Terandria, a [General] might be leading an army against Az’kerash only to make disastrous move after move. He would lose the battle, damning his troops and then return back in disgrace. And then lead a second army again and fail. And then, as he stood before his [King] in disgrace, reveal himself as an undead and assassinate the ruler and everyone else in the room.”

Osthia paled. Ilvriss went on.

“That has happened twice. In another case, the Necromancer replaced a sitting monarch and her family with puppets. And he manipulated one of his puppets into ousting the fake [Queen] as undead simply to continue the ruse. If we go to war, we may find our allies committing blunders, sabotaging our ranks. We cannot allow that.”

Ilvriss stood up and paced back and forth, restlessly.

“Az’kerash is a difficult enemy to face openly. We have no idea what his grand plan is. We may extrapolate, but the Necromancer’s motives—besides the obvious—are unknown to us. We know where he is vaguely, but we cannot move on him without alerting him that we are aware of him. We cannot alert the Drake cities without risking the same. And if it comes to war, we may well lose even without interference by traitors.”

Osthia gulped.

“You mean…the Antinium?”

Ilvriss nodded.

“The Antinium are the second threat. The Humans, third. If it were just Az’kerash, I would call on the Walled Cities to eradicate him and his plague once and for all. But should we try it with the Antinium at our backs, we might fight a war on two fronts, or even three if those damned Humans decide to take advantage of the situation. And we nearly lost a war against the Antinium the first time. No. We do not take that risk.”

“Then what can we do? We need to fight the [Necromancer] covertly? Or—no, create a force that can ambush him, take him by surprise. That’s what must be done. But who? Who can be trusted?”

The Oldblood [Captain] felt sick. How could they be certain their ranks wouldn’t be infiltrated? The task was daunting. Too much! But she saw Ilvriss smile grimly.

“Captain Blackwing. You have a Lord of the Wall on your side. I am not without my means. I’ve merely educated you on the reality of the issue as I see it. Now, here are some of my solutions.”

He returned to the desk and pulled out an object. Osthia stared at it. It was a hand mirror, inlaid with pearl and silver. Ilvriss regarded it and shook his head.

“During the investigation of a murder of a Gnoll in Liscor, Regrika Blackpaw was asked, under truth spell, whether she had committed the murder. Somehow, she fooled the spell.”

He waved the mirror at Osthia.

“This is a dreadfully gauche Mirror of True Seeing. See how many pearls are inlaid in..? Never mind. [True Seeing] is a Tier 6 spell capable of seeing through all but Tier 8 magics, and even they begin to fail in its presence. Az’kerash may be able to fool its power, but if he can, he should have been able to break Liscor in half rather than waste time assailing its walls. He is a [Necromancer]; he is not specialized in magics outside of his field. So we can regard this mirror as accurate.”

He held it up and Osthia saw it flash as he lifted a claw. Any number of complex auras were surrounding the magical rings on his fingers and she saw he was wearing an amulet or something in his clothing. His sword was enchanted too—by contrast, Osthia only had a faint aura about her. Ilvriss nodded.

The next item he pulled out he regarded with almost as much distaste. Osthia recognized it as similar to a crown, only lacking the rigid structure in parts.

“This is a Diadem of Inner Thoughts. Note the hanging jewels? It is the precursor to modern truth stones. They only reflect duplicity. Each stone on this diadem reflects a different state of mind.”

“Inner Thoughts? But what’s the point of wearing something that reveals how you yourself are thinking?”

Osthia was confused. Ilvriss looked a bit embarrassed.

“In times past, it was considered to be an essential tool of monarchs. Such that nobility wore it as well; to prove their actions were beyond repute. That fad went about as well as one might expect. Now, this is how we will test people. Put it on and hold the mirror up.”

He held out the diadem to Osthia. She dutifully put it on and saw the jewels lighting up. She couldn’t see all of them, but then she picked up the mirror and saw the enchantment around the diadem. And herself.

“That aura. Is it…?”

“Ah. That represents your natural aura. It seems legitimate. Oldblood Drakes have more magic about them. But the real test is if a spell activates when you try to lie, as well as the diadem’s reaction. Captain Osthia. Please state that you are not under the Necromancer’s control or working for him or anyone else in any way.”

Bemused, Osthia turned her head.

“Anyone else? But—”

She heard the sound of metal rasping in its sheath. She twisted—and held very still as a bitingly cold blade’s edge lay against the side of her neck. Ilvriss stared at her, quite calmly.

“Say it.”

Osthia did. Ilvriss waited, stared at the diadem, and lowered his sword.

“Good.”

“You were serious about that. What if I’d been an agent of someone else?”

Osthia felt at the cold cut along her neck. Ilvriss shrugged fractionally as he sheathed his blade.

“I told you. I trust no one.”

The [Captain] thought about this. Then she offered the diadem and mirror to Ilvriss.

“Well then. Your turn.”

He blinked. But then he put on the diadem and raised the mirror. Osthia walked around him so she could see it and see the gems glow as he replied. They were the same colors, more or less, that had glowed when she’d spoken.

Both she and Ilvriss relaxed. They’d been sure, but the test made both feel better. Ilvriss went back to sitting down at the table. Osthia picked up the mirror and played with it.

“So, what’s the next step? Test everyone in your employ, and then the city? One by one?”

Ilvriss looked amused.

“If it were that easy…tell me, what do you think would happen if we discovered they were the Necromancer’s allies?”

“Kill them? Or interrogate them, keep them captive I suppose.”

Osthia didn’t blink. Ilvriss raised one brow.

“And then? What would Az’kerash do? When his minion failed to report in or suffered an ‘accident’?”

“Ah. Then what’s our next move? Wait…we…only test who we can.”

Osthia was getting the hang of this. Ilvriss nodded, smiling.

“And we adopt his strategy unto them. A few accidents would not rouse the Necromancer’s suspicion if it seems innocuous. Our goal is to reveal his minions and create a group we are certain of while avoiding alerting him.”

“But how can it be done?”

The complexity of the task was maddening Osthia. She was no [Infiltrator], no [Spy]! Ilvriss sighed.

“Simple. We engineer scenarios where the people we want to test are in the same room as us for reasons the Necromancer would believe are completely genuine. And there will be a reason for us to approach such people completely covertly. A reason that Az’kerash will accept as completely legitimate. This is for you. I intend to circulate it among my peers first; if there are any spies for other Walled Cities or Az’kerash, he will surely see it.”

Ilvriss passed a document to Osthia. She stared down at the neat handwriting, and his personal seal. And then she understood. She looked up and Ilvriss smiled at her. The Wall Lord tapped the copy in front of him.

“This is the secret force you and I are going to begin building, Captain Blackwing. I’m appointing you as its head. We’ll be securing allies, making deals with other Walled Cities—it will require travel, secrecy, and diplomacy. It may incur danger of its own. And any number of Drakes and Gnolls are going to learn of its existence. And it’s purpose will be…”

Osthia read from the page.

“A private army designed to destroy the Antinium. High-level [Soldiers], magical artifacts on par with a Gold-rank adventurer’s gear or better. Special forces from every Walled City…”

She looked up and inhaled. Ilvriss sat back.

“Exactly. This is how we fool Az’kerash, Captain Blackwing. A plan within a plan. Both are needed. The Antinium are a threat. Az’kerash is a threat. This way, we create a group capable of fighting both. People in my position, who are capable of fighting, leading, or financing actions as needed. High-level individuals. An elite strike force.”

“The same tactics that General Sserys used to fight the Antinium during the first Antinium War.”

“Undead are similar to Antinium. And an individual like Az’kerash will slaughter regular [Soldiers]. What do you think? If you have any objections, Captain Blackwing, I would like you to voice them now.”

Ilvriss waited. Osthia mulled over the document. Her wings fluttered and her breath was tinged with a hint of acrid acid. She looked up and her eyes were burning.

“I’m in. Where do I start?”

The Wall Lord bared his teeth.

“Firstly, I will put this proposition forwards within the week. Carefully. I’ll start with close friends. Gather support. In the meantime, I want you to headhunt Salaszar’s standing forces. I also have a list of individuals you and I are going to approach. But before that? We may be the targets of covert action ourselves. Other factions may see this as me grabbing power. Forming an army. Which I am, of course. So you will be my [Bodyguard] in fiction as well as reality. To that end…let’s pay a visit to my personal armory. I will need to acquire more artifacts, but right now I can equip you at something better than the average Gold-rank standard.”

Osthia inhaled sharply and got up. She was still daunted by the task ahead, but she felt better when she saw the racks of gleaming weapons. And the armor. And magical rings…she walked past them. Ilvriss sighed.

“Not one heirloom-class weapon like the Heartflame Breastplate. We’ll need to acquire that before the final assault. But I have a modest arsenal.”

“Beyond modest, Wall Lord! Do you have a spear with anything anti-magic? Naq-Alrama steel, maybe?”

Osthia looked up hopefully. Ilvriss pursed his lips.

“I could only but wish. I have an Adamantine-tipped spear enchanted with a [Piercing] spell. Will that do?”

“I think so.”

—-

Ilvriss left Osthia to pick out as much gear as she wanted from his armory. He had no fear of her overloading the magical enchantments and causing a reaction; she knew to check for how much magical interference she was generating. But she would be as well-equipped as, well, he was.

The Wall Lord didn’t know Osthia’s complete capabilities, but he estimated that a [Captain] wearing magical items was around the rank of a Gold-rank adventurer. Decent, in short. She’d be a capable [Bodyguard] at least, and Ilvriss would find the best warriors to oppose the Necromancer.

Oh, the very best. Ilvriss returned to his study. He sat down in the familiar chair and leaned back. The first thing he’d do was reach out to one of the names on his list of potential recruits. Pallass had a named Adventurer, and Ilvriss had considered adding Saliss of Lights to his list, but the Drake was, by all accounts, extremely difficult to work with and Ilvriss had no need for anyone who couldn’t be trusted.

Besides, that was Pallass and he was their sole Named Adventurer. One, for an entire Walled City. Salazsar, in its wealth and opulence, had two. Two Named Adventurers, one an individual, one a Named team, which was more than Manus could boast of; there was little work in the City of War for adventurers. And that was different from the the transient groups that came in and out of Zeres’ ports with regularity.

The lone Named Adventurer would join Ilvriss. That wasn’t even a problem; money dictated who Shriekblade worked for. The real issue would be passing Ilvriss’ proposal among his fellow Wall Lords and Ladies. Many would oppose him forming a force to fight the Antinium. They’d see it as needlessly provocative, or even, as he’d told Osthia, a power grab.

But it had to be done. And Ilvriss would gather true allies he could tell about the Necromancer. The Drake stared at the list of names he’d come up with. So few! Even if they formed an army. It would be desperate work, keeping it all secret. Keeping up the charade.

The enormity of the task before him hit him only now. The scale of the opponent he had set himself against. Az’kerash. An immortal monster.

“No, not immortal. He’s only two hundred years old. Only. Hah!”

Ilvriss rubbed at his face, despairing.

“Two hundred years. Half-Elves can live longer. There are some beings in this world far older. Salazsar’s walls are ancient.”

But Az’kerash had been a man. That was what people forgot. He had lived in this world, not apart. Half-Elves in their villages could pass decades unchanging. But a man?

He had lived two and a half times as long as Ilvriss’ father. What level must he be? How could Ilvriss truly fight him? He’d seen how Osthia had paled, despite her own thirst for vengeance. Ilvriss couldn’t help but feel her doubt now. He’d had to reassure her. But he was…afraid.

Ilvriss was afraid of the future. The task ahead. He was tired. As tired as Zail. He thought of how, just a few weeks ago, he had sat in an inn, amid noise, crowds, the rudest Human he’d ever met. And he’d been annoyed there, or amused. Entertained. But it hadn’t been like this.

He wished he had never left that inn. But duty pulled him onwards. Duty. Vengeance. Terribly heavy things.

“A Lord of the Wall is loyal to his city unto death. He does not waver.”

But he was just a Drake. And he did not feel like a Lord of the Wall in that moment. Ilvriss bowed his head. And he sat at his desk and remembered how this had all started.

“Periss.”

He was alone.

—-

One last visitor stopped by Ilvriss’ home before he left it. And she changed where he went. Ilvriss had been intending to stop by his office, lower down, and talk to Alrric, his [Administrator]. He’d have to leave the work in Alrric’s hands, and the Gnoll would have to divert funds towards Ilvriss’ project. Alrric wouldn’t be happy, but he could be privy to the lesser secret about the Antinium task force.

However, the Drake with purple scales and long, pants and a fairly casual tunic reminiscent of Human fashion—even if it had been tailored with high-quality material—stopped Ilvriss. He blinked at her.

“Navine. I didn’t expect to see you today. To what do I owe this pleasure.”

Wall Lady Navine Gemscale pointedly glared at Ilvriss. She wasn’t smiling, nor did she seem pleased to greet her sibling. They were nearly of age, although he was the eldest by three years.

“Ilvriss. I’m not here on a social call. I heard you lost your ring.”

“Half the city knows. And I gave it away, not lost it.”

Ilvriss snapped, regretting spreading that rumor. Navine raised her brows.

“Really? You didn’t leave it on Periss’ grave?”

The Wall Lord stopped. He stared at Navine and felt a familiar headache coming on. She looked at him.

“Or was it Shivertail’s? You can’t do that, Ilvriss. Those rings need to stay with the family.”

She raised her own. He bit his tongue.

“I left it on no one’s grave.”

Her brows rose even higher.

“Really? Then you gave it to someone. Female?”

“Does it matter? It was my decision.”

He tried to step around her. Navine stepped over to block him.

“It matters because if you gave it away to some Drake, Gnoll, Human, or whomever you just met because you were trying to forget Periss, I’ll throw you off the tower myself. To stop father from doing it and straining his back. She deserved better.”

Ilvriss’ head jerked around. He stepped towards Navine and poked a claw at her chest.

“Don’t you dare insinuate that I would do that—”

“You didn’t care enough to marry her. Or keep her from getting killed! It was a skirmish between armies, Ilvriss! Who got her? Shivertail? I can’t believe he’d kill her in battle. She’d surrender! The Goblin Lord?”

“Yes. It was an accident. It has nothing—I gave the ring to someone I met. Someone worthy of trust. Not marriage.”

The Drake bristled at his sister. Navine stared at him. There was an accusatory look she always wore around him. And a familiar glower on his face. He tried to force it away.

“Mother would like to see you. I know father wanders in from time to time, but mother would like you to call instead of having to do it herself. You should visit her. You stopped by once when you came back.”

Abruptly, Navine changed the subject. Ilvriss blinked and growled, but she was right. She loved being right.

“I have to visit Alrric today—”

“Then do it after you visit mother. Business can wait.”

Navine pointed to the door. Ilvriss ground his teeth, but he followed her with bad grace.

The reason why it was harder for him to visit his mother at least, not as simple as walking upstairs—was that Helessia Gemscale lived in another tower. It saved her from constantly running into Zail, and that was for the best these days. Navine lived in the same home with her staff, and the two nobles made their way through the entrance in dire silence.

“Mother, Ilvriss has finally decided to come calling. Do you have time to see him?”

Navine called out as she pushed the door open to Helessia’s room. Ilvriss waited until Navine beckoned, and entered the room.

Helessia was sitting upright in her bed, tended to by a Gnoll [Healer]. The old Drake’s bed was a thing of magic—and that wasn’t just hyperbole. To reduce the aches on her bones, it had been fashioned of the softest materials available and could perform any number of functions. Including float. Ilvriss paused as the curtains were moved back by Navine.

“Mother.”

He nodded to the old Drake peering up at him. Not without fondness. But he was prepared for a scolding and got it.

“Ilvriss. Where is your ring?”

“He says he gave it to someone trustworthy. Female.”

Navine interjected. Ilvriss glared at her.

“I think this is a private conversation, don’t you?”

“Not at all. But go on.”

Grinding his teeth, Ilvriss leaned forwards. Helessia caught him and kissed him. And he brushed his lips against her cheek.

“You do make me worry, Ilvriss. All that time in Liscor with the Goblin Lord. And then Shivertail’s death. And the Human army. It was a wretched mess.”

“I know, Mother. But as I told you, some of it was unavoidable. But for Shivertail…the rest went as well as I could have hoped.”

His sister snorted softly behind him. Helessia gave her a warning look.

“Tell me about the ring.”

“I gave it to someone I could trust, mother. I don’t wish to say more. You know the rings aren’t crucial.”

Helessia smiled quietly. Sickness had left her thin and pale, despite the [Healer]’s best efforts, but she was still the beauty Ilvriss remembered.

“No. Not crucial. But I would have never thought you would have given it to anyone but Periss. We didn’t discuss it when you visited.”

“I would prefer not to.”

Ilvriss avoided her gaze. Helessia sighed.

“If you insist. But then, tell me what else you are up to? You’ve been enjoying yourself. But I know that look.”

“What look?”

“Ilvriss…”

The Wall Lord sighed. He didn’t want to bring this up now. But Helessia would find out through Navine if Ilvriss had his way, and it would distract her from…Periss. So he told her.

“I’m planning to create a force to oppose the Antinium. A proper organization. Arms, equipment, individuals—Named Adventurers and notable figures from all the cities—”

“What?”

Navine exclaimed. Helessia just frowned.

“Is that necessary? It’s been quiet, Ilvriss. We’ve made so many precautions.”

“I have been to Liscor, mother. They live with the Antinium. I saw Klbkch the Slayer myself. And Xrn. They are plotting something.”

It was the truth. Helessia inhaled and Ilvriss wished he hadn’t said it. He went on, choosing his words carefully, framing an argument anyone could accept.

“The force is necessary. Zel Shivertail’s death has left a hole in our ranks. It’s not enough to trust to our best individuals to rise up in times of crisis. Look at Thrissiam Blackwing, Garusa Weatherfur. Fine [Generals]. If they’d had a few more elite units supporting them, or one or two notable figures, they might have defeated the Goblin Lord themselves. We need organization. Not just against the Antinium. The Human’s aggression as well.”

“So a private army. You want to make one that can beat Humans and Antinium? That sounds like you’re preparing for an attack.”

Navine’s voice was sharp. Ilvriss looked up and glared at her.

“I’m prepared to be attacked. Unless you think the Humans weren’t prepared to take Liscor, Navine?”

“Some of them. Some of them didn’t.”

“And the ones who did are the ones I’m concerned about. I’m not here to argue with you, Navine. I’ll put it before our peers. I’m worried about the Antinium in any case.”

Ilvriss turned back to Helessia. His mother sighed.

“Schemes. Always schemes. You are your father’s son, Ilvriss. You’ve been gone back not one week. Tell me. Have you visited Periss’ grave?”

Ilvriss paused.

“I didn’t know one was made. I—we never recovered her body.”

“We held a funeral. You may find her cenotaph in the Gemscale mausoleum.”

The Wall Lord paused.

“You buried her there?”

“Privately. Yes. Do you disagree?”

“No. I…I will try to find the time to visit. But I am busy.”

The Wall Lord half-rose, distracted. Navine’s voice was bitter.

“Did you even shed a tear for her?”

“Navine!”

Helessia turned her head. Navine looked away. But both Drakes were looking at Ilvriss. If he was like his father…Ilvriss was dry-eyed now. He paused, and then straightened.

“A Wall Lord weeps not for himself, but holds the walls first. Mother, I do have to go. I will stop by later this week. Perhaps later, when Navine is happily occupied elsewhere.”

He looked pointedly at Navine. She glared at him.

“Let the damn walls crumble to dust. They’re not the most important thing in this world, Ilvriss!”

Helessia saw Ilvriss pause as he bent to give her a farewell kiss. The Wall Lord looked up. But then he slowly bent down and kissed Helessia on the cheek again and stood up.

Ilvriss slowly left the room, not bothering to reply to Navine. Half a year ago he would have stormed away furiously or confronted her. This time? He felt a bit melancholy. What would Navine have done if she’d met Erin? They would have been a better match. Worse, still. It was hard to admit she might have been right about Humans.

“Mother. You saw that too, right?”

Navine turned to Helessia after Ilvriss had left. Her mother sighed and sat up in her bed. She gestured, and the bed slowly sank downwards. Then she sat up.

“I think I will walk, Gersa.”

The Gnoll [Healer] hrmed, but then gently helped Helessia up. The Drake struggled up after a moment and Gersa found her the pillow with the rings on it. Helessia put on one ring, and then another, and straightened. Strength-enhancing rings. Navine watched her mother slowly walk past her, and Helessia’s voice was focused, sharper than her husband’s.

“I saw. He’s changed. Whether it was Periss or this mysterious person he gave the ring to, Ilvriss is much different. Find out who it was, if you can. Someone in Liscor, most likely.”

Navine grimaced.

“It’ll be hard. You know the rings are enchanted not to be noticed.”

“I know. But I want to know just what made Ilvriss change so. He was the spitting image of Zail when he left.”

“Do you think he’s actually concerned about the Antinium? Or is this about the Humans? My truth spells said he was lying about how Periss died, mother. But when he said he wasn’t as worried about the Humans, he was telling the truth. Mostly.”

Helessia paused. She shook her head.

“I don’t know. Either way, it’s still too risky to take him to the meeting in Oteslia. Let’s just hope this Magnolia Reinhart is everything they say she is.”

Navine nodded. She accompanied her mother to the dining room. Some things were secret. And there were Drakes who saw potential in an alliance with the Humans. And Drakes who did not. Even families sometimes were at odds with each other.

Ilvriss knew that. And it had been his life. The complicated web of politics, influence, working to advance his city at the cost of others. That was what he had known. It was why he had gone to war against other Drakes, fought Zel Shivertail. And now he was changed. The Wall Lord didn’t go to visit Alrric. Navine was right, damn her. There were more important things to do.

He descended. Through Salazsar’s towers, down walkways, travelling slowly, greeting people, accepting their welcomes back to the city. Down and down. Salazsar wasn’t all vertical. It had an underground component. Store houses. The ever-reaching mines.

Cemeteries, or rather, mausoleums. But Ilvriss didn’t go down that far. He stopped, a good two-thirds up the social echelons of Salazsar. And he walked a street hundreds of feet over the actual ground, past neat homes that were far smaller than his grand tower. It occurred to him he was empty-handed. But he hadn’t gone before. And if he turned back now, he wouldn’t come back.

So the Drake paused at a door like any other. Like no other. He had never been here; what a scandal. What an outrage. He wished for all of it now. He wished he’d been here with her before. But it was too late. All he knew was the location. He’d memorized it when Perris had told him.

Sometimes he forgot what her voice sounded like. Other nights he thought he could hear it. Ilvriss raised a claw, paused, and knocked softly. He waited there, ignoring the looks on the street.

After a while, a Gnoll opened the door. She stared at Ilvriss and gasped. Ilvriss bowed to her. He had expected a Gnoll. Or a Drake. But he knew there would be one of each.

“Excuse me. Miss Solicia Veldant? Mother of…Periss Veldant? I am—”

“Wall Lord Ilvriss?”

A stunned voice behind him. Ilvriss turned. A shorter Drake was standing behind him, looking dumbfounded. Ilvriss stepped to one side, looking between husband and wife.

“Mister Elkill Veldant? Miss Solicia Veldant? I hope I am not intruding. I—I have been away from Salazsar for quite some time. And on my return…I was hoping to speak to you two.”

The Gnoll looked at her husband. And then at Ilvriss.

“I see. Periss spoke of you. You were leading the army, weren’t you?”

Ilvriss bowed his head.

“I was. I—I regret that I could not bear news of her passing myself. If you would allow me, I would like to speak to you of the events that led to her…death. I am deeply sorry.”

Solicia looked at him. And Elkill cleared his throat, looking at his neighbors staring at the Wall Lord.

“Perhaps inside? Come in, Wall Lord.”

“Of course. Come in, yes?”

Solicia moved out of the doorway. Ilvriss paused as Elkill headed inside, murmuring urgently with his wife. He didn’t know if coming here had been correct. But something—maybe the thought of what a certain Human would have said, or Periss himself—had impelled him. He stared at the open door. And he recalled an old conversation.

“Did you know, Ilvriss? One of your [Lieutenants]—Periss, yes, that’s the one. Her parents are mixed. Gnoll and Drake. What? Of course it doesn’t have anything to do with how she does in the military. But you’re asking how Rhelika and I work? Ask her. She’d know…”

Tasilt.

Ilvriss entered the home. And he sat at a small, comfortable couch as he was served some tea. And then into silence he spoke. He forgot the words almost as soon as he said them. But the feeling, the moment, it lasted forever. The faces of the two parents, tearing open a wound so it might heal a bit better. Listening to a confession.

Truth about a relationship. Lies about a death. But truth about pain. About loss. Promises—offers of wealth. Meaningless words mixed in with guilt. Ilvriss didn’t know when he ran out of words. But it was Solicia’s stare, the way Elkill leaned against her that made him just sit there. Waiting.

And all Elkill did in the end was put down his cup, untouched. He looked at his wife. And then at Ilvriss. And he looked at a painting on the far wall. And Ilvriss turned his head and saw her.

“She was special, wasn’t she?”

The quiet question shook Ilvriss. It cracked something. And he bowed his head.

Wall Lords wept not for themselves. So a Drake sat and shed the tears the Wall Lord could not. He wept. But he was not alone in his grief. For a while, Ilvriss put aside the vengeance in his chest. That could come later. He just sat there and remembered who he had loved. The way she laughed.

He missed her.

6.51 A

“Well, I’m off! I’ll be back tonight or tomorrow! Send help if you hear explosions or something.”

Erin waved as she left her inn with Teliv. Lyonette let Mrsha wave her off, and then the door closed. The [Princess] looked around.

Suddenly, the inn was quiet. Almost deserted. Some Gnolls and Drakes were having breakfast, quietly, but the population of the inn was now less than two dozen, counting the staff. The [Princess] sighed; Erin was the heart and excitement of the inn. But sometimes her absence could be a good thing.

Ishkr and the two Gnolls on staff looked up as Lyonette clapped her hands. The other guests glanced up, expecting something interesting. But all Lyonette did was point towards a broom.

“Alright, everyone! Erin’s gone! You know what that means! We can finally get some cleaning and other work done. Let’s sweep and polish the floors. Everyone having breakfast—you have thirty minutes to finish!”

There were a few good natured groans, but no one bemoaned the time limit. Ishkr began moving unused chairs to one side of the very big, moderately dirty room. Well, it wasn’t filthy, but there were specks. Scuffs. The kind of thing a proper inn didn’t need. Lyonette was counting brooms.

“Sweep first. Then we’ll do a wash and scrubbing. I have a soap-mix that Octavia made up for me. It’s apparently pretty strong! Mrsha, don’t bother Ishkr. He’s working!”

Mrsha looked up, betrayed, as she tried to push a table that Ishkr was dragging towards the wall. She was helping! But Lyonette put her hands on her hips.

“I’m sure Ishkr appreciates the help, but you’ll get your paw run over. Why don’t you get your ball? We can play with it when the second shift comes in. Or, I can see if Selys has time…”

Mrsha shook her head. Sulkily, she crept off. Lyonette sighed, but she started moving furniture too. The little Gnoll needed a proper diversion each day, she reflected. Work, or a tutor. She had had a [Tutor]. Could she arrange one for Mrsha?

“If Erin doesn’t get taxed again, maybe. Or maybe Selys will sponsor Mrsha. Does Liscor have tutors?”

“Mostly apprenticeships.”

Ishkr shrugged as Lyonette looked at him. The [Princess] pursed her lips. She kept thinking as she rounded tables, filling last breakfast orders and collecting money. Numbtongue had vanished, maybe into the mountains to do some mining.

And in the inn, Mrsha crept around, looking for something interesting. She’d found rats, once. And usually there were fun people to play with. Like Moore. Or Ceria. Or Yvlon, or Bevussa, or…but they were all gone. Liscor’s new Council had made everyone happily busy—elsewhere. And as a result Mrsha was bored.

But there was one person who remained. And while he wasn’t Mrsha’s first target, he and she had an enduring relationship of sorts. Now, Mrsha slunk along, using her [Natural Concealment] Skill. She could see his white robes as he sat at the table, reading. And she could smell his plate. There were some eggs left. So Mrsha waited, biding her time, and then, with a herculean leap, jumped on the table, swiped—

And missed. Pisces flicked his finger at the plate and it soared over Mrsha’s head. The [Necromancer] glanced up and smirked. Mrsha narrowed her eyes and leapt again. The plate soared slowly over her head. She missed the table and went splat on the floor.

“Mrsha, stop bothering Pisces!”

Lyonette had seen it all. The Gnoll cub ran over to her, holding one of her wrists and making a faint whining sound. The [Princess] stroked her head mostly unsympathetically.

“You know better than to try that. And look what it got you! No, you don’t need a healing potion. You didn’t land hard. Don’t be dramatic, young miss. If you want to help, you can help me move chairs.”

Mrsha tearfully looked up at Lyonette. She signed with her paws, overplaying her injury in the right one. Mean! Mean and hard work! Lyonette frowned.

“Mrsha…”

The little squabble was ignored by the [Necromancer] as his plate slowly levitated downwards. Pisces lifted a hand and a fork flew into it. He chewed the mostly cold eggs as his eyes flicked across the pages. He was engrossed in his task, so much so that he only looked up when he heard a cough.

“Pisces. We’re cleaning the inn.”

“Hmm? Ah.”

Pisces glanced up. At some point, the inn had emptied. All the tables and chairs were moved against the wall. Mrsha was playing with her ball as Ishkr and the Gnolls swept the inn. Pisces’ table and chair were the last to be moved. He looked down at his empty plate and rose with a sigh.

“I see. I do apologize, Miss Lyonette. I will remove myself to my room, then.”

“Thank you.”

Lyonette watched him step up the stairs, still absent-mindedly reading. She looked down at his plate and sighed. He wasn’t really annoying. Or rather, she’d heard how much worse he could be from Erin. In fact, there were a lot harder people to manage. Erin included. She took the plate, bussed it to the kitchen, and got to work.

The inn’s remaining occupants kept cleaning. Pisces went upstairs. And no one, not Lyonette, or Mrsha, thought to ask what he did as he entered his room and shut the door. Because they understood Pisces, or at least, they thought they did. But what they understood was the exterior. And the [Necromancer], for all his foibles, made a fairly easy picture to grasp at a distance.

But perhaps if someone were to ask Ceria, or Ksmvr, or Yvlon, they might stop. And upon reflection, they would realize a truth. They didn’t know Pisces as completely as they thought. He had secrets. No one even knew his last name. No one knew which nation he had hailed from, or his past before Wistram. How many people could truly say they knew Pisces (Lastname)?

Perhaps no one. So, as Pisces closed the door to his room he murmured a spell.

“[Muffle]. [Sealed Space].”

On the walls, six ash-drawn runes started glowing. The spell made Pisces’ ears feel full for a moment as silence enveloped the room. It was now safe, at least, in a crude way, from magical spying. The [Necromancer] looked around. Erin would probably have been unhappy to see the magical sigils he’d drawn on the walls, but she’d probably be more aghast at the room itself.

It was actually clean. Disconcertingly organized, compared to how unkempt Pisces himself usually was. Pisces’ belongings were lined up on the dresser, the floor swept so neatly that even Lyonette wouldn’t have found flaw with it; only the bed was a mess of tangled sheets. But that was to a reason.

An undead rat’s skeleton lay unmoving on Pisces’ dresser, the only thing anyone would have found untoward. Pieces stared at it for a moment as he came in, but he ignored it after another moment. The [Necromancer] regarded his room, and then sighed. He put his spellbook down on a table, a bit annoyed, and massaged his forehead.

“Magical theory. Why are necromantic texts so, so…childish? Each one is written as if it is the cardinal basis of all magic. Yes, by all means, pontificate on why your knit-bone structure is superior to all other designs over the last ten thousand years, sir. Would it be so difficult to include a diagram?”

Grumpily, he waved a hand. A second spellbook rose up from the table. It looked identical to the first; a ragged blue cover worn by age and dirt. And that was an effect that Pisces had had to work on for two days straight. Otherwise it would be very difficult to explain why he now had a new spellbook in addition to his personal one and the basic spellbook Ryoka had brought back.

Even if it wasn’t immediately obvious, Ceria and Yvlon could count. And Ksmvr would knowing the Antinium.

Pisces studied the two spellbooks in front of him with identical covers. One was personal, his collection of spells and notes that dated back from his residency at Wistram. Pisces caressed this one, the one he was holding, lovingly. He sighed as he looked into it.

“I must acquire a new book as soon as that door reaches Invrisil. Pallass’ markets are not catered to spellcraft. On the other hand, if Erin were to somehow forge a route to Fissival—how likely is it?”

He paused, and stared up at the ceiling.

“A thirty percent chance she somehow engineers her door to tap into Fissival’s network. Either way, generalist spells would be appropriate. As for this…”

He flicked his gaze back to the book he’d been reading. Pisces sat down at his desk and began to scribble in his personal spellbook, translating his lesson from the previous book. Normally he’d annotate in the other book, but it was on loan, and Pisces didn’t want to make a poor impression.

“Then again, it is an astounding obstinate text. I would rather take lessons from Rievan again than decipher the actual important information from this one.”

Pisces grumbled. He began to sketch a new design into his spellbook, frowning as he glanced at the necromancy tome. If he was reading this right…

“A Bone Behemoth.”

He frowned, and scribbled, working on the basic image. It would be twice, no, three times as large as his Warbear Bone Horror. And imposing, to say the least! A true monster that would render any group of low-level opponents meaningless. The kind of creation that could slaughter even Raskghar without fear of being brought down easily.

The young [Necromancer] frowned as he eyed his new design. It still looked like his old one, just scaled up. Unoriginal, and frankly, less than imposing, at least to his eyes. Oh, he admitted that if you were face to face with the gaping maw and the crushing limbs, it would pose a physical threat, but good design should convey aesthetic horror. Almost artistically so.

“Well, construction is first.”

The [Necromancer] sighed. He flicked his hand. And from his belt, the bag of holding, bones began to fly out, assembling behind him in neat rows.

Femur, humerus, tibia—metatarsals and teeth, bone powder and tiny fragments. Yellowed bone, and white ivory, bleached from time or Pisces’ own efforts. It was like a set of children’s building blocks, only made of death and horror. But the piles were neat and tidy, and when Pisces turned, it only took a wave of his hand to begin moving them on the clean floor into place.

“According to this, the ah, foundation is…to form the spell lattice capable of that much weight and animation, I need to shape the spell like so…? No.”

Pisces frowned. The bones were soaring into place, slowly moving, rotating, forming longer segments, creating the very image he’d drawn in his sketchbook.

But slowly. Not only did Pisces have to stop and make sure a tooth fit with another tooth here, or grind down a section of bone to create a perfect fit here, he was working on another level. For the physical form was only half of the creation he was trying to make. The Bone Behemoth wouldn’t even fit in his room when completed, obviously, but even if Pisces assembled the shell, animating it was…

“Tricky. Complex.”

The [Necromancer] had to admit that after a few minutes. He stared at a huge foot he’d assembled, akin to a dinosaur’s bones, if he had known what a dinosaur was. He thought of it as a Dragon’s leg, or perhaps a Cyclops’ sturdy bones, only crouched, angled for something that would walk on all fours. Bipeds were trickier than quadrupeds. Forget tripeds.

It was already done; assembling was easy. But making it move? Pisces frowned, and tried to form a lattice of magic. In concept it was simple. The leg moved so. Necromancy could give bone a range of movement, like sinew. In fact, Pisces’ magic would replace muscle, tendon, and ligament, giving skeletons the invisible framework by which to move. But giving the spell the strength to move the massive leg was—

Tricky. Pisces frowned as the leg moved a bit, haltingly. The bone wasn’t even that heavy! Not compared to a full flesh-and-blood body. But—it wasn’t easy. Pisces was used to animating regular skeletons with smaller bones. The largest bone in the Human body, the femur, was, what, sixteen times smaller than the bone of this behemoth? At least!

If Pisces compared it to sewing, it was like trying to weave with anchor chains when you were used to thread and needle.

It was difficult. Aggravating. Pisces began to sweat, and then to curse. He tried reconfiguring the bone leg, assembling more parts of the Behemoth in his room. He went back to the necromancy tome and read for a bit, massaging his temples.

“Anchor the lattice…well, obviously around the center of gravity! How do you provide enough power to move bone that heavy? No, not another lesson mixed in with anecdotes of your ‘accomplishments’ every five sentences!”

He hurled the spellbook across the room and dragged his fingers through his hair. Pisces stared at the spellbook, and then flicked a hand. It flew back towards him and he settled back on the desk, reading vexed. He wasn’t like Ceria, who had only recently begun her training again. But sometimes, Pisces envied her.

Ceria was talented. She was a half-Elf, naturally attuned to magic. She had a spellbook with a number of spells he would have loved to study if he could have spared the time from his necromancy studies. And she had learned from a master.

“Illphres.”

Pisces said the word bitterly. And he remembered. A broken body rising, lifeless eyes burning with undead light. Of his regrets, and he had many, that one still stung. He wondered sometimes if Ceria had forgiven him for that. Better still though. She had seen her master’s corpse in undeath.

But she had not seen how Illphres had died. Her or the other [Mages] who had gone to challenge Zelkyr’s last test. Pisces was still haunted by that memory, too. He paused and shook his head.

But she had had a master, however briefly. Someone who could perfect her fundamentals, show her a path. A path to true magic, even if it was only as far as Illphres had gotten. She had probably been on par with a Named Adventurer. The highest of Gold-ranks at least!

By contrast, Pisces was alone. All of his accomplishments were from feeling his way blindly forwards, extrapolation using spellbooks. But theory was far from experience. And not just that; [Necromancers] were reviled almost the world over. Pisces couldn’t even find good examples of living practitioners, hear legends of what had been done, except as tales of woe. He envied Ceria her certainty.

“And yet.”

The [Necromancer] paused. He looked up, his hair disheveled, at the Bone Behemoth. With one hand, he collapsed the beginnings of the skull, reassembled the bones. He studied a skeleton.

Just…a skeleton, built in the Human frame. But modified. There was something wrong with its chest. A spiral-like design leading to a black opening. Over-long arms and legs. It made the creation uneasy to look at, but Pisces smiled. He began animating it, watching the arms and legs flex, perfecting another design he was working on.

He enjoyed this. This was elegant. Sophisticated! Not like the brute power of the Bone Behemoth. But—he sighed—that was the point. Sometimes one needed a hammer, and his team was fundamentally weak in that area. Grimalkin had pointed it out and in lieu of better spells—Pisces glanced around.

“Where are those scrolls he gave me? I should commit to learning [Acid Orb] tonight. Fourteen more hours of study should do it. Memorizing the formulation of acid is…”

He shook his head. Magic was not for people who couldn’t handle memorization or slow progress. Then again. He snorted.

“The [Sorcerer] can cast any spell he or she wishes. All they must do is design it—inefficiently. One envies the simplicity of their existence. Whereas I on the other hand have limited time to study! Especially if I must work around the Bloodfields. Well, perhaps six hours of study today. Around lunch. Ceria and the others may be back by dinner. Hm. Lyonette mentioned Erin had come up with a new food.”

He smacked his lips absently. Life wasn’t so bad now, was it? No, it was not. Hot, good food, a comfortable bed, and all the privacy he could wish for, if not always the respect. Erin Solstice had given him that. And he felt…well, indebted.

“A fascinating young woman. Truly fascinating. I only wish…”

But then Pisces paused. Carefully. And he looked around his room. It was a reflex now. And ordinarily, it only reassured him, reminded him what not to say.

Except for this time. Pisces’ gaze wandered the room. His messy bed, the unfinished Behemoth parts, bone fragments, ready to be assembled, his dresser, the undead rat sitting atop it with glowing green eyes, his money pouch, the very mild scent potion Octavia had sold him, three cookies he’d smuggled from the kitchen—

Pisces jerked and stared at the rat. It regarded him, the sunken sockets of its skeletal corpse glowing a lurid green. It was standing on its haunches, an unnatural posture. And it was looking right at Pisces.

He stared at it. The rat stared back. And something lurked behind the green glow. Another intelligence, flickering past the oblivion in the magical light in those undead eyes. Pisces’ pulse sped up. He wavered, waited. And then he swept into a courtly bow. There was no mockery in it.

Because the undead rat was not his creation. And as Pisces’ head rose, the tiny mouth opened. And a deeper voice, a…Human voice, echoed from it.

“Young Necromancer. It has been some time since we have last spoken.”

Pisces looked up. He smiled, or tried to. But he stared at the rat, with awe, trepidation—and a hint of incongruity. It was still a rat. But the presence that lay beyond it?

He had no master. No one who had shaped his beginnings. And he still had not. Not in truth. But this was as close as he could get. Perhaps closer than he wanted. Pisces lowered his head and adopted a respectful tone that Erin, Ceria—few people in this world knew he was even capable of.

“I am overjoyed to speak with you, Archmage. And I humbly thank you for the tome. It has been most instructive.”

The rat’s head turned, moving independently of the rest of the body to look around the room.

“So it would seem. Let us converse a moment, young Necromancer. Have you mastered the designs I have taught you…two months prior?”

Pisces bowed his head again.

“I have, Archmage. And I respectfully wish to speak with you about what I have learned. Ah—Archmage…”

He searched for another title. One of the speaker’s many appellations of the past, perhaps. But they escaped Pisces’ nimble mind, for once. There was no help for it. He looked at the rat. At the speaker beyond.

“Archmage Chandler?”

It was the wrong thing to say. The rat’s eyes flashed. Pisces felt the ire and his skin crawled. The voice spoke slowly.

“That name is old. Archmage Chandler was a man from a different era. Over a century dead. Address me as you will. But do so by the name they have given me.”

Pisces licked his lips.

“As you wish. Archmage Az’kerash.”

It would be an understatement to say that he had a few secrets no one knew about.

—-

They called him Az’kerash. It was a Gnoll name, a title given out of hatred. Az’kerash. Slayer of Kerash. So that they might never forget what he had done. But most people in the world who knew the name lost the context. Az’kerash was just…Az’kerash. A monster needed a name as grand as it was. So the name stuck.

Once, he had been called Perril Chandler. And that fact was important too, even if few remembered it. Do not forget that he was once Human. Once a man. Even if he sometimes forgot.

He had other names, too. Titles. Archmage Chandler. Lord Chandler, Duke Chandler, Sir Chandler—all born out of estates awarded to him. And he had kept the name, Chandler, that marked him as common-born, despite the attempts to change it, to guard his own reputation, perhaps. That was a fact of a different time, completely at odds with the image of Az’kerash the world held now.

Who still remembered the Gravewarden of Therras? The Undying Shield of Calanfer? Those titles were ash, and the current rulers—if those kingdoms yet existed—would deny any recollection of such names. But they had existed. Once, a lifetime ago and a flicker of time in the scheme of the world, he had been known as an honorary Knight of the Autumn. A friend of the Order of Seasons, a paragon of the now-defunct Order of Felgeist.

No, too few. Perhaps a Dragon, a few [Historians]. Some of the nobility or monarchs well-versed in Terandrian history, or just his. An Archmage. Little more. Even a lot of the [Necromancers] who styled themselves as his second coming, a successor to his name didn’t recall who he had been.

And some days he forgot. He was only known by one name, now. A name cried for over a century in hatred. Az’kerash. The Necromancer. His legacy was most strongly felt in Terandria and Izril, where he had brought death and horror.

Terandria most of all; Az’kerash was still a household name. Not to terrify children to sleep; few slept with the thought of him stalking their dreams. Or if they did, bedwetting inevitably followed. No, he was just a legend. A tale of why necromancy was evil. Of a monster that forgot how generations earlier had loved the man.

But enough. Say enough of the past. He spoke of it not at all these days. Az’kerash was thought dead to the world. That he lived was a matter that concerned so precious few. And it wasn’t even…life. Not in the way most understood it.

He did not sleep anymore. He had no need of it. And he sometimes did not move. He stood in his workroom, in a castle built of black stone where light was unwelcome, to the west of the Bloodfields, hidden in a deep forest nestled against the High Passes.

There was no map of this place in detail. It was an uncolonized area. The one Gnoll tribe that had lived here had been slain a year ago. Few would wish to anyways, so close to the perilous mountains. It had only been a place of note for a few days that same last year, when two Drake armies had clashed after a long retreat by one. And then a Goblin Lord had sprung from this area, leading an army north. But after that, the forest had lain silent.

If you wished to find him, the journey was long. Difficult. The nearest village was nearly a hundred miles distant. The wilderness bleak, monsters sometimes roaming. And the forest enchanted. It was a maze of illusions, that you might cross through, or never know you had been walking by the castle as you passed through it.

If, somehow, you were to navigate it, you would emerge in a cleared space. In a bubble of silence, a place where even on the brightest spring day, the sky seemed greyer. The soil depleted. And the expanse in front of the castle was hardly empty.

There they slept. An army of the undead. Giants made of bone, undead, fresh and fallow with age. Waiting. Inside, they stood in silent rows against the walls, hung from the ceilings, crowded the dungeons. Skeletons, wearing armor. Decaying bodies.

Inwards and inwards. Towards the study. Past old libraries filled with books preserved by magic. Unused areas for dining or leisure, now dusty and empty. Into the few rooms that shone.

But the light was black. It ate at sunlight, provided an uneasy luminescence. There were three rooms that Az’kerash occupied.

The first was his work room. A vast space, given over to a few bookshelves of powerful tomes. An elaborate magical circle in the center. Preserved designs, flasks of liquid or potions stored in glass cabinets. A vast ceiling, to hold whatever might be created in the air.

The second were his personal chambers. No bed was present, but more tools. Books, of the nonmagical kind. Art, hung with a connoisseur’s eye against the walls. A few mementos. And more than a few trophies.

The last room was simplest. A war room. Complete with maps, a circle meant for teleportation. Scrying devices, orbs, mirrors, and a collection of the most immediate magical items the Necromancer might use. Those were the three places he frequented. He might never leave any of the three rooms in a year. He could spend months in any one room.

Working. Az’kerash did not sleep, as mentioned. Nor did he take breaks. Here he stood, manipulating flesh and bone above him. A whale’s form slowly expanded, the gargantuan creature slowly disassembling into its parts above his head.

It was what Pisces had done—on a far grander scale. Fat separated from tissue, tendon moved, wriggling. And then it came together, reforming into a different shape. Organs shifting from their intended function. Magic moving biology. A hundred, a thousand different aspects were changing at once, too many for a normal mind to keep track of.

It taxed even Az’kerash at times. But he could and did work like this for uninterrupted stretches. Sometimes, he would talk, giving orders to the undead, or speaking into a scrying orb, or controlling something from afar. He would be working on a new creation, experimenting with a spell, while at the same time holding a conversation and moving his undead all at the same time.

It was a state that made the Necromancer absent, his attention sometimes distracted from reality. When he stretched himself, he sometimes forgot the basics, like the oddity of a young woman bursting into his chambers out of nowhere. He would be fully able to deal with her as a threat, and even be able to hold a conversation, but basic ideas like ‘how had she gotten here?’ or ‘maybe it was a bad idea to let her run off’ or even ‘perhaps a tip was in order’ escaped him.

That was, until he refocused. Sometimes, Az’kerash stopped. He would cease working on a dozen projects at once and concentrate on one issue, like, say, City Runners who had somehow infiltrated his sanctum. And then he was suddenly, intensely focused. For a while. But Az’kerash could be absentminded. Neglectful, even, of things that didn’t interest him in the moment.

If his many former apprentices had lived, they could have attested to that fact. As it was, a few could still remember who Az’kerash had been in life. Some had known him. Some had learned. All were old.

Archmage Feor could have told many stories. Az’kerash, or Peril Chandler, or Archmage Chandler could have told even more about an uppity half-Elf student. But neither were inclined to reminisce about that particular time.

So here he was. Az’kerash stared up at the whale’s form as it reformed. He ignored the fatty tissue, focused only on bone and sinew. He had more bones he was wedging into the new creation, reinforcing the structure. Sinew moved around it, simplifying the process of animating the creature; all-bone creations required more magic than flesh undead. And Az’kerash was a master. He frowned.

This new monstrosity would have sunk in the water. It would also have died; it lacked necessary organs like, oh, lungs, and a heart. After a moment, Az’kerash gave it both. Sometimes those organs helped. Even so, this whale-monstrosity would have encountered problems in life. It would have been an unparalleled killer; the teeth certainly helped with that. But digestion? Excretion? Basic mating? Problematic.

And it still didn’t satisfy him. Az’kerash paused. He moved his leg for the first time in two months. Shifted his weight. He didn’t pace around the creation; he just rotated it in the air. Frowned at its undercarriage.

“Hm.”

It was a dissatisfied sound. Az’kerash stared at the undead creation and wove a quick spell of animation. It sunk into the tendons, the entire body, custom-made, instantly replicable. That wasn’t hard for him. In the air, the whale-horror came to life. It snapped its mouth, lunged, moving the sinew and muscle in one arc. Az’kerash stared at it, doing a simulation of the creature fighting, perhaps in sea or on land. Then he shook his head.

“No.”

He waved his hand and the whale fell to pieces. The pieces of its body flew apart, landing in circles inscribed with [Preservation] spells. Az’kerash sighed slowly.

Two months. Two months of reconfiguring his latest design. It wasn’t easy. Recreating an entire muscular system could be taxing. And he still wasn’t happy with his new design. So Az’kerash, the Necromancer, stopped his work on the whale project. He raised one hand, flicked a finger.

[Lesser Teleport]. One moment he was standing in the work room, the next, in his study. An undead woman jumped and looked around before trying to shuffle towards the door. Az’kerash paid no attention. The Necromancer walked over to a chair, his muscles moving stiffly in his body. He tapped his chest absently; the flesh revitalized, his gait quickened.

Sitting, then. Not because he needed to, but because he wasn’t a savage. Az’kerash leaned back and his mind, spread, running in parallel, refocused. [Parallel Thoughts] deactivated. He looked straight ahead, focused on the world. And like that, realized he’d overlooked something.

“Bea. What are you doing?”

He turned his head. Bea, one of Az’kerash’s Chosen, an undead made uniquely to serve his will, froze, and guiltily tried to hide what she was holding behind her back. As he turned his head, she guiltily gave up. Her putrefied lips moved. She was a creature of rot and plague. A female corpse, her features not decomposing, but terribly, terribly…ill. To touch her was poison. She spoke in a beautiful voice, a woman’s haunting tones. And like a child.

“Reading, master.”

“Why are you in my study?”

Az’kerash looked at her. He wasn’t angry. Just patient. His fingers moved, and a scrying mirror floated over towards him. Bea hesitated.

“Because I had nothing to do? And Oom is gone. I am sorry, master.”

“Ah.”

Az’kerash paused. He looked at Bea. It was the first time he had thought of Oom, one of his creations, an Acid Slime that had perished in battle with Zel Shivertail. He looked at Bea. The Necromancer read her body posture, the tone of her voice. But it wasn’t the right moment. Part of him was still focused on work. So his voice was flat. Without emotion.

“I see. Read, then. Until I have instructions for you. Replace the books later.”

“Yes, master. Thank you.”

Bea smiled, relieved. Az’kerash’ expression never changed, but Bea was used to his ways. She retreated. The Necromancer was still processing. His mind was playing catch-up to all the events that had occurred, all the things he might need to focus on now.

“Bea.”

The plague zombie halted.

“Master?”

“Where are the others? Reading?”

“No, master. Venitra is…training. Smashing undead. Kerash was reading, but I think he went to sleep. In the ground. I haven’t seen Ijvani for…a while?”

“Hm. And Oom?”

Az’kerash’s thoughts made his eyes flicker. Bea’s face twisted.

“Ah. Of course. That is all.”

She hesitated, and then left. The Necromancer turned his head back ahead of him. He frowned, and his mind began reorganizing. Remember that Oom was dead. It wasn’t a priority fact for him. Now…

“Mister Veldamnt! Dead gods, we haven’t seen you in months, sir! Come in, step forwards—please allow us a small check of your items. [Detect Magic], as usual. ”

“Sir Salin. Always a pleasure. Please step this way. Would you care for refreshments?”

“Hexilt? Allow me to check my list of names, sir. One moment…aha. Will you be wishing to visit the slave auctions today or view our latest line of artifacts?”

A scrying mirror hovered in front of Az’kerash along with another mirror and an orb. He’d selected them at whim; he could have done three orbs, or three mirrors, or any number of the artifacts he needed.

In each, the figures, a Human man, overweight, wearing a smile as he clapped hands with a fellow [Merchant], a Drake dressed in the latest fashion, and a Naga slithering down a white marble floor, trailing a bit of sand from outside were all moving. Conversing. Az’kerash watched the Human drinking an offered shot of liquid, choose a proper response based on the feedback the man’s taste buds gave him.

“Blight me, but what a taste! Plum and alcohol—not my style!”

He began coughing, and the other [Merchant] swatted him on the back. Sir Salin, the Drake, stepped into a booth and rattled off a list of drinks and appetizers as he put a monocle on one eye. The Naga—

And here Az’kerash stopped. He focused on the Naga’s perspective via the orb, saw through the Naga’s eyes as he passed by a row of people on auction. The route he was being taken through the auction house—no, wait, she—the Naga was female—had passed by the auctions, despite her declining the offer to see the auctions.

In that moment, Az’kerash processed on a few levels. He was moving the other two, the Human and Drake he was possessing, keeping them breathing, affecting normal mannerisms and holding a conversation, as well as moving the Naga. He was noting the way the [Auctioneer] had taken him by the display to tempt him—the Naga—on purpose. And the final thought he had was—

“Disgusting.”

The Naga said nothing, merely slithered by the slaves with such blatant disinterest that the [Auctioneer] kept moving straight to the artifacts and producing a small catalogue for the Naga to browse. In his chambers, however, Az’kerash spared an emotion and an expression for what he saw.

Perhaps it seemed hypocritical, or it would have if anyone was in a position to judge the Necromancer. But Az’kerash himself only lingered on the thought for a moment. But he was sinking back into the world, and his posture was changing. He ceased to become a statue of a man. He leaned forwards, his posture still straight.

He wore robes blacker than midnight, and his skin was paler than the whitest of paper, bare of color for lack of sunlight. His hair was white, his features precise. But his eyes were black. And white pupils stared out at the world of the living. For all that, he was now flicking his eyes to each orb while ‘seeing’ on multiple levels.

“Artifacts. Three months. What have I missed?”

The Necromancer put the inquiry through in three different voices. He listened.

“…oh, the finest of vintages, snapped up I’m afraid. I think it was someone from Kaliv. Had that accent—a gift for their [Queen]. A damn shame—”

“Of note, Sir Salin? I can only think of a fine set of gemstones, all perfectly cut, palm-sized. As well, perhaps, a very contested Potion of Youthfulness. We were unable to test the full nature of the enchantment, but it was certified by none other than Xif of Pallass as being authentic, and it sold for about eighteen point four—”

Thousand, obviously. Az’kerash made the Naga sit up. She leaned forwards, and the Human [Auctioneer] shivered as he tried not to regard her serpentine beauty.

“Naq-Alrama steel, yes, Honored Hexilt. An entire ingot of it, sold at fierce bidding. But, I think, the cost was lowered due to the fact that it was unshaped.”

The Necromancer stared as the Naga inquired as to its whereabouts. The [Auctioneer] was hesitant, but this was a Chandrarian Bazaar, and she was wealthy. And beautiful. And it was only a name.

“Roshal, Honored Hexilt. I cannot say who, but the buyer was represented by one of theirs.”

“Ah.”

Az’kerash sighed. The Naga kept speaking, and he piloted her onwards, devoting some thoughts to her ongoing gossip, but he sat back.

“Roshal. Too difficult.”

Anyone but them, and he would have…the Necromancer frowned, and he had another emotion: regret. Bitterness.

“Naq-Alrama steel. How useful. Unforged? It must mean the smith of the Tannousin tribe is dead. If the art passes from this world, only the Dwarves…no. Perhaps they’ve forgotten too. Fascinating.”

His eyes flicked to the left. Now he was investigating the artifacts on sale with all three puppets. Weapons flashed before his eyes, potions, fine wines, artwork—from three perspectives at once, all accompanied by the blather of each seller. It would have overwhelmed, but Az’kerash was used to it. He filtered out what was unimportant, began casting spells.

“[Detect Magic]. [Eagle Eyes]. [Detect Magic]. Hm—forgery. Weaker enchantment. Poor wine? [Detect Lies]. No? [Beguiling Aroma]. [Mindhaze].”

The [Merchant] reached out and clasped another [Trader]’s hand. The female [Trader], who had been sharp as she’d presented her wares, suddenly relaxed, smiling. Then caught herself, suspected a Skill. Az’kerash smiled.

“I couldn’t spare, oh, eight hundred gold pieces for it. But seven-twenty?”

“Sir—under nine hundred gold pieces, for a vintage this fine? I remind you, this comes from Chandrarian vineyards, a perfect blend from—”

Haggling took a bit more attention, so Az’kerash lingered on that deal while the Drake took a refreshing drink of wine, much to the delight of those who expected him to become intoxicated, and the Naga ate a rodent. Alive. He settled the deal for the vintage, made a mental note to turn it around for about double the profits.

This was what the Necromancer did for fun, more or less. After all, it was hard to beat a palate that had sampled some of the world’s finest wines and beverages, even if he, Az’kerash, seldom drank. Which reminded him. Az’kerash raised his voice in his quarters.

“Bea. Do you wish anything?”

He heard a sound like a squeak. A shuffle, guilty—Az’kerash sighed.

“Venitra. Kerash. All three of you may observe. Quietly. Stop moving.”

The three Chosen did. They stood as silently as, well, the undead. Venitra, a woman carved of bone, an imposing figure that would have daunted even a Minotaur. Her body was ivory, her features sublime. Her eyes green and glowing.

Kerash stood behind her, an undead Gnoll. Closer to a Draug, but perfectly preserved, statuesque as Gnolls went, wearing ancient armor. He who might have been king. Bea next to him. The Chosen watched, and Az’kerash spared another thought, this time tinged with amusement. Bea must have ran to find them to announce he had left his work room. They were forbidden from interfering with him except in times of emergency when he was laboring over a new creation, but his private study? He had allowed them to watch. It amused him.

Where was Ij—

And then Az’kerash saw a magnificent scroll. Unopened, the latest bit of treasure from…he sighed, spoke aloud for the benefit of his audience.

“Tyfilt Dungeon. Hardly worth the effort. That era of spellcasters were largely inferior. However—”

The Drake began auctioning for the scroll, snatched from a Lizardfolk dungeon in Baleros that had made its way to Zeres’ markets by chance. Az’kerash watched as other Drakes began raising their claws, or bits of wood in the auction house.

“Tiresome. Kerash, take note.”

“Yes master?”

The voice was eager, a growl that mimicked that of Kerash the Gnoll Chieftain in life. But it was a different personality who wore his body. Az’kerash waved a hand to the mirror reflecting the Drake auction.

“Note the way the auction house is run compared to the individual goods on display in Terandria’s gathering, or the bazaar in Chandrar. Terandrian [Merchants] conduct their trading and exchange of goods in private; they prefer to sell to their clients on their own terms, establishing relationships. On the other hand, Chandrar does allow for auctions, but employs a more private relationship, where an item has a set amount of time to be outbid without knowing who you may be bidding against, if any. And a client may discreetly buy the item outright if they so desire. Privacy is emphasized in Chandrar, relationships in Terandria. But Izril?”

He shook his head.

“Spectacle. Drakes wish to be seen to outbid their competition. The display of wealth is as valuable as the acquisition, and the auction house will reap the largest monetary gain through the public bidding system. Spectacle and greed.”

Az’kerash’s tone was crisp, informative. Lecturing, even, with a dry, somewhat cynical tone. But mostly, sharply academic. And he paused, waiting for a response. Kerash was the center of jealousy from Venitra and Bea, as he solemnly delivered his reply.

“It is so, master.”

The Necromancer paused. Kerash smiled superiorly at Bea and Venitra and settled back. He was oblivious to Az’kerash’ true emotions. And indeed, Az’kerash himself didn’t linger on them much, except for a…almost subconscious desire for the reply to have been something other than blind obsequious. Perhaps, a challenge to that statement, or an in-depth reply that hinted at the listener’s own understanding of the cultural-economic realities that shaped commerce among different species.

But he didn’t expect it from his Chosen. They were his children. And like children…Az’kerash sighed. He’d won the bidding, and his Drake was smiling smugly as he accepted the scroll. His Chosen were smiling as well, luxuriating in the victory. Az’kerash’s face didn’t move. He was rich enough to win almost any auction he’d cared to, and no one had decided to outbid what he had judged the scroll to be worth.

Time passed by. It wasn’t a simple process, extricating the puppets he was controlling. They had to socialize, make goodbyes, even make mistakes, like his Human [Merchant] ogling another woman, or the Drake getting into a minor tiff over the carriages that would speed him back to his estate.

The Naga had no trouble, but it just took a while. They all had to go to their estates, homes carefully guarded by people who seemed fairly real. Bowing servants—some of them who were actually employed and actually alive—and maneuver his puppets into a place where they could safely put their acquisitions in a bag of holding. Then they would need transport, sometimes by Courier, other times by covert action. An undead skeleton could run forever, even if they were slower than a Courier, but they needed to take the right path…

“The mental upkeep on Hexilt is tiresome. She may need to incur an accident in the near future. Or find a pressing reason to voyage to Izril or Terandria. Chandrar is simply too far to maintain the spell and her mannerisms constantly. Baleros and Rhir likewise.”

Az’kerash sighed as he put the three puppets on mental autopilot. It was a testament to his abilities that he could actually keep his undead puppets behaving like, well, people while he did everything else. But it did occupy a portion of his thoughts and he had limits.

Still…Az’kerash now had more mental faculties available and he spared a thought for the Hexilt issue. He tapped his fingers together, came to a decision in a split second.

“No, an accident, I think. A…jealous lover. Who will ruin her face. Seclusion—noticeable deterioration over time. Suicide in six years.”

Done! Another little annoyance crossed off the list. Az’kerash made a mental note in his head to see it done next time he actively dealt with Hexilt.

“The sooner the better. Replicating all of her biology is difficult. As is beauty. Especially when she is naturally propositioned often. I do not care for the complexities of the task.”

He heard a shift from behind him. Az’kerash turned his head and saw Bea making a disgusted face along with Kerash. Venitra just looked confused and was bending her head to whisper. Az’kerash stared at Bea and Kerash. How had they learned what sex was? Books, perhaps. Or when he sent them out. It would be Bea who had learned of it; she had been designed for curiosity.

“Bea.”

“Yes, master?”

“Where did you learn of intercourse?”

The plague zombie hesitated. She shuffled her feet.

“Um…I saw some Drakes doing it. When I was in a village.”

“I see. It is a natural behavior. You do not need to emulate it of course, but it does not disgust the living. In fact, it is a natural reaction to beauty. If you are propositioned for it while undercover, do not immediately refuse.”

“Yes, master. But it looks pointless.”

It probably would, to the undead. They were consummate actors, able to play their role among the living when he sent them out. But they were children. Az’kerash only sighed.

Puppets. He had a number of them. Not, as one might suspect, legions. Because each one had to be managed. And Az’kerash was one person. The Necromancer, yes. But controlling hundreds, or even a hundred was far beyond him. It would be simpler if the puppets were themselves thinking beings with limited will. But that either meant creating a Revenant, not an ideal solution, or doing the impossible.

Still. Az’kerash eyed his Chosen.

“Perhaps it is time to send one of you out to fulfill a role in a society once more.”

The Chosen straightened. This was a familiar assignment. Each one of them waited. The Necromancer stood. Now more memories flickered through his mind. He frowned.

“Venitra. You will not be sent. Your ability to deceive and control yourself is lacking. You are still in disgrace.”

The bone woman shrank, the glow in her eyes dimming. Bea and Kerash smiled. Az’kerash looked at them.

“Kerash, perhaps. I may send you out to play the part of a Gnoll wanderer. The Meeting of Tribes will occur this year; I may have to sway their conclusion. Bea…”

He paused. She looked up hopefully.

“…No. You kill too easily at a touch.”

She looked visibly upset.

“I am sorry, master!”

This time her reaction provoked a response. Az’kerash looked at her. And he smiled. The smile wiped away Bea’s grief in a moment.

“You were made to do so, Bea. Your flaw is an asset.”

“Yes, master! I will remember it!”

Joy from her, envy from the other two. They were so simple. Az’kerash was fond for a moment, and then the emotion flickered away. His children. He looked around. Oom was dead, he knew that now. A pity. Bitterly, Az’kerash reflected on Zel Shivertail’s demise. It had exposed errors in his Chosen. But he had not had the…inclination to replace their numbers. And Ijvani?”

A memory surfaced. Ah, yes. Not enough Scrolls of Great Teleport. Az’kerash sighed. He had bought all of his scrolls at great cost, even given his wealth. And Ijvani was now heading back on foot. That was what his memory told him and the preoccupied Necromancer didn’t see fit to question it.

He glanced back into the scrying orb. His Drake puppet was opening the scroll. Az’kerash idly watched it open. He read the magical runes as the Drake looked at them. The Necromancer frowned.

“Hm. This scroll is one of [Searing Light]? No, perhaps—ah—”

The Chosen watched him turn. The Drake puppet dropped the scroll, dove. Too late. The scroll exploded. And the scrying orb went dark. Breathless, Kerash, Bea, and Venitra stared at Az’kerash. The Necromancer sighed.

“A trap scroll.”

“Master?”

Venitra dared to call out, afraid, perhaps of Az’kerash’s wrath, or his failure. The Necromancer paused.

“A minor setback. The Drake assured me the scroll had been tested. Well, it will require work to set up another [Merchant], but the prices of unknown scrolls will plummet in the interim. A simple error to correct. And perhaps the spell eradicated Salin’s neighbors. That would be quite acceptable.”

He waved the scrying mirrors away. The Chosen relaxed, seeing the amusement that flickered across Az’kerash’s face. But like the other emotions, he didn’t linger on them. They watched as their master dismissed the issue. Their world stabilized, and they smiled, gleeful in the accident that still worked to their master’s benefit.

Az’kerash settled back down in his chair. What else? Well, besides sending another puppet to replace Salin and arranging the scandalous and disastrous affair with Hexilt, he had a few other events to take care of. He consulted another puppet.

Information this time.

—-

Fierre the Vampire looked up at the code-knock on her door. She paused, and then got up warily to answer it. The door took twice as long to open; she wasn’t used to the new locks or the new office she was in, for that matter. Her old workplace was gone; being attacked by a hail of enchanted needles tended to put people off working with you.

But her new place was pretty good. Pretty good. The door was twice as thick, and it was enchanted. Not only that; Fierre was fairly rich, and she owned this room now. All thanks to her payout from the Order of Seasons. All Fierre needed now was for Ryoka to finally return and she’d be golden. Literally.

But work was work. When the door slid open, the nondescript man walked in and nodded to her. She recognized him and relaxed.

“Information?”

“Latest updates. World events. Three months. Give me what you have. Oh, also—best Runners in the region?”

Fierre hurried over to the desk. The man had a no-nonsense tone and he was straight to the point. She liked that. He paid for information every few months; she suspected he worked for one of the local nobility or a [Merchant] or someone with similar amounts of wealth. He probably rotated [Brokers], but it was free money for information she kept to date on.

“Let me get my files in order. All major events, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Need a copy?”

“No. Just give me a list. Oh—and tell me about any changes with the Runners.”

“Oh—”

Fierre bit one lip, then quickly hid her sharp tooth. She began shuffling information, organizing her report. The man paid well, after all, and she was delivering a quality service. More information than the other [Brokers] or [Informants] in Reizmelt, that was what Fierre wanted people to say! And as for Runners—she coughed.

“Well, I’ll get to world news. But in terms of Runners, there was a new Courier last month, and Rieve the Brisk suffered an injury while running. Leg wound; bad fracture. He may be out commission for three weeks still. However, in Reizmelt, the, ah, Wind Runner is doing quite well. Are you aware of…?”

The man nodded impatiently. Fierre hurried on.

“Well, she achieved a Courier-speed run to Walta at the behest of Lady Bethel Walchaís, and just recently was hired by the alleged [Emperor]…”

The man’s eyebrows rose as Fierre recounted Ryoka’s exploits from greatest to least, embellishing her a bit. It was the least she could do to repay Ryoka, and talking up her reputation to everyone she met could only help her friend.

—-

“Alright, enough about this Wind Runner. Who else?”

The man’s voice was impatient as Az’kerash listened to the female Vampire. The Necromancer listened with one ear, doing the same with four other [Informants]. This was easier; once this puppet was done, he’d find a secluded spot, dig into the ground, and wait until Az’kerash needed him again. Part of Az’kerash was satisfied to know Ryoka Griffin was alive.

But mildly. The Necromancer didn’t do anything as…mortal…as tapping his finger against the table, but the information dump of voices and his mental processing of it was tedious. War in Rhir. Scandal in this kingdom. The Titan’s game in Daquin gave him pause, but the Necromancer dwelled on nothing. It was all information and he processed it.

And then he was done. Az’kerash let his puppets excuse themselves. And but for a mugging of one of them, they were all heading back to their hiding places and he could relinquish control of them. He spoke out loud as his thoughts migrated back together.

“Few new artifacts in the world worthy of consideration.”

He meant to him, of course. The market was full of items any Gold-rank adventurer might want, let alone Silver, but Az’kerash had a limited list of things he needed. He mused as his thoughts went to his armory.

“The Heartflame Breastplate is tempting. Bea, you will monitor the [Messages] relating to the Thieves’ Guild. If it appears on auction, alert me at once. It is not worth straying near Liscor with…the Dragon. However, if it is stolen, I will retrieve the item from the [Thief].Yes. Rather than risk a bidding war with a Walled City or one of the Five Families.”

“Yes, master.”

Bea nodded eagerly. Az’kerash frowned, thinking of Teriarch. But again, only for a moment. He spared a thought for Magnolia Reinhart. Now there was a trove of treasures he would pay any sum for access to. A shame about the Reinhart’s ancestral vault, which he was naturally aware of.

If Magnolia Reinhart had been foolish enough to take anything worth stealing from her vaults, he would have expended every effort to take it from her. As would any [Thief], really. But the difference was that Az’kerash might consider starting a war with Izril once more to take the Crown of Flowers from her.

Ah, well. So much for that notion. The Necromancer ran down his shrinking list of concerns. Ijvani’s location was at the bottom of that list. After that, he would probably begin work on his undead creation again. But before that—

“The young [Necromancer].”

Az’kerash paused. And that was significant. In his unchanging castle, his routine, here was something unique. Something unpredictable. Az’kerash turned his head. And he whispered a word.

“Arise.”

Hundreds of miles away, a skeleton of a rat flickered to life. Green flames burned in the sockets and they beheld a room filled with bones. Az’kerash saw a young man, frustrated, stalking around a crude bone leg. The Necromancer paused. The scene surprised him. Perhaps it was seeing someone else perform necromancy, or the casual way Pisces was doing it.

He hadn’t even barred or locked the door. Someone could walk in and see him. And the window was unshuttered. Az’kerash focused on the vision through the rat’s eyes. His Chosen watched. Bea was speaking.

“Master, there is a contract for the Heartflame Armor if you are interested. An offer has already been put up by…”

She paused as Az’kerash held up one hand. Slowly, the Necromancer’s thoughts focused more heavily, abandoning other pursuits. And something like personality reemerged.

“Is he a fool? Or—no. This inn? [Absorb Recollections].”

He cast the spell on the undead rat. Instantly, Az’kerash’s mind was assailed by sights, sound. No smell, but everything the undead rat had seen or heard in the last three months. It would have overwhelmed Az’kerash if he hadn’t taken steps to enhance his mind. But his mind was already capable of filtering it, experiencing memories and processing them in a heartbeat.

And what he saw was—

“Pisces! Are you playing with your bone again?”

The door slammed open and Pisces nearly leapt out of his robes. He whirled as Erin laughed at him.

“Erin! Please refrain from your humorless jokes!”

The [Innkeeper] laughed. Az’kerash recognized her. And he felt—ire? She’d defeated him at chess. Curiosity—vanishing. Focus on the scene.

“Sorry, sorry! Your bones. And I just wanted to tell you that there’s food below! Hot dogs! Okay, sausage. Say, what’re you making?”

She looked at the undead Bone Horror that the young man was working on, and Az’kerash saw the uneasy expression. But nothing more. Pisces sniffed.

“If you must know, I am redefining the whip-variant of my Bone Horror, improving its capabilities and the length of the arms—”

“Gotcha! Bone stuff! Come down for sausages soon!”

Erin shook her head. Pisces stared as she walked off. He stalked over and slammed the door.

“That vacuous, inconsiderate—”

Memory. This time of a half-Elf, wandering in while munching on a bit of cheese.

“Pisces. Yvlon wants to know if you’ve got her handkerchief.”

Pisces glanced up as he scribbled on a bit of parchment.

“Why would I have her handkerchief?”

“She says you borrowed it. Remember, the nosebleed?”

“I washed it and gave it back.”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

“Huh. Hey, Yvlon, Pisces says he gave it back!”

“Then where is it?”

An irate woman wearing armor walked into the room. Az’kerash saw her scowl at Pisces as he sighed and pushed his chair back.

“Perhaps Ksmvr has it?”

“Why would he—”

“Wait, didn’t you lend it to him at breakfast.”

“Oh. Sorry, Pisces.”

The young man rolled his eyes. He pushed himself back from the desk.

“Gratifying as it is to be the first suspect—”

“Oh shut up. You stole my quill for three weeks!”

“—would you tell me how this looks? Aesthetically?”

Yvlon and Ceria stared at the parchment. Az’kerash pieced together another bit of memory from the future. Saw a face-mask made of bone. Both half-Elf and Human recoiled.

“Dead gods, Pisces, that’s horrifying!”

He looked quite pleased.

“It’s intended to be. A psychological effect. I intend to mount it on the Bone Horrors when we use them in combat. If I can adjust their faces—”

“Oh no you don’t. I’m not partying with one of those.”

“But the effect—”

“It’s bad enough we have undead attached to our team! Pisces! Can you imagine if someone sees us with that? Besides, who are you scaring? Mossbears?”

“I should imagine [Bandits]—”

The [Necromancer] argued. Ceria kept shaking her head.

“No, and no.”

“I worked for hours on this!”

He snapped at her. Yvlon sighed.

“I’m going to find Ksmvr. Ceria, I leave this to you.”

She wandered out. Az’kerash let the memory flick by. The half-Elf argued with Pisces, he tore up the parchment and she stomped out and then came back with some soft cheese and bread as an apology.

Flicker. Memory. The rat watched as Pisces worked, slept, occasionally as an Antinium entered the inn. But what drew the Necromancer’s attention was the little Gnoll who crept inside to scare Pisces from under the bed, his teammates who opened the door. The [Innkeeper]. None of them were [Necromancers]. But they saw the undead and accepted them.

“Strange.”

That was all Az’kerash said. The sight triggered a memory in him. An old recollection of another time. His past. But—he would have thought necromancy was regarded as abhorrent, at least in Izril and Terandria. Most of the world, now. He had caused that. But this—

Reality came back in a moment. Az’kerash’s thoughts sped back up, alerting him to the present. He saw the young man bowing in front of him. A courtly bow, an imitation of one he might see in a Terandrian court. Az’kerash blinked.

Without subtlety or nuance. A straight courtier’s bow, fluent, but not practiced. Different nations had a more elegant take, but that was perfectly functional. Pisces had seen the undead rat. The Necromancer paused, regarded him. And he spoke.

“Young Necromancer. It has been some time since we have last spoken.”

He saw Pisces raise his head. Az’kerash saw Pisces hesitate, and then reply carefully. Formally.

“I am overjoyed to speak with you, Archmage. And I humbly thank you for the tome. It has been most instructive.”

Az’kerash instructed the rat to swivel its head, taking in the room. He replied softly, absently noting the construction of bones. Piecemeal. The boy was using a piecemeal construction, rather than whole bones. He must lack for a supply, certainly of larger bones. And—he was working on a behemoth-type undead?

Ah, the book Az’kerash had given him. Perfecting Facets of Undeath, by the [Necromancer] Credeth. Pompous, certainly, but excellent in describing fundamental construction techniques. By the looks of it, the young [Necromancer] had failed to grasp the theory so far.

That was disappointing. But mildly so. The boy wasn’t Az’kerash’s apprentice. He was most definitely not in fact. They had an arrangement.

Pisces had encountered Venitra under the guise of Regrika Blackpaw during her disastrous pursuit of Ryoka Griffin. Unhappily, he had known Venitra for what she was and Az’kerash had been forced to intervene. He’d offered Pisces a simple deal: instruction for silence. The alternative would have been death.

This was simpler, for all it carried an inherent risk. But Az’kerash had exacted promises, bound by magic that Pisces could not break. And he had attracted the Necromancer’s attention. After all, Reiss was dead. A failure at the end. But Pisces might be a good replacement. An experiment at the very least.

Az’kerash frowned. But not one he intended to spend too much time on. He had already assisted the young mage with making Bone Horrors, and provided him with a book on necromancy. Indeed, Az’kerash had been quite generous, giving Pisces examples of his own creations. The [Necromancer] was specialized in bone-type undead, which was more difficult than simply reanimating bodies. However…

“What is that design, young Necromancer?”

The rat turned to the skeleton standing in the center of the room. It was similar to a basic skeleton soldier, but horribly, terribly flawed. The ribcage had been redesigned, creating some kind of…Az’kerash peered at it, but the mouse didn’t have a good view.

“I gave you the designs of a more functional skeletal soldier. That is an alteration of my work.”

His voice was ominous. Pisces hesitated and licked his lips, but he did reply.

“Yes, Archmage. However—I was experimenting with the structure of your skeletal soldier. Of course, I mastered the basic form at once! However, in your absence, I considered modifying the central structure to create a projectile weapon of sorts…”

He was referring to the elongated limbs, and the reinforced structure of the spell bindings. It made basic skeletons that bit more deadly at little cost. Az’kerash stared at the ribcage.

“You spent three weeks attempting to redefine a bone structure I personally designed? One without flaw?”

Ridiculous. It was a foolish design as well, weakening the existing integrity of the ribs, which were in themselves a fairly effective design! And a projectile weapon? Pisces defended himself, and a bit of haughtiness leaked into his tone.

“Archmage, I believed it was worth the effort. You see, I had the thought that a skeleton might well surprise an enemy with a crossbow-like weapon, only built into the creature—”

He was interrupted by a sound from the rat. Az’kerash waved a hand in irritation, much to the surprise of his Chosen, who were only watching his side of the conversation. He spoke out loud, the rat copying his words.

“Ridiculous. There is no elasticity without sinew of some kind. I might applaud your ingenuity—I myself have considered such designs, albeit with spell and sinew—but with bone? You fail to understand what any novice [Engineer] would. The standards of [Necromancers] have fallen if you do not understand the basic principle of how crossbows work.”

Pisces flushed beet red at the criticism, and he hunched his shoulders. But he still talked back.

“Archmage Az’kerash, I believe I have completed such a mechanism.”

“Impossible.”

The Necromancer’s voice was dismissive. He watched as Pisces hurried over to his skeleton. The young man angled the skeleton’s chest cavity just to the left of the undead rat controlled by Az’kerash.

“You see, there is a small bolt inside.”

But it wasn’t going to fire. There was no tension. No string that could hold the force. Az’kerash sighed—

And he heard a snap, a crack, and a shard of bone blew past the undead rat’s head and shattered on the far wall.

From below, Lyonette looked upstairs and shook her head as Mrsha and her Gnoll staff looked at her.

“Just Pisces. If he breaks a window or damages a wall, the Horns will pay for it. Keep going.”

Inside the room, the Necromancer stared at the bits of bone on the floor. Then he looked up. Pisces was desperately trying to suppress a smirk. Az’kerash paused. More of his thoughts focused in.

“Remove the skeleton’s protective armor on one side of the body and turn it to face me.”

Pisces did, bones floating away and Az’kerash saw. Pisces pointed it out excitedly.

“You see, Archmage, my design is essentially an inner crossbow built into the torso of the skeleton. Obviously there is space if I miniaturize some elements. The entire bone structure shifts so, and thus creates a hammer effect here…”

“…launching your crude projectile out of the ribcage. That is not a crossbow. But similar in structure. Your terminology is off. But the design…”

Pisces flushed a bit as Az’kerash considered the effect.

“A single shot is all each skeleton would provide. And the design is quite complex. Pointless in an army given the cost to create such a skeleton.”

“Yes, Archmage. However, I have a limited supply of creations I can animate. And I do not create permanent undead.”

That was true. Az’kerash considered the skeleton. It looked ridiculous, frankly. He imagined them trying to aim. They would have to bend backwards to aim upwards, let alone swivel to target something.

“You would sacrifice the integrity of your skeletons for a limited advantage. And this chest-mounted firing mechanism would handicap the skeleton.”

Pisces nodded rapidly. He walked around the skeleton and lifted an arm.

“I am aware of the issues, Archmage. This is my proposed fix for the problem when I understood it. One arm. I am attempting to configure the bones in such a way that it can fire a single bolt of bone while keeping the rest of the corpse more or less natural to the body. If I can mass-animate skeleton warriors for instance, they would be quickly deployed with a significant hidden advantage…”

And fire one shot per battle. One sliver of bone, thrown from a miniature crossbow. Az’kerash considered that. Complex, perhaps needlessly so if you could give a skeleton an actual bow or crossbow. But it could go through an eye, take an enemy off-guard.

“It is still needlessly complex. But continue.”

Pisces relaxed. He sped around the skeleton, reconfiguring it.

“I also had plans to trap the body itself, Archmage, so that the entire body explodes outwards in battle. I had perceived, an, ah, weakness in my team of adventurers. I had encountered the [Sinew Magus], a rather powerful [Mage] by the name of Grimalkin in the last week—”

“Grimalkin?”

Az’kerash paused. His eyes flickered, recalling.

“Ah. Of Pallass. That buffoon. He thrashed your team quite effectively, I take it?”

In physical combat, he was certainly capable of that. Pisces nodded carefully, repeating Grimalkin’s assessment. Az’kerash agreed, at least in part.

“Bone Horrors are not designed for power. Bones are, by nature, lighter than flesh. Had you specialized in Draugr, you would have the crushing force you seek. Assuming you armed your creations with appropriate equipment, such as warhammers. However, your weakness is not a lack of spell power in other fields, young Necromancer. You simply lack for two aspects: [Deathbolt] and your own force of undead.”

Pisces paused.

“You believe so, Archmage?”

Az’kerash felt another twinge of ire. Pisces was exceedingly humble in attitude, but his questions betrayed his skepticism. He spoke flatly.

“I am certain. As I have informed you, [Necromancers] build armies. They do not spontaneously conjure creations; that area lies too far into a [Summoner]’s field. Necromancy’s strength lies in preparation and planning, not spontaneity.”

“I do understand that, Archmage. But my circumstances do not allow me to have, ah, standing undead. And is there not an elegance in having pre-prepared designs one can call forth at need? A focus on quality over quantity?”

“Elegance?”

Az’kerash was almost disbelieving. That young upstart thought—he looked at Pisces’ designs. No, he did assume he could improve on his work! And quality over quantity? Was he implying…

Pisces realized he’d gone too far. He paled, and hastened back to his skeleton, knocking it to pieces and summoning the variety that Az’kerash had shown him.

“Of course, I am a strict student of your wisdom, Archmage! I wouldn’t dream of countermanding your instruction; I only seek to learn as a humble student of your—”

“Silence.”

Pisces paused. Az’kerash looked at him. He was…the Necromancer’s fingers tapped slowly against the armrest of his chair.

“If you believe your designs to be an example of quality over quantity, by all means, continue your efforts to improve them. They have little potential for warfare in my armies. Now, I have insufficient time for instruction this day. I will aide you in your understanding of the fundamental principles of creating undead giants and behemoths. Assuming you are able to understand the concept by the time we next meet.”

He didn’t wait for the flushed Pisces to reply. The Necromancer gestured, and the rat bones collapsed. But he didn’t break the connection. It only seemed to the novice standing in the room that the magic had left the rat. Az’kerash watched Pisces, staring red-faced at the rat and then kick over the skeleton.

“Little potential for warfare? I am not aiming towards war or—or some endless soldiery of mass-produced troops! It’s perfectly viable! And this idiotic book—written by hidebound fossils incapable of new ideas—”

He hurled the tome Az’kerash gave him against the wall. The Necromancer watched, tapping his finger on the armrest. Childish tantrums. Not one shred of dignity about him. And that irksome manner of his, questioning Az’kerash’s designs. You could make an army of undead skeletons with an attachment that fired a single arrow from their arms—you could even make undead who had a small catapult built into one arm like a primitive sling. But what was the point? It was a waste of time.

About to cut the connection, Az’kerash spared a moment to regret his tutelage of Pisces. Part of him wondered if he should simply kill him. The young man was so—so—

And then Az’kerash, the Necromancer, heard the faint tapping sound. He felt it in one finger and stared down. The tapping finger on the armrest stopped. And the Necromancer realized he was…annoyed. It was so surprising he just stared at his finger for a minute.

Annoyed? Him? At being questioned by a single young [Necromancer] less than half his level? Az’kerash blinked. He’d been affronted by the designs, the implication that his undead had, in any way, less elegance or refinement than Pisces was capable of. But that was such an odd statement.

Not to Az’kerash, the Necromancer. He was a master of undeath, and the greatest [Necromancer] living in this world. Even if you put him against the ancient [Necromancers] of old, Az’kerash would have been confident his Skills outclassed those old masters in some areas. But his touchy pride bothered another part of him.

“I would have never taken a student in Wistram to task so. I only took issue with poor students, lazy ones that failed to innovate. Like that upstart Feor.”

Az’kerash stared ahead. Then he looked back through the rat’s eyes. Pisces had stopped throwing things around. Now he was squatting, slapping his forehead and calling himself names for insulting Az’kerash. Every so often he’d glance up at the rat, to make sure it was still inanimate. Az’kerash hesitated. Perhaps…

“Pisces!”

Both the [Necromancer] and the Necromancer jumped. In Az’kerash’s gaze, it was just a movement of the hand. The voice was loud, and it was accompanied by a sharp rap on the door. Lyonette called from outside the hallway.

“We have lunch!”

“Already?”

“…It’s been four hours! We’re still not done, but you are a guest. I have some of Erin’s newest pizza if you’d like to have a quick meal? I think it’s a pizza, anyways.”

Az’kerash saw Pisces hesitate, and then collect himself, he called out as he rushed the bones into his bag of holding.

“I should be delighted to, Miss Lyonette!”

“Good! I’ll set a plate. Come down, but watch your step! It’s, er, a bit slick. The soap Octavia gave me is rather strong.”

The [Necromancer] paused as Lyonette headed downstairs. He looked back at the dead rat and Az’kerash saw him bite his tongue, and then shake his head. He hurried for the door. And Az’kerash, after a moment, followed him.

It was just a whim. But the young man’s odd—relationship with the inn still intrigued Az’kerash. And he felt annoyed at himself for snapping at the boy. When he had studied at Wistram, he had criticized that same inflexibility in his teachers. What on earth had possessed him to copy them? Those flawed, ancient fools? It was a flaw in his thinking and should be corrected. Not that Az’kerash interacted with the living, but arrogance was a weakness.

As for Pisces—Az’kerash had also heard an unfamiliar word. And the scholar in him had to hesitate.

“Pizza?”

Some new dish, of course. But it did intrigue, so the Necromancer found a new set of eyes to follow Pisces. Obviously, the undead rat the [Necromancer] thought was Az’kerash’s only eyes on him wouldn’t do. So Az’kerash cast his senses around the inn and surrounding area. It was simple. There was death everywhere.

And in this case, Az’kerash’s new minion came exactly in the same place he had found the old. The People of the Grain Sack, the rats of Erin’s basement, had been slaughtered mercilessly by the horrible ‘pets’ of Elirr. But not all their bones had been disposed of. A few corpses remained, hidden in a grain sack, suffocated by the grain.

It was really going to make Erin call into question the health codes of her inn when she thought of them, but to be fair, her grain was preserved, and so were the corpses since they technically counted as food. Just potentially filled with rat germs. Now, one of these corpses moved. The rat’s body twitched, began to dig upwards, out of the sack. It emerged, scampered towards the basement stairs. And turned invisible, soundless.

“[Greater Invisibility]. [Muffle]. Hm. [Concealed Presence]. [Sticky Feet].”

Az’kerash cast a few spells, turning the rat invisible from detection both mundane and magical. Of course, if a Named Adventurer or someone with high detections Skills was present, he would have to improvise. But the rat, climbing out of the trap door with [Enhanced Strength], encountered no such formidable adversaries. It raced up the wall and saw Pisces as he slowly descended the steps.

The inn was clear, both of people and debris on the floor. In fact, the floors were so polished, it was almost a sin to walk on them. And it was certainly precarious. Octavia’s soap formula had worked—too well. The floors were polished, smooth, and slippery, as if they had had a wax coating. Pisces overbalanced, caught himself with trained grace, and watched Drassi flip and fall on her back.

“Ow!”

The Drake was on duty, and she’d been carrying a platter of food to the table of the inn’s staff. Mrsha, bouncing at the table, looked up in dismay. But Pisces raised a finger and the strange pile of food stopped in midair.

“Drassi, are you alright? Good catch, Pisces!”

Lyonette got up and slipped towards Drassi with Ishkr and a Gnoll. They all nearly fell over as Drassi tried to get up.

“It’s the floor, Lyonette! It’s too slippery!”

“I know, I know. Octavia warned me, but I must have not added enough water! We’ll fix it.”

“We’ve washed it with water and it won’t stop slipping.”

Ishkr pointed out as Pisces made his way over to the table. Az’kerash scurried the rat closer. What was this? The aforementioned pizza?

It did not look like any dish he recognized. Nor, as Pisces pointed out, did it look like a pizza. Mrsha sniffed it suspiciously. It was much too tall, more like a pie than a pizza! And it had…sauce on top? Mrsha stared at Lyonette as she returned to the table. What was this trickery, she signed indignantly? She had been promised pizza!

“It is pizza, Mrsha dear. According to Erin. It’s…deep dish pizza. And I’m told it’s quite fattening, so you’ll eat greens tonight. Don’t give me that look! Drassi, pass me the knife.”

Lyonette scolded Mrsha gently as she served a slice. Pisces, Mrsha, the staff, and Az’kerash all saw the knife bite into the crust and thick pizza and reveal a cheesy filling and a thick base. Mrsha’s eyes lit up. Pisces just sighed.

“Some days it feels like Miss Solstice is unable to make a dish that contains healthy food.”

“If you don’t want it—”

Lyonette looked up. Pisces waved a hand.

“I’m merely remarking on her general culinary focus. By all means, serve me a…slice.”

He took a plate and fork. Mrsha was already gobbling hers and burning her tongue. Pisces began savoring his meal as Drassi rubbed her back.

“Hey, can I get some to share when I leave, Lyonette?”

“Mm. Sure. Erin can always make more. Let’s eat!”

All of them began to tuck into the meal. Az’kerash, possessing a rat…watched. And he frowned. A bit of curiosity rose in him. That had to taste…taste?

“Pizza?”

“What, master?”

The Chosen were watching him. Az’kerash rose, absently, as he watched Pisces making small talk with Lyonette, explaining away the sounds from earlier. And he began to walk, past his undead creations who shuffled out of his way.

It was just a whim. But Az’kerash was concentrated, his thoughts all revolving around this moment. He was in the moment, recalling his past as an Archmage. And he had never seen a food like that before.

The [Necromancer] walked through the halls of his castle, passing by motionless skeletal knights, followed by his Chosen. He paused as he walked through the halls, turned left, then came back the way he’d come. He was looking for a room he hadn’t used since he bought this castle from a certain [Witch]. She’d thrown it in with a deal on the robes he wore. And he had never thought he’d need this room.

But the kitchen did exist. And it was full of dust. Not spiders or any animals; they stayed away. Az’kerash blinked at it. And then he raised his hand.

“[Gust of Wind].”

His Chosen, following him, found themselves encased in a miniature tornado of dust and debris. They walked through it, and peeked around the corner to see Az’kerash standing in the center of the kitchen. They looked at each other. But now was the time.

Bea was the one to speak. Even if she wasn’t first of Az’kerash’s chosen, like Kerash, she often got away with infractions Venitra, Kerash, Ijvani, and Oom did not.

“…Master? What are you doing?”

The Necromancer turned. He looked at Bea, and then paused.

“Simply…cooking.”

“Cooking?”

Bea was confused. Az’kerash had never eaten. Not since her creation. But the Necromancer was raising a hand. Absently running his hand through the air. Where would he find…?

“Ingredients. My Chosen.”

“Master?”

They chorused as one. Az’kerash turned his head.

“There is a storeroom filled with foods somewhere in this castle. Preserved. Find it. Bring it to me. Bea, wear gloves.”

“Yes, Master. What do you wish? How many bags of holding?”

The Chosen surged with energy. Az’kerash frowned. He stared through the undead rat’s eyes as Lyonette went for another pizza and slipped.

“One, should do. I will not need much of each…flour. Cheese. Hm. That red sauce. Tomatoes? And some…basil. Eggs. Water. Clean water. Salt? And oil, yes.”

“At once, Master!”

The Chosen raced off, vying to be the first one to return. They ran through the halls, searching room after room. Venitra was the first to find the storehouse. Or so she assumed. She stared at the neat rows of produce, bought by her master for some reason that eluded her. Food. It was so…

“Flour first. Perhaps a bag.”

She eyed the huge bags that would require two grown men to carry. Then she bent and inspected the tubular, round things inside.

“Flour?”

She prodded them. They were soft and had some kind of skin. Was this…Venitra stared at the bag. She circled around it. Then she realized they weren’t labeled.

“Venitra? Is this the room?”

Bea and Kerash skidded into the room. They stared at Venitra. She looked up at them, her competitive spirit fading slightly.

“Bea. Kerash. What does flour look like?”

The two Chosen paused. And then looked at each other. And they realized, among their vast knowledge of the world, cooking had never really been an issue for the undead. They turned into an anxious huddle.

“Flour. That was what master said. I know tomatoes. Red things.”

“Flour. Flowers?”

“No, the white stuff. Like…bone meal?”

“That’s right! What’s salt?”

“Um…the same stuff.”

“No. Eggs?”

“Round.”

“Half the things in here are round!”

“Oh, I know! They turn into chickens!”

Kerash and Venitra stared at Bea. She hesitated.

“I think.”

Az’kerash was still silently watching the meal when his Chosen raced back into the room. He turned his head as they timidly offered him a bag of holding.

“Master, we have brought it. Um…”

The Necromancer reached into the bag and produced the ingredients, one by one. All except for…he stared at a potato.

“This is not an egg, Venitra.”

The bone woman hesitated. Az’kerash inspected the ingredients. He slowly reached for a handful of powder.

“And this is sugar. Not salt. Go back and find the correct ingredients.”

“Yes master.”

The undead hurried off. Az’kerash ignored them. He was fascinated by his own thoughts. How did it go? How did it…flour. And water and eggs. And he needed a bowl—

He looked about for his Chosen and realized they were gone. Absently, Az’kerash clicked his fingers. The stone of the kitchen counter moved, and a perfect, smooth bowl formed out of the stone. The Necromancer stared at it.

“Flour.”

He tossed it in. Egg? He stared at the filthy water that Venitra had brought from somewhere. The undead had a very loose understanding of hygiene too.

“[Purify Water].”

There. Water, clean and sparkling. Az’kerash looked up as his servants raced back in.

“Is this salt?”

“Yes. That’s still not an egg. Venitra. Find me an egg. It looks like—”

Az’kerash clicked his fingers. A floating image of an egg appeared. Venitra gasped.

“That’s an egg? Yes, Master!”

Az’kerash absently cracked an egg when it reappeared. He stared into the bowel, as the water sat on top of flour and the egg’s yolk mixed with all of it. Bea made a face.

“Ew. Is that cooking?”

“Maybe it turns into something. Like Oom and mana cores.”

The Necromancer ignored them. He absently reached out, plucked a wand out of his bag of holding. Stared at it. He cast the wand aside and created a whisk made out of air. Better. He began stirring it.

The flour congealed with the water as it mixed. Bea, who was a zombie engineered from plague, stared at the mixing substances with undisguised horror. Venitra stared at the bowl, appalled. Kerash just blinked.

“Ew, ew, ew…”

“Bea, hush.”

Az’kerash stared at the dough. It had to rise. No—you could bake it as it was, he recalled. He raised one hand. The dough rose upwards. The pizza looked like—

The dough moved. It shaped itself, into an approximation of the bowl. Az’kerash paused. Cheese? He stared at a wheel.

“Kerash, slice it. Into small pieces.”

The Gnoll drew his sword, one of the six Baneblades made to slay the living. He chopped up the cheese. Az’kerash poured it into the bowl. Next came the tomatoes. Venitra raised one fist. He eyed her, pointed. The tomato pulped in midair, poured on top of the cheese. Venitra lowered her fist, dejected.

“Is that it?”

Az’kerash mused. He couldn’t help but feel that it had been different. Ah, the [Chefs] of Terandria courts didn’t work so. But he was out of touch. Out of his field. Absently, the [Necromancer] clicked his fingers.

“Let’s see. [Flame Jet]?”

A blast of fire shot from his hands, struck the ceiling, and turned the room to fire. Bea and Kerash fled. Az’kerash narrowed his eyes, adjusted the heat. He turned to Venitra and gestured absently.

“Venitra, close the door.”

Joyfully, the bone woman did. The kitchen, now an oven, smoldered, and Az’kerash, still holding the pie in his free hand, watched it bake.

“Clearly a flawed attempt.”

That was his remark afterwards. The crust, in the searing heat, had browned. It was too thin, and lacked yeast. The tomato sauce wasn’t actually a sauce with the nuance Erin had made, but just…pulpy tomatoes. The cheese was okay, but the deep dish pizza was too hot. The Necromancer pointed.

“[Deep Freeze].”

It turned to ice. He tapped it again.

“[Warming Touch].”

There. The pizza was steaming. Az’kerash placed it on the counter as Bea and Kerash peeked back in. Venitra stared at her master. He regarded it. Inspected it. Sliced a piece away. Raised it to his lips. And took a bite.

“Master?”

His Chosen gaped at him. Az’kerash frowned, chewed, swallowed. He considered the food for a moment.

“Crude. Even were it made correctly. The nobility of Terandria would not stand for it if they knew how simple it was. But if I were…”

He lapsed into thought. And Perril Chandler remembered a boy who might have loved the taste of this dish. He stared at the pizza, and then at the image of Pisces eating, stealing the last bit of pizza from Mrsha. He looked at the burnt, ill-made version in front of him. And he turned away.

His Chosen watched the Necromancer leave the kitchen. They stared at each other, full of wild surmise. They could guess their master’s will most times, at least in part, but this? They stared at the pizza, and the single bite taken out of the slice. After a moment, Kerash reached for a piece.

Venitra beat him to it. She snatched up the pizza, took a huge bite. She chewed, and Bea and Kerash all took a bite of the rest of the pizza. After a moment, they swallowed. All of them stared at the deep dish pizza. Then at each other. Venitra tossed her pizza down. The undead woman scowled and spat the pizza out; she didn’t have a throat. She was solid bone. Kerash poked at his stomach experimentally. Bea shook her head.

“I don’t see the point. It’s pretty, though. Like the inside of a fresh body.”

—-

The Necromancer didn’t know why he was still watching. Only that the young Pisces called to him. In a way. It had taken Az’kerash some time to make the pizza. And then, the Necromancer returned to his work room and absently continued working on his whale design. But the feed into the inn continued in his mind. And as time passed—so quickly for the [Necromancer], but so full of relevance for the living, he saw Pisces returning upstairs. The inn filling with guests, half of whom fell over. His team returning.

He had a team. People who trusted him. Az’kerash saw the half-Elf, the female [Warrior], and the Antinium joining Pisces. Lyonette had a sign warning everyone of the slippage. She could only wait for the floor to redirty itself; she wasn’t about to spread sawdust, which would defeat all the work they’d done. There were some benefits to the slippery floors.

“Whee! Go Mrsha!”

Drassi skidded across the floor, using some towels like skates. Mrsha slid past her on her stomach. The staff had cleared a path for her down the center of the inn when they’d moved the chairs back and the Gnoll was happily sliding across the floor. Some of the guests were trying it too, but they didn’t have the childish ability to surf on their stomachs like Mrsha.

Pisces was there too. Az’kerash had seen him return to his studies, trying to memorize an [Acid Orb] spell. And then return below as his team came back. Ceria was telling him about some scenario involving their team.

“Stan’s on board, and so is Alais’ team and a few others. I think they’re still sort of, you know, about us, but they want the pay. We’re going to go out on a preliminary expedition soon with them, so be polite, Pisces.”

“I shall be exceedingly polite to their fragile egos.”

The [Necromancer] sneered. He was having a dish of greens with a side of salmon. He paused as Mrsha slid by him on her back, giggling silently and waving her paws. Ceria laughed with delight and Yvlon smiled. Pisces just sniffed.

“Childish.”

The Gnoll cub looked up, slightly hurt, and Yvlon punched Pisces on the shoulder.

“Don’t spoil her fun. Is Erin back yet?”

“Not yet. Although I am amused to see her inn is the locus of her breed of chaos, even when she herself is not here.”

They all laughed at that. Az’kerash watched the inn fill, empty. The rat followed Pisces upstairs as night fell. Watching. Just watching. His friends bade him good night. The Antinium even stood in Pisces’ room, watching him demonstrate the new skeleton and dutifully applauded. The [Necromancer] smiled.

“Why am I continuing to observe?”

Az’kerash didn’t know. Guilt over his remarks to Pisces? Fascination? No—there wasn’t anything new here. Pisces’ designs were moderately innovative. The [Necromancer] wasn’t particularly high-level. Az’kerash could have attempted to spy on the King of Destruction.

So why…? Az’kerash kept watching as Pisces studied in his room, as the night deepened. He couldn’t place it. But there was something familiar in him. Something about the way Pisces stomped around the room insulting the author of the book for their convoluted explanations. Az’kerash almost caught himself nodding as he experimented with a sinew crossbow. Obviously, it worked. But who needed to build it into a body when you could buy…?

It was late into the night when Pisces closed his book. Az’kerash expected him to sleep, but the [Necromancer] tiptoed to the door and cautiously peeked outside. Az’kerash stopped his work, intrigued. Pisces had a furtive air about him as he checked the rat skeleton, the hallway, and then tiptoed downstairs. He nearly slipped on the stairs, but made it down into the common room. There he paused.

Az’kerash waited. He waited for Pisces to use the magic door, or perhaps steal from the kitchen. He might be a thief, or conducting some petty betrayal. It was a fact of this era. [Necromancers] were liminal people, outcasts, thieves, petty murderers—that was their role in society. And that was who they were, by and large. It was a stigma, an identity formed by his role. What they had painted him as, and who he had become. The Necromancer stifled the emotions. Waited.

“[Muffle].”

Pisces pointed at himself with a whisper. His feet were soundless as he padded across the floor, in his socks. Az’kerash nodded to himself, coldly unsurprised. Not disappointed; there was nothing to hope for. Subterfuge, perhaps. Meeting with a criminal of some kind? Or simply some perverse voyeurism, petty spying or—

Pisces stopped by the door. He paused, taking a few breaths. Az’kerash, turning back to his work, watched the [Necromancer] look around, inhale deeply one more time–

And then run across the floor. The Necromancer looked up. The undead rat he was controlling saw Pisces slide past him, arms outstretched for balance. The young man caught himself, and then turned. He kicked off the stage at the far end, slid back on one foot.

Az’kerash blinked. Pisces was grinning wildly, windmilling his arms for balance. He kicked off a table and slid! He spun as he went, laughing silently. And then as he reached a far wall, he went for it.

Pisces did a penguin-dive across the floor on his belly, arms outstretched, laughing. He spun as he went, ending up in a casual lounging posture as he bumped against the stage at the far wall. He was grinning, embarrassed, looking around, but no one was watching. He climbed on the stage, did a running jump and cannonballed onto floor, spinning across it. He was laughing, as a white Gnoll sped past him on her side, staring at him—

The [Necromancer] twisted. He turned to stare at Mrsha and ran knee-first into a chair. Az’kerash couldn’t hear Pisces, [Muffled] as he was, but he heard the impact, and saw the young man curl up and silently shout in pain. Then Pisces was on his feet. He stared around and a little, furry head popped up across the room. Mrsha stared at Pisces. He stared back. Slowly, he raised one finger to his lips. Mrsha blinked at him.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

The faint sound made Pisces whirl. His face went dead white as he saw, on the staircase, a huddle of shapes. Ceria clapped her hands, grinning ear-to-ear. Yvlon was leaning against Ksmvr, laughing so hard she couldn’t stand upright. Only the [Muffle] spell on her kept her from making any sounds. Ksmvr was staring at Pisces, head cocked to one side.

Lyonette was giggling. Even Numbtongue looked amused. Mrsha slid past Pisces. An incredibly smug look was plastered upon her face.

“Looks like fun.”

That was all Ceria said. She took one look at Pisces’ face, and then burst into laughter. He turned bright red and vanished, literally. The [Invisibility] spell didn’t help, though; his audience had burst into guffaws.

“Come on, Pisces, it’s too late now!”

Yvlon howled with laughter when the [Muffle] spell was taken off her. She walked down the stairs, her face nearly purple from laughter. She looked around, and then snagged a bit of air trying to move past her. Pisces reappeared, too red-faced for words. But Ceria just laughed. She leapt down and did a slide across the floor.

“This is fun! I can see why you wanted to do it in private.”

She laughed. Ksmvr came down the stairs. He looked at Pisces and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I am very impressed at your mobility, Comrade Pisces. I shall do my best to emulate you.”

Then he got down and slid on his back across the floor, waving his arms in the air. Pisces tried to get away, but Yvlon, laughing, wouldn’t let him go. He was trying to justify himself, until Yvlon took a running start, tried to slide, and wiped out. She slid past Mrsha, and the Gnoll leapt on her back and surfed her across the room.

“Mrsha!”

Lyonette was beside herself. But she and Numbtongue were coming down, and then Seborn and Moore, who’d been roused by the ruckus. Soon, everyone was sliding back and forth. Pisces’ face never quite turned back to normal, but he was able to laugh, drink three mugs from behind the bar, and then join the others in races to see who could slide across the floor fastest.

The Necromancer saw it all. Az’kerash realized he was standing. Standing and staring at the image playing through the undead rat. He wasn’t working on the whale, or holding another conversation. Every thought, every fiber of his being, was fixed on the scene. He watched Pisces sliding back and forth, and then Moore tossing people across the now-cleared floor. And Az’kerash—

Laughed. It burst out of him. Laughter. Genuine, unprecedented. The Necromancer laughed, caught himself, stared at the image of a half-Giant trying to slide across the floor as half a dozen people pushed him.

And he laughed. The sound echoed through his castle. It was so foreign it made Kerash grab his sword. Venitra strode the hallways, searching for the intruder. She saw her master laughing in his quarters and froze. She had heard him chuckle, seen him smile wryly, or with cynical detachment.

But this? Az’kerash kept laughing. And then, after a minute, he stopped. But he was still feeling levity, even after the minute had passed. And he walked past Venitra, who had frozen.

Down into a wide ballroom. Long deserted, the tapestries faded away to dust. The [Necromancer] stopped there. And he hesitated, much as Pisces had done. But it called to him, that empty space. So he pointed.

“[Ice Floor].”

It spread across the cold stone in a moment, a thin sheet of water, frozen. The Necromancer put one foot on the ice. And he paused. But then he kicked off. And he slid across the ground that looked like glass.

Bea was watching. The plague zombie alone was there. Kerash was still searching the perimeter, convinced it was anyone but his master. Venitra was still standing where she was, trying to memorize, analyze the laughter, the look on her master’s face. But Bea peeked around a door and saw him.

Az’kerash slid across the floor, slowly turning, spinning, halting. It wasn’t an uncontrolled slide, like Pisces’ first attempt. He slid across the ice, pausing, adjusting his trajectory with careful movements. He had done this before. And as memory returned, he kicked off. He slid, no, he skated across the floor on one foot, turning, jumping, spinning. He didn’t have skates but it wasn’t elegance he strove for.

He had done this before. Bea saw it. The smooth glide, the way he caught himself from falling. The Necromancer slid across the floor a few times, but lacking skates, and unwilling to do the belly slide, there wasn’t much you could do. But he wasn’t going to stop with that.

The ice melted with a wave of one hand. And the water evaporated. Bea saw Az’kerash turn. And he waved a hand.

The dead rose. Skeletons, at first. Bone pouring fourth, shaking into Human figures, slowly gathering. And then—an illusion. Bone took on the seeming of cloth. Flesh.

Humans stood in the ballroom. And they wore the dresses of old. Elegant clothing, the kind Bea had seen in images of Terandrian nobles. A woman she had killed with a single touch. Beautiful clothing. And the people were beautiful. Smoothed by memory. They stood for a moment.

And then there was light. Bea flinched, but it was another illusion. Az’kerash turned. The ballroom changed. Worn stone turned into smooth, colored tiles. Rags into smooth curtains. Sitting chairs, servants circulating with trays.

And the people began to move. Men and women walked towards each other. He with a bow, she a proffered hand. They paired off, moved in slow steps.

Now music. Bea heard a haunting strain, some string instrument playing slowly. A quiet brass. Picking up in speed. The song filled the hall. And Az’kerash walked among the dancers. They moved in perfect synchronization; that was the only unreal aspect of the illusion. But each of them knew him. A man with a crown and a full beard nodded to Az’kerash, gesturing, scarred cheek twisted, but by a smile. A woman with a circlet approached shyly, hand proffered. A [Knight] bowed, all dignity and straight back.

More. [Mages], in their robes. A haughty Drake accompanied by a trio of giant women—no, statues, each perfectly sculpted. A pair of Garuda holding staves. They stood to the side as the dancers moved to the rhythm of the song.

Az’kerash stood among them. Looking from face to face. And then, at the woman with the circlet. She was most realized of the others. Her face alive with beauty, a hint of laughter, some nerves. Bea touched her face. And she looked at the woman and realized they were the same.

The dancers swirled in front of Az’kerash for a moment. And then they parted. The music picked up. It wasn’t quiet now, but moving. A call to the dance. Not fast, but with deliberate tempo. And he walked from among them.

The Necromancer walked forwards. And Bea saw his face was colorful. Pale in skin, but alive. And his eyes—she felt a surge of apprehension. They were a pale green, alive, not the dark pits she knew. Peril Chandler, Archmage Chandler, turned his head. And he held out a hand, accepting the woman, the other Bea’s hand.

They stepped into the center of the room. And the dancers slowly began to revolve around them. Az’kerash moved slowly at first, his legs and body moving to a tempo he had all but forgotten. But one he had known. And he turned, staring at the woman. Bea had seen the look on his face a thousand times. She knew it as fondness, amusement, affection. But this was deeper. A thousand times.

It broke her heart. And Bea hadn’t known she had a heart that could break. She whispered one word.

“Master?”

He never heard her. On Az’kerash danced, and the faces turned to him. Each one different. [Kings], nobility, [Mages]. [Knights] and men and women dressed with less elegance than their counterparts. All smiling. Laughing.

Until the song began to fade. Until, Perril Chandler, turning, saw a flash of contempt across one face. It stood out. A frown, across the crowned [King]’s face. A flash of fear across the women he held.

A discordant note pieced through the music. It halted abruptly. Perril Chandler’s smooth steps faltered. He stopped. The woman he held stared up at him. And her eyes were suddenly distant.

He looked around. The other dancers had stopped. And now, some wore masks. They hid, whispering behind them to each other. Others pointed. Some turned away. One by one, their faces turned accusatory.

Archmage Chandler looked around. He wavered, halted, turning. But the two Garuda had lowered their staffs, bowed their heads. Others he looked for were gone. The Drake and the three carved women were gone. Only one of them remained, and her carved face watched with bitter anguish.

The [Knight] approached Az’kerash. Spat on the floor, drew his sword and pointed it at Az’kerash. A man shouted something. But it was a silent scene.

Alone, the [Necromancer] stood. Amid a sea of faces. Lost figures. They turned on him, then. Full of wrath. Leapt, drawing blades, attacking from behind. He stood there. And as they moved towards him, they turned to dust.

The [King] was first. A look of mortal terror flashed across his face and he raised his hands. He turned to dust, the illusion vanishing, the skeleton disintegrating. The [Knight] was next, swinging his sword. One by one, the people closest to the [Necromancer] turned to dust. Then the others began to flee. They tried to run, not attack. But it was too late. They slowly fell to pieces, turning to pale powder on the floor.

The woman was one of the last. The man knelt over her, holding her for a long time. She looked up at him. And he reached for her. But she closed her eyes and vanished. He straightened, then. And his robes were black. His skin deathly pale. His black eyes searched the room. Bea saw Az’kerash look around.

He was no longer smiling. No longer laughing. The Necromancer stood amid the dust, his head bowed. He did not weep. His shoulders did not shake. He just looked around. And time came back like the crashing waves.

Az’kerash’s face was pained as Bea hesitantly approached. Pained, and then it smoothed as he turned to her. The emotion in his eyes pierced her, holding her tongue, keeping her speechless. But for a second. It faded. Disappearing into the void, the white void of his eyes.

“Master?”

A lone voice. The thing that had once been a man turned. And memory turned into reality. Bea stood in front of him, her face decayed. Her hair not flowing and full, but gone in parts. He smiled at her, appreciating the beauty he saw.

But Bea remembered the woman. And she was afraid. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t have words to describe what she had felt. She only knew what—Bea knew. And Bea was young. So she approached her master, timidly. She looked up at him.

“Master. I am sorry I failed you. I am sorry. But I miss Oom.”

It was a child’s statement. Self-absorbed. Guiltily, without knowing why. Az’kerash looked at her. And he held her, embraced her.

“Bea. My lovely child. You have not failed me.”

“I haven’t?”

“No. It is I who fail you. My craft is not yet enough. The strength I gave you was not sufficient to best Zel Shivertail. My Chosen, my children, are still children.”

The words filled Bea with despair. She clung to her master, and she could not cry.

“I wish to serve you forever, Master. What am I doing wrong? How can I fix myself?”

The Necromancer looked down at her. And he touched her face.

“Forever is a long time, my dear. Even the undead fade. I would that you could stay with me. But…”

Bea looked at him. And Az’kerash paused.

“You lack only for one thing, Bea. You, Venitra, Kerash, Oom, and Ijvani. One thing that would elevate my Chosen, allow you to correct your flaws. Without it, you are unchanging. With it, you might deliver me that forever.”

“What? Master—if it is anything, we will find it for you. Salt, or flour. Or…”

Az’kerash laughed softly. Bea held still, hopeful. But he shook his head.

“It is nothing you can make. Or if it is, every hint of it was scoured from the earth. It is something I failed at a hundred thousand times. But still, I persist.”

“What?”

“Life. Someday, I will complete the secret to creating life. And someday, perhaps, you will level, Bea. If I could only understand what I lack. But neither Zelkyr nor I ever finished the secret. And I fear my friend died, leaving Cognita shackled. And you—you are forever my child. You will not grow. But I love you for that.”

Bea closed her eyes. It hurt. Even when he told her he loved her. Because she knew she was incomplete. And she would know it forever. But maybe—she looked up. And he nodded.

“Someday, master? You promise?”

“Yes. I will keep trying. I promise you. Forever.”

He held her. And she took all the comfort from his promise.

After a while, Az’kerash rose. He brushed Bea’s cheek, and then left her standing in the dust. He walked through his castle, past an army of undead led by Kerash. A silent Venitra watched him walk into his work room. The Necromancer stared up at his creation hanging in the air. And then he waved a hand.

The thing he worked on next was simple. It was so simple, it was beyond his grasp. The Necromancer raised his hands. And all of his craft, all of his being went into it. A twisting word, a magical script compressed a million times. A library’s worth of words, drawn in magic. All the power he could command, shimmering into a point. It was a word, but incomplete.

Power scorched through the air. Az’kerash pointed and the charged air turned the sky dark. The objects in the room, the other magical wards, began to fail as the magical script condensed further, into a shining point. He raised both hands, and his eyes opened wide.

Flesh moved among bone. Organs moved, forming together. A heart rose, beating, imitating life. Lungs heaved, a body filled with blood and every component floated in front of him. He pointed, and the mote of light struck its chest. For a second, the heart beat. And the eyes opened. Az’kerash pointed.

“Live.”

The eyes opened—and the magic blasted outwards. The Necromancer raised one hand. The shockwave sent every object in the room flying. He stood as it blasted outwards, and the undead in his castle looked up, their eyes flickering for a moment.

And then it was done. The Necromancer stood amid failure. And he exhaled. He turned away. He walked towards his quarters.

Things to do. He didn’t sleep. He didn’t rest. But some things were beyond him. Perhaps even immortals needed to stop. There, Az’kerash sat. He thought of this day. An aberration among countless others. And at last, he waved a hand.

In a dark room an undead rat sat up. It regarded a sleeping young man, sprawled out in his bed, snoring after a late night of…fun. Childish though it may be. Az’kerash regarded him. And he thought of the man he was. He turned his head, staring at the incomplete foot, the attempt at a behemoth.

So young. So inexperienced. But—so familiar. The Necromancer paused, looking down at Pisces. Then he raised a finger.

In the room, the bones stirred. They floated out of Pisces’ bag of holding. They reshaped themselves. And a creature of bone rose. A monster far larger than a Bone Horror. Smaller than a giant. The Necromancer paused as it began to touch the ceiling. Then—he was struck by a thought.

He smiled, and twisted his fingers. The bone bent, reshaping itself. The form kept building, but compressing itself, doubling over, moving sideways, to fit in the enclosed space. The Necromancer kept working, assembling the final product.

He finished it at last. The twisting structure of bone filled the room. A behemoth, compressed through contortions of bone, but complete. And animated. The spell matrices twisted in Az’kerash’s sight, a complex knot due to how the creature was aligned. But it was whole. And its eyes flickered to life. The head rested just above Pisces as the [Necromancer] tossed in his bed, oblivious of the change.

The Necromancer paused, looking at the behemoth. It pleased him, in a slightly perverse way. The young man would have to decipher it to understand how it worked. It was a riddle made of magic only a [Necromancer] could solve, and even then—tricky. He had to admit. But it was familiar.

Homework. The kind he’d used to give to students, a lifetime ago. For a moment, the Necromancer smiled. And then the little rat floated forwards. It scribbled on the skull of the undead creature facing Pisces. A spell. The little paw engraved the magical words deep in the skull, a black spell, a death magic.

Call it a whim. Call it a chance. Az’kerash turned away. He had work to do, and Pisces was only one of his concerns. But—he spared one last look as the rat collapsed onto the table. He would not watch the boy today. Perhaps tomorrow. To see how he had done. Perhaps, to see him and his team. The strange inn.

But the Necromancer’s amusement faded. His eyes darkened. And he looked at the slumbering form one last time. He whispered.

“Someday, you will see the depths of their hatred for you, boy. Rejoice in your today, for that tomorrow lies ahead. Inevitably.”

He turned away. And the Necromancer thought of the future. The past was dead. He sat back in his chair and closed his eyes for nine seconds. And he thought of nothing at all. Then he opened his eyes.

“…Where did Ijvani go?”

6.52 K

The Wandering Inn had breakfast. It had breakfast every day, in fact, except on rare days that involved calamity, monster attacks, or breakfast turning into brunch because everyone had been up last night partying. It happened every single day.

And it generally wasn’t interesting. It was, in the scheme of the day, a quiet opening to the more interesting events that took place. For example, this morning the inn’s customers had breakfast.

Lyonette was serving a yogurt mixed with sweet blue fruits. There were toast and butter if anyone wanted any. The Horns of Hammerad were there. Seborn and Moore were eating with Lyonette and Mrsha. Jelaqua had not returned last night. There were a few other regular guests, including Bevussa, alone, who had come for the blue fruits. She had a sweet…beak.

Relc was here. He wasn’t talking about drinking or moaning about his familial relations. He was eating two huge bowls of yogurt and fruit after a late-night of patrol and yawning. He was drinking it down with a tankard of mead, but that was about it.

At his table, Pisces the [Necromancer] was eating just fruits. He was reading from a parchment scroll and frowning as he ate. Ceria yawned as she picked at her toast.

“So, yeah. We’ll have to go into Liscor with the other teams tomorrow for the Bloodfields briefing.”

“Mhm.”

Yvlon ate with a fork, maneuvering it with some grace despite the metal armguards she now almost always wore. She only took them off when the skin underneath needed washing and then—carefully. She had an infection, just a bit of red swelling and pus along where the metal was fused with her flesh she hadn’t told anyone about. She chewed as Ceria went on.

“I think we’ll take it easy today. I’ll practice. Obviously.”

“Got it. Need help with the hot tub?”

“That’d be good.”

“I will heat the water, Captain Ceria.”

“Thanks, Ksmvr.”

Not even that was funny. Pisces kept eating. After a few minutes, a familiar voice echoed through the room.

“Hello everyone!”

Erin Solstice bounded into the inn. Everyone looked up. Erin turned around, beaming. She’d been out this morning. To get her hair cut. She turned.

“How do I look?”

“Good.”

Erin wavered. Her inn’s guests had all looked up and some had suffered from that instinctive rectal and stomach-clenching that they had learned to associate with Erin and sudden and often dangerous events. But her cut hair? They went back to eating. It was almost a letdown. Erin sulked as she went over to the table.

“It looks nice.”

Lyonette tried her best as she let Mrsha feed her slices of blue fruit. The Gnoll waved a paw and nodded encouragingly. Erin sighed.

“Thanks. I mean, I’m not expecting applause or anything—I just got it cut. But it’s nice to see people noticing.”

She looked around meaningfully. Seborn looked up from his bowl. He stared at Erin, nodded once, and went back to eating. Erin sighed. She sat back at the table, yawning.

It wasn’t that she’d had an eventful morning; she’d gone to the [Barber], and sure, he’d been a snazzy Gnoll (since Drakes didn’t have hair, obviously, that was a real issue Erin hadn’t thought about), but he’d been very excited to do her hair! It had been a fun experience, but…Erin yawned again. She’d had a more interesting yesterday.

Not that anyone cared. She’d told them a bit last night, but it was still low-brow stuff compared to the usual. It was sometimes good that way. Erin stared at Mrsha, feeding a smiling Lyonette, Relc, yawning and muttering about sleeping for twelve hours until his next shift, Pisces reading while he kept missing his bowl, and Bevussa using her talons to eat.

Erin frowned—she was going to talk to Pisces later for that thing this morning—and then noticed a shivering Drake sitting at a table as far away from hers as possible. Erin called out cheerfully to him.

“Hey Teliv! What’s wrong? Want more breakfast? I can get you other food if you don’t like yogurt!”

Teliv the Drake [Host] and sometimes [Negotiator] jumped at Erin’s voice. He looked up.

“What? No! No, no thank you, Miss Erin. No more food. I’m not hungry.”

He pushed his barely-touched bowl back unsteadily. Ceria looked up, her mouth full, and glanced at Erin. Teliv had a familiar look in his eye; she knew it because she’d had it about half a year ago when she first visited the inn.

“Erin, did you do something to Teliv?”

“Me?”

Erin tried to look innocent. She shrugged.

“No…we just went to Esthelm. Nothing big.”

“Hah!”

Teliv’s bark of laughter made some of the other diners look up. Relc scooted his chair closer, looking sleepily interested.

“Ooh, I know Erin went to Esthelm yesterday with some of the Watch. I didn’t get to go. Captain Z said I was unsuitable for diplomatic missions. What’d Erin do? Burn it down?”

“Relc! I wouldn’t do that! It was fine! We went, they loved us, especially the food and the stuff we gave them, and we signed a deal! Liscor’ll get some ore and we’ll even get visitors!”

Erin protested. Ceria raised her brows and the guests in the inn looked at Teliv for his take. He shook his head.

“That happened, but—the Hobgoblin entered the city! He snuck in after following us! That was only the start!”

He pointed at Numbtongue. The Hobgoblin looked up and grumbled something. This time Seborn glanced at Erin.

“That wasn’t a huge incident?”

“Whaaat? No! I mean, Esthelm’s cool. Cooler than Liscor. They didn’t get that upset. In fact, some of them knew Numbtongue!”

Erin smiled at Numbtongue.

“He was like a hero! Only, he didn’t get a parade and it was mostly awkward. But they let him in! And they liked me and him. They even gave me a hat. Let me get it!”

She hurried into the kitchen, remembered she lived upstairs, and came down in a clatter with a wreath on her head. The flowers were still fairly fresh, but showing the first signs of wilting after being outside so long. Now, in the inn, they’d be preserved forever in their near-freshness.

“See? I got one for Numbtongue, but he must have lost his. It was only a bit of a fuss.”

The Hobgoblin had left it with the graves. But that wasn’t a breakfast topic. Nor did he speak. He just folded his arms, content in silence. Teliv shuddered.

“Only a bit of a fuss? We came so close to a diplomatic incident. Four times! The Hobgoblin wasn’t even the worst of it. She encouraged a near riot!”

He pointed a claw at Erin. She tried to look innocent. Bevussa opened her beak in a grin. She turned as Relc began munching on some toast and sipping his drink happily. Erin hesitated as Lyonette, Mrsha, and Moore stared at her. Seborn drained half his mug of water and went back to polishing one of his daggers.

“I wouldn’t say a riot. Look, there was a jerk. He was all about stealing people’s money and charging ‘travel fees’ and stuff. Like [Bandits]. I…helped get rid of him.”

“She organized a coup.”

“Well, not really—”

Ceria raised her eyebrows and nodded to Yvlon. The woman nodded back. They had the same thought as most of the guests. Definitely a coup.

Well it sounded like Esthelm had been interesting. Noteworthy, even. But this was breakfast. Erin’s protests became weaker as Teliv found himself recounting the tale to those who were interested in the story. He began relaxing as they shared their first ‘Erin moments’, and he found someone had bought him a round. They began talking over breakfast.

And that was about it. Nothing interesting was happening. No one cared about her hair. Erin sighed. It wasn’t a fancy cut. Neither she nor her [Barber] had quite trusted that; he was good at styling fur, not Erin’s mane. She edged away from the conversation around Teliv so she wouldn’t have to hear all the embarrassing and mainly accurate things they were saying about her.

What to do? Well, she could clean a pot in the kitchen that had some caramelized sugar stuck to the bottom of it. Or get ready for lunch; Lyonette had her in the kitchen to replenish their food stocks. And maybe later today Erin would see about getting a nice bath since she was somewhat hairy from the cutting. Then she could visit some people in Pallass, maybe. But Erin wasn’t intending to stir up trouble.

“Some days are quiet. Nice.”

Erin sighed wistfully. She was done with trouble. Even Esthelm had been pushing it. And she really hadn’t started a coup. She wandered across the inn, and came to an almost abandoned table. The Horns had all left Pisces to go about their business; the [Necromancer] was still absently eating.

“Hey. Pisces. Psst. Pisces. Whatcha reading?”

Pisces looked up. He blinked as Erin slid into a chair next to him. He rubbed at one eye, yawned; Erin yawned too since she’d had a late night.

“Ah, Erin. Merely refreshing myself with a summary of the latest events. This is just a small collection of newsworthy topics I purchased at the Mage’s Guild.”

Erin blinked blankly at Pisces. He sighed and lowered the scroll, keeping it unraveled with one hand. She noted cramped handwriting and what looked like dates.

“So, you’re reading a newspaper?”

Pisces paused a moment and his sleepy gaze flicked up towards Erin’s face before relaxing. He spoke casually as he speared a bit of fruit.

“I have no idea what you mean. But if you are referring to something similar to Olesm’s chess newsletter, you could say so, yes. However, the difference is that I requested the requisite information and paid a nominal fee for it. Normally I could get some information from [Criers] or gossip, but I prefer it to be tabulated and organized.”

Erin frowned. Newspapers were still a thing of mystery to this world, probably because paper was still somewhat expensive.

“I don’t get it. Explain it to me again. And does this have anything to do with the reason you woke us all up this morning by screaming?”

Pisces flushed. He had indeed woken the inn up with an ear-piercing shout, another pre-breakfast oddity. But he’d rushed out of his room to assure everyone that nothing was wrong. Erin assumed he’d stubbed his toe. Now she glanced sideways at the [Necromancer] and detected a bit of embarrassment and—Pisces coughed.

“That was purely an accident, Miss Solstice. A happy one, I assure you. I was simply unprepared for…well, a happy accident.”

“Does it have anything to do with the huge bone thing in your room?”

He jumped and stared at Erin. She shrugged.

“Mrsha peeked. I did too. It’s filling the entire room! What if we need to clean it?”

“I’ll thank you to respect my privacy! And it’s an ongoing project. A rather…tricky one.”

Erin bet he’d scared himself. And no wonder, with all those bones jumbled up! But she let Pisces collect himself and sniff haughtily a few times.

“Okay, so what you bought from the Mage’s Guild for…how much? It’s a…news…parchment. That has all the latest events?”

Pisces sighed.

“No. It cost me, let me see—nine copper pieces, since I provided the parchment. Hardly expensive, although then again, fairly steep to the layperson given how simple the task is. But I suppose that is how the Mage’s Guild earns some of its revenue.”

“Spare me the economics! How’s it different?”

Erin waved a hand. Pisces sighed, longer this time.

“I asked them to write down all the information they had on the Tiqr conflict and they did. Happy? This is all the information on the event publically available for the last—”

He checked the parchment.

“—month. I am refreshing myself. Of course, I knew some of the information already, but one must keep up with the latest events to be truly cosmopolitan.”

“You just want to be a know-it-all. What does it matter what’s happening in Chandrar?”

Erin narrowed her eyes at Pisces. He looked mildly offended.

“Erin, Chandrar is an entire continent. It is also home to the King of Destruction, who was once in a position to threaten the entire world. I believe even you know of him? Why would I not care what is happening in the world outside of my immediate area?”

The young woman hesitated, and this time guiltily. That sounded a bit too much like her…her mind fuzzed for a second. Her dad…? She skipped over that fact to reply to Pisces.

“Well—okay. Sure! Being globally aware is great. Sorry, I take it back.”

“Thank you.”

“Even if you do like being a know-it-all. But that Flos dude won’t really affect Liscor, will he?”

“Time can only tell. The odds of him reconquering Chandrar are remote, or so I feel. But other continents can affect ours. Just look at Terandria.”

Erin dutifully looked around the room. She needed to get a map for the walls. That would be a great decoration when the inn’s remodeling was done!

“Go on.”

The young [Mage] sat back in his chair, looking pleased at his audience. He spoke in his lecturing tone that Erin had first hated so much, now much improved. It was lecturing, but not sneering.

“Well, Terandria has always had a rocky relationship with Izril. I could delve into the ancient blood ties that link the Five Families and other noble houses of Izril to Terandria’s own gentry, but to be brief—and simple—sometimes Terandria makes war with Izril. Northern Izril, since they are closest, but they have been known to send armies against the Drakes as well. The last occasion they landed along a coast and, well, invaded for nearly a decade. They expanded and attempted to claim part of Izril.”

“Why? I bet all the Drakes joined up to get rid of them. That sounds like a stupid idea.”

The [Innkeeper] wrinkled her nose. Pisces nodded, smiling.

“Oh, assuredly they did. But Terandria reaped a number of benefits. And incurred heavy losses when they were smashed by an expedition led by the Walled Cities, including Archmage Zelkyr—”

“Zelkyr? Wait, when was this?”

“Nearly a century and a half ago. It was an instructive example! In practice, nations trade with each other all the time and wars can even be fought across oceans, although this is generally reserved for only larger conflicts. But [Pirates] raid Izril’s coasts, and sometimes a nation will send forces to other lands. All this to say that other continents might well affect Izril, as they did in the Second Antinium War.”

Pisces sat back, waiting for a response. Erin pondered for a moment and shrugged.

“Cool.”

“That’s it?”

He looked askance. Erin rested her chin on the table.

“It’s got nothing to do with the inn. I dunno, I know I should keep up with it, but it’s not my…”

She hesitated.

“…interest. I mean, I just don’t know enough about the history. Yeah.”

Pisces eyed Erin. She tried to look innocent and he let it slide, much to her relief.

“Well, I could always educate you on the relevant subjects. But this is simply a little update for myself. The war against Tiqr is coming to a close and I thought I should review the facts. It was interesting—there was a longer section here that I haven’t read yet—”

He tried to roll the scroll down to a section at the bottom, but he was blocked as Erin poked her head over.

“Alright, you’ve got me, you sly dog. Lay it on me. Where’s Tiqr and why do I care? It’s got to do with the Dental King, right? The King of Destruction?”

Either Erin was truly bored, or she actually cared about world news. Pisces narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out which it was. He sighed, and unrolled the parchment, tracing his way back to the top.

“The conflict in Tiqr is an ongoing war between the nation of Tiqr, and a coalition of nations. About eleven or ten in all, all opposed to the King of Destruction.”

“Right, right. Because he’s a jerk.”

Erin nodded agreeably. Pisces paused.

“That is a simple reading of him, but he is dangerous, yes. In any case, this is the twenty seventh day of the conflict between the Empire of Tiqr and the Nerrhavian-led Coalition. They are attacking Tiqr—”

“Wait, not the King of Destruction?”

Pisces sighed.

“No, not him. They are attacking Tiqr, one of the few nations openly sympathetic to his cause, or at least truly neutral and not opposed to him. Three major nations and a number of smaller ones have entered the conflict. The largest by far is Nerrhavia’s Fallen, hence their designation as the ‘leader’. In truth, they are simply the largest power by far.”

“Nerrhavia’s Fallen? That’s a name of a country?”

Erin was lost at sea. Pisces looked at her and nodded slowly. He flicked his fingers and produced a quill from a bag of holding.

“Geography. Reim is here. Northeast of Tiqr by a fair margin. This conflict is happening along the south of Chandrar, these nations here, here, here, and here.”

He outlined four nations, all close together. One was decidedly larger than the rest. Erin blinked at them. Pisces tapped one.

“That’s Tiqr.”

“Right. Got it. So all these nations have ganged up on Tiqr because Tiqr liked the King of Destruction?”

“The reasons are slightly more complex. But yes. They took the King of Destruction’s proclamation of peace-without-provocation as a chance to attack one of his allies. If he makes a move, he is forsworn. On the other hand, if he does nothing, Tiqr falls, and the other nations happily claim it.”

Now it was making sense. Erin exhaled.

“Ooh. That’s dirty. Uh—what’s this proclamation of peace?”

The [Necromancer] stared at Erin. She raised her hands.

“I’m sorry!”

It took a minute for him to explain what Flos’ declaration was and why it was so significant. Then Pisces went back to his crude map. He pointed.

“A number of kingdoms have joined the coalition against Tiqr for hopes of gaining land, but in practice, there are only four major powers. Tiqr is one of them. The empire is fairly prosperous, if not in monetary wealth, then in wildlife. Savannas and a number of oases make up the nation, and they are renowned for their [Beastmasters] and connection with animals. Their [Empress] is even known as the Empress of Beasts. Empress…Nsiia.”

He had to check his notes for that. Erin nodded. She tried to imagine it, but…all she could imagine was a female Elirr with a crown. She smirked.

“Wait, what species are they?”

“Human, predominantly.”

Now Erin frowned. She was imagining…no, it was still too hard. She had never met someone from Chandrar. Maybe Octavia? But she had no idea what it looked like. How they lived. It was far away. She looked at Pisces helplessly and he tried to elaborate. But he had never been there either.

“It is a proud nation by all accounts. They are not to be taken lightly. And their [Empress], though young, is thought to be as capable a leader as a warrior. However, she erred by allowing the other nations reason to declare war on Tiqr. She stands alone.”

“No one’s coming to help her?”

“No one has. In the beginning, I believe, the world was watching to see whether the King of Destruction would ride to her aid. He could have, perhaps, if he declared Tiqr his subjects. But many would see it as him breaking his vow. Or—perhaps—if other nations would aid Tiqr. They are allied with the Garuda-led nation of Killale to the east, but Killale is militarily inferior. And the odds against Tiqr…”

Pisces pursed his lips. Erin looked at his face.

“No one came.”

“No.”

A pause. Erin looked at the crude map and tried to imagine the landscape.

“Tell me about Tiqr, then.”

“I am told it is—was—very beautiful. The processions of Tiqr’s [Beast Tamers] are famed, their animals friendly. Many are wild still, but they exist with the people of Tiqr in relative peace. It was one of the nations spared the ravages of war during the King of Destruction’s rise, for all they fought at his side. Until now…”

—-

[Empress] Nsiia stood upon the ramp leading up to the palace. She commanded the highest view from Tiqr’s capital city, Oliphant. But even her palace was shorter than the buildings of other cities. Oliphant was sprawling, not built to heights. And it had few stairs. Gentle ramps and open streets dominated the sandstone of her beloved home. All to allow the animals that were Tiqr’s children access to the city.

Now, though, she looked at her city and wished for towering walls. For fortifications built into the sky, like the Drake Cities, or the cold Dullahan structures of Baleros. Even Terandria’s ancient castles. She had seen so few. But she had dreamed of them.

“Empress.”

A voice called to her. She turned and saw a man approaching. Her [Wild General], Vasraf. He walked forwards, dressed not in ceremonial armor, colorfully bedecked with flowers, but leather and steel. He carried a curved shortsword at his hip, but his true weapon, the bow that few warriors, men or women, could draw, was not with him. It was not time for battle.

Yet she saw it everywhere. Her people were not out and about, but spending what time they had with their families. Her army was readying itself for war. Already, the formal declarations had been sent. Nsiia looked at them. She had tossed them from the steps of her palace, but a few still fluttered, caught by the dry wind on the bottom of the ramp.

“Empress.”

Vasraf bowed. His voice was grave. Deep. He looked at her and she saw a reflection of the worry that must be crossing her own face. She saw a hand touch his shoulder, dark skin, with quivering fingers. Her hand? She couldn’t show that.

The quivering stopped. Empress Nsiia looked at Vasraf.

“They are all coming. I will be at the council shortly. Has the Wildkeeper arrived?”

“They are all on their way. Nsiia. We cannot stop them all.”

“I know.”

The Empress of Beasts ducked her head. She wore no crown—at least, none that other rulers would consider one. Her headband danced with colors, feathers of birds she had caught. Even a Roc’s feather. It was magical, an heirloom of Tiqr.

Absently, Nsiia raised her hand, touching a bright yellow feather from the sparkling shock-birds that were so elusive. One of her subjects had given it to her. If she plucked it, for a moment she could use the powers of the bird she had caught. In times of peace, it was her delight to do so for the enjoyment of all.

Now, though, she thought that every feather would be used for war. And every tool, every trick in Tiqr’s armories. She looked at her [General]. His eyes were pale green, alight in his face. His skin was darker than even hers, from years spent out under Tiqr’s sun. She had seen him fight. And she had known him all her life. He did not lie.

“Vasraf. Killale is not coming. Their flocks send only regrets.”

The news struck him, but not hard. Not now.

“All of them?”

“Every one. They have counted.”

He nodded, a muscle moving in his cheek.

“Then the King of Destruction—will he come?”

“I do not think so.”

It was too far. Too far, for Reim to leave their borders. Even if he sent some of his Seven, he would be under attack from all sides. Forsworn. It was a neat trap he’d placed himself in. Or had found himself in. Nsiia looked east, as if she could see him. Vasraf waited.

“Will you ask him?”

“No.”

And that was it. He did not ask why. It was only a dream in any case. They both looked across the city. And then Nsiia saw something move. A giant, a grey shape. She watched it approaching, moving up the ramp with slow, calm steps.

“Thef.”

She reached out as the Grand Elephant approached. Thef, her friend, the elephant she had grown up alongside, reached out his huge trunk and she touched it. He was a giant among elephants; his species could grow to be twice as large as a regular elephant. A giant species, rarely seen even in Chandrar. The effort of feeding just one group could be immense. But Tiqr had always had a bond with this species. Now, he lowered his head, his tusks glinting with ornamentation.

“You have come because I am worried. Thef.”

Nsiia touched his leg, but did not reach up to let him place her on his back. She knew the animals of Tiqr were restless, the hyenas snapping, the birds in flight. They could sense war as well.

“Thef. You will have to wear the armor you hate so much. And fight. We must all fight, it seems. Though I did not ask for war. He warned me, that Femithain of Illivere. But he marches on us too, with his things of stone and magic.”

Vasraf watched his [Empress] speaking softly to Thef. He made a sound and she turned.

“My Empress. We cannot hold them. Tiqr has not enough choke points. Our army is not vast enough. Nerrhavia alone is sending an army two hundred thousand strong.”

The Empress of Beasts turned. She looked at him, young for her throne. Mortally afraid. But then she nodded. And she stood straighter. Thef made a small trumpeting sound. He followed her as she turned, walking back into her open palace.

“Then we will hold, Vasraf. And ask any of our allies for a miracle. We will hold and break Nerrhavia, Savere, Illivere, and all the other armies to pieces. Unless my [General] disagrees?”

His eyes flashed.

“Never. They will regret crossing our borders.”

“Then let us go.”

Nsiia turned and looked back once across her home. Peaceful. And she touched the feather in her headband. Then she turned, as the first drums of war began to echo across Tiqr. Summoning war.

—-

“Couldn’t they win? I mean, if they made fortifications and stuff?”

Erin was listening to Pisces. He looked amused. But then, he had been keeping up on what the war had been like.

“How? Tiqr is not as defensible as, say, Liscor. The geography is not advantageous to castles. Nor do many nations build them in Chandrar. No. And the nations arranged against Tiqr gave them no time. See—on the second day.”

He showed Erin a line on the parchment. It was short. All it read was—Erin squinted.

“Armies from Savere, the Illivere Federation, enter Tiqr’s borders. Nerrhavia sends two hundred—two hundred thousand?”

She stared at the parchment. Pisces nodded. He tapped the large nation.

“This is Nerrhavia’s Fallen.”

“That’s…big. Why’s it so much bigger than the others?”

“It is a powerful nation. String People. Their armies began crossing into Tiqr’s borders. Dozens of them.”

“And Savere? This federation?”

“Two other prominent nations. Savere is known for, well, it’s relationship with [Pirates] among other things. Illivere is more complex. It is a mage-state. And it produces Golems.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes. They have traditionally been diplomatic, but their leader, Magus-Crafter Femithain, declared war on Tiqr along with the other nations. He may have been reluctant to do so; he is, by all accounts, a cautious and pragmatic ruler. Compared to Savere’s ruler, at least.”

“But they went to war. How many did Illivere send? Oh! It says only eight thousand! Hey, that’s tiny!”

“And…”

Pisces pointed. Erin’s face fell.

“And four hundred Golems. Oh.”

—-

The air was unnaturally still. Magus-Crafter Femithain had ridden through Tiqr before. And he was accustomed to more life. The savannas of Tiqr benefitted from the rains that made Savere so prosperous. Normally, he expected to see more life. But it had all fled.

So the silence was only broken by the footsteps of [Soldiers]. The Magus-Crafter glanced up as he walked. He was on foot, as was his entire army. Illivere had sent eight thousand of its small army. But they were experienced [Soldiers], not raw recruits. Moreover, Illivere’s strength did not lie in its warriors of flesh and blood. No. That came from the huge shapes plodding ahead of the Humans.

Golems. Tools of labor and war. They marched ahead of the troops, carved legs of stone or wood or in a few places, simply sand, moving forwards in huge, laborious strides. Most were uncovered, unadorned save for clothing or features sculpted into the Golem’s bodies themselves. Some carried weapons, or pulled carts along.

That was the Illivere Federation’s strength. Golems. Golems for labor, for protection. And yes, for war. Four hundred of them might be a small number at a glance, but who would take down one of those towering giants? Some were as tall as half-Giants; a few had been made even taller. Although the ancient techniques of creating titans and more advanced Golems was a faded art.

“Magus-Crafter!”

Femithain’s [Armsmaster of Steel] strode towards the Magus-Crafter. He paused as the Magus-Crafter’s escort turned. It was a practiced move; the two huge, steel figures walking besides Femithain were programmed to guard him with their lives. Femithain looked up and saw a huge, steel face staring down at him.

Flanking him were the two Golems he had crafted himself to earn his title. They were metal. Steel. One was armed with a maul nearly as tall as it was, a terror of a weapon. The other carried a shield and sword, his personal bodyguard.

“Armsmaster Dellic. What news?”

The [Armsmaster], lower in rank than a [General], but one of the few officers that Illivere employed, clapped a hand to his breast.

“Magus-Crafter. I request we slow our pace. I have riders from Nerrhavia stating their army is advancing past ours. And Savere’s forces are somewhere in the vicinity. I have sent a Golem-patrol to keep us aware of their movements.”

His face twisted a bit as he delivered the request. Nerrhavia had stated they were advancing, not requested. Femithain understood the man’s feelings. But his face was smooth, calm. The Magus-Crafter was a deft [Diplomat] as well as mage.

“We will slow to let Nerrhavia’s forces pass. Armsmaster, break for a meal.”

“Yes, Magus-Crafter.”

The man clapped a hand to his left shoulder. Metal struck metal as Femithain turned. He raised a staff, concentrated. The Golems next to him slowed their pace, came to a stop. In his army, he knew, the other [Artificers], the mages specializing in Golem-creation and control were ordering their Golems to slow. The Human [Soldiers] came to a stop smoothly and the wagons unloaded. They took their ease more or less comfortably, for all they were in enemy territory. After all, their Golems were standing sentry.

Femithain stopped where he was, and pulled a chair from his bag of holding to sit. It was, perhaps, unmilitary of him. And as his [Armsmaster] returned, he saw the man was uncomfortable.

“An issue, Armsmaster Dellic?”

“Not as such, Magus-Crafter. Will you allow me a seat?”

“By all means.”

The [Armsmaster] produced his own seat from his bag of holding. If it was odd for a commander and the leader of a nation to be so casual, well, there was reason for it. The Illivere Federation elected its Magus-Crafter and it was made of smaller states; hardly the same as a monarchy. Femithain could be a normal citizen if he failed to be elected next year. He had held his position each year for the last eleven years however.

In the same way, Dellic was hardly a mere soldier. He was certainly educated; the Illivere Federation required a leader to have passed through their education systems. It made Dellic something of an outsider to many officers, as well as his odd rank, however, and Femithain was aware of the conflicts that had already arisen.

“Tell me of what troubles you, Armsmaster Dellic.,”

“Not much yet, Magus-Crafter. We have received…correspondence from Savere’s [General]. She protests our slow pace.”

“In those words?”

“No.”

Femithain nodded sympathetically. Savere, the nation that bordered Tiqr, ruled by the Siren of Tides, was often thought to be lawless. Certainly, they allowed more criminal elements to infiltrate their armies and even sponsored raids against other nations. They held their power because of their relationship with [Bandit Lords], [Pirate Captains], and so on. And the fact that the Siren of Savere was not to be trifled with.

“We were first to march, Armsmaster. Inform Savere’s [General] that our pace is unavoidable. We will take to the front if they wish it.”

Dellic nodded, casting a glance back at the Golems. It wasn’t just them that made Illivere’s army so slow. Golems could march all night, after all. In truth, Illivere’s army was moving slowest of all the nations that had sent armies against Tiqr, their army smallest. And their leader, Magus-Crafter Femithain, the most troubled. After a moment, Dellic cut in delicately.

“Magus-Crafter, you do not need to be at the front. I am capable of leading in your stead. Even if Tiqr is outnumbered, risking your life is not necessary.”

Femithain glanced at Dellic. The man was of the same opinion as the rest of the world. Tiqr was doomed. Ultimately, Femithain had no doubt of that, but he had met Nsiia. And he could not imagine she would roll over after seeing even Nerrhavia’s army. He shook his head.

“Illivere has voted to bring war to Tiqr. As Magus-Crafter, I am bound to lead my nation in the attack.”

“But you argued against—”

Dellic began, but shut his mouth. Femithain rose. He had heard it too. Illivere’s [Soldiers] looked around and then got up. They stared.

In the distance, another army was approaching. At first, it appeared to be a tiny force. But it kept growing, kept streaming forth. Dellic paled and ordered Illivere’s army to move back, giving the other army space. Femithain only watched. He saw the chariots first, and then ranks of marching soldiers. Thousands. Tens of thousands. Over two hundred thousand.

The Stitch-People of Nerrhavia’s Fallen had arrived. Nerrhavia’s chariot-led armies streamed past Illivere’s slow march, thousands of chariots driven by the impossibly beautiful, almost radiant Stitch-Warriors whose bodies were made of silk. They practically radiated the sun and their skin had a luster and attractiveness to it that matched, well, silk. Their flesh seemed to have been just oiled, smoothed without age or wear to detract from it.

The drivers and riders whooped and called out to Illivere’s army, some flirting, others laughing at the Golems or Humans. A few broke formation until their officers called them back, riding around the Humans. Femithain did not move, standing flanked by his personal Golems. Dellic shifted until a silk-flesh officer rode towards them.

He was beautiful, worthy of being a model in another world, just like his kin. He called out as he swung himself down from his saddle.

“Magus-Crafter, our regards! We thought to see you further along!”

His voice was condescending. Femithain nodded towards him calmly, ignoring Deliic’s shifting posture.

“Our apologies, First-Chariot Bereid. Our pace has been slowed due to our Golems. We will recover the ground over the course of the day. I will attend any meeting of the coalition’s leaders tonight, regardless of the location.”

The First-Chariot officer blinked, unarmed by Femithain’s knowledge of his rank and title. He adopted a more diplomatic tone.

“We appreciate the message, but I doubt we will require a formal meeting. [General] Thelican, he wishes to deliver Tiqr to Queen Yisame by the end of the week! We look forwards to seeing you on the battlefield! Our hope is that we can all join the first battle together! If you would wish it, we would be honored to have your company on our march!”

“It would be my pleasure. But perhaps at a later time. Tender my regards to General Thelican.”

Femithain bowed his head. The First-Chariot officer gave him a sweeping bow, and then leapt back on his horse, racing back towards his command. Dellic made a disgusted sound.

“Magus-Crafter—”

“I know. Be quiet, Dellic. Some may be listening.”

In silence, the two watched the army pass them by. Nerrhavia’s army was certainly a sight to see. The beautiful chariot-drivers were leaders, but as they passed, Femithain saw a different type of Stitch-Person appear.

By contrast, the foot-soldiers marching in the dust generated by the chariots were crude, their skin rough, callused-looking. Closer to hide than skin, in fact. Dellic made a sound as he watched them pass, seeing some of the bright silk officers shouting at them, hurling insults.

“I’ve never seen Stitch-People like that before.”

Femithain had. He spoke quietly, motioning one of the Golems to block their conversation.

“The warriors are what I understand to be Hemp—or some variety thereof. The strongest materials go into making them, which leads to their rough appearance. Nerrhavia—no, String People’s society is caste-based. One of the few societies that practices such systems. The islanders do, and perhaps Lizardfolk and Drakes, to some extent. Not so uncommon, then.”

“Minos or Drath?”

Femithain didn’t respond. He was too busy watching the Hemp [Soldiers] marching. They looked tired. Nerrhavia must have pushed them hard to have made it all the way here so quickly.

Theirs was not the only army that Femithain witnessed that day. Not by far. Dellic had been informed that Savere’s forces were already ahead of them, but one of their forces nearly ran into his army. Dellic called a halt, aghast, as a band of riders several thousand strong raced past theirs.

There was no organization in this group, or noticeably, supply wagons. They could have been using bags of holding, but—Femithain noticed the disorganized appearance of the riders, listened to their jeers as they raced past. Dellic looked at him. Femithain watched them go.

“Savere’s irregulars. Pitch camp away from them.”

“[Bandits].”

One of the mage-officers in Illivere’s army looked disgusted. She flushed as Femithaim looked at her. But he just nodded.

“Or [Pirates]. [Rogues], perhaps; keep an eye on our supplies. Savere’s raiders will not hesitate to poach from our stocks to keep themselves fed.”

Their army moved on. Savere and Nerrhavia were the two powerhouses along with Illivere who had gone to war with Tiqr, but theirs were hardly the only armies. Nearly half a dozen smaller nations had contributed their forces. Femithain greeted Deimos’ [General], leading a group of camel-riders and lightly-armored infantry.

That was fine. Pleasurable, even. Deimos’ [General] was delighted to dine with Femithain that night. He had brought a large number of slaves with his army, to serve them. Femithain, a leader of a Golem-state, had none, but was accustomed to the practice of lounging while everything was done for him.

“I worry our armies will hardly have the chance to make the first strike, Magus-Crafter. We are marching quickly, but Nerrhavia and Savere seem determined to make the first strike. To the victors the spoils, but my [King] wishes at least a piece of Tiqr.”

The [General] confided in Femithain over a cup of wine. The Magus-Crafter drank sparingly, shaking his head.

“I believe you will have your chance to war, General Heic. Tiqr will not surrender easily.”

“You believe so? I would have tendered my resignation if I were defending against all this.”

Heic waved a hand to indicate the armies currently camping in the outer regions of Tiqr’s borders. Femithain paused.

“It is true that Tiqr has little chance. Even if the King of Destruction should move—”

“Dead gods perish the thought. We’ve left more than half our forces at home just for that eventuality.”

Heic shuddered. Femithain nodded. So had Illivere’s forces.

“Even should he move, the odds still favor the coalition. But if Tiqr should resist despite the odds—”

“Why would they do that? It will be a slaughter.”

Heic looked bemused. Femithain took his time in replying.

“Empress Nsiia is known as the Empress of Beasts. And she is much like her people, General Heic. I have no doubt she is aware of the odds stacked against her. But—you speak of surrendering? Tell me, have you ever known an animal to surrender?”

“I’ve seen some roll over.”

“In a fight to the death?”

The [General] paused.

“No. Never that.”

“Just so. Have no fear, General. Your time will come. And I do fear Tiqr will fall. If not easily.”

He’d said too much. Heic was silent, watching him. Femithain sipped from his cup. Even he had no idea how prophetic his words were.

—-

“Alright. I see there’s a lot of armies moving in.”

Erin was nodding. It was barely a few minutes into her talk with Pisces; she was getting a refill of blue fruit slices. He levitated one out of her bowl, speared it on a fork.

“Indeed. The armies were marching on Tiqr’s capital, plundering outlying settlements—mainly Savere’s doing.”

“[Raider] jerks, right?”

“You have a remarkable ability to distill the information down to the fundamental points. Yes. Meanwhile, the world waited on Reim to move.”

“And did they?”

“No. As I said, the King of Destruction swore an oath. Oh, he kept some forces on the border, but Nerrhavia blocks Reim from moving. And as I said, King of Destruction or not, his army does not match the man himself at the moment.”

Pisces tapped the map. Erin nodded. It was like…Risk. Not chess. She stared at a note.

“Standing forces on Nerrhavia’s border at least twelve thousand strong. About one thousand of Reim’s [Soldiers] spotted on their borders, led by Mars the Illusionist. No movement on either side.”

—-

The land between Reim and Nerrhavia was owned, by local tribes, smaller cities, even claimed by other nations. But no one stopped Nerrhavia’s forces from setting up across from Reim’s borders. It was a small force, at least, in terms of what Nerrhavia could field. But it wasn’t there to do battle.

Just threaten. The Stitch-Warriors were resplendent in their armor, camped across a flat expanse that separated their army from Reim’s borders. If they had had the chance, would they have advanced? Dared to cross into Reim, to test the King of Destruction’s mettle?

Perhaps. Perhaps they would have. Nerrhavia was bold. But a small force had camped opposite theirs, across the no-man’s land that was in fact, someone else’s land. But no one would have angrily protested this small force’s presence either. For the thousand or so warriors were led by a woman dressed in glittering armor.

Mars the Illusionist. She wore purple hair today, and she strode down the line of her soldiers, a smile on her face. Mars, the [Vanguard]. One of the King of Destruction’s Seven.

It was enough to make Nerrhavia wary; they’d reinforced their lines twice already, until they had over ten times her number. She could see them in the distance, far out of bow-shot or even most mage spells. They were waiting. Waiting to see if the King of Destruction would come to Tiqr’s aide.

“And if he does, are you going to stop them?”

Mars sighed as she drank from a bottle of wine. She was bored. This was guard-duty, plain and simple. Flos hadn’t ordered her to do anything other than provoke Nerrhavia. It was necessary, but she wished she were with Orthenon in Hellios, quelling dissent, or with Flos himself in Reim. She envied Gazi. But she wasn’t about to poke out her own eyes so she was crippled. Who had poked Gazi’s eye out, anyways? Some [Innkeeper] in Izril? How?

It boggled the mind. Mars sighed as she heard a distant sound, blown by the wind. They were doing it again.

Across the gap, Nerrhavia’s forces were making noise. The String-Warriors blew on their horns, a wailing, mocking call that reached across the no-man’s land. From this distance, it was impossible to make out any one individual voice, but the distant chanting and cheers were still audible. They were taunting Reim’s forces, the third day in a row.

Reim’s [Soldiers] shifted uncomfortably. They might have shouted back, like they did on the first day, but they would have been drowned out. A young [Lieutenant] looked at Mars. She was antsy, unhappy with facing off against the vaster, contemptuous String-Warriors.

“Lady Mars?”

The [Vanguard] looked up. She had a headache. She tossed the bottle of wine onto the ground and yawned. Only then did she look over at Nerrhavia’s elites.

“I hear it. Looks like they’re trying to make music. Keep calm, girls and boys. Nobody scare them or they’ll stretch their shiny silk backsides.”

The [Soldiers] around her laughed. They relaxed, and Mars headed back to her tent.

“At ease. Let me find a drink and we’ll do some sparring. You all might as well level. Don’t bother with formations, [Lieutenant].”

The woman looked uneasy.

“Lady Mars? Is that wise?”

The [Vanguard] looked back at her. Nerrhavia was making more noise, unhappy with Reim relaxing its ranks and setting up for training. Mars scratched her head.

“What?”

“What if Nerrhavia attacks us? Shouldn’t we keep some kind of guard?”

The [Lieutenant] looked nervous. Mars just stared at her, and then back at Nerrhavia’s soldiers. They were jeering even louder. Idiots were using a spell to make more noise. She smirked.

“You mean, if Nerrhavia attacks Reim, provoking his Majesty?”

The young woman blushed a bit. Mars grinned too.

“They’re only here to run away if we attack, [Lieutenant]. If I run at them, they’ll probably run away and come back with a real army. Let them attack us. It would be hilarious.”

She laughed, and the [Lieutenant] laughed, relieved, relaxing. Mars smiled all the way into her tent. Then she paused, and the smile faded. She looked blankly at the wine bottles scattered on the floor of her tent. Tiqr was going to war. And here she was. Reim was silent. They had to be; her [King] had explained it to her. But still. That bothered her far more than all the jeering.

—-

“Tiqr’s forces meet a joint-army led by Savere and Nerrhavia at the edges of the Reen Plains. Both forces withdraw at sundown.”

Erin read the first mention of battle slowly. She looked at Pisces.

“What, no numbers? Who won?”

Pisces shrugged.

“These are basic snippets of information, Erin. [Mages] reporting facts to their rulers might know more, but this is what was factually confirmed. However, we know the winner. See?”

He pointed to another entry. Erin read that one.

“Tiqr’s army cedes Reen Plains. Savere, Nerrhavia, occupy. Illivere, Deimos…joining…okay. They won.”

The [Necromancer] nodded.

“Exactly. Not that it was a surprising result. As we stated, Nerrhavia’s forces alone could push Tiqr’s entire military. Now, see how they’re occupying other areas? Slowly taking Tiqr?”

“Yeah. They’re pushing in from all sides.”

Erin nodded absently. She didn’t like strategy games like this. She’d tried videogames, but she really was a board-game type of person. Real time strategy got too real for her. But she could see more reports. The Mage’s Guild didn’t list battles won, only who was retreating. And it was all one-way.

“I guess Tiqr just kept losing and losing.”

“Yes, but by increments. Note how it took two days for the first battle to resolve. They put up a stiff defense. Commendable, in its own way.”

“And there was no, uh, [Mages] watching the battle? Doing that thing like when the Face-Eater Moths attacked?”

Pisces paused. He shook his head slowly.

“I believe neither side wished to reveal their movements to the world. Moreover, if a [Mage] was present, their abilities would have best been suited in battle. Wistram would not be interested in ah, sending observers either. They are opposed to Flos, and a view of the battle—”

“Might make it seem like Tiqr was being attacked by a bunch of people who just want to invade it?”

“Precisely. Well, and there is the possibility of embarrassment. No ruler wants that. Tiqr lost, obviously. However, if they had a moment or two of victory?”

Pisces flicked his fingers as if to indicate how embarrassing that might be. He trailed off, absently working his way down the list of battles. Erin stared at the first entry.

Nerrhavia’s forces meet a joint-army led by Savere and Nerrhavia at the edges of the Reen Plains. Both forces withdraw at sundown.

—-

The Reen Plains echoed with voices. Screaming. [Soldiers] met in the dirt and grass, struggling, stabbing at each other, slashing, pulling back. Colliding.

Blood ran down from the Humans. Drowned People bled the same color of red. Even the String People bled. But they grabbed at their limbs, retreating, sewing themselves closed. And their ranks held steady as Savere’s irregulars dueled Tiqr’s warriors on the edges of the fray.

“Push them! Send the 5th Hemp battalion forwards!”

[General] Thelican stood atop his mobile command center. He scowled, watching with a cup of water in hand as someone fanned cool air towards him. He drank, his eyes alight on the battle.

Tiqr’s forces had met the bulk of Nerrhavia’s army. And despite the tough Hemp foot-soldiers possessing superior numbers and gear, they were stalemated. Tiqr’s colorful warriors were doing well, withdrawing and charging, refusing to hold their lines.

But that wasn’t what gave them their strength. Thelican saw darting shapes amid the soldiers. And then a bloom of magic. Not fire; the Stitch-Mages didn’t use that element. But Tiqr would. Their [Mages] were trying to set fire to the String People. It was difficult to do to the thick skins of the String Warriors of the Hemp caste, but it was still possible.

And String People feared fire. Even this far away, Thelican felt a lurch of fear. It almost made him miss the snarling animals that leapt, taking advantage of the flinching [Soldiers] as they backed away from the fire. A hyena bore down a String Warrior, powerful jaws tearing, and then bounded away as a warrior of Tiqr stabbed the String Warrior through the neck.

Dead. Thelican felt nothing for the fallen Hemp warrior, for all that beheading was death for a String Person if they weren’t saved immediately. He was more concerned with the battle.

“Where is Savere’s [Commander]? Find them! Order a [Daring Charge] there—overrun those damn animals before they can pull back!”

One of the [Tacticians] did so. The Stitch-Warriors surged forwards, charging at the retreating hyenas. Thelican scowled as the animals darted into the ranks of Tiqr’s soldiers and they took the charge instead.

They had so many animals. Thelican wasn’t a stranger to wardogs or so on, but Tiqr’s armies were using hyenas. He had seen a lion fighting before it was brought down—the [Beast Tamers] were an actual standing force in their military. It made fighting them—tricky.

But he had yet to unleash Nerrhavia’s dreaded chariots. Thelican knew his chariots were itching to move in, but he wanted the right moment. He waited, turning to see a [Rider] bearing down on him. His escort drew their swords, but Thelican lifted one hand.

“Let her pass.”

He looked disapprovingly at Savere’s [Commander], a woman. It was apparently the Siren of Tide’s wish that all her officers be female. The woman spat as she climbed the dais. She grabbed a cup and drank. She’d been fighting.

“Those bastards have too many animals! What’re you waiting for? Unleash the fucking chariots! My people are getting torn apart on the wings!”

She snapped at him. Thelican bristled at her tone, and some of his guards half-unsheathed their blades. But he shook his head after a moment.

“I am intending to. Pull your wings back, [Commander]. Our chariots will take the flanks.”

“Watch out. The [Empress] is here. And she’s got those—”

The Saverian [Commander] jerked her head. Thelican smiled tightly. He saw them, waiting behind the ranks of their soldiers. Tiqr’s army had yet to unleash their trump card as well.

Grand Elephants. They were armored beasts, ridden by [Beast Tamers] and crews of archers. Some of the animals were bare of passengers, just armored with spikes on their tusks. Thelican could see the [Commander] from Savere eying them nervously. But they were a paltry number in front of his chariots.

“Send word to the First-Chariots. Order them to begin their assault. Drive from each wing—order the Hemp to charge!”

The order went out. Thelican watched with satisfaction as his chariots drove up in two wedges alongside the main ranks of his army. They were going to hit Tiqr’s forces in a classic pincer formation! Their infantry and beasts weren’t armored elites; they couldn’t stop the chariots.

And then Thelican saw Tiqr’s forces pulling back. The foot streamed backwards, the beasts racing alongside the Humans. He frowned and saw the elephants moving. They were advancing in a line. Tiqr had deployed nearly a thousand to this battle.

Only a thousand. But…Thelican paused.

“They’re moving up without support?”

“They’ll get crushed. You can take them down, right? We’re not getting near those things.”

The woman looked uneasy. Thelican paused and then snapped at his [Strategists].

“Tell the chariots to circle. Bring them down with javelins and archers! Move the Hemp forwards in pike formation!”

His army scrambled to obey. The Hemp warriors moved back, letting rows of pikes forwards along with archers. Thelican watched, uneasily. The [Commander] pointed.

“Look!”

There she was. The Empress of Beasts. She had taken to the field herself. She sat atop one of the largest elephants. The huge Grand Elephant wore silvery armor, and the Empress of Beasts was holding a javelin. Thelican frowned.

“[Seer]. Appraisal?”

“Magic. Returning. Tiqr’s heirloom—Tiqr’s Tusk.”

“Hm. I want her taken down. Surround her—bring her in. Twenty thousand gold to the chariot that captures her alive!”

Even the Saverian woman looked up at that bounty. Thelican settled back, sitting down in the chair. His army was moving forwards, bracing for the charge. He felt a flutter of unease and dismissed it. It was fine.

The first rain of arrows struck the Grand Elephants from afar. Archers drew back and loosed. The elephants and riders both screamed, and Thelican smiled. But—he saw arrows embedding themselves in the outer hide of the elephants or even bouncing off. And the riders, experienced, were taking shelter behind cover built into their saddles for that purpose. He scowled.

“Order the [Archers] to use [Piercing Shot]—”

Across the battlefield, the Empress of Beasts raised her spear. Nsiia’s face was covered by a mask of carved elephant bone. She saw the warriors of Nerrhavia drawing back for another hail of arrows. The Stitch-Warriors were braced, safe behind a line of spears and pikes. The chariots were waiting. She pointed forwards and screamed one word.

“Charge.”

Beneath her, Thef raised his trunk and blew. The sound was echoed a thousand times. Tiqr’s elephants raced forwards, bellowing. They came straight at the foot soldiers, at the chariots, ignoring the arrows, the pikes.

“[Bodies of Iron]!”

Vasraf bellowed behind her. Nsiia threw her spear, saw it go through a line of Hemp warriors. It flew back towards her and she braced, grabbing it. Thef charged. The spears were aimed at his unprotected underbelly. But the skill had turned his thick hide to iron. And the Nerrhavian forces had made another mistake. They had brought horse-killers. Boar-spears, even.

Not elephant killers. Thef swung his head and the first rank disappeared. Nsiia saw a figure flying past her head, twisted, threw her spear. Ahead of her, an [Archer Captain] fell, headless. Vasraf loosed an arrow from his bow and a magical explosion tore ranks of Stitch-Soldiers apart.

And Thef charged. Straight through the first rank, the second. He lowered his head and his tusks came up. Nsiia and Vasraf held on, and more bodies landed around her. The elephant was still running. His feet crushed warriors into paste. He wasn’t stopping.

“Dead gods.”

The first charge had gone straight through the ranks of Hemp warriors. The elephants had gone through the pikes like—Thelican looked around. Three of the smaller elephants had gone down. Some were injured, but the rest were charging forwards. One of his [Strategists] made a strangled noise.

“The chariots—”

“Drive them in! Ignore the Hemp! Stop that charge!”

On the battlefield, the order was unnecessary. The chariots were already moving, cutting off the elephant’s backs. [Chariot Drivers] drove their horses closer as their passengers threw javelins and lashed out with blades, shot bows, aiming at the elephants. Nsiia saw and pointed.

“Destroy them!”

Vasraf blew a horn and half the elephants turned. They charged, some catching chariots and pulverizing the riders and carriages. But the rest were pulling out of range, moving around the slower giants. Vasraf blew another horn.

Among the foot soldiers, one of Tiqr’s [Strategists] pointed. She aimed at a flank of elephants charging a circling group of chariots keeping their distance.

“[Rapid Acceleration].”

The elephants sped up. First-Chariot Bereid looked up as the first elephant aimed straight at his chariot. He raised an enchanted javelin, desperately ordering his driver to dodge. Too late. He looked up into a huge face, a screaming mouth.

“Nerrhavia’s—”

He disappeared.

“Hit those elephants! All battalions, loose!”

“Sir, our soldiers are—”

“Loose! Stitch-Warriors fear no arrows!”

The [Captains] were desperately ordering their archers to fire. But the elephants were charging at them. General Thelican watched in disbelief. His neat formations were disappearing. The elephants just wouldn’t stop. Even horses had to halt after hitting infantry. But the elephants just rammed through them. Savere’s [Commander] was shouting.

“They’re pushing with their army!”

“Then push back! Bring up the reserves! [Mages], concentrate on those elephants! Bring them down one at a time!”

Thelican roared in a fury. He saw the Empress of Beasts screaming atop her mount, her mask of bone turning her face into a horrific visage.

“Bring her down!”

Arrows flew. Javelins struck Thef, breaking past his armor. Magefire was hitting her beloved friend. Nsiia could hear him screaming. She was screaming too. But neither stopped. They kept coming. She threw her spear and it went through a [Mage]. Then she turned.

“Retreat! Healing!”

The words turned the ranks of elephants. The [Riders] leapt from their positions, tearing at satchels of potions. They began splashing them on the elephants, some feeding the liquid into trunks. And the elephants stampeded back, healing, as Tiqr’s foot charged.

Nsiia did not do the same. She just bent low, hugging Thef. And her skin was torn, her arms and legs and body broken, stabbed in dozens of places. She reached for the potion Vasraf handed her and drank it. And her wounds began to close.

Below her, Thef’s wounds healed with the same rapidity. He raised his trunk and blew a furious call. Nsiia patted him. As he bled, she bled. As he healed—

“[Sympathetic Healing].”

She looked back. General Thelican stared at her. He slowly sat back down.

Of course. You could heal elephants. And the [Beast Tamers]—he watched as the battle rejoined. The Saverian [Commander] was licking her lips. One of Thelican’s [Strategists] looked at him very nervously.

“Orders, [General]?”

The Stitch-[General] paused. And then his voice was calm. Measured.

“This is the report I will be tending Queen Yisame. Tiqr’s vanguard is yet considerable. I would prefer to surround them and wear them down with a joint-force. Their main force are the Grand Elephants and their riders. They give Tiqr a powerful vanguard, even outnumbered. We must slowly kill each one to prevent them healing. When they are gone, Tiqr’s hammer is gone. Compose a message to that effect.”

The [Strategist] nodded silently. A slave rushed forwards and Thelican turned.

“Additionally—I request the usage of the Named Adventurer, Alked Fellbow. Consult the [Quartermaster]. Arm our best [Archers] with poisoned arrows. Our [Javelineers] on chariots likewise. The Hemp will advance using pole arms. Pike formations. Withdraw the 1st and 3rd divisions. Move forwards the 8th, the 9th, and the 10th. Commander Calin, Savere’s forces will supplement ours. I assume your irregulars have poisons?”

“You’re going to keep fighting after that?”

Commander Calin pointed at the carnage, her face disbelieving. Thelican frowned.

“The chariots were a loss. But the foot were only Hemp. Tiqr’s army will tire. Mine has yet to bleed. We will be wearing down their elephants first. This was one setback. The battle is far from over.”

He sat back down, deliberately took a cup of water and drained it. And he did not look at the Empress of Beasts. She was riding down the ranks of her warriors, screaming as she held her spear aloft. And they roared, and the animals howled.

They charged again, like thunder. The Reen Plains ran with blood. The String Warriors turned to thread. And they fell. Flesh, thread. The dead.

—-

“They’re stalemated across these battle lines. Multiple armies fighting, forcing Tiqr’s forces to split or cede ground. The main forces are fighting and retreating here.”

Pisces pointed. Erin nodded. The other armies were advancing. Surrounding the opponent, like an army of pawns. They couldn’t jump or do much that was special, but they could bring down even a queen. Slowly, one by one.

But—slowly. She looked at the parchment.

“It’s six days since the fighting began and they only got that far? They were here when they started fighting.”

She pointed to a position on the map, Reen Fields, barely past the current lines. Pisces nodded.

“Tiqr is posing a sturdy defense. A systematic withdrawal; guerilla tactics. That is what their troops excel at, given their animal components. We can infer that from the reading. But look here.”

Another line.

“Battle at the Yov Oasis. This time between Deimos’ army and Tiqr’s. Tiqr holds it. The Laughing Brigade confirmed spotted on the front. They begin winning some battles. Wait, who are the Laughing Brigade? Is that a mercenary group or something?”

“No. A unit. A royal force. It is a Skill of the Empress of Beasts.”

“…How?”

Pisces paused to explain the concept of a unit to Erin. She had never met the Darksky Riders, but she got it after a minute.

“Units. Huh. So they’re like, elites?”

“Not quite. Say rather that they all possess an ability granted to them by nature of being in their unit.”

“I don’t get it.”

Pisces drummed a hand on the table.

“Units are…special existences. They are granted power just for existing. Some have magical abilities each [Soldier] may call upon. For instance? The ability to ignite their blades at will, regardless of the enchantment on the blade or their own magical ability.”

The [Innkeeper] frowned.

“What, any time they want?”

“That’s right.”

“Any [Soldier]. In the unit.”

“The Scorchblades were a Terandrian force numbering six thousand who all possessed that ability. Ordinary commoners without a shred of magic inducted into the unit could ignite their blades for twenty minutes at a time. Not just in battle. A unit can be astoundingly versatile or powerful. There are limits. But it is essentially a free Skill granted to them simply be being part of that unit.”

Erin considered this. The hair on her neck tried to rise.

“That’s not fair.”

The [Necromancer] shrugged, trying not to look too jealous.

“That would be the difference between a [King] and lesser classes. Royalty provides benefits. Of course, I have heard of [Commander]-type classes gaining such Skills. Even examples of, high-level [Captains] who could lead a unit themselves. But a [King] may have multiple such forces among their Skills. The King of Destruction notably had three.”

Erin whistled. She was beginning to see why people didn’t like this Flos guy. She looked down at the parchment.

“This Laughing Brigade. What can they do?”

Pisces frowned. He raised a finger and consulted the notes.

“…I don’t know.”

“Are they funny?”

—-

The Laughing Brigade struck during the night. Demios’ army was resting after a day of skirmishing. To his credit, [General] Heic had deployed sentries and fortified the camp. It still did no good.

The first sound that broke the night was laughter. Giggling. It was coming from the [Sentries]. Their reliefs found them standing at their posts, laughing uncontrollably. It was uncontrollably chuckling. And their howling, hysterical laughter. They laughed uncontrollably as they tried to blow into the warning horns.

The warning came too late. General Heic awoke to the sounds of laughter. Loud, harsh, echoing through his camp. He struggled out of his bedding as his slaves found him his armor.

The camp was under attack. Dark shapes and bounding animals tore through the camp. The laughter was everywhere. It wore at Heic’s ears. He felt at them, shouting questions. And then he realized the laughter wasn’t just auditory. It was in his head.

He couldn’t hear anything. That was it. His hands came away, bleeding. The laughter was all he heard. He saw [Soldiers] fighting, unorganized, some even attacking each other in the darkness. Their [Officers] couldn’t restore order with their voices.

And the laughter. A hyena leapt out of the darkness, bringing down a man. Others attacked the camels, fighting alongside the Humans who leapt forwards, attacking and retreating in the confusion. They were laughing too. But it wasn’t laughter. It was mocking. A hyena’s high-pitched cackle. It drove at Heic’s ears. He screamed orders, grabbing his sword and donning his armor.

The Laughing Brigade fell back as dawn rose. And they left their dead among Deimos’ wounded. Not enough, but they had died, hyenas and men. It was only a Skill, a trick. But the laughter stayed in Heic’s ears, long after they had left. And no one in his camp laughed, or smiled long after that.

—-

“Hit-and-run tactics, I see. They might have been quite effective; you see here this gap stating that the fighting did not advance past Tiqr’s borders for the first six days? Ultimately, however, they could only slow the inevitable. It was one unit, one nation against nearly a dozen others. And some of them had their specialist forces deployed too. Note this line.”

Time was accelerating. Erin had heard of the war progressing. Now she saw the lines break in places. Pisces calmly noted dates, showing her the coalition advancing slowly.

“Illivere’s army breaks lines; Savere’s [Queen] takes to the front. Lines broken.”

“What’s so special about Savere’s Queen? Does she have a unit?”

Pisces frowned.

“None as far as I know. Her army is mostly irregular. What makes Savere dangerous is their [Queen] herself. She commands a very powerful water magic.”

—-

“The Illivere Federation must send two hundred more Golems to the front. We have lost nearly as many. However. Report to General Thelican that Tiqr has lost eighty-six Grand Elephants this day.”

Femithain leaned on a staff. The words rasped in his throat. For all he hadn’t taken a single blow, he felt—wounded. Armsmaster Dellic nodded. He moved slowly, assessing the battlefield.

Tiqr and Illivere had met in battle. And Illivere had won. But what a victory. Femithain looked across the battlefield. All he saw was gore.

Illivere’s Golems stood silent, unmoving after the battle. The [Artificers] were tending to them, repairing cracks in their bodies, replacing entire limbs. Some Golems couldn’t be salvaged. Many were broken, the command spells shattered to the extent that it would be easier to make a new one. And most had fallen to—Femithain saw a fallen mound, grey, mixed with red.

An elephant. It had died ramming into a stone Golem. The Golem was snapped in half. But the elephant’s skull was crushed. More had died, their riders and the animal falling as the Golems bore it down. Femithain’s two Steel Golems had killed four themselves.

The Magus-Crafter felt no joy in it. He looked at the dead elephants and spat bile out of his mouth. He turned.

“What news from Savere’s front?”

“Magus-Crafter. The Siren of Tides has pushed through Tiqr’s lines.”

A weary [Mage-Artificer] raised her head. Femithain paused.

“Nothing else?”

“She killed the elephants. And the [Soldiers]. Animals too. [Water Shot]. A tidal wave, apparently. Her [Pirates] can fight in the tide.”

Femithain nodded.

“But the elephants. How…?”

“She drowned them. Encased them in water.”

The [Mage] shook her head. Femithain paused.

“Cruel.”

That was all he said. But he looked at the ones who had died here and couldn’t say anything more. At last, Dellic came back.

“Magus-Crafter. General Thelican sends his most sincere regards.”

“I suppose he does.”

Cynically, Femithain wondered if Illivere and Savere had done better than Nerrhavia in these two engagements. He leaned on his staff, shook his head.

“We will wait for reinforcements before pushing in. Instruct Illivere to march the golems without pause to our location.”

“Magus-Crafter. Will we see more fighting like today’s? Those elephants—”

One of the younger [Artificers] began hesitantly. He was nearly silenced by Dellic, but Femithain shook his head. Today’s battle had been—gruesome. Illivere’s Golems had gone to war with a huge wing of Tiqr’s elephants. And despite losing nearly half their animals, Tiqr had managed to do an incredible amount of damage.

“Possibly, Artificer Azef. But that determination I will discuss with General Thelican. Tiqr’s forces are slowly reducing in number, however. Their war animals cannot be replaced like our Golems.”

“Yes, Magus-Crafter. It—it seems to be a shame.”

Femithain didn’t respond. He looked at the dead elephants. And he remembered seeing one on parade. The Empress of Beasts riding hers.

“Repair the Golems, [Artificers]. Illivere will need them in the days to come.”

—-

“Battle at Be’neld Oasis. Tiqr retreats. That was ten days ago, right?”

Erin looked up. Pisces nodded. Tiqr had just lost another oasis. And they were in full retreat, trying to guard the land around their capital city. Erin shook her head.

“How do they keep fighting? Don’t their armies get…killed?”

Pisces shook his head.

“I suspect as the war winds on, more citizens of Tiqr’s cities join their army. They are either conscripted or volunteer. They would be low-level, but they would fill the losses in Tiqr’s armies.”

“But they don’t have [Soldier] levels. I mean, if you went into Liscor and got like, a thousand Selys’, they’d be weak. Right?”

Pisces’ lips twitched at the idea. But then he shook his head.

“I believe this can be attributed to the Counter-level Effect.”

“The what? Are you making that up?”

“Not at all. It is a well-known fact that during war or in disadvantageous conflicts, the defending side will level faster than the superior aggressors. Zel Shivertail was one example of it.”

“Oh.”

The young women went quiet. Then she looked up. Her interest in Tiqr’s war had stopped being a silly exercise to pass the time. Now it felt—

“But that only works if they’re losing.”

The [Necromancer] straightened his robes, pushing his bowl back.

“True. For every new [Soldier] who survives the fighting, dozens will perish. This is an act of desperation. And see. Not everyone is fighting. This is where some of the other nations take part.”

He tapped another line. Erin read it. And this time—she could imagine it.

Tiqr’s citizens fleeing conflict shelter at Pomle. Standoff at Pomle’s borders between Savere, Nerrhavia. Pursuit not attempted. Pomle continues to accept fleeing citizens.

—-

Orjin, the Strongest of Pomle, stood at the borders of Pomle. At least, the borders in any way that mattered. Sometimes they changed, but this time, the ring of colored stones that connected two canyon walls meant more than an arbitrary concept.

It was a boundary. And the two small armies that had come had halted a stone’s throw in front of it. They both bore banners he recognized—well, one did. The other looked more like [Bandits] to Orjin.

Savere’s raiders. But the second army, led by a group of chariots were distinctly Stitch-People. Nerrhavia’s Fallen. Orjin counted.

About six thousand from Nerrhavia. Two thousand from Savere. They would account for a good amount of Pomle’s population alone. They had been moving fast; they were all mounted. Pursuing Tiqr’s fleeing citizens.

They were behind Orjin. Several thousand…people. Many carrying packs, some without anything. They’d nearly collapsed after passing through Pomle’s borders. Now, it was a standoff. Orjin stood at the border as one of Nerrhavia’s [Commanders] called out cautiously to him.

“By the order of Nerrhavia’s Fallen, we request that Pomle gives up Tiqr’s citizens! They are formal enemies to Nerrhavia!”

There was a bark of laughter, and then the [Raid Leader] from Savere rode forwards. She glared at both the String-Warrior and Orjin.

“Those are our captives. Savere takes them, by order of the Siren of Tides. Move aside!”

Orjin didn’t reply to either leader. He was still looking at the refugees. The [Martial Artist] stood, his arms folded, his posture perfect. The First-Chariot hesitated. Savere’s [Raid Leader] spat.

“Hey! You! Muscles-for-brains! Did you hear me?”

Orjin didn’t even turn his head. He’d been standing like this for about ten minutes. Thinking. He had no doubt that Savere and Nerrhavia were after the people here for one reason: slaves. There was no benefit otherwise. Well, perhaps they intended to kill them or ransom them, use them against Tiqr.

“Hey!”

Orjin turned his head at last. The woman was glaring at him. She was in fact, a Drowned Woman, half her body armored. And one arm looked like—Orjin frowned. Half-shrimp? A beady eye and antennae-like whisker twitched at him. The other half of her face was snarling teeth.

“We have two armies here. Hand them over. Now.”

The Nerrhavian officer looked uneasy. It was true. Both armies were armed for a fight and they outnumbered the few warriors. But he also knew why Pomle was independent. His eyes flicked behind Orjin.

Pomle’s warriors stood silently in the gap that sheltered the nation of martial artists from the rest of the world. The canyons were stiff, tall, and there was a natural choke-point that Orjin held. Some of the warriors stood on the cliffs, armed with spears or slings or just their bare hands and rocks.

The rest were lined up behind him. Barely a hundred [Martial Artists] and [Warrior] classes. But they had the high ground and the Nerrhavian [Commander] knew it. He was more intelligent than the Savere [Raid Leader], or at least, more aware of Pomle’s legend. He waited while she swore at him, losing her patience. And Orjin just thought.

Not about what to do next. More—about how he’d attack if it came to a reply. He’d probably have to split Nerrhavia’s charge first. It would be a nasty fight, but they could break the chariots in this pass. Reinforcements would arrive fast, but—Orjin narrowed his eyes. Yes. He could kill both leaders if they moved back. Then—straight into the chariots while the others held this ground and the refugees fled. It was a working plan.

The [Martial Artist] moved at last. Savere’s [Commander] rode back a pace and the Nerrhavian officer placed a hand on his sword. But Orjin kept his arms crossed. First, the message. He’d had to give the speech about Pomle’s peace a lot recently.

“This is Pomle. I am the Strongest of Pomle, Orjin. Thirty years ago, we claimed this land and fought every nation who tried to impose their rules on us. For thirty years, Pomle has known peace. We have little, but any who wish to train are welcome within our land. Pomle is neutral. This is our peace.”

Both leaders stared at him. Orjin went on, gesturing at the citizens huddled behind him.

“These are guests of Pomle, regardless of their identity. They have claimed Pomle’s peace. If they say they wish to train, or rest, or merely step within our boundaries, they may do so without fear.”

“Do they wish that?”

The Nerrhavian [Commander] began uncertainly. Orjin turned his head. The refugees nodded rapidly. Orjin paused.

“They say they do. Therefore, they are guests. As for your armies…”

He stared at the lines of [Soldiers] and shook his head.

“Begone. The peace of Pomle does not extend to foreign armies.”

That was it. Savere’s [Raid Leader]’s eyes bulged.

“That’s all you have to say?”

Orjin didn’t reply. He waited. She looked at the Nerrhavian commander. He was sweating.

“We have orders not to violate Pomle’s peace—”

“Bullshit. There are a hundred of them. They’re not some legendary army, just a bunch of tree-punching idiots.”

The woman rode forwards and the Nerrhavian [Commander] tensed. Orjin did not; tensing was a bad move. He was relaxed. As the woman rode forwards, he spoke.

“Step across that line and we will remind you why Pomle is free.”

She paused incredulously. And then the [Martial Artists] behind Orjin picked up the stone spears. They aimed—past her at Savere’s armies. The [Raiders] looked up as Pomle’s warriors aimed bows at them. They began to laugh. And then it died away when they realized Orjin was serious.

The Strongest of Pomle waited for the woman to move. He hadn’t moved. She was eying him, eying the line of colored stones. He could see she wanted to dare it. But—she might have had [Dangersense]. Certainly, some of her [Raiders] did, because they were whispering among their ranks. And the eager attitude among her force vanished. Some even began looking over their shoulders.

The confidence drained out of the [Raid Leader]’s face. She looked at Orjin, assessing them, and more blood fled her hands and face. She backed up, turning her horse roughly. Then she spat on the ground and rode away. The Nerrhavian First-Chariot hesitated. But when Orjin turned to him he shook his head.

Without a word, both armies withdrew. Orjin sighed. He stared as they kicked up a dust storm as they rode away. Pomle’s warriors waited for his nod, and then walked off, returning to their tasks. Casually, as if nothing had happened. The refugees watched as Orjin walked past them, shaken.

“Excuse me! This way!”

A voice called out in the newfound silence. The refugees turned, and saw a Drake striding towards them. Salii, Pomle’s only [Receptionist], was hurrying forwards with her clipboard.

“Everyone, with me. You are quite safe now; please form an orderly line.”

“But what—”

“All questions later, please! We will bring you to one of the temporary camps. Excuse me, follow me. My name is Salii. Come to me if you have any questions or issues. That is Orjin, the Strongest of Pomle. Now—”

The people found themselves obediently shuffling after Salii before they quite knew what was happening. Orjin left the Drake to do whatever she wanted. Pomle had guests. And that was as far as he intended to deal with the matter. For that matter, most of Pomle’s warriors ignored the new influx of people. There was only one thing that concerned them, and so Orjin sighed. More work to do.

That night, Orjin sat on the ground in the darkness, waiting. It was at roughly the same spot he had been. The line of colored pebbles was still there. This time, though, he was looking down on them from a height.

The canyon’s walls were steep. High. But any [Martial Artist] could climb them. And so could a number of other classes, it seemed. Shadowy figures, dressed in black clothing to hide themselves in the night scaled the canyons. They carried blades, and they were fairly stealthy.

Not stealthy enough, though. A few had Skills; Orjin knew from the breathing that one was invisible. He was trying to locate the invisible one by their posture in the dust. The figures paused, then they crossed the line that separated Pomle from the rest of the world.

Normally that mattered little. Normally people got a second or third chance and guests, even armed ones, were welcome in Pomle. But these ones had already been warned.

The first [Martial Artist] dropped out of the skies where she had been hovering. Her [Axe Kick] shattered the skull of the invisible [Rogue] and the Garuda took wing, hunting for her next target. Orjin sighed. He’d been off on the Drowned Woman’s position. Oh well. He saw more of the properly hidden [Martial Artists] rise up.

One of them was a Dullahan armed with the crude spears of this morning. She threw the spear and it went through one of the shadowed figures and buried itself in the stomach of the next. The shocked infiltrators shouted, drew their weapons; Pomle’s warriors closed in.

It was a brisk fight. Orjin only moved once. He kicked a [Rogue] off the canyon before he could slash one of the [Martial Artists] with a blade. The man fell, screaming, and hit the ground. He survived the fall, although Orjin was sure he’d broken an arm, and got up. He ran surprisingly fast. Orjin stopped the shamefaced Garuda from going after him. Orjin looked around and shook his head.

The rest of the attack group was dead. A few [Martial Artists] had been tagged, and one might have been poisoned. The others were inspecting the injury, debating remedies. They dispersed again, a few pausing to check the bodies for valuables. Many, like Orjin, didn’t care and left them to be devoured by animals or the elements.

Savere’s [Pirates] and [Rogues] might have all the experience in the world in fighting in darkness, but Pomle’s warriors had trained for it. Orjin returned to his space near Pomle’s oasis. He found Salii waiting for him.

“Are they…?”

“Dead. One fled.”

The Drake nodded and made a note of this for some reason Orjin didn’t understand. She took a breath. Orjin was stretching before he meditated and slept.

“Orjin, this latest group was a thousand two hundred and eighteen strong. They were over five times that number when they set out; the rest were captured or killed.”

“I see.”

The Strongest of Pomle kept stretching. Salii tapped her clipboard.

“Many have failed to bring enough food. If more continue arriving, Pomle will be out of food soon.”

The Strongest of Pomle paused. That was a problem. However—he looked around.

“It is not Pomle’s duty to feed these people. Nor can we.”

It would mean Pomle’s warriors would have to go hunting as the oasis’ resources were depleted. Perhaps even the water would be used up. That would be an inconvenience, but one Pomle’s people could handle. The refugees on the other hand, well, they’d starve. Orjin saw Salii pause.

“I’m aware of that, Orjin. However—I can handle it. I think. There are people among the refugees with useful classes and Skills.”

“Can you feed twice Pomle’s numbers? How?”

Orjin was fairly certain Salii couldn’t make food appear out of the thin air. And she would need to. But the [Secretary] only tapped her clipboard.

“Trading. Scavenging. Organization. Orjin, let me try. If you’re the strongest [Martial Artist] in Pomle, I’m the greatest [Secretary] in all the Walled Cities. Give me access to Pomle’s stores and I’ll barter for food and clothing and everything else we need and secure the rest.”

The boast made Orjin smile. He paused, and then nodded to Salii.

“Do what you wish. You created Pomle’s stores to begin with.”

“Thank you.”

She smiled and left. Orjin wondered if she’d succeed. Perhaps. She was certainly good at ordering people around. But if she didn’t, Pomle would endure. The [Martial Artists] had survived times when the oasis had run dry, starvation. It was part of their training.

However, one thing did keep Orjin up as he tried to meditate, calm himself and order his thoughts before he slept. He kept staring west. He could smell blood on the wind. And it made him restless. But he held his ground, stilled his thoughts. This was not his war.

Yet, he was the Strongest of Pomle. It was a duty. One no one who truly belonged to Pomle wanted, but it was important. He had to guard Pomle. That was the sum of his duties, and Orjin had always thought of it as simple. Remove murderers and those who caused trouble. Kill monsters, sometimes people. Organize Pomle’s warriors in case of an attack.

But what if an army came? Pomle would fight, of course. But this war bothered Orjin. All these other nations attacking Tiqr, which bordered Pomle. They had come for Tiqr as a result of the peace he had helped to offer. Tiqr had done nothing wrong as Orjin understood it. If they came for Tiqr, would those same armies one day march on Pomle?

He was no [King]. But those thoughts weighed heaviest of all. Orjin sat in silence late into the night. He stared ahead blankly. And then he realized there was another invisible intruder in camp he’d somehow missed. It had been a mistake to sneak up on him of all the others. The person might be [Muffled], but they smelled of blood. Orjin got up with a sigh.

—-

Tiqr was falling. City by city, part by part. Like a plague, the invading armies took it apart, slowly working their way to the capital city. Now Tiqr’s armies were retreating every battle, moving further and further back.

No one had come to help them. And the other nations were continuing onwards. Why not? They were winning.

“The nation of Reim continues to refrain from movements on any border. Only naturally.”

Pisces read the note, which seemed to emphasize…nothing. But nothing was apparently significant with the King of Destruction. Erin read one little addendum.

King of Destruction appears on southern border with Gazi the Omniscient and Mars the Illusionist. No movement. Nerrhavia reinforces border.

“Gazi.”

But he’d done nothing.

—-

By now, the jeering from Nerrhavia’s side was background noise to Mars. But today the chanting went silent. The Stitch-Warriors froze. And their [Commander] sent word back on [Message] spell, shouting orders. They formed a double line, setting themselves.

He was here. The King of Destruction. Flos Reimarch regarded the force across his borders. He looked at Mars. His expression was intense. He was not happy.

News of Tiqr reached Reim as well as the rest of the world. Now—Mars looked around. Flos had not ridden here unaccompanied. Three hundred [Riders] flanked him, and Gazi, her main eye closed, had followed him. Flos jerked his head at Mars.

“My [Vanguard]. Ride with me.”

Nerrhavia’s forces reacted as Flos began to ride across the border of Reim. They pivoted, setting themselves, watching as Flos rode—not towards them but perpendicular. Just…riding.

He rode with Mars, Gazi, Venith, and Maresar at his back. Two of his Seven. Three hundred [Riders] followed him. And Nerrhavia’s army was silent.

If he charged, it would be forty-to-one. If you added the infantry, then thirteen-to-one. Still a vast difference in numbers. Some began to jeer, taunting the King of Destruction. He turned his head and they fell silent.

If he charged he’d forswear every oath. Fight a battle against thousands of Nerrhavia’s elite. The King of Destruction rode, turning his head, regarding his land. And Nerrhavia’s borders. In the distance were the garrisons, fortifications of actual stone. Beyond them, cities, garrisons of hundreds of thousands of warriors.

The King of Destruction paused. And he turned his horse towards Nerrhavia. For a moment he leaned on the saddle. And he stared past the army on the border. Then he turned and rode back the way he’d come. Without another word.

None of Nerrhavia’s warriors made a sound after that. The two armies withdrew further in silence. Mars, who remained, stared across the vast distance and leaned on the horse she’d borrowed. She heard nothing from the other army for a long time. They could have laughed. They could have jeered or taunted him. Her [King]. But if they had, neither she nor they were certain he wouldn’t have charged. He probably wouldn’t. But the world still watched.

“Remember that, you arrogant silk handkerchiefs.”

Mars spat in the dust. But she turned. He wouldn’t have charged. Her [King] had made up his mind. He just hated it.

—-

Tiqr was falling. And now, Erin could see it. Almost. In the dry, factual sentences, an entire empire breaking apart. People fleeing. An army reeling from—what? Defeat? No, just breaking under too many casualties. Giving ground. Pulling back. The citizens fleeing.

“Tiqr’s alliance with the local [Druid] factions collapses. Mass exodus west towards the Killale Steppes.”

Mrsha looked up at Erin. She was sitting on Erin’s lap, now. Watching Erin and Pisces’ faces more than understanding the abstract concepts. Erin looked at Pisces.

“I didn’t know they had [Druids]. Aren’t they solitary?”

“Some. But Tiqr is a place of animals. Why wouldn’t they have [Druids]?”

“They left yesterday. When I was at Esthelm.”

“Yes.”

—-

Empress Nsiia sat on her throne. She had not eaten. She had not moved. General Vasraf had taken to the front, to lead a retreat. She didn’t rise as the congregations of [Druids] entered the throne room. Nor when they told her she was leaving.

Thef was dead. Slain. Alked Fellbow, the Named Adventurer, had brought him down. Nsiia only moved once. And it was to look up. Wildkeeper Jvaile looked at her. The woman was a [Druid]. First of her circle.

“You are leaving.”

“Yes, Empress. We cannot remain. Half our circle has perished in this war. We have given all we can. No more. We are leaving.”

The Wildkeeper bowed. The other [Druids] knelt. Nsiia looked at her. Her throat worked; she coughed. Dry from lack of water. A servant hurried forwards and she drank from the bowl. She coughed again.

“Where?”

“The Killale Steppes. The Garuda tribes will allow our presence. Further still, perhaps. Empress. We beg your pardon—”

“Good. Take my people with you.”

Nsiia saw the Wildkeeper looked up. The Empress of Beasts moved. She looked out of her throne room.

“The herds too. The young. The elephants. All the animals. Take them with you. All that will go.”

Wildkeeper Jvaile hesitated.

“You intend to keep fighting, Empress?”

“Yes. This is Tiqr. We will not yield.”

The [Druid] hesitated. She was no politician.

“I have heard it said Savere extended an offer of surrender to Tiqr.”

“Yes. And Nerrhavia. Our surrender would be absolute. We would give our people to slavery.”

The [Empress]’s eyes flashed. The Siren would see her in chains, groveling. Nerrhavia’s Queen was little better. The Wildkeeper bowed her head. She and Nsiia were of one mind of her answer to that.

“Empress, this war cannot be won. The herds have fallen.”

“Yes.”

Thef. Was. Dead. The [Druid] paused.

“We will take the young. There are Grand Elephants young, and regular ones. They will not end. But—Empress—”

She looked up, meeting Nsiia’s hollow gaze.

“—the elephants have seen the blood. They know the death.”

Nsiia nodded. Elephants remembered.

“The elephant’s memory is long as ours. Longer, sometimes, I think. This is their home. And they will remember it forever.”

The [Druid] whispered. Some of her fellow Wildkeepers were stirring. They had wept for the dead of Tiqr. Animals. Ah—they had died for their home along with the people.

“Just so. But this war has changed them. Many of the young have felt the death of their kin. If they grow to maturity, they will be wild. They will remember death, Empress. Death, and what people have brought.”

“Mankillers.”

Another [Druid] murmured. He waited for a response. But all the Empress of Beasts did was reach for her side.

The war-mask was cracked. Fellbow had aimed for her head as well. Slowly, Nsiia put it on and rose. She looked down as Jvaile shuddered.

“The herds remember death? Then they remember it properly, Wildkeeper. As I live it. Tiqr will not forget these days so easily. I only hope that some remain to remember it. Go.”

They left. Nsiia walked through her throne room. Her honor guard fell in beside her. Over half of them had fallen. Only a few war elephants remained to Tiqr. The army had been beaten back again and again. Now the last citizens were choosing to fight.

Nsiia stood at steppes of her palace. She spoke from behind her bone mask, looking at each of her warriors in turn.

“If you wish it, you may leave with my blessing. If any so ask, let them go now.”

None of them moved. Nsiia nodded. She looked around.

“This is our home. We cannot leave it like the [Druids] do. For this land had been our home. It is our home. Can we surrender? Give ourselves to slavery? Let all that Tiqr has built fade without fighting to the last?”

No. In the silence, Nsiia raised her hand. She could see the Wildkeepers moving. They had already prepared a caravan. Better they go now. The [Empress of Beasts] raised her hand.

“[Empire: Wild Riot].”

—-

A detachment of Nerrhavian [Soldiers] paused as they patrolled Yov Oasis. This area was far from the front lines by now. And it had been taken, almost completely intact. Tiqr’s army had refused to fight near the oasis, refused to destroy it.

All the better for Nerrhavia. It would be some work establishing a foothold in Tiqr, but this oasis was worth more than gold to the Chandrarian kingdoms. It was a source of water, vital and precious. Which was why Nerrhavia had left a garrison here, to claim it before the end of the battle.

The [Commander] was still alert for guerilla strikes, though, for all even they had been pushed back to around Tiqr’s capital. He sat on horseback, talking to another [Mage] of the Silk caste. The [Mage] was frowning at the water.

“Something wrong?”

The [Mage] glanced up at the alert tone in the [Commander]’s voice. He chuckled and shook his head.

“Nothing magical, [Commander]. It is simply—I have never seen the quail-birds flying in that formation.”

He pointed. The Stitch-[Commander] looked and saw there were indeed a number of small quail flying in an odd spiral around the oasis. He frowned.

“Is that truly unusual?”

“Well, only insofar—”

The [Mage] got no further. Both Stitch-Men felt the Skill pass through the earth. It was a shudder, a lurch in his stomach. The [Commander] looked around.

“What was—”

Then he heard the shrieks. The quail dove, beaks open. They flew down, attacking his patrol. The [Commander] was so stunned at first he didn’t bring his shield up. Then the first beaks tore at his flesh, tearing at the silk of his body, drawing blood and pecking flesh that turned to thread.

“Dead gods! What’s—”

“Animal attack! Kill the birds!”

One of his officers screamed, and the Stitch-Warriors drew their blades. They began slashing at the birds, but they were everywhere and the blades were useless against so many. The [Commander] screamed at the [Mage].

“Cast a spell! Cast a spell!”

The Stitch-[Mage] was trying. He raised a hand and lightning burst outwards. Dozens of birds screamed and the lightning crackled off the [Commander]’s armor.

“[Lightning Bolt]! [Stone Arm—”

The [Mage]’s voice cut off in a scream of agony. The [Commander] turned. He didn’t see where the [Mage] was until he tripped over the fallen Stitch-Man. He was dead. His face was torn away, his eyeballs removed. The [Commander] raised his shield.

“Form up! Backs to each other!”

His warriors did. They slashed at the sky, shielding their eyes. Slowly, the birds fell. The last of them lay on the ground, and the Stitch-Warriors stomped, cursing. More than one was eyeless. That was only a temporary injury, but their faces had been torn apart. They would need to be sewn together.

But mostly, everyone was shaken. The [Commander] stared around. What had happened? Some—powerful [Druid] spell? A [Beast Master] nearby? Then he heard a shout.

“Commander! The horses have gone mad!”

“One patrol is under attack! From—termites!”

“The birds—”

“One of the pet parrots took the eye of—”

It was coming from across the camp. No—across Tiqr. [Messages] were pouring in of horses going insane, birds attacking—even the insects! The [Commander] listened, and then began to give orders.

“[Mages]. Any swarm of animals you see, destroy at range with spells. Understood? Kill every animal you see. Every last one.”

He shuddered. The Stitch-Warriors stared at him. But the [Commander] didn’t have anything else to say. Tiqr had gone mad. The Empress of Beasts—

—-

Stood alone. She watched as the last of the animals fled. Not all of them had listened to her Skill. But those that weren’t were fleeing. It was a choice. It was always a choice.

Like this one. She stood on her palace, addressing her soldiers. They were fortifying the gates and walls of her city, trying to build them up. This would be their last stand. The war elephants blew their trumpeting calls, screams of fury. But not yet. Not yet. The other nations would surround this place. And then it would be the truest end.

They wanted her to surrender. Savere’s Siren had threats of how Nsiia would live. Queen Yisame of Nerrhavia offered more amicable terms. Nsiia left the letters unopened. They had made their decision. And so had she.

“For generations, this has been our land. When he rode through Tiqr with his armies and a force large enough to topple nations, my father sat here. On this very throne. And he dared the King of Destruction to take Tiqr, for we would bleed him to the last. Instead, the King of Destruction offered us an alliance and we followed him to war because he left our home ours. Do we bend now, and let them tear this land apart, each nation devouring a piece? Will they leave anything that is us?”

Her army stood before her. Waiting, knowing the answer. Nsiia shook her head. She raised her headdress. Only the Roc’s feather was left. One last battle.

“Never. Let them crawl over the dead to claim this place. We do not bow to these traitorous monsters. We offered no war. All we did was remember friendship. So let us die. Tiqr will be empty before it falls.”

They screamed at her words. And Nsiia raised her spear. Soon. These other nations would count this victory in the blood of their own. Tiqr would fight to the last before it fell.

But it was falling.

—-

The end of the updates was sobering. Erin sat at the table and read the last lines in silence with Pisces.

Tiqr’s army retreats to the capital, Oliphant. Illivere’s army begins a siege. Savere’s army moves to reinforce. Nerrhavia’s army moves to reinforce.

The Laughing Brigade is defeated in battle by a joint attack led by Savere and Nerrhavian forces supplemented by soldiers from Deimos and Relaaquil.

[Druids] fleeing Tiqr confirmed to have left the border. Large number of animals and people in company. No pursuit given.

That was today. Today, the siege had begun. Erin looked at Pisces. He raised his brows. Reached for a last slice of blue fruit.

It was breakfast. And all this war was so far away. Erin was now caught up on Tiqr. But what happened next? She stared at the parchment.

“So we don’t know what happens next?”

“Presumably, the other armies would initiate the final battle. If not today, then certainly tomorrow. Tiqr will no doubt have a final stand, but they lack the ah, position for a protracted siege. Few walls, you see, no choke points. I imagine today or tomorrow we will receive news of Tiqr’s fall. Quite interesting that the King of Destruction never intervened. But in the end, I suppose it was not expedient.”

The [Necromancer] sighed as he chewed and swallowed. Erin nodded slowly. She blinked down, and then frowned.

“Hold on, we’ve missed something.”

“What?”

Pisces blinked. Erin pointed at a little note at the very bottom of the parchment.

“It says there was an addendum to the report about the Laughing Brigade. But it was extra and you didn’t pay it. See?”

The young man leaned over the parchment.

“An addendum at extra cost? They bothered to write this, but not include the actual information? What did I pay for? I specifically requested all information! The Mage’s Guild does not decide what is superfluous to my interests!”

Pisces was outraged. He stood up. Erin stood up with him.

“Yeah! What happened with them? Can we find out?”

“I intend to.”

The [Necromancer] straightened his robes huffily. He stalked towards the door to Liscor and Erin followed him. Lyonette looked up.

“Erin. Where are you going? I need you in the kitchen.”

The [Innkeeper]’s shoulders hunched. She looked over her shoulder and then hurried Pisces out the door.

“Ican’thearyougottagoI’mwithPiscesbye!”

“Erin!”

Lyonette got up, but Erin had already swung the door closed. The [Princess] scowled, but sat back down as Mrsha scampered over to her.

“She’s going to be making food all day when she gets back.”

—-

“Excuse me. What exactly do you call this?”

The [Scribe] working day-shift at the Mage’s Guild looked up as Pisces thrust the parchment in front of her. She was a Gnoll, which surprised Erin for someone working in the Mage’s Guild—until she saw the ink stains on the Gnoll’s fur. The [Scribe] sighed.

“What? Sir.”

She seemed to know Pisces, from the snappish tone she had. Pisces sniffed.

“I requested all the relevant news on Tiqr, did I not? What is this—this extortionate nonsense about an addendum?”

The Gnoll bared her teeth at him as she sat up at her desk.

“Exactly what it says. Sir. The addendum is not necessarily verifiable, but it is being offered by the Mage’s Guild. Which is why it was not included. If you would like to read it, I can easily copy you the relevant information.”

Pisces paused huffily. Erin peeked around behind him. The Mage’s Guild wasn’t a place she used often.

“I suppose that would be acceptable. How much?”

“One silver coin and two copper.”

“One silver coin? That is more than I paid for the information on Tiqr! Preposterous!”

The outraged voice made the other employees and visitors looked around. Erin winced, but Pisces was in full indignation mode. He placed both hands on the counter and tried to glare at the Gnoll. She was taller than he was and just narrowed her eyes.

“One silver coin and two copper is the price…sir. The length of the report alone justifies the cost. Do you want it or not?”

Pisces hesitated. Erin poked him in the side. That was a very Gnollish action. She smiled at the Gnoll [Scribe] apologetically.

“Sorry about him. Pisces, just pay her!”

“It’s an indignity!”

“You don’t even know what it says. Pay her! And say sorry!”

“Very well, but if it is not sufficiently worthy of the price…”

Pisces passed the coins over. Then, when Erin poked him harder, muttered what might have been an apology. The Gnoll smiled at Erin, who smiled back, and reached for a quill. She produced a roll of parchment, placed it on a writing board and clamped it, then picked up another bit of parchment and began to copy with a practiced hand. Erin was impressed; the Gnoll’s writing was very good and very fast! Pisces just sniffed and folded his arms, the picture of pique.

When she was done, the Gnoll [Scribe] lifted her quill, blew on the ink, and handed it to Erin, not Pisces.

“Thank you!”

Erin beamed at her, and pulled Pisces out of line. She investigated the parchment. It was, much to her surprise, packed with writing. More like a page from a book than the factual reports. She whistled.

“Hey Pisces, look at this! It’s a lot of writing.”

Pisces stopped harrumphing long enough to look at the parchment. He blinked and snatched it from Erin.

“Hey!”

“Strange. This isn’t a typical report verified by the Mage’s Guild. What is this?”

“Uh—can I see?”

Erin peeked over Pisces’ shoulder. He absently lowered it and both read together. The parchment was strange. Stranger to Pisces than Erin; after a moment, she understood what was so familiar about it to her.

*The Mage’s Guild takes no responsibility for the authenticity of this information.

Laughing Brigade’s end marks another ‘complete victory’ against Tiqr

Today, the Laughing Brigade, one of Tiqr’s final remaining forces not withdrawn around their capital of Oliphant was defeated in battle. The estimated eight hundred remaining [Soldiers] and hyenas that made up the Laughing Brigade were cornered in the canyon known as Heda’s Valley by a combined force of warriors led by the nations of Savere and Nerrhavia’s Fallen.

The Laughing Brigade, once a designated ‘Unit’ numbering just over three thousand, had fought an ongoing war of attrition with the nations invading Tiqr, launching a number of surprise attacks on enemy forces thanks to their mobility and unique effect—maddening, deafening, or simply infectious laughter that was due to the Empress of Beast’s Skill.

After nearly a month of successful fighting, they were at last cornered as Tiqr’s remaining army withdraws to the capital. Surrounded and unable to retreat, a combined army of Savere’s irregulars and Nerrhavian elites of the Silk-caste, the Laughing Brigade fought and perished to the last soldier. There were no survivors or captives.

These are the facts of the matter, which have been reported via Mage’s Guild to the rest of the world. They were indisputable, easily verifiable via [Detect Lies] spell as an absolute truth. However, they fail to tell the story of Tiqr, which has not been reported on for the duration of the conflict, a little less than a month’s worth of fighting.

You may have read that the Laughing Brigade was defeated. Crushed utterly by a superior force. That is a summation of the events that does not reflect the reality I witnessed. It is the line the anti-Tiqr alliance wishes to propagate.

I witnessed the end of the Laughing Brigade. They were indeed cornered by Savere and Nerrhavian troops. Worn down, depleted from weeks of fighting and without supply or reinforcement, they were offered no quarter and sought none themselves. They died, with their backs to the cliffs. But they did not die easily.

Throughout the night, I was able to hear the fighting take place as the Laughing Brigade made its last stand. I was unable to move closer due to the active spellcasting and danger to myself, but I was able to hear quite well from afar.

Heda’s Valley was alight with magelight and the flashes of magic. I heard laughter throughout the night sometimes mixed with the screams. Not normal laughter either; I was forced to stay at a great remove lest my ears begin to bleed or I suffer the auditory hallucinations and madness gripping some of the [Soldiers] on the front.

The final battle took place over four hours, despite the vastly-outnumbered brigade’s forces, due to them holding the treacherous rocks leading up to the backdrop of the canyon. Walking among the bodies in the light of day, I count only their bodies; the rest have been removed.

There is no way of knowing how many Saverian or Nerrhavian forces fell, but gaps within their lines leads me to estimate that at least a thousand Nerrhavian [Soldiers] were killed or otherwise wounded. Savere is harder to estimate, but their ranks seem equally thinned.

This is one of the final landmark victories in the war against Tiqr. The Laughing Brigade, while never numerous, constituted a decisive force in the field due to their unique abilities. However, I can count no smiles here, among Savere’s irregular forces comprised of what I understand to be [Bandits], [Pirates], and other rogue elements. Instead, they swear as I pass, clutching ears still bloody, or sit in silence, not in the raucous good spirits I witnessed during the first stages of the war.

Their excellence in raiding and experience in night-fighting, ambushes, and so on has not prepared them for the ferocity of Tiqr’s warriors or its animals. Even Nerrhavia’s countless forces cannot celebrate overloud; many Stitch-Warriors were torn to shreds despite their superior arms and numbers. This was a victory, but, like much of Tiqr’s defeat, has come at what these other nations must surely feel is too high a cost.

I am unable to secure an interview with the leaders of either force, however, the [Soldiers] willing to gossip with me inform me that the final battle on Oliphant, Tiqr’s capital, is not one they look forwards to. Most of the Grand Elephants that have plagued Tiqr’s foes are now fallen, and Tiqr’s army is a remnant of itself. However, it is the belief of all present that Tiqr’s citizens will join their army and fight to the last.

Oliphant, before the war, was estimated at a population of four hundred thousand, small perhaps for a capital city, but the thought of even a hundred thousand [Soldiers] willing to fight an enduring siege battle without quarter seems to evoke fear in even the most battle-hardened [Soldier]. They have seen how far Tiqr is willing to go, and one [Sergeant] from Nerrhavia expresses his desire not to be sent to the final siege. He is in fact hopeful the siege will end before he is called with his squad to the front, but his resigned tone makes it clear to me that he fears this will not be the case.

It seems this is Tiqr’s last hour, and it may indeed pass only as a news snippet in the eyes of the world, a summary fact of defeat. However, from the front lines, it is clear that regardless of the King of Destruction’s involvement, Tiqr has proven to be far more costly than any of its opponents ever dreamed it could be.

I will attempt to journey to Oliphant to report on the end of Tiqr, although I fear my articles have now attracted a bounty on my own head. If the final siege is half as costly as the end of the Laughing Brigade, it is small wonder the allied nations hesitate before bringing the final battle to the Empress of Beasts.

Whatever the case, Tiqr’s legacy will be one of bloodshed—one not soon forgotten by the other nations who may indeed be watching their borders for fear of becoming a second Tiqr.

Signing off,

–Rémi Canada, [Reporter].

The piece of parchment stayed in Pisces’ hands another moment. And then he turned it over and looked at the backside. Erin was frozen where she stood. Pisces sniffed.

“Well, I suppose that was an interesting tale. Unverified, of course. No wonder the price I suppose; the [Scribe] did not undersell the cost given how much writing needed to be done. I er, probably should apologize. But—fascinating. This person did more reports? I wonder why—I should be delighted to hear their take on the start of the war.”

He chuckled, rubbing his hands together with academic interest. Erin was still frozen. She stared down at the name as Pisces turned the page over again.

“Canada.”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Interesting name I suppose. And [Reporter]—similar to [Crier] I think? Odd, but certainly fascinating! If what they say is true, I imagine these other nations are attempting to keep this blunder secret. I can only imagine this fellow has a sizeable bounty, as they said. Or is it female? Fascinating indeed…”

Pisces’ chuckle stopped as he noticed the look on Erin’s face. She was pale, suddenly, and he saw her lips shaping a word.

Canada. It was such a…people didn’t have that as a last name. Did they? In this world? No, how could it be that kind of coincidence? And that class.

[Reporter]. Erin stared at the parchment. Then she looked up. She started as she saw Pisces looking at her.

“I—uh—Canada? No, I was just saying, what a weird name. Canada. Sounds, foreign, doesn’t it?”

She stumbled over her words, unable to fake anything. The [Necromancer] paused. But then he raised his eyebrows nonchalantly, pretending not to notice her expression or the way she looked.

“It may be vaguely Chandrarian. But—what is a name, after all?”

“Yeah. Yeah. But it’s um, amazing work. Journalism. I mean—amazing.”

“Yes it is.”

Pisces watched Erin’s face. She reached for the parchment, hesitated, and then snatched it, affecting a casual grin.

“Hey! We should find the other things this person wrote, huh? Isn’t it interesting? It makes the war come to life!”

“It does at that.”

Erin hesitated.

“…Do you think people can send [Messages] to this person? I mean, obviously they must have access to the Mage’s Guild if they’re able to send this around, right?”

She looked so hopeful. So desperate. Pisces paused. He turned his head for a moment, responded casually.

“I would not.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged.

“This…[Reporter] has undoubtedly incurred the wrath of all the nations mentioned in this article. It would be unwise to contact them on an unsecured [Message] spell sent through the Mage’s Guild. They read your correspondence. Believe me.”

“Oh. Right.”

Erin deflated. Pisces hesitated, and then carefully placed a hand on her shoulder. She looked up, but he only smiled slightly, and then tilted his head upwards and sniffed.

“I suppose we could read more of these ah, articles. They are interesting and provide a different take on Chandrar! Perhaps this character will report on the end. And no doubt one might find out more about them. I certainly would like to know more about this class.”

“Yes. Yes, let’s ask.”

Pisces walked Erin back into the Mage’s Guild. Thinking hard. And he was far from the only one. The news article that cost so much hadn’t been read—much. At first. But like a growing wave, it had traction. The [Necromancer] and [Innkeeper] weren’t the only ones poring over the words that day.

—-

Archmage Feor put down the newspaper and looked at his aide, Teura. The half-Elf focused on the name.

“Canada. One of the countries from the other world. Send a team to find this Remi and retrieve them. Before they are assassinated or taken captive.”

“At once, Archmage. Should the team be ready for conflict?”

“Yes. The Siren of Songs is furious. As are a number of other rulers who have become aware of the article. The Mage’s Guilds are not being subtle about how they advertise this…journalism. Send word—carefully—to instruct the Mage’s Guilds not to reveal the location of this [Reporter].”

“Yes, Archmage.”

Teura bowed slightly. Feor looked down at the article. Of course, he knew what was going on even if he hadn’t read the news. But the concept of someone simply going into a warzone and…telling people what was happening? Everyone? Not a [Spy], or [Informant]?

“A strange concept.”

And bothersome. Archmage Feor rose with a sigh. This was Tiqr’s final hour indeed. And the Empress of Beasts still had not tried to contact the King of Destruction. If she did, it would be now. Wistram was watching.

—-

But for now there was only silence. Empress Nsiia sat on her throne, waiting. Her army and her people waited, as the armies gathered outside her home. Her city was silent before the end. The Empress of Beasts paused.

“General Vasraf. The scrying mirror. Bring it to me. It is time Flos Reimarch and I spoke.”

The man started. He looked up, wearily, war-torn. He raised his voice angrily, furiously, even.

“Now? At this hour? It is too late, Empress.”

Nsiia raised her head.

“I know that. But it was too late the moment the other nations declared war. He and I knew that. Bring me the mirror. It is not for Tiqr’s salvation I ask. But to make an end to this. He could not save Tiqr. But he can give me destruction.”

Vasraf looked at his [Empress]. Then he bowed silently. The Empress of Beasts sat on her throne. She looked ahead, east.

—-

And there he stood. Silent, staring out across his nation. The same article fluttered from Flos Reimarch’s grasp. He let it float to the floor and turned. He leaned across the window, looking across Reim. Staring blankly, remembering a girl who laughed and rode a little elephant around, decades past. Flos, the King of Destruction stared out the window. After a moment he looked up.

“It’s raining.”

6.53 K

He had rather liked her. But that seldom mattered. Sometimes, he thought that Chandrar was, of all the continents, the most foolish. Not because their people were the most impoverished, the most warlike, or their cultures any more backwards than those of other nations.

All you had to do was look at Izril’s divided continent, or Baleros’ endemic wars or even the hidebound orders of [Knights] in Terandria. Rhir alone was built on a stubborn refusal to abandon a battle without victory. No, what separated Chandrar was ego.

He had liked Nsiia, though they had talked so briefly. But he could admire her kingdom. What it had been. Yet, where she erred was simply in refusing to bow. That was Chandrar’s issue. It’s leaders could be humble, or proud, and pride clashed with pride until only one was left. And that left only expediency.

Magus-Crafter Femithain was tired. Tired of blood and gore. Tired of death, of hounding a foe almost as stubborn as the Golems he crafted. But it was the end. Evening was falling as he stood on the plains surrounding Oliphant, the capital of Tiqr.

The city was built upon one of the few natural rivers in this region, which had given Tiqr its life. It had fed the city. Now, the river was dammed, to starve the defenders of water. And the city’s gates were barred, the sandstone walls held. But it seemed a paltry army compared to the one outside the city.

From where he stood in the coalition’s camp, Femithain could see the vast Nerrhavian army. Nearly three hundred thousand strong; replenished after General Thelican had realized Tiqr would not roll over easily. The Magus-Crafter could also see into Oliphant; his spectacles magnified, zooming in on a crowd of civilians. Badly-armed, being shown the basics of holding a spear.

He grimaced. Oliphant hadn’t been fully evacuated. When the coalition’s army went over the walls—and they would—it might be a slaughter.

“If you had but condemned him…”

Femithain fell silent. Perhaps it would have changed nothing. Tiqr might have been offered up anyways, a target simply by association with the King of Destruction. But even now, they had not begged for Reim’s help. They had not declared themselves for Flos. It made monsters of the armies invading Tiqr; gave them no cause for war. Femithain was well aware of the hypocrisy, but it was join forces or be made a target. And Illivere was not a nation that stood alone.

Still, if these were regrets, they had been had before. Femithain walked through the Nerrhavian camp. He was challenged four times by [Soldiers], the closer he came to the center. But they recognized him and waved him past.

The heart of Nerrhavia’s camp was little like the military discipline of the outside. Slaves and servants attended to the officers, who lounged about, chatting, enjoying themselves while their [Soldiers] attended to the needs of their army. It fit with Nerrhavia’s system; authority was rewarded.

Thus, Femithain only had to steer himself towards the largest tent. Even the war-tent wasn’t as large as General Thelican’s quarters. The magical cloth rustled and warm air—warm instead of the night’s slight chill—instantly surrounded the Magus-Crafter. Femithain looked around.

General Thelican was reclining on a sofa, brought by a bag of holding, attended to by eight servants. He was not alone; a number of his officers were conversing with him. Silk-caste, superior in movement and appearance, if not quite as sturdy as the Stitch-Warriors made of Hemp. Femithain knew he was plain compared to them.

“Magus-Crafter! Ah, your army has arrived. Come! Sit! Any refreshments you wish, partake.”

General Thelican saw Femithain and waved a languid arm. The Magus-Crafter saw two [Slaves] hurry towards him. He paused, and his eyes flicked to the side. A man was crouched in the wide tent, the only other person not reclining. Or rather, a male.

He too was a Stitch-Person, but his skin was rough. Not quite hemp; some thick, plant fiber perhaps. It gave him a rugged, tough look, but the utility clearly set him apart from the silk-fleshed loungers. He was an outcast. But too important to eject from the tent.

Femithain saw the Named Adventurer was crouching over a pot with his gear arrayed in front of him. He was flexing his bow, dipping ivory arrows into the little black pot beside him. Alked Fellbow looked up, his glittering armor—made of the scales of a Basilisk if Femithain was any judge—reflecting the light. He nodded and Femithain inclined his head. And then the leader of Illivere approached the [General].

“General Thelican. My greetings.”

“Magus-Crafter.”

General Thelican did hail from Nerrhavia, but he was respectful of Femithain’s position and sat up to nod to him. Femithain paused as another sofa was arranged in the circle, but he adopted the same lounging position as the Stitch-People. It was not comfortable to Femithain, but it was far more courteous than insisting on sitting.

“I trust you arrived without ambush?”

“Surprisingly, yes. The animals have all fled, it seems. Those that were not eradicated.”

Femithain made small-talk for a moment, but he and Thelican had spoken enough to be comfortable in each other’s presence. Or at least, Thelican assumed that was true. The [General] nodded after Femithain had been given food and drink; he did not wish to be hand-fed.

“It is good of you to join us. We are about to assail Oliphant and your Golems are a key component in my plan of attack.”

“So it will be an attack?”

That was news to Femithain. The coalition had been hesitating. Oliphant was hardly a bastion, but the Empress of Beast’s army would still hold the walls. Thelican grimaced.

“It may be costly, but I have orders, you see?

“Ah. Say no more.”

Queen Yisame, then. Thelican nodded, shrugging casually.

“Costly, but I assure you, my Hemp [Soldiers] will take the first wave at the walls. In truth, I would not consider it amiss for Illivere to hold back its foot soldiers; I have only need of your Golems.”

He glanced up and Femithain nodded. A little favor. Thelican crooked a finger and a [Slave]—Garuda—rushed forwards with a bowl. He choose some nuts, and they were fed to him as he went on.

“We may struggle on the walls, yes, so my [Strategists] tell me. But the Empress of Beasts has no cards left to play. We count eighteen of her Grand Elephants left, virtually none of her [Mages]—the Laughing Brigade was destroyed last night, did you hear?”

“I did. It was a remarkable victory. But not it seems, entirely bloodless.”

Thelican’s face twisted in displeasure. He turned and another bowl was brought for him to spit discretely into. The nuts were suddenly no longer appetizing.

“Ah. That’s the second thing. These—articles. And this [Reporter] who seems to be interviewing [Soldiers]. Have you any idea where they are? Queen Yisame is rather upset about this person, and she has commanded me to find them. Naturally, I leap to her word, but I am fighting a war at the moment.”

He looked irate, as well he might be. Femithain had a copy of the articles and they were astoundingly accurate to what was really going on in Tiqr’s war. It was embarrassing, if not to him personally than the Siren of Savere and Nerrhavia’s [Queen], Yisame. He paused.

“Not personally, General Thelican. Surely locating one outsider is not a difficult task?”

Thelican waved an angry hand, grasping for a goblet of wine.

“You’d imagine so! However, this person seems to be untraceable. Their face? None of my officers can recall it! And they have a rather attractive personality, or so it seems. Skills. I’ve of a mind to set Adventurer Fellbow on the trail, but—”

He looked pointedly at the Named Adventurer. Alked Fellbow raised his head and replied in a gravelly voice.

“I’m not being paid to hunt down civilians. I was contracted for one war. Altering my contract requires a substantial fee.”

“…So he says.”

Thelican dismissed the Named Adventurer with a flick of the fingers. He shook his head, drinking deeply.

“I’ll find this person after the siege is done. They’ll have little to report but our victory in any case! I’ve drawn up our plan of attack. Interested?”

“Mildly.”

Thelican waved another hand; maps were produced and held up by his attendants. He pointed, and Femithain saw.

“We wait for every army to assemble before beginning the siege. A classic envelopment, I think. The walls will not give us much trouble, so I intend to overwhelm the defenders with sheer numbers rather than attack from any one side. I’d prefer to starve out a surrender, to be frank. But Oliphant’s stores might last them weeks, or even months depending on how well-stocked their larders are.”

“You imagine so?”

Thelican shrugged.

“Their city might well be empty save for their army. Hundreds of thousands have already fled west. And more to Pomle. I can’t imagine any would stay in the city knowing what’s coming!”

Some of his officers laughed. Femithain paused. He had seen civilians training, but he nodded anyways. It still wouldn’t matter; Thelican was adopting a simple, but effective tactic. There would be ten full armies assailing Oliphant from all sides. Nerrhavia alone could probably take it over a protracted siege. All together…

“Not to worry, Magus-Crafter. Ere tomorrow, we shall toast each other from Oliphant’s palace, such as it is. And I intend to keep Illivere’s forces back from the fighting! Note the Golems? Your Golems will storm the southern gates, take out any elephants, but you and your [Soldiers] will be well clear of the fighting. Unless you’d prefer to send some in to level them? I can arrange that.”

Thelican mistook Femithain’s scrutiny of the battle plans for worry. Femithain shook his head. he was no [Strategist], but he had noticed some irregularities within Thelican’s plan.

“Illivere’s place is well-set, General Thelican. I was more interested in the positioning of the other armies. I notice Savere is positioned without major support to the west flank. Little [Mage] or [Archer] cover save for their own forces. And no siege ladders.”

The Stitch-[General] paused, and quickly hid his surprise by another gulp of wine.

“Ah, well, Savere’s [Bandit Lady]—dreadful class—has made the same protest. But I am the commanding [General]. And Savere will do well enough alone. They are [Scoundrels] and [Rogues] and so forth, used to city-fighting. In truth, Magus-Crafter, it’s all to do with the conclusion of the battle. The Empress of Beasts. Another order, you see.”

Femithain’s didn’t have to think.

“You want her alive.”

Thelican paused.

“Alive, most certainly. And it would please me if you would give the same orders to your forces. I have…a plan of battle that involves sending your Golems and some of my elite warriors through the gaps first to secure the Empress of Beasts. Now, I believe the Siren wishes Empress Nsiia alive, but in her grasp. Queen Yisame, our radiant leader, has given me an order to take her first. A matter of pride for Nerrhavia, so it must be.”

The other officers nodded and murmured their agreement. They were all watching Femithain to see if he objected. His nation was comparable to Savere’s after all, and while Nerrhavia was the giant of their coalition, Femithain’s objections could be—tricky. He was a leader of his nation and technically outranked General Thelican. However, the Magus-Crafter only nodded politely.

“I have no objections, General Thelican. I am merely surprised Queen Yisame wishes her enemy captured. Given Tiqr’s resistance.”

The [General] relaxed and laughed.

“Our [Queen] loves trophies, Magus-Crafter! And the Empress of Beasts? Better a royal prisoner or personal slave of Nerrhavia than one of Savere’s lot. It would be merciful. Perhaps she’d even be awarded to me for my efforts! Ah, but one does not dream too mightily.”

He tapped the side of his nose. Femithain looked at him. And he imagined the proud [Empress] who’d dared to speak her mind in chains. No wonder Tiqr had held until the point of annihilation. You couldn’t cage a beast. They had the spark Golems lacked. But that was what he thought. And Femithain seldom said what he thought. So he nodded, politely, and did what was best for Illivere.

“No doubt. Then let us toast your—excuse me—our victory, General Thelican.”

He’d thought he’d laid it on too thickly. But the [General] beamed and raised his own cup, calling Femithain his Stitch-Brother, a high compliment for a flesh-based person to receive. And Femithain waited for dawn, drinking lightly. He had a feeling the Empress of Beasts would not fall quietly. And he was right.

—-

Reim.

The King of Destruction sat in his quarters, the drapes to his balcony pulled back. The rich fabric was pulled back, the doors thrown open. And the balcony was wet.

It was raining. The sky was dark, the clouds overfull. And from the sky, rain fell, soaking the arid lands of Reim. The King of Destruction watched the rain falling, sitting still in his chair.

He was an imposing man. The image of a [King] of old, his hair red and gold, his eyes emerald-green. His hands, more used to reins or a sword, rested on the arms of his chair. And he was still. Waiting.

Someone knocked on the door to his room. Flos Reimarch looked up. Instantly, he spoke, shifting his posture.

“Enter.”

A young girl entered the room. She was young—far younger than he was. She bore a sword on her hip and wore the same light clothing as he did—and nearly as rich. Flos smiled as he saw her looking at him.

“Oh. Teresa, come in. I was expecting someone else.”

“Really? Who?”

Teres, or Teresa Atwood, one of the two twins from Earth, and the King of Destruction’s personal aides, servants, bodyguards, or perhaps, hostages, walked into the room. She was familiar with Flos, and not afraid of him. If anything, she was somewhat challenging, in tone of voice and posture. She was holding something in her hands. Flos glanced at it, puzzled.

“A [Message]. Or perhaps a conversation. What’s that you’re holding?”

“A pot.”

“I see.”

Flos was distracted. He glanced back to the window again. Teres waited. She knew he wanted to ask about the pot, but he’d been like this lately. Hence Gazi not-so-subtly encouraging Teres to snap him out of it. She’d done her best, but in truth, the King of Destruction was simply melancholic today.

The war in Tiqr had dominated the last month, and the King of Destruction’s mood. But his ill-tempered fury and restlessness had given way to a somber, quiet mood these last few days. He exhaled, staring out the window.

“I’m admiring the rain, Teresa. Come, sit. Is it not a wonderful sight?”

Teres raised an eyebrow, but she went over and pulled over a chair. Flos blinked and Teres blushed; she was dragging it through what was this world’s equivalent of a Persian rug. He didn’t seem to really care, but Teres hurriedly lifted the chair up and carried it over to him. She sat and looked out the window. After a moment she coughed.

“It’s been raining. For days. Is it that rare in Reim?”

“Out of season? Unheard of. It’s a beautiful sight, no matter how many times I see it.”

Flos was unmoved by her lack of awe. He watched it rain. After a moment, Teres lifted the pot.

“Look at this.”

The King of Destruction stared at the little pot. It was clay, fired from some oven and given some carvings along the bottom. Not a fine work; some apprentice’s piece. It was also filled with dirt. Something green was poking out of the top. A broad-headed leaf. Flos eyed it.

“Is that a Yellat stalk?”

“Yup. Want to see how big it is?”

Flos hesitated, but Teres was tempting him. He paused, then pulled at the stalk. It came up and both he and Teres exclaimed at the large, fat Yellat. The spicy-tasting, vaguely tubular roots were usually long and narrow, but this one hadn’t been able to grow in the pot, so it had curled up on itself.

“What an unusual shape!”

The [King] was highly amused. He shook dirt off the Yellat, onto the aforementioned rich carpet and stone floor. Teres winced, but the [Servants] could probably get it out. And Flos’ laugh was worth the dirt. He stared at it, bemused.

“Are you attempting to be a [Gardener], Teres? There’s little potential for war in the [Gardener] class, I’ll have you know. Although my [Gardener], Tottenval, could grow the most wondrous of plants. Ah, but if he’d been here, Reim would be blooming eternally.”

He sighed. Teres hurriedly pointed to the Yellat to keep him from backsliding into gloom.

“I planted this seven days ago in my room. I watered it, but I didn’t do anything other than put it by my window. Look how big it is.”

“Yes indeed. Quite tasty. I have a mind to eat it. But of course, Yellats taste horrible raw. I’ll hand it to one of my [Chefs] and have it for dinner. Or a snack.”

Flos good-naturedly tossed it back into the bowl. Teres cleared her throat meaningfully.

“It grew in seven days. Don’t Yellats take…longer?”

“Seventy days. It’s just as well our growing seasons are so long. And that Chandrar has little to no winter. But they don’t take much water. What of it?”

Teres folded her arms. Flos paused.

“Oh, well, I told you. I issued an Edict. The [Edict of Bloom]. Hence…that.”

Flos waved a lazy hand. Teres stared out the window. She knew what Edicts were. A [King]’s order that could encompass a kingdom. But she hadn’t thought it would be this powerful.

“Is that why it’s still raining?”

“Most likely, most likely. It’s a happy surprise. It saves my [Farmers] the issue of watering. Their only complaint is that it’s too wet for some crops to crow. Happily, Yellats only get fatter with water. They’re harvesting quickly! They have Skills on top of their natural abilities, Teres. I dare say their Yellats might be as long as my leg!”

He laughed at the thought, then frowned.

“The [Edict of Bloom] will fill Reim’s storehouses. But we must be careful not to overstretch. The soil’s lost some of its potency from all this growing. The [Farmers] are telling Orthenon they must switch crops after this next harvest. I don’t suppose you recall anything more of this crop rotation? My [Farmers] say they have a good system—and of course, some have Skills that replenish the dirt, but…”

He looked at Teres. She could only shrug unhelpfully.

“Sorry. I never grew anything back home.”

“Ah, well. The rain is good enough. I’m glad we could collect so much water as well; it will help for the dry seasons and campaigns.”

The King of Destruction looked pleased. Teres just raised an eyebrow.

“About that. I thought the [Edict of Bloom] only affected plants. That’s what Trey told me you said to him.”

Flos laughed.

“So did I! But the last time I used it was…ah, twenty levels ago. As I said, Teres. Edicts wear at a kingdom. I try not to use them unless I have need for them. I suppose I’ve become a stronger [King] since then.”

“Wait. So last time you used it, you only got plants to grow faster?”

“And babies to be born quicker. Better harvests. Hm. Energized citizens. Yes, that was what happened last time. No rain.”

“So leveling up gives your edict more power?”

“Only naturally.”

Flos looked like he was explaining why the ground was the ground to a child. Teres stared at him. He elaborated.

“Come now, I’ve taught you about Skills and classes, haven’t I? Why is it a surprise that your level affects the strength of your Skills? Have you ever seen a [Lady] use [Deft Hand]? Well, most of them fled Reim when I entered my slumber. I’ll try to find one and have them show you an example.”

“What can a [Lady] do?”

Teres watched Flos perch the cup with dirt in it by the edge of the table. He flicked his wrist at it. The cup didn’t move.

“See that? [Deft Hand] lets you reach out and touch something. At low levels, say, Level 10, you can knock over something like that cup, or stop one from falling. Useful, in…tea circles, but not for most other things, correct?”

Teres nodded dutifully. Flos leaned back; the poor cup nearly fell over on its own as he nudged the table.

“However, I have heard that during war, high-level [Ladies] can divert a shower of arrows, even change the direction of a cavalry charge. At least, if someone like Orthenon isn’t leading them or Maresar isn’t shooting the arrows.”

“Really?”

“Of course. Have you seen the [Warriors] practicing with [Power Strike]? Ask Mars to do the same and stand back! Strength lies in your level, Teres. Why do you think half the world is so afraid of me and my little kingdom? Then again, strength is also in magical items. Spells. Sheer numbers. Gold.”

Flos sighed again. Teres bit her lip. He was thinking of Tiqr again.

He’d promised not to go to war. Unless a nation gave Reim just cause, the King of Destruction would not make war without reason. That was what Flos had promised, but that had led to other nations declaring war on Tiqr, one of the few countries even remotely sympathetic towards him. It had been nearly a month and Flos hadn’t gone to Tiqr’s aid.

He wanted to, Teres and Trey could see it in every line of his being, the way he hung on reports from Tiqr and discussed strategy with Gazi and Orthenon when he returned from managing Hellios on occasion. But he couldn’t intervene, not without breaking his promise. And that might lead to every nation in Chandrar attacking Reim.

Teres was about to suggest Flos eat the Yellat, or show her one of his Skills, but the King of Destruction had turned to look out the window. She expected him to make some other rain-related comment, but suddenly, he sat up and pointed.

“Look. My people are returning.”

The King of Destruction stood as Teres turned. In the distance, buffeted by the rain, she could see…Teres had to squint. Her eyes weren’t nearly as good as Flos’, but she saw a thin line through the drizzle at last.

“Another group?”

“It looks that way. They’re coming from the north. They must be exhausted.”

“The patrols probably already spotted them.”

Teres was sure of it; no one would have made it this far without being seen, but the King of Destruction was already turning. He clapped his hands once.

“Your Majesty?”

The door instantly opened and a [Servant] appeared. Flos turned.

“…Mizzi?”

“Yes, your Majesty!”

The woman beamed. Flos nodded, smiling.

“Send someone to escort my people into the city. [Healers] should ride out—and [Riders] with wagons to carry them if there are young or old amongst them. Have the [Chefs] prepare food! Oh, and cook this, will you? I want to eat it.”

“At once, sire!”

The [Servant] didn’t even look twice at the Yellat that Flos handed her, although she did notice Teres’ dirty cup. But she rushed out, and another [Servant] replaced her.

“Will there be anything else, your Majesty? Shall I send someone to remove the dirt or cup…?”

“Leave the dirt for later. Do you want your cup back, Teres?”

“Take it.”

The [Servant] bowed. Teres found herself alone with the King of Destruction once more. He sat back down; already, someone was riding out from Reim’s gates towards the group of refugees.

“From all across Chandrar they are coming, Teres. It almost makes the news of Tiqr easier to swallow. This is my peace. My people return to me. Do you see?”

Teres nodded. It was one of hundreds of such caravans that had come to Reim this month, and many had numbers in the thousands. Flos’ subjects, all those who still thought well of the King of Destruction, had left their homes and made the long journey to Reim. Many were still coming; they were sheltered by his proclamation of peace.

“So you have an army.”

“I have a kingdom. Some will fight. But many will simply settle in Reim, Germina, or Hellios. My nation was worn away by my slumber; this will return it to its glory.”

Flos corrected Teres, smiling. Then he paused again.

“Tiqr will fall tomorrow. So I feel. Nsiia is cornered in her capital. I have been to Oliphant. Unless it has changed drastically, it will not last long.”

Teres sighed. Flos was worse than a dog with a bone. She fished around in her pocket. She hadn’t wanted to use her trump card just yet, but it was time. Slowly, she pulled out a smooth, rectangular object.

“Your people are nearing the city. Are you going to greet them?”

“In a moment.”

“Well, then why don’t I take a picture? Of your citizens?”

“Take a what? Oh!”

Flos turned. His eyes widened as he saw Teres holding her iPhone. She held it up, the little camera light shining. Teres smiled triumphantly as the King of Destruction did a double-take, looking towards the balcony.

“Your phone! Does it still have its energy?”

“Smartphone. And yes, it does. I told you, it’s got hours left. Ever since Ulyse recharged it.”

Teres held the smartphone up, grinning with pure pleasure at the look on Flos’ face. Of course, she’d had her iPhone from the beginning, like Trey. But both their phones had run out of battery within two days of them arriving in this world. They’d only lasted long enough for a very strange chat message with other people from Earth and then gone dead.

The twins had assumed it would be forever, but one of the [Mages] who had recently come to Reim, Ulyse, leader of the [Mage]-group, Parasol Stroll, had tried to fix Trey’s iPhone. And—miracle of miracles—a simple [Repair] spell had charged the smartphones back to full strength! Teres was still amazed; she’d spent all of yesterday on her iPhone, just…playing with it. She’d listened to all her music, looked at all her pictures—

The ones of her family hurt her most. Her family, and friends. She’d tried not to linger on them and it didn’t bother her now. She was focused on Flos’ expression. He’d seen her and Trey waving the smartphones about, but they’d barely been able to explain them to the [King], so excited they’d been. Now he peered at the glowing screen, frowning.

“You showed me the camera when we first met. And you explained the pictures—similar to a [Mage]-image. This little thing can make one?”

“It can take one. Of you, or your people. Anything I want. See? Look—I’m going to take a picture—”

“Yes, yes. And the little picture is what this camera sees. Fascinating. Very disconcerting, too. You’re going to take a picture of my people returning? That’s very appropriate. Worthy of a…picture.”

Flos peered at the image of the world through the screen. Teres nodded.

“If you’ll just let me—”

She held up the iPhone, trying to get the best resolution. It was hard because the image kept refocusing; Flos was excitedly peering at the lens, then stalking around to watch Teres take the picture. He kept shaking his head as she tapped the iPhone, trying to center the shot and zoom in.

“Incredible. A simple spell gives it it’s…energy back? No, wait. Electricity. Charge. You explained it to me. But you told me it was harnessed lightning, not magic!”

“I don’t know why either. Ulyse just cast [Repair] and it worked. Flos, your face is in the way.”

He pulled it out of the way hurriedly.

“Fascinating. And you can take however many you want? Far more efficient than [Artists] or [Mages]!”

“That’s right. Okay, I have a good image.”

The people were getting closer to the city and Teres had framed the balcony, the city, and them. It was fairly good, if she said so herself. She held up the iPhone and then looked at Flos. He was not-quite-subtly standing next to her view of the people in the distance.

“Do you want to be in it?”

“They are my people. And I am a [King]. Shouldn’t I be?”

Teres rolled her eyes, but didn’t debate the point. It was working.

“Alright then! Get ready!”

She refrained from saying, ‘say cheese!’ because it would take too long to explain. To her surprise, Flos immediately stiffened up. He adopted a straight-backed posture, hands at his side, and an almost expressionless face, chin slightly tilted to the open window. It was so—uncharacteristic that Teres had to grin. Flos paused, seeing it.

“What?”

“Why are you standing like that?”

He looked like the very same people captured in old photographs from her world. Not someone taking a selfie or just—posing for a picture. Teres tried to explain, but the King of Destruction didn’t understand what was so funny. He frowned.

“Smile? Pose?”

“Yes! Be more natural! You look far too…serious!”

“The picture is a recollection, a historical marker. Should I be irreverent?”

“Well, I think it would look better. Try smiling, or pointing at them!”

Teres urged the King of Destruction. He hesitated uncertainly, one of the few times she’d ever seen him thusly. Then he tried to take her advice. Flos turned to face the camera, adjusted his posture so he was at a slight angle towards the balcony. Then he held one and hand out, as if gesturing at the influx of people in the distance. He gave the camera the fakest smile Teres had ever seen him make.

She paused, staring through the camera. Flos hesitated, and then spoke through his teeth.

“Is it done?”

“No. One second—”

She hit the camera button and Flos blinked in the flash. That just made the picture…well, not worse—it was already a work of art in the hall of failure. Teres shook her head.

“I take it back. You were right. That’s awful. Come and see what you look like!”

The King of Destruction approached apprehensively. Teres showed him the picture of him, eyes half-closed, fake smile on his face. Flos stared. And then he burst out laughing. He guffawed, slapping his chest, staring wide-eyed, and then choking, trying to hold it in, silently laughing until it burst out of him again. He had to take a few steps back until he was slapping one leg, bracing himself against the table.

The King of Destruction’s hilarity took Teres off-guard. She’d expected him to laugh, but this? It was so infectious that she began giggling, and then laughing herself. Their voices made the servant’s door open, and the [Servants] stared at their [King]. Then they began laughing themselves.

There was no malice in it. But the laughter was long-overdue. Like a pressure cooker, the King of Destruction’s naturally good mood suddenly reflated. And he laughed.

It changed the mood of the room. The quiet silence broke. And the entire castle seemed to light up. Maybe that was how it felt. Or maybe that was just his presence. Even the rain seemed to lessen. But regardless, the King of Destruction left his room, Teres in tow. He held up the iPhone, still chuckling, and went down the hall. And every single person he met in the hall had to see the image of him.

It wasn’t funny. It really wasn’t. Teres stopped laughing after the first four times. But Flos kept laughing, and to her surprise, everyone who saw it started laughing as well. It was like she’d somehow trapped comedy in a single picture.

For a while Teres didn’t understand—until she realized the picture on her iPhone was the clearest photo most people in this world had ever seen. Flos Reimarch himself had probably seen himself only a few times, and then only in a mirror, or with magic. Not like this.

But there he went, holding her iPhone. Laughing. And for a moment he’d forgotten about Tiqr. And Reim, like it’s [King], laughed for a moment in the rain.

—-

Trey Atwood heard the laughter first. It was a booming laugh, but everything about the King of Destruction was large. And love him or hate him—and there were things to hate, for all Trey admired him at times—he was easy to like. And the half-Gazer woman who looked up from her lesson in Trey’s quarters with a bunch of magical scrolls and a textbook smiled. Because she loved him.

Gazi Pathseeker looked up as the door to Trey’s room burst open. Flos, the King of Destruction strode into the room. He was holding Teres’ iPhone in one hand. And on his face was a look of mirth Trey hadn’t seen for over a month.

“Gazi! Gazi, come see this! Could you ever imagine me making such a face?”

Flos thrust the iPhone at Gazi. She blinked, staring at the device. Then she focused on the imagine on screen. It took her a second. But then she grinned. Her sharp teeth and four smaller eyes focused around the large, shut eye in her head. The half-Gazer stared at the image of Flos.

And then she laughed. It was quiet, and instantly drowned out by Flos’ bellow of laughter. Trey saw Teres standing behind Flos. She waved at him, grinning and mouthing something. He nodded.

She’d done it. And Flos was laughing. Gazi looked at Flos, shaking her head.

“You look ridiculous, my lord.”

“I know! What a sight! It’s one of these pictures! Teres took one—Trey! You didn’t tell me these devices were capable of such things!”

“They can do a lot more than that. That’s just a bad picture, your Majesty.”

“What? It’s fantastic! It needs to be kept forever! Can I somehow duplicate this? Is that—where’d it go?”

The screen had timed out and turned dark. Flos looked alarmed. Teres took the smartphone back.

“It’s still here. The screen just went dark. I don’t think there’s a printer in this world, but it’s saved. Maybe an [Artist] can copy this? I told you these can do a lot more than you could imagine.”

“I believe it. But you were so delighted yesterday—by all means, show me one of these devices from your world! And everyone walks around with them?”

“Most people. I told you Earth’s technology was advanced.”

“Yes, but this is astounding! It’s one thing to hear of it, the other to see. Very well, show me something else. I still maintain that magic can work wonders your world lacks. Like creating water. How do you manage in droughts?”

Flos handed the iPhone back. Teres unlocked it and then gave Trey a look he knew all too well.

“Well, we have photos—and video—and all kinds of useful stuff like calculators and so on. But we also have games.”

Trey groaned.

“Teres, maybe—”

She elbowed him, hard. Gazi looked at them with one eye; another was fixed on Flos, the other two looking at the people clustered in the doorway, trying not to peek. They vanished as they saw Gazi looking at them. Flos frowned.

“Games?”

Teres grinned wickedly. She was going to try to take Flos down a peg. Trey groaned. Then he groaned louder when he saw where she was going.

“You tap on the screen, like so, see? And that makes the phone do all sorts of things.”

“I see, I see. Not hard at all! Look! I’ve taken a photo!”

“Of my arm. Okay, you can do that later. But look! I have one of the games people play in my world. It’s a competitive game, actually…want to try?”

“Certainly. I enjoy games. But how will it fit on such a small thing, I wonder? No—wait—just show me. I can’t wait.”

Flos smiled. Trey watched with a dull incredulity. She was actually doing it. Teres tapped on the app with a wicked grin that escaped only Flos in the room. She opened the app and the King of Destruction read the name.

“Flappy Bird? Is that a…bird?”

Trey covered his face. Teres smiled wickedly.

“It’s one of the easiest games. All you do is tap on the screen, see? And the bird goes up—”

“What are those green things? Is that…supposed to be the sky behind it? And that is a bird? It looks nothing like—well, I suppose some fish—”

Flos objected as he tried to grasp the game. Teres tried to explain the nature of warp pipes and artificial games to Flos. Trey just watched. Soon, Flos was watching Teres tap on the screen. She had a high score of eighty three, a personal best.

Trey hated that stupid game so much. He didn’t know why she’d kept it on her iPhone. But it was topical to their world, and Flos was fascinated.

“And you play that game to receive the highest score? That is fun! Simple, yes. A children’s game?”

“Oh no. Adults play it too. It’s just for passing the time.”

“I see, I see. How convenient. Well, allow me to try.”

“Go ahead!”

Teres gave it to Flos with the sweetest of smiles. She’d gotten to nine in her little demonstration, but Flos hadn’t missed the number at the top of the screen. He stroked his beard.

“Eighty three? Fascinating. Even your words resemble ours so much. But enough of such questions. This is your best. Well, I will tap to play and—”

The little bird went up. Flos tapped, copying Teres.

“Up, and up, and—ah!”

It ran into the pipe. Not the second pipe, the first one. Flos’ face fell. Teres’ smile grew wider.

“What a fragile bird. Can’t it move properly?”

Flos muttered. The [King] stared at the screen.

“You can start over. See?”

“Of course! A second attempt! Are there penalties for…?”

“Nope. Keep playing!”

He did. Flos tapped, and this time the bird got past the first pipe. The second, the third—it hit the sixth. Flos’ brows furrowed together.

“Hold on. This little bird—”

“Harder than it looks, right?”

Teres asked innocently. The King of Destruction looked up from the phone. This time he saw Trey’s expression and her face. But he stubbornly tapped her iPhone.

“It’s a matter of timing. I’ve played far harder games. Orthenon tried to interest me in chess—this is—”

Tap, tap, tap. Gazi was watching her [King], the ruler of Reim and the man who’d conquered all of Chandrar, tap on the phone and watch his little bird die. Flos made it to thirteen. And then eighteen. And then four. He just didn’t have the rhythm down.

“Move down, you little pest! Why does it always move like—can’t it fly properly? What’s the point of this?”

“To win. And the bird always moves like that. It’s a challenge.”

Teres replied sweetly. She was enjoying Flos’ frustration to no end. The King of Destruction looked up with a huge scowl.

“I’m beginning to think you’ve played some trick on me, Teres.”

“Me? It’s just my iPhone. Nothing special. As simple as magic, right?”

The [King] narrowed his eyes. Then he turned.

“Magic? I never learned to cast it. On the other hand—Gazi, would you like a try with this infernal game?”

“If your Majesty wishes.”

Gazi smiled slightly. Trey looked at her. She took the iPhone cautiously—both she and Flos handled it as if it were glass, which it did look like. And Gazi tapped the screen.

“It’s easy. All you do is tap—”

Teres’ smug voice was cut off as Gazi swiveled one eye to look at her. The half-Gazer gave her a sharp-toothed grin.

“I have seen.”

She began to tap. Her pace was measured, deliberate. She was copying Teres! And unlike Flos, Gazi didn’t get excited. One of her eyes focused on the screen while the other three went roaming. Trey watched. Gazi tapped, tapped, tapped—and hit a pipe.

“Oops! Well done, though, Gazi.”

Flos smiled good-naturedly. The half-Gazer only shrugged. She met Teres’ smile with her own.

“If you’ll allow me to try again, your Majesty?”

“Very well.”

Flos waved a hand. This time Gazi focused two eyes on the screen. She began tapping. And her bird died again.

On pipe twelve. And it had missed the edge of the pipe by an invisible pixel. Gazi paused, blinked down at the screen. Then Trey saw three of her four eyes focus on the screen. Teres stopped grinning.

The third time she got to thirty nine but ran into a pipe by tapping too fast. Gazi paused, flexed her hand—her fingers were different from a regular Human’s; there were only four, for one thing, and her orange-brown skin was another feature of her mixed heritage. And the eyes, obviously.

“I think I understand. Now.”

She began tapping. And Teres’ smile faded. Flos watched, nodding to himself and smiling. Trey was just incredulous. Because Gazi started tapping and the bird moved through the pipes perfectly.

Tap, tap, tap. Gazi focused three eyes, then two, and then one. She was counting the score. She passed eighty-three. And then a hundred. And then two hundred. Teres threw up her hands.

“How—”

“Shh! She’s beating your score, Teres!”

She glared at him. Trey watched, delightedly, as did Flos, but Gazi’s intent focus began to waver. She began glancing at the screen with one of her eyes, not even watching with that one.

After a score of three hundred and fifteen, the bird ran into a pipe. Not, Trey thought, because Gazi had made a mistake. She’d just gotten bored. She handed the iPhone back to her [King]. Teres was still in a state of shock.

“How did you—but—that’s not fair! You’ve never even played it before! Trey, did you give her your phone?”

“I don’t even have that stupid game!”

Gazi just shrugged, her rust-colored armor moving on her shoulders. She gave Trey her small smile.

“Skills. It’s a game about seeing ahead. And timing. My lord, I don’t think there’s much to it besides an idle moment’s relaxation.”

“You might be right. But I have to at least break a hundred! If you can do it, a [King] should do no less! Thirty, at least!”

Flos began tapping the screen. But he didn’t have Gazi’s incredible sense of timing or patience. He’d tap too fast, or expect the bird to, well, not, move like it did. The twins saw Flos’ brow furrowing, his expression getting more annoyed by the second. Gazi gave Teres another long stare with one eye.

“Uh, your Majesty. There are other things you can do—”

“I must reach at least thirty! No, forty!”

Flos snapped at Trey. Teres began to look as though she was regretting her prank.

“It’s just a game. And it’s my phone. Here—”

She tried to reach for it, but Flos simply lifted the phone above her reach as he continued to tap and scowl.

“No, Teres. You have thrown down the gauntlet. I must satisfy my pride or I won’t be able to dwell on anything else!”

“See what you’ve done?”

“Shut it! It was funny!”

It was, Trey had to admit. But Teres had misjudged her audience. Flos hated losing. And he began getting more and more frustrated by the comical sound effects and the bird. He started tapping harder, and losing more quickly, despite Teres trying to give him tips so he’d break thirty and stop playing.

“Just stop tapping so hard!”

“I’m not tapping hard. This bird refuses to move properly!”

Flos growled back. Trey saw him stab at the screen to retry. And then it happened.

Tap, tap, crack. Trey froze when he heard the sound. He looked up and saw the iPhone’s screen crack around Flos’ finger. He paused and Teres shouted in horror.

“My phone!”

“What happened? I didn’t tap it too—”

“You shattered it!”

Trey was amazed. He’d seen iPhones break, but never by someone tapping it so hard. But Flos was insanely strong—no, as the King of Destruction lowered the iPhone, Trey saw the metal was slightly bent from where he’d been holding it!

“It’s so weak! What metal is this?”

“I don’t know! How’d you break it?”

“We can fix it. Teres, Ulyse managed to [Repair] it. He can fix the phone. Right?”

Teres was nearly in tears. It was her smartphone, and the screen was shattered. One of her few possessions from earth besides her clothes. Flos took one look at her face and whirled.

“[Repair] fixes most objects. And Ulyse is a master. Gazi, summon Ulyse at once! Run!”

Trey stared in surprise. But the half-Gazer didn’t wait for a second question. She took a running start, ran past Flos, and jumped out Trey’s window.

“Gazi!”

The young man ran to the window. He saw Gazi hit the ground—four stories down. She landed in a crouch, and then sprinted forwards. She was headed towards the streets. Flos was at Trey’s back.

“Ulyse must be down there. Come! We’ll meet him. Make way!”

He suited action to words. He was running down the hallway, holding the iPhone like a broken bird. Servants leapt out of the way, some shouting an alarm. The King of Destruction just bellowed for them to clear the hall and they did. Trey and Teres ran after him, more confused than anything.

Ulyse met Flos at the palace’s entrance. He was panting; he must have sprinted through the city!  Gazi pointed and he strode towards Flos.

“Your Majesty, what is the issue?”

“This device. I’ve broken it. Can you repair it with a spell?”

“The phone?”

Ulyse looked alarmed as Flos showed him the cracks and dents. He inspected it.

“I have no idea how it functions, but I can cast the same [Repair] spell, your Majesty. I have a few others I can try if it fails.”

“Then do so.”

Flos handed the iPhone to Ulyse and stood back. The [Mage] levitated it up, lifting his colorful parasol. Trey and Teres, panting, caught up to watch him slowly tap the phone with the tip of his parasol.

“[Repair].”

The iPhone twirled in the air and then the cracks began to seal. The indented metal pushed outwards, reforming into the original shape. Ulyse caught the phone as it lowered and peered at it.

“It seems normal. But I cannot tell. This spell takes more magic than I would have imagined for such an object. Nevertheless. Your Majesty?”

“Teres?”

Flos didn’t take the phone. Teres took her smartphone with shaking hands and pressed the power button. Nothing happened.

“Hold it down, Teres.”

Trey urged her. She did, and after an agonizing second, they both saw the familiar logo appear. They exhaled. Flos looked at them urgently.

“Is it fixed?”

“Let me check—um—um—yes! It’s back! All my apps, my pictures! It’s even kept the high score! Thank you, Ulyse!”

Teres turned to the [Mage]. He wiped sweat from his brow, smiling.

“My pleasure, Miss Teres.”

“And mine. Teres, I apologize for damaging it.”

Flos inclined his head gravely to Teres. The twins stared up at him. He looked truly contrite. And he’d practically set up half the palace in alarm running to get Ulyse. People were still streaming out of the doors asking Gazi what had happened! It was ludicrous—

Until Trey looked at Flos and thought about what he was thinking. Flos was looking at Teres, the relieved look on her face as she swiped through her photos. And at her iPhone. He saw how much it meant to her.

And—it really was valuable. Unique. Even if Trey had one, Teres’ iPhone had data no one else did. Perhaps only she, in the entire world, had that game on her phone. It was a strange thought. Flos nodded, meeting Teres’ eyes.

“It truly is an irreplaceable artifact. And I will not be tapping on it any more. Clearly, some of the…activities have merit. These pictures and video? I would pay the cost of a hundred scrying orbs for such a device! The bird-thing not so much. Teres?”

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s fine. Thank you, Ulyse, again. And you, your Majesty.”

Teres looked up. Relieved, Flos turned. He addressed his people, holding up one hand gravely.

“The crisis is over! Mage Ulyse has righted my error. This fantastic little artifact is too fragile for my hands, it seems!”

He laughed, smiling.

“After that fright, I’ve a mind to eat something. Where’s that Yellat? And my people! Have they been settled?”

“Yes, your Majesty. I have your meal right here. Would you like to take it now?”

“I’ll dine with my subjects! Lead me to them! Teres, would you come with me? And take more of these…pictures? Yourself, of course.”

“I can do that.”

Teres looked up, nodding. She turned to Trey. He lamely pointed back to the castle.

“I’ll find you—later. Gazi’s making me study and I can’t skip out.”

“Sure. I’ll take all the food photos for you.”

“Why would you take a picture of food? What a waste! Unless it was a true banquet.”

Flos and Teres headed into the city followed by a bevy of servants and—Trey stared. Was that some kind of glazed Yellat on a little platter? Why just one? And why was it so…? He looked around and jumped as Gazi put her hand on his shoulder.

“Let us return to your room, Trey Atwood.”

“Gazi! You jumped out a window!”

“Does that surprise you? You know I am capable of much more.”

The half-Gazer looked amused as Trey followed her back to his room. They were studying magic; she was his teacher and he her sometimes reluctant pupil. Trey gloomily sat back down and stared at his desk. A few tiny Sand Golems walked across it; they were his creations. Gazi studied the little Golems.

“You can keep them animated for longer durations. Good. But a waste of magic.”

“They’re just for fun.”

Trey shooed one of the Golems over the edge of the table. It went splat on the ground and reformed, trundling off. Gazi watched it with one eye and then gestured to Teres’ side.

“That phone my Lord broke. You have one too. Show me?”

Trey hesitated, but one of Gazi’s eyes was looking at it. He took it out and handed it to her. At least he had no fear of Gazi breaking his phone. She inspected it, and then turned it on. She even knew his passcode! Her eyes really did see everything. But Gazi paused and just stared at the screen. She frowned, and then pointed at the phone to Trey.

“It hurts my eyes. The little things in the screen. What are they?”

He blinked.

“What? The apps? Er, the icons?”

“No. The little things. This is made up of many, many, tiny things. Almost too small for you to see. But I see them.”

Trey blinked.

“What? Oh! Pixels. You can see them?”

“Clearly.”

“They make the screen by changing color. I think. When you say it hurts your eyes, Gazi—”

She shook her head.

“My eyes are too sensitive. I must unfocus to see the picture. Otherwise I simply see it differently. It…flashes.”

“You mean, the screen?”

“Incredibly quickly. It keeps changing. A picture redrawn many times each second to create…”

Gazi trailed off. Trey realized she was seeing the screen refresh. He stared, amazed. Her eyes were powerful! And those were just her four secondary eyes. She’d told him her main eye could see through almost anything. He’d never seen it—or seen her open her main eyelid, though. Apparently her eye had been damaged in a fight before she’d return to Reim. By someone else from Earth.

“I guess it’s just the screen uh, drawing itself, Gazi. The iPhones were made for Humans. I can’t see a thing, but I’ve seen what you’re talking about on old televisions.”

“Hm. And it can do many things like take pictures, or even moving ones? Will you show me?”

“Oh. Of course.”

Trey sat next to Gazi and began explaining the iPhone’s functions. He felt a bit like a tech salesman, and she was an avid customer. She kept pausing to ask him to demonstrate. Even the calculator doing math made her eyes widen.

“Impressive. What else can it do?”

“I can take videos.”

“Of anything?”

“Yup.”

“Then—record him.”

Gazi nodded out the window. Trey turned and saw she was looking across Reim. Flos was in the main street, visible from their window. He was at the center of a gathering, laughing, touching hands, clasping shoulders with the newcomers. Trey looked at Gazi. Then he slowly raised the phone, zoomed in, and pressed record.

He only took a few seconds of video. When he showed it to Gazi she blinked. It was a bit grainy from a distance; Trey didn’t have the newest model. What version of iPhone was out now he’d been gone for months? But Flos was clearly visible.

“It is a wonder. One my lord doesn’t underestimate, for all he boasts of our magic, I think. Is that forever, Trey?”

“Until you delete it, or the phone breaks. But you can save it other ways, Gazi.”

“I see. May I?”

“Sure.”

Gazi took the iPhone. She had no problem replaying the clip. She smiled at the little video of Flos. It was so genuine that it made Trey feel bad about his casual usage of the smartphone. It was valuable here. And he sat with the half-Gazer for a while.

“It cheered up his Majesty.”

“It did.”

She nodded at last. Trey looked up at her. Gazi offered him his phone back. And then her smile faded.

“Your sister did well, Trey. But my lord will still have to face it. Tiqr falls. But until that moment, let us distract him from it. I only wish…we had this decades past. Maybe then he would not have slumbered so long.”

She indicated the iPhone. Trey looked at it.

“Because…?”

“It would have recaptured his memories of her. And him. And Drevish too. All of us, the ones that fell and linger only in memory.”

Tottenval and Queravia. Two of his Chosen. And Flos had loved Queravia. He loved all of his Seven; they were his family. But Queravia had been special. Of that Trey was sure. He looked up at Gazi’s face.

“Aren’t there pictures of her?”

“There were. But he burned them all. Because they couldn’t capture her. I think he regrets it to this day.”

The young man sat in silence, absorbing this. He looked down at his phone and wondered how much more had been left uncaptured. At last, he looked up.

“She’s his old friend, isn’t she? The Empress of Beasts? And Tiqr’s going to fall.”

“Yes. She was a child when he claimed Tiqr. But he swore to guard Tiqr. Now, it falls because of his oath. So yes, Trey. He is waiting. Waiting for her to ask him for help.”

“And if she does? He swore an oath not to interfere as well. Would he?”

Gazi didn’t reply. She only looked out the window. And then she stood up.

“A message is coming. Follow me, Trey. Hurry.”

—-

The King of Destruction stood with Ulyse, listening to the [Mage] talk. He was the leader of Parasol Stroll, but in Orthenon’s absence, Ulyse and the other leaders like Gazi had begun filling leadership roles. Among them was settling the new arrivals, all of whom were weary from weeks of travel.

“Many of them are hungry. Most of them have nothing but the clothes they carry and few supplies, if any. They were chased from their homes, sometimes with their possessions confiscated.”

“Wounds? Injuries from travel?”

“Few. There were some casualties. Monster attacks, mainly, but people as well.”

“[Bandits]? On my lands?”

Flos’ brows creased. Ulyse shook his head.

“Not Reim, your Majesty. But their homeland. They were safe within Jecrass; King Raelt gave them free passage, even allowed them to barter for supplies. But many have become targets.”

“They must arrive safely, Ulyse. They are my people. Send word to the borders; patrols are to escort any claiming my sanctuary.”

The [Mage] nodded. Flos turned and looked at the [Healer].

“How fare my subjects?”

“Well enough, your Majesty. But some are weak. They will need recovery.”

Flos clicked his fingers.

“Bring out stamina potions!”

“We need not use them, your Majesty. They can recover in time.”

The [Healer] protested. Flos shook his head.

“What use are potions, if not to be used? Split them, by all means, but give any one in need of them a dose. And send word that we require more [Builders] from Hellios and Germina. Send them to colonize all the old villages and richest farmlands first. Speaking of which, how fairs Hellios?”

He addressed that question to Teres. She looked up from taking pictures of some of the refugees.

“Um—Orthenon says the country’s dissidence is mainly taken care of, your Majesty. Queen Calliope—”

“Former Queen. She abdicated.”

“—Is complying. She’s not happy, but Hellios is supplying…supplies. And Germina’s doing the same. Even better, actually. The Quarass has it all under control. She’s been asking to see you, actually.”

Flos smiled.

“Fair enough. Tell Orthenon I need him free to work elsewhere soon. Have that upstart [Prince] manage his own kingdom, perhaps. Or not, if he cannot be trusted. But I would rather have Hellios supplying resources and soldiers than be a thorn in my side later on. As for the Quarass—no doubt she has her lands under control. She does have the experience of the old Quarasses to draw on. She will seek me out when she is ready. Tell Orthenon to deal with her politely but decline her requests for my audience.”

“I’ll tell him, your Majesty.”

Teres blushed. She was tasked in keeping in touch with the [Steward]. Flos nodded at her, smiling. And then his head turned.

“What now?”

Someone was riding towards them down the street. Teres looked up and Ulyse turned, twirling his parasol. Gazi and Trey were hurrying from the castle at the same time.

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty!”

“What news? A [Message]?”

Flos called at the woman. The [Rider] drew up in front of Flos as Ulyse stepped forwards, shielding the two with his parasol. Some of Flos’ subjects were also wary, but the [Rider] was too panicked to care.

“We’re under attack! An army of twenty thousand to the west! They’ve crossed Reim’s borders!”

“What?”

Teres turned cold. She fumbled for her phone, staring at Flos. He looked up, his eyes full of alert. And then he paused.

“The west—”

Gazi appeared by his side. Flos turned to look at her.

“Gazi—”

“I heard, my lord. The west? Was it the message you desired?”

“No. No. Mine comes from further west still. And south. But the west—that can only mean one thing.”

Flos looked at Gazi. He and she chorused at the same time, along with Ulyse.

“Khelt.”

The [Mage] looked resigned as he lowered his parasol. Flos just frowned absently, Gazi smiled slightly. There was an uneasy murmur from the people around Flos.

“Where? I know the name, but where’s that?”

“It’s—the nation—west—of Reim. Exactly west.”

Trey clutched at a stitch in his side, panting. Gazi looked approving. Flos just sighed. He didn’t look alarmed. If anything, he seemed annoyed.

“King Fetohep is sending me a message, it seems. He had a knack for choosing the worst times. Normally I’d quite enjoy receiving it. But not now. Rider, how fast is the army moving?”

“At a sprint, sir! They’re moving fast—”

“Armored?”

“Yes—”

“Bows?”

Flos was stroking his chin. The [Rider] shook her head. The King of Destruction sighed.

“Typical, then.”

“What’s the message this King Fetohep wants to send, Flos?”

Teres’ question made the people around her stare at her. The King of Destruction turned his head.

“The army is the message, Teres. I should imagine he wishes to force me to speak with him about some issue. I can imagine…but I’m occupied. And I do not care for Fetohep. We do not get along.”

He folded his arms, frowning. The [Rider] looked from Ulyse to Gazi. The half-Gazer held up a hand and turned to Flos. Her eyes were moving, Trey saw. If you wanted to know what was happening next, all you had to do was watch Gazi’s eyes.

One of her eyes always looked at her [King] when he was nearby, but the other three usually roamed, looking for threats or focusing on other people. Now, two were pointed the other way. Through her skull. Trey shuddered, but he traced the path of her gaze and saw—

“My lord, another group of riders. Armed. Forty in number. The Quarass of Germina.”

“Now?”

Flos blinked at Gazi. But then he turned and saw them too. A group of mounted people were riding towards Reim. Trey saw that most of them were adults, but two were small. Child-sized. A boy and a girl, he knew, even if he couldn’t make them out. The King of Destruction nodded.

“It seems this new Quarass isn’t the type to waste time. And her arrival is fortuitous. Ill-timed, but—let us greet her.”

“Your Majesty, what about the army?”

The [Rider] panicked as Flos strode towards the north gate, leading the crowd with him. The [King] glanced back.

“I will deal with it. They are all on foot, aren’t they? Fetohep wouldn’t send twenty thousand riders.”

“No, Majesty—”

“Then they will wait while I greet the Quarass. Attend to me. What is your name, [Messenger]?”

“Finl Ulesey, your Majesty! I was born in Hellios, but my father fought in your armies.”

The young woman’s eyes lit up. Flos smiled.

“Well met, Finl! Now, all of you, with me. Trey, Teres, don’t dawdle! Keep up!”

He strode forwards, and like a river, his subjects, Ulyse, Gazi, Finl, Trey, and Teres all followed. Flos spread his arms, smiling, as the Quarass of Germina and her escort entered the gates of his city.

“Quarass of Germina! What brings you to Reim? My greetings upon you!”

The booming voice made the forty-some people look up. They were all citizens of Germina. And months ago, they had been enemies of Flos. He had killed the last Quarass, and the burning gazes some of them gave him were proof of their lingering enmity. But—Trey had been to Quarass. And if their hatred for Flos was a burning candle, it was nothing to their admiration for the Quarass.

The Quarass had died. But she had been found again. And the new Quarass was a young girl. No more than a child. She was dismounting from her horse with the help of two people—a young boy, practically a street tough, and a noblewoman. Two of her sacred protectors, sworn to guard her with their lives.

The third stood before her. The Quarass waited until she was on the ground. Then, her escort moved back, kneeling in the street. And the young girl walked forwards. She paused in front of Flos and inclined her head. Just so.

“King of Destruction. I thank you for your greetings. May the Shield Kingdoms ward you. Germina gives you its greetings, King Reimarch. As do I. I have come to speak with you of matters of state.”

The Quarass’ voice was pitched low, her words chosen with care. But that was not what made Trey and the others shudder. It was the nuance of her tone, the intelligence behind each word. It was as if an adult was speaking through a child’s voice.

And not just any adult. Trey looked at the Quarass’ eyes. He saw a child with eyes as old as forever. Generations of Quarasses before her made up the being in front of her. She had all the knowledge of the past. Centuries, possibly millennia of it. She regarded the crowd behind Flos, her eyes lingering on Teres and Trey’s faces, then Gazi’s, then flicking back to Flos.

The King of Destruction nodded, giving the Quarass the same level nod. They were hardly in a formal setting, but the two had a formality of their own.

“And I am pleased to offer you Reim’s water, Quarass. You are welcome guests. And it is fitting we should speak of such matters; I have been deciding how best to speak with you. I trust Germina is settled to your liking?”

“Yes. It has been some small task. But your [Steward] was most capable. Germina stands ready to aid Reim.”

The Quarass didn’t even blink. Flos nodded, as if it were only natural.

“Hellios is far less amenable than Germina. But that is a topic for a more sedate setting. Quarass, I confess that I cannot give you my fullest attention at this moment. I await a [Message]. And I am told just now that a force of twenty thousand has entered my lands from the west.”

The escort reacted to the news with clear alarm, looking up from their kneeling positions. The Quarass didn’t appear at all surprised. Her eyes flickered for just a moment before she nodded.

“Ah. Khelt.”

“Just so! King Fetohep is riled. It seems I needs must deal with him. Forgive me for the urgency of the task, but you know his nature.”

“Not at all.”

The Quarass inclined her head. Flos nodded once more, and turned. Briskly, he addressed the [Messenger] and his subjects.

“Ulyse, the Quarass’ guests. Find Mizzi; no, I’m sure she’s already seen our guests. Kindly escort them to her.”

“Yes, your Majesty. If the honored guests of Germina will follow me?”

The [Mage] bowed. The Quarass’ escort hesitated, clearly uneasy about leaving them alone. One of them, the noblewoman, bent to whisper to the Quarass, but the girl replied softly. The escort looked at her and she nodded. They followed Ulyse without question. The Quarass stood alone—save for the young boy and six cloaked bodyguards. Flos paid them no mind. He was turning to the [Messenger].

“Now, Khelt. Finl Ulesey, ride to the southern border. Send word to Mars to return from the front at once, to intercept the army and then hold our western border with Khelt. Gazi, join Mars. Take as many [Soldiers] as you need and the Serpent Hunters and Parasol Stroll as well. No casualties.”

“By your leave, my lord.”

Gazi bowed, smiling. Flos waved a hand.

“Very good. I will answer Fetohep in my own time. Now, to the palace! Quarass, my apologies for the delay. Need you any refreshments from your trip? Allow me to introduce you to my aides. Trey and Teres. I believe you know Teres?”

“Yes.”

The Quarass’ eyes were unblinking as she stared at Teres. The King of Destruction swept back to the palace as the crowd dispersed, the [Messenger] disappearing in a flurry of hooves. Neither ruler seemed worried by the army. Trey was unnerved by the tiny Quarass, but Teres couldn’t help it.

“Can Gazi and Mars really hold back twenty thousand soldiers without casualties, Flos?”

The Quarass looked back at her sharply. The impropriety of addressing Flos by his name made the others stir, but the King of Destruction only smiled.

“It shouldn’t be difficult. They’ll have to employ potions and we may take some wounds, but we should hack apart the twenty thousand with minimal effort so long as they stay careful.”

“But won’t this King Fetohep be unhappy about that many deaths?”

Flos laughed at the chagrin on Teres and Trey’s face. Even the Quarass looked amused.

“That’s what you thought? Ah, Teres! I forgot you don’t know of Khelt. Fear not! The twenty thousand are fully expendable. They’re just zombies.”

“What?”

Flos waved the question away.

“Teres, I am sure someone can explain. Ulyse, perhaps. But I am entertaining a guest of state. Quarass, do forgive me. But I trust my two attendants, young though they may be. As much as you and your three.”

“So I see. I take no offense. You must speak to me of them. As well as other matters. Your awakening, for one. And Germina’s future and your ambitions.”

Flos’ gaze sharpened. He was wary of her, Trey realized. Just a bit. He looked up as they approached the palace. Ulyse was striding back to them, Trey saw. He’d been leading the escort, but the [Mage] had abruptly broken off, leaving them there.

Trey saw the [Mage]’s hand was raised. He was heading towards Flos. And the King of Destruction straightened. Premonition flickered in his gaze. And something—some instinct, a feeling in the air, in Flos’ face—told Trey this was what he had been waiting for. He held up a hand.

“Ulyse. What is it?”

He already knew. The leader of Parasol Stroll bowed slightly.

“Your Majesty. I have just been contacted. A communication spell is desired with all haste.”

He paused.

“It comes from Tiqr. The Empress of Beasts wishes to speak with you, your Majesty.”

“Indeed. Ulyse, I will receive her. Prepare a mirror.”

Flos Reimarch straightened. Teres saw him square his shoulders, and then relax. And suddenly he looked like the same figure she’d seen at the window. And she realized that her phone, the pot with the Yellat, his returning subjects—even the Quarass and Khelt’s army—had been only a distraction. The King of Destruction looked at Ulyse. Then he turned to the small Quarass. She was looking up at him, her eyes knowing and gauging. Watchful.

“We must speak indeed, Quarass. But a more pressing matter calls me. My city is open to you. We shall speak this night, I think. But Nsiia and I have much to say.”

He waited for the Quarass to nod her assent, and then he turned. Trey saw him walk back to the castle. And the rain, which had stopped, began to fall again. The King of Destruction looked up.

“So much to say. And so little time.”

—-

He smelled blood on the wind. Blood and death. And Orjin, Strongest of Pomle knew Tiqr’s end was near. The battle called him. Not for the lust of slaughter, but to see. To see how the Empress of Beasts met her end.

He stood in his little camp, balancing on his toes on a bit of gravel and broken stones. Working on his balance and strength of his toes. And Orjin was aware of everything around him. The sky, the ground. The distant conflict on the wind, the traces of armies, who had marched on Tiqr’s heart. He knew it all.

And he knew the Drake was approaching him from the side before he opened his eyes. Salii, the [Secretary], stopped and cleared her throat. Orjin opened his eyes.

“What is it, Salii?”

“The King of Destruction is communicating with the Empress of Beasts. On the eve of Tiqr’s fall. They have just begun speaking by communication spell.”

The Drake pronounced the words with all the seriousness he had ever heard in her voice. The Strongest of Pomle didn’t blink. He stared ahead, balancing without using his arms.

“How do you know this, Salii?”

Her tail lashed anxiously. She tapped her clipboard, watching his posture, his face.

“I’m a [Secretary], Orjin. It’s my job to know things. I have Skills and contacts.”

The [Martial Artist] frowned. That might be true, but even he was aware of the significance of what Salii was telling him.

“Even within Tiqr’s walls during a siege?”

The Drake paused.

“Let’s just say that there are concerned relatives of the refugees we took in. Pomle might not have fought during the war, but we have given succor to Tiqr’s citizens. And this news isn’t exactly covert. If I know, other nations know. And that conversation won’t be secret either.”

“How so?”

“The conversation. It’s going through Wistram. Tiqr doesn’t have a [Diviner] or [Seer] or anyone capable of sending a [Scrying] spell at the moment. So she has to request a third party to link her scrying mirror with Reim’s.”

“Hm.”

Magic. Orjin waited, thinking.

“…How does this reveal the contents of the conversation to other nations?”

Salii shook her head.

“Besides the fact that Wistram needs to maintain the spell? It’s been said that Wistram watches everything, Orjin. That’s the rumor, at least. They can watch you through your scrying orb, and the Mage’s Guilds send every [Message] to the academy. It’s never been proven, of course. If it was, it would be alarming.”

“I’ve never heard of this rumor.”

“You don’t work in the same circles I do. Orjin, this conversation is significant.”

“Reim is far away from Tiqr. Too far for even a Garuda to fly in a day. You told me Oliphant will be besieged by tomorrow morning. How can the King of Destruction aid Tiqr now? Is the Lord of the Skies nearby?”

The Drake shook her head.

“No. But the conversation is significant. Neither Empress Nsiia nor the King of Destruction have communicated once since Tiqr was attacked. I would have known, believe me. It was what everyone was waiting for. And now? Orjin, I think I might know what Nsiia is planning. Or perhaps the King of Destruction. It’s down to refugees.”

Orjin knew Salii wasn’t going to go away until he asked the question. He wished she’d just say things plainly. Pomle’s warriors didn’t waste time.

“What about them?”

“I’ve been running the numbers. You do know that Pomle has taken in over sixty thousand of Tiqr’s citizens during this war?”

“I know.”

Pomle was small, and the sudden influx of people couldn’t be missed. It had only one major oasis, and all the fleeing citizens had naturally settled around that spot. The training grounds felt overly crowded, for all Salii had done to organize the refugees into a single camp that wouldn’t spread out too far and interrupt Pomle’s warriors’ training. Orjin had moved his camp far away, but he still heard them sometimes on the wind.

“So we have sixty thousand citizens. What of it?”

Salii made an impatient sound.

“It may be a lot to Pomle, but Pomle is barely populated. Orjin, do you know how many people live within Tiqr?”

“No.”

Orjin’s voice was as disinterested as could be. The Drake sighed.

“Hundreds of thousands have fled towards the Kilalle Steppes. And more elsewhere. Many were captured, turned into slaves—many more fought and died. But Tiqr is a nation. If the coalition took all their people as slaves, they’d have their hands completely full just trying to manage that many people. So. If some were killed, joined the army, fled, or were taken captive, what happened to the rest?”

“You know the answer. Tell me.”

Salii flipped through her clipboard. She came to a little map and raised it. She had to walk around to show it to Orjin as he stared ahead, still balancing on the tiny rocks.

“They’re right here. In Oliphant. That’s an army, Orjin. One that outnumbers Nerrhavia’s forces, even with the hundred thousand reinforcements they received. It might even outnumber all the coalition’s armies combined.”

Now Orjin saw what she was getting at. He blinked; it was the best reaction she’d gotten from him so far. He considered the idea.

“A large force, yes. But untrained. They’ll be slaughtered even if they hold the high ground. Against trained [Soldiers]? Without Skills, they will die by the dozen for each [Soldier] that falls.”

“Yes. But they could still force back an army by sheer weight of numbers. It might not work against Illivere’s Golems or the chariots if they break the walls—but think, Orjin! The Empress of Beasts is communicating with the King of Destruction. Do you remember some of his Skills? His three Units? What about his Skill? [Army of the King]?”

She threw up her claws, excited, apprehensive. Orjin thought about that, and the legends of the King of Destruction. He took it all in, what she was suggesting. If Empress Nsiia was petitioning Flos Reimarch on the eve of Tiqr’s fall…

“Oh.”

He looked at her. Salii waited. Orjin paused.

Then he turned around and went back to balancing on his toes. Salii stared at his back. After a moment she threw her clipboard on the ground and stalked off to find someone else who would be sufficiently amazed.

—-

And it was the end. It sounded of silence. The beating of her heart. She heard no lamentations in the street, no drums of war. They would come. But the sound of oblivion waiting was silence—and the sounds of her body. Her heart sounded too loud, echoing in her chest.

Her palace was empty. Empress Nsiia sat on her throne, holding a mirror. A scrying device. She waited, as the magic spell connecting her with Reim was established. As the King of Destruction was summoned to give her a fitting end. And what that might be only she and he knew.

But many could imagine. And they feared the timing, just as they feared Flos Reimarch. Perhaps beyond reason; surely, the legend of the [King] had far outstripped the man he once was. But what if it had not? That was the fear that kept those who thought of the world as ‘theirs’ up at night. The fear that they were tiny people who had felt the giant stir.

Empress Nsiia sat by herself. But she was not alone. Not unwatched. As she shifted, adjusting her headband where a single, huge feather hung, the cracked mask of bone sitting on the armrest of her throne, they spoke in quiet voices. But she could not hear them and they were thousands of miles away.

On the isle, in the citadel known as the Academy of Wistram, sat three [Mages]. They were listening, of course, watching Empress Nsiia through their own scrying orb. They could see through her mirror, hijacking the same spell that was about to let her speak with the King of Destruction. She had no idea. It was an ability Wistram kept secret.

The three watchers were all leaders of the academy. Powerful figures known the world over. Archmages, a title that represented the height of magical power and the ambitions of [Mages]. Archmage Feor, Archmage Viltach, and Archmage Nailihuaile were all present, half of the Archmages in the entire world. A rarity given the usual political machinations of the academy.

Feor, the half-Elven Archmage, leader of the most powerful Centrist faction, a master of almost every conceivable school of magic, sat in the center, his brows furrowed his hands steepled. His hair was grey, turning white; he was old, even for a half-Elf, and he had lived in the world for nearly two centuries.

Archmage Nailihuaile sat next to him, on his left. She was a Star Lamia, known most for her skill in the enchanting school of magic and her erratic, scattered, cheerful personality. Leader of the Revivalist faction within Wistram’s walls. Her posture was erect; she used no chair, but a cushion as she played with her staff, watching Nsiia’s face.

Lastly, Archmage Viltach, on Feor’s right. Human, and the head of his Libertarian faction, which was also mostly Human. It was rare to see him in Wistram’s halls—he spent just as much time on Terandria. He had come for this conversation alone, and he rested one arm on the table the three sat at, murmuring little spells to adjust the scrying mirror’s image, enhance it, change the perspective to see the room and Nsiia fully.

Three Archmages were absent, but it mattered little. These three Archmages held the majority of Wistram’s power. Not all Archmages were equal; it was a title that marked them as first among Wistram’s Council, it in itself a ruling body made up of the most influential [Mages]. They were all Archmages. Not [Archmages].

Izril’s lone Archmage and Baleros’ second were absent as befitted their personalities. As for Chandrar’s lone Archmage—well, Archmage Amerys had not been seen since the King of Destruction had announced his return. Rumors were spreading of why she was missing. And none of the Archmages in this room were inclined to speak the truth.

They were waiting, the three. Waiting for Flos Reimarch to connect his scrying mirror and hear what they would say. The anticipation added to the nervousness in the room. No—not nervousness—they were Archmages, far removed from the conflict. But…trepidation. No, speculation. They were concerned, that was all. Concerned.

“Tiqr’s going to lose. Which isn’t ideal, obviously, but it’s better than them being on Flos’ side. There’s nothing he can do about it now; he’d have done it at the start. That’s what we agreed on.”

Archmage Nailihuaile broke the silence after another minute of watching Nsiia sitting. Feor and Viltach looked up. The half-Elven [Mage] paused; it was Viltach who replied testily.

“So we believe, Archmage Nailihuaile. But anything is possible. Does Tiqr have any more surprises left in store? The coalition has already struggled to get this far. Those elephants put up a ferocious defense, as did the Laughing Brigade and Tiqr’s army. Has the Empress of Beasts any artifacts she might use in a last-ditch effort?”

Archmage Naili frowned, flicking her tongue out. Her scales shone, some with stored magical energy.

“Not to my knowledge, no. I know she’s got two artifacts. See the headband she’s wearing? One feather left. And that is her only powerful relic to my knowledge, aside from the spear.”

“She’s used the rest, then. What does the headband do?”

Viltach might have guessed, but he deferred to Naili’s expertise. The Archmage was an [Enchanter] after all. She frowned.

“I don’t know. I didn’t hear reports of her using it in battle and obviously we couldn’t get anyone to watch for us. But that feather is a…Roc’s feather. And that headband looks like a variant of a wildform-type artifact. I’d have to actually be there to analyze the magic, obviously, but I’m betting each feather gives her some magic from the bird it came from. For a little bit. Thirty minutes? Maybe less. Definitely not an hour.”

Feor nodded. That was his appraisal too. He spoke softly, watching Nsiia’s eyes. She looked worn-down. But not despairing; she looked almost feverish as she shifted again. Like someone driven to the brink. A cornered animal. It was a look that told him to be wary.

“And the Roc’s feather?”

“Makes her bigger, obviously. Have you seen a Roc? That’s literally all they are. Huge. Eggs taste nice, though.”

Viltach made a grunting sound. He tapped on his pointed beard, frowning down his nose at Nsiia.

“That settles it from Tiqr’s side alone. Tiqr never had many relic-class artifacts. The King of Destruction plundered most from the nations he defeated; that she has even two is due to Tiqr’s alliance with Reim. The Tusk of Tiqr is a fairly standard spear enchanted with recall and piercing enchantments. It can also summon any elephant species in the region to the wearer’s aid, but it’s largely useless to the Empress.”

“It’s pretty good. She could throw it through General-whats-his-name. Kill the head and the army runs off, maybe?”

Viltach shook his head.

“Thelican. He won’t approach. He’s a conservative attacker. Strategic.”

“Cowardly. He stays behind his army for everything.”

“Pragmatic.”

“Coward.”

“Archmage Naili, the purpose of a [General] is not to take to the front like some barbarian—”

“Silence. The King of Destruction is here.”

The two bickering Archmages fell silent at once. Feor turned his head. A second scrying orb in the table came to life. They saw Flos Reimarch. He too was sitting on his throne. He looked old. That was always what struck Feor, every single time. Fleethoof, the King of Destruction—he’d seen them when they were young. He kept forgetting how fast everyone else aged.

But Flos Reimarch still brought a moment of silence into the room where the Archmages sat. He stared blankly into the scrying mirror and then his eyes suddenly focused. Empress Nsiia had been staring past her mirror at something. She glanced down. And sat up. The two ruler’s eyes met.

“Nsiia.”

The word was a sigh. Flos Reimarch stared at the Empress of Beasts. She looked at the King of Destruction, her eyes wide. Feor saw the same emotions cross Nsiia’s face for a moment.

“Flos. You look so old.”

“I do? I was barely your age when we met. No. Younger.”

The King of Destruction looked amused. Nsiia blinked at him. She shook her head.

“We have not spoken for over a decade. And then it was so brief. I still remember the [King] who strode into this throne room and stood before my father. Am I the girl you remember?”

Flos paused. His eyes searched Nsiia, and he shook his head slightly.

“No. You look far different than I remember you, Nsiia. I remember a girl. I see now an [Empress]. I greet you, Empress Nsiia of Tiqr. Empress of Beasts.”

She nodded slowly.

“And I you, Flos Reimarch. [King] of Reim. King of Destruction.”

The two held each other’s gazes. The Archmages shifted. They were uninvited voyeurs to this moment. And they could not guess at the emotions conveyed without words. Viltach was tense, a magical quill transcribing the conversation. He cared little for the emotion of the moment. Naili looked as if she were watching a story—and it was. Feor just listened, searching for anything he could use to understand the King of Destruction, that could aid him.

The conversation was intimate and formal by turns. Flos looked past Nsiia, searching.

“I remember an elephant. Your protector and friend, you called him. Where is he? His name was…”

“Thef. Thef is dead. He was slain by an arrow. Alked Fellbow struck him down and Thef died, giving me time to flee.”

Nsiia’s face hardened. Her eyes flashed wild. Flos bowed his head.

“I am sorry.”

At their table, Naili sat up and looked upset.

“He is? I liked that elephant!”

“Archmage Naili, be silent.”

Feor snapped at her. Nsiia was shaking her head.

“…end upon us all. My [General], Vasraf, holds the walls. But the coalition’s armies have all encircled Oliphant. Ten, and Nerrhavia’s the largest by far. They will fall upon us come dawn, or so Vasraf tells me. Hence my conversation. It has been overdue.”

“Yes it has. I have been waiting for it. Let us speak, then, Nsiia.”

The Archmages leaned forwards as one. Nsiia adjusted the mirror. Her eyes found Flos’; the Archmages had trouble looking at her bright eyes. They had all seen death, and this was the gaze of someone on that edge they had all walked. Staring into the depths.

“Tiqr will fall, Flos Reimarch. My people have fled, lie dead or have been enslaved. The animals of Tiqr are likewise gone or fallen, defending this land. These other nations have torn Tiqr apart, and they will beset us at the last. This is Tiqr’s final hour. What say you of it?”

The King of Destruction bowed his head.

“What say I? I knew Tiqr in its glory. When I marched into your lands, your father stood against me and dared me to try to take Tiqr. That every child, animal, and stone would fight me to the end. I did not doubt him and invited Tiqr to my kingdom. Your people fought with mine until my slumber. Proud friends of the wild.”

He gestured at Nsiia’s headband, the single huge feather remaining.

“Your father gave his life, riding Leihfil the Roc, dooming hundreds of Terandria’s [Griffin Riders] in battle when they came to strike a blow at my heart. I mourn it all. But your father’s words hold true. Tiqr has bled them for every step forwards the invaders have taken.”

Empress Nsiia only nodded. Flos continued, heavily.

“And yet, Tiqr dies. You have heard of my vow of peace, which led Tiqr to this moment. Nsiia. Do you hold it against me?”

“Of course. Were you never to issue it, Tiqr might not have fallen.”

Nsiia’s eyes flashed. Flos nodded. She stared at him, biting one lip hard enough to pierce skin.

“Peace. Why would you bother awakening from your slumber just to announce peace?”

“To prove I do not make war without cause, Nsiia. I never did. Or should I do battle with every nation in Chandrar at once? Even I would lose such a war. Probably.”

Flos shook his head. Nsiia closed her eyes.

“So you issue it and your enemies plot to remove your allies.”

“Yes. I did not expect it, Nsiia. You did not ally with Reim. The nations that attack Tiqr have no cause.”

She nodded, distracted. Feor saw Viltach moving impatiently, opening his mouth. The half-Elf gave him a freezing gaze and Viltach subsided. Nsiia was staring absently past the mirror.

“You know, I could have declared Tiqr as yours and asked for your protection. I could have given my people to Reim as we did two decades ago and dared the other nations to violate your sovereignty. And they would have.”

“Most likely. Which is why I did not ask. But if you had requested it after Tiqr was attacked—”

Flos leaned on his throne, his face disturbed. Nsiia snapped at him, sitting up, furious.

“And I would not have offered! Tiqr joined you, King of Destruction. But we are our own nation. Proud! We will not bow to invaders or hide behind your sword! We fought.”

She paused. He looked at her and inclined his head silently. Nsiia sat back, slumping again. Her bare shoulders leaning against her throne of ivory.

“And we died. Thef died. My soldier’s blood waters Tiqr’s soil. My animals, my subjects I was pledged to protect—all lie dead. They died defending their homes. And these armies march onwards, destroying. Slaying us all in the name of—what? Justice? They do not even dare Reim’s borders, so they attack us for not condemning you as a monster.”

“I know. Nsiia. It is a harsh fate. One I would have avoided had I known what consequences my words held.”

She laughed hollowly, shaking her head.

“It is Chandrar’s legacy. Kingdoms rise and fall. Tiqr is but one more. They are waiting. Soon, they will strike. And Tiqr will fall. But enough of grief. Enough! I did not call you to condemn you, Flos Reimarch. Nor was it to wail lamentations. You have something I desire. A fitting end.”

Flos didn’t reply. He was waiting. The Archmages stared at each other, and then the orb. Naili rolled it closer so they could stare down at Nsiia’s face. She gestured past her throne, tilting her scrying orb so they could see the silent city, the rooftops visible from where she sat. Her throne room was open; elephants and animals could enter it freely. None filled it now.

“My beloved citizens hide behind Oliphant’s walls, Flos. They would not flee. Many have, but many more came here. To stand with me in Tiqr’s final hour. Do you know how many?”

“No.”

“Six hundred thousand.”

Viltach made a sound. Feor looked up.

“What? How?”

“Six hundred thousand?”

Flos’ voice was echoed by Vilatch’s in incredulity. He stood up.

“That’s impossible. There were hundreds of thousands of refugees fleeing in every direction!”

“Well, Tiqr’s big. No wonder many went to the capital. That’s…a lot more than we thought, though. A lot more. She must have been hiding them! They’re not on the walls!”

Naili’s tale was curling uneasily. Feor looked at them, then waved a hand for silence. Nsiia was nodding, replying to Flos as he leaned forwards, frowning.

“It is good that these armies won’t wait to starve us out. Oliphant’s food stores are already running low from feeding them so long. We could last another two days before starvation sets in.”

“You did not ask them to flee?”

“I asked. They would rather die than flee and risk enslavement, or live without their homes. Most did flee. But this is where they have spent generations!”

The Empress of Beasts snapped back. Flos only nodded. She calmed herself, breathing more quickly. Now there was a stir in the air, a prickle on Feor’s skin. Foreboding.

“Six hundred thousand. And my army still holds my walls, though they have been torn away. Maybe you didn’t predict this, Flos, as you said. Or perhaps you did. If you were so calculating, you were not the man I remember. But a [King] sometimes makes dark choices, so perhaps you only saw the opportunity. I am an [Empress] and I see it now. Dark choices. Branching paths, all of which lead to nothing. Nowhere.”

“Nsiia.”

“The other nations have demanded my surrender. Do you know what the Siren of Savere offered me? Torture, my citizens her slaves. I, a plaything. Yisame dressed her words more prettily, but the end is the same. Tiqr would be caged like animals. I would be leashed. I would prefer death over that. But a worthy death. A fitting end to my home. King of Destruction. Will you listen to my request?”

“Yes.”

She sat up. Empress Nsiia gazed at Flos Reimarch as the Archmages waited. She took a deep breath. And then she spoke in a level tone.

“Flos Reimarch. I would swear Tiqr to you. If you are willing, I would pledge my life by blood to serve you until the end of my days. To fight for your dream once more. Make me one of your Seven. And give me my end. Tiqr may die, but we will destroy everything with us.”

Her eyes burned. In their room, Naili dropped her staff. It clattered to the floor. Viltach jerked.

“What did she—”

Feor pointed. The [Complete Hush] spell hit Viltach and enveloped the room in silence. Only the scrying orbs were excluded. Nsiia’s voice continued onwards, growing louder.

“I know the strength you gave your Seven. And I know the power you can give an army! If we are your subjects, you can revive your units of old. The Sorcelled Blades! We have a hundred enchanted weapons. Wasn’t that all you ever needed? There are not any [Illusionists] to recreate the Mirage of Chandrar. But I have my citizens. King of Destruction, turn Tiqr into your weapon of old. Resurrect the Dreamers of Reim! Summon your [Army of the King]!”

There was no sound from the Archmages, spell or not. They watched Flos slowly raise his head. Nsiia’s eyes were wild as she stood. He spoke slowly.

“You wish to turn your army, your people into one of my armies? My Dreamers of Reim?”

“And your Sorcelled Blades. Use your Skill, Flos. As dawn breaks and the armies assault Tiqr, transform us into a sword. Give me destruction! And give them death!”

Nsiia was shouting. The Empress of Beasts stalked her throne room. And she stared at the distant camps in the night.

“I have seen your Dreamers. I know their strength. My people are no less than the Dreamers who brought nations to ruin. Think of it, Flos! Unbreakable. Undefeatable! Tiqr could wipe out the armies besieging it. All of them! Turn every last of my citizens into a Dreamer and use your Skills and we will take them, no matter the cost. I will fight until my dying breath.”

“And then? You might fall, even were I to do all you ask. But what if you won? With Tiqr in ruins, what would be next? Your enemies would still assail you, again and again. The Dreamers are not invincible.”

Flos’ voice was quiet. Nsiia turned on him.

“I know that. Tiqr is already gone, Flos. What remains are our grudges. After this battle, even should I live or fall, we will strike back, until none remain. I will bring down the nations who destroyed Tiqr. Savere first. I will march on the Siren and kill her myself. And then Nerrhavia.”

“You will never conquer Nerrhavia, not with every last citizen. My [Army of the King] will last you a single battle. And Nerrhavia’s armies will drown even the Dreamers of Reim in numbers and the strength of their soldiers.”

“Then we will tear the String People away. Fray them until Nerrhavia is torn. They may not die, but they will bleed for all they are made of cloth. Think of it, King of Destruction. Your foes to the south will be ruined.”

Viltach was trying to speak. Trying to shout in the silence. The horror on his face was a reflection of Feor’s own. Nsiia was pacing. Flos was still.

“These nations made no war on me, Nsiia. If I gave you my strength, I would forswear myself. How would you answer that betrayal?”

For a moment the Empress of Beasts stared into the scrying mirror and the Archmages felt as if she were trying to look for them. Then she shook her head, the same desperate smile upon her face.

“Who would know? We would not write our allegiance on our chests. And why would it matter if we did? Who would gainsay me from asking for your aid today? This is Tiqr’s war. I only ask you to help me end it as I please. I will even declare my loyalty to you tomorrow; give this coalition a chance to flee.”

“They will not. Your words would give them little choice, Nsiia.”

“Just as they gave Tiqr little choice but to be destroyed and enslaved or fight until the end? I call it fair. And I care little for my legacy. My home is already gone. What is your answer, Flos?”

He did not reply. The Archmages sat, frozen. Naili was trying to dispel Feor’s spell, but too rattled to do it properly. Nsiia held out her hand, imploringly.

“I may die tomorrow. Or when I tear the Siren from her throne. Or long after that. Perhaps I will live. But give me the strength, Flos Reimarch. Give me my destruction and Tiqr its end. Do not let us pass from this earth without punishing those who would erase us! You owe us that.”

“That is true.”

The King of Destruction rose. He looked at Nsiia. And he bowed his head. His eyes closed for a long moment. And when he opened them, the King of Destruction’s pupils held a cold depth to them. Feor looked into those depths and saw ruin. Nsiia smiled, baring her teeth. Flos Reimarch paused. And nodded.

“I must think on my reply. You will know my answer by dawn, Empress.”

“Heed my last request, Flos. Ask what you would of me. Name your foe and I will instruct my [General] to follow if I should fall. Let us fall with dignity.”

Nsiia urged Flos. He bowed his head, nodding. Feor barely heard them ending the conversation. He saw Naili fumbling with her staff, then a pop as she dispelled the [Hush] spell. But it was still quiet as both orbs turned clear, empty. The Archmages looked at each other. Then they began to panic.

“She’s going to launch a suicide attack! She’ll destroy the coalition! It’s madness!”

Viltach bellowed, pounding the table. He looked around at Naili and Feor.

“He cannot do this! It violates the spirit of his proclamation of peace!”

“Can’t? All she has to do is declare for him! He can turn her—can he turn her into one of his Seven? He can definitely form a unit. Right? Is she wrong? Tell me she’s wrong.”

Naili was lashing her tail. Feor shook his head.

“He would have said so.”

“He cannot do it. He proclaimed peace!”

“But no one knows about this conversation. And technically, the war against Tiqr was all to curb his power. You could argue that this has always been Reim’s war, fought by proxy—”

Naili was looking at Feor. The Archmage was flicking his fingers, casting [Calm] spells on everyone, including himself. Viltach resisted the spell, but Naili let him cast it on her. Feor sighed as his heartbeat slowed. He thought, employing frigid logic, ignoring his emotions.

“Viltach, calm yourself. The King of Destruction may well grant Empress Nsiia’s request. We should not focus on whether he will, but if he does—we need to send a declaration explaining what has occurred and condemning his actions the instant it occurs.”

“If it occurs. He might say no.”

Viltach was clinging to that. Naili looked at Flos. She shook her head.

“What are the odds when he says yes? The coalition has ten armies outside Oliphant. It’s just one unit, right? The Dreamers of Reim. I’d nearly forgotten about that unit. And the [Army of the King]? Do you know what it does, definitively?”

Feor and Viltach both shook their heads. Viltach muttered, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“Not definitively. But I know it’s his most powerful Skill. And I’ve seen what it does. The Empress of Beasts must know.”

“Can he turn her into one of his Seven? Would that make her even stronger?”

Archmage Feor ignored that. He was recalling the odds, trying to weigh stories about the Dreamers of Reim and historical battles. Six hundred thousand civilians against…he looked up

“We must communicate these facts with our allies. The coalition might be wiped out if they are attacked.”

Viltach and Naili looked at him, palely. The Star Lamia’s tail swished.

“We tell them we know what we heard? Is that wise?”

“If the coalition doesn’t prepare against an attack…fighting the Dreamers on the walls would be suicidal.”

The Human Archmage nodded. He was resigned now, Feor saw.

“Agreed. Who do we warn?”

“Nerrhavia, certainly. The academy has fairly good relations with Queen Yisame and they are the largest check on Reim’s southern borders. Their army is also the one that can shift the battle. Thelican commands. Send a [Message] spell. Highest priority. No—we’ll communicate via speech.”

The other Archmages nodded. Viltach ran a hand through his combed hair, rattled.

“Who else? Illivere.”

“You think so?”

Naili looked at Viltach. He paused.

“Of course. The Federation is a strong ally of Wistram and Magus-Crafter Femithain is a fellow [Mage], even if he never attended the academy.”

“Do you know him?”

“I’ve met him. Very astute. A steadying influence. Willing to make acceptable changes—certainly an ally. Not a powerful one compared to his neighbors, but it would be a heavy loss if he fell. He is in gravest danger since he remains at the front.”

Feor nodded.

“Agreed, I will handle Thelican. Viltach, Illivere?”

“Yes. Naili—”

The Star Lamia frowned.

“Savere? The Siren of Tides has…contacts among some of our members.”

The Archmages paused. They looked at each other. Naili’s face twisted. Viltach shook his head, looking much the same. Feor nodded slowly.

“Savere can wait. Archmage Nailihuaile, speak to Demios’ [King]—and then—”

—-

The armies surrounding Tiqr were unusually busy as night began to lighten. Dawn was still an hour or two away, but it was odd to see so much movement.

Not in Savere’s camp of course. The infamous Saverian irregulars had little discipline. They were good fighters, but they were, as noted, made up of disreputable classes. Thus, they drank, enjoyed themselves, and ate even on the eve of battle. Slaves circulated the camps, trying not to attract attention, as the ‘soldiers’ ate from plundered goods.

They had little fear of attack; they were besieging Oliphant and as far as they were concerned, other armies could fight and die for them. If Savere’s army and its leader, the [Bandit Lady] in charge of the army had any concern, it was to secure the Empress of Beasts. The Siren of Savere had demanded it, so they’d have to do the damn thing. If someone else got to her, they might have to arrange a few accidents before she was fully ensnared.

But that was a concern for tomorrow, and even the [Bandit Lady] had her enjoyments. In fact, she was enjoying herself so much that it was only when she stepped outside to relieve herself that she noticed an issue.

The Saverian [Bandit Lady] looked up from her drink and plate full of rich meat as she raided one of the cooking fires. She frowned, perplexed by an oddity.

Savere had been assigned to the western walls of Oliphant without much siege support, much to her ire. She’d protested it to that upstuck General Thelican, but the damned Stitch-Man had refused to budge. He clearly had his own orders regarding the Empress, so Savere had been put behind the ranks of two other nations’ front lines. Deimos and Nerrhavia’s forces flanked Savere, albeit at a distance to avoid accidental ‘accidents’ involving thieves in their supplies or camps. Again. The [Bandit Lady] had been annoyed by the proximity, but now…she stared around.

There were no camps or fires to her right. Or left. She stared around and saw the glow and activity of armies. But not in front of her. Slowly, she set down her wine cup and stared about.

“…Why are we on the front lines?”

The laughing soldiers around her looked up. One of the [Raid Leaders] stood up. Like the [Bandit Lady], she had near-perfect night vision and she saw the same thing. Savere was the closest army to Oliphant by far.

Every other army had pulled back. In fact, many of them had broken the encirclement and moved closer to Nerrhavia’s army, letting them oh-so-slightly take the lead. In fact, Savere’s army was now treacherously exposed on all sides, including the rear.

“What the fuck’s happening?”

The [Raid Leader] looked nervously at the [Bandit Lady]. The Saverian commander turned. Alarm bells were ringing through her head. She knew bad news when she saw it.

“I don’t know! Shut up! Get the army moving! Move back! Get up you maggot-assed bastards! Someone get me the Siren!”

—-

Revine, known as the Siren of Tides, or the Siren of Savere, or unofficially, one of the [Bandit Queens] that plagued the world, was furious. She was screaming at one of her slave-[Mages]. The woman was flinching, the magical collar around her neck shining as she used her magic and ducked the objects Revine was hurling at her.

“What do you mean, all the other nations were warned before me? Me? Those damn Archmages—not one of them told me? I had to wait for one of my people to deliver the information?”

“I’m sorry—”

The [Mage] ducked. One of the [Bandit Ladies] in Revine’s almost all-female command ducked, dodging a spray of wine from one of the cups. Revine whirled.

“She’s coming after me? Me? That bitch? That flea-covered—”

She ran out of words and pointed a finger. Everyone ducked as the Siren sent a blast of water into one wall. It blasted a dresser into pieces with the impact of tonnes of water. The Siren made a strangled noise; it had been filled with costly garments. She whirled.

“Queen—Lady Urele wants to know what orders you have.”

The Siren whirled. Her fury subsided a bit. She looked around. And the flash of fear across her face made the [Bandit Lady]’s heart skip her own beat. The King of Destruction was going to give Tiqr his strength? Revine chewed one fingernail.

“Tell them to pull back! And get me every [Pirate Captain] in a week’s sailing distance! Call them in! All the armadas! The Sandwave Fleet, the Bloodtear Pirates—and get everyone on alert! I want my ship ready to go in case of—get my ship stocked and loaded!”

She looked around. And then she whirled back to the slave-[Mage].

“Tell Urele I want the Empress of Beasts dead! Forget capturing her! If she comes out—kill her! Understand?”

—-

The sky was dark, and Femithain had been roused from his sleep. He strode through Nerrhavia’s camp, followed by his [Armsmaster], Dellic. But despite having slept little, he was wide awake.

As was all of the camp. Nerrhavian [Soldiers] were racing back and forth, and teams of [Diggers] were excavating the ground. The camp was in a flurry of activity, and Femithain saw the locus of it. General Thelican looked like he’d barely had any sleep before being woken. He was standing in the center of his camp, shouting orders at his [Strategists], the [Mages] bearing urgent messages for him and the [Commanders] of other nations.

He’d pulled back Nerrhavia’s army nearly six hundred paces from Oliphant! And more—Femithain had seen Nerrhavia’s encirclement breaking. Thelican was recalling them, pulling them back around his personal command. He’d gotten the same news that chilled Femithain’s blood.

The Empress of Beasts had courted the King of Destruction’s aid. He might unleash his Dreamers of Reim and his [Army of the King] through her. Femithain had gotten that straight from Archmage Viltach. He hadn’t questioned it. And neither it seemed had anyone else.

The armies surrounding Oliphant were moving closer together, almost huddling next to the protective bulk of Nerrhavia’s army. Thelican was changing the distribution of his camps, creating fortifications. Suddenly, it looked like his army was the one being besieged. Femithain strode past staggered ranks of foot-soldiers digging trenches and fashioning palisades in the night.

He reached the center of the commotion. This time no one saw him—until one of his personal Golems strode forwards. Then they backed away from the huge metal giant. Femithain walked past the press, straight towards Thelican.

General Thelican was sweating, his silk-turned-flesh skin gleaming palely. He was shouting at a [Mage].

“Are you sure? Tell Yisame that I’m not taking chances! That’s the information I was told—ask them! I’m busy! Tell her I’m fortifying my position! The armies stay where I say they do!”

“I’m not taking a charge on the front lines! Move your soldiers in front of mine!”

Another [General] was bellowing at Thelican. General Heic of Deimos. Thelican whirled on him.

“Your soldiers have armor! You’ll hold the left flank or I’ll break your army myself!”

“If we’re attacked—”

“Femithain!”

Thelican spotted Femithain. He strode over.

“Did you hear? I just got a communication spell from—”

“I heard.”

“It’s the most dire news. Who would have thought? The treachery of it! And we can’t even retreat, damn them! It could be a ruse or—Yisame, my beloved damned [Queen], has ordered me to hold! I need your Golems on the front. They’ll be invaluable. Put your troops with mine. We’ll hold the center.”

“I agree.”

“Good, good. Someone has a spine! Move them up. I’ll show you where—”

Thelican shouted for maps. Femithain waited, seeing Heic turn to him. He felt someone touch his arm and turned. Dellic was insistent, pointing back towards Illivere’s army, which had broken camp.

“Magus-Crafter, we must evacuate you as well. You cannot be endangered! You should retreat with your personal Golems. I will send some of our elites as an escort. Allow me command of the Golems.”

“No. My responsibility keeps me at the front.”

Femithain cut Dellic off flatly. The man inhaled, his face pale—and General Heic pushed his way forwards.

“Magus-Crafter! A word! This can’t be serious. We’re running about as if we’re about to fight a battle for our lives! And my soldiers are on the front! Thelican’s put his entire army between him and Oliphant—is the man terrified for his life or—”

Femithain grabbed Heic. Thelican had been accosted by a [Strategist], but panic or not, Heic’s words were a deadly insult. And the String People of Nerrhavia paid insults with blood.

“General Heic, silence. Dellic, with me. Move the army forwards. Golems to the front!”

He practically towed Heic out of the circle of command. Heic spluttered, but fell silent. Femithain strode with him towards the front.

“This can’t be serious. My [King] just sent me a [Message] spell—the King of Destruction? Aiding Tiqr? Now? Is this a serious threat?”

“I heard the same, General Heic. And I take it quite seriously. It is an act of desperation. And consequential—but there is reason for it.”

“But we’ve ten armies! She’s got barely—”

Femithain whirled, out of patience for once. Dellic returned at a trot. The Magus-Crafter looked at both men.

“Have you ever seen the Dreamers of Reim, Armsmaster Dellic? General Heic?”

Deimos’ [General] shook his head uneasily. So did Dellic. Femithain pursed his lips.

“I have. Or rather, I’ve seen their aftermath. They are the strongest of the King of Destruction’s personal units. It is an unbreakable force, who bear the dreams of their fallen comrades. Every Dreamer fights with the strength of their cause, their fallen comrades, friends, and loved ones giving them power. They become faster, harder to kill, and more deadly the stronger their conviction.”

Heic opened his mouth, paling. Femithain spoke over him.

“It was said that when the King of Destruction led them, they could walk through a hail of ordinary arrows without falling. They could shatter stone with their fists and fight for a day without rest!”

“Golems can do that too, Magus-Crafter.”

Dellic gritted his teeth. Femithain looked at him.

“Yes they can, Armsmaster. But we have hundreds of Golems. In theory, we could be fighting six hundred thousand Dreamers, if the King of Destruction’s Skill works on all of them at once.”

The two men fell silent. Femithain looked at them.

“The Dreamers of Reim follow a great cause; once, it was the King of Destruction’s will to unite Chandrar, and the world. The desire of Tiqr’s people to follow their [Empress] into battle might be even stronger at this moment.”

“Then why are we not retreating?”

General Heic finally understood the danger. He looked back at his own force, far to the left. Femithain watched as his Golems marched forwards, giants of stone, sand, and wood.

“Because we are committed, General Heic. And because the Dreamers are not invincible. We can win this battle. The second Unit that I was informed might appear are the Sorcelled Blades. Another of the King of Destruction’s unique forces.”

“He has two?”

Dellic started. He was too young to remember the King of Destruction’s first campaign. Probably just a boy, then. Femithain had lived those times and corrected him.

“Three. I doubt he can form the Mirage of Chandrar, however. The Sorcelled Blades are a weaker unit as a whole. More conventional than an army that cannot be broken. But elites. All of their blades are enchanted and they reinforce each other. They can copy each other’s enchantments, even combine the two. Blades that pierce armor will also freeze those they cut. Nsiia could form a group of warriors with weapons all nearly as powerful as her personal relic.”

“Dead gods.”

“They can be broken as well. This army is one of trained [Soldiers]. Tiqr’s citizens lack levels. They can be killed.”

And if he uses the [Army of the King]? Femithain paused. He looked at the two men.

“Flos Reimarch is not invincible. His Seven made him terrifying and unassailable. And yes, the King of Destruction is fearsome on his own. He can win any one battle even against terrible, terrible odds. Where he loses is when he fights on multiple fronts, when he is outflanked, worn down. A hammer can only strike one spot. But if this is the hammer it is weak. Flawed. We are an anvil. So long as we do not break, Tiqr’s forces will shatter.”

“You need not be here, Magus-Crafter.”

Dellic’s voice was all that was left in the silence. Femithain knew it was true. But he just looked at his [Armsmaster], at Heic as he returned to the safety of Nerrhavia’s lines and shook his head.

“Armsmaster Dellic. I have participated in Tiqr’s destruction. I declared war on Empress Nsiia and broke her kingdom to pieces until she was pushed to this last. For good or ill. I do not leave my tasks undone.”

The man hesitated. But then he looked at Femithain and nodded. He clasped one hand to his shoulder and metal rang.

“Yes, Magus-Crafter. Then let us see it together. I’ve always wondered whether the King of Destruction’s legend matched the truth.”

Femithain smiled bitterly.

“Ill wishes, Armsmaster. Come.”

He turned. And then he raised a finger. He put it to his temple and frowned. A [Message] struck him, a spell from afar. Femithain accepted it as Dellic looked at him. His eyes flickered. And he sighed.

“Ah. I see.”

—-

“A [Message]!”

Archmage Feor was sending [Message] spells and speaking into a scrying orb to a [Queen] on her throne. He held up a hand, cutting off Queen Yisame.

“From the King of Destruction?”

One of the [Mages] doing the same looked up. Teura shook her head. She was monitoring the flurry of [Messages] going out around Oliphant, recording them for analysis later. Even in this situation, Wistram stood to benefit. But one had caught her eye.

“No—to Magus-Crafter Femithain, Archmage! From the Empress of Beasts! It says—”

Archmage Feor snatched the paper from her and read. Teura looked at him. The Archmage dropped the paper and looked out the window. It was dawn. The sun was rising. And if it was rising here—he turned.

Archmage Nailihuaile and Viltach looked up as Feor burst into the room where they were writing Wistram’s declaration. He pointed at them as they turned.

“Send the declaration! Alert General Thelican and the coalition leaders to brace for an attack!”

“Why? Did Flos send something?”

Naili looked up, eyes wide in alarm. Feor shook his head. He brandished the paper.

“This is a message from Empress Nsiia to Magus-Crafter Femithain. It says—”

Viltach snatched the paper. Naili slithered around him, trying to see. Viltach dropped it and turned. He looked at Naili.

“Send it now. We’ll have to scry the battle!”

“What? How do you know? Why are you certain? What did she say?”

The shorter Lamia was snatching at the floating paper in frustration. Viltach paused at the door; Feor was already moving for their scrying room. He looked back at Naili, who was reading Nsiia’s words to Femithain. Viltach pointed at the paper.

“She told him to run.”

—-

Empress Nsiia walked down the steps from her palace. Her head felt light. And her shoulders were thrown back, her spine straight. She walked past her soldiers. They waited. General Vasraf stood down the central street. And her people, an army, waited at the gates.

“General Vasraf.”

Nsiia paused once before him. He bowed slightly. There were tears in his eyes. But he didn’t try to stop her. They had spoken all the words that needed to be said. Nsiia reached out and they clasped arms. She looked at him, trying to put words to the emotions in her chest.

“I only wish that I had not been the last [Empress] of Tiqr. I wish to have been a better ruler.”

He shook his head, eyes bright.

“My Empress. It has been a pleasure to serve. From all of us.”

The [Soldiers] bowed. They knelt as Nsiia looked around. She felt her eyes sting. And she bowed her head. She wanted to remember this moment forever. But dawn beckoned. And her people waited. So Nsiia paused. She looked at Vasraf, her army, her city. And then she reached up. With one hand she lifted the Tusk of Tiqr. The other rose to her headdress.

She plucked the Roc’s feather. Vasraf stepped back. And Nsiia looked down at the feather, the last gift of her father. And it shimmered and faded away in her hand. Her headband glowed.

And Nsiia grew. She felt her clothes and spear growing with her. Tall. Taller. She rose over the heads of her soldiers, who looked up, kneeling. Nsiia saw the rooftops moving towards her. She turned, nearly stumbling, as her feet grew.

And then she stopped. She stood as tall as one of her Grand Elephants, the eighteen still armored for war. They blew their trumpets, seeing their Empress. The Empress of Beasts took a tentative step.

Tall. A giant. She looked at her spear, now longer than even a Grand Elephant’s tusk. She stared down at her people and they looked up at her. They screamed her name. Nsiia walked forwards, leaving Vasraf behind, moving towards the southern gates.

Her enemy waited there. They had formed a wall, a semicircle around Oliphant. Even now she could see them, fortifying their position. They looked tiny all of a sudden. She smiled bitterly. Then she walked forwards. Her people moved out of the way and Nsiia took each step carefully.

Was this what Thef had felt like, towering over everyone? It was lonely. She wished he was here, to see her as tall as he was. Her dearest friend. Her wild half. Thef. She looked towards the gates.

“The King of Destruction has given me his answer. Now tremble. People of Tiqr. My subjects! Come with me.”

The citizens looked up. In silence, they followed Nsiia as she ducked under the gates. She strode out of Oliphant. Leaving her city for the last time. But she knew she would remember it in her heart for as long as she lived.

—-

He saw her coming out of the gates. Femithain stood in the dirt. She was distant, but he could see how tall she was. As tall as her elephants. And behind her came—

An army. The people of Tiqr, wearing scavenged armor, holding weapons they weren’t familiar with. But an army nonetheless. They poured out of the gates, outnumbering the army behind Femithain.

“Magus-Crafter?”

Dellic’s voice was tight. Femithain could see the front ranks of Nerrhavia’s soldiers moving back. They’d all heard now. And they saw her.

The Empress of Beasts. Here she came, striding slowly, the ground filling with bodies behind her. From his command in the center of his army, Thelican shuddered. He looked around, searching for the Named Adventurer.

“Can you hit her from this range?”

Alked Fellbow looked up. His bow was strung, but he hadn’t reached for an arrow. He looked at the distant Empress of Beasts. It was far beyond all but his bow range.

“If she gets closer. It’s a big target.”

“The instant she’s in range, then. No—when she begins her attack! Loose at once!”

Thelican ordered the man. Alked Fellbow didn’t reply. He narrowed his eyes at the Empress, then looked at Thelican.

“Did the King of Destruction join with Tiqr?”

“How did you—”

“I have ears.”

Alked lowered his bow. He looked at Thelican and shook his head.

“If he did, I’m out. I forfeit my contract. I’m not sticking around for that battle.”

“You must! You were hired—”

“If I shoot her, that army will tear me to pieces. No thanks.”

The Named Adventurer shook his head. He unstrung his bow, put it on his back. Thelican shouted at him, face pale with fury.

“Don’t you dare—”

On the front, Femithain was watching Nsiia drawing closer. Illivere’s small army was now in front, holding the center line. The Nerrhavian Hemp-[Soldiers] were two dozen feet behind theirs. Dellic was looking around.

“Magus-Crafter, shouldn’t we pull back?”

Femithain looked over his shoulder.

“I pledged Illivere to fight in this war. I do not flee. Someone must stand here or else these armies will retreat until their backs hit the sea.”

He spoke loud enough for his army to hear. The [Artificers], [Mages], and [Soldiers] in Femithain’s army looked up. They stared at him as he turned. The Golems of Illivere waited, unmoving, unflinching. Beautiful. Femithain looked at Dellic.

“Armsmaster Dellic. You will hold this ground. Retreat Illivere’s army when I fall, or when over half of the Golems are destroyed. Inform the Head Artificers that I nominate Artificer Antielle d’Elin as my replacement.”

“Magus-Crafter!”

The man’s voice rose in anguish. Femithain struck his left shoulder with one hand.

“That is an order, [Armsmaster]. Now let us end this. I have intruded on the Empress of Beast’s lands too long. She is wroth with me and all of us.”

He turned. Femithain strode forwards. From his command, General Thelican saw the Magus-Crafter moving. General Heic turned his head, shouting, his voice lost from the distance. Rémi Canada looked up from his hidden vantage point. Slowly, he raised his smartphone as he frantically cribbed notes.

Femithain raised his staff in one hand. His metal Golems flanked him. He shouted.

“I am Magus-Crafter Femithain. Golems of Illivere, forwards!”

They moved. A line of Golems advanced with him. Femithain walked, hearing their footsteps. And ahead of him, the Empress of Beasts advanced. Now her citizens filled the plains. And she towered over him. As tall as a Golem. She was watching him.

Femithain stopped, now forty paces ahead of Nerrhavia’s front line. His Golems came to a standstill. The Empress of Beasts halted, hundreds of feet distant. But now her face was clearly visible. She stood over her subjects as they formed a rough line behind her. She stared contemptuously down at the coalition’s army. And they looked up at her.

Nsiia whirled. She saw the flinch across hundreds of thousands of bodies. She looked back at her people. And they looked up at her. They were burning. The same look in her eyes reflected in hundreds of thousands of eyes. Nsiia raised her spear.

“This is our end! My people! Tell the world who we were!”

They stared up at her. And then the silence broke. Nsiia’s echoing voice was joined by a scream. A wild, howling sound. It came from them. Like beasts, they shouted, shrieking their anguish.

But they were people! Nsiia’s eyes ran with tears. She raised her spear. And she shouted the word at her people.

“Tiqr!”

They bellowed it back. Nsiia turned. The army in front of it flinched. The word came from Nsiia and her people. A roar.

“Tiqr!”

She lifted her spear higher. This time something tore in her throat. The word itself was pain.

“Tiqr!”

The skies shook. Ten nation’s armies quivered. Nsiia looked up at the sky. She pointed and screamed his name.

“King of Destruction! Flos of Reim!”

Thunder. Nsiia moved forwards. Femithain was holding his ground. She strode towards him, slowly. He met her eyes. His Golems readied themselves. And behind her, Tiqr’s last army prepared to charge. She could see [Archers] in Nerrhavia’s ranks drawing back, preparing to loose. Nsiia was two hundred feet away. She raised her spear, and Femithain lifted his staff.

Nsiia raised her spear over her head. She grasped the Tusk of Tiqr with both hands.

And then she flung it on the ground. She saw the ivory spear bounce on the hard dirt. And she looked up. Femithain paused. Empress Nsiia plucked the headband from her head. The enchantment broke and she shrank.

She walked towards him. Her people watched. The army in front of her had frozen uncertainly. Nsiia closed the distance. Femithain moved forwards.

They met in silence. He waited. Nsiia raised her voice. She tasted blood. But each word was clear in the silence.

“I am Empress Nsiia of Tiqr. I accept Magus-Crafter Femithain’s demand of unconditional surrender. Tiqr surrenders completely to the Illivere Federation.”

She looked up at him. Femithain blinked. Behind him, Thelican fell off his command pedestal. His army turned into a field of statues. From their room, the Archmages looked up, waxworks.

Nsiia raised one hand. Behind her, Tiqr’s citizens threw down their weapons. They wept, removing the armor, looking at their [Empress].

Femithain looked at Nsiia. Her eyes were bright. He stared at the citizens of Tiqr, surrendering. It occurred to him he’d never had a full conversation with just him and Nsiia. And this was a poor time for it. Still, he looked at her.

“You told me to flee.”

“I did not take you for a coward. Why did you stay after my [Message]?”

She half-smiled, looking at him. Femithain shrugged.

“I don’t believe you would have told me to flee if you planned to attack. You would have made me pay for Illivere’s part in this war.”

“True.”

That was all they said. Nerrhavia’s ranks were moving, advancing uncertainly. Illivere could see Armsmaster Dellic staring at his back, advancing with Illivere’s tiny army. The Magus-Crafter looked at Nsiia.

“You spoke to the King of Destruction. You asked for his strength. What did he tell you?”

Nsiia shook her head. She looked northeast, towards the rising sun.

“I thought he would give it to me. But he didn’t. He told me—he had seen enough pointless death. He told me to wait. To live. Until the day he returned Tiqr to itself.”

“He’s changed.”

Femithain saw Nsiia nod. She tried to say something. And then her eyes filled with tears. She looked at him and he bowed. She turned her head. And Femithain looked upon Oliphant. He let the Empress of Beasts grieve. And he shed his own tears in his heart.

Tiqr had fallen.

6.54 K

Tiqr had fallen. The Empress of Beasts, Nsiia, knelt in the dust. Her spear lay beside her. Her headband beside it. She wept, and behind her, Tiqr’s citizens, hundreds of thousands, knelt with her. Weeping for their nation.

This was how Tiqr ended. The coalition’s armies roiled in confusion, trying to process what had happened. General Thelican was red-faced with fury and shame. Not only had Tiqr not launched the attack that Wistram had all but assured him would come, he and Nerrhavia’s army had been seen to be afraid of the attack! Worse still—the one army that had refused to retreat, Illivere, led by Magus-Crafter Femithain, had been the ones the Empress of Beasts surrendered to.

Disaster. Of course, this wasn’t being broadcast to the rest of the world via [Scrying] spell. But surely, many nations were watching, being updated by their agents or via magical observation. Worse—Thelican’s stomach twisted.

The [Reporter]. The damned Remi Canada person that his [Queen] had ordered him to find. This would be in another of their articles! Now, Thelican regretted not hunting them down. But he hadn’t predicted this.

“General Thelican! A message from Queen Yisame—”

“Orders, General?”

“Queen Yisame demands to know—”

“Wistram’s Archmages are awaiting a conversation at your soonest—”

“General, our forces to the north—”

“Silence!”

The Stitch-[General] bellowed. He ignored the people surrounding him and pushed forwards.

“Get me to the front! Move the army forwards—encircle the prisoners!”

“General?”

There were hundreds of thousands of Tiqr’s citizens. They outnumbered Nerrhavia’s army. Thelican was too incensed to care.

“Surround them! Make way! Move!”

“General, Queen Yisame demands—”

“The northern—”

“Shut up!”

“We are under attack!”

The bellowing voice stopped Thelican. He whirled and saw one of the [Messengers] shoving the rest aside.

“What? From who?”

“Oliphant! The north! A part of their army sortied from the gates! General—it’s Tiqr’s army. They’re overrunning—”

Thelican’s blood ran cold in the veins of his body. For String People did have veins; the magic that animated cloth to flesh gave them biology. It also meant they could die. And suddenly, the [General] was imagining his head on a pillow before Queen Yisame.

“Deploy the chariots! Intercept them!”

—-

Of course, it was too late. Femithain heard the horns, saw chariots and riders breaking away from the coalition’s army, riding north. But he could see they’d never make it in time.

Femithain was no [Strategist], but he didn’t need to be to understand what had happened. As [Armsmaster] Dellic frantically queried Nerrhavia’s officers, Femithain heard enough.

“Tiqr’s army has broken north! They pierced the encirclement—they’re headed northwest!”

“To the Kilalle Steppes.”

Femithain nodded to himself. He looked down at Empress Nsiia. Or perhaps—simply Nsiia of Tiqr. She was a prisoner of war, now. She still knelt, but he caught her looking up, listening.

“Dellic. Have Nerrhavia’s forces any chance of catching Tiqr’s army? How many have left?”

The [Armsmaster] shook his head.

“The officers are saying it’s the entire army. And they came right out of the gates as soon as the Empress—”

He halted, staring at Nsiia. Femithain adjusted his spectacles.

“Clever.”

He had to admire it. Nsiia’s surrender had given her army time to flee. They were still nearly eighty-thousand strong, and if some of Tiqr’s citizens had gone with them—he eyed the sea of people spread out in front of Tiqr’s gates. Even had a hundred thousand fled, they would pose an insurmountable threat.

“You sent them to the Kilalle Steppes, Empress Nsiia?”

He addressed the kneeling woman. Nsiia looked up. Her eyes flashed as Dellic warily stood beside Femithain.

“My General, Vasraf, I gave him leave to do as he wished. I do not know what he plans.”

So you couldn’t be forced to betray him. Femithain’s estimation of Nsiia rose again. And it had already been high. She had calculated this. Her show before surrendering had bought her army time to flee. Thelican had pulled back his forces to protect himself; and Nsiia had chosen to surrender via the south gate, making the chase even harder.

However, that was only a small concern to Femithain at the moment. He stood, conscious of the coalition’s army reforming, centering on him. Because Tiqr had surrendered to Illivere. Not to the coalition. In the realm of politics, that was a very important distinction.

“Empress Nsiia. What do you hope to gain from your surrender?”

“Nothing. Tiqr is no more. I am no more an [Empress].”

The woman looked up at Femithain. And he realized she was young. A full decade and a half behind him, at least. Now, bereft of her rank and artifacts, she looked tired. And afraid. Femithain paused.

“You surrendered to Illivere. What if I had fled?”

“I would have surrendered to Deimos. Or Nerrhavia. Never to Savere. Do what you will, Magus-Crafter. We are your prisoners.”

The Magus-Crafter nodded slowly. Nsiia was looking at him. And he knew she remembered the warning he had tried to give her at Pomle. He leaned on his staff. Thelican would be coming. And Illivere, for all its strength, was one nation among many. Savere was powerful. And Nerrhavia overwhelming.

Still. He looked at Nsiia.

“You chose me, though. Why?”

Nsiia shrugged. She was looking at Dellic. The [Armsmaster] was watching her, balanced on his heels, ready to unsheathe his sword and strike.

“You tried to warn me. And Illivere has few slaves. I…hoped you would give Tiqr some dignity.”

“That is difficult.”

Nsiia nodded. She looked up. There were no illusions in her eyes. Her nation was defeated. And the defeated were treated harshly. In Chandrar, very harshly. Femithain looked at her. And then he nodded.

“You made a choice, Empress of Beasts. The King of Destruction gave you no death. But your surrender will see your nation picked apart. And your fate is also in my hands, it seems. So know this: you chose well.”

She looked up. Femithain smiled. Then he turned. The Magus-Crafter thought of himself as a poor fighter. A mediocre [Mage]; he was a far better [Crafter], a creator of Golems. But he was also Magus-Crafter of Illivere. And he had to admit—he was somewhat good at his job.

“Armsmaster Dellic.”

“Magus-Crafter!”

The man vibrated to attention. Femithain nodded to Nsiia.

“Arrest the Empress of Beasts. Take her headband and the spear; I wish her guarded by Stone Golems and eight [Artificers] as well as sixty of your best.”

“At once, Magus-Crafter!”

Dellic hesitated only for a moment before stooping to snatch the spear and headband up. Nsiia rose to her feet; he backed away a step. She held her hands up and to her sides.

“I have surrendered. Do what you will.”

She was looking at Femithain. Dellic barked an order.

“Stone Golems! [Artificers] of Stone, to me! Cetith Squadron, to me!”

Startled, Illivere’s army moved around Dellic and Nsiia. Femithain nodded, seeing Stone Golems stomping towards Nsiia. They held stone mauls and even Nerrhavia’s advancing [Soldiers] looked wary of them. In fact, Illivere’s army forced the other armies to move around them, awkwardly trying to surround Tiqr’s citizens.

Femithain’s studied the commotion. It was all chaos, but he wasn’t looking for the whole picture. It was all in the details. Like faults in stone. He needed—

“There.”

Femithain spotted a familiar face in the crowd. He pointed and strode forwards; his twin Steel Golems strode forwards, forcing a path through the [Soldiers]. The Magus-Crafter walked towards them, making a straight line for the man in armor leading his [Soldiers].

Objective. Femithain’s mind was a tidy series of thoughts. Empress Nsiia had surrendered to him. She hoped he would help Tiqr. However, her surrender placed undue pressure on his nation. Femithain weighed Illivere’s future against Nsiia’s wishes, saw a path. All that was left was to achieve it. And that was simple, in a way—or at least, Femithain saw it as so. He had a finite number of options he could pursue, and so he tackled them one at a time.

“General Heic!”

The Magus-Crafter intercepted the [General] of Deimos through the ranks of confused [Soldiers]. Heic looked up and shouted for his men to make way. Femithain left his Golem bodyguards behind and the two paused, shouting amid the commotion.

“Magus-Crafter! Dead gods! Did I hear right? Tiqr’s surrendered to Illivere?”

Heic was astounded. Femithain nodded and grabbed the man’s shoulder. No time to subtleties.

“Exactly so, General Heic! Let us discuss this later. However, General Thelican is approaching with the other coalition leaders.”

It was true. Thelican was making for Femithain and Nsiia, and he wasn’t the only one. [Bandit Lady] Urele was trying to do the same, flanked by her elites. Other [Generals] were approaching—Femithain looked at Heic.

“Of course. We’ll have to decide what’s to be done. Surrendered? I thought for certain we’d be facing Tiqr in the field. Their army’s fleeing to the north. We have to catch them, but with such a lead—”

Heic was spluttering. Femithain shook him slightly. Surprised, the [General] looked at him.

“General Heic. I would like you to support Illivere’s claims in these next moments. In fact, I believe it will be to Deimos’ benefit. Will you heed my request?”

The man blinked at him. Femithain waited. It was a gamble, but he had been acquainted with Heic over the course of the war. He saw the man’s eyes sharpen. Heic wasn’t a fool. And to Femithain’s satisfaction, the man nodded after only eight seconds of indecision.

“Of course!”

“Femithain!”

Thelican’s voice rang through the air. The [General]’s escort cleared the [Soldiers] in front of them; their weapons were drawn. They only halted in front of Illivere’s army; Dellic and the ranks of Golems refused to budge. Magus-Crafter Femithain and General Heic strode towards Thelican. The Stitch-[General] was apoplectic.

“Magus-Crafter, you—er—congratulations! On accepting Tiqr’s surrender on behalf of the coalition!”

You had to admire his ability to improvise. Femithain regarded Thelican over the rim of his spectacles. The [General] was looking for Empress Nsiia. He spotted her in the ranks of Illivere’s army and gestured.

“Wonderful work! We shall take the Empress and discuss matters. Men!”

He nodded to his Nerrhavian elites. The silk [Soldiers] strode forwards and then hastily stopped when the first rank of Golems and Illivere’s [Soldiers] lifted their arms. Thelican hesitated and turned towards Femithain. The Magus-Crafter cleared his throat.

“General Thelican, my pardons for the zeal of my army. I ordered my soldiers to hold the Empress.”

“Oh, of course. Well, if they’ll move aside—”

“I would prefer to do so at a later time. It would be a blow to the coalition if Tiqr’s [Empress] and army were to escape.”

“Escape? Here?”

Thelican did a double-take, looking around and then darkly towards Nsiia. The [Empress] glanced at him, and returned to watching Femithain. The Magus-Crafter stepped forwards. Thelican hurried over; more [Generals] were appearing and they were all seeing Illivere’s army holding the Empress.

The Stitch-[General] was red-faced, but Femithain was still very, very careful. Thelican commanded a vast army and Nerrhavia’s leadership may be pompous, but they were still very good at and willing to kill if need be.

“There’s no way she could escape. Magus-Crafter, I’d be grateful if your men would release her—my [Queen] would like to speak to you. We can sort this out later, eh?”

“And I would be glad to, General Thelican. However, if her people were to see her collared, or perhaps, attacked, they might well revolt, surrender or not.”

Thelican shot a glance at the citizens kneeling in the dust. He hesitated, but Femithain knew he would insist. Which was why Savere’s [Bandit Lady] was such a pleasant and calculated interruption.

“Make way! Move, rot your hides! Where’s the [Empress]? She’s Savere’s prisoner! Move or we’ll run you rotted maggots down!”

A group of cavalry were riding through the army, quite literally doing what they’d threatened. [Soldiers] moved out of the way of the horses and Lady Urele, Savere’s commander, rode straight for Illivere’s army. She turned to find Nsiia, and Thelican whirled on her.

“Commander Urele! Return to your position.”

“Shut up silk boy! You—Magus-whatever! Where’s the [Empress]? She’s our prisoner, got it? Anyone who objects can answer to the Siren!”

Urele rode around in a dangerous circle. She had a horsewhip and she unstrung it now, cracking the air and forcing everyone around her back. She spotted Nsiia among the Golems at last.

“There! Grab her!”

“The Empress of Beasts is a prisoner of Queen Yisame!”

Thelican roared, but it was too late. Some of Savere’s riders leapt from their saddles and swept towards Nsiia. The Golems moved, raising their warhammers. Like Nerrhavia’s best, Savere’s most infamous hesitated. They might be high-level, but there was something about a giant stone Golem lifting a hammer over your head that made even the bravest think about their life choices.

Lady Urele whirled on Femithain.

“You! Mage-boy! Order your Golems to stand aside before my people dice them!”

“Lady Urele—”

Femithain began, but General Thelican leapt in. Now he was purple with fury.

“Soldiers! Form a wall between the Empress and Savere’s irregulars! She is Nerrhavian property!”

The Saverian [Rogues] moved back warily as the silk-cloth warriors stepped forwards, brandishing their curved blades. Femithain heard a mocking call as one warrior slashed out, making a [Rogue] leap back and swear at him. Urele stared at Thelican.

“Move your handkerchiefs, Thelican.”

The Stitch-[General]’s face darkened.

“Remove yourself, Commander Urele, before my army removes you.”

The two commanders stared at each other, their soldiers tense, on edge. The air was sparking, and more armies were still converging. Another [Commander] rode forwards—Femithain recognized Lady Yucale of Lamult.

“What’s going on here? Is the battle over? We’ve yet to take the city!”

She was clearly out of the loop, or else regarded the battle as only ‘won’ when someone planted a flag in a conquered city. She caught sight of the standoff and hesitated.

“Move aside for Xern’s [Strategist]! I said, move aside! Is anyone listening?”

Another leader, the [Strategist] of Xern, forced to dismount and fight through the press of bodies on foot. Femithain was counting heads. Seven, eight…nearly all the coalition’s leaders were nearby, or in earshot. Thelican was bellowing at all of them to listen to him! Urele was looking around, and some of her people were slipping to the sides, trying to find a way through Dellic’s circle around Nsiia.

And at that moment, General Heic proved why he was a [General] of Deimos. He looked at Femithain, checked his own army, mixed with all the others in this scrum, and then raised his arm and bellowed.

“Deimos salutes Illivere’s splendid triumph over the Empress of Beasts!”

His voice rang over the others, a product of a [Loud Voice] Skill or truly prodigious lungs. Femithain saw Urele and Thelican both look around, along with Xern’s [Strategist], Lady Yucale, and all the others. Heic bellowed again.

“Illivere has accepted Tiqr’s surrender! The war is over! Huzzah!”

“No, it was a coalition led—”

Thelican’s voice was drowned out by a roar from around him. Heic turned and shouted at his [Soldiers].

“Applause!”

Deimos’ army began applauding, and cheering the end of the battle. That was enough. The tired [Soldiers], most of whom did not care who had accepted whose surrender so long as they didn’t have to fight another hyena or elephant, began cheering as well. Soon, they were shouting.

“Il-li-vere! Il-li-vere!”

Femithain listened, bemused, but also grateful. He saw Heic turn his head and the [General] gave him the most unsecretive wink Femithain had ever seen. Then Thelican was bearing down on Femithain.

“Magus-Crafter—”

Femithain beat him to it. The Magus-Crafter clicked his fingers and his two Golems moved aside. He turned—and Thelican was walking by his side.

“General Thelican, let us speak freely. Lady Yucale, my apologies. Yes, the war is over. Thelican, may we converse?”

“Of course! I—this is a bit of a disaster—[Strategists]! No one gets near the Empress! Surround, er, Illivere’s formation!”

“Xern’s [Strategist] does not obey orders from—”

“I was speaking to my [Strategists]!”

Thelican roared back. He whirled and Femithain knew it was time. The Magus-Crafter took a breath. He was conscious of Lady Yucale hovering on their left, Urele trying to bully her way to Nsiia as she glared at him, and all the other messengers, officers, and high-ranking leaders around him, listening in. He wove a quick [Bubble of Silence] spell, but he had no doubt it would be penetrated.

And Thelican was turning towards him, and Femithain knew one thing: there were at least two dozen truth spells aimed at him. So he told the truth. That was the first thing you had to learn to survive events like these.

“Magus-Crafter. This surrender business.”

Femithain gave Thelican an apologetic smile.

“Unexpected.”

Thelican looked relieved.

“Yes! Certainly! Those damn Archmages—er—my information was terribly flawed! We were ready for an attack, and then Tiqr just rolls over? But why did the Empress of Beasts surrender to you?”

Femithain paused, and he chose his words carefully.

“The Empress of Tiqr’s surrender was a pleasant surprise. However, I believe Illivere’s terms of surrender are most palatable to her.”

Especially because he hadn’t offered her any. But Thelican’s eyes widened.

“Queen Yisame made her offer, and I know the Siren laid out her terms. But Illivere…?”

Femithain waved off the specifics.

“Illivere wishes an acceptable end to the war, General Thelican. I can promise you that I offered the Empress nothing that would trouble the coalition.”

“But her surrender to you—the Empress is a valuable prisoner, Magus-Crafter. I can see those Saverian dogs sniffing around her formation—let me pull up two battalions and we’ll escort Nsiia to our camp.”

Femithain shook his head.

“General Thelican, I am well aware of the exigencies of Queen Yisame’s requests. For now, however, let us discuss the division of Tiqr’s assets.”

“Of which the Empress of Beasts is non-negotiable—”

“Illivere is, of course, prepared to back Nerrhavia’s claim to Oliphant and its citizens. As well as Nerrhavia’s strong claim towards occupation of the bulk of Tiqr’s territory.”

Thelican paused. He looked at Femithain.

“Occupation? What are you talking about?”

The Magus-Crafter raised his eyebrows.

“Nerrhavia intends to occupy Oliphant, does it not? Tiqr’s citizens may be difficult to return to their settlements at first, but if Oliphant is repopulated by at least three hundred thousand, that should leave many able to return to their lives across the nation. We can hope more refugees will return in time as well.”

“What? What are you talking about, man? These are all…”

Thelican broke off, staring past Femithain at the sea of Tiqr’s citizens. Femithain raised an eyebrow.

“General Thelican, I do not believe even Roshal is inclined to house and feed hundreds of thousands of [Slaves] at such short notice. Let alone the cost of transport and training? They would never make it to Roshal.”

“True! There are far too many even with prisoner trains. Dead gods, but we’d have to feed them. I imagine Roshal would pay to send their own scouting for likely slaves, but—the coalition can divide them up. Savere’s ships will take tens of thousands, I have no doubt.”

Femithain frowned.

“Unless of course you returned them to Tiqr.”

“Why would we do that?”

The Magus-Crafter gave Thelican a long look. The [General] flushed, sensing Femithain’s confusion.

“A slave-state, General Thelican. Isn’t that the most effective solution to the issue?”

The [General] paused. Then his eyes lit up.

“You mean, an occupied country?”

“You can hardly sell all the slaves. Savere’s fleets would fail to move even a fifth of this many people and Nerrhavia would spend as much as it earned to broker a mass-sale. The Slavers of Roshal would hardly offer as much for regular citizens. A slave-state on the other hand…”

It was a practice familiar to Chandrarian nations. A subservient nation that was effectively a vassal of a larger one, forced to supply almost all of its goods to its ruler, who usually kept a large garrison within the country to ensure a happy and continuing relationship. It was also of particular note to Thelican and Nerrhavia. The [General] frowned darkly.

“Nerrhavia was a slave-state, Magus-Crafter.”

Femithain nodded.

“A subservient region, then. I very much doubt Nerrhavia’s citizens are inclined to move to Tiqr without encouragement. On the other hand, Tiqr is rich in land.”

Thelican rubbed his jaw. He was calming down, now, and he was starting to think about more than his reputation and Yisame’s fury. He glanced towards the city in the distance, and then the dam his army had built.

“A military presence would be required, but Oliphant does have a river. And it’s agriculturally rich. Dead gods, but you’re right. Here, but that’s a discussion for after…”

He paused and looked at Femithain. The Magus-Crafter nodded.

“Illivere would naturally support Nerrhavia’s claim. Its armies have made the greatest contributions to the war.”

“Really? To Oliphant and—how much of Tiqr?”

Thelican was interested. New land, even for a nation as large as Nerrhavia, was tempting to a [General], who might well get a large cut of the pie. Femithain nodded.

“Shall we discuss the matter? Naturally, each member of the coalition will require a share.”

“And a percentage of the population. You’re right! That would be simple. But the Empress?”

Thelican was glancing at Femithain suspiciously. The Magus-Crafter lifted his shoulders.

“May we discuss the matter? Let me explain my position, General Thelican. The Empress of Beast’s surrender was a fortunate accident. However, her capture…it is a matter of politics, General Thelican. Do you recall that I am elected as Magus-Crafter on a yearly basis.”

“Ah, yes. By your…er, democracy?”

Thelican fumbled for the words. Femithain nodded. Urele was now fighting her way towards him.

“Of a sort, General Thelican. But my support is based on my accomplishments. The Empress of Beasts would be an asset. I would consider it a personal favor, of course, were you to intercede on Illivere’s behalf with Queen Yisame.”

“But Queen Yisame…”

Troubled, Thelican glanced back towards the waiting [Messengers]. Femithain coughed.

“Without Nerrhavia’s support, I believe I would be forced to cede Empress Nsiia’s captivity. Perhaps to Nerrhavia, but I imagine Savere will wish to force the issue.”

And it’s a long way to Nerrhavia. Both men thought of Saverian raids and the issue of transporting a prisoner that far. Thelican shuddered, but he persisted.

“Magus-Crafter Femithain, you and your army have done me any number of services. But this is a matter of Nerrhavian pride. How would it look if the Empress of Beasts were not taken as Nerrhavia’s prisoner?”

“Fairly innocuous, General Thelican? It would be a personal gesture of friendship.”

Thelican hesitated.

“I couldn’t persuade you to give her up? I would consider that a token of friendship myself.”

The laughter from the Magus-Crafter surprised Thelican. Femithain smiled at the Stitch-[General] and shook his head.

“General Thelican, greed does not become you. Would you have Illivere support Nerrhavia’s claim to Oliphant and the division of Tiqr’s lands and cede the Empress of Beasts?”

The [General] was left tongue-tied. He looked at Femithain, back at the Empress, and Femithain could see him weighing his options. What decided Thelican in the end was Oliphant. It was a beautiful city and it had not been taken by war. The [General] eyed it, and Femithain could practically see the Stitch-Man thinking.

It would need a [General] to garrison it. And it could be quite wealthy if Tiqr’s citizens got back to work. Someone who owned that city and the land around it? They were practically a [Prince]. What was that to a prisoner who would please only one [Queen]? Slowly, Thelican turned back to Femithain and nodded.

“Queen Yisame is quite insistent, Magus-Crafter. But even she cannot wish for Dragons, eh?”

“Very true, General.”

“Let’s…discuss the issue. Yes, indeed. Allow me a moment to converse with my [Queen]?”

Thelican didn’t wait for a response. He was already hurrying towards his primary [Mage], and Femithain saw him moving his lips, composing a [Message]. The Magus-Crafter turned—

And a hand latched onto one arm. Urele glared at Femithain.

“You. Magus-Crafter. The Siren wants a word.”

Femithain saw one of his bodyguard Golems raise his sword. He raised a hand and Urele warily let go. He nodded towards her. This was the second challenge. If Thelican could be persuaded to convince Yisame, the same wasn’t true of Urele. Femithain didn’t know her, and even if he had, he was quite aware that the only person who could sway the Siren was Revine herself.

—-

“Magus-Crafter! What’s this rot I hear about Illivere taking the Empress of Beasts prisoner? Give her to Urele. Now.”

The Siren of Savere was not a pleasant person to converse with when angry. She didn’t converse so much as bark orders. Magus-Crafter Femithain pursed his lips as he spoke into the enchanted conch shell that Urele had given him.

“Queen Revine, the matter is not so simple.”

“No? Urele tells me Illivere’s army holds the Empress. I will have that bitch collared and sent to me. Unless you want to challenge Savere over it?”

The voice snapped back. Femithain stared at the conch and then at Urele. The [Bandit Lady] was listening, staring between Femithain and the artifact. Femithain sighed. The first thing you had to do with Revine was—

“Queen Revine. Are you aware of Queen Yisame’s claim on Empress Nsiia?”

The voice on the other end of the conch went silent. Then Revine’s voice came back, a lot calmer, quieter, and decidedly more worrying.

“Magus-Crafter. Are you planning on turning over the Empress of Beasts to Nerrhavia? I would take that as an insult.”

There it was. The Siren of Savere could be a raging tempest, but when she was truly angry, she went quiet. Femithain paused, and saw Urele shift. She had daggers sewn into her armor. But he met her gaze levelly as he replied.

“Queen Revine, let me be frank. General Thelican has expressed Nerrhavia’s desire to have the Empress of Beasts in no uncertain terms. Were I to forfeit her capture, I have no doubt they might force the issue, and Illivere is ill-capable of resisting such a demand.”

Revine paused. Femithain continued.

“If Savere is willing to press the issue, I will have no option but to cede Empress Nsiia’s capture. I would prefer not to, but I have no inclination to cross Nerrhavia. I trust you understand my situation?”

The perfect truth. Femithain fancied he heard grinding teeth on the other end.

“Magus-Crafter. Give the shell to Urele. Urele.”

Femithain passed the conch to Urele, and saw the [Bandit Lady] raise it to one ear. She grimaced, whispered urgently into the shell—it was her turn to turn away to muffle the conversation. But Femithain believed he understood that the Siren was asking for Urele to spell out just how likely Savere was to win an altercation with Nerrhavia.

The cursing coming from the conch confirmed Femithain’s theory as Urele passed the conch back. Femithain heard Revine’s voice on the other end, still cold and deliberate.

”Who’s getting the Empress of Beasts, then? Illivere?”

“General Thelican may agree to that. He is concerned with the distribution of Tiqr’s land more than the Empress’ capture, I believe.”

The tone of Revine’s voice darkened audibly.

“He wants Tiqr? Oliphant is Savere’s. I’ll deal with him after this. Fine. Keep the Empress for now. But hear me, Magus-Crafter. I want her. When everything’s quiet, you’ll hear from me. We’ll discuss our terms then.”

“As you wish.”

Femithain lowered the conch. He handed it back to Urele. The [Bandit Lady] gave him an odd look.

“The Queen’s letting you have the Empress? Fancy free, that’s unusual. She doesn’t like giving her toys away to anyone. We’ll talk to you later, Magus-man.”

Femithain decided not to dignify that with a response. He let Urele talk into the conch and walked back. Thelican was waiting for him, and as Urele strode towards them, a second meeting commenced. This time in Thelican’s personal tent, although no one was lounging about. The Stitch-General was pointing down to a map of Tiqr as he led the conversation.

Xern’s [Strategist], General Heic, Lady Yucale, all of them were in hot debate over what was to be done with Tiqr. They would have gotten around to the idea of dividing Tiqr up in time; one look at the army of citizens told anyone with sense that they weren’t going to be easy prisoners. Thelican was speaking loudly.

“Oliphant will be occupied by Nerrhavia’s army. We will discuss a more formal division of Tiqr—”

“Oliphant? That’s ours! And we’re taking those prisoners. Slaves.”

Urele snapped at Thelican. The Stitch-[General] turned and stared down at her.

“The citizens of Tiqr are, by the grace of her Majesty Yisame, now Nerrhavian citizens. Second-class.”

“What?”

The word burst from half a dozen mouths. Xern’s [Strategist] was foaming at the mouth.

“Xern has an equal claim to Tiqr’s citizens! If we are dividing land—”

“Illivere will cede our claim to Oliphant.”

Femithain’s cool voice made the other leaders look to him. Thelican turned with a smile and Heic raised his brows. Femithain nodded, meeting every eye.

“Generals, commanders, a more formal arrangement may be struck by our nation’s respective leaders at a later date. But in the interest of time, we must reach a settlement now. Thus, as Illivere has claimed the Empress of Beasts, we will be content to cede our claim on Tiqr’s lands, save for a moderate expansion along our borders.”

That pleased everyone in the room. One less claim? And aside from a disappointed few who might have wanted to claim the Empress of Beasts, no one, most importantly Thelican and Urele, objected to that either. Femithain went on.

“Tiqr’s divisions of lands will require at least a majority agreement by the members of the coalition. I propose to leave each nation a proportionate amount of land to their contributions. For instance, Deimos’ borders could naturally expand to the Reic River; it does run through their borders. Which would create a natural border with Nerrhavian territory around—”

“Xern claims the Reen Plains!”

“That’s not up for debate! Reen borders Lamult—”

“Oliphant belongs to Savere!”

Urele slammed a fist down on the table. Thelican glared at her, and then looked around at the other leaders.

“Savere will be content with an expansion on the southern borders, surely? It would be greedy of Savere to demand the entire southern and central regions of Tiqr!”

Most of the other leaders nodded. Urele stared around, and then narrowed her eyes at Thelican.

“You want to take it, silk-boy? That’s Savere’s spoils!”

The Saverian [Bandit Lady] glared daggers at Nerrhavia’s [General]. Outraged, Thelican raised his own voice. Femithain carefully watched, seeing the shift in the currents.

Savere was an unpopular nation, for all that the Siren of Tides and their alliances with [Pirates] and [Bandits] the world over gave them the strength. Urele was outmatched, and aside from supporting Heic’s claim to the Reic River and Thelican’s to Oliphant when it came to a vote, Thelican had little else to say.

[Bandit Lady] Urele stormed out of Thelican’s tent after two hours of hot debate, hurling oaths and promising that this wasn’t over. But Thelican was already moving Nerrhavia’s army into Oliphant along with a bulk of the citizens, and the rest of the coalition’s army was preparing to break up.

Femithain found Armsmaster Dellic almost exactly where he’d left him. Illivere’s army was still guarding Nsiia. Dellic sprang to his feet when he saw the Magus-Crafter approaching.

“Magus-Crafter. May I ask what’s happening?”

“Tiqr’s division is more or less complete. The coalition has agreed on a temporary set of new borders. Nerrhavia will leave a large garrison at Oliphant—Illivere’s army will return home.”

Femithain’s news provoked a cheer from the living army. Nsiia raised her head from between the Golems standing watch over her. Femithain saw Dellic looking towards her as well.

“And the Empress?”

“A captive of Illivere.”

Dellic inhaled. Femithain waited.

“Objections, Armsmaster?”

The man took his time in replying.

“…Is this Illivere’s reward for its contributions in the war, Magus-Crafter? If Nerrhavia has Oliphant…”

Femithain shook his head.

“Illivere does not need land, Armsmaster. Far better to sacrifice soil for friendship; our Golems provide our workforce in any case. As for the Empress of Beasts—she is a political prisoner. That is my determination and I will explain myself before the Head Artificers if necessary.”

“Yes, Magus-Crafter.”

Dellic might have had more reservations, but he didn’t voice them, which was a merciful change. Femithain ordered Illivere’s army to prepare for the return march. As he was discussing the guard on Nsiia—Femithain was most wary of Savere, despite Revine’s agreement—General Heic came riding towards him. The man looked rather pleased as he dismounted to shake Femithain’s hand.

“Well done, Magus-Crafter! Not a bad day’s work, eh? A battle avoided—a shame, I’d have liked to level up. But that was some smooth diplomacy if ever I’ve seen it!”

“You’re too kind, General Heic. I merely reached a compromise.”

Heic gave Femithain a sharp look.

“Did you? I rather think it went the way you wanted, Magus-Crafter. I can’t believe Nerrhavia and Savere both gave up on the Empress. The way their [Queens] were going—but they’re more interested in pissing on each other than Illivere.”

Femithain saw Dellic shake his head.

“Crudely put, General Heic, but perhaps. Have I contented Deimos as well?”

The [General] chuckled.

“Give us the Reic river and I think my [King] will be content, Femithain. Better Nerrhavia to have Oliphant than Savere; I’d hate to share a border with them. Their raids are bad enough. Congratulations, then! You have the Empress of Beasts. I can’t fault you on that, for all I’m jealous! A fine addition to a seraglio.”

His voice reached Nsiia from where she stood. She turned and regarded Heic; the [General] stared back, before laughing and clapping Femithain on the shoulder.

“You might need to watch yourself in the bedroom, though, Magus-Crafter! Or call for one of Roshal’s trainers. In any case, I’m proud to have marched with Illivere! No [King] took to the field—or [Queen], save for the Siren, but you were there start to finish! I’d call on you in Illivere, once this is all settled down.”

Femithain smiled.

“I should look forwards to it, General Heic. And I will extend an invitation when time permits.”

He held out a hand. He did like Heic in his own way, and Thelican his. Femithain would have to seek him out as well to thank him for his efforts. Funny, how you could like someone and detest parts of them at the same time. But then, people were so complicated compared to Golems. Heic bade Femithain farewell as he rode with Deimos’ army.

That left only Dellic, Femithain, and Nsiia. Femithain walked through the watchful Golems.

“Empress Nsiia?”

“I am only Nsiia, now. It seems that [General] was right, Magus-Crafter. You are good at what you do.”

Nsiia watched Femithain curiously. The Magus-Crafter inclined his head.

“One tries, Empress Nsiia. Let me assure you that you are a guest of Illivere. I would not wish to anger the King of Destruction.”

She blinked slowly at him. She was like a caged hyena, Femithain thought. Intelligent—capable of reason—but like a hyena, never truly a pet. You couldn’t tame them, only feed them, or leash them. She bared her teeth.

“Do you have any true allies, Femithain of Illivere?”

He calmly met her eyes.

“Illivere survives, Empress. We choose the best course of action as we can. That is a Golem’s logic. I fear it makes poor people of us.”

Nsiia shook her head. She stared at him, and then sagged. She bowed her head as she leaned against one of the stone Golems, staring at Femithain. After a while, she spoke up.

“Do you even have a harem, Magus-Crafter?”

Femithain paused.

“I will have someone provide a proper label on the guest rooms. Perhaps a sign.”

Nsiia stared at Femithain. Then she laughed, surprised at his joke. She laughed and laughed—and then choked on the laughter. But she didn’t sob. She just sat down and bowed her head. Behind her, Nerrhavia’s army swept into Tiqr. Its citizens, some of them, returned to their homes, only to find them looted by the Hemp-[Soldiers].

Some didn’t return home; they were taken by the armies of other nations, captives to become [Slaves], or to work their lands and occupations again, but as citizens of another nation. Femithain saw it all as he stood with his Golems, listening to Dellic give orders. He saw Nsiia’s bowed head, the trickling tears down her cheeks.

He left her to her grief. Tiqr was still fallen. She was a prisoner. And her people were subjects. Or slaves. Femithain shook his head. No, there was little for Nsiia to laugh about. And as Femithain walked back to congratulate Thelican again and pledge to visit him in Nerrhavia when time allowed, he reflected that while he had done Nsiia some small mercies, she would never thank him for it.

Femithain was not a good man. He knew that for a fact.

—-

So, Tiqr fell. It happened with words, and negotiations and a lot of confusion near the end, but that was how it always went. Anyone who’d ever conquered anything knew it wasn’t a simple process. And in truth, when the dust had settled, the facts were fairly straightforward.

Tiqr had fallen. The Empress of Beasts had been captured, alive, and the nation divided by its conquerors. Some of the citizens of Tiqr were now subjects of another land, or slaves, or simply fled. Tiqr had been erased, and that was that.

Oh—and an army had escaped the capital in the confusion. General Vasraf had declared that he would never cede Tiqr to invaders and had sworn to liberate his home with the rest of Tiqr’s army and nearly a hundred thousand of Tiqr’s citizens. They’d fled to the Kilalle Steppes, too quickly for the coalition to pursue in the aftermath of Tiqr’s surrender.

They’d be a problem and a big one if they weren’t rooted out. There was nothing like angry people deprived of their home to ferment insurrection. And on that note, Tiqr was divided, but the land was hardly as simple as an expansion of every nation’s borders.

Nerrhavia alone had claimed Oliphant, and so it had now expanded out of its natural borders. It would have to maintain a standing army in the region, which would alarm the other nations who would have to do likewise to maintain order and watch each other.

All of that was enough to provoke a heated discussion by anyone who had interests in the region, or just Chandrar in general. It was messy, and would throw a Creler into the politics of the nations around Tiqr—and it was already politics.

That wasn’t what had nations of the world in an uproar, though. No. In fact, Tiqr’s defeat had actually been overshadowed by the scandal that occurred as Tiqr was surrendering. Femithain had been completely oblivious to it, along with everyone who was actually at Tiqr.

It was the worldwide announcement that Wistram had put out from the Mage’s Guilds. As people were waiting for the news of the siege on Oliphant to come through, a highest-priority [Message] had come blasting out of every Mage’s Guild! It was a denouncement of the King of Destruction allying with Tiqr to destroy the Nerrhavian-led coalition! He had broken his vow of peace if not in practice, than in spirit! Wistram condemned the warmongering action by Reim—

Er…

For about, oh, ten minutes, the news had been echoing. The King of Destruction had allied with Tiqr! Except even that didn’t convey the alarm.

THE KING OF DESTRUCTION HAS ALLIED WITH TIQR; THE COALITION ARMIES COULD BE WIPED OUT. THE DREAMERS OF REIM ARE MARCHING. ALL BETS ARE OFF. PANIC. And even then, it could have used italics.

For ten minutes, everyone was waiting to see who’d declare on Reim. No—would Tiqr win? How had it happened?

Then had come a very subdued message from the Mage’s Guilds. No, wait, cancel the last declaration. Reim had not, uh, allied with Tiqr. The [Message] had been in error, and Wistram had falsely reported the information supplied to them without proper verification. The academy regretted the mistake—Tiqr had in fact, fallen, without the King of Destruction’s support, surrendering to Illivere.

“Mistake?”

Niers Astoragon, the Titan of Baleros, second-in-command of the Forgotten Wing Company, etc. etc., had nearly laughed himself off his podium in the classroom. To be fair, it was as much outrage as hilarity; the nervous titter running through his class was an echo of the emotions that had to be running through the other nations in the world.

“This is a disaster! Wistram just announced Reim went to war when it didn’t? How could those idiots let that happen?”

The students in Niers’ special class were all nodding. Wistram was the backbone of Mage’s Guilds, a reliable source of, well information. This was beyond scandalous! The fact that Wil Kallinad, normally one of the most reserved members of Niers’ class when it came to voicing his opinions had said it was a sign of how bad it was. Venaz was staring down at the map of Oliphant in disbelief. He looked up sharply, breaking away from the simulation Niers’ class had been running of the battle.

“They must have been spying. How else would they have known it?”

“What? Venaz, are you snorting Dancepetals?”

Marian the Centauress turned and gave Venaz the fisheye. But Niers pulled himself upright and waved at Venaz.

“No, continue that thought, Venaz.”

The Minotaur nodded. He pointed at the [Message] spells frantically appearing on the scroll Niers had ordered spread on the table where all the students were sitting. It was attuned to hold sets of [Messages] addressed to it; normally few spells reached this scroll as they would have to be broadcast the world over, like general alerts. Right now ink was appearing and disappearing as the [Messages] popped off faster than anyone could read them. Venaz glared at the map of Oliphant as he spoke.

“Professor, I’ve heard rumors that Wistram was able to spy through scrying orbs. They announced the King of Destruction was allying himself with the Empress of Beasts before she even left Oliphant’s gates, if the timing on this is right. They had to have been spying in some way to have believed—falsely—that they were going to ally? How else would they have assumed this?”

“They wouldn’t do that. Wistram doesn’t spy, surely!”

A shocked voice from one of the newer students. Niers shook his head sadly and the older students sighed. The Fraerling addressed the young man.

“Always expect the enemy to do what benefits them, Reniz. Never mind the ethics of it. And I’d say Venaz is right. Or at the very least, Wistram believed some very bad information.”

He shook his head, steading himself.

“This was clearly a bad mistake among Wistram’s [Mages]. A false statement broadcast the world over?”

“Beyond scandalous. Their credibility is ruined. What if they had announced the Iron Vanguard had launched an attack on a city owned by Maelstrom’s Howling? Or a Terandrian kingdom had attacked another? They could have started a war!”

Cameral, the Dullahan, looked truly upset. Some of the other students were nodding. Umina, Marian, Venaz, Cameral, Wil—all were some degree of angry at Wistram’s mistake. On the other hand, Yerranola, the Selphid, and Feshi, the Gnoll, both looked as amused as Niers.

The Titan chuckled as he read some of the [Messages] being shot through the Mage’s Guilds. Rulers the world over were expressing their fury at the false news in no uncertain terms. He waved at one of the [Servants] attending the lesson.

“Copy these down, would you? I want to save them for later reading.”

He didn’t wait for the nod, but instead stomped on the desk for his class’ attention. Niers waited for silence, and then spoke in a level voice.

“We’ll be discussing what measures you would take as a [Strategist] after learning about this mistake by Wistram. And this was a test—I imagine a number of [Strategists] are going to be questioning every [Message] that comes through Wistram, or expanding their own information networks. If you were advising a nation’s ruler, especially in Chandrar, this is a situation where you wouldn’t want to be caught off-guard by bad information. But for now let’s focus on what we do know. Tiqr has fallen.”

He students looked up and nodded. Order returned as Niers pointed at the map of Tiqr.

“Get rid of the siege map. We’ll revisit it and see if they could have won with the King of Destruction’s Skills later. For now, let’s analyze the situation, class. What have the coalition gained from this war? My view is that their gains are almost outweighed by their losses. Thoughts?”

Niers would have been happy to hear a dissenting voice, but everyone agreed with him, which wasn’t bad. Umina, the Lizardgirl, gave her analysis, speaking over the others as they debated the issue.

“Tiqr’s army is still intact and worse, led by Tiqr’s [General]. He has to have leveled up from the war and if he strikes from the Kilalle Steppes, the coalition will have to watch their backs for years unless they’re able to hunt them down. And that would mean angering Kilalle’s Garuda tribes—”

“Never a good idea. Remember Peki, from the officer classes? I once ate her sandwich and she still has it out for me. She holds a grudge forever. Almost as bad as Drakes, like Kissilt.”

Marian shook her head, her mane of hair nearly whipping Feshi in the face. Across the table, Kissilt looked up at her.

“Go eat your tail, Marian! You still owe me fifteen silver!”

“No, I don’t!”

“Children, please!”

Niers smiled. He restored order again and got each student’s take—assuming they had something new to add. His class were discussing what actions they expected each nation to take, reviewing it against the facts—Niers was quite interested to see that Empress Nsiia was Illivere’s captive.

“Always consider the ruler. Feshi, you have a thought?”

“Hrr. Femithain is cunning. And he backs whoever the wind favors. He’s not taking much land—do you notice? He must suspect holding onto Tiqr will be as much trouble as conquering it. I think it is a wise move. If the people of Tiqr are like Gnolls, they will strike again and again rather than let these new nations take their home.”

Niers nodded approvingly as he glanced out a window.

“Suitably grounded in historical precedent. Time will tell. Ah, but look at the sun! We’re already out of time. We’ll pick up our analysis of the battle tomorrow, and see what the political fallout is! Your homework? Be prepared to offer me the best way to defeat the coalition’s army with a force like the Dreamers of Reim, and conversely, how to defeat the Dreamers! Bonus points to anyone who can cite me examples of when they’ve lost and how it was done!”

His students began packing up their things, or writing down notes. Niers saw them glancing at him and smiled.

“And Umina and Wil—”

The classroom froze. The Lizardgirl and [Lord] looked up, suddenly alert. Was today the day? The students held their breath, waiting. The Titan’s eyes twinkled. And at last, he nodded to them.

“You two look tired. Get some proper sleep!”

The room exhaled as one. Umina and Wil sagged as Niers merrily strode to the Fraerling-ways that would lead him through his citadel and to his quarters. Venaz silently patted Wil on the shoulder. Marian exhaled as she walked next to Umina.

“It’s been weeks! He’s just teasing us. He does it every class.”

“It’s not just mean, it’s sadistic.”

Cameral agreed, locking his head into place on his shoulders. He looked sympathetic; everyone in the classroom had been expecting Niers to summon Wil and Umina to let them ask their question, the one question he’d answer truthfully! But he hadn’t, and it had been over a month.

“It’s like getting a wish from a Jinn. I knew it was too good to be true.”

Yerranola exclaimed as the older students moved out of the class. Feshi turned her head to stare at the Selphid.

“A Jinn?”

“I think that’s what they’re called. They live on Chandrar. I was doing research and apparently they’re one of the dead species. You know, like harpies?”

“Oh. What’s this about a wish?”

“Legend has it that you could get them to grant you wishes. Except, you know, they’re always bad, or they don’t get fulfilled the way you think.”

“Typical. But the Professor isn’t nearly so dishonorable. This is clearly another one of his pranks. Or—a lesson! He wouldn’t withhold the question once you’ve won it!”

Venaz snorted. By now, the other students had reconciled themselves to Umina and Wil’s victory, at least outwardly. Marian nodded. Umina just clutched at her midriff.

“My stomach hurts. I don’t even know if I’ll be able to ask the question when it finally happens. I mean—”

She looked at Wil. He was staring ahead. After a moment, he glanced up.

“I wonder how this affects the King of Destruction. Tiqr was an ally—but it makes sense not to have supported it. It’s too far away and it clearly couldn’t hold. It’s a thorn in the conquering nation’s sides now, but that’s still one less ally. I’m going to do some research. Anyone joining me?”

“Wil! We were talking about the question!”

“I’m not thinking about it. Or else I’ll panic wondering how long I have to wait.”

The young man compressed his lips. The other students nodded; that was wise. After a moment, a voice spoke up from the back.

“Hey Marian.”

The Centauress turned and saw Kissilt, the surly Drake walking with them. He normally didn’t keep company with them given Umina’s presence. The Drake looked straight at Marian.

“What? Anything wrong, Kissilt?”

“Yeah. Marian, give me my damn money!”

—-

They said Femithain was cunning. A pragmatic leader who moved his country to best suit it. And of course, they said the Titan was a genius, one of the greatest—perhaps the greatest [Strategists] in the world. And that was probably true. But here’s a question ‘they’ sometimes forgot to ask.

How great was ‘greatest’? If you were the world’s best, were you the best the world had ever seen? Ever? In the entire history of the world, from start to finish, was Niers Astoragon the, definitively best, undisputed champion of [Strategists]?

No. Of course not! History was a far crueler measure than ‘now’. And ‘they’ deserved the same contempt. ‘They’ had memories that barely extended to childhood and only inaccurate and often biased accounts of history to rely on. And history was written not only by the victors, but often, by people who hadn’t actually been there. Could you really trust a [Historian] to do their job right? A [Writer] to lay out the facts without bias?

Of course not. Today was always better than yesterday. Or the past was always good because it was old and thus nostalgic. The future was ever waiting and people were stupid because they forgot. Niers Astoragon might be among the best [Strategists] today. But was he the best in a hundred years? What about three hundred? Three thousand? Did he even rank on the top 100 list of best [Strategists] this millennia?

The Quarass of Germina knew the answer. Or at least, she had a better chance of answering a question like that than almost anyone in this world. Because she remembered. She had lived and died lifetimes upon lifetimes, and she could remember the best of the best. They’d all died like the rest, but she could measure and recall.

That was her power. That was what made the Quarass of Germina dangerous, powerful. That was what made her ruler of Germina, protector of Ger, one of the four Shield Kingdoms of Chandrar. And she remembered why Germina was a Shield Kingdom. She was the Quarass, and she had died mere months ago. But the Quarass lives.

The Quarass lives. And now she sat in Reim, in a castle that she could remember being built oh, fifteen hundred years ago. Well, it had been just a keep then; it had only achieved the current form around eight hundred years back, give or take, after a number of renovations and three sackings. And it was even different now, thanks to the efforts of Drevish, the [Architect], one of the King’s Seven.

He had been gifted. The Quarass had known any number of [Architects] and talented builders and planners of wonders over her many lives. Even so, she ranked Drevish as in her top twenty. Probably even top ten. She took points off because she disliked his personality. Or at least, the other Quarass had.

She remembered it. A woman who feared the King of Destruction, enough to risk everything to kill him. She had spoken with the Emperor of Sands, listened to his words over the warnings in her head. The Quarass could remember her death. She remembered her last scream, choking, trying to flee. And the face of her death. Red-gold hair. And a sword.

It was a memory a second old. A lifetime past. But it still disconcerted her. For now that same person sat in front of her. Flos of Reim, Flos Reimarch, the King of Destruction, her death, was listening. Rain had been falling, but it had stopped at last. Now, the water dripped from the eaves of his palace. He raised his head and spoke quietly.

“Alive?”

“Yes. So I am told.”

The Quarass spoke of Tiqr, of the events she had heard through her own sources. Tiqr had fallen. Empress Nsiia lived. Flos nodded, his shoulders relaxing.

“I am relieved. I have heard of Illivere and their Magus-Crafter. In passing. The man seems capable. And Nsiia may well…”

He trailed off. He did not look happy, for all the news was a relief. The Quarass studied him.

They were an odd pair. He was far older than her, still physically fit and showing little signs of his age, but nevertheless past his prime when he had terrified the world. And she? She was a girl. Barely thirteen. Nevertheless, they were rulers.

And he still mourned. Empress Nsiia, one of his companions of old had survived. That relieved the King of Destruction, clearly. But he bowed his head. Tiqr had still fallen. Flos Reimarch stared past the Quarass. She searched her memories for a time she had seen him thus. A few times. He had looked far worse when he had entered into his slumber.

Hundreds of lifetimes were hers to call upon. She could remember countless faces like the King of Destruction’s, people of every species in their triumphs and despair. She could remember it—and it gave her an insight. The King of Destruction was far from broken. But he was genuinely grieving. That was valuable to know, so the child took the information, trying to use it and her memories to guide her forwards.

That was the Quarass of Germina. Old and young. She was ancient beyond almost any other being in this world. But it was still a child who held the memories, who made the decisions. Thus, each Quarass was different. Some had been wise, others cunning. Some had been cowards, or simply shortsighted. The Quarass could remember them all, how they had thought, and how their own memories had led Germina to success or despair.

That gave her power, for all she was but a girl. Germina took its strength from her. Their famed [Assassins] used techniques she recalled perfectly; no books were needed or had ever been written. The poisons were ones she had designed in lifetimes gone.

She had more power too. Knowledge of classes. Levels. Skills, and secret advancements. That was true power. She could turn her subjects into what best suited them. Her [Highborn], one of the three protectors who had sworn to serve her by blood, Vaitsha, had already begun her change. The Quarass had told her how to change her class—[Highborn of Coin], a weak class, into a rare and deadly one.

The process was not easy, but if Vaitsha had the will, she would become as beautiful and as deadly as the serpents in whose fangs ran Germina’s venom.

However, all that power came with a flaw. The Quarass could see that the world held patterns that repeated themselves. People leveled, acted in certain predictable ways. But the problem was that while things happened the same way, they never, ever happened exactly the same way twice.

The previous Quarass had been a foolish woman. Overly vain, bitter at kneeling to Flos Reimarch. She had never deserved her position to begin with; she had poisoned her mother and taken the throne, only to realize too late what being the Quarass meant. It meant knowing her mother’s contempt for her and the bitterness of her own death. It had broken her. The new Quarass did not wish to end the way of the old.

Tread cautiously, then. The King of Destruction was like many men the Quarasses had met—even been. The current Quarass could remember being a man in a number of her lives. And that was an odd experience. But she had to admit, Flos of Reim wasn’t a simple bull you could anticipate. Parts of him were straightforward beyond belief. But other things made little sense.

“King Reimarch.”

He looked up. And straightened, remembering her presence. Flos gave the Quarass a weary smile and reached for a cup.

“Quarass. My apologies. You have caught me unguarded. I confess, the news of Tiqr weighed heavily on my mind. It is done. Let us speak of the present. I have kept you waiting.”

She inclined her head. His words were without guile.

“I understand, King Reimarch. Then, the reason for my visit.”

His gaze sharpened.

“Ah, yes. A discussion of Germina’s future. I have wondered when this conversation would occur.”

“We are allies of Reim. So I have pledged. I would ask you, now, King of Destruction, whether that means serving under Reim, or as true allies of old. And I would know more of your reasons for your return.”

“Ah. The reason for my awakening.”

Flos nodded. He watched the Quarass, now like…his eyes were hard to read. No, not like some bear of a ruler, all straightforward and bullish. Not completely. The Quarass shifted. She had wondered herself what her future held. Now, Flos paused.

“Quarass, I have no plans on erasing Germina. Nor will I put you in danger or threaten your life. I swore by the Shield Kingdoms, by Germina’s soil and Ger’s Oasis to shed my blood before yours. I swore it by Reim, Quarass. I do not forswear that oath.”

That was true. The Quarass wanted to relax, but her memories kept her wary, for all she saw he was telling the truth.

“Nevertheless, Reim may endanger Germina by its ambitions. And we are allies.”

A question. Flos nodded absently.

“Yes. We are, Quarass. But I am aware that the Quarass does what is best for Germina. To endure is your nation’s purpose. I would rather we march in step, but we will see what your choice is.”

He turned his head and the Quarass had an unpleasant sensation as the King of Destruction looked straight through her. After all, he had met her previous incarnations—two of them. He had experience with her. She cursed her predecessor, but kept none of it on her face.

“I cannot swear Germina will follow Reim entirely into the abyss, King Reimarch. But I am not my predecessor.”

Flos studied her and nodded slowly.

“No, you are certainly not. And I am content with sharing my plans with you, Quarass. My ambitions and reason for awakening, at least. I believe the Quarass of Germina is too knowledgeable to act rashly regardless of the situation.”

And because Germina could burn so easily if Reim turned against it. But both knew that went without saying. It was hard for the Quarass to betray Flos Reimarch. She and her kingdom had too much to lose. The Quarass was glad Flos thought the same way. It meant he would trust her. He waved a hand towards the window.

“Before we begin, however—I may have to attend to my second issue of state. You recall the army at my border?”

“Of course. Khelt.”

The army of twenty thousand. The Quarass could well recall what that ‘issue’ was. Flos nodded.

“Khelt. King Fetohep has deigned to send me a message of his displeasure. Mars and Gazi are handling him, but I have no intention of being pressured by Fetohep’s demands.”

“Ah. What does Fetohep will?”

She’d guessed that was the case. The Quarass moved her hand, drank from the cup of water she’d asked for. Wine was a poor drink to converse with in these matters. And she was far too young. Dead gods, but she hated remembering how good it tasted. It was very hard to be an alcoholic in hundreds of lifetimes and sober now.

Flos made a face as he drank from his cup. It wasn’t even great wine, but still—the Quarass resisted the urge to watch.

“At a guess? A vow of non-interference. Pledged in blood, most likely. He senses Reim’s weakness. I’m not inclined to give him what he desires, but you know Khelt.”

She nodded sourly, drinking the nourishing water. Flos went on, wiping his mouth carelessly.

“I would rather have Khelt’s aid, if not their alliance yet. But I believe I would negotiate poorly with Fetohep. He and I do not get along.”

They did not. The Quarass’ memories flickered. Fetohep and the King of Destruction nearly coming to war at a dinner hosted in Khelt’s palace. She sensed an opportunity and jumped on it.

“King Reimarch. If Fetohep’s will is not appeased, he will not cease.”

“I’m sure you’re right. I was thinking of marching an army over his border, but that might provoke him.”

Flos grimaced. The Quarass leaned forwards, keeping her voice neutral to hide her eagerness, but it was hard.

“I could intercede with Fetohep. He has a longstanding connection to Germina.”

“Hm. You would do that for Reim?”

Flos looked pleasantly surprised. The Quarass sat back, carefully.

“We are allies. It would be a small effort. However…if you will tell me what reason you have for awakening from your slumber, I will agree to it. And what makes your two aides, Teres, and Trey, so valuable.”

Her eyes flicked to Flos’ face as he paused. That was the information the Quarass craved. The reason for the King of Destruction’s return? Invaluable in understanding him and in other ways. And his strange followers, the twins? The girl that had been present when he had first met her? Every instinct in the Quarass told her they were important too.

Flos of Reim paused, considering the Quarass’ request for a moment. She held her breath, wondering if she’d been too straightforward with her demands. But he was a straightforward man. She wasn’t prepared for him to grin and nod.

“Of course! I happily agree! You do me a great service, Quarass. Let us speak then, of my return!”

He smiled, laughing, and she stared at his face. Wait. Her memories kicked her in the head. He’d wanted her to ask and volunteer her aid with Khelt and Fetohep. He was going to tell her anyways and she’d—

The Quarass kept a blush from staining her cheeks, but only just. She reached for her cup and drank the stupid water. For a second she was a child again, scowling, realizing she’d fallen into his trap. Flos Reimarch smiled and lifted his cup.

“Ah, Quarass. We are allies. And I think you will agree. But trust is so hard to hold, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

She muttered, thinking of lifetimes of betrayal. Flos raised his cup and she hers. They clinked quietly and she studied him again. Flos nodded as he drank.

“Well, let us try. You are not the old Quarass. And I liked the first one I met. She was a grand woman.”

“Yes. She was. Flawed, but I will attempt to surpass her. Yet that depends on you. On Reim. Tell me, King of Destruction. Why did you return?”

Flos sat back. He sighed, and the Quarass saw him as a young boy, bowing beside his parents and staring up at her on her throne. She saw him as a man, leading an army past her borders and asking where Germina stood—against Reim or for it. And then, sword in hand, her death.

Then and now. The Quarass waited. At last, Flos looked up.

“Quarass, my return stems from the two you mentioned. The twins, Trey and Teres. You are correct. They have worth far beyond your imagining.”

“Ah.”

She drank in his words, greedily. Flos Reimarch nodded. And then his eyes twinkled.

“I wonder, Quarass. You who have lived countless lives surely imagine any number of reasons why I would return. Why the twins would matter to me. You who know so much, listen. Trey and Teres are unique because of their origin. They come from another world. Tell me, Quarass. In all your lifetimes, have you ever heard of that?”

The child, the Quarass, blinked. She stared at Flos. First she stared for the signs of a lie. Then for madness. And then her mind assessed his words. Weighing. Recalling. She stared at him, unblinking. And then, with the best, most expressionless face she had, she sat back. She reached for her cup and stopped before her hand knocked it over.

The Quarass of Germina looked at Flos Reimarch, the King of Destruction. After a moment of thought, she slowly shook her head.

“No. Tell me more.”

—-

Trey Atwood was sitting in a parlor. Or maybe a tea room? It was a place to speak in, to relax—but in a refined way. A salon, although he doubted Flos referred to it as such.

It was a waiting room, really. As Flos and the Quarass spoke in private, her entourage was settled in Reim’s palace. The people of Germina were quiet, surly, even, but they’d been at odds with Reim just months prior. It was more incredible that they were willing to come here peacefully at all.

But they loved their Quarass. She was like a god to them, although that concept was foreign to the people of this world. Still, that was how Trey understood it. He and Teres were sitting with two of the people who’d come with Germina. Flos had insisted and apparently they were meant to talk.

“Ah. Er, well, I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Trey. Trey Atwood. And this is Teres.”

Trey looked at the two guests sitting across from him. The two Germinan guests stared back. They were an odd pair. One was a boy, barely fourteen, maybe, with a scar on one cheek and a another down his leg. He looked like a street kid, for all he wore fancy riding gear. And the other was a woman in her thirties, clearly noble. Pretty, too. She bowed her head slightly.

“I am Highborn Vaitsha Zectiou. I have pledged to be the Quarass’ companion.”

“Oh? Er—is that an honorary title?”

Vaitsha frowned.

“It is the most honorary. I have sworn to guide the Quarass and protect her until my death. May my blood spill on the sands before hers.”

“Ah.”

Trey missed home. People didn’t usually lead with that as an opening line. But he bowed and nodded.

“The Quarass lives. Um…his Majesty is one of the three, then, isn’t he?”

Vaitsha and the boy stiffened. They glanced at each other and Vaitsha nodded.

“That is true. He has sworn to shed his blood before hers. So—yes. May it come to pass.”

There was a lot to unpack there and Trey wasn’t about to touch it with a ten-foot pole or his magical staff. He decided to sip from his tea cup. He saw Vaitsha do the same after a moment. And then cough.

“Are you okay?”

“I am…well. Thank you.”

She looked…pale. Paler than the young boy standing next to her. As Trey watched, Vaitsha set down her tea cup and sipped from a little vial. He noticed her hands were gloved. Perhaps she was unwell? Sick?

Trey didn’t ask. He looked around, desperately, for help. But Teres was talking with the other two guests in the waiting room. He wanted to throw something at the back of her head. But instead, Trey turned to the boy.

“And you are?”

The street boy looked up defiantly as he tried to drink from his cup like Vaitsha.

“I am Khalid, who has no other name. I serve the Quarass as well, as her protector and dagger! She lives forever!”

“She lives forever.”

The two Germinans nodded. Trey looked around desperately. At last, Teres saw his look and came over.

“Hello. I’m Teres. We’ve met. This is Nawal and Calac.”

She introduced the other two young people in the room. Teres smiled at Nawalishifra. The [Blacksmith] looked very uncomfortable as she bowed and murmured a greeting behind her veil. The other young man bowed stiffly.

“My greetings to you, Highborn Vaitsha and Khalid. May the Quarass live forever.”

He turned and bowed slightly to Trey.

“Lord Atwood. Lady Atwood tells me you are the pupil of Lady Gazi.”

“Oh. Yes. Um, we haven’t met. Pleased to meet you.”

Trey stood up and offered a hand. Calac took it. He had a strong, callused grip. He nodded to Trey, stepped back, and proceeded to sit and sip from his tea cup without saying anything for the rest of the conversation.

Calac was Venith’s son, maybe a year younger than Trey and Teres, but taller, muscled—more like an athlete than the twins. He knew how to use a sword, and he was a [Lord]—he’d been trained to fight and lead soldiers since he was a child. He was also in disgrace with his father, and clearly resented being lumped together with the guests in this room.

Trey still remembered Calac trying to attack Flos before the King of Destruction’s duel with Venith. He’d seemed to be headstrong and eager to prove himself in the few times they’d met. He had a problem with Venith, his father, but Trey couldn’t fault him there. Venith would be a hard father to impress.

Teres stared at Vaitsha and Khalid as silence took over again. Trey gestured and Nawal, after a moment’s hesitation, sat on their couch. On the end, far enough away from Trey that there was no chance of them even bumping elbows. She was very quiet. Uncharacteristically nervous given her usual pithy language. Teres spoke into the silence after a few very painful second.

“So uh, how’s Germina?”

“Germina rebuilds. The people of Ger have their Quarass again. She is changing Germina, as we are allied to Reim.”

The answer came quickly from Vaitsha. Teres nodded.

“Great.”

“Hi Nawal.”

Trey whispered to Nawalishifra. She looked at him, scowled behind her veil, and then bowed.

“Lord Atwood. You did not tell me you were a lord, you, Trey Atwood.”

He raised his hands.

“I’m not! Calac just said that.”

Nawal shook her head. She was staring at him as if he were a…goat. With sharp teeth.

“You have the King of Destruction’s ear. That alone makes you the same level as a [Lord] or even a [Prince]. You are important, more so than you told me. You did not tell me you were his personal servants, trusted friends who spoke to him as equals.”

“Well, not as equals—”

“You two ride with the King of Destruction?”

Khalid interrupted, staring at Trey and Teres. The young man hesitated.

“…Sometimes?”

“And he grants you the privilege of addressing him? You two?”

Vaitsha blinked. Calac looked up silently and nodded. Teres looked at Trey.

“He lets everyone address him as equals, right Trey?”

“Right. It’s not…”

The two twins trailed off. Nawali was looking around. Calac shook his head. Vaitsha spoke slowly.

“The King of Destruction keeps few by his side. Informality or not, he named you as his two trusted friends. Then, you are much like his vassals. His Seven. A [Lord] would do well to bow before you. I am Highborn of Ger, and thus lower in station.”

She bowed deeply. Then Vaitsha gave Khalid a significant look. The young boy sat up, looking alarmed, then copied Vaitsha’s bow. He gave Trey a look of deep suspicion and clamped his lips shut.

Trey sighed. He was happy to talk to Nawali—when they weren’t in the company of others. She seemed wary of the Germinans, and of Calac for that matter. Teres was shifting, about to ask something else that would probably get them in hot water. Calac was scowling and the two Germinans looked at everyone as if they were potential enemies. It was almost a relief when a [Servant] came to summon Teres and Trey out of that room.

“The King of Destruction wishes to see you.”

The two twins stood up. Nawal gave Trey a narrow-eyed look and he flushed, searching for an excuse. But there really wasn’t one, so he hurried out of the room. In the silence that followed, Nawal twitched her veil. Calac sipped some tea and scowled. Khalid and Vaitsha waited. After a while, she coughed.

—-

Trey and Teres entered the room where Flos and the Quarass were sitting. They came in slowly, aware of the Quarass’ presence. When Trey saw the small girl sitting across from the King of Destruction, he nearly laughed. Until she looked up and stared at him. Then he stared into her old eyes, shuddered, and remembered.

She was the Quarass born again. He slipped into the room behind Teres and bowed. Teres did not.

“You wanted to see us, Flos?”

The Quarass’ gaze flicked sharply to Teres’ face. Trey winced, but Teres refused to address Flos by his title. Nor did the King of Destruction insist. Indeed, he smiled and gestured to two more chairs that had been set out.

“Yes indeed! Come in and sit, Trey, Teres. Have you greeted the Quarass’ companions?”

“Highborn Vaitsha and Khalid? Yeah. We met them.”

“Excellent. I hope you will become their friends. They fulfill a similar role to the Quarass as you two have with me.”

Trey bit his lip and Teres coughed. The Quarass was looking from Flos to them, and especially at Teres. Trey recalled that Teres had helped set up the scenario in which she was reborn. He looked at the King of Destruction.

“Your Majesty, um, what happened at Tiqr? Has the siege ended?”

Flos’ face froze for a second, and then he sighed.

“It has fallen. But Nsiia lives.”

“Oh! That’s…good?”

The twins looked at each other, worried. Flos sighed.

“Yes. I suppose it is the best I could have wished for. Nsiia asked me that I might help her end Tiqr, in death and destruction. But I could not. So Tiqr falls and she is captive. But she lives. That is the cost of my peace so far.”

“You could have helped her, though. Right?”

Teres frowned at Flos. The King of Destruction looked up and stared at her.

“No, Teres. I swore an oath. I will not make war without cause and Tiqr was not mine when it was attacked.”

“But she asked…?”

Flos shook his head.

“That was what Nsiia asked herself. But I cannot dance about my oath, Teres. Or play with words like some ambassador or diplomat, Trey, Teres. I hold the honor of Reim, my people, my kingdom, upon my actions. That is what it means to give my word.”

“Okay then. I was just asking.”

Teres fell silent. Flos smiled slightly, and sat back. He looked tired and murmured as he looked into the drags of his cup.

“Yes. It is done. Nsiia lives. As a captive of Illivere, but better to live, than…yes, better to live, and in Illivere’s lands. I will return Tiqr. I swear it.”

He shook his head.

“Enough of that. It is done, and I have dwelled on it far too long. Trey, Teres, I have summoned you to speak to the Quarass. Teres, you have met her before.”

“Yeah. Hello.”

Teres lifted a hand. She tried to meet the Quarass’ eyes, but hesitated as the Quarass stared at her. Trey saw the gaze flick to him. Old eyes in a young face. He froze, and then bowed, belatedly. Teres did not.

“Your Majesty, forgive me. I’m Trey Atwood. And this is Teres. My sister.”

The Quarass inclined her head.

“King Reimarch has informed me of your natures.”

“You mean…”

Teres shot a glance at Flos, looking alarmed. He smiled.

“I’ve told the Quarass about your world. Would one of you mind showing her your phone? I believe that will satisfy her doubt.”

“Flos!”

Both Teres and Trey shot up. The King of Destruction waved a hand.

“Sit. It’s hardly a secret, is it. There are at least a few dozen of you running about.”

“But it’s a secret! Isn’t it dangerous to…”

Teres looked at the Quarass, biting her tongue. Flos shook his head.

“The Quarass is Reim’s ally, Teres. She has sworn it. Moreover, I require her trust and aid with Khelt. Come, bring out your phones, one of you. She does not believe you two are from another world, yet.”

“It is an astounding claim. Have you proof of this?”

The Quarass looked at Flos as Trey dug in one pocket. The King of Destruction laughed.

“I saw them appear in my throne room, Quarass. They were dressed outlandishly, and they had no idea who I was or even of magic! And this—ah, thank you, Trey. This is a trinket from their world. Give it to the Quarass.”

He watched as Trey gingerly offered the Quarass his smartphone. She stared at the lit screen, and then at Trey.

“Um, it’s a device, your majesty. It turns on when you hit this button and—”

Flos held up a hand and Trey fell silent. The Quarass took the iPhone from Trey and stared at it. She blinked at the screen, held up a hand—looked at Flos.

“It’s quite safe. You tap on the screen to make the functions active, like an artifact. Don’t squeeze it too hard or it breaks.”

“I see.”

Gingerly, the Quarass ran her finger over the screen, staring at the locked screen. Trey opened his mouth and Flos waved him to silence. The Quarass blinked as she tapped one of the buttons. Then she turned the iPhone over, regarding the smooth screen, the back, the buttons. She tapped the power button and blinked as the screen turned black. When it turned back on she stared at it and raised her head.

Flos was grinning, clearly delighted by her reaction. The Quarass met his eyes and then looked at Trey. She hesitated—her eyes flickered, and she shook her head.

“Impossible. I have never seen a device like this.  Not in any lifetime. I see the truth in your words, King of Destruction.”

“Just from the phone? You haven’t even seen what it can do.”

Flos was disappointed by the Quarass’ ready acceptance. She shook her head, tapping on Trey’s smartphone gingerly.

“I need no further proof than this. This—this is a strange material. What is it?”

She was referring to the screen and casing. Trey blinked.

“Plastic. And the screen is glass, and, uhm, metal, your Majesty. It’s just…”

He trailed off. ‘Just’? How did you make plastic, anyways? How hard was it to make? Probably…very hard. The Quarass was staring at the casing of the screen.

“It has never been made. I have seen metal, but this is not. Weaker than metal, I think.”

“Much weaker. It cracks if you press too hard. But show her the rest of the phone!”

“I will. Um, your Majesty? Er—”

“Quarass. Address her as Quarass, Trey. She has no other name than that.”

Flos nodded at the young girl. Trey hesitated as he stood up. She handed the phone back, staring at him. He leaned over, unlocking his phone.

“My apologies, Quarass. It has uh—”

“Show her the photo. No, the video! Not the bird.”

Flos was enjoying himself to no end. Trey shot him a look as he opened up the camera app. The Quarass blinked as she stared at the screen and listened to Trey’s explanation. Her eyes flicked to Teres. She watched Trey take a picture, took the phone, and copied him. She blinked at the slightly off-focus image. Then she lowered the phone.

“I see. Everything you have said is true, then. Or so it seems.”

“I have told you no lies, Quarass. Isn’t it extraordinary?”

“Yes.”

The flat reply made Trey think the Quarass was anything but pleased. She was staring at him as if he were a monster, and—Trey glanced at Teres. She raised her eyebrows and the twins shared a thought.

What had Flos told her about their world? Was this a good thing? Neither voiced the thought aloud, though. The Quarass handed Trey back his iPhone and watched as he put it in his pants. Flos rubbed his hands together happily.

“I must have the twins show you the other amazing things they can do with it. But later. You agree, then, Quarass? Even Fetohep might be persuaded if you pressed him thusly. As for Germina…what say you?”

The Quarass paused for a second, and then her small head nodded. She looked at Flos.

“I agree. And I accede to your request. I will speak to him, then.”

“Excellent! You do me a great favor, Quarass. And we must speak more after your return. But Fetohep does not wait and I believe even Gazi and Mars will tire of his army soon. Let us deal with him, then discuss the matter at length. I will host you in my palace—but first—Mizzi!”

Flos raised his voice. The door opened and a [Servant] bowed.

“Your Majesty?”

“Horses! No, a carriage for the Quarass! Horses for me—and my armor! We ride to the border! Quarass, need you anything before you leave?”

“I will have one of my own drive your carriage, if it pleases you, King of Destruction.”

The Quarass rose, and Flos nodded. He beckoned to the twins. They followed him. Teres frowned at Flos’ back.

“Hold on! Where are we going?”

“To deal with Khelt. Remember the army assailing our borders, Teres? The Quarass and I have reached an agreement. She will help me deal with Fetohep and Khelt. We will ride there. Oh—and Quarass?”

“Yes?”

She stopped as Flos strode for the door. He looked back and stared at the twins for a second. His lips moved as he stared at Teres, and then he shook his head.

“Take Trey with you to meet Fetohep.”

“Wait, what?”

Both Trey and Teres exclaimed. Trey looked at the Quarass as she stared at him, and then turned to Flos. Teres glared at him.

“Why Trey and not me? Wait—what does this Fetohep want?”

“I’ll explain it on the road, Teres. Trey will go with the Quarass. Trey, have Ulyse charge your phone before you leave. You may be Fetohep’s guest for the night.”

“Wait, but why me? Your Majesty, what am I supposed to do?”

Flos was already striding down the corridors, calling for his armor and a mace. [Servants] flooded around him as the Quarass walked beside him. Her people were hurrying towards her, Vaitsha and Khalid staring daggers at Flos. The Quarass snapped.

“I am journeying to Khelt. Send Hedolac to the stables. He will drive the carriage that takes me. No one else will accompany me. You will remain as guests of Reim. Here.”

“Quarass!”

Her subjects protested as one. Vaitsha, Khalid—all of them gave Flos a look of deep suspicion as he grinned, donning his armor in the corridor with the help of some servants. The Quarass raised a hand, instantly silencing them.

“I have agreed to do so to aid Reim. Our allies. I will be in no danger in Khelt.”

“Even so, Quarass, let us accompany you—”

Vaitsha protested, and Khalid stepped forwards as the other Germinans nodded. The Quarass held up a finger and all of her subjects stopped. It was impressive; even Flos couldn’t silence his vassals like that.

“No. None of you are necessary to negotiate with Fetohep. He would see bodyguards as an insult likewise. Vaitsha and Khalid, you two lack the formality King Fetohep demands. You will all stay in Reim. Offer no disrespect.”

And that was that. The Germinans looked like they wanted to protest, but one look from their Quarass had them bowing. They still followed her as Flos strode down the corridor.

“Armor for Teres as well. Hm. Chainmail. And a helmet. Trey needs nothing.”

“Flos! Why is Trey going with the Quarass?”

“Because I think he might be useful to her.”

“And not me?”

Trey felt like Teres was missing the point here. At Flos’ words, all of Germina’s subjects gave him a death-glare, some of them putting their hands on their hilts. He didn’t want to go with the Quarass and her scary gaze, much less alone! But Flos just shook his head as he saw a man rush up with a selection of maces.

“That one. No—wait. Let me try the heft of this one. Yes, this one! Teres, for all your endearing qualities I find so helpful, you are a poor [Diplomat]. Mars is better. Trey, on the other hand, has a talent for it. He may well serve you, Quarass. And he has the phone.”

“You believe he is necessary?”

The Quarass looked dubiously at Trey. Flos laughed and clapped Trey on the shoulder. Trey nearly fell down.

“He is! Believe me, he will make the difference. We ride for Khelt’s border! Teres, stop fussing. You will accompany me. Khelt is a boring place. And Fetohep would enjoy you as much as he enjoys my company. Actually…no. No, as much as I’d enjoy the scene, you come with me. You have the sword Orthenon gave you? Good!”

They were out of the palace now, and Trey saw a carriage was already waiting. They weren’t too common in Reim, given the lack of roads, but Flos had demanded one and so it had appeared. It wasn’t particularly royal and some of Germina’s subjects looked aghast at their Queen riding in it. It was serviceable, though, and Flos nodded as he saw his own warhorse waiting. He turned to the Quarass.

“I will ride with you to the border. If only to deal with Fetohep’s nuisances. Shall we?”

“Very well. My subjects. I will return tomorrow.”

The Quarass dealt with the final protest as Teres mounted up. She looked at Trey as he hovered by the carriage.

“You’re going to Khelt, I guess, Trey.”

“I don’t know why.”

“He does. I’ll get it out of him. You just behave. Be careful of her. And don’t tell her too much!”

Teres jerked her head at Flos, and then glared at the Quarass. Trey nodded lamely. They reached up and clasped hands for a moment. Then the Quarass was turning to Trey.

“Come then.”

She stepped into the carriage as the driver, one of her subjects, helped her inside. He gave Trey no such help and in fact gave Trey a look that managed to communicate that if he did anything that made the Quarass so much as frown, Trey was dead. The young man hunched his shoulders as he sidled into the carriage. The Quarass was already sitting. Flos laughed and pointed.

“On to Khelt! Teres, with me!”

He had a bodyguard of a few dozen [Riders]. They set out at once and Trey saw the carriage begin moving. Instantly, a bit of dust stung his eyes. He heard the Quarass cough and hastily closed the leather coverlet. Glass had not been added to this coach and so now the carriage was dark, but for the outline of light around the doors and windows.

In the darkness, there was a little girl with a voice and eyes as old as time. She stared at him, unblinking. Trey was reminded of a horror movie. If she screamed, he’d jump out the window.

It was going to be a long ride. After a minute of silence, Trey had to break the silence. He bowed awkwardly from his seat.

“Um. I’m Trey, your—uh, Quarass.”

“Yes. King Reimarch has told me of you and your sister. Trey Atwood.”

He shuddered. The Quarass’ tone was emotionless, impossible to read. Her face was so still. She stared at him for a longer moment and then her eyes flicked to his pocket, where he had put his phone.

“The King of Destruction has told me how you met him. You awakened Flos Reimarch.”

“Um.”

Trey was starting to realize that was a very bad piece of information for anyone to know. He raised a hand lamely.

“By accident. It was just—we just appeared in front of him.”

“Yes. Tell me more of your world, Trey Atwood.”

“What? Oh, it’s not—”

“Do not lie to me. Flos Reimarch has told me of the advancements of your world. Earth. Tell me more.”

The Quarass’ eyes were trying to burrow into Trey’s head through his skull. He gulped, remembering Teres’ words.

“It’s—we have a few things that—”

“Do not attempt to hide the truth.”

“I’m not—”

“Lies. You are attempting to hide the truth. Speak with honesty or I will know.”

The little Quarass stared at Trey. He wilted under that thousand-year-stare. There was nowhere to run. And he felt like if he jumped out the window, the Quarass would just stop the carriage and make her driver put him back in. He gave up and did his best.

“Well, it’s called Earth and it has no magic…um, it’s really a lot like this world, and not like it at the same time. You see, in my world…”

The Quarass listened to Trey’s explanation of what Earth was. There was so much to say, from the fact that they had no magic, to the technological advancements, the nations—she just listened, not gasping or interrupting like Flos would every two seconds. It was unnatural. The only time she stopped him was when Trey tried to hide something—somehow she could see it in him.

“Enough. Tell me of your weapons.”

“Weapons? I don’t—”

“The weapons that destroy cities. The weapons that fire for miles. Like crossbows, but a thousand times better. The King of Destruction has trusted me with the knowledge. Tell me.”

What was Flos thinking? Was he thinking? Trey had to believe so. He tried to obfuscate, but the Quarass dragged the words out of him. He couldn’t not tell her, and Trey began to worry she was doing something to him. After he began chattering about nuclear weapons and radiation, he was certain. He couldn’t stop.

“I see. Enough. How many nations fill your world? How large are the armies?”

“Well, there’s a million soldiers in China’s army, it’s the largest—”

What was scariest was the way the Quarass seemed to believe every word coming out of Trey’s mouth. And that she believed it, and still, hearing of nuclear weapons, of planets and people landing on the moon, she didn’t react. Trey was certain it was a mask, a poker face, but he couldn’t see past it.

She didn’t even flinch when he told her about the population of Earth. Her eyes never left Trey’s face. He guessed she was trying to tell if he was lying about anything. She made him tell her about nations, history, and then technology like his phone. The carriage’s dark interior lit up as he showed her some pictures from Earth.

That was when he saw the child come out. The Quarass leaned forwards, staring at the foreign pictures, and then demanded to play the game Flos had talked about. Trey didn’t have Flappy Bird, but he had other apps. For half an hour he watched her play Candy Crush and shatter his high-scores like Gazi had with Teres. He saw her smile, and then glance up at him and school her face to expressionless again.

She was a child at times. It leaked out of her when she was unguarded. But other times she was the ruler, stone-faced, piercing eyes. But after a while, she began to relax a bit in Trey’s presence and he in hers.

She wasn’t very haughty. From hearing about Queen Calliope of Hellios and her son from Teres, Trey had expected the Quarass to be at least a bit arrogant. Or spoiled, even, being a child. But the Quarass seemed content for him to ask her questions.

“Um, so you’re the Quarass of Germina. The old one—”

“Died. Yes. Do you know what a Quarass is, Trey Atwood?”

“Not entirely. Teres told me about how you were…summoned?”

“Reborn.”

“Right. And Flos—King Reimarch—he told me the Quarasses all share the same memory. You remember all the old Quarass’ lives. And you rule a Shield Kingdom.”

“Germina. One of four remaining. This is all correct.”

“So you remember…everything?”

“Yes.”

She waited. Trey hesitated.

“Like, everything or just…”

The Quarass sighed slightly. She stared at Trey and pointed to his side.

“You have an aura of magic about you. You are a practicing [Mage]. Do you carry a magical item?”

“I have a training wand Gazi lent me—”

“Give it to me.”

Trey did. The Quarass inspected the wand dismissively. Then she pointed it.

“I have never cast a spell in this body. But my fifth predecessor before me was a [Mage] of some talent. In times past I have been far greater. In one, I was even considered as a possible [Archmage]. The memory of each spell rests within me. [Light].”

A shimmering orb of soft yellow light filled the carriage. Trey gasped; it was a beautiful glow, far better than the light from this phone. The Quarass nodded.

“That is a simple spell. This is a Tier 5 spell. [Pestilence’s Touch].”

She pointed the wand at him. Trey shouted in horror, but it was too late. The wand’s tip pressed into his chest.

“What are—”

He jerked backwards. The Quarass lowered the wand. There was a sound from the front.

“Quarass?”

“Silence. I am well.”

“Yes, Quarass.”

The little girl offered the wand back to Trey. He was feeling himself frantically. Was he hot? What had she—he stopped as she smiled at him.

“You are not affected. I could not cast the spell.”

“That wasn’t right!”

Trey snatched the wand back. The Quarass sat back, looking pleased with herself as he edged away from her.

“Listen to me, Trey Atwood. My knowledge is vast, but my ability to use it is limited. I know magics of old. Spells from previous lifetimes. But I have very little magic as of now. Often, Quarasses are selected for their talents. But my body is weak. I remember fighting, but I cannot lift a sword properly. Once, I slew monsters. I can remember it. But do you think I could kill even a single adult with this?”

She raised an arm, gesturing to her young body. Trey shook his head. The Quarass went on, bitterly.

“I remember men and women and even beasts Quarasses before me have taken as lovers. I know how to seduce, or kill in cold blood. I remember how to shoot an arrow a mile and strike an ant sitting upon a cactus’ spines. But that is but memory. The knowledge of my body is gone. And wisdom is only part memory.”

She tapped one cheek lightly. Trey nodded. The Quarass sighed.

“I am Quarass of Germina. My duty is to hold the Shield Kingdoms against their foe, to ensure Germina endures. But I am not invincible. Far from it. Until I level, until I grow, I am weak and I will do what must be done so I and Germina survive. That is best suited by allying with the King of Destruction, regardless of the past. So. We are allies. You will answer more of my questions now.”

Trey did, shakily. The Quarass let him ask his own questions as well. He was curious about Germina, having not visited it except when Flos’ army had invaded. She looked pleased at his curiosity. And then Trey asked a question that made her pause.

“Um, your companion. Highborn Vaitsha. Is she okay? She looked sick. She was drinking something when she met. Does she need medicine?”

The Quarass blinked at Trey and he’d wondered if he’d finally managed to offend her. But all she did was shake her head, tapping one lip and studying him.

“Interesting. You noticed that? Reimarch was correct. You may serve indeed. And you are correct. Vaitsha is sick. But she will live. She is sick, but by her own will. She is changing her class.”

“What? How?”

The girl shrugged.

“She is ingesting poison. Hence the gloves and vial.”

“Poison?”

“Just enough to live. Not enough to kill. She drinks poison and antidote each day, in greater quantities of each. If she lives—and I have taught her of poisons and ensured that she has the antidotes she needs—she will change her class. And her blood shall become poison and she will be Germina’s viper, a fitting servant.”

“But—what? That’s horrible!”

Trey looked at the Quarass, shocked. She just stared at him.

“It will change her class. She has a poor one at the moment, a mundane class. This will give her unique Skills. Power that she needs. That I need.”

“But she’s eating poison! She looked ill! Does it hurt?”

“Most certainly.”

“Then why—”

The Quarass narrowed her eyes. Trey shut up.

“I offered her a choice. For Germina, she accepted. She took the poison of her own will, knowing the agony it would cause her. That was her decision. By what right do you deny her right to choose?”

“I just—it seems wrong. Are you doing that to Khalid, too?”

Trey remembered the fierce young boy. The Quarass shook her head.

“Khalid is young. A boy. Unlike me, his classes are difficult to level at such a young age. He will take far longer, but he has begun training with the [First Warriors]. In time he will reveal to me what class he is most suited for. And he will be a champion like no other.”

“You’re shaping him into what you want him to be.”

It was an accusation. The Quarass lifted her shoulders.

“Should I not? Germina lives only through its Quarass. Without me, my country has nothing to set it apart from others, and far less than most. But Germina must endure. To survive, the rulers of Ger would lie with snakes and grasp at stalks of dust.”

Trey was silent at that. He shifted uncomfortably. The Quarass’ voice and the way she spoke reminded him of Flos. It was a ruler’s perspective. He tried to think of what Teres would say. Then he thought of something else and looked up.

“His Majesty helped make you the Quarass, didn’t he?”

“Yes. Although he did not find me. My [Councilor of State] did. He might have chosen better, but he was the least of my inner circle. Perhaps it is well that he chose me. My previous incarnation was a fool.”

She spoke so coldly. Trey looked at her.

“Couldn’t he have found someone older? It seems so…”

He paused.

“Cruel. I know it’s for the good of Germina. But was it the best for you? For Vaitsha?”

The Quarass was silent. She looked at Trey, and he saw a flicker of something. When she replied, it was more slowly. And she sat back against the seat of the carriage.

“I was chosen because I looked like the last Quarass. I would not have chosen myself. But fate gives little choices. Now I am Quarass. Perhaps it is a cruel destiny. Perhaps Vaitsha suffers at the cost of herself so Germina may gain. This is true, Trey Atwood.”

The girl paused. And for a moment she stared past him, at the floating ball of warm light. She reached for it, and cupped it in her hands. Then she tossed it and let it hover in the air between them. The Quarass looked at Trey and shook her head.

“However, I choose to be her. I chose to be Quarass of Germina and give myself for Germina. I could flee. I have fled in eighty seven lifetimes, some brief, some long and old. I will not. I am no coward.”

And that was all. Trey bowed slightly, and the Quarass nodded. They said nothing more for a while, until a fist hammered on the side of the coach. Trey jumped and the Quarass looked up. The window was jerked aside and both blinked in the sudden sunlight. Flos’ face and voice echoed through the carriage.

“Trey! Quarass! We’re nearly at the border! Open the door!”

Trey looked at the Quarass. She nodded and he opened the door, seeing the ground rush past. The Quarass ordered her driver to keep the carriage steady; Flos was riding alongside them.

He was beaming as he rode on horseback. Trey saw Flos was wearing sheets of metal—plate armor, save for his head. And his horse was similarly barded. He was riding quickly next to the carriage, but they were both moving far faster—the [King]’s Skill, [Rapid March], was moving them at nearly double the speed they’d normally be going.

“Your Majesty, shouldn’t we slow down?”

“Why? This is enjoyable! Teres, watch out for the carriage! Don’t talk—you’ll bite your tongue!”

Flos laughed, unconcerned with the very warning he was giving Teres. He rode forwards and pointed ahead.

“Before you head into Khelt, I wanted to show you Khelt’s armies! Don’t be worried; they’re undead, but we have it well in hand!”

Trey saw they were heading towards a valley of sorts—no, a dried-up river, a natural fortification that marked Reim’s borders. Flos waved ahead of them; Trey saw something in the distance.

“Gazi and Mars are holding off Khelt’s warriors! Teres and I will join them! Teres, don’t be alarmed!”

He nodded at Teres as she rode up beside him. Teres looked amused as she shouted back.

“We fought zombies before! They’re not scary; just disgusting! How dangerous can an army—”

Her teeth clapped together as she came down hard on the saddle. Trey winced. Flos sighed.

“Healing potion! You didn’t bite your tongue off; don’t worry! You have to learn not to do that. And as for zombies—there!”

He pointed ahead. Trey leaned out the carriage door slightly. His eyes widened in horror.

An army was holding their ground on one side of the dried valley. Reim’s army, led by Mars and Gazi, were locked in combat with Khelt’s soldiers. Trey saw the Serpent Hunters, slashing and whirling, their poison-coated blades hacking apart their foes. Parasol Stroll had the high ground and were literally blasting apart Khelt’s troops as their color parasols spun, aiding the [Mages] casting spells. The regular army held a line, using the height and loose soil to push back the army.

But Khelt’s [Soldiers] kept on coming. A line of them charged down the valley. Trey saw them now, as the carriage rolled to a stop. He saw dried flesh, gaping mouths with few teeth. Sunken sockets.

Zombies. Thousands of them. Twenty thousand—no, less, from all the fighting. Armed in broken and battered armor. They were emaciated, skin dried by Chandrar’s arid climate. Some were worn down to yellowed bone, but most still had dark, leathery flesh. Like mummies, in fact, minus the bandages. But that wasn’t the scary part.

A new wave of Khelt’s soldiers were charging at Reim’s defenders. Charging, not shuffling or groaning. They sprinted across the ground, ancient and rusted weapons, raised. Screaming.

“Uh.”

Trey made a squeaking sound. Teres halted, gulping down a mouthful of healing potion. The sound that Khelt’s soldiers made echoed through the air, raising goose bumps on Trey’s arms. Flos grinned as he lifted the mace he’d brought and pulled out a helmet.

“Zombies don’t run in your world, Trey? They do in this one! And Fetohep can make them sprint.”

“Are they—that’s a message?”

“The only one Khelt sends.”

The King of Destruction laughed. The wave of Khelt’s troops hit Reim’s [Soldiers]. They bounced off the walls of shields and clawed at the defenders, but Trey could see Gazi and Mars leading the [Soldiers], hacking apart the zombies with ease. But there were so many!

And yet, Flos just looked excited. He pointed as his bodyguard formed up around him. Teres was spitting blood, and her own sword was in her hands. Trey stared at Flos. The King of Destruction waved at him and the Quarass.

“We’ll deal with Fetohep’s message. Teres, stick with me! You’ll level today—try not to get bitten! Trey, follow the Quarass’ lead! I will see you tomorrow! Now, with me!”

He roared and surged forwards on his horse, catching everyone off-guard. His bodyguard and Teres pelted after him, and Trey’s sister wasn’t even able to say something after him. Ahead, Reim’s army had spotted their [King]. They roared as he raced towards their embattled lines.

“King of Destruction!”

Flos’ voice was a bellow. He charged straight for the flank of Khelt’s armies as the thousands of zombies turned towards him.

“[Royal Vanguard]! Gazi, Mars, to me!”

His unit of cavalry went through the first five ranks without even slowing. Flos swung his mace in a blur, grinning as he crushed bones and armor. His army surged forwards, and Trey saw Gazi and Mars leaving their positions, cutting towards him.

“He’s going to be surrounded!”

“Not so. Khelt’s army poses little threat to men in armor. Least of all the King of Destruction.”

The Quarass watched with detached amusement, watching the battle and Trey’s face. Flos had cut straight through his army and into his own lines. Trey saw him leap from his saddle, turn to Gazi and Mars—and then the three of them charged forwards by themselves! On foot!

“He’s off his horse!”

“A smart move. Losing a horse to a spear would be a waste against Khelt.”

“Smart? But what if—”

Mars charged left, covering Flos’ flank as Gazi ran with her [King]. Flos was hammering Khelt’s [Soldiers] down with each swing, a shield in his other hand. The undead were like toys in front of his strength, but they were everywhere, and armor or not, he was surrounded. Trey watched, on pins and needles. Then he heard a shout.

Mars, the [Vanguard], one of the King’s Seven, raised a sword. It was glowing, bright yellow, enchanted with some magic. She turned as a wall of undead charged towards her [King]. Trey heard her voice even from where the carriage sat.

“[Grand Slash]!”

The undead around her disappeared. Trey didn’t see the actual swing; it was too fast. He did see body parts, and armor raining down across Khelt’s army. He gaped. Mars pivoted, charged forwards and rammed into another group of Khelt’s soldiers ahead of her.

“[Grand Slash]!”

She did it again! Another pocket just disappeared, and Reim’s army  poured into the gap. Gazi was swinging her claymore around, effortlessly slicing through everything she cut, heedless of the weapons bouncing off her armor. She only protected her face as Flos kept carving forwards. And Mars wasn’t done.

“[Grand Slash], [Grand Slash]—”

Hundreds of zombies just disappeared. She was holding off an entire wing of the army on her own. Trey gaped. He’d seen Mars sparring in the training grounds, but he’d never seen this. He turned and saw even the carriage driver was gaping. The Quarass wasn’t. She looked amused.

“Have you never seen Mars the Illusionist do battle?”

“I—no! I mean, she’s fought before, but I was always busy—”

He’d seen Mars kill a [Geomancer] in battle, but she hadn’t used that Skill. She hadn’t had to. She’d just charged through everything; her armor was impenetrable as far as Trey had seen. The Quarass shook her head, indicating Mars.

“[Six-fold Grand Slash]. She may use it six times for every time a lesser [Warrior] would. This army she could destroy herself if she had time. This army is but a nuisance in front of Reim’s might, even weakened. That is not what makes Khelt deadly.”

“Then what—”

“Watch.”

Trey turned back to see Flos and his army mopping up the last of the zombies. They kept fighting, even when it was only a handful left, Trey had to admit. But they had been crushed without a single casualty on Reim’s side, as far as Trey could tell. Some were using potions, but—Trey paused.

There was a mass of bodies coming from the horizon. Past Reim’s borders, past some invisible line, the earth was stirring. Trey saw the earth erupt, undead forms tear themselves free of the soil, rising, rising—and running straight for Reim’s border. Trey looked towards Khelt and paled.

“Is that…?”

A second army, twenty thousand strong, was sprinting straight towards Reim’s borders. Only now did Trey realize that the valley was practically strewn with bodies. How long had Reim’s soldiers been fighting? Since this morning? The Quarass nodded as Flos and his soldiers reset their formation.

“Khelt’s armies are endless and undying. They are made up of every one of Khelt’s own that has ever died. The King of Destruction could fight this battle day and night and Fetohep would not cease. It looks as though four such armies have already fallen to his vassals. We will continue on before they tire.”

She clicked her fingers and the driver uneasily moved the carriage forwards. Trey gulped, but the Quarass pointed impatiently.

“Towards the undead.”

“Quarass?”

She turned her head to look at the Germinan man. Slowly, without saying a word. He flinched and moved the carriage forwards, slowly at first. The twenty thousand Kheltian [Soldiers] were coming right at them. Trey yelped and closed the carriage door. But the Quarass just leaned out of hers. She raised her voice at the mass of screaming undead charging towards them, weapons drawn—

“Fetohep. I seek an audience on behalf of Reim.”

The undead split at the last second, streaming past the carriage as the horses reared. The Quarass sat back as Trey and the driver both froze. Then the undead were gone and Flos was laughing as he led a second charge into their ranks. The Quarass looked at Trey, smiling at his white face. And then she clicked her fingers at the driver.

“Keep moving. Khelt’s capital is yet hours away. Follow the road. It is paved.”

“Yes, Quarass.”

The carriage kept moving. It passed from Reim’s dusty land into—well, more of the same. Trey expected the earth to darken, perhaps the sky to cloud over. But Khelt looked much like Reim. At least for the moment. The border was uninhabited, but nevertheless, Trey felt a chill as their carriage rolled forwards.

The Quarass closed the carriage door. She looked at Trey and calmly sat back.

“Now we are in Khelt’s lands. The King of Destruction has sent you with me to impress King Fetohep.”

“I don’t think I can. I’m not impressive! I don’t know why Flos wanted me to come!”

Trey clutched at his stomach. It was suddenly hurting a lot. The Quarass studied him.

“I see some reason to it. But if he has not educated you as to Khelt’s nature, I will do so. Khelt is a necrocracy, one of two remaining in this world. Perhaps one, depending on your definition of the word. They are an ancient kingdom whose borders are seldom questioned.”

“I can see why.”

The Quarass nodded.

“They are not a Shield Kingdom. Germina is older. Nevertheless, Khelt is powerful, as you can see. Fetohep is latest of a line of their rulers. He is six hundred years old.”

“Six hundred—”

The Quarass waved away the number as Trey’s eyes bulged.

“He is younger than me. I warn you, make no insult to his appearance. Nor to Khelt.”

“Do you think I will?”

Trey was deeply worried. The Quarass considered the question.

“By your ignorance, you may, but ignorance is different from disrespect. Fetohep will accept ignorance. But he will take offense should you malign his kingdom or people in any way. As for formalities—I will make excuses for you. Treat Fetohep with the utmost respect. You may address him as ‘King Fetohep’, or his ‘Eternal Majesty’. Again, make no comment about his appearance. Do you know how to bow?”

“Um—”

“Stand up.”

Trey did, gingerly, in the carriage. The Quarass pursued her lips.

“Show me your bow.”

He tried, but the carriage was cramped and bumpy. The Quarass still made him do it and shook her head when she saw his posture. Orthenon had begun teaching Trey and Teres how to behave properly, but Flos had insisted they had more important things to do.

“Bow to this height. Move your feet so. Back leg there. Front leg—there. Hand—”

She was exacting, but a good teacher. Another facet of her memories, Trey guessed. He had memorized the bow to her satisfaction and a few other diplomatic subtleties by the time the carriage approached Khelt’s capital. The Quarass pursed her lips, but she sighed as the carriage slowed.

“You will not offend Fetohep unduly. Now, we approach the palace. Driver, slow. Open the windows of the carriage, Trey. See Khelt.”

He did. By now, the carriage had moved into Khelt and Trey—gasped.

The dusty landscape had gone. The arid climate that he had associated with Reim for so long suddenly turned into one of greenery. There were plants, trees blooming across Khelt’s land! A forest in the desert!

And that wasn’t all. Trey saw people along the road, staring at the carriage as it rolled through their home. They passed through a village—but what a village! The buildings were carved stone, painted without signs of wear or flaking, and paved streets, without a single stone missing! The people of Khelt were dressed in fine clothing—as fine as Flos’ own [Servants], and Trey was certain they were common folk.

They stared at the carriage, a bit uneasily, but mostly with curiosity. But that wasn’t what caught Trey’s eye.

It was the health of Khelt’s people. Not one looked emaciated, or sick. In fact, among the men and women and children as the carriage passed through the first town, Trey saw something he’d failed to notice since coming from earth:

Some of Khelt’s people were a bit pudgy. As in, they had excess fat. Trey had seen fat people of course since coming to this world, but they were a rarity; most people had little excess fat, and indeed, a life without the sugar of home had helped Trey lose ten pounds already. But Khelt?

It looked rich. The streets weren’t asphalt, and not all the windows were glass, but everything was so maintained and fresh. Nothing looked old or in need of repairs. The streets were fantastically maintained. Indeed, Khelt had roads, even extending outside of the capital!

And then Trey saw the farms. The carriage passed by a river and Trey saw a vast field, as large as any from his world. Plants were in full bloom—some wheat-type plant by the look of it, but more reddish. They were being harvested. And Trey felt a chill as he saw the thin, bony figures in the fields, wielding scythes. He leaned back from the window.

“Undead.”

They were tilling the fields. Skeletons, hundreds of them, carrying baskets, harvesting the crops. And they weren’t the only ones. Trey saw a skeletal horse pulling a plough, and then more skeletons, sowing the ground. Watering it. Working tirelessly. They didn’t even glance up as the carriage rolled on past.

The horses caught scent of the undead and became skittish. The driver tried to calm them, but his eyes were as wide as Trey’s. Both of them looked to the Quarass. She just shook her head.

“Move onwards.”

“They’re undead! The workers! Quarass—they’re—”

“Yes. I said Khelt was a necrocracy, did I not?”

She stared at him. Trey closed his mouth and gulped. Then he looked back at the fields. He was scared at first. But then, as the carriage kept moving and the horses grew used to the scent, he became fascinated.

The undead were so—mechanical! They moved tirelessly, their arms never slowing. They were efficient too—the fields were vast enough to trouble a combine tractor or whatever farmers used in Trey’s world, but there were enough undead to handle it! And there were fields upon fields! Not just undead sowing to crops either; Trey saw one group planting trees while another team felled a tree. They were quarrying stone, replacing broken stones in the road, harvesting—

“It’s so efficient. Why doesn’t everyone do this?”

The Quarass looked highly amused as Trey looked around. And intrigued; Trey saw that while his fear had faded, the Germinan driver was still shuddering each time a skeleton passed by the carriage. The Quarass replied calmly, staring at a team of skeletons marching down the road.

“Because the undead crave death. Khelt holds theirs by their [King]; but other undead may well seize control of them. [Necromancers] have implemented systems such as these before. But Khelt is one of the few places where such practices endure. People fear death magic, sometimes rightly. Accidents can turn into catastrophe if the undead are loosed. Many still remember the Necromancer, Az’kerash. He tried to make the same on his land of Terandria, until he was named monster.”

“But—”

Trey’s objections trailed off. He understood fearing the undead. Their eyes glowed with pale light. And for all they meekly went about their tasks, there was something unsettling about them. These weren’t toy skeletons. They were actual bone. Dead bodies. And the ghostly flames burning in their eye sockets were as distant as the Quarass’ own gaze.

Even so, Trey was impressed. And as the carriage continued into the heart of Khelt, he saw more wonders of the nation of death. Life, for one thing. Trey saw his first playground in this world; a wooden fortress, filled with swinging rope bridges, a slide—even swings! No roundabouts or monkey bars, but a playground nonetheless! There were children playing on it, laughing and stopping to stare at the carriage Trey rode in. They pointed, and then waved at him and the Quarass. Some were barely younger than her!

“That’s a playground! From my world! I’ve never seen one here!”

“No. In other nations, children are apprenticed at their age. Or they help their families. In Khelt, they do not.”

“Where are their parents?”

The Quarass shrugged.

“Attending to their work or pleasures. The children are safe.”

“But if one falls—”

The Quarass looked at Trey reprovingly.

“Trey Atwood, you are no fool. The children are safer than we. If they but scream, they will be protected, their injuries bandaged. This is Khelt. And Fetohep’s reach touches all of his land. His people are buried everywhere.”

She pointed at the soil. Trey saw the driver shudder and felt another chill himself. But the playground called to Trey. The laughing children. He stared at it until it was gone.

And then they came to the capital, and Trey saw the stone facades rising from the earth, the green dancing amid the shadows cast by overhanging buildings. There were walls, but only to block the sand. The capital of Khelt had no fortifications like Reim or every other city Trey had seen. He passed by a carved image of a [King], a proud statue of a man. Then one of a [Queen]. Then a series of sculptures, each one of a member of royalty.

They stood, lining the entrance to the city, staring down at Trey and the Quarass. Past them was a city that would have fit into an older European town. And it would have been a tourist destination too; the buildings were tall, beautifully kept, made in an art style that Trey couldn’t place, but reminded him of…he paused.

Venetian architecture? Maybe, a bit, if you mixed it in with Beaux-Arts, and a bit of the Tudor revival elements and some experimental modernistic work here and there. That was what Trey would have concluded if he’d had the architectural knowhow to describe the buildings. It was varied, and much was made of stone; the people of Khelt had no need to worry about the cost of manpower when it had come to building their homes.

And they had forever to improve on them. Trey looked up and saw a new style of art as he passed through the exterior of the city into the true heart. And he realized.

Oh. The architecture was Kheltian. And it swept over him, a city designed to provide shade in the sun, but also filter the light, so that each building seemed towering and inviting by turns. Here, the stern facades said. Step here, beckoned some entrances. Here, the city whispered.

Here we are eternal.

The carriage rolled to a stop. Trey looked around; the Quarass was already rising from her seat. She beckoned to him.

“We will go on foot from here. Come. Hedolac, remain with the carriage. You will be directed to follow us later.”

“Yes, Quarass.”

The man’s voice was quavering. Trey looked at the Quarass. There was such a hush in the air. He didn’t know why. Then he realized he hadn’t seen a single soul since entering the city. The girl raised an eyebrow as he stumbled out of the carriage. His legs hurt from not carrying him for so long.

“Um—where is everyone?”

“Waiting, I have no doubt. Fetohep knows we are coming. You will follow me, Trey Atwood. Remember what I have said to you.”

“I will. I mean—what do I do?”

“Speak naturally. Speak honestly. Fetohep enjoys new guests, for all he rarely welcomes them. Remember—”

“Don’t insult him. Or talk about what he looks like.”

“Yes. Now, come.”

She strode forwards. Trey followed her, glancing back at the shivering driver. The street was very broad, and very, very quiet. Ahead of them, Trey could finally see the palace.

“It’s…big.”

The Quarass frowned up at it. It was indeed big. And ostentatious. Khelt’s [Architects] had spared no work on it either. She shook her head.

“I prefer Ger’s palace. Fetohep is vain. He commissioned Drevish the Architect to improve his palace last. Each ruler of Khelt does so. It’s acceptable.”

She walked forwards, and then turned to glare at Trey. He was still trying to take it in.

“It’s amazing.”

“Come.”

She snapped at him, looking irritated at his wonder. Trey started and then hurried after her. They walked past flowering trees, neatly tended to. And Trey wondered where all the people were. He was about to ask—

And then he realized he and the Quarass weren’t alone. There was a sound in the air. Faint, but growing louder. Murmuring. The inescapable rustle of people. A crowd. Trey looked around—

And then they reached a grand plaza in front of the palace. The buildings fell away, and Trey saw Khelt’s people. They filled the vast space, an endless sea of faces, staring at him and the Quarass. He froze. She did not. She kept walking, and Trey saw Khelt’s people.

And its army. At first, they blended with the people. But then they were easily visible, for their stillness.

The dead. Rank upon rank of undead soldiers, standing in perfect formation. Their eyes burned as they stood, forming a double line down the street on either side, in front of Khelt’s people. Trey saw the people kept back from the undead, but without any real fear; they were watching Trey and Quarass with interest. Wariness.

But the undead stared straight ahead, their gazes level. They formed ranks in front of the steps leading up to the palace; these soldiers were all wearing burnished armor, not rusted weapons and ragged bits and pieces. They were also freshly dead, their corpses emaciated, but not yet worn away.

There they stood. And the Quarass stopped, looking down the long hallway of undead bodies. They formed a perfect line, straight up towards the palace. A single figure stood there, shadowed by his citadel. Trey couldn’t see him, but as he hurried after the Quarass, the figure raised a distant hand. And the silence, the rustling of so many bodies, broke.

“Germina.”

The whisper came from the voices of Khelt’s citizens. Hundreds of thousands of voices, from each side, whispering a word. Trey nearly jumped into the Quarass. She looked around her. The figure, distant Fetohep, pointed. And living beings, a small rank of men and women with horns, raised them to their lips around the plaza and blew.

A wailing sound echoed the plaza, as if screaming some word in another language. The sound first terrified, but it picked up in volume and tone, growing louder. Triumphant. The [King], standing upon his palace’s steps raised his hand, palm up. Again, the whisper burst forth. Louder.

“Guardian of Chandrar. Shield Kingdom.”

It wasn’t for him. It was for the Quarass. The girl stood, staring up at the [King]. She was so short the crowd couldn’t even see her past the line of undead [Soldiers]. But then—they bowed.

As one, the undead warriors of Khelt drew their blades. They lifted their swords as they knelt, emaciated flesh and bone kneeling in the street. They bowed their heads. And King Fetohep pointed at her.

“Quarass!”

The word was a shout. And it was jubilant, expectant. Not a threat. Trey saw the [King] lower his hand. And he bowed to her, the girl staring up at him. Surprised. The Quarass had seen a lifetime of glories. But the girl had not. And she turned her head as the people of Khelt bowed with their [King]. He raised his head after a moment and they shouted his name.

“Fetohep!”

And then there was silence. The Quarass looked back at Trey and he saw the hesitation in her eyes. But then she straightened her back.

“Walk with me.”

They moved forwards, through the ranks of kneeling undead. Trey felt lightheaded. Terrified. He stared up at the distant figure, standing in the shadows.

He didn’t even feel himself moving. He only knew he’d suddenly stopped. He’d crossed the plaza; now he and the Quarass looked up at the [King] of Khelt. He was still—Trey squinted. Then he heard Fetohep’s voice. It echoed from the palace steps, clearly audible throughout the plaza.

“Few guests bear welcome in Khelt. Fewer still worthy of respect. One stands before us today. We are Fetohep, [King] of Khelt. We greet the Quarass, may she live forever. The Shield Kingdoms have ever been allies of Khelt. And memory is the shield against folly.”

He pointed again, down at the Quarass. And his voice echoed, his eyes flashed. Burning lights in his…skull. A mouth moved. But—Trey’s eyes widened.

“Tell us, Quarass of Germina! Do the Shield Kingdoms yet stand?”

She called up towards him, a girl, unafraid. A ruler herself.

“Germina still remains. Forever we watch the skies. A shield still holds Chandrar’s sand! Does Khelt stand ready to heed our call?”

Fetohep nodded. Slowly, he descended the stairs. Coming into the light. Trey stared at Fetohep. He should have expected it. The Quarass didn’t blink as Fetohep’s burning, golden gaze found hers. His sockets blazed with a magical light. He spoke slowly. His mouth opened, but no tongue shaped the words.

“Khelt remembers, and Khelt honors the Shield Kingdoms. Nevermore shall our foes set foot upon these sands. So we greet the Quarass of Germina. Dragonbane.”

The word made Trey jerk. He looked at the Quarass. She turned her head. And one of her eyes caught his. And he put the pieces together.

Shield Kingdoms. And Khelt. A necrocracy. Fetohep spoke.

“The Shield Kingdoms stand; let Dragons beware!”

He bowed again. Slightly. The Quarass bowed back. Trey bowed deeply. He heard her mutter as she rose.

“An old greeting. He is one of the few who would remember it.”

And then Fetohep was descending. He looked at Trey. At the Quarass. And he smiled. But then—he was always smiling. His skin was dark. Leathery. Well-preserved, though time and the lack of moisture had worn away at him. He wore rich clothes, which sparkled as they caught the light. Fine silk. And he had a regal manner. The flames that burned in his eyes were like the ones Trey had seen in the other skeleton’s sockets, but more alive. Aware. Trey looked at King Fetohep.

He was most definitely dead.

6.55 K

Fetohep of Khelt stood on the steps of his palace, looking down at Trey and the Quarass. He was dead. His skin mummified. His sockets were sunken, his lips and nose worn away. But his face was not empty, like that of a cadaver.

His eyes burned. Like the ghostly flames that stared out of an undead skeleton’s eye sockets. But Fetohep’s were golden. And they had an intelligence to them, an awareness and personality that Trey had never seen in the undead.

The [King] was dressed in long, flowing robes made of silk. As he raised one arm, the cloth caught the sun. His people, the citizens of Khelt, bowed. The kneeling undead made no move.

“Quarass.”

It was an invitation. Trey looked at the Quarass. She dipped her head and began to ascend the stairs. Trey started. He stared up uneasily at Fetohep.

A lich. That was what he was, wasn’t he? Or—it all fit. An undying [King] for Khelt. Don’t insult his appearance, the Quarass had said. Trey swallowed his nerves and hurried up the steps after the Quarass.

She was ascending slowly. Trey matched her pace, walking next to her. She glanced at him and frowned darkly. The girl made a tsking sound. Trey paused uncertainly, but her glare went without words to explain. She kept walking and he tried to match her pace.

Fetohep’s burning gaze watched as the two approached him. He looked at Trey for the first time and the young man froze and nearly missed a step. Trey stumbled forwards and the Quarass stopped at the top of the steps.

Now they were on a level, even if she was far shorter than he, still a girl. Trey hesitated. Did he do the bow now or…?

“Quarass of Germina. We greet you again. Your death troubled us greatly.”

Fetohep’s voice made Trey jump. It came out of his mouth, not verbalized by any vocal chords or tongue. It had a subtle echo, and each word was perfectly intoned. Precise. Fetohep looked down at the Quarass. She inclined her head.

“Fetohep of Khelt. It is our pleasure to walk Khelt’s soil once more. We thank you for your welcome, on behalf of Germina and Reim.”

“Ah yes. Reim.”

The twin lights in Fetohep’s sockets flashed a bit brighter at that. He did not look once at Trey as his voice darkened.

“You speak on behalf of Flos of Reim, Quarass? He has failed to respond to my messages. Now, he sends another to bargain in his place.”

The Quarass paused.

“The King of Destruction regrets his pressing duties of state, King Fetohep. We have come—”

Fetohep interrupted her, slashing one hand abruptly. Trey was aware of all of Khelt’s citizens and the undead army, watching the exchange from afar. Sweat was beading down his back, despite the shade.

“You have come because that boy refuses to swear the oath we demand of him. And because he has no social graces. It is an insult.”

He paused, and then nodded slightly to the girl.

“Nevertheless, your presence, Quarass, we do respect. If you would speak on Flos Reimarch’s behalf, be warned. We have little patience for his folly. Yet, you yourself are still welcome. Enter by our will and avail yourself without hesitation of Khelt’s riches. You are an honored guest. And your consort?”

He gestured towards the palace behind him. Only then did his head turn and his gaze find Trey. The young man opened his mouth. And then he caught onto Fetohep’s words.

Consort? Trey stared at the Quarass. She was staring at him, narrow-eyed. Trey paused and then realized his mistake too late. He’d walked beside the Quarass coming up the stairs. That was probably—Trey paled, but the Quarass was unflinching. She looked up at Fetohep and shook her head slightly.

“Our incarnation has taken no consort as of yet, King Fetohep. This too is one of the King of Destruction’s emissaries. Trey Atwood, whom King Reimarch considers both friend and bodyguard. He is uneducated in the ways of etiquette, King Fetohep. The King of Destruction has not seen fit to instruct Trey Atwood in the ways of formality, nor does he require it. He sends Trey as an ambassador of his will. We ask your forbearance.”

“I see.”

Fetohep regarded Trey. Nervously, Trey bowed, trying to mimic every part of the elaborate greeting the Quarass had shown him.

“I am Trey Atwood, your Eternal Majesty. I greet you in the name of the King of Destruction. I am honored to walk on Khelt’s soil and beg your forbearance for my intrusion.”

Trey thought he did a good job of delivering both line and bow. He only wobbled a bit and he’d copied every part of the bow. The Quarass gave Trey a look nonetheless as he straightened. The light in Fetohep’s eyes flickered a bit; he didn’t look impressed either as he turned back to the Quarass.

“So we see. So you both come to plead Reim’s case?”

The Quarass paused. She nodded fractionally at last, but Trey sensed her caution. Not fear; just wariness.

“It is our intention to do so. Germina has allied with Reim and our fates are intertwined. We may speak for both nations and of the King of Destruction’s will, if it pleases Khelt.”

The [King] paused. Trey waited, sensing that Fetohep was making a decision about something. At last, his grinning teeth opened fractionally and he spoke.

“We believe it does. And thou art a more welcome guest than the King of Reim. I welcome thee twice, then, Quarass of Germina. And you, child.”

The Quarass relaxed a bit. So did Trey. They’d been accepted. The Quarass had mentioned that was the first step, so their greeting must have gone off well enough. Fetohep lifted his right arm, and gestured.

“We shall retire to our palace. Let us speak of matters of state there. Khelt shall withdraw from Reim’s borders. My people shall likewise disperse. Seventeen shall wait upon our presence; four to cook, thirteen to attend and serve.”

He lifted a hand. And Trey, turning, saw the sea of people move. Suddenly, the silence lifted. He heard voices, laughter, chatter—the people of Khelt stared up at him and the Quarass, pointing, but many simply streamed back into the city. The undead waited for the crowd to break up and began marching out of the plaza as well; still, thousands remained, standing silent, unmoving in front of the palace.

None of Khelt’s people paid them any mind. Indeed, they didn’t even seem to question Trey and the Quarass’ presence by and large. Some gave Trey curious looks, but it a was passing curiosity. They didn’t care. They walked unburdened, many smiling. Just smiling, as if that was a natural state of being. To Trey, it was an unnatural, unnerving thing to see on so many faces. The solemnity of the past moment was gone, and they went about their lives. Only a few walked towards the palace, as if at random.

Trey saw four young women, an older man, a woman who looked as old as the Quarass’ eyes—then he realized Fetohep was behind him and turned around hurriedly.

—-

The Quarass and Fetohep paid no mind to Khelt’s citizens. Their only regard was for each other. After Fetohep had spoken, both knew that the army on Reim’s borders had fallen back, returning to the earth. Fetohep’s words were law, and the Quarass knew his command stretched across all of Khelt.

She studied him. His was a face she knew from memory. A number of lifetimes in fact; Fetohep suited his title, the Eternal King of Khelt. Of course, she had known his predecessor, but he was one of the few beings who she regarded as kindred.

But they weren’t always allies. And indeed, this was the first time this Quarass, in this incarnation of herself, had met him. The undead [King] was studying her as much as she studied him. But for all that this was new, it was also old.

They relaxed a bit. Now informally, Fetohep nodded to the Quarass.

“Quarass, your new form is quite young. Did you wish a longer lifespan, or did some facet of this body impel you to choose it?”

The Quarass blinked up at Fetohep. Then she shook her head.

“King Fetohep, my predecessor did not have the opportunity to name a successor. I was chosen by chance, for a passing resemblance to my predecessor. I stand before you without preparation. Nor do I bear my predecessor’s dispositions. Indeed, I thank you for your greeting; the affronts I have caused you I regret.”

He paused, considering her words. Then, to the Quarass’ relief, he nodded.

“It is good that you bear little resemblance to the previous incarnation of yourself, Quarass. But I bear you no ill will; let old grudges be forgotten.”

He nodded to her and she nodded back. Neither one believed that entirely. They were old. And they didn’t forget. Still, it eased the tension.

Fetohep paused. The Quarass was aware of Trey staring at something behind him. She tried not to grind her teeth. What had Reimarch been thinking, sending him? He had no social graces! On the other hand…she saw Fetohep’s gaze flick towards Trey. He made no other motion besides that; he had no tics like adjusting his posture, or changing any expression in his face. He had abandoned all that with his life, and the stillness was unsettling if you had no experience with it.

“You did not choose your new body, Quarass. May I then extend my condolences? For a child, it is a heavy burden to bear, much less unprepared.”

He bent, looking into her face. The Quarass—disliked the sympathy. Yearned for it. Hated it. Knew his words to be true. She was young and old, and while she could remember all of her ages past—she kept her voice from trembling.

“Thank you.”

She shouldn’t have shown him weakness. She had promised the King of Destruction to bargain on his behalf, and Fetohep was an experienced negotiator. But it was too late, and perhaps it would lower his guard. Then again, he was used to her. Fetohep continued, gesturing towards the east, where Germina lay.

“You have my condolences for the situation your predecessor placed you in. How was your death?”

“Beheading. By the King of Destruction himself.”

“Ah, so I heard. But rumor often eclipses fact. I have often wondered how it feels to die and die again. My death is sometimes hazy.”

“It doesn’t grow much easier. Nevertheless, I resent the lack of preparation I have been given and Germina’s state far more than the memory of my predecessor’s death.”

The Quarass frowned darkly. Yes, the past Quarass had a lot to answer for. She’d done what she thought was best, but sometimes a Quarass was simply…an idiot. All the memories in the world couldn’t help unchecked ego or paranoia or so on. Well, sometimes it could. Dead gods, she hoped she wouldn’t be a fool. Or a drunkard. Or allergic. She hated allergies.

Fetohep was nodding, calmly studying the Quarass and then the distracted Trey. He gestured obliquely towards the young man as he looked at the Quarass.

“Has that boy coerced you into serving as a diplomat? This child seems a poor watchdog, but merely speak and he shall be removed for your stay, Quarass. If you are so forced, I will factor it into my reply.”

The Quarass smiled thinly and flicked two fingers. Fetohep was being considerate of her. But he wouldn’t shelter her or do more than offer her these small favors. That wasn’t his way. Time to play her part, then.

“Flos Reimarch would not hold Germina ransom to threaten me, Fetohep. He offered me a choice and I accepted it. We are allies, and that is no false statement. You know the King of Destruction’s nature and it is not one of deceit.”

She was sure, almost completely sure that she could trust Flos Reimarch when he proclaimed he would protect her and make Germina his ally. Whether that helped Germina or made it an even larger target was to be seen.

Fetohep accepted her reply, but her comment about Flos’ nature gave him pause. One of his ‘eyes’, the flaming lights in his sockets, flared brighter than the other. Not a wink, but more like an eyebrow rising on his withered face.

“Time changes all but we, Quarass. So then, if he has not changed unduly, he is a fool for starting his war of conquest anew.”

The Quarass bit the inside of her cheek slightly.  She’d walked into that. A pithy turn of phrase she’d heard two hundred and three years ago came to her aid.

“[Fools] and [Kings] are cut of the same cloth, Fetohep. He may be both, but still, it is Khelt who has demanded the King of Destruction’s attention. Shall we not speak of such matters later?”

He paused, and nodded slowly.

“Indeed we shall. Forgive me, Quarass. Your ride was no doubt long even with Skills and I forget the needs of the body. My attendants wait upon us; let us enter my palace. You, child.”

He turned. Trey jumped; he’d finally turned around.

“Yes? Your Eternal Majesty?”

“Why does that boy send you? What worth have you to the King of Destruction? What is your class?”

Trey stuttered as he glanced sideways at the Quarass. She could only wait; either he sank and she would have to kick him down the steps to prevent him making the situation worse, or he would prove useful.

“I’m—his Majesty’s bodyguard, your, uh, Eternal Majesty? Sort of. I mean—”

The Quarass resisted the urge to slap her face and then Trey’s. Fetohep’s burning gaze flickered.

“Let us dispense with formality, Trey Atwood. You have given me cause for offense ten times over already had I wished it. Speak with barest respect and I shall not take umbrage. How came you to your post? I do not believe you serve by sheer force of martial or magical prowess.”

“Yes, um, your Majesty. I’m very sorry. I’m his—King Flos’ bodyguard, but that’s really just a title. I follow him around, do what he wants, assist him—he keeps me and my sister because we…entertain him. Well, not entertain, but…”

Trey trailed off, searching for words. The Quarass saw one of Fetohep’s eyes flare bright again.

“Ah. A companion. Strange for that boy to take such an interest. But perhaps it is the same reason you have come hence. Very well. Know this, Trey Atwood. You stand upon Khelt’s soil, and you are a guest of my palace. This is a gift offered to few in this world not of Khelt. Know that while you stay here, you are my guest. But also know that every child, man, and woman in my kingdom is under my protection. Offer any of them insult or injury, and Khelt shall turn upon you, protection of the King of Destruction or not.”

“I understand, your Majesty.”

Trey nodded palely. Fetohep regarded him silently. The Quarass could see Trey’s legs shaking a bit, but she was impressed; she’d known others to suffer incontinence when presented with Fetohep’s visage. Perhaps it was because Trey was from another world; he wasn’t as afraid as she’d hoped.

And that was a good thing. Fetohep stepped forwards, looking down at Trey. Again, the young man gulped, but made no other move. Thoughtfully, Fetohep spoke.

“I am Fetohep, child. One of Khelt’s eternal rulers. Tell me, did the King of Destruction tell you of my nature before you arrived? I see he did not. Do you fear me? I am one of the undead. And I am also [King]. Does my appearance frighten you?”

The Quarass tensed. She saw Trey look at her, which was bad. But when he turned to meet Fetohep’s gaze, he only bowed slightly, in the way she’d taught him.

“I—do a little bit, your Eternal Majesty. But your lands are very beautiful. And I—I think you’re quite regal!”

He burst out with that. The Quarass blinked. Fetohep’s burning gaze went out for a moment. Both rulers stared at Trey. After a second, Fetohep spoke.

“Interesting. I have rarely heard those words uttered in truth. Tell me, Trey Atwood. From whence do you hail? You look of Terandria, or perhaps Izril. And yet, you are no [Slave]. [Slaves] know etiquette. How camest you to Reim?”

“Well, your Majesty—”

Another look. This time Fetohep glanced at the Quarass and she spoke.

“Surely that is yet another matter for more formal discussion, Fetohep? It touches upon the King of Destruction’s return and thus, Reim’s relationship with Khelt.”

“Really?”

Fetohep’s gaze sharpened on Trey. He nodded abruptly and turned, gesturing towards his palace.

“Very well. We shall discuss the matter tonight, as we dine. Come, my palace lies open to you both.”

He gestured and began to walk slowly into the palace of Khelt. One of the wonders of the world. Maybe not on the top seven list, but certainly on the Quarass’ private list of top thirty sites. Maybe even top twenty.

The doors were thrown open and the Quarass could see black stone and a long rug, seemingly without end inviting them in. She regarded the rug. That was new. It looked like a genuine masterpiece too; at least done by a Level 40 [Weaver]. She wondered how long it was. If it was over forty feet, she’d be impressed.

Trey stared at the grand palace, his eyes going to the ornamentation on the tiles, the glowing alcoves spilling magical light out around colored glass, the sweeping scale of the hallway, and all the other things that held visitors spellbound the first hundred times they saw it. The Quarass, who’d walked these halls far more times, followed Fetohep. He was going to show off his kingdom of course.

The palace of Khelt’s capital, Edojaf, had not been worked upon by the masters of each generation, concurrently built up by the feats of genius of mortal hands. No, it was so fantastically made that it skipped most geniuses and only took from the best masters that stood out in the annals of architectural history. The fact that Drevish had been the last to work on Edojaf’s palace spoke to his skills.

The Quarass admired Drevish’s work; he’d expanded the palace, doing away with that terrible, kitschy ‘woven gold’ design and expanded the exterior of Edojaf’s place with flowing walkways, much in the same style of Wistram and Lizardfolk cities. She regretted his death; the man had been an irascible master. Trey, meanwhile, was following Fetohep as the [King] of Khelt did what he so loved to new visitors who weren’t the Quarass: show off.

—-

“Look upon my kingdom, Trey Atwood. Tell me what you see.”

“It’s…beautiful.”

Trey’s eyes widened as he stood on the balcony of the palace. It was exposed to the open air, and unlike Reim’s palace, all of this palace’s ornamentation was just that. There was not even the hint of the functional but unaesthetic murder holes, arrow slits, or any other fortifications on Edojaf’s palace. Nor, looking out across Khelt, did Trey see any in the city.

It was simply beautiful. Like a modern city of Earth, only, as Trey had noted, largely built of stone. But there was glass on some windows! And more color than any modern city; like Ger, the capital of Germina, the people of Khelt worked murals into some of their buildings. Yet while Ger did wonders with colors, Khelt had taken it to the next level.

Here was an example: someone had, over time and effort, and using the very rooftops of houses in one district of Khelt’s city, created the image of a leaping whale thing—it had four sets of flippers—breaking out of the water by coloring each rooftop. It was the kind of beautiful image that tourists would flock to, in order to marvel at the scope and effort of the work and take pictures of. And that was one work amid thousands Trey could see.

A bell tower whose bell looked as though it was made purely of glass, but for the knocker. A street that told some kind of tale in miniature—Trey saw a rearing Dragon, fleeing from—

Houses clearly made to be experimental, one circular rather than conventionally rectangular, another which was made entirely of wood—living wood! A flowering tree! Trey’s mind hurt trying to take it all in. He looked at Fetohep. The [King] was pleased.

“Yes. It is. Have you ever seen it’s like, child?”

“No.”

Trey had seen wonderful things, but not all in one place. Fetohep nodded. He cast a hand out over his city; by his side, the Quarass blinked, not impressed by the sight. She scanned the city, looking bored, and then focused on the circular house. Oh. That was new.

Fetohep was speaking to Trey. By now, Trey was almost used to staring into the dead face. Almost. He kept having to remind himself that Fetohep wasn’t a mummy, but that was all. Honestly, it wasn’t bad; Fetohep almost looked like someone wearing a really good costume. Gazi was scarier because she was clearly non-Human in a way only CGI could even try and fail to imitate.

“Of all the nations of Chandrar, nay, the world, Khelt stands among them as a rare paradise. My people are untroubled by war, famine, or other threats. Undead till the fields, and provide menial labor. They hold Khelt’s borders, ensuring peace from all but the gravest threats. Few nations can boast of such glories for all its folk; in almost every other nation, there are those who starve. Never so in Khelt.”

“I—we saw that coming into Khelt, your majesty. But how come no one else has tried it?”

Fetohep shook his head slightly.

“Few can command the undead as I do. Fewer still trust them, with reason. Other nations do make use of labor as Khelt does, but less efficiently. Illivere’s Golems are costly, and few. But Khelt’s people serve their kingdom eternally in death. As does its [King]. I know you wonder as to my nature.”

“Oh, no—”

Trey hesitated. Fetohep was staring at him.

“Yes, your majesty.”

Fetohep nodded. The [King] touched his chest with one hand and Trey saw how his hand moved. There was still skin and muscle and tendon underneath the withered hand, but emaciated. And—in places—decaying. But slowly; Trey remembered reading somewhere that in case of zombie apocalypse, it was probably a bad idea to go into freezing or arid climates; corpses would decay much slower.

Fetohep was also probably protected by magic; Trey had learned to see it under Gazi’s tutelage and Fetohep was practically blinding.

“I am a Revenant. One of the few undead possessed of the will I kept in life. I do not level. But all my Skills of old are given to me. However, I am not like base undead. Even Revenants are consumed by their grudges, their hatred of the living. I am not. In life, I swore to protect Khelt, and so I was given a second chance in death. I am Fetohep, [Undying King] of Khelt. And I hold your sovereign, Flos of Reim, in contempt.”

He seemed to say that like a challenge. Trey hesitated.

“I—I understand that’s so, your Majesty. I’ll tell King Flos that if you wish. But um, I don’t think he minds.”

Fetohep’s gaze focused on Trey for a moment and the young man held his breath. Fetohep turned abruptly, walking back into the heart of his palace.

“Of course he does not. He is a child. But it seems you are not as rigid as his [Steward] or his other Seven. Very well. Gaze upon Edojaf as long as you will. I shall await you within.”

Trey saw him walk further into the palace, and gesture to someone. A servant; the same young woman Trey had seen walking towards the palace. Aside from the Quarass, him, and Fetohep, Trey had seen no one else in the empty palace.

He glanced back at the city and then saw the Quarass walk up next to him. She glanced at Trey and whispered.

“Well done. Give him no insult. He will continue to test you. Do not belittle Flos Reimarch, but do not offend Fetohep either.”

“What am I doing? I don’t know what he wants!”

The child Quarass looked up at Trey. She shook her head impatiently.

“Wants? He wants nothing of you, Trey Atwood. Nothing but to command your respect. Fetohep is vain. Your role is to intrigue him. Mine is to negotiate. Come, let us not keep him waiting.”

They found Fetohep waiting within. The undead needed no light; he was clearly at home in the darkness, if the glowing golden lights in his eyes didn’t give that away. But he flicked a hand and the magical lights filled his hallways, giving the wrought stone and ornamentation a beautiful, soft glow.

Fetohep gestured ahead and Trey saw that six people waited for him and the Quarass, all dressed in rich clothing that befitted nobility more than servants. But servants they were as they bowed to Trey and the Quarass in perfect unison. Fetohep spoke, pointing down the branching hallway.

“I offer you two rooms where you will both sleep, and the comforts of my palace. You are guests. Whatever you desire will be fulfilled, Trey Atwood. Simply speak your will to my attendants and they will be fulfilled. Save for the comforts of flesh; Khelt has no slaves.”

He looked at Trey. The young man jumped. Did he just say anything? Save for—

“Khelt doesn’t have slaves?”

The Quarass looked up sharply. Trey bit his tongue; he’d blurted that out. Fetohep paused.

“I care nothing for citizens not of Khelt, but slavery itself is an inquietude that breeds discontent and ill practices. Slavery is banned within Khelt, for all my subjects are mine. For that reason, outsiders are banned; they spread diseases and violence. [Slaves] are a nuisance.”

“Oh.”

Trey paused. It wasn’t exactly a liberating answer. Fetohep studied him.

“Does this bother you?”

“No—I—no, I don’t like—I mean, I think keeping slaves is wrong, your Majesty.”

It might have been the wrong thing to say, but Trey had to say it. To keep saying it rather than be silent. He saw the Quarass look at him. Fetohep stared at Trey, his face unreadable. His mouth opened and the ghostly voice replied.

“I see. Have you need of rest, Quarass, Trey Atwood?”

“No.”

“No, your majesty.”

“Then we shall dine. Come; let us speak civilly before we return to the topic of your arrival.”

Fetohep swept down the corridor, and Trey followed. He could feel the servant’s eyes on him. Or—attendants. There were three men, three women. Two of the young women were very young, and one of the men. The other three were older, but they all stared at Trey and the Quarass with great interest. He could hear the two young women giggling until Fetohep turned his head; then there was complete silence.

He didn’t scare them. That was what fascinated Trey. Or rather—his subjects did fear Fetohep, but for his authority. Not because he was undead. In fact, as he led Trey and the Quarass to a dining hall and two of Khelt’s citizens swung the doors open, they surrounded him, pulling out his chair, taking his murmured orders, all without missing a beat.

Before Trey knew it, he was seated at a vast dining table. Near Fetohep and the Quarass; it wasn’t going to be some gag where he sat at the other end. The [King] was seated on a suitably impressive chair, much like a dining throne, and the Quarass and Trey on chairs no less comfortable. Trey stared at one of the attendants, a young woman, as she bowed to him. An older man was bowing to the Quarass.

“You dine on my hospitality, Trey Atwood. Speak your desire and it will be fulfilled.”

Fetohep looked at Trey. The young man blinked.

“You mean…?”

“Anything you wish, within the Skills of my [Chefs] will be made. And the talents of Khelt’s people are near limitless. Name it and it will be so.”

Name it. It was like getting having a cooking genie ask you what you wanted. Trey’s mind instantly went blank. He began to panic, staring at the Quarass, but she was unhelpfully already listing her desires to the servant, as if this was normal. And for her, it was!

“I shall have a dish of roasted eels seasoned with the most succulent vegetables of Khelt’s gardens. I care not which. Let each eel be seasoned with juice of lemons and be the youngest and most succulent plucked from Khelt’s rivers. To drink I will imbibe a glass of white juice made of grapes. Finally, I wish eight sparkling glossberries sprinkled with nali powder, served upon a bed of crushed ice.”

The attendant listened without even so much as looking for a notepad. He bowed and murmured.

“It will be done.”

Then he stepped backwards towards the doors. Fetohep, the Quarass, and the smiling young woman all stared at Trey. His mouth went dry, but his stomach rumbled. Trey wished it could provide his panicking brain with instructions.

“Name your preference, child.”

Fetohep was staring at Trey. Trey saw the Quarass looking at him, so he went for it. He wavered, searched for anything, and spoke.

“Uh—I’ll have um—a pie? A shepherd’s pie? Please?”

He saw the Quarass’ eyes narrow. Trey winced and tried not to sink down in his chair. It was the first thing he could think of. Fetohep’s gaze also looked disapproving.

“A shepherd’s pie? Elaborate, Trey Atwood. What is this dish made of?”

“Um—well, it’s a dish from home—if it’s hard to make, I could ask for—”

“Nothing is out of possibility. Describe it to me, child.”

Fetohep’s voice seemed to snap for the first time in irritation. Trey hesitated.

“Well, it’s some fried carrots, um, peas, meat—lamb meat or maybe beef—all fried up. And then you put mashed potatoes on top and bake it—”

He stopped as Fetohep held up a hand. The young woman was biting her lip, trying not to laugh.

“Ah. Traveler’s Pie. They call it so in Izril and Terandria, do they not, Quarass?”

“They did when I visited both continents.”

The Quarass murmured, giving Trey a look. He bit his lip. Fetohep’s gaze was disapproving as his tone. He looked a Trey.

“I am aware of the meal. Intriguing that the name has changed. You are aware you may ask for any dish you wish, boy? Why do you ask for a low-born dish?”

“It’s food from home. I’m sorry, your Majesty—”

Trey cut off as Fetohep shook his head. The [King] sat back, looking displeased.

“Let it be so. What do you wish to drink?”

“Um—grape juice sounds good to me as well.”

This time the flash of the eyes signaled more than just disapproval. Trey’s mind raced. He was putting his foot in it! What had the Quarass told him? He looked at her for guidance, but whatever she was mouthing at him he couldn’t understand. Desperately, he looked around.

“How about an…orange juice?”

He thought Fetohep would finally lose his temper, but to his surprise, the undead [King]’s eyes lost their intensity. He nodded to the attendant who smiled and bowed.

“It shall be done.”

She retreated like the other servant. Trey relaxed, feeling sweat run down the nape of his neck. Fetohep nodded to him, mollified for some reason.

“Ah. Oranges are a delicacy. Few places in Chandrar may grow them, let alone enough to drink.”

“Oh, if—”

The Quarass’ death-glare made Trey shut up. And suddenly, he began to see. Fetohep went on, ignoring the interruption.

“I remember them fondly still. In my century of life, I travelled to Baleros where it was served commonly among other fruit drinks. Tell me, Trey Atwood. Have you journeyed to the Baleros?”

“No, your Majesty.”

“Really? Then you are from Terandria?”

“No, your Majesty. I’ve uh, never been there either.”

“Really?”

Fetohep paused. The Quarass spoke up, smiling from her seat; she’d been given a cushion so she could sit higher at the table.

“Trey Atwood came to Chandrar recently, Fetohep. He is a stranger to this land and many others.”

“So it seems. Izril, then? Yes, Quarass. We shall discuss it later.”

Fetohep waved a hand as the Quarass began to interrupt him. He seemed annoyed, and Trey, in a flash of insight, realized that Trey’s nation of origin was beginning to bug Fetohep. The [King] went on, nodding at the Quarass.

“You order the same dish each time you first visit, Quarass. Eight lifetimes have you dined with me now, and this dish remains first. I had not the opportunity to ask your previous incarnation. Nor do I believe she would have replied truthfully. Will you tell me the reason?”

She smiled faintly. Now it was the Quarass speaking to Fetohep, Trey could relax slightly. He stared around the luxuriant room, and then focused on the Quarass. She was just as fascinating as Fetohep in her way. She lifted one hand, gesturing as she spoke to Fetohep.

“I remember both eels and glossberries were my favorite dishes in past lives. Not just delightful; they were the happiest meals and most fulfilling across any life I have ever shared. Each time I find whether my body has a taste for the meal. Sometimes it does not, but the memory compels me to seek it out each time.”

“I see. How fascinating. They must have been truly memorable meals. I myself recall the joys of my life more and more rarely with each century. But I can still recall the food I ate on some occasions. Especially dishes that stood to me of note. I recall a time I ate a Dullahan food which disgusted me vividly to this day. Are you familiar with a raw fish sliced thinly accompanied by the innards of a…I am struggling to recall the name of what I ate. A creature with spines fished from the sea.”

“A sea urchin?”

The Quarass beat Trey to it. Fetohep’s eyes brightened.

“Yes! A remarkably foul dish, or so I believed. But I became enamored with the taste and concept.”

The Quarass nodded, glancing up as she spoke thoughtfully.

“The dish originates from the islands, Fetohep. As I recall, such meals are somewhat popular among the people of Drath, Rhir, and Minos.”

“Ah. Of course. A shared heritage and geography. Such seafaring species seldom reach Khelt, but I recall Dullahan cities where I met Drathian sailors, a rarity in other ports. A shared history.”

“Indeed. A pity their trade fleets have stopped visiting Chandrar these last few centuries.”

“The changing nature of politics. What was the cause of their absence? An incident with Roshal’s Slavers?”

“Hm. Yes. I recall the moment. Neither side ever admitted guilt.”

The two rulers were speaking animatedly, of events centuries past as if they were yesterday. And they were the only ones who could do it; Trey was far out of his depth. He watched as Fetohep turned and accepted a cup. Trey saw the young woman had returned. With his orange juice. It was sweet, pulpy, and delicious. Trey’s eyes went wide; the Quarass was sipping with a smile as well.

“Is the beverage to your taste?”

“It’s—incredible!”

Trey hadn’t tasted orange juice this good or this fresh! Fetohep looked pleased.

“Khelt has its gardens and imports delicacies which are preserved.”

He took the cup he’d been given and put it to one side. Trey was drinking too greedily to ask about it, and Fetohep turned back to the Quarass.

“Allow me my indulgence, Trey Atwood. Drink; your cup shall never run empty. Quarass, while we speak of the past, may I ask if you have ever visited the Dullahan’s capital in the last few centuries?”

The Quarass looked up, sipping sedately but with clear pleasure from her cup. She smiled.

“I have. The city of Invinctel has not changed much in four hundred years since I last visited. You have walked it’s ramparts?”

“I recall it fondly. As well, the memory of that biting cold. I am glad it remains as I recall it.”

That pleased him. Fetohep leaned forwards slightly, his ‘eyes’ flashing in their sunken sockets.

“The world beyond Khelt still holds some allure, Quarass. Do you feel the same, kept as you are by Germina’s needs? I have walked each continent in turn before my demise, but I follow the events of the world with interest. More so now that Wistram has begun broadcasting events the world over. This latest incident with Tiqr was a mark of their folly, however.”

“Of a surety. But then, Wistram has fallen into decay since Zelkyr’s passing.”

Fetohep nodded.

“It would be a Drake whose vanity locked away the magics of Wistram from future generations. But then, their kind has always courted folly in arrogance. As I am sure Tiqr is a tired topic—have you followed the recent developments in Izril?”

“Are you referring to the Antinium? Oh yes. And the near war involving the siege of Liscor. An intriguing failure on both sides, Human and Drake. ”

Only Fetohep and the Quarass would call the Antinium ‘recent’ as Trey understood it. They’d been on Izril for decades! But Fetohep was shaking his head.

“One suspects that with all the issues plaguing the Drakes forces, they would take a more pragmatic approach to their ongoing conflict with the north. However, they continue to provoke a conflict—a mark of their pride, no doubt. I predict war within the decade between the Drakes and Humans, if the Antinium do not strike first. Your thoughts?”

She shrugged fractionally.

“It would be advantageous for the Antinium not to overtake Izril. I recall visiting Rhir about…five hundred and three years ago? Do you recall the mention of the Antinium then?”

“I visited scarcely before you. They were simply one more monster, as with Crelers.”

“But I recall rumors of them further back. They appeared only when the Demons were truly threatened. As when Archmage Chandler and Zelkyr marched with the Blighted King—”

“Which one?”

“…The last one. The Blighted King and Queen, then.”

“Of course. Ah, them. And that disaster. Yes, it was certainly an incident, but hardly unexpected. Rhir’s rulers forget that the Demons cannot be so easily eradicated.”

The Quarass frowned darkly.

“Nor should they be. I recall a time before them. The Creler infestations.”

Both she and Fetohep paused. Even he seemed to shudder.

“Khelt recalls such times as well. The Antinium are the latest horror, then, if the Demons are but an intermediate threat. They may have well been entrenched in the continent long before we became fully aware of their presence. I agree. Would you care to wager on the existence of the Antinium in Rhir as well as the Hives on Izril?”

The Quarass drummed one hand on the table. Trey, entranced, realized the young woman was filling his cup. He blinked as she smiled at him. The Quarass shook her head, holding up a hand as her attendant approached.

“Mix water with grape juice, half of each. I would not wager on that, Fetohep. But I would bet on war in Izril within—four years?”

She glanced sideways at Fetohep, and now her smile was slightly challenging. The [King] paused. It was his turn to sit back and regard her.

“The Antinium are restless. And yet, I think they fear a third war. A fair bet. However—would you care to wager as to the instigator within that span?”

The Quarass blinked. She looked upwards, calculating, and then flicked her fingers dismissively.

“Antinium lead the attack within four years. No, make it six. The Drakes will refrain from doing so unless the balance of the Walled Cities changes. They have lost their great [General], the Tidebreaker. They will hold back.”

Fetohep chuckled, a hollow echo.

“You underestimate their pride, Quarass. It will be Drakes who attack—the Antinium’s Grand Queen is too aware of the risks to attack herself and risk utter destruction. She will attempt to keep expanding until the Antinium are forced to war. That is my belief.”

“You are welcome to it, then. A bet?”

He nodded.

“Let us strike one. The Antinium be attacked within six years by the Drakes or some other side, or war shall not break out. If they attack—four hundred pounds of gold?”

He looked at the Quarass. Trey choked on his drink. Fetohep stared at him as the attendant, silently laughing, flew to fetch Trey a cloth. The Quarass stared at Trey and then shook her head.

“Germina lacks that in its treasury, Fetohep. Nor do I know whether my nation will stockpile gold in the future.”

“I would accept assassinations in kind, I suppose. Your kingdom will continue to produce them?”

“No child assassins.”

“Ah. Even so.”

“Mm. Four hundred pounds of Khelt’s gold against sixteen assassinations of Germina’s highest-leveled [Assassins]? Level 30 at minimum.”

“Done.”

Fetohep nodded, his eyes flashing, and the Quarass smiled. They didn’t shake hands, only sat back confidently. Trey, wiping his mouth and nose, looked at Fetohep.

“I shall enjoy collecting another bet, Quarass. Your predecessor lost twice, as I recall. A losing streak across two incarnations.”

He laughed, and the sound echoed in the banquet hall. The Quarass gave Fetohep a thin-lipped smile.

“I am not as foolish as that incarnation of myself, Fetohep.”

He waved a hand, his humor subsiding.

“Clearly not, Quarass. I ask that you pardon the insult. And I shall look forwards to the future with interest. It is good that Germina and Khelt remain so close; this luxury is a rare pleasure. If fates allow, let us converse with more regularity so long as you live in this current incarnation.”

He looked at her, and the Quarass inclined her head.

“If it is possible, I should be delighted. And I look forwards to collecting Khelt’s gold.”

Fetohep laughed again, but quieter. They didn’t speak of the bet any further. Trey glanced at the [King]. He seemed confident of winning, but what if the Quarass…Trey recalled their conversation.

Oh. If she dies, he’ll just collect it from the next one. Trey stared at the two talking lightly. There was an affinity there. And somehow, in their relationship, the Quarass was both younger and older. And it had illuminated something for Trey as well.

The way Fetohep spoke of the world, and his gestures of opulence. It wasn’t for opulence’s sake. Trey hesitated, but Fetohep had clearly written him off and aside from a few asides, he’d begun speaking only with the Quarass. It was a polite snub, but it told Trey he’d made a mistake. So he hesitated—and spoke up.

“Your Eternal Majesty? May I make a request?”

Both rulers broke off. King Fetohep glanced at Trey and the Quarass looked up warily. Trey ducked his head slightly as the undead [King] looked at him.

“I have said you are my guest. If you wish it, speak to your attendant and it will be done.”

“I understand that, your Majesty. But I would like to change my um, dinner.”

The Quarass froze. In his seat, Fetohep sat up slightly.

“You have already given your request once. Naturally, my [Chefs] will accommodate your every desire. However, have you a reason for your change of heart?”

Trey nodded, feeling his skin prickling. Fetohep was watching him. Testing him, the Quarass has said. Judging his worth. Well—he spoke, his voice only quavering a bit.

“I hate to trouble your [Chefs], your Eternal Majesty. But I feel as though I’ve offended your hospitality. If I only visit Khelt once, I should order a meal properly, shouldn’t I?”

“Hm. If that is your belief, go on. Speak.”

Fetohep gestured at the young woman, who appeared and bowed, smiling expectantly at Trey. He took a deep breath. Fetohep was watching him, as was the Quarass. He’d only get one shot. So this time Trey was ready. He opened his mouth and let fly all his fantasies from home. All the things that Flos’ [Chefs] had tried to make, but failed for lack of ingredients or simply the exorbitance of the dish.

“I’d like a slice of the shepherd’s pie, but also a bubble and squeak. That’s a dish where you add in onions, mashed potato, and mix it up with vegetables like cabbage, carrots, peas, and so on with some bacon, fry it all in oil, then make a pancake of it and brown it. I’ll have a fried egg on top, and to drink I’d like some proper tea, made with the best tea leaves—strong, with no sugar—and for desert, a treacle tart, which is a pie made with syrup and lemon and bread crumbs into a pie base. Top it with whipped cream—um, whipped heavy cream that’s sugary. Also, also—can I have a little bit of breaded fish? Fried? You put the fish in a batter, and then you fry it in oil. Please?”

It was only three dishes, but it came out like a torrent of words. The young woman blinked, and then began trying to memorize Trey’s order, her eyes flicking left and right. Fetohep stared at Trey as he stopped at last, breathing slightly faster. Even the Quarass looked slightly impressed when he was done.

“This…”

The young woman’s hesitation was clear as she glanced at Fetohep. Even Trey was worried; he’d ordered a lot, let alone for a single meal! And it sounded complex, although he was pretty sure a good [Cook] could make it all; there had just been a lot of words and vague concepts. But Fetohep just raised a hand. He looked at Trey, and the Kheltian attendant.

And he smiled. Well, he was always smiling, but Trey sensed it was genuine this time.

“Let it be so.”

The young woman bowed, and hurried off with the older servant, and the Quarass looked at Trey. She nodded and something like a smile flickered over her lips. Now, when they all sat back, Fetohep included Trey into the conversation again.

“Your requests mind me much of Terandria, Trey Atwood. Although the dishes of sugar are similar to Baleros’ tastes. Do you hail then from a coastal nation? Perhaps—no, perhaps one of Izril’s islands?”

“Er, no, your Majesty. I’m—”

Trey paused. And he looked at the Quarass and continued slowly.

“—From somewhere else. Not Reim either.”

He wanted to be helpful. The [King]’s eyes focused on his face like a laser beam.

“I see. That is interesting. Well then. At the very least, I can understand the cuisine you ordered. It is not the food of royalty, but it is a rarity in Chandrar, is it not?”

“I haven’t had any of it since I left home.”

Trey said that with feeling. Fetohep nodded, looking satisfied.

“Of course Reim lacks for fish as well as many varieties of vegetable. Chandrar suffers for want of water. Khelt does not, of course. You have witnessed the greenery of my land, Trey Atwood.”

“Yes, your Majesty! If you don’t mind me asking you, how is it possible? Reim is so dry, and I saw a forest in Khelt.”

Trey gestured towards a window. The Quarass was smiling he saw out of the corner of his eye. Fetohep’s eyes brightened. He waved a hand, and on cue, another attendant materialized, with a cup of water. Which was good; the orange juice was so sweet! This one had ice cubes in it; Trey blinked as he drank.

“Even one new to Chandrar realizes that this continent is one of sand and dust. Whilst the coastal kingdoms thrive, all those that border Zheikhal, the great desert, are dry and devoid of water. Rain falls seldom so far inland; in Zheikhal, not at all.”

Zheikhal? Trey vaguely remembered the name. Takhatres and his tribe had crossed it to do battle with the Emperor of Sands. Apparently that was what was keeping his armies from attacking Reim even now. That and Takhatres. Trey worried about him some days. Fetohep went on.

“Even on the coasts, rain may sometimes desert a nation for long stretches. Chandrar is dry, where other continents are not. A phenomenon of the weather that no one, neither [King] nor [Mage] can change forever. Thus, rulers who may generate water are necessary for life to flourish.”

“As with the Siren of Savere.”

The Quarass murmured into one cup. She was chewing on her ice, Trey realized. It was so childish, but Fetohep didn’t seem to mind. He glared at the Quarass for entirely different reasons.

“Speak not of that lawless [Bandit] among our ranks, Quarass. She holds no station I acknowledge.”

She shrugged.

“The [Bandit Queen] is one of a newer breed, Fetohep. When the world had forgotten a [Bandit Lady] could exist, her breed returned with a vengeance. She is a new concept, yes. But an old one too. I have seen their kind rule many kingdoms in times past. The Siren may be a sign of their resurgence.”

Fetohep made a disgusted noise.

“Would that Flos Reimarch had done away with that wretched nation of Savere. That he destroyed and brought low so many nations and failed to do the same to Savere is another fault I hold against him. But she can summon water. That is her value, Trey Atwood. Mine lies in the control of undead.”

He gestured towards himself. Trey nodded.

“So how…?”

“Khelt has found many ways over its existence to generate enough water. Some are artifacts. Oasis Tears for instance, are gems which produce water in limited quantities. I have enough to create a few barrels of water each hour. But as you must surely know, Khelt requires rivers of water.”

Trey nodded. Reim needed it too; it was why Flos’ ability to summon rain with the [Edict of Bloom] had been so valuable. Trey hesitated.

“Do you use magic, then, your Majesty?”

Fetohep made a chuckling sound.

“A common thought. Inexperienced rulers of Chandrar have tried the same and perished for their mistakes. It is true that [Hydromancers] are able to draw water out of the air, or create temporary liquids. But that takes from already dry land and climate. Far better to have them remove salt from seawater. Thus, Khelt imports water when necessary. But the true secret to our water lies simply in storage. Every drop of rain, and the countless oceans we have imported over centuries lies below Khelt.”

“You mean—you store it all? Enough to water Khelt for an entire year?”

Fetohep nodded calmly.

“For an entire year, or a decade. Of course, Khelt pays lavishly for [Mages] to carry water from the sea and bring rains each year, but if need be, we will simply draw from the reservoirs without fear. My kingdom is built to last forever, Trey Atwood. The reservoirs below Khelt and its stockpiles alone will feed my people if every other nation succumbs to famine and drought. I have seen two such times before. The bounties of a single [King]’s edict are a paltry thing; Khelt prepares because I remember what generations forget. Disaster and fortune are cycles which come and go without end.”

He tapped his chest once more, shifting his robes. Trey looked at him.

“Your Majesty. May I ask how Khelt came to be?”

He expected Fetohep to give him a speech, but to his surprise, the Eternal King simply shook his head.

“You already know, Trey Atwood. Or you may guess. Like Germina, Khelt has found a way to endure. All that you see now is the product of my predecessors and I. You have seen them.”

“Where—”

Trey remembered. The gates. The statues lined up, one after another. Fetohep nodded.

“Eighteen of Khelt’s rulers have come before me. I am nineteenth. And we have weathered millennia, each of us ruling for centuries, or even a thousand years. We are still young compared to the Quarass of Germina. But it pleases me that you see Khelt’s worth.”

“I do, your Majesty.”

“Good. Then you have seen Khelt’s wealth. Now see the skill of its people.”

And Trey looked up and smelled something wonderful wafting towards him. He turned—and eight attendants swept into the room, all at once. They brought all of the dishes Trey had asked for, and the Quarass’ meal. Trey gaped—it hadn’t been more than a second since he’d asked for his new order! Fetohep smiled.

“Ah. So we shall dine. Taste your food, Trey Atwood. Tell me if it is that which you desired.”

Trey’s first bite made him almost recoil in shock.

“Bloody hell—”

He looked up at Fetohep, tried to speak, swallowed, and tried again.

“It is. Thank you. How did—”

He stared at the bubble and squeak sitting next to a huge slice of shepherd’s pie. Next to it, true to every bit of his imagination was a treacle tart, complete with a blob of whipped cream. It could have come from a restaurant! But—Trey cut off a bit with a shaking fork—it was better than he’d ever tasted! But it tasted like—

“It tastes exactly like it’s from home? How did they do it?”

He was almost afraid as he stared at Fetohep. The [King] looked amused as the bowing attendants stepped back.

“My [Chefs] know the wishes of their diners through a Skill. It pleases me. They shall be rewarded for their efforts.”

Trey nodded, trying not to scarf down the familiar food. It was so nostalgic! Teres would be heartbroken she’d missed this. He wondered if he could save some for her. Across from him, the Quarass was eating more sedately, but with just as much clear enjoyment.

Even so, having Fetohep watching you eat was somewhat off-putting. The [King] seemed to realize this because now he picked up the cup he had set aside and lifted it. Trey wondered if it was empty, but he caught the sight of a ghostly liquid shifting around inside the cup. Fetohep noticed his stare.

“You dine with me, Trey Atwood, but the pleasures of food have long since been unavailable to me. I am content to sit and converse, but this discomforts the living, even among my subjects. So I shall join you in a repast.”

He lifted the cup to his…well, he didn’t really have lips. Nevertheless, Trey saw him inhale something which seemed as much gas as liquid. Like liquid nitrogen; Fetohep’s eyes flashed brighter for a moment as he lowered his cup.

“What is that, your Majesty?”

The [King] glanced up.

“A draught of magic made liquid. It is known as Ghost’s Tears in some parts of the world. A drink [Mages] occasionally consume. Or my ilk. I seldom imbibe of it. But it is enjoyable.”

“I had no idea the um—I had no idea anything was edible, your Majesty.”

“Few dishes are palatable to the undead. But such meals can be made. This drink is enough for me. Eat, and let us converse civilly.”

All three diners did just that. Trey felt like he’d passed the first test; he was able to eat and listen and talk to Fetohep and the Quarass. Indeed, he did more of the questioning; Fetohep was pleased to speak of his kingdom to Trey, who was fascinated by it.

“You can see the benefits of the undead. Food is no issue. Nor base crafts, such as bricklaying, or the maintenance of buildings, the necessity of transport. What occupies many citizens in another nation, such as Reim, is needless here. Thus, my people are free to live how they please.”

“Really? But can’t people do that in other nations, your Majesty?”

Fetohep laughed silently and the Quarass chuckled. Trey flushed, but Fetohep raised a hand as one of the aforementioned people of Khelt, the young man, filled Fetohep’s cup. He was smiling too, but hiding it.

“You confuse the illusion of free will with the freedom I describe, Trey Atwood. Yes, people of other nations are ‘free’. Free, but constrained by the needs of the body, of monetary needs, the need for security. Shelter. Not so here. Each citizen of Khelt has the freedom to choose their destiny. They need not worry for food. If they are hungry, they will be fed. If they require shelter, it will be given.”

“What. Anywhere?”

Fetohep waved a hand lazily.

“They must find the will to stay in areas where food is freely given, but yes. No one in Khelt need work if they do not desire it. That is freedom, child. Whether it is to work or to rest idly; they may do so. Some live and die, content to eat and pursue baser desires. And after their death, they serve their home forever, guardians and laborers. Most, however, choose some occupation. Indeed, I encourage it.”

“And they work?”

Nods from around the room. The attendants looked at their [King] and he sat back.

“It gives them purpose and contentment. My fifteenth predecessor, King Thekheldan, observed that his subjects had grown apathetic and quarrelsome, driven to further and further excesses without need or drive. He was the third of Khelt’s rulers and Khelt very nearly fell from rot within. Ever since, Khelt’s people have worked and few take to pure indulgence. As so.”

He gestured at the young woman serving Trey. She was his age and smiled at him as she refilled his goblet. He blushed as Fetohep spoke.

“The seventeen I called for shall dance attendance upon every need you require, Trey Atwood. They shall serve as I have need of them. However, should I require the same service tomorrow, seventeen different citizens of Khelt shall fill the role. My people work less than the laborers of other nations. Unless they themselves demand it, four out of the seven days do they fulfill their duties. Three of the rest are given to their pleasures unadorned.”

“I see. But if they don’t do most jobs—what are their classes?”

“Some administrate. Others create what undead cannot. Dresses, cuisine, toys; all things to amuse or provide. But what is mainly created in Khelt is literature and art.”

“Khelt is known for its [Historians], who write of the world. As well, it is famed for the masterpieces which are seldom sold, and adorn the collections of connoisseurs around the world.”

The Quarass explained, spearing a gleaming berry gently dusted with white powder with a fork. Fetohep nodded. Trey sat back.

“And that’s what they do? All their lives? Don’t they get bored?”

The King of Khelt sounded amused.

“Should they? They live for themselves. They seek each other out for the pleasures of the flesh. They enjoy their lives without fear of attack or starvation and so pass contented into death. Few strive for more. Why should they desire aught else? Unless—you refer to material wealth? Gold? Possessions? They do accrue that. Khelt has use for coin; some accrue it by their occupation to barter with the traders I allow into my realm on occasion. However, what many strive for as they age is the right to bear children.”

“What?”

Trey looked up sharply. Fetohep paused.

“It is not a right freely given. My people are sterile without my blessing.”

“But that’s—”

The Quarass flicked her fork. Trey felt something flick him in the side of the head and yelped. She had excellent aim! He chose his words carefully as Fetohep stared at him.

“Pardon me, your Majesty. I’m just surprised. That seems…unfair?”

He heard Fetohep sigh.

“How so, Trey Atwood? Were I to allow my citizens to reproduce freely, Khelt would overflow. Even it cannot sustain a population which grows indefinitely. The right to bear children is sacred; indeed, many are unprepared for such responsibility. It is something to work for and thus, a freedom treasured.”

“Still—”

Trey gulped down his objections. He tried to think of it from Fetohep’s perspective. Certainly it wouldn’t be good to have someone Trey’s age or younger having a baby. And yet—wasn’t it a universal right? But he knew it wasn’t the thing to debate right now, so Trey cast around for a change of topic.

“Are there any who don’t wish to enjoy themselves, your Majesty? Who seek something more?”

Fetohep tapped one finger against his cup as he lifted it. Softly, he looked at his attendant. The young man paused, flushing as his [King] regarded him. Fetohep nodded.

“Some do. They become my administrators, or the living commanders of my army. Some few hone their levels. But often, those of my people who crave more leave Khelt. It is a choice I offer all my subjects.”

“They leave?”

This time one of Fetohep’s eyes flashed. Trey was learning to understand that he communicated with his eyes more than the rest of his body.

“My people are not prisoners. They may leave Khelt at any time, Trey Atwood. With my blessing. With coin and provisions, with the [Merchants] allowed to enter my realm. No child may be taken, but any who has reached adulthood may go. The condition is simply this: they may not return.”

“Oh.”

Harsh. Fetohep read it in Trey’s face. He shook his head.

“Khelt allows few visitors past its borders each year, Trey Atwood. Some years less than a hundred. Less than ten. Most are [Merchants]. Few are diplomats such as yourself; but I have little need of them. Rarest still are those whom are allowed to stay. It is not a privilege one can toss away lightly.”

“Of course. I didn’t mean to imply that. I—who is allowed to stay? Foreigners?”

“Few. [Scholars]. [Mages], occasionally. Sometimes a half-Elf, who seeks Khelt’s eternity to remain. Each one I judge. Each one must offer Khelt something of worth to be allowed to stay. No others may enter even should they wish it, and they have come in centuries past. By the hundreds of thousands, begging for refuge, for Khelt’s protection. Whatever the reason, they never step onto Khelt’s soil.”

Silence. Trey saw the Quarass look up. She regarded him.

“You are uncomfortable with that idea too, Trey Atwood?”

Both of them were looking at him. Trey shifted.

“No. Yes. I mean—if they’re desperate—what happens to them?”

“They die.”

“Yes.”

Neither Fetohep nor the Quarass hesitated. Nor did he seem bothered by the question.

“It is not maliciousness, but necessity that forces me to ward my borders, child. Khelt cannot endure foreigners. Such people ferment rebellion. They object to Khelt’s way of life, seek to gain power, or overturn the rule of Khelt’s kings. They would destroy what Khelt is. So they are not allowed entry.”

Simple as that. The Quarass was nodding, almost approvingly. Trey looked from face to face. Fetohep went on, musing, refusing a refill of the ghostly liquid.

“The few who enter are sometimes Khelt’s children, those who have left. They bring families, children. But still, I demand worth of them. Those that leave and find the harshness of the world to come crawling back I do not allow entry.”

“But some you do.”

The Quarass interjected. Fetohep looked at her. She was smiling faintly. Trey blinked as Fetohep lifted his cup, drinking. He spoke even while drinking; it didn’t seem to interfere with his voice at all.

“They are my children. I give to Khelt’s people peace and prosperity. That is my function, Quarass. That is the reason I am [King]. What other is there?”

She looked at him. And she smiled enviously. Slowly, the child lifted her cup.

“To watch and endure. To guard Chandrar until the end of its days. Yet I fear Germina, for all its past glories, cannot match Khelt’s peace.”

Fetohep lifted his cup and inclined his head.

“A harsh task. Yours is a nation not given Khelt’s advantages, Quarass. Queen Khelta, who founded my nation, was gifted beyond any who have walked Chandrar’s sands.”

“She was the greatest [Necromancer] I have ever met. And just as great a [Queen].”

Softly, the Quarass looked back. And her eyes seemed faraway until they focused on Fetohep. Trey, listening, realized the significance of her words. Fetohep bowed slightly.

“Your words honor Khelt, Quarass.”

She only nodded. The conversation petered out for a moment and Trey realized his stomach was stuffed almost to bursting. He sat back, and then Fetohep put down his empty goblet. He regarded Trey’s mostly empty plate and the Quarass as she let her attendant take her plate away. He nodded, satisfied.

“You have enjoyed your repast. Thus, let us finally discuss matters of state.”

Trey sat up slightly. The Quarass nodded, steepling her hands together on the table. Fetohep’s head slowly turned from her to Trey.

“We spoke of the worth of Queen Khelta. Now, let us speak of that of the arrogant boy who calls himself King of Destruction. I have demanded one thing of Reim and its [King]. An oath, sworn by blood, that Flos of Reim shall not attack or imperil Khelt in any way.”

“You demanded it?”

Trey’s voice stopped the Quarass from replying. She glanced at him. So did Fetohep. The [King] nodded.

“I have sent him messengers from Khelt bearing my will. He has refused to accede. But I do not request this oath. It is a necessity. Should he continue to refuse, Khelt shall march on Reim and bring war to its people without end until his people lie dead and their [King] likewise.”

Trey stared at the [King]. They’d been talking so calmly a moment ago! But Fetohep uttered the threat as if it were suitable to an after-dinner chat. The Quarass frowned. Her eyes flicked to Trey, but she wasn’t surprised either.

“That is an act of aggression unlike Khelt, Fetohep. You have heard the King of Destruction’s oath of peace, have you not?”

“Words. I look not to empty promises, but to history, Quarass.”

Fetohep’s tone grew harsher. The flames in his eye sockets turned darker, deeper in color.

“I am all too aware of his ambitions. Once, Flos of Reim conquered almost all of Chandrar and Khelt was forced to bend knee to him. So as not to be destroyed, we paid the King of Destruction’s tribute in food and coin and our people’s lives, to fight in his armies. Khelt has done so in the past, but each instance of subservience is an affront. This time, I do not intend to give such tributes to Reim. Thus, the oath made in blood. Flos of Reim will not forswear it lightly.”

—-

The Quarass of Germina had lived for lifetimes dancing the game of politics. Sometimes with all the delicacy and grace of a feather blown upon the winds of change, other times with the crudest of methods, as need dictated. She was experienced, as skillful as any [Diplomat] purely by virtue of memory.

However, at the moment all she was thinking was ‘uh oh’. Fetohep’s eyes were blazing and his tone was beyond irate. She had forgotten that Khelt’s citizens had fought for Flos in his first war of conquest. No—she had been aware of it. He had demanded the same of Germina and the previous Quarass after all. Tributes in the form of food and arms to fuel his armies, soldiers to do battle in his name.

The only difference was the he had coerced Khelt into doing the same as Germina. And Fetohep had clearly harbored a grudge. He wouldn’t have scorned any amount of tribute, gold, or even artifacts. But his people? The Quarass looked swiftly towards Trey. The young man was pale at the threat of war. She understood that.

Then again, Fetohep’s demands weren’t terrible. Indeed, a vow of neutrality would do Reim little wrong now. It was just that it would close Khelt off from the King of Destruction’s will forever unless Flos truly forswore a blood oath with all that entailed. And the Quarass was certain that Flos wished for some of Khelt’s vast surpluses. She thought carefully and quickly and replied to the undead [King].

“King Fetohep. I understand your demands. And the King Reimarch may well accede to an oath with some remunerations. Reim hungers; you have surely heard of all those who claim loyalty to the King of Destruction returning to his lands. If Khelt would offer Reim an equal exchange in exchange for a vow of nonaggression—”

“No.”

This time the word surprised the Quarass as well as Trey. Fetohep’s gaze found the Quarass. He shook his head.

“Khelt will offer Reim nothing. It demands, Quarass. This is no negotiation.”

“King Fetohep! That is unlike Khelt. The King of Destruction will not accept a threat backed up by force of arms. War between Reim and Khelt would cost both nations!”

“And it would ultimately doom Reim. Khelt will not fall; the King of Destruction’s armies may sweep aside hundreds of thousands, but the countless dead of Khelt? And while they do, their flanks will be unguarded. It is not a war that boy can fight. He and I and you know it.”

She did. The Quarass bit her lip, her heart fluttering. She inclined her head.

“Nevertheless, Fetohep. Why utter such demands? Khelt can surely make a trade of goodwill rather than a demand that breeds enmity.”

It wasn’t what Flos Reimarch would prefer, but a concession of goods would be simple for Khelt to supply and aid Reim. Fetohep surely knew that, just as he knew how unlikely the King of Destruction was to obey a threat. Was it because he hated Flos that much that he was making this demand? No—the Quarass knew Fetohep. He would swallow pit vipers for the good of his kingdom. So why—

Then the pieces fit. Her eyes narrowed.

“You do not wish to be seen to aid Reim.”

Fetohep’s gaze flashed once. The Quarass sat back. Of course. Tiqr had fallen this morning. But Fetohep simply toyed with his cup.

“I consider Khelt’s interests, Quarass. I have no wish to pay for a demand owed to Khelt for injustices past. Nor will I enable that boy’s fruitless endeavors.”

Intriguing. Fetohep was clearly uncomfortable at admitting Khelt was leery of other nations singling it out for attack. His pride was at stake, hence his deflection. The Quarass pressed him on it.

“Fruitless? Fetohep, you recall the ambitions of Flos Reimarch were no empty promises. He united almost all of Chandrar before his slumber. His armies spanned the deserts beyond number! Other continents walked warily of Chandrar. Can you call the dreams of such a [King] fruitless?”

“Of course. How could you argue for him, Quarass?”

The Quarass hesitated. Her mind raced ahead of the argument. Trey Atwood, at his seat, looked confused.

“But your Majesty, King Flos did conquer the continent. Even if he was conquering—”

“I am not referring to that, Trey Atwood. No. I ask the Quarass: what was the point?”

Fetohep paused. He looked across at the Quarass, who was biting her lip.

“Six hundred years. Six hundred and fifty three. That is how long I have ruled Khelt. It is a long time. Long, yet short to the Quarass of Germina. Even so. Trey Atwood. Look at me. What do you see?”

He gestured to his emaciated form. Trey hesitated.

“I see—a [King]?”

“What of my flesh?”

“It’s—preserved?”

Fetohep’s eyes flashed slightly. The Quarass tensed, but they were good answers. The [King] shook his head.

“You make no mention of my appearance. Spare me flatter, Trey Atwood. Look at me. What do you see?”

A pause. Trey’s voice was quiet.

“An undead body.”

“Rotting. Fading. Slowly, by turns, but nevertheless. Flesh decays, child. You see me in my  death. Now look. See my arm. The flesh which continues to rot upon my frame. Even my bones slowly turn to dust. This may be my final century; or if not this one, in two hundred years, the magics that keep me will fail and I will turn to dust. Even with all our magics, Khelt’s rulers must still fade. As all things will.”

Trey was silent. The Quarass was too. She listened as Fetohep went on.

“Nevertheless, I am ancient as other species measure time. Even half-Elves seldom live to my age. Now I hear the Quarass speak of Flos’ glories. And I say, what glories? He is but a passing memory to Khelt’s existence. What reason have I to admire what fades and burns away with the quickness of a candle’s flame?”

Ah. The Quarass saw his argument. She opened her mouth, but Fetohep fixed her with a glare. He went on, speaking to Trey. The young man couldn’t understand, but the Quarass and Fetohep did.

“I remember when the boy-king named Flos of Reim defeated Hellios’ [King] in a duel that astounded all of Chandrar. I recall when that same boy rode to war against the Order of Black Judgment and ended a system that had existed longer than I. And I recall the moment when word came that he had given up his dream of conquest and entered into a slumber. All of it passed while I remained here. It feels like yesterday. Do you understand, Trey Atwood? His kingdom rose and fell in the course of decades! You say he conquered Chandrar, that he unified a continent? Is it so today?”

Trey opened his mouth, but he didn’t reply. The Quarass cursed internally. Fetohep looked at her and shook his head.

“Your [King]’s rise and fall, you unending Quarasses, all of it is temporary. I am temporary. Why should Khelt risk itself for what will soon crumble to dust? I admit he is a [King] like no other in his generation. But how quickly they pass! Flos is but a man who comes every four hundred years. No more. Greater rulers have broken themselves upon the throne of the world in times past.”

He flicked his hand dismissively. Now the Quarass did speak. She sharply struck the table with her cup and Fetohep glanced at her.

“You dismiss Flos Reimarch too casually, Fetohep. I have lived many times your lifespan, Fetohep. And I say Flos of Reim is a man who comes every two thousand years. At most! Few rulers have united Chandrar. I see in him the ability to retake Chandrar. It may wither and pass, but have you seen another who has done so much in your lifetime?”

He had not. She had, and she saw Germina’s fate in Flos’ hands. If he rose, Germina might endure. If not—his fall would take Germina with him. Fetohep had to know that too, because he dismissed her argument with a wave of one hand.

“One cannot know the worth of a ruler until he is dead. And sometimes, not even then. I acknowledge he is a rarity. But what of it?”

He turned to Trey, away from the Quarass.

“Consider this, Trey Atwood. If Flos of Reim conquers all of Chandrar once more he may be one in two thousand years. Let us assume he has the strength to conquer the world. What of it? No matter how vast his empire, will fall apart with his passing. A [King]’s power dies with him.”

That was true, too. The Quarass clenched her hands together.

“Yet, Khelt need not be part of Reim’s fall, King Fetohep. It may observe as it has! But a threat without concession of any kind—”

The sunken sockets flashed with emerald light. The [King]’s eyes focused into a pinpoint of intensity.

“I will not give Flos Reimarch gifts, Quarass. His ambitions matter not at all to me. What will he create? What will his conquest do for the world? Nothing! He seeks to control more and more land, like a child playing with castles made out of sand. There is no point to giving him aid. Even if it were not politically inexpedient—”

He paused, tripped over by his words. The Quarass narrowed her eyes and Fetohep went on.

“—I have neither reason politically nor functionally to offer Reim support. Far from it. Khelt will destroy Reim, his remaining Seven or not. These other nations will not hesitate if my armies join battle with Reim’s. I will have his oath tomorrow or Reim’s fall will be sealed.”

“Then it is a threat Flos Reimarch will never bow to. You know his nature. You risk war, Fetohep.”

He knew that. But his pride—the Quarass gritted her teeth. It was like him to make it a philosophical argument as well as pragmatic. Fetohep snapped his fingers impatiently.

“Quarass, you know that to give Flos Reimarch any aid is to court the fate of Empress Nsiia.”

“Then do not demand an oath!”

“Should I wait until that boy is able to force Khelt’s subservience? Or trust that he will not a second time? Tell me, Quarass, how fairs independent Germina?”

From his seat, Trey inhaled. The Quarass’ small face turned hostile. He edged back in his seat.

“Germina stands to gain from its alliance with Reim, Fetohep. And his return is not without benefit. Or do you not see the life he has returned to Reim?”

“What do I care for Reim? What benefit is there in giving the King of Destruction any aid? I say it again. What does Khelt lack? Slaves? The dead are the only servants my people need, not other people with wills of their own. Gold? Metal is worthless. Food? No. Our stores are vast and my people sated. What can Flos of Reim give us?”

Fetohep’s voice thundered in the banquet room. The people of Khelt shrank back across the walls as he rose. The Quarass rose as well and Trey felt a pressure in the room. It was coming off both rulers. Where it met between them, he felt like the air was charged. He shuddered as they glared at each other.

The [King] of Khelt was the first to break away and sit once more. Not because he’d been overwhelmed; the Quarass was unsteady on her feet, pale with the effort of projecting the same force that he was giving off. He sighed as he sat and she slowly, unsteadily did the same. Pensively, Fetohep stared past her, out a window, and then spoke.

“Culture, perhaps. A world filled with sights to astound and new music and art. If he could offer Khelt that, or something of worth, I would see purpose in his transitory empire, his vision of conquest. But the King of Destruction has never brought that. Only the ruination of what exists. So. How could he ever dream of appealing to me?”

“Perhaps it is not what he seeks to build, then. But what he would shield against. Fetohep, if Reim has nothing to offer by alliance, let me make the case for Reim’s necessity to guard against what threatens us all.”

The Quarass’ hand shook a bit as she reached for a cup. She looked drained by the clash of wills. She was too young, Trey realized. Fetohep waited as she drank and some color returned to her cheeks.

“Go on, Quarass.”

She glanced at Trey. And he realized she was about to use him. Her trump card. She didn’t look confident though. She’d lost the debate, he realized. Fetohep was objecting on two levels to helping Reim and the Quarass was making a case for the latter now.

“Trey Atwood. Tell his Eternal Majesty the name of the nation from which you hail. It is he who helped awaken the King of Destruction, Fetohep. He and his sister, by sheer virtue of their encounter with him.”

“What?”

Fetohep’s head turned, the first movement of surprise in their entire conversation. He stared at Trey. The young man ducked his head, his heart beating wildly. He looked at the Quarass. Tell him everything? But her glare forced him to open his mouth.

“I—I come from England, your Majesty. A country in the United Kingdom.”

“England?”

The [King] of Khelt paused. His eyes flickered. Then he shook his head.

“No such country exists. Nor was one founded or I would know of it.”

“And yet he speaks the truth.”

The Quarass stared at Fetohep, her eyes challenging. He glanced at her and his eyes condensed, staring at Trey. He paused.

“Where is this nation located? Which continent lies closest to it?”

Trey saw the Quarass smirking from her seat. She was enjoying this. He was not. Fetohep was staring straight through him.

“Um—Europe?”

Another pause. Fetohep’s eyes flickered again.

“Impossible. Quarass, if this is some fanciful trick of falsehoods that escapes even my abilities—”

“What would I have to gain from it, Fetohep? Our relationship will doubtless exceed the span of my life. Even my predecessor would not incur your enmity so.”

The young girl calmly drank from her cup. Fetohep glanced at her.

“A continent named…?”

He paused. Trey could see his mind working, trying to parse the information that was true yet untrue at the same time. The Quarass put the pieces together softly for Fetohep.

“Another world, Fetohep. Trey Atwood and his sister hail from another world.”

The flames in Fetohep’s eye went wide and then suddenly vanished. In the silence, Trey stared at the motionless [King], and then around the room. The attendants waiting upon them stared at Trey, some purely uncomprehending. But then Fetohep moved. The flames in his sockets glowed again, brightly. He stood.

“Attendants. Speak nothing of what you have heard. Clear this room. I will speak to the Quarass and Trey Atwood. Alone.”

He rose, turning, and his people fled the room, casting glances at Trey, wondering. The Quarass rose too. She smiled slightly. But when she looked at Trey, he didn’t see complete confidence in her eyes. And as Fetohep turned, Trey saw no fear in the undead [King]’s gaze either.

Only…curiosity.

—-

The conversation was long. Trey stood before Khelt’s throne and stared up at it. It wasn’t made of bone, as one might assume, or even black stone. No, it was wrought of a pearl-like stone which shimmered and caught the light, casting ghostly echoes—as if refracting the light into a dreamy otherlight, creating ghostly illusions of the throne to the sides.

Fetohep sat on the throne, listening as Trey spoke. Sometime the Quarass would speak, but it was mainly Trey. And he spoke to both rulers. He had told the Quarass some of the things about Earth, but now he spoke the rest.

It was the same thing he had first told Flos. About Earth. About a world with technologies beyond this world’s own. Smaller perhaps, but far denser in population. Of buildings that touched the sky, men and women that walked upon the moon. A world without monsters or magic or other species.

About war. The Quarass demanded that. Trey spoke of guns, of missiles, of planes that could fly beyond any [Mage] and weapons that brought destruction to entire cities. The Quarass clearly thought that would sway Fetohep.

She was wrong.

“A weapon that may destroy a city in a single moment?”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

Fetohep stared at Trey. He looked at the young boy, and then at the Quarass.

“One that can be sent hundreds, thousands of miles at will. That may destroy a vast city at a moment. And an entire world of nations that possess a might of arms few nations of this world could ever hope to match. Weapons that reach out and touch from miles away.”

“Yes, your Majesty. It’s—”

Trey fell silent as the Quarass signaled him with one hand. She stepped forwards, smiling.

“Do you see now the peril that has woken the King of Destruction, Fetohep? Another world waits, unseen, linked to ours by some great force or magic. Should they come, will Khelt stand against such dire weapons?”

The undead [King] paused. He regarded the Quarass, and then Trey. For a moment he was uncertain, even though he had tested Trey under truth spells. But then he believed. He sat on his throne, leaned back against the ghostly material.

And laughed. The laughter caught Trey and the Quarass off-guard. It was harsh, unnatural. A dead man’s voice. Fetohep laughed and then stared down at Trey and the Quarass. And his eyes held no fear.

“A threat. I see. So the world will be plunged into uncertainty once more. Tell me, Quarass. Why should I fear another world?”

She stared up at him. She wasn’t prepared for this. The Quarass tripped over her worlds, a child again.

“Why? Because it is dangerous! Because it has the potential to overturn this world! Khelt cannot stand against such weapons!”

Fetohep dismissed her statement with a single flick of his hand.

“And what of it? Khelt will survive. Do you think the world of Trey Atwood is the first to command weapons so wretched, so depraved that no nation could stand against them? Remember, Quarass! Both your lands and mine have seen such madness and lived! In ages past, we endured the tyranny of half-Elves, Selphids. We fought the wretched Crelers when they emerged from Rhir, bent knee to passing tyrants.”

Fetohep rose and pointed down at the Quarass. She stared up at him, astonished, along with Trey.

“If this other world threatens Khelt, this land will rise up. Or bow. It matters not. Tell Flos of Reim that he will have our subservience when he proves too dangerous to resist. As last time. If he would try Khelt now…he cannot. So I will have his oath sworn in blood and deal with a second world when it threatens. Not before! Your threat is meaningless, Quarass.”

He laughed again, shortly. The Quarass stared up at him. She looked at Trey, and almost lost her balance. He stared at her.

What did they do now? Flos would have to agree to Fetohep’s demands unconditionally or go to war. Either way, he lost, and he had a lot more to lose by going to war, even if Fetohep attacked first. You couldn’t destroy Khelt like Germina. Trey imagined legions of undead, rising without end. How many could Fetohep call upon? How many lay buried in Khelt’s soil? Hundreds of thousands?

Millions?

“I respect your attempt, Quarass. Truly. You have done your utmost for Reim and thus Germina, but I am unmoved. I take this information of a second world with greatest curiosity, however. I would speak of it with you, Trey Atwood, not as a threat to my kingdom, but as a scholar would. Let us return to a more intimate setting.”

Fetohep was magnanimous in his perceived victory. He led the way out of his throne room, and his attendants appeared, escorting them to a smaller sitting room. The Quarass was silent, and Trey could see her clenching her hands, trying to think. But—she was rattled. She was young. And Trey realized she was panicking.

If she’d been older, perhaps she’d have had a chance. But Fetohep’s composure was too much for a, what, a Level 8 [Quarass]? Trey found himself sitting as Fetohep motioned.

“The delicacy. Gelato. Two bowls.”

The word made Trey look up. The attendants were smoothly coming towards them, bearing small buckets of powdered ice. And in them sat two bowls of…Trey’s eyes widened.

“As you are my guests, enjoy of it. I believe our negotiations are finished, so all that remains is to see to your hospitality.  Quarass, Trey Atwood, I present to you a delicacy from Terandria. Milk-based, or so I am told. A creation of sugar. I have been importing it for my [Chefs] to create. It is called gelato—”

“Ice cream?”

Trey gasped as he tasted the frozen dairy. Fetohep broke off. The Quarass glanced up, taking her bowl with ill grace.

“You are…familiar with this treat?”

“Yes! Your Majesty, it comes from Earth! It’s a treat from my home!”

Trey was delighted. Ice cream! Vanilla, unfortunately. Fetohep stared at him.

“Ah. Then perhaps one of your own now stays in Terandria. For that is where this dish originates. It—comes from your world?”

He looked disappointed that Trey knew about it. All the enjoyment of having something unique was gone; even the servants looked disappointed. Trey glanced at the Quarass, but she was sulking as she ate from her bowl. Quickly though—she wasn’t used to sugar and clearly enjoyed it. He on the other hand—well, it was the first time he’d had it in months, but it was still vanilla.

“Well, there’s other kinds. You can flavor it, your Majesty. This is vanilla, but there’s chocolate, strawberry—any number of flavors!”

“Really? The [Merchants] who brought it to me assured me they had brought what is being served in Terandria’s palaces.”

Fetohep looked put out. Trey nodded. He saw the Quarass glance up slightly. The other attendants were listening with interest too.

“Maybe they haven’t invented it yet. Does this world have chocolate?”

“I’m unfamiliar with the word.”

Fetohep looked hesitant. Trey tried to describe it. The [King] just shook his head, bemused.

“A dark substance that is eaten so? It does not come to mind. My subjects? Inquire among the [Chefs].”

Two hurried off. Trey thought for a second.

“If it’s not chocolate, then perhaps um—cocoa beans? They’re a plant. Tropical, I think. Maybe you have it, but no one’s turned it into chocolate. Or at least, done it the way we make it in our world.”

Fetohep clicked his fingers.

“If it exists, Khelt surely keeps it. Unless it is not known as a food by any species. Tell the [Chefs] to locate such a…bean?”

“I think so. No, wait—they look like beans, but they come from a big…pod. I think. They should be dried! Or you dry them out and…”

Fetohep was nodding, and his gaze was alight with interest.

“Fascinating. So this other world of yours truly has different foods. From the dishes you ordered, I thought our worlds were too similar. But what else has your world in terms of delights to offer?”

The young man hesitated. Fetohep was genuinely interested, and that interest made the Quarass stir as well. She glanced sharply at Trey, and then cleared her throat. Fetohep glanced towards her. The Quarass spoke softly.

“Will you excuse me a moment, King Fetohep? The flaws of flesh call me.”

“Ah, of course. My attendants will show you what you require.”

Fetohep shook his head slightly. The Quarass nodded. Then she gave him a subtle look and nod that Trey couldn’t interpret. It was towards him. Fetohep paused and Trey, seeing his glance towards his face, took the cue.

“Ah, your Majesty, if you would…”

“Only naturally. Go. I will content myself until your return.”

Fetohep waved Trey and the Quarass away, almost hastily. Two attendants, smiling, showed Trey and the Quarass down a corridor towards the lavatories. They were elaborate. And there was running water! Trey did his business, embarrassed knowing that the servants were waiting outside. He hurried outside—there was no hand washing station, which made him ask for water and soap. They hurried off to get it, and the Quarass emerged from her own door. She looked around and strode towards him at once.

“We have a moment to speak. You sent away the servants?”

“I need soap and water. You, uh, wash your hands?”

“I touched nothing untoward.”

She narrowed her eyes as if Trey was accusing her of something. He bit his lip, but the Quarass shook her head. She drew him aside.

“Fetohep has few flaws. Among them, his faded memory of flesh. I insinuated that you were close to relieving yourself for lack of control of your bladder so we could speak.”

Trey flushed, but the Quarass went on. She was scanning in every direction for the attendants.

“Fetohep is not impressed by strength of arms or threats. I failed to convince him to offer Flos Reimarch something of value; he would rather use force than appear to be Reim’s ally.”

“I understood that too! What do we do?”

The Quarass frowned, tapping one lip. Trey winced.

“I will attempt to persuade him once more, but he speaks truthfully when he states that he dislikes Flos Reimarch’s war of conquest. Fetohep cares for history and your [King]’s will directly opposes his. However, he is vain. He prides Khelt upon being peerless. You observed his look when you spoke of delicacies he was not aware of?”

“Yeah. Do you think—”

The Quarass nodded.

“Do so. And Trey?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have your device? Then this is what we shall do…”

—-

“Tell me more about the threat of your world, child. And tell me of its majesties.”

Fetohep was beyond curious when Trey and the Quarass finally returned, hands washed. He had an array of nuts on offer, and Trey exclaimed in surprise when he saw a cocoa bean! He had to taste it—and then immediately make a face. It was bitter! But it tasted faintly of chocolate!

“You grind it up, your Majesty. And uh—you add sugar. I think there’s something else. Butter, perhaps?”

Trey didn’t actually remember. Fetohep immediately gave orders for his [Cooks] to experiment. Then the conversation became all about Trey’s world. The young man was soon explaining the resemblance Fetohep had to a group of rulers from his world.

“…Bandages? They dressed themselves up in bandages and golden masks? Tell me about these Pharaohs. Why did they adorn themselves so?”

“Oh, no, your Majesty. They did that when they were buried. And they had ointments—they uh, were called mummies. The process is called mummification, actually, and it was used to preserve themselves.”

“Really?”

Fetohep leaned forwards. The Quarass was eating a second bowl of ice cream as she watched them talk. Trey, mindful of what she had told him, nodded, smiling at Fetohep’s curiosity.

“That’s right. And they used coffins. They had these pyramids—well, to begin with, they lived in a nation called Egypt…”

The undead [King] nodded. He listened to depictions of the pyramids and the rule of pharaohs, only confused on one point.

“But why did they perform such elaborate rituals on their corpses if not to resurrect them? I take such measures to remain Khelt’s ruler as long as I must. But what is the point for the dead who lie buried if not to return?”

“They…thought it would preserve them into the afterlife, your Majesty. There is not magic in our world, so…”

“They could not return from death? Ah. I see.”

Fetohep’s eyes dimmed. Trey felt compelled to tell him the myth of the mummy, then. Fetohep was amused.

“So they are zombies. Well, I suppose such treatments would preserve them even longer than regular corpses. Bandages. Hm…”

He was greatly amused. The Quarass cleared her throat, waving a hand rapidly for a third helping of sugar. Her eyes were overly bright, but she still managed to play her part.

“There is some merit to thinking of Trey Atwood’s world, then, Fetohep. If not as a threat, then perhaps as an opportunity?”

“You mean, as a target of conquest? But you have no idea how this world meets with ours, Quarass. And Khelt does not conquer. It shall reap of these other cultures in time. I may wait.”

Fetohep looked amused at her insistence. The Quarass fell silent, but Trey jumped in.

“But my world does have things to offer, King Fetohep. Things your citizens might want. Maybe they’re bored of life in Khelt.”

“Bored?”

Fetohep looked offended at the very suggestion. His tone darkened as he looked at Trey. He gestured to the young woman who was waiting next to Trey.

“Tell me, my child. Do you want for anything?”

“No, your highness.”

She shook her head instantly. Fetohep nodded.

“Do you ever wish to leave Khelt?”

“No!”

She looked alarmed at the very notion. Fetohep turned back to Trey, triumphantly.

“You see? My people are beloved among all the world’s nations. They live. They flourish, safe in my borders, free of suffering or fear of monsters or attack. And they die. And it is they who guard Khelt, forevermore. The finest of entertainments, flood my nation in every variety! [Bards] come to sing tales of old! Stories abound in my libraries! What could they possibly want?”

“Um…this?”

Trey pulled out his smartphone. Fetohep paused, stared at it, and then, as Trey hit the power button, the glowing screen. He stared at Trey. The young woman stared too, entranced by the foreign, artificial light.

“…What is that?”

“A device from my world, your Eternal Majesty. It’s a phone. A smartphone. It doesn’t run on magic. It’s an artifact with many functions.”

“How is it made? How does it work?”

Fetohep peered at the screen as Trey unlocked it. His eyes focused on the apps, the words. He wasn’t a fool. He could read and Trey saw the Quarass nodding at him covertly.

“Would you like to inspect it, your Majesty?”

“Perhaps. Do you simply…touch the screen? And…”

“Yes. Like this. And uh, it has a password. You just turned it off, so if you want to use it—it’s 4467.”

“And this—”

“It has pictures. Videos. Games—”

The young woman edged over to stare at the phone, entranced. King Fetohep paused, as Trey began tapping on apps. The Quarass waited, and then yawned openly. Fetohep glanced up, distracted, and she bowed.

“My apologies, Fetohep. This body is young. And the hour is late. I must beg your forgiveness—”

She yawned again. Instantly, Fetohep rose.

“Ah. A child’s stamina. I forget youth. Let us retire then, Quarass. Your rooms await. My people shall take you to them. Trey Atwood as well. It is already—”

He paused. Trey was yawning too; it wasn’t even act after seeing the Quarass. The golden gaze went towards him and Fetohep nodded.

“Close to midnight. Yes. I feel we must adjourn.”

He looked disappointed. Trey knew it was his turn again and gestured to the iPhone that Fetohep still held.

“Um, your Majesty, you could keep my phone. I won’t need it as I sleep.”

“This?”

“Yes, your Majesty. If you’d like to use it.”

Fetohep hesitated. But then he nodded regally.

“I accept the gift. It will be returned to you as you rise. An intriguing device. Attendants. The Quarass and Trey Atwood shall slumber.”

They came forwards, bowing. The young woman who’d waited on Trey smiled mischievously as she led him to the door. She leaned over and whispered.

“Would you like me to visit you in your rooms, guest?”

“What?”

Trey jumped. That wasn’t part of the plan. The young woman cocked her head.

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Uh—”

Trey glanced back at Fetohep. The [King] looked up for a moment and the young Kheltian woman shook her head.

“It is freely given, guest. Many would like to see you. Visitors seldom come to Khelt and I would be honored to entertain a vassal of the King of Destruction.”

Social prestige. Trey turned bright red. He stammered as he backed away.

“Uh—um—I’m fine. Thank you!”

She looked disappointed and he instantly second-guessed himself. But the Quarass was giving him a look. Stick to the plan. But then the second young woman among the group smiled at him.

“Would you like me to visit you, then?”

“Or me?”

That came from the young man. Trey tried to stammer again, and Fetohep glanced upwards.

“Attendants. Leave him be. Four shall remain upon my will and that of my guests. The rest of you will disperse.”

The attendants sighed, looking disappointed. Trey fled as the young woman led him and the Quarass towards their rooms. She looked very disappointed, staring at Trey as the Quarass tried to stop yawning in front of her room. She pointed at Trey, fixing him with a glare between jaw-cracking yawns.

“I will—tomorrow—before he meets Reimarch—negotiate.”

She cursed.

“This young body! I must rest. You have done well, Trey Atwood. But he is not convinced. Pray that he wishes us to remain another day. Either way, we have done all that is possible. I will speak to you on the morrow. As for tonight—”

She gave him a meaningful look. Trey nodded and stepped into his own room. He wondered if the Quarass’ plan would work. He thought of the way the young woman had stared at the iPhone. And then he thought of Fetohep. Perhaps there was a chance. After all…

He still had Trey’s smartphone.

—-

Smartphone. Tablets. Electronic applications. Touch technology. Call it what you will, but it was a feature of the modern age. It was so easy to use that children could make use of the simple interface.

In fact, it was a known fact of Earth that a monkey could, with time, learn to use basic apps on a tablet or phone. There were even videos of them surfing through photos. Evidence of their ability to use technology in that fashion either proved that humanity had advanced their technology and simplified it to a point where even distant relatives of their species could comprehend and pick up usage of such applications—or that Humans really hadn’t come as far as they thought.

Both theories were probably true, but the point was that the same held true of this world. A Goblin child could, in thirty minutes, control an iPhone by using various motion commands like shaking it to shuffle music—a feature its owner, Laken Godart, had not made use of himself. And if Goblins could do it, anyone else could too.

A Dragon was snoozing in his cave. He woke up now and then, but he wanted to sleep. So, casually, he conjured a simulacrum, a smaller avatar to touch the tiny phone in front of him. It was constantly charged, and while he had toned down the brightness, he was by now adept at using it.

The thing about smartphones was that they were, well, dense. Each one, even the older models, could contain countless applications, constructs of data, and so on. In practice, it mattered very little on Earth where the connected web could provide virtually unlimited amounts of the same. But on earth? Each smartphone was different. Unique.

The one lying before Teriarch was Ryoka Griffin’s iPhone. A copy, rather, made by magic, but a perfect copy. And, as such, it held music, applications, and other data relevant to her interests.

Teriarch had perused all of it already. And, notably, if you looked at the row of neatly organized apps coded by alphabet—something that was missing on the iPhone Ryoka Griffin owned—an absence of a certain app was notable. Cookie Clicker, the game, had been deleted, and it was irrevocably lost without access to Earth’s internet. It was for the best. There had been…incidents.

Now however, the Dragon tapped a few times and yawned. A sound began to play from the iPhone and he magnified it. Several voices played in his cave. Talking quietly.

It wasn’t music, but the Dragon smiled sleepily. The speakers were discussing a topic, speaking with almost perfect clarity, as if they were in the room with him. He had no idea about half the topic they were discussing, even after listening to this particular podcast…fifteen times.

“Rhmbm…forklifts…keep an eye out. Can’t stand…lawyers…hrmfph…”

The Dragon muttered under his breath, going along with the flow of the conversation. He liked the background noise, and the content for that matter. It was entertainment he could get behind. Sometimes he even forgot the podcast, so it was fresh again. And the soft, calm tones of some of them…was…so…

The Dragon began to snore.

—-

Across the world, in Khelt, King Fetohep did not sleep. He could not. And rather than pass the night as he usually did, monitoring his kingdom, perhaps walking the dark halls or attending to some other lesser concerns, he was instead sitting on his throne. A lurid glow from the object he held lit up his face. It was rather unsettling, if anyone were to watch the dead face lit in the darkness.

But no one was watching. And Fetohep was absorbed in his task. Like a Goblin child, he was more than capable of figuring out most of the smartphone’s functions at once. He was perusing Trey’s photos; he had no time for games. Or rather, he’d spent two hours on one already—just to see what it was like! And now…

The withered finger paused as it came to a word that Fetohep wasn’t familiar with. He paused, and then tapped on the odd icon. Instantly, a list came up. Fetohep stared at the title. He stared at the contents of Trey’s phone.

He’d found the movies app. And what he was looking at was…Fetohep focused on a picture. No—a scene? Intrigued, he tapped on it. Instantly, there was sound. A moving figure. The [King] jumped on his throne. Then he stared.

This was no homemade movie. Nor was it some short clip either. It was Sherlock, the TV Series. And Trey had all of Series 1 and two episodes of Series 2, on his iPhone. He’d downloaded them illegally and gotten them on his iPhone so he could watch it during commutes. Of course, that had been ages ago, and Trey had since caught up on all of the series. He’d just forgotten to delete the videos.

And there they were. Fetohep stared at Episode 1 as it began playing. Trey had paused it halfway through and the [King] saw the tiny bar moving. He tapped on the screen and the scene froze. Awkwardly scrolled back to the start, watching the time code change. Tapped again. And he watched. He listened.

…After a few hours, Fetohep realized the sun was rising. He glanced up, stared down at the iPhone, and rose. It was still early, but he clapped his hands and one of his attendants instantly appeared. The weary man bowed as Fetohep looked at him.

“Attendant. Send for the child, Trey Atwood. Provide him with a Second Day Potion. I request his presence.”

—-

The Second Day potion was like liquid energy. Trey sat with Fetohep, having a proper English breakfast and talking with the [King]. He hadn’t had enough sleep, but he felt awake enough to run a race! It wasn’t nervous energy either; he was simply refreshed beyond belief. Fetohep looked just as energized. He was showing Trey the TV series and the embarrassed young man was trying to explain it.

“No, it’s a show, your majesty. An act.”

“A drama? A historical reenactment.”

“Er—no. It’s all fiction.”

“All of it? Then the people I witnessed—they are—”

Fetohep struggled for the words.

“Actors, your Majesty.”

“Actors. I know of performers, but this feels different. I have seen dramas, but the style of this is completely—and the recording! It can be watched again and again!”

The [King] savored the word. Trey nodded. Fetohep changed the iPhone—he’d already mastered it, much to Trey’s surprise—and brought up the pictures.

“This—device. These pictures! Is this indicative of your world, Trey Atwood? I see no famine in the faces here. In fact—they are well fed. Beyond so, in some cases.”

He pointed to one of the pictures on Trey’s phone. The young man hesitated. Compared to the skeletal Fetohep, it certainly was a dramatic…he nodded.

“Everyone has one, your Majesty. We watch stuff on it. All the time. And play games.”

“A powerful artifact.”

Fetohep looked flustered. Then he drew himself upright, and interjected a note of authority into his voice.

“Your world has some amenities my people lack, Trey Atwood. But know that my people may travel the breadth of my kingdom at will. Undead carriages will transport them at will, without cost.”

Trey didn’t look impressed.

“We have that. We call them cars—they don’t need horses, they just move when you press down on a lever. And uh, we have elevators too. They’re boxes that go up and down like magic. You saw them in the TV show, right?”

The undead [King] wavered.

“I…did. Yes. And the elevators? Ah, similar to flying carpets. And I have heard of Pallass’ experiments. I considered implementing some in Khelt, but the cost in mana stones was far too exorbitant.”

He paused. Trey nodded along, trying to be helpful.

“We also have escalators, your Majesty.”

“Escalators?”

“Moving floors. They’re like…”

Trey tried to explain the concept. Fetohep stared at him.

“You mean—they move you faster to your destination, which you are travelling to on foot? In fact, you may simply stand as the floor moves you to where you wish to go?”

“…Yes? I mean, you can probably sit too. Some people do.”

And the ones who stood still on the walking side deserved to die a horrible death. Now Trey was saying it out loud, it sounded a tiny bit lazy. But it was convenient! It wasn’t like they were everywhere. He squirmed, but Fetohep was just staring at Trey. At last, he opened his mouth and spoke faintly.

“That’s hedonism.”

“What? No. Not really.”

Trey blushed. Fetohep just shook his head. He looked rattled. Trey had no idea why. The [King] had to get up and pace.

“There are a people more luxuriant than my own? No. No. This device—”

He looked at one of his servants. The young woman’s eyes were locked on the glowing screen; she’d edged around to watch as Trey showed Fetohep some of the features. Trey saw Fetohep watching his subject, and the entranced look on her face. And he saw Fetohep, for the first time, looking jealous.

For a long while, Fetohep sat with Trey as he offered the iPhone to the young woman and she fumbled with it. He looked at her, and at Trey, and the young man held his breath. At last, though, Fetohep shook his head.

“The Quarass is clever. Even in the body of a child, she can be as clever as any serpent.”

“Er, yes, your Majesty?”

Trey turned beet red as Fetohep gave him a knowing look. The [King] shook his head.

“Or perhaps it is—no. Never mind. I concede her point, at least. Your world fascinates, Trey Atwood. But there is still not enough reason for Khelt to ally with Reim. Tiqr’s fate has proven that to refuse to declare the King of Destruction as an enemy is to be a target.”

He raised a hand as Trey hesitated.

“You need not reply. I know your response. I can imagine that insufferable child’s words. Yes. Khelt bows to arrogant nations in allowing their will to dictate my actions. It is an affront, but one I suffer for my kingdom.”

Fetohep shook his head. And he sat, looking distant. Old.

“Nothing is eternal, Trey Atwood. Khelt is a fragile blossom. Someday, whether under my rule or a hundred thousand years from now, it will fall, and dust will consume my kingdom. While I remain, Khelt exists. And my people endure. Until the end of my days. That is my purpose. What reason have I to risk my nation?”

He looked up expectantly then, pensive, the weight of his world upon his shoulders. Trey hesitated. He opened his mouth, raised a finger—looked down.

“I don’t know.”

King Fetohep of Khelt paused. He waited, and then made a sound like clearing his throat.

“You have no arguments?”

Trey shrugged helplessly.

“Not any good ones. I’m sorry, your Majesty. I’m not a good negotiator. I don’t know why King Flos sent me.”

“I see.”

Fetohep looked disappointed. Trey bit his lip, but he really didn’t have anything the Quarass couldn’t already say. Khelt was beautiful. All it lacked was…

Both he and Fetohep looked at the young woman who was laughing at something. The picture of Flos, as it turned out. Fetohep lifted his hand and she reluctantly gave it back. He stared at the image of Flos Reimarch.

“He has changed. At least in appearance. I remember that feckless boy of old. He was so…”

One finger touched the screen. Trey looked at Fetohep, and a burst of inspiration seized him.

“Your Majesty, would you like me to take a picture of you?”

“A picture? Of me?”

Fetohep looked surprised. But then he nodded.

“It is a rare opportunity, one you may never have again. I shall allow it.”

He straightened upon his chair as Trey lifted the iPhone. The young woman hurried out of the way, watching with anticipation. Fetohep could not know it, but he unconsciously adopted a pose much like the one Flos had taken with Teres. Straight-backed, his face still. Trey hesitated.

It could have all gone the way of Teres’ photo. But he glanced at the iPhone, at Fetohep, sitting there, and then had another flash. He looked at Fetohep; the [King] was watching him, waiting.

“What about a selfie, your Majesty?”

“A what?”

“A picture of both of us. If you’ll allow it. Like this.”

Trey edged his seat over. He ignored the ridiculousness of what he was proposing, and put his head next to Fetohep, turning it towards the camera. The undead [King] glanced at him, surprised. But Trey didn’t shudder; he was intent on the picture. The [King] glanced up and saw them together. Trey tapped the iPhone and the screen flashed.

“Not bad!”

He showed Fetohep. The undying [King] stared at it. It was an image of him and Trey. The young man had a decent smile and Fetohep had a death’s grin. He was captured there. The ruler of Khelt stared at the image.

A picture, a recording on a boy’s phone. Fetohep stared at it and saw something close to immortality. A piece of data, stored in ways he didn’t understand. A fragile thing yes, but possibly eternal. But you had to work at it, guard it. Save it and keep it, but you could theoretically let it endure forever. But it had to be maintained.

He thought of the statues of his predecessors at the gates of his city. Each one made by a master. They had portraits, books written about them. A thousand and one tributes to their name. And this? Fetohep looked at the phone and thought of a world full of them.

Slowly, he sat upright. Trey was taking a photo of the young woman as she posed, excited to be captured by it as well. He jumped at Fetohep’s soft touch on his arm. The undead [King] saw him turn. But Trey had no fear on his face, although Fetohep was long dead. He looked at the [King] and Fetohep gestured.

“Sit, Trey Atwood. The Quarass yet slumbers and my meeting with the—King of Destruction is yet hours distant. So sit. Tell me more of this great detective, boy. Are there more stories of his? Tell me of your world. More of your nations. Of—culture.”

—-

Flos Reimarch waited at Khelt’s border as the sun rose to midday. He had ridden out early, so as to be there. Even with his Skills, it was a fair ride, and so it was customary to await a meeting as the sun reached its zenith. He waited with Gazi and an entourage of a few hundred. The Serpent’s Hunters and Parasol Stroll were there, but Flos himself was not armed for war.

Gazi was. Or at least, she wore her armor and bore her claymore wherever she went. And she was the more worried of the two as they waited together on horseback. She looked up at her [King] before breaking the silence.

“You sent Mars back, my lord. Was that wise?”

Flos smiled. He stroked his beard, eyes watching Khelt’s horizon for movement. Gazi had already seen it, but it was yet indistinguishable for Flos.

“I don’t believe she will be needed. And would you be happier if Mars and Orthenon were here? Takhatres too, for that matter?”

Gazi paused and then shook her head restlessly. Two of her eyes focused ahead, tracking something. Someones.

“We can ill-afford a war with Khelt, my Lord. Even if we hold the border, he would threaten us eternally. And we cannot remove Khelt’s threat so easily. Are you certain that the Quarass and Trey will be successful? If not…”

Would you cave into Fetohep’s demands? Both knew Flos. The King of Destruction paused.

“I am not sure, Gazi. But I do not intend war. Fetohep may have his demands, but I desire Khelt as an ally. Still. Have faith!”

“In whom?”

The Quarass could not be trusted entirely. Gazi had known three, and this new one seemed no less dangerous for her youth. Flos just smiled again.

“Trey, of course.”

“What can he do?”

The half-Gazer looked highly skeptical. Flos laughed.

“Gazi, Gazi. I may be a poor ruler compared to Fetohep, at least when it comes to turning my kingdom into one of riches. I fully acknowledge it! In diplomacy, experience—perhaps many ways, Fetohep may exceed my talents. He has guided Khelt as well as any of their eternal rulers, after all. However, I believe I overtake him in a few areas.”

“Your ability to eat and drink?”

Flos snorted and nearly sprayed a mouthful of water out as he took a sip. He laughed, coughing.

“That at least! And war! But no—I mean in one other way. I do know my subjects. I have something of an eye for people, or so I like to think. Trey is a poor diplomat. But that is not why I sent him.”

“Why then?”

Flos smiled. He looked sideways, down at Gazi. She resisted the urge to look at him with all four eyes.

“Why, because you have somehow taken him as a pupil, Gazi. You, the terror of my Seven, famously aloof, even more so than Amerys and Drevish. And he worries about you when you do something as simple as jumping out a window. He is a poor diplomat, yes. But he is kind. He listens. And I think—”

He broke off. The King of Destruction had seen the trail of dust at last. He called out and urged his mount forwards. Gazi rode with him. Across Khelt’s borders, the undead soldiers of Khelt rose, forming a double line in the sand. They knelt. And Fetohep of Khelt rode through them.

He was not alone. The Quarass and Trey rode in the plain carriage behind him, while the white-faced man of Germina followed Fetohep. In his carriage, Trey was nervously chattering to Fetohep as the [King] rode alongside them.

“No, you see, your Majesty, it’s actually based on a series of books. And this is a modern adaptation. In the original series, Sherlock doesn’t have any technology like uh, well, anything you see in the modern version. However, the basic story’s the same…”

He broke off as he saw the King of Destruction ahead of them. Fetohep raised one hand, and he looked up. His tone darkened. The Quarass looked up, waiting. It was time.

“We shall continue the conversation if time permits. Driver, hold back.”

The carriage slowed. Across from him, Flos spoke.

“Hold back. Gazi, with me.”

The King of Destruction raised a hand and his forces stayed back, arraying themselves nervously at his back. Only Gazi followed Flos forwards, and then, she stopped at a remove. The carriage slowed. Fetohep and Flos rode towards each other. Slowly. Staring at each other.

One a living man, the King of Destruction. Another a corpse still preserved by magic, golden flames burning. The Eternal King of Khelt. Their horses slowed further. Flos’ stallion shook its head uneasily; Fetohep’s mount was skeletal. They drew even closer, Flos soothing his horse. And then they stared at each other.

“Fetohep. You look much the same as I recall. Your corpses are strewn across my border. Need you threaten Reim with your every petty demand?”

“Boy. Your manners have not changed since your youth.”

Fetohep’s eyes flashed. Flos smiled archly at him.

“Does sending an army across my lands count as polite conversation, then, oh Eternal King of Khelt?”

“It behooves one to reply to a message sent. King of Reim.”

“I believe my silence was enough. I will not be threatened.”

“Indeed? Then cross my borders, Flos Reimarch. Khelt is death to any who threaten it. I have not forgotten your last war of conquest. I demand assurances your second folly will not endanger my people.”

Flos pursed his lips, looking vexed.

“I took four thousand of your people, Fetohep. All of whom volunteered!”

“They were mine.”

The golden gaze flared. Behind him, Khelt’s undead shifted. Flos narrowed his eyes. Abruptly, he looked away. Fetohep shifted his gaze past Flos’ shoulder. It was easier that way.

“I wish to try again, Fetohep. I want to see a new world. To see what I cannot imagine. And to show my people that future we fought for. I will not give up so easily a second time.”

“And how will I know those are not empty words?”

“You will have to trust me.”

Laughter. It echoed from all the bodies behind Fetohep. Flos smiled too.

“Do you truly believe you could hold against my [Army of the King]? It would be my doom. But Khelt would fall with Reim.”

The laughter cut off with a snarl. Fetohep turned his head, glaring.

“Khelt will not be your subjects a second time, boy. You will assure me of this or your dream will end here.”

“And what assurity does Reim have that Khelt will not one day invade? Be reasonable, Fetohep! Offer me some compromise! Or have you only threats, oh, wise and diplomatic ruler?”

Flos spread his arms. The statement confounded Fetohep for a moment. He snapped back, beyond irate.

“What could Reim possibly possess that Khelt does not?”

For answer, Flos cupped his hands to his face.

“Teres! Forwards!”

From behind his ranks, Teres rode forwards, white-faced with nerves. Fetohep stared at her, then turned his head towards the carriage and saw Trey’s face. The resemblance was obvious. Flos laughed as he patted Teres’ shoulder.

“Teres, this is Fetohep. Fetohep, Teres is the twin sister of Trey. You know they are from another world? I have two. How many do you have?”

The undead [King]’s eyes narrowed to pinpoints. Flos let Gazi silently usher Teres back. Now the two of them sat. At last, Flos spoke.

“It is a fascinating world, isn’t it?”

“For different reasons, we agree on that at least. But you have no notion of where it lies or how these children come here.”

“Someone has created a connection. I will find it. And is it not a fair dream, to rebuild my kingdom? My people lie scattered, Fetohep. They trusted me and I abandoned them.”

“Yes.”

There was an odd sympathy in Fetohep’s gaze, mixed with contempt. Flos held it.

“Khelt is forever, Fetohep. You will have centuries and millennia to rule it. Will you not walk with me until my end? We need not be friends. But we are fellow rulers. War will break both Khelt and Reim. You are a diplomat, King Fetohep. Offer me something of worth for my vow instead of threats. Or do you fear other nations so?”

It stung him. Fetohep recoiled and then hesitated. Long he sat there, weighing. Choosing. At last, he spoke, his back straight, his gaze unbreakable.

“If they would try Khelt, let them. Khelt kneels when it must. But it does not forget its pride. Let Nerrhavia Fallen send an army ten times the size of the one that broke Tiqr. They will never take Khelt. Nor will you, King of Destruction.”

“You will have my vow. But only if Khelt and Reim are neighbors. Not hostage’s to each other’s will.”

Flos held the dead gaze. Fetohep paused. Gazi held her breath. In her carriage, the Quarass stared at his back, waiting. And Trey looked at a picture on his phone.

“Khelt’s fields will feed your subjects, Flos of Reim. Thirty thousand bushels per month for eight years. In exchange for your oath in blood to never take arms against Khelt.”

Gazi blinked. All four eyes focused on Fetohep for a moment. The Quarass exhaled in a rush and sat back. Flos’ eyes widened slightly, but the next moment he was smiling and laughing.

“To begin with, certainly! Although thirty thousand is a small number given Khelt’s bountiful fields. We shall negotiate the matter, perhaps for some other small concessions—?”

“Be silent. Appreciate your small victories, boy.”

Fetohep snapped. Flos stopped, but he was still smiling. The Eternal King leaned on his horse’s skeletal back, peeved.

“I shall watch you. And your oath I still demand. Signed in blood. The Quarass shall negotiate the terms. She at least has some grace. And your servant shall attend to me for another week.”

“What?”

“Done! Although it may not be a full week; I have need of Trey in my kingdom. But I shall arrange his visit. And Teres as well if you so desire. Although she is much like me!”

Flos laughed. Fetohep stared at Teres and she flinched. He shook his head.

“Of such thoughts nightmares trouble even the undead. Begone from my border, Flos of Reim. I tire of your face.”

He rode backwards as Flos, laughing, rode back to Teres and Gazi. Fetohep stopped by the carriage. The Quarass nodded to him, relieved, and he nodded back. He looked at the young man in the carriage. And he smiled.

A fun trivia fact. The first royal selfie in this world was of a young man from London smiling next to an undead ruler whose eyes burned gold.

“Come, Trey Atwood. Let us speak about…bandages.”

Interlude – The Titan’s Question

They called him the Titan of Baleros and not because of his tread. In truth, the man was as impressive, or at least, as short as a mouse. But say that to his face and you’d probably be dead. Say it to his [Soldiers] and they’d kick in your face. Say it to Fraerlings and you’d make an enemy of the whole damn race.

Say it to his students and you’d soon have medical needs. For Niers Astoragon’s tiny boots were those of the greatest [Strategist] in the world. Of that, his students were all agreed. And this is the tale of the question they asked. Two students, a Lizardgirl and a Human who won the right at Daquin, nearly a month past.

—-

“And the results are in! You all had a week to outfit and supply one of my smaller divisions with food, equipment, potions, and whatever intelligence and directions you saw fit! The goal was to march them nearly two hundred miles through swamp terrain upon which they’d make camp for three days before joining an attack on a nearby city! And the results are…”

Niers Astoragon stood on his podium and his class tensed. [Tacticians], [Strategists], even [Commanders] and other classes who used strategy as a tool, were all gathered in his class. It was one of his joint classes and as such, competition was high.

Nerves were even higher. The Titan of Baleros waited, flipping through his page of notes as Perorn Sadiluc, another teacher who led such classes, shifted impatiently behind him. They could not be more different. Perorn, also known as Fleethoof, was a famous [Strategist], almost as famous as Niers Astoragon. But while she spoke in a crisp, no-nonsense tone and never wasted time…

Niers raised a hand and waited for the drumroll to die down. The [Drummers], all Dullahans, filled the lecture hall with sonorous thwooms of sound, probably echoing the heartbeats of his class. Perorn stared at Niers.

“You actually brought [Drummers]? What is wrong with you, Astoragon?”

“Let me have my fun, Perorn. I get old and cranky if I don’t get to do this. Ahem!”

Now there was silence. The [Drummers] packed up and left the room as Niers cleared his throat. He eyed the papers and announced to his students.

“…Of the eighty seven of you in my advanced class that were deemed capable of the challenge, I regret to say that my prized division of fourteen thousand [Soldiers] died, starved to death, got lost, or ran afoul of some malady or issue in their terrain that caused them to delay or miss the battle completely in sixty two percent of the cases!”

“Rounded down.”

“Rounded down!”

A groan ran through the classroom. The Titan cheerfully kicked off the painstakingly written budget reports off his desk. Each student had recorded food bought, supplies paid for, and information added from their own surveillance of the region or [Informants] and so on. Some had hired guides, others, adventuring teams.

It was all a front. None of them had actually bought anything. In truth, they’d gone to an entire town that Niers had painstakingly set up with actual [Merchants], [Informants], and so on, all selling goods that his students had bought with actual gold—but didn’t actually go to this hypothetical army. Still, the challenge had been real, or unreal. Niers bellowed at the class.

“Sixty two percent failure! Am I teaching the next generation of [Commanders] and [Strategists], or the next generation of Goblin-fodder? And don’t let my bright smile fool you; anyone who has failed this lesson will be going on the exact same march with an actual company of [Soldiers], who will take pleasure, great pleasure, in making sure you don’t fail them when you’re actually responsible for their lives!”

A second groan, but louder. Niers looked at his students, savoring their dismay. It was just a bit fun to do this. Even Perorn hid a smile as Niers went on.

“You’ve all gotten arrogant. A bit prideful. You think that you’re the cream of the crop, the best [Strategists] in the world because you’re all at the top of my classes here. Well, this is an actual scenario and most of you failed it. In fact, even the third of you that passed leave much to be desired. You hear that, my starry-eyed little pupils?”

He leaned over the podium and addressed a group of students in the front of the class. They were about…twenty six or so, and instantly, their smug smiles disappeared. Niers looked at his personal class, who were actually able to lay claim to being the best of the best. He practically purred as he looked from suddenly nervous face to face.

“Did you think you all passed, hm? I’m proud to say most of you did. But ah, a fifth of you did not. Shall we start naming names? Anyone care to volunteer to have me read their report out loud? Feshi? Cameral? Yerranola?”

He addressed three students, a Gnoll, a Dullahan, and a Selphid. All three instantly ducked their heads, shaking them furiously. Niers looked about as Perorn shuffled her papers.

“No one? No one at all?”

He was waiting for the inevitable response. And lo and behold, like the sun rising each morning, a huge, furred hand shot up.

“Sir! I volunteer!”

Venaz looked around proudly. Niers raised one eyebrow as his lecture hall erupted into a single, unified sigh.

“Venaz! You seem very confident.”

The Minotaur nodded. He sat up straight, his horns polished, his posture perfect. He met Niers’ eyes without flinching.

“Of course, Professor! I calculated each step of my division’s movements! Food, supplies, guides—all were accounted for! They were prepared for anything.”

He spoke as if there could be no doubt, and there wasn’t. Niers raised one eyebrow.

“And you’re sure?”

Venaz hesitated, then nodded.

“Absolutely, Professor. I’m confident in my own abilities. I will not fall for mind games.”

His bravado was almost infectious. A few of Niers’ students, like the officers who sat apart from the [Strategists], began to look hopeful. Niers smiled. And then, like a spider who has finally ensnared his biggest fly in a web, he pounced.

“Interesting, Venaz. Because, and I’m afraid to say this, your division never made it past the first three days.”

“What?”

The word erupted from Venaz’ mouth along with a gale of laughter from above. He turned and glared upwards; a group of students were laughing their behinds off. Peki, a young Garuda from Chandrar, Merrik, a Dwarf [War Leader] from Terandria, Kelsa and Romin, two Centaur [Captains], and a group of the students from the officer class were enjoying his dismay. He turned back to Niers, looking furious and embarrassed.

“Professor, that can’t be right! I did the calculations! I’ve led soldiers before! I didn’t err—I must demand to see the math!”

“And you will! My fellow teachers and I have all gone over your budgets—checked and double checked them! We’ll be passing them out—er, someone will have to help unsort the reports I just kicked over—but if any of you have any reservations, you may argue your case!”

Niers waved at some of the other teachers. One of them, a Drake, shot Niers a look as he bent to tidy up the reports. The Fraerling went on, addressing the Minotaur.

“Unfortunately though, in your case, Venaz, the math isn’t even hard. Your company starved to death.”

“What? But I arranged more than enough supplies! I paid that [Merchant]—”

“You paid a fraud, Venaz! He was a [Swindler]! A good one! He ran off with your gold and your company got exactly nothing to march with. To be fair, we gave them thirty miles before starvation set in, but with your foraging order, it wasn’t enough. You get a few points for that, by the way, but your [Soldiers] deserted.”

The Minotaur’s jaw dropped and stayed dropped as Niers rifled through his reports. He fished Venaz’s out and tsked much to the amusement of most in the room. The sharper students were realizing that Venaz’s performance might extend to them.

“A real tragedy. I warned you all! Take this seriously. And you all swanned off to our glorious city to spend the gold you were given—a quarter of you never even managed to spend it all! It was stolen, you gave it to fraudulent [Merchants] or you were tricked into terrible deals with actual ones—a few of you never even made it out of the red-light district! And yes, we have records of it all.”

The class stared at the Titan. He casually flipped through another report. Then he looked up and he was grinning. His students had nightmares about that grin.

“Did you really think being a [Strategist] was about pure logistics? Have I taught all of you nothing? The entire town was bought out! My precious students—you can fight an army and supply it, but how will you do if you can’t manage people?”

“Wait—Professor! You mean everything that happened to us in that hellhole was scripted?”

At last, the students began reacting. Niers grinned. Merrik looked outraged. The Dwarf slammed a fist onto his desk.

“I was mugged in that town!”

“Not fatally. You fought them off, well done. But may I suggest that next time you don’t walk around with all your gold in your bag of holding? Well done on recovering it, though. Don’t worry; the [Thief] whose arm you broke was a Selphid.”

Merrik’s jaw dropped. From below, another student raised her hand and called out.

“They were all actors, Professor?”

Niers smiled at the Lizardgirl who’d spoken up.

“Every last one, Umina. Or rather, they were hired. [Prostitutes], [Merchants], [Thieves]—some of them quite high-level! I’m pleased to say that many of you navigated most of the threats well, but some of you…well, let’s just get to the analysis, shall we? And our first student is…”

Perorn snatched the reports out from under Niers and checked the name at the top of the page.

“Wil Kallinad, your report. Passed. Next! Marian Felthof. Passed! Venaz of Hammerad. Failed. Feshi Weatherfur. Passed! Yerranola—”

Niers folded his arms, a bit hurt, but Perorn’s efficiency and the other teachers beginning to call out names meant the students were soon reading their reports, most with deep dismay. Some were relieved—and yes, many from Niers’ special class. Venaz just stared at his report in a state of shock.

“He was an imposter? But he was so—so—trustworthy.”

“You idiot, Venaz. That’s how you know they’re fake!”

Marian trotted over to him and gleefully looked over his shoulder. The Minotaur began to angle his papers away from hers, but then gave up and slapped it on the desk for all to see. He folded his arms.

“He seemed military! He knew what he was talking about—he must have been truly high level!”

They all had been. Niers smiled as he watched his students debate and bicker over the results. In truth, the test had been hard. Niers had sent expert [War Merchants] used to haggling with company leaders to tear into his students and get the best deals they could. He’d also hired criminals versed in trickery and artifice to do the same.

They’d loved their roles. Niers had even hired some of the red-light district’s finest to tempt his students. You could tell who’d fallen for their wiles by the red faces. To be fair—many of them had used their charm or seduction Skills liberally, but that was a valid danger for [Strategists] to fall into. And not just because they might spend money unwisely.

“Ambushed? Oh, dead gods. My division got attacked because I—”

Merrik was groaning as he showed his report to his friends. He broke off, turning red and muttering into his beard. Peki just shook her head.

“You suck. Ha. Ha. I’m going to stay here while you march two hundred miles.”

The Garuda smiled. Merrik scowled at her.

“How the hell did you pass, Peki? I had to hold onto my bag of holding with both hands with all those damn [Thieves] about! Not to mention prying a good deal out of my [Merchant]!”

“I flew. Obviously. And I bought food from a trustworthy person.”

“How did you know they were trustworthy, Peki?”

Marian called up at the officers. Peki looked down and then leaned over her table to call down to them. Ever since the games at Daquin, the officers and strategist classes had gotten more friendly.

“I watched how they stood and talked to the others. I learned that from—”

“The Strongest of Pomle. Yeah, yeah. Dead gods, we got slaughtered. How’d you all do, you [Strategist] pricks?”

Merrik groaned. He looked down at the [Strategists]. Venaz’s head was bowed, but the rest looked fairly cheerful. Yerranola was covering her face, but most had passed.

“I could also smell some of them out as liars. I suppose I had an advantage there, yes?”

Feshi was grinning as she showed her report to the others. Wil smiled and covered his report as she glanced sideways at it. Not out of embarrassment; the [Lord] had gotten the third-highest marks out of everyone in the class and only lost points because he’d had a fourth of his gold stolen by one of the better [Pickpockets]. Umina sighed as she stared at her paper.

“I managed to pass too, Merrik. Barely. I got mugged too, so I just gave them some of my gold. Wil, how’d you do so well?”

“Uh—I’ve met [Merchants] so I had some experience with them. I could tell who wasn’t genuine. Venaz, there’s a number of signs, but you have to go through the Merchant’s Guild or some other form of verification to hold them responsible.”

“I thought I was buying directly from the source! And he had a certificate—it even tested positive at the Merchant’s Guild!”

“Fake. They can do that. You should have checked his name via the Mage’s Guild. The [Receptionist] at the desk was either blindsided or he bought her off.”

By now, the class was calming down. The students who’d failed were resigned to their fate. It wasn’t a disgrace to fail in the Titan’s academy. In fact, everyone in the class had failed at least a dozen times. It was a lesson Niers wanted to hammer into the students he was teaching: failure was inevitable. You failed, and you learned from your mistakes. They were also used to his unusual punishments, and while they were certain the march would be deeply unpleasant, it was also what they’d signed up for.

“Alright! That’s all for today, my lovely students! The losers will take part in march next week; don’t worry, you don’t have to do anything but follow our [Soldiers]! Although with that said, you might want to prepare yourselves…”

Groans followed the Titan’s statement and he smiled. Perorn was waiting by the door and the students were packing up their notes, quills, ink, parchment or for the richer ones, paper, and looking expectant. Also—a bit nervous.

“Let’s see. No homework for today. Just be prepared to discuss your reports in your individual classes tomorrow. Oh, and one last thing.”

Niers looked up. His students stared at him as one. The Professor’s eyes twinkled and Perorn sighed again. Loudly.

“Umina?”

The Lizardgirl jumped. Behind her, Wil sat up in his chair. Suddenly, the attention of all the students in the room was fixed on Umina. She stuttered.

“Y-yes, Professor?”

Niers looked at her. He could practically hear her heart beating. He held the moment, smiling, and then nodded.

“Congratulations on your passing! But please, next time remember to put your name on your report?”

She turned bright red across her scales. The class exhaled; a few laughed, but mostly everyone just sighed. Niers smiled, leapt off his desk, and strode up the Fraerling-ways, the tunnels that ran the length of his citadel and were small enough for only his kind to pass through. He called out as he reached the door built into the side of the wall.

“Class dismissed!”

—-

The students dispersed in groups. They had circles of friends, or pairs, or some were alone, but most had groups. They ordered by age, personality, and class. This particular group were made up of Niers’ special class, his best students. They were varied in species, but they were friends.

More or less. Some, like Marian and Venaz, were more like rivals, or they didn’t get along, like Xelic and Kissilt. But they stayed together because they were friends of friends. Classmates. It was a powerful bond for all the time that they’d spent together.

It was another day in the Titan’s academy in the city of Elvallian, headquarters of the Forgotten Wing Company, one of the Four Great Companies. However, it wouldn’t be forever.

Summer was coming. And with it, a certain expectancy in the air. The students were groaning about the march, but not too hard. After all, soon most would leave for a while, and while it might seem odd, these students were passionate about their work. They liked being here, and they didn’t feel like leaving. But leave they would.

The Titan of Baleros believed in vacations. He gave his students time off to visit their families or return home during the summer and winter seasons—or when the Forgotten Wing Company was engaged in the business of war. His students enjoyed the breaks too by and large; it was good to go home. But the group leaving the hall now were quiet.

Wil walked next to Feshi and Cameral, Umina trailing him with Marian walking by her side and Venaz dejectedly bringing up the rear with Yerranola. Some of the other members of the group passed them by, but the rest were just looking at Umina and Wil.

They were all getting worried because the summer break was coming up and a huge question loomed over all their heads. Or rather, two. Umina’s heart was still pounding. She’d thought it would be today. She’d thought and—

Venaz was the first to break the silence. He looked up and spoke, gesturing back to the classroom.

“You have to ask! It’s a test of courage—no, self-worth! The Professor is testing you two. He wants you to ask when it will be! Mark my words!”

“I know. But I really thought it would be today!”

Umina shook her head. Marian sighed loudly.

“He’s teasing us! You know he’ll let you ask when it’s time, Umina! Ignore Venaz.”

“When I’m right?”

Venaz was outraged. Marian turned and glared at him. But the spark wasn’t there. She looked over at Wil. The young [Lord] was shaking his head.

“Maybe Venaz is right. This is just like the Professor. Maybe we should ask.”

“You should! Everyone from our class wants to know what you’ll ask!”

That came from behind and lower down. Everyone jumped and turned to look at Merrik. He wasn’t that short—he was five feet tall which still placed him well below everyone but Umina, but Dwarves weren’t actually super short. He stroked his beard as he stopped with Peki, a Dullahan, and one of the Centaurs in his class.

“We’re all waiting for the answer to the questions! You haven’t asked already? Everyone in our class would!”

They all fell into step, arguing as they went down the corridor. Marian was shaking her head.

“You mean, Umina and Wil should demand they have their question? You want to do that to the Professor? In front of everyone?”

“It’s a test. He’s checking your willpower.”

Venaz asserted. This time Peki and even Jekilt and Kissilt were nodding. The Drake glared at Wil.

“You need to march up to him and demand it! It’s clearly what he wants.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he really is busy. You know he’s been running around every day since Daquin.”

“…True. I haven’t seen the Professor so busy in a while. Everyone wants a piece of him after the game. But even so!”

The arguing students came to an abrupt halt as they descended from the second floor to the first. They had caught up with the teachers. Perorn, a Selphid wearing a Dullahan’s body, and Niers Astoragon were all conversing with…no one?

Wait. It took most of the students a moment to realize that they were all turned and speaking to someone. Even though they were used to her presence, it took them even longer to make out Foliana, head of the Forgotten Wing Company. Three-Color Stalker, famously hard to detect and even more famously odd.

The teachers didn’t even glance up at the students; after all, they often conducted business in the citadel that pertained to the company as well as instruction. Foliana on the other hand looked up, and gave the students an unblinking stare. Her multicolored eyes stopped the group in their tracks.

“Well? Go on! Do it!”

Kissilt hissed at Wil and Umina. But everyone had stopped. Three-Color Stalker was staring at them and everyone knew her reputation. If Niers was the legend of [Strategists], Foliana was the nightmare of everyone who commanded. She’d killed thousands, it was rumored. She’d eat your favorite food and then kill you. It was her sign. Umina prayed that Foliana would never eat squid.

“He’s right there. It’s a perfect opportunity.”

Merrik muttered, but he sounded intimidated. Perorn, Niers Astoragon, and Foliana were all standing together with [Commander] Isheil. Three legends plus a distinguished commander. Venaz cleared his throat.

“I’ll—”

Even Venaz’s courage failed him for a second. The students hesitated and Wil and Umina looked at each other. They burned with the desire to ask. But now?

It was the same thing that had kept them from asking the entire month. Umina was just about to suggest they bother the Professor when he wasn’t so clearly busy talking to his superior and one of the most important people in all of Baleros, but she was interrupted. Jekilt, looking from face to face, snorted and pawed the ground.

“If you two won’t do it, I’ll do it myself. Professor! A question!”

The Centaur [Captain] trotted forwards. Everyone, the other students and even teachers, turned to watch. Niers turned his head and raised an eyebrow.

“Jekilt. How can I help you?”

His tone was mildly reproving. Foliana and Perorn both looked at the Centaur, and Perorn’s narrowed eyes made Jekilt draw up. But it was too late to turn back. Jekilt gulped.

“Professor. My deepest apologies for the interruption. However, I have to ask. When might you be available to let Umina and Wil ask their question? The one they earned at Daquin?”

Dead silence followed his question. Everyone waited, breathless. Umina even saw some of the youngest [Tacticians] poking their head out of a classroom with a teacher. Niers raised his brows, but he didn’t look amused, as if Jekilt had found him out. He glanced at Foliana and she disappeared. With a sigh, Niers turned back to Jekilt, frowning.

“I couldn’t give you a solid date, Jekilt. My schedule’s beyond full. This very night I’m meeting with donors to the Forgotten Wing Company, and tomorrow I’m due to inspect some of our company’s cities—I’ll be travelling all day, so Perorn will be instructing you all. When my schedule clears, I’ll let you know. But until then—I have business to attend to. Foliana! You better not have run off!”

“My apologies, sir.”

Flushing, Jekilt retreated. Perorn gave him another reproving look as Niers, standing on her shoulder, hurled a quill like a javelin. It stopped in midair where Foliana had been and she grudgingly reappeared.

“Oh dead gods. You really made him mad! Fleethoof too!”

Marian squeaked as Jekilt trotted back towards them. The Centaur just shook his head, too mortified for words. Umina stared at Niers as he turned back to Foliana. The Fraerling was frowning. But—she felt a tug at her side.

“Umina.”

Wil was looking at her. The Lizardgirl leaned over. He had sensed it too. The Titan had been unusually snappish. He had days like that, but he usually entertained questions. At least, intelligent questions. She hesitated and then leaned over towards him.

“Maybe he really is busy? Huh. My mistake.”

Venaz was scratching at his horns. Jekilt tried to kick him with one hoof. But Wil was looking at Umina.

“Maybe it’s worth a shot. But it would have to be…”

Umina nodded. She whispered with Wil, and then the two of them hesitated. Their classmates saw them raising their hands and quickly throw a sign. It was sword-wand-shield, or, as some other people called it, rock-parchment-knife. Or fist-palm-fingers. It was a universal game.

Wil threw sword, an open palm. Umina threw wand, her two claws pointed. Wil groaned. He turned, adjusted his clothes, and strode forwards.

This time the entire corridor was breathless. Niers looked up from his conversation a second time, a clear frown on his face. Wil paused as the teachers turned to stare at him. This time even Foliana stared.

“Yes, Wil? I’m a bit busy. Foliana, perhaps we should take this to a private room later.”

“Hm.”

The Squirrel-woman’s response was unintelligible. Niers waited, folding his arms. Wil bowed slightly, and then came out with it.

“Professor, my apologies. However, I would like to ask you a question. During the games at Daquin, we did earn the right to a question of our choosing, didn’t we?”

Niers paused. He looked at Perorn, who shook her head. He turned back to Wil with a sigh.

“You did, Wil. Your memory does not deceive you. But as I just told Jekilt, I’ve been too busy to honor the bargain. I intended it to be right after I returned, but with that emergency regarding the Hydra—this really is inopportune, Wil.”

The young man paled at the criticism. But he raised his chin. Umina saw him straighten his back and clasp his hands behind him, the picture of a young Terandrian [Lord].

“I understand that, Professor. But, and I apologize in advance, your schedule seems unusually busy even for the summer. Given that we are about to enter our summer break, I request the right to ask the question, Professor. Today.”

Silent uproar. Marian’s mouth was a silent ‘o’ of horror, and she wasn’t the only one. Perorn’s eyes flashed. She opened her mouth, but Niers cut her off. He looked at Wil, and he did not seem amused by the request.

“You want it to be today, Wil Kallinad? And that is your…request?”

Silently, Wil nodded. Niers turned his head slowly.

“And you, Umina Caxical?”

Umina turned white. Niers was staring at her and she could see it on his face. This was not acceptable. But she had to trust to the same instinct Wil had had. So she nodded.

“Yes.”

She could only croak that word. For a moment Niers paused, and Umina and Wil waited to be sentenced to some truly horrible punishment.

And then—Niers exhaled. He nudged Perorn’s cheek with one elbow. She smiled slightly and her frown disappeared.

“Told you they’d do it inside of a month.”

“Demand, not ask. Fine, you win, Perorn. Take your damn amulet. Wil, couldn’t you have been more straightforward two days later?”

Niers looked at Wil with an aggrieved expression. The young man paused. But the copper coin had dropped. Venaz exhaled hugely. Feshi stared at Niers as the Titan grinned. Jekilt was slapping his forehead with the palm of his hand.

“Was that a test, Professor?”

One of the Dullahans called out, scandalized. Niers turned his head, looking innocent.

“What? Me? Test my lovely student’s resolve? Never.”

He ignored the accusatory looks and turned back to Wil. He smiled slightly. And the pride outweighed even his amusement. He nodded to the young [Lord] and then to Umina.

“Very well. I’ll clear my schedule. My personal quarters—tonight. Sunset. Both of you be prepared with your questions. Now, I am busy—”

He dodged Perorn’s hand as she flicked at him with a finger. Foliana rolled her eyes and vanished. Laughing, Niers leapt onto Commander Isheil’s palm. He turned and the teachers, minus Foliana, turned and walked down the corridor, suddenly in good spirits. The students watched them go. And then they erupted into chaos.

“It was a test! You did it, Wil! Dead gods, I thought he was going to tear your head off!”

“Another trick? I thought I offended him! Who knew Fleethoof could act?”

“And with Three-Color Stalker? Dead gods—”

Students and teachers flooded out of the classrooms. Umina was blushing as Marian hugged her with glee. A month of waiting and it had all been another prank! He’d been so convincing, but—

Venaz was pounding Wil on the back with glee, ignoring the shouts of pain. Feshi was grinning as Peki and Merrik laughed at the entire spectacle of it. Jekilt, red-faced, was accepting congratulations from Kissilt, Yerranola, and Cameral for being the sacrifice. For five minutes, everyone was giddy on the victory.

And then the excitement faded a notch and the students all looked at each other. Cameral shook his head, raising it with both arms so everyone could see him.

“That was an unworthy prank. I truly thought the Professor was offended. And knowing him, he would have kept up the ruse. Do you think he intended to let us wait the entire summer break if Umina and Wil did not demand the right to a question?”

“Probably. He might have kept us waiting forever if we didn’t ask. But the guts to not just ask, but demand?”

Marian stamped her hooves, looking vexed and pleased. She looked at Umina. Still shaking with nervous energy, the Lizardgirl nodded.

“He does it every time. I still have nightmares about that test where every answer was in the same column!”

“Just absolutely out of his egg-headed mind. The worst teacher I’ve ever had that way. Even in Manus—”

Kissilt growled. He paused as the Lizardpeople around him stared at the Drake. Kelsa shook her head.

“Do you think he’s that bad to his opponents on the battlefield?”

Yerranola exhaled.

“Oh, believe me. We were on campaign with him and he did a trick with the drums—remember, Venaz?”

The Minotaur nodded.

“He can be even worse, I heard. Imagine trying to fight a war against him?”

All the students shuddered. They tried to imagine facing off against their teacher. And it might one day happen. They were students for now, but they were training themselves to take positions of authority on the battlefield. It was a sobering reminder of the future.

But for now—Wil looked around. His cheeks were red with relief. They had done it. The Titan would answer any question Wil and Umina had. Any one question in the world. The excitement, that knowledge, was dawning on the other students. Umina felt dozens of eyes on her and trembled.

Any question within the Titan’s power to answer. Anything. And she would ask it tonight. She and Wil. The young man looked around. And then he raised his voice.

“Let’s get a drink. First round’s on me!”

—-

Two tables had been pulled together in the bar for the students to sit together. It was a crowd even by the pub’s usual standard, and they were used to the students of Niers’ academy. But everyone was there to celebrate Umina and Wil getting to ask the question. All of their friends.

All of them. Jekilt and Marian, Centaurs, Yerranola the lone Selphid of the advanced class, Feshi the Gnoll who was sitting next to the grumpy Kissilt, a Drake with mild ice breath and pale white-purple scales, Venaz the Minotaur, Umina, two other Lizardfolk, Cameral and another Dullahan…and Foliana…

And now Merrik, Peki, Kelsa, Romin, and four more officers from their classes. They were one of the larger friend groups that had emerged from Daquin. Now Merrik raised his mug.

“A toast! To the Titan’s question!”

He downed his drink in one go as the others cheered. Venaz lowered his mug, looking put out that Merrik had beaten him to it. All the students drank and exhaled practically as one. They’d done it.

It was odd how the jealousy and resentment of the first few weeks had faded into a universal expectation, Umina reflected. A number of students had not been happy about her snatching victory at the last moment, or Wil being awarded a question for his daring maneuver in bringing a fleet into Daquin. But the long delay had solidified the student body’s sympathy for Wil and Umina. Perhaps, all as the Titan had planned. You had to admire him if that was the case.

“So, have you both thought of your question?”

Yerranola was the first to break the ice. She leaned over the appetizers and drinks, staring at Wil and Umina. The other students glanced up expectantly. Umina paused in eating some of the shrimp.

“I—um, I think so!”

“Well?”

Kissilt demanded after a second. Marian nudged him hard.

“Don’t be an ass, Kissilt. It’s private!”

“Is it? We won’t know the answer.”

“It could be! If Umina doesn’t want to say—what about you, Wil?”

Wil nodded. He didn’t look as happy as Umina would have expected. He sipped from his lighter ale, picking at his corn bread side, richly buttered.

“All sorted. I know what I have to ask. I don’t have much of a choice on my part.”

“Oh. You mean—you’re going to ask on behalf of your family?”

Yerranola exhaled slowly. Everyone leaned out of the way of her corpse breath. It wasn’t too bad with fresh bodies, but—the Selphid apologetically waved a scent-charm in the air. Wil was nodding.

“My family pulled a lot of strings to get that fleet to move into Daquin. I can’t exactly ask a question for myself, can I?”

“But it’s the question. You can’t just ask on their behalf! Don’t you have a burning question you have to know the answer to?”

Merrik protested over his mug. Peki punched him. Not in the side; the Dwarf’s head rocked.

“Dead gods damnit, Peki! Don’t punch me in the jaw!”

“Don’t be rude.”

The [Martial Artist] looked at Wil. He was shaking his head.

“I’d like to, Merrik. But I’m a [Lord]. I have duties to my family.”

“Right.”

The Dwarf grimaced. Some of the other students not from Terandria looked perplexed, including Venaz.

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Loyalty to his family and kingdom, Venaz. Wil has to put his desires behind what’s good for his family.”

Merrik sighed. He looked sympathetic. Venaz looked perplexed.

“I understand that. But this is an individual reward. One cannot expect Wil to give up all his desires. Let him ask his own question. What benefits him ultimately benefits his family. Isn’t that so?”

He looked around for support. Cameral was nodding, as were the Centaurs and Kissilt, but Feshi, Yerranola, and one of the other Terandrians were shaking their head. The Lizardpeople students were predictably, split. Wil sighed again, and Marian patted him on the shoulder.

“House Kallinad’s a coastal duchy, isn’t it, Wil? I know that the Kallinad family’s wealthy. You didn’t spend too much, did you?”

“It’s about prestige, Marian. If I gave nothing back to my family, they’d suffer politically more than financially.”

Feshi frowned, wrinkling her furry face. The Gnoll looked around.

“Duke…duke…it means punching something, yes? But it’s also a rank. I forget Human nobility’s titles so easily. What position is [Duke]?”

“Just below a [Prince]. It’s pretty much the highest rank of the nobility. Wil’s important.”

Yerranola grinned as she ruffled Wil’s hair. He let it happen, resigned. They were good friends, like Marian, Umina, and Venaz’s odd friendship.

“Don’t exaggerate, Yerranola. I’m just a [Lord]. Kallinad’s a big family. I’m not even in the immediate line of succession. There are eight stronger heirs with a claim to the family head than me.”

“Really? I thought you were a third son.”

“Yes, but it’s about bloodline, Feshi. Technically, my father had my sister with his, uh, first wife. And I’m the product of the second. But that’s not how Terandrians choose their successors.”

The Gnoll [Strategist] looked confused. Cameral leaned forwards, feeding his head with a spoon.

“It’s first-born from each previous leader, isn’t it?”

“That’s a lineal descendant, Cameral. Direct inheritance. We used to do that in Terandria…a long time ago. Now though, it’s ichorial descendancy.”

The blank looks came from everyone this time, even Merrik, who was used to some of Terandrian politics. The [Lord] looked embarrassed as he tried to elaborate.

“The purest bloodlines lead each house, not the heir of each predecessor. If you marry into the nobility or even royalty of another family, your children are, uh, purer in descent. So that means my father’s sister—my Aunt Delicha—has the strongest claim because she’d married to a [Baron] of Ailendamus. Her children are first to inherit unless my sister, Talia, gets married to someone with a bloodline at least as pure as…”

Yerranola’s eyes rolled into the back of her head. Umina tried to follow the convoluted explanation, but gave up. So did Wil as he realized he was losing his audience. Foliana drank out of Xelic’s mug with a straw.

“It’s very complex. And houses can split or schism all the time when fighting over succession. Kallinad hasn’t had one for a few centuries, which means it’s probably time.”

“Dead gods. And I thought politics in Baleros were messy. What’s the point of all that?”

Xelic got up to refill his mug. Wil shrugged.

“Intermarriage between the noble houses prevents strife, in theory. It’s also hard to wipe out a house for that reason. Everyone of the peerage is distantly related to each other. Only a few bloodlines have been erased, sometimes due to war, or assassinations—the Goblin King, the Necromancer—”

“Bastard.”

Kissilt interjected that comment as an aside. Merrik laughed.

“A toast to dead undead!”

Everyone drank to that, although most of the other students didn’t share the same view of necromancy. The conversation circled right back to Wil. This time it was Venaz who was objecting to Wil’s decision.

“But you are beholden to your kingdom, aren’t you? House Kallinad is still under the domain of the Kingdom of…Pheislant. Hm. Cameral! Pheislant! What are the facts?”

He turned to the Dullahan quickly. Kissilt, Cameral, Venaz, and Yerranola were all fans of flash-facts about other nations. They loved quizzing each other at random. The Dullahan instantly sat up and his hands scratched the top of his head as he replied.

“Naval nation. Unit of specialty—aquatic [Knights]? Strong navy; weaker army but entrenched fortifications along borders. Largesse means strong connections with [Knight] orders, especially Order of Seasons. Last war—defeat. Against Ailendamus—”

“Yes, good! But that means Kallinad owes loyalty to Pheislant. If you’re asking a question on behalf of your house, shouldn’t you ask one on behalf of your kingdom? I’m just extending this logical train of thought. I still think you should ask your own question.”

“It’s not that simple, Venaz. [Dukes] can refuse royal orders if they have good reason. In fact, sometimes they can overthrow the [King].”

“What?”

Kissilt looked as appalled as Venaz. The Drake shook his head, spilling his drink as he reached for a shrimp. Foliana shook the liquid off her fur as she stood next to him.

“You damned Human anarchists. What happened to the order of law?”

“Shut it, Kissilt. No one wants to hear about the superiority of Drakes. It’s as bad as listening to Venaz talk about Minotaurs.”

“I resent that!”

“As do I!”

The Drake and Minotaur glared at each other. Feshi cleared her throat.

“Speaking of bloodlines—how is it that the nobility don’t have funny heads and weird noses, Wil? I’ve seen bad inbreeding among Oldblood families back home. And it is not pretty, no?”

She looked at Kissilt and the Drake, glaring, nodded. Wil shrugged.

“We make sure to marry distant blood relatives. And lots of the nobility have Skills to help with children.”

“Skills? What, like fertility Skills?”

Cameral spat his drink out and glared at Yerranola. The Selphid cackled, greatly amused. The other Dullahans looked scandalized. Wil turned beet red.

“No! Inheritance Skills! You know, [Adroit Progeny]? Skills that allow you to pass on what the mother or father was good at—like if the father was a [Lord] who was excellent at warfare, his children have a better chance of being as good as he was with a sword, or as beautiful as their mother?”

He looked around. This time the side-eyes he got were deeply disturbed. Jekilt shook his head. His torso leaned over as his horse-half sat on the cushions.

“Let me get this straight. Terandrian nobility have Skills that…change their children?”

He looked appalled. Wil nodded.

“Wait. No one else has heard of it? It’s not rare. I mean—come on. Really? It makes sense! A Skill that passes down appearance, or talent? No one…?”

The other species looked at each other. And then they pushed themselves back from the table, leaving the Humans and Merrik alone. They huddled together, glancing over at Wil. Foliana was stealing Kissilt’s shrimp.

“Dead gods, that explains so much. Remember the other nobility we met? No wonder so many washed out!”

“That’s so freaky. Terandria is weird.”

“Don’t make fun of him! He’s got a great body! Do you know how much it costs to buy the body of the nobility on the black market? Let alone a good one? Look at that jaw!”

Yerranola objected, pointing back at Wil. Marian snorted.

“He probably got it from his father.”

Venaz nodded, looking deeply disgruntled.

“He was born with an advantage. Humans. Even with children, they have to put a finger on the scales—”

“Don’t drag scales into this, Venaz. We don’t do anything like that in the Walled Cities.”

“What about Oldblood breeding programs, Kissilt? I know Drakes do that!”

“It’s not the same as having Skills—hey! Who ate my shrimp? Marian!”

The Drake exclaimed as he saw his bowl was nearly empty. He turned and glared at the Centauress to his left. She folded her arms.

“Don’t look at me! I don’t like shrimp!”

“You don’t?”

Xelic, one of the Lizardmen, looked horrified. Umina sighed as she waved for another bowl of the delectable crustaceans. Alive. Drunken shrimp marinated in alcohol were the best. Marian just shuddered as half the table ordered a second round of snacks. Foliana took another from Kissilt’s bowl.

“I don’t know how you eat them. They’re awful! Fish, now, I like fish. But shrimp? They’re okay if they’re breaded, but raw? Moving?”

Marian pointed at the refill a Lizardgirl [Server] was bringing over. The drunk shrimp met a grisly fate as Venaz picked it up and bit the head off. He shrugged.

“Food is food, Marian. It’s not like this is a parasite or something. Now, some creatures have little eggs that if you eat them—”

“Dead gods, Venaz! Shut up! I’m eating!”

Someone threw a shrimp at Venaz. He threw the shrimp back, and the table was distracted for a few minutes. Wil endured more good-natured prodding at his ancestry and refused to answer which Skills his parents had used in the bedroom. But at last, someone raised his voice for everyone’s attention.

It was Jekilt. The serious [Captain] was older than the other students, and so commanded more or less silence as he rose to his hooves. He nodded, raising a mug to Wil and Umina.

“I know Daquin was your victory, Umina. You won, and there is nothing else to say. Wil, you earned your question likewise. And you’ll ask your question tonight.”

Everyone nodded. The good cheer faded and they all looked speculatively at the two. Wil met Umina’s eyes and both felt that tingle in their stomachs. Guilt too; the envy was clear on everyone’s face and Umina still felt bad about undercutting Marian. But Jekilt wasn’t done. He drank, and then came out with it.

“I’ve talked to the members of my old company, and they’ve all put in gold. If you ask the Professor a question on our behalf, we can pay you one thousand, two hundred, and eighty nine gold pieces.”

Umina turned to stare at Jekilt. And then Kissilt burst out furiously.

“Hey, Jekilt, you can’t do that!”

“Why not? It’s a fair trade. There’s no rule against it.”

Jekilt challenged Kissilt aggressively. The Drake shook his head as he got to his feet.

“No, you can’t do that! Because I was going to ask if they’d take my question instead!”

Laughter. Kissilt shouted, waving his claws and exhaling a plume of icy breath.

“Hear me out! Hear me out! It’s about classes.”

All the [Strategists] paused. The Drake went on, spreading his claws, looking at Wil and Umina.

“Listen. One of you can ask the Professor for this. It could be you, Umina! All you need to ask for is a list of every possible class consolidation the Professor knows about, and what Skills you get and the advantages and disadvantages. Think about it! We all stand to benefit. We could work towards our ideal class, and—and that information is worth gold if we sold it!”

He gestured around at the entire table. Marian blinked.

“That’s actually intelligent, Kissilt. But—every class? You think the Professor would really answer that?”

“Just [Strategists], then. Or commanding classes. Don’t you all want to know what your possibilities are?”

“But that’s such a general question. How does it benefit Umina and Wil more than you, Kissilt?”

“Well, it benefits us all, so we’d owe the asker a huge favor—”

“I’m offering gold. And my question is private. If Umina and Wil want to take it—”

Jekilt was looking meaningfully at Umina. She bit her tongue, but Marian shielded her.

“Umina can ask whatever she wants. She won the right to a question, Jekilt, not you.”

“No one’s denying that, Marian. But Jekilt’s right. She could stand to gain. Listen, I was going to bring this up later, but a [Merchant] friend of mine has similar offer—”

“Don’t pressure her, Xelic!”

Marian glared at the Lizardman. Merrik slammed his mug on the table.

“Aw, come on. Let’s at least float our questions! Peki’s got one about martial arts techniques, so that’s probably out, but mine—”

All the students were looking at Wil and Umina now. Uneasily, Umina got up, raising her claws.

“Look, I don’t want to make promises. I have my own question—”

“Just hear us out!”

Wil was fending off Yerranola and Feshi. Marian looked up, and then leaned over.

“Umina, I do have one of my own—”

“Marian!”

“Enough! Wil, Umina, the door! Now! The rest of you, back off!”

Venaz shot to his feet. He pushed back the others as Wil and Umina backed towards the door. The Minotaur was impossible for even the Centaurs to move in the press, and he fended them off as the two students fled out the back door.

Venaz followed them out. He wrestled the door closed, pushing back the rest of their classmates who were shouting their own questions. He turned to Wil and Umina as the two panted.

“Idiots. You have a right to choose. And you would have accepted such offers beforehand if you had any intention of giving up your question, wouldn’t you?”

Umina nodded sheepishly. She’d gotten inquiries already. Some very generous. But…it was her question. Wil looked resigned as he nodded.

“I can’t ask anything else. And I bet you want to ask your question, right, Umina?”

“Yeah. I—well, it’s mine. I’m tempted by the gold and such, but I really want to know, you know?”

“Understandable. Clearly understandable. No one can force you. Um. However—”

Venaz nodded a few times. The Minotaur cleared his throat, looking embarrassed. Foliana watched him with interest as she chewed on a still-wriggling shrimp.

“—if you’d care to listen to my idea, there is some merit in it.”

Wil and Umina paused as they brushed down their clothing. It was nearly dusk; the time was coming on soon. Venaz held up his hands as they looked at him.

“Listen to me! My idea is very sound. The Professor is known to have a vast spy network. If you ask this question, riches are the least of what we might gain. To begin with—”

He looked around conspiratorially and lowered his voice.

“Of all the seafaring ships that sank in the last millennia, there are three that were known to have born relic-class artifacts that were never recovered. Just one would be worth a [King]’s ransom, not to mention that the three ships I have right here are all rich enough in other treasures to set all of us up for life. If you ask the Professor, I know a Minotaur crew that could take us anywhere in the world—”

He had a piece of paper with three names written on it. Umina stared at Venaz’s serious face, and then at Wil. He glanced at her, amused, embarrassed, and gave her a sheepish grin. She returned it. They both glanced at Venaz and then they ran for it.

—-

It wasn’t hard to get back to her rooms, or evade the other students. They’d given up after the bar, and the few who saw her didn’t press the issue. Rather, Umina’s great challenge was drinking a bit of potion to sober up, and then picking a dress to wear.

She was nervous. Meeting the Professor in his personal quarters? That was a right few students had ever earned! She was so busy rummaging through her clothes she didn’t realize the sun was setting. Then she threw on her clothes and practically ran towards the citadel.

She met Wil at the gates. He was nearly as breathless as she, and the two slowed to walk up towards the personal quarters higher in the citadel. They were far from alone; the citadel’s [Servants] and regular occupants all waved at the two as they passed. Some called out good luck, others just laughed at the two nervous students. Wil kept adjusting his clothing. He glanced at Umina.

“You look good. Did you put on makeup?”

“Just a bit!”

Umina blushed. She’d chosen her best dress for the occasion. She had to! It didn’t feel right to just stroll into the Professor’s office otherwise. And Wil had clearly done the same. He was wearing a doublet and expensive-looking leggings that out priced Umina’s best wardrobe a few times over. He hadn’t applied scale polish like she had, though.

Wil tugged at the ruff nervously and coughed.

“This was all I had. I know it’s stuffy, but I thought…”

He gestured lamely at Umina’s dress and she nodded. It fit the occasion. The two climbed the stairs, ascending higher. The classrooms occupied the two bottom floors of the citadel. But higher were the quarters of the Forgotten Wing Company’s staff. Niers Astoragon and Foliana both lived here when they weren’t away.

There were guards too. Selphids, mainly. They let Wil and Umina pass; usually students were barred from the third floor or higher. One winked at Umina.

“Congratulations, you two!”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t let the Titan pull another prank on you!”

“We’ll try.”

Wil tried to smile. But his walk was growing increasingly more disjointed, staccato. Umina felt just as rattled. He began to speak again distractedly as they climbed another staircase.

“You know, it really was kind of him to give me the right to ask a question. You won.”

“I—cheated. Really, you gave me the distraction.”

Wil shook his head adamantly.

“A win’s a win. That’s what the Professor teaches us. I’m just grateful I can ask—”

He broke off. The two paused on the seventh floor. The Titan’s quarters lay here. Wil looked seriously at Umina.

“I didn’t say it in the bar, but I really am grateful for the opportunity to ask, Umina. If I hadn’t won a question, I’d have embarrassed my family and all the effort they put into helping me. I’m glad both of us get to ask.”

“Me too.”

Umina smiled at Wil. He wasn’t her closest friend, but she felt a strong sense of connection with him in this moment. His uncertainty and nerves reflected her own. They were birds of a feather, with respect to Peki.

The Titan’s door was very, very large. Or so it felt. It was large enough to accommodate a Centaur, so it had a towering impression. Umina and Wil stared up at it.

It was silly. Both knew that Niers didn’t even use this door, but a personal one through the Fraerling-ways. Even so, the door alone gave Umina butterflies. Slowly, she knocked.

“Professor? It’s us. Umina and Wil.”

She waited. There was no sound from within. After a moment, Umina knocked again.

No response. She glanced at Wil. Were they early? But the young man’s lips had compressed into a line.

“I think—Professor?”

He hesitated, and knocked louder. There wasn’t so much as a peep from inside. Wil glanced at Umina, pointed to the door, and mouthed silently. She groaned.

“He wouldn’t—”

“He would absolutely do that. I’ll do it.”

Wil squared his shoulders and put one palm on the doorknob. He turned it and Umina held her breath.

“Unlocked.”

Wil looked at Umina. Then, pale-faced, he pushed the door open. Umina saw only darkness beyond. She inhaled. Oh no, he really was gone—

And then there was a flare of light. A shimmering orb of [Light] filled a glass orb in the center of the room. And the soft radiance illuminated a table.

Just a table. On the far wall there were shelves, huge shelves but tiny papers. An archive meant for someone far smaller than Wil and Umina. A painting hung above a scrying orb; another wall held what looked like an armory in miniature.

But most of the room looked like an office. Scrolls of parchment, velum, sheaves of paper, were organized on the desks and tables meant for regular-sized people.

This was a private room. But the bed, the chairs, and all the comforts of home could fit on one single table in the center. They’d been pushed to one side today, however, the little magical chessboard, his wardrobe—everything neatly tidied to a corner. On the table sat large bowls full of snacks. Several bottles that were giant compared to the tiny furniture. The glowing light orb.

And standing amid the dishes, smiling, was the Titan of Baleros. He too was dressed for the occasion in colorful clothing. He even had a hat with a feather. He swept Umina and Wil a bow, taking the hat from his head.

“Welcome!”

“Professor.”

Umina exhaled in exasperation and wonder. Wil just sighed in relief. Niers Astoragon’s eyes twinkled as he straightened.

“Come in, both of you. Sit, sit! And you can relax. That was the last test, I promise. Fraerling’s honor.”

Warily, not believing him for a moment, the two entered the room. They couldn’t help but stare around at the shelves full of documents, the tiny possessions next to the huge furniture. This was a Fraerling’s room. They had never seen one before; few of the small folk ever ventured into society at large. Fraerling villages were hidden. Umina almost wanted to giggle as she saw the Titan’s bed. She could pick it up, or hide it under a hat! But then she saw him sitting there and froze up.

Wil approached the table. There were two chairs at opposite ends. The Titan had one on the table itself. The [Lord] looked at the snacks and drinks.

“Is this—a meal, Professor?”

The Fraerling shrugged. He ushered Wil to one side, Umina to the other. He was smiling, looking as pleased and relaxed as they’d ever seen him.

“Drinks, really. But if you want anything else, I’ll have someone make it. Come now, sit! I told you, the tests are over.”

“Really, Professor? You had us ask you this morning. And now the door?”

Umina sat cautiously. The chair was lovely and comfortable and she practically sank into it. Wil did the same, but he sat upright, nervous. The Titan sighed, but his eyes twinkled.

“It was rather cruel of me. But I couldn’t help it. You do have to learn how to speak to your superiors. A [Strategist] must be able to overrule a [King] if need be. Nevertheless, I apologize. And I do promise that was the last of it. You’re here! Sit down. Take a bite of something. Relax. You’ve done it.”

So saying, he sat down and snagged a date. It was comically huge compared to him, but the Titan, undeterred, simply pulled out a sword and sliced off a hand-sized chunk. He laughed at the expression on Umina and Wil’s face.

“I seldom eat with you all. But believe me, Fraerlings can eat quite a lot! It still makes feeding us ludicrously cheap. Not to mention alcohol! Help yourselves. If you’d like a drink, you’ll have to pour. It makes me a poor host, but at least I can serve myself.”

He had a thimble-sized cup, and Umina was tickled beyond belief to see that each bottle had a tiny valve attached to it! Like a keg’s spigot! They were made of metal and the Titan strode over to one and casually filled his cup.

“Professor, is that…?”

The Titan’s eyes twinkled.

“Oh, this? Just a Fraerling invention. We drill holes into a bottle and attach the spigot. Far easier than having something custom-made, isn’t it? Help yourself! I think this wine is…ah, yes. Saverian Red, quite a good one. I have a few others; if you want a juice, there’s one in that bottle. Water’s—no, wait, that’s alcohol. Ah, there it is. Magically purified water. And spring water. Help yourselves! Come on, now!”

Bemused, Wil looked at Umina, before reaching for the Saverian Red. Umina helped herself to the magically purified water; she’d had a bit too much to drink already. Still, the snacks were calling to her and she gingerly picked up a few chips made of Yellats. The spicy chips were made even hotter by sprinkled pepper and there was a beautiful dip just waiting to help her with it…

“I thought we were asking a question, Professor. This seems more like a meal. If we’re taking up your time…”

Wil’s hesitation was waved away by Niers. He laughed as he settled back into his chair, munching on his date.

“Not at all. I cleared my schedule, just as I said. I’m free for the entire night. And you, Wil Kallinad and Umina Caxical, are my guests. We’ll sit and talk, so eat and drink to your heart’s content! Don’t worry about the question. While you’re here, you may ask me anything you wish and I’ll do my best to answer.”

“What?”

The two students were astonished. Niers grinned.

“Within reason. Secrets are secrets. But if you ever had a burning desire, to, say, ask me about the inner workings of my company, or any of the rumors surrounding me—ask.”

“But—anything, Professor?”

“I believe I said that, Umina.”

“But you said we get one question!”

The Lizardgirl tried to control her tail and neck frills, both of which were trying to move in excitement. The Fraerling’s eyes twinkled and he winked.

“That’s just what I tell other students. Did you think I’d march you in here one at a time and you’d ask a question and leave after I answered?”

They had thought just that. Wil and Umina exchanged a glance. Niers laughed quietly as he got up to grab a chip and some dip. He carried it back over his head and tossed it next to his seat. It was hilarious to watch and he winked at Wil’s face.

“Laugh, Wil! I know it’s funny to see.”

“I wasn’t—then what is tonight, Professor?”

“A conversation.”

Niers sat back in his chair. He ran a hand through his beard. And he smiled faintly, looking up at his two much younger students.

“I know we’ve talked in class. But that’s a different setting than now. Here, we’re not student and teacher, but people. You ask me questions, I answer. We have a dialogue, not an examination. That’s the prize. You two and me, getting to know each other for a night. The question is just the end of our discussion.”

Umina and Wil exchanged a look. The Lizardgirl felt another flutter in her stomach, but it was fading. Niers sat back, looking from face to face on opposite side of the table. He lifted a cup.

“So, then. To your victories at Daquin. It has long been overdue. To you, Umina, and you, Wil. Congratulations!”

The two lifted their cups and drank. Niers drained his cup in one go. Umina did likewise and had to fill it with something stronger. The unabashed compliment had already put a fire in her cheeks. Wil likewise. Niers Astoragon was smiling as he got up to refill his drink. When he sat down again, he looked at them.

“Whenever I have a student in this room, it’s always a mixed feeling. On one hand, I couldn’t be prouder of you. Either of you. You did it. You defeated Tulm the Mithril and you won my game. Out of all your peers, you excelled. As a teacher, I’m delighted. But also melancholic.”

“Sir?”

Niers smiled as he looked at Wil.

“Because it means your time at my academy, in my classes, is coming to a close. You two are nearing graduation. It might be in another year or two, or it could be sooner.”

The two inhaled sharply. Niers nodded.

“It’s a sign. Well, your class is all nearing that point. But this moment especially is significant. I may never have Venaz in this room, or Yerranola, or Feshi or any of the others. It’s not as though I offer the opportunity to win a question all the time. But I try to make time to have a one-on-one talk before each student goes. Sometimes it doesn’t happen, of course.”

“And this is it?”

Umina felt a pang in her stomach. Niers looked at her.

“Not just yet, Umina, my dear. And we might speak like this again. I hope so, in fact! So, let’s not drag down this discussion—you two aren’t graduates yet! Especially after your report! Failing to write your name—”

He laughed at the chagrin on Umina’s face.

“I’m joking, Umina. You and Wil did well! But we won’t talk about that. As I said, this is a conversation. I believe I don’t do all the talking, although I know I tend to dominate discussions.”

He looked meaningfully from side to side. Umina jumped and Wil cut in.

“Er—that means you’ve done this before, Professor?”

“Oh, countless times! With many students! The winners of my games, obviously. As far back as when I started offering them.”

The Titan waved a hand, smiling fondly at the memories only he could see. Umina was relaxing, or the strong liquid burning her forked tongue was.

“Then—you’ve had all your students in here, Professor? Or the best ones. That means—Professor Perorn? Fleethoof?”

“One of my first winners. I think she sat in your very chair, Umina.”

Niers winked at the Lizardgirl. Umina turned bright red. Wil coughed.

“She didn’t, Professor.”

“Oh, come now, Wil. Let Umina have her moment! No, she didn’t. Centaurs and chairs don’t mix. But she probably sat somewhere around where we are!”

Niers laughed and Umina exhaled, grinning sheepishly. Niers waved a hand.

“Yes. I’ve had conversations with many, many students here. Some for the question, others just because I wanted to talk to them before they left. As people, not in our usual relationship.”

“So—if I may ask—”

“Ask away! There are no bad questions here!”

Niers chuckled. Wil nodded.

“What about Tulm the Mithril?”

Umina coughed on her chips. Niers paused. Both Wil and Umina remembered Tulm, and his overpowering presence at Daquin. But he too had been one of the Titan’s students. Umina tried to imagine him in one of their classes. But Niers just nodded.

“Tulm, oh yes. And oh, no. I certainly taught him and had conversations with Tulm, but not ever here. Not after he won my game.”

“Really?”

The two younger [Strategists] leaned forwards. Niers grinned ruefully.

“You both know how he won my games? Yes? Well, do you think he sat in this room after burning down an entire city to win my game? I sent him his answer in letter form. If he and I had been here, it would have turned ugly. I was furious at him.”

“Really? But he won—”

“By burning down a city! And putting thousands of lives at risk! But he did win; I’ve just never seen eye-to-eye with him. I’ll admit, he got me, but Tulm was a troublesome student. Brilliant of course, but he could get under my skin! Still, he was as young as you two when I taught him.”

Niers frowned darkly, then brightened.

“Would you like to hear all about his embarrassing mistakes?”

Spellbound, Umina and Wil nodded. Niers chuckled.

“You think you made a bad mistake by not writing your name on your report, Umina? One time we had an assignment to lead a group of [Soldiers] like this last project—only in reality! Somehow, Tulm misheard the beach I wanted everyone to meet at and thought he was marching north. He made it three hundred miles and got hopelessly lost—it was two weeks before we found him! He thought the monsters, [Bandits], and everything he ran into was part of the test!”

He laughed. Umina giggled, trying to imagine that. Wil was trying not to, but he had to turn his head and chuckle. Niers went on.

“And he was hopelessly enamored with one of my other teachers. A Selphid.”

“No.”

“Oh yes! He wrote a love letter and it got mixed up with my homework. It was—ah, poetic in that Dullahan fashion. I think he nearly hopped off the citadel’s highest tower when he realized he’d turned it in with his assignment. I still have a copy. Want me to find it?”

“No! I mean—”

Umina was aghast. Tulm the Mithril? Niers grinned.

“Just remember he’s a person too. And he was as young as you two! Of course, now he’s a legend. But no one’s perfect. Perorn—”

He paused.

“Well, maybe I shouldn’t talk about her. She’d probably stomp on me if I told you her mistakes.”

“She made some?”

The Fraerling hesitated as he looked up at Wil, leaning down. Umina did likewise. The Titan wavered and then tapped one side of his nose.

“The fishing incident. I dare say no more. If you’ve brave, you’ll get someone else to ask Perorn about it.”

He chortled. And Umina and Wil laughed too. They were relaxed now. Suddenly, Umina found herself asking Niers, the Professor, the Titan questions. What was Perorn like as a student? And Wil was doing the same. They caught themselves, exchanged a glance.

It was a side of Niers they had never seen. And both of them felt it. This was a special moment. Something they’d earned. The Titan was speaking to them like equals. But neither could dwell on it; he was still talking.

And now Niers was speaking of Daquin. They’d gone over the game in detail in a number of lessons, but the Professor was speaking to Wil, looking up at him, smiling fondly.

“Brilliant work, Wil. Moving an entire strike force from Terandria to outside of Daquin by sea, unseen, and timing their attack? As logistics go, you’re already above most average [Strategists]. Hone that talent, lad. Don’t let it be your only trump card, but know that you have an advantage there and everyone will remember that fact.”

Niers held up a finger.

“With that said, you need work commanding a larger force. I don’t expect any of my students to beat Tulm in a city-wide brawl, even with the element of surprise and the Order of Seasons, but your command, while good, was too straightforward. Tulm was expecting more surprises which never came, and when he found your measure he began pushing you back hard. Still, you managed to make him use one of his better Skills—no, two of them. That’s something to be proud of.”

Wil nodded, breathless. The Fraerling turned to the Lizardgirl, and she felt a surge of apprehension. But Niers’ smile was kind.

“Umina, I confess you weren’t in the light as much as Wil, but your tactics were just as brilliant. Tunneling through a septic tank? That takes bravery! Especially to be able to create sappers and use them when everything was reaching the climax of the battle! Your coolness under pressure and the ability to think far outside your opponents is what I’ve seen you grow during your time as a student. A deserved win! You managed to outpace an entire force of [Knights] and every single one of your classmates!”

“Thank you, Professor.”

He nodded.

“Now, with that said, you didn’t do it alone. What you lack, Umina, is the daring Venaz and Marian demonstrated, the willingness to take huge risks. Wil showed that too, come to that. You’re acting like a [Tactician] among [Strategists] and while that means you cut deep with surprising maneuvers, you need to develop your own authority and presence as a commander, not a squad leader.”

It was fair. Umina felt a small sting to her pride, but she knew he was right. She took a gulp from her drink. Niers did likewise as he looked from student to student.

“Those are your strengths and weaknesses. As [Strategists], you two still have something to learn. But I’d still put you against any ordinary company-level [Strategist] and expect you to win handily! Functionally, you’re both at the level of any graduate of my regular classes. What I want to see is how high you’ll get to before you graduate. And that’s me in teaching mode. Back to conversation! I just had to tell you how proud I am of your victories.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Wil’s cheeks were red again. He reached for a few dates and ate them one at a time before taking some water. Umina had already finished her cup. She fidgeted.

“Professor—can I ask…?”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t. Go on, Umina!”

“Okay then. Professor, why do you give out the right to ask a question for winning your game? Any question? Will you really answer it truthfully? What do you have to gain from something like that?”

Wil looked up. And Niers’ eyes sharpened.

“Ah, now you’re asking the questions you really want to know the answer to. Don’t worry! That wasn’t your question. And I’m happy to answer it.”

So saying, he got up and began to pace around the table. He snagged a bit of cheese as he walked past a bunch of cubes, slicing a bit off to munch and eat. He looked up at last.

“I know I shouldn’t, but I have to make it a lesson. Old habits. Tell me, what’s the purpose of a secret, you two?”

They were back in class again, only the pressure wasn’t so high. Umina sipped from her drink, thinking.

“Knowledge, Professor? A potential advantage over someone else?”

“Good. Accurate, but not what I’m looking for. Wil, your thoughts?”

“Then—trust? Safety, perhaps?”

The Titan shook his head.

“All good answers. But to me, the answer is: constancy. The purpose of secrets is to prevent change. Because the secret is kept, the world remains the same. That’s why you keep a secret. When you use it is when things change.”

His students nodded, fascinated. Niers went on, walking up a wooden slope to slice a chunk out of a banana. His sword was enchanted, but he was using it like a table knife. And a fork.

“Why do I offer a question? Well, to explain that, I’ll talk about my world. I’m second-in-command to the Forgotten Wing Company, one of the most powerful forces in all of Baleros. But not the undisputed best, yes? We have the Four Great Companies of Baleros. And, why not? Let’s throw in Jungle Tails in as well. They were a Great Company and they’re still powerful.”

Umina flushed. Only a Lizardfolk Company would have such a playful name. Niers smiled, nodding.

“Not to mention other companies who are powerful, if not as large as the top four. All of us big players, well, we’re held by each other. No one wants one side to gain more power than we already have, so there’s an unofficial agreement to ally to defend against an aggressor. If the Forgotten Wing Company moves now, two Companies or more will move against it. Stalemate, you see? We’re too big, and all the alliances are too firmly entrenched. So we enjoy the luxuries of success without being able to break the status quo.”

“But you clash with other companies all the time, Professor.”

He waved that away.

“Border skirmishes, Umina. Wars by proxy. There hasn’t been a major battle between our companies with hundreds of thousands of [Soldiers] on the line in over a decade. Even eighty thousand soldiers isn’t much compared to what we can field.”

The Lizardgirl nodded. Niers went on, frowning.

“The trouble is, I don’t appreciate the stalemate. I’d like not to live the rest of my life like this. I’d like the Forgotten Wing Company to gain even more power! But we can’t. Not easily. We have too many enemies now. It might be different if it were easier to move abroad, forge alliances on other continents, even recruit and set up bases there. But the Iron Vanguard controls the seas and we have to negotiate hard to send armies to other continents. If we could expand—but I’ve tried making our own navies time and time again, and Tulm shuts down my attempts each time. You can’t keep a fleet that secret.”

Wil looked like he wanted to take notes. So did Umina. This was Niers Astoragon, talking about the challenges of his position candidly and openly. She had no idea that he’d tried to make a fleet. The Titan grimaced.

“So back to your question, Umina—secrets. Why do I offer them? The better question is: what’s stopping me? It’s just a secret. Yes, it’s valuable, but what’s that to me? I’m rich! What good are secrets if they’re kept forever? Maybe I want to give my students some help. Maybe I think it’s a worthwhile incentive. Maybe—I’m just tired of everything being so constant.”

He looked pointedly at Umina and Wil. They analyzed what he was saying.

“So you’re helping us to destabilize the balance of power?”

The thought was mind-boggling. Niers waved a hand, smiling.

“Don’t worry, I don’t intend for any one person to do that. I’m just explaining, Umina—I don’t care if giving out a secret messes with the established order. I don’t need to maintain it. In fact, I’m counting on you two. All of you young [Strategists] to generate some excitement for me. I’d hate to die of boredom.”

The compliment took the words out of both students for a moment. But then Wil asked a question next. He had to. This was their chance. And oh, they had so many questions, rumors among the students they needed answers to. Umina couldn’t imagine how much her classmates would kill to have been here. They’d be buying her drinks for weeks when she told them about this moment! And this wasn’t even the question!

“Is Three-Color Stalker—I mean, Lady Foliana really the head of the Forgotten Wing Company, Professor?”

“What, are you doubting the chain of command, Mister Kallinad?”

Niers looked mock-offended. Wil bit into a tiny fried fish, removing the bones before answering.

“Not at all, Professor. But it’s odd, given that she doesn’t um, command? Wouldn’t it make more sense for her to be second-in-command and you to lead?”

“I hear that all the time. But she’s been a leader for a long time and I have to say, it works.”

Niers shook his head. He spotted an ant and kicked it; Umina watched it fly away.

“Damn things. Must have come with the food; I have ward charms. Anyways, where was I? Oh, yes. Foliana.”

Niers shrugged.

“She’s better at leading than I am, in a way. She’s unpredictable, disappears on me, has no social ability—but that’s fine in a leader so long as I’m here. She scares the flesh off of other rulers and company leaders and they can’t make her do anything she doesn’t want. It’s a symbiotic relationship, but yes, when she gives orders, I obey. Rare as that is, there have been times I’ve been grateful for it.”

“So she actually is in charge.”

Umina exhaled and looked at Wil. He winked at her, deadpan. Cameral owed Umina a gold coin! Niers laughed.

“Leadership comes in different forms. And Foliana being our head means no one can truly ever figure out how we’ll jump. Not even me! Besides, she and I have known each other for decades. Dead gods, over fifty years come to think of that.”

“In that case—that leads me into my question, Professor.”

Umina almost raised a hand before she caught herself. Niers and Wil both laughed quietly. The drink was loosening tongues as well. And Niers wasn’t using his bag of holding trick; his students had finally caught on to it.

“What made you decide to become a [Strategist], Professor? Everyone knows you were a Named Adventurer before you formed a mercenary company, but what made you—uh—”

Umina fell silent because she didn’t know how to say it without being offensive. Niers smiled.

“What made a tiny Fraerling decide he could take on the big, bad world? Don’t worry, Umina. I get that question all the time. The answer is…well, do either of you have cats?”

“Cats?”

Umina looked blank. Wil nodded.

“We have some in the Kallinad household. Not many dogs; my mother’s allergic.”

“Huh. Remind me never to visit the Kallinad estates. I hate cats. I’m not keen on dogs either, or many ‘pets’. But cats I hate. You know why?”

Umina didn’t have to guess. The Titan was gesturing at his candle-sized height.

“They’re a danger to Fraerlings, right, sir?”

“Exactly. Cats love small objects. Even trained ones will kill anything as small as a mouse. Fraerlings are in danger around them. Cats are cruel, too. They kill things for fun. They’re banned anywhere a Fraerling village exists, and everywhere where the Forgotten Wing Company holds power. They can stay indoors, but those damn things don’t go outside.”

“What’s that got to do with you becoming an adventurer, sir? Or a [Strategist]?”

If he says his family was killed by a cat, don’t laugh. Umina repeated it twice and saw Wil doing the same. Niers smiled.

“I’m just bringing up cats because they’re a good example. Cats are deadly to Fraerlings. But uh, how many of your people do you know that have been killed by a cat?”

“Well, bobcats—”

“Housecats, Umina.”

“…Two?”

Niers and Umina both paused and looked at Wil. He looked embarrassed.

“Suffocation. I have a third-aunt who was suffocated in her sleep by all the cats she kept. And I heard about another death the same way.”

“That’s hilarious. Those damn furred monsters.”

Niers shook his head. He waved Wil’s statement away.

“Practically though, they don’t savage you to death, right? Umina, you’re no [Warrior] but I bet you could fight off a dozen cats if you had to. Fraerlings on the other hand? I know…dead gods, at least twenty eight people who died to cats. Imagine that.”

The statement was sobering. Umina paused as she reached for a drink. Niers went on, gesturing to his body.

“A Fraerling is strong. An adult can lift things many times their weight. I could toss that cup you’re holding, Umina, even lift it when it’s full. But that’s not much use when everything’s so big, is it?”

“No, sir.”

The Titan sighed. He sat back down in his chairs and stared upwards. When he spoke, it was distantly.

“I grew up in a Fraerling village. Like most Fraerlings. It’s rare we live elsewhere. Sure, some of us have that classic story where we live in a house unknown to the owners, but let’s be real: that’s dangerous. It’s too easy to be squished. And rats! You ever think about fighting rats? They don’t fight you, but to us they’re like bulls. Big, vicious, and smart. Cats terrify us. Now, imagine what it’s like for Fraerlings to fight a Troll.”

He shook his head.

“There’s no point to being a [Warrior] if you’re a Fraerling. Not if you want to do anything with the tall folk. Oh, you can turn the tides and we have ways of dealing with huge foes, but it’s just a waste of levels when you get down to it. A Level 60 Fraerling [Warrior] can kill even a Griffin, but they’ll still die if you stomp on them a few times.”

“What about magic?”

Umina offered that uncertainty. Niers snorted.

“Ever seen a [Fireball] cast by a Fraerling [Mage]? Size isn’t everything where magic is concerned, but it matters. There’s this book by a Drake that goes into body mass and magic. Grimalkin—I think there’s a copy in the library. Anyways, that can be better, but Fraerlings are still too small. It’s literally too hard for us to weave larger spells; we can throw tiny [Fireballs] all day, but that’s not exactly what you need, is it?”

He shook his head.

“No. Fraerlings have to hide because we’re in danger. We can protect ourselves from rats; our [Warriors] can hack through a colony at high levels, but those are small threats. Big ones? No Fraerling can match an adventurer from another species. I knew that, growing up. I couldn’t stand with other species as a [Warrior] or a [Mage]. I didn’t want to be a [Crafter]. But there was one class that didn’t care how big you were. And that was…”

“[Strategist].”

Both his students exhaled. The Titan’s lessons were often circular, but they always came back to the point via story or example. He nodded, his eyes flashing.

“Exactly. It was my dream to leave my village. To be more than someone who had to hide from a stray housecat, or live in terror of an errant boot! And [Strategists] can affect any number of people! So I became one.”

“Just like that?”

Niers looked vaguely offended.

“We need [Strategists] in Fraerling villages too, Wil. Here, pass that bottle, will you? The Drake one. Thank you. Put it there. Yes, we need [Strategists]. And I was good at my job! I helped clear out this damn hornet’s nest on my first campaign, and I pushed back a boar herd.”

He saw his students chuckling and raised his brows.

“Oh, you laugh! But imagine fighting them with an army of people one foot tall at most? I was a higher-level [Strategist] than anyone else my age by the time I turned twenty! And when I left the village to go to an Adventurer’s Guild, I could have stood toe-to-toe with any of you in my classes now. Think of that!”

Umina did. She stopped laughing. Wil leaned forwards.

“You would have been an asset to a team, Professor. But I imagine it was difficult.”

Niers nodded.

“Oh yes! A [Strategist] buffing a team of adventurers? Giving them orders? I knew I could be invaluable. But no one wanted to take me on. They just laughed at the tiny Fraerling or tried to humor me. I spent three years going from team to team until I met a team that welcomed me. Foliana was a loner, then. We joined up and when I found a group that would actually listen to me—well, the rest is history.”

He spread his arms. Umina nodded. She’d read of the Titan’s adventuring days. She edged forwards, picking at the dates as Niers continued. He was good at storytelling; it suited his personality.

“First we were Bronze-rank. Bronze. I wasn’t, and neither was Foliana, but our companions were just starting out, hence them being willing to take orders from me. But we weren’t that way for long. I was leveling fast, using my abilities to make my team take on bigger challenges. We became Silver-rank within the month. And we hit Gold the next year! Before we knew it, we were Named Adventurers.”

“You were a Named Adventurer.”

You forgot that, sometimes. But the Titan had been one. Was he still one? His fame had eclipsed that rank, but there were so few Named Adventurers in the world. The Fraerling corrected Umina.

“A team, not individual ones of course; no one would ever make me a Named Adventurer on my own. But I dare say we were some of the best of our generation! Thirty strong!”

“Thirty?”

Wil paused, looking surprised. Niers grinned.

“Why not? It makes sense! Numbers, if used efficiently, is strength! True, most teams can’t sustain numbers higher than…a dozen at best. Most are around four to five. It’s not hard to understand why; maintaining a semblance of equality and balancing your income against maintaining families, gear, potions? Not to mention all the personalities you find in adventurers! Mine was different though; as a [Strategist], I could hold them together and get them to work on multiple missions at once. We were stronger than your average guild, in fact!”

“But why did you quit? What happened to the others?”

Umina had heard all sorts of rumors. And here, at least, the Titan’s openness wavered. He paused, and his expression grew bleak.

“Well, many joined the Forgotten Wing Company. If you’re asking where all of them are now…many passed away. On our final mission—or after we started our company. In battle, from disease, time…it’s been fifty years, as I said.”

He looked around, tired. Umina and Wil sobered. After a moment Niers shook his head.

“Not all of them died; some just quit. In the end, it was just a handful of us left, the Forgotten Wing Company’s original officers. And then…it was just Foliana and I from the adventuring days. So if you’re asking how I got from a Fraerling village to here—it was because I wanted to interact with the big people. And being a [Strategist] means I can order anyone about. The rest of it? It was just natural progression.”

He fell silent, and took another drink from his thimble-cup. Niers looked up.

“Any more questions? Remember, the floor’s open. Or table.”

Umina and Wil hesitated, looking at each other. They had another big one, but…Niers tapped one foot.

“Go on. I told you, nothing’s off-limits. If I don’t want to tell you, I just won’t.”

He smiled lightly, as if he could see right through them. And perhaps he could. Umina felt like the first day she’d ever sat in his class. Awestruck at meeting a legend in person. And he was so small. Until you looked at him and realized he was far larger than his actual body.

“If I may, Professor? I have to know this. Would you—tell us about your battle with Queravia?”

Wil broke the silence at last. Umina exhaled slowly. Yes. Of the big questions they had, that was the last one. Niers slowly raised his head. He stopped smiling.

“Ah. My famous battle with the King of Destruction’s [Strategist]. Queravia, the Gambler of Fates. You want to know how it went, I suppose?”

“You’ve never told us in class. I mean, about the battle, but never the specifics. Does everyone ask, Professor? Everyone who comes here?”

The Fraerling nodded, grinning.

“Of course they do! They want to hear it from me. And to be fair, it’s a tale worth telling. It’s just not one I care to tell to the public. You know all about it, of course?”

Umina nodded. She’d heard Foliana give her speech about the famous battle three years in a row. The Squirrel Beastkin didn’t even change her words, but it still got her applause each year with the retelling. But she had never heard the Titan telling his version of it.

“Was there something secret about the battle?”

“No. Yes—damn. Let’s go from the beginning.”

“Another lecture, Professor?”

Umina teased the Titan. He scowled, and then grinned.

“No, this isn’t a lecture. Well, perhaps it is. We’ve gone over the King of Destruction’s tactics and the way he was able to so effectively crush his opponents with grand strategy. Everyone knows that. But I want to tell you some of the information I don’t share about the end of the King of Destruction’s rampage.”

Umina and Wil exchanged another look. Secret information? They edged even closer, rocking the table. The Titan nearly lost his footing.

“Careful! My wardrobe’s over there! Yes, secret information. Alright, scoot in. This is what I don’t teach in my lessons. Part of it is due to caution; it could land me in trouble if I were accused of spreading rumors. And the other reason is because, frankly, there’s little to learn. First, let’s talk about the war. He’d taken Chandrar and was splitting up his armies to invade both Izril and Baleros at once.”

“And that’s where he failed, right, sir? The Minotaurs ambushed his fleets at sea and killed one of his Seven. The Blighted King sent an army from Rhir and defeated Takhatres while the Walled Cities stalemated his armies. And in Baleros—”

“I killed Queravia.”

Niers put his cup down. He stood, looking from face to face.

“Yes. And after that, the King of Destruction entered his slumber and his kingdom collapsed. But it wasn’t that simple. You see, we teach that he was overextending, overconfident, and naturally he lost. But in truth, he was close to winning. Or at least, his strategy might have let him throw two continents into war.”

“Really? But his decision to split his armies—”

“It was intelligent. Risky, but he knew the world was coming for him. And like the Goblin King in decades since then, we’ve seen that few people can fight every army at once. So the King of Destruction changed tactics. Rather than let Chandrar be invaded and fight a defensive war, he, or perhaps Queravia, devised a bold strategy. Occupy two continents in war and force the battles to happen there.”

“But how would he fight on two fronts?”

Wil was perplexed, trying to see ahead of the answer. So was Umina. She blinked.

“Wait—was it—the Gnolls?”

Wil and Niers looked at her. The Titan’s eyes glittered.

“Full marks. Yes. That’s what I believed at the time. The King of Destruction had declared war against the Drakes. But I thought—perhaps he would reach out to the Gnoll tribes. Ally with them. Izril is divided. He could have reached out to the Humans too. And on Baleros? Look at our divided continent! Who might he have reached out for here?”

Neither student had to think.

“Selphids.”

“Half-Gazers too.”

Niers Astoragon inclined his head.

“Exactly. All the species who don’t have power. Who are shunned, by most groups. I employ Selphids in the Forgotten Wing Company, but if Flos Reimarch offered them a chance to take back power? Their land? Gnolls. Selphids. Half-Gazers. Maybe even the Minotaurs, before they decided to oppose him. He would have been their champion. But you know what terrified Wistram and Rhir?”

Umina and Wil inhaled sharply. Wil finished the thought.

“Demons. But he wouldn’t have allied with the Demon King. Surely not!”

He looked appalled. Niers didn’t answer at once. He looked around, meeting both student’s gazes.

“This is why I don’t teach this openly. But yes, he might have. Who knows? It’s just speculation. But I’ll wager you diamonds to dust that Wistram used that to move the Blighted King to send an army against the King of Destruction.”

“So that’s why Rhir sent an army.”

“Wistram is dangerous.”

That was just a fact. Both students nodded. Niers went on.

“So that was his strategy. And it might have worked! You’ve heard Foliana’s speech. Queravia landed with one army, separated from the King of Destruction’s vanguard after the battle with the Minotaurs. She was cut off, but she made a stand and crushed an army sent by two Great Companies! She was waiting for reinforcements, daring all of Baleros to take her on. And she won.”

Umina watched Niers walking back and forth slowly. His eyes were bright and glittering in the room, lit only by mage light.

“If she had kept going, he could have won. He lost one of his Seven against the Minotaurs, yes. But six remained. Amerys was fighting on Izril, holding down an entire Walled City! The Gnolls might have rallied if the King of Destruction had landed more armies there. And on Baleros? With more time, how many companies would have embraced Flos for a chance to rise in power? He could have done it.”

“But for you.”

“I saw it coming. And I took an army. Queravia had crushed one, but there was still a chance to defeat her. I gathered every force I could in a thousand miles and marched on her. Even so—her army had leveled from her victories and she had his elites. His Dreamers as well. I was facing the best of Chandrar’s forces, and cut off as they were, I knew it was a gamble. But I had to risk it. And that day I put myself against the Gambler of Fates. [Strategist] vs [Strategist].”

And he won. But Niers didn’t look proud. He shook his head.

“You want to know what happened on that day, Umina, Wil? The truth was that when we joined battle, from the first twenty minutes, I knew I was losing.”

“No.”

He nodded, staring backwards through time.

“Oh yes. Queravia was a genius. As gifted as I’ve ever seen. But it was her unique style that threw me. I realized in the first engagement why she had beaten two Great Companies. It was down to her Skills. Her…personality. Her luck. Let me give you an example.”

The Titan paced down the table. He came back with a chessboard Umina recognized. She inhaled as she saw the glowing magical pieces. They were in the middle of a game. The Titan carefully put it down and picked up two pawns. He showed them to her and Wil.

“Let’s say there was a matchup. Not a chess board; we know the outcome of each piece, but a real battle. Two units of…pikes, say, charging each other. The odds are incalculable who’ll win. You’re too busy as a [Strategist] to analyze their levels or makeup; you just see the opportunity to clash or withdraw. What do you do?”

“See if it benefits me to take the charge, distract the opponent. If not, retreat?”

It wasn’t really a good question for a hypothetical. Umina shrugged uncomfortably. Niers nodded.

“Fair enough. Wear them down if it’s strategic, force them to spread out and fight. But if you keep getting those encounters, do you keep committing?”

“No, sir. That’s too risky. I’d always want a scenario where I can win, or delay at acceptable…”

Umina trailed off. Niers nodded. He pointed to the two pawns, then put them back where they had been.

“Exactly. No sane [Strategist] gambles with an outcome. We take calculated risks, but we always try to create areas where we win, sometimes at the cost of others. Pull in here, sacrifice this unit, but hammer the opponent where it hurts here. Don’t risk a pivotal outcome to chance. But Queravia—she was a [Gambler]. And—remember her title? She wasn’t just a [Gambler]. She was lucky.”

“You mean in general, Professor? Or with dice…?”

The hair was rising on Wil’s neck. On Umina, her scales were tingling. Niers shook his head.

“No. I mean everything about her was lucky. If there was any scenario where it was up to the odds…sixty percent. Six out of ten. That’s what I think she had.”

“Sixty percent?”

He nodded.

“If every time you flipped a coin, the chances were half and half of it being either side, Queravia had a sixty percent chance of it going her way. And that extended to uncertain matchups. She just had more luck than me. So if we met with two equal units—”

He indicated the pawns.

“Six times out of ten, she won. And sometimes, against impossible odds, her tactics would work. And that created a huge difference over time.”

Slowly, the Titan sat. And now his students could almost see the battle, reflected in his voice, his eyes.

“She was winning. It was like I was playing against luck herself. She’d send in a group of swords to charge a flank I was sure they’d lose and they’d cut through. Arrows would miss taking out a [Captain]. She lost, yes, but she was winning. A unit of pikes would cut through an elite group. And suddenly they were heroes on the battlefield. That was how she fought. She made heroes out of ordinary [Soldiers]. And they leveled with each victory.”

“That’s not fair.”

It flew against everything Umina had been taught. Niers raised an eyebrow.

“Fair? She just had an advantage on her side, Umina. An extra factor called ‘luck’. And she used it.”

The Lizardgirl flushed. Wil just looked at Niers.

“Then how did you beat her, sir?”

“At first I didn’t. I had more soldiers, and resources and she was defensive. But her luck kept equalizing situations. I dare say I was better in pure strategy by a bit. I like to think so, or I would have lost outright. But neither of us could win. We just…hit each other. Again and again. It was a slaughter, but she was slowly overpowering my army. I knew it. So, in desperation, I changed tactics.”

“What did you do?”

Niers looked up. Umina expected a grand plan, a speech, a lesson of strategy. But all he did was shrug.

“I created a scenario where she couldn’t turn the odds. I charged her front, tied up all her forces in an all-or-nothing assault. And in the confusion, I found her command. And I killed her.”

Both Umina and Wil waited. But that was all Niers said. He looked around and filled his cup with the strongest alcohol there was. Wil croaked and reached for his own cup.

“That’s it?”

He drank.

“That’s it. Nothing special. Remember when Cameral got you with an arrow in battle, Umina? He was losing the battle, but when you were removed, your force fell apart. That’s all I did. There’s nothing to teach; I just forced a confrontation and I won.”

It was anticlimactic. Umina saw at once how it made sense. But she knew why the Titan didn’t speak of it. There was something…Niers tossed his cup down bitterly. He looked past them and shook his head.

“I suppose I was the better [Strategist] since the attack on her command worked. It’s a valid tactic. The one that walks away wins. But that’s the irony of it. I teach you all that victory is what counts. But I can’t help but remember that battle with guilt. She outfought me, Umina, Wil. She had just one weakness and I hit it. To this day, I feel like I robbed the world of a truly great mind. I wish there had been another way. But I won. And the King of Destruction’s dreams fell apart there. That’s all there was to it.”

He sat down heavily and Umina and Wil looked at each other. Umina didn’t know what to say. She only had one thought. No, two. The Titan spoke of Queravia with regret. She had been his better, or at least, so he believed. He regretted killing her, because he was alone. Alone but for…her eyes lingered on the chessboard with the ghostly pieces. And then she thought of the second thing.

He had killed her. Himself. She wanted to ask how. But Niers was sitting still. He looked up, smiling faintly, and shook his head.

“I’m melancholy when drunk. Pass me some snacks, Umina?”

She did. Niers broke off a huge chip and began to eat it.

“Enough of that story. You have your answer. It’s not glorious, but it is a secret. The King of Destruction. Wistram—dead gods, I hate the Academy. My scrying orb is warded against them, but I know they have eyes and ears everywhere. Let’s talk of happier things. The night’s not over yet. A few more questions. I get to ask you a few, about you two! And then—well, we’ll have time for one last question, won’t we?”

He smiled. And Umina and Wil felt a surge of apprehension. They looked out the dark windows. It was nearly time.

—-

Niers Astoragon sat alone in his room. On the table, in his chair. The bowls of snacks had been mostly depleted, and he himself felt stretched from all he’d consumed. Still, he wasn’t about to succumb to exhaustion or alcohol or food comas yet. The most important moment of the night had yet to come.

It was a knock on the door. The Titan looked up.

“Enter!”

Wil Kallinad stepped into the room. The young man adjusted his clothing and walked towards his seat. He was more familiar now, but apprehension had returned his nerves. Niers chuckled softly.

“Sit down, lad. We were just talking.”

“Yes, sir. Professor. Excuse me.”

Red-faced, Wil sat. Niers raised an eyebrow.

“Did Umina win the contest, or did you?”

Wil blinked, and then smiled ruefully.

“I won, sir. I wanted to…”

“Get it over with?”

Niers looked kindly at the [Lord]. Wil hunched his shoulders, and then straightened. He met Niers’ eyes.

“Frankly, Professor? Yes. I truly enjoyed our conversation. My question—it’s not fascinating to me. Should I ask you now?”

“Go ahead.”

Niers waited. Wil sat up and took a deep breath. Then another. He came out with it in a rush.

“Professor, what is the most valuable piece of information that will aid the Kallinad family at this moment?”

He looked at Niers. And the Titan stared back. He searched Wil’s unhappy face. And then he reached for his drink. Niers thought better of it at the last second and pushed it away. Then he just looked at Wil.

“That’s your question, is it, Wil Kallinad?”

“Yes sir.”

Wil broke away from Niers’ gaze. The Titan nodded thoughtfully.

“A good question. One that will aid your family. Did your father choose it for you? One of your family members?”

Wil flushed.

“They had suggestions, sir. But I chose it myself. Do you think it’s a wise question?”

“Is that your question?”

Niers laughed softly and waved a hand.

“Sorry. No, to be frank, it’s a fine question. And I’ll answer to the spirit of it—I’m not some malicious monster, Wil. But let’s be honest a moment, before I answer. That’s not really what you wanted to ask, is it?”

“…No, sir. It’s not.”

Niers nodded softly. Wil hesitated, opened his mouth, and then shook his head. He rested his hands on his knees, squeezing them tight.

“I won’t change my mind, though, Professor. I owe my family a debt for the ships and all the effort they spent. Not to mention enrolling me here! I can’t ask another one.”

“I understand.”

The Titan’s voice was sympathetic. He paused.

“Out of curiosity, Wil. If you could have asked, what would have been your question?”

The young man looked up. For a moment Niers thought he wouldn’t reply, but then the words spilled out of him in a rush.

“What is the greatest treasure or mystery of this world that you know of concretely that has yet to be uncovered, Professor? To clarify—how may it be found? What are the dangers? Where would one begin searching?”

He looked up, his eyes shining. And then he glanced down. Niers smiled wryly.

“Multiple questions in one. But the spirit is good.”

“I didn’t workshop the question, sir. I knew I wouldn’t ask.”

The [Lord] mumbled again. It was so at odds to the confidence the young man had shown at Daquin. Niers felt for him.

“Why that question, Wil? If you could have asked?”

“Well, the possibility, sir. I don’t know what the best thing to ask for is. A dungeon? A shipwreck? A…a Dragon’s horde? A riddle with an artifact? But you do. So I thought you would answer me fairly. And I have the means to attempt to find whatever you told me!”

Wil looked up, eagerly. He gestured to his clothes, only a bit stained by the night’s frivolities.

“The Kallinad family is wealthy, Professor. And if I made the request, my father might grant me the resources and even forces I asked for. We have ties to the Order of Seasons and to our kingdom, Pheislant. I could request [Knights] to join an expedition, ask for volunteers among my classmates with the summer break coming up—”

He paused.

“The greatest opportunity of a lifetime. It’s romantic, sir, but even though I’m a [Strategist], I’d like to be a hero out of legends. Someone who found some great treasure, or did something truly amazing. Like Thivian Stormless. I know it’s childish, but…”

He looked at Niers. The Titan sat up.

“Childish? Wil, I had the same dream in that Fraerling village. I wanted to be a hero too. Why do you think I was an adventurer all those years? It’s not childish. It’s a dream.”

Wil nodded, eagerly, looking up, validation surging in his eyes. But then his face fell.

“It’s a risk, though, Professor. And it might not pan out. Even if it does, I could die. If it was just me asking, I would. But my family—”

“You won’t change your question? I could answer it, you know.”

That hurt him. Niers regretted saying it, but he had to ask. Wil hesitated, and then hunched down again.

“No, sir. My duty to House Kallinad comes first.”

“If you’re sure.”

Wil gritted his teeth.

“I am, Professor.”

The Fraerling watched him. And the he nodded.

“You have the right to ask me any question in the world, Wil. Any one at all. You chose, and so, to the best of my knowledge, I’ll reply. What aids House Kallinad the most at this moment? I’m honored they think I would know. The Forgotten Wing Company has no contracts with Terandria and I have visited the continent only a handful of times. However, somewhat ironically, I do know something of value. Worthy of the question.”

Wil looked up. Niers stood, and took his cup. He stared into the clear liquid before turning back to Wil, and his tone was brisk.

“Wil. Your half-brother—no, pardon me, your cousin, Girent, is engaged to a member of House…blast, I’m a bit drunk. House Havrington, isn’t that right?”

“The du Havrington family, yes, Professor.”

Wil sat up, suddenly alert. The Titan nodded.

“What do you think of them? Between us?”

Wil was cautious, but he relaxed as he looked around the Titan’s rooms, one of the most secure in the world.

“I—know some of them. I can’t say I’m fond of their family, Professor. They’re rather…”

“Human-centric? Bigoted? I’ve met them too, Wil. This is just between us.”

“All of the above, sir. But my father wants peace with them. Hence the marriage.”

“And he is marrying a girl. Thirteen. Lady Cassicel Havrington, who would be by bloodline next in line to the position of [Marquis] and fourth by blood to the Havrington’s own line of succession. Correct?”

Wil nodded slowly.

“Yes—yes. It’s just political. She’ll live in our household. Girent isn’t happy about it, but he doesn’t have to live with the du Havringtons, and this is a big concession for them to end the hostilities between our families, so we’re putting a lot into the marriage. What of it?”

Niers took a gulp from his cup. The fiery liquid burned his throat. The Titan sighed.

“It’s a sham. The marriage, I mean. The entire damn thing is fake.”

“What?”

The [Lord] sat up, alarm written over his face. Niers held up a hand.

“Don’t panic! This isn’t an assassination at a wedding. Nothing so dramatic. Rather, it’s political. Messy. Lady Cassicel is not a pure-blood bloodline. In fact, her grandmother was a commoner. By marrying her, you’ll invalidate your offspring unless you induct her as a Kallinad. Either way, it will be a disaster politically.”

“Yes—but how do you know that, sir? That would be a scandal! If we married Girent and they revealed her blood wasn’t pure, it would be a scandal! And we gave them—would they reveal it now? No—in a decade!”

“Perhaps when your father passed or later still. It would be used at the most opportune time to embarrass the Kallinads, perhaps if your family were trying to leverage your ties against the du Havringtons. Either way, they gain a truce and a weapon to use against you.”

Wil nodded. He was aware of the politics, more so than Niers. He sat back, staring.

“This is huge. But how do you know this, Professor? This should be the most secret of information. Only the family of the du Havringtons would know this, unless there was a leak…?”

Niers shook his head.

“Not that I know of. And I only know this information by coincidence. You see, Wil—Lady Cassicel. I knew her grandfather.”

“How?”

Wil leaned over. Niers gestured at him to take a drink. He returned to his seat, speaking crisply.

“It’s not a fantastic story. Back when I was first beginning the Forgotten Wing Company with Foliana, we were looking for officers. Recruiting anyone of talent, really. You know how it goes? Well, one of the people who enlisted was a [Lord]. Human. From Terandria, although he never said where.”

“A Havrington?”

“Yes. Lady Cassicel’s grandfather. We didn’t know, of course. We just called him Bedil. Good old Bedil. He was a [Lord] and he had decent Skills so I entrusted him with the command. He did good work, but he was running from something. He only told me who he was when they caught up with him.”

“Who?”

“His family.”

Niers tipped the glass he was drinking, walked over to the water through the puddle. He looked back at Wil.

“I think he ran away from his family. He had a few artifacts—and it’s not uncommon. He was a decent man, Wil. And his family weren’t. He served with me for six years until they came for him. Then it was [Bounty Hunters] and mercenaries, and Foliana and I found ourselves fighting Terandrians! We didn’t want to give him up, but Bedil gave in when he realized his family wouldn’t stop.”

“Why did they want him back?”

Niers raised his eyebrows.

“Because he was theirs. Because he might embarrass them? Frankly, I think, because they wanted to marry him off. Either way, he gave in. His family took him—they never said who they were and he only ever told me his identity, so I think they assumed we were in the dark. Typical arrogance. But there was just one hitch. Can you imagine what that was?”

Wil was no fool. It took him only a second before his eyes widened.

“He had a child.”

“A wife and a child. Two, actually.”

Niers nodded. He sat down, recalling it.

“He was married, actually. It wasn’t a casual thing. She was—oh, a Lizardwoman.”

“A—”

“Fertility spells. I think both their children were Human. Lucky for them. But Bedil did love her. And when they took him, they brought his family too. Can’t have their bloodlines running about.”

“But this is huge, sir. Other species marrying into a family like the du Havringtons? If it was Kallinad, it would be big enough, but—they covered it up. I never heard of a Lizardwoman in the du Havrington family. But their servants?”

Wil was pacing. Niers nodded.

“I can only speculate. I never heard from Bedil again; I don’t think he was allowed much freedom. If he still lives.”

“He does, Professor. I’ve never seen him except at a few gatherings, but…”

“Good. But regardless, I know what his children looked like. And I can count. He has four heirs, doesn’t he? And his current wife…”

“Human. They’re all from her, or that’s what the bloodlines say. But if two came from his first wife—”

“Then they’re not purebloods. In fact, they share Lizardperson ancestry. Maybe a few unobtrusive scales? Fertility spells have a few quirks. Either way, Lady Cassicel is descended from his firstborn son. So…”

“…All of his descendants are ineligible without having been inducted into the Havrington family. Which they might have been! His wife might well have been inducted by virtue of marriage. But—”

Wil caught himself and shook his head.

“Not in the Du Havrington family. It would be a huge scandal.”

The Fraerling nodded. He looked into his drink and concluded.

“It will be a huge scandal. A blow to the Kallinad family, although not so much I daresay. It really only benefits the Havringtons to invalidate your marriage and end the feud between your families; they’ve been getting the worst of it.”

“Yes. And if they revealed Lady Cassicel’s ancestry—it’ll be a feud again. But it will wreck our reputation as much as theirs. Damn them. This is low. And they’re using Lord Bedil’s children in other marriages! Their bloodlines are pure—no wonder the Havringtons have been accepting marriages for…”

Wil trailed off. It was a foreign political system to Niers, but he knew a backstab when he saw one. And this was a good one, if Wil’s expression was anything to go by. The [Lord] looked at Niers, hesitated, and nodded.

“It—that—it is very valuable, Professor. My father will appreciate the information greatly. Thank you.”

And he would, too. Wil could only imagine how that tidbit would be used. It would wreck the Havringtons if deployed correctly, and save his family some embarrassment. And yet…Wil sagged. Niers watched him.

“You don’t look too happy for someone who’s received the answer to his question.”

The young man couldn’t answer back. He just hung his head. Niers looked at him sympathetically.

“Duty is a hard thing, Wil. I can’t tell you it’s better to live for yourself; it’s something you have to weigh.”

Wil might have nodded. His head jerked and he looked up. He hesitated and bit his lip.

“If I hadn’t asked, would you have used the information yourself, Professor?”

“You mean to threaten the Havringtons or warn House Kallinad? No, Wil. Some secrets you just keep. I have enough trouble without getting into Terandrian politics. You can’t really ever get out once you put a foot in.”

Niers looked amused as he shook his head. That made Wil feel a bit better. Even so, he rose slowly.

“I’ve fulfilled my obligations to my family. The du Havringtons will pay for this. That’s some consolation. Professor, thank you. The question was worth it.”

Just not for him. Niers nodded. He watched Wil excuse himself, walk towards the door. Niers hesitated. And he looked at Foliana and she nodded.

“Wil.”

The young man turned back. Niers paused, and then spoke slowly.

“Your dream of adventure. Don’t give it up. If you look for it, Wil, it will find you. When it does, reach out and grab it.”

Wil hesitated. Then he smiled and ducked his head.

“Thank you, Professor. I will.”

He left. Niers watched him go and then the door shut. He paused, and then sighed, and took another gulp of his drink. One down. Then the Titan of Baleros raised his voice.

“Umina?”

—-

Umina was nervous. Beyond nervous. Terrified, but so scared she was calm. She’d seen Wil leave, looking unhappy and relieved. Now it was her turn. Umina walked into the room. She sat down at the Titan’s bidding, and looked at him.

“Um. You answered Wil’s question, Professor?”

“I believe I did. Whether it is to his satisfaction, we will see. I can’t speak to you of it, but he has his answer.”

The Fraerling’s voice was neutral. Umina nodded, squirming. She looked towards the door as it closed. She’d left it open. Niers waved a hand.

“Automatically closing doors. Handy for Fraerlings.”

“Sorry, Professor. Um—I know this is my chance to ask my question. But—may I ask something before that?”

“Certainly.”

He smiled at her. Reassured, Umina took a breath. She hesitated, but she had been able to talk to Niers this night. So it was only with a bit of difficulty she spoke.

“I—um, Professor, this is a bit silly. But I wanted to ask about me. As a student.”

Niers’ eyes focused slightly.

“Go on.”

“I—am I special, Professor? Do I stand out? As a student?”

The question exited Umina in a rush. The Titan blinked. He sat back slowly, as she looked at him. Then he smiled fondly.

“That’s an odd question. Of course you stand out! I’ve never had a student pop out of the ground covered in…sewer waste during my games! That was a surprise! You beat your fellow students!”

“Yes sir. But that was luck as much as strategy. I’m talking about me as a student.”

The Titan shrugged lightly. Umina watched him, her tail curled up.

“You’re gifted, sharp—you come up with the most unorthodox solutions most often, which is what I like to see. Of course you’re special!”

“Professor.”

The Fraerling paused. Umina looked at him and spoke slowly.

“I think you’re lying to me. Or—telling half-truths. I need to know. What if I made it my question, Professor? Honestly, am I unique?”

Niers looked at her. Really looked at Umina. And she felt a pit in her stomach. She’d admired him. She wanted to be like him. She’d tried her best to excel, to be worthy of the legend of her teacher. So she knew the answer when he covered up his reply with his praise. And she knew the answer before he spoke now.

“No.”

The word hit Umina like a brick. Niers sat up. He looked at her. A bit sadly.

“You did ask. And if you made it our question, Umina, I would say…no. Do you stand out? Yes. But are you…”

“Special?”

She looked at him. Niers shook his head slowly.

“I’m sorry. But if you’re asking if I see something I haven’t seen before? I don’t. I see a brilliant young [Strategist], Umina. But you have to understand. I taught Perorn, Umina. Perorn, Tulm—all of them. They were all my best students. And you know what? I didn’t even think they were the best at the time.”

“You didn’t?”

The Professor sat back. He looked backwards and shook his head.

“Some of them stood out, like Tulm. Most surprised me. I can remember students I thought would change the world, replace me, who died. Or just never became anything. Some of them were so gifted I couldn’t believe it. Others had special talents, Skills, classes. That made them ‘special’. If you want to know if I see that spark—”

He shook his head. Umina bit her lip. She wasn’t going to cry. Niers was speaking to her like an adult, not a child. He looked up, kindly, but seriously.

“I’m sorry to tell you like that. But if you were asking if I saw a great spark in you—I don’t. And overconfidence—”

“—Kills. I know, Professor.”

Did you have to ask? His gaze looked pained. Umina only dipped her head once. She’d wanted to know. It was a bitter truth. It had soured the moment. After a moment, Niers sighed.

“Umina—”

“It’s fine, Professor. Was—was that my question?”

“No. No, it wasn’t. Ask. By all means.”

He shook his head firmly. That relieved Umina. She sat up. And he looked at her.

“You have any question in the world, Umina. Any one within my power. Ask.”

She nodded. She looked him in the eye. And she channeled her pain, her disappointment, into a question that was the best she could ask.

“Professor, what is the identity of your mysterious chess opponent?”

Niers Astoragon blinked. He stared at Umina. And she rejoiced in the surprise on his face. He stared at her, smiled, and then grew serious. He shook his head.

“Ask me another question, Umina. Please.”

“That was my question, Professor. Can’t you answer it?”

She challenged him, shaking with nerves. The Titan laughed softly. He raked a hand through his hair.

“I’d forgotten there was a question I could be asked that would bother me! Sudden developments—to answer you, Umina. No. I don’t know for certain. I have a guess. And I could tell you a number of things. But let me speak.”

He held up a hand, forestalling Umina. The Titan got up, looked at her.

“I know what I promised. But I don’t want to tell you. I—sometimes I advise students on what question they should ask. Or guide them to the right answer. I’m doing the same now. Umina, ask me where some buried treasure is. I do actually know a cache or two. Ask me about something else. This answer won’t bring you anything of benefit, I promise you.”

“But it’s my question. Why don’t you want to answer it?”

The Lizardgirl persisted. Niers sighed again.

“It’s dangerous. Some questions my students have asked in this room, Umina? They’ve gotten them killed. Others are safer. This question? It’s very dangerous.”

“Why? Because of who your opponent is?”

She was fishing. Niers ignored her question.

“It’s a dangerous question because I’ll know that you know. And you might find yourself on the board against the deadliest of opponents. It touches my affairs, Umina. And that’s a precarious spot to be in, even if I’m trying to protect you. What would you do with the information? Use it? Sell it? Either way, you put a target on your back.”

That was true. But Umina was certain.

“I want to know, Professor. But if you want me to, I’ll ask another one.”

“Yes! Go on. Please.”

Niers looked relieved. Umina stared him right in the eye. Her neck-frills opened a bit. She felt powerful in this moment. She’d bothered the Titan, the Professor. Now she asked the second question on her mind.

“Okay then, Professor. Then here’s my second question. What was the answer to the question Tulm the Mithril was going to ask you if he won at Daquin?”

This time, the pause was even longer. Niers looked up at Umina. And she saw his indecision. At last, he turned and reached for his cup. He took a long drink, and then turned and grinned at her.

“Clever. I don’t want to answer that one either.”

“Really? Are these questions so hard, Professor?”

Umina almost felt like she was teasing him. It was a heady feeling. Niers waved one hand, shaking his head.

“Honestly? Yes, Umina. Not many of my students ask questions that are so…dangerous. It’s actually hard to ask that kind of question. But these two secrets?”

He waved a hand.

“Congratulations. Many of my students ask about secrets. Personal ones, like the identity of a father. The location of something. The truth about…well, I can’t say. And I find it for them, or I tell them. It’s students like you, who don’t have anything they want that trouble me. Are you sure I can’t offer you a question about gold? Personal power? An artifact?”

He looked at her hopelessly. Because he knew her, and he knew the answer before Umina shook her head. She smiled at him, delighting in the moment.

“One or the other, Professor. A classic chess fork.”

He blew out his cheeks.

“Did I hurt your feelings that much earlier?”

She nearly laughed at him.

“No, Professor. I’m just your student, and I chose the two questions I thought would bother you most in the world. Because they’re the most valuable to me.”

He laughed. And there was pride in that laughter. Umina laughed too. And her hurt heart soothed. She wasn’t special. And she had known that. She had wanted to be—just like Wil wanted to be a hero. But she was ordinary. And yet, this ordinary student had the Titan in a trap.

It was a moment she’d remember forever. Niers Astoragon saluted Umina with his mug and drained it. He stared at her, weighing both questions. She didn’t know which was worth more. But he did. And his decision told her just as much about the invisible weight of each question.

At last, Niers Astoragon spoke. He stepped forwards and Umina lowered her head. Niers smiled, sighed, and shrugged. As if to say, ‘what can you do’? Umina wished she’d asked him if he was really cursed by killing Queravia. But then he whispered towards her earhole.

“Alright. Listen carefully. Because I will only ever say this once. The answer to…”

—-

Later. Umina walked through the streets of Elvallian. It was close to dawn; she’d been speaking with the Professor and Wil all night. And her question had come as the next day began. She was drunk, and her head was spinning. She was upset too, as she stumbled down the street. Regrets—oh, they piled on her.

She had her answer. But it was confusing. And it was—well, Umina felt like she’d made a mistake. She should have asked for gold, or the location of a magical artifact. Or made him tell her about his chess partner. That way Umina would at least be the most popular student in the academy…for months! Instead, all she had was a secret that belonged to someone else.

It was a big secret. Yes. But it put her in danger. Niers had bid Umina good night and she’d seen the worry in his eyes. For her. Not-special Umina. Why had she asked that? It was just—she’d always wanted to know—

It hurt. Umina stumbled into her apartment after eight tries. The door hadn’t been locked. She looked up and heard an exclamation.

“Umina!”

The Lizardgirl lurched backwards. But it was only Marian. The Centauress got up from where she’d been resting.

“It’s so late! Are you drunk?”

“Maybe.”

Umina mumbled. Marian guided to her to her bed, fishing for a water canteen.

“You were out for ages! Wil got back—everyone’s pestering him and he says the Professor talked! About his past!”

“We did. And then we got our questions answered. Just like promised.”

Marian paused. She looked at Umina and the Lizardgirl saw her friend bite her lip.

“You don’t look happy. Was it something bad?”

“Maybe? I don’t know. It’s not that, Marian. I asked the Professor a question before that. I asked him—”

Umina broke off. But Marian was looking at her and the words spilled forth.

“I wanted to ask if I was, you know, special—”

Marian’s face fell. She trotted over and sank to her knees. Her upper body hugged Umina.

“Oh, Umina. You silly little lizard! Why’d you do that?”

That brought on the tears at last. She’d held them so well in the Titan’s office. Now though, with Marian hugging her, Umina let them spill out. That was the thing about good friends. Umina didn’t have to speak. She just let Marian hug her as she sniffled into her friend’s shirt. The Centauress sighed.

“I get it. I understand, Umina. Everyone wants to know. I mean, Yerranola, Feshi—I bet they’re curious too. But there’s a difference between knowing and knowing. Why did you ask?”

“I don’t know! But I had to ask! I wanted to be, Marian. And I was drunk and—he said no.”

Marian stroked Umina’s head softly.

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Umina. You had to know—but you knew the answer. We all do!”

Umina stiffened. The words hurt. But Marian was looking at her and Umina couldn’t escape the obvious. She sniffed. It was true. Look at Perorn! Or Tulm! It had been arrogance that made her think she was special, someone Niers hadn’t ever seen before. It was right that he’d taught her. Arrogance killed. But Marian was going on, patting Umina on the back.

“And it’d never work out, anyways. I mean, I had a huge crush on the Professor the first year, but when you think about it—his age is the least of the problems. He’s a teacher, we’re students. And Fraerlings just can’t have relationships with other species. It’s just unrealistic to assume…what?”

Umina stared up at her. The Centauress hesitated. Slowly, Umina shook her head.

“Marian. I asked him if I was a special student. If I stood out from the rest! What did you think I asked?”

The Centauress froze. Then she scrambled to her hooves. Suddenly, Marian was bright red. She stammered.

“Me? Nothing! That’s what I said! You’re not a special student! Of course you’re not! That’s hubris! I never—you didn’t hear—that’s a secret, understand? I’ve gotta go!”

She looked around, and then practically galloped out of Umina’s room. The Lizardgirl stared at the open door, listening to Marian clatter down the incline. She laughed, shakily, and wiped at her tears.

“Now that’s a secret.”

She felt calmer now, after crying a bit. And Umina did regret asking that question. It was stupid vanity. She crawled into bed. She shouldn’t have asked. But she could only add that to a list of her mistakes she’d remember forever.

And the night had been glorious. She still remembered the Titan’s face. Umina comforted herself with that. She had a secret, an answer to a question even one of the Titan’s best students couldn’t figure out. She had that.

The Lizardgirl wiped at her running nostrils and curled up into a ball in her covers to make herself feel better. As if she was in the very egg she’d hatched from. It was childish, but it made her feel better.

And as the warm coverlet engulfed her, providing a shield from the world, Umina thought. She remembered the Titan’s words. His answer. It was simple. Not like Wil’s long answer.

“The answer to Tulm’s question is this. What I would have said, verbatim: ‘No, you idiot. You got a young one. There are more. Perhaps on Baleros, but I know of two on Izril. They walk among us. Leave them alone.’”

—-

“Leave them alone.”

Niers Astoragon sat in his room after Umina had left. He was drunk, but Fraerling metabolisms were so fast that he was sobering up again. He still had the remnants of his last drink, so he picked it up.

The Titan sighed as he downed the fiery remnants of his cup. Foliana was probably going to kill him for this. But a promise was a promise. He stood in front of the ajar door, staring at the light permeating into his room. He’d have to close the door too. He raised the empty cup.

“Umina. If you asked me now—I’d have to say yes. I’ll remember your question. Of all my students, you’ve been the hardest to predict. Two hard questions. A fork in the road. One answer might lead to war. The other? An entire world, perhaps.”

He shook his head. And he’d answered her. Niers thought of Tulm. He scowled. What might happen? What might Umina do with the information? But then he laughed.

“Change! It’s always hard! And to protect you—”

He stumbled over to the magical chessboard, staring at it. Then at the other board he’d had commissioned. The Go stones were neatly organized, but they hadn’t moved. Niers sat down, drunk, and stared at the board.

“I need to meet you soon. Let me find these Humans first. These children. Then—who are you? Male? Female? Drake? Human?”

He thought of the young woman. Of the inn. Liscor. The word, the knowledge burned in his mind. But he had work to do. If he left, his company might fall apart. It all hung on him. The Titan bowed his head.

“Responsibilities? Dead gods, I’m old. How did I ever get…?”

He looked around. The Titan wandered from bowl to bowl, looking for his cup. And then he realized it was in his hand. He filled it, and then stomped over to his wardrobe. His mirror. He stared into it, looking into his worn face. He toasted himself silently.

“You’re too old to think of romance, you idiot! Too old by decades! And too small. Look at you! You’re afraid of the change you’re trying to bring about! What will happen next? Better something than anything! You’re so old! But I want to be young forever!”

Niers Astoragon scowled. Then he kicked the mirror. He shook his head. And then, finally, he laughed. He raised the mug, drinking, and staring into the mirror, remembering a much younger face, dreaming of the future.

It still felt like yesterday.

—-

Umina lay there in bed. Puzzling it over. She was still drunk, but the answer was obvious. It sank into her. Things she knew about Tulm. Reasons why he would ask a question with such a curious response. It was a mark of how drunk she was that it took her a few minutes to figure it out.

Who was Tulm? She didn’t know too much, but she knew the obvious. [Strategist]. Mithril. Dullahan. Iron Vanguard’s second-in-command. And there was that legend about him. The one people said was true.

And like that, the pieces fell into place. Umina sat up. Her eyes went wide. She breathed a word into the night, the name that legends were made of.

“Dragons.”

—-

Dragons. A laughing Titan. Mystery and past and conversations and happiness and bittersweet tears. But that wasn’t the end of the night. There was one last thing.

Wil Kallinad thought it was over. He’d fended off his friends, and he was in his rooms, sobering up, preparing a [Message] of the highest confidentiality to his father. He was staring at the quill and ink drying on the tip. Unhappy, but he had his answer and there was some peace in it. Regrets? The drink was making it hard to push them away. Foliana stood behind him.

But it was over. Right up until it wasn’t. Wil sighed, reached over to dip his quill in the ink—

And Foliana cleared her throat. Wil looked up. Had he heard…?

He turned around. And Foliana was there, staring at him. Wil hesitated. Something was—he focused, blearily. He looked at Foliana. And she stared back.

“Hello.”

And then she was there. Suddenly, without warning Foliana was there. It wasn’t that she had appeared or magically become not-invisible. It was just that Wil realized she had been standing next to him, sniffing his ink pot and peering at his letter the entire time. He turned, stared at her.

Then he screamed. Foliana immediately slapped him. The furry paw turned Wil’s head. She raised a finger.

“Shh. It’s late.”

“Lady Foliana! What are you—”

“I have something for you.”

Wil tried to scramble out of his seat. Foliana was reaching for something. A scroll. She unfurled it, frowned at the contents. And began to read it silently.

The [Lord] was used to magical scrolls. He saw the flash as the magical writing containing the spell lit up. His warning pendant began to shake, but it was too late. He opened his mouth.

“Lady Foliana! What are you—”

“[Erase Memory].”

Foliana’s hands glowed with a pale nimbus as the scroll turned to dust in her hands. She reached out, her eyes glowing with magic and flicked Wil on the head. His mind went blank. He stumbled back, and she neatly snatched the paper and ink he’d been writing on. She peered at it, and then began to eat it, piece by piece.

“What? Bu—”

Wil was stunned. He stared at Foliana. What had she done? She’d erased—frantically, he tried to recall his life’s details. And then today’s events. He remembered it all! At least, he thought he did. He remembered this morning, his lesson, even going to the Professor’s office with Umina. And the conversation about Niers’ past. But the question—

The young man went pale. He couldn’t remember! He could remember asking the Professor his question, remember the Titan walking back and forth, Wil’s own reactions and emotions, but the answer? It eluded him! Wil stared at Foliana. She was eating his message to his father!

“Lady Foliana! What did you do?”

“Hm. Erase your memory. Wasn’t it obvious?”

The Squirrel Beastkin [Rogue] looked at Wil. He was shaking.

“That was my answer to the Professor’s question! Why did—was it too great a secret? Why did you take it from me?”

His mind was a jumble. Was it something she had done herself? Her decision, overriding Niers’? Or—paranoia gripped Wil. Was this how the Titan safeguarded his secrets?

Foliana swallowed the rest of the paper. She looked at Wil as he tensed, aware she could kill him without any effort. She reached into her pocket—she was wearing clothing. Rather nice clothing, but all in dark grey. She pulled out a piece of paper, folded four times, and handed it to Wil.

“Mm. Here. Read this. It will explain.”

Then she turned and walked out of his room. Wil stared at Foliana’s bushy tail as the Squirrel-woman opened the door, nearly gave Venaz a heart-attack, and hopped off the balcony. Wil listened to Venaz shouting incoherently, and then at the bit of paper in his hands.

He felt a premonition. A stirring on his skin. His hands shook so hard he could barely unfold the paper. But then he looked at it.

It was a short missive. But it changed everything. Wil read it, rubbed at his eyes, and then read it again. In her room, Umina sat in silence, wondering, and the world changed for her. For Wil, it lit up. And he smiled and laughed.

Dear Wil,

A question asked on someone else’s behalf is no real question. Even one for family’s sake is a poor equal to the true desire I saw bursting out of you. If your father asks, you may direct his inquiries to me.

As to your truest question, and your little discussion in your bar, I don’t actually know the location of the most infamous shipwrecks like the Laleday’s Triumph with the Mooncaller’s Quiver, for instance. Even I would spare no effort to grab such an artifact.

However, I am aware of a number of sea-based locations that the Forgotten Wing company have never been able to explore thanks to those damn Dullahans and their sea superiority. Each one is a credible shipwreck or site where I am convinced something of value lurks, but has never been explored due to depth or danger. See the attached list.

Sincerely,

–Niers Astoragon

PS: Oh, and when you form a crew, try to pick a trustworthy [Captain], would you? [Storm Sailors] can be just as bad as [Pirates]. Also, try to be back with whichever classmates you take before the summer break ends.

6.56

The inn was dark when the traveller first arrived. No—not traveller. She was, in fact, a Gnoll cub. She had white fur. Her name was Mrsha.

This was her home. But she had been away from home. Just for a little bit. And she had come back just now. But, for however short her absence had been—a lot could happen while you were away.

The Gnoll knew it before she pushed the door open to the inn. She paused, cautiously standing on two legs to push at the handle. She sniffed the air. And then, slowly, she swung the door open.

The first thing that greeted Mrsha was an empty inn. It was day, but the inn was unnaturally still. Too quiet. The Gnoll cub dropped to all fours and hesitated.

Where were the guests? The staff? It was…she sniffed the air again.

No dream. But she could see nothing but shadows in the inn. Then, as she padded inside and the door swung closed through no help of her own, she saw the red.

Red. Drops of crimson on the floors. Overturned tables. Broken chairs. Mrsha stared at the destruction. Then, slowly, she looked forwards and saw her.

There was a body lying amid the worst of the destruction. Something had hit a table hard enough to split it. And lying there, was a familiar person. In the center of the red.

Something terrible had happened. Mrsha froze. Then she slowly moved forwards. She saw Erin Solstice, lying in the splinters of wood. Surrounded by liquid.

Erin?

A lot could happen while you were away. Mrsha stopped. Erin was breathing. But faintly. The Gnoll, eyes wide, looking left to right, still sniffing the air, stepped closer. Erin didn’t move. Her eyes were closed. Mrsha halted a few feet from her. She glanced around again and then patted the floor with one paw.

It made a faint sound. But she could not speak. Erin didn’t move. Mrsha looked around again. But the shadows were all she saw. She looked at Erin. Her fur was rising. Mrsha hesitated. Then she moved forwards. Her paws trailed in the red. She looked down. And then slowly, eyes wide. She reached out, for Erin’s face—

“Ugblaagh!”

Erin came to life and screamed wildly while her hands flew up. Mrsha leapt away and Erin lunged. Her arms encircled the Gnoll and caught Mrsha as she fled for the door. Laughing, Erin scooped her up. Mrsha glared up at Erin and began licking the red liquid on Erin’s face. The [Innkeeper] started giggling.

“Gotcha! Well, how scary was it, Mrsha? Hey! Hey, that tickles!”

The lights came on. Embers flared in the fireplace, and the inn’s patrons emerged from their hiding spots, from behind the curtains of the [Grand Theatre] at the other end of the common room, the kitchen, the staircase—Lyonette walked out of the kitchen and put her hands on her hips.

“Well?”

Erin set Mrsha down. Reproachfully, the Gnoll stared up at her. Then she held up her paws and curled up a few fingers. Erin’s face fell.

“What? Six outta ten! But I was such a good actor!”

Laughter. Some of the guests who’d come out of hiding were chuckling. Rufelt, the Gnoll [Bartender] of Tails and Scales, shook his head as he stood up.

“I believe she smelled all of us, Erin. If you want to fool a Gnoll for your—house of horrors—you’ll have to block our noses.”

“And ears and eyes. She could also tell you were breathing, Erin. And that it was sauce on you, not blood.”

“Well—I know that! But even for a bit, isn’t the illusion good?”

“Better actual illusion magic or actual blood. I’m afraid it won’t work. Gnolls can smell as fast as you can see. You’ll never get them this way.”

Erin threw up her hands as Ishkr walked over with a wet towel. She wiped herself off, grumbling and letting Mrsha lick more tomato sauce off her face.

“Well, that’s a bust. Back to the drawing board! At least we got Hawk.”

“That wasn’t funny! I was about to raise the alarm! And if you were a second slower I would have! Watch Captain Zevara would have burnt me to ash for a false alarm!”

The Rabbit Beastkin complained as he clambered out from behind an overturned table. Mrsha watched as Erin pointed a finger and the artfully broken table and chairs reassembled.

“Don’t worry, Hawk. Captain Zevara hates me anyways.”

“I wonder why. Can I have a carrot cake now?”

“Sure! Carrot cake for everyone!”

Only Hawk and Mrsha cheered. The rest of Erin’s guests who’d taken part in her haunted house idea as participants or unwilling test subjects looked dubious. A Drake regular with half a tail—it had been severed and was now a stump only a few feet long—raised his claw.

“Does it taste like carrots?”

“That’s the best part! It only tastes sort of like carrots. It’s mostly like sugar!”

The Drake brightened up.

“Alright then! On the house?”

“No—”

“Absolutely! It’s one cake, Lyonette.”

Erin waved at Ishkr. He looked at Lyonette first. Erin met Lyonette’s eyes pleadingly and held Mrsha up to add the silent appeal. The [Princess] sighed.

“Fine.”

“Alright!”

Everyone cheered that. Mrsha righted the table with Hawk’s help. Or rather, she sat on the table while the Rabbit Courier lifted it with one hand and clung to the edge, defying gravity and giggling silently. He had to smile.

The Wandering Inn was alive and well. Erin laughed as Ishkr came out of the kitchen with a carrot cake. Rufelt sniffed at the cake, noting the tiny carrots Erin had drawn on top.

“Hm. Looks sort of like the other ones.”

“Yeah, except when I cut it—tada! Orange! And you can see bits of carrots.”

“Ooh! Me first! Me first!”

Relc hurried into line, pushing people out of the way. He lifted Ceria up and dropped her to one side. The half-Elf protested of course, as did the two Gnolls and the half-tailed Drake veteran, but Relc simply pushed and they slid. He stopped as Mrsha cannonballed into one shin and a furry hand stopped him on the chest.

“Oh no you don’t. I asked, and I’m getting my cake after that heart attack.”

“Hey Hawk! Let me just get by you. I’ll finish my cake so fast you won’t even notice—”

The two jostled for position as Erin, rolling her eyes, sliced up the cake. Hawk was actually strong enough to push Relc, and they were so quick that it looked like a blur as they spun, pivoted, and ‘gently’ rammed each other out of the way.

“Thin slices because it’s for everyone. It’s extra healthy. Less sugar—although it tastes great! And carrot, which is good for the eyes and stuff. I didn’t even frost it all.”

“But that’s the best part!”

Relc complained. He and Hawk reached for the plate. Erin narrowed her eyes.

“Stop fighting!”

“Yeah! Get out of the way, you two!”

“Shut it whoever said that! I’m a Senior Guardsman and the first guest of this inn! I deserve first slice! Plus, that one’s the biggest.”

Erin made a face. She’d made the first slice biggest by accident by almost twice as much as the others. Hawk smiled.

“I’m not fighting with Relc, Miss Solstice. I’m just protesting a bully—”

“I’m just overeager for cake! It’s an addiction!”

Mrsha waved her paws between the two as they shoved around her. Erin sighed. Then she had a wicked idea. She turned and lifted the plate and cake like a discus.

“You want it?”

“Erin—”

Lyonette raised her voice warning, but it was too late. Relc and Hawk turned as Erin’s arm shot out.

“Go get it!”

Patrons ducked or swore as Erin threw the plate down the length of the [Grand Theatre]. It had far to go—the expanded common room could hold hundreds of people very comfortably and Erin had thrown the plate and cake far enough to hit the [Actors] on stage at the back of the room.

But it never made it that far. Hawk and Relc jumped out of line and the plate sailed ten feet before Hawk zipped past Relc and caught the plate. He swore—he’d been just a step behind.

“Hey! The big slice is mine!”

“Eat my tail, Relc!”

Hawk laughed and he came to a stop, already chewing down a bite on a fork. Relc glared at him.

“You suck.”

“I’m a Courier. Even the Gecko of Liscor can’t beat these legs.”

Relc opened his mouth, looked around, and made a strangled sound.

“Jerk! Hey! I’m at the front! Excuse me! Excuse me.”

Erin rolled her eyes, but she doled out the portions of cake to all of her guests. There were only about forty people in her inn at the moment. Put another way, there were forty people in the inn, and she was lucky not all wanted cake. Mrsha scarfed hers before Rufelt had even tasted his, and she peered over the table at his plate, licking crumbs out of her fur.

“Hm. This does taste different! I quite like it.”

Rufelt smiled as he tasted the carrot cake. Erin smiled.

“Whaddya think? Hawk? Good or not?”

The Courier smiled. He gave Erin a thumbs-up as he savored his last bite.

“I like it! How much for one?”

“Um, eight silver. Frosting runs you an extra four, but I can do any decoration you like.”

Rufelt’s brows shot up.

“Half a gold piece for a cake? Pricey.”

“Well—it’s unique to my inn for now. And it costs four to six silver for the ingredients alone depending on how much some of the stuff is. Two silver’s fair! Plus, Lyonette would kill me if I charged five.”

“Oh, absolutely not five. Seven or six would be fairer.”

The [Bartender] remarked thoughtfully. Hawk shook his head.

“I don’t care if it’s nine so long as it’s not an entire gold piece. And I’ll pay for frosting. How about…oh, can I make it a name?”

“Ooh. Got someone in mind?”

“Absolutely. I want to have something made of carrots that a date can like. Can you write Asheli? That’s ‘ash’ plus ‘e’, ‘l’, ‘i‘…”

Erin nodded. Ishkr was scribbling down the order on a quill with ink near the kitchen.

“It’s all on the order log! I’ll have it by tomorrow morning. You want hearts?”

Relc sniggered.

“Absolutely.”

Hawk was unembarrassed. He fished around in his jerkin pockets and came up with a glint of gold. Mrsha looked at it, deeply impressed.

“Can you change this?”

“Just one second! And would you like something else to drink? To eat?”

Moved by the speed of glitter, Lyonette was there and giving Hawk his change. He paused, thoughtfully.

“You know, Erin mentioned she’d made carrot bread. And carrot noodles…”

“Oh, the special orders? We can serve you a sample! Ishkr, bring out the two special dishes and some bowls! Free to everyone who wants to try it!”

Another cheer. Erin might have been surprised by Lyonette’s sudden generosity, but the glint in the [Princess]’s eyes was all avarice. Rufelt leaned on the table as Mrsha grabbed her plate.

“No licking! You can have some of the pasta or bread, but not too much!”

Erin scolded the Gnoll cub. Mrsha sighed. Rufelt laughed. He leaned over the table as Ishkr trotted into the kitchen to boil said pasta and heat up the bread. You couldn’t have carrot bread without it being warm and having butter, after all! He nodded at the patrons.

“Nice touch your assistant has there. Miss Lyonette knows how to work a crowd. Serve them food and have them buy drinks! Then again, Hawk alone will more than make up for the free food. He’ll pay anything to fix his carrot addiction. I’m a bit worried about him, to be honest.”

“Yeah. I mean, isn’t it a stereotype that rabbits like carrots? They don’t actually love it. It’s like—not good to feed them that all the time, right?”

“I uh, don’t know about stereotypes unless you’re intimately familiar with the Rabbit Beastkin tribe. Or…raising rabbits? I think it just tastes really good to Hawk. Like meat to Gnolls. Or fruits and Garuda. How do you make carrot noodles, by the way? Puree them and make a dough with some egg?”

Rufelt looked amused. Erin smiled with delight.

“Exactly! How did you know?”

“You don’t marry a [Chef] without picking up some tricks. By the way, she’ll be stealing that carrot cake as soon as I tell her about it.”

“You [Thief]!”

Erin good-naturedly wagged a finger. Rufelt grinned, exposing all his teeth as Lyonette came out with a steaming slice of buttered bread for Hawk, not Relc. The Rabbit-man perked up as he saw it was indeed carrot-based. Rufelt grinned totally unapologetically.

“Fair’s fair. Hawk’s a customer at Tails and Scales. We have to cater to his tastes! I can’t believe Lasica didn’t think of it—but then, she’s done all kinds of carrot-based dishes for him before.”

“Fancy stuff? Anything I can copy?”

“If you liked honey roasted carrots, or braising them in a stew—she could tell you all the ones she’s done for him. Between you and me, I think Hawk actually lays off the carrots if he likes someone. It’s just that he wants to meet someone who’ll eat some carrots among the Drakes he dates, so this is how he weeds them out.”

“Ooh, gotcha.”

Erin watched as Lyonette showed Hawk a tidy bundle of the carrot noodles she’d made and the Courier obligingly pulled out more coins. Erin smiled. It was another ordinary day. In fact, this might be a small record for how peaceful it had been of late. Aside from excitement worldwide, Erin hadn’t done anything crazy since Esthelm.

And even that had been fairly uncrazy by her standards. This haunted house idea was the biggest thing so far. Erin didn’t know why she’d thought of it—it wasn’t near October! But she’d missed it last year and it was a fun concept.

“So, where’s Lasica?”

Rufelt looked up and shrugged.

“Shopping for tonight. I’m free.”

“You’re not joined at the hip?”

He snorted.

“Hardly! You have to give a lovely lady like Lasica time to herself. That’s how the relationship works, Erin.”

“Ooh. Gotcha. Advice from an expert! I’m not in on the dating scene right yet.”

“No? A nice young Human girl like you doesn’t have Gnolls and Drakes coming by?”

Erin coughed, turning red at Rufelt’s smile. He was better at teasing than she was! He and Lasica often visited the inn, despite the issue of teleporting from Pallass.

“Well, I mean, there was this thing with this Drake—and uh, Goblins. Word got around. But I’m not super into dating even when I was home. I had a boyfriend once—”

Thump. Mrsha had fallen off the table. Rufelt raised his eyebrows, not seeing Lyonette, Relc, Ceria, Drassi, even Ishkr all turn and look at Erin. She waved it off, blushing.

“Just for a bit. It’s hard. Dating, you know? I like chess more. Um—so about the haunted house! Thoughts?”

Rufelt obligingly changed the subject, ignoring the blatant curiosity from everyone else. He frowned.

“I think it needs work, honestly. You can’t fool a Gnoll with illusions or with poor tricks. Even if you got say, cow’s blood, we can smell the difference.”

“Darn your noses!”

Erin raised a fist and shook it comically. Mrsha climbed up and sat smugly next to the two adults. Rufelt grinned.

“On the other hand, it’s a fun idea. A house where you get scared on purpose? Children might enjoy it. It beats Liscor’s actual terrors. But why are you so insistent on trying to make one?”

“Well—Temile wanted to know if I had any more plays and stuff. And I don’t. Plus, I’ve run out of new foods! At least, any really new stuff. This is easier!”

Erin spread her arms, shrugging. Rufelt raised both brows.

“And you’re not making magical foods? Lasica said she could help you with that.”

“That’s a lotta work! Ingredients are expensive, you can burn a hole right through your cauldron and it might, you know, do something. And I’ve been trying to keep it calm lately. Haunted houses? That’s silly fun! Just what I need!”

Erin waved her hands vaguely. Rufelt nodded.

“But what made you think of it now? It’s such a strange idea.”

He was giving Erin a searching look, one she was familiar with. The young woman looked blank.

“I dunno. Sometimes you just have weird thoughts. Like—do you ever wonder if Selphids get itchy?”

The Gnoll [Bartender] had to process that question. He opened his mouth.

“I—well, no. But I suppose that explains that.”

“Yeah. Hey, let me talk to Temile. Be one sec!”

Erin waited a beat, and then turned across the inn. On stage, the Players of Celum—at least, the second-stringers who were making up the troupe still working from Celum were rehearsing for their daily plays. Erin got up and walked over to them. As she did, she navigated down the long room. And everyone she met along the way she knew.

“Hi there, Fleaears! What’s up, Menolit? Like the noodles? Awesome! Numbtongue! Want some bread? No? Okay!”

A Gnoll, the Drake [Veteran] with the missing tail, and the Hobgoblin all looked up from their respective tables. Fleaears, who did not currently have fleas, grinned at Erin.

“Erin.”

“Miss Solstice.”

Menolit nodded to Erin, smiling. He had a scar that had blasted all the scales clear around his neck and a pock mark under one eye along with his missing tail. For all that, he wasn’t too old—he was most certainly retired, though. At least from the army. Erin grinned at him.

“Like the pasta?”

“I might bring some back for the family. Can I get an order for tonight? Regular pasta works, actually. Just put some of those spicy meatballs in and some of the good sauce. Cheese? My kids love it.”

“Alfredo and spicy meatballs! On the order!”

Ishkr came by and obligingly noted down the details. It was a new system at the inn. Lyonette was making changes and Erin loved this one. Instead of having her in the kitchen all the time, there was a running ‘meal order’ system whereby patrons could request a dish for this night, tomorrow, or other dates and Erin would know what to cook. It worked since she was still the inn’s only [Cook]—for now. She passed by Menolit and came to a Hobgoblin who’d declined to eat cake or the other carrot-based foods.

“Hey Numbtongue, how’s it going?”

“Good.”

The Hobgoblin was absently reading a book. He looked up and Erin was impressed by how far he’d gotten already. She knew Numbtongue could read of course, but that fluently? Then again, maybe it was the other Goblin who he could call upon now.

Changes to the inn. Now there was a [Goblin Soulbard] in the inn along with a [Princess], both of whom had powers they could use only a few times a day. It meant that for a minute, Numbtongue could be Pyrite. He often shared meals with the other Hobgoblin—or used him when mining in the mountains. Or sometimes, Pyrite just appeared, to sit for a minute, or enjoy a drink.

It was sad and kind and Erin had no idea what to make of it entirely. On the other hand, she knew exactly how to feel about Lyonette and that was jealously.

“[Flawless Attempt]—done!”

Lyonette came out of the kitchen with a nearly-perfectly done veggie burger, courtesy of Erin’s recipe, but the product of Lyonette’s Skill. It wasn’t perfect—Erin had seen Lasica, a real [Chef] making food in an instant and of higher quality than should have been strictly possible with her Skills.

Still, Erin would have wagered this was as good as any regular cook’s best efforts from Earth! It wasn’t perfect, again, but it was the best attempt Lyonette could conceivably do, which meant she had made a darn good burger!

Out of veggies. The Gnolls sniffed the air once and shook their heads. The Drakes looked equally disgusted, but Hawk looked delighted.

“This is great! I’m coming back to this inn more often! It’s hard to find a place besides Tails and Scales that serves convenient non-meat food.”

“It’s hard living among carnivores, you mean. Drakes and Gnolls. You should live among half-Elves. They’re more your style.”

Ceria spoke up from her table. That was somewhat ironic, and Hawk gave her a knowing look.

“Miss Ceria, I’ve seen you eat all-meat dishes three nights in a row.”

The half-Elf blushed.

“Yeah, well—I’m not a typical half-Elf. Meat’s good alright?”

“Yeah! Let’s have real hamburgers! For free?”

Relc pounded the table. Lyonette just folded her arms. Laughing, Erin turned back to Numbtongue and found he was engrossed in his book. She went on.

“Temile! Bad news! The haunted house idea might not work on Gnolls!”

“Really? Damn!”

The [Actor] looked up from the rehearsal and cursed. He was now actually a [Producer], if a low-level one. But he had taken charge of the Players of Celum and was whipping his new cast of Drakes, Gnolls and Humans into shape. Erin shrugged helplessly.

“Sorry. Unless you or the Players who went north get the [Writers] to make more plays, you might be outta luck. Because I’m all outta plays. I’ve used up all the ones I actually knew from home. I mean, you could try The Lorax or something, but I don’t think it works.”

“The what?”

Temile looked up excitedly. Erin waved a hand.

“No, no. It’s a children’s story. It’s not a good play.”

“Oh.”

The [Actors] not practicing had gathered around Erin. She was a bit embarrassed by the way they treated her—she was almost like a boss and an acting legend to them, as the person who’d helped them discover the world of theatre to begin with. She cleared her throat, embarrassed.

“Any word from Wesle, Jasi, and the rest?”

Temile sighed enviously.

“Just bits and pieces. I’ve heard they’re going north. They’re actually around Invrisil by now! They’ve been performing in each city—sold out shows once word got out. They’d stay a few days, then go by carriage to the next city! Apparently they’re making more money than they can spend! And some of it’s come back!”

He nodded around significantly to the other [Actors] and then pointed to the rest of the crew.

“See our staff? We’ve got [Builders] and [Carpenters] working with us now, thanks to the money we’re getting from working and the northern team. I’ve got apartments leased so we’re all in one place, and I’m even looking at making some sort of deal in Celum or Liscor for the same for our new [Actors]. Honestly, we could even afford to buy a place to perform and store our things if you weren’t hosting us. I might need to tell Wesle to stop sending coin!”

“Don’t do that! Take it and use it!”

One of the other Human [Actors], a woman, urged Temile. She looked at Erin.

“Miss Solstice, we can’t fall behind! Emme says their [Writers] are doing bits and pieces, but nothing as good as what we have yet. Can’t you give us anything new? Our regular crowd has seen everything so far and since we can’t all go through the door to Pallass…”

They were all looking at her. Erin winced; Shakespeare and the classics of the acting world were a high bar to force [Writers] to match. She sighed.

“I dunno, guys. I’m serious—I can’t remember any full plays. I have a Skill and I’m empty.”

“What about the story you mentioned?”

“What, The Lorax? It—doesn’t translate well.”

“Give it a try!”

Now even the Drakes and Gnolls practicing their lines were gathering. Erin held up her hands, trying not to succumb to peer pressure. And failing.

“No—come on. It’s just a kid’s story. You see, there’s this, uh, magical protector of the forests, and this guy who begins selling these uh, special, magical trees that provide a unique substance—”

The crowd listened attentively. Erin realized that the story of Dr. Seuss’ classics were actually very plausible in this world. She gave them an abbreviated version of the story, ending with the message of environmental awareness.

“And then there were no more trees, see? And so it’s terrible. And that’s the ending.”

She looked around, gauging the reaction of the crowd. Erin had thought that a message of conservation wouldn’t exactly fly in the pre-industrial world she now lived in. Surprisingly though, some of the Gnolls were nodding solemnly. They got it. Temile and the Drakes on the other hand…

One of the Drakes raised a claw, frowning.

“So why doesn’t he find another forest?”

“It’s unique, obviously. That’s the point.”

“So? Replant the damn things! Or get a [Druid] to regrow it all. Even a [Farmer] could do it, although it would take a few years. Easy. Oh! I get it! It’s a lesson about not being prepared. Duh.”

“It’s certainly not as dramatic as love betrayed, death, and the downfall of the mighty due to hubris and the follies of men.”

Temile sighed.

“And Drakes and Gnolls.”

Someone else put that in helpfully. Erin had to smile. She shook her head.

“Sorry. I tried the haunted house thing, but Gnolls smell too well. I suppose we could use illusions?”

“Maybe?”

Temile had helped set up the fake scenes with Erin. He stepped back and called into the crowd.

“Where’s Jexam?”

“Here!”

A Drake pushed himself forwards. Erin blinked; he bowed slightly to her as Temile introduced him.

“This is our special effects person, Erin. Jexam, tell Miss Erin about your abilities.”

The Drake shook Erin’s hand, beaming.

“A pleasure, Miss Solstice! I am indeed the uh, special effects of the plays. [Hedge Mage]. Self-taught. I do all the illusions for the Players of Celum—this group, at least. I know our main troupe was seeking out a real [Illusionist]. I’m afraid though that my abilities aren’t enough to handle your idea of this haunted house.”

“Don’t be modest! I’ve seen you doing effects and they’re great! I love the snow magic! It even feels cold!”

The Drake blushed with pride at Erin’s compliment.

“It’s an honor to hear you say that, but it’s just low-grade magic. Not even Tier 1. [Cooling Breeze]. Just a little cantrip I worked up. It’s wonderful on hot days. I used to get paid just to cool rooms down. The problem with illusions on the other hand is that I have to work for a long time to make them work well. And animating them? Making them real? Very tricky and I’m not high-enough level yet. Nor am I an [Illusionist], Miss Erin.”

He looked apologetic. Erin shook her head.

“Aw, that’s okay. Gnolls could probably smell that they’re fake. I think we really need to rethink how we’ll do a haunted house or put it on the shelf, Temile. I mean, we could do the creepy little girls, but can you make an entire haunted house out of little creepy girls?”

“Um…no?”

Erin nodded sadly. Temile looked around. The Players of Celum had their own area behind the stage that was more or less permanently filled with props, and some dedicated tables they could eat and drink at—discounted or free after performances! He gestured to Erin.

“What if we think over the idea? Hey, you lot, get a space cleared for Miss Solstice. We have some water—where’s the pitcher?”

“I’ll just get it! Excuse me! Water please!”

Laughing, Erin waved towards the front of the inn. That was the thing about being an [Innkeeper] with a staff! And it was Lyonette herself who came over to offer everyone a refill.

“Trouble with your newest idea, Erin?”

She sounded vaguely relieved. Erin sighed.

“Yeah. I really thought it’d be a small thing, but—fun, you know? But if we can’t make it good for all species, what’s the point?”

Lyonette nodded as she put the pitcher down. Temile and some of the ‘veterans’, who’d been acting for a few months were gathered around the table, thinking it over.

“Could we erase the smells in the room?”

“Maybe. But that’s a higher-level spell than I know as well, Temile.”

Jexam sighed. Temile slapped his thigh in vexation. Erin frowned.

“We could definitely do monsters, or costumes—although that’s hard work. But if you can’t surprise a Gnoll because he can smell you, what can you do?”

Lyonette studied Erin’s face and then smiled slightly.

“You know who’d be perfect for your plan, Erin? You-know-who.”

“Volde—oh. Hey, that’s not funny!”

Erin looked up sharply. Lyonette gave her a twisted smile, but she could at least joke about Toren these days. Erin shook her head in reply to Temile’s querying look. Then she sat up.

“I think we’ll draw the line at asking Pisces to do stuff with actual skeletons. But what about illusions? He is good at them.”

“Really? I wouldn’t be surprised given how he boasts, but I’ve only seen him—no, wait, he did them for the first plays, didn’t he?”

Lyonette frowned, intrigued. Erin nodded.

“Yeah! And I’ve seen him do great stuff as well! The first time I met him he disguised himself as this terrifying monster! That’s actually how he lived before he came here. He’d frighten people out of their money! He could do the voice, smell—and a horrifying image!”

“Do you think he’d teach Jexam, or at least work on a few spells?”

Temile was interested. Erin bit her lip, thinking. It would be a lot of work to rope Pisces into doing a haunted house, but Erin still wanted to give it a shot. She had a vision of a warehouse, or a house in say, Liscor, that people could go into and experience cheap, non-life-threatening scares!

“Maybe. If I bribe him, sure. And he likes the plays. I bet he’d love to scare people. I haven’t seen him. Lyonette, do you know where he is?”

The [Princess] looked up as she refilled the last cup.

“No. I had to have Drassi bring him up breakfast because he was in his room all day. He might be there still.”

“He missed breakfast? That’s unusual. Hold on, Temile. I’ll get back to you.”

So saying, Erin got up and wandered down the length of her inn. There was only one Horn of Hammerad today, and Ceria was finishing her lunch.

“Hey Ceria, where’s your team?”

The half-Elf looked up from her sausages. She chewed, swallowed, and nodded towards the door.

“Yvlon and Ksmvr are in Liscor. I’m just about to join them, actually. We’re all going to visit the Bloodfields. Scouting.”

Erin slapped her forehead.

“Oh. Right! Bevussa stopped by this morning. She wanted one of the mana stones. You’re going to teleport there, right? It’s not too far?”

Ceria shook her head.

“Only about as far as to Celum. Even less, I think. We’re going to the edge of the Bloodfields—nowhere closer with it active. But it’ll save us from having to camp out and march all the way there while we find a route. We’ll all be back once Bevussa sets up a door.”

“Handy having her do that, huh?”

The [Cryomancer] grinned.

“I heard Tekshia made Bevussa do it. She didn’t want to pay Hawk to run out that far.”

“I wouldn’t even have charged her that much! Your Guildmistress is a spendthrift! Classic Drake!”

Hawk called out from his table. Ceria chuckled.

“I’m going with the other teams to see how it looks. Oh—but Pisces won’t be coming with us.”

“What? Why? And do you know where he is?”

Ceria shrugged.

“He made a very good point that he annoys the other teams. Almost as much as Yvlon and I do with the Celum ones—”

She grimaced. Erin looked at her sympathetically; she’d heard about the Horn’s troubles in Celum.

“They’re still mad at you?”

“Well, they agreed to join the Bloodfields expedition, so they’re willing to be civil. Plus, it pays well and we’re all adventurers. But Pisces might aggravate them even more than Yvlon and me. Plus, Pisces is actually studying hard. I…don’t want to interrupt him, as the team leader, you know?”

“He’s studying?”

Erin looked blank. Ceria nodded.

“Oh yeah. And I mean studying. He was always good at focusing—more than me. I have to sit in a bathtub with Ksmvr boiling my skin off to concentrate, but Pisces studies on his own. These last few days—remember when he woke us up screaming? Ever since then he’s been in his room. He barely comes out to eat.”

“I noticed that. Huh. What’s he working on?”

The half-Elf finished the last of her meal and wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Undead? No, but seriously, Erin. He’s studying a new spell, I think. He keeps muttering about ‘puzzles’ and the complexity of it. I think he’s trying to take down another Tier 4 spell. It’s worth letting him work to do that. Me—I’m just trying to improve my spell power. Grimalkin says I’m making progress—I’m not burning myself anymore.”

She sighed. Her daily boil-baths were another facet of the new inn lifecycle. Erin patted her on the back sympathetically.

“Hang in there. And hey—cheer up. Grimalkin might not come tonight!”

“He comes every night, Erin.”

“Well, to help you!”

The [Sinew Magus] was surprisingly dedicated to his agreement with Erin. He’d come every day this week to drop Ceria in boiling water and shout encouragements at her for an hour or two. The half-Elf shuddered.

“I know he’s coming tonight. Frankly, the Bloodfields will be the fun part of the day. Look, I’ve gotta meet Yvlon and Ksmvr. It’s nearly time to head out. We’ll come back through this way. Hey, did Moore and Seborn already leave?”

“Nope. They went to Pallass, actually.”

“Pallass? But the door—”

Ceria twisted and Erin smiled.

“Moore charged it! He can do it for Seborn and him, but it tires him out. Seborn’s refusing to walk to Invrisil while Jelaqua’s, you know, seeing Maughin?”

She waggled her eyebrows. Ceria stared at them and then at Erin’s face. The young woman stopped.

“Well, it’s just as far as the door to Invrisil. What about their wagon?”

“Apparently they’re in a little fortress of vines with a bunch of food. I dunno. Seborn’s mad at Jelaqua, it’s this thing—I’m never going to get the door to Invrisil!”

Erin sighed. She needed it too, so she could find Ryoka! But that was a big thing, and this week had been pleasantly full of small things. But Ryoka—Erin wanted to find her. She had to come back. Even if she brought danger. Ceria shrugged in reply to the drama of the Halfseekers. She pushed herself up.

“Well, hopefully they sort it out. See you, Erin.”

“Oh! Wait! Can I get Pisces to help me with this haunted house thing? Or will it take too long?”

Erin pleaded with Ceria. The half-Elf bit her lip.

“I don’t know. Pisces would probably say yes—why not? He’s got time and it’s his choice. But you’ll have to knock a lot. And he might be snappish. Come to that, did he eat lunch?”

“I’ll bribe him with food. Hey, can I get some sausages and some of that pasta?”

Erin called towards the kitchen. For once no one appeared with the food. Her staff weren’t all slaves, so Erin marched in and got it herself. She’d filled a big bowl and stuck a fork in the meal, then went with Ceria. They were about to climb the stairs to Pisces’ room when Drassi caught them.

The Drake was working alongside Ishkr today. The [Barmaid] and incorrigible [Gossip] waved at Erin and Ceria and the two stopped to look at her.

“Hey, I just heard you’re looking for Pisces? He’s out.”

“What? I thought he was in his room, studying.”

Drassi grinned toothily at Erin.

“He was. But Selys got him. This morning, when you were pranking everyone. Didn’t you notice?”

Erin hesitated.

“No…what did Selys want with Pisces?”

“I think she was going shopping for magical items. You know, since she’s rich? She told Pisces she wanted his opinion. So they left. They’re not back yet.”

The [Gossip] looked at Erin. The [Innkeeper] looked at her. There was something to be said for having Drassi on staff. If Ishkr was the dependable employee that every establishment needed, because it needed someone who brought no drama in, had few demanding quirks and whose only goal was to do his job, get paid, and go home, Drassi was the employee who knew everything and everyone. Erin sighed.

“Well, great. Selys has Pisces. We’ll have to wait. If you see him on the way to the Adventurer’s Guild, tell him I wanted to see him, Ceria?”

“Will do.”

The half-Elf adventurer headed for the door. Erin, shaking her head, went to put the food away. As she did, a thought struck her. Selys. And Pisces. Going shopping?

“That almost sounds like a date.”

Ceria paused. She looked back at Erin.

“With Pisces? No way.”

Erin laughed uncertainly.

“Yeah! I mean, Selys? I don’t see it. She’s got standards! And Pisces—”

Both paused. Then they grew thoughtful. Drassi looked between the two and broke in.

“Going shopping together? That sounds like a date to me. Hey Erin, what’s this about your boyfriend?”

—-

The sword swung at her neck. She could trace the arc. Not with her eyes alone—it was too fast to visually process and come up with a thought-out plan of response. Her body moved by instinct, by training.

That was what it meant to be a [Warrior]. So she was already raising her two-handed sword, knocking the blade aside. It meant she had also seen the stab coming from the side. She pivoted, letting it slash across her armor. Her sword darted in, chopping quickly at her opponent’s unguarded side.

Normally that would be enough. But what got her each time was her opponent. He had three arms. And the enchanted buckler caught her attack and neutralized it. All the force she’d put into the blow stopped on the glowing force field of energy in the air. Yvlon Byres saw ripples as she retreated. Too slow. Ksmvr swung the dagger and his practice sword. She saw him use a Skill—

Yvlon raised her sword and Ksmvr’s sword slashed across her guard with a crack of wood meeting wood that made some of the other sparring partners glance up from their sessions. Yvlon winced and called out.

“Pause! Ksmvr, that’s good enough for today.”

Obediently, the Antinium [Skirmisher] lowered his weapons. He’d been zipping around their dueling area, using his newfound [Quick Movement] Skill to pressure her. Yvlon lowered her blade, wiping sweat from her forehead as she removed her helmet. Ksmvr hopped over to the place where they’d stored their actual weapons and came back with a bottle of water.

True to the Antinium’s practical nature, he had already drunk a few mouthfuls. Yvlon accepted the bottle, smiling.

“Thanks, Ksmvr.”

“You are welcome, Yvlon.”

The two were training in the Adventurer’s Guild’s practice yard. It was fairly full even in the morning; it was one of the few areas in the city where people were able to practice their skill at arms. And in a world where [Warriors] went toe-to-toe with monsters and magic-users, they had to practice. Now, Yvlon and Ksmvr stopped for a small break. If people were waiting they’d have given up the sparring circle, but they had time. A pair of Gnolls were exchanging artful cuts with axe vs sword to their left and no one was using the place to their right.

“You predicted my [Quick Slash], Yvlon. I am most impressed. May I ask how you anticipated it?”

Yvlon smiled at Ksmvr. She gestured with her sword to his. He had kept his Forceshield Buckler since it wasn’t dangerous in the sparring match, but he’d substituted his regular enchanted shortsword and Flamecoat Dagger for wooden ones to keep the spar fair. Just like how she’d put away her Sword of Weight and taken a bastard sword instead.

“I knew it was coming, Ksmvr. You should have gotten my back or forced me into a position where I can’t block it. I’m always ready for it.”

“Ah. But if you were not you, Yvlon, surely I would catch you by surprise?”

The two were discussing tactics. It was their custom to spar every day and they were a regular sight at the Adventurer’s Guild. Yvlon shrugged, feeling at her arms.

She was wearing armor. Enchanted steel—a bit mismatched in decoration because it had all been bought piece-meal, and a bit ill-fitting compared to her brother’s custom plate, but still high-quality. It was more expensive than anyone but a Gold-rank adventurer could field, really. But her arms—

Yvlon never took off the armor that covered her arms, from the wrist all the way to her shoulders. Never in public, and usually, not even when she was alone. Ksmvr noticed the motion and Yvlon stopped herself. She cleared her throat.

“I don’t think you should count on that, Ksmvr. People can generally expect you’ve got a Skill like that. Most [Warriors] learn one of the primary activation Skills. [Quick Slash], [Power Strike], [Counter Blow]—they’re all Skills that turn into better ones as you gain levels.”

“Oh. So my deception is already a predetermined variable.”

Yvlon paused. Sometimes Ksmvr sounded like Pisces, only without the sneer. Her lips moved and she nodded.

“Yes. You should instead circle and use it to capitalize on an opening rather than make it a surprise attack.”

The Antinium nodded. He was a skilled fighter, but unlike Yvlon, he’d only been alive for a few years. He was almost four years old. That shocked Yvlon when she thought about it, but the Antinium were adults when they were ‘born’. Even so, fighting with a four-year-old would have given her pause. But Ksmvr had nowhere else to go. The Antinium gestured with one of his three arms to Yvlon.

“May I ask what your Skill is, Yvlon? I know you have mentioned it, but I have never seen you use it in any battle.”

“What? Oh. That’s because mine isn’t good against monsters. I have [Crescent Cut]. Want to see it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then. I’ll cut at you hard and fast. You block it, alright?”

The Antinium nodded. Yvlon lifted her sword with a smile. She saw him raise his bucker, watching her sword. She lifted her blade over her head and then swung it as fast as she could.

She slashed diagonally at his chest and he moved flawlessly to block it. Yvlon used her Skill.

[Crescent Cut].

Her blade curved in its trajectory. It swept down, like the arc of a waning moon. Ksmvr tried to adjust his shield, but the Skill slid Yvlon’s blade down, fast, fast. Without losing momentum, it curved along the arc, sweeping below his guard. It would have hit him hard if Yvlon hadn’t pulled the blow. As it was, the thwok was audible throughout the practice courts.

“You alright, Ksmvr? Did I crack your shell?”

Yvlon looked concerned as she glanced at Ksmvr. The Antinium wore no armor; he had forgone it since armor was hard to fit on his body anyways and he was a [Skirmisher], built for speed. Ksmvr felt at his side and shook his head.

“I am undamaged superficially. A splendid Skill, Yvlon. It does not slow the blade. If anything, it speeds up.”

Yvlon leaned on her sword, smiling crookedly.

“Exactly. It’s a neat trick you can use on someone expecting a [Quick Slash]. But it’s mostly good against opponents who’re trying to block, Ksmvr. Not monsters. I wish I had your Skill—or [Power Strike], honestly.”

“I don’t know about that. I’ve seen you take down a score of [Bandits] and I never complained once when you saved my life.”

Yvlon Byres turned. Her fair hair moved in the breeze. She stopped at the familiar voice. She saw a woman holding a staff, wearing chitin armor made of a Shield Spider, watching from the spectator’s side of the practice courts. Yvlon stopped uncertainly.

The man standing next to the [Mage] raised his hand. He was older than Yvlon and the [Mage]. A grizzled veteran with pepper in his hair. Crossbow Stan smiled hesitantly as Ksmvr turned.

“Hoi there!”

“Stan. Alais.”

Yvlon hesitated. The two Silver-rank captains were watching her and Ksmvr. She looked at Ksmvr. But then she put a smile on her face and walked towards them.

“Hello. You two made it here alright?”

She spoke politely to the two Silver-rank adventurers. Alais nodded. She’d been the one who’d called out. She knew Yvlon. Yvlon knew her. Once, they had been fellow adventurer team leaders. Friends, if not especially close.

Now? Well, at least they could speak civilly. Alais nodded, watching Ksmvr as he went over to put the practice weapons away. She looked at Yvlon and the [Wounded Warrior] saw her throat move before she spoke.

“Not bad. We caught the end of the session. You train like that every day? Your skill hasn’t left you.”

“Thanks. We were just finishing our spar. We’re not late, are we?”

“No, no. Our teams just got in from the—inn. We’re all gathered. Is Ceria not coming?”

“She should be here soon.”

Yvlon answered distractedly. Stan gestured.

“Good job that. Your teammate—”

“Ksmvr.”

“That is me. Hello, Crossbow Stan, Captain Alais. We have met. Are we fighting or socializing, Yvlon?”

The woman winced as she took her sword from Ksmvr. She saw Alais and Stan’s expressions flicker, but that was what was lovable and tricky about Ksmvr. He lacked subtlety. Actually, she liked that about him.

“No, Ksmvr. We’re teammates, remember? All working together on the Bloodfields request? Cutting a permanent trade route towards Pallass?”

“Yes, Yvlon. I am aware. However, I perceived that last time we were similarly engaged in discourse before turning to violence. I simply wished to know if that was an option in the future.”

“No!”

Yvlon chorused with Alais and Stan. She turned to Ksmvr.

“No more fighting. That was—”

She paused. Alais looked to one side. Stan filled in for her.

“A bad scene. Lots of thoughtless words.”

“On whose side?”

Yvlon nudged Ksmvr. He looked at her, but obediently fell silent. She turned back to Alais and Stan and tried to smile. It felt about as good as Alais’.

“We’re professionals. And we’re working together, so be nice, Ksmvr. Stan? Where’s your team?”

“Just inside.”

Relieved, Stan led the other three adventurers into the Guild. Alais looked warily as a group of Drakes passed her to fill the adventuring yard.

“It’s my first time in Liscor. It’s so—”

“Different from a Human city?”

Alais bit her lip. Stan looked a bit reproving, but Yvlon hadn’t meant it as an insult! They were all Silver-ranks, having adventured for years, but not all of them had ever been down as far as Liscor. Yvlon hadn’t until recently; she’d felt that it wasn’t her area. Stan on the other hand had been doing this job for decades.

“Liscor’s alright. Good city; the Watch keeps order. You don’t have to watch your back at night most places. Can’t say I don’t like those walls either.”

He nodded towards Liscor’s four tall walls that marked the edge of the city. Yvlon exchanged a look with Ksmvr.

“They’re nice, but I’d prefer them twice as tall and thick, honestly.”

“Really? They’re already better than most Human cities. But I guess with all the monsters and undead—”

Alais stopped delicately, glancing at Yvlon. The other woman compressed her mouth and Stan glared at Alais. It was with some relief that they entered into the main room of the Adventurer’s Guild.

“And here we are.”

Yvlon saw the room was packed! More than nine teams filled the usually quiet Guild, most of them Human. She recognized the two teams Alais and Stan made for.

They were both Silver-rank teams. Thunder’s Solace and the Boltspitters. Good, solid teams, like the Horns of Hammerad had been.

Like the Silver Spears, too. Yvlon suppressed the thought, but she couldn’t help but tense. Neither could the two teams of adventurers. They looked up at Yvlon and Ksmvr and their postures stiffened.

But they’d been through this. Yvlon forced a smile as she walked over to the teams. She didn’t sit, though.

“I see all the Boltspitters are here except for Lailli. And Thunder’s Solace. Hello, Caddin.”

“Yvlon.”

He didn’t even meet her gaze. Yvlon still remembered hitting him again and again in the Adventurer’s Guild. She turned to Alais. The rest of Thunder’s Solace only glanced up at Yvlon.

A bad scene.

“Well, I think we’ll go look for Ceria. Meeting’s about to start. We’ll talk after. Alais?”

“Right.”

Unconvincing smiles. Yvlon backed away. But she’d played nice and—and that was important. She knew the other teams had seen her. Many of them were groups she recognized. Some were whispering.

Yvlon Byres. Captain of the Silver Spears. One of the leaders of the group that got wiped out in Liscor’s dungeon. It felt like forever ago, but her reputation still haunted her. She walked towards the main doors, looking for Ceria. Ksmvr stared at the Boltspitters and Thunder’s Solace. The adventurers stared at him too, but for different reasons. He edged closer and they all leaned back, staring at the Antinium.

Ksmvr glanced over his shoulder at Yvlon, paused and whispered.

“Dominance.”

“Ksmvr, stop that!”

He hurried after her and found Yvlon outside. She was leaning against the side of the Guild, massaging her arms again. The Antinium saw her look up with a grimace.

“Don’t provoke them, Ksmvr. We made up. We can at least be civil.”

“I am sorry, Yvlon.”

Ksmvr lowered his head. Yvlon instantly smiled, and then felt at her arm again. It didn’t hurt. It should, but—she felt liquid. And as she sniffed at the edges of her armor she grimaced. Foul. She shook her head.

“I’m not angry, Ksmvr. It’s funny. They don’t actually mind you as much. I think they actually respect you for taking out all those [Bandits].”

“I understand the joke. The hated Antinium is given higher esteem than the fellow Human adventurers. I will register my amusement if laughter is indicated. But I do not believe their complaint is valid, Yvlon.”

“Yeah, well—I nearly broke Caddin’s jaw. That’s enough reason to hold a grudge again. Look, just be polite when we go back in. There’ll be other teams—Ceria and I can handle them. Just as well Pisces isn’t with us. We can’t take all of them in a brawl.”

Ksmvr tilted his head as if counting and nodded at last. He stared as Yvlon cursed.

“Your arms are not well, Yvlon?”

She looked up. He was staring at her arms. Few people knew the extent of Yvlon’s injuries except for her friends. She had been injured a while back. At Albez. A fire elemental had melted her old armor. And the metal had burnt right into her arms. Lodged there.

Metal mixed with bone. It had made her arms weak, so fragile they could break if she hit something too hard. Yvlon had thought it was the end of her career—until Pisces had helped her reinforce the bone. Now her arms looked—well, she didn’t feel the alterations he’d made and they were as solid as ever. She didn’t even feel pain if she didn’t want to. She could literally [Ignore Pain]. But another complication had emerged a week back. She shook her head.

“It’s not bad. Just a bit infected. I’ve had worse.”

Pus and blood. That was what she’d see if she opened the gauntlets. Ksmvr stared at her arms and Yvlon looked away. The Antinium’s voice was serious.

“It is not good, Comrade Yvlon. Infections are very bad for a [Warrior]. A healing potion will make it worse. That is how potions work.”

“I know. I know, Ksmvr. I just can’t take a bad injury, that’s all. And if I used a potion, it might clear up.”

Or grow ten times worse in the flash of an eye. Ksmvr was pointedly quiet. Yvlon cleared her throat, looking away. He was the only one who knew about the infection, and that was because he had walked in on her dressing the wounds. She and Ksmvr were—friends. More than he was with anyone but Pisces. But only he called her ‘Yvlon’ and not Comrade Pisces, or Captain Ceria.

“If I need to, I can use a healing potion. It’ll make this worse, but the rest of my body will still heal, Ksmvr. Look. I’ll talk to Ceria about it, okay?”

“Does it hurt? If it hurts—”

“It doesn’t hurt. It’s strong.”

Yvlon made a fist with her right hand and pounded it into her left palm as hard as she could, feeling the shock run through the metal gauntlets. Inside her armor, her arm didn’t flex or break as it would have before. That was thanks to Pisces. He’d used his necromancy to reinforce her bone with artificial pieces. What he couldn’t do was fix her flesh and tissue, hence the infection as the metal and skin rubbed at each other.

If only he could fix the underlying bone issue. He’d told her he was working on it. But it was beyond complicated, even for a [Necromancer], apparently. A lot of Yvlon’s bone was just—gone. And the metal wasn’t exactly solid steel; it had all the strength of a…a…really thin bit of metal. A lock pick. But even they were stronger than…

Yvlon Byres stopped. She stopped thinking about her arms. She stopped worrying about them because that was an endless cycle. She stood straighter, sighed, and smiled at Ksmvr. It was her life now. And once, she had had another team. But this was hers. She turned as she saw a familiar half-Elf striding towards them. Ceria’s robes were shimmering and the half-Elf’s pointed ears were twitching with nerves.

“Yvlon! Ksmvr! Am I late? Something wrong?”

She stopped, panting slightly from her jog. Yvlon shook her head as Ksmvr opened her mandibles.

“It’s nothing. Ceria, everyone’s here. Stan and Alais are there. And some others. Let’s go in!”

She wanted to go inside with no further fuss and just do her job, which was be an adventurer. But Ksmvr lacked subtlety. He raised one hand.

“Hello. We are not late. Good to see you again, Captain Ceria. Before we engage in our mission briefing, I would like to interject a pressing fact about Yvlon’s health, Captain Ceria.”

“Huh? What? Did you break your arm again, Yvlon?”

Ceria looked alarmed as she adjusted her robes. Her eyes went to Yvlon’s arms—the woman stopped feeling at them and smiled weakly.

“I need to talk to you later. About my arms. They’re okay for fighting. Just—complicated with healing potions.”

The [Ice Mage]’s eyes flickered. She could guess what Yvlon meant by that. Still—she looked at Yvlon and the [Wounded Warrior] tried to convey that it was not a problem. Ceria nodded slowly.

“We’ll talk. Today’s supposed to only be reconnaissance. We’re not getting anywhere near the Bloodfields. Come on. I don’t want to be late.”

Together now, they pushed into the Guild. Pisces was still absent, but Yvlon felt better with Ceria by her side. She had been in the crypt too.

The three Horns of Hammerad paused as the adventurers gathered together looked at them again. They were mostly Human, mostly from up north. Ceria and Yvlon had talked to Stan and Alais about getting in on the Bloodfields contract, and word had spread. Yvlon looked from team to team.

All of them were Silver-rank. She knew some teams personally, others only by reputation or in passing. The Boltspitters. Thunder’s Solace. The all-male team of Ensoldier Shields, predictably armed with their classic shield-and-mace combination. The Whistling Bows—looking decidedly mismatched with their new recruits filling the gaps. Ceria took a breath.

“Well then. Let’s say hi. Ksmvr, be nice! Don’t say anything—follow our lead, okay?”

“Yes, Captain Ceria.”

The half-Elf put a smile on her face. She strode forwards.

“Walt! Is that you?”

“Ceria? I heard we’d be seeing you. Is this your new team?”

The Captain of Ensoldier Shields got up, and more team leaders drifted over. Yvlon saw Ceria shaking Walt’s hand. Yvlon turned and a slight woman with a rash of scales along one cheek looked up at her. She was Human, but for that one sign of cross-speciesism. She didn’t smile, but that wasn’t her way.

“Yvlon. Good to see you.”

“Kammy.”

“Please don’t. It’s ‘Captain Kam’.”

“My mistake. Who’s this?”

Yvlon smiled, and Captain Kam’s lips tried to move a bit. She turned and stared at Ksmvr. He was staring back. Yvlon prayed he wouldn’t mention Kam’s sign of distant Drake ancestry. She was…touchy about it. Yvlon was amazed she’d come to Liscor at all.

“This is Ksmvr, one of my teammates. He’s a—unique member of the Antinium. Ksmvr, this is Captain Kam, leader of the Whistling Bows. She’s a [Bow Rider]. Ksmvr’s our [Skirmisher], Kam.”

“Hi.”

“Hello, I am Ksmvr.”

The two shook hands. Yvlon turned and saw more adventurers she recognized lined up to say hi. One of them, a former [Raider] with two scars along his cheeks—self-inflicted, she knew, for appearance’s sake—reached out and slapped her on the shoulder.

“Dead gods, is that an actual Antinium? I heard Liscor had ‘em. Hey! Yvlon! It’s us! Do you remember the Reddogs? We might actually buy some war dogs if we get paid enough from the Bloodfields! There’s this [Beast Trainer] in Liscor and he’s got a wonderful animal—”

“Drakes, Antinium, and Gnolls. Dead gods, this is weird. We went through that door and the inn. Yvlon, Ceria.”

“—Travelled sixty miles to get here. Just because we heard this was good work. And, well, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about! Not disappointed yet! We should have come here earlier, but we were hunting this damn Ogre for…”

“…lost six on my team. To damn Ghouls. There were twenty of them and they just leapt at us. It was just five weeks ago. I still remember it. If we’d just had caught them. Terrica was on duty and I just couldn’t work with her any more after that—”

It was a familiar scene, chaos as everyone talked and caught up on the news. And it made Yvlon feel good. This was what she’d hoped for in Celum’s guild before it had gone so wrong. If the other teams wanted to talk to her and Ceria about the loss of all the other teams—well, word had either spread about the previous incident or they were holding back.

In fact, they treated Yvlon as if she was still a team captain. Yvlon was listening sympathetically to Captain Kam’s tale of her own team’s losses. Maybe that was it. Some of these teams understood. She looked around, seeing familiar faces, new ones.

Silver-rank teams. Yvlon had been among their number, jostling for the position of ‘top team’ with the others. Now? It might be arrogance, but she felt like the Horns were above them in raw ability and magical items. Above, but below Gold-rank. Yvlon knew her brother’s team, the Silver Swords, still had that extra edge.

The gold would change that. Once they got it changed in Invrisil with the contacts the Halfseekers and Griffon Hunt knew, the Horns could gear up even further. All this was just keeping themselves busy. Some of the other adventurers were admiring her armor. Walt came up and tapped on Yvlon’s breastplate with one knuckle.

“Fancy gear, Byres! Better than our stuff. You’re not doing bad, are you?”

She glanced up. The [Armored Warrior] wasn’t trying to be mean; Walk just lacked all tact. And a way with women, hence his team. She forced a smile.

“Not bad right now, Walt. But you’ve got a new shield.”

He looked proud, gesturing at his shield.

“It freezes whatever hits it. Cost us a fair bit, but its solid! Your armor do anything fancy? I saw this Drake wearing high-grade magical armor! Dead gods, but I’d trade Kelvin and his useless ass for it and all my gear!”

Yvlon laughed politely as the luckless Kelvin enjoyed the punches and jeers from the Ensoldier Shields.

“That’s got to be Keldrass you saw, Walt. Captain of the Flamewardens. He got it from this dungeon. The Raskghar, actually. You heard about them? And it’s worth a lot more than that!”

“The Raskghar? I heard about them. You fought those things, Yvlon. A new monster type? No—wait, some sentient species? Tell us about it! And this dungeon.”

The other adventurers crowded around Yvlon. She was looking for a seat to explain and hoping no one was smelling her armor when a voice burst through the hubbub among the mostly-Humans team.

“Hah. Look at that. The backup to the backup’s finally arrived. Dead gods, but what a crowd.”

Everyone fell silent. The drawling voice had come from another team who’d entered to find the overcrowded tables. It was a Drake, and he and four members of his team were looking around dismissively.

Those were fighting words. Walt instantly reddened. Yvlon recognized the Drake and bit her lip.

“Hey! You have a problem with us being here, asshole? We were invited to come here.”

“And you’re in our seats and causing a fuss. Who got into a fight with the Scaled Guard this morning? Kicking around local Bronze-rank teams and claiming all the seats?”

The Drake had bright orange scales and he was looking unhappy at all the Human guests. Yvlon saw Walt hesitate. But another team captain spoke up.

“The best teams have arrived, whoever you are. We’ve having a reunion, so if you’ve got a problem—take it up with the [Receptionists]!”

She gestured to the desk. Yvlon saw the Gnoll behind the counter duck. It wasn’t Selys on duty today. She bit her lip. This wasn’t good. All the teams present, from Alais’ to Stan’s to the rest were used to being fairly big fish in their local guilds. But the Drake who was talking just sneered at them. He put his hand on his side and exposed a shimmering sheathed blade. The other adventurers fell silent as his team laughed.

“Best teams? Let me introduce myself. I’m Gold-rank. Lifwail Blades. We’ve been here a month. You lot? You just swaggered in like you own the place. Funny. I haven’t seen your faces around. Or in the dungeon. Something holding you all back? Horns of Hammerad excepted, obviously.”

He nodded casually at Yvlon, Ceria, ignoring Ksmvr. And the other teams…fell silent. Gold-rank. Yvlon knew how they felt. Gold-ranks were rare around Celum and the area. But this was an exception. The Drake went on, casually putting one scaly foot on a chair.

“We’re Pallass’ team. What did I hear you say? You were contracted? For what? The Bloodfields job?”

He laughed. So did his team. The Human adventurers hesitated. Walt blustered, face red.

“Yeah? What about it? You taking it too?”

“Us? We’re too busy killing monsters in the dungeon to shepherd a bunch of [Bricklayers] making a road around the Bloodfields. You all want the safe stuff? Go ahead. But whichever one of you hazed our Drake team this morning, we’re onto you. You Humans all look alike, but you can apologize properly or we’ll get one later.”

The Drake glared around the room. Yvlon saw Ceria slap her forehead. Walt. He was an idiot about rank. Had he really started something within a few hours of getting to Liscor’s guild? Without even checking to see what the score was?

“Is that a threat?”

Oh, and he also couldn’t shut up. Walt blustered as he pushed his way forwards. He looked at the other Silver-rank teams. There were a lot more than Lifwail Blades’ team. The Drake raised a brow.

“What’s that, third-stringer? You picking a fight? Or are you trying to start something with all your Human friends here? You do realize this is our city, right?”

He gestured at the Drakes in the room. Yvlon noticed the non-Human adventurers were sitting far from his team. She wanted to slap her own face. What had the teams here done already? She counted two more Gold-ranks in the room. Walt’s face was red.

“Respect’s respect. We didn’t start anything. Some assholes want to poke fun at us, we slap them a bit.”

“Really? Well, some Humans come into a Drake city and think they can hit a few Drakes and maybe we decide to do the same.”

The Drake leaned forwards. He had muscle, even if he wasn’t as burly as Walt. And he was Gold-rank. Yvlon looked for Ceria. The half-Elf was opening her mouth, clearly wondering if she could defuse or if it was better to get back, when a loud, dry voice interrupted the rising tension.

“Adventurer Bessr. If anyone’s slapping anyone in this Guild, it’s me.”

An old, short Drake walked down the stairs. She had a little wooden cane, greyish scales, and a very irked expression. Everyone turned and Yvlon exhaled in relief as she spotted a familiar, irritable face, following the nervous Gnoll [Receptionist]. Guildmistress Tekshia glared at the Drake, Bessr, and Walt.

“No one’s fighting here. You want to settle it? Take it outside and no one breaks any bones! Do it later and stop pissing around like little hatchlings. Stop starting Lizardshit, Bessr.”

Bessr immediately backed down. That was the difference between Celum and Liscor’s Guild, too. In a similar scene—Yvlon flushed—Celum’s Guildmaster, a former Silver-rank, hadn’t even appeared when the altercation between her team and the adventurers there had erupted. Here though—she saw Alais and Stan were still tense.

But Tekshia was Tekshia. Bessr raised his claws.

“Outside, Guildmistress. Got it. We just wanted to send a message.”

“Received. And you, Human, no one pulls rank in my Guild. And no one starts a fight, got it? You start another fistfight, and we’ll pour you onto the road.”

“And what if—”

Walt got no further. Tekshia Shivertail didn’t argue. She just threw the cane like a javelin. It flashed across the room so fast that Bessr was still leaping back when it hit Walt in the chest. His armor didn’t bend around the point of impact; rather, the impact turned into pure momentum and sent him flying backwards.

[Launching Strike]. Or something like that. Yvlon watched Walt crash and lie on his back, winded and stunned on multiple levels. Tekshia walked forwards.

“Anyone else want to waste my time?”

“Ow. What was—”

Someone kicked Walt. Tekshia looked around. No one spoke. The Guildmistress walked forwards and fixed Bessr with a look. He winced as his team decided to take a seat out of the line of fire.

“Lifwail Blades, eh? Well, Bessr, I haven’t ever seen you in the Bloodfields. If it’s so easy compared to the dungeon, mind strolling through it for an hour or two? That’s how Gold-rank teams in my day proved they were worthy of the name.”

“Uh—”

Flushing, the Drake retreated. Tekshia nodded. Then she whirled around and snapped at the Human adventurers.

“You lot! Listen up! I’m Tekshia, Guildmistress of the Adventurer’s Guild. You’re in my Guild, so stop making a damn mess! You’re here to take on the Bloodfields contract. Well, we must be truly desperate, but you all qualify for the job.”

She accepted her cane as the Gnoll brought it back to her. She rapped the floorboards, scowling. No one spoke. Yvlon admired the old Drake. This was a proper Guildmistress.

“This isn’t a game. Liscor needs experienced adventurers to protect our workers and scout ahead, hence you all getting the offer. But if any of you are Bronze-rank incompetents masquerading as Silver, get out. The Bloodfields are nothing to joke about. Your job is to stay away from the Bloodfields, but even that can be dangerous. And any idiot who thinks they’re tough enough to wander too close and get their team killed and everyone they’re guarding? Step on up if you’re that tough and I’ll save us all the headache.”

She glared at Walt. He decided to remain sitting. Tekshia looked around.

“Alright. Today you get to listen to a wonderful explanation of why the Bloodfields are so important and help us scout which way we’re going. East or west! Then, when all of you have put your heads together to come up with this difficult answer, we’ll begin actually preparing a road. You all report here each morning or you don’t get paid. Bevussa? Get these rookies out of my guild!”

A Garuda who’d been sitting at a table stood up with her team.

“Yes, Guildmistress Tekshia! Issa, get the [Scouts] and [Master Builder] Reikhle. You all, with me!”

She gestured, and strode towards the door. The Silver-rank adventurers paused a moment before they realized Bevussa was moving. Then they scrambled to grab their things and rush after her. Yvlon knew where they were going and made her way to the back door. She saw Bessr waving at her and paused.

“Bessr?”

The Captain of Lifwail Blades was still flushed from his dressing down from Tekshia. But he growled at her as Ceria and Ksmvr paused with him.

“Heard some of the teams who gave yours shit for the crypt were here. They give you any trouble?”

Yvlon stared at him. She managed a startled response.

“No—uh—no. It’s fine.”

“Good. Don’t let teams who haven’t taken a beating do that. I heard yours went down holding the line. Not a lot of teams do that, disaster or not. Stay safe; Bevussa knows what she’s doing with the Bloodfields. Gold and glory, Horns.”

It was an old phrase, but maybe not among Drakes. Yvlon was so startled she clapped an arm across her armor reflexively.

“Silver and steel.”

She left with Ceria and Ksmvr. The half-Elf gave her a wide-eyed look. Respect? From a Gold-rank team? It filled Yvlon’s chest.

Then they were outside, making a beeline for The Wandering Inn. The other teams were following Bevussa’s at a fast march. They were disconcerted by Liscor; not only by Tekshia, but by the fact that Liscor’s pedestrians would shove them aside rather than give way to adventurers.

“Move it, you inbred Humans! I see you in that armor! Move it! Don’t you know how to walk?”

“Dead gods. That was the Guildmistress? They’re so—military around here!”

Alais panted, too wide-eyed to be awkward as Ceria and Yvlon fell into place next to them. Yvlon had to grin.

“Welcome to Liscor.”

—-

“Hey Bevussa! Ceria, Yvlon, Ksmvr! My favorite team!”

Another surprise greeted the Human adventurers at the inn. They’d all come through, but the sight of Erin Solstice, a bunch of [Actors] trying to put on zombie makeup, and a carrot cake stumped them. Bevussa turned as they poured into the room via the door.

“Alright! Everyone move forwards! To that side! We’re going back through the door! Erin, I set up the door. It’s the purple stone now. Where is—”

“Lyonette already added it to the dial. We even have labels now! See?”

The adventurers all turned and saw the purple stone marked ‘Bloodfields’ on it. Bevussa nodded.

“Don’t let anyone wander around near there or go through, Erin. Oh—and I’m supposed to tell you your service fee’s coming.”

“Awesome! Hey everyone! I’m Erin Solstice! This is my inn and you’re using my door! It’s free of charge and we’ve got a connection to Esthelm! You can go to Pallass, but you have to apply. And this is my favorite team in all of Liscor! The Horns!”

Erin waved at Ceria, Yvlon, and Ksmvr. Yvlon flushed and Bevussa raised an eyebrow.

“All of Liscor? What about us or the Halfseekers?”

“Uh—hey Bevussa, want some cake? It’s carrot! Hey, you adventurers! Any of you ever had cake?”

Some of the teams looked very interested; they’d probably not even stopped when coming through to the guild. Bevussa shook her head briskly.

“No time, Erin. We’ll come back later. Everyone through? Okay—someone turn that dial to the purple stone. Yes, just turn it. Then open the door—go on through, but don’t go anywhere!”

She began barking orders. Erin waved the adventurers off.

“Alright, but when you get back, I’ve got cake ready! Ooh, and potions and my special Scale Soup! Lyonette, we’re doing a product demonstration when they get back! Have you got a nail? My knife is too sharp…”

Yvlon followed Bevussa out into another world. South of Liscor, the bowl-shaped valley opened up and the higher elevation sloped downwards, away from the High Passes, the mountain range that separated Izril. A flatland emerged, full of grass and open space, perfect for pastures and forests.

Or that was how it should have been. In truth, the flat area was a perfect battleground that Humans and Drakes had traditionally fought in in ages past. By mutual consent, armies had fought in this space, and so much blood had been shed that over time the ecology of the grass had mutated, turning red. Crimson. And a new biome had emerged, one that craved blood. A deadly, alien landscape.

The Bloodfields. Yvlon looked around, her skin crawling under her armor. She stared around at the green…lush…grass..

They weren’t at the Bloodfields. The adventuring teams spread out on the grass, looking around, many muttering about their encounter with Erin.

“I was told she’s insane—”

“Heard about the incident with that gang?”

“Knows the Horns? Maybe—”

“Alright! Attention! Eyes forwards teams!”

Bevussa’s shout made every head turn. She flew out of the door and held her position in the air, wings beating as her team flew out and landed behind her. A few other Drakes and Gnolls were present; Yvlon recognized them as [Scouts] and the [Builder]. Bevussa’s voice directed her attention back up.

The Gold-rank Captain was in full authority-mode. She shouted down at the Silver-rank teams.

“My name is Bevussa Slenderscale, Captain of the Wings of Pallass! You are now standing at the edge of the Bloodfields, where you’ll be working! I don’t have the specifics of your job; it will change day to day. You’ll be responsible for removing monster nests, guarding workers as they clear a road, and scouting! However, my job is simple! To educate you about the dangers of the Bloodfields!”

She pointed one wing, turning in midair. The adventurers turned with her and saw…

Red. Dark red soil and grass in the distance, crimson. Like a stain, spreading across the normal grass and trees. But where the Bloodfields began, still miles distant, the world changed.

It was alien. Distant, tall and strange plants grew out of the soil. Brambles, huge and twining, emerged. Bright, glowing plants emerged, and the Bloodfields grew denser further in. Almost like a jungle—but in pockets. Some areas looked strangely bare; the growths of plants were dense in some places, not at all in others. But what stood out was simply the color.

Blood red. And yet, it was still distant. So far away in fact that Yvlon estimated there were at least two miles, maybe even three of ordinary grass between them and the Bloodfields. Bevussa pointed grimly.

“You may know of the Bloodfields or you may not. Either way, this is what you must know. The Bloodfields are an exceptionally dangerous area south of Liscor. The plants, animals, and monsters are all a lot more dangerous than most areas of the world. Everything there wants your blood. Even the animals and other creatures living there want to drain you dry.”

She looked back at the Silver-ranks. Yvlon glanced around and saw some doing likewise. She’d heard of the Bloodfields of course, but they weren’t being paid to go through it, just around it. However, older adventures like Stan were seriously listening to Bevussa, and Yvlon looked back up. The Garuda’s voice snapped at the teams below.

“My only lesson I’m being paid to teach you is this: do not go near the Bloodfields. Not in the summer, and even in the winter some of the things living there will kill you. The Bloodfields are a Gold-rank threat—meaning that Gold-rank teams can and have died there, not that it’s safe for them. The only time the Bloodfields are safe is when an army comes through and literally burns everything away. And when they’re gone, the Bloodfields are back within the month. Now. I know you’re probably not convinced, so we’re going to have a demonstration. Everyone look ahead. See those huge plants?”

She pointed. Yvlon had to squint to see and the adventurers shaded their eyes. They were so far distant from even the nearest discoloration in the soil from green grass to red, and the nearest objects breaking up the flatlands were even more distant still. Because everything was flat, as opposed to Liscor’s rolling valleys, Yvlon could see what Bevussa was pointing out.

“Those things? What the hell is that?”

Kam muttered as she peered ahead. She was looking at a cluster of fat…plants? They looked like pillows. Or fat cushions, some as large as…Yvlon squinted. Houses? Only, it was one entire plant.

It was an odd, disconcerting sight. Some of the adventurers muttered.

“I can barely see it! What is that, a boulder?”

“No. It’s a plant.”

“Why the hell are we so far back?”

“For your safety.”

That came from one of the Drakes. One of the Silver-rank teams, actually, a rarity in the north. She looked very nervous. And Yvlon realized all of the non-Humans were regarding the distant red edge of the Bloodfields warily.

She stared at the pillow-plant in the distance. It gave her an uneasy feeling. Ceria moved over and whispered to Yvlon and Ksmvr.

“My [Dangersense] is going off just looking at that thing.”

“I believe it is highly dangerous, Captain Ceria. I am familiar with the Bloodfields.”

“What is it, Ksmvr?”

“I have only studied it, never seen it, but most likely—”

“Your attention!”

Bevussa shouted and everyone looked up. She pointed.

“Can anyone hit that target from here? If not, I’ll fly closer and shoot it.”

The adventurers looked at her, surprised. From here? If it was thousand feet, it would still be a huge ask. Alais looked around, shifting as she lifted her staff.

“I could try a [Lightning Bolt]? It’s awfully long, though, and my control—”

“What, and fry us? I’ve seen your aim. Let me try. [Long-Range Shot]!”

Captain Kam stepped up. The [Bow Rider] wasn’t mounted; she’d been complaining about having to find a stables since Erin’s inn didn’t have one, a huge problem. She lifted her shortbow, drew it back, and loosed. Her arrow sped through the air as the adventurers watched. High, going further, further…

It fell short by about, oh, nine thousand and five hundred feet. Good for a shortbow! But the adventurers all laughed. Kam lowered her bow, flushing.

“It really is far. I wondered if it were an optical illusion.”

“Let us try, then. [Seeker Shot]!”

“[Arrow of Light]!”

“[Ice Spike]!”

Even Ceria joined in. Spells and arrows flew from the Silver-rank teams, but all were far, far too short. Even Ceria’s best, enhanced spell didn’t even come close to the distance. Yvlon looked around and saw some of the Gold-rank adventurers of Bevussa’s team shaking their heads. She looked mildly annoyed.

“If none of you has a mile-long Skill—”

“Who has one of those?”

One of the adventurers looked incredulous. Bevussa stared at him. Gold-ranks, that’s who. Captain Kam looked around and frowned.

“It’s fine. I’ll get closer and—”

“Hold your ground!”

The order came from Bevussa, a screech of fury. Kam stopped, flushing, and Bevussa swooped down, glaring.

“No one gets closer! I don’t care how fast you are or what dodging skills you have—even if it looks clear, you will not approach the Bloodfields, regardless of how the ground looks! You will keep your distance? Is that clear?”

“But we’re two miles away! This is ridiculous! We don’t need to be this far. Do we?”

One of the adventurer captains looked annoyed at this display of caution. Zassil, the Oldblood Drake on Bevussa’s team, snapped at him.

“That’s why we’re demonstrating this, Human!”

Bevussa ignored them. She swooped down towards where Yvlon was standing. The adventurers moved back as he stopped before Stan. He hadn’t tried loosing a bolt. He blinked at her as his team stared. Bevussa nodded at his side, her brilliant plumage blowing in the faint breeze.

“Crossbows, right? Mind if I borrow one?”

Stan started. He reached for the two crossbows at his side—Yvlon knew he had four more in his bag of holding. He could fire six bolts in a blink, hence his nickname.

“Of course, Captain Bevussa. Here.”

He offered her both crossbows. Bevussa took one and jumped up into the air. She looked down at the others.

“See that plant? Furthest from the right? Watch it.”

So saying, she flew towards it. The Garuda was fast, a speeding bullet in the air. Yvlon had only seen Bevussa’s max speed once during the baseball game and now she understood why the Gold-rank Captain was one of Pallass’ best. Bevussa closed the distance as fast as any bird, even with her armor, gear, and the crossbow’s weight. They saw her flying higher as she reached the edge of the crimson grass.

“She’s got to be at least three hundred feet up. What’s she worried about?”

Ceria glanced at Yvlon. The armored woman bit her lip. There were stories, but she didn’t know the specifics. Everyone was watching now, as Bevussa paused in the air. She was aiming, Yvlon guessed. But she was so tiny they couldn’t see when she fired.

They didn’t see the bolt strike the distant pillow-plant either. But what they did see was it pop. One second it was a bulb in the distance, the next—

“Dead gods! It exploded!”

It was so hard to see, but—Yvlon stared. A mass of red and black had erupted as the bulb burst. It flew into the air—like powder? No—it wasn’t spores. She saw it land, and then—movement. Bevussa was flying back quickly, but the Silver-rank adventures were transfixed.

The pillow-bulb had unleashed…something. But the adventurers took a few minutes to figure out what they’d seen. Then they realized what the squirming, moving mass was on the ground and several swore or blanched.

Bugs. So many that they’d filled the plant to bursting. They rained down, writhing, released from the crossbow bolt hitting their bulb. Now they were spreading out in a huge mass, visible even from here.

How many? Yvlon shuddered. She tried to imagine being covered in them. You’d inhale them. And if they bit or tried to get in your armor, your mouth—

Everyone was silent when Bevussa dropped down in front of Stan and handed him the crossbow back. She looked around, flew up again, and pointed with one wing towards the exploded bulb.

“Even if you fly, you will not get closer to the Bloodfields. That’s one reason why, and the least of your threats. Let me say it again: my one job is to explain to you how dangerous the Bloodfields is today. You’re all adventurers, but you need to understand.”

She gestured at the other pillow-structures. Now they seemed full of danger to Yvlon. Each one was a nest of insects? How did that even work? Yvlon felt a crawling sensation on her arms and shuddered. Bevussa was continuing her lecture.

“You walk by one of those living beds and it pops and those things will eat you alive faster than you can scream. That’s one of the Bloodfields’ fauna. Ever seen a Watchertree? They stand high up and ‘see’ anything that moves on the soil for a hundred, sometimes hundreds of feet around them. You can spot them by the bare ground around—that’s because their root system is killing anything in their area! And if you step on the ground, a root comes up and spears you! It can even go through unenchanted armor if the hit’s right!”

The Silver-ranks shifted. That sounded like a nightmare come to life! But Bevussa pointed out a nearly invisible, tall, tall plant in the distance. And it was indeed devoid of vegetation around it.

“There are monsters too. Blood slimes, vampiric spiders—there are animals, but all are adapted to live there and most are dangerous. Even the rabbits. That’s why you will all stay clear of the Bloodfields by at least two miles from the nearest visible edge, understand?”

“Captain Bevussa, is that safe? Would some monsters…pursue us out of the area?”

Kam raised her hand, looking worried. None of the adventurers were protesting Bevussa’s injunction now. If anything, Yvlon agreed. Were they too close? Bevussa shook her head.

“Most of the Bloodfields’ threats are stationary. The bugs, for instance, don’t pursue you that far. And the Watchertrees? Totally safe if you stay away. That’s why the radius is important. Frankly, you need to be worried about creatures living around the Bloodfields; there are monsters in the area. But we want to make sure you don’t wander close. Got it?”

Everyone nodded. Bevussa flew lower. Now her team took wing. The Wings of Pallass joined Bevussa and she pointed.

“I’m with you all just for today. I won’t be around to bail you out; I might be in the dungeon or unavailable. So we’ll be flying above, watching you. These are some [Scouts] from Liscor. [Pathfinders]—and [Master Builder] Reikhle is from Pallass. He’ll be helping determine which way we’ll be setting a path. Your job is to escort the [Scouts]; each team pair off with a scout and coordinate your path. They know where to go!”

Suddenly, it was work. And credit where credit was due; the Silver-rank teams might have been nervous from the threat of the Bloodfields, and new to Liscor, but they were still adventurers. Each captain began calling orders and Yvlon found Ceria and Ksmvr. They made their way to a Drake [Scout].

“Excuse me? I’m Ceria, Captain of the Horns of Hammerad.”

“Hissle. Don’t laugh. I’m a [Pathfinder]. Is this your team?”

Ceria nodded.

“There’s only three of us today; our fourth members’ occupied. Is that a problem? Should we double up?”

The Drake paused.

“Hm. Maybe. Let’s see what Captain Bevussa has to say. How fast is your team?”

“We can jog. Yvlon, you can keep up, right?”

“I can. Can you?”

Yvlon looked pointedly at Ceria. The half-Elf was the least in shape. She turned red.

“I’ve been running! Grimalkin’s been forcing me to do all kinds of lifts with those stupid weights—”

“Hey! That team! Yes, you! Thunder’s Solace? With the Horns of Hammerad! There! Partner up with Scout Hissle!”

Bevussa’s voice shouted from overhead. Yvlon winced, but Captain Alais and her team didn’t protest. Awkwardly, she made room for the other team and Hissle looked around.

“My name’s Hissle. Don’t laugh. I’m the [Pathfinder] tasked with the eastern side—we’ll be taking that route. It’s some climbing, but we’ll move as fast as you’re comfortable. Let’s confer before we get moving. Who has detection Skills? I’ll share point if there’s someone with similar Skills to mine. And who are the team captains? I know Captain Springwalker. And the other is…?”

“Alais. This is Thunder’s Solace. We have a [Tracker]. Ceria?”

Alais stepped forwards and Hissle shook her hand. Ceria shook her head.

“All we’ve got is Ksmvr. He’s fast, though. [Skirmisher]. And he can jump. Should we put him on the front?”

Hissle brightened up.

“I’d appreciate that. Extra security is nice. Uh—oh, one of the new Antinium? Are you painted?”

He looked at Ksmvr. The former Prognugator shook his head.

“I am a disgrace.”

“Uh—”

The [Pathfinder] looked at Ceria. She shook her head. He paused.

“Right then! Let’s get marching. We’ll sort out an order of movement and commands; for now, listen to me when I shout! If any of you see something suspicious, shout it out and everyone groups up, understand? If one of the Wings of Pallass shouts? Pay attention!”

The team took off. The [Scouts] moved on with the faster teams first—Yvlon’s group began a fast march after them. The Wings of Pallass watched from above. Their only job besides being backup was to teach the adventurers how to keep from getting too close to the Bloodfields by accident, and they did that rigorously.

And then it was just a job. Yvlon had done escort requests before, and while Hissle set a fast pace, he assured the adventurers this wouldn’t be their job the entire time.

“You’ll have to escort people clearing roads, even laying stones, perhaps. The Council hasn’t decided yet, but they want a good, fairly safe road. So you’ll get a slow pace. You just need to be on watch! You never know what’ll come up in the foothills or on the road. Mostly, I think it won’t be bad, but it’s the rare examples that calls for adventurers.”

“The Council’s spending a lot on this trade road.”

Ceria remarked as she, Yvlon, and Alais kept pace near the head of the group. Alais glanced at her; the Human woman was lost, but Yvlon and Ceria had gotten to know Liscor’s politics. And indeed, Hissle was more comfortable around them. He nodded as they climbed a rocky slope.

“Careful. Watch your step. Hold on—I need to map this. Our current area maps are good, but we want to be certain and to check there are no nests or hazards the [Map Makers] missed. Too bad an expert [Cartographer] didn’t come through here, but the Bloodfields aren’t exactly prime terrain. [Merchants] just go through the center in the winter, so…yeah, the Council’s got gold! Apparently the Antinium and the Walled Cities are donating a lot.”

He looked sideways at Ksmvr as he said that. The [Skirmisher] nodded helpfully.

“The Hive is rich.”

“How rich?”

“Well, my approximate understanding of our gold supply was—”

Ceria nudged Ksmvr. After a moment, Hissle went on, pointing ahead.

“Looks like the east has a viable path. Rocky in places, but there’s some good flat land. West is too grassy. I don’t like the odds of the Bloodfields or something spreading. Rocks? That damn stuff doesn’t like rocks by and large. We can cut a path going away from the Bloodfields just in case, then angle it once we’re well clear and shoot for Pallass. We might be on the winning path, folks.”

“It’s nearly four hundred miles from Liscor to Pallass. It’ll take years to do a route, surely?”

Yvlon was panting, sweating in her armor and the warm air. Hissle laughed.

“For a proper road, maybe. With stones and everything? Sure! But clearing a road and making sure two large wagons can roll unimpeded all the way? We can do that a lot faster. The Antinium have [Diggers] and our own teams can move dirt! [Merchants] will use this road if we do just that and ensure all the major hazards are out of the way.”

“Brave of them.”

Alais panted. Her team was wearing wood and chitin armor due to her imprecise control of lightning, but it was still heavy. Hissle called a halt to avoid them getting too winded.

“We’ll slow the pace. You need to be able to fight, after all. And is it brave, Captain Alais? I’ve seen [Merchant] caravan guards. They’re good! And they might even hire teams like yours to guard them.”

“Fair point. But looking at this, Hissle—it’s going to be a lot of work.”

They’d summited the rocky hill. Hissle nodded. Yvlon stared down and imagined someone having to shape the hillside to create a natural ramp a wagon could climb without extreme effort.

“It’ll be work. But paid work. And Pallass will help from their end too. In truth, we just need to get past the Bloodfields by about, oh, ten miles? Then we’ll hit Drake roads and we’re done! And Liscor will be connected to the south again.”

That did make it seem easier. And the tone in Hissle’s voice—Yvlon looked at him.

“You seem passionate about it, Hissle.”

He nodded.

“I volunteered to scout. Liscor wants the trade route, and so do I. I’m a native—grew up here. Served in the army, but not for long. I’ve been to Drake cities, though. The city needs it a lot more than Pallass does. Otherwise we can only trade by land when its late fall or winter. That’s why we’re called a border city, you know.”

He paused, staring across the landscape. In the distance, the Bloodfields were visible, a red stain on the land. All the teams were moving around it, searching for that path, east and west. Hissle stared darkly at the Bloodfields. Yvlon almost imagined she could see the red grass advancing, slowly, second by second, year by year.

“It didn’t use to be like this. There was a time when the Bloodfields were smaller. And they were less…active. But it’s growing. We should stop it for good, someday. But fire only makes it pause for a while.”

He shook his head.

“Come on. Let’s keep moving. I want to go a good distance before we report back. Shame we can’t use that teleportation door, but apparently it’s got a hefty mana limit. Just as well; I need to earn a living too!”

—-

On they went. Yvlon began chatting on the march; it helped with the work. And she found herself talking with Thunder’s Solace and Alais. You couldn’t help it. She didn’t make up with Caddin, but she was eventually comfortable enough to laugh at a joke around him, and he could talk to her without having to look away.

It was something. And Yvlon was used to disputes between teams. The incident in the Guild hadn’t even been bad; it could get nasty. Soon, she and Alais were telling Ksmvr about the ‘good old days’, and their rivalry between teams.

“That bull, Calruz, he was always a pain to deal with. You know Walt? He and Calruz nearly had both their teams throw down over a dispute one time. Stupid idiots. Stan, now Stan’s great to work with. He’s led a team for longer than all of us put together.”

“Why is he not a high-level adventurer, then, Captain Alais?”

The [Aeromancer] looked uncomfortable.

“Safety, maybe? Stan’s got two kids, Ksmvr. He doesn’t take huge risks; he takes jobs that don’t end in him being dead. Being an adventurer’s a career for him; he earns a good amount, more than most jobs, and he can take more breaks. It’s smart for him. I hear he’s got a lot saved up.”

“Ah. May I infer by your omission then, that Crossbow Stan is not married?”

“…Yeah. His wife left him.”

“I see. Why?”

“Ksmvr, why don’t we move ahead? I’ll explain to you why that’s a touchy subject and why you’re never allowed to ask Stan that.”

Yvlon smiled at Alais. Relieved she let Ksmvr and Yvlon move ahead. Ksmvr turned and Yvlon tried to explain heartbreak, infidelity, and the changing nature of affection to an Antinium who she was fairly certain had never been interested in the opposite sex. If there even one was besides his Queen. Wait—Ksmvr was male, right? She had seen him ‘nude’ and there wasn’t anything to actually see. He just wore clothing—

The Antinium was marching with Yvlon when she grew silent. He looked at her questioningly. Yvlon kept looking back at Ceria, laughing with Alais, and Thunder’s Solace. He looked at her arms, but she hadn’t been feeling at them.

“Is something wrong, Yvlon?”

Yvlon Byres hesitated. She bit her lip, looked at Ksmvr, and then spoke softly.

“Her name was Maise. But with an accent on the ‘e’. Maisé.”

“Who is Maisé?”

“My former teammate. Back when I was Captain of the Silver Spears.”

“Oh. I see.”

Yvlon shook her head. Her old friend’s face appeared in her mind. But the details were faded. It was harder to remember the exact curl in her hair, the way she stood. The sound of her voice. She went on. She’d never talked to Ksmvr about Maisé. But she had to now.

“She used a spear. We used to joke that she was the real leader of the Silver Spears since she was the only one on the team who actually used the weapon regularly.”

“I see.”

That was all he said. But he was listening. Yvlon looked at the Antinium.

“Did I ever tell you about the others?”

“No, Yvlon. You did not.”

She bit her lip and looked down. Veronika, Maisé, Dalia, and Samite. There had only been five of them, but they’d all been good. At least, Yvlon had thought so.

“Let me talk to you about them. For a bit. We were a team. Just last year. I wanted us to be like my brother’s team, the Silver Swords. We weren’t—we were good. That’s what I always thought. And if we kept training, if we got that one big windfall, we’d be Gold-rank. There were five of us. You see, back when I first wanted to become an adventurer—I knew Maisé growing up. She lived on Byres lands. We were always…”

She never forgot them. And she had never told anyone of how they died. She knew how Ceria had left her team. Fleeing, as Gerial bought her a moment of time. As her teammates fell around her. Calruz—disappearing, screaming as Skinner plucked his arm from his body. But Yvlon had been there too.

It haunted her dreams. Her failure. But now? Yvlon looked at Ksmvr. He listened to her every word. Trusted her. She looked back at Ceria, her friend, huffing as she ran along. Even Pisces. She wished he’d been here to bond with the other teams. But he was improving. She’d have a word with him, try to introduce him. She hoped Kam and the others would accept a [Necromancer].

She…had her team now. That was what mattered. But Yvlon still felt like she was back in the crypts sometimes. Watching her friends disappearing as they ran, fighting the undead, trying to reach for the surface.

I heard yours went down holding the line. If only that were entirely true. Was it cowardice, or practicality? Why was she the only one who’d made it? She was rich now. She had magical armor, a strong team…

But she hated it. Yvlon shook her head, realizing she’d fallen silent. She forced a smile at Ksmvr. He needed her, almost as much as she needed him.

“Hey, looks like we’re being called back. Let’s go join the others. And remember—no talking about Stan’s wife.”

“I will attempt to do so. May I talk about his children?”

It would get better. It had to. Without that, what did she have left? Yvlon laughed, and she joined her group. Her team. The infection would get better. It had to. She couldn’t let them down. Not again.

—-

The adventurers had all finished their scouting by evening. It had been a solid…eight hours of work? From morning to evening! Yvlon was tired, but pleasantly so. There hadn’t been much trouble; six of the teams had run into monsters and her team had encountered a deer. Ksmvr had shot it, his reasoning being that they had a bag of holding. It was fresh meat and it had been a welcome meal for lunch, if wild. Yvlon wondered if Erin could make something of it.

“Alright. The [Scouts] will confer and help pick the route. By tomorrow, we’ll be sending more scouts and beginning preparations to build an actual road! We’re not dallying around; Olesm, [Master Builder] Reikhle, and our other experts will be working all night on this one! But you all earned your pay! Good work!”

Bevussa called out and the Silver-rank teams cheered. Yvlon saw gold being passed out; even if was going to be split, it was a welcome sight. Ceria accepted hers and grinned, flashing some at Yvlon. Strange, how it was so good to see. They were rich. As soon as they got to Invrisil—

“Let’s get a drink, huh, guys? And some cake at Erin’s inn!”

The half-Elf called out to her team. But Alais stopped her as the teams began filing back towards the inn.

“Hey, Ceria. The team captains are going to have a drink in Liscor. Not your inn—somewhere private. Most of our teams will stay at the inn, but—you want to come? You and Yvlon?”

Ceria blinked. She looked at Yvlon. The armored woman stared at Alais. The [Aeromancer] was biting her lip and pointing. Stan, Kam, Walt—all of the team captains and some of the older adventurers were waiting in a small group by the door. Ceria hesitated.

“I uh—with all of you? What about?”

“Just—talking about the past. Recent events. Stan and I want to—all of us. If it’s alright. Your friend—Ksmvr?—can come. But we’d like to talk. The old crew.”

Yvlon looked at Alais’ flushed face. It couldn’t be easy to say that. Yvlon saw Ceria looking at her, her brows raised in silent inquiry. Yvlon hesitated, and then smiled. She reached out and touched Alais shoulder.

“I’d like that. Thank you.”

Alais looked up and smiled. Yvlon followed her with Ceria and Ksmvr to the other group. She looked at Walt, Kam, Stan—and all the others. And they nodded to her. She felt a strange sense of nostalgia. She felt welcomed again. She smiled.

“A drink? I know a good bar if we’re spending a lot of coin. If not, I know a few dives. Let’s hit the town; Erin’s got poor alcohol. Everything else is great, though. We’ll have a chat and then see a play and eat some cake.”

They laughed and agreed. Yvlon led the way through the magic door, smiling a bit. The adventurers left, closing the door, and leaving the grass, the wilderness in silence.

Up ahead, the Bloodfields rustled. The watching plants swayed in the breeze. The dark earth was silent. Few things moved. It was…almost inviting.

A dead bird lay on the ground, in a bare patch of land. It was freshly dead, an inviting meal. Some creatures might ignore the danger for a free snack like that. And indeed, one red russet fox, believing its fur coat was a good fit for the red grass, crept closer to the bird. It looked around, but the Bloodfields were silent.

There was no grass where the bird lay. And if the fox had been cautious—it missed the hole in the center of the body. It was food. So it darted ahead, rushing towards the bird, prepared to grab it and dart back into cover. It passed under the watchful aegis of a tall, thin plant. With a strange bulb near the top. The fox pattered forwards. It snatched the bird in its jaws.

A tendril stabbed out of the ground, spearing the foolish fox through the abdomen. It jerked—stopped moving. It’s blood ran onto the soil as the tendril lowered back into the ground. The dead fox’s corpse remained, to feed the soil and attract other unwary scavengers. The Watchertree absorbed the blood, its wide root system feasting.

Silence again. And death. All that lived here was made of the Bloodfields, or dangerous enough to resist the death here. The adventurers had gone. Food had gone. But food would be back. Few things dared to live around the Bloodfields. But what did live was dangerous. And the Bloodfields were just as deadly. Food would return.

The Bloodfields waited.

6.57

The Bloodfields waited. Yvlon Byres strode down the street towards The Wandering Inn with her team, following Bevussa Slenderscale, Captain of the Wings of the Pallass. That was, unless the Wings of Pallass were talking to Drakes in a walled city. To the investors and influential Drakes, Issa was in fact the team’s captain and Bevussa was the pretty Garuda, what a wonderful show of inclusivity, my word yes.

But while the Horns of Hammerad left the city, anyone with eyes and the ability to count would note that only three of them were walking together. The fourth member of the current team was conspicuously absent. Pisces, the [Necromancer], wasn’t among the adventurers. Nor, as Erin Solstice discovered, was he in her inn, studying, as was his wont.

In fact, he was walking through Liscor at the same time as his team, albeit removed from them. Pisces was walking next to a shorter Drake, whose light green scales were flashing in the sunlight. She was dressed colorfully, at odds with Pisces’ white, plain robes.

The two were walking together, talking. Arguing, perhaps, but still in each other’s company. They were going shopping.

“I don’t know why you’re so upset. It’s not as if I forced you to leave the inn. We’re on a small outing. It’s a favor to me. Can you not act as though I’m sacrificing your mother?”

Selys’ tone was annoyed as she glanced up at Pisces. He sniffed, a feature which all of his friends were well acquainted with. His tone was far more acerbic than hers.

“Of course. A simple excursion which merited dragging me away from my pressing studies!”

“You could have said no.”

The Drake reminded Pisces sharply. He paused and glowered, but then sullenly turned his head.

“I consider it a favor.”

“Well, then, be pleasant. Ancestors, why do you have to be so snippy? You’re like a child sometimes, you know that, Pisces?”

He inhaled, his cheeks flushing with outrage. The two were moving down the street, drawing amused or annoyed glances—mainly from Gnolls passing them by. The problem with a heated argument was that a Gnoll could follow it for at least a block or two if they didn’t tune it out. This one had been going for five minutes.

But unusually to anyone who knew Pisces, he didn’t respond with a scathing remark or look. Partly because Selys was more than capable of firing back. But partly because, well—he sighed.

“My apologies. I’ve simply been low on sleep these last few days, Selys.”

She nodded, accepting Pisces’ mild look of chagrin. There it was. The Pisces that few people could command to appear. It was like he had two faces, the sneering one he often presented, and the one who could actually apologize. That Pisces only appeared for his friends; everyone else had to work past the first Pisces. Few did. The two stopped arguing and settled down, slowing the pace of their walk.

“More undead construction issues? You kept moaning about how crossbow skeletons are impossible last time we talked.”

“What? Oh, that. That was an experiment. Partially successful I’ll have you know. But my current issues are far more complex. I ah, have two projects going on. Studying, really.”

“Stuck on another spell? It’s like [Mages] have to study all their lives just to use their fancy magic. Worse than [Warriors]. I couldn’t handle it.”

The [Necromancer] sniffed and caught himself. He shrugged awkwardly.

“It’s true that magic is extremely time-intensive, but a spell once learned is there forever, so long as your memory remains. Far better than muscles which turns to fat in no time, or so I feel. I’m not stuck either. On the contrary, I’m on the verge of a breakthrough. The techniques I’m studying are masterful. In a single creation! And there is a spell—but I have yet to master it. I am close! But it takes time and effort, which I am sadly wasting here.”

He glanced sideways at Selys, inviting some form of apology for the imposition. She was unfazed.

“Well, I won’t keep you long. Like I said, you volunteered. I could do this alone, but I don’t know much about magical items. If you really want, I can ask Ceria or maybe Moore—”

“Those two? Let’s not be imprudent. With respect to their talents, I am the most well-versed in enchantments and the economics of magical items.”

Pisces straightened his robes haughtily. Selys rolled her eyes, but she smiled. They were walking down one of the higher-end districts in Liscor, passing into a section far removed from Market Street, the quintessential spot for all your shopping needs. No, if everyone passed through Market Street for some reason or another in the course of a week, this street was reserved for more specific clientele.

It didn’t mean it was deserted; far from it! In fact, even at this time of day, people who weren’t working were gathered around the carts and wagons to browse. But while some would certainly come away with some trinkets, there were only a few big buyers, and the [Merchants] were waiting for each.

“Here we are. Trader’s End. Have you ever been here before?”

“Once or twice.”

Pisces observed the street with interest. Trader’s End was based in a northern section of the city, in a cul de sac that led off from a larger street. It was close to the gates, allowing [Traders], but more usually, [Merchants] to drive in their wagons and caravans for the day, park, conduct business, and then drive off when their work was finished.

However, contrary to the name, this wasn’t a place for mass-produced goods like fruits, or iron ore. It might have been once, but now this was the location to buy exotics. Liscor didn’t get a huge number of traders or merchants from north or south, and so all of them who did public business were here.

Selys could see specific wagons and [Merchants] all calling out, inviting the most well-dressed Gnolls and Drakes to peruse their goods. She’d been here three times now and she knew the score. The [Merchants] would do business with people who had enough coin for a few items—a broach, some cloth, an interesting item here or there—but they really wanted people like…her.

It was an odd thought. She was Selys Shivertail, [Heiress]. Selys still felt like the same old Selys who had to count her coins before going out partying. But now instead of mostly silver in the hidden bag at the back of her cupboard, she had a magical vault storing gold. A lot of gold.

“I take it the Heartflame Armor has continued to earn you revenue?”

Pisces was looking towards a [Merchant] selling books, and another who had magical items on display. Selys fidgeted, uncomfortable at mentioning it within Gnollish earshot.

“It’s not bad. Keldrass and his team rented the armor. I thought they’d stop when he got the Raskghar armor, but he stills pays me to let him wear it. Apparently it’s really helpful if they’re worried about traps.”

“No doubt it is also a matter of vanity.”

“No doubt. And I had gold already; I didn’t spend too much. So…I’m looking for some stuff. Protections, like I told you. I’m getting a bit worried, you know? I mean, I’ve got a vault, but what about me?”

Pisces nodded, glancing at Selys. She wasn’t exactly an adventurer, and she’d had one experience of being kidnapped. More than that, she’d survived any number of disasters around Liscor and she hadn’t decided on this shopping trip lightly. He made a gesture towards the waiting wagons.

“Well then, I suppose my presence is warranted. Have you any specific [Merchant] in mind?”

“Oh yes. He sent a message saying he was in the area. I’ve bought from him before and I think he’s fairly trustworthy. But you’re here to help me get the best deals. He’s right there. I think he sees us, actually. Try to be polite, Pisces.”

“One can attempt even the impossible.”

Selys tried not to smile. She did enjoy Pisces’ comments. Still, she gave him a warning glance and walked forwards. The [Merchant] was already spreading his arms in welcome, and Selys saw a familiar seat had been pulled up. Farri Slightly, the thirty-something year old [Merchant], was smiling as he stepped forwards to greet Selys.

“Miss Selys Shivertail, it is a delight to see you! I’m so glad you had a chance to peruse my wares—come, sit! Is this your friend? Another chair, and a cup! Hello, hello!”

“Hello, Farri.”

The [Heiress] grinned as the [Merchant] turned to Pisces, giving him a full-toothed smile in the fashion of the Drakes. Pisces hesitated, and then took the proffered hand, shaking it and murmuring his name. Farri had both seated in an instant. He was, to Selys, something of a friend.

“You do make the extra trip to Liscor worth it, Miss Shivertail. It’s all about cost, you know, but one good client makes up for a great number of miles. I hope all the objects I’ve sold you are working well?”

“Very well. I especially liked the cooling charm in my room. It doesn’t work all night, but it’s just enough to get me to sleep.”

Selys leaned back, accepting a glass from a pitcher that Farri poured himself. Pisces blinked as he was offered another goblet. Farri peered at Pisces, smiling still.

“And who is your friend? An adventurer?”

“Oh, this is Pisces. He’s a [Mage], actually. I brought him along because I was hoping to buy some of those protection-type items we were discussing last time, Farri.”

The [Merchant]’s face instantly grew more guarded. He smiled at Pisces; the [Necromancer] gave him a polite smile back.

“Well, I’m charmed! An adventurer, did you say? What rank? Silver? Gold?”

“Silver. I am, in fact, a member of the Horns of Hammerad. Perhaps you’ve heard of our conquest of Albez?”

Selys felt just a twinge of unease. Oh no, he was doing it again. Farri blinked and paused.

“I—can’t say I have. But then, I haven’t heard of the latest adventuring accomplishments. A successful dungeon run, was it? My sincere congratulations.”

“It was in fact a few months—”

Pisces shut up as Selys’ tail flicked over to slap at the back of his legs. Farri paused, and Pisces, flushing, went quiet. Selys sighed.

“I trust his judgment, Farri. Pisces graduated from Wistram. He’s just here to give me advice.”

“Oh? Oh, a Wistram [Mage]? Naturally, that’s the best source. By all means, its small wonder you’d ask for that kind of advice. Well, if its magical protections you’d like, why don’t I bring out a display? Unless you had something in particular in mind?”

Looking only a bit flustered, Farri gestured to one of his helpers selling from the wagon and Selys saw the Drake disappear inside. The [Merchant] smiled at Selys; Pisces was impassive. Selys tried to poke his ankle with her tail, but she missed.

“I’m not sure what the best item is, Farri. Really, I’m just…worried about my protection. And my stuff. I know the vault you gave me is great, but what about me? My home? Not to mention monsters and such. If you had any—any good items, I’d love to know. Pisces, you too.”

The [Necromancer] paused, and Farri’s eyes brightened.

“Well, that is a range of objects. And I see we have some coming out now! Bear in mind that I have a larger stock—I can even ask for some of the very expensive items I don’t dare bring on the road be sent via Courier. I assume you don’t wish to spend too much gold, Miss Selys?”

“Well—I have a bit to spend.”

Selys squirmed. She knew how much Farri charged and how much she had. She didn’t earn a lot of gold even renting out her armor, not by the standards of magical item sales. But Farri was smiling and nodding understandingly.

“Completely understandable! Well, let’s begin with some simple but decisive items. For instance, how about this ring? A standard among adventurers. An Arrowguard Ring. Guaranteed to deflect one arrow before needing time to recharge.”

He offered Selys a little ring and she leaned forwards. Now this was exciting. She’d always come to see magical items like this before, but now she was actually able to buy some. She peered at the little arrow carved into the ring. Pisces inspected it, sipping from his cup. The ring was wooden, but someone had filled the arrow with gemstone, and it sparkled green.

“It’s pretty! But it’s made of wood—is that bad? I know more common materials don’t hold enchantments well.”

She was a [Receptionist] for the Adventurer’s guild, and she’d picked up a few things, even if that wasn’t her forte. Farri dismissed her concerns with a wave of the hand.

“For a powerful enchantment, certainly, but wood augmented with this cat’s eye—see the subtle line in the gem?—is more than adequate. It’s yew, in fact, which actually aids with the sympathetic magic. I don’t pretend to know all the details, but anything short of a Skill-augmented shot or one from point-blank will swerve upon hitting you.”

“Oh, that is good. And it recharges?”

Farri smiled.

“Only naturally! You can certainly afford this one, Miss Selys. It takes about three days or so to recharge on ambient mana, but that’s more than enough time, unless you’re being shot at regularly, isn’t it?”

“I suppose.”

She was nodding, but both the Drake and Farri were watching Pisces out of the corner of their eyes. His face was impassive, so Farri went on after the slightest of pauses.

“I can recommend you this ring to start with. It’s low in magical interference, so let’s say you have this ring to start with. And then we’ll add—”

“Ludicrous.”

Pisces’ voice interrupted the [Merchant] flatly. Selys felt her tail curl reflexively. Farri stopped. He turned to Pisces, raising his brows politely.

“Ah, you had an objection, Mister Pisces?”

“An objection? You could say so, yes. Or rather, contempt for the farcical nature of offering Selys that bauble with any actual intent of guarding her wellbeing.”

Pisces placed the cup down and leaned forwards. He gave Farri a dismissive look and sniffed. Selys closed her eyes. Damn it. Then she opened them and glared at Pisces warningly.

“Pisces, what are you talking about? The ring looks fine to me! Farri just offered it to begin with—”

“I’m well aware. But it’s still a disingenuous offer, Selys. Allow me to explain.”

The [Necromancer] pointed to the ring as he lifted his own hand. On his fingers sat two rings, both magical. He pointed to one—and Farri winced.

“This is a true Arrowguard ring, Selys. Our estimable [Merchant], Mister Farri, must have missed it on my person. It can deflect multiple arrows, recharges in the span of a day, and has saved my life before. I can well imagine that it would cost you a considerable amount of gold if you were to buy it—which would be a foolish idea. I could lend you the ring, but it would be as useless to you as the ring sitting before you.”

Selys stared at Pisces. His tone was beyond condescending, but it wasn’t aimed at her. Farri was reddening.

“Why?”

Pisces flicked his hand dismissively.

“Simply because Arrowguard Rings aren’t useful to you, Selys. Consider this. You, if you had my ring, could avoid an arrow shot by an average [Bowman]. Or even three or four such arrows! It would protect you from assassination, yes?”

“That’s the point. So?”

“So? How will you avoid the fifth arrow? Let alone fight or avoid this would-be attacker?”

Selys paused.

“Well, I’d have another ring, obviously. Right, Farri?”

“Absolutely. I have a number of them, in fact. All complimentary.”

Pisces sneered. He looked at Selys and shook his head.

“Why do you need them, Selys? Consider this: who is out to shoot you? Kidnap you, perhaps. Mug? Yes, again. But how many enemies with bows are going to loose arrows at you in the course of your incredibly dangerous job? And with that said, what will this ring avail you in a combat situation besides saving you from one arrow and nothing more?”

He had a point. But the way he made it was so classically Pisces—Selys bit her tongue and her tail lashed angrily as Farri held up a hand. He looked stiffly at the [Necromancer] as he swept the ring back.

“I can see your point, Mister Pisces. However, I can assure you that this is a precaution many of my clients take—[Assassins] are more frequent in Human lands—”

“Then why one ring which cannot deflect Skill-based shots? If the goal is to protect, that ring is useless for all but the most middling adventurers. Subpar, for any actual protection; I cannot imagine a single client fearful of assassination that would actually buy that particular ring. If you have a better stock, let us see that, or nothing at all.”

The [Merchant] was turning even redder. That was it, Selys stood up before Farri could lose his polite façade or his caravan guards or helpers could jump in. Pisces wasn’t keeping his voice down and Farri’s embarrassment was being broadcasted in a wide arc. The Drake [Receptionist] turned to Pisces and spoke in a tight voice.

“Farri, please excuse me for a moment. Pisces, would you come with me?”

“Certainly, Miss Selys.”

Farri nodded tightly to her. Selys glared at Pisces. He was reaching for his cup, but he got up and followed her down the street. She saw Farri sitting still before she whirled and glared at Pisces.

“What was that? What the hell was that, Pisces?”

He raised his brows.

“Excuse me? I was simply expressing my genuine opinion—”

Selys’ claw poked straight through his robes and into his chest. He yelped in pain and tried to retreat. She advanced, tail lashing.

“Don’t lie. That was the rudest you’ve ever been! Farri is a friend of mine! He helped me the first time I was here—”

“Oh, how altruistic. No doubt he did it out of goodwill—”

“Shut up! Why did you bite his head off with the first ring?”

Pisces raised his hands, glaring back at Selys.

“It was a worthless ring, Selys! The man was clearly trying to offload a semi-worthless ring onto you—”

“So? That’s what [Merchants] do! I wasn’t going to buy it! You’re here to help me make those decisions!”

“Well, I expedited that process. So?”

The young man folded his arms, looking infuriatingly wounded. Selys was so furious she could barely speak. She looked down and stomped—Pisces drew his foot back in time.

“You idiot! You were being the most egg-headed, Ancestors-damned—you know what you did! That wasn’t polite, and that wasn’t fair. Do you just hate Farri? Is that it? Did he slap you when I wasn’t looking? If you used that tone on Erin or insulted her half as much, she’d punch you and kick you out of her inn!”

Pisces turned red. He folded his arms defensively, and his tone became even more arch.

“I’m simply expressing my opinion. Should I mince words? I’ve seen people like your ‘friend’, Farri, Selys. They can be as charming as they want. But I have my opinion and I know I am correct. This is who I am.”

Selys strode forwards and poked Pisces—he retreated again, looking angrier himself.

“Oh yeah? Well, it’s annoying. No one likes it! I know you can be better than that, Pisces. You don’t call me an idiot three times for having a stupid thought or I wouldn’t speak to you!”

“Well, that’s because I respect your opinion. And it was not always that case! Should I be warm and genuine to everyone?”

“It’d help if you tried!”

Selys knew people were watching them argue. She should have taken this further away, but her cheeks were hot and she was close to hissing at him. Pisces looked equally displeased. He sniffed again.

“Would you have me pretend to be someone else? To falsify my true nature?”

“Yes!”

The word exploded from Selys’ mouth. That caught him off-guard. Pisces paused and looked sideways at Selys. He opened his mouth, but she poked a claw at him.

“Don’t look at me as if I’ve grown a second tail! Listen to me.”

She took a deep breath, calming herself. When she spoke, she spoke as if she was a [Receptionist], lecturing a new coworker, or an adventurer.

“You’re insufferable. No, be quiet. You are. You know it. I know it. You have the most abrasive personality in the entire world because you do it on purpose. You don’t behave like a person around anyone you don’t like. But guess what? That’s childish. You don’t like acting nice? Everyone acts, Pisces.”

She saw him opening his mouth, but she kept rolling. Give Pisces a moment and he’d derail or deflect. He was very good at that. But Selys had grown up with Tekshia Shivertail and you couldn’t say a word if you didn’t learn how to talk over someone.

“Erin does it, Lyonette—everyone from little Mrsha to my grandmother! You think Erin doesn’t hate some people’s guts, or Mrsha’s always cute and cuddly? She does it to get spoiled and get attention!”

“Erin or Mrsha?”

Selys nearly laughed, but she kept glaring.

“That’s very funny. But don’t change the subject! I act all the time whenever I have to deal with an obnoxious adventurer, or one who keeps sniffing and calling everyone idiots using big words! I know you can be charming, Pisces. I’ve seen you do it! You can be likable if you try!”

She looked at him. He hesitated and uncrossed his arms.

“Well, of course I can be. But this—”

She cut him off again.

“I don’t care. I really don’t, Pisces. You know you’re doing it on purpose and all it makes you is enemies. It might be work. So what? Being your friend is a lot of work, especially right now. Do you understand?”

She looked at him pleadingly. And this time she saw Pisces flush. He looked away, genuinely embarrassed. Selys reached out and grabbed his arm.

“Just try. Be nice. Don’t do it to people you like. Start with likable and just keep going! Please? I’m going back to Farri. You can leave if you want, but I’d appreciate you being there.”

She turned around, heart beating fast, embarrassed, but feeling better for saying it. She began to walk slowly back towards Farri. She was hoping—listening—

After four steps, Pisces caught up with her. He adjusted his robes, face flushed. Selys looked at him. He hesitated, and ducked his head.

“Let me speak first, please. Was—was that a Skill, by any chance?”

He looked at her. She smiled and wagged her tail a bit.

“[Incisive Comment]. Useful for a [Receptionist] getting something into a thick-head’s skull. I do have some Skills, you know.”

He smiled slightly. As Selys returned to Farri, she saw Pisces square his shoulders. For a moment he looked pained, then, as Farri stood up, Pisces strode forwards. He gave Farri a sincere look of regret and bowed.

“Mister Farri, please allow me to apologize.”

“What?”

The [Merchant] looked as startled as Selys. She watched as Pisces, bowing apologetically, held up his hands.

“I just had a conversation with Selys. I must apologize for my behavior. I mistook you for—well, Selys has explained how much you’ve helped her out. I was concerned on her behalf, and I confess I’ve met too many [Merchants] of bad character before. But I came here ready to pick a fight and—I sincerely beg your forgiveness.”

Farri was taken aback. He looked at Selys, and she closed her mouth and gave him a nod just in time. The [Merchant] blinked, and then smiled slightly.

“No harm done! I was about to apologize myself, Mister Pisces. You had a point—although it was slightly painful. The ring is fairly hard to place, but I offered it to Miss Selys as an opening bid—why don’t we sit? Something else to drink? Let us restart our conversation.”

“Thank you.”

Pisces nodded and sat down. Selys shot him a glance as she sat too and Farri fussed over their cups. He was sitting forwards, not with that kind of false sincerity you saw in desperate young Gnolls and Drakes on a first date, the kind that reeked of fake attention, but simply alert. If it was an act—

“Well, I have to admit, the rings are a tricky sale. You need multiple complimentary effects to ward against a number of threats. But it’s a tried and tested method for any adventurer. But I can see you are thinking of Miss Selys specifically. And you do know something about enchantments.”

Farri was speaking as he reached for his cup and drank a bit. Selys did too. Pisces nodded. He spread his hands.

“Without disrespect, Merchant Farri—yes. I am a [Mage] of Wistram, as I said. And I studied enchanting; it’s not a false claim to state that I know synergistic uses of enchantments. Selys asked me to accompany her and I accepted; as much to deter her from making a poor purchase. I’m sure you know about the kind of deals a [Merchant] can force with their Skills? I’m not accusing you of using any, but as I said, I was prepared for it.”

The [Merchant] nodded slowly, assessing Pisces. He was watching the young man as carefully as Selys was out of the corner of her eyes. He didn’t quite buy Pisces’ sudden new demeanor as well.

“Fair, fair. And you are her, ah, friend?”

His tone left a huge room for Selys to insert any modifier she choose. The Drake didn’t choose to do so. Pisces nodded.

“A friend, yes. The same one who wants her to spend all the gold she needs on personal protections, but not on her friends. Or me. Or on poor spells or ones where she pays ten times its actual worth.”

He said that with such conviction that even Selys was impressed. And Farri—both Pisces and Selys saw his eyes flick to a ring on his finger. Selys saw nothing, but he apparently did. And from the way he smiled—

But of course Pisces was telling the truth. He had the Horns of Hammerad’s windfall, the same that had given Selys a lot of her money.

“You are fairly wealthy yourself, sir, if my Skills don’t betray me. Still, that’s a sincere statement.”

The [Merchant] was clearly analyzing him as he’d done to Selys the first time and what he saw impressed him. He gestured to his wagons.

“Go on then, Mister Pisces—or may I call you Pisces? My wares are free for your perusal. If you object to the standard protections, what would you say Miss Shivertail requires in the way of security?”

It was a challenge, albeit a polite one. Pisces nodded. He leaned forwards, resting his chin on two fingers and looked at Selys and Farri together.

“I’ll be brief. Selys, you came here for personal protections. My thoughts on the matter are as follows. Firstly, Selys, you don’t need some elaborate ward system on your home. It’s too expensive to install, overkill for a low-level [Thief] and a master will slip through the gaps. And there are always gaps, believe me. Unless you paid for an expert [Wardmaster] or [Enchanter]—it’s pointless. However, that’s actually to your benefit because what you need to protect is so concentrated.”

He raised three fingers and ticked them off.

“You have three things of value you need protecting. Firstly, your gold. I’ve seen your magical vault and there are better versions you could acquire, or more static defenses you could add. Secondly, you need personal enchanted items. But not necessarily rings. Lastly, anti-theft measures for the Heartflame Breastplate. That last will be the most difficult by far, but I see Merchant Farri has all you need in the way of personal protections.”

Selys and Farri both raised their brows. Selys nodded.

“That’s a good point, Pisces. I didn’t think about it, but my home doesn’t have anything too important in it. But if you don’t mean rings, then what?”

The [Necromancer] smiled.

“I may be wrong, but my first instinct is potions and a wand. Perhaps one magical item. Mister Farri, your thoughts?”

The [Merchant] was nodding. Selys wasn’t sure what was so intelligent about what Pisces had said; it seemed obvious to her if not rings, but Farri gave Pisces a friendly smile.

“Single-use or rechargeable? Self-charging?”

“Rechargeable?”

Pisces actually laughed, and not in a condescending way. Farri laughed too, and nodded.

“Let me get some. I think I see your point, Pisces.”

He stood up and hurried into his wagon. Selys raised her brows and Pisces shook his head as he leaned over to explain.

“A common misconception. Most people would prefer to buy a rechargeable item that can be used again and again, but such items are vastly more expensive than a single-use item, and if you’re not a [Mage], recharging them is tedious! Far better to buy a single-use invisibility item.”

He gestured back to the wagon. Farri was nodding, and he’d already come back. This time he had a catalogue of neatly written potions and items. He stood next to Pisces as the [Necromancer] showed her the list.

“Given the threats to you, Selys, I would recommend a custom-made potion that turns you invisible or better yet, gives you an armored effect as well as defends you. A simple point-and-use wand would also be appropriate. You don’t need rings. If you’re in danger of assault or another monster attack, you can use the items once and replenish them.”

“Fair enough. So what’s good? And why can’t I get this from Octavia?”

“She doesn’t make the type of advanced potions you would need.”

Farri was nodding.

“I buy from Pallass as well as the best [Alchemists]. Some potions even come from other continents! I personally recommend an invisibility potion. And a stone skin potion?”

Pisces was nodding.

“Given that Miss Selys is sometimes in the company of others, though, I think a Scroll of Lesser Teleport bound to, say, her home would be most useful, Merchant Farri. When I am solvent myself, it will be one of the first items I suggest my team purchase.”

“And for a wand? [Arrow of Light]?”

“Not powerful enough. The Watch is fairly competent in Liscor. If Selys is worried about low-level threats, she should carry a Tripvine bag and a whistle. Or just scream for help. Inexpensive. Given that monsters seem to assail Liscor with distressing frequency—do you have a Wand of [Forcewalls]? Or perhaps a Wand of [Lightning Bolts]?”

Farri inhaled and Selys sat up.

“Those are expensive wands. I have both, as it happens. But isn’t that fairly overkill?”

Pisces smiled grimly.

“Have you heard about Skinner, Merchant Farri? I don’t believe wands are enough of a safeguard myself. Rather, I think what Selys needs is a few of Erin’s acid jars in her bag of holding, all the items I listed—and a wand that will be useful in such situations. For her everyday comfort? Simply a tracking spell woven into her bag of holding if it doesn’t have one already. We must save the most money for her Heartflame Armor; I’m surprised [Thieves] haven’t gone after it already, but Liscor is a poor home for the truly powerful thief gangs. Tell me, are you familiar with Seer’s Lodestone dust? The kind that never fades? Rather than prevent, I would prefer to find if someone takes her possessions.”

The man paused and Selys looked up. Farri nodded slowly. He looked respectful, and Pisces paused to let him reply. The [Merchant] eyed Pisces, and then smiled.

“If I might say so, your spending ability matches Miss Shivertail’s, Mister Pisces. I’m counting—is it a joint fund for your team?”

“Prying, Merchant Farri?”

Pisces seemed amused. Farri smiled and bowed a bit from the waist.

“A [Merchant] does what one must.”

The young man shook his head.

“I’m afraid I cannot spend anything myself. My team does have some money. But we’ve not yet converted it to gold—”

“A task I’m all too willing to handle myself. And if that’s not convenient, we can also witness a very fair deal at the Merchant’s Guild where I issue you, say, twenty percent credit of what I think you’re able to spend?”

The man didn’t wait for Pisces to respond. He clapped his hands and his assistants rushed out. He smiled at Pisces and Selys.

“Ah, but I forget my client! Miss Selys, pardon me. Allow me to bring out some of my rarer potions and outline some you may be interested in. Potions, scrolls—and er, what was this you mentioned about acid jars?”

—-

She still couldn’t tell if he was acting. Selys glanced sideways at Pisces as the two strolled back down the street. Nearly three hours had passed, and they’d passed quickly! Selys’ bladder was a bit full, but she had enjoyed herself. She looked sideways at Pisces as he walked beside her. He wasn’t scowling and he hadn’t dropped the good-natured, neutral expression he’d worn after bidding Farri goodbye.

“He didn’t manage to make you buy anything.”

“No. And I’m quite surprised I got away. Almost as much as he was!”

Pisces chuckled to himself. Selys was impressed too; Farri had his Skills and he’d sold Selys nearly twelve hundred gold’s worth of items, all of which would be delivered to her apartment; he was adding the tracking charm to her bag of holding.

It had been a successful outing. Pisces was nodding to himself, clearly pleased at his efforts. His throat was a bit hoarse, but he walked along, chatting much more lightheartedly than this morning.

“A fair [Merchant], I think. Ultimately self-interested, but fair to his clients. Did you see him glancing at his hand?”

“I did, but I didn’t see a truth stone flashing.”

The [Necromancer] smiled knowingly.

“I believe he painted over one of the gems. The one on his ring finger? He concealed it so it would only shine towards him. Clever.”

He chuckled to himself. Selys had to pause and check her tail. Then she looked at the young man thoughtfully.

“You know, Pisces, you’re very likable when you try to be.”

He paused.

“I suppose I made an effort today.”

“More than that. I think Farri actually liked talking to you, and that was after your first encounter! Was it an act?”

The [Necromancer] flicked his fingers.

“The best act is genuine emotion, Selys.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Fine. Be mysterious. But why don’t you do that all the time? You’d be popular if you tried!”

Hadn’t Ceria once mentioned that Pisces had once been that likable? Selys remembered Erin relating some of his history. But the young man just shook his head and some of his cheer faded.

“Not everyone is worth the effort.”

“Maybe more people would be if you tried. You didn’t hate Farri, did you? Be honest. Or do I have to buy a truth ring?”

Pisces hesitated.

“I suppose he was a good man. As far as [Merchants] go. I have met poor ones. And he was…decent. Yes. Perhaps I did. But as I said, not everyone…”

They walked out of Trader’s End, moving back towards The Wandering Inn to the eastern gates, but really ambling, talking. The street was lively and Selys saw people going to and from work. Some hunted, others mined the safe deposits at the base of the High Passes…Liscor wasn’t rich and it did have to import at times. But there was wealth to be had here. The Floodplains could feed a large population of animals, mostly wild, and as such, the wary [Hunter] or [Trapper] could feast on Razorbeaks, birds, Corusdeer—so long as they avoided Rock Crabs.

“It’s just that I don’t see the need to put on a front when the act of repelling someone precludes further conversation that would be meaningless. Moreover, it is far simpler for fools to dislike me rather than assume false affection and be twice-scorned and even more vengeful.”

“Then don’t scorn them, Pisces. What’s so hard about that?”

“I cannot abide fools, Selys. And sometimes, the objectionable actions of some halfwits simply pulls it out of me—”

“Every second of the day?”

They passed by a pale-scaled Drake chatting with a Centaur. It was such an odd sight Selys had to look twice. Pisces was still talking and didn’t notice. Selys stared at the Centaur. He had something in his mouth. A tube? No, a cigar. She’d seen some adventurers and rich Drakes smoking the stuff, but it was pricey! And the Watch had a dim view of most drugs; not that Liscor was exactly thriving in the black market. But that might change.

“So you’re going to help Liscor expand the road to Pallass, huh? That’ll mean we get a lot more visitors and trade year-round. As it is, we get lots of traffic from the south during the fall and winter, and sporadic traffic all year from the Humans.”

Pisces sniffed, but lightly as he munched on a Gnoll-treat. Not the hamburgers Erin had introduced like a plague onto the street vendors, but a simple Gnoll treat—different cuts of meat, all cooked to various degrees, cushioned in a bit of wrapping paper. You ate slice by slice or an entire meaty bite; Selys snagged a cut of pork and chewed it happily. Drakes and Gnolls, being mostly carnivorous, didn’t go for bread as much as Humans. Pisces sighed.

“Ceria did mention she was scouting out the Bloodfields. Another activity I’ll be forced to take part in, I suppose. Clearing a trade route to Pallass is a temporary occupation. Needlessly tedious for how much it pays, but it will keep my team busy. In truth, once the Halfseekers finally get to Invrisil we will be spending some time there.”

Selys paused and looked at him.

“That’ll take a bit. But when it happens, it’ll be as far as Pallass, right? Hard to visit.”

Pisces paused, chewing, and shrugged.

“Not too difficult. We can simply charge the door. But yes—I imagine we will attempt to take more requests around Invrisil. There simply isn’t much high-level work around Liscor besides the dungeon.”

“Right. And you’re not going into the dungeon.”

“Yes.”

“Well—that’ll be fun. Maybe I’ll visit Invrisil. I’ve been meaning to visit Pallass, but with the mana constraints on the door—”

Pisces blinked, and then nodded a bit.

“Yes. Yes, I’m sure Erin would want to visit too. And it is a notable city to visit. When that day comes, I will certainly suggest the idea. But with the Halfseekers—”

They wandered left, down a street. This time Pisces spotted a Minotaur and nudged Selys. The huge bull-person was studying a display of books, ignoring the looks from Drakes and Gnolls around him. She gasped.

“There’s another Minotaur in Liscor? I had no idea! Do you think he knows about Calruz?”

“She. And one imagines someone has told her by now.”

“No. She?”

Selys was incredulous. Pisces coughed, looking amused.

“Note the mammaries?”

It took Selys a moment to figure out what he meant. Then she stared.

“Breasts? Oh. I thought they were just uh, muscles for a second. She looks like Calruz!”

Pisces snorted, averting his gaze as they walked away from the Minotaurs lest she hear. He glanced absently at her.

“Minotaurs are rather statuesque. I gather there’s no physical difference between their genders in terms of body mass. Like Gnolls and Garuda. However, I’m amazed you didn’t notice the obvious.”

She slapped his leg with her tail, grinning.

“That’s not where Drakes look first. We check out the tail. And that’s not a feature most Drakes have like…well, like Humans!”

“But Drakes are mammals. They have live births and ah, the same reproductive basics as Humans to most extents, despite your relationship with Dragons. I always wondered why you called your young ‘hatchlings’.”

The Drake eyed him for a long moment.

“…How do you know that?”

“I study dead bodies for a living, Selys. What would you expect?”

“Well—it’s creepy that you know so much. And we honor our Ancestors or something. What should we call them? Scalelings? Actually…”

Pisces snorted. He’d finished his snack and was absently tucking the bit of trash in his bag of holding. Selys smelled something foreign on the wind. The Centaur she’d seen earlier trotted by her. Still smoking on the whatever-it-was. It smelled almost sweet to her, but the smoke made her wave at her face. Pisces frowned as the Centaur trotted past.

“There’s another thing I didn’t think I’d see. Minotaur, Centaur—all we need now is a Gazer or a Fraerling and we’ve nearly seen all the species if you add in Pallass.”

Selys commented to Pisces, but he wasn’t listening. He sniffed the air as the Centaur passed by. Selys coughed. There was something…foreign about the smell coming from whatever he was smoking. Totally different from wood smoke. Pisces frowned after the Centaur, and then glanced at the pale Drake hurrying after him.

“Hm. A Selphid and a Centaur? I wonder if they’re mercenaries? Both are…[Mages].”

“A Selphid? Are you sure? She could be pale-scaled. It must be a Baleros team or something. Hey, if they appear in the Adventurer’s Guild I’ll tell you about it. Speaking of which—how’s Jelaqua? You said the Halfseekers aren’t making any progress getting to Invrisil. Is it because of her and Maughin?”

Pisces nodded, refocusing on Selys.

“As I understand it, Seborn is taking issue with Jelaqua’s ongoing relationship with Maughin. He dislikes working while she enjoys herself. Rather seriously, it seems.”

“But all they have to do is walk. What’s got his tail in a twist? No, wait. I think I know. It could be because he’s a former [Pirate]. They’re touchy about stuff like that. They’re not [Sailors]. In fact, some crews have tyrannical [Captains], but others will revolt rather than let someone do that to them.”

Pisces blinked as Selys came out with that. He looked at her sideways, much the same way Farri had glanced at him.

“You know a lot about a seafaring class for someone who has never left Liscor.”

“I study up on classes. It’s my job. You’re not the only person with useless trivia.”

“Hardly useless. But I agree—it’s somewhat personal to Seborn. Frankly, I think he simply resents the prospect that it might be serious. And the discord it causes with Moore—”

“Poor Moore. I heard him talking about finding someone.”

“One can hardly miss it, given his natural volume.”

“Don’t you dare let on you know—”

“Do I look like Drassi, pray?”

The two were laughing when Selys paused. She looked around, struck by a thought. Ahead of her, a Drake was walking besides a young woman with a hood thrown up on her head. They were the only people on the street; Selys looked around, frowning. The Drake passed her by, his back straight, and Selys glanced around surreptitiously. But no one was nearby. Even so, she walked a bit closer to Pisces.

“Um, Pisces. When the Horns go to Invrisil, I was thinking. It’s um—about my class. And the breastplate. If you’re heading north—well, it could be south too, or far, far away. But I think it’s on Izril—can we talk in private?”

She hadn’t told anyone this, not even Pisces yet. But he’d helped her with the Heartflame Breastplate. The [Necromancer]’s eyes sharpened and he glanced around like she had to telltale Gnolls. But then he paused.

“We are alone.”

He stopped slowly. And Selys did too. At first she didn’t know what the odd tone in Pisces’ voice was. But then she looked around and realized he was right. The street was empty. Almost completely empty, but for a few people, like the Centaur trotting ahead of them and the two they’d just passed. Selys stared around.

“That’s not right. Where’s everyone gone? You can’t find an empty street in Liscor for gold—oh no, do you think Erin’s done something again?”

Pisces was frowning. He looked around, and then turned to squint ahead. Selys was about to suggest they check on Erin when a voice called out from behind.

“Pisces Jealnet?”

Pisces turned his head slightly. Selys saw him glance distractedly at speaker. It was the Drake. Selys paused. And then her eyes widened.

“Did he say—”

Selys saw Pisces’ head whip round. He stared at the Drake who’d spoken. The Drake had turned in the street. He was staring at Pisces. His scales were dark black with a hint of blue in them. His gaze was direct. He bared his teeth as his companion, hooded, stepped back.

“Pisces Jealnet. Son of Padurn Jealnet, [Fencer]. Ex-[Mage] of Wistram. Expelled. Wanted for multiple crimes. Is that you?”

And suddenly, Selys felt a bell ringing in her head. She didn’t have [Dangersense]. But she didn’t need to. She looked around and suddenly saw something. Down the street, the Centaur and Selphid had turned. The Selphid was wearing a female Drake’s body. The Centaur exhaled, the dark smoke trickling upwards. Selys turned back and saw another figure walking around a corner.

The Minotauress. She strode forwards. And her eyes were locked on Pisces.

“Pisces—what’s going—”

“Get behind me.”

He whispered. Selys saw his hand reaching for his side. Towards his rapier—she heard a curse.

It was missing. He hadn’t come with her prepared for a fight. And—Selys realized as her own claws drifted towards her belt—her bag of holding was with Farri. She backed up, staring at the Centaur and Selphid behind them.

The street was empty but for Pisces, Selys, and the strangers. There were five of them. Now, they abandoned all pretense. The Drake reached for his side. A bag of holding. He drew a wand, the tip already aflame, the wand made of obsidian. In his other hand he equipped a buckler.

“Oh, Ancestors—”

“Do you have any magical items? Anything?”

“I have a belt-knife!”

Another curse. Now Pisces and Selys stared around. And Selys realized something else.

They were all [Mages].

Here they came. A pale-faced Selphid, lifting two wands with both hands. A Minotaur, cracking her neck and knuckles. The Centaur, still smoking whatever was in his mouth. The speaker, a Drake, sneering as he pointed a translucent crystal wand and held up a glimmering buckler. And a hooded—Selys blinked. Where had that one gone?

“Pisces—”

It wasn’t a mugging. They were all focused on Pisces, not her. Selys’ tail was trying to curl into knots. She saw the Drake approaching with the Minotauress on his left; from the other side, the Centaur and Selphid were doing likewise. They had a confident walk; they knew what they were doing. Her voice squeaked as she tried to shout.

“Hey! This is Liscor! You can’t just—stop right there or I’ll call the Watch! Who are you? What do you want?”

“He knows. Let the Drake go, Pisces Jealnet. Step aside, Miss Drake. You don’t know who you’re standing next to.”

The Minotauress pointed. Selys found a spark of outrage. This wasn’t happening! This couldn’t be happening! Not in Liscor! Not here! Where was everyone? The Watch? Defiantly, she stepped forwards. Pisces hissed at her.

“Selys—”

“Who are you people? Answer me! Stop right there! Hey! Hey, I need the Watch—”

Selys began to shout, cupping her claws to her mouth, trying to raise someone’s attention. Anyone! She turned and saw the Centaur flick his joint. He pointed it at her and spoke.

“[Mind Blank].”

She recoiled, saw Pisces curse, reach for her. And Selys…

—-

Stopped. The female Drake stopped in the street, mid-recoil as Pisces grabbed her arm.

“Selys!”

But it was too late. The Drake looked around vacantly. The light, the spark in her eyes, it had all faded. She stood there, swaying, and then looked at Pisces. After a moment she frowned vaguely.

“Me?”

He stared at her, and then whirled as the Centaur spoke again.

“[Mind—]”

Pisces threw up his mental shields, drawing on his magic and circulating it through his body as he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. He tasted iron and felt a push at his mind. But [Mages] were better able to resist mind spells and Pisces had practice. He turned, hand grasping again for the rapier he did not have. Selys was behind him; she hadn’t reacted; she was just staring ahead blankly.

“Let her go. The Drake’s not part of this.”

The Minotauress called out again. They were surrounding him, two on each side. Pisces looked up. He stared at Selys’ face and then turned. His voice snapped in the silence.

“Who are you? What do you want with me?”

“You know who we are.”

The Drake was watching him. Pisces glanced behind him. Selphid and Centaur. They hadn’t said a word, but the magic hung heavy in the air. The Drake made an impatient gesture.

“Hands behind your head. Kneel down and put your face on the ground. No magic.”

Pisces licked his lips. He took a step back, half-pivoting.

“I am a Silver-rank adventurer—”

“Don’t play games. We know who you are. Wistram wants you.”

The Drake aimed his wand, raising his buckler. The tip of his wand sparked. The Minotauress just shook her head.

“And here I thought he’d be harder to find. More like a rat. No moves, [Necromancer]. We know all your spells.”

“I can assure you—”

The Drake’s eyes narrowed. His wand sparked and a ray of fire shot forwards. Pisces jerked—but the fiery beam went past his left shoulder and struck the cobblestones. The ground turned red and stone cracked.

“Enough talk! The next one goes through your leg. Surrender or we’ll do this the easy way.”

“I have done nothing—”

Pisces flinched from the second ray as it shot past his right leg. The Minotauress glanced at her companion and he nodded. They advanced.

“Last chance.”

The Drake warned. He was tracking Pisces as the young man moved back. They were closing in. Pisces tensed. Selys was walking to his left. She absently stared around, and then wandered down the street.

“Do I have work? I thought I was…”

Closer and closer. The Selphid and Centaur moved forwards a step, but the Drake and Minotauress were still advancing. Pisces froze. And all of the [Mages] on the street paused. They were eight feet apart. Then six—

And then Pisces turned and leapt for a side alley. The Drake cursed and his wand shot webs. But a bit off-target. Pisces dashed forwards—and the Minotauress caught him. She was quick! She raised one huge hand, swinging. Pisces turned—

“Don’t hurt me!”

He threw up both hands, shrinking down. The Minotauress stopped the blow and the Drake raised his wand, aborting a second spell. He blinked down as Pisces cowered, trembling before the second blow.

“I surrender! No violence! Please! I can assure you, I’ve done nothing wrong—”

“Shut up! Drop your wand.”

“He doesn’t have any, Isceil.”

The Minotauress stared at Pisces. She was still holding him, but now she let go. Pisces fell to his knees. He raised both hands, putting them behind his head. There were tears in his eyes.

“I—I’ve done nothing wrong against Wistram. If there’s some issue, I have gold! Let’s talk this over! Whatever you might have been told, I’m completely reformed. Good magi, a bit of kindness—”

“Shut. Up.”

Pisces’ babbling stopped. His eyes were wide as he trembled. The Drake, Isceil, lowered his wand, looking disgusted. He glanced at the Minotauress. She had the same expression on her face. The Selphid and Centaur [Mage] hesitated, but both trotted closer.

“I can’t believe this. Are you sure this is the right one?”

He turned. The Selphid nodded, glancing about. She stared at Pisces as he turned, a terrified expression on his face.

“Wow. He really gave up instantly. I thought he had some spine, based on all the reports.”

“Consider this. If it’s gold you want—”

“Shut up. Ancestors damn it. Well, we got him. Let’s capture this idiot already.”

The Drake folded his arms. Pisces threw himself forwards.

“Wait—wait!”

“Hands behind your head!”

The Minotauress snapped. She stepped back and reached for her belt. Pisces immediately got up and put his hands back up. He stared as she pulled something from her belt.

“Whatever Wistram Academy might think of me, I’ve reformed! Truly! If you intend to capture me, my record is clean in Liscor, I swear!”

“Hah. Can you believe this?”

The Selphid looked amused. The Drake just spat. He nodded towards his companion.

“Don’t try to weasel out of this, [Necromancer]. Now, put your hands up and get in the box.”

He looked towards the Minotauress. Pisces froze as she withdrew a black cube from her belt. It was perfectly black, without detail save for a single, etched door drawn in pale silver on one side. His eyes went wide and he leaned back as she aimed it at him.

“What is—”

“It’s a Silent Box. We’re not idiots. Get in.”

The Minotauress leaned forwards. Pisces backed up.

“No! I’m innocent! Please, can’t we negotiate?”

He threw himself to the side, avoiding the front of the cube. The Drake cursed, kicking at him as Pisces scrambled towards him, clutching at his legs.

“Get off! Don’t make me hex you, you little—Beza, just capture this piece of waste already!”

He lifted a leg to kick at Pisces. The Minotauress growled, reaching for Pisces with one hand. And then her eyes widened.

“Watch out!”

Pisces sprang upwards. He slashed at the Drake’s throat with one hand, snarling, and the Oldblood Drake made a sound. His head jerked backwards. But for Bezha’s warning, the bone blade would have cut his throat. As it was, Pisces slashed the edge and turned. He vanished, fleeing with long steps that blinked him across the ground.

[Bone Shiv]. [Flash Step]. The [Mages] shouted as Pisces dashed down the street. He got five steps, leapt, and vanished in midair. The Drake turned, cursing.

“That bastard! Where’d he—”

The Centaur took the rollup from his mouth and blew a cloud of smoke. Casually, he exhaled it and the smoke turned bright, pink, glittering particles sweeping forwards in a rush of air.

“He’s still here. [Glitterdust Storm].”

The pink shimmering cloud blew forwards and settled across the street. It caught Selys and she blinked, staring at the bright particles that stuck to her.

“Shiny.”

She muttered. Behind her, the particles stuck to a shape in the air. Pisces reappeared, coughing, as the Centaur pointed at him.

“Got him.”

The [Necromancer] looked around wildly. His [Invisibility] spell had been purged! And—he turned, stumbling, and [Flash Stepped] backwards. But somehow, he couldn’t flee down the street. He found himself stumbling backwards, towards the [Mages].

They were aiming at him now. The Drake raised his wand and roared. He blasted a ray of fire and Pisces ducked out of the way. The Drake’s wand ignited, and the Minotauress grabbed his arm.

“You idiot, that Drake’s still in the way!”

“I’ve got her.”

The Selphid dashed forwards and tugged at Selys. Pisces froze. Something was wrong. He turned around. The street swam behind him. He whirled as another ray of magic shot at him and dodged left. The Drake was clutching at his throat. The Minotauress clenched a fist, pulling out a scroll.

“Isceil, do you need a potion? I’ve got him—”

“I’m fine. Don’t you dare, Beza! The rest of you, back off!”

Isceil hissed. His companions looked at him as he advanced, his wand aimed at Pisces’ heart. The Drake’s tail lashed furiously. His throat was still bleeding, but no more than superficially. He narrowed his eyes at Pisces.

“Not bad. If I were twice as slow, you’d have got me. Everyone, stay back. I’ll take him. Alone.”

“Really?”

“Shut up, Beza. You. [Necromancer]. You’re not getting away.”

The Drake aimed his wand at Pisces. The young man paused. His head felt thick. But he still sneered. He raised his hand and a rapier of bone appeared, the bones flowing from his bag of holding.

“Is this a challenge? For a group of Wistram’s cowards, I didn’t expect any honor among them.”

The comment made the female Minotaur’s eyes begin to turn red. She opened her mouth, but the Drake laughed.

“That’s better! I was hoping you’d fight back. Beza, he’s mine.”

He sneered as Pisces flicked his bone rapier. The [Necromancer] walked to one side, rapier raised in a [Fencer]’s position. Isceil had no weapon save for his wand, but he didn’t look concerned. He flicked his wand as he kept his buckler high.

“I heard you were a good duelist back in your day. I’m one of Fissival’s best. If I’d have transferred to Wistram, people wouldn’t remember you at all.”

Pisces’ eyes narrowed.

“So you are from Wistram?”

The Drake looked at him.

“Of course we are. We’re—”

He swore and raised his shield, twisting. Pisces’ lunge carried him across the street. He missed, his rapier deflecting off the Drake’s buckler. Isceil pointed.

“[Flame Scythe]!”

He swung the wand fast, an arc of blue flame cutting. Pisces was already gone. He reappeared, panting. The heat of the flames cutting through the air was intense. The Drake spat curses.

“You cowardly—”

He jerked as Pisces dove left. The [Necromancer] blasted fire at his face, spun, [Flash Stepped] around the Drake, and fired a [Stone Dart] at his side. The Drake twisted. The flames he dispelled, but the stone dart shot at him from his wand-side. He twisted—

And the stone dart exploded in midair. Pisces paused. The Drake lifted his wand. The returning spell exploded outwards, a shower of purple missiles that homed in on Pisces. The [Necromancer] leapt backwards, but the missiles pursued him. He vanished, threw up a [Barrier of Air]—the explosion sent him stumbling back a step.

Pisces pointed a finger and lightning, volts of electricity crackled forwards. Again, they vanished before touching the Drake. This time Isceil just sneered. Pisces saw an amulet on his chest flashing. It was absorbing the Tier 2 spells!

“That’s it? You could take on fourth-year students, but not—”

He slashed with his wand. A sword of light cut at the air, but Pisces’ reach was longer. The [Necromancer] leapt forwards, slashing with his rapier, stabbing, vanishing backwards. This time he raised his hand and a bloom of light flashed in the Drake’s eyes. Isceil cursed, spoke a word. Pisces saw the barrier appear and [Flash Stepped] left. He lunged in, saw the Drake pointing his wand behind him, right at Pisces.

“[Flame Spray].”

This time the fire caught Pisces. He shouted in pain, leaping backwards, his robes and hair burning. Pisces shot frozen air, blasting his skin, ignoring the blisters forming. The Drake crowed, but cursed as he felt at one arm. Pisces had cut him above the arm in the clash on his buckler arm.

Isceil’s companions watched the magical duel calmly. The Minotauress was shouting clenching her hands, watching Pisces warily—the Selphid and Centaur were more casual. The smoking Centaur called out as he watched the Drake raise his buckler.

“Having trouble, Isceil? He’s not bad!”

“Shut your damn mouth, Palt!”

The Drake roared back. He shot a flurry of spells at Pisces, curving them and aiming where Pisces would be. The [Necromancer] disappeared backwards, throwing his own spells, but defensively. The Selphid watched with interest. The Drake’s body the Selphid was wearing held two wands and she was flicking them as she analyzed the duel.

“This Human really is as good as Beatrice said. I never saw him duel, but he’s quick! [Fencer]?”

“Maybe. But Isceil will win.”

The Centaur nodded knowingly. He watched as Pisces retreated backwards. The [Mage] had conjured his [Barrier of Air] again. But the Drake shattered it with a single spell. Pisces fell back, panting. He stared at the Drake, poised, ready to dodge. Isceil aimed at him, eyes narrowed, and the two froze for a second.

Pisces’ mind was whirling as he stared at his opponent. He was good. And the buckler had some kind of spell that was drawing Pisces’ attention and attacks. Every time Pisces lunged—the [Necromancer] glanced at the other three [Mages]. Isceil’s eyes narrowed. His wand shot a scythe of flames horizontally.

“Your opponent’s here!”

“Damn it, Isceil! We’re right here!”

The Selphid leapt forwards and cut the flames in two as they shot. Pisces had already ducked under the fire, but Isceil had been aiming for that. Grinning, the Drake aimed at the crouched [Necromancer]. He saw Pisces flick one hand and a ring flashed. A bolt of magic shot towards Isceil’s face. The overconfident Drake blinked.

“Isceil! Dodge!”

The voice that rang out came from the side. Isceil’s eyes widened. He raised his bucker, caught the edge of the [Shatterbolt] on the rim of his shield. His buckler trembled as the magical spell hit it. It glowed, cracked, and exploded. The Drake howled.

“My shield!”

“Isceil!”

His friends cried out in shock. The Drake raised his wand, whipping around wildly for Pisces, but the [Necromancer] was gone. He was—Beza pointed.

“Damn, he’s running! Get him!”

Pisces was dashing at them. The Selphid, Centaur, and Minotaur all reacted. The Selphid leapt backwards, out of the way of a slash. Beza swung barehanded, but Pisces leapt past her. He [Flash Stepped] forwards zipping forwards with each step—

And found himself facing the other way. Pisces stumbled. He was running towards the [Mages] again! He saw the Selphid raising her wands, unguarded, and leapt forwards.

“Oh rot—”

A hail of missiles hit Pisces from the side. It was like being hit by heavy, sharp punches. Pisces staggered. The Centaur!

“I’ve got you covered. [Light Arrow].”

He was pointing at Pisces with both hands. Bolts of light appeared at his fingertips and flew at Pisces. They shot from his fingers as fast as rain. Pisces dodged backwards, but again, he found himself stumbling as he tried to get down the street. At last, his frantic mind connected the dots.

He was under an illusion spell. The [Necromancer] twisted, snarling. The Centaur’s lit joint puffed. And the cloud turned orange as he blew a smoke ring.

“He’s trying to break my illusion. Anyone want to stop him? Anyone?”

“I’ve got this.”

“He’s my prey!”

Isceil was running forwards. But the Minotauress had had enough. She strode forwards. Pisces narrowed his eyes. The Centaur trotted backwards, watching Pisces carefully. The [Necromancer] dodged left and Beza cursed.

“Damn. [Haste]—”

She blurred. Now it was her versus Pisces and the Minotaur was fast. Pisces backed up as the female Minotaur came at him. She stepped in—not a blind rush, but a boxer’s stance. She swung, fast and compact, but each swing missed him. He slashed out; she blocked with one arm. His swing didn’t even break her flesh!

“[Steel Body]. Ulinde?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

The Selphid appeared behind Pisces. Now it was two-on-one. No, three. The [Necromancer] turned. He grabbed his bag of holding and threw it.

“Rise!”

Bones spilled from the bag, assembling upwards. A hand reached for the Selphid. She turned, raised her wands.

“No you don’t! [Ray of Force]. [Aerial Burst].”

The Bone Horror exploded as the spells sent the bones flying. They rained down around the street. Pisces stared at the Selphid. They smiled in the Drake’s body and leapt.

“[Flame Scythe]. [Stone Spray]!”

Fire and stone. Pisces dodged backwards. But he was too slow. This time the fragments of stone struck his leg, drawing blood. He stumbled, his skin blistering. The Minotaur raised a hand.

“Ulinde, we want him alive.”

“It’s only Tier 2 spells, Beza—”

“Ulinde, Beza! Back off!”

The Drake bellowed as he aimed at Pisces. The Minotauress turned on him angrily.

“Isceil, finish it if you’re so bothered. But if you can’t catch him—”

“He won’t dodge this.”

Pisces saw the Drake lower his wand. The [Necromancer] leaned on his good leg, ready to dash. He inhaled raggedly. What was coming? If he couldn’t flee, he had to send a message to Ceria, take out the Centaur and—

Isceil inhaled. Pisces whirled. Oldblood Drake. He dodged left, prepared for an attack. But what issued from the Drake’s mouth was a stream of frost. An ice-type? But then Pisces saw the ice was a cloud. An expanding black cloud—

Darkness and ice? The [Necromancer] paused for a crucial second as the cloud curved around him. Too late, he realized it wasn’t aimed at him, but cutting off his back—he tried to dodge left, but the swath of magical bolts caught him. Three stuck him and he stumbled backwards. Freezing ice and sapping darkness from the cloud struck his back.

“Got him.”

Burning pain. Pisces’ body spasmed. He cried out; the bolts had torn his flesh. He looked up as the Drake leveled his wand. His body was slowing. Freezing. The four [Mages] watched him.

“Surrender.”

The Minotauress called out. Pisces coughed. He said nothing. Isceil’s eyes narrowed.

“[Hail of—]”

Pisces raised his hand and flicked it at the [Mages]. All four recoiled, but the [Shatterbolt] spell didn’t come. The ring on Pisces’ finger was still recharging. But that opening was all he needed.

Pisces leapt forwards, his rapier extended, aiming straight for the Drake’s open mouth. A [Fencer]’s lunge. He stepped through the cloud, but the magical breath couldn’t touch him for more than a moment. And his bone rapier was aimed straight for the Drake’s open mouth.

It was less than a split second, a [Flash Step]. In that way memory has of catching up to action, Pisces saw the Drake’s eyes widen, him try to move. But it was too late. The rapier’s tip aimed at his mouth—

And Pisces slammed into something. So hard that he felt his arm crack and his rapier skid twisting out of his hands. He recoiled, and then fell backwards, stunned by the impact. He’d hit—

Isceil was cursing. He raised his wand, but his spell struck the magical barrier protecting him and dissipated harmlessly. He whirled.

And the fifth [Mage] stepped forwards, shedding her own [Invisibility] spell. Her voice was low as she moved forwards, the staff in her hands glowing.

“Step back, Isceil. Now.”

“I had that! I—”

The hooded head turned towards him. The Drake swallowed his fury, lowered his wand. Pisces scrambled for his rapier. He tried to get up, but he was winded. He looked up, biding his time. The fifth mage wore a dark hood. But now, she pulled it back and looked down at him.

She had bright red hair, fizzy, fair, Terandrian features. She was young, a bit younger than he was, but only by year or so. Her eyes were pale, saffron and topaz. She stared down at Pisces and spoke. Her voice was lower than he remembered. But so familiar.

“Hello, Pisces. Remember me?”

The [Necromancer] froze. He stared up at her. His eyes widened and his mind went blank for a second. He looked at the young woman as her companions, her team spread out behind her.

Drake. Selphid. Centaur. Minotauress. They all bore the marks of Wistram, but Pisces knew none of them. But her? He knew her. The young [Mage] leaned on her stave.

Her staff was something like marble, a hexagonal base ending with a hoop-like design at the head. Inside the ring hovered a red gemstone. But what drew the eye was the strange, polished orb hovering around the staff. It looked like a ball of…copper? Yet, Pisces had only eyes for her face. He spoke sharply. A pained name. Memory.

“Montres—”

“[Lightning Bolt].”

The magic flashed from the orb, not the staff. The thunder rolled and broke. The other [Mages] winced, but when the flash and sound cleared, Pisces was trying to get up. He’d shielded himself even from that, but—

Pisces rose. This time a fist swung at his face. He jerked, but it spun him on his back. The Minotauress watched as his head cracked the paving stones. She stood over him. The Drake advanced, aiming a wand down at Pisces. Montressa du Valeross watched.

“Give up. Now.”

“Montr—”

The Drake’s foot flashed out and stomped on Pisces’ hand as he reached for his rapier. The [Necromancer] shouted in pain. Now there were three. Selphid, Drake, Minotauress. Beza leaned down. Her horns were capped with an ornamental tip of silver and gemstone. She spoke once.

“Give up.”

Pisces stared up at them. The [Mages] waited. He looked past them at Montressa. Right at her. He inhaled once, clutching at his chest. And spoke.

“No.”

He rose. This time there was no duel. He slashed, a knife of bone appearing in his hands. The Minotauress struck him in the stomach and he folded, gagging. The Selphid knocked his legs out from behind and the Drake [Mage] stepped forwards and kicked him in the face. Pisces stabbed at his leg, drawing blood. Isceil hissed.

“That’s it.”

He kicked Pisces again. The [Necromancer] slashed at him until Beza ripped the blade from his hands. But he refused to surrender. He snarled, then, biting, clawing, magic swirling and breaking unformed as they interrupted his spellcasting.

Selys Shivertail stood in the street where the Selphid had dragged her. She watched, vaguely, as the three magic users surrounded the young man on the ground. Some part of her was troubled. But the rest of her couldn’t find the words to explain why it hurt. The [Mages] didn’t bother with spells anymore. They just hit Pisces, again and again. The sounds bothered Selys, heavy thumps. Blows. Curses. But her vacant eyes never looked away.

They didn’t stop as long as he was moving. And he refused to stop. The Centaur looked away, inhaling deeply and blowing out smoke. When it was finally over, they stepped back. The Drake’s eyes were alight with fury. The Minotaurs’ disdainful. The Selphid looked disgusted.

And Montressa? She stepped over to the young man, as the Drake wiped off a spatter of blood and spat. And she stared down at him with hatred as she drew the Silent Box. Pisces never moved as Montressa bent.

Hatred and fear.

—-

Yvlon Byres had never been to Wishdrinks, but she’d heard all about the reputation of the bar. And it was well-deserved. For, when she visited it at last, she found it was not only the most popular bar in Liscor, but it had a waiting list.

So the adventurers went to a normal tavern instead. The alcohol was cheap, and they were sitting around, drinking and talking. Humans, mostly. Ksmvr was there, and Ceria, but it was mostly the old adventurers. Stan. Alais. Walt. Kammy, who was ‘Kam’ to everyone. And more. Silver-rank adventurers Yvlon had met once or twice before, or whom she’d heard of.

They were talking, laughing, telling stories, and toasting each other. It was somber and funny. Mostly funny, actually—Yvlon was laughing. She couldn’t help it.

“So then—then I saw Gerial and Ceria trying to drag Calruz up the stairs. They were all too drunk, and so the Minotaur kept on falling backwards and those two idiots weren’t about to pull him up themselves. So they just left him on the stairwell. But here’s the best part: they forgot to clean him up, so he still had all the crap on him. And the tavern’s dog—it must have gotten through the door with some of its buddies, because it began eating all the scraps on him. And then it began puking and crapping on Calruz, so when we got down the next day, we found him covered in—”

A roar of laughter followed Walt’s story. Yvlon snorted, more disgusted than amused, and she saw Ceria bury her head in her hands, blushing. But also laughing.

“Dead gods. This is why we don’t work with your team, Walt! And you’re one to talk. I remember one time we had to find you after you went drinking and we found you in a pigsty, spooning with a pig!”

Kam coughed on her drink and Walt laughed. He was already deeply into his cups, and it wasn’t even near dinner yet. But then—Yvlon’s head was also clouded. They’d been drinking. Talking about the past.

“Those were the good old days. Remember when we were all just out of Bronze-rank? Your team jumped out of it fast, Ceria. That damn bull was too strong and you had those ice shards—”

“Ice spikes. I still have them. Yeah. If only I’d had my [Ice Walls]. That’d have been really useful. In the crypt.”

The other adventurers sobered a bit. Ceria had related the tale, the real tale of what had gone down in the crypt with Yvlon’s help. It hadn’t been easy, hence the drinks. But they weren’t the only ones.

“Undead. They get you. My team and the Ghouls—it was a bad hand. Cervial would’ve never opened that door. That thing—Skinner? It must have come out. It was a trap. I—well, we heard differently.”

Stan leaned on the counter. He hadn’t drunk as much as the others, being the oldest save for Ceria. He looked around and the others nodded. Kam made a disgusted noise.

“I never believed it. I knew Ceria and Calruz and everyone else. You shouldn’t have listened to those other adventurers, Stan. They’re not team captains. You know what Terrica did after I booted her from the team for getting us into that ambush? She complained. Filed a report at the Adventurer’s Guild saying that I cut her out of her fair share. Unjustly.”

“Bitch.”

Walt missed his mug. Some of the other team leaders nodded.

“She really walked your team into a full ambush?”

“She was either drunk, or she’d been taking some of those powders. Or…I don’t know. I thought I could trust her.”

“I lost two friends on a [Bandit] mission three years back. Just bad luck. I was taking point. That was an honest mistake, but that’s why I resigned as captain. There’s some truth to the folks who’re angry at the Horns. And your team, Kam. But let’s be clear: it was a mistake. Both situations could’ve been avoided, sure. But no one wanted either incident. We’ll correct anyone we hear spreading false rumors.”

Pelico, a [Rogue] adventurer nodded seriously. The other adventurers nodded too. Yvlon had to raise her mug, nodding gratefully.

“I’ll drink to that. And again—that fight in the Adventurer’s Guild? That was my fault.”

“We provoked it. Tempers were hot. It was Albez, really. Pure jealously over that. As well as not hearing anything after Liscor and getting your side of the story.”

Alais muttered into her cup. Stan nodded gravely, and he raised his cup.

“To mistakes. We’ve all made a few.”

The adventurers drank. Yvlon saw Ksmvr drinking quietly; the Antinium had been listening rather than sharing his own stories, of which he had few. Now he rose.

“Excuse me. I must excrete.”

Walt choked on his drink. Yvlon heard laughter from the others.

“Ksmvr! Don’t tell us that!”

The Antinium tilted his head.

“But I will be away for a longer period than normal. The typical toilet is ill-configured to dispose of my waste. I must find a proper receptacle.”

He wandered off. Yvlon heard Walt choking and laughing, but then the other adveturers leaned in. Kam looked at Yvlon and Ceria.

“Alright, since we can ask now—tell me honestly, you two. Is he really okay to have on your team? I couldn’t believe you had an Antinium on your team. I thought they were these mindless killing machines.”

The others nodded. Yvlon looked at Ceria, and spoke up first.

“Ksmvr’s odd. But he’s one of the most loyal teammates I’ve ever had. The Antinium are strange, but some of them are just like us. Just a bit different.”

“Different how?”

“Well, he doesn’t understand a lot of things. He lived in the Hive all his life. He’s actually three years old.”

“Dead gods. Seriously?”

“Yes, but listen, Kam, everyone. He’s the kind of teammate you want. Ksmvr’s the most trustworthy friend I know. If anything, we have to take care of him because he’ll put his life on the line before ours. He thinks he’s expendable compared to us; he’d lay his life down in a heartbeat.”

Pelico bit his lip.

“Damn. That’s some loyalty. I’ve had companions like that. They don’t last long.”

“Don’t worry about him. That fellow’s a demon in combat. Did we tell you about the [Bandit] story? He took out an entire group of them. By himself!”

“What? I didn’t hear about this!”

Everyone looked at Stan. He was nodding, looking at Yvlon and Ceria for confirmation.

“I didn’t see it all, but—well, it was after the fight. Yvlon and Ceria here had just been hauled off to the jail—”

“Because they’d brawled with us. That other one too. Pisces?”

Alais muttered, flushing. Yvlon nodded. Kam glanced up sharply.

“The [Necromancer]. Tell us about him. You’re actually working with one? After Liscor?”

“He saved Ceria’s life. Went into the crypt, Kam.”

“Talk about him later! What’s this about the [Bandits]?”

Walt interrupted impatiently. Stan was nodding, and Yvlon was leaning over to whisper with Kam when the [Mages] walked into the tavern. Five of them. At first, no one noticed, but Ceria glanced up muzzily, sensing the magical energy. So did another team captain.

Ulinde, the Selphid, glanced around, and then spotted Ceria at the bar. She pointed the half-Elf out.

“That her, Montressa?”

“Yes.”

The Centaur named Palt was lighting a new roll. He sucked on it and blew out more smoke.

“She’s got companions. Want to wait?”

“Adventurers. They look like Silver-ranks. We can handle them. Let’s not waste time.”

Beza snorted. She still looked at Montressa first. The [Mage] nodded and they all walked forwards.

“Ceria Springwalker.”

Isceil interrupted Stan’s story at the bar. The adventurers turned, most blinking as they saw the five [Mages]. Ceria looked up. She focused on the Drake’s face first.

“Huh? That’s me. Do I know you?”

“No. But you know her.”

The Drake jerked his head over to the young woman. Ceria turned. Yvlon saw her pause uncertainly. And then Ceria dropped her mug.

“Mons? Montressa?”

She jerked out of her seat, standing up unsteadily. Montressa gave Ceria a flat, long stare.

“That’s me. Hello, Ceria. Is your team here?”

“I—Montressa? How did you get here? Tree rot! Is that you?”

Ceria stared unsteadily at Montressa and then went to pinch herself. Yvlon stared. She’d heard Ceria’s tale of her days in Wistram and she vaguely recalled the name. Alais blinked around. She could sense the [Mages] too. She sat up a bit and her tone was respectful.

“Who’s this Ceria? An old friend?”

“I—yes?”

The half-Elf blinked uncertainly at Mons. Worriedly, Yvlon thought. But she smiled and gestured around to Yvlon.

“Everyone, this is Montressa. Montressa, it’s good to see you. Yvlon—meet Montressa. You remember me telling you about her? This is Yvlon, one of my teammates. I—”

She paused. Montressa was just staring at Ceria. Looking the half-Elf up and down. And—Yvlon was rapidly sobering—there was absolutely no warmth in her eyes. Much the opposite. The other [Mages] looked equally…

Slowly, the adventurers put down their cups and all turned. They could all feel it in the air. Ceria’s smile faltered.

“Mons? I have a team. The Horns of Hammerad. And…you know who’s on my team?”

“An old friend. I know. Pisces. I just met him. But I never thought you’d be working with him. Looks like you really haven’t changed.”

Montressa spoke quietly. She stared at Ceria. Yvlon felt her skin crawling. Beside her, Kam gave Yvlon a slow nudge.

“What? You met Pisces?”

“I did. My team and I are all [Mages] from Wistram. We’re here on a mission. We just apprehended Pisces for his crimes. He’ll stand trial in Wistram.”

The room froze over. Ceria stared at Montressa, blinking, not quite comprehending. Her smile vanished. She looked at Montressa, then the other four [Mages].

“What? But—hold on, we were kicked out. The Council exiled us. You can’t—wait, where’s Pisces?”

“What did you do with him?”

Yvlon slowly got up. She was still wearing her armor. She stared at the Minotauress. She was big. Taller than Calruz, even. Although Calruz had been burlier. This Minotaur was wearing robes. A Minotaur [Mage]? She still looked stronger than Walt.

“We put him in a Silent Box. He resisted. You’re on his team, Ceria. Wistram’s decided you owe the academy an explanation for why you’re consorting with him. So you’re coming as well. You won’t be a prisoner if you come quietly. Surrender if you know what’s good for you.”

The half-Elf just stared at Montressa. She looked disbelieving for a moment. But the Drake was shifting his weight. The seated adventurers were surreptitiously shifting their weight. Stan called out, his voice friendly, but wary. The [Bartender] had already ducked backwards, away from the bar.

“Hold on here. I don’t know what this is about, but let’s all be reasonable here. You’re all [Mages]? Why don’t we sit down, discuss this—”

“Shut up, Human. All of you adventurers, stay out of this. This is Wistram’s business. Wistram Academy. If we need to, we’ll deal with all of you as well.”

The Drake snapped at him. That was the wrong thing to say. Walt got up.

“Listen, you pissant Drake. I’ve had it up to here with—”

He froze as Isceil drew his wand. Ulinde’s appeared in her hands as well, aiming at the bar of adventurers. Everyone froze.

“Hold on! You can’t start a fight in the middle of the city! The Watch will—”

Kam croaked nervously. Montressa ignored her. She was still staring at Ceria, but now her gaze flicked to Yvlon.

“Is this your teammate? Does she know what you and Pisces did?”

“Mons?”

“Don’t call me that. Does she know what Pisces is? What he’s done? How could you work with him?”

Yvlon stepped forwards. The attention of all the [Mages] shifted on her. She settled herself. Her nerves were fizzing. She checked one arm unconsciously as she looked at Montressa.

“I know who Pisces is. He’s a friend. Where is he? Did you hurt him?”

“This doesn’t concern you. Your Captain and the [Necromancer] are criminals. Walk away.”

The Minotauress informed Yvlon, glaring. Yvlon looked at her.

“Where is Pisces. Answer me.”

“Right here.”

Montressa shifted her robes and let go of her staff. It stayed upright as she pointed to a little black cube. Yvlon stared at it as Ceria inhaled.

“You didn’t—”

“Let him go. Now.”

Yvlon reached for her sword. Alais said something, but Yvlon’s eyes were locked on Montressa. The Selphid raised her wand warningly.

“Don’t. You’re all out leveled. Let Ceria Springwalker go and she’ll come back with us.”

“This isn’t happening. Montressa, let me explain. Did you talk to Pisces? What happened?”

Ceria was laughing, her eyes wide with disbelief. She looked at Montressa, but the young Human woman never blinked. She stared back at Ceria, and Yvlon’s hand found the hilt of her sword.

“What did you do?”

“We don’t want a fight. Let’s talk this over. Yvlon, this isn’t the Adventurer’s Guild. Ceria.”

Stan’s voice was uncertain. Yvlon hesitated. But Ceria just stared at Montressa. She gulped.

“I know that, Stan. But—Mons? Why is my [Dangersense] going off? What did you do with Pisces?”

The young woman paused. Then she turned her head and nodded at the Drake and Minotaur on her left.

“Last chance.”

Yvlon drew her sword. Behind his companions, the Centaur grabbed at something.

“[Intangible Snatch].”

Yvlon felt her sword hilt vanish. She gaped and saw him holding the blade, half unsheathed. The Drake pointed his wand.

“[Stone Fist]!”

Yvlon dove as a block of stone blasted past her and smashed into the bar. The room exploded into violence. The adventurers surged up from their chairs. Half of them already had weapons in their hands, but the Selphid was faster. Ulinde leapt forwards, pointing both her wands at the adventurers.

“[Sticky Webs]!”

Spider webbing, nets of it, shot out and hit most of the adventures where they sat. They cried out, struggling, but the Centaur was pointing calmly from face to face.

“[Black Shroud]. [Sleep]. [Sticky Webs]—”

He and the Selphid struck the adventures in their seats, immobilizing some of them. Walt slumped, his eyes fluttering. Ceria was on her feet.

“Montressa!”

She raised her wand, pointing with her skeletal hand. Frost shimmering around both, but Isceil pointed his wand at her.

“You’re outmatched, half-Elf. Don’t even try it.”

Ceria hesitated. Yvlon surged to her feet, looking for a weapon. Anything! She turned—and Beza charged her. The Minotauress knocked Yvlon off her feet. The [Wounded Warrior] tumbled backwards, crashing onto the ground. Beza raised a fist.

“Give up.”

“No fighting! No fighting! Someone call the W—”

The [Bartender] was halfway towards the door, but there was a shimmering barrier there. The Centaur pointed and the Drake collapsed, eyes rolling up in his head. Ceria looked at Yvlon. From the ground, Yvlon looked up. Montressa looked at Ceria.

“Well?”

Ceria shouted.

“[Ice—]”

A barrier of ice exploded from the ground as she shot a spray of snow into the Drake’s face. He cursed and pointed at the expanding barrier of frozen water.

The wall of ice exploded. Ceria gaped and saw him pointing his wand. She dodged, but too late. The bolt of magic hit her in the chest and slammed her against the bar. She flailed there, breathless. The Drake hit her with a second spell before she could move. Ceria felt the world disappear for a moment. Her ears were ringing. She stared upwards, mouthing wordlessly. She couldn’t breathe.

Montressa stood over her. Yvlon was on her feet, but she’d been caught. Beza had her arm. The Minotauress was twisting it up ruthlessly. Ceria was downed—Isceil was stabbing his wand into her chest and it was draining her of energy. Yvlon cursed as she fought to get free, but Beza had leverage on her. She growled as the other [Mages] looked at Ceria.

“Walk away, Miss Human. Both of your teammates are under arrest. You’re free to go; don’t make us incapacitate you.”

“Let go of Ceria!”

Yvlon wrenched, but her right arm was caught. Beza sighed as she adjusted her grip and looked at Montressa.

“I’ve got this. You can’t get free, Human.”

Yvlon twisted. She was bent over, held at an awkward angle, but she could still hit at Beza. She swung a fist into the Minotaur’s stomach, but it was weak. Beza didn’t even move. She looked embarrassed as she twisted Yvlon’s arm up further.

“Just give up. Even Minotaur [Mages] can outfight your average [Warrior]. And I’m specialized in hand-to-hand combat.”

“Yvlon.”

Ceria croaked weakly. Yvlon saw her friend’s hand jerking as she weakly grasped at the wand. The obsidian was sparking where it touched her chest. Montressa was lifting the black cube, advancing on her. Yvlon Byres saw crimson. She howled in fury and wrenched.

Her arm moved. Yvlon turned and slammed her head into Beza’s chin. The Minotaur stumbled back she looked stunned. Yvlon spun. She kicked, catching the Minotaur in the stomach. It felt like she was hitting a rock! She caught herself, lashed out. Her right arm didn’t move, but her left struck Beza across the face. Her armored fist drew blood this time. Yvlon punched. Her right arm wasn’t moving!

“Beza!”

Her friends were raising their wands. Yvlon turned, one of her arms raised. Beza stumbled backwards, but caught herself. She held up a hand. Then she stared at Yvlon. The [Wounded Warrior] turned to her. The Minotauress stared.

“You—you just dislocated your arm.”

Yvlon blinked. She stared down at her left arm. She saw her arm was twisted, the elbow bent in into it poked at her side. She stared at it. She hadn’t felt a thing. Then she looked up.

“So?”

The Human woman charged the Minotaur. Beza blocked the first punch; Yvlon kneed her in the chest and heard the Minotaur grunt. She swung, catching Beza across the ribs. The Minotaur punched back and hit Yvlon across the face. Yvlon reeled back and hit Beza with all her weight on the left side. The Minotaur reeled back.

“Use [Steel Body]! Don’t just duke it out, you idiot!”

Isceil was shouting at Beza, but she refused to retreat. Yvlon swung again—this time the Minotaur blocked and lashed out. She hit Yvlon on the chest this time; the armor took the impact and Yvlon slid back.

She tried to move her other arm and felt her muscles tearing. But she didn’t feel it. She charged and rammed into the Minotaur. She reached down and yanked at the leg she found. Beza stumbled, cursing, and Yvlon lifted.

The Minotaur went down and Yvlon leapt on her. Beza tried to utter a spell as she raised her hands. Too late. Yvlon was on top of her. One handed, she pounded at the Minotaur’s face. Beza roared.

“Get—”

“[Binding Cords]!”

Behind Yvlon, Montressa pointed her staff. Yvlon jerked as the spell hit her. Ropes appeared and swirled around the [Warrior] as she tried to fight. But then she was struggling, cursing on the ground. Beza rose, eyes red with fury and rounded on Montressa.

“That was my fight!”

“Oh yeah? You did about as well as Isceil. You should have enchanted yourself, Beza. We don’t have time for this.”

The Selphid shook her head. Beza was furious, but she calmed as Montressa glared at her. She turned back to Yvlon.

“I’m sorry about that.”

“You coward. You—”

“[Soporifics Dust].”

The Centaur trotted over and waved a hand over Yvlon. She cursed, but her movements grew slower. She resisted the spell for nearly a minute, swearing at Beza, but the Centaur just kept the spores of yellow-green powder drifting down on her and eventually Yvlon slowed.

The [Mages] stood in silence. Ceria was limp, unconscious, as Isceil stepped back. He looked at the adventurers, most of whom were out and then at Beza. She was wiping blood from one nostril.

“Alright, we got the half-Elf. Are we taking the other one too?”

“We have to. But where’s the fourth? Did anyone see the Antinium?”

The [Mages] all shook their heads. Montressa glanced around warily. Ulinde was frowning.

“Well, we don’t have to get anyone besides Pisces and Ceria, right? Maybe we—”

Thunk. Ulinde stopped talking and rocked backwards. A crossbow bolt had appeared in the side of her head, just above her ear. She stumbled backwards. Beza’s eyes went wide. She spun—a crossbow bolt struck her in the chest. She stared at it.

“Dead gods!”

Isceil raised his wand. The third crossbow bolt shattered, cracking the magical barrier that appeared around him. The fourth broke it, but the bolt snapped and only the fragments hit him. He raised his wand and Ksmvr fired the fifth crossbow. It snapped through the Drake’s arm, sending the wand flying. He aimed the sixth one.

He had Crossbow Stan’s bag of holding. Ksmvr stood behind the bar where he’d been hidden and pointed it at Montressa. Straight at her stomach. She was still stunned. He pulled the trigger and the crossbow fired. The bolt sped at Montressa and lodged in the air.

Ksmvr paused. That was a good barrier spell. Montressa jerked, looked at him, and pointed her staff.

“[Binding Rop—]”

The Antinium leapt sideways. He moved unnaturally fast, hopping from his hiding place and bouncing off a wall. He leapt again, landing, and now he had his weapons in hand. He darted at Beza first. His Flamecoat Dagger set her alight and she howled.

“Beza! [Dispel Magic]!”

The flames went out as fast as they’d appeared. Ksmvr saw Montressa pointing her staff and dodged around her. He lunged. Shortsword, Forceshield in his other two hands. He collided with the shield and his enchanted shortsword struck—something. But it didn’t break.

“Damn, the Antinium—”

The Drake pointed his wand. Ksmvr raised his Forceshield and the spell burst. He felt the impact, but smoothly dodged backwards. The Minotaur swung at him and he stabbed her in the side. Yvlon was asleep, the adventurers were incapacitated. The Centaur was rearing back, alarmed. Not used to combat for all his abilities. Hamstring. Ksmvr, darted forwards—

Ulinde caught him. The Selphid stared at Ksmvr, the crossbow bolt still buried to the shaft in her head. Ksmvr stared at her. His mandibles opened.

“How?”

“Selphid.”

Oh. He swung his dagger and shortsword. She uttered a word.

“[Shock Veil].”

The electricity coursed through Ksmvr. He still completed the swing, but he just hacked into dead flesh. The Selphid kept her grip and Ksmvr spasmed. He tried to move, to step back, but then he collapsed. Ulinde put a hand on his chest as Ksmvr fell to the ground of the tavern. He curled up as the electricity kept running through him. The adventurers saw him trying to move. Shaking. Stopping.

“Ulinde! That’s an Antinium! If we kill one—”

“I know! I know.”

The electricity stopped. Ulinde stepped back. She felt at the crossbow bolt and grimaced, then turned to Beza.

“I know. I just hate being shot and that scared me. Are you alight?”

The Minotauress drank a healing potion and growled.

“I’m fine. Where did it come from?”

“It must have been in the back. He nearly got me. That filthy—”

Isceil glared at Ksmvr, his hand witching as he drank his own potion. He nearly lifted his wand, but Montressa stopped him.

“You should have put up a barrier. You too, Beza. It was your own carelessness and both of you nearly died because of it. Be careful. This isn’t Wistram and we’re supposed to be professional! Now, let’s finish what we came here to do.”

She looked around as Isceil fell silent, flushing and lashing his tail. The bar was silent, but some adventurers were still awake. Immobilized. Alais was breathing hard as she fought against the webs. She was afraid to use her lightning magic.

“You can’t do this. They’re adventurers!”

“They’re criminals. Shut up. Montressa, capture the Antinium. It’s making me uneasy.”

Isceil snapped at her. He pointed at the other four [Mages].

“Didn’t you hear where we’re from? Wistram Academy. Don’t worry; we’ll release the Antinium and [Warrior] later. But the two [Mages] are both criminals. They’ve committed a number of crimes, including impersonating real Wistram [Mages].”

“Real…? You still can’t—don’t touch Ceria!”

Alais struggled, but she was held captive. Montressa was lifting the black box and before Alais’ horrified eyes, the half-Elf vanished, turning into motes of black light that flowed into the box and the silver doorway. Ulinde yanked the bolt out of her head, grimacing.

“Barbed? Damn it. Listen, they’ll be fine. It’s just a prison. Look, this is all legal.”

“Legal? You attacked an adventuring team in Liscor! You—”

Ulinde ignored Alais. She looked around impatiently.

“Oh, forget it. Palt?”

The Centaur nodded. He blew some smoke out and raised his hands, pointing at the conscious adventurers.

“[Wave of Vacan—]”

When Alais awoke next, she was lying on the floor. The [Sticky Webs] binding her were gone, and it was nightfall. The [Mages] were all long gone. And so were Ceria, Yvlon, and Ksmvr.

—-

The [Mages] left the bar quietly. The street was still full of pedestrians, but no one had noticed the fight. Indeed, no one even glanced at the tavern; Palt’s spell was still active, distracting attention away from it. The Centaur was first to exit; he waited for the rest of his companions.

Isceil was rubbing his arm, swearing.

“It hurts. Damn it, it got my bone. The healing potion got some, but—”

“Tough it out. That was embarrassing.”

Beza was unsympathetic. Her fur was still singed, but she was looking embarrassed.

“We could have had perfect takedowns. But you nearly got stabbed and you lost your shield. I didn’t expect that Human woman to dislocate her shoulder.”

“He broke it! What was that spell?”

“[Shatterbolt]. That’s a dangerous artifact. Think we can pull it off him?”

Ulinde looked excitedly at Montressa. The young woman was leaning on her staff. She didn’t look happy. Instead, she touched the black cube and looked around.

Palt, Ulinde, Beza, and Isceil. They were all young [Mages] from Wistram, but full [Mages]. Top of their years. And she was their leader. She shook her head and adjusted her hood.

“Later. Palt, where’s the Drake you used [Mind Blank] on?”

“I left her over there. She’s got a veil on her; no one’s bothering her.”

Palt nodded to a Drake standing vacantly to the side. Selys Shivertail was still unfocused. The Centaur eyed her, and then turned to Montressa.

“It’ll wear off in an hour. I hit her with a good one.”

“Any side effects?”

“Besides amnesia? No. You want me to dispel it? And what about the bar? They’ll all wake up in there after an hour or two as well. Want me to hold the concealing enchantments on it?”

Montressa nodded absently. Ulinde looked nervously at her.

“We’re breaking a lot of rules, here, Mons. I know this is personal, but—”

She broke off as Montressa’s head snapped up. The young woman glared at Ulinde. Her arm was shaking as it clutched the staff around which the copper orb was slowly rotating.

“It’s Montressa, Ulinde. Not Mons. Remember that. And we’re within our rights to hunt fugitives from Wistram. Isn’t that what you said, Isceil?”

The Drake grimaced, still rubbing at his wrist.

“We should probably have talked to the Watch Captain of the city. But you insisted we go after the [Necromancer] when we saw him.”

“He was about to notice us. He’s not an idiot. We shouldn’t have approached. But we got him. We got him and it’s done. We can make apologies later and pay for damages. If this was a city up north or in Terandria, we’d be fine, probably. How much different is Liscor, Isceil?”

He shrugged, looking annoyed.

“I don’t know! I grew up in Fissival, far from here. And frankly, Liscor’s always been isolated. It’s a border city; it was out of touch before the Antinium settled a damn Hive here.”

“Well, someone needs to go see the Watch Captain and explain matters. And pay for the bar we trashed.”

Beza, or Bezale, the Minotaur, folded her arms. She was fishing around in her bag of holding and now she produced a few scrolls. She eyed them.

“And I need to scribe another [Steel Body] and [Haste] scroll.”

“Being a [Spellscribe] must suck.”

“Not as much as being an [Oldblood Magus] who lost to a third-year student who was expelled, Isceil. So much for the dueling master.”

“I—shut up.”

The Drake clenched both claws, too furious for a reply. Montressa shook her head.

“I told you he was dangerous. He’s avoided capture from all the other teams who found him for a reason. Enough. We still have work. But someone has to talk to the Watch Captain.”

“Not me.”

Beza looked up instantly. Ulinde echoed her. Everyone turned to look at Isceil. He glared.

“What?”

Palt exhaled; he was still smoking. It was almost perpetual if you knew him.

“You’re a Drake, Isceil.”

“So? Why do I have to talk to some petty Watch Captain? You do it Palt.”

“What? I don’t want to.”

“You didn’t help during the capture.”

“Not my job.”

The Centaur looked affronted, but he sensed Isceil’s mood. He looked at Montressa, and she paused.

“You are the best at negotiations, Palt.”

The Centaur sighed loudly. Ulinde patted him on the flank.

“Just slap on [Arlell’s Articulation] and [Charming Visage]. If she’s got magic detection spells, do something non-magical and charming. You’re the [Illusionist]. I’m a Selphid, there’s that thing with the Minotaur, Isceil’s mad and Mons is the boss. There’s only you.”

“I don’t know why I agreed to come with you all. Fine. Where’s this Watch Captain? Oh, and give me the gold bag, Mons. I might have to pay a lot.”

Palt sighed. Mons handed him a pouch and he took it. Isceil looked around.

“I don’t know where the Watch barracks is. Go ask a [Guardsman] and they’ll point it to you.”

“Thanks.”

The Centaur snorted and trotted off in a huff. Isceil shouted after his back.

“And put out that stupid roll-up! It’s illegal to have cloudleaf in most Drake cities! Let alone whatever you put in that thing.”

He saw Palt turn his head and glare before marching back. Montressa looked at Beza and the Minotauress shook her head hopelessly. Palt spat the smoking roll from his lips and caught it magically in the air. He glared at Isceil.

“First of all, it’s not a ‘roll-up’. And neither is it a ‘joint’. This is a spliff, hence the tobacco leaves I’ve added to the cloudleaves. It’s quite good.”

“Really? Then I’ll have one.”

Isceil moderated his tone and reached for it. Palt made it vanish and the Drake glared at him.

“No. You want one? Pay up. These aren’t cheap and I can’t buy more ingredients easily in Drake cities. [Alchemists] charge far too much around here.”

“Just get out of here.”

The Drake rudely turned his back. Palt trotted off huffily. His companions watched him go. After a second, Beza snorted.

“Spliff? What is that? Some new concoction?”

“He probably learned it from the guests.”

Ulinde nodded knowingly at the others. Beza paused.

“Oh, right. Them.”

There was a thoughtful pause. Everyone knew something, but the only person who knew a lot was…they all glanced at the young woman. Montressa was still looking at the black cube that now held the Horns of Hammerad. She glanced up as Beza addressed her casually.

“The Ea—I mean, uh, Aaron helped you make your attack orb, right, Montressa?”

Montressa looked up and frowned.

“Yes. But he didn’t say what’s in it and I’m not letting you open it up. It’s experimental. Are you all finished? Let’s go, then.”

She looked around, shoulders hunched. Ulinde exchanged a glance with Isceil and the Drake forgot his ire for a second. Beza looked at her friend, concerned. She paused, and her tone grew softer.

“Montressa, I know you’ve been on edge. But relax. You got him.”

She gestured at the black cube, the Silent Box that she’d passed to Montressa.

“It’s over, Montressa. If you want, I’ll take the box—”

“No. I’ve got it.”

Montressa replied quickly. Her face was taut as she touched the cube and then her hand flew away. Ulinde saw Beza look at her and shrugged helplessly. Isceil grinned.

“Maybe you’ll stop having those nightmares, eh?”

Montressa glared at him along with the other two female [Mages]. Isceil’s smile vanished.

“What? Why are you biting my tail off? We did it! Fine, it was messy, but we got the murderer. And his team. Why’s she still mad?”

He pointed accusingly at Montressa. The young woman paused. She took a deep breath. Then she nodded. She tried to smile.

“Yes. Yes. I did. Thank you. All of you. But we’re not done here. We do have more tasks, remember?”

“Finding ‘L’, investigating the [Emperor]—and getting the magic door from Liscor as well as investigating that report of a…guest. We had to skip the [Emperor] and ‘L’ because of that Oldblood raid. Thank goodness for Wistram’s intelligence.”

Beza nodded briskly. Isceil was nodding too.

“Alright, so the door and this Human. Where is it? I’ll be glad to use the thing; we had to march all the way to Liscor so we didn’t run into—”

He nodded at the cube on Montressa’s belt. She nodded absently and pulled out a folded bit of paper. She studied it.

“Erin Solstice, [Innkeeper]. We’re investigating her and we want the magic door in her inn.”

“Ooh, two for one. Hey, is that the inn people were talking about? The one the [Guards] warned us did weird stuff? And in Celum? And Esthelm?”

Ulinde brightened up. Montressa nodded, smiling a bit. The brooding, anxious mood that had engulfed her the closer they’d come to the source of her fears was lightening, and all her friends were glad to see it. They began walking through the streets, talking.

“I think it’s the eastern gate. That’s what they said, right?”

“Yup. Inn on a hill. I can’t wait to see the magic door. Think the Archmages can disenchant it and copy the spell?”

“Maybe? Archmage Naili thinks she can. Although why we don’t have a teleportation spell like this—”

“Upper floors, probably. She was experimenting with the ones we know, and she’s coming close, but she wants a perfect copy. Imagine having a bunch of them in Wistram?”

“What if the [Innkeeper] really is like…Aaron? I hear she’s crazy. She can spit blood, she kills Shield Spiders with her bare hands, and she took down a gang in Celum all by herself!”

“That’s an exaggeration. But remember the battle with the Face-Eater moths? I want to talk to her.”

Beza was grinning, excited by the idea. Mons smiled.

“If she is, we’ll need to split up, maybe, or ask for retrieval. We still have to investigate the [Emperor] and ‘L’, so don’t relax yet.”

The others nodded, but Ulinde piped up. The Selphid was rubbing her hands together eagerly.

“Okay, we get the door, but we have to stay here a few days, okay? The Halfseekers are around Liscor last I heard. I have to meet Jelaqua Ivirith. Don’t say anything, Isceil! She’s my hero!”

Beza nodded as Isceil rolled his eyes. The Minotauress glanced around darkly, noting the unfriendly stares Gnolls and Drakes were giving her.

“I have some business here too. But let’s visit this inn, first. I’m hungry, and I hear this Erin Solstice serves interesting food.”

“Let me go first, though. And remember—the Horns stayed at her inn. So not a word about them. We need to be careful, so that means you keep your mouth shut, Beza. And you, Isceil. And Ulinde. Palt’s the only one I trust, actually.”

“Thanks, Montressa.”

The others laughed, relaxing. They found the magical door and inspected it for a while. There was a queue lined up, mostly Drakes and Gnolls. A few of them recoiled from Beza before they realized she wasn’t Calruz; the Minotauress folded her arms darkly. But then, after less than four minutes of waiting, the door opened.

“Sorry for the delay! Come on in! Anyone travelling to Celum? Esthelm?”

A friendly Drake waved the crowd in. The [Mages] blinked in surprise, but they entered the warm, inviting inn. On the far end of the long room, there were [Actors] setting up on stage. The tables were full of guests, and servers carrying hot food were coming in and out of the kitchen, serving at terrific speed! Montressa smiled and looked around. Then her eye fell on a sign over the bar.

No Killing Goblins. She pointed it out and the [Mages] all blinked. Beza stiffened when she saw the Hobgoblin, but before the [Mages] could wait, a young woman was guiding them to the a table.

“Right here. Table for four? Five? A Centaur?”

Lyonette blinked at Montressa. The [Mage] blinked back. Lyonette’s hair was nearly as red at hers; that was a rarer sight on Izril, as opposed to the old Terandrian bloodlines. But she was too preoccupied with explaining about Palt.

“Not to worry! We can get some pillows and we do have larger chairs for your friend. Miss Minotaur? If you’d like to sit here—Drassi? Where are the chairs we use for Moore? We need one!”

“This is good!”

Despite himself, Isceil looked pleased as they sat and found an appetizer already appearing on their table. He stared at the long tubes of potato.

“What are these?”

“French fries. Complimentary! Try some—this is a small basket, but I can give you a larger portion if you order. With condiments!”

Lyonette smiled. She completely missed the way Montressa and the other [Mages] sat up at the word ‘French’. Ulinde inspected the fries.

“Aw, they look good. I wish my taste buds weren’t half-decayed. Hey, Montressa, I might need to switch it out.”

“Don’t talk to me, Ulinde. I want to eat. I think this is our place, Mons. Where’s the [Innkeeper].”

“I’ll ask.”

Beza leaned back and waved at the young woman who was coming back with drinks. Lyonette looked surprised.

“Erin? She’s talking with some of our [Actors]. They’re going to perform in a bit—a classic, Macbeth, but she’s trying to teach them a new performance. Horror. Do you know about our plays?”

Fascinated, the [Mages] shook their heads. Montressa leaned forwards as Lyonette explained that they were now doing a horror-themed lineup, including classics like Psycho, and The Shining. Erin had found new ways to adapt her world’s work into this one and she was monetizing plagiarism.

“Well, if you stay for another night, we’ll have a performance for you to see! I’m afraid we don’t have many rooms open; the inn’s under construction by the Antinium. I don’t want to bother Erin…”

“Would you mind if we talked? I’d like to make—a special order. For the table? We’d be willing to pay d—triple.”

Lyonette’s eyes lit up.

“I’ll see what I can do!”

She hurried off. Montressa sat up a bit. Isceil turned to Beza.

“Ten gold says it’s just a regular Human. Maybe met one of the guests.”

“Ten gold? Are you mad? It’s got to be her.”

“I think it’s too much of a coincidence. I’m playing the long odds. Give me ten-to-one odds.”

“…Deal.”

The [Mages] waited, munching down on the fries and looking around. A white Gnoll cub was prowling around, trying to steal or beg snacks. And the Hobgoblin was strumming on a guitar. Montressa felt the hair at the back of her neck stir. She turned as a young woman hurried over away from the stage.

“Hi there! My name’s Erin Solstice! Welcome to my inn! Lyonette said you have a special order? Hey, are you all [Mages]?”

She had an infectious smile and a welcoming personality. Even Isceil relaxed. Erin looked at Beza.

“And a Minotaur and a Selphid? Whoa! Cool!”

It put a smile on Beza and Ulinde’s faces. Montressa smiled too. She paused as the others introduced themselves. Erin turned to her.

“And you are? No—wait. Let me get your order first. Lyonette said you wanted something specific?”

Montressa nodded carefully. She’d spotted the menu over the bar and her heart was racing. She was sure. Isceil was an idiot for not having read it. She spoke slowly, looking at Erin. Watching her face.

“I am. I think you might have some of this but—do you have anything like an American cheeseburger? Or perhaps an Indian curry? Anything Chinese?”

She was prepared to go on. But she didn’t need to. Erin was smiling at first, but then she paused. Her eyes widened. Her jaw dropped and she stared at Montressa.

“I—I—are you—”

Yes. Montressa knew it. Beza smiled and nudged Ulinde. The Selphid was grinning. Isceil just leaned back, rolling his eyes and cursing as he spotted the menu. He drew a sigil in the air with his wand. A hush enveloped the table as Montressa stood. Erin was gaping at her. But Montressa was used to it. She nodded to Erin, smiling reassuringly.

“Miss Erin Solstice, we’re [Mages] sent by Wistram looking for people from Earth. You are from Earth, aren’t you?”

“I—yes.”

Erin hesitated, but there was no point denying it. Her shock was proof enough. Montressa nodded. She smiled and reached out.

“We’re here to take you home to the others.”

“Others?”

The Wistram [Mages] all smiled at Erin. And Montressa felt her heart lighten. After the grief and pain of seeing the monster and Ceria—at least this was good. She nodded, glad to be the bearer of good news.

“That’s right. There are others. They’re all at Wistram. Miss Erin Solstice, we’d like to bring you to Wistram. To meet other people from Earth. And not just that. We’re going to help you go home.”

6.58

“We’re going to help you go home.”

Erin Solstice stared at the young woman, the Human [Mage] who smiled and held out a hand towards her. Her eyes went wide, and her mind went blank. She felt the veil of silence around them, which cut off all sound. Even the other [Mages] at the table couldn’t hear what Montressa was saying.

And even had she not been stunned, Erin would probably not have noticed the little black cube with the silver door painted on one side that held the Horns of Hammerad. She would not have known what had transpired. She might have guessed, had she known Montressa du Valeross’ name, pieced it together with her knowledge of Pisces and Ceria’s past. But she was distracted. The pretty young woman with bright red hair smiled at her and brought back a memory, a dream.

Home.

—-

It was raining in Baleros. Probably. And there were all kinds of nasty insects, monsters—and you had to deal with mercenary armies, companies, and that was where Lizardpeople lived. Not that Zevara bought into the hating them thing. Even so, sometimes she looked at Watch Captain applications for other continents.

Baleros didn’t have Watch Captain as a standard job, but there were parallels. You could get paid well, have respect—it would take a while, but someone with Zevara’s resume might be able to swing it.

Maybe then she wouldn’t have to deal with idiots walking into her office. The Watch Captain glared over her desk at the Centaur. Palt. He’d talked his way in here, but unfortunately, she couldn’t fault the Gnoll on duty down below for letting him up here.

“Let me get this straight. You’re here to tell me—after the fact—that you’re part of a team of [Mages] sent by Wistram to apprehend a wanted criminal? And that you already did catch your quarry in a magical duel in the city? Oh, and that your team is already elsewhere and your team’s leader did not choose to visit me herself?”

The Centaur shuffled his hooves. Palt, the [Illusionist] and subject of Zevara’s wrath, really wished he had something to smoke. Still, he put on his best smile and spread his arms wide, peaceably, trying not to paw the floorboards nervously with a hoof.

“It’s my sincere regret, Watch Captain, but we’ve been hunting this particular criminal for months. It’s been a long journey and my leader would have contacted you at once! But we just arrived and we saw the fugitive with one of your civilians and out of concern—”

“You arrested someone in my city. With, what? A criminal record? I don’t recall any—I don’t recall more than four individuals in this city with outstanding bounties, and none of them are enforceable within Liscor’s walls! None of them recent, either!”

Zevara was reaching for a drawer in her desk, glaring up at Palt. He hesitated. He was under the influence of two charm spells, but all that seemed to be doing was slowing the boil of the Drake’s temper in front of him.

“Watch Captain, the matter is somewhat private. Wistram did not put out a formal bounty on the individual—”

The Drake’s head snapped up.

“You mean, you arrested a civilian with no criminal record?”

Palt subvocalized another spell, [Soothing Presence]. It didn’t seem to work that much, but Zevara’s claws stopped digging into the desk. Verbally, he smiled weakly.

“Not just a civilian, Watch Captain. Not a member of Liscor either. An adventurer, in fact. And they are a known criminal—I can refer you to several cities with an outstanding bounty on their head.”

The Watch Captain stared at Palt. She didn’t know why she hadn’t arrested him or thrown her out one of her windows. She—paused. A thought occurred to her, born out of training and she glanced surreptitiously at her claw. Then she pulled open a desk. Of all the damn times to—

“This is a matter of Wistram Academy’s interests, Watch Captain. And we are extremely sorry to have infringed upon Liscor’s laws, but a [Mage] crime should be solved by [Mages]. Of course, my team and I are fully prepared to recompense the city for any damages caused. There were um, some other incidents regarding a second fugitive by association.”

“Such as?”

The Centaur had such a soothing voice. Zevara almost wanted to sit back and let him tell his side of things. She was looking. Let’s see—second drawer down—she pulled out a neatly-folded handkerchief and grimaced. She needed to organize her things, but—Palt was nodding.

“A—small conflict in a bar. We have the rest of the individual’s team in custody, and there was some damage to the bar itself. The patrons might be waking up as we speak.”

Zevara’s head slowly rose.

“You trashed a bar? Where was the Watch?”

Palt squirmed.

“We took ah, magical measures to avoid a larger conflict. And there’s the matter of a civilian we had to pacify—the fugitive we apprehended was in danger of threatening her or taking her hostage. He’s done so in the past.”

Zevara’s claw nudged aside a spare ink pot. There. She pulled something out, stared at it. She hated the stupid thing. Whomever the [Enchanter] had been, they had made the most insanely idiotic little face—Human, even worse, it looked like a fleshy pig smiling at her—and attached it to the charm. She refused to wear it most of the time. Still. She absently wrapped it around her claw, keeping her hands under the desk.

“You…cast a spell on a citizen?”

“Only one to keep her out of trouble! She’s quite safe, I can assure you. She’s downstairs, with your exemplary Watch. You may inspect her as I remove the enchantment. And I will of course, pay for any distress caused—and the damages—and furnish you with a report from Wistram on the individual we apprehended.”

He wasn’t telling her the name. But he sounded so polite…and she was feeling calmer than she had in weeks! Zevara almost smiled as the Centaur gave her a soothing, deferential nod. She glanced down under the table—

And the little, smiling face had turned into a horror-mask of fury. Zevara paused. She looked up at Palt. Her eyes narrowed and silently, she bit her tongue, drawing blood. Below the desk she silently kicked her biggest toe into the side.

The agony made her eyes water. And her head clear. Zevara slowly looked up. Palt was smiling at her. She smiled back, slowly lowering the charm back into the desk drawer.

“Tell me, Mage Palt. And I would like to say, Wistram’s [Mages] are guests of the city—I did call for some help—”

“Which we’re only too willing to provide, Watch Captain!”

Palt sighed in relief. Zevara nodded slowly. She watched him.

“Who is the citizen below? Are you aware? And who was arrested? An adventurer and their team?”

The Centaur paused, but Zevara looked very calm. He gave her another smile just to be sure.

“The individual calls herself Selys Shivertail. She’s quite calm, but I thought this was the place to undo the spell. And ah, we arrested an individual known as Pisces Jealnet. A [Necromancer] who is also responsible for the death of dozens of Wistram’s [Mages]. His team is likewise in our custody, but two of them will be released shortly. You have my—Wistram’s word, Watch Captain Zevara.”

The Drake’s brows shot up. She stared at Palt.

“Pisces?”

“You know of him?”

“He’s a murderer?”

“Responsible for deaths, certainly. I will be only too happy to ask the academy to list his full crimes, Watch Captain. But my team is waiting—may I ask you to accompany me in soothing the Drake? She will need the matter explained, but I’m only too happy to use a [Calm] spell. And then we can discuss the matter of damages—for your time, we’d be only too willing to make a sizable contribution to the Watch? As a matter of gratitude?”

He smiled again. Zevara paused. She stared at Palt, and then nodded slowly.

“By all means. It is Wistram Academy we’re talking about.”

The [Illusionist] Centaur smiled, relieved, as she stood and gestured for him to follow. At last! If he was lucky, he might get to go to the inn and have something to eat before everyone else was done. They owed him large for this. He wondered if the [Innkeeper], Erin Solstice, really was one of the people they were seeking. His stomach rumbled as he absently twiddled his fingers, undoing a spell.

Below, in the Watch Barracks, Selys Shivertail sat up. Her absent gaze focused, and she sat up fast, nearly head-butting Senior Guardswoman Beilmark, who had been waving a paw in front of her face and asking slow questions. She looked around wildly. And then she began to scream.

In Zevara’s office, Palt winced. He probably should have been down there and used a calming spell first. He began to weave one, for the entire Watch house. He cast it, exhaling hard. But he was a [Fairday Illusionist], and good times were his specialty. If he was smoking something the effect would have been even stronger.

As it was, the scream lowered in intensity. Palt sighed as he turned and Watch Captain Zevara stood.

“I think some explanations are in order, Watch Captain.”

“Oh, certainly, Magus Palt. After you?”

He nodded. Montressa owed him large for this. He was really, really hungry. He trotted for the door—

—-

There were four [Mages] in The Wandering Inn. Well, four real [Mages]. That was an important distinction. Anyone could call themselves a [Mage] or teach themselves magic like the [Hedge Mage] casting poor illusion spells around the [Actors] on stage, but only a few knew how to use magic.

Four such sat here now. They were all full [Mages] of Wistram. Experts in their field of magic and agents of the academy. They did what needed doing, what few others could. And one of those things was this.

“I can’t believe it. There are more people from Earth? In Wistram?”

Erin was speaking to Montressa. Her eyes were wide, and she was standing with the other [Mage] in a small veil of silence. Montressa’s companions, the Selphid Ulinde, Isceil, the Oldblood Drake, and the Minotauress known as Beza all watched. They couldn’t see the entire conversation; it was muted to them too, but they could guess.

They’d seen it before. Erin looked unsteady, so Montressa held out a hand, steadying her. The young woman stared at her. She said something. Ulinde leaned over to Isceil.

“Bet she’s asking how many there are. Or if they know what’s happening back in her wor—”

Isceil’s tail slapped at her and Ulinde shut up. Beza also gave the Selphid a glare and Ulinde cringed.

“Ulinde.”

“Sorry! I’m just rattled from earlier. I still have a hole in my head! It’s letting air in!”

The Selphid raised her claws, pointing at the hole in her skull. Isceil made a disgusted sound and looked away.

“Cover that up. And remember, don’t say anything without a [Hush] spell or greater in effect!”

Then he smirked.

“Still, I do think she’s asking about that. Ancestors, we have to shepherd this Human all the way to a port?”

“Or hire a carriage. In that case we can send two with her while the other three check on someone else. Or ask Wistram to send an escort. It will take some doing, but we have time.”

Beza leaned back, munching on some french fries. Isceil made a face.

“Whatever it takes, I suppose. We should just be grateful this one’s not crying and clinging to us. Speaking of which—”

He glanced around the inn and stared pointedly at the Hobgoblin sitting with his book, the [Actors] on stage, and then the rather lively room of guests being served by an active staff. Isceil hesitated.

“—this inn is fairly prosperous. Do you think this Human runs it? Herself? She has to have gotten it from someone or perhaps she’s getting help.”

“People seemed to think she was in charge, Isceil. What’s wrong? Don’t you like the fries?”

Ulinde reached for some. Isceil shot up.

“Get your claws off my fries. They’re on my plate, Ulinde. See? Mine. And this…‘guest’ is the best we’ve seen so far.”

“Agreed. But some of them have to have done well. I heard there are Terandrian teams searching for one that’s a [Hunter]. And another—the singer, you know?”

Isceil and Ulinde nodded. The Selphid sighed longingly.

“Lucky. I have some of her songs. If it weren’t for us coming here to meet the Halfseekers, I’d have gone to Terandria.”

“Better that than Baleros. Imagine hunting for guests in the jungles? They’re probably all dead. Or eaten by Lizardpeople.”

“What is it with you Drakes and Lizardpeople?”

Beza looked a bit disapproving as she reached for another fry and found they were all gone. Isceil folded his arms; Montressa was blinking as Erin waved her hands about, pointing at the young [Barmaid] who’d served the table, the Hobgoblin, and the little white Gnoll who was being chased off, a meatball in her mouth, from a table of adult Gnolls.

“They’re copycats. And they giggle all the time. They’re idiotic, they insult us, and historically they were on the side of the Dullahans—”

“They live on Baleros! They’re a different species—how are you like them? They’re good natured, they tell jokes about Drakes instead of outright insulting your species like you do to them, and they were against Dragons—”

“They have stupid wing-flaps on their heads! They look like—walking flowers!”

“You mean, neck frills? But they’re so colorful! Besides, you have spines. Isn’t that—”

Ulinde jumped as Isceil brought one fist down.

“It is nothing alike.”

Beza rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything. Ulinde was smacking her lips; even deteriorated, her taste buds had liked that meal. She eyed Montressa as the [Mage] stepped back and tapped her staff on the ground. The silence enfolding her and Erin faded and the two’s voices faded in.

“Okay. I have to go. But we have to talk! Are you going anywhere? I have empty rooms! You can stay here tonight!”

Montressa was nodding, smiling beneficently as Erin looked around. Some of the [Actors] were waving at her and Temile was hurrying her way.

“Erin! Miss Erin! I hate to bother you, but the [Seamstress] must ask you a few questions.”

“Um, coming, Temile!”

Erin called distractedly to the [Actor]. She turned back to Montressa. Her eyes were still wide.

“Will you—”

Montressa ducked her head, smiling.

“Of course. We’ll stay right here. We can discuss staying—as I said, Wistram will find a solution and I will consult with my superiors at once. But perhaps it would be more appropriate to talk in private? After dinner?”

“Yes! Absolutely!”

The [Innkeeper] nodded again. She turned and then swiveled around.

“Oh! Right! You want food, right?”

The [Mages] brightened up. Work was one thing, and seeing their good deeds another, but food was food and [Mages] from Wistram loved food.

“Absolutely! We can order from the menu.”

“Sure! Or—you know, I can get you what you wanted. Hamburgers. Cheeseburgers. We have actual curry too. I mean, I have the ingredients, but I’ve never made it.”

“Really?”

All the [Mages] looked interested. Beza nudged Ulinde; she’d heard of the dishes, but they hadn’t been replicated yet—or at least, not for the consumption of people not actively working with the Earthworlders at Wistram.

It was a known secret, although you had to be a full [Mage] of Wistram and fairly well-connected in influence or secrets to know more. Ulinde, Beza, Palt, Isceil, and Montressa all had enough clout to know something, although Montressa probably knew the most.

She was a secret-broker after all, partnered with Beatrice. And fairly high-placed in her faction, the Revivalists. All of the young [Mages] were; they were the best of their years, prodigies. They didn’t think of themselves like that of course, but they were definitely above most of their peers.

“What is this cur-rhee?”

Isceil looked suspiciously at Erin. She smiled, her eyes flicking from face to face. She really was handling the news well. Beza was impressed, but then again, maybe she was in shock. That had happened too, with that young girl they picked up in First Landing…

“Curry? It’s um, well, it’s like…a stew! Except more…you know what? It’s like a thick stew you put over other food. It’s very good—I can make it vegetable, but it usually has meat. It’s spicy generally—”

“Spicy?”

Isceil’s eyes lit up. He nodded before Erin could continue.

“I’ll have a bowl, then. Or plate.”

“Curry and rice, then. And everyone else?”

Beza looked at Ulinde. She shrugged.

“Can we share a…curry?”

Erin beamed.

“Sure, I’ll make a big pot. Can I get you appetizers?”

“More of these potato-things.”

“French fries! Sure! And let me get you some condiments. Curry will be a bit since it needs to be actually made—wanna hamburger or pizza or something before it comes out? It’s filling but—”

“We’ll take it. We’re still waiting on Palt, anyways.”

The [Mages] brightened at the assortment of food Erin was describing. They were hungry from spellcasting and with the exception of Beza who regarded fat as a sin and Ulinde, who inhabited anybody she chose, all of them were used to good eating. And they had large appetites; magic-users burned energy like no one’s business. Erin nodded, backing away and calling orders at a passing Gnoll. They watched as she hurried towards the impatient [Actor], still glancing over her shoulder.

“She bolted. How’d she take it, Montressa?”

“Very well. She didn’t panic or anything. We’ll need to convince her to leave the inn, actually.”

Montressa sighed as she placed the staff on the table. The floating copper orb hovering around it slowed and hovered in midair. She nodded at Erin.

“I told her about Aaron and the others. And the safety of Wistram, but—she actually owns this inn.”

“Seriously?”

Isceil blinked. Montressa nodded.

“Not only that. She told me that little Gnoll’s her ward and she’s employing the staff here—and that the Goblin’s her guest!”

“Dead gods.”

Beza turned and stared at the Hobgoblin darkly. She saw Erin talking to the [Actor], waving her hands and stabbing with a knife, pantomiming something—he was backing away. Ulinde looked concerned.

“That might be a problem. What’d you say, Montressa?”

“That we’d take the Gnoll and her uh, keeper, the [Barmaid]. Even consider the Hobgoblin if it came to it.”

“You can’t be serious.”

The Minotauress’ head turned around. Montressa grimaced.

“She said they were her family! I’ll need to talk to Wistram. Tomorrow. It might be harder to persuade her than we thought.”

“I’m not travelling with a Goblin. Just toss a [Charm] spell on the [Innkeeper] and let’s go. Or have you forgotten we have…”

Isceil’s eyes narrowed as he nodded at the black cube on Montressa’s belt. She adjusted her robes, concealing it.

“I haven’t. But you know our orders. We need to maintain good relationships, and that means we can’t just charm someone. We’ll try diplomacy. And if it comes to it, Palt will be the one casting spells. He can do it subtlety, Isceil.”

Ulinde glanced around the inn. It really was hopping. She saw Erin Solstice talking to the [Actor], and then pausing by the Hobgoblin’s table as the [Barmaid], Lyonette came over. Erin was gesturing at their table.

“Wait, is she telling it about us?”

Beza was instantly alarmed. Montressa waved a hand.

“Don’t worry. She’s probably just reassuring it since you’re here, Beza. She took my warning seriously; she’s desperate to go back home, she said.”

“Well, she’d better leave the Hobgoblin. Did she say if she knew any other guests? That would be a victory for our team.”

Isceil looked at Montressa. The [Mage] shook her head instantly.

“She didn’t know anyone, she said. Pity, but she is fairly well cut off, even with the door. She started this inn, you know. Found it abandoned; fixed it up.”

“I can see that. She’s quite a nice personality. Simple; engaging—perfect for an [Innkeeper]. Not like some of the guests.”

Ulinde smiled. Montressa nodded, relaxed. She waved at Isceil as the Hobgoblin, not even looking at their table, immediately went back to his book.

“Let her be, Isceil. She’s taking it in. And this is a fascinating inn.”

“Did you tell her about the Horns, Montressa?”

A look flashed across Montressa’s face.

“No. And I told her my name was Elenope. We’ll tell her the truth—later. Once she’s decided to come to Wistram. She must not know what…Pisces…was. Or he tricked her. Probably that. He’s always been good at deceiving people.”

Her hand unconsciously went to her staff. Beza patted her on the shoulder.

“Relax, Montressa. I agree with everything you’ve said. Still, an inn, employees—it might be harder to persuade her.”

Montressa shrugged.

“We’ll get Palt’s opinion. Tonight, we eat and make a good impression—stay here, perhaps. We’ll sort out the rest later. If we need to stay here longer than a few days, I’ll send this via Courier.”

She tapped the Silent Box. The other three [Mages] nodded slowly. Montressa’s face had tightened. Beza held out a hand.

“I can watch it—”

“I have it.”

That was that. The [Mages] changed topics as the food arrived. Isceil blinked as a pizza appeared, thin-crust, along with more fries and condiments.

“It’s not even been a minute!”

“Sorry about that. We’re busy. Don’t fill up; Erin’s making a huge pot of that orange stuff in the kitchen! Say, I hear a Centaur’s coming, right? Actually, will this be enough food? Between a Centaur and a Minotaur—”

Drassi apologized, then grinned at Beza. The Minotaur didn’t look insulted.

“I could eat half this round thing and have room. And my companions are pigs.”

“Don’t make me transform you. Dead gods, is this all cheese?”

Isceil looked dismayed. Montressa raised a knife and fork, intrigued. Drassi laughed.

“You eat it by claw! And let me know if you want refills!”

“Hah, you couldn’t transform an ant, Isceil. You’re all magical breath and nothing else. Hot air, mostly!”

“I can breathe two elements at once and each one I choose, Beza. What can you do? Read a scroll?”

“Remind me who lost to the exiled disgrace? You said you could take him in less than a minute.”

“I was winning—that [Shatterbolt] would never be used in a duel in the Academy—”

The [Mages] were talking lively. Montressa was exclaiming over the pizza with Ulinde.

“This would go amazingly at one of the room parties. With some ale? And these fries!”

They were stuffing themselves. Ulinde nodded energetically. Then she ducked. Isceil stopped arguing with Beza and froze.

“That’s a damn bee the size of my face hovering next to your head, Beza!”

“What?”

Reflexively, Beza swatted, then saw Apista and froze. The Ashfire Bee buzzed the table. A voice called out and Lyonette stormed past.

“Apista! Don’t you dare! Sorry about that, everyone. That’s my um, pet. Apista, go over there! Over there!”

She waved and the bee buzzed away, sad as could be. For she was not a bee that was free. Free to eat the delicious fries with their salt! The Wistram [Mages] stared as she alit on a row of flower boxes. Isceil stared.

“What was that?”

Beza rolled her eyes.

“Ashfire Bee, Isceil. Haven’t you ever taken a lesson on monstrous creatures? At least read a book on Izril’s fauna.”

Coursework didn’t stop when you graduated. You could spend eight years and then continue learning as an apprentice to a senior [Mage] and then join a research group where you were just another peer hitting the books or searching for ways to improve your magic. Of course, not everyone did that. Some, like Montressa, had no teacher, or had halted the bulk of their studies after graduation to pursue other activities.

Isceil just looked incredulous.

“A bee, a Hobgoblin—and I’ve never seen a Gnoll with white fur! What’s next, dancing Fraerlings in the attic?”

“Oh, hush. This inn’s got it all. I want to see these [Actors] that Erin mentioned.”

Montressa was smiling to herself. Erin had gone back to work; she looked preoccupied as she talked to the [Actors]. Drassi hurried past the Wistram [Mage]’s table. Beza caught a fragment of her conversation.

“Hey, Ishkr, have you seen the Horns? If you have, send Ceria and Pisces to Erin—”

The Minotauress stiffened, but Montressa didn’t seem to have heard. Beza relaxed as she saw the Gnoll shake her head. Drassi sighed.

“I’d better find them. No, it’s an order…”

The Minotauress cleared her throat to distract Montressa in case she heard. She nodded towards the table with Numbtongue at it as her friends looked at her.

“A damn Hobgoblin. That’s not just a danger or a pet, you know. I can’t believe it.”

“Steady, Beza. It’s just one. There are four—five of us. We’re a Gold-rank team by ourselves.”

Isceil rolled his eyes. Beza glared at him.

“They’re no joke! Izril just had a Goblin Lord. One. I know what I’m talking about when I say you cannot trust Goblins. You don’t know what they’re really like. In the isles—”

The Drake was opening and closing his mouth and right claw, imitating Beza speaking as he rolled his eyes. She swung at him, and not jokingly. He leaned back, swearing. Beza glared at him, and then at the young woman. Erin waved back, smiling; she’d been staring their way. Ulinde laughed.

“She’s terrible at this! Montressa!”

“Don’t. I like her. We’ll have a talk; she’s not going to make any big mistakes, and if she does? Palt can use a memory spell.”

“When we bring Erin Solstice back with us, I’ll need to speak to her about them.”

Beza grumbled as she folded her arms. The other [Mages] sighed, but they went back to finishing the pizza as an opening and soon Isceil was calling for a refill. They were relaxed, and never noticed Erin’s worried looks at them, or Drassi going into Celum to ask Octavia—and then into Liscor.

—-

Erin was worried. Her mind was spinning. People from Wistram were here? They wanted her to come with them? All the way to Wistram? She had no idea what to do! Fortunately, the young [Mage] had let her go, but Erin had to talk to Pisces. Not about more people from Earth existing, maybe, but at least about Wistram! Of all the times for him to be gone! And Ryoka too! She was worried because she didn’t know what to say to the Wistram team.

Even so, it was only partly worry, to Erin. Mostly it was longing. Expectation. Fear. Hope—the Horns of Hammerad didn’t show up as the dinner crowd truly arrived, but the inn was busy and they could be out on the town. They’d be back sometime, and Erin would talk to them then, get some feedback about Wistram. But they were there to take her home. Erin felt her heart beating faster, wondering what she should do.

Home?

Home. It called to her, and Erin kept glancing back at the [Mages]. To distract herself, she set about really impressing them and getting that curry ready! She actually had rice, thanks to Lasica and Rufelt! It grew on Baleros, but also, apparently, Oteslia, and the [Chef] had given her a bag.

Erin was boiling it in the kitchen, swearing as she hunted for the spices and all the right stuff that her [Advanced Cooking] told her was essential in a proper curry. She was going to make one plate that was super spicy for the Drake and maybe Minotaur and some regular spice—still very hot—for everyone else. Everyone would love it!

Outside, the [Actors] were getting into their routine. They were doing My Fair Lady followed by Macbeth due to popular demand, but tomorrow they’d be trying horror. They were already booked all morning to have their lead Norman Bates really work up an unhealthy Oedipus-voyeur complex.

Erin couldn’t wait. She smiled as she cooked, trying to think, sticking her head out now and then for a telltale sniff or pointy pair of ears or Antinium with three arms. Yvlon was least distinctive, sadly, even with her lovely hair.

In the common room, the [Mages] were enjoying themselves no end. Barely twenty minutes had passed, but they’d already eaten one pizza and were now drinking before a second course as they snacked on some of Erin’s other treats. Erin had given the staff the intelligence that the Wistram [Mages] were priority guests, and so they were getting fed—and fed well!

“Palt is going to kill us when he realizes what he’s missed. You think he’s done with that Watch Captain yet?”

Isceil burped as he replied to Montressa. The young woman was laughing, in good spirits at last.

“Bah, he’ll be there at least an hour. Watch Captains are jumped up in local cities. Little tyrants. Frankly, it’s easier up north in your Human cities. They’re all corrupt and you can just bribe them.”

“That’s Izril’s cities, Isceil. In Terandria, we get respect. Even help.”

Montressa wagged a finger at Isceil. The Drake rolled his eyes.

“Spare me. I’m not a Revivalist and I’m not a teat-sucking Human.”

“At least you’re not a Libertarian. Imagine one of them on our team?”

“They’d never come. We’re going to Izril, not Terandria, and no one but Montressa’s Human. And she’s better than most of her species.”

“Thank you, Isceil.”

Montressa replied drily. She was drinking when she spotted a tiny white-furred shape prowling around the tables to their left. Mrsha was surprisingly hard to spot thanks to her Skills, but the white-furred Gnoll wasn’t exactly camouflaged.

“Oh! Who’s this?”

Entranced, and not a little bit drunk, Ulinde leaned over her chair and waved at Mrsha. The Gnoll happily trotted over, giving them her ‘I am starving and you had better feed me’ look. She was immediately handed a bit of hamburger and chowed it down. Montressa and Ulinde bent over her, enraptured.

“I forgot how cute kids were! Least of all Gnoll kids! There’s only that baby Dullahan that Council Mage Redelia had and it’s ugly. And I’ve never seen a Gnoll baby!”

“No wonder, with how they get on at Wistram. Boycotting us because only one in ten thousand can cast magic at all. And she’s not a dog, Ulinde. Stop that!”

Beza scolded Ulinde. The Selphid watched as Mrsha leapt and snatched the hamburger bite from her dangling claws with both paws. The Minotauress hesitated.

“Hello little one. I—”

She was hesitating to touch Mrsha, wary of her huge size compared to the small Gnoll. Mrsha didn’t mind; she leapt and snagged a bit of Beza’s hamburger, winning the Minotauress’ instant respect for her audacity. The Gnoll was insatiably curious—about the copper floating orb and Montressa’s staff—and Ulinde’s two wands.

“Whoops! Don’t take those! You could hurt yourself!”

The Selphid batted away Mrsha. The Gnoll looked disappointed. She was sniffing around them, wagging her tail. Lyonette hurried over.

“I’m so sorry. Is Mrsha bothering you? Mrsha! Are you begging scraps, young miss? That is no way for a lady to behave—”

“It’s fine, we like it! Can she not talk?”

Laughing, Montressa and the others assured Lyonette. Even Isceil waved a begrudging hand. Mrsha was signing something with her paws and pointing to Lyonette. Embarrassed, the [Princess] bent, watched carefully, and looked up. The [Mages], curious to a fault, watched.

“Mrsha can’t speak. But she can communicate with her paws. She’s asking—I apologize for her again, she’s not getting a full dinner tonight! She’s asking why you have two wands, Miss Ulinde?”

The Selphid’s eyes brightened. Or something in them brightened. She smiled at Mrsha.

“That’s because I’m a [Spellslinger]. See these wands? I can cast two spells at once! Pew, pew, pew! I can show you—”

“Not in the inn, Ulinde.”

Montressa tugged her friend down. She smiled at Mrsha and explained to both.

“Ulinde’s a [Spellslinger]. Isceil’s an [Oldblood Magus]—he uses the power of his bloodline. Beza’s our [Spellscribe]—completely different, she writes down magic on a scroll and uses it from there. Palt’s our [Illusionist]—he’s still busy—and I’m a [Aegiscaster]. That means I’m specialized in barrier spells.”

“Wow.”

Lyonette’s eyes widened. Mrsha was looking up with awe at the group. Isceil’s chest inflated and he smoothed his spines.

“Well, we are Wistram’s [Mages].”

“That’s so many specialized classes. You know, we have two graduates from Wistram here as well. They’re not back yet, but I’ll introduce them, shall I? And Mrsha loves magic. She…”

Lyonette looked at Mrsha and paused. The Wistram [Mages] all glanced at each other fast. Montressa’s face had clouded again. Beza broke into the silence with a smile.

“We’d love to meet them. We don’t know everyone, but when they arrive, send them over, by all means!”

She nodded at the others and mouthed a word as Lyonette smiled. Palt. Definitely Palt. He knew all kinds of spells. Distraction—even memory-altering ones. Montressa nodded back tightly.

Lyonette hadn’t noticed. She was wincing as Erin shouted from the kitchen.

“I need a taste tester! My tongue hurts! Do we have any yogurt?”

“I have to go. Sorry again about Mrsha—do you want anything else? Erin’s still working on the curry—Mrsha, come on!”

“I’m good for the moment. Some more drinks and I’ll be ready to eat.”

Isceil patted his stomach. Montressa nodded. Mrsha was reluctant to go. She dragged at the floor as Lyonette tried to lift her.

“You can leave Mrsha. She’s cute! Hello, little one.”

Montressa waved at Mrsha. The Gnoll smiled and sniffed again.

“And she’s not afraid of Selphids!”

Ulinde was delighted. Lyonette hesitated, but Erin was screaming about a burned tongue so she hurried off after a stern reminder that Mrsha was eating her dinner. The Gnoll let Beza, Montressa, and Ulinde pamper her. Isceil just looked disgusted. He folded his arms.

“Females. I should have gone with Palt.”

“Want me to switch to a male body, Isceil?”

Ulinde laughed at Isceil. Like many Selphids, she changed gender by her body. Isceil looked disgusted.

“That rotting corpse? You need to find another one.”

“I’m running out! Do you know how hard it is to find good bodies anywhere that’s not Baleros?”

“Don’t tell me.”

Mrsha bit at a fry Beza tentatively held out to her. She was circling around Montressa and surreptitiously eying the food. Her nose twitched and she sneezed as Isceil flicked some pepper over the edge of the table. She fled.

“You ass!”

Beza punched Isceil on the shoulder. She watched, heartbroken, as Mrsha scurried over to Lyonette, whining a complaint. The [Princess] bent, frowning.

“What’s that? What? Hm…wait—”

She glanced up at their table. Isceil hunched his shoulders as Ulinde and Montressa glared at him.

“It’s just pepper!”

“You don’t throw that at a child! Much less a Gnoll! If she comes over, apologize!”

“Ancestors damn it, quit being so sensitive! She’s fine, see?”

Isceil’s voice was distinctly relieved as Lyonette smiled and patted Mrsha’s head.

“Oh, fine. Tell Erin. Ishkr! Where are you? Did Drassi already leave to go look for…? Well, you’ll have to do. No—no arguments! Listen—”

Beza sighed as she watched Mrsha and Lyonette hurry off. She was feeling at her scroll pouch.

“I still need to scribe two more scrolls.”

“Do it later. You have multiple copies, don’t you?”

“Yes. But it’s the principle of the thing. I can’t cast magic without a scroll. You know my natural magic pool is too low for regular spellcasting.”

Her friends looked up. That was a touchy subject for Beza usually. She hadn’t been blessed with the natural talents her peers had, so she’d developed this class. By infusing a scroll with mana and laboriously writing the spell on it, she could activate a spell fast as—if not faster than other [Mages], but in return she had to provide effort and money to cast a single spell. Ulinde looked sympathetic.

“How much does it cost for proper blank scrolls?”

“Too much. Let alone liquid gemstone for writing or magicore?”

Beza grimaced. She turned hopefully as Mrsha came trotting out of the kitchen. Lyonette hurried over. She called out as they passed the mages’ table.

“Mrsha, come on! We’re going shopping! Erin’s out of—ground beef! Let’s go to the [Butchers] and I’ll buy you a snack!”

The Gnoll brightened up. Montressa glanced at Beza as she watched Lyonette adjust the door. Ishkr went after them—he set the door to yellow—a location they hadn’t seen before. Montressa raised her eyebrows—the label read ‘Pallass’. Then she looked at Beza.

“But don’t you earn a lot for scrolls, Beza? And you can make more! That’s your entire class!”

“There’s still the time cost, the cost of materials, finding the right buyers—especially if the market is oversaturated! People don’t use spell scrolls every day! I might be rich, but it’s work!”

Beza pounded the table, frustrated. Ulinde and Isceil didn’t look sympathetic.

“At least you can sell your spells. Ulinde and I are combat classes. And we’re not adventurers. Yet. My funding is a lot less than…”

“You think you’ll become an adventurer, Isceil?”

“For a bit? To earn some artifacts and gold? Gold-ranks do earn an enticing amount and I could see myself taking a sabbatical for a few years.”

The Drake looked thoughtful as he stroked his chin. Beza laughed.

“You? Gold-rank?”

“Why not? I’m not Silver. The only thing stopping me is having to put up with a bunch of idiots the entire time…”

“Well, we could be an adventuring team.”

Ulinde looked at the others as Montressa raised her brows.

“Why not? It would be fun! Tell you what, on the way back north, I’ll pop into the Adventurer’s Guilds. If I see something that looks fun or profitable—we take it!”

“It could be good training.”

Beza mused. Montressa shrugged.

“We’ll talk about it. Dead gods, is Palt not here yet?”

Half an hour—no, forty minutes had passed. Isceil waved a lazy claw.

“He’s probably just explaining everything. He’ll have to go through the ranks first—after finding the Watch Barracks—he’ll have stopped for a smoke—”

“Well, he’d better not wait too long or I’m not saving him any of this curry. Where is it?”

Erin had been out twenty minutes ago saying it was nearly done and that she was just waiting on the rice. Since then, the inn had grown more quiet. Beza glanced around—and then Ulinde grabbed her. Hard.

“Oh dead gods. Beza!”

“Ulinde, calm down. I’m trying to watch this ‘play’.”

Montressa complained as she stared at the stage. Beza growled agreement, but Ulinde’s eyes were wide. She was pointing past them, at a duo who’d just entered the inn.

“But Beza! That’s Seborn and Moore! Two of the Halfseekers! That must mean Jelaqua Ivirith is somewhere around here!”

All the [Mages] glanced around. Sure enough, a half-Giant and Drowned Man were walking into the inn. They glanced around impassively, then sat at a table close to the Wistram [Mage]’s. Ulinde started trembling.

“I—I have to talk to them. Come with me?”

She looked at her friends. Isceil was patting his stomach, trying to figure out how much more he could eat. Montressa and Beza were watching the [Actors]. They’d begun Macbeth, but a new cast was on stage. The lead, a [General] played by a Drake, was contemplating treason…

“Go yourself Ulinde, I want to watch this.”

“I can’t! I’ll freeze up! Please? Isceil!”

The Drake snorted. He was watching the play now, and glancing towards the kitchen.

“Go yourself, Ulinde. You’re a Wistram [Mage]! That half-Giant’s not even as good as you are. See his magical flow? They should be coming to you! Where’s the curry, already?”

Beza glanced up. She’d been saving room too and the alcohol was making her peckish. She looked around and to her surprise, realized the dinner rush had in fact been a vacuum.

The inn was surprisingly uncrowded. A pair of Gnolls got up and walked towards the door as the [Mages] glanced around.

“Still delayed. Erin’s in the kitchen, still.”

“Maybe dinner’s later around here.”

“Or the inn isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I knew she wasn’t as successful as everyone said. Not for a guest. Late curry—”

“You just ate two meal’s worth. Give Erin time. I bet she has to simmer the curry or something. Now, shush. This is amazing.”

Montressa shook her head. She stared back towards the stage. The Drake there was giving the performance of his life. He held a claw out, staring at a spectral illusion one of the [Mages] behind stage was conjuring. Montressa knew it was an illusion, but the performance still had her watching, spellbound.

“Is this a dagger I see before me, the handle towards my claw? Come, let me touch thee. I have thee not, yet I see thee still. Art thou an illusion of magic sensible to feeling as to sight? Or art thou but a dagger of the mind, a false creation proceeding from heat-oppressed brain? I see thee are not magic but for—”

“He’s quite good. This is a fascinating performance! As good as any [Bards] or [Performers] I’ve ever seen!”

The [Aegiscaster] whispered to Beza. The Minotauress nodded silently. Isceil had to grudgingly agree as Ulinde got up, sat down, and got up again.

“Drake’s as ugly as sin, though.”

“Really? I can’t tell.”

“Take it from me. No wonder he’s betraying his [King]; no one’s going to make him an [Heir].”

Isceil pointed at the Drake’s face and tail. Montressa and Beza couldn’t see it. The Minotauress eyed the Drake appreciatively.

“At least he looks the part. I mean, in body shape. That’s a proper [General]’s build.”

She nodded to his bulging forearms. The Drake was indeed built far better than any other [Actor] on stage. The Wistram [Mages] watched, spellbound, until a growl made Beza look around.

“Excuse me? Excuse me!”

She signaled to Drassi, who’d returned to the inn. The Drake jumped and then came over with a big smile.

“Y-yes? Can I help you?”

“We’re still waiting on the ‘ca-ree’. Is Miss Erin still working on it?”

“What? I’ll ask.”

The Drake blinked. She hurried into the kitchen.

“Curry. Sorry, it’s new and we’re making up a fresh batch. Extra spicy. It should be out in just a moment!”

“We can wait.”

Beza nodded at Isceil. He sighed, loudly, but then Erin poked her head out of the kitchen. She waved at the Wistram [Mages] and they waved back.

“It must be nearly ready. I bet it’ll be too spicy, Isceil.”

“Hah! I’ll eat the entire plate as she serves it, without a drink or anything else. How much?”

“Two small secrets?”

“Done.”

The [Mages] nodded at each other. Erin was talking to Drassi. She was glancing towards the magical door. The Gnoll, Ishkr, was standing by it waved at her and shook his head, holding up four of his paws. After a moment, Erin hurried into the kitchen. The Wistram Mages went back to watching…until they realized ten minutes had come and gone.

“Come on, what’s the hold up? Everyone else is eating.”

Isceil’s tail was lashing the ground. Montressa sighed.

“I think she messed it up.”

“You think? What’s so hard about it? I’m going to complain!”

“You idiot, Isceil! She’s our guest!”

“I’m still hungry!”

He snapped back. Montressa sighed.

“Maybe we should get Palt first. He’ll be mad we started without him and maybe the Watch Captain needs more soothing. How about this? Isceil, you get Palt. Beza, you and Ulinde say hi to the Halfseekers—”

“Oh, yesyesyes, thank you!”

Ulinde jumped up, quivering with nerves. Montressa nodded as she reached for her staff.

“And I’ll ask Erin what’s wrong with the curry. We can always have the rest of her food. And I think she mentioned ice cream? That’s a Terandrian delicacy!”

Her friends nodded. Isceil was only grumbling a tiny bit as he got up and began navigating towards the door. But before they reached the door, Erin Solstice hurried out of the kitchen.

“Alright! Alright, sorry for the wait!”

She had a steaming pot full of curry, and Drassi was carrying one filled with rice. The Drake put the pot on the table and looked at Erin.

“Anything else, Erin?”

“Nope. Go find Lyonette, Drassi. Tell her I’m starting dinner!”

Erin smiled at Drassi, and then she looked at the Wistram [Mages]. Isceil hurried back to the table, Palt forgotten. Montressa looked into the pot; she could smell the spices from here.

“Whoo! Hot! I can still see it bubbling! Miss Erin, give me a full plate. A good helping; it’s spicy, I take it?”

Isceil was impatient. Erin smiled at him, putting down rice first and then a big helping of curry on top. The Drake licked his lips, seeing meat among the thick sauce.

“Super spicy!”

“Can we cool it down? I’m not looking to breathe fire.”

Beza looked warily at the hot curry. Erin smiled.

“Sure! Just one thing before we start.”

She set down the pot before Isceil could dig into his plate. Montressa nearly objected; they hadn’t been served, but Erin was looking at her. She glanced around, but all she saw were a few [Actors] on stage, the two Halfseekers—barely anyone else. The Hobgoblin was lounging against the bar, tuning a guitar, but he was alone. The inn was—

“What is it, Miss Solstice?”

Isceil was practically panting with anticipation. He loved spices. Erin looked at him and then smiled.

“I was just thinking. I have some people from Wistram in my inn. I didn’t tell you because one of them’s a jerk and both of them have a past with the academy.”

“Oh.”

Montressa’s face froze. Beza carefully watched her friend, and then put a false smile on her face as she turned to Erin.

“Don’t worry, Miss Solstice, we’re completely fine with any…incidents that might have occurred between your friends. What are their names?”

“Oh, Todam and Shelia. One’s a Human, the other one’s a half-Elf.”

“Todam and—”

All the Wistram [Mages] looked surprised. Montressa’s eyes flicked up and Beza had the same thought. Aliases, of course. She shook her head, smiling.

“Never heard of them, but I’m sure we’d love to meet them.”

“Sounds great!”

Erin beamed. She moved back as Isceil dug a fork into his plate, too hungry to wait. She reached for the pot and then paused.

“Say, do you know someone named Ceria? Or Pisces, or Yvlon or Ksmvr?”

Beza blinked. She’d relaxed. Too soon, as it turned out, and the moment of surprise ran around the table. Erin watched them. Her bright, happy smile stopped on her face.

And then it vanished. She looked down at them.

“Thought so. Mrsha says you smell like their blood. What did you do with them?”

“I—”

The [Mages] froze. They looked at Montressa, and she stared at Erin. She took too long to answer. Isceil sneered.

“They got what they deserved. You didn’t know this, but one of them was a [Necromancer]—”

He got no further. Erin grabbed him by the head. She slammed his face into the plate full of curry.

The Drake screamed. He dragged himself back, clawing at his eyes. The curry was hot, physically and in taste. It burned his eyes. Calmly, Erin stepped back. She grabbed the pot and dumped it over him.

“Dead gods!”

Beza pushed herself back. She stood—and Erin hit her with the pot as hard as she could. The Minotaur sat back down.

“What are you doing!?”

“My eyes! That Human bitch—”

Montressa grabbed her staff as Ulinde went for her wands. Beza roared with fury as she stood. She got no further than that.

From the bar, the Hobgoblin abandoned his guitar. He launched himself across the inn. Numbtongue leapt over the table and kicked Beza out of her chair as she rose. The Minotaur crashed to the ground and Numbtongue followed, kicking, punching at her as she tried to rise.

The other three [Mages] shot to their feet. Isceil, howling, pointed a wand at Erin, barely able to see. He roared.

“[Lightning Orb]!”

The inn was almost empty. The guests had already left, as had most of the staff. At the back of the room, the [Actors] fled backstage. But the Drake seized a spear that had been lying among the props and leapt to the floor, bellowing.

“Erin! Get back!”

She dodged the spell as a crackling orb of lightning shot past her shoulder. Relc slashed at it and cut the orb in half as he charged.

“Senior Guardsman! Put down your weapons or I’ll put you through that table!”

Montressa pivoted. She called out desperately; Erin was watching Isceil as he tried to aim at her.

“Miss Solstice, we don’t want to fight! We had to apprehend—”

Montressa saw Erin swing at Isceil’s face. The Drake raised an arm to block, snarling. She hit him in the stomach with her other hand.

“Where are they?”

“The Horns are alive! Put down your weapons, now, or we’ll be forced to hurt you!”

Ulinde called out. She looked at the Halfseekers, and then at Relc. He was charging across the inn’s floor, knocking tables and chairs aside. She turned, aiming both wands at him.

“[Binding—]”

Seborn appeared at her back. Ulinde half-turned, but the [Rogue] was faster. He appeared out of the shadow and grabbed the Selphid, yanking them backwards. His blade glowed like fire. With one arm he choked Ulinde, keeping her steady. The other stabbed the dagger through her chest.

“Ulinde!”

Seborn’s dagger plunged in and out of the Selphid’s chest, so fast that his hand was a blur. When he let her go, her chest was perforated, seared by the flaming enchantment. Montressa turned white. Ulinde swayed, and one arm came up.

“—Burst].”

The explosion hurled Erin and Seborn backwards. She stumbled back and Relc caught her, pulling her away. Seborn flipped backwards, landing next to the half-Giant. Seborn cursed.

“Damn, I missed the real body. Moore!”

“I’m up. Jelaqua isn’t here. The plan?”

“Take the Human!”

“Get back, Erin!”

Relc yanked Erin backwards. Montressa raised her staff, seeing Beza swinging at Numbtongue. This was happening too fast! How had she known? Mrsha?

Isceil wiped curry out of his eyes. He roared as he inhaled.

“Everyone duck! I’m breathing!”

Fire and lightning shot from his maw. The [Oldblood Mage] turned, sweeping his magical breath across the room. The flames and lightning bounced off Montressa’s barrier as the other [Mages] leapt out of the way. Erin shouted as Relc pulled her back, shielding her as he slashed with his spear, cutting the magical fire and lighting.

The Halfseekers dove. Moore groaned and Seborn swore; a bolt of the electricity had hit his side.

“I’m hit! Moore—”

He was already moving. The Wistram [Mages] turned. No more time for words. Beza swung at Numbtongue and he lashed out, striking her across the chest. Seborn lunged at Ulinde and she jumped backwards, firing her spells.

“I’ve got the Drake!”

Relc roared as he leapt sideways, abandoning Erin behind cover. He dodged as Isceil’s spells came after him. Seborn slashed at Ulinde; the Selphid was babbling despite her destroyed chest.

“Oh, no, no, please! I’m a huge fan, we can explain—”

She fired from both wands and Seborn twisted, vanishing with a curse among the shadows. Ulinde sprayed spells, trying to keep him at bay. He lunged in—sliced through a quarter of her throat. It would have killed anyone but a Selphid.

Four versus four—Moore looked down at Montressa.

“Surrender. And tell us what you did with the Horns of Hammerad.”

Montressa du Valeross looked up. Her surprise turned to fury. She raised her staff, the enchanted jewel glowing, contrasting to the plain wooden quarterstaff Moore held.

“Surrender?”

The half-Giant sighed. He pointed his staff at Montressa.

“[Stone Spray—”

The spell failed to appear. The half-Giant tried again. Montressa raised her staff and struck the ground.

“[Mana Disruption].”

Moore’s spells failed. He stared at her. Then he swung his staff. It came at Montressa from the side, slower as the half-Giant pulled his blow. Montressa didn’t move.

The quarterstaff hit the air and the air moved, rippling with the impact. Moore stared as the glimmering barrier around Montressa appeared, violet, translucent light. Montressa pointed her staff and Moore raised one hand.

“[Incendiary Darts]!”

The fiery needles struck the half-Giant. He howled. This time he brought down the staff with all his might. The wood struck the barrier and Montressa saw the magic ripple.

The staff broke. Montressa looked at Moore. He blinked and she pointed her staff.

“[Reduced Lightning Bolt]”

The copper orb hovering around her staff discharged. Moore screamed and Seborn heard. He and Ulinde were dodging around the inn. The Selphid could push her body to move faster than all but Seborn, but she couldn’t lose him. She desperately tried to fire spells from both wands, but the [Rogue] was a shadow, leaping, dodging—

Cutting her. He had cut Ulinde across the face, arms legs—deep blows some severing bones. But nothing to kill a Selphid. Montressa pointed at him.

“[Force Wall].”

The leaping shadow hit the shimmering barrier that appeared and Seborn stumbled back. Ulinde took that moment and pointed both wands.

“[Aerial Burst]!”

It caught him, but the [Rogue] was already tumbling, flipping sideways with the force of the blast. He began to leap backwards, but Ulinde leapt.

Anyone but a Selphid [Mage] would have been too slow. But Ulinde was Rampaging. The Selphid’s body moved as fast as Seborn, and her second dueling wand touched his chest.

“[Reduced Fireball]!”

Like Montressa’s spell, the fireball wasn’t as powerful as it could have been. But it still burst with a fiery bloom. Seborn went flying. His armor had soaked up most of the smaller explosion, but he was still thrown across the room. Ulinde pounced on him as he struggled to his feet. She pointed both wands at him.

“[Binding Ropes]!”

The magical ropes encircled Seborn. He kept moving, trying to break free. Ulinde shouted at him. He was cursing as the magical ropes tightened around his arms and legs.

“Just stop moving! I’ll have to hurt you otherwise—”

Across the room, Relc dove and Isceil’s breath blasted three tables and the chairs apart. The Drake was spitting lightning and frost now! Relc bellowed as he turned.

“Senior Guardsman! Surrender and lie on the ground with your hands over your head or I’ll—”

Isceil shot a ray of fire at Relc’s chest. The Drake spun his spear and cut the ray with the tip of his spear. It dissipated. Relc’s eyes narrowed. He turned and saw Seborn and Moore, down. His eyes widened as he spotted the half-Giant’s smoking chest. He whirled.

“Fine.”

Isceil was panting for breath. He raised his wand as Relc charged.

“[Stone Arm—”

The Gecko of Liscor slashed once. The thick stone appearing over Isceil’s scales vanished. The Drake stopped. He stared down at the spear and the spreading red slash across his stomach. Relc had pulled the blow, but it had still opened Isceil’s scales.

“Oh.”

He tried to raise his wand. Relc’s fist hit him in the face. The bigger Drake drew his head back as Isceil staggered, and then head-butted the [Mage]. Something in Isceil’s face went crack.

Relc waited as the Drake screamed. Isceil was still trying to raise his wand. Relc shrugged, swung fist with all of his weight behind it. The blow lifted Isceil as it hit him right across his cut stomach. The Drake turned white under his scales and passed out. Relc kicked him in the groin and turned.

“Anti-magic spear! He got Isceil!”

Ulinde screamed a warning. Montressa had already seen. The [Mage] raised her staff, retreating as she reinforced her barrier. Relc narrowed his eyes. He glanced at Moore and Seborn.

“You two suck.”

“[Flame Ray]! [Ice Spike]!”

Ulinde took advantage of the moment of distraction. Her spells shot at Relc. He leaned out of the way of the flaming beam and slashed. The [Ice Spike] didn’t even shatter; it just vanished as he cut it in half. Montressa gulped.

“We’re [Mages] of Wi—”

Relc kicked a chair at her face. It shattered against the barrier and she flinched. Relc leapt and his spear jabbed at her stomach. It slashed through the first ward and he cursed as it sank into the second.

“[Flame Swathe]!”

“[Ropes of Binding]!”

The Drake jumped backwards as flames roared from Montressa’s staff. He slashed down the four ropes Ulinde shot at him. She leapt to one side and he blurred and kicked her in midair.

“Whoop, nope.”

Something crunched around her pelvis. Ulinde made a sound and went crashing backwards, but then she was on her feet. Relc groaned.

“Damn. Selphids.”

He turned, raised his spear too late. The [Lightning Bolt] struck him and hurled him over the back of a table. Montressa lowered her staff. She saw the figure curse, leap to his feet, and roar.

“That hurt.”

“Spell resistance?”

Montressa turned pale. The [Guardsman] charged her and she shot another bolt of lightning from her staff. This time, somehow, he blocked the bolt of lightning! Relc ducked behind a table, then leapt, slashing a spell aimed at him as he maneuvered around Ulinde. Montressa backed up, desperately conjuring more protections.

“[Wall of Light]. [Steelcage]. Ulinde, back off! He’s too fast! Beza, get over here!”

The Minotauress was dueling Numbtongue next to the kitchens. She and Numbtongue swung; she had size and weight on him, but he was pressing her back! She stared as he caught a fist and kicked her in the kneecap. She felt something crunch.

“How—”

The Hobgoblin hit her again, through her raised hands. Montressa’s head snapped back. She roared and grabbed two scrolls on her belt.

“[Steel Body]. [Haste]!”

The enchantments took hold as Numbtongue backed up. Beza charged him, head down. He pirouetted, letting her move past him. His eyes unfocused. Beza turned. She swung at him, her every moment enhanced. And he—

Dodged. The Hobgoblin leaned to one side as her fist passed by his ear. He stepped in and punched her in the stomach. Beza barely felt it. She kicked at him, enraged. He lifted his arm, catching her leg and heaving up.

Down she went. Beza hit the ground, surprised more than stunned, and then tried to get up. She met Numbtongue’s foot as the Hobgoblin kicked her as hard as he could. Beza’s head snapped back and she howled.

The Hobgoblin rubbed at one foot.

“Huh.”

Beza got to her feet and lunged. The Hobgoblin made a whuffing sound and swung. Beza’s head snapped back and she went crashing backwards.

[Power Strike]. The Hobgoblin watched her get up and walked around the bar. He came back with two bottles. He smashed one across Beza’s face, the burning liquid searing his eyes. He tried the other one and smacked his lips.

Pyrite.

Erin watched from the side, ducking back from the spells Relc was dodging. She pointed at Beza.

“I’ve got her, NumbPyrite! Get her!”

Beza roared. Her eyes were red with fury, but she felt a huge pressure weigh down on her as Pyrite in Numbtongue’s body smashed the second bottle across her face. His claw jabbed towards an eye and she recoiled. She felt sluggish! But she was [Hasted]! How—

Erin pointed at her, concentrating. Beza roared as she came at Erin. Pyrite tripped her. This time he leapt on her back and tried to twist her arm up, but Beza’s [Steel Body] made even that difficult. Annoyed, the Hobgoblin looked around. Beza swung at him as he danced a back. He avoided her every swing as she came at him, keeping her just out of range, just out of range—

Then he flipped up the fallen pot Erin had used for curry and slammed it over Beza’s head. The horns pierced the bottom, and the pot stuck. Beza screamed, but Pyrite was hesitating. He grabbed a chair, smashed it across Beza’s head as she struggled to remove the pot—kicked her in the stomach—and then sighed. He looked at Erin.

“Can’t stop without killing. Acid?”

Beza tore the pot free. She looked down at Pyrite and charged. He jumped out of the way. He punched Beza in the back of the head, tackled her, sending her skidding across the slippery floor—

And his time ran out. One minute. Pyrite cursed—and Numbtongue stumbled. Beza swung and caught him across the ribs. The Hobgoblin stumbled back. Beza turned to Erin and lifted a scroll. The [Innkeeper] froze; her concentration wavered.

“Uh oh—”

“[Arrows of Light]!”

Erin dove as the arrows shredded the table she’d been hiding behind. Beza whirled. Numbtongue rose, looking for his guitar. It was at the bar. He squared himself, narrowing his eyes as he raised his fists. Beza roared, moving impossibly fast—

You? Do you need help?

The Hobgoblin’s head turned. Who had—

Numbtongue went crashing backwards as Beza struck him too quickly for Erin to see. The Hobgoblin struggled to get up—and met a second fist to the chest. He collapsed, and Beza reached for him, strangling him.

Erin screamed.

“Numbtongue!”

She stabbed Beza. The Minotaur felt the searing pain in her side and looked down. Her enchanted body had been pierced! The kitchen knife stuck out of her side, two inches in. She looked up, and her eyes were crimson. Like a Goblin’s eyes. Erin backed up as the Minotaur tore the knife free. The [Innkeeper] raised her fists.

“[Minotaur Punch]! [Minotaur Punch]!”

The first punch hit Beza in the ribs. The second in the stomach. The Minotauress let her have both hits. She stared down at Erin and spat. Saliva and rum from the bottle Pyrite had hit her with. She shook her head.

“That hurts a bit. But it’s just an imitation. Who taught you that?”

“I learned it from a real Minotaur.”

Erin saw Beza’s eyes narrow. She saw the punch and ducked—but too slow. Beza struck Erin across the face and Erin stumbled. Her mouth was bloody. She got back up. Aura? Could she do something other than weigh Beza down? Where was—

The Minotaur grabbed her head with one huge hand. Erin punched at her, but Beza was unmovable.

“[Numbing Touch].”

Erin sagged. She made a sound as Beza let go.

“Huh—”

She hit the ground, a sack of bones and flesh, unable to move. Beza turned. She hesitated, looking at the unconscious Numbtongue, and then saw Relc stabbing Ulinde. His spear went right through her stomach, but she kept moving, twisting off it and shooting spells.

“Why the hell won’t you stop moving?”

“Drake!”

Beza roared and Relc turned. He blocked another spell from Montressa and shouted.

“You suck too, Numbtongue!”

He whirled his spear and Beza hesitated. She eyed the spear and raised her fists, gesturing.

“Come on, Drake. Drop your spear and let’s see how good you are!”

Relc stared at her.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m holding back.”

He spun, pointing the spear at Montressa. She paused. Relc looked around. Ulinde, Beza, Montressa, and he was surrounded. Worse, Isceil was groaning and everyone was unconscious or ensorcelled. Relc sighed.

“Put down your weapons. Or I’ll start killing you instead of holding back.”

The Wistram [Mages] stared at him. Ulinde’s mouth moved incredulously. Beza lost her temper. She roared at Relc, spittle flying.

“Surrender? You have no idea who you’re fighting! I’m the best at hand-to-hand combat in all of Wistram! I’m—”

A presence behind her. The [Spellscribe] whirled. A huge Drake stared up at her. He was a bit shorter, but only big. And he was even more muscular than she was. He shook his head as Erin got up groggily, helped by a pale Raskghar, trembling with fury—

“Wistram’s standards must be even lower than I remember. Grimalkin. Strongest [Mage] in Pallass.”

“Grimalk—”

Beza jerked backwards. The Drake swung. She saw a huge, scaly fist and threw up her guard—

—-

“I’m so glad to have your assistance, Watch Captain. If you’ll follow me?”

Palt trotted from Zevara’s office. She smiled.

“Certainly, Wistram’s representative!”

She followed him down the steps. She had something in her hand. A whistle, made of tin. Palt didn’t notice her as he trotted down the steps, using the handrails for guidance. Zevara put the whistle in her lips and blew it. It made no sound.

“I hope Miss Selys wasn’t too—upset. I trust we can amicably explain the situation. As I said, Wistram is willing to make a very generous donation—and recompense her for her trauma, of course!”

Palt murmured over his shoulder as he slowly reached the bottom of the steps. Zevara gave him a bright smile.

“Let’s go see, shall we?”

The Centaur trotted past the empty receptionist’s desk. He looked around the barracks, straightened his vest—

“Get him!”

The Watch hit him as he entered the barracks. Gnolls and Drakes yanked him off his hooves. Beilmark smashed a club across Palt’s face as he fell.

The Centaur didn’t even have time to utter a spell. The Gnolls and Drakes hit him with batons and clubs from both sides. He screamed once before they brought him down. Zevara shouted as the [Guards] made sure the [Mage] was unconscious.

“Enough!”

They stopped kicking him. Senior Guardswoman Beilmark growled, her fur standing on end.

“What was it, Watch Captain? He said he was a [Mage] from Wistram—”

“Maybe he was. He cast an enchantment on me. And he attacked—”

“He attacked Pisces!”

Selys pushed her way forwards. She was shouting and crying. Zevara turned to her.

“There were five of them! They—they said they were from Wistram. He wasn’t moving when—they put him in a box! And then they got the others! Ceria, Ksmvr, Yvlon—I saw it all! I was under a spell!”

“Guards!”

Zevara had heard enough. She bellowed and Liscor’s Watch looked at her. The Watch Captain turned. Palt’s spell had gone and all that was left was the kind of fury that was so overwhelming it was calm. Zevara turned.

“There are four [Mages] in the city that assaulted Miss Selys Shivertail and took a Silver-rank team hostage! I want the rest of them found now and arrested! Get an anti-mage team, Beilmark! Find Relc, Klbkch—get Jeiss and the other Senior Guards too! There’s no telling what levels they are, but they’re not leaving the city! I want this done quietly, without them getting a chance to loose any more spells—”

“Kill or take alive, Watch Captain?”

Beilmark growled. A Gnoll was growling as the [Guards] grabbed weapons. Another went for a bell.

“Alive unless they threaten you, Senior Guardsman. Belay that bell, guardsman! No alarms! Spread out! I want eyes on the walls—”

A thought hit Zevara. No, a certainty. She strode out of the Watch House. Selys and the Watch followed her. Zevara looked towards the east and cursed.

“Get that squad together, Beilmark. You five! Get to the eastern wall! Run! Check to see if there’s any activity around the inn!”

She ran. Selys stopped only to kick Palt in the face before she was hot on Zevara’s tail.

—-

Beza the Minotauress was lying down. She realized it only when it turned out the wall was floorboards. She blinked.

“Huh? Why am I on the floor?”

That was what she tried to say. But it didn’t come out. Grimalkin squatted down and rolled her over. Beza stared up at him. He inspected her jaw and shrugged.

“Concussion. I didn’t break the jaw. I’m getting better at not doing that. Then again, Minotaur’s jaws are tough. Miss Solstice? [Dispel Magic].”

“Whuh—”

Erin jerked as the numbness left her. She stood, turning.

“Numbtongue!”

“Not hurt. Cracked bones. I’ll see to him. Are there any more?”

Grimalkin nodded at Beza. She was still staring at the ceiling, trying to say something. Erin looked around.

“There’s one in the city—they were going to leave—Seborn! Moore!”

“Alive. The half-Giant’s wounded.”

Grimalkin looked around the inn. His tone was conversational. Montressa was screaming something at Relc as he sliced closer. He was so casual. Erin tried to grab at him, but her arms were still hard to move.

“They were gonna—”

“I heard. You’re lucky I was coming to tutor Miss Springwalker. I got the message from your Gnoll at the same time as Miss Ivirith.”

“Miss—”

Ulinde was firing spells, at Relc, screaming as she aimed two at Grimalkin. He blocked them with one claw. She whirled as something moved. A huge, Gnoll-like beast was bent over Moore. It raised its head. Ulinde froze.

No Gnoll looked like that. But what was it? Then she saw the dead eyes. And she knew.

Jelaqua leapt. She caught Ulinde, ignoring the spells that burned holes into her Raskghar body. She snarled. Ulinde screamed.

“I—I’m—I can explain! I’m—I’m a huge fan, Miss Ivirith. B-but—”

“Shut up.”

The Selphid [Mage] did. She stared at Jelaqua, trembling. The Raskghar’s mouth opened.

“Hey. You know what’s going to happen next?”

“Wh—”

“Pain.”

The two crashed across the inn. Montressa, spinning, screamed as she saw her friend.

“Ulinde!”

Jelaqua was ramming the younger Selphid’s head into a wall. Two blows and the skull caved in. But there was no brain. The broken face jerked backwards, trying to utter a spell around a shattered jaw. Jelaqua grabbed Ulinde by a leg and swung her into the wall.

Bones broke. The Selphid [Mage] made a sound like a bag of dirt hitting the ground. Again. And again—

A spear at Montressa’s chest. Relc cursed and backed up. Montressa uttered a spell and he cut it as the scythe swung at his chest.

“How many barriers do you have?”

“Stop! We are [Mages] from Wistram! We’re—”

Montressa looked around. Ulinde’s head was gone. She was lying on the ground. Her chest had been torn open and something orange was oozing into her. Another Selphid. Ulinde was screaming with her real body.

The [Aegiscaster] looked around. She saw Beza, struggling to sit up, throwing up. Isceil, bloody, down. And then Grimalkin. He stood up as Erin poured a healing potion on Numbtongue’s jaw.

“You. [Barrier Mage]. Drop the staff.”

Montressa looked around. Then she ran. Relc exclaimed as she fled out the doors. He looked at Erin.

“You alright?”

“Fine!”

The former [Sergeant] spotted her bloody mouth and his eyes narrowed. He nodded at the [Sinew Magus] as Grimalkin strode towards the door.

“Hey, Grimalkin.”

“Relc. What is this, a Wistram thief team? Did they try to steal the door?”

“Apparently they got the Horns. There’s blood. No sign of the Horns; Lyonette got me. She was trying to find Klb and more Gold-ranks, but they must’ve been away. I had a heck of a time not killing them. Watch the Human. She’s the best. Lightning spells from that orb-thing. The Drake was Oldblood with two breath attacks.”

Grimalkin nodded. The two walked outside. Montressa was fleeing down the hill. She’d gotten far, but she wasn’t fit. She was gasping as she tried to summit the second slope, running to Liscor.

“Hey! Stop or we’ll break your legs!”

Relc bellowed after Montressa. She whirled with a scream.

“Stay away!”

Magical arrows shot from her staff and lightning flashed at the inn. Relc spun his spear, but Grimalkin raised a claw, preempting Montressa’s spells.

“[Barrier of Wind].”

The lightning struck the barrier and it exploded. The [Sinew] Magus swatted away an arrow that was flying at his mouth; the rest he ignored. Relc punched one and growled.

“I really want to hit her.”

He leapt down the hill, rushing at Montressa. She went pale and planted her staff in the ground. This time the ruby gemstone flashed illuminating the dark landscape.

“[Five-Fold Arcane Barrier]. [Chain Lightning]!”

Relc’s eyes widened. He dodged, slicing, but this time he was too slow. The layered ward sprang around Montressa at the same time as the orb unleashed something like true lightning. It hit Relc—no, his spear had caught it—Grimalkin saw Relc blur backwards, and then leap backwards. Grimalkin surged down the hill and met him. Relc appeared, clutching at his arm. There was a crater marring his scales. He swore a blue streak.

“I got tagged. I hate Tier 4 spells! What the hell’s that?”

He pointed. Grimalkin eyed the magical wards surrounding Montressa. Grudgingly, Grimalkin uncrossed his arms.

“That’s a Tier 4 spell—layered. I could hit that pretty hard.”

“Stay back!”

Montressa screamed at the two Drakes, her face pale with exhaustion. She was fumbling for a mana potion and dropped it. Relc laughed, and then grimaced, clutching at a smoking black spot on one arm.

“Amateur! She didn’t even have that in her belt! Ow!”

“How’s your arm?”

Grimalkin looked at Relc. The [Guardsman] growled.

“I got most of it with my spear. Damn, damn—I hate lightning. Hey, I can’t break more than one of those stupid shields at a time. My spear doesn’t go through ‘em all. I could get three with [Triple Thrust], but that—”

Both of them looked up as Montressa pointed her staff. Grimalkin raised his arm.

“Hm. [Resistance to Lightning]. [Force Shield].”

This time the lightning bolts burst on the shield. Arcs of electricity hit Relc and Grimalkin, but the enchantment meant the bolts did little more than tickle. Relc sighed.

“Ooh, nice.”

“Thank you.”

“You want to go up there and hit her? I’m fed up with eating spells.”

Grimalkin paused. He was watching Montressa with narrowed eyes.

“That’s a good barrier spell. She must be a specialist.”

He shouted up at Montressa.

“Human. Put down that staff! Release your mana or I will come up there! I am Grimalkin of Pallass and this is the Gecko of Liscor!”

“Aw, don’t say—”

“Don’t come any closer! I’m a [Mage] of Wistram! I’ve done nothing wrong!”

Montressa’s voice was hoarse. Grimalkin raised his brows.

“I’d surrender, Miss [Mage]. I’d prefer not to kill any more [Mages] from Wistram right now. You’ve attacked innocent people in Liscor. Put down your staff now.”

“Yeah! You’re under arrest! You’d better pray the Horns are alright! Surrender and you won’t be harmed!”

He turned to Grimalkin and lowered his voice.

“If they’re dead, we’ll probably feed them to Shield Spiders. If Erin doesn’t kill them.”

Montressa hadn’t heard the last part, but her eyes bulged as Grimalkin began walking casually up towards her. She shrieked at him and Relc.

“For what? We apprehended criminals!”

The Drakes paused. Grimalkin was frowning. He looked at Relc. Montressa desperately seized onto that.

“We explained to your Watch Captain why we’re here! We did nothing wrong!”

Grimalkin glanced back at Relc questioningly. The [Guardsman] paled.

“Oh shit. Did she?”

“Liar!”

Erin burst out of The Wandering Inn. She was panting. She pointed down at Montressa and shouted at Relc and Grimalkin.

“They did something to the Horns of Hammerad! Mrsha said she smelled their blood.”

“Wait. You attacked a group of [Mages] just based on that?”

Grimalkin folded his arms. Relc scratched at the back of his head.

“Yeah, sort of shoddy evidence. Oh shit. Maybe—”

“We only captured them! They’re alive! But that monster—that—that murderer! The [Necromancer]! Pisces! He’s a monster!”

Montressa shouted up at Erin. She aimed her staff at the [Innkeeper] and it began to glow. Relc lifted his spear, aiming it. Grimalkin’s brows snapped together.

“Drop the staff. You won’t get a second chance.”

He lifted a fist. Montressa wavered. She looked at Erin. She looked down at Grimalkin. Relc was dodging around the hill, circling as he advanced. Suddenly he looked up. Stared at Liscor’s walls. Then he ran. Grimalkin glanced up as Relc bellowed at him.

“Incoming! Get clear—”

Atop Liscor’s walls, a spell was forming. Magic coalesced, blobbed together, and then shaped itself. A shimmering, purple-white comet tinged with brilliant blue shot down from the heavens. Montressa turned, and her eyes went wide. The spell was huge. She threw up her arms, mouthing a spell—

The explosion and impact of the comet striking the ground next to Montressa’s barriers was followed a second later by a kick that sent Erin stumbling backwards. Relc and Grimalkin didn’t move. The two Drakes braced and Erin looked around wildly. She was half-blind and her ears were ringing from the sound. What happened? What had—

She realized what had happened as she stared at Liscor, and then at the hill where Montressa had been standing. A spell. From atop one of Liscor’s walls. Someone had fired it! She looked down at the hill—

—-

“Direct hit on the hill, Watch Captain!”

“Good.”

Watch Captain Zevara lowered the command scroll tied to the wall’s inbuilt spells. The rest of the Watch stared at her, keeping a respectful distance. She squinted down at the hill.

“The [Mage]?”

“Alive, Watch Captain. Her barriers—held the blast.”

A Gnoll gulped as he pointed. Zevara stared at the shimmering shield surrounding Montressa.

“Huh. I should have hit her directly, then. Send a team down, now.”

—-

Grimalkin brushed at dirt from his scales. Relc was swearing, cupping a claw to one of his earholes. Grimalkin stared up at the hilltop. Despite himself, he was impressed.

“Hm. She is one of Wistram’s better [Mages]. That only got four of her barriers. A pure defensive expert; the orb’s got good synergy. You know, I could adapt this tactic. Where are my notes?”

Montressa was lying face-flat on the hilltop. The bombardment spell from Liscor’s walls had knocked her flat, barriers or not. She looked up, nose bloody, and tried to get up. Drakes and Gnolls were advancing from Liscor, running across the uneven terrain. She pointed a staff at Grimalkin and Relc as they climbed.

“[Flame Veil]! Stay back! This isn’t right! I said, stay back! [Chain Lightning]!”

This time Grimalkin caught the spell as Relc raised his spear. The lightning struck both spear and the [Sinew Magus]’s arm; it flared, thundering, and both he and Relc stepped back. Unharmed. It was mostly from curiosity at this point; Montressa was swaying, but both Drakes eyed the orb floating around her staff.

“What the hell is that orb? Some kind of artifact?”

“She’s dual-casting from it. No—the spells are linked to the orb. All lightning-based. Some kind of artifact?”

Montressa swung her staff, aiming at both Drakes. Relc sighed.

“Seriously, drop it. Or I will break something. I’m almost as mad as Captain Z.”

“I’m a Wistram—”

Grimalkin’s eye twitched.

“Young woman. Say that one more time and I will hurt you.”

“Relc, Grimalkin! Watch your backs!”

The two Drakes turned. Relc and Grimalkin saw a shape appear in the door. Jelaqua roared, grabbing what remained of Ulinde’s corpse. She was still grappling with Ulinde, immobilizing her—part of her real body was seeped into the [Mage]’s wrecked corpse and it was twitching, signs of an internal battle. But that meant neither she nor the two immobilized Halfseekers or Numbtongue could stop—

“Nobody move!”

Isceil held a wand to Erin’s face. She was struggling, in the grip of Beza. The Minotaur looked unsteady, but she was holding Erin, ignoring the [Innkeeper] kicking at her and Isceil. The shout stopped the [Guards] rushing towards Montressa. Relc groaned and Grimalkin sighed.

“Should have broken the jaw.”

“Erin!”

“Stay back!”

Isceil’s eyes were wild as Relc began to storm up the hill. Grimalkin held up a claw, catching Relc.

“Relc, hold off the [Barrier Mage]. I’ll stop those two. Let the [Innkeeper] go, [Mages].”

He strode up the hill, ignoring Isceil’s shouts. The Drake’s wand emitted a jet of fire and Erin shouted. Grimalkin stopped. His voice was a roar, as loud as when Erin had first met him.

“I am Grimalkin of Pallass! You—Drake, and you, Minotaur. Let her go or you’ll find yourself on a watch list across all of Izril. And you, Minotauress! Where’s your honor?”

The Drake and Minotaur hesitated. Isceil gritted his teeth as Beza clenched one hand unsteadily. Isceil shouted back.

“Let us go! We’re from Wistram! We have rights—”

“You’re under arrest! Lay down your weapons or we will shoot you! [Archers]!”

Beilmark howled as she arrived. The [Guards] with her leveled their weapons. The [Mages] froze. Beza called out.

“Montressa, tell them! We’re hunting criminals!”

“That changes nothing about this situation. Lay. Down. Your. Weapons.”

Grimalkin was losing patience. Montressa shouted at him.

“We’re from Wistram! What part of that you don’t you understand? The Academy sent us to—”

“[Piercing Shot].”

Someone loosed an arrow. Beilmark jerked. The arrow flew, straight and true. On the hilltop, Montressa, Relc, Grimalkin—and the watching Isceil, Beza, and Erin all saw the arrow fly. Straight at Montressa du Valeross as she looked around.

The arrow went straight through her shoulder. Montressa spun with the impact. Her mouth was wide open, gaping. She stumbled. Isceil’s eyes went wide.

“Mont—”

A second arrow sprouted from the arm holding the wand to Erin’s face. He jerked screaming. Beza raised her arm. An arrow appeared in her left shoulder. Then her right. And then one more in her left forearm. She stared down at the arrows as Erin stumbled away from her, ducking reflexively.

Erin heard a soft hiss, and a thunk. Then a scream. The Minotaur stared down at an arrow sticking out of her abdomen. Another arrow hit Isceil in the knee.

What was happening? The [Guards] took cover reflexively, shouting at each other. Relc and Grimalkin stared around, pinpointing the [Archer].

And then—there was a song. A warbling voice, cheerful, singing, accompanied by the flight of arrows. Thock, thock, thock. Erin’s eyes widened.

“La, la, arrow here, arrow there. Should I shoot to kill? Or should I not? This are very complicated thoughts. Shoot, shoot, shot.”

Bird stood on a hill and drew back on his beloved, new bow. He was singing, drawing arrows and loosing with all four arms. Two more arrows shot from his bow. One struck Isceil in the other knee and he dropped. The other hit Montressa’s arm as she raised her wand. She went white and her eyes rolled up in her head. Beza was on her knees. Bird kept firing.

“Stop! Stop!”

Beilmark howled it, but Bird was still loosing arrows. Grimalkin moved to block the arrow shooting at Beza. Relc was quicker. He slashed with his spear and an arrow snapped in midair.

“Bird, stop!”

The rain of arrows obligingly ceased. In the silence, as the [Mages] lay on the ground and everyone, Zevara, the [Guards], Grimalkin, and Relc all stared, Bird marched up the hill.

He had a new bow. And his carapace looked—new. Undamaged with the nicks and damage older Workers and Soldiers accumulated. More than that, he had four arms. Two legs. He was whole. He paused as Erin stared at him. Both of them ignored the [Mages]. After a moment, Bird raised a hand.

“Hello, Erin. I am Bird. Did you forget about me?”

“Bird?”

The Worker paused uncertainly.

“Is that a yes? I am Bird. I have a room here. And I used to have a tower. It was exploded by a Goblin. With a sword. May I have it back?”

He pointed up at the roof of the inn, still not finished. Bird paused. And he looked at Erin. His mandibles opened and closed.

“Do you remember me?”

Erin reached out, her eyes filling with tears. She hugged him, laughing. Bird held stock still, and then he patted her on the head with one of his hands.

“Is this a yes? Or a no?”

“Of course I missed you, Bird. I tried to visit! Where were you?”

“Healing.”

The Worker stared at Erin. She laughed, and he kicked at the ground. She heard a groan and looked down. Beza’s eyes were nearly rolled up in her head. Bird paused.

“I’m home. Who are these people? Bad people?”

“I—”

And then the inn was crowded. Zevara slammed out of the door of the inn, having used the magic door. Erin turned as the Watch Captain stared around.

“What in the name of the Ancestors was that? Senior Guardsman Relc? Front and center!”

She bellowed as [Guards] streamed out. They dropped on the [Mages], grabbing wands and their possessions as more trained bows on them. Erin saw Relc jogging up the hill.

“Hi Watch Captain—”

“Senior Guardsman Relc! Explain this before I take that spear and shove it up your tailpipe!”

Zevara bellowed in his face. Erin hadn’t heard her this mad in a long time, and never not at her. Bird looked at her and she hugged him. He sighed.

“I am much cuddled. Are there any birds left? I have missed them.”

“Watch Captain, I uh, was responding to a distress call—”

“Why in the name of the Ancestors was I not informed?”

“It was an emergency, Watch Captain. Lyonette found me first, and then she ran to see you—”

“We were busy dealing with the Centaur situation, Watch Captain.”

One of the [Guards] winced as Zevara rounded on him. She stared at the door—and then as it burst open.

“Move! I heard—by the walls!”

Keldrass and Bevussa burst into the inn. Zevara stared at them and shouted.

“Keep them clear! No—shut up, Relc! Someone find Miss Lyonette before she calls half the city on this inn!”

“Is Lyonette okay? I sent everyone out of the inn! And I tried to tell you all, but it was hard and I was looking for Relc and the Gold-ranks—oh no! There’s one more [Mage]!”

Erin was panting, wiping at her bloody mouth. Beilmark shook her head.

“Miss Lyonette wasn’t in the barracks. She must have missed the excitement. There’s a Centaur in custody.”

“Put all these [Mages] in a magic-warded cell! Patch them up first—[Healers]! And get me Guildmistress Alonna!”

Zevara was roaring, looking for someone to take her fury out on. But the [Mages] weren’t even conscious. Jelaqua dropped what looked like a side of meat in front of the [Guards]. Everyone recoiled.

“Dead?”

“Selphid.”

Jelaqua growled. The Gnolls backed up as the Raskghar-body rolled its shoulders. The…remains of the corpse that was Ulinde was making a sound, but not with any part of the body. It came from inside and sounded a bit like sobbing; a buzzing, bubbling sound.

“I dealt with this one. It’s not causing any more trouble. And I was nice after what they did to my team.”

The Gold-rank Selphid looked around. Moore was sitting up, prodding at his chest, and Seborn was helping him up, supporting one arm. Relc snorted as he saw Numbtongue leaning against the bar.

“That was a terrible fight. Those stupid [Mages] were using spells and I was afraid to hit them too hard. So was everyone else.”

Zevara’s lips compressed. She looked at Erin. The [Innkeeper] was unsteady on her feet.

“Miss Solstice. Explain this to me. I met one of the Wistram [Mages] who informed me he attacked and abducted Pisces, and the rest of his team after enchanting Miss Selys.”

“Selys! Is she alright? The Horns—”

Zevara held up a claw. She was looking around.

“Magus Grimalkin?”

“Here.”

The Drake loomed and the Watch respectfully backed up. Grimalkin’s arms were folded and he looked extremely displeased. Zevara nodded to him, modulating her bark.

“Magus Grimalkin, thank you for your help.”

“What I gave. I’m still trying to ascertain what just occurred. Has a crime been committed or not, Watch Captain? I dislike being the first resort for Miss Solstice as well. Miss Erin, Watch Captain Zevara was the first person you should have informed if you suspected danger to your friends.”

“But—”

Erin hesitated as Grimalkin glared at her. Surprisingly, it was Zevara who came to her aid, shaking her head.

“To my knowledge, it was completely illegal, Magus Grimalkin. They ensorcelled one of Liscor’s citizens and attacked an adventurer team in my city without provocation. They apparently also used a spell on an entire bar! Miss Selys was apparently a witness to it all, but—apathetic until the enchantment was released.”

A furious murmur ran through the Watch. Relc spat, hitting Montressa as someone dragged her past him. Grimalkin’s frown deepened.

“Mind-blanking spells. This is typical Wistram arrogance. Which doesn’t change the fact that they had a reason to go after the Horns of Hammerad, Watch Captain. I’d like to know what that was. Regardless, I’m satisfied on the count of their guilt. Wistram has done this before. Not in Pallass, but elsewhere, certainly.”

He looked at Zevara and she bared her teeth.

“I’m aware of that. But no one casts spells on Liscor’s citizens. Moreover, I want to know what exactly the Horns of Hammerad have done to incur Wistram’s wrath. Casting mass-attack spells like [Chain Lightning] in the vicinity of Liscor around civilians is another felony, although I assume they didn’t start the fight?”

“Are they alive?”

Zevara nodded as Erin looked at them anxiously.

“That’s what I heard. The Centaur mentioned apprehending them, but I don’t see them anywhere. We will find them, Miss Solstice. Now explain to me how you knew they’d attacked the Horns of Hammerad.”

Erin pointed back into the inn.

“Mrsha smelled blood on them. Blood from the Horns of Hammerad.”

“And you believed her?”

One of the Drake [Guards] was skeptical, but all the Gnolls—as well as Zevara and Grimalkin—didn’t seem bothered.

“Junior Guardsman Silt, the ability of Gnolls to detect blood is a recognized aspect of law enforcement. Your colleagues are allowed to make credible investigations into violence based on what they smell. Miss Solstice acted beyond her rights as a…citizen of Liscor, but we’ll discuss that later.”

It looked like it cost Zevara to say that last. Grimalkin raised his brows as she turned to her officers.

“Well, that settles it. Senior Guardswoman Beilmark? Take some Gnolls and track down the Horns with Relc—”

“There won’t be a need for that, Watch Captain. If I’m right, your search would only end up right back here.”

Grimalkin interrupted. He looked at the [Mages]; a [Healer] was seeing to them and cursing at Bird’s arrows. Bird stared at Bevussa and waved. Numbtongue stared at Bird. Bird waved at him too. Grimalkin strode over to Montressa and peered at her belt, then bent and came up with the black cube.

“Ah, I thought so. This team is very typical of the academy.”

He showed the object around. Erin stared at it.

“What is it?”

“A Silent Box. It’s a mage-prison developed by Wistram. A kind of contained space—very old artifacts, similar to Bags of Holding but much, much more advanced. I tried using the same methods myself. This team must have wanted their quarry badly to be sent with one of these.”

“They’re in there?”

Even Zevara looked shocked. Grimalkin nodded, grimacing.

“Simple enough. It’s like a Bag of Holding, not like an actual dimension you can walk into. I just have to release them. It’s fairly intuitive if…”

He touched the door and it shone. Grimalkin reached in—or perhaps the box expanded to fit his hands—and suddenly four figures were lying on the ground. Ceria sat up. Her eyes went wide, refocusing in the dimmer light.

“Stop! Montress—”

She raised her skeletal hand, ice crystallizing around her finger. Grimalkin jerked her hand up and the [Ice Spike] shot into the air. Zevara swore and recoiled. Yvlon swung muzzily, her arm still twisted. Ksmvr jerked.

“—war. If they are hurt, the Antinium—”

He stopped and stared around. Ceria blinked at Grimalkin and her eyes went wide. The [Sinew Magus] nodded at her and then instantly focused on Yvlon. She was staring around wildly.

“Where are we? What—”

“Pisces!”

Erin shouted. Everyone, Horns, adventurers, and [Guards] turned. A white mass of robes lay on the ground. But it was deceptive. Pisces’ enchanted robes were the only clean thing about him. The rest—Erin stared down. His face was swollen, and bloody.

He wasn’t moving.

“Pisces?”

She reached for him. Grimalkin grabbed her hand. He waved an arm and something pushed everyone back. Only the [Healer] and he were close. Grimalkin’s claw hovered over Pisces’ face.

“Still unconscious. He’s badly beaten. I detect bone chips—broken bones here—ruptured blood vessels—”

“Magus Grimalkin, I have localized tonics—”

“Good. You’re familiar with multiple fractures in bones? Right here. Here. There’s blood and swelling here—how localized are your tonics?”

The [Sinew Magus] was calm as could be as he knelt over Pisces. Erin pressed against the barrier, desperate to get closer. It trembled and she fell through. Grimalkin looked up, annoyed.

“Turn off your aura, Miss Solstice. Don’t interfere with my spells. This is a delicate process.”

“My—is he going to be alright?”

“Silent Boxes preserve those who are captured as they were. Time passes very slowly; these injuries are fresh. Stand back and let us work.”

Erin did as Grimalkin bent. Ceria was babbling to Zevara.

“I—we tried to talk! But if we started throwing deadly spells—”

“I’ll send a team to the bar. Was anyone else hurt?”

“No. Just Pisces. The rest of the adventurers were incapacitated. But someone check on Ksmvr.”

Yvlon grabbed Ksmvr. The Worker was still smoking from the electrical burns he’d taken. He shook his head as a second [Healer] looked at him.

“I am functional. Yvlon. Someone must see to you.”

“What?”

The woman looked at him. Slowly, Zevara pointed.

“Your arm’s dislocated.”

Yvlon looked down. Her armor had been twisted. Ceria gasped as she saw—Yvlon covered the gap as the [Healer] ran over.

“It’s fine. Just dislocated. Swollen. A bit of infection. It’s—”

Erin saw Yvlon being led away. Ksmvr followed her, leaving Ceria behind. She watched as the [Healer] reduced Pisces’ swelling and Grimalkin straightened. He nodded at Erin.

“He should be fine. They left him alive on purpose.”

Erin exhaled, but Ceria was shaking. She pointed at the unconscious four [Mages] and ice began forming around her hand. Grimalkin moved between her and the [Mages]. The half-Elf’s face was white.

“They jumped us. It was Montressa and some [Mages] from Wistram. How dare they? We didn’t do anything! They—”

“You know her?”

Ceria looked up. She nodded in response to Zevara’s question.

“That’s Montressa du Valeross. She was a classmate of ours in Wistram, years ago. She’s…she’s all grown up.”

Erin’s eyes widened. Ceria stared down at Montressa’s face. Zevara cursed.

“So they are official [Mages] from Wistram? Dead gods damn it. This just got a lot more complicated.”

“What are you going to do?”

Erin looked at Zevara. She wanted to—the fight in the inn still hadn’t left her. Her friends had gotten hurt! More of her friends! She wanted to kick the downed [Mages]. Even Bird’s arrows sticking out of them didn’t make her feel better. She was so angry—she could barely remember being this furious before. Zevara glanced at her and the Watch Captain’s tone softened.

“Let the [Healers] see to you. Magus Grimalkin, will you sign off on my report? I need to make an immediate statement and to query Wistram.”

“Of course.”

Grimalkin nodded. Ceria stared around as Zevara strode past them, shouting more orders. Now it was silent, Erin could see Seborn drinking from behind the bar. Moore was feeling at his chest as Jelaqua hugged him.

“I was shut down. My magic—”

“It wasn’t you, Moore. I wasn’t there.”

“I should have gone for the kill. You alright, Moore?”

Numbtongue was sitting down, being tended to by Mrsha and Lyonette. The Gnoll was licking him as Lyonette checked him over. Erin stared around her inn. It was trashed; tables and chairs obliterated by spells. Some of the [Actors] were peeking out from behind the backstage.

Like before. It was a familiar scene, but different. Erin shook with anger. This wasn’t right. She looked at Ceria and her mouth worked silently. At last, she pointed to Montressa.

“That’s your friend, Ceria?”

“She was.”

The half-Elf sat down on the floor, watching the [Healer] tend to Pisces. She shook her head and covered her face.

“She was a long time ago.”

—-

Fury. Zevara expelled it in bursts of air. They might have been sentences. Or curses that only happened to sound like words. She was bellowing at a terrified [Scribe], standing in the Mage’s Guild, flanked by an entire squad of her [Guards]. The [Mage] on duty and Guildmistress Alonna were both present, communicating with Liscor. Councilmember or not—Zevara kept bellowing.

“—demand an immediate explanation for this!”

“Yes, Watch Captain, but Wistram—”

Zevara’s fist made the [Scribe] and everything on the counter jump.

“Directly to whomever’s in authority! I don’t care about Wistram’s protocols! This is an assault and a violation of Wistram’s neutrality.”

“Yes, Watch Captain. Wistram says—”

The Watch Captain was in direct communication with Wistram. Or rather, she was still shouting invectives as if they could pass via [Message].

“Wistram had no authority to make an arrest in Liscor! Moreover, they used mind-alteration spells on a citizen of the city—I am charging them with assault on a citizen, use of dangerous magics in a public area and against a member of the Watch, attempted abduction of adventurers—”

“Watch Captain!”

The [Scribe]’s voice was loud enough to match Zevara’s, perhaps from sheer self-survival. The Watch Captain paused and stared at the [Scribe]. The female Gnoll cringed, but she lifted a scroll where she’d been transcribing replies.

“Wistram has heard your complaint, Watch Captain. They are taking this very seriously. Archmage Naili has been informed, and one of their Council Mages is sending replies!”

“Oh—well, you may convey to them my extreme displeasure!”

Zevara was caught off-guard for a second. The [Scribe] winced, but she was reading from the [Messages].

“Of course, Watch Captain, but Wistram would like to know—are their [Mages] alive? They would like to communicate with Mage Montressa, or if she is incapacitated—”

“They do not get to set demands! This was an attack! All five [Mages] are under arrest!”

The [Scribe] watched Alonna and the Drake [Mage] sending that. Her quill blurred—she was autocopying a response somehow.

“Watch Captain, Wistram is deeply sorry for the incident. They want you to know that their team was pursuing a fugitive—”

“Pisces? He’s not a threat! He doesn’t have a record! He paid his bounty!”

“—an extremely dangerous individual! Convicted across multiple cities—”

“Petty offences! Where does it say he’s a murderer? I never received that report and believe me, we checked!”

“—Wistram’s own logs—”

“If there’s no bounty, it’s not a damn crime and he’s not a criminal! As far as I’m concerned, this was an adventurer and the Adventurer’s Guild will be informed! Not just Liscor’s—this is a group of Wistram’s [Mages] attacking an adventurer! For reasons they did not deign to inform me, in a city—and then going after his team!”

“Ceria Springwalker—”

Zevara hissed. The [Scribe] shut up. Zevara spoke very slowly.

“Tell Wistram this: they had no cause to attack Pisces without public record of crimes and a bounty worthy of this action! They had no right to take the law into their hands in my city without informing me. Their [Mages] are guilty of assault, illicit use of magics—they will be held and charged! Severely! And I will be lodging a formal notice with the Adventurer’s Guilds, as well as sending a copy of my complaints to the Walled Cities, Liscor’s High Command, Liscor’s Council and—”

She couldn’t think of anything else. Zevara finished, pounding the desk.

“Wistram’s [Mages] will be held until their full fine is paid, upon which they will be exiled from Liscor! Is that clear?”

The [Scribe] was cowed. Zevara relaxed, realizing she wasn’t really yelling at the young Gnoll. She was just doing her job. The Watch Captain paused, and cleared her throat.

“Apologies for yelling.”

“No problem, Watch Captain.”

The Gnoll should have won an award for the smile she gave Zevara. She glanced sideways; the two [Mages] were transmitting Zevara’s words. The Watch Captain stepped back. She wanted to pace, or curse.

Ancestors, she knew Pisces was trouble. She was even curious herself what he’d done to make Wistram so mad. But for all the trouble he’d caused, she distinctly remembered him fighting Face-Eater Moths and conjuring the rainstorm. And fighting the Raskghar! And Skinner.

She was angry at Wistram. Zevara had always considered the Academy, well, useful, if an occasional irritant. She didn’t think of them, really. They were just there, like the Mage’s Guild. Sometimes they had requests, but they were always simple enough and their [Mages] had been, until this moment, snooty, expensive, but effective.

Now this? Zevara waited for a response. She was hoping for something deeply apologetic, although nothing could soothe her temper. But that was where she made a mistake.

Because she didn’t know Wistram. She didn’t know it at all. And one of the things Zevara should have, might have needed to know, was this: Wistram Academy was many things. Insular, arrogant, magical, guarded, jealous—any number of things. But what it wasn’t good at was folding.

When Wistram wanted something and something turned out to be a problem, the Academy didn’t back away and beg forgiveness. It doubled down.

“Watch Captain, Wistram has a response.”

After a few minutes the [Scribe] looked up. She was biting one lip as she read. Zevara’s tail lashed the floor impatiently.

“Well?”

“They’ll pay the fine.”

“…What?”

The Gnoll looked up, cringing at Zevara’s expression.

“They’ll pay the fine for Mage Montressa’s team. All of it.”

“I haven’t set a fine!”

“No, Watch Captain. But the [Message] says…they’ll pay it. And they would like Mage Montressa released at your earliest convenience.”

“My earliest…you tell whoever’s sending the [Message] to take that request and ram it so far up their own—”

“There’s more.”

Like a [Captain] sailing into the heart of a maelstrom, the [Scribe] went on doggedly, determined to see the worst through. She was scribing faster, and she began reading as she wrote.

“Incoming alert! Bounty on Pisces Jealnet. Alive. Full list of crimes incoming. Estimated threat level: Level 26 [Necromancer]. Bounty price—two thousand gold pieces, claimable at any Wistram-directed Mage’s Guild. Bounty being forwarded to all cities across Izril. Description…”

Zevara stared at the [Scribe] in horror.

“Wait, what are you doing? You can’t do that! Countermand that [Message]!”

The Gnoll gave her a wretched look.

“It’s a mass-update to the Mage’s Guilds, Watch Captain. There’s more. A biography on Pisces Jealnet, son of Padurn Jealnet, [Fencer]. Common-born of Terandria; family in service to the House Dultel. Accused of [Necromancy]; fled. Accused of petty thievery and necrophilia. Became [Mage] of Wistram under false pretenses, expelled for grave robbing and related deaths of 46 [Mages]. Status as Wistram graduate not ratified by Wistram’s Council or Archmages…”

It came on and on. Zevara had to take a step back. She stared at the [Scribe]. The Gnoll’s face was pale and tight as she was speaking. Zevara looked around. And then someone tapped her on the shoulder. Zevara turned.

Wing Commander Embria looked unhappily at Zevara as she held up a glowing communication stone. She held it out.

“Watch Captain. High Command wishes to speak to you now.”

6.59

“Watch Captain Zevara, are you aware of how many services Wistram provides for Liscor’s army and the city itself?”

Wing Commander Embria knew the voice that snapped out of the speaking stone in Watch Captain Zevara’s claw. She winced and shuffled her feet; she would have looked away, but what would be the point? She stood in the Watch Commander’s office and listened. Wincing.

After the first burst of sound, the voice was quieter, but Watch Captain Zevara’s replies were audible from where Embria stood.

“I—no, ma’am. The situation—no, High Strategist. Yes, but—it was clearly—no. Yes, I understand. I—given the situation—yes. However—yes. I’ll bear the High Command’s wishes—thank you.”

Zevara’s expression said a world, as did her writhing tail, but her tone was deferential. Embria winced as Zevara put down the speaking stone. She handed it to Embria, who silently took the valuable magical item. Wing Commander Embria opened her mouth, noted Zevara’s expression—and the smoke—and fled.

Watch Captain Zevara listened to Embria close the door and pound downstairs at double-time for a few seconds. Then she gave vent to her emotions. She pounded a fist on her desktop and shouted a number of words that brought one of the [Guards] running. They were still on edge, but Watch Captain Zevara’s glare made the [Guardswoman] close the door and wait until Zevara had vented her metaphorical and literal fire.

“Watch Captain, do you have orders?”

“Yes. Come in, Guardswoman.”

Zevara slumped as the female Drake opened the door cautiously. The [Guardswoman] stood to attention and Zevara looked up.

“The [Mage] prisoners from Wistram. Where are they now and what’s their condition?”

“Stable, Watch Captain. They’ve all been treated and healed—the Minotaur has a hairline fracture on her jaw and the Drake and Human both have bone chips from the arrows. The Selphid’s body is uh, destroyed, but it’s been healed. As for the Centaur—a few cracked ribs, but all healing.”

That meant they were practically fine. Healing potions—low grade ones—couldn’t heal bones, but everything else from arrow wounds to gashes would be closed. Zevara nodded grimly.

“Are they awake?”

“Yes, Watch Captain. We have them in the mage cells and we’re still in the process of cataloguing their gear.”

“Fine. Release them.”

“Watch Captain?”

The Drake froze. She eyed Zevara as if she suspected her superior were under a spell. But Zevara still had the detection charm on one wrist and the stupid little Human face was smiling, a sign of no mental enchantments on her. Zevara glared and spat the words like poison.

“Release them. That’s an order straight from the High Command. I want their belongings returned, and them marched…damn, here. Get the Horns of Hammerad here, and Miss Solstice and Magus Grimalkin if he’s so inclined. And anyone else! But keep them apart until I return, got it? And make sure Relc and Senior Guardsman Klbkch are there to keep order!”

“Yes, Watch Captain. Where will you be in the meantime?”

The Drake [Guardswoman] saluted reflexively. Zevara got up. The [Guardswoman] stared at her, confused. Zevara shook her head in reply. She stomped towards the door.

“I need to see the Council.”

—-

Liscor’s Council met. In fact, they were already meeting when Zevara strode into the council room. They didn’t waste time. At least, the real Council, the ones who made the decisions, didn’t.

They were Elirr, Raekea, and Krshia, who were in a sense, the Gnollish party. And on the other side were Lism, Jeiss, and Alonna, as well as Tismel and Zalaiss, who represented Drakes. Those were the official battle lines. But there was a third party known as the ‘Council who wants to get things done and resents the really expensive and idiot practices of the previous Councils’ party, which consisted of everyone but Tismel and Zalaiss.

It was a source of much tension, mainly from Tismel and Zalaiss. But both were conspicuously absent today—indeed, they rarely showed up. They lacked the votes to sway all but contentious issues and Zalaiss was either drunk when she arrived, or she and Tismel were with the old Council, relaying the current one’s decisions or trying to think up something that didn’t involve getting past Relc and his fist.

For now, the current Council ruled and they were active. But Watch Captain Zevara’s presence was their concern of the moment. And it had to be said, none of them were happy either.

“They did what in my city?”

Lism’s bellow echoed throughout the conference room. Krshia, Elirr, and Raekea clapped their paws to their ears, glaring. But Lism was furious. Almost as furious as Krshia. She leaned forwards, addressing Zevara.

“And we’re letting them go? All of this was decided without our input? Already?”

“That’s right, Councilmembers. I am simply informing you of my decisions, which were all undertaken under my own authority as Watch Captain.”

Zevara stared straight past Lism’s head, speaking to everyone and no one. Olesm, standing by the door, winced. But he was also staring.

Wistram’s [Mages] had tried to abduct the Horns of Hammerad? Ceria? And they’d done it in public—and hexed Selys and started a fight at Erin’s inn? No, wait—Olesm checked his notes. Erin had started the fight.

Either way, it was a disaster. Not for Liscor, but for Wistram. Or so Olesm had assumed. But Zevara’s next statement had all the Councilmembers staring.

“I have ordered the Wistram team’s immediate release, and their items will be restored to them. They will…not…be banned from Liscor, although they will be under the strictest surveillance. I will personally make that clear to them—”

“But you’re letting them stay? And you’re releasing them from prison? Why in the name of the Ancestors would you do that, Watch Captain?”

Lism’s fist hit the table furiously. He glared at Zevara. Alonna, sitting beside him, was silent, her arms folded. Lism glared at Zevara.

“They ensorcelled Miss Shivertail? That’s illegal! They should be fined, then beaten with sticks, and then exiled for good! Not given a slap on the wrist and—”

“Lism, shut up, you. Let Watch Captain Zevara explain herself. I am sure she has a reason. And I am more curious about this bounty Alonna mentioned, yes?”

Krshia glared at Lism. He opened his mouth, but Olesm cut in. His job, rather than to drag the Council from topic to topic, was to keep them from quarrelling, which was much easier.

“On that note, Councilmembers? I have a record of the bounty from the Mage’s Guild. Here are copies—”

He passed them out, and then stepped back and offered Zevara a copy. She shook her head, lashing her tail. Olesm stepped back and read from his. His stomach twisted in the silence.

“A two thousand coin bounty? That is high.”

Raekea’s brows shot up. She stared at the parchment and then up at the others. Jeiss shook his head absently. The Senior Guardsman muttered.

“Not for an adventurer. Olesm, is this right?”

“Yes, Councilmember Jeiss.”

“I could live on two thousand gold pieces for years!”

Lism croaked faintly. Jeiss shrugged.

“It’s a lot, but I’ve seen ones in the tens of thousands for Gold-ranks. That’s usual. Silver-ranks go from a few hundred to a few thousand—but aside from idiots, this one won’t attract too many [Bounty Hunters] unless they’re in the area.”

“Do we have to worry about that, then?”

“Pisces? This is on Pisces?”

Krshia stared at the parchment. Zevara nodded shortly.

“Allow me to explain. Allegedly, this [Mage] team was sent here to apprehend the adventurer known as Pisces…Jealnet, and his companion, Ceria Springwalker, as criminals to be tried in Wistram.”

“Jealnet?”

Krshia blinked and then focused on Zevara. The other Councilmembers did too. Zevara went on, pacing back and forth.

“Wistram has explained the actions its team took as hunting a fugitive, a criminal. Pisces Jealnet. He has a list of verified crimes, some of which I am aware of, and his team was apprehended when they refused to give him up. I understand Ceria Springwalker, the leader of his team, was also sought by Wistram.”

“Legally? I know Ceria. What has she done?”

Krshia interrupted. Zevara shook her head, looking frustrated.

“The [Message] I received skimmed over Miss Springwalker’s crimes aside from impersonating a [Mage] of Wistram, but I received a rather extensive report on Pisces. He is, as many of you know, a [Necromancer], but he has a long list of minor crimes from many, many Humans cities. Everything from extortion to burglary to blackmail and the usual [Necromancer] crimes. Joining a coven, grave robbing, animation of the undead—”

“And we allowed someone like that to roam free in Liscor? Watch Commander, this individual is an adventurer in Liscor, yes? I thought I saw them at the parade? Why hasn’t our Watch arrested them?”

Raekea looked appalled, as did Lism. Zevara frowned in reply.

“He had several extortion charges around Liscor, but he paid off his debt and was allowed to enter the city. I was not aware of the charges from other cities, or I might have considered barring him from entry, but…”

She hesitated and Jeiss coughed. He looked around the table and explained.

“Councilmembers, those are crimes committed in Human lands. We don’t usually share criminal information aside from major threats because their Watch Captains aren’t as organized as ours. Besides, Drake law allows for some felons to enter a Drake city even if they’ve been convicted in other cities. This Pisces wasn’t a major criminal. We might have watched him and done spot-checks if we suspected him of thievery under truth spell, though.”

Zevara nodded.

“We did. Rigorously. And he passed each one, as well as provided some services for the city, so the Watch didn’t consider him a threat. However, in addition to his petty crimes, there is one of serious concern. Pisces Jealnet was allegedly responsible for the deaths of over sixty [Mages] in Wistram due to a case of rampant necromancy, for which he was expelled.”

“Dead gods. And that’s accurate?”

“Wistram claims so.”

The Council murmured. Lism looked skeptical and angry, Alonna was tracing on the table with one claw—Jeiss just looked at Zevara. The Gnolls did too, waiting for the shoe to drop.

“So, Wistram’s team pursued a fugitive. A former student from their Academy. But why didn’t they apprehended him when he committed this heinous crime? Don’t tell me he evaded all of their [Archmages] and whatnot all this time.”

Raekea looked around, and her gaze settled on the [Strategist] in the room. The rest of the Council turned to Olesm expectantly and Zevara glanced at him. Olesm avoided everyone’s gaze as he stared at the parchment in his claws. He kept his voice steady.

“I investigated that, Councilmembers. According to one of the [Mages] from Wistram—the Centaur, Palt—I was told that he was allowed to go free until he started committing crimes once more. Apparently, Wistram didn’t want to make his trial public knowledge, but his continued activities drew their attention. He did, in fact, have a trial to begin with, but apparently it was a very complicated moment and he was allowed to go free, albeit as an expelled student.”

“Until Wistram decided it wanted him back. Wonderful. So that’s why they’re here. I’m still waiting to hear why they’re suddenly allowed to dance out of prison! We don’t let anyone do that! No one, not even that Human.”

Lism folded his arms furiously. Zevara bit her tongue. She looked up and grudgingly replied.

“Councilmember Lism, I was prepared to let Wistram’s [Mages] rot in prison. And I am still intending to file a public complaint with the Walled Cities! However—it has been made clear to me that it would not be wise to keep Wistram’s team.”

“By who? If they threatened—”

“By the High Command, Councilmember.”

The room fell silent. Zevara looked around. She was breathing hard, her eyes narrowed with helpless anger.

“You may recall that Liscor’s walls are enchanted. And we also rely on a number of services provided by [Mages]. So too does Liscor’s army. High Command informed me of this fact, and gave me specific instructions regarding the treatment of Wistram’s team.”

“But that—wait, High Command spoke to you?”

“Through Wing Commander Embria, yes. Not twenty minutes ago.”

Zevara glanced sideways at Olesm and he winced. He could imagine what that was like. High Command didn’t waste time. And they liked to yell.

The Council looked outraged. Jeiss smacked the desk with his claws.

“They went over our heads? This is a matter for the city, not the army! The City Watch—”

“Answers to the army in military matters. Which this is. Senior Guardsman—I mean, Councilmember Jeiss—our [High Strategist] made it clear that Wistram is threatening to cut off a number of services! Including maintaining the very walls keeping our city from being destroyed during the spring rains!”

And then there was silence. Lism looked to his left and right. Alonna met his gaze, palely, and nodded. The hair on Krshia’s neck was standing up. She looked at Zevara.

“They would do that? They said that?”

“Not in so many words. But the future cooperation with Liscor and so on depend on their team being released. High Command gave me an order. I’m carrying it out because I don’t feel like trying Wistram on the matter of the city’s security over one group of [Mages]. I have their word their team won’t cause more trouble in the city. If they do, I have every intention of arresting them. But—they will be set free.”

Zevara glared around. She looked so frustrated and furious that Olesm felt bad for her. Lism stared at the Watch Captain, and then rounded on the female Drake on his left.

“Alonna, why is your Mage’s Guild working for Wistram? And why in the name of the Ancestors are they putting a bounty on this Pisces person?”

Alonna, who had been silent, drew herself up as everyone looked at her. The Drake [Mage] was flushing slightly, but she kept her voice level as she replied to Lism.

“First of all, we’re Liscor’s guild, but we’re affiliated with Wistram. Every Mage’s Guild is; we can organize ourselves as we want from city to city, but to get information, news, to coordinate a lot of what we do, we have to all go through a central authority. Every Guild does or we’re stuck talking to each other like a long string of…of…”

She clicked her claws, trying to find the words. Elirr raised a paw.

“Gnoll howls?”

Alonna paused.

“I was going to say, a string of beads. Or maybe a cobweb? We need a central guild to coordinate [Message] spells and so forth, is my point. And that’s Wistram. I’m not from Wistram, but my Guild does have to distribute information from the academy. Including this.”

Alonna tapped the bounty sheet. Krshia growled under her breath.

“But this is pure vengeance! And it is a bounty after the fact, yes? Necrophilia? Is this true?”

“Bounties generally have to be verified before they’re put up.”

Jeiss muttered uneasily. Olesm cleared his throat.

“Yes. However, Councilmember Jeiss, the group that usually does the verification is…”

“Wistram.”

Lism finished the sentence flatly. He was catching on. The Council looked at each other. After a moment, Elirr growled.

“This is disgusting, no? I do not know this Pisces’ past, but he fought with Ceria Springwalker against the Raskghar. And against Skinner and the moths!”

“Their team was responsible for the dungeon—”

“That wasn’t their fault! Don’t you dare, Lism.”

To Olesm’s surprise, it wasn’t Krshia who interrupted, but Alonna. She glared at Lism and he subsided. He looked at Zevara.

“This is intimidation, Watch Captain. Intimidation, bypassing Liscor’s laws—and I’ll give you besmirching this Pisces’ name. Even if it’s with the truth. This is unacceptable. Why are we allowing it?”

He looked from Alonna to Zevara. The [Mage] shook her head, looking frustrated.

“Aside from the fact that they have High Command’s earholes, Lism? Let me put it to you this way. I could refuse to distribute the bounty, just like Watch Captain Zevara could refuse to release the Wistram [Mages]. And if we do, one of the things Wistram can do is direct other Mage’s Guilds to ignore Liscor’s guild.”

A pause. Raekea blinked.

“By ignore…”

“I mean, we can’t communicate with a Mage’s Guild anywhere else. Or our [Messages] get shoved to the bottom of the piles, delivered last.”

“They can’t do that! Can they?”

“Let’s just say that there are nations in which the Mage’s Guild works well and places where they don’t. Wistram’s autonomous, but they have their demands.”

Everyone digested this. Lism’s tail was smacking his chair legs. He stood up, glaring around the conference room.

“First Tiqr, now this. Does anyone else feel like Wistram’s got too much influence? I never thought of it before, but—”

He slapped the table, glaring.

“This is exactly what I’m talking about when I talk about non-Liscorian interference! Liscor has to bow to these jumped-up [Mages]? After they assaulted one of our citizens in our city and started a fight in city limits?”

“Generally, Wistram’s been seen as a positive force worldwide, Uncle. Stabilizing. And just.”

Olesm murmured. Lism gave him an incredulous look. Olesm shrugged.

“I’m not trying to defend them. But I’d like to point out that aside from the threat—which wasn’t communicated to you directly, was it, Watch Captain Zevara?”

“No. High Command didn’t mince words, however.”

Zevara folded her arms. Olesm nodded.

“Then, Wistram can justify itself by claiming that Pisces is a criminal. A murderer, or at least, responsible for a number of crimes. Where they erred was in attacking Liscor’s citizens and going after the rest of his team. But again, they’re using Liscor’s laws against us. They did pay our fines. Instantly. That’s three thousand gold pieces.”

Elirr was sipping from a cup. He choked on his drink. Lism’s head snapped around.

“Say what? You fined them how much, Watch Captain?”

“Captain, misuse of magic and assault plus attack spells and assault on a team would still only be—”

Jeiss was counting up the fine in his own head. Zevara looked a bit embarrassed.

“I levied an appropriate fine for emotional distress and the use of Watch assets, like an attack spell from the walls. They…paid it. Instantly.”

“Three thousand gold pieces?”

“It’s nothing to them. They could have paid ten times that and never blinked.”

Alonna muttered. Krshia saw Lism’s eyes focus.

“Well, in that case—”

He paused and gritted his teeth.

“—Do we have a choice here, Watch Captain Zevara?”

“No sir. I’m simply reporting my actions to the Council.”

Zevara gave Lism an unhappy look. Krshia broke in, looking around.

“Watch Captain Zevara levied a heavy fine, Councilmembers. Wistram paid it without blinking, yes? And all this pressure—does it not bother all of us that they are so willing to manipulate the law for their ends?”

“But what do we do? If there was even a hint they’d refuse to maintain the spells on our walls—damn. Damn, damn, damn—”

Lism began shredding the parchment in front of him. Raekea growled nervously.

“So what is to be done? If this team is free, will they not continue attacking this team?”

“Not in my city. They’ll be under watch, I promise you that, Councilmembers. But I can’t extend my jurisdiction outside of Liscor. Also, none of these adventurers are Liscor’s citizens. And two—at least one of them have committed crimes in other cities, albeit Human ones.”

Watch Captain Zevara looked around. Jeiss looked sick.

“So we get to watch them strut around, Captain Zevara?”

“I don’t like it either, Jeiss. But it seems like that’s what we’re being told.”

Lism’s eyes flashed. He looked around at the Council. Krshia, Elirr, Raekea, Alonna, Jeiss, Olesm, all met his eyes. Zevara was staring down at the floor. Lism’s tail lashed—and then grew still.

“Okay. We let the Wistram [Mages] do what they want. If they keep to our laws, we’ll let this team, the Horns of Hammerad, deal with this mess themselves. We don’t interfere. And maybe we hope that crazy Human makes their heads explode. But Liscor will take Wistram’s money and tuck our tails.”

Everyone stared at him. Krshia opened her mouth and Lism glared at her.

“We’ve been got, Silverfang. I know when to walk away. This is like a Level 50 [Merchant] holding us over a barrel with a bunch of [Thugs] at his back. You want to try another deal?”

She closed her mouth and shook her head after a moment.

“No. No, I agree with that.”

“Good.”

Lism looked around steadily. He raised a claw.

“In that case, I motion to allow Watch Captain Zevara to go back and make whatever preparations she needs. By all means, impress upon Wistram’s team the severity of the laws, Watch Captain. And put them under watch.”

Zevara nodded. She blinked at Lism, and then saluted.

“Councilmembers, thank you for your time.”

Olesm held open the door as she strode out, back towards the Watch House. He stared at Lism. Everyone did. The Drake [Shopkeeper] was too calm. Lism nodded as he carefully arranged the bits of parchment. Then he looked up.

“Well, onto new business. We can put the gold to good use. The Bloodfields project is underway, and I understand the Adventurer’s Guild is already preparing for renovations. I do hope Miss Selys will be well after her incident. And that her grandmother doesn’t try to kill the Wistram team. That would be a crime. Perhaps we should send someone to inform her tactfully of what’s happened?”

“Dead gods, that’s a good point. She’ll murder them. We should stop that.”

Jeiss looked wistful. Lism nodded impatiently.

“But that would be a crime, Jeiss. How shall we do it?”

Krshia was studying Lism. She smiled.

“Send…yes, send our [Negotiator]. Teliv.”

Olesm winced. He felt bad for his friend. Elirr thoughtfully stroked his chin.

“With wine. Or something stronger, yes? Wistram’s fine can pay for that. And give her a cat. She cannot run with a cat. Or dogs. She likes dogs more. Teliv, he can stop at my shop for a puppy or a few for the telling. I have a litter.”

He glanced around at everyone’s expression.

“What? She does.”

Lism nodded. He looked at Olesm, still cool as a [Cryomancer].

“See to it, nephew? Now, onto new business. I motion to send a [Message]—damn. No. Send a City Runner—no, send Hawk to Fissival. With a direct message for the Draconae Scholarium.”

The Councilmembers glanced at him. Olesm looked up as he jotted down notes. Raekea frowned.

“What for?”

Lism’s eyes glinted.

“To ask about having their college replace Wistram’s services, of course. And while we’re at it, Alonna, can we send a covert [Message]—damn, or do we have to use City Runners for all this? Can we ask about if anyone else has had issues with Wistram? I’d put forwards a motion to cosign Watch Captain Zevara’s complaint and make it public. Send it around. In fact, is any other nation or city having our issues? We should open a discussion.”

—-

Zevara left the politics of the Council behind. She stalked through the streets of Liscor, furious. So angry she couldn’t bear it. But she moved quickly, to give vent to her emotions, but also because she knew Wistram’s team would be in the same building as Erin Solstice and the team they’d tried to kidnap.

In retrospect, that had been a stupid decision, but Zevara needed to explain herself. And she felt as embarrassed, as wrong as she ever had been. But that was politics. It overruled what was right and decent. It wasn’t something Zevara thought should be part of the Watch. So she strode back to the Watch barracks.

As it happened, Wistram’s team had already been released from jail. And Erin Solstice, her friends, and the Horns of Hammerad had likewise been summoned. Someone was already screaming as Zevara pushed into the Watch barracks.

It wasn’t Erin or the Horns. They were being kept in Zevara’s office. The Wistram team was on the ground floor. And it was Selys Shivertail who’d found them.

“You filthy eggsucking Creler sacks! You monstrous, disgusting—let go of me! I’ll kill them!”

The Drake was fighting the Gnoll [Guardsman] holding her. Montressa, Palt, Isceil, Ulinde, and Beza were all watching the Drake warily as she fought to swing at them. Selys was shouting, her voice raw, furious. But she was crying too. Zevara stopped for a moment.

“How dare you. How dare—why are they free? I want them executed! I want them tossed in the cells! You—”

She went for something at her side. An expensive bag of holding. Zevara saw Selys draw something out.

“Wand!”

The Wistram team reacted in instant alarm as Selys tried to aim it at Palt. Montressa raised her staff and the City Watch instantly aimed their bows at her. She froze and the Gnoll holding Selys grabbed at her arm.

“Don’t, Miss Selys—”

“Gotcha!”

Relc yanked Selys’ arm up. She struggled, but the Drake held her—surprisingly gently. He pulled Selys back.

“Hey, Selys. No casting spells.”

“Let go of me, Relc—let go—”

“Come on. Let’s go upstairs. Erin’s there. Oh, hey, Captain Z.”

Relc paused as he saw Zevara. The Watch Captain saw Selys whirl.

“Zevara? Why are—”

“Miss Selys.”

Zevara nodded at her awkwardly. She studied the Wistram [Mages]. They were standing still, surrounded by a bunch of hostile [Guards]. But they didn’t look…nervous. Zevara eyed all five. The Drake looked like simmering fury, as did the Minotaur.

The Human—Montressa du Valeross? A [Lady], then. She looked caught between shock and fear and anger. The Selphid was shivering. She was wearing—Zevara recoiled slightly—a rather decayed Human body. A bad one, too. Whoever the Human had been, he’d been on the south side of unfit and rather unpleasant to look at. Cheap Selphid body. But the Selphid was still shaking.

As for the Centaur, he was smoking something. Zevara stared at it and inhaled the distinctive smell of a narcotic, which Liscor generally defined as anything you could smoke. The Centaur noticed Zevara’s stare and hurriedly snatched the spliff from his lips.

“Zevara?”

Selys was staring at Watch Captain Zevara. The Drake turned to her.

“Miss Selys. I apologize for the distress you’ve suffered. I want you to know that I am personally keeping an eye on these…[Mages], and they will be arrested and dealt with should they commit another misstep in Liscor. They have been fined and some of that money will go to you.”

“What? But they’re here—”

Zevara couldn’t meet Selys’ eyes. She saw the Drake smirk out of the corner of her vision. She felt the urge to turn her head and cough a fireball. She spoke slowly.

“This team is being…released.”

“What? You can’t do that! That’s not right! They cast a spell on me! I had to watch them beat Pisces! And I couldn’t do a thing! I didn’t even care! How dare you! That’s not right! Zevara! You can’t—”

Selys began to struggle and Relc and the Gnoll gently grabbed her. The Watch Captain looked at Relc. For once, he did all she could ask of him.

“Alright, Selys. Let’s go upstairs. Come on. I know—I know, I wanna blast them too, but—come on. Geils, help me get her up—”

They practically carried Selys upstairs. She was still screaming curses. At Zevara now. The Watch Captain watched her go, and then she turned.

The [Mages] were watching her. The Drake was still smirking. The Centaur kicked him and he stopped, but the entire team—yes, not nervous at all. They were angry or upset, but not at her. They knew they were going free. Zevara gritted her teeth. She strode forwards.

“You. Wistram [Mages]. Your fines have been paid. You’ll be…free to go. But mark my words. If you break even the smallest rule in Liscor, I will arrest you and put you straight back in prison!”

The [Guards] stirred uneasily and looked at Zevara. She glared at the [Mages]. They didn’t look surprised. Montressa bowed slightly. She nearly smiled, but she didn’t quite manage to complete the expression.

“Watch Captain, allow us to apologize profusely for the—the misunderstanding that took place earlier today. I’m deeply pleased that Wistram was able to smooth over this incident—”

“Incident? We were attacked! We should be pressing charges—”

Isceil began, incensed, but the others shushed him. Zevara was twitching. Montressa smiled, insincerely. Her grip was tight on the staff.

“—We will be pressing no charges, of course. But—has Wistram spoken with your High Command regarding the situation around Pisces Jealnet? He is a fugitive. With a bounty at this moment.”

Zevara just stared at the young woman.

“How do you know that?”

“We are in communication with Wistram—”

“You put the bounty on his head?”

Montressa hesitated.

“Wistram monitors its teams closely. We are able to correspond regarding issues. Pisces Jealnet is a wanted criminal—”

She shut up as Zevara raised a claw. The Watch Captain spoke slowly.

“The only thing your academy persuaded me to do was let you go. As far as I’m concerned, you are all first-time offenders whose fines were paid. If you break a law in my city, I will arrest you. And if you cast any spells like you did this evening, I will order my [Guards] to use lethal force!”

Zevara saw Isceil open his mouth and pointed at him. Smoke was fuming from her maw, but she kept on going.

“Secondly, I do not accept Wistram’s damn bounty on Pisces Jealnet or any of the allegations against the Horns of Hammerad! If you attack them anywhere within the city or so much as waylay them, I will arrest you! Is that clear?”

“That’s not right!”

The Minotaur burst out. She was taller than anyone else in the room and she reminded Zevara too much of Calruz. Well—there were a number of differences. For one thing, Calruz was honorable. Zevara spun on her.

“This is not a debate! If you lay so much as a claw on Pisces Jealnet or his team, or anyone else in the city, you will be arrested, regardless of what the academy can do! Is that clear?”

“He’s a murderer and a criminal. Do you even know who you’re sheltering?”

Montressa stared at Zevara. Her face was pale; she was unaccustomed to being shouted at. Zevara looked past her dismissively.

“I’ve reviewed his case and interviewed a witness to the actual event. Miss Springwalker swears under truth spell that Pisces J—that the accident in question was truly an accident and not homicide. Since he has paid off his crimes in Liscor, he is protected by our laws. If you attempt to arrest him within the city limits, I will be forced to jail you for unlawful impersonation of the City Watch.”

“But he’s committed other crimes!”

Isceil pointed that out hotly. Zevara looked at him.

“And? He’s paid off his bounty in Liscor.”

“But Wistram has a right to detain international criminals! We are accorded that right in almost every nation in the world!”

Montressa cried out furiously. Zevara looked at her, and then inhaled. Every [Guard] in the room, Drake and Gnoll, were already covering their ears.

“In that case, Wistram should have consulted with Liscor’s City Watch before they attempted to arrest someone!”

The Wistram [Mages] stared at Zevara. She exhaled smoke.

“You have no rights here. I do not recognize Wistram’s authority in my city. So. You’re free to go because Wistram Academy has insisted. But cast a single enchantment on someone—attack anyone—loiter in one square for too long, and you will be arrested. Everyone in or around the city is under my—the Watch’s protection, citizen or not.”

“But—”

This time Montressa felt Ulinde and Palt both nudge her and fell quiet. Zevara was giving her a happy, bright smile that was triggering a few [Dangersenses] in the room. Even Montressa could sense when it was a bad time to speak. Zevara waited. Then she purred at the group of Wistram [Mages].

“For your information, The Wandering Inn is considered part of Liscor. You and your team are free, Lady Montressa, but in the interest of time, I will be debriefing your victims upstairs. After that, you will all be present to make clear the issue is resolved, and then you will be escorted out of my sight. Thank you for your time, and I hope you have a wonderful time in Liscor.”

She turned, still vibrating with fury. Zevara began to stalk towards the stairs. Palt looked at Montressa and she gripped her staff so hard her knuckles turned white. Her friends were looking at her. Montressa was frustrated, furious—almost as much as Zevara was, but for different reasons. This wasn’t right! This wasn’t fair!

And then she was afraid. She looked at Beza. Upstairs. She could feel him there, a surge of death magic. The Minotauress gripped her shoulder and squeezed it.

Everyone was silent as Zevara conferred with an officer and began to walk upstairs. Montressa stared at the Oldblood Drake’s back. What was wrong with her? What was—she turned her head as Isceil muttered under his breath.

“Stupid, inbred failure of an Oldblood! Can’t even breathe fire, that incompetent, female—”

Palt slapped a hand over his mouth too late. Zevara stopped on the stairs. She turned her head and Montressa saw her look at Isceil. The [Oldblood Magus] saw Zevara inhale and Montressa raised a shield—

—-

Something was burning downstairs. It smelled like smoke. When Erin Solstice, the Horns of Hammerad, Selys, the Halfseekers, and Relc all came back downstairs, following Zevara, they saw the scorched floorboards. The [Guards], cleaning up a few black marks on the walls. Klbkch, standing with two hands on his sword hilts.

And the [Mages]. All five of them. Erin felt a clenching in her stomach, even though Zevara had told her why they were free. She’d told them twenty minutes ago. Upstairs.

There had been some shouting. A lot of it, actually. People had taken turns, Erin included, but Zevara had outshouted them all. The Wistram team was being released and that was that. Outrage over what they’d done, to the Horns, to Pisces especially, apparently it didn’t matter.

Here they stood. Erin’s hands clenched instinctively. They had no right to stare at the people coming down so…so self-righteously. As if they were the victims, or the ones in the right. Erin saw Klbkch straighten.

“Watch Captain.”

“Senior Guardsman Klbkch. You just arrived?”

“I apologize for the delay. I had to see to an incident in the Hives. Facestealer.”

Erin felt a chill. Zevara paused.

“Your message mentioned it. Tell me later. Have the criminals given you any trouble?”

“No, Watch Captain.”

Klbkch’s voice was cool. Erin didn’t miss the way the [Mages] stared at him. The Drake was pursing his lips as if to spit, but one look at Zevara and he swallowed instead. And despite Klbkch being Antinium, perhaps he was the only one who could have kept order. The other [Guards] were looking hostile. But Klbkch was calm. He noted the people trooping down the stairs.

“Will we be releasing the criminals, Watch Captain?”

“Not yet.”

Zevara folded her arms. She was looking upstairs. The Halfseekers and Relc were coming down behind Erin. Ulinde flinched as Seborn stared at him. Jelaqua wasn’t even looking her way. Moore, even Moore, was staring at Montressa. The [Aegiscaster] was flushing, but everyone was waiting for the last team to come down the stairs. Zevara spoke slowly.

“I’ve made the situation clear to both teams. But I want to be sure my orders are understood. Anyone who breaks the law in my city will be arrested. So. These two teams will say whatever they have to say. If they feel like breaking my laws, we’ll find out.”

Klbkch nodded.

“Understood, Watch Captain. Guards—fall back. Ranged weapons to that side of the room. Spread out here, here—you eight, return to your duty or sign out. In case of mass-attack spells, fall back and take cover. Relc and I will deal with any eventuality. Aim for the Drake and Centaur first.”

The Wistram [Mages] stared at him as the Antinium calmly motioned to the Watch. With tight grins, some of them dispersed while others took up more tactical positions. Palt paled and Isceil stared at Klbkch. Relc walked over.

“Hey Klb, you missed a hell of a fight.”

“As did you. I believe my opponent was decidedly more dangerous. Relc, how was your day?”

“Well, I got to act. It was all part of Erin’s plan. And I stabbed a few stupid [Mages], but I didn’t get to kill any—psst! Erin! Over here!”

The two Senior Guardsman stood against one wall and chatted. Erin walked over to them, and Klbkch smiled at her.

“Erin. It has been a while.”

“Hi, Klbkch. Yeah. It’s been a heck of a day—”

The Wistram [Mages] stared at the trio, nonplussed. Zevara almost smiled for a moment, but the conversation between the three was background noise. She looked up as the four adventurers came down the stairs, slowly.

The Horns of Hammerad. They were all on their feet. All awake. Night had fallen since they’d been freed from the Silent Box. And their wounds—

Well, they were all whole. Yvlon’s arm had been corrected, Ceria and Ksmvr were healed and Pisces—

He looked fine. Fine, whole. But he was pale. And he came behind his companions. He looked weighed down. As he raised his head though, Erin saw his eyes. And she paused as she leaned on Ksmvr’s shoulder. She shivered.

She had never seen him look like that. Not even at the start. But Erin knew that look. She had seen it in a mirror. Pisces stared down at the Wistram [Mages], and Erin knew he was thinking of how to kill each one exactly.

The [Mages] reacted to the Horns. The Minotaur stared at Ceria, and so did Palt, frowning at Ceria. The half-Elf’s expression was still, but she walked towards Montressa and the others slowly. And she never looked away from her old friend. But then all eyes swung towards Pisces and they stared at him with hostility. Hatred. Rage.

But Montressa froze. Erin turned towards her and she saw the young woman shudder. Erin frowned. But then Ceria spoke.

“Mons. It’s been a long time.”

The young woman’s face went white. Montressa du Valeross looked at Ceria. And then color returned to her face. She glared at Ceria.

“How dare you call me that? How dare—”

She gripped her staff and everyone tensed. Beza and Ulinde grabbed Montressa from either side.

“Montressa—”

The [Aegiscaster] caught herself. She stared at Ceria. The half-Elf was shaking. She pointed her bone hand at Montressa. Looking at her and the other [Mages].

“Is that really you? After all this time. I—we met for all of five seconds and you put me in a Silent Box? How could you? We were friends! You attacked us! You nearly killed Pisces—”

She pointed at Pisces. Montressa’s face went paler as her eyes flicked to him, and then returned to Ceria. She interrupted, her voice harsh, fingers tightening on the staff.

“After all this time how dare I? How dare you? I knew what you’d done, but I had to see it to believe it!”

She pointed at Ceria, her voice rising with rage.

“How dare you join him? How dare you do it after all he did? He killed Calvaron! He’s responsible for everything! He used your master’s body to unleash the things that killed—how dare you? You’re as evil as he is.”

Again, she looked at Pisces. He didn’t move at the accusation that made Ceria turn white. He was just staring at the ground, silent, pale. Erin worried for him. Ceria pointed at Pisces, her voice trembling.

“I’ve changed! And so has he! That was years ago, when we were young! It was an accident!”

“Accident?”

The hiss came from Isceil, but Beza put an arm out. Montressa and Ceria were alone in the world as they argued. She glared at Ceria.

“He killed our friends. Because of him Calvaron’s dead! Beatrice and I never forgot, but you? You leave, and then you decide to join up with him—to pretend to be a Wistram [Mage] when you didn’t even pass your half of the classes—[Mage] of Wistram? You liar!”

Ceria jerked, flinching.

“I earned the right to call myself that!”

“You’re no graduate. You have no right!”

“I have every right! Wistram’s full of cowards who won’t try the test! Illphres knew what the true path to magic was! If the Archmages had any courage, they would have gone with her! Instead, you all hide and pretend you’re not being ruled by Cognita!”

“Better than a monster who uses dead bodies to kill all of his friends  and the traitor who chose him over everyone else!”

Montressa’s voice rose until all the Gnolls were covering their ears. Ceria was no less loud. They were screaming at each other. Erin stared at Ceria. Wistram. She knew the story. Relc just looked at Klbkch and the Antinium shrugged. To them it was funny. To Ceria—

“You’re attacking us for leaving? Attacking Pisces? We were allowed to leave! Wistram let both of us go because it was an accident! Why didn’t you throw us both in prison then? I didn’t do anything? I just told that idiotic group of [Mages] with their wands up their asses how I felt!”

“You’re helping the same bastard who killed over three dozen [Mages]! Why shouldn’t we arrest him?”

“He was exiled! The trial finished! You can’t overturn it!”

Ceria shot back at Isceil. Beza folded her arms and retorted.

“That was because a non-[Mage] interfered with the Council’s deliberations.”

“Cognita vouched for him. She asked the Council not to execute Pisces and they did! They can’t change their minds!”

The Wistram team hesitated. Montressa was biting her lip, eyes furious. Ceria was no less mad. Isceil and Beza exchanged a glance; Palt was just watching and chewing on something—Ulinde was still quaking, under the gaze of the Halfseekers. Isceil retorted at last.

“Whatever the case, you two aren’t [Mages] of Wistram and you’ve claimed to be. For that alone, you’ve committed a crime.”

The half-Elf’s eyes blazed. She opened her mouth, and then grew strangely calm. She looked at Isceil.

“Tell that to Cognita. I dare you. She gave us that right. Go on, tell her. Does she know you’re saying that?”

The Drake paled, for reasons only a few people in the room understood. Ceria was looking victorious when Palt raised a hand. As if he were in class, he raised his voice, breaking into the argument.

“Excuse me. I’d like to clarify something. The reasoning Wistram has for going after Pisces Jealnet isn’t due to his expulsion. It’s what he’s done after he left. He’s committed petty crimes, stolen, used Wistram’s name, and broken laws across Izril. His subsequent crimes have put Wistram in a bad light. Anyone claiming to be a graduate of Wistram who behaves as he’s done will be dealt with.”

His calm tone silenced Ceria for a moment. Then she rounded on Montressa.

“That’s your excuse? Because you’re too afraid of Cognita to overturn the exile?”

“We’re not afraid of—”

Beza began to retort, but Zevara bellowed.

“Enough!”

The Watch Captain was louder than all the [Mages]. They looked at her. Ceria and Montressa were panting. Zevara shook her head as Beilmark, standing beside her, took her paws off her ears with a sigh. Zevara glared around at both Ceria and the Wistram [Mages].

“Clearly, you all have your own history. I’m not being paid to listen to it. Understand this.  Whatever your…issues, you will obey Liscor’s laws. You two can argue for all I care—when it’s not night and in public! But you’ll do no more or I’ll feed you to Rock Crabs. Got it?”

Both Ceria and Montressa looked at Zevara. Ceria hesitated, but then jerked her head away. Montressa nodded. Her eyes darted at Pisces. He was still looking at the ground. Yvlon and Ksmvr, who’d been silent, looked up. Yvlon reached for her sword hilt.

“So we have to take that? They attacked us, Watch Captain Zevara. What did we do?”

Zevara glanced at Yvlon.

“By right, Miss Byres, you’re entitled to part of the fine. It will go to you, and to Mister…to Ksmvr. As well as Miss Selys. But I cannot allow you to seek vengeance.”

Ksmvr tilted his head.

“So, Wistram is able to pay to subvert the law? This is an intriguing piece of information. I did not know Drake cities had such a loophole in their legal system.”

“We don’t—”

One of the [Guards] began, outraged, as Zevara’s face flushed. Klbkch held up a hand.

“Ksmvr. Silence.”

The Antinium quivered and Yvlon gave Klbkch a dark look. Zevara shot Klbkch a mixed glance and turned.

“I have been ordered to drop the Wistram case. I will enforce the law as I see fit, which does not allow for bloody feuds! Miss Selys, your part of the fine—”

“I don’t want it. And I don’t want them in Liscor.”

Selys pointed a trembling claw at the Wistram team. A few of them had the grace to look ashamed. Too few by half. One of them was Palt, ironically. Erin narrowed her eyes as Zevara…fidgeted. She looked like she hated everything about her life right now.

“Unfortunately, Miss Selys, I must give them a second chance. Which means Lady du Valeross and her companions are allowed to reside in Liscor. However, if they cast another illicit spell or threaten one of Liscor’s citizens, they will be instantly expelled from Liscor. I’m sorry. That’s all I can do.”

“I get it.”

Selys looked at Zevara with disgust and turned away. She looked at Pisces and then around. She met Erin’s eyes.

“I—I need to go. I can’t stay here. They’re disgusting. I have to go. I have to—”

She was out the door, stumbling. Zevara glanced around.

“You two. Escort Miss Shivertail wherever she needs to go.”

Two [Guards] left. Zevara looked around.

“If that’s all—”

“Just like that? What about our teams? What about Erin’s inn?”

Jelaqua broke into the conversation, furious. She was wearing a Drake body rather than her Raskghar one, but a big one. Zevara turned to face her.

“A portion of the bounty—”

“You can’t just pay this away! Those little punks attacked my team! They’re not walking off when I’m through with them!”

“You will contain yourself, Miss Ivirith. No one is above the law—”

“Except for Wistram, apparently! This isn’t right! I want—”

“I challenge you to a duel.”

The voice came from behind Zevara. She turned. Jelaqua looked past her. Pisces had moved at last. He was still pale. But as he raised his head, Erin saw the same look in his eyes. Montressa moved back a step. Pisces stared past her. He was shaking as he pointed a finger at Isceil.

“I challenge you to a duel. Isceil, is it?”

The Drake blinked. Zevara spun.

“Pisces—”

She stopped as he looked up. The [Necromancer] stood alone in the Watch barracks. His team was with him, but the way Pisces held himself was aloof. His face was pale. He spoke through bloodless lips, addressing Zevara, the [Mages].

“I have been attacked. Kidnapped. In Liscor, unprovoked. False allegations have been laid against me. And those who committed the crimes walk free because Wistram Academy demands it be so. There is no justice in that. I demand satisfaction. A legal duel.”

Zevara hesitated and stepped back.

“False? We only told the world what you really are. And why should I accept a duel from a filthy [Necromancer]? You’re not worth scraping my boots on.”

Isceil sneered at Pisces, but his actions betrayed his words. He reached for the wand at his side. Palt glanced at Isceil. Montressa was hesitating, but Pisces looked right past her. And Pisces smiled with that terrible look in his eyes.

“A coward who bested you when I was fighting all of your pathetic team. Come, Drake. Let us have a proper duel. One to the death. Seen and witnessed by all present. Come, coward. Or is the ‘best duelist in all of Fissival’ too afraid to battle an exile?”

Isceil’s scales flushed. He drew his wand.

“You fleshbag bastard. I’ll—”

“Don’t!”

The word came from Ulinde. She—no, he grabbed Isceil’s arm. The older man wrestled with the Drake—his body was an incongruous sight among the younger [Mages].

“Let go of me! I’ll kill him! I’ll settle this now—”

Isceil fought her, cursing, but Montressa whirled as well.

“Don’t be an idiot, Isceil! He has that [Shatterbolt] ring and he’s too quick!”

“I’ll take off my magical items. Come and fight me, you coward. Or you, Minotaur. Or are you only able to do battle when you outnumber me five-to-one?”

Pisces’ voice was taunting. Beza stiffened and hesitated. Palt muttered something to her and her eyes flashed. She looked towards Zevara.

“Are duels legal in Liscor?”

“They’re old, but traditional. I’d allow it.”

Zevara was breathing hard. She looked at Pisces. He was coiled up. Erin saw another figure move.

“In that case, me too. A duel to the death. I challenge any one of you.”

Seborn stepped forwards. The Drowned Man looked ready to kill. Jelaqua and Moore stirred, but the half-Giant didn’t move as Jelaqua shook her head at him. They didn’t stop their friend.

Ironically, Seborn’s words made Isceil pause and Beza check herself. They stared at him, and then at Pisces. The Wistram [Mages] hesitated. Erin had to admit, they weren’t complete idiots. Just almost.

“I can take him—”

Isceil looked between Seborn and Pisces. Beza gritted her teeth. Montressa was whispering and Erin clearly heard one bit from Palt, who was doing the same.

“—Gold-rank [Rogue]. Risking your life on a duel—”

The [Mages] conferred, but Erin saw the answer before Isceil looked up. He tried to scoff as he turned away from Pisces.

“I don’t need to sully myself by dueling a worthless [Necromancer].”

“Nor do you deserve a fair duel. I refuse. I have no quarrel with you either, Drowned Man. Our skirmish was accidental.”

Beza addressed Seborn, her cheeks flushed. The [Rogue]’s eyes narrowed.

“Coward.”

Beza’s head jerked and Isceil flushed. But they turned away. Pisces stared at their backs. He was shaking. Yvlon tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but he knocked her arm away. Ksmvr looked at Ceria. She was silent. No one had seen Pisces this furious. His voice was low, piercing.

“I’ve known Lizardpeople with more courage. No wonder Fissival let you leave. And no wonder the House of Minos let such a coward flee their isles!”

Relc whistled. Some of the [Guards] murmured. The Minotaur and Drake whirled as they walked towards the door. They went for Pisces.

“No! I said stop!”

Montressa held up a hand and a barrier shimmered forth, blocking Beza’s charge. She and Isceil hit the barrier that appeared in the air. Not a [Force Wall], all shimmering air, but something amethyst, but thinner. Erin stared at it. It was strong, though; Beza slammed a fist, creating ripples and shouted.

“Let me take him, Montressa!”

“Don’t let him provoke you! Walk away, Beza! That is an order!”

From the side, Relc was nudging Klbkch. The Antinium calmly nodded as he stomped on Relc’s foot.

“Stop poking me, Relc. I see. Ah, ward spells. Your difficulty in apprehending them makes sense.”

“Right? Could you take her out, Klb? I’m definitely going for her first next time.”

The Senior Guardsman shrugged.

“Perhaps. I have some experience in the matter. Tactically….”

Their conversation went unheard amidst the shouting from the [Mages]. Montressa pushed Beza back, and Ulinde had Isceil’s arms as Palt blocked the others. Pisces was watching them. Montressa shoved at Beza and the Minotauress grudgingly stepped back. At last she looked up and met Pisces’ eyes.

She stopped. Her face paled. If she had blazed at Ceria, suddenly she was cold. She stared at Pisces and stepped through her own barrier. He looked at her. There was no nostalgia there. Just hate. And Erin saw that flicker of fear on Montressa’s face again before she pushed it down.

“Montressa du Valeross. It has been a long time.”

Pisces’ voice still quivered. Montressa looked at him.

“You monster. I can’t believe you have the nerve to walk around after what you did. Let alone call yourself an adventurer.”

“Me? As opposed to Wistram, high and mighty and beyond contempt? There is more blood on the Academy’s hands than I could ever spill.”

Pisces’ eyes narrowed. Montressa hesitated. He was better than Ceria.

“Wistram never murdered my friends. You killed Calvaron. With your petty jealousy. By defiling the bodies of the others! You—you disgusting worm. Wistram never should have taken you in. We should have never believed your lies. But that’s what you and all your kind are. Monsters. If you had any decency, you’d surrender rather than drag everyone down with you. But that’s what you always do, isn’t it?”

The young man’s face went pale. Montressa was good at using words like weapons too. He stared at her. And Erin saw him snap.

“Calvaron? That pathetic fool? I barely noticed when he died. And if he perished, it only proves what a worthless mage he was!”

“Pisces!”

Ceria shouted. Montressa stumbled back. She’d gone dead white. Erin had thought she couldn’t hate Pisces any more. But he wasn’t done.

“You call me a monster. You want to see a monster? I will show you one.”

He advanced. And his voice was growing deeper. He was growing taller. His features were distorting, his face rotting. Erin saw the [Guards] react, raising their weapons, but Palt held up a hand.

“Illusion spell!”

“Stop that! That’s illegal under Liscor’s laws! Isn’t it?”

Beza barked. Pisces was looming, and shadows were filling the barracks. Erin remembered this spell. A noxious, rotting scent wafted through the air. Montressa backed up until her back was to the barrier, eyes wide. The Wistram [Mages] lifted their wands, but hesitated, looking towards Zevara. The Watch Captain folded her arms.

“Illusory spells are permitted in public areas of Liscor as well as private ones if the individual owns or has acquired permissions to cast such magics. Public-area illusions are sanctioned if they are not unduly disruptive or provocative. I see no issue, do you, Senior Guardswoman Beilmark?”

She glanced over her shoulder at the Gnoll. Beilmark rubbed at her nose, but then grinned savagely.

“Everyone needs a few undead now and then, Watch Captain.”

“You can’t do that! You—”

Whatever Isceil was shouting was cut off by a sound. It was bestial, no, unearthly. Foreign. Erin saw the looming shape bending over Montressa. It wasn’t Pisces any more. It was a corpse. Some monster, bloated and stretched in death. Rotting flesh. Gaping jaws, flashing through the shadows. Burning eyes. It loomed over Montressa and the smell—she heard several people gagging.

“Really good illusion.”

Relc whispered to Klbkch, covering his face. The Antinium nodded.

“Is this what you want to see?”

Pisces’ voice thundered in the barracks. He reached for Montressa with dripping claws. Blood ran from his sockets. Erin expected Montressa to raise her staff, cast a spell—but the young woman was frozen. She stumbled backwards, through her barrier.

“Stop it. Go away! Stop it!”

“Montressa, it’s only an illusion. Stop this!”

Beza grabbed her friend. Montressa flailed wildly and the Minotauress had to let go. Beza spun and barked at Zevara; the Watch Captain was looking away. Pisces advanced. His claws went through Montressa’s barrier, reaching for her.

“Stop it!”

She shrieked at him, screaming as loudly as she could. Beza and the others were shouting as well, holding Montressa and Palt was waving a hand, trying to dispel the illusion.  Relc jumped forwards and jabbed the Centaur in the flank. Palt jerked back and Relc shouted cheerfully.

“You’re not sanctioned! No spells!”

“Enough!”

Beza reached for a scroll. She swung through the illusion, but it was centered on Montressa. She was trying to flee, turning, screaming. Running for the door. The [Guards], and most of the others watching looked satisfied. But Ceria was watching Montressa and Pisces with a horrified look. Erin saw the look on Montressa’s face.

Terror. The young woman stumbled for the door. But clawing hands erupted from the earth. She backed away from the spectral zombies as they reached for her. She turned and Pisces howled at her.

“I will drag you down, Montressa du Valeross. I will show you what a monster I can be.”

“Stop! Please!”

Montressa backed up. She’d forgotten the staff in her hands. She stared at Pisces. The thing opened its maw and bent towards her. And Montressa screamed.

It was a real scream, the kind that wasn’t forced. It was raw, pure, terrified—Erin saw Montressa drop the staff. She raised her hands and a barrier appeared. It knocked back her friends, trying to shield her. Three walls of shining light, gold and white appeared as Montressa sank to the floor.

It enveloped her, a pyramid of magic. She curled up in the center of it. Montressa buried her face in her legs as she drew them to her. And Erin heard her began to cry.

She began to sob, sitting on the ground, curled up in the center of the pyramid-shaped barrier spell. Pisces paused. The illusion stopped and the wailing, snarling sounds halted. Montressa’s friends pounded on the barrier. But the young woman heard nothing. She was crying. Tears ran down her face and she curled up in the middle of the spell, oblivious.

Crying. Like a small child, rocking back and forth, closing her eyes so as not to see. It was no act. Erin looked at Montressa sobbing. And whatever she had been feeling turned suddenly to guilt. She had hurt Pisces. But he was—

She looked at the thing he’d conjured. A nightmare, the undead. It scared her too. For a second the thing hovered there.

Then the illusion spell vanished. Pisces stood in the same place he had been. He stared at Montressa. She didn’t even realize the spell had gone. She was still crying as her friends pressed their hands against the barrier, unable to touch her. Calling out to her.

“Montressa, it’s an illusion. You’re safe!”

Isceil was banging on the barrier. Ulinde was jabbing him wand.

“It’s a spell! We’ll protect you!”

“[Dispel Magic]. [Dispel]—it’s no good. It’s her personal emergency spell.”

Palt looked at Beza. She hammered on the barrier.

“Montressa! Mon—”

She looked up. Slowly, she turned around the room. The Watch, the adventurers—some looked vindictive. Others, like Erin, couldn’t revel. But Pisces was still staring. And he met Beza’s eyes. The Minotauress stared at him and her gaze went past him to his team. Beza looked at Pisces again and spat.

“You monster.”

He didn’t reply. His hands were clenched. Montressa never moved. She just sat there, rocking and crying. Zevara looked at Beilmark, and then at Pisces. And Erin heard the word unspoken.

[Necromancer].

At last, Ceria moved. She looked away from Montressa, at her team.

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Slowly, they walked away. The Halfseekers followed. Erin waited, looking back at Montressa. Then she followed Pisces as he stalked out of the barracks. He ignored his team trying to talk to him.

He didn’t look back once.

—-

Az’kerash, Peril Chandler, the Necromancer who defined all of his class, stood alone. He inhabited his castle filled with undead, his creations, some of them sentient. But he too was alone. He stood in his work room, creating.

As was customary, his thoughts were split. Most were aimed at the thing he was working on. A mass of organs and muscle, twisting, perfecting a motion before being grafted to bone just so. But Az’kerash was also aware of the world, if only tangentially. Part of his mind was keeping alert to worldwide events, points of interest. They were like distant lights on the shores of his mind. If one glowed bright enough, more of his thoughts converged.

They did so now. One of Az’kerash’s thoughts caught a mass-transmission from Wistram. It usually meant an emergency. He absently caught one of the [Messages], intercepting it. It wasn’t hard with the right setup. [Message] spells had never been made for secrecy.

“What is the alert? Some calamity? No.”

Az’kerash frowned. Not a calamity. His mind was assailed by countless words. He parsed a few, absently, and shook his head. Most of his concentration was still on the moving tendons, reattaching themselves, configuring for more strength, more durability.

“A bounty?”

It wasn’t important if it was a bounty. Perhaps some new criminal. The Bloodfeast Raiders adding a new member. If the reward was truly ludicrous—but no, it was miniscule. Not worth his time. Still, it was being sent out across Izril, so Az’kerash absently intoned a spell.

“[Scribe Thoughts].”

A quill and a bit of paper soared towards him from a distant table. The paper flattened itself on the air, as if on a hard surface and the quill began to write at once, needing no inkpot. The quill danced upon the paper, noting the [Message] spell directly from Az’kerash’s mind. Thus, it would remain without the need for Az’kerash to spend thought on immediately.

There. The Necromancer refocused completely on his work. He was building muscle out of raw flesh, literally shaping muscle fiber and stripping his work of useless features like nerves. It was optimization of the body. Complex, even for him. But once perfected, such creations could be duplicated.

The art of creation lay at the heart of necromancy. It was what few grasped. First came simple animation. Then improvisation of the form. Then—the peak of his art—creating something new, something superior to anything life could dream. Az’kerash focused—and then his eyes caught a word on the paper hovering in front of him.

“Ah.”

He stopped. The twisting shape in front of him hovered. The Necromancer’s thoughts refocused. He stared at the bounty poster. He had recognized a name.

Pisces. Where had he—? The Necromancer blinked.

“The young [Necromancer]? A bounty from Wistram?”

He lowered his hands. The paper flew towards him and he took it. He read, and his thoughts converged. Memory began understanding.

Pizza. The undead rat. The Bone Behemoth. And—Az’kerash blinked.

“A bounty. An expelled student from…Wistram? These crimes…what is this?”

He was confused. But only for a moment. At once, Az’kerash began scanning, spreading his thoughts. In the room, a skeletal rat sat up and looked around. But Pisces wasn’t there. Az’kerash frowned.

“Bea.”

A figure jumped. Bea was spying on Az’kerash. She hesitated, and then hurried forwards.

“Master?”

“Something is transpiring in Liscor. Yes, most likely Liscor. Send an inquiry through the Mage’s Guild. Masquerade as Elden Veis. Repeat the inquiry through the local [Information Brokers]. I will make my own investigation. Report back at once.”

“Yes, Master. What am I asking about?”

“This.”

Az’kerash handed her the bounty poster. Bea took it, confused. It was a miniscule bounty. She had seen her master interested in some of the high rewards—he had once ordered her to claim one. But this? She didn’t question though, and rushed off.

It took her thirty minutes to make her inquiries, using the [Message] artifacts to pretend to be a concerned [Merchant] asking about the new bounty. In the meantime, Az’kerash had learned what there was to know.

“A team of [Mages] from Wistram is in Liscor, Master.”

“Yes.”

Az’kerash’s eyes flashed. Bea shuddered. Few things could make her master angry, but a mention of his former home was one. Az’kerash reviewed the information she had brought him, adding it to his own.

“So. This Pisces was once a student at Wistram. He suggested as much, but I assumed he had failed to graduate. But this? He broke into the crypt and was expelled? Nekhret’s bones? Even when I was Archmage, I would not have dreamed to…audacious.”

He was reviewing the information, analyzing it. Pisces’ reason for expulsion lay in his head. Bea saw the Necromancer reacting. Looking…excited.

“Master? Did this [Necromancer] break Wistram’s laws?”

“More than that. He tried to rob an Archmage’s tomb! I would have dreamed of doing the same. If I were still a [Mage] of Wistram, that is. It is simply foolhardy, now. Of course her crypt was warded. But I almost admire the audacity! Nekhret. Yes. Her bones would be…useful. Does he still have them?”

Az’kerash tapped his lips. Bea looked up at him innocently. She knew the answer, but she asked anyways.

“The bones of Archmages are valuable, master?”

She luxuriated in the lessons Az’kerash sometimes gave her. Bea could see Venitra peeking in on her and Az’kerash, looking jealous. The Necromancer smiled absently.

“Yes, Bea. However, they are for now…out of reach. Even were I inclined to raise an army and attempt to assail Wistram, I have little wish to battle Zelkyr’s creations. Cognita would be troublesome, especially with the so-called ‘Archmages’ on her side. Wistram’s ancient defenses are more to be feared than the current generation of [Mages], though. But if this Pisces has Nekhret’s bones still—he did not mention them.”

“He is in trouble.”

Bea observed. Az’kerash paused.

“Yes. Wistram has sent one of their hunter teams after him. I am reviewing—[Aegiscaster]. [Spellscribe]? [Spellslinger]. [Oldblood Magus] and [Illusionist]. An odd mixture. Not suited to simple apprehension. Not the [Spellscribe] or the [Oldblood Magus]. Perhaps simple arrogance. Five, though. They could certainly capture him. But they were detained for breaking Liscor’s laws?”

That amused him greatly. Bea smiled along.

“Will you help him, Master? This Pisces?”

Az’kerash paused. He frowned.

“No. He is not my apprentice. It is not necessary or expedient to aid him, especially given Wistram’s interest in him. I simply wish to know why they sent a bounty on him after the fact. Ah—manipulation. But why—Bea, the bounty.”

The plague zombie woman gave him the paper again, pouting a bit. She was going to hoard it, along with all the other things he touched. She had a collection, along with the rest of the Chosen. Az’kerash studied the paper. And then he focused on more details.

“Necrophilia? Pisces Jealnet. Petty thievery—of course. Of course.”

He cast the paper aside. Bea scuttled after it and snatched it up. But when she looked up, her Master was no longer amused. He stood there, staring at nothing. Somewhere in the white pupils, in his deathless gaze and voice, heat emerged. Az’kerash paced. And now he was angry. More information appeared in his mind and his voice grew thunderous.

“A former friend? Classmates. And this—this is a campaign. Sent to every city across Izril? He will have nowhere to hide. A friend.”

Bea trembled. Az’kerash turned. He stared blindly past her. In the inn, the rat appeared in the common room. He saw Pisces, sitting amid his team. The young man’s face was white. Rage, fury, pain—Az’kerash read it and remembered. He clenched his hands. Then his face smoothed. He waved the image away and stood in the dark workroom.

Alone. But he whispered to Pisces.

“I could have told you that this day would come. See how they turn on you, boy. See how they besmirch your name. It is what they do. They will drag you down, as they do with all who don’t fit in. This is only how it begins. Someday, they will all leave you. Your love, your friends. They will show you who they truly are.”

Az’kerash stood there. And Bea saw the pain on his face. She approached, timidly, and offered the bounty poster. The Necromancer looked at it. And the pain—Bea regretted giving it to him at once. Because she saw actual pain on his face. He bowed his head, touching the parchment upon which Pisces Jealnet’s crime and history had been written in ink. And black flame burned from his fingertips, consuming the parchments and ink, turning to ash.

“I know. They did the same to me. Feor. He was a student when I was stripped of my titles. Is he behind it? Or another of those petty children who play at magic?”

Bea fled as Az’kerash stood there. She couldn’t bear to watch her Master’s face. But she lingered at the entrance of his work room. Venitra glared at Bea. But then they both went back to watching their Master.

For a few seconds—an eternity to the Necromancer, who almost never stopped working—he paused. Then he looked up. He stared at his creation in the air. With an irritated wave, he froze it in place. And then he turned.

“What was the rest of his crimes? Who was he? This Montressa du Valeross. Terandrian. Of course. But what—they have to have records. They haven’t forgotten that much.”

Venitra, and Bea, peeking around the corner of his work room, saw an unusual sight. Az’kerash paced back and forth, his eyes flickering. He had halted work, and now, invisible, they sensed him spreading his awareness elsewhere. Seeking knowledge.

He was pursuing the information by puppet, by magic spell, using old systems of magic to retrieve what he wanted through Mage’s Guild, through anonymous [Message]. It did not take Az’kerash long to find what he sought. He had contacts everywhere and he knew Wistram. The Academy that traded on secrets gave everything Az’kerash wanted. Story and rumor. Fact. The Necromancer pursued it all.

An hour later he was reading. Sitting in his quarters. His Chosen were all there. Peeking at him. Kerash, Bea, Venitra, all were entranced. Like flowers, they hated their master’s sorrow and gloom. They raged with him, felt his pain. But other emotions, those rare flashes of amusement or even joy—they were everything to the undead.

And they saw something unique now. Az’kerash read, entirely focused. They heard a laugh and exchanged glances of wonder.

The Necromancer was reading a transcript. Not of the time when Pisces had been expelled. Az’kerash had already read that and laughed at hearing Cognita’s words. No, now he read an earlier speech a young man had given to the Council, defending his use of [Necromancy].

“You spoke my name in front of them? In front of that petty congregation?”

He laughed. The sound was unfamiliar, and unpracticed coming from him. He had almost forgotten how. But it came out now, unbidden. He let the parchment float in front of him, reading it. Laughing again.

“I wish I had been there! ‘Necromancy is the equal of any other magical school!’ To say that before—my Chosen. Stop hiding and read if you will.”

Az’kerash duplicated the paper with a flick of the hand. His Chosen jumped, but they grabbed at the papers eagerly. Bea read the transcript of Pisces’ speech. His defense of necromancy. Her eyes lit on one passage. What he had said of Az’kerash.

He gazed deeper into the heart of magic than any but the greatest [Archmages] before him. Once, a young man had proclaimed that before the gatekeepers of magic. Bea felt…something rise inside of her. She did not know this young man. But for those words alone, for a smile she had never seen, she loved the one who had said it.

“He called you a monster, Master.”

Venitra had focused on something else. Her grip tightened, tearing the soft paper. Az’kerash shook his head. He stared absently at his copy. And his eyes were faraway. Almost longing.

“He did not belong in Wistram. But where would he have gone? I see it all now. Friends. Well liked. A [Fencer]! Until they knew what he was. Did he copy me? Pisces Jealnet. Where were you a hundred years ago?”

Speechless, his Chosen looked at Az’kerash. He was smiling. Until his attention went back to the common room. Pisces was arguing with his friends. Az’kerash saw his pinched face, his hunched shoulders. Saw rage and helpless fury. Pride, broken and bleeding.

The Necromancer stopped smiling. He bowed his head. And suddenly, he was ancient again. His words bitter.

“They will bring you down, Pisces Jealnet. This is their way. This is why we are few. Fetohep. I. So few others. Fewer still worthy of respect. Who see what necromancy could be.”

He cared about this Pisces. Bea traded wondering looks with Kerash. Venitra was still angry about the thing Pisces had said. But her master saw something in the young man. Az’kerash closed his eyes.

“The Wistram team will not stop. This Montressa du Valeross will hunt him down. Unless he kills her first. And Wistram will never cease. His team—Ceria Springwalker? What did she—”

His eyes flickered.

“Her master. Illphres? A peer of the Siren of Savere. Ice magic. She must have been a permanent resident of the academy. But she dared Cognita’s…I see.”

He looked up.

“Brave. Foolish. But she dared it. And her apprentice left. So a [Mage] with the true heart of Wistram dies and her apprentice is forced to leave! This is what Wistram has become! Zelkyr. Is this what you intended?”

The room shook as Az’kerash stood. His Chosen fled. The Necromancer looked around the room. His fury dissipated in a moment.

“But she and he joined the same team. How…odd. She will turn on him too. They will poison her. But…”

He sank back down.

“A team of Wistram’s [Mages]. Does the academy desire Pisces this greatly? Or perhaps this Montressa has a grudge. Even so, this much effort.”

His brows snapped together.

“They’ve sent more teams. What are they doing? I must investigate this.”

The Necromancer traced a finger in the air, writing a note to himself. It followed him, a glimmering magical thought as he turned his head.

“There is no incentive for me to aid the young [Necromancer]. Not with Wistram there. However.”

He paused.

“Liscor. I wonder. Where is…Ijvani?”

Az’kerash looked around. An old thought resurfaced. Not one he’d bothered committing to note form or pursuing. But now, Az’kerash was reminded.

“Still absent? But Zel Shivertail’s death was months—has she gotten lost? Ijvani.”

He put his fingers to his temples. Across hundreds of miles, his thoughts flew. In a cave, a sulky skeleton sat up. Az’kerash frowned. He spoke crisply.

“Ijvani. Ijvani, why are you sitting in a cave?”

He listened to the babbled response. Bea, creeping back, saw her Master talking. She envied Ijvani, even as she looked at Venitra.

“She’s in trouble.”

Gleefully, the other Chosen nodded. Az’kerash was frowning, a sure sign of his wrath. His voice snapped.

“You—I am not an illusion. What are you holding? Is that…Ijvani, be silent. Good. Now listen to me. You are not to return yet. Remain where you are; I require you to set up a surveillance spell. Carefully. Grimalkin of Pallass among others may detect a lesser spell. Ijvani? Why are there beavers…”

—-

The world moved. In big ways, and small ways. The bounty on Pisces went out across the world. And it was barely a blip in the grand scheme of things. Mage’s Guilds across Izril took note of the bounty, the [Scribes] on duty noting the details, forwarding it to relevant areas, largely unconcerned. Few cared, although some would read the report with disgust. But who would meet this fellow? Few, if any, surely.

It didn’t matter. And yet, it did. To the one the bounty concerned, it mattered greatly. The report went to the Adventurer’s Guild in Liscor. To the Watch. To anyone who wanted to know. It was a poster on the wall of the Mage’s Guild.

It was gleeful, the way they reported it. Pisces Jealnet, son of Padurn Jealnet. Accused of necrophilia, petty thievery—

Erin wanted to tear up the parchment. But she kept reading. The malice, the pure malice in the writing made her put it down after a second. She couldn’t go on. The bounty accused Pisces of necrophilia, theft, petty assault, murder—it made him out to be a criminal. Not even a grand one. But—she looked up and saw him at his table. Reading the same bounty.

What hurt most of all was the name. Jealnet. If you didn’t understand Terandria, or Pisces, it wouldn’t have been so significant. Erin didn’t understand it fully, but Lyonette helped her explain. It was a common name. And the way they wrote of him.

Pisces Jealnet, son of Padurn Jealnet, [Fencer]. Common-born of Terandria; family in service to the House Dultel.

A son of a [Fencer] in the employ of the nobility. Commoner. A nobody. Nobody special. In ink, it tore apart part of Pisces. Erin saw it. Saw it hitting him.

“He could almost pass for nobility. He has some of the styling. He fails in other ways, but I could believe he was a fourth son or something.”

Lyonette murmured as she swept the floor. Erin had reconstructed some of the broken tables and chairs; the rest were waiting for her Skill to recharge. The inn was quiet. Only a few people were there. The Halfseekers, talking quietly, trying to soothe Seborn. A few regulars. The Horns. Mrsha, staring at the Horns.

And the adventurers. They were at the center of silent attention. Everyone in the inn had read the bounty poster. Everyone was not quite watching Pisces. He sat there, at the center of it all.

“He never said his last name. Not ever.”

“Of course not. It would have given him away if you knew anything of Terandria. You could have even placed where he grew up with a few inquiries.”

The [Princess] looked at Pisces. Erin bit her tongue. Did it matter? No. Yes! Pisces loved being enigmatic. He loved pretending to be someone. But this poster laid out his life’s story. It said he was just a petty [Necromancer]. It was wrong. But Wistram had shouted it across all of Izril and put a bounty on Pisces’ head.

It made her hate the Wistram team. But Erin also remembered Montressa weeping. That didn’t dull her anger, but it was something else. Even so.

“Pisces Jealnet.”

It sounded wrong. Pisces was Pisces, not…Pisces Jealnet. In a way, Erin knew that hurt Pisces more than any beating could. His cheeks were stained and he was hunched in his seat. As withdrawn as he had been at the start.

“They can’t do this. A bounty?”

Ceria was exclaiming over the poster. She looked furious. She kept glancing at Pisces. He’d said nothing on the way back to the inn, even up till now. She looked at Yvlon.

“We won’t be able to go anywhere! With a two thousand gold bounty? Every idiot will be going after Pisces.”

“Can’t we pay it off? Not that I want to give those damn [Mages] anything. But at least it would solve the issue.”

“No good. Not with Wistram. You can pay off some bounties. Baleros lets you cancel a bounty with coin, and Drake cities let you clear fines, but Wistram won’t accept our gold. Damn them.”

Ceria shook her head. She looked at Pisces again.

“I understand these allegations are false. Are they not, Comrade Pisces? In this case, this is slander unbecoming of the academy.”

Ksmvr waved the parchment at Pisces. The [Necromancer] looked up. Ceria spoke for him.

“It’s false! Mostly, Ksmvr. But Wistram can say whatever they want. Damn, damn—they forced Liscor to let them go!”

“Are you surprised? The Academy does what it wants, Springwalker. This is—typical of them.”

Pisces’ voice grated. He jerked his hand; the parchment dropped to the table. His team stared at him, concerned. Yvlon looked at Pisces.

“Pisces, it’s completely wrong. Anyone who knows you—”

“And what of the countless thousands who don’t? My name is sullied forever. As Wistram pleases! I should have expected this. It matters not. I—I care not for the opinion of the uneducated masses.”

Pisces jerked his chair back. Yvlon reached for his arm.

“We’ll do something about this.”

“What, pray?”

He snapped at her. Yvlon hesitated.

“We’ll do something. Look, Ksmvr, throw away the posters. We’re all exhausted. Pisces, you’re pale as a sheet. You’re still not recovered. The [Healer] told you to rest.”

“She told us all to rest. You especially, Yvlon.”

The armored woman froze. Ceria looked at her. In the anger of meeting Montressa, she’d all but forgotten. Now, she looked at Yvlon’s arms. At the metal gauntlets covering…

“Yvlon. Take your armor off.”

The [Wounded Warrior] hesitated. She looked at Ceria and glanced at Pisces.

“We don’t need to do this now, Ceria. Pisces is—”

“Yvlon. That’s an order.”

The woman paused. Then she looked back at Ceria and slowly undid the gauntlets on one arm. Ksmvr helped her take off her vambrace, the rest of the metal.

A…smell filled the nearby air. It was mostly medicinal. A thick poultice. But behind that—Ceria stared. She’d seen it before when the [Healer] set Yvlon’s dislocated arm. But now?

Bone stared up at Ceria. Bone anchored into flesh. What flesh there was left. Yvlon’s arm was—Ceria remembered what it had been.

Torn, destroyed in parts by the metal that had melded with her bones. But it had still looked like an arm. Now, bone had been grafted onto the weak arm. Flesh was torn, infected, oozing pus around parts of the place where metal had rubbed against skin. Ceria smelled it, gagged—

Yvlon put the gauntlets back over her skin. She mumbled, avoiding Ceria’s stare. Even Pisces looked shocked by the sight.

“It’s fine. It’s just infected. The [Healer] says the poultice is working and I can use a healing potion once it clears. It’s—”

“What the fuck is that, Yvlon?”

Ceria hit the table as she rose. The half-Elf stared at her friend. Yvlon went still as the entire inn looked at Ceria. She glanced around and everyone pretended to look elsewhere. Ceria lowered herself, shaking.

“You didn’t tell me! Your arm is a mess! I’ve seen better—it doesn’t look like an arm! And that bone! What the hell is—”

She looked at Pisces. He didn’t respond. Yvlon shook her head.

“It’s—to support my bones. Remember how they kept on breaking? Well, this makes it so I can swing a sword. It helps, Ceria Even the [Healer] agreed.”

“When she stopped shouting, yes.”

Both Ceria and Yvlon looked at Ksmvr. Ceria opened her mouth.

“You—you asked Pisces to do that?”

“I did. I asked, Ceria. And I haven’t had a reason to regret it. The infection’s not from the bones. It’s just—there. And I don’t feel it. It’s fine. I can move my arms.”

To demonstrate, Yvlon lifted the shoulder that had been dislocated. Ceria hissed.

“Don’t do that! You couldn’t use a potion! Those muscles are torn!”

“I can’t feel them. Ceria, I’m fine.”

“You’re as far from fine as Pisces is!”

The half-Elf snapped back. She looked at Yvlon. The woman had folded her arms. Ceria stared at Ksmvr and Pisces.

“You didn’t tell me. Why didn’t you tell me? I’m your Captain, Yvlon! Pisces knew. And Ksmvr? Did everyone know about Yvlon’s arms but me?”

Yvlon avoided Ceria’s gaze. Ksmvr raised one hand helpfully.

“I knew because I have an inadequate sense of personal privacy, Captain Ceria. My finding out was unintentional on Yvlon’s part.”

“But you knew. And I didn’t because, what, you don’t trust me?”

“I didn’t tell you because you’d react exactly like this. Ceria, what do you want me to do?”

Yvlon glared at Ceria, her cheeks flushed. The half-Elf folded her arms.

“Get help. You can’t continue like this. We need to find you a [Healer]—”

“To do what? They couldn’t even fix my arms! Pisces did. I don’t need to sit around while the [Healers] tell me there’s nothing else they can do. I’m an adventurer, Ceria.”

“Not with those arms.”

The woman’s hands tightened on the table.

“It’s what I want to do.”

“And I should just let you?”

“It’s my choice.”

“Not if you’re killing yourself—”

“What else should I do, then?”

Ceria rocked back. Yvlon’s raised voice prompted movement. Erin hurried over.

“Hey, guys. Do you need anything…?”

“No, Erin. Sorry. We’re fine.”

“It’s totally cool. I get it. If you need a drink, or food? Anything you want tonight.”

“I’m not hungry. Not right now.”

“Got it. Just say when…”

Erin looked at Pisces and hesitated. But for once the energetic [Innkeeper] didn’t say anything. The Horns watched her retreat and whisper to Lyonette. Ceria buried her head in her hands.

“How did this happen?”

“The Wistram team had been pursuing Comrade Pisces for a long time. I believe they ambushed us in an effective, if ill-considered move. We were saved by their inappropriate understanding of Liscorian law and their arrogance. And Mrsha’s nose and Miss Erin.”

Ksmvr looked around the table. Ceria nodded dully.

“Montressa. Dead gods. I haven’t seen her for years. And that’s what she turned into? She’s completely different than the Mons I knew. And—what has she been doing? Those spells! That staff and orb! I didn’t get a chance to ask.”

“Not much opportunity to ask with her screaming at you.”

Yvlon reached for a mug of water. She gritted her teeth. Ceria looked up.

“Yeah. Yeah. They’re—those bastards got us. Not a second time. And we’re safe in Liscor.”

“But there’s a bounty on my head. And I am sure Montressa will not rest until I am captured.”

Pisces looked up. He had a ghastly smile on his face. Ceria hesitated.

“We’ll do something about it.”

“What?”

He stared at her. She hesitated.

“We’ll get the bounty overturned. Appeal it! It’s not right. Maybe Watch Captain Zevara can vouch for us?”

Pisces made a disgusted noise and turned away. Ceria looked around desperately. Yvlon was looking at Pisces sympathetically. Ceria had a thought.

“I’ll—I’ll reach out to Falene. She’s a graduate. Maybe she can help.”

“I will speak to someone as well. She will see something is done if anything. But nothing will change the bounty.”

Pisces muttered darkly. Ceria stared at him. She opened her mouth. She wanted to say something.

“About Montressa. She was really—”

Pisces looked up. The half-Elf wavered. She fell silent. Yvlon looked at Ksmvr. He’d opened his mandibles. She slowly nudged him and he closed them and looked at her. The whirling silence grew deeper around the Horns of Hammerad.

—-

Across the inn, Erin twisted her hands in her cooking apron. Lyonette was feeding Mrsha dinner at the bar. The Gnoll cub whined in the back of her throat, but Lyonette was soothing her.

“Not yet, Mrsha dear. They’re busy. Everyone’s a bit—just eat your dinner. You can go cheer up Moore, okay?”

She looked at Erin. The [Innkeeper] hadn’t taken her eyes off the Horns. She longed to go over, to smile—but it wouldn’t have been genuine. Erin wanted to do something. But she knew that she might make things worse. What could she do?

It was like a puzzle, one of the ones where you had a specific shape that could fit in a whole. That was how Erin would have described it. She muttered as she saw Pisces snap something at Ceria.

“Food? No. Cake? Spaghetti? No. Alcohol?”

She paused and eyed the Horns.

“No. Mrsha? No. Faerie flower drink? No.”

“Erin?”

Lyonette looked at her. Erin turned her head, blinking. Mrsha looked up quizzically. Erin silently shook her head.

“It’s nothing.”

She turned her head back to the Horns. She saw Pisces’ face. But nothing fit. So she just watched.

—-

Ceria was hesitating, biting her lip. Ksmvr had cleared away the posters, but it hung over them. She could see Gnolls and Drakes glancing at Pisces. And his name hung in her head.

Pisces Jealnet. She had never known his name. And she’d been in the academy with him! All this time—she hesitated, clearing her throat.

“Pisces, if you want to talk about it—”

Pisces’ head jerked up. His cheeks were still flushed. He clenched his hands in his robes.

“Talk? About what, pray tell?”

His tone was beyond acerbic. Ceria could feel the hurt in every line of it. She hesitated.

“Look, the bounty’s wrong. We know the academy’s lying. Erin knows it. We all know it. But if you want to talk—about Montressa? About…”

His eyes narrowed dangerously.

“About my name? Or the spurious allegations? Are you wondering if any of them are accurate?”

“No! Not at all! It’s just—”

Ceria raised her hands defensively. Pisces stared at her.

“Just what?”

“Look—I know some of it’s not true, but I know you committed some crimes. And we never knew your name. Montressa appearing out of nowhere was a shock. But she—you know she has a reason to—”

“To beat me into unconsciousness? To cast a spell on Selys and kidnap you all?”

The half-Elf wavered. But she had to say it.

“Yes.”

He stared at her. Yvlon opened her mouth and Ceria rushed on.

“Not to attack us! But she was there, Pisces. You know what she must have thought. We never got to speak with her. Look, I’m saying she’s wrong. But she had a reason to hate you. I’m absolutely against her. You heard me shouting! But let’s talk about it, okay?”

“What is there to discuss? She is after me. If you would avoid Wistram’s ire—”

“We’re not abandoning you, Pisces. You’re a teammate.”

Yvlon spoke quietly. Pisces looked at her. He half-rose.

“And so I should confess all my sins, is that it?”

“No! Pisces! Just tell us—we just want to know the truth.”

“You can read it. I don’t owe you explanations!”

The [Necromancer] was furious. He got up. Ceria rose with him.

“Pisces, just talk to us—”

“Comrade Pisces, it would be best to share information at this time. The communication of information with your peers will help us better aid you. Captain Ceria is only inquiring about your wellbeing.”

Ksmvr piped up, looking at Pisces. The [Necromancer] flushed. Ceria saw him open his mouth and snap down at Ksmvr.

“My peers? Where are they? If I find anyone worthy of sharing my thoughts with, I will be pleasantly surprised!”

The Antinium flinched. He stared up at Pisces and then looked down.

“Oh. I am sorry for presuming.”

“Pisces! Apologize to Ksmvr!”

Yvlon shot to her feet. She glared at Pisces. He was flushed as he glared at her. The armored woman narrowed her eyes.

“You’re out of line. Who cares if you’re common-born? You’re overreacting. We know the bounty poster is false. You don’t have to take it out on Ksmvr because you’re embarrassed we know you’re not from an aristocratic house! It doesn’t matter!”

It was the wrong thing to say. Pisces’s eyes widened. He stared at Yvlon for one second and then spoke.

“Spoken like a noble child.”

Yvlon’s cheeks went white. She sat down abruptly and said not a word more. Ceria stared at Pisces. Those cutting words. She clenched her fists.

“You jackass! We put ourselves on the line trying to help you! We’re your team! Don’t we deserve at least some answers—”

“Why? So you can lecture me on how wrong I am? Turn up your nose until you have need of my abilities?”

Pisces whirled on Ceria. She took a step back.

“I—you know Montressa has a reason for her fury! You know that, Pisces! I’m angrier than anyone about what she did! But you have to remember what happened! She does! She broke down when she saw the undead illusion! Pisces! Calvaron and all the others—”

“What of them?”

Ceria had to say it.

“It was your fault they died. It was an accident, but they died. You know why Montressa blames you. I’ve forgiven you. But it was still your fault. If you won’t admit that—you’re every bit the monster that Minotauress called you.”

The table went silent. The room went silent. Everyone stared at Ceria. Pisces looked at her. He was shaking. When he opened his mouth, his voice was wavering. But not with guilt. Not with regret. With pure rage.

“I don’t regret it now. Not at all. I meant every word I said. Calvaron? I don’t even recall his face. I only wish that curse had killed all of Wistram! All of them and—”

Ceria punched him in the face. If it was a movie, it should have been a slap. But Ceria was an adventurer. Pisces’ head jerked back and he stumbled, nearly falling into his chair. Ksmvr caught him, but Pisces struck his hand away. Silently, he looked at Ceria.

She was breathing hard, staring at him, appalled by what she’d done.

“Pisces, I—”

He whirled and strode away. Ceria saw him storming up the stairs to his room. Erin was frozen at the bar. Lyonette stared at Pisces. Mrsha was gone.

In the silence afterwards, Ceria looked at Yvlon and Ksmvr. She worked her mouth silently.

“I—damn it. Dead gods damn it.”

She sat back down. Why did she say it? Now? But Pisces had been—her team sat around her. And the mood in the air was like filth, like bitterness given form. Ceria wanted to go back and break her fist on Montressa and her team. She hated them. Hated Pisces for being him. She sat there—

—-

Erin saw it all. And still, she hesitated. She could see herself going over to the team, or following Pisces. And…she had seen it before. She remembered a young woman. Ryoka. But this was even worse. She ached for Pisces. And for the Horns. She tried to do something. But nothing fit.

A square peg in a round hole. Or…a complicated mess, that no one shining bullet could solve. Nothing Erin had. She got up, abruptly.

“I’m going out. Lyonette, keep an eye on the inn.”

“Sure. Mrsha? Where’d she go? Mrsha?”

Lyonette looked around distractedly. Her voice was low. Erin walked towards the door. The inn was silent. No one wanted to speak loudly. It was a mood in the air, that even she couldn’t lift. It hung around the Horns of Hammerad, but it hadn’t originated from them.

It spread like rot. They had brought it with them. Wistram’s [Mages]. Montressa’s team. Hatred and anger. Regret. Pain. Suffering. They had brought it out of Ceria and Pisces’ pasts, and what was worst was that there was truth, a reason behind the hatred. Erin walked out of her inn and into Liscor, searching. Feeling it spreading.

The past caught up with the present and brought only misery.

—-

“So. It’s true. I heard you were here, but I had to see it to believe it.”

Calruz of Hammerad jerked to wakefulness at the harsh voice. He sat up in his cell. The one-armed Minotaur looked around, blearily, caught off-guard by the voice. It was deep, female. Not like even the female Gnolls. He looked up, blinking in the light coming from the magical barrier of his cell.

And stared. Bezale, the [Scrollscribe], stared down at Calruz from across the barrier to her cell. She stood proudly, her robes hanging around her muscular form. Few of Minos were unfit; it was considered a mark of disgrace. She was hardly as trained as a true Minotaur [Warrior]; even in his cell, Calruz was stronger. But she was…whole.

Two arms. And a proud bearing. Her horns wore caps of precious metal. And her eyes flashed with disgust. For him. Calruz stared at her and realized he was on his back. The one-armed Minotaur struggled up.

His two rats, Haldagaz, Vanquisher of Foes, almost pure white and male, and Rhata, Trident-Guardian, the grey female one, crawled up his chest and fled into their bucket-home at the unfamiliar intruder. Calruz sat up, pushing himself up with his arm.

His one arm. The right was gone. Torn away, leaving only a stump. The unknown Minotauress stared at it, dismissively. Calruz’ jaw worked. He couldn’t believe it.

“Who—”

His breath caught. He tried again.

“Who are you?”

“Is that how you greet a Minotaur?”

She snapped at him. The words triggered memory. Calruz blinked. Reflexively, he surged to his feet.

“Calruz of Hammerad. Well met, kindred!”

He held an arm out, as if he could reach through the barrier and grab her arm. The Minotauress stared at him. She spoke slowly.

“Bezale of Maweil.”

She did not greet him. Nor did she make any move. Calruz slowly lowered his arm. Now he was awake, he was confused. And…afraid. Confusion came first. He stared at her.

“Bezale of—it’s been so long since I’ve seen one of our kind. Especially around here! Are you a fellow adventurer? What’s a seafarer from Maweil doing in Liscor?”

Beza ignored his questions. She looked Calruz up and down. He wore ragged pants and a rough tunic, fairly dirty despite Calruz’s attempts to keep it clean, worn from constant use. His fur was matted. She snorted, disgust ringing clear in her words.

“I came to arrest a criminal. And see to the execution of justice. I couldn’t believe it when I heard. One of the House of Minos, losing his mind? Betraying his team? Kidnapping civilians? Murdering them?”

Calruz froze. She knew. And she had come here to judge. He opened his mouth.

“Bezale of Maweil. I have—”

“Be silent. You are a disgrace.”

Calruz closed his mouth. Bezale paced back and forth in front of his cell.

“I couldn’t believe it. One of our kind? Reduced to this? Look at you. You’re more pathetic than I could have imagined. Why are you here? You’ve been judged guilty. Why hasn’t Liscor executed you? You’d be dead in any port of Minos within the day for your crimes! Well? Answer!”

The Minotaur spoke slowly. He closed his eyes, trying to breathe. Explain, though part of him agreed with every word.

“I could have been ensorcelled. I am still not sure if I was—”

“You are not.”

He froze. His heart stopped. Beza looked at him and shook her head.

“I cast [Detect Magic] the instant I saw you. There is none about you, save for the magic in the cell.”

“The Watch Captain of this city believes the spell may be more complex than that. She believes I may be innocent.”

Calruz protested. He watched Beza. She twitched when he mentioned Zevara. What was going on? She glared at him and spat. It hit the barrier and fizzled.

“Excuse. You are a coward who fears death!”

“I do not.”

Calruz’ growled. Even as a captive, even as he was, that strung what remained of his pride. Beza sneered at him.

“You’ve been prisoner for months! Any self-respecting warrior would have done what’s right. Ensorcelled? By what? You murdered Gnolls. Children. I heard all about your crimes. Because of you, the people of this city feared me.”

The Minotaur [Prisoner] looked down. He clenched his one hand.

“I have no excuse, kindred. But the Watch Captain refuses to grant me death. She believes in me. So I remain.”

“You have no right to call me kindred. And I know what needs to be done.”

Beza’s voice was very cold. She stared at Calruz. She was taller than he was. She nodded down the length of the prison and then stepped forwards. He looked up as she whispered to him.

“I’ll find a way to smuggle in a knife to you. You do the proper thing.”

“But that’s—”

He jerked. She glared at him and pounded a fist on the barrier to his cell. The light flashed, but didn’t even waver.

“That’s the honorable thing to do! You should have done it long ago, coward. Look at you, sleeping with rats? What’s next? I’ll get the knife in. Bribe the guards, perhaps. It won’t take me more than a day or two.”

She turned away dismissively. Calruz stared at her back. He couldn’t bear it any longer. He spoke up, angrily.

“I have a question. Are you an arbiter of the isles? You did not announce yourselves as such. Do you have that authority?”

Beza turned. She hesitated, which was answer enough.

“I have the right of every Minos to judge another! I came here because I heard you’d disgraced our kind!”

Calruz’ eyes narrowed. So, not the arbiter he’d feared. Still—a thought occurred to him. He stared at Beza.

“Who did you come here to apprehend?”

She paused. He stared at her.

“Who?”

“Do not make demands of me, traitor.”

She glared at him. But Calruz was unwavering. After a moment, Beza spat.

“A member of your team. Pisces Jealnet. A [Necromancer]. If I thought you could sink no lower, I was wrong. That he claims to be part of a team that calls itself the ‘Horns of Hammerad’? Ludicrous!”

Calruz’s stomach twisted. Pisces? What had he done? No, Ceria had told him something of Pisces’ past. He stepped forwards, towards the magical barrier that kept him caged.

“Did you capture him?”

“We did. But thanks to the laws of this pathetic city he was released. He won’t escape us a second time. Him or the team protecting him.”

Bezale snarled. She was angry. She’d come here angry; Calruz could see it from the red seeping into her eyes. He growled.

“His team? If you touched Ceria Springwalker—”

“You’ll do what?”

Beza stared at Calruz. He didn’t reply. He was breathing hard. Now he understood. Beza spoke slowly.

“I will say this for your honor, Calruz of Hammerad. Kill yourself.”

“No. I do not know that I am guilty. And I will not be judged by you.”

Calruz snarled at her. She’d come for Ceria? Attacking his team? He felt the rage building. Beza snapped at him.

“Coward. You are a coward. Just as much as your team. All of you should have fought to the last in the crypt, instead of fleeing! You, the Antinium, that half-Elf and the broken woman. And the [Necromancer]. All of you are a disgrace.”

The Minotaur saw red. Literally; blood began to fill his gaze. He stepped up to the barrier until he could feel it tingling his muzzle, the fur on his chest. He spoke through the fury building in him.

“Tell me, Bezale of Maweil. How did you win the honor of passage from our home?”

She stared at him.

“I won my right by my skill at magic. By my talent.”

Calruz nodded. Then he reached out. His eyes turned red as he pushed at the magical cell’s barrier with one hand. The magic burned his palm. Beza jerked back. But Calruz didn’t care. The Minotaur raised his voice.

“I won my right by skill at arms! By bravery, by daring! I was an adventurer. And I disgraced myself. I betrayed my team. All this is true. But—”

He stared at her. Calruz gritted his teeth as his palm smoked and burnt.

“But I’d rather sell myself into slavery than take lessons about honor from someone who has no idea what it means to be an adventurer. If you touch Ceria Springwalker, she will break you and whomever you brought with you.”

Beza stared at Calruz, her face twisted with disgust.

“Spoken like the truest of cravens. The House of Minos will hear from me. Hammerad will know their son’s treachery and cowardice!”

She spun. Beza strode from the prison. Calruz bellowed after her, his voice echoing in the prison. The [Guards] rushed forwards, but they stopped when they saw Beza striding away. Calruz stared at Beza until she was out of sight. Then he felt the pain.

His palm was raw, the magic taking it to bits. The Minotaur stopping pushing at the cell wall. He sank to the floor. The pain was there, but it was barely noticeable to him compared to the agony in his heart. He bowed his head.

In the silence, no one made a sound. No one, except for a small, grey shape which crept out of the bucket in the back of the cell. A last Daughter of the Grainsack. The little rat crawled across the floor and up Calruz’s side. She crawled up onto his left arm and sniffed at his raw palm.

The rat wriggled her whiskers as her brother came out of hiding. Calruz stared down at her. He shook his head in silent response to the unspoken query.

“Just a fellow Minotaur, Rhata. She will tell the isles. I wish she had the right to judge. I wish I knew.”

He stroked the little rat’s head. And he refused to listen to the voices that told him to kill it. And his voice, that told him to kill himself.

Misery.

—-

Palt, the Centaur [Illusionist], hated his life. He trotted through Liscor, aware that he had tails. Not the one on his behind, but [Guards]. Liscor’s Watch was following him, even after he’d split from Montressa and the others. It wasn’t a good time to be around Montressa, anyways.

She was still mostly incoherent after the illusion the [Necromancer], Pisces, had conjured. Palt was impressed himself; it had been an ugly spell. Isceil and Ulinde were keeping Montressa company in the inn they’d rented and Beza had strode off to do something. Palt was by himself, but he wasn’t alone.

He was talking to someone, using a [Communication] spell. It was advanced stuff, but he was a full [Mage] of Wistram and if he wasn’t specialized in combat magic like his peers, he was well-versed in a number of magics. Right now he was giving a report to someone in Wistram. His superiors. He had no doubt Beza and the others were all doing the same and getting chewed out too.

“Yes, well, she’s too focused on Pisces. I know Wistram is stretched thin trying to follow up on all the leads with the guests, but the Revivalists shouldn’t have pushed to put Montressa in charge of this team. She might be best of all of us, but she’s too young.”

The Centaur listened to the response. He winced, and fumbled for a cigar. No dreamleaf or anything stronger; the Watch had also told him he couldn’t smoke anything illegal—which was practically everything—within Liscor’s walls. Grumpily, the Centaur lit up with a flick of his fingers and replied.

“Yes, of course. Yes, I’ll try—I’m certain. One of the guests. It’s all donkey dung now, though. She’s a close friend of the team we attacked. No, I could not stop it! I’ll try. Yes. Please convey my regards to Master [Phantasmal Trickster].”

The person on the other end, another [Illusionist] in her sixth year he knew, replied shortly.

“I’ll do that. But they’re mad, Palt. Liscor’s considered important and having to send out a bounty and getting in trouble after Tiqr—”

“It’s not my fault! I’m not in charge! Take it up with the Revivalists—they put Montressa in charge! What was I supposed to do?”

“You’re representing our interests. Just try not to break any more laws. And don’t smoke anything in Liscor! Got it?”

Palt paused with the cigar in his lips.

“Of course.”

“You’re smoking something right now, aren’t you? If you get us in trouble, no one’s bailing you out.”

“I’ve got it! Tell Master [Phantasmal Trickster]—”

“I’ll tell them. Just remember what I said.”

“Got it. Bye.”

Palt fell the magic spell dissipate. Grumpily, he trotted faster, smoking hard and muttering under his breath. He could sense his tails moving faster. Gnolls, probably. He hoped they coughed on his cigar smoke.

The Centaur was angry. Angry at Montressa, at that damn Watch Captain who’d had him kicked and beaten up—and at himself for taking this stupid mission. He’d volunteered! What had he been thinking?

He sighed as he puffed away, trotting for the sheer necessity of moving his body. He ignored the Drakes and Gnolls this late at night. He had to think.

His faction had not been pleased with the news and they’d demanded an explanation of the events. They’d bailed him out of course; Wistram didn’t abandon their own, but there would be consequences. Few for Palt for all he’d been involved; he could only imagine what Montressa’s call had been like. But Palt had been reminded of his duties—to Wistram, yes, but to his faction, Ullsinoi, as well.

Some factions in Wistram were small. More like…well, more like entire schools of magic than ideologies like the Revivalists. Palt belonged to a small one, a little under a hundred members, actually. The Ullsinoi faction wasn’t huge, but they had clout where it mattered.

They were also very secretive, made up almost entirely of the illusion school of magic. It gave their [Mages]…peculiarities, especially in how they interacted. For instance, Palt didn’t even know half of the names of the master [Illusionists] in his faction. You just referred to them by nicknames, or classes, like his own master, Master [Phantasmal Trickster]. Palt didn’t even know the gender of his master, if they even had one. They liked to change their illusion and theirs was so complete Palt still couldn’t see through them.

It was hard being in the Ullsinoi faction—everyone was full of tricks, some of them really stupid, like the name of their faction. You couldn’t even get in if you didn’t figure out the idiotic joke within the first ten minutes of hearing the name. Frankly, that was probably a good bar to set anyways. But they had real interests, ones Palt agreed with. And now he’d have to carry them out. Somehow.

The Centaur gritted his teeth, chewing the cigar. He’d have to help repair the mess Montressa had made. She was obsessed with Pisces. Small wonder for what he’d done, but still. This was a disaster. Now they had the Watch on their tails, the [Innkeeper] they were supposed to make a priority hated their guts and they’d caused trouble for Wistram. What was he supposed to do? Maybe—

The Centaur was so preoccupied he didn’t see the shape making a beeline towards him. He only saw the figure too late and stopped before he ran her over.

“Pardon m—”

He looked down and saw Erin Solstice. She stared up at him. The Centaur dropped his cigar and reared.

“Gyaaah! Don’t hurt me!”

He turned to run. Erin grabbed Palt’s tail as he tried to cast [Invisibility]. He nearly kicked her!

“Hold on, hold on! I’m not gonna stab you!”

“That’s a specific threat! Let go of my tail!”

Palt whirled. Erin let go and he trotted backwards. His watchers had stopped, warily. Palt eyed Erin. He knew what she’d done! She’d stabbed Beza and nearly killed Isceil with a pot of sauce! He backed up, but she followed.

“We’re allowed to be in Liscor! If you attack me—”

“Oh, be shush, you. I’m not gonna hurt you. But if you cast a spell on me, I’ll stab you.”

Erin put a hand on the knife at her belt. Palt raised his hands instantly.

“No magic! I’ve done nothing! I wasn’t even part of the group that attacked your friend! My name’s Palt! I’m sorry for everything! I’m just here to help find you lot.”

He winced. Damn! Gnolls! He cast a [Hush] spell around him and Erin. She stared up at him.

“Yeah. I heard. But you cast a spell on Selys.”

“I—look, Montressa’s my leader. I have to obey her. I know it was bad. But [Mind Blank] doesn’t harm her.”

“Pisces is her friend. She watched you beat him up.”

“I didn’t do a thing.”

“Except cast the spell.”

He looked at her and trotted back a few steps.

“Please don’t stab me. I’ll apologize to her. Really.”

“You’d better. Her grandmother was a Gold-rank adventurer. She’ll kill you.”

Palt paled. Old people with high levels were the worst.

“I’ll do that. Miss Erin, is it? I’m very sorry. On behalf of Wistram, I apologize. My team is filled with idiots. But that Pisces fellow is wanted by Wistram. I was there when the undead came and slaughtered a bunch of [Mages].”

“Yeah. I heard about that. But he was let go. They had a trial. So why’s Wistram after him? Is it just Montressa?”

Palt shuffled his hooves. He stared down at Erin. He had a sense she was high-level. She had a certain intensity about her. He felt a surge of trepidation. And hope. She was speaking to him. So the Centaur made an ingratiating gesture. He rummaged in his saddlebags.

“Miss Solstice? Again, I’m very sorry. If I can make it up to you at all—allow me to introduce myself. I’m Palt, an [Illusionist]. My team was sent to escort you back to Wistram. I realize that holds little weight, but allow me to—may I make you a gift? I have some dreamleaf, which I understand your people call uh, marjinaula.”

“Marijuana? Wait, you mean weed?”

Erin recoiled as he offered her some dried leaves. Palt faltered.

“Wait, are you one of the people who don’t like it?”

“No! Are you a stoner?”

“Damn—er—well, that was an offer of good faith! It’s relaxing! I have tobacco—”

The Centaur realized he was digging himself further in. He stopped and spread his hands.

“Let me try again. Again. Anything you want, Miss Solstice, I can offer. I have a number of uh, aids for my magic. Relaxing. And I’m here to help. Truly. If there’s anything I can do, name it.”

He waited. Erin Solstice looked Palt up and down. He waited. At last, Erin nodded. She looked at Palt and spoke slowly.

“Tell me about…Montressa.”

—-

Pisces slammed into his room, unable to speak properly with fury. He kicked the first pile of bones he saw, scattering them across the room, and then turned and blasted the wall with a few bolts of magic. Erin’s reinforced walls took the spells with little more than scorch marks. Pisces whirled around and bellowed.

“Those idiots. Fools! They were never good enough for my company. I should have never wasted my time on them.”

He tore across the room, looking for something else to break. The Bone Behemoth was gone, as well as the spell that Az’kerash had inscribed on its skull. But the notes of both had been recorded and Pisces had been studying them. Until today. Until his outing with Selys. Pisces stared down at his notes and then threw everything off his desk.

Quill, inkpot, paper, all of it went flying. Pisces strode around the room, shouting and cursing.

“This entire inn can burn. Everything and everyone in it!”

His name! They’d released his name! Those pustulant, arrogant, spineless fools in Wistram! His name. And a bounty—

Pisces pointed a finger. This time electric shots hit the far wall, bouncing off the window. He uttered his fury, wishing he could have stabbed that idiotic Drake through the head. Or the Minotauress. He remembered every kick, how they’d beaten him down. And they’d walked free! He should have killed them. The Centaur, the Selphid—

Montressa. Pisces stopped. He was panting. Her. She dared to come here and—he remembered the look on her face.

“Calvaron. He deserved it. They all did. All of their hidebound…”

Pisces paused. Then he turned his head. He remembered a Centaur, laughing and welcoming him into Wistram. He pushed down the emotion, remembering the others.

Too much. Enough. Pisces was done. He—he felt at his ribs. They were mending. But he still felt the pinpoints of pain if he pressed. He closed his eyes, and his bones began to mend. A [Necromancer] could do that to himself; he couldn’t snap bones at will, because other people had too much inbuilt resistance to those kinds of spells. But he could heal himself. No one else could do that, save for the highest-level [Healers] or spells or potions. He relished the thought of Wistram’s team suffering their fractured bones.

Just another thing they scorned him for. Them, and all the others. Even Ceria. How dare she? And Yvlon? He saw the way the others had looked at him. Necrophilia. They believed it. They were all trash. Worthless. Ceria, Yvlon, Ksmvr—Selys—Erin—

Pisces stopped. But the fury was overwhelming him. He stood in the center of his room, his eyes burning. His breath came in gasps. He hated them. They had ruined his life. It was always so. Always and always. He could trust no one.

Slowly, Pisces spoke. He had run so hot he was now cold. The words came out of him, slowly, bitterly, oozing toxins with every syllable.

“I care nothing for the living. They are all dust to me. I have seen the nature of humanity and it is rotten decay. Petty souls dragging each other down into eternity. Let them all die. Let them—”

The words were a litany. A curse. He had said that once. Az’kerash. When he renounced his humanity during his trial. Pisces had always read those words. Now, he believed them. Pisces searched for the little rat. He raised his arms. Let it all end! He’d leave. He’d leave and show them who he really was. He turned, looking—

And Pisces heard a small sound. A small, tiny whimper. He froze. It wasn’t coming from the rat perched on his dresser. No. It was a living sound, fueled by lungs. And it came from under his bed.

Something was under there. Snuffling. Pisces froze. He bent down and then he saw her.

A white shape. A little Gnoll, staring at him. Mrsha. She’d slunk into his room. Hidden under his bed. She was crying. Pisces stared at her. He opened his mouth. Fury talked for him.

“Get out. Get out! I don’t want to play! I don’t want—”

He pointed towards the door, raising his voice. Mrsha hid her face. Something rolled out in front of her. Pisces was about to shout. Then he saw what she’d been holding.

It was…a stick. Pointed at one end, easily grippable in one hand. Not a stick, in fact. He saw the magic in it. A wand. The wand Mrsha had stolen from him ages ago.

His wand. And tied to it, clumsily, with a Gnoll’s paws, a little yellow flower. Mrsha had been holding it in her paw. Now she sniveled, her nose and eyes running. She hid her face, scooting back under her bed, away from the furious Pisces. The wand was knocked further towards Pisces. The little golden flower was bent, the petals slightly bruised.

The [Necromancer] stared at the wand. He looked at it. And at Mrsha, wiping at her tears. He bent slowly, and she shivered away from him. Crying. She was crying because he’d shouted at her. Because he was shouting in general.

Because of what had happened. Pisces looked down at the wand. He looked at the little Gnoll. And suddenly, the fury went out of him. He was ashamed.

“Mrsha—”

She crawled away from him, to the furthest corner under the bed. Pisces sat down slowly. He was still angry. So angry he would have killed Isceil if the Drake popped into the room this moment. But anger burned hot only so long. Shame—now, shame grew. And Pisces’ conscience finally caught up with his mouth. He remembered what he’d said.

To Ceria. To Yvlon. To Ksmvr. To his team. Pisces stared ahead dully. They’d deserved it. That was what part of him whispered. They doubted him. They never trusted him. Not really. Yvlon had always looked at him with suspicion. Ceria still held his past against him.

But Yvlon had asked him to fix her arms. And Ceria had forgiven him. Pisces tried to be angry. But he couldn’t help but remember as he stared down at the flower, around his room. They had gone through Albez. He had gone into the crypts for her. They were his team.

He hadn’t wanted it! It had been a thing of convenience! But—they’d welcomed him. Erin had. And Ksmvr. Pisces felt his eyes stinging. Of all people, to say that to him. Almost as bad as—

He looked down. Mrsha had put her paws over her eyes and water was trickling down into her white fur. She didn’t move as he slowly got up. Pisces hesitated, knelt, picked up the wand.

“Mrsha. I’m not angry.”

She quivered, her back to him. Her tail didn’t move and she held still. Pisces looked at the wand.

“Is that a gift for me? It’s quite thoughtful. I did not mean to shout at you. Will you come out?”

Not a response. Mrsha was crying. And she’d been the one who knew he and the others were captured. Erin had told him. If it weren’t for her, he might have been in the box. And he’d shouted at her.

Pisces felt a lump in his throat. He opened his mouth, searching for something to coax her out. And the words came out. What he really meant.

“I’m sorry.”

Mrsha stopped crying. She turned her head slowly. Pisces looked at her.

“I’m sorry for shouting. I truly am, Mrsha. I didn’t mean it. I was angry. But I should never have shouted at you. Will you come out? Thank you for the flower.”

The Gnoll stared at him. Her eyes were running. She looked at Pisces, and he imagined a cat. Or a dog. But then she shot out of the bed and leapt at him. And she hugged him. No pet could do that.

A child. Pisces sat back as Mrsha rammed into him. She buried her head into his robes. For a moment, he stared at her, but then, gingerly, he put his arms around her. Lifted her into his lap. Patted her head. She began to punch at his side, weakly.

“I’m sorry. I was just—it was the bounty and—I’m sorry. I should never have said that. Forgive me?”

He stopped making excuses. Mrsha wiped her face in his robes. She looked up at him, eyes still overflowing. Pisces rubbed at his eyes. And then he began to cry.

“I knew they’d do this. I knew, but—I’ve been trying. And this is what happens. I tried. I never meant for that! Any of it!”

He tried to stop. But they kept coming out. Frustrated, angry. And hurt. Oh, it hurt. Almost as much as hurting other people. But not enough. Mrsha stared up at Pisces. Then she sat up.

She licked his cheek and hugged him. He stared at her, feeling her feet on his lap. It was such an odd feeling. He’d had…Erin hug him? Or Selys? Maybe? In moments of excitement. But never like this. He gently patted her on the back as she blew her nose on his robes.

“I’m alright. You helped save me, didn’t you? It was brave of you. You are…my heroine.”

She looked up. Pisces saw Mrsha point downstairs. Of course. She’d heard everything. She looked at him, tearful. He didn’t need sign language to know what she meant.

“Yes. I should. I—I said very mean things, didn’t I?”

She stared at him and nearly bit his hand. He snatched his fingers away.

“Bad things. I was angry. I’ll apologize.”

She tried to tug him towards the door. Pisces held still and shook his head.

“In—in twenty minutes. I will go down then. To let tempers cool.”

He was prevaricating. In truth, now Pisces was embarrassed. So incredibly so that he couldn’t face the others. Mrsha stared at Pisces. Then she sat down and stared at him.

That was worse. The Gnoll’s stare went right through Pisces. And he sat there, recalling exactly what he’d said. To Ceria most of all. He tried to wait, to clear his mind.

He couldn’t bear it for more than ten minutes. Pisces got up, and opened his door. Mrsha followed him out into the hallway. Down the steps.

They were all there. The common room looked up as Pisces stopped at the foot of the stairs, and then quickly looked to their drinks. The Horns sat there, looking at Pisces and then away. It felt like an age since he’s shouted at them. Ten minutes? Twenty, including his tantrum? Pisces hesitated.

Then he walked towards them. Mrsha was in his arms. Lyonette hurried over.

“Mrsha! Were you bothering—”

She halted, looking at Pisces. He turned towards her.

“She didn’t bother me. Mrsha—”

He placed Mrsha down on the floor. She watched as he walked over to the table. Ceria was drinking. Yvlon was sitting with Ksmvr, eating. Both looked up silently. Ksmvr looked down at once. Yvlon stared past Pisces, her face completely blank.

And Ceria? She looked at the young man and then turned away. Drinking deeply. Pisces stared down at the table. He took a deep breath. And then another. And another.

On the fourth breath, the words came out in a rush.

“I’m—sorry. Ceria, Yvlon. Ksmvr. I am sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. I spoke in anger.”

“Oh yeah? What a surprise.”

Ceria didn’t look at him. Pisces hesitated. Yvlon looked up. She glanced at Ceria, and then at Ksmvr.

“It was a heated moment. We let things get away from us, Ceria.”

“I forgive you for all my trauma, Comrade Pisces.”

Ksmvr sat up, looking relieved. Pisces almost smiled at him. Almost. Tentatively, he pulled out a chair. Ceria didn’t kick it away from him as he sat, which was good. He saw Yvlon looking at him.

“I’m sorry.”

Rare words from him. She nodded slowly. She was still angry, he knew. And Ceria. But the half-Elf was biting her lips.

It was easy, then, for Pisces to imagine saying something and inviting sympathy. In a bit they might talk. In a few days, the incident might be behind them. Tempers had been high. But right now—

His throat constricted. That was what he could do. What Pisces did. But the young man bit his lip. After a moment, he looked around, catching Ceria’s eye, Yvlon’s look. Ksmvr’s stare. Pisces hesitated, and then put his hands on the table. He spoke over the thundering of his heart.

“My name, my true name, is Pisces Jealnet. It’s a commoner’s name. I was born in Terandria. In the Kingdom of Ailendamus. If you know if it, it’s a major nation. Sprawling. I was raised in House Dultel, one of the minor nobility. Not as a noble. My father was a [Fencer] employed by the [Lord]. I grew up in the household, well, around it.”

Ceria’s head snapped up. She turned, wide-eyed, and caught Pisces’ look. Yvlon blinked. Ksmvr began rummaging in his bag for a quill. Pisces looked at his team. He had never said this to anyone. The words came out of him, first slowly, like drawing a splinter, and then faster and faster.

“It’s true. My father was Padurn Jealnet. My mother Enica. They’re both alive, I think. They were when I left. I ran away from home. Because I was a [Necromancer]. I did steal to earn a living—I stole, used magic and sleight of hand to earn enough gold to pay the price of admission to Wistram. All that is true.”

“Pisces—”

Ceria looked at him. Pisces looked back. He was trembling, with nerves this time. He tried to steady his voice as he usually did. And failed.

“I always tried to hint at having aristocratic roots. Or some past beyond normal. The truth is that there’s not much. I learned to fence from my father, but I hated it. I found I had talent at magic. But my father wanted me to follow in his footsteps. He wasn’t a terrible man. He was strict. But he was a [Fencer]. Not the best, but good. He owned a silver bell, a mark of skill. I stole it when I ran away. I thought I earned it; I bested him when I fled. I used magic, you see. But I never gained the [Fencer] class. I didn’t want to be one.”

“You don’t have to tell us this.”

Yvlon’s voice was sympathetic. She was looking at Pisces. He jerked, shook his head. Ksmvr was taking notes and eating with his free hands.

“Let there be truth. It’s already out. So—here is the truth. You should know.”

He looked at his friends. It was all he could give. They watched him, without judgment. Waiting. So Pisces began from the beginning.

“Once upon a time, I did want to be a [Fencer]. A [Spellsword], at least. I trained every day. You know most children don’t gain their classes until they turn fourteen? Well, it was around that time when I was about to level. I could already fight better than my father’s other students. He was proud of me. And then I met her.”

Pisces traced on the table, conjuring images from his past. He still remembered. And his team listened. Slowly, Erin walked back into the inn. And the young woman inhaled and smiled. Something was lifting. Pisces went on.

“I met a [Necromancer]. And she was beautiful. She had made a work of art. A—a perfect thing. I can’t describe it. It looked like nothing I have ever seen in this world. Not Human, for all she made it out of bone. A creature that nature never envisioned. Disturbing. Captivating. Beautiful and terrible. I spoke to her in the month before she died. And I found that I was gifted in magic. Not just magic, but necromancy. And my life changed.”

When you got down to it, it was a simple tale. Pisces didn’t even need to recite it all to Ceria and Yvlon at least. He did for Ksmvr’s sake. Living a lie, finding his first class—his obsession with the dead, trying to make something like his mentor had. Finding beauty in death. Because there was beauty there! A terrible one, but something alluring.

Death is not any more evil than life; it is what we make of it. She had told him that. And he had watched her die. But she had set him on her path.

Continuing. Beginning to rebel against his father, quarrelling. Revealing his talents as a [Mage] and attracting the approval of the Dultel’s [Lord], being tutored. One day—being found out. Defeating his father.

Fleeing. From there, crime. Learning to read lips, pickpocket. Finding other [Mages], even other [Necromancers], before and after Wistram. But always, always, thinking of himself as apart. Necromancy wasn’t a tool to be used to amass power or conjure servants, to kill. Not just that. It was more. Finding fascination with Az’kerash, the last [Necromancer] of legend who had poisoned the class in the eyes of the world.

And then—Wistram. Meeting Ceria. Finding a true friend. Until she found out who he was. Becoming an outcast once more. In desperation, trying to rob Nekhret’s tomb. Using the very corpses of Ceria’s master and the others to break the wards. Unleashing death on Wistram.

Ceria looked at Pisces as he paused. His throat was parched. He coughed, and someone appeared at their table. Erin Solstice. She handed Pisces a mug.

“Want milk?”

He took it, gratefully. Erin began to drift away, but Ceria looked at her.

“You can stay, Erin. Right, Pisces?”

“Surely.”

Erin hesitated, and then sat down. Pisces drank, coughed, and drank again. He spoke.

“Calvaron was my friend. He never scorned me. Just kept away after everyone found out who I was. He did help me. And he died when I broke the ward on Nekhret’s tomb. It was my fault. And I regret his death. It was my fault.”

That needed to be said. Ceria nodded. She squeezed Pisces’ arm and he looked at her.

“Montressa has a reason to hunt me.”

“Cognita said it best. [Mages] have made worse mistakes and been expelled. The Council held you to the same standard. Her standard. Montressa can hate you. Hate me. But it was a mistake.”

Yvlon and Ksmvr nodded. Pisces stared past them. Erin waved a hand and they all looked at her.

“You know, she has nightmares. Almost every night, unless she uses a [Sleep] spell. Or a [Calm] spell or something. I heard it from Palt.”

“Who?”

“The Centaur. He told me a bit about Montressa.”

The Horns stared at Erin. The [Innkeeper] looked down and twiddled her thumbs. She spoke quietly.

“She watched someone get killed. Right in front of her. She was there. That’s why she…but I bet you knew that.”

She looked at Pisces. He nodded heavily.

“She has a reason.”

“But not enough. If you did it for a reason, that’s one thing. She hated you because you were a [Necromancer]. That’s another.”

Pisces jumped. He looked around. Someone else was listening to his story. He saw a green, light-scaled Drake, listening. Lyonette and Mrsha were standing with her. Pisces stood up unconsciously.

Selys. She looked at Pisces. Her eyes were red too. She reached out and hugged him.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t do a thing.”

“You couldn’t have done anything.”

“But—”

Selys was shaking her head. Ceria saw another Drake past her. This one had blue scales. She narrowed her eyes. Then she stood up and went over to him.

Olesm hunched furtively at his table. He was wearing a hat and a coat, but his scales were as obvious as the sun. He looked around.

“Ceria. I uh—”

“Olesm.”

Ceria stared down at him. The [Strategist] flinched. They had spoken after Lism’s campaign against Calruz. Selys hadn’t noticed him, but Erin had. She shrugged at Selys. Olesm licked his lips nervously. He opened his mouth, and looked at Ceria.

“Look, I know—I know you probably hate my guts. But I had to see if you were okay. Do you need a healing potion? I heard Yvlon’s arms weren’t good. So I bought an anti-infection poultice. It’s better than a potion. And…”

He shut up as Ceria stared down at him. The [Strategist] hung his head.

“I’m sorry too. I thought you should know this. One of the [Mages], the Minotauress, went to see Calruz.”

“She did?”

Ceria turned pale. Olesm raised his claws.

“Don’t worry! He’s fine. She left. I doubled the guard on the prison just to be sure. The cell can’t be pierced by magic anyways. But I—I’ll go. I just wanted—”

Ceria looked down at Olesm. She wanted to say a lot, but in the end she just grabbed his shoulder.

“Come here.”

She towed him over to the table. Selys was sitting, and Mrsha was sitting on her lap. Pisces looked up at Ceria and Selys glared. But she let him sit.

And they listened.

“I have joined cults. I have met other [Necromancers]. Stolen. Lied. Killed rarely. And never without cause. But it’s true. I have done much that is wrong, but none more so than in Wistram.”

Pisces looked around the table. Ceria nodded heavily, but her shoulders felt lighter. She heard an exclamation near the door and looked up. Yvlon tensed.

“Not now.”

Erin leapt to her feet. The door to Liscor had opened and five familiar faces had entered the inn. Everyone froze as Montressa du Valeross and her team entered.

“Aw, no! Take cover!”

One of the Drake regulars hunkered down behind his table. The rest of the guests began to scatter. Erin glared.

“Oh no. You’re not allowed in here! This is my inn! Lyonette, where’s that death-curry?”

She reached for her knife. Palt raised his hands hurriedly.

“Peace! We just want to speak—”

“Not to me! Get out! This is private property!”

Erin pointed towards the door. The Wistram team paused. Isceil’s eyes flashed, but Pisces got up. He slowly walked towards Montressa.

All of the [Mages] drew their weapons. Erin yanked her knife out. But it was Jelaqua who leaned out from her table.

“If anyone casts a spell, I’ll smash their heads in.”

The Wistram team paused. They lowered their weapons. Montressa stared at Pisces. Her face was pale. Pisces looked at her, and then turned. He addressed her and the room.

“I made a terrible mistake once. And because of it, people died. I never intended it. I just wanted to prove there was a place for me at Wistram. I loved it there. Before people knew who I was. I wish they had not adored my mask so much.”

“What? Is that—”

Isceil’s voice was muffled as Palt pointed a finger at him. Pisces went on. Now he was only looking at Montressa, at her eyes. Hate and fear and hurt. All mixed into one.

“I’ve done many things. I’ve hurt people. Stolen. I’ve lied. To myself most of all. And I will pay for those crimes.”

She blinked. The Wistram [Mages] stared at Pisces. Beza spoke slowly.

“Does that mean you’re surrendering?”

Ceria shot to her feet. Yvlon caught her. Pisces shook his head.

“No. I will not submit to Wistram. Nor will I go back. I was judged, by one who knew the follies of [Mages] more than any other. Rightly or wrongly—I do not wish to rot in a cell or die.”

“You deserve it.”

Montressa whispered. She shook as she stared at Pisces. He hesitated. Then he bowed his head.

“I’m sorry Montressa. I never meant it. Never forgive me. But know that I never meant it.”

He looked at her. Then he turned and walked away. Still as a statue, the Wistram [Mages] watched him go. Erin exhaled. Montressa’s expression had changed not one bit. But around Pisces, in him, she thought she saw something disappear. Something heavy. He still had guilt on him, but it wasn’t an anchor anymore.

“You did the right thing, Pisces. Thanks for telling us who you were. Someday I’ll have to tell you about my life in return.”

Yvlon raised her cup as Pisces sat down. He smiled, shakily.

“Are they still staring at me?”

“Like daggers.”

“Let them. Or kick them out. They might be Wistram, but this is Liscor. And The Wandering Inn! They can’t do anything here!-”

Selys looked savagely at the [Mages]. She turned as Erin zipped past her. The young woman was conferring with Lyonette. Then Erin looked up.

“Found it!”

She threw open a trap door and hurried into the basement. The Horns, bemused, but sensing something, heard Erin shouting.

“Hey Numbtongue! What are you doing down there? Practicing your guitar? Help me find that soap Lyonette bought! And come upstairs!”

Erin raced back up, a bunch of powder in one bucket. Lyonette was already dragging a copper tub they used for washing out. Bemused, the crowd in the inn watched.

“Here it comes. Here it comes…”

Relc rubbed his claws at one table. Klbkch drank agreeably.

“I have missed this.”

Erin was mixing up water and the powder. She put a hand in.

“Wow, that’s soapy! No wonder—okay, get a mop! Ishkr!”

The Horns turned back to each other for a moment as Ishkr grabbed a mop and Erin hurried across the floor with it, shouting. It was a familiar scene. But this time Pisces knew it was engineered. That didn’t change what it meant.

“I’m sorry for what I said.”

“I’m sorry for doubting you. I know you’ve changed. And I…should have been a better friend in Wistram. Have I ever said that to you?”

Ceria looked at Pisces. He exhaled. Yvlon looked between them.

“Well, I’m sorry I didn’t talk about my arms. But this team means everything to me. I can’t give it up. I can’t quit.”

She reached out. Ceria put her hand on top of Yvlon’s gauntlet. Pisces reached out and placed it on top of hers. Ksmvr looked around.

“I am sorry I have no significant secrets I have withheld from you all. I am sorry for being substandard.”

“Ksmvr! You’re the best of us.”

The Antinium put two hands on the pile. The Horns looked at each other. Pisces tried to pretend his eyes were only itchy.

“You realize Wistram will keep hunting me. Montressa and her team will not let this rest. I could go.”

All four hands tightened on his. His team looked at him and Yvlon shook her head.

“The Horns of Hammerad don’t abandon their own so easily.”

“You’re not getting away that easily.”

“This is the only place where I belong. Where would I be if you left, Comrade Pisces?”

The [Necromancer] stared around. He bowed slightly.

“It’s an honor.”

They smiled and his heart leapt. And then—here it came. Pisces heard a shout. A strum of music from a guitar. He looked up and saw Erin. She was running down the center of her long common room. Then she leapt, flailing her arms. The momentum carried her forwards, across the slick, soaped floor.

She slid past them on her socks. The Horns stared at Erin.

“Wheeee—ohgodIcan’tstop!”

Laughing, Erin slid past them. Pisces inhaled, recalling. Ceria started laughing. The inn’s patrons stared. Then they saw a Gnoll cub sliding forwards on her belly, like a penguin. An Ashfire Bee clung to her head, fanning her wings for speed desperately.

“It’s like an ice rink! Or something! Watch out, Mrsha! Don’t smack your head!”

Erin laughed as she spun backwards. She tried to spin on one foot like a ballerina, but wiped out. The guests of her inn looked at each other. One of the Drakes nudged his companion.

“What you do you think? I think four out of ten. I expected food.”

“I’m not sliding. I could break a hip!”

The older Gnoll protested. But some of the guests were getting up. Relc was already on his feet.

“Alright! Let me try! Here I go!”

He flung himself across the floor, so fast that he was a blur as he shot past the Horns. He crashed into a wall, but rolled over, laughing. More people were getting on their feet and Erin began warning them not to copy Relc. Mrsha went spinning around on her rear, giggling silently.

Pisces chanced a glance towards the magic door. The Wistram team was still standing there. Staring. He sat back, but then saw someone rising out of the corner of his eye.

“Well, it was fun one time.”

Yvlon rose to her feet. Pisces stared at her. So did Ceria.

“Wait. Here? In front of—whoa! Tree rot!”

Yvlon spun Ceria’s chair out. The floor was so slick that the chair’s legs slid across the smooth floor. Ceria went screaming across the floor, clutching to the chair as people leapt aside. Yvlon looked at Pisces. He stared at her.

“Well? Are you with your team, Pisces?”

He looked at her. Serious Yvlon. Then Pisces shook his head and abandoned what he used to think of as his dignity. He stood up.

“Observe. Ksmvr? A push.”

He balanced on his chair with one leg. The Antinium looked at Pisces, and then heaved.

“Hey! No chairs! Whoa!”

Erin saw Pisces flash past her, balanced on one leg on the chair. Mrsha shot after him. Yvlon and Ksmvr slid past them.

“This inn is full of children!”

Beza stared at the people in the inn. She looked at the Horns, seeing Ceria point and turn the area of the inn even slicker with ice. She slid forwards, followed by Pisces, Ksmvr, Yvlon, Mrsha, Moore—

It was a moment in the inn. Just a single one, late at night. It was stupid, dangerous—and childish. The Horns knew it, but they took part anyways. They slid across the floor, chuckling. And then laughing. Not because they’d forgotten about what had happened or what the future held. But because you had to laugh. Or you’d die.

And the [Mages] from Wistram watched. It wasn’t that the Horns had forgotten them. But they refused to let them dictate their night. Montressa’s hand was tight on her staff. She watched. Isceil looked uncertainly at her, at Relc throwing Klbkch across the floor.

“They’re insane. All of them.”

Ulinde looked at the Halfseekers, heartbroken. At last, Beza turned.

“Come on. Let’s go.”

She turned. The team moved back through the door in silence. They stood outside as Beza closed the door. The laughter from the inn behind them was replaced by silence. The night. Montressa shivered. She looked at the others. Palt, glancing over his shoulder, Isceil, his tail lashing. Beza’s folded arms. Ulinde’s miserable face.

“This isn’t over. We’re capturing both Erin and him. We’ll get them. We’ll—”

Her voice broke. She turned. She looked back at the door. In the distance, past Liscor’s walls, an inn was lit up on a hilltop. And if you listened, you might still hear the laughter. For a moment Montressa remembered a laughing half-Elf and a young man. And her heart hurt. Then she shook her head.

She wiped at her eyes and walked away.

—-

Bird sat on a little tower on top of the inn. The roof was still not completed and the inn’s projected expansions were unfinished. As was his tower. Erin had promised him a new one. But since it wasn’t there yet, he’d built his own.

The Worker happily sat in the small circle of nailed-up boards and stared up at the night sky. The dark-birds were out. They had forgotten he was here. He could hear them squeaking. Erin called them bats. He called them dark-birds. The Worker watched them flit about.

Below, in the inn, he could hear laughter. Partying. Twice now, Erin had come up to ask if he wanted to come down. But he had refused. He sat up in his tower and hummed.

“La, la. I am back. I am home. And home is where I roam. Home. Not alone. I am back and I am happy. For I am Bird and Bird is me.”

He raised his bow and an arrow. With a twang he released and a bat landed on the roof, skewered. The bats above him fled as Bird began loosing arrows.

And lo, the age of peace upon those with wings ended, and the time of great death returned. The hunter of the skies had returned and all who flew trembled at his presence. Bird raised his mandibles.

“It is good to be home.”

6.60

“Tell me something, Ylawes. You’re a [Knight], right? In that case, don’t you have an order or society or whatever? They’re all over Terandria, but you’ve never talked about one.”

Dawil twisted on his saddle to address Ylawes. The Dwarf peered at his friend, leader, and junior in years. Ylawes looked up, caught with a mouthful of sandwich.

He was eating a local delicacy. That was to say, toasted baguette-like bread packed with all manner of vegetables—succulent, like roasted butternut squash lathered with actual butter, finely chopped green onions, carrots—all of which were generally roasted or fried in fats. This was because at no point had anyone seen fit to add meat to the bagel, instead trusting to the natural goodness of the warming meal.

It was more like eating a pocket-dinner than your typical sandwich. Dawil watched Ylawes chew and swallow. After a moment, the [Knight] wiped at his mouth; he’d taken off his gauntlets to eat. Then he looked at Dawil.

“What?”

“Your order, lad! Where’s your knighthood order?”

Ylawes gave Dawil a long and blank look as he fumbled with his water flask. He uncorked it, took a swig, and wiped at his clean shaven jaw.

“I don’t have one. It’s not mandatory, you know.”

“Really? I thought it was.”

The [Knight] gave Dawil a pained look. The two were riding horses. Ylawes rode a proud charger, a properly-trained stallion suited to combat. It wasn’t his personal mount; he’d purchased it at the last town they’d been through from one of the ubiquitous stables that crossed Izril. It was a lucky find; some other [Rider] must have been forced to sell their horse and Ylawes had paid in gold at once to have it.

Dawil was riding a pony. It was a good pony, suited to long-distance travel. Plus, ponies were good for their endurance, intelligence, and they needed less expensive feed than some horses. Plus, they were short which was good because Dawil, as a Dwarf, was short. Not that short; he was still over five feet tall, but it did cut a comical sight, him riding next to Ylawes much higher up.

The [Knight] frowned down at Dawil. Dawil frowned at Ylawes’ lunch. The [Knight] paused.

“Dawil, you’ve known me for what, six years?”

The Dwarf scratched his beard.

“Yeah.”

“And not once have I ever mentioned my order. Or returned there. And you’ve been to my home. You’ve met my family. And insulted my parents.”

“That was an accident. It could have been a compliment.”

“Asking if my father was taking a new wife is not…”

“Your mother was pleased.”

Ylawes shook his head.

“My point is that not once have I ever mentioned an order.”

“Yeah.”

“So doesn’t that answer the question already?”

Dawil gave Ylawes a long look. At last, the Dwarf shrugged.

“Okay, why don’t you have an order?”

The [Knight] sighed. But it was a clear day, the road was long and slightly overgrown, and they were done with their latest mission. Ylawes still had a bit of rust on his armor and he frowned at it. He took another bite of his sandwich as he absently tried to find a cloth with his other hand.

They’d been fighting Metalbite Slimes. Not good for adventurers carrying armor, but the slimes had been multiplying in an iron ore mine and the nearby village was desperate to have them gone so their [Miners] could get back to work. And the Silver Swords championed causes like that, even at a cost.

Ylawes was tired from fighting with a quarterstaff—he wasn’t about to risk his sword against Metalbite Slimes, enchanted or not! He rubbed at his armor with the cloth, praying the enchanted metal hadn’t lost too much of its enchantment or metal.

“It’s just not necessary, Dawil. I’ll grant you that I could have joined an order, but I never needed to.”

“What, they let you become a [Knight] just cause you walked up with fancy armor and a shield?”

The Dwarf laughed. He was hunting for his lunch. His pony looked up as he fished a carrot from his saddlebags. The Dwarf stared at it and fed it to the pony. Ylawes shook his head.

“I’m a [Lord]’s son. I practiced with weapons growing up, I have my own vow to defend people where I can—I fulfilled the spirit of my class. I never needed an order. With that said, I’ve had offers.”

“I don’t doubt it. Knight orders were always recruiting back in Terandria. Send your child to become a [Knight]! If they’re talented. And noble. Or just rich.”

Dawil snorted. He came up with a sandwich loaded with bacon. Ylawes eyed it. The Dwarf saw the look.

“My sandwich. You can eat your plants.”

“I don’t want it. But did you have to badger the poor village to kill a pig for you?”

“I paid. And they were only happy to do it! We rid their mines of slimes, Ylawes.”

“They had perfectly good sandwiches. This is delicious.”

Dawil shook his head.

“It’s all vegetables. That’s not a sandwich. That’s bread on a salad. This is a sandwich, like those ones Erin used to make. Truegold and sparksilver, I miss that inn! Those hamburgers and steaks whenever I wanted it?”

He sighed longingly and took a huge bite of his sandwich. Ylawes shook his head.

“We’ll visit again. Maybe if our road takes us towards Celum.”

“Yeah. So you can bother your sister again.”

The armored man frowned at his friend.

“I like to think we did more than that, Dawil. We fought monsters, nearly saw a war—and helped Yvlon and her team.”

“And ate like [Kings]!”

The Dwarf sighed. He nudged his pony back towards the road.

“So, about orders…you’ve never thought of joining one?”

Ylawes raised his brows.

“Should I? The downsides largely outweigh the benefits to me. There are a few on Izril, but you’d know more, coming from Terandria.”

“True! I guess they do tie you down, mostly. How many’re on Izril worth talking about?”

“The Knights of the Petal, the Order of Clairei Fields, the Durengal—not many.”

“Huh. We’ve got like…a hundred.”

Ylawes nearly choked on his sandwich. He coughed and took a drink of water.

“That many?”

“What? It’s a big continent. Why does Izril have so few?”

“Because we don’t live in the era of [Kings] and castles. Izril doesn’t have kingdoms either. Humans may have come to Izril thousands of years ago, but we’re still new to the continent. Well, a bit. Besides, we trust to adventurers and the local nobility to keep the peace. In that sense, they’re probably better here than on Terandria.”

“True. That’s why I moved to Izril. Terandria you have to compete with the Hunter’s Guild and those idiots wearing armor.”

“[Knights].”

“Yeah.”

“Of which I’m one.”

“That’s what I said. Anyways, you should give it a thought, Ylawes. Some of the orders have benefits.”

The [Knight] paused.

“Such as?”

“Well, have you heard of the Irriven Redbloods?”

“No. Why are they called Redbloods? Wouldn’t it be ‘Bluebloods’?”

The Dwarf grinned as he slurped up some bacon.

“Nope. Redbloods. It’s because they’re made totally of non-noble applicants. In fact, that’s why they formed. A knighthood that provides arms and armor for their members and holds themselves to the highest standard of excellence. Lots of orders have perks. Ancient weapons, support in battle, even men-at-arms to fight with you. If you were one of the big orders like the Redbloods, you could sleep some places free, earn items from your order for completing grand deeds—”

“Except that I’m not in Terandria, I’m actually noble, and knighthood orders demand loyalty and don’t usually let their members roam around freely.”

Dawil paused.

“True. But some let their members go on crusades. I’m just asking! Ever fancy taking a bit of paint to that armor and joining the Rose Knights?”

Ylawes kept eating.

“No. What’s brought this on, Dawil?”

The Dwarf scratched his head. He’d taken his helmet off and his hair was still a bit damp from the sweat of combat.

“Nostalgia, I guess. It’s been a long time since I went home. I was wondering if you’d ever wanted to visit Terandria.”

The young man blinked, caught off-guard by the suggestion.

“Me?”

The Dwarf nodded complacently.

“Well, we’re a team, aren’t we? I can’t just run off for a few months and leave you with that half-wit. And Terandria’s safer, but there’s always work for Gold-rank teams. We could visit the mountains, maybe buy some new weapons, even visit said half-wit’s home while we’re at it…”

Ylawes winced and glanced ahead. After a moment he paused.

“I’d never thought of it. Certainly, it’s an option…”

“Think on it. I like Izril, but I want to be back on Terandria in the next, oh, five years.”

Ylawes smiled faintly.

“You have my word on that. But that’s still a roundabout way of asking me, with knighthood orders as the premise.”

The Dwarf shrugged.

“Oh, I just like talking about them. They’re like nose hairs, you know? Each one different and in a different place.”

“That’s disgusting!”

“Well, some are interesting! They all do different things and while some are for one kingdom, a lot are autonomous. [Knights], they have their own culture. They duel each other, get into fights—totally different from Izril! For you, it’s a class, but over there it’s culture.”

Ylawes finished his sandwich and looked at Dawil.

“Really? I’ve met other [Knights], including some of the Order of the Petal, but as you say, it’s just a class here. What happens in Terandria?”

“All kinds of things! Some knighthood orders start wars, or go on grand quests! Surely you’ve heard about the time the Order of the Thirsting Veil quested for thirty years to retrieve the Scepter of Krakens? Or—how about the Order of Seasons participating in Daquin’s game with the Titan of Baleros?”

“I heard about that last one. But as I say, you only hear some stories about other continents. What’s this about the—”

Ylawes and Dawil were chatting animatedly now, and as a consequence, riding a bit faster. Their horse and pony caught up to the rider ahead. She turned in the saddle and the third member of the Silver Swords, who had been listening to their chatter with half a pointed ear, turned her delicate features at last and glared.

“Would you two mind? I’m on a call right now!”

The two other Gold-rank adventurers slowed and gave Falene abashed looks. Well, Ylawes did. Dawil just rolled his eyes.

“You’ve been talking for the last half-hour, Falene Pointyears. Why can’t we talk?”

“Be silent I’m…no, Bashea, I do apologize. My teammates are speaking. Males. And adventurers. Quite ill-mannered. Do forgive me.”

The half-Elf [Battlemage] flicked her fingers at the [Axe Champion] and [Knight]. Ylawes sensed the silence engulf Falene and her horse. He looked at Dawil. The Dwarf cupped his hands to his mouth.

“If you could do that before, why didn’t you, half-Elf? I’ll tell you. It’s because you’re nosy!”

His shout startled several grouse nesting ahead of them. It was so loud in fact, that it must have been audible even through Falene’s weak silence spell. She turned and glared at him. Dawil settled back happily. Ylawes gave him a look.

“Do you have to bother Falene at every opportunity, Dawil?”

“Yes. Because she’ll keep her nose so high in the air she’ll end up smacking her head against her horse’s arse if I don’t.”

Ylawes had to snort and looked away quickly. Dawil nodded. But then Ylawes turned back.

“Still. She’s on an important call.”

Dawil looked at Ylawes sidelong. After a moment he reached out and patted Ylawes’ knee.

“There’s nothing my words can do to ruin whatever Falene’s asking about, lad.”

“Don’t call me lad. You’re thirty. By Dwarf standards, you’re younger than me.”

The Dwarf ignored that.

“The trouble’s dealt with. Miss Springwalker informed us after they got rid of those Wistram [Mages]. Plus, she’s not the one they’re after. Your sister, I mean. She’s fine.”

Ylawes clenched one fist.

“It seems like the Horns can’t catch a break. I understand going after Pisces for…his [Necromancy], but attacking an adventuring team in Liscor? That’s criminal! And my sister? If we weren’t so far away—”

“That’s Wistram for you. Don’t worry about it. Yvlon’s fine.”

“Her arms are still damaged. Ceria didn’t say anything about them.”

“They’re fine.”

Dawil was a good liar. Ylawes made his horse trot a bit faster, restless. The Dwarf opened his mouth, and then closed it.

For a while, the Silver Swords rode in silence. The Human and Dwarf watched Falene speaking in her bubble of silence until at last she finished. They knew she was done because she took a finger from her temple and straightened; beyond that, there was no flicker of visible magic. The sound of Falene’s mare walking abruptly returned to the world as the half-Elf released her spell.

Falene was scowling, a rare open expression of displeasure when she finished speaking with her contact in Wistram. She looked at her companions and shook her head.

“I’ve just completed my discussion with my fellow [Mages] in Wistram, Ylawes.”

“And? Can you reverse this bounty on Pisces? Or do something about this team stalking the Horns of Hammerad?”

The [Knight] leaned over his saddle. Falene just pursed her lips.

“No. And, apparently, my influence isn’t even enough to merit a conversation with someone higher-placed in the Revivalist faction, let alone an Archmage!”

Dawil and Ylawes exchanged a glance. The Revivalist name was foreign to them, but they did know the basics about Wistram.

“What’s the issue?”

“Aside from the fact that Wistram was very reticent to give me any details about Ceria and Pisces until now? Oh, simply a blanket ban on any information regarding this Wistram team! Bashea—my friend—assured me that they were acting in Wistram’s best interests, but she wouldn’t tell me why Wistram had sent five full [Mages] all the way to Liscor! In fact, she kept hinting that I should return to the academy to learn more!”

The half-Elf, always dignified, or at least, invested in keeping up that bit of half-Elven myth, flicked her hands angrily. If it was Ceria, she would have spat or cursed. Dawil raised his brows.

“This Bashea doesn’t trust your spell, Falene?”

“She should! It’s our personal [Message] variant. She and I studied together! We were roommates! She’d tell me anything—but something has her silent. I asked about recent events in Wistram and she kept telling me to come back. Something’s happened in Wistram.”

“Does it involve my sister and her team?”

Ylawes was worried. Falene sighed, turning to him.

“I doubt it, Ylawes. But it frustrates me. Perhaps I should go back. Six years is a short time for so much to change in the academy, but…well, perhaps it would be a worthwhile trip. If you plan on going to Terandria, that is.”

“Aha! I knew you were listening in!”

Falene flicked her fingers and shot a bit of colored smoke into Dawil’s face. He swore and waved it away. Ylawes looked at his two friends.

“Maybe. But it’s my sister I’m worried about, Falene. Ceria contacted you.”

“Yes. By Mage’s Guild, so I cannot even send her a [Message] back directly. She really must learn that spell. But then, she is only a third-year student. Something else Wistram did not tell me the first time!”

Falene gritted her teeth. then she sighed again.

“I’m afraid I cannot help you, Ylawes. Or her. The faction backing Montressa du Valeross’ team is the Revivalists, and they’re at odds with my faction, the Centrists. I put in a few strongly-worded remarks, but I’m afraid that won’t change anything.”

She looked frustrated, and not even Dawil made a crack this time. Ylawes clenched his jaw, helpless. Falene paused. And a slight smile played over her lips. Dawil frowned.

“What?”

“If it’s any consolation, I might have been unable to help, but apparently there is someone in Wistram who took objection to the treatment of Ceria and Pisces. Amusingly—it had little to do with them being hunted and all with the terminology of the bounty on Pisces.”

“Really? Why?”

Ylawes tried to recall the bounty Yvlon had recited. It had certainly cast Pisces in a bad light, but he couldn’t think what had upset this [Mage] in Wistram. Falene tapped her lips, smiling.

“Have I ever mentioned the…keeper of Wistram? You know that we employ Golems for many menial tasks.”

“Sure. You kept mentioning how one of them would be better than me.”

Dawil grunted. Falene nodded.

“Well, the leader of these Golems is…sentient. And disturbing as she may be, she is invaluable to Wistram. A very troubling figure, but one even the Archmages must treat against. Her name is Cognita.”

“A Golem has a name? And it thinks?”

Ylawes had heard of that, vaguely. Falene nodded. She hesitated, and then smiled.

“The nuance is hard to grasp as I was not there for the incident, but I gather that while Pisces Jealnet and Ceria Springwalker were exiled, Cognita granted them the authority to call themselves graduates. However, the bounty on the two claims both are not, as did Wistram’s team.”

Dawil and Ylawes looked blankly at Falene. Neither one understood the half-Elf’s amusement.

“So?”

The half-Elf looked from face to face and sighed at her companions.

“So. She apparently objected to the inaccuracy.”

“So? Aren’t the Revivalists led by an Archmage? One of the lizards, right?”

“Archmage Nailihuaile. Yes. And I understand Cognita objected to her. Personally.”

Ylawes began to catch onto Falene’s smile. He looked at the half-Elf.

“What, exactly, did this Golem—this Cognita’s objection entail?”

“Well—”

—-

Aaron Vanwell, known to some as Blackmage, guest of Wistram Academy—first guest that was, since other Earthers had been found and returned to the academy—was working on a new construction. A battery, fueled by both magic and the science of his world.

Magitech. He was using crystals formed of magicore exposed to almost pure mana, worth a fortune, while trying to combine it with the principles of a lead-acid battery, which he’d engineered with some of the other Earther’s help. The breakthrough was one that surpassed both individual technologies.

With the ingenious magic of Wistram’s [Mages] and the superior—vastly superior energy-hoarding qualities of materials from this world, they’d combined it with the technology of batteries, the understanding of electrical polarity to create something that could charge lightning spells.

They’d created an artifact, in fact. Something so powerful even the Archmage who’d helped Aaron make the orb, the Lamia Archmage Nailihuaile, had been impressed. Even given the expensive costs of making so many prototypes!

And that wasn’t all. With more people from Earth, Aaron’s world had opened up. He was no longer a single captive, but one of many. He was working on a plan. An idea to combine more Earth-technology with this world’s resources. He carefully, carefully, began to insert the new battery he’d made—miniaturized from the orb that Montressa had taken for field testing—into the armored glove painted red and gold of course—

The door slammed open. Aaron jumped and the battery went flying. Archmage Nailihuaile, also known as Naili, caught the sealed battery in the air with a wave of her staff. Then she looked at Aaron.

“Hey! I’m gonna borrow your bed, alright?”

“What? Archmage Naili? Is everything ok—”

Aaron blinked as the Lamia, her scales translucent in places, glowing with accumulated magic, slithered over to his bed. In one hand she carried the Serkonian Lance, treasure of the Lizardfolk, which could create a magical field where she could effortlessly link spells, change the very nature of mana in the air, and also fire devastating lances of magic, hence the name. He’d also seen her use it as a backscratcher.

Now Naili tossed the staff under the bed and bend over, wriggling under Aaron’s bed. He stared at her tail.

“Um, Naili—”

“I’m not here! Shh! If she knocks, I’m not here!”

The Lamia waved frantically at Aaron. Bemused, he turned towards the door. The Lamia Archmage was by far the most relaxed of the four Archmages in Wistram. Feor and Viltach were older and far more…stately. Naili by contrast was lighthearted, joking that just because she’d grown older and become an Archmage, it didn’t mean she had to be stuck-up and crotchety. It made her popular. By contrast, the fourth Archmage, Amerys—

Someone knocked hard on the door. Aaron jumped and saw the bed jump. He looked at the door and heard a voice.

Deep, smooth. Without hesitation or flaw, like the owner.

“Archmage Nailihuaile. I would speak to you. Aaron Vanwell, will you open the door please?”

Cognita. Aaron looked at his bed. He hesitated. The Truestone Golem, warden or perhaps caretaker of Wistram, one of the most powerful constructs ever built, was standing outside his door. He was fascinated by her. And a little frightened.

He knew what the final test of Zelkyr was. And he had beheld the four guardian Golems, of which Cognita was fifth and most deadly. Even so, he raised his voice.

“Um…she’s not here, Cognita—”

“Aaron Vanwell. Open this door.”

The young man paused. He slowly got up. From under the bed, Naili shouted.

“I’m busy, Cognita! I told you—”

“This matter will not wait. Open the door, Aaron Vanwell. I would dislike damaging it.”

The [Mage]/[Engineer] hesitated. Naili shouted.

“I’m really busy! I’m uh, having sex!”

Aaron stared at the bed. There was silence from outside. And then Cognita punched a hole through the door.

It wasn’t like a movie, where the door exploded outwards. Cognita hit the door so fast and hard her fist went through the wood, sending only a small pocket of wood flying across the room. Aaron jumped—and Cognita’s arm twisted. It gently unlocked the door and pulled it open.

“I didn’t even lock the door!”

Aaron protested. Cognita slowly moved the door open.

“It was enchanted to stay closed unless the lock was turned, Aaron Vanwell. It will be replaced. Please step aside.”

She walked into the room. Aaron did exactly what Cognita said; she had a way with words. Or perhaps it was simply her presence.

To behold Cognita was to see art come to life. Eight feet tall, carved of pure white stone, finer than even marble, Cognita looked like the height of perfection, a statue of a woman made beautiful beyond belief. And yet, she had a quality that went beyond even statues, for she was alive. The folds of her dress, sculpted of stone, moved as she walked, and the stone of her body moved like flesh and cloth.

She was perfection, made by an [Archmage] thought dead to the world. Archmage Zelkyr, who had ordered her to protect Wistram and test every [Mage] who might ascend to the higher floors where he had once gone and never come back from. Cognita had held Wistram thusly for over a century. She was beautiful.

And terrifying. Especially to the [Mages] who knew her test that no one had ever undertaken and lived. She walked towards Aaron’s bed without hesitation.

“Archmage Nailihuaile. We must speak. Now.”

Reluctantly, a scaled hand poked out of the bed. Aaron saw Naili drag herself out, grumbling. She slithered upright, staff in hand and looked at Cognita warily.

“I was busy.”

“This will not wait. As I stated when you fled—”

“I had to go to the bathroom?”

“—when you fled, Pisces and Ceria Springwalker are graduates of Wistram. [Mages] of Wistram. To claim otherwise goes against the authority placed in me. I gave them that right.”

Naili twisted her staff in her hands. She looked at Aaron and he knew he should leave. He backed towards the door, but slowly. He wanted to watch. Secrets were currency in Wistram and this was probably big.

“Montressa and her team made a mistake.”

“Her team attacked the two [Mages] on the pretext that they were not [Mages] of Wistram. That is an error, as is the bounty placed on Pisces. It must be rectified.”

The Lamia looked restless, glancing towards the door and curling up her lo